note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) elements of civil government a text-book for use in public schools, high schools and normal schools and a manual of reference for teachers by alex. l. peterman late principal and professor of civil government in the normal school of the kentucky state college, and member of the kentucky state senate new york cincinnati chicago american book company revised to . dedication. to the thousands of devoted teachers in every part of the land, who are training the boys and girls of to-day to a true conception of american citizenship, and to a deeper love for our whole country, this little book is dedicated by a brother in the work. preface. this text-book begins "at home." the starting-point is the family, the first form of government with which the child comes in contact. as his acquaintance with rightful authority increases, the school, the civil district, the township, the county, the state, and the united states are taken up in their order. the book is especially intended for use in the public schools. the plan is the simplest yet devised, and is, therefore, well adapted to public school purposes. it has been used by the author for many years, in public schools, normal schools, and teachers' institutes. it carefully and logically follows the much praised and much neglected synthetic method. all students of the science of teaching agree that beginners in the study of government should commence with the known, and gradually proceed to the unknown. yet it is believed this is the first textbook that closely follows this method of treating the subject. the constant aim has been to present the subject in a simple and attractive way, in accordance with sound principles of teaching--that children may grow into such a knowledge of their government that the welfare of the country may "come home to the business and bosoms" of the people. the recent increase of interest among the people upon the subject of government is a hopeful sign. it will lead to a better knowledge of our political institutions, and hence give us better citizens. good citizenship is impossible unless the people understand the government under which they live. it is certainly strange that every state in the union maintains a system of public schools for the purpose of training citizens, and that the course of study in so many states omits civil government, the science of citizenship. the author's special thanks are due hon. joseph desha pickett, ph.d., superintendent of public instruction of kentucky, for the suggestion which led to the preparation of the work and for excellent thoughts upon the plan. the author also desires to confess his obligation to president james k. patterson, ph.d., and professor r. n. roark, a.m., of the kentucky state college, lexington, for valuable suggestions as to the method of treatment and the scope of the book. the author has derived much assistance from the many admirable works upon the same subject, now before the country. but he has not hesitated to adopt a treatment different from theirs when it has been deemed advisable. he submits his work to a discriminating public, with the hope that he has not labored in vain in a field in which so many have wrought. alex. l. peterman. a few words to teachers. . purpose of the study.--every school should teach, and every child should study, the principles of our government, in order: . that by knowing his country better he may learn to love it more. the first duty of the school is to teach its pupils to love "god, home, and native land." . that the child may learn that there is such a thing as just authority; that obedience to it is right and manly; that we must learn to govern by first learning to obey. . that he may know his rights as a citizen, and, "knowing, dare maintain;" that he may also know his _duties_ as a citizen, and, knowing, may perform them intelligently and honestly. . that he may understand the sacredness of the right of suffrage, and aid in securing honest elections and honest discharge of official duties. . that he may better understand the history of his country, for the history of the united states is largely the history of our political institutions. . oral instruction.--there is no child in your school too young to learn something of geography, of history, and of civil government. these three subjects are so closely related that it is easier and better to teach them together. all pupils not prepared for the text-book should, at least on alternate days, be instructed by the teacher in a series of familiar talks, beginning with "the family," and proceeding slowly to "the school," "the civil district or township," "the county," "the state," and "the united states." in this system of oral instruction, which is the best possible preparation for the formal study of civil government, the plan and outlines of this book may be used by the teacher with both profit and pleasure. . proper age for study of the text-book.--the plan and the style of this book are so simple that the subject will be readily understood by pupils reading in the "fourth reader." even in our ungraded country schools the average pupil of twelve years is well prepared to begin the study of the text-book in civil government. it is a serious mistake to postpone this much neglected subject until a later age. let it be introduced early, that the child's knowledge of his government may "grow with his growth, and strengthen with his strength." . two parts.--it will be observed that the book is divided into two parts: the former treating the subject concretely, the latter treating it abstractly. beginners should deal with things, not theories; hence, the abstract treatment of civil government is deferred until the pupil's mind is able to grasp it. for the same reason, definitions in the first part of the book are few and simple, the design of the author being to illustrate rather than to define; to lead the child to see, rather than to burden his mind with fine-spun statements that serve only to confuse. in an elaborate work for advanced students the method of treatment would, of course, be quite different. . topical method.--the subject of each paragraph is printed in bold-faced type, thus specially adapting the book to the topical method of recitation. this feature also serves as a guide to the pupil in the preparation of his lesson. . suggestive questions.--in deference to the best professional thought, the author has omitted all questions upon the text, knowing that every live teacher prefers to frame his own questions. the space usually allotted to questions upon the text is devoted to suggestive questions, intended to lead the pupil to think and to investigate for himself. the author sincerely hopes that the teacher will not permit the pupil to memorize the language of the book, but encourage him to express the thought in his own words. contents. chapter i. the family. introductory; definition; purposes; members; rights; duties; officers; powers; duties; responsibility; suggestive questions chapter ii. the school and school district. introductory; definition and purposes; formation; functions; members; children; rights; duties; parents; rights and duties; government; officers; appointment; duties; teacher; powers; duties; suggestive questions chapter iii. the civil district. introductory; civil unit defined; general classes; civil district; number; size; purposes; government; citizens; rights; duties; officers; justice of the peace; election; term of office; duties; constable; election; term of office; duties; suggestive questions chapter iv. the township, or town. introductory; formation; number; size; purposes; citizens; rights; duties; government; corporate power; officers; legislative department; people; trustees; executive department; clerk; treasurer; school directors; assessors; supervisors; constables; other officers; judicial department; justices; suggestive questions chapter v. the county. introductory; purposes; formation; area; county seat; government; corporate power; departments; officers; legislative department; county commissioners, or board of supervisors; executive department; county, attorney, or prosecuting attorney; county superintendent of schools; sheriff; treasurer; auditor; county clerk, or common pleas clerk; recorder, or register; surveyor; coroner; other officers; judicial department; county judge, or probate judge; suggestive questions chapter vi. municipal corporations--villages, boroughs, and cities. the village or borough; incorporation; government; officers; duties; the city; incorporation; wards; city institutions; finances; citizens; rights and duties; government; officers; duties; commission plan of city government; recall; suggestive questions chapter vii. the state introductory; definition; formation of original states; admission of new states; purposes; functions; institutions; citizens; rights; duties; constitution; formation and adoption; purposes; value; contents; bill of rights; suggestive questions chapter viii. the state--(_continued_). government departments; legislative department; qualifications; privileges; power; sessions; functions; forbidden powers; the senate; house of representatives; direct legislation; suggestive questions chapter ix. the state--(_continued_). executive department; governor; term; qualifications; powers; duties; lieutenant-governor; secretary of state; auditor; comptroller; treasurer; attorney-general; superintendent of public instruction; other officers; suggestive questions chapter x. the state--(_continued_). judicial department; purposes; supreme court; district, or circuit court; territories; executive department; legislative department; judicial department; representation in congress; laws; local affairs; purposes; hawaii and alaska; district of columbia; porto rico and the philippines; suggestive questions chapter xi. the united states. introductory; formation; form of government; purposes; functions; citizens; naturalization; rights; aliens; constitution; formation; necessity; amendment; departments; suggestive questions chapter xii. the united states--(_continued_). legislative department; congress; privileges of the houses; privileges and disabilities of members; powers of congress; forbidden powers; senate; house of representatives; the speaker; other officers; suggestive questions chapter xiii. the united states--(_continued_). executive department; president; qualifications; election; inauguration; official residence; dignity and responsibility; messages; duties and powers; cabinet; department of state; diplomatic service; consular service; treasury department; bureaus; war department; bureaus; military academy; navy department; naval academy; post-office department; bureaus; interior department; department of justice; of agriculture; of commerce; of labor; separate commissions; suggestive questions chapter xiv. the united states--(_continued_). judicial department; jurisdiction of u.s. courts; supreme court of the united states; jurisdiction; dignity; united states circuit courts of appeals; united states district court; court of customs appeals; court of claims; other courts; term of service; officers of courts; suggestive questions chapter xv. government. origin and necessity; for the people; kinds; forms of civil government; monarchy; aristocracy; democracy; suggestive questions chapter xvi. justice. rights and duties; relation of rights and duties; civil rights and duties; industrial rights and duties; social rights and duties; moral rights and duties; political rights and duties; suggestive questions chapter xvii. law and liberty. origin; kinds of law; courts; suits; judges; grand jury; trial jury; origin of juries; officers of courts; legal proceedings; suggestive questions chapter xviii. suffrage and elections. suffrage; importance; elections; methods of voting; officers of elections; bribery; suggestive questions chapter xix. the australian ballot system, origin; in the united states; principles; requirements; voting; advantages; forms of ballots; in louisville; in massachusetts; in indiana; suggestive questions chapter xx. parties and party machinery. origin; necessity; party machinery; committees; conventions; calling conventions; local and state conventions; national convention; platform; nominations; primary elections; caucuses; suggestive questions chapter xxi. legislation. bills; introduction; committees; reports; amendments; passage; suggestive questions chapter xxii. revenue and taxation. revenue; taxation; necessity of taxation; direct taxes; indirect taxes; customs or duties; internal revenue; suggestive questions constitution of the united states index elements of civil government part i. chapter i. the family. introductory.[ ]--people living in the united states owe respect and obedience to not less than four different governments; that is, to four forms of organized authority. they have duties, as citizens of a township or civil district, as citizens of a county, as citizens of some one of the states, and as citizens of the united states. all persons are, or have been, members of a family; some also live under a village or city government; and most children are subject to the government, of some school. many people in this country live under six governments--namely, the family, the township or civil district, the village or city, the county, the state, and the united states; while children who live in villages or cities, and attend school, are subject to seven different governments. these organizations are so closely related that the duties of the people as citizens of one do not conflict with their duties as citizens of the others. the better citizen a person is of one of these governments the better citizen he is of all governments under which he lives. definition.--each of us is a member of some family. we were born into the family circle, and our parents first taught us to obey. by insisting upon obedience, parents govern their children, and thus keep them from evil and from danger. the family, then, is a form of government, established for the good of the children themselves, and the first government that each of us must obey. purposes.--the family exists for the rearing and training of children, and for the happiness and prosperity of parents. all children need the comforts and restraints of home life. they are growing up to be citizens and rulers of the country, and should learn to rule by first learning to obey. the lessons of home prepare them for life and for citizenship. members. the members of the family are the father, the mother, and the children; and the family government exists for all, especially for the children, that they may be protected, guided, and taught to become useful men and women. the welfare of each and of all depends upon the family government, upon the care of the parents and the obedience of the children. rights.--the members have certain rights; that is, certain just claims upon the family. each has a right to all the care and protection that the family can give: a right to be kindly treated; a right to be spoken to in a polite manner; a right to food, clothing, shelter, and an opportunity to acquire an education; a right to the advice and warning of the older members; a right to the respect of all. duties.--as each of the members has his rights, each also has his duties; for where a right exists, a duty always exists with it. it is the duty of each to treat the others kindly; to teach them what is right and what is wrong; to aid them in their work; to comfort them in their sorrows; and to rejoice with them in their gladness. it is the duty of the children to love their parents; to obey them in all things; to respect older persons; and to abstain from bad habits and bad language. officers. the officers of the family government are the father and the mother. they were made officers when they were married, so that the rulers of the family are also members of the family. the office of a parent is a holy office, and requires wisdom for the proper discharge of its duties. powers.--the parents have power to make rules, to decide when these have been broken, and to insist that they shall be obeyed. they make the law of the family, enforce the law, and explain the law. they have supreme control over their children in all the usual affairs of life, until the children arrive at the legal age--twenty-one years. duties, responsibility.--parents should be firm and just in their rulings; they should study the welfare of their children, and use every effort to train them to lives of usefulness and honor. it is the duty of parents to provide their children with food, clothing, shelter, and the means of acquiring an education. there is no other responsibility so great as the responsibility of fathers and mothers. they are responsible for themselves, and the law makes them partly responsible for the conduct of their children. therefore, one of the highest duties of a parent to his children is to exact obedience in all right things, in order that the children may be trained to true manhood and womanhood. [ ]to the teacher--do not assign to the average class more than two or three pages of the text as a lesson. make haste slowly. when each chapter is completed let it be reviewed at once, while the pupil's interest is fresh. see that the "suggestive questions" at the end of the chapter are not neglected. if necessary, devote special lessons to their consideration. assign the "questions" to the members of the class, to be answered on the following day, giving not more than two "questions" to any pupil. suggestive questions. . name some of the restraints of home life. . why does the welfare of all depend upon the family government? . why do rights and duties always exist together? . name some bad habits. . why should children abstain from bad habits? . what is true manhood? . are disobedient children apt to make good citizens? . should a father permit his bad habits to be adopted by his children? chapter ii. the school. introductory.--when children reach the age of six or seven years, they enter the public school and become subject to its rules. we are born under government, and we are educated under it. we are under it at home, in school, and in after life. law and order are everywhere necessary to the peace, safety, liberty, and' happiness of the people. true liberty and true enlightenment can not exist unless regulated by law. definition and purposes.--a school district or sub-district is a certain portion of the town or county laid off and set apart for the purpose of establishing and maintaining a public school. it exists for educational reasons only, and is the unit of educational work. the public schools are supported by funds raised partly by the state, and partly by the county or the township. they are frequently called common schools or free schools. it is the duty of the state to provide all children with the means of acquiring a plain english education, and the state discharges this duty by dividing the county into districts of such size that a school-house and a public school arc within reach of every child. formation.--the limits of the school district are usually fixed by the chief school officer of the county, by the town, by the school board, or by the people living in the neighborhood. in most of the states districts vary greatly in size and shape; but in some of the states they have a regular form, each being about two miles square. functions.--the functions, or work, of the school are solely educational. the state supports a system of public schools in order that the masses of the people may be educated. the country needs good citizens: to be good citizens the people must be intelligent, and to be intelligent they must attend school. members. the members of the school district are the people living in it. all are interested, one way or another, in the success of the school. in most states the legal voters elect the school board, or trustees, and in some states levy the district school taxes. those who are neither voters nor within the school age are interested in the intelligence and good name of the community, and are therefore interested in the public school. children.--the children within the-school age are the members of the school, and they are the most important members of the school district. it is for their good that the school exists. the state has provided schools in order that its children may be educated, and thus become useful men and women and good citizens. rights.--children, as members of the school, have important rights and duties. it is the right, one of the highest rights, of every child to attend the full session of the public school. whoever prevents him from exercising this right commits an offense against the child and against the state. the state taxes its citizens to maintain a system of schools for the benefit of every child, and so every child has a right to all the state has provided for him. duties.--as it is the right, it is also the duty of all children to attend the full session of the public school, or of some other equally good. they should be regular and punctual in their attendance; they should yield prompt and cheerful obedience to the school government, and try to avail themselves of all advantages that the school can give. as it is the duty of the state to offer a plain english education to every child, so it is the duty of all children to make the most of all means the state has provided for their education. parents, their rights and duties.--all parents have the right to send their children to the public school, and it is also their duty to patronize the public school, or some other equally as good. fathers and mothers who deprive their children of the opportunities of acquiring an education do them lasting injury. parents should use every effort to give their children at least the best education that can be obtained in the public schools. government. the school has rules to govern it, that the pupil may be guided, directed, and protected in the pursuit of knowledge. schools can not work without order, and there can be no order without government. the members of the school desire that good order be maintained, for they know their success depends upon it; so that school, government, like all other good government, exists by the consent and for the good of the governed. officers.--the school, like all other governments, has its officers. these are the school board, or trustees, and the teacher. they are responsible for the government and good conduct of the school. there are, in most governments, three kinds of officers, corresponding to the three departments of government--the legislative, the judicial, and the executive. the legislative department of the government makes the laws, the judicial department explains them, and the executive department executes them. school officers are mostly executive; that is, their chief duties are to enforce the laws made by the legislature for the government of the public schools. as they also make rules for the school, their duties are partly legislative. appointment, term of office.--the district officers are usually elected by the legal voters of the school district; but in some states they are appointed by the county superintendent, or county school commissioner as he is often called. in most states the term of office is three years, but in some it is two years, and in others it is only one year. trustees or directors usually receive no pay for their services. duties.--in most states it is the duty of the district officers to raise money by levying taxes for the erection of school-buildings, and to superintend their construction; to purchase furniture and apparatus; to care for the school property; to employ teachers and fix their salaries; to visit the school and direct its work; to take the school census; and to make reports to the higher school officers. in some states, as in indiana, most of these duties belong to the office of township trustee. the teacher.--the teacher is usually employed by the directors or trustees, but in some states he is employed by the township trustee or by the county superintendent. he must first pass an examination before an examiner, or board of examiners, and obtain therefrom a certificate or license entitling him to teach in the public schools. powers.--the teacher has the same power and right to govern the school that the parent has to govern the family. the law puts the teacher in the parent's place and expects him to perform the parent's office, subject to the action of the directors or trustees. it clothes him with all power necessary to govern the school, and then holds him responsible for its conduct, the directors having the right to dismiss him at any time for a failure to perform his duty. duties.--the teacher is one of our most important officers. the state has confided to him the trust of teaching, of showing boys and girls how to be useful men and women, of training them for citizenship. this is a great work to do. the state has clothed him with ample power for the purpose, and it is his duty to serve the state faithfully and well. the teacher should govern kindly and firmly. every pupil in school, of whatever age or size, owes him cheerful and ready obedience. it is his duty, the duty for which he is paid, to insist upon this obedience; to govern the school; to teach the pupils to obey while they are children, in order that they may rule well when they become rulers; that is, when they become citizens. suggestive questions. . why are law and order necessary to the peace and happiness of the people? . why are public schools sometimes called free schools or common schools? . about how many square miles are there in a school district in this county? . what is the official title, and what the name, of the chief school officer of this county? . why does the state want its people educated? . why should children be regular and punctual in their attendance? . what can parents do to aid their children to acquire an education? . what number of directors do you think would be best for the school district? why? . should directors receive compensation? how much? . why should the teacher pass an examination? . should he be examined every year? . why does the law place the teacher in the parent's place? . why are citizens said to be rulers? question for debate. _resolved_, that it is right for a man without children to pay school taxes. chapter iii. the civil district. introductory.--in our study, thus far, we have had to do with special forms of government as exercised in the family and in the school. these are, in a sense, peculiar to themselves. the rights of government as administered in the family, and the rights of the members of a family, as well as their duties to each other, are natural rights and duties; they do not depend upon society for their force. in fact, they are stronger and more binding in proportion as the bands of society are relaxed. in the primitive state, before there was organized civil society, family government was supreme; and likewise, if a family should remove from within the limits of civil society and be entirely isolated, family government would again resume its power and binding force. school government, while partaking of the nature of civil government, is still more closely allied to family government. in the natural state, and in the isolated household, the education of the child devolves upon the parents, and the parent delegates a part of his natural rights and duties to the teacher when he commits the education of his child to the common school. the teacher is said to stand _in loco parentis_ (in the place of the parent), and from this direction, mainly, are his rights of government derived. the school, therefore, stands in an intermediate position between family government and civil government proper, partaking of some features of each, and forming a sort of stepping-stone for the child from the natural restraints of home to the more complex demands of civil society. the school district, also, while partaking of the nature of a civil institution, is in many respects to be regarded as a co-operative organization of the families of the neighborhood for the education of their children, and its government as a co-operative family government. the civil unit defined. in nearly every part of the united states there is a unit of civil society in which the people exercise many of the powers of government at first hand. this civil unit is variously named in the different states, and its first organization may have been for some minor purpose; but it has grown to be an important sphere of government in many states, and throughout the entire country it is the primary school of the citizen and the voter. there are many different names by which this civil unit is known. in the state of mississippi it is called the _beat_, and this name is no doubt derived from the original purpose of the organization, as the jurisdiction of a watchman or constable. in delaware it is called the _hundred_, which is the old english subdivision of a county, supposed to contain one hundred families, or one hundred men able to bear arms in the public service. in the new england states, in new york, and in wisconsin it is called the _town_, from the old anglo-saxon civil unit, which antedates the settlement of england by its saxon invaders, and is probably older than the christian era. in arkansas, indiana, iowa, kansas, michigan, minnesota, missouri, montana, new jersey, the carolinas, ohio, pennsylvania, and parts of illinois, nebraska, and the dakotas, it is called the _township_, only a variation of name from the "town," and having the same origin. in california it is called the _judicial township_, and in parts of the dakotas it is called the _school township_. in alabama, colorado, florida, idaho, oregon, utah, washington, and parts of illinois and nebraska, it is called the _election precinct_, from the fact that it was the subdivision made for the convenience of voters. in georgia it is called the _militia district_, from the fact that each subdivision furnished a certain proportionate number of men for the militia service of the state. in kentucky, virginia, and west virginia, it is called the _magisterial district_, from the fact that it was constituted as the limit of the jurisdiction of a local magistrate. in louisiana it is called the _police jury ward_, perhaps for the reason that from each one of these subdivisions a warden was elected to administer the parish government. in maryland and wyoming it is called the _election district_, from the fact that it was the subdivision made for the convenience of voters. in tennessee it is called the _civil district_--probably, next to "town" or "township," the most fitting name for the smallest subdivision of civil government. in texas it is called the _justice's precinct_, as being the limit of a justice's jurisdiction. in some of the new england states, also, districts which have not the entire town organization are provisionally called _plantations_ or _grants_, being subject to the administration, in some local affairs, of other towns. but under whatever name the civil unit may exist, it is the primary seat of government. in many cases the original reason for the name has disappeared, while the character of the government has greatly changed, and been modified and developed from the first crude forms. three general classes.--as a result, there are at present but three general classes into which we need subdivide the civil unit in the various states: these are the _civil district_, which would include the "beat," "hundred," "election precinct," "militia district," and numerous other classes, embracing about one half the states of the union; the _town_, which has its fullest development in the new england states; and the _township_, which in some states has nearly the full development of a new england town, while in other states it has a looser organisation, approximating the civil district of the southern and southwestern states. the civil district, proper. we shall treat of the various forms of the civil unit which we have classed under the general name of civil district before we speak of the town and the township, because they are simpler and much less developed, and therefore naturally constitute the simplest form of the civil unit. number, size.--in number and size, civil districts vary widely in different states and in different counties of the same state. there are rarely less than five or more than twelve districts to the county. purposes.--the division of the county into districts, each with its own court of law, brings justice to the people's doors. it secures officers to every part of the county, thus affording better means for the punishment of crimes. it provides a speedy trial for minor offences and minor suits. it aids the higher courts by relieving them of a multitude of small cases. as each district has one or more polling-places, it secures convenience to the electors in casting their votes. government.--the functions of the civil district arc judicial and executive, and lie within a narrow range. its government possesses no legislative or corporate power whatever; it can not make a single law, however unimportant. within a narrow jurisdiction or sphere, it applies the law to particular cases, and this is the chief purpose for its existence. whenever the civil unit possesses more powers than are herein set forth, it is more properly described under the township in the next chapter, no matter what name it may go by locally. citizens. the citizens of the civil district are the people residing within it. it exists for their benefit, that they may be secure in life, liberty, and property. in a certain sense they constitute the district, since its government concerns them directly, and others only remotely. rights.--all citizens have a right to the full and equal protection of the laws. each has a right to be secure in his person and property; to demand that the peace be preserved; to do all things according to his own will, provided he does not trespass upon the rights of others. no one in the family, in the school, in the civil district, in the county, in the state, or in the nation, has the right to do or say any thing which interferes with the life, liberty, property, or happiness of another. any act which interferes with the rights of others is an offence against the common good and against the law. it is chiefly for the prevention and punishment of these unlawful acts that the civil district exists, with its court and its officers. all legal voters of the district have the right to participate in its government by exercising a free choice in the selection of its officers, except in states where these officers are appointed. they have the right to cast their votes without fear or favor. this is one of the most important and sacred rights that freemen possess. free government can not exist without it. the law guarantees it, and all the power of the state may be employed to maintain it. therefore, whoever prevents a voter from exercising the right of suffrage does it at his own peril. duties.--as the citizens of the civil district have rights, they also have corresponding duties. as they may demand protection and the preservation of the peace, so it is their duty to obey the law and assist the officers in its enforcement, in order that the same protection may be extended to the whole people. each should abstain from acts that injure others, and render cheerful aid to all in securing their rights through the law. all qualified voters have the right, and it is also their duty, to vote. the voters elect the officers of the district, and are therefore its rulers. when they fail to vote, they fail to rule--fail in their duty to the people and to themselves. the duty to vote implies the duty to vote right, to vote for good men and for good measures. therefore, citizens should study their duty as voters, that they may elect honest, capable, faithful officers, and support the parties and principles that will best promote the good of the country? every one should study his political duty with the best light that he can obtain, decide what is right, and then vote his sentiments honestly and fearlessly. if the district has good government, the voters deserve the credit; if it has bad government, the voters deserve the blame. officers. the officers of the district are the justices of the peace and the constable. in some states there is only one justice to each district, in other states there are two, and in others there are three. justice of the peace.--the office of justice of the peace is one of dignity and importance. justices can render great service to society by the proper discharge of their duties. they may have much to do with enforcing the law, and therefore the best men should be elected to this office. election, term of office.--justices of the peace are usually elected by the qualified voters of the district. in some states the governor appoints them. the term of office is two, three, four, or even seven years, varying in different states. duties.--the duties of justices of the peace are principally judicial, and their jurisdiction extends throughout the county. upon the sworn statement of the person making complaint, they issue warrants for the arrest of offenders. with the aid of juries, they hold court for the trial of minor offences--such as the breach of the peace--punishable by fine or brief imprisonment. they sometimes try those charged with higher crimes, and acquit; or, if the proof is sufficient, remand the accused to trial by a higher court. this is called an examining trial. they try civil suits where the amount involved does not exceed a fixed amount--fifty dollars in some states, and one hundred dollars in others--and prevent crime by requiring reckless persons to give security to keep the peace. justices sometimes preside, instead of the coroner, at inquests, and in some states they have important duties as officers of the county. constable, election, term of office.--there is usually one constable--in some states more--in each civil district. constables, like the justices, are elected in most states; but in some they are appointed. the term of office is usually the same as that of the justice in the same state. duties.--the constable is termed a ministerial officer because it is his duty to minister to, or wait upon, the justice's court. he serves warrants, writs, and other processes of the justice, and sometimes those of higher courts. he preserves the public peace, makes arrests for its violation, and in some states collects the taxes apportioned to his civil district. suggestive questions. . in what respect does civil government differ from family or school government? . why does the government of the civil district concern its people directly and others remotely? . what is meant by the civil unit? by what names is it known in the various states? . what are the three general classes under which the civil unit may be considered? . why can not free government exist without the right to vote? . why should the people try to secure their rights through the law? . what is the purpose of the subdivision of a county into districts? . define in general terms the rights and duties of the citizens of civil districts. . by what other names are justices of the peace sometimes called? . why is the jurisdiction of a justice's court limited? . who are the justices of this civil district? . when elected, and what is their term of office? . who is constable of this district? question for debate. _resolved_, that the government of the civil district should have a legislative department. chapter iv. the township or town. introduction.--we have learned that in the southern states the civil unit under various names may be described under the common name of the civil district; that in the new england states it is called the town, and in many of the western states it is known as the township. as the powers and functions of the town and the township are the same in kind, differing only in extent, and as the two names are so often used, the one for the other, we shall consider both under the head of the township. as a rule, the township possesses more extensive governmental functions in the eastern than in the western states, and in the west it possesses functions much more extensive than those of the civil district in the south. many of the most important powers that belong to the county in the southern states belong to the township in the eastern and the western states. formation.--in the eastern states the townships were formed in the first settlement of the country, and afterward a number of townships were combined to form the county. in the western states the townships were surveyed, and their boundaries marked, by agents of the general government, before the territories became states of the union. as a natural result, the townships of the eastern states are irregular in shape and size, while those of the western states have a regular form, each being about six miles square. in the western states the township is usually composed of thirty-six sections, each section being one mile square, and containing six hundred and forty acres of land. purposes.--it is an old and true maxim that government should be brought as near the people as possible. this the township system does. in our country all power resides in the people, and the township provides a convenient means of ascertaining their wishes and of executing their will. the farther away the government, the less will be the people's power; the nearer the government, the greater will be the people's power. the township system enables each community to attend to its own local affairs--a work which no other agency can do so well--to remove readily and speedily its local public grievances, and to obtain readily and speedily its local public needs. citizens. the citizens of the township are the people living in it, whether native or foreigners who have become citizens. it exists for their benefit, to afford them a means of securing their rights and of redressing their wrongs. it is these persons that the law has in view when setting forth the privileges and immunities of citizenship. rights.--all citizens of the township arc entitled to enjoy the rights of "life, liberty, property, and the pursuit of happiness." the township government exists for the purpose of securing these rights to the people. all have equal claims to the fullest protection of the law. they may use their own property as they choose, and do whatever pleases them, so long as they do not interfere with the rights of others. whenever one's act, speech, or property interferes with the rights of others, he falls under the censure of the law and becomes subject to its penalty. all male inhabitants born in the united states, and foreigners who have become citizens, who have resided within the state, county, and township the time required by law, are entitled to vote at all township, county, state, and national elections. several states require ability to read, or the payment of poll-tax, as a qualification to vote; a few permit the subjects of foreign countries to vote; and in some states women are permitted to vote in school elections or in all elections. lunatics, idiots, paupers, and persons convicted of certain high crimes are disfranchised; that is, are not permitted to vote. the right of suffrage is one of great power and value, being the basis of all free government, and is jealously guarded by the laws of the land. duties.--the people have extensive rights and they have equally extensive duties. each citizen has rights that others must respect. it is the duty of each to observe and regard the rights of all other persons; and when he does not, the law interferes by its officers and deprives him of his own rights by fine or imprisonment, and in some instances by a still more severe penalty. it is the duty of the people to love and serve the country; to be good citizens; to labor for the public good; to obey the law, and to assist the officers in its enforcement. it is the duty of the qualified voters to give the township good government by electing good officers. a vote cast for a bad man or a bad measure is an attack upon the rights of every person in the community. the power of suffrage is held for the public good; but it is used for the public injury when incompetent or unfaithful men are elected to office. good government and the happiness and prosperity of the country depend upon an honest and intelligent vote. government. the township government possesses legislative, judicial, and executive functions. it has a legislative department to make local laws, a judicial department to apply the laws to particular cases, and an executive department to enforce these and other laws. the three functions are of nearly equal prominence in the eastern states, but in the west the executive function is more prominent than the legislative and the judicial. corporate power.--each township is a corporation; that is, in any business affair it may act as a single person. in its corporate capacity it can sue and be sued; borrow money; buy, rent, and sell property for public purposes. when it is said that the township possesses these powers, it is meant that the people of the township, acting as a single political body, possess them. officers.--the officers of the township are more numerous, and their functions are more extensive than those of the civil district. many officers are the same in name, and others have the same duties as those of the county in the southern states. legislative department; the people.--in the eastern states the legislative department of the township government has more extensive functions than in the west. in the new england states most local affairs belong to the township government, and the county is of minor importance. in these and a few other states the people make their own local laws instead of delegating this power to representatives. the electors of the township meet annually at a fixed place, upon a day appointed by law, discuss questions of public concern, elect the township officers, levy township taxes, make appropriations of money for public purposes, fix the salaries and hear the reports of officers, and decide upon a course of action for the coming year. thus the people themselves, or more strictly speaking, the qualified voters, are the government. in some states special town meetings may be called for special purposes. the town meeting places local public affairs under the direct control of the people, and thus gives them a personal interest in the government, and makes them feel a personal responsibility for its acts. another benefit of the system is that it trains the people to deal with political matters, and so prepares them to act intelligently in all the affairs of the state and the nation. in the western states the county government is more important, and township legislation is confined to a narrow range. in power and importance the township of most western states is intermediate between the town of the east and the civil district of the south. selectmen or trustees.--the legislative power of the township is vested in the trustees, town council, or selectmen, as they are variously termed. the number of trustees or selectmen is not the same in all parts of the union, being fixed at three in most states of the west, and varying in new england with the wishes of the electors. the trustees, councilmen, or selectmen are elected by the qualified voters of the township for a term of one, two, or three years, varying in different states. they are the legal guardians of the public interests of the township, and make laws or ordinances, sometimes called by-laws, expressly pertaining to the local wants of the community, and to a limited extent may levy taxes. in some states, especially those of the east, the principal duties of the trustees or selectmen are executive. they divide the township into road districts; open roads on petition; select jurors; build and repair bridges and town halls, where the expenditure is small; act as judges of elections; purchase and care for cemeteries; have charge of the poor not in the county charge; and act for the township in its corporate capacity. if any thing goes wrong in the public affairs of the town, complaint is made to these officers. executive department.--most of the public affairs of the township, as well as of all other governments, pertain to the executive department. its duties are far more extensive, and its officers are more numerous, than those of the other departments. the executive officers of the township are the clerk, the treasurer, the school directors, the assessor, the supervisors, and the constables. in most states all these officers are elected by the qualified voters; but in some the clerk, the treasurer, and the constables are elected by the town council. clerk.--the clerk of the township is clerk of the trustees, council, or selectmen, and in some states of the school board. he attends the meetings of the trustees, and makes a careful record of the proceedings. he keeps the poll-lists and other legal papers of the township, administers oaths, and notifies officers of their election. in the new england states, and some others, he keeps a record of the marriages, births, and deaths, calls the town meeting to order, reads the warrant under which it is held, presides until a moderator is chosen, and then acts as clerk of the meeting. treasurer.--taxes collected from the people for local purposes are paid to the treasurer. he receives all fines, forfeitures, and license-fees paid to the township. he is the keeper of the township funds, giving bond for the faithful performance of his duties, and pays out money upon the written order of the trustees, attested by the clerk. in some states, as in new york, there is no separate township treasurer, the above and other duties being performed by the supervisor, who is the chief officer of the township. school directors.--the school directors have charge of the public schools of the township. the number of directors varies widely, being usually three, five, or more. in a few of the states, the clerks of the district trustees constitute the township school directors, or township board of education. the directors levy taxes for school purposes, visit and inspect the public schools, adopt text-books, regulate the order of studies and length of the term, fix salaries, purchase furniture and apparatus, and make reports to the higher school officers. in some states they examine teachers and grant certificates to teach. in many states a part of these duties falls to the county superintendent. assessor.--the assessor makes a list of the names of all persons subject to taxation, estimates the value of their real and personal property, assesses a tax thereon, and in some states delivers this list to the auditor, and in others to the collector of taxes. in most states there, is also a poll-tax of from one to three dollars, sometimes more, laid upon all male inhabitants more than twenty-one years of age. in some states there are two or more assessors to the township, and in others real estate is valued only once in ten years. commissioners, or surveyors of highways, have charge of the construction and repair of highways, summon those subject to labor on the road, and direct their work. supervisor.--in some states the chief executive duties of the town fall upon the supervisor, but his principal duties are rather as a member of the county board of supervisors. constables.--constables are ministerial and police officers. there are usually two or three in each township. they wait upon the justice's court, and are subject to his orders. they preserve the public peace, serve warrants and other processes, and in some states act as collectors of taxes. collector, etc.--in some states the township has a collector and three or more auditors. they are usually elected by the trustees, or council, but in a few of the states they are elected by the town meeting. the collector collects the township taxes, giving bond for the faithful performance of his duties. in order to secure honesty and efficiency in public office, and to exhibit the financial condition of the township, the auditors annually examine the books of the treasurer and the collector, and publish a report showing the receipts and expenditures of public money. in a few states the township has a field-driver and a pound-keeper, whose respective duties are to take stray animals to the pound, an enclosure kept for the purpose, and to retain them with good care until the owner is notified and pays all expenses; two or more fence-viewers, who decide disputes about fences; surveyors of lumber, who measure and mark lumber offered for sale; and sealers, who test and certify weights and measures used in trade. these officers are usually appointed by the selectmen. judicial department; justices.--the judicial power is vested in the justices, who are elected by the qualified voters of the town. there are usually two or three justices, but in some states there is only one in each township. the term of office is one, two, three, four, or more years, varying in different states. justices preside in the justice's court to hear and determine suits at law. "this is the humblest court in the land, the court of greatest antiquity, and the court upon which all other courts are founded."[ ] the justice's court tries petty offences and civil suits for small amounts. in some states the justices preside at the town meetings, and in others they perform the duties of coroner in the township. [ ]thorpe's _civil government_. suggestive questions. . has this state the township system? if so, give the name and number of your township. . how does the township system provide a convenient means of ascertaining and of executing the people's will? . why is the people's power greater when the government is near? . why can the community manage its own affairs better than any other agency can manage them? . how do people secure their rights? . what is meant by falling under the censure of the law? . what is a naturalized person? . is it right for subjects of foreign governments to vote? why? . is it right for women to vote? . why is suffrage the basis of all free government? . what is a more severe penalty than imprisonment? . how can people serve the country? . what is a good citizen? . why is a bad vote an attack on the rights of the people? . what other laws than those made by the legislative department of the township does the executive department enforce? . how do you like the new england town meeting? why? . name some duties that belong to the executive department. . what is a poll-list? . what are the duties of judges of election? . of what use is a record of marriages, births, and deaths? . what is meant by license-fees? . what persons are subject to taxation? . what is a poll-tax, and is it right? why? . who are subject to road duty in this state? . give the names of the officers of this township. question for debate. _resolved_, that the town meeting is the best system of local government yet devised. chapter v the county. intruductory.--the county is a political division of the state, and is composed of civil districts or of townships. it bears the name of county in all parts of the country except in louisiana, where a similar organization is known as a parish. in new england the county has less power than the town; in the western states it has more than the township; and in the southern states it has far more than the civil district, being there the unit of political influence. purposes.--the county organization brings justice near the people, enables them to attend to local affairs too extensive for a smaller community, and affords a medium by which they may transact business with the state. it serves as a convenient basis of apportioning members of the legislature among the people. it maintains local officers, such as sheriff and prosecuting attorney, whose duties would be too narrow if confined to a township. it secures a competent and higher tribunal than the justice's court for the trial of suits at law. this was the original purpose, and is still the controlling reason for the division of the states into counties. formation, area.--counties are formed, their rights are conferred, and their duties imposed, by act of the state legislature. in most states counties vary greatly in shape and size, but in some of the western states they have a regular form. the average area of counties in the united states is eight hundred and thirty square miles; the average area of those east of the mississippi river is only three hundred and eighty square miles. county seat.--the county government resides at the county seat, county town, or shire town, as it is variously called. the court-house, the jail, the public offices, and sometimes other county buildings are located at the county seat. here are kept the records of the courts; also, usually copies of the deeds, wills, mortgages, and other important papers of the people. county government. the county, like the united states, the state, and the township, has a republican form of government; that is, it is governed by representatives elected by the people. in nearly all states the county government has three departments, legislative, executive, and judicial; but the functions of making, of executing, and of explaining the laws, are not always kept separate and distinct. in a few states the county does not have a judicial department. officers.--county officers and township officers have duties similar in kind, but the former have charge of the larger interests. the usual officers of the county are the commissioners or supervisors, the county attorney or prosecuting attorney, the county superintendent of schools or school commissioner, the sheriff, the treasurer, the auditor, the county clerk or common pleas clerk, the surveyor, the coroner, and the county judge and surrogate, or probate judge. in the counties of many states one or more of these officers are lacking, and others have different names from those here given. in the western and the southern states county officers are elected by the direct vote of the people; in most of the new england states some of them are chosen in other ways. the terms of county officers vary in different parts of the union, being usually two, three, or four years; but in some states certain officers are elected for a longer term. legislative department: county commissioners, or board of supervisors.--in most states the public interests of the county are intrusted to a board of officers, three or five in number, called county commissioners. in some states the board consists of one or more supervisors from each township, and is called the board of supervisors. in a few states the board consists of all the justices of the county, with the county judge as presiding officer. the county commissioners, or board of supervisors, have charge of the county property, such as the court-house, the jail, and the county infirmary; make orders and raise funds for the erection of county buildings, and for the construction and improvement of highways and bridges; provide polling-places; make appropriations of money for public purposes; and act as the chief agents of the county in its corporate capacity. in some states they fix the salaries of county officers; in others they have power to form new townships and to change the township boundaries. in several states the functions of the board are almost wholly executive. executive department: county attorneys, or prosecutin attorneys.--the county attorney, or prosecuting attorney, is the county's counsellor at law, and when requested gives legal advice to all the county officers. it is his duty to prosecute the accused in the trial of crimes and offences, in the justice's court, the county court, and in some states in the circuit court or district court; to represent the county in all civil suits to which it is a party; and to act for it in all cases in which its legal interests are involved. county superindentent of schools.--in some states there is no county superintendent of schools. in most states there is such an officer elected by the township school directors or by the people of the county, or appointed by the state superintendent of public instruction. in a few states the county is divided into two or more districts, each having a commissioner of schools. the county superintendent, or school commissioner, is the chief school officer of the county. he administers the public school system, condemns unfit school-houses and orders others built, examines teachers and grants certificates, holds teachers' institutes, visits and directs the schools, instructs teachers in their duties, interests the people in education, and reports the condition of the schools to the state superintendent of public instruction. he is one of the most important officers of the county, a capable administration of his duties being of the greatest benefit to the whole people. sheriff.--"the sheriff is the guardian of the peace of the county and the executive officer of its courts."[ ] he preserves the peace, arrests persons charged with crime, serves writs and other processes in both civil and criminal cases, makes proclamation of all elections, summons jurors, and ministers to the courts of his county. in states having no county jailer, the sheriff has charge of the prisons and prisoners, and is responsible for their safe-keeping. when persons refuse to pay their taxes, he seizes and sells enough property to pay the sum assessed; and in some states he is the collector of all state and county revenue. county treasurer.--the duties of the treasurer are indicated by the title of his office. he receives all county taxes, licenses, and other money paid into the county treasury. in most states he is custodian of the county's financial records, and of the tax-collector's books, and in others he collects all the taxes assessed in the county. he gives bond for the faithful performance of his duties, and pays out funds upon the warrant of the county commissioners. in most states having no county treasurer, the sheriff is keeper of the public money. auditor.--the auditor is the guardian of the county's financial interests. he examines the books and papers of officers who receive or disburse county funds; keeps a record of receipts and expenditures; draws all warrants for the payment of public money; and publishes a report of the county's financial transactions. in some states he receives the assessor's returns, apportions taxes among the people, and prepares the tax-collector's duplicate list. in states having no county auditor, these duties are performed by other officers. county clerk, or common pleas clerk.--the county clerk, or common pleas clerk, is the recording officer of the county court, or probate court, and in some states of the circuit court. he issues writs, preserves papers, and records judgments. in many states he issues licenses, preserves election returns, and records wills, deeds, mortgages, and other important papers. recorder, or register.--in many states the county has a recorder, or register, instead of the county clerk, and in some states it has both. the recorder, or register, makes a record in books kept for that purpose, of wills, deeds, mortgages, village plats, and powers of attorney. some of these instruments must be recorded in order to make them valid in law. in some states having no recorder, these duties are performed by the township clerk, and in others by the county clerk. surveyor.--the county surveyor, or engineer, surveys tracts of land to locate lines, determine areas, and to settle conflicting claims. in some states his services are frequently needed in the transfer of real estate. in most states he makes plots of surveys, issues maps of the county, and has charge of the construction of roads and bridges. coroner.--the coroner investigates the death of persons who have died by violence, or in prison, or from causes unknown. he receives notice of the death; a jury is summoned; witnesses testify; and the jury renders a verdict in writing, stating the cause and the manner of the death. this inquiry is known as the coroner's inquest. in some states when the office of sheriff is vacant, the coroner performs the duties. other officers.--in some states there are superintendents of the poor, or infirmary directors, who have charge of the county infirmary in which the dependent poor are maintained; in others the township overseers of the poor support these unfortunates with funds furnished for that purpose by the county. in some states there is a collector who collects all the taxes of the county; a county jailer who holds prisoners in custody and has charge of the county buildings, under the commissioners' directions; and also a circuit clerk, or district clerk, who is the recording officer of the circuit court, or district court as it is often called. judicial department: county judge or probate judge.--the judicial power of the county is vested in the county judge, or probate judge, who in many states is its most prominent and important officer. he has jurisdiction of wills and estates, appoints administrators and guardians, and settles their accounts. in many states he grants licenses; presides over the legislative body of the county; makes orders opening roads and appointing overseers of the public highway: appoints officers of elections; holds examining trials; sits in the county court to try minor offences and civil suits for small amounts; and in a few states acts as county superintendent of schools. in some states there is a probate judge, or judge of the orphan's court, in addition to the county judge. [ ]thorpe's _civil government_. suggestive questions. . what is meant by unit of political influence? . what affairs are too extensive for a smaller community than the county? . why is the county seat so called? . state the terms and the names of the officers of this county. . why do the officers of the county need legal advice? . what is meant by the sheriff administering to the courts? . what are licenses? . of what use is the treasurer's bond? . what is the collector's duplicate list? . what is a writ? . what is the plot of a survey? . what is a will? an administrator? . what is an examining trial? . do you think the county judge or probate judge should act as superintendent of schools? why? question for debate. _resolved_, that a poll-tax is unjust. chapter vi. municipal corporations. villages, boroughs, and cities.--the county usually has within its limits villages or cities, organized under separate and distinct governments. when the people become so thickly settled that the township and county government do not meet their local public wants, the community is incorporated as a village. villages are often called towns, and incorporated as such, especially in the southern states; but the word taken in this sense must not be confounded with the same word, denoting a political division of the county in new england, new york, and wisconsin. the village, or borough. incorporation.--in most states, villages, boroughs, and towns are incorporated under general laws made by the state legislature. a majority of the legal voters living within the proposed limits must first vote in favor of the proposition to incorporate. in some states, villages are incorporated by special act of the legislature. government purposes.--the purposes of the village or borough government are few in number, and lie within a narrow limit. it is a corporate body, having the usual corporate powers. under the village organization, local public works, such as streets, sidewalks, and bridges, are maintained more readily and in better condition than under the government, of the township and county. the presence of the village officers tends to preserve the peace and make crime less frequent. officers.--the usual officers of the village or borough are the trustees or councilmen, whose duties are mostly legislative; the marshal, and sometimes a president or mayor; a collector and a treasurer, whose duties are executive; and the recorder, or police judge, or justices of the peace, whose duties are judicial. the officers are usually elected by the legal voters, and serve for a term of one or two years. in many villages the president and the collector are elected by the trustees, the former from among their own number. duties.--the trustees or council pass laws, called _ordinances_, relating to streets, fast driving, lamps, water-works, the police system, public parks, public health, and the public buildings. they appoint minor officers, such as clerk, regular and special policemen, keeper of the cemetery, and fire-wardens; prescribe the duties, and fix the compensation of these officers. the president or mayor is the chief executive officer, and is charged with seeing that the laws are enforced. in villages having no president or mayor, this duty devolves upon the trustees. the marshal is a ministerial officer, with the same duties and often the same jurisdiction as the constable, and is sometimes known by that name. he preserves the peace, makes arrests, serves processes, and waits upon the recorder's court. the collector collects the village taxes. the treasurer receives all village funds, and pays out money upon the order of the trustees. the recorder or police judge tries minor offences, such as breach of the peace, and holds examining trials of higher crimes. his jurisdiction is usually equal to that of justices of the peace in the same state. in some states the village has two justices of the peace instead of the recorder, these being also officers of the county. the city. when the village, borough, or town becomes so large that its government does not meet the people's local public needs, it is incorporated as a city. where the country is sparsely settled the peace is seldom broken, private interests do not conflict, the people's public needs are small, and therefore the functions of government are few and light. as the population grows dense, the public peace is oftener disturbed, crime increases, disputes about property arise, the public needs become numerous and important, and the officers of the law must interfere to preserve order and protect the people. the fewer the people to the square mile, the fewer and lighter are the functions of government; the more people to the square mile, the more and stronger must be the functions of government. incorporation.--cities and villages or boroughs differ principally in size and in the scope of their corporate authority. a city is larger in area and population, and the powers and privileges of its government are more extensive. in most states cities may be incorporated under general laws, but some cities are incorporated by special acts of the state legislature. the act or deed of incorporation is called the city charter. the charter names the city, fixes its limits, erects it as a distinct political corporation, sets forth its powers and privileges, names its officers, prescribes their duties, and authorizes the city to act as an independent government. the legislature may amend the charter at any time, and the acts and laws of the city must not conflict with the constitution of the state or of the united states. wards.--the city is usually divided into wards for convenience in executing the laws, and especially in electing representatives in the city government. wards vary greatly in area and population, and their number depends in a measure upon the size of the city. each usually elects a member of the board of education, and one or more members of each branch of the city council. each ward is subdivided into precincts for convenience in establishing polling-places. city institutions.--cities maintain a number of institutions, peculiar to themselves, for the public welfare. the frequency of destructive fires causes the formation of a fire department. a police force must be organized to protect life and property. a system of sewerage is necessary to the public health. there must be gas-works or electric-light works, that the streets may be lighted, and water-works to supply water for public and private use. in many cities gas-works and water-works are operated by private parties or by private corporations. finances.--each city has an independent financial system, which requires skillful management. the city borrows money, issuing interest-bearing bonds in payment, and engages in extensive public improvements. the large outlays for paving the streets, constructing water-works, laying out parks, erecting public buildings, and for maintaining police systems and fire departments, cause cities to incur debts often amounting to many millions of dollars. as the result of the greater expense of its government, and as its people also pay state and county taxes, the rate of taxation in a city is far greater than in rural districts and villages. citizens: rights and duties.--the qualifications, the rights, and the duties of citizens of the city are the same as those of citizens of the township and the county. the qualifications of voters are also usually the same. the duties of voters are the same in all elections, whether in the school district, the civil district, the city, the county, the state, or the united states; namely, to vote for the best men and the best measures. under whatever division of government the people are living, they always have the same interest in the maintenance of order, in the enforcement of the laws, in the triumph of right, principles, and in the election of good men to office. government.--a city often has a more complex government than that of the state in which the city is situated. the massing of so many people, representing so many interests, requires a government with strong legislative, executive, and judicial functions. one of the great questions of our time is how to secure economy and efficiency in city government; and, as our cities are growing with great rapidity, the problem is daily becoming more difficult to solve. officers.--the legislative power is vested in the city council, in many cases composed of a board of aldermen and of a common council. the executive authority is vested in the mayor, the city attorney or solicitor, the city clerk, the assessor, the collector, the treasurer, the city engineer or surveyor, the board of public works, the street commissioner, the school board or board of education, and the superintendent of schools. the judicial power is vested in the city court, police court, or recorder's court, as it is variously termed; in a number of justices' courts; and in the higher courts, which are also courts of the county in which the city is located. the officers of the city are usually elected by the legal voters, but in some cities the collector, the city engineer, the street commissioner, and a number of subordinate officers are appointed by the mayor or city council. the superintendent of schools is elected by the school board. duties.--in many small cities, and in several of the larger cities, such as new york, chicago, and san francisco, the council consists only of the board of aldermen. when the council is composed of two branches, a law can not be made by one of them alone; it must be passed by both; and if vetoed by the mayor, it must be passed again, and in most cities by a two thirds vote, or it is void. the council makes laws, or ordinances, regulating the police force; fixing the rate of city taxation; ordering the issue of bonds and the construction of public works; and making appropriations for public purposes. the mayor is the chief executive of the city. it is his duty to see that the laws are enforced. he appoints a number of subordinate officers, and in most cities may veto the acts of the city council. the duties of the city attorney, the city clerk, the assessor, the collector, the treasurer, the school board, and the superintendent of schools are similar to those of township and county officers of the same name. the city engineer has charge of the construction of sewers and the improvement of parks. the street commissioner attends to the construction and repair of the streets, crossings, and sidewalks. there are a number of officers appointed by the mayor or the council, such as chief of police, chief of the fire department, and the city physician, who have duties connected with their special departments. the city judge, police judge, or recorder, has duties similar to those of the same officer in an incorporated village. cities also have higher courts, variously named, whose judges have duties and jurisdiction equivalent to those of county officers of the same grade. because offenses against the law are more frequent, officers are more numerous in cities than in the rural districts. commission plan of city government.--in recent times the "commission plan" of government has been adopted for many cities, in a number of different states. this plan gives full control of the city government and its minor officials to a commission or council composed of a few men (usually five) elected by the voters of the whole city. this commission exercises both legislative and executive functions. it is composed of a mayor, and councilmen or commissioners who act also as heads of administrative departments. recall.--in a few states a mayor or councilman (or other local or state officer elected by the people) may be displaced before the expiration of his term of office. if a sufficient number of voters petition to have this done, a new election is held to decide whether he or some one else shall have the office for the rest of the term. suggestive questions. . what is meant by incorporating a village? . what is a breach of the peace? . what are polling-places? . to what state officer does the mayor of a city or town correspond? . why are offenses against the laws more frequent in the cities than in the rural districts? . what is the largest city of this state? is its council composed of one body or of two? question for debate. _resolved_, that the legislative department of a city government should consist of only one deliberative body. chapter vii. the state. introductory.--after the county, the government nearest us is that of the state. the political divisions which we have considered are subject to the state, holding their powers as grants from its government. the state can make and unmake them, and we owe them obedience because the state has commanded it. as we sometimes express it, the sovereignty or supreme sway of these local divisions resides in the state. definition.--a state is a community of free citizens living within a territory with fixed limits, governed by laws based upon a constitution of their own adoption, and possessing all governmental powers not granted to the united states. each state is a republic and maintains a republican form of government, which is guaranteed by the united states. the state is supreme within its own sphere, but its authority must not conflict with that of the national government. a state is sometimes called a commonwealth because it binds the whole people together for their common weal or common good. formation of original states.--the thirteen original colonies were principally settled by people from europe. the colonial rights were set forth and boundaries fixed by charters granted by the crown of england. in the declaration of independence these colonies declared themselves "free and independent states." after the treaty of peace which acknowledged their independence, they framed and adopted the national constitution, and thereby became the united states of america. admission of new states.--new states are admitted into the union by special acts of the congress of the united states. an organized territory having the necessary population sends a memorial to congress asking to be admitted as a state. congress then passes a law called an "enabling act," authorizing the people of the territory to form a state constitution. when the people have framed and adopted a state constitution not in conflict with the constitution of the united states, congress passes another act admitting the new state into the union "upon an equal footing with the original states in all respects whatever." sometimes the enabling act provides for admission on proclamation of the president of the united states. several of the territories adopted state constitutions and were admitted as states without enabling acts. purposes.--the state keeps power near the people, and thus makes them more secure in their liberty. "the powers not granted to the united states, nor prohibited to the states, are reserved to the states respectively or to the people." if the whole country were a single republic without state divisions, power would be withdrawn from the people and become centralized in the national government. our political system leaves the various functions of government to the smallest political communities that can perform them efficiently. the county has charge of all public interests that can be managed by it as well as by the state. many public affairs, such as popular education,[ ] private corporations, and the organization of the smaller political divisions, can be better managed by the state than by the national government, and are therefore properly left to the state's direction. parts of the country widely separated differ in climate and soil, giving rise to different industries and occupations, which require different laws, made and administered by different states. the state serves as a convenient basis for the apportionment of members of both houses of congress, and state institutions preserve and develop the local individuality and self-reliance of the people. functions.--the functions of the state are very extensive, including the greater part of those acts of government which preserve society by affording security to life, liberty, property, and the pursuit of happiness. the state government touches the citizens at most points; that is, all those laws that concern the body of the people in their ordinary daily life are made and enforced by the state, or by the smaller political divisions of the state, acting under the state's directions. officers discharge their duties, arrests are made, courts are held, offenders are punished, justice is meted out, and taxes are collected, by the authority of the state. the national government has similar functions to perform in every part of the country, but they are far less frequent than those of the state. institutions.--the state maintains a number of charitable and other institutions for the public welfare. it makes appropriations of land or money for the support of asylums, prisons, reformatories, scientific institutions, schools, colleges, and universities. the support of these institutions, the payment of salaries, the administration of justice, and the conduct of other public interests, involve large annual expenditures, often amounting to several millions of dollars. citizens. the citizens of a state are the people who live in it, whether natives of the united states, or foreigners who have been adopted. persons who are citizens of the united states are thereby citizens of the state in which they reside. they have all the rights that freemen can possess, and enjoy a larger freedom than do the people of any other country. the legal voters, often called electors, are the male citizens who have resided in the state, the county, and the township, or voting precinct, the time required by law to entitle them to vote. the length of residence required in the state varies, being two years in some, six months in others, and one year in most states. several states permit citizens of foreign countries to vote, and a few permit women to vote. rights.--every citizen has the right to be secure in his person; to be free from attack and annoyance; to go when and where he may choose; to keep, enjoy, and dispose of his property; and to provide in his own way for the welfare of himself and of those dependent upon him. the rights of the people are set forth at length and with great precision in a portion of the state constitution called the bill of rights. these rights must be exercised under the restrictions of the law, and with due regard for the same rights held by others. the legal voters have the right to vote in all local, state, and national elections. they are voters in national elections by virtue of being voters in state elections. the right to vote implies the right to be voted for, and the right to hold office; but for many officers the state requires a longer residence and other qualifications than those prescribed for voters. duties.--for every right, the people have a corresponding duty; and for every privilege they enjoy, there is a trust for them to discharge. the large personal freedom possessed by the american citizens imposes equally as large public responsibilities. it is the duty of every citizen to obey the law, to aid in securing justice, to respect authority, to love his country, and to labor for the public good. no one can be a useful member of society unless he respects the laws and institutions of the land. the people themselves have established this government, both state and national; it exists for them, and therefore they owe it honor and obedience. it is the duty of every voter to study the interests of the country, and to vote for persons and measures that, in his opinion, will best "promote the general welfare." in this country, government is intrusted to the whole people, and they can govern only by expressing their will in elections. therefore the majority must rule. the majority will sometimes make mistakes, but these will be corrected after a time. in order that good government may ensue, good citizens must take part in elections. the privilege of suffrage is conferred upon an implied contract that it will be used for the public good. he who fails to vote when he can, fails to perform his part of the contract, fails to fulfill his promise, and fails to respect the government that protects him. constitution. the constitution is often called the supreme law of the state. in other words, it is the supreme act of the people, for the purpose of organizing themselves as a body politic, of formulating their government, and of fixing the limits of its power. it is a contract between the whole society as a political body, and each of its members. each binds himself to the whole body, and the whole body binds itself to each, in order that all may be governed by the same laws for the common good. the constitution of each state is a written instrument, modeled after the constitution of the united states, with which it must not conflict. the constitutions of england and most other countries of europe are unwritten. they consist of the common usages and maxims that have become fixed by long experience. in those countries, when a new political custom grows into common practice it thereby becomes a part of the national constitution. formation and adoption.--as the whole people can not assemble in one place to frame and adopt a constitution, they elect delegates to a constitutional convention. the convention usually meets at the capital, deliberates, frames articles for a proposed constitution, and in nearly all cases submits them to the people. the people make known their will in a general election, and if a majority vote in favor of adopting the proposed constitution, it becomes the constitution of the state. if the proposed constitution is rejected, another convention must be called to propose other articles to be voted upon by the people. purposes.--the purposes of the constitution are to guard the rights of the people, to protect the liberties of the minority, to grant authority to the government, to separate the functions of the three departments, to prescribe the limits of each, and to fix in the public policy those maxims of political wisdom that have been sanctioned by time. the special tendency in recent amendments of state constitutions has been to limit the power of the legislature. constitutions, like other political institutions, are largely matters of growth, and from time to time must be revised to meet the changing wants of society. for this purpose the constitution of almost every state contains a provision, called the open clause, which authorizes the legislature, under certain restrictions, to propose amendments to the constitution to be adopted or rejected by a vote of the people. value.--the people of any state may, at their pleasure, frame and adopt a new constitution, which must be in harmony with the constitution of the united states. the right to make their own constitution is one of the highest and most important rights that freemen can possess. it is in this and in the right of suffrage that their freedom principally consists. the constitution protects the people by prescribing the limits of official authority. the legislature can not legally pass a law which the constitution of the state forbids, and when such a law is passed it is declared unconstitutional by the state courts. a provision of a state constitution becomes void when declared by the supreme court of the united states to be in conflict with the national constitution. contents.--the constitutions of the several states are based upon the constitution of the united states as a model, and are therefore much alike in their general provisions. each contains: a preamble setting forth the purposes of the constitution; a lengthy declaration called the bill of rights; provisions for distributing the powers of government into three departments; and articles relating to suffrage, debt, taxation, corporations, public schools, militia, amendments, and other public affairs. bill of rights. the bill of rights usually declares various rights of the citizen which may be classified under the heads of republican principles, personal security, private property, freedom of conscience, freedom of speech and of the press, freedom of assembly, and freedom from military tyranny. republican principles.--under this head the bill declares: that all power is inherent in the people; that governments exist for their good, and by their consent; that all freemen are equal; that no title of nobility shall be conferred; that exclusive privileges shall not be granted except in consideration of public services; that all elections shall be free and equal. personal security.--in the interests of the personal security of the citizen it is provided: that the people shall be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and possessions, from unreasonable seizures and searches; that warrants to seize and to search persons and things must describe them by oath or affirmation; that there shall be no imprisonment for debt, except in cases of fraud. private property.--to secure the rights of private property, the bill declares: that private property shall not be taken for public use without just compensation; and, in some states, that long leases of agricultural lands shall not be made. freedom of conscience.--to induce the entire freedom of conscience of the citizen it is declared: that there shall be perfect religious freedom, but not covering immoral practices; that there shall be no state church; that no religious test shall be required for performing any public function; that the rights of conscience are free from human control. freedom of speech and of the press.--to maintain the rightful freedom of the press, the bill guarantees: that printing-presses may be used by all; that every citizen may freely speak, write, and print upon any subject--being responsible for the abuse of the right. freedom of assembly.--the right of assembly is secured by the provision: that the people may peaceably assemble for the public good, to discuss questions of public interest; and that they may petition the government for redress of grievances. freedom from military tyranny.--to guard against abuses by the military, it is declared: that the military shall be in strict subordination to the civil power; that no standing army shall be maintained in time of peace; that in time of peace no soldier shall be quartered in any house without the owner's consent; that the right of people to bear arms shall not be questioned. this does not authorize the carrying of concealed weapons. forbidden laws.--to insure the people against improper legislation, the bill of rights provides: that no _ex post facto_ law or law impairing the validity of contracts, shall be made; that no bill of attainder shall be passed; that no power of suspending laws shall be exercised except by the legislature. rights of the accused.--among the worst abuses of tyranny in all ages have been the corruption of the courts and the denial of the rights of common justice. to guard against these it is expressly provided: that the writ of _habeas corpus_ shall not be suspended except when, in cases of rebellion or invasion, the public safety may require it; that, except in capital cases, persons charged with crime may give bail; that no excessive bail shall be required; that all courts shall be open; that the accused shall have a speedy trial in the district in which the offense was committed; that the ancient mode of trial by jury shall be maintained; but civil suits, by consent of the parties, may be tried without a jury; that all persons injured in lands, goods, person, or reputation shall have remedy by course of law; that the accused shall be informed of the nature of the charges against him; that he shall be confronted by the witnesses against him; that he shall be heard in his own defense, and may have the benefit of counsel; that he shall not be required to testify against himself; that he shall not be deprived of life, liberty, or property except by due process of law; that no cruel or unusual punishment shall be inflicted; that no one shall be twice placed in jeopardy for the same offense. no citizen of the united states would deny the justice of these declarations. they are so reasonable it seems strange that they should ever have been questioned. "but in enumerating them we are treading on sacred ground. their establishment cost our ancestors hundreds of years of struggle against arbitrary power, in which they gave their blood and treasure."[ ] it was to secure and maintain a part of these rights that the american colonies went to war with great britain, and made good their declaration of independence by an appeal to arms. most of these rights are preserved in the constitution of the united states, to prevent encroachments upon the liberties of the people by the general government. they are repeated in the state constitution in order that they may not be invaded by the state government. there is also a provision in the constitution of the state which declares that "the enumeration of certain rights shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people." [ ]popular education must command the sympathy and respect of the people in each locality in order to remain "popular." while the state, therefore, enforces a general system of public schools, it leaves all the details of local management with the people most closely related to the particular school. the people esteem that which they create and control. [ ]mccleary's _studies in civics_. suggestive questions. . why are the smaller political communities subject to the state? . give the names of the thirteen original states. . what is meant by states having different industries and occupations? . how do state institutions develop the self-reliance of the people? . name some acts of government which you have seen the state perform. . what are charitable institutions? . how is justice administered? . wherein are the people of this country freer than other people? . how long must a person live in this state to entitle him to vote? . what is meant by being secure in person? . read the bill of rights in the constitution of your state. . what is a body politic? . why can not the whole people assemble to form a state constitution? . what is meant by taking private property for public use? . how may the right to speak and print be abused? . what is meant by the military being subordinate to the civil power? . are all cases tried by jury? question for debate. _resolved_, that there should be an educational qualification for suffrage. chapter viii. the state--(continued). government departments.--the state government is based upon the state constitution. it has a legislative department charged with the making of the laws, an executive department to enforce the laws, and a judicial department to explain and apply the laws. each of the departments is independent of the others, being supreme within its own sphere. the american people believe that the functions of making, of enforcing, and of explaining the laws, should forever be separate and distinct. experience has shown that it is dangerous to the liberties of the people to permit either of the three departments of government to trespass upon the functions of the others. therefore, the limits of each department are well defined, and its power closely guarded, by the constitution and laws of the state. legislative department. the legislative or law-making power of the state is vested in the legislature, sometimes called the general assembly, and in some states known as the general court, or legislative assembly. the legislature is composed of two bodies, or houses, called respectively the senate and the house of representatives. in new york the latter body is known as the assembly, in new jersey it is called the general assembly and in some states the house of delegates. a bill must be passed by both branches of the legislature in order to become a law. the proceedings of the legislature should be made public, and therefore the sessions are open, and the constitution requires each house to keep and publish a daily record, called the _journal_. qualifications.--the state constitution prescribes the age, the length of residence, and other legal qualifications for membership in each branch of the legislature. the constitutions of most states fix a longer term of office and require a more mature age for senators than for representatives. in addition to these legal qualifications a legislator should be a man of unswerving honesty, of broad information, of close thought, well versed in the principles of government, acquainted with the needs of the country, and faithful to the interests of the whole people. privileges.--each branch of the legislature consists of members elected by the people. senators and representatives are responsible for their official acts to the people, and to the people alone. except for treason, felony, and breach of the peace, members of the legislature are privileged from arrest while attending the sessions of their respective houses, and while going thereto and returning therefrom. for any speech or debate in either house, a member thereof can not be questioned in any other place. each house adopts rules for its own government. each house also elects its own officers, except that in most states the people elect a lieutenant-governor, who is also president of the senate. these various privileges are granted in the state constitution in order that the actions of the legislature may be free from all outside influences. power.--the constitution of the state defines the limits of the power vested in the legislative department. the legislature may enact any law not forbidden by the constitution of the state or of the united states. every act passed is binding upon the people unless it is declared by the courts to be unconstitutional. an act of the legislature, when declared to be unconstitutional, thereby becomes void; that is, it ceases to have any legal force. sessions.--the legislature meets at the state capitol. in a few states the legislature holds annual sessions, but in far the greater number it meets biennially; that is, once every two years. in many states the constitution limits the session to a certain number of days, but in a few of these states the legislature may extend its session by a special vote of two-thirds of each house. a majority constitutes a quorum for business, but a smaller number may meet and adjourn from day to day in order that the organization may not be lost. functions.--the legislature enacts laws upon a great variety of subjects. it fixes the rate of state taxation, it provides for the collection and distribution of state revenue, creates offices and fixes salaries, provides for a system of popular education, and makes laws relating to public works, the administration of justice, the conduct of elections, the management of railways and other corporations, the maintenance of charitable and other institutions, the construction and repair of public roads, the organization of the militia, the conduct of prisons and reformatories, and a number of other public interests. forbidden powers.--the constitution of the united states forbids any state to exercise certain powers: ( ) no state can enter into any treaty, alliance, confederation, contract, or agreement with any other state, or with a foreign power; issue commissions to vessels authorizing them to capture and destroy the merchant ships of other nations; coin money; issue paper money; make any thing but gold and silver coin a legal tender for the payment of debts; pass any bill inflicting the penalty of death without a regular trial, or any law fixing a penalty for acts done before its adoption, or any law affecting the provisions of contracts made before its passage; or grant any title of nobility. ( ) no state can, without the consent of congress, lay a tax or duty on imports or exports, except what is necessary in executing its inspection laws. the net proceeds of all duties laid by any state for this purpose must be paid into the treasury of the united states; and all such laws are subject to the revision and control of congress. without the consent of congress, no state can tax ships, keep troops or ships of war in time of peace, or engage in war unless invaded or in imminent danger. ( ) "no state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the united states; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property without due process of law, nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws." ( ) "[no] state shall assume or pay any debt or obligation incurred in aid of insurrection or rebellion against the united states, or any claim for loss or emancipation of any slave." the senate.--the senate is a less numerous body than the house of representatives. the presiding officer is addressed as "mr. president" or "mr. speaker," the title varying in different states. there is also a chief clerk, with assistants, who keeps the records; a sergeant-at-arms, who preserves order on the floor; a doorkeeper, who has charge of the senate chamber and its entrances, and a number of subordinate officers. the senate has two functions not belonging to the house of representatives: . when the governor nominates persons for appointment as officers of the state, unless the senate advises and consents to the nominations, the appointments are void; . when the house of representatives presents articles of impeachment against an officer of the state, the senate sits as a court to try the charges. house of representatives.--the house of representatives is often called the popular branch of the legislature. it is sometimes designated as the "house." the title of the presiding officer is "mr. speaker." the other officers usually have the same titles and duties as those of the senate. in many states bills raising revenue, and in some states bills making appropriations, must originate in the house of representatives. this body also has the sole power of impeachment. usually when charges affecting the official conduct of an officer of the state are brought before the legislature, the house of representatives appoints a committee to investigate the charges and report. if the report warrants further action, the house adopts charges of official misconduct, or of high crimes and misdemeanors in office. this proceeding is called an _impeachment_. the senate sits as a court of impeachment, hears the evidence, listens to the argument by the managers and the counsel for the accused, and then condemns or acquits. the judgment in cases of impeachment is removal from office and disqualification to hold any office of honor, trust, or profit under the state. direct legislation.--in order to give fuller and quicker effect to the will of the people in law making, recent provisions in the constitutions of some states provide for the initiative and referendum. by the initiative a certain number of voters may petition for the enactment of a law set forth in the petition. if the legislature does not pass the act petitioned for, it may be enacted by the people, voting on it in a general or special election--the referendum. on petition of a certain number of voters also, a referendum may be ordered as to a bill passed by the legislature, to which the petitioners object, giving the people the opportunity to ratify or reject the proposed law. these methods of direct legislation have been applied also to the making of constitutional amendments, and to some city, as well as some state governments. suggestive questions. . why is the state legislature composed of two houses? . why should the proceedings of the legislature be public? . why should senators and representatives be free from arrest while discharging their public duties? . how often does the legislature of this state meet? . what is the limit of its session? . can its session be extended? . what is a reformatory? . what are the age and number of years of residence required of a state senator in this state? who is the senator from this district? . what is a bill for raising revenue? . what are the age and number of years of residence required of a representative in this state? who is the representative from this district? question for debate _resolved_, that a state legislature should not have more than forty senators and one hundred representatives. chapter ix. the state--(continued). when the laws are enacted it becomes necessary that some one be charged with seeing that they are duly executed and obeyed. the people's representatives in the legislative department make the laws. the people's servants in the executive department execute the laws. executive department. the chief executive officers of the state are the governor, the lieutenant-governor, the secretary of state, the auditor or comptroller, the treasurer, the attorney-general, and the superintendent of public instruction, who, in most states, are elected by the people. besides these, an adjutant-general, a commissioner of agriculture, a commissioner of insurance, railway commissioners, a register of the land office or land commissioner, and in some states other subordinate officers, are usually appointed by the governor, and confirmed by the senate. the higher state offices are provided for in the constitution, while the subordinate offices are created by act of the legislature. several states have no lieutenant-governor; in some the secretary of state and the superintendent of public instruction are appointed by the governor, and in others some of the subordinate officers are elected by the people. the titles of many of these officers vary in different states. the terms of the state officers elected by the people are usually alike in the same state, but in some states there are differences. in several states the terms of the auditor and the treasurer are less than those of the other officers. governor: term, qualifications.--the supreme executive authority is vested in the governor, who is therefore sometimes called the chief executive of the state. his position is one of great dignity and influence. the term of office is one, two, three, or four years, varying in different states, and in some the constitution prohibits any person from serving two terms in succession. the legal qualifications of the office of governor vary in different states. he must be a citizen of the united states; must have resided in the state at least a fixed term of years; must not be under a certain age, usually thirty years; and in some states must own property of a given value. powers, duties.--the governor is commander-in-chief of the military forces of the state, and represents it in its dealings with other states. he may call on all other executive officers for written information concerning their respective duties. he is presumed to be well informed upon the affairs of the people, and is therefore required to give the legislature information as to the condition of the state, and to recommend the passage of such laws as he deems proper and expedient. the governor may call special meetings of the legislature to consider questions of great and immediate public concern. at the opening of each session he addresses a regular message to the legislature, and from time to time submits special messages upon various subjects. all acts of the legislature are presented for his approval and signature. if he approves and signs them, they become laws; if he retains them for a certain number of days without signing them, they become laws without his signature; if he refuses to approve them, he returns them within the specified time to the house in which they originated, with a statement of his objections. this action is called a veto, and the vetoed measure, in order to become a law, must pass both houses again, and in some states must secure a two thirds vote of each house. the governor may grant reprieves and pardons, except in cases of impeachment, and in some states, of treason. in some states this power is limited by a board of pardons, which must recommend a pardon before it can be granted by the governor; and in others the consent of one branch of the legislature must be obtained. treason against the states consists in an open or overt act of "levying war against them, or in adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort." _to reprieve_ is to delay or postpone for a time the execution of the sentence of death upon a criminal. _to pardon_ is to annul a sentence by forgiving the offense against the law, and by releasing the offender. the governor may also _commute_ the sentence of an offender by exchanging the penalty for one less severe. lieutenant-governor:--the term and qualifications of the lieutenant-governor are the same as those of the governor. the lieutenant-governor is also president or speaker of the senate, but votes only in case of a tie. in states having no lieutenant-governor, the senate elects its presiding officer. in case of the death or resignation of the governor, the lieutenant-governor becomes governor of the state. in states having no lieutenant-governor, special laws provide for filling vacancies in the office of governor. when the chief executive is absent from the state, or disabled, the lieutenant-governor performs the duties of the office. secretary of state.--the secretary of state is the keeper of all state papers, and usually of the great seal of the state. in some states he is _ex officio_ auditor. he keeps a record of the proceedings and acts of the legislature and of the executive department of the state government. he certifies to the correctness of state documents and commissions, indexes the laws, and attends to their printing and distribution, except in states having a superintendent of printing. he receives and preserves the returns of elections, and in some states has charge of the state buildings at the capital. auditor, or comptroller.--the auditor is the financial agent of the state, and in some states acts as register of the land office, and in others as commissioner of insurance. he is also the state's bookkeeper, and attends to the collection of its revenue. he examines and adjusts claims and accounts against the state, and orders the payment of such as he approves. he receives moneys paid to the state, deposits them with the treasurer, and takes receipt therefor. no funds can be paid out of the state treasury except upon the auditor's warrant. he makes an annual or biennial report, showing the financial condition of the state. in some states having no auditor, these various duties fall to other officers, chiefly to the secretary of state. treasurer.--the treasurer is custodian of the funds of the state. he receives the state's revenues from the auditor, and pays them out only upon the auditor's warrant, keeping an accurate account of all sums paid. the treasurer and the auditor (and also the secretary of state when he handles state funds) give heavy bonds for the faithful performance of their duties. attorney-general.--the attorney-general is a lawyer who acts as attorney for the state in law cases to which the state is a party. his duties pertain chiefly to the higher courts of the state. he is the legal adviser of the state officers, and, when requested by them, gives opinions upon points of law. he prosecutes persons who are indebted to the state, and assists in bringing to justice those charged with crime. he represents the state in its legal business in the supreme court at washington, and in the other courts of the united states. superintendent of public instruction.--the superintendent of public instruction has charge of the public school system, and thus superintends one of the largest interests of the state. he has the general management of state teachers' institutes, and in some states he has an official connection with the state university and the state normal schools, either as a member of the faculty or as president or secretary of the board of trustees. he is an officer of, and usually president of, the state board of education, a body generally consisting of from three to seven members, and in most states composed, in part, of other high officers of the state. the state board of education decides questions of school law, and performs other important duties varying in different states. the superintendent of public instruction makes an annual or biennial report to the legislature, showing the condition of the public schools and suggesting amendments to the system. in many states the superintendent is elected by the people; in some he is appointed by the governor; in others he is elected by the state board of education, and, as president or secretary of that board, is _ex efficio_ superintendent of public instruction. other officers.--the _adjutant-general_ is the active officer of the state militia. the _commissioner of agriculture_, sometimes called the secretary of the board of agriculture, looks after the agricultural interests of the state. the _commissioner of insurance_ oversees the insurance companies doing business in the state. the _railway commissioners_ assess the value of railway property, and to a limited extent regulate charges on railway lines. the _register of the land office, or land commissioner_, keeps in his office the patents or title-deeds of land issued by the state in its early settlement, and furnishes copies of land patents and warrants to those who desire them. in a few states this officer is elected by the people. the _state librarian_ has charge of the state library, and in some states is superintendent of the state buildings at the capital. in a few states there are other executive officers, among whom may be named: a _surveyor-general_, who surveys the public lands, and keeps in his office maps of counties and townships; a _state engineer_, who superintends the construction and repair of canals and levees; a _commissioner of statistics_, who collects statistics relating to public interests; a _commissioner of immigration_, who attends to the interests of immigrants; a _labor commissioner_, who looks after the interests of the laboring classes; a _bank inspector_, or _superintendent of banking_, who inspects state banks for the protection of the public; and a _state examiner_, who investigates the conduct of state institutions, and inspects the state offices, in order to secure honesty and efficiency in public affairs. in some states two or more of these offices are combined, and in others their duties are performed by the higher officers of the state. suggestive questions. . what is the term of office and what the name of the governor of this state? . what are the age and the length of residence required of him? . how many terms can he serve in succession? . has this state a lieutenant-governor? . if so, name his qualifications. . what is the great seal of the state? . what is the necessity of an auditor? . why should the superintendent of public instruction make a report? question for debate _resolved_, that the governor should hold the power of veto. chapter x. the state--(continued). judicial department. purposes.--the judicial department of the state government exists for the sole purpose of administering justice; that is, for the purpose of interpreting the laws and of applying them to particular cases. the legislature makes the laws, but it can not execute them. the governor recommends the passage of certain laws, and holds the veto power; but he has no law-making power, nor can he try the most trivial suit. so the judiciary has no voice in making or in executing the laws, its sole function being to decide their meaning and to apply them in securing justice. the legislative and executive departments may assist, but it is the peculiar province of the judiciary to protect society and to maintain the rights of the people. supreme court.--the higher courts of the state are of two classes--those whose jurisdiction includes the entire state, and those whose jurisdiction is confined to particular districts. the supreme court, called in some states the court of appeals, is the highest court of the state. the number of the judges of the supreme court varies in the different states, there being a chief justice and from two to eight associate justices in each state. in some states the justices are elected by the people; in others they are elected by the legislature; and in some they are appointed by the governor, and confirmed by the senate. the term of office is lengthy, not less than four years in any state, except vermont, where it is two years; six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve, fourteen, or fifteen years in most states; twenty-one years in pennsylvania; during good behavior in massachusetts; until the judges are seventy years of age in new hampshire; and practically for life in rhode island. the jurisdiction of the supreme court, or court of appeals, extends over the entire state. it holds sessions at the state capital, and in some states at other prominent places, and is chiefly engaged in the trial of cases in which appeals have been taken from the decisions of the lower courts. its decision is final, but in cases in which it is alleged that the state law is in conflict with the constitution or laws of the united states, appeals may be taken to the united states supreme court at washington. district, or circuit court.--the people most commonly resort to the district court, circuit court, or superior court, as it is variously called in different states, to secure justice. in it are tried the great body of important civil and criminal cases, and also appeals from the lower courts. the jurisdiction of the district court is limited to a district created by the state constitution or by act of the state legislature. in some cases the district consists of a single county; usually it includes two or more counties, the court being held successively in each county of the district. in each district there is usually one district judge, who is elected by the people, appointed by the governor, or elected by the legislature. the term of office in most states is four, six, or eight years. in some of the districts of certain states there are criminal courts having jurisdiction in criminal cases, and chancery courts or courts of common pleas having jurisdiction in certain civil cases. in some states there is a high court of chancery having state jurisdiction, and in others there is a superior court which has state jurisdiction, and whose rank is between the supreme court and the district courts. territories. organization.--congress organizes the public domain into territories, fixes their boundaries, and establishes their governments. the act of organization is passed as soon as the population is dense enough to require governmental authority. executive department.--the governor and the secretary of the territory are appointed by the president of the united states, with the consent of the united states senate, and serve for four years, unless removed. the governor appoints a treasurer, an auditor or comptroller, a superintendent of public instruction, an attorney-general, and several other territorial officers. legislative department.--the legislature consists of a senate of eight or fifteen members, and a house of representatives of sixteen or thirty members elected by the people of the territory. the senate is sometimes called the upper house of the legislature. although the governor and the legislature rule the territory, all laws passed by them must be submitted to congress, and, if disapproved, they become null and void. judicial department.--the judiciary consists of a supreme court and inferior courts. the chief justice and two or more associate justices of the supreme court are appointed for four years by the president, with the consent of the senate. the inferior courts are established by the territorial legislature. representation in congress.--each territory elects a delegate to the congress of the united states. territorial delegates serve upon committees, and have the right to debate, but not to vote. their real duties are as agents of their respective territories. laws.--territories are governed by the laws of congress, by the common law, and by the laws passed by the territorial legislatures. the governor may pardon offenses against territorial laws, and may grant reprieves for offenses against the laws of congress, until the cases can be acted upon by the president. local affairs.--the local interests of a territory are similar to those of a state. taxation, schools, public works, and the administration of justice are supported by the people. the people of the territories have no voice in the election of president, and none in the government of the united states except through their delegates in congress. purposes.--the chief purposes of the territorial government are to give the people the protection of the law, and to prepare the territory for admission into the union as a state. a state is a member of the union, with all the rights and privileges of self-government; a territory is under the union, subject at all times, and in all things, to regulation by the government of the united states. all the states, except the original thirteen (including maine, vermont, kentucky, and west virginia) and california and texas, have had territorial governments. a territory is not entirely self-governing; it may be called a state in infancy, requiring the special care of the united states to prepare it for statehood and for admission into the union "upon an equal footing with the original states in all respects." hawaii and alaska illustrate the territorial form of government described above. the following are exceptions to the rule: the district of columbia is neither a state nor a territory. it resembles a territory in being directly governed by congress in such manner as that body may choose, but it differs from a territory since it can never become a state. it is not represented in the government of the united states, and its inhabitants have no voice in local matters. its affairs are administered by three commissioners, appointed by the president, with the consent of the senate, and they are subject to the laws of congress. porto rico and philippines have each a legislature and are governed much like a territory; but their people are not citizens of the united states. they are practically colonies. suggestive questions. . is it better that judges be elected, or that they be appointed? why? . why should a judge's term of office be lengthy? . who is chief justice of this state? . who is the judge of the circuit or district court of this district? . at what dates does this court hold sessions in this county? . how many organized territories now in the united states? give their names. . when did this state cease to be a territory? . why should delegates from the territories not have the privilege of voting in congress? question for debate. _resolved_, that the judges of the higher courts should be appointed by the governor, and hold their positions during life and good behavior. chapter xi. the united states. introductory.--each division of government which we have considered exists for only a part of the whole people. the government of one state has no authority over the people of other states; but the government of the united states, often called the national government or federal government, is for the good of the entire country, and its authority is over the whole people. all these divisions of government--the family, the school, the township or civil district, the county, the state, and the united states--are dependent upon one another. if family government were destroyed, society would be ruined and other governments would be worthless. if there were no schools, the people would be so ignorant that free government would be impossible. if the township or civil district were neglected, local government would be inefficient. if the states were blotted out, the national government would assume all power, and the freedom of the people would be greatly abridged, and perhaps finally lost. if the national government were dismembered, the states would be weak, helpless, at war with one another, and at the mercy of foreign nations. the distribution of power among the several political organizations prevents any of them from assuming too much authority, and thus tends to preserve the liberties of the people. formation.--the national government is based upon the constitution of the united states. it was formed by the union of the several states under the constitution, and its powers are set forth in that instrument. the thirteen original states ratified the constitution of the united states between december , , and may , , and thus organized the national government. it thus became, and has continued to be, the government of the whole people, "by the people and for the people." form of government. the national government, like the government of each state, is a republic; that is, the authority is exercised by the representatives of the people. as all power resides in the people, our government is called a democracy. as the people elect officers or representatives to act for them in the performance of public duties, it is called a representative democracy. our system of government is different from those of all other nations, because part of the political power is vested in the state, and part in the nation; that is, in the united states. the national constitution enumerates the powers which may be exercised by the national government, and reserves all other powers "to the states respectively, or to the people." because of this dual or double character of our system of government, john quincy adams called it "a complicated machine." purposes.--the purposes of the national government are clearly and forcibly set forth in the "preamble," or opening clause, of the constitution of the united states; . "to form a more perfect _union_;" . "to establish _justice_;" . "to insure domestic _tranquillity_;" . "to provide for the common _defense_;" . "to promote the general _welfare_;" . "to secure the blessings of _liberty_ to ourselves and our posterity." before the revolutionary war, the american colonies were subject to great britain. by the declaration of independence these colonies became "free and independent states." during the period between the declaration of independence and the adoption of the national constitution, the union between the states was weak and unsatisfactory. instead of there being "domestic tranquillity," the states were engaged in constant quarrels. there was no power to provide for the "common defense" of the people against foreign enemies; each state must protect itself as best it could. no provision could be made for the "general welfare" by the passage and enforcement of broad measures for the whole country. under the articles of confederation, as was said at that time, the states might "declare everything, but do nothing." the adoption of the national constitution and the formation of the national government made the inhabitants of the states one people, and have since brought the united states to be "the first of the nations of the earth." functions.--the functions of the national government are numerous and important. in adopting the national constitution, the states delegated or ceded to the united states those powers which are necessary to the strength and greatness of a nation. the national government administers those public affairs which concern the whole people, such as the regulation of commerce, the granting of patents, and the coinage of money; and also those which pertain to the united states as a nation dealing with other nations, such as declaring war and making treaties of peace. the subjects upon which the national congress may enact laws, and consequently the subjects included in the functions of the national government, are enumerated in section , article i. of the constitution. citizens. the people who reside in the united states are either citizens or aliens. the national constitution declares that "all persons born or naturalized in the united states, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the united states and of the state wherein they reside." women and children are citizens, though not entitled to vote. a citizen is a member of the body politic, bound to allegiance, and entitled to protection at home and abroad. he can renounce his allegiance--that is, lay down his citizenship--by becoming the subject of some other country. wherever he goes, until he renounces his allegiance, he is a citizen of the united states, and is shielded from insult by the might and majesty of the whole nation. citizenship is therefore valuable for its protection abroad, as well as for its rights and privileges at home. naturalization.--naturalized citizens are persons of foreign birth who have become citizens by naturalization, after a continuous residence of at least five years in the united states. a foreigner is naturalized by appearing in court, declaring his intention to become a citizen of the united states, and his purpose to renounce all allegiance to foreign governments. after two years more, he must appear in open court, renounce upon oath all foreign allegiance, and swear to support the constitution of the united states. if he bears any title of nobility, he must renounce it. naturalized citizens have all the rights and privileges that belong to native-born citizens, except that no naturalized person can become president or vice president of the united states. rights.--the constitution of the united states does not contain a formal bill of rights, as do most of the state constitutions, but it names the following as among the rights of citizens: ( ) "the citizens of each state shall be entitled to all privileges and immunities of citizens of the several states"; that is, a citizen who removes into another state shall enjoy all the rights and privileges that belong to its citizens. ( ) "a person charged in any state with treason, felony, or other crime, who shall flee from justice, and be found in another state, shall, on demand of the executive authority of the state from which he fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the state having jurisdiction of the crime." a demand for the delivery of a fugitive criminal is called a requisition. ( ) "no person held to service or labor in one state under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged from such service or labor; but shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be due." this provision refers to the capture and return of fugitive slaves, and is rendered void by the abolition of slavery. ( ) "a well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed." this clause does not authorize the carrying of concealed weapons. ( ) "no soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the owner, nor in time of war but in a manner to be prescribed by law." ( ) "the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated; and no warrants shall issue but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched and the persons or things to be seized." ( ) _a_. "no person shall be held to answer for a capital or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia when in actual service, in time of war or public danger; _b_. "nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb, nor shall be compelled, in any criminal case, to be a witness against himself; _c_. "nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law; _d_. "nor shall private property be taken for public use without just compensation." the first part of this clause secures a civil trial to every private citizen. the land and naval forces, and the militia when in actual service, are under military law, usually called martial law. ( ) "in all criminal prosecutions the accused shall enjoy the right _a_. "to a speedy and public trial by an impartial jury of the state and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law; _b_. "to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; _c_. "to be confronted with the witnesses against him; _d_. "to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor; _e_. "and to have the assistance of counsel for his defense." ( ) "in suits at law where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury shall be otherwise re-examined in any court of the united states than according to the rules of the common law." ( ) "excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishment inflicted." ( ) "neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the united states or any place subject to their jurisdiction." ( ) "the right of citizens of the united states to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the united states, or by any state, on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude." ( ) "the enumeration in the constitution of certain rights shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people." aliens. aliens are subjects of foreign governments. they are not citizens of this country, and, in general, have no right to take part in its political affairs. throughout the union aliens have full social and moral rights; in some states their property rights are restricted; and in a few states they have certain political rights. nature of the constitution. the constitution of the united states is the supreme law of the whole land. it is a written instrument, and is often called the fundamental law. neither the laws of any state nor the laws of the united states must conflict with the constitution. it is the basis of our system of government, the model upon which all state constitutions are framed, and the foundation of our greatness as a people. it defines the limits of the national government, and enumerates the powers of each of its departments. it declares what public interests are within the scope of the national government, reserves certain powers to the states, and provides that neither state nor nation shall enact certain specified laws. formation.--the national constitution was framed by a convention of delegates from twelve of the thirteen original states, rhode island alone being unrepresented. the convention was called for the purpose of revising the articles of confederation under which the states were at the time united. the convention met at philadelphia, on monday, may , , and organized on the th day of the same month by electing as its president george washington, one of the delegates from virginia. the articles of confederation were readily seen to be inadequate to the purposes of a national government, and the convention proceeded to draught a "constitution for the united states of america." the convention completed its labors, submitted the constitution to the several states for their ratification, and adjourned on the th of september, . all the states ratified the constitution, the last being rhode island, whose convention, called for the purpose, passed the ordinance of ratification, may , . necessity.--the necessity for a written national constitution is readily seen. the preamble states the purposes of the constitution, which are also the purposes of the national government. the constitution defines the limits of state and of national power, and thus prevents conflicts of authority which would otherwise arise between the state and the united states. through the constitution, the people, who are the sources of all just authority, grant to the government certain powers, and reserve all other powers to themselves. the constitution prescribes the functions of each department of the government, and thus preserves the liberties of the people by preventing either congress, the executive department, or the judiciary from exercising powers not granted to it. amendment.--the constitution prescribes two methods by which it may be amended: . by a two thirds vote of both houses congress may propose to the several states amendments to the constitution. . upon the application of two thirds of the states, congress shall call a convention of delegates from the several states for proposing amendments. an amendment proposed by either method, "when ratified by the legislatures of three fourths of the states, or by conventions in three fourths thereof, shall be valid to all intents and purposes as a part of this constitution." twenty-one amendments have been proposed by congress, and seventeen of these have been ratified by three fourths of the state legislatures, and have become parts of the constitution. the other four proposed amendments were rejected. congress has never called a convention to propose amendments, and no state has ever called a convention to consider those amendments proposed by congress. departments.--the functions of each branch of government are carefully marked in the constitution, and the people and their representatives jealously guard the rights of each department. they believe that the duties of the law-making power, those of the law-enforcing power, and those of the law-explaining power can not be too clearly separated. if the same officers could make the law, enforce the law, and explain the law, there would be no limit to their authority, and therefore no security to the people. the framers of the constitution were wise men; they had seen the abuse of power by great britain while the colonies were under her sway, and they determined to guard the liberties of the people by forever separating the legislative, the executive, and the judicial functions. their example has been followed in the constitutions of all the states. the president has no right to interfere with the decisions of the courts, and, except by his veto, can not interfere with the action of congress. congress can not question the decisions of courts, nor can it interfere with the legal actions of the president, except that the senate may refuse to confirm his appointments to office. even the supreme court of the united states can not call in question the official acts of the president, so long as he conforms to the law; nor has it any power over the acts of congress, except merely to decide upon the constitutionality of the laws when they are properly brought before it. while, therefore, congress and the president have some remote influence upon the actions of each other, neither has the slightest right to invade the functions of the supreme court, or of any other court, even the humblest in the land. suggestive questions. . why do foreigners become naturalized? . what is a title of nobility? . what officer of a state makes requisition for the delivery of a criminal held by another state? . when was slavery abolished in the united states? . what is the purpose of a militia force? . what is a capital crime? . why is the accused entitled to a speedy and public trial? . why is the constitution called the fundamental law? . read in the history of the united states the account of the formation of the constitution. . how many states were needed to ratify the constitution in order that it might go into effect? . read the amendments to the constitution. . can you name any proposed amendments that have been recently advocated? question for debate. _resolved_, that a written constitution is best for a free country. chapter xii. the united states--(continued). legislative department. congress.--the legislative authority of the national government is vested in the congress of the united states, consisting of a senate and a house of representatives. the senators represent the states, and the representatives represent the people. congress holds annual sessions at the city of washington, the seat of the national government. a measure must pass both houses, and be approved by the president, in order to become a law; or if vetoed, it fails, unless it again passes both houses by a two thirds vote. senators and representatives receive an annual salary of seven thousand five hundred dollars each; and are allowed mileage, or traveling expenses, of twenty cents for each mile in going to and returning from the session of congress. privileges of the houses.--there are certain constitutional privileges guaranteed to congress in order that its action in legislation may be free from undue influence from other departments of the government. "the times, places, and manner of holding elections for senators and representatives shall be prescribed in each state by the legislature thereof; but the congress may, at any time, by law, make or alter such regulations, except as to the places of choosing senators. "each house shall be the judge of the elections, returns, and qualifications of its own members;" that is, each house declares who are entitled to membership therein. "each house may determine the rules of its proceedings, punish its members for disorderly conduct, and with the concurrence of two thirds expel a member." each house keeps and publishes a journal of its proceedings, "excepting such parts as may, in their judgment, require secrecy; and the yeas and nays of the members of either house, on any question, shall, at the desire of one fifth of those present, be entered on the journal." "neither house, during the session of congress, shall, without the consent of the other, adjourn for more than three days, nor to any other place than that in which the two houses shall be sitting." privileges and disabilities of members.--the constitution of the united states sets forth the following privileges and disabilities relating to membership in both the senate and the house of representatives: ( ) "the senators and representatives shall receive a compensation for their services, to be ascertained by law, and paid out of the treasury of the united states. "they shall in all cases except treason, felony, and breach of the peace be privileged from arrest during their attendance at the session of their respective houses, and in going to and returning from the same; and for any speech or debate in either house they shall not be questioned in any other place." ( ) "no senator or representative shall, during the time for which he was elected, be appointed to any civil office under the authority of the united states which shall have been created, or the emoluments whereof shall have been increased, during such time; and no person holding any office under the united states shall be a member of either house during his continuance of office." the purpose of the first part of this clause is to prevent members of congress from voting to create offices, or to affix high salaries to offices, with the hope of being appointed to fill them. ( ) "the senators and representatives before mentioned, and the members of the several state legislatures, and all executive and judicial officers both of the united states and of the several states, shall be bound by oath or affirmation to support this constitution; but no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public trust under the united states." ( ) "no person shall be a senator or representative in congress, or elector of president and vice president, or hold any office, civil or military, under the united states, or under any state, who, having previously taken an oath as a member of congress, or as an officer of the united states, or as a member of any state legislature, or as an executive or judicial officer of any state, to support the constitution of the united states, shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the same, or given aid and comfort to the enemies thereof. but congress may, by a vote of two thirds of each house, remove such disability." the purpose of the clause was to exclude from office all those who had sworn, as officers of the state or the nation, to support the constitution of the united states, and who afterward engaged in war against the union. an act of congress enabling them to hold office was called a removal of their disabilities. this clause of the constitution is practically void as regards all past offenses, as the disabilities of nearly all to whom it applied have been removed by congress. powers of congress.--congress has power: ( ) to _levy and collect taxes_, duties on imported goods, and revenues from articles of manufacture, "to pay the debts and provide for the common defense and general welfare of the united states." ( ) "to _borrow money_ on the credit of the united states." the usual method of borrowing money is to issue government bonds, which are promises to pay the sums specified in them at a given time, with interest at a given rate. the bonds are sold, usually at their face value, and the proceeds applied to public purposes. united states bonds can not be taxed by a state. ( ) "to _regulate commerce_ with foreign nations, and among the several states, and with the indian tribes." ( ) "to establish a uniform rule of _naturalisation_, and uniform laws on the subject of bankruptcies, throughout the united states." ( ) "to _coin money_; regulate the value thereof, and of foreign coin; and fix the standard of weights and measures." ( ) "to provide for the _punishment of counterfeiting_ the securities and current coin of the united states." ( ) "to establish _post-offices_ and post-roads." ( ) "to promote the progress of _science and useful arts_, by securing for limited times, to authors and inventors, the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries;" that is, to grant _copyrights_ to authors, and to issue _patents_ to inventors. ( ) "to constitute _tribunals_ inferior to the supreme court." ( ) "to define and punish _piracies and felonies_ committed on the high seas, and offenses against the law of nations." _piracy_ is robbery committed at sea. ( ) "to _declare war_; grant letters of marque and reprisal, and make rules concerning captures on land and water." _letters of marque_ are commissions issued to private parties, authorizing them to cross the frontiers of another nation, and to seize the persons and property of its subjects. _reprisal_ is the forcible taking of the property or persons of the subjects of another nation, in return for injuries done to the government granting the letters. vessels carrying letters of marque and reprisal are called _privateers_. ( ) "to raise and support _armies_." ( ) "to provide and maintain a _navy_." ( ) "to make rules for the government and regulation of the land and naval forces." ( ) "to provide for calling forth the _militia_ to execute the laws of the union, suppress insurrection and repel invasions." ( ) "to provide for organizing, arming, and disciplining the militia, and for governing such part of them as may be employed in the service of the united states." ( ) "to exercise exclusive legislation" over the _district of columbia_, "and to exercise like authority over all places purchased by the consent of the legislature of the state in which the same shall be, for the erection of forts, magazines, arsenals, dockyards, and other needful buildings." ( ) "to make all laws which shall be necessary and proper for carrying into execution the foregoing powers and all other powers vested by this constitution in the government of the united states, or in any department or officer thereof." ( ) "congress may determine the time of choosing the _electors_" for president and vice president of the united states, "and the day on which they shall give their votes, which day shall be the same throughout the united states." ( ) "congress may, by law, provide for the case of removal, death, resignation, or inability of both the president and vice president, declaring what officer shall then act as president." ( ) "the congress may, by law, vest the appointment of such _inferior officers_ as they think proper, in the president alone, in the courts of law, or in the heads of departments." ( ) "the congress shall have power to declare the punishment of _treason_." ( ) "full _faith and credit_ shall be given in each state, to the public acts, records, and judicial proceedings of every other state. and the congress may, by general laws, prescribe the manner in which such acts, records, and proceedings shall be proved, and the effect thereof." ( ) "_new states_ may be admitted by the congress into this union, but no new state shall be formed or erected within the jurisdiction of any other state, nor any state be formed by the junction of two or more states, or parts of states, without the consent of the legislatures of the states concerned, as well as of the congress." ( ) "the congress shall have power to dispose of, and to make all needful rules and regulations respecting the _territory_ or other property belonging to the united states; and nothing in this constitution shall be so construed as to prejudice any claims of the united states or of any particular state." ( ) congress has "power to enforce, by appropriate legislation," all provisions of the constitution. under the authority "to provide for the general welfare of the united states," congress exercises powers which are implied--that is, understood--but which are not expressly named in the constitution. the grants of public lands to railway and canal companies, the annual appropriations for the improvement of rivers and harbors, and numerous similar laws are based upon implied powers. forbidden powers.--the following powers are expressly denied to the national government: ( ) "the privilege of the writ of _habeas corpus_ shall not be suspended unless when, in cases of rebellion or invasion, the public safety may require it." _habeas corpus_ means "thou mayst have the body." a person in prison, claiming to be unlawfully detained, or the friend of such a person, applies to the judge of a court for a writ of _habeas corpus_. the judge issues the writ, which directs the officer to bring the body of the prisoner into court at a certain time and place, in order that the legality of the imprisonment may be tested. the case against the prisoner is not tried under the writ of _habeas corpus_, but the judge inquires whether any crime is charged, or whether there is a legal cause for the arrest. if the imprisonment is illegal, the judge orders the prisoner released; if the prisoner is lawfully held, the judge remands him to prison. this writ secures the freedom of every person unless detained upon legal charges. therefore, there is no power in this wide country that can arrest and imprison even the humblest citizen except upon legal grounds. the writ of _habeas corpus_ is the most famous writ known to the law, the strongest safeguard of the personal liberty of the citizens, and is regarded with almost a sacred reverence by the people. ( ) "no bill of attainder or _ex post facto_ law shall be passed" by congress. a _bill of attainder_ is an act of a legislative body inflicting the penalty of death without a regular trial. an _ex post facto_ law is a law which fixes a penalty for acts done before the law was passed, or which increases the penalty of a crime after it is committed. laws for punishing crime more severely can take effect only after their passage; they can not affect a crime committed before they were passed. ( ) "no tax or duty shall be laid on articles exported from any state. no preference shall be given, by any regulation of commerce or revenue, to the ports of one state over those of another; nor shall vessels bound to or from one state be obliged to enter, clear, or pay duties in another." ( ) "no money shall be drawn from the treasury but in consequence of appropriations made by law, and a regular statement and account of the receipts and expenditures of all public money shall be published from time to time." ( ) "no title of nobility shall be granted by the united states, and no person holding any office of profit or trust under them shall, without the consent of congress, accept of any present, emolument, office, or title of any kind whatever, from any king, prince, or foreign state." ( ) "congress shall make no law respecting establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances." ( ) "the validity of the public debt of the united states, authorized by law, including debts incurred for payment of pensions and bounties for services in suppressing insurrection or rebellion shall not be questioned. but neither the united states nor any state shall assume or pay any debt or obligation incurred in aid of insurrection or rebellion against the united states, or any claim for the loss or emancipation of any slave; but all such debts, obligations, and claims shall be held illegal and void." the constitution of the united states forbids the national government from exercising certain other powers, relating principally to slavery; but such denials are rendered useless by the freedom of the slaves. the united states senate. the senate is composed of two senators from each state, elected by direct vote of the people;[ ] and therefore each state has an equal representation, without regard to its area or the number of its people. the term of a united states senator is six years, and one third of the senate is elected every two years. a senator must be thirty years old, for nine years a citizen of the united states, and must be an inhabitant of the state for which he shall be chosen. a vacancy which occurs in any state's representation in the united states senate is filled by an election for the unexpired term; but the legislature of any state may empower the governor to make temporary appointments until such election is held. the vice president of the united states is _ex officio_ president of the senate, but has no vote except when the senate is equally divided upon a question. the senate elects its other officers, including a president _pro tempore_, or temporary president, who presides when the vice president is absent. the senate is a continuous body; that is, it is always organized, and when it meets it may proceed at once to business. when the house of representatives impeaches an officer of the united states, the impeachment is tried before the senate sitting as a court. the senate has the sole power to try impeachments, and it requires two thirds of the senators present to convict. judgment in cases of impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any office of honor, trust, or profit under the united states; but the party convicted shall, nevertheless, be liable and subject to indictment, trial, judgment, and punishment according to law. all treaties made by the president of the united states with foreign countries must be laid before the senate for ratification. if two thirds of the senate vote for the treaty, it is ratified; otherwise, it is rejected. treaties are compacts or contracts between two or more nations made with a view to the public welfare of each, and are usually formed by agents or commissioners appointed by the respective governments of the countries concerned. house of representatives. the house of representatives, often called the lower house of congress, is a much larger body than the senate. the last apportionment of representatives, made in , gave the house four hundred and thirty-five members, and this went into effect with the sixty-third congress, beginning on the th of march, . a census of the people is made every ten years, and upon this as a basis congress fixes the number of representatives for the entire country, and the number to which each state shall be entitled for the next ten years thereafter. each legislature divides the state into as many congress districts as the state is entitled to representatives, and each district elects a representative by direct vote of the people. the term of office is two years, and the terms of all representatives begin and end at the same time. a representative must be twenty-five years old, must have been a citizen of the united states seven years, and must be an inhabitant of the state in which he is elected. a vacancy in a state's representation in the lower house of congress is filled by special election called by the governor for that purpose. "all bills for raising revenue"--that is, all bills providing for taxation--"must originate in the house of representatives; but the senate may propose or concur with amendments, as in other bills." taxation is called the strongest function of government, and therefore the constitution provides that the first step must be taken by the house of representatives, because all its members are elected every two years by the people, and are supposed to represent the people's views. the constitution provides that "the house of representatives shall have the sole power of impeachment;" that is, the house of representatives must formulate and present the charges to the senate, and prosecute the accused at its bar. an impeachment by the house of representatives corresponds to an indictment by a grand jury; specific charges must be made before a trial can be held in any court. the speaker.--the speaker is elected by the representatives. he is a member of the house, and is nominated for the speakership by a convention, or _caucus_, of the representatives who are of his political party. in rank he is the third officer of the government. he presides over the house, preserves decorum, decides points of order, and directs the business of legislation. he is the organ of the house, and because he speaks and declares its will is called the _speaker_. he formerly appointed the standing committees of the house, and thus largely shaped legislation; but this power was taken from him in . as almost all laws are matured by the committees, and are passed as the result of their work, the power to appoint the committees was considered too important to leave in the hands of one man. the speaker's salary is $ , annually. the clerk of the preceding house presides during the election of the speaker. immediately after his election, the speaker is sworn into office by the representative of the longest service in the house. he then assumes the direction of business, and administers the oath to the members as they present themselves by states. the house of representatives is reorganized every two years at the opening of the first session of each congress. other officers.--the other officers of the house are the clerk, the sergeant-at-arms, the doorkeeper, the postmaster, and the chaplain. they are not members of the house. the sergeant-at-arms and the doorkeeper appoint numerous subordinates. the sergeant-at-arms is the ministerial and police officer of the house. he preserves order, under the direction of the speaker, and executes all processes issued by the house or its committees. the symbol of authority of the house is the mace, consisting of a bundle of ebony rods surmounted by a globe, upon which is a silver eagle with outstretched wings. in scenes of disturbance, when the sergeant-at-arms bears the mace through the hall of the house at the speaker's command, the members immediately become quiet and order is restored. the doorkeeper has charge of the hall of the house and its entrances. the postmaster receives and distributes the mail matter of the members. the chaplain opens the daily sessions of the house with prayer. [ ]after . before the senators of each state were elected by the legislature. suggestive questions. . why do not the people of the united states make their laws in person, instead of delegating this power to congress? . is it right that the president should hold the veto power? . why is each house "judge of the elections, returns, and qualifications of its own members"? . why are the yeas and nays entered on the journal? . why are senators and representatives privileged from arrest during the session, except for certain specified offenses? . is it right to grant copyrights and patents? . what is counterfeiting? . should united states senators be elected by the legislature or by the people? . how many senators in congress now? . who are the two united states senators from this state? . what is an impeachment? . how many representatives in congress from this state? . give the name of the representative from this district. . who at present is speaker of the national house of representatives? . of what state is he a representative? . name six of the most important committees of the house of representatives. question for debate. _resolved_, that the members of the president's cabinet should be members of the house of representatives. chapter xiii. the united states--(continued). executive department. president: qualifications.--the executive power of the national government is vested in the president of the united states. the president and the vice president must be natural born citizens of this country, must have attained the age of thirty-five years, and must have resided fourteen years in the united states. in case of the president's death, resignation, or removal from office, his duties devolve upon the vice president; and if a vacancy occurs in the office, the vice president becomes president of the united states. at other times the only duty of the vice president is to preside over the senate. the president receives a salary of seventy-five thousand dollars per year; the annual salary of the vice president is twelve thousand dollars. election.--the president holds his office for a term of four years, and, together with the vice president chosen for the same term, is elected in the following manner: during the earlier part of the regular year for the election of a president, each of the political parties in each state appoints delegates to the national convention of the party, either by means of conventions, or by vote at primary elections. each party meets in national convention later on in the year, and nominates the candidates whom it will support for president and vice president, and puts forth a declaration of principles called a "platform." on tuesday after the first monday in november the people of the several states meet at their usual polling-places, and elect as many electors of president and vice president as the state has senators and representatives in congress. for this purpose candidates for electors have previously been nominated by the several parties naming candidates for president and vice president. the election returns are forwarded to the state capital, where they are compared, and the result declared by the election board of the state. the governor and secretary of state issue certificates to the persons chosen as electors of president and vice president. on the second monday in january the electors of each state meet at the state capital and cast their votes for the candidates of their party for president and vice president. they make, sign, certify, and seal three separate lists of their votes for president and vice president; transmit two lists to the president of the united states senate--one by mail and the other by special messenger--and file the remaining list with the judge of the united states district court of the district in which the electors meet. on the second wednesday in february the united states senate and house of representatives meet in joint session. the president of the senate opens the certificates of votes from all the states, and the votes are then counted. the person having the highest number of votes for president is declared elected president, if his votes are a majority of all the electors elected in the whole union. if no person receives a majority of all the electoral votes, then the house of representatives elects the president from the three candidates receiving the highest numbers of votes. a quorum for the purpose is a representative or representatives from two thirds of the states. each state has one vote, cast as a majority of its representatives present directs; and a majority of ail the states is necessary to elect. the person receiving the highest number of votes for vice president is elected vice president, if his votes are a majority of the whole number of electors chosen. if his votes are not a majority of all the electors, then the senate proceeds to elect the vice president from the two candidates receiving the highest number of votes for vice president. a quorum for the purpose consists of two thirds of the senators from all the states. each senator has one vote, and a majority of the whole number is necessary to elect. the people do not vote directly for president and vice president, but for electors by whom the president and the vice president are chosen. the electors of all the states are called collectively the _electoral college_. the electors _may_ vote for some other person than the candidate nominated by their respective parties; but no elector has ever chosen to exercise this privilege. they consider themselves in honor pledged and instructed to cast their votes for the candidate of their own political faith. the vote of the people for electors is called the _popular vote_, and the vote of the electors for president is called the _electoral vote_. as has several times happened in our history, a candidate may be elected president or vice president and yet be in a minority of the popular vote. inauguration.--on the th of march following the election the president and the vice president assume the duties of their respective offices amid imposing ceremonies. the vice president is first sworn into office in the presence of the united states senate. the following oath of office is then administered to the president-elect by the chief justice of the united states supreme court: "i do solemnly swear (or affirm) that i will faithfully execute the office of president of the united states; and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the constitution of the united states." in the presence of a vast concourse of citizens the president delivers an address, outlining the public policy to be pursued during his term of office. there is usually a display of civil and military organizations representing all sections of the country. the political differences of the people are in great part forgotten in the enthusiasm attending the inauguration of the president. official residence.--the presidential mansion in the city of washington is called the white house. it was erected and is maintained by the national government at public expense. here the president resides with his family, and receives private citizens, members of congress, officers of other departments of the government, and foreign ministers and dignitaries. at his public receptions, held at stated times, he may be called upon by the humblest person in the land. this shows the spirit of equality which prevails even in the highest station under our system of government. our institutions are based upon the principle embodied in the declaration of independence, "that all men are created equal." dignity and responsibility.--the office of president of the united states is the highest in the gift of the people. "he represents the unity, power, and purpose of the nation." he is the first citizen of the united states, holding the position of highest dignity, influence, and responsibility in the whole country. he directs the machinery of the government, and is therefore held responsible by the people for the conduct of public affairs, and largely for the condition of the country. his term of office is called an administration. he and his official advisers have the appointment of more than one hundred and fifteen thousand officers of the national government. messages.--at the opening of each regular session of congress the president sends or delivers to both houses his annual message, in which he reviews events of the previous year, gives "information of the state of the union," and recommends the passage of such laws as he deems "necessary and expedient." from time to time he gives information upon special subjects, and recommends the passage of measures of pressing importance. the heads of departments make yearly reports to the president, which are printed for the information of congress. duties and powers.--the duties of the president are so extensive, the burdens of his office so heavy, and his power so great, that the people believe that no man, however wise and eminent, should hold the office for more than two terms. washington set the example of voluntary retirement at the end of the second term, and it seems to be an unwritten law that no president shall serve more than eight years in succession. the duties of the office, so various and so burdensome, are summed up in the provision of the constitution: "he shall take care that the laws be faithfully executed." the president approves or vetoes all bills and joint-resolutions passed by congress, except those relating to questions of adjournment. all measures vetoed must, within ten days after they are received, be returned to the house in which they originated. the power to veto acts of congress is called the legislative power of the president. he is _commander-in-chief_ of the army and the navy of the united states, and of the militia of the several states when engaged in the national service. he does not command in person, but places the forces under the orders of officers of his choice. he may require information in writing from the heads of departments upon subjects relating to their respective offices. as he appoints these officers, and may remove them at his pleasure, the people hold him responsible for their official conduct. he is held responsible for the official actions of all officers of the executive department of the government. he may grant _reprieves and pardons_ for offenses against the united states, except in cases of impeachment. frequent appeals are made to his pardoning power. he may make _treaties_ with foreign countries, but before a treaty can have any effect it must be submitted by him to the senate, and must be ratified by a vote of two thirds of the senators present. with the consent of the senate, he appoints ministers to foreign courts, consuls to foreign countries, judges of the united states supreme court, and other officers, of the national government. he fills vacancies in office which occur during recesses of the senate, by granting commissions which expire at the close of the next session of the senate. he may, in cases of extreme necessity, call special session of congress, or of either house. if the senate and the house of representatives fail to agree upon a time to which they shall adjourn, the president may adjourn them to such time as he may think proper. such a necessity has never arisen, and therefore this power has never been exercised. the president may receive or refuse to receive ministers and other agents of foreign governments. _to receive_ a minister is to recognize the nation which he represents. he may also dismiss foreign ministers who do not prove acceptable to our government. he commissions all officers of the united states. the power to make appointments of office is called his _patronage_. a civil service commission, consisting of three commissioners, has been established by act of congress, to secure efficiency in the public service, and to prevent the appointment of men to office as a reward for party work. before applicants for certain offices can be appointed they must pass an examination prescribed by the civil service commission. cabinet. the president's cabinet is a council of ten official advisers, appointed by him and confirmed by the senate. they are often called heads of departments. the members of the cabinet are the secretary of state, secretary of the treasury, secretary of war, secretary of the navy, postmaster-general, secretary of the interior, attorney-general, secretary of agriculture, secretary of commerce, and secretary of labor. they may be removed by the president at pleasure, and are directly responsible to him for the conduct of their respective departments. the president holds frequent meetings of the cabinet for the purpose of conferring upon official business; but he may, if he choose, disregard their advice and act upon his own judgment. in case of the death, resignation, removal, or disability of both president and vice president, the presidential office would be filled by a member of the cabinet, in this order: the secretary of state, the secretary of the treasury, the secretary of war, the attorney-general, the postmaster-general, the secretary of the navy, the secretary of the interior. each of the cabinet officers receives a salary of twelve thousand dollars per year. department of state.--the secretary of state is the head of the department of state, formerly called the department of foreign affairs. his office is the highest rank in the cabinet, and is next in importance to that of the president. he preserves the original draughts of all treaties, laws, public documents, and correspondence with foreign countries. he keeps the great seal of the united states, and fixes it to all commissions signed by the president. he furnishes copies of records and papers kept in his office, impressed with the seal of his department, and authenticates all proclamations and messages of the president. he has charge of the negotiation of treaties and other foreign affairs, conducts correspondence with foreign ministers, issues instructions for the guidance of our ministers and other agents to foreign countries, and from time to time reports to congress the relations of the united states with other governments. he is the organ of communication between the president and the governors of the states. he issues traveling papers, called _passports_, to citizens wishing to travel in foreign countries. when foreign criminals take refuge in this country, he issues warrants for their delivery according to the terms of existing treaties. he presents to the president all foreign ministers, and is the only officer authorized to represent him in correspondence with foreign governments. the secretary of state has three assistants, called respectively, first assistant secretary of state, second assistant secretary of state, and third assistant secretary of state. the department of state conducts the foreign affairs of the government chiefly through the diplomatic service and the consular service. the diplomatic service.--the officers of the diplomatic service are called _ministers_, and represent the united states in a political capacity. they negotiate treaties under the direction of the secretary of state, and maintain friendly relations between the united states and the countries to which they are accredited. they are forbidden to engage in any commercial transaction, or to exercise any control over the commercial interests of the united states. by the laws of nations, foreign ministers in all countries enjoy many rights and privileges not accorded to other foreign persons. they are assisted by interpreters, who explain speeches made in foreign tongues; and by secretaries of legation, who keep the records, and attend to the minor duties of the ministers. the diplomatic service consists of ambassadors extraordinary and plenipotentiary, of envoys extraordinary and ministers plenipotentiary, and of ministers resident. these officials rank in the order named, but the duties are the same; the chief difference being in the rank and influence of the countries to which they are accredited. the ambassadors and ministers of the higher rank receive salaries ranging from seven thousand five hundred dollars to seventeen thousand five hundred dollars each, the latter sum being paid to the ambassadors to such important countries as great britain, germany, france, russia, mexico, japan, etc. there are very few ministers resident. they generally serve also as consuls general, and receive from four thousand dollars to seven thousand dollars each. ministers sent to foreign countries upon special service, such as the negotiation of special treaties, are sometimes called _commissioners_. consular service.--the consular service includes about sixty consuls general, some of whom are inspectors of consulates, about two hundred and fifty consuls, and many deputies and other assistants. the chief duties of consuls are to enforce the commercial laws, and to protect the rights of american citizens. consuls reside at the principal cities of the consular districts to which they are accredited. the interests of american shipping and american seamen are specially intrusted to their care. they keep the papers of american vessels while in port; they record the tonnage, the kind and value of the cargo, and the number and condition of the sailors. they hear the complaints of seamen, cause the arrest of mutinous sailors, send them home for trial, and care for mariners in destitute condition. they take possession of the property of american citizens dying abroad, and forward the proceeds to the lawful heirs. they collect valuable information relating to the commerce and manufactures of foreign countries, which is distributed among our people by the department of commerce. in turkey and china, american citizens who are charged with crime are tried by the american consul. consuls and consuls general receive salaries ranging from two thousand dollars to twelve thousand dollars each, according to the importance of the cities where they are located. treasury department.--the secretary of the treasury is the head of the treasury department. he manages the entire financial system of the national government. he suggests to congress plans for raising revenue and maintaining the credit of the united states, and makes detailed reports on all the operations of his department. he superintends the collection of revenue; the coinage of money; the operation of national banks; the conduct of custom-houses, where taxes on imported foreign goods are collected. the schedule or table showing the duties levied on foreign goods is called the _tariff_; this is fixed by act of congress. the management of the public health service, and the operation of the coast guard, maintained along the seacoast for the rescue of persons from drowning and for the enforcement of navigation laws, are also under the charge of the secretary of the treasury. his greatest responsibility is the management of the national debt, which still amounts to many hundred millions of dollars. bureaus.--the secretary of the treasury is assisted by three assistant secretaries of the treasury, a comptroller, six auditors, a treasurer, a register of the treasury, and numerous other responsible officers in charge of the bank currency, internal revenue, the mint, the erection of public buildings, and other important bureaus and divisions of the treasury department. the _comptroller_ directs the work of the six auditors, and superintends the recovery of debts due the united states. the _auditor for the treasury department_ settles--that is, examines and passes on--all accounts in the collection of customs duties and internal revenue, the national debt, and other accounts immediately connected with the operations of the treasury department. the _auditor for the war department_ settles the army accounts. the _auditor for the interior department_ settles pension accounts, accounts with the indians, and all other accounts arising in the department of the interior. the _auditor for the navy department_ settles the accounts of the navy. the _auditor for the state and other departments_ has charge of the accounts of the secretary of state, the attorney-general, the secretary of agriculture, the secretary of commerce, and the secretary of labor, and of all the officials under their direction; the accounts of the united states courts; and those of various institutions which are not under the control of any department. the _auditor for the post-office department_ examines and passes on the accounts of the postal service. the _treasurer_ is custodian of the funds of the united states. all funds and securities are kept in vaults made for the purpose, or deposited in reliable banks for safe keeping. the _register of the treasury_ has charge of the account-books of united states bonds and paper money. they show the exact financial condition of the united states at all times. the register's name is upon all bonds and notes issued by the government. the _comptroller of the currency_ supervises the national banks. a _bank_ is a place for the safe keeping and lending of money. a bank holding its charter--that is, its power to do business--from a state government is called a state bank. two kinds of banks are chartered by the national government: the _national banks_ and the _federal reserve banks_. by the laws of the united states, any five or more persons with sufficient capital may organize a national bank. a national bank may issue its notes--that is, its promises to pay--as currency, to an amount not exceeding the amount of united states bonds deposited by the bank with the national government. each federal reserve bank is a large central bank organized by the banks of a certain district. it issues notes as currency, secured by commercial notes, drafts, etc. the _commissioner of internal revenue_ supervises the collection of income taxes and of taxes laid upon tobacco; liquors, etc., manufactured in this country. the _director of the mint_ has charge of the coinage of money, and reports to congress upon the yield of precious metals. there are mints at philadelphia, carson, san francisco, denver, and new orleans, and assay offices also at other places. the constitution vests the power to coin money in the national government alone. the _director of the bureau of engraving and printing_ supervises the execution of designs and the engraving and printing of revenue and postage stamps, national bank notes, and the notes, bonds, and other financial paper of the united states. the _supervising architect_ selects plans for the erection of custom-houses, court-houses, post-offices, mints, and other public buildings of the united states. the _surgeon-general of the public health service_ has charge of the marine hospitals, and helps to enforce the laws which aim to prevent the introduction of contagious diseases into the country. he calls conferences of state health boards. the _solicitor of the treasury_ is the chief lawyer for the department. he has charge of prosecutions for violations of the customs laws, and other crimes against the financial interests of the united states. like similar lawyers for other departments, he is included in the department of justice, under the attorney-general. war department.--the secretary of war is the head of the war department. he has charge of the land forces, under the direction of the president. he supervises the expenditure of money voted by congress for the improvement of rivers and harbors, and for the united states military academy at west point, as well as for the support and operations of the army. in the management of his department he is aided by an assistant secretary of war. bureaus.--the war department has numerous offices and bureaus, each in the charge of a responsible officer, and all under the supervision of the chief of staff, who is the military adviser of the secretary of war. the _adjutant-general_ issues the military orders of his superiors, conducts the army correspondence, issues commissions, and keeps the army records. the _quartermaster-general_ provides quarters, food, clothing, and transportation for the army, and has charge of barracks and national cemeteries. he also supervises the payment of the army and the military academy. the _surgeon-general_ superintends the army hospitals, and the distribution of medical stores for the army. the _inspector-general_ attends to inspection of the arms and equipments of the soldiers. the _chief of engineers_ supervises the construction of forts, the improvement of rivers and harbors, and the surveys relating to them. the _chief of ordnance_ furnishes guns and ammunition to the army and to forts, and has charge of armories and arsenals. the _judge-advocate-general_, who is chief of the bureau of military justice, prosecutes crimes committed in the army, and reviews all sentences passed by military courts and military commissions. military academy.--the military academy at west point is maintained for the education of officers for the army. each member of congress appoints two cadets to the academy, and the president appoints four from the district of columbia and eighty from the united states at large. there are also appointed two from each territory, two from porto rico, and a certain number of enlisted men from the army. the academy is under the charge of an army officer, appointed by the secretary of war. each cadet receives from the government an allowance sufficient to pay all necessary expenses. navy department.--the secretary of the navy presides over the navy department. he has control of all affairs relating to vessels of war, the naval forces, and naval operations. he has charge of the naval observatory at washington, and of the united states naval academy at annapolis. there is an assistant secretary of the navy. the naval department issues sailing charts, sailing directions, and other publications for the use of seamen. among these is the nautical almanac used in navigating ships. bureaus.--the naval department has a number of bureaus, which are in charge of competent officers detailed from the naval service. the _bureau of navigation_ gives out and enforces the secretary's orders to the officers of the navy, enlists sailors, keeps the records of the service, and has charge of the naval academy. it has charge of the training and education of line officers and enlisted men of the navy. the _bureau of yards and docks_ attends to the navy yards, docks, wharves, their buildings and machinery. the _bureau of ordnance_ superintends the forging and testing of cannon, guns, and other military equipments, and the construction of naval torpedoes. the _bureau of medicine and surgery_ has charge of the naval laboratory, the eight naval hospitals, and the purchase and distribution of surgical instruments and medical stores for the naval department. the _bureau of supplies and accounts_ purchases and distributes provisions and clothing for the navy. the _bureau of steam engineering_ superintends the construction and repair of engines and machinery for the vessels of war. the _bureau of construction and repair_ has charge of all matters relating to the construction and repair of all vessels and boats used in the naval service. naval academy.--the naval academy at annapolis is maintained by the national government for the purpose of educating and training officers for the navy. it bears the same relation to the navy that the military academy bears to the army. at the academy there are three midshipmen for each member of congress; the president appoints two from the district of columbia and ten a year from the united states at large; and fifteen enlisted men of the navy are appointed each year on competitive examination. the academy is under the charge of a superintendent, appointed by the secretary of the navy. each midshipman receives from the government an annual sum of money sufficient to pay all necessary expenses incurred at the academy. post-office department.--the postmaster-general presides over the post-office department. he has control of all questions relating to the management of post-offices and the carrying of the mails, and appoints all postmasters whose annual salaries are less than a thousand dollars each. postmasters whose salaries exceed this sum are appointed by the president of the united states. bureaus.--the postmaster-general has four assistants, who, under him, are in charge of the various details of the vast establishment devoted to the postal service. the _first assistant postmaster-general_ has general charge of post-offices and postmasters, and makes preparations for the appointment of all postmasters. he also controls the free delivery of mail matter in cities, and the dead letter office. the _second assistant postmaster-general_ attends to the letting of contracts for carrying the mails, decides upon the mode of conveyance, and fixes the time for the arrival and departure of mails at each post-office. he also has charge of the foreign mail service. the united states has postal treaties with all the other civilized countries in the world, by which regular mail lines are maintained. the _third assistant postmaster-general_ has charge of financial matters. he provides stamps, stamped envelopes, and postal cards for post-offices, and receives the reports and settlements of postmasters. he also superintends the registered mail service, the postal savings system, and the post-office money-order business. by means of money orders people may deposit money in the post-office at which they mail their letters, and have it paid at the office to which their letters are addressed. the _fourth assistant postmaster-general_ has charge of the rural free delivery system,--a very important service. he also furnishes blanks and stationery to post-offices throughout the united states, and supervises the making of the various post-route maps, such as those used for rural delivery and for the parcel post. interior department.--the secretary of the interior is the chief officer of the interior department. the former name, _home department_, suggests the character of the subjects under its control. its duties relate to various public interests which have been transferred to it from other departments. the department of the interior has charge of pensions, public lands, indian affairs, patents, education, and the geological survey. the _commissioner of pensions_ has charge of the examination of pension claims and the granting of pensions and bounties for service in the army and the navy. there are about a million names on the pension rolls of the united states, and the annual payment of pensions amounts to about one hundred and forty million dollars. the _commissioner of the general land office_ superintends the surveys and sales of the lands belonging to the national government. the united states surveys divide the public lands into ranges, townships, sections, and fractions of sections. ranges are bounded by north and south lines, six miles apart, and are numbered east and west. ranges are divided into townships, each six miles square, numbered north and south. a township is divided into thirty-six sections, each one mile square, and containing six hundred and forty acres of land; and sections are divided into quarter sections. the _commissioner of indian affairs_ has charge of questions relating to the government of the indians. its agents make treaties, manage lands, issue rations and clothing, and conduct trade with the indians. the _commissioner of patents_ conducts all matters pertaining to the granting of patents for useful inventions, discoveries, and improvements. a _patent_ gives the inventor the exclusive right to manufacture, sell, and use the patented article for a period of seventeen years. a _copyright_, which is somewhat similar to a patent, gives the author of a book the exclusive right to print, publish, and sell it for a period of twenty-eight years, with the privilege at the expiration of that time of renewing for twenty-eight years more. an inventor or author may sell a patent or copyright, as well as other property. the _commissioner of education_ investigates the condition and progress of education in the several states and territories, and collects information relating to schools, school systems, and methods of teaching. the facts collected are distributed among the people in annual reports published by the office. the _director of the geological survey_ sends out parties of scientific men, who explore various parts of the union, trace the sources of rivers, measure the heights of lands, and gather other facts relating to the natural resources of the country. he publishes excellent maps of the regions that have been explored. department of justice.--the attorney-general presides over the department of justice. he is the chief law officer of the government, and the legal adviser of all the departments. he is assisted by the solicitor-general, who is the second officer in rank; by nine assistant attorney-generals, and by several solicitors for particular departments. the department of justice conducts before the supreme court all suits to which the united states is a party; conducts suits arising in any of the departments, when requested by the head thereof; exercises supervision over the district attorneys and marshals of the united states district courts; examines the titles of lands proposed to be purchased by the united states, as sites for forts, arsenals, barracks, dockyards, customhouses, post-offices, and other public purposes; examines and reports upon applications for judicial offices and other positions requiring legal ability. department of agriculture.--the department of agriculture was reorganized in . previous to that time it had been a bureau of the interior department. the secretary of agriculture is the chief officer of the department of agriculture. this department collects and diffuses among the people useful knowledge relating to agriculture and agricultural products. experiments are conducted upon farm and garden products, and the seeds of choice varieties are distributed among the people. similar attention is given to stock-raising and the care of forests. the _bureau of chemistry_ assists in the enforcement of the pure food law. the department also includes the _weather bureau_, which collects and publishes telegraphic reports of storms and the condition of the weather, in the interest of agriculture and commerce. department of commerce.--the department of commerce and labor was created in , and ten years later was divided into two departments. the secretary of commerce presides over the department of commerce. its duty is to promote and develop commerce, mining, manufacturing, and fisheries. it collects and publishes facts and figures on all these subjects; supplies exactly true weights and measures for any one to copy; controls stations for stocking waters with valuable fish; inspects and licenses steamships, rejecting any that are unseaworthy; surveys the seacoast of the united states, and maintains lighthouses at dangerous points. the work of the department is divided among a number of bureaus, many of which were already in existence when the new department was formed. among these is the _census office_, which takes a census of the united states every ten years, besides collecting other statistics at shorter intervals. department of labor.--the secretary of labor presides over the department of labor. its duty is to promote the welfare of wage earners. it makes important investigations, and publishes statistics concerning laborers. this department includes the _children's bureau_, which studies problems, affecting children's welfare. it also includes the _bureau of immigration_ and the _bureau of naturalisation_, which supervise the enforcement of united states laws regarding immigration and naturalization. separate commissions.--in addition to the civil service commission, congress has created two other important commissions not connected with any department. the _interstate commerce commission_, consisting of seven members appointed by the president, supervises interstate railroads, express companies, etc., and enforces the laws which control them. the _federal trade commission_, consisting of five members appointed by the president, supervises the business of persons and companies engaged in interstate commerce, except those under the control of the interstate commerce commission. suggestive questions. . why does the constitution require that the president shall be a native of the united states? . who is now president, and of what state is he a citizen? . when was he elected? . should the president be eligible for reelection? . do you think he should have the veto power? . of what use is a passport in traveling? . what is internal revenue? . what was the principal cause of the national debt? . how many soldiers, including officers, in the army of the united states? . of what value are the weather reports? . why is it right for the government to grant pensions? . why should a census be taken? . what is the population of the united states, and what the population of this state, by the last census? . what is meant by conducting a suit before the supreme court? question for debate. _resolved_, that the president and the vice president should be elected by the popular vote. chapter xiv. the united states--(continued). judicial department. the judicial department is one of the three great departments of the government, being coordinate with congress, the legislative power, and with the president, the executive power. the principle of three coordinate departments of government is new, the united states being the first nation that ever embodied it in its constitution. the judicial system of the united states includes the supreme court of the united states, the circuit courts of appeals, district courts, the courts of the district of columbia, the court of claims, the court of customs appeals, a territorial court for each of the territories, and several commissioners' courts in each of the states. jurisdiction of united states courts.--the jurisdiction of united states courts extends to the following classes of suits at law: . to all cases arising under laws passed by congress. . those affecting ministers, consuls, and other agents of the united states and foreign countries. . suits arising on the high seas. . all suits to which the united states is a party. . controversies between a state and the citizens of another state. . cases between citizens of different states. . suits between citizens of the same state claiming lands under grants by different states. . cases between a state or its citizens and a foreign state or its citizens. it will be seen that all cases at law to which a state is a party must be tried in the courts of the united states. a direct suit can not be brought against the united states except by authority of a special act of congress; nor can a suit be brought against a state by a citizen of another state, or by one of its own citizens, except by the special permission of its legislature. supreme court of the united states.--the supreme court of the united states is the highest judicial tribunal in the country. it consists of the chief justice and eight associate justices, nominated by the president and confirmed by the senate. the country is divided into nine circuits, each represented by a justice of the supreme court. the justices hold their offices during life, unless impeached; but they have the privilege of retiring upon full pay, at seventy years of age, provided they have served in the court for ten years. a quorum consists of any six justices, and if a majority agree upon a decision it becomes the decision of the court. the court holds annual sessions in the capitol building at washington, beginning upon the second monday in october. the annual salary of the chief justice is fifteen thousand dollars; that of the associate justices is fourteen thousand five hundred dollars each. the constitution of the united states creates and names the supreme court, and provides that the judicial power shall be vested in it "and in such inferior courts as the congress may from time to time ordain and establish." jurisdiction.--the supreme court has original jurisdiction in all cases affecting ministers, consuls, and other agents of the united states and foreign countries, and in cases to which a state is a party. most cases tried by it are brought before it upon appeals from the inferior courts of the united states. they involve chiefly the questions of jurisdiction of the inferior courts, the constitutionality of laws, the validity of treaties, and the sentences in criminal and prize causes. an appeal from a state court can be carried to the supreme court only upon the ground that the decision of the state court is in conflict with the constitution or laws of the united states. the peculiar province of the supreme court is to interpret the constitution, and in all conflicts between a state and the nation the final decision rests with the supreme court of the united states. it may, and does, modify its own judgments; but until it modifies or reverses a decision, it is final, and from it there is no appeal. whether its decree be against a private citizen, a state, the congress, or the president, that decree is "the end of the whole matter," and must be obeyed. the supreme court is more admired and praised by foreign critics than is any other of our institutions. it is conceded by all to be one of the strongest and best features in our system of government. in a free country like ours, such a tribunal is necessary to prevent the legislative and executive departments from trespassing upon the constitution, and invading the rights of the people. therefore the supreme court of the united states has been appropriately called "the balance-wheel in our system of government." united states circuit courts of appeals.--each united states circuit embraces several states, and has two or more circuit judges. one justice of the supreme court is also assigned to each circuit. there are nine circuit courts of appeals, one for each united states circuit. all appeals from the district courts must be made to the circuit courts of appeals, except in cases expressly provided by law to be taken direct to the supreme court; but provision is also made for appeal from the decision of the circuit courts of appeals to the supreme court in certain classes of cases. united states district court.--each state has one or more united states district courts, each presided over by a district judge. the district court has both civil and criminal jurisdiction in all cases under the national law which are not required to be brought in other courts. before there were so-called "circuit courts" usually held by the district judges, for the trial of certain important kinds of cases; but these were abolished by an act of . in each state a large majority of the civil and criminal cases must be tried and finally decided in the state courts. however, among the important cases tried in united states courts are those concerning patents, copyrights, and bankruptcy, those involved in the regulation of interstate and foreign commerce, and offenses committed against the postal and revenue laws. interstate commerce cases are often in the form of appeals from the orders issued by the interstate commerce commission, fixing the freight and passenger rates of railroads, etc. such a case is heard by three judges sitting together, and an appeal from their decision can be taken directly to the supreme court. if the circuit and district judges desire, they may retire upon full pay at the age of seventy, after ten years of consecutive service. court of customs appeals.--the customs court consists of a chief judge and four associate judges. it decides disputes over the rates of duty payable on imported goods. it holds sessions both at washington and in other cities. court of claims.--the court of claims holds its sessions at washington, and consists of a chief justice and four associate justices. it hears and determines claims against the united states. no one could bring suit against the national government without permission from congress; but a person having a claim against it may submit the claim to the court of claims for trial, and, if the claim is declared to be legal and just, it is almost always paid by act of congress. other courts.--the _district of columbia_ has six supreme court justices and three justices of a court of appeals. their jurisdiction is similar to that of the united states district courts and circuit courts of appeals, but is confined to the district of columbia. _territorial courts_ consist of a chief justice and two associate justices, who hold their offices for a term of four years, unless removed by the president. a territorial court holds its sessions in the territory for which it is constituted, and has jurisdiction of cases arising under the laws of congress and the laws passed by the territorial legislature. appeals are taken from the courts of the district of columbia and from the territorial courts to the supreme court of the united states. a united states commissioner's court consists of a commissioner appointed by the judge of the district court. the chief duties of this court are to arrest and hold for trial persons charged with offenses against the united states, and to assist in taking testimony for the trial of cases. a judge of a state court or a justice of the peace may act as united states commissioner, but while engaged in such duties he is an officer of the united states, and not of the state. term of service.--justices of circuit courts, district courts, the customs court, the court of claims, the courts of the district of columbia, and of the territorial courts, are appointed by the president and confirmed by the senate. the justices of these courts, except of the territorial courts, hold their offices during life, unless impeached. this life tenure of office, and the provision that a salary of a justice shall not be reduced during his term, render the courts of the united states independent of congress and public opinion, and tend to preserve the purity and dignity of their decisions. the salary of a judge of the circuit court is seven thousand dollars; that of a judge of a district court is six thousand dollars; that of a judge of the customs court is seven thousand dollars; and that of a justice of the court of claims is six thousand dollars, except the chief justice, who receives six thousand five hundred dollars. officers of courts.--the united states district courts have grand juries and trial juries, who perform duties similar to those of juries in state courts. with the consent of the senate, the president appoints for each district a united states district attorney and a united states marshal. the _district attorney_ represents the united states in all civil cases to which it is a party, and is the prosecuting officer in criminal cases. the _marshal_ is the executive and ministerial officer of the court, with duties similar to those of a sheriff. the supreme court of the united states appoints a _reporter_, who reports--that is, edits and publishes--its decisions. this court also appoints its own _marshal_. the decisions of the district court are reported by the judge, or by an attorney under the judge's sanction. each court appoints a clerk, who keeps a record of its proceedings; gives a history of each case; notes all orders, decisions, and judgments; has charge of all money paid; and keeps and fixes the seal of the court. the circuit courts of appeals appoint their own marshals and clerks. the duties of these officers are similar to those performed by the marshal and clerk of the supreme court. the circuit courts of appeals have no reporters. suggestive questions. . who is chief justice of the united states, and of what state is he a citizen? . why should a judge hold his position during a long term of years? . this state is a part of what united states circuit? . what justice represents this circuit in the supreme court? . who is judge of the united states district court of this district? . why can no person bring suit against the united states except by special act of congress? question for debate. _resolved_, that the jury system should be abolished. part ii. chapter xv. government. government is defined as _rule_ or _control_. it is that which governs, and also the act of governing. in its political sense, it means the supreme authority of a state or other political community, or the act by which this authority is applied. it is sometimes said to be a system of institutions for the restraint of people living in the social state or social condition. the word _govern_ is derived from a latin word which first meant _to steer the ship_, and then very naturally came to mean _to guide, to direct, to command_. "the comparison of governing with steering is a very happy one," for the interest of him who steers is the same as that of the people in the ship: "all must float or sink together." so the interest of those that govern, of those that guide "the ship of state," as we often express it, is the same as that of the people.[ ] origin and necessity.--the origin of government is unknown; its beginning can not be traced. people everywhere, in all the varying degrees of civilization, recognize the necessity of a supreme authority, to whom all owe and render obedience. men can not long live in the same vicinity without some kind of political organization. without some sort of government--that is, some supreme power to settle disputes--the people would be in continual warfare; there could be no security to person or property; each individual could look to himself alone for safety; "his hand would be against every man, and every man's hand against him." wherever men are found they live under some form of government, however rude and imperfect. in all parts and in all ages of the world they have seen the necessity of some power to protect the weak and restrain the strong, and have therefore set up a supreme authority for the common welfare. a body of people living under government is called _society_, and the agreement existing between them, for their common welfare, is called the _social compact_. men are so constituted that society is necessary to their happiness. therefore they seek the social state and join the social compact, thus agreeing to be governed by law and order. for the people.--government is for the people, and not for the rulers. officers, the highest and the lowest, are merely the servants of the people. all governments derive their just powers from the consent of the people, and are established and maintained for their good. all powers which are exercised without the consent of the people are unjust and tyrannical. kinds.--government is of two kinds, civil and military. _civil government_ is the government of civil society, or the government of the people in a peaceful state. _military government_ is the government of men in a state of war. it prevails in the army and the navy, and sometimes in districts which are the scenes of military operations. military government is conducted by the rules of martial law, and in its penalties and exactions is much more severe than civil government. forms of civil government. there are many forms of civil government, but they may be reduced to three principal systems: . _monarchy_: government by one person. . _aristocracy_: government by a few persons. . _democracy_: government by the people. every government is either one of these forms or is composed of two or more of them. monarchy.--a _monarchy_ is a government whose chief authority is vested in one person, usually called king, queen, emperor, empress, or prince. monarchies are absolute or limited. in an _absolute monarchy_ there is no limit to the power of the monarch; his wishes are the laws of the people. the people are his property, and in his person are combined all the powers of government, legislative, executive, and judicial. russia is the only civilized nation whose government is still an absolute monarchy. in a _constitutional monarchy_ the sovereign, or chief ruler, must govern by laws made by a representative body elected by the people. england and germany are constitutional monarchies. in an _hereditary monarchy_ the sovereign inherits the ruling power, usually from his father. in an _elective monarchy_ the sovereign is elected for life, usually by the dignitaries of other nations. a _patriarchy_ is a monarchy in which the chief power is exercised by a patriarch, or father. the authority of the patriarch is confined to his tribe. this form of government was common in ancient times, before tribes were combined into nations. a _theocracy_ is a monarchy whose rulers claim to be under the direct guidance of god. the government of the ancient hebrews was a theocracy. aristocracy.--an _aristocracy_, sometimes called _oligarchy_, is a government in which the supreme authority is vested in a privileged few, distinguished by their wealth and social position. the privileged class are usually called nobles. they are above the common people in rank and bear titles of honor. these titles are mostly inherited, but are sometimes conferred upon persons by the sovereign. an aristocracy never exists by itself; it is always combined with some other form of government, usually with a constitutional monarchy. the government of england is partly aristocratic; the house of lords, one of the bodies of parliament, being composed of nobles. democracy.--a _democracy_ is a "government of the people, by the people, for the people." it is a government by many, instead of by one or by a few. hereditary titles are inconsistent with democratic government, and therefore never exist in a democracy. a _pure democracy_ is a government conducted by the people in person. it is practicable only in a political community so small that all the people may assemble at the seat of government. the new england "town meeting" is almost the only example of a pure democracy in the world at the present time; certainly the only example in the united states. a _republic_, or _representative democracy_, is a government conducted by representatives elected by the people. the united states, mexico, france, switzerland, and all south american nations are republics, and the republican principle of government is growing in popularity throughout the civilized world. no form of government is equally good for all peoples. a certain form may be good for one country and bad for another country. a republic, which is the best government for a well-educated and virtuous people, is the worst for an ignorant and depraved people. the excellence of a republican government depends upon the knowledge and virtue of its citizens. the people are the rulers, and, if they are wise and virtuous, they will rule well; if they are ignorant and depraved, they will rule ill. therefore the hope of a republic like ours is, that its people will continue to grow wiser and better. [ ]fiske's _civil government of the united states_. suggestive questions. . why is military government more severe than civil government? . could society exist without law? why? . why is a republic a bad form of government for an ignorant people? . are the people of the united states growing wiser and better? . is this state improving in civilization? chapter xvi. justice. the object of government is to protect the people, and to render justice to them. _justice_ is the security of rights. a _right_ is a well-founded claim; that is, a just claim of one person upon other persons. _rights_ are the most important things that a person can possess, because his happiness depends upon them. they are real things, for whose protection governments are instituted. the kind and extent of the rights recognized and protected in any country determine the form of its government. as a rule, there is more freedom among citizens of a republic than among those of other governments, because a republic guarantees more rights. rights and duties. people have many rights, and they have as many duties. each right given to a person is a trust placed in his hands for him to discharge. a right implies a duty, and a duty implies a right. rights and duties go hand in hand. for example, children have a right to the protection of their parents, and this implies that it is the duty of children to obey their parents. civil rights and duties.--rights and duties are civil and political. _civil rights_ are sometimes called _inalienable rights_, because they can not be justly taken away except as a punishment for crime. they are chiefly those rights with which we are endowed by nature. they are not conferred by any earthly power, but are given to every human being at his birth. they are called civil rights, because they belong to the citizen in his ordinary daily life. among civil rights are: . _the right to personal security_; that is, the right to be free from attack and annoyance; . _the right of personal liberty_; that is, to go when and where he pleases, provided he does not trespass upon the rights of others; and . _the right of private property_; that is, the right to use, enjoy, and dispose of what he has acquired by labor, purchase, gift, or inheritance. the greater part of these rights belong to men whether living in society, that is, under government, or living without government. their natural rights are more extensive without society than with it, but are far less secure. without government natural rights are unlimited; each person may lay claim to all land and to all it produces, provided he is strong enough to maintain his claim by force. when men join the social compact, they agree to abandon some of their natural rights, in order to be protected by the government in those which they retain; that is, each person agrees that in making his own claims he will have due regard for the similar claims of others. in entering the social compact, men also agree to submit their personal claims to settlement by the law, instead of going to war to maintain them. they agree to refer their disputes to courts established for that purpose. as a rule, under government, right prevails; without government, might prevails. _civil rights_ are divided into _industrial rights_, _social rights_, and _moral_ or _religious rights_. industrial rights and duties.--it is the right and duty of each person to provide in his own way, providing it is legal and honest, for himself and those dependent upon him. all business transactions; the search for homes, comforts, and wealth; agriculture, manufacturing, mining, and commerce; the conduct of all professions, occupations, and industries; the interests of farm laborers, operatives in factories, miners, clerks, and all persons engaged in mental or physical labor, are based upon industrial rights and duties. the wages of people, the hours of labor, railway and telegraph lines, canals, express companies, other common carriers, the various kinds of employment, and the organization of men in different branches of industry to advance their interests, are questions affecting industrial rights. these rights underlie all efforts of people to improve their financial condition. social rights and duties.--each member of society has rights as such, and these are called _social rights_. they include the rights of personal security and protection. they underlie all efforts for the improvement of the social condition of the people. society is interested in better schools, in public health, in the reformation of criminals, in good highways and streets, in safe buildings, in well-lighted cities and villages, in the maintenance of charitable institutions, in the establishment of sources of harmless amusement, and in the preservation of peace and order. the comfort and convenience of the public are even more important than the comfort and convenience of any person. therefore, individual rights must yield to public rights when the two conflict. for example, the land of a private citizen may be condemned by the proper authorities, and be used for public highways or other public purposes. the government pays the owner of the property condemned, but usually less than his estimate of the value. this right of society, existing above the right, of any of its members, is called the right of eminent domain. by it individual rights must yield to the rights of society, of the government, or of a corporation. a corporation is an association of individuals authorized by law to transact business as a single natural person. railway companies, banks, chartered cities and villages, and the counties of some states are corporations. moral rights and duties.--man is a moral being; that is, he is conscious of good and evil. therefore he has moral rights and duties. he has rights of conscience, with which it is not the province of government to interfere. he naturally worships a being superior to himself, and feels the obligation to deal justly with his fellow-men. he has a right to do and say all things which are not unlawful or wrong within themselves. it is his right to worship when he pleases, whom he pleases, and as he pleases. the moral rights and duties of the people are concerned in the maintenance of religion, the support of churches, in reverence for things sacred, in acts of charity and benevolence, in living an upright life, and in teaching lessons of morality, honesty, industry, and usefulness. whatever is implied in the word _ought_, correctly used, is a moral duty. political rights and duties.--by the social compact, men also agree to abandon a part of their natural rights in order to participate in the government. they agree in part to be governed by others, in order that in part they may govern others. the rights of participation in the government, such as voting and holding office, are called political rights, because they affect the public policy of society. political rights do not belong to men by nature, but are conferred by government. within reasonable bounds, they may be enlarged or restricted without injustice. since they are conferred by the government, the power to vote and to hold office is a privilege to be enjoyed rather than a right to be asserted. in the united states the political rights of the people are carefully set forth in the constitution. the smallest functions of government, such as the size and color of a postage stamp, or the employment of a page in the state legislature, touch the political rights of the citizen. appointment and elections to public office, the enactment of laws, and the performance of public duties are questions of political concern. good laws, good administrations, and the perpetuity of the government itself, depend upon the manner in which the people discharge their public duties. a man who habitually fails to vote and to take interest in the political affairs of his country may be a good man, but he is certainly a bad citizen. to be a good citizen is to aid intelligently in giving the people good government. for a man to hold himself aloof from politics, unless his action is based upon conscientious scruples, shows his interest in himself, and his lack of interest in his country. suggestive questions. . why does happiness depend upon the maintenance of rights? . how do persons _born_ under government agree to be governed by the laws? . if the claims of people as to their rights conflict, how is the difference settled? . what is meant by the phrase "common carrier"? . is it right for men to hold aloof from public affairs because there is corruption in politics? chapter xvii. law and liberty. through law rights are secured, and the performance of some duties is enforced. _law_ is a rule of action, prescribing what shall be done and what shall not be done. laws exist for the purpose of securing the rights of the people. the enjoyment of rights is _liberty_. as the enjoyment of rights depends upon their security, and as they are secured by law, therefore liberty is based upon law. without law there could be no political liberty, and the civil liberty of the people would be narrow and uncertain. it may be said, therefore, that there can be no true liberty without law; but laws may be so many and so stringent that there can be no liberty. liberty and _just_ laws are inseparable. liberty and rights are of the same kinds, _industrial_, _social_, _moral_ or _religious_, and _political_. the words "rights," "law," and "liberty" are full of meaning, and in a free country suggest ideas of the deepest reverence. origin.--the laws of the country are partly human and partly divine. they were framed by man, but some of them are based upon the laws of god. some are of recent origin, and many are so ancient that their beginning can not be traced. when men began, to live in society, they began to make laws, for laws at once became necessary. laws are undergoing constant changes, as new conditions arise and new customs prevail. kinds of law. the _moral law_ prescribes our duties to men, and also to god. it is summed up and revealed in the ten commandments, and is the same as the law of nature taught us by our consciences. the _common law_ consists of the principles and rules of action applied by the courts in cases not regulated by express legislative acts. it is the unwritten law which has been practiced for ages in england and the united states. in all states of the union, except louisiana, cases not covered by the acts of the legislature are tried by the common law. the _civil law_ is the law that prevailed among the ancient romans. it is still in use among most of the nations of continental europe. in louisiana it is applied to cases not covered by the laws of the legislature. the words _civil law_ are sometimes used to denote the law governing civil suits. _statute law_ consists of the acts passed by legislative assemblies. the words are used to denote the opposite of common law. the enactment of a statute by a state legislature repeals the common law previously in force upon the same subject. _international law_, often called the _law of nations_, consists of the rules and customs prevailing between civilized nations in their relations with one another. it is based upon the law of nature, the law of right and wrong. _criminal law_ is the law governing criminal cases. it is partly common law and partly statute law. "ignorance of the law excuses no one." _parliamentary law_ consists of the rules and customs governing parliamentary assemblies. it prevails in all law-making bodies, in conventions and deliberative meetings. _martial law_ is the law which regulates men in military service. it prevails in the army and the navy. the courts which apply it are called _courts martial_. martial law is noted for its severity. _maritime law_, or _marine law_, is the law especially relating to the business of the sea, to ships, their crews, and navigation. the courts of maritime law are _admiralty courts_. _commercial law_ is a system of rules for the regulation of trade and commerce. it is deduced from the customs of merchants. courts.--laws are administered, that is, explained and applied, by means of courts. a _court_ is a body organized for the public administration of justice. a court may consist of a single judge or justice, or of a number of judges acting together. a court can administer the laws only in cases which are brought before it. the highest court in the land can not make an order or render a judgment until the question comes to trial in a regular way. suits.--_suits at law_ are called _causes_, _cases_, or _actions_. a _civil cause_ is a suit between persons, brought to recover rights or to secure compensation for their infraction. a _criminal cause_ is a charge brought by a state or by the united states against a person for the commission of a crime. the _plaintiff_ is the person who brings the suit. the _defendant_ is the person against whom the suit is brought. in all criminal cases in state courts, the state is the plaintiff; in other words, society prosecutes the offender in the name of the state. in criminal cases in the united states courts, the united states is the plaintiff. judges.--the judge represents the majesty of the law, and is often called the court. he maintains the dignity of the trial, determines the method of procedure, interprets the law, instructs the juries, renders judgment, and in criminal cases passes sentence upon the offender. judges are presumed to be learned in the law, and to be perfectly just and impartial in their rulings. juries.--most of the courts of this country have two juries, called respectively, _grand jury_ and _trial jury_ (or _petit jury_). the purpose of the grand jury is to investigate crime, and to present charges, called indictments, for trial by the court. the number of grand jurors to the court varies in different states, being not more than twenty-four and not less than twelve. the grand jury has a foreman, elected by it, or appointed by the judge of the court. the grand jury inquires into violations of the law, and if, in the judgment of twelve jurors, the evidence in a particular case warrants a trial, a formal written charge is prepared, and the foreman indorses thereon, "_a true bill_." upon this indictment the offender is tried by the court. in a few states grand juries are rarely if ever called, the indictment being found "on information" or on evidence presented to a court commissioner. a trial jury usually consists of twelve men, but in some states a smaller number may be accepted by the judge of the court, in certain cases, by the agreement of the counsel upon the opposing sides. the trial jury hears the testimony and argument, and then decides upon the truth of the facts in dispute, and renders a verdict or decision in the suit, and in criminal cases convicts or acquits. in some states all the jurors must agree, or there is no verdict. in other states the jury may render a verdict by the agreement of less than the whole number of jurors. under certain regulations a party to a suit may _challenge_, that is, reject, a part or all of the jurors, and have others selected in their stead. origin of juries.--grand juries and trial juries are of great antiquity. it is thought that they existed among the saxons in the north of europe before they invaded and settled england, more than fourteen hundred years ago. the jury system and many other political institutions of the united states are derived from england. both the grand jury and the trial jury are firmly grounded in this country, being recognized, in the constitutions of nearly all the states and the constitution of the united states, and are regarded as among the strongest supports of a free government. officers of courts.--each court has one or more ministerial officers, variously designated as _constable_, _sheriff_, _tipstaff_, or _marshal_. each court also has one or more clerks, and sometimes other officers. _attorneys_ are considered officers of the courts in which they practice. they usually represent the plaintiff and the defendant in court and are then called _counsel_. legal proceedings in civil cases begin by the court issuing a writ, at the instance of plaintiff, summoning defendant to appear. the defendant responding, pleadings are filed--the claims of plaintiff, and answer or demurrer of defendant. if these disagree as to facts, the court subpoenas witnesses. in the presence of judge and jury, the plaintiff states his case and the defendant his defense, witnesses are examined and cross-examined, and the case is argued. the judge then charges the jury--summarizing the evidence and indicating points to be decided; the jury retire to prepare their verdict, which is announced and recorded as the judgment of the court. in criminal cases the accused may be arrested on a grand jury indictment or a magistrate's warrant. unless the crime is murder, the accused may be released upon bail until trial, which proceeds as in civil cases. suggestive questions. . why does the state prosecute offenses, instead of leaving this duty to private persons? . what is meant by passing sentence upon an offender? . do you believe in the jury system, or in the trial by several judges sitting together? why? . have you ever seen a court in session? . in this state a grand jury has how many members? chapter xviii. suffrage and elections. suffrage.--the most important political right is the right of suffrage; that is, the right to vote. as the government exists for the benefit of the governed, the purpose of suffrage is to place it under their control. it gives each qualified voter a voice in public affairs, and places the country under the rule of the people. as the interests of the voters and their families are the same, and as the voters represent these interests, the whole people, including women and children, have an influence in the government. the whole machinery of the state and of the united states is in the hands of those who do the voting. importance.--the importance of this right can scarcely be overestimated. it constitutes the difference between a free country and a despotism. there can be no freedom unless the right to vote resides in the people; nor can there be good government unless this right is exercised with an intelligent regard for the public welfare. yet vast numbers of voters never realize the power they wield or the great responsibility it entails upon them. elections.--the right of suffrage is exercised by means of elections. an election is the direct method of ascertaining the will of the people upon public affairs. they are held for the purpose of giving the people opportunity to express their choice in the selection of officers, and thus to make known their will upon questions of public concern. methods of voting.--there are three methods of voting--_viva voce_, by ballot, and by machine. a man votes _viva voce_ by announcing to the election officers the name of the candidate of his choice, and having it recorded upon the polling-list. a man votes by _ballot_ by handing to the officers a slip of paper containing the name of the candidate voted for. the officers deposit the ballots in a box called the _ballot-box_. a voting machine has a knob or lever for each candidate, and is so arranged that the voter can record one vote. the _viva voce_ method was once considered the best; but voting by ballot or by machine has supplanted it generally in the united states. the australian system provides at each polling-place a private apartment, called a booth, where each voter in private prepares his ballot from a printed list of all the candidates, and then hands it to the officers, who deposit it in the ballot-box.[ ] officers of elections.--the officers of elections at each polling-place are usually two or more supervisors, inspectors, or judges; a clerk; and a sheriff, marshal, or other officer of the peace. the _supervisors_ or inspectors decide who are entitled to vote under the law, and in elections by ballot they deposit the ballots in the ballot-box. the _clerk_ makes a list of the names of voters, and when the election is _viva voce_ he records the votes. the _sheriff_ or other peace officer preserves order at the polls, has charge of the ballot-box and polling-list after the election closes, and delivers them to the proper authorities. in most states, at the close of the election the officers _canvass_, that is, examine the votes cast, and certify the number of votes received by each candidate. in some states the ballot-box is sealed at the close of the election, and delivered to the canvassing board of the county. in such cases the canvassing board of the county canvasses the vote, and in state and national elections sends returns to the canvassing board of the state at the state capital. in some states election officers are appointed by the county officers, usually by the county judge or probate judge; in other states they are elected by the people. bribery.--bribery in elections is one of the serious evils of politics. _bribery_ is offering or receiving a reward for voting. in most states, in addition to other penalties, persons convicted of giving or taking bribes are _disfranchised_; that is, are not permitted to vote thereafter. in ancient athens a man convicted of corrupting a voter suffered the penalty of death. the selling of a vote is regarded as one of the most infamous crimes that men can commit. not even the conviction of theft so lowers a man in public esteem as a conviction of selling his vote, for bribery savors of both theft and treason. to sell his suffrage is to sell his manhood, his country, and his convictions. most men who sell their votes do it through ignorance; they are not aware of the enormity of the crime. he who knows its infamy, and yet barters his suffrage for money, is unworthy of the smallest trust, or even of the recognition of honest men. [ ]for details regarding this system see chapter xix. suggestive questions. . in what way are voters responsible for the government of the country? . do you believe in frequent elections? why? . do you believe in public voting or in secret voting? why? . why should election officers be fair and honest men? . what do you think of vote-buying and vote-selling? chapter xix. the australian ballot system. origin.--the idea of the secret ballot system, now known under its various modifications as the australian ballot system, was first proposed by francis s. dutton, member of the legislature of south australia from to . at that time the vices frequently accompanying open elections had begun to flourish in australia. bribery, intimidation, disorder, and violence were the order of all election days. the plan was elaborated, and became a law under the name of the "elections act" in . the beneficial results of this method soon became evident to other countries, and the movement spread to europe, canada, and the united states. in the united states.--a similar system to that originally adopted in australia was first introduced into the united states by its adoption in in the state of massachusetts and in the city of louisville, kentucky. the next year the legislatures of indiana, montana, rhode island, wisconsin, tennessee, minnesota, missouri, michigan, and connecticut passed laws providing for new systems of voting, more or less resembling the australian system; and now their example has been followed by almost all the other states. principles.--although there are many modifications of detail in the statutes of the various states, there are two essential features of the ballot-reform system which are everywhere observed: _first_, an arrangement of polling, by which compulsory secrecy of voting is secured, and intimidation or corruption of voters is prevented. _second_, one or more official ballots, printed and distributed under authority, on which the names of all candidates are found. requirements.--the following are the requirements of the system: ballots must be provided by public expense, and none but these ballots may be used. on these ballots should be printed the names of all candidates who have been nominated previously to the election, with the names of the offices for which they have been nominated and of the parties they represent. there are two forms of ballots: the _blanket ballot_ and the _individual ballot_. the former is arranged in some states so as to group candidates by parties, and in other states by the offices for which they are nominated. in many cases the names of candidates are alphabetically arranged, so that there can be no accusation of giving one party or candidate precedence as to position on the ticket. in a few cases, the name of the party to which the candidate belongs does not appear on the ballot at all, but only the name of the office for which he has been nominated; but in most cases the name of each party is printed either at the head of the ticket or opposite the name of each candidate, or in both places. where _individual ballots_ are used, a separate ballot is printed for each party or independent ticket. voting.--special sworn clerks are engaged to distribute these ballots to voters at the polls. the voter is allowed a limited time--say five or ten minutes--to retire into an election booth erected for the purpose, to make his choice of candidates or ballots. if the blanket ballot is in use, he does this by placing a cross opposite the name of the desired candidate or list of candidates; or by crossing out all others; or by means of pasters for the substitution of names. if individual ballots are provided, he selects the one he prefers, or corrects it to his liking by pasting upon it a single name or an entire ticket. if he prefers, he may write the names of candidates of his own nomination in place of those already printed. he, then, without communicating with any one, deposits his ballot as his vote. only one man is allowed to enter a booth at a time, and none but the ballot clerks and the man about to deposit his ballot are allowed within the enclosure erected for the purpose. in some states the booths are separated one from the other merely by partitions, as indicated in the cut, page ; but in other states each booth is a separate compartment with a door, which is closed to prevent even a suspicion of any external observation. [illustration: (page ) arrangement of polling place as required by massachusetts law.] in many states, assistance is rendered to the illiterate or the blind. in some cases, in order to aid those who can not read, each party adopts a device, as an eagle or a flag, which is printed on the ballot. in most states a voter who declares that he can not read, or that by some physical disability he is unable to mark his ballot, may receive the assistance of one or two of the election officers in marking it. every ballot must be strictly accounted for. if any person in preparing a ballot should spoil it, he may obtain others, one at a time, not exceeding three in all, provided he returns each spoiled one. all ballots thus returned are either immediately burned or else cancelled and preserved by the clerk. advantages.--the advantages which have already accrued from the adoption of these laws are manifold: _first_, a secret ballot offers an effectual preventive against bribery, since no man will place his money corruptly without satisfying himself that the vote is placed according to agreement. _second_, it secures the voter against the coercion, solicitation, or intimidation of others, and enables him to vote according to the dictates of his conscience. _third_, bargaining and trading at the polls is prevented, and with these much tumult, riot, and disorder must of necessity disappear. _fourth_, money is made less of a factor in politics, and the poor man is placed on a plane of equality with the rich as a candidate. in addition to these obvious advantages, the ballot reform movement promises to have much wider effects, and to pave the way and lay the foundation for other political reforms. forms of ballots.--on pages , , and are given forms of ballots and other matter illustrating various methods employed in carrying out the ballot laws of the states. it will be observed that each of these three ballots is representative of a different method. in the _first_ ballot shown, no party name appears, and the names of candidates for each office are arranged in alphabetical order. on this form of ballot, which most resembles that used in australia, the individual candidate is made prominent, and party connection does not appear at all. _second_, in the massachusetts ballot, the names of the candidates are arranged alphabetically under each office, but in addition to this, the party name appears opposite the name of each candidate. on this form of ballot, while the party connection of each candidate is indicated, greater prominence is given to the individual, and the voter is required to make choice of a candidate for each office separately. he cannot vote a straight ticket by a single mark. _third_, in the _indiana_ ticket, the names are grouped according to party, not according to office, the party name appearing at the head of the ballot as well as at the side of each name. on this form of ballot, the party connection of the candidate is made most prominent, and while provision is made for voting for individuals representing different parties, still the voting of a straight ticket is made most easy. many states use the party-column principle of the indiana ticket, but modify the form of the ticket in various details. the party emblem is sometimes omitted from the circle used in voting a straight picket, or placed just above that circle. the square opposite each candidate's name is sometimes placed after the name instead of before it; and is usually left blank. a _fourth_ form, namely, that of the _individual ballot_ as used in the state of _new jersey_, can not be here shown, as a separate ballot is required for each party or each independent nomination. these separate ballots are all _official_, and are furnished at public expense; but the use of an _unofficial_ ballot is practically allowed, since the voter is permitted to take to the voting booth a paster ballot containing a complete party ticket, printed and furnished at party expense. this he can paste over the official ballot and deposit as his vote. [illustration : first form of ballot type: city ballot--no party names, candidate names in alphabetic order.] [illustration : second form of ballot type: massachusetts official ballot.] [illustration : third form of ballot type: indiana state ballot.] suggestive questions. . what is meant by the australian ballot system? . name some places in the united states in which a similar system of reform has been adopted. . what are the essential principles of the system? . what are the necessary requirements for carrying out the law? . what is the object in providing official ballots? . describe two kinds of polling booths used. . what are the obvious advantages of the reform? . describe the characteristic forms of ballot used in various states which have adopted the reform. . mention the advantages and the disadvantages of the city ballot shown on page . . compare the massachusetts ballot with the indiana ballot, and note their differences. question for debate. which system of voting is likely to secure the best public officers: that represented in the city ballot of , in the massachusetts ballot, or in the indiana ballot? chapter xx. parties and party machinery. wherever the right to vote exists, the people naturally form themselves into political parties. a _political party_ is an organization of voters maintained for the purpose of impressing its principles upon the public policy of the country. men have divers views as to the duties, scope, and proper measures of the government, and these divers views lead to the formation of opposing parties. in a free country the majority must rule, and parties are the means by which majorities are ascertained. origin.--parties usually grow out of questions of legislation, rather than out of questions of executive management or judicial interpretation. in other words, a party is formed to influence the passage of laws, rather than their execution or their application by the courts. but, when parties are once formed, they usually extend their influence to the selection of officers of all grades and all departments, even the least important officials of a township or civil district. the presidential election has come to be the most exciting and bitter of all political contests, because of the large influence which the president exerts upon national legislation, and because of the immense patronage of his office. necessity.--parties appear to be a necessity in all free governments. they serve as check upon one another, as the party in power is responsible for the public policy of the country. if the people are dissatisfied with the party in power, they can displace it and elect another in its stead. parties are therefore placed upon their good behavior, and made to feel their responsibility to the people. if there were no party organizations, many of the views of a candidate would not be known, and there could be no assurance that he would be true to the interests of the majority electing him. the fact that a public man is a member of a certain party shows many of the views which he entertains and the principles which he may be expected to support. party government is often bad, but as the party is responsible for the conduct of all officers elected by it, party government, especially in legislative affairs, is better than personal government, in which no one but the officer himself is responsible for his official conduct. party machinery.--the machinery of parties in this country is very complex, and is closely interwoven with our system of government. each party must select candidates for the various offices in the gift of the people, in order that it may exert its greatest power in elections and in public affairs. the people in each party must have a voice in the selection of candidates for township offices, district offices, county offices, state offices, and president and vice president of the united states. therefore each party has a system of committees, conventions, primary elections, and caucuses, for ascertaining the choice of its members for these various offices. parties and party machinery are not generally provided for in the law, but they exist by a custom almost as old as the government, and are firmly fixed in our political system. committees.--each of the great parties has a _national committee_, consisting of one member from each state and territory, chosen by its national convention. the national committee is the chief executive authority of the party. it calls the national convention, fixes the time and place for holding it, and the representation to which each state and territory is entitled. it appoints a sub-committee of its members, called the _campaign_ or _executive committee_, which conducts the political canvass or campaign, for the party. the campaign committee distributes pamphlets, speeches, newspapers, and other political documents among the voters of the country; selects public speakers; makes appointments for them to speak; arranges for party meetings; collects funds to bear the expenses of the campaign, and has a general oversight of the party work in all the states. each party also has a state committee in each state, usually consisting of a member from each congressional district, in some states consisting of a member from each county; a district committee in each congressional, judicial, senatorial, and representative district, consisting of a member from each county composing the district; a county committee, consisting of a member from each township or civil district; and in some states, various other committees. each of these committees performs for the division for which it is selected duties similar to those which the national committee performs for the whole union. conventions.--the method of ascertaining the choice of a party in the selection of candidates is either by a primary election or by a convention. a _political convention_ is an assemblage of the voters of a party, either in person or by representatives called delegates. if the voters assemble in person, the convention is called a primary or mass meeting. the purpose of a convention may be to select candidates for office, to send delegates to a higher convention, to adopt a declaration of principles, or to decide upon a party policy. it is common for two or more of these purposes to come before the same convention. calling conventions.--in the year of the presidential election, the national committee calls a national convention, naming the time and place, and the representation of each state. the state committee calls a state convention to send delegates to the national convention; and, if a state election is approaching, it may direct that the convention shall also select candidates for state offices. in response to this call, the county committees order county conventions in all the counties of the state to send delegates to the state convention, and perhaps to select candidates for county offices. in some states the township committees order township conventions in all townships for the purpose of sending delegates to the county conventions, and perhaps to name candidates for township offices. it will be seen that the calling of the various conventions connected directly or indirectly with the selection of candidates for president and vice president proceeds from the highest downward. the same order is observed in other conventions, the call always beginning with the highest committee concerned and proceeding to the lowest. local and state conventions.--the order of holding a system of conventions, however, proceeds from the lowest to the highest. the township holds a convention and sends delegates to the county convention. the county convention sends delegates to the state convention, and the state convention sends delegates to the national convention. delegates chosen by primaries.--in many states the delegates to all conventions are elected by the members of the party at primary elections. in some states even the delegates to the national convention are chosen in this manner. national convention.--a national convention is an important assemblage. it contains many distinguished men, and exerts great influence on the history of the country. a national convention usually consists of more than a thousand delegates. in a democratic convention, for instance, there are four delegates from each state, two from each congressional district, and a few from the territories. in the selection of delegates to the national convention, the state convention often selects four, representing the two united states senators, and the members of the convention from each congressional district select two, representing the lower house of congress. for each delegate the state convention also selects an _alternate delegate_, who attends the national convention in case the regular delegate can not be present. the national convention is called to order by the chairman of the national committee. it then elects a temporary chairman, and afterward a permanent president. the convention appoints the national committee, calling upon the delegation from each state to name its member; adopts a declaration of principles, called a _platform_, for the approaching campaign; nominates candidates for president and vice president, and performs various other work connected with the party organization. platform.--the declaration of party principles adopted and issued by a convention is called a platform, and each separate statement of a principle is popularly called a _plank_. the platform is an announcement of the policy to be pursued by the party if its candidates are elected, and is presumed to contain all the important principles upon which the voters of the party are agreed. upon these principles the party claims the right to administer the public affairs of the country. the platforms of state and local conventions are usually based upon the national platform of the same party, but also contain statements of principles upon local questions. nominations.--to _nominate_ a candidate is to name him for office; that is, to place his name before the public. the person nominated is called the nominee, and all the nominees for a certain election constitute a ticket. a nomination usually secures to a candidate the general support of the party. voters may vote for other persons than the nominees, but the great body of voters usually support the tickets of their respective parties. nomination serves to prevent a great number of candidates, and thus simplifies the election. primary elections.--candidates for township, county, and other offices are frequently chosen by means of primary elections. a _primary election_ is an election in which the members of a party choose their candidates for office. as a rule, none but the members of the party holding it can vote in a primary election. many persons prefer the primary, to a convention, believing the former to be a fairer and more impartial method of ascertaining the choice of the party. the voting is usually by ballot. in many states primary elections are under the control of the law, and are guarded by the same restrictions that pertain to other elections. caucuses.--a meeting composed of the members of a legislative body who are of the same party, and assembled for party purposes, is called a _caucus_. _ward conventions_ in cities are sometimes called by the same name. the usual purpose of a caucus is to nominate candidates for offices within the gift of the legislative body, or to consider questions of legislation. a caucus elects a chairman and other officers, but rarely if ever adopts a platform of principles. the great political parties of the country have caucuses in each branch of congress, and usually in the legislatures of the several states. suggestive questions. . name the great parties that have existed in the united states. . who are the respective chairmen of the national executive committees of the two great parties? . read the last national platforms of the two great parties. . which do you like better, primary elections or conventions? why? . should a member of a legislative body be influenced in his vote by the decision of the caucus of his party? chapter xxi. legislation. legislation, the act or process of making laws, is the most important function of government. it is the most important, because it is the first step, and the enforcement and interpretation of laws depend upon their enactment. the laws of a country should be as few in number, as simple in construction, and as uniform in their application, as will meet the needs of the people. it is a great misfortune for the laws to bear unequally upon the people; to grant special privileges to one class, or to impose special hardships upon another class. the great variety and volume of laws made by the national and the state legislatures of the united states have led to a close study of legislation. in no other country is the process of making laws so thoroughly mastered, or parliamentary law so generally understood. bills.--the process of enacting a law, from its introduction to its final approval, is an intricate and interesting study. until its passage and final approval, a measure is called either a _bill_ or a _resolution_. bills and resolutions are very similar, the latter usually being simpler, and beginning with the words, "be it resolved" or simply "resolved," while the former begin with the words, "be it enacted." a joint resolution as well as a bill requires the concurrence of both houses of a legislative assembly to make it a law. introduction.--the introduction of a bill is the first presentation of it to a legislative body for action. this is usually done by asking "leave" of the body, either orally or in writing, to bring the measure before it. this leave to present is rarely if ever refused. the rules require that after its introduction it shall be three times read aloud before its passage. these three readings do not refer to readings for information as to its provisions. the constitutions of nearly all states require that the three readings shall be on three different days; but in most of them this rule, may be suspended by a two thirds, three fourths, four fifths, or unanimous vote, the requisite majority varying in different states. committees.--when a bill or resolution is introduced, it is usual to refer it to a committee for a critical consideration. a _committee_ usually consists of from three to thirteen members, of whom the first named is usually chairman, presumably selected for their knowledge of the subjects to come before them. a _standing committee_ lasts during the entire session. most legislative bodies have from twenty to forty standing committees. a _special_ or _select committee_ is raised for a special purpose, and is usually adjourned when its report is made. a _committee of the whole_ consists of all the members of a body sitting as a committee. in committees of the whole the regular presiding officer usually vacates the chair, calling some other member of the body to act as chairman. the principal part of the work of a legislative body is perfected by its committees. they discuss the merits and demerits of bills, and perfect such as, in their judgment, should pass. reports.--the committee to whom a bill has been referred critically examines it, and usually reports it to the body, either _favorably_ or _unfavorably_, recommending that it should pass or should not pass. if the members of a committee are equally or nearly equally divided as to the merits of the bill, it may be reported without an expression of opinion. when important bills are reported by a committee they are usually discussed by the members of the body. the debate on the measure usually brings out the reasons for, and those against, its passage. many bills are several times recommitted--that is, again referred to a committee--before their passage. in some legislative bodies, especially in the congress of the united states, a great many bills are _pigeon-holed_ by committees; that is, are filed away and never reported. the reports of the committees, whether favorable or unfavorable, are usually adopted by the body, and therefore have an important bearing upon legislation. amendments.--in most legislative bodies a bill may be amended at the pleasure of the majority, before it is read the third time. amendments are made for the purpose of perfecting the measure. a bill may be amended by striking out some of its provisions, by striking out and inserting, or by inserting. a bill passed by one house of a legislature maybe amended by the other house, but, if amended, must be returned with the amendment to the house in which it originated, in order that the amendment may be considered. if one house amends and the other refuses to accept, the bill is often referred to a _conference committee_ of members of both houses. if this does not secure agreement, and both adhere to their original action, the bill fails. passage.--when a bill passes the house in which it originated, the clerk transmits and reports it to the other house for action. the house to which it is transmitted may pass it without commitment, but usually refers it to a committee, and, when reported, may pass it or reject it, or amend it and return it with the amendment to the house in which it originated. when passed by both houses, the bill is engrossed--that is, rewritten without blots or erasures--and transmitted to the president or governor, as the case may be, for his approval. if approved and signed, or if not returned within a fixed time, the bill becomes a law. if vetoed, it must be again considered by both bodies, and is lost unless again passed by each, and in congress and in many states by a two thirds vote. suggestive questions. . obtain from any convenient source and present in the recitation a sample of a bill, and also of a resolution. . why should a bill have three separate readings on three different days? . why is the report of a committee generally adopted by the body? . why are chairmanships of committees usually much sought after in legislative bodies? . present in the recitation a copy of the report of a legislative committee upon some subject. chapter xxii. revenue and taxation. revenue.--the regulation of revenue and taxation is one of the most important and difficult questions of government. one of the wisest of modern statesmen has said that the management of finance _is_ government. government, whatever its form, is an intricate and expensive machine, and therefore sure and ample sources of revenue are as necessary to it as blood is to the human body. the necessary expenses of a local community, such as a village, a city, or a county, are heavy; while those of a state are immense, and those of a nation almost beyond conception. these expenses must be promptly met, or the government becomes bankrupt, lacking in respect, without power to enforce its rights even among its own people, and finally ceases to exist. taxation.--the chief source of revenue in all governments is taxation. a _tax_ is a portion of private property taken by the government for public purposes. _taxation_, the act of laying taxes, is regarded as the highest function of government. it is also one of the most delicate, because it touches the people directly, and is therefore frequently the cause of discontent among the masses. the government makes no direct return to the citizen for the taxes it exacts, and in this respect only does taxation differ from the exercise of the right of eminent domain. how much revenue must be raised? what articles should be taxed? what should be the rate of taxation? are questions that concern every government. as a person may be at the same time a citizen of a village, a township, a county, a state, and the united states, so he may, during the same year, pay a separate tax to each of these five governments. necessity of taxation.--taxation is one of the necessary burdens of society. a government as well as an individual must have money to pay its expenses, and the principal part, if not all, of this money must be raised by taxation of one kind or another. men may differ as to the kind and the rate of taxation, but taxes must be paid in order that government may exist. the tax payer receives no immediate return for his taxes, but has a _constant_ return in the way of protection to life, liberty, and property, the enjoyment of public conveniences, and the improvement of society. by means of taxes each person bears his part in the cost of maintaining the social compact. he gives up a portion of his property in order that what remains may be the more secure and valuable, and that he may enjoy many other blessings that would otherwise be impossible. although the rate is often high, even higher than necessary, it is safe to say that every tax payer of the country receives from the government more than he contributes by taxation. taxes are direct or indirect. direct taxes.--a _direct tax_ is levied directly at a given rate upon property or polls. taxes levied by villages, towns, townships, cities, counties, and states are for the most part direct taxes. a _poll_ tax is levied upon the polls, or heads, of the male inhabitants who have attained a certain age, usually twenty-one years. a _property tax_, as the name indicates, is levied upon property. property is of two kinds, real and personal. _real property_, usually called _real estate_, consists of lands and buildings. _personal property_ is that which can be moved from place to place, and includes everything that a person can own except real estate. in all systems of taxation, much real estate, such as churches, cemeteries, colleges, charitable institutions, and public buildings, is exempt from taxes. five times in its history--namely, in , , , , and --the united states levied a direct tax upon the people, but in each case the law was in force but a single year. from to there was also an _income tax_; that is, a tax of a given per cent. upon all annual incomes that exceeded a certain amount. in , congress passed a new income tax law, with additional taxes on very large incomes. indirect taxes.--an _indirect tax_ is assessed upon the property of one person, but is indirectly paid by another. the owner of the property at the time of assessment pays the tax to the government, but a part or all of the tax is ultimately paid by the consumer of the goods. all taxes now levied by the national government are indirect. the indirect taxes levied by the national government are _customs_, or _duties_, and _internal revenue_. customs, or duties.--_customs_, or _duties_, are taxes levied upon certain goods imported from foreign countries. the constitution prohibits the taxation of exports. the schedule or list of articles taxed and of duties to be paid is called the _tariff_. custom dues are collected by officers of the national government at the custom-houses, located at the ports of entry, usually, but not always, on or near the sea-coast. by far the larger portion of the national revenue is derived from customs. internal revenue.--_internal revenue_, sometimes called _excise_, is a tax levied upon certain articles produced in this country, such as tobacco and spirituous liquors. it is collected by officers of the national government, called collectors, stationed in different parts of the country. suggestive questions. . name some of the items of expense in village government. . in township government. . in city government. . in county government. . in state government. . in national government. . what is the rate of property taxation in this country? . what is the rate in this state? . where is the nearest custom-house? constitution of the united states. preamble. we, the people of the united states, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this constitution for the united states of america. article i. legislative department. section i. congress in general. all legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a congress of the united states, which shall consist of a senate and house of representatives. section ii. house of representatives. clause . the house of representatives shall be composed of members chosen every second year by the people of the several states; and the electors in each state shall have the qualifications requisite for electors of the most numerous branch of the state legislature. clause . no person shall be a representative who shall not have attained to the age of twenty-five years, and been seven years a citizen of the united states, and who shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of that state in which he shall be chosen. clause . representatives and direct taxes shall be apportioned among the several states which may be included within this union, according to their respective numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole number of free persons, including those bound to service for a term of years, and excluding indians not taxed, three-fifths of all other persons. the actual enumeration shall be made within three years after the first meeting of the congress of the united states, and within every subsequent term of ten years, in such manner as they shall by law direct. the number of representatives shall not exceed one for every thirty thousand, but each state shall have at least one representative; and until such enumeration shall be made, the state of new hampshire shall be entitled to choose three, massachusetts eight, rhode island and providence plantations one, connecticut five, new york six, new jersey four, pennsylvania eight, delaware one, maryland six, virginia ten, north carolina five, south carolina five, and georgia three. clause . when vacancies happen in the representation from any state, the executive authority thereof shall issue writs of election to fill such vacancies. clause . the house of representatives shall choose their speaker and other officers, and shall have the sole power of impeachment. section iii. senate. clause . the senate of the united states shall be composed of two senators from each state, chosen by the [legislature][ ] thereof for six years, and each senator shall have one vote. clause . immediately after they shall be assembled in consequence of the first election, they shall be divided, as equally as may be, into three classes. the seats of the senators of the first class shall be vacated at the expiration of the second year, of the second class at the expiration of the fourth year, and of the third class at the expiration of the sixth year, so that one-third may be chosen every second year; [and if vacancies happen, by resignation or otherwise, during the recess of the legislature of any state, the executive thereof may make temporary appointments until the next meeting of the legislature, which shall then fill such vacancies.][ ] clause . no person shall be a senator who shall not have attained to the age of thirty years, and been nine years a citizen of the united states, and who shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of that state for which he shall be chosen. clause . the vice-president of the united states shall be president of the senate, but shall have no vote, unless they be equally divided. clause . the senate shall choose their other officers, and also a president pro tempere, in the absence of the vice-president, or when he shall exercise the office of president of the united states. clause . the senate shall have the sole power to try all impeachments. when sitting for that purpose, they shall be on oath or affirmation. when the president of the united states is tried, the chief justice shall preside; and no person shall be convicted without the concurrence of two-thirds of the members present. clause . judgment in cases of impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any office of honor, trust, or profit under the united states; but the party convicted shall, nevertheless, be liable and subject to indictment, trial, judgment, and punishment according to law. section iv. both houses. clause . the times, places, and manner of holding elections for senators and representatives shall be prescribed in each state by the legislature thereof; but the congress may at any time, by law, make or alter such regulations, except as to the places of choosing senators. clause . the congress shall assemble at least once in every year, and such meeting shall be on the first monday in december, unless they shall by law appoint a different day. section v. the houses separately. clause . each house shall be the judge of the elections, returns, and qualifications of its own members, and a majority of each shall constitute a quorum to do business; but a smaller number may adjourn from day to day, and may be authorized to compel the attendance of absent members, in such manner and under such penalties as each house may provide. clause . each house may determine the rules of its proceedings, punish its members for disorderly behavior, and, with the concurrence of two-thirds, expel a member. clause . each house shall keep a journal of its proceedings, and from time to time publish the same, excepting such parts as may in their judgment require secrecy; and the yeas and nays of the members of either house, on any question, shall, at the desire of one-fifth of those present, be entered on the journal. clause . neither house during the session of congress shall, without the consent of the other, adjourn for more than three days, nor to any other place than that in which the two houses shall be sitting. section vi. disabilities of members. clause . the senators and representatives shall receive a compensation for their services, to be ascertained by law, and paid out of the treasury of the united states. they shall in all cases, except treason, felony, and breach of the peace, be privileged from arrest during their attendance at the session of their respective houses, and in going to and returning from the same; and for any speech or debate in either house, they shall not be questioned in any other place. clause . no senator or representative shall, during the time for which he was elected, be appointed to any civil office under the authority of the united states, which shall have been created, or the emoluments whereof shall have been increased, during such time; and no person holding any office under the united states shall be a member of either house during his continuance in office. section vii. mode of passing laws. clause . all bills for raising revenue shall originate in the house of representatives; but the senate may propose or concur with amendments, as on other bills. clause . every bill which shall have passed the house of representatives and the senate shall, before it become a law, be presented to the president of the united states; if he approve, he shall sign it; but if not, he shall return it, with his objections, to that house in which it shall have originated, who shall enter the objections at large on their journal, and proceed to reconsider it. if, after such reconsideration two-thirds of that house shall agree to pass the bill, it shall be sent, together with the objections, to the other house, by which it shall likewise be reconsidered, and if approved by two-thirds of that house, it shall become a law. but in all such cases the votes of both houses shall be determined by yeas and nays, and the names of the persons voting for and against the bill shall be entered on the journal of each house respectively. if any bill shall not be returned by the president within ten days (sundays excepted) after it shall have been presented to him, the same shall be a law in like manner as if he had signed it, unless the congress by their adjournment prevent its return, in which case it shall not be a law. clause . every order, resolution, or vote to which the concurrence of the senate and house of representatives may be necessary (except on a question of adjournment) shall be presented to the president of the united states; and before the same shall take effect, shall be approved by him, or, being disapproved by him, shall be repassed by two-thirds of the senate and house of representatives, according to the rules and limitations prescribed in the case of a bill. section viii. powers granted to congress. the congress shall have power-- clause . to lay and collect taxes, duties, imposts, and excises, to pay the debts and provide for the common defense and general welfare of the united states; but all duties, imposts and excises shall be uniform throughout the united states; clause . to borrow money on the credit of the united states; clause . to regulate commerce with foreign nations, and among the several states, and with the indian tribes; clause . to establish a uniform rule of naturalization and uniform laws on the subject of bankruptcies, throughout the united states; clause . to coin money, regulate the value thereof and of foreign coin, and fix the standard of weights and measures; clause . to provide for the punishment of counterfeiting the securities and current coin of the united states; clause . to establish post-offices and post-roads; clause . to promote the progress of science and useful arts, by securing for limited times to authors and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries; clause . to constitute tribunals inferior to the supreme court; clause . to define and punish piracies and felonies committed on the high seas, and offenses against the law of nations; clause . to declare war, grant letters of marque and reprisal, and make rules concerning captures on land and water; clause . to raise and support armies; but no appropriation of money to that use shall be for a longer term than two years; clause . to provide and maintain a navy; clause . to make rules for the government and regulation of the land and naval forces; clause . to provide for calling forth the militia to execute the laws of the union, suppress insurrections, and repel invasions; clause . to provide for organizing, arming, and disciplining the militia, and for governing such part of them as may be employed in the service of the united states, reserving to the states respectively the appointment of the officers and the authority of training the militia according to the discipline prescribed by congress; clause . to exercise exclusive legislation, in all cases whatsoever, over such district (not exceeding ten miles square) as may, by cession of particular states and the acceptance of congress, become the seat of the government of the united states, and to exercise like authority over all places purchased, by the consent of the legislature of the state in which the same shall be, for the erection of forts, magazines, arsenals, dock-yards, and other needful buildings; and clause . to make all laws which shall be necessary and proper for carrying into execution the foregoing powers, and all other powers vested by this constitution in the government of the united stales, or in any department or officer thereof, section ix. powers denied to the united states. clause . the migration or importation of such persons as any of the states now existing shall think proper to admit, shall not be prohibited by the congress prior to the year one thousand eight hundred and eight; but a tax or duty may be imposed on such importation, not exceeding ten dollars for each person. clause . the privilege of the writ of _habeas corpus_ shall not be suspended unless when, in cases of rebellion or invasion, the public safety may require it. clause . no bill of attainder, or ex-post-facto law, shall he passed. clause . no capitation or other direct tax shall be laid, unless in proportion to the census or enumeration herein before directed to be taken. clause . no tax or duty shall be laid on articles exported from any state. clause . no preference shall be given by any regulation of commerce or revenue to the ports of one state over those of another; nor shall vessels bound to or from one state be obliged to enter, clear, or pay duties in another. clause . no money shall be drawn from the treasury but in consequence of appropriations made by law; and a regular statement and account of the receipts and expenditures of all public money shall be published from time to time. clause . no title of nobility shall be granted by the united states; and no person holding any office of profit or trust under them shall, without the consent of the congress, accept of any present, emolument, office, or title of any kind whatever, from any king, prince, or foreign state. section x. powers denied to the states. clause . no state shall enter into any treaty, alliance, or confederation; grant letters of marque and reprisal; coin money; emit bills of credit; make any thing but gold and silver coin a tender in payment of debts; pass any bill of attainder, ex-post-facto law, or law impairing the obligation of contracts; or grant any title of nobility. clause . no state shall, without the consent of the congress, lay any imposts or duties on imports or exports except what may be absolutely necessary for executing its inspection laws; and the net produce of all duties and imposts laid by any state on imports or exports shall be for the use of the treasury of the united stales; and all such laws shall be subject to the revision and control of the congress. clause . no state shall, without the consent of congress, lay any duty of tonnage, keep troops or ships of war in time of peace, enter into any agreement or compact with another state or with a foreign power, or engage in war, unless actually invaded, or in such imminent danger as will not admit of delay. article ii. executive department. section i. president and vice-president. clause . the executive power shall be vested in a president of the united states of america. he shall hold his office during the term of four years, and, together with the vice-president; chosen for the same term, be elected as follows: clause . each state shall appoint, in such manner as the legislature thereof may direct, a number of electors, equal to the whole number of senators and representatives to which the state may be entitled in the congress; but no senator or representative, or person holding an office of trust or profit under the united states, shall be appointed an elector. [clause . the electors shall meet in their respective states, and vote by ballot for two persons, of whom one at least shall not be an inhabitant of the same state with themselves. and they shall make a list of all the persons voted for, and of the number of votes for each; which list they shall sign and certify, and transmit, sealed, to the seat of the government of the united states, directed to the president of the senate. the president of the senate shall, in the presence of the senate and house of representatives, open all the certificates, and the votes shall then be counted. the person having the greatest number of votes shall be the president, if such number be a majority of the whole number of electors appointed; and if there be more than one who have such majority, and have an equal number of votes, then the house of representatives shall immediately choose by ballot one of them for president; and if no person have a majority, then, from the five highest on the list, the said house shall in like manner choose the president. but in choosing the president, the votes shall be taken by states, the representation from each state having one vote, a quorum for this purpose shall consist of a member or members from two-thirds of the states, and a majority of all the states shall be necessary to a choice. in every case, after the choice of the president, the person having the greatest number of votes of the electors shall be the vice-president. but if there should remain two or more who have equal votes, the senate shall choose from them by ballot the vice-president.][ ] clause . the congress may determine the time of choosing the electors, and the day on which they shall give their votes, which day shall be the same throughout the united states. clause . no person except a natural-born citizen, or a citizen of the united states at the time of the adoption of this constitution, shall be eligible to the office of president; neither shall any person be eligible to that office who shall not have attained to the age of thirty-five years, and been fourteen years a resident within the united states. clause . in case of the removal of the president from office, or of his death, resignation, or inability to discharge the powers and duties of the said office, the same shall devolve on the vice-president; and the congress may by law provide for the case of removal, death, resignation, or inability, both of the president and vice-president, declaring what officer shall then act as president; and such officer shall act accordingly, until the disability be removed, or a president shall be elected. clause . the president shall, at stated times, receive for his services a compensation, which shall neither be increased nor diminished during the period for which he shall have been elected, and he shall not receive within that period any other emolument from the united states, or any of them. clause . before he enter on the execution of his office, he shall take the following oath or affirmation: "i do solemnly swear (or affirm) that i will faithfully execute the office of president of the united states, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the constitution of the united states." section ii. powers of the president. clause . the president shall be commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the united states and of the militia of the several states, when called into the actual service of the united states; he may require the opinion in writing of the principal officer in each of the executive departments, upon any subject relating to the duties of their respective offices; and he shall have power to grant reprieves and pardons for offenses against the united states, except in cases of impeachment. clause . he shall have power, by and with the advice and consent of the senate, to make treaties, provided two-thirds of the senators present concur; and he shall nominate, and by and with the advice and consent of the senate shall appoint ambassadors, other public ministers and consuls, judges of the supreme court, and all other officers of the united states, whose appointments are not herein otherwise provided for, and which shall be established by law; but the congress may by law vest the appointment of such inferior officers as they think proper in the president alone, in the courts of law, or in the heads of departments. clause . the president shall have power to fill up all vacancies that may happen during the recess of the senate, by granting commissions, which shall expire at the end of their next session. section iii. duties of the president. he shall, from time to time, give to the congress information of the state of the union, and recommend to their consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient; he may, on extraordinary occasions, convene both houses, or either of them; and in case of disagreement between them, with respect to the time of adjournment, he may adjourn them to such time as he shall think proper; he shall receive ambassadors and other public ministers; he shall take care that the laws be faithfully executed, and shall commission all the officers of the united states. section iv. impeachment of the president. the president, vice-president, and all civil officers of the united states, shall be removed from office on impeachment for and conviction of treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors. article iii. judicial department. section i. united states courts. the judicial power of the united states shall be vested in one supreme court, and in such inferior courts as the congress may from time to time ordain and establish. the judges, both of the supreme and inferior courts, shall hold their offices during good behavior; and shall, at stated times, receive for their services a compensation, which shall not be diminished during their continuance in office. section ii. jurisdiction of the united states courts. clause . the judicial power shall extend to all cases in law and equity arising under this constitution, the laws of the united states, and treaties made, or which shall be made, under their authority; to all cases affecting ambassadors, other public ministers, and consuls; to all cases of admiralty and maritime jurisdiction; to controversies to which the united states shall be a party; to controversies between two or more states; between a state and citizens of another state; between citizens of different states; between citizens of the same state claiming lands under grants of different states; and between a state, or the citizens thereof, and foreign states, citizens, or subjects.[ ] clause . in all cases affecting ambassadors, other public ministers and consuls, and those in which a state shall be party, the supreme court, shall have original jurisdiction. in all the other cases before mentioned, the supreme court shall have appellate jurisdiction, both as to law and fact, with such exceptions, and under such regulations as the congress shall make. clause . the trial of all crimes, except in cases of impeachment, shall be by jury; and such trial shall be held in the state where the said crimes shall have been committed; but when not committed within any state, the trial shall be at such place or places as the congress may by law have directed. section iii. treason. clause . treason against the united states shall consist only in levying war against them, or in adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort. no person shall be convicted of treason unless on the testimony of two witnesses to the same overt act, or on confession in open court. clause . the congress shall have power to declare the punishment of treason; but no attainder of treason shall work corruption of blood, or forfeiture, except during the life of the person attainted. article iv. section i. state records. full faith and credit shall be given in each state to the public acts, records, and judicial proceedings of every other state. and the congress may, by general laws, prescribe the manner in which such acts, records, and proceedings shall be proved, and the effect thereof. section ii. privileges of citizens, etc. clause . the citizens of each state shall be entitled to all privileges and immunities of citizens in the several states. clause . a person charged in any state with treason, felony, or other crime, who shall flee from justice and be found in another state, shall, on demand of the executive authority of the state from which he fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the state having jurisdiction of the crime. clause . no person held to service or labor in one state, under the laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in consequence of any law or regulation therein, be discharged from such service or labor, but shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be due. section iii. new states and territories. clause . new states may be admitted by the congress into this union, but no new state shall be formed or erected within the jurisdiction of any other state: nor any state be formed by the junction of two or more states, or parts of states, without the consent of the legislatures of the states concerned, as well as of the congress. clause . the congress shall have power to dispose of, and make all needful rules and regulations respecting the territory or other properly belonging to the united states; and nothing in this constitution shall be so construed as to prejudice any claims of the united states or of any particular state. section iv. guarantee to the states. the united states shall guarantee to every state in this union a republican form of government, and shall protect each of them against invasion; and, on application of the legislature, or of the executive (when the legislature can not be convened), against domestic violence. article v. power of amendment. the congress, whenever two-thirds of both houses shall deem it necessary, shall propose amendments to this constitution, or, on the application of the legislatures of two-thirds of the several states, shall call a convention for proposing amendments, which, in either case, shall be valid to all intents and purposes, as part of this constitution, when ratified by the legislatures of three-fourths of the several states, or by conventions in three-fourths thereof, as the one or the other mode of ratification may be proposed by the congress; provided, that no amendment which may be made prior to the year one thousand eight hundred and eight shall in any manner affect the first and fourth clauses in the ninth section of the first article; and that no state, without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suffrage in the senate. article vi. public debt, supremacy of the constitution, oath of office, religious test. clause . all debts contracted and engagements entered into before the adoption of this constitution, shall be as valid against the united states under this constitution as under the confederation. clause . this constitution, and the laws of the united states which shall be made in pursuance thereof, and all treaties made, or which shall be made, under the authority of the united states, shall be the supreme law of the land; and the judges in every state shall be bound thereby, any thing in the constitution or laws of any state to the contrary notwithstanding. clause . the senators and representatives before mentioned, and the members of the several state legislatures, and all executive and judicial officers, both of the united states and of the several states, shall be bound by oath or affirmation to support this constitution; but no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public trust under the united states. article vii. ratification of the constitution. the ratification of the conventions of nine states shall be sufficient for the establishment of this constitution between the states so ratifying the same. done in convention, by the unanimous consent of the states present, the seventeenth day of september, in the year of our lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty-seven, and of the independence of the united states of america the twelfth. in witness whereof, we have hereunto subscribed our names. george washington, president and deputy from virginia. new hampshire.--john langdon, nicholas gilman. massachusetts.--nathaniel gorham, rufus king. connecticut.--wm. samuel johnson, roger sherman. new york.--alexander hamilton. new jersey.--william livingston, william patterson, david brearley, jonathan dayton. pennsylvania,--benjamin franklin, robert morris, thomas fitzsimons, james wilson, thomas mifflin, george clymer, jared ingersoll, gouverneur morris. delaware.--george read, john dickinson, jacob broom, gunning bedford, jr., richard bassett. maryland.--james m'henry, daniel carroll, daniel of st. tho. jenifer. virginia.--john blair, james madison, jr. north carolina.--william blount, hugh williamson, richard dobbs spaight. south carolina.--john rutledge, charles cotesworth pinckney, pierce butler. georgia.--william few, abraham baldwin. attest, william jackson, secretary. amendments to the constitution. articles i--x. _bill of rights._ article i. congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances. article ii. a well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed. article iii. no soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law. article iv. the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated; and no warrants shall issue but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized. article v. no person shall be held to answer for a capital or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia when in actual service in time of war or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled, in any criminal case, to be a witness against himself; nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use without just compensation. article vi. in all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the state and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor; and to have the assistance of counsel for his defense. article vii. in suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved; and no fact tried by a jury shall be otherwise re-examined in any court of the united states than according to the rules of the common law. article viii. excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive, fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted. article ix. the enumeration in the constitution of certain rights shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people. article x. the powers not delegated to the united states by the constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are reserved to the states respectively or to the people. article xi. the judicial power of the united states shall not be construed to extend to any suit in law or equity commenced or prosecuted against one of the united states by citizens of another state, or by citizens or subjects of any foreign state. article xii. _mode of choosing the president and vice-president_. clause . the electors shall meet in their respective states, and vote by ballot for president and vice-president, one of whom, at least, shall not be an inhabitant of the same state with themselves; they shall name in their ballots the person voted for as president, and in distinct ballots the person voted for as vice-president; and they shall make distinct lists of all persons voted for as president, and of all persons voted for as vice-president, and of the number of votes for each, which list they shall sign and certify, and transmit, sealed, to the seat of the government of the united states, directed to the president of the senate; the president of the senate shall, in the presence of the senate and house of representatives, open all the certificates, and the votes shall then be counted; the person having the greatest number of votes for president shall be the president, if such number be a majority of the whole number of electors appointed; and if no person have such majority, then from the persons having the highest numbers, not exceeding three, on the list of those voted for as president, the house of representatives shall choose immediately by ballot the president. but in choosing the president, the votes shall be taken by states, the representation from each state having one vote; a quorum for this purpose shall consist of a member or members from two-thirds of the states, and a majority of all the states shall be necessary to a choice. and if the house of representatives shall not choose a president, whenever the right of choice shall devolve upon them, before the fourth day of march next following, then the vice-president shall act as president, as in the case of the death or other constitutional disability of the president. clause . the person having the greatest number of votes as vice-president shall be the vice-president, if such number be a majority of the whole number of electors appointed, and if no person have a majority, then from the two highest numbers on the list the senate shall choose the vice-president; a quorum for the purpose shall consist of two-thirds of the whole number of senators, and a majority of the whole number shall be necessary to a choice. clause . but no person constitutionally ineligible to the office of president shall be eligible to that of vice-president of the united states. article xiii. section i. neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the united states, or any place subject to their jurisdiction. section . congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation. article xiv. section . all persons born or naturalized in the united states, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the united states and of the state wherein they reside. no state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the united states; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law, nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws. section . representatives shall be apportioned among the several states according to their respective numbers, counting the whole number of persons in each state, excluding indians not taxed. but when the right to vote at any election for the choice of electors for president and vice-president of the united states, representatives in congress, the executive and judicial officers of a state, or the members of the legislature thereof, is denied to any of the male inhabitants of such state, being twenty-one years of age, and citizens of the united states, or in any way abridged, except for participation in rebellion or other crime, the basis of representation therein shall be reduced in the proportion which the number of such male citizens shall bear to the whole number of male citizens twenty-one years of age in such state. section . no person shall be a senator or representative in congress, or elector of president and vice-president, or hold any office, civil or military, under the united states, or under any state, who, having previously taken an oath, as a member of congress, or as an officer of the united states, or as a member of any state legislature, or as an executive or judicial officer of any state, to support the constitution of the united states, shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the same, or given aid or comfort to the enemies thereof. but congress may, by a vote of two-thirds of each house, remove such disability. section . the validity of the public debt of the united states, authorized by law, including debts incurred for payment of pensions and bounties for services in suppressing insurrection or rebellion, shall not be questioned. but neither the united states nor any state shall assume or pay any debt or obligation incurred in aid of insurrection or rebellion against the united states, or any claim for the loss or emancipation of any slave; but all such debts, obligations, and claims shall he held illegal and void. section . the congress shall have power to enforce by appropriate legislation the provisions of this article. article xv. section . the right of citizens of the united states to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the united states or by any state on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude. section . the congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation. article xvi. the congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes on incomes from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several states, and without regard to any census or enumeration. article xvii. the senate of the united states shall be composed of two senators from each state, elected by the people thereof, for six years; and each senator shall have one vote. the electors in each state shall have the qualifications requisite for electors of the most numerous branch of the state legislatures. when vacancies happen in the representation of any state in the senate, the executive authority of such state shall issue writs of election to fill such vacancies: _provided_, that the legislature of any state may empower the executive thereof to make temporary appointments until the people fill the vacancies by election as the legislature may direct. this amendment shall not be so construed as to affect the election or term of any senator chosen before it becomes valid as part of the constitution. [ ]altered by the th amendment. [ ]altered by the th amendment. [ ]altered by the th amendment. absolute monarchy, academy, naval, . accused, rights of, . actions, . adjutant general, , . functions of, . administrators, . admiralty courts, . agriculture, commissioner of, , . alaska, . aldermen, board of, . aliens, . alternate delegates, . amendments, . appropriation by state, . area of counties, . aristocracy, , . assembly--general or legislative, . assessor, authority of, . duties of, . of township, , . attorney, . county, . duties of, . general, . auditor, township, . australian ballot-system, , , . ballot, . blanket, , . box, , . forms of, . individual, . in indiana, , . in louisville, , . in mass., , . official, , . secret, , . voting by, . bank inspectors, . national, . bargaining and trading, . beat, the, , . bill, , . of rights, , . of attainder, , . true, . blind, voting of the, . board of aldermen, . of education, . board of pardons, . of public works, . of supervisors, . boroughs, . bribery, , . buildings, county, . bureau of construction and repair, . of medicine and surgery, . of navigation, . of ordnance, . of supplies and accounts, . of steam engineering, . of yards and docks, . bureaus of navy department, . of treasury department, . of war department, . by-laws, township, . cabinet, presidential, , . cadet, . campaign, . candidates, , . canvass, . cases, . causes, civil, . criminal, . census, . challenge, . chaplain, . charges, . chief of engraving and printing, . of bureau of statistics, . of fire department, . of ordnance, . of police, . children, , . rights of, . duties of, . circuit clerk, . court, . court of appeals, . citizen, - . duties of, . naturalization of, , . of civil district, , . duties of, . rights of, . of township, , . duties of, , . rights of, . citizen, rights of, , . citizenship, . city council, . court, . election, . engineer, . government, - . incorporation, . institution, . judge, . officers, , . physician, . solicitor, . wards, . civil district, , . government, . civil law, . civil rights, , . civil unit, , . clerks, , , . chief of senate, . circuit, . common pleas, . of county, , , , . of township, . collection of taxes, . collector of city, , . of county, . of township, . of village, , . commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the united states, . commerce, regulation of, , . commercial law, . commission plan of city government, . commissioner, . of agriculture, . county, . court, . of general land office, . of indian affairs, . of internal revenue, . of labor, . land, , . of patents, . of pensions, . railway, , . of internal revenue, . school, . street, , . township, , . committee, . conference, . county, . district, . executive, . national, , . special, , standing, . common law, . communal district, . commutation of sentence, . comptroller, . in u. s. government, . comptroller of currency, . congress, acts of, . forbidden powers, . member of, , . power of, , . representation in, . congressional districts, . constable, district, . duties of, . election and term, . township, , . consuls, . constitution, - . amendments to, , . formation of, . nature of, . constitution of european countries, . of state, . necessity for, . ratification of, . value of, . conventions, , . copyright, , . coroner, . duties of, . inquest, . in township, . corporation, . municipal, . corruption, . council, city, , . common, . councilman, , . counterfeiting, . county, the, - . area, . attorney, . auditor, . buildings, . clerk, . convention, . court-house, . executive department, . formation, . government, . infirmary, . jail, . judge, , . legislative department, . officers, . power, , property, . public affairs, . purposes, . sheriff, . superintendent of schools, . surveyor, . court-house, , . court, jurisdiction of, . of claims, . officers of, , , . supreme, , united states, . of appeals, u.s. circuit, . u.s. district, . court-martial, . declaration of independence, . deeds, , . defendant, . democracy, , . department, of agriculture, . of commerce, . county, . executive, of county, . fire, . government, . interior, - . judicial, , , , . of justice, , . of labor, . legislative, of county, . of state, . of territory, . navy, , . post office, - . state, . township, , . treasury, - . war, - . despotism, . diplomatic service, . direct taxes, , . director infirmary, . of mint, . school, , . disfranchisement, . disorder, . district-attorney, . district, civil, . clerk, . communal, . election, . magisterial, . marshal, . militia, . reporter, . school, , . duties, . citizen's, . civil, . industrial, . moral, . of children, . of family, . of parents, . political, . education, board of, . of child, . election act, . district, . judges of, . of county officers, . of justices, . precinct, , . presidential, , . returns, . electoral college, . vote, . electors, choice of, . electric light, . enabling act, . engineer, city, . chief, . county, . ordnance, . state, . enrolled bills, . envoys extraordinary, . examiner of state, . examining trial, . exercise, . executive department, of county, . of state, . of territory, . of united states, - . function of civil district, . expenditure in county, . family, - . definition of, . duties of members of, . officers, . members of, . powers of officers, . purposes of, . responsibilities, . rights of members, . federal reserve banks, . federal trade commission, . fence-viewers, . finance, . fire department, chief of, . freedom of assembly, . of conscience, . of press, . gas-works, . general assembly, . general, adjutant, , . attorney, , commissary, . inspector, . quartermaster, . surgeon, . surveyor, . government, - . departments, . duties toward, . economy of, . functions, , . national, , . origin of, , . purposes of, . school, - . state, . territory, . varieties, , . governor of state, . of territory, , powers and duties, , . grand jurors, , . guardians, appointment of, . habeas corpus, . hereditary monarchy, . house of congress, . of delegates, . of representatives, , , . hundred, the, , . immigration commission, . impeachment, . inauguration, presidential, . income tax, . indiana ballot, , . indian territory, . indictment, , . industrial rights, . initiative, . inquest, coroner's, . inspector-general, . of bank, . instruction, superintendent of, . insurance commissioners, , . interior department, . internal revenue, . international law, . interstate commerce, , , . intimidation, . jail, county, . jailer, . journal of house, . judge, - , . advocate-general, . appointment of, . county, , . district, . probate, , . supreme court, . surrogate, , judicial department of state, . of u.s., . district, . judiciary, functions of, . jurisdiction of courts, . of supreme court, . jurors, . in township, . jury, , . justice, - of county, . of peace, , . precinct, . of township, , . labor commissioner, . labor department, . land commissioner, , . law and liberty, - . law, enactment of, , . execution of, . ex post facto, . forbidden, . indexing, . making, . of nations, . of territory, . legislation, - . in county, . legislative department of county, , . power of presiding, . state, . territory, . legislative department of township, . of county, . of school, . of state, . of u.s., . legislature, . letters of marque, . liberty, . librarian, state, . territory, . licenses, , . lieutenant-governor, , , . magisterial district, . marshal of village, . martial law, . massachusetts ballot, , . mayor, , . members of congress, . of family, . of school district, . ministers, , . ministerial officers, , , . militia, . district, , . military academy, . government, . mint, . monarchy, . money, coining of, . moral law, . rights and duties, , . mortgages, , . municipal corporations, , . national banks, . national committees, . convention, , , . government, , . legislation, . naturalization, . naval academy, . new jersey ballot, . nominations, , . officers, appointment of, . city, . civil district, . election, . election of, . house of representatives, . interior, . ministerial, . of family, , . powers of, . post-office, , . school, . of senate, . officers of territory, . township, . treasury, . of united states court, , . official ballots, . oklahoma, . oligarchy, . oral instruction, . ordinances, . organization act, . overseers, . papers, . pardons, . parents, rights and duties of, parish, . parliamentary law, . parties, - . party committees, , . conventions, , . machinery, , . passports, . patents, , . patriarchy, . patronage of president, . paymaster, . penalties, . pensions, . personal property, . petit jury, . piracy, . plaintiff, . plantations, . platforms, , . police, chief, . court, . political conventions, . parties, . polling list, . place, , , . in district, . poll-tax, , , . poor, support of, . postmaster, . post office, . bureau, . department, . popular vote, . porto rico, . pound keeper, . powers of state, . precinct election, , . justice's, . president, , , , , . cabinet of, . powers of, . presidential election, . press, freedom of, . primary elections, . privateers, . private property, . private tax, . privilege of state, . probate judge, , . proceedings, legal, . property tax, . quartermaster-general, . railway commissioners, . real estate tax, . recall, . recorder, . county, . referendum, . register, county, . of land office, , . representative democracy, . districts, . duties, . house of, . reprieves, , . reprisal, . republic, , . republican principles, . residence, official, of president, . revenue and taxation, , . collection of, , , . rights, , . natural, . of accused, . of eminent domain, . of private property, . political, . school, , . appointment of officers, . children, , . definition and purpose of, . directors, , , . district, . formation of, . functions of, . government, , . members, . position of, . power of teacher of, . rights of, . teacher, . secret ballot, . secretary of state, . of territory, . of treasury, . security, personal, . selectmen, . senate, , . senator, . senatorial districts, . sessions of congress, . sheriff, , , . shire town, . society, , , . social rights, , . solicitor, , , . city, . general, . of treasury, . speaker, , . speech, freedom of, . state, - . administration of, . engineer, . state examiner, . librarian, . officers, . secretary of, . subdivisions of, . teachers' institute, . statistics, commissioner of, . statute law, . suffrage and elections, - . rights of, . suits, , . civil, . superintendent of banking, . of coast survey, . superintendent of elections, . of poor, . of public instruction, . supervisor, , . supreme court, , . surveyor, , general, . county, , . tariff, . taxation, , , . taxes, , , , . collection of, , , . income, . indirect, . teachers, , . duties of, . powers of, , . territory, , , , . theocracy, . tipstaff, . town (see township), , , - . meetings, . township, or town, - . assessor, , . citizens of, . clerk, . collector, . commissioner, . constable, , . councilmen, . governmental functions of, . township, purposes, . selectmen, . supervisor, , . treasurer, . treason, . treasurer, city, . treasurer, county, . township, . village, , . treasury department, - . treaties, , . trials, , . by jury, . trustees, . of township, . duties of, . unit, the civil, - . united states, - . circuit courts, . circuit court of appeals, . district court, . formation of, . jurisdiction of courts, . supreme court, . veto, . vice-president, , , , . village, , . voters, , , , , , , , , . voting, , , , . war, declaration of, . ward convention, . warrants, , . water works, , . wills, , , . works, electric, . gas, . public, , , . water, . writs, serving of, . supplement. by hon. hoke smith, u.s. senator, formerly president of the board of education, atlanta, ga. georgia supplement.--peterman's civil government. copyright, , , , by american book company, the state of georgia. in the people of georgia is vested the power of government and with them lies the supreme authority in the state, except in this: the people of georgia can pass no law which conflicts with the provisions of the constitution of the united states. as a safeguard and for the better administration of their affairs, the people of georgia have established a constitution. the present constitution was adopted by delegates selected from senatorial districts. the delegates met in convention and adopted the present constitution in . all laws in georgia must be made in accordance with the constitution of the united states and the constitution of georgia. they must also be executed according to the provisions of these constitutions. the constitution of georgia can be amended by a two-thirds vote of the members of each branch of the general assembly, but the action of the general assembly in amending the constitution must be ratified by the voters at the next election of members of the general assembly; or, a new constitution can be made by another constitutional convention, which can be called only by two thirds of the members of each house of the general assembly. the constitution of georgia places the administration of the civil government of the state in three departments, the legislative, the executive, and the judicial. legislative.--the legislative department consists of two bodies, namely, the _senate_ and the house of representatives. the senate is composed of forty-four members, one from each senatorial district. the senatorial districts consist of three or more counties. no one can be elected a state senator who is not a citizen of the united states, who has not attained the age of twenty-five years, and who has not been a resident of the state four years. the _house of representatives_ consists of one hundred and eighty-six members, apportioned among the different counties according to population. the six counties having the largest population have three representatives each; the twenty-six counties having the next largest population have two representatives each; the remaining one hundred sixteen counties have one representative each. a member of the house of representatives must be twenty-one years of age, and must have resided in the state four years, and in the county from which elected one year. the members of the legislature are elected biennially on the first wednesday in october. both members of the senate and the house are chosen for terms of two years at the general state elections. the _general assembly_ meets annually on the fourth wednesday in june, and can make all laws deemed by its members proper and necessary for the welfare of the state not in conflict with the constitution of the state or constitution of the united states. a majority of each house constitutes a quorum for the transaction of business. neither branch of the legislature has the right to adjourn for a longer time than three days without the consent of the other, but should they disagree upon a question of adjournment, the governor may adjourn either or both of them. the acts of the legislature which are approved by the governor and become laws are published each year for the information of the public. when the legislature is called upon to elect some officer, both branches meet in the hall of the house of representatives, and the president of the senate presides over the joint body and declares the result. no bill can be passed by the legislature unless it receives a majority vote of all members elected to each house of the general assembly, and this fact must be shown by the journals of both houses. it is also necessary for a measure to receive the signature of the governor before becoming a law. when a bill is vetoed by the governor it may be passed by a two-thirds vote of the members of each house, thus making his approval unnecessary. the most important appointments made by the governor must be confirmed by the senate before the appointments become effective. the senate has the sole power to hear impeachment proceedings. it requires a two-thirds vote of the senate to sustain articles of impeachment before there can be a conviction. the house of representatives must first pass all bills for raising revenue and appropriating money, but the senate may propose or concur in amendments to such bills. the right to institute impeachments is vested in the house of representatives. franchise.--every male citizen of this state and of the united states twenty-one years old, who has resided in the state one year prior to the election, and in the county in which he offers to vote six months, who has paid all taxes required of him by law since , is an elector, and if registered, may vote. those who have not paid their taxes, idiots, insane persons, illiterates of poor character who are neither ex-soldiers nor descendants of soldiers nor owners of a certain amount of property, and persons convicted of serious crime, unless pardoned, are disqualified from voting. registration.--before a citizen can become entitled to vote he is required to register. on the first day of january of every year the tax collector opens a voters' book in which every person wishing to vote subscribes his name, showing that he is entitled to vote. from this book the tax collector prepares a list of registered voters of the county, which he files with the county registrars. the county registrars are appointed by the judge of the superior court for a term of two years. the county registrars take this list and compare it with the list of disqualified voters prepared by the tax collector, the ordinary, and the clerk of the superior court, and from the two prepare a final list of registered voters. only those whose names appear on the list of voters prepared by the registrars, are entitled to vote. on or before the hour for opening the election a copy of the list of registered voters is furnished the election managers. all elections are presided over by three superintendents. votes are cast by ballot. executive department.--the executive department of the state consists of the governor, secretary of state, state treasurer, and comptroller-general. their powers and duties were originally vested in the governor and his council, but now the duties of each office are separate and distinct. they are elected for a term of two years by the people of the state, at the same time the members of the legislature are elected. the qualifications for these offices are: twenty-five years of age (for governor thirty), a citizen of the united states ten years (for governor fifteen), and of the state six years. the _governor_ is commander in chief of the army and naval forces of the state. he has revision of all bills passed by the general assembly, and, a two-thirds majority in each house is necessary to pass a bill over his disapproval. the governor can commute sentences, and grant pardons to criminals, except in cases of treason or impeachment. he is empowered to fill many important offices by appointment. he issues commissions to all officers in the state. he may issue proclamations of rewards for the apprehension of criminals. he reports to the legislature on the financial condition of the state, and gives suggestions as to any general law that should be passed. the _secretary of state_ has the custody of the great seal of state and all state papers. he preserves all the original bills and acts passed by the general assembly. he affixes the great seal to all state grants, and public documents executed by the governor, keeps correct maps of surveys; and plats of lands granted by the state, and records all grants. the secretary of state grants charters to banking, insurance, railroad, canal, navigation, express, telephone, and telegraph companies. the secretary of state is _ex-officio commissioner of corporations_. all state and foreign corporations are required to file an annual statement in his office. he is also the official who passes upon the legality of all stocks, bonds, debentures, and other securities offered for sale in the state of georgia. he is the legal officer of the state who issues licenses for automobiles. the secretary of state is _ex-officio surveyor-general_ who acts in disputed boundary lines of counties. he is the officer to whom election returns of all officers elected by the people are submitted for certification. he keeps a record in his office of the subdivisions of the state into counties, and all records pertaining to the original subdivisions of the state into counties and land districts. the _state treasurer_ has custody of all state funds, and pays out moneys only on warrants issued by the governor. the members of the general assembly receive their pay from the treasurer upon drafts drawn by the speaker of the house or president of the senate. he has control of the funds pledged to the payment of the public debt, and keeps accounts of all receipts and expenditures. he acts also as _state bank examiner_. the _comptroller-general_ audits all accounts against the state. he examines the digests of all tax returns, receives and collects all evidences of debts due the state from any other source than taxes, issues executions against defaulting tax collectors, and countersigns all warrants drawn on the treasury by the governor. he must keep a record of all tax collectors' and receivers' bonds. he must make an annual report to the governor, showing the currents account between the treasurer and the state. the report must include a statement of taxes paid in by each county, the annual income from the educational fund, and the amounts paid out of said fund, the condition of the public debt, and accounts of all officers and agents disbursing public money. for the use of the members of the general assembly he must prepare a table of the taxable property in each county of the state, a table of the polls and number of voters in each county, the number of children in each county returned for participation in the educational fund, and the amount drawn by each county out of that fund. he is _ex-officio insurance commissioner_, and has general supervision over all insurance companies doing business in georgia. this properly ends the executive department as fixed by the constitution, but there are other state officers whose duties are such that they really belong to the same class, and may be considered under this head. the _attorney-general_ is the legal adviser of the executive department. he represents the state in all capital felonies in the supreme court, and in all civil and criminal cases in any court when required to do so by the governor. he is elected by the people for a term of two years, and the same qualifications for this office apply as do those for judges of the supreme court. the _state superintendent of schools_ is elected at the time when the governor is elected, for a term of two years. he is charged with the administration of the school laws. he has general superintendence of the business relating to public schools. it is his duty to instruct all officers under him as he thinks necessary for the better discharge of their duties, and to inspect the various schools of the state. he disburses the school fund according to the number of children between the ages of six and eighteen years in each county. he is the secretary and executive agent of the state board of education. with the consent and approval of the state board of education, he may appoint three _state school supervisors_ to act under his direction and give normal instruction and training in each county; to grade, when required, the papers of applicants for professional certificates; and to aid him generally in supervising, systematizing, and improving the schools of the state. he appoints, with the advice and consent of the state board of education, an experienced _auditor_ to examine and report on the accounts of all schools and colleges receiving state aid. the state superintendent of schools is _ex-officio_ a member of the state board of education, the state school-book commission, the state geological board, the board of trustees of the state normal school at athens, and the south georgia normal school at valdosta. the _commissioner of agriculture_ is elected by the people of the state for a term of two years, at the same time that the governor is elected. he has charge and control of the inspection and sale of all fertilizers sold in the state. the law requires all manufacturers and dealers in fertilizers in georgia to first register all the brands to be sold. the law authorizes the commissioner to appoint six inspectors for a term of one year each, and such other additional inspectors as may be required, to be paid for the actual time they are in service. after the samples are taken by these inspectors, they are forwarded to the commissioner, who turns them over to the state chemist, he making an analysis of the goods. if the analysis shows anything radically wrong, the commission takes it up with the fertilizer manufacturers who sold the fertilizer, and the party who bought it. the commissioner of agriculture is also charged with the inspection of foods, drugs, feeding stuffs, and of all oils of illuminating quality sold in the state. it is his duty to enforce the provisions of the pure food and drug laws, and he appoints a food inspector and a drug inspector. both of these inspectors make their report to the commissioner, and all samples taken are sent to the state chemist for analysis. the commissioner also has charge of the inspection of cattle in georgia to protect them against diseases of all kinds. this department is called the _bureau of animal inspection_, and is in the charge of the _state veterinarian_, with a corps of assistants, all of whom are appointed by the commissioner. this bureau cooperates with the united states department of agriculture in tick eradication and hog cholera contagion; and the general development of live stock industry. the commissioner of agriculture also has charge of the horticultural interests, peaches, apples, fruits, and vines, of all description. under the law he appoints an _entomologist_ who may visit all the orchards and vineyards, and inspect them for the purpose of keeping down all diseases affecting the fruit in georgia. in a general way the commissioner of agriculture is expected to look after the common good of the state connected with the varied farming interests. by virtue of his office, the commissioner of agriculture is _ex-officio_ a member of the board of trustees of the state board of agriculture, chairman of the board of trustees of the georgia experiment station, and also chairman of the state board of entomology. the _state chemist_ is in charge of the laboratory in connection with the department of agriculture. he is appointed by the commissioner of agriculture, and his assistants are also appointed by the commissioner on the recommendation of the state chemist. a _state geologist_ is appointed by the governor, who holds his office during good conduct. he is removable by the governor for inefficiency or misconduct. it is his duty to make a geological, mineralogical, and physical survey of the state; to make records of the survey; to make a record of the general physical characteristics of the different counties; to locate the deposits of mineral ores and phosphates, collect and classify specimens and preserve them in a museum. the _state game and fish commissioners_ appointed by the governor for a term of two years. it is his duty to see that all laws for the protection of game animals, game birds, and fish in the state are observed and enforced. he appoints game and fish wardens and deputy wardens in each county of the state to assist him in enforcing the laws, and in issuing licenses to proper persons to hunt and fish in the open season, in accordance with certain restrictions and regulations. the _state tax commissioner_ is appointed by the governor, with the approval of the senate, for a term of six years. his office is at the state capitol in connection with the comptroller-general. he acts as assistant to the comptroller-general. he investigates all matters relative to taxation, and makes recommendations to the general assembly, as to any alterations or changes that may bring about a more perfect and equitable system of taxation. it is his duty to examine carefully and compare the tax digests of the several counties of the state, to the end that property located in different counties may bear its equitable burden of taxation. the _adjutant general_ is appointed by the governor for the term of the governor's tenure. he is at the head of the military department of the state, subordinate only to the governor as commander in chief of the military forces of the state. he is custodian of all militia records and of all state and united states military equipment in the state. he renders an annual report to the governor of the condition of the militia and accounts for all moneys received and disbursed for military purposes. he issues all orders relative to carrying into execution and perfecting the military establishment under the laws of the state and the united states. the _commissioner of commerce and labor_ is elected at the same time and in the same manner as the governor and the state house officers for a term of two years. he is aided by an assistant commissioner and chief clerk. his duties are to provide for the collection and dissemination of authentic statistics pertaining to the various industries and resources of the state; also to collect data relative to the condition and welfare of laboring people and such other statistics concerning the industrial welfare of the citizens of the state as he may deem of interest and benefit to the public: he is especially required to investigate the operation and enforcement of various laws relative to the employment of child labor and of women. he may act as a mediator between employers and employees in the case of strikes, and tender his good offices to the opposing parties with a view to bringing about friendly and satisfactory adjustments. he makes a full report to the governor, with such recommendations as may be likely to promote the efficiency of his department. the _railroad commission_ consists of five members, one or two being elected every second year, for a term of six years. it is the duty of the commission to protect the people from excessive passenger or freight rates on the various railroads operating in the state, and to prevent unjust discrimination. the commissioners have the power to examine the books of any railroad company, to examine its officers and agents as to their methods of conducting the business of the road, and to examine the road to see that it is not in an unsafe and dangerous condition, and when any part is found to be unsafe, to require the company to put it in such condition as will render travel safe and expeditious. the commission also has a similar control over street railroads, wharves, docks, gas, electric light and power, terminal, express, telephone, telegraph, and cotton compress companies. the commission is called upon to consider, hear, and adjust multitudes of differences and complaints that arise in reference to services, rates, and practices of more than two hundred public service corporations that are within its supervisory and regulatory jurisdiction. each of the companies, or corporations, over which the railroad commission has authority, before issuing stocks, bonds, notes, or other evidence of debt payable more than twelve months after the date thereof, must secure the approval and authority of the commission; also they must show the purpose and use for which such issues are authorized. the _prison commission_ consists of three commissioners elected by the people for a term of six years. the commissioners elect one of their number chairman. all convicts, all convict camps, and the state farm are under the direct supervision of the prison commission, which provides rules and regulations, subject to the approval of the governor, for their management, discipline, and sanitation. some member of the prison commission makes personal visits to the various convict camps of the state every six months and makes a thorough inspection of every detail of management, plan of operation, sanitation, and treatment of the convicts. the commission apportions the convicts to the various counties desiring to use convict labor on the public roads. the prison commission hears applications for pardons and makes recommendations for executive clemency to the governor, but he may reject their advice. judicial system.--the judicial branch of our state government is vested in the supreme court, the court of appeals, superior courts, county, and city courts, courts of ordinary, justice courts, and courts recently established in certain cities in lieu of justice courts. the difference in the courts consists of their varied jurisdiction. jurisdiction is the power to hear and determine cases. two questions are usually involved in determining the jurisdiction of a court. first, the residence of the defendant, and, second, the amount involved and the subject matter of the litigation. the jurisdiction of a court is usually limited to a particular territory, and, with the exception of the superior courts, it is limited as to the character of the litigation. in each militia district of every county of the state, except in certain cities, there is a _justice court_. this court was established for the trial of cases involving small amounts, and for the preliminary trials of persons charged with offenses against the laws of the state. the justice is elected for a term of four years by the voters of the county. to be eligible for this office one must have been a resident of the district for three months, and such other qualifications apply as do to voters for members of the general assembly. this court holds its sessions monthly. upon the recommendation of the grand jury of the county, a _notary public_ and _ex-officio justice of the peace_ may be appointed by the judge of the superior court and commissioned by the governor. his powers are the same as a regularly elected justice, and his term of office is for the same number of years. the jurisdiction of the court extends to all cases arising from contracts, or injuries, or damages to personal property, when the amount claimed does not exceed $ . contests for the possession of personal property, when the title is not involved, may also be tried in justice courts. when the amount involved is less than $ an appeal may be had to a jury of five men; if the amount exceeds $ , an appeal may be had to the superior court. upon the arrest of any person charged with any offense against the laws of the state he can be brought before the justice of the peace for a preliminary trial. if in the opinion of the justice there is sufficient evidence, he is bound over to a higher court for trial. the justice of the peace can issue warrants for the arrest of persons charged with crimes, and is qualified to administer oaths. the executive officer of the justice court is the _constable_, who is elected by the people for a term of two years. he serves subpoenas, levies executions, conducts the sales of the court, and makes arrests. in , the provisions of the constitution recommending the establishment of justice courts in each militia district were amended so as to allow such justice courts, the office of justice of the peace, and of notary public, _ex-officio_ justice of the peace, to be abolished in certain cities in georgia by the establishment in lieu thereof of such court, or system of courts, as the general assembly may deem necessary. such courts have been established in atlanta and macon. the territory, jurisdiction, and power of these courts are set forth in the act creating them. a _county court_ is established upon the recommendation of a grand jury in a county. the judge of the court is appointed by the governor for a term of four years. the judge of a county court must be twenty-one years of age, and must have been a resident of the county one year. the court holds monthly and quarterly sessions at the county seat. the jurisdiction of the court extends over the county where it is located. the court has jurisdiction in all civil cases where the amount involved does not exceed $ , save where exclusive jurisdiction is given to the superior courts. criminal cases are also tried in county courts when the crime with which the defendant is charged is called a misdemeanor. in some counties also there are county courts established by special acts of the legislature. many _city courts_ have been established by the legislature. the judge of a city court is appointed by the governor, or elected by the people, according to the provisions of the act establishing the court. the term and the qualifications of the judge, and the jurisdiction of the city court, are also fixed by the legislative act creating the court. the term is sometimes four years and sometimes two. the _solicitor_ of the city court is appointed by the governor, or elected by the people, for a term of two or four years. it is his duty to represent the state in all criminal cases tried in that court. there is in each county of the state a _court of ordinary_. the presiding officer of this court is styled the _ordinary_. he is elected by the voters of the county for a term of four years. the jurisdiction of the court of ordinary extends throughout the county over all matters relating to the administration of property of deceased persons, orphans, idiots, lunatics, and insane persons. in the ordinary is vested the power of appointing guardians of the person of orphans and insane persons. the ordinary also has charge of county roads and revenues where no board of county commissioners has been established. the ordinary is clerk of his own court, and the sheriff of the county is his executive officer. the state is divided into twenty-six _judicial circuits_, and each circuit has one _superior court judge_ (or mote than one if the legislature so provides). this judge is elected by the people for a term of four years. to be eligible he must be thirty years of age; he must have been a citizen of the state for three years, and must have practiced law seven years. the _superior courts_ have original and appellate jurisdiction. actions may be begun in this court, and actions may be appealed to this court. the original jurisdiction of this court extends exclusively over all suits for divorce, suits where titles to land are involved, cases in equity, and criminal cases where the person is accused of a crime the punishment for which is loss of life or imprisonment in the penitentiary. offenses of a lesser grade are called misdemeanors. the court has jurisdiction over all civil cases. the _judge_ of the superior court has the power to issue various writs for the enforcement of the law, and grant charters to all corporations, except banking, insurance, railroad, canal, navigation, express, telephone, and telegraph companies. cases appealed from justice courts, county courts, courts of ordinary, and certain city courts lie to the superior courts. the _clerk_ of the superior court is elected by the people for a term of two years. he has custody of all court papers, records, liens, deeds, mortgages, and other conveyances, issues executions, subpoenas, commissions to take interrogatories, and other writs with the authority of the court. he also has the power to administer oaths. the _sheriff_ of the county is properly a county officer, but his duties are closely allied with the superior court. he is elected by the people for a term of two years. it is his duty to execute all orders of the court, attend in person or by deputy all its sessions, keep a record of all sales and executions, publish advertisements of sales, and conduct sales at the county seat. he levies executions, serves warrants, and executes all the writs of the judge of the superior court. the sheriff may appoint deputies to assist him in the performance of his duties. the _solicitor-general_ is elected by the people for a term of four years. he must have been three years a citizen of the state, he must be twenty-five years of age, and must have practiced law three years. he is the solicitor of the whole circuit, and is not a county officer. he advises the grand jury, examines witnesses before that body, and draws up all indictments and presentments. it is his duty to prosecute or defend any civil action in his circuit in which the state is interested, collect moneys arising from fines and forfeited bonds, and all claims of the state, as ordered by the comptroller-general. he represents the state in all criminal actions in the superior court, of which he is the solicitor, and in the court of appeals or the supreme court in cases appealed from his circuit. the _court of appeals_ consists of three judges, elected one every second year for a term of six years. the _supreme court_ consists of a chief justice and five associate justices. they are elected two every second year for a term of six years. a judge of the court of appeals or a justice of the supreme court must be thirty years of age, must have been a resident of the state three years, and must have practiced law seven years. the court of appeals has appellate jurisdiction in cases appealed from certain city courts, and in criminal cases, not capital, appealed from the superior courts. the supreme court has appellate jurisdiction in civil cases appealed from the superior courts, and in all cases of conviction of capital crime. the supreme court also settles any question as to the meaning of the constitution, and as to the constitutionality of a state law. it is the highest judicial authority in the state. counties.--the state is divided into one hundred and forty-eight counties, and each county into militia districts, according to its size and population. every militia district in the state must contain at the time of its organization at least one hundred male residents over twenty-one years of age who are subject to militia duty, and no militia district can be reduced in population below this requirement by the formation of a new one. while no additional counties can be created in the state except by a constitutional amendment, one may be abolished or merged into adjoining counties by a two-thirds majority of the voters of the county. each county in the state has an organized government, with powers delegated to it by the state government. these powers are largely administrative, and have for their chief purpose the enforcement of general laws. each county is a body corporate, with the power to sue or be sued in any court, make contracts, and buy and sell real estate. its debt cannot exceed seven per cent of the assessed valuation of the taxable property. ordinary.--the office of ordinary is the most important in the county. he is the principal administrative officer in the county. when sitting for county purposes he has exclusive jurisdiction in directing and controlling all county property and in levying general and special taxes. he has control over all roads and bridges, establishes and alters election precincts and militia districts, appoints officers to fill all vacancies in the county. he audits the accounts of all county officers, makes rules and regulations for the relief of the poor. he issues marriage licenses, pays pensions to confederate veterans, licenses and regulates peddling, and collects special taxes assessed by the state. he is elected for a term of four years. he is both a judicial and an administrative officer. his judicial duties have been explained. a part of his administrative duties as to roads and revenues is performed in some counties by a board of county commissioners. county commissioners.--a board of county commissioners may be created by the general assembly to administer the executive powers of the ordinary. the powers of the commissioners differ in the various counties, and their duties are prescribed by the act creating them. they are called commissioners of roads and revenues. when county commissioners are provided for by legislative enactment the ordinary ceases to perform the duties given to the commissioners. jury commissioners.--the board of jury commissioners is composed of six members, who are appointed by the judge of the superior court for a term of six years. two members are appointed every second year. this body meets in august, biennially, to revise the jury list. it selects from the books of the tax receiver "upright and intelligent men" to serve as jurors. the most intelligent and experienced are selected for the grand jury. the name of each person subject to serve on the jury is written on a separate slip of paper and placed in the "jury box." at each term of the superior court the judge draws out of this box from eighteen to thirty names, from which the grand jury is impaneled. in the same manner thirty-six names are drawn for the petit jury. _grand jury_.--the grand jury consists of not less than eighteen nor more than twenty-three members. a foreman is elected by the jury. it is their duty to indict or present for trial all persons who from their own knowledge, or from evidence brought before them, are charged with an offense against the laws, and against whom sufficient evidence is produced to sustain the charge. it is also their duty to inspect the books and accounts of all county officers, examine the tax receiver's digest, and inquire into the condition and management of the county roads, jails, and schoolhouses. it advises the ordinary in the administration of the county tax, determines the salary of the county judge, jurors, and bailiffs, and appoints the members of the board of education. _county treasurer_.--all revenue paid into the county arising from taxes, and all other sources, is paid to the county treasurer, who disburses it only upon warrants issued by the ordinary or board of county commissioners. _tax receiver_.--it is the duty of the tax receiver to secure from each taxpayer, under oath, a statement of the character and amount of his taxable property. three digests are prepared from the full returns made to the tax receiver, who must furnish one to the comptroller-general, the tax collector, and the ordinary. _tax collector_.--it is the duty of the tax collector to collect all taxes due the state and county, and to pay the same over to the comptroller-general and county treasurer, the portion due the state going to the comptroller-general. he is to search out and ascertain as far as possible all poll and professional taxes due and unpaid, and all taxable property not found in the digest, and to assess the same and collect thereon a double tax. he also issues against all defaulters, executions, which are placed with the proper officials for collection. _road commissioners_.--each county is arranged into road districts in order that the labor and expense may be divided as equally as possible throughout the county. three commissioners are appointed in every district for a term of two years, and are excused only for providential causes; but while serving they are exempt from jury, militia, and other road duty. all male residents of the state between the ages of sixteen and fifty years are subject to work on the public roads, with the exception of preachers, cripples, and employees of the insane asylum, and the like. no person, however, is required to work for a longer time than fifteen days in the year, or for a longer time than five days in succession. the commissioners have the power to fine or imprison defaulters. counties may, however, adopt an alternative plan for working the roads: in such counties a special tax is levied on property, the proceeds of which are spent on the roads, and able-bodied men between eighteen and fifty years of age are subject to road duty for not more than five days each year, or they may pay a small commutation tax instead. coroner.--the principal duty of the coroner is to hold inquests, with a jury composed of six electors, over the bodies of all persons who have died suddenly and under suspicious circumstances. upon the verdict of the jury, the coroner may commit to prison, to await trial, any person found guilty of homicide. the coroner is also _ex-officio_ sheriff when the latter is disqualified or absent from the county. _county surveyor_.--the county surveyor makes surveys of county and district lines, and such other surveys as are required by the comptroller-general. cities and towns.--where the necessity demands it in very thickly populated districts, and where the county government would be inadequate for the requirements of the community, local governments are established, which are termed _municipal corporations_. such corporations are chartered by the general assembly, and the form of government of each municipality is prescribed in the act creating it. no distinction is drawn in georgia between towns and cities. the form of the municipal government conforms to a large extent to that of the state government, the legislative power being delegated to a council or board of aldermen, the executive to the mayor, and the judicial to a recorder, or some one performing the duties usually given to this officer. the council is composed of the _mayor_ and a number of _councilmen_. they are elected by the voters, usually for a term of one or two years. the councilmen in some places are elected from various city wards; in others they are elected by the town or city at large. in some cities the _recorder_ is elected by the council, and in some he is elected by the people. in some the mayor performs the duties of the recorder. under some charters, the city comptroller, tax collector, treasurer, and city attorneys are elected by the voters, while the minor officers, such as the city clerk, tax assessors, members of the board of health, the board of education, and the board of police commissioners, are elected by the council. the revenue of a city is derived from a general tax on all real and personal property, which must be uniform, and a license tax on all occupations, which is varied with the occupation. education.--there is a thorough system of public schools for the education of the children of the state, the expenses of which are provided for by taxation or otherwise. the schools are free to all children of the state, but separate schools are provided for white and colored children. the state appropriates money directly to the support of the public schools. authority may be granted to counties, school districts, or to municipalities, upon the recommendation of the corporate authority, to maintain schools by local taxation, levied in addition to the amount appropriated by the state. but such a law takes effect in any county district, or municipality, only if ratified by a two-thirds majority of the citizens voting on the question. the _state superintendent of schools_ is the executive head of the school system of the state, and to him are submitted reports from the county school superintendents. he prepares the questions for teachers' examinations. the _state board of education_ is composed of the governor, state superintendent of schools, and four other persons who are appointed by the governor and confirmed by the senate. at least three of these appointees must be men of practical experience in teaching schools and of high standing in educational work, having had at least three years' practical experience in the schools of georgia. the board is authorized to receive bequests for education, and invest the principal sums when the interest only is to be expended. the board is an appellate and advisory body. the state superintendent of schools is required to advise with the board for the better performance of his duties, and appeals from his decisions lie to the board. it is the duty of the state board of education to provide rules and regulations for the supervision of all schools in the state; to provide the course of study and select textbooks for all common and high schools of the state receiving state aid; also to provide a system of certification for the teachers of the public schools. the schools of each county are under the control of a _county board of education_. the grand jury of a county selects five citizens to serve on the board for the term of four years. the county is divided by the board into school districts, and a school is established in each district which may have three trustees who act under the general supervision of the county board of education. the board employs teachers, rents property, buys school furniture, and makes all arrangements necessary for the efficient operation of the schools. the _county school superintendent_ is elected by the qualified voters of each county for a term of four years. under a recent act the term of all these officials is uniform and expires january , . he must be a resident of the county in which he offers for election and be a person of good moral character. in addition to the above there are four tests laid down by law and the county school superintendent must qualify under at least one of these:-- . three years' experience in teaching, one year of which shall have been in georgia, and the possession of a first-grade license. or . a diploma from a reputable college or normal school. or . five years' experience in actual school supervision. or . an approved examination before the state board of education as to qualifications. it is his duty to examine on a day advertised for that purpose all applicants for licenses to teach, and to grade such applicants according to the instructions of the state superintendent of schools. he is a medium between the state superintendent of schools and all subordinate school officers, and acts as the agent of the county board of education in purchasing school furniture, apparatus, and all educational requisites. besides partly supporting the public schools, the state supports other institutions for higher learning. these institutions, though situated in different parts of the state, are collectively known as the _university of georgia_, which has its seat at athens. the head of all these institutions is styled the _chancellor_, but each has its president and separate board of trustees. the trustees are appointed by the governor for various terms. the university of georgia consists of the college at athens and the following branches: the georgia normal and industrial college, state normal school, south georgia state normal school, state college of agriculture, north georgia agricultural college, medical college, technological school, and georgia state industrial college for colored youths. the educational system of georgia is being constantly improved by voluntary local taxation supplementing the state funds. every child in georgia is entitled to receive a thorough education, suited to the station in life to which he can reasonably aspire. this much should be demanded. nothing less should be accepted as sufficient. may the time soon come when the people of georgia will realize that money spent to develop the minds and characters of their children is the best investment to be made for them in time and eternity. eleemosynary institutions.--at the expense of the whole people, the state of georgia maintains the following eleemosynary institutions: georgia academy for the blind, macon; georgia school for the deaf, cave spring; the soldiers' home of georgia, atlanta, georgia state sanitarium for the insane, milledgeville; georgia state tuberculosis sanitarium, alto; and the georgia training school for girls. the memories of fifty years: containing brief biographical notices of distinguished americans, and anecdotes of remarkable men; interspersed with scenes and incidents occurring during a long life of observation chiefly spent in the southwest by w. h. sparks philadelphia: claxton, remsen & haffelfinger. macon ga.: j. w. burke & co. stereotyped by j. fagan & son. printed by moore bros. to my brother and nephew, the honorable ovid garten sparks, and colonel thomas hardeman, of macon, georgia. this volume is dedicated by their aged and affectionate relative, trusting they will esteem it, when he shall have passed to eternity, as some evidence of the affection borne them by the author. preface. in the same week, and within three days of the same date, i received from three judges of the supreme court, of three states, the request that i would record my remembrances of the men and things i had known for fifty years. the gentlemen making this request were joseph henry lumpkin, of georgia; william l. sharkey, of mississippi, and james g. taliaferro, of louisiana. from judge sharkey the request was verbal; from the other two it came in long and, to me, cherished letters. all three have been my intimate friends--lumpkin from boyhood; the others for nearly fifty years. judge lumpkin has finished his work in time, and gone to his reward. judges sharkey and taliaferro yet live, both now over seventy years of age. the former has retired from the busy cares of office, honored, trusted, and beloved; the latter still occupies a seat upon the bench of the supreme court of louisiana. these men have all sustained unreproached reputations, and retained through their long lives the full confidence of the people of their respective states. i did not feel at liberty to resist their appeal: i had resided in all three of the states; had known long and intimately their people; had been extensively acquainted with very many of the most prominent men of the nation--and in the following pages is my compliance. i have trusted only to my memory, and to a journal kept for many years, when a younger man than i am to-day--hastening to the completion of my seventieth year. doubtless, i have made many mistakes of minor importance; but few, i trust, as to matters of fact. of one thing i am sure: nothing has been wilfully written which can wound the feelings of any. many things herein contained may not be of general interest; but none which will not find interested readers; for while some of the individuals mentioned may not be known to common fame, the incidents in connection with them deserve to be remembered by thousands who knew them. these memories are put down without system, or order, as they have presented themselves, and have been related in a manner which i have attempted to make entertaining and instructive, without being prolix or tedious. they will be chiefly interesting to the people of the south; though much may, and, i hope, will be read by those of the north. some of my happiest days have been passed in the north: at cambridge some of my sons have been educated, and some of my dearest friends have been northern men. despite the strife which has gone far toward making us in heart a divided people, i have a grateful memory of many whose homes and graves were and are in new england. would that this strife had never been! but it has come, and i cannot forego a parent's natural feelings when mourning the loss of sons slain in the conflict, or the bitterness arising therefrom toward those who slew them. yet, as i forgive, i hope to be forgiven. there are but few now left who began the journey of life with me. those of this number who still sojourn in our native land will find much in these pages familiar to their remembrance, and some things, the reading of which may revive incidents and persons long forgotten. in the west, in louisiana, mississippi, alabama, and texas, there are many--the descendants of those who participated in events transpiring fifty years ago--who have listened at the parental hearth to their recital. to these i send this volume greeting; and if they find something herein to amuse and call up remembrances of the past, i shall feel gratified. to the many friends i have in the southwest, and especially in louisiana and mississippi, where i have sojourned well-nigh fifty years, and many of whom have so often urged upon me the writing of these memories, i commit the book, and ask of them, and of all into whose hands it may fall, a lenient criticism, a kindly recollection, and a generous thought of our past intercourse. it is an inexorable fate that separates us, and i feel it is forever. this sad thought is alleviated, however, by the consciousness that the few remaining sands of life are falling at the home of my birth; and that when the end comes, as very soon it must, i shall be placed to sleep amid my kindred in the land of my nativity. the author. contents. chapter i. revolutionary traditions. middle georgia--colonel david love--his widow--governor dunmore-- colonel tarleton--bill cunningham--colonel fannin--my grandmother's bible--solomon's maxim applied--robertus love--the indian warrior-- dragon canoe--a buxom lass--general gates--marion--mason l. weems --washington--"billy crafford" chapter ii. pioneer life. settlement of middle georgia--prowling indians--scouts and their dogs--classes of settlers--prominence of virginians--causes of distinction--clearing--log-rolling--frolics--teachers cummings and duffy--the schoolmaster's nose--flogging--emigration to alabama chapter iii. the georgia company. yazoo purchase--governor matthews--james jackson--burning of the yazoo act--development of free government--constitutional convention--slavery: its introduction and effects chapter iv. political disputations. baldwin--a yankee's political stability--the yazoo question--party feuds and fights--deaf and dumb ministers--clay--jackson--buchanan-- calhoun--cotton and free trade--the clay and randolph duel chapter v. georgia's noble sons. a minister of a day--purity of administration--then and now--widow timberlake--van buren's letter--armbrister and arbuthnot--old hickory settles a difficulty--a cause of the late war--honored dead chapter vi. popular characteristics. a frugal people--laws and religion--father pierce--thomas w. cobb-- requisites of a political candidate--a farmer-lawyer--southern humorists chapter vii. wits and fire-eaters. judge dooly--lawyers and blacksmiths--john forsyth--how juries were drawn--gum-tree _vs._ wooden-leg--preacher-politicians--colonel gumming--george mcduffie chapter viii. fifty years ago. governor matthews--indians--topography of middle georgia--a new country and its settlers--beaux and belles--early training--jesuit teachers--a mother's influence--the jews--homely sports--the cotton gin--camp-meetings chapter ix. pedagogues and demagogues. education--colleges--school-days--william and mary--a substitute-- boarding around--rough diamonds--caste--george m. troup--a scotch indian--alexander mcgilvery--the mcintosh family--button gwinnett --general taylor--matthew talbot--jesse mercer--an exciting election chapter x. indian treaties and difficulties. the creeks--john quincy adams--hopothlayohola--indian oratory--sulphur springs--treaties made and broken--an independent governor--colonels john s. mcintosh, david emanuel twiggs, and duncan clinch--general gaines--christianizing the indians--cotton mather--expedient and principle--the puritanical snake chapter xi. political changes. aspirants for congress--a new organization--two parties--a protective tariff--united states bank--the american system--internal improvements --a galaxy of stars--a spartan mother's advice--negro-dealer-- quarter-races--cock-pitting--military blunders on both sides--abner green's daughter--andrew jackson--gwinn--poindexter--ad interim-- generals by nature as civil rulers chapter xii. gossip. unrequited love--popping the question--practical joking--satan let loose--rhea, but not rhea--teachings of nature--h.s. smith chapter xiii. influence of childhood. first impressions--fortune--mirabeau b. lamar--dr. alonzo church--julius cæsar--l.q.c. lamar--texan independence--colquitt--lumpkin--what a great man can do in one day--charles j. jenkins chapter xiv. a revolutionary veteran. tapping reeve--james gould--colonel benjamin talmadge--the execution of major andré--character of washington--a breach of discipline-- burr and hamilton--margaret moncrief--cowles meade chapter xv. change of government. governor wolcott--toleration--mr. monroe--private life of washington --thomas jefferson--the object and science of government--court etiquette--nature the teacher and guide in all things chapter xvi. party principles. origin of parties--federal and republican peculiarities--jefferson's principles and religion--democracy--virginia and massachusetts parties--war with france--sedition law--lyman beecher--the almighty dollar--"hail columbia" and "yankee doodle" chapter xvii. congress in its brightest days. missouri compromise--john randolph's juba--mr. macon--holmes and crawford--mr. clay's influence--james barbour--philip p. barbour-- mr. pinkney--mr. beecher, of ohio--"cuckoo, cuckoo!"--national roads --william lowndes--william roscoe--duke of argyle--louis mclean-- whig and democratic parties chapter xviii. french and spanish territory. settlers on the tombigbee and mississippi rivers--la salle--natchez --family apportionment--the hill country--hospitality--benefit of african slavery--capacity of the negro--his future chapter xix. the natchez traditions. natchez--mizezibbee; or, the parent of many waters--indian mounds-- the child of the sun--treatment of the females--poetic marriages-- unchaste maids and pure wives--walking archives--the profane fire-- alahoplechia--oyelape--the chief with a beard chapter xx. exploration of the mississippi valley. chicago--crying indians--chickasaws--de soto--feast of the great sun--cane-knives--love-stricken indian maiden--rape of the natchez --man's will--subjugation of the waters--the black man's mission--its decade chapter xxi. two strange beings. romance of western life--met by chance--parting on the levee--meeting at the sick-bed--convalescent--love-making--"home, sweet home"-- theological discussion--uncle tony--wild, yet gentle--an odd family--the adventurer speculates chapter xxii. the romance continued. father confessor--open confession--the unread will--old tony's narrative--squirrel shooting--the farewell unsaid--brothers-in-law-- farewell indeed chapter xxiii. when successful, right; when not, wrong. territorial mississippi--wilkinson--adams--jefferson--warren--claiborne--union of the factions--colonel wood--chew--david hunt--joseph dunbar--society of western mississippi--pop visits of a week to tea--the horse "tom" and his rider--our grandfathers' days--an emigrant's outfit--my share--george poindexter--a sudden opening of a court of justice--the caldwell and gwinn duel--jackson's opposition to the governor of mississippi chapter xxiv. the silver-tongued orator. john a. quitman--robert j. walker--robert h. adams--from a cooper-shop to the united states senate--bank monopoly--natchez fencibles--scott in mexico--thomas hall--sargent s. prentiss--vicksburg--single-speech hamilton--god-inspired oratory--drunk by absorption--killing a tailor--defence of wilkinson chapter xxv. a financial crash. a wonderful memory--a nation without debt--crushing the national bank--rise of state banks--inflated currency--grand flare-up--take care of yourself--commencing anew--failing to reach an obtuse heart--king alcohol does his work--prentiss and foote--love me, love my dog--a noble spirit overcome--charity covereth a multitude of sins chapter xxvi. acadian french settlers. sugar _vs._ cotton--acadia--a specimen of mississippi french life-- bayou la fourche--the great flood--theological arbitration--a rustic ball--old-fashioned weddings--creoles and quadroons--the planter--negro servants--gauls and anglo-normans--antagonism of races chapter xxvii. abolition of licensed gambling. baton rouge--florida parishes--dissatisfaction--where there's a will, there's a way--storming a fort on horseback--annexation at the point of the poker--raphignac and larry moore--fighting the "tiger"--carrying a practical joke too far--a silver tea-set chapter xxviii. three great judges. a speech in two languages--long sessions--matthews, martin, and porter --a singular will--a scion of ' --five hundred dollars for a little fun with the dogs--cancelling a note chapter xxix. americanizing louisiana. powers of louisiana courts--governor william c.c. claiborne--cruel o'reilly--lefrenier and noyan executed--a dutch justice--edward livingston--a caricature of general jackson--stephen mazereau--a speech in three languages--john r. grymes--settling a ca. sa.--batture property--a hundred thousand dollar fee chapter xxx. division of new orleans into municipalities. american hotel--introduction of steamboats--faubourg st. mary--canal street--st. charles hotel--samuel j. peters--james h. caldwell--fathers of the municipality--bernard marigny--an ass--a.b. roman chapter xxxi. blowing up the lioness. doctor clapp--views and opinions--universal destiny--alexander barrow --e.d. white--cross-breed, irish renegade, and acadian--a heroic woman--the ginseng trade--i-i-i'll d-d-die f-f-first chapter xxxii. gradual extinction of the red man. line creek fifty years ago--hopothlayohola--mcintosh--undying hatred--a big pow-wow--massacre of the mcintoshes--nehemathla--onchees--the last of the race--a brave warrior--a white man's friendship--the death-song--tuskega; or, jim's boy chapter xxxiii. fun, fact, and fancy. eugenius nesbitt--washington poe--yelverton p. king--preparing to receive the court--walton tavern, in lexington--billy springer, of sparta--freeman walker--an augusta lawyer--a georgia major--major walker's bed--uncle ned--discharging a hog on his own recognizance --morning admonition and evening counsel--a mother's request-- invocation--conclusion the memories of fifty years. chapter i. revolutionary traditions. middle georgia--colonel david love--his widow--governor dunmore-- colonel tarleton--bill cunningham--colonel fannin--my grandmother's bible--solomon's maxim applied--robertus love--the indian warrior-- dragon canoe--a buxom lass--general gates--marion--mason l. weems-- washington--"billy crafford." my earliest memories are connected with the first settlement of middle georgia, where i was born. my grandparents on the mother's side, were natives of north carolina; and, i believe, of anson county. my grandfather, colonel david love, was an active partisan officer in the service of the continental congress. he died before i was born; but my grandmother lived until i was seventeen years of age. as her oldest grandchild, i spent much of my time, in early boyhood, at her home near the head of shoulderbone creek in the county of green. she was a little, fussy, irish woman, a presbyterian in religion, and a very strict observer of all the duties imposed upon her sect, especially in keeping holy the sabbath day. all her children were grown up, married, and, in the language of the time, "gone away." she was in truth a lone woman, busying herself in household and farming affairs. with a few negroes, and a miserably poor piece of land, she struggled in her widowhood with fortune, and contrived, with north carolina frugality and industry, not only to make a decent living, but to lay up something for a rainy day, as she phrases it. in her visits to her fields and garden, i ran by her side and listened to stories of tory atrocities and whig suffering in north carolina during the revolution. the infamous governor dunmore, the cruel colonel tarleton, and the murderous and thieving bill cunningham and colonel fannin, both tories, and the latter natives to the soil, were presented graphically to me in their most hateful forms. in truth, before i had attained my seventh year, i was familiar with the history of the partisan warfare waged between whig and tory in north and south carolina, from to , from this good but garrulous old lady. i am not so certain she was good: she had a temper of her own, and a will and a way of her own; and was good-natured only when permitted this way without opposition, or cross. perhaps i retain a more vivid memory of these peculiar traits than of any others characterizing her. she permitted no contradiction, and exacted implicit obedience, and this was well understood by everything about her. she was strict and exacting, and had learned from solomon that to "spare the rod was to spoil the child." she read the bible only; and it was the only book in the house. this bible is still in existence; it was brought by my grandfather from europe, and is now covered with the skin of a fish which he harpooned on his return voyage, appropriating the skin to this purpose in . she had use for no other book, not even for an almanac, for at any moment she could tell the day of the month, the phase of the moon and the day general washington captured cornwallis; as also the day on which washington died. her reverence for the memory of my grandfather was idolatry. his cane hung with his hat just where he had habitually placed them during his latter days. his saddle and great sea-chest were preserved with equal care, and remained undisturbed from to , precisely as he left them. i ventured to remove the cane upon one occasion; and, with a little negro or two, was merrily riding it around in the great lumber-room of the house, where scarcely any one ever went, when she came in and caught me. the pear-tree sprouts were immediately put into requisition, and the whole party most mercilessly thrashed. from that day forward the old buckhorn-headed cane was an awful reminder of my sufferings. she was careful not to injure the clothing of her victims, and made her appeals to the unshielded cuticle, and with a heavy hand for a small woman. it was an ill-fashioned but powerfully-built house, and remains a monument to this day of sound timber and faithful work, braving time and the storm for eighty-two years. it was the first framed house built in the county, and i am sure, upon the poorest spot of land within fifty miles of where it stands. here was born my uncle, robertus love, who was the first white child born in the state west of the ogeechee river. colonel love, my grandfather, was eccentric in many of his opinions, and was a puritan in religious faith. oliver cromwell was his model of a statesman, and praise-god barebones his type of a christian. while he was a boy his father married a second time, and, as is very frequently the case, there was no harmony between the step-mother and step-son. their jarrings soon ripened into open war. to avoid expulsion from the paternal roof he "bundled and went." nor did he rest until, in the heart of the cherokee nation of indians, he found a home with dragon canoe, then the principal warrior of the nation, who resided in a valley amid the mountains, and which is now habersham county. with this chief, who at the time was young, he remained some four years, pursuing the chase for pleasure and profit. thus accumulating a large quantity of peltries, he carried them on pack-horses to charleston, and thence went with them to europe. after disposing of his furs, which proved profitable, he wandered on foot about europe for some eighteen months, and then, returning to london, he embarked for america. during all this time he had not heard from his family. arriving at charleston he made his way back to the neighborhood of his birth. he was ferried across the pedee river by a buxom lass, who captured his heart. finding his father dead, he gathered up the little patrimony left him in his father's will, should he ever return to claim it: he then returned to the neighborhood of his sweetheart of the ferry; and, being a fine-looking man of six feet three inches, with great blue eyes, round and liquid; and, othello-like, telling well the story of his adventures, he very soon beguiled the maiden's heart, and they were made one. about this time came off the battles of concord and lexington, inaugurating the revolution. it was not, however, until after the declaration of independence, that he threw aside the plough and shouldered the musket for american independence. that portion of north carolina in which he resided had been mainly peopled by emigrants from scotland. the war progressing into the south, found nearly all of these faithful in their allegiance to britain. the population of english descent, in the main, espoused the cause of the colonies. with his neighbors love was a favorite; he was very fleet in a foot-race, had remarkable strength; but, above all, was sagacious and strong of will. such qualities, always appreciated by a rude people, at that particular juncture brought their possessor prominently forward, and he was chosen captain of a company composed almost to a man of his personal friends and acquaintances. uniting himself with the regiment of colonel lynch, just then organized, and which was ordered to join the north carolina line, they marched at once to join general gates, then commanding in the south. under the command of this unfortunate general he remained until after the battle of camden. here gates experienced a most disastrous defeat, and the whole country was surrendered to the british forces. south carolina and north carolina, especially their southern portions, were entirely overrun by the enemy, who armed the tories and turned them loose to ravage the country. gates's army was disorganized, and most of those who composed it from the carolinas returned to their homes. between these and the scotch tories, as the loyalists were termed, there was a continual partisan strife, each party resorting to the most cruel murders, burning and destroying the homes and the property of each other. partisan bands were organized by each, and under desperate leaders did desperate deeds. it was then and there that marion and fanning became conspicuous, and were respectively the terror of whigs and tories. there were numerous others of like character, though less efficient and less conspicuous. the exploits of such bands are deemed beneath the dignity of history, and now only live in the memories of those who received them traditionally from the actors, their associates or descendants. those acts constitute mainly the tragic horrors of war, and evidence the merciless inhumanity of enraged men, unrestrained by civil or moral law. injuries he deems wanton prompt the passions of his nature to revenge, and he hastens to retaliate upon his enemy, with increased horrors, their savage brutalities. as the leader of a small band of neighbors who had united for protection and revenge, colonel love became conspicuous for his courage and cruelty. it was impossible for these, his associates, as for their tory neighbors and enemies, to remain at their homes, or even to visit them, except at night, and then most stealthily. the country abounds with swamps more or less dense and irreclaimable, which must always remain a hiding-place for the unfortunate or desperate. in these the little bands by day were concealed, issuing forth at night to seek for food or spoils. their families were often made the victims of revenge; and instances were numerous where feeble women and little children were slain in cold blood by neighbors long and familiarly known to each other, in retaliation of like atrocities perpetrated by their husbands, sons, or brothers. it was a favorite pastime with my grandmother, when the morning's work was done, to uncover her flax-wheel, seat herself, and call me to sit by her, and, after my childish manner, read to her from the "life of general francis marion," by mason l. weems, the graphic account of the general's exploits, by the venerable parson. there was not a story in the book that she did not know, almost as a party concerned, and she would ply her work of flax-spinning while she gave me close and intense attention. at times, when the historian was at fault in his facts--and, to say the truth, that was more frequently the case than comports with veracious history--she would cease the impelling motion of her foot upon the pedal of her little wheel, drop her thread, and, gently arresting the fly of her spool, she would lift her iron-framed spectacles, and with great gravity say: "read that again. ah! it is not as it happened, your grandfather was in that fight, and i will tell you how it was." this was so frequently the case, that now, when more than sixty years have flown, i am at a loss to know, if the knowledge of most of these facts which tenaciously clings to my memory, was originally derived from weems's book, or my grandmother's narrations. in these forays and conflicts, whenever my grandfather was a party, her information was derived from him and his associates, and of course was deemed by her authentic; and whenever these differed from the historian's narrative, his, of consequence, was untrue. finally, weems, upon one of his book-selling excursions, which simply meant disposing of his own writings, came through her neighborhood, and with the gravity of age, left verbally his own biography with mrs. mcjoy, a neighbor; this made him, as he phrased it, general washington's preacher. he was never after assailed as a lying author: but whenever his narrative was opposed to her memory, she had the excuse for him, that his informant had deceived him. to have seen general washington, even without having held the holy office of his preacher, sanctified in her estimation any and every one. she had seen him, and it was the especial glory of her life. yes, she had seen him, and remembered minutely his eyes, his hair, his mouth and his hands--and even his black horse, with a star in his face, and his one white foot and long, sweeping tail. so often did i listen to the story, that in after boyhood i came to believe i had seen him also, though his death occurred twenty days before i was born. my dear, good mother has often told me that but for an attack of ague, which kept the venerable lady from our home for a month or more, i should have been honored with bearing the old hero's name through life. so intent was she in this particular, that she never liked my being named after billy crafford (for so she pronounced his name) for whom the partiality of my father caused him to name me. few remain to remember the horrors of this partisan warfare. the very traditions are being obliterated by those of the recent civil war, so rife with scenes and deeds sufficiently horrible for the appetite of the curious in crime and cruelty. chapter ii. pioneer life. settlement of middle georgia--prowling indians--scouts and their dogs--classes of settlers--prominence of virginians--causes of distinction--clearing--log-rolling--frolics--teachers cummings and duffy--the schoolmaster's nose--flogging--emigration to alabama. the early settlement of middle georgia was principally by emigrants from virginia and north carolina. these were a rough, poor, but honest people, with little or no fortunes, and who were quite as limited in education as in fortune. their necessities made them industrious and frugal. lands were procured at the expense of surveying; the soil was virgin and productive; rude cabins, built of poles, constituted not only their dwellings but every necessary outbuilding. those who first ventured beyond the ogeechee generally selected some spot where a good spring of water was found, not overlooked by an elevation so close as to afford an opportunity to the indians, then very troublesome, to fire into the little stockade forts erected around these springs for their security against the secret attacks of the prowling and merciless creeks and cherokees. usually several families united in building and living in these forts. as soon as this protection was completed, the work of clearing away the surrounding forest was commenced, that the land should afford a field for cultivation. while thus employed, sentinels were stationed at such points in the neighborhood as afforded the best opportunity for descrying the approach of indians, and the watch was most careful. when those employed in hunting (for every community had its hunters) discovered, or thought they had discovered signs of the presence of the savages, scouts were immediately sent out to discover if they were lurking anywhere in the neighborhood. this was the most arduous and perilous duty of the pioneers, and not unfrequently the scout, or spy as he was usually termed, went to return no more. when seed-time came, corn, a small patch of cotton and another of flax were planted, and cultivation continued under the same surveillance. the dog, always the companion of man, was carefully trained to search for the prowling indians; and by daylight every morning the clearing, as the open lands were universally termed; was passed around by a cautious scout, always preceded by his dogs, who seemed as conscious of their duty and as faithful in its discharge as was their master. if he reported no indians, the work of cultivation commenced, and the sentinels repaired to their posts. these were usually changed whenever the slightest sign of indians anywhere in the country could be found, lest their posts might have been found and marked, and ambushed at night. yet, despite this prudent caution, many a sentinel perished at his post. the unerring arrow gave no alarm, and the sentinel slain, opened an approach for the savages; and not unfrequently parties at labor were thus surprised and shot in full view of those in the fort. occasionally an emigrant brought with him a slave or two: these were rich, and invariably were the leading men in the communities. those from virginia were more frequently possessed of this species of property than those from the carolinas, and, coming from an older country, had generally enjoyed better opportunities and were more cultivated. a common necessity harmonized all, and the state of society was a pure democracy. these communities were usually from twenty to fifty miles apart, and about them a nucleus was formed, inviting those who sought the new country for a home to locate in the immediate vicinity. security and the enjoyment of social intercourse were more frequently the incentives for these selections than the fertility of the soil or other advantages. one peculiarity was observable, which their descendants, in their emigration to the west, continue to this day to practise: they usually came due west from their former homes, and were sure to select, as nearly as possible, a new one in the same parallel, and with surroundings as nearly like those they had left as possible. with the north carolinian, good spring-water, and pine-knots for his fire, were the _sine qua non_. these secured, he went to work with the assiduity and perseverance of a beaver to build his house and open his fields. the virginians, less particular, but more ambitious, sought the best lands for grain and tobacco; consequently they were more diffused, and their improvements, from their superior wealth, were more imposing. wealth in all communities is comparative, and he who has only a few thousand dollars, where no one else has so much, is the rich man, and ever assumes the rich man's prerogatives and bearing. all experience has proved that as a man estimates himself, so in time will the community esteem him; and he who assumes to lead or dictate will soon be permitted to do so, and will become the first in prominence and influence in his neighborhood, county, or state. greatness commences humbly and progresses by assumption. the humble ruler of a neighborhood, like a pebble thrown into a pond, will continue to increase the circle of his influence until it reaches the limits of his county. the fathers speak of him, the children hear of him, his name is a household word; if he but assumes enough, in time he becomes the great man of the county; and if with impudence he unites a modicum of talent, well larded with a cunning deceit, it will not be long before he is governor or member of congress. it is not surprising, then, that in nearly every one of these communities the great man was a virginian. it has been assumed by the virginians that they have descended from a superior race, and this may be true as regards many families whose ancestors were of norman descent; but it is not true of the mass of her population; and for one descendant from the nobility and gentry of the mother country, there are thousands of pure anglo-saxon blood. it was certainly true, from the character and abilities of her public men, in her colonial condition and in the earlier days of the republic, she had a right to assume a superiority; but this, i fancy, was more the result of her peculiar institutions than of any superiority of race or greater purity of blood. i am far, however, from underrating the influence of blood. that there are species of the same race superior in mental as well as in physical formation is certainly true. the peculiar organization of the brain, its fineness of texture in some, distinguish them as mentally superior to others, as the greater development of bone and muscle marks the superiority of physical power. very frequently this difference is seen in brothers, and sometimes in families of the same parents--the males in some usurping all the mental acumen, and in others the females. why this is so, i cannot stop to speculate. virginia, in her many divisions of territory, was granted to the younger sons of the nobility and gentry of england. they came with the peculiar habits of their class, and located upon these grants, bringing with them as colonists their dependants in england, and retaining here all the peculiarities of caste. the former were the governing class at home, and asserted the privilege here; the latter were content that it should be so. in the formation of the first constitution for virginia, the great feature of a landed aristocracy was fully recognized in the organic law. the suffragist was the landed proprietor, and in every county where his possessions were this right attached. they recognized landed property as the basis of government, and demanded the right for it of choosing the lawmakers and the executors of the law. all power, and very nearly all of the wealth of the state, was in the hands of the landlords, and these selected from their own class or caste the men who were to conduct the government. to this class, too, were confined most of the education and learning in the new state; and in choosing for the legislature or for congress, state pride and the love of power prompted the selection of their brightest and best men. oratory was esteemed the first attribute of superior minds, and was assiduously cultivated. there were few newspapers, and the press had not attained the controlling power over the public mind as now. political information was disseminated chiefly by public speaking, and every one aspiring to lead in the land was expected to be a fine speaker. this method, and the manner of voting, forced an open avowal of political opinion. each candidate, upon the day of election, took his seat upon the bench of the judge in the county court-house, and the suffragist appeared at the bar, demanding to exercise his privilege in the choice of his representative. this was done by declaring the names of those he voted for. these peculiar institutions cultivated open and manly bearing, pride, and independence. there was little opportunity for the arts of the demagogue; and the elevation of sentiment in the suffragist made him despise the man, however superior his talents, who would attempt them. the voter's pride was to sustain the power of his state in the national councils, to have a great man for his governor; they were the representatives of his class, and he felt his own importance in the greatness of his representative. it is not to be wondered at, under these circumstances, that virginia held for many years the control of the government, furnishing presidents of transcendent abilities to the nation, and filling her councils with men whose talents and eloquence and proud and independent bearing won for them, not only the respect of the nation's representatives, but the power to control the nation's destinies, and to be looked upon as belonging to a superior race. there were wanting, however, two great elements in the nation's institutions, to sustain in its pride and efficiency this peculiar advantage, to wit, the entailment of estates, and the right of primogeniture. those landed estates soon began to be subdivided, and in proportion as they dwindled into insignificance, so began to perish the prestige of their proprietors. the institution of african slavery served for a long time to aid in continuing the aristocratic features of virginia society, though it conferred no legal privileges. as these, and the lands, found their way into many hands, the democratic element began to aspire and to be felt. the struggle was long and severe, but finally, in or , the democratic element triumphed, and a new constitution was formed, extending universal suffrage to white men. this degraded the constituent and representative alike, and all of virginia's power was soon lost in the councils of the nation. but the pride of her people did not perish with her aristocracy; this continued, and permeated her entire people. they preserved it at home, and carried it wherever they went. those whose consideration at home was at zero, became of the first families abroad, until virginia pride became a by-word of scorn in the western and more southern states. yet despite all this, there is greatness in the virginians: there is superiority in her people,--a loftiness of soul, a generosity of hospitality, a dignified patience under suffering, which command the respect and admiration of every appreciative mind. very soon after the revolution, the tide of emigration began to flow toward tennessee, kentucky, and georgia. those from virginia who sought new homes went principally to kentucky, as much because it was a part of the old dominion, as on account of climate and soil. those from north carolina and south carolina preferred tennessee, and what was then known as upper georgia, but now as middle georgia; yet there was a sprinkling here and there throughout georgia from virginia. many of these became leading men in the state, and their descendants still boast of their origin, and in plenary pride point to such men as william h. crawford and peter early as shining evidences of the superiority of virginia's blood. most of these emigrants, however, were poor; but where all were poor, this was no degradation. the concomitants of poverty in densely populated communities--where great wealth confers social distinction and frowns from its association the poor, making poverty humility, however elevated its virtues--were unknown in these new countries. the nobler virtues, combined with energy and intellect, alone conferred distinction; and i doubt if the world, ever furnished a more honest, virtuous, energetic, or democratic association of men and women than was, at the period of which i write, to be found constituting the population of these new states. from whatever cause arising, there certainly was, in the days of my early memory, more scrupulous truth, open frankness, and pure, blunt honesty pervading the whole land than seem to characterize its present population. it was said by nathaniel macon, of north carolina, that bad roads and fist-fights made the best militia on earth; and these may have been, in some degree, the means of moulding into fearless honesty the character of these people. they encountered all the hardships of opening and subduing the country, creating highways, bridges, churches, and towns with their public buildings. these they met cheerfully, and working with a will, triumphed. after months of labor, a few acres were cleared and the trees cut into convenient lengths for handling, and then the neighbors were invited to assist in what was called a log-rolling. this aid was cheerfully given, and an offer to pay for it would have been an insult. it was returned in kind, however, when a neighbor's necessities required. these log-rollings were generally accompanied with a quilting, which brought together the youth of the neighborhood; and the winding up of the day's work was a frolic, as the dance and other amusements of the time were termed. upon occasions like this, feats of strength and activity universally constituted a part of the programme. the youth who could pull down his man at the end of the hand-stick, throw him in a wrestle, or outstrip him in a footrace, was honored as the best man in the settlement, and was always greeted with a cheer from the older men, a slap on the shoulder by the old ladies, and the shy but approving smiles of the girls,--had his choice of partners in the dance, and in triumph rode home on horseback with his belle, the horse's consciousness of bearing away the championship manifesting itself in an erect head and stately step. the apparel of male and female was of home-spun, woven by the mothers and sisters, and was fashioned, i was about to say, by the same fair hands; but these were almost universally embrowned with exposure and hardened by toil. education was exceedingly limited: the settlements were sparse, and school-houses were at long intervals, and in these the mere rudiments of an english education were taught--spelling, reading, and writing, with the four elementary rules of arithmetic; and it was a great advance to grapple with the grammar of the language. as population and prosperity increased, their almost illiterate teachers gave place to a better class; and many of my georgia readers will remember as among these the old irish preachers, cummings, and that remarkable brute, daniel duffee. he was an irishman of the pat freney stripe, and i fancy there are many, with gray heads and wrinkled fronts, who can look upon the cicatrices resulting from his merciless blows, and remember that milesian malignity of face, with its toad-like nose, with the same vividness with which it presents itself to me to-day. yes, i remember it, and have cause. when scarcely ten years of age, in his little log school-house, the aforesaid resemblance forced itself upon me with such _vim_ that involuntarily i laughed. for this outbreak against the tyrant's rules i was called to his frowning presence. "what are you laughing at, you whelp?" was the rude inquiry. tremblingly i replied: "you will whip me if i tell you." "and you little devil, i will whip you if you don't," was his rejoinder, as he reached for his well-trimmed hickory, one of many conspicuously displayed upon his table. with truthful sincerity i answered: "father duffy, i was laughing to think how much your nose is like a frog." it was just after play-time, and i was compelled to stand by him and at intervals of ten minutes receive a dozen lashes, laid on with brawny irish strength, until discharged with the school at night. to-day i bear the marks of that whipping upon my shoulders and in my heart. but duffy was not alone in the strictness and severity of his rules and his punishments. children were taught to believe that there could be no discipline in a school of boys and girls without the savage brutality of the lash, and the teacher who met his pupils with a caressing smile was considered unworthy his vocation. learning must be thrashed into the tender mind; nothing was such a stimulus to the young memory as the lash and the vulgar, abusive reproof of the gentle and meritorious teacher. there was great eccentricity of character in all the conduct and language of duffy. he had his own method of prayer, and his own peculiar style of preaching, frequently calling out the names of persons in his audience whom it was his privilege to consider the chiefest of sinners, and to implore mercy for them in language offensive almost to decency. sometimes, in the presence of persons inimical to each other, he would ask the lord to convert the sinners and make the fools friends, first telling the lord who they were by name, to the no small amusement of his most christian audience; many of whom would in deep devotion respond with a sonorous "amen." from such a population sprang the present inhabitants of georgia; and by such men were they taught, in their budding boyhood, the rudiments of an english education;--such, i mean, of the inhabitants who still live and remember duffy, cummings, and mclean. they are few, but the children of the departed remember traditionally these and their like, in the schoolmasters of georgia from to . at the close of the war of - , a new impetus was given to everything throughout the south, and especially to education. the ambition for wealth seized upon her people, the high price of cotton favored its accumulation, and with it came new and more extravagant wants, new and more luxurious habits. the plain homespun jean coat gave way to the broad-cloth one; and the neat, turkey-red striped sunday frock of the belle yielded to the gaudy red calico one, and there was a sniff of aristocratic contempt in the upturned nose towards those who, from choice or necessity, continued in the old habits. material wealth augmented rapidly, and with it came all of its assumptions. the rich lands of alabama were open to settlement. the formidable indian had been humbled, and many of the wealthiest cultivators of the soil were commencing to emigrate to a newer and more fertile country, where smiling fortune beckoned them. the first to lead off in this exodus was the bibb family, long distinguished for wealth and influence in the state. the watkinses, the sheroos, and dearings followed: some to north, some to south alabama. w.w. bibb was appointed, by mr. madison, territorial governor of alabama, and was followed to the new el dorado by his brothers, thomas, john dandridge, and benajah, all men of substance and character. for a time this rage for a new country seemed to threaten georgia and south carolina with the loss of their best population. this probably would have been the result of the new acquisition, but, in its midst, the territory between the ocmulgee and chattahoochee was ceded by the indians, and afforded a new field for settlement, which effectually arrested this emigration at its flood. the new territory added to the dominion of georgia was acquired mainly through the energy and pertinacity of george m. troup, at the time governor of georgia. i have much to record of my memories concerning this new acquisition, but must reserve them for a new chapter. chapter iii. the georgia company. yazoo purchase--governor mathews--james jackson--burning of the yazoo act--development of free government--constitutional convention--slavery: its introduction and effects. the grant by the british government of the territory of georgia to general oglethorpe and company, comprised what now constitutes the entire states of georgia, alabama, and mississippi, except that portion of alabama and mississippi lying below the thirty-first degree of north latitude, which portions of those states were originally part of west florida. the french settlements extended up the mississippi, embracing both sides of that river above the mouth of red river, which discharges into the former in the thirty-first degree of north latitude. the river from the mouth of the bayou manshac, which left the river fourteen miles below baton rouge, on the east side, up to the thirty-first degree of north latitude, was the boundary line between west florida and louisiana. above this point the french claimed jurisdiction on both sides; but georgia disputed this jurisdiction over the east bank, and claimed to own from the thirty-first to the thirty-sixth degree of latitude. there were many settlements made by americans upon this territory at a very early day,--one at natchez, one at fort adams, and several on the tombigbee, the st. stephens, at mcintosh's bluff, and on bassett's creek. these settlements formed the nucleus of an american population in the states of mississippi and alabama. the lands bordering upon these rivers and their tributaries were known to be exceedingly fertile, and proffered inducements to settlers unequalled in all the south. speculation was very soon directed to these regions. a company was formed of citizens of georgia and virginia for the purchase of an immense tract of territory, including most of what is now mississippi and alabama. this company was known as the georgia company, and the territory as the yazoo purchase. it was a joint-stock company, and managed by trustees or directors. the object was speculation. it was intended to purchase from georgia this domain, then to survey it and subdivide it into tracts to suit purchasers. parties were delegated to make this purchase: this could only be done by the legislature and by special act passed for that purpose. the proposition was made, and met with formidable opposition. the scheme was a gigantic one and promised great results, and the parties concerned were bold and unscrupulous. they very soon ascertained that means other than honorable to either party must be resorted to to secure success. the members to be operated upon were selected, and the company's agents began the work. enough was made, by donations of stock and the direct payment of money by those interested in the scheme, to effect the passage of the act and secure the contract of purchase and sale. the opposition denied the power of the legislature to sell; asserting that the territory was sacred to the people of the state, and that those, in selecting their representatives, had never contemplated delegating any such powers as would enable them to dispose by sale of any part of the public domain; that it was the province of the legislature, under the constitution, to pass laws for the general good alone, and not to barter or sell any portion of the territory of the state to be separated from the domain and authority of the state. they insisted that the matter should be referred to the people, who at the next election of members to the legislature should declare their will and intention as to this sale. on the other side they were met with the argument, that the legislature was sovereign and the supreme power of the state, and might rightfully do anything, not forbidden in the constitution, pertaining to sovereignty, which they in their wisdom might deem essential to the general welfare; that the territory included in the grant to oglethorpe and company was entirely too extended, and that by a sale a new state or states would be formed, which would increase the political power of the south--especially in the united states senate, where she greatly needed representation to counterbalance the influence of the small states of the north in that body. these arguments were specious, but it was well understood they were only meant to justify a vote for the measure which corruption had secured. the act was passed by a bare majority of both branches of the legislature, and the sale consummated. before the passage of this measure, the will of the people had been sufficiently expressed in the indignant outburst of public feeling, as to leave no doubt upon the minds of the corrupt representatives that they had not only forfeited the public confidence, but had actually imperilled their personal safety. upon the return to their homes, after the adjournment, they were not only met with universal scorn, but with inappeasable rage. some of the most guilty were slain; some had their houses burned over their heads, and others fled the state; one was pursued and killed in virginia, and all not only entailed upon themselves infamy, but also upon their innocent posterity; and to-day, to be known as the descendant of a yazoo man is a badge of disgrace. the deed, however, was done: how to undo it became an agitating question. the legislature next ensuing was elected pledged to repeal the odious act; and upon its convening, all made haste to manifest an ardent zeal in this work. at the time of the passage of this act, the legislature sat in augusta, and the governor who by the act was empowered to make the sale was george mathews. mathews was an irishman by birth, and was very illiterate, but a man of strong passions and indomitable will. during the war of the revolution he had, as a partisan officer, gained some distinction, and in the upper counties exercised considerable influence. many anecdotes are related of his intrepidity and daring, and quite as many of his extraordinary orthography. at the battle of eutaw springs, in south carolina, he was severely wounded, at the moment when the continental forces were retiring to a better position. a british soldier, noticing some vestiges of a uniform upon him, lifted his musket to stab him with the bayonet; his commander caught the weapon, and angrily demanded, "would you murder a wounded officer? forward, sir!" mathews, turning upon his back, asked, "to whom do i owe my life?" "if you consider it an obligation, sir, to me," answered the lieutenant. mathews saw the uniform was british, and furiously replied, "well, sir, i want you to know that i scorn a life saved by a d----d briton." the writer had the anecdote from a distinguished citizen of georgia, who was himself lying near by, severely wounded, and who in one of his sons has given to georgia a governor. general wade hampton, george walker, william longstreet, zachariah cox, and matthew mcallister were the parties most active in procuring the passage of the yazoo act. that bribery was extensively practised, there is no doubt, and the suspicion that it even extended to the executive gained credence as a fact, and was the cause of preventing his name ever being given to a county in the state: and it is a significant fact of this suspicion, and also of the great unpopularity of the act, that to this day every effort to that end has failed. no act of governor mathews ever justified any such suspicion. as governor of the state, and believing the sovereign power of the state was in the legislature, and consequently the power to dispose of the public domain, he only approved the act as the state's executive, and fulfilled the duties assigned to him by the law. but suspicion fastened upon him, and its effects remain to this day. the pertinacious discussions between the parties purchasing and those opposed to the state's selling and her authority to sell, created immense excitement, and pervaded the entire state. the decision of the supreme court of the united states was invoked in the case of fletcher _versus_ peck, which settled the question of the power of the state to sell the public domain, and the validity of the sale made by the state to the georgia company. in the meantime the legislature of georgia had repealed the law authorizing the governor to sell. this decision of the supreme court brought about an amicable adjustment of the difficulties between the company and the state, with the government of the united states as a third party. the excitement was not so much on account of the sale, though this was bitter, as of the corruption which procured it. the test of public confidence and social respect was opposition to the yazoo fraud. every candidate at the ensuing election for members of the legislature was compelled to declare his position on the subject of repealing this act, and, almost to a man, every one who believed in the power of the state to sell, and that rights had vested in the purchasers and their assigns, was defeated. james jackson, a young, ardent, and talented man, who had in very early life, by his abilities and high character, so won the public confidence that he had been elected governor of the state, when he was ineligible because of his youth, was at this time a member of congress. he made a tour through the state, preaching a crusade against the corrupt legislature, and denouncing those who had produced and profited by this corruption, inflaming the public mind almost to frenzy. he resided in savannah, and was at the head of the republican or jeffersonian party, which was just then being organized in opposition to the administration of john adams, the successor of washington. his parents had emigrated from england, and fixed their home in savannah, where young jackson was born, and where, from the noble qualities of his nature, he had become immensely popular. talent and virtuous merit at that period was the passport to public confidence. had it continued to be, we should never have known the present deplorable condition of the country, with the government sinking into ruin ere it has reached the ten o'clock of national life. his shibboleth was, that the disgrace of the state must be wiped out by the repeal of the yazoo act; and _repeal_ rang from every mouth, from savannah to the mountains. jackson resigned his seat in congress, and was elected a member of the legislature. immediately upon the assembling of this body, a bill was introduced repealing the odious act, and ordering the records containing it to be burned. this was carried out to the letter. jackson, heading the legislature and the indignant public, proceeded in procession to the public square in louisville, jefferson county, where the law and the fagots were piled; when, addressing the assembled multitude, he denounced the men who had voted for the law as bribed villains--those who had bribed them, and the governor who had signed it; and declared that fire from heaven only could sanctify the indignation of god and man in consuming the condemned record of accursed crime. then, with a promethean or convex glass condensing the sun's rays, he kindled the flame which consumed the records containing the hated yazoo act. jackson was a man of ordinary height, slender, very erect in his carriage, with red hair and intensely blue eyes. his manners were courteous, affable, and remarkable for a natural dignity which added greatly to his influence with the people. he was the model from which was grown that chivalry and nobility of soul and high bearing so characteristic of the people of southern georgia. in truth, the essence of his character seemed subtilly to pervade the entire circle in which he moved, inspiring a purity of character, a loftiness of honor, which rebuked with its presence alone everything that was low, little, or dishonest. subsequently he was elected governor of the state, bringing all the qualities of his nature into the administration of the office; he gave it a dignity and respectability never subsequently degraded, until an unworthy son of south carolina, the pus and corruption of unscrupulous party, was foisted into the position. strength of will, a ripe judgment, and purity of intention, were the great characteristics distinguishing him in public life, and these have endeared his name to the people of georgia, where now remain many of his descendants, some of whom have filled high positions in the state and united states, and not one has ever soiled the honor or tarnished the name with an act unworthy a gentleman. the revolutionary struggle called out all the nobler qualities nature has bestowed on man, in those who conceived the desire and executed the determination to be free. the heroic was most prominent: woman seemed to forget her feebleness and timidity, and boldly to dare, and with increased fortitude to bear every danger, every misfortune, with a heroism scarcely compatible with the delicacy of her nature. to this, or some other inexplicable cause, nature seemed to resort in preparation for coming events. in every state there came up men, born during the war or immediately thereafter, of giant minds--men seemingly destined to form and give direction to a new government suited to the genius of the people and to the physical peculiarities of the country where it was to control the destinies of hundreds of millions of human beings yet unborn, and where the soil was virgin and unturned, which nature had prepared for their coming. this required a new order of men. these millions were to be free in the fullest sense of the word; they were only to be controlled by laws; and the making of these laws was to be their own work, and nature was responding to the exigencies of man. the early probation of independent government taught the necessity of national concentration as to the great features of government, at the same time demonstrating the importance of keeping the minor powers of government confined to the authority of the states. in the assembling of a convention for this purpose, which grew out of the free action of the people of each state, uninfluenced by law or precedent, we see congregated a body of men combining more talent, more wisdom, and more individuality of character than perhaps was ever aggregated in any other public body ever assembled. from this convention of sages emanated the constitution of the united states; and most of those constituting this body reassembled in the first congress, which sat as the supreme power in the united states. it was these men and their coadjutors who inaugurated and gave direction to the new government. under its operations, the human mind and human soul seemed to expand and to compass a grasp it had scarcely known before. there were universal content and universal harmony. the laws were everywhere respected, and everywhere enforced. the freedom of thought, and the liberty of action unrestrained, stimulated an ambition in every man to discharge his duties faithfully to the government, and honestly in all social relations. there was universal security to person and property, because every law-breaker was deemed a public enemy, and not only received the law's condemnation, but the public scorn. under such a government the rapid accumulation of wealth and population was a natural consequence. the history of the world furnishes no example comparable with the progress of the united states to national greatness. the civilized world appeared to feel the influence of her example and to start anew in the rivalry of greatness. her soil's surplus products created the means of a widely extended commerce, and americans can proudly refer to the eighty years of her existence as a period showing greater progress in wealth, refinement, the arts and sciences, and human liberty, than was ever experienced in any two centuries of time within the historical period of man's existence. my theme expands, and i am departing from the purposes of this work; yet i cannot forbear the expression of opinion as to the causes of this result. i know i shall incur the deepest censure from the professors of a mawkish philanthropy, and a hypocritical religion which is cursing with its cant the very sources of this unparalleled progress, this unexampled prosperity. slavery was introduced into the colonies by english merchants about two centuries since: this was to supply a necessity--labor--for the purpose of developing the resources of this immense and fertile country. the african was designed by the creator to subserve this purpose. his centre of creation was within the tropics, and his physical organization fitted him, and him alone, for field labor in the tropical and semi-tropical regions of the earth. he endures the sun's heat without pain or exhaustion in this labor, and yet he has not nor can he acquire the capacity to direct profitably this labor. it was then the design of the creator that this labor should be controlled and directed by a superior intelligence. in the absence of mental capacity, we find him possessed of equal physical powers with any other race, with an amiability of temper which submits without resistance to this control. we find him, too, without moral, social, or political aspirations, contented and happy in the condition of servility to this superior intelligence, and rising in the scale of humanity to a condition which under any other circumstances his race had never attained. i may be answered that this labor can be had from the black as a freeman as well as in the condition of a slave. to this i will simply say, experience has proved this to be an error. such is the indolence and unambitious character of the negro that he will not labor, unless compelled by the apprehension of immediate punishment, to anything approaching his capacity for labor. his wants are few, they are easily supplied, and when they are, there is no temptation which will induce him to work. he cares nothing for social position, and will steal to supply his necessities, and feel no abasement in the legal punishment which follows his conviction; nor is his social status among his race damaged thereby. as a slave to the white man, he becomes and has proved an eminently useful being to his kind--in every other condition, equally conspicuous as a useless one. the fertility of the soil and the productions of the tropical regions of the earth demonstrate to the thinking mind that these were to be cultivated and made to produce for the uses and prosperity of the human family. the great staples of human necessity and human luxury are produced here in the greatest abundance, and the great majority of these nowhere else. the white man, from his physical organization, cannot perform in these regions the labor necessary to their production. his centre of creation is in the temperate zones, and only there can he profitably labor in the earth's cultivation. but his mental endowments enable him to appropriate all which nature has supplied for the necessities of life and the progress of his race. he sees and comprehends in nature the designs of her creator: these designs he develops, and the consequence is a constant and enlightened progress of his race, and the subjection of the physical world to this end. he finds the soil, the climate, the production, and the labor united, and he applies his intelligence to develop the design of this combination; and the consequence has been the wonderful progress of the last two centuries. i hold it as a great truth that nature points to her uses and ends; that to observe these and follow them is to promote the greatest happiness to the human family; and that wherever these aims are diverted or misdirected, retrogression and human misery are the consequence. in all matters, experience is a better test than speculation; and to surrender a great practical utility to a mere theory is great folly. but it has been done, and we abide the consequences. in all nations, a spurious, pretentious religion has been the _avant-coureur_ of their destruction. in their inception and early progress this curse exercises but slight influence, and their growth is consequently healthy and vigorous. all nations have concealed this cancerous ulcer, sooner or later to develop for their destruction. these wear out with those they destroy, and a new or reformed religion is almost always accompanied with new and vigorous developments in a new and progressive government. the shackles which have paralyzed the mind, forbidding its development, are broken; the unnatural superstition ceases to circumscribe and influence its operations; and thus emancipated, it recovers its elasticity and springs forward toward the perfection of the creator. rescued from these baleful influences, the new organization is vigorous and rapid in its growth, yielding the beneficent blessings natural to the healthful and unabused energies of the mind. but with maturity and age the webs of superstition begin to fasten on the mind; priests become prominent, and as is their wont, the moment they shackle the mind, they reach out for power, and the chained disciple of their superstition willingly yields, under the vain delusion that he shares and participates in this power as a holy office for the propagation of his creed--and retrogression commences. the effects of african slavery in the united states, upon the condition of both races, was eminently beneficial to both. in no condition, and under no other circumstances, had the african made such advances toward civilization: indeed, i doubt if he has not attained in this particular to the highest point susceptible to his nature. he has increased more rapidly, and his aspirations have become more elevated, and his happiness more augmented. with his labor directed by the intelligence of the white race, the prosperity of the world has increased in a ratio superior to any antecedent period. the production of those staples which form the principal bases of commerce has increased in a quadruple ratio. cotton alone increased so rapidly as to render its price so far below every other article which can be fashioned into cloth, that the clothing and sheeting of the civilized world was principally fabricated from it. the rapidity of its increased production was only equalled by the increase of wealth and comfort throughout the world. it regulates the exchanges almost universally. it gave, in its growth, transportation, and manufacture, employment to millions, feeding and clothing half of europe--increasing beyond example commercial tonnage, and stimulating the invention of labor-saving machinery--giving a healthy impulse to labor and enterprise in every avocation, and intertwining itself with every interest, throughout the broad expanse of civilization over the earth. to cotton, more than to any other one thing, is due the railroad, steamboat, and steamship, the increase of commerce, the rapid accumulation of fortunes, and consequently the diffusion of intelligence, learning, and civilization. sugar, too, from the same cause, ceased to be a luxury, and became a necessity in the economy of living: coffee, too, became a stimulating beverage at every meal, instead of a luxury only to be indulged on rare occasions. how much the increased production of these three articles added to the commerce and wealth of the world during the last two centuries, and especially the last, is beyond computation. how much of human comfort and human happiness is now dependent upon their continued production, and in such abundance as to make them accessible to the means of all, may well employ the earnest attention of those who feel for the interest and happiness of their kind most. if these results have followed the institution of african slavery, can it be inhuman and sinful? is it not rather an evidence that the creator so designed? but this is not all this institution has effected. besides its pecuniary results, it has inspired in the superior race a nobility of feeling, resulting from a habit of command and a sense of independence, which is peculiar to privileged orders of men in civilized society. this feeling is manifested in high bearing and sensitive honor, a refinement of sentiment and chivalrous emprise unknown to communities without caste. this is to be seen in the absence of everything little or mean. a noble hospitality, a scorn of bargaining, and a lofty yet eminently deferential deportment toward females: in this mould it has cast southern society, and these traits made the southern gentleman remarkable, wherever his presence was found. these were the men who led in the formation of the government of the united states, and who gave tone and character to her legislative assembly, so long as they held control of the government. a peer among these was james jackson, and many of his confederates, of whom i shall have occasion to speak in the progress of this work. chapter iv. political disputations. baldwin--a yankee's political stability--the yazoo question--party feuds and fights--deaf and dumb ministers--clay--jackson--buchanan-- calhoun--cotton and free-trade--the clay and randolph duel. among the early immigrants into georgia were abraham baldwin and william h. crawford. baldwin was from connecticut, crawford from virginia. baldwin was a man of liberal education, and was destined for the ministry; indeed, he had taken orders, and was an officiating clergyman for some time in his native state. his family was english, and has given many distinguished men to the nation. after he arrived in georgia, where he came to engage in his vocation, he very soon ascertained his profession was not one which in a new country promised much profit or distinction; and possessing in an eminent degree that yankee "_cuteness_" which is quick to discover what is to the interest of its possessor, he abandoned the pulpit for the forum, and after a brief probation in a law office at nights and a school-house by day, he opened an office, and commenced the practice of law in augusta. he had been educated a federalist in politics, and had not concealed his sentiments in his new home. mr. jefferson and his political principles were extremely popular in georgia, and though there were some distinguished federalists in augusta who were leaders in her society, their number in the state was too insignificant to hold out any prospect of preferment to a young, talented, and ambitious aspirant for political distinction. baldwin was not slow to discover this, and, with the facile nature of his race, abandoned his political creed, as he had his professional pursuits. he saw crawford was rising into public notice, and he knew his ability, and with characteristic impudence he thrust himself forward, and very soon was made a member of congress. here he was true to his last love, and became a leading member of the republican party. by his conduct in this matter he made himself odious to his new england friends, who were unsparing of their abuse because of his treachery. for this he cared very little; but bore well in mind that "the blood of the martyrs was the seed of the church," and that the hate of the federalists was the passport to republican favor. his zeal was that of the new convert, and it won for him the confidence of his party, and rapid preferment in the line of distinction. he was a man of decided abilities, and seemed destined to high distinction; but dying early, a member of the united states senate, his hopes and aspirations here terminated. the state has honored and perpetuated his name by giving it to the county wherein is situated her seat of government. crawford, like baldwin, taught, and studied law at the same time. he was usher in a school taught by his life-long friend, judge yates. when admitted to practise law, he located in the little village of lexington, in the county of oglethorpe, and very soon was not only the leading lawyer, but the leading man of all the up-country of georgia. eminence is always envied: this was conspicuously the fortune of crawford. the population of the state was increasing rapidly, and young aspirants for fame and fortune were crowding to where these were promised most speedily. the yazoo question had created deep animosities. general elijah clarke, and his son john, subsequently governor of the state, were charged with complicity in this great fraud. the father had distinguished himself in repelling the indians in their various forays upon the frontiers, and was a representative man. with strong will and distinguished courage, he, without much talent, was conspicuous among a people who were, like himself, rude, unlettered, but daring, and abounding in strong common-sense. there was a young man at the same time, a devoted friend of young clarke, and follower of his father: he was an emigrant from one of the middle states. violent in his character, and incautious in the use of language, he very soon became offensive to his opponents, and sought every opportunity to increase the bad feeling with which he was regarded. siding with the yazoo company, he soon made himself odious to their enemies. the parties of republicans and federalists were bitter toward each other, and feuds were leading to fights, and some of these of most deadly character. the conflicts with the indians had kept alive the warlike spirit which the partisan warfare of the revolution had cultivated at the south, and no virtue was so especially regarded by these people as that of personal courage. the consequence was that no man, whatever his deportment or qualifications, could long fill the public eye without distinguishing himself for the possession of personal bravery. the clarkes were the undisputed leaders of public opinion in the up-country, until crawford came, and, by his great abilities and remarkable frankness of manner, won away to his support, and to the support of his opinions, a large majority of the people. this was not to be borne; and young van allen was willingly thrust forward to test the courage of crawford. duelling was the honorable method of settling all difficulties between gentlemen, and crawford was to be forced into a duel. if he refused to fight, he was ruined. this, however, he did not do; and van allen was slain in the affair. this but whetted the rage of the clarkes, and john clarke was not long in finding an excuse to call to the field his hated foe. in this duel crawford was shot through the left wrist, which partially disabled that arm for life. but this did not heal the animosity; its rancor became contagious, and involved the people of the state almost to a man; nor did it end until both clarke and crawford were in the grave. the history and consequences of this feud, and the two factions which grew out of it, would be the history of georgia for more than forty years. each had an army of followers; and all the talent of the state was divided between and leading these factions. there were many young men of decided talent rising into distinction in the professions, who were of necessity absorbed by these factions, and whose whole subsequent career was tainted with the ignoble prejudices arising out of this association. among the most prominent and talented of these was john forsyth, peter early, george m. troup, the man _sans peur, sans reproche_, thomas w. cobb, stephen upson, duncan g. campbell, the brother-in-law of clarke, and personally and politically his friend, and who, from the purity of his character and elevated bearing, was respected, trusted, and beloved by all who knew him; freeman walker, john m. dooly, augustus clayton, stephen w. harris, and eli s. sherter, perhaps mentally equal to any son of georgia. with the exception of upson and troup, these were all natives of the state. upson was from connecticut, and was the son of a button-maker at watertown, in that state. he was a thorough yankee in all the qualities of perseverance, making and saving money. he was a pure man, stern and talented; and as a lawyer, was scarcely equalled in the state. he and cobb were students, and _protégés_ of crawford, and both signalized their whole lives by a devotion, amounting almost to fanaticism, to mr. crawford and his fortunes. george michael troup was born at mcintosh's bluff, on the tombigbee river, in the state of alabama. his father was an englishman, who, during the revolution, removed to the place since called mcintosh's bluff. mr. crawford soon became prominent as a politician, and adopting the party and principles of jefferson, was transferred in early life to the councils of the nation. in the united states senate he was the compeer of felix grundy, john c. calhoun, harrison gray otis, rufus king, daniel d. tompkins, william b. giles, henry clay, and many others of less distinction; and was the especial friend of those remarkable men, nathaniel macon and john randolph. at this period, there was an array of talent in congress never equalled before or since. the aggressions of english cruisers upon our commerce, and the impressing of our seamen into the english service, had aroused the whole nation, and especially the south; and the fiery talent of this section was called by the people, breathing war, into the national councils. crawford was in the senate from georgia, and was a war-man. john forsyth, john c. calhoun, david r. williams, george m. troup, john randolph, philip doddridge, james barbour, henry clay, and william lomax from south carolina, were all comparatively young men. lowndes, calhoun, clay, and troup were little more than thirty years of age, and yet they became prominent leaders of their party, exercising a controlling influence over the public mind, and shaping the policy of the government. crawford was the mentor of this ardent band of lofty spirits--stimulating and checking, as occasion might require, the energies and actions of his young compeers. so conspicuous was he for talent, wisdom, and statesmanship, that he was proposed by the republican party as a proper person to succeed mr. madison; and nothing prevented his receiving the nomination of that party but his refusal to oppose mr. monroe. his magnanimity was his misfortune. had he been nominated, he would have been elected without opposition. the golden opportunity returned no more. he had succeeded chancellor livingston as minister to france, and of these two, napoleon said "the united states had sent him two plenipotentiaries--the first was deaf, the latter dumb." livingston was quite deaf, and crawford could not speak french. at the court of versailles, he served faithfully and efficiently the interests of his country, and returned with increased popularity. he filled, under mr. monroe, the office of secretary of war for a short time, and then was transferred to the secretaryship of the treasury. in the cabinet of mr. monroe there were three aspirants for the presidency: adams, crawford, and calhoun. between crawford and calhoun a feud arose, which was mainly the cause of mr. calhoun's name being withdrawn as a candidate, and the substitution of that of general jackson. crawford was one of the three highest returned to the house, and from whom a choice was to be made. some twelve months anterior to the election he was stricken with paralysis; and both body and mind so much affected that his friends felt that it would be improper to elect him. nevertheless he continued a candidate until mr. adams was chosen. mr. clay had been voted for as a fourth candidate, but not receiving electoral votes enough, failed to be returned to the house. being at the time a member of the house of representatives, it was supposed he held the control of the western vote; and consequently the power to elect whom he pleased. mr. clay was a great admirer of mr. crawford, though their intimacy had been somewhat interrupted by a personal difficulty between mr. randolph and mr. clay. mr. randolph being an especial friend and constant visitor at mr. crawford's, it would have been unpleasant to both parties to meet at his house. only a few years anterior to mr. clay's death, and when he was visiting new orleans, the writer had frequent interviews with him, and learned that he preferred mr. crawford to either adams or jackson; and was only prevented voting for him by the prostration and hopeless condition of his health. the political friends of mr. clay from the west knew of this preference, and would have acted with him, only upon condition that mr. crawford should make him a member of his cabinet. this was communicated to mr. clay, who assigned his reasons for declining to vote for mr. crawford, and avowed his intention of giving his vote for mr. adams. upon this announcement, it was urged upon mr. clay that mr. adams was uncommitted upon the policy which he had inaugurated as the american system; that he stood pledged to the country for its success; and that, without some pledge from mr. adams upon this point, he would be hazarding too much to give him his support--for this would certainly make him president. mr. clay's reply was: "i shall, as a matter of necessity, give my vote for mr. adams: mr. crawford's health puts him out of the question, and we are compelled to choose between adams and jackson. my opinion with regard to general jackson is before the nation, it remains unaltered. i can never give a vote for any man for so responsible a position whose only claim is military fame. jackson's violent temper and unscrupulous character, independent of his want of experience in statesmanship, would prevent my voting for him. i shall exact no pledge from mr. adams, but shall vote for him, and hold myself at liberty to support or oppose his administration, as it shall meet my approval or disapproval." mr. adams was elected; and the friends of mr. clay insisted that he should accept the position of secretary of state in the new cabinet, which was tendered him by mr. adams. mr. clay thought it indelicate to do so. whether true or not, the nation awarded to him the making of mr. adams president. general jackson had received a larger vote in the electoral colleges than adams, and his friends urged this as a reason that he was more acceptable to the nation, and the voting for adams on the part of clay and his friends was a palpable disregard of the popular will; and that clay had violated all his antecedents, and had thus deserted the principles of the republican party. the friends of mr. crawford were silent until the organization of the new cabinet. there had been a breach of amicable relations between crawford and jackson for some years, and of consequence between their party friends; and it was supposed from this cause that mr. crawford would unite in the support of the administration; and when it was known that clay had accepted the premiership, this was deemed certain, from the friendship long existing between clay and himself. the terrible paralysis which had prostrated mr. crawford extended to his mind, and he had ceased to hold the influence with his friends as controller, and had become the instrument in their hands. general jackson received a hint that it would be well to have healed the breach between himself and crawford. this it was supposed came from forsyth, and it is further believed this was prompted by van buren. it may or may not have been so: mr. jackson's acuteness rarely required hints from any one to stimulate or prompt to action its suggestions. all washington city was astounded, one sunday morning, at seeing the carriage of jackson pull up at the residence of mr. crawford; for their quarrel was known to every one, and it was heralded through the newspapers that a reconciliation had taken place between these great men. the interview was a protracted one: what occurred can only be known by subsequent developments in the political world. van buren had supported crawford to the last extremity, and was greatly respected by him. his intense acuteness scented the prey afar off. mr. calhoun had been elected by the electoral colleges vice-president, and this position, it was thought, notwithstanding his devotion to jackson, would identify him with the administration. he was young, talented, extremely popular, ambitious, and aspiring, and it was the opinion of all that he would urge his claims to the succession. the indignation which burst from the southern and middle states, and from many of the western, at mr. clay's course, and the great unpopularity of the name of adams, was an assurance that without great changes in public opinion mr. adams' administration would be confined to one term. mr. crawford was out of the question for all time, and it was apparent the contest was to be between calhoun, clay, and jackson. they had all belonged to the jeffersonian school of politics--had grown upon the nation's confidence rapidly through their support of and conducting the war to its glorious termination. but this party was now completely disrupted; and from its elements new parties were to be formed. it only survived the dissolution of the federal party a short time, and, for the want of opposition from without, discord and dissolution had followed. the political world was completely chaotic--new interests had arisen. the war had forced new england to manufacturing; it had established the policy of home production, and home protection; the agricultural interest of the west was connected with the manufacturing interest of the north, and was to be her consumer; but the planting interest of the south was deemed antagonistic to them. her great staple, forming almost the sole basis of the foreign commerce of the country, demanded, if not free trade, an exceedingly liberal policy toward those abroad who were her purchasers. the war had given a new impetus to trade, new channels had been opened, the manufacture of cotton in england had become a source of wealth to the nation, and was rapidly increasing. america was her source of supply, and was the great consumer of her fabrics, and this fact was stimulating the growth of cotton into an activity which indicated its becoming the leading interest of the south, if not of the nation. the course of trade made it the great competitor of home manufactures: this would seem unnatural, but it was true--the one demanding protection, the other free trade. the source of supply of the raw material to both was the same, and america the great consumer for both. protection secured the home market to the home manufacturer, compelling the consumer to pay more, and sell for less, by excluding the foreign manufacturer from the market, or imposing such burdens, by way of duties, as to compel him to sell at higher prices than would be a just profit on his labor and skill under the operation of free trade, and which should exempt from his competition the home manufacturer in the american market. all these facts were within the purview of the sagacious politicians of the day; and were evidently the elements of new parties. mr. clay had already given shape to his future policy, and had identified the new administration with it. it was certain the south with great unanimity would be in opposition, and the sagacity of van buren discovered the necessity of uniting the friends of jackson and crawford. should he, after feeling the political pulse of his own people, conclude to unite with the opposition, such a union would destroy mr. clay in the south, but might greatly strengthen mr. calhoun; his destruction, however, must be left to the future. he was not long in determining. the reconciliation of crawford and-jackson made the union of their friends no very difficult matter. mr. randolph, mr. macon, mr. forsyth, and mr. cobb had expressed themselves greatly gratified at this restoration of amity; and at an informal meeting of their friends, randolph said, in allusion to this adjustment: "i have no longer a fear that the seat first graced by virginia's chosen sons will ever be disgraced by a renegade child of hers." soon after the inauguration of mr. adams, and the adjournment of congress, the nation was startled with the charge of corruption in the election of mr. adams. at first this was vague rumor. mr. clay was charged by the press throughout the country with bargaining with the friends of adams, to cast his vote, and carry his influence to his support, upon the condition of his (clay's) appointment to the premiership in the administration, should adams be elected. there was no responsible name for this charge; but at the ensuing session of congress, a member from pennsylvania, george creemer, uttered from his seat the charge in direct terms. this seemed to give assurance of the truth of this damaging accusation. there was no public denial from mr. clay. the press in his support had from the first treated the story as too ridiculous to be noticed other than by a flat denial; but the circumstances were sufficiently plausible to predicate such a slander, and the effect upon mr. clay was beginning to be felt seriously by his friends. in the mean time, rumors reached the popular ear that the proofs of its veracity were in the hands of general jackson, whose popularity was running through the country with the warmth and rapidity of a fire upon the prairies. there was now a responsible sponsor, and mr. clay at once addressed a note to creemer, demanding his authority for the charge. this was answered, and general jackson's was the name given, as his authority. mr. clay sent his friend, general leslie combs, with a note to jackson, with a copy of creemer's communication. combs was a weak, vain man, and so full of the importance of his mission that he made no secret of his object in visiting jackson at the hermitage; and it was soon running through the country in the party press, each retailing the story as he had heard it, or as his imagination and party bias desired it. it was soon current that mr. clay had challenged general jackson, and a duel was soon to occur between these distinguished men. general jackson, however, gave as his author, james buchanan, of pennsylvania. in turn, mr. buchanan was called upon by clay, but he denied ever having made any such communication to general jackson; at the same time, making certain statements under the seal of secrecy to mr. letcher, clay's friend. what these revelations were will never be known: death has set his seal on all who knew them; and no revelation disclosed them in time. long after this interview between letcher and buchanan, the former called on the latter, and asked to be relieved from this imputation, and for permission to give to the public these statements; but mr. buchanan peremptorily refused. mr. letcher insisted that they were important to the reputation of more than mr. clay: still buchanan refused; and to this day the question of veracity remains unsettled between jackson and buchanan. the public have, however, long since declared that general jackson was too brave a man to lie. toward the close of mr. clay's life, one carter beverly, of virginia, wrote mr. clay some account of the part he himself had taken in the concoction of this slander, craving his forgiveness. this letter was received by mr. clay while a visitor at the home of the writer, and read to him: it dissipated all doubts upon the mind of mr. clay, if any remained, of the fact of the whole story being the concoction of buchanan. creemer was a colleague of buchanan, and was a credulous pennsylvanian, of dutch descent; honest enough, but without brains, and only too willing to be the instrument of his colleague in any dirty work which would subserve his purposes. beverly was one of those silly but presumptuous personages who thrust themselves upon the society of men occupying high positions, and feel their importance only in that reflected by this association; and ever too fond of being made the medium of slanderous reports, reflecting upon those whose self-respect and superior dignity has frowned them from their presence. creemer died without divulging anything; probably under the influence of buchanan, and it is not improbable he was in ignorance of the origin of the slander. beverly knew of its utter falsity, and was as guilty as the originator, and his conscience smote him too sorely to permit him to go to the grave without atonement, and consequently he made a clean breast of it to mr. clay. mr. clay and mr. buchanan entered public life about the same time, when they were both young and full of zeal. they belonged to the same political party, and became warmly attached. they were, however, men of very different temperaments. the professions of mr. clay were always sincere, his love of truth was a most prominent feature in his nature, and his attachments were never dissimulations: to no other person of his early political friends was he more sincerely attached than to buchanan--he was his confidential friend; he was never on any subject reserved to him; and so deep was this feeling with him that he had called a son after his friend--the late james buchanan clay. when he learned that all his confidences had been misplaced, and that the man whom he so loved had sought to rob him of his good name, he was wounded to the heart. he struggled to believe buchanan was wronged by general jackson; but one fact after another was developed--he could not doubt--all pointing the same way; and finally came this letter of beverly's, when he was old, and when his heart was crushed by the loss of his son henry at buena vista, of which event he had only heard the day before: he doubted no more. i shall ever remember the expression of that noble countenance as, turning to me, he said: "read that!" rising from his seat, he went to the garden, where, under a large live-oak, i found him an hour after, deeply depressed. it was sorrow, not anger, that weighed upon him. in reply to a remark from me, he said: "how few men have i found true under all trials! who has a friend on whom he can rely, and who will not, to gratify his own ambition, sacrifice him? i was deeply attached to buchanan; i thought him my friend, and trusted him as such--through long years our intimacy continued. you see how unwisely this attachment was indulged; i have misplaced my confidence; i am willing to disbelieve this statement of beverly; he is known to you; i believe he is a miserable creature, but his testimony is but a link in the chain of evidences i have of buchanan's being the author of this infamous story. it was artfully concocted and maliciously circulated. he was too shrewd to commit himself, and employed this creature to go to jackson, who lent a willing ear to it; and he communicated it to creemer. yet it was settled upon him by jackson. beverly told jackson he was sent by buchanan, and now the world has the story denied by buchanan, and i have it confessed by beverly. all the mischief it could do, it has done; and this death-bed repentance and confession must command my forgiveness of poor old beverly. "i was not unaware of the hazards of accepting office under mr. adams, and yielded my judgment to gratify my friends. i was deeply solicitous of rendering the country independent: our population was increasing; i was sure large immigration would add to the natural increase; and i felt it was the true policy of the government to commence the manufacture of all articles necessary to its population, and especially the articles of prime necessity, iron and clothing. we had the minerals, the coal, and the cotton; and the sad experience of the recent war warned us to prepare against the same consequences should we unfortunately be again in a similar condition. i was satisfied that this policy would meet powerful opposition by those who supposed their interests affected by protection; and i knew, to build up the manufactures at home, they must be protected against foreign competition--at least for a time. once capital was abundant and largely invested in manufacturing, with an abundance of educated skill, this protection could be withdrawn; as home protection would not prevent home competition, and high prices would stimulate this competition to the point of producing more than was necessary for home consumption; which would force the manufacturer to find a market abroad for his surplus; this would bring him into competition with the european manufacturer, and he would be compelled to be content with the prices he could obtain under this competition; this would necessarily, by degrees, reduce prices at home, and finally obviate the necessity of protection. already this has come to pass. the good of the country i thought demanded this; and for this i exerted all my powers and all my influence; never for a moment doubting but that in time and from results the whole people would approve the policy. nor did i ever anticipate any political result to my own interest. i have never thought of self, in any great measure of policy i may have advocated. i have looked to final results in benefits to the country alone, with a hope that my name should not be a disgrace to my children, who should witness the working and the effect of measures connected with my public life. with an honest purpose, i feared no consequences; and desiring, above temporary popularity, the good of the country, i assumed all the hazards and consequences which my enemies could torture out of the act of accepting office under mr. adams. i have never regretted it, and have lived to see the slanderers of my fame rebuked by the whole country. "this terrible mexican war now raging, i fear, is to result in consequences disastrous to our government. that we shall drive mexico to the wall there cannot be a doubt. we will avail ourselves of the conqueror's right in demanding indemnity for the expenses of the war. she has nothing to pay with, but territory. we shall dispossess her of at least a third, perhaps the half of her domain; this will open the question of slavery again, and how it is to be settled god only knows. for myself, i see no peaceful solution of the question. the north and the south are equally fanatical upon the subject, and the difficulties of adjustment augmenting every day. you will agree with me that the institution violates the sentiment of the civilized world. it is unnatural, and must yield to the united hostility of the world. but what is to be done with the negro? you cannot make a citizen of him, and clothe him with political power. this would lead rapidly to a war of races; and of consequence to the extinction of the negro. he will not labor without compulsion; and very soon the country would be filled with brigands; the penitentiaries would not hold the convicts; and the public security would ultimately demand that they should be sent from the country. "to remove such a number, even to the west indies, would involve an expense beyond the resources of the government; to force them into mexico would make her a more dangerous and disagreeable neighbor than she is; besides, this would only be postponing the evil, for i apprehend we shall want to annex all of mexico before many years. as i remarked, i can see no peaceful solution of this great social evil; but fear it is fraught with fatal consequences to our government." john randolph, soon after the election of mr. adams, was sent to the united states senate by virginia. his enmity to mr. clay had received a new whetting through the events of the year or two just past; and the natural acerbity of his nature was soured into bitter malignity. he believed every word of the story of creemer, and harped upon it with the pertinacity of the venetian upon the daughter of shylock. he was scarcely ever upon the floor that some offensive allusion was not made to this subject. it was immaterial to him what the subject-matter was under discussion: he found a means to have a throw at the administration, and of consequence, at clay; and bargain and corruption slid from his tongue with the concentration of venom of the rattlesnake. the very thought of clay seemed to inspire his genius for vituperation; his eye would gleam, his meagre and attenuated form would writhe and contort as if under the enchantment of a demon; his long, bony fingers would be extended, as if pointing at an imaginary clay, air-drawn as the dagger of macbeth, as he would writhe the muscles of his beardless, sallow, and wrinkled face, pouring out the gall of his soul upon his hated enemy. it was in one of these hallucinations that he uttered the following morsel of bitterness, in allusion to the story of bargain and corruption: "this, until now, unheard-of combination of the black-leg with the puritan; this union of luck george with blifell," (an allusion from fielding's novel of "tom jones.") language could not have been made more offensive. but the fruitful imagination of randolph was not exhausted, and he proceeded with denunciation which spared not the venerable mother of mr. clay, then living--denouncing her for bringing into the world "this being, so brilliant, yet so corrupt, which, like a rotten mackerel by moonlight, shined and stunk." this drew from mr. clay a challenge, and a meeting was the consequence. there was no injury sustained by either party in this conflict, the full particulars of which may be found in benton's "thirty years in the senate;" and i have mr. clay's authority for saying that this account is strictly correct. in general jackson's letter to carter beverly, he states that buchanan came to him and stated that the friends of mr. adams had made overtures to mr. clay, to the effect that, if mr. clay would with his friends support mr. adams, and he should be elected, then he would appoint clay to the position of secretary of state; and that buchanan recommended jackson to intrigue against this intrigue. buchanan denied the statement _in toto_. beverly wrote a letter, in , admitting the falsehood of a former letter of his; and again, another to mr. clay, in or , asking clay's forgiveness for the part he had acted in the matter. chapter v. georgia's noble sons. a minister of a day--purity of administration--then and now--widow timberlake--van buren's letter--ambrister and arbuthnot--old hickory settles a difficulty--a cause of the late war--honored dead. immediately upon the inauguration of mr. adams, mr. crawford left washington, and returned home. his residence was near lexington, georgia, upon a small farm. it was an unostentatious home, but comfortable, and without pretensions superior to those of his more humble neighbors. mr. crawford had held many positions in the service of the country, and had honestly and ably discharged the duties of these for the public good. as a senator in congress, he won the confidence of the nation by the display of great abilities; and gave universal satisfaction of the pure patriotism of his heart, in all he said, or did. he was distinguished, as minister to france, for his open candor and simplicity of manners--so much so, as to cause napoleon to remark of him "that no government but a republic could create or foster so much truth and honest simplicity of character as he found in mr. crawford." for years, he had served the nation as financial minister, and at a time when the method of keeping, transferring, and disbursing the moneys of government afforded infinite opportunities for peculation--when vast amounts of money arising from the sale of the public domain in the west and the south was under his control, and when he had the selection of the depositories of this, and when these deposits were of great value to the local or state banks, so that they would have paid handsomely for them; yet this noble being came out of the furnace without the smell of fire upon his garments. there was but one man who ever imputed dishonesty to him, or selfish motives in any act. when the claims of mr. adams and mr. crawford for the presidency were being discussed, and party asperity sought to slay its victims, ninian edwards, a senator of congress from illinois, charged mr. crawford with impropriety of conduct in depositing, for selfish and dishonest purposes, the public moneys arising from the sale of lands in illinois, in banks notoriously insolvent. edwards had been appointed minister to mexico, had left the senate, and had gone to his home, preparatory to his leaving for mexico; and from his home made this attack upon mr. crawford. the son-in-law of edwards, a man named cook, was the representative in congress from illinois, and, if i remember correctly, was the only representative who at the time reiterated these charges from his seat. mr. crawford immediately demanded an investigation of his conduct. this was had, and the result was a triumphant acquittal from all blame; and so damaging was this investigation to edwards that the president recalled the commission of edwards as minister to mexico, and appointed joel r. poinsett, of south carolina, in his stead. edwards was at new orleans when the letter of recall from the president reached him, that far on his way to mexico: he returned in disgrace, and soon faded from public notice forever. at the time, it was asserted he was the brother-in-law of mr. adams, and knowing that some of the banks in which crawford had deposited the public treasure had failed, he imagined complicity of a dishonest character, on the part of crawford, with the officers of the banks, and expected to injure him and subserve the interest of adams. in what contrast does this transaction place the purity of the government, as then administered, with its conduct of to-day, and how peerless were those who were trusted then with public confidence and high places, in comparison with the public men who fill their places now! georgia has given to the nation two secretaries of the treasury--william h. crawford and howell cobb; they were citizens of adjoining counties. cobb was born within a few miles of crawford's grave. they were both administering the office at a time in the history of the nation when she was surrounded with perils. the one, when she was just coming out of a war with the most powerful nation on earth; the other, when she was just going into a war, civil and gigantic. both were afforded every opportunity for dishonest peculation, and both came out, despite the allurements of temptation, with clean hands and untainted reputation. they were reared and lived in the atmosphere of honesty; they sought the inspiration from the hills and vales, blue skies, and clear pure waters of middle georgia. the surroundings of nature were pure; the honest farmers and mechanics, her professional men and merchants, were and are pure. it was the home of upson, gilmer, thomas w. cobb, peter early, eli s. sherter, stephen willis harris, william causby dawson, joseph henry lumpkin; and now is the home of a.h. stephens, ben. hill, robert toombs, bishop pierce, and his great and glorious father, and in their integrity and lofty manhood they imitate the mighty dead who sleep around them. glorious old state! though long trodden with the tyrant's foot, there is a resurrectionary spirit moving thy people, which will lift thee again to the high pinnacle from which thou wast thrust, purified and reinvigorated for a career of brighter glory than thou hast yet known--when the men who plague you now shall be driven from your state, and the sons of your soil, in the vigor of their souls, undefiled and untrammelled, shall wield your destinies. like a roman of latter days, mr. crawford retired from the service of his country poorer than when he entered it. there was sweet seclusion in his retreat, and honest hearts in his humble neighbors to receive him with "come home, thou good and faithful servant; we receive thee, as we gave thee, in thy greatness and thy goodness, undefiled." he had only partially recovered from his, paralysis, though his general health was much improved; rest and retirement, and release from public duties and cares, served to reinvigorate him greatly. his estate was small, his family large, and his friends, to aid him, secured his election to the bench of the superior court, the duties of which he continued to discharge until his death. he survived to see general jackson elected president, to whom he gave a cordial support. mr. calhoun had been nominated and elected vice-president with general jackson, both with overwhelming majorities. crawford had carried all his strength to the support of the ticket, and the friends of crawford and calhoun were found acting in concert, notwithstanding the hostility yet unappeased between their chiefs. it was the union of necessity, not of sympathy or affection. at this juncture, there was perhaps as cordial a hatred between the people of south carolina and those of georgia, as ever existed between the greek and the turk. mr. calhoun, it seemed now to be settled, was to be the successor of general jackson. the new parties were organized, and that headed by general jackson assumed the name of democrat, and now held undisputed control of more than two-thirds of the states. mr. calhoun had broken away from the usage of former vice-presidents, which was to retire, and permit a president of the senate _pro tem._ to be chosen to preside over the deliberations of that body. he determined to fulfil the duties assigned by the constitution, and in person to preside. his transcendent abilities and great strength of character by this course was constantly kept before the nation. his manners and presence gave increased dignity and importance to the office, daily increasing his popularity with the senate and the nation. his position was an enviable one, and was such as seemed to promise the power to grasp, at the proper time, the goal of his ambition, the presidency of the republic. from the commencement of general jackson's administration there was a powerful opposition organized. it consisted of the very best talent in the senate and house. the cabinet was a weak one. mr. van buren was premier, or secretary of state, with john h. eaton, a very ordinary man, secretary of war; branch, secretary of the navy, and ingham, secretary of the treasury; with john m. berrien, attorney-general. eaton was from tennessee, and was an especial favorite of general jackson. he had been in the senate from tennessee, and had formed at washington the acquaintance of a celebrated widow of a purser in the navy, mrs. timberlake. this woman had by no means an enviable reputation, and had been supposed the mistress of eaton, prior to their marriage. she had found her way to the heart of jackson, who assumed to be her especial champion. the ladies of the cabinet ministers refused to recognize her or to interchange social civilities with her. this enraged the president, and it was made a _sine qua non_, receive mrs. eaton, or quit the cabinet. van buren was a widower, and did not come under the order. he saw the storm coming, and, to avoid consequences of any sort, after consultation with jackson, resigned. his letter of resignation is a literary as well as a political curiosity. general jackson, it is said, handed it to forsyth, with the remark "that he could not make head or tail of it; and, by the eternal, mr. forsyth, i do not believe van buren can himself." this was the forerunner of a general dismissal of the entire cabinet, save eaton, who resigned. this rupture startled the whole nation, but nothing jackson could do, seemed capable of affecting his growing popularity. a new cabinet was organized, and soon after mr. van buren was sent minister to england, and eaton minister to spain. the opposition were in a majority in the senate, led on by clay and webster. these were confronted by forsyth, benton, and wright: the wrestle was that of giants. the world, perhaps, never furnished a more adroit debater than john forsyth. he was the ajax telemon of his party, and was rapidly rivalling the first in the estimation of that party. he hated calhoun, and at times was at no pains to conceal it in debate. in the warmth of debate, upon one occasion, he alluded in severe terms, to the manner in which mr. crawford had been treated, during his incumbency as secretary of the treasury, by a certain party press in the interest of mr. calhoun. this touched the vice-president on the raw: thus stung, he turned and demanded if the senator alluded to him. forsyth's manner was truly grand, as it was intensely fierce: turning from the senate to the vice-president, he demanded with the imperiousness of an emperor: "by what right does the chair ask that question of me?" and paused as if for a reply, with his intensely gleaming eye steadily fixed upon that of calhoun. the power was with the speaker, and the chair was awed into silence. slowly turning to the senate, every member of which manifested deep feeling, he continued, as his person seemed to swell into gigantic proportions, and his eye to sweep the entire chamber, "let the galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung," and went on with the debate. the cause of the animosity of jackson, toward crawford was a report which had reached jackson, that crawford, as a member of mr. monroe's cabinet, had insisted in cabinet meeting upon the arrest of jackson for a violation of national law, in entering without orders, as the commanding general of the army of the united states, the territory of a friendly power, and seizing its principal city by military force. general jackson had entered florida, then a dependency of spain, with which power we were in amity, and seized pensacola. a band of desperate men had made a lodgment in florida, headed by two scotchmen, ambrister and arbuthnot. these men had acquired great influence with the indians, and were stimulating them to constant depredations upon the frontier people of georgia. when pursued, they sought safety in the territorial limits of florida. remonstrances with the government of spain had produced no effect. it could not, or would not expel them, or attempt any control of the indians; and it became necessary to put a stop to their aggressions. jackson commanded, and was the very man for such a work. he placed before the president the difficulties, but said he could and would break up this nest of freebooters, if he had authority from the president to enter the territory, and, if necessary, take possession of it. it would be an act of war to authorize this course, he knew; but he was prepared for the responsibility (he generally was.) "i do not ask for formal orders: simply say to me, 'do it.' tell johnny ray to say so to me, and it shall be done." johnny ray was a member of congress at that time from east tennessee, and devoted to jackson. this was done, and the work was accomplished. the two leaders were captured and summarily executed, claiming to be british subjects. mr. monroe in some things was a weak man; he was surrounded by a cabinet greatly superior to himself; he had not counselled with them, and he feared the responsibility he had assumed would not be sanctioned or approved by his constitutional advisers, and he timidly shrank from communicating these secret instructions to them. the matter was brought before the cabinet, by a remonstrance from the spanish government, in the person of her representative at washington. in the discussion which arose, a motion was submitted to arrest and court-martial jackson. calhoun was indignant that as secretary of war he had not been consulted. general jackson was sent for, and very soon the matter was quieted, and spain satisfied. it was in this discussion, or cabinet meeting, that mr. crawford was represented to general jackson as moving his arrest. mr. adams defended jackson most strenuously, and it is not improbable that the president may have informed him, _sub rosa_, of what had been communicated to jackson. the intimacy between mr. monroe and mr. adams was close, and it was thought he preferred him, and gave him more unreservedly his confidence than any of his ministers. i believe it was in the early part of the year , or , (i have, where i write, no means of reference, and will not pretend to great accuracy in dates,) when mr. crawford received a visit from mr. van buren, and his friend, mr. cambreling, at his home in oglethorpe. what transpired during that visit, i do not pretend to know; but soon after, mr. forsyth received a letter from mr. james hamilton, of new york, making certain inquiries with regard to this move in mr. monroe's cabinet. mr. forsyth appealed to mr. crawford, who responded, and in detail revealed the proceedings in council upon this matter, charging, without equivocation, mr. calhoun as being the secretary who had moved the arrest and trial of jackson. at the time of this development, general jackson was absent from washington, on a visit to his home in tennessee, and mr. calhoun was in south carolina. a correspondence ensued between the president and vice-president of the most acrimonious character. mr. calhoun denied _in toto_ the charge. mr. crawford appealed to the members of the cabinet, adams and crowninshield, who sustained the truth of mr. crawford's statements, and mr. calhoun clearly implicated himself, by accusing crawford of a breach of honor in disclosing cabinet secrets. it is not my purpose to enter into the minutiae of this affair, further than to show the part taken in it by mr. crawford. mr. van buren did not appear in this imbroglio; he doubtless had his agency, as his interest, in bringing this matter to general jackson's knowledge. mr. calhoun was identified with the popularity of jackson and his party, and was now, by common consent of that party, the prominent man for the presidential succession. mr. van buren had been the secretary of state of general jackson, had studied him well, and knew him well. he knew also the temper of the democratic party: through his agency the political morality of new york politicians had permeated the democracy from one end of the country to the other: the doctrine subsequently enunciated by mr. marcy, that "to the victors belonged the spoils," was in full operation throughout the nation as the democratic practice. this was the cement which closely held the politician to party fealty. jackson rewarded his friends, and punished his enemies; jackson was an omnipotent power; jackson was the democratic party. to secure his friendship was necessary to success; to incur his enmity, certain destruction. van buren was as artful as ambitious: he had indoctrinated jackson with his own policy, by inducing him to believe it was his own; and the frankness of jackson's nature prevented his believing anything was not what it professed to be. it was the ambition of van buren to be president, and his sagacity taught him the surest means to effect this end was to secure effectually and beyond peradventure the friendship and support of jackson. mr. calhoun was between him and the aim of his ambition: to thrust him from jackson's confidence was to effect all he desired. this was done; the breach was irreparable. van buren was sent, in the interim of the session of congress, minister plenipotentiary to the court of st. james. mr. clay had come back into the senate, and was heading and leading an opposition, then in the majority in the senate; and the nomination of van buren was rejected. jackson, assured that calhoun had deceived him, was bitter in his denunciations of him, and calhoun was sympathizing with this opposition. jackson denounced calhoun as his informant of crawford being the cabinet minister who had in cabinet council moved his arrest. calhoun gave the lie direct to the assertion; and that jackson was capable of lying, referred as evidence to his statements relative to the charge of bargain and intrigue against mr. clay. but enough had been done to crush out the popularity and the hopes of calhoun, beyond the limits of south carolina. there never has been so sudden and so terrible a fall from such a height of any man in this nation--not excepting that of aaron burr. john c. calhoun, in talent, learning, and statesmanship, was greatly superior to jackson, and unsurpassed by any man of the age. but the breath of jackson was the blight which withered his laurels, and crushed his prospects, and destroyed his usefulness forever, in a night. what consequences have grown out of this quarrel, i leave for the pen of the historian. yet i cannot forbear the speculation that the late and most disastrous war was one, and of consequence the ruin and desolation of the south, and the threatened destruction of the government at this time. the agitation which led to these terrible consequences, commenced with mr. calhoun immediately subsequent to these events. does any man suppose, if mr. calhoun had succeeded to the presidency, that he would have commenced or continued this agitation? for one, i do not. the measure of his ambition would have been full: his fame would have been a chapter in the history of his country--his talents employed in the administration of the government, the honor and boast of her people, and her preservation and prosperity the enduring monument of his fame and glory. but, wronged as he believed, disappointed as he knew, he put forth all his strength, and, samson-like, pulled down the pillars of her support; and, disunited, crushed, and miserable, she is a melancholy spectacle to the patriot, and in her desolation a monument of disappointed ambition. that mr. calhoun anticipated any such results, i do not believe. to suppose he desired them, and to the end of his life labored to produce them, would be to suppose him little less than a fiend. blinded by his prejudices and the hatred natural toward those who had accomplished his political ruin, he could not calmly and dispassionately weigh the influence of his acts upon the future of his country. mr. crawford was now rapidly declining, his nervous system was completely undermined, and he felt the approach of death calmly and without fear. still, he continued to give his attention to business, and was sufficiently strong to go abroad to calls of duty. in one of these journeys he stopped to spend the night in the house of a friend, and was found dead in his bed in the morning, after a quiet and social evening with his friend and family. william holt crawford was a native of virginia: his family were scotch, and came early to the united states, and have been remarkable for their talents and energy. since the revolution, there has scarcely been a time that some one of the family has not been prominently before the public as a representative man. mr. crawford was an eminent type of his race, sternly honest, of ardent temperament, full of dignity, generous, frank, and brave. plain and simple in his habits, disdaining everything like ostentation, or foolish display--strictly moral, firm in his friendship, and unrelenting in his hatred, his sagacity and sincerity forbade the forming of the one or the other without abundant cause. he was never known to desert a friend or shrink from a foe. in form and person he was very imposing; six feet two inches in height; his head was large, forehead high and broad; his eyes were blue and brilliant, and, when excited, very piercing. his complexion was fair, and, in early life, ruddy; he was, when young, exceedingly temperate in his habits, but as he advanced in years he indulged too freely in the luxuries of the table, and his physicians attributed mainly to this cause his attack of paralysis, which ultimately destroyed him. his mind had been very much excited during the presidential canvass; the attacks of his enemies were fierce and merciless, and very irritating to him; and this doubtless had much to do with it. he lies buried in the garden of his home, without a stone to mark the spot. it is a reproach to the people of georgia that her most eminent son should be neglected to sleep in an undistinguished grave. but this neglect does not extend alone to mr. crawford. i believe, of all her distinguished men, james a. meriwether is the only one whose grave has been honored with a monumental stone by the state. crawford, cobb, dooly, jackson, troup, forsyth, campbell, lumpkin, dawson, walker, colquitt, berrien, daugherty, and many others who have done the state some service and much honor, are distinguished in their graves only by the green sod which covers them. chapter vi. popular characteristics. a frugal people--laws and religion--father pierce--thomas w. cobb-- requisites of a political candidate--a farmer-lawyer--southern humorists. the plain republican habits which characterized the people of upper georgia, in her early settlement and growth, together with the fact of the very moderate means of her people, exercised a powerful influence in the formation of the character of her people. she had no large commercial city, and her commerce was confined to the simple disposal of the surplus products of her soil and the supply of the few wants of the people. it was a cardinal virtue to provide every thing possible of the absolute necessaries of life at home. the provision crop was of first necessity, and secured the first attention of the farmer; the market crop was ever secondary, and was only looked to, to supply those necessaries which could not be grown upon the plantation. these were salt, iron, and steel, first; and then, if there remained unexhausted some of the proceeds of the crop, a small (always a small) supply of sugar and coffee; and for rare occasions, a little tea. the population, with the exception of mechanics, and these were a very small proportion, and the few professional men and country merchants, was entirely agricultural. this rural pursuit confined at home and closely to business every one; and popular meetings were confined to religious gatherings on sunday in each neighborhood, and the meeting of a few who could spare the time at court, in the village county-seat, twice a year. there were no places of public resort for dissipation or amusement; a stern morality was demanded by public opinion of the older members of society. example and the switch enforced it with the children. perhaps in no country or community was the maxim of good old solomon more universally practised upon, "spare the rod and spoil the child," than in middle georgia, fifty years ago. filial obedience and deference to age was the first lesson. "honor thy father and mother, that thy days may be long in the land," was familiar to the ears of every child before they could lisp their a, b, c; and upon the first demonstration of a refractory disobedience, a severe punishment taught them that the law was absolute and inexorable. to lie, or touch what was not his own, was beyond the pale of pardon, or mercy, and a solitary aberration was a stain for life. the mothers, clad in homespun, were chaste in thought and action; unlettered and ignorant, but pure as ether. their literature confined to the bible, its maxims directed their conduct, and were the daily lesson of their children. the hard-shell baptist was the dominant religion; with here and there a presbyterian community, generally characterized by superior education and intelligence, with a preacher of so much learning as to be an oracle throughout the land. the methodists were just then beginning to grow into importance, and their circuit-riders, now fashionably known as itinerants, were passing and preaching, and establishing societies to mark their success, through all the rude settlements of the state. these were the pioneers of that truly democratic sect, as of the stern morality and upright bearing which had so powerful an influence over the then rising population. it is more than sixty years since i first listened to a methodist sermon. it was preached by a young, spare man, with sallow complexion, and black eyes and hair. i remember the gleam of his eye, and the deep, startling tones of his voice--his earnest and fervent manner; and only yesterday, in the baronne street (new orleans) methodist church, i listened to an old man, upward of eighty years of age, preaching the ordination sermon of four new bishops of the methodist church. it was he to whom i had first listened: the eye was still brilliant, the face still sallow, but wrinkled now, and the voice and manner still fervent and earnest; and the great mind, though not the same, still powerful. it was that venerable, good man, lovie pierce, the father of the great and eloquent bishop. what has he not seen? what changes, what trials, what triumphs! generations before his eyes have passed into eternity; the little handful of methodist communicants grown into a mighty and intelligent body; thousands of ministers are heralding her tenets all over the protestant world--mighty in learning, mighty in eloquence--yet none surpass the eloquence, the power, and the purity of lovie pierce. when i first heard him, bishop asbury, william russell, and he were nursing the seed sown by john wesley and george whitefield, a little while before, upon the soil of georgia. all but pierce have long been gathered to their fathers, and have rest from their labors. he still remains, bearing his cross in triumph, and still preaching the redeemer to the grandchildren of those who first welcomed him and united with him in the good work of his mission. how much his labors have done to form and give tone to the character of the people of the state of georgia, none may say; but under his eye and aid has arisen a system of female education, which has and is working wonders throughout the state. he has seen the ignorant and untaught mothers rear up virtuous, educated, and accomplished daughters; and, in turn, these rearing daughters and sons, an ornament and an honor to parents and country. above all, he has seen and sees a standard of intelligence, high-breeding, and piety pervading the entire state. the log-cabin gives way to the comfortable mansion, the broad fields usurping the forest's claim, and the beautiful church-building pointing its taper spire up to heaven, where stood the rude log-house, and where first he preached. he has lived on and watched this growing moral and physical beauty, whose germs he planted, and whose fruits he is now enjoying in the eighty-fourth year of his age, still zealous, still ardent and eloquent, and a power in the land. should these lines ever meet his eye, he will know that the child whose head he stroked as he sat upon his knee--the youth whom he warned and counselled, loves him yet, now that he is wrinkled, old, and gray. from parents such as i have described, and under the teaching of such men, grew up the remarkable men who have shed such lustre upon the state of georgia. the great distinguishing feature of these men was that of the masses of her people--stern honesty. many families have been and continue to be remarkable for their superior talents and high character; preserving in a high degree the prestige of names made famous by illustrious ancestry. the crawfords, the cobbs, and the lamars are perhaps the most remarkable. thomas w. cobb, so long distinguished in the councils of the nation, and as an able and honest jurist in georgia, was the son of john cobb, and grandson of thomas cobb, of the county of columbia, in the state of georgia. his grandfather emigrated from virginia at an early day, when georgia was comparatively a wilderness, and selecting this point, located with a large family, which through his remarkable energy he reared and respectably educated. this was an achievement, as the facilities for education were so few and difficult as to make it next to impossible to educate even tolerably the youth of that day. this remarkable man lived to see his grandson, thomas w. cobb, among the most distinguished men of the state. he died at the great age of one hundred and fifteen years, at the home of his selection, in columbia county, the patriarch pioneer of the country, surrounded by every comfort, and a family honoring his name and perpetuating his virtues; and after he had seen the rude forest give way to the cultivated field, and the almost as rude population to the cultivated and intellectual people distinguishing that county. thomas w. cobb, in his education, suffered the penalties imposed in this particular by a new country; his opportunities, however, were improved to their greatest possible extent, and he continued to improve in learning to the day of his death. in boyhood he ploughed by day, and studied his spelling-book and arithmetic by night--lighting his vision to the pursuit of knowledge by a pine-knot fire. this ambition of learning, with close application, soon distinguished him above the youth of the neighborhood, and lifted his aspirations to an equal distinction among the first men of the land. he made known his wishes to his father, and was laughed at; but he was his grandfather's namesake and pet, and he encouraged his ambition. the consequence was that young cobb was sent to the office of william h. crawford at lexington, to read law. he applied himself diligently, and won the respect and confidence of mr. crawford, which he retained to the day of his death. when admitted to the bar, he located with his fellow-student in lexington; thus taking the place of mr. crawford, who was now in political life. he rose rapidly in his profession, and while yet a young man was sent to congress as one of the representatives of the state. at this time the representation in congress was chosen by general ticket. the consequence was the selection of men of superior talent and character: none could aspire to the high position whose names had not become familiar for services to the state, or for the display of talent and character at the bar, or other conspicuous positions, their virtues and attainments distinguishing them above their fellow-men of the country. throughout the state, to such men there was great deference, and the instances were rare where it was not deserved. the discipline and trickery of party was unknown, nor was it possible that these could exist among a people who, universally, honestly desired and labored to be represented by their best men. to attain to the high position of senator or representative in congress was so distinguishing a mark of merit, that it operated powerfully upon the ambitious young men of the state, all of whom struggled to attain it by laboring to deserve it. the standard of talent established by crawford, jackson, and baldwin was so high, that to have public opinion institute a comparison between these and an aspirant was a sure passport to public favor; and this comparison was in no instance so likely to be made as between him and the pupils of his teaching. this fact in relation to jackson and crawford is remembered well by the writer. in the low country of georgia, the fiat of james jackson fixed the political fate of every young aspirant. in the up-country, crawford was as potent. in crawford's office the student was required to apply himself diligently, and give promise of abilities, or he could not remain. the writer remembers to have heard the question asked of mr. crawford, in his later days, why a family in his own county, distinguished for wealth, had uniformly opposed him politically. in the frankness of his nature he said: "aleck came, when a young man, to read law in my office, and though he was diligent enough, he was without the brain necessary to acquire a proper knowledge of the law. i liked his father, and in reply to an inquiry of his relative, as to aleck's capacity, i told him 'his son would doubtless succeed as a farmer, for he was industrious; but he had not sense enough to make a lawyer.' he thanked me; and aleck left the office, and, profiting by my advice, went to the plough, and has made a fortune, and a very respectable position for himself; but from that day forward, not a member of the family has ever been my friend. i think i did my duty, and have got along without their friendship." jackson had his _protégés_, and they were always marked for talent. in early life he discerned the germ of great abilities in two youths of savannah--george m. troup and thomas u.d. charlton. through his influence, these young men, almost as soon as eligible, were sent to the legislature of the state, and both immediately took high positions. talent was not the only requisite to win and retain the favor of jackson: the man must be honest, and that honesty of such a character as placed him above suspicion. under the operation of the confiscation act, many who had favored the mother country in the revolutionary struggle had fled with their property to florida. conspicuous among these was one campbell wiley, a man of fortune. this man applied to the legislature to be specially exempted from the penalties of this act, and to be permitted to return to the state. a heated debate ensued, when the bill was being considered, in which charlton was silent, and in which troup made a violent speech in opposition to its passage, ending with the sentence, "if ever i find it in my heart to forgive an old tory his sins, i trust my god will never forgive me mine." this speech gave him an immediate popularity over the entire state. charlton in secret favored the bill; but knowing its unpopularity with his constituents, he contrived to be called to the chair, and was forced to vote on a material motion which was favorable to the bill. the wealth of wiley, and charlton's equivocation, attached suspicion to his motives, and brought down upon him the wrath of jackson, blighting all his future aspirations. as a member of the bar he attained eminence, and all his future life was such as to leave no doubt of his purity, and the cruel wrong those suspicions, sustained by the frown of jackson, had done him. thomas w. cobb was eminently social in his nature, and frank to a fault; his opinions were never concealed of men or measures; and these were, though apparently hasty, the honest convictions of his judgment, notwithstanding their apparent impulsive and hasty character. like his tutor, mr. crawford, he cared little for ceremony or show; and in every thing he was the kernel without the shell: his character was marked before his company in five minutes' conversation, whether he had ever met or heard of them before; and in all things else he was equally without deceit. this openness to some seemed rude; and his enemies were of this class. he expressed as freely his opinion to the person as to the public; but this was always accompanied with a manner which disrobed it of offence. but human nature will not in every individual excuse the words because of the manner; and sometimes this peculiarity made him sharp enemies. it will be supposed such traits would have rendered him unpopular. at this day, when social intercourse is less familiar, they certainly would have done so; but they seemed a means of great popularity to cobb, especially with those who were most intimate with him, as all who met him were, after an hour's acquaintance. his public life was as his private, open and sincere; he never had a sinister motive, and this relieved him from duplicity of conduct. his talents were of a high order: in debate, he was argumentative and explicit; never pretending to any of the arts of the orator; but logically pursued his subject to a conclusion; never verbose, but always perspicuous. as a lawyer, he was well read; and the analytical character of his mind appeared to have been formed upon the model of judge blackstone. before the juries of the country he was all-powerful. these, in the main, were composed of men of very limited information--and especially of legal lore. but they were generally men of strong practical sense, with an honest purpose of doing justice between man and man. cobb with these was always sincere; never attempting a deception, never seeking to sway their judgments and secure a verdict by appealing to their passions or their prejudices, or by deceiving them as to what the law was. toward a witness or a party of whose honesty he entertained doubts, he was sarcastically severe; nor was he choice in the use of terms. as a statesman, he was wise and able--and in politics, as in everything else, honest and patriotic. in early life he was sent to the house of representatives, in the congress of the united states, and soon distinguished himself as a devoted republican in politics, and a warm supporter of the administration of mr. monroe. here he was reunited socially with mr. crawford and family, and so close was this intimacy that he was on all political measures supposed to speak the sentiments of mr. crawford. associated with forsyth, tatnal, gilmer, and cuthbert, all men of superior abilities, all belonging to the same political party, and all warm supporters, of mr. crawford, he led this galaxy of talent--a constellation in the political firmament unsurpassed by the representation of any other state. nor must i forget, in this connection, joel crawford and william terrell, men of sterling worth and a high order of talent. mr. cobb was a man of active business habits, and was very independent in his circumstances: methodical and correct, he never left for to-morrow the work of to-day. he was transferred from the house to the senate, and left it with a reputation for integrity and talent--the one as brilliant as the other unstained--which falls to the lot of few who are so long in public life as he was. unlike most politicians whose career has been through exciting political struggles, the blight of slander was never breathed upon his name, and it descended to his children, as he received it from his ancestry, without spot or blemish. toward the close of his life, he was elected by the legislature of the state to the bench of the superior court, then the highest judicial tribunal of the state. this was the last public station he filled. here he sustained his high character as a lawyer and honest man; carrying to the tomb the same characteristics of simplicity and sincerity, of affability and social familiarity, which had ever distinguished him in every position, public or private. he assumed none of that mock dignity or ascetic reserve in his intercourse with the bar and the people, so characteristic of little minds in elevated positions: conscious of rectitude in all things, he never feared this familiarity would give cause for the charge of improper bias in his decisions from the bench or his influence with the jury. mr. cobb died at the age of fifty, in the prime of his manhood and usefulness. in person, he was a model for a sculptor--six feet in height, straight, and admirably proportioned. his head and face were grecian; his forehead ample; his nose beautifully chiselled; gray eyes, with sparkling, playful expression, round, and very beautiful; his head round, large, and admirably set on; the expression of his features, variant as april weather, but always intellectual, they invited approach, and the fascination of his conversation chained to his presence all who approached him. in fine, he was a type in manner and character of the people among whom he was born and reared; and i scarcely know if this is the greater compliment to him or them. with few exceptions, this peculiar population of middle georgia has furnished all of her distinguished sons, and to the traits which make them remarkable is she to-day mainly indebted for her exalted prominence among her sister states of the south. the peculiar training of her sons, the practical education and social equality which pervades, and ever has, her society, acquaints every one with the wants of every other; at the same time it affords the facility for union in any public enterprise which promises the public good. all alike are infused with the same state pride, and the equality of fortunes prevents the obtrusion of arrogant wealth, demanding control, from purely selfish motives, in any public measure. this community of interests superinduces unity of feeling, and unity of action; and the same homogeneous education secures a healthy public opinion, which, at last, is the great controlling law of human action. thus the soil is one, the cultivation is one, the growth is one, and the fruit is the same. nowhere in the south have these been so prominent as in middle georgia, and no other portion of the south is so distinguished for progress, talent, and high moral cultivation. there is, perhaps, wanting that polish of manners, that ease and grace of movement, and that quiet delicacy of suppressed emotion, so peculiar to her citizens of the seaboard, which the world calls refinement; which seems taught to conceal the natural under the artistic, and which so frequently refines away the nobler and more generous emotions of the heart. i doubt, however, if the habit of open and unrestrained expression of the feelings of our nature is not a more enduring basis of strong character and vigorous thought and action, than the cold polish of refined society. whatever is most natural is most enduring. the person unrestrained by dress grows into noble and beautiful proportions; the muscles uncramped, develop not only into beauty, but strength and healthfulness. so with the mind untrammelled by forms and ceremonies; and so with the soul unfettered by the superstition of vague and ridiculous dogmas. the freedom of action and familiarity of language, where there are few social restraints to prevent universal intercourse, familiarizes every class of the community with the peculiarities of each, and forms an outlet for the wit and humor of the whole. this was the stimulant to mirth and hilarity, for which no people are so much distinguished as the georgians of the middle country. at the especial period of which i now write, her humorists were innumerable. dooly, clayton, prince, longstreet, bacon (the ned brace of longstreet's georgia scenes), and many others of lesser note, will long be remembered in the traditions of the people. these were all men of, eminence, and in their time filled the first offices of the state. the quiet, quaint humor of prince is to be seen in his militia muster, in the georgia scenes; and there too the inimitable burlesque of bacon, in ned brace. chapter vii. wits and fire-eaters. judge dooly--lawyers and blacksmiths--john forsyth--how juries were drawn--gum-tree _vs._ wooden-leg--preacher-politicians--colonel cumming--george mcduffie. john m. dooly was a native of lincoln county, georgia, where he continued to reside until his death, and where he now lies in an undistinguished grave. he was the son of a distinguished revolutionary soldier, whose name, in consideration of his services in that struggle, has been given to a county in the state. in early life he united himself to the federal party, and from honest convictions continued a federalist in principle through life. but for his political principles, his name in the nation to-day would have been a household word, familiar as the proudest upon her scroll of fame. in very early life he gave evidence of extraordinary powers of mind. with a limited education, he commenced the study of the law when quite young. but despite this serious defect, which was coupled with poverty and many other disadvantages incident to a new country impoverished by war, and wanting in almost everything to aid the enterprise of talent in a learned profession, soon after his admission to the bar he attracted the attention of the community, and especially the older members of the bar, as a man of extraordinary capacity, and already trained in the law. so tenacious was his memory of all that he read or heard, that he not only retained the law, but the author and page where it was to be found. his mind was eminently logical and delighted in analytical investigation. in truth, the law suited the idiosyncrasy of his mind, and it was most fortunate for his future life, that he adopted it as a lifetime pursuit. nature, it seems, gives to every mind a peculiar proclivity, as to every individual a peculiar mind: to pursue this proclivity is a pleasure; it makes work a delight, and this secures success. hence it is fortunate to learn this peculiarity, and to cultivate it from the beginning. when the mind is strong and vigorous, this peculiar proclivity is generally well-marked to the inquiring observer in very early life. it is related of benjamin west, the great painter, that at five years of age he was continually soiling the floor of his good and sensible mother with charcoal sketches of the faces of the different members of the family; and of napoleon, that in early childhood his favorite amusement was to build forts and array his playmates into column, and charge these, and assault and enter them. stevenson, the great engineer, spent all his idle time, when a boy, in attempts at constructing machinery and bridges. in these great minds this natural trait was so strongly marked, and so controlling in its influence, as to defy and overleap every obstacle, and develop its wonderful energy and capacity in the most stupendous manner. in such as these, this manifestation is early and palpable. yet the same peculiarity exists wherever there is mind sufficient to connect cause and effect; but it is proportionate with the strength of the mind, and in ordinary or feeble minds it is less conspicuous, and requires close observation to discern it in early life. the folly and ambition of parents and adverse circumstances too often disappoint the intentions of nature, and compel their offspring, or the victims of circumstance, to follow a pursuit for which they have a natural aversion, and absolutely no capacity: hence we see thousands struggling painfully through life in a hated avocation, and witness many a miserable lawyer whom nature designed to be a happy blacksmith. his toil of life is always up hill, without the possibility of ever attaining the summit. sometimes the rebellion of nature is successful, and the misdirected will shake off the erroneously imposed vocation, and dash away in the pursuit for which the mind is capacitated; and immediate success attests the good sense and propriety of the act. fortunately, john m. dooly, selected, under the guidance of natural inclination, the profession of law. his eminence was early in life, and the public eye was directed to him as one worthy any public trust. he was frequently chosen a member of the legislature from his native county, and was distinguished for extraordinary ability in the capacity of a legislator. his conspicuous position and commanding talents pointed him out as one to take a foremost rank with the first of the nation; and his friends urged his name as a fit representative in congress for the state. at this time the acrimony of party was intense; the republican, or jeffersonian party, was largely in the ascendant in the state, and would accept no compromise. it was willing to receive new converts and prefer them according to merit, but would accord no favor to an unrepentant enemy. at this time there were many young, talented men rising to distinction in the state, who were federalists. with some of them ambition was superior to principle; they recanted their principles, and, in the ranks of their former opponents, reaped a harvest of political distinction. prominent among these was john forsyth. he had delivered a fourth of july oration at augusta, distinguished for great ability and high federal doctrines. abraham baldwin, who, with the astuteness of the yankee--which he was--had renounced federalism, and was now a prominent leader of the republican party, spoke of this effort of forsyth as transcendently great, and always, when doing so, would add: "what a pity such abilities should be lost to the country through the influence of mistaken political principle!" whether this had any effect upon the views of forsyth or not, certain it is that very soon after he repudiated federalism, and published a formal renunciation of the party and its principles. from that time forward his march was onward, and now his name and fame are embalmed as national wealth. dooly was less facile: his convictions were honest and strong, and he clung to them. he won the confidence not only of his party, but of the people, for high integrity; but this was all. out of his county he was intrusted with no political position, and those who most prized his talents and integrity could never be persuaded to aid in giving these to the country. he was more than once beaten for the senate of the united states; and once by forsyth, who was not announced as a candidate, and who was at the time minister plenipotentiary of the nation at the spanish court. his great legal abilities were, however, complimented by the republican legislature, by placing him upon the bench of the highest judicial tribunal of the state, where his usefulness was transcendent, and where most of his life was spent. as a wit, dooly never had an equal in the state, and there might now be written a volume of his social and judicial wit. its compass was illimitable--from the most refined and delicately pungent to the coarsest and most vulgarly broad; but always pointed and telling. nature had given him a peculiarity of look and voice which gave edge to his wit and point to his humor. the judicial system of georgia at this time was peculiar. the state was subdivided into districts, or circuits, as they were denominated; and one judge appointed to preside over each. these were elected by the legislature, on joint ballot, for a term of three years; and until faction claimed the spoils of victory, the judge who had proven himself capable and honest was rarely removed, so long as he chose to remain. dooly was one of these. party never touched him, and both factions concurred in retaining him, because it was the universal wish of the people of his circuit. the law of the country was the common law of england and the statutes of the state. in the expounding of these, the judges frequently differed, and the consequence was that each circuit had, in many particulars, its own peculiar law, antagonistic to that which was received as law in the adjoining circuit. the uniformity of law, so essential to the quiet and harmony of a people, and so necessary in defining the title and securing the tenure of property, by this system was so greatly disturbed, that it led to the informal assembling of the judges at irregular periods, and upon their own responsibility, to reconcile these discrepancies. this in some degree obviated the necessity of a supreme court for the correction of errors; but was very unsatisfactory to the bar, who were almost universal in their desire for the establishment of a tribunal for this purpose. but there was another feature peculiar to the judicial system of the state, to which her people were greatly attached: that of special juries. they feared the creation of a supreme court would abolish this, and for many years resisted it. this system of special juries, in the organization of her judiciary, was intended to obviate the necessity of a court of chancery. the conception was a new one, and in georgia, with her peculiar population, its effects were admirable. it was an honest, common-sense adjudication of equity cases, and rendered cheap and speedy justice to litigants. it was unknown in the judiciary system of any other state, and i will be excused by the reader, who may not be a georgian, for a brief description of it here. by direction of the law of , the justices of the inferior court took the tax list, which contained the name of every white man of twenty-one years and upwards in the county, and, from this list, selected a certain number of names, and placed them in a box marked "the grand-jury box." the remaining names were placed in another box marked "the petit-jury box." those selected as grand jurors were chosen because of their superior intelligence, wealth, and purity of character. these selections were made at certain stated periods; and the jurors thus chosen from the mass never served on the petit jury, nor were they liable even as talesmen to serve on that jury. the same act made it the duty of the presiding judge of each circuit to draw, at the termination of each term of his court, and in open court, a certain number of names from each box, which were entered as drawn upon the minutes of the court, to serve as grand and petit jurors at the ensuing term of the court. the special juries, for the trial of cases in equity, and appeals from the verdicts of petit juries, were formed from the grand juries, and after the manner following: a list was furnished by the clerk of the court to the appellant and respondent. from this list each had the right to strike a name alternately--the appellant having the first stroke--until there remained twelve names only. these constituted a special jury, and the oath prescribed by law far these jurors was as follows; "you shall well and truly try the issue between the parties, and a true verdict give, according to law and equity, and the opinion you entertain of the testimony." under the pleadings, the entire history of the case went before this jury, and their verdict was final. it was this method of trial which prevented so long that great desideratum in all judicial systems--a court for the correction of errors and final adjudication of cases. dishonest litigants feared this special jury. their characters, as that of their witnesses, passed in review before this jury, whose oaths allowed a latitude, enabling them frequently to render a verdict, ostensibly at variance with the testimony, but almost always in aid of the ends of equitable justice. the system was eminently promotive of honesty and good morals, as well as the ends of justice; for men's rights before it were not unfrequently determined by the reputation they bore in the community in which they lived. this fact stimulated uprightness of conduct, and often deterred the wrong-doer. it has passed away; but i doubt if what has replaced it has benefited the interests or morals of the people of the state. like mr. crawford, judge dooly relied more upon the practical good sense of the people as jurors, for justice between man and man, than upon the technicalities of the law; and especially upon that of special juries. dooly had great contempt for petit juries, and evinced it upon one occasion by declaring in open court that he thought, if there was anything not known to the prescience of the almighty, it was what the verdict of a petit jury would be, when they left the box for the jury-room. dooly was an opponent of crawford through life--a friend and intimate of john clark, crawford's greatest enemy. but his character was devoid of that bitterness and persistent hatred characteristic of these two. crawford and judge tate were intimate friends, and between these and clark there was continual strife. tate and clark were brothers-in-law; but this only served to whet and give edge to their animosity. dooly, in some manner, became entangled with tate in this feud; and an amusing story is told of the final settlement of the difficulty between these men. tate, it seems, challenged dooly to mortal combat. mr. crawford was tate's friend. dooly, contrary to all expectation, accepted, and named general clark as his friend, and appointed a day of meeting. tate had lost a leg, and, as was usual in that day, had substituted a wooden, one. on the appointed day, tate, with his friend, repaired to the place of meeting, where dooly had preceded them, and was alone, sitting upon a stump. crawford approached him, and asked for his friend, general clark. "he is in the woods, sir." "and will soon be present, i presume?" asked crawford. "yes; as soon as he can find a gum." "may i inquire, colonel dooly, what use you have for a gum in the matter we have met to settle?" "i want it to put my leg in, sir. do you suppose i can afford to risk my leg of flesh and bone against tate's wooden one? if i hit his leg, why, he will have another to-morrow, and be pegging about as well as usual. if he hits mine, i may lose my life by it; but almost certainly my leg, and be compelled, like tate, to stump it the balance of my life. i cannot risk this; and must have a gum to put my leg in: then i am as much wood as he is, and on equal terms with him." "i understand you, colonel dooly; you do not intend to fight." "well, really, mr. crawford, i thought everybody knew that." "very well, sir," said crawford; "but remember, colonel, your name, in no enviable light, shall fill a column of a newspaper." "mr. crawford, i assure you," replied colonel dooly, "i would rather fill every newspaper in georgia than one coffin." it is scarcely necessary to say, that tate and crawford left the field discomfited, and here the matter ended. dooly never pretended to belligerency. when judge gresham threatened to chastise him, he coolly replied he could do it; but that it would be no credit to him, for anybody could do it. and when he introduced his friend to another as the inferior judge of the inferior court of the inferior county of lincoln, and was knocked down for the insult, he intreated the bystanders not to suffer him to be injured. when released from the grasp of his antagonist, he rubbed his head, and facetiously said: "this is the forty-second fight i have had, and if i ever got the best of one, i do not now recollect it." judge dooly was much beloved by the younger members of the bar, to whom he was ever kind and indulgent, associating with them upon his circuit, and joining in all their amusements. his wit spared no one, and yet no one was offended at it. his humor was the life of the company wherever he was, and he was never so burdened with official dignity as to restrain it on the bench. unbiassed by party considerations or personal prejudices, and only influenced by a sense of duty and wish to do right, it was impossible he could be otherwise than popular. this popularity, however, was personal, not political, and could never secure to him any political distinction. he was ambitious of a seat in the united states senate, a distinction to which he more than once aspired; but here the grinning ghost of federalism always met him, frightening from his support even the nearest of his social friends. mr. crawford's wishes controlled the state, through the instrumentality of those he had distinguished with his countenance. none doubted the patriotism or capacity of dooly for the position; but he was a federalist, and the friend of many of the prime movers of the yazoo fraud; and these were unpardonable sins with crawford and his friends. no one ever charged upon dooly the sin of a participation in this speculation, or the frauds through which it became a fixed fact, as a law of the state, by legislative act. but it was, for a very long time, fatal to the political aspirations of every one known to be personally friendly to any man in any way concerned in the matter. they were pariahs in the land, without friends or caste. of all the men prominent in his day, george m. troup was the most uncompromising in his hostility to those engaged in this speculation. it certainly was the work of a few persons only, and did not embrace one out of fifty of the georgia company. all, or nearly all of these, honestly embarked in the speculation, not doubting but that the state had the power to sell, and knowing her pecuniary condition required that she should have money. had they known that it required bribery to pass the measure, they would have scorned to become parties to such corruption; nevertheless they were inculpated, and had to share the infamy of the guilty few who thus accomplished the purchase, as they shared the profits arising therefrom. but it did not stop with the participants. their personal friends suffered, and no one individual so fatally as dooly. he asserted the power of the legislature to sell--he was sustained by the decision of the supreme court--he was not a stockholder--he afforded no aid with his personal influence; yet the public clamor made him a yazoo-man, and troup was foremost in his denunciation of him. on this account it was that, upon a memorable occasion, dooly declared that troup's mouth was formed by nature to pronounce the word yazoo. it had been proposed to dooly, at the time forsyth abandoned the federal party, to follow his example; but he refused to part with his first love, and clung to her, and shaded, without a murmur, her fortunes and her fate, which condemned him to a comparative obscurity for all the future. it was long years after, and when mr. forsyth was in the zenith of his popularity, that the friends of dooly proposed his name for the senate of the united states. his was the only name announced as a candidate to the legislature, but, on counting the ballots, it was found forsyth had been elected. dooly was present, and remarked to a friend that he was the only man he ever knew to be beaten who ran without opposition. he saw the aspiring companions of his youth favorites of the people, and thrust forward into public places, winning fame, and rising from one position to another of higher distinction. he witnessed the advance of men whom he had known as children in his manhood, preferred over him; and, in the consciousness of his own superiority to most or all of these, rather despised than regretted the prejudices of the public--influenced by men designing and selfish--which consigned him to obscurity because of an honest difference of opinion upon a point of policy which ninety out of every hundred knew nothing about. while the companions of his early youth were filling missions abroad, executive offices at home, and cabinet appointments, he was wearing out his life in a position where, whatever his abilities, there was little fame to be won. still he would make no compromise of principle. in faith he was sincere, and too honest to pretend a faith he had not, though honors and proud distinction waited to reward the deceit. as true to his friends as his principles, he would not desert either, and surrender his virtue to the seductions of office and honors. toward the close of his life, his friends got into office and power. his friend, john clarke, was elected governor, upon the demise of governor rabun; but his day had passed, and other and younger men thrust him aside. parties were growing more and more corrupt, and to subserve the uses of corruption, more tractable and pliant tools were required than could be made of dooly. the election of clarke was a triumph over the friends of crawford, who was then a member of mr. monroe's cabinet, and had long been absent from the state. it revived anew the flame of discord, which had smouldered under the ashes of time. the embers lived, and the division into parties of the people of the united states, consequent upon the disruption of the federal and republican parties, and the candidacy of mr. crawford for the presidency, caused a division of the old republican party in georgia. clarke immediately headed the opposition to crawford, and his election was hailed as an evidence of mr. crawford's unpopularity at home. this election startled the old friends of this distinguished son of georgia, and revived the old feeling. clarke was a man of strong will, without much mind, brave, and vindictive, and nursed the most intense hatred of crawford constantly in his heart. the long absence of crawford from the state, and the secluded retirement of clarke, had caused to cool in the public mind much of the former bitterness of the two factions in the state, but now it was rekindled. there were very many young men, who had been too young to take any part in these factions, but who were now the active and ambitious element in the state. many persons, too, had immigrated into the new-settled parts of the state, who were strangers to the feuds which had once divided her people, and which now began to do so anew. each party sought to win and secure this element. every newspaper in the state, every judge upon the bench, every member of congress was in the interest of crawford; and yet there was a majority of the people of the state attached to the clarke faction. he and his friends had long been proscribed, and they pleaded persecution. the natural sympathies of the heart were touched by these appeals, and it was feared the state would be lost to crawford in the coming presidential election. every effort was now to be made to defeat this faction against him, headed by clarke. the election of governor at this time was by the legislature; and it was not anticipated that there would be any difficulty in the re-election of rabun, and, consequently, there had been no agitation of the question before the people at the recent election of members of the legislature. scarcely a tithe of the people had even heard of the candidacy of clarke when his election was announced; and, at the time, so little interest was felt on the subject, that very few objected to his election. clarke was a man of violent passions, and had been, to some extent, irregular and dissipated in his habits. when excited by any means, he was fierce; but when with drink, he was boisterous, abusive, and destructive. many stories were related of terrible acts of his commission--riding into houses, smashing furniture, glass, and crockery--of persecutions of his family and weak persons he disliked. this had aroused in the pious and orderly members of society strong opposition to him, and at this time all his sins and irregularities were widely and loudly heralded to the public. the preachers, with few exceptions, denounced him, and those who did not were very soon with him denounced. very soon after his inauguration, the celebrated jesse mercer--the great gun of the baptist denomination in georgia--was invited to preach the funeral sermon of governor rabun. mercer was an especial friend of mr. crawford, and a more especial enemy of clarke. in many respects he was a remarkable man--a zealous and intolerant sectarian, and quite as uncompromising and bitter in his political feelings. his zeal knew no bounds in propagating his religious faith, and it was quite as ardent in persecuting his political opponents. it was doubtful which he most hated--the devil or john clarke. rabun had been his neighbor, his friend, and, above all, a member and elder in his church. it was quite fitting under the circumstances that he should be selected to officiate in the funeral services in honor of the late governor. from respect, clarke and the legislature were present. the moment mercer's eye, from the pulpit, descried clarke, he threw open his bible violently, and for many minutes was busy searching from page to page some desired text. at last he smiled. and such a smile! it was malignant as that of a catamount. turning down the leaf--as was the custom of his church--he rose and gave out to be sung, line by line, his hymn. this concluded, he made a short and hurried prayer--contrary to his custom--and, rising from his prayerful position, opened his bible, and fixing his eye upon clarke, he directed his audience to his text, and read: "when the wicked rule, the land mourns." the expression of his countenance, the twinkling of his eye, all pointed so clearly to clarke as to direct the attention of every one present to the governor. this was followed by a sermon half made up of the irregularities of clarke's life. this was the tocsin to the church, and it came down in force with the opposition to the governor elect. it was, too, the slogan of the crawford party to rally for a new conflict. mr. crawford's conduct as a representative of the state in congress, and the representative of her people in his foreign mission, had been eminently satisfactory; and his present elevated position as secretary of the treasury of the united states was exceedingly gratifying to their pride. when it was determined by his friends to present his name to the nation as a candidate for the presidency, it was supposed his support would be unanimous in georgia. time had given opportunity for the prejudices and hatreds of youth to wear out with the passions of youth. those, however, who knew john clarke, were not deceived when he successfully rallied a party in opposition. so little interest had been felt in the personal difficulty formerly existing between clarke and crawford, that even those who remembered it attached to it no importance, and they did not suppose clarke's election was to be the commencement of an organized opposition to crawford's election, and of the bitterness which was to follow. there was scarcely the show of opposition to the election of clarke. those who remembered the old feud, and how completely it had pressed down all the ambitious hopes and aspirations of clarke, were willing to forget the past, and, though warm friends of mr. crawford, to vote for clarke, and honor him with the first office in the state. some felt his treatment had been too harsh, and that for his father's yazoo antecedents he had been made to pay quite too severe a penalty, and were desirous to manifest their feelings in their votes. besides, his family connections were most respectable. griffin campbell and dr. bird were his brothers-in-law, and were men of high character and great influence. the friends of these gentlemen united in his support. and there was still another, whose influence, to the writer's knowledge, carried four young, talented members of the house to the support of her father--ann clarke, the only daughter of john clarke, who had no superior among her sex in talent, beauty, and accomplishments, in the state. during the incumbency of her father she did the honors of the executive mansion with a dignity, grace, and affability which won all hearts, and added greatly to the popularity of the governor. she married colonel john w. campbell, and all her after-life has justified the promise of her girlhood. left a widow with many children, she has reared and educated them to be an honor to their mother, and, as she was, an ornament to society. she is now an aged woman, and resides in texas, honored and beloved by all who know her. the election of clarke was illy received by the old and tried friends of crawford throughout the state. they knew him. his stern, inflexible character and indomitable will were sure to rally about him a party; and his personal bravery and devotion to his friends would greatly aid in keeping and inspiring these. his position now was one of strength, with the capacity to increase it, and the material was abundant; yet there were formidable difficulties in his way. all, or very nearly all of the leading families of the state--the lamars, cobbs, mcintoshes, waynes, telfairs, cummings, tatnals, dawsons, abercrombies, holts, blackshears, and many others--were republicans, and active in the support of crawford for the presidency. these apparently insurmountable difficulties were to be overcome in the organization of new parties. the complete breaking up of the republican party of the nation was favorable; and there was another element which the sagacity of campbell soon discovered and laid hold upon. there were many ambitious and disappointed men and families in the state beside clarke and his family. the overwhelming popularity of crawford as the head of the republican party in the state had enabled his friends to monopolize all the offices, and give direction to every political movement and fix the destiny of every political aspirant. under this _régime_ many had been summarily set aside, and were soured. the talents of troup, forsyth, cobb, berrien, tatnal, and some others, pointed them out as men to be honored, because they honored the state. they seemed to hold a possessory right to the distinguished positions, and to dictate who should be elected to the minor ones. young ambition submitted, but, was restless and impatient to break away from this dominion. party stringency had enforced it, but this was loosened, and all that was now wanting was a head to rally them into a new and formidable party. every old federalist in the state who had clung to his principles attached himself to clarke. there were many strong families, wielding a potent influence in their neighborhoods, attached to federal principles. the watkins, hills, walkers, glasscocks, and adamses all soon sided with the new party. a press in its support was greatly needed, and was soon established, and given in charge of cosein e. bartlett, than whom no man was better calculated for such a service as was demanded of him. there were not at this time a dozen newspapers in the state. with all of them had bartlett to do battle for the cause in which he had enlisted, and right valiantly did he do it. he was a fluent and most caustic writer, and was always ready, not only to write, but to fight for his party, and would with his blood sustain anything he might say or write. like most party editors, he only saw the interest of his party in what he would write, and would write anything he supposed would further the ends of his party. almost immediately after the election of clarke, the opposition presented the name of george m. troup, who had been voted for as an opposing candidate at the time of clarke's election. it was but a little while before the state trembled with the agitation which seemed to disturb every breast. none could be neutral. all were compelled to take sides or be crushed between the contending parties or factions; for this division of the people was only factious. there was no great principle upon which they divided; it was men only. clarke and his friends favored the pretensions of mr. calhoun to the presidency solely because he was the enemy of crawford, and they were subsequently transferred to the support of jackson as readily as cattle in the market. for two years was this agitation increasing in intensity, and so bitter had it made animosities arising out of it, that reason seemed to reel, and justice to forget her duty. men were chosen indiscriminately to office because of party proclivities. intelligence and moral worth were entirely disregarded--families divided--husbands and wives quarrelled--father and sons were estranged, and brothers were at deadly strife. there was no argument in the matter; for there was nothing upon which to predicate an argument. to introduce the subject was to promote a quarrel. churches were distracted and at discord, and the pulpit, for the first time in georgia, desecrated by political philippics. pierce then, as now, was the leading minister of the methodist church in the state, and abstained in the pulpit, but made no secret of his preferences upon the street. duffie travelled everywhere. he had by unkindness driven from him his wife with her infant child, and, in her helpless and desperate condition, she had taken refuge with the shaking quakers in the west, and remained with them until her death. his son came to him after maturity, and was established by him on a plantation with a number of slaves; but, having inherited all the brutal ferocity of his father, it was not long before he murdered one or two of them. incarcerated in the county jail, his father invoked party aid to release him, openly declaring it was due to him for party services in opposing that son of the devil--john clarke. whether his party or his money did the work i know not; but the miserable wretch escaped from jail, and was never brought to trial. peter gautier was another prominent preacher-politician, and exercised his talents in the service of clarke. he was by birth an american, but his parents were french. he was a bad man, but of eminent abilities, and exercised great influence in the western portion of the state. after pierce, he was the superior of all of his denomination as a pulpit orator; and in will and energy unequalled by any other. bold, unscrupulous, and passionate, he, regardless of his profession, mingled freely, at county musters and political barbecues, with the lowest and vilest of the community, using every art his genius suggested to inflame the mad passions of men already excited to frenzy. in after life the viciousness and unscrupulousness of his nature overmastered his hypocrisy and burst out in acts of dishonesty and profanity, which disgraced and drove him from the state. he sought security from public scorn in the wilds of florida; but all restraint had given way, and very soon the innate perfidy of his nature manifested itself in all his conduct, and he was obliged to retire from florida. at that time texas was the outlet for all such characters, and thither went gautier, where he died. every means which talent and ingenuity could devise was put into requisition by both parties to secure their ascendency. the men of abilities greatly preponderated in the troup faction; and the pens of cobb, gumming, wild, grantland, gilmer, and foster were active in promoting the election of troup, and thereby regaining the lost power of the old crawford or republican party. many young men of talent had espoused the clarke faction, and, under the guidance of dooly, campbell, and clarke, were doing yeomen's work for the cause. among these was charles j. mcdonald, whose fine character and family influence rendered him conspicuously popular. this popularity he retained to the end of his life. it elevated him to the gubernatorial chair, after serving in the united states congress and for years upon the bench of the superior court. his talents were not of the first order, but his honesty, sincerity, and goodness made him beloved. bartlett was struggling with all his energies to write up the administration and to defend the governor against the fierce and reiterated attacks of the opposition. about this period there appeared some articles in a paper in augusta, georgia, reflecting upon mr. crawford, in reply to several papers signed "c.," which were written by richard h. wild, then a member of congress from georgia. these articles were attributed to colonel william gumming, of augusta, and "c.," in reply, attacked him severely. he was not a man to be badgered by an anonymous writer in a newspaper. he demanded immediately of the editor the name of his correspondent, and that of george mcduffie, of south carolina, was given. a challenge ensued--a meeting followed, in which mcduffie was seriously wounded, and which ultimately caused his death. this affair increased the hatred between the georgians and carolinians, as it did not cease with a single meeting. gumming renewed his challenge in consequence of a statement made by mcduffie in a paper to the public, narrating offensively--as cumming felt--the particulars of the affair. a second meeting was the consequence, at which a difficulty arose between the seconds, and it was adjourned to another day and another place. at this third meeting, in an exchange of shots, mcduffie's arm was broken, and this terminated the difficulty; but it did not appease the animosity of the friends of the parties. these combatants were both men of remarkable abilities. colonel william cumming was a native of augusta, georgia. born to the inheritance of fortune, he received a liberal education and selected the law as a profession. he read with the celebrated judges reeve and gould, at litchfield, connecticut. at the period of his study this was the only law-school in the united states. many anecdotes of his peculiarities during his residence at the school were related by his preceptors to the young gentlemen from georgia who followed him in the office in after years. a moot court was a part of the system of instruction, in which questions of law, propounded by one of the professors, were argued by students appointed for the purpose. on one occasion, cumming was replying to the argument of a competitor, and was so caustic as to be offensive. this was resented by insulting words. turning to the gentleman, and without speaking, cumming knocked him down. immediately, and without the slightest appearance of excitement, addressing the presiding professor, he remarked: "having thus summarily disposed of the gentleman, i will proceed to treat his argument in like manner." upon his return to georgia, the war with england having broken out, he procured the commission of a captain and entered the army. he was transferred to the northern frontier--then the seat of active operations--and soon distinguished himself amid that immortal band, all of whom now sleep with their fathers--miller, brook, jessup, mccrea, appling, gaines, and twiggs. cumming, appling, and twiggs were georgians. at the battle of lundy's lane he was severely wounded and borne from the field. he was placed in an adjoining room to general preston, who was also suffering from a wound. cumming was a favorite of preston's, and both were full of prejudice toward the men of the north. late at night, preston was aroused by a boisterous laugh in cumming's apartment. such a laugh was so unusual with him that the general supposed he had become delirious from pain. he was unable to go to him, but called and inquired the cause of his mirth. "i can't sleep," was the reply, "and i was thinking over the incidents of the day, and just remembered that there had not in the conflict been an officer wounded whose home was north of mason and dixon's line. those fellows know well how to take care of their bacon." he was soon promoted to a colonelcy, and was fast rising to the next grade when the war terminated. in the reduction of the army he was retained--a compliment to his merits as a man and an officer. he was satisfied with this, and, in declining to remain in the army, wrote to the secretary of war: "there are many whose services have been greater, and whose merits are superior to mine, who have no other means of a livelihood. i am independent, and desire some other may be retained in my stead." he was unambitious of political distinction, though intensely solicitous to promote that of his friends. his high qualities of soul and mind endeared him to the people of the state, who desired and sought every occasion which they deemed worthy of him, to tender him the first positions within their gift; but upon every one of these he remained firm to his purpose, refusing always the proffered preferment. upon one occasion, when written to by a majority of the members of the legislature, entreating him to permit them to send him to the senate of the united states, he declined, adding: "i am a plain, military man. should my country, in that capacity, require my services, i shall be ready to render them; but in no other." he continued to reside in augusta in extreme seclusion. upon the breaking out of the war with mexico he was tendered, by mr. polk, the command of the army, but declined on account of his age and declining health, deeming himself physically incapable of encountering the fatigue the position would involve. the habits of colonel cumming were peculiar. his intercourse with his fellow men was confined to a very few tried friends. he never married, and was rarely known to hold any familiar intercourse with females. so secluded did he live, that for many years he was a stranger to almost every one in his native city. he was strictly truthful, punctual to his engagements in business matters, and honest in all things. in person, he was very commanding. in his walk the whole man was seen--erect, dignified, and impetuous. energy and command flashed from his great, gray eyes. his large head and square chin, with lips compressed, indicated the talent and firmness which were the great characteristics of his nature. impatient of folly, he cultivated no intercourse with silly persons, nor brooked for a moment the forward impertinence of little pretenders. to those whose qualities of mind and whose habits were congenial to his own, and whom he permitted familiarly to approach him, he was exceedingly affable, and with such he frequently jested, and hilariously enjoyed the piquant story in mirthful humor; but this was for the few. he was a proud man, and was at no pains to conceal his contempt for pert folly or intrusive ignorance, wherever and in whomsoever he met it. in early life he was the close intimate of richard henry wild, and was a great admirer of his genius, and especially his great and interesting conversational powers. unexceptionable in his morals, he was severe upon those whose lives were deformed by the petty vices which society condemns yet practises in so many instances and universally tolerates. it is greatly to be regretted that the talents and learning of such a man should not be given to mankind. every one capable of appreciating these great attributes in man, and who knew colonel cumming, will, with the writer, regret that he persistently refused every persuasion of his friends to allow them to place him in such a position before the country as would bring his great qualities prominently forward in the service, and for the benefit of his fellow-men. his proud nature scorned the petty arts of the politician; and he doubtless felt place could only be had or retained by the use of these arts; he was of too high principle to descend to them, and held in great contempt those whose confidence and favor could only be had by chicanery. he was not a people's man, and had in his nature very little in common with the masses; and, like coriolanus, scorned and shunned the great unwashed. he lived out his threescore years and ten, hiding the jewel god had given him, and appropriating it only to the use of his own happiness in the solitude he loved. george mcduffie was a very different man. born of humble parentage in one of the eastern counties of georgia, he enjoyed but few advantages. his early education was limited: a fortuitous circumstance brought him to the knowledge of mr. calhoun, who saw at once in the boy the promise of the man. proposing to educate him and fit him for a destiny which he believed an eminent one, he invited him to his home, and furnished him with the means of accomplishing this end. his ambition had often whispered to his young mind a proud future, and he commenced the acquisition of the education which was, as he felt, essential as a means of its attainment. in this he made rapid progress, and at the age of twenty-five graduated at the university of south carolina. it was not long after graduating before he was admitted to the bar, and commenced the practice of law in company with eldridge simpkins, at edgefield court house, who was, if i mistake not, at the time, a member of congress. the rise of mcduffie at the bar was rapid; he had not practised three years before his position was by the side of the first minds of the state, and his name in the mouth of every one--the coming man of the south. it was probably owing to the defence made by him of william taylor for the killing of dr. cheesboro, that he became famous as it were in a day. this case excited the people of the whole state of south carolina. the parties were, so far as position was concerned, the first in the state. william taylor was the brother of john taylor, who at the time of the killing was governor of the state. john taylor, his grandfather, was a distinguished officer in the army of the revolution: the family was wealthy, and extensively connected with the first families of the state. cheesboro was a young physician of great promise and extensive practice. jealousy was the cause of the killing, and was evidently groundless. the deed was done in the house of taylor, in the city of columbia, and was premeditated murder. mrs. taylor was a lovely woman and highly connected. in her manners she was affable and cordial; she was a great favorite in society, and her universal popularity attracted to her the host of friends who so much admired her. dr. cheesboro was one of these, and the green-eyed monster made him, in the convictions of taylor, the especial favorite of his wife. mcduffie was employed in his defence, and he made a most triumphant success against evidence, law, and justice. his speech to the jury was most effective. the trial had called to columbia many persons connected with the family; and all were interested to save from an ignominious death their relative. this, it was thought, could only be done by the sacrifice of the wife's reputation. this would not only ruin forever this estimable lady, but reflect a stain upon her extensive and respectable connections. she was appealed to, to save her husband's life with the sacrifice of her fame. in the consciousness of innocence, she refused with spartan firmness to slander her reputation by staining her conscience with a lie. her friends stood by her; and when hope had withered into despair, and the possibility gone forever of saving him by this means, the eloquence of mcduffie and the influence of family were invoked, and successfully. in the examination of the witnesses he showed great tact, and successfully kept from the jury facts which would have left them no excuse for a verdict of acquittal. but it was in his address that his great powers made themselves manifest. the opening was impassioned and powerful. scarcely had he spoken ten minutes before the bench, the bar, the jury, and the audience were in tears, and, during the entire speech, so entirely did he control the feelings of every one who heard him, that the sobs from every part of the courtroom were audible above the sounds of his voice. when he had concluded, the jury went weeping from the box to the room of their deliberations, and soon returned a verdict of acquittal. this effort established the fame of mcduffie as an orator and man of great mental powers. fortunately at that time it was the pride of south carolina to call to her service the best talent in all the public offices, state and national, and with one acclaim the people demanded his services in congress. mr. simpkins, the incumbent from the edgefield district, declined a re-election, that his legal partner, mr. mcduffie, might succeed him, and he was chosen by acclamation. he came in at a time when talent abounded in congress, and when the country was deeply agitated with the approaching election for president. almost immediately upon his entering congress an altercation occurred upon the floor of the house between him and mr. randolph, which resulted in the discomfiture of mr. randolph, causing him to leave the house in a rage, with the determination to challenge mcduffie. this, however, when he cooled, he declined to do. this rencontre of wit and bitter words gave rise to an amusing incident during its progress. jack baker, the wag and wit of virginia, was an auditor in the gallery of the house. randolph, as usual, was the assailant, and was very severe. mcduffie replied, and was equally caustic, and this to the astonishment of every one; for all supposed the young member was annihilated--as so many before had been by randolph--and would not reply. his antagonist was completely taken aback, and evidently felt, with sir andrew ague-cheek: "had i known he was so cunning of fence, i had seen him damned ere i had fought him." but he was in for it, and must reply. his rejoinder was angry, and wanting in his usual biting sarcasm. mcduffie rose to reply, and, pausing, seemed to hesitate, when baker from the gallery audibly exclaimed: "lay on, mcduff, and damned be he who first cries hold, enough!" the silence which pervaded the chamber was broken by a general laugh, greatly disconcerting randolph, but seeming to inspire mcduffie, who went on in a strain of vituperation witheringly pungent, in the midst of which mr. randolph left his seat and the house. here was a triumph few had enjoyed. not even bayard, in his famous attack upon randolph, when the latter first came into congress, had won so much. every one seemed delighted. the newspapers heralded it to the country, and mcduffie had a national reputation. everything seemed propitious for his fame, and every friend of mr. calhoun felt that he had a champion in his _protégé_, who, in good service, would return him fourfold for his noble generosity to the boy. the contest with cumming whetted more sharply the edge of the animosity between georgia and south carolina. the two were considered the champions of their respective states, as also the chosen knights of their respective friends--crawford and calhoun. the states and the friends of the parties in this quarrel very soon arrayed themselves in antagonism, which was made personal on many occasions, and between many parties. the young were especially prominent in their demonstrations of hostile feeling, not excepting the belles of the respective states. between them, i believe, it never went beyond words; but they were frequent in conflict, and sometimes very bitter and very witty ones escaped from lovely lips, attesting that the face of beauty was underlaid with passion's deformity. with the young gallants it went to blows, and, on a few occasions, to more deadly strife; and always marred the harmony of the association where there were young representatives of both states. on one occasion of social meeting at a public dinner-party in georgia, a young south carolinian gave as a sentiment: "george mcduffie--the pride of south carolina." this was immediately responded to by mirabeau b. lamar, the late president of texas, who was then young, and a great pet of his friends, with another: "colonel william cumming-- "the man who england's arms defied, a bar to base designers; who checked alike old britain's pride and noisy south carolina's." the wit of the impromptu was so fine and the company so appreciative, that, as if by common consent, all enjoyed it, and good feeling was not disturbed. mcduffie was not above the middle size. his features were large and striking, especially his eyes, forehead, and nose. the latter was prominent and aquiline. his eyes were very brilliant, blue, and deeply set under a massive brow--his mouth large, with finely chiselled lips, which, in meeting, always wore the appearance of being compressed. in manners he was retiring without being awkward. his temperament was nervous and ardent, and his feelings strong. his manner when speaking was nervous and impassioned, and at times fiercely vehement, and again persuasive and tenderly pathetic, and in every mood he was deeply eloquent. in the after period of life these antagonists were, through the instrumentality of a noble-hearted hibernian, reconciled, and sincerely so--both regretting the past, and willing to bury its memory in social intimacy. mcduffie married miss singleton, of south carolina, one of the loveliest and most accomplished ladies of the state. owing to the wound received in the duel with cumming, his nervous system suffered, and finally his brain. the ball remained imbedded in the spine, and pressed upon the spinal chord. an attempt to remove it, the surgeons determined, would be more hazardous to life than to permit it to remain. there was no remedy. from its effects his mind began to decay, and finally perished, leaving him, long before his death, a melancholy imbecile. in all the relations of life this great man was faithful to his duties--a devoted husband, a sincere friend, a kind neighbor, and a considerate and indulgent master to his slaves. he was one of those rare creations for which there is no accounting. none of his family evinced more than very ordinary minds; nor can there be traced in his ancestry one after whom his nature and abilities were marked. his morals were as pure and elevated as his intellect was grand and comprehensive, and his soul was as lofty and chivalrous as the chevalier bayard's. his fame is too broad to be claimed alone by south carolina. georgia is proud of giving him birth, and the nation cherishes his glory. chapter viii. fifty years ago. governor mathews--indians--topography of middle georgia--a new country and its settlers--beaux and belles--early training--jesuit teachers--a mother's influence--the jews--homely sports--the cotton gin-- camp-meetings. immediately subsequent to the revolution, all the country northwest of the ogeechee river, in the middle portion of the state of georgia, was divided into two counties, franklin and wilkes. it was a wilderness, and contiguous to both the creek and cherokee indian nations. no country in the world was more beautiful in its topography, and few more fertile in soil. governor mathews had purchased a home in this region; and being at this time the principal man in the up-country, attracted to his neighborhood the emigrants who began to come into the country. mathew's revolutionary services in the command of a regiment in the virginia line were eminent; and his character for intrepidity naturally made him a leader among such men as were likely to seek and make homes in a new country. surrounded not only with all the difficulties presented to him by the unsubdued wilderness, but the perils of savage warfare, he unflinchingly went forward in his enterprise, daring and conquering every obstacle nature and the savages interposed. he was an uneducated man; but of strong mind, ardent temperament, and most determined will. many anecdotes are related of his intrepidity, self-respect, and unbending will. he was a native of augusta county, virginia, and emigrated to georgia about the same time that elijah clarke came from north carolina and settled in that portion of the new territory now known as clarke county. these two remarkable men formed a nucleus for those of their respective states who came at subsequent periods to make a home in georgia. they were models to the youth of their respective neighborhoods, and gave tone to the character of the population for many years after they were in their graves. about the same time, the earlys came from virginia, and the abercrombies from north carolina, and located respectively in the new counties of greene and hancock. they were all men of strong character, and all exercised great influence with those who accompanied or came to them at a subsequent period. among the very first to locate in greene county was colonel david love, from north carolina, and soon after came the nesbits, jacksons, and hortons; all of whom settled upon the head-waters of the ogeechee and upon shoulderbone creek. the country was very attractive, the soil very generous, the water good, and the health remarkable. the general topography of middle georgia (as that portion of georgia is now termed) is unsurpassed by any other portion of the state for beauty--hill and dale, the one not rising many feet above the other, generally with beautiful slopes, and scarcely at any place with so much abruptness as to forbid cultivation. upon these lovely acclivities were built the cabins of the emigrants, at the base of which, and near the house, was always to be found a fountain of pure, sweet water, gushing and purling away over sand and pebbles, meandering through a valley which it fertilized, and which abounds in shrubs flowering in beauty, and sheltered by forests of oak, hickory, pine, and gum. those who first came were frequently compelled to unite in a settlement at some selected point, and, for defence against the inroads of the savages, were obliged to build stockade forts, with blockhouses. nature seems to have prepared, during the revolution, men for subduing the wilderness and its savage inhabitants. they cheerfully encountered all the difficulties and hazards thus presented, and constantly pursued their object to its consummation. they came from every section of the older communities, and all seemed animated with the same spirit. they were orderly, but rude; and though beyond the pale of the law, they were a law unto themselves; and these laws were strictly enforced by a public opinion which gave them being and efficiency. with remarkably simple habits and very limited opportunities, their wants were few; and these were supplied by their own industry and frugality upon the farm. their currency was silver coin, spanish milled, and extremely limited in quantity. the little trade carried on was principally by barter, and social intercourse was confined almost exclusively to the sabbath. the roads were rough and uneven, consisting almost entirely of a way sufficiently wide for an ox-cart to pass, cut through the forest, where the stumps and stones remained; and in soft or muddy places, the bodies of small trees or split rails were placed side by side, so as to form a sort of bridge or causeway, so rough as to test and not unfrequently to destroy the wheels of the rude vehicles of the country. these obtained and to this day receive the sobriquet of georgia railroads or corduroy turnpikes. very few of these immigrants were independent of labor; and most of them devoted six days of the week to the cultivation of a small farm and its improvement. children learned early to assist in this labor, and those who were sent to school, almost universally employed the saturday of each week in farm-work. man's social nature induces aggregation into communities, which stimulates an ambition to excel in every undertaking. from this emulation grows excellence and progress in every laudable enterprise. these small communities, as they grew from accessions coming into the country, began to build rude places for public worship, which were primitive log-cabins, and served as well the purposes of a school-house. here the adult population assembled on the sabbath, and the children during the week. this intercourse, together with the dependence of every one at times for neighborly assistance, was greatly promotive of harmony and mutual confidence. close and familiar acquaintance revealed to all the peculiar character of every one--the virtuous and the vicious, the energetic or the indolent, the noble and the ignoble--and all very soon came to be appreciated according to their merit. rude sports constituted the amusements of the young--wrestling, leaping, and hunting; and he who was most expert at these was the neighborhood's pride: he rode from church with the prettiest girl, and was sure to be welcomed by her parents when he came; and to be selected by such an one was to become the neighborhood's belle. at log-rollings, quiltings, and saturday-night frolics, he was the first and the most admired. the girls, too, were not without distinction--she who could spin the greatest number of cuts of cotton, or weave the greatest number of yards of cloth, was most distinguished, and most admired; but especially was she distinguished who could spin and weave the neatest fabric for her own wear, of white cloth with a turkey-red stripe--cut, and make it fit the labor-rounded person and limbs--or make, for father's or brother's wear, the finest or prettiest piece of jean--cook the nicest dinners for her beau, or dance the longest without fatigue. the sexes universally associated at the same school, (a system unfortunately grown out of use,) and grew up together with a perfect knowledge of the disposition, temperament, and general character of each other. and, as assuredly as the boy is father to the man, the girl is mother to the woman; and these peculiarities were attractive or repulsive as they differed in individuals, and were always an influence in the selection of husbands and wives. the prejudices of childhood endure through life, particularly those toward persons. they are universally predicated upon some trait of manner or character, and these, as in the boy perceived, are ever prominent in the man. so, too, with the girl, and they only grow with the woman. this is a paramount reason why parties about contracting marriage-alliances should be well aware of whom they are about to select. the consequence of this intercommunication of the sexes from childhood, in the primitive days of georgia's first settlement, was seen in the harmony of families. in the age which followed, a separation or divorce was as rare as an earthquake; and when occurring, agitated the whole community. for then a marriage was deemed a life-union, for good or for evil, and was not lightly or inconsiderately entered into. the separation of the sexes in early youth, and especially at school, destroys or prevents in an eminent degree the restraining influences upon the actions of each other, and that tender desire for the society of each other, which grows from childhood's associations. brought together at school in early life, when the mind and soul are receiving the impressions which endure through life, they naturally form intimacies, and almost always special partialities and preferences. each has his or her favorite, these partialities are usually reciprocal, and their consequence is a desire on the part of each to see the other excel. to accomplish this, children, as well as grown people, will make a greater effort than they will simply to succeed or to gratify a personal ambition to that effect. thus they sympathize with and stimulate each other. every georgia boy of fifty years ago, with gray-head and tottering step now, remembers his sweetheart, for whom he carried his hat full of peaches to school, and for whom he made the grape-vine swing, and how at noon he swung her there. 't is bonny may; and i to-day am wrinkled seventy-four, still i enjoy, as when a boy, much that has gone before. is it the leaves and trees, or sheaves of yellow, ripened grain, which wake to me, in memory, my boyhood's days again? these seem to say 't is bonny may, as when they sweetly grew, and gave their yield, in wood and field, to me, when life was new. but nought beside--ah, woe betide!-- which grew with me is here-- the home, the hall, the mill, the all which young life holds so dear. the school-house, spring, and little thing, with eyes so bright and blue, who'd steal away with me and play when school's dull hours were through, are memories now; and yet, oh! how it seems but yesterday since i was there, with that sweet dear, in the wild wood at play. the hill was steep where we would leap; the grape-vine swing hung high, and i would throw the swing up so that, startled, she would cry. but though she cried, she still relied (and seemed to have no fear) on me to hold the swing, and told me "not to frighten her." but i was wild, and she no child, and not afraid, i deemed; so tossed as high the swing as i could--when she fell and screamed. she was not harmed; but i, alarmed, ran quickly to assist, and lifted her, all pale with fear, within my arms, and kissed her pallid cheek, ere she could speak: but i had seen, you know, (ah! what of this? that sight and kiss was fifty years ago,) that little boot and pretty foot, so neatly formed and small-- the swelling calf, and stifled laugh-- how i remember all! that lovely one has long since gone, is dust, and only dust, now; yet i recall that swing and fall, as though it had been just now. take these lines, reader, if you please, as an evidence of how the memories growing out of the associations of boyhood's school-days endure through life. this association of the sexes operates as a restraint upon both, salutary to good conduct and good morals. such restraints are far more effective than the staid lessons of some old, wrinkled duenna of a school-mistress, whose failure to find a sweetheart in girlhood, or a husband in youthful womanhood, has soured her toward every man, and filled her with hatred for the happiness she witnesses in wedded life, and which is ever present all around her. her warnings are in violation of nature. she has forgotten she was ever young or inspired with the feelings and hopes of youth. men are monsters, and marriage a hell upon earth. girls will not believe this, and will get married. how much better, then, that they should cultivate, in association, the generous and natural feelings of the heart, and during the period allotted by nature for the growth of the feelings natural to the human bosom, as well as to the growth of the person and mind, than to be told what they should be by one disappointed of all the fruits of them, and hating the world because she is! it is the mother who should form the sentiments and direct the conduct of daughters, and in their teachings should never forget that nature is teaching also. let their lessons always teach the proper indulgences of nature, as well as the proper and prudent restraints to the natural feelings of the human heart, and so deport themselves toward their daughters from infancy as to win their confidence and affection. the daughters, when properly trained, will always come with their little complaints in childhood, and seek consolation, leaning upon the parent's knee, and, with solicitude, look up into the parental face for sympathy and advice. home-teaching and home-training makes the proper woman. when this is properly attended to, there needs no boarding-school or female-college finish, which too frequently uproots every virtuous principle implanted by the careful and affectionate teaching of pious, gentle, and intelligent mothers. but few mothers, who are themselves properly trained, forget nature in the training and education of their daughters; and a truly natural woman is a blessing to society and a crown of glory to her husband. i mean by a natural training a knowledge of herself, as well as a knowledge of the offices of life and the domestic duties of home. every woman in her girlhood should learn from her mother the mission and destinies of woman, as well as what is due to society, to their families, to themselves, and to god. the woman who enters life with a knowledge of what life is, and what is due to her and from her in all the relations of life, has a thousand chances for happiness through life unknown to the belle of the boarding-school, who, away from home influences, is artificially educated to be in all things prominent before the world, and entirely useless in the discharge of domestic duties. she may figure as the lady-president or vice-president of charitable associations, or the lady-president of some prominent or useless society; but never as a dutiful, devoted wife, or affectionate, instructive mother to her children. her household is managed by servants, and about her home nothing evinces the neat, provident, and attentive housewife. the whole system of education, as practised by the protestants of the united states, is wrong; religious prejudice prevents their learning from the catholics, and particularly from the jesuit catholics, who are far in advance of their protestant brethren. they learn from the child as they teach the child. in the first place, none are permitted to teach who are not by nature, as well as by education, qualified to teach; nature must give the gentleness, the kindness, and the patience, with the capacity to impart instruction. they learn, first, the child's nature, the peculiarities of temper, and fashion these to obedience and affection; they first teach the heart to love--not fear; they warn against the evils of life--teach the good, and the child's duties to its parents, to its brothers and sisters, to its teachers, to its playmates, and to its god. when the heart is mellowed and yields obedience in the faithful discharge of these duties, and the brain sufficiently matured to comprehend the necessity of them, then attention is directed to the mind; its capacities are learned and known, and it is treated as this knowledge teaches is proper: it is, as the farmer knows, the soil of his cultivation, and is prepared by careful tillage before the seed is sown. the vision of the child's mind is by degrees expanded; the horizon of its knowledge is enlarged, and still the heart's culture goes on in kindness and affection. the pupil has learned to love the teacher, and receives with alacrity his teaching; he goes to him, without fear, for information on every point of duty in morals, as on every difficult point of literary learning. he knows he will be received kindly, and dealt with gently. should he err, he is never rebuked in public, nor harshly in private; the teacher is aggrieved, and in private he kindly complains to the offender, whose love for his preceptor makes him to feel, and repent, and to err no more. all this is only known to the two; his school-fellows never know, and have no opportunity for triumph or raillery. thus taught from the cradle, principles become habits; and on these, at maturity, he is launched upon the world, with every safeguard for his future life. so with the girl. with the experience of forty-five years, the writer has never known a vicious, bad woman, wife, or mother trained in a jesuit convent, or reared by an educated catholic mother. the daughters of the pioneers of georgia's early settlements received a home education; at least, in the duties of domestic life. in the discharge of these duties, they gained robust constitutions and vigorous health; they increased the butcher's bill at the expense of the doctor's; and such women were the mothers of the men who have made a history for their country, for themselves and their mothers. i may be prolix and prosaic, but i love to remember the mothers of fifty years ago--she who gave birth to lucius q.c. and mirabeau b. lamar, to william c. dawson, bishop george pierce, alexander stuart, joseph lumpkin, and glorious bob toombs. i knew them all, and, with affectionate delight, remember their virtues, and recall the social hours we have enjoyed together, when they were matrons, and i the companion of their sons. and now, when all are gone, and time is crowding me to the grave, the nobleness of their characters, the simplicity of their bearing in the discharge of their household duties, and the ingenuousness of their manners in social intercourse, is a cherished, venerated memory. none of these women were ever in a boarding-school, never received a lesson in the art of entering a drawing-room or captivating a beau. they were sensible, modest, and moral women, and their virtues live after them in the exalted character of their illustrious sons. their literary education in early life was, of necessity, neglected, because of the want of opportunities; but in the virtues and duties of life, they were thoroughly educated; and none of these, or any of their like, was ever mrs. president or secretary of any pretentious or useless society or association. the little education or literature they acquired was in the old log school-house, where boys and girls commingled as pupils under the teaching of some honest pedagogue, who aspired to teach only reading, writing, and arithmetic, in a simple way. it must not be supposed, from the foregoing remarks, that i object to female education; on the contrary, i would have every woman an educated woman. but i would have this education an useful and proper education; one not wholly ornamental and of no practical use, but one obtained at home, and under the parental care and influence--such an one as made mrs. ripley, of concord, massachusetts, the wonder and admiration of every sensible man. she who studied la place's _mécanique céleste_ when she was making biscuit for her breakfast, and who solved a problem in the higher mathematics when darning her stockings; an education where the useful may be taught and learned to grace the ornamental--where the harp and piano shall share with the needle and the cooking-stove, and the pirouettes of the dancing-master shall be only a step from the laundry and the kitchen. the duties of wives and mothers are to home, husband, and children; and this includes all of woman's duty to the country, and in the intelligent and faithful discharge of which the great ends of life are subserved. good neighborhood, good government, and happy communities secure the implanting and cultivation of good principles, and the proper teaching of proper duties. the wise direction of literary education to sons and to daughters, all comes within the range of home, and home duties especially incumbent upon mothers. the domestic duties and domestic labors should be a prime consideration in the education of daughters. the association of the mother and child from birth, until every principle which is to guide and govern it through life is implanted, makes it the duty of the mother to know the right, and to teach it, too. example and precept should combine; and this necessity compels a constant watch, not only over the child's, but over the mother's language and conduct. all these duties imply a close devotion to home: for here is the germ which is to grow into good or into evil, as it is nursed and cultivated, or wickedly neglected. begin at the beginning, if you would accomplish well your work; and to do this, application and assiduity are indispensable; and these are duties only to be discharged at home. they admit of a relaxation of time sufficient for every social duty exacted by society, if that society is such as it should be; and if not, it should neither occupy time not attention. in this is comprised all woman's duties, and they are paramount; for upon their successful application depend the well-being of society and the proper and healthful administration of wise and salutary laws. the world is indebted to woman for all that is good and great. let every woman emulate cornelia, the roman mother, and, when a giddy, foolish neighbor runs to her to exhibit newly purchased jewels, be found, like the roman matron, at her tambour-work; and like her, too, when her boys from school shall run to embrace her, say to the thoughtless one, "these are my jewels!" and rome will not alone boast of her gracchi and their incomparable mother. the duties of home cultivate reflection and stimulate to virtue. for this reason, women are more pious than men; and for this reason, too, they are more eminent in purity. contact with the domestic circle does not contaminate or corrupt, as the baser contact with the world is sure to do. the home circle is select and chaste--the promiscuous intermingling with the world meretricious and contaminating. the mother not trained to the appreciation and discharge of the domestic duties, was never the mother of a great representative mind; because she is incapable of imparting those stern principles of exalted morality and fixity of purpose essential in forming the character of such men. the mother of cincinnatus was a farmer's wife; of leonidas, a shepherdess; and the mothers of washington, webster, clay, calhoun, william h, crawford, and andrew jackson were all the wives of farmers--rural and simple in their pursuits, distinguished for energy and purity; constant in their principles, and devoted to husband, home, and children. they never dreamed it was woman's vocation or duty to go out into the world and mingle in its strifes and contentions--but at home, to view them, reflect upon their consequences to society, and upon the future of their sons and daughters, and warn them what to emulate and what to shun. they, as did their husbands, felt the necessity of preserving that delicacy of thought and action which is woman's ornament, and which is more efficient in rebuking licentiousness and profligacy in the young and the old than all the teaching of the schools without such example. such were the mothers of the great and the good of our land, and such the mothers of those men now prominent and distinguished in the advocacy and support of the great principles of natural rights and humanity. it is a mooted question whether the purposes of human life demand a high, classical education among the masses; or whether the general happiness is promoted by such education. in the study of the human mind in connection with human wants, we are continually met with difficulties arising from the want of education; and quite as frequently with those resulting from education. so much so, that we hear from every wise man the declaration that as many minds are ruined by over-education as from the want of education. man's curse is to labor. this labor must of necessity be divided to subserve the wants of society--and common sense would teach that each should be educated as best to enable him to perform that labor which may fall to his lot in life. but who shall determine this lot? every day's experience teaches the observant and thinking man that no one individual is uselessly born. to deny this proposition would be to call in question the wisdom and goodness of the creator. every one possesses proclivities for some one avocation, and should be educated for its pursuit. this is manifested in very early life; in some much more palpably than in others. this is always the case when the aptitude is decisive. in such cases this idiosyncrasy will triumph over every adverse circumstance, educational or otherwise; but in the less palpable, it will not; and the design of nature may, and indeed constantly is, disappointed, and improper education and improper pursuits given. in these pursuits or callings, the person thus improperly placed there never succeeds as he would had his bent or mental inclination been observed, and his education directed to it, and he given to its pursuit. such persons labor through life painfully; they have no taste or inclination for the profession, business, or trade in which they are engaged; its pursuit is an irksome, thankless labor; while he who has fallen into nature's design, and is working where his inclinations lead, labors happily, because he labors naturally. these inclinations the parent or guardian should observe; and when manifested, should direct the education for the calling nature has designed. idiosyncrasies are transmissible or inherited. in old and populous communities, where every pursuit or profession is full, the father generally teaches his own to his son or sons. where this has extended through three or four generations, the proclivity is generally strongly marked, and in very early childhood made manifest. thus, in the third or fourth generation, where all have been blacksmiths, the child will be born with the muscles of the right arm more developed than those of the left, and the first plaything he demands is a hammer. so, where a family have been traders, will the offspring naturally discover an aptness for bargaining and commerce. this is illustrated in the instincts of the jews, a people of extraordinary brain and wonderful tenacity of purpose. five thousand years since, a small fragment of the semitic race, residing in mesopotamia between the waters of the euphrates and the tigris, consisting of two families, came into the land of canaan, in asia minor; from them have descended the people known as jews. the country over which they spread, and which is known as judea, is not more than four hundred miles long by two hundred and fifty in breadth, situated between two populous and powerful empires, the assyrian and egyptian, who, waging war too frequently, made the land of judea their battle-field, and its people the objects of persecution and oppression. the earnings of their labor were deemed legitimate prey by both, and taken wherever found: they were led into captivity by the assyrians and by the egyptians, enslaved, and denied the legal right to possess the soil--which, to the everlasting disgrace of christian europe, was a restriction upon this wonderful people until within the present century. a blind bigotry would have blotted them from the face of the earth, but for that energy, talent, and enterprise possessed by them in a superior degree to any people upon the globe. inspired by a sublime belief that they were the chosen people of god, no tyranny nor oppression could subdue their energies. they prayed and labored, went forward with untiring determination, upheld by their faith, and always, under the direst distress, found comfort from this belief and the fruits of incessant labor. the soil of their loved canaan was barren, and yielded grudgingly to the most persistent labor. this drove them to trade, and an extended intercourse with the world. without a national government of sufficient power to protect them when robbed by the people or the governments surrounding their own, they were compelled, for self-protection, to resort to every means of concealing the earnings of their enterprise and superior knowledge and skill from christian and pagan alike. they gave value to the diamond, that in a small stone, easy of concealment, immense wealth might be hidden. they invented the bill of exchange, by which they could at pleasure transfer from one country to another their wealth, and avoid the danger of spoliation from the hand of power and intolerance. without political or civil rights in any but their own country, they were compelled to the especial pursuit of commerce for centuries, and we now see that seven-tenths of all jews born, as naturally turn to trade and commerce as the infant to the breast. it has become an instinct. to these persecutions the world is probably indebted for the developments of commerce--the bringing into communication the nations of the earth for the exchange of commodities necessary to the use and comfort of each other, not of the growth or production of each, enlarging the knowledge of all thus communicating, and teaching that civilization which is the enlightenment and the blessing of man--ameliorating the savage natures of all, and teaching that all are of god, and equally the creatures of his love and protection; and leading also to that development of mind in the israelite which makes him conspicuous to-day above any other race in the great attributes of mind--directing the policy of european governments--first at the bar, first in science, first in commerce, first in wealth--preserving the great traits of nationality without a nation, and giving tone, talent, wealth, and power to all. a few men only are born to think. their minds expand with education, and their usefulness is commensurate with it. this few early evince a proclivity so strong for certain avocations as to enable those who have the direction of their future to educate them for this pursuit. this proclivity frequently is so overpowering as to prompt the possessor, when the early education has been neglected, to educate himself for this especial idiosyncrasy. this was the case with newton--with stevenson, the inventor of the locomotive-engine, who, at twenty years of age, was ignorant even of his letters. arkwright was a barber, and almost entirely illiterate when he invented the spinning-jenny. train, the inventor of the railroad, was, at the time of its invention, a coal-heaver, and entirely illiterate. these cases are rare, however. the great mass of mankind are born to manual labor, and only with capacities suited for it. to attempt to cultivate such minds for eminent purposes would be folly. even supposing they could be educated--which is scarcely supposable, for it would seem a contravention of heaven's fiat--they could no more apply this learning, which would simply be by rote, than they could go to the moon. such men are not unfrequently met with, and are designated, by common consent, learned fools. nature points out the education they should receive. in like manner with those of higher and nobler attributes, educate them for their pursuits in life. it requires not the same education to hold a plough, or drive an ox, that it does to direct the course of a ship through a trackless sea, or to calculate an eclipse; and what is essential to the one is useless to the other.--but i am wandering away from the purpose of this work. turning back upon the memories of fifty years ago, and calling up the lives and the histories of men, and women too, i have known, i was led into these reflections, and ere i was aware they had stolen from my pen. the rude condition of a country is always imparted to the character of its people, and out of this peculiarity spring the rough sports and love of coarse jokes and coarse humor. no people ever more fully verified this truth than the georgians, and to-day, even among her best educated, the love of fun is a prevailing trait. her traditions are full of the practical jokes and the practical jokers of fifty years ago. the names of dooly, clayton, prince, bacon, and longstreet will be remembered in the traditions of fun as long as the descendants of their compatriots continue to inhabit the land. the cock-fight, the quarter-race, and the gander-pulling are traditions now, and so is the fun they gave rise to; and i had almost said, so is the honesty of those who were participants in these rude sports. were they not more innocent outlets to the excessive energies of a mercurial and fun-loving people than the faro-table and shooting-gallery of to-day? every people must have their amusements and sports, and these, unrestrained, will partake of the character of the people and the state of society. sometimes the narrow prejudices of bigoted folly will inveigh against these, and insist upon their restraint by law; and these laws, in many of the states, remain upon the statute-book a rebuking evidence of the shameless folly of fanatical ignorance. of these, the most conspicuous are the blue-laws of connecticut, and the more absurd and criminal laws of massachusetts against amusements not only necessary, but healthful and innocent. even in the present advanced state of knowledge and civilization, do we occasionally hear ranted from the pulpit denunciations of dancing, as a sinful and god-offending amusement. such men should not be permitted to teach or preach--it is to attenuate folly and fanaticism, to circumscribe the happiness of youth, and belie the bible. the emigrants to kentucky, tennessee, and georgia were all persons of like character, combining a mixture of english, irish, and scotch blood. they were enterprising, daring, and remarkable for great good sense. rude from the want of education and association with a more polished people, they were nevertheless high-principled and full of that chivalrous spirit which prompts a natural courtesy, courts danger, and scorns the little and mean--open-handed in their generosity, and eminently candid and honest in all their intercourse and dealings with their fellow-men. these elements, collected from various sections, combined to form new communities in the wild and untamed regions. in their conflicts with the savages were shown a daring fearlessness and a high order of military talent in very many of the prominent leaders of the different settlements. they had no chronicler to note and record their exploits, and they exist now only in the traditions of the country. the names of shelby and kenton, of kentucky; of davidson and jackson, of tennessee; of clarke, mathews, and adams, of georgia; dale, of alabama, and claiborne, of mississippi, live in the memory of the people of their states, together with those of tipton, sevier, logan, and boone, and will be in the future history of these states, with their deeds recorded as those whose enterprise, energy, and fearlessness won from the wilderness and the savage their fertile and delightful lands, to be a home and a country for their posterity. the children of such spirits intermarrying, could but produce men of talent and enterprise, and women of beauty, intelligence, and virtue. in the veins of these ran only streams of blue blood--such as filled the veins of the leaders of the crusades--such as warmed the hearts of the o'neals and o'connors, of wallace and bruce, and animated the bosoms of the old feudal barons of england, who extorted the great charter of human liberty from king john. there was no mixture of the pale saxon to taint or dilute the noble current of the anglo-norman blood which flowed through and fired the hearts of these descendants of the nobility and gentry of britain. they were the cavaliers in chivalry and daring, and despised, as their descendants despised, the roundheads and their descendants, with their cold, dissembling natures, hypocritical in religion as faithless in friendship, without one generous emotion or ennobling sentiment. it is not remarkable that conflict should ensue between races so dissimilar in a struggle to control the government: true to the instincts of race, each contended for that which best suited their genius and wants; and not at all remarkable that all the generous gallantry in such a conflict should be found with the celt, and all the cruel rapacity and meanness with the saxon. their triumph, through the force of numbers, was incomplete, until their enemies were tortured by every cruelty of oppression, and the fabric of the government dashed to atoms. this triumph can only be temporary. the innate love of free institutions, universal in the heart of the celtic southerner, will _yet_ unite all the races to retrieve the lost. this done, victory is certain. the descendants of these pioneers have gone out to people the extended domain reaching around the gulf, and are growing into strength, without abatement of the spirit of their ancestors. very soon time and their energies will repair the disasters of the recent conflict; and reinvigorated, the shackles of the puritan shall restrain no longer, when a fierce democracy shall restore the constitution, and with it the liberty bequeathed by their ancestors. with this race, fanaticism in religion has never known a place. rational and natural, they have ever worshipped with the heart and the attributes of their faith. truth, sincerity, love, and mercy have ever marked their characters. too honest to be superstitious, and too sincere to be hypocrites, the concentrated love of freedom unites the race, and the hatred of tyranny will stimulate the blood which shall retrieve it from the dominion of the baser blood now triumphant and rioting in the ruin they have wrought. in the beginning of the settlements, and as soon as fears of the inroads from the savages had subsided, attention was given to the selection of separate and extended homes over the country, to the opening of farms, and their cultivation. the first consideration was food and raiment. all of this was to be the production of the farm and home industry: grain enough was to be grown to serve the wants of the family for bread, and to feed the stock; for this was to furnish the meat, milk, and butter. cotton enough to serve the wants of families, together with the wool from the flock, and some flax, were of prime consideration. all of this was prepared and manufactured into fabrics for clothing and bedding at home. the seed from the cotton was picked by hand; for, as yet, whitney had not given them the cotton-gin. this work was imposed most generally upon the children of families, white and black, as a task at night, and which had to be completed before going to bed; an ounce was the usual task, which was weighed and spread before the fire; for it was most easily separated from the seed when warm and dry. usually some petty rewards stimulated the work. in every family it was observed and commented upon, that these rewards excited the diligence of the white children, but were without a corresponding effect upon the black; and any one who has ever controlled the negro knows that his labor is only in proportion to the coercion used to enforce it. his capacity, physically, is equal to the white; but this cannot be bought, or he persuaded to exert it of himself, and is given only through punishment, or the fear of it. the removal of restraint is to him a license to laziness; and the hope of reward, or the cravings of nature, will only induce him to labor sufficiently to supply these for immediate and limited relief. stock of every kind except horses was left to find a support in the forest, and at that time, when their range was unlimited, they found it in abundance. increasing wants stimulated the cultivation of a market crop to supply them, and indigo and tobacco were first resorted to. tobacco was the principal staple, and the method of its transportation was extraordinary. as at the present day in kentucky, it was pressed into very large hogsheads. upon these were pinned large wooden felloes, forming the circle of a wheel around the hogshead at either end, and in the centre of each head a large pin was inserted. upon these pins were attached shafts or thills, as to a cart, and to these teams, and thus the hogshead was rolled along rough roads and through streams for sometimes ninety miles to augusta, for a market. when sold, the shafts were reserved, and upon these was then erected a sort of box, into which the few articles purchased were placed, and dragged home. these articles almost universally consisted of some iron and steel, and a little coffee and sugar, and sometimes a quarter of a pound of tea--universally termed store-tea, to distinguish it from that made from the root of the sassafras and the leaf of the cassia or tepaun-bush. cotton was, to some little extent, cultivated near the seaboard in georgia and south carolina, and cleaned of the seeds by a machine similar to that used at the present day for preparing the sea-island cotton for market. this was a tedious and troublesome method, and was incapable of doing the work to any very great extent. indigo, of a superior quality to the american, was being produced in british india and central america, and the competition was reducing the price to the cost of production. the same difficulty attended the growing of tobacco. virginia and maryland, with their abundance of labor, were competing, and cheapening the article to a price which made its production unprofitable. at this juncture, whitney invented the cotton-gin, and the growth of cotton as a marketable crop commenced upon a more extended scale. in a few years it became general--each farmer growing more or less, according to his means. some one man, most able to do so, erected a gin-house, first in a county, then in each neighborhood. these either purchased in the seed the cotton of their neighbors, or ginned it and packed it for a certain amount of toll taken from the cotton. this packing was done in round bales, and by a single man, with a heavy iron bar, and was a most laborious and tedious method; and the packages were in the most inconvenient form for handling and transportation. up to this time the slave-trade had been looked upon most unfavorably by the people of the south. among the first sermons i remember to have heard, was one depicting the horrors of this trade. i was by my grandmother's side at bethany, in greene county, and, though a child, i remember, as if of yesterday, the description of the manner of capturing the african in his native wilds--how the mother and father were murdered, and the boys and the girls borne away, and how england was abused for the cruel inhumanity of the act. although unused to the melting mood, the old lady wiped from her eyes a tear, whether in sorrow or sympathy for outraged humanity, or in compliment to the pathos and power of her favorite preacher, i was too young to know or have an opinion. i remember well, however, that she cried, for she pinched me most unmercifully for laughing at her, and at home spanked me for crying. dear old grandmother! but yesterday i was at your grave, where you have slept fifty-two years, and if i laughed above thy mould at the memory of the many bouts we had more than sixty years ago, and, from the blue bending above, thy spirit looked down in wrath upon the unnatural outrage, be appeased ere i come; for i should fear to meet thee, even in heaven, if out of humor! the roses bloomed above you--sweet emblems of thy purity and rest--and there, close by you, were the pear-trees, planted by your hands, around the roots of which you gathered the rods of my reformation; for i was a truant child. you meant it all for my good, no doubt; but to me it was passing through purgatory then, to merit a future good in time. ah! how well i remember it--all of it. _requiescat in pace_. i had almost irreverently said, "rest, cat, in peace." it was at this period that the competition for accumulating money may be said to have commenced in middle georgia. labor became in great demand, and the people began to look leniently upon the slave-trade. the marching of africans, directly imported, through the country for sale, is a memory of sixty-five years ago. the demand had greatly increased, and, with this, the price. the trade was to cease in , and the number brought over was daily augmenting, to hasten to make from the traffic as much money as possible before this time should arrive. the demand, however, was greater than could be supplied. from house to house they were carried for sale. they were always young men and women, or girls and boys, and their clothing was of the simplest kind. that of the men and boys consisted of drawers, only reaching midway the thigh, from the waist. the upper portions of the person and the lower extremities were entirely nude. the females wore a chemise reaching a few inches below the knee, leaving bare the limbs. this was adopted for the purpose of exposing the person, as much as decency would permit, for examination, so as to enable the purchaser to determine their individual capacity for labor. this examination was close and universal, beginning with an inspection of the teeth, which in these young savages were always perfect, save in those where they had been filed to a point in front. this was not uncommon with the males. it was then extended to the limbs, and ultimately to the entire person. they were devoid of shame, and yielded to this inspection without the slightest manifestation of offended modesty. at first they were indifferent to cooked food, and would chase and catch and eat the grasshoppers and lizards with the avidity of wild turkeys, and seemed, as those fowls, to relish these as their natural food. from such is descended the race which our christian white brothers of the north have, in their devotion to their duty to god and their hatred to us, made masters of our destiny. our faith in the justice and goodness of the same divine being bids us believe this unnatural and destructive domination will not be permitted to endure for any lengthy period. could the curtain which veiled out the future sixty years ago, have been lifted, and the vision of those then subduing the land been permitted to pierce and know the present of their posterity, they would then have achieved a separation from our puritanical oppressors, and built for themselves and their own race, even if in blood, a separate government, and have made it as nature intended it should be to this favored land--a wise and powerful one. sooner or later these intentions of divine wisdom are consummated. the fallible nature of man, through ignorance or the foolish indulgence of bad passions in the many, enable the few to delude and control the many, and to postpone for a time the inevitable; but as assuredly as time endures, nature's laws work out natural ends. generations may pass away, perhaps perish from violence, and others succeed with equally unnatural institutions, making miserable the race, until it, like the precedent, passes from the earth. yet these great laws work on, and in the end triumph in perfecting the divine will. to the wise and observant this design of the creator is ever apparent; to the foolish and wicked, never. john wesley had visited savannah, and travelled through the different settlements then in embryo, teaching the tenets and introducing the simple worship of the church of his founding, after a method established by himself, and which gave name and form to the sect, now, and almost from its incipiency known as methodist. this organization and the tenets of its faith were admirably suited to a rude people, and none perhaps could have been more efficient in forming and improving such morals. unpretending, simple in form, devoid of show or ceremony, it appealed directly to the purer emotions of our nature, and through the natural devotion of the heart lifted the mind to the contemplation and inspired the soul with the love of god. its doctrines, based upon the purest morality, easily comprehensible, and promising salvation to all who would believe, inspiring an enthusiasm for a pure life, were natural, and naturally soon became wide-spread, and as the writer believes, has done more in breaking away the shackles of ignorance and debasing superstition from the mind, than any other system of worship or doctrine of faith taught by man; and to this, in a great degree, is due the freedom of thought, independence of feeling and action, chivalrous bearing, and high honor of the southern people. inculcating as it does the simple teachings of the gospel of christ,--to live virtuously--do no wrong--love thy neighbor as thyself, and unto all do as you would be done by,--a teaching easy of comprehension, and which, when sternly enforced by a pure and elevated public sentiment, becomes the rule of conduct, and society is blessed with harmony and right. this moral power is omnipotent for good, concentrating communities into one without divisions or dissensions, to be wielded for good at once and at all times. nothing evil can result from such concentration of opinions being directed by the vicious and wicked, so long as the moral of this faith shall control the mind and heart. camp-meetings, an institution of this church, and which were first commenced in georgia, are a tradition there now. here and there through the country yet remains, in ruinous decay, the old stand or extemporized pulpit from which the impassioned preacher addressed the assembled multitude of anxious listeners; and around the square now overgrown with brush-wood and forest-trees, prostrate and rotten, the remains of the cabin tents may be seen, where once the hospitality of the owners and worshippers was dispensed with a heartiness and sincerity peculiar to the simple habits, and honest, kindly emotions of a rude and primitive people. how well do i remember the first of these meetings i ever witnessed! i was a small lad, and rode behind my father on horseback to the ground. it was sixty-five years ago. the concourse was large, consisting of the people of all the country around--men, women, and children, white and black. around a square enclosing some six acres of ground, the tents were arranged--arbors of green boughs cut from the adjoining forest formed a shelter from the sun's rays. in front of all of these, shading the entrance to the tent, under this friendly sheltering from the heat of the sun, assembled the owners and the guests of each, in social and unceremonious intercourse. this was strictly the habit of the young people; and here, in evening's twilight, has been plighted many a vow which has been redeemed by happy unions for life's journey, and to be consummated when the cold weather came. in the rear of the tents were temporary kitchens, presided over in most instances by some old, trusted aunty of ebon hue, whose pride it was to prepare the meals for her tent, and to hear her cooking praised by the preachers and the less distinguished guests of master and mistress. the sermons were preached in the morning, at noon, and at twilight, when all the multitude were summoned to the grand central stand in the square of the encampment by sounding a tin trumpet or ox-horn. my childish imagination was fired at the sight of this assemblage. my wonder was, whence come all these people? as converging from the radius around came the crowding multitude, without order and without confusion--the farmer and his brusque wife side by side, leading their flock and friends: he with an ample chair of home manufacture slung by his side for the wife's comfort as she devoutly listened to the pious brother's comforting sermon--the guests and the young of the family following in respectful silence, and at a respectful distance, all tending to the great arbor of bushes covering the place of worship. over all the space of the encampment the under-brush had been carefully removed; but the great forest-trees (for these encampments were always in a forest) were left to shade as well as they might the pulpit-stand and grounds. all around was dense forest, wild and beautiful as nature made it. how well the scene and the worship accorded! there was congruity in all--the woods, the tents, the people, and the worship. the impressions made that day upon my young mind were renewed at many a camp-meeting in after years; and so indelibly impressed as only to pass away with existence. the preacher rose upon his elevated platform, and, advancing to the front, where a simple plank extending from tree to tree, before him, formed a substitute for a table or desk, where rested the hymn-book and bible, commenced the service by reading a hymn, and then, line by line, repeating it, to be sung by all his congregation. whoever has listened, in such a place, amidst a great multitude, to the singing of that beautiful hymn commencing, "come, thou fount of every blessing," by a thousand voices, all in accord, and not felt the spirit of devotion burning in his heart, could scarcely be moved should an angel host rend the blue above him, and, floating through the ether, praise god in song. in that early day of methodism, very few of those licensed to preach were educated men. they read the bible, and expounded its great moral truths as they understood them. few of these even knew that it had been in part originally written in the hebrew tongue, and the other portion in that of the greeks; but he knew it contained the promise of salvation, and felt that it was his mission to preach and teach this way to his people, relying solely for his power to impress these wonderful truths upon the heart by the inspiration of the holy spirit. for this reason the sermons of the sect were never studied or written, and their excellence was their fervor and impassioned appeals to the heart and the wild imaginations of the enthusiastic and unlearned of the land. genius, undisciplined and untutored by education, is fetterless, and its spontaneous suggestions are naturally and powerfully effective, when burning from lips proclaiming the heart's enthusiasm. thus extemporizing orations almost daily, stimulated the mind to active thought, and very many of these illiterate young methodist preachers became in time splendid orators. it was the celebrated charles james fox who said to a young man just entering parliament, if he desired to become a great orator, and had the genius and feeling from nature, all he had to do was to speak often and learn to think on his feet. it is to this practice the lawyer and the preacher owe the oratory which distinguish these above every other class of men. and yet, how few of them ever attain to the eminence of finished orators. eloquence and oratory are by no means identical: one is the attribute of the heart, the other of the head; and eloquence, however unadorned, is always effective, because it is born of the feelings; and there is ever a sympathy between the hearts of men, and the words, however rude and original, which bubble up from the heart freighted with its feelings, rush with electrical force and velocity to the heart, and stir to the extent of its capacities. oratory, however finished, is from the brain, and is an art; it may convince the mind and captivate the imagination, but never touches the heart or stirs the soul. to awaken feelings in others, we must feel ourselves. eloquence is the volume of flame, oratory the shaft of polished ice; the one fires to madness, the other delights and instructs. religion is the pathos of the heart, and must be awakened from the heart's emotions. the imagination is the great attribute of the mind, gathering and creating thought and inspiring feeling. hence, the peculiar system of the methodists in their worship is the most efficient in proselyting, and especially with a rude, imaginative people. the camp-meeting was an admirable device for this purpose, and its abandonment by the sect is as foolish as would be that of a knight who would throw away his sword as he was rushing to battle. fashion is omnipotent in religion, as in other things, and with the more general diffusion of education, camp-meetings have come to be considered as vulgar and unfashionable. to be vulgar, is to be common; to be common, is to be natural. the masses, and especially in democratic communities, must always be vulgar or common--must always be, in the main, illiterate and rude; and it is for the conversion and salvation of these multitudes the preacher should struggle, and in his efforts his most efficient means should be used. the camp-meeting, at night, when all the fire-stands are ablaze, and the multitude are assembled and singing, is beyond description picturesque: when, too, some eloquent and enthusiastic preacher is stimulating to intense excitement the multitude around him with the fervor of his words, and the wild, passionate manifestations of his manner, to see the crowd swaying to and fro, to hear the groans and sobs of the half-frenzied multitude, and, not unfrequently, the maddened shriek of hysterical fear, all coming up from the half-illuminated spot, is thrillingly exciting. and when the sermon is finished, to hear all this heated mass break forth into song, the wild melody of which floats, in the stillness of night, upon the breeze to the listening ear a mile away, in cadences mournfully sweet, make the camp-meeting among the most exciting of human exhibitions. in such a school were trained those great masters of pulpit oratory, pierce, wynans, capers, and bascomb. whitfield was the great exemplar of these; but none, perhaps, so imitated his style and manner as john newland maffit and the wonderful summerfield. like all that is great and enduring, the methodist church had its beginning among the humble and lowly. rocked in the cradle of penury and ignorance, it was firmly fixed in the foundations of society, whence it rose from its own purity of doctrine and simplicity of worship to command the respect, love, and adoption of the highest in the land, and to wield an influence paramount in the destinies of the people and the government. its ministers are now the educated and eloquent of the church militant. its institutions of learning are the first and most numerous all over the south, and it has done for female education in the south more than every other sect of christians, excepting, perhaps, the roman catholic. in the cause of education its zeal is enlisted, and its organization is such as to bring a wonderful power to operate upon the community in every section of the south and west. that this will accomplish much, we have only to look to the antecedents of the church to determine. like the coral insect, they never cease to labor: each comes with his mite and deposits it; and, from the humblest beginning, this assiduity and contribution builds up great islands in the sea of ignorance--rich in soil, salubrious in climate, and, finally, triumphant in the conceptions of the chief architect--completing for good the work so humbly begun. chapter ix. pedagogues and demagogues. education--colleges--school-days--william and mary--a substitute-- boarding around--rough diamonds--caste--george m. troup--a scotch indian--alexander mcgilvery--the mcintosh family--button gwinnett-- general taylor--matthew talbot--jesse mercer--an exciting election. the subject of education engaged the attention of the people of georgia at a very early day subsequent to the revolution. public schools were not then thought of; probably because such a scheme would have been impracticable. the population was sparse, and widely separated in all the rural districts of the country; and to have supplied all with the means of education, would have necessitated an expense beyond the power of the state. a system was adopted, of establishing and endowing academies in the different counties, at the county-seat, where young men who intended to complete a collegiate education might be taught, and the establishment and endowment of a college, where this education might be finished, leaving the rudimental education of the children of the state to be provided for by their parents, as best they could. primary schools were gotten up in the different neighborhoods by the concentrated action of its members, and a teacher employed, and paid by each parent at so much per capita for his children. in these schools almost every georgian--yes, almost every southerner--commenced his education. it was at these schools were mingled the sexes in pursuit of their a, b, c, and the incidents occurring here became the cherished memories of after life. many a man of eminence has gone out from these schools with a better education with which to begin life and a conflict with the world, than is obtained now at some of the institutions called colleges. young men without means, who had acquired sufficient of the rudiments of an english education, but who desired to pursue their studies and complete an education to subserve the purposes of the pursuit in life selected by them, frequently were the teachers in the primary schools. from this class arose most of those men so distinguished in her earlier history. some were natives, and some were immigrants from other states, who sought a new field for their efforts, and where to make their future homes. such were william h. crawford, abram baldwin, and many others, whose names are now borne by the finest counties in the state--a monument to their virtues, talents, and public services, erected by a grateful people. these primitive schools made the children of every neighborhood familiar to each other, and encouraged a homogeneous feeling in the rising population of the state. this sameness of education and of sentiment created a public opinion more efficacious in directing and controlling public morals than any statutory law, or its most efficient administration. it promoted an _esprit du corps_ throughout the country, and formed the basis of that chivalrous emprise so peculiarly southern. the recollections of these school-days are full of little incidents confirmatory of these views. i will relate one out of a thousand i might enumerate. a very pretty little girl of eight years, full of life and spirit, had incurred, by some act of childish mischief, the penalty of the switch--the only and universal means of correction in the country schools. she was the favorite of a lad of twelve, who sat looking on, and listening to the questions propounded to his sweetheart, and learning the decision of the teacher, which was announced thus: "well, mary, i must punish you." all eyes were directed to william. deliberately he laid down his books, and, stepping quickly up to the teacher, said, respectfully: "don't strike her. whip me. i'll take it for her," as he arrested with his hand the uplifted switch. every eye in that little log school-house brightened with approbation, and, in a moment after, filled with tears, as the teacher laid down his rod and said: "william, you are a noble boy, and, for your sake, i will excuse mary." ten years after, mary was the wife--the dutiful, loving, happy wife of william; and william, twenty years after, was a member of the legislature, and then a representative in congress, (when it was an honor to a gentleman to be such,) and afterwards was for years a senator in the same body--one of georgia's noblest, proudest, and best men. can any one enumerate an instance where evil grew out of the early association of the sexes at school? in the neighborhoods least populous, and where there were but few children, the pedagogue usually divided the year into as many parts as he had pupils, and boarded around with each family the number of days allotted to each child. if he was a man of family, the united strength of the neighborhood assembled upon a certain day, and built for him a residence contiguous to the school-house, which was erected in like manner. these buildings were primitive indeed--consisting of poles cut from the forest, and, with no additional preparation, notched up into a square pen, and floored and covered with boards split from a forest-tree near at hand. it rarely required more than two days to complete the cabin--the second being appropriated to the chimney, and the chinking and daubing; that is, filling the interstices with billets of wood, and make these air-tight with clay thrown violently in, and smoothed over with the hand. such buildings constituted nine-tenths of the homes of the entire country sixty years ago; and in such substitutes for houses were born the men who have moved the senate with their eloquence, and added dignity and power to the bench of the supreme court of the nation, startled the world with their achievements upon the battle-field, and more than one of them has filled the presidential chair. men born and reared under such circumstances, receive impressions which they carry through life, and their characters always discover the peculiarities incident to such birth and rearing--rough and vigorous, bold and daring, and nobly independent, without polish or deceit, always sincere, and always honest. however much the intellect may be cultivated in youth--however much it may be distinguished for great thoughts and wonderful attainments, still the peculiarities born of the forest cling about it in all its roughness--a fit setting to the unpolished diamond of the soul. the rural pursuits of the country, and the necessities of the isolated condition of a pioneer population, which necessities are mainly supplied by ingenuity and perseverance on the part of each, creates an independence and self-reliance which enter largely into the formation of the general character. the institution of african slavery existing in the south, which came with the very first, pioneer, and which was continually on the increase, added to this independence the habit of command; and this, too, became a part of southern character. the absolute control of the slave, placed by habit and law in the will of the master, made it necessary to enact laws for the protection of the slave against the tyrannical cruelties found in some natures; but the public sentiment was in this, as in all other things, more potent than law. their servile dependence forbade resistance to any cruelty which might be imposed; but it excited the general sympathy, and inspired, almost universally, a lenient humanity toward them. they were mostly born members of the household, grew up with the children of each family, were companions and playmates, and naturally an attachment was formed, which is always stronger in the protecting than the protected party. it was a rare instance to find a master whose guardian protection did not extend with the same intensity and effect over his slave as over his child: this, not from any motive of pecuniary interest, but because he was estopped by law from self-defence; and, too, because of the attachment and the moral obligation on the master to protect his dependants. besides, the community exacted it as a paramount duty. it is human to be attached to whatever it protects and controls; out of this feeling grows the spirit of true chivalry and of lofty intent--that magnanimity, manliness, and ennobling pride which has so long characterized the gentlemen of the southern states. caste, in society, may degrade, but, at the same time, it elevates. where this caste was distinguished by master and slave, the distinction was most marked, because there was no intermediate gradation. it was the highest and the lowest. it was between the highest and purest of the races of the human family, and the lowest and most degraded; and this relation was free from the debasing influences of caste in the same race. an improper appreciation of this fact has gone far to create with those unacquainted with negro character the prejudices against the institution of african slavery, and which have culminated in its abolition in the southern states. the negro is incapacitated by nature from acquiring the high intelligence of the caucasian. his sensibilities are extremely dull, his perceptive faculties dim, and the entire organization of his brain forbids and rejects the cultivation necessary to the elimination of mind. with a feeble moral organization, and entirely devoid of the higher attributes of mind and soul so prominent in the instincts of the caucasian, his position was never, as a slave, oppressive to his mind or his sense of wrong. he felt, and to himself acknowledged his inferiority, and submitted with alacrity to the control of his superior. under this control, his moral and intellectual cultivation elevated him: not simply to a higher position socially, but to a higher standard in the scale of being, and this was manifested to himself at the same time it demonstrated to him the natural truth of his inferiority. this gratified him, promoted his happiness, and he was contented. the same effect of the relation of master and servant can never follow when the race is the same, or even when the race is but one or two degrees inferior to the dominant one. the influence of this relation upon the white race is marked in the peculiarities of character which distinguish the people of the south. the habit of command, where implicit obedience is to follow, ennobles. the comparison is inevitable between the commander and him who obeys, and, in his estimation, unconsciously elevates and degrades. this between the white man and negro, is only felt by the white. the negro never dreams that he is degraded by this servility, and consequently he does not feel its oppression. he is incapable of aspiring, and manifests his pride and satisfaction by imitating his master as much as is possible to his nature. the white man is conscious of the effect upon the negro, and has no fear that he is inflicting a misery to be nursed in secret and sorrow, and to fill the negro's heart with hate. this, however, is universally the effect of the domination of one man over another of the same race. the relation was for life, and the master was responsible for the moral and physical well-being of his slave. his entire dependence makes him an object of interest and care, and the very fact of this responsibility cultivates kindness and tenderness toward him. but this is not all; it carries with it a consciousness of superiority, and inspires a superior bearing. these influences are more potent in the formation of female than male character. the mistress is relieved absolutely from all menial duties, and is served by those who are servants for life, and compulsorily so. she is only under the obligations of humanity in her conduct toward them. they must do her bidding. she is not afraid to offend by giving an order, nor is she apprehensive of being deserted to discharge her household labor herself by offending them. it is their duty to please--it is their interest--and this is the paramount desire. the intercourse is gentle, respectful, and kind; still, there is no infringement of the barrier between the mistress and the servant. this habit is the source of frankness and sincerity, and this release from the severity of domestic labor the fruitful source of female delicacy and refinement, so transcendently the attributes of character in the ladies of the south. it gives ease and time for improvement; for social and intellectual intercourse; creates habits of refinement, and a delicacy seen and heard in all that is done or said in refined female society in the south. something, too, i suppose, is due to blood. there are many grades in the caucasian race. the anglo-norman or anglo-celtic is certainly at the head. they rule wherever left to the conflict of mind and energy of soul. sometimes they are conquered for a time, but never completely so. the great constituents of their natures continue to resist, and struggle up, and when the opportunity comes, they strike for control and supremacy-- "and freedom's battle, once begun, the cause bequeathed from sire to son, though baffled oft, is ever won." the southern woman's soul is chivalry. from the highest to the humblest, the same lofty purpose, pride, and energy animate them. they have contrasted the free and noble with the mean and servile. its magic has entered their natures and quickened their souls. in all there is a lofty scorn for the little and mean. the same withering contempt for the cringing and cowardly is met in every one of them. their impulses are generous, and their aspirations noble, with hearts as soft and tender as love, pity, and compassion can form. yet in them there is, too, the fire of chivalry, the scorn of contempt, and the daring of her who followed her immortal brother, the great palafox, at the defence of saragossa, her native city, and, standing upon the dead bodies of her countrymen, snatched the burning match from the hand of death, and fired the cannon at the advancing foe, and planted spain's standard, in defiance of the veterans of soult--a rallying point for her countrymen--and saved saragossa. they were born to command, and can never be slaves, or the mothers of slaves. the same influences powerfully operate in producing that bearing of chivalrous distinction, which is seen everywhere in the deportment of the southern gentlemen toward ladies. they are ever polite, respectful, and deferential. this, however, is only one of many elements in the peculiar character of southern people. their piety is christian in its character. the precepts of the bible are fashioned into example in the conduct of the older members of society, and especially in the female portion. this is, perhaps, the predominant element. the bible is the guide, not the fashion, in religious duty. its doctrines are taught in purity, and in their simplicity enter into the soul, as the great constituent of character. the chivalrous bearing of man toward woman inspires her with elevated and noble sentiments--a pride and dignity conservative of purity in all her relations--and, reflecting these back upon society, producing most salutary influences. it is woman's pride to lean on man--to share his love and respect--to be elevated by his virtues, and appreciated by the world because of his honors--to be a part of his fame. the mother, the wife, the sister, the relative should share with the husband, the son, the brother, the kinsman, in the world's honors, in the sufferings, sorrows, and miseries incidental to all. they are part and parcel of man, and partake of his nature and his position, as of his fortune. when man shall cease to view woman, and so deport himself toward her as a purer, more refined, and more elevated being than himself, that moment she will sink to his level, and then her prestige for good is gone forever. that delicacy, refinement, and chasteness, so restraining and so purifying to man in her association, is the soul of civilization--the salt of the earth. in its absence, no people are ever great; for, as it is the spirit of man's honor, so is it a nation's glory. it must be cherished, for it inspires man's honor by man's chivalry. thus she becomes a people's strength; for their crown of glory is her chastity and angelic purity. these virtues distinguished the pioneer women of middle georgia sixty years ago. as their husbands were honest and brave, they were chaste and pious; and from such a parentage sprang the men and women who have made a history for her pre-eminent among all her sister states. her sons have peopled the west, and are distinguished there for their high honor and splendid abilities; and yet at home she boasts toombs, colt, stephens, hill, johnson, campbell, and a host of others, who are proud specimens among the proudest of the land. they have measured their strength with the proudest minds of all the union, and won a fame unequalled, adorning her councils, its cabinet, its bench, and were the first everywhere. george michael troup, one of the most distinguished of georgia's sons, was the son of an english gentleman, who emigrated to georgia anterior to the revolution. he married miss mcintosh, of georgia, sister of general john mcintosh, of mcintosh county. he took no part in the revolution. england was his mother country; to her he was attached, and in conscience he could not lift his hand in wrath against her. this course did not meet the approval of the mcintoshes, and he retired from the state and country. first, he went to england, but not contented there, he came to the spanish town of pensacola. here he met the celebrated indian chief, alexander mcgilvery, who was hostile to the americans, and who invited him to take refuge in his country. mcgilvery was a remarkable man; his father was a scotchman, his mother a half-breed; her father was the celebrated french officer who was killed by his own men in at fort toulouse--his name was marchand,--and her mother a full-blooded creek woman. mcgilvery supposed him an english emissary, and invited him to go into the creek nation and reside with his people. from pensacola he went to mobile, and thence to a bluff on the tombigbee, where he remained during the war. this bluff he named mcintosh's bluff, and it bears the name yet. here george m. troup was born. at the close of the war he returned to georgia, and fixed his residence among the relatives of his wife. the mcintosh family were highland scotch, and partook of all the intrepidity of that wonderful people. they immigrated to georgia with general oglethorpe in company with a number of their countrymen, and for one hundred and thirty years have continued to reside in the county named for the first of their ancestors who settled and made a home in the colony of georgia. it is a family distinguished for chivalry as well in europe as in georgia. at the commencement of the revolution they at once sided with the colonists. lachlin and john mcintosh became distinguished as leaders in that protracted and doubtful conflict, meeting in battle their kinsman in high command in the british army. on one occasion, when john mcintosh had surrendered at the battle of brier creek, a british officer, lost to every sentiment and feeling of honor, attempted to assassinate him, and was only prevented from doing so by sir Æneas mcintosh, the commander of the english army, whose promptness arrested the blow by interposing his own sword to receive it. lachlin mcintosh was the commander of the first regiment raised in georgia to aid in the revolution. in , a difficulty arose between button gwinnett (who, upon the death of governor bullock, had succeeded him as governor,) and mcintosh. a duel was the consequence, in which gwinnett was killed. tradition says this difficulty grew out of the suspicions of mcintosh as to the fidelity of gwinnett to the american cause. he was an englishman by birth, and, upon the breaking out of the war, hesitated for some time as to the course he should pursue. this was a time when all who hesitated were suspected, and gwinnett shared the common fate. eventually he determined to espouse the revolutionary party, and was elected to the convention, and was one of the immortal band who signed the declaration of independence emanating from that convention. until his death he was faithful and active. mcintosh doubted him, and he was not a man to conceal his opinions. mcintosh was severely wounded in the conflict. this family was one of remarkable spirit; and this has descended to the posterity of the old cavaliers even unto this day. colonel mcintosh, who fell at molino del rey, in our recent war with mexico, was one of this family. he had all the spirit and chivalry of his ancestors. i remember to have heard generals taylor and twiggs speaking of him subsequently to his death, and felt proud, as a native of the state of georgia, of the distinguished praise bestowed on him by these gallant veterans. general taylor was not generally enthusiastic in his expressions of praise, but he was always sincere and truthful. on this occasion, however, he spoke warmly and feelingly of the honor, the gallantry, and intrepidity of his fellow-soldier--his high bearing, his pride, his proficiency as an officer in the field, and the efficiency of his regiment, its perfection of drill and discipline, and coolness in battle--and, with unusual warmth, exclaimed: "if i had had with me at buena vista, mcintosh and riley, with their veterans, i would have captured or totally destroyed the mexican army." captain mcintosh, of the navy, was another of this distinguished family. he had no superior in the navy. so was that ardent and accomplished officer, colonel mcintosh, who fell at oak hill, in the late war in missouri. in truth, there has not been a day in one hundred and thirty years, when there has not been a distinguished son of this family to bear and transmit its name and fame to posterity. through his mother, to george m. troup descended all the nobler traits of the mcintosh family. he was educated, preparatory to entering college, at flatbush, long island. his teacher's name i have forgotten, but he was a remarkable man, and devoted himself to the instruction of the youth intrusted to his care. he seems to have had a peculiar talent for inspiring a high order of ambition in his pupils, and of training them to a deportment and devotion to principle which would lead them to distinguished conduct through life. governor troup, in speaking to the writer of his early life and of his school-days on long island, said: "there were twenty-one of us at this school fitting for college, and, in after life, nineteen of us met in congress, the representatives of fourteen states." troup, after leaving this school, went to princeton, and graduated at nassau hall, in his nineteenth year. returning to savannah, he read law; but possessing ample fortune, he never practised his profession. his talents were of an order to attract attention. james jackson, and most of the leading men of the day, turned to him as a man of great promise. the republican party of savannah nominated him to represent the county of chatham, in the legislature of the state, before he was twenty-one years of age. being constitutionally ineligible, he, of course, declined; but as soon as he became eligible, he was returned, and, for some years, continued to represent the county. from the legislature he was transferred to congress, where he at once became distinguished, not only for talent, but a lofty honor and most polished bearing. while a member of congress, he married a virginia lady, who was the mother of his three children. soon after the birth of her third child, there was discovered aberration of mind in mrs. troup, which terminated in complete alienation. this was a fatal blow to the happiness of her husband. she was tenderly beloved by him; and his acute sensibility and high nervous temperament became so much affected as not only to fill him with grief, but to make all his remaining life one of melancholy and sorrow. he had been elected to the united states senate, but, in consequence of this terrible blow, and the constant care of his afflicted lady, to which he devoted himself, he lost his health, and resigned. he retired to his home, and to the sad duties of afflicted love. about this time the people of georgia became divided upon the political issues of the day. william h. crawford was nominated by his friends for the presidency. this aroused his enemies' hatred, who organized an opposition to him in his own state. this opposition was headed by john clarke, his old enemy, and was aided by every old federalist and personal enemy in the state. crawford's friends were too confident in the popularity which had borne him to so many triumphs, and were slow to organize. the election of governor devolved, at that time, upon the legislature, and clarke, upon the death of governor rabun, was announced as the candidate. the event of rabun's death occurred only a very short time before the meeting of the legislature. matthew talbot, the president of the senate, assumed, under the constitution, the duties of governor, but sent the message already prepared by rabun to the legislature, and immediately an election took place, whereupon clarke was elected. troup had been solicited to oppose him, but was loath to embark anew in political life. ultimately he yielded, and was defeated by thirteen votes. the friends of crawford were now alarmed, and the contest was immediately renewed. the canvass was one of the most rancorous and bitter ever known in the state, but of this i have spoken in a former chapter. at the ensuing election, troup was again a candidate. again the contest was renewed, and, if possible, with increased violence and vigor. clarke, in obedience to usage, had retired, and his party had put forward matthew talbot, of wilkes county, as the competitor of troup. this contest had now continued for four years, and troup was elected by two votes. the memory of this election will never fade from the minds of any who witnessed it. at the meeting of the legislature it was doubtful which party had the majority. two members chosen as favorable to the election of troup, were unable from sickness to reach the seat of government, and it was supposed this gave the majority to talbot. there was no political principle involved in the contest. both professedly belonged to the republican party. both seemed anxious to sustain the principles and the ascendency of that party. there were no spoils. the patronage of the executive was literally nothing; and yet there was an intensity of feeling involved for which there was no accounting, unless it was the anxiety of one party to sustain mr. crawford at home for the presidency, and on the other hand to gratify the hatred of clarke, and sustain mr. calhoun. during the period intervening between the meeting of the legislature and the day appointed for the election, every means was resorted to, practicable in that day. there was no money used directly. there was not a man in that legislature who would not have repelled with scorn a proposition to give his vote for a pecuniary consideration; but all were open to reason, state pride, and a sincere desire to do what they deemed best for the honor and interest of the state. the friends of either candidate would have deserved their favorite instantly upon the fact being known that they had even winked at so base a means of success. every one was tenaciously jealous of his fame, and equally so of that of the state. the machinery of party was incomplete, and individual independence universal. there were a few members, whose characters forbade violence of prejudice, and who were mild, considerate, and unimpassioned. these men were sought to be operated upon by convincing them that the great interests of the state would be advanced by electing their favorite. the public services of troup, and his stern, lofty, and eminently pure character, were urged by his friends as reasons why he should be chosen. the people of the state were becoming clamorous for the fulfilment of the contract between the state and general government for the removal of the indians from the territory of the state, and troup was urged upon the voters as being favorable in the extreme to this policy, and also as possessing the talents, will, and determination to effect this end. finally the day of election arrived. the representative men of the state were assembled. it was scarcely possible to find hotel accommodations for the multitude. the judges of the different judicial districts, the leading members of the bar, men of fortune and leisure, the prominent members of the different sects of the christian church, and especially the ministers of the gospel who were most prominent and influential, were all there. the celebrated jesse mercer was a moving spirit amidst the excited multitude, and daniel duffie, who, as a most intolerant methodist, and an especial hater of the baptist church and all baptists, was there also, willing to lay down all ecclesiastical prejudice, and go to heaven even with jesse mercer, because he was a troup man. the senate came into the representative chamber at noon, to effect, on joint ballot, the election of governor. the president of the senate took his seat with the speaker of the house, and in obedience to law assumed the presidency of the assembled body. the members were ordered to prepare their ballots to vote for the governor of the state. the secretary of the senate called the roll of the senate, each man, as his name was called, moving up to the clerk's desk, and depositing his ballot. the same routine was then gone through with on the part of the house, when the hat (for a hat was used) containing the ballots was handed to the president of the senate, thomas stocks, of greene county, who proceeded to count the ballots, and finding only the proper number, commenced to call the name from each ballot. pending this calling the silence was painfully intense. every place within the spacious hall, the gallery, the lobby, the committee-rooms, and the embrasures of the windows were all filled to crushing repletion. and yet not a word or sound, save the excited breathing of ardent men, disturbed the anxious silence of the hall. one by one the ballots were called. there were ballots, requiring to elect. when ballots were counted, each candidate had , and at this point the excitement was so painfully intense that the president suspended the count, and, though it was chilly november, took from his pocket his handkerchief, and wiped from his flushed face the streaming perspiration. while this was progressing, a wag in the gallery sang out, "the darkest time of night is just before day." this interruption was not noticed by the president, who called out "troup!" then "talbot!" and again there was a momentary suspension. then he called again, "troup--talbot!" " -- ," was whispered audibly through the entire hall. then the call was resumed. "troup!" "a tie," said more than a hundred voices. there remained but one ballot. the president turned the hat up-side down, and the ballot fell upon the table. looking down upon it, he called, at the top of his voice, "troup!" the scene that followed was indescribable. the two parties occupied separate sides of the chamber. those voting for troup rose simultaneously from their seats, and one wild shout seemed to lift the ceiling overhead. again, with increased vim, was it given. the lobby and the galleries joined in the wild shout. members and spectators rushed into each others' arms, kissed each other, wept, shouted, kicked over the desks, tumbled on the floor, and for ten minutes this maddening excitement suspended the proceedings of the day. it was useless for the presiding officer to command order, if, indeed, his feelings were sufficiently under control to do so. when exhaustion had produced comparative silence, duffie, with the full brogue of the county carlow upon his tongue, ejaculated: "o lord, we thank thee! the state is redeemed from the rule of the devil and john clarke." mercer waddled from the chamber, waving his hat above his great bald head, and shouting "glory, glory!" which he continued until out of sight. general blackshear, a most staid and grave old gentleman and a most sterling man, rose from his seat, where he, through all this excitement, had sat silent, folded his arms upon his breast, and, looking up, with tears streaming from his eyes, exclaimed: "now, lord, i am ready to die!" order was finally restored, and the state of the ballot stated, (troup, ; talbot, ,) when president stocks proclaimed george m. troup duly elected governor of the state of georgia for the next three years. this was the last election of a governor by the legislature. the party of clarke demanded that the election should be given to the people. this was done, and in , troup was re-elected over clarke by a majority of some seven hundred votes. it was during this last contest that the violence and virulence of party reached its acme, and pervaded every family, creating animosities which neither time nor reflection ever healed. chapter x. indian treaties and difficulties. the creeks--john quincy adams--hopothlayohola--indian oratory--sulphur spring--treaties made and broken--an independent governor--colonels john s. mcintosh, david emanuel twiggs, and duncan clinch--general gaines--christianizing the indians--cotton mather--expedient and principle--the puritanical snake. during the administration of troup, a contest arose as to the true western boundary of the state, and the right of the state to the territory occupied by a portion of the creek tribe of indians. in the difficulty arising out of the sale by the legislature of the lands belonging to the state bordering upon the mississippi river, a compromise was effected by congress with the company purchasing, and georgia had sold to the united states her claim to all the lands in the original grant to general oglethorpe and others by the english government, west of the chattahoochee river. a part of the consideration was that the united states should, at a convenient time, and for the benefit of georgia, extinguish the title of the indians, and remove them from the territory occupied by them, east of the chattahoochee river, to a certain point upon that stream; and from this point, east of a line to run from it, directly to a point called neckey jack, on the tennessee river. the war of with great britain found the creek or alabama portion of this tribe of indians allies of england. they were by that war conquered, and their territory wrested from them. those of the tribe under the influence of the celebrated chief william mcintosh remained friendly to the united states, and were active in assisting in the conquest of their hostile brethren. the conquered indians were removed from their territory and homes, into the territory east of line creek, which was made the western boundary of the creek nation's territory. many of them came into the territory claimed by georgia as her domain. this war was a war of the republican party of the united states, and the state of georgia being almost unanimously republican, her people felt it would be unpatriotic, at this juncture, to demand of the government the fulfilment of her obligations in removing the indians from her soil. the expenses of the war were onerous, and felt as a heavy burden by the people, and one which was incurred by republican policy. that party felt that it was its duty to liquidate this war debt as speedily as possible. to this end the sale of those conquered lands would greatly contribute; relieving, at the same time, the people to some extent, from the heavy taxation they had borne during the progress of the war. consequently, they had not pressed the fulfilment of this contract upon the government. but now the war debt had been liquidated--the united states treasury was overflowing with surplus treasure--indian tribes were being removed by the purchase of their lands in the northwest, and a tide of population pouring in upon these lands, and threatening a powerful political preponderance in opposition to southern policy and southern interests. under these circumstances, and the recommendation of governor troup, the legislature of the state, by joint resolution and memorial to congress, demanded the fulfilment of the contract on the part of the united states, and the immediate removal of the indians. john quincy adams was at that time president of the united states, and, as he had ever been, was keenly alive to northern interests and to federal views. though professing to be republican in political faith, he arrayed all his influence in opposition to the rights of the states. in this matter he gave the cold shoulder to georgia. he did not recommend a repudiation of the contract, but interposed every delay possible to its consummation. after some time, commissioners were appointed to negotiate a treaty with the indians for the purchase of their claim to the lands within the boundaries established by the sale to the united states--or so much thereof as was in possession of the creek tribe. to this there was very serious opposition, not only from that portion of the tribe which formerly allied themselves to great britain, but from missionaries found in the cherokee country, and from colonel john crowell, who was united states agent for the creek indians. these indians were controlled by their chief, hopothlayohola, a man of rare abilities and great daring. he was a powerful speaker, fluent as a fountain, and extremely vigorous in his expressions: his imagery was original and beautiful, apposite and illustrative; and his words and manner passionate to wildness. to all this he added the ferocity of his savage nature. crowell was an especial friend of governor clarke, and was influenced by his party feelings of hatred to troup--in his opposition to a treaty, openly declaring that georgia should never acquire the land while troup was governor. he was an unscrupulous man, of questionable morals, and vindictive as a snake. the persevering energy of troup, however, prevailed. a treaty was negotiated, and signed by crowell, as agent, and a number of the chiefs headed by mcintosh. no sooner was this done, than crowell, with a number of chiefs, hurried to washington to protest against the ratification and execution of the treaty, charging the united states commissioners with fraud in the negotiation, under the influence of troup, prompted by w. h. crawford and friends. the fraud charged was in giving presents to the chiefs, and a couple of reservations of land to mcintosh--one where he resided, and the other around and including the famous sulphur spring, known as the indian spring, in butts county. this habit of giving presents to the chiefs when negotiating treaties has always been the custom of the government. they expect it; it is a part of the consideration paid for the treaty of sale, for they are universally the vendors of territory and the negotiators of treaties for their tribes. this charge was simply a subterfuge, and one that was known would be influential with the mawkish philanthropists of the north, mr. adams, and the senators and representatives from new england. upon the assumption of fraud, based upon these charges alone, the treaty was set aside by the action of the president and cabinet alone; and by the same authority a new one made, with a change of boundary, involving a loss of a portion of territory belonging to georgia under the stipulations of the contract between the state and united states. the previous or first treaty had been submitted to the united states senate, and duly ratified, thereby becoming a law, under which georgia claimed vested rights. it was under these trying circumstances that the stern and determined character of troup displayed itself. holding firmly to the doctrine of state rights, he notified the president that he should disregard the latter treaty, and proceed to take possession of the territory under the stipulations of the former one. upon the receipt of this information, general gaines was ordered to georgia to take command of the troops stationed along the frontier of the state, and any additional troops which might be ordered to this point, with orders to protect the indians, and prohibit taking possession of the territory, as contemplated by governor troup. a correspondence ensued between general gaines and governor troup of a most angry character. it terminated with an order to general gaines to forbear all further communication with the government of georgia. this was notified to the president, (if my memory is correct, for i write from memory,) in these terms: "john quincy adams, president of the united states: "sir: i have ordered general gaines to forbear all further communication with this government. should he presume to infringe this order, i will send your major-general by brevet home to you in irons. george m. troup, governor of georgia." the surveyors previously appointed by the legislature were directed to be on the ground, in defiance of united states authority, on the first day of september succeeding, and at sunrise to commence the work of surveying the lands. a collision was anticipated as certain between the troops of the united states and the authorities of georgia. but there was a difficulty in the way not previously contemplated. colonels john s. mcintosh, david emanuel twiggs, and duncan clinch, each commanded regiments in the south. twiggs and mcintosh were native georgians. clinch was a north carolinian, but was a resident of florida. zachary taylor was the lieutenant-colonel of clinch's regiment. he was a virginian by birth, but resided in mississippi. all were southern men in feeling, as well as by birth, and all jeffersonian republicans, politically. mcintosh and twiggs were fanatical in their devotion to the state of their birth. the ancestors of both were among the first settlers, and both were identified with her history. the three wrote a joint letter to the president, tendering their commissions, if ordered to take arms against georgia. this letter was placed in the hands of one who was influential with mr. adams, to be delivered immediately after the order should be issued to general gaines to prevent by force of arms the survey ordered by governor troup. troup had classified the militia, and signified his intention to carry out, if necessary, the first-negotiated treaty, by force of arms, as the law of the land. it was, unquestionably, the prudence of this friend which prevented a collision. he communicated with mr. adams confidentially, and implored him not to issue the order. he assured him that a collision was inevitable if he did, and caused him to pause and consult his advisers, who declared their conviction that the first treaty was the law of the land, and that georgia held vested rights under it. in obedience to this advice, mr. adams made no further effort to prevent the action of georgia, and the lands were surveyed and disposed of by the state, under and according to the terms of the first treaty, and she retains a large strip of territory that would have been lost to her under the last treaty. my information of these facts was derived from twiggs, clinch, and henry clay. who the friend was to whom the letter was intrusted, i never knew. i mentioned to mr. clay the facts, and he stated that they were true, but no knowledge of them ever came to him until the expiration of mr. adams' administration. general taylor stated to me that long after these events had transpired, and after the resignation of colonel clinch, general twiggs had made the communication to him. as nearly as i can remember, twiggs made the statement to me in the language i have used here. on returning from the ratification meeting, at canton, of the nomination of mr. clay for the presidency, in , before we reached baltimore, i was in a carriage with general clinch and senator barrow, of louisiana, and stated these facts, and clinch verified them. general gaines was, of all men, the most unfit for a position like that in which he was placed. he was a good fighter, a chivalrous, brave man; but he was weak and vain, and without tact or discretion. his intentions were, at all times, pure, but want of judgment frequently placed him in unpleasant positions. the condition of the minds of the people of georgia, at this time, was such, that very little was necessary to excite them to acts of open strife, and had mr. adams been less considerate than he was, there is now no telling what would have been the consequence. he was extremely unpopular at the south, and this, added to the inflamed condition of public opinion there, would assuredly have brought on a collision. had it come, it might have resulted in a triumph of southern principles, which, at a later day, and under less auspicious circumstances, struggled for existence, only to be crushed perhaps forever. it was universally the wish of the people of georgia to have possession of the land properly belonging to her, and but for their factious divisions, the hazards of a conflict between the troops of the united states and those of georgia would have been more imminent. it was believed by both these factions, that whoever should, as governor of the state, succeed in obtaining these lands, would thereby be rendered eminently popular, and secure to his faction the ascendency in the state for all time. the faction supporting clarke believed he would certainly triumph in the coming contest before the people, and assumed to believe that then the matter of acquisition would be easy, as the administration of mr. adams supposed that faction could, by that means, be brought into the support of the party now being formed about it. clarke and many of his leading friends were coquetting with the administration. he was--as was his brother-in-law, duncan g. campbell--a strong friend of mr. calhoun, who was then the vice-president. national parties were inchoate, and many politicians were chary of choosing, and seemed to wait for the development of coming events, ere they gave shape and direction to their future courses. it was certain that mr. clay was identified with the american system, and that would, in a great degree, be the leading policy of the administration. mr. calhoun, when secretary of war, under mr. monroe, had made a strong report in favor of internal improvements by the general government, within the limits of the states, and, while a member of congress, had made an equally strong one in favor of a national bank. these were two of the prominent features of the american system, and it was generally believed that this policy would be too popular to combat. it had originated during the administration of monroe, and if it had the opposition of any member of his cabinet, it was unknown to the country. mr. crawford and mr. calhoun, as well as mr. adams, were members of that cabinet, and were all, in some degree, committed to this policy; for mr. crawford, as a senator from georgia, during the administration of mr. madison, had sustained the doctrine of the constitutionality and the policy of a national bank, in one of the very ablest speeches ever made upon the subject, saying everything which could or can be said in favor of such a government financial agent, and refuting every objection of its opponents. from this speech is derived every argument and every idea of both the reports of calhoun and mcduffie, which were heralded to the nation as greater even than that of mr. dallas, who, with robert morris, may be said to be the fathers of this institution. mr. clay had, in one of his ablest speeches, opposed the bank at a former time, and his change of opinion was now well known. it was very well understood that the coming men were clay, jackson, and calhoun. clarke and his friends were ardent supporters of calhoun, and it was thought they had won the favor of the administration. mr. clay was strongly opposed to the execution of the old treaty, and had, by this means, drawn upon himself the opposition of the crawford, or troup party. these facts show the condition of public opinion in the state, and conclusively establish the fact, that but for this division of the people, and the check held by this upon the action of the masses and their leaders, fearful consequences would assuredly have ensued. the reasons influencing the joint action of mr. adams and mr. clay in opposition to the execution of the old treaty were very different. mr. clay was honest and patriotic. he had no ulterior views to subserve. his policy was national. he desired the prosperity and advancement of his country to greatness and power among the nations of the earth. his fame was that of the nation; already it was identified with it. his ambition was a noble and a grand one. he wished his name identified with his acts, and these to constitute the fame and glory of the nation. he ever felt what subsequently he so nobly expressed, "that he would rather be right than be president." he had no petty selfishness--no pitiful revenges to exhaust with the hand of power--no contemptible motives for elevating or advancing the interests of one section of his country by oppressing another. "all his aims were his country's," and his whole country's. he desired that every act of that country should bear the broadest light, and challenge the closest and most searching scrutiny; that each should be a new and brighter gem in the diadem of her glory, and that her magnanimity should be most conspicuous in her transactions with the weakest. this he especially desired, and labored to effect, in all her transactions with the indians. he viewed these as the primitive proprietors of the soil, and possessors of the entire country. he knew they were fading away before a civilization they were by nature incapacitated to emulate, and this, he felt, was in obedience to the inexorable laws of divine providence; and, in the wonderfully capacious compassion of his nature, he desired, in the accomplishment of this fate, that no act of national injustice to them should stain the nation's escutcheon, and determined to signalize this desire in every act of his when giving form and shape to national policy. he had generously lent a listening ear to the protests of the chiefs, seconded by that of their agent, and sincerely believed the treaty had been effected by fraud, and was wrong and oppressive, and, therefore, he opposed its execution, and was the main instrument in forming a new one. the draft of this was from his own pen, and he was solicitous that it should supersede the old one, as an expression of the indians' desire. mr. adams was, equally with mr. clay, opposed to the treaty as ratified, though, as was his constitutional duty, he had sent the instrument for the action of the senate. in heart he was opposed to any treaty which would remove the aborigines from this territory at this time, and, in consequence of the action of georgia, it was anticipated that, at no very distant day, the entire indian population east of the mississippi river, in the south, would be removed, unless some policy of the government should be adopted which would prevent it; and those of the north, who felt desirous of crippling the territorial progress of the south, and, of consequence, her augmentation of population, supposed the most effectual means of accomplishing this would be to educate and christianize the indian. to do this, they insisted he must remain upon the territory he now occupied. this would bring him into immediate contact with the civilized white, where he could be most readily approached by missionaries and schoolmasters, and be instructed by the force of example. at the same time, he was to remain under the sole protection of the united states government, without any of the privileges of civil government to be exercised as a citizen of the united states or the state upon whose soil he was located. this was ennobled as the sentiment of christian benevolence, while its real intention was to withhold the land from the occupancy of the people of georgia, and in so much retard the growth and increase of the white population of the state. to carry out this scheme, missionary establishments sprang up among the indians in every part of the south, but especially within the limits of the state of georgia, filled with northern fanatics, who employed themselves most actively in prejudicing the minds of the savages against the people who were their neighbors, and preparing them to refuse to treat for the sale of any of their territory. it has ever been the practice of the puritan to propagate the vilest heresies, and for the vilest purposes, under the name of philanthropy and religion. it has burned its enemy at the stake, as, assembled around, they sang psalms, and sanctified the vilest cruelties with the name of god's vengeance. it was their great prototype, cotton mather, who blasphemously proclaimed, after the most inhuman massacre of several hundred indians, that they, the puritans of massachusetts, "had sent, as a savory scent to the nostrils of god, two hundred or more of the reeking souls of the godless heathen." this, ostensibly, was deemed a pious act, and a discharge of a pious duty, when, in truth, the only motive was to take his home and country, and appropriate it to their own people. it seems almost impossible to the race to come squarely up to truth and honesty, in word or act, in any transaction, as a man or as a people. sinister and subtle, expediency, and not principle, seems to be their universal rule of action. cold and passionless, incapable of generous emotions, he is necessarily vindictive and cruel. patient and persevering, bigoted and selfish, eschewing as a crime an honorable resentment, he creeps to his ends like a serpent, with all his cunning and all his venom. john quincy adams, in his nature, was much more like his mother than his father. his features were those of his mother, and the cold, persevering hatred of his nature was hers. from his boyhood he was in the habit of recording, for future use, the most confidential conversations of his friends, as also all that incautiously fell from an occasional interview with those less intimate. had this been done for future reference only to establish facts in his own mind, there could have been no objection to the act; but this was not the motive. these memoranda were to rise up in vengeance when necessary to gratify his spleen or vengeance. he was naturally suspicious. he gave no man his confidence, and won the friendship of no one. malignant and unforgiving, he watched his opportunity, and never failed to gratify his revengeful nature, whenever his victim was in his power. the furtive wariness of his small gray eye, his pinched nose, receding forehead, and thin, compressed lips, indicated the malignant nature of his soul. unfaithful to friends, and only constant in selfishness--unconscious of obligation, and ungrateful for favors--fanatical only in hatred--pretending to religious morality, yet pursuing unceasingly, with merciless revenge, those whom he supposed to be his enemies, he combined all the elements of puritan bigotry and puritan hate in devilish intensity. he deserted the federal party in their greatest need, and meanly betrayed them to mr. jefferson, whom, from his boyhood, he had hated and reviled in doggerel rhymes and the bitterest prose his genius could suggest. the conduct of mr. adams, after he had been president, as the representative of massachusetts in congress, is the best evidence of the motives which influenced his conduct in the matter of these two treaties. he never lost an opportunity to assail the interests and the institutions of the south. he hated her, and to him, more than to any other, is due the conduct of the northern people toward the south which precipitated the late war, and has destroyed the harmony once existing between the people. his father had been repudiated by the south for a more trusted son of her own. this was a treasured hatred; and when he shared his father's fate, this became the pervading essence of his nature. he returned to congress, after his defeat for the presidency, for no other purpose than to give shape and direction to a sentiment which he felt must ultimately result in her ruin, and to accomplish this he was more than willing to hazard that of the government. he felt, should this follow, his own people would be in a condition to dictate and control a government of their own creation, and which should embody their peculiar views, rather than the pure and unselfish principles enunciated in the declaration of independence, and preserved in the constitution of the united states. the sagacity of george m. troup was the first to discover this in his conduct as president, and to sound the alarm as governor of georgia. he came directly in contact with him, and determined he should be defeated in one of his means for injury to the south. troup knew and felt the right was with him, and maintained it with the honest boldness of a true man. he triumphed, and the doctrine of state rights was rescued from a fatally aimed blow, and reaffirmed, gave renewed popularity and strength to its supporters. the election of general jackson soon after followed, and, as the embodiment of the principle, rallied around him its supporters from every section. with these, and his immense popularity personally, he scotched, for a time, the puritan snake; but, true to its instincts, it struggled to bite, though its head was off. mr. adams saw in troup a strong and uncompromising foe; he knew, too, the right was with him, and that if pushed to extremities the result would be damaging to his fame, as having, in persevering for the wrong, destroyed the government, and at a time, too, when every benefit from such destruction would inure to the south. under the circumstances his course was taken: he dared not consult or trust mr. clay with the real motives which influenced him to yield, and made a virtue of patriotism and magnanimity which cloaked his pusillanimity, and shielded from public view his envenomed chagrin. it was doubtless this triumph which secured the second election of troup. personally he was unpopular with the masses. his rearing had been in polished society, and though he was in principle a democrat, in his feelings, bearing, and associations he was an aristocrat. he accorded equality to all under the law and in political privilege, but he chose to select his associates, and admitted none to the familiarity of intimacy but men of high breeding and unquestioned honor. in many things he was peculiar and somewhat eccentric. in dress, especially so--often appearing in midwinter in light, summer apparel; and again, in summer, with a winter cloak wrapped carefully about him. when he appeared first before the assembled legislature, and many of the first citizens of the state, to take the oath of office, it was a raw, cold day in november; his dress was a round jacket of coarse cotton, black cassimere vest, yellow nankeen pantaloons, silk hose, and dancing-pumps, with a large-rimmed white hat, well worn. in his address, which was short and most beautiful, he made his hat conspicuous by holding it in his right hand, and waving it with every gesture. in person, he was below the middle size, slender, though finely formed; his hair was red, and his eyes intensely blue and deeply set beneath a heavy brow; his nose was prominent and aquiline; his mouth, the great feature of his face, was grecian in mould, with flexible lips, which, while in repose, seemed to pout. his rabid opposition to those engaged in the yazoo frauds, and his hatred for those who defended it, made him extremely obnoxious to them, and prompted dooly to say: "nature had formed his mouth expressly to say, 'yazoo.'" its play, when speaking, was tremulous, with a nervous twitching, which gave an agitated intonation to his words very effective. the form of his head, and especially his forehead, indicated an imaginative mind, while the lines of his face marked deep thought. he was strictly honest in everything; was opposed to anything which wore the appearance of courting public favor, or seemed like a desire for office. his private life was exemplary, kind, and indulgent to his children and servants, and full of charity; severe upon nothing but the assumptions of folly, and the wickedness of purpose in the dishonest heart. in every relation of life he discharged its duties conscientiously, and was the enemy only of the vicious and wicked. he continued to reside upon his plantation in lawrence county with his slaves, carefully providing for their every want until his death. he had attained the patriarchal age of threescore years and ten, and sank to rest in the solitude of his forest-home, peacefully and piously, leaving no enemies, and all the people of his state to mourn him. chapter xi. political changes. aspirants for congress--a new organization--two parties--a protective tariff---united states bank--the american system--internal improvements --a galaxy of stars--a spartan mother's advice--negro-dealer--quarter races--cock-pitting--military blunders on both sides--abner green's daughter--andrew jackson--gwinn--poindexter--ad interim--generals as civil rulers. the remarkable excitement of the political contest between troup and clarke had the effect of stimulating the ambition of the young men of education throughout the state for political distinction. for some time anterior to this period, all seemed content to permit those who had been the active politicians in the republican struggle with the federal party to fill all the offices of distinction in the state without opposition. it would have been considered presumptuous in the extreme for any young man, whatever his abilities, to have offered himself as a candidate for congress in opposition to mr. forsyth, r.h. wild, thomas w. cobb, edward f. tatnal, and men of like age and political faith. the members of congress were elected by general ticket; and the selection of candidates was not by a convention of the people or party. the names of candidates were generally recommended by influential parties, and their consent to become candidates obtained through solicitations addressed to them, and then published to the people. the state was so unanimous in political sentiment, that for many years no opposition to the republican party was thought of. but now parties were organizing upon principles, or rather policies, entirely new; there was a fusion of the old elements of party, and federalists and republicans were side by side in this new organization. men who had been under the ban, for opinion's sake, were coming into public view and public favor, and disclosing great abilities. at the head of these was john mcpherson berrien, who, to the end of his life, was so distinguished in the councils of the nation. at the same time, in every part of the state, young men were rising up as men of promise for talent and usefulness. these men arrayed themselves with either of the two parties, as inclination or interest prompted. active and assiduous, they were soon prominent before the people, and a new era was commencing. with the election of john quincy adams, the state was in a blaze and politics a furor. opposition immediately commenced to the leading measures of the administration, and the legislature of was filled with young men of talent, who were enthusiastic and fierce in their sentiments and feelings. they had been divided as partisans of troup and clarke, and met as antagonists in the legislature; but really without any defined policy in opposition to that of the administration of the general government of the nation. a suspicion filled every one that this policy was disastrous to southern interests, and sectional in its character, although designated as national. few men of the south had given much attention to the effect a tariff for revenue had upon the commercial and manufacturing interests of the north. the war with england had created a debt, and this tariff had been imposed solely for the purpose of securing, not only a sufficient revenue for the current necessities of the government, but a surplus, which should in a short time liquidate the public debt. it was sufficient to afford protection to the manufacturing interests of the north, to increase this into a formidable revenue, and to enlist a national party in its support. it was now, when the public debt was liquidated, that another reason was necessary for continuing a policy which had grown up from the necessities of the nation--consequently it was assumed to be a national policy to promote national independence, and protection was claimed for national industry against european competition. this policy in the government would encourage extravagance, waste, and corruption--such a bane to republics--because it would create an immense surplus in the national treasury, unless some scheme for its expenditure could be devised which should seem to promote the national interest. to this end, the party of the administration claimed a constitutional power in congress to carry on a system of internal improvements; and heavy appropriations were made for this purpose, not only absorbing the surplus revenue, but creating a necessity for more--and this necessity was an excuse for increasing the tariff. the bank of the united states was the depository of the moneys of the nation and her disbursing agent. the constitutionality of this institution had been a mooted question from the day it was first proposed by robert morris. mr. madison, who was a republican, had at one time vetoed it; at another, approved it. mr. crawford, a most inveterate states-rights man and strict constructionist of the constitution, had uniformly supported it. mr. clay had both supported and opposed it. the question was finally adjudicated by the supreme court, and, so far as that decision could make it, was decided to be constitutional. this, however, did not satisfy the republican or states-rights party; a large majority of whom always insisted upon its unconstitutionality. at the time of its creation, a necessity existed for some such institution, to aid the government in its financial operations, and at the time of the renewal of its charter the government had just emerged from a war; every state was creating banks, and the country was flooded with an irredeemable and worthless currency, disturbing commerce, unsettling values, and embarrassing the government. a power was wanted somewhere to control these state banks, and to give a redeemable and uniform currency to the country. the state banks had proved destructive to the public interest; with no power to restrain their issues except that imposed by their charters and the honesty of their officers--a frail security for the public, as experience had attested. the example of washington was pleaded by the advocates of the bank. at the very outset it had been opposed for want of constitutionality. washington had doubted it, and submitted the question to two of his cabinet--mr. jefferson and mr. hamilton. they were divided in opinion--mr. jefferson opposing, and mr. hamilton sustaining the constitutionality of the measure. the opinion and argument of hamilton prevailed, and the act creating a bank received the executive approval. it answered admirably the object of its creation, and the republican party (then in embryo) acquiesced. indeed, at this time, there could scarcely be said to be a party separate from the government. mr. hamilton and mr. jefferson were the leaders of the parties which divided the people upon the adoption of the constitution, and these parties, though at this time inchoate, were concreting about these two wonderful men. upon the renewal of the charter of the united states bank, during the administration of mr. madison, the republican party again mooted its constitutionality; but its undisputed usefulness had won for it immense popularity, and there were many who, though acting with the republicans, were willing (as washington had approved it, and the supreme court had pronounced it constitutional) to view the question as settled, and vote to renew the charter. it was subsequent to the veto of mr. madison (when he had reconsidered his action, and recommended the re-chartering of the bank,) that debates ensued, in which the question was exhausted. in these debates, mr. crawford, mr. clay, felix grundy, william b. giles, and mr. calhoun led. they were continued through several sessions, up to , when they ultimated in the chartering of the last bank of the united states. this charter expired during the administration of general jackson, and by him the bank was finally crushed. three great measures constituted what was then termed the american system--the united states bank, a protective tariff, and internal improvements within the states by the general government. an opposition to this party was formed at the very outset of the adams administration. this opposition denied the constitutional power of congress to create or sustain either. the south, at the commencement of this opposition, was almost alone. the north was a unit in its support of the administration, because its policy was vital to her interests. the west, influenced by mr. clay, was greatly in the majority in its support. the southern opposition seemed almost hopeless; and to this cause may, in a great degree, be ascribed the bringing forth to public view the transcendent abilities of the young men aspiring for fame in georgia, and in the south generally. mcduffie, hamilton, holmes, and waddy thompson, of south carolina; colquitt, cobb, toombs, stephens, johnson, nesbit, and john p. king, of georgia; wise, bocock, hunter, summers, rives, and others of virginia; mangum, badger, and graham, of north carolina; bell, foster, peyton, nicholson, and james k. polk, of tennessee; king and lewis, of alabama; porter, johnston, white, and barrow, of louisiana; ashley, johnson, and sevier, of arkansas; chase, pugh, pendleton, and lytell, of ohio; and douglas, trumbull, and lincoln, of illinois, were all men of sterling talent, and were about equally divided in political sentiment. kentucky had tom and humphrey marshall, crittenden, menifer, letcher, breckinridge, and preston. general jackson was now the avowed candidate of the states-rights party, which soon after assumed the name of democratic, and his political principles and great personal popularity were not only dividing the west, but the middle states, and even those of new england. during the entire administration of adams, there was a majority in congress supporting his policy. it was then and there that the great battle for supremacy was fought. berrien and forsyth, from georgia, in the senate; mcduffie and preston, from south carolina; cass, from michigan, and van buren and silas wright, from new york--all giants in intellect. but there were webster and john davis, from massachusetts, george evans, from maine, and others of minor powers, but yet great men. between these great minds the conflict was stupendous. every means were put into requisition to sustain the administration and its policy, but all were unavailing--general jackson was elected by an overwhelming majority. mr. clay was immediately returned by kentucky to the senate, and organized an opposition upon the policy of the late administration, led on by himself and webster. the memory of those days, and the men who made them memorable, flits vividly before me; but i am not writing a history, and can attempt no order, but shall write on as these memories of men and events shall seem to me most interesting in their character to the general reader. general jackson was one of those rare creations of nature which appear at long intervals, to astonish and delight mankind. it seems to be settled in the public mind that he was born in south carolina; but there is no certainty of the fact. his early life was very obscure, and he himself was uncertain of his birth-place, though he believed it was south carolina. he remembered the removal of his family from south carolina, and many of the incidents of the war of the revolution transpiring there; but more especially those occurring in north carolina, to which the family removed. judge alexander porter, of louisiana, was an irishman, and from the neighborhood where were born and reared the parents of jackson. his own father was brutally executed at vinegar hill, by sentence of a drum-head court martial, in , and his family proscribed by the british government. with his uncle, the rowans, the jacksons, and some others, he emigrated to america, and settled at nashville, tennessee. the jacksons were of the same family, and distantly connected with general jackson. great intimacy existed between this family and general jackson for many years. judge porter, of whom i shall hereafter have something to say, visited europe a short time before his death, and made diligent search into the history of the jackson family, without ascertaining anything positively: he learned enough to satisfy his own mind that andrew jackson was born in ireland, and brought to the united states by his parents when only two years old. this was also the opinion of thomas crutcher, who came with general jackson to nashville, and it was also the opinion of dr. boyd mcnary and his elder brother, judge mcnary, who believed he was four years older than he supposed himself to be. the mcnarys came with him from north carolina. on the trip a difficulty occurred between boyd mcnary and jackson, which never was reconciled--both dying in extreme old age. boyd mcnary stopped at lexington and read medicine, forming there the acquaintance of mr. clay and felix grundy. the intimacy which sprang up between clay and mcnary was as ardent and imperishable as the hatred between himself and jackson, enduring until death. jackson was enterprising and eminently self-reliant; in all matters pertaining to himself, he was his own counsellor; he advised with no man; cool and quick in thought, he seemed to leap to conclusions, and never went back from them. an anecdote relative to his parting from his mother in his outset in life, illustrates this as prominent in the attributes of his nature at that time. the writer heard him narrate this after his return from washington, when his last term in the presidential office had expired. when about to emigrate to tennessee, the family were residing in the neighborhood of greensboro, north carolina. "i had," said he, "contemplated this step for some months, and had made my arrangements to do so, and at length had obtained my mother's consent to it. all my worldly goods were a few dollars in my purse, some clothes in my saddle-bags, a pretty good horse, saddle, and bridle. the country to which i was going was comparatively a wilderness, and the trip a long one, beset by many difficulties, especially from the indians. i felt, and so did my mother, that we were parting forever. i knew she would not recall her promise; there was too much spunk in her for that, and this caused me to linger a day or two longer than i had intended. "but the time came for the painful parting. my mother was a little, dumpy, red-headed irish woman. 'well, mother, i am ready to leave, and i must say farewell.' she took my hand, and pressing it, said, 'farewell,' and her emotion choked her. "kissing at meetings and partings in that day was not so common as now. i turned from her and walked rapidly to my horse. "as i was mounting him, she came out of the cabin wiping her eyes with her apron, and came to the getting-over place at the fence. 'andy,' said she, (she always called me andy,) 'you are going to a new country, and among a rough people; you will have to depend on yourself and cut your own way through the world. i have nothing to give you but a mother's advice. never tell a lie, nor take what is not your own, nor sue anybody for slander or assault and battery. _always settle them cases yourself!_' i promised, and i have tried to keep that promise. i rode off some two hundred yards, to a turn in the path, and looked back--she was still standing at the fence and wiping her eyes. i never saw her after that." those who knew him best will testify to his fidelity to this last promise made his mother. the strong common sense and unbending will of jackson soon made him conspicuous in his new home, and very soon he was in active practice as a lawyer. his prominence was such, that during the last year of the last term of general washington's administration, a vacancy occurring in the united states senate from tennessee, general jackson was appointed to fill it. he was occupying this seat when general washington retired from the presidency, and, with william b. giles, of virginia, voted against a resolution of thanks tendered by congress to washington, for his services to the country. for this vote he gave no reason at the time; and if he ever did, it has escaped my knowledge. the career of general jackson, as a public man, is so well known, that it is not my purpose to review it in this place; but many incidents of his private history have come to my knowledge from an association with those who were intimate with him, from his first arrival in tennessee. these, or so many of them as i deem of interest enough to the public, i propose to relate. jackson was a restless and enterprising man, embarking in many schemes for the accumulation of fortune, not usually resorted to by professional men, or men engaged in public matters. in business he was cautious. he was a remarkable judge of human character, and rarely gave his confidence to untried men. notwithstanding the impetuosity of his nature, upon occasion he could be as cool and as calculating as a yankee. the result was, that though he had many partners in the various pursuits he at different times resorted to, he rarely had any pecuniary difficulty with any of them. he was in the habit of trading with the low country, that is, with the inhabitants of mississippi and louisiana. many will remember the charge brought against him pending his candidacy for the presidency, of having been, in early life, a negro-trader, or dealer in slaves. this charge was strictly true, though abundantly disproved by the oaths of some, and even by the certificate of his principal partner. jackson had a small store, or trading establishment, at bruinsburgh, near the mouth of the bayou pierre, in claiborne county, mississippi. it was at this point he received the negroes, purchased by his partner at nashville, and sold them to the planters of the neighborhood. sometimes, when the price was better, or the sales were quicker, he carried them to louisiana. this, however, he soon declined; because, under the laws of louisiana, he was obliged to guarantee the health and character of the slave he sold. on one occasion he sold an unsound negro to a planter in the parish of west feliciana, and, upon his guarantee, was sued and held to bail to answer. in this case he was compelled to refund the purchase-money, with damages. he went back upon his partner, and compelled him to share the loss. this caused a breach between them, which was never healed. this is the only instance which ever came to my knowledge of strife with a partner. he was close to his interest, and spared no means to protect it. it was during the period of his commercial enterprise in mississippi that he formed the acquaintance of the green family. this family was among the very first americans who settled in the state. thomas m. green and abner green were young men at the time, though both were men of family. to both of them jackson, at different times, sold negroes, and the writer now has bills of sale for negroes sold to abner green, in the handwriting of jackson, bearing his signature, written, as it always was, in large and bold characters, extending quite half across the sheet. at this store, which stood immediately upon the bank of the mississippi, there was a race-track, for quarter-races, (a sport jackson was then very fond of,) and many an anecdote was rife, forty years ago, in the neighborhood, of the skill of the old hero in pitting a cock or turning a quarter-horse. this spot has become classic ground. it was here aaron burr was first arrested by cowles mead, then acting as governor of the territory of mississippi, and from whom he made his escape, and it was at this point that grant crossed his army when advancing against vicksburg. it is a beautiful plateau of land, of some two thousand acres, immediately below the mouth of the bayou pierre, and bordered by very high and abrupt cliffs, which belong to the same range of hills that approach the river's margin at vicksburg, grand gulf, rodney, natchez, and bayou sara. at this point they attain the height of three hundred feet, and are almost perpendicular. the summit is attained by a circuitous road cut through the cliffs, and this is the summit level of the surrounding country. this plateau of land, where once stood the little village of bruinsburgh, has long been a cotton plantation, and a most valuable one it was before the late war. a deep, and, to an army, impassable swamp borders it below, and the same is the case above the bayou pierre. to land an army at such a place, when its only means of marching upon the country was through this narrow cut, of about one hundred feet in width, with high, precipitous sides, forming a complete defile for half a mile, and where five thousand men could have made its defence good against fifty thousand, is certainly as little evidence of military genius as was the permission of them to pass through it without an effort to prevent it. to a military eye, the blunders of grant and pemberton are apparent in their every movement--and the history of the siege and capture of vicksburg, if ever correctly written, will demonstrate to the world that folly opposed to folly marked its inception, progress, and finality. the friends formed in this section of country by jackson were devoted to him through life, and when in after life he sent (for it is not true that he brought) his future wife to mississippi, it was to the house of thomas m. green, then residing near the mouth of cowles creek, and only a few miles from bruinsburgh. whatever the circumstances of the separation, or the cause for it, between mrs. jackson and her first husband, i am ignorant; i know that jackson vas much censured in the neighborhood of his home. at the time of her coming to green's, the civil authority was a disputed one; most of the people acknowledging the spanish. a suit was instituted for a divorce, and awarded by a spanish tribunal. there was probably little ceremony or strictness of legal proceeding in the matter, as all government and law was equivocal, and of but little force just at that time in the country. it was after this that jackson came and married her, in the house of thomas m. green. that there was anything disreputable attached to the lady's name is very improbable; for she was more than fifteen months in the house of green, who was a man of wealth, and remarkable for his pride and fastidiousness in selecting his friends or acquaintances. he was the first territorial representative of mississippi in congress--was at the head of society socially, and certainly would never have permitted a lady of equivocal character to the privileges of a guest in his house, or to the association of his daughters, then young. during the time she was awaiting this divorce, she was at times an inmate of the family of abner green, of second creek, where she was always gladly received, and he and his family were even more particular as to the character and position of those they admitted to their intimacy, if possible, than thomas b. green. this intimacy was increased by the marriage of two of the green brothers to nieces of mrs. jackson. in , when jackson was president, the writer, passing from louisiana to new york with his family, spent some days at washington. his lady was the youngest daughter of abner green; he was in company with a daughter of henry green and her husband; her mother was niece to mrs. jackson. we called to see the president, and when my lady was introduced to the general, he was informed she was the daughter of his old friend, abner green, of second creek. he did not speak, but held her hand for some moments, gazing intently into her face. his feelings overcame him, and clasping her to his bosom, he said, "i must kiss you, my child, for your sainted mother's sake;" then holding her from him, he looked again, "oh! how like your mother you are--she was the friend of my poor rachel, when she so much needed a friend--i loved her, and i love her memory;" and then, as if ashamed of his emotion, he continued: "you see, my child, though i am president through the kindness or folly of the people, i am but a weak, silly old man." we spent the evening with him, and when in his private sitting-room his pipe was lighted and brought to him, he said: "now, my child, let us talk about mississippi and the old people." i have never in all my life seen more tenderness of manner, or more deep emotion shown, than this stern old man continually evinced when speaking of his wife and her friends. the character of general jackson is yet greatly misunderstood. this has been caused by the fact that his words and actions, when in command, or when enraged, as a man, have been the main data upon which the estimate of his bearing and character has been predicated. he was irascible and quick in his temper, and when angered was violent in words and manner. it was at such moments that the stern inflexibility of his will was manifest; and his passion towered in proportion to provocation. but in private life and social intercourse he was bland, gentle, and conciliating. his manner was most polished and lofty in society, and in a lady's parlor, in urbanity and polish of manners, he never had a superior. this high polish was nature's spontaneous gift. he had never been taught it in courts, or from association with those who had. it was the emanation of his great soul, which stole out through his every word and movement in the presence of ladies, and which erupted as a volcano at insult or indignity from man. that evening at the white house is marked in my memory with a white stone. the playful simplicity of his conversation and manner, and the particularity of his inquiries about matters and things so insignificant, but which were links in the chain of his memories, i well remember. "is old papa jack and bellile living?" he asked, after a pause, of my wife, accompanied with a look of eager anxiety. these were two old africans, faithful servants of her father; and then there was an anecdote of each of them--their remarks or their conduct upon some hunting or fishing excursion, in which he had participated forty years before. i was an interested spectator in the presence of one of nature's wonderful creations--one who had made, and who was making, history for his country, and whose name was to descend to future times as one of her noblest sons and greatest historical characters. i watched every motion of his lips, every expression of his features, and every gleam of his great gray eyes, and i could but wonder at the child-like naturalness of everything about him. is not this an attribute of greatness--to be natural? yes; to be natural in all things belongs to truth, and a truthful exhibition of nature, without assumption or deceit, is greatness. here was one who could, with natural simplicity, amuse a child; and the same one could command and successfully wield a great army, and, with equal success, direct the destinies of a great nation; whose genius was tempered with simplicity and tenderness, and when towering most in its grandeur, was most truthful to nature. general jackson's early opportunities were extremely limited. his education was so very defective, that his orthography was almost ludicrous, and his general reading amounted to almost nothing. at no time was he a respectable county-court lawyer, so far as legal learning was concerned, and it is wonderful how the natural vigor of his mind supplied this defect. on the bench, his greatest aim was to get at the facts in every case, and to decide all points upon the broad principles of equity; and in all his charges to the jury, his principal aim was to direct their attention to the simple justice of the case, and a favorite phrase of his in these charges was: "do right between the parties, and you will serve the objects of the law." he was an enemy to all unnecessary forms in all matters. his manner was to go directly to the kernel, and he was very indifferent as to how the shell was cracked, or the husk removed. he never seemed to reason. upon the presentation of any subject to his mind, it seemed, with electrical velocity, to cut through to a conclusion as if by intuition. he was correct in his conclusions more frequently than any man of his age. his knowledge of human nature was more consummate than that of any of his compeers who were remarkable for greatness of mind. in this, as in all other matters, his opinion was formed with the first glance. his intimacy with every sort of character, in his extended intercourse with the world, seemed so to have educated his faculties and whetted his perception, that he only wanted to look at a man for five minutes to know his inmost nature. yet he was sometimes deceived, and, ascertaining this, nothing enraged him more. in his friendships he was almost fanatical. the humblest individual, who was his friend, and who had proven it, could command him in any manner, and to the full extent of his capacity to serve him. a remarkable instance of this trait was manifested in his conduct as president, toward a young friend, mr. gwinn, who was reared in the neighborhood of the hermitage, and whose father had long been a trusted friend of jackson. in , when the lands obtained from the choctaws in mississippi were being brought into market, the office of register in the land-office in that state was an important one. it was given to gwinn by jackson, who was then president. when the nomination was sent to the senate, opposition was made to its confirmation by george poindexter, a senator from mississippi. it had always been the practice of all preceding presidents, when suitable persons could be had, to nominate them from the state in which the united states office to be filled was located. poindexter insisted that this custom, from long usage, had become law; and to send a citizen from one state into another, there to fill a national office, was an indignity to her citizens, and a manifestation, to say the least of it, of distrust and suspicion as to the capacity or honesty of the people of the state. this opposition was successful, and gwinn was rejected. the nomination was renewed, and again rejected. jackson wrote to gwinn, who was already by executive appointment discharging the duties of the office, to continue to do so. i was present when the letter was received, and permitted to read it. "poindexter has deserted me," he said, "and his opposition to your nomination is to render, as far as he can, my administration unpopular with the people of mississippi; and a majority of the senate are more than willing to aid him in this. they are only destroying themselves, not me, and some of them will soon find this out. do you hold on to the office; i will make no more nominations; but commission you _ad interim_ as soon as congress adjourns, which will be in a few weeks at farthest. very soon my friends will be in a majority in the senate--until then, i will keep you in the office, for i am determined you shall have it, spite of poindexter." the result was as he had promised. this is but one of a thousand instances which might be enumerated to attest the same fact. such traits are always appreciated as they deserve to be; they address themselves to the commonest understanding, and are esteemed by all mankind. it is a mistake the world makes, that jackson's popularity was exclusively military. those great qualities of mind and soul which constituted him a great general, were not only displayed in his military career, but in all his life; and to them he was indebted for the friends of his whole life; they made him a man of mark before he was twenty-five years of age. his courage, intrepidity, frankness, honor, truth, and sincerity were all pre-eminent in his conduct, and carried captive the admiration of all men. his devotion to his wife, to his friends, to his duty, was always conspicuous; and these are admired and honored, even by him who never had in his heart a feeling in common with one of these. all these traits were so striking in jackson's character as to make them conspicuous. they were more marked in his than in that of any other man of his day, because the impulses of his temperament were more prompt and potent. they were natural to him, and always naturally displayed. there was neither assumption of feeling nor deceit in its manifestation; all he evinced, bubbled up from his heart, naturally and purely as spring-water, and went directly to the heart. these great and ennobling traits were not unfrequently marred by passion, and acts which threw a cloud over their brilliancy; but this, too, was natural: the same soul which was parent to this violence and extravagance of passion, was, too, the source of all his virtues, and all were equally in excess. the consequence of this violence were sometimes terrible. they were evanescent, and, like a thunder-storm, seemed only to clear the atmosphere for the display of beautiful weather. the triumphs of mind, unaided by education, sometimes are astonishing,--in the case of general jackson, perhaps, not more so than in many others. the great warwick of england, the putter-up and the puller-down of kings, did not know his letters; marshal soult, the greatest of napoleon's marshals, could not write a correct sentence in french; and stevenson, the greatest engineer the world ever saw--the inventor of the locomotive engine--did not know his letters at twenty-one years of age, and was always illiterate. it is a question whether such minds would have been greatly aided by education, or whether they might not have been greatly injured by it--nature seeming to have formed all minds with particular proclivities. these are more marked in the stronger intellects. they direct to the pursuit in life for which nature has designed the individual: should this idiosyncrasy receive the proper education from infancy, doubtless it would be aided to the more rapid and more certain accomplishment of the designs of nature. to discover this in the child, requires that it should be strongly developed, and a close and intelligent observation on the part of the parent or guardian who may have the direction of the child's education. but this, in the system of education almost universally pursued, is never thought of; and the avocation of the future man is chosen for him, without any regard to his aptitudes for it, and often in disregard of those manifested for another. consequently, nature is thwarted by ignorance, and the individual drags on unsuccessfully in a hated pursuit through life. left alone, these proclivities become a passion, and where strongly marked, and aided by strength of will, they work out in wonderful perfection the designs of nature. julius cæsar, hannibal, attila, yengis khan, prince eugène, marlborough, napoleon, and wellington were all generals by nature--and so were andrew jackson and "stonewall" jackson. the peculiarities of talent which make a great general make a great statesman; and all of those who, after distinguishing themselves as great generals, were called to the administration of the civil affairs of their respective governments, have equally distinguished themselves as civilians. the proposing of general jackson as a candidate for the presidency was received, by most of those who were deemed statesmen, as a burlesque; and many of those most active in his support only desired his election to further their own views, and not for the country's benefit. it was supposed he was so entirely unacquainted with state-craft, that he would be a pliant tool--an automaton, to dance to their wire-pulling. how little they understood him, and how well he understood them! at once he let them know he was president, and was determined to take the responsibility of administering the government in the true spirit of its institutions. the alarm, which pervaded all political circles so soon as this was understood, is remembered well. it was a bomb exploded under the mess-table, scattering the mess and breaking to fragments all their cunningly devised machinations for rule and preferment--an open declaration of war against all cliques and all dictation. his inaugural was startling, and his first message explicit. his policy was avowed, and though it gathered about him a storm, he nobly breasted it, and rode it out triumphantly. his administration closed in a blaze of glory. he retired the most popular and most powerful man the nation had ever seen. chapter xii. gossip. unrequited love--popping the question--practical joking--satan let loose--rhea, but not rhea--teachings of nature--h.s. smith. this must be a gossiping chapter, of many persons and many things, running through many years. i love to dwell upon the years of youth. they are the sweetest in life; and these memories constitute most of the happiness of declining life. incidents in our pilgrimage awaken the almost forgotten, and then how many, many memories flit through the mind, and what a melancholy pleasure fills the soul! we think, and think on, calling this and that memory up from the grave of forgetfulness, until all the past seems present, and we live over the bliss of boyhood with a mimic ecstasy of young life and its gladdening joys. like every young man, i suppose, i loved a fair girl with beautiful blue eyes, and lips so pouting and plump, so ruddy and liquid, that the words seemed sweetened as they melted away from them; but my love was unpropitious, and another was preferred to me. i have ever been curious to know why. vanity always in my own soul made me greatly the superior of the favored one, in all particulars. but she did not think so, and chose as she liked. i saw her but once a bride. i went away, and found, as others do, another and dearer love. sitting on my horse by her side, as she held in her beautiful palfrey, upon the summit of a cliff, which rises grandly above, and brows the drab waters of the great mississippi, she pointed to the river, which resembled a great, white serpent, winding among green fields and noble forests, for twenty miles below. her eyes were gray, and large, and lovely; her form was towering, and her mien commanding. she grew with the scene. she was born only a mile away, in the midst of a wild forest of walnut and magnolia, amid towering hills, and cherished them and this mighty river in childhood, until she partook of their grandeur and greatness. i thought she was like the love of my youth, and i loved her, and told her of it. the sun was waning--going down to rest, and, like a mighty monarch, was folding himself away to sleep in gorgeous robes of crimson and gold. in his shaded light, outstretching for fifty miles beyond the river, lay, in sombre silence, the mighty swamp, with its wonderful trees of cypress, clothed in moss of gray, long, and festooning from their summits to the earth below, and waving, like banners, in the passing wind. the towering magnolia, in all the pride of foliage and flower, shaded us. the river, in silent and dignified majesty, moved onward far below, and evening breezes bathed, with their delicious touch, our glowing cheeks. the scene was grand, and my feelings were intense. in the midst of all this beauty and grandeur, she was the cynosure of eye and heart. i loved her; and yet, my conscience rebuked me for forgetting my first love, and i asked myself if, in all this wild delirium of soul, there was not some little ingredient of revenge. no, it was for herself--all for herself; and, chokingly, i told her of it, when she drooped her head, and, in silence, gave me her hand. we went away in silence. there was too much of feeling to admit of speech. delicious memory! of all our ten children, four only remain. the willow's tears bedew her grave, and her sons fill the soldier's grave, and, wrapped in the gray, sleep well. yesterday i met her who first kindled in my bosom affection for woman--a widowed woman, withered and old. she smiled: the lingering trace of what it was, was all that was left. the little, plump hand was lean and bony, and wrinkles usurped the alabaster brow. fifty years had made its mark. but memory was, by time, untouched. we parted. i closed my eyes, and there she was, in her girlhood's robes and her girlhood's beauty. the lip, the cheek, the glorious eye, were all in memory garnered still; and i loved that memory, but not the woman now. another was in the niche she first cut in my heart, whose cheek and eye and pouting lip were young and lovely. still these memories awoke out of this meeting, and, for hours, i forgot that i was wrinkled, old, and gray. i wonder how many's history i am writing now? the history of the heart, at last, is all the endearing history of waning life. recur as we may to every success, to every sorrow, and they whisper a chapter of the heart. we struggle to make happy those we love. the gratifications of wealth, ambition, and feeling, all refer to the heart. there could be no pleasure from these memories if those we loved had not participated in them. we build a home for her we love, and those who sprout around us. we win wealth and a name for these, and but for them, all that is innate would be only alloy. they must reflect the bliss it brings, or it has no sweetness. can there be a soul so sordid as to riot in pleasure and triumphs all alone--to shun companionship, and hate participation in the joys that come of successful life? i am in the midst of the scenes of my childhood, with here and there one friend left, who shared with me the school-hours, saturday rambles, and sports of early boyhood. with these the memories come fresh and vigorous of the then occurring incidents--the fishings, the saturday-night raccoon hunts, the forays upon orchards and melon-patches, and the rides to and from the old, country church on the sabbath; the practical jokes of which i was so fond, and from which even my own father was not exempt. kind reader, indulge the garrulity of age, and allow me to recount one of these. there are a few who will remember it; for they have laughed at it for fifty years. i never knew my father to tell a fib but upon one occasion in my life. under the circumstances, i am sure the kindly nature will, at least, allow it to be a white one. i am near the old mill my father built, and, if i remember all connected with my boyhood there, i trust there will be few or none to sneer or blame. the flouring-mill, or mill for grinding grain, and the saw-mill were united under the same roof; and it was the business of father to give his attention, as overseer, not only to the mills, but to his planting interest. he employed a north carolina scotchman--that is, a man descended of scotch parents, but born in north carolina--to superintend his saw-mill, who had all the industry, saving propensities, and superstitions of his ancestry. he was a firm believer in spells, second-sights, and ghosts. taking advantage of these superstitions, my brother and myself made him the sufferer in many a practical joke. upon one occasion, we put into circulation, in the neighborhood, a story full of wonder. a remarkable spectre had been seen near the mill on dark nights, and especially on those misty nights of murky gloom, common in early spring to this latitude. its form was unique and exaggerated, with flaming eyes, and mouth of huge proportions, with long, pointed teeth, white and sharp. for weeks, this gorgon of my imagination constituted the theme of neighborhood gossip. several negroes had seen it, and fled its fierce pursuit, barely escaping its voracious mouth and attenuated claws, through the fleetness of fear. the old hardshell baptist preacher, of the vicinage, had proclaimed him from the pulpit as satan unchained, and commencing his thousand years of wandering up and down the earth. i had procured from a vine in the plum-orchard a gourd of huge dimensions, such as in that day were used by frugal housewives for the keeping of lard for family use. it would hold in its capacious cavity at least half a bushel. this was cut one-third of its circumference for a mouth, and this was garnished with teeth from the quills of a venerable gander, an especial pet of my mother. the eyes were in proportion, and were covered with patches of red flannel, purloined from my mother's scrap-basket. a circle, an inch in diameter, made of charcoal, formed an iris to a pupil, cut round and large, through the flannel. a candle was lighted, and introduced through a hole at the bottom of the gourd, and all mounted upon a pole some ten feet long. in the dark it was hideous, and, on one or two occasions, had served secretly to frighten some negroes, to give it reputation. it was designed for rhea, the carolinian. on saturday night it was his uniform practice to come up to the house, cleanly clad, to spend the evening. there was a canal which conveyed the water from the head above to the mill. this ran parallel with the stream, and was crossed, on the public road, by a bridge, one portion of which was shaded by a large crab-apple bush. though fifty years ago, it still remains to mark the spot. beyond the creek (which was bridged, for foot-passengers, with the trunk of a large tree,) was a newly cleared field, in which the negroes were employed burning brush on the saturday night chosen for my sport. here, under this crab-tree, i awaited the coming of rhea. it was misty, and densely dark. presently the footsteps of my victim were heard approaching; he was on the bridge. he came on cautiously, to be secure of a safe footing in the dark. suddenly i turned the grinning monster full in his face. a scream and a leap followed. down the muddy creek-bank rushed my victim, plunged through the tumbling waters waist-deep, and, as soon as the opposite shore was reached, a vociferous call was made for tom, the negro foreman. horror of horrors! it was my father's voice. in an instant my candle was out, and i was running. i passed unconcernedly through the house and took a seat in the back passage, and awaited events. it was not long before the sloppy noise of shoes full of water, heard in walking, came through the yard, and into the house. it was my dear old frightened father, all reeking from his plunge into the creek. "why, husband," asked mother, "how did you get so wet?" he slung the damp from his hat as he cleared his throat, and said: "i slipped off that cursed log, in crossing the creek." reflection had told him he had been foolishly frightened, and he was ashamed to acknowledge it. my conscience smote me, but i laughed, and trembled--for had he made discovery of the trick, it would have been my time to suffer. memory brings back the features, the kind and gentle look of that dear and indulgent parent, and the unbidden tear comes. the last time i ever saw him was at the terminus of the railroad, on the banks of lake pontchartrain; he placed his aged arms about my shoulders, and, pressing me to his bosom, bid me "farewell," as, trembling with emotion, he continued: "we are parting forever, my child." he had met misfortunes in his latter days, and was poor, but i had filled his purse with the means which smoothed his way the remnant of his life. the prediction was but too true; in less than one year after that parting, he slept in death. and now, when war and death have swept from me children, fortune, all, and i am old and needy, it is a consolation known only to my own bosom that i plucked the thorn from my parent's path. these are childish memories, and may be too puerile for record; but i am sure most of my readers will find in them something of their own childhood's memories. it is my memories of men and things, i am writing, and i would be faithful to them. boyhood's memories crowd the after-life with half the joys its destiny demands; associations which revive them come as pleasant showers to the parched herbage when autumn's sun withers its flush, and yellows the green of spring-time. oh! the zest of early sports--of boyhood's mischief; so free from selfishness, so untouched with meanness, so full of joyous excitement, so loved for itself. every man has been a boy; every woman has been a girl; and all alike have felt and enjoyed the sweets of young life; and when years and cares and tears have stolen away the green from the soul, and the blossoms of the grave whiten about the brow, and the unbidden sigh breaks away from the grief of the heart, and memory startles with what was when we were young, the contrast would be full of misery did not a lingering of the joys which filled our frolics and our follies come to dull the edge of sorrow. when the cravings of the mind, taught by time to be unrealizable, are driven from hope; when the purity of youthful feelings are soiled by contact with the world's baseness; when the world's passing interests harden the sensibilities, and we have almost forgotten that we were ever young, or had a youthful joy, some little story, some little incident will startle the memory, and touch and tone the heart to the music of its spring, and the desert waste which time has made green again with memories which grew from bliss budding in our youth; and, though they never come to fruitage, are cherished with a joy. oh! the heart, the heart--what are all its joys of youth, and all its griefs of age? is it that youth has no apprehensions, and we enjoy its anticipations and its present without alloy? or does its _all_ belong to love and joy when life and the world is new? are these too bright, too pure for time? and the griefs of later life the dead sea apples which grow from them. and is it so with all? is there one, whose years have brought increase of happiness, and who has lived on without a sorrow? in god's economy must all experience misery, to dull the love of life, and kindle hope for a blissful future, to steal from the heart its cherished _here_, to yield it all in its _hereafter_. ah! we know what a world this is, but what a world is to come we know not. is it not as reasonable to believe we lived before our birth into this, as to hope we shall live after death in another world? is this hope the instinct of the coming, or does it grow from the baser instinct of love for the miserable life we have? it is easy to ask, but who shall answer? is it the mind which remembers, and is the mind the soul? or is the soul independent of the mind, surviving the mind's extinction? and do the memories of time die with time? or, do these pursue beyond the grave? must the surviving spirit have its memories of time and grief? then, surely, death is poor relief. shall it forget the all of time, when time's with all her uses gone, and be a babe in that new clime? then death is but oblivion. youth's happiness is half of hope; all that of age is memory--and yet these memories more frequently sadden than gladden the heart. then what is life to age? garrulity, and to be in the way. our household gods grow weary of our worship, and the empty stool we have filled in gray and trembling age in the temple we have built, when we are gone is kicked away, and we are forgotten; our very children regret (though they sometimes assume a painful apprehension) we do not make haste to die--if we have that they crave, and inherit when we shall have passed to eternity. but if the gift of raiment and food is imposed by poverty on those who gave them birth, they complain, and not unfrequently turn from their door the aged, palsied parent, to die, or live on strangers' charity. sad picture, but very true, very true; poor human nature! and man, so capable in his nature of this ungodliness, boasts himself made after god's own image. vanity of vanities! nature's harmony, nature's loveliness, nature's expansive greatness and grandeur teaches of god, and godliness. the inanimate and unthinking are consistently harmonious and beautiful; man only mars the harmony, and makes a hell for man in time. then, is time his all? or, shall this accursed rabidness be purged away with death, and he become a tone in accord with inanimate things? or, shall this but purify as fire the yielding metal, the inner man, which hope or instinct whispers lives, and animates its tenement of time, to view, to know, and to enjoy creation through eternity? wild thoughts are kindling in my brain, wild feelings stir my heart. this is a beautiful sabbath morning, the blazing sun wades through the blue ether, and space seems redolent of purity and beauty. the breeze is as bland as the breath of a babe, coming through my casement with the light, and bathing my parched cheek; and the sere summer is warming away the gentle, genial spring. this is her last day; and to how many countless thousands is it the last day of life? oh! could i die as gently, as beautifully as dies this budding season of the year, and could i know my budding hopes, like these buds of spring, would, in their summer, grow to fruit as these are growing, how welcome eternity! but i, as well, have my law, and must wait its fulfilment. it is the sabbath wisely ordained to rest, and in its quiet and beauty obviating care and sorrow. would it were to the restless mind as to the weary limbs, and as to these, to this give ease and repose! i have been dreaming, and my boyhood days revive with busy memories. my gentle mother, ever tender and kind, seems busy before me; the old home, the old servants, as they were; the old school-house in the woods by the branch, and many a merry face laughing and beaming around; and my own old classmate, my solitary classmate, so loved, ah! so loved even unto this day. it was only yesterday i saw him, old and care-worn, yet in all the nobility of his soul, bearing with stern philosophy the miseries of misfortune inflicted by the red hand of merciless war, yielding with dignity and graceful resignation to the necessities imposed by unscrupulous power, conscious of no wrong, and sustained by that self-respect the result of constant and undeviating rectitude which has marked his long life. from childhood our hearts have been intertwined, and death only has the power to tear them apart. we sat together long hours, and talked of the past--alternately, as their memories floated up, asking each other, "where is this one? and this?" and to each inquiry the sad monosyllable, "dead!" was the reply, of all who were with us at school when we were boys. we alone are left! in my strife with the world, i can never forget the scenes of my childhood, and those who were there when i was a child. i remember them yet; their features, their persons, to memory so dear, are present forever, and cling round my heart-- on the plains of the west, in the forest's deep wild, on the blue, briny sea, in commerce's mart, 'mid the throngs of gay cities with palaces piled. the bottle of milk, and the basket of food, prepared by my mother, at dawning of day, for my dinner at school; and path through the wood: how well i remember that wood and that way, the brook which ran through it, the bridge o'er the brook, the dewberry-briers which grew by its side, my slate, and my satchel, and blue spelling-book, and little white pony father gave me to ride! the spring by the hill, where our bottles were placed to bathe in its waters, so clear and so cool, till dinner-time came! oh! then how we raced to get them, and dine in the shade by the pool! the spring, and the pool, and the shade are still there, but the dear old school-house has rotted and gone, and all who were happy about it are--where? go--go to the church-yard, and ask the grave-stone! a few there are left, old, tottering, and gray, apart and forgotten, as those who are dead; yet sometimes they meet on life's thorny way, and talk, and live over the days that have fled. oh! how i remember those faces so bright, which beamed in their boyhood with honesty's ray! and oft, when alone, in the stillness of night, we're all at the school-house again, and at play! of all those who were there with me, the best loved was h.s. smith, now of mobile; and he, with perhaps one or two more, are all that are now living. our ages are the same, within a week or two, i am sure; and we are of the same height and same weight; and our attachment was mutual: it has never been marred through threescore years and ten, and to-day we are, as brothers should be, without a secret hidden in the heart, the one from the other. as a friend, as a husband, as a father, as a man, i know none to rival h.s. smith. he never aspired to political distinction: content to pursue, through life, the honorable and responsible business of a merchant, he has distinguished himself for energy, capacity, probity, and success; and in his advanced years enjoys the confidence and esteem of all honest men. our years have been, since , spent apart--communication, however, has never ceased between us, and the early friendship, so remarked by all who knew us, continues, and will until one is alone in life. i know this narrative will not be interesting to those unacquainted with smith and myself. to such i say, close the book, nor read on, but turn to that which may interest more, because more known. i could not pen the memories of fifty years, and forbear those the sweetest now, because their fruit to me has ever been the sweetest; and the noble virtues of the private gentleman cannot be the less appreciated because they have only adorned a circle where they shone in common with those around him. these are the men who preserve the public morals, and purify the atmosphere polluted by the corruptions of men prominent before the world for distinguished abilities, and equally distinguished immoralities. from these radiate that open-hearted honesty which permeates society, and teaches by example, and which so often rebukes the laxity of those who, from position, should be an example and an ornament. the purling stream murmuring its lowly song beneath the shading forest and modest shrubs may attract less attention than the turbid, roaring river, but is always purer, sweeter, more health-giving and lovely. the romance of youth is the sugar of life, and its sweets to memory, as life recedes, augment as "distance lends enchantment to the view." we make no account of the evanescent troubles which come to us then but for a moment, and are immediately chased away with the thickening delights that gild young life and embalm it for the memories of age. the gravity of years delights to recount these; and few are indisposed to listen, for it is a sort of heart-history of every one, and in hearing or reading, memory awakes, and youth and its joys are back again, even to tottering, palsied age. then, gentle reader, do not sneer at me: these are all i have left; my household gods are torn away, my boys sleep in bloody graves, my home is desolate, i am alone, with only one to comfort me--she who shares the smiles and tears which lighten and soothe the weary days of ebbing life. chapter xiii. influence of childhood. first impressions--fortune--mirabeau b. lamar--dr. alonzo church--julius cÆsar--l.q.c. lamar--texan independence--colquitt--lumpkin--what a great man can do in one day--charles j. jenkins. the memories of childhood cling, perhaps, more tenaciously than those of any after period of life. the attachments and antipathies then formed are more enduring. our school-companions at our first school--the children of our immediate neighborhood, who first rolled with us upon the grass, and dabbled with us in the branch--we never forget. time, absence, protracted separation, all fail to obliterate the features, the dispositions, or anything about them, which so unconsciously fastens upon the mind, and grows into the tender soul of childhood. these memories retain and bring back with them the feelings, the likes and dislikes, which grew with them. these feelings are the basis of lifetime loves, and eternal antipathies. the boy is father to the man, as the girl is mother to the woman. who that has lived seventy years will not attest this from his own life's experience? the generous, truthful boy will be the noble, honorable man; the modest, timid, truthful girl will be the gentle, kind, and upright woman. nature plants the germ, and education but cultivates the tree. it never changes the fruit. the boy who, when dinner-time comes, happens to have a pie, when his fellows have none, and will open his basket before his companions, and divide with them, will carry the same trait to the grave. his hand will open to assist the needy, and he will seek no reward beyond the consciousness of having done right. and he who, with the same school-boy's treasure, will steal away, and devour it behind the school-house, and alone, will, through life, be equally mean in all his transactions. from motives of interest, he may assume a generosity of conduct, but the innate selfishness of his heart will, in the manner of his dispensing favors, betray itself. education, and the influences of polished society, may refine the manners, but they never soften the heart to generous emotions, where nature has refused to sow its seed. but where her hand has been liberal in this divine dispensation, no misfortune, no want of education or association, will prevent their germination and fructification. such hearts divide their joys and their sorrows, with the fortunate and afflicted, with the same emotional sincerity with which they lift their prayers to heaven. the school-room is an epitome of the world. there the same passions influence the conduct of the child, which will prompt it in riper years, and the natural buddings of the heart spring forth, and grow on to maturity with the mind and the person. college life is but another phase of this great truth, when these natural proclivities are more manifest, because more matured. it is not the greatest mind which marks the greatest soul, and it is not the most successful who are the noblest and best. the shrewd, the mean, and the selfish grow rich, and are prosperous, and are courted and preferred, because there are more who are mean and venal in the world than there are who are generous and good. but it is the generous and good who are the great benefactors of mankind; and yet, if there was no selfishness in human nature, there would be no means of doing good. wealth is the result of labor and economy. these are not incompatible with generosity and ennobling manliness. the proper discrimination in the application of duties and donations toward the promotion of useful institutions, and the same discrimination in the dispensation of private charities, characterize the wise and good of the world. these attributes of mind and heart are apparent in the child; and in every heart, whatever its character, there is a natural respect and love for these, and all who possess them. such grow with their growth in the world's estimation, and are prominent, however secluded in their way of life, or unpretending in their conduct, with all who know them, or with whom, in the march of life, they come in contact. it is to but few that fortune throws her gifts, and these are rarely the most deserving, or the goddess had not been represented with a bandage over her eyes. she is blind, and though her worshippers are many, she kisses but few, and cannot see if they be fair and beautiful or crooked and ugly. hence most of those who receive her favors conceal them in selfishness, and hoard them to be despised; while hundreds, slighted of her gifts, cultivate the virtues, which adorn and ennoble, and are useful and beloved. will you, who yet live, and were children when i was a child, turn back with me in memory to those days, and to those who were your school-fellows and playmates then? do you remember who were the brave and generous, kind and truthful among them? and do you recall their after lives? answer me; were not these the true men in that day? do you remember william c. dawson, joseph h. lumpkin, lucius q.c. lamar, and his brother mirabeau b. lamar, eugenius nesbit, walter t. colquitt, and eli s. shorter? how varied in temperament, in character, in talent; and yet how like in the great leading features of the soul! love for their country, love for their kind, love for the good was common to them all; unselfish beyond what was necessary to the wants of their families, generous in the outpourings of the soul, philanthropic, and full of charity. they hoarded no wealth, nor sought it as a means of power or promotion. intent upon the general good, and content with an approving conscience and the general approbation, their lives were correct, and their services useful; and they live in the memory of a grateful people as public benefactors. there are others who rise to memory, who were at school with these, who were men with these, but they shall be nameless, who struggled, and successfully, to fill their coffers to repletion, and for nothing else; who have been courted by the mercenary, and flattered by the fawning sycophant; who, with their hoardings, have passed away, and no grateful memory remains of their lives; their hoards are dissipated, and they are only remembered to be despised. and yet others, who swam in the creek and sported on the play-ground with all of these, whose vicious propensities were apparent then--whose after lives were as their boyhood promised, a curse to society in evil deeds and evil example--have gone, too, unwept, unhonored, and luckily unhung. mirabeau b. lamar was the son of john lamar, of putnam county, georgia, and received his education principally at milledgeville and at putnam. from his earliest boyhood, he was remarkable for his genius and great moral purity. his ardent, poetical temperament was accompanied with exquisite modesty, and a gentle playfulness of disposition; with an open, unaffected kindness of heart, which as a boy rendered him popular with his fellows at school, and beloved by his teachers. there was in him a natural chivalry of character, which characterized him above all of his early compeers, and made him a model in conduct. truthful and manly, retiring and diffident, until occasion called out the latent spirit of his nature; then the true greatness of his soul would burst forth in an impetuous eloquence, startlingly fierce and overwhelming. nor was this excitement always wasted in words--not a few, when yet a boy, have regretted the awakening of his wrath. it was upon occasions like this, that his eye assumed an expression which i have never seen in the eye of any other human being. his eyes were beautifully blue, large, and round, and were always changing and varying in their expression, as the mind would suggest thought after thought; and so remarkable were these variations, that, watching him in repose, one who knew him well could almost read the ideas gathering and passing through his mind. there was a pleasant vein of satire in his nature, sometimes expressed, but always in words and in a manner which plucked away its sting: an abstract wit of gentle flow, which wounds no friend, and hurts no foe. he was my school-fellow and companion in childhood, my friend and associate in early manhood; our intimacy was close and cordial, and in after life this friendship became intense--and i knew him perhaps better than any man ever knew him. all the peculiarities of the boy remained with the man, distinguishing him in all his associations. the refined purity of his nature made him naturally to despise and scorn all meanness and vice, and so intensely as to render an association with any man distinguished by these, however exalted his intellect, or extensive his attainments, impossible. falsehood, or the slightest dishonorable conduct in any man, put him at once beyond the pale of his favor or respect. in all my association with him, i never saw an indelicate act in his conduct, or heard an obscene word in his conversation. in youth, he was fond of the society of ladies--fond of this society not for a pastime, but because of his high appreciation of the virtues of those he selected for society. in his verse, "memoriam," he has embalmed the memory of those of our early female friends he most esteemed. he rather courted this association in the individual than in the collective assembly--for he was not fond of crowds, either in society, or the ordinary assemblages of men and women. the love of fame, more than any other passion, fired his ambition; but it was not the love of notoriety--the fame he courted was not that which should only render his name conspicuous among men, that he might receive the incense of hypocritical flattery, or be pointed at by the fickle multitude--for such, his contempt was supreme; but it was the desire of his heart, and the struggle of his life, to be embalmed in men's memories as the benefactor of his race, to be remembered for his deeds as the great and the good. this was the spontaneous prompting of his heart, and for this he labored with the zeal of a martyr. much of his early life was devoted exclusively to literature. his reading, though without order, was select and extensive. he was well versed in ancient history. the heroic characters of greece and rome were his especial admiration, and that of brutus above all others. of the nations of modern europe, and their history, he knew everything history could teach. his imagination was fired with the heroic in the character of those of modern times, as well as those of antiquity, and seemed the model from which was formed his own. the inflexible integrity, the devoted patriotism, the unselfish heroism of these were constantly his theme when a schoolboy, and the example for his imitation in manhood. when a school-boy, and at a public examination and exhibition, (then common at the academies throughout the state,) our teacher, that paragon of good men, dr. alonzo church, selected the tragedy of julius cæsar for representation by the larger boys, and, by common consent, the character of brutus was assigned to lamar. every one felt that the lofty patriotism and heroic virtues of the old roman would find a fit representative in lamar. i remember, in our rehearsals, how completely his identity would be lost in that of brutus. he seemed to enter into all the feelings and the motives which prompted the great soul of the roman to slay his friend for his country's good. time has left but one or two who participated in the play. the grave has closed over lamar, as over the others. those who remain will remember the bearing of their companion, on that occasion, as extraordinary--the struggle between inclination and duty--the pathos with which he delivered his speech to the people after the assassination, but especially his bearing and manner in the reply to cassius' proposition to swear the conspirators--the expansion of his person to all its proportions, as if his soul was about to burst from his body, as he uttered: "no, not an oath." and again, when the burning indignation burst from him at the supposition of the necessity of an oath to bind honorable men: "swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous, old, feeble, carious, and such suffering souls that welcome wrongs, unto bad causes. swear such creatures as men doubt, but do not stain the even virtue of our enterprise, nor the unsuppressive mettle of our spirits, to think that our cause, or our performance, did need an oath; when every drop of blood that every roman bears, and nobly bears, is guilty of a several bastardy if he do break the smallest particle of any promise that hath passed from him." though a boy, the effect upon the audience was electrical. the nature of his boy representative was the same as that which animated rome's noblest son. from his soul he felt every word, and they burned from his lips, with a truth to his soul and sentiments, that went home to every heart in that assembly of plain farmers, and their wives and daughters. there were not ten, perhaps, who had ever witnessed a theatrical entertainment, but their hearts were mortal and honest, and they saw in the mimic youth the impersonation of the nobility of soul, and mighty truth, and the spontaneous burst of applause was but the sincerity of truth. the exclamation of one i shall never forget: "he is cut out for a great man." there was no stage-trick; he had never seen a theatre. there was no assumption of fictitious feeling; but nature bubbled up in his heart, and the words of shakspeare, put into the mouth of brutus, were but the echo of the deep, true feelings of his soul. through all his life this great nature adorned his conversation, and exemplified his conduct. the soul of brutus was born in lamar. all the truth and chivalry illustrative of the conduct of the one, was palpable in the other. let those who saw him, at san jacinto, at the head of his sixty horsemen, ride upon the ranks of santa anna's hosts, tell of his bearing in that memorable charge, when he rose in his stirrups, and, waving his sword over his head, exclaimed: "remember, men, the alamo! remember goliad, fannin, bowie, and travis! charge! and strike in vengeance for the murdered of our companions." resistless as the tempest, they followed his lead, and swept down upon the foe, charging through, and disordering their ranks, and, following in their flight for miles, made many a mexican bite the dust, or yield himself a prisoner to their intrepidity. to this charge was solely attributable the capture of santa anna, almonte, and the principal portion of the mexican army, and the establishment of texan independence. as a poet, he was above mediocrity, and his "sully riley," and many of his fugitive pieces, will long survive, to perpetuate the refined delicacy of his nature, when, perhaps, his deeds as a soldier and as president of texas shall have passed away. in stature he was below the medium height, but was stout and muscular. his face was oval, and his eyes blue, and exceedingly soft and tender in their expression, save when aroused by excitement, when they were blazing and luminous with the fire of his soul, which enkindled them. he was free from every vice, temperate in living, and remarkable for his indifference to money--with a lofty contempt for the friends and respectability which it alone conferred. if there ever lived four men insensible to fear, or superior to corruption, they were the four brothers lamar. they are all in eternity, and their descendants are few, but they wear unstained the mantle of their ancestry. l.q.c. lamar, the elder brother of the four, was educated at franklin college, and studied law in milledgeville. very soon after, he was admitted to the bar. he became distinguished for attention to business, and for talent, as well as legal attainments. like his brother, m.b. lamar, he was remarkable for his acute sense of honor and open frankness, a peerless independence, and warm and noble sympathies. he married, while young, the daughter of d. bird. the mother of his lady was one of the williamson sisters, so remarkable for their superiority, intellectually, and whose descendants have been, and are, so distinguished for talent. the character of l.q.c. lamar as a man, and as a lawyer, prompted the legislature of the state to elevate him to the bench of the superior court when very young; and at thirty-two years of age, he was known throughout the state as the great judge lamar. this family had contributed perhaps a greater number of men of distinguished character than any other family of the state. zachariah lamar, the uncle of judge lamar, was a man of high order of mind, distinguished for his love of truth, stern honesty, and great energy. he was the father of colonel john b. lamar, who fell in the service of the south, in the recent conflict. he was one of georgia's noblest sons, and his memory is cherished by all who knew him. henry g. lamar, a former member of congress, and judge of the superior court of the state, was a cousin of both john b. and m.b. lamar; and the eminent and eloquent lucius lamar, of mississippi, who was considered, when young, the best orator of the house of representatives of the united states congress, is the son of judge l.q.c. lamar. the name of lamar has long been a synonym for talent and chivalrous honor in georgia. they have been distinguished in every pursuit, and no stain has ever rested upon the name--in whatever avocation employed, conspicuous for capacity, honesty, and energy. they are of french extraction, and to their latest posterity they continue to exhibit those traits peculiar to the french--chivalry, intense sensibility, love of truth, refinement of manner, lofty bearing, and a devotion to honor which courts death rather than dishonor. the name of m.b. lamar is identified with the history of texas, as a leader among that band of remarkable men who achieved her independence of mexican rule--houston, sidney johnson, bowie, travis, crockett, and fannin. he was twice married; his first wife, miss jordan, died young, leaving him a daughter. this was a bitter blow, and it was long ere he recovered it. his second wife was the daughter of the distinguished methodist preacher john newland moffitt, and sister of captain moffitt, late of the service of the confederacy. he died at richmond, fort bend county, texas, beloved and regretted as few have been. perhaps among the most remarkable men of the state, contemporaneous with the lamars, was walter t. colquitt, joseph h. lumpkin, charles j. jenkins, william c. dawson, and charles j. mcdonald: all of these were natives of the state--colquitt, eugenius a. nesbit, and mcdonald, of hancock county; lumpkins, oglethorpe, dawson, green, and jenkins, of richmond; nesbit, of greene. at the period of time when these men were young, education was deemed essential, at least to professional men. they all enjoyed the benefits of a classical education. lumpkin and colquitt received theirs at princeton, new jersey, and i believe were classmates, at least they were college-mates. colquitt returned home before graduating; lumpkin received the second honor in his class. returning to georgia, lumpkin read law in the town of lexington, the court-house town of his native county; and commenced, as soon as admitted, its practice in the northern circuit of the state. at the time he came to the bar, it was ornamented with such men as thomas w. cobb, stephen upson, george r. gilmer, john a. herd, and duncan g. campbell. he rose rapidly to eminence in the midst of this galaxy of talent and learning. the great john m. dooly was upon the bench of this circuit, and was the intimate friend of wilson lumpkin, an elder brother of joseph h. lumpkin. wilson lumpkin and joseph h. lumpkin were politically opposed. the former was an especial friend of dooly; the latter, of william h. crawford. mr. crawford, soon after lumpkin's admission to the bar, returned to his home, near lexington, and gave his countenance and support to him, and at the same time his bitterest opposition to the political aspirations of his brother. the forensic abilities of young lumpkin were winning for him in the state a proud eminence. his exalted moral character, studious habits, and devotion to business attracted universal observation and general comment. he had been from his birth the favorite of all his acquaintances, for the high qualities of his head and heart--the model held up by mothers for the example of their sons. scarcely any boy in the county was ever reprimanded for a wild frolic or piece of amusing mischief, who was not asked, "why can't you be like joe lumpkin?" all this favoritism, however flattering, did not spoil him, as is too frequently the case with precocious youth. his ambition had fixed a lofty mark, and he availed himself of this universal popularity to reach it; at the same time, he left no effort neglected to deserve it, and maintain it, once acquired. the state was teeming with young men of talent, scarcely a county without at least one of great promise. lumpkin saw and knew the rivalry would be fierce, and success only to be obtained by superior abilities and eminent attainments. the legislature was the first step to fame, and political fame then the most desired and the most sought. party was rancorous in its spirit, producing intense excitement, pervading every bosom, male and female, to the extremes of the state--an excitement which so stamped itself upon the hearts of the entire people as to endure, and to mark their character and opinions even until to-day. lumpkin was very decided in his opinions, and open in their expression, yet there was none of that empoisoned bitterness in these expressions so characteristic of political aspirants in that day. such was alien to his kindly nature; and if it had not been, there were other causes to estop him from any such indulgence. his family was large. there were eight brothers; only one of these was younger than himself; these were about equally divided in political sentiment, and they, at least some of them, less amiable or less considerate than himself. he was the favorite of all, and was continually in communication with all of them, and was really the moderator of the family, and the healer of its feuds. at this time, too, the deep morality of his nature was growing into piety, and this sentiment was mellowing from his heart even the little of unkindness that had ever found a place there. at twenty-five years of age he was sent, by an almost unanimous vote, to the legislature from his county. he came with an exaggerated reputation for talent, especially for oratorical talent, and many of his friends feared he would not be able to sustain it in that body, where there were many of age and experience, with characters already long established for learning and eloquence, and also many young men from different parts of the state, who, like himself, had already won fame for high talent. among these was robert augustus bell, in sight of whose grave i write these lines. he passed away in early life, but georgia never produced a brighter or a nobler spirit. there were also charles dougherty, (who died young, but not without making his mark,) william law, hopkins holsey, and others, who have honored themselves and the state by eminent services on the bench and at the bar, and in the councils of their native and other states to which many of them emigrated. at the very opening of the session, lumpkin took position with the first on the floor of the house of representatives. his first speech was one of thrilling eloquence, and, before its conclusion, had emptied the senate chamber; many of its oldest and most talented members crowding about him, and listening with delight. the memory of that day revives with the freshness of yesterday. two or three only remain with me now, to recall the delight with which all hearts were filled who acted, politically, with lumpkins, as the beautiful and cogent sentences thrilled from his lips, with a trembling fervor, which came from an excitement born of the heart, and which went to the heart. bell, brailsford, dougherty, rumbert, and baxter, who, with myself, grouped near him, all are in the grave, save only i, and, standing a few weeks since by the fresh mould that covers joseph h. lumpkin, and yesterday by the grave of bell, my mind wandered back to the old state house, and to those who were with me there. separated for more than forty years from the home of my birth, being with, and becoming a part of another people--a noble, generous, and gallant people--and almost forgetting my mother tongue, these had faded away almost into forgetfulness; but, tottering with years, and full of sorrows, i am here amid the scenes made lovely and memorable by their presence, when we were all young and hopeful. they come back to me, and now, while i write, it seems their spirits float in the air of my chamber, and smile at me. why is my summons delayed so long? all that made life lovely is gone--youth, fortune, and household gods. my children are in bloody graves--she who bore them preceded them to eternity; yet i live on, and sigh, and remember, while imagination peoples with the past the scenes about me. the faces, the jest, and merry laugh come again; i see and hear them again. oblivion veils away the interval of forty-five years, and all is as it was. oh, could the illusion last till death shall make it truth! it is, i feel, but a foretaste of the reality soon to be, when hearts with hearts shall group again, and the reunion of sundered ties be eternal. lumpkin served a few sessions in the legislature, and retired from public life to devote his entire attention to his profession. he had married, almost as soon as he was admitted to the bar, one to whom he had been attached from boyhood, and the cares of a family were increasing and demanding his attention and efforts. no man ever more faithfully discharged these duties. the judiciary of georgia had consisted of two courts only--the superior, and inferior or county court--from the organization of the state. the country had long felt the want of a supreme court, for the correction of errors, and to render uniform the decisions upon the law throughout the state, which, under the prevailing system, had become very diverse, and which was becoming grievously oppressive. finally it was determined by the legislature to establish a supreme court. after the passage of the law, however, its organization was incomplete for the want of judges. party was distracting the councils of the state, and was carried into everything, and each party desired a controlling influence in this court, and their united co-operation in selecting judges could only be effected by the dominant party consenting to joseph h. lumpkin's accepting the chief-justiceship. he consented to do so, and the organization of the court was completed. this position, under repeated elections, he continued to hold until the day of his death, which occurred in the spring of . no man, perhaps, ever had the confidence of a people in the discharge of a high judicial duty more than had joseph h. lumpkin. his public duties were discharged with the most scrupulous conscientiousness, as were all of those pertaining to his private life and relations. he died in the neighborhood of his birth, and where he had continued to live through his whole life, passing through time with the companions of his childhood, and preserving their confidence and affection to the last. his death was sudden, and deeply mourned throughout the state, which had delighted so long to honor him. his name is identified with her history, as one of her brightest and best men. the talents of judge lumpkin were of a high order, and though he distinguished himself as a jurist, they were certainly more fitted for the forum than the bench. those who knew him best, and who were best fitted to judge, unite in the opinion that his eminence in political life would have been greater than that which distinguished him as a judge. he was a natural orator, and his oratory was of the highest order. his ideas flowed too fast for the pen, and he thought more vividly when on his feet, and in the midst of a multitude, than when in the privacy of his chamber. his language was naturally ornate and eloquent, and the stream of thought which flowed on in declamation, brightened and grew, in its progress, to a mighty volume. this, with the fervor of intense feeling which distinguished his efforts, made them powerfully effective. in toning down these feelings, and repressing the ornate and beautiful to the cold, concise legal opinion, his delivery lost not only its beauty, but much of its strength and power. he might have been less useful, but certainly he would have been more distinguished, had he pursued the bent of his genius. abilities like lumpkin's must succeed respectably, if directed to any pursuit; and even should they be prostituted to base and dishonorable purposes, they will distinguish the possessor above the herd. his temperament was nervous, his sensibility acute, and his sentiments exalted. fluent, with great command of language, he was peculiarly gifted for display in debate, and it was supposed, when he first came into the legislature, that he would soon rise to the first position in the national councils. but he determined for himself a different field; and, in view of his eminent services as an able and conscientious judge, who shall say he did not choose wisely? in an almost adjoining county to that of the residence of judge lumpkin, was coming forward, in the profession of law, another gifted son of georgia--walter t. colquitt. he was a compeer, at the bar, of chief-justice lumpkin. they were admitted to practice about the same time. he was a native of the county of hancock. his mother was the only sister of the eight brothers holt, every one of whom was distinguished for probity and worth. they all lived and died in the state, and every one of them was a representative man. they have all left descendants but one, and none yet have stained the name. as their ancestors, they are energetic, honest, and most worthy citizens. colquitt gave evidence, when very young, of his future career. as a boy, he was wild and full of mirth, but little inclined to study. he was fond of sport of every kind, and in everything to which his mind and inclinations turned, he would be first. compelled, by parental authority, to apply himself, he at once mastered his task, and was ready, then, for fun or frolic. remarkable for physical powers, he fondly embarked in all athletic sports, and in all excelled. bold and fearless, he was the leader in all adventures of mischief, and always met the consequences in the same spirit. it was remarked of him, when a boy, by one who knew him well, that in all he did he played "high, game," never "low, jack." in the wildness of his mischief there was always discoverable boldness and mind. at school and at college, though rarely winning an honor, he was always admitted by his fellows to possess superior abilities. these abilities were manifest more in the originality of his ideas, and their peculiar exemplification in his conduct, than in the sober, every-day manner of thought and action. his mind was versatile, and seemed capable of grasping and analyzing any subject. quick to perceive and prompt to execute, yielding obedience to no dogma, legal or political, he followed the convictions of his mind, without regard to precedent or example. his knowledge of human nature seemed intuitive, and his capacity of adaptation was without limit. at the period when he commenced the practice of law, the successful abilities in the profession were forensic. every case was tried by a jury, and the law made juries judges of law and fact. the power to control and direct these was the prime qualification of a lawyer, and nature had bestowed this, in an eminent degree, upon colquitt. there were few more eminent as advocates, or more successful as practitioners, though his legal attainments were never of a very high order. he was elevated to the bench, where he remained but a short time, feeling that this was no situation for the display of his peculiar powers, nor the proper or successful course for the gratification of his ambition. he had, at a previous time, united himself with the methodist church, and was licensed to preach. it was his habit to open his court, each morning, with prayer, and not unfrequently, during the week of his court, in each county of his circuit, to preach two or three sermons. he was a general of the militia, and would come down from the bench to review a regiment or brigade. it was this discharge of his multifarious duties which prompted an aged sister of his church, when the great men of the state were being discussed by the venerable ladies of a certain neighborhood, to claim the palm for colquitt. "ah! you may talk of your great men, but none on 'em is equal to brother colquitt; for he, in our county, tried a man for his life, and sentenced him to be hung, preached a sermon, mustered all the men in the county, married two people, and held a prayer-meeting, all in one day. now, wa'n't that great?" before a jury he was unequalled. his knowledge of men enabled him to determine the character of every juror, and his versatility to adapt his argument or address to their feelings and prejudices so effectually as to secure a verdict in mere compliment to the advocate. he left the bench to enter the political arena. it was here he found the field nature designed him for. before the people, he was omnipotent. at this period dawson, cooper, colquitt, cobb, stephens, and toombs were before the people--all men of talent, and all favorites in the state. this was especially true of dawson, cobb, and stephens, and no men better deserved the public favor. very soon after he went into congress, he, with cooper and black, abandoned the whig party. at the approaching election they canvassed the state, and justified their course before the people. there was no middle ground on which to stand. to abandon one party, was to go over, horse, foot, and dragoons, to the other, which was always ready to welcome new converts of talent and popularity. these three became, in the canvass, the champions of democracy, and fiercely waged the war in antagonism with their former allies. in this contest were made manifest the great abilities of colquitt, toombs, stephens, cobb, and herschel v. johnson. subsequently, colquitt was elected to the united states senate, where he was distinguished as a debater and leading man of the democratic party; but his talents and peculiar manner were better suited for the debates of the house of representatives, and the hustings. lumpkin was ardent and persuasive. colquitt was equally ardent, but more aggressive. where lumpkin solicited with a burning pathos, colquitt demanded with the bitterest sarcasm. lumpkin was slow and considerate; colquitt was rapid and overwhelming. the one was the sun's soft, genial warmth; the other, the north wind's withering blast. colquitt was remarkable for daring intrepidity; lumpkin for collected firmness. lumpkin persuaded; colquitt frightened. both were brave, but colquitt was fiercely so. lumpkin was mild, but determined. unaggressive himself, the dignity and gentleness of his character repelled it in others. the consequence was, that he passed through life without strife with his fellow-man, while colquitt was frequently in personal conflict with those as impetuous as himself. the open frankness and social nature of colquitt won him many friends, and of that description most useful to politicians--friends who were devoted, who felt for, and preferred him to any other man. his features were versatile, and variable as an april day, betraying every emotion of his mind--especially his eyes, which were soft or fierce, as the passion of the heart sprang to view in them, and spoke his soul's sensations. his oratory was playful, awakening wild mirth in his auditors, and again it was impetuous and sarcastic, overwhelming with invective and denunciation. charles j. jenkins, a compeer of lumpkin and colquitt, was essentially different from both in many of the features of his character. his mind was more logical, more analytical, and capable of deeper research. he had little ambition, and whenever he was before the people, it was when his friends thrust him there. the instinctive morality of his nature, like that of lumpkin, would never permit the compromise of conscience or dignity of character so often the case with men of ardent natures and intense ambition. eminently cool in debate, he never made any attempt at forensic display, but confined himself exclusively to the logic of his subject. he clearly saw his way, and carefully went along, spurning ornament or volubility, and only compelling into service words which clearly and succinctly conveyed his ideas, and these only elucidated the subject-matter he was discussing. strictly honest, and equally truthful, he never deviated, under any circumstances, from what he believed his duty. only for a short time was he in the legislature, and then he displayed in most exciting times the great virtues of his nature. upon one occasion, the party with which he acted determined, to defeat a certain measure, to leave the chamber in a body, and break the quorum. it was the only means in their power to prevent a measure which they deemed wrong in principle and injurious to the public interest. jenkins thought such extreme measures wrong, and entirely unjustifiable. though as much opposed to the views of the majority as any member of his party, he refused to participate in their action, and was the only member of the party who persistently remained in his seat. this conduct was censured by his party friends, and he immediately resigned his seat and returned to his constituency, who, knowing and appreciating the great worth of the man, returned him at once to his seat under a new election. in all the relations of life the same traits of character have distinguished him. while at the bar, his rank was the first; this, combined with his integrity and great firmness, made him so conspicuous before the people of the state, that he was placed on the bench of the supreme court--a position he distinguished by his great legal attainments, dignity, and purity. the political opinions of judge jenkins were in many of their features unpopular. he was always opposed to universal suffrage, and made no secret of his sentiments. he was opposed to an elective judiciary, and to mob-rule in every shape. he despised alike the arts and the humiliation of party politicians, and was never a man to accept for public trust any man whose only recommendation to public favor was his availability, because of his popularity with the masses. he was taken from the supreme bench to fill the gubernatorial chair of the state, and no man, not even jackson, early, or troup, ever more dignified this elevated position--none ever had the same trying difficulties to encounter. chosen by the people at a period when civil war had distracted the government and uprooted all the landmarks so long the guide for those who preceded him--when a manifest determination of the so-called congress, representing but two-thirds of the states, was apparent to usurp all power--when the state governments of ten states, though that of their people, were threatened with military usurpation, jenkins remained firm to his convictions of duty. the credit of the state had never suffered while under his guardianship; a large amount was in her treasury; this was an objective point for the usurpers. he met the military satrap, and was assured of his intentions. satisfied of his insincerity and dishonesty, knowing he held the power of the bayonet, and would be unscrupulous in its use, calm as a roman senator he defied the power of this unprincipled minion of a base, corrupt, and unconstitutional power, and deliberately removed the treasure of the state, and applied it to the liquidation of her obligations. hurled from the office bestowed by his fellow-citizens, so far as he could he protected their interests, at the hazard of the horrors of fort pulaski and the sweat-box--the favorite instruments of torture of this infamous defendant of an irresponsible congress, and now for personal safety, exiled from home and country, finds protection under a foreign flag. this one act alone will be sufficient to immortalize the name of charles j. jenkins, and to swell with pride the heart of every true georgian who aided to place such a man in such a position, at such a time. governor jenkins still lives, and if the prayers of a virtuous and oppressed people may avail on high, will be spared to reap in better days his reward in their gratitude. an exalted intellect, unaccompanied with exalted virtue, can never constitute greatness. in whatever position placed, or whatever inducements persuade, virtue and a conscientious conviction of right must regulate the mind and conduct of man to make him great. the tortuous course of politics, made so by unprincipled men, renders the truly upright man usually a poor politician. he who possesses the capacity to discern the true interests of a country, and who will virtuously labor to secure and promote those interests, defying opposition and fearlessly braving the calumnies of interested, corrupt men, organized into parties--which so often lose sight of the interests of their country, in promoting party ends, or from inflamed passions--is the great man. he whose pedestal is virtue, and whose action is honest, secures the respect of his own age, and becomes the luminary of succeeding ages. stern honesty often imposes unpleasant duties--strict obedience to its behests, not unfrequently involves apparent inconsistencies of conduct; but the conscientious man will disregard these in doing what his judgment determines right--the only real consistency which sustains a man in his own estimation, and leaves no bitter reflections for the future. to subserve the cause of right, is always a duty--not so the cause of party or selfish interest. all men respect the right, but many have not the virtue to resist wrong. ambition prompts for success the expedient: and hence the laxity of political morals. this is slipping the cable that the ship may swing from her anchorage and drift with the tide; any minnow may float with the current, but it requires a strong fish to stem and progress against the stream. a man, to brave obloquy and public scorn, requires strong moral courage; but when his judgment convinces him that he is right, and when he feels that his intentions are pure, conscientious, and sincere, this may ruffle him for a time, but never permanently disturbs his peace or injures his reputation. the truly great are only known by nobly resisting every temptation to wrong, and braving the world's condemnation in pursuing and sustaining the right. it is the soul to which greatness belongs, not the mind. this latter is too often, in its transcendent greatness, coupled with a mean and degraded soul, which stimulates the mind's power to the corruption of the masses, and the destruction of public morals, undermining the very basis of society and government. the combination of a great mind and a great soul constitutes the truly great, and the life of such a man creates a public sentiment which, like an intense essence, permeates all it touches, leaving its fragrance upon all. such a man was george m. troup, such a man is charles j. jenkins; and the incense of his character will be a fragrance purifying and delighting the land when he shall have passed away. the exalted abilities of his mind, the great purity of his heart, the noble elevation of his sentiments, and his exquisite conscientiousness, will be an honor and an example to be remembered and emulated by the coming generations of his native land. chapter xiv. a revolutionary veteran. tapping reeve--james gould--colonel benjamin talmadge--the execution of major andre--character of washington--a breach of discipline--burr and hamilton--margaret moncrief--cowles meade. fifty years ago, the only law-school in the united states was taught by tapping reeve and james gould, at litchfield, connecticut. the young men of the south, destined for the profession of law, usually commenced their studies in the office of some eminent practitioner at home, and, after a year or so spent in reading the elementary authors, they finished by attending the lectures at this school. a course of lectures occupied a year. then they were considered prepared to commence the practice. many of the young men of georgia, at that day, received their education at the north. most of those who selected law as a profession, finished at the school in litchfield. few remain in life at this day who graduated there. thomas flornoy and nicholas ware were among the first, who read law there, who were natives of georgia. william cumming succeeded them. then followed l.q.c. lamar, william c. dawson, thaddeus goode holt, and many others of less distinction, all of whom are gone save judge holt, who remains a monument and a memory of the class and character of the bar of georgia fifty years ago, when talent and unspotted integrity characterized its members universally, and when the private lives and public conduct of lawyers were a withering rebuke to the reiterated slanders upon the profession--when crawford, berrien, harris, cobb, longstreet, the brothers campbell, and a host of others, shed lustre upon it. was spent by the writer at the law-school at litchfield, in company with william crawford banks, hopkins holsey, samuel w. oliver, and james clark, from georgia. all are in the grave except clark, who, like the writer, lives in withered age. his career has been a successful and honorable one, and i trust a happy one. during this probation it was my fortune to form many acquaintances among the young and the old whom i met there, and from them to learn much, especially from the old. at that time there resided in the pleasant little village, governor oliver wolcott, benjamin talmadge, and my distinguished preceptors, tapping reeve and james gould. colonel benjamin talmadge was a distinguished officer in the american army of the revolution, and was a favorite aide of washington. it was he who was charged with the painful duty of superintending the execution of major andre, who suffered as a spy. he was a tall, venerable man, and though cumbered with years, when i knew him, was active and energetic in attending to his business. the first time i ever met him, he was standing in front of his yard-gate, shaping a gate-pin with a small hatchet, which he used as a knife, to reduce it to the desired size and form. one end he held in his left hand; the other he rested against the trunk of a sycamore-tree, which grew near by and shaded the sidewalk. i knew his character and his services. as i approached him, my feelings were sublimated with the presence of a man who had been the aide to and confidant of george washington. he was neatly attired in gray small-clothes. his white hair was carefully combed over the bald portion of his head, as, hatless, he pursued his work. his position was fronting me, and i caught his brilliant gray eyes as he looked up from his work to know who was passing. involuntarily i stopped, and, lifting my hat from my head, bowed respectfully to him, and passed him uncovered, as he returned my salutation with that ease and dignity characteristic of the gentleman of the old school. to-day that towering, manly form is present to my view, as it stood before me then. he inquired of judge gould, his immediate neighbor, who i was, and was pleased to mention my respectful demeanor toward him. my reply, when told of this, was: "i should have despised myself, could i have acted otherwise toward one so eminent, and who was the confidential friend of washington." this was reported to the venerable colonel, who showed his appreciation of my conduct by extending to me many kindnesses during my stay in the village. by his own hearth-stone i have listened with eager interest to the narration of andre's capture and execution. he was opposed, with alexander hamilton, to the hanging of andre, and always contended that it was not clearly established that he had come into the american lines as a spy. andre, when captured, wore his uniform under an overcoat, which concealed it, and the papers found on his person only proved that he sought to deliver them to arnold. the day before his execution he solemnly declared his only object was an interview with arnold, or, should he fail in this, to contrive to send him the papers which had been found upon him. when he knew the commander-in-chief had refused him clemency, through colonel talmadge he appealed to washington to let him be shot, and die a soldier's death--not to permit him to perish as a felon upon the gallows. colonel talmadge, when he stated this wish to him, assured him it would be granted. every effort was made, by his officers and aides, to induce the granting of the request, but in vain. "and never in my life," said colonel talmadge, "have i had imposed upon me so painful a duty as communicating this fact to the young and gallant officer. he saw my embarrassment and feelings, and, rising from his seat, said: 'colonel, i thank you for the generous interest you have taken in my case. it has proved of no avail; yet i am none the less grateful.' he paused a moment, when he continued: 'it is hard to die, and to die thus. my time is short, and i must employ it in writing to my family, and must request that you will see my letters forwarded to headquarters.' i promised; when he extended his hand, and, grasping mine, asked: 'is this our last parting, or shall i see you to-morrow?' i told him it had been made my duty to superintend his execution. 'we will part at the grave,' he said, and, covering his face with his hands, sank, sobbing, into his chair. "i went away sorrowing, and spent a sleepless night. when the hour had arrived, i waited on him in his prison, and found him cool and prepared for the sacrifice. we both felt too much for words, and there was little said. i remember he asked me to procure his watch, which had been taken from him, if possible, and send it to headquarters. he desired his family to have it." "did you ever get it?" i asked. the colonel bit his lip in shame for him who had it, and only answered: "never." "the grave was prepared near the gallows, and the open coffin was by it. as andre approached, he saw it, and a shudder ran through his frame. turning to me, he said: 'i am to be buried there. one more request, colonel. mark it; so that when this cruel conflict shall have ended, my friends may find it!' he then shook hands with me, and, with unfaltering steps, went to the scaffold." i heard this narrative many times, and with its ending the white kerchief about the old man's neck was loosed, and the moisture from his eyes told that the feelings as well as the memory of that day still survived. he would a moment after continue: "washington was a stern man--he was a hard man--slow to form opinions or resolutions; but once formed, there was no power under heaven to move him. he never formed either until his judgment was convinced of the right. there was less of impulse in his nature than in that of any man i ever knew. i served by his side for years, and i never saw the least manifestation of passion or surprise. he received the information of arnold's treachery with the same apparent indifference that he would an orderly's report; and with the same indifference of manner signed the death-warrant of andre. "this indifference was marked with a natural sternness, which forbid all familiarity to all men. even colonel hamilton, who was naturally facetious, never ventured, during his long service, the slightest intimacy. hamilton, whom he esteemed above all men, and to whom he gave his entire confidence, always observed in his private intercourse, as in his public, the strictest etiquette. this cool sternness was natural to him, and its influence was overwhelming. the humblest and the highest felt it alike; inspiring a respectful awe, commanding a dignified demeanor. he was best beloved at a distance, because the qualities of the man were only present, and these were purer and more lofty than those given to any other man. there is no character of ancient or modern times so consistent as that of washington. he was always cool, always slow, always sincere. there is no act of his life evincing the influence of prejudice. he decided all matters upon evidence, and the unbiased character of his mind enabled him impartially to weigh this evidence, and the great strength of his judgment to analyze and apply it. he seemed to understand men instinctively, and if he was ever deceived in any of those in close association with him, it was tom jefferson. burr had not been on his staff ten days before he understood him perfectly, and he very soon got rid of him. of all the officers of the continental army, general greene was his favorite; and he was right, for greene was a great military man--far superior to washington himself, and none knew it better than he. i remember to have heard him say that greene was the only man in the army who could retrieve the mistakes of gates and save the southern country. the result verified the statement. "washington's lenity never extended to the excusing of any palpable neglect of duty. the strict regularity of his own private character was carried into everything connected with his public duties. however much he esteemed any man, it was for his worth in his especial position, and not because of any peculiarity of bearing or properties of heart. that he appreciated the higher qualities of the heart, is certainly true--but for what they were worth always--and neither quality of head or heart created a prejudice which would lead him to excuse any neglect of duty or laxity of morals. he was not without heart, but it was slow to be moved, and never so moved as to warp or obscure his judgment, or influence the discharge of his duty. "mrs. washington was less amiable than her husband, and at times would sadly tax his patience--she never forgot that she was wealthy when she married him, and would sometimes allude to it in no very pleasant manner to her husband; who, notwithstanding, bore with her with remarkable patience. i do not remember ever to have seen general washington laugh; sometimes a faint smile would tinge his features; but very soon they returned to the sedateness and gravity of expression common to them; and though they rarely brightened with a smile, they were never deformed with a frown. there was in their expression a fixity indicative of his character, a purpose settled and unalterable. of all the men i have ever known, washington was the only one who never descended from the stilts of his dignity, or relaxed the austerity of his bearing. it has been said that he swore at general charles lee at the battle of brandywine--i could never have it authenticated. he asked excitedly of general lee, by what ill-timed mistake the disaster had occurred, which was forcing his retreat. lee was a passionate, bad man, and disliked to serve under washington's command. he had served with distinction in the british army in europe, and felt, in adopting the cause of the colonies, he should have been proffered the chief command. there had been an intrigue at philadelphia, headed by dr. rush, aided by others, to prejudice congress against the commander-in-chief, to have him displaced, that lee might succeed him. if washington was aware of this, it never escaped him to any of his military family; and certainly never influenced his conduct toward lee--for he had confidence in his military abilities, and always gave him the position where the most honor was to be won. lee's reply to washington was violent, profane, and insolent. he said to general lafayette that his reply was: 'no man can boast of possessing more of that damned rascally virtue than yourself.' he was arrested, court-martialed, and by its decision, suspended for one year from command. he never returned to the service, but retired to the interior of virginia, and lived in great seclusion until his death. "toward the young officers washington was more indulgent than to the older and more experienced. he would not see the smaller improprieties of conduct in these, unless brought officially to his notice. then they were uniformly punished. he frequently counselled and advised them, but was ever severe toward intemperance, with old and young. "upon one occasion, a certain maryland colonel came suddenly and quite unexpectedly upon the general, who was taking a walk. the colonel attempted to salute, but in doing so, disclosed his inebriety. 'you are intoxicated, sir,' said the general, with a humorous twinkle of the eye. the colonel replied: 'i am glad you informed me, general; i will go to my quarters before i make an ass of myself;' turned and walked away. without the slightest movement of feature the general continued his walk. nothing more was heard of it until the battle of monmouth, in which the colonel distinguished himself. the day after, in going the grand-rounds, he approached the colonel, and remarked: 'your gallantry of yesterday excuses your late breach of discipline;' and saluting him, passed on. "in a conversation over the mess-table, at west point, some severe remarks upon the conduct of washington, in hanging andre, escaped hamilton. he said, warmly, that it was cruelly unjust, and would assuredly sully the future fame of the general; that he felt aggrieved that the ardent solicitations of his staff, and most of the field-officers, in the unfortunate young man's behalf, had been so little regarded. these remarks reached the ears of the general. we were not aware of this, until some weeks subsequently he summoned his staff to his presence, and stated the fact. "'you will remember, gentlemen, that captain asgill, who was a prisoner, and sentenced, by lot, to die, in retaliation for the coldblooded murder of captain hale, by the orders of a british officer. you, and many of the officers of the army, interceded to save his life. his execution was, in consequence, respited. the heart-rending appeal of his mother and sisters, communicated to me in letters from those high-bred and accomplished women, determined me to lenity in his case, and he was pardoned. immediately upon the heels of this pardon comes an intrigue to seduce from his duty and allegiance a major-general, distinguished for services and capacity; and major andre is the instrument to carry out this intrigue--to communicate their plans to the traitor, and to consummate the arrangement. these plans were to seize, treacherously, the person of the general commanding the american forces, and carry him a prisoner to the enemy's headquarters. lenity to this man would have been a high crime against congress, the army, and the country, which could not have been justified. i regretted the necessity as much as any of you; but mine was the responsibility, not yours. its being a painful duty did not make it less a duty. not mine alone, but the safety of the army depended upon the discharge of this duty--a duty recognized by all nations in civilized warfare. i felt it such; i discharged it, and am satisfied with it. i hope i am superior to any apprehension of future censure for a faithful discharge of an imperative duty.' waving his hand, he bade us 'good evening.' "general washington, upon all important movements, sought the opinions of his staff, as well as those of the general officers of his command. this was not for want of reliance upon his own judgment, but from a desire to see the matter through every light in which it could be presented. these opinions were not unfrequently asked in writing. they were always carefully studied, and due weight given to them, especially when they differed from his own. his mind was eminently analytical, and always free from prejudice, and to these facts is to be attributed the almost universal correctness of his judgment upon all subjects which he had examined. with regard to men, i never knew him to ask another's opinion; nor was he ever the man to give utterance to his own, unless it became necessary as a duty. i knew, from the time i entered his military family, of his high appreciation of hamilton's abilities; and the frequent concurrence of opinion between them sometimes (and especially with those not entirely acquainted with him) induced a belief that hamilton formed his opinions, or, as arnold once expressed it, was his thinker. yet there were many occasions upon which they differed, and widely differed; and never did washington surrender his own opinion and adopt that of hamilton. i never thought the feelings of washington toward him were more than respect for his exalted abilities. i do not believe a kinder or more social attachment ever was felt by him, and i am positively sure these were the feelings of hamilton for washington. "his respect for the abilities of colonel burr was quite as exalted as for those of hamilton; but he had no confidence in his honesty or truth, and, consequently, very soon got rid of him. burr's liaison with margaret moncrief destroyed entirely the little regard left for him in the mind of washington. i asked colonel talmadge if burr and hamilton ever were friends. they were very close friends apparently; but it was palpable that each entertained a jealousy of the other, however much they strove to conceal it. they were both ambitious, and felt the way to preferment was through the favor of the commander-in-chief. burr was the more sensitive and the more impulsive of the two. they knew the abilities of each other, and they knew these were highly appreciated by the general; and at the moment when this jealousy was likely to interfere with this friendship, burr left the position of aide to the general. he knew he had forfeited the confidence of washington, and he figured in the army very little after this. the rivalry, however, did not cease here, nor did the secret enmity in their hearts die. the world is not aware of the true cause of the hatred between them, and it may never be. "you are aware," continued the colonel, "that your preceptor, judge reeve, is the brother-in-law of colonel burr. if i speak freely of him, it is because i know him, and because you seem curious to pry into these secret histories of national men. it is not to be repeated to offend judge reeve, or disturb our relations as friends; for we are such, and have been for fifty years. "colonel burr has ever been remarkable for abilities from his boyhood. reeve and the celebrated samuel lathrop mitchell were his classmates, and agree that he had no equal in college. they were educated at princeton. burr showed not only talent, but application, and a most burning ambition. he showed, too, that he was already unscrupulous in the use of means to accomplish his object. there are stories told of his college-life very discreditable to his fame. he was as remarkable in his features as in his mind. his capacious forehead, aquiline nose, and piercingly brilliant eyes, black as night, with a large, flexible mouth, grecian in form, made him extremely handsome as a youth. his manners were natural and elegant, and his conversational powers unequalled. they are so to-day. think of these gifts in a man uninfluenced by principle, and only obedient to the warmer passions. he ever shunned collective society, and seemed (for the time, at least) totally absorbed by one or two only. the eloquence of manner, as the persuasion of words, was in him transcendent. the whispered sophisms of his genius burned into the heart, and it was remarked of him, by one wise and discreet, that he could, in fewer words, win the sympathy and start to tears a female auditor, than any preacher in the land. from boyhood he seemed to have the key to every heart he desired to unlock. fatal gift! and terribly fatal did it prove to many a victim, and especially to that gifted but frail girl--margaret moncrief. "margaret moncrief was the daughter of an officer of the british army, and had been left with that old veteran, putnam, after this officer was a prisoner of war. hamilton formed an attachment for her, and burr, more from vanity than any other feeling, determined to win her away from him. she was, for her sex, as remarkable as burr for his; her education was very superior, her reading as extensive as most professional men, and entirely out of the line of ordinary female reading; she was familiar with the entire range of science--her person in form was perfect, in features exquisitely beautiful. she, too, possessed the art to steal away the affections of any one around whom she threw her spell. apparently unconscious of her natural gifts, she displayed them without reserve, and so artlessly, as to lure and beguile almost to frenzy such temperaments as those of burr and hamilton. never before had burr met his equal, and his vanity and ambition were equally stimulated to triumph in her conquest, and ere he was aware of it, what had been commenced in levity, had become a passion which held him in chains. the sequel was the ruin of both. here commenced the heart-hatred which terminated in the duel and the death of hamilton. "i know there was a romantic story, that gained credit with many, that the influence of miss moncrief had corrupted burr, and that she was acting as a spy, and from burr obtained all the information she desired of the movements of the american army. such was the credit attached to this story, that general putnam was questioned rather closely on the subject of the intercourse between them. it was his opinion that it was without foundation, and that it was simply a love affair. it was also stated, and this hamilton credited, that burr was preparing to leave the country with the lady, and there were some circumstances which seemed to warrant such suspicion. to this day, there are ladies who were at that time in communication with miss moncrief, who mention that every preparation had been made, that her wardrobe had been removed from her apartment, and that it was carried to those of colonel burr, and that they had been turned back in the harbor by a sentry-boat, when striving with a solitary oarsman to reach a british man-of-war, in the lower harbor of the bay of new york. there was never any proof of this, however, and i imagine it was only a gossiping story of madame rumor. "of the sincerity of the attachment on the part of the lady, her subsequent confessions are the only proof; and at the time of making these confessions, such was her position that little credit could be given them. but that colonel burr was ever seriously attached to her, those who knew him best scarcely believed. men of his character rarely, if ever, have serious and sincere attachment for any woman. to gratify his vanity he would court the affections of any woman whose beauty and accomplishments had attracted him. it was always for base purposes burr professed love. such men too frequently win upon the regards of women, and occupy high and enviable positions in female society; but their love is diffusive, and for the individual only for a time. in truth, they are incapable of a deep and sincere affection. the suspicion of woman's purity forbids an abiding love; it is a momentary passion, and not an elevated and enduring sentiment--not the embalming with the heart's riches a pure and innocent being who yields everything to love. "colonel burr was an indifferent husband toward one of the most accomplished and lovable women i ever knew, and who was devoted to him, and whose heart he broke. she was the widow of a british officer named provost, i believe, who died in the west indies; and a more deserving woman, or one more lovely, never went to the arms of a _roué_, to be kissed and killed. "burr hated washington, and united himself politically with his enemies. there was a close political intimacy between him and jefferson, but never anything like confidence. in their party they were rivals; and after the election which made jefferson president, there was no semblance of intimacy or friendship between them. "burr believed he was really elected president, and that jefferson had defrauded him in the count of the ballots. he was disappointed and dissatisfied with his position and with his party, and immediately commenced an intrigue to separate the western states from the union, and on the west of the mountains and along the waters of the mississippi to establish a separate government, where he hoped to fill the measure of his ambition, and destroy the power of the union--thus at the same time to crush both the federal and republican parties, for now he hated both alike. "hamilton had been his early rival; he had, as he believed, destroyed him with washington, and that he had been mainly instrumental in defeating him with jefferson for the presidency. there can be no doubt of the fact, that jefferson had been voted for by the colleges for president, and burr for vice-president; but they were not so designated on the ballots. they received an equal number of votes, and had to be elected, owing to a defect in the law at that time, by the house. the balloting continued several days. there were sixteen states, and each received eight. jefferson was especially obnoxious to the hatred of the federal party; burr, though belonging to the republican party, less so; and many of the leading men in congress of the federal party determined to take burr in preference. the strength of this party was mainly in the north, and burr was a northern man; and they felt more might be expected of him, from northern interest, than from jefferson. but the main cause of the effort was the animosity to jefferson. washington was viewed as the representative man of the federal party. jefferson, though he had been a cabinet minister in his administration, had made no secret of his opposition to the views of washington; and had aided a clerk in his department to establish a newspaper, especially to attack washington, and to oppose the administration, which he did, in the most bitter and offensive manner. "jefferson was an unscrupulous man--a man of wonderful intellect and vast attainments, but entirely unprincipled. this editor and clerk of jefferson's, sent daily to the president two copies of his paper, filled with the vilest abuse of him personally, and of his administration. much of this was, doubtless, written by jefferson himself. this supposition is the more to be relied on from the fact that washington remonstrated with jefferson upon the matter, and requested the removal of the offending clerk, which was refused by jefferson. his declining to remove jefferson himself, is conclusive of the considerate forbearance of this truly great man. these were reasons operating upon the minds and feelings of those men who had not only sustained washington through the revolution, but had stood to the support of his administration, and who concurred with him in political opinion and principle. "mr. adams had made this party unpopular by the course pursued by him in conducting the government. the alien law, and the sedition law, which obtained his signature, (though i know he was opposed personally to both,) and the prosecutions which arose, especially under the latter, were very offensive, and entirely at variance with the spirit of our people, and indeed of the age, and had so damaged the federal party, as to render it odious to a large majority of the people. "the more considerate of the party believed in the election of burr--the southern and northern democracy would become divided. jefferson was known to be specially the favorite of this party, south, and would naturally oppose, himself, and lead his party in opposition to the administration of burr, and the federal party, uniting in his support, with the republicans, north, would ultimately succeed in recovering the control of the government. during the ballotings this was fully discussed in the secret meetings of the federalists. the balloting continued from the th to the th of february, and only eight states could be carried for mr. jefferson, six for burr, and two were divided. it was supposed hamilton's influence would be given to burr, and he was sent for, but to the astonishment of his political friends, it was thrown in opposition to burr. this influenced those controlling the vote of the divided states. burr had entered heartily into the scheme of defeating jefferson. had hamilton co-operated with his party, there is now no telling what might have been the future political destiny of the country. burr was sworn in as vice-president, and there is no doubt but that the will of the people was substantially carried out. "the restlessness of burr was manifested; he seemed to retire from the active participation in politics which had previously been his habit--still, however, adhering to the republican party, and opposing strenuously every view or opinion advanced by hamilton. burr did not take his seat as presiding officer of the senate, and in february, after the election of jefferson, hillhouse was chosen to fill his place _pro tem._ after the inauguration of jefferson, abraham baldwin was elected to preside as president _pro tem._ of the senate. it had not then become the habit of the vice-president to preside over the senate; nor was it the custom for the vice-president to remain at the seat of government during the sessions of congress. burr, disgusted with the republican party, ceased to act with it, and went to new york. here he resumed the practice of law. he was never considered a deeply read lawyer, nor was he comparable with his rival, hamilton, in debate, or as an advocate at the bar. he was adroit and quick, and was rather a quibbler than a great lawyer. "you ask me if i thought, or think, he ever deserted the republican party in heart? i answer, no; for i do not think he ever had any well-defined political or moral principle, and was influenced always by what he deemed would subserve his own ambitious views; and you ask me, if i ever thought him a great man? men greatly differ, as you will find as you grow older, and become better acquainted with mankind, as to what constitutes a great man. i think colonel burr's talents were eminently military, and he might, in command, have shown himself a great general. his mind was sufficiently strong to make him respectable in any profession he might have chosen; but his proclivity, mentally, was for arms--he loved to direct and control. in very early life he showed much skill and tact as an officer in the canadian campaign; but he wanted those moral traits which give dignity and decision to character, and confidence to the public mind. his vacillation of opinion, as well as of conduct, was convincing proof that he acted without principle, and was influenced by his own selfish views. man, to be great, must act always from principle. principle, like truth, is a straight edge, will admit of no obliquity, is always the same, and under all circumstances: conduct squared by principle, and sustained by truth, inspires respect and confidence, and these attributes, though they may and do belong to very ordinary minds, are nevertheless great essentials to the most powerful in making greatness. great grasp of intellect, fixity of purpose, strong will, high aims, and incorruptible moral purity, make a great man. they are rare combinations, but they are sometimes found in one man--they certainly were not in colonel burr. a great general, a great statesman, a, great poet, a great astronomer, may be without morals; and he is consequently not a great man. my young friend, a great man is the rarest creation of almighty god. time has produced few. washington, perhaps, approaches the standard nearest, of modern men; but he was selfish to some extent. "after colonel burr's return to new york, he was nominated by the federal party for governor of the state; this was the first open announcement of his having deserted the republican party. hamilton threw all his influence against him, and he was defeated. this defeat sublimated his hatred for hamilton. he made an excuse of certain words hamilton had used in relation to him for challenging him. they met, and hamilton fell. the death of hamilton overthrew the little remaining popularity left to burr. the nation, the world, turned upon him, and he became desperate. "burr's term as vice-president terminated on the fourth of march, . the odium which attached to his name found universal utterance after the duel. it was not simply the killing of hamilton; this merely gave occasion for the outburst of public indignation. his private character had always been bad. as a member of the legislature, he had so conducted himself as to excite general suspicion of his integrity. his desertion of the party elevating him to the vice-presidency, and lending himself to the opposition party to defeat the clearly expressed views of his own party, all combined to make him extremely odious to the populace. "in the canvass for the presidency, he had been mainly instrumental in carrying the state of new york for the republican party. in this he had triumphed over hamilton; but in the more recent contest for governor of the state, he found that the republican party adhered to principle, and refused to be controlled by him, repudiating his every advance; and learned, also, that the federal party would not unite in accepting him. defeated on every side, in all his views, and mainly through the instrumentality of hamilton, he determined, after killing his rival, if possible, to destroy the government. "there was nothing unfair, or out of the ordinary method of conducting such affairs, in this duel. hamilton's eldest son, but a little while before, had been slain, in a duel, on the very spot where his father fell, and the event created little or no excitement; and when burr saw himself met with universal scorn, he knew it was the eruption of an accumulated hatred toward himself, and that all his ambition for future preferment and power was at an end. immediately he left for the west, and commenced an abortive effort to break up the union. "the allegheny mountains opposed, at that time, an obstacle to free communication with the east. the states west were politically weak, and, supposing their interests were neglected by congress, were restless and dissatisfied. this was especially true of western pennsylvania. there were very many young and ambitious men in all the western states and territories. tennessee, kentucky, and ohio were rapidly populating from the eastern and middle states. their commercial communication with the east was attended with so many difficulties as to force it almost entirely to new orleans. "geographically, it seemed that the valley of the mississippi was, by nature, formed for one nation. the soil and climate promised to enterprise and industry untold wealth. the territorial dimensions were fabulous. the restless and oppressed multitudes of overstocked europe had already commenced an emigration to the united states, which promised to increase to such an amount as would soon fill up, to a great extent, this expanded and promising region. the mississippi furnished an outlet to the ocean, and a navigation, uninterrupted throughout the year, for thousands of miles, and new orleans, a market for every surplus product. burr saw all this, and determined to effect its separation from the union, and there to establish a new empire, which should, ere long, control the destinies of the continent. it was the conception of genius and daring, but required an administrative ability which he had not, to consummate this conception. he miscalculated his material. the people of the west were vastly more intelligent than he had supposed them. they were not so simple as to receive his views, and blindly adopt and act upon them. they canvassed them, and concluded for themselves. at pittsburgh he found a number of adventurous young men (who had nothing to lose, and who were ripe for any enterprise which promised fame or fortune,) to unite with him. "he found henry clay in kentucky, and andrew jackson in tennessee, young, enterprising, and full of spirit and talent. he supposed them to be the men he sought, and approached both, cautiously revealing his views; but, to his astonishment, the grievances of the west had not so warped their patriotism as to dispose them to engage in any schemes which threatened the dismemberment of the union. clay listened and temporized, but never, for a moment, yielded assent. jackson, more ardent, and a military man by nature, was carried away with the idea for a time. he was well acquainted with the people of the west, and especially with the population on the lower mississippi, and was the man who recommended burr to make first a descent upon mexico, as i have been confidentially informed, and sincerely believe. i have also been informed that he dissuaded burr from any attempt to excite a war of the west with the east; but first to make mexico secure, which they and wilkinson believed would be an easy matter. it was when burr, having abandoned his first enterprise, descended the mississippi, that he was arrested. this arrest was made by the acting governor of mississippi, and at some point in that territory, where jackson had a store or trading establishment. he was, with three of his aides, on his way to meet wilkinson, for the purpose of arranging matters. he escaped, and finding things prepared for his interception, he made his way across the country; but was finally arrested, on the tombigbee, by an officer of the united states army. when on his trial at richmond, jackson went there, and was found on the street haranguing the people in burr's favor, and denouncing the prosecution and the president. subsequently, however, he denounced burr, and pretended that he had deceived him. humphrey marshall, pope, grundy, and whitesides united with clay in condemning the entire scheme. there was a crazy irishman, an adventurer, named blannerhasset, residing on the ohio, who at once entered into his views, embarked all his fortune in the enterprise, and, with burr, was ruined. he was tried for treason, and acquitted. soon after, he left the country, and remained away for many years, returning to find himself a stranger, and almost forgotten." some months subsequent to this conversation, colonel burr came up from new york to visit his brother-in-law, judge reeve, and an opportunity was thus afforded me to see and converse with him; but no allusion was made to the past of his own life, save an account of some suffering he underwent in the canadian campaign, with general montgomery. he had contracted, he said, a rheumatism in his ankle, during the winter he was in canada, and that he had occasional attacks now, never having entirely recovered. he was not disposed to talk, and still he seemed pleased at the attentions received from the young gentlemen who visited him occasionally during his short stay. i do not remember ever having seen him on the street, or in the company of any one, except some of the young men who were reading with judge reeve. some years after this, i met colonel burr in the city of new york, and spent an evening with him. at this time he alluded to his trip down the mississippi, and made inquiry after several persons whom he had known. there were then living three men who, as his aides, had accompanied him upon his expedition. i knew the fact, and expected he would allude to them, but he did not. he seemed to desire to know more of those who had been active in procuring his arrest. it was cowles mead (who was acting governor of the territory of mississippi at the time) who arrested burr at bruensburgh, a small hamlet on the banks of the mississippi, immediately below the mouth of the bayou pierre. "mead," he said, "was a great admirer of jefferson, because, i suppose, when he had been unseated by the contestant of his election, (a mr. spaulding,) jefferson, to appease his wounded feelings, had appointed him secretary to the mississippi territory. he was a vain man of very small mind, and full of the importance of his official station." i remarked that he was a brother-in-law of mine. "i was not aware of that, but i am sure you are too well acquainted with the truth of the statement to be offended at my stating it." i remarked: "colonel, i am thoroughly acquainted with general mead, and equally as well acquainted with all the circumstances connected with your acquaintance with him. the adventure of bruensburgh has been, through life, a favorite theme with the general, and i doubt if there is living a man who ever knew the general a month, who has not heard the story repeated a dozen times." he dryly remarked: "i should have supposed the episode to that affair would have restrained him from its narration;" and the conversation ceased. i shall have much more to say of these two in a future chapter. at this time colonel burr was old and slightly bent, very unlike what he was when i first met him; still his eyes and nose, brow and mouth, wore the same expression they did fifteen years before. about the mouth and eye there was a sinister expression, and he had a habit of looking furtively out of the corner of his eye at you, when you did not suppose he was giving any attention to you. chapter xv. change of government. governor wolcott--toleration--mr. monroe--private life of washington-- thomas jefferson--the object and science of government--court etiquette --nature the teacher and guide in all things. during the year i was frequently a visitor at the house of governor oliver wolcott, who then resided in litchfield, connecticut. governor wolcott was a remarkable man in many respects. he was originally a federalist in politics, and enjoyed the confidence of that party to an unlimited extent. his abilities were far above ordinary, and his family one of great respectability. he was a native of connecticut, and after alexander hamilton retired from the treasury bureau in the cabinet of washington, he succeeded to that position. he filled the office with credit to himself, and to the satisfaction of his chief. he had, after considerable time spent in public life, left connecticut, to reside in new york. subsequent to the war, and when the federal party had abandoned its organization under the administration of mr. monroe, there grew up in his native state a party called the toleration party. in reality it was a party proscriptive of the old federal leaders, and it grew out of some legislation in connection with religious matters, in which, as usual, the puritan element had attempted to oppress, by special taxation, for their own benefit, all others differing from them in religious creed. governor wolcott favored this new organization, and he was invited to return to the state and give his aid to its success. he did so, and in due time was made governor by this party. at the time of which i write, he was as bitterly and sincerely hated by the old federal party as ever jefferson was, or as andy johnson now is by the radical party, which is largely constituted of the _débris_ of that old and intolerant organization, and which is now eliminating every principle of the constitution to gratify that thirst for power, and to use it for persecution, that seems inherent in the nature of the puritan. by the hour i have listened to the abuse of him, from the mouths of men whose lives had been spent in his praise and support, simply because he had interposed his talents and influence to arrest the oppressor's hand. they said he had deserted his party, that he would live to share the fate of burr, and that he was as great a traitor. the bitterness and injustice of party is proverbial, and its want of reason is astonishing. men who are cool and considerate on all other subjects, are frequently the most violent and unreasonable as partisans. it seems akin to religious fanaticism, and proscribes with the same bigotry all who will not, or conscientiously cannot, act or think with them. it prescribes opinions, and they must be obeyed by all who belong to the organization, and without reservation or qualification. its exactions are as fierce and indisputable as the laws and regulations of the jesuits. these are changed with party necessities, and not unfrequently are diametrically antagonistic to the former creed; yet you must follow and sustain them, or else you are a traitor, and denounced and driven from the party, and often from intercourse socially with those who have been your neighbors and friends from boyhood. in this method party compels dishonesty in politics, and is eminently demoralizing, for it is impossible to familiarize the conscience with political dishonesty without tainting the moral man in ordinary matters pertaining to life. once break down the barrier which separates the right from the wrong, that success may come of it, and every principle of restraint to immoral or dishonest conduct is swept away. for this reason men of stern integrity never make good politicians. they are very often the reliable statesmen, never the reliable politicians. governor wolcott had through his life sustained an unimpeached reputation. he had filled to the full his political ambition. again and again he had been honored by his people who had grown up with him. he had been honored by the confidence of washington, and the nation. he was wealthy, was old, and only aspired to do, and to see done, justice to the whole people of his native state. in doing this he came in conflict with the unjust views and iniquitous conduct of an old, crushed party, and he was denounced as a traitor, and ostracized because he would be just. this was the disruption forever of the federal party in connecticut; for though it had ceased to exist as a national organization, it still was sufficiently intact to control most of the new england states. mr. monroe's administration had been so popular that in his second election he received every vote of every state in the union, save new hampshire: one man in her electoral college, who was appointed to vote for him, refused to do so, and gave as his reason that he was a slave-owner. new interests had supervened, old issues were dead--they had had their day--their mission was accomplished; old men were passing away, the nation was expanding into great proportions, and men of great talents were growing with and for the occasion; old party animosities were dimming out, and the era of good feelings seemed to pervade the national heart. even john adams and thomas jefferson were amicably corresponding and growing affectionate at eighty. it was but the lull which precedes the storm--the sultry quiet which augurs the earthquake. upon one occasion i ventured to ask governor wolcott to tell me something of washington. we were strolling in his garden, where he had invited me to look at some melons he was attempting to grow under glass. he stopped, and turning round, looked me full in the face, and asked me if i had not read the "life of washington." "not the private life," was the reply. "ah! a very laudable curiosity in one so young. i knew him well, and can only say his private was very much like his public life. i do not suppose there ever lived a man more natural in his deportment than washington. he did nothing for effect. he was more nearly the same man on the street that he was in his night-gown and slippers, than any man i ever knew; i can't say i was intimate with washington; no man can or ever could have said that. his dignity was austere and natural. it was grand, and awed and inspired a respect from every one alike. you breathed low in his presence--you felt uneasy in your seat, before him. there was an inspiring something about him, that made you feel it was a duty to, stand in his presence, uncovered, and respectfully silent. i have heard this sternness attributed to his habit of command; not so--it was natural, and he was unconscious of it. most men, however stern, will unbend to woman. there is in woman's presence a divinity which thaws the rigor of the heart and warms the soul, which manifests itself in the softening of the eye, in the glow upon the cheek, and the relaxation of manner. it was not so with washington. in his reception-rooms he was easily polite and courteously affable; but his dignity and the inflexibility of his features never relaxed. "i remember to have heard mrs. adams say 'she did not think he was ever more than polite to mrs. washington.' with all this he was very kind, and if he ever did let himself down it was to children, and these never seemed to feel his austerity, or to shrink away from it. it is said that it is the gift of childhood to see the heart in the eye and the face. it is certain they never approach an ill-natured or bad man, and never shrink from a kind and good one. in his intercourse with his cabinet, he was respectful to difference--consulted each without reserve or concealment, and always weighed well their opinions, and never failed to render to them his reasons for differing with them. he was very concise and exact in stating a case, and never failed to understand well every question before acting. he had system and order in everything. in his private affairs, in his household, as well as in his public conduct, he observed strict rules, and exacted their obedience from all about him. in nothing was he demonstrative or impulsive; but always considerate and cool. "i know nothing of his domestic matters. there were malicious persons who started many reports of discord between washington and his lady. these i believe were all false. mrs. washington was a high-bred woman, a lady in everything; and so far as my observation or acquaintance extended, was devoted and dutiful. of one thing i am very sure: she was a proud woman, and was proud of her husband. she certainly had not the dignity of her husband; no one, male or female, ever had. she was less reserved, more accessible, and not indifferent to the attentions and flatteries of her husband's friends. in fine, she was a woman. washington's deportment toward his wife was kind and respectful, but always dignified and courteous. toward his servants he was uniformly kind. "he was an enemy to slavery, and never hesitated to avow his sentiments. his black servants were very much attached to him. the peculiar nature of washington forbade those heart-friendships demanded by a narrower and more impulsive nature. he kept all the world too far from him ever to win that tenderness of affection which sweetens social life in the blending of hearts and sympathy of souls. but he commanded that esteem which results from respect and appreciation of the great and commanding attributes of his nature, which elevated him so far above the men of his age. he wanted the softness and yielding of the heart that so wins upon the affections of associates and those who are in close and constant intercommunication. are not these incompatible with the stern and towering traits essential to such a character as was washington's? like a shaft of polished granite towering amid shrubs and flowers, cold and hard, but grand and beautiful, he stood among the men and the women who surrounded him when president. "general washington was cautious and reserved in his expressions about men. he rarely praised or censured. at the time i was in the cabinet, he had abundant cause for dislike to mr. jefferson, who, in his mazéi letter, had represented him as laboring to break up the government, that upon its ruins a monarchy might arise for his own benefit. he spoke of this letter more severely than i had ever heard him speak of anything, and said no man better knew the charge false, than mr. jefferson. some correspondence, i believe, took place between them on the subject. i believe they never met after this. upon one occasion i heard him say that it was unfortunate that jefferson had been sent to france at the time that he was, when morals and government alike were little less than chaos, for he had been tainted in his ideas of both." "you knew mr. jefferson?" i asked. "come into the house, and i will show you something," said the venerable man, then tottering to the grave. i went, and he showed me some letters addressed to him by persons in virginia, presenting, in no very enviable light, the character of jefferson. when i had read them, he remarked: "you must not suppose i am anxious to prejudice your youthful mind against the great favorite of your people. it is not so. you seem solicitous to learn something of the men who have had so much agency in the establishment of the government and the formation of the opinions of the people, that i am willing you should see upon what my opinions have, in a great degree, been formed. mr. jefferson is still living, and still writing. his pen seems to have lost none of its vigor, nor his heart any of its venom. you will hear him greatly praised, and greatly abused. i knew him at one time, but never intimately, and may be said only to know him as a public man; what of his private character i know, comes from the statements of others, and general report. you have just seen some of these statements. i knew the writers of these letters well, and know their statements to be entitled to credit, and i believe them. they assure me that mr. jefferson is without moral principle. his public conduct must convince every one of his want of political principle. his whole life has been a bundle of contradictions. he has had neither chart nor compass by which to regulate his course, but has universally adopted the expedient. "that he has a great and most vigorous intellect is beyond all question; but most of its emanations have been the _ad captandum_ to seize the current, and sail with it. he saw the democratic proclivity of the people, he concentrated it by the use of his pen, and he has aided its expansion, until it threatens ruin to the government. he knows it, and he still perseveres. under the plea of inviting population, he advocated the extension of the franchise to aliens, and was really the parent from whose brain was born the naturalization laws, making citizens of every nationality, and giving them all the powers of the government, extending suffrage to every pauper in the land, increasing to the utmost the material for the demagogue, and thus depriving the intelligence of the country of the power to control it. the specious argument that if a man is compelled to serve in the militia and defend the country, he should be entitled to vote, was his. its sophistry is as palpable to jefferson as to every thinking mind. government is the most abstruse of the sciences, and should, for the security of all, be controlled by the intelligence of the country. during the world's existence, all the intelligence it has ever afforded, has not been competent to the formation of a government approximating perfection. "the object of government is the protection of life, liberty, and property. the tenure of property is established and sustained by law; it is the basis of government; it is the support of government; in proportion to its extent and security, it is the strength and power of government, and those who possess it should have the control of government. in a republic, there can be no better standard of intelligence than the possession of property, and to give the greatest security to the government, none should, in a republic, be intrusted with the ballot, but the native, and the property-holder, or the native property-holder. the complications of our system are scarcely understood by our own people, and to suppose that ignorant men (for such constitute the bulk of our emigrant population) shall become so intimate with it, and so much attached to it, as to constitute them, in a few years, persons to be intrusted with its control, is supposing human intelligence to be of much higher grasp than i have ever found it. most of these emigrants come here with preconceived prejudices toward the institutions of their native lands. this is natural. most of them speak a foreign language. this has to be overcome, before they can even commence to learn the nature and operation of our system, which is so radically dissimilar to any and all others. these men, as the ignorant of our own people, naturally lean on some one who shall direct them, and they will blindly do his bidding. this is an invitation to the demagogue; these are his materials, and he will aggregate and control them. such men are always poor, and envy makes them the enemies of the rich. this creates an antagonism, which we see existing in every country. "the poor are dependent for employment upon the rich; the rich are dependent upon the poor for labor. this mutual dependence, it would be supposed, would tend to create mutual regard; but experience teaches the reverse. the poor have nothing to sell but their labor, and there are none to buy but the rich. each, naturally, struggles to make the best bargain possible, and take advantage of every circumstance to effect this. very few are satisfied with fair equivalents, and one or the other always feels aggrieved. here is the difficulty. well, endow the laborer with the ballot, and he usurps the government; for to vote is to govern. what is to be the consequence? we now have, with all the means of expansion and facilities a new country of boundless extent gives to the poor for finding and making homes, many more without property than with it. this disproportion will go on to increase until it assimilates to every old country, with a few rich and many poor. these many will control; they will send of their own men to legislate; they will favor their friends; they will levy the taxes, which the property-holders of the country must pay; they will make the laws appropriating these taxes; all will be for the benefit of their constituency, and the property, the government, and the people are all at their mercy. jefferson sees this, and is taking advantage of it, and has indoctrinated the whole unthinking portion of our people with these destructive notions. it made him president. his example has proven contagious, and i see no end to its results short of the destruction of the government, and that speedily. mr. jefferson's fame will be co-existent with the government. when that shall perish, his great errors will be apparent. the impartial historian, inquiring into the cause of this destruction, with half an eye will see it, and then his true character will be sketched, and this great, unprincipled demagogue will go naked down to posterity. he has always been unprincipled, immoral, and dissolute. these, accompanying his great intellect, have made it a curse, rather than a blessing, to his kind. "the world has produced few great statesmen--washington and hamilton were the only ones of any pretensions this country has produced. it was a great misfortune that hamilton did not succeed washington. mr. adams, now lingering to his end at braintree, was a patriot, but greatly wanting in the attributes of greatness. he was suspicious, ill-tempered, and full of unmanly prejudices--was incapable of comprehending the great necessities of his country, as well as the means to direct and control these necessities. he had animosities to nurse, and enemies to punish--was more concerned about a proper respect for himself and the office he filled, than the interest and the destiny of his country. he quarrelled with washington, was jealous of him, who never had a thought but for his country. adams was all selfishness, little selfishness, and earned and got the contempt of the whole nation. jefferson was turning all this to his own advantage; and the errors and follies of adams were made the strength and wisdom of jefferson. he had but one rival before the nation, burr--he whom you saw yesterday, the crushed victim of the cunning and intrigue of his friend jefferson. "washington had died--despondent of the future of his country. the prestige of his name and presence was gone. he had committed a great error in bringing jefferson into his cabinet and before the nation with his approbation. he knew every cabinet secret, and took advantage of every one, and had placed himself prominently before the people, and with burr was elected. the defect in the law as existing at the time, enabled burr, when returned with an equal number of electoral votes, to contend with jefferson for the presidency. it was in the power of hamilton, at this time, to elect. the states were divided, six for burr, eight for jefferson, and two divided. there was one state voting for jefferson, which by the change of one vote would have been given to burr: the divided states were under his control. he was, during the ballotings, sent for, with a view to the election of burr; but he preferred jefferson--thought him less dangerous than burr, and procured his election. it was a terrible alternative, to have to choose between two such men. the consequences to burr and the country have been terrible--the destruction of both. "i suppose much i have said cuts across your prejudice, coming from the south. i have sought to speak sincerely to you, because you are young, impressible, and anxious for knowledge; and it is better to know an unwelcome truth, than to find out by-and-by you have all your life been believing an untruth. nothing is more sickening to the candid and sincere heart, than to learn its cherished opinions and dearest hopes have been nothing but fallacies; and when you are old as i am, you will have been more fortunate than i have been, if you do not find much that you have loved most, and most trusted, a deceit--a miserable lie. come and see me at your leisure: i shall always be glad to see you, and equally as glad to answer any of your questions, if these answers will give you information." governor oliver wolcott was short in stature and inclined to corpulency; his head was large and round, with an ample forehead; his eyes were gray and very pleasant in their expression; his mouth was voluptuous, and upon his lips there usually lurked a smile, humorous in its threatening, provoking a pleasing dimple upon his cheek. in society, in his extreme old age, for i only knew him then, he was less gay than the general expression of his features would have indicated. he was a man of strong will and most decided character. his individuality was marked and striking, and his tenacity of purpose made his character one of remarkable consistency. governor wolcott was one of the old-school federalists, a thorough believer in federal principles. he believed in the capacity of the people for self-government, if the franchise of suffrage was confined to the intelligence and freeholds of the country, but reprobated the idea of universal suffrage as destructive of all that was good in republican institutions. succeeding alexander hamilton as secretary of the treasury, he found all matters of finance connected with the government in so healthy a condition and arranged upon such a basis as only required that he should be careful to keep them there. during the four last years of the administration of washington, this prevented any display on his part of any striking financial ability. the administration of his office was entirely satisfactory to the country, though it seemed he was only there to superintend the workings of the genius of hamilton. once in my hearing he remarked, he had only to work up to the scribings of hamilton to make everything joint up and fit well. he held washington in higher esteem even than colonel talmadge; and differed from him in many particulars relative to his character. it was my good fortune to sit and listen, more than once, to discussions between these venerable men. it was always amicable and eminently instructive. wolcott was an admirer of mrs. washington, talmadge was not. talmadge was a military man, and saw a healthy discipline only in obedience to superiors, and exacted in his own family what he deemed was proper in that of every man. accustomed himself to a strict obedience to the commands of his superiors, and deeming washington almost incapable of error, he thought hardly even of mrs. washington when she manifested a disposition the slightest to independence of her husband. wolcott did not see her in the camp, but only as the wife of the president of the united states--mistress of the presidential mansion, and affably dispensing the duties of hostess there--receiving, entertaining, and socially intermingling in the society admitted to the presidential circle. at that period there was more of ceremony and display in the higher circles of official society than at this time. the people had seceded from a monarchical government, and established a democratic one; but the prestige of titular and aristocratic society still lingered with those high in office, of distinguished position, and wealth. many of those most prominent about the government had spent much time in europe, and had imported european manners and customs, and desired to see the court etiquette of the mother country prevail at the court of the new government. time and the institutions of democracy had not effected that change in the practices of the people, which the revolution and the determination to control and direct their own government had in their sentiments. mr. jefferson affected to despise this formal ceremony, and the distinctions in society encouraged by monarchical institutions, and sustained by authority of law--though coming from a state and from the midst of a people whose leading and wealthiest families had descended directly from the nobility and gentry of england, and who affected an aristocracy of social life extremely exclusive in its character, while professing a democracy in political organization of the broadest and most comprehensive type. his sagacity taught him that the institutions of a democratic government would soon produce that social equality which was their spirit, in the ordinary intercourse of the people--that he who enjoyed all and every privilege, politically and legally, given under its constitution and laws, possessed a power which ultimately would force his social equality with the most pretentious in the land. in truth, the government was in his hands, and he would mould it to his views, and society to his status. the institutions of government everywhere form the social organization of society. men are ambitious of distinction in every government, and aspire to control in directing the destinies of their country--are justly proud of the respect and confidence of their fellow-men, and will court it in the manner most likely to secure it. now and then, there are to be found some who are insensible to any fame save that given by wealth--who will wrap themselves up in a pecuniary importance, with an ostentatious display of their wealth, and an exclusiveness of social intercourse, and are contented with this, and the general contempt. such men, and such social coteries, are few in this country. fortunately, wealth which is only used as a means of ostentatious display is worthless to communities, and its possessor is contemptible. "wealth is power" is an adage, and is true where it is used to promote the general good. without it no people can be prosperous or intelligent, and the prosperity and intelligence of every people is greatest where there is most wealth, and where it is most generally diffused. this is best effected by democratic institutions, where every preferment is open to all, and where the division of estates follows every death. no large and overshadowing estates, creating a moneyed aristocracy, can accumulate, to control the legislation and the people's destinies under such institutions. no privileged class can be sustained under their operation; for such a class must always be sustained by wealth hereditary and entailed, protected from the obligations of debt, and prohibited from division or alienation. mr. jefferson had studied the effects of governments upon their people most thoroughly, and understood their operation upon the social relations of society, and the character and minds of the people. he was wont to say there was no hereditary transmission of mind; that this was democratic, and a cæsar, a solon, or a demosthenes was as likely to come from a cottage and penury as from a palace and wealth; that virtue more frequently wore a smock-frock than a laced coat, and that the institutions of every government should be so modelled as to afford opportunity to these to become what nature designed they should be--models of worth and usefulness to the country. every one owes to society obligations, and the means should be afforded to all to make available these obligations for the public good. nature never designed that man should hedge about with law a favored few, until these should establish a natural claim to such protection, by producing all the intellect and virtue of the commonwealth. this was common property, and wherever found, in all the gradations and ranges of society, should, under the operations of law, be afforded the same opportunities as the most favored by fortune. "in all things nature should be teacher and guide." these doctrines are beautiful in theory, and are well calculated to fasten upon the minds of the many. they have been, time and again, incorporated into the constitution of governments, and have uniformly produced the same disastrous results. they are equally as fallacious as the declaration "that all men are born free and equal," which, with those above, has won the public approbation in spite of experience. the equality of intellect is as certainly untrue as the equality of stature; the one is not more apparent than the other. transcendent intellect is as rare as an eclipse of the sun. it manifests itself in the control of all others--in forming the opinions and shaping the destinies of all others. this is a birthright--is never acquired, admits of great cultivation, receives impressions, generates ideas, and makes wonderful efforts. cultivation and education gives it these, but never its vigor and power. in whatever grade or caste of society this is born, it soon works its way to the top, disrupts every band which ties it down, and naturally rises above the lower strata, as the rarefied atmosphere rises above the denser. this higher order of intellect will naturally control, and as naturally protect its power. from such, a better government may always be expected; and without this control, none can be wholesome or permanent. chapter xvi. party principles. origin of parties--federal and republican peculiarities--jefferson's principles and religion--democracy--virginia and massachusetts parties --war with france--sedition law--lyman beecher--the almighty dollar-- "hail columbia" and "yankee doodle." the federal and republican parties of the nation had their rise and formation out of the two principles of government--the one descending, as by inheritance, from the mother-country, and the other growing out of the formation of the governments established in the early organization of the colonies. a republican form of government was natural to the people. it had become so from habit. they had, in each colony, enjoyed a representative form; had made their own laws, and, with the exception of their governors and judicial officers, had chosen, by ballot, all their legislative and ministerial officers. most of the principles and practices of a democratic form of government, consequently, were familiar to them. the etiquette of form and ceremony preserved by the governors, conformed to english usage. this was only familiar to those of the masses whose business brought them in contact with these ministerial officers and their appendages. these were continued, to some extent, for a time; but jefferson saw that they must soon cease, and yield to a sensible, simple intercourse between the officials of the government and the people. this was foreshadowed in the declaration of independence, drafted by him. immediately upon the success of the revolution, and the organization of the general government, he enunciated the opinions and principles now known as jeffersonian or democratic. it has been charged upon him, that he borrowed his principles from the leaders of the french revolution, as he did his religion from voltaire and tom paine. jefferson was an original thinker, and thought boldly on all subjects. he had studied not only the character and history of governments, but of religions, and from the convictions of his own judgment were formed his opinions and his principles. his orthodoxy was his doxy, and he cared very little for the doxy of any other man or set of men. his genius and exalted talents gave him a light which shines in upon few brains, and if his religious opinions were fallacious, there are few of our day who will say that his social and political sentiments were or are wrong. as to his correctness in the former, it is not, nor will it ever be, given to man to demonstrate. this is the only subject about which there is no charity for him who differs from the received dogmas of the church, and to-day his name is an abomination only to the federalists and the church. jefferson was made secretary of state by general washington, and was at once the head and representative man of the democracy of the country. there was, however, no organized opposition to the administration of washington. but immediately upon the election of adams it begun to take shape and form, under the leadership of jefferson. the two parties were first known as the virginia and massachusetts parties. jefferson had been elected vice-president with adams, and before the termination of the first year of the administration the opposition was formidable in congress. governor wolcott was of opinion that adams destroyed the federal party by the unwise policy of his administration. he said he was a man of great intellect, but of capricious temper, incapable from principle or habit of yielding to the popular will. he certainly saw the palpable tendency of public feeling, and must have known its strength: instead of attempting to go with it, and shape it to the exigencies his party required, he vainly attempted to stem the current, defy it, and control it by law. he disregarded the earnest entreaties of his best friends, counselling only with the extremists of the federal party: the result was the alien and sedition laws. pickering warned him, and he quarrelled with him. he would not conciliate, but punish his political foes. he loved to exercise power; he did it unscrupulously, and became exceedingly offensive to many of his own party, and bitterly hated by his political enemies. the alien and sedition laws emanated from the extremists of the federal party, and were in opposition to the views of adams himself--yet he approved them, and determined to execute them. he knew these laws were in direct opposition to the views and feelings of an immense majority of the people; and with these lights before him, and when he had it in his power to have conciliated the masses, he defied them. mr. adams was unaccustomed to seek or court public favor; his associations had never been with the masses, and he understood very little of their feelings; when these were forced upon him, he received their manifestations with contempt, and uniformly disregarded their teachings. all these defects of character were seized upon by the opposition, to render odious the federal party. mr. jefferson placed himself in active opposition, and was known at an early day as the candidate of the opposition to succeed adams. our difficulties with france, and the action of congress in appointing washington commander-in-chief of the american forces, brought washington into contact with adams on several occasions; and especially when washington made his acceptance of the office conditional upon the appointment of hamilton as second in command, adams thought he had not been respectfully treated, either by congress or washington; and there were some pretty sharp letters written by washington in relation to the course of adams. jefferson was opposed to the french war. the aid afforded by france in our revolution had made grateful the public heart, and the people were indisposed to rush into a war with her for slight cause. the pen of jefferson was never idle: he knew the general feeling, and inflamed it, and what the consequences to the country might have been, had not the war come to an abrupt and speedy end, there are no means of knowing. the trial and conviction of lyon and cooper under the sedition law, aroused a burst of indignation from the people. still it taught no wisdom to mr. adams. he was urged to have their prosecutions abandoned, but he refused. after conviction, he was seriously pressed to pardon these men, in obedience to the popular will, but he persistently refused, and lyon was continued in prison until liberated by the success of the republican party, and the repeal of the offensive and impolitic laws soon after. adams professed great veneration for the character of washington, and he was doubtless sincere. yet he never lost sight of the fact that it was he who had seconded the motion when made in congress by samuel adams to appoint washington commander-in-chief of the armies of the revolution, or that it was he who suggested it to samuel adams, and that he sustained the motion in a speech of burning eloquence. he felt that this conferred an obligation and that washington was at times unmindful of this. he was more exacting than generous, and more suspicious than confiding. in truth, adams had more mind than soul; more ambition than patriotism, and more impulse than discretion. yet the country owes him much. he was a great support in the cause of the revolution, and his folly was to charge too high for his services. the people honored him--they have honored his family, and will yet make his son president. he received all they could give, and his littleness crept out in his desire for more. general washington's estimate of men was generally correct. he understood adams, jefferson, hamilton, and burr. i do not think he was personally attached to any one of them; yet he appreciated them as the public now do. he had need of the talents of hamilton and jefferson. the organization of the government required the first minds of the country; and washington was the man to call them to his side. in nothing did he show more greatness than in this. he knew jefferson was without principle, but he knew that he was eminently talented; he could forget the one, and call to his aid the other. his confidence in the integrity of hamilton was stronger, as well as in his ability. upon all matters of deep concern to the country he consulted both, and these consultations often brought these two men into antagonistical positions before him, and upon important public matters--one of which was the constitutionality of a united states bank. to each of these, when the charter of the bank was before him, he addressed a note requesting their opinions upon its constitutionality. jefferson replied promptly in a short, written opinion, not well considered or ably argued, as was his wont; denying the constitutionality of such an institution. this opinion was handed to hamilton, who pleaded public duties as the cause of delay on his part, for not furnishing an opinion. it came at last, and was able and conclusive, as to its constitutionality. but it was terrible in its slashing and exposure of the dogmatical sophisms of jefferson. from that time forward there were bitter feelings between these two eminent men. intellectually, hamilton had no equal in his day. it is ridiculous to compare him with burr, which is often done by persons who should know better, because they have all the evidence upon which to predicate a conclusion. the occasion was open to both, equally, to discover to the world what abilities they possessed. they equally filled eminent positions before the nation, and at a time when she demanded the use of the first abilities in the land. what each performed is before the world. men having talent will always leave behind some evidence of this, whether they pass through life in a public or private capacity. flippant pertness, with some wit, is too often mistaken for talent--and a still tongue with a sage look, will sometimes pass for wisdom. but wherever there is talent or wisdom, it makes its mark. the evidences of hamilton's abilities are manifested in his works. they show a versatility of talent unequalled by any modern man. he was conspicuous for his great genius before he was fifteen years of age; he was chief-of-staff for general washington before he was twenty, and before he was thirty, was admitted to be the first mind of the country. as a military man, every officer of the army of the revolution considered him the very first; as a lawyer, he had no equal of his day; as a statesman, he ranked above all competition; as a financier, none were his equal, and an abundance of evidence has been left by him to sustain this reputation in every particular. what has burr left? nothing. he still lives, and what his posthumous papers may say for him, i cannot say; but i know him well, and consequently expect nothing. as a lawyer, he was mediocre; as a statesman, vacillating and without any fixed principles; as an orator, (for some had claimed him to be such,) he was turgid and verbose--sometimes he was sarcastic, but only when the malignity of his nature found vent in the bitterness of words. his private conduct has, in every situation, been bad. he was one of the lee and gates faction to displace washington from the command of the army. he decried the abilities of washington. he violated the confidence of general putnam, when his aide, in seducing margaret moncrief, (whose father had intrusted her to putnam's care.) he violated his faith to the republican party, in lending himself to the federal party to defeat the known and expressed will of the people, and the republican party, by contesting the election before congress of mr. jefferson. in the legislature of new york, his conduct was such as to draw on him the suspicion of corruption, and universal condemnation. contrast his public services with his public and private vices, and see what he is--the despised of the whole world, eking out a miserable existence in hermitical seclusion with a woman of ill-fame. there resided as minister of the congregational church, at that time, in litchfield, lyman beecher. he was a man of short stature; remarkable dark complexion, with large and finely formed head; his features were strong and irregular, with stern, ascetic expression. he was naturally a man of great mind, and but for the bigoted character of his religion, narrowing his mind to certain contemptible prejudices and opinions, might have been a great man. reared in the practice of puritan opinions, and associated from childhood with that strait-laced and intolerant sect, his energies, (which were indomitable) and mind, more so perverted as to become mischievous, instead of useful. he was a propagandist in the broadest sense of the term--would have made an admirable inquisitor--was without any of the charities of the christian; despised as heretical the creed of every sect save his own, and had all of the intolerant bitterness and degrading superstitions of the puritans, and persecutors of laud, in the long parliament. in truth, he was an immediate descendant of the puritans of the seventeenth century, and was distinguished for the persecuting and intolerant spirit of that people. he seemed ever casting about for something in the principles or conduct of others to abuse, and delighted to exhaust his genius in pouring out his venom upon those who did not square their conduct and opinions by his rule. at this time, , the admission of missouri into the union gave rise to the agitation of the extension of slavery. this was a sweet morsel under and on his tongue. he at once commenced the indulgence of his persecuting spirit, in the abuse of slavery, and slave owners. his own immediate people had committed no sin in the importation of the african, and the money accumulated in the traffic was not blood-money. the institution had been wiped out in new england, not by enfranchisement, but by sale to the people of the south, when no longer useful or valuable at home; and all the sin of slavery had followed the slave, to barbarize and degrade the people of the south. the fertility of his imagination could suggest a thousand evils growing from slavery, which concentrating in the character of those possessing them, made them demons upon earth, and fit heritors of hell, deserving the wrath of god and man. it was palpable to the scrutinizing observer, that it was not the sin of slavery which actuated the zeal of beecher. the south had held control of the government almost from its inception. the northern, or federal party, had been repudiated for the talents and energy of the south. its principles and their professors were odious--the conduct of its leading representatives, during the late war, had tainted new england, and she was offensive to the nostrils of patriotism everywhere. her people were restless and dissatisfied under the disgrace. they were anxious for power, not to control for the public good the destinies of the country; but for revenge upon those who had triumphed in their overthrow. their people had spread over the west, and carried with them their religion and hatred--they were ambitious of more territory, over which to propagate their race and creed; yet preparatory to the great end of their aims, and the agitation necessary to the education of their people upon this subject, they must commence in the pulpit to abolish some cursing sin which stood in their way. they had found it, and a fit instrument, too, in lyman beecher, to commence the work. it was the sin of slavery. it stood in the way of new england progress and new england civilization. new england religion must come to the rescue. there was nothing good which could come from the south; all was tainted with this crying sin. new england purity, through new england puritanism, must permeate all the land, and effect the good work--and none so efficient as beecher. the students of the law-school had a pew in his little synagogue--it was after the fashion of a square pew, with seats all around, and to this he would direct his eye when pouring out his anathemas upon the south, southern habits, and southern institutions; four out of five of the members of the school were from the south. it was his habit to ascribe the origin and practice of every vice to slavery. debauchery of every grade, name, and character, was born of this, and though every one of these vices, in full practice, were reeking under his nose, and permeating every class of his own people; when seven out of every ten of the bawds of every brothel, from maine to the sabine, were from new england, they were only odious in the south. i remember upon one occasion he was dilating extensively upon the vice of drunkenness, and accounting it as peculiar to the south, and the direct offshoot of slavery, he exclaimed, with his eyes fixed upon the students' pew: "yes, my brethren, it is peculiar to the people who foster the accursed institution of slavery, and so common is it in the south, that the father who yields his daughter in wedlock, never thinks of asking if her intended is a sober man. all he asks, or seems desirous to know, is whether he is good-natured in his cups." before him sat his nest of young adders, growing up to inherit his religion, talents, and vindictive spirit. instilled into those from their cradles were all the dogmas of puritanism, to stimulate the mischievous spirit of the race to evil works. admirably have they fulfilled their destiny. to the preaching and writings of the men and women descended from lyman beecher has more misery ensued, than from any other one source, for the last century. "uncle tom's cabin" has slain its hundreds of thousands, and the sermons of henry ward beecher have made to flow an ocean of blood. the example of pymm, cromwell, whaley, and goff, and their fate, has taught the puritans no useful lesson. they seem to think to triumph in civil war, as their ancestors did, regardless of the danger that a reaction may bring to them, is all they can desire. the fate of these men has no warning. reactions sometimes come with terrible consequences. they cannot see cromwell's dead body hanging in chains. they will not remember the fate of whaley and goff, whose bones are mouldering in their own new haven, after flying their country and, for years, hiding in caves and cellars from the revengeful pursuit of resentful enemies. the pymms and the praise-god-bare-bones of the thirty-ninth congress may and (it is to be hoped) will yet meet the merited reward of their crimes of persecution and oppression. at the time of which i write, there were many remaining in connecticut who participated in the conflicts and perils of the revolution. these men were all animated with strong national sentiments, and felt that every part of the union was their country. they idolized washington, and always spoke with affectionate praise of the southern spirit, so prominent in her troops during the war. the conduct of the south (and especially that of georgia toward general greene, in donating him a splendid plantation, with a palatial residence, upon the savannah river, near the city of savannah, to which he removed, lived, and in which he died,) was munificent, and characteristic of a noble and generous people. but these were passing away, and a new people were coming into their places. the effects of a common cause, a common danger, and a united success, were not felt by these. new interests excited new aspirations. the nation's peril was past, and she was one of the great powers of the earth, and acknowledged as such. she had triumphantly passed through a second war with her unnatural mother, in which new england, as a people, had reaped no glory. in the midst of the struggle, she had called a convention of her people, with a view of withdrawing from the union. her people had invited the enemy, with their blue-light signals, to enter the harbor they were blockading, and where the american ships, under the command of one of our most gallant commanders, had sought refuge. they were sorely chagrined, and full of wrath. they hated the south and her people. it was growing, and they were nursing it. even then we were a divided people, with every interest conserving to unite us--the south producing and consuming; the north manufacturing, carrying, and selling for, and to, the south. the harmony of commerce, and the harmony of interest, had lost its power, and we were a divided people. the breach widened, war followed, and ruin riots over the land. the south was the weaker, and went down; the north was the stronger, and triumphed--and the day of her vengeance has come. in that remote time, the chase after the almighty dollar had commenced, and especially in new england, where every sentiment was subordinate to this. patriotism was a secondary sentiment. hypocritical pretension to the purity of religion was used to cover the vilest practices, and to shield from public indignation men who, praying, pressed into their service the vilest means to make haste to be rich. the sordid parsimony of ninety-hundredths of the population shut out every sentiment of generosity, and rooted from the heart every emotion honorable to human nature. neighborhood intercourse was poisoned with selfishness, and the effort to overreach, and make money out of, the ignorance or necessities of these, was universal. these degrading practices crept into every business, and petty frauds soon became designated as yankee tricks. there was nothing ennobling in their pursuits. the honorable profession of law dwindled into pettifogging tricks. commerce was degraded in their hands by fraud and chicanery. the pernicious and grasping nature everywhere cultivated, soon fastened upon the features. their eyes were pale, their features lank and hard, and the stony nature was apparent in the icy coldness of manner, in the deceitful grin, and lip-laugh, which the eye never shared, and which was only affected, when interest prompted, or the started suspicions of an intended victim warned them to be wary. the climate, and the inhospitable and ungenerous soil, seemed to impart to the people their own natures. the men were all growing sharp, and the women, cold and passionless; the soul appeared to shrivel and sink into induration, and the whole people were growing into a nation of cheats and dastards. such was the promise for the people of new england, in . has it not been realized in the years of the recent intestine war? the incentive held out to her people to volunteer into her armies, was the plunder of the south. the world has never witnessed such rapacity for gain as marked the armies of the united states in their march through the south. religion and humanity were lost sight of in the general scramble for the goods and the money of the southern people. rings were snatched from the fingers of ladies and torn from their ears; their wardrobes plundered and forwarded to expectant families at home; graves were violated for the plates of gold and silver that might be found upon the coffins; the dead bodies of women and men were unshrouded after exhumation, to search in the coffins and shrouds to see if valuables were not here concealed; and, in numerous instances, the teeth were torn from the skeleton mouths of the dead for the gold plugs, or gold plates that might be found there. nor was this heathenish rapacity confined to the common soldier; the commanders and subalterns participated with acquisitive eagerness, sharing fully with their commands the hellish instincts of their race. they professed to come to liberate the slave, and they uniformly robbed or swindled him of every valuable he might possess--even little children were stripped of their garments, as trophies of war, to be forwarded home for the wear of embryo puritans, as an example for them in future. such are the yankees of - , and ' . they now hold control of the nation; but her mighty heart is sore under their oppression. she is beginning to writhe. it will not be long, before with a mighty effort she will burst the bonds these people have tied about her limbs, will reassert the freedom of her children, and scourge their oppressors with a whip of scorpions. such men as talmadge, humphries, and wolcott are no more to be found in new england. the animus of these men is no longer with these people. the work of change is complete. nothing remains of their religion but its semblance--the fanaticism of cotton mather, without his sincerity--the persecuting spirit of cotton, without the sincerity of his motives. every tie that once united the descendants of the norman with those of the saxon is broken. they are two in interest, two in feeling, two in blood, and two in hatred. for a time they may dwell together, but not in unison; for they have nothing in common but hatred. its fruit is discord, and the day is not distant, when these irreconcilable elements must be ruled with a power despotic as independent, whose will must be law unto both. it is painful to look back fifty years and contrast the harmony then pervading every class of every section with the discord and bitterness of hate which substitutes it to day. then, the national airs of "hail columbia" and "yankee doodle" thrilled home to the heart of every american. to-day, they are only heard in one half of the union to be cursed and execrated. to ask a lady to play one of these airs upon the harp or piano, from the rio grande to the potomac, would be resented as an insult. the fame of washington and john hancock mingled as the united nations; but the conduct of the sons of the puritan fathers has stolen the respect for them from the heart of half of the nation; and now, even the once glorious name of daniel webster stirs no enthusiasm in the bosoms which once beat joyfully to his praise, as it came to them from new england. those who from party purposes proclaim peace and good will, only deceive the world, not themselves, or the people of the south. peace there is; but good will, none. when asked to be given, memory turns to the battle-fields upon southern soil, the bloody graves where the chosen spirits of the south are sleeping, and the heart burns with indignant hatred. generations may come and pass away, but this hatred, this cursed memory of oppressive wrong will live on. the mothers of to-day make for their infants a tradition of these memories, and it will be transmitted as the highlander's cross of fire, from clan to clan, in burning brightness, for a thousand years. the graveyards will no more perish than the legends of the war that made them. they are in our midst, our children, the kindred of all are there--and those who are to come will go there--and their mothers, as hamilcar did, will make them upon these green graves swear eternal hatred to those who with their vengeance filled these sacred vaults. we are expected to love those whose hands are red with the blood of our children; to take to our bosoms the murderers and robbers who have slain upon the soil of their nativity our people, and who have robbed our homes and devastated our country; who have fattened southern soil with southern blood, and enriched their homes with the stolen wealth of ours. are we not men, and manly? do we feel as men? and is not this insult to manliness, and a vile mockery to the feelings of men? we can never forget--we will never forgive, and we will wait; for when the opportunity shall come, as come it will, we will avenge the damning wrong. this may be unchristian, but it is natural--nature is of god and will assert herself. no mawkish pretension, no hypocritical cant, can repress the natural feelings of the heart: its loves and resentments are its strongest passions, and the love that we bore for our children and kindred kindles to greater vigor in the hatred we bear for their murderers. chapter xvii. congress in its brightest days. missouri compromise--john randolph's juba--mr. macon--holmes and crawford--mr. clay's influence--james barbour--philip p. barbour--mr. pinkney--mr. beecher, of ohio--"cuckoo, cuckoo!"--national roads-- william lowndes--william roscoe--duke of argyle--louis mclean--whig and democratic parties. it was at the last session of the fifteenth congress, in the winter of - , when the famous compromise measure, known as the missouri compromise, was effected. a portion of that winter was spent by the writer at washington. congress was then composed of the first intellects of the nation, and the measure was causing great excitement throughout the entire country. missouri, in obedience to a permissory statute, had framed a constitution, and demanded admission into the union as a state. by this constitution slavery was recognized as an institution of the state. objection was made to this clause on the part of the northern members, which led to protracted and sometimes acrimonious debate. at the first session of the congress the admission of the state had been postponed, and during the entire second session it had been the agitating question; nor was it until the very end of the session settled by this famous compromise. the debates were conducted by the ablest men in congress, in both the senate and the house of representatives. in the senate, william pinkney, of maryland; rufus king, of new york; harrison gray otis, of massachusetts; james barbour, of virginia; william smith, of south carolina, and freeman walker, of georgia, were most conspicuous. in the house were john randolph, of virginia; william lowndes, of south carolina; louis mclean, of delaware; thomas w. cobb, of georgia, and louis williams, of north carolina, and many others of less note. henry clay, of kentucky, was speaker of the house during the first session of the congress; but resigned before the meeting of the succeeding congress, and john taylor, of new york, was elected to preside as speaker for the second session. mr. clay was absent from his seat during the early part of this session; and notwithstanding the eminent men composing the congress, there seemed a want of some leading and controlling mind to master the difficulty, and calm the threatening excitement which was intensifying as the debate progressed. mr. randolph was the leader in the debates of the house, and occupied the floor frequently in the delivery of lengthy and almost always very interesting speeches. these touched every subject connected with the government, its history, and its powers. they were brilliant and beautiful; full of classical learning and allusion, and sparkling as a casket of diamonds, thrown upon, and rolling along, a wilton carpet. it seemed to be his pleasure to taunt the opposition to enforce an angry or irritable reply, and then to launch the arrows of his biting wit and sarcasm at whoever dared the response, in such rapid profusion, as to astonish the house, and overwhelm his antagonist. his person was as unique as his manner. he was tall and extremely slender. his habit was to wear an overcoat extending to the floor, with an upright standing collar which concealed his entire person except his head, which seemed to be set, by the ears, upon the collar of his coat. in early morning it was his habit to ride on horseback. this ride was frequently extended to the hour of the meeting of congress. when this was the case, he always rode to the capitol, surrendered his horse to his groom--the ever-faithful juba, who always accompanied him in these rides--and, with his ornamental riding-whip in his hand, a small cloth or leathern cap perched upon the top of his head, (which peeped out, wan and meagre, from between the openings of his coat-collar,) booted and gloved, he would walk to his seat in the house--then in session--lay down upon his desk his cap and whip, and then slowly remove his gloves. if the matter before the house interested him, and he desired to be heard, he would fix his large, round, lustrous black eyes upon the speaker, and, in a voice shrill and piercing as the cry of a peacock, exclaim: "mr. speaker!" then, for a moment or two, remain looking down upon his desk, as if to collect his thoughts; then lifting his eyes to the speaker would commence, in a conversational tone, an address that not unfrequently extended through five hours, when he would yield to a motion for adjournment, with the understanding that he was to finish his speech the following day. he had but few associates. these were all from the south, and very select. with mr. macon, mr. crawford, louis williams, and mr. cobb, he was intimate. he was a frequent visitor to the family of mr. crawford, then secretary of the treasury, where occasionally he met macon and cobb, with other friends of crawford. macon and crawford were his models of upright men. he believed mr. crawford to be the first intellect of the age, and mr. macon the most honest man. the strict honesty of macon captivated him, as it did most men. his home-spun ideas, his unaffected plainness of dress, and primitive simplicity of manner, combined with a wonderful fund of common sense, went home to the heart of randolph, and he loved macon in sincerity. macon and crawford humored his many eccentricities, and would always deferentially listen to him when the humor was on him to talk. it was at such times that randolph was most interesting. he had read much, and to great advantage; he had travelled, and with an observant eye; he knew more, and he knew it more accurately, than any other man of his country, except, perhaps, that wonderful man, william lowndes. in his talking moods all the store-house of his information was drafted into service. his command of language was wonderful. the antithetical manner of expressing himself gave piquancy and _vim_ to his conversation, making it very captivating. he was too impatient, and had too much nervous irritability and too rapid a flow of ideas, to indulge in familiar and colloquial conversation. he would talk all, or none. he inaugurated a subject and exhausted it, and there were few who desired more than to listen when he talked. two or three evenings in the week there would assemble at mr. crawford's a few gentlemen, members of congress. this was especially the case pending the missouri question, when mr. randolph, mr. macon, mr. mclean, mr. holmes, of maine, (a great admirer of mr. crawford,) mr. lowndes, and sometimes one or two gentlemen from pennsylvania, would be present. at these meetings this question was the first and principal topic, and mr. randolph would engross the entire conversation for an hour, when he would almost universally rise, bid good-night, and leave. at other times he would listen attentively, without uttering a word, particularly when crawford or lowndes were speaking. these, then, almost universally, did all the talking. the diversity of opinion scarcely ever prompted reply or interruption. in these conversations the great powers of crawford's mind would break out, astonishing and convincing every one. it was upon one of these occasions, when discussing in connection with the missouri question, the subject of slavery, its influences, and its future, that mr. crawford remarked: "if the union is of more importance to the south than slavery, the south should immediately take measures for the gradual emancipation of the slaves, fixing a period for its final extinction. but if the institution of slavery is of more vital importance than the perpetuation of the union to the south, she should at once secede and establish a government to protect and preserve this institution. she now has the power to do so without the fear of provoking a war. her people should be unanimous, and this agitation has made them so--i believe. i know the love of the union has been paramount to every other consideration with the southern people; but they view, as i do, this attempt to arrest the further spread of slavery as aggressive on the part of congress, and discover an alarming state of the northern mind upon this subject. this with an increasing popular strength may grow into proportions which shall be irresistible, and the south may be ultimately forced to do, what she never will voluntarily do--abolish at once the institution." it was urged by mr. holmes that the constitution guaranteed slavery to the states, that its control and destiny was alone with the states, and there was no danger that the north would ever violate the constitution to interfere with what they had no interest in. "never violate the constitution!" said randolph, in an excited and querulous tone. "mr. holmes, you perhaps know the nature of your people better than i do. but i know them well enough not to trust them. they stickle at nothing to accomplish an end; and their preachers can soon convince them that slavery is a sin, and that they are responsible for its existence here, and that they can only propitiate offended deity by its abolition. you are a peculiar people, holmes, prone to fanaticism upon all subjects, and this fanaticism concentrated as a religious duty--the constitution will only prove a barrier of straw. no, sir; i am unwilling to trust them. they want honesty of purpose, have no sincerity, no patriotism, no principle. your dough-faces will profess, but at a point will fly the track, sir; they can't stand, sir; they can't stand pressing. interest, interest, sir, is their moving motive. do you not see it in their action in this matter? missouri is a fertile and lovely country; they want it for the purpose of settlement with their own people. prohibit slavery to the inhabitants, and no southern man will go there; there will be no competition in the purchase of her land. your people will have it all to themselves; they will flock to it like wild geese, and very soon it is a northern state in northern interest; and, step after step, all the western territory will be in your possession, and you will create states _ab libitum_. you know the constitution permits two-thirds of the states to amend or alter it: establish the principle that congress can exclude slavery from a territory, contrary to the wishes of her people expressed in a constitution formed by them for their government, and how long will it be, before two-thirds of the states will be free? then you can change the constitution and place slavery under the control of congress--and, under such circumstances, how long will it be permitted to remain in any state? "your people are too religious, sir; eminently practical, inventive, restless, cold, calculating, malicious, and ambitious; invent curious rat-traps, and establish missions. i don't want to be trapped, sir; i am too wary a rat for that; and think with mr. crawford, now is the time for separation, and i mean to ask clay to unite with us. yet, sir, i have not spoken to the fellow for years, sir; but i will to-morrow; i will tell him i always despised him, but if he will go to his people, i will to mine, and tell them now is the time for separation from you; and i will follow his lead if he will only do so, if it leads me to perdition. i never did follow it, but in this matter i will. i bid you good night, gentlemen." he waited for no reply, but taking his hat and whip, hurriedly left the room. "can mr. randolph be in earnest?" asked several. "intensely so," replied mr. crawford. "mr. holmes, your people are forcing mr. randolph's opinions upon the entire south. they will not permit northern intermeddling with that which peculiarly interests themselves, and over which they alone hold control." there was a pause, the party was uneasy. there were more than mr. holmes present who were startled at both crawford's and randolph's speculation as to the value of the union. they had ever felt that this was anchored safely in every american breast, and was paramount to every other consideration or interest. it was a terrible heresy, and leading to treason. this was not said, but it was thought, and in no very agreeable mood the party separated for the night. mr. clay had just arrived from kentucky. there had been many speculations as to what course he would pursue in this delicate matter. many had suspended their opinions awaiting his action. the members from ohio were generally acting and voting with those of the east and north. some seemed doubtful, and it was supposed mr. clay would exercise great influence with all the west, and those from ohio, especially. hence, his coming was universally and anxiously awaited. but now he was in washington, all were on the _qui vive_. randolph's declaration was whispered about in the morning, and little coteries were grouped about the hall of the house of representatives. randolph was in conversation, near the speaker's chair, with the clerk, who was pointing and calling his attention to something upon the journal of the house. the hour of meeting was at hand, and the crowd was increasing upon the floor. mr. taylor was in conversation, near the fire-place, on the left of the speaker's chair, with stratford canning, the british plenipotentiary, harrison gray otis, and governor chittenden, of vermont. mr. clay entered in company with william s. archer, a man whose only merit and sole pride was the having been born in virginia; whose pusillanimous arrogance was only equalled by the poverty of his intellect, and who always foisted himself upon the presence of eminent men, deeming he was great because of his impudence and their association. all eyes were turned to clay, and the members flocked about him. releasing himself from these he came up the aisle toward the speaker's chair. mr. randolph stepped into the aisle immediately in front of the chair. at this moment clay discovered him and, towering to his full height, paused within a few feet of him whose eye he saw fixed upon his own. randolph advanced and, without extending his hand, said: "good morning, mr. clay." clay bowed, and randolph immediately said: "i have a duty to perform to my country; so have you, mr. clay. leave your seat here, sir, and return to your people, as i will to mine. tell them, as i will mine, that the time has come: if they would save themselves from ruin, and preserve the liberties for which their fathers bled, they must separate from these men of the north. do so, sir; and, though i never did before, i will follow your lead in the effort to save our people, and their liberties." mr. clay listened, and without apparent surprise remarked, with a smile: "mr. randolph, that will require more reflection than this moment of time affords," and bowing passed on. but a bomb had fallen on the floor, and consternation was on every face. all turned to mr. clay. all saw a crisis was at hand, and that this matter must be settled as speedily as possible. archer filed off with randolph, who affected to pet him, as some men do foils for their wit, in the person of a toady. a few days after this occurrence the famous compromise measure was reported, and the first speech i ever listened to from mr. clay was in its advocacy. about him was gathered the talent of the senate and the house. the lobbies and galleries were filled to overflowing. mr. pinkney, of maryland; landman, of connecticut; rufus king, william lowndes, otis, holmes, macon, and others, all manifested intense interest in the speech of mr. clay. how grandly he towered up over those seated about him! dressed in a full suit of black, his hair combed closely down to his head, displaying its magnificent proportions, with his piercing, gray eyes fixed upon those of the speaker, he poured out, in fervid words, the wisdom of his wonderful mind, and the deep feelings of his great heart. all accorded to him sincerity and exalted patriotism; all knew and confided in his wisdom; all knew him to be a national man, and into the hearts of all his words sank deep, carrying conviction, and calming the storm of angry passions which threatened not only the peace, but the existence of the government. all the majesty of his nature seemed as a halo emanating from his person and features, as, turning to those grouped about him, and then to the house, his words, warm and persuasive, flowing as a stream of melody, with his hand lifted from his desk, he said: "i wish that my country should be prosperous, and her government perpetual. i am in my soul assured that no other can ever afford the same protection to human liberty, and insure the same amount. leave the north to her laws and her institutions. extend the same conciliating charity to the south and west. their people, as yours, know best their wants--know best their interests. let them provide for their own--our system is one of compromises--and in the spirit of harmony come together, in the spirit of brothers compromise any and every jarring sentiment or interest which may arise in the progress of the country. there is security in this; there is peace, and fraternal union. thus we may, we shall, go on to cover this entire continent with prosperous states, and a contented, self-governed, and happy people. to the unrestrained energies of an intelligent and enterprising people, the mountains shall yield their mineral tribute, the valleys their cereals and fruits, and a million of millions of contented and prosperous people shall demonstrate to an admiring world the great problem that man is capable of self-government." there beamed from every countenance a pleased satisfaction, as the members of the senate and the house came up to express their delight, and their determination to support the measure proposed, and so ably advocated. there was oil upon the waters, and the turbulent waves went down. men who had been estranged and angered for many months, met, and with friendly smiles greeted each other again. the ladies in the gallery above rose up as if by a common impulse, to look down, with smiles, upon the great commoner. one whose silvered hair, parted smoothly and modestly upon her aged forehead, fell in two massy folds behind her ears, clasped her hands, and audibly uttered: "god bless him." the reconciliation seemed to be effected, and the confidence and affection between the sections to be renewed with increased fervor and intensity. there was rejoicing throughout the land. dissatisfaction only spake from the pulpits of new england, and there only from those of the puritan congregationalists. but the public heart had received a shock, and though it beat on, it was not with the healthful tone of former days. the men of the revolution were rapidly passing to eternity. the cement of blood which bound these as one was dissolving, and the fabric of their creation was undermined in the hearts of the people, with corroding prejudices, actively fomented by the bigotry of a selfish superstition. a sectional struggle for supremacy had commenced. the control of the government was the aim, and patriotism was consuming in the flame of ambition. the government's security, the government's perpetuity, and the common good, were no longer prime considerations. all its demonstrated blessings had remained as ever the same. stimulated by the same motives and the same ambitions, the new world and the new government were moving in the old groove; and the old world saw repeating here the history of all the governments which had arisen, lived, and passed away, in her own borders. the mighty genius of clay and webster, of jackson and calhoun, had, for a time, stayed the rapid progress of ruin which had begun to show itself, but only for a time. they have been gathered to their fathers, and the controlling influence of their mighty minds being removed, confusion, war, and ruin have followed. the men conspicuous in the debates on the missouri question were giants in intellect, and perhaps few deliberative assemblies of the world ever contained more talent, or more public virtue. at the head of these stood henry clay, pinkney, rufus king, william lowndes, harrison gray otis, william smith, louis mclean, the two barbours, john randolph, freeman walker, thomas w. cobb, and john holmes, of maine. james barbour was a member of the senate; philip p. barbour, of the house. they were brothers, and both from virginia. they were both men of great abilities, but their style and manner were very different. james was a verbose and ornate declaimer; philip was a close, cogent reasoner, without any attempt at elegance or display. he labored to convince the mind; james, to control and direct the feelings. a wag wrote upon the wall of the house, at the conclusion of a masterly argument of philip p. barbour, "two barbers to shave our congress long did try. one shaves with froth; the other shaves dry." of the senate mr. pinkney was the great orator. his speech upon this most exciting question has ever been considered the most finished for eloquence and power, ever delivered in the united states senate. the effect upon the senate, and the audience assembled in the galleries and lobbies of the senate, was thrilling. mr. king was old, but retained in their vigor his faculties, was more tame perhaps than in his younger years; still the clearness and brilliancy of his powerful mind manifested itself in his every effort. mr. pinkney had all the advantages which a fine manly person and clear, musical voice gives to an orator. he spoke but rarely and never without great preparation. he was by no means a ready debater, and prized too much his reputation to hazard anything in an impromptu, extemporaneous address. he listened, for weeks, to king, otis, and others who debated the question, and came at last prepared in one great effort to answer and demolish the arguments of these men. those who listened to that wonderful effort of forensic power will never forget his reply to king, when he charged him with uttering sentiments in debate calculated to incite a servile war. the picture he drew of such a war: the massacring by infuriated black savages of delicate women and children; the burning and destroying of cities; the desolating by fire and sword the country, was so thrilling and descriptively perfect, that you smelt the blood, saw the flames, and heard the shrieks of perishing victims. mr. king shuddered as he looked on the orator, and listened to his impassioned declamation. but when pinkney turned from the president of the senate and, flashing his eye upon king, continued in words hissing in whispers, full of pathos as of biting indignation, mr. king folded his arms and rested his head upon them, concealing his features and emotion from the speaker and the senate. for two hours the senate and galleries were chained as it were to their seats. at times so intense was the feeling, that a pause of the speaker made audible the hard and excited breathing of the audience, catching their breath as though respiration had been painfully suspended and relief had come in this pause. when he had finished and resumed his seat, there was profound silence for many seconds, when a senator in seeming trepidation rose and moved an adjournment. mr. pinkney was in every respect a most finished gentleman, highly bred, only associating with the first men and minds of the country; courteous and polished in his manners, and scrupulously neat in his dress, which was always in the height of fashion and always of the finest and most costly materials. he never came to the senate but in full dress, and would have been mortified to find a mite of lint upon his coat, or a dash of dust upon his boots. at that time the united states senate was the most august and dignified body in the world. what is it to-day? _o tempora, o mores!_ in the house, the palm of oratory was disputed between mr. clay and mr. randolph. their styles were so different, and both so effective, that it was difficult to distinguish by comparison, to which belonged the distinction of being first. mr. clay was always collected and self-possessed--he was, too, always master of his subject; and though he was a ready debater, he never made a set speech upon any important subject without careful preparation. he was not easily disconcerted; courageous, with a strong will, he feared no intemperate opposition, and was never restrained from uttering his sentiments and opinions of men or measures. he was kind and generous, until aroused or offended and, then, was merciless. his sarcasm and invective upon such occasions was withering, and his vehemence daring and terrible. no man of his day had a mind better balanced than mr. clay. his judgment was almost always correct; his imagination brilliant, but always under the control of his judgment; his memory and preceptive faculties were wonderful; his education was defective, and the associations of the west had not given that polish to his manners which distinguishes men of education, reared in educated communities, and associating always with polished society. mr. clay had been at the most polished courts of europe, and was familiar with their most refined society; but these he visited in mature life, after the manners are formed, and habit made them indurate. he had long been familiar, too, with the best society in his own country and, by this, had been much improved. still the kentuckian would sometimes come through the shell, but always in a manner more to delight than offend; besides, mr. clay set little value upon forms and ceremony. there was too much heart for such cold seeming, too much fire for the chill, unfeeling ceremony of what is termed first society. mr. clay's manners partook much of the character of his mind and soul. they were prompt, bold, and easy; his eloquence was bold, rough, and overwhelming. like all men of genius, will, and self-reliance, mr. clay was impatient of contradiction. the similarity in this regard, between jackson, clay, and crawford was wonderful. they were equally passionate, equally impetuous, and equally impatient--all being natural men of great powers and limited education. to say they were self-made, would be paying the almighty a left-handed compliment. but to say they assiduously cultivated his great gifts without much aid from the schoolmaster, would only be doing them unbiased justice. randolph was classically educated. he had enjoyed every advantage of cultivation. socially, he had never mingled with any but refined society. the franchise of suffrage in virginia was confined to the freeholders, thus obviating in the public man the necessity of mingling with, and courting the good opinion of the multitude. the system, too, of electioneering was to address from the hustings the voters, to declare publicly the opinions of candidates, and the policy they proposed supporting. the vote was given _viva voce_. all concurred to make representative and constituent frank and honest. while this system existed, virginia ruled the nation. these means secured the services of the first intellects, and the first characters of her people. the system was a training for debate and public display. eloquence became the first requisite to the candidate, and was the most powerful means of influence and efficiency in the representative. randolph had been thus trained; he had listened to, and been instructed by the eloquence of patrick henry, in his early youth, and in later life had met him as a competitor on the hustings. he had grown up by the side of edmonds, peyton randolph, george mason, and thomas jefferson. in his very youth he had excited the wonder and admiration of these great minds. he was sent into the congress of the united states almost before he was qualified by age to take his seat; and at once took position by the side of such men as william b. giles, william h. crawford, james a. byard, and littleton w. tazwell. his style of speaking was peculiar; his wit was bitter and biting; his sarcasm more pungent and withering than had ever been heard on the floor of congress; his figure was _outre_; his voice, fine as the treble of a violin; his face, wan, wrinkled, and without beard; his limbs, long and unsightly, especially his arms and fingers; the skin seemed to grow to the attenuated bone; and the large, ill-formed joints were extremely ugly. but those fingers, and especially the right fore-finger, gave point and _vim_ to his wit and invective. in his manner he was at times deliberate, and apparently very considerate, and again he was rapid and vehement. when he would demolish an adversary, he would commence slowly, as if to collect all his powers, preparatory to one great onset. he would turn and talk, as it were, to all about him, and seemingly incongruously. it was as if he was slinging and whirling his chain-shot about his head, and circling it more and more rapidly, to collect all his strength for the fatal blow. all knew it would fall, but none knew where, until he had collected his utmost strength, and then, with the electrical flash of his eye, he would mark the victim, and the thundering crash of his vengeance, in words of vehemence, charged with the most caustic satire, would fall upon, and crush the devoted head of his scarce suspecting foe. i remember, upon one occasion, pending the debate upon the missouri question, and when mr. randolph was in the habit of almost daily addressing the house, that a mr. beecher, of ohio, who was very impatient with randolph's tirades, would, in the lengthy pauses made by him, rise from his place, and move the previous question. the speaker would reply: "the member from virginia has the floor." the first and second interruption was not noticed by randolph, but upon the repetition a third time, he slowly lifted his head from contemplating his notes, and said: "mr. speaker, in the netherlands, a man of small capacity, with bits of wood and leather, will, in a few moments, construct a toy that, with the pressure of the finger and thumb, will cry 'cuckoo! cuckoo!' with less of ingenuity, and with inferior materials, the people of ohio have made a toy that will, without much pressure, cry, 'previous question, mr. speaker! previous question, mr. speaker!'" at the same time designating beecher, by pointing at him with his long, skeleton-looking finger. in a moment the house was convulsed with laughter, and i doubt if beecher ever survived the sarcasm. at the time mr. clay came into congress, randolph had no rival upon the floor of the house. he had become a terror to timid men. few ventured to meet him in debate, and none to provoke him. mr. clay's reputation had preceded him. he had before, for a short time, been in the senate. he was known to be the first orator in the west, and the west boasted doddridge, humphrey marshall, john rowan, jesse bledsoe, john pope, and felix grundy. it was not long, before these two met in debate upon the subject of the national road. randolph opposed this measure as unconstitutional, denying to the general government any power to make any improvements within the limits of any state, without the consent of the state. mr. clay claimed the power under that grant which constituted congress competent to establish post-offices and post-roads. the discussion was an excited one. mr. clay was a virginian, but not of randolph's class; besides, he was not now from virginia, and randolph chose to designate him a degenerate, renegade son of the old dominion. he had been reared, as randolph, a democrat of the jeffersonian school. in this he was an apostate from the ancient faith. randolph fully expected an easy victory, and no man upon the floor was more surprised than himself, at the bold, eloquent, and defiant reply of clay. between them the combat was fierce and protracted. randolph had the mortification of seeing western virginia moving with clay, and the entire representation of the western states joining with them. clay was triumphant. the measure became a law, the road was built, and a monument was erected to mr. clay in western virginia, and by virginians. it stands in a beautiful valley, immediately on the road's side. from that time until, as old men, they met in mortal combat upon the banks of the potomac, they were rivals and enemies. randolph was rancorous in his hatred of clay. in proportion as clay rose in the estimation of his countrymen, did randolph's hate increase. clay sprang from the plebeian stock of his native virginia. he had come as the representative of the rustics of kentucky. he was not sanctified by a college diploma. he boasted no long line of ancestry, and yet he had met, and triumphed over, the scions of a boasted line--had bearded the aristocrat upon the field of his fame, and vanquished him. this triumph was followed up, in quick succession, with many others. he was now the cynosure of the nation, and the star of randolph was waning. his disregard of randolph's proposition, to withdraw from congress and denounce the union, and his success in effecting this compromise, sublimated randolph's hatred, and no opportunity was permitted to pass unimproved for abuse of him as a politician, and as a man. william lowndes, after clay, exercised more influence in the house than any other man. he was a south carolinian, and of distinguished family. his health, at this time, was failing: it had always been delicate. mr. lowndes was comparatively a young man. he was remarkably tall: perhaps six feet six inches. he stood a head and shoulders above any man in congress. his hair was golden; his complexion, clear and pale, and his eyes were deep blue, and very expressive. he had been elaborately educated, and improved by foreign travel, extensive reading, and research. as a belles-lettres scholar, he was superior even to mr. randolph. very retiring and modest in his demeanor, he rarely obtruded himself upon the house. when he did, it seemed only to remind the house of something which had been forgotten by his predecessors in debate. sometimes he would make a set speech. when he did, it was always remarkable for profound reasoning, and profound thought. he was suffering with disease of the lungs, and his voice was weak: so much so that he never attempted to elevate it above a conversational tone. so honest was he in his views, so learned and so unobtrusive, that he had witched away the heart of the house. no man was so earnestly listened to as mr. lowndes. his mild and persuasive manner, his refined and delicate deportment in debate and social intercourse captivated every one; and at a time when acrimonious feelings filled almost every breast, there was no animosity for mr. lowndes. his impression upon the nation had made him the favored candidate of every section for the next president; and it is not, perhaps, saying too much, that had his life been spared, he, and not john quincy adams, would have been the president in . he would have been to all an acceptable candidate. his talents, his virtues, his learning, and his broad patriotism had very much endeared him to the intelligence of the country. at that time these attributes were expected in the president, and none were acceptable without them. mr. lowndes in very early life gave evidence of future usefulness and distinction. his thirst for knowledge, intense application, and great capacity to acquire, made him conspicuous at school, and in college. he entered manhood already distinguished by his writings. while yet very young he travelled in europe, and for the purpose of mental improvement. knowledge was the wife of his heart, and he courted her with affectionate assiduity. an anecdote is related of him illustrative of his character and attainments. while in london, he was left alone at his hotel, where none but men of rank and distinction visited, with a gentleman much his senior; neither knew the other. a social instinct, (though not very prominent in an englishman,) induced conversation. after a time the gentleman left the apartment and was returning to the street, when he encountered the duke of argyle. this gentleman was william roscoe, of liverpool, and author of "the life of leo the tenth." "i have been spending a most agreeable hour," he said to the duke, "with a young american gentleman, who is the tallest, wisest, and best bred young man i have ever met." "it must have been mr. lowndes, of south carolina," replied the duke. "he is such a man, i know him and i know no other like him. return and let me make you his acquaintance." he did so, and the acquaintance then commenced, ripened into a friendship which endured so long as they both lived. blue eyes, of a peculiar languid expression; yellow hair, lank and without gloss; with a soft sunny sort of complexion, seems ever to indicate physical weakness. indeed, pale colors in all nature point to brief existence, want of stamina and capacity to endure. all of these combined in the physical organization of mr. lowndes, and served to make more conspicuous the brilliancy of his intellect. it has been said, consumption sublimates the mind, stealing from the body, etherealizing and intensifying the intellect. this was peculiarly the case in the instance of mr. lowndes. as the disease progressed, attenuating and debilitating the physical man, his intellectual faculties grew brighter, and brighter, assuming a lucidity almost supernatural. at length he passed from time while yet young, leaving a vacuum which in south carolina has never been filled. his death was at a time his services were most needed, and as with clay, jackson, and webster; his death was a national calamity. conspicuous among the remarkable men of that era was louis mclean, of delaware. he belonged to the republican school of politics, and was a very honest and able man. he combined very many most estimable traits in his character; open and frank, without concealment; cheerful and mild, without bitterness, and with as few prejudices as any public man. yet he was consistent and firm in his political opinions and principles, as he was devoted and tenacious in his friendships. he was extremely considerate of the feelings and prejudices of other people--had a large stock of charity for the foibles and follies of his friends and political antagonists. in social intercourse he was quite as familiar and intimate with these as with his political friends. difference of political principles did not close his eyes to the virtues and worth of any man, and his respect for talent and uprightness was always manifest in his public and private intercourse with those who differed with him in opinion. his was a happy constitution, and one well fitted to win him friends. personally, with the exception of mr. lowndes, he was perhaps the most popular man upon the floor of the house of representatives. the influence of his character and talent was very great, and his geographical position added greatly to these in his efforts upon the missouri question. his speech was widely read, and no one found fault with it. it was a masterly effort and added greatly to his extended fame. in the character of mr. mclean there was a very happy combination of gentleness with firmness. he carried this into his family, and its influence has made of his children a monument to his fame; they have distinguished, in their characters and conduct, the name and the virtues of their father. it may be said of him what cannot be said of many distinguished men, his children were equal to the father in talent, usefulness, and virtue. the administration of mr. monroe saw expire the federal and republican parties, as organized under the administration of john adams. it saw also the germ of the democratic and whig parties planted. it was a prosperous administration, and under it the nation flourished like a green bay-tree. he was the last of the presidents who had actively participated in the war of the revolution. to other virtues and different merits, those who now aspire to the high distinction of the presidency must owe their success. there must always be a cause for distinction. however great the abilities of a man or exalted his virtues, he must in some manner make a display of them before the public eye, or he must of necessity remain in obscurity. war developes more rapidly and more conspicuously the abilities of men than any other public employment. gallantry and successful conflict presents the commander and subalterns at once prominently before the country; besides military fame addresses itself to every capacity, and strange as it may seem, there is no quality so popular with man and woman, too, as the art of successfully killing our fellow-man, and devastating his country. it is ever a successful claim to public honors and political preferments. no fame is so lasting as a military fame. cæsar and hannibal are names, though they lived two thousand years ago, familiar in the mouths of every one, and grow brighter as time progresses. philip and his more warlike son, alexander, are names familiar to the learned and illiterate, alike; while those who adorned the walks of civil life with virtues, and godlike abilities, are only known to those who burrow in musty old books, and search out the root of civilization enjoyed by modern nations. they who fought at cannæ and marathon, at troy and at carthage, are household names; while those who invented the plough and the spade, and first taught the cultivation of the earth, the very base of civilization, are unknown--never thought of. such is human nature. the war of had developed one or two men only of high military genius, and the furor for military men had not then become a mania. abilities for civil government were considered essential in him who was to be elevated to the presidency. indeed, it was not so much a warrior's fame which had controlled in the election of the previous presidents, as their high intellectual reputations. washington had rendered such services to the country, both as a military man and a civilian, that his name was the nation. he had been everywhere designated as the father of his country, and such was the public devotion, that he had only to ask it, and a despot's crown would have adorned his brow. john adams, jefferson, and madison had no military record; but in the capacity of civilians had rendered essential service to the cause of the revolution. their administrations had been successful, and the public mind attributed this success to their abilities as statesmen, and desired to find as their successors, men of like minds, and similar attainments. crawford, calhoun, clay, john quincy adams, and lowndes, had all of them given evidences of eminent statesmanship, and the public mind among these was divided. at the time of the death of lowndes, this mind was rapidly concentrating upon him, as more eminently uniting the desired qualifications than any other. it was about this very time that general jackson's name began to attract the public as a prominent candidate. mr. calhoun was ready to retire from the contest, and it is very probable his friends would have united in the support of lowndes, but he being out of the way, they united upon jackson. when jackson was first spoken of as a candidate, most men of intelligence viewed it as a mere joke, but very soon the admiration for his military fame was apparent in the delight manifested by the masses, when he was brought prominently forward. that thirst for military glory, and the equally ardent thirst to do homage to the successful military man, was discovered to be as innate and all-pervading with the american people, as with any other of the most warlike nations. had the name of jackson been brought before the people six months earlier than it was, he would, most assuredly, have been triumphantly elected by the popular vote. it would be fruitless to speculate upon what might have been the consequences to the country had he been then chosen. besides, such is foreign to my purpose. i mean merely to record memories of men and things which have come under my eye and to my knowledge, for the last fifty years, and which i may suppose will be interesting to the general reader, and particularly to the young, who are just now coming into position as men and women, and who will constitute the controlling element in society and in the government. to those of my own age, it may serve to awaken reminiscences of a by-gone age, and enable them to contrast the men and things of now and then. chapter xviii. french and spanish territory. settlers on the tombigbee and mississippi rivers--la salle--natchez-- family apportionment--the hill country--hospitality--benefit of african slavery--capacity of the negro--his future. about the year , many persons of the then colonies, fearful of the consequences of the war then commencing for the independence of the colonies, removed and sought a home beyond their limits. some selected the tombigbee, and others the mississippi river, and, braving the horrors of the wilderness, made a home for themselves and posterity, amid the rude inhospitalies of uncultivated nature. there were, at that time, small settlements of french and spanish adventurers upon these streams, in different localities. la salle descended upon canada, and, taking possession of louisiana in the name of the french king, had created among many of the chivalrous and adventurous spirits of france a desire to take possession of the entire country, from the mouth of the saint lawrence to that of the mississippi. nova scotia, called acadia by its first settlers, and the provinces of canada, were his already, and france desired to restrict the further expansion of the english colonies, now growing into importance along the atlantic coast. the vast extent of the continent and its immense fertility, with its mighty rivers, its peculiar adaptation to settlement, and the yielding of all the necessaries and luxuries of human wants, had aroused the enterprise of europe. spain had possessed herself of south america, mexico, and cuba, the pride of the antilles. the success of her scheme of colonization stimulated both england and france to push forward their settlements, and to foster and protect them with governmental care. after some fruitless attempts, the mouth of the mississippi had been discovered, and approached from the gulf. the expedition under la salle had failed to find it. the small colony brought by him for settlement upon the mississippi, had been landed many leagues west of the river's mouth, and owing to disputes between that great and enterprising man and the officer commanding the two ships which had transported them across the atlantic, they were mercilessly left by this officer, without protection, and almost without provisions, upon the coast of what is now texas. la salle had started with a small escort, by land, to find the great river. these men became dissatisfied, and not sharing in the adventurous and energetic spirit of their leader, remonstrated with him and proposed to return to their companions; but, disregarding them, he pressed on in his new enterprise. in wading a small stream, one of the men was carried off by an alligator, and a day or so after, another was bitten and killed by a rattle-snake. terror seized upon his men, and all their persuasions proving fruitless, they determined to assassinate him and return. they did so, only to find the colony dispersed and nowhere to be found. after many hazardous adventures they reached the arkansas river, and descended it to its mouth, where they proposed preparing some means of ascending the mississippi, and thus return to canada. fortunately they had been there but a few hours, when a small boat or two, which had been dispatched from canada to look after the colony so long expected, arrived, and, learning the unfortunate issue of the enterprise, took on board the party, and returned up the river. they reported the colony destroyed, and it was not until many years after, that it was discovered that those left on the sea-side had been found, and conveyed to the jesuit mission, at san antonio, where they had been cared for and preserved by the pious and humane missionaries. subsequently a colony was located at boloxy, on the shore of the lake, and thence was transferred to new orleans. mobile, soon after, was made the nucleus of another colony, and from these two points had proceeded the pioneers of the different settlements along these rivers--the tombigbee and the mississippi. it was to these settlements or posts, or their neighborhoods, that these refugees from the revolutionary war in the colonies had retired. natchez and st. francisville, on the mississippi, and st. stephen's and mcintosh's bluff, on the tombigbee, were the most populous and important. about these, and under the auspicious protection of the spanish government, then dominant in louisiana and florida, commenced the growth of the anglo-norman population, which is now the almost entire population of the country. there proceeded from south carolina, about the time mentioned above, a colony of persons which located near natchez. they came down the holston, tennessee, and mississippi rivers, on flat-boats; and after many escapes from the perils incident to the streams they navigated, and the hostility of the savages who dwelt along their shores, they reached this canaan of their hopes. they had intended to locate at new madrid. the country around was well suited for cultivation, being alluvial and rich, and the climate was all they could desire; but they found a population mongrel and vicious, unrestrained by law or morals, and learning through a negro belonging to the place of an intended attack upon their party, for the purpose of robbery, they hastily re-embarked what of their property and stock they had debarked. under pretense of dropping a few miles lower down the river for a more eligible site, they silently and secretly left in the night, and never attempted another stop until reaching the walnut hills, now vicksburg. a few of the party concluded to remain here, while the larger number went on down; some to the mouth of cole's creek, some to natchez, and others to the cliffs known by the name of one of the emigrants whose party concluded to settle there. these cliffs, which are eighteen miles below natchez, have always been known as ellis' cliffs. in their rear is a most beautiful, and eminently fertile country. grants were obtained from the spanish government of these lands, in tracts suited to the means of each family. a portion was given to the husband, a portion to the wife, and a portion to each child of every family. these grants covered nearly all of that desirable region south of st. catharine's creek and west of second creek to the mississippi river, and south to the homochitto river. similar grants were obtained for lands about the mouth, and along the banks of cole's creek, at and around fort adams, ten miles above the mouth of red river, and upon the bayou pierre. the same authority donated to the emigrants lands about mcintosh's bluff, fort st. stephens, and along bassett's creek, in the region of the tombigbee river. here the lands were not so fertile, nor were they in such bodies as in the region of the mississippi. the settlements did not increase and extend to the surrounding country with the same rapidity as in the latter country. many of those first stopping on the tombigbee, ultimately removed to the mississippi. here they encountered none of the perils or losses incident to the war of the revolution. the privations of a new country they did, of necessity, endure, but not to the same extent that those suffer who are deprived of a market for the products of their labor. new orleans afforded a remunerative market for all they could produce, and, in return, supplied them with every necessary beyond their means of producing at home. the soil and climate were not only auspicious to the production of cotton, tobacco, and indigo--then a valuable marketable commodity--but every facility for rearing without stint every variety of stock. these settlements were greatly increased by emigration from pennsylvania, subsequently to the conclusion of the war, as well as from the southern states. very many who, in that war, had sided with the mother country from conscientious, or mercenary views, were compelled by public opinion, or by the operation of the law confiscating their property and banishing them from the country, to find new homes. those, however, who came first had choice of locations, and most generally selected the best; and bringing most wealth, maintained the ascendency in this regard, and gave tone and direction to public matters as well as to the social organization of society. most of them were men of education and high social position in the countries from which they came. constant intercourse with new orleans, and the education of the youth of both sexes of this region in the schools of that city, carried the high polish of french society into the colony. louisiana, and especially new orleans, was first settled by the nobility and gentry of france. they were men in position among the first of that great and glorious people. animated with the ambition for high enterprise, they came in sufficient numbers to create a society, and to plant french manners and customs, and the elegance of french learning and french society, upon the banks of the mississippi. the commercial and social intermingling of these people resulted in intermarriages, which very soon assimilated them in most things as one people, at least in feeling, sentiment and interest. from such a stock grew the people inhabiting the banks of the mississippi, from vicksburg to new orleans. in , young men of talent and enterprise had come from europe, and every section of the united states, and, giving their talents to the development of the country, had created a wealth, greater and more generally diffused than was, at that time, to be found in any other planting or farming community in the united states. living almost exclusively among themselves, their manners and feelings were homogeneous; and living, too, almost entirely upon the products of their plantations, independent of their market-crops, they grew rich so rapidly as to mock the fable of jonah's gourd. this wealth afforded the means of education and travel; these, cultivation and high mental attainments, and, with these, the elegances of refined life. the country was vast and fertile; the mississippi, flowing by their homes, was sublimely grand, and seemed to inspire ideas and aspirations commensurate with its own majesty in the people upon its borders. in no country are to be found women of more refined character, more beauty, or more elegance of manners, than among the planters' wives and daughters of the mississippi coast. reared in the country, and accustomed to exercise in the open air, in walking through the shady avenues of the extensive and beautifully ornamented grounds about the home or plantation-house; riding on horseback along the river's margin, elevated upon the levee, covered with the green bermuda grass, smoothly spreading over all the ground, save the pretty open road, stretching through this grass, like a thread of silver in a a cloth of green; with the great drab river, moving in silent majesty, on one side, and the extended fields of the plantation, teeming with the crop of cane or cotton, upon the other. their exercise, thus surrounded, becomes a school, and their ideas expand and grow with the sublimity of their surroundings. the health-giving exercise and the wonderful scene yields vigor both to mind and body. nor is this scene, or its effects, greater in the development of mind and body than that of the hill-country of the river-counties of mississippi. these hills are peculiar. they are drift, thrown upon the primitive formation by some natural convulsion, and usually extend some twelve or fifteen miles into the interior. they consist of a rich, marly loam, and, when in a state of nature were clothed to their summits with the wild cane, dense and unusually large, a forest of magnolia, black walnut, immense oaks, and tulip or poplar-trees, with gigantic vines of the wild grape climbing and overtopping the tallest of these forest monarchs. here among these picturesque hills and glorious woods, the emigrants fixed their homes, and here grew their posterity surrounding themselves with wealth, comforts, and all the luxuries and elegances of an elevated civilization. surrounded in these homes with domestic slaves reared in them, and about them, who came at their bidding, and went when told, but who were carefully regarded, sustained, and protected, and who felt their family identity, and were happy, served affectionately, and with willing alacrity, the master and his household. in the midst of scenes and circumstances like these grew women in all that constitutes nobility of soul and sentiment, delicacy, intelligence, and refined purity, superior to any it has ever been my fortune to meet on earth. here in these palatial homes was the hospitality of princes. it was not the hospitality of pride or ostentation, but of the heart; the welcome which the soul ungrudgingly gives, and which delights and refines the receiver. it is the welcome of a refined humanity, untainted with selfishness, and felt as a humane and duly bound tribute to civilization and christianity; such hospitality as can only belong to the social organization which had obtained in the community from its advent upon this great country. the independence of the planter's pursuit, the institution of domestic slavery, and the form and spirit of the government, all conduce to this. the mind is untrammelled and the soul is independent, because subservient neither to the tyrannical exactions of unscrupulous authority, or the more debasing servility of dependence upon the capricious whims of petty officials, or a monied aristocracy. independently possessing the soil and the labor for its cultivation, with only the care necessary to the comforts and necessities of this labor, superadded to those of a family, they were without the necessity of soliciting or courting favors from any one, or pandering to the ignorant caprices of a labor beyond their control. independence of means is the surest guarantee for independence of character. where this is found, most private and most public virtues always accompany it. truth, sincerity, all the cardinal virtues are fostered most where there is most independence. this takes away the source of all corruption, all temptation. this seeks dependence, and victimizes its creatures to every purpose of corruption and meanness. under the influences of the institutions of the south, as they were, there was little of the servile meanness so predominant where they were not, and the lofty and chivalrous character of the southern people was greatly owing to these institutions, and the habits of the people growing out of them. the slave was a class below all others. his master was his protector and friend; he supplied his wants and redressed his wrongs, and it was a point of honor as well as duty to do so; he was assured of his care and protection, and felt no humility at his condition. the white man, without means, was reminded that, though poor, he was above the slave, and was stimulated with the pride of position as contrasted with that of the slave; his political, legal, and social rights were unrestrained and equal with those of the wealthiest. this was the only distinction between him and the wealthiest in the land, and this wealth conferred no exclusive privilege, and its acquisition was open to his energy and enterprise, and he gloried in his independence. he could acquire and enjoy without dependence, and his pride and ambition were alike stimulated to the emulation of those who shared most fortune's favors. the beneficial influences of the institution of african slavery were not only apparent in the independent and honorable bearing and conduct of the southern people, growing from the habit of command, and involuntary contrast of condition, but upon the material advancement and progress of the country. the product of slave labor, when directed by a higher intelligence than his own, is enormous, and was the basis of the extended and wealth-creating commerce of the entire country. these products could be obtained in no other manner, and without this labor, are lost to the world. the african negro, in osseous and muscular developments, and in all the essentials for labor, is quite equal to those of the white race; in his cerebral, greatly inferior. the capacities of his brain are limited and incapable of cultivation beyond a certain point. his moral man is as feeble and unteachable as his mental. he cannot be educated to the capacity of self-government, nor to the formation and conducting of civil government to the extent of humanizing and controlling by salutary laws a people aggregated into communities. he learns by example which he imitates, so long as the exampler is present before him; but this imitation never hardens to fixed views or habits, indicating the design of providence, that these physical capacities should be directed and appropriated for good, by an intelligence beyond the mental reach of the negro. why is this so? in the wisdom and economy of creation every created thing represents a design for a use. the soil and climate of the tropical and semi-tropical regions of the earth produce and mature all, or very nearly all of the necessaries and luxuries of human life. but human beings of different races and different capacities fill up the whole earth. the capacity to build a fire and fabricate clothing is given only to man. was the element of fire and the material for clothing given for any but man's use? this enables him to inhabit every clime. but the capacity to produce all the necessaries and luxuries of life is given only to a certain portion of the earth's surface; and its peculiar motions give the fructifying influences of the sun only to the middle belt of the planet. the use of this organization is evidenced in the production of this belt, and these productions must be the result of intelligently directed labor. the peculiarity of the physical organization of the white man makes it impossible for him to labor healthfully and efficiently for the greatest development of this favored region. yet his wants demand the yield and tribute of this region. his inventive capacity evolved sugar from the wild canes of the tropics, than which nothing is more essential to his necessities, save the cereals and clothing. he fabricated clothing from the tropical grass and tropical cotton, found the uses of cassia, pimento, the dye woods, and the thousand other tropical products which contribute to comfort, necessity, and luxury; advancing human happiness, human progress, and human civilization. the black man's organization is radically different. he was formed especially to live and labor in these tropical and semi-tropical regions of the earth; but he is naturally indolent, his wants are few, and nature unaided supplies them. he is uninventive, and has always, from creation down, lived amid these plants without the genius to discover, or the skill and industry to develope their uses. that they are used, and contribute to human health and human necessities, is abundant evidence of divine design in their creation. the black man's labor, then, and the white man's intelligence are necessary to the production and fabrication, for human use, of these provisions of providence. this labor the black man will not yield without compulsion. he is eminently useful under this compulsion, and eminently useless, even to himself, without it. that he was designed to obey this authority, and to be most happy when and where he was most useful, is apparent in his mental and moral organization. by moral i mean those functions of the nervous system which bring us in relation with the external world. he aspires to nothing but the gratification of his passions, and the indulgence of his indolence. he only feels the oppression of slavery in being compelled to work, and none of the moral degradation incident to servility in the higher or superior races. he is, consequently, more happy, and better contented in this, than in any other condition of life. his morals, his bodily comforts, and his status as a man, attain to an elevation in this condition known to his race in no other. all the results of his condition react upon the superior race, holding him in the condition designed for him by his creator, producing results to human progress all over the world, known to result in an equal ratio from no other cause. the institution has passed away, and very soon all its consequences will cease to be visible in the character of the southern people. the plantation will dwindle to the truck-patch, the planter will sink into the grave, and his offspring will degenerate into hucksters and petty traders, and become as mean and contemptible as the puritan yankee. in the two hundred years of african slavery the world's progress was greater in the arts and sciences, and in all the appliances promotive of intelligence and human happiness, than in any period of historical time, of five centuries. why? because the labor was performed by the man formed for labor and incapable of thinking, and releasing the man formed to think, direct, and invent, from labor, other than labor of thought. this influence was felt over the civilized world. the productions of the tropics were demanded by the higher civilization. men forgot to clothe themselves in skins when they could do so in cloth. as commerce extended her flight, bearing these rich creations of labor, elaborated by intelligence, civilization went with her, expanding the mind, enlarging the wants, and prompting progress in all with whom she communicated. its influence was first felt from the antilles, extending to the united states. in proportion to the increase of these products was the increase of commerce, wealth, intelligence, and power. compare the statistics of production by slave-labor with the increase of commerce, and they go hand in hand. as the slave came down from the grain-growing region to the cotton and sugar region, the amount of his labor's product entering into commerce increased four-fold. the inventions of whitney and arkwright cheapened the fabric of cotton so much as to bring it within the reach of the poorest, and availed the world in all the uses of cloth. the shipping and manufacturing interests of england grew; those of the united states, from nothing, in a few years were great rivals of the mother country, and very soon surpassed her in commercial tonnage. every interest prospered with the prosperity of the planter of the southern states. his class has passed away; the weeds blacken where the chaste, white cotton beautified his fields; his slave is a freedman--a constitution-maker--a ruler set up by a beastly fanaticism to control his master, and to degrade and destroy his country. this must bear its legitimate fruit. it is the beginning of the end of the negro upon this continent. two races with the same civil, political and social privileges cannot long exist in harmony together. the struggle for supremacy will come, and with it a war of races--then god have mercy on the weaker! the mild compulsion which stimulated his labor is withdrawn, and with it the care and protection which alone preserved him. he works no more; his day of jubilee has come; he must be a power in the land. infatuated creature! i pity you from my heart. you cannot see or calculate the inevitable destiny now fixed for your race. you cannot see the vile uses you are made to subserve for a time, or deem that those who now appear your conservators, are but preparing your funeral pyre. chapter xix. the natchez traditions. natchez--mizezibbee; or, the parent of many waters--indian mounds--the child of the sun--treatment of the females--poetic marriages--unchaste maids and pure wives--walking archives--the profane fire--alahoplechia --oyelape--the chief with a beard. the little city of natchez is built upon a bluff some three hundred feet in elevation above the mississippi river, and immediately upon its brink. it receives its name from a tribe of indians once resident in the country; and who were much further advanced in civilization than their more warlike neighbors, the choctaws and the chickasaws. the country around is hilly and beautiful, fertile and salubrious. the population was intelligent and refined, and was remarkable for having more wealth than any community outside of a large city, in the united states, of the same amount of population. the town of natchez (for, properly speaking, it is no more) consists of some three or four thousand inhabitants, and has not increased to any considerable extent, for many years. beyond the river, in louisiana, is an alluvial plain extending for fifty miles, through which meander many small streams, or bayous, as they are termed in the language of the country. upon most of these the surface of the soil is slightly elevated above the plane of the swamp, and is remarkably fertile. most of these were, at the commencement of the late war, in a high state of cultivation as cotton plantations. as in many other places, the river here has changed its bed by cutting off a large bend immediately opposite the town, creating what is known as lake concordia. this lake was formerly the bed of the river, and describes almost a complete circle of some twelve miles in diameter. on both sides of this lake beautiful plantations, with splendid improvements, presented a view from the bluff at natchez extremely picturesque when covered with luxuriant crops of corn and cotton. the fertility of the soil is such that these crops are immensely heavy; and when the cotton-plant has matured its fruit, and the pent-up lint in the large conical balls has burst them open, exposing their white treasure swelling out to meet the sun's warm rays, and the parent stock to the first frost of autumn has thrown off her foliage, and all these broad fields are one sheet of lovely white, as far as the eye can view--the scene is lovely beyond description; and when the same rich scene was presented extending along the banks of the great river, with the magnificent steamers resting at the wharf below, and others cleaving the current in proud defiance of the mighty volume of hurrying waters--the splendor and magnificence of the whole sublimated the feelings as we viewed it in wonder. the river, the bluff, and the lake are there; but waste and desolation frown on these, and the fat earth's rich fruits are yielded no more. fanaticism's hot breath has breathed upon it, and war's red hand (her legitimate offspring) has stricken down the laborer; tillage has ceased, and gaunt poverty and hungry want only are left in her train. when the great la salle moored his little fleet at the foot of this bluff, ascended to its summit, and looked over this then forest-clad plain, did he contemplate the coming future of this beautiful discovery of his genius and enterprise? when he looked upon the blue smoke curling above the tall tree-tops along the lake, in the far distance, as it ascended from the wigwams of the natchez, the wild denizens of this interminable forest, did his prophetic eye perceive these lovely fields, happy homes, and prosperous people, who came after him to make an eden of this chosen spot of all the earth? and did it stretch on to contemplate the ruin and desolation which overspreads it now? how blest is man that he sees not beyond to-day! here he first met the natchez, and viewed with wonder the flat heads and soft, gazelle eyes of this strange people. they welcomed his coming, and tendered him and his people a home. from them he learned the extent of the great river below, and that it was lost in the great water that was without limit and had no end. these indians, according to their traditions, had once inhabited, as a mighty nation, the country extending from near the city of mexico to the rio grande, and were subjects of the aztec empire of mexico. they had been persecuted and oppressed, and determined, in grand council, to abandon the country and seek a home beyond the mizezibbee, or parent-of-many-waters, which the word signifies. their exodus commenced in a body. they were many days in assembling upon the east bank of the rio grande; and thence commenced their long march. they abandoned their homes and the graves of their ancestors for a new one in the lovely region they found on the hills extending from the mouth of the yazoo to baton rouge. their principal town and seat of empire was located eleven miles below natchez, on the banks of second creek, two miles from the mississippi river. it is a delightful spot of high table-land, with a small strip of level low-land immediately upon the margin of the dimpling little stream of sweet water. upon this flat they erected the great mound for their temple of the sun, and the depository of the holy fire, so sacred in their worship. at each point of the compass they erected smaller mounds for the residences of their chief, or child of the sun, and his ministers of state. in the great temple upon the principal mound they deposited the fire of holiness, which they had borne unextinguished from the deserted temple in mexico, and began to build their village. parties went forth to establish other villages, and before a great while they were located in happy homes in a land of abundance. they formed treaties of amity with their powerful but peaceable neighbors, the choctaws, and ere long with the chickasaws and other minor tribes, east, and below them, on the river, the tunicas, houmas, and others; for the country abounded with little bands, insignificant and powerless. these indians revered, as more than mortal, their great chief, whom they called the child of the sun. they had a tradition that when they were a great nation, in mexico, they were divided into parties by feuds among their chiefs, and all their power to resist the aggressions of their enemies was lost; consequently they had fallen under the power of the aztecs, who dominated them, and destroyed many of their people. upon one occasion, when a common enemy and a common suffering had made them forget their quarrels, they were assembled for council. suddenly there appeared in their midst a white man and woman, surrounded with a halo of light coming directly from the sun. they were all silent with awe when this man spoke, and with such authority as to make every chief tremble with fear. they bowed to him with reverence, and he professing to be weary with his long journey, they conducted him with his wife to a lodge, and bade them repose and be rested. the chiefs, in the darkness of the night and in silence, assembled, while the celestial pair slept, conscious of security. after long and close council, they determined to proffer the supreme authority of the nation to this man, sent to them by the sun. when this determination had been reached, the chiefs, in a body, repaired to the house occupied by their mysterious visitors and, arousing them from sleep, they formally tendered to the man the crown and supreme authority over the chiefs, all their villages, and all their people. at first he refused, asserting that he knew their hearts; they carried hatred of one another, and that they would come to hate him; then they would disobey him, and this would be death to all the natchez. finally yielding to the importunities and earnestly repeated protestations of a determination to obey him and follow his counsels implicitly, he agreed to accept the crown upon certain conditions. these were: first and paramount, that the natchez should abandon their homes and country, and follow him to a new home which he would show them; and that they should live and conform strictly to the laws he would establish. the principal of these were: the sovereign of natchez should always and forever be of his race, and that if he had sons and daughters, they should not be permitted to intermarry with each other, but only with the people of the natchez. the first-born of his sons should be his successor, and then the son of his eldest daughter, and should he have no daughter, then the son of his eldest sister, or in default of such an heir, then the eldest son of the nearest female relative of the sovereign, and so in perpetuity. so soon as he was inaugurated chief and supreme ruler, he went out in the midst of the assembled multitude and called down in their presence fire from the sun; blessed it and made it holy. he created a guard of eight men, made them priests and gave them charge of the fire, and bid them, under pain of death, to preserve and keep alive this holy fire. they must tend it day and night and feed it with walnut wood, and in their charge it went before the moving host to where he had promised they should find a new and better home than the one they were leaving. another tradition says, they were aiders of the spaniards in the conquest of mexico, and that these became as great persecutors of their people as the aztecs. but from many of their traditions connected with their new home which extended back far beyond the conquest of mexico, it is thought by historians that this tradition alludes to some other war in which they took part against their oppressors. they were remarkable for their size and symmetry of form of their men; but like all the race, they made slaves of their women, imposing every burden from the cultivation of their fields to the duties of the household--the carrying of heavy burdens and the securing of fuel for winter. these labors served to disfigure and make their women to appear prematurely aged and worn, and they seemed an inferior race when compared with the men. the laws imposed by their chief of the sun were strictly obeyed. they compelled the telling of truth on all occasions; never to kill, but in self-defence; never to steal, and to preserve inviolate the marriage-vow. the marriage ceremony was poetic and impressive. no girl ever dreamed of disobeying her parents in the choice of a husband; nor was elopement ever heard of among them; nor did the young man presume to thrust himself upon a family to whom, or to any member of whom, he was not acceptable. but when the marriage was agreeable to the families of both parties and was consequently determined upon, the head of the family of the bride went with her and her whole family to the house of the bridegroom, who there stood with all his family around him, when the old man of the bridegroom's family welcomed them, by asking: "is it thou?" "yes," answered the other ancient. "sit down," continued the other. immediately all were seated, and a profound silence for many minutes ensued. then the eldest man of the party bid the groom and bride to stand up, when he addressed them in a speech in which he recapitulated all the duties of man and wife; informed them of the obligations they were assuming, and then concluded with a lecture of advice as to their future lives. when this ceremony was concluded, the father of the bridegroom handed to his son the present he was to make to the family of the bride. then the father of bride stepped up to the side of his daughter, when the groom said to the bride: "wilt thou have me for thy husband?" the bride answered: "with all my heart; love me as i will love thee; for thou art my only love for all my life." then holding the gift above her head, the groom said: "i love thee; therefore i take thee for my wife, and this is the present with which i buy thee," and then he handed the present to her parents. upon his head he wore a tuft of feathers, and in his hand a bow, emblematic of authority and protection. the bride held in one hand a green twig of the laurel-tree, and in the other an ear of corn--the twig indicated she would preserve her fame ever fair and sweet as the laurel leaf; the corn was to represent her capacity to grow it and prepare it for his food, and to fulfil all the duties of a faithful wife. these ceremonies completed, the bride dropped the ear of corn which she held in her right hand, and tendered that hand to the bridegroom, who took it and said: "i am thy husband." she replied: "i am thy wife." the bridegroom then went round and gave his hand to every member of the family of his wife. he then took his bride by the arm and led her around and she took the right hand of all the family of the bridegroom. this done, he walked with her to his bed, and said: "this is our bed, keep it undefiled." there obtained among these primitive beings a most curious and most disgusting custom. the young marriageable females were permitted to prostitute themselves for gain, in order to provide a marriage portion; and she who could thus enrich herself was the most distinguished and the most sought. but after marriage, she was compelled to purity, both by their laws and by public sentiment; and in all the intercourse of the french with them, no instance of infidelity was ever known in a wife. the great sun was indeed their lycurgus. if before his advent among them they had any laws, these had become obsolete, and his edicts adopted universally. their traditions represent him as living to extreme old age, seeing his descendants of the fourth generation. these were all little suns, and constituted the nobility of their nation, which extended at one time to the country above, as far as st. louis and across to the wabash. these traditions were carefully kept. every two years there were selected from the most intelligent boys of the nation ten, to whom these traditions were carefully taught by the depositories of them who had kept them best for the greatest time. they were careful to exact that no word or fact should be withheld, and this lesson was daily taught until the boy was a man, and every legend a familiar memory. these he was compelled to repeat daily lest the memory should rust, and for this purpose they went forth to all the villages repeating all of these legends to all the people. there were others selected in like manner to whom the laws were taught as the traditions, and in like manner these were taught the people. in every community there was a little sun to administer these laws, and every complaint was submitted to him, and great ceremony was observed at every trial, especially criminal trials. the judge, or little sun, purified himself in the forest, imploring the enlightenment of the good spirit, and purging away the influence of bad spirits by his purification; and when he felt himself a fitted tabernacle of pure justice, he came forward and rendered his judgment in the presence of all the villagers of his jurisdiction, whose attention was compulsory. it was one of the laws established in the beginning of the reign of the great sun, that his posterity should not marry _inter se_, but only with the common people of the nation. this custom was expelling the pure blood of royalty more and more every generation, and long after the arrival of the natchez upon the mississippi, the great and little suns were apparently of the pure blood of the red man. their traditions, however, preserved the history of every cross, and when lasalle found these at natchez and the white apple village, nearly every one could boast of relationship to the great sun. at that time they had diminished to an insignificant power, and were overawed by their more numerous and more powerful neighbors, the choctaws and muscagees or alabamas. their legends recorded this constant decline, but assigned no reason for it. they could now not bring more than two thousand warriors into the field. gayarie says not more than six hundred; but those contemporaneous with planting the colony of orleans say, some two thousand, some more, and some estimate them as low as the number stated in that admirable history of louisiana whose author is so uniformly correct. and here let me acknowledge my obligations to that accomplished historian, and no less accomplished gentleman, for most of the facts here stated, and if i have used his own language in portraying them to a great extent, it was because it was so pure and beautiful i could not resist it, the excuse the brazilian gave for stealing the diamond. with regard to these people, their mode of life was that of most of the other tribes. they lived principally by the chase; their only cultivation was the indian corn, pumpkins, and a species of wild beans or peas, perfectly black, until their intercourse with the french, and then they only added a few of the coarser vegetables. from whom they derived the pumpkin is not known. their wars were not more frequent or more destructive than those of their neighbors; and their general habits were the same. still they were going on to decay, and they contemplated with stolid calmness their coming extinction. they felt it a destiny not to be averted or avoided by anything they could do, and were content with the excuse of folly for all its errors and sins. _it is the will of god, or the great spirit, as the indian phrases it._ they were more enlightened than their neighbors, as historians have stated, because, i suppose, they were more superstitious. they bowed to fate, the attribute of superstition everywhere, and made no effort at relief from the causes of decay. their religion, like all the aborigines of the continent, consisted in the worship of the great spirit typified in the sun, to whom was addressed their prayers and all their devotion. the sacred fire was the emblem on earth; their great sun had brought it from the sun and given it as holy to them to be forever preserved and propitiated by watching and prayer. in every village and settlement they erected mounds upon which the temple of the sun was built, and where was deposited the sacred fire. mounds, too, were built for burying-places, and in these are now to be found in great abundance the flat heads and other bones of this remarkable people. they had a tradition that an evil spirit was always tempting them to violate the laws, and the regulations of their religious belief. that at one time he had so nearly extinguished the holy fire in their temples, and the love of the sun in their hearts, that the great spirit came and fought with them against him, until finally he was conquered and chained in a deep cave, whence he still continued to send out little devils to tempt and torment their people. it was these who brought disease and death; these who tempted to lie, steal, and kill; disobedience in their wives when they refused to perform their duties or became bellicose, as wives sometimes will, of every people on earth. it was a trite saying, shut up the cave in your heart and smother or put out the bad spirit. it was a belief that these imps or little devils found much more easy access to the caves in the hearts of women than into those of men, and that they encouraged them to come and nestle there. is the belief alone the indian's? there are some within my knowledge whose experience at home might readily yield belief to this faith of the savage. their traditions, too, told them of the great waters coming over all the land, and destroying all the inhabitants except those who had boats; and that the latter were carried away by the waters and left by them on all the land that was permitted again to come above the waters; and that by that means people were planted everywhere. these traditions are quite as rational as most of the speculations as to how the earth was populated, especially that which we learn in the cradle, of adam and eve's mission. it was death, by their law, to permit the holy fire to become extinguished in the temples. to prevent such a calamity, it was preserved in two temples at different points; when accidentally extinguished in one, it was to be obtained from the other; but not peacefully. the keepers must resist and blood must be spilt in order to obtain it. soon after they became acquainted with the french, the fire was extinguished in the great temple at the white apple village by the lazy watcher. knowing his fate, he stealthily lighted it from profane fire. great misfortunes following this, and shortly thereafter the loss of the holy fire in the other temple near the grindstone ford, on the bayou pierre, in claiborne county, mississippi, they sought after the legal and holy manner to procure fire from the white apple village. yet the calamities continued. the watch who had suffered the fire to fail in the first temple, conscience smitten, confessed his sin and paid its penalty. they now had only profane fire, and the whole nation was in the agonies of despair. the cause of all their calamities was now no longer a secret. they extinguished the profane fire, and in prayer, fasting, and continued oblations, they propitiated the sun to send them fire that was holy, to protect and preserve them. it was the folly of ignorance and superstition, and availed nothing; but, like all prayer, was considered a pious duty, though nothing was ever known to result therefrom, and nature moved steadily and undeviatingly forward in obedience to the fixed, immutable, and eternal laws affirmed by the all-wise creator. there was gloom upon every brow and despair in every heart. the curse pronounced by the first great sun had come--destruction and death to all the natchez--because of the extinction of the holy fire. at length a tree was stricken by lightning near the white apple village temple, and set on fire. the men of the temple saw the answer to their prayers in this, and hastened to re-kindle the holy flame from this fire, so miraculously sent them from heaven. it was to them a miracle, because, though perfectly in obedience to natural laws, they did not comprehend them, and like unto all people under similar circumstances, all in nature is a miracle which they do not understand, and cannot satisfactorily explain. but there was no efficiency found in this, and the trouble went forward. the french had come among them, and taught them the value and corrupting influence of money. boats had ascended and descended the great river, and communication, through this channel, had been established with canada. they were grasping, by degrees, the lands, building forts and peopling the country. they had introduced the black man, and the wiser of the natchez saw in the future the doom of their race. they saw the feuds fomented between the numerous tribes along the coast of the mississippi by the french, and the destruction of these by bloody wars. they saw, too, to offend the french was sure to bring destruction upon the offending party. their neighbors were made, through french influence, to fall upon and destroy them. the chickasaws and choctaws--great nations, having multitudes of warriors--were under the dominion of these pale-faced intruders, and they feared they might be turned upon them in an unsuspecting hour. there was among the natchez a mighty chief and warrior. he was of great stature and fame, being seven feet high and powerfully proportioned. he had a large beard, and was called the chief of the beard, because he was the only man of all the tribe who had this facial ornament or incumbrance. he was a mighty warrior and was wise in counsel. he believed he saw great evil to the natchez in the increase of the french and the extension of french power. he knew, and told his people, this was the foreboding of the extinction of the holy fire. he went forth with the chief of the walnut hills, named alahoplechia, and the chief of the white clay, oyelape, among their neighbors of other tribes, the chicasaws and choctaws, preaching a crusade against the french; urging them to unite with the natchez, the homochittas, and the alabamas, and to attack and destroy the last man of the french settlements at mobile, boloxy, ship island, and new orleans, as they were mischievous intruders from across the salt lake, whence they were yearly bringing their people to rob them of their homes and appropriate them. there had come to them red men from the wabash and muskingum, who bore to them the sad news of the encroachments of the pale-faces upon their people and their hunting-grounds. "soon," said the bearded chief, who was the leading spirit of the mission, "these white faces will meet along the great river. they will forget the arrow of truth and the tomahawk of justice. they will only know power and oppression. then they will be mighty as the hurricane when the great sun hides his face in wrath and the tempest tears the forest. who can resist him then? the holy fire has been sent again from heaven, from the great spirit, our god, the great sun. it tells us to save our people from this fearful destruction which comes with the white man. these pale-faces are cunning; they must not know of our union. we must not counsel long, or they will learn our intentions. we must strike at once. the choctaws must strike at mobile. at the same moment, homochittas, boloxies, and homas, you must strike at boloxi. the chickasaws and the natchez will fall upon new orleans and rosalie." (the latter is the indian name for what is now natchez.) his advice was startling, but unheeded. in order to precipitate a war, on his return with the chiefs who accompanied him and two warriors, they murdered a trading-party of french, at the hills where is now warrenton, in warren county, mississippi. this murder was communicated to the french who, under bienville, were sent by cordelac, then governor of louisiana, to take revenge, by waging war upon the natchez. bienville was hated by cordelac, because he had refused the hand of his daughter, formally tendered him by her father. he only gave the young and sagacious commander a small force with which to wage this war--such an one as would have been overwhelmed at once had he attempted open field movements. knowing this, he proceeded to an island opposite the village of the tunicas, where he entrenched himself and invited a conference. three spies were sent by the natchez to reconnoitre; but they were baffled by bienville with superior cunning. they were sent back as not the equals of bienville, and with a message to the great sun that he must come with his chiefs, that he desired to establish trading-posts among them, and would only treat with the first in authority. they came with a consciousness that the french were ignorant of these murders, and were immediately arrested and ironed. bienville told them at once of the murder, and of his determination to have the murderers and to punish them. he had the great sun, the stung serpent, and the little sun. the latter was sent to bring the heads of the murderers, and he returned with three heads; but bienville, after examining these, told the chiefs they had treacherously deceived him, and that those were not the heads of the murderers. after a night's consultation they concluded it was impossible to deceive him, and in the morning confessed the whole truth, proposing to send stung serpent to bring the real murderers. but knowing the wily character of this chief and his influence with his tribe, he was not permitted to go. the young sun was dispatched, and succeeded in bringing the chief of the beard and the chief of the walnut hills, with the two warriors; but oyelape had fled and could not be had. he had probed to the truth of the french expedition; and being guilty, cunningly and wisely made his escape. the death sentence was passed upon these, and the two warriors were shot at once; but the two chiefs were reserved for execution to another day. upon the sentence being communicated to them they commenced to chant the death-song of their people, which they continued to do throughout all the time, night and day, until led forth for execution. the great sun, stung serpent, his brother, and all the other indians were brought out to witness the execution. when the two condemned chiefs were brought forward, these witnesses of their death sang the death-song; but the chief of the beard looked sternly at them, and defiantly at the executioners; and taking his position, turned to his people and, addressing them, said: "let there be joy in the hearts of the natchez. a child is born to them of the race of their suns. a boy is born with a beard on his chin. the prodigy still works on from generation to generation.' so sang the warriors of my tribe when i sprang from my mother's womb, and the shrill cry of the eagle, in the heavens, was heard in joyful response. hardly fifteen summers had passed over my head when my beard had grown long and glossy. i looked around, and saw i was the only red man that had this awful mark on his face, and i interrogated my mother and she said: "'son of the chiefs of the beard, thou shall know the mystery in which thy curious eye wishes to pry, when thy beard from black becomes red.' "let there be joy in the hearts of the natchez! a hunter is born to them--a hunter of the race of the suns. ask of the bears, of the buffaloes, of the tigers, and of the swift-footed deer, whose arrows they fear most! they tremble and cower when the footstep of the hunter with the beard on his chin is heard on the heath. but i was born with brains in my head as well as a beard on my chin, and i pondered on my mother's words. one day, when a panther which i slaughtered had torn my breast, i painted my beard with my own blood, and i stood smiling before her. she said nothing; but her eye gleamed with wild delight, and she took me to the temple when, standing by the sacred fire, she thus sang to me: "'son of the chiefs of the beard, thou shall know the mystery, since, true to thy nature, with thine own blood thy black beard thou hast turned to red.' "let there be joy in the hearts of the natchez; for a mighty chief, worthy of the race of their suns, has been born to them in thee, my son--a noble chief with a beard on his chin. listen to the explanation of this prodigy. in days of old a natchez maid of the race of their suns was on a visit to the mobelians. there she soon loved the youthful chief of that nation, and her wedding-day was nigh, when there came from the big salt lake on the south a host of bearded men, who sacked the town, slew the red chief with their thunder, and one of those accursed evil spirits used violence to the maid when her lover's corpse was hardly cold in death. she found in sorrow her way back to the natchez hills, where she became a mother, and lo! the boy had a beard on his chin, and when he grew old enough to understand his mother's words she whispered in his ear: "'son of the chiefs of the beard, born from a bloody day, bloody be thy hand, and bloody be thy life until thy black beard with blood becomes red.' "let there be joy in the hearts of the natchez. in my first ancestor a long line of the first of hunters, chiefs, and warriors of the race of their suns had been born to them with beards on their chins. what chase was ever unsuccessful over which they presided? when they spoke in the council of the wise men of the nation, did it not always turn out that their advice, whether adopted or rejected, was the best in the end? in what battle were they ever defeated? when were they known to be worn out with fatigue--with hardship, hunger or thirst, heat or cold, either on land or water? who ever could stem as they the rushing current of the father of rivers? who can count the number of scalps which they brought from distant expeditions? their names have always been famous in the wigwams of all the red nations. they have struck terror into the breasts of the boldest enemies of the natchez; and mothers, when their sons paint their bodies in the colors of war, say to them: "'fight where, and with whom you please; but beware, oh! beware of the chiefs of the beard. give way to them as you would to death, or their black beards with your blood will be red.' "let there be joy in the hearts of the natchez. when the first chief of the beard first trimmed the sacred fire in the temple, a voice was heard which said: 'as long as there lives a chief of the race of the suns with a beard on his chin, no evil can happen to the natchez nation; but if the white race should ever resume the blood which it gave in a bloody day, woe, three times woe, to the natchez! of them nothing will remain but the shadow of a name.' thus spake the invisible prophet. years rolled on, years thick on years, and none of the accursed white-faces were seen; but they appeared at last, wrapped up in their pale skins like shrouds of the dead, and the father of my father, whom tradition had taught to guard against the predicted danger, slew two of the hated strangers, and my father, in his turn, killed four. "'praise be to the chiefs of the beard, who knew how to avenge their old ancestral injury, when with the sweet blood of a white foe their black beards they proudly dyed red.' "let there be joy in the hearts of the natchez. when i saw the glorious light of day there was born to them a great warrior of the race of their suns--a warrior and a chief with a beard on his chin. the pledge of protection, of safety, and of glory stood embodied in me. when i shouted my first war-whoop the owl hooted and smelt the ghosts of my enemies, the wolves howled, and the carrion vultures shrieked with joy; for they knew their food was coming, and i fed them with chickasaws' flesh and with choctaws' flesh until they were gorged with the flesh of the red man. a kind master and purveyor i was to them--the poor, dumb creatures that i loved. but lately i have given them more dainty food. i boast of having done better than my father. five frenchmen have i killed, and my only regret in dying is, that it will prevent me from killing more. "'ha! ha! ha! that was game worthy of the chief of the beard! how lightly he danced. ho! ho! ho! how gladly he shouted. ha! ha! ha! each time with french blood his beard became red." "sorrow in the hearts of the natchez! the great hunter is no more. the wise chief is going to meet his fathers. the indomitable warrior will no more raise his hatchet in defence of the children of the sun. o burning shame! he was betrayed by his brother-chiefs, who sold his blood. if they had followed his advice they would have united with the choctaws, chickasaws, and all the other red nations, and they would have slain all the french dogs that came prowling and stealing over the beautiful face of our country. but there was too much of the woman in their cowardly hearts. well and good! let the will of fate be accomplished. the white race will soon resume the blood which it gave, and then the glory and the very existence of the natchez nation will have departed forever with the chief of the beard; for i am the last of my race, and my blood flows in no other human veins. o natchez, natchez! remember the prophet's voice! i am content to die; for i leave no one behind me but the doomed, while i go to revel with my brave ancestors. "'they will recognize their son in the chief of the beard; they will welcome him to their glorious homestead when they see so many scalps at his girdle, and his black beard with french blood painted red.'" he stood up in proud defiance before the admiring french; his noble form expanded to its full proportions, hatred in his heart and triumph in his eyes. facing his foes, he viewed the platoon selected to deal him his death, and lifted his eyes and hands to the sun. the officer gave the command, the platoon fired as one man, and the great chief of the beard passed away. this was the beginning of difficulties with the french, and also the commencement of the utter destruction of the natchez. war succeeded war, until the last of this people, few in number, broke up from the washita, whither they had fled for security years before, and went, as they fondly hoped, too far into the bosom of the deep west to be found again by the white-skins. but clarke and lewis found them high up on the missouri, still preserving the holy fire, the flat heads, and their hatred of the white race. their bones are even now turned up by the plough near the mounds of their making, and soon these mounds will be all that is left to speak of the once powerful natchez. i have stood upon the great mound of their temple at the white apple village, forty years ago, then covered with immense forest-trees, at the graves of the great grandfather and mother of my children. to these was donated, in , by the spanish government, the land on which the temple and the village stood. it is a beautiful spot in the centre of a lovely and most picturesque country. it was here these indians feasted the great la salle and his party when descending the mississippi. they were the first white men that had descended the river, and the first white men the natchez had ever seen. chapter xx. exploration of the mississippi valley. chicago--crying indians--chickasaws--de soto--feast of the great sun-- cane knives--love-stricken indian maiden--rape of the natchez--man's will--subjugation of the waters--the black man's mission--its decade. la salle, who first discovered the mouth of the mississippi river, was a man of most remarkable energy and enterprise. he had been engaged in commercial pursuits for some time in canada; but, seized with the spirit of adventure--very probably inspired by the reports of the jesuit missionaries, who were going and returning from the vast wilderness--and inspired with the belief (then common) that the rivers west, and particularly the great river found by de soto, debouched into the pacific ocean, he determined to learn the truth, and projected and commenced the ascent of the st. lawrence and the navigation of the lakes as a means of reaching the mississippi. it required almost superhuman daring to undertake such an enterprise; but there was enough in la salle to accomplish anything possible to human capacity. his followers, like himself, were fearless and determined and, with a few small boats, or skiffs, he commenced his perilous adventure. it was like walking in the dark over uncertain ground; for every step was over unexplored territory, the moment he passed the establishments of the jesuits, who were then pioneering to propagate their creed among the aborigines of the new continent. his first winter was spent on the spot, or in the immediate neighborhood of where chicago now stands. here he invited to his camp the neighboring indians, and endeavored to learn as much as possible of the geography of the country he was about to explore. parties were sent out with these indians to ascertain if there was any stream or water-communication leading from lake michigan to the west, and which might connect it with the mississippi. sufficient of the language of the tribes about him had been acquired to establish a means of intelligent intercourse with them. they were curious to know the objects of the visit of the white strangers to their country. always suspicious of strangers--supposing all, like themselves, treacherous and cruel--they kept on the alert and were chary of giving any information they might possess as to this, or any other matters about which the white men asked; but, watchful of their movements, and seeing from their explorations their intentions, they became convinced of the sincerity of their inquiries, and readily pointed out the portage dividing the waters of chicago creek and those of the illinois river. when the spring came, and the snows had melted away, and the boats were all over the portage, with the assistance of the savages, the expedition was renewed in the descent of the illinois. the indians had been so kindly treated, and so sincerely dealt with, that every suspicion that made them fear the whites was dissipated, and they were loath to part from them, and many accompanied the party until they were about entering the territory of hostile neighbors. of these they seemed to entertain great fears, and every means of persuasion and warning were used to prevent their white friends hazarding themselves to the power of these enemies. when the last were to leave, they manifested more emotion than is usual with the savage, and one of la salle's party more facetious than the indian designated them the crying indians. la salle was a wise as well as a bold adventurer. his policy with all the tribes he encountered was kindness and truth. these were human beings, and he correctly judged influenced by the motives and impulses of men. they had never seen white men before, and there could be no cause of quarrel, and there was little in the possession of the whites, the use of which was known to the indian to tempt his cupidity. he manifested no fears in approaching them. their curiosity tempted them to come to him, and once met, his kindness and gentleness won them; and he experienced no opposition or trouble from any he met; but succeeded in gaining much information from his communications with them. when he reached the mississippi he began to doubt the accepted theory of its discharging its waters into the pacific, and upon reaching the mouth of the missouri and counseling with the chief of the tribe he met there, he at once determined the speculation a delusion, and decided to prosecute his journey to the mouth of the mighty stream, now with almost irresistible impetuosity hurrying on his little flotilla. this chief by many signs and diagrams marked with his finger upon the sand of the beach, described the country out of which flowed the missouri, and into which went the mississippi, and seemed to comprehend at least the extent of its constantly accumulating waters and great length. like all the other savages, he represented the dangers below as being too formidable for the small party of la salle. he described the natchez indians and gave them a terrible character; then the monsters of the woods and the waters. he marked the form of the tiger, the bear, and the alligator and described them as aggressive and ferocious. taking a handful of sand he scattered it on the boat's floor or bottom, and pointing to the separate particles, attempted to explain by this means the countless numbers of these indians, and monsters of the country below. here was his first information of the existence of the natchez, but his information augmented as he descended the river. at the bluffs, where now is memphis, he encountered the chickasaws and learned of the visit of de soto to that point, and of his death. these indians warned him of the dangers he had to encounter. they had had trouble with de soto and were chary of their intercourse with the whites, but manifested no hostility. the next tribe of indians seen was at the walnut hills, now vicksburg. their flat heads told him he had reached the country of that formidable nation, but he held no communication with them. landing at the great bluff or natchez, he found there quite a village. the natives approached him manifesting the kindest and most hospitable intentions. for some days he delayed, to learn as much as possible from these people in the observation of their character and the topography and peculiarities of the country they were inhabiting. runners had been dispatched to the great sun at the white apple village, to inform him of the advent of these pale-faced strangers, with beard on their chins. like information was communicated to the towns on cole's creek and further in the interior. la salle was furnished with pilots and requested to drop down to the white cliffs, now known as ellis' cliffs, eighteen miles below natchez, where a delegation would meet and conduct him to the white apple village. these pilots caused the landing of the party at the mouth of st. catharine's creek, a point much nearer the village than the cliffs, and from whence it was much more easily approached. thence they conducted them to the village and temple of the great sun. they came by surprise, and there was manifested some suspicions of the motive. but being informed it was the work of the pilots, all were satisfied and a messenger dispatched for the great escort awaiting the party at white cliffs. there were great preparations made for a solemn feast. game in abundance had been collected: the meat of the deer and the bear and every variety of the wild-fowl peculiar to the country and season. these were spread out upon tables made of the wild-cane, placed upon poles sustained by posts driven into the ground, and covered with neatly dressed skins of the bear, elk, and buffalo. there were fish in abundance, the paupaw and the berries which grew abundantly in the forest. the great sun led la salle to the centre of the square formed by the tables, where one had been prepared for him and the great ruler of the natchez. rude seats were arranged only for these two. the little suns, or smaller chiefs of surrounding villages, assembled with the great warriors and whites accompanying the expedition at the tables forming the square. these indians had knives formed from the wild cane of the country and hardened in the fire, which were used for carving their meats and other like purposes, one of these was placed in the hand of every white man. the great sun standing up, looked reverently upon the sun for a few moments. then lifting his hands, placed them on the head of la salle. this was imitated by the little suns placing their hands upon the heads of all the whites, and when the chief or great sun removed his hands, and said, "eat," the little suns did likewise, and the feast commenced. these cane knives, however, were comparatively useless in the hands of the french, and laying them down, they took from the belts at their sides the large hunting-knives they carried. this movement was so simultaneous, that alarm was apparent in every indian face and a movement was made by the indians as if to leave the table; but they were soon reassured when they saw the use to which they were applied. they watched the ease with which these cut through the flesh and cleaved the smaller bones of their repast, and expressed their astonishment in asking where the canes grew from which they were made--indicating conclusively that they had never before seen a metallic knife, and probably never before had seen iron or steel. when the feast had concluded, la salle was led to a lodge prepared for him, and all his party were shown to places prepared for them, to repose after the meal. upon the males retiring, the women came forth cleanly clad and removed everything from the tables. this was the first view the whites had of the natchez women. when their work was completed, they commenced to chant a song in slow and measured tones; soon, however, it quickened into merry cadences and the young females commenced a wild, fantastic dance. the older sang on, keeping time by slapping their hands and a swinging movement of the head and body right and left. apparently, at the termination of a stanza, they would stoop suddenly forward and slap the hands upon each thigh, uttering at the same moment a shrill cry, when the dancers would leap with astonishing agility high in the air and, alighting, stand perfectly still. this exhibition called the french from their repose, who seemed delighted, and very soon joined in the dance; mirth excited mirth, and in a little while the village was in a complete uproar. the young warriors, however, were seen to scowl whenever the french approached too nigh the women, and especially when they took their hands and turned them around. the french were not slow to perceive this, nor were they mistaken in the delight it afforded the girls. the timidity of the latter soon disappeared and each lass singled out a beau, and was quite familiar with him. the french remained for some days enjoying the hospitality of the natchez, returning to their boats and to the opposite shore of the river at night for greater security. among the french there was one, a stalwart young fellow, who had made the conquest of a heart among the maidens, and was surprised late at night to find she had swum the mississippi to place herself by his side at the camp-fire. she implored him to remain with the natchez and become a great sun, that her family was one of great influence at the white clay village of which she was the belle, and she would marry him. she was rich, and the favorite of the little sun of her town, who had given her great presents. but crapaud was aware of the price of these gifts, and though he did not refuse, was not inclined to the union, or to remain with her people. he promised, however, to see her to-morrow, and told her if he could prevail on some of his companions to remain, he would; but insisted if they would not, she must consent to follow him and provide a girl for each of his companions, who would accompany them to their homes, which he made very lovely in his description. they were standing now on the bank of the river and day was approaching. she pointed to the planet just above the horizon, and then to the place in the heavens where it would be in an hour, and said she must then be in her lodge, and plunging into the river swam rapidly to the opposite shore. the next day was the one appointed for the departure of la salle and party. true to her promise--the natchez girl had found a maiden for each of the party, who was willing to abandon her people and go with the strangers on their perilous and unknown journey, and to be the wives of the pale-faces. the french, with much ceremony, were dismissed by the great sun, and a strong escort of both sexes followed them to their boats. the ceremony of shaking hands was gone through with; all the men first, and then the women; the last, as previously arranged, were the girls who were to follow their sweethearts. at a signal each was grasped and hurried forward toward the boats. the alarm was given, and in a moment the bows of the warriors were strung, and they rushed yelling to the rescue; overpowered, the french released the women and springing into their boats were soon out of danger of the arrows which were sent in showers after them--nor did they escape unscathed. several of the men were wounded, and some of them severely. when once away from the shore, the french seized their guns and fired a volley, but were prevented from further demonstrations by la salle; not wishing to leave behind him an enemy, who might be troublesome to him on his return up the river. this adventure was the only hostile one of the entire trip. this was provoked by the folly and crime of his men without the knowledge of la salle. how true it is that man in every condition and of every race will fight for his woman as surely as the game cock for his hen! long years after, and when the last natchez had been gone from the land of his love many years, and when threatening war was disturbing the people of the colonies, there came here a band of men, as had come to this land of beauty and plenty, the oppressors of the natchez, seeking to make a peaceful home upon these hills, where grew in luxuriant profusion the magnolia and great tulip-trees, and where the atmosphere was redolent with the perfume of the wild flowers which clothed and ornamented the trees and grounds so fruitful and rich with nature's gifts. the country was claimed as part of west florida and dominated by the spanish government. they were anxious to have the country populated, and donated certain quantities or tracts of land to any one who came to settle and remain in the country. these settlements at first were made on the bluffs projecting through the alluvial swamp to the river's brink, and at or near the mouths of the small streams debouching into the river from the eastern shore. the west bank was deemed uninhabitable in consequence of the spring floods sweeping over the alluvial formation, extending from forty to seventy miles west of the river; and there being no highlands or bluffs approaching the river from the west, below what is now known as helena, in arkansas, this vast territory was one interminable swamp, clothed with immense forest-trees, gigantic vines, and jungle-bushes. it was interspersed with lakes, and bayous as reservoirs and drains for the wonderful floods which annually visit this country. around these were lands remarkable for their fertility--indeed, unsurpassed by any on the face of the earth; but worthless, however, for cultivation, as long as unprotected against these annual floods. the system of leveeing was too onerous and expensive to be undertaken by the people sparsedly populating the eastern bank throughout the hill-country. the levee system which had reclaimed so much of the low country in louisiana, had not extended above pointe coupée, in . yet there were some settlements on several of the lakes above, especially on lakes concordia and st. joseph. the immense country in georgia, tennessee, alabama, and mississippi in possession of the indians, interposed a barrier to emigration. to think of leaving home and friends to go away beyond these savages, seemed an undertaking too gigantic for any but men of desperate fortunes, or of the most indomitable energy. adventurers had wandered into the country and returned with terrible stories of the unhealthiness of the climate as well as the difficulties to be overcome in reaching it; thus deterring the emigrant who desired a new home. when general jackson was elected to the presidency a new policy was inaugurated. the indians were removed beyond the mississippi; the lands they had occupied were brought into market, and a flood of emigration poured into these new acquisitions. cotton had suddenly grown into great demand. the increase of population, and the great cheapness of the, fabrics from cotton, had increased the demand. in europe it had rapidly increased, and in truth all over the world. emigration from europe had set in to a heavy extent upon the united states, and the west was growing in population so rapidly as to create there a heavy demand for these fabrics. the world was at peace; commerce was unrestricted, and prosperity was everywhere. europe had recovered from her long war, and the arts of peace had taken hold of every people, and were bearing their fruit. all the lands intermediate between the frontiers west of georgia and tennessee and those of the east of mississippi and louisiana were soon appropriated; and the more fertile lands of the two latter states were coming rapidly into request for the purpose of cotton cultivation. the great flood of had swept over every cultivated field west of the mississippi, and seemed to demonstrate the folly of ever attempting to reduce these lands to profitable cultivation. but with the increase of population came wealth and enterprise. the levees were continued up the river. a long period of comparatively low water encouraged settlements upon the alluvial bottoms. the levees were continued up the west bank, and in a few years the forests had melted away from the margin of the river. large fields were in their stead, and were continually increasing in extent. improvements of a superior character were commencing, and an occasional break in the levee, and partial inundation, did not deter, but rather stimulated the planters to increased exertion, to discipline and control the great floods poured down from the rain-sheds extending from the headwaters of the ohio to those of the mississippi, missouri, arkansas, and red rivers, embracing in extent an area greater than the continent of europe. it really seemed an attempt to defy the decrees of fate. in , the waters from cairo to baton rouge, a distance of nine hundred miles, averaged fifty miles in width. for months the great river was covered with forests of timber, torn up with the roots by the flood, floating and tumbling wildly along the terrible torrent, making the navigation extremely dangerous for the few steamers then upon the river. how often have i heard old men, who were long resident in the country, when standing on the bluff at natchez, viewing the extent of that memorable flood, say: "every man who attempts to cultivate these bottom lands will be ruined. the river demands them as a reservoir for her surplus waters when in flood." but enterprise was undeterred; the levees went up and the settlements went on to increase; and when the spoiler came all the valley was dotted over with pretty villages and magnificent cotton plantations, containing and sustaining a prosperous, rich, intelligent, and happy population. they are swept away, and ruin reigns over this desolated land. this was but the beginning of the subduing to man's will and cultivation this entire and unparalleled valley. what had been done demonstrated the possibility of redeeming every inch of the alluvial land along the entire valley to the production of the richest staples, with all the necessaries to man's support, comfort, and wealth. it is pleasing to contemplate this immense plain as one extended scene of cultivation--the beautiful lakes of every form, surrounded with palatial homes and fertile fields; lovely towns upon their borders, with the church-spires pointing to heaven, surrounded with shrubs and flowers of every variety and hue; streams meandering among the extended plantations; railroads intersecting it in every direction; and all this mighty field, a thousand miles long by fifty broad, teeming with production, and pouring into the lap of commerce a wealth absolutely incalculable. the work was begun and was rapidly progressing; but now, when and by whom will this great, glorious garden be made? to do this was the black man's mission; but ere his work was done he was converted into a machine to undo all his work. inconceivable calamity has followed, and to him is fixed a decade which will soon run to extinction. chapter xxi. two strange beings. romance of western life--met by chance--parting on the levee--meeting at the sick-bed--convalescent--love-making--"home, sweet home"-- theological discussions--uncle tony--wild, yet gentle--an odd family--the adventurer speculates. it was in the spring of the year away back in time when there landed at the town of st. francisville, or bayou sara, a small periagua, or canoe, containing two young men clad in skins, with a camp-kettle, guns, some curiously painted skins, indian bows, quivers, and indian curiosities. their hair was long, their unshaven beards were full and flowing, and in all their appearance they were wild and savage. there were but few houses in the hamlet below the hill. among these was one of more pretensions than the rest. it was a store, and the merchant was an irishman. there was near it a neat family carriage. one of the young savages went into this store to find materials for writing to his home-friends, from whom he had been separated for many long months. he found in the store three ladies. two were young, the other was an aged matron. they seemed not only surprised at the novel apparition before them, but alarmed. this surprise seemed to increase when they saw the young savage rapidly filling, upon the counter, a sheet of paper. they desisted from their shopping, and watched intently the wild savage. when his letter was completed, he politely desired the accommodating merchant to send it for him to the post-office. then lifting his gray wolf-skin cap from his head, he bowed politely to the ladies and turned to leave the store and their presence. the salutation was gracefully acknowledged, and especially by the matron. very soon they joined the curious crowd who were examining the contents of the canoe, now placed on the land to await the coming of a steamer that was freighting with cotton above. one of the young ladies seemed much interested and made many inquiries. a bow and quiver was given into her hand. the latter was fashioned from the skin of a mexican tiger, and was filled with arrows. one of these was bloody, and its history was asked of the youth she had met in the store. it was the blood of a pawnee chief who, by this arrow, had been slain in battle, and was the gift to the youth from the daughter of the fallen chief, together with the bow and quiver of the indian who had slain her father, and who was in turn killed by a chief of her tribe. how beautiful she was to this wanderer of the wilderness! months upon months had passed away, and he had only looked upon the blank and unmeaning features of the desert savage woman. with these his heart had no sympathy. like the panther of their plains they were swift of foot, symmetrical in form, wild, untamed and untamable, fierce and unfeeling; and were not formed by nature for sympathy or social union with the higher organizations of civilized man. his dream of romance was being realized. the vacuum in his heart was filling. how in contrast were his feelings and appearance! clad as a savage, his skin was covered with the fabric of an indian woman, closely fitting, with moccasins on his feet, and a gray wolf-skin cap upon his head--his long, black hair with the luxuriant growth of two years curling over his shoulders, and his beard, like the wing of night fluttering in the breeze, waving down from his chin to his breast in ringlets, glossy and beautiful. he was lithe as a savage, and seemed to be one. in his heart were kindling soft emotions, and memories of maidens he had known--now far, far away--came crowding upon that heart. before him stood the embodiment of beauty and grace, attired with costly and beautiful fabrics which flowed about her person like the white vapor upon the breezes of spring. elegance was in her every attitude, and grace in every movement. her features and her eyes beamed with a curious wish to learn the story of the strange wild being before her. their two hearts were in sympathy; but to each other it was a secret. how strangely they had met! how strangely they were feeling! how soon they were to part! "where is he from? where is he going?" asked her eyes; and he looked: "who are you; and where is your home, beautiful being, so strangely and so unexpectedly met?" an arrow was shot from the bow to gratify a request. she followed the quivering thing with her eye, as it sped like a shaft of light to its destined mark. to retrieve it she walked with the youth to where, fixed in a bale of cotton, it trembled, some hundred yards away. slowly she returned by the youth's side, and drooped her head, listening to the wild mountain adventures he was telling--the chase of the elk, the antelope, and the wild buffalo; the hazardous ride through the wild prairies, expanding away in the distance to kiss the horizon; the stealthy wiles of the revengeful savage; the fierce fight of savage men; the race for very life, when the foe followed; and the bivouac upon the prairie's breast, with the weary horse sleeping and resting by his side. will he ever forget the speaking of the beaming features of that beautiful creature, when she lifted her head and looked into his face? a frown darkened the matron's features as her _élève_ returned to the curious group which was listening to the narrative of the older of the two strangers. it said: "what did you leave me for? why this indiscretion?" ah! how often old women forget they were once young! the steamer is coming. she is here; and the trappings of the wanderers are on board. the young wild man stands alone upon the upper deck. his eyes pierce to where stands the sylph he leaves with reluctance. she is looking at him. he lifts his cap and bows farewell. she waves her kerchief in return. the steamer speeds away. they are parted. has that brief interview left an impression upon those two young hearts to endure beyond a day? will she dream of the dark beard, curled and flowing--of the darker eye which looked and spoke? and will the wild story of the western wilderness come in the silent darkness of her chamber, and make her nestle closer to her pillow? will her heart ask: "shall i ever meet him again?" he has gone away; a waif about the land--a feather on the world, driven about, as destiny impels, without fixed intentions; yet buoyant with the ardor of youth, and happy in the excess of youthful hopes, dreamy and wild adventures. he has tasted the savage love of woods and wilds, and the nature--which was born thousands of years ere the teachings of civilization had tamed the wild man into an educated, home-loving being--revives, and the two struggle for mastery in his heart. the bleak mountain-peaks, the wide-extended plain and its wild denizens, and the excitement these give, stirs his bosom, and the wish struggles up to return to them. but the gentler chords of his heart are in tune. the once-loved home, and she, the once-loved and yet-remembered maiden, is there, and it may be she pines for his return. he gazed on the beautiful apparition but a moment gone, and thought of another; and thought begat thought until the loved one he had left rose up to memory's call. he was alone, looking upon the great river through whose turbid waters he was borne away, and he felt he was lengthening a chain linked to his heart which pulled him back--to what, and to whom? it was a vision--a dream with his eyes open: indistinct, unembodied, a very shadow; still it floated about in his imagination, and he was sad. he was in the city--the great sodom of the west. he was an object of wonder to every curious eye. his wild appearance and gentle manner comported illy, and the thoughtless crowd followed him. attired now as a civilized being, and feeling that the vagrant life of a savage must lead to grief, he called to mind the tear which stole from the rheumy eyes of the old trapper as he narrated his adventures in the wilderness, and cursed the hour he ever wandered from his home. his life had been a continual danger, his hope had been always to return to his early attachments; but the chain of habit fettered him, and he had learned to love the wild, solitary life, because of its excitements and its dangers. should he, like this man, come to love the solitude and silence of the wilderness, and find companionship only with his traps and guns? his resolution was taken, he would renew the strife with the world and go back to busy life. his companion of many dangers and long marches was going to mexico in search of new adventures. they are alone upon the broad levee--busy men are hurrying to and fro, little heeding the two--a small schooner is dropping and sheeting home her sails; she is up for tampico, and gilmanot goes in her; she is throwing off her fastenings. "all aboard," cries the swarthy, whiskered captain--a grasp of the hand--no word was spoken--it was warm and sincere, there was no need of words--each understood that last warm farewell pressure. she is sweeping around slaughter-house point--only the topmasts are visible now--and now she is gone. the young adventurer stands alone and the crowd goes hurrying on. how many in desolation of heart have stood alone and unheeded by the busy, passing multitude upon that broad levee! how many tears of misery have moistened its shell-covered summit, when thinking of friends far, far away they should never see again, and when hope had been rooted from the heart! he wandered to the great square, now so beautifully ornamented with shrubs and flowers which love the sun and the south's fat soil, growing and blooming about the bronze representation of the loved hero who had been her shield and savior in the hour of her peril, andrew jackson. then there were a few trees only, and beneath these, here and there, a rude rural seat or bench. the old, gray cathedral was frowning on the world's sins, so rife around her; and the great, naked square and the mighty muddy river which was hurrying away to the sea. to the most thoughtless will come reflection, and the sweetest face is mellowed by sorrow. here under these trees, in the midst of a great city, came to the young adventurer reflection and sighing sorrow. his mother and father came up in memory; the home of childhood, his brother, his sister, his friends, all were remembered; his heart flooded over and he wept like a little child. blessed are they who can cry. it is nature's outlet for grief, and the heart would break if we could not cry. the heart is not desolate when alone in the forest or the boundless grass-clothed plains of the west. nature is all around you, and her smile is beneficent. there is companionship in the breeze, in the waving grass, the rustling leaves, and the meanings of the wind-swayed limbs of the yielding forest. in the city's multitude to move, and be unknown of all; to hear no recognized voice; to meet no sympathizing smile or eye; to be silent when all are speaking, and to know that not one of all these multitudes share a thought or wish with you--this is desolation, the bitterness of solitude. a year has gone by, and the youth has found a new home and has made new friends. he is one of the busy world and struggling with it. he is in commerce's mart and is one of the multitude who come and congregate there for gain; in the hall of justice, where litigants court the smiles and favors of the blind goddess, where right contends against wrong, and is as often trampled as triumphant; and where wisdom lends herself for hire, and bad men rarely meet their dues. pestilence had come, and the frightened multitude were fleeing from the scourge. there was one who came and proffered the hospitality of his home--where hygeia smiled and fever never came. thither he went, but the poison was in his blood, and as he slept it seized upon his vitals. his suffering was terrible, and for days life's uncertain tenure seemed ready to release her hold on time. in his fever-dream there was flitting about him a fairy form; it would come and go, as the moonlight on the restless wave--a moment seen and in a moment gone. he saw and knew nothing for many days distinctly; he would call for his mother and weep, when only winds would answer. delirium was in his brain, and wild fancies chased each other; he heard the crowing of cocks and saw his sister; his father would come to him, and he would stretch out his hand and grasp the shadowy nothing. there was a halo of beauty all about him; prismatic hues trembled in the light, and the tones of sweet music floated upon the breeze. he saw angels swimming in the golden light; the blue ether opened, and they came through to greet him and to welcome him to heaven. then all was darkness, the crisis had come. he slept in oblivious ease--it was long; and awaking, the fever was gone. there was a gentle, sweet, sorrowful face before him--their eyes met; for a moment only he looked--it was she whom he had met and parted from without a hope of ever meeting again when robed as the indian he stood upon the steamer's deck and waved farewell forever. he reached forth his hand. she took it and approached, saying, "you are better, and will soon be well." he could only press her hand as the tears flooded over his eyes. with a kerchief white as innocence it was wiped away and the hand that held it laid gently on his brow--that touch thrilled his every nerve. days went by, and the convalescent was amid the shrubs and flowers of the beautifully ornamented grounds. when he came to the maiden reading in the shade of a great pecan-tree, she bid him to a seat. "do you remember our first meeting?" he asked. "here, on your sick-bed, yes; you were, oh! so sick, and i little thought you would ever leave it alive. you called in your delirium your mother and your father, and in the frenzy of your mind you saw them by you; how my heart was pained, and how i prayed for you, in my chamber, here, and everywhere--and now you are well, only weak." "it was not when sick i met you first," he replied; "as a wild man you saw me first, clothed in the skins of the wild beasts of the forest." she gazed intently; could it be? and clasping her hands she bowed her head and was silent. "we have met again," he continued; "i had not forgotten you, but i dared not hope we should ever meet any more. it was a painful thought; but i must not tell that--" and there was silence. days went by, and the invalid was growing in strength and health. they only met at the table at the family meals, but they were near each other. it was at dinner when a ride on horseback was proposed for the evening's recreation. they rode in company, and through the forest where the winding road circled the hills, and the great magnolias threw their dark shade and deliciously cooled the vesper breeze. "is it romance, or are you the young gentleman with flowing hair and black, curling beard i met, and who shot the arrow into the cotton bale for my amusement? o! how often have i seen you in my dreams; but i shall never see you as i saw you then. what a study you were to me! how could your words be so soft and gentle in the wild costume of the murderous savage? had you uttered the war-whoop and strode away with the stride and pride of the savage warrior, there would have been euphony in it, and i should have felt and known you were a savage--and you would have passed from my mind. but, ah! look how beautifully bounds away the startled doe we have aroused from her lair in the cave here." "she seems scarcely more startled than did you when i came so unexpectedly upon you in the store at bayou sara. were you not surprised to see that i could write?" "you must not question me now. why have you cut your hair and beard? why doffed the prairie chieftain's robes of state and come forth a plain man? you have dispelled my romance. i have tried to paint you as i saw and remembered you, and made charcoal sketches for the gratification of friends to whom i would describe you. i would so like to see you as you were! o! you were a wonder to me, a very orson--now, you are simply a--" "miserable creature in plain clothes, and by no means a lady's fancy. why did you not let me die, since all that was to be fancied about me--my hair, my beard, and my buckskin coat, pants, and moccasins are gone and destroyed?" the maiden laughed wildly; it was not the laugh of mirth or mischief, there was a madness in it that thrilled and awed. "do you know you are on the graves of a great nation?" she asked. "this mound and yonder three, were, the burial-places of the natchez indians. the suns and sachems sleep here, and he, the great sun, who came from the orbit's self, and was their lawgiver, and in whom and whose divinity they believed as the jews in that of moses, or the christians in the redeemer. is it not all a mystery--strange, strange, incomprehensible, and unnatural? what is your faith?" "to worship where i love; the divinity of my soul's worship is the devotion of my wild heart.' "why, you are mysterious! have you, as had the natchez, a holy fire which is never extinguished in your heart? is the flame first kindled burning still? did your sun come to you with fire in her hand and kindle it in your heart? your words mean so much. was she, or is she a red maiden of the wild prairies; or dwells she in a mansion surrounded with the appliances of wealth, reclining on cushions of velvet and sleeping on a bed of down, canopied with a pavilion of damask satin fretted with stars of silver; with handmaids to subserve and minister to every want?" and again the wild laugh rang to the echo among the hills and dense forests all around. "o! i see i have tuned the wrong chord and have made discord, not music in your mind. shall we return? you are not yet strong, and your weakness i have made weaker, because i have disturbed the fountain of your heart and brought up painful memories?" "you are strange," said her companion, "and guess wide of the mark. the untutored savage is only a romance at a distance--the reality of their presence a disgusting fact. they are wild, untamable, and wicked, without sentiment or sympathy, cruel and murderous; disgusting in their habits and brutal in their passions." "and yet, sir, the stories which come down to us of these so quietly sleeping here are full of romance and poetry. their intercourse with the french impressed that mercurial people with exalted notions of their humanity, chivalry, and nobleness of nature. can it be that these historians only wrote romances? you must not disturb this romance. if it is an illusion let me enjoy it; do not strip from it the beard, the hair, the hunting-shirt, the bow and quiver--reality or fiction, it is sweet to the memory. how often have i wandered from our home and stood here alone and conjured from the spirit-land the ghosts of the great suns, the stung serpent, and the chief of the beard, and hers who warned the french of the conspiracy for their destruction. in my day-dreaming i have talked with these; and learned with delight of their bliss in their eternal hunting-grounds. and as i have knelt here, they in hosts have come to me with all their legends and long accounts against the white man, and i have wept above these dry bones, and felt too it was the fate of the white man, when his mission shall have been completed on earth, and his nation's age bear him into the ground, and only his legends shall live a tradition, like that of the natchez. "the hieroglyphics of thotmes, of rameses, of menephthah, and of the host of kings gone before these in egypt's old life, cannot be read; their language, letters, and traditions, too, sleep beyond the revelations of time, and yet their tombs, like these, give up their bones to the curious, who group through the catacombs, or dig at the base of their monumental pyramids. all besides has passed away and is lost. not even the color of the great people who filled these monuments, and carved from the solid stone these miles of galleries, now filled to repletion with their mummied dead, and whose capacity is sufficient to entomb the dead of a nation for thousands of years, is known now to those who people the fields reclaimed from the forest beyond the memory of time. "nations are born, have their periods of youthful vigor, their manhood of sturdy strength, the tottering of decrepit age, the imbecility of superstitious dotage--and their death is final extinction. such is man, and such is the world. what we are, we know; what we shall be, we know not, save that we only leave a pile of bones. come, we are approaching home, and the moon dares to shine, ere yet the sun has gone. yonder is brother, and i expect a scolding; but let him fret--it is not often i have a toy. fate threw you in my way and you must not complain if i use you." "i shall not complain," replied the astonished young man; "but will you ride again to-morrow?" she checked up her steed (a noble one he was) and seemed to take in his entire man, as slowly her eye went up from his stirrup to his face, when she said: "to-morrow, ah, to-morrow! who can tell what to-morrow may bring forth? to you and to me, there may come no to-morrow. we may in a twinkling be hurled from our sphere into oblivion. the earth may open to-night, or even now, and we may drop into her bosom of liquid fire, and be only ashes to-morrow. "'take no heed for to-morrow,' is the admonition of wisdom. look, yonder i was born. here sleep the natchez. see yonder tall mound, shaded from base to summit with the great forest trees peculiar to our land. on the top of that mound stood the temple dedicated to the worship of the sun. he smiles on it as the earth rolls up to hide his light away, as he did when the holy fire was watched by the priests in that temple. but the indian worshipper is gone; to him there comes no morrow. there, on that mound, sleep the parents of my mother; to them comes no morrow. _allons!_ we shall be late for tea. brother has gone to sister's, and we shall be alone." in a few minutes they were galloping down the avenue to the old spanish-looking mansion, hid away almost from view in the forest and floral surroundings, which made it so lovely to view. there had come in their absence another; it was she who was the youthful companion of his fairy at the bayou sara--a silent, reserved woman: very timid and very polished. upon the gallery she was awaiting the return of her cousin. the meeting was (as all meetings between high-bred women should be) quiet, but cordial; without show, but full of heart. they loved one another, and were highbred women. the stranger was presented, and at tea the cousin was informed that he was the man from the mountains, and there was a curious, silent surprise in her face, when she almost whispered, "i am pleased, sir, to meet you again. i hope you will realize the romance of my cousin's dream with your legends of the west, the woods, and the wild men of the prairies." days went by, and still the fever raged in the city. the cerulean was bright and unflecked with a speck of vapor, like a concave mirror of burnished steel. it hung above, and the red sun seemed to burn his way through the azure mass. the leaves drooped as if weighted with lead, and in the shade kindly thrown upon the wilting grass by the tulips, oaks, and pecans about the yard, the poultry lifted their wings and panted with exhaustion in the sickly heat of the fervid atmosphere. the sun had long passed the zenith, dinner was over, and the inmates were enjoying the siesta, so refreshing in this climate of the sun. here and there the leaves would start and dally with a vagrant puff from vesper's lips, then droop again as if in grief at the vagaries of the little truant which now was fanning and stirring into lazy motion another leafy limb. there was music in the drawing room. it was suppressed and soft--so sweet that it melted into the heart in very stealth. ah! it is gone. "home, sweet home!" poor paine! like you, wandering in the friendless streets of england's metropolis and listening to your own sweet song, breathed from titled lips in palatial homes, the listener to-day was homeless. he thought of you and the convivial hours he had passed with you, listening to the narrative of your vagrant life, and how happy you were in the poetry of your own thoughts when you were a stranger to every one, and your purse was empty, and you knew not where you were to find your dinner. genius, thou art a fatal gift! ever creating, never realizing; living in a world of beauty etherialized in imagination's lens, and hating the material world as it is; buffeted by fortune and ridiculed by fools whose conceptions never rise above the dirt. a little note, sweetly scented, is placed in his hand: "cousin and i propose a ride. shall we have your company? you are aware it is the sabbath. you must not, for us, do violence to your prejudices." "is this," thought he, "a delicate invitation to save my feelings, and is the latter clause meant as a hint that they do not want me? well, the french always, when a compliment has as much bitter as sweet in it, take the sweet and leave the bitter unappropriated. it is a good example. i will follow it. say to the ladies i will accompany them." "the horses are all ready, sir; and the ladies bonneted wait in the drawing-room." the sun was in the tree-tops and the shadows were long. there was a flirtation going on between the leaves and the breeze. the birds were flitting from branch to branch. a chill was on the air: it was bathing the cheek with its delicious touch, and animated life was rejoicing that evening had come. arriving at the great mound of the temple of the sun, with some difficulty they climb to its summit. so dense is the shade that it is almost dark. here are two graves, in which sleep the remains of the grand-parents of these two beautiful and lovely women. all around are cultivated fields clothed with rich crops, luxuriant with the promise of abundance. at its base flows the little creek, gliding and gabbling along over pure white sand. sweet alice! how sad she seems! she stood at the grave's side, and, looking down, seemed lost in pious reverie. every feature spoke reverence for the dead. her cousin, too, was silent; and if not reverent, was not gay. he, their gallant, was respectfully silent, when alice said, without lifting her eyes: "i wonder if la salle ever stood here? this is holy ground. no spot on earth has a charm for me like this. i am in the temple. i see the attentive, watchful priest feeding there (as she pointed) the holy fire, and yonder, with upturned eyes, the great lawgiver worshipping his god, as he comes up from his sleep, bringing day, warmth, light, and life. was not this worship pure? was it not natural? the sun came in the spring and awoke everything to life. the grass sprang from the ground and the leaves clothed the trees; the birds chose their mates and the flowers gladdened the fields; everything was redolent of life, and everything rejoiced. he went away in the winter, and death filled the land. there were no leaves, no grass, no flowers. all nature was gloomy in death. could any but a god effect so much? the sun was their god; his temple was the sky, and his holy fire burned on through all time. beautiful conception! who can say it is not the true faith?" "to the unlettered mind, it was," answered the young gentleman; "because the imagination could only be aided by the material presented to the natural eye. science opens the eye of faith. it teaches that the sun is only the instrument, and faith looks beyond for the creator. to such the indian's faith cannot be the true one. the ignorance of one sees god in the instrument, and his thoughts clothe him with the power of the creator, and his heart worships god in sincerity, and to him it is the true faith. but to the educated, scientific man, who knows the offices of the sun, it appears as it is, only the creature of the unseen, unknown god, and to this god he lifts his adoration and prayers, and to him this is the true faith." "so, my philosopher, you believe, whatever lifts the mind to worship god is the true faith?" "you put it strongly, miss, and i will answer by a question. if in sincerity we invoke god's mercy, can the means that prompt the heart's devotion, reliance, and love, be wrong? his magnitude and perfection are a mystery to the untutored savage: he knows only what he sees. the earth to him, (as it was to the founders and patriarchs of our own faith,) is all the world. he has no idea that it is only one, and a small one of a numerous family, and can conceive only that the sun rules his world; gives life and death to everything upon the earth--but this inspires love and reverence for god. the scientific man sees in the sun only an attractive centre, and sees space filled with self-illuminating orbs, and reasoning from the known to the unknown, he believes these centres of attraction to planetary families, and the imagination stretches away through space filled with centres and revolving worlds, and each centre with its dependents revolving around one great centre, and this great centre he believes is god. his idea is only one step beyond the indian's, and has only the same effect: it leads the heart to depend on and worship god." "you are a heretic, and must like a naughty boy be made to read your bible and go to sunday-school, and be lectured and taught the true faith. fy! fy! shall the heathen go to heaven? where is the provision for him in the bible? what are we to do with missions? if this be true, there is no need that we should be sending good men and dear, pious women to convert the chinese, the feejees, and the poor africans so benighted that their very color is black, and the australians, and new georgians, to be roasted and eaten by the cannibals there. if they worship god in sincerity, you say that is all?" "no, miss, faith without works is a futile reliance for heaven. it is the first necessity, and perhaps the next and greatest, is, to 'do unto all what you would have all do unto you.' these are the words of the great chinese philosopher, confucius, and were taught four and a half centuries before christ, yet we see him teaching the same. this, as confucius said, was the great cardinal duty of man, and all else was but a commentary upon this. this i fancy is all, at least it is very comprehensive. you tell me the traditions of the people who worshipped here say that this was a cardinal law unto them?" "you, sir, have lived too long among the heathen, if you are not one already. you are like an august peach in july: you are turning, and in a little while will be ripe. you talk, as uncle toney says, like a book, and to me, like a new book, for yours are new thoughts to me. cousin, does he not astonish you?" "by no means; true, they are new thoughts; but they are natural thoughts, and i do not fear to listen to them--on the contrary, i could listen to them all day, and, alice, i have often, very often, heard from you something like this." "nonsense, cousin, nonsense; i am orthodox, you know, and a good girl and love to go to church, especially when i have a becoming new dress." "here are the bones of our ancestors, if they were once animated with souls; and i guess they were, particularly the old man, for i have heard many stories from old toney, that convince me that he was a pretty hard one. how do we know that their spirits are not here by us now? why is it deemed that there shall be no communication between the living and the dead? o! how i want to ask all about the spirit-land. wake up and reclothe thy bones and become again animated dust, and tell me thou, my great progenitor, the mysteries of the grave, of heaven and hell. how quiet is the grave? no response, and it is impious to ask what i have. o! what is life which animates and harmonizes the elements of this mysterious creation, man! life how imperious, and yet how kind; it unites and controls these antagonistic elements, and they do not quarrel on his watch. mingling and communing they go on through time, regardless of the invitation of those from which they came to return. but when life is weary of his trust and guardianship, and throws up his commission, they declare war at once--dissolve, and each returns to his original. death and corruption do their work, and life returns no more, and death is eternal, and the soul--answer ye dumb graves--did the soul come here? or went it with life to the great first cause? or is here the end of all; here, this little tenement? i shudder--is it the flesh, the instinct of life; or is it the soul which shrinks with horror from this little portal through which it must pass to eternal bliss, or eternal--horrible! assist me to my horse, if you please. come cousin, let us go and see old uncle toney--and, sir, he will teach you more philosophy than you ever dreamed of." "who is uncle toney? miss," asked the stranger of the visiting cousin when he returned to aid her descent of the mound. "he is a very aged african, brought to this country from carolina by our grandfather, in , or earlier; he says there were remnants of the natchez in the country at that time, and the old man has many stories of these, and many more very strange ones of the doings of the whites who first came and settled the country. he retains pretty well his faculties, and, like most old people, is garrulous and loves a listener. he will be delighted with our visit." "miss alice, do you frequently visit uncle toney?" "very nearly every day. i have in my basket, here, something for the old man. turn there, if you please--yonder by that lightning-scared old oak and those top-heavy pecans is his cabin and has been for more than sixty years. here was the local of my grand-father's house; here was born my mother; but all the buildings have long been gone save uncle toney's cabin. think of the hopes, the aspirations, the blisses, the sorrows, the little world that once was here--all gone except uncle toney. in my childhood i used to come here and go with him to the graves where we have been to-day, and have sat by them for hours listening to the stories he delights to tell of my grandfather and mother, until their very appearance seems familiar to my vision. i know that my grandfather was a small man, and a passionate man, and toney sometimes tells me i am like him. his eye was gray--so is mine; his face sharper than round--so is mine, and sometimes my temper is terrible--so was his;" and she laughed again that same wild thrilling laugh as she gallopped up to the cabin and leaped down to greet the old man, who was seated at the door of his hut beneath the shade of a catalpa, the trunk of which was worn smooth from his long leaning against it. he was very black and very fat. his wool was white as snow, and but for the seams in both cheeks, cut by the knife in observance of some ridiculous rite in his native land, would have been really fine-looking for one of his age. he arose and shook hands with the cousin, but did not approach the gentleman. he was evidently not pleased with his presence and was chary of his talk. "ah! young missus," he said, when he received the basket, "you bring old toney sometin good. you is my young missus, too; but dis one is de las one. dey is all married and gone but dis one." (this conversation was addressed to the cousin.) "all gone away but dis one, and when she marry dare will be nobody to fetch dis ole nigger good tings and talk to de ole man." "uncle toney, i don't intend to marry." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed the old man, "berry well, berry well! i hear dat from ebery one ob my young misses, and where is dey now? all done married and gone. you gwine to do jus as all on em hab done, byne by when de right one come. ah! may be he come now." "you old sinner, i have a great mind to pull your ears for you." "o no, missus, i don't know! i see fine young man dare; but maybe he come wid miss ann, and maybe he belong to her." "uncle toney, don't you remember i told you of a wild man away from the mountains, all clothed in skins, with a long, curly beard and hair over his shoulders as black as a stormy night? this is he." "gosh!" said the venerable negro. "i mus shake his hand; but what hab you done wid your beard, your hair, and your huntin-shirt?" "i have thrown them all into the fire, uncle. people among white people must not dress like indians." "dat's a fac, young massa; but i tell you miss alice was mity taken wid dem tings. she come here soon as she comed home, and told me all about 'em and all about you--how you could shoot de bow and how you could talk, and she said: 'o! what would i not give to see him again?'" "toney, if you don't shut up, i won't come to see you, or bring you any more good things. this young gentleman has come with us to see you, and wishes to hear you tell all about the natchez, and to get you to show him the many things you have dug up on and around these mounds, and have you tell him all about the old people who came here first and made all these big plantations and built all these great houses." "well, miss alice, dis is sunday, you know, and dem tings mus not be telled on sunday, and den you and miss ann don't want ole nigger to talk. you go ride and talk wid de young gemman, and maybe to-morrow, or some week-day, young massa can come down from de great house wid de gun to shoot de squirrels along de way, and when he tired, den he can come and rest, and i can tell him all. yes, young massa, i been live long time here. me is mity old. all dem what was here when i comed wid ole massa is dead long time. yes, dare aint one on em livin now, and dare chillin is old." "i shall be sure to come," said the young man, "and suppose i bring with me these ladies?" "neber you do dat, massa. i knows young folks ways too well for dat. toney may talk, but dey neber will listen. dey will talk wid one anoder, and miss alice been hear all de ole nigger's talk many a time, and she don't want to hear it ober and ober all de time; and beside dat, young massa, sometimes when i tells bout de ole folks, she trimbles and cries. she's got a mity soft heart bout some tings, and she tells me i mus tell you eberyting." "there now, toney, you have said enough about me to make the gentleman think i am a very silly little girl." "god bress my young missus!" he said as he tenderly patted her head. "i wouldn't hurt your feelins for noffin. you is too good, miss alice. toney lubed your mamma--toney lubs you, and de day you is married and goes away, i want to go away too. i want to go yonder, miss alice, on de top ob dat mound, and lie down wid ole massa and missus. he told your pa to put me dar; but your pa's gone. o miss alice! dey's all gone but you and me and your brodder, and he don't care for toney, and maybe he will trow him out in de woods like a dog when he die." tears stole down the black face of the venerable man, and the eyes of alice filled--and then she laughed the shrill, fearful laugh, and rode rapidly away. she was singing and walking hurriedly the gallery, when the stranger and her cousin came leisurely into the yard. "your cousin, miss ann, has a strange laugh." "indeed she has, sir; but we who know her understand it. she never laughs that unearthly laugh when her heart is at ease. i doubt if you have ever met such a person. i think the world has but one alice. she is very young, very impressible, and some think very eccentric, very passionate and romantic to frenzy. there is something which impels me to tell you--but no, i have no right to do so. but this i must tell you; for you cannot have been in the house here so long without observing it. there is no congeniality between herself and brother; indeed, very little between her and any of her family. she is alone. she is one by herself; yes, one by herself in the midst of many; for the family is a large one. but remember, there is none like alice. be gentle to her and pity her; and pity her most when you hear that strange laugh." there was music in the drawing-room, soft and gentle, and the accompanying voice was tremulous with suppressed emotion. gradually it swells in volume until it fills the spacious apartment, and the clear notes from the tender trill rose grandly in full, clear tones, full of pathetic melody, and now they almost shriek. they cease--and the laugh, hysterical and shrill, echoes through the entire house. the judge was silent; but a close observer might have seen a slight contraction of the lips, and a slighter closing of the eyes. a moment after alice entered the room, and there was a glance exchanged between her brother and herself. there was in it a meaning only for themselves. "you have been riding, sir," he said to his guest, "and my sister tells me to the mound at the white apple village. to those curious in such legends as are connected with its history, it is an interesting spot. all i know in relation to these, i acquired from a dreamy and solitary man employed by my father to fit myself and brother for college. he read french, and was fond of tracing all he could find in the writings of the historians of the first settlement of louisiana and mississippi, and of the history, habits, and customs of the aborigines of the country. he knew something of the adventures of de soto and la salle, and something of the traditions of the natchez. he was a melancholy man, and perished by his own hand in the chamber that you occupy. my sister is curious in such matters, and from her researches in some old musty volumes she has found in the possession of an old european family, she has made quite a history of the natchez, and from the old servants much of that of the first white or english occupants of this section. for myself, i have little curiosity in that way. my business forbids much reading of that kind, and indeed much of anything else, and i am glad that my tastes and my business accord. i would not exchange one crop of cotton grown on the village-field, for a perfect knowledge of the history of every indian tribe upon the continent." "i am no antiquarian, sir. a life on a plantation i suppose must be most irksome and monotonous to a young lady, unless she should have some resource besides her rural employments." "our only amusements, sir," said alice, "are reading, riding, and music, with an occasional visit to a neighbor. i ride through the old forest and consult the great patriarchal trees, and they tell me many strange stories. when the ruthless axe has prostrated one of these forest monarchs, my good palfrey waits for me, and i count the concentric circles and learn his age. some i have seen which have yielded to man's use or cupidity who have looked over the younger scions of the woods, and upon the waters of the mighty river a thousand years." "indeed, miss," replied the guest, "i had not supposed the natural life of any of our forest trees extended beyond three, or at most four centuries." "the tulip or poplar-tree and the red-oak in the rich loam of these hills live long and attain to giant proportions. the vines which cling in such profusion to many of these are commensurate with them in time. they spring up at their bases and grow with them: the tree performing the kindly office of nurse, lifting them in her arms and carrying them until their summits, with united leaves, seem to kiss the clouds. they live and cling together through tempests and time until worn out with length of days, when they tumble and fall to the earth together, and together die. we all, flora and fauna, go down to the bosom of our common mother to rest in death. i love the companionship of the forest. there is an elevation of soul in this communion with incorruptible nature: there is sincerity and truth in the hills and valleys--in the trees and vines, and music--grand orchestral music--in the moaning of the limbs and leaves, played upon by the hurrying winds. i have prayed to be a savage, and to live in the woods." "you are as usual, sister, very romantic to-night." "by and by, brother, i shall forget it i presume. i am human, and shall soon die, or live on till time hardens my nature, or sordid pursuits plough from my heart all its sympathies, and old age finds me gloating over the gains of laborious care and penurious meanness. "'to such vile uses we must come at last.'" "you draw a sad picture, miss, for old age. do not the gentler virtues of our nature ever ripen with time? is it the alchemist who always turns the sweets of youth to the sours of age? there are many examples in every community to refute your position. i would instance the venerable negro we visited to-day. he wept as he placed his trembling hand upon your head. there was surely nothing ascetic or sordid in his feelings." "uncle toney is an exception, sir. the affectionate memories he has of our family, and especially of my mother and father, redeems him from the obloquy of his race. his heart is as tender as his conduct is void of offense. he was a slave. god had ordained him for his situation. he had not the capacity to aspire beyond his lot, or to contrast it with his master's. contented to render his service, and satisfied with the supply of his wants from the hands of him he served--he had a home, and all the comforts his nature required. he has it still; but i know he is not as contented as when he was my father's slave. god bless the old man! he shall never want while i have anything, and should i see him die, he shall sleep where he wished to-day." "by our grandfather, i suppose, alice?" "yes, my brother, by our grand-parents. they told him it should be so. ah! there are no distinctions in the grave; white skin and black skin alike return to dust, and the marl of the earth is composed alike of the bones of all races, and their properties seem to be the same. i, too, wish to sleep there. it is a romantically beautiful spot, and its grand old traditions make it holy ground. how its associations hallow it! imagination peoples it with those bold old red men who assembled in the temple to worship the holy fire--emblematic of their faith--humbling their fierce natures and supplicating for mercy. i go there and i feel in the touch of the air that it is peopled with the spirits of the mighty dead, surrounding and blessing me for my memory of, and love for, their extinct race." "bravo, sister! what an enthusiast! you, sir, have some knowledge of the indians. do they stir the romance of your nature as that of my baby sister?" the glance from her eye was full of scorn: it flashed with almost malignant hate as she rose from her seat, and taking the arm of her cousin she swept from the room, audibly whispering "baby sister" in sneering accents. "woman's nature is a strange study, my young friend. i have several sisters and they are all strange, each in her peculiar way. they are remarkable for the love they bear their husbands, and yet they all have a pleasure in tormenting them, and are never so unhappy, as when they see these happy. this younger sister has a nature all her own. i do not think she shares a trait with another living being. wild, yet gentle; the eagle to some, to some the dove. quick as the lightning in her temper--as fervid, too; a heart to hate intensely, and yet to melt in love and worship its object; but would slay it, if she felt it had deceived her. always searching into the history of the past, and always careless of the future." "you have drawn something of the character of a spanish woman. their love and their hate is equally fierce; and both easily excited, they are devoted in all their passions. i have thought that this grew from the secluded life they live. ardency is natural to the race, and this restrained makes their lives one long romance. their world is all of imagination. the contacts of real life they never meet outside of their prison-homes, and the influence of experience is never known. they are seen through bars, are sought through bars, they love through bars--and the struggle is, to escape from these restraints; and the moral of the act or means for its accomplishment, or the object to be attained, never enters the mind. such natures properly reared to know the world, to see it, hear it, and suffer it, tunes all the attributes of the mind and heart to make sweet music. nothing mellows the heart like sorrow; nothing so softens the obduracy of our natures as experience. none, sir, man or woman, are fitted for the world without the experiences its contact brings. these experiences are teachings, and the bitter ones the best. to be happy, we must have been miserable; it is the idiosyncracy of the mind, to judge by comparison; and the eternal absence of grief leaves the mind unappreciative of the incidents and excitements which bring to him or her who have suffered, such exquisite enjoyment. the rue of life is scarcely misery to those who have never tasted its ambrosia." "you are young, sir, thus to philosophize, and must have seen and experienced more than your years would indicate." "some, sir, in an incident see all of its characters that the world in a lifetime may present. they suffer, and they enjoy with an acuteness unknown to most natures; and in youth gain the experiences and knowledge they impart, while most of the world forget the pain and the pleasure of an incident with its evanescence. with such, experience teaches nothing. these progress in the world blindly and are always stumbling and falling." "the ladies have retired--shall we imitate their example, sir? this will light you to your chamber; good night." alone, and kindly shielded with the darkness, the adventurer lay thoughtful and sleepless. here are two strange beings. there is in the one angelic beauty animated with a soul of giant proportions, large in love, large in hate, and grandly large in its aspirations; and yet it is chained to a rock with fetters that chafe at every motion. the other cold, emotionless, with a reserved severity of manner, which is the offspring of a heart as malignant and sinister as satan himself may boast of. they hate each other, but how different that hatred! the one is an emotion fierce and fiery but without malice; the other malicious and revengeful. one is the hatred of the recipient of an injury who can forgive; the other the hatred of one who has inflicted an injury with calculation. such never forgive. and this i am sure is the relation of this brother and sister. deprived when yet young of the fostering care of a mother, scarcely remembering her father, she has been the ward of this cold, hard being, whose pleasure it has been to thwart every wish of this lovely being: to hate her because she is lovely, and to aggravate into fury her resentments, and to sour every generous impulse of her extraordinary nature. what a curse to have so sensitive a being subjected to the training of so cold and malignant a one! there is no natural affection. the heart is born a waste: its loves, its hates are of education and association; and the responsibility for the future of a child rests altogether with those intrusted with its rearing and training. the susceptibilities only are born with the heart, and these may be cultivated to good or evil, as imperceptibly as the light permeates the atmosphere. these capacities or susceptibilities are acute or obtuse as the cranium's form will indicate, and require a system suited to each. attention soon teaches this: the one grows and expands beautifully with the slightest attention; the other is a fat soil, and will run to weeds, without constant, close, and deep cultivation, and its production of good fruit is in exact proportion with its fertility and care. it gives the most trouble but it yields the greatest product. and here in that warm, impulsive heart is the fat soil. o! for the hand to weed away all that is noxious now rooting there. that look, that whispered bitterness was the fruit of wicked wrong--i know it; the very nature prompting there would give the sweetest return to justice, kindness, and love. chapter xxii. the romance continued. father confessor--open confession--the unread will--old toney's narrative--squirrel shooting--the farewell unsaid--brothers-in-law-- farewell indeed. when the morrow came, the clouds were weeping and the damp was dripping from every leaf, and gloomy rifts of spongy vapor floated lazily upon the breeze, promising a wet and very unpleasant day. these misty periods rarely endure many hours in the autumn, but sometimes they continue for days. the atmosphere seems half water, and its warm damp compels close-housing, to avoid the clammy, sickly feeling met beyond the portals. at such times, time hangs heavily, and every resource sometimes fails to dispel the gloom and ennui consequent upon the weather; conversation will pall; music cease to delight, and reading weary. to stand and watch the rain through the window-panes, to lounge from the drawing-room to your chamber, to drum with your fingers upon the table--to beat your brain for a thought which you vainly seek to weave into rhyme in praise of your inamorata--all is unavailing. the rain is slow but ceaseless, and the hours are days to the unemployed mind. we hum a tune and whistle to hurry time, but the indicating fingers of the tediously ticking clock seems stationary, and time waits for fair weather. the ladies love their chambers, and sleeping away the laggard hours, do not feel the oppression of a slow, continuous, lazy rain. the morning has well-nigh passed, and the drawing-room is still untenanted. the judge was busy in his office, looking over papers and accounts, seemingly unconscious of the murky day; perhaps he had purposely left this work for such a day--wise judge--a solitary man, unloving, and unloved; hospitable by freaks, sordid by habit, and mean by nature. yet he was wise in his way; devoid of sentiment or sympathy as a grind-stone, his wit was as sharp as his heart was cold. absorbed in himself, the outside world was nothing to him. he had work, gainful work for all weathers, and therefore no feeling for those who suffered from the weather or the world, if it cost him nothing in pence. he was the guardian of his baby sister; but all of her he had in his heart was a care that she should not marry, before he was ready to settle her estate. the interest he felt in her, was his commissions for administering her property with a legitimate gain earned in the use of her money. the guest of this strange man was restless, he knew not why; there were books in abundance, and their authors' names were read over and over again as he rummaged the book-cases he knew not for what. first one and then another was pulled out from its companions, the title-page read and replaced again, only to take another. idly he was turning the pages of one, when a voice surprised him and sweetly inquired at his elbow if he found amusement or edification in his employment. "i must apologize for my rudely leaving you last night. i hope i am incapable of deceit or unnecessary concealments. i was hurt and angry, and i went away in a passion. yours is a gentle nature, you do not suffer your feelings to torture and master you. i should not, but i am incapable of the effort necessary to their control. it is best with me that they burn out, but their very ashes lie heavily upon my heart. our clime is a furnace, and her children are flame, at least, strange sir, some of them are a self-consuming flame. i feel that is my nature. is not this an honest confession? i could explain further in extenuation of my strange nature. it was not my nature until it was burned into my very soul. i am very young, but the bitterness of my experiences makes me old, at least in feeling. but you are not my father confessor--then why do i talk to you as to one long known? because--perhaps--but never mind the reason. i know my cousin has whispered something to you of me; my situation, my nature--is it not so?" "ah! you would be _my_ father confessor. you must not interrogate, but if you would know, ask your cousin." "o! no, i could not. is it not strange that woman will confide to the strange man, what she will not to the kindred woman? woman will not sympathize with woman; she goes not to her for comfort, for sympathy, for relief. is this natural? men lean on one another, women only on man. is this natural? is it instinctive? or an acquired faculty? do not laugh at me, i am very foolish and very sad; such a day should sadden every one. but my cousin is very cheerful, twitters and flits about like an uncaged canary, and is as cheerful when it rains all day, as when the sun in her glory gladdens all the earth and everything thereon. i am almost a natchez, for i worship the sun. how i am running on! you are gentle and kind, are you not? you are quick, perceptive--you have seen that i am not happy--sympathize, but do not pity me. that is a terrible struggle between prudence and inclination. there, now i am done--don't you think me very foolish?" "miss alice--(will you allow me this familiarity?)" "yes, when we are alone; not before cousin or my _man_ brother." (she almost choked with the word.) "not before strangers--we are not strangers when alone. you read my nature, as i do yours, and we are not strangers when alone. it is not long acquaintance which makes familiar friends. the mesmeric spark will do more than years of intercommunication, where there is no congeniality--and do it in a little precious moment. the bloody arrow we held in common was an electric chain. i learned you at the plucking of that arrow from the cotton bale--in your strange, wild garb; but never mind--what were you going to say?" "i was going to say that our acquaintance was very brief, but what i have seen or heard, i will not tell to you or to any one. your imagination is magnifying your sufferings. you want a heart to confide in. you have brothers-in-law, wise and strong men. "that, for the whole of them," she said, as she snapped her fingers. "their wives are my sisters, some of them old enough to be my mother, but they and their husbands are alike--sordid. the hope of money is even more debasing than the hoarding. do you understand me? i must speak or my heart will burst. are you a wizzard that you have so drawn me on? dare i speak? is it maidenly that i should? there is a spell upon me. go to your chamber--there is a spy upon me; i am seen, and i fear i have been overheard; go to your chamber--here, take this book and read it if you never have--dinner is at hand, and after dinner--, but let each hour provide for itself,--at dinner,--well, well, adieu." she was in the drawing-room, and again the soft melody of half-suppressed music, scarcely audible, yet every note distinct, floated to his chamber, and the guest scarcely breathed that he might hear. there was something so plaintive, so melting in the tones that they saddened as well as delighted. how the heart can melt out at the finger-points when touching the keys of a sweetly-toned instrument! it is thrown to the air, and in its plaint makes sweet music of its melancholy. like harmonious spirits chanting in their invisibility, making vocal the very atmosphere, it died away as though going to a great distance, and stillness was in the whole house. he stole gently to the door. there seated was alice; her elbow on her instrument, and her brow upon her hand. the bell rang for dinner. the repast is over, and a glass of generous wine sent the rose to the cheeks of alice, but enlivened not her eye. her heart was sad: the eye spoke it but too plainly, and she looked beautiful beyond comparison. the eye of the stranger was rivetted upon that drooping lid and more than melancholy brow. his situation was a painful one. more than once had he caught the quick, suspicious glance of the judge flash upon him. he was becoming an object of interest to more than one in the house; but how different that interest! how at antipodes the motives of that interest! he knew too much, and yet he wanted to know more. he was left alone in the drawing-room with the timid, modest little cousin. it rained on, and the weather seemed melancholy, and their feelings were in unison with the weather. "i shall leave, i believe, miss, as soon as the rain will permit. i presume i may go down to the city without fear." "you will find it but a sorry place, sir. all the hotels are closed and everybody is out of town save the physicians, and the poor who are unable to get away. the gloom of the desolated place is enough to craze any one. i hope you do not find your stay disagreeable in this house?" "i will not attempt to deceive you, miss. i cannot say why; but i feel uncomfortable--not at my ease. it were needless for me to repeat it; i am sure you know the cause." "perhaps i do, sir; and still i cannot see in that sufficient cause for your going away. perhaps, sir, we are not thinking of the same cause," she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "i particularly allude to what you yourself communicated to me. i perceive miss alice is very unhappy, and i also am apprehensive that i may in some way be the cause of this." "i will tell you, sir, any special attention on your part to alice will enrage her brother. from motives known to himself, he is very much opposed to her marrying any one. his reasons as given are that she is so peculiar in her disposition that she would only increase her own misery in making her husband miserable, which her eccentric nature would certainly insure. i have heard that he has sometimes had a thought of carrying her to an asylum for the insane. the world, however, is not charitable enough to believe this the true reason. the judge is very grasping, and he has in his hands alice's fortune. some of his own family suppose he desires the use of it as long as possible. there are many hard things said of him in relation to his influencing his mother to leave him the lion's share of her estate. this very home was intended for alice, and though he had not spoken to his mother for years, in her last hours he came with a prepared will and insisted on her signing it. she feared him (most people do) and affixed her name to the fatal document, which report says was never read to her. after that she could not bear the presence of alice, saying in her delirium: 'my poor baby will hate me; i have turned her from her home.' alice has learned all this, and she has upbraided him with his conduct; for once provoked she does not even fear him." "why do not her brothers-in-law inquire into this? they are equally interested in the matter it seems to me." "ah, sir! they are hoping that he may do them justice in his will. i am sure this is the understanding with at least one of them, and neither of them will hazard a loss to protect the rights of alice. large expectations are strong inducements to selfishness. i am disclosing family matters, sir; but i have done so from a good motive. it is but half disclosed to you; but the rest i must not tell. you are not so dull as not from what i have said to be able to shape your conduct. alice is coming." the rain had ceased, and for two days the genial sun had drank up the moisture from the land, which underfoot was dry again. the autumn had come, and the earth groaned with the rich products of this favored land. the cotton-fields were whitening, and the yellow corn's pendant ears hung heavily from their supporting stocks. fat cattle in the shade of the great trees switched away the teasing flies as they lazily ruminated. the crows were cawing and stealing from their bursting shells the rich pecan nuts, and the black-birds flew in great flocks over the fields. in the hickory-woods the gray squirrel leaped from tree to tree, hunting for, and storing away for winter's use, his store of nuts and acorns, or running along the rail-fence to find a hiding-place when frightened from his thieving in the cornfields. the quail whistled for his truant mate in the yellow stubble, and the carrion-bird--black and disgusting--wheeled in circles, lazily, high up in the blue above. there was in everything the appearance of satisfaction; abundance was everywhere, and the yellowing of the leaves and the smoky horizon told that the year was waning into winter. under the influences of the scene and the season the visitor of the judge was sober and reflective as he strolled through the woods, gun in hand, little intent upon shooting. the quail whirred away from his feet; the funny little squirrel leaped up the tree-side and peeped around at him passing; but he heeded not these, and went forward to find the cabin of old toney. he found the old negro in his usual seat at the foot of his favorite tree, upon his well-smoothed and sleek wooden stool. "ha! ha! ha!" laughed toney. "you come dis time widout miss alice. why she not come wid you? you not want somebody to turn de squirrel for you? may be you bring de ole man more dan one dar?" "it was too great a walk for her, uncle toney, and then she does not like my company well enough to pay so much fatigue for it." toney laughed again. "too much walk, indeed, she walk here most ebery day, wid her little bonnet in her hand and basket too, wid sometin good for toney. when sun yonder and de shade cobber de groun; den she set dare, (pointing to the grass which grew luxuriantly near by) and talk to de ole man and lissen so still like a bird hiding, when i tell her all bout de ole folks, dat is buried dare, and how we all comed away from de states when de ole war driv us off, not general jackson's war. no, sir, general washington's war, de ole war of all--and den, young massa, you ought to see her. she's mity putty den, she is--face red and smove, and she little tired and she look so like ole missus yonder, when she was a gall, and dem english red coats comes out from charleston, to de ole place to see her. dat's a long time ago, young massa." "uncle toney, how old are you?" "moss a hundred, young massa; i don't know zackly--but i great big boy when i comed from de ole country, tudder side ob de sea--my country, massa. when i comed to charleston, i was so high--(holding his hand some four feet from the earth) yet i was big nuff to plow, when ole massa, de fadder of him burried yonder, bied me and tuck me up to de high hills ob santee. den, sir, my massa who brought me here, was gone to de country whar de white folks first comed from, england. i neber see him till de ole war, when his fadder been dead two year, den he comed home one night and all de family but one had gone to de war. he not talk much, but look mity sorry. my ole missus was a pretty gall, den, live close by us, and it not long afore dey gets married, and den many ob de nabors come and dey hab long talk. dey's all comes to de greement to come away from de country, fraid ob de war, and all de fadders ob all de nabors here take all der niggers and der stock and go up de country to de riber dat's named de holsten, and dare dey built heep flat boats, and in de spring dey starts down de riber. some ob de boats hab hogs on 'em, some hosses, some cows, some niggers, some corn and meat, and some de white families. dar was boff de grandfadder ob miss alice, and her fadder. he was small, not grown, and old massa, her modder's fadder, was young wid young wife, but dey all made him captain. "we was long time comin down de riber, and we had to fite de injuns long time at de place dey calls mussel shoals. some ob de boats got on de ground, and one on em we had to leave wid de hogs on it. de bullets come from the injuns so hot dat we all had to get out into de water and go to anudder boat and get away from dar. dem was the wust injuns i ebber seed. but we got away and we runned all night. nex day miss alice's fadder was on de top ob de boat ob his fadder when injun shoot him in de back from de woods, and he buried wid dat bullet in him up yonder to de great house. well, young massa, we comed one day into a big riber, and dar we stopt one hole week, and de massa and some on de ress on em got out and luck at de country, but dey not like him and we started agin, and de nex day we gits into di massasippi, and in two days more we comed to de place dey called new madrid, and here stopt agin. "de land was mity level and rich, and all de men said dey would stop here and live. de people what lived here was spanish, and some niggers and injuns, and dey talked a lingo we didn't know. dere was a nigger who could talk american, and he comed one night and tuck ole massa out and telled him de spaniards was gwine to rob dem all, and dat dey would kill all on de white folks, and take all de niggers and stock, and dey was gwine to do it de fus dark night. dis larmed us all, and dat night we slipt off, and when mornin comed we was way down de riber and gwine ahead i tell you. we neber stopt any more till we got to de mouth of cole's creek. dare de fadder of miss alice's fadder stopt, and said he would stay dare. ole massa seed an injun dat tole him ob dis place and dey started true de cane, dey was gone long time, but when dey comed back, ole massa got us all ready and away we went and neber stopt till we comed to the mouth of st. catharine's, right ober dar. dar we landed and unloaded de boats, and in a week we was all camped up dar whar de big percan is, and right dar de ole man raise all his family--and dar he and ole missus died. "all dis country was full ob deer and injuns, and dem hills yonder was all covered wid big canes and de biggest trees you ebber seed. yonder, all round dat mound we cleaned a field and planted corn and indigo; and ober yonder was another settlement; and yonder, down de creek was another; and on de cliffs was another, and den dare comed a heap ob people and stopt at natchez and st. catharine, and all us people a most, young massa, about here is come ob dem; but dare was trouble moss all de time twixt em. "ole massa was made de governor, by somebody, and dare was another man made a governor, too, and he git a company one night and comed down here; but somebody had tole old massa, and dat day he tell me, and we went down to de riber under de cliff war was some cane and he tole me he was gwine to stay dar, and i muss bring him sometin to eat ebery day, but i musn't tell whar he was, not eben to ole missus, for dey would scare her and make her tell on him. shore nuff, dat night here dey comed, a many a one on em, and dey went right into de great house and serched it and ebery whar, but dey was fooled bad, and den dey tuck me and put a rope round my neck and hung me to de lim of a tree what is dead and gone now, right out dar. but wen i was moss dead, dey let me down and axed me whar was de governor. i swared i didn't know, and dey pulled me up agin; and dis time dey thought dey had killed me, shore nuff. it was a long time before i comed to, and den i tole um i could show um whar he was, and we started. "de cane was mity thick, and we went up one hill and down another till we comed to dat big hill ober de creek dar. de todder side ob it is mity steep, but de cane was all de way down it. i was a good ways before em and i jumpt down de steepest place and way i went through de cane down de hill, and de way dey made de bullets whistle was curos. but i got away and went round and told de ole man all dey had done. when i went back all de black people was gone and missus said dese men had tuck em off. de nex nite dey cotch me and carried me to whar our black folks was, and den we all started in a boat down de riber, and when we got to new orleans we got on a skiff and run down de riber to a big ship and went out to sea dat night and landed at pensacola, and dare dat wicked ole man sold us to de spanish." "uncle toney, who was that wicked old man?" "ah! my young massa, i musn't tell, cause his grandchillen is great folks here now, and miss alice telled me i musn't tell all i knows. dey aint sponsible, she says, for what dere grandfadder did. but i tell you he was a mity bad man. well, i staid at pensacola two years wid my ole oman; and we could talk wid de injuns, and one day two injuns dat i knowd out here comed to my cabin, and dey telled me dat ole massa was gone way from here and missus was here by herself and had nobody to help her. so i makes a bargain wid dese injuns to come here wid me and my old woman. one saturday night we started to go and see some ob our people dat was bout ten miles from whar we was; but we neber stopped. we tuck to de woods, and we killed a deer wheneber we was hungry. de injuns, you know, can always do dat. we was a mity long time comin; but at last we got here, and den it was moss a year arter dat before ole massa come. den dar was more trouble. one day dar comed fifty men and tuck ole massa, and dey tied him and den begin to rob de house. dey had all de silver and sich like, when de captain comed in, and he did cuss mity hard and made em put it every bit down, and march out. ole missus she thanked him mitily; but dey carried ole massa off to new orleans. "dar was great trouble wid de nabors. dey comed and talked bout it; and one day when ole massa was gone bout a mont, when dey was all dar, who should step into de house but ole massa. he was fash, i tell you he was, dar was old mr. e----, and mr. o---, and mr. t----, and a heap more, and dey all put der heads togeder and talked. one day ole massa come to me and sez he: 'toney, you mus get on my black hoss and go down to de bluffs. watch down de riber, and when you see two big boats comin up--big keel-boats wid plenty ob men on em--way down de riber, jes come as hard as de hoss can bring you here and let me know it.' "i knowd dar was trouble comin, young massa; for i seed miss alice's papa comin wid plenty ob de nabors wid him. he was a tall man, and neber talk much. miss alice's modder was a young oman den, and i knowd dey was gwine to be married. when she seed him wid his gun and so many men she gins to cry. well, i was gone quick, and moss as soon as i got to de cliff, i see de boats way down de riber, pulling long by de shore. i made dat hoss do his best home, when i told old massa: 'dey's comin, sir!' he sorter grin, and git on his hoss and gallop away down toward st. catharine's. he telled me to come on, and i comed. when we got to de mouth ob de creek dar was fifty men dar, all wid der guns, settin on de ground, and ole massa talkin to em. way moss night de boats comed in sight. den all de men hide in de cane, and massa tell me: 'toney, you call em and tell em to come to de shore.' i called em, and dey comed and tied der boats to de trees, and de captain and some ob de men jumped on de land, and walked out, and corned close to me. "de fuss ting dey knowd, bang! bang! bang! go de guns, and de captain fall. de men all run for de boats, and de men on de boats gin to shoot too. i runs wid all my might, and ole massa shout to his friends to fire agin, and two men untying de boats fall. den dey cut de ropes wid an axe, and shove out de boats into de riber, and pull em away wid de oars too far to hit em. ole massa comes out ob de cane and goes to de men what is lying on the ground. dar was six on em, and four was dead sure nuff. two was jus wounded, and one of dese was de captain. him de same man what make his men put down de silber and tings dey was takin from ole missus. den dey carry all on em to de grate house and bury de dead ones. de captain and de oder wounded man was tuck into de house, and ole missus she knowd de captain, and she cried mitily bout his bein shot. well, he talk plenty bout his wife and modder, and miss alice's modder nurse him; but he died, and his grave's yonder wid ole massa and missus. de oder man he got well and went away, and berry soon arter dat miss alice's fadder and modder got married. dar come de judge. he hab seen you, and he ride out ob de road to come see you." "toney, i shall come to see you again, and you must tell me more about the family and these people about here; you must tell me everything." "you musn't tell anybody i tell you anyting. de judge mity quare man; he don't like for people to know all i knows." the judge rode up, and toney with great respect arose and saluted him. "ah!" said he, "you have found this old hermit, have you? toney is the chronicle of the neighborhood--a record of its history from the day of its first settlement. i hope he has amused you. he is upwards of ninety years old, and retains all his faculties in a remarkable degree." "i have been quite entertained with his history of the descent of the river with your ancestors. he seems to remember every incident, and says your father was wounded at the muscle shoals on the tennessee river." "he is quite right, sir. it was a perilous trip. my grandfather was a man of wonderful energy and determination. he pioneered the ancestors of almost every family in this vicinage to this place. there was a large grant of land from the spanish government made here and divided among his followers, every foot of which is in the possession of their descendants to-day, except perhaps one thousand acres which were swindled from my family by a most iniquitous decision of a jury, influenced by an artful old yankee lawyer. this spot here, sir, was the nucleus of the first settlement which in a few years spread over the country." "this county i believe, sir, was once represented in the state of georgia as the county of bourbon, at the time this state with alabama constituted a part of that state." "my father was elected to represent the county, but he never took his seat. we continued to be governed by the laws of spain which we found in force here until the line between florida and the united states was established--indeed until the american government extended its jurisdiction in the form of a territorial government over the country. i am riding to my sisters. you will have fine shooting if you will go through yonder piece of woods. every tree seems to have a squirrel upon it. we will meet again at tea. adieu, till then." "he been watchin you. better go, young massa." "you don't appear, toney, to like your young master." "him not good to miss alice. he got plenty sisters; but he only lub two, and dey don't lub anybody but just him. him not like his fadder nor ole massa yonder. he bring plenty trouble to massa and to his modder. no, me don't like him. miss alice know him all." "well, toney, no one shall ever know you have told me anything. some of these days i will come and see you again. good by." "god bress you, young massa! kill ole nigger some squirrels. tell miss alice dey is for me, and she will make some on de little ones run down here wid em. good by, massa." slowly the young man wended his way to the mansion; but remembering the negro's request, he shot several squirrels, and gave them as requested. "then you have been to see uncle toney. did he give you any of his stories? like all old persons, he loves to talk about his younger days." "i was quite interested in his narrative of the trip down the river, when your grandparents and your father emigrated to this part of the country." "did he tell you his indian ghost story?" "he did not. he was quite communicative; but your brother came and arrested his conversation." a shade fell upon the features of the beautiful creature as she turned away to send the squirrels to toney. "these are beautiful grounds, miss ann." "yes, sir; there has been great care bestowed upon them, and they make a fairy-land for my cousin who in fair weather is almost always found here in these walks and shady retreats afforded by these old oaks and pecans." "there is something very beautiful, miss, in the attachment of miss alice to uncle toney. the devotion to her on his part almost amounts to adoration." "my aunt, the mother of alice, taught her this attachment. there is a little history connected with it, and indeed, sir, all the family remember his services to our grandfather in a most perilous moment; but you must ask its narration from the old man. he loves to tell it. my cousin's memory of her mother is the cherished of her heart. indeed, sir, that is a strong, deep heart. you may never know it; but should you, you will remember that i told you there was but one alice. in all her feelings she is intense; her love is a flame--her hate a thorn; the fragrance of the one is an incense--the piercing of the other is deep and agonizing. shan't we go in, sir; i see the damp of the dew is on your boot-toe, and you have been ill. the absence of the sun is the hour for pestilence to ride the breeze in our climate, and you cannot claim to be fully acclimated." the autumn progressed, and the rich harvests were being gathered and garnered. this season is the longest and the loveliest of the year in this beautiful country. during the months of september, october, and november, there ordinarily falls very little rain, and the temperature is but slightly different. the evolutions of nature are slow and beneficent, and it seems to be a period especially disposed so that the husbandman should reap in security the fruits of the year's labor. the days lag lazily; the atmosphere is serene, and the cerulean, without a cloud, is deeply blue. the foliage of the forest-trees, so gorgeous and abundant, gradually loses the intense green of summer, fading and yellowing so slowly as scarcely to be perceptible, and by such attenuated degrees accustoming the eye to the change, that none of the surprise or unpleasantness of sudden change is seen or experienced. the fields grow golden; the redly-tinged leaves of the cotton-plant contrast with the chaste pure white of the lint in the bursting pods, now so abundantly yielding their wealth; the red ripe berries all over the woods, and the busy squirrels gathering and hoarding these and the richer forest-nuts; the cawing of the crows as they forage upon the ungathered corn, feeding and watching with the consciousness of thieves, and the fat cattle ruminating in the shade, make up a scene of beauty and loveliness not met with in a less fervid clime. the entranced rapture which filled my soul when first i looked upon this scene comes over me now with a freshness that brings back the delights of that day with all its cherished memories, though fifty years have gone and their sorrows have crushed out all but hope from the heart--and all the pleasures of the present are these memories kindly clustering about the soul. perhaps their delights, and those who shared them, will revive in eternity. perhaps not; perhaps all alike--the pleasant and the painful--are to be lost in an eternal, oblivious sleep. it is all speculation; yet hope and doubt go on to the grave, and thence none return to cheer the one or elucidate the other. but be it eternal life or eternal death, it is wise; for it is of god. the autumn grew old and was threatening a frost--the great enemy of fever. the falling leaves and the fitful gusts of chill wind presaged the coming of winter. the ear caught the ring of sounds more distant and more distinct now that the languor of summer was gone, and all animal nature seemed more invigorated and more elastic. health and her inhabitants were returning to the city, and the guests of the hospitable planters were thinning from the country. business was reviving and commotion was everywhere. the young stranger was preparing to leave; yet he lingered. ann had gone; alice grew more shy and timid, and his walks and rides were solitary, and but that he loved nature in her autumn robes would have been dull and uninteresting. the judge was absent at another plantation beyond the river, and his books and his gun were his only companions. sometimes he read, sometimes he rode, and sometimes he walked to visit toney. it was on one of those peculiarly lonely afternoons which come in the last days of october when the stillness persuades to rest and meditation in the woods that, seated on a prostrate tree near the pathway which led down the little creek to the residence of uncle toney, the young guest of the judge was surprised by alice with a small negro girl on their way to visit uncle toney. both started; but in a moment were reassured, and slowly walked to the cabin of the good old negro. "i have come, uncle toney," said the youth, "to see you for the last time. i am going away to-morrow and, as soon as i can, going back to the distant home i so foolishly left." "i am sorry you tell me so; won't you be sorry, miss alice?" asked toney. alice bit her lip, and the flush upon her cheek was less ruddy than usual. "you no find dis country good like yourn, young massa?" "yes, toney, this is a good country, and there is no country more beautiful. but, uncle, it requires more than a beautiful country to make us happy; we must have with us those we love, and who love us; and the scenes of our childhood--our fathers and mothers, and brothers and sisters who are glad with us and who sorrow with us, and the companions of our school-days, to make us happy. i am here without any of these--not a relation within a thousand miles; with no one to care for me or to love me." there was something plaintively melancholly in his words and tones. he looked at alice, her eyes were swimming in tears and she turned away from his gaze. "you been mity sick, here, young massa, didn't miss alice be good to you? aunt ann tell me so. if miss alice had not nuss you, you die." alice stepped into the cabin taking with her the basket the little negro had borne, and placing its contents away, came out and handing it to rose, bid her run home. "i am coming," she said as she adjusted her bonnet-strings, "the bugaboos won't catch you." "yes, uncle toney, i am very grateful to miss alice. i shall never forget her." how often that word is thoughtlessly spoken? never to forget, is a long time to remember. our lives are a constant change: the present drives out the past, and one memory usurps the place of another. yet there are some memories which are always green. these fasten themselves upon us in agony. the pleasant are evanescent and pass away as a smile, but the bitter live in sighs, recurring eternally. both were silent, both were thoughtful. "good-by, uncle toney," said alice. "may i join you in your walk home, miss?" there was something in the tone of this request, which caused alice to look up into his face and pause a moment before replying, when she said, very timidly, "if you please, sir." the sun was drooping to the horizon and the shadows made giants as thy grew along the sward. "farewell, uncle toney," said the gentleman, shaking hands with the old negro. alice had walked on. "o! you needn't say farewell so sorry, you'll come back. i sees him. you'll come back. eberybody who comes to dis country if he does go way he's sure to come back, ticlar when he once find putty gall like miss alice, ya! ya!" laughed the old man. "you'll come back. i knows it." in a few moments he was by the side of alice. they lounged lazily along through the beautiful forest a few paces behind rose, who was too much afraid of bugaboos to allow herself to get far away from her mistress. there was a chill in the atmosphere and now and then a fitful gust of icy wind from the northwest. winter was coming: these avant-couriers whispered of it; and overhead, swooped high up in the blue, a host of whooping cranes, marching in chase of the sun now cheering the antarctic just waking from his winter's sleep. "i believe, sir," said alice, "that the ancients watched the flight of birds and predicated their predictions or prophecies upon them." "yes, the untutored of every age and country observe more closely the operations of nature than the educated. it is their only means of learning. they see certain movements in the beasts and the birds before certain atmospheric changes, and their superstitions influence a belief, that sentient and invisible beings cause this by communicating the changes going on. the more sagacious and observant, and i may add the less scrupulous, lay hold upon this knowledge, to practice for their own pleasure or profit upon the credulity of the masses. there are very many superstitions, miss, which are endowed with a character so holy, that he who would expose them is hunted down as a wretch, unworthy of life. the older and the more ridiculous these, the more holy, and the more sacredly cherished." "are you not afraid thus to speak--is there nothing too holy to be profanely assaulted?" "nothing which contravenes man's reason. truth courts investigation--the more disrobed, the more beautiful. science reveals, that there is no mystery in truth. its simplicity is often disfigured with unnatural and ridiculous superstitions, and these sometimes are so prominent as to conceal it. they certainly, with many, bring it into disrepute. the more intellectual pluck these off and cast them away. they see and know the truth. yonder birds obey an instinct: the chill to their more sensitive natures warns them that the winter, or the tempest, or the rain-storm is upon them; they obey this instinct and fly from it. yet it in due time follows these--the more observant know it, and predict it. those, with the ancients, were sooth-sayers or prophets; with us, they are the same with the ignorant negroes; with the whites, not quite so ignorant, they are--but, miss, i will not say. i must exercise a little prudence to avoid the wrath of the ignorant--they are multitudinous and very powerful." "kind sir, tell me, have you no superstitions? has nothing ever occurred to you, your reason could not account for? have no predictions, to be revealed in the coming future, come to you as foretold?" "do not press me on that point, if you please, i might astonish and offend you." "i am not in the least afraid of your offending me, sir. i could not look in your face and feel its inspirations, and believe you capable of offending me." "thank you for the generous confidence, thank you. i am going and shall remember this so long as i live, and when in my native land, will think of it as too sacred for the keeping of any but myself." "are you really going to leave us, and so soon? i--i--would--but--" "miss alice, i have trespassed too long already upon your brother's hospitality; beside, miss alice, i begin to feel that his welcome is worn out. your brother, for some days, has seemed less cordial than was his wont during the first weeks of my stay here." "my brother, sir, is a strange being--a creature of whims and caprices. there is nothing fixed or settled in his opinions or conduct. his inviting you to spend the summer with us was a whim: one that has astonished several who have not hesitated to express it. it is as likely on his return from his river place, that he will devour you with kindness as that he will meet you with the coldness he has manifested for some days. do not let your conduct be influenced by his whims." "miss alice, i am suspicious, perhaps, by nature. i have thought that you have avoided me lately. i have been very lonesome at times." alice lifted her bonnet from her head, and was swinging it by the strings as she walked along for a few steps, when she stopped, and, turning to her companion, said with a firm though timid voice: "i cannot be deceitful. you have properly guessed: i have avoided you. it was on your account as well as my own. my self-respect is in conflict with my respect for you. i need not tell you why i avoided you; but i will--conscious that i am speaking to a gentleman who will appreciate my motives and preserve inviolate my communications. you saw my cousin hurry away from here. she came to remain some weeks. the cause of her going was my brother. from some strange, unaccountable cause he became offended with her, and charged her with giving bad advice to me. what she has said to me as advice since she came was in the privacy of my bedroom, and in such tones that had he or another been in the chamber they could not have overheard it. i know, sir, and in shame do i speak it, that i am under the surveillance of the servants, who report to my brother and my sister my every act and every word; and i know, too, my brother's imagination supplies in many instances these reports. why i am thus watched i know not. "my brother is my guardian, and nature and duty, it would seem, should prompt him to guard my happiness as well as my interest; but i know in the one instance he fails, and i fear in the other i am suffering. all my family fear him, and none of them love me. i am my parents' youngest child. oh, sir! england is not the only country where it is a curse to be a younger child. my father died when i was an infant. my mother was affectionate and indulgent; my sisters were harsh and tyrannical, and in very early girlhood taught me to hate them. my mother was made miserable by their treatment of me; and my brother, too, quarrelled with her because she would not subject me to the servility of the discipline he prescribed. this quarrel ripened into hate, and he never came to the house or spoke to my mother for years. "the day before she died, and when her recovery was thought to be impossible, he came with a prepared will and witnesses, which in their presence he almost forced her to sign: in this will i was greatly wronged, and this brother has tauntingly told me the cause of this was my being the means of prejudicing our mother against him. "he married a coarse, vulgar kentucky woman, and brought her into the house. she was insolent and disrespectful toward my mother, and i resented it. she left the house, and died a few months after. since that day, though i was almost a child, my life has been one of constant persecution on the part of my brother and sisters. i am compelled to endure it, but do so under protest; if not in words, i do in manner, and this i am persuaded you have on more than one occasion observed. please do not consider me impertinent, nor let it influence you in your opinion of me, when i tell you my brother has rudely said to me that i was too forward in my intercourse with you. it is humiliating to say this to you; but i must, for it explains my conduct, which save in this regard has been motiveless. "a lady born to the inheritance of fortune is very unpleasantly situated, both toward her family and to the world. these seem solicitous to take greater interest in her pecuniary affairs than in her personal happiness, and are always careful to warn her that her money is more sought than herself--distracting her mind and feelings, and keeping her constantly miserable. since my school-days i have been companionless. if i have gone into society, i have been under the guard of one or the other of my sisters. these are cold, austere, and repulsive, and especially toward those who would most likely seek my society, and with whom i would most naturally be pleased. i must be retired, cold, and never to seem pleased, but always remarkably silent and dignified. i must be a goddess to be worshipped, and not an equal to be approached and my society courted companionably. in fine, i was to be miserable, and make all who came to me participate in this misery. it was more agreeable to remain at home among my flowers and shrubs, my books, and my visits to uncle toney. do you wonder, sir, that i seem eccentric? you know how the young love companionship--how they crave the amusements which lend zest to life. i enjoy none of this, and i am sometimes, i believe, nearly crazy. i fear you think me so, now. i want to love my brother, but he will not permit me to do so. i fear he has a nature so unlovable that such a feeling toward him animates no heart. my sisters and a drunken sot of a brother-in-law pretend to love him--but they measure their affection by the hope of gain. they reside in louisiana, and i am glad they are not here during your stay--for you would certainly be insulted, especially if they saw the slightest evidence of esteem for you on brother's part, or kindness on mine." "oh! sir, how true is the scripture, 'out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh.' out of my heart's fulness have i spoken, and, i fear you will think, out of my heart's folly, too; and in my heart's sincerity i tell you i do not know why i have done so to you--for i have never said anything of these things to any one but cousin ann, before. perhaps it is because i know you are going away and you will not come to rebuke me with your presence any more; for indeed, sir, i do not know how i could meet you and not blush at the memory of this evening's walk." "miss alice, i have a memory, or it may be a fancy, that in the delirium of my fever, some weeks since, i saw you like a spirit of light flitting about my bed and ministering to my wants; and i am sure, when all supposed me _in extremis_, you came, and on my brow placed your soft hand, and pressed it gently above my burning brain. my every nerve thrilled beneath that touch; my dead extremities trembled and were alive again. the brain resumed her functions, and the nervous fluid flashed through my entire system, and departing life came back again. you saved my life. were the records of time and events opened to my inspection and i could read it there, i could not more believe this than i now do. then what is due from me to you? this new evidence of confidence adds nothing to the obligation--it was full without it. but it is an inspiration i had not before. we are here, miss alice, within a few steps of the threshold of the house in which you were born. i am far from the land of my nativity--our meeting was strange, and this second meeting not the less so." "ah! you have almost confessed that you are superstitious. you need not have acknowledged that you are romantic; your young life has proven this." "stay, miss alice: you asked me but now if there had never been the realization of previous predictions. you said you knew i would not offend you. i would not, but may. now listen to me, here under the shade of this old oak. when i was a child, my nurse was an aged african woman; like all her race, she was full of superstition, and she would converse with me of mysteries, and spells, and wonderful revelations, until my mind was filled as her own with strange superstitions and presentiments. on one occasion, on the sabbath day, i found her in the orchard, seated beneath a great pear-tree, and went to her--for though i was no longer her ward to nurse, i liked to be with her and hear her talk. it was a beautiful day, the fruit-trees were in bloom, and the spring-feeling in the sunshine was kindling life into activity through all nature. she asked me to let her see my hand and she would tell me my fortune. she pretended sagely to view every line, and here and there to press her index finger sharply down. at length she began to speak. "'you will not stay with your people,' she said, 'but will be a great traveller; and when in some far-away country, you will be sick--mighty sick; and a beautiful woman will find you, and she will nurse you, and you will love that beautiful woman, and she will love you, and she will marry you, and you will not come to reside with your people any more.' now, miss alice, i have wandered far away from my home, have been sick, very sick, and a beautiful woman has nursed me until i am well, and oh! from my heart i do love that beautiful woman. so far all of this wild prediction has been verified; and it remains with you, my dear alice, to say if the latter portion shall be. you are too candid to delay reply, and too sincere to speak equivocally." she trembled as she looked up into his face and read it for a moment. "you are too much of a gentleman to speak as you have, unless it came from your heart. o my god! is this reality, or am i dreaming?" she drooped her head upon his shoulder, and said: "'whither thou goest i will go; thy house shall be my house, and thy god my god.'" the full moon was just above the horizon, and the long dark shadows veiled them from view. the judge rode in at the gate, and leaving his horse, went directly into the house. a moment after a carriage drove into the court, and from it dismounted the brother-in-law sot and her weird sister; for indeed she was a very hecate in looks and mischief. alice stole away to her chamber; and the happy stranger to wander among the shrubs, regardless of the damp and chill. here were two young hearts conscious of happiness; but was it a happiness derived from the respective merits and congenial natures of the two known to each other? they were comparatively strangers, knowing little of the antecedents of each other. each was unhappily situated--the one from poverty, the other owing to her wealth; the one ardently desirous of bettering pecuniarily his position, the other to release herself from restraints that were tyrannical and to enjoy that independence which she felt was her natural right. might not these considerations override the purer impulses of the heart arising from that regard for qualities which win upon the mind until ripened first into deep respect, then mellowed into tender affection by association protracted and intimate? they had been reared in societies radically different: their early impressions were equally antagonistic; but their aims were identical--to escape from present personal embarrassments. they had met romantically. he had been removed for many months from the presence of civilized society, though naturally fond of female association, and craving deeply in his heart the communion again of that intercourse, which had (as he had learned from sad experience) been the chief cause of the happiness of his youth. he met her first as he entered anew the relations of civilized and social society. she was young and exquisitely beautiful. their meeting was but for a moment; their intercourse was intensely delightful to him, and the interest her ardent nature manifested toward him was extremely captivating. he had gone from her, with her in all his heart. she for the time was free. she felt not the restraint of her female relatives, and the ardor of her heart burned out in the delighted surprise she experienced in the gentle and genial bearing of one to all seeming rude and uncultivated as the savage he so much resembled in the contour of his apparel. she had trembled with a strange ecstasy as he strolled by her side, and felt a thrill pierce her soul as she looked into his face and saw what she had never seen, beaming in his eyes. she had never seen it before; yet she knew it, and felt she had found what her heart had so long and so ardently craved. she had parted from him with a consciousness that she was never to meet him again; and yet his image was with her by day and by night--her fancy kept him by day, and her dreams by night. she loved him for the mellow civilization of his heart and for the wild savageness of his garb. oh, the heart of dear woman! it is her world. would that the realizations of life were as her heart paints and craves them! he had again come as unexpectedly to her; but the figure was without its surroundings: the diamond was there, but the setting was gone, and she was not agreeably surprised: hence the indifference manifested by her when he discovered to her his identity. intercourse had revived the tenderness of the woman as it dispelled the romance of the girl. her affection she deemed was not a fancy, but a feeling now. her heart had wandered and fluttered like a wounded bird seeking some friendly limb for support--some secluded shade for rest. she had found all, and she was happy. he was her future; she thought of none other--of nothing else. was he as happy? he had seen the rough side of the world, and thought more rationally. his night was sleepless. in a moment of feeling he had asked and received the heart of a lovely being whom he felt he could always love. he knew she was more than anxious for a home where she was mistress, and he must prepare it--but how, or where? he was without means. it was humiliating to depend on hers; and this was the first alloy which stained and impoverished the bliss of his anticipations. they met in the early morning. her brow was clouded. none were up save themselves. their interview was brief and explicit. he saw her in a new phase; she had business tact as well as an independent spirit. "you must leave this morning," she said, "and immediately after breakfast. my sister has put the servants through the gantlet of inquiry. they knew what she wanted to know, and if inclination had been wanting, the fear of the stocks and torture would have compelled them to tell it to her. she has heard all she wished, to her heart's content. she was in my chamber until midnight, and, as usual, we have quarrelled. they have told her that i was constantly with you, and that i was in love with you, and a thousand things less true than this. she has upbraided me for entering your chamber when you were sick. she menacingly shook her finger at me, and almost threatened corporal punishment if i did not desist from your association. i shall be surprised if she does not insult you upon sight. nothing will prevent it but fear of offending brother. this she would not do for less than half of his estate--for that, and even more, she is now playing. she pretends devotion to him; and they profess a mutual attachment. if this is sincere, it is the only love either of them ever felt. you must express to brother, the moment you see him, your determination to leave at once, and let it be decided. i don't know your means, but fear you will be embarrassed, as you are comparatively a stranger, in preparing a home for us. give this to its address, and you will have all you want. do not stop to look at it. put it in your pocket--there. i shall not be at the table this morning; there would be unpleasantness for you, i am sure. i shall not see you again until you come to carry me to our own home, which shall be very soon. despite this _contretemps_ i am very happy; and now farewell. i will write to you; for to-day i mean to tell brother i am to be your wife. i know how he will receive it; but he knows me, and will more than simply approve it. he will wish to give us a wedding; but i will not receive it. our marriage must be private. again farewell!" without a kiss they parted. what were the reflections of this young man in his long morning's drive he will never forget. 'twas fifty years ago; but they are green in memory yet, and will be until the grave yonder at the hill's foot, now opening to view, shall close over--close out this mortality, and all the memories which have imbittered life so long. chapter xxiii. when successful, right; when not, wrong. territorial mississippi--wilkinson--adams--jefferson--warren--claiborne --union of the factions--colonel wood--chew--david hunt--joseph dunbar--society of western mississippi--pop visits of a week to tea--the horse "tom" and his rider--our grandfather's days--an emigrant's outfit--my share--george poindexter--a sudden opening of a court of justice--the caldwell and gwinn duel--jackson's opposition to the governor of mississippi. the counties of wilkinson, adams, jefferson, claiborne, and warren are the river counties carved from the territory first settled in the state of mississippi. the settlements along the mississippi came up from new orleans and went gradually up the stream. the english or american immigration to that river antedated but a very short time the war of the revolution. the commencement of this war accelerated the settlement, many seeking an asylum from the horrors of war within the peaceful borders of this new and faraway land. the five counties above named constituted the county of bourbon when the jurisdiction of the united states was extended to the territory. very soon after it was divided into three counties--wilkinson, adams, and jefferson; and subsequently, as the population increased, claiborne and warren were organized and established. these counties were named after john adams, thomas jefferson, general wilkinson, general warren, who fell at bunker's hill, and general ferdinand claiborne, a distinguished citizen of the territory. as a territory, mississippi extended to and comprised all the territory east to the alabama river or to the georgia line. in fact, there was no distinct eastern boundary until the admission of the state into the union. the leading men of the communities first formed in the five counties on the mississippi were men of intelligence and substance. the very first were those who, to avoid the consequences of the war of the revolution, had sought security here. some, who conscientiously scrupled as to their duty in that conflict--unwilling to violate an allegiance which they felt they owed to the british crown, and equally unwilling to take part against their kindred and neighbors--had left their homes and come here. there were not a few of desperate character, who had come to avoid the penalties of the criminal laws of the countries from which they had fled. the descendants of all these constitute a large element of the population of these counties at the present moment. some of these sustain the character of their ancestors in an eminent degree; others again are everything but what their parents were. one feature of the country is different from that of almost any other portion of the united states. the descendants of the first pioneers are all there. there has been no emigration from the country. the consequence is that intermarriages have made nearly all the descendants of the pioneers relatives. in very many instances these marriages have united families whose ancient feuds are traditions of the country. the opprobrium attached to the name of tory (which was freely given to all who had either avoided the war by emigration, or who had remained and taken part against the colonies, and then, to avoid the disgrace they had earned at home, and also to escape the penalties of the laws of confiscation, had brought here their property) induced most families to observe silence respecting their early history, or the causes which brought them to the country, and especially to their children. this was true even as late as forty years ago. there were then in these counties many families of wealth and polish, whose ancestors were obnoxious on account of this damaging imputation; and it was remembered as a tradition carefully handed down by those who at a later day came to the country from the neighborhoods left by these families, and in most instances for crimes of a much more heinous character than obedience to conscientious allegiance to the government. but success had made allegiance treachery, and rebellion allegiance. success too often sanctifies acts which failure would have made infamous. "be it so! though right trampled be counted for wrong, and that pass for right which is evil victorious, here, where virtue is feeble and villany strong, 'tis the cause, not the fate of a cause, that is glorious." the inviting character of the soil and climate induced (as soon as a settled form of government promised protection) rapid emigration to the country. this came from every part of the united states. those coming from the same state usually located as nearly as practicable in the same neighborhood, and to this day many of these are designated by the name of the country or state from which they came. there are in the county of jefferson two neighborhoods known to-day as the maryland settlement and the scotch settlement, and the writer has many memories--very pleasant ones, too--of happy hours in the long past spent with some of nature's noblemen who were inhabitants of these communities. who that has ever sojourned for a time in this dear old county, does not remember the generous and elegant hospitality of colonel wood, joseph dunbar, and mr. chew; nor must i forget that truly noble-hearted man, david hunt, the founder of oakland college, whose charitable munificence was lordly in character, but only commensurate with his soul and great wealth. it seems invidious to individualize the hospitality of this community, where all were so distinguished; but i cannot forbear my tribute of respect--my heart's gratitude--to wood and dunbar. i came among these people young and a stranger, poor, and struggling to get up in the world. these two opened their hearts, their doors, and their purses to me; but it was not alone to me. should all who have in like circumstances been the recipients of their generous and unselfish kindnesses record them as i am doing, the story of their munificent generosity and open, exalted hospitality would seem an eastern romance. they have been long gathered to their fathers; but so long as any live who knew them, their memories will be green and cherished. in this neighborhood was built the first protestant episcopal church in the state, and here worshipped the woods, dunbars, macgruders, shields, greens, and others composing the settlement. the descendants of these families still remain in that neighborhood, where anterior to the late war was accumulated great wealth. the topography of the country is beautifully picturesque with hills and dales, and all exceedingly fertile. these hills are a continuation of the formation commencing at vicksburg, and extending to bayou sara. they are peculiar, and seem to have been thrown over the primitive formation by some extraordinary convulsion, and are of a sandy loam. no marine shells are found in them; but occasionally trees and leaves are exhumed at great depths. no water is found in this loam by digging or boring; but after passing through this secondary formation, the humus or soil of the primitive is reached--the leaves and limbs of trees superincumbent on this indicating its character--then the sand and gravel, and very soon water, as in other primitive formations. these hills extend back from the river in an irregular line from ten to fifteen miles, and are distinguished by a peculiar growth of timber and smaller shrubs. the magnolias and poplars, with linn, red oak, and black walnut, are the principal trees. there is no pine, but occasionally an enormous sassafras, such as are found in no other section on this continent. there is no stone, and no running water except streams having their rise in the interior, passing through these hills to their debouchment into the river. the entire formation is a rich compost, and in great part soluble in water; this causes them to wash, and when not cultivated with care, they cut into immense gullies and ravines. they are in some places almost mountainous in height and exceedingly precipitous. they are designated at different localities by peculiar names--as the walnut hills, grand hills, petit gulf hills, natchez hills, and st. catherine hills. in primitive forest they presented a most imposing appearance. large and lofty timber covered from base to summit these hills, increasing their grandeur by lifting to their height the immense vines found in great abundance all over them. the dense wild cane, clothing as a garment the surface of every acre, went to the very tops of the highest hills, adding a strange feature to hill scenery. the river only approaches these hills in a few places and always at right angles, and is by them deflected, leaving them always on the outer curve of the semicircle or bend in the stream. from these points and from the summit of these cliffs the view is very fine, stretching often in many places far up and down the river and away over the plain west of the river, which seems to repose upon its lap as far as the eye can view. the scene is sombre, but grand, especially when lighted by the evening's declining sun. the plain is unbroken by any elevation: the immense trees rise to a great height, and all apparently to the same level--the green foliage in summer strangely commingling with the long gray moss which festoons from the upper to the lower limbs, waving as a garland in the fitful wind; and the dead gray of the entire scene in winter is sad and melancholy as a vast cemetery. there is a gloomy grandeur in this, which is only rivalled by that of the sea, when viewed from a towering height, lazily lolling in the quiet of a summer evening's calm. to encounter the perils of a pioneer to such a country required men of iron nerve. such, with women who dared to follow them, to meet and to share every danger and fearlessly to overcome every obstacle to their enterprise, coming from every section of the united states, formed communities and introduced the arts and industry of civilization, to subdue these forests and compel the soil to yield its riches for the use of man. from these had grown a population, fifty years ago, combining the daring and noble traits of human character which lie at the base of a grand and chivalrous civilization. such men were the leaders and controllers of the society at that time, assuming a uniform and homogeneous character throughout the western portion of the state. the invasion of new orleans had endangered this section, and to a man they rallied to meet the foe. more than half the male population of that portion of the state were at new orleans and in the trenches on the memorable th of january, . their conduct upon that occasion was distinguished, and won from general jackson high commendation. the charge of the mississippi cavalry, commanded by general thomas hinds, the general, in his report of the battle, said, excited the admiration of one army and the astonishment of the other. this campaign brought together the younger portion of the male population of the state, and under such circumstances as to make them thoroughly to know each other. these men were the prominent personages of the state forty years ago, and they formed the character of the population and inspired the gallantry and chivalry of spirit which so distinguished the troops of mississippi in the late unfortunate civil war--in all, but in none so conspicuously, in this spirit and nobleness of soul and sentiment, as in the characters of jefferson davis and john a. quitman--foremost to take up arms in the war with mexico, resigning high positions for the duties of the soldier, to follow the flag, and avenge the insults of a presumptuous foe. the society of western mississippi, forty years ago, was distinguished above any other in the union, for a bold, generous, and frank character, which lent a peculiar charm. it was polished, yet it was free and unreserved, full of the courtesies of life, with the rough familiarity of a coarser people. the sports of the turf were pursued with enthusiastic ardor. the chase for the fox and the red deer pervaded almost universally the higher walks of life. the topography of the country was such as to make these, in the fearless rides they compelled, extremely hazardous, familiarizing their votaries with danger and inspiring fearlessness and daring. almost every gentleman had his hunting steed and kennel of hounds; and at the convivial dinner which always followed the hunt, he could talk horse and hound with the zest of a groom or whipper-in, and at the evening _soirée_ emulate d'orsay or chesterfield in the polish of his manners and the elegance of his conversation. this peculiarity was not alone confined to the gentlemen. the ladies were familiar with every household duty, and attended to them: they caught from their husbands and brothers the open frankness of their bearing and conversation, a confident, yet not a bold or offensive bearing in their homes and in society, with a polished refinement and an elevation of sentiment in all they said or did, which made them to me the most charming and lovely of their sex--and which made mississippi forty years ago the most desirable place of rural residence in the union. the conduct of these people was universally lofty and honorable. a fawning sycophancy or little meannesses were unknown; social intercourse was unrestrained because all were honorable, and that reserve which so plainly speaks suspicion of your company was never seen. there was no habit of canvassing the demerits of a neighbor or his affairs. the little backbitings and petty slanders which so frequently mar the harmony of communities, was never indulged or tolerated. homogeneous in its character, the population was harmonious. united in the same pursuits, the emulation was kind and honorable. the tone and purity was superior to low and debasing vices, and these and their concomitants were unknown. there were few dram-shops or places of low resort, and these only for the lower and more debased of the community. fortunately, fifty years ago, there were but few such characters, no meetings for gaming or debauchery, and the social communion of the people was chaste and cordial at their hospitable and elegant homes. a peculiar feature of the society of the river counties was the perfect freedom of manners, and yet the high polish, the absence of neighborhood discord, and the strict regard for personal and pecuniary rights: a sort of universal confidence pervaded every community, and in every transaction personal honor supplied the place of litigation. strangers of respectable appearance were not met with apparent suspicion, but with hospitable kindness; and especially was this the case toward young men who professedly came in search of a new home and new fields for the exercise of their abilities professionally, or for the more profitable employment of any means they might to have brought to the country. now, at seventy years of age, and after the experience of half a century of men and society in almost every portion of the union, i can truthfully say, nowhere have i ever met so truthful, so generous, and so hospitable a people as the planters and gentlemen of the river counties of mississippi, fifty years ago--nowhere women more refined, yet affable; so modest, yet frank and open in their social intercourse; so dignified, without austerity; so chaste and pure in sentiment and action, without prudery or affectation, as the mothers, wives, and daughters of those planters. the bench and the bar were distinguished for ability and purity; many of these have left national reputations--all of them honorable names to their families and profession. nor were the physicians less distinguished. the names of provan, mcpheters, cartwright, ogden, parker, cox, and dennie will be remembered when all who were their compeers shall have passed away, as ornaments to their profession. there is one other, still living at a very advanced age, who was perhaps the superior of any i have mentioned--james metcalf, who not only was and is an ornament to his profession, but to human nature. he is one of the few surviving monuments of the men of fifty years ago. his life has been eminently useful and eminently pure. he has lived to see his children emulating his example as virtuous and useful citizens, above reproach, and an honor to their parents. there was not, perhaps, in the union, a stronger bar in any four counties than here--childs, gibbs, worley, george adams, (the father of generals daniel and wirt adams,) robert h. adams, (who died a senator in the united states congress when it was an honor to fill the position,) lyman harding, w.b. griffith, john a. quitman, joseph e. davis, (the elder brother of jefferson davis,) thomas b. reid, robert j. and duncan walker. time has swept on, and but one of all these remains in life--robert j. walker. edward tuner, then the presiding judge of the district court, was a kentuckian. four brothers immigrated to the country about the same time. two remained at natchez, one at bayou sara, in louisiana, and the fourth went to new orleans. all became distinguished: three as lawyers, who honored the bench in their respective localities, and the fourth as a merchant and planter accumulated an immense fortune. the planters almost universally resided upon their plantations, and their habits were rural and temperate. their residences were unostentatious, but capacious and comfortable, with every attachment which could secure comfort or contribute to their pleasure. the plantation houses for the slaves were arranged conveniently together, constituting with the barns, stabling, and gin-houses a neat village. the grounds about the residences were covered with forest-trees carefully preserved; shrubs and flowers were cultivated with exquisite taste among these and over the garden grounds around and beyond them. social intercourse was of the most cordial and unrestrained character. it was entirely free from that embarrassing ceremony which in urban communities makes it formal, stiff, and a mere ceremony. it was characterized by high-breeding, which made it not only unrestrained but polished, cultivating the heart and the manners to feeling and refinement; making society what it should be--a source of enjoyment and heart-happiness, free from jealousies, rivalries, and regrets. the distances from plantation to plantation were such as to preclude visiting as a simple call; consequently calls were for spending a day to dine, or an evening to tea, to a rural ride, or some amusement occupying at least half a day, and not unfrequently half a week. every planter built his house, if not with a view to architectural symmetry and beauty, at least with ample room to entertain his friends, come they in ever such numbers, and his hospitality was commensurate with his house--as capacious and as unpretending. it was the universal habit for both ladies and gentlemen to ride on horseback. the beauty of the forest, through which ran the roads and by-ways--its fragrant blooms--its dark, dense foliage, invited to such exercise; and social reunions were frequently accomplished in the cool shades of these grand old forests by parties ruralizing on horseback when the sun was low, and the shade was sweet, which led them to unite and visit, as unexpectedly as they were welcome, some neighbor, where without ceremony the evening was spent in rural and innocent amusement--a dance, a game of whist or euchre--until weary with these; and on the arrival of the hour for rest they left, and galloped home in the soft moonlight, respectively flushed with health-giving exercise, and only sufficiently fatigued to be able to sleep well. nowhere does a splendid woman appear to more advantage than on horseback. trained from early girlhood to horseback exercise, she learns to sit fearlessly and control absolutely the most fiery steed, to accommodate herself to his every motion, and in his movements to display the ease and grace of this control and confidence. nowhere on earth were to be found more splendid women or more intrepid riders than the daughters of the planters of mississippi fifty years ago. each was provided for her especial use with an animal of high blood, finished form, and well-trained gait. daily intercourse familiarized rider and horse, and an attachment grew up between them that was always manifested by both upon meeting. it was said by napoleon that his parade-horse knew and recognized him, and bore himself with more pride and spirit when he was in the saddle than when mounted by any other. whoever has accustomed himself to treat kindly his saddle-horse, and to suffer no one but himself to ride him, can well understand this. i remember a horse and his rider among my early acquaintances on the banks of the mississippi, whose mutual attachment was so remarkable as to excite the wonder of strangers. that rider was a true woman--kind, gentle, and yet full of spirit. affectionate as she was fearless, she had importuned her brother for the gift of a fine young blood-horse, which he gave her upon the condition that she would ride him. she was an experienced rider, and promised. after a few days of close intimacy, she ventured to mount him. to the astonishment of every one he was perfectly docile, and moved away gently, but with an air of pride, as if conscious of the precious burden he bore. from that time forward no one was permitted to ride him but the lady, who visited him every day in his stall, and always carried him a loaf of bread or a cup of sugar, and never mounted him without going to his front and holding a conversation with pretty tom, stroking his head with her gentle hand, and giving him a lump of sugar or a biscuit. he was allowed the liberty of the yard, to graze on the young sweet grass of the front lawn, and luxuriate in the shade of the princely trees which grew over it. one or many ladies might go out upon the gallery and remain unnoticed by tom. the moment, however, that his mistress came, and he saw her or heard her voice, he would neigh in recognition of her presence, and bound immediately forward to the house, manifesting in his eye and manner great pleasure. this was kindly returned by the lady always descending the steps and gently stroking his head, which he would affectionately rest against her person. he would follow her over the yard like a pet spaniel; but he would do this for no one else. he knew her voice, and would obey it, and bound to her call with the alacrity of a child. his pleasure at her coming to mount him, when saddled for a ride, was so marked as to excite astonishment. he would carefully place himself for her convenience, and stand quiet after she was in the saddle until her riding-skirt was adjusted and her foot well in the stirrup, and then she would only say, "now, tom!" when he would arch his neck and move off with a playful bound, and curvet about the grounds until she would lay her hand upon his mane, and, gently patting his neck, say, "there, tom!" then the play was over, and he went gallantly forward, obediently and kindly as a reasoning being. the young reader will excuse this garrulity of age: it is its privilege; and i am writing my recollections of bygone years, and none are more pleasant than those which recall to me this great woman--the delightful hours spent in her society at the hospitable home of her family. she still lives, an aged woman, respected by all, and honored in the great merits of her children. like tom, they were affectionately trained; and like tom, they were dutiful in their conduct, and live to perpetuate her intelligence and the noble attributes of her glorious heart. should these lines ever meet her eye, she will remember the writer, and recall the delightful rides and happy hours spent together a long time ago. we are both in the winter of life, time's uses are almost ended, and all that is blissful now are the memories of the past. dear fannie, close the book and your eyes, turn back to fifty years ago, and to the memories common to us both, give the heart one brief moment to these, and, as now i do, drop a tear to them. the population in the four river counties, at the time of which i write, was much more dense than of any other portion of the state: still there were numerous settlements in different parts of the state quite populous. that upon pearl river, of these, perhaps, was most populous; but those eastern settlements were constituted of a different people: most of them were from the poorer districts of georgia and the carolinas. true to the instincts of the people from whom they were descended, they sought as nearly as possible just such a country as that from which they came, and were really refugees from a growing civilization consequent upon a denser population and its necessities. they were not agriculturists in a proper sense of the term; true, they cultivated in some degree the soil, but it was not the prime pursuit of these people, nor was the location sought for this purpose. they desired an open, poor, pine country, which forbade a numerous population. here they reared immense herds of cattle, which subsisted exclusively upon the coarse grass and reeds which grew abundantly among the tall, long-leafed pine, and along the small creeks and branches numerous in this section. through these almost interminable pine-forests the deer were abundant, and the canebrakes full of bears. they combined the pursuits of hunting and stock-minding, and derived support and revenue almost exclusively from these. they were illiterate and careless of the comforts of a better reared, better educated, and more intelligent people. they were unable to employ for each family a teacher, and the population was too sparse to collect the children in a neighborhood school. these ran wild, half naked, unwashed and uncombed, hatless and bonnetless through the woods and grass, followed by packs of lean and hungry curs, hallooing and yelling in pursuit of rabbits and opossums, and were as wild as the indians they had supplanted, and whose pine-bark camps were yet here and there to be seen, where temporarily stayed a few strolling, degraded families of choctaws. some of these pioneers had been in the country many years, were surrounded with descendants, men and women, the growth of the country, rude, illiterate, and independent. along the margins of the streams they found small strips of land of better quality than the pine-forests afforded. here they grew sufficient corn for bread and a few of the coarser vegetables, and in blissful ignorance enjoyed life after the manner they loved. the country gave character to the people: both were wild and poor; both were _sui generis_ in appearance and production, and both seeming to fall away from the richer soil and better people of the western portion of the state. between them and the inhabitants of the river counties there was little communication and less sympathy; and i fancy no country on earth of the same extent presented a wider difference in soil and population, especially one speaking the same language and professing the same religion. time, and the pushing a railroad through this eastern portion of the state, have effected vast changes for the better, and among these quaintly called piney-woods people now are families of wealth and cultivation. but in the main they are yet rude and illiterate. not ten years since, i spent some time in eastern mississippi. i met at his home a gentleman i had made the acquaintance of in new orleans. he is a man of great worth and fine intelligence: his grandfather had emigrated to the country in from emanuel county, georgia. his grandson says: "he carried with him a small one-horse cart pulled by an old gray mare, one feather bed, an oven, a frying-pan, two pewter dishes, six pewter plates, as many spoons, a rifle gun, and three deer-hounds. he worried through the creek nation, extending then from the oconee river to the tombigbee. "after four months of arduous travel he found his way to leaf river, and there built his cabin; and with my grandmother, and my father, who was born on the trip in the heart of the creek nation, commenced to make a fortune. he found on a small creek of beautiful water a little bay land, and made his little field for corn and pumpkins upon that spot: all around was poor, barren pine woods, but he said it was a good range for stock; but he had not an ox or cow on the face of the earth. the truth is, it looked like emanuel county. the turpentine smell, the moan of the winds through the pine-trees, and nobody within fifty miles of him, was too captivating a concatenation to be resisted, and he rested here. "about five years after he came, a man from pearl river was driving some cattle by to mobile, and gave my grandfather two cows to help him drive his cattle. it was over one hundred miles, and you would have supposed it a dear bargain; but it turned out well, for the old man in about six weeks got back with six other head of cattle. how or where, or from whom he got them is not one of the traditions of the family. from these he commenced to rear a stock which in time became large. "my father and his brothers and sisters were getting large enough to help a little; but my grandfather has told me that my father was nine years old before he ever tasted a piece of bacon or pork. when my father was eighteen years of age he went with a drove of beef cattle to new orleans. he first went to baton rouge, thence down the river. he soon sold out advantageously; for he came home with a young negro man and his wife, some money, and my mother, whom he had met and married on the route. well, from those negroes, and eight head of cattle, all the family have come to have something. "i was born nine months after that trip, and grew up, as father had done before me, on the banks of that little creek. i doubt if there ever was a book in my grandfather's house. i certainly never remember to have seen one there, and i was sixteen years old when he died. i think i was very nearly that old before i ever saw any woman but those of the family, and i know i was older than that before ever i wore shoes or pants. nearly every year father went to mobile, or natchez, or new orleans. the first time i ever knew my mother had a brother, i was driving up the cows, and a tall, good-looking man overtook me in the road and asked where my father lived. i remember i told him, 'at home.' he thought it was impudence, but it was ignorance. however, he was quite communicative and friendly. "that night, after the family had gone to bed, i heard him tell mother her father was dead, and that he had disinherited her for running off and marrying father. i did not know what this meant; but the next day father came and told mother that her brother wanted to be kind to her, and had proposed to give him a thousand dollars out of the estate of her father, if he and she would take it and sign off. that was the word. i shall not forget, so long as i live, my mother's looks as she walked up to father and said: 'don't you do it, john. john, i say, don't you do it.' uncle had gone down to grandfather's, and when he came back, mother had his horse saddled at the fence. she met him at the door, and said: 'you don't come in here. there's your beast; mount him, and go. i am not such a fool as my john. i was raised in louisiana, and i remember hearing my father say that all he hated in the laws was that a man could not do with his property, when he died, what he pleased. i haven't forgot that. i have not seen nor heard from any of you for fifteen years, and never should, if you hadn't come here to try to cheat me.' "i was scared, and father was scared; for we knew there was danger when mother's nap was up. uncle did not reply to mother, but said: 'john, you can sign off.' "'no, john can't; and i tell you john shan't! so now do you just mount that horse and leave.' "as she said this she lifted the old rifle out of the rack over the door and rubbed her hand over the barrel to get the sight clear. 'i am not going to tell you to go any more.' "it was not necessary--uncle went; but he kept looking back until he was at least a quarter of a mile from the house. mother turned to father and said: 'now, john, you go after my share of father's truck, and go quick.' he did as she bid him: everybody about the house did that. well, he was gone three weeks, and came home with six thousand dollars, which he had taken for mother's share; but she said she knew he had been cheated. "every dollar of that money remained in the house until i got married and came off here. i got two thousand of it, one negro, and two hundred head of cattle. i had promised my wife's people that i would come and live with them. i am glad i did. i was twenty-one years old when i learned my letters. i have been lucky; have educated my children, and they have educated me, and are talking about running me for congress. well, my friend, i believe i could be elected; but that is a small part of the business. i should be of no service to the state, and only show my own ignorance. come, sue, can't you give the gentleman some music? give me my fiddle, and i will help you." sue was a beautiful and interesting girl of nineteen, only a short time returned from a four-years residence at the famous patapsco institute. she had music in her soul, and the art to pour it out through her fingers' ends. it was an inheritance from her extraordinary father, as any judge of music would have said, who had heard the notes melting from that old black violin, on that rainy night in december. there are not many such instances of men springing from such humble origin in eastern mississippi; but this is not a solitary case. there emigrated from different states, north and south, at a remote period in the brief history of this new country, several young men of talent and great energy, who not only distinguished themselves, but shed lustre upon the state. among the first of these was george poindexter, from virginia; rankin, from georgia, (but born in virginia;) thomas b. reid, from kentucky; stephen duncan, and james campbell wilkins, from pennsylvania. the most remarkable of these was george poindexter. he was a lawyer by profession and a jeffersonian republican in politics. very early in life he became the leader of that party in the state, and was sent to congress as its sole representative. very soon he obtained an enviable reputation in that body as a statesman and a powerful debater. his mind was logical and strong; his conception was quick and acute; his powers of combination and application were astonishing; his wit was pointed and caustic, and his sarcasm overwhelming. unusually quick to perceive the weaker parts of an opponent's argument, his ingenuity would seize these and turn them upon him with a point and power not unfrequently confounding and destroying the effect of all he had urged. from congress to the gubernatorial chair of the state was the next step in his political career, and it was in this capacity that he rendered the most signal service to the state. as a lawyer, he was well aware of the wants of the state in statutory provisions for the protection of the people. these were wisely recommended, and, through his exertions, enacted into laws. the several governments which had claimed and held jurisdiction over the territory of mississippi had issued grants to companies and individuals for large tracts of country in different portions of the state. these grants had not been respected by the succeeding governments, or else the records had been lost or carried from the country for a time; hence very many conflicting claims made insecure the titles of the proprietors now settled upon these tracts, and were fruitful of endless litigation. to remedy this evil, a statute was recommended by governor poindexter and enacted into a law, compelling suit to be commenced by all adverse claimants by a certain day. this effectually cured the evil, and a suit to establish titles is now very rare in mississippi. as a judge he was able, prompt, impartial, unrivalled in talent, and, at the same time, unsurpassed by any lawyer in the state in legal learning. his administration of the laws was eminently successful. the country was new, with the exception of a few counties, and, as in all new and frontier countries, there were many bad and desperate men. to purge these from society it was necessary that the criminal laws should be strictly enforced. to do so required decision and sternness in the character and conduct of the judges. very soon after poindexter was placed on the bench he manifested these attributes in an eminent degree. the stern, impartial justice administered to these lawless men, soon created quite a sensation with the class to which they belonged, and threats were freely thrown out against his life; but these had no effect in intimidating him, or in changing his conduct. he went on fearlessly to administer the law, which at that time, instead of imprisonment, inflicted severe corporal punishments for many crimes most common in a new country. these were branding with a hot iron in the hand or on the cheek, whipping on the bare back, and public exposure in the pillory. not a court went by without some one of these punishments being inflicted upon a male malefactor. public opinion had begun to look upon these penalties as barbarous, and in very many cases great sympathy was manifested for the culprit. this sentiment frequently operated with the jury, who were disposed to deal leniently with the accused. this was resisted by poindexter, and effectually--for so clearly did he impress the minds of jurors with what was their duty, that few escaped where the proof was sufficient to convict; and once pronounced guilty, the extreme penalty of the law was surely awarded. the beneficial influence of this stern and inflexible administration of the laws was soon manifest, and the more orderly of the population unhesitatingly gave their approbation and support to the judge. he sustained in court the dignity of the bench, restraining alike the license of the bar and the turbulence of the populace. to do this, he was frequently compelled to exercise to the full the powers of his office. an amusing anecdote is related of him in connection with the discharge of these duties. when holding court at one time in natchez, he had sent to jail a turbulent and riotous individual, who could in no other way be restrained. this fellow, once incarcerated, professed great contrition, and humbly petitioned for release, but poindexter had ordered the sheriff to keep him for a week, and could not be moved from his position. at the expiration of the week he was released, and though he was quiet and orderly, he remained lurking about town and the court-room until the adjournment of court. he watched his opportunity, and meeting the judge upon the street, commenced abusing him roundly; finally telling him he had waited purposely for the opportunity of whipping him, and that he intended then and there to do so. poindexter, perceiving the sheriff on the opposite side of the street, called to him, and ordered him to open court then and there, which in all due form the sheriff proceeded to do. the bully was startled, and the judge, perceiving this, remarked to him authoritatively, "now, you scoundrel, be off with yourself, or i will put you in jail for one year!"--when the blackguard speedily decamped, to the infinite amusement of the crowd upon the street. governor poindexter found at natchez, and a few other localities, strong opposition from the federal party, then constituted almost entirely of emigrants from western pennsylvania, with a sprinkling from the more eastern states. the party was small, but made up for this deficiency in numbers with zeal and violence. as with all heated and hating partisans, their malevolence was principally directed toward the leaders of the opposing party. poindexter was the acknowledged leader of the republican or jeffersonian party, and concentrated on himself the hatred of one and the adoration of the other party. his triumphs were complete and overwhelming in every election. he was not scrupulous in the use of terms when speaking of his enemies. these anathemas, darting in the caustic wit and voluble sarcasm so peculiarly his, went to the mark, and kindled hatred into fury. it was determined to get rid of him. his denunciations of abijah hunt, a prominent merchant and leading federalist, being more pointed and personal than toward any other, it seemed incumbent on him to challenge poindexter to mortal combat--an arbitrament for the settlement of personal difficulties more frequently resorted to at that period than at the present time. they met, and hunt was killed. but such was the violence of feeling with his party friends, that they were determined poindexter should not escape unscathed, and he was denounced as having fired before the word agreed upon in the terms of the conflict were fully enunciated. this, however, effected but little, and he continued the idol of his party. unfortunately, that bane of genius, dissipation, was poisoning his habits and undermining his reputation. it seems that exalted genius feeds upon excitement, and in some shape must have it. the excitement of active business at the bar or in the halls of legislation must of necessity be temporary, and the relaxation which follows this is terrible to the excitable temperament of ardent genius. it craves restlessly its natural food, and in the absence of all others, it seeks for this in the intoxicating bowl or the gaming-table. how many brilliant examples of this fatal fact does memory call up from the untimely grave? these, culled from my seniors when i was a youth, from my compeers in early manhood, from the youth i have seen grow up about me, make a host whose usefulness has been lost to the world. well may the poet sing in melancholy verse that genius is a fatal gift. it dazzles as a meteor with its superhuman light, and as soon fades into darkness, lighting its path with a blaze of glory, astonishing and delighting the world, but consuming itself with its own fire. poindexter had won greatly upon the affections of the people of the territory, in the active part he had taken, in connection with general ferdinand claiborne and general hinds, in stimulating the people to prepare to meet the exigencies of the war of with great britain. her eastern territory was exposed to the inroads of the creek indians, a large and warlike tribe, who were hostile to the united states, and were in league with the english, and being armed by them. the choctaws and chickasaws were on her northern frontier, and were threatening. an invasion by the way of new orleans by english troops was hourly expected. it required great energy and activity to anticipate and guard against these threatening dangers. poindexter employed his time and his influence to prepare the people to act efficiently and at a moment's warning. when the threatened invasion became a reality, and general jackson was descending the river with troops as the american commander, and when the militia were on the ground, and nothing remained to be done in mississippi, he promptly repaired to the scene of action and volunteered his services to jackson, who, accepting them, placed him on his staff as a volunteer aide. in this capacity he continued to serve until the end of the campaign and the termination of the war. it was to him the negro or soldier brought the celebrated countersign of "beauty and booty," found on the battle-field, and which he carried to general jackson. his enemies laid hold of this incident and perverted it slanderously to his injury, by asserting the note to be a forgery of his, done for the purpose of winning favor with the general, and to cast odium upon an enemy incapable of issuing such an infamous countersign. those who have read the history of the various strongholds of the french in spain which were stormed during the peninsular war, will remember these were the same troops and the same commanders, who were quite capable of the excesses in new orleans that they committed in spain. this slander was never traced; but there were those remaining who, when the breach occurred between general jackson and governor poindexter, asserted that general jackson believed it, and who circulated industriously the contemptible slander. poindexter was an active supporter of general jackson's first election. he believed him honest and capable, and deserving of the reward of the presidency for his services to the country. he thought, too, that he would bring back the government to its early simplicity and purity, and administer it upon strictly republican principles. he, with very many of the jeffersonian school, felt it had diverged from the true track. these people were opposed to protective tariffs, internal improvements by the united states government within the limits of a state without the consent of the state, and a national bank, deeming all these measures unconstitutional. the constitutionality of the bank had been affirmed by the supreme court, and poindexter had acquiesced in the decision. nevertheless, as a senator from the state of mississippi, he was in harmony with the administration of jackson, until jackson began to send his personal friends and especial favorites from tennessee to fill the national offices located in mississippi. poindexter felt this as an insult to his state, and in the case of gwinn's appointment as register of the land-office at clinton, mississippi, he opposed the nomination when sent to the senate. he was successful in having it rejected. he urged that though the office was national, and every man in the nation was eligible to fill it, yet it was due to the state that the incumbent should be selected from her own people, provided she could furnish one in every way qualified, and that it was a reflection upon the people of his state to fill the offices within her borders with aliens to her soil and interests--strangers to her people, with no motive to be obliging and respectful to them in the discharge of the duties of the office; that the offices belonged to the people and not to the president, and it was respectful to the people of a state to tender to her people these offices, as had been heretofore the custom; that simply being the president's favorite was not a qualification for office, and this departure from the established usages of former administrations was a dangerous precedent, and would seem to establish a property in the office, belonging to the president. this opposition enraged jackson, who denounced poindexter and persisted in his determination to give the office to gwinn. in this he finally succeeded; but most unfortunately for gwinn, for it embroiled him in quarrels with the citizens of the state. a duel with judge caldwell was the consequence, in which both fell. caldwell died immediately; gwinn survived to suffer intensely for a few months, when death relieved him. the people of mississippi were intensely devoted to general jackson, and in the mad fury of partisan zeal forgot everything but party, nor permitted themselves for a moment to inquire into the official conduct of any political partisan, especially that of the president. poindexter had been unhappy in his domestic relations. he had separated from his wife. he charged her with infidelity; forgot his affection for his children, and threw them off, because he doubted their paternity. in the agony of mind consequent upon this he became desperate, and for years was reckless in his dissipations. his wife's friends were respectable and influential. they, with every personal and political enemy he had, united in ascribing to him all the blame in this matter. the northern portion of the state had been acquired from the indians, and a population unacquainted with poindexter or with his services to the state was crowding into the new territory in such numbers as threatened politically to rule the state. these came principally from the west and south, and were eminently jacksonian in their politics. many young aspirants for fame had sprung up in different sections of the state, and these were in no way averse to seeing an old and talented politician shelved; and they joined in the huzza for jackson and down with his opponents. seeing and feeling the tide setting in so strongly as to sweep everything before it except what comported with the views and wishes of general jackson, and feeling also that he, with the minority in the senate, could be of no possible use to the country, and beginning to experience the pressure of age, at the conclusion of his senatorial term he made no effort to be re-elected. he retired, disgusted with politics forever, and temporarily from the state. subsequently an accident fractured both his legs below the knee, and for some years he was unable to walk. prior to this event he had married a boston lady--following the example of his divorced wife, who had married a boston gentleman. with this lady he lived affectionately and happily. he located in lexington, kentucky, where he remained only a few years. it was here i saw him, at his own house, for the last time--spending an evening in company with daniel webster, henry clay, john j. crittenden, and the celebrated actress, mrs. drake. i enjoyed the hospitality, the wit, and a game of whist with him. he soon became weary of lexington. his heart was in mississippi, and thither he returned, old and worn. he took up his residence at jackson, where in a short time he died, and is buried in the beautiful cemetery at that place. while paying a pilgrimage to the grave of a dear boy who died in defence of jackson in , i saw and paused at the modest stone which marks the grave of governor poindexter. memory was busy with the past. my heart was sad. i had just looked upon the sod which covered my boy, and, thinking of the hours passed, long years ago, with him who was sleeping at my feet, i could not repress the tear due and dear to memory. few men have served more faithfully and more efficiently a people than did george poindexter the people of mississippi. his talents were indisputably of the first order, and, whatever may have been his short comings morally, none can say his political life was stained with selfishness or corruption. every trust reposed in him was faithfully and ably discharged, and to him, more than to any of her public servants, is she indebted for the proud position she occupied before the tyrants' heel was upon her neck. few men can rise superior to the crushing effects of domestic infelicity: man's hopes, man's happiness, all centred in her whom he has chosen as the companion of his life. his love selects, and his love centres in her. the struggle for fortune, for happiness, for fame, is for her; she shares every success, every misfortune; and when she is kind and affectionate, there he meets with the true manliness of an honest and devoted heart. she smooths the brow of disappointment and sorrow, rejoices in his success, and, in the fulness of her confidence and affection, aids and encourages his exertions and enterprises. this reconciles him to life, and life's cares, troubles, and joys. his spirit is buoyant, come what may; for there is an angel at home, and there is happiness with her: she is the mother of his children; she unites with him in love and exertions for the benefit of these. they are one in these, and with every birth there is a new link to bind and gladden two hearts. without the virtuous love of woman, man is a miserable being, worthless to himself and useless to his kind. but when the heart's wealth is given to one who has no sympathy with it, and gives only in return coldness and hate; who betrays every confidence and disappoints every hope; who is only happy when he is miserable, and refuses the generous aid a wife owes to his exertions; who rejoices in his failures, and intrigues to produce them, and weeps over his successes with the bitterness of disappointment; who hates her offspring, because they resemble their father; who spurns his caresses, and turns away from his love--then life's hopes are blighted, and all is black before. his energies die out with his hopes; the goading thought is eternally present; he shrinks away from society, and in solitude and obscurity hides him from the world--which too often condemns him as the architect of all his misery. "oh, a true woman is a treasure beyond price, but a false one the basest of counterfeits." chapter xxiv. the silver-tongued orator. john a. quitman--robert j. walker--robert h. adams--from a cooper-shop to the united states senate--bank monopoly--natchez fencibles--scott in mexico--thomas hall--sargent s. prentiss--vicksburg--single-speech hamilton--god-inspired oratory--drunk by absorption--killing a tailor--defence of wilkinson. john a. quitman came to mississippi in early life. he was a native of the state of new york; had, at first, selected a location in ohio, but, not being pleased, he determined on coming south, and selected natchez for his future home. his father was a prussian; a minister of the german lutheran church, and a very learned man. he had preached in seven kingdoms, and in every one in the language of the country. he came to the state of new york when young, and was the bearer of the recognition of the independence of the united states by frederick the great, of prussia. he settled in one of the interior counties of new york, where was born and reared his distinguished son. when young quitman came to natchez, he found the bar a strong one; but determined to follow the profession of law, and after a short time spent in the office of william b. griffith, he was admitted to the bar, and opened an office. regardless of the overwhelming competition, his open, frank manners soon made him friends, and the stern honesty of his character won the confidence of every one. in a short time, he married the only daughter of henry turner, a wealthy planter, and was received into copartnership by william b. griffith, a lawyer of great ability and eminence, then in full practice at natchez, and who had married the daughter of judge edward turner, and the cousin of quitman's wife. quitman's rise to eminence was rapid in his profession, but more so in the public estimation as a man of great worth. his affability, kindness, and courtesy were so genial and so unaffected as to fasten upon every one, and soon he was the most popular man in the county. soon after quitman, came duncan and robert j. walker--the latter subsequently so distinguished as a senator in congress from mississippi, and still more distinguished as the secretary of the treasury during the administration of mr. polk. a close intimacy grew up between quitman and r.j. walker. this intimacy influenced greatly the future of quitman. walker was from pennsylvania, and had married miss bache, the niece of george m. dallas, sister to the great professor bache, and great-granddaughter of benjamin franklin. mrs. walker was a lady of great beauty, of rare accomplishments, and distinguished for her modesty and womanly bearing. mr. bache, the father of mrs. walker, emigrated to texas, was in the senate of her congress at the time she was received into the united states, and was the only man who voted against the union. he represented galveston, and, after his death, that young city, in honor of his services, erected a monument to his memory. walker was of ardent temperament, great abilities, strong will, intense application, and was soon, at the bar, among the first lawyers in the state. he wanted the softness and genial qualities of quitman, but was superior to him mentally; and in prompt, decisive action his was the stronger character, and controlled. quitman, being intimately associated with the leading men of the party supporting mr. adams, had adopted their opinions and politics; walker was an ardent supporter of jackson, and claimed to be the first man who brought forward his name for the presidency, when he was a citizen of pennsylvania. soon after the election of general jackson, quitman, displeased with mr. clay, abandoned his whig associates, and united himself with the democratic party, and from that time until his death was a devoted democratic partisan. these two men exercised, perhaps, more influence in the state than any others of their day. robert h. adams and william b. griffith, who were considered the ablest members of the bar in the state, died young, and in the opening of their political career. adams was a man of remarkable ability. he was a native of east tennessee, and was a mechanic, with limited education, and without one single advantage save his talents. he came a stranger to natchez, and in a few years was eminent in his profession, and intellectually one of the first men in the state--a man of fine appearance, with large head, and intellectual features. he was sent by the city of natchez to the legislature of the state, and such was the impression upon the members of his great abilities, that they, at the ensuing session, elected him to the united states senate. he served but one session, but made, in that short period, a high reputation with the first minds of the nation. returning home, he resumed his profession; and, after severe fatigue during the heated period of summer, he imprudently drank too freely of ice-water, and died from its effects. there was, at this time, no man of more promise in all the country. he was but thirty-eight years of age, and, without patronage or patrimony, had risen from the cooper's shop to a distinguished position in the senate of the united states. griffith preceded him to the grave one or two years, a victim of yellow fever. quitman and walker came now prominently before the people. they resided in natchez, and there was a strong prejudice in the east and the north of the state against the people of that city and the county of adams. there were quite a number of families, in the city and county, of large fortunes. these were exclusive in their associations. with one or two exceptions they belonged to the whig party, but none of them aspired to political preferment. there was but one bank in the state--this was located in natchez, and was under the control of these men of fortune. it had at the time of obtaining its charter paid an extravagant bonus to the state, upon condition no other bank should be chartered for the period granted to this. it was a monopoly, and was charged with great partiality in its management. its accommodations were for the few, and these only granted for the purpose of enhancing the already bloated wealth of the stockholders, directors, and their special pets. this exclusive aristocracy was odious to the fierce democratic feelings of the masses. they counted their wealth by millions; their homes were palaces; their pleasure-grounds edens; and all this was the fruit of an odious and oppressive monopoly. this fallacious and most ridiculous idea fastened itself upon the minds of the masses, and was fostered and encouraged by many who knew better, but who were willing to pander to the popular taste for popular preferment. r.j. walker seized hold upon this popular whim, and leading the multitude, succeeded in procuring charters for several other banks, in defiance of the vested rights of the bank of mississippi. stephen duncan was the president of the bank, and, under his advice, the directors surrendered the charter, and wound up the business of the bank. duncan was one of the best business-men in the union. from very small beginnings he had amassed an immense fortune--was a man of rare sagacity and wonderful energy. he was the cousin of walker, but was always opposed to him in politics. this was the commencement of the era which culminated in the repudiation of the state's obligations and the general ruin of her people. it was about this period that jefferson davis first made his _debut_ as a public man in the state, with william m. gwinn, and henry s. foote, mcnutt, j.f.h. claiborne, and albert gallatin brown. quitman was made chancellor of the state, and disappointed sadly his friends. his administration of this branch of the judiciary was weak and wild; a vast number of his decisions, or awards in chancery, were overruled, and, in disgust, or from a consciousness that a chancery judgeship was not his speciality, resigned. his mind was greatly overrated: it was neither strong, logical, nor brilliant. his classical attainments were of the first order, and i doubt if the union furnished two better or more finished linguists than john a. quitman and h.s. foote. walker and davis were the leading minds of the period. they were both men of education, extended reading; both men of fine oratorical powers; both men of strong will, ripe judgment, and exceedingly tenacious of purpose. walker was many years the senior of davis, and was in advance of him some years as a successful politician. foote, as an orator, was greatly the superior of all of these; but there was in him want of judgment, want of fixed principles and fixity of purpose. when first appearing before the people of the state, he carried the multitude with him as a tempest drives a feather. in a contest for governor he came out in opposition to quitman, drove him from the canvass, and triumphed over davis, who was placed by his party in nomination to fill the place of quitman. this triumph was evanescent: he left the position, perhaps, the most unpopular man in the state. quitman's abilities were almost exclusively military. this proclivity of mind manifested itself in very early life. he organized a volunteer company, the natchez fencibles, soon after he came to the bar, and took great pride in its drill and soldierly bearing and appearance. he seized with avidity the opportunity the mexican war presented, and there greatly distinguished himself. after the termination of this war, he was engaged (very little to the honor of his sagacity) in endeavoring to organize a filibustering expedition against the island of cuba. in this he signally failed. he was elected to congress, where he was principally distinguished by his extreme southern views, but gained little or no reputation as a politician or statesman. in the qualities of heart, quitman was surpassed by no man; his moral character was unstained. in sincerity and devotion to his friends, no man was his superior. he had acquired large wealth by his marriage--this he had increased by judicious management, and none more freely used it for the benefit of his friends or the public interest. he was especially generous toward poor, enterprising young men; such instances of assistance rendered are innumerable. his friends never deserted him. to his command, during the mexican war, he was exceedingly profuse with his means in aiding their necessities and supplying their wants. he was universally commented upon as the most munificent officer of the army. he was ambitious and courageous; and this ambition knew no bounds. upon his return from mexico, i met him in new orleans, in company with that ill-starred man, general shields, of illinois, and who, irishman as he was, fell fighting to fasten upon the south the fetters she now wears. we had not conversed ten minutes before, taking my arm, he walked apart from his visitors and shields, and commenced to converse upon the consequences of the war. turning to me, he remarked: "general scott is greatly wanting in ambition, he has no daring aspirations; he has thrown away the finest opportunity ever presented to man for aggrandizement. had i commanded the army, and accomplished this great success, i would have established an empire, and made of mexico a great nation. he had only to say so, and the mexicans were ready to crown him emperor. he could have made dukes, marquises, lords, and barons of his officers, and endowed them with principalities; the soldiers would have remained with him; and in six months, enough from the united states and europe would have joined his standard, to have held in check the lawless brigands who make anarchy for the country. the spoils of the church would have rewarded the soldiers; immigration would have poured into the country, and his name and fame have been commensurate with time. everything invited him to the act; he could not or would not see it--he had but one idea, 'this will make me president!' and a lifetime of glory and power was sacrificed for the empty hope of four years filling the presidential chair." it was a grand conception, but he seemed to take no account of the difficulties which would have interposed. he assumed that the united states would have been content with the great outrage, and have sanctioned the act; and that european nations would have immediately recognized the new empire. i knew him well enough to know that he would have attempted the enterprise and braved the consequences; but doubt whether he or scott had the talent for the accomplishment of such an undertaking. general quitman was one of the unfortunates who received a portion of the poison prepared for some victim or victims at washington upon the inauguration of mr. buchanan. it was not immediately fatal, but he never fully recovered from it, and in a few months after sank into the grave. no man ever died more regretted by his personal friends than john a. quitman. he was in every relation of life a true man, chivalrously brave, nobly generous, and sternly faithful to all that ennobles human nature. had his brain been equal to his soul, he had been the world's wonder. it was said of him by one who knew and loved him: "his spirit has gone to the spirit that made him, the rest of the virtuous, chivalric, and brave; he sleeps where the friends of his early youth laid him, and green grows the laurel that springs by his grave." duncan walker practised law with his brother until elevated to the bench of the criminal court for the city of natchez and county of adams. he served with distinguished capacity for only one or two years, when he was prostrated by a severe attack of yellow fever. from this he never entirely recovered. retiring from the bench, he directed his attention to planting in lower louisiana; but his health continuing to decline, he was induced to try for the winter the climate of cuba. it was but a few weeks after reaching there that he died at st. jago de cuba. judge walker was distinguished for great purity of character as well as superior legal attainments. his modesty was almost feminine; yet he was a man of remarkable firmness and decision. by many he was thought superior intellectually to his more distinguished and prominent brother. few men may be truthfully termed superior to r.j. walker. in , there came to natchez, from maine, a youth who was a cripple. he was without acquaintances or recommendations, and also without means. he was in search of a school, and expressed his intention of making the south his future home. his appearance was boyish in the extreme, for one who professed to be twenty years of age. at that time most of the planters in the region of natchez employed private teachers in their families, who resided with the family as one of the household. a lady near natchez, the widow of judge shields, was desirous of employing a teacher, and tendered the situation to the young yankee. mrs. shields had grown-up sons, young men of fine attainments, and who subsequently distinguished themselves as men of sterling worth. they were soon delighted with the young stranger, who was busily employed in his new vocation with their younger brothers. i remember to have heard mr. thomas shields say the young man teaching at his mother's was a most remarkable man, and narrate some instances of his great powers of memory, accompanied with facts which came within his own knowledge. these were so very extraordinary, that notwithstanding the high character for integrity borne by shields, there were many who doubted them. there lived at no great distance from mrs. shields, a planter, mr. thomas hall. this man was a coarse and illiterate overseer for some years in the county, but having carefully husbanded his earnings, was enabled, in company with james c. wilkins, to commence planting upon an extensive scale. at the time this young man was teaching at mrs. shields', hall had accumulated quite a fortune, and was a man of comparative leisure. his mind was good, and now that he had an abundance of the world's goods, and was becoming a man of consideration in the community, he felt, in his intercourse with his educated neighbors, the want of that cultivation which would make him their equal. this had made him morbidly sensitive, and whenever an opportunity presented, he improved it in acquiring all the information possible. on saturdays the young schoolmaster would frequently ride over and converse with hall. the strong mind and coarse but cordial manners of hall pleased him. he was a specimen of the southerner possessing salient points, and was a study for the down-easter. never before had he met such a specimen, and it was his delight to draw him out, little deeming he was filling the same office for his friend. they were mutually agreeable the one to the other, and their association grew into intimacy. each to their friends would speak of the other as a remarkable man. assuredly they were; for neither had ever met such specimens as they presented to each other. they sometimes joined in a squirrel-hunt about the plantation of hall. the schoolmaster's lameness compelled him to ride, while hall preferred to walk. after a fatiguing tramp upon one occasion, they sat down upon the banks of cole's creek, where hall listened with great delight to the conversation of his companion. suddenly hall started up, and exclaimed, with more than his usual warmth: "you have taught me more than i ever knew before meeting with you; but i ought not to say what i am going to say. you, sir, were never made for a schoolmaster. by the eternal god!"--hall was a jackson man--"you know more than any man in the county, and you have got more sense than any of them, though you are nothing but a boy. now, sir, go to town and study law with bob walker; he's the smartest of any of them. in two years you will be ahead of him. if you haven't got the money to pay your way, i have, and you shall have it." the term for which he had engaged was now expiring, and, as hall had requested, he went into the office of robert j. and duncan walker, and commenced the study of law. this yankee youth was sargent s. prentiss. prentiss remained in the office of walker for one year, and was a close student. when admitted to the bar, he went to vicksburg and opened an office. at that time vicksburg was a new place, and presented peculiar inducements to young professional men. the country upon the yazoo river--and indeed the entire northern portion of the state--had but recently been quit of its indian population, and was rapidly filling up with an active and enterprising people. the soil was fertile, and the production of cotton, to which it is so eminently suited, was daily growing in importance. vicksburg was the market-point. trade was increasing daily, and rapidly filling up the town with mercantile men. the young and enterprising were hurrying thither, and in a few years there was met here more talent and more enterprise than at any other point in the state. the bar had prentiss, john guion, mcnutt, sharkey, the three yergers, anderson, lake, brook, burwell, and many others of distinction, including the erratic h.s. foote. the entire population was a live one, and every branch of business was pushed with a _vim_ commensurate with the abilities and enterprise of the population. the planters of the immediately adjacent country were men of intelligence and character, and were animated with the spirit of the people of the town, forming on the whole a community of almost reckless enterprise. it was at such a time and in the midst of such a people that young prentiss had made his selection of a home, and a field for the future exercise of his professional abilities. young, ardent, and ambitious, he sought to rival his seniors at the bar. unwilling to wait on time, he aspired to leap at once to this equality. it was the daring of genius, and of a genius which counted as only a stimulant the obstacles intervening. to grapple with giants, such as he found in guion, yerger, sharkey, mcnutt, and lake, would have intimidated a less bold and daring mind; but prentiss courted the conflict _con amore_, and applying all his herculean powers with the vigor of youth and the ardency of enterprise, he soon found himself quite equal to any competitor. when an infant, a fever settled in his leg, causing it to wither from the knee to the foot, and doomed him through life to lameness. like byron, he was sensitive upon the subject of this physical defect. it was a serious obstacle to his locomotion, and in speaking compelled a sameness of position injurious to the effect of his oratory. scarcely had two years elapsed from the time of his admission to the bar before his fame as a lawyer and advocate was filling the state. his business had increased to such an extent as to require his undivided attention, as he was employed in almost every important suit in that section of the state. his qualities of heart were as conspicuous as those of his brain, which had endeared him to the people of vicksburg perhaps more than any other citizen. this social and professional popularity caused him to be elected to the legislature of the state. he belonged to the whig party, which was largely in the minority in the legislature, but was powerful in talent. before this time, colonel adam l. bingaman, of adams county, had been the acknowledged leader of this party. he was a man of rare qualifications for a popular leader--highly gifted by nature in mind and personal appearance, which was most splendid and commanding, with a polished education and fascinating manners, and by nature an orator. added to these advantages, he was a native of the state, the representative of great wealth, and with extensive family influence. these two met as friends personally and politically in the legislature. prentiss--though known as a great lawyer and a powerful advocate at the bar--had until now taken but little part in politics. none knew of his proficiency as a politician or as a popular political orator, and, long accustomed to the eloquence and the debating abilities of bingaman, the lead was accorded to him as usual. party excitement was fierce, and involved every one. the democracy, armed with numbers and men of great abilities, felt secure in their position. they had no fears that any powers possessed by any man or set of men could operate a change in public opinion dangerous to their supremacy in the state. socially, prentiss knew no party distinction. with all who were gentlemen he mingled, not as a partisan, but as a man. the kindness of his nature won upon all equally, and it was soon discovered that a personal favor to prentiss would sometimes override party allegiance. his personal friends were all gentlemen, and once within the magic influence of his social circle was enough to bind him to the heart of every one. the session had made but little progress before his powers as an orator were beginning to be felt. during an exciting debate, in which bingaman had, as usual, taken the lead, when all the ablest of the democracy had, as they supposed, exhausted the argument and demolished the position of their adversaries, and the house seemed impatient for the question, prentiss rose, and claimed the attention of the chair. his clear and succinct statement of the pending question put a new phase upon it, and the house seemed surprised. he proceeded then to debate the question; and very soon he was in _medias res_, and his bold and lucid argument won the attention of every one. the position of the democracy was dissected to the separation of every fibre; its character and future effects denounced and exposed in a strain of invective eloquence which thrilled to every heart. turning from this to the national policy of the democracy, then in power, and which the measure under consideration was intended to aid and sustain, his powers seemed to expand with the magnitude of the subject, as he went on to analyze the policy and the measures of the government, and to demonstrate the disastrous consequences which must follow these remotely, if not immediately, corrupting, undermining, and ultimately destroying the constitution, and, of consequence, the government. he spoke for three hours; his peroration was so grandly eloquent as to bring down the house and galleries in a round of applause. from that day forward, prentiss was the great man of the house and of the state. a fire in a prairie never spread or ran faster than his fame; it was on every tongue, in every newspaper. such fame from one speech had never been won by any man in america, save patrick henry. single-speech hamilton, of the british parliament, astonished england; but he was never afterward heard of, and is known to this day as "single-speech hamilton." as with henry, this was but the beginning of a fame which was to grow and expand into giant proportions. prentiss was now a national man. soon after this, he visited boston and new york during an exciting political campaign. throughout the north, wherever he appeared and spoke, he bore the palm from every rival. the speech of prentiss in faneuil hall will long be remembered as perhaps the finest specimen of oratory ever listened to in that venerable hall. it was at the time said by the men of the north to surpass the best efforts of fisher ames. subsequently he spoke in new york, and for three hours held spell-bound an immense audience. the writer was informed by a venerable judge, of new jersey, that he had never believed any man possessed such powers of oratory as to interest him and chain his attention for that length of time. hearing this young man from the wilds of mississippi could do so, he embraced the first opportunity of hearing him. when he reached the place, he found the assemblage very great, and with difficulty he succeeded in reaching a point where he might hear well. he was unable to procure a seat, and was compelled to stand, thoroughly jammed by the crowd. he took out his watch to time him, as he commenced, and noting the minute, he essayed to replace his watch: something said arrested his attention and his hands from their work of putting the watch in its fob. "there was something, sir, in his eye," said he, "which startled me, and then the words came bubbling up spontaneously as spring water, so full of power, so intensely brilliant, and his figures so bold, original, and illustrating, and the one following the other in such quick succession; the flights of imagination, so new, so eloquent, and so heart-searching--that i found it impossible to take my eyes from his face, or my ears from drinking in every word. at one time, so intense were my feelings under the effect of his words and the powerful impression they were making on my mind, that i thought i should faint. i forgot the presence of the crowd, and, though seventy years of age, felt no fatigue from my standing position. in truth, sir, i was unconscious of the time--equally so of the presence of any one but the speaker. i perceived that his physical man was failing under his effort, and so intense was my sympathy that i found myself breathing rapidly and painfully; and yet, when he exclaimed, 'my powers fail!' and sank into his seat completely exhausted, i regretted the necessity which compelled him to stop. it was not until then that i found my hand still holding my watch at the opening of its pocket, where, in my excitement, i had forgotten to deposit it. i looked, and i had been standing unmoved in the same position and intently listening for three hours and fifteen minutes. near me stood one old as myself--a friend, a neighbor, and a minister of the gospel; he was livid with excitement, and his lips trembled as he said to me: 'will you ever doubt again that god inspires man?'" notwithstanding the immense democratic majority in the state, the whigs determined to run prentiss for congress: the election, at that time, was by general ticket, and there were two members to be elected: the whig nomination was prentiss and wood; the democratic, claiborne and gholson. claiborne was a native of the state, and the son of general ferdinand claiborne, a young man of very superior abilities, and at the time a member of congress. mcnutt was the democratic candidate for governor. the campaign was a most animated one, and prentiss addressed the people in very nearly every county in the state; the people, _en masse_, flocked to hear him, and his name was in every mouth. the democratic nominees did not attempt to meet him on the stump. his march through the state was over the heads of the people, hundreds following him from county to county in his ovation. mcnutt alone attempted to meet him and speak with him, and he only once. mcnutt was a virginian, and was a man of stupendous abilities; he was a lawyer by profession, and was governor of the state. next to poindexter, he was the ablest man who ever filled the chair. unfortunately, like most of the young and talented of that day in the west, he was too much addicted to the intoxicating bowl. upon the only meeting of these, prentiss and mcnutt, the latter, in his speech, urged as a reason for the rejection or defeat of the former his dissipated habits, admitted his great abilities, his masterly genius, pronounced him the first man of the age intellectually, but deplored his habits, which were rendering him useless, with all his genius, learning, and eloquence. prentiss, in reply, said: "my fellow-citizens, you have heard the charge against my morals, sagely, and, i had almost said, soberly made by the gentleman, the democratic nominee for the chief executive office of this state: had i said this, it would have been what the lawyers term a misnomer. it would be impossible for him to do or say anything soberly, for he has been drunk ten years; not yesterday, or last week, in a frolic, or, socially, with the good fellows, his friends, at the genial and generous board--but at home, and by himself and demijohn; not upon the rich wines of the rhine or the rhone, the saone or the guadalquivir; not with high-spirited or high-witted men, whose souls, when mellowed with glorious wine, leap from their lips sublimated in words swollen with wit, or thought brilliant and dazzling as the blood of the grape inspiring them--no; but by himself: selfish and apart from witty men, or ennobling spirits, in the secret seclusion of a dirty little back-room, and on corn-whiskey!--these only, communing in affectionate brotherhood, the son of virginia and the spirits of old kentucky! why, fellow--citizens, as the governor of the state, he refused to sign the gallon-law until he had tested, by experiment, that a gallon would do him all day! "now i will admit, fellow-citizens, that sometimes, when in the enjoyment of social communion with gentlemen, i am made merry with these, and the rich wines of glorious france. it is then i enjoy the romance of life. imagination, stimulated with the juice of the grape, gave to the world the song of solomon, and the psalms of that old poet of the lord--glorious old david. "the immortal verse of wandering old homer, the blind son of scio's isle, was the inspiration of samian wine; and good old noah, too, would have sung some good and merry song, from the inspiration of the juice of the vine he planted, but having to wait so long, his thirst, like the democratic nominee's here, became so great, that he was tempted to drink too deeply, and got too drunk to sing; and this, i fancy, is the true reason why this distinguished gentleman never sings. "perhaps there is no music in his soul. the glug-glug-glug of his jug, as he tilts and pours from its reluctant mouth the corn-juice so loved of his soul, is all the music dear to his ear, unless it be the same glug-glug-glug as it disappears down his capacious throat. now, fellow-citizens, during this ardent campaign, which has been so fatiguing, i have only been drunk once. over in simpson county i was compelled to sleep in the same bed with this distinguished nominee--this delight of the democracy--this wonderful exponent of the principles and practices of the unwashed democracy--and in the morning i found myself drunk on corn-whiskey. i had lain too close to this soaked mass of democracy, and was drunk from absorption." this was more than the governor could stand, and, amidst the shouts and laughter of the assembled multitude, he left the stand, and declined to meet again, before the people, the young ajax telemon of the whig party. the memory of that campaign will probably never be forgotten in mississippi. mothers, in stories of prentiss, tell it now to their children, and it and he have become a tradition of the early days of mississippi. the election terminated in the choice of prentiss and wood, by a small majority; but the certificate was given, through the basest fraud, to claiborne and gholson. this was contested before the house of representatives in congress assembled, and the contestants permitted to be heard on the floor of the house. it was here, in the presence of the assembled wisdom of the nation, prentiss was to sustain the reputation which had preceded him, and gloriously did he do it. when he rose to commence his speech, all was silent, and every face expressed deep and excited expectation. the unfortunate deformity of his leg was forgotten, in viewing the noble contour of his head and face. young, and for the first time in such a presence--standing there the impersonation of the state of mississippi, demanding justice for her at the hands of the nation--he seemed conscious of the responsibility, and confident of his power to sustain this. there was little preliminary in his remarks opening the matter. he went at once, and as a strong man conscious of the right, to the core. he demonstrated, beyond a doubt, his election, and proceeded in a strain of burning invective to expose the fraud of the returning officer, who had shamefully disregarded the popular voice, and shamelessly violated the law he was sworn to obey, in giving the certificate to his defeated competitors. never did the corruption of party receive so severe an exposition, or a more withering rebuke, than in this speech. very soon after he commenced, the senate chamber was deserted, and the vice-president and secretary were left alone. webster, benton, calhoun, clay, wright, and evans came in and ranged themselves near him. every space large enough, in the chamber, lobby, and galleries, was filled with a listener, and all were still and unmoving, however painful their position, until the enunciation of the last word of that wonderful oration. the speech occupied two hours and forty minutes, and the peroration was thrilling. when exhausted, and closing, he lifted his eyes to the national flag, floating above the speaker's chair, and said, in an almost exhausted voice, "if, mr. speaker, in obedience to the necessities and corrupt behest of party, you are determined to wrest from mississippi her rights as a sister, and coequal in this union of states, and turn from their seats her representatives constitutionally chosen, and place in their stead the repudiated of her people, strike from the flag which waves above you the star which represents her there; but leave the stripes, apt emblem of your iniquity and her degradation." an adjournment was immediately moved; the painful excitement was relieved, the spell was broken, and from every side, and from every party, came men to congratulate him. webster was the first to stretch forth his hand, and with more animation than was his wont, said, in his deep, sonorous tones, "new england claims her own, and is proud of her son." the house, notwithstanding the demonstrative proof, and its enforcement by the powerful and unanswerable argument of prentiss, sent the election back to the state, to be determined by a new election. in this, prentiss and wood were triumphantly elected. he was not again a candidate, retiring for the time from politics, and giving his undivided attention to his profession. it was always a matter of astonishment, to all who could never make of a political enemy a personal friend, why it was that prentiss, so bitter in his political denunciations of political partisans, and so bitter a partisan, should yet, among the opposition, have so many warm admirers and most devoted friends. his nature was sensitive, generous, and confiding. there was no malice festering in his heart, and in his opposition, he was only so to the politics, not the personal qualities of the man. by these he judged of the man, and the character of these regulated his conduct toward him. he did not pass through life without enemies. the man to whom this is possible is one of no positive points in his character, no strength of will, no fixity of purpose, and of but little intellect. such men never occupy the public attention--are altogether negative, as well in action as in mind. the enemies of prentiss were such from envy, or political hatred. his great abilities, when brought in contact with those suing for popular favor, so shrivelled and dwarfed them as to inspire only fear and hatred. but men of this character were scarce in that day in mississippi. such was the tone of society, and such the education of her sons, that traits so dishonorable rendered odious the man manifesting them, and those of talent and education emigrating to the country soon caught this spirit as by inoculation. if there were any who were influenced by such base and degrading motives, and who felt these a part of their nature, they most generally could command policy enough to conceal them. no community is long in discovering the genuine from the counterfeit character. it did not require months to learn all the heart, all the nature of prentiss. too frequently are great abilities coupled with a mean spirit, and transcendent genius underlaid with a low, grovelling nature; but these may be known by the peculiar form or development of the cranium. the high coronal developments discover the intense moral organization: the lofty and expansive forehead, the steady, unblenching eye, and the easy self-possession of manner are all indications of high moral organization, and the possession of a soul superior to envy, malice, and vindictive hatred, and one to which little meannesses are impossible. such a head and such a soul had s.s. prentiss. his whole character was in his face, and so legible that the most illiterate could read it. this won to him like natures, and all such who knew him were instinctively his friends. judge wilkinson was such a man, and though as ardently democratic as prentiss was whig, and as uncompromising in his principles, yet these two were friends in the loftiest sense of the term. judge wilkinson had a difficulty with a tailor in louisville, kentucky, who attempted an imposition upon him to which he would not submit. a quarrel ensued, and the knight of the needle and shears determined on revenge. collecting about him his ready associates, they went to the hotel where wilkinson lodged, and waylaid him at the door between the dining-parlor and the reception-room, and attacked him on his coming in from supper. in the rencontre three of the assailants were killed, and the remainder of the gang fled. immediately surrendering himself, he was incarcerated and held for trial: although assaulted with murderous intent, and acting clearly in self-defence, he was denied bail. he was a stranger, and the prejudices of the court and the people of louisville were so manifest that he demanded and obtained a change of venire. the trial came off at harrodsburg. prentiss, learning the facts and the situation of his friend, volunteered immediately to defend him in court, and to befriend him in any manner possible to him. the celebrated ben hardin was employed to assist in the prosecution. the eyes of all mississippi and kentucky were turned to harrodsburg when this trial commenced. others volunteered--and among these was john rowan--to assist in the defence. but the case for wilkinson was conducted exclusively by prentiss. it continued for some days. john rowan--so celebrated in the state for his talents and great legal learning, as well as for his transcendent abilities as an advocate--sat by, and trusted all to prentiss. there were many sparrings in the course of the trial between hardin and prentiss upon points in the law of evidence, and as to the admissibility or rejection of testimony, as also upon many points of the criminal law of england, whether changed or not by statutory provisions of the state. in one of these, rowan handed an open authority to prentiss, and was taunted by hardin for the act, by saying: "give your friend all the aid you can: he needs it." "i only preserved the book open at the page where mr. prentiss had marked the law," said rowan: "he requires no aid from me, brother hardin. with all your learning and experience, he is more than a match for you." this hardin was not long in discovering, and especially did he feel it when prentiss came to reply to his address to the jury. so long accustomed to defy competition as a criminal lawyer, hardin was not only surprised at the tact and masterly talent displayed by his adversary, but he was annoyed, and felt that to maintain his prestige as the great criminal lawyer of kentucky, he must put forth all his powers. he had done so; and in his summing up before the jury he seemed more than himself. when he had concluded there were many who deemed conviction sure. prentiss followed, and in his grandest manner tore to tatters every argument and every position advanced and assumed by hardin. towering in the majesty of his genius in one of those transcendent flights of imagination so peculiar to him, when his illustrations in figures followed each other in such quick and constant succession as to seem inexhaustible, he turned suddenly upon hardin, and, stooping his face until it almost touched that of the stern old kentuckian, he hissed forth: "dare you, sir, ask a verdict of such a jury as is here sitting upon this testimony?--you, sir, who under the verdict of nature must soon appear before the awful bar to which you now strive prematurely to consign this noble, this gallant young man! should you succeed, you must meet him there. could you, in the presence of almighty god--he who knows the inmost thoughts--justify your work of to-day? his mandate is not to the gibbet. eternal justice dictates there, whose decrees are eternal. do you think of this? do you defy it? if not--if you invoke it, do it through your acts toward your fellow-man. have you to-day done unto this man as you would he should do unto you? i pause for a reply--none. then shudder and repent, for the record even now is making up against you in that high court from which there is no appeal. you, gentlemen of the jury, are no hired advocates: you are not laboring for blood-money. though your responsibility to your god is equal to his, you will not go to the bar of your creator with blood--guiltless blood--upon your consciences. you will not, as he will, in that awful presence, on that eventful day, look around you for the accusing spirit of him whom you consigned to the gibbet with a consciousness of his innocence of murder. how will it be with you? (turning again to hardin.) ah! how will it be with you? still silent. despite the hardness of his features, mercy like a halo sweeps over them, and speaks to you, gentlemen, eloquently: 'acquit the accused!' look over yonder, gentlemen: within these walls is one awaiting your verdict in tearless agony--she who but for this untoward event would now have been happy as his bride: she who has cheered him in his prison-cell daily with her presence and lovely soul! hers, not his fate, is in your hands. to him death is nothing: the brave defy death--the good fear it not; then why should he fear? but she! o god! it is a fearful thing to crush to death with agony the young, hopeful, and loving heart of virtuous woman. his death is only terrible in her future. go with her, gentlemen, through life; contemplate the wan features of slow decay: see in these the one eternal, harrowing thought; list to the sigh which rives the heart; watch the tear which falls in secret; see her sink into the grave; then turn away, look up into heaven, and from your heart say: 'o god! i did it.' you will not; you cannot; you dare not." hardin's conclusion was tame, and without effect; the demonstrations on the part of the jury dispirited him, and his concluding speech had none of the power of his opening. the jury returned a verdict of not guilty, without hesitation. wilkinson was immediately discharged, and in company with his friends was repairing to the hotel, when, in the warmth of his emotion, he said, laying his hand on the shoulder of prentiss: "how shall i pay you, my friend, for this great service you have done me?" "by never mentioning pay again," was the prompt and decisive reply. chapter xxv. a financial crash. a wonderful memory--a nation without debt--crushing the national bank--rise of state banks--inflated currency--grand flare-up--take care of yourself--commencing anew--failing to reach an obtuse heart--king alcohol does his work--prentiss and foote--love me, love my dog--a noble spirit overcome--charity covereth a multitude of sins. the rare combination of the elements of the mind in mr. prentiss is only occasionally met with in time. judgment, imagination, and memory were all transcendent and equal in their respective powers. with such a mind, everything possible to man may be accomplished. the invention is rapid; the combining and applying responds as rapidly; the fitting and the proper wait on these in the judgment, and the emanation of the whole is perfect. the imagination conceives, the memory retains, and the judgment applies. the consummate perfection of all of these elements in one mind, assures greatness. charles james fox, one of england's ablest statesmen, said this combination, organized in the brain of napoleon, was more complete than had existed with any man since the days of julius cæsar, and would have made him transcendently great in anything to which he might have addressed his powers. as a poet, he would have equalled homer; as a lawyer, the author of the pandects; as an architect, michael angelo; as an astronomer, newton or galileo; as an actor, garrick, or his beloved talma--as he had equalled cæsar and hannibal, and greatly surpassed marlborough, frederick the great, and charles xii.; as an orator, demosthenes; and as a statesman, the greatest the earth ever knew. this combination in the mind of prentiss, with the great development of the organ of language, made him the unrivalled orator of his age. his powers of memory were so great as to astonish even those eminently gifted in the same manner. in reading, he involuntarily committed to memory, whether of prose or poetry. he seemed to have memorized the bible, shakspeare, dryden, ben jonson, byron, and many others of the modern poets. the whole range of literature was at his command: to read once, was always to remember. this capacity to acquire was so great that he would in a month master as much as most men could in twelve. it appeared immaterial to what he applied himself, the consequence was the same. scientific research, or light literature; the ordinary occurrences of the day, recorded in the newspapers, or detailed by an occasional visitor--all were remembered, and with truthful exactness. dates, days, names, and events fastened upon his memory tenaciously, and remained there without an effort. hence, the fund of information possessed by him astonished the best informed, who were gray with years and reading. the exuberance of his imagination continually supplied new and beautiful imagery to his conversation; and in private intercourse, such was the rich purity of his language, and his ideas so bold and original, that all were willing listeners: no one desired to talk if prentiss was present and would talk. the disasters which followed the commercial crisis of crushed almost every interest in mississippi: especially was this true of the planting, the great interest of the state. on the healthy condition of him who tills the soil depends that of every other interest. the rapid rise in cotton, commencing in , from the increased demand all over the world for cotton fabrics, caused a heavy immigration to the fertile cotton-lands of the west, and particularly to the extensive and newly acquired lands of mississippi. the world was at peace, and great prosperity was universal; money was cheap, or rather its representative, bank paper. the system of finance, so wisely conceived and put in practical operation subsequently to the war of , had been disturbed by being made an element in the political struggles of party. it had paid the war debt, and all the expenses of the government--furnished a uniform currency, equal to, and at the holder's will convertible into coin. its face was the nation's faith, and its credit equal in new york, london, and calcutta. a surplus fund was accumulating in the united states treasury, and the unexampled instance of a nation out of debt, and with an accumulating surplus of money in her treasury, was presented to the world by the united states. the political economist, from this fact, would naturally infer that the people were heavily taxed: not so; there was not on earth a people who contributed, in proportion to their means, so little to the support of their government. the tax-gatherer of the nation was never seen or known in the house of any citizen; he knew not that he contributed one dollar to the public treasury. so admirably was the source of revenue contrived, that no man knew or felt he paid a national tax. the bank of the united states received and disbursed the moneys arising from customs, or tariffs upon imports, without one cent of expense to the government; affording at the same time every healthy facility to the commerce of the country--holding in check and confining the local state banks to a legitimate business--and was the most complete and perfect fiscal agent ever organized. in the struggle for party ascendency, the idea was conceived of using the bank in aid of one of the factions which divided the country. the machinators of this scheme failed to accomplish it, and, being in power at the time, determined to destroy it, upon the plea of its unconstitutionality, and of having been used to overturn the government--that is, the party in power. it was declared dangerous to the liberties of the country. at the expiration of its charter, then approaching, it was refused a renewal. so intimately was it connected with every interest in the country, that its passing out of existence threatened universal bankruptcy. its branches located at every important commercial point, its credit was universally employed. it furnished exchange at almost a nominal rate upon every commercial city of the world, and permeated every transaction, giving health and vigor as the circulating fluid does the animal system. suddenly to arrest and destroy this, was universal ruin. but to serve the behest of party in a double form, it was crushed. but a substitute was proposed by the party interested, and upon whom the responsibility rested--the creation of state banks without limit, which were recommended to discount liberally to the people, and supply the wants created by the withdrawal of the capital and accommodations of the national bank. this recommendation was literally and instantly obeyed. in every state where the dominant party held control--and they did so throughout the south and west--the legislatures made haste to create, without limit, state banks, with power to flood the country with irresponsible bank paper. each assumed that it must supply not only its portion, but the entire amount of the banking capital withdrawn, and double or treble the circulation. the natural consequence was immense inflation of the currency, or circulating medium, and the rapid appreciation of every species of property in price. everybody and every interest flourished most prosperously--gaunt poverty had fled the land, and bloated abundance laughed in every home. suddenly men sprang into importance who a little while before were humble artizans or employed in the meanest capacities. a new el dorado had been discovered; fortunes were made in a day, without enterprise or work; and unexampled prosperity seemed to cover the land as with a golden canopy--forests were swept away in a week; labor came in crowds to the south to produce cotton; and where yesterday the wilderness darkened over the land with her wild forests, to-day the cotton plantation whitened the earth--production was quadrupled--labor doubled in value, land rose to fearful prices, the wildest extravagance obtained; costly furniture, expensive equipages, ostentatious display--all were contributing to hasten the catastrophe. the wise saw what was impending, and the foolish thought it impossible. all of this was based on credit. the banks were irresponsible, for they were without capital: they had created a credit and loaned it in the shape of bank paper to every one. finally, the hour came when all was to be paid for. the banks failed--like the fame of woman, a whisper destroys it; so a whisper blew away the banks. they could not redeem their promises to pay. these were no longer available for currency: they had driven from the country the coin, and there was no money. the merchants failed, the planters failed, money appreciated to the gold standard, and property correspondingly depreciated; and ruin--financial ruin--swept over the country as a consuming fire. nowhere was this destruction so complete as in mississippi. the people of the state had been collected from all the states of the west and south. there was no common bond but interest; a healthy public sentiment, which must result from a homogeneous population, was unknown; there was no restraining influence upon the conduct of men, save only the law, and, for the want of efficient administration, this was almost powerless. every one was making haste to be rich; speculation was wild, and everyday was witnessing transactions of doubtful morality. society was a chaos, and _sauve qui peut_, or, take care of yourself, the rule. every one who owed money, however inconsiderable the sum, was ruined. under such circumstances, prentiss determined on removing from mississippi, and selected new orleans for his future home. the civil law, or roman code, was the law in louisiana, and materially differed from the common or english law, which was the law of authority in mississippi. very few lawyers coming from the common-law states, have ever been able to succeed in louisiana, especially after having practised in other states for any length of time. they have not only to learn the civil law, but to unlearn the common. some, who did not know the extraordinary powers of prentiss's mind, feared he, like many others who had made the attempt, would fail; but, almost from the moment of his advent at the new orleans bar, his success was complete. to realize the expectations of the public, required abilities and attainments of the highest order. fame had heralded his name and powers to every one: all had and did expect from him more than from any other man, and none were disappointed. from this time forward he eschewed politics, and devoted himself to his profession. some years before leaving mississippi, prentiss had married miss williams, of adams county. this lady was the daughter of james c. williams, a large planter; her mother was a percy, descended from the proud percys of northumberland, and was a most accomplished and intellectual woman. her position was the first among the first, and her birth, blood, and attainments entitled her to the distinction. her daughter, grown up under her eye and training, was the mother's equal, and fit companion for the man of her choice. prentiss had lost everything in the general crash, and was commencing anew, with a growing family to provide for. his business rapidly increased, and his displays at the bar were frequent and wonderful. some of these, recited here, might, if such a necessity existed, serve to illustrate his wonderful powers; but there are parties living whose feelings might suffer, and hence i forbear. it is my earnest wish, in recording these recollections, to offend no one; nor will i "set down aught in malice." the ardent and excitable temperament of prentiss, combined with his social qualities, required constant excitement. when employed with the duties of his profession, or engaged in any matter of business pertaining to politics, or his relations in any capacity with the world, requiring attention, he was sufficiently excited to afford escape for the restlessness of his mind; nor did this man seem fatigued in such occupations sufficiently to require repose and rest. on the contrary, it seemed to whet his desire for fiercer and more consuming excitement. whenever he went abroad, the crowd followed him, and the presence of the increasing mass stimulated his feelings to mild, social delight, and this led him too frequently to indulge beyond a proper temperance in the exhilaration of wine. this, superadded to the fire of his genius, was wearing fearfully his vigorous physique. for the first time, in the case of fraud against james irwin, in which he made one of the most powerful efforts of his life, he manifested mental as well as physical fatigue. it was my good fortune to listen to that speech made to a new orleans jury. i had listened many times to his speeches, and had thought some of these could never be surpassed by any man, not even by himself, and especially that delivered in faneuil hall, boston, and the one delivered from the steps of the court-house at vicksburg, after returning from his political campaign when a candidate for congress. but this one was even grander and more powerful than any i had ever heard from him. returning from the court-house with him upon that occasion, i remarked a flagging in the brilliancy of his conversation. for a moment he sat silent in the carriage, and then remarked: "i was never so much fatigued; i am afraid i am getting old. i have not an idea in my brain." "certainly, you have poured out enough to-day to empty any brain," was my reply; "and you should be content not to have another for a month. but i am sorry your invective was so severe." "ah! my old friend," he continued, "he deserved it all! from my heart i feel he deserved it all! the magnitude of his iniquities inspired the rebuke, and i exhausted my quiver in the attempt to pierce his shame; but i failed. the integuments of his sensibility are armor against the shafts from my bow; and i feel the failure, but i don't regret the attempt: the intention was as sincere as the failure has been signal." "why, what do you mean?" i asked; "for, assuredly, you have to-day made the most powerful and telling speech of your life." "yes, telling upon the audience, perhaps, but not upon the victim--he escapes unscathed. i care nothing for the crack of the rifle, if the bullet flies wide of the mark. i wanted to reach his heart, and crush it to remorse; but i have learned his moral obtusity is superior to shame. i have failed in my attempt." this speech was followed by a challenge to prentiss from the son of irwin. this was promptly accepted, and a meeting was only prevented by the interference of parties from kentucky, mississippi, and louisiana. the settlement was honorable to both parties. soon after, young irwin died by his own hand. he was a youth of brilliant parts, and promised a future of usefulness and distinction. the habits of prentiss were daily growing worse--the excitement he craved he found in the intoxicating bowl. the influence of his lovely and loving wife greatly restrained him; but when she was away, he was too frequently surrounded by his friends and admirers, and in social conviviality forgot the prudence of restraint, and indulged to excess. the more this indulgence was tolerated, the more exacting it became. the great strength of his nervous system had successfully resisted the influence of these indulgences, and after potations deep and long, it was remarked that they had no inebriating effect upon him. this nervous strength by degrees yielded to the power of alcohol, and as he advanced in life it was apparent the poison was doing its work. now it was that he found it necessary, in order to stimulate his genius to its wonted activity and vigor, on occasions demanding all his powers, to resort to artificial stimulants. his friends urged upon him temperance, to forbear altogether, to visit his mother and friends in maine, recreate amidst the scenes of his childhood, and to do so in company with his wife and his lovely children, for they were all a parent could wish them to be. he promised to do so. sad memory brings up our last meeting, and when the subject of his intemperance was the theme of our parting conversation. we stood together upon the portico of the st. charles hotel; he was preparing to leave for maine; i was leaving for my home in the country. "you still keep the old cane," he said, taking from my hand his gift many years before. "i shall do so, prentiss, while i live." he continued to view the head, upon which our names were engraved, and a melancholy shade gathered upon his features. "oh, were i," said he, "to-day, what i was the day i gave you this!" and he paused many minutes; still the shade darkened, and his voice trembled as he proceeded: "we were both young then, and how light our hearts were! we have gathered about us household gods, and we worship them; how sad to think we shall have to leave them! you married long before i did. your children will grow up while yet you live; i shall never see mine other than children." "say not so, prentiss. you are yet young. you have but one thing to do, and you will live to see those boys men; and what may you not expect of them, with such a mother to aid you in rearing them!" "i know what you mean, and i know what i will; but, like laocoon in the folds of the snake, the serpent of habit coils around me, and i fear its strength is too powerful for mine. perhaps, had my angel of to-day been my angel when first a man, i had never wooed the scorpion which is stinging me to death; but all i can do i will. this is all i can promise. keep this stick to remember me: it will support you when tottering with the weight of years, and with strength will endure. when age has done her work, and you are in the grave, give it to your son to remember us both. farewell." with a clasp of the hand we parted, never to meet again. not long after, he died at natchez, and, in the family cemetery of the sargents, sleeps near the city. but few of the speeches of prentiss were ever reported, and though they are like and have the ring of the true metal, yet not one of them is correctly reported. the fragment given in a former chapter is the report of one who heard it, and who wrote it the very hour of its delivery, to myself, that the information of the acquittal might be communicated to the friends of the lady judge wilkinson was about to be married to, who resided in my immediate neighborhood. there is not a word of it in the reporter's speech, which was some time after written out from notes. these speeches, with the traditions of his fame, will serve to perpetuate his memory as perhaps the most gifted man, as an orator, that adorned his generation. in stature he was below the ordinary standard, and his lameness seemed to dwarf even this. his head was large, round, and high; his forehead expansive, high, and rising almost perpendicularly above his eyes, which were gray, deep set, and brilliant; his nose was straight and beautifully chiselled, thin, and the nostrils large, and swelling and expanding when excited. in speaking, his eyes blazed with a most peculiar expression. his chin was broad, square, and strong. his mouth was the most striking feature of his face--large and flexible, with a constant twitching about the corners. the entire contour of the face indicated humor, combined with firmness. this latter trait was also indicated in the large, strong under jaw--no trait was more prominent in his character than this. yet he was slow to anger, and always conciliatory in language and manners. he was charitable in the extreme toward others for any laches in principle; always ready to find an excuse for the short-comings of others. yet no man adhered more closely and more steadily to his principles and opinions. he never gave an insult, unless greatly provoked, but never failed to resent one; always loath to quarrel, but, once in, bore himself like a man, and a brave one. the high oval crown of his head confessed high moral qualities; here the moral organs were in wonderful development. too generous to be malicious, he was ever ready to forgive, and too noble to permit his worst enemy to be slandered in his presence. there was once a quarrel between prentiss and that erratic man of wonderful genius, h.s. foote. this culminated in a hostile meeting, in which foote was wounded. in their impulsiveness these two were very like, as also in the generosity of their natures. neither bore the other malice beyond the conflict, and neither ever permitted an insult to be offered to the name of the other in his absence. a short time after this affair, prentiss was with some friends in cincinnati. there is always to be found men who swell their importance by toadying men of character and eminence. such are as frequently found in cincinnati as elsewhere. one of these had sought out prentiss, and was attempting to make himself agreeable to him by abusing foote: this abuse wound up by denouncing the distinguished mississippian as a dog. prentiss turned sharply upon him with the exclamation: "if he is a dog, sir, he is our dog, and you shall not abuse him in my presence!" the discomfiture of the toady may be easily imagined; he slunk away, nor did he again obtrude his unwanted presence upon prentiss during his stay. few men have ever so fastened themselves upon the affections of their friends as did prentiss: his qualities of heart and head were fascinating, almost beyond humanity; none ever met him for a day and went away unattached; strangers, who knew him not, listening to him, not only admired, but loved him. he never lost a friend; and all his enemies were political, or from envy. in the society of ladies he was extremely diffident and unobtrusive, and always apprehensive lest he should be unable to entertain them agreeably. on one occasion, not long before our final parting, he said he had committed two great errors in his life: leaving his native home to find one in the south, and not marrying when he first commenced the practice of law. "my constitution was strong and suited to a northern climate, and there home-influences would have restrained propensities that have grown with indulgence, and are threatening in their consequences. i feel this: i am not the strong man i was; mind and body are failing, and the beautiful lines of our friend wild are constantly recurring to my mind: "'my life is like the autumn leaf, which trembles in the moon's pale ray: its hold is frail, its date is brief, restless, and soon to pass away.' "why did not wild give his life to literature, instead of the musty maxims of the law. little as he has written, it is enough to preserve his fame as a true poet; and though he has been a member of congress, and a distinguished one, a lawyer, and a distinguished one, his fame and name will only be perpetuated by his verse, so tender, so touching, and so true to the feelings of the heart. it is the heart that he lives in. ah! it is the heart only which forms and fashions the romance of life; and without this romance, life is scarcely worth the keeping. "'tis midnight--on the mountains brown the cold round moon shines deeply down; blue roll the waters, blue the sky spreads like an ocean hung on high, bespangled with those isles of light, so wildly, spiritually bright; who ever gazed upon them shining, and turned to earth without repining, nor wished for wings to flee away, and mix with their eternal ray?' "we feel as byron did when he imagined these lines. i see him with upturned eyes gazing on the blue expanse above, watching the stars; thinking of heaven; feeling earth, and hating it, and his soul flying away from it, to meet and mingle in the firmament above him with the spiritually bright and heavenly pure brilliants sparkling on her diadem. how mean--how miserably mean this earth, and all it gives! one diamond in a world of dirt. the soul that loves and contemplates the eternal--shall it shake off at once the miserable clod, and in a moment glisten among the millions, pure, bright, and lovely as these? there is but one idea of hell--eternal torture! but every man has his own idea of heaven: yet, with all, its chiefest attribute is eternal happiness. the wretch craves it for rest; he who never knew care or suffering, desires it for enjoyment; and the wildest imagination sublimates its bliss to love and beauty. and god only knows what it is, or in what it consists. but we shall know, and i, in a little time. on him who gave me being i confidently rely for all which is destined in my future." his spirit was eminently worshipful. the wisdom and goodness of god he saw in every creature; he contemplated these as a part of the grand whole, and saw a union and use in all for the harmony of the whole; he saw all created nature linked, each filling and subserving a part, in duties and uses, as designed, and, his mind filled with the contemplation, his soul expanded in love and worship of the great architect who conceived and created all. with all this might of mind and beauty of soul, there lurked a demon to mar and destroy. it worked its end: let us draw a veil over the frailties of poor human nature, and, in the admiration of the genius and the soul, forget the foibles and frailties of the body. chapter xxvi. acadian french settlers. sugar _vs._ cotton--acadia--a specimen of mississippi french life--bayou la fourche--the great flood--theological arbitration--a rustic ball --old-fashioned weddings--creoles and quadroons--the planter--negro servants--gauls and anglo-normans--antagonism of races. forty years ago, there was quite an excitement among the cotton-planters, in the neighborhood of natchez, upon the subject of sugar-planting in the southern portion of louisiana. at that time it was thought the duty (two and a half cents per pound) on imported sugars would be continued as a revenue tax, and that it would afford sufficient protection to make the business of sugar-planting much more profitable than that of cotton. the section of country attracting the largest share of attention for this purpose was the teche, or attakapas country, the bayous la fourche, terre bonne, and black. the teche and la fourche had long been settled by a population, known in louisiana as the acadian french. these people, thus named, had once resided in nova scotia and lower canada, or canada east as now known. when peopled by the french, nova scotia was called acadia. upon the conquest by the english, these people were expelled the country, and in a most inhuman and unchristian manner. they were permitted to choose the countries to which they would go, and were there sent by the british government. many went to canada, some to vincennes in indiana, some to st. louis, cape girardeau, viedepouche, and kaskaskia in mississippi, and many returned to france. upon the cession, or rather donation to spain of louisiana by france, these, with many others of a population similar to these, from the different arrondissements of france, were sent to louisiana, and were located in opelousas, attakapas, la fourche, and in the parishes of st. john the baptist, st. charles, and st. james (parishes constituting the acadian coast on the mississippi). on the la fourche they constituted, forty years ago, almost the entire population. they were illiterate and poor. possessing the richest lands on earth, which they had reclaimed from the annual inundations of the mississippi river by levees constructed along the margins of the stream--with a climate congenial and healthful, and with every facility afforded by the navigation of the bayou and the mississippi for reaching the best market for all they could produce--yet, with all these natural advantages, promising to labor and enterprise the most ample rewards, they could not be stimulated to industry or made to understand them. they had established their homes on the margin of the stream, and cleared a few acres of the land donated by the government, upon which to grow a little corn and a few vegetables. with a limited amount of stock, which found subsistence upon the cane and grass of the woods, and with the assistance of a shot-gun, they managed to subsist--as peake's mother served the lord--after a fashion. their houses were unique: a slender frame, often of poles cut from the forest, and rudely squared, served the purpose. into the studding were placed pins, extending from one to the other, horizontally, and about ten inches apart. the long gray moss of the country was then gathered and thrown by layers into a pit dug for the purpose, with the soil, until the pit was full, when water was added in sufficient quantities to wet the mass through; this done, all who are assisting in the construction of the house--men, women, boys, and girls--jump in upon it, and continue to tramp until mud and moss are completely intermingled and made of proper consistence, when it is gathered up and made into rails about two feet long. these rolls are laid over the pins, commencing at the bottom or sill of the building, when each roll is bent down at the ends, covering the intervals between the pins, pressed hardly together, and smoothed with the hands, inside and out, forming a wall some five inches in thickness, with a perfectly smooth surface. the roof is first put on, and the floors laid. when this mud dries thoroughly it is white-washed; the house is then complete, and presents quite a neat appearance. it will continue to do so if the white-washing is annually continued. if, however, this is neglected, the lime falls off in spots, and the primitive mud comes out to view: then the appearance is anything but pleasant. no pains are taken to ornament their yards, or gather about them comforts. there is a pig or two in a pen in the corner of the yard, a hen-roost immediately at the house, a calf or two at large, and numerous half-starved, mangy dogs--and innumerable ragged, half-naked children, with little, black, piercing eyes, and dishevelled, uncombed hair falling about sallow, gaunt faces, are commingling in the yard with chickens, dogs, and calves. a sallow-faced, slatternly woman, bareheaded, with uncared-for hair, long, tangled, and black, with her dress tucked up to her knees, bare-footed and bare-legged, is wading through the mud from the bayou, with a dirty pail full of muddy mississippi water. a diminutive specimen of a man, clad in blue cottonade pants and hickory shirt, barefooted, with a palm-leaf hat upon his head, and an old rusty shot-gun in his hands, stands upon the levee, casting an inquiring look, first up and then down the bayou, deeply desiring and most ardently expecting a wandering duck or crane, as they fly along the course of the bayou. if unfortunately they come within reach of his fusee, he almost invariably brings them down. then there is a shout from the children, a yelp from the dogs, and all run to secure the game; for too often, "no duck, no dinner." such a home and such inhabitants were to be seen on bayou la fourche forty years ago, and even now specimens of the genuine breed may there be found, as primitive as were their ancestors who first ventured a home in the mississippi swamps. the stream known as bayou la fourche, or the fork, is a large stream, some one hundred yards wide, leaving the mississippi at the town of donaldsonville, eighty miles above the city of new orleans, running south-southeast, emptying into the gulf, through timbalier bay, and may properly be termed one of the mouths of the mississippi. its current movement does not in high water exceed three miles an hour, and when the mississippi is at low water, it is almost imperceptible. large steamers, brigs, and schooners come into it when the river is at flood, and carry out three or four hundred tons of freight each at a time. the lands upon the banks of this stream are remarkably fertile, entirely alluvial, and decline from the bank to the swamp, generally some one or two miles distant. this acadian population was sent here during the spanish domination, and with a view to opening up to cultivation this important tract of country. it was supposed they would become--under the favorable auspices of their emigration to the country, and with such facilities for accumulating money--a wealthy and intelligent population. this calculation was sadly disappointed. the mildness of the climate and the fruitfulness of the soil combined to enervate, instead of stimulating them to active industry, without which there can be no prosperity for any country. a few acres, though half cultivated, were found sufficient to yield an ample support, and the mildness of the climate required but little provision for clothing. here, in this eden upon earth, these people continued to live in a simplicity of primitive ignorance and indolence scarcely to be believed by any but an actual observer. their implements of agriculture were those of two centuries before. more than half the population wore wooden shoes, when they wore any at all. their wants were few, and were all supplied at home. save a little flour, powder, and shot, they purchased nothing. these were paid for by the sale of the produce of the poultry-yard--the prudent savings from the labor of the women--to the market-boats from the city. there were, at the period of which i write, but half a dozen americans upon the bayou. these had found the country illy adapted to the growth of cotton, and some of them had commenced the planting of sugar-cane. the results from this were very satisfactory, and consequently stimulating to the enterprise of men of means, who felt they could be more profitably employed in this new culture than in cotton, even in the very best cotton regions. there was one man of high intelligence and long experience who denied this--stephen duncan, of natchez--and the subsequent experience of many brought bitter regret that they had not yielded to the counsels of dr. duncan. the great flood of had not touched the la fourche or teche, while the entire alluvial plain above had been covered many feet, and for many months. this was the most terrible inundation, perhaps, ever experienced in that region; and every one appeared to be now satisfied that to continue to cultivate lands already reduced to man's dominion, or to open and prepare any more, subject to this scourge, was madness. hence the emigration from this chosen section to the new el dorado. lands rose rapidly in south louisiana as an effect of this, while above, in the flooded district, they were to be bought for almost a nominal price. those who ventured to purchase these and reduce them to cultivation realized fortunes rapidly; for there was not a sufficient flood to reach them again for ten years. the levees by this time had become so extended as to afford almost entire immunity against the floods of annual occurrence. the culture of sugar received a new impetus and began rapidly to increase, and capital came flowing in. population of an industrious and hardy character was filling up the west, and the demand from that quarter alone was equal to the production, and both were increasing so rapidly as to induce the belief that it would be as much as all the sugar lands in the state could accomplish to supply this demand. steam power for crushing the cane was introduced--an economy of labor which enhanced the profits of the production--and a new and national interest was developed, rendering more and more independent of foreign supply, at least that portion of the union most difficult of access to foreign commerce--the great and growing west. the americans, or those americans speaking english alone, immigrating into these sections of louisiana, so far as the language, manners, and customs of the people were concerned, were going into a foreign land. the language of the entire population was french, or a patois, as the european french term it--a provincialism which a parisian finds it difficult to understand. the ignorance and squalid poverty of these people put their society entirely out of the question, even if their language had been comprehensible. they were amiable, kind, law-abiding, virtuous, and honest, beyond any population of similar character to be found in any country. out of some fifty thousand people, extending over five or six parishes, such a thing as a suit for slander, or an indictment for malicious mischief, or a case of bastardy was not known or heard of once in ten years. this will seem strange when we reflect that at this time schools were unknown, and not one out of fifty of the people could read or write, and when it was common for the judge of the district court to ask, when a grand jury was impanelled, if there was a man upon it who could write, that he might make him foreman. and not unfrequently was he compelled to call from the court-room one who could, and trump him on the jury for a foreman, as the action was termed. there was not upon the la fourche, which comprised three large parishes, but one pleasure carriage, and not half a dozen ladies' bonnets. the females wore a colored handkerchief tastily tied about their heads, when visiting or at church; and when not, not anything but blowzed, uncombed hair. the enterprise of the new-comers did not stimulate to emulation the action of these people. they were content and unenvious, and when kindly received and respectfully treated, were social and generous in their intercourse with their american neighbors. they were confiding and trustful; but once deceived, they were not to be won back, but only manifested their resentment by withdrawing from communicating with the deceiver, and ever after distrusting, and refusing him their confidence. they were universally catholic; consequently, sectarian disputes were unknown. they practised eminently the christian virtues, and were constant in their attendance at mass. the priest was the universal arbiter in all disputes, and his decision most implicitly acquiesced in. they had a horror of debt, and lawsuits, and would sacrifice any property they might have, to meet punctually an obligation. fond of amusements, their social meetings, though of most primitive character, were frequent and cordial. they observed strictly the exactions of the church, especially lent; but indulged the carnival to its wildest extent. out of lent they met to dance and enjoy themselves, weekly, first at one, and then at another neighbor's house; and with the natural taste of their race, they would appear neatly and cleanly dressed in the attire fabricated by their own hands in the loom and with the needle. the method of invitation to these reunions was simple and speedy. a youth on his pony would take a small wand, and tie to its top end a red or white flag, and ride up and down the bayou, from the house where the ball was intended, for two or three miles; returning, tie the wand and flag to flaunt above the gate, informing all--"_this is the place._" all were welcome who came, and everything was conducted with strict regard to decent propriety. nothing boisterous was ever known--no disputing or angry wrangling, for there was no cause given; harmony and happiness pervaded all, and at proper time and in a proper manner all returned to their homes. marriages, almost universally, were celebrated at the church, as in all catholic countries. the parsonage is at the church, and the priest always on hand, at the altar or the grave; and almost daily, in this dense population, a marriage or funeral was seen at the church. it was the custom for the bride and groom, with a party of friends, all on horseback, to repair without ceremony to the church, where they were united in matrimony by the good priest, who kissed the bride, a privilege he never failed to put into execution, when he blessed the couple, received his fee, and sent them away rejoicing. this ceremony was short, and without ostentation; and then the happy and expectant pair, often on the same horse, would return with the party as they had come, with two or three musicians playing the violin in merry tunes on horseback, as they joyfully galloped home, where a ball awaited them at night, and all went merry with the married belle. these people are iberian in race, are small in stature, of dark complexion, with black eyes, and lank black hair; their hands and feet are small, and beautifully formed, and their features regular and handsome; many of their females are extremely beautiful. these attain maturity very early, and are frequently married at thirteen years of age. in more than one instance, i have known a grandmother at thirty. as in all warm countries, this precocious maturity is followed with rapid decay. here, persons at forty wear the appearance of those in colder climates of sixty years. notwithstanding this apparent early loss of vigor, the instances of great longevity are perhaps more frequent in louisiana than in any other state of the union. this, however, can hardly be said of her native population: emigrants from high latitudes, who come after maturity, once acclimated, seem to endure the effects of climate here with more impunity than those native to the soil. the bayou plaquemine formerly discharged an immense amount of water into the lakes intervening between the la fourche and the teche. these lakes have but a narrow strip of cultivable land. along the right margin of the la fourche, and the left of the teche, they serve as a receptacle for the waters thrown from the plantations and those discharged by the atchafalayah and the plaquemine, which ultimately find their way to the gulf through berwick's bay. they are interspersed with small islands: these have narrow strips of tillable land, but are generally too low for cultivation; and when the mississippi is at flood, they are all under water, and most of them many feet. the la fourche goes immediately to the gulf, between lake barataria and these lakes, affording land high enough, when protected as they now are, for settlement, and cultivation to a very great extent. its length is some one hundred miles, and the settlements extend along it for eighty miles. these are continuous, and nowhere does the forest intervene. at irregular distances between these acadian settlements, large sugar plantations are found. these have been extending for years, and increasing, absorbing the habitats of these primitive and innocent people, who retire to some little ridge of land deeper in the swamp, a few inches higher than the plane of the swamp, where they surround their little mud-houses with an acre or so of open land, from the products of which, and the trophies of the gun and fishing-line and hook, and an occasional frog, and the abundance of crawfish, they contrive to eke out a miserable livelihood, and afford the fullest illustration of the adage, "where ignorance is bliss, it is folly to be wise." the contrast between these princely estates, and the palatial mansions which adorn them, and make a home of luxuriant beauty, and the little log huts, their immediate neighbors, tells at once that the population is either very rich or very poor, and that under such circumstances the communication must be extremely limited; for the ignorance of the poor unfits them for social and intelligent intercourse with their more wealthy and more cultivated neighbors. this is true whether the planter is french or american. the remarkable salubrity of the climate, combined with the comforts and luxuries of home, causes the planter to spend most of his time there, where he can give his attention to his business and mingle with his brother planters in a style and manner peculiar to louisiana and the tastes of her people. intercommunication is facilitated by steamboat travel, and as every plantation is located upon a navigable stream, the planter and family can at any time suiting his business go with little trouble to visit his friends, though they may be hundreds of miles apart. similarity of pursuit and interest draw these together. there is no rivalry, and consequently no jealousy between them. all their relations are harmonious, and their intercourse during the summer is continuous, for at that season the business of the plantation may be safely trusted to a manager, one of whom is found on every plantation. this social intercourse is highly promotive of a general amity, as it cultivates an intimacy which at once familiarizes every one with the feelings, situation, and intentions of the other. sometimes the contiguity of plantations enables the families of planters to exchange formal morning and evening calls, but most generally the distance to be overgone is too great for this. then the visiting is done by families, and extends to days, and sometimes weeks. provisions are so abundant that the extra consumption is never missed, and the residences are always of such dimensions that the visitors seem scarcely to increase the family--never to be in the way; and the suits of apartments occupied by them were built and furnished for the purpose to which they are then devoted. the visitor is at home. the character of the hospitality he is enjoying permits him to breakfast from seven till ten, alone, or in company with the family if he chooses. horses, dogs, and guns for the gentlemen--billiards, the carriage, music, or promenading, with cards, chess, backgammon, or dominos for the ladies, to pass away the day until dinner. at this meal the household and guests unite, and the rich viands, wines, and coffee make a feast for the body and sharpen the wit to a feast of the soul. this society is the freest and most refined to be found in the country. upon the coast of the mississippi, from baton rouge to many miles below the city, the proximity of the large plantations presents an opportunity of close and constant intercourse. a very large majority of these are the property and habitations of the cultivated and intelligent creoles of the state. and here let me explain the term creole, which has led to so many ludicrous, and sometimes to painful mistakes. it is an arbitrary term, and imported from the west indies into louisiana. its original meaning was a native born of foreign parents; but universal use has made it to mean, in louisiana, nothing more than simply "native;" and it is applied indiscriminately to everything native to the state--as creole cane, creole horse, creole negro, or creole cow. many confound its meaning with that of quadroon, and suppose it implies one of mixed blood, or one with whose blood mingles that of the african--than which no meaning is more foreign to the word. the creole planters, or what are termed french creoles, are descended from a very different race from the acadian creole, or iberian. the first colonists who came to louisiana were men of the first blood and rank in france. the ibervilles, the bienvilles, st. denises, and many others, were of noble descent; and the proud prestige of their names and glorious deeds still clings around their descendants now peopling the lands they conquered from the desert, the savage, and the flood. these daring men brought with them the chivalrous spirit which descended to their sons--the open, gallant bearing; the generous hospitality; the noble humanity; the honor which prefers death to a stain, and the soul which never stoops to a lie, a fraud, or a meanness degrading to a gentleman. they have been born upon the banks of the great river of the world; they have seen all the developments of talent, time, and enterprise which have made their country great as the river through which it flows. accustomed from infancy to look upon this scene and these developments, their souls with their ideas have been sublimated, and they are a population unsurpassed in the higher attributes of humanity, and the nobler sympathies of man, by any on the face of the earth--surrounded by wealth, tangible and substantial, descending from generation to generation, affording to each all the blessings wealth can give. the spirit of hospitality and independence has ennobled the sons, as hereditary wealth and privilege had the sires who planted this colony. these sires laid the foundation of this wealth, in securing for their posterity the broad acres of this fat-land where now they are to be found. none have emigrated: conscious of possessing the noblest heritage upon earth, they have remained to eliminate from this soil the wealth which in such abundance they possess. as they were reared, they have reared their sons; the lessons of truth, virtue, honor have borne good fruit. none can say they ever knew a french creole a confirmed drunkard or a professional gambler. none ever knew an aberration of virtue in a daughter of one. the high-bred creole lady is a model of refinement--modest, yet free in her manners; chaste in her thoughts and deportment; generous in her opinions, and full of charity; highly cultivated intellectually and by association; familiar from travel with the society of europe; mistress of two, and frequently of half a dozen languages, versed in the literature of all. accustomed from infancy to deport themselves as ladies, with a model before them in their mothers, they grow up with an elevation of sentiment and a propriety of deportment which distinguishes them as the most refined and polished ladies in the whole country. there is with these a softness of deportment and delicacy of expression, an abstinence from all violent and boisterous expressions of their feelings and sentiments, and above all, the entire freedom from petty scandal, which makes them lovely, and to be loved by every honorable and high-bred gentleman who may chance to know them and cultivate their association. indeed, this is a characteristic of the gentlemen as well as the ladies. these people may have a feud, and sometimes they do; but this rarely remains long unsettled. no one will ever hear it publicly alluded to, and assuredly they will never hear it uttered in slanderous vituperation of the absent party. i may be permitted here to narrate an incident illustrative of this peculiarity. a gentleman, knowing of a dissension between two parties, was dining with one of them, in company with several others. this guest spoke to the hostess disparagingly of the enemy of her husband, who, hearing the remark, rebuked his officious guest by remarking to him: "doctor, my lady and myself would prefer to find out the foibles and sins of our neighbors ourselves." the rebuke was effectual, and informed the doctor, who was new in the country, of an honorable feeling in the refined population of the land of his adoption alien to that of his birth, and which he felt made these people the superior of all he had ever known. no one has ever travelled upon one of those palatial steamers abounding on the mississippi, in the spring season of the year, when the waters swell to the tops of the levees, lifting the steamer above the level of the great fields of sugar-cane stretching away for miles to the forest on either bank of that mighty river, who has not been delighted with the lovely homes, surrounded with grounds highly cultivated and most beautifully ornamented with trees, shrubs, and flowers, which come upon the view in constant and quick succession, as he is borne onward rapidly along the accumulated waters of the great river. this scene extends one hundred and fifty miles up the river, and is one not equalled in the world. the plain is continuous and unbroken; nor hill nor stream intersects it but at two points, where the plaquemine and la fourche leave it to find a nearer way to the sea; and these are so diminutive, in comparison with all around, that they are passed almost always without being seen. the fringe of green foliage which is presented by the trees and shrubs adorning each homestead, follows in such rapid succession as to give it a continuous line, in appearance, to the passers-by on the steamer. these, denuded of timber to the last tree, the immense fields, only separated by a ditch, or fence, which spread along the river--all greened with the luxuriant sugar-cane, and other crops, growing so vigorously as at once to satisfy the mind that the richness of the soil is supreme--and this scene extending for one hundred and fifty miles, makes it unapproachable by any other cultivated region on the face of the globe. along the ganges and the nile, the plain is extensive. the desolate appearance it presents--the miserable homes of the population, devoid of every ornament, without comfort or plenty in their appearance--the stinted and sparse crops, the intervening deserts of sand, the waste of desolation, spreading away far as the eye can reach--the streams contemptible in comparison, and the squalid, degraded, thriftless people along their banks, make it painful to the beholder, who is borne on his way in some dirty little craft, contrasting so strangely with the mississippi steamer. yet, in admirable keeping with everything else, all these present a grand contrast to the valley of the mississippi, and only prove the latter has no equal in all that pertains to grandeur, beauty, and abundance, on the globe. to appreciate all these, you must know and mingle with the population who have thus ornamented, with labor and taste, the margin of this stream of streams. as this great expanse of beauty is a fairy-land to the eye, so is the hospitality of its homes a delight to the soul. in this population, if nowhere else in america, is seen a contented and happy people--a people whose pursuit is happiness, and not the almighty dollar. unambitious of that distinction which only wealth bestows, they are content with an abundance for all their comforts, and for the comfort of those who, as friends or neighbors, come to share it with them. unambitious of political distinction, despising the noisy tumult of the excited populace, they love their homes, and cultivate the ease of quiet in these delicious retreats, enjoying life as it passes, in social and elegant intercourse with each other, nor envying those who rush into the busy world and hunt gain or distinction from the masses, through the shrewdness of a wit cultivated and debased by trade, or a fawning, insincere sycophancy toward the dirty multitude they despise. by such, these people are considered anomalous, devoid of energy or enterprise, contented with what they have, nor ambitious for more--which, to an american, with whom, if the earth is obtained, the moon must be striven for, is stranger than all else--living indolently at their ease, regardless of ephemeral worldly distinctions, but happy in the comforts of home, and striving only to make this a place for the enjoyment of themselves and those about them. to the stranger they are open and kind, universally hospitable, never scrutinizing his whole man to learn from his manner or dress whether he comes as a gentleman or a sharper, or whether he promises from appearance to be of value to them pecuniarily in a trade. there is nothing of the huckster in their natures. they despise trade, because it degrades; they have only their crops for sale, and this they trust to their factors; they never scheme to build up chartered companies for gain, by preying upon the public; never seek to overreach a neighbor or a stranger, that they may increase their means by decreasing his; would scorn the libation of generous wine, if they felt the tear of the widow or the orphan mingled with it, and a thousand times would prefer to be cheated than to cheat; despising the vicious, and cultivating only the nobler attributes of the soul. such is the character of the educated french creole planters of louisiana--a people freer from the vices of the age, and fuller of the virtues which ennoble man, than any it has fallen to my lot to find in the peregrinations of threescore years and ten. the creoles, and especially the creole planters, have had little communication with any save their own people. the chivalry of character, in them so distinguishing a trait, they have preserved as a heritage from their ancestors, whose history reads more like a romance than the lives and adventures of men, whose nobility of soul and mind was theirs from a long line of ancestors, and brought with them to be planted on the mississippi in the character of their posterity. is it the blood, the rearing, or the religion of these people which makes them what they are? they are full of passion; yet they are gentle and forbearing toward every one whom they suppose does not desire to wrong or offend them; they are generous and unexacting, abounding in the charity of the heart, philanthropic, and seemingly from instinct practising toward all the world all the christian virtues. they are brave, and quick to resent insult or wrong, and prefer death to dishonor; scrupulously just in all transactions with their fellow-men, forbearing toward the foibles of others, without envy, and without malice. in their family intercourse they are respectful and kind, and particularly to their children: they are cautious never to oppress or mortify a child--directing the parental authority first to the teaching of the heart, then to the mind--instilling what are duties with a tenderness and gentleness which win the affections of the child to perform these through love only. propriety of deportment toward their seniors and toward each other is instilled from infancy and observed through life. all these lessons are stamped upon the heart, not only by the precepts of parents and all about them, but by their example. the negro servants constitute a part of every household, and are identified with the family as part of it. to these they are very kind and forbearing, as also to their children, to whom they uniformly speak and act gently. a reproof is never given in anger to either, nor in public, for the purpose of mortifying, but always in private, and gently--in sorrow rather than in anger; and where punishment must be resorted to, it is done where only the parent or master, and the child or servant, can see or know it. this is the example of the church. the confessional opens up to the priest the errors of the penitent, and they are rebuked and forgiven in secret, or punished by the imposition of penalties known only to the priest and his repentant parishioner. is it this which makes such models of children and christians in the educated creole population of louisiana? or is it the instinct of race, the consequence of a purer and more sublimated nature from the blue blood of the exalted upon earth? the symmetry of form, the delicacy of feature in the males, their manliness of bearing, and the high chivalrous spirit, as well as the exquisite beauty and grace of their women, with the chaste purity of their natures, would seem to indicate this as the true reason. all who have ever entered a french creole family have observed the gentle and respectful bearing of the children, their strict yet unconstrained observance of all the proprieties of their position, and also the affectionate intercourse between these and their parents, and toward each other--never an improper word; never an improper action; never riotous; never disobedient. they approach you with confidence, yet with modesty, and are respectful even in the mirth of childish play. around the mansions of these people universally are pleasure-grounds, permeated with delightful promenades through parterres of flowers and lawns of grass, covered with the delicious shade thrown from the extended limbs and dense foliage of the great trees. these children, when wandering here, never trespass upon a parterre or pluck unbidden a flower, being restrained only by a sense of propriety and decency inculcated from the cradle, and which grows with their growth, and at maturity is part of their nature. could children of anglo-norman blood be so restrained? would the wild energies of these bow to such control, or yield such obedience from restraint or love? certainly in their deportment they are very different, and seem only to yield to authority from fear of punishment, and dash away into every kind of mischief the moment this is removed. nor is this fear and certainty of infliction of punishment in most cases found to be of sufficient force to restrain these inherent proclivities. too frequently with such as these the heart-training in childhood is neglected or forgotten, and they learn to do nothing from love as a duty to god and their fellow-beings. the good priest comes not as a minister of peace and love into the family; but is too frequently held up by the thoughtless parent as a terror, not as a good and loving man, to be loved, honored, and revered, and these are too frequently the raw-head and bloody-bones painted to the childish imagination by those parents who regard the rod as the only reformer of childish errors--who forget the humanities in inspiring the brutalities of parental discipline, as well as the pastoral duties of their vocation. they persuade not into fruit the blossoms of the heart, but crush out the delicate sensibilities from the child's soul by coarse reproofs and brutal bearing toward them. the causes of difference i cannot divine, but i know that the facts exist, and i know the difference extends to the adults of the two races. the anglo-american is said to be more enterprising, more energetic and progressive--seeks dangers to overcome them, and subdues the world to his will. the gallic or french-american is less enterprising, yet sufficiently so for the necessary uses of life. he is more honest and less speculative; more honorable and less litigious; more sincere with less pretension; superior to trickery or low intrigue; more open and less designing; of nobler motives and less hypocrisy; more refined and less presumptuous, and altogether a man of more chivalrous spirit and purer aspirations. the anglo-american commences to succeed, and will not scruple at the means: he uses any and all within his power, secures success, and this is called enterprise combined with energy. moral considerations are a slight obstacle. they may cause him to hesitate, but never restrain his action. the maxim is ever present to his mind: it is honorable and respectable to succeed--dishonorable and disreputable to fail; it is only folly to yield a bold enterprise to nice considerations of moral right. if he can avoid the penalties of the civil law, success obviates those of the moral law. success is the balm for every wrong--the passport to every honor. "his race may be a line of thieves, his acts may strike the soul with horror; yet infamy no soiling leaves-- the rogue to-day's the prince to-morrow." this demoralizes: the expedient for the just--that which will do, not that which should do, if success requires, must be resorted to. this idea, like the pestilence which rides the breeze, reaches every heart, and man's actions are governed only by the law--not by a high moral sense of right. providence, it is supposed, prepares for all exigencies in the operations of nature. if this be true, it may be that the peculiarities of blood, and the consequence to human character, may, in the anglo-american, be specially designed for his mission on this continent; for assuredly he is the eminently successful man in all enterprises which are essential in subduing the earth, and aiding in the spreading of his race over this continent. every opposition to his progress fails, and the enemies of this progress fall before him, and success is the result of his every effort. that the french creoles retain the chivalry and noble principles of their ancestry is certainly true; but that they have failed to preserve the persevering enterprise of their ancestors is equally true. emigration from france, to any considerable extent, was stayed after the cessation of louisiana to the united states, and the french settlements ceased to expand. the country along and north of red river, on the upper mississippi and the washita, was rapidly filled up with a bold, hardy american population, between whom and the french sparsely peopling the country about natchitoches on the red, and monroe on the washita river, there was little or no sympathy; and the consequence was that many of those domiciled already in these sections left, and returned to the lower mississippi, or went back to france. there had been, anterior to this cession, two large grants of land made to the baron de bastrop and the baron de maison rouge, upon the washita and bartholomew, including almost the entire extent of what is now two parishes. these grants were made by the european government upon condition of settlement within a certain period. the revolution in france was expelling many of her noblest people, and the marquis de breard, with many followers, was one of these: he came, and was the pioneer to these lands. a nucleus formed, and accessions were being made, but the government being transferred and the country becoming americanized, this tide of immigration was changed from french to american, and the requisite number of settlers to complete the grants was not reached within the stipulated period, and they were, after more than half a century, set aside, and the lands disposed of as public lands by the united states government. had the government continued in the hands of france, it is more than probable that the titles to these tracts would never have been contested, even though the requisite number of settlers had not been upon the lands to complete the grants at the specified period; and it is also probable there would have been, in proper time, the required number. but this transfer of dominion was exceedingly distasteful to the french population. the antagonism of races itself is a great difficulty in the way of amalgamation, even though both may belong to the same great division of the human family; but added to this the difference of language, laws, habits, and religion, it would almost seem impossible. in the instance of louisiana it has, so far, proved impossible. although the french have been american subjects for more than sixty years, and there now remain in life very few who witnessed the change, and notwithstanding this population has, so far as the government is concerned, become thoroughly americanized, still they remain to a very great extent a distinct people. even in new orleans they have the french part and the american part of the city, and do not, to any very great degree, extend their union by living among each other. kind feelings exist between the populations, and the prejudices which have so effectually kept them apart for so long a time are giving way rapidly now, since most of the younger portion of the creole-french population are educated in the united states, and away from new orleans; consequently they speak the english language and form american associations, imbibe american ideas, and essay to rival american enterprise. still there is a distinct difference in appearance. perhaps the difference in bearing, and in other characteristics, may be attributable to early education, but the first and most radical is surely that of blood. the settlements upon the red and washita rivers did not augment the french population in the country; it has declined, but more signally upon the latter than the former river. there remain but few families there of the ancient population, and these are now so completely americanized as scarcely to be distinguishable. the descendants of the marquis de breard, in one or two families, are there, but all who located on the bayou des arc (and here was the principal settlement), with perhaps one family only, are gone, and the stranger is in their homes. the french character seems to want that fixity of purpose, that self-denial, and steady perseverance, which is so necessary to those who would colonize and subdue a new and inhospitable country. the elevated civilization of the french has long accustomed them to the refinements and luxuries of life; it has entered into and become a part of their natures, and they cannot do violence to this in a sufficient degree to encounter the wilderness and all its privations, or to create from this wilderness those luxuries, and be content in their enjoyment for all the hardships endured in procuring them: they shrink away from these, and prefer the inconveniences and privations of a crowded community with its enjoyments, even in poverty, to the rough and trying troubles which surround and distress the pioneer, who pierces the forest and makes him a home, which, at least, promises all the comforts of wealth and independence to his posterity. he rather prefers to take care that he enjoys as he desires the present, and leaves posterity to do as they prefer. yet there are many instances of great daring and high enterprise in the french creole: these are the exceptions, not the rule. chapter xxvii. abolition of licensed gambling. baton rouge--florida parishes--dissatisfaction--where there's a will, there's a way--storming a fort on horseback--annexation at the point of the poker--raphignac and larry moore--fighting the "tiger"--carrying a practical joke too far--a silver tea-set. that portion of louisiana known as the florida parishes, and consisting of the parishes east of the mississippi, was part of west florida, and was almost entirely settled by americans when a spanish province. baton rouge, which takes its name from the flagstaff which stood in the spanish fort, and which was painted red, (_baton_ meaning stick, and _rouge_, red, to anglicize the name would make it red stick,) was the seat of power for that part or portion of the province. here was a small spanish garrison: on the opposite bank was louisiana; new orleans was the natural market and outlet for the productions of these florida settlements. when the cession of louisiana to the united states occurred, these american settlers, desirous of returning to american rule, were restless, and united in their dissatisfaction with spanish control. they could devise no plan by which this could be effected. their people reached back from the river, along the thirty-first degree of north latitude, far into the interior, and extended thence to the lake border. on three sides they were encompassed by an american population and an american government. they had carried with them into this country all their american habits, and all their love for american laws and american freedom; to the east they were separated by an immense stretch of barren pine-woods from any other settlements upon spanish soil. pensacola was the seat of governmental authority, and this was too far away to extend the feeble arm of spanish rule over these people. they were pretty much without legal government, save such laws and rule as had been by common consent established. these were all american in character, and, to all intents, this was an american settlement, almost in the midst of an american government, and yet without the protection of that or any other government. it was evident that at no distant day the floridas must fall into the hands of the american government. but there was to these people an immediate necessity for their doing so at once. they could not wait. but, what could they do? among these people were many adventurous and determined men: they had mostly emigrated from the west--tennessee, kentucky, western pennsylvania, and virginia; and some were the descendants of those who had gone to the country from the south, in and ' , to avoid the consequences of the revolutionary war. this class of men met in council, and secretly determined to revolutionize the country, take possession of the spanish fort, and ask american protection. they desired to be attached to louisiana as a part of that state. this, however, they could not effect without the consent of the state; and to ask this consent was deemed useless, until they were first recognized as part of the united states. in this dilemma, a veteran of the revolution, and an early pioneer to kentucky, and thence to west florida, said: "'wherever there is a will, there is a way:' we must first get rid of the spanish authority, and look out for what may follow." they secretly assembled a small force, and, upon a concerted day, met in secret, and under the cover of night approached the vicinity of the fort. here they lay _perdu_, and entirely unsuspected by the spanish governor gayoso. as day was approaching, they moved forward on horseback, and entered the open gate of the fort, and demanded its immediate surrender. the only opposition made to the assault was by young gayoso, the governor's son, who was instantly slain, when the fort surrendered unconditionally. perhaps this is the only instance in the history of wars that a fort was ever stormed on horseback. thomas, morgan, moore, johnson, and kemper were the leaders in this enterprise. they were completely successful, and the spanish authorities were without the means to subdue them to their duty as spanish subjects. the next step in their action was now to be decided. if the government of the united states attempted their protection, it would be cause for war with spain; and it was deemed best to organize under the laws of louisiana, and ask annexation to that state. this was done. members of the legislature were elected in obedience to the laws of this state, and appeared at the meeting of that body, and asked to be admitted as members representing the late florida parishes, then, as they assumed, a part and portion of the state. when asked by what authority they claimed to be a part of the state, they answered, succinctly: "we have thrown off the spanish yoke, and, as free and independent americans, have annexed ourselves and the parishes we represent to this state, and claim as our right representation in this legislature: we have joined ourselves to you, because it is our interest to do so, and yours, too; and we mean to be accepted." at the head of this representation was thomas, who was the commander of the party capturing the fort; associated with him was larry moore. thomas came from the river parishes; moore from those contiguous to the lakes; both were kentuckians, both illiterate, and both determined men. they did not speak as suppliants for favors, but as men demanding a right. they knew nothing of national law, and, indeed, very little of any other law; but were men of strong common sense, and clearly understood what was the interest of their people and their own, and, if determination could accomplish it, they meant to have it. there were in the legislature, at the time, two men of strong minds, well cultivated--blanc and raphignac; they represented the city, were frenchmen--not french creoles, but natives of _la belle_ france. they led the opposition to the admission of the florida parishes as part of the state, and their representatives as members of the legislature. they were acquainted with national law, and appreciated the comity of nations, and were indisposed to such rash and informal measures as were proposed by thomas and moore. the portion of the state bordering upon this spanish territory, and especially that part on the mississippi, were anxious for the admission and union; they were unwilling that spain should participate in the control and navigation of any part of the river; and, being peaceable and law-abiding, they wanted such close neighbors subject to the same government and laws. the influence of blanc and raphignac was likely to carry the majority and reject the application of the floridans. the pertinacious opposition of these men inflamed to anger moore and thomas. the matter, to them, was life or death. by some means they must get under the american flag, and they saw the only preventive in these two men. moore (for it was a cold day when the decision was to be made) was seen to place the iron poker in the fire, and leave it there. thomas was replying to blanc in a most inflammatory and eloquent address; for, though rude and unlettered, he was full of native eloquence, and was very fluent: if he could not clothe his strong thoughts in pure english, he could in words well understood and keenly felt. they stimulated moore almost to frenzy. at that critical moment raphignac walked to the fireplace, where moore had remained sitting and listening to thomas. warm words were passing between thomas and blanc, when suddenly moore grasped the heated poker--the end in the fire being at white heat--and calling to thomas with a stentorian voice, "general thomas! you take that white-headed french scoundrel, and i'll take blue-nose," and, brandishing his hot poker over his head, he charged, as with the bayonet, pointing the poker at the stomach of raphignac. "_tonnerre!_" exclaimed the frightened frenchman, and, lifting both hands, he fell back against the wall. moore still held the poker close to his stomach, as he called aloud, "take the question, general thomas! we come here to be admitted, and d--- me if we won't be, or this goes through your bread-basket, i tell you, mr. raphy blue-nose!" raphignac was a tall, thin man, with a terribly large bottled nose. at the end it was purple as the grape which had caused it. the question was put, and the proposition was carried, amid shouts of laughter. "oh!" said raphignac, as the poker was withdrawn, and moore with it, "vat a d--- ole savage is dat larry moore!" thus a part of west florida became a part of louisiana. from that day forward, many of these men became most prominent citizens of the state. the son of johnson--one of the leaders--became its governor. thomas was frequently a member of the legislature, and once a member of congress, from the baton rouge district, where he resided, and where he now sleeps in an honored grave. morgan and moore were frequently members of the legislature. but of all the participants in this affair, thomas was most conspicuous and most remarkable. he was almost entirely without education; but was gifted with great good sense, a bold and honest soul, and a remarkable natural eloquence. his manner was always natural and genial--never, under any circumstances, embarrassed or affected; and in whatever company he was thrown, or however much a stranger to the company, somehow he became the conspicuous man in a short time. the character in his face, the flash of his eye, the remarkable self-possession, the natural dignity of deportment, and his great good sense, attracted, and won upon every one. in all his transactions, he was the same plain, honest man--never, under any circumstances, deviating from truth--plain, unvarnished truth; rigidly stern in morals, but eminently charitable to the shortcomings of others. he was, from childhood, reared in a new country, amid rude, uncultivated people, and was a noble specimen of a frontier man; without the amenities of cultivated life, or the polish of education, yet with all the virtues of the christian heart, and these, perhaps, the more prominently, because of the absence of the others. it was frequently remarked by him that he did not think education would have been of any advantage to him. it enabled men, with pretty words, to hide their thoughts, and deceive their fellow-men with a grace and an ease he despised; and it might have acted so with him, but it would have made him a worse and a more unhappy man. he now never did or said anything that he was ashamed to think of. he did not want to conceal his feelings and opinions, because he did not know how to do it; and he was sure if he attempted it he should make a fool of himself; for lies required so much dressing up in pretty words to make them look like truth, that he should fail for want of words; and truth was always prettiest when naked. in the main, the general was correct; but there are some who lie with a _naiveté_ so perfect that even he would have deemed it truth naked and unadorned. larry moore was a different man, but quite as illiterate and bold as thomas, without his abilities; yet he was by no means devoid of mind. he resided upon the lake border, in the flat pine country, where the land is poor, and the people are ignorant and bigoted. larry was far from being bigoted, save in his politics. he had been a jeffersonian democrat, he knew; but he did not know why. he lived off the road, and did not take the papers. he knew jefferson had bought louisiana and her people, and, as he understood, at seventy-five cents a head. he did not complain of the bargain, though he thought, if old tom had seen them before the bargain was clinched, he would have hesitated to pay so much. but, anyhow, he had given the country a free government and a legislature of her own, and he was a jefferson man, or democrat, or whatever you call his party. he had been sent to the legislature, and volunteered to meet the british under general jackson. from jefferson to jackson he transferred all his devotion; because the one bought, and the other fought for, the country. some part of the glory of the successful defence of new orleans was his, for he had fought for it, side by side with old hickory; and he loved him because he had imprisoned louallier and hall. the one was a frenchman, the other an englishman, and both were enemies of jackson and the country. now he adored general jackson, and was a jackson democrat. he did not know the meaning of the word, but he understood that it was the slogan of the dominant party, and that general jackson was the head of that party. he knew he was a jackson man, and felt whatever jackson did was right, and he would swear to it. he was courageous and independent; feared no one nor anything; was always ready to serve a friend, or fight an enemy--_a fist-fight_; was kind to his neighbors, and always for the under dog in the fight. it would, after this, be supererogatory to say he was popular with such a people as his neighbors and constituents. whenever he chose he was sent to the senate by three parishes, or to the house by one; and in the legislature he was always conspicuous. he knew the people he represented, and could say or do what he pleased; and for any offence he might give, was ready to settle with words, or a _fist-fight_. physically powerful, he knew there were but few who, in a rough-and-tumble, could compete with him; and when his adversary yielded, he would give him his hand to aid him from the ground, or to settle it amicably in words. "any way to have peace," was his motto. there was, however, a different way of doing things in new orleans, where the legislature met. gentlemen were not willing to wear a black eye, or bruised face, from the hands or cudgels of ruffians. they had a short way of terminating difficulties with them. a stiletto or derringer returned the blow, and the charity hospital or potter's field had a new patient or victim. these were places for which larry had no special _penchant_, and in the city he was careful to avoid rows or personal conflicts. he knew he was protected by the constitution from arrest, or responsibility for words uttered in debate, and this was all he knew of the constitution; yet he was afraid that for such words as might be offensive he would be likely to meet some one who would seek revenge in the night, and secretly. these responsibilities he chose to shun, by guarding his tongue by day, and keeping his chamber at night. sometimes, however, in company with those whom he could trust, he would visit, at night, prado's or hicks's saloon, and play a little, just for amusement, with the "tiger." now, in the heyday of larry's political usefulness, gaming was a licensed institution in the city of new orleans. the magnificent charity of the state, the hospital for the indigent, was sustained by means derived from this tax. it was the enlightened policy of french legislation to tax a vice which could not be suppressed by criminal laws. the experience of civilization has, or ought to have taught every people, that the vice of gaming is one which no law can reach so completely as to suppress _in toto_. then, if it will exist, disarm it as much as possible of the power to harm--let it be taxed, and give the exclusive privilege to game to those who pay the tax and keep houses for the purpose of gaming. these will effectually suppress it. everywhere else they are entitled to the game, and will keep close watch that it runs into no other net. let this tax be appropriated to the support of an institution where, in disease and indigence, its victims may find support and relief. make it public, that all may see and know its _habitués_, and who may feel the reforming influence of public opinion. for, at last, this is the only power by which the morals of a community are preserved. let laws punish crimes--public opinion reform vices. larry was a lawmaker, and though he loved a little fun at times, even at the expense of the law, he was very solicitous as to the health of the public morals. in several visits at prado's, he was successful in plucking some of the hair from the tiger. it was exceedingly pleasant to have a little pocket-change to evince his liberality socially with his friends, when it did not trench upon the crop, which was always a lean one on the sand-plains of st. helena; for, like the great corsican, larry had a desolate home in st. helena. on one occasion, however, he went too close to the varmint, and returned to his little dirty apartments on the rue rampart minus all his gains, with a heavy instalment from the crop. his wonted spirits were gone. he moped to the state house, and he sat melancholy in his seat; he heeded not even the call of the yeas and nays upon important legislation. larry was sick at heart, sick in his pocket, and was only seen to pluck up spirit enough to go to the warrant-clerk, and humbly insist upon a warrant on the treasurer for a week's pay to meet a week's board. on monday, however, he came into the senate with more buoyancy of spirit than had been his wont for some days; for larry was a senator now, and had under his special charge and guardianship the people and their morals of three extensive parishes. the senate was scarcely organized and the minutes read, when it was plain larry meant mischief. the hour for motions had arrived, and larry was on his feet: he cleared his throat, and, throwing back his head, said: "mr. president, i have a motion in my hand, which i will read to the senate: "'_resolved_, that a joint committee, of one from the senate, and two from the house, be appointed to report a bill abolishing licensed gaming in the city of new orleans.'" larry had declared war, for he added, as he sent his resolution to the clerk's desk: "at the proper time i mean to say something about these damnable hells." throughout the city there was a buzz; for at that time new orleans had not the fourth of her present population. any move of this sort was soon known to its very extremes. the trustees of the hospital, the stockholders in these licensed faro-banks--for they were, like all robbing-machines, joint-stock companies--and many who honestly believed this the best system to prevent gaming as far as possible, were seen hanging about the lobbies of the legislature. each had his argument in favor of continuing the license, but all were based upon the same motive--interest. the public morals would be greatly injured, instead of being improved; where there were only four gaming establishments, there would be fifty; instead of being open and public, they would be hid away in private, dark places, to which the young and the innocent would be decoyed and fleeced; merchants could not supervise the conduct of their clerks--these would be robbed by their employes. as the thing stood now, cheating operated a forfeiture of charter or license: this penalty removed, cheating would be universal. "what would become of the hospital?" the tax-payer asked. "god knows, our taxes are onerous enough now, and to add to these the eighty thousand dollars now paid by the gamblers--why, the people would not stand it, and this great and glorious charity would be destroyed." to all of these arguments larry was deaf; his constituents expected it of him; the christian church demanded it. they were responsible to heaven for this great sin. the pious prayers of the good sisters of the holy methodist church, as well as those of the baptist, had at last reached the ears of the almighty, and he, larry, felt himself the instrument in his hands to put down the _d----d infernal sons of b----_, who were robbing the innocent and unsuspecting. there was no use of urging arguments of this sort to him: if the charity hospital fell, _let_ her fall, and if the indigent afflicted could not find relief elsewhere, why, they must die--they had to die anyhow at some time, and he didn't see much use in their living, anyhow; and as for the taxes, he was not much concerned about that: he had but little to be taxed, and his constituents had less. "i, or they, as you see, are not very responsible on that score. by the god of moses, this licensed gambling was a sin and a curse, if it did support seven or eight thousand people in the charity hospital every year: that was the reason so many died there, the curse of god was on the place; for the scripture says, the 'wages of sin is death,' and i see this scripture fulfilled right here in that hospital, and the moral and religious portion of my constituents so feel it, and i am bound to represent them. and the d----d gamblers were no friends of mine or of the church." there was one, a little dark-moustached spaniard, who was listening and peering at him, with eyes black and pointed as a chincapin, and, murmuring softly in spanish, turned and went away. "what did that d----d black-muzzled whelp say?" larry asked. "i don't understand their d----d lingo." an unobtrusive individual in the background translated it for him. he said: "he who strikes with the tongue, should always be ready to guard with the hands!" "what in the h--- does he mean by that?" asked larry. "_je ne sais pas!_" said one whom larry remembered to have seen in the tiger's den, and apparently familiar there, for he had been on the wrong side of the table. "i suppose they mean to shoot me." the frenchman shrugged his shoulders most knowingly. larry grew pale, and walked from the lobby to his seat. here he knew he was safe. he laid his head in his palm, and rested it there for many minutes. at last, he said sharply: "let them shoot, and be d----d." the committee was announced. larry, who was the chairman, and two from the house, constituted this important committee. one of these loved fun, and never lost an opportunity to have it. the meeting of the committee soon took place, and the chairman insisted that the first named on the part of the house should draft the bill. this was the wag. he saw larry was frightened, and peremptorily refused, declaring it was the chairman's duty. "i do not wish to have anything to do with this matter any way. it was a very useless thing, and foolish too, to be throwing a cat into a bee-gum; for this was nothing else. this bill will start every devil of those little moustached foreigners into fury: they are all interested in these faro-banks. it is their only way of making a living, and they are as vindictive as the devil. any of them can throw a spanish knife through a window, across the street, and into a man's heart, seated at his table, or fireside; and to-day i heard one of them say, in french, which he supposed i did not understand, that this bill was nothing but revenge for money lost; and if revenge was so sweet, why, he could taste it too. now, i have lost no money there--have never been in any of their dens, and he could not mean me." "gentlemen, we will adjourn this meeting until to-morrow," said larry, "when i will try and have a bill for your inspection." the morrow came, and the bill came with it, and was reported and referred to the committee of the whole house. on the ensuing morning, larry found upon his desk, in the senate chamber, the following epistle: "mr. larry moore: you have no shame, or i would expose you in the public prints. you know your only reason for offering a bill to repeal the law licensing gaming in this city is to be revenged on the house which won honorably from you a few hundred dollars, most of which you had, at several sittings, won from the same house. now, you have been talked to; still you persist. there is a way to reach you, and it shall be resorted to, if you do not desist from the further prosecution of this bill." the hand in which this epistle was written was cramped and evidently disguised, to create the impression of earnestness and secrecy. it was a long time before larry could spell through it. when he had made it out, he rose to a question of order and privilege, and sent the missive to the secretary's desk, to be read to the senate. during the reading there was quite a disposition to laugh, on the part of many senators, who saw in it nothing but a joke. "what in the h--- do you see in that thar document to laugh at, mr. senators? d--- it, don't you see it is a threat, sirs!--a threat to 'sassinate me? i want to know, by the eternal gods, if a senator in this house--this here body--is to be threatened in this here way? you see, mr. president, that these here gamblers (d--- 'em!) want to rule the state. was that what general jackson fit the battle of new orleans for, down yonder in old chemut's field? i was thar, sir; i risked my life in that great battle, and i want to tell these d----d scoundrels that they can't scare me--no, by the eternal!" "i must call the senator to order. it is not parliamentary to swear in debate," said the president of the senate. "i beg pardon of the chair; but i didn't know this senate was a parliament before; but i beg pardon. i didn't know i swore before; but, mr. president, i'll be d----d if this ain't a figure beyant me: for a parcel of scoundrels--d----d blacklegs, sir!--to threaten a senator in this legislature with 'sassination, for doin' the will of his constituents." "the chair would remind the senator that there is no question or motion before the senate." "thar ain't? well, that's another wrinkle. ain't that thar hell-fired letter to me, sir--a senator, sir, representing three parishes, sir--before this house? (or maybe you'll want me to call it a parliament, sir?) it is, sir; and i move its adoption." this excited a general laugh, and, at the same time, the ire of moore. "by g--, sir; i don't know if it wouldn't benefit the state if these hell-fired gamblers were to 'sassinate the whole of this house or parliament." the laugh continued, and moore left the senate in a rage. the next morning found a second epistle, apparently from a different source, on moore's table. it was written in a fine, bold hand, and said: "larry: you splurged largely over a letter found on your desk yesterday. i see you have carried it to the newspapers. i want you to understand distinctly and without equivocation, if the bill you reported to the senate becomes a law, _you die. verbum sapientis_." larry had not returned to his seat during the day; but the next morning he came in, flanked by several senators, who had come with him from his quarters. there lay the threatening document, sealed, and directed to the "honorable larry moore." in a moment the seal was broken. this he could read without much trouble. after casting his eyes over it, he read it aloud. "now, sir, mr. president, here is another of these d----d letters, and this time i am told if this bill passes, i am to die. maybe you'll say this ain't before the senate." "the chair would remind the senator that the simple reading of a private letter to the senate raises no question. there must be a motion in relation to what disposition shall be made of the paper." "i know that, sir. mr. president, i'm not a greeny in legislator matters. i have been here before, sir; and didn't i move its adoption yesterday, sir? and wasn't i laughed out of the house, sir? and i expect if i was to make the same motion, i should be laughed out of the house again, sir. some men are such d----d fools that they will laugh at anything." "the chair must admonish the senator that oaths are not in order." "well, by g--, sir, is my motion in order to-day? i want to know; i want you to tell me that." "order, mr. senator!" "yes, sir, 'order!' mr. president, that's the word. order, sir; is my motion in order, sir?" "the chair calls the senator to order." "ah! that is it, is it? well, sir, what order shall i take? i ask a question, and the chair calls me to order. well, sir, i'm in only tolerable order, but i want my question answered--i want to know if i'm to be threatened with 'sassination by the hell-fired gamblers, and then laughed at by senators for bringing it before the senate, and insulted by you, sir, by calling me to order for demanding my rights, and the rights of my constituents, here, from this senate? this, sir, is a d----d pretty situation of affairs. if general jackson was in your place, i'd have my rights, and these d----d gamblers would get theirs, sir: he would hang them under the second section, and no mistake." the laugh was renewed, and the president asked larry if he had any motion to make. "yes, sir," said larry, now thoroughly aroused. "i move this senate adjourn and go home, and thar stay until they larn to behave like gentlemen, by g--!" and away he went in angry fury. for four consecutive days, this scene was enacted in the senate. each succeeding day saw moore more and more excited, and the senate began to entertain the opinion that there was an intention to intimidate the legislature, and thus prevent the passage of the bill. these daily missives grew more and more threatening, and terror began to usurp the place of rage with moore. he would not leave the senate chamber or his quarters without being accompanied by friends. in the mean time the bill came up, and moore had made a characteristic speech, and the morning following there were half a dozen letters placed upon his table from the post-office. their threats and warnings increased his alarm. some of these purported to come from friends, detailing conversations of diabolical character which had been overheard--others told him only an opportunity was wanting to execute the threats previously made. the city became excited--a public meeting was called, strong indignation resolutions were passed, and highly approbatory ones of the course and conduct of the intrepid senator, pledging him countenance and support. a subscription was taken up, and a splendid silver tea-set was presented him, and in this blaze of excitement the bill became a law--and the city one extended gambling-shop. the silver set was publicly exhibited, with the name of the senator engraved upon it, and the cause for presenting it, and by whom presented. moore was contemplating this beautiful gift with a group of friends: among them were the three individuals who had been the authors of all this mischief, when one of them asked moore, "where will you put this rich gift? it will show badly in your pine-pole cabin." "i intend having the cabin, every log of it, painted red as lightning," said moore. "the silver shan't be disgraced." originally it had been intended by those getting up the joke, when it had sufficiently frightened moore, to laugh at him; but it took too serious a turn, and moore died a hero, not knowing that every letter was written by the same hand, and that the whole matter was a practical joke. all, save only one, who participated in it, are in the grave, and only a few remain who will remember it. larry moore was a kentuckian by birth, and had many kentucky characteristics. he was boisterous but kind-hearted, boastful and good at a fist-fight, decently honest in most matters, but would cheat in a horse-trade. early education is sometimes greatly at fault in its inculcations, and this was, in moore's case, peculiarly so. had he not been born in kentucky, these jockey tricks perhaps would not have been a part of his accomplishments. for there, it is said, no boy is permitted to leave home on a horse enterprise until he has cheated his father in a horse-trade. moore left the state so young that it was by some doubted whether this trait was innate or acquired; but it always distinguished him, as a kentuckian by birth at least. he was remarkable for the tenacity of his friendships. he would not desert any one. it was immaterial what was the character of the man, if he served moore, moore was his friend, and he would cling quite as close to one in the penitentiary as in the halls of congress. it made no difference whether he wore cloth or cottonade, lived in a palace or pine-pole cabin, whether honest or a thief, the touchstone to his heart was, "he is my friend, and i am at his service." not only in this, but in everything else, he strove to imitate his great friend and prototype, general jackson. he lived to be an old man, and among his constituents he was great, and made his mark in his day in the state. there was some fun in larry, but he was the cause of much more in others. larry, rest in peace, and light be the sand that lies on your coffin! chapter xxviii. three great judges. a speech in two languages--long sessions--matthews, martin, and porter --a singular will--a scion of ' --five hundred dollars for a little fun with the dogs--cancelling a note. the legislature of louisiana, forty years ago, sat in new orleans, and was constituted of men of varied nationalities. it was common to see in close union, frenchmen, germans, italians, englishmen, and americans, with here and there a scotchman, with his boat-shaped head and hard common sense. the creole-french and the americans, however, constituted the great majority of the body. when the cession to the united states took place, and the colony soon after was made a state of the union, the constitution required all judicial and legislative proceedings to be conducted in english, which was the legal language. but as very few of the ancient population could speak or read english, it was obligatory on the authorities to have everything translated into french. all legislative and judicial proceedings, consequently, were in two languages. this imposed the necessity of having a clerk or translator, who could not only translate from the records, but who could retain a two-hours' speech in either language, and, immediately upon the speaker's concluding, repeat it in the opposite language. this complicated method of procedure consumed much time, and consequently the sessions of the legislature were protracted usually for three months, and sometimes four. this fact caused many planters, whose business called them frequently to the city during the winter, to become members of the legislature. at this time, too, representation was based on taxation, and the suffragist was he who paid a tax to the state. the revenues of the state were from taxation, and these taxes were levied alone upon property. there were no poll taxes, and very few articles except land, negroes, and merchandise were taxed. the consequence was, the government was in the hands of the property-holders only. the constituency was of a better order than is usually furnished by universal suffrage, and the representation was of a much more elevated character than generally represents such a constituency. party spirit, at that time, had made little progress in dividing the people of the state, and the gentlemen representatives met cordially, and constituted an undivided society. there was no division of interest between different sections of the state, and the general good was consulted by all. the legislature was then composed of substantial men. the seat of government being in the city, and the sessions held during the winter and spring months, men of business, and especially professional men, might represent the city constituency, and yet give a good portion of their time to their usual avocations. good laws were the consequence; and the bench being filled by executive appointment, with the consent of the senate, and their tenure of office being for life or good behavior, insured the selection of proper men for judges. the supreme court was composed at that time of three judges, matthews, martin, and porter. matthews was a georgian by birth, martin was a native of france, and porter an irishman: all of these were remarkable men, and each in his own history illustrative of what energy and application will effect for men, when properly applied in youth. chief-justice george matthews was the son of that very remarkable man, governor george matthews, of the state of georgia. he was born in oglethorpe county, georgia, and received only such education as at that time could be obtained in the common country schools of the state. he read law in early life, and was admitted to the bar of his native state. his father was governor of the state at the time of the passage of the celebrated yazoo act, alienating more than half of the territory of the state. this act was secured from the legislature by corruption of the boldest and most infamous character. governor matthews was only suspected of complicity in this transaction from the fact that he signed the bill as governor. his general character was too pure to allow of suspicion attaching to him of corruption in the discharge of the duties of his office of governor. at the period of passing this act, the united states government was new. the states, under their constitutions, were hardly working smoothly; the entire system was experimental. the universal opinion that the people were sovereign, and that it was the duty of every public officer to yield obedience to the will of the majority, clearly expressed, operated strongly upon the executives of the states, and very few, then, attempted to impose a veto upon any act of the legislatures of the different states. tradition represents governor matthews as opposed individually to the act, but he did not feel himself justified in interposing a veto simply upon his individual opinion of the policy or propriety of the measure, especially when he was assured in his own mind that the legislature had not transcended their constitutional powers; and this opinion was sustained as correct by the supreme court of the united states in the case of fletcher _vs._ peck. the great unpopularity of the transaction involved the governor and his family. men excited almost to frenzy, never stay to reflect, but madly go forward, and, in attempts to right great wrongs, commit others, perhaps quite as great as those they are seeking to remedy. governor matthews, despite his revolutionary services and his high character for honesty and moral worth, never recovered from the effects of this frenzy which seized upon the people of the state, and is the only one of the early governors of the state who has remained unhonored by the refusal of the legislature, up to this day, to call or name a county for him. this unpopularity was keenly felt by the children of matthews, who were men of great worth. william h. crawford was at this time filling a large space in the public confidence of the people of georgia, and gave to governor matthews his confidence and friendship. it was he who persuaded george matthews, the son, to emigrate to louisiana. he frankly told him this unpopularity of his father would weigh heavily upon him through life, if he remained in georgia. "you have talents, george," said he, "and, what is quite as important to success in life, common sense, with great energy: these may pull you through here, but you will be old before you will reap anything from their exercise in your native state. these prejudices against your father may die out, but not before most of those who have participated in them shall have passed away: truth will ultimately triumph, but it will be when your father is in the grave, and you gray with years. to bear and brave this may be heroic, but very unprofitable. i think i have influence enough with the president to secure an appointment in louisiana--probably the judgeship of the territory, or one of them." matthews feared his qualifications for such an appointment, and so expressed himself to crawford. the civil law was the law of louisiana, and he was entirely unacquainted with this. crawford's reply was eminently characteristic. the great principles of all laws are the same. their object is to enforce the right, and maintain impartial justice between man and man. in hearing a case, a judge of good common sense will generally find out the justice of the matter. let him decide right, and do substantial justice, and he will, ninety-nine times out of one hundred, decide according to law, whether he knows anything about the law or not. and such a judge is always best for a new country, or, in truth, for any country. the appointment was secured, and george matthews left his native state forever. soon after reaching louisiana, he married miss flower, of west feliciana--a lady in every way suited to him. she was of fine family, with strong mind, domestic habits, and full of energy. they were very much attached to each other, and were happy and prosperous through all the life of the great judge. mrs. matthews still lives, and in the immediate neighborhood of her birthplace, and is now active, useful, and beloved by all who know her, though extremely old. when the territory was organized into a state under the constitution, matthews was appointed chief justice of the supreme court by governor claiborne--an office he held through life, and the duties of which he discharged with distinguished ability, and to the honor of the state and the entire satisfaction of the bar and the people. the mind of judge matthews was strong and methodical. his general character largely partook of the character of his mind. he steadily pursued a fixed purpose, and was prudent, cautious, and considerate in all he did. there was no speculation in his mind. he jumped to no conclusions; but examined well and profoundly every question--weighed well every argument; but he never forgot the advice of mr. crawford, and sometimes would strain a point in order to effect strict and substantial justice. as a judge, he was peculiarly cautious. however intricate was any case, he bent to it his whole mind, and the great effort was always to learn the right--to sift from it all the verbiage and ambiguity which surrounded and obscured it, and then to sustain it in his decision. upright and sincere in his pursuits, methodical, with fixity of purpose, he was never in a hurry about anything, and was always content, in his business, with moderate profits as the reward of his labor. as a companion, he was gentle, kind, and eminently social; but he gave little time to social entertainments or light amusements. in his decisions as a judge, he established upon a firm basis the laws, and the enlightened exposition of these, in their true spirit. a foundation was given to the jurisprudence of the state by this court, which entitles it justly to the appellation of the supreme court, and to the gratitude of the people of the state. the life of judge george matthews was one of peculiar usefulness. learned and pure as a judge, moral and upright as a citizen, affectionate and gentle as a husband and father, and humane and indulgent as a master, his example as a man was one to be recommended to every young man. its influence upon society was prominently beneficial, and was an exemplification of moral honesty, perseverance, and success. he won a proud name as a man and as a jurist, and accumulated a large fortune, without ever trenching upon the rights of another. he secured the confidence and affection of every member of his wife's family--a very extensive one--and was the benefactor of most of them. he was beloved and honored by all his neighbors, through a long life. in his public duties and his private relations he never had an imputation cast upon his conduct, and he died without an enemy. françois xavier martin was a native of france. in early life he emigrated to the united states, and fixed his residence at newbern, north carolina. he was poor, and without a trade or profession by which to sustain himself, or to push his fortunes in a strange land. he labored under another exceedingly great obstacle to success: though pretty well educated, he could not speak the english language. but he had a proud spirit and an indomitable will. he sought employment as a printer, choosing this as a means of learning the english language. though he had never fingered a type in his life, he had that confidence in himself which inspired the conviction that he could overcome any difficulty presenting itself between his will and success. he found the editor of the newspaper kind, and apparently indifferent; for he asked no questions relative to his qualifications as a printer, but, requiring help, gave him immediate employment. he went to work--was very slow, but very assiduous and constant, never leaving his stand until he had completed his work. there was a compositor near him, and he watched and learned without asking questions. owing to the little english he knew, no questions were asked; but it was observed in the office that he was rapidly improving in this, and in the facility of doing his work. the paper was a weekly one, consequently he had ample time for his work, and he improved every moment. the many mistakes he made in the beginning were attributed to his ignorance of the language, and it was not until he became the most expert compositor in the office that it was known that he had never, until he entered this office, been in a printing-office. he was so abstemious in his habits that those about the office wondered how he lived. he rarely left the composing-room, and, in his moments of rest from his work, was employed in studying the language, or reading some english author. a bit of cheese, a loaf of bread, some dried fish, and a cup of coffee constituted his bill of fare for every day, and these were economically used. he never spoke of home, of previous pursuits, or future intentions. he held communion with no one--his own thoughts being his only companions--but steadily persevered in his business. no amusements attracted him. he was never at any place of public resort. he was the talk of the town, though none had seen him unless they visited the little, dirty, inky office in which he was employed. he never seemed to know he was an object of curiosity, and when--as sometimes was the case--half a dozen persons would come expressly to see him, he never turned his head from his work, or seemed to be conscious of their presence. in this office his progress was very rapid, and it was not very long before he became the foreman in the composing-room. he continued in that capacity until he became the owner of the entire establishment. not content with the life of a printer, he disposed of his printing establishment and paper, and came to new orleans. before leaving france he had read some law, and now he applied himself closely to its study. in a short time he rose to distinction, and was in a lucrative practice. it was a maxim with judge martin never to be idle, and never to expend time or money uselessly. he found time from his professional duties to write a history of louisiana, which is, perhaps, more correct in its facts than any history ever written. early deprivations, and the necessity of a most rigid economy to meet the exigencies of this straitened condition, created habits of abstinence and saving which he never gave up. on the contrary, like all habits long indulged, they became stronger and more obdurate as life advanced. before his elevation to the supreme bench, he had accumulated a fortune of at least one hundred thousand dollars, which he had judiciously invested in the city of new orleans. the tenure of his office was for life, and his ambition never aspired to anything beyond; but he devoted himself to the duties of this with the assiduity of one determined, not only to know, but faithfully to discharge them. judge martin was conscientious in all that he did as a man, and remarkably scrupulous as a judge. he was unwilling to hasten his judgments, and sometimes was accused of tardiness in rendering them. this resulted from the great care exercised in examining the merits of the case, and to make himself sure of the law applicable to it. the peculiar organization of the supreme court of louisiana imposes immense labor upon the judges; they are not only charged with the duty of correcting errors of law, but the examination of all the facts and all the testimony introduced in the trials in the district court. in truth, the case comes up _de novo_, and is reviewed as from the beginning, and a judgment made up without regard to the proceedings below further than to determine from the record of facts and law sent up, holding in all cases jurisdiction as well of facts as law--and in truth it is nothing more than a high court of chancery. judge martin was fond of labor, but did not like to do the same labor twice; hence his particularity in examining well both facts and law, in every case submitted for his adjudication. he wished the law permanently established applicable to every case, and disliked nothing so much as being compelled to overrule any previous decision of the supreme court. his mind was eminently judicial; its clear perceptions and analytical powers peculiarly fitted him for the position of supreme judge. but there was another trait of character, quite as necessary to the incumbent of the bench, for which he was altogether as much distinguished. he was without prejudice, and only knew men before his court as parties litigant. it was said of him, by john r. grymes, a distinguished lawyer of new orleans, that he was better fitted by nature for a judge than any man who ever graced the bench. "he was all head, and no heart." this was severely said, and to some extent it was true, for judge martin appeared without sympathy for the world, or any of the world. he had no social habits; he lived in seclusion with his servant ben, a venerable negro, who served him for all purposes. these two had been so long and so intimately associated, that in habits and want of feeling they seemed identical. ben served him because he was his master and could compel it. he tolerated ben because he could not well do without him. he kept an interest account with ben. he had paid for him six hundred dollars, when first purchased. ten per cent, upon this amount was sixty dollars. his insurance upon a life policy, which risk he took himself, was one hundred dollars. his services were regularly valued by what such a man would hire for. ben accompanied him on the circuit, and died at alexandria. when this was told him, he immediately referred to this account, and declared he had saved money by buying ben, but should be loser if he paid his funeral expenses, which he declined to do. judge martin was very near-sighted, and it was amusing to see him with his little basket doing his marketing, examining scrupulously every article, cheapening everything, and finally taking the refuse of meats and vegetables, rarely expending more than thirty cents for the day's provisions. his penurious habits seemed natural: they had characterized him from the moment he came to the united states, and were then so complete as not to be intensified by age and experience. for many years, he had no relative in this country, and he created no relations, outside of his business, with the community in which he lived. his antisocial nature and his miserable manner of living kept every one from him. secluded, and studious in his habits, he never seemed solitary, for his books and papers occupied his entire time. his thirst for knowledge was coequal with his thirst for money--and why, no one could tell. he never made a display of the one, or any use of the other but to beget money. there seemed an innate love for both, and an equal disposition to husband both. he seemed to have no ulterior view in hoarding--he endowed no charity, nor sought the world's praise in the grave, by building a church or endowing a hospital. with mankind, his only relations were professional. he never married, and had no taste for female society--was never known to attend a ball or private party, to unite himself with any society, or be at a public meeting--never indulged in a joke or frivolous conversation, and had no use for words unless to expound law or conclude a contract; strictly punctual to every engagement, but exceedingly chary in making any. as judge martin advanced in years, his habits became more and more secluded. he had written for a brother, who came to him from france. this brother was quite as peculiar as himself--they lived together, and he in a great degree substituted ben, at least so far as society was concerned. now he was rarely seen upon the street, or mingling with any, save an occasional visit to some member of the bar, who, like himself, had grown old in the harness of the law. during the early period of the state government he reported the decisions of the supreme court: these reports are models, and of high authority in the courts of louisiana. judge martin's mind was one of peculiar lucidity and extraordinary vigor; its capacity to acquire, analyze, and apply was quite equal to that of the great marshall; its power of condensation was superior to either of his compeers, while its capacity for application was never surpassed. it had been trained to close and continuous thought, and so long had this habit been indulged that it had become nature with him. his phlegmatic temperament relieved him from anything like impulsiveness in thought or action; all work with him was considerately approached and assiduously performed. his habits were temperate to austerity, and his mode of life penuriously mean; but, as said of another judge, this may have been the result of habit growing from extreme necessity--though the same characteristics were conspicuous in his brother: like the judge, he was unmarried, and, though but little younger, was always spoken to and spoken of as his boy-brother. like his confrere, he remained upon the bench until he died, which was in extreme old age. it has been asserted by some that judge martin soiled his reputation in his will. it was a very simple and brief will, giving all he possessed to his brother, and was autographic--that is, written in his own hand, and signed, dated, and sealed up, and upon the back of the document written, "this is my autographic will," and this signed with his own proper hand. such a will is almost impervious to attack under the laws of louisiana. the law of louisiana levies a tax of ten per cent, upon all estates or legacies made to leave the state for foreign countries. the brother of judge martin, as soon as his will was administered and the proceeds of his estate were in hand, left the united states for france, carrying with him three hundred thousand dollars, the entire amount of which the judge died possessed; and it was subsequently ascertained that he had left written instructions with his brother to dispose among his european relatives this sum in obedience to this secret letter of instructions. this was considered as his will proper; and it was contended that the transaction was a fraud, to deprive the state of the legal percentage upon the amount going out of the country. an attempt was made to recover this amount from his executor, but failed; and the attorney for the state was rebuked by the supreme court for attempting an imputation dishonorable to the character of the deceased judge--a legacy bequeathed to the state, in the distinguished services rendered to her by him and through so many years of his life. the facts are as stated. it is true, the will was a clear bequest of all his estate to his brother, a resident of the state, and the memorandum a mere request, and this might have been destroyed or disobeyed with impunity. the will alone was the authoritative disposition of his estate; the brother claimed under this, and the property once in his possession, it was his to dispose of at pleasure. the death of judge martin was regretted by every one as a serious loss to the state, though he had attained very nearly to the age of fourscore. he had failed, from the entire want of social and sympathetic attributes in the composition of his nature, to fasten himself upon the affections of any one, though he commanded the respect of all for the high qualities of his intellect, his public services, and the consistent honesty of his life. he was followed to the grave by the entire bench and bar, and most of the distinguished people of his adopted city. but i doubt if a tear was shed at his funeral. he was without the ties in life which, sundered by death, wring tears and grief from the living who loved and who have lost the endeared one. all that the head could give, he had--the heart denied him all: in life he had given it to no one, and his death had touched no heart; and no tear embalmed his bier, no flower planted by affection's hand blooms about his grave. still he has left an imperishable monument to his fame in his judicial career. alexander porter, the junior by many years of matthews and martin, his associates on the bench, was an irishman by birth, and came in very early life to the united states. he was the son of an irish presbyterian minister of remarkable abilities and great learning. as a chemist, he was only inferior to sir humphrey davy, of his day. during the troubles of , (since known as the rebellion of ' ,) he was travelling and delivering lectures upon chemistry through ireland. he fell under suspicion as being an emissary of the society of united irishmen, who was covering, under the character of a scientific lecturer, his real mission to stir up and unite the irish people in aid of the views of those who were organizing the rebellion. to be suspected was to be arrested, and to be arrested was wellnigh equivalent to being executed--sometimes with the mockery of a trial, and, where evidence was wanting to fix suspicion, even by drum-head court-martial. this latter was the fate of the accomplished and learned porter. the wrath of the government visited his family. the brother of the sufferer collected his own and the children of his murdered brother, consisting of two sons and several daughters, and emigrated to america. a number of emigrants from their immediate neighborhood had selected nashville, tennessee, as a home in the new world, and thither he came. the education of alexander, the eldest of the sons, had progressed considerably in ireland, and was continued for some years at nashville. being poor, he was compelled to employ some of his time in pursuits foreign to study, in order to supply him with the means of pursuing the latter. this education was irregular, but was the foundation of that which in maturer life was most complete. he studied law when quite young, intending at first to remain at nashville. the competition at the bar in that place was formidable, and he could not hope to succeed as his ambition prompted, without patient application for years. louisiana had just been ceded to the united states, mississippi was filling with population: both these territories would soon be states. already they were inviting fields for enterprise and talent, and soon to be more so. pondering these facts in his ardent mind, and riding alone on one occasion to a justice's court in the country to attend to some trifling matter, he chanced to overtake general jackson. he had been frequently importuned by jackson to remove to louisiana. jackson was, to some extent, familiar with the country, had frequently visited it, and at that time was interested in a retail store at bruensburg, a place situated at the mouth of the bayou pierre, immediately on the bank of the mississippi river. mentioning his wish to emigrate to some point or place where he might expect more speedy success in his profession, jackson, with his accustomed ardor and emphasis, advised him to go to one of these new territories, and in such colors did he paint their advantages and the certain and immediate success of any young man of abilities and industry, that porter's imagination was fired, and he immediately determined to go at once to one of these el dorados--there to fix his home and commence the strife with fortune, to coax or command her approving smiles. returning to nashville, he communicated his intentions to his uncle; they met his approval, and in a short time he was ready to leave in search of a new home. he was about to leave every friend, to find his home in the midst of strangers, without even an acquaintance to welcome and encourage him. but he was young, vigorous, and hopeful; alive, too, to all he had to encounter, and determined to conquer it. still, to one of his natural warmth of feeling, the parting from all he had ever known, and all on earth he loved, wrung his heart, and he lingered, dreading the parting that was to come. his kind and devoted uncle, his brothers he loved so tenderly, his sisters, and the friends he had made, all were to be left--and perhaps forever. there were then no steamers to navigate the waters of the west. he might float away, and rapidly, to his new home; but to return through the wilderness, filled with savages and beset with dangers, was a long and hazardous journey, and would require, not only time, but means, neither of which were at his command. he met general jackson again. "what!" said he, "alick, not gone yet? this won't do. when you determine, act quickly; somebody may get in before you. and remember, alick, you are going to a new country--and a country, too, where men fight. you will find a different people from those you have grown among, and you must study their natures, and accommodate yourself to them. if you go to louisiana, you will find nearly all the people french; they are high-minded, and fight at the drop of a hat; and now let me tell you, it is always best to avoid a fight; but sometimes it can't be done, and then a man must stand up to it like a man. but let me tell you, alick, there are not half the men who want to fight that pretend to; you can tell this by their blustering. now, when you find one of these, and they are mighty common, just stand right up to him, and always appear to get madder than he does--look him right in the eye all the time; but remember to keep cool, for sometimes a blusterer will fight; so keep cool, and be ready for anything. but, alick, the best way of all is to fight the first man that offers, and do it in such a way as to let everybody know you will fight, and you will not be much bothered after that. now, alick, you will hear a great deal of preaching against fighting--well, that is all right; but i tell you the best preacher among them all loves a man who will fight, a thousand times more than he does a coward who won't. all the world respects a brave man, because all the better qualities of human nature accompany courage. a brave man is an honest man; he is a good husband, a good neighbor, and a true friend. you never saw a true woman who did not love a brave man. and now do you be off at once, look for a good place, and when you stop, stop to stay; and let all you say and all you do look to your advantage in the future." long years after this parting scene, and when porter had become a national man, he used to love to recount this conversation to his friends, and the impression it created upon his mind of the wonderful man who had so freely advised him. when porter came, he explored the entire country, and selected for his home opelousas, the seat of justice for the parish of st. landry. to reach this point from new orleans, at that time, required no ordinary exertion. he came first to donaldsonville, where he hired a man to bring him in a small skiff to the courthouse of the parish of assumption. there he employed another to transport him through the verret canal to the lakes, and on through these to marie jose's landing, in attakapas; then another was engaged to take him up the teche to st. martinsville, and from there he went by land to opelousas. this route is nearly three hundred miles. the banks of the teche he found densely populated with a people altogether different in appearance, and speaking a language scarcely one word of which he understood, and in everything different from anything he had ever before seen: added to this, he found them distrustful, inhospitable, and hating the americans, to whose dominion they had been so recently transferred. he used to relate an anecdote of this trip, in his most humorous manner. "i had," he said, "been all day cramped up in the stern of a small skiff, in the broiling sun, with nothing to drink but the tepid water of the teche. i was weary and half sick, when i came to the front of a residence, which wore more the appearance of comfort and respectability than any i had passed during the day. it was on sunday, and there were a number of decently dressed people, young and old, upon the gallery or piazza, and there were great numbers of cattle grazing out on the prairie. here, i thought, i may find some cool water, and perhaps something to mix with it. i landed, and went to the front gate, and called. this was quite near the house, and i thought some one said, 'come in.' i opened the gate, and started for the house. at this juncture, a tall, dark man, wearing a very angry look, came from the interior of the house, and stopping at the gallery door, looked scowlingly down upon me as i approached the steps. '_arrêtez!_' he said, waving his hand. this wave i understood, but not the word, and stopped. he spoke to me in french: i did not understand. i asked for water: this he did not understand, as it was pronounced with considerable of the brogue. turning abruptly round, he called aloud, '_pierre!_' and a negro man came out, who was directed to ask me what i wanted. i told him, water: this he translated for his master. he spoke again angrily to the negro, who told me there was water in the bayou. 'then, can i get a little butter-milk?' i asked. as soon as this was translated to him, he flew into a violent rage, and commenced gesticulating passionately. 'you better run, sir,' said the negro, 'he call de dogs for bite you.' i heard the yelp in the back yard, and started for the gate with a will: it was time, for in a moment there were a dozen lean and vicious curs at my heels, squalling and snapping with angry determination. i fortunately reached the gate in time to close it behind me and shut off my pursuers, amid the laughter and gibes of those in the gallery. i took my boat, and a few miles above found a more hospitable man, who gave me my dinner, plenty of milk, and a most excellent glass of brandy. i inquired the name of the brute, and recorded it in my memory for future use. ten years after that, he came into my office, and told me he wished to have my services as a lawyer. he had quarrelled with his wife, and they had separated. she was suing him for a separation, and property, dotal and paraphernal. if she recovered, and there were strong reasons for supposing she would, he was ruined. "'why do you come to me?' i asked. "'ah! advocat porter, my friend tell me you de best lawyer, and in my trouble i want de best.' he stated his case, and i told him i would undertake it for a thousand dollars. "'_mon dieu!_' he exclaimed, with a desponding shrug, 'it is not possible to me for pay so much.' "'then you must employ some one else.' "'but dere is none else dat be so good like you. monsieur brent is for my wife--got damn!--an' you is de best now, so my friend tell me.' "'very well, then, if you want my services, you must pay for them; and you had better come to terms at once, for here is a note which i have just received from mr. brent, telling me he wishes to see me, and i expect it is to engage me to assist him in this very case.' "'_o mon dieu! mon dieu!_' he exclaimed, in agony. 'vell, i shall give you one thousand dollar.' "i immediately wrote a note for the amount, payable when the suit was determined; but it was with great difficulty i could induce him to sign it. at length he did, however, and i gained his case for him. he came punctually to pay his note. when i had the money in hand, i told him i had charged him five hundred dollars for attending to his case, and five hundred for setting his dogs on me. "'i been tink dat all de time,' he said, as he left the office." there were then several men of eminence at the bar in the opelousas and attakapas country--brent, baker, bowen, and bronson. the superior abilities of porter soon began to be acknowledged. his practice increased rapidly, and when a convention was called to form a constitution for the state of louisiana, porter was elected from opelousas as a delegate. still very young, and scarcely known in the city or along the coast parishes, he came unheralded by any extraordinary reputation for abilities. very soon, however, he was taking the lead amid the best talent in the state. in every feature of this constitution the mind of porter is apparent; and to-day, to one who has witnessed the forming and passing away of many constitutions, and their effect upon public morals and the general interests of the country, it appears the best that was ever given to a state in this union. to those who were most active in the formation of this constitution, and who had most at heart the protection of every interest in the state, the judicial system was most interesting. the preserving of the civil law as the law of the land, and which was guaranteed by the treaty of cession, and at the same time to engraft american ideas upon that system, was a delicate and difficult matter. the french and the french creoles were desirous of retaining as much of french law and french ideas as possible. to these they had always been accustomed: they thought them best, and were very loath to permit innovations. a written constitution was to these people entirely a new thing. accustomed to almost absolute power in the hands of their governors, with his council--these being appointed by the crown, to which they owed allegiance--they could hardly comprehend a constitutional representative form of government, and, naturally distrustful of the americans, they feared every move on their part. porter was an irishman, and they distrusted him and henry johnson less than any others of the convention speaking the english language. where a difference of opinion seemed irreconcilable between the two interests, porter was generally the referee, and he was always successful in reconciling these disputes, and bringing both parties to the support of his own views, which were those generally between the two extremes. in this way he succeeded in having a constitution framed as he wished it, upon the organization of the state government. under this constitution, with matthews and martin, he was placed upon the bench of the supreme court. here he remained for many years; but his ambition sought distinction in the councils of the nation, and he resigned his seat to become a candidate for the senate of the united states. he had, years before, married the sister of isaac l. baker, of the attakapas country, by whom he had two daughters. one of them had died in early life; the other--a most lovely woman--was under the care of his maiden sister, who resided with him, and had charge of his household until her death. subsequently to the death of this lady, this only child was married to mr. alston, of south carolina, but survived her marriage only a short time, dying childless. he was successful in his canvass for the senate, and in that body he soon became prominent as an orator of great powers, and as a most active business man. it was here the long-existing acquaintance with mr. clay ripened into deep friendship. porter had always been the supporter of the views of mr. clay, and during his six years' service in the senate, he gave a hearty and efficient support to the measures representing the policy of that great statesman. after the expiration of his senatorial term he retired with an exhausted constitution to his elegant home in the parish of st. mary, where he devoted himself to his planting interest, now very large. after the death of his daughter, his health declined rapidly; yet, notwithstanding his debilitated condition, he was chosen by a democratic legislature, a second time, as senator to the united states congress; but he never took his seat. just before the meeting of congress, he visited philadelphia for the purpose of obtaining medical advice. dr. chapman made a thorough examination of his case, which he pronounced ossification of the arteries of the heart, and which was rapidly progressing. he advised the judge to return immediately home, and not to think of taking his seat in the senate, as he was liable to die at any moment, and certainly must die in a very short time. he left immediately for his home. some years before this, mr. clay found himself so embarrassed that it was necessary for him to apply to his friends for aid. judge porter came forward and loaned him a large sum, for which he held his note. upon reaching maysville, in descending the ohio, on his return from philadelphia, porter debarked, and went, by stage, to lexington, where he visited mr. clay, and spent one night with him. finding his disease increasing, and fearing, unless he hurried, that he might never reach home, he declined a longer visit. when in the carriage, (so it was stated at the time, but i do not vouch for the fact,) he took the hand of mr. clay, and, pressing it tenderly, said, "farewell until eternity!" and bade the boy drive on. mr. clay found his note left in his hand, marked across the face, "paid." on reaching home, his health seemed for a short time to rally; but he began again to sink. finding it impossible to lie down to sleep, he anticipated speedy dissolution. as a politician, he had been greatly harassed by a dissolute press, and, as a lawyer and prominent man, he had made some enemies. among these was thomas h. lewis, a distinguished lawyer of opelousas, who, of all his enemies, he hated most, and he was an honest hater. a clergyman was spending some time with him, and apprehending that he might pass suddenly away, remained, in company with mr. james porter, his brother, almost constantly with him. only a day or two anterior to his death, after some conversation upon the subject of the great change, leaning back in his reclining easy-chair, he seemed to forget the presence of these two, and, after remaining for more than an hour entirely silent, without moving or opening his eyes, he commenced to speak, as if communing with himself. "i have," he said, "retrospected all my life, and am satisfied. many things i have done i should not; but they were never from a bad motive. i have accomplished more than my merits were entitled to. to the inconsiderate generosity of the people of louisiana i owe much of the success of my life. i have filled the highest offices in their gift, the duties of which i have faithfully discharged to the best of my abilities, and, i believe, to the satisfaction of the people of the state. i have differed with many of my fellow-citizens, and some of them are my enemies; but from my heart i have forgiven them all, as i hope to be forgiven by them, and by my god, before whom i must in a few hours appear." he paused many minutes, and then emphatically added: "yes, lord, even tom lewis." the opinions of judge porter in the reports of the decisions of the supreme court are magnificent specimens of learning, logic, and eloquence. of every question he took a bold and comprehensive view, and the perspicuity of his style and the clearness of his ideas made all he wrote comprehensible to the commonest capacity. in his decisions he was merciless toward a suitor where he discovered fraud, or the more guilty crime of perjury. his wit was like the sword of saladin: its brilliancy was eclipsed by the keenness of the edge. in debate he was brilliant and convincing; in argument, cogent and lucid; in declamation, fervid and impassioned, abounding in metaphor, and often elucidating a position with an apposite anecdote, both pointed and amusing. his memory was wonderful, and his reading extensive and diversified. he had so improved the defective education of his youth as to be not only classical, but learned. impulsive and impetuous, he was sometimes severe and arrogant toward his inferiors who presumed too much upon his forbearance. in his feelings and social associations he was aristocratic and select. he could not tolerate presumptuous ignorance; but to the modest and unobtrusive he was respectful and tolerant. for the whining hypocrisy of pretended piety he had the loftiest contempt, while he gave not only his confidence, but his most sincere respect, to him whose conduct squared with his religious professions. he was a protestant in religion, as his father had been; but was superior to bigotry or the intolerance of little minds and lesser souls. like all men of exalted genius, he was erratic at times, and uncertain in his temper. he died without pain, bequeathing his large estate to his brother, with legacies to his sister in ireland, and to some friends there. to mr. clay he left his great diamond ring. he had, at his death, attained only to the age of fifty-seven years. like judge martin, his besetting sin was love of money; but he was not a miser. to his slaves he was remarkably kind and indulgent, never permitting them to be persecuted by any one, and always treating them with paternal kindness--attentive to their comfort, furnishing them with good houses, beds, and an abundance of food and clothing--indeed, with everything which could contribute to their comfort or happiness. his hospitality was not surpassed by any gentleman in all the land. all who have visited at woodlawn, the beautiful and beautifully improved residence of judge porter, will remember the warm irish welcome and luxurious hospitality of its accomplished and talented master. thus have i attempted a slight sketch of the characters, minds, peculiarities, and services of these eminent men and jurists, who reduced to order and form the jurisprudence of louisiana. it was the eminent abilities and extensive legal learning for which they were so eminently distinguished, as well as the stern integrity of each one of them, which prompted the executive of the state to select them for this delicate and onerous position. at this time, there were not three other men in the state combining so fully all these traits. their long continuance in office systematized the law and the proceedings in the courts, making order out of chaos, and building up a jurisprudence not inferior to that of any country. under the peculiar circumstances, this was no very easy or enviable task. the country was now american, and it was important that the judicial system should approximate as nearly as possible to the american system, and, at the same time, preserve the civil law as the law of the land. this law is a most beautiful system of equity, and is disrobed of many of the difficulties which surround the common law, and which oblige in every common-law country a separate and distinct system of equity. the criminal code was that of the common law. it was so radically different from that which had heretofore prevailed in the country, that it was absolutely necessary, in order to secure to the accused the trial by jury, that this change should be made. owing to the extended commerce of new orleans, many cases arose of contracts made in the common-law states, and this must control these cases. to reconcile and blend the two systems became, in many of these, a necessity. to do this required a knowledge of both on the part of the judges, and this knowledge, in order that no error might misdirect, should be thorough. it was happily accomplished, and now the system is clear and fixed, and will remain a monument to the learning and genius of this court. of the three judges, matthews alone left descendants, and he but two--a son, who soon followed him to the grave, and a daughter, who is still living, the accomplished lady of major chase, formerly of the engineer corps of the army of the united states. chapter xxix. americanizing louisiana. powers of louisiana courts--governor william c.c. claiborne--cruel o'reilly--lefrenier and noyan executed--a dutch justice--edward livingston--a caricature of general jackson--stephen mazereau--a speech in three languages--john r. grymes--settling a ca. sa.--batture property--a hundred thousand dollar fee. the supreme court of the state of louisiana differs in this from that of the other states: it has jurisdiction as well of the facts as of the law. in the trial of all cases in the district or lower courts, the testimony is made a part of the record, and goes up to the supreme court for supervision, as well as for the enlightenment of the court, which passes upon the facts as well as the law; thus making the judges in the lower courts merely masters in chancery, with the exception, that where the decision of the judge is considered correct, it is approved and made the judgment of the supreme court. this court, by reason of its very extraordinary powers, becomes of the highest importance to every citizen, and is really by far the most important, as it is the most responsible branch of the government. the executive can only execute the law; the legislative acts are revisable and amendable, so often as the legislature holds its sessions; but the judicial decisions of the supreme court become the permanent law of the land. true, these decisions may be revised and overruled, but this is not likely to be done by those judges who have made them, and the tenure of office is such as practically to make them permanent. under the first constitution of the state, these judges were nominated by the executive, and confirmed by the senate. this senate consisted of seventeen members, chosen by the people from senatorial districts containing a large area of territory and a numerous population. this concentration of responsibility insured the selection of men of the first abilities, attainments, and moral character. so long as this system obtained, the supreme bench was ably filled, and its duties faithfully and wisely discharged, with one exception only; but for the sake of those who, though not blamable, would be deeply wounded, i forbear further remark. governor william c.c. claiborne, who was the territorial governor, was elected by acclamation the first governor of the state. he was a virginian and a man of fine attainments. his peculiar temperament was well suited to the creole population, and identifying himself with that population by intermarrying with one of the most respectable families of new orleans, and studiously devoting himself to the discharge of the duties of his office, he assumed some state in his style of living, and when going abroad kept up something of the regality of his colonial predecessors. thus suiting the taste and genius of the people, and in some degree comporting with what they had been accustomed to, at the same time assuming great affability of manner, both in private and in the discharge of his public duties, he rendered himself extremely popular with both populations. governor claiborne studiously promoted harmony between the people of the different races constituting the population of the state, and especially that of new orleans. the state had been under the dominion of three separate nations. the mass of the population, originally french, very reluctantly yielded to spanish domination, and not without an attempt at resistance. for a time this had been successful in expelling a hated governor; but the famous o'reilly, succeeding to the governorship of the colony, came with such a force as was irresistible, suppressing the armed attempt to reclaim the colony from spanish rule. he made prisoners of the chiefs of the malcontents, with lefrenier at their head, and condemned them to be shot. one of these was noyan, the son-in-law of lefrenier. he was a young man, and but recently united to the beautiful and accomplished daughter of the gallant lefrenier. his youth, his chivalry, and extraordinary intrepidity excited the admiration of the cold, cruel o'reilly, and he was offered a pardon. he refused to accept it, unless mercy should be extended to his father-in-law: this having been denied, he was executed, holding in his own the hand of lefrenier, defiantly facing his executioners and dying with roman firmness. this bloody tragedy was transacted upon the square in front of the cathedral, where now stands the colossal statue of andrew jackson, in the midst of the most lovely and beautiful shrubs and flowers indigenous to the soil of louisiana. the orange, with her pale green foliage, and sweet, modest white flowers, so delicate and so delicious; the oleander, the petisporum, and roses of every hue unite their foliage and blend their fragrance to enchant and delight the eye and sense, and to contrast too the scene of carnage once deforming and outraging this eden spot. scarcely had the people become reconciled to spanish domination, before the colony was retroceded to france, and again in no great while ceded to the united states. the french were prejudiced against the spaniards and despised them, and now the americans were flowing into the country and city, with manners and customs intolerable to both french and spaniards, hating both and being hated by both, creating a state of society painfully unpleasant, and apparently irreconcilable. this state of affairs made the governor's position anything but pleasant. but distressing as it was, he accomplished more in preserving harmony than one well acquainted with the facts would have deemed possible. in doing this he was skilful enough to preserve his popularity, and secure his election to the gubernatorial chair upon the formation of the state. indeed, so great was his popularity, that it was said some aspirants to gubernatorial honors incorporated the clause in the constitution which makes the governor ineligible to succeed himself, lest claiborne should be perpetual governor. few men ever lived who could so suit themselves to circumstances as governor claiborne. there was a strange fascination in his manners, and a real goodness of heart, which spell-bound every one who came within the range of his acquaintance. he granted a favor in a manner that the recipient forever felt the obligation, and when he refused one, it was with such apparent regret as to make a friend. he sincerely desired the best interest of every one, and promoted it whenever he could. it was said of him that he never refused, but always promised, and always fulfilled his promise whenever it was in his power. when coming to take charge of the territorial government he stopped at baton rouge, and spent the night with an honest dutchman who kept entertainment for travellers. in the morning, when his guest was leaving, learning his official character, he took him aside, and solicited the appointment of justice of the peace for baton rouge. "certainly, sir," said the governor, "certainly;" and the dutchman, supposing the appointment made, hoisted his sign above his door, and continued to administer justice in his way until his death, without ever being questioned as to the nature of his appointment. the governor never thought a second time of the promise. the selection and appointment of governor claiborne for the very delicate duties devolving on an american governor, with such a population as then peopled louisiana, showed great wisdom and prudence in mr. jefferson: he was to reconcile discordant materials within the territory, and reconcile all to the dominion of the united states. he was to introduce, with great caution, the institutions of a representative republican form of government among a people who had never known any but a despotic government; whose language and religion were alien to the great mass of the people of the nation. an american protestant population was hurrying to the country, and of all difficulties most difficult, to reconcile into harmonious action two antagonistic religions in the same community is certainly the one. claiborne accomplished all this. his long continuance in office showed his popularity, and the prosperity of the people and territory, his wisdom. in all his appointments he exercised great discretion, and in almost every case his judgment and wisdom were manifested in the result; and to this, day his name is revered and his memory cherished as a benefactor. he was twice married, and left two sons--one by each marriage; both live, highly respected, and very worthy citizens of the city of their birth. his name is borne by one of the finest parishes of the state and one of the most beautiful streets in the city of new orleans, and no man ever deserved more this high and honorable commemoration from a grateful people than did william c.c. claiborne. among those most conspicuous in americanizing the state and city at the early commencement of the american domination, after the governor and supreme court, were henry johnson, edward livingston, james brown, john r. grymes, thomas urquhart, boling robinson, and general philemon thomas. edward livingston was a citizen at the time of the cession, having emigrated from new york in , where he had already acquired fame as a lawyer. he was the brother of the celebrated chancellor livingston, and had, as an officer of the general government, in the city of new york, defaulted in a large amount. to avoid the penalties of the law he came to new orleans, then a colony of a foreign government, and there commenced the practice of his profession. after the cession he was not disturbed by the government, and continued actively to pursue his profession. he was the intimate friend of daniel clark, who was the first territorial representative in congress; and it has been supposed that, through the instrumentality of clark, the government declined pursuing the claim against him. he first emerged to public view in a contest with mr. jefferson relative to the batture property in the city of new orleans. livingston had purchased a property above canal street, and claimed all the batture between his property and the river as riparian proprietor. this was contested by mr. jefferson as president of the united states. he claimed this as public land belonging to the united states under the treaty of purchase. the question was very ably argued by both parties; but the title to this immensely valuable property remained unsettled for many years after the death of both jefferson and livingston, and finally was decreed by the supreme court of the united states to belong to the city of new orleans. when, during the invasion of new orleans by the english forces in the war of and ' , general jackson came to its defence, livingston volunteered as one of his aids, and rendered distinguished services to jackson and the country in that memorable affair, the battle of new orleans. a friendship grew up between jackson and livingston, which continued during their lives. soon after the war, livingston was elected to represent the new orleans or first congressional district in congress. he continued for some time to represent this district; but was finally, about , beaten by edward d. white. at the succeeding session of the legislature, however, he was elected a senator to congress in the place of henry johnson. from the senate he was sent as minister to france, and was afterward secretary of state during the administration of general jackson. it was in his case that jackson exercised the extraordinary power of directing the treasurer of the united states to receipt mr. livingston for the sum of his defalcation thirty-four years before. at the time this was done, tobias watkins was in prison in washington for a defalcation of only a few hundreds to the government. these two events gave rise to the ludicrous caricature, which caused much amusement at the time, of general jackson's walking with his arm in livingston's by the jail, when watkins, looking from the window, points to livingston, saying to the general: "you should turn me out, or put him in." immediately upon this receipt being recorded, livingston presented an account for mileage and per diem for all the time he had served in congress, and received it. so long as he was a defaulter to the government, he could receive no pay for public services. as a lawyer, mr. livingston had no superior. he was master of every system prevailing in the civilized world; he spoke fluently four languages, and read double that number. as a statesman he ranked with the first of his country, and was skilled as a diplomatist. in every situation where placed by fortune or accident, he displayed ample ability for the discharge of its duties. it is not known, but is generally believed that, as secretary of state, he wrote the state papers of general jackson. the same has been said of that veteran amos kendall. there was one for which livingston obtained the credit, which he certainly did not write--the celebrated proclamation to the people of south carolina upon the subject of nullification. this was written by mr. webster. upon one occasion, mr. webster, per invitation, with many members of congress, dined with the president. when the company was about retiring, general jackson requested mr. webster to remain, as he desired some conversation with him. the subject of south carolina nullification had been discussed cursorily by the guests at dinner, and jackson had been impressed with some of webster's remarks; and when alone together, he requested webster's opinions on the subject at length. mr. webster replied, that the time was wanting for a full discussion of the question; but if it would be agreeable to the president, he would put them in writing and send them to him. he did so. these opinions, expressing fully mr. webster's views, were handed to mr. livingston, who, approving them, made a few verbal alterations, and submitted the document, which was issued as the president's proclamation. the doctrines politically enunciated in this paper are identical with those entertained in the great speech of mr. webster, in the famous contest with robert t. hayne, on foote's resolutions, some years before; and are eminently federal. they came like midnight at noon upon the states-rights men of the south, and a virginian, wherever found, groaned as he read them. mr. livingston, though a jeffersonian democrat in his early life, and now a jackson democrat, held very strong federal notions in regard to the relations between the states and the united states government, and was disposed to have these sanctioned by the adoption of general jackson. jackson, probably, never read this paper; and if he did, did not exactly comprehend its tenor; for general jackson's political opinions were never very fixed or clear. what he willed, he executed, and though it cut across the constitution, or the laws, his friends and followers threw up their caps and cheered him. mr. livingston was charged with the delicate duty of discussing the claims of our government, representing its citizens, for spoliations committed upon our commerce under the celebrated milan and berlin decrees of napoleon, and, backed by the determination of jackson, happily succeeded in finally settling this vexatious question. a sum was agreed upon, and paid into the united states treasury; but if i am not mistaken, none, or very little of it, has ever reached the hands of the sufferers. upon the proof of the justice of their claims, france was compelled to pay them to the government; but now the government wants additional proof of this same fact, before the money is paid over to them. mr. livingston's learning was varied and extensive; he was a fine classical scholar, and equally as accomplished in belles-lettres. in the literature of france, germany, and spain he was quite as well versed as in that of his native tongue. his historical knowledge was more extensive and more accurate than that of any public man of the day, except, perhaps, mr. benton. at the bar, he met those eminent jurists, grymes, lilly, brown, and mazereau, and successfully. this is great praise, for nowhere, in any city or country, were to be found their superiors in talent and legal lore. livingston never had the full confidence of his party, and perhaps with the exception of general jackson, that of any individual. in moneyed matters, he was eminently unreliable; but all admitted his great abilities. in social qualities, he was entirely deficient. he had no powers of attraction to collect about him friends, or to attach even his political partisans. these were proud of his talents, and felt honored in his representation, and with the rest of the world honored and admired the statesman, while they despised the man. he was illiberal, without generosity, unsocial, and soulless, with every attribute of mind to be admired, without one quality of the heart to be loved. in person he was tall and slender, and without grace in his movements, or dignity in his manners. with a most intellectual face, his brow was extremely arched, his eye gray, and his prominent forehead narrow but high and receding; his mouth was large and well formed, and was as uncertain and restless as his eye. no one could mistake from his face the talent of the man; yet there lurked through its every feature an unpleasant something, which forced an unfavorable opinion of the individual. mr. livingston lived very many years in louisiana, and rendered her great services in codifying her laws, and making them clear and easy of comprehension. he shed lustre upon her name, by his eminent abilities as a jurist and statesman, and thus has identified his name most prominently with her history. but without those shining qualities which clasp to the heart in devoted affection the great man, and which constitute one great essential of true greatness. and now that he is in the grave, he is remembered with cold respect alone. stephen mazereau was a frenchman, a parisian, and a lawyer there of the first eminence. when about to emigrate to madrid, in spain, the bar of his native city presented him with a splendid set of silver, in respect for his position as a lawyer and his virtues as a man. he remained ten years in spain's capital, and was at the head of the bar of that city; and when leaving it to come to new orleans, received a similar testimonial from his brethren there to his worth and talents. immediately upon coming to new orleans, he commenced the practice of the law, and at once took rank with livingston, lilly, brown, and grymes, who, though then a very young man, had already gained eminence in his profession. mr. mazereau, except giving his state, in the legislature, the benefit of his abilities, avoided politics, confining himself exclusively to his profession. in the argument of great questions before the supreme court of the state between these eminent jurists, was to be seen the combat of giants. mazereau was a short, stout man, with an enormous head, which made his appearance singularly unique. in his arguments he was considerate, cautious, and eminently learned. sometimes he would address the people on great political questions, and then all the fervor of the frenchman would burst forth in eloquent and impressive appeals. i remember hearing him, when he was old, address an immense gathering of the people. he looked over the crowd, when he rose, and said: "i see three nations before me. americans, i shall speak to you first. frenchmen, to you next--and to you, my spanish friends, last. i shall probably occupy two hours with each of you. it will be the same speech; so you who do not understand the english language, need not remain. you who understand french, may return when i shall dismiss these americans--and you, my spanish friends, when i am through with these frenchmen." this he fulfilled to the letter in a six-hours' speech, and i never knew a political speech effect so much. for many years he was attorney-general of the state, and legal adviser and counsellor of the governor. although his practice was eminently profitable, he was so careless and extravagant in money matters, that he was always poor and necessitous, especially in his old age. it really seems one of the attributes of genius to be indifferent to this world's goods, and when time and labor have done their work, and the imbecility of years obscures its brilliancy, to droop neglected, and, if not in want, in despised poverty. such was the fate for a short time of this great man--but only for a short time. his powerful intellect retained its vigor, and his brilliant wit all its edges, to within a little while of his death. sadly i turn back, in memory, to the day he communicated to me that his necessities would compel him to dispose of the beautiful and valuable testimonials of the bar of two proud nations to his character and abilities. his great intellect was beginning to fade out; but, as the sun, declining to rest canopied with increasing clouds, will sometimes pierce through the interstices of the dark masses, and dart for a moment the intensity of his light upon the earth, the mind of mazereau would flash in all its youthful grandeur and power from the dimness that was darkening it out. he was a noble specimen of a french gentleman: a french scholar, and a frenchman. his memory is embalmed in the hearts of his friends of every nation who knew him in new orleans. strictly moral in his habits, full of truth and honor, and overflowing with generosity, social in his habits, and kindly in his feelings, he made friends of all who came in contact with him; and yet he had his enemies. his intolerance of everything that was little or mean, and his scorn and hatred of men of such character, was never concealed, either in his conversation or conduct. such men were his enemies, and some, too, were his foes from the intolerance of political antagonism; but the grave obliterated these animosities, and the generous political antagonist cherishes now only respect for this truly great man. with deep gratitude my heart turns to his memory: his generous kindness, his warm friendship was mine for long years, and to me his memory is an incense. john r. grymes was a virginian and close connection of john randolph, of roanoke, whose name he bore; but of this he never boasted, nor did any one hear him claim alliance of blood with pocahontas. mr. madison appointed him district attorney of the united states for the district of louisiana, when a very young man. this appointment introduced him to the bar and the practice immediately. he was one of those extraordinary creations, who leap into manhood without the probation of youth: at twenty-two he was eminent and in full practice, ranking with the leading members of the bar. truly, grymes was born great, for no one can remember when he was not great! never, in company, in social life, with a private friend, at the bar, or anywhere, was he even apparently simple or like other men; in private, with his best friend, he spoke, he looked, and he was the great man. he was great in his frivolities, great in his burlesques, great in his humor, great in common conversation; the great lawyer, the great orator, the great blackguard, and the great companion, the great beau, and the great spendthrift: in nothing was he little. his language was ornate, his style was terse and beautiful; in conversation he was voluble and transcendently entertaining; knew everybody and everything; never seemed to read, and yet was always prepared in his cases, and seemed to be a lawyer by intuition. he was rarely in his office, but always on the street, and always dressed in the extreme of the fashion; lived nowhere, boarded nowhere, slept nowhere, and ate everywhere. he dined at a restaurant, but scarcely ever at the same twice in succession; would search for hours to find a genial friend to dine with him, and then, if he was in the mood, there was a feast of the body and flow of the soul; went to every ball, danced with everybody, visited the ladies; was learned or frivolous, as suited the ladies' capacities or attainments; appeared fond of their society, and always spoke of them with ridicule or contempt; married, and separated from his wife, no one knew for what cause, yet still claimed and supported her. she was the widow of governor claiborne, and a magnificent woman; she was a spaniard by blood, aristocratic in her feelings, eccentric, and, intellectually, a fit companion for grymes. she was to claiborne an admirable wife, but there was little congeniality between her and grymes. grymes knew that it was not possible for any woman to tolerate him as a husband, and was contented to live apart from his wife. they were never divorced, but lived--she in new york, or at her villa on staten island; grymes in new orleans. he never complained of her; always spoke kindly, and sometimes affectionately of her; denied the separation, and annually visited her. their relations were perfectly amicable, but they could not live together. grymes could have lived with no woman. in all things he was _sui generis_; with no one like him in any one thing, for he was never the same being two consecutive days. he had no fixed opinions that any one knew of; he was a blatant democrat, and yet never agreed with them in anything; a great advocate of universal equality, and the veriest aristocrat on earth; he would urge to-day as a great moral or political truth certain principles, and ridicule them with contemptuous scorn to-morrow. he was the most devout of christians to-day, the most abandoned infidel to-morrow; and always, and with everybody, striving to appear as base and as abandoned as profligate man could be: to believe all he said of himself, was to believe him the worst man on earth. he despised public opinion and mankind generally; still he was kind in his nature, and generous to profligacy; was deeply sympathetic, and never turned from the necessitous without dropping a tear or giving a dollar--the one he bestowed generously, the other he rarely had to give; but, if an acquaintance was at hand, he would borrow and give, and the charity of heart was as sincere as though the money had been his own. on one occasion i was with him when charity was solicited of him by a wretched old woman. "give me five dollars," he said to me; the money was handed the woman, and she was sent away, to be drunk and in a police-station within the hour. i remarked: "that old wretch has brought all this upon her by an abandoned profligacy." "then i owe her sympathy as well as charity," was his reply; "i do not know the cause of her suffering, but i know she is suffering: it may be for food, it may be for drink; if either obliterates her misery, your money is well spent." he had no idea of the value of money; was constantly in the receipt of large fees, with a most lucrative practice, but was always embarrassed, owed everybody, loaned to everybody, gave to everybody, and paid nobody. during the existence of the law which imprisoned for debt, he was constantly in the sheriff's hands, but always settling, by the most ingenious devices, the claim at the jail-door. it is told of him, that the sheriff on one occasion notified him that there was a _ca. sa._ in his hands, and that he did not want to arrest him. the sum was large, some two thousand dollars--grymes had not a dollar. he paused a moment, then said, "come to me to-morrow. i have a case of milliadon's for trial to-morrow; he is greatly interested in it. when it is called, i will give you the wink, then arrest me." in obedience to directions, the sheriff came, the case was called, and grymes arrested. milliadon was in court, his hopes were in grymes, and when he was informed that grymes was in custody of the sheriff, he groaned aloud. "oh! mr. grymes, vat am i to do?" "why, you must employ other counsel," said grymes. "_mon dieu!_ but i have pay you for attend this case, and i want you. you know about it, and it must be try now." "yes," continued the imperturbable grymes, "you have paid me, i know, and i know it would be dangerous to trust it to other counsel, but it is your only hope. i have no money, and here is a _ca. sa._, and i am on my way to jail." "oh! _mon dieu! mon dieu!_ vat is de amount of de _ca. sa._?" "two thousand dollars," said the sheriff. "two thousand dollars!" repeated milliadon. "goodall _vs._ milliadon," said the judge, "preston, for plaintiff--grymes, for defendant. what do you do with this case, gentlemen?" "we are ready," said preston. "and you, mr. grymes?" asked the court. "vill you take my check for de _ca. sa._, mr. sheriff?" "certainly, sir," replied the officer. "say we is ready too, mr. grymes--all my witness be here." "i believe we are ready, your honor," answered grymes. milliadon was writing his check. "enter satisfaction on the _ca. sa._," said grymes. the sheriff did so, as milliadon handed him the check. grymes now turned his attention to the case as coolly as though nothing had occurred. that was the last milliadon ever heard of his two thousand dollars. laurent milliadon and the millionaire john mcdonough were litigious in their characters; and their names occur in the report of the supreme court decisions more frequently than those of any ten other men in the state. grymes was the attorney for both of them for many years. they were both men of great shrewdness, and both speculative in their characters, and both had accumulated large fortunes. without any assignable cause, mcdonough ceased to employ grymes, and intrusted his business to other counsel, who did not value their services so extravagantly. mentioning the fact upon one occasion to grymes, "ah! yes," said he, "i can explain to your satisfaction the cause. in a certain case of his, in which he had law and justice with him, he suddenly became very uneasy. 'i shall certainly lose it, grymes,' he said excitedly to me. i told him it was impossible; he had never had so sure a thing since i had been his attorney. in his dogmatical manner, which you know, he still persisted in saying, he was no great lawyer as i was, but some things he knew better than any lawyer, and 'i shall lose that case.' at the same time he significantly touched his pocket and then his palm, signifying that money had been paid by his adversary to the court, or some member of it. 'ah!' said i, 'are you sure--very sure?' 'very sure--i know it; and you will see i shall lose this suit.' he was not wont to speak so positively, without the best evidence of any fact. 'well, mac,' said i, jestingly, 'if that is the game, who can play it better than you can--you have a larger stake than any of them, and of course better ability?' well, sir, he did lose one of the plainest cases i ever presented to a court. from that day forward i have not received a fee from him: and now the secret is before the world. he has been detected in bribing one of the judges of the supreme court." as an orator, grymes was among the first of the country. all he wanted, to have been exceedingly eloquent, was earnestness and feeling; of this he was devoid. his manner was always collected and cool; his style chaste and beautiful, with but little ornament; he spoke only from the brain--there was nothing from the heart. in argument he was exceedingly cogent and lucid, and when the subject seemed most complicated, the acuteness of his analytical mind seemed to unravel and lay bare the true features of the case, with an ease and power that required scarce an effort. his powers of ratiocination were very great, and this was the forte of his mind; his conclusions were clearly deduced from arguments always logical. there were times when he would be serious--and then there was a grandeur about him very striking. at such times, bursts of passionate feeling would break from him that seemed like volcanic eruptions. they appeared to come from a deep and intense tenderness of heart. these were momentary--the lightning's flash illuminating the gloom and darkness of its parent cloud. i have thought this was the man's nature, born with a heart capable of intense feeling, which had been educated to believe this weakness. coming very young away from his home and early associations, to live and mingle with strangers of a different race--leaving the rural scenes and home associations which were forming and developing nature's glorious gifts, to come to a profligate and heartless city--the whole current of his susceptible nature was changed, and the feeling and good perverted and overshadowed, yet not entirely rooted out. hence the contradictions in his character. sometimes nature was too strong for art, and would break out in beauty, as the flower, rich in fragrance and delicate loveliness, when touched by the genial sun, will burst from the black and uninviting bud. upon one occasion, when there was a united states senator to be elected, and when the democratic party held a majority in the legislature, rendering it impossible for the whigs to elect any member of their own party, yet, with the assistance of three from the democratic party, could choose from this party any man they would select and unite upon--they determined to propose grymes, and had secured the requisite assistance from the democracy. i was a member, and a whig, and was delegated to communicate the facts to grymes. i knew the senate had been his ambition for years. i knew he felt his powers would give him a position with the greatest of that body, and an immediate national reputation, and had no doubt of his cheerful acquiescence. to my astonishment he assumed a grave and most serious manner. "i am grateful, most grateful to you," he said, "for i know this has been brought about by you, and that you sincerely desire to gratify me; but i cannot consent to be a candidate. most frankly will i tell you my reasons. i admit it has been my desire for years. it has been, i may say to you, my life-long ambition; but i have always coupled the possession of the position with the power of sustaining it reputably. i was never ambitious of the silly vanity of simply being a senator and known as such; but of giving to it the character and dignity due it. louisiana is a proud state, her people are a noble and a proud people, they have a right to be so--look at her! with a soil and a climate congenial to the production of the richest staples now ministering to the luxuries and necessities of man--with a river emptying into her commercial mart the productions of a world, her planters are princes, in feeling, fortune, and position. at their mansions is dispensed a noble hospitality, rich in the feasts of body and mind, generous and open as was virginia's in her proudest days. at washington i would represent these, and the merchant-princes of her metropolis. you have said, as eloquently as truly, 'there is but one mississippi river; but one louisiana; but one new orleans on the face of the earth.' as she is, and as her people are, i would represent her as her senator. "i am a beggar, and cannot consent, in this character, to be made more conspicuous, by being made a beggarly senator. i cannot take a house in washington, furnish it, and live in it as a gentleman. i could not, in any other manner, entertain my people visiting washington, consistently with my ideas of what a senator should do. i cannot go to washington, and, as one of them, stand among the great men of the senate, in that magnificent hall, and feel my soul swell to theirs and its proportions, and then dodge you, or any other gentleman from louisiana, and sneak home to a garret. my means would allow me no better apartment. i could not live in the mean seclusion of a miserable penury, nor otherwise than in a style comporting, in my estimation, with the dignity and the duty of a senator from louisiana, as some have done, who were able to live and entertain as gentlemen, for the purpose of the degraded saving of half my _per diem_ to swell my coffers at home. "now, my friend, i feel how miserably foolish i have been all my life. i have thrown away fortune because i despised it. it was too grovelling a pursuit, too mean a vocation, to make and to hoard money. in my soul i despised it, and now you see it is revenged; for without it, i have learned, there is no gratification for ambition--no independence of a sneering, envious world. a bankrupt is a felon, though his mind, his virtues, and his attainments may be those of a god. he is a useless waif upon the world; for all he has, or all he may be, is, to himself and the world, unavailable without money. i have discarded all my ambitious aspirations long since, and tried to reconcile myself to the fact that my life has been and is a failure. and i am sorry you have come to me to remind me that the aim of my young life was within my reach, when i have no means to grasp it, and, now that i am miserable, to show me what i might have been. no, my friend, i must go on with the drudgery of the law, to earn my bread, and thus eke out a miserable future. i am grateful to you and my other friends, who have delegated you to this mission. say so to them, if you please. i must go to court. the horse of the bark-mill must go to his daily circle. good morning!" some years after the event above mentioned, grymes, as the attorney of the city of new orleans, succeeded, before the supreme court of the united states, in making good the title to the batture property in the city. what is termed batture in louisiana is the land made by accretion or deposits of the mississippi. one strange feature of this great river is, that it never gets any wider. it is continually wearing and caving on one side or the other, and making a corresponding deposit on the other bank. opposite a portion of the city of new orleans this deposit has been going on for many years, while the opposite bank has been wearing away. there are living citizens who saw in youth the river occupying what is now covered by many streets and many blocks of buildings, and is one of the most valuable portions of the city. in truth, what was a century ago entire river, is now one-fourth of the city, and this deposit goes on annually without any decrease in its ratio. by agreement of all parties, this batture was surveyed into squares and lots, and sold at public auction, and the money deposited in the bank of louisiana, to the credit of the supreme court of the united states, to abide the decision of that tribunal as to the rightful ownership. the decision gave it to the city. grymes, as attorney for the city, by order of the court, received a check for the money. the bank paid the check, and grymes appropriated one hundred thousand dollars of it, as a fee for his services, and then deposited the balance to the credit of the mayor and council of the city. this was a large fee, but was not really what he was entitled to, under the custom of chancery for collecting money. he had agreed to pay daniel webster for assistance rendered; but mr. webster, some years after, informed me that he had never received a cent, and i am sure he never did, after that. grymes was well aware, if the city fathers got their hands upon the money, it would be years before he got this amount, if ever. with a portion of this money he liquidated all claims not antiquated and forgotten by him, and the balance was intrusted to the hands of a friend to invest for his benefit. this, together with his practice, which was now declining, furnished a handsome support for him. age appeared to effect little change in his _personnel_. at sixty-seven, he was as erect in person and as elastic in step as at thirty. there was none of that _embonpoint_ usually the consequence of years and luxurious living. he was neither slender nor fat; but what is most agreeable to the eye--between the two, with a most perfectly formed person. his features were manly, and strikingly beautiful; his blue eyes beaming with the _hauteur_ of high breeding and ripe intelligence. these features were too often disfigured with the sneer of scorn, or the curled lip of expressive contempt. his early hopes, his manhood's ambition had been disappointed; and, soured and sore, he sneered at the world, and despised it. he had no confidence in man or woman, and had truly reached hamlet's condition, when "man delighted him not, nor woman either." he felt the world was his debtor, and was niggardly in its payments. he grew more and more morose as the things of time receded. others, full of youth, talent, and vigor, were usurping the positions and enjoying the honors of life, which were slipping away from him unenjoyed. he turned upon these the bitterness engendered by disappointment. cynicism lent edge to his wit, and bitterness to his sarcasm. he was at war with himself, and consequently with all the world. his mind felt none of the imbecility of age, and to the last retained its perspicuity and power. as he came into life a man, and never knew a boyhood, so he went from it a man, without the date of years. at sixty-eight years of age, he went quietly from life without suffering, and, to himself, without regret. he was a man--take him all in all--whose like we shall not look on soon again. the virtues and the vices, the loves and the hates of life were strangely blended in the character of john randolph grymes; but if we judge from the fact that he had and left many warm and devoted friends, and few enemies, we must suppose the good in his nature greatly preponderated. but notwithstanding the great space he had filled in the eyes of the people of the city, his death startled only for a moment, and straightway he was forgotten; as the falling pebble dimples for a moment the lake's quiet surface--then all is smooth again. chapter xxx. division of new orleans into municipalities. american hotel--introduction of steamboats--faubourg st. mary--canal street--st. charles hotel--samuel j. peters--james h. caldwell-- fathers of the municipality--bernard marigny--an ass--a.b. roman. forty years ago there was not a public hotel in the city of new orleans which received and entertained ladies. there was but one respectable american hotel in the city. this was kept by john richardson, who still lives, and was on conti street, between chartres and the levee. about that time madame heries opened the planter's hotel on canal street, which some years after fell and crushed to death some thirty persons. there were many boarding-houses, where ladies were entertained, and to these were all ladies visiting the city constrained to resort. some of these were well kept and comfortable, but afforded none or very few of the advantages of public hotels. they were generally kept by decayed females who were constrained to this vocation by pecuniary misfortunes. the liberal accommodation afforded in hotels, especially built and furnished for the purpose, was not to be found in any of them. at this period all the means of travel between mobile and new orleans, across the lake, consisted of one or two schooners, as regular weekly packets, plying between the two cities. it was about this time that the tide of emigration which had peopled the west, and the rapid increase of production, was stimulating the commerce of new orleans. it was obeying the impulse, and increasing in equal ratio its population. this commerce was chiefly conducted by americans, and most of these were of recent establishment in the city. that portion of the city above canal street, and then known as the faubourg st. mary, was little better than a marsh in its greater portion. along the river and canal street, there was something of a city appearance, in the improvements and business, where there were buildings. in every other part there were shanties, and these were filled with a most miserable population. about this time, too, steamboats were accumulating upon the western waters--a new necessity induced by the increase of travel and commerce--affording facilities to the growing population and increasing production of the vast regions developing under the energy of enterprise upon the mississippi and her numerous great tributaries. it seemed that at this juncture the whole world was moved by a new impulse. the difficulties of navigating the mississippi river had been overcome, and the consequences of this new triumph of science and man's ingenuity were beginning to assume a more vigorous growth. the ohio and its tributaries were peopling with a hardy and industrious race; the missouri, arkansas, and red rivers, too, were filling with a population which was sweeping away the great wild forests, and fields of teeming production were smiling in their stead. new orleans was the market-point for all that was, and all that was to be, the growth of these almost illimitable regions. it was, as it ever is, the exigencies of man answered by the inspirations of god. the necessities of this extending population along the great rivers demanded means of transportation. these means were to be devised, by whom? the genius of fulton was inspired, and the steamboat sprang into existence. the necessity existed no longer, and the flood of population poured in and subdued the earth to man's will, to man's wants. over the hills and valleys, far away it went, crowding back the savage, demanding and taking for civilized uses his domain of wilderness, and creating new necessities--and again the inspired genius of man gave to the world the railroad and locomotive. the great increase in the production of cotton in the west, and which went for a market to new orleans, necessitated greater accommodations for the trade in that city--presses for compressing, and houses for merchants, where the business could be conducted with greater facility and greater convenience. american merchants crowded to the city, and located their places of business above canal street, beyond which there was not a street paved. there was not a wharf upon which to discharge freights, consequently the cotton bales had to be rolled from the steamers to the levee, which in the almost continued rains of winter were muddy, and almost impassable at times for loaded vehicles. below canal street the levee was made firm by being well shelled, and the depth of water enabled boats and shipping to come close alongside the bank, which the accumulating batture prevented above. the french, or creole population greatly preponderated, and this population was all below canal street. they elected the mayor, and two-thirds of the council, and these came into office with all the prejudices of that people against the americans, whom a majority of them did not hesitate to denominate intruders. the consequence was the expenditure of all the revenue of the city upon improvements below canal street. every effort was made to force trade to the lower portion of the city. this was unavailing. the faubourg st. mary continued to improve, and most rapidly. business and cotton-presses sprang up like magic. americans were purchasing sugar plantations and moving into the french parishes, drawing closer the relations of fellow-citizens, and becoming more and more acquainted with the feelings and opinions of each other, and establishing good neighborhoods and good feelings, and by degrees wearing out these national prejudices, by encouraging social intercourse and fraternity. they were introducing new methods of cultivation, and new modes of making sugar; pushing improvements, stimulating enterprise, and encouraging a community of feeling, as they held a common interest in the country. in the country parishes these prejudices of race had never been so strong as in the city, and were fast giving way; intermarriages and family relations were beginning to identify the people, and this to some extent was true in the city. but here there was a conflict of interest, and this seemed on the increase. the improvements made in the faubourg were suggested by the necessities of commerce, and this naturally went to these. there was a superior enterprise in the american merchant, there was greater liberality in his dealings: he granted hazardous accommodations to trade, and made greater efforts to secure it. this had the effect of securing the rapidly increasing commerce of the city to the american merchants, and of course was promoting the settlement and improvement of the faubourg st. mary. it excited, too, more and more the antipathies of the ancient population. these, controlling the city government constantly in a most envious spirit, refused to extend the public improvements of the faubourg. there was not, forty years ago, or in , a paving-stone above canal street, nor could any necessity induce the government of the city to pave a single street. where now stands the great st. charles hotel, there was an unsightly and disgusting pond of fetid water, and the locations now occupied by the city hotel and the st. james were cattle-pens. there was not a wharf in the entire length of the city, and the consequence was an enormous tax levied upon produce, in the shape of drayage and repairs of injuries to packages, from the want of these prime necessities. the navigation of the bayou st. john commanded for the lower portion of the city the commerce crossing the lake, and to monopolize the profits of travel, a railroad was proposed from the lake to the river, and speedily completed. the people of the faubourg, to counteract as much as possible these advantages, constructed a canal from the city to the lake, which was to enter the city, or faubourg st. mary, at the foot of julia street, one of the broadest and best streets in that quarter of the city. this was of sufficient capacity for schooners and steamboats of two hundred tons burden. when this was completed, with great difficulty the authorities were prevailed upon to pave julia street; still the greatly increasing demands of commerce were neglected, and while by these refusals the population of the city proper was doing all it could to force down to the city this increasing trade, they neglected to do anything there for its accommodation. the streets were very narrow; the warehouses small and inconvenient; the merchants close and unenterprising, seemingly unconscious of the great revolution going on in their midst. from the growing greatness of the surplus products of the immense valley, this was quadrupling annually. the cotton crop of the united states, forty years ago, scarcely reached half a million of bales, and of this new orleans did not receive one-third; but in five years after, her receipts were very nearly one-half of the entire crop. at the same period, the sugar crop did not amount to more than twenty thousand hogsheads; five years thereafter, it had quadrupled, and the commerce from the upper rivers had increased a hundred-fold, and was going on in all the products of the soil to increase in like ratio. at this time the antipathy was at its acme between the two races or populations. then the legislature held its sessions in new orleans, and the american residents, merchants, and property-holders determined to apply to the legislature for an amendment of the city charter. a bill was introduced accordingly, proposing to divide the city into three municipalities, making canal and esplanade streets the lines of division; giving the city proper and each faubourg a separate government: in truth, making three cities where there had been but one. the excitement in the city became intense, and sectional animosities increased in bitterness. to the american population it was a matter of prime necessity; to the property-holders and merchants of the city proper it was a matter of life and death. to these it was apparent that the moment this bill became a law, and the faubourg st. mary controlled her own finances, her streets would be paved and warehouses spring up to meet every demand--wharves would be constructed, the quay or levee would be sheltered, capital would flow to the faubourg, and, in a moment as it were, she would usurp the entire domestic trade of the country: in other words, the faubourg st. mary would become the city of new orleans. after carefully canvassing the legislature, it was found very doubtful whether the bill would pass or not; the attempt had heretofore proved eminently unsuccessful, but now it was apparent that it had gained many friends, and it was not certain it could be defeated. under these circumstances, overtures were made by the city government, to expend all the revenue in improvements above canal street, which should be collected from the inhabitants of that quarter. this proposition was declined, and the bill after a most exciting struggle became a law. under its provisions a new council and recorder were chosen, and a new impetus was given the faubourg st. mary, which was now, under this law, the second municipality. extensive wharves were erected along the front of the municipality; streets were paved, and the whole trading community felt the improvements were assuming gigantic proportions, and trade relieved of onerous and vexatious impositions. property rose in value rapidly; canal street grew speedily into importance. the dry-goods trade, hitherto confined almost exclusively to chartres street, came out upon this magnificent street as rapidly as it could be accommodated. from an almost deserted suburb, it became the centre of business and the great boulevard of the city. a company built the great st. charles hotel, and here were first opened hotel accommodations for ladies in new orleans, thirty-one years ago. the commercial crisis of retarded temporarily the improvements, but only for a day as it were, and in a few years there was a great american city, fashioned by american energy and american capital from the unsightly and miserable mire of the faubourg st. mary. to the enterprise and perseverance of two men was mostly due this rapid improvement of the city and its new and extended accommodations to commerce--samuel j. peters and james h. caldwell. mr. peters was a native of canada, and came when quite a youth to new orleans. he married a creole lady, a native of the city; and, after serving as a clerk for some time in the business house of james h. leverick & co., commenced business as a wholesale grocer. in this business he was successful, and continued in it until his death. he was a man of splendid abilities and great business tact, great energy and application, and full of public spirit. new orleans he viewed as his home; he identified himself and family with the people, and his fame with her prosperity. to this end he devoted his time and energies; around him congregated others who lent willingly and energetically their aid to accomplish his conceptions, and to fashion into realities the projections of his mind. i remember our many walks about the second municipality--when, where now is the city hall, and camp and charles streets, and when these magnificent streets, now stretching for miles away, ornamented with splendid buildings and other improvements, were but muddy roads through open lots, with side-walks of flat-boat gunwales, with only here and there a miserable shanty, with a more miserable tenant--to contemplate and talk of the future we both lived to see of this municipality. stopping on one occasion in front of what is lafayette square, at the time the bill was pending for the division of the city into municipalities, he said: "here must be the city of new orleans. you can pass the bill, now before the legislature; and if you will, i promise you i will make the faubourg st. mary the city of new orleans." only a few months before his death, we stood again upon the same spot, surrounded by magnificent buildings--odd-fellows' hall, the first presbyterian church, the great city hall, and grand and beautiful buildings of every character. "do you remember my promise made here?" he said. "have i fulfilled it? many days of arduous labor and nights of anxious thought that promise cost me. you did your part well, and when i thought it impossible. have i done mine?" i could but answer: "well, and worthily!" i never saw him after--but i shall never cease to remember him as a great, true man. james h. caldwell was an englishman, and by profession a comedian. it was he who first brought a theatrical company to the west. he had built the first theatres in cincinnati, st. louis, and new orleans, and first created a taste for theatricals in the great west. possessing fine natural abilities, and wonderful enterprise, he pushed his fortunes, as a theatrical manager, successfully for a number of years. he built the camp street theatre, and made it exceedingly profitable. away back, forty-five years ago, i remember my first meeting with him at vicksburg, then a little hamlet, with but few houses and many hills, abrupt, and ugly. he and his company were descending to natchez, and thence, after a short season, to new orleans. edwin forrest, then a youth, was one of his company, which also included russell and wife, sol. smith and brother, with their wives, mrs. rose crampton, and, as a star, junius brutus booth. how wild was the scene around us! the river was low and sluggish; the boat small and dirty; the captain ignorant and surly; the company full of life, wit, and humor. slowly we labored on. the dense forest came frowning to the river's brink, with only here and there, at long intervals, an opening, where some adventurous pioneer had cut and burned the cane, and built his shanty. the time was whiled away with song, recitation, anecdotes, and laughter, until midnight brought us to natchez. it was a terrible night--dark, and beginning to rain. under the hill at natchez, forty-five years ago, was a terrible place. the road up the bluff was precipitous and muddy. there were no accommodations for decent people under the hill. the dance-houses were in full blast. boisterous and obscene mirth rang from them; men and women were drunk; some were singing obscene songs; some were shouting profanity in every disgusting term; some, overcome with debauchery, were insensible to shame, and men and women, rushing from house to house, gathered a crowd to meet us as we landed. one tremendous slattern shouted, as she saw us come on shore: "there are the show-folks; now we'll have fun!" if mrs. farren--the daughter of russell--still lives, i will say to her that this was her advent to natchez. up that hill, through mire and rain, i bore her in my arms, on that terrible night. caldwell alone was cheerful; sol. smith joked, and russell swore. "how many, many memories sweep o'er my spirit now!" it was a peculiarity of james h. caldwell to do whatever he did with all his might. no obstacle seemed to deter or impede the execution of any public or individual enterprise of his. beside being a splendid performer, he was an accomplished gentleman, and a fine, classic scholar. his reading was select and extensive. at a very early day, he was impressed with the future importance of new orleans as a commercial city, and commenced to identify himself with the american population, and to make this his future home. his ideas on this subject were in advance of those of many whose business had always been commerce, and they were generally deemed utopian and extravagant; but his self-reliance was too great to heed any ridicule thrown upon any thought or enterprise of his. he invested his limited means in property in the second municipality, and lent himself, heart and soul, in connection with peters, to its development into the proportions his imagination conceived it was ultimately capable of attaining, should the extent of its commerce reach the magnitude he supposed it would. immediately upon the amendment of the city charter, creating the municipalities, and making independent the second, caldwell conceived the idea of lighting the city with gas, and, at the same time, of building a city hall, and the establishment of a system of public schools. edward york, a merchant of the city, gave this idea his special attention, and co-operated with peters and caldwell in every project for the advancement of the interests of the municipality. caldwell set to work in the face of difficulties, which really seemed insurmountable, to effect his scheme of lighting the city with gas. i was at that time a member of the legislature. caldwell's scheme was to obtain a charter for a bank, and with this carry into execution rapidly his scheme. he came to me, and opened up his views. he wanted my aid so far as assisting him in drafting the charter, and undertaking its passage through the legislature. there was no delay, and in a short time the gas-light and banking company was chartered, the stock taken, and the bank in successful operation. caldwell, though entirely unacquainted with the practical necessities of constructing the proper works to complete his plan, went energetically to work to acquire this, and did so, and in a few months everything was systematically and economically moving forward to completion. he alone conceived, planned, and superintended the whole work. nor did he abate in energy and perseverance one moment until all was completed. all this while he was a member of the council, and giving his attention to many other matters of prime importance to the municipality. peters, caldwell, and york may justly be said to have been the fathers of the municipality. to edward york is justly due the system of public schools, which is so prominent a feature in the institutions of new orleans. these three have passed away, and with them all who co-operated with them in this enterprise, which has effected so much for the city of new orleans. they were unselfish public benefactors, and deserve this commemoration. among the remarkable men of new orleans, at this period, was bernard marigny, a scion of the noble stock of the marigny de mandevilles, of france. his ancestor was one of the early settlers of louisiana, and was a man of great enterprise, and accumulated an immense fortune, which descended to bernard marigny. this fortune, at the time it came into the hands of marigny, was estimated at four millions. his education was sadly neglected in youth; so was his moral training. he was a youth of genius, and proper cultivation would, or might, have made him a man of distinguished fame and great usefulness. coming into possession of his immense estate immediately upon his majority, with no experience in business matters, flushed with youth and fortune, courted by every one, possessing a brilliant wit, fond to excess of amusements, delighting in play, and flattered by every one, he gave up his time almost entirely to pleasure. a prominent member of the legislature for many years, he had identified himself with the history of the state, as had his ancestor before him. he was the youngest member of the convention which formed the first constitution of the state, and was the last survivor of that memorable body. soon after succeeding to his fortune, and when he was by far the wealthiest man in the state, louis philippe, the fugitive son of louis Égalité, duke of orleans, came to new orleans, an exile from his native land, after his father had perished by the guillotine. marigny received him, and entertained him as a prince. he gave him splendid apartments in his house, with a suite of servants to attend him, and, opening his purse to him, bade him take _ad libitum_. for some years he remained his guest, indeed until he deemed it necessary to leave, and when he went, was furnished with ample means. long years after, when fortune had abandoned the fortunate, and was smiling upon the unfortunate--when the exile was a monarch, and his friend and benefactor was needy and poor--when louis philippe was king of france and the wealthiest man in europe, they met again. their circumstances were reversed. marigny was old and destitute. the monarch waited to be importuned, though apprised of his benefactor's necessities and dependence, and answered his appeal with a snuff-box, and the poor old man learned that there was truth in the maxim, "put not your trust in princes." wasteful habits, and the want of economy in every branch of his business, wrought for him what it must for every one--"ruin." during the discussion in the legislature upon the bill dividing the city into municipalities, marigny, then a member, exerted himself against the bill. he viewed it as the destruction of the property of the ancient population in value, and their consequent impoverishment, and threw much of his wit and satire at those who were its prominent supporters. among them was thomas green davidson, a distinguished member of congress, (still living, and long may he live!) robert hale, and myself. ridicule was marigny's _forte_. upon the meeting of the house, and before its organization for business, one morning, the writer, at his desk, was approached by alexander barrow, a member--and who afterward died a member of the united states senate--who read to me a squib which marigny was reading, at the same moment, to a group about him. it read thus: "sparks, and thomas green davidson, rascals by nature and profession: dey can bos go to hell wid colonel bob hailles." i saw that the group would, with marigny, soon approach me, and made haste to reply. it was only a day or two before we were to adjourn. when they came, and the squib was read, i read the following reply: "dear marigny, we're soon to part, so let that parting be in peace: we've not been angered much in heart, but e'en that little soon shall cease. "when you are sleeping with the dead, the spars we've had i'll not forget: a warmer heart, or weaker head, on earth, i'll own, i never met. "and on your tomb inscribed shall be, in letters of your favorite brass, here lies, o lord! we grieve to see, a man in form, in head an ass." he arched his brow, and, without speaking, retired. an hour after, he came to me, and said: "suppose you write no more poetry. i shall stop. you can call me a villain, a knave, a great rascal: every gentleman have dat said about him. mr. clay, mr. webster, general jackson, all have been call so. you can say dat; but i tell you, sir, i not like to be call ass." he was the aggressor, and, though offended, was too chivalrous to quarrel. he had fought nineteen duels, and i did not want to quarrel either. for many of his latter years he was destitute and miserable. he had seen all his compeers pass away, and he felt that he was in the way of a generation who knew nothing of him, or his history, and who cared nothing for either. at nearly ninety years of age he died in extreme poverty. nature had done much for bernard marigny. his mind was of no ordinary stamp. he was a natural orator, abounding in humor and wit, and was the life of society. his person was symmetry itself, about five feet ten inches, and admirably proportioned; and, to the day of his death, he was truly a handsome man, so symmetrical and well-preserved were his features, and the sparkling light in his eyes. he long enjoyed the luxuries of life, and lived to lament its follies in indigence and imbecility. of all the creole population, a.b. roman was, at this time, the most prominent, and the most talented. in very early life he was elected governor of the state, and discharged the duties of the office with great ability, and, after claiborne, with more satisfaction to the people than any man who ever filled the office. the constitution did not admit of his being elected a second time as his own successor, but he might be again chosen to fill the chair after the four years' service of another. he was elected to a second term, and when it expired, he was chosen president of the draining company, in which office he rendered most important services to the city, in planning and effecting a system of drainage which relieved the city of the immense swamp immediately in its rear. in all the relations of life, a.b. roman was a model--gentle and affable in his manners, punctiliously honorable, faithful in all his transactions, affectionate and indulgent as a husband and father, kind and obliging as a neighbor, faithful to all the duties of a citizen; and ambitious to promote the best interests of his native state, he gave his time and talents for this purpose, wherever and whenever they could be of service. the war, in his old age, left him destitute and heart-broken. i had the opportunity of several conversations with him, and found him despondent in the extreme. our last interview was the week before his death. "in my old age," he said, "i am compelled, for a decent support, to accept a petty office--recorder of mortgages--and i feel humiliated. i see no future for me or my people. my days are wellnigh over, and i can't say i regret it." only five days after, he fell dead in the street, near his own door. a wise and good man went to his god when a.b. roman died. he was one of a large and respectable family, long resident in the state, and surely was one of her noblest sons. chapter xxxi. blowing up the lioness. doctor clapp--views and opinions--universal destiny--alexander barrow --e.d. white--cross-breed, irish renegade and acadian--heroic woman-- the ginseng trade--i-i-i'll d-d-die f-f-first. dr. clapp, so conspicuous in the annals of new orleans, was from new england, and was located in new orleans as a presbyterian minister, as early as , and about the same period that the great and lamented larned died. his mind was bold and original, analytical and independent. soon after his location and the commencement of his ministry, he gave offence to some of his church, and especially to some of his brother pastors, by the enunciation of opinions not deemed orthodox. there was at this time preaching at natchez, one potts, who was a presbyterian, a puritan, and extremely straight-laced in doctrine, and eminently puritan in practice, intolerant, bigoted, and presumptuous. potts had accomplished one great aim of his mission: he had married a lady of fortune, and assumed more purity than any one else, and was a sort of self-constituted exponent of the only true doctrines of his church. arrogant and conceited, he, though a very young man, thrust himself forward as a censor, and very soon was in controversy with dr. clapp. without a tithe of his talent, or a grain of his piety, he assumed to arraign him on the ground of unfaithfulness to the tenets of the church. this controversy was bitter and continued. the result was, that dr. clapp dissolved connection with the presbyterian church, and, at the call of the most numerous and talented as well as wealthy congregation ever preached to, up to that time, in new orleans; established himself as an independent, and continued to preach for many years--indeed, until age and infirmity compelled him to retire. his peculiar religious opinions were more unitarian than presbyterian. they consisted of an enlightened philosophy derived from _natural revelation_, which elevated deity above the passions, prejudices, loves, and hates of mortality. _his_ god _was_ infinite, all-pervading, _and_ perfect. the purity of his character, and his wonderful intellect, combined, brought around him the most intelligent and moral of the population, and his opinions won many converts. he preached and practised a rational religion, defined a rigid morality as the basis and main requisite to true piety, and the doing good toward his fellow-man, the duty of man toward god. the faith he exacted was predicated upon works.... that he who had faith in the existence of the soul, and who believed its future dependent upon him, should be taught this faith was best exemplified by a faithful discharge of all the duties imposed by society and law. that he who was pious, was a good husband, father, and friend, a good neighbor, an honest, and sincere man, faithful in the discharge of all his duties as a citizen and member of society: resting here the hope of future reward, and not looking to the merits of any other for that salvation, which the mind hopes, and the heart craves for all eternity; fixing a responsibility individually and indivisibly upon each and every one, to earn salvation by discharging temporal duties which secure the harmony, well-being, and general love of mankind. any other doctrine, he contended, destroyed man's free agency, and discouraged the idea that virtue and goodness were essential to true piety. god had created him for an especial mission. his existence in time was his chrysalis condition; to make this as nearly perfect as was possible to his nature, he was gifted with mind, passion, and propensities--the former to conceive and control the discharge of the duties imposed upon him in this state: this done, he perished as to time, and awoke prepared for eternity. these ideas were impressed with a logic irresistible to the enlightened mind--not clouded with the bigotry of fanaticism--and an eloquence so persuasive and sweet as to charm the heart and kindle it into love. he never burned brimstone under the noses of his auditory, nor frenzied their imaginations with impassioned appeals to supernatural agencies. he expounded the scriptures as the teachings of men. his learning was most profound, especially in the languages. he understood thoroughly the hebrew and greek. he read from the originals the scriptures, and interpreted them to his hearers, as to their meaning in their originals, and disrobed them of the supernatural character which an ignorant fanaticism has thrown over them, and which time and folly has indurated beyond the possibility of learning and science to crack or crush. a great original thinker, untrammelled by the schools, and independent of precedents, he saw nature before him, and studied closely all her developments. eminently schooled in the philosophy of life, deeply read in the human mind and the heart, he searched for all the influences operating its conclusions, and the motives of human action: the relations of man to external nature, the connection of mind with matter, the origin of things, their design as developed in their creation, their connection and dependence, one upon the other, and the relation of all to the creator, and in those the duty of man. it was his idea, that, commencing from the humblest, and ascending to man, through created nature, the design was manifest that these were all, in the animal and the vegetable kingdom, assigned by the creator for man's uses. to him alone, in all these creations, are given the faculties necessary to a comprehension of the nature of all of these, as well as their uses. from this fact, so powerfully prominent in all natural developments, he viewed man as the most intimate relation of the creator on this globe, and discovering in him no designs beyond the cultivation of the great faculty of thought for time, the inference was natural that his future was not for time, or time's uses. that all was only fitting the soul, which his instincts tell him exists within, when, refined by time, and the probation of life, for the independence, and the fruition of the sublime designs of god in eternal life, he should ascend to his destined sphere, etherialized, and know his creator and the future of his being; when speculation should cease, and reality and unambiguous truth be made manifest. of this great truth his mind was so fully impressed that all his life was by it governed. his convictions were palpable in his conduct, for it was in strict conformity with these opinions. the aberrations from virtue and the laws of morals, as established by man for the better regulation of his conduct toward his fellow-men, he deemed the result of improper education, and especially the education of the heart, and the want of the training this gives to the natural desires of his organization. that these desires, passions, and instincts, are given as essential to his mission in time, and those properly educated, trained, and directed, are necessary to his fulfilment of life's duties, in the perfection of the creator's design, and, when so educated and directed, secure to the individual, and to society, the consummation of this design; but when perverted, become a punishment to both society and the individual, for the neglect of a prime duty; and belong alone to time. similar results he saw from similar causes, in the operations of inanimate life. the design of the tree was to grow upward, but an unnatural obstacle, in the falling of another, bends it away, and its growth is perverted from the original design, yet it grows on and completes the cycle of its destiny. the stream flows onward, naturally obeying a natural law; but an obstacle interposes and interrupts the design; still it will go on to complete its cycle, obedient to its destiny, though turned from its natural channel: and these are the same in the end with those undisturbed in the fulfilment of their designs. all crime or vice is of time, and made such by the laws of man. the aggregation of men into societies or communities necessitate laws to establish moral, legal, and political duties, and to provide punishments for the infraction of these. the right to acquire and possess the fruits of labor--the right of free thought--the right to enjoy the natural relations of life, and the privileges conferred by society--the right to live undisturbed, all are the objects of legal protection; because the attributes of man's nature, unrestrained in the discharge of his duties to his fellow-man, will invade these rights, and hence the necessity of a universal rule of action. all these attributes are susceptible of education as to what is right, and what is wrong; and it is the duty of religion to impress upon the mind the importance of the one to the security of society, and the evil of the other in its effect upon the design of the creator. this design is harmony and love universal, and pervades all nature, where a free will is not vouched; but with this free will is given a capacity to cultivate it into that love and harmony, and thus to consummate the great design of the creator. he taught, _religion was the sublimation of moral thought and moral action_; because it was in harmony with nature, and subserved the purposes of the creator--because it brought man into harmony with every other creation, whose design was apparent to his capacity of understanding--that this design, made manifest to his mind, taught him his duty, and it was the province of the teacher to show to all this design, and illustrate this harmony. the teacher should know before he attempted to teach. he should disabuse his own mind of prejudices and superstitions at variance with nature, and study natural organization to learn the intention of the creator; learn the nature of plants, the organization of the earth, its components how formed, and of what--all animal creation--the mechanism of the universe, its motions--the exact perfection of every creation for the design of that creation; see and know god's will, and god's wisdom, and god's power in all of them; descend to the minor and most infinitesimal creation; learn its organization, and see god here with a design, and a perfect organization, to work it out--learn truth, where only truth exists, from god in all created nature, and teach this, that all may learn and conserve to the same great end. when comprehended, this planet, with all its creations, was designed for man, and to perfect him for the use of god's design. these are for consummation in eternity--all that relates to him in time, but subserves the great end. the relationship to him is apparent in all that surrounds him on earth. step by step it comes up to him, and all is for his use. at this point, all stops except himself. what was his design as manifested in his nature? surely, not solely to control and appropriate all created matter surrounding him--not simply to probate for a period, and pass away. it must be, that he is the link perfected in this probation for a higher creation, as a part of a more consummate perfection revealed through death. it cannot be, that the mind given to him, alone, was only given to learn in this combination of elements--earth, air, fire, and water--the startling and omnipotent wisdom of the all-wise creator, and then to perish with knowing no more of that god, which this knowledge has created so consummate a desire to know. the cycle of man's destiny is not in time, that of all else is; and that destiny centres in his use, and is complete. if for him there is not a future, why were the instincts of his nature given? why the power to learn so much? to trace in the planetary system divine wisdom, and divine power; to see and know the same in the mite which floats in the sunbeam? if this is all he is ever to know, does this complete a destiny for use? if so, for what? can it be, simply to propagate his species, and perish? and was all this grand creation of the earth, and all things therein, made to subserve him for so mean a purpose? it cannot be. life is a probation, death the key which unlocks the portal through which we pass to the perfection of the design of god. in these views and opinions dr. clapp lived and died. when worn out with labor and the ravages of time, he sought to renovate his exhausted energies, by removing to a higher latitude, and selected louisville, kentucky, for his future home. he had seen most of his early friends pass into eternity, in the fruition of time, and felt and knew it was only a day that his departure for eternity was delayed; yet how calmly and contentedly he awaited the mandate which should bid him home! his belief in the universal destiny of man made him universally tolerant. his intimates were of every creed, and the harmony existing with these and himself made his life beautiful as exemplary. with the ministers of every creed he was affectionately social: he had no prejudices, cultivated no animosities, and was universally charitable. he inculcated his principles by example, encouraged social communion with all sects, teaching that he whose life is in the right cannot be in the wrong. to a very great extent he infused his spirit into the people of his adopted city. his most intimate associate was that very remarkable israelite, judah luro. this man was a native of newport, rhode island, and in early life came to new orleans and commenced a small business, to which he gave his energetic attention. his means, though small at the beginning, were carefully husbanded, and ultimately grew into immense wealth. he was exceedingly liberal in his nature, philanthropic, and devoted to his friends. on the night of the d of december, , he was engaged in the battle between the english and american forces, near new orleans, and was severely wounded. in this condition he was found, when bleeding profusely from his wounds and threatened with speedy death, by a young merchant of the city, resin d. shepherd, who generously lifted him to his shoulder, after stanching his wounds, and bore him, through brambles and mire, in the darkness, to a place of security and comfort, some miles distant from the scene of the fight. he never lost sight of this friend. when he came to die, he made him executor to his will, and residuary legatee, after disposing of some half a million of money in other legacies. these were all immediately paid by mr. shepherd, who entered upon the possession of all the property the deceased died possessed of--consequently, the extent of his fortune was never publicly known. this man built upon his own property, on gravier street, fronting st. charles, and immediately across gravier street from the st. charles hotel, a church for dr. clapp, in which his congregation worshipped for many years. when the hotel was built, and business began crowding around this locality, it became necessary to remove his church. again, mr. luro built for him a church, in a more private and eligible position, on the corner of julia and st. charles streets, and donated it to the pastor and congregation of the gravier street church. here mr. clapp continued his ministry during the remaining time of his residence in new orleans. he found with the cultivated and intelligent of new orleans an approval of his teachings and example. the consequence was, and is, the entire absence of sectarian dissensions, and a social intercourse between all, resulting in a united effort for the common good, and the maintenance of moral sentiments and moral conduct--the basis and source of true and triumphant religion. "the deeds that men do, live after them." of no man can this be more truly said than of dr. clapp. through every phase of society his example and teachings continue to live; and every virtuous and intelligent man in the community of dr. clapp's ministry, in new orleans, conspires to continue the effect of them. in no community on earth is there a greater diversity of nationalities, than in that of new orleans, where every sect of religionists is to be found. all pursue the worship of god after their own manner of belief, exciting no jealousies, heart-burnings, or hatreds. all agree that a common end is the aim of all, and that a common destiny awaits mankind. in the pursuits of life, and the duties of time, nothing of religious intolerance enters. a man's opinions upon that subject are his own, and for these he is responsible to god only. his neighbor respects his prejudices and feelings, and appreciates him according to his conduct toward his fellow-man, and the discharge of his duties to society. good follows the honest discharge of the duties of his vocation, from every moral and religious teacher, if he is sincere and earnest, whether jew or christian. an intelligent and virtuous community appreciates this, and encourages such efforts as advance and sustain public morals and social harmony. how such a man is esteemed in new orleans, a recent instance is ample illustration. a distinguished jewish rabbi, long a resident minister of his faith in that city, was called, to minister in a synagogue in the city of new york. his walk and his work had been upright and useful. the good of all denominations were unwilling to give up so good and so useful a man. in the true spirit of pure religion, a large committee, appointed by a meeting of the citizens from among every sect, composed of the leading and most influential men of the city, waited upon him, and influenced him to remain among them, and continue his vocation and pious usefulness in the field where he had labored so long and so efficiently. to the teachings of dr. clapp, much of this toleration is due. this tone of feeling is the offspring of enlightenment, the enemy of bigotry. his mission completed, he retired for health and quiet to a point from which he could contemplate the results of his labors. he saw that they were good, and felt his whole duty had been done. in the fulness of years he awaited the coming of the hour when, released from his prison-house and freed from earth, he should go to his reward. it came, and ere the spirit was plumed for its final flight, he asked that its wornout casket should be carried and deposited by those he loved in life, in the city of his adoption and love; where, in death, the broken community of life should be restored. this was done, and now with them he sleeps well. memory turns sadly back to many, now no more, who were compeers of dr. clapp, and to new orleans, as new orleans was; but to none with more melancholy pleasure than to alexander barrow and e.d. white. these were both natives of the city of nashville, tennessee. both came to new orleans in early life: white, with his father when a child, and barrow, when a young man. white was left an orphan when quite young, in attakapas, where his father lived, and with very limited means. he struggled on in the midst of a people whose very language was alien to his own, and managed to acquire a limited education, with which he commenced the study of the law, the profession of his father. when admitted to practice, he located at donaldsonville, in the parish of ascension, where he rose rapidly to distinction. appointed subsequently to a judgeship in new orleans, he removed there to reside. this appointment he did not continue to hold for any length of time, his popularity being such as to point him out as a fit person to contest with mr. livingston the seat in congress then filled by the latter. in this contest he was successful, and continued to represent the district until he was chosen governor. he filled this chair for the constitutional period of four years, and immediately upon the expiration of his term, he was again elected to congress. he continued to represent the district until the treachery of a family, numerous and ignorant, yet influential with their ignorant, uneducated neighbors, caused him to be beaten. they succeeded subsequently in placing one of their family in his place, only to show the triumph of folly and stupidity over worth and intelligence. yet this cross of an irish renegade upon an acadian woman was a fit representative of a large majority of his constituents. the climate of washington operated injuriously upon his constitution. long accustomed to that of louisiana, it failed to resist the terrible winter-climate of washington, and he found his health broken. he returned to his plantation, on the bayou la fourche, where he lingered for a year or more, and died, in the meridian of life, leaving a young and interesting family. governor white was a man of great eccentricity of character, but with a ripe intellect, and a heart overflowing with generous emotions and tenderness. he loved his kind, and his life was most unselfishly devoted to their service. like all who have for any time made her their home, he loved louisiana first of all things. he was too young when coming from his native land to remember it, and his first attachment was for the soil of his adoption. he was reared in the midst of the creole population of the state; spoke french and spanish as his mother-tongue, and possessed the confidence and affection of these people in a most remarkable degree. governor white was a passenger on board the ill-fated steamer lioness, in company with many friends, among whom were josiah s. johnston, (the elder brother of a. sidney johnston, who fell at the battle of shiloh,) and judge boyce, of the district court. josiah s. johnston was, at the time, a senator in congress. some miles above the mouth of red river, and in that stream, the boat blew up, many of the passengers being killed, among whom was judge johnston. governor white was terribly burned, and by many it was thought this led to his death. his disease was bronchitis, which supervened soon after this terrible disaster. the steamer had in her hold considerable powder. this, it was said at the time, was ignited by the mate of the boat, who had become enraged from some cause with the captain. the body of judge johnston was never found. the boat was blown to atoms, with the exception of the floor of the ladies' cabin. the upper works were all demolished. this floor was thrown, it seemed almost miraculously, intact upon the water. there were some six or eight ladies on board, who were saved on this floor. when the smoke had lifted sufficiently to permit a night view--for it was night--governor white and judge boyce were seen swimming near this floor of the wreck. white was burned terribly in the face and on the hands, and was blinded by this burning. the ladies were in their night-clothes; but what will not woman do to aid the distressed, especially in the hour of peril? one of the most accomplished ladies of the state snatched from her person her _robe de chambre_, and, throwing one end to the struggling governor, called to him to reach for it, and with it pulled him to the wreck, and kindly, with the aid of others, lifted him on. the same kind office was performed for boyce, and they were saved. though a stranger to the governor, this great-hearted woman tore into strips her gown, and kindly did the work of the good samaritan, in binding up the wounds of one she did not know, had never before seen, and to whose rank and character she was equally a stranger; and when she was floating upon a few planks, at the mercy of the waters, and surrounded by interminable forests covering the low and mucky shores of red river for many miles, where human foot had rarely trod, and human habitation may never rest--one garment her only covering, and all she could hope for, until some passing steamer should chance to rescue them, or until she should float to the river's mouth, and find a human habitation. she, too, is in the grave, but the memory of this act embalms her in the hearts of all who knew her. blessed one!--for surely she who blessed all who came within her sphere, and only lived to do good, must in eternity and for eternity be blest, like thousands of others who have ministered in kindness for a day, and then went to the grave--in thy youth and loveliness thou wert exhaled from earth: like a storm-stricken flower in the morning of its bloom, wilted and dead, the fragrance of thy virtues is the incense of thy memory! it was long before governor white was fully restored to sight. no public man, and especially one so long in public life, ever enjoyed more fully the confidence of his constituents than edward douglass white. his private character was never impeached, even in the midst of the most excited political contests, nor did the breath of slander ever breathe upon his fair fame, from his childhood to the grave. i am incompetent to write of alexander barrow as his merits deserve. in him all that was noble and all that was respectable was most happily combined. a noble and commanding person, a manly and intellectual face, an eye that bespoke his heart, a soul that soared in every relation of life above everything that was little or selfish, a ripe and accurate judgment, a purpose always honorable and always open, without concealment or deceit, and an integrity pure and unsullied as the ether he breathed, an affectionate father, a devoted husband, a firm and unflinching friend through every phase of fortune--in fine, every element which makes a man united in alexander barrow. dear reader, if i seem extravagant in these words, pardon it to me. when seventy winters have passed over your head, and you turn back your memory upon all that has passed, recalling the incidents and the friends of life, and you remember those which have transpired with him you loved best and trusted most, and remember that he was always true, never capricious, always wise, never foolish, always sincere, never equivocal, and who never failed you in the darkest hours of adversity, but was always the same to you in kindness, forbearance, and devotion, remember such was ever to me alexander barrow, and forgive this wild outpouring of the heart to the virtues of the friend, tried so long, and loved so well. for more than twenty years he has been in his grave; but in all that time no day has ever passed that alick has not stood before me as he was when we were young and life was full of hope. his blood with mine mingles in the veins of our grandchildren. o god! i would there were nothing to make this a painful memory. barrow served some years in the legislature of the state, and was thence transferred to the united states senate, where, after a service of six years, he died, in the prime of his manhood. those who remember the speech of hannegan, and the attempt of crittenden, who, under the deep sorrow of his heart, sank voiceless and in tears to his chair--the feeling which filled and moved the senate when paying the last tribute to his dead body, coffined and there before them in the senate chamber--may know how those estimated the man who knew him best. friend of my heart, farewell! we soon shall meet, with vernal youth restored, to endure forever. there was another, walter brashear, our intimate friend for long years. he went to eternity after a pilgrimage of eighty-eight years in the sunshine and shadows of this miserable world. he was a native of the city of philadelphia, but with his parents went to kentucky, when a boy. these soon died, and walter was left an orphan and poor, then but a boy. after attending a common neighborhood school in the county of fayette, near lexington, one year, he found it necessary to find support in some employment. walking the streets of lexington in search of this, the breeze blew to his feet a fragment of newspaper, which he picked up and read from curiosity. here he found an advertisement inviting those who had ginseng for sale, to call. he knew there was plenty of this root to be found in portions of kentucky, and determined immediately to embark in the speculation of searching for it and sending it to philadelphia. he labored assiduously, and soon had acquired a considerable sum of money for those times, . he employed several hands to assist him the ensuing season, and after forwarding the root collected, found there was no longer any market for it in philadelphia. suspecting the person to whom he had previously sold was deceiving him, in order to drive a profitable bargain with him, he determined to go himself with his venture to china. this he did, and, making so handsome a business of it, he returned and immediately went to work to procure a much larger amount for another venture. this he likewise accomplished, but was less fortunate than before, though he made some money. he was now twenty-one years of age, and had been twice to china; but had not contracted much love for commerce or voyaging upon the sea. he married soon after his return, read medicine, and commenced the practice of it in kentucky. forming an intimacy with mr. clay, they soon became close friends, being nearly of the same age, and very like in character. after some years' residence in kentucky as a physician, he determined on emigrating to louisiana, and embarking in the business of sugar-planting. purchasing belle isle, an island off the coast of attakapas, he removed his family there about . he was successful in his new vocation; but not liking an island residence, where he was twenty miles from a neighbor, he purchased a residence upon berwick's bay, and a portion of tiger island, which was immediately opposite, and there made a new plantation, which is now the site of brashear city. at this place he lies buried, by his children, all of whom, save one daughter, are there with him. for many years he was a member of the legislature of the state of his adoption, an honest and efficient one, of fine abilities, and great will. he usually triumphed in what he undertook. his fine social qualities attached to him many friends. his devotion to them was unflinching, and he rather preferred to fight for these than play with any others. his courage was truly chivalrous, and he is remembered by all who knew him, and yet live, as the man who never felt the sensation of fear. an unfortunate difficulty with a neighbor, dr. tolls, brought on a personal rencontre. his antagonist was known to be brave and physically powerful; but in this affair, brashear, after receiving a number of blows, wrested away his enemy's cane, and would soon have had the better of the fight, but persons interposing prevented it. "doctor," said brashear, "this is not the way for gentlemen to settle their difficulties. as soon as i can bind up my head, which you have battered pretty severely, i shall be in the street armed. if you are as brave a man as your friends claim you to be, you will meet me there prepared to fight me as a gentleman." "in forty minutes from this time, if you please," said his enemy. at the appointed time and place they met, each with his friend, and each armed. when they had approached within ten paces, brashear stopped and said, "are you ready?" being answered in the affirmative, "then fire, sir; i scorn to take the first fire." dr. tolls did so, and, missing him, stood and received brashear's ball through both thighs, and fell. there was no surgeon in town, and the wounds were bleeding profusely, when brashear went to him, and proposed to dress the wounds. tolls stuttered badly, and replied, "i-i-i'll d-d-die first." "i can do no more," said brashear, and, bowing, left the ground. this chivalry of character characterized him in everything. fond of amusement, he indulged himself in hunting and innocent sports, when and where he was always the life of the party. energetic and restless in his nature, he could not bear confinement, and, when a member of the legislature, he was more frequently to be found walking rapidly to and fro in the lobby of the house than in his seat. to sit still and do nothing was impossible to him. a hundred anecdotes might be related of him, all illustrative of his lofty courage, and daring, and his utter contempt of danger. a noble and generous spirit was ever manifested by him, in every relation of life. his frankness and liberal hospitality, his kindness to his slaves, and his generosity to the poor, endeared him to his neighbors, who live to feel that his void can never be filled. chapter xxxii. gradual extinction of the red man. line creek fifty years ago--hopothlayohola--mcintosh--undying hatred-- a big powwow--massacre of the mcintoshes--nehemathla--onchees--the last of the race--a brave warrior--a white man's friendship--the death-song--tuskega, or jim's boy. i have been to-day, the d of august, over the same spot i wandered over this day fifty years ago. what changes have supervened it is difficult to realize. this was then a dense, unsettled wilderness. the wild deer was on every hill, in every valley. limpid streams purled rippling and gladly along pebbly beds, and fell babbling over great rocks. these alone disturbed the profound silence, where solitude brooded, and quiet was at home. these wild forests extended west to line creek, then the dividing line between the indian possessions and the newly acquired territory now constituting the state of alabama. upon this territory of untamed wilderness there wandered then fifty thousand indians, the remnant of the mighty nation of muscogees, who one hundred and thirty years ago welcomed the white man at yamactow, now savannah, and tendered him a home in the new world. fifty years ago he had progressed to the banks of the ocmulgee, driving before him the aboriginal inhabitant, and appropriating his domains. here for a time his march was stayed. but the indian had gone forward to meet the white man coming from the mississippi to surround him, the more surely to effect his ultimate destruction and give his home and acres to the enterprise and capacity of the white man. wandering through these wilds fifty years ago, i did not deem this end would be so soon accomplished. here now is the city and the village, the farm-house and extended fields, the railroads and highways, and hundreds of thousands of busy men who had not then a being. the appurtenances of civilization everywhere greet you: many of these are worn and mossed over with the lapse of time and appear tired of the weight of wasting years. the red men, away in the west, have dwindled to a mere handful, still flying before the white man, and shrinking away from his hated civilization. is this cruel and sinful--or the silent, mysterious operation of the laws of nature? one people succeeds another, as day comes after day, and years follow years. upon this continent the indian found the evidences in abundance of a preceding people, the monuments of whose existence he disregards, but which, in the earth-mounds rising up over all the land, arrest the white man's attention and wonder. he inquires of the indian inhabitant he is expelling from the country, who was the architect of these, and what their signification? and is answered: we have no tradition which tells; our people found them when they came, as you find them to-day. these traditions give the history of the nations now here, and we find in every southern tribe that they tell of an immigration from the southwest. the muscogee, natchez, choctaw, and chickasaw, all have the history of their flying from beyond the mississippi, and from the persecutions of superior and more warlike nations, and resting here for security, where they found none to molest them, and only these dumb evidences of another people, who once filled the land, but had passed away. when the white man came, he found but one race upon the two continents. their type was the same and universal, and only these mounds to witness of a former race. ethnology has discovered no other. all the remains of man indicate the same type, and there remains not a fossil to record the existence of those who reared these earth-books, which speak so eloquently of a race passed away. how rapidly the work of demolition goes on! will a century hence find one of the red race upon this continent? certainly not, if it shall accomplish so much as the century past. there is not one for every ten, then; and the tenth remaining are now surrounded on all sides, and, being pushed to the centre, must perish. they are by nature incapable of that civilization which would enable them to organize governments and teach the science of agriculture. they were formed for the woods, and physically organized to live on flesh. the animals furnishing this were placed with them here, and the only vegetable found with them was the maize, or indian corn. the white man was organized to feed on vegetables, and they were placed with him in his centre of creation, and he brought them here, and with himself acclimated them, as a necessity to his existence in america. no effort can save the red man from extermination that humanity or christianity may suggest. when deprived of his natural food furnished by the forest, he knows not nor can he be taught the means of supplying the want. the capacities of his brain will not admit of the cultivation necessary to that end. and as he has done in the presence of civilization, he will know none of its arts; and receiving or commanding none of its results, he will wilt and die. here, on the very spot where i am writing, is evidence in abundance of the facts here stated. every effort to civilize and make the nomadic indian a cultivator of the earth--here has been tried, and within my memory. missionary establishments were here, schools, churches, fields, implements, example and its blessings, all without effect. nothing now remains to tell of these efforts but a few miserable ruins; nothing in any change of character or condition of the indian. and here, where fifty years ago, with me, he hunted the red deer and wild turkey for the meat of his family and the clothing of himself and offspring--to-day he would be a curiosity, and one never seen by half the population which appropriates and cultivates the soil over which he wandered in the chase. his beautiful woods are gone; the green corn grows where the green trees grew, and the bruised and torn face of his mother earth muddies to disgust, with her clay-freighted tears, the limpid streams by which he sat down to rest, and from which he drank to quench his thirst from weariness earned in his hunt for wild game, which grew with him, and grew for him, as nature's provision. the deer and the indian are gone. the church-steeple points to heaven where the wigwam stood, and the mart of commerce covers over all the space where the camp-fires burned. the quarrels of hopothlayohola and mcintosh are history now, and the great tragedy of its conclusion in the death of mcintosh is now scarcely remembered. true to his hatred of the georgians, hopothlayohola, in the recent war, away beyond the mississippi, arrayed his warriors in hostility to the confederacy, and, when numbering nearly one hundred winters, led them to battle in arkansas, against the name of his hereditary foe, and hereditary hate--mcintosh; and by that officer, commanding the confederate troops, was defeated, and his followers dispersed. since that time, nothing has been known of the fate of the old warrior-chief. it had been agreed between the united states and georgia, and the famous yazoo company, in order to settle the difficulties between the two latter, that the united states should purchase, at a proper time, from the indian proprietors, all the lands east of the chattahoochee and a line running from the west bank of that stream, starting at a place known as west point, and terminating at what is known as nickey jack, on the tennessee river. the increase of population, and the constant difficulties growing out of the too close neighborhood of the indians, induced the completion of this agreement. commissioners on the part of the government were appointed to meet commissioners or delegations from the indians, to treat for the sale of their lands within the limits of the state of georgia. mcintosh favored the sale, hopothlayohola opposed it. as a chief, mcintosh was second to his great antagonist in authority, and, in truth, to several other chiefs. but he was a bold man, with strong will, fearless and aggressive, and he assumed the power to sell. in the war of - , he had sided with the americans, hopothlayohola with the english; and leading at least half the tribe, mcintosh felt himself able to sustain his authority. the commissioners met the indian delegation at the indian springs, where negotiations were commenced by a proposition placed before the chiefs, and some days given for their consideration of it. their talks or consultations among themselves were protracted and angry, and inconclusive. every effort was made to induce hopothlayohola to accede to the proposition of mcintosh. the whites united in their efforts to win his consent to sell: persuasions, threats, and finally large bribes were offered, but all availed nothing. thus distracted and divided, they consumed the time for consultation, and met the white commissioners to renew the strife, in open council with these. each chief was followed to this council by the members of his band, sub-chiefs, and warriors. mcintosh announced his readiness to sell, and sustained his position with reasons which demonstrated him a statesman, and wise beyond his people. "here in the neighborhood of the whites," he said, "we are subject to continual annoyance and wrong. these have continued long, and they have dwarfed our mighty nation to a tribe or two, and our home to one-tenth of its original dimensions. this must go on if we remain in this proximity, until we shall be lost, and there will be none to preserve our traditions. let us sell our lands, and go to the proffered home beyond the great river. our young men have been there: they have seen it, and they say it is good. the game is abundant; the lands are broad, and there is no sickness there." turning to hopothlayohola, who stood, with dignified and proud defiance in his manner, listening, he proceeded: "will you go and live with your people increasing and happy about you: or will you stay and die with them here, and leave no one to follow you, or come to your grave, and weep over their great chief? beyond the great river the sun is as bright, and the sky is as blue, and the waters are as clear and as sweet as they are here. our people will go with us. we will be one, and where we are altogether, there is home. to love the ground is mean; to love our people is noble. we will cling to them--we will do for their good; and the ground where they are will be as dear to us as this, because they will be upon it, and with us. "the white man is growing. he wants our lands. he will buy them now. by and by he will take them, and the little band of our people left will wander without homes, poor and despised, and be beaten like dogs. we must go to a new home, and learn like the white man to till the earth, grow cattle, and depend on these for food and life. nohow else can many people live on the earth. this makes the white man like the leaves; the want of it makes the red men weak and few. let us learn how to make books, how to make ploughs, and how to cultivate the ground, as the white man does, and we will grow again, and again become a great people. we will unite with the cherokee, the choctaw, and the seminole, and be one people. the great spirit made us one people. yes, we are all the children of one family: we are the red men of the great spirit, and should be one people for strength and protection. we shall have schools for our children. each tribe shall have its council, and all shall unite in great council. they will be wise through learning as the white man is, and we shall become a great state, and send our chiefs to congress as the white man does. we shall all read, and thus talk, as the white man does, with the mighty dead who live in books; and write and make books that our children's children shall read and talk with, and learn the counsels of their great fathers in the spirit-land. this it is which makes the white man increase and spread over the land. in our new home he promises to protect us--to send us schools and books, and teach our children to know them; and he will send us ploughs, and men to make them, and to teach our young men how to make them. "the plough will make us corn for bread, for the strength of the body; the books will be food for the head, to make us wise and strong in council. let us sell and go away, and if we suffer for a time, it will be better for our children. you see it so with the white man; shall we not learn from him, and be like him?" when he had concluded his talk, it was greeted in their own peculiar manner by his followers as good. hopothlayohola, the great red chief, turning from mcintosh as if disdaining him, addressed the commissioners of the government: "our great father, your head chief at washington, sent us a talk by you, which is pleasant to hear, because it promises the red man much--his friendship, his protection, and his help; but in return for this he asks of us much more than we are willing to give even for all his promises. the white man's promises, like him, are white, and bring hope to the red man; but they always end in darkness and death to him. "the great spirit has not given to the red man, as he has to the white man, the power to look into the dark, and see what to-morrow has in its hand; but he has given him the sense to know what experience teaches him. look around, and remember! away when time was young, all this broad land was the red man's, and there was none to make him afraid. the woods were wide and wild, and the red deer, and the bear, and the wild turkey were everywhere, and all were his. he was great, and, with abundance, was happy. from the salt sea to the great river the land was his: the great spirit had given it to him. he made the woods for the red man, the deer, the bear, and the turkey; and for these he made the red man. he made the white man for the fields, and taught him how to make ploughs, to have cattle and horses, and how to make books, because the white man needed these. he did not make these a necessity to the red man. "away beyond the mighty waters of the dreary sea, he gave the white man a home, with everything he wanted, and he gave him a mind which was for him, and only him. the red man is satisfied with the gifts to him of the great spirit; and he did not know there was a white man who had other gifts for his different nature, until he came in his winged canoes across the great water, and our fathers met him at yamacrow. the great spirit gave him a country, and he gave the red man a country. why did he leave his own and come to take the red man's? did the great spirit tell him to do this? he gave him his word in a book: do you find it there? then read it for us, that we may hear. if he did, then he is not just. we see him in the sun, and moon, and stars. we hear him in the thunder, and feel him in the mighty winds; but he made no book for the red man to tell him his will, but we see in all his works justice. the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and the ground keep their places, and never leave them to crowd upon one another. they stay where he placed them, and come not to trouble or to take from one another what he had given. only the white man does this. a few--a little handful--came in their canoe to the land of the red man, as spirits come out of the water. the red man gave them his hand. he gave them meat, and corn, and a home, and welcomed them to come and live with him. and the flying canoes came again and again, and many came in them, and at last they brought their great chief, with his long knife by his side, and his red coat, and he asked for more land. our chiefs and warriors met him, and sold him another portion of our lands; and his white squaws came with him, and they made houses and homes near our people. they made fields, and had horses and herds, and grew faster than our people, and drove away the deer and the turkeys deeper into the woods. and then they wanted more land, and our chiefs and warriors sold them more land, and now again another piece, until now we have but a little of our all. and you come again with the same story on your forked tongues, and wish to buy the last we have of all we had, and offer us a home away beyond the great river, and money, and tell us we shall there have a home forever, free from the white man's claims, and in which we shall dwell in peace, with no one to make us afraid. "our traditions tell us that our fathers fled before the powerful red men who dwell beyond the great river, and who robbed us of our homes and made them their own, as you, the white men, have done. have you bought the home of our fathers from these red men? or have you taken it? that you bid us take it from you, and go back, and make a new home where the fathers of our fathers sleep in death? if you have not, will they not hunt us away again, as you have? how shall we know you will not come and make us sell to you, for the white man, the homes you promise shall always be ours and a home for our children's children? "we love the land where we were born and where we have buried our fathers and our kindred. it is the great spirit which teaches us to love the land, the wigwam, the stream, the trees where we hunted and played from our childhood, where we have buried out of sight our ancestors for generations. who says it is mean to love the land, to keep in our hearts these graves, as we keep the great spirit? it is noble to love the land, where the corn grows, and which was given to us by the great spirit. we will sell no more; we know we are passing away; the leaves fall from the trees, and we fall like these; some will stay to be the last. the snow melts from the hills, but there is some left for the last; we are left for the last, like the withered leaf and little spot of snow. leave to us the little we have, let us die where our fathers have died, and let us sleep where our kindred sleep; and when the last is gone, then take our lands, and with your plough tear up the mould upon our graves, and plant your corn above us. there will be none to weep at the deed, none to tell the traditions of our people, or sing the death-song above their graves--none to listen to the wrongs and oppressions the red man bore from his white brother, who came from the home the great spirit gave him, to take from the red man the home the great spirit gave him. we are few and weak, you are many and strong, and you can kill us and take our homes; but the great spirit has given us courage to fight for our homes, if we may not live in them--and we will do it--and this is our talk, our last talk." he folded back the blanket he had thrown from his shoulders, and, followed by his band, he stalked majestically away. they had broken up their camp and returned to their homes upon the tallapoosa. unawed by the defection of the tuscahatchees, the band attached to hopothlayohola, mcintosh went on to complete the treaty. this chief, because he had been the friend of the united states in the then recent war, assumed to be the principal chief of the nation, as he held the commission of a brigadier-general from the united states; a commission, however, which only gave him command with his own people. this assumption was denied by hopothlayohola, chief of the tuscahatchees, tuskega, and other chiefs of the nation, who insisted upon the ancient usages, and the power attaching through these to the recognized head-chief of the nation. strong representations and protests against the treaty were sent to washington, and serious complications were threatened, very nearly producing collision between the state of georgia and the general government. the hostility to mcintosh and his party culminated in a conspiracy for his assassination. fifty warriors were selected, headed by a chief for the purpose. these received their orders, which were that on a day designated they should concentrate at a given spot, and at night proceed to the house of mcintosh, in secret, and surrounding it at or near daylight, call him up, and as he came forth, all were to fire upon him. his brother, his son, and son-in-law, rolla and chillie mcintosh, and hawkins, were all doomed to die, and by the hands of this executory band. that there might be no mistake as to the day, each warrior was furnished with a bundle of sticks of wood, each of these represented a day--the whole, the number of days intervening between the time of receiving them, and the day of execution. every night upon the going down of the sun one of these was to be thrown away--the last one, on the night of concentration and assassination. it was death to betray the trust reposed, or to be absent from the point of rendezvous at the time appointed. the secret was faithfully kept--every one was present. the house of mcintosh stood immediately upon the bank of the chattahoochee river, at the point or place now known as mcintosh's reserve. it was approached and surrounded under the cover of night, and so stealthily as to give no warning even to the watch-dogs. mcintosh and his son chillie were the only victims in the house, the two others were away. hawkins was at his own home, rolla mcintosh no one knew where. hopothlayohola had accompanied this band, but not in the character of chief. the command was delegated to another. this chief knocked at the door, and commanded mcintosh to come out and meet his doom. the reverend francis flornoy, a baptist preacher, was spending the night with the chief, and was in a room with chillie. the chief mcintosh knew his fate, and, repairing to the apartment of his guest and son, told them he was about to die, and directing his son to escape from the rear of the house, and across the river, said he would meet his fate as a warrior. taking his rifle, he went to the front door, and throwing it open, fired upon the array of warriors as he gave the war-whoop, and, in an instant after, fell dead; pierced with twenty balls. chillie, at this moment, sprang from the window, leaped into the river, and made his escape, though fired at repeatedly. a detachment was immediately sent to execute hawkins at his home, which was successful in effecting it. soon after this tragic occurrence, the mcintosh party, consisting of fully one-half the nation, emigrated to the lands granted them west of the state of arkansas, and made there a home. the remainder of the creeks retired to the district of country between the chattahoochee and line creek, only to learn that to remain upon this circumscribed territory was certain destruction. the whites soon populated the acquired territory, and the chattahoochee was no barrier to their aggressions upon the helpless indian beyond. feuds grew up: this led to killings, and in the winter of - active hostilities commenced. this war was of short duration. before the nation was divided, hopothlayohola was opposed to war. in his communication with general jessup, he told him: "my strength is gone; my warriors are few, and i am opposed to war. but had i the men, i would fight you. i am your enemy--i shall ever be; but to fight you would only be the destruction of my people. we are in your power, and you can do with us as you will." but the chiefs of the lower towns would not yield, and made the fight. in a short time this was concluded by the capture of their leading chief, nehemathla. he was decoyed by treachery into the power of general jessup, who detained him as a prisoner, and almost immediately his band surrendered. nehemathla was an onchee chief. this was the remnant of a tribe absorbed into the nation of the creeks or muscogees, and was probably one of those inferior bands inhabiting the land when this nation came from the west and took possession of the country. their language they preserved, and it is remarkable it was never acquired by white or red man, unless he was reared from infancy among the tribe. it was guttural entirely, and spoken with the mouth open, and no word or sound ever required it to be closed for its pronunciation. they had dwindled to a handful at the time of his capture, but more obstinately determined to remain and die upon their parental domain, than any other portion of the nation. nehemathla was more than eighty years of age at the time of his capture. when brought into the presence of general jessup, he expected nothing short of death. the general told him of his crimes, upbraided him with bad faith to his great father, general jackson, and drawing his sword, told him he deserved to die. the chief, seeing the sword lifted, snatched the turban from his head, and fiercely and defiantly looking the general in the face, as the wind waved about his brow and head the long locks white as snow, said firmly and aloud: "strike, and let me sleep here with my father and my children! strike, i am the last of my race! the great spirit gave me seven sons--three of them died at emucfaw, two at talladega, and two at aletosee. general jackson killed them all, and you call him my great father! when did a father wash his hands in his children's blood? when did a father rob his children of their homes? when did a father drive his children in anger into the wilderness, where they will find an enemy who claim it as the gift of the great spirit, and who will fight to retain it? strike, and let me die--no time, no place like this! the mother of my sons, their sisters, perished for food, when i with my sons was fighting for our homes. i am alone; and not afraid to die! strike: eighty winters are on my head--they are heavier than your sword! they weigh me to the earth! strike, and let me go to my squaw, my sons, and my daughters, and let me forget my wrongs! strike, and let my grave be here, where all i have is in the ground! strike: i would sleep where i was born--all around me are the graves of my people, let mine be among them; and when the great spirit shall come, let him find us all together, here with our fathers of a thousand winters, who first built their wigwams here, and who first taught their children to be more cautious than the panther--more watchful than the turkey!" "i will not strike you," said the general. "no, i will not strike my foe, a prisoner; but here is my hand in friendship." "no," said the chief; "you have put your sword in its pocket, put your hand in its pocket; do not let it reach out to blind me, or to take my home. i am the white man's enemy; his friendship i fear more than his anger. it is more fatal to the red man. it takes away his home, and forces him living to go away and grieve for his country, and the graves of his fathers, and to starve in a strange land. in his anger he kills, and its mercy shuts his eyes and his heart away from the wrongs and the miseries of his people. i have lived and i will die the white man's enemy. i have done you all the harm in my power. if i could, i would do you more. my tongue is not forked like yours, my heart has no lies to make it speak to deceive. strike, and let me go to the happy hunting-grounds where all my people are." he sat down upon the ground, and, in a low, monotonous, melancholy tone, chanted the death-song. "who-ah-who-allee! wait for me, i am coming. who-ah-who-allee! prepare the feast, the great warrior's feast. who-ah-who-allee! let my boys and my braves come down to welcome me. who-ah-who-allee! those who went before me, tell them the old warrior is coming. who-ah-who-allee! the white man has come, he treads on their graves, and the graves of their fathers. who-ah-who-allee! the last of the onchee is coming, prepare--his bow is broken, his arrows are all gone. who-ah-who-allee!" concluding his song with one shrill whoop, he dropped his head and lifted up his hands--then prone upon the earth he threw himself, kissed it, rose up, and seemed prepared for the fate he surely expected. nehemathla spoke english fluently, and all his conversation was in that language. he was informed that there was no intention of taking his life, but that he would be kept a close prisoner, until his people could be conquered and collected--when they would be sent to join their brethren, who had gone with the cussetas and cowetas and broken arrows, beyond the great river of the west. tamely and sullenly he submitted to his confinement, until the period approached, when all were collected and in detachments forwarded to their future homes. it was my fortune to be in new orleans when the old chief and his little band arrived at that place. it was winter, and the day of their debarkation was cold and rainy. the steamer chartered to take them to fort smith, upon the arkansas, from some cause did not arrive at the levee at the time appointed for their leaving, and they, with their women and children, were exposed upon the levee to all the inclemencies of rain and cold, through a protracted winter night. many propositions were made to give them shelter, which were rejected. one warm-hearted, noble spirit, james d. fresett, the proprietor of an extensive cotton-press, went in person to the aged chief, and implored him to take his people to shelter there. he declined, and when the importunity was again pressed upon him, impatient of persuasion, he turned abruptly to his tormentor and sternly said: "i am the enemy of the white man. i ask, and will accept, nothing at his hands. me and my people are children of the woods. the great spirit gave them to us, and he gave us the power to endure the cold and the rain. the clouds above are his, and they are shelter and warmth enough for us. he will not deceive and rob us. the white man is faithless; with two tongues he speaks: like the snake, he shows these before he bites. never again shall the white man's house open for me, or the white man's roof shelter me. i have lived his enemy, and his enemy i will die." the grunt of approval came from all the tribe, while many rough and stalwart men stood in mute admiration of the pride, the spirit, and the determination of this white-haired patriarch of a perishing people. the next day he went away to his new home, but only to die. about this time a delegation from both the tuscahatchees or hopothlayohola band and the mcintosh band met by private arrangement, in new orleans, to reconcile all previous difficulties between these parties. hopothlayohola and tuskega, or jim's boy, and chillie mcintosh and hawkins, constituted the delegations. i was present at the city hotel, and witnessed the meeting. it was in silence. mcintosh and hopothlayohola advanced with the right hand extended and met. the clasping hands was the signal for the others: they met, clasping hands, and unity was restored, the nations reconciled and reunited, and hopothlayohola and his people invited to come in peace to their new homes. it was evidently a union of policy, as there could be no heart-union between mcintosh and hopothlayohola; and though the latter placed his conduct upon the broad basis of national law and national justice, yet this was inflicted upon the parent of the other, who denied the law, or the power under the law, supposing it to exist, of the other to adjudge and to execute its sentence. in the meeting of these chiefs, and their apparent reconciliation, was to be seen, a desire that the nation should reunite, and that there should be amity between the bands, or divided parties, for the national good, and for the good of all the parties or people. but there could never be between the two representative chiefs other than a political reconciliation. there was no attempt on the part of either to deceive the other. both acted from the same high motives, while their features told the truth--personally they were enemies. the son held the hand of his father's executioner, red with the life-blood of him who gave him being--a father he revered, and whose memory he cherished. the filial and hereditary hatred was in his heart. the feeling was mutual. both knew it, and the cold, passive eye, and relaxed, inexpressive features but bespoke the subdued, not the extinguished passion. chillie mcintosh is only one-fourth indian in blood. hopothlayohola is a full-blooded indian. his features are coarse and striking. his high forehead and prominent brow indicate intellect, and his large compressed mouth and massive underjaw, terminating in a square, prominent chin, show great fixity of purpose, and resolution of will. unquestionably he was the great man of his tribe. tuskega, or jim's boy, was a man of herculean proportions. he was six feet eight inches in height, and in every way admirably proportioned. he was the putative son of a chief whose name he bore, and whose titles and power he inherited. but the old warrior-chief never acknowledged him as such. the old chief owned as a slave a very large mulatto man, named jim, who was his confidant and chief adviser, and to him he ascribed the parentage of his successor, and always called him jim's boy. his complexion, hair, and great size but too plainly indicated his parentage. he was not a man of much mark, except for his size, and would probably never have attained distinction but through hereditary right. in their new home these people do not increase. the efforts at civilization seem only to reach the mixed bloods, and these only in proportion to the white blood in their veins. the indian is incapable of the white man's civilization, as indeed all other inferior races are. he has fulfilled his destiny, and is passing away. no approximation to the pursuits or the condition of the white man operates otherwise than as a means of his destruction. it seems his contact is death to every inferior race, when not servile and subjected to his care and control. chapter xxxiii. fun, fact, and fancy. eugenius nesbitt--washington poe--yelverton p. king--preparing to receive the court--walton tavern, in lexington--billy springer, of sparta--freeman walker--an augusta lawyer--a georgia major--major walker's bed--uncle ned--discharging a hog on his own recognizance --morning admonition and evening counsel--a mother's request-- invocation--conclusion. to-day i parted from eugenius nesbitt and washington poe, two of only four or five of those who commenced life and the practice of law with me in the state of georgia. we had just learned of the death of y.p. king, of greensboro, georgia, who was only a few years our senior. the four of us were young together, and were friends, but i had been separated from them for more than forty years. yet the ties of youthful attachment remained, and together we mourned the loss of our compeer and companion in youth. i was a member of the legislature when judge nesbitt, by act of the legislature, was admitted to the bar, he having not attained his majority, and by a rule could not be admitted in the ordinary manner. nesbitt, though so young, was known through the up-country of georgia as a young man of more than ordinary promise. the same was the case with poe. they had so deported themselves as to win the confidence and affection of the wise and the good. there were some in the legislature who were lawyers, and who conscientiously believed that no one so young as nesbitt was could be sufficiently matured mentally to properly discharge the duties of the profession. these men themselves were naturally dull, and ignorantly supposed all minds, like their own, were weak in youth, and could only be strengthened and enlightened by time and cultivation. they honestly opposed the bill admitting the applicant. there was one though, who held no such ridiculous notions--himself an example to the contrary--but from some cause he strenuously opposed the bill. it was the celebrated seaborne jones, one of the very ablest lawyers the state ever produced. it seemed ever a delight to him to bear heavily upon young lawyers. it would be difficult to divine his motives. he was at the head of the bar, unapproached by competition, especially by any young man. i was young and ardent, and felt offended at this opposition, and gave all the aid i could to the passage of the bill. fortunately for our cause, there were many young lawyers in the legislature, and these were a unit, and we succeeded in carrying the measure. from that day nesbitt seemed nearer to me than any other of the bar in our circuit. we have been separated over forty years, he remaining in his native state, while i have wandered away to the west. still that warmth of heart toward him has never died out. and now, when both are on the grave's brink, we meet, not to renew, but to find the old flame burning still. king, nesbitt, and myself were born in the same county, and our ancestors worshipped at the same church--old bethany--and to-day we recalled the fact as we mourned the death of our early friend and compeer at the bar. time has swept on. our children are gray with years. one by one, all who were at the bar with us are gone, save two or three, and to-morrow we shall be gone. but the oblivious past has not curtained from memory yet the incidents and the men of that past, and while i may i will bear testimony to these, and to the men who were their chief actors. nesbitt justified in his subsequent life all that his friends and the public hoped from him. in every relation of life he has done his duty ably, honestly, and purely. as a member of the legislature, of congress, as a judge of the supreme court, as a worthy member of the presbyterian church, and, above all, as a father, husband, and citizen, he has been good, wise, and faithful. is not his measure full? who deserves it more? we were sad to-day. one said, "king is dead." "yes," answered the other, and we were silent. memory was busy. we could not talk. in his office, where yet he wears the harness of the law, surrounded by musty, well-thumbed books, and piles of papers with hard judicial faces, we sat and mused. perhaps we thought of the past, when those to whom eternity is a reality were with us and joyous. at such times the mind turns quickly back to youth's joys, nor lingers along the vista of intervening time. all of that day will revive, but these memories sadden the heart, and we are fain to think, but not to talk. perhaps we wondered what were the realizations of the dead. what are they? who knows, except the dead? do the dead know? unprofitable thought! faith and hope only buoy the heart, and time brings the end. well, time has whitened our heads, but not indurated our hearts, and time is now as busy as when in the joyousness of youth we heeded not his flight, and to-morrow may bring us to the grave. ah! then we shall know the secret, and we will keep it, as all who have gone before. oh, what a blessed hope is that which promises that we shall, forgetful of the cares and sorrows of time, meet those whom death has refined, and be happy as they in eternity! but the doubt, and then the fear! but why the fear? we come into time without our knowledge or consent, fulfil a destiny, and without our knowledge or consent die out of time. this is the economy of man's life, and was given him by his creator. then why should he fear? if it is wise for him to be born, to live, it is surely wise that he should die, since that is equally a part of his economy. then why fear? reason is satisfied, but instinct fears. yelverton p. king never removed from the county of his birth, nor abandoned his profession, remaining upon the soil of his nativity and among those with whom he had been reared, maintaining through life the character of an upright man. many memories are connected with his name. when we were young at the bar, there were as our associates very many who attained eminence as lawyers, and fame as politicians; but these distinctions are not connected with the endearing attributes which make them so cherished in memory--the incidents of social intercourse, the favors, the kindnesses of good neighborhood, the sympathies of young life, the unity of sentiment, the sameness of hopes, little regarded at the moment; but oh! how they were rooting in the heart, to bear, away in the coming time, these fruits of memory, in which is the most of happiness when age whitens the head, and the heart is mellowed with the sorrows of time. though all were affectionate and social in their intercourse with each other, yet each had his favorites, because of greater congeniality in nature, more intense sympathies, and more continual intercourse. little incidents were of frequent occurrence which drew these continually closer, until friendships ripened into confidences--some more special favorites of some, and some more general favorites of all. this latter was y.p. king; and yet this favoritism was never very demonstrative, but perhaps the stronger and more permanent for this. such, too, was nesbitt; the older members of the profession loved him, and those of his own age were unenvious and esteemed him. our circuit consisted of seven counties, and the ridings were spring and fall, occupying about two months each term. in each courthouse town was a tavern or two. these houses of entertainment were not then dignified with the sonorous title of hotel. the proprietors were usually jolly good fellows, or some staid matronly lady, in black gown and blue cap, and they all looked forward with anxious delight to the coming of court week. every preparation was made for the judge and lawyers. beds were aired and the bugs hunted out. saturday previous to the coming monday was a busy day in setting all things to rights, and the scrubbing-broom was heard in consonance with calls to the servants to be busy and careful, as sally and nancy sprang to their work with a will. with garments tucked up to their knees, they splashed the water and suds over the floors, strangers to the cleansing element until then for months ago. a new supply of corn and fodder was arriving from the country; stables and stable lots were undergoing a scraping eminently required for the comfort of decent beasts, who gave their lives in labor to exacting man. the room usually appropriated to the bench and bar was a great vagabond-hall, denominated the ball-room, and for this purpose appropriated once or twice a year. along the bare walls of this mighty dormitory were arranged beds, each usually occupied by a couple of the limbs of the law, and sometimes appropriated to three. if there was not a spare apartment, a bed was provided here for the judge. and if there were no lawyers from augusta, this one was distinguished by the greatest mountain of feathers in the house. here assembled at night the rollicking boys of the georgia bar, who here indulged, without restraint, the convivialities for which they were so celebrated. humor and wit, in anecdotes and repartee, beguiled the hours; and the few old taverns time has spared, could they speak, might narrate more good things their walls have heard, than have ever found record in the _noctes ambrosianæ_ of the wits of scrogie. there are but few now left who have enjoyed a night in one of these old tumble-down rooms, with a.s. clayton, o.h. prince, a.b. longstreet, and john m. dooly. here and there one, old, tottering, and gray, lives to laugh at his memories of those chosen spirits of fun. yes, that is the word--fun--for these _ancients_ possessed a fund of mirth-exciting humor, combined with a biting wit, which, in the peregrinations of a long life, i have met nowhere else. were i to select one of these inns, it would be the old walton tavern, in the mean little hamlet of livingston in oglethorpe county, or the old house, kept long and indifferently, by that mountain of mortal obesity, billy springer, in sparta, hancock county. it was here, and when springer presided over the fried meat and eggs of this venerable home for the weary and hungry, after a night of it, that all were huddled to bed like pigs in a sty. this bulky boniface was polite to all, but especially to an augusta lawyer. freeman walker, of that ilk, usually attended this court, and was the great man of the week. a man of splendid abilities and polished manners, dressed and deporting himself like a gentleman, as he was, he shone among the lesser lights which orbed about him, a star of the first magnitude. the choice seat, the choice bed, and choice bits at the table, were ever for major walker. big billy, with his four hundred and ten pounds of adipose flesh, was always behind major walker's chair. he was first served; the choicest pieces of the pig were pointed out, cuts from the back and side bones and breast were hunted from the dish of fried chicken, a famous georgia dish, for major walker. it was a great thing in those days in georgia, to live in a little town of three thousand inhabitants, and wear _store clothes_. it was this and these which made a georgia major. judge dooly, upon one occasion, when attempting to usurp the seat of honor, was unceremoniously informed by big billy that it was major walker's seat. custom since has familiarized the retention of special seats for special persons, and now such a remark from a host astonishes no one. but in those days of unadulterated democracy, to assume a right to an unoccupied seat, startled every one. dooly, amid the astonished gaze of the assembled guests, unmurmuringly retired to an unoccupied seat of more humble pretensions near the foot of the extended table. the occurrence was canvassed at night with full house in the democratic dormitory. when the jests incidental were hushed, and one after another had retired to bed, judge dooly, then on the bench, went slowly to the only unappropriated bed, and undressing, folded down the bed-clothes. suddenly, as if he had forgotten something, he slipped to the landing of the stairway and called anxiously for the landlord. "come up, if you please," he said to the answering host. springer commenced the ascent with slow and heavy tread; at length, after a most exhausting effort, and breathing like a wounded bellows, he lifted his mighty burden of flesh into the room. "what is your will, judge dooly?" he asked, with a painful effort at speech. dooly, standing in his shirt by the bedside and pointing to it, asked, with much apparent solicitude, if that "was major walker's bed." springer felt the sarcasm keenly, and, amid the boisterous outburst of laughter from every bed, turned and went down. a thousand anecdotes might be related of the peculiar wit, sarcasm, and drollery of this remarkable man. one more must suffice. when newton county was first organized, it was made the duty of dooly to hold the first court. there then lived and kept the only tavern in the new town of covington, a man of huge proportions, named ned williams, usually called uncle ned--he, as well as dooly, have long slept with their fathers. the location of the village and court-house had been of recent selection, and uncle ned's tavern was one of those peculiar buildings improvised for temporary purposes--a log cabin, designated, in some parts of georgia at that time, as a two-storied house, with both stories on the ground; in other words, a double-penned cabin with passage between. uncle ned had made ample provision for the bench and bar. one pen of his house was appropriated to their use. there was a bed in each corner, and there were nine lawyers, including the judge. the interstices between the cabin poles were open, but there was no window, and but one door, which had to be closed to avoid too close companionship with the dogs of the household. it was june, and georgia june weather, sultry, warm, and still, especially at night. in the centre there stood a deal table of respectable dimensions, and this served the double purpose of dining-table and bed-place for one. uncle ned was polite and exceedingly solicitous to please. he had scoured the county for supplies; it was too new for poultry or eggs, but acorns abounded, and pigs were plenty. they had never experienced want, and consequently were well-grown and fat. uncle ned had found and secured one which weighed some two hundred pounds. this he divided into halves longitudinally, and had barbecued the half intended for the use of the bar and bench. at dinner, on monday, it was introduced upon a large wooden tray as the centre substantial dish for the dinner of the day. it was swimming in lard. there were side-dishes of potatoes and cold meats, appellated in georgia collards, with quantities of corn-bread, with two bowls of hash from the lungs and liver of the pig, all reeking with the fire and summer heat. a scanty meal was soon made, but the tray and contents remained untouched. the court continued three days, and was adjourned at noon of the fourth day, until the next term. each day the tray and contents were punctual in their attendance. the depressed centre of the tray was a lake of molten lard, beneath which hid a majority of the pig. after dinner of the last day, all were ready to leave. when the meal was concluded, dooly asked if all were done. "landlord," said the judge, "will you give us your attention?" uncle ned entered. "your will, judge," he asked. "i wish you, sir, to discharge this hog on his own recognizance. we do not want any bail for his appearance at the next term." the dinner concluded in a roar of laughter, in which uncle ned heartily joined. only one of the nine who assisted to organize that county, now remains in life. there were four men there whose names are inscribed on the scroll of fame--whose names their fellow-citizens have honored and perpetuated by giving them to counties: cobb, dawson, colquitt, and dougherty. warner and pierman died young. i alone remain. the children of most of them are now gray with years, and have seen their grandchildren. the name of dooly remains only a memory. the affections arising from youthful associations are more enduring than those which come of the same cause in riper years. they are more disinterested and sincere. they come with the spring of life, root deep into the heart, and cling with irradicable tenacity through life. we find in mature life dear friends, friends who will share the all they have with you, who will for you hazard even life, and you love them--but not as you love the boys who were at school with you, who ran with you wild through the woods, when you hunted the squirrel and trapped the quail. when fortuitous time forces your separation, and long intervening years blot the features, in their change, from your recognition, and chance throws you again with a loved companion of life's young morn--the thrill which stirs the heart, when his name is announced, comes not for the friend found only when time has grown gray. go and stand by the grave of one loved when a boy, the little laughing girl you played with at hide-and-seek, through the garden shrubbery and the intricacies of the house and yard, one who was always gentle and kind, she for whom you carried the satchel and books when going to school, who came at noon and divided her blackberry-pie with you, and always gave you the best piece--and see how all these memories will come back; and if the green grass upon the roof-top of her home for eternity does not bear, when you have gone away, a tear-drop to sparkle and exhale, a tribute to endearing memory, your heart is not worth the name. it is not given to us to love all with whom we may be familiar in early life. but every one will sincerely love some few of the companions of his school-days and early manhood. this is really the sugar of life, and the garrulity of age loves to recount these, for in his narrative he lives over and revives the attachments of boyhood. woman may confess only to her own heart these memories--she must love only in secret. when the heart is fresh and brimming with affection, she may love with all the devotion of woman's heart; but if her love meets no return its birthplace must be its grave. she may only tell, when she is old, of her successful and more fortunate love. ah! how many recount to their grandchildren their love, in budding youth, for their grandfather, who hide in the secret alcoves of the heart a more sacred memory of one who found his way there before dear old grandfather came. what sorrows these memories have sown along the way of life! but they have winced not when the thorn has pricked; and how she has folded to her bosom dear john, while imagination made him the more dear willie, her first and foremost love! these endure in secret, and are the more sacred for this; they die only with the dead heart. oh! the grave, the secrets of the grave, are they hidden there for ages, or shall they survive as treasures for eternity? i have been wandering among the graves of those loved best when the heart could love most, and dead memories sprouted anew, and with them a flash of the feelings which made them treasures of the heart. yonder is the grave of thomas w. cobb; near me is that of him most loved--william c. dawson; and here, in this green grave, is yelverton p. king; and near him is the last resting-place of adeline harrison. dear, sweet adeline, you went, in truth, to heaven, ere yet the bud of life had opened into flower! this is the county of my birth, and all of these, save cobb, were natives, too, of the dear old land. to me, how near and dear were these! turn back, o time, thy volume for fifty years, and let me read over anew the records of dead days, and make memories once more realities, as they were real then--else hurry on to the end, that i may know with these, or with these forget forever! i would not linger in the twilight of life, with all of time dimming out, and nothing of eternity dawning upon my vision. let me sleep in the forgetfulness of the one, to awake to the fruition of the other! i have been to the graves of my father and my mother. for more than a third of a century they have been sleeping here. i sat down in the moonlight, and placed my hand upon the cold, heavy stone which rests above them: they do not feel its pressure, but sleep well. they are but earth now--and why am i here? the moon and the stars are the same, and as sweetly bright, looking down upon this sacred spot, as they were when, a little child, i sat upon the knee of her who is nothing here, and listened to her telling me the names of these, as she would point to them, and ask me if i did not see them winking at me. yet they are there, and the same now as then. but where is that gentle, sweet, affectionate mother? is she up among these gems of heaven? is she yonder in the mighty jupiter, looking down, and smiling at me? is she permitted, in her new being, to come at will, and breathe to my mind holy thoughts and holy feelings? disembodied, is she, as god, pervading all, and knowing all? does she, with that devotion of heart which was so much hers in time, still love and protect me? shall i, when purified by death, go to her? and shall this hope become a reality, and endure forever? surely, this must be true; or, why are these thoughts and hopes in the mind--why this affection sublimated still in the heart--why this link between the living, and the dead, if its fruition shall be denied in eternity? why this question, which implies a doubt of the goodness of god? sweet is the belief, sweeter the hope, that i shall see that smile of benignity, feel that gentle, loving caress, and forever, in unalloyed bliss, participate heaven with her. my mother--my mother! see you into my heart, here by your gravestone, to-night? hast thou gone with me through my long pilgrimage of time? if i have kept thy counsels, and walked by their wisdom, hast thou approved, my mother? my mother, all that is good and pure in me has come of thee! if the allurements of vice have tempted, and frail nature has threatened to yield, the morning's admonition, the evening's counsel in our long walks, would strengthen me to forbearance. these bright memories have lived and remained with me a guide and salvation; and now they are the morning's memory, the evening's thought. as i have remembered and loved thee, i have been guided and governed by these. surely there can be no loss to the child like the loss of the mother! how those are to be pitied! they go through life without the holy influences for good coming from a mother; they stumble on, and learn here and there, as time progresses, the moral lessons only taught to childhood from a mother's lips: they stumble and fall for the want of these; and, by experience, too often bitter experience, learn in youth what in childhood should be taught, which should grow up with them as a part of their being, to be the guides and comforts of life. and oh, how many never learn this! go, and converse with the wise and good, and they will tell you of their mothers' teachings; go to the condemned criminal, whose crimes have cast him from society, and ask him why he is thus--and he will tell you he disregarded the teachings of his mother; or, 'i had a wicked and vicious mother, who taught me evil instead of good;' or, 'i had no mother, to plant in my childhood's heart the fear of god and the love of virtue.' here, to me, to-night, in grateful memory, comes the sabbath morning in the garden at the home of my childhood, more than sixty years ago, when this dead mother here sleeping pointed to the drunken man passing on the highway, and, kindly looking up into my face, asked me to look at him, and, when he had passed out of sight, said: "my child, will you here, this beautiful morning of god's day, promise your mother that you will not drink one drop of ardent spirits until you are twenty-one years of age? you are so full of animal spirits, i fear, should you touch it at all, that you will come to drink to excess, and fill a drunkard's grave before you shall have passed half the days allotted to man's life." i see that pleading face, those soft brown eyes to-night, as they looked from where she was seated into my face; i see the soft smile of satisfaction, as it came up from her heart and illumined her features, when i lifted up my hand and made the promise! and, oh, shall i ever forget the thrill which gladdened my heart when she rose up and kissed me, and murmured so gently, so tenderly, so full of hope and confidence: "i know you will keep it, my child." that promise is a holy memory! it was kept with sacred fidelity. angel of love and light--my mother--look down upon thy child here to-night, and for the last time by thy grave, with whitened head and tottering step, and see if i have ever departed from the way you taught me to go! soon i shall be with you. my work is over, my task is done! [illustration: frontispiece.] guy rivers: a tale of georgia. by w. gilmore simms, author of "the yemassee," "the partisan," "mellichampe," "katharine walton," "the scout," "woodcraft," etc. "who wants a sequel may read on. th' unvarnished tale that follows will supply the place of one." rogers' _italy_. new and revised edition. chicago: donohue, henneberry & co. - dearborn street printed and bound by donohue & henneberry chicago. guy rivers chapter i. the sterile prospect and the lonely traveller. our scene lies in the upper part of the state of georgia, a region at this time fruitful of dispute, as being within the cherokee territories. the route to which we now address our attention, lies at nearly equal distances between the main trunk of the chatahoochie and that branch of it which bears the name of the chestatee, after a once formidable, but now almost forgotten tribe. here, the wayfarer finds himself lost in a long reach of comparatively barren lands. the scene is kept from monotony, however, by the undulations of the earth, and by frequent hills which sometimes aspire to a more elevated title. the tract is garnished with a stunted growth, a dreary and seemingly half-withered shrubbery, broken occasionally by clumps of slender pines that raise their green tops abruptly, and as if out of place, against the sky. the entire aspect of the scene, if not absolutely blasted, wears at least a gloomy and discouraging expression, which saddens the soul of the most careless spectator. the ragged ranges of forest, almost untrodden by civilized man, the thin and feeble undergrowth, the unbroken silence, the birdless thickets,--all seem to indicate a peculiarly sterile destiny. one thinks, as he presses forward, that some gloomy fate finds harbor in the place. all around, far as the eye may see, it looks in vain for relief in variety. there still stretch the dreary wastes, the dull woods, the long sandy tracts, and the rude hills that send out no voices, and hang out no lights for the encouragement of the civilized man. such is the prospect that meets the sad and searching eyes of the wayfarer, as they dart on every side seeking in vain for solace. yet, though thus barren upon the surface to the eye, the dreary region in which we now find ourselves, is very far from wanting in resources, such as not only woo the eyes, but win the very soul of civilization. we are upon the very threshold of the gold country, so famous for its prolific promise of the precious metal; far exceeding, in the contemplation of the knowing, the lavish abundance of mexico and of peru, in their palmiest and most prosperous condition. nor, though only the frontier and threshold as it were to these swollen treasures, was the portion of country now under survey, though bleak, sterile, and uninviting, wanting in attractions of its own. it contained indications which denoted the fertile regions, nor wanted entirely in the precious mineral itself. much gold had been already gathered, with little labor, and almost upon its surface; and it was perhaps only because of the limited knowledge then had of its real wealth, and of its close proximity to a more productive territory, that it had been suffered so long to remain unexamined. nature, thus, in a section of the world seemingly unblessed with her bounty, and all ungarnished with her fruits and flowers, seemed desirous of redeeming it from the curse of barrenness, by storing its bosom with a product, which, only of use to the world in its conventional necessities, has become, in accordance with the self-creating wants of society, a necessity itself; and however the bloom and beauty of her summer decorations may refresh the eye of the enthusiast, it would here seem that, with an extended policy, she had planted treasures, for another and a greatly larger class, far more precious to the eyes of hope and admiration than all the glories and beauties in her sylvan and picturesque abodes. her very sterility and solitude, when thus found to indicate her mineral treasures, rise themselves into attractions; and the perverted heart, striving with diseased hopes, and unnatural passions, gladly welcomes the wilderness, without ever once thinking how to make it blossom like the rose. cheerless in its exterior, however, the season of the year was one--a mild afternoon in may--to mollify and sweeten the severe and sterile aspect of the scene. sun and sky do their work of beauty upon earth, without heeding the ungracious return which she may make; and a rich warm sunset flung over the hills and woods a delicious atmosphere of beauty, burnishing the dull heights and the gloomy pines with golden hues, far more bright, if for less highly valued by men, than the metallic treasures which lay beneath their masses. invested by the lavish bounties of the sun, so soft, yet bright, so mild, yet beautiful, the waste put on an appearance of sweetness, if it did not rise into the picturesque. the very uninviting and unlovely character of the landscape, rendered the sudden effect of the sunset doubly effective, though, in a colder moment, the spectator might rebuke his own admiration with question of that lavish and indiscriminate waste which could clothe, with such glorious hues, a region so little worthy of such bounty; even as we revolt at sight of rich jewels about the brows and neck of age and ugliness. the solitary group of pines, that, here and there, shot up suddenly like illuminated spires;--the harsh and repulsive hills, that caught, in differing gradations, a glow and glory from the same bright fountain of light and beauty;--even the low copse, uniform of height, and of dull hues, not yet quite caparisoned for spring, yet sprinkled with gleaming eyes, and limned in pencilling beams and streaks of fire; these, all, appeared suddenly to be subdued in mood, and appealed, with a freshening interest, to the eye of the traveller whom at midday their aspects discouraged only. and there is a traveller--a single horseman--who emerges suddenly from the thicket, and presses forward, not rapidly, nor yet with the manner of one disposed to linger, yet whose eyes take in gratefully the softening influences of that evening sunlight. in that region, he who travelled at all, at the time of which we write, must do so on horseback. it were a doubtful progress which any vehicle would make over the blind and broken paths of that uncultivated realm. either thus, or on foot, as was the common practice with the mountain hunters; men who, at seventy years of age, might be found as lithe and active, in clambering up the lofty summit as if in full possession of the winged vigor and impulse of twenty-five. our traveller, on the present occasion, was apparently a mere youth. he had probably seen twenty summers--scarcely more. yet his person was tall and well developed; symmetrical and manly; rather slight, perhaps, as was proper to his immaturity; but not wanting in what the backwoodsmen call _heft_. he was evidently no milksop, though slight; carried himself with ease and grace; and was certainly not only well endowed with bone and muscle, but bore the appearance, somehow, of a person not unpractised in the use of it. his face was manly like his person; not so round as full, it presented a perfect oval to the eye; the forehead was broad, high, and intellectual--purely white, probably because so well shadowed by the masses of his dark brown hair. his eyes were rather small, but dark and expressive, and derived additional expression from their large, bushy, overhanging brows, which gave a commanding, and, at times, a somewhat fierce expression to his countenance. but his mouth was small, sweet, exquisitely chiselled, and the lips of a ripe, rich color. his chin, full and decided, was in character with the nobility of his forehead. the _tout ensemble_ constituted a fine specimen of masculine beauty, significant at once of character and intelligence. our traveller rode a steed, which might be considered, even in the south, where the passion for fine horses is universal, of the choicest parentage. he was blooded, and of arabian, through english, stocks. you might detect his blood at a glance, even as you did that of his rider. the beast was large, high, broad-chested, sleek of skin, wiry of limb, with no excess of fat, and no straggling hair; small ears, a glorious mane, and a great lively eye. at once docile and full of life, he trod the earth with the firm pace of an elephant, yet with the ease of an antelope; moving carelessly as in pastime, and as if he bore no sort of burden on his back. for that matter he might well do so. his rider, though well developed, was too slight to be felt by such a creature--and a small portmanteau carried all his wardrobe. beyond this he had no _impedimenta_; and to those accustomed only to the modes of travel in a more settled and civilized country--with bag and baggage--the traveller might have appeared--but for a pair of moderately-sized twisted barrels which we see pocketed on the saddle--rather as a gentleman of leisure taking his morning ride, than one already far from home and increasing at every step the distance between it and himself. from our privilege we make bold to mention, that, strictly proportioned to their capacities, the last named appurtenances carried each a charge which might have rendered awkward any interruption; and it may not be saying too much if we add, that it is not improbable to this portion of his equipage our traveller was indebted for that security which had heretofore obviated all necessity for their use. they were essentials which might or might not, in that wild region, have been put in requisition; and the prudence of all experience, in our border country, is seldom found to neglect such companionship. so much for the personal appearance and the equipment of our young traveller. we have followed the usage among novelists, and have dwelt thus long upon these details, as we design that our adventurer shall occupy no small portion of the reader's attention. he will have much to do and to endure in the progress of this narrative. it may be well, in order to the omission of nothing hereafter important, to add that he seems well bred to the _manège_--and rode with that ease and air of indolence, which are characteristic of the gentry of the south. his garments were strictly suited to the condition and custom of the country--a variable climate, rough roads, and rude accommodations. they consisted of a dark blue frock, of stuff not so fine as strong, with pantaloons of the same material, all fitting well, happily adjusted to the figure of the wearer, yet sufficiently free for any exercise. he was booted and spurred, and wore besides, from above the knee to the ankle, a pair of buckskin leggins, wrought by the indians, and trimmed, here and there, with beaded figures that gave a somewhat fantastic air to this portion of his dress. a huge cloak strapped over the saddle, completes our portrait, which, at the time of which we write, was that of most travellers along our southern frontiers. we must not omit to state that a cap of fur, rather than a fashionable beaver, was also the ordinary covering of the head--that of our traveller was of a finely-dressed fur, very far superior to the common fox skin cap worn by the plain backwoodsmen. it declared, somewhat for the superior social condition of the wearer, even if his general air and carriage did not sufficiently do so. our new acquaintance had, by this time, emerged into one of those regions of brown, broken, heathery waste, thinly mottled with tree and shrub, which seem usually to distinguish the first steppes on the approach to our mountain country. though undulating, and rising occasionally into hill and crag, the tract was yet sufficiently monotonous; rather saddened than relieved by the gentle sunset, which seemed to gild in mockery the skeleton woods and forests, just recovering from the keen biting blasts of a severe and protracted winter. our traveller, naturally of a dreamy and musing spirit, here fell unconsciously into a narrow footpath, an old indian trace, and without pause or observation, followed it as if quite indifferent whither it led. he was evidently absorbed in that occupation--a very unusual one with youth on horseback--that "chewing of the cud of sweet and bitter thought"--which testifies for premature troubles and still gnawing anxieties of soul. his thoughts were seemingly in full unison with the almost grave-like stillness and solemn hush of everything around him. his spirit appeared to yield itself up entirely to the mournful barrenness and uninviting associations, from which all but himself, birds and beasts, and the very insects, seemed utterly to have departed. the faint hum of a single wood-chuck, which, from its confused motions, appeared to have wandered into an unknown territory, and by its uneasy action and frequent chirping, seemed to indicate a perfect knowledge of the fact, was the only object which at intervals broke through the spell of silence which hung so heavily upon the sense. the air of our traveller was that of one who appeared unable, however desirous he might be, to avoid the train of sad thought which such a scene was so eminently calculated to inspire; and, of consequence, who seemed disposed, for this object, to call up some of those internal resources of one's own mind and memory, which so mysteriously bear us away from the present, whatever its powers, its pains, or its pleasures, and to carry us into a territory of the heart's own selection. but, whether the past in his case, were more to be dreaded than the present; or whether it was that there was something in the immediate prospect which appealed to sterile hopes, and provoking memories, it is very certain that our young companion exhibited a most singular indifference to the fact that he was in a wild empire of the forest--a wilderness--and that the sun was rapidly approaching his setting. the bridle held heedlessly, lay loose upon the neck of his steed; and it was only when the noble animal, more solicitous about his night's lodging than his rider, or rendered anxious by his seeming stupor, suddenly came to a full stand in the narrow pathway, that the youth seemed to grow conscious of his doubtful situation, and appeared to shake off his apathy and to look about him. he now perceived that he had lost the little indian pathway which he had so long pursued. there was no sign of route or road on any side. the prospect was greatly narrowed; he was in a valley, and the trees had suddenly thickened around him. certain hills, which his eyes had hitherto noted on the right, had disappeared wholly from sight. he had evidently deflected greatly from his proper course, and the horizon was now too circumscribed to permit him to distinguish any of those guiding signs upon which he had relied for his progress. from a bald tract he had unwittingly passed into the mazes of a somewhat thickly-growing wood. "old blucher," he said, addressing his horse, and speaking in clear silvery tones--"what have you done, old fellow? whither have you brought us?" the philosophy which tells us, when lost, to give the reins to the steed, will avail but little in a region where the horse has never been before. this our traveller seemed very well to know. but the blame was not chargeable upon blucher. he had tacitly appealed to the beast for his direction when suffering the bridle to fall upon his neck. he was not willing, now, to accord to him a farther discretion; and was quite too much of the man to forbear any longer the proper exercise of his own faculties. with the quickening intelligence in his eyes, and the compression of his lips, declaring a resolute will, he pricked the animal forward, no longer giving way to those brown musings, which, during the previous hour, had not only taken him to remote regions but very much out of his way besides. in sober earnest, he had lost the way, and, in sober earnest, he set about to recover it; but a ten minutes' farther ride only led him to farther involvements; and he paused, for a moment, to hold tacit counsel with his steed, whose behavior was very much that of one who understands fully his own, and the predicament of his master. our traveller then dismounted, and, suffering his bridle to rest upon the neck of the docile beast, he coursed about on all sides, looking close to the earth in hopes to find some ancient traces of a pathway. but his search was vain. his anxieties increased. the sunlight was growing fainter and fainter; and, in spite of the reckless manner, which he still wore, you might see a lurking and growing anxiety in his quick and restless eye. he was vexed with himself that he had suffered his wits to let fall his reins; and his disquiet was but imperfectly concealed under the careless gesture and rather philosophic swing of his graceful person, as, plying his silent way, through clumps of brush, and bush, and tree, he vainly peered along the earth for the missing traces of the route. he looked up for the openings in the tree-tops--he looked west, at the rapidly speeding sun, and shook his head at his horse. though bold of heart, no doubt, and tolerably well aware of the usual backwoods mode of procedure in all such cases of embarrassment, our traveller had been too gently nurtured to affect a lodge in the wilderness that night--its very "vast contiguity of shade" being anything but attractive in his present mood. no doubt, he could have borne the necessity as well as any other man, but still he held it a necessity to be avoided if possible. he had, we are fain to confess, but small passion for that "grassy couch," and "leafy bower," and those other rural felicities, of which your city poets, who lie snug in garrets, are so prone to sing; and always gave the most unromantic preference to comfortable lodgings and a good roof; so, persevering in his search after the pathway, while any prospect of success remained, he circled about until equally hopeless and fatigued; then, remounted his steed, and throwing the bridle upon his neck, with something of the indifference of despair, he plied his spurs, suffering the animal to adopt his own course, which we shall see was nevertheless interrupted by the appearance of another party upon the scene, whose introduction we reserve for another chapter. chapter ii. the encounter--the chevalier d'industrie. thus left to himself, the good steed of our traveller set off, without hesitation, and with a free step, that promised, at least, to overcome space hurriedly, if it attained not the desired destination. the rider did not suffer any of his own doubts to mar a progress so confidently begun; and a few minutes carried the twain, horse and man, deeply, as it were, into the very bowels of the forest. the path taken by the steed grew every moment more and more intricate and difficult of access, and, but for the interruption already referred to, it is not impossible that a continued course in the same direction, would have brought the rider to a full stop from the sheer inaccessibleness of the forest. the route thus taken lay in a valley which was necessarily more fertile, more densely packed with thicket, than the higher road which our rider had been pursuing all the day. the branches grew more and more close; and, what with the fallen trees, the spreading boughs, the undergrowth, and broken character of the plain, our horseman was fain to leave the horse to himself, finding quite enough to do in saving his eyes, and keeping his head from awkward contact with overhanging timber. the pace of the beast necessarily sunk into a walk. the question with his rider was, in what direction to turn, to extricate himself from the mazes into which he had so rashly ridden? while he mused this question, blucher started suddenly with evidently some new and exciting consciousness. his ears were suddenly lifted--his eyes were strained upon the copse in front--he halted, as if reluctant to proceed. it was evident that his senses had taken in some sights, or sounds, which were unusual. of course, our traveller was by no means heedless of this behavior on the part of the beast. he well knew the superior keenness of the brute senses, over those of the man; and his own faculties were keenly enlisted in the scrutiny. there might be wolves along the track--the country was not wanting in them; or, more to be feared, there might be a panther lurking along some great overhanging forest bough. there was need to be vigilant. either of these savages would make his propinquity known, at a short distance, to the senses of an animal so timid as the horse. or, it might be, that a worse beast still--always worst of all when he emulates the nature of the beast--man!--might be lurking upon the track! if so, the nature of the peril was perhaps greater still, to the rider if not the steed. the section of the wild world in which our traveller journeyed was of doubtful character; but sparingly supplied with good citizens; and most certainly infested with many with whom the world had quarrelled--whom it had driven forth in shame and terror. the youth thought of all these things. but they did not overcome his will, or lessen his courage. preparing himself, as well as he might, for all chances, he renewed his efforts to extricate himself from his thick harborage; pressing his steed firmly, in a direction which seemed to open fairly, the sky appearing more distinctly through the opening of the trees above. meanwhile, he kept his eyes busy, watching right and left. still, he could see nothing, hear nothing, but the slight footfall of his own steed. and yet the animal continued uneasy, his ears pricked up, his head turning, this way and that, with evident curiosity; his feet set down hesitatingly, as if uncertain whether to proceed. curious and anxious, our traveller patted the neck of the beast affectionately, and, in low tones, endeavored to soothe his apprehensions: "quietly, blucher, quietly? what do you see, old fellow, to make you uneasy? is it the snug stall, and the dry fodder, and the thirty ears, for which you long. i'faith, old fellow, the chance is that both of us will seek shelter and supper in vain to-night." blucher pricked up his ears at the tones, however subdued, of his rider's voice, which he well knew; but his uneasiness continued; and, just when our young traveller, began to feel some impatience at his restiffness and coyness, a shrill whistle which rang through the forest, from the copse in front, seemed at once to determine the correctness of sense in the animal, and the sort of beast which had occasioned his anxieties. he was not much longer left in doubt as to the cause of the animal's excitement. a few bounds brought him unexpectedly into a pathway, still girdled, however, by a close thicket--and having an ascent over a hill, the top of which was of considerable elevation compared with the plain he had been pursuing. as the horse entered this pathway, and began the ascent, he shyed suddenly, and so abruptly, that a less practised rider would have lost his seat. "quiet, beast! what do you see?" the traveller himself looked forward at his own query, and soon discovered the occasion of his steed's alarm. no occasion for alarm, either, judging by appearances; no panther, no wolf, certainly--a man only--looking innocent enough, were it not for the suspicious fact that he seemed to have put himself in waiting, and stood directly in the midst of the path that the horseman was pursuing. our traveller, as we have seen, was not wholly unprepared, as well to expect as to encounter hostilities. in addition to his pistols, which were well charged, and conveniently at hand, we may now add that he carried another weapon, for close quarters, concealed in his bosom. the appearance of the stranger was not, however, so decided a manifestation of hostility, as to justify his acting with any haste by the premature use of his defences. besides, no man of sense, and such we take our traveller to be, will force a quarrel where he can make his way peacefully, like a christian and a gentleman. our young traveller very quietly observed as he approached the stranger-- "you scare my horse, sir. will it please you to give us the road?" "give you the road?--oh! yes! when you have paid the toll, young master!" the manner of the man was full of insolence, and the blood, in a moment, rushed to the cheeks of the youth. he divined, by instinct, that there was some trouble in preparation for him, and his teeth were silently clenched together, and his soul nerved itself for anticipated conflict. he gazed calmly, however, though sternly, at the stranger, who appeared nothing daunted by the expression in the eyes of the traveller. his air was that of quiet indifference, bordering on contempt, as if he knew his duties, or his man, and was resolved upon the course he was appointed to pursue. when men meet thus, if they are persons of even ordinary intelligence, the instincts are quick to conceive and act, and the youth was now more assured than ever, that the contest awaited him which should try his strength. this called up all his resources, and we may infer that he possessed them in large degree, from his quiet forbearance and deliberation, even when he became fully sensible of the insolence of the person with whom he felt about to grapple. as yet, however, judging from other appearances, there was no violence meditated by the stranger. he was simply insolent, and he was in the way. he carried no weapons--none which met the sight, at least, and there was nothing in his personal appearance calculated to occasion apprehension. his frame was small, his limbs slight, and they did not afford promise of much activity. his face was not ill favored, though a quick, restless black eye, keen and searching, had in it a lurking malignity, like that of a snake, which impressed the spectator with suspicion at the first casual glance. his nose, long and sharp, was almost totally fleshless; the skin being drawn so tightly over the bones, as to provoke the fear that any violent effort would cause them to force their way through the frail integument. an untrimmed beard, run wild; and a pair of whiskers so huge, as to refuse all accordance with the thin diminutive cheeks which wore them; thin lips, and a sharp chin;--completed the outline of a very unprepossessing face, which a broad high forehead did not tend very much to improve or dignify. though the air of the stranger was insolent, and his manner rude, our young traveller was unwilling to decide unfavorably. at all events, his policy and mood equally inclined him to avoid any proceeding which should precipitate or compel violence. "there are many good people in the world"--so he thought--"who are better than they promise; many good christians, whose aspects would enable them to pass, in any crowd, as very tolerable and becoming ruffians. this fellow may be one of the unfortunate order of virtuous people, cursed with an unbecoming visage. we will see before we shoot." thus thought our traveller, quickly, as became his situation. he determined accordingly, while foregoing none of his precautions, to see farther into the designs of the stranger, before he resorted to any desperate issues. he replied, accordingly, to the requisition of the speaker; the manner, rather than the matter of which, had proved offensive. "toll! you ask toll of me! by what right, sir, and for whom do you require it?" "look you, young fellow, i am better able to ask questions myself, than to answer those of other people. in respect to this matter of answering, my education has been wofully neglected." the reply betrayed some intelligence as well as insolence. our traveller could not withhold the retort. "ay, indeed! and in some other respects too, not less important, if i am to judge from your look and bearing. but you mistake your man, let me tell you. i am not the person whom you can play your pranks upon with safety, and unless you will be pleased to speak a little more respectfully, our parley will have a shorter life, and a rougher ending, than you fancy." "it would scarcely be polite to contradict so promising a young gentleman as yourself," was the response; "but i am disposed to believe our intimacy likely to lengthen, rather than diminish. i hate to part over-soon with company that talks so well; particularly in these woods, where, unless such a chance come about as the present, the lungs of the heartiest youth in the land would not be often apt to find the echo they seek, though they cried for it at the uttermost pitch of the pipe." the look and the language of the speaker were alike significant, and the sinister meaning of the last sentence did not escape the notice of him to whom was addressed. his reply was calm, however, and his mind grew more at ease, more collected, with his growing consciousness of annoyance and danger. he answered the stranger in a vein not unlike his own. "you are pleased to be eloquent, worthy sir--and, on any other occasion, i might not be unwilling to bestow my ear upon you; but as i have yet to find my way out of this labyrinth, for the use of which your facetiousness would have me pay a tax, i must forego that satisfaction, and leave the enjoyment for some better day." "you are well bred, i see, young sir," was the reply, "and this forms an additional reason why i should not desire so soon to break our acquaintance. if you have mistaken your road, what do you on this?--why are you in this part of the country, which is many miles removed from any public thoroughfare?" "by what right do you ask the question?" was the hurried and unhesitating response. "you are impertinent!" "softly, softly, young sir. be not rash, and let me recommend that you be more choice in the adoption of your epithets. impertinent is an ugly word between gentlemen of our habit. touching my right to ask this or that question of young men who lose the way, that's neither here nor there, and is important in no way. but, i take it, i should have some right in this matter, seeing, young sir, that you are upon the turnpike and i am the gate-keeper who must take the toll." a sarcastic smile passed over the lips of the man as he uttered the sentence, which was as suddenly succeeded, however, by an expression of gravity, partaking of an air of the profoundest business. the traveller surveyed him for a moment before he replied, as if to ascertain in what point of view properly to understand his conduct. "turnpike! this is something new. i never heard of a turnpike and a gate for toll, in a part of the world in which men, or honest ones at least, are not yet commonly to be found. you think rather too lightly, my good sir, of my claim to that most vulgar commodity called common sense, if you suppose me likely to swallow this silly story." "oh, doubtless--you are a very sagacious young man, i make no question," said the other, with a sneer--"but you'll have to pay the turnpike for all that." "you speak confidently on this point; but, if i am to pay this turnpike, at least, i may be permitted to know who is its proprietor." "to be sure you may. i am always well pleased to satisfy the doubts and curiosity of young travellers who go abroad for information. i take you to be one of this class." "confine yourself, if you please, to the matter in hand--i grow weary of this chat," said the youth with a haughty inclination, that seemed to have its effect even upon him with whom he spoke. "your question is quickly answered. you have heard of the pony club--have you not?" "i must confess my utter ignorance of such an institution. i have never heard even the name before." "you have not--then really it is high time to begin the work of enlightenment. you must know, then, that the pony club is the proprietor of everything and everybody, throughout the nation, and in and about this section. it is the king, without let or limitation of powers, for sixty miles around. scarce a man in georgia but pays in some sort to its support--and judge and jury alike contribute to its treasuries. few dispute its authority, as you will have reason to discover, without suffering condign and certain punishment; and, unlike the tributaries and agents of other powers, its servitors, like myself, invested with jurisdiction over certain parts and interests, sleep not in the performance of our duties; but, day and night, obey its dictates, and perform the various, always laborious, and sometimes dangerous functions which it imposes upon us. it finds us in men, in money, in horses. it assesses the cherokees, and they yield a tithe, and sometimes a greater proportion of their ponies, in obedience to its requisitions. hence, indeed, the name of the club. it relieves young travellers, like yourself, of their small change--their sixpences; and when they happen to have a good patent lever, such a one as a smart young gentleman like yourself is very apt to carry about him, it is not scrupulous, but helps them of that too, merely by way of _pas-time_." and the ruffian chuckled in a half-covert manner at his own pun. "truly, a well-conceived sort of sovereignty, and doubtless sufficiently well served, if i may infer from the representative before me. you must do a large business in this way, most worthy sir." "why, that we do, and your remark reminds me that i have quite as little time to lose as yourself. you now understand, young sir, the toll you have to pay, and the proprietor who claims it." "perfectly--perfectly. you will not suppose me dull again, most candid keeper of the pony turnpike. but have you made up your mind, in earnest, to relieve me of such trifling encumbrances as those you have just mentioned?" "i should be strangely neglectful of the duties of my station, not to speak of the discourtesy of such a neglect to yourself, were i to do otherwise; always supposing you burdened with such encumbrances. i put it to yourself, whether such would not be the effect of my omission." "it most certainly would, most frank and candid of all the outlaws. your punctiliousness on this point of honor entitles you, in my mind, to an elevation above and beyond all others of your profession. i admire the grace of your manner, in the commission of acts which the more tame and temperate of our kind are apt to look upon as irregular and unlovely. you, i see, have the true notion of the thing." the ruffian looked with some doubt upon the youth--inquiringly, as if to account in some way for the singular coolness, not to say contemptuous scornfulness, of his replies and manner. there was something, too, of a searching malignity in his glance, that seemed to recognise in his survey features which brought into activity a personal emotion in his own bosom, not at variance, indeed, with the craft he was pursuing, but fully above and utterly beyond it. dismissing, however, the expression, he continued in the manner and tone so tacitly adopted between the parties. "i am heartily glad, most travelled young gentleman, that your opinion so completely coincides with my own, since it assures me i shall not be compelled, as is sometimes the case in the performance of my duties, to offer any rudeness to one seemingly so well taught as yourself. knowing the relationship between us so fully, you can have no reasonable objection to conform quietly to all my requisitions, and yield the toll-keeper his dues." our traveller had been long aware, in some degree, of the kind of relationship between himself and his companion; but, relying on his defences, and perhaps somewhat too much on his own personal capacities of defence, and, possibly, something curious to see how far the love of speech in his assailant might carry him in a dialogue of so artificial a character, he forbore as yet a resort to violence. he found it excessively difficult, however, to account for the strange nature of the transaction so far as it had gone; and the language of the robber seemed so inconsistent with his pursuit, that, at intervals, he was almost led to doubt whether the whole was not the clever jest of some country sportsman, who, in the guise of a levyer of contributions upon the traveller, would make an acquaintance, such as is frequent in the south, terminating usually in a ride to a neighboring plantation, and pleasant accommodations so long as the stranger might think proper to avail himself of them. if, on the other hand, the stranger was in reality the ruffian he represented himself, he knew not how to account for his delay in the assault--a delay, to the youth's mind, without an object--unless attributable to a temper of mind like that of robin hood, and coupled in the person before him, as in that of the renowned king of the outlaws, with a peculiar freedom and generosity of habit, and a gallantry and adroitness which, in a different field, had made him a knight worthy to follow and fight for baldwin and the holy cross. our young traveller was a _romanticist_, and all of these notions came severally into his thoughts. whatever might have been the motives of conduct in the robber, who thus audaciously announced himself the member of a club notorious on the frontiers of georgia and among the cherokees for its daring outlawries, the youth determined to keep up the game so long as it continued such. after a brief pause, he replied to the above politely-expressed demand in the following language:-- "your request, most unequivocal sir, would seem but reasonable; and so considering it, i have bestowed due reflection upon it. unhappily, however, for the pony club and its worthy representative, i am quite too poorly provided with worldly wealth at this moment to part with much of it. a few shillings to procure you a cravat--such as you may get of kentucky manufacture--i should not object to. beyond this, however (and the difficulty grieves me sorely), i am so perfectly incapacitated from doing anything, that i am almost persuaded, in order to the bettering of my own condition, to pay the customary fees, and applying to your honorable body for the privilege of membership, procure those means of lavish generosity which my necessity, and not my will, prevents me from bestowing upon you." "a very pretty idea," returned he of the road; "and under such circumstances, your jest about the cravat from kentucky is by no means wanting in proper application. but the fact is, our numbers are just now complete--our ranks are full--and the candidates for the honor are so numerous as to leave little chance for an applicant. you might be compelled to wait a long season, unless the georgia penitentiary and georgia guard shall create a vacancy in your behalf." "truly, the matter is of very serious regret," with an air of much solemnity, replied the youth, who seemed admirably to have caught up the spirit of the dialogue--"and it grieves me the more to know, that, under this view of the case, i can no more satisfy you than i can serve myself. it is quite unlucky that your influence is insufficient to procure me admission into your fraternity; since it is impossible that i should pay the turnpike, when the club itself, by refusing me membership, will not permit me to acquire the means of doing so. so, as the woods grow momently more dull and dark, and as i may have to ride far for a supper, i am constrained, however unwilling to leave good company, to wish you a fair evening, and a long swing of fortune, most worthy knight of the highway, and trusty representative of the pony club." with these words, the youth, gathering up the bridle of the horse, and slightly touching him with the rowel, would have proceeded on his course; but the position of the outlaw now underwent a corresponding change, and, grasping the rein of the animal, he arrested his farther progress. "i am less willing to separate than yourself from good company, gentle youth, as you may perceive; since i so carefully restrain you from a ride over a road so perilous as this. you have spoken like a fair and able scholar this afternoon; and talents, such as you possess, come too seldom into our forests to suffer them, after so brief a sample, to leave us so abruptly. you must come to terms with the turnpike." "take your hands from my horse, sirrah!" was the only response made by the youth; his tone and manner corresponding with the change in the situation of the parties. "i would not do you harm willingly; i want no man's blood on my head; but my pistols, let me assure you, are much more readily come at than my purse. tempt me not to use them--stand from the way." "it may not be," replied the robber, with a composure and coolness that underwent no change; "your threats affect me not. i have not taken my place here without a perfect knowledge of all its dangers and consequences. you had better come peaceably to terms; for, were it even the case that you could escape _me_, you have only to cast your eye up the path before you, to be assured of the utter impossibility of escaping those who aid me. the same glance will also show you the tollgate, which you could not see before. look ahead, young sir, and be wise in time; and let me perform my duties without hindrance." casting a furtive glance on the point indicated by the ruffian, the youth saw, for the first time, a succession of bars--a rail fence, in fact, of more than usual height--completely crossing the narrow pathway and precluding all passage. approaching the place of strife, the same glance assured him, were two men, well armed, evidently the accomplices of the robber who had pointed to them as such. the prospect grew more and more perilous, and the youth, whose mind was one of that sort which avails itself of its energies seemingly only in emergencies, beheld his true course, with a moment's reflection, and hesitated not a single moment in its adoption. he saw that something more was necessary than to rid himself merely of the ruffian immediately before him, and that an unsuccessful blow or shot would leave him entirely at the mercy of the gang. to escape, a free rein must be given to the steed, on which he felt confident he could rely; and, though prompted by the most natural impulse to send a bullet through the head of his assailant, he wisely determined on a course which, as it would be unlooked for, had therefore a better prospect of success. without further pause, drawing suddenly from his bosom the bowie-knife commonly worn in those regions, and bending forward, he aimed a blow at the ruffian, which, as he had anticipated, was expertly eluded--the assailant, sinking under the neck of the steed, and relying on the strength of the rein, which he still continued to hold, to keep him from falling, while at the same time he kept the check upon the horse. this movement was that which the youth had looked for and desired. the blow was but a feint, for, suddenly turning the direction of the knife when his enemy was out of its reach, he cut the bridle upon which the latter hung, and the head of the horse, freed from the restraint, was as at once elevated in air. the suddenness of his motion whirled the ruffian to the ground; while the rider, wreathing his hands in the mane of the noble animal, gave him a free spur, and plunged at once over the struggling wretch, in whose cheek the glance of his hoof left a deep gash. the steed bounded forward; nor did the youth seek to restrain him, though advancing full up the hill and in the teeth of his enemies. satisfied that he was approaching their station, the accomplices of the foiled ruffian, who had seen the whole affray, sunk into the covert; but, what was their mortification to perceive the traveller, though without any true command over his steed, by an adroit use of the broker bridle, so wheel him round as to bring him, in a few leaps, over the very ground of the strife, and before the staggering robber had yet fully arisen from the path. by this manoeuvre he placed himself in advance of the now approaching banditti. driving his spurs resolutely and unsparingly into the flanks of his horse, while encouraging him with well known words of cheer, he rushed over the scene of his late struggle with a velocity that set all restraint at defiance--his late opponent scarcely being able to put himself in safety. a couple of shots, that whistled wide of the mark, announced his extrication from the difficulty--but, to his surprise, his enemies had been at work behind him, and the edge of the copse through which he was about to pass, was blockaded with bars in like manner with the path in front. he heard the shouts of the ruffians in the rear--he felt the danger, if not impracticability of his pausing for the removal of the rails, and, in the spirit which had heretofore marked his conduct, he determined upon the most daring endeavor. throwing off all restraint from his steed, and fixing himself firmly in the stirrup and saddle, he plunged onward to the leap, and, to the chagrin of the pursuers, who had relied much upon the obstruction, and who now appeared in pursuit, the noble animal, without a moment's reluctance, cleared it handsomely. another volley of shot rang in the ears of the youth, as he passed the impediment, and he felt himself wounded in the side. the wound gave him little concern at the moment, for, under the excitement of the strife, he felt not even its smart; and, turning himself upon the saddle, he drew one of his own weapons from its case, and discharging it, by way of taunt, in the faces of the outlaws, laughed loud with the exulting spirit of youth at the successful result of an adventure due entirely to his own perfect coolness, and to the warm courage which had been his predominating feature from childhood. the incident just narrated had dispersed a crowd of gloomy reflections, so that the darkness which now overspread the scene, coupled as it was with the cheerlessness of prospect before him, had but little influence upon his spirits. still, ignorant of his course, and beginning to be enfeebled by the loss of blood, he moderated his speed, and left it to the animal to choose his own course. but he was neither so cool nor so sanguine, to relax so greatly in his speed as to permit of his being overtaken by the desperates whom he had so cleverly foiled. he knew the danger, the utter hopelessness, indeed, of a second encounter with the same persons. he felt sure that he would be suffered no such long parley as before. without restraining his horse, our young traveller simply regulated his speed by a due estimate of the capacity of the outlaws for pursuit a-foot; and, without knowing whither he sped, having left the route wholly to the horse, he was suddenly relieved by finding himself upon a tolerably broad road, which, in the imperfect twilight, he concluded to be the same from which, in his mistimed musings he had suffered his horse to turn aside. he had no means to ascertain the fact, conclusively, and, in sooth, no time; for now he began to feel a strange sensation of weakness; his eyes swam, and grew darkened; a numbness paralyzed his whole frame; a sickness seized upon his heart; and, after sundry feeble efforts, under a strong will, to command and compel his powers, they finally gave way, and he sunk from his steed upon the long grass, and lay unconscious;--his last thought, ere his senses left him, being that of death! here let us leave him for a little space, while we hurriedly seek better knowledge of him in other quarters. chapter iii. young love--the retrospect. it will not hurt our young traveller, to leave him on the greensward, in the genial spring-time; and, as the night gathers over him, and a helpful insensibility interposes for the relief of pain, we may avail ourselves of the respite to look into the family chronicles, and show the why and wherefore of this errant journey, the antecedents and the relations of our hero. ralph colleton, the young traveller whose person we have described, and whose most startling adventure in life, we have just witnessed, was the only son of a carolinian, who could boast the best blood of english nobility in his veins. the sire, however, had outlived his fortunes, and, late in life, had been compelled to abandon the place of his nativity--an adventurer, struggling against a proud stomach, and a thousand embarrassments--and to bury himself in the less known, but more secure and economical regions of tennessee. born to affluence, with wealth that seemed adequate to all reasonable desires--a noble plantation, numerous slaves, and the host of friends who necessarily come with such a condition, his individual improvidence, thoughtless extravagance, and lavish mode of life--a habit not uncommon in the south--had rendered it necessary, at the age of fifty, when the mind, not less than the body, requires repose rather than adventure, that he should emigrate from the place of his birth; and with resources diminished to a cipher, endeavor to break ground once more in unknown forests, and commence the toils and troubles of life anew. with an only son (the youth before us) then a mere boy, and no other family, colonel ralph colleton did not hesitate at such an exile. he had found out the worthlessness of men's professions at a period not very remote from the general knowledge of his loss of fortune: and having no other connection claiming from him either countenance or support, and but a single relative from whom separation might be painful, he felt, comparatively speaking, but few of the privations usually following such a removal. an elder brother, like himself a widower, with a single child, a daughter, formed the whole of his kindred left behind him in carolina; and, as between the two brothers there had existed, at all times, some leading dissimilar points of disposition and character, an occasional correspondence, due rather to form than to affection, served all necessary purposes in keeping up the sentiment of kindred in their bosoms. there were but few real affinities which could bring them together. they never could altogether understand, and certainly had but a limited desire to appreciate or to approve many of the several and distinct habits of one another; and thus they separated with but few sentiments of genuine concern. william colleton, the elder brother, was the proprietor of several thousand highly valuable and pleasantly-situated acres, upon the waters of the santee--a river which irrigates a region in the state of south carolina, famous for its wealth, lofty pride, polished manners, and noble and considerate hospitality. affluent equally with his younger brother by descent, marriage had still further contributed toward the growth of possessions, which a prudent management had always kept entire and always improving. such was the condition of william colleton, the uncle of the young ralph, then a mere child, when he was taken by his father into tennessee. there, the fortune of the adventurer still maintained its ancient aspect. he had bought lands, and engaged in trade, and made sundry efforts in various and honorable ways, but without success. vocation after vocation had with him a common and certain termination, and after many years of profitless experiment, the ways of prosperity were as far remote from his knowledge and as perplexing to his pursuit, as at the first hour of his enterprise. in worldly concerns he stood just where he had started fifteen years before; with this difference for the worse, however, that he had grown older in this space of time, less equal to the tasks of adventure; and with the moral energies checked as they had been by continual disappointments, recoiling in despondency and gloom, with trying emphasis, upon a spirit otherwise noble and sufficiently daring for every legitimate and not unwonted species of trial and occasion. still, he had learned little, beyond _hauteur_ and querulousness, from the lessons of experience. economy was not more the inmate of his dwelling than when he was blessed with the large income of his birthright; but, extravagantly generous as ever, his house was the abiding-place of a most lavish and unwise hospitality. his brother, william colleton, on the other hand, with means hourly increasing, exhibited a disposition narrowing at times into a selfishness the most pitiful. he did not, it is true, forego or forget any of those habits of freedom and intercourse in his household and with those about him, which form so large a practice among the people of the south. he could give a dinner, and furnish an ostentatious entertainment--lodge his guest in the style of a prince for weeks together, nor exhibit a feature likely to induce a thought of intrusion in the mind of his inmate. in public, the populace had no complaints to urge of his penuriousness; and in all outward shows he manifested the same general characteristics which marked the habit of the class to which he belonged. but his selfishness lay in things not so much on the surface. it was more deep and abiding in its character; and consisted in the false estimate which he made of the things around him. he had learned to value wealth as a substitute for mind--for morals--for all that is lofty, and all that should be leading, in the consideration of society. he valued few things beside. he had different emotions for the rich from those which he entertained for the poor; and, from perceiving that among men, money could usurp all places--could defeat virtue, command respect denied to morality and truth, and secure a real worship when the deity must be content with shows and symbols--he gradually gave it the chief place in his regard. he valued wealth as the instrument of authority. it secured him power; a power, however, which he had no care to employ, and which he valued only as tributary to the maintenance of that haughty ascendency over men which was his heart's first passion. he was neither miser nor mercenary; he did not labor to accumulate--perhaps because he was a lucky accumulator without any painstaking of his own: but he was, by nature an aristocrat, and not unwilling to compel respect through the means of money, as through any other more noble agency of intellect or morals. there was only one respect in which a likeness between the fortunes of the two brothers might be found to exist. after a grateful union of a few years, they had both lost their wives. a single child, in the case of each, had preserved and hallowed to them the memories of their mothers. to the younger brother ralph, a son had been born, soothing the sorrows of the exile, and somewhat compensating his loss. to william colleton, the elder brother, his wife had left a single and very lovely daughter, the sweet and beautiful edith, a girl but a few months younger than her cousin ralph. it was the redeeming feature, in the case of the surviving parents, that they each gave to their motherless children, the whole of that affection--warm in both cases--which had been enjoyed by the departed mothers. separated from each other, for years, by several hundred miles of uncultivated and untravelled forest, the brothers did not often meet; and the bonds of brotherhood waxed feebler and feebler, with the swift progress of successive years. still, they corresponded, and in a tone and temper that seemed to answer for the existence of feelings, which neither, perhaps, would have been so forward as to assert warmly, if challenged to immediate answer. suddenly, however, when young ralph was somewhere about fifteen, his uncle expressed a wish to see him; and, whether through a latent and real affection, or a feeling of self-rebuke for previous neglect, he exacted from his brother a reluctant consent that the youth should dwell in his family, while receiving his education in a region then better prepared to bestow it with profit to the student. the two young cousins met in georgia for the first time, and, after a brief summer journey together, in which they frequented the most favorite watering places, ralph was separated from edith, whom he had just begun to love with interest, and despatched to college. the separation of the son from the father, however beneficial it might be to the former in certain respects of education, proved fatal to the latter. he had loved the boy even more than he knew; had learned to live mostly in the contemplation of the youth's growth and development; and his absence preyed upon his heart, adding to his sense of defeat in fortune, and the loneliness and waste of his life. the solitude in which he dwelt, after the boy's departure, he no longer desired to disturb; and he pined as hopelessly in his absence, as if he no longer had a motive or a hope to prompt exertion. he had anticipated this, in some degree, when he yielded to his brother's arguments and entreaties; but, conscious of the uses and advantages of education to his son, he felt the selfishness to be a wrong to the boy, which would deny him the benefits of that larger civilization, which the uncle promised, on any pretexts. a calm review of his own arguments against the transfer, showed them to be suggested by his own wants. with a manly resolution, therefore, rather to sacrifice his own heart, than deny to his child the advantages which were held out by his brother, he consented to his departure. the reproach of selfishness, which william colleton had not spared, brought about his resolve; and with a labored cheerfulness he made his preparations, and accompanied the youth to georgia, where his uncle had agreed to meet him. they parted, with affectionate tears and embraces, never to meet again. a few months only had elapsed when the father sickened. but he never communicated to his son, or brother, the secret of his sufferings and grief. worse, he never sought relief in change or medicine; but, brooding in the solitude, gnawing his own heart in silence, he gradually pined away, and, in a brief year, he was gathered to his fathers. he died, like many similarly-tempered natures, of no known disorder! the boy received the tidings with a burst of grief, which seemed to threaten his existence. but the sorrows of youth are usually short-lived, particularly in the case of eager, energetic natures. the exchange of solitude for the crowd; the emulation of college life; the sports and communion of youthful associates--served, after a while, to soothe the sorrows of ralph colleton. indeed, he found it necessary that he should bend himself earnestly to his studies, that he might forget his griefs. and, in a measure he succeeded; at least, he subdued their more fond expression, and only grew sedate, instead of passionate. the bruises of his heart had brought the energies of his mind to their more active uses. from fifteen to twenty is no very long leap in the history of youth. we will make it now, and place the young ralph--now something older in mind as in body--returned from college, finely formed, intellectual, handsome, vivacious, manly, spirited, and susceptible--as such a person should be--once again in close intimacy with his beautiful cousin. the season which had done so much for him, had been no less liberal with her; and we now survey her, the expanding flower, all bloom and fragrance, a tribute of the spring, flourishing in the bosom of the more forward summer. ralph came from college to his uncle's domicil, now his only home. the circumstances of his father's fate and fortune, continually acting upon his mind and sensibilities from boyhood, had made his character a marked and singular one--proud, jealous, and sensitive, to an extreme which was painful not merely to himself, but at times to others. but he was noble, lofty, sincere, without a touch of meanness in his composition, above circumlocution, with a simplicity of character strikingly great, but without anything like puerility or weakness. the children--for such, in reference to their experience, we may venture to call them--had learned to recognise in the progress of a very brief period but a single existence. ralph looked only for edith, and cared nothing for other sunlight; while edith, with scarcely less reserve than her bolder companion, had speech and thought for few besides ralph. circumstances contributed not a little to what would appear the natural growth of this mutual dependence. they were perpetually left together, and with few of those tacit and readily understood restraints, unavoidably accompanying the presence of others older than themselves. residing, save at few brief intervals, at the plantation of colonel colleton, they saw little and knew less of society; and the worthy colonel, not less ambitious than proud, having become a politician, had left them a thousand opportunities of intimacy which had now become so grateful to them both. half of his time was taken up in public matters. a leader of his party in the section of country in which he lived, he was always busy in the responsibilities imposed upon him by such a station; and, what with canvassing at election-polls and muster-grounds, and dancing attendance as a silent voter at the halls of the state legislature, to the membership of which his constituents had returned him, he saw but little of his family, and they almost as little of him. his influence grew unimportant with his wards, in proportion as it obtained vigor with his faction--was seldom referred to by them, and, perhaps, if it had been, such was the rapid growth of their affections, would have been but little regarded. he appeared to take it for granted, that, having provided them with all the necessaries called for by life, he had done quite enough for their benefit; and actually gave far less of his consideration to his own and only child than he did to his plantation, and the success of a party measure, involving possibly the office of doorkeeper to the house, or of tax-collector to the district. the taste for domestic life, which at one period might have been held with him exclusive, had been entirely swallowed up and forgotten in his public relations; and entirely overlooking the fact, that, in the silent goings-on of time, the infantile will cease to be so, he never seemed to observe that the children whom he had brought together but a few years before might not with reason be considered children any longer. children, indeed! what years had they not lived--what volumes of experience in human affections and feelings had the influence and genial warmth of a carolina sun not unfolded to their spirits--in the few sweet and uninterrupted seasons of their intercourse. how imperious were the dictates of that nature, to whose immethodical but honest teachings they had been almost entirely given up. they lived together, walked together, rode together--read in the same books, conned the same lessons, studied the same prospects, saw life through the common medium of mutual associations; and lived happy only in the sweet unison of emotions gathered at a common fountain, and equally dear, and equally necessary to them both. and this is love--they loved! they loved, but the discovery was yet to be made by them. living in its purest luxuries--in the perpetual communion of the only one necessary object--having no desire and as little prospect of change--ignorant of and altogether untutored by the vicissitudes of life--enjoying the sweet association which had been the parent of that passion, dependent now entirely upon its continuance--they had been content, and had never given themselves any concern to analyze its origin, or to find for it a name. a momentary doubt--the presages of a dim perspective--would have taught them better. had there been a single moment of discontent in their lives at this period, they had not remained so long in such ignorance. the fear of its loss can alone teach us the true value of our treasure. but the discovery was at hand. a pleasant spring afternoon in april found the two young people, ralph and edith--the former now twenty years of age, and the latter in the same neighborhood, half busied, half idle, in the long and spacious piazza of the family mansion. they could not be said to have been employed, for edith rarely made much progress with the embroidering needle and delicate fabric in her hands, while ralph, something more absorbed in a romance of the day, evidently exercised little concentration of mind in scanning its contents. he skimmed, at first, rather than studied, the pages before him; conversing occasionally with the young maiden, who, sitting beside him, occasionally glanced at the volume in his hand, with something of an air of discontent that it should take even so much of his regard from herself. as he proceeded, however, in its perusal, the story grew upon him, and he became unconscious of her occasional efforts to control his attention. the needle of edith seemed also disposed to avail itself of the aberrations of its mistress, and to rise in rebellion; and, having pricked her finger more than once in the effort to proceed with her work while her eyes wandered to her companion, she at length threw down the gauzy fabric upon which she had been so partially employed, and hastily rising from her seat, passed into the adjoining apartment. her departure was not attended to by her companion, who for a time continued his perusal of the book. no great while, however, elapsed, when, rising also from his seat with a hasty exclamation of surprise, he threw down the volume and followed her into the room where she sat pensively meditating over thoughts and feelings as vague and inscrutable to her mind, as they were clear and familiar to her heart. with a degree of warm impetuosity, even exaggerated beyond his usual manner, which bore at all times this characteristic, he approached her, and, seizing her hand passionately in his, exclaimed hastily-- "edith, my sweet edith, how unhappy that book has made me!" "how so, ralph--why should it make you unhappy?" "it has taught me much, edith--very much, in the last half hour. it has spoken of privation and disappointment as the true elements of life, and has shown me so many pictures of society in such various situations, and with so much that i feel assured must be correct, that i am unable to resist its impressions. we have been happy--so happy, edith, and for so many years, that i can not bear to think that either of us should be less so; and yet that volume has taught me, in the story of parallel fortunes with ours, that it may be so. it has given me a long lesson in the hollow economy of that world which men seek, and name society. it has told me that we, or i, at least, may be made and kept miserable for ever." "how, ralph, tell me, i pray you--how should that book have taught you this strange notion? why? what book is it? that stupid story!" was the gasping exclamation of the astonished girl--astonished no less by the impetuous manner than the strong language of the youth; and, with the tenderest concern she laid her hand upon his arm, while her eyes, full of the liveliest interest, yet moistened with a tearful apprehension, were fixed earnestly upon his own. "it is a stupid book, a very stupid book--a story of false sentiment, and of mock and artificial feelings, of which i know, and care to know, nothing. but it has told me so much that i feel is true, and that chimes in with my own experience. it has told me much besides, that i am glad to have been taught. hear me then, dear edith, and smile not carelessly at my words, for i have now learned to tremble when i speak, in fear lest i should offend you." she would have spoken words of assurance--she would have taught him to think better of her affections and their strength; but his impetuosity checked her in her speech. "i know what you would say, and my heart thanks you for it, as if its very life depended upon the utterance. you would tell me to have no such fear; but the fear is a portion of myself now--it is my heart itself. hear me then, edith--_my_ edith, if you will so let me call you." her hand rested on his assuringly, with a gentle pressure. he continued-- "hitherto we have lived with each other, only with each other--we have loved each other, and i have almost only loved you. neither of us, edith (may i believe it of you?) has known much of any other affection. but how long is this to last? that book--where is it? but no matter--it has taught me that, now, when a few months will carry us both into the world, it is improper that our relationship should continue. it says we can not be the children any longer that we have been--that such intercourse--i can now perceive why--would be injurious to you. do you understand me?" the blush of a first consciousness came over the cheek of the maiden, as she withdrew her hand from his passionate clasp. "ah! i see already," he exclaimed: "you too have learned the lesson. and is it thus--and we are to be happy no longer!" "ralph!"--she endeavored to speak, but could proceed no further, and her hand was again, silently and without objection, taken into the grasp of his. the youth, after a brief pause, resumed, in a tone, which though it had lost much of its impetuousness, was yet full of stern resolution. "hear me, edith--but a word--a single word. i love you, believe me, dear edith, i love you." the effect of this declaration was scarcely such as the youth desired. she had been so much accustomed to his warm admiration, indicated frequently in phrases such as these, that it had the effect of restoring to her much of her self-possession, of which the nature of the previous dialogue had a little deprived her; and, in the most natural manner in the world, she replied--perhaps too, we may add, with much of the artlessness of art-- "why, to be sure you do, cousin ralph--it would be something strange indeed if you did not. i believe you love me, as i am sure you can never doubt how much you are beloved by me!" "_cousin_ ralph--_cousin_ ralph!" exclaimed the youth with something of his former impetuosity, emphasizing ironically as he spoke the unfortunate family epithet--"ah, edith, you _will not_ understand me--nor indeed, an hour ago, should i altogether have understood myself. suddenly, dear edith, however, as i read certain passages of that book, the thought darted through my brain like lightning, and i saw into my own heart, as i had never been permitted to see into it before. i there saw how much i loved you--not as my cousin--not as my sister, as you sometimes would have me call you, but as i _will not_ call you again--but as--as--" "as what?" "as my _wife_, edith--as my own, own wife!" he clasped her hand in his, while his head sunk, and his lips were pressed upon the taper and trembling fingers which grew cold and powerless within his grasp. what a volume was at that moment opened, for the first time, before the gaze and understanding of the half-affrighted and deep-throbbing heart of that gentle girl. the veil which had concealed its burning mysteries was torn away in an instant. the key to its secret places was in her hands, and she was bewildered with her own discoveries. her cheeks alternated between the pale and crimson of doubt and hope. her lips quivered convulsively, and an unbidden but not painful suffusion overspread the warm brilliance of her soft fair cheeks. she strove, ineffectually, to speak; her words came forth in broken murmurs; her voice had sunk into a sigh; she was dumb. the youth once more took her hand into his, as, speaking with a suppressed tone, and with a measured slowness which had something in it of extreme melancholy, he broke silence:-- "and have i no answer, edith--and must i believe that for either of us there should be other loves than those of childhood--that new affections may usurp the place of old ones--that there may come a time, dear edith, when i shall see an arm, not my own, about your waist; and the eyes that would look on no prospect if you were not a part of it, may be doomed to that fearfullest blight of beholding your lips smiling and pressed beneath the lips of another?" "never, oh never, ralph! speak no more, i beseech you, in such language. you do me wrong in this--i have no such wish, no such thought or purpose. i do not--i could not--think of another, ralph. i will be yours, and yours only--if you really wish it." "if i wish! ah! dear edith, you are mine, and i am yours! the world shall not pass between us." she murmured-- "yours, ralph, yours only!" he caught her in his passionate embrace, even as the words were murmured from her lips. her head settled upon his shoulder; her light brown hair, loosened from the comb, fell over it in silky masses. her eyes closed, his arms still encircled her, and the whole world was forgotten in a moment;--when the door opened, and a third party entered the room in the person of colonel colleton. here was a catastrophe! chapter iv. a rupture--the course of true love. colonel colleton stood confounded at the spectacle before him. filled with public affairs, or rather, with his own affairs in the public eye, he had grown totally heedless of ordinary events, household interests, and of the rapid growth and development of those passions in youth which ripen quite as fervently and soon in the shade as in the sun. these children--how should they have grown to such a stature! his daughter, at this moment, seemed taller than he had ever seen her before! and ralph!--as the uncle's eyes were riveted upon the youth, he certainly grew more than ever erect and imposing of look and stature. the first glance which he gave to the scene, did not please the young man. there was something about the expression of the uncle's face, which seemed to the nephew to be as supercilious, as it certainly was angry. proud, jealous of his sensibilities, the soul of the youth rose in arms, at the look which annoyed him. that edith's father should ever disapprove of his passion for his cousin, never once entered the young man's brain. he had not, indeed, once thought upon the matter. he held it to be a thing of course that the father would welcome a union which promised to strengthen the family bond, and maintain the family name and blood in perpetuity. when, therefore, he beheld, in his uncle's face, such an expression of scorn mixed with indignation, he resented it with the fervor of his whole soul. he was bewildered, it is true, but he was also chafed, and it needed that he should turn his eyes to the sweet cause of his offence, before he could find himself relieved of the painful feelings which her father's look and manner had occasioned him. poor edith had a keener sense of the nature of the case. her instincts more readily supplied the means of knowledge. besides, there were certain family matters, which the look of her father suddenly recalled--which had never been suffered to reach the ears of her cousin;--which indicated to her, however imperfectly, the possible cause of that severe and scornful expression of eye, in the uncle, which had so confounded the nephew. she looked, with timid pleading to her father's face, but dared not speak. and still the latter stood at the entrance, silent, sternly scanning the young offenders, just beginning to be conscious of offence. a surprise of any kind is exceedingly paralyzing to young lovers, caught in a situation like that in which our luckless couple were found on this occasion. it is probable, that, but for this, ralph colleton would scarcely have borne so meekly the severe look which the father now bestowed upon his daughter. though not the person to trouble himself much at any time in relation to his child, colonel colleton had never once treated her unkindly. though sometimes neglectful, he had never shown himself stern. the look which he now gave her was new to all her experience. the poor girl began to conceive much more seriously of her offence than ever;--it seemed to spread out unimaginably far, and to involve a thousand violations of divine and human law. she could only look pleadingly, without speech, to her father. his finger silently pointed her to withdraw. "oh, father!"--the exclamation was barely murmured. "go!" was the sole answer, with the finger still uplift. in silence, she glided away; not, however, without stealing a fond and assuring glance at her lover. her departure was the signal for that issue between the two remaining parties for which each was preparing in his own fashion. ralph had not beheld the dumb show, in which edith was dismissed, without a rising impulse of choler. the manner of the thing had been particularly offensive to him. but the father of edith, whatever his offence, had suddenly risen into new consideration in the young man's mind, from the moment that he fully comprehended his feelings for the daughter. he was accordingly, somewhat disposed to temporize, though there was still a lurking desire in his mind, to demand an explanation of those supercilious glances which had so offended him. but the meditations of neither party consumed one twentieth part of the time that we have taken in hinting what they were. with the departure of edith, and the closing of the door after her, colonel colleton, with all his storms, approached to the attack. the expression of scorn upon his face had given way to one of anger wholly. his glance seemed meant to penetrate the bosom of the youth with a mortal stab--it was hate, rather than anger, that he looked. yet it was evident that he made an effort to subdue his wrath--its full utterance at least--but he could not chase the terrible cloud from his haughty brow. the youth, getting chafed beneath his gaze, returned him look for look, and his brows grew dark and lowering also; and, for anger, they gave back defiance. this silent, but expressive dialogue, was the work of a single moment of time. the uncle broke the silence. "what am i to understand from this, young man?" "young man, sir!--i feel it very difficult to understand you, uncle! in respect to edith and myself, sir, i have but to say that we have discovered that we are something more than cousins to each other!" "indeed! and how long is it, i pray, since you have made this discovery?" this was said with a dry tone, and hard, contemptuous manner. the youth strove honestly to keep down his blood. "within the hour, sir! not that we have not always felt that we loved each other, uncle; only, that, up to this time, we had never been conscious of the true nature of our feelings." the youth replied with the most provoking simplicity. the uncle was annoyed. he would rather that ralph should have relieved him, by a conjecture of his own, from the necessity of hinting to him that such extreme sympathies, between the parties, were by no means a matter of course. but the nephew would not, or could not, see; and his surprise, at the uncle's course, was perpetually looking for explanation. it became necessary to speak plainly. "and with what reason, ralph colleton, do you suppose that i will sanction an alliance between you and my daughter? upon what, i pray you, do you ground your pretensions to the hand of edith colleton?" such was the haughty interrogation. ralph was confounded. "my pretensions, sir?--the hand of edith!--do i hear you right, uncle? do you really mean what you say?" "my words are as i have said them. they are sufficiently explicit. you need not misunderstand them. what, i ask, are your pretensions to the hand of my daughter, and how is it that you have so far forgotten yourself as thus to abuse my confidence, stealing into the affections of my child?" "uncle, i have abused no confidence, and will not submit to any charge that would dishonor me. what i have done has been done openly, before all eyes, and without resort to cunning or contrivance. i must do myself the justice to believe that you knew all this without the necessity of my speech, and even while your lips spoke the contrary." "you are bold, ralph, and seem to have forgotten that you are yet but a mere boy. you forget your years and mine." "no, sir--pardon me when i so speak--but it is you who have forgotten them. was it well to speak as you have spoken?" proudly replied the youth. "ralph, you have forgotten much, or have yet to be taught many things. you may not have violated confidence, but--" "i _have not_ violated confidence!" was the abrupt and somewhat impetuous response, "and will not have it spoken of in that manner. it is not true that i have abused any trust, and the assertion which i make shall not therefore be understood as a mere possibility." the uncle was something astounded by the almost fierce manner of his nephew; but the only other effect of this expression was simply, while it diminished his own testiness of manner in his speeches, to add something to the severity of their character. he knew the indomitable spirit of the youth, and his pride was enlisted in the desire for its overthrow. "you are yet to learn, ralph colleton, i perceive, the difference and distance between yourself and my daughter. you are but a youth, yet--quite too young to think of such ties as those of marriage, and to make any lasting engagement of that nature; but, even were this not the case, i am entirely ignorant of those pretensions which should prompt your claim to the hand of edith." had colonel colleton been a prudent and reflective man--had he, indeed, known much, if anything, of human nature--he would have withheld the latter part of this sentence. he must have seen that its effect would only be to irritate a spirit needing an emollient. the reply was instantaneous. "my pretensions, colonel colleton? you have twice uttered that word in my ears, and with reference to this subject. let me understand you. if you would teach me by this sentence the immeasurable individual superiority of edith over myself in all things, whether of mind, or heart, or person, the lesson is gratuitous. i need no teacher to this end. i acknowledge its truth, and none on this point can more perfectly agree with you than myself. but if, looking beyond these particulars, you would have me recognize in myself an inferiority, marked and singular, in a fair comparison with other men--if, in short, you would convey an indignity; and--but you are my father's brother, sir!" and the blood mounted to his forehead, and his heart swelling, the youth turned proudly away, and rested his head upon the mantel. "not so, ralph; you are hasty in your thought, not less than in its expression," said his uncle, soothingly, "i meant not what you think. but you must be aware, nephew, that my daughter, not less from the fortune which will be exclusively hers, and her individual accomplishments, than from the leading political station which her father fills, will be enabled to have a choice in the adoption of a suitor, which this childish passion might defeat." "mine is no childish passion, sir; though young, my mind is not apt to vary in its tendencies; and, unlike that of the mere politician, has little of inconsistency in its predilections with which to rebuke itself. but, i understand you. you have spoken of her fortune, and that reminds me that i had a father, not less worthy, i am sure--not less generous, i feel--but certainly far less prudent than hers. i understand you, sir, perfectly." "if you mean, ralph, by this sarcasm, that my considerations are those of wealth, you mistake me much. the man who seeks my daughter must not look for a sacrifice; she must win a husband who has a name, a high place--who has a standing in society. your tutors, indeed, speak of you in fair terms; but the public voice is everything in our country. when you have got through your law studies, and made your first speech, we will talk once more upon this subject." "and when i have obtained admission to the practice of the law, do you say that edith shall be mine?" "nay, ralph, you again mistake me. i only say, it will be then time enough to consider the matter." "uncle, this will not do for me. either you sanction, or you do not. you mean something by that word _pretensions_ which i am yet to understand; my name is colleton, like your own, and--" there was a stern resolve in the countenance of the colonel, which spoke of something of the same temper with his impetuous nephew, and the cool and haughty sentence which fell from his lips in reply, while arresting that of the youth, was galling to the proud spirit of the latter, whom it chafed nearly into madness. "why, true, ralph, such is your name indeed; and your reference to this subject now, only reminds me of the too free use which my brother made of it when he bestowed it upon a woman so far beneath him and his family in all possible respects." "there again, sir, there again! it is my mother's poverty that pains you. she brought my father no dowry. he had nothing of that choice prudence which seems to have been the guide of others, of our family in the bestowment of their affections. he did not calculate the value of his wife's income before he suffered himself to become enamored of her. i see it, sir--i am not ignorant." "if i speak with you calmly, ralph, it is because you are the indweller of my house, and because i have a pledge to my brother in your behalf." "speak freely, sir; let not this scruple trouble you any longer. it shall not trouble me; and i shall be careful to take early occasion to release you most effectually from all such pledges." colonel colleton proceeded as if the last speech had not been uttered. "edith has a claim in society which shall not be sacrificed. her father, ralph, did not descend to the hovel of the miserable peasant, choosing a wife from the inferior grade, who, without education, and ignorant of all refinement, could only appear a blot upon the station to which she had been raised. her mother, sir, was not a woman obscure and uneducated, for whom no parents could be found." "what means all this, sir? speak, relieve me at once, colonel colleton. what know you of my mother?" "nothing--but quite as much as your father ever knew. it is sufficient that he found her in a hovel, without a name, and with the silly romance of his character through life, he raised her to a position in society which she could not fill to his honor, and which, finally, working upon his pride and sensibility drove him into those extravagances which in the end produced his ruin. i grant that she loved him with a most perfect devotion, which he too warmly returned, but what of that?--she was still his destroyer." thus sternly did the colonel unveil to the eyes of ralph colleton a portion of the family picture which he had never been permitted to survey before. cold drops stood on the brow of the now nerveless and unhappy youth. he was pale, and his eyes were fixed for an instant; but, suddenly recovering himself, he rushed hastily from the apartment before his uncle could interpose to prevent him. he heard not or heeded not the words of entreaty which called him back; but, proceeding at once to his chamber, he carefully fastened the entrance, and, throwing himself upon his couch, found relief from the deep mental agony thus suddenly forced upon him, in a flood of tears. for the first time in his life, deriving his feeling in this particular rather from the opinions of society than from any individual consciousness of debasement, he felt a sentiment of humiliation working in his breast. his mother he had little known, but his father's precepts and familiar conversation had impressed upon him, from his childhood, a feeling for her of the deepest and most unqualified regard. this feeling was not lessened, though rebuked, by the development so unnecessarily and so wantonly conveyed. it taught a new feeling of distrust for his uncle, whose harsh manner and ungenerous insinuations in the progress of the preceding half-hour, had lost him not a little of the youth's esteem. he felt that the motive of his informer was not less unkind than was the information painful and oppressive; and his mind, now more than ever excited and active from this thought, went on discussing, from point to point, all existing relations, until a stern resolve to leave, that very night, the dwelling of one whose hospitality had been made a matter of special reference, was the only and settled conclusion to which his pride could possibly come. the servant reminded him of the supper-hour, but the summons was utterly disregarded. the colonel himself condescended to notify the stubborn youth of the same important fact, but with almost as little effect. without opening his door, he signified his indisposition to join in the usual repast, and thus closed the conference. "i meet him at the table no more--not at his table, at least," was the muttered speech of ralph, as he heard the receding footsteps of his uncle. he had determined, though without any distinct object in view, upon leaving the house and returning to tennessee, where he had hitherto resided. his excited spirits would suffer no delay, and that very night was the period chosen for his departure. few preparations were necessary. with a fine horse of his own, the gift of his father, he knew that the course lay open. the long route he had more than once travelled before; and he had no fears, though he well knew the desolate character of the journey, in pursuing it alone. apart from this, he loved adventure for its own sake. the first lesson which his father had taught him, even in boyhood, was that braving of trial which alone can bring about the most perfect manliness. with a stout heart, and with limbs not less so, the difficulties before him had no thought in his mind; there was buoyancy enough in the excitement of his spirit, at that moment, to give even a pleasurable aspect to the obstacles that rose before him. at an early hour he commenced the work of preparation: he had little trouble in this respect. he studiously selected from his wardrobe such portions of it as had been the gift of his uncle, all of which he carefully excluded from among the contents of the little portmanteau which readily comprised the residue. his travelling-dress was quickly adjusted; and not omitting a fine pair of pistols and a dirk, which, at that period, were held in the south and southwest legitimate companions, he found few other cares for arrangement. one token alone of edith--a small miniature linked with his own, taken a few seasons before, when both were children, by a strolling artist--suspended by a chain of the richest gold, was carefully hung about his neck. it grew in value, to his mind, at a moment when he was about to separate, perhaps for ever, from its sweet original. at midnight, when all was silent--his portmanteau under his arm--booted, spurred, and ready for travel--ralph descended to the lower story, in which slept the chief servant of the house. cæsar was a favorite with the youth, and he had no difficulty in making himself understood. the worthy black was thunderstruck with his determination. "ky! mass ralph, how you talk! what for you go dis time o'night? what for you go 'tall?" the youth satisfied him, in a manner as evasive and brief as possible, and urged him in the preparation of his steed for the journey. but the worthy negro absolutely refused to sanction the proceeding unless he were permitted to go along with him. he used not a few strong arguments for this purpose. "and what we all for do here, when you leff? 'speck ebbery ting be dull, wuss nor ditch-water. no more fun--no more shuffle-foot. old maussa no like de fiddle, and nebber hab party and jollication like udder people. don't tink i can stay here, mass ra'ph, after you gone; 'spose, you no 'jection, i go 'long wid you? you leff me, i take to de swamp, sure as a gun." "no, cæsar, you are not mine; you belong to your young mistress. you must stay and wait upon her." "ha!" was the quick response of the black, with a significant smirk upon his lip, and with a cunning emphasis; "enty i see; wha' for i hab eye ef i no see wid em? i 'speck young misses hab no 'jection for go too--eh, mass ra'ph! all you hab for do is for ax em!" the eye of the youth danced with a playful light, as if a new thought, and not a disagreeable one, had suddenly broken in upon his brain; but the expression lasted but for an instant he overruled all the hopes and wishes of the sturdy black, who, at length, with a manner the most desponding, proceeded to the performance of the required duty. a few moments sufficed, and with a single look to the window of his mistress, which spoke unseen volumes of love, leaving an explanatory letter for the perusal of father and daughter, though addressed only to the latter--he gave the rough hand of his sable friend a cordial pressure, and was soon hidden from sight by the thickly-spreading foliage of the long avenue. the reader has been already apprized that the youth, whose escape in a preceding chapter we have already narrated, and ralph colleton, are one and the same person. he had set forth, as we have seen, under the excitation of feelings strictly natural; but which, subtracting from the strong common sense belonging to his character, had led him prematurely into an adventure, having no distinct purposes, and promising largely of difficulty. what were his thoughts of the future, what his designs, we are not prepared to say. his character was of a firm and independent kind; and the probability is, that, looking to the profession of the law, in the study of which noble science his mind had been for some time occupied, he had contemplated its future practice in those portions of tennessee in which his father had been known, and where he himself had passed some very pleasant years of his own life. with economy, a moderate talent, and habits of industry, he was well aware that, in those regions, the means of life are with little difficulty attainable by those who are worthy and will adventure. let us now return to the wayfarer, whom we have left in that wildest region of the then little-settled state of georgia--doubly wild as forming the debatable land between the savage and the civilized--partaking of the ferocity of the one and the skill, cunning, and cupidity of the other. chapter v. mark forrester--the gold village. there were moments when ralph colleton, as he lay bruised and wounded upon the sward, in those wild woods, and beneath the cool canopy of heaven, was conscious of his situation, of its exposure and its perils--moments, when he strove to recover himself--to shake off the stupor which seemed to fetter his limbs as effectually as it paralyzed his thoughts;--and the renewed exercise of his mental energies, brought about, and for a little while sustained, an increased consciousness, which perhaps rather added to his pain. it taught him his own weakness, when he strove vainly to support himself against the tree to which he had crawled; and in despair, the acuteness of which was only relieved by the friendly stupor which came to his aid, arising from the loss of blood, he closed his eyes, and muttering a brief sentence, which might have been a prayer, he resigned himself to his fate. but he was not thus destined to perish. he had not lain many minutes in this situation when the tones of a strong voice rang through the forest. there was a whoop and halloo, and then a catch of a song, and then a shrill whistle, all strangely mingled together, finally settling down into a rude strain, which, coming from stentorian lungs, found a ready echo in every jutting rock and space of wood for a mile round. the musician went on merrily from verse to verse of his forest minstrelsy as he continued to approach; describing in his strain, with a ready ballad-facility, the numberless pleasures to be found in the life of the woodman. uncouthly, and in a style partaking rather more of the savage than the civilized taste and temper, it enumerated the distinct features of each mode of life with much ingenuity and in stanzas smartly epigrammatic, did not hesitate to assign the preference to the former. as the new-comer approached the spot where ralph colleton lay, there was still a partial though dim light over the forest. the twilight was richly clear, and there were some faint yellow lines of the sun's last glances lingering still on the remote horizon. the moon, too, in the opposite sky, about to come forth, had sent before her some few faint harbingers of her approach; and it was not difficult for the sturdy woodman to discern the body of the traveller, lying, as it did, almost in his path. a few paces farther on stood his steed, cropping the young grass, and occasionally, with uplifted head, looking round with something like human wonderment, for the assertion of that authority which heretofore had him in charge. at the approach of the stranger he did not start, but, seeming conscious of some change for the better in his own prospects, he fell again to work upon the herbage as if no interruption had occurred to his repast. the song of the woodman ceased as he discovered the body. with an exclamation, he stooped down to examine it, and his hands were suffused with the blood which had found its way through the garments. he saw that life was not extinct, and readily supposing the stupor the consequence of loss of blood rather than of vital injury, he paused a few moments as in seeming meditation, then turning from the master to his unreluctant steed, he threw himself upon his back, and was quickly out of sight. he soon returned, bringing with him a wagon and team, such as all farmers possess in that region, and lifting the inanimate form into the rude vehicle with a tender caution that indicated a true humanity, walking slowly beside the horses, and carefully avoiding all such obstructions in the road, as by disordering the motion would have given pain to the sufferer, he carried him safely, and after the delay of a few hours, into the frontier, and then almost unknown, village of chestatee. it was well for the youth that he had fallen into such hands. there were few persons in that part of the world like mark forrester. a better heart, or more honorable spirit, lived not; and in spite of an erring and neglected education--of evil associations, and sometimes evil pursuits--he was still a worthy specimen of manhood. we may as well here describe him, as he appears to us; for at this period the youth was still insensible--unconscious of his deliverance as he was of his deliverer. mark forrester was a stout, strongly-built, yet active person, some six feet in height, square and broad-shouldered--exhibiting an outline, wanting, perhaps, in some of the more rounded graces of form, yet at the same time far from symmetrical deficiency. there was, also, not a little of ease and agility, together with a rude gracefulness in his action, the result equally of the well-combined organization of his animal man and of the hardy habits of his woodland life. his appearance was youthful, and the passing glance would perhaps have rated him at little more than six or seven-and-twenty. his broad, full chest, heaving strongly with a consciousness of might--together with the generally athletic muscularity of his whole person--indicated correctly the possession of prodigious strength. his face was finely southern. his features were frank and fearless--moderately intelligent, and well marked--the _tout ensemble_ showing an active vitality, strong, and usually just feelings, and a good-natured freedom of character, which enlisted confidence, and seemed likely to acknowledge few restraints of a merely conventional kind. nor, in any of these particulars, did the outward falsely interpret the inward man. with the possession of a giant's powers, he was seldom so far borne forward by his impulses, whether of pride or of passion, as to permit of their wanton or improper use. his eye, too, had a not unpleasing twinkle, promising more of good-fellowship and a heart at ease than may ever consort with the jaundiced or distempered spirit. his garb indicated, in part, and was well adapted to the pursuits of the hunter and the labors of the woodman. we couple these employments together, for, in the wildernesses of north america, the dense forests, and broad prairies, they are utterly inseparable. in a belt, made of buckskin, which encircled his middle, was stuck, in a sheath of the same material, a small axe, such as, among the indians, was well known to the early settlers as a deadly implement of war. the head of this instrument, or that portion of it opposite the blade, and made in weight to correspond with and balance the latter when hurled from the hand, was a pick of solid steel, narrowing down to a point, and calculated, with a like blow, to prove even more fatal, as a weapon in conflict, than the more legitimate member to which it was appended. a thong of ox-hide, slung over his shoulder, supported easily a light rifle of the choicest bore; for there are few matters indeed upon which the wayfarer in the southern wilds exercises a nicer and more discriminating taste than in the selection of a companion, in a pursuit like his, of the very last importance; and which, in time, he learns to love with a passion almost comparable to his love of woman. the dress of the woodman was composed of a coarse gray stuff, of a make sufficiently _outré_, but which, fitting him snugly, served to set off his robust and well-made person to the utmost advantage. a fox-skin cap, of domestic manufacture, the tail of which, studiously preserved, obviated any necessity for a foreign tassel, rested slightly upon his head, giving a unique finish to his appearance, which a fashionable hat would never have supplied. such was the personage, who, so fortunately for ralph, plied his craft in that lonely region; and who, stumbling upon his insensible form at nightfall, as already narrated, carefully conveyed him to his own lodgings at the village-inn of chestatee. the village, or town--for such it was in the acceptation of the time and country--may well deserve some little description; not for its intrinsic importance, but because it will be found to resemble some ten out of every dozen of the country towns in all the corresponding region. it consisted of thirty or forty dwellings, chiefly of logs; not, however, so immediately in the vicinity of one another as to give any very decided air of regularity and order to their appearance. as usual, in all the interior settlements of the south and west, wherever an eligible situation presented itself, the squatter laid the foundation-logs of his dwelling, and proceeded to its erection. no public squares, and streets laid out by line and rule, marked conventional progress in an orderly and methodical society; but, regarding individual convenience as the only object in arrangements of this nature, they took little note of any other, and to them less important matters. they built where the land rose into a ridge of moderate and gradual elevation, commanding a long reach of prospect; where a good spring threw out its crystal waters, jetting, in winter and summer alike, from the hillside or the rock; or, in its absence, where a fair branch, trickling over a bed of small and yellow pebbles, kept up a perpetually clear and undiminishing current; where the groves were thick and umbrageous; and lastly, but not less important than either, where agues and fevers came not, bringing clouds over the warm sunshine, and taking all the hue, and beauty, and odor from the flower. those considerations were at all times the most important to the settler when the place of his abode was to be determined upon; and, with these advantages at large, the company of squatters, of whom mark forrester, made one, by no means the least important among them, had regularly, for the purposes of gold-digging, colonized the little precinct into which we have now ventured to penetrate. before we advance farther in our narrative, it may be quite as well to say, that the adventurers of which this wild congregation was made up were impelled to their present common centre by motives and influences as various as the differing features of their several countenances. they came, not only from parts of the surrounding country, but many of them from all parts of the surrounding world; oddly and confusedly jumbled together; the very _olla-podrida_ of moral and mental combination. they were chiefly those to whom the ordinary operations of human trade or labor had proved tedious or unproductive--with whom the toils, aims, and impulses of society were deficient of interest; or, upon whom, an inordinate desire of a sudden to acquire wealth had exercised a sufficiently active influence to impel to the novel employment of gold-finding--or rather gold-_seeking_, for it was not always that the search was successful--the very name of such a pursuit carrying with it to many no small degree of charm and persuasion. to these, a wholesome assortment of other descriptions may be added, of character and caste such as will be found ordinarily to compose everywhere the frontier and outskirts of civilization, as rejected by the wholesome current, and driven, like the refuse and the scum of the waters, in confused stagnation to their banks and margin. here, alike, came the spendthrift and the indolent, the dreamer and the outlaw, congregating, though guided by contradictory impulses, in the formation of a common caste, and the pursuit of a like object--some with the view to profit and gain; others, simply from no alternative being left them; and that of gold-seeking, with a better sense than their neighbors, being in their own contemplation, truly, a _dernier_ resort. the reader can better conceive than we describe, the sorts of people, passions, and pursuits, herding thus confusedly together; and with these various objects. others, indeed, came into the society, like the rude but honest woodman to whom we have already afforded an introduction, almost purely from a spirit of adventure, that, growing impatient of the confined boundaries of its birthplace, longs to tread new regions and enjoy new pleasures and employments. a spirit, we may add, the same, or not materially differing from that, which, at an earlier period of human history, though in a condition of society not dissimilar, begot the practices denominated, by a most licentious courtesy, those of chivalry. but, of whatever stuff the _morale_ of this people may have been made up, it is not less certain than natural that the mixture was still incoherent--the parts had not yet grown together. though ostensibly in the pursuit of the same interest and craft, they had anything but a like fortune, and the degree of concert and harmony which subsisted between them was but shadowy and partial. a mass so heterogeneous in its origin and tendency might not so readily amalgamate. strife, discontent, and contention, were not unfrequent; and the laborers at the same instrument, mutually depending on each other, not uncommonly came to blows over it. the successes of any one individual--for, as yet, their labors were unregulated by arrangement, and each worked on his own score--procured for him the hate and envy of some of the company, while it aroused the ill-disguised dissatisfaction of all; and nothing was of more common occurrence, than, when striking upon a fruitful and productive section, even among those interested in the discovery, to find it a disputed dominion. copartners no longer, a division of the spoils, when accumulated, was usually terminated by a resort to blows; and the bold spirit and the strong hand, in this way, not uncommonly acquired the share for which the proprietor was too indolent to toil in the manner of his companions. the issue of these conflicts, as may be imagined, was sometimes wounds and bloodshed, and occasionally death: the field, we need scarcely add--since this is the history of all usurpation--remaining, in every such case, in possession of the party proving itself most courageous or strong. nor need this history surprise--it is history, veracious and sober history of a period, still within recollection, and of events of almost recent occurrence. the wild condition of the country--the absence of all civil authority, and almost of laws, certainly of officers sufficiently daring to undertake their honest administration, and shrinking from the risk of incurring, in the performance of their duties, the vengeance of those, who, though disagreeing among themselves, at all times made common cause against the ministers of justice as against a common enemy--may readily account for the frequency and impunity with which these desperate men committed crime and defied its consequences. but we are now fairly in the centre of the village--a fact of which, in the case of most southern and western villages, it is necessary in so many words to apprize the traveller. in those parts, the scale by which towns are laid out is always magnificent. the founders seem to have calculated usually upon a population of millions; and upon spots and sporting-grounds, measurable by the olympic coursers, and the ancient fields of combat, when scythes and elephants and chariots made the warriors, and the confused cries of a yelping multitude composed the conflict itself. there was no want of room, no risk of narrow streets and pavements, no deficiency of area in the formation of public squares. the houses scattered around the traveller, dotting at long and infrequent intervals the ragged wood which enveloped them, left few stirring apprehensions of their firing one another. the forest, where the land was not actually built upon, stood up in its primitive simplicity undishonored by the axe. such was the condition of the settlement at the period when our hero so unconsciously entered it. it was night, and the lamps of the village were all in full blaze, illuminating with an effect the most picturesque and attractive the fifty paces immediately encircling them. each dwelling boasted of this auxiliary and attraction; and in this particular but few cities afford so abundantly the materials for a blaze as our country villages. three or four slight posts are erected at convenient distances from each other in front of the building--a broad scaffold, sufficiently large for the purpose, is placed upon them, on which a thick coat of clay is plastered; at evening, a pile is built upon this, of dry timber and the rich pine which overruns and mainly marks the forests of the south. these piles, in a blaze, serve the nightly strollers of the settlement as guides and beacons, and with their aid forrester safely wound his way into the little village of chestatee. forming a square in the very centre of the town, a cluster of four huge fabrics, in some sort sustained the pretensions of the settlement to this epithet. this ostentatious collection, some of the members of which appeared placed there rather for show than service, consisted of the courthouse, the jail, the tavern, and the shop of the blacksmith--the two last-mentioned being at all times the very first in course of erection, and the essential nucleus in the formation of the southern and western settlement. the courthouse and the jail, standing directly opposite each other, carried in their faces a family outline of sympathetic and sober gravity. there had been some effect at pretension in their construction, both being cumbrously large, awkward, and unwieldy; and occupying, as they did, the only portion of the village which had been stripped of its forest covering, bore an aspect of mutual and ludicrous wildness and vacancy. they had both been built upon a like plan and equal scale; and the only difference existing between them, but one that was immediately perceptible to the eye, was the superfluous abundance of windows in the former, and their deficiency in the latter. a moral agency had most probably prompted the architect to the distinction here hit upon--and he felt, doubtless, in admitting free access to the light in the house of justice, and in excluding it almost entirely from that of punishment, that he had recognised the proprieties of a most excellent taste and true judgment. these apertures, clumsily wrought in the logs of which the buildings were made, added still more to their generally uncouth appearance. there was yet, however, another marked difference between the courthouse and jail, which we should not omit to notice. the former had the advantage of its neighbor, in being surmounted by a small tower or cupola, in which a bell of moderate size hung suspended, permitted to speak only on such important occasions as the opening of court, sabbath service, and the respective anniversaries of the birthday of washington and the declaration of independence. this building, thus distinguished above its fellows, served also all the purposes of a place of worship, whenever some wandering preacher found his way into the settlement; an occurrence, at the time we write, of very occasional character. to each of the four vast walls of the jail, in a taste certainly not bad, if we consider the design and character of the fabric, but a single window was allotted--that too of the very smallest description for human uses, and crossed at right angles with rude and slender bars of iron, the choicest specimens of workmanship from the neighboring smithy. the distance between each of these four equally important buildings was by no means inconsiderable, if we are required to make the scale for our estimate, that of the cramped and diminished limits accorded to like places in the cities, where men and women appear to increase in due proportion as the field lessens upon which they must encounter in the great struggle for existence. though neighbors in every substantial respect, the four fabrics were most uncharitably remote, and stood frowning gloomily at one another--scarcely relieved of the cheerless and sombre character of their rough outsides, even when thus brightly illuminated by the glare thrown upon them by the several blazes, flashing out upon the scene from the twin lamps in front of the tavern, through whose wide and unsashed windows an additional lustre, as of many lights, gave warm indications of life and good lodgings within. at a point equidistant from, and forming one of the angles of the same square with each of these, the broader glare from the smith's furnace streamed in bright lines across the plain between, pouring through the unclayed logs of the hovel, in which, at his craft, the industrious proprietor was even then busily employed. occasionally, the sharp click of his hammer, ringing upon and resounding from the anvil, and a full blast from the capacious bellows, indicated the busy animation, if not the sweet concert, the habitual cheerfulness and charm, of a more civilized and better regulated society. nor was the smith, at the moment of our entrance, the only noisy member of the little village. the more pretending establishment to which we are rapidly approaching, threw out its clamors, and the din of many voices gathered upon the breeze in wild and incoherent confusion. deep bursts of laughter, and the broken stanza of an occasional catch roared out at intervals, promised something of relief to the dull mood; while, as the sounds grew more distinct, the quick ear of forrester was enabled to distinguish the voices of the several revellers. "there they are, in full blast," he muttered, "over a gallon of whiskey, and gulping it down as if 'twas nothing better than common water. but, what's the great fuss to-night? there's a crowd, i reckon, and they're a running their rigs on somebody." even forrester was at a loss to account for their excess of hilarity to-night. though fond of drink, and meeting often in a crowd, they were few of them of a class--using his own phrase--"to give so much tongue over their liquors." the old toper and vagabond is usually a silent drinker. his amusements, when in a circle, and with a bottle before him, are found in cards and dice. his cares, at such a period, are too considerate to suffer him to be noisy. here, in chestatee, forrester well knew that a crowd implied little good-fellowship. the ties which brought the gold-seekers and squatters together were not of a sort to produce cheerfulness and merriment. their very sports were savage, and implied a sort of fun which commonly gave pain to somebody. he wondered, accordingly, as he listened to yells of laughter, and discordant shouts of hilarity; and he grew curious about the occasion of uproar. "they're poking fun at some poor devil, that don't quite see what they're after." a nearer approach soon gave him a clue to the mystery; but all his farther speculations upon it were arrested, by a deep groan from the wounded man, and a writhing movement in the bottom of the wagon, as the wheel rolled over a little pile of stones in the road. forrester's humanity checked his curiosity. he stooped to the sufferer, composed his limbs upon the straw, and, as the vehicle, by this time, had approached the tavern, he ordered the wagoner to drive to the rear of the building, that the wounded man might lose, as much as possible, the sounds of clamor which steadily rose from the hall in front. when the wagon stopped, he procured proper help, and, with the tenderest care, assisted to bear our unconscious traveller from the vehicle, into the upper story of the house, where he gave him his own bed, left him in charge of an old negro, and hurried away in search of that most important person of the place, the village-doctor. chapter vi. code and practice of the regulators. forrester was fleet of foot, and the village-doctor not far distant. he was soon procured, and, prompt of practice, the hurts of ralph colleton were found to be easily medicable. the wound was slight, the graze of a bullet only, cutting some smaller blood-vessels, and it was only from the loss of blood that insensibility had followed. the moderate skill of our country-surgeon was quite equal to the case, and soon enabled him to put the mind of mark forrester, who was honestly and humanely anxious, at perfect rest on the subject of his unknown charge. with the dressing of his wound, and the application of restoratives, the consciousness of the youth returned, and he was enabled to learn how he had been discovered, where he was, and to whom he was indebted for succor in the moment of his insensibility. ralph colleton, of course, declared his gratitude in warm and proper terms; but, as enjoined by the physician, he was discouraged from all unnecessary speech. but he was not denied to listen, and forrester was communicative, as became his frank face and honest impulses. the brief questions of ralph obtained copious answers; and, for an hour, the woodman cheered the solitude of his chamber, by the narration of such matters as were most likely to interest his hearer, in respect to the new region where he was, perforce, kept a prisoner. of chestatee, and the people thereof, their employment, and the resources of the neighborhood, forrester gave a pretty correct account; though he remained prudently silent in regard to the probable parties to that adventure in which his hearer had received his hurt. from speaking of these subjects, the transition was natural to the cause of uproar going on below stairs. the sounds of the hubbub penetrated the chamber of the wounded man, and he expressed some curiosity in respect to it. this was enough for the woodman, who had partially informed himself, by a free conversation with the wagoner who drove the vehicle which brought ralph to the tavern. he had caught up other details as he hurried to and fro, when he ran for the doctor. he was thus prepared to satisfy the youth's inquiry. "well, squire, did you ever see a live yankee?" the youth smiled, answering affirmatively. "he's a pedler, you know, and that means a chap what can wheedle the eyes out of your head, the soul out of your body, the gould out of your pocket, and give you nothing but brass, and tin, and copper, in the place of 'em. well, all the hubbub you hear is jest now about one of these same yankee pedlers. the regilators have caught the varmint--one jared bunce, as he calls himself--and a more cunning, rascally, presumptious critter don't come out of all connecticut. he's been a cheating and swindling all the old women round the country. he'll pay for it now, and no mistake. the regilators caught him about three hours ago, and they've brought him here for judgment and trial. they've got a jury setting on his vartues, and they'll hammer the soul out of him afore they let him git out from under the iron. i don't reckon they kin cure him, for what's bred in the bone, you know, won't come out of the flesh; but they'll so bedevil bone and flesh, that i reckon he'll be the last yankee that ever comes to practice again in this chestatee country. maybe, he ain't deserving of much worse than they kin do. maybe, he ain't a scamp of the biggest wethers. his rascality ain't to be measured. why, he kin walk through a man's pockets, jest as the devil goes through a crack or a keyhole, and the money will naterally stick to him, jest as ef he was made of gum turpentine. his very face is a sort of kining [coining] machine. his look says dollars and cents; and its always your dollars and cents, and he kines them out of your hands into his'n, jest with a roll of his eye, and a mighty leetle turn of his finger. he cheats in everything, and cheats everybody. thar's not an old woman in the country that don't say her prayers back'ards when she thinks of jared bunce. thar's his tin-wares and his wood-wares--his coffeepots and kettles, all put together with saft sodder--that jest go to pieces, as ef they had nothing else to do. and he kin blarney you so--and he's so quick at a mortal lie--and he's got jest a good reason for everything--and he's so sharp at a 'scuse [excuse] that it's onpossible to say where he's gwine to have you, and what you're a gwine to lose, and how you'll get off at last, and in what way he'll cheat you another time. he's been at this business, in these diggings, now about three years. the regilators have swore a hundred times to square off with him; but he's always got off tell now; sometimes by new inventions--sometimes by bible oaths--and last year, by regilarly _cutting dirt_ [flight]. he's hardly a chance to git cl'ar now, for the regilators are pretty much up to all his tricks, and he's mighty nigh to ride a rail for a colt, and get new _scores_ ag'in old scores, laid on with the smartest hickories in natur'." "and who are the regulators?" asked the youth, languidly. "what! you from georgy, and never to hear tell of the regilators? why, that's the very place, i reckon, where the breed begun. the regilators are jest then, you see, our own people. we hain't got much law and justice in these pairts, and when the rascals git too sassy and plentiful, we all turn out, few or many, and make a business of cleaning out the stables. we turn justices, and sheriffs, and lawyers, and settle scores with the growing sinners. we jine, hand in hand, agin such a chap as jared bunce, and set in judgment upon his evil-doings. it's a regilar court, though we make it up ourselves, and app'ints our own judges and juries, and pass judgment 'cordin' to the case. ef it's the first offence, or only a small one, we let's the fellow off with only a taste of the hickory. ef it's a tough case, and an old sinner, we give him a belly-full. ef the whole country's roused, then judge lynch puts on his black cap, and the rascal takes a hard ride on a rail, a duck in the pond, and a perfect seasoning of hickories, tell thar ain't much left of him, or, may be, they don't stop to curry him, but jest halters him at once to the nearest swinging limb." "sharp justice! and which of these punishments will they be likely to bestow upon the yankee?" "well thar's no telling; but i reckon he runs a smart chance of grazing agin the whole on 'em. they've got a long account agin him. in one way or t'other, he's swindled everybody with his notions. some bought his clocks, which only went while the rogue stayed, and when he went they stopt forever. some bought ready-made clothes, which went to pieces at the very sight of soap and water. he sold a fusee to old jerry seaborn, and warranted the piece, and it bursted into flinders, the very first fire, and tore little jerry's hand and arm--son of old jerry--almost to pieces. he'll never have the right use of it agin. and that ain't all. thar's no counting up his offences." "bad as the fellow is, do you think it possible that they will torture him as you describe, or hang him, without law, and a fair trial?" "why, lord love you, ha'n't i told you that he'll have a fair trial, afore the regilators, and thar'll be any number of witnesses, and judges, and sheriffs, and executioners. but, ef you know'd bunce, you'd know that a fair trial is the very last marcy that he'd aix of providence. don't you think now that he'll git anything worse than his righteous desarvings. he's a fellow that's got no more of a saving soul in him than my whip-handle, and ain't half so much to be counted on in a fight. he's jest now nothing but a cheat and a swindle from head to foot; hain't got anything but cheat in him--hain't got room for any principle---not enough either to git drunk with a friend, or have it out, in a fair fight, with his enemy. i shouldn't myself wish to see the fellow's throat cut, but i ain't slow to say that i shall go for his tasting a few hickories, after that a dip in the horsepond, and then a permit to leave the country by the shortest cut, and without looking behind him, under penalty of having the saft places on his back covered with the petticoats of lot's wife, that we hear of in the scriptures." ralph colleton was somewhat oppressed with apathy, and he knew how idle would be any attempt to lessen the hostility of the sturdy woodman, in respect to the wretched class of traders, such as were described in jared bunce, by whom the simple and dependent borderers in the south and west, were shockingly imposed upon. he made but a feeble effort accordingly, in this direction, but was somewhat more earnest in insisting upon the general propriety of forbearance, in a practice which militated against law and order, and that justice should he administered only by the proper hands. but to this, mark forrester had his ready answer; and, indeed, our young traveller was speaking according to the social standards of a wholly different region. "there, again, 'squire, you are quite out. the laws, somehow or other, can't touch these fellows. they run through the country a wink faster than the sheriff, and laugh at all the processes you send after them. so, you see, there's no justice, no how, unless you catch a rogue like this, and wind up with him for all the gang--for they're all alike, all of the same family, and it comes to the same thing in the end." the youth answered languidly. he began to tire, and nature craved repose, and the physician had urged it. forrester readily perceived that the listener's interest was flagging--nay he half fancied that much that he had been saying, and in his best style, had fallen upon drowsy senses. nobody likes to have his best things thrown away, and, as the reader will readily conceive, our friend forrester had a sneaking consciousness that all the world's eloquence did not cease on the day when demosthenes died. but he was not the person to be offended because the patient desired to sleep. far from it. he was only reasonable enough to suppose that this was the properest thing that the wounded man could do. and so he told him; and adjusting carefully the pillows of the youth, and disposing the bedclothes comfortably, and promising to see him again before he slept, our woodman bade him good night, and descended to the great hall of the tavern, where jared bunce was held in durance. the luckless pedler was, in truth, in a situation in which, for the first time in his life, he coveted nothing. the peril was one, also, from which, thus far, his mother-wit, which seldom failed before, could suggest no means of evasion or escape. his prospect was a dreary one; though with the wonderful capacity for endurance, and the surprising cheerfulness, common to the class to which he belonged, he beheld it without dismay though with many apprehensions. justice he did not expect, nor, indeed, as forrester has already told us, did he desire it. he asked for nothing less than justice. he was dragged before judges, all of whom had complaints to prefer, and injuries to redress; and none of whom were over-scrupulous as to the nature or measure of that punishment which was to procure them the desired atonement. the company was not so numerous as noisy. it consisted of some twenty persons, villagers as well as small farmers in the neighborhood, all of whom, having partaken _ad libitum_ of the whiskey distributed freely about the table, which, in part, they surrounded, had, in the indian phrase, more tongues than brains, and were sufficiently aroused by their potations to enter readily into any mischief. some were smoking with all the industrious perseverance of the hollander; others shouted forth songs in honor of the bottle, and with all the fervor and ferment of bacchanalian novitiates; and not a few, congregating about the immediate person of the pedler, assailed his ears with threats sufficiently pregnant with tangible illustration to make him understand and acknowledge, by repeated starts and wincings, the awkward and uncomfortable predicament in which he stood. at length, the various disputants for justice, finding it difficult, if not impossible, severally, to command that attention which they conceived they merited, resolved themselves into something like a committee of the whole, and proceeded to the settlement of their controversy, and the pedler's fate, in a manner more suited to the importance of the occasion. having procured that attention which was admitted to be the great object, more by the strength of his lungs than his argument, one of the company, who was dignified by the title of colonel, spoke out for the rest. "i say, boys--'tisn't of any use, i reckon, for everybody to speak about what everybody knows. one speaker's quite enough in this here matter before us. here's none of us that sha'n't something to say agin this pedler, and the doings of the grand scoundrel in and about these parts, for a matter going on now about three years. why, everybody knows him, big and little; and his reputation is so now, that the very boys take his name to frighten away the crows with. now, one person can jist as well make a plain statement as another. i know, of my own score, there's not one of my neighbors for ten miles round, that can't tell all about the rotten prints he put off upon my old woman; and i know myself of all the tricks he's played at odd times, more than a dozen, upon 'squire nichols there, and tom wescott, and bob snipes, and twenty others; and everybody knows them just as well as i. now, to make up the score, and square off with the pedler, without any frustration, i move you that lawyer pippin take the chair, and judge in this matter; for the day has come for settling off accounts, and i don't see why we shouldn't be the regulators for bunce, seeing that everybody agrees that he's a rogue, and a pestilence, and desarves regilation." this speech was highly applauded, and chimed in admirably with all prejudices, and the voice that called lawyer pippin to preside over the deliberations of the assembly was unanimous. the gentleman thus highly distinguished, was a dapper and rather portly little personage, with sharp twinkling eyes, a ruby and remarkable nose, a double chin, retreating forehead, and corpulent cheek. he wore green glasses of a dark, and a green coat of a light, complexion. the lawyer was the only member of the profession living in the village, had no competitor save when the sitting of the court brought in one or more from neighboring settlements, and, being thus circumstanced, without opposition, and the only representative of his craft, he was literally, to employ the slang phrase in that quarter, the "cock of the walk." he was, however, not so much regarded by the villagers a worthy as a clever man. it required not erudition to win the credit of profundity, and the lawyer knew how to make the most of his learning among those who had none. like many other gentlemen of erudition, he was grave to a proverb when the occasion required it, and would not be seen to laugh out of the prescribed place, though "nestor swore the jest was laughable." he relied greatly on saws and sayings--could quote you the paradoxes of johnson and the infidelities of hume without always understanding them, and mistook, as men of that kind and calibre are very apt to do, the capacity to repeat the grave absurdities of others as a proof of something in himself. his business was not large, however, and among the arts of his profession, and as a means for supplying the absence of more legitimate occasions for its employment, he was reputed as excessively expert in making the most of any difficulty among his neighbors. the egg of mischief and controversy was hardly laid, before the worthy lawyer, with maternal care, came clucking about it; he watched and warmed it without remission; and when fairly hatched, he took care that the whole brood should be brought safely into court, his voice, and words, and actions, fully attesting the deep interest in their fortunes which he had manifested from the beginning. many a secret slander, ripening at length into open warfare, had been traced to his friendly influence, either _ab ovo_, or at least from the perilous period in such cases when the very existence of the embryo relies upon the friendly breath, the sustaining warmth, and the occasional stimulant. lawyer pippin, among his neighbors, was just the man for such achievements, and they gave him, with a degree of shrewdness common to them as a people, less qualified credit for the capacity which he at all times exhibited in bringing a case into, than in carrying it out of court. but this opinion in nowise affected the lawyer's own estimate of his pretensions. next to being excessively mean, he was excessively vain, and so highly did he regard his own opinions, that he was never content until he heard himself busily employed in their utterance. an opportunity for a speech, such as the present, was not suffered to pass without due regard; but as we propose that he shall exhibit himself in the most happy manner at a later period in our narrative, we shall abridge, in few, the long string of queerly-associated words in the form of a speech, which, on assuming the chair thus assigned him, he poured forth upon the assembly. after a long prefatory, apologetic, and deprecatory exordium, in which his own demerits, as is usual with small speakers, were strenuously urged; and after he had exhausted most of the commonplaces about the purity of the ermine upon the robes of justice, and the golden scales, and the unshrinking balance, and the unsparing and certain sword, he went on thus:-- "and now, my friends, if i rightly understand the responsibility and obligations of the station thus kindly conferred upon me, i am required to arraign the pedler, jared bunce, before you, on behalf of the country, which country, as the clerk reads it, you undoubtedly are; and here let me remark, my friends, the excellent and nice distinction which this phrase makes between the man and the soil, between the noble intellect and the high soul, and the mere dirt and dust upon which we daily tread. this very phrase, my friends, is a fine embodiment of that democratic principle upon which the glorious constitution is erected. but, as i was saying, my friends, i am required to arraign before you this same pedler, jared bunce, on sundry charges of misdemeanor, and swindling, and fraud--in short, as i understand it, for endeavoring, without having the fear of god and good breeding in his eyes, to pass himself off upon the good people of this county as an honest man. is this the charge, my friends?" "ay, ay, lawyer, that's the how, that's the very thing itself. put it to the skunk, let him deny that if he can--let him deny that his name is jared bunce--that he hails from connecticut--that he is a shark, and a pirate, and a pestilence. let him deny that he is a cheat--that he goes about with his notions and other rogueries--that he doesn't manufacture maple-seeds, and hickory nutmegs, and ground coffee made out of rotten rye. answer to that, jared bunce, you white-livered lizard." thus did one of his accusers take up the thread of the discourse as concluded in part by the chairman. another and another followed with like speeches in the most rapid succession, until all was again confusion; and the voice of the lawyer, after a hundred ineffectual efforts at a hearing, degenerated into a fine squeak, and terminated at last in a violent fit of coughing, that fortunately succeeded in producing the degree of quiet around him to secure which his language had, singularly enough, entirely failed. for a moment the company ceased its clamor, out of respect to the chairman's cough; and, having cleared his throat with the contents of a tumbler of monongahela which seemed to stand permanently full by his side, he recommenced the proceedings; the offender, in the meantime, standing mute and motionless, now almost stupified with terror, conscious of repeated offences, knowing perfectly the reckless spirit of those who judged him, and hopeless of escape from their hands, without, in the country phrase, the loss at least of "wing and tail feathers." the chairman with due gravity began:-- "jared bunce--is that your name?" "why, lawyer, i can't deny that i have gone by that name, and i guess it's the right name for me to go by, seeing that i was christened jared, after old uncle jared withers, that lives down at dedham, in the state of massachusetts. he did promise to do something for me, seeing i was named after him, but he ha'n't done nothing yet, no how. then the name of bunce, you see, lawyer, i got from my father, his name being bunce, too, i guess." "well, jared bunce, answer to the point, and without circumlocution. you have heard some of the charges against you. having taken them down in short-hand, i will repeat them." the pedler approached a few steps, advanced one leg, raised a hand to his ear, and put on all the external signs of devout attention, as the chairman proceeded in the long and curious array. "first, then, it is charged against you, bunce, by young dick jenkins, that stands over in front of you there, that somewhere between the fifteenth and twenty-third of june--last june was a year--you came by night to his plantation, he living at that time in de kalb county; that you stopped the night with him, without charge, and in the morning you traded a clock to his wife for fifteen dollars, and that you had not been gone two days, before the said clock began to go whiz, whiz, whiz, and commenced striking, whizzing all the while, and never stopped till it had struck clear thirty-one, and since that time it will neither whiz, nor strike, nor do nothing." "why, lawyer, i ain't the man to deny the truth of this transaction, you see; but, then, you must know, much depends upon the way you manage a clock. a clock is quite a delicate and ticklish article of manufacture, you see, and it ain't everybody that can make a clock, or can make it go when it don't want to; and if a man takes a hammer or a horsewhip, or any other unnatural weapon to it, as if it was a house or a horse, why i guess, it's not reasonable to expect it to keep in order, and it's no use in having a clock no how, if you don't treat it well. as for its striking thirty-one, that indeed is something remarkable, for i never heard one of mine strike more than twelve, and that's zactly the number they're regulated to strike. but, after all, lawyer, i don't see that squire jenkins has been much a loser by the trade, seeing that he paid me in bills of the hogee-nogee bank, and that stopped payment about the time, and before i could get the bills changed. it's true, i didn't let on that i knowed anything about it, and got rid of the paper a little while before the thing went through the country." "now, look ye, you gingerbread-bodied yankee--i'd like to know what you mean about taking whip and hammer to the clock. if you mean to say that i ever did such a thing, i'll lick you now, by the eternal scratch!" "order, order, mr. jenkins--order! the chair must be respected. you must come to order, mr. jenkins--" was the vociferous and urgent cry of the chairman, repeated by half a dozen voices; the pedler, in the meanwhile, half doubting the efficacy of the call, retreating with no little terror behind the chair of the dignified personage who presided. "well, you needn't make such a howling about it," said jenkins, wrathfully, and looking around him with the sullen ferocity of a chafed bear. "i know jist as well how to keep order, i reckon, as any on you; but i don't see how it will be out of order to lick a yankee, or who can hinder me, if i choose it." "well, don't look at me, dick jenkins, with such a look, or i'll have a finger in that pie, old fellow. i'm no yankee to be frightened by sich a lank-sided fellow as you; and, by dogs, if nobody else can keep you in order, i'm jist the man to try if i can't. so don't put on any shines, old boy, or i'll darken your peepers, if i don't come very nigh plucking them out altogether." so spake another of the company, who, having been much delectified with the trial, had been particularly solicitous in his cries for order. jenkins was not indisposed to the affray, and made an angry retort, which provoked another still more angry; but other parties interfering, the new difficulty was made to give place to that already in hand. the imputation upon jenkins, that his ignorance of the claims of the clock to gentle treatment, alone, had induced it to speak thirty-one times, and at length refuse to speak at all, had touched his pride; and, sorely vexed, he retired upon a glass of whiskey to the farther corner of the room, and with his pipe, nursing the fumes of his wrath, he waited impatiently the signal for the wild mischief which he knew would come. in the meanwhile, the examination of the culprit proceeded; but, as we can not hope to convey to the reader a description of the affair as it happened, to the life, we shall content ourselves with a brief summary. the chair went on rapidly enumerating the sundry misdeeds of the yankee, demanding, and in most cases receiving, rapid and unhesitating replies--evasively and adroitly framed, for the offender well knew that a single unlucky word or phrase would bring down upon his shoulders a wilderness of blows. "you are again charged, bunce, with having sold to colonel blundell a coffee-pot and two tin cups, all of which went to pieces--the solder melting off at the very sight of the hot water." "well, lawyer, it stands to reason i can't answer for that. the tin wares i sell stand well enough in a northern climate: there may be some difference in yours that i can't account for; and i guess, pretty much, there is. now, your people are a mighty hot-tempered people, and take a fight for breakfast, and make three meals a day out of it: now, we in the north have no stomach for such fare; so here, now, as far as i can see, your climate takes pretty much after the people, and if so, it's no wonder that solder can't stand it. who knows, again, but you boil your water quite too hot? now, i guess, there's jest as much harm in boiling water too hot, as in not boiling it hot enough. who knows? all i can say is, that the lot of wares i bring to this market next season shall be calkilated on purpose to suit the climate." the chairman seemed struck with this view of the case, and spoke with a gravity corresponding with the deep sagacity he conceived himself to have exhibited. "there does seem to be something in this; and it stands to reason, what will do for a nation of pedlers won't do for us. why, when i recollect that they are buried in snows half the year, and living on nothing else the other half, i wonder how they get the water to boil at all. answer that, bunce." "well, lawyer, i guess you must have travelled pretty considerable down east in your time and among my people, for you do seem to know all about the matter jest as well and something better than myself." the lawyer, not a little flattered by the compliment so slyly and evasively put in, responded to the remark with a due regard to his own increase of importance. "i am not ignorant of your country, pedler, and of the ways of its people; but it is not me that you are to satisfy. answer to the gentlemen around, if it is not a difficult matter for you to get water to boil at all during the winter months." "why, to say the truth, lawyer, when coal is scarce and high in the market, heat is very hard to come. now, i guess the ware i brought out last season was made under those circumstances; but i have a lot on hand now, which will be here in a day or two, which i should like to trade to the colonel, and i guess i may venture to say, all the hot water in the country won't melt the solder off." "i tell you what, pedler, we are more likely to put you in hot water than try any more of your ware in that way. but where's your plunder?--let us see this fine lot of notions you speak of"--was the speech of the colonel already so much referred to, and whose coffee-pot bottom furnished so broad a foundation for the trial. he was a wild and roving person, to whom the tavern, and the racecourse, and the cockpit, from his very boyhood up, had been as the breath of life, and with whom the chance of mischief was never willingly foregone. but the pedler was wary, and knew his man. the lurking smile and sneer of the speaker had enough in them for the purposes of warning, and he replied evasively:-- "well, colonel, you shall see them by next tuesday or wednesday. i should be glad to have a trade with you--the money's no object--and if you have furs, or skins, or anything that you like to get off your hands, there's no difficulty, that i can see, to a long bargain." "but why not trade now, bunce?--what's to hinder us now? i sha'n't be in the village after monday." "well, then, colonel, that'll just suit me, for i did calkilate to call on you at the farm, on my way into the nation where i'm going looking out for furs." "yes, and live on the best for a week, under some pretence that your nag is sick, or you sick, or something in the way of a start--then go off, cheat, and laugh at me in the bargain. i reckon, old boy, you don't come over me in that way again; and i'm not half done with you yet about the kettles. that story of yours about the hot and cold may do for the pigeons, but you don't think the hawks will swallow it, do ye? come--out with your notions!" "oh, to be sure, only give a body time, colonel," as, pulled by the collar, with some confusion and in great trepidation, responded the beleagured dealer in clocks and calicoes--"they shall all be here in a day or two at most. seeing that one of my creatures was foundered, i had to leave the goods, and drive the other here without them." the pedler had told the truth in part only. one of his horses had indeed struck lame, but he had made out to bring him to the village with all his wares; and this fact, as in those regions of question and inquiry was most likely to be the case, had already taken wind. "now, look ye, bunce, do you take me for a blear-eyed mole, that never seed the light of a man's eyes?" inquired blundell, closely approaching the beset tradesman, and taking him leisurely by the neck. "do you want to take a summerset through that window, old fellow, that you try to stuff us with such tough stories? if you do, i _rether_ reckon you can do it without much difficulty." thus speaking, and turning to some of those around him, he gave directions which imparted to the limbs of the pedler a continuous and crazy motion, that made his teeth chatter. "hark ye, boys, jist step out, and bring in the cart of jared bunce, wheels and all, if so be that the body won't come off easily. we'll see for ourselves." it was now the pedler's turn for speech; and, forgetting the precise predicament in which he personally stood, and only solicitous to save his chattels from the fate which he plainly saw awaited them, his expostulations and entreaties were rapid and energetic. "now, colonel--gentlemen--my good friends--to-morrow or the next day you shall see them all--i'll go with you to your plantation--" "no, thank ye. i want none of your company--and, look ye, if you know when you're well off, don't undertake to call me your friend. i say, mr. chairman, if it's in order--i don't want to do anything disorderly--i move that bunce's cart be moved here into this very room, that we may see for ourselves the sort of substance he brings here to put off upon us." the chairman had long since seemingly given up all hope of exercising, in their true spirit, the duties of the station which he held. for a while, it is true, he battled with no little energy for the integrity of his dignity, with good lungs and a stout spirit; but, though fully a match in these respects for any one, or perhaps any two of his competitors, he found the task of contending with the dozen rather less easy, and, in a little while, his speeches, into which he had lugged many a choice _ad captandum_ of undisputed effect on any other occasion, having been completely merged and mingled with those of the mass, he wisely forbore any further waste of matter, in the stump-oratory of the south usually so precious; and, drawing himself up proudly and profoundly in his high place, he remained dignifiedly sullen, until the special reference thus made by colonel blundell again opened the fountains of the oracle and set them flowing. the lawyer, thus appealed to, in a long tirade, and in his happiest manner, delivered his opinion in the premises, and in favor of the measure. how, indeed, could he do otherwise, and continue that tenacious pursuit of his own interests which had always been the primary aim and object, as well of the profession as the person. he at once sagaciously beheld the embryo lawsuit and contingent controversy about to result from the proposition; and, in his mind, with a far and free vision, began to compute the costs and canvass the various terms and prolonged trials of county court litigation. he saw fee after fee thrust into his hands--he beheld the opposing parties desirous to conciliate, and extending to him sundry of those equivocal courtesies, which, though they take not the shape of money are money's worth, and the worthy chairman had no scruples as to the propriety of the measure. the profits and pay once adjusted to his satisfaction, his spirit took a broad sweep, and the province of human fame, circumscribed, it is true, within the ten mile circuit of his horizon, was at once open before him. he beheld the strife, and enjoyed the triumph over his fellow-laborers at the bar--he already heard the applauses of his neighbors at this or that fine speech or sentiment; and his form grew insensibly erect, and his eye glistened proudly, as he freely and fully assented to the measure which promised such an abundant harvest. vainly did the despairing and dispirited pedler implore a different judgment; the huge box which capped the body of his travelling vehicle, torn from its axle, without any show of reverential respect for screw or fastening, was borne in a moment through the capacious entrance of the hall, and placed conspicuously upon the table. "the key, bunce, the key!" was the demand of a dozen. the pedler hesitated for a second, and the pause was fatal. before he could redeem his error, a blow from a hatchet settled the difficulty, by distributing the fine deal-box cover, lock and hinges, in fragments over the apartment. the revelation of wares and fabrics--a strange admixture, with propriety designated "notions"--brought all eyes immediately around, and rendered a new order, for common convenience, necessary in the arrangement of the company. the chairman, chair and man, were in a moment raised to a corresponding elevation upon the table, over the collection; and the controversy and clamor, from concentrating, as it did before, upon the person of the pedler, were now transferred to the commodities he brought for sale. order having been at length obtained, colonel blundell undertook the assertion of his own and the wrongs of his fellow-sufferers, and kept uninterrupted possession of the floor. "and now, mr. chairman, i will jist go a little into the particulars of the rogueries and rascalities of this same yankee. now, in the first place, he is a yankee, and that's enough, itself, to bring him to punishment--but we'll let that pass, and go to his other transactions--for, as i reckon, it's quite punishment enough for that offence, to be jist what he is. he has traded rotten stuffs about the country, that went to pieces the first washing. he has traded calico prints, warranted for fast colors, that ran faster than he ever ran himself. he has sold us tin stuffs, that didn't stand hot water at all; and then thinks to get off, by saying they were not made for our climate. and let me ask, mr. chairman, if they wasn't made for our climate, why did he bring 'em here? let him come to the scratch, and answer that, neighbors--but he can't. well, then, as you've all hearn, he has traded clocks to us at money's worth, that one day ran faster than a virginny race-mare, and at the very next day, would strike lame, and wouldn't go at all, neither for beating nor coaxing--and besides all these doings, neighbors, if these an't quite enough to carry a skunk to the horsepond, he has committed his abominations without number, all through the country high and low--for hain't he lied and cheated, and then had the mean cowardice to keep out of the way of the _regilators_, who have been on the look-out for his tracks for the last half year? now, if these things an't _desarving_ of punishment, there's nobody fit to be hung--there's nobody that ought to be whipped. hickories oughtn't to grow any longer, and the best thing the governor can do would be to have all the jails burnt down from one eend of the country to the other. the proof stands up agin bunce, and there's no denying it; and it's no use, no how, to let this fellow come among us, year after year, to play the same old hand, take our money for his rascally goods, then go away and laugh at us. and the question before us is jist what i have said, and what shall we do with the critter? to show you that it's high time to do something in the matter, look at this calico print, that looks, to be sure, very well to the eye, except, as you see, here's a tree with red leaves and yellow flowers--a most ridiculous notion, indeed, for who ever seed a tree with sich colors here, in the very beginning of summer?" here the pedler, for the moment, more solicitous for the credit of the manufactures than for his own safety, ventured to suggest that the print was a mere fancy, a matter of taste--in fact, a notion, and not therefore to be judged by the standard which had been brought to decide upon its merits. he did not venture, however, to say what, perhaps, would have been the true horn of the difficulty, that the print was an autumn or winter illustration, for that might have subjected him to condign punishment for its unseasonableness. as it was, the defence set up was to the full as unlucky as any other might have been. "i'll tell you what, master bunce, it won't do to take natur in vain. if you can show me a better painter than natur, from your pairts, i give up; but until that time, i say that any man who thinks to give the woods a different sort of face from what god give 'em, ought to be licked for his impudence if nothing else." the pedler ventured again to expostulate; but the argument having been considered conclusive against him, he was made to hold his peace, while the prosecutor proceeded. "now then, mr. chairman, as i was saying--here is a sample of the kind of stuff he thinks to impose upon us. look now at this here article, and i reckon it's jist as good as any of the rest, and say whether a little touch of lynch's law, an't the very thing for the yankee!" holding up the devoted calico to the gaze of the assembly, with a single effort of his strong and widely-distended arms, he rent it asunder with little difficulty, the sweep not terminating, until the stuff, which, by-the-way, resigned itself without struggle or resistance to its fate, had been most completely and evenly divided. the poor pedler in vain endeavored to stay a ravage that, once begun, became epidemical. he struggled and strove with tenacious hand, holding on to sundry of his choicest bales, and claiming protection from the chair, until warned of his imprudent zeal in behalf of goods so little deserving of the risk, by the sharp and sudden application of an unknown hand to his ears which sent him reeling against the table, and persuaded him into as great a degree of patience, as, under existing circumstances, he could be well expected to exhibit. article after article underwent a like analysis of its strength and texture, and a warm emulation took place among the rioters, as to their several capacities in the work of destruction. the shining bottoms were torn from the tin-wares in order to prove that such a separation was possible, and it is doing but brief justice to the pedler to say, that, whatever, in fact, might have been the true character of his commodities, the very choicest of human fabrics could never have resisted the various tests of bone and sinew, tooth and nail, to which they were indiscriminately subjected. immeasurable was the confusion that followed. all restraints were removed--all hindrances withdrawn, and the tide rushed onward with a most headlong tendency. apprehensive of pecuniary responsibilities in his own person, and having his neighbors wrought to the desired pitch--fearing, also, lest his station might somewhat involve himself in the meshes he was weaving around others, the sagacious chairman, upon the first show of violence, roared out his resignation, and descended from his place. but this movement did not impair the industry of the _regulators_. a voice was heard proposing a bonfire of the merchandise, and no second suggestion was necessary. all hands but those of the pedler and the attorney were employed in building the pyre in front of the tavern some thirty yards; and here, in choice confusion, lay flaming calicoes, illegitimate silks, worsted hose, wooden clocks and nutmegs, maple-wood seeds of all descriptions, plaid cloaks, scents, and spices, jumbled up in ludicrous variety. a dozen hands busied themselves in applying the torch to the devoted mass--howling over it, at every successive burst of flame that went up into the dark atmosphere, a savage yell of triumph that tallied well with the proceeding. "hurrah!" the scene was one of indescribable confusion. the rioters danced about the blaze like so many frenzied demons. strange, no one attempted to appropriate the property that must have been a temptation to all. our pedler, though he no longer strove to interfere, was by no means insensible to the ruin of his stock in trade. it was calculated to move to pity, in any other region, to behold him as he stood in the doorway, stupidly watching the scene, while the big tears were slowly gathering in his eyes, and falling down his bronzed and furrowed cheeks. the rough, hard, unscrupulous man can always weep for himself. whatever the demerits of the rogue, our young traveller above stairs, would have regarded him as the victim of a too sharp justice. not so the participators in the outrage. they had been too frequently the losers by the cunning practice of the pedler, to doubt for a moment the perfect propriety--nay, the very moderate measure--of that wild justice which they were dealing out to his misdeeds. and with this even, they were not satisfied. as the perishable calicoes roared up and went down in the flames, as the pans and pots and cups melted away in the furnace heat, and the painted faces of the wooden clocks, glared out like those of john rogers at the stake, enveloped in fire, the cries of the crowd were mingled in with a rude, wild chorus, in which the pedler was made to understand that he stood himself in a peril almost as great as his consuming chattels. it was the famous ballad of the _regulators_ that he heard, and it smote his heart with a consciousness of his personal danger that made him shiver in his shoes. the uncouth doggrel, recited in a lilting sort of measure, the peculiar and various pleasures of a canter upon a pine rail. it was clear that the mob were by no means satisfied with the small measure of sport which they had enjoyed. a single verse of this savage ditty will suffice for the present, rolled out upon the air, from fifty voices, the very boys and negroes joining in the chorus, and making it tell terribly to the senses of the threatened person. first one voice would warble "did you ever, ever, ever!"-- and there was a brief pause, at the end of which the crowd joined in with unanimous burst and tremendous force of lungs:-- "did you ever, ever, ever, in your life ride a rail? such a deal of pleasure's in it, that you never can refuse! you are mounted on strong shoulders, that'll never, never fail, though you pray'd with tongue of sinner, just to plant you where they choose. though the brier patch is nigh you, looking up with thorny faces, they never wait to see how you like the situation, but down you go a rolling, through the penetrating places, nor scramble out until you give the cry of approbation. oh! pleasant is the riding, highly-seated on the rail, and worthy of the wooden horse, the rascal that we ride; let us see the mighty shoulders that will never, never fail. to lift him high, and plant him, on the crooked rail astride. the seven-sided pine rail, the pleasant bed of briar, the little touch of hickory law, with a dipping in the mire. "did you ever, ever, ever," &c., from the troupe in full blast! the lawyer pippin suddenly stood beside the despairing pedler, as this ominous ditty was poured upon the night-winds. "do you hear that song, bunce?" he asked. "how do you like the music?" the pedler looked in his face with a mixed expression of grief, anger, and stupidity, but he said nothing. "hark ye, bunce," continued the lawyer. "do you know what that means? does your brain take in its meaning, my friend?" "friend, indeed!" was the very natural exclamation of the pedler as he shrank from the hand of the lawyer, which had been affectionately laid upon his shoulder. "friend, indeed! i say, lawyer pippin, if it hadn't been for you, i'd never ha' been in this fix. i'm ruined by you." "ruined by me! pshaw, bunce, you are a fool. i was your friend all the time." "oh, yes! i can see how. but though you did stop, when they began, yet you did enough to set them on. that was like a good lawyer, i guess, but not so much like a friend. had you been a friend, you could have saved my property from the beginning." "nay, nay, bunce; you do me wrong. they had sworn against you long ago, and you know them well enough. the devil himself couldn't stop 'em when once upon the track. but don't be down in the mouth. i can save you now." "save me!" "ay! don't you hear? they're singing the regulation song. once that blaze goes down, they'll be after you. it's a wonder they've left you here so long. now's your time. you must be off. fly by the back door, and leave it to me to get damages for your loss of property." "you, lawyer? well, i should like to know how you calkilate to do that?" "i'll tell you. you know my profession." "i guess i do, pretty much." "thus, then--most of these are men of substance; at least they have enough to turn out a pretty good case each of them--now all you have to do is to bring suit. i'll do all that, you know, the same as if you did it yourself. you must lay your damages handsomely, furnish a few affidavits, put the business entirely in my hands, and--how much is the value of your goods?" "well, i guess they might be worth something over three hundred and twenty dollars and six shillings, york money." "well, give me all the particulars, and i venture to assure you that i can get five hundred dollars damages at least, and perhaps a thousand. but of this we can talk more at leisure when you are in safety. where's your cart, bunce?" "on t'other side of the house--what they've left on it." "now, then, while they're busy over the blaze, put your tackle on, hitch your horse, and take the back track to my clearing; it's but a short mile and a quarter, and you'll be there in no time. i'll follow in a little while, and we'll arrange the matter." "well, now, lawyer, but i can't--my horse, as you see, having over eat himself, is struck with the founders and can't budge. i put him in 'squire dickens' stable, 'long with his animals, and seeing that he hadn't had much the day before, i emptied the corn from their troughs into his, and jest see what's come of it. i hadn't ought to done so, to be sure." "that's bad, but that must not stop you. your life, bunce, is in danger, and i have too much regard for you to let you risk it by longer stay here. take my nag, there--the second one from the tree, and put him in the gears in place of your own. he's as gentle as a spaniel, and goes like a deer. you know the back track to my house, and i'll come after you, and bring your creature along. i 'spose he's not so stiff but he can bring me." "he can do that, lawyer, i guess, without difficulty. i'll move as you say, and be off pretty slick. five hundred dollars damage, lawyer--eh!" "no matter, till i see you. put your nag in gears quickly--you have little time to spare!" the pedler proceeded to the work, and was in a little while ready for a start. but he lingered at the porch. "i say, lawyer, it's a hard bout they've given me this time. i did fear they would be rash and obstropulous, but didn't think they'd gone so far. indeed, it's clear, if it hadn't been that the cretur failed me, i should not have trusted myself in the place, after what i was told." "bunce, you have been rather sly in your dealings, and they have a good deal to complain of. now, though i said nothing about it, that coat you sold me for a black grew red with a week's wear, and threadbare in a month." "now, don't talk, lawyer, seeing you ha'n't paid me for it yet; but that's neither here nor there. if i did, as you say, sell my goods for something more than their vally, i hadn't ought to had such a punishment as this." the wild song of the rioters rang in his ears, followed by a proposition, seemingly made with the utmost gravity, to change the plan of operations, and instead of giving him the ride upon the rail, cap the blazing goods of his cart with the proper person of the proprietor. the pedler lingered to hear no further; and the quick ear of the lawyer, as he returned into the hall, distinguished the rumbling motion of his cart hurrying down the road. but he had scarcely reseated himself and resumed his glass, before bunce also reappeared. "why, man, i thought you were off. you burn daylight; though they do say, those whom water won't drown, rope must hang." "there is some risk, lawyer, to be sure; but when i recollected this box, which you see is a fine one, though they have disfigured it, i thought i should have time enough to take it with me, and anything that might be lying about;" looking around the apartment as he spoke, and gathering up a few fragments which had escaped the general notice. "begone, fool!" exclaimed the lawyer, impatiently. "they are upon you--they come--fly for your life, you dog--i hear their voices." "i'm off, lawyer"--and looking once behind him as he hurried off, the pedler passed from the rear of the building as those who sought him re-entered in front. "the blood's in him--the yankee will be yankee still," was the muttered speech of the lawyer, as he prepared to encounter the returning rioters. chapter vii. the yankee outwits the lawyer. it was at this moment that forrester entered the tavern-hall; curious to know the result of the trial, from which his attendance upon ralph had unavoidably detained him. the actors of the drama were in better humor than before, and uproarious mirth had succeeded to ferocity. they were all in the very excess of self-glorification; for, though somewhat disappointed of their design, and defrauded of the catastrophe, they had nevertheless done much, according to their own judgment, and enough, perhaps, in that of the reader, for the purposes of justice. the work of mischief had been fully consummated; and though, to their notion, still somewhat incomplete from the escape of the pedler himself, they were in great part satisfied--some few among them, indeed--and among these our quondam friend forrester may be included--were not sorry that bunce had escaped the application of the personal tests which had been contemplated for his benefit; for, however willing, it was somewhat doubtful whether they could have been altogether able to save him from the hands of those having a less scrupulous regard to humanity. the sudden appearance of forrester revived the spirit of the transaction, now beginning somewhat to decline, as several voices undertook to give him an account of its progress. the lawyer was in his happiest mood, as things, so far, had all turned out as he expected. his voice was loudest, and his oratory more decidedly effective than ever. the prospect before him was also of so seductive a character, that he yielded more than was his wont to the influences of the bottle-god: who stood little iron-hooped keg, perched upon a shelf conveniently in the corner. "here cuffee, you thrice-blackened baby of beelzebub!--why stand you there, arms akimbo, and showing your ivories, when you see we have no whiskey! bring in the jug, you imp of darkness--touch us the monongahela, and a fresh tumbler for mr. forrester--and, look you, one too for col. blundell, seeing he's demolished the other. quick, you terrapin!" cuffee recovered himself in an instant. his hands fell to his sides--his mouth closed intuitively; and the whites of his eyes changing their fixed direction, marshalled his way with a fresh jug, containing two or more quarts, to the rapacious lawyer. "ah, you blackguard, that will do--now, mr. forrester--now, col. blundell--don't be slow--no backing out, boys--hey, for a long drink to the stock in trade of our friend the pedler." so spoke pippin; a wild huzza attested the good humor which the proposition excited. potation rapidly followed potation, and the jug again demanded replenishing. the company was well drilled in this species of exercise; and each individual claiming caste in such circle, must be well prepared, like the knight-challenger of old tourney, to defy all comers. in the cases of pippin and blundell, successive draughts, after the attainment of a certain degree of mental and animal stolidity, seemed rather to fortify than to weaken their defences, and to fit them more perfectly for a due prolongation of the warfare. the appetite, too, like most appetites, growing from what it fed on, ventured few idle expostulations; glass after glass, in rapid succession, fully attested the claim of these two champions to the renown which such exercises in that section of the world had won for them respectively. the subject of conversation, which, in all this time, accompanied their other indulgences, was, very naturally, that of the pedler and his punishment. on this topic, however, a professional not less than personal policy sealed the lips of our lawyer except on those points which admitted of a general remark, without application or even meaning. though drunk, his policy was that of the courts; and the practice of the sessions had served him well, in his own person, to give the lie to the "_in vino veritas_" of the proverb. things were in this condition when the company found increase in the person of the landlord, who now made his appearance; and, as we intend that he shall be no unimportant auxiliary in the action of our story, it may be prudent for a few moments to dwell upon the details of his outward man, and severally to describe his features. we have him before us in that large, dark, and somewhat heavy person, who sidles awkwardly into the apartment, as if only conscious in part of the true uses of his legs and arms. he leans at this moment over the shoulders of one of the company, and, while whispering in his ears, at the same time, with an upward glance, surveys the whole. his lowering eyes, almost shut in and partially concealed by his scowling and bushy eyebrows, are of a quick gray, stern, and penetrating in their general expression, yet, when narrowly observed, putting on an air of vacancy, if not stupidity, that furnishes a perfect blind to the lurking meaning within. his nose is large, yet not disproportionately so; his head well made, though a phrenologist might object to a strong animal preponderance in the rear; his mouth bold and finely curved, is rigid however in its compression, and the lips, at times almost woven together, are largely indicative of ferocity; they are pale in color, and dingily so, yet his flushed cheek and brow bear striking evidence of a something too frequent revel; his hair, thin and scattered, is of a dark brown complexion and sprinkled with gray; his neck is so very short that a single black handkerchief, wrapped loosely about it, removes all seeming distinction between itself and the adjoining shoulders--the latter being round and uprising, forming a socket, into which the former appears to fall as into a designated place. as if more effectually to complete the unfavorable impression of such an outline, an ugly scar, partly across the cheek, and slightly impairing the integrity of the left nostril, gives to his whole look a sinister expression, calculated to defeat entirely any neutralizing or less objectionable feature. his form--to conclude the picture--is constructed with singular power; and though not symmetrical, is far from ungainly. when impelled by some stirring motive, his carriage is easy, without seeming effort, and his huge frame throws aside the sluggishness which at other times invests it, putting on a habit of animated exercise, which changes the entire appearance of the man. such was walter, or, as he was there more familiarly termed wat munro. he took his seat with the company, with the ease of one who neither doubted nor deliberated upon the footing which he claimed among them. he was not merely the publican of his profession, but better fitted indeed for perhaps any other avocation, as may possibly be discovered in the progress of our narrative. to his wife, a good quiet sort of body, who, as forrester phrased it, did not dare to say the soul was her own, he deputed the whole domestic management of the tavern; while he would be gone, nobody could say where or why, for weeks and more at a time, away from bar and hostel, in different portions of the country. none ventured to inquire into a matter that was still sufficiently mysterious to arouse curiosity; people living with and about him generally entertaining a degree of respect, amounting almost to vulgar awe, for his person and presence, which prevented much inquiry into his doings. some few, however, more bold than the rest, spoke in terms of suspicion; but the number of this class was inconsiderable, and they themselves felt that the risk which they incurred was not so unimportant as to permit of their going much out of the way to trace the doubtful features in his life. as we have already stated, he took his place along with his guests; the bottles and glasses were replenished, the story of the pedler again told, and each individual once more busied in describing his own exploits. the lawyer, immersed in visions of grog and glory, rhapsodized perpetually and clapped his hands. blundell, drunkenly happy, at every discharge of the current humor, made an abortive attempt to chuckle, the ineffectual halloo gurgling away in the abysses of his mighty throat; until, at length, his head settled down supinely upon his breast, his eyes were closed, and the hour of his victory had gone by; though, even then, his huge jaws opening at intervals for the outward passage of something which by courtesy might be considered a laugh, attested the still anxious struggles of the inward spirit, battling with the weaknesses of the flesh. the example of a leader like blundell had a most pernicious effect upon the uprightness of the greater part of the company. having the sanction of authority, several others, the minor spirits it is true, settled down under their chairs without a struggle. the survivors made some lugubrious efforts at a triumph over their less stubborn companions, but the laborious and husky laugh was but a poor apology for the proper performance of this feat. munro, who to his other qualities added those of a sturdy _bon-vivant_, together with forrester, and a few who still girt in the lawyer as the prince of the small jest, discharged their witticisms upon the staggering condition of affairs; not forgetting in their assaults the disputatious civilian himself. that worthy, we regret to add, though still unwilling to yield, and still striving to retort, had nevertheless suffered considerable loss of equilibrium. his speeches were more than ever confused, and it was remarked that his eyes danced about hazily, with a most ineffectual expression. he looked about, however, with a stupid gaze of self-satisfaction; but his laugh and language, forming a strange and most unseemly coalition, degenerated at last into a dolorous sniffle, indicating the rapid departure of the few mental and animal holdfasts which had lingered with him so long. while thus reduced, his few surviving senses were at once called into acute activity by the appearance of a sooty little negro, who thrust into his hands a misshapen fold of dirty paper, which a near examination made out to take the form of a letter. "why, what the d----l, d----d sort of fist is this you've given me, you bird of blackness! where got you this vile scrawl?--faugh! you've had it in your jaws, you raven, have you not?" the terrified urchin retreated a few paces while answering the inquiry. "no, mass lawyer--de pedler--da him gib um to me so. i bring um straight as he gib um." "the pedler! why, where is he?--what the devil can he have to write about?" was the universal exclamation. "the pedler!" said the lawyer, and his sobriety grew strengthened at the thought of business; he called to the waiter and whispered in his ears-- "hark ye, cuffee; go bring out the pedler's horse, saddle him with my saddle which lies in the gallery, bring him to the tree, and, look ye, make no noise about it, you scoundrel, as you value your ears." cuffee was gone on his mission--and the whole assembly aroused by the name of the pedler and the mysterious influence of the communication upon the lawyer, gathered, with inquiries of impatience, around him. finding him slow, they clamored for the contents of the epistle, and the route of the writer--neither of which did he seem desirous to communicate. his evasions and unwillingness were all in vain, and he was at length compelled to undertake the perusal of the scrawl; a task he would most gladly have avoided in their presence. he was in doubt and fear. what could the pedler have to communicate, on paper, which might not have been left over for their interview? his mind was troubled, and, pushing the crowd away from immediately about him, he tore open the envelope and began the perusal--proceeding with a measured gait, the result as well of the "damned cramp hand" as of the still foggy intellect and unsettled vision of the reader. but as the characters and their signification became more clear and obvious to his gaze, his features grew more and more sobered and intelligent--a blankness overspread his face--his hands trembled, and finally, his apprehensions, whatever they might have been, having seemingly undergone full confirmation, he crumpled the villanous scrawl in his hands, and dashing it to the floor in a rage, roared out in quick succession volley after volley of invective and denunciation upon the thrice-blasted head of the pedler. the provocation must have been great, no doubt, to impart such animation at such a time to the man of law; and the curiosity of one of the revellers getting the better of his scruples in such matters--if, indeed, scruples of any kind abode in such a section--prompting him to seize upon the epistle thus pregnant with mortal matter, in this way the whole secret became public property. as, therefore, we shall violate no confidence, and shock no decorum, we proceed to read it aloud for the benefit of all:-- "dear lawyer: i guess i am pretty safe now from the _regilators_, and, saving my trouble of mind, well enough, and nothing to complain about. your animal goes as slick as grease, and carried me in no time out of reach of rifle-shot--so you see it's only right to thank god, and you, lawyer, for if you hadn't lent me the nag, i guess it would have been a sore chance for me in the hands of them savages and beasts of prey. "i've been thinking, lawyer, as i driv along, about what you said to me, and i guess it's no more than right and reasonable i should take the law on 'em; and so i put the case in your hands, to make the most on it; and seeing that the damages, as you say, may be over five hundred dollars, why, i don't see but the money is jest as good in my hands as theirs, for so it ought to be. the bill of particulars i will send you by post. in the meanwhile, you may say, having something to go upon, that the whole comes to five hundred and fifty dollars or thereabouts, for, with a little calculation and figering, i guess it won't be hard to bring it up to that. this don't count the vally of the cart, for, as i made it myself, it didn't cost me much; but, if you put it in the bill, which i guess you ought to, put it down for twenty dollars more--seeing that, if i can't trade for one somehow, i shall have to give something like that for another. "and now, lawyer, there's one thing--i don't like to be in the reach of them 'ere regilators, and guess 'twouldn't be altogether the wisest to stop short of fifteen miles to-night: so, therefore, you see, it won't be in my way, no how, to let you have your nag, which is a main fine one, and goes slick as a whistle--pretty much as if he and the wagon was made for one another; but this, i guess, will be no difference to you, seeing that you can pay yourself his vally out of the damages. i'm willing to allow you one hundred dollars for him, though he a'n't worth so much, no how; and the balance of the money you can send to me, or my brother, in the town of meriden, in the state of connecticut. so no more, dear lawyer, at this writing, from "your very humble sarvant "to command, &c." the dismay of the attorney was only exceeded by the chagrin with which he perceived his exposure, and anticipated the odium in consequence. he leaped about the hall, among the company, in a restless paroxysm--now denouncing the pedler, now deprecating their dissatisfaction at finding out the double game which he had been playing. the trick of the runaway almost gave him a degree of favor in their eyes, which did not find much diminution when pippin, rushing forth from the apartment, encountered a new trial in the horse left him by the pedler; the miserable beast being completely ruined, unable to move a step, and more dead than alive. chapter viii. new friends in strange places. ralph opened his eyes at a moderately late hour on the ensuing morning, and found forrester in close attendance. he felt himself somewhat sore from his bruises in falling, but the wound gave him little concern. indeed, he was scarcely conscious of it. he had slept well, and was not unwilling to enter into the explanatory conversation which the woodman began. from him he learned the manner and situation in which he had been found, and was furnished with a partial history of his present whereabouts. in return, he gave a particular account of the assault made upon him in the wood, and of his escape; all of which, already known to the reader, will call for no additional details. in reply to the unscrupulous inquiry of forrester, the youth, with as little hesitation, declared himself to be a native of the neighboring state of south carolina, born in one of its middle districts, and now on his way to tennessee. he concluded with giving his name. "colleton, colleton," repeated the other, as if reviving some recollection of old time--"why, 'squire, i once knew a whole family of that name in carolina. i'm from carolina myself, you must know. there was an old codger--a fine, hearty buck--old ralph colleton--colonel ralph, as they used to call him. he did have a power of money, and a smart chance of lands and field-niggers; but they did say he was going behindhand, for he didn't know how to keep what he had. he was always buying, and living large; but that can't last for ever. i saw him first at a muster. i was then just eighteen, and went out with the rest, for the first time. maybe, 'squire, i didn't take the rag off the bush that day. i belonged to captain williams's troop, called the 'bush-whackers.' we were all fine-looking fellows, though i say it myself. i was no chicken, i tell you. from that day, mark forrester wrote himself down '_man_' and well he might, 'squire, and no small one neither. six feet in stocking-foot, sound in wind and limb--could outrun, outjump, outwrestle, outfight, and outdo anyhow, any lad of my inches in the whole district. there was tom foster, that for five long years counted himself cock of the walk, and crowed like a chicken whenever he came out upon the ground. you never saw tom, i reckon, for he went off to mississippi after i sowed him up. he couldn't stand it any longer, since it was no use, i licked him in sich short order: he wasn't a mouthful. after that, the whole ground was mine; nobody could stand before me, 'squire; though now the case may be different, for sumter's a destrict, 'squire, that a'n't slow at raising game chickens." at the close of this rambling harangue, mark forrester, as we may now be permitted to call him, looked down upon his own person with no small share of complacency. he was still, doubtless, all the man he boasted himself to have been; his person, as we have already briefly described it, offering, as well from its bulk and well-distributed muscle as from its perfect symmetry, a fine model for the statuary. after the indulgence of a few moments in this harmless egotism, he returned to the point, as if but now recollected, from which he set out. "well, then, master colleton, as i was saying, 'twas at this same muster that i first saw the 'squire. he was a monstrous clever old buck now, i tell you. why, he thought no more of money than if it growed in his plantation--he almost throwed it away for the people to scramble after. that very day, when the muster was over, he called all the boys up to eben garratt's tavern, and told old eben to set the right stuff afloat, and put the whole score down to him. maybe old eben didn't take him at his word. eben was a cunning chap, quite yankee-like, and would skin his shadow for a saddle-back, i reckon, if he could catch it. i tell you what, when the crop went to town, the old 'squire must have had a mighty smart chance to pay; for, whatever people might say of old eben, he knew how to calculate from your pocket into his with monstrous sartainty. well, as i was saying, 'squire, i shouldn't be afraid to go you a a little bet that old ralph colleton is some kin of your'n. you're both of the same stock, i reckon." "you are right in your conjecture," replied the youth; "the person of whom you speak was indeed a near relative of mine--he was no other than my father." "there, now--i could have said as much, for you look for all the world as if you had come out of his own mouth. there is a trick of the eye which i never saw in any but you two; and even if you had not told me your name, i should have made pretty much the same calculation about you. the old 'squire, if i rightly recollect, was something stiff in his way, and some people did say he was proud, and carried himself rather high; but, for my part, i never saw any difference 'twixt him and most of our carolina gentlemen, who, you know, generally walk pretty high in the collar, and have no two ways about them. for that matter, however, i couldn't well judge then; i may have been something too young to say, for certain, what was what, at that time of my life." "you are not even now so far advanced in years, mr. forrester, that you speak of your youth as of a season so very remote. what, i pray, may be your age? we may ask, without offence, such a question of men: the case where the other sex is concerned is, you are aware, something different." the youth seemed studiously desirous of changing the direction of the dialogue. "man or woman, i see, for my part, no harm in the question. but do call me forrester, or mark forrester, whichever pleases you best, and not mister, as you just now called me. i go by no other name. mister is a great word, and moves people quite too far off from one another. i never have any concern with a man that i have to mister and sir. i call them 'squire because that's a title the law gives them; and when i speak to you, i say 'squire, or master colleton. you may be a 'squire yourself, but whether you are or are not, it makes no difference, for you get the name from your father, who is. then, ag'in, i call you master--because, you see, you are but a youth, and have a long run to overtake my years, few as you may think them. besides, master is a friendly word, and comes easy to the tongue. i never, for my part, could see the sense in mister, except when people go out to fight, when it's necessary to do everything a little the politest; and, then, it smells of long shot and cold business, 'squire. 'tisn't, to my mind, a good word among friends." the youth smiled slightly at the distinction drawn with such nicety by his companion, between words which he had hitherto been taught to conceive synonymous, or nearly so; and the reasons, such as they were, by which the woodman sustained his free use of the one to the utter rejection of the other. he did not think it important, however, to make up an issue on the point, though dissenting from the logic of his companion; and contented himself simply with a repetition of the question in which it had originated. "why, i take shame to answer you rightly, 'squire, seeing i am no wiser and no better than i am; but the whole secret of the matter lies in the handle of this little hatchet, and this i made out of a live-oak sapling some sixteen years ago--it's much less worn than i, yet i am twice its age, i reckon." "you are now then about thirty-two?" "ay, just thirty-two. it don't take much calculating to make out that. my own schooling, though little enough for a large man, is more than enough to keep me from wanting help at such easy arithmetic." with the exception of an occasional and desultory remark or two, the conversation had reached a close. the gravity--the almost haughty melancholy which, at intervals, appeared the prevailing characteristic of the manners and countenance of the youth, served greatly to discourage even the blunt freedom of mark forrester, who seemed piqued at length by the unsatisfactory issue of all his endeavors to enlist the familiarity and confidence of his companion. this ralph soon discovered. he had good sense and feeling enough to perceive the necessity of some alteration in his habit, if he desired a better understanding with one whose attendance, at the present time, was not only unavoidable but indispensable--one who might be of use, and who was not only willing and well-intentioned, but to all appearance honest and harmless, and to whom he was already so largely indebted. with an effort, therefore, not so much of mind as of mood, he broke the ice which his own indifference had suffered to close, and by giving a legitimate excuse for the garrulity of his companion, unlocked once more the treasurehouse of his good-humor and volubility. from the dialogue thus recommenced, we are enabled to take a farther glance into the history of forrester's early life. he was, as he phrased it, from "old so. ca." pronouncing the name of the state in the abridged form of its written contraction. in one of the lower districts he still held, in fee, a small but inefficient patrimony; the profits of which were put to the use of a young sister. times, however, had grown hard, and with the impatience and restlessness so peculiar to nearly all classes of the people of that state, mark set out in pursuit of his fortune among strangers. he loved from his childhood all hardy enterprises; all employments calculated to keep his spirit from slumbering in irksome quiet in his breast. he had no relish for the labors of the plough, and looked upon the occupation of his forefathers as by no means fitted for the spirit which, with little besides, they had left him. the warmth, excitability, and restlessness which were his prevailing features of temper, could not bear the slow process of tilling, and cultivating the earth--watching the growth and generations of pigs and potatoes, and listening to that favorite music with the staid and regular farmer, the shooting of the corn in the still nights, as it swells with a respiring movement, distending the contracted sheaves which enclose it. in addition to this antipathy to the pursuits of his ancestors, mark had a decided desire, a restless ambition, prompting him to see, and seek, and mingle with the world. he was fond, as our readers may have observed already, of his own eloquence, and having worn out the patience and forfeited the attention of all auditors at home, he was compelled, in order to the due appreciation of his faculties, to seek for others less experienced abroad. like wiser and greater men, he, too, had been won away, by the desire of rule and reference, from the humble quiet of his native fireside; and if, in after life, he did not bitterly repent of the folly, it was because of that light-hearted and sanguine temperament which never deserted him quite, and supported him in all events and through every vicissitude. he had wandered much after leaving his parental home, and was now engaged in an occupation and pursuit which our future pages must develop. having narrated, in his desultory way to his companion, the facts which we have condensed, he conceived himself entitled to some share of that confidence of which he had himself exhibited so fair an example; and the cross-examination which followed did not vary very materially from that to which most wayfarers in this region are subjected, and of which, on more than one occasion, they have been heard so vociferously to complain. "well, master ralph--unless my eyes greatly miscalculate, you cannot be more than nineteen or twenty at the most; and if one may be so bold, what is it that brings one of your youth and connections abroad into this wilderness, among wild men and wild beasts, and we gold-hunters, whom men do say are very little, if any, better than them?" "why, as respects your first conjecture, forrester," returned the youth, "you are by no means out of the way. i am not much over twenty, and am free to confess, do not care to be held much older. touching your further inquiry, not to seem churlish, but rather to speak frankly and in a like spirit with yourself, i am not desirous to repeat to others the story that has been, perhaps, but learned in part by myself. i do not exactly believe that it would promote my plans to submit my affairs to the examination of other people; nor do i think that any person whomsoever would be very much benefited by the knowledge. you seem to have forgotten, however, that i have already said that i am journeying to tennessee." "left carolina for good and all, heh?" "yes--perhaps for ever. but we will not talk of it." "well, you're in a wild world now, 'squire." "this is no strange region to me, though i have lost my way in it. i have passed a season in the county of gwinnett and the neighborhood, with my uncle's family, when something younger, and have passed, twice, journeying between carolina and tennessee, at no great distance from this very spot. but your service to me, and your carolina birth, deserves that i should be more free in my disclosures; and to account for the sullenness of my temper, which you may regard as something inconsistent with our relationship, let me say, that whatever my prospects might have been, and whatever my history may be, i am at this moment altogether indifferent as to the course which i shall pursue. it matters not very greatly to me whether i take up my abode among the neighboring cherokees, or, farther on, along with them, pursue my fortunes upon the shores of the red river or the missouri. i have become, during the last few days of my life, rather reckless of human circumstance, and, perhaps, more criminally indifferent to the necessities of my nature, and my responsibilities to society and myself, than might well beseem one so youthful, and, as you say, with prospects like those which you conjecture, and not erroneously, to have been mine. all i can say is, that, when i lost my way last evening, my first feeling was one of a melancholy satisfaction; for it seemed to me that destiny itself had determined to contribute towards my aim and desire, and to forward me freely in the erratic progress, which, in a gloomy mood, i had most desperately and, perhaps, childishly undertaken." there was a stern melancholy in the deep and low utterance--the close compression of lip--the steady, calm eye of the youth, that somewhat tended to confirm the almost savage sentiment of despairing indifference to life, which his sentiments conveyed; and had the effect of eliciting a larger degree of respectful consideration from the somewhat uncouth but really well-meaning and kind companion who stood beside him. forrester had good sense enough to perceive that ralph had been gently nurtured and deferentially treated--that his pride or vanity, or perhaps some nobler emotion, had suffered slight or rebuke; and that it was more than probable this emotion would, before long, give place to others, if not of a more manly and spirited, at least of a more subdued and reasonable character. accordingly, without appearing to attach any importance to, or even to perceive the melancholy defiance contained in the speech of the young man, he confined himself entirely to a passing comment upon the facility with which, having his eyes open, and the bright sunshine and green trees for his guides, he had suffered himself to lose his way--an incident excessively ludicrous in the contemplation of one, who, in his own words, could take the tree with the 'possum, the scent with the hound, the swamp with the deer, and be in at the death with all of them--for whom the woods had no labyrinth and the night no mystery. he laughed heartily at the simplicity of the youth, and entered into many details, not so tedious as long, of the various hairbreadth escapes, narrow chances, and curious enterprises of his own initiation into the secrets of wood-craft, and to the trials and perils of which, in his own probation, his experience had necessarily subjected him. at length he concluded his narrative by seizing upon one portion of ralph's language with an adroitness and ingenuity that might have done credit to an older diplomatist; and went on to invite the latter to quarter upon himself for a few weeks at least. "and now master colleton, as you are rambling, as you say, indifferent quite as to what quarter you turn the head of your creature--suppose now you take up lodgings with me. i have, besides this room, which i only keep for my use of a saturday and sunday when i come to the village--a snug place a few miles off, and there's room enough, and provisions enough, if you'll only stop a while and take what's going. plenty of hog and hominy at all times, and we don't want for other and better things, if we please. come, stay with me for a month, or more, if you choose, and when you think to go, i can put you on your road at an hour's warning. in the meantime, i can show you all that's to be seen. i can show you where the gold grows, and may be had for the gathering. we've snug quarters for the woods, plenty of venison; and, as you must be a good shot coming from carolina, you may bring down at day-dawn of a morning a sluggish wild turkey, so fat that he will split open the moment he strikes the ground. don't fight shy, now, 'squire, and we'll have sport just so long as you choose to stay with us." the free and hearty manner of the woodman, who, as he concluded his invitation, grasped the hand of the youth warmly in his own, spoke quite as earnestly as his language; and ralph, in part, fell readily into a proposal which promised something in the way of diversion. he gave forrester to understand that he would probably divide his time for a few days between the tavern and his lodge, which he proposed to visit whenever he felt himself perfectly able to manage his steed. he signified his acknowledgment of the kindness of his companion with something less of hauteur than had hitherto characterized him; and, remembering that, on the subject of the assault made upon him, forrester had said little, and that too wandering to be considered, he again brought the matter up to his consideration, and endeavored to find a clue to the persons of the outlaws, whom he endeavored to describe. on this point, however, he procured but little satisfaction. the description which he gave of the individual assailant whom alone he had been enabled to distinguish, though still evidently under certain disguises, was not sufficient to permit of forrester's identification. the woodman was at a loss, though evidently satisfied that the parties were not unknown to him in some other character. as for the pony club, he gave its history, confirming that already related by the outlaw himself; and while avowing his own personal fearlessness on the subject, did not withhold his opinion that the members were not to be trifled with:-- "and, a word in your ear, 'squire--one half of the people you meet with in this quarter know a leetle more of this same pony club than is altogether becoming in honest men. so mind that you look about you, right and left, with a sharp eye, and be ready to let drive with a quick hand. keep your tongue still, at the same time that you keep your eyes open, for there's no knowing what devil's a listening when a poor weak sinner talks. the danger's not in the open daylight, but in the dark. there's none of them that will be apt to square off agin you while you're here; for they knew that, though we've got a mighty mixed nest, there's some honest birds in it. there's a few of us here, always ready to see that a man has fair play, and that's a sort of game that a scamp never likes to take a hand in. there's quite enough of us, when a scalp's in danger, who can fling a knife and use a trigger with the best, and who won't wait to be asked twice to a supper of cold steel. only you keep cool, and wide awake, and you'll have friends enough always within a single whoop. but, good night now. i must go and look after our horses. i'll see you soon--i reckon a leetle sooner than you care to see me." ralph colleton good humoredly assured him that could not the case, and with friendly gripe of the hand, they parted. chapter ix. more of the dramatis personÆ. in a few days, so much for the proper nursing of mark forrester, and of the _soi-disant medico_ of the village, ralph colleton was able to make his appearance below, and take his place among the _habitués_ of the hotel. his wound, slight at first, was fortunate in simple treatment and in his own excellent constitution. his bruises gave him infinitely more concern, and brought him more frequent remembrances of the adventure in which they were acquired. a stout frame and an eager spirit, impatient of restraint, soon enabled our young traveller to conquer much of the pain and inconvenience which his hurts gave him, proving how much the good condition of the physical man depends upon the will. he lifted himself about in five days as erectly as if nothing had occurred, and was just as ready for supper, as if he had never once known the loss of appetite. still he was tolerably prudent and did not task nature too unreasonably. his exercises were duly moderated, so as not to irritate anew his injuries. forrester was a rigid disciplinarian, and it was only on the fifth day after his arrival, and after repeated entreaties of his patient, in all of which he showed himself sufficiently _impatient_, that the honest woodman permitted him to descend to the dinner-table of the inn, in compliance with the clamorous warning of the huge bell which stood at the entrance. the company at the dinner-table was somewhat less numerous than that assembled in the great hall at the trial of the pedler. many of the persons then present were not residents, but visiters in the village from the neighboring country. they had congregated there, as was usually the case, on each saturday of the week, with the view not less to the procuring of their necessaries, than the enjoyment of good company. having attended in the first place to the ostensible objects of their visit, the village tavern, in the usual phrase, "brought them up;" and in social, yet wild carousal, they commonly spent the residue of the day. it was in this way that they met their acquaintance--found society, and obtained the news; objects of primary importance, at all times, with a people whose insulated positions, removed from the busy mart and the stirring crowd, left them no alternative but to do this or rust altogether. the regular lodgers of the tavern were not numerous therefore, and consisted in the main of those laborers in the diggings who had not yet acquired the means of establishing households of their own. there was little form or ceremony in the proceedings of the repast. colleton was introduced by a few words from the landlord to the landlady, mrs. dorothy munro, and to a young girl, her niece, who sat beside her. it does not need that we say much in regard to the former--she interferes with no heart in our story; but lucy, the niece, may not be overlooked so casually. she has not only attractions in herself which claim our notice, but occupies no minor interest in the story we propose to narrate. her figure was finely formed, slight and delicate, but neither diminutive nor feeble--of fair proportion symmetry, and an ease and grace of carriage and manner belonging to a far more refined social organization than that in which we find her. but this is easily accounted for; and the progress of our tale will save us the trouble of dwelling farther upon it now. her skin, though slightly tinged by the sun, was beautifully smooth and fair. her features might not be held regular; perhaps not exactly such as in a critical examination we should call or consider handsome; but they were attractive nevertheless, strongly marked, and well defined. her eyes were darkly blue; not languishingly so, but on the contrary rather lively and intelligent in their accustomed expression. her mouth, exquisitely chiselled, and colored by the deepest blushes of the rose, had a seductive persuasiveness about it that might readily win one's own to some unconscious liberties; while the natural position of the lips, leaving them slightly parted, gave to the mouth an added attraction in the double range which was displayed beneath of pearl-like and well-formed teeth; her hair was unconfined, but short; and rendered the expression of her features more youthful and girl-like than might have been the result of its formal arrangement--it was beautifully glossy, and of a dark brown color. her demeanor was that of maidenly reserve, and a ladylike dignity, a quiet serenity, approaching--at periods, when any remark calculated to infringe in the slightest degree upon those precincts with which feminine delicacy and form have guarded its possessor--a stern severity of glance, approving her a creature taught in the true school of propriety, and chastened with a spirit that slept not on a watch, always of perilous exposure in one so young and of her sex. on more than one occasion did ralph, in the course of the dinner, remark the indignant fire flashing from her intelligent eye, when the rude speech of some untaught boor assailed a sense finely-wrought to appreciate the proper boundaries to the always adventurous footstep of unbridled licentiousness. the youth felt assured, from these occasional glimpses, that her education had been derived from a different influence, and that her spirit deeply felt and deplored the humiliation of her present condition and abode. the dinner-table, to which we now come, and which two or three negroes have been busily employed in cumbering with well-filled plates and dishes, was most plentifully furnished; though but few of its contents could properly be classed under the head of delicacies. there were eggs and ham, hot biscuits, hommony, milk, marmalade, venison, _johnny_, or journey cakes, and dried fruits stewed. these, with the preparatory soup, formed the chief components of the repast. everything was served up in a style of neatness and cleanliness, that, after all, was perhaps the best of all possible recommendations to the feast; and ralph soon found himself quite as busily employed as was consistent with prudence, in the destruction and overthrow of the tower of biscuits, the pile of eggs, and such other of the edibles around him as were least likely to prove injurious to his debilitated system. the table was not large, and the seats were soon occupied. villager after villager had made his appearance and taken his place without calling for observation; and, indeed, so busily were all employed, that he who should have made his _entrée_ at such a time with an emphasis commanding notice, might, not without reason, have been set down as truly and indefensibly impertinent. so might one have thought, not employed in like manner, and simply surveying the prospect. forrester alone contrived to be less selfish than those about him, and our hero found his attentions at times rather troublesome. whatever in the estimation of the woodman seemed attractive, he studiously thrust into the youth's plate, pressing him to eat. chancing, at one of these periods of polite provision on the part of his friend, to direct his glance to the opposite extreme of the table, he was struck with the appearance of a man whose eyes were fixed upon himself with an expression which he could not comprehend and did not relish. the look of this man was naturally of a sinister kind, but now his eyes wore a malignant aspect, which not only aroused the youth's indignant retort through the same medium, but struck him as indicating a feeling of hatred to himself of a most singular character. meeting the look of the youth, the stranger rose hurriedly and left the table, but still lingered in the apartment. ralph was struck with his features, which it appeared to him he had seen before, but as the person wore around his cheeks, encompassing his head, a thick handkerchief, it was impossible for him to decide well upon them. he turned to forrester, who was busily intent upon the dissection of a chicken, and in a low tone inquired the name of the stranger. the woodman looked up and replied-- "who that?--that's guy rivers; though what he's got his head tied up for, i can't say. i'll ask him;" and with the word, he did so. in answer to the question, rivers explained his bandaging by charging his jaws to have caught cold rather against his will, and to have swelled somewhat in consequence. while making this reply, ralph again caught his glance, still curiously fixed upon himself, with an expression which again provoked his surprise, and occasioned a gathering sternness in the look of fiery indignation which he sent back in return. rivers, immediately after this by-play, left the apartment. the eye of ralph changing its direction, beheld that of the young maiden observing him closely, with an expression of countenance so anxious, that he felt persuaded she must have beheld the mute intercourse, if so we may call it, between himself and the person whose conduct had so ruffled him. the color had fled from her cheek, and there was something of warning in her gaze. the polish and propriety which had distinguished her manners so far as he had seen, were so different from anything that he had been led to expect, and reminded him so strongly of another region, that, rising from the table, he approached the place where she sat, took a chair beside her, and with a gentleness and ease, the due result of his own education and of the world he had lived in, commenced a conversation with her, and was pleased to find himself encountered by a modest freedom of opinion, a grace of thought, and a general intelligence, which promised him better company than he had looked for. the villagers had now left the apartment, all but forrester; who, following ralph's example, took up a seat beside him, and sat a pleased listener to a dialogue, in which the intellectual charm was strong enough, except at very occasional periods, to prevent him from contributing much. the old lady sat silently by. she was a trembling, timid body, thin, pale, and emaciated, who appeared to have suffered much, and certainly stood in as much awe of the man whose name she bore as it was well fitting in such a relationship to permit. she said as little as forrester, but seemed equally well pleased with the attentions and the conversation of the youth. "find you not this place lonesome, miss munro? you have been used, or i mistake much, to a more cheering, a more civilized region." "i have, sir; and sometimes i repine--not so much at the world i live in, as for the world i have lost. had i those about me with whom my earlier years were passed, the lonely situation would trouble me slightly." she uttered these words with a sorrowful voice, and the moisture gathering in her eyes, gave them additional brightness. the youth, after some commonplace remark upon the vast difference between moral and physical privations, went on-- "perhaps, miss munro, with a true knowledge of all the conditions of life, there may be thought little philosophy in the tears we shed at such privations. the fortune that is unavoidable, however, i have always found the more deplorable for that very reason. i shall have to watch well, that i too be not surprised with regrets of a like nature with your own, since i find myself constantly recurring, in thought, to a world which perhaps i shall have little more to do with." rising from her seat, and leaving the room as she spoke, with a smile of studied gayety upon her countenance, full also of earnestness and a significance of manner that awakened surprise in the person addressed, the maiden replied-- "let me suggest, sir, that you observe well the world you are in; and do not forget, in recurring to that which you leave, that, while deploring the loss of friends in the one, you may be unconscious of the enemies which surround you in the other. perhaps, sir, you will find my philosophy in this particular the most useful, if not the most agreeable." wondering at her language, which, though of general remark, and fairly deducible from the conversation, he could not avoid referring to some peculiar origin, the youth rose, and bowed with respectful courtesy as she retired. his eye followed her form for an instant, while his meditations momentarily wrapped themselves up more and more in inextricable mysteries, from which his utmost ingenuity of thought failed entirely to disentangle him. in a maze of conjecture he passed from the room into the passage adjoining, and, taking advantage of its long range promenaded with steps, and in a spirit, equally moody and uncertain. in a little time he was joined by forrester, who seemed solicitous to divert his mind and relieve his melancholy, by describing the country round, the pursuits, characters, and conditions of the people--the habits of the miners, and the productiveness of their employ, in a manner inartificial and modest, and sometimes highly entertaining. while engaged in this way, the eye of ralph caught the look of rivers, again fixed upon him from the doorway leading into the great hall; and without a moment's hesitation, with impetuous step, he advanced towards him, determined on some explanation of that curious interest which had become offensive; but when he approached him with this object the latter hastily left the passage. taking forrester's arm, ralph also left the house, in the hope to encounter this troublesome person again. but failing in this, they proceeded to examine the village, or such portions of it as might be surveyed without too much fatigue to the wounded man--whose hurts, though superficial, might by imprudence become troublesome. they rambled till the sun went down, and at length returned to the tavern. this building, as we have elsewhere said, was of the very humblest description, calculated, it would seem, rather for a temporary and occasional than a lasting shelter. its architecture, compared with that even of the surrounding log-houses of the country generally, was excessively rude; its parts were out of all proportion, fitted seemingly by an eye the most indifferent, and certainly without any, the most distant regard, to square and compass. it consisted of two stories, the upper being assigned to the sleeping apartments. each floor contained four rooms, accessible all, independently of one another, by entrances from a great passage, running both above and below, through the centre of the structure. in addition to the main building, a shed in the rear of the main work afforded four other apartments, rather more closely constructed, and in somewhat better finish than the rest of the structure: these were in the occupation of the family exclusively. the logs, in this work, were barbarously uneven, and hewn only to a degree barely sufficient to permit of a tolerable level when placed one upon the other. morticed together at the ends, so very loosely had the work been done, that a timid observer, and one not accustomed to the survey of such fabrics, might entertain many misgivings of its security during one of those severe hurricanes which, in some seasons of the year, so dreadfully desolate the southern and southwestern country. chimneys of clay and stone intermixed, of the rudest fashion, projected from the two ends of the building, threatening, with the toppling aspect which they wore, the careless wayfarer, and leaving it something more than doubtful whether the oblique and outward direction which they took, was not the result of a wise precaution against a degree of contiguity with the fabric they were meant to warm, which, from the liberal fires of the pine woods, might have proved unfavorable to the protracted existence of either. the interior of the building aptly accorded with its outline. it was uncoiled, and the winds were only excluded from access through the interstices between the remotely-allied logs, by the free use of the soft clay easily attainable in all that range of country. the light on each side of the building was received through a few small windows, one of which only was allotted to each apartment, and this was generally found to possess as many modes of fastening as the jail opposite--a precaution referable to the great dread of the indian outrages, and which their near neighborhood and irresponsible and vicious habits were well calculated to inspire. the furniture of the hotel amply accorded with all its other features. a single large and two small tables; a few old oaken chairs, of domestic manufacture, with bottoms made of ox or deer skin, tightly drawn over the seat, and either tied below with small cords or tacked upon the sides; a broken mirror, that stood ostentatiously over the mantel, surmounted in turn by a well-smoked picture of the washington family in a tarnished gilt frame--asserting the americanism of the proprietor and place--completed the contents of the great hall, and were a fair specimen of what might be found in all the other apartments. the tavern itself, in reference to the obvious pursuit of many of those who made it their home, was entitled "the golden egg"--a title made sufficiently notorious to the spectator, from a huge signboard, elevated some eight or ten feet above the building itself, bearing upon a light-blue ground a monstrous egg of the deepest yellow, the effect of which was duly heightened by a strong and thick shading of sable all round it--the artist, in this way, calculating no doubt to afford the object so encircled its legitimate relief. lest, however, his design in the painting itself should be at all questionable, he had taken the wise precaution of showing what was meant by printing the words "golden egg" in huge roman letters, beneath it; these, in turn, being placed above another inscription, promising "entertainment for man and horse." but the night had now closed in, and coffee was in progress. ralph took his seat with the rest of the lodgers, though without partaking of the feast. rivers did not make his appearance, much to the chagrin of the youth, who was excessively desirous to account for the curious observance of this man. he had some notion, besides, that the former was not utterly unknown to him; for, though unable to identify him with any one recollection, his features (what could be seen of them) were certainly not unfamiliar. after supper, requesting forrester's company in his chamber, he left the company--not, however, without a few moments' chat with lucy munro and her aunt, conducted with some spirit by the former, and seemingly to the satisfaction of all. as they left the room, ralph spoke:-- "i am not now disposed for sleep, forrester, and, if you please, i should be glad to hear further about your village and the country at large. something, too, i would like to know of this man rivers, whose face strikes me as one that i should know, and whose eyes have been haunting me to-day rather more frequently than i altogether like, or shall be willing to submit to. give me an hour, then, if not fatigued, in my chamber, and we will talk over these matters together." "well, 'squire, that's just what pleases me now. i like good company, and 'twill be more satisfaction to me, i reckon, than to you. as for fatigue, that's out of the question. somehow or other, i never feel fatigued when i've got somebody to talk to." "with such a disposition, i wonder, forrester, you have not been more intimate with the young lady of the house. miss lucy seems quite an intelligent girl, well-behaved, and virtuous." "why, 'squire, she is all that; but, though modest and not proud, as you may see, yet she's a little above my mark. she is book-learned, and i am not; and she paints, and is a musician too and has all the accomplishments. she was an only child, and her father was quite another sort of person from his brother who now has her in management." "she is an orphan, then?" "yes, poor girl, and she feels pretty clearly that this isn't the sort of country in which she has a right to live. i like her very well, but, as i say, she's a little above me; and, besides, you must know, 'squire, i'm rather fixed in another quarter." they had now reached the chamber of our hero, and the servant having placed the light and retired, the parties took seats, and the conversation recommenced. "i know not how it is, forrester," said the youth, "but there are few men whose looks i so little like, and whom i would more willingly avoid, than that man rivers. what he is i know not--but i suspect him of mischief. i may be doing wrong to the man, and injustice to his character; but, really, his eye strikes me as singularly malicious, almost murderous; and though not apt to shrink from men at any time, it provoked something of a shudder to-day when it met my own. he may be, and perhaps you may be able to say, whether he is a worthy person or not; for my part, i should only regard him as one to be watched jealously and carefully avoided. there is something creepingly malignant in the look which shoots out from his glance, like that of the rattlesnake, when coiled and partially concealed in the brake. when i looked upon his eye, as it somewhat impertinently singled me out for observation, i almost felt disposed to lift my heel as if the venomous reptile were crawling under it." "you are not the only one, 'squire, that's afraid of guy rivers." "afraid of him! you mistake me, forrester; i fear no man," replied the youth, somewhat hastily interrupting the woodman. "i am not apt to fear, and certainly have no such feeling in regard to this person. i distrust, and would avoid him, merely as one who, while possessing none of the beauty, may yet have many of the propensities and some of the poison of the snake to which i likened him." "well, 'squire, i didn't use the right word, that's certain, when i said afraid, you see; because 'tan't in carolina and georgia, and hereabouts, that men are apt to get frightened at trifles. but, as you say, guy rivers is not the right kind of man, and everybody here knows it, and keeps clear of him. none cares to say much to him, except when it's a matter of necessity, and then they say as little as may be. nobody knows much about him--he is here to-day and gone to-morrow--and we never see much of him except when there's some mischief afoot. he is thick with munro, and they keep together at all times, i believe. he has money, and knows how to spend it. where he gets it is quite another thing." "what can be the source of the intimacy between himself and munro? is he interested in the hotel?" "why, i can't say for that, but i think not. the fact is, the tavern is nothing to munro; he don't care a straw about it, and some among us do whisper that he only keeps it a-going as a kind of cover for other practices. there's no doubt that they drive some trade together, though what it is i can't say, and never gave myself much trouble to inquire. i can tell you what, though, there's no doubt on my mind that he's trying to get miss lucy--they say he's fond of her--but i know for myself she hates and despises him, and don't stop to let him see it." "she will not have him, then, you think?" "i know she won't if she can help it. but, poor girl, what can she do? she's at the mercy, as you may see, of munro, who is her father's brother; and he don't care a straw for her likes or dislikes. if he says the word, i reckon she can have nothing to say which will help her out of the difficulty. i'm sure he won't regard prayers, or tears, or any of her objections." "it's a sad misfortune to be forced into connection with one in whom we may not confide--whom we can have no sympathy with--whom we can not love!" "'tis so,'squire; and that's just her case, and she hates to see the very face of him, and avoids him whenever she can do so without giving offence to her uncle, who, they say, has threatened her bitterly about the scornful treatment which she shows him. it's a wonder to me how any person, man or woman, can do otherwise than despise the fellow; for, look you, 'squire, over and above his sulky, sour looks, and his haughty conduct, would you believe it, he won't drink himself, yet he's always for getting other people drunk. but that's not all: he's a quarrelsome, spiteful, sore-headed chap, that won't do as other people. he never laughs heartily like a man, but always in a half-sniffling sort of manner that actually makes me sick at my stomach. then, he never plays and makes merry along with us, and, if he does, harm is always sure, somehow or other, to come of it. when other people dance and frolic, he stands apart, with scorn in his face, and his black brows gathering clouds in such a way, that he would put a stop to all sport if people were only fools enough to mind him. for my part, i take care to have just as little to say to him as possible, and he to me, indeed; for he knows me just as well as i know him: and he knows, too, that if he only dared to crook his finger, i'm just the man that would mount him on the spot." ralph could not exactly comprehend the force of some of the objections urged by his companion to the character of rivers: those, in particular, which described his aversion to the sports common to the people, only indicated a severer temper of mind and habit, and, though rather in bad taste, were certainly not criminal. still there was enough to confirm his own hastily-formed suspicions of this person, and to determine him more fully upon a circumspect habit while in his neighborhood. he saw that his dislike and doubt were fully partaken of by those who, from circumstance and not choice, were his associates; and felt satisfied--though, as we have seen, without the knowledge of any one particular which might afford a reasonable warranty for his antipathy--that a feeling so general as forrester described it could not be altogether without foundation. he felt assured, by an innate prediction of his own spirit, unuttered to his companion, that, at some period, he should find his anticipations of this man's guilt fully realized; though, at that moment, he did not dream that he himself, in becoming his victim, should furnish to his own mind an almost irrefutable argument in support of that incoherent notion of relative sympathies and antipathies to which he had already, seemingly, given himself up. the dialogue, now diverted to other topics, was not much longer protracted. the hour grew late, and the shutting up of the house, and the retiring of the family below, warned forrester of the propriety of making his own retreat to the little cabin in which he lodged. he shook ralph's hand warmly, and, promising to see him at an early hour of the morning, took his departure. a degree of intimacy, rather inconsistent with our youth's wonted haughtiness of habit, had sprung up between himself and the woodman--the result, doubtless, on the part of the former, of the loneliness and to him novel character of his situation. he was cheerless and melancholy, and the association of a warm, well-meaning spirit had something consolatory in it. he thought too, and correctly, that, in the mind and character of forrester, he discovered a large degree of sturdy, manly simplicity, and a genuine honesty--colored deeply with prejudices and without much polish, it is true, but highly susceptible of improvement, and by no means stubborn or unreasonable in their retention. he could not but esteem the possessor of such characteristics, particularly when shown in such broad contrast with those of his associates; and, without any other assurance of their possession by forrester than the sympathies already referred to, he was not unwilling to recognise their existence in his person. that he came from the same part of the world with himself may also have had its effect--the more particularly, indeed, as the pride of birthplace was evidently a consideration with the woodman, and the praises of carolina were rung, along with his own, in every variety of change through almost all his speeches. the youth sat musing for some time after the departure of forrester. he was evidently employed in chewing the cud of sweet and bitter thought, and referring to memories deeply imbued with the closely-associated taste of both these extremes. after a while, the weakness of heart got seemingly the mastery, long battled with; and tearing open his vest, he displayed the massive gold chain circling his bosom in repeated folds, upon which hung the small locket containing edith's and his own miniature. looking over his shoulder, as he gazed upon it, we are enabled to see the fair features of that sweet young girl, just entering her womanhood--her rich, brown, streaming hair, the cheek delicately pale, yet enlivened with a southern fire, that seems not improperly borrowed from the warm eyes that glisten above it. the ringlets gather in amorous clusters upon her shoulder, and half obscure a neck and bosom of the purest and most polished ivory. the artist had caught from his subject something of inspiration, and the rounded bust seemed to heave before the sight, as if impregnated with the subtlest and sweetest life. the youth carried the semblance to his lips, and muttered words of love and reproach so strangely intermingled and in unison, that, could she have heard to whom they were seemingly addressed, it might have been difficult to have determined the difference of signification between them. gazing upon it long, and in silence, a large but solitary tear gathered in his eye, and finally finding its way through his fingers, rested upon the lovely features that appeared never heretofore to have been conscious of a cloud. as if there had been something of impiety and pollution in this blot upon so fair an outline, he hastily brushed the tear away; then pressing the features again to his lips, he hurried the jewelled token again into his bosom, and prepared himself for those slumbers upon which we forbear longer to intrude. chapter x. the black dog. while this brief scene was in progress in the chamber of ralph, another, not less full of interest to that person, was passing in the neighborhood of the village-tavern; and, as this portion of our narrative yields some light which must tend greatly to our own, and the instruction of the reader, we propose briefly to record it. it will be remembered, that, in the chapter preceding, we found the attention of the youth forcibly attracted toward one guy rivers--an attention, the result of various influences, which produced in the mind of the youth a degree of antipathy toward that person for which he himself could not, nor did we seek to account. it appears that ralph was not less the subject of consideration with the individual in question. we have seen the degree and kind of espionage which the former had felt at one time disposed to resent; and how he was defeated in his design by the sudden withdrawal of the obnoxious presence. on his departure with forrester from the gallery, rivers reappeared--his manner that of doubt and excitement; and, after hurrying for a while with uncertain steps up and down the apartment, he passed hastily into the adjoining hall, where the landlord sat smoking, drinking, and expatiating at large with his guests. whispering something in his ear, the latter rose, and the two proceeded into the adjoining copse, at a point as remote as possible from hearing, when the explanation of this mysterious caution was opened by rivers. "well, munro, we are like to have fine work with your accursed and blundering good-nature. why did you not refuse lodgings to this youngster? are you ignorant who he is? do you not know him?" "know him?--no, i know nothing about him. he seems a clever, good-looking lad, and i see no harm in him. what is it frightens you?" was the reply and inquiry of the landlord. "nothing frightens me, as you know by this time, or should know at least. but, if you know not the young fellow himself you should certainly not be at a loss to know the creature he rides; for it is not long since your heart was greatly taken with him. he is the youth we set upon at the catcheta pass, where your backwardness and my forwardness got me this badge--it has not yet ceased to bleed--the marks of which promise fairly to last me to my grave." as he spoke he raised the handkerchief which bound his cheeks, and exposed to view a deep gash, not of a serious character indeed, but which, as the speaker asserted, would most probably result in a mark which would last him his life. the exposure of the face confirms the first and unfavorable impression which we have already received from his appearance, and all that we have any occasion now to add in this respect will be simply, that, though not beyond the prime of life, there were ages of guilt, of vexed and vexatious strife, unregulated pride, without aim or elevation, a lurking malignity, and hopeless discontent--all embodied in the fiendish and fierce expression which that single glimpse developed to the spectator. he went on-- "had it been your lot to be in my place, i should not now have to tell you who he is; nor should we have had any apprehensions of his crossing our path again. but so it is. you are always the last to your place;--had you kept your appointment, we should have had no difficulty, and i should have escaped the mortification of being foiled by a mere stripling, and almost stricken to death by the heel of his horse." "and all your own fault and folly, guy. what business had you to advance upon the fellow, as you did, before everything was ready, and when we could have brought him, without any risk whatever; into the snare, from which nothing could have got him out? but no! you must be at your old tricks of the law--you must make speeches before you cut purses, as was your practice when i first knew you at gwinnett county-court; a practice which you seem not able to get over. you have got into such a trick of making fun of people, that, for the life of me, i can't be sorry that the lad has turned the tables so handsomely upon you." "you would no doubt have enjoyed the scene with far more satisfaction, had the fellow's shot taken its full effect on my skull--since, besides the failure of our object, you have such cause of merriment in what has been done. if i did go something too much ahead in the matter, it is but simple justice to say you were quite as much aback." "perhaps so, guy; but the fact is, i was right and you wrong, and the thing's beyond dispute. this lesson, though a rough one, will do you service; and a few more such will perhaps cure you of that vile trick you have of spoiling not only your own, but the sport of others, by running your head into unnecessary danger; and since this youth, who got out of the scrape so handsomely, has beat you at your own game, it may cure you of that cursed itch for tongue-trifling, upon which you so much pride yourself. 'twould have done, and it did very well at the county sessions, in getting men out of the wood; but as you have commenced a new business entirely, it's but well to leave off the old, particularly as it's now your policy to get them into it." "i shall talk as i please, munro, and see not why, and care not whether, my talk offends you or not. i parleyed with the youth only to keep him in play until your plans could be put in operation." "very good--that was all very well, guy--and had you kept to your intention, the thing would have done. but he replied smartly to your speeches, and your pride and vanity got to work. you must answer smartly and sarcastically in turn, and you see what's come of it. you forgot the knave in the wit; and the mistake was incurable. why tell him that you wanted to pick his pocket, and perhaps cut his throat?" "that was a blunder, i grant; but the fact is, i entirely mistook the man. besides, i had a reason for so doing, which it is not necessary to speak about now." "oh, ay--it wouldn't be lawyer-like, if you hadn't a reason for everything, however unreasonable," was the retort. "perhaps not, munro; but this is not the matter now. our present object must be to put this youth out of the way. we must silence suspicion, for, though we are pretty much beyond the operation of law in this region, yet now and then a sheriff's officer takes off some of the club; and, as i think it is always more pleasant to be out of the halter than in it, i am clear for making the thing certain in the only practicable way." "but, are you sure that he is the man? i should know his horse, and shall look to him, for he's a fine creature, and i should like to secure him; which i think will be the case, if you are not dreaming as usual." "i am sure--i do not mistake." "well, i'm not; and i should like to hear what it is you know him by?" a deeper and more malignant expression overspread the face of rivers, as, with a voice in which his thought vainly struggled for mastery with a vexed spirit, he replied:-- "what have i to know him by? you ask. i know him by many things--and when i told you i had my reason for talking with him as i did, i might have added that he was known to me, and fixed in my lasting memory, by wrongs and injuries before. but there is enough in this for recollection," pointing again to his cheek--"this carries with it answer sufficient. you may value a clear face slightly, having known none other than a blotted one since you have known your own, but i have a different feeling in this. he has written himself here, and the damned writing is perpetually and legibly before my eyes. he has put a brand, a cain-like, accursed brand upon my face, the language of which can not be hidden from men; and yet you ask me if i know the executioner? can i forget him? if you think so, munro, you know little of guy rivers." the violence of his manner as he spoke well accorded with the spirit of what he said. the landlord, with much coolness and precision, replied:-- "i confess i do know but little of him, and have yet much to learn. if you have so little temper in your speech, i have chosen you badly as a confederate in employments which require so much of that quality. this gash, which, when healed, will be scarcely perceptible, you speak of with all the mortification of a young girl, to whom, indeed, such would be an awful injury. how long is it, guy, since you have become so particularly solicitous of beauty, so proud of your face and features?" "you will spare your sarcasm for another season, munro, if you would not have strife. i am not now in the mood to listen to much, even from you, in the way of sneer or censure. perhaps, i am a child in this, but i can not be otherwise. besides, i discover in this youth the person of one to whom i owe much in the growth of this very hell-heart, which embitters everything about and within me. of this, at another time, you shall hear more. enough that i know this boy--that it is more than probable he knows me, and may bring us into difficulty--that i hate him, and will not rest satisfied until we are secure, and i have my revenge." "well, well, be not impatient, nor angry. although i still doubt that the youth in the house is your late opponent, you may have suffered wrong at his hands, and you may be right in your conjecture." "i am right--i do not conjecture. i do not so readily mistake my man, and i was quite too near him on that occasion not to see every feature of that face, which, at another and an earlier day, could come between me and my dearest joys--but why speak i of this? i know him: not to remember would be to forget that i am here; and that he was a part of that very influence which made me league, munro, with such as you, and become a creature of, and a companion with, men whom even now i despise. i shall not soon forget his stern and haughty smile of scorn--his proud bearing--his lofty sentiment--all that i most admire--all that i do not possess--and when to-day he descended to dinner, guided by that meddling booby, forrester, i knew him at a glance. i should know him among ten thousand." "it's to be hoped that he will have no such memory. i can't see, indeed, how he should recognise either of us. our disguises were complete. your whiskers taken off, leave you as far from any resemblance to what you were in that affair, as any two men can well be from one another; and i am perfectly satisfied he has little knowledge of me." "how should he?" retorted the other. "the better part of valor saved you from all risk of danger or discovery alike; but the case is different with me. it may be that, enjoying the happiness which i have lost, he has forgotten the now miserable object that once dared to aspire--but no matter--it may be that i am forgotten by him--he can never be by me." this speech, which had something in it vague and purposeless to the mind of munro, was uttered with gloomy emphasis, more as a soliloquy than a reply, by the speaker. his hands were passed over his eyes as if in agony, and his frame seemed to shudder at some remote recollection which had still the dark influence upon him. munro was a dull man in all matters that belong to the heart, and those impulses which characterize souls of intelligence and ambition. he observed the manner of his companion, but said nothing in relation to it; and the latter, unable to conceal altogether, or to suppress even partially his emotions, did not deign to enter into any explanation in regard to them. "does he suspect anything yet, guy, think you?--have you seen anything which might sanction a thought that he knew or conjectured more than he should?" inquired munro, anxiously. "i will not say that he does, but he has the perception of a lynx--he is an apt man, and his eyes have been more frequently upon me to-day than i altogether relish or admire. it is true, mine were upon him--as how, indeed, if death were in the look, could i have kept them off! i caught his glance frequently; turning upon me with that stern, still expression, indifferent and insolent--as if he cared not even while he surveyed. i remember that glance three years ago, when he was indeed a boy--i remembered it when, but a few days since, he struck me to the earth, and would have ridden me to death with the hoofs of his horse, but for your timely appearance." "it may be as you believe, guy; but, as i saw nothing in his manner or countenance affording ground for such a belief, i can not but conceive it to have been because of the activity of your suspicions that you discovered his. i did not perceive that he looked upon you with more curiosity than upon any other at table; though, if he had done so, i should by no means have been disposed to wonder; for at this time, and since your face has been so tightly bandaged, you have a most villanously attractive visage. it carries with it, though you do regard it with so much favor, a full and satisfactory reason for observance, without rendering necessary any reference to any more serious matter than itself. on the road, i take it, he saw quite too little of either of us to be able well to determine what was what, or who was who, either then or now. the passage was dark, our disguises good, and the long hair and monstrous whiskers which you wore did the rest. i have no apprehensions, and see not that you need have any." "i would not rest in this confidence--let us make sure that if he knows anything he shall say nothing," was the significant reply of rivers. "guy, you are too fierce and furious. when there's a necessity, do you see, for using teeth, you know me to be always ready; but i will not be for ever at this sort of work. if i were to let you have your way you'd bring the whole country down upon us. there will be time enough when we see a reason for it to tie up this young man's tongue." "i see--i see!--you are ever thus--ever risking our chance upon contingencies when you might build strongly upon certainties. you are perpetually trying the strength of the rope, when a like trouble would render it a sure hold-fast. rather than have the possibility of this thing being blabbed, i would--" "hush--hark!" said munro, placing his hand upon the arm of his companion, and drawing him deeper into the copse, at the moment that forrester, who had just left the chamber of ralph, emerged from the tavern into the open air. the outlaw had not placed himself within the shadow of the trees in time sufficient to escape the searching gaze of the woodman, who, seeing the movement and only seeing one person, leaped nimbly forward with a light footstep, speaking thus as he approached: "hello! there--who's that--the pedler, sure. have at you, bunce!" seizing as he spoke the arm of the retreating figure, who briefly and sternly addressed him as follows:-- "it is well, mr. forrester, that he you have taken in hand is almost as quiet in temper as the pedler you mistake him for else your position might prove uncomfortable. take your fingers from my arm, if you please." "oh, it's you, guy rivers--and you here too, munro, making love to one another, i reckon, for want of better stuff. well, who'd have thought to find you two squatting here in the bushes! would you believe it now, i took you for the yankee--not meaning any offence though." "as i am not the yankee, however, mr. forrester, you will i suppose, withdraw your hand," said the other, with a manner sufficiently haughty for the stomach of the person addressed. "oh, to be sure, since you wish it, and are not the pedler," returned the other, with a manner rather looking, in the country phrase, to "a squaring off for a fight"--"but you needn't be so gruff about it. you are on business, i suppose, and so i leave you." "a troublesome fool, who is disposed to be insolent," said rivers, after forrester's departure. "damn him!" was the exclamation of the latter, on leaving the copse--"i feel very much like putting my fingers on his throat; and shall do it, too, before he gets better manners!" the dialogue between the original parties was resumed. "i tell you again, munro--it is not by any means the wisest policy to reckon and guess and calculate that matters will go on smoothly, when we have it in our own power to make them certainly go on so. we must leave nothing to guess-work, and a single blow will readily teach this youth the proper way to be quiet." "why, what do you drive at, guy. what would you do--what should be done?" "beef--beef--beef! mere beef! how dull you are to-night! were you in yon gloomy and thick edifice (pointing to the prison which frowned in perspective before them), with irons on your hands, and with the prospect through its narrow-grated loopholes, of the gallows-tree, at every turning before you, it might be matter of wonder even to yourself that you should have needed any advice by which to avoid such a risk and prospect." "look you, guy--i stand in no greater danger than yourself of the prospect of which you speak. the subject is, at best, an ugly one, and i do not care to hear it spoken of by you, above all other people. if you want me to talk civilly with you, you must learn yourself to keep a civil tongue in your head. i don't seek to quarrel with anybody, but i will not submit to be threatened with the penalties of the rogue by one who is a damned sight greater rogue than myself." "you call things by their plainest names, wat, at least," said the other, with a tone moderated duly for the purpose of soothing down the bristles he had made to rise--"but you mistake me quite. i meant no threat; i only sought to show you how much we were at the mercy of a single word from a wanton and head-strong youth. i will not say confidently that he remembers me, but he had some opportunities for seeing my face, and looked into it closely enough. i can meet any fate with fearlessness, but should rather avoid it, at all risks, when it's in my power to do so." "you are too suspicious, quite, guy, even for our business. i am older than you, and have seen something more of the world: suspicion and caution are not the habit with young men like this. they are free enough, and confiding enough, and in this lies our success. it is only the old man--the experienced in human affairs, that looks out for traps and pitfalls. it is for the outlaw--for you and me--to suspect all; to look with fear even upon one another, when a common interest, and perhaps a common fate, ought to bind us together. this being our habit, arising as it must from our profession, it is natural but not reasonable to refer a like spirit to all other persons. we are wrong in this, and you are wrong in regard to this youth--not that i care to save him, for if he but looks or winks awry, i shall silence him myself, without speech or stroke from you being necessary. but i do not think he made out your features, and do not think he looked for them. he had no time for it, after the onset, and you were well enough disguised before. if he had made out anything, he would have shown it to-night; but, saving a little stiffness, which belongs to all these young men from carolina, i saw nothing in his manner that looked at all out of the way." "well, munro, you are bent on having the thing as you please. you will find, when too late, that your counsel will end in having us all in a hobble." "pshaw! you are growing old and timid since this adventure. you begin to doubt your own powers of defence. you find your arguments failing; and you fear that, when the time comes, you will not plead with your old spirit, though for the extrication of your own instead of the neck of your neighbor." "perhaps so--but, if there be no reason for apprehension, there is something due to me in the way of revenge. is the fellow to hurl me down, and trench my cheek in this manner, and escape without hurt?" the eyes of the speaker glared with a deadly fury, as he indicated in this sentence another motive for his persevering hostility to colleton--an hostility for which, as subsequent passages will show, he had even a better reason than the unpleasing wound in his face; which, nevertheless, was in itself, strange as it may appear, a considerable eyesore to its proprietor. munro evidently understood this only in part; and, unaccustomed to attribute a desire to shed blood to any other than a motive of gain or safety, and without any idea of mortified pride or passion being productive of a thirst unaccountable to his mind, except in this manner, he proceeded thus, in a sentence, the dull simplicity of which only the more provoked the ire of his companion-- "what do you think to do, guy--what recompense would you seek to have--what would satisfy you?" the hand of rivers grasped convulsively that of the questioner as he spoke, his eyes were protruded closely into his face, his voice was thick, choking and husky, and his words tremulous, as he replied, "his blood--his blood!" the landlord started back with undisguised horror from his glance. though familiar with scenes of violence and crime, and callous in their performance, there was more of the mammon than the moloch in his spirit, and he shuddered at the fiendlike look that met his own. the other proceeded:-- "the trench in my cheek is nothing to that within my soul. i tell you. munro, i hate the boy--i hate him with a hatred that must have a tiger-draught from his veins, and even then i will not be satisfied. but why talk i to you thus, when he is almost in my grasp; and there is neither let nor hinderance? sleeps he not in yon room to the northeast?" "he does, guy--but it must not be! i must not risk all for your passion, which seems to me, as weak as it is without adequate provocation. i care nothing for the youth, and you know it; but i will not run the thousand risks which your temper is for ever bringing upon me. there is nothing to be gained, and a great deal to be lost by it, at this time. as for the scar--that, i think, is fairly a part of the business, and is not properly a subject of personal revenge. it belongs to the adventure, and you should not have engaged in it, without a due reference to its possible consequences." "you shall not keep me back by such objections as these. do i not know how little you care for the risk--how little you can lose by it?" "true, i can lose little, but i have other reasons; and, however it may surprise you, those reasons spring from a desire for your good rather than my own." "for my good?" replied the other, with an inquiring sneer. "yes, for your good, or rather for lucy's. you wish to marry her. she is a sweet child, and an orphan. she merits a far better man than you; and, bound as i am to give her to you, i am deeply bound to myself and to her, to make you as worthy of her as possible, and to give her as many chances for happiness as i can." an incredulous smile played for a second upon the lips of the outlaw, succeeded quickly, however, by the savage expression, which, from being that most congenial to his feelings, had become that most habitual to his face. "i can not be deceived by words like these," was his reply, as he stepped quickly from under the boughs which had sheltered them and made toward the house. "think not to pursue this matter, guy, on your life. i will not permit it; not now, at least, if i have to strike for the youth myself." thus spoke the landlord, as he advanced in the same direction. both were deeply roused, and, though not reckless alike, munro was a man quite as decisive in character as his companion was ferocious and vindictive. what might have been the result of their present position, had it not undergone a new interruption, might not well be foreseen. the sash of one of the apartments of the building devoted to the family was suddenly thrown up, and a soft and plaintive voice, accompanying the wandering and broken strains of a guitar, rose sweetly into song upon the ear. "'tis lucy--the poor girl! stay, guy, and hear her music. she does not often sing now-a-days. she is quite melancholy, and it's a long time since i've heard her guitar. she sings and plays sweetly; her poor father had her taught everything before he failed, for he was very proud of her, as well he might be." they sunk again into the covert, the outlaw muttering sullenly at the interruption which had come between him and his purposes. the music touched him not, for he betrayed no consciousness; when, after a few brief preliminary notes on the instrument, the musician breathed forth the little ballad which follows:-- lucy's song. i. "i met thy glance of scorn, and then my anguish slept, but, when the crowd was gone, i turned away and wept. ii. "i could not bear the frown of one who thus could move, and feel that all my fault, was only too much love. iii. "i ask not if thy heart hath aught for mine in store, yet, let me love thee still, if thou canst yield no more. iv. "let me unchidden gaze, still, on the heaven i see, though all its happy rays be still denied to me." a broken line of the lay, murmured at intervals for a few minutes after the entire piece was concluded, as it were in soliloquy, indicated the sad spirit of the minstrel. she did not remain long at the window; in a little while the song ceased, and the light was withdrawn from the apartment. the musician had retired. "they say, guy, that music can quiet the most violent spirit, and it seems to have had its influence upon you. does she not sing like a mocking-bird?--is she not a sweet, a true creature? why, man! so forward and furious but now, and now so lifeless! bestir ye! the night wanes." the person addressed started from his stupor, and, as if utterly unconscious of what had been going on, _ad interim_, actually replied to the speech of his companion made a little while prior to the appearance and music of the young girl, whose presence at that moment had most probably prevented strife and, possibly, bloodshed. he spoke as if the interruption had made only a momentary break in the sentence which he now concluded:-- "he lies at the point of my knife, under my hands, within my power, without chance of escape, and i am to be held back--kept from striking--kept from my revenge--and for what? there may be little gain in the matter--it may not bring money, and there may be some risk! if it be with you, munro, to have neither love nor hate, but what you do, to do only for the profit and spoil that come of it, it is not so with me. i can both love and hate; though it be, as it has been, that i entertain the one feeling in vain, and am restrained from the enjoyment of the other." "you were born in a perverse time, and are querulous, for the sake of the noise it makes," rejoined his cool companion. "i do not desire to restrain your hands from this young man, but take your time for it. let nothing be done to him while in this house. i will run, if i can help it, no more risk for your passions; and i must confess myself anxious, if the devil will let me, of stopping right short in the old life and beginning a new one. i have been bad enough, and done enough, to keep me at my prayers all the rest of my days, were i to live on to eternity." "this new spirit, i suppose, we owe to your visit to the last camp-meeting. you will exhort, doubtless, yourself, before long, if you keep this track. why, what a prophet you will make among the crop-haired, munro! what a brand from the burning!" "look you, guy, your sarcasm pleases me quite as little as it did the young fellow, who paid it back so much better than i can. be wise, if you can, while you are wary; if your words continue to come from the same nest, they will beget something more than words, my good fellow." "true, and like enough, munro; and why do you provoke me to say them?" replied rivers, something more sedately. "you see me in a passion--you know that i have cause--for is not this cause enough--this vile scar on features, now hideous, that were once surely not unpleasing." as he spoke he dashed his fingers into the wound, which he still seemed pleased to refer to, though the reference evidently brought with it bitterness and mortification. he proceeded--his passion again rising predominant-- "shall i spare the wretch whose ministry defaced me--shall i not have revenge on him who first wrote villain here--who branded me as an accursed thing, and among things bright and beautiful gave me the badge, the blot, the heel-stamp, due the serpent? shall i not have my atonement--my sacrifice--and shall you deny me--you, walter munro, who owe it to me in justice?" "i owe it to you, guy--how?" "you taught me first to be the villain you now find me. you first took me to the haunts of your own accursed and hell-educated crew. you taught me all their arts, their contrivances, their lawlessness, and crime. you encouraged my own deformities of soul till they became monsters, and my own spirit such a monster that i no longer knew myself. you thrust the weapon into my hand, and taught me its use. you put me on the scent of blood, and bade me lap it. i will not pretend that i was not ready and pliable enough to your hands. there was, i feel, little difficulty in moulding me to your own measure. i was an apt scholar, and soon ceased to be the subordinate villain. i was your companion, and too valuable to you to be lost or left. when i acquired new views of man, and began, in another sphere, that new life to which you would now turn your own eyes--when i grew strong among men, and famous, and public opinion grow enamored with the name, which your destiny compelled me to exchange for another, you sought me out--you thrust your enticements upon me; and, in an hour of gloom, and defeat, and despondency, you seized upon me with those claws of temptation which are even now upon my shoulders, and i gave up all! i made the sacrifice--name, fame, honor, troops of friends--for what? answer _you_! you are rich--you own slaves in abundance--secure from your own fortunes, you have wealth hourly increasing. what have i? this scar, this brand, that sends me among men no longer the doubtful villain--the words are written there in full!" the speaker paused, exhausted. his face was pale and livid--his form trembled with convulsion--and his lips grew white and chalky, while quivering like a troubled water. the landlord, after a gloomy pause, replied:-- "you have spoken but the truth, guy, and anything that i can do--" "you will not do!" responded the other, passionately, and interrupting the speaker in his speech. "you will do nothing! you ruin me in the love and esteem of those whom i love and esteem--you drive me into exile--you lead me into crime, and put me upon a pursuit which teaches me practices that brand me with man's hate and fear, and--if the churchmen speak truth, which i believe not--with heaven's eternal punishment! what have i left to desire but hate--blood--the blood of man--who, in driving me away from his dwelling, has made me an unrelenting enemy--his hand everywhere against me, and mine against him! while i had this pursuit, i did not complain; but you now interpose to deny me even this. the boy whom i hate, not merely because of his species, but, in addition, with a hate incurred by himself, you protect from my vengeance, though affecting to be utterly careless of his fate--and all this you conclude with a profession of willingness to do for me whatever you can! what miserable mockery is this?" "and have i done nothing--and am i seeking to do nothing for you, guy, by way of atonement? have i not pledged to you the person of my niece, the sweet young innocent, who is not unworthy to be the wife of the purest and proudest gentleman of the southern country? is this nothing--is it nothing to sacrifice such a creature to such a creature? for well i know what must be her fate when she becomes your wife. well i know you! vindictive, jealous, merciless, wicked, and fearless in wickedness--god help me, for it will be the very worst crime i have ever yet committed! these are all your attributes, and i know the sweet child will have to suffer from the perpetual exercise of all of them." "perhaps so! and as she will then be mine, she must suffer them, if i so decree; but what avails your promise, so long as you--in this matter a child yourself--suffer her to protract and put off at her pleasure. me she receives with scorn and contempt, you with tears and entreaties; and you allow their influence; in the hope, doubtless, that some lucky chance--the pistol-shot or the hangman's collar--will rid you of my importunities. is it not so, munro?" said the ruffian, with a sneer of contemptuous bitterness. "it would be, indeed, a lucky event for both of us, guy, were you safely in the arms of your mother; though i have not delayed in this affair with any such hope. god knows i should be glad, on almost any terms, to be fairly free from your eternal croakings--never at rest, never satisfied, unless at some new deviltry and ill deed. if i did give you the first lessons in your education, guy, you have long since gone beyond your master; and i'm something disposed to think that old nick himself must have taken up your tuition, where, from want of corresponding capacity, i was compelled to leave it off." and the landlord laughed at his own humor, in despite of the hyena-glare shot forth from the eye of the savage he addressed. he continued:-- "but, guy, i'm not for letting the youth off--that's as you please. you have a grudge against him, and may settle it to your own liking and in your own way. i have nothing to say to that. but i am determined to do as little henceforth toward hanging myself as possible; and, therefore, the thing must not take place _here_. nor do i like that it should be done at all without some reason. when he blabs, there's a necessity for the thing, and self-preservation, you know, is the first law of nature. the case will then be as much mine as yours, and i'll lend a helping hand willingly." "my object, munro, is scarcely the same with yours. it goes beyond it; and, whether he knows much or little, or speaks nothing or everything, it is still the same thing to me. i must have my revenge. but, for your own safety--are you bent on running the risk?" "i am, guy, rather than spill any more blood unnecessarily. i have already shed too much, and my dreams begin to trouble me as i get older," was the grave response of the landlord. "and how, if he speaks out, and you have no chance either to stop his mouth or to run for it?" "who'll believe him, think you?--where's the proof? do you mean to confess for both of us at the first question?" "true--," said rivers, "there would be a difficulty in conviction, but his oath would put us into some trouble." "i think not; our people know nothing about him, and would scarcely lend much aid to have either of us turned upon our backs," replied munro, without hesitation. "well, be it then as you say. there is yet another subject, munro, on which i have just as little reason to be satisfied as this. how long will you permit this girl to trifle with us both? why should you care for her prayers and pleadings--her tears and entreaties? if you are determined upon the matter, as i have your pledge, these are childish and unavailing; and the delay can have no good end, unless it be that you do in fact look, as i have said, and as i sometimes think, for some chance to take me off, and relieve you of my importunities and from your pledges." "look you, guy, the child is my own twin-brother's only one, and a sweet creature it is. i must not be too hard with her; she begs time, and i must give it." "why, how much time would she have? heaven knows what she considers reasonable, or what you or i should call so; but to my mind she has had time enough, and more by far than i was willing for. you must bring her to her senses, or let me do so. to my thought, she is making fools of us both." "it is, enough, guy, that you have my promise. she shall consent, and i will hasten the matter as fast as i can; but i will not drive her, nor will i be driven myself. your love is not such a desperate affair as to burn itself out for the want of better fuel; and you can wait for the proper season. if i thought for a moment that you did or could have any regard for the child, and she could be happy or even comfortable with you, i might push the thing something harder than i do; but, as it stands, you must be patient. the fruit drops when it is ripe." "rather when the frost is on it, and the worm is in the core, and decay has progressed to rottenness! speak you in this way to the hungry boy, whose eyes have long anticipated his appetite, and he may listen to you and be patient--i neither can nor will. look to it, munro: i will not much longer submit to be imposed upon." "nor i, guy rivers. you forget yourself greatly, and entirely mistake me, when you take these airs upon you. you are feverish now, and i will not suffer myself to grow angry; but be prudent in your speech. we shall see to all this to-morrow and the next day--there is quite time enough--when we are both cooler and calmer than at present. the night is something too warm for deliberation; and it is well we say no more on the one subject till we learn the course of the other. the hour is late, and we had best retire. in the morning i shall ride to hear old parson witter, in company with the old woman and lucy. ride along with us, and we shall be able better to understand one another." as he spoke, munro emerged from the cover of the tree under which their dialogue had chiefly been carried on, and reapproached the dwelling, from which they had considerably receded. his companion lingered in the recess. "i will be there," said rivers, as they parted, "though i still propose a ride of a few miles to-night. my blood is hot, and i must quiet it with a gallop." the landlord looked incredulous as he replied--"some more deviltry: i will take a bet that the cross-roads see you in an hour." "not impossible," was the response, and the parties were both lost to sight--the one in the shelter of his dwelling, the other in the dim shadow of the trees which girdled it. chapter xi. forest preaching. at an early hour of the ensuing morning, ralph was aroused from his slumbers, which had been more than grateful from the extra degree of fatigue he had the day before undergone, by the appearance of forrester, who apologized for the somewhat unseasonable nature of his visit, by bringing tidings of a preacher and of a preaching in the neighborhood on that day. it was the sabbath--and though, generally speaking, very far from being kept holy in that region, yet, as a day of repose from labor--a holyday, in fact--it was observed, at all times, with more than religious scrupulosity. such an event among the people of this quarter was always productive of a congregation. the occurrence being unfrequent, its importance was duly and necessarily increased in the estimation of those, the remote and insulated position of whom rendered society, whenever it could be found, a leading and general attraction. no matter what the character of the auspices under which it was attained, they yearned for its associations, and gathered where they were to be enjoyed. a field-preaching, too, is a legitimate amusement; and, though not intended as such, formed a genuine excuse and apology for those who desired it less for its teaching than its talk--who sought it less for the word which it brought of god than that which it furnished from the world of man. it was a happy cover for those who, cultivating a human appetite, and conscious of a human weakness, were solicitous, in respecting and providing for these, not to offend the creator in the presence of his creatures. the woodman, as one of this class, was full of glee, and promised ralph an intellectual treat; for parson witter, the preacher in reference, had more than once, as he was pleased to acknowledge and phrase it, won his ears, and softened and delighted his heart. he was popular in the village and its neighborhood, and where regular pastor was none, he might be considered to have made the strongest impression upon his almost primitive and certainly only in part civilized hearers. his merits of mind were held of rather an elevated order, and in standard far over topping the current run of his fellow-laborers in the same vineyard; while his own example was admitted, on all hands, to keep pace evenly with the precepts which he taught, and to be not unworthy of the faith which he professed. he was of the methodist persuasion--a sect which, among those who have sojourned in our southern and western forests, may confidently claim to have done more, and with motives as little questionable as any, toward the spread of civilization, good habits, and a proper morality, with the great mass, than all other known sects put together. in a word, where men are remotely situated from one another, and can not well afford to provide for an established place of worship and a regular pastor, their labors, valued at the lowest standard of human want, are inappreciable. we may add that never did laborers more deserve, yet less frequently receive, their hire, than the preachers of this particular faith. humble in habit, moderate in desire, indefatigable in well-doing, pure in practice and intention, without pretence or ostentation of any kind, they have gone freely and fearlessly into places the most remote and perilous, with an empty scrip, but with hearts filled to overflowing with love of god and good-will to men--preaching their doctrines with a simple and an unstudied eloquence, meetly characteristic of, and well adapted to, the old groves, deep primitive forests, and rudely-barren wilds, in which it is their wont most commonly to give it utterance: day after day, week after week, and month after month, finding them wayfarers still--never slumbering, never reposing from the toil they have engaged in, until they have fallen, almost literally, into the narrow grave by the wayside; their resting-places unprotected by any other mausoleum or shelter than those trees which have witnessed their devotions; their names and worth unmarked by any inscription; their memories, however, closely treasured up and carefully noted among human affections, and within the bosoms of those for whom their labors have been taken; while their reward, with a high ambition cherished well in their lives, is found only in that better abode where they are promised a cessation from their labors, but where their good works still follow them. this, without exaggeration, applicable to the profession at large, was particularly due to the individual member in question; and among the somewhat savage and always wild people whom he exhorted, parson witter was in many cases an object of sincere affection, and in all commanded their respect. as might readily be expected, the whole village and as much of the surrounding country as could well be apprized of the affair were for the gathering; and colleton, now scarcely feeling his late injuries, an early breakfast having been discussed, mounted his horse, and, under the guidance of his quondam friend forrester, took the meandering path, or, as they phrase it in those parts, the old _trace_, to the place of meeting and prayer. the sight is something goodly, as well to the man of the world as to the man of god, to behold the fairly-decked array of people, drawn from a circuit of some ten or even fifteen miles in extent, on the sabbath, neatly dressed in their choicest apparel, men and women alike well mounted, and forming numerous processions and parties, from three to five or ten in each, bending from every direction to a given point, and assembling for the purposes of devotion. no chiming and chattering bells warn them of the day or of the duty--no regularly-constituted and well-salaried priest--no time-honored fabric, round which the old forefathers of the hamlet rest--reminding them regularly of the recurring sabbath, and the sweet assemblage of their fellows. we are to assume that the teacher is from their own impulses, and that the heart calls them with due solemnity to the festival of prayer. the preacher comes when the spirit prompts, or as circumstances may impel or permit. the news of his arrival passes from farm to farm, from house to house; placards announce it from the trees on the roadside, parallel, it may be, with an advertisement for strayed oxen, as we have seen it numberless times; and a day does not well elapse before it is in possession of everybody who might well avail themselves of its promise for the ensuing sunday. the parson comes to the house of one of his auditory a night or two before; messages and messengers are despatched to this and that neighbor, who despatch in turn to other neighbors. the negroes, delighting in a service and occasion of the kind--in which, by-the-way, they generally make the most conspicuous figures--though somewhat sluggish as couriers usually, are now not merely ready, but actually swift of foot. the place of worship and the preacher are duly designated, and, by the time appointed, as if the bell had tolled for their enlightenment, the country assembles at the stated place; and though the preacher may sometimes fail of attendance, the people never do. the spot appointed for the service of the day was an old grove of gigantic oaks, at a distance of some five or six miles from the village of chestatee. the village itself had not been chosen, though having the convenience of a building, because of the liberal desire entertained by those acting on the occasion to afford to others living at an equal distance the same opportunities without additional fatigue. the morning was a fine one, all gayety and sunshine--the road dry, elevated, and shaded luxuriantly with the overhanging foliage--the woods having the air of luxury and bloom which belonged to them at such a season, and the prospect, varied throughout by the wholesome undulations of valley and hill, which strongly marked the face of the country, greatly enlivened the ride to the eye of our young traveller. everything contributed to impart a cheering influence to his senses; and with spirits and a frame newly braced and invigorated, he felt the bounding motion of the steed beneath him with an animal exultation, which took from his countenance that look of melancholy which had hitherto clouded it. as our two friends proceeded on their way, successive and frequent groups crossed their route, or fell into it from other roads--some capriciously taking the by-paths and indian tracks through the woods, but all having the same object in view, and bending to the same point of assemblage. here gayly pranced on a small cluster of the young of both sexes, laughing with unqualified glee at the jest of some of their companions--while in the rear, the more staid, the antiques and those rapidly becoming so, with more measured gait, paced on in suite. on the road-side, striding on foot with step almost as rapid as that of the riders, came at intervals, and one after the other, the now trimly-dressed slaves of this or that plantation--all devoutly bent on the place of meeting. some of the whites carried their double-barrelled guns, some their rifles--it being deemed politic, at that time, to prepare for all contingencies, for the indian or for the buck, as well as for the more direct object of the journey. at length, in a rapidly approaching group, a bright but timid glance met that of colleton, and curbing in the impetuous animal which he rode, in a few moments he found himself side by side with miss munro, who answered his prettiest introductory compliment with a smile and speech, uttered with a natural grace, and with the spirit of a dame of chivalry. "we have a like object to-day, i presume," was, after a few complimentary sentences, the language of ralph--"yet," he continued, "i fear me, that our several impulses at this time scarcely so far resemble each other as to make it not discreditable to yours to permit of the comparison." "i know not what may be the motive which impels you, sir to the course you take; but i will not pretend to urge that, even in my own thoughts, my route is any more the result of a settled conviction of its high necessity than it may be in yours, and the confession which i shame to make, is perhaps of itself, a beginning of that very kind of self-examination which we seek the church to awaken." "alas, miss lucy, even this was not in my thought, so much are we men ignorant of or indifferent to those things which are thought of so much real importance. we seldom regard matters which are not of present enjoyment. the case is otherwise with you. there is far more truth, my own experience tells me, in the profession of your sex, whether in love or in religion, than in ours--and believe me, i mean this as no idle compliment--i feel it to be true. the fact is, society itself puts you into a sphere and condition, which, taking from you much of your individuality, makes you less exclusive in your affections, and more single in their exercise. your existence being merged in that of the stronger sex, you lose all that general selfishness which is the strict result of our pursuits. your impulses are narrowed to a single point or two, and there all your hopes, fears and desires, become concentrated. you acquire an intense susceptibility on a few subjects, by the loss of those manifold influences which belong to the out-door habit of mankind. with us, we have so many resources to fly to for relief, so many attractions to invite and seduce, so many resorts of luxury and life, that the affections become broken up in small, the heart is divided among the thousand; and, if one fragment suffers defeat or denial, why, the pang scarcely touches, and is perhaps unfelt by all the rest. you have but few aims, few hopes. with these your very existence is bound up, and if you lose these you are yourselves lost. thus i find that your sex, to a certain age, are creatures of love--disappointment invariably begets devotion--and either of these passions, for so they should be called, once brought into exercise, forbids and excludes every other." "really, mr. colleton, you seem to have looked somewhat into the philosophy of this subject, and you may be right in the inferences to which you have come. on this point i may say nothing; but, do you conceive it altogether fair in you thus to compliment us at our own expense? you give us the credit of truth, a high eulogium, i grant, in matters which relate to the the affections and the heart; but this is done by robbing us entirely of mental independence. you are a kind of generous outlaw, a moral robin hood, you compel us to give up everything we possess, in order that you may have the somewhat equivocal merit of restoring back a small portion of what you take." "true, and this, i am afraid, miss lucy, however by the admission i forfeit for my sex all reputation for chivalry, is after all the precise relationship between us. the very fact that the requisitions made by our sex produce immediate concession from yours, establishes the dependence of which you complain." "you mistake me, sir. i complain not of the robbery---far from it; for, if we do lose the possession of a commodity so valuable, we are at least freed from the responsibility of keeping it. the gentlemen, nowadays, seldom look to us for intellectual gladiatorship; they are content that our weakness should shield us from the war. but, i conceive the reproach of our poverty to come unkindly from those who make us poor. it is of this, sir, that i complain." "you are just, and justly severe, miss munro; but what else have you to expect? amazon-like, your sex, according to the quaint old story, sought the combat, and were not unwilling to abide the conditions of the warfare. the taunt is coupled with the triumph--the spoil follows the victory--and the captive is chained to the chariot-wheel of his conqueror, and must adorn the march of his superior by his own shame and sorrows. but, to be just to myself, permit me to say, that what you have considered a reproach was in truth designed as a compliment. i must regret that my modes of expression are so clumsy, that, in the utterance of my thought, the sentiment so changed its original shape as entirely to lose its identity. it certainly deserved the graceful swordsmanship which foiled it so completely." "nay, sir," said the animated girl, "you are bloodily-minded toward yourself, and it is matter of wonder to me how you survive your own rebuke. so far from erring in clumsy phrase, i am constrained to admit that i thought, and think you, excessively adroit and happy in its management. it was only with a degree of perversity, intended solely to establish our independence of opinion, at least for the moment, that i chose to mistake and misapprehend you. your remark, clothed in any other language, could scarcely put on a form more consistent with your meaning." ralph bowed at a compliment which had something equivocal in it, and this branch of the conversation having reached its legitimate close, a pause of some few moments succeeded, when they found themselves joined by other parties, until the cortege was swollen in number to the goodly dimensions of a cavalcade or caravan designed for a pilgrimage. "report speaks favorably of the preacher we are to hear to-day, miss munro--have you ever heard him?" was the inquiry of the youth. "i have, sir, frequently, and have at all times been much pleased and sometimes affected by his preaching. there are few persons i would more desire to hear than himself--he does not offend your ears, nor assail your understanding by unmeaning thunders. his matter and manner, alike, are distinguished by modest good sense, a gentle and dignified ease and spirit, and a pleasing earnestness in his object that is never offensive. i think, sir, you will like him." "your opinion of him will certainly not diminish my attention, i assure you, to what he says," was the reply. at this moment the cavalcade was overtaken and joined by rivers and munro, together with several other villagers. ralph now taking advantage of a suggestion of forrester's, previously made--who proposed, as there would be time enough, a circuitous and pleasant ride through a neighboring valley--avoided the necessity of being in the company of one with respect to whom he had determined upon a course of the most jealous precaution. turning their horses' heads, therefore, in the proposed direction, the two left the procession, and saw no more of the party until their common arrival at the secluded grove--druidically conceived for the present purpose--in which the teacher of a faith as simple as it was pleasant was already preparing to address them. the venerable oaks--a goodly and thickly clustering assemblage--forming a circle around, and midway upon a hill of gradual ascent, had left an opening in the centre, concealed from the eye except when fairly penetrated by the spectator. their branches, in most part meeting above, afforded a roof less regular and gaudy, indeed, but far more grand, majestic, and we may add, becoming, for purposes like the present, than the dim and decorated cathedral, the workmanship of human hands. its application to this use, at this time, recalled forcibly to the mind of the youth the forms and features of that primitive worship, when the trees bent with gentle murmurs above the heads of the rapt worshippers, and a visible deity dwelt in the shadowed valleys, and whispered an auspicious acceptance of their devotions in every breeze. he could not help acknowledging, as, indeed, must all who have ever been under the influence of such a scene, that in this, more properly and perfectly than in any other temple, may the spirit of man recognise and hold familiar and free converse with the spirit of his creator. here, indeed, without much effort of the imagination; might be beheld the present god--the trees, hills and vales, the wild flower and the murmuring water, all the work of his hands, attesting his power, keeping their purpose, and obeying, without scruple, the order of those seasons, for the sphere and operation of which he originally designed them. they were mute lessoners, and the example which, in the progress of their existence, year after year, they regularly exhibited, might well persuade the more responsible representative of the same power the propriety of a like obedience. a few fallen trees, trimmed of their branches and touched with the adze, ranging at convenient distances under the boughs of those along with which they had lately stood up in proud equality, furnished seats for the now rapidly-gathering assemblage. a rough stage, composed of logs, rudely hewn and crossing each other at right angles, covered, when at a height of sufficient elevation, formed the pulpit from which the preacher was to exhort. a chair, brought from some cottage in the neighborhood, surmounted the stage. this was all that art had done to accommodate nature to the purposes of man. in the body of the wood immediately adjacent, fastened to the overhanging branches, were the goodly steeds of the company; forming, in themselves, to the unaccustomed and inexperienced eye, a grouping the most curious. some, more docile than the rest; were permitted to rove at large, cropping the young herbage and tender grass; occasionally, it is true, during the service, overleaping their limits in a literal sense; neighing, whinnying and kicking up their heels to the manifest confusion of the pious and the discomfiture of the preacher. the hour at length arrived. the audience was numerous if not select. all persuasions--for even in that remote region sectarianism had done much toward banishing religion--assembled promiscuously together and without show of discord, excepting that here and there a high stickler for church aristocracy, in a better coat than his neighbor, thrust him aside; or, in another and not less offensive form of pride, in the externals of humility and rotten with innate malignity, groaned audibly through his clenched teeth; and with shut eyes and crossed hands, as in prayer, sought to pass a practical rebuke upon the less devout exhibitions of those around him. the cant and the clatter, as it prevails in the crowded mart, were here in miniature; and charity would have needed something more than a kamschatka covering to have shut out from her eyes the enormous hypocrisy of many among the clamorous professors of that faith of which they felt little and knew less. if she shut her eyes to the sight, their groans were in her ears; and if she turned away, they took her by the elbow, and called her a backslider herself. forrester whispered in the ears of ralph, as his eye encountered the form of miss munro, who sat primly amid a flock of venerables-- "doesn't she talk like a book? ah, she's a smart, sweet girl; it's a pity there's no better chance for her than guy rivers. but where's he--the rascal? do you know i nearly got my fingers on his throat last night. i felt deusedly like it, i tell you." "why, what did he to you?" "answered me with such impudence! i took him for the pedler in the dark, and thought i had got a prize; it wasn't the pedler, but something worse--for in my eyes he's no better than a polecat." but, the preacher had risen in his place, and all was silence and attention. we need scarcely seek to describe him. his appearance was that of a very common man; and the anticipations of colleton, as he was one of those persons apt to be taken by appearances, suffered something like rebuke. his figure was diminutive and insignificant; his shoulders were round, and his movements excessively awkward; his face was thin and sallow, his eyes dull and inexpressive, and too small seemingly for command. a too-frequent habit of closing them in prayer contributed, no doubt, greatly to this appearance. a redeeming expression in the high forehead, conically rising, and the strong character exhibited in his nose, neutralized in some sort the generally-unattractive outline. his hair, which was of a deep black, was extremely coarse, and closely cropped: it gave to his look that general expression which associated him at once in the mind of ralph, whose reading in those matters was fresh, with the commonwealth history of england--with the puritans, and those diseased fanatics of the cromwell dynasty, not omitting that profound hypocrite himself. what, then, was the surprise of the youth, having such impressions, to hear a discourse unassuming in its dictates, mild in its requisitions, and of a style and temper the most soothing and persuasive! the devotions commenced with a hymn, two lines of which, at a time, having been read and repeated by the preacher, furnished a guide to the congregation; the female portion of which generally united to sing, and in a style the sweetness of which was doubly effective from the utter absence of all ornament in the music. the strains were just such as the old shepherds, out among the hills, tending their charges, might have been heard to pour forth, almost unconsciously, to that god who sometimes condescended to walk along with them. after this was over, the preacher rose, and read, with a voice as clear as unaffected, the twenty-third psalm of david, the images of which are borrowed chiefly from the life in the wilderness, and were therefore not unsuited to the ears of those to whom it was now addressed. without proposing any one portion of this performance as a text or subject of commentary, and without seeking, as is quite too frequently the case with small teachers, to explain doubtful passages of little meaning and no importance, he delivered a discourse, in which he simply dilated upon and carried out, for the benefit of those about him, and with a direct reference to the case of all of them, those beautiful portraits of a good shepherd and guardian god which the production which he read furnished to his hands. he spoke of the dependence of the creature--instanced, as it is daily, by a thousand wants and exigencies, for which, unless by the care and under the countenance of providence, he could never of himself provide. he narrated the dangers of the forest--imaging by this figure the mazes and mysteries of life--the difficulty, nay, the almost utter impossibility, unless by his sanction, of procuring sustenance, and of counteracting those innumerable incidents by fell and flood, which, in a single moment, defeat the cares of the hunter and the husbandman--setting at naught his industry, destroying his fields and cattle, blighting his crops, and tearing up with the wing of the hurricane even the cottage which gives shelter to his little ones. he dwelt largely and long upon those numberless and sudden events in the progress of life and human circumstance, over which, as they could neither be foreseen nor combated with by man, he had no control; and appealed for him to the great shepherd, who alone could do both. having shown the necessity of such an appeal and reference, he next proceeded to describe the gracious willingness which had at all times been manifested by the creator to extend the required protection. he adverted to the fortunes of all the patriarchs in support of this position; and, singling out innumerable instances of this description, confidently assured them, in turn, from these examples, that the same shepherd was not unwilling to provide for them in like manner. under his protection, he assured them, "they should not want." he dilated at length, and with a graceful dexterity, upon the truths--the simple and mere truths of god's providence, and the history of his people--which david had embodied in the beautiful psalm which he had read them. it was poetry, indeed--sweet poetry--but it was the poetry of truth and not of fiction. did not history sustain its every particular? had not the shepherd made them to lie down in green pastures--had he not led them beside the still waters--restored he not their souls--did he not lead them, for his name's sake, in the paths of righteousness--and though at length they walked through the valley where death had cast his never-departing shadow, was he not with them still, keeping them even from the fear of evil? he furnished them with the rod and staff; he prepared the repast for them, even in the presence of their enemies; he anointed their heads with oil, and blessed them with quiet and abundance, until the cup of their prosperity was running over--until they even ceased to doubt that goodness and mercy should follow them all the days of their life; and, with a proper consciousness of the source whence this great good had arisen, they determined, with the spirit not less of wise than of worthy men, to follow his guidance, and thus dwell in the house of the lord for ever. such did the old man describe the fortunes of the old patriarchs to have been; and such, having first entered into like obligations, pursuing them with the same fond fixedness of purpose, did he promise should be the fortunes of all who then listened to his voice. as he proceeded to his peroration, he grew warmed with the broad and boundless subject before him, and his declamation became alike bold and beautiful. all eyes were fixed upon him, and not a whisper from the still-murmuring woods which girded them in was perceptible to the senses of that pleased and listening assembly. the services of the morning were closed by a paraphrase, in part, of the psalm from which his discourse had been drawn; and as this performance, in its present shape, is not to be found, we believe, in any of the books devoted to such purposes, it is but fair to conclude that the old man--not unwilling, in his profession, to employ every engine for the removal of all stubbornness from the hearts of those he addressed--sometimes invoked poetry to smile upon his devotions, and wing his aspirations for the desired flight. it was sung by the congregation, in like manner with the former--the preacher reading two lines at a time, after having first gone through the perusal aloud of the piece entire. with the recognised privilege of the romancer, who is supposed to have a wizard control over men, events, and things alike, we are enabled to preserve the paraphrase here:-- "shepherd's hymn" "oh, when i rove the desert waste, and 'neath the hot sun pant, the lord shall be my shepherd then--he will not let me want-- he'll lead me where the pastures are of soft and shady green, and where the gentle waters rove the quiet hills between. "and when the savage shall pursue, and in his grasp i sink, he will prepare the feast for me, and bring the cooling drink-- and save me harmless from his hands, and strengthen me in toil, and bless my home and cottage-lands, and crown my head with oil. "with such a shepherd to protect--to guide and guard me still, and bless my heart with every good, and keep from every ill-- surely i shall not turn aside, and scorn his kindly care, but keep the path he points me out, and dwell for ever there." the service had not yet been concluded--the last parting offices of prayer and benediction had yet to be performed--when a boy, about fourteen years of age, rushed precipitately into the assembly. his clothes were torn and bloody, and he was smeared with dirt from head to foot. he spoke, but his words were half intelligible only, and comprehended by but one or two of the persons around him. munro immediately rose and carried him out. he was followed by rivers, who had been sitting beside him. the interruption silenced everything like prayer; there was no further attention for the preacher; and accordingly a most admired disorder overspread the audience. one after another rose and left the area, and those not the first to withdraw followed in rapid succession; until, under the influence of that wild stimulant, curiosity, the preacher soon found himself utterly unattended, except by the female portion of his auditory. these, too, or rather the main body of them at least, were now only present in a purely physical sense; for, with the true characteristic of the sex, their minds were busily employed in the wilderness of reflection which this movement among the men had necessarily inspired. ralph colleton, however, with praiseworthy decorum, lingered to the last--his companion forrester, under the influence of a whisper from one over his shoulder, having been among the first to retire. he, too, could not in the end avoid the general disposition, and at length took his way to the animated and earnest knot which he saw assembled in the shade of the adjoining thicket, busied in the discussion of some concern of more than common interest. in his departure from the one gathering to the other, he caught a glance from the eye of lucy munro, which had in it so much of warning, mingled at the same time with an expression of so much interest, that he half stopped in his progress, and, but for the seeming indecision and awkwardness of such a proceeding, would have returned--the more particularly, indeed, when, encountering her gaze with a corresponding fixedness--though her cheek grew to crimson with the blush that overspread it--her glance was not yet withdrawn. he felt that her look was full of caution, and inwardly determined upon due circumspection. the cause of interruption may as well be reserved for the next chapter. chapter xii. trouble among the trespassers. ralph now made his way into the thick of the crowd, curious to ascertain the source of so much disquiet and tumult as now began to manifest itself among them. the words of peace which they had just heard seemed to have availed them but little, for every brow was blackened, and every tongue tipped with oaths and execrations. his appearance attracted no attention, if, indeed, it were not entirely unobserved. the topic in hand was of an interest quite too fresh and absorbing to permit of a single glance toward any other of more doubtful importance, and it was only after much delay that he was enabled at length to get the least insight into the mystery. all were speakers, counsellors, orators--old and young, big and little, illustrious and obscure--all but the legitimate and legal counsellor pippin, who, to the surprise of the youth, was to be seen galloping at the uttermost stretch of his horse's legs toward the quiet of his own abode. the lawyer was known to have a particular care of number one, and such a movement excited no remark in any of the assembly. there was danger at hand, and he knew his value--besides, there might be business for the sessions, and he valued too highly the advantages, in a jury-case, of a clean conscience, not to be solicitous to keep his honor clear of any art or part in criminal matters, saving only such connection as might come professionally. that the lawyer was not without reason for his precaution, ralph had soon abundant testimony himself. arms and the munitions of war, as if by magic, had been rapidly collected. some of the party, it is true, had made their appearance at the place of prayer with rifles and fowling pieces, a practice which occasioned no surprise. but the managers of the present movement had seemingly furnished all hands with weapons, offensive and defensive, of one kind or another. some were caparisoned with pistols, cutlasses, and knives; and, not to speak of pickaxes and clubs, the array was sufficiently formidable. the attitude of all parties was warlike in the extreme, and the speeches of those who, from time to time, condescended to please themselves by haranguing their neighbors, teemed with nothing but strife and wounds, fight and furious performance. the matter, as we have already remarked, was not made out by the youth without considerable difficulty. he obtained, however, some particulars from the various speakers, which, taken in connection with the broken and incoherent sentences of forrester, who dashed into speech at intervals with something of the fury of a wounded panther in a cane-brake, contributed at length to his full enlightenment. "matter enough--matter enough! and you will think so too--to he robbed of our findings by a parcel of blasted 'coons, that haven't soul enough to keep them freezing. why, this is the matter, you must know: only last week, we miners of tracy's diggings struck upon a fine heap of the good stuff, and have been gathering gold pretty freely ever since. all the boys have been doing well at it; better than they ever did before--and even munro there, and rivers, who have never been very fond of work, neither of them, have been pretty busy ever since; for, as i tell you, we were making a sight of money, all of us. well now, somehow or other, our good luck got to the ears of george dexter and his men, who have been at work for some time past upon old johnson's diggings about fourteen miles up on the sokee river. they could never make much out of the place, i know; for what it had good in it was pretty much cleaned out of it when i was there, and i know it can't get better, seeing that gold is not like trees, to grow out every year. well, as i say, george dexter, who would just as lief do wrong as right, and a great deal rather, got tired, as well as all his boys, of working for the fun of the thing only; and so, hearing as i say of our good luck, what did they do but last night come quietly down upon our trace, and when jones, the old man we kept there as a kind of safeguard, tried to stop 'em, they shot him through the body as if he had been a pig. his son got away when his father was shot, though they did try to shoot him too, and come post haste to tell us of the transaction. there stands the lad, his clothes all bloody and ragged. he's had a good run of it through the bushes, i reckon." "and they are now in possession of your lands?" "every fellow of 'em, holding on with gun in hand, and swearing to be the death of us, if we try for our own. but we'll show them what's what, or i can't fling a hatchet or aim a rifle. this, now, master colleton, is the long and the short of the matter." "and what do you propose to do?" asked ralph, of his informant. "why, what should we do, do you think, but find out who the best men are, and put them in possession. there's not a two-legged creature among us that won't be willing to try that question, any how, and at any time, but more particularly now, when everything depends upon it." "and when do you move, forrester?" "now, directly--this very minute. the boys have just sent for some more powder, and are putting things in readiness for a brush." the resolution of ralph was at once adopted. he had nothing, it is true, to do with the matter--no interest at stake, and certainly no sympathy with the lawless men who went forth to fight for a property, to which they had not a jot more of right than had those who usurped it from them. but here was a scene--here was incident, excitement--and with all the enthusiasm of the southern temper, and with that uncalculating warmth which so much distinguishes it, he determined, without much regard to the merits of the question, to go along with the party. "i'll ride with you, forrester, and see what's going on." "and stand up with us, 'squire, and join in the scuffle?" inquired his companion. "i say not that, forrester. i have no concern in this matter, and so long as i am let alone myself, i see no reason for taking part in an affair, of the merits of which i am almost entirely ignorant." "you will take your arms with you, i suppose. you can lend them to those who fight, though you make no use of them yourself." "yes--i never go without arms in travelling, but i shall not lend them. a man should no more lend his arms than he should lend his coat. every man should have his own weapons." "yes; but, 'squire, if you go along with us, you may be brought into the scrape. the other party may choose to consider you one of us." "it is for this reason, not less than others, that i would carry and not lend my arms." "well, 'squire, you might lend them to some of us, and i would answer for them. it's true, as you say, that every man should have his own weapons; but some among us, you see, ha'n't got 'em, and it's for that we've been waiting. but come, it's time to start; the boys are beginning to be in motion; and here come munro and that skunk rivers. i reckon munro will have the command, for he's thought to be the most cunning among us." the party was now ready for departure, when a new interruption was experienced. the duties of the pastor were yet to begin, and, accordingly, sallying forth at the head of his remaining congregation, parson witter placed himself in front of the seceders. it is unnecessary that we should state his purpose; it is as little necessary that we should say that it was unavailing. men of the kind of whom we speak, though perhaps not insensible to some of the bolder virtues, have no sympathy or love for a faith which teaches forbearance under wrong and insult, and meekness under blows. if they did not utterly laugh in his face, therefore, at his exhortations, it was because, at the very first, they had to a man turned their backs upon him, and were now generally mounted. following the common lead, ralph approached the group where stood his fair friend of the morning; and acknowledged, in an under-tone, to herself, the correctness of her opinion in regard to the merits of the sermon. she did not reply to the observation, but seeing his hand upon the bridle, asked hurriedly-- "do you, sir--does mr. colleton go with this party?" "i do; the circumstance are all so novel, and i am curious to see as much of manners and events foreign to those to which i have been accustomed, as may be practicable." "i fear, sir, that those which you may behold on occasions such as these, and in this country, though they may enlighten you, will do little toward your gratification. you have friends, sir, who might not be willing that you should indulge in unnecessary exposure, for the satisfaction of a curiosity so unpromising." her manner was dignified, and though as she spoke a something of rebuke came mingled with the caution which her language conveyed, yet there was evidently such an interest in his fortunes embodied in what she said, that the listener whom she addressed could not feel hurt at the words themselves, or the accompanying expression. "i shall be a mere looker-on, miss munro, and dare to disregard the caution which you bestow, though duly sensible of the kindness which gives it utterance. perhaps, too, i may be of service in the way of peace-making. i have neither interest nor wish which could prompt me to any other course." "there is every need for caution among young travellers, sir; and though no astrologer, it seems to me your planet is full of unfavorable auguries. if you will be headstrong, see that you have your eyes about you. you have need of them both." this was all in by-play. the group had passed on, and a single nod of the head and a doubtful smile, on her part, concluded the brief dialogue we have just narrated. the youth was puzzled to understand the significant warnings, which, from time to time, she had given him. he felt unconscious of any foe in particular, and though at that time sojourning with a people in whom he could repose but little confidence, he yet saw no reason to apprehend any danger. if her manner and words had reference simply to the general lawlessness of the settlement, the precaution evidently conveyed no compliment to his own capacities for observation. whatever might have been her motive, the youth felt its kindness; and she rose not a little in his esteem, when he reflected with how much dignity and ladylike propriety she had given, to a comparative stranger, the counsel which she evidently thought necessary to his well-being. with a free rein he soon overtook forrester, and with him took his place in the rear of the now rapidly advancing cavalcade. as forrester had conjectured, the command of the party, such as it was, was assigned to the landlord. there might have been something like forty or fifty men in all, the better portion of them mounted and well armed--some few on foot struggling to keep pace with the riders--all in high spirits, and indignant at the invasion of what they considered their own. these, however, were not all hunters of the precious metal, and many of them, indeed, as the reader has by this time readily conjectured, carried on a business of very mixed complexion. the whole village--blacksmith, grocer, baker, and clothier included, turned out _en masse_, upon the occasion; for, with an indisputable position in political economy, deriving their gains directly or indirectly from this pursuit, the cause was, in fact, a cause in common. the scene of operations, in view of which they had now come, had to the eye all the appearance of a moderate encampment. the intruding force had done the business completely. they had made a full transfer, from their old to their new quarters, of bag and baggage; and had possessed themselves of all the log-houses in and about the disputed region. their fires were in full heat, to use the frontier phrase, and the water was hissing in their kettles, and the dry thorns crackling under the pot. never had usurpers made themselves more perfectly at home; and the rage of the old incumbents was, of course, duly heightened at a prospect of so much ease and felicity enjoyed at their expense. the enemy were about equal in point of number with those whom they had so rudely dispossessed. they had, however, in addition to their disposable force, their entire assemblage of wives, children, slaves, and dependants, cattle and horses, enough, as forrester bitterly remarked, "to breed a famine in the land." they had evidently settled themselves _for life_, and the ousted party, conscious of the fact, prepared for the _dernier_ resort. everything on the part of the usurpers indicated a perfect state of preparedness for an issue which they never doubted would be made; and all the useless baggage, interspersed freely with rocks and fallen trees, had been well-employed in increasing the strength of a position for which, such an object considered, nature had already done much. the defences, as they now stood, precluded all chance of success from an attack by mounted men, unless the force so employed were overwhelming. the defenders stood ready at their posts, partly under cover, and so arrayed as easily to put themselves so, and were armed in very nearly the same manner with the assailing party. in this guise of formidable defence, they waited patiently the onset. there was a brief pause after their arrival, on the part of the invading force, which was employed principally in consultation as to the proper mode of procedure, and in examination of the ground. their plan of attack, depending altogether upon the nature of circumstances yet to be seen, had not been deliberated upon before. the consultation lasted not long, however, and no man's patience was too severely tried. having deputed the command to the landlord, they left the matter pretty much to that person; nor was their choice unhappy. munro had been a partisan well-taught in indian warfare, and it was said of him, that he knew quite as well how to practise all their subtleties as themselves. the first object with him, therefore, in accordance with his reputation, was to devise some plot, by which not only to destroy the inequality of chances between the party assailing and that defending a post now almost impregnable, but to draw the latter entirely out of their defences. still, it was deemed but courteous, or prudent at least, to see what could be done in the way of negotiation; and their leader, with a white handkerchief attached to a young sapling, hewn down for the purpose, by way of apology for a flag, approached the besieged, and in front of his men demanded a conference with the usurping chief. the demand was readily and at once answered by the appearance of the already named george dexter; a man who, with little sagacity and but moderate cunning, had yet acquired a lead and notoriety among his fellows, even in that wild region, simply from the reckless boldness and fierce impetuosity of his character. it is useless to describe such a person. he was a ruffian--in look and manner, ruffianly--huge of frame, strong and agile of limb, and steeled against all fear, simply from a brute unconsciousness of all danger. there was little of preliminary matter in this conference. each knew his man, and the business in hand. all was direct, therefore, and to the point. words were not to be wasted without corresponding fruits, though the colloquy began, on the part of munro, in terms of the most accredited courtesy. "well, george dexter, a pleasant morning to you in your new accommodations. i see you have learned to make yourself perfectly at home when you visit your neighbors." "why, thank you, wat--i generally do, i reckon, as you know of old. it's not now, i'm inclined to think, that you're to learn the ways of george dexter. he's a man, you see, wat, that never has two ways about him." "that's true, friend george, i must say that for you, were i to have to put it on your tombstone." "it's a long ride to the atlantic, wat; and the time is something off yet, i reckon, when my friends will be after measuring me for a six-foot accommodation. but, look you, wat, why are all your family here?--i did think, when i first saw them on the trail, some with their twisted and some with smooth bores, tomahawks, and scalping-knives, that they took us for indians. if you hadn't come forward now, civilly, i should have been for giving your boys some mutton-chops, by way of a cold cut." "well, george, you may do that yet, old fellow, for here we have all come to take our sunday dinner. you are not in the notion that we shall let you take possession here so easily, without even sending us word, and paying us no rent--no compensation?" "why, no, wat--i knew you and your boys too well for that. i did look, you see, to have a bit of a brush, and have made some few preparations to receive you with warmth and open arms," was the response of dexter, pointing as he spoke to the well-guarded condition of his intrenchments, and to his armed men, who were now thickly clustering about him. munro saw plainly that this was no idle boast, and that the disposition of his enemy's force, without some stratagem, set at defiance any attack under present circumstances. still he did not despair, and taught in indian warfare, such a position was the very one to bring out his energies and abilities. falling back for a moment, he uttered a few words in the ear of one of his party, who withdrew unobserved from his companions, while he returned to the parley. "well, george, i see, as you have said, that you have made some preparations to receive us, but they are not the preparations that i like exactly, nor such as i think we altogether deserve." "that may be, wat--and i can't help it. if you will invite yourselves to dinner, you must be content with what i put before you." "it is not a smart speech, dexter, that will give you free walk on the high road; and something is to be said about this proceeding of yours, which, you must allow, is clearly in the teeth of all the practices prevailing among the people of the frontier. at the beginning, and before any of us knew the value of this or that spot, you chose your ground, and we chose ours. if you leave yours or we ours, then either of us may take possession--not without. is not this the custom?" "i tell you what, munro, i have not lived so long in the woods to listen to wind-guns, and if such is the kind of argument you bring us, your dumpy lawyer--what do you call him?--little pippin, ought to have been head of your party. he will do it all day long--i've heard him myself, at the sessions, from mid-day till clean dark, and after all he said nothing." "if you mean to persuade yourself, george, that we shall do no more than _talk_ for our lands and improvements, you are likely to suffer something for your mistake." "your 'lands and improvements!' well, now, i like that--that's very good, and just like you. now, wat, not to put you to too much trouble, i'd like to look a little into your title to the lands; as to the improvements, they're at your service whenever you think proper to send for them. there's the old lumber-house--there's the squatter's house--there's where the cow keeps, and there's the hogsty, and half a dozen more, all of which you're quite welcome to. i'm sure none of you want 'em, boys--do you?" a hearty laugh, and cries in the negative, followed this somewhat technical retort and reply of the speaker--since, in trespass, according to the received forms of law, the first duty of the plaintiff is to establish his own title. "then, george, you are absolutely bent on having us show our title? you won't deliver up peaceably, and do justice?" "can't think of such a thing--we find the quarters here quite too comfortable, and have come too far to be in a hurry to return. we are tired, too, wat; and it's not civil in you to make such a request. when you can say 'must' to us, we shall hear you, but not till then; so, my old fellow, if you be not satisfied, why, the sooner we come to short sixes the better," was the response of the desperado. the indifferent composure with which he uttered a response which was in fact the signal for bloodshed, not less than the savage ferocity of his preparations generally, amply sustained his pretension to this appellative. munro knew his man too well not to perceive that to this "fashion must they come at last;" and simply assuring dexter that he would submit his decision to his followers, he retired back upon the anxious and indignant party, who had heard a portion, and now eagerly and angrily listened to the rest of the detail. having gone over the matter, he proceeded to his arrangements for the attack with all the coolness, and certainly much of the conduct of a veteran. in many respects he truly deserved the character of one; his courage was unquestionable, and aroused; though he still preserved his coolness, even when coupled with the vindictive ferocity of the savage. his experience in all the modes of warfare, commonly known to the white man and indian alike, in the woods, was complete; everything, indeed, eminently fitted and prepared him for the duties which, by common consent, had been devolved upon him. he now called them around him, under a clump of trees and brushwood which concealed them from sight, and thus addressed them, in a style and language graduated to their pursuits and understandings:-- "and now, my fine fellows, you see it is just as i told you all along. you will have to fight for it, and with no half spirit. you must just use all your strength and skill in it, and a little cunning besides. we have to deal with a man who would just as lief fight as eat; indeed, he prefers it. as he says himself, there's no two ways about him. he will come to the scratch himself, and make everybody else do so. so, then, you see what's before you. it's no child's play. they count more men than we--not to speak of their entrenchments and shelter. we must dislodge them if we can; and to begin, i have a small contrivance in my head which may do some good. i want two from among you to go upon a nice business. i must have men quick of foot, keen of sight, and cunning as a black-snake; and they mustn't be afraid of a knock on the head either. shall i have my men?" there was no difficulty in this, and the leader was soon provided. he selected two from among the applicants for this distinction, upon whose capacities he thought he could best rely, and led them away from the party into the recess of the wood, where he gave them their directions, and then returned to the main body. he now proceeded to the division, into small parties, of his whole force--placing them under guides rather than leaders, and reserving to himself the instruction and command of the whole. there was still something to be done, and conceiving this to be a good opportunity for employing a test, already determined upon, he approached ralph colleton, who surveyed the whole affair with intense curiosity. "and now, young 'squire, you see what we're driving at, and as our present business wo'nt permit of neutrality, let us hear on which side you stand. are you for us or against us?" the question was one rather of command than solicitation, but the manner of the speaker was sufficiently deferential. "i see not why you should ask the question, sir. i have no concern in your controversy--i know not its merits, and propose simply to content myself with the position of a spectator. i presume there is nothing offensive in such a station." "there may be, sir; and you know that when people's blood's up, they don't stand on trifles. they are not quick to discriminate between foes and neutrals; and, to speak the truth, we are apt, in this part of the country, to look upon the two, at such moments, as the same. you will judge, therefore, for yourself, of the risk you run." "i always do, mr. munro," said the youth. "i can not see that the risk is very considerable at this moment, for i am at a loss to perceive the policy of your making an enemy of me, when you have already a sufficient number to contend with in yonder barricade. should your men, in their folly, determine to do so, i am not unprepared, and i think not unwilling, to defend myself." "ay, ay--i forgot, sir, you are from carolina, where they make nothing of swallowing uncle sam for a lunch. it is very well, sir; you take your risk, and will abide the consequences though i look not to find you when the fray begins." "you shall not provoke me, sir, by your sneer; and may assure yourself, if it will satisfy you, that though i will not fight for you, i shall have no scruple of putting a bullet through the scull of the first ruffian who gives me the least occasion to do so." the youth spoke indignantly, but the landlord appeared not to regard the retort. turning to the troop, which had been decorously attentive, he bade them follow, saying "come on, boys--we shall have to do without the stranger; he does not fight, it seems, for the fun of the thing. if pippin was here, doubtless, we should have arguments enough from the pair to keep _them_ in whole bones, at least, if nobody else." a laugh of bitter scorn followed the remark of munro, as the party went on its way. though inwardly assured of the propriety of his course, ralph could not help biting his lip with the mortification he felt from this circumstance, and which he was compelled to suppress; and we hazard nothing in the assertion when we say, that, had his sympathies been at all enlisted with the assailing party, the sarcasm of its leader would have hurried him into the very first rank of attack. as it was, such was its influence upon him, that, giving spur to his steed, he advanced to a position which, while it afforded him a clear survey of the whole field, exposed his person not a little to the shot of either party, as well from without as from within the beleaguered district. the invading force soon commenced the affair. they came to the attack after the manner of the indians. the nature of forest-life, and its necessities, of itself teaches this mode of warfare. each man took his tree, his bush, or stump, approaching from cover to cover until within rifle-reach, then patiently waiting until an exposed head, a side or shoulder, leg or arm, gave an opportunity for the exercise of his skill in marksmanship. to the keen-sighted and quick, rather than to the strong, is the victory; and it will not be wondered at, if, educated thus in daily adventure, the hunter is enabled to detect the slightest and most transient exhibition, and by a shot, which in most cases is fatal, to avail himself of the indiscretion of his enemy. if, however, this habit of life begets skill in attack and destruction, it has not the less beneficial effect in creating a like skill and ingenuity in the matter of defence. in this way we shall account for the limited amount of injury done in the indian wars, in proportion to the noise and excitement which they make, and the many terrors they occasion. the fight had now begun in this manner, and, both parties being at the outset studiously well sheltered, with little or no injury--the shot doing no more harm to the enemy on either side than barking the branch of the tree or splintering the rock behind which they happened individually to be sheltered. in this fruitless manner the affray had for a little time been carried on, without satisfaction to any concerned, when munro was beheld advancing, with the apology for a flag which he had used before, toward the beleaguered fortress. the parley he called for was acceded to, and dexter again made his appearance. "what, tired already, wat? the game is, to be sure, a shy one; but have patience, old fellow--we shall be at close quarters directly." it was now the time for munro to practise the subtlety which he had designed, and a reasonable prospect of success he promised himself from the bull-headed stupidity of his opponent. he had planned a stratagem, upon which parties, as we have seen, were despatched; and he now calculated his own movement in concert with theirs. it was his object to protract the parley which he had begun, by making propositions for an arrangement which, from a perfect knowledge of the men he had to deal with, he felt assured would not be listened to. in the meantime, pending the negotiation, each party left its cover, and, while they severally preserved their original relationships, and were so situated as, at a given signal, to regain their positions, they drew nearer to one another, and in some instances began a conversation. munro was cautious yet quick in the discussion, and, while his opponent with rough sarcasms taunted him upon the strength of his own position, and the utter inadequacy of his strength to force it, he contented himself with sundry exhortations to a peaceable arrangement--to a giving up of the possessions they had usurped, and many other suggestions of a like nature, which he well knew would be laughed at and rejected. still, the object was in part attained. the invaders, becoming more confident of their strength from this almost virtual abandonment of their first resort by their opponents, grew momently less and less cautious. the rifle was rested against the rock, the sentinel took out his tobacco, and the two parties were almost intermingled. at length the hour had come. a wild and sudden shriek from that part of the beleaguered district in which the women and children were congregated, drew all eyes in that direction where the whole line of tents and dwellings were in a bright conflagration. the emissaries had done their work ably and well, and the devastation was complete; while the women and children, driven from their various sheltering-places, ran shrieking in every direction. nor did munro, at this time, forget his division of the labor: the opportunity was in his grasp, and it was not suffered to escape him. as the glance of dexter was turned in the direction of the flames, he forgot his precaution, and the moment was not lost. availing himself of the occasion, munro dashed his flag of truce into the face of the man with whom he had parleyed, and, in the confusion which followed, seizing him around the body with a strength equal to his own, he dragged him, along with himself, over the low table of rock on which they had both stood, upon the soft earth below. here they grappled with each other, neither having arms, and relying solely upon skill and muscle. the movement was too sudden, the surprise too complete, not to give an ascendency to the invaders, of which they readily availed themselves. the possession of the fortress was now in fact divided between them; and a mutual consciousness of their relative equality determined the two parties, as if by common consent, quietly to behold the result of the affair between the leaders. they had once recovered their feet, but were both of them again down, munro being uppermost. every artifice known to the lusty wrestlers of this region was put in exercise, and the struggle was variously contested. at one time the ascendency was clearly with the one, at another moment it was transferred to his opponent; victory, like some shy arbiter, seeming unwilling to fix the palm, from an equal regard for both the claimants. munro still had the advantage; but a momentary pause of action, and a sudden evolution of his antagonist, now materially altered their position, and dexter, with the sinuous agility of the snake, winding himself completely around his opponent, now whirled him suddenly over and brought himself upon him. extricating his arms with admirable skill, he was enabled to regain his knee, which was now closely pressed upon the bosom of the prostrate man, who struggled, but in vain, to free himself from the position. the face of the ruffian, if we may so call the one in contradistinction to the other, was black with fury; and munro felt that his violation of the flag of truce was not likely to have any good effect upon his destiny. hitherto, beyond the weapons of nature's furnishing, they had been unarmed. the case was no longer so; for dexter, having a momentary use of his hand, provided himself with a huge dirk-knife, guarded by a string which hung around his neck, and was usually worn in his bosom: a sudden jerk threw it wide, and fixed the blade with a spring. it was a perilous moment for the fallen man, for the glance of the victor, apart from the action, indicated well the vindictive spirit within him; and the landlord averted his eyes, though he did not speak, and upraised his hands as if to ward off the blow. the friends of munro now hurried to his relief, but the stroke was already descending--when, on a sudden, to the surprise of all, the look of dexter was turned from the foe beneath him, and fixed upon the hills in the distance--his blow was arrested--his grasp relaxed--he released his enemy, and rose sullenly to his feet, leaving his antagonist unharmed. [transcriber's note: the following chapter was misnumbered in the original book. it is actually chapter xiii.] chapter ix. new parties to the conflict. this sudden and unlooked-for escape of munro, from a fate held so inevitable as well by himself as all around him, was not more a matter of satisfaction than surprise with that experienced personage. he did not deliberate long upon his release, however, before recovering his feet, and resuming his former belligerent attitude. the circumstance to which he owed the unlooked-for and most unwonted forbearance of his enemy was quickly revealed. following the now common direction of all eyes, he discerned a body of mounted and armed men, winding on their way to the encampment, in whose well-known uniform he recognised a detachment of the "georgia guard," a troop kept, as they all well knew, in the service of the state, for the purpose not merely of breaking up the illegal and unadvised settlements of the squatters upon the frontiers, upon lands now known to be valuable, but also of repressing and punishing their frequent outlawries. such a course had become essential to the repose and protection of the more quiet and more honest adventurer whose possessions they not only entered upon and despoiled, but whose lives, in numerous instances, had been made to pay the penalty of their enterprise. such a force could alone meet the exigency, in a country where the sheriff dared not often show himself; and, thus accoutred, and with full authority, the guard, either _en masse_, or in small divisions like the present, was employed, at all times, in scouring, though without any great success, the infested districts. the body now approaching was readily distinguishable, though yet at a considerable distance--the road over which it came lying upon a long ridge of bald and elevated rocks. its number was not large, comprising not more than forty persons; but, as the squatters were most commonly distrustful of one another, not living together or in much harmony, and having but seldom, as in the present instance, a community of interest or unity of purpose, such a force was considered adequate to all the duties assigned it. there was but little of the pomp or circumstance of military array in their appearance or approach. though dressed uniformly the gray and plain stuffs which they wore were more in unison with the habit of the hunter than the warrior; and, as in that country, the rifle is familiar as a household thing, the encounter with an individual of the troop would perhaps call for no remark. the plaintive note of a single bugle, at intervals reverberating wildly among the hills over which the party wound its way, more than anything beside, indicated its character; and even this accompaniment is so familiar as an appendage with the southron--so common, particularly to the negroes, who acquire a singular and sweet mastery over it, while driving their wagons through the woods, or poling their boats down the streams, that one might fairly doubt, with all these symbols, whether the advancing array were in fact more military than civil in its character. they rode on briskly in the direction of our contending parties--the sound of the bugle seeming not only to enliven, but to shape their course, since the stout negro who gave it breath rode considerably ahead of the troop. among the squatters there was but little time for deliberation, yet never were their leaders more seriously in doubt as to the course most proper for their adoption in the common danger. they well knew the assigned duties of the guard, and felt their peril. it was necessary for the common safety--or, rather, the common spoil--that something should be determined upon immediately. they were now actually in arms, and could no longer, appearing individually and at privileged occupations, claim to be unobnoxious to the laws; and it need occasion no surprise in the reader, if, among a people of the class we have described, the measures chosen in the present exigency were of a character the most desperate and reckless. dexter, whose recent triumph gave him something in the way of a title to speak first, thus delivered himself:-- "well, munro--you may thank the devil and the georgia guard for getting you out of that scrape. you owe both of them more now than you ever calculated to owe them. had they not come in sight just at the lucky moment, my knife would have made mighty small work with your windpipe, i tell you--it did lie so tempting beneath it." "yes--i thought myself a gone chick under that spur, george, and so i believe thought all about us; and when you put off the finishing stroke so suddenly, i took it for granted that you had seen the devil, or some other matter equally frightful," was the reply of munro, in a spirit and style equally unique and philosophical with that which preceded it. "why, it was something, though not the devil, bad enough for us in all conscience, as you know just as well as i. the georgia guard won't give much time for a move." "bad enough, indeed, though i certainly ought not to complain of their appearance," was the reply of munro, whose recent escape seemed to run more in his mind than any other subject. he proceeded:-- "but this isn't the first time i've had a chance so narrow for my neck; and more than once it has been said to me, that the man born for one fate can't be killed by another; but when you had me down and your knife over me, i began to despair of my charm." "you should have double security for it now, wat, and so keep your prayers till you see the cross timbers, and the twisted trouble. there's something more like business in hand now, and seeing that we shan't be able to fight one another, as we intended, all that we can do now is to make friends as fast as possible, and prepare to fight somebody else." "you think just as i should in this matter, and that certainly is the wisest policy left us. it's a common cause we have to take care of, for i happen to know that captain fullam--and this i take to be his troop--has orders from the governor to see to us all, and clear the lands in no time. the state, it appears, thinks the land quite too good for such as we, and takes this mode of telling us so. now, as i care very little about the state--it has never done me any good, and i have always been able to take care of myself without it--i feel just in the humor, if all parties are willing, to have a tug in the matter before i draw stakes." "that's just my notion, wat; and d--n 'em, if the boys are only true to the hub, we can row this guard up salt river in no time and less. look you now--let's put the thing on a good footing, and have no further disturbance. put all the boys on shares--equal shares--in the diggings, and we'll club strength, and can easily manage these chaps. there's no reason, indeed, why we shouldn't; for if we don't fix them, we are done up, every man of us. we have, as you see and have tried, a pretty strong fence round us, and, if our men stand to it, and i see not why they shouldn't, fullam can't touch us with his squad of fifty, ay, and a hundred to the back of 'em." the plan was feasible enough in the eyes of men to whom ulterior consequences were as nothing in comparison with the excitement of the strife; and even the most scrupulous among them were satisfied, in a little time, and with few arguments, that they had nothing to gain and everything to lose by retiring from the possessions in which they had toiled so long. there was nothing popular in the idea of a state expelling them from a soil of which it made no use itself; and few among the persons composing the array had ever given themselves much if any trouble, in ascertaining the nice, and with them entirely metaphysical distinction, between the _mine_ and _thine_ of the matter. the proposition, therefore, startled none, and prudence having long since withdrawn from their counsels, not a dissenting voice was heard to the suggestion of a union between the two parties for the purpose of common defence. the terms, recognising all of both sides, as upon an equal footing in the profits of the soil, were soon arranged and completed; and in the space of a few moments, and before the arrival of the new-comers, the hostile forces, side by side, stood up for the new contest as if there had never been any other than a community of interest and feeling between them. a few words of encouragement and cheer, given to their several commands by munro and dexter, were scarcely necessary, for what risk had their adherents to run--what to fear--what to lose? the courage of the desperado invariably increases in proportion to his irresponsibility. in fortune, as utterly destitute as in character, they had, in most respects, already forfeited the shelter, as in numberless instances they had not merely gone beyond the sanction, but had violated and defied the express interdict, of the laws; and now, looking, as such men are apt most usually to do, only to the immediate issue, and to nothing beyond it, the banditti--for such they were--with due deliberation and such a calm of disposition as might well comport with a life of continued excitement, proceeded again, most desperately, to set them at defiance. the military came on in handsome style. they were all fine-looking men; natives generally of a state, the great body of whose population are well-formed, and distinguished by features of clear, open intelligence. they were well-mounted, and each man carried a short rifle, a sword, and pair of pistols. they rode in single file, following their commander; a gentleman, in person, of great manliness of frame, possessed of much grace and ease of action. they formed at command, readily, in front of the post, which may be now said to have assumed the guise of a regular military station; and fullam, the captain, advancing with much seeming surprise in his countenance and manner, addressed the squatters generally, without reference to the two leaders, who stood forth as representatives of their several divisions. "how is this, my good fellows? what is meant by your present military attitude? why are you, on the sabbath, mustering in this guise--surrounded by barricades, arms in your hands, and placing sentinels on duty. what does all this mean?" "we carry arms," replied dexter, without pause, "because it suits us to do so; we fix barricades to keep out intruders; our sentinels have a like object; and if by attitude you mean our standing here and standing there--why, i don't see in what the thing concerns anybody but ourselves!" "indeed!" said the georgian; "you bear it bravely, sir. but it is not to you only that i speak. am i to understand you, good people, as assembled here for the purpose of resisting the laws of the land?" "we don't know, captain, what you mean exactly by the laws of the land," was the reply of munro; "but, i must say, we are here, as you see us now, to defend our property, which the laws have no right to take from us--none that i can see." "so! and is that your way of thinking, sir; and pray who are you that answer so freely for your neighbors?" "one, sir, whom my neighbors, it seems, have appointed to answer for them." "i am then to understand, sir, that you have expressed their determination on this subject, and that your purpose is resistance to any process of the state compelling you to leave these possessions!" "you have stated their resolution precisely," was the reply. "they had notice that unauthorized persons, hearing of our prosperity, were making preparations to take them from us by force; and they prepared for resistance. when we know the proper authorities, we shall answer fairly--but not till then." "truly, a very manful determination; and, as you have so expressed yourself, permit me to exhibit my authority, which i doubt not you will readily recognise. this instrument requires you, at once, to remove from these lands--entirely to forego their use and possession, and within forty-eight hours to yield them up to the authority which now claims them at your hands." here the officer proceeded to read all those portions of his commission to which he referred, with considerable show of patience. "all that's very well in your hands, and from your mouth, good sir; but how know we that the document you bear is not forged and false--and that you, with your people there, have not got up this fetch to trick us out of those possessions which you have not the heart to fight for? we're up to trap, you see." with this insolent speech, dexter contrived to show his impatience of the parley, and that brutal thirst which invariably prompted him to provoke and seek for extremities. the eye of the georgian flashed out indignant fires, and his fingers instinctively grasped the pistol at his holster, while the strongly-aroused expression of his features indicated the wrath within. with a strong and successful effort, however, though inwardly chafed at the necessity of forbearance, he contrived, for a while longer, to suppress any more decided evidence of emotion, while he replied:-- "your language, sirrah, whatever you may be, is ruffianly and insolent; yet, as i represent the country and not myself in this business, and as i would perform my duties without harshness, i pass it by. i am not bound to satisfy you, or any of your company, of the truth of the commission under which i act. it is quite enough if i myself am satisfied. still, however, for the same reason which keeps me from punishing your insolence, and to keep you from any treasonable opposition to the laws, you too shall be satisfied. look here, for yourselves, good people--you all know the great seal of the state!" he now held up the document from which he had read, and which contained his authority; the broad seal of the state dangling from the parchment, distinctly in the sight of the whole gang. dexter approached somewhat nearer, as if to obtain a more perfect view; and, while the georgian, without suspicion, seeing his advance, and supposing that to be his object, held it more toward him, the ruffian, with an active and sudden bound, tore it from his hands, and leaping, followed by all his group, over his defences, was in a moment close under cover, and out of all danger. rising from his concealment, however, in the presence of the officer, he tore the instrument into atoms, and dashing them toward their proprietor, exclaimed-- "now, captain, what's the worth of your authority? be off now in a hurry, or i shall fire upon you in short order!" we may not describe the furious anger of the georgian. irritated beyond the control of a proper caution, he precipitately--and without that due degree of deliberation which must have taught him the madness and inefficacy of any assault by his present force upon an enemy so admirably disposed of--gave the command to fire; and after the ineffectual discharge, which had no other result than to call forth a shout of derision from the besieged, he proceeded to charge the barrier, himself fearlessly leading the way. the first effort to break through the barricades was sufficient to teach him the folly of the design and a discharge from the defences bringing down two of his men warned him of the necessity of duly retrieving his error. he saw the odds, and retreated with order and in good conduct, until he sheltered the whole troop under a long hill, within rifle-shot of the enemy, whence, suddenly filing a detachment obliquely to the left, he made his arrangements for the passage of a narrow gorge, having something of the character of a road, and, though excessively broken and uneven, having been frequently used as such. it wound its way to the summit of a large hill, which stood parallel with the defences, and fully commanded them; and the descent of the gorge, on the opposite side, afforded him as good an opportunity, in a charge, of riding the squatters down, as the summit for picking them off singly with his riflemen. he found the necessity of great circumspection, however, in the brief sample of controversy already given him; and with a movement in front, therefore, of a number of his force--sufficient, by employing the attention of the enemy in that quarter, to cover and disguise his present endeavor--he marshalled fifteen of his force apart from the rest, leading them himself, as the most difficult enterprise, boldly up the narrow pass. the skirmishing was still suffered, therefore, to continue on the ground where it had begun, whenever a momentary exposure of the person of besieged or besieger afforded any chance for a successful shot. nor was this game very hazardous to either party. the beleaguered force, as we have seen, was well protected. the assailants, having generally dismounted, their horses being placed out of reach of danger, had, in the manner of their opponents, taken the cover of the rising ground, or the fallen tree, and in this way, awaiting the progress of events, were shielded from unnecessary exposure. it was only when a position became awkward or irksome, that the shoulder or the leg of the unquiet man thrust itself too pertinaciously above its shelter, and got barked or battered by a bullet; and as all parties knew too well the skill of their adversaries, it was not often that a shoulder or leg became so indiscreetly prominent. as it was, however, the squatters, from a choice of ground, and a perfect knowledge of it, together with the additional guards and defences which they had been enabled to place upon it, had evidently the advantage. still, no event, calculated to impress either party with any decisive notion of the result, had yet taken place; and beyond the injury done to the assailants in their first ill-advised assault, they had suffered no serious harm. they were confident in themselves and their leader--despised the squatters heartily--and, indeed, did not suffer themselves for a moment to think of the possibility of their defeat. thus the play proceeded in front of the defences, while fullam silently and industriously plied his way up the narrow gorge, covered entirely from sight by the elevated ridges of rock, which, rising up boldly on either side of the pass, had indeed been the cause of its formation. but his enemy was on the alert; and the cunning of munro--whom his companions, with an indian taste, had entitled the "black snake"--had already prepared for the reception of the gallant georgian. with a quick eye he had observed the diminished numbers of the force in front, and readily concluded, from the sluggishness of the affair in that quarter, that a finesse was in course of preparation. conscious, too, from a knowledge of the post, that there was but a single mode of enfilading his defences, he had made his provision for the guardianship of the all-important point. nothing was more easy than the defence of this pass, the ascent being considerable, rising into a narrow gorge, and as suddenly and in like manner descending on the point opposite that on which fullam was toiling up his way. in addition to this, the gulley was winding and brokenly circuitous--now making a broad sweep of the circle--then terminating in a zigzag and cross direction, which, until the road was actually gained, seemed to have no outlet; and at no time was the advancing force enabled to survey the pass for any distance ahead. everything in the approach of the georgian was conducted with the profoundest silence: not the slightest whisper indicated to the assailants the presence or prospect of any interruption; and, from the field of strife below, nothing but an occasional shot or shout gave token of the business in which at that moment all parties were engaged. this quiet was not destined to continue long. the forlorn hope had now reached midway of the summit--but not, as their leader had fondly anticipated, without observation from the foe--when the sound of a human voice directly above warned him of his error; and, looking up, he beheld, perched upon a fragment of the cliff, which hung directly over the gorge, the figure of a single man. for the first time led to anticipate resistance in this quarter, he bade the men prepare for the event as well as they might; and calling out imperatively to the individual, who still maintained his place on the projection of the rock as if in defiance, he bade him throw down his arms and submit. "throw down my arms! and for what?" was the reply. "i'd like to know by what right you require us to throw down our arms. it may do in england, or any other barbarous country where the people don't know their rights yet, to make them throw down their arms; but i reckon there's no law for it in these parts, that you can show us, captain." "pick that insolent fellow off, one of you," was the order; and in an instant a dozen rifles were lifted, but the man was gone. a hat appearing above the cliff, was bored with several bullets; and the speaker, who laughed heartily at the success of his trick, now resumed his position on the cliff, with the luckless hat perched upon the staff on which it had given them the provocation to fire. he laughed and shouted heartily at the contrivance, and hurled the victim of their wasted powder down among them. much chagrined, and burning with indignation, fullam briefly cried out to his men to advance quickly. the person who had hitherto addressed him was our old acquaintance forrester, to whom, in the division of the duties, this post had been assigned. he spoke again:-- "you'd better not, captain, i advise you. it will be dangerous if you come farther. don't trouble us, now; and be off, as soon as you can, out of harm's way. your bones will be all the better for it; and i declare i don't like to hurt such a fine-looking chap if i can possibly avoid it. now take a friend's advice; 'twill be all the better for you, i tell you." the speaker evidently meant well, so far as it was possible for one to mean well who was commissioned to do, and was, in fact, doing ill. the georgian, however, only the more indignant at the impertinence of the address, took the following notice of it, uttered in the same breath with an imperative command to his own men to hasten their advance:-- "disperse yourselves, scoundrels, and throw down your arms!--on the instant disperse! lift a hand, or pull a trigger upon us, and every man shall dangle upon the branches of the first tree!" as he spoke, leading the way, he drove his rowels into the sides of his animal; and, followed by his troop, bounded fearlessly up the gorge. chapter xiv. catastrophe--colleton's discovery. it is time to return to ralph colleton, who has quite too long escaped our consideration. the reader will doubtless remember, with little difficulty, where and under what circumstances we left him. provoked by the sneer and sarcasm of the man whom at the same moment he most cordially despised, we have seen him taking a position in the controversy, in which his person, though not actually within the immediate sphere of action, was nevertheless not a little exposed to some of its risks. this position, with fearless indifference, he continued to maintain, unshrinkingly and without interruption, throughout the whole period and amid all the circumstances of the conflict. there was something of a boyish determination in this way to assert his courage, which his own sense inwardly rebuked; yet such is the nature of those peculiarities in southern habits and opinions, to which we have already referred, on all matters which relate to personal prowess and a masculine defiance of danger, that, even while entertaining the most profound contempt for those in whose eye the exhibition was made, he was not sufficiently independent of popular opinion to brave its current when he himself was its subject. he may have had an additional motive for this proceeding, which most probably enforced its necessity. he well knew that fearless courage, among this people, was that quality which most certainly won and secured their respect; and the policy was not unwise, perhaps which represented this as a good opportunity for a display which might have the effect of protecting him from wanton insult or aggression hereafter. to a certain extent he was at their mercy; and conscious, from what he had seen, of the unscrupulous character of their minds, every exhibition of the kind had some weight in his favor. it was with a lively and excited spirit that he surveyed, from the moderate eminence on which he stood, the events going on around him. though not sufficiently near the parties (and scrupulous not to expose himself to the chance of being for a moment supposed to be connected with either of them) to ascertain their various arrangements, from what had met his observation, he had been enabled to form a very correct inference as to the general progress of affairs. he had beheld the proceedings of each array while under cover, and contending with one another, to much the same advantage as the spectator who surveys the game in which two persons are at play. he could have pointed out the mistakes of both in the encounter he had witnessed, and felt assured that he could have ably and easily amended them. his frame quivered with the "rapture of the strife," as attila is said to have called the excitation of battle; and his blood, with a genuine southern fervor, rushed to and from his heart with a bounding impulse, as some new achievement of one side or the other added a fresh interest to, and in some measure altered the face of, the affair. but when he beheld the new array, so unexpectedly, yet auspiciously for munro, make its appearance upon the field, the excitement of his spirit underwent proportionate increase; and with deep anxiety, and a sympathy now legitimate with the assailants, he surveyed the progress of an affray for which his judgment prepared him to anticipate a most unhappy termination. as the strife proceeded, he half forgot his precaution, and unconsciously continued, at every moment, to approach more nearly to the scene of strife. his heart was now all impulse, his spirit all enthusiasm; and with an unquiet eye and restless frame, he beheld the silent passage of the little detachment under the gallant georgian, up the narrow gorge. at some distance from the hill, and on an eminence, his position enabled him to perceive, when the party had made good their advance nearly to the summit, the impending danger. he saw the threatening cliff, hanging as it were in mid air above them; and all his sympathies, warmly excited at length by the fearfulness of the peril into a degree of active partisanship which, at the beginning, a proper prudence had well counselled him to avoid, he put spurs to his steed, and rushing forward to the foot of the hill, shouted out to the advancing party the nature of the danger which awaited them. he shouted strenuously, but in vain--and with a feeling almost amounting to agony, he beheld the little troop resolutely advance beneath the ponderous rock, which, held in its place by the slightest purchase, needed but the most moderate effort to upheave and unfix it for ever. it was fortunate for the youth that the situation in which he stood was concealed entirely from the view of those in the encampment. it had been no object with him to place himself in safety, for the consideration of his own chance of exposure had never been looked to in his mind, when, under the noble impulse of humanity, he had rushed forward, if possible, to recall the little party, who either did not or were unwilling to hear his voice of warning and prevention. had he been beheld, there would have been few of the squatters unable, and still fewer unwilling, to pick him off with their rifles; and, as the event will show, the good providence alone which had hitherto kept with him, rather than the forbearance of his quondam acquaintance, continued to preserve his life. apprized of the ascent of the pass, and not disposed to permit of the escape of those whom the defenders of it above might spare, unobserved by his assailants in front, dexter, with a small detachment, sallying through a loophole of his fortress, took an oblique course toward the foot of the gorge, by which to arrest the flight of the fugitives. this course brought him directly upon, and in contact with, ralph, who stood immediately at its entrance, with uplifted eye, and busily engaged in shouting, at intervals, to the yet advancing assailants. the squatters approached cautiously and unperceived; for so deeply was the youth interested in the fate of those for whom his voice and hands were alike uplifted, that he was conscious of nothing else at that moment of despair and doubt. the very silence which at that time hung over all things, seemed of itself to cloud and obstruct, while they lulled the senses into a corresponding slumber. it was well for the youth, and unlucky for the assassin, that, as dexter, with his uplifted hatchet--for fire-arms at that period he dared not use, for fear of attracting the attention of his foes--struck at his head, his advanced foot became entangled in the root of a tree which ran above the surface, and the impetus of his action occurring at the very instant in which he encountered the obstruction, the stroke fell short of his victim, and grazed the side of his horse; while the ruffian himself, stumbling forward and at length, fell headlong upon the ground. the youth was awakened to consciousness. his mind was one of that cast with which to know, to think, and to act, are simultaneous. of ready decision, he was never at a loss, and seldom surprised into even momentary incertitude. with the first intimation of the attack upon himself, his pistol had been drawn, and while the prostrate ruffian was endeavoring to rise, and before he had well regained his feet, the unerring ball was driven through his head, and without word or effort he fell back among his fellows, the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils in unrestrained torrents. the whole transaction was the work of a single instant; and before the squatters, who came with their slain leader, could sufficiently recover from the panic produced by the event to revenge his death, the youth was beyond their reach; and the assailing party of the guard, in front of the post, apprized of the sally by the discharge of the pistol, made fearful work among them by a general fire, while obliquing to the entrance of the pass just in time to behold the catastrophe, now somewhat precipitated by the event which had occurred below. ralph, greatly excited, regained his original stand of survey, and with feelings of unrepressed horror beheld the catastrophe. the georgian had almost reached the top of the hill--another turn of the road gave him a glimpse of the table upon which rested the hanging and disjointed cliff of which we have spoken, when a voice was heard--a single voice--in inquiry:-- "all ready?" the reply was immediate-- "ay, ay; now prize away, boys, and let go." the advancing troop looked up, and were permitted a momentary glance of the terrible fate which awaited them before it fell. that moment was enough for horror. a general cry burst from the lips of those in front, the only notice which those in the rear ever received of the danger before it was upon them. an effort, half paralyzed by the awful emotion which came over them, was made to avoid the down-coming ruin; but with only partial success; for, in an instant after, the ponderous mass, which hung for a moment like a cloud above them, upheaved from its bed of ages, and now freed from all stays, with a sudden, hurricane-like and whirling impetus, making the solid rock tremble over which it rushed, came thundering down, swinging over one half of the narrow trace, bounding from one side to the other along the gorge, and with the headlong fury of a cataract sweeping everything from before its path until it reached the dead level of the plain below. the involuntary shriek from those who beheld the mass, when, for an instant impending above them, it seemed to hesitate in its progress down, was more full of human terror than any utterance which followed the event. with the exception of a groan, wrung forth here and there from the half-crushed victim, in nature's agony, the deep silence which ensued was painful and appalling; and even when the dust had dissipated, and the eye was enabled to take in the entire amount of the evil deed, the prospect failed in impressing the senses of the survivors with so distinct a sentiment of horror, as when the doubt and death, suspended in air, were yet only threatened. though prepared for the event, in one sense of the word, the great body of the squatters were not prepared for the unusual emotions which succeeded it in their bosoms. the arms dropped from the hands of many of them--a speechless horror was the prevailing feature of all, and all fight was over, while the scene of bloody execution was now one of indiscriminate examination and remark with friend and foe. ralph was the first to rush up the fatal pass, and to survey the horrible prospect. one half of the brave little corps had been swept to instant death by the unpitying rock, without having afforded the slightest obstacle to its fearful progress. in one place lay a disembowelled steed panting its last; mangled in a confused and unintelligible mass lay beside him another, the limbs of his rider in many places undistinguishable from his own. one poor wretch, whom he assisted to extricate from beneath the body of his struggling horse, cried to him for water, and died in the prayer. fortunately for the few who survived the catastrophe--among whom was their gallant but unfortunate young leader--they had, at the first glimpse of the danger, urged on their horses with redoubled effort, and by a close approach to the surface or the rock, taking an oblique direction wide of its probable course, had, at the time of its precipitation, reached a line almost parallel with the place upon which it stood, and in this way achieved their escape without injury. their number was few, however; and not one half of the fifteen, who commenced the ascent, ever reached or survived its attainment. ralph gained the summit just in time to prevent the completion of the foul tragedy by its most appropriate climax. as if enough had not yet been done in the way of crime, the malignant and merciless rivers, of whom we have seen little in this affair, but by whose black and devilish spirit the means of destruction had been hit upon, which had so well succeeded, now stood over the body of the georgian, with uplifted hand, about to complete the deed already begun. there was not a moment for delay, and the youth sprung forward in time to seize and wrest the weapon from his grasp. with a feeling of undisguised indignation, he exclaimed, as the outlaw turned furiously upon him-- "wretch--what would you? have you not done enough? would you strike the unresisting man?" rivers, with undisguised effort, now turned his rage upon the intruder. his words, choked by passion, could scarce find utterance; but he spoke with furious effort at length, as he directed a wild blow with a battle-axe at the head of the youth. "you come for your death, and you shall have it!". "not yet," replied ralph, adroitly avoiding the stroke and closing with the ruffian--"you will find that i an not unequal to the struggle, though it be with such a monster as yourself." what might have been the event of this combat may not be said. the parties were separated in a moment by the interposition of forrester, but not till our hero, tearing off in the scuffle the handkerchief which had hitherto encircled the cheeks of his opponent, discovered the friendly outlaw who collected toll for the pony club, and upon whose face the hoof of his horse was most visibly engraven--who had so boldly avowed his design upon his life and purse, and whom he had so fortunately and successfully foiled on his first approach to the village. the fight was over after this catastrophe; the survivors of the guard, who were unhurt, had fled; and the parties with little stir were all now assembled around the scene of it. there was little said upon the occasion. the wounded were taken such care of as circumstances would permit; and wagons having been provided, were all removed to the village. begun with too much impulse, and conducted with too little consideration, the struggle between the military and the outlaws had now terminated in a manner that left perhaps but little satisfaction in the minds of either party. the latter, though generally an unlicensed tribe--an ishmaelitish race--whose hands were against all men, were not so sure that they had not been guilty of a crime, not merely against the laws of man and human society, but against the self-evident decrees and dictates of god; and with this doubt, at least, if not its conviction, in their thoughts, their victory, such as it was, afforded a source of very qualified rejoicing. chapter xv. close quarters. colleton was by no means slow in the recognition of the ruffian, and only wondered at his own dullness of vision in not having made the discovery before. nor did rivers, with all his habitual villany, seem so well satisfied with his detection. perceiving himself fully known, a momentary feeling of inquietude came over him; and though he did not fear, he began to entertain in his mind that kind of agitation and doubt which made him, for the first time, apprehensive of the consequences. he was not the cool villain like munro--never to be taken by surprise, or at disadvantage; and his eye was now withdrawn, though but for a moment, beneath the stern and searching glance which read him through. that tacit animal confession and acknowledgment were alone sufficient to madden a temper such as that of rivers. easily aroused, his ferocity was fearless and atrocious, but not measured or methodical. his mind was not marked--we had almost said tempered--by that wholesome indifference of mood which, in all matters of prime villany, is probably the most desirable constituent. he was, as we have seen, a creature of strong passions, morbid ambition, quick and even habitual excitement; though, at times, endeavoring to put on that air of sarcastic superiority to all emotion which marked the character of the ascetic philosopher--a character to which he had not the slightest claim of resemblance, and the very affectation of which, whenever he became aroused or irritated, was completely forgotten. without referring--as munro would have done, and, indeed, as he subsequently did--to the precise events which had already just taken place and were still in progress about him, and which made all parties equally obnoxious with himself to human punishment, and for an offence far more criminal in its dye than that which the youth laid to his charge--he could not avoid the momentary apprehension, which--succeeding with the quickness of thought the intelligent and conscious glance of colleton--immediately came over him. his eye, seldom distinguished by such a habit, quailed before it; and the deep malignity and festering hatred of his soul toward the youth, which it so unaccountably entertained before, underwent, by this mortification of his pride, a due degree of exaggeration. ralph, though wise beyond his years, and one who, in a thought borrowed in part from ovid, we may say, could rather compute them by events than ordinary time, wanted yet considerably in that wholesome, though rather dowdyish virtue, which men call prudence. he acted on the present occasion precisely as he might have done in the college campus, with all the benefits of a fair field and a plentiful crowd of backers. without duly reflecting whether an accusation of the kind he preferred, at such a time, to such men, and against one of their own accomplices, would avail much, if anything, toward the punishment of the criminal--not to speak of his own risk, necessarily an almost certain consequence from such an implied determination not to be _particeps criminis_ with any of them, he approached, and boldly denounced rivers as a murderous villain; and urgently called upon those around him to aid in his arrest. but he was unheard--he had no auditors; nor did this fact result from any unwillingness on their part to hear and listen to the charge against one so detested as the accused. they could see and hear but of one subject--they could comprehend no other. the events of such fresh and recent occurrence were in all minds and before all eyes; and few, besides forrester, either heard to understand, or listened for a moment to the recital. nor did the latter and now unhappy personage appear to give it much more consideration than the rest. hurried on by the force of associating circumstances, and by promptings not of himself or his, he had been an active performer in the terrible drama we have already witnessed, and the catastrophe of which he could now only, and in vain, deplore. leaning with vacant stare and lacklustre vision against the neighboring rock, he seemed indifferent to, and perhaps ignorant of, the occurrences taking place around him. he had interfered when the youth and rivers were in contact, but so soon after the event narrated, that time for reflection had not then been allowed. the dreadful process of thinking himself into an examination of his own deeds was going on; and remorse, with its severe but salutary stings, was doing, without restraint, her rigorous duties. though either actually congregated or congregating around him, and within free and easy hearing of his voice, now stretched to its utmost, the party were quite too busily employed in the discussion of the events--too much immersed in the sudden stupor which followed, in nearly all minds, their termination--to know or care much what were the hard words which our young traveller bestowed upon the detected outlaw. they had all of them (their immediate leaders excepted) been hurried on, as is perfectly natural and not unfrequently the case, by the rapid succession of incidents (which in their progress of excitement gave them no time for reflection), from one act to another; without perceiving, in a single pause, the several gradations by which they insensibly passed on from crime to crime;--and it was only now, and in a survey of the several foot-prints in their progress, that they were enabled to perceive the vast and perilous leaps which they had taken. as in the ascent of the elevation, step by step, we can judge imperfectly of its height, until from the very summit we look down upon our place of starting, so with the wretched outcasts of society of whom we speak. flushed with varying excitements, they had deputed the task of reflection to another and a calmer time; and with the reins of sober reason relaxed, whirled on by their passions, they lost all control over their own impetuous progress, until brought up and checked, as we have seen, by a catastrophe the most ruinous--the return of reason being the signal for the rousing up of those lurking furies--terror, remorse, and many and maddening regrets. from little to large events, we experience or behold this every day. it is a history and all read it. it belongs to human nature and to society: and until some process shall be discovered by which men shall be compelled to think by rule and under regulation, as in a penitentiary their bodies are required to work, we despair of having much improvement in the general condition of human affairs. the ignorant and uneducated man is quite too willing to depute to others the task of thinking for him and furnishing his opinions. the great mass are gregarious, and whether a lion or a log is chosen for their guidance, it is still the same--they will follow the leader, if regularly recognised as such, even though he be an ass. as if conscious of their own incapacities, whether these arise from deficiencies of education or denials of birth, they forego the only habit--that of self-examination--which alone can supply the deficiency; and with a blind determination, are willing, on any terms, to divest themselves of the difficulties and responsibilities of their own government. they crown others with all command, and binding their hands with cords, place themselves at the disposal of those, who, in many cases, not satisfied with thus much, must have them hookwinked also. to this they also consent, taking care, in their great desire to be slaves, to be foremost themselves in tying on the bandage which keeps them in darkness and in chains for ever. thus will they be content to live, however wronged, if not absolutely bruised and beaten; happy to escape from the cares of an independent mastery of their own conduct, if, in this way, they can also escape from the noble responsibilities of independence. the unhappy men, thus led on, as we have seen, from the commission of misdemeanor to that of crime, in reality, never for a moment thought upon the matter. the landlord, dexter, and rivers, had, time out of mind, been their oracles; and, without referring to the distinct condition of those persons, they reasoned in a manner not uncommon with the ignorant. like children at play, they did not perceive the narrow boundaries which separate indulgence from licentiousness; and in the hurried excitement of the mood, inspired by the one habit, they had passed at once, unthinkingly and unconsciously, into the excesses of the other. they now beheld the event in its true colors, and there were but few among the squatters not sadly doubtful upon the course taken, and suffering corresponding dismay from its probable consequences. to a few, such as munro and rivers, the aspect of the thing was unchanged--they had beheld its true features from the outset, and knew the course, and defied the consequences. they had already made up their minds upon it--had regarded the matter in all its phases, and suffered no surprise accordingly. not so with the rest--with forrester in particular, whose mental distress, though borne with manliness, was yet most distressing. he stood apart, saying nothing, yet lamenting inwardly, with the self-upbraidings of an agonized spirit, the easy facility with which he had been won, by the cunning of others, into the perpetration of a crime so foul. he either for a time heard not or understood not the charges made by ralph against his late coadjutor, until brought to his consciousness by the increased stir among the confederates, who now rapidly crowded about the spot, in time to hear the denial of the latter to the accusation, in language and a manner alike fierce and unqualified. "hear me!" was the exclamation of the youth--his voice rising in due effect, and illustrating well the words he uttered, and the purpose of his speech:--"i charge this born and branded villain with an attempt upon my life. he sought to rob and murder me at the catcheta pass but a few days ago. thrown between my horse's feet in the struggle, he received the brand of his hoof, which he now wears upon his cheek. there he stands, with the well-deserved mark upon him, and which, but for the appearance of his accomplices, i should have made of a yet deeper character. let him deny it if he can or dare." the face of rivers grew alternately pale and purple with passion, and he struggled in vain, for several minutes, to speak. the words came from him hoarsely and gratingly. fortunately for him, munro, whose cool villany nothing might well discompose, perceiving the necessity of speech for him who had none, interfered with the following inquiry, uttered in something like a tone of surprise. "and what say you to this accusation, guy rivers? can you not find an answer?" "it is false--false as hell! and you know it, munro, as well as myself. i never saw the boy until at your house." "that i know, and why you should take so long to say it i can't understand. it appears to me, young gentleman," said munro, with most cool and delightful effrontery, "that i can set all these matters right. i can show you to be under a mistake; for i happen to know that, at the very time of which you speak, we were both of us up in the chestatee fork, looking for a runaway slave--you know the fellow, boys--black tom--who has been _out_ for six months and more, and of whom i got information a few weeks ago. well, as everybody knows, the chestatee fork is at least twenty miles from the catcheta pass; and if we were in one place, we could not, i am disposed to think, very well be in another." "an _alibi_, clearly established," was the remark of counsellor pippin, who now, peering over the shoulders of the youth, exhibited his face for the first time during the controversies of the day. pippin was universally known to be possessed of an admirable scent for finding out a danger when it is well over, and when the spoils, and not the toils, of the field are to be reaped. his appearance at this moment had the effect of arousing, in some sort, the depressed spirits of those around him, by recalling to memory and into exercise the jests upon his infirmities, which long use had made legitimate and habitual. calculating the probable effect of such a joke, munro, without seeming to observe the interruption, looking significantly round among the assembly, went on to say-- "if you have been thus assaulted, young man, and i am not disposed to say it is not as you assert, it can not have been by any of our village, unless it be that counsellor pippin and his fellow hob were the persons: they were down, now i recollect, at the catcheta pass, somewhere about the time; and i've long suspected pippin to be more dangerous than people think him." "i deny it all--i deny it. it's not true, young man. it's not true, my friends; don't believe a word of it. now, munro, how can you speak so? hob--hob--hob--i say--where the devil are you? hob--say, you rascal, was i within five miles of the catcheta pass to-day?" the negro, a black of the sootiest complexion, now advanced:-- "no, maussa." "was i yesterday?" the negro put his finger to his forehead, and the lawyer began to fret at this indication of thought, and, as it promised to continue, exclaimed-- "speak, you rascal, speak out; you know well enough without reflecting." the slave cautiously responded-- "if maussa want to be dere, maussa dere--no 'casion for ax hob." "you black rascal, you know well enough i was not there--that i was not within five miles of the spot, either to-day, yesterday, or for ten days back!" "berry true, maussa; if you no dere, you no dere. hob nebber say one ting when maussa say 'noder." the unfortunate counsellor, desperate with the deference of his body-servant, now absolutely perspired with rage; while, to the infinite amusement of all, in an endeavor to strike the pliable witness, who adroitly dodged the blow, the lawyer, not over-active of frame, plunged incontinently forward, and paused not in his headlong determination until he measured himself at length upon the ground. the laugh which succeeded was one of effectual discomfiture, and the helpless barrister made good his retreat from a field so unpromising by a pursuit of the swift-footed negro, taking care not to return from the chase. colleton, who had regarded this interlude with stern brow and wrathful spirit, now spoke, addressing munro:-- "you affirm most strongly for this villain, but your speech is vain if its object be to satisfy my doubts. what effect it may have upon our hearers is quite another matter. you can not swear me out of my conviction and the integrity of my senses. i am resolute in the one belief, and do not hesitate here, and in the presence of himself and all of you, to pronounce him again all the scoundrel i declared him to be at first--in the teeth of all your denials not less than of his! but, perhaps--as you answer for him so readily and so well--let us know, for doubtless you can, by what chance he came by that brand, that fine impress which he wears so happily upon his cheek. can you not inform him where he got it--on what road he met with it, and whether the devil's or my horse's heel gave it him!" "if your object be merely to insult me, young man, i forgive it. you are quite too young for me to punish, and i have only pity for the indiscretion that moves you to unprofitable violence at this time and in this place, where you see but little respect is shown to those who invade us with harsh words or actions. as for your charge against rivers, i happen to know that it is unfounded, and my evidence alone would be sufficient for the purpose of his defence. if, however, he were guilty of the attempt, as you allege, of what avail is it for you to make it? look around you, young man!"--taking the youth aside as he spoke in moderated terms--"you have eyes and understanding, and can answer the question for yourself. who is here to arrest him? who would desire, who would dare to make the endeavor? we are all here equally interested in his escape, were he a criminal in this respect, because we are all here"--and his voice fell in such a manner as to be accommodated to the senses of the youth alone--"equally guilty of violating the same laws, and by an offence in comparison with which that against you would be entirely lost sight of. there is the courthouse, it is true--and there the jail; but we seldom see sheriff, judge, or jailer. when they do make their appearance, which is not often, they are glad enough to get away again. if we here suffer injury from one another, we take justice into our own hands--as you allege yourself partly to have done in this case--and there the matter generally ends. rivers, you think, assaulted you, and had the worst of it. you got off with but little harm yourself, and a reasonable man ought to be satisfied. nothing more need be said of it. this is the wisest course, let me advise you. be quiet about the matter, go on your way, and leave us to ourselves. better suffer a little wrong, and seem to know nothing of it, than risk a quarrel with those who, having once put themselves out of the shelter of the laws, take every opportunity of putting them at defiance. and what if you were to push the matter, where will the sheriff or the military find us? in a week and the judge will arrive, and the court will be in session. for that week we shall be out of the way. nobody shall know--nobody can find us. this day's work will most probably give us all a great itch for travel." munro had, in truth, made out a very plain case; and his representations, in the main, were all correct. the youth felt their force, and his reason readily assented to the plain-sense course which they pointed out. contenting himself, therefore, with reiterating the charge, he concluded with saying that, for the present, he would let the affair rest. "until the ruffian"--thus he phrased it--"had answered the penalties of the laws for his subsequent and more heinous offence against them, he should be silent." "but i have not done with _you_, young sir," was the immediate speech of rivers--his self-confidence and much of his composure returned, as, with a fierce and malignant look, and a quick stride, he approached the youth. "you have thought proper to make a foul charge against me, which i have denied. it has been shown that your assertion is unfounded, yet you persist in it, and offer no atonement. i now demand redress--the redress of a gentleman. you know the custom of the country, and regard your own character, i should think, too highly to refuse me satisfaction. you have pistols, and here are rifles and dirks. take your choice." the youth looked upon him with ineffable scorn as he replied-- "you mistake me, sirrah, if you think i can notice your call with anything but contempt." "what! will you not fight--not fight? not back your words?" "not with you!" was the calm reply. "you refuse me satisfaction, after insulting me!" "i always took him for a poor chicken, from the first time i set eyes on him," said one of the spectators. "yes, i didn't think much of him, when he refused to join us," was the remark of another. "this comes of so much crowing; brag is a good dog, but holdfast is better," went on a third, and each man had his remark upon colleton's seeming timidity. scorn and indignation were in all faces around him; and forrester, at length awakened from his stupor by the tide of fierce comment setting in upon his friend from all quarters, now thought it time to interfere. "come, 'squire, how's this? don't give way--give him satisfaction, as he calls it, and send the lead into his gizzard. it will be no harm done, in putting it to such a creature as that. don't let him crow over old carolina--don't, now, squire! you can hit him as easy as a barndoor, for i saw your shot to-day; don't be afraid, now--stand up, and i'll back you against the whole of them." "ay, bring him forward, forrester. let him be a man, if he can," was the speech of one of the party. "come,'squire, let me say that you are ready. i'll mark off the ground, and you shall have fair play," was the earnest speech of the woodman in terms of entreaty. "you mistake me greatly, forrester, if you suppose for a moment that i will contend on equal terms with such a wretch. he is a common robber and an outlaw, whom i have denounced as such, and whom i can not therefore fight with. were he a gentleman, or had he any pretensions to the character, you should have no need to urge me on, i assure you." "i know that, 'squire, and therefore it provokes me to think that the skunk should get off. can't you, now, lay aside the gentleman just long enough to wing him? now, do try!" the youth smiled as he shook his head negatively. forrester, with great anxiety, proceeded:-- "but, 'squire, they won't know your reason for refusing, and they will set you down as afear'd. they will call you a coward!" "and what if they do, forrester? they are not exactly the people about whose opinions i give myself any concern. i am not solicitous to gain credit for courage among them. if any of them doubt it, let him try me. let one of them raise a hand or lift a finger upon me, and make the experiment. they will then find me ready and willing enough to defend myself from any outrage, come from what quarter it may." "i'm afraid, 'squire, they can't be made to understand the difference between a gentleman and a squatter. indeed, it isn't reasonable that they should, seeing that such a difference puts them out of any chance of dressing a proud fellow who carries his head too high. if you don't fight, 'squire, i must, if it's only for the honor of old carolina. so here goes." the woodman threw off his coat, and taking up his rifle, substituted a new for the old flint, and furnishing the pan with fresh priming, before our hero could well understand the proposed and novel arrangement so as to interpose in its arrest, he advanced to the spot where rivers stood, apparently awaiting the youth's decision, and, slapping him upon the shoulder, thus addressed him:-- "i say, guy rivers, the 'squire thinks you too great a black guard for him to handle, and leaves all the matter to me. now, you see, as i've done _that_ to-day which makes me just as great a blackguard as yourself, i stand up in his place. so here's for you. you needn't make any excuse, and say you have no quarrel with me, for, as i am to handle you in his place, you will consider me to say everything that he has said--every word of it; and, in addition to that, if more be necessary, you must know i think you a mere skunk, and i've been wanting to have a fair lick at you for a monstrous long season." "you shall not interfere, forrester, and in this manner, on any pretence, for the shelter of the coward, who, having insulted me, now refuses to give me satisfaction. if you have anything to ask at my hands, when i have done with him, i shall be ready for you," was the reply of rivers. "you hear that 'squire? i told you so. he has called you a coward, and you will have to fight him at last." "i do not see the necessity for that, forrester, and beg that you will undertake no fighting on my account. when my honor is in danger, i am man enough to take care of it myself; and, when i am not, my friend can do me no service by taking my place. as for this felon, the hangman for him--nobody else." maddened, not less by the cool determination of colleton than by the contemptuous conclusion of his speech, rivers, without a word, sprang fiercely upon him with a dirk, drawn from his bosom with concerted motion as he made the leap--striking, as he approached, a blow at the unguarded breast of the youth, which, from the fell and fiendish aim and effort, must have resulted fatally had he not been properly prepared for some such attempt. ralph was in his prime, however, of vigorous make and muscle, and well practised in the agile sports and athletic exercises of woodland life. he saw the intent in the mischievous glance of his enemy's eye, in time to guard himself against it; and, suddenly changing his position, as the body of his antagonist was nearly upon him, he eluded the blow, and the force and impetus employed in the effort bore the assassin forward. before he could arrest his own progress, the youth had closed in upon him, and by a dexterous use of his foot, in a manner well known to the american woodman, rivers, without being able to interpose the slightest obstacle to the new direction thus given him, was forcibly hurled to the ground. before he could recover, the youth was upon him. his blood was now at fever-heat, for he had not heard the taunts upon his courage, from all around him, with indifference, though he had borne them with a laudable show of patience throughout. his eye shot forth fires almost as malignant as those of his opponent. one of his hands was wreathed in the neckcloth of his prostrate foe, while the other was employed in freeing his own dirk from the encumbrances of his vest. this took little time, and he would not have hesitated in the blow, when the interposition of those present bore him off, and permitted the fallen and stunned man to recover his feet. it was at this moment that the honest friendship of forrester was to be tried and tested. the sympathies of those around were most generally with the ruffian; and the aspect of affairs was something unlucky, when the latter was not only permitted to recommence the attack, but when the youth was pinioned to the ground by others of the gang, and disarmed of all defence. the moment was perilous; and, whooping like a savage, forrester leaped in between, dealing at the same time his powerful blows from one to the other, right and left, and making a clear field around the youth. "fair play is all i ask, boys--fair play, and we can lick the whole of you. hurra for old carolina. who's he says a word against her? let him stand up, and be knocked down. how's it, 'squire--you an't hurt, i reckon? i hope not; if you are, i'll have a shot with rivers myself on the spot." but munro interposed: "we have had enough outcry, forrester. let us have no more. take this young man along with you, or it will be worse for him." "well, wat munro, all the 'squire wants is fair play--fair play for both of us, and we'll take the field, man after man. i tell you what, munro, in our parts the chickens are always hatched with spurs, and the children born with their eye-teeth. we know something, too, about whipping our weight in wild-cats; and until the last governor of our state had all the bears killed, because they were getting civilized, we could wrestle with 'em man for man, and throw seven out of ten." chapter xvi. conspiracy--warning. ralph was not permitted to return to the village that night--his sturdy friend forrester insisting upon his occupying with him the little lodge of his own, resting on the borders of the settlement, and almost buried in the forest. here they conversed until a late hour, previous to retiring; the woodman entering more largely into his own history than he had done before. he suffered painfully from the occurrences of the day: detailed the manner in which he had been worked upon by munro to take part in the more fearful transaction with the guard--how the excitement of the approaching conflict had defeated his capacities of thought, and led him on to the commission of so great a part of the general offence. touching the initial affair with the squatters, he had no compunctious scruples. that was all fair game in his mode of thinking, and even had blood been spilled more freely than it was, he seemed to think he should have had no remorse. but on the subject of the murder of the guard, for so he himself called his crime, his feeling was so intensely agonizing that ralph, though as much shocked as himself at the events, found it necessary to employ sedative language, and to forbear all manner of rebuke. at an early hour of the morning, they proceeding in company to the village--forrester having to complete certain arrangements prior to his flight; which, by the advice of colleton, he had at once determined upon. such, no doubt, was the determination of many among them not having those resources, in a familiarity with crime and criminal associations, which were common to munro and rivers. the aspect of the village was somewhat varied from its wont. its people were not so far gone in familiarity with occurrences like those of the preceding day, as to be utterly insensible to their consequences; and a chill inertness pervaded all faces, and set at defiance every endeavor on the part of the few who had led, to put the greater number in better spirits, either with themselves or those around them. they were men habituated, it may be, to villanies; but of a petty description, and far beneath that which we have just recorded. it is not, therefore, to be wondered at, if, when the momentary impulse had passed away, they felt numerous misgivings. they were all assembled, as on the day before--their new allies with them--arms in their hands, but seemingly without much disposition for their use. they sauntered unconsciously about the village, in little groups or individually, without concert or combination, and with suspicious or hesitating eye. occasionally, the accents of a single voice broke the general silence, though but for a moment; and then, with a startling and painful influence, which imparted a still deeper sense of gloom to the spirits of all. it appeared to come laden with a mysterious and strange terror, and the speaker, aptly personifying the fear in collins's fine "ode on the passions," "shrunk from the sound himself had made." ralph, in company with forrester, made his appearance among the squatters while thus situated. seeing them armed as on the previous day, he was apprehensive of some new evil; and as he approached the several stray groups, made known his apprehensions to his companion in strong language. he was not altogether assured of forrester's own compunction, and the appearance of those around almost persuaded him to doubt his sincerity. "why are these people assembled, forrester--is there anything new--is there more to be done--more bloodletting--more crime and violence--are they still unsatisfied?" the earnestness of the inquirer was coupled with a sternness of eye and warmth of accent which had in them much, that, under other circumstances and at other times, would have been sorely offensive to the sturdy woodman; whose spirit, anything in the guise of rebuke would have been calculated to vex. but he was burdened with thoughts at the moment, which, in a sufficiently meritorial character, humbled him with a scourge that lacerated at every stroke. "god forbid, 'squire, that more harm should be done. there has been more done already than any of us shall well get rid of. i wish to heaven i had taken caution from you. but i was mad, 'squire, mad to the heart, and became the willing tool of men not so mad, but more evil than i! god forbid, sir, that there should be more harm done." "then why this assembly? why do the villagers, and these ragged and savage fellows whom you have incorporated among you--why do they lounge about idly, with arms in their hands, and faces that still seem bent on mischief?" "because, 'squire, it's impossible to do otherwise. we can't go to work, for the life of us, if we wished to; we all feel that we have gone too far, and those, whose own consciences do not trouble them, are yet too much troubled by fear of the consequences to be in any hurry to take up handspike or hammer again in this quarter of the world." the too guilty man had indeed spoken his own and the condition of the people among whom he lived. they could now see and feel the fruits of that rash error which had led them on; but their consciousness came too late for retrieval, and they now wondered, with a simplicity truly surprising to those who know with what facility an uneducated and warm people may be led to their own ruin, that this consciousness had not come to them before. ralph, attended by forrester, advanced among the crowd. as he did so, all eyes were turned upon him, and a sullen conference took place, having reference to himself, between munro and a few of the ringleaders. this conference was brief, and as soon as it was concluded, the landlord turned to the youth, and spoke as follows:-- "you were a witness, mr. colleton, of this whole transaction, and can say whether the soldiers were not guilty of the most unprovoked assault upon us, without reason or right." "i can say no such thing, sir," was his reply. "on the contrary, i am compelled to say, that a more horrible and unjustifiable transaction i never witnessed. i must say that they were not the aggressors." "how unjustifiable young sir?" quickly and sternly retorted the landlord "did you not behold us ridden down by the soldiery? did they not attack us in our trenches--in our castle as it were? and have we not a right to defend our castle from assailants? they took the adventure at their peril, and suffered accordingly." "i know not what your title may be to the grounds you have defended so successfully, and which you have styled your castle, nor shall i stop to inquire. i do not believe that your right either gave you possession or authorized your defence in this cruel manner. the matter, however, is between you and your country. my own impressions are decidedly against you; and were i called upon for an opinion as to your mode of asserting your pretended right, i should describe it as brutal and barbarous, and wholly without excuse or justification, whether examined by divine or human laws." "a sermon, a sermon from the young preacher, come, boys, give him old hundred. really, sir, you promise almost as well as the parson you heard yesterday; and will take lessons from him, if advised by me. but go on--come to a finish--mount upon the stump, where you can be better seen and heard." the cheek of the youth glowed with indignation at the speech of the ruffian, but he replied with a concentrated calmness that was full of significance:-- "you mistake me greatly, sir, if you imagine i am to be provoked into contest with you by any taunt which you can utter. i pride myself somewhat in the tact with which i discover a ruffian, and having, at an early period of your acquaintance, seen what you were, i can not regard you in any other than a single point of view. were you not what i know you to be, whatever might have been the difference of force between us, i should ere this have driven my dirk into your throat." "why, that's something like, now--that's what i call manly. you do seem to have some pluck in you, young sir, though you might make more use of it. i like a fellow that can feel when he's touched; and don't think a bit the worse of you that you think ill of me, and tell me so. but that's not the thing now. we must talk of other matters. you must answer a civil question or two for the satisfaction of the company. we want to know, sir, if we may apprehend any interference on your part between us and the state. will you tell the authorities what you saw?" the youth made no answer to this question, but turning contemptuously upon his heel, was about to leave the circle, around which the assembly, in visible anxiety for his reply, was now beginning to crowd. "stay, young master, not so fast. you must give us some answer before you are off. let us know what we are to expect. whether, if called upon by any authority, you would reveal what you know of this business?" was the further inquiry of munro. "i certainly should--every word of it. i should at once say that you were all criminal, and describe you as the chief actor and instigator in this unhappy affair." the response of colleton had been unhesitating and immediate; and having given it, he passed through the throng and left the crowd, which, sullenly parting, made way for him in front. guy rivers, in an under tone, muttered in the ear of munro as he left the circle:-- "that, by the eternal god, he shall never do. are you satisfied now of the necessity of silencing him?" munro simply made a sign of silence, and took no seeming note of his departure; but his determination was made, and there was now no obstacle in that quarter to the long-contemplated vengeance of his confederate. while this matter was in progress among the villagers, counsellor pippin vexed himself and his man hob not a little with inquiries as to the manner in which he should contrive to make some professional business grow out of it. he could not well expect any of the persons concerned, voluntarily to convict themselves; and his thoughts turned necessarily upon ralph as the only one on whom he could rest his desire in this particular. we have seen with what indifferent success his own adventure on the field of action, and when the danger was all well over, was attended; but he had heard and seen enough to persuade himself that but little was wanting, without appearing in the matter himself, to induce ralph to prosecute rivers for the attempt upon his life, a charge which, in his presence, he had heard him make. he calculated in this way to secure himself in two jobs--as magistrate, to institute the initial proceedings by which rivers was to be brought to trial, and the expense of which ralph was required to pay--and, as an attorney-at-law, and the only one of which the village might boast, to have the satisfaction of defending and clearing the criminal. such being the result of his deliberations, he despatched hob with a note to ralph, requesting to see him at the earliest possible moment, upon business of the last importance. hob arrived at the inn just at the time when, in the court in front, ralph, in company with the woodman, had joined the villagers there assembled. hob, who from long familiarity with the habits of his master, had acquired something of a like disposition, felt exceedingly anxious to hear what was going on; but knowing his situation, and duly valuing his own importance as the servant of so great a man as the village-lawyer, he conceived it necessary to proceed with proper caution. it is more than probable that his presence would have been unregarded had he made his approaches freely and with confidence; but hob was outrageously ambitious, and mystery was delightful. he went to work in the indian manner, and what with occasionally taking the cover, now of a bush, now of a pine tree, and now of a convenient hillock, hob had got himself very comfortably lodged in the recess of an old ditch, originally cut to carry off a body of water which rested on what was now in part the public mall. becoming interested in the proceedings, and hearing of the departure of ralph, to whom he had been despatched, his head gradually assumed a more elevated position--he soon forgot his precaution, and the shoulders of the spy, neither the most diminutive nor graceful, becoming rather too protuberant, were saluted with a smart assault, vigorously kept up by the assailant, to whom the use of the hickory appeared a familiar matter. hob roared lustily, and was dragged from his cover. the note was found upon him, and still further tended to exaggerate the hostile feeling which the party now entertained for the youth. under the terrors of the lash, hob confessed a great deal more than was true, and roused into a part forgetfulness of their offence by the increased prospect of its punishment, which the negro had unhesitatingly represented as near at hand, they proceeded to the office of the lawyer. it was in vain that pippin denied all the statements of his negro--his note was thrust into his face; and without scruple, seizing upon his papers, they consigned to the flames, deed, process, and document--all the fair and unfair proceedings alike, of the lawyer, collected carefully through a busy period of twenty years' litigation. they would have proceeded in like manner to the treatment of ralph, but that guy rivers himself interposed to allay, and otherwise direct their fury. the cunning ruffian well knew that forrester would stand by the youth, and unwilling to incur any risk, where the game in another way seemed so secure, he succeeded in quieting the party, by claiming to himself the privilege, on the part of his wounded honor, of a fair field with one who had so grievously assailed it. taking the landlord aside, therefore, they discussed various propositions for taking the life of one hateful to the one person and dangerous to them all. munro was now not unwilling to recognise the necessity of taking him off; and without entering into the feelings of rivers, which were almost entirely personal, he gave his assent to the deed, the mode of performing which was somewhat to depend upon circumstances. these will find their due development as we proceed. in the meanwhile, ralph had returned to the village-inn, encountering, at the first step, upon entering the threshold, the person of the very interesting girl, almost the only redeeming spirit of that establishment. she had heard of the occurrence--as who, indeed, had not--and the first expression of her face as her eyes met those of ralph, though with a smile, had in it something of rebuke for not having taken the counsel which she had given him on his departure from the place of prayer. with a gentleness strictly in character, he conversed with her for some time on indifferent topics--surprised at every uttered word from her lips--so musical, so true to the modest weaknesses of her own, yet so full of the wisdom and energy which are the more legitimate characteristics of the other sex. at length she brought him back to the subject of the recent strife. "you must go from this place, mr. colleton--you are not safe in this house--in this country. you can now travel without inconvenience from your late injuries, which do not appear to affect you; and the sooner you are gone the better for your safety. there are those here"--and she looked around with a studious caution as she spoke, while her voice sunk into a whisper--"who only wait the hour and the opportunity to"--and here her voice faltered as if she felt the imagined prospect--"to put you to a merciless death. believe me, and in your confident strength do not despise my warnings. nothing but prudence and flight can save you." "why," said the youth, smiling, and taking her hand in reply, "why should i fear to linger in a region, where one so much more alive to its sternnesses than myself may yet dare to abide? think you, sweet lucy, that i am less hardy, less fearless of the dangers and the difficulties of this region than yourself? you little know how much at this moment my spirit is willing to encounter," and as he spoke, though his lips wore a smile, there was a stern sadness in his look, and a gloomy contraction of his brow, which made the expression one of the fullest melancholy. the girl looked upon him with an eye full of a deep, though unconscious interest. she seemed desirous of searching into that spirit which he had described as so reckless. withdrawing her hand suddenly, however, as if now for the first time aware of its position, she replied hastily:-- "yet, i pray you, mr. colleton, let nothing make you indifferent to the warning i have given you. there is danger--more danger here to you than to me--though, to me"--the tears filled in her eyes as she spoke, and her head sunk down on her breast with an air of the saddest self-abandonment--"there is more than death." the youth again took her hand. he understood too well the signification of her speech, and the sad sacrifice which it referred to; and an interest in her fate was awakened in his bosom, which made him for a moment forget himself and the gentle edith of his own dreams. "command me, miss munro, though i peril my life in your behalf; say that i can serve you in anything, and trust me to obey." she shook her head mournfully, but without reply. again he pressed his services, which were still refused. a little more firmly, however, she again urged his departure. "my solicitations have no idle origin. believe me, you are in danger, and have but little time for delay. i would not thus hurry you, but that i would not have you perish. no, no! you have been gentle and kind, as few others have been, to the poor orphan; and, though i would still see and hear you, i would not that you should suffer. i would rather suffer myself." much of this was evidently uttered with the most childish unconsciousness. her mind was obviously deeply excited with her fears, and when the youth assured her, in answer to her inquiries, that he should proceed in the morning on his journey, she interrupted him quickly-- "to-day--to-day--now--do not delay, i pray you. you know not the perils which a night may bring forth." when assured that he himself could perceive no cause of peril, and when, with a manner sufficiently lofty, he gave her to understand that a feeling of pride alone, if there were no other cause, would prevent a procedure savoring so much of flight, she shook her head mournfully, though saying nothing. in reply to his offer of service, she returned him her thanks, but assuring him he could do her none, she retired from the apartment. chapter xvii. remorse. during the progress of the dialogue narrated in the conclusion of our last chapter, forrester had absented himself, as much probably with a delicate sense of courtesy, which anticipated some further results than came from it, as with the view to the consummation of some private matters of his own. he now returned, and signifying his readiness to ralph, they mounted their horses and proceeded on a proposed ride out of the village, in which forrester had promised to show the youth a pleasanter region and neighborhood. this ride, however, was rather of a gloomy tendency, as its influences were lost in the utterance and free exhibition to ralph of the mental sufferings of his companion. naturally of a good spirit and temper, his heart, though strong of endurance and fearless of trial, had not been greatly hardened by the world's circumstance. the cold droppings of the bitter waters, however they might have worn into, had not altogether petrified it; and his feelings, coupled with and at all times acted upon by a southern fancy, did not fail to depict to his own sense, and in the most lively colors, the offence of which he had been guilty. it was with a reproachful and troublesome consciousness, therefore, that he now addressed his more youthful companion on the subject so fearfully presented to his thought he had already, in their brief acquaintance, found in ralph a firm and friendly adviser, and acknowledging in his person all the understood superiorities of polished manners and correct education, he did not scruple to come to him for advice in his present difficulties. ralph, fully comprehending his distress, and conscious how little of his fault had been premeditated,--estimating, too, the many good qualities apparent in his character--did not withhold his counsel. "i can say little to you now, forrester, in the way of advice, so long as you continue to herd with the men who have already led you into so much mischief. you appear to me, and must appear to all men, while coupled with such associates, as voluntarily choosing your ground, and taking all the consequences of its position. as there would seem no necessity for your dwelling longer among them, you certainly do make your choice in thus continuing their associate." "not so much a matter of choice, now, 'squire, as you imagine. it was, to be sure, choice at first, but then i did not know the people i had to deal with; and when i did, you see, the circumstances were altered." "how,--by what means?" "why, then,'squire, you must know, and i see no reason to keep the thing from you, i took a liking, a short time after i came here, to a young woman, the daughter of one of our people, and she to me--at least so she says, and i must confess i'm not unwilling to believe her; though it is difficult to say--these women you know--" and as he left the unfinished sentence, he glanced significantly to the youth's face, with an expression which the latter thus interpreted-- "are not, you would say, at all times to be relied on." "why, no,'squire--i would not exactly say that--that might be something too much of a speech. i did mean to say, from what we see daily, that it isn't always they know their own minds." "there is some truth, forrester, in the distinction, and i have thought so before. i am persuaded that the gentler sex is far less given to deceit than our own; but their opinions and feelings, on the other hand, are formed with infinitely more frequency and facility, and are more readily acted upon by passing and occasional influences. their very susceptibility to the most light and casual impressions, is, of itself, calculated to render vacillating their estimate of things and characters. they are creatures of such delicate construction, and their affections are of such like character, that, like all fine machinery they are perpetually operated on by the atmosphere, the winds, the dew, and the night. the frost blights and the sun blisters; and a kind or stern accent elevates or depresses, where, with us, it might pass unheeded or unheard. "we are more cunning--more shy and cautious; and seldom, after a certain age, let our affections out of our own custody. we learn very soon in life--indeed, we are compelled to learn, in our own defence, at a very early period--to go into the world as if we were going into battle. we send out spies, keep sentinels on duty, man our defences, carry arms in our bosoms, which we cover with a buckler, though, with the policy of a court, we conceal that in turn with a silken and embroidered vestment. we watch every erring thought--we learn to be equivocal of speech; and our very hearts, as the indians phrase it, are taught to speak their desires with a double tongue. we are perpetually on the lookout for enemies and attack; we dread pitfalls and circumventions, and we feel that every face which we encounter is a smiling deceit--every honeyed word a blandishment meant to betray us. these are lessons which society, as at present constituted, teaches of itself. "with women the case is essentially different. they have few of these influences to pervert and mislead. they have nothing to do in the market-place--they are not candidates for place or power--they have not the ambition which is always struggling for state and for self; but, with a wisdom in this, that might avail us wonderfully in all other respects, they are kept apart, as things for love and worship--domestic divinities, whose true altar-place is the fireside; whose true sway is over fond hearts, generous sensibilities, and immaculate honor. where should they learn to contend with guile--to acquire cunning and circumspection--to guard the heart--to keep sweet affections locked up coldly, like mountain waters? shall we wonder that they sometimes deceive themselves rather than their neighbors--that they sometimes misapprehend their own feelings, and mistake for love some less absorbing intruder, who but lights upon the heart for a single instant, as a bird upon his spray, to rest or to plume his pinions, and be off with the very next zephyr. but all this is wide of the mark, forrester, and keeps you from your story." "my story isn't much, master colleton, and is easily told. i love kate allen, and as i said before, i believe kate loves me; and though it be scarcely a sign of manliness to confess so much, yet i must say to you, 'squire, that i love her so very much that i can not do without her." "i honor your avowal, forrester, and see nothing unmanly or unbecoming in the sentiment you profess. on the contrary, such a feeling, in my mind, more truly than any other, indicates the presence and possession of those very qualities out of which true manhood is made. the creature who prides himself chiefly upon his insensibilities, has no more claim to be considered a human being than the trees that gather round us, or the rocks over which we travel." "well, 'squire, i believe you are right, and i am glad that such is your opinion, for now i shall be able to speak to you more freely upon this subject. indeed, you talk about the thing so knowingly, that i should not be surprised, 'squire, to find out that you too had something of the same sort troubling your heart, though here you are travelling far from home and among strangers." the remark of forrester was put with an air of arch inquiry. a slight shadow passed over and clouded the face of the youth, and for a moment his brow was wrinkled into sternness; but hastily suppressing the awakened emotion, whatever its origin might have been, he simply replied, in an indirect rebuke, which his companion very readily comprehended:-- "you were speaking of your heart, i believe, forrester, and not of mine. if you please, we will confine ourselves to the one territory, particularly as it promises to find us sufficient employment of itself, without rendering it necessary that we should cross over to any other." "it's a true word, 'squire--the business of the one territory is sufficient for me, at this time, and more than i shall well get through with: but, though i know this, somehow or other i want to forget it all, if possible; and sometimes i close my eyes in the hope to shut out ugly thoughts." "the feeling is melancholy enough, but it is just the one which should test your manhood. it is not for one who has been all his life buffeting with the world and ill-fortune, to despond at every mischance or misdeed. proceed with your narrative; and, in providing for the future, you will be able to forget not a little of the past." "you are right, 'squire; i will be a man, and stand my chance, whether good or ill, like a man, as i have always been. well, as i was saying, kate is neither unkind nor unwilling, and the only difficulty is with her father. he is now mighty fond of the needful, and won't hear to our marriage until i have a good foundation, and something to go upon. it is this, you see, which keeps me here, shoulder to shoulder with these men whom i like just as little perhaps as yourself; and it was because the soldiers came upon us just as i was beginning to lay up a little from my earnings, that made me desperate. i dreaded to lose what i had been so long working for; and whenever the thought of kate came through my brain, i grew rash and ready for any mischief--and this is just the way in which i ran headlong into this difficulty." "it is melancholy, forrester, to think that, with such a feeling as that you profess for this young woman, you should be so little regardful of her peace or your own; that you should plunge so madly into strife and crime, and proceed to the commission of acts which not only embitter your life, but must defeat the very hopes and expectations for which you live." "it's the nature of the beast," replied the woodman, with a melancholy shake of the head, in a phrase which has become a proverb of familiar use in the south. "it's the nature of the beast, 'squire: i never seem to think about a thing until it's all over, and too late to mend it. it's a sad misfortune to have such a temper, and so yesterday's work tells me much more forcibly than i can ever tell myself. but what am i to do, 'squire? that's what i want to know. can you say nothing to me which will put me in better humor--can you give me no advice, no consolation? say anything--anything which will make me think less about this matter." the conscience of the unhappy criminal was indeed busy, and he spoke in tones of deep, though suppressed emotion and energy. the youth did not pretend to console--he well knew that the mental nature would have its course, and to withstand or arrest it would only have the effect of further provoking its morbidity. he replied calmly, but feelingly-- "your situation is unhappy, forrester, and calls for serious reflection. it is not for me to offer advice to one so much more experienced than myself. yet my thoughts are at your service for what they are worth. you can not, of course, hope to remain in the country after this; yet, in flying from that justice to which you will have made no atonement, you will not necessarily escape the consequences of your crime, which, i feel satisfied, will, for a long season, rest heavily upon a spirit such as yours. your confederates have greatly the advantage of you in this particular. the fear of human penalties is with them the only fear. your severest judge will be your own heart, and from that you may not fly. with regard to your affections, i can say little. i know not what may be your resources--your means of life, and the nature of those enterprises which, in another region, you might pursue. in the west you would be secure from punishment; the wants of life in the wilderness are few, and of easy attainment: why not marry the young woman, and let her fly with you to happiness and safety?" "and wouldn't i do so, 'squire?--i would be a happy fellow if i could. but her father will never consent. he had no hand in yesterday's business, and i wonder at that too, for he's mighty apt at all such scrapes; and he will not therefore be so very ready to perceive the necessity of my flight--certainly not of hers, she being his only child; and, though a tough old sort of chap, he's main fond of her." "see him about it at once, then; and, if he does not consent, the only difficulty is in the delay and further protraction of your union. it would be very easy, when you are once well settled, to claim her as your wife." "that's all very true and very reasonable, 'squire; but it's rather hard, this waiting. here, for five years, have i been playing this sort of game, and it goes greatly against the grain to have to begin anew and in a new place. but here's where the old buck lives. it's quite a snug farm, as you may see. he's pretty well off, and, by one little end or the other, contrives to make it look smarter and smarter every year; but then he's just as close as a corkscrew, and quite mean in his ways. and--there's kate, 'squire, looking from the window. now, ain't she a sweet creature? come, 'light--you shall see her close. make yourself quite at home, as i do. i make free, for you see the old people have all along looked upon me as a son, seeing that i am to be one at some time or other." they were now at the entrance of as smiling a cottage as the lover of romance might well desire to look upon. everything had a cheery, sunshiny aspect, looking life, comfort, and the "all in all content;" and, with a feeling of pleasure kindled anew in his bosom by the prospect, ralph complied readily with the frank and somewhat informal invitation of his companion, and was soon made perfectly at home by the freedom and ease which characterized the manners of the young girl who descended to receive them. a slight suffusion of the cheek and a downcast eye, upon the entrance of her lover, indicated a gratified consciousness on the part of the maiden which did not look amiss. she was seemingly a gentle, playful creature, extremely young, apparently without a thought of guile, and altogether untouched with a solitary presentiment of the unhappy fortunes in store for her. her mother, having made her appearance, soon employed the youth in occasional discourse, which furnished sufficient opportunity to the betrothed to pursue their own conversation, in a quiet corner of the same room, in that under-tone which, where lovers are concerned, is of all others the most delightful and emphatic. true love is always timid: he, too, as well as fear, is apt to "shrink back at the sound himself has made." his words are few and the tones feeble. he throws his thoughts into his eyes, and they speak enough for all his purposes. on the present occasion, however, he was dumb from other influences, and the hesitating voice, the guilty look, the unquiet manner, sufficiently spoke, on the part of her lover, what his own tongue refused to whisper in the ears of the maiden. he strove, but vainly, to relate the melancholy event to which we have already sufficiently alluded. his words were broken and confused, but she gathered enough, in part, to comprehend the affair, though still ignorant of the precise actors and sufferers. the heart of katharine was one of deep-seated tenderness, and it may not be easy to describe the shock which the intelligence gave her. she did not hear him through without ejaculations of horror, sufficiently fervent and loud to provoke the glance of her mother, who did not, however, though turning her looks frequently upon the two, venture upon any inquiry, or offer any remark. the girl heard her lover patiently; but when he narrated the catastrophe, and told of the murder of the guard, she no longer struggled to restrain the feeling, now too strong for suppression. her words broke through her lips quickly, as she exclaimed-- "but you, mark--you had no part in this matter--you lent no aid--you gave no hand. you interfered, i am sure you did, to prevent the murder of the innocent men. speak out, mark, and tell me the truth, and relieve me from these horrible apprehensions." as she spoke, her small hand rested upon his wrist with a passionate energy, in full accordance with the spirit of her language. the head of the unhappy man sank upon his breast; his eyes, dewily suffused, were cast upon the floor, and he spoke nothing, or inarticulately, in reply. "what means this silence--what am i to believe--what am i to think, mark forrester? you can not have given aid to those bad men, whom you yourself despise. you have not so far forgotten yourself and me as to go on with that wicked man rivers, following his direction, to take away life--to spill blood as if it were water! you have not done this, mark. tell me at once that i am foolish to fear it for an instant--that it is not so." he strove, but in vain, to reply. the inarticulate sounds came forth chokingly from his lips without force or meaning. he strode impatiently up and down the apartment, followed by the young and excited maiden, who unconsciously pursued him with repeated inquiries; while her mother, awakened to the necessity of interference, vainly strove to find a solution of the mystery, and to quiet both of the parties. "will you not speak to me, mark? can you not, will you not answer?" the unhappy man shook his head, in a perplexed and irritated manner, indicating his inability to reply--but concluding with pointing his finger impatiently to ralph, who stood up, a surprised and anxious spectator of the scene. the maiden seemed to comprehend the intimation, and with an energy and boldness that would not well describe her accustomed habit--with a hurried step, crossed the apartment to where stood the youth. her eye was quick and searching--her words broken, but with an impetuous flow, indicating the anxiety which, while it accounted for, sufficiently excused the abruptness of her address, she spoke:-- "do, sir, say that he had no hand in it--that he is free from the stain of blood! speak for him, sir, i pray you; tell me--he will not tell himself!" the old lady now sought to interpose, and to apologize for her daughter. "why, kate, katharine--forgive her, sir; kate--katharine, my dear--you forget. you ask questions of the stranger without any consideration." but she spoke to an unconscious auditor; and forrester, though still almost speechless, now interposed:-- "let her ask, mother--let her ask--let her know it all. he can say what i can not. he can tell all. speak out, 'squire--speak out; don't fear for me. it must come, and who can better tell of it than you, who know it all?" thus urged, ralph, in a few words, related the occurrence. though carefully avoiding the use of epithet or phrase which might color with an increased odium the connection and conduct of forrester with the affair, the offence admitted of so little apology or extenuation, that the delicacy with which the details were narrated availed but little in its mitigation; and an involuntary cry burst from mother and daughter alike, to which the hollow groan that came from the lips of forrester furnished a fitting echo. "and this is all true, mark--must i believe all this?" was the inquiry of the young girl, after a brief interval. there was a desperate precipitance in the reply of forrester:-- "true--katharine--true; every word of it is true. do you not see it written in my face? am i not choked--do not my knees tremble? and my hands--look for yourself--are they not covered with blood?" the youth interposed, and for a moment doubted the sanity of his companion. he had spoken in figure--a mode of speech, which it is a mistake in rhetoricians to ascribe only to an artificial origin, during a state of mental quiet. deep passion and strong excitements, we are bold to say, employ metaphor largely; and, upon an inspection of the criminal records of any country, it will be found that the most common narrations from persons deeply wrought upon by strong circumstances are abundantly stored with the evidence of what we assert. "and how came it, mark?" was the inquiry of the maiden; "and why did you this thing?" "ay, you may well ask, and wonder. i can not tell you. i was a fool--i was mad! i knew not what i did. from one thing i went on to another, and i knew nothing of what had been done until all was done. some devil was at my elbow--some devil at my heart. i feel it there still; i am not yet free. i could do more--i could go yet farther. i could finish the damned work by another crime; and no crime either, since i should be the only victim, and well deserving a worse punishment." the offender was deeply excited, and felt poignantly. for some time it tasked all the powers of ralph's mind, and the seductive blandishments of the maiden herself, to allay the fever of his spirit; when, at length, he was something restored, the dialogue was renewed by an inquiry of the old lady as to the future destination of her anticipated son-in-law, for whom, indeed, she entertained a genuine affection. "and what is to be the end of all this, mark? what is it your purpose to do--where will you fly?" "to the nation, mother--where else? i must fly somewhere--give myself up to justice, or--" and he paused in the sentence so unpromisingly begun, while his eyes rolled with unaccustomed terrors, and his voice grew thick in his throat. "or what--what mean you by that word, that look, mark? i do not understand you; why speak you in this way, and to me?" exclaimed the maiden, passionately interrupting him in a speech, which, though strictly the creature of his morbid spirit and present excitement, was perhaps unnecessarily and something too wantonly indulged in. "forgive me, katharine--dear katharine--but you little know the madness and the misery at my heart." "and have you no thought of mine, mark? this deed of yours has brought misery, if not madness, to it too; and speech like this might well be spared us now!" "it is this very thought, kate, that i have made you miserable, when i should have striven only to make you happy. the thought, too, that i must leave you, to see you perhaps never again--these unman--these madden me, katharine; and i feel desperate like the man striving with his brother upon the plank in the broad ocean." "and why part, mark? i see not this necessity!" "would you have me stay and perish? would you behold me, dragged perhaps from your own arms before the stern judge, and to a dreadful death? it will be so if i stay much longer. the state will not suffer this thing to pass over. the crime is too large--too fearful. besides this, the pony club have lately committed several desperate offences, which have already attracted the notice of the legislature. this very guard had been ordered to disperse them; and this affair will bring down a sufficient force to overrun all our settlements, and they may even penetrate the nation itself, where we might otherwise find shelter. there will be no safety for me." the despondence of the woodman increased as he spoke; and the young girl, as if unconscious of all spectators, in the confiding innocence of her heart, exclaimed, while her head sunk up in his shoulder:-- "and why, mark, may we not all fly together? there will be no reason now to remain here, since the miners are all to be dispersed." "well said, kate--well said--" responded a voice at the entrance of the apartment, at the sound of which the person addressed started with a visible trepidation, which destroyed all her previous energy of manner; "it is well thought on kate; there will, sure enough, be very little reason now for any of us to remain, since this ugly business; and the only question is as to what quarter we shall go. there is, however just as little reason for our flight in company with mark forrester." it was the father of the maiden who spoke--one who was the arbiter of her destinies, and so much the dictator in his household and over his family, that from his decision and authority there was suffered no appeal. without pausing for a reply, he proceeded:-- "our course, mark must now lie separate. you will take your route, and i mine; we can not take them together. as for my daughter, she can not take up with you, seeing your present condition. your affairs are not as they were when i consented to your engagement; therefore, the least said and thought about past matters, the better." "but--" was the beginning of a reply from the sad and discarded lover, in which he was not suffered to proceed. the old man was firm, and settled further controversy in short order. "no talk, mark--seeing that it's no use, and there's no occasion for it. it must be as i say. i cannot permit of kate's connection with a man in your situation, who the very next moment may be brought to the halter and bring shame upon her. take your parting, and try to forget old times, my good fellow. i think well of, and am sorry for you, mark, but i can do nothing. the girl is my only child, and i must keep her from harm if i can." mark battled the point with considerable warmth and vigor, and the scene was something further protracted, but need not here be prolonged. the father was obdurate, and too much dreaded by the members of his family to admit of much prayer or pleading on their part. apart from this, his reason, though a stern, was a wise and strong one. the intercession of colleton, warmly made, proved equally unavailing; and after a brief but painful parting with the maiden, forrester remounted his horse, and, in company with the youth, departed for the village. but the adieus of the lovers, in this instance, were not destined to be the last. in the narrow passage, in which, removed from all sight and scrutiny, she hung droopingly, like a storm-beaten flower, upon his bosom, he solicited, and not unsuccessfully, a private and a parting interview. "to-night, then, at the old sycamore, as the moon rises," he whispered in her ear, as sadly and silently she withdrew from his embrace. chapter xviii. parting and flight. with ralph, the unhappy woodman, thus even denied to hope, returned, more miserable than before, to the village of chestatee. the crowd there had been largely diminished. the more obnoxious among the offenders--those who, having taken the most prominent part in the late affair, apprehended the severest treatment--had taken themselves as much out of sight as possible. even munro and rivers, with all their hardihood, were no longer to be seen, and those still lingering in the village were such as under no circumstances might well provoke suspicion of "subtle deed and counter enterprise." they were the fat men, the beef of society--loving long speeches and goodly cheer. the two friends, for so we may call them, were left almost in the exclusive possession of the hotel, and without observation discussed their several plans of departure. forrester had determined to commence his journey that very night; while ralph, with what might seem headstrong rashness, chose the ensuing day for a like purpose. but the youth was not without his reasons for this determination. he knew perfectly well that he was in peril, but felt also that this peril would be met with much more difficulty by night than by day. deeming himself secure, comparatively speaking, while actually in the village, he felt that it would be safer to remain there another night, than by setting off at mid-day, encounter the unavoidable risk of either pursuing his course through the night in that dangerous neighborhood, where every step which he took might be watched, or be compelled to stop at some more insulated position, in which there must be far less safety. he concluded, therefore, to set off at early dawn on the ensuing morning, and calculated, with the advantage of daylight all the way, through brisk riding, to put himself by evening beyond the reach of his enemies. that he was not altogether permitted to pursue this course, was certainly not through any neglect of preparatory arrangement. the public table at the inn on that day was thinly attended; and the repast was partaken by all parties in comparative silence. a few words were addressed by colleton to lucy munro, but they were answered, not coldly, but sparingly, and her replies were entirely wanting in their usual spirit. still, her looks signified for him the deepest interest, and a significant motion of the finger, which might have been held to convey a warning, was all that he noted of that earnest manner which had gratified his self-esteem in her habit heretofore. the day was got through with difficulty by all parties; and as evening approached, forrester, having effected all his arrangements without provoking observation, in the quiet and privacy of the youth's chamber, bade him farewell, cautioning him at the same time against all voluntary risk, and reminding him of the necessity, while in that neighborhood, of keeping a good lookout. their courses lay not so far asunder but that they might, for a time, have proceeded together, and with more mutual advantage; but the suggestions and solicitations of forrester on this subject were alike disregarded by ralph, with what reason we may not positively say, but it is possible that it arose from a prudential reference to the fact that the association of one flying from justice was not exactly such as the innocent should desire. and this was reason enough. they separated; and the youth proceeded to the preparation for his own contemplated departure. his pistols were in readiness, with his dirk, on the small table by the side of his bed; his portmanteau lay alike contiguous; and before seeking his couch, which he did at an early hour, he himself had seen that his good steed had been well provided with corn and fodder. the sable groom, too, whose attentions to the noble animal from the first, stimulated by an occasional bit of silver, had been unremitted, was now further rewarded, and promised faithfully to be in readiness at any hour. thus, all things arranged, ralph returned to his chamber, and without removing his dress, wrapping his cloak around him, he threw himself upon his couch, and addressed himself to those slumbers which were destined to be of no very long continuance. forrester, in the meanwhile, had proceeded with all the impatience of a lover to the designated place of _tryst_, under the giant sycamore, the sheltering limbs and leaves of which, on sundry previous occasions, had ministered to a like purpose. the place was not remote, or at least would not be so considered in country estimation, from the dwelling of the maiden; and was to be reached from the latter spot by a circuitous passage through a thick wood, which covered the distance between entirely. the spot chosen for the meeting was well known to both parties, and we shall not pretend, at this time of day, to limit the knowledge of its sweet fitness for the purposes of love, to them alone. they had tasted of its sweets a thousand times, and could well understand and appreciate that air of romantic and fairy-like seclusion which so much distinguished it, and which served admirably in concert with the uses to which it was now appropriated. the tree grew within and surmounted a little hollow, formed by the even and combined natural descents, to that common centre, of four hills, beautifully grouped, which surrounded and completely fenced it in. their descents were smooth and even, without a single abruptness, to the bottom, in the centre of which rose the sycamore, which, from its own situation, conferred the name of sycamore hollow on the sweet spot upon which it stood. a spring, trickling from beneath its roots, shaded by its folding branches from the thirsty heats of the summer sun, kept up a low and continuous prattle with the pebbles over which it made its way, that consorted sweetly with the secluded harmonies that overmantled, as with a mighty wing, the sheltered place. scenes like these are abundant enough in the southern country; and by their quiet, unobtrusive, and softer beauties, would seem, and not inefficiently or feebly, to supply in most respects the wants of those bolder characteristics, in which nature in those regions is confessedly deficient. whatever may be the want of southern scenery in stupendousness or sublimity, it is, we are inclined to believe, more than made up in those thousand quiet and wooing charms of location, which seem designed expressly for the hamlet and the cottage--the evening dance--the mid-day repose and rural banquet--and all those numberless practices of a small and well-intentioned society, which win the affections into limpid and living currents, touched for ever, here and there, by the sunshine, and sheltered in their repose by overhanging leaves and flowers, for ever fertile and for ever fresh. they may not occasion a feeling of solemn awe, but they enkindle one of admiring affection; and where the mountain and the bald rock would be productive of emotions only of strength and sternness, their softer featurings of brawling brook, bending and variegated shrubbery, wild flower, gadding vine, and undulating hillock, mould the contemplative spirit into gentleness and love. the scenery of the south below the mountain regions, seldom impresses at first, but it grows upon acquaintance; and in a little while, where once all things looked monotonous and unattractive, we learn to discover sweet influences that ravish us from ourselves at every step we take, into worlds and wilds, where all is fairy-like, wooing, and unchangingly sweet. the night, though yet without a moon, was beautifully clear and cloudless. the stars had come out with all their brightness--a soft zephyr played drowsily and fitfully among the tops of the shrubbery, that lay, as it were, asleep on the circling hilltops around; while the odors of complicated charm from a thousand floral knots, which had caught blooms from the rainbows, and dyed themselves in their stolon splendors, thickly studding the wild and matted grass which sustained them, brought along with them even a stronger influence than the rest of the scene, and might have taught a ready lesson of love to much sterner spirits than the two, now so unhappy, who were there to take their parting in a last embrace. the swift motion of a galloping steed was heard, and forrester was at the place and hour of appointment. in mournful mood, he threw himself at the foot of one of the hills, upon one of the tufted roots of the huge tree which sheltered the little hollow, and resigned himself to a somewhat bitter survey of his own condition, and of the privations and probable straits into which his rash thoughtlessness had so unhappily involved him. his horse, docile and well-trained, stood unfastened in the thicket, cropping the young and tender herbage at some little distance; but so habituated to rule that no other security than his own will was considered by his master necessary for his continued presence. the lover waited not long. descending the hill, through a narrow pathway one side of the wood, well known and frequently trodden by both, he beheld the approach of the maiden, and hurried forward to receive her. the terms upon which they had so long stood forbade constraint, and put at defiance all those formalities which, under other circumstances, might have grown out of the meeting. she advanced without hesitancy, and the hand of her lover grasped that which she extended, his arm passed about her, his lip was fastened to her own without hinderance, and, in that one sweet embrace, in that one moment of blissful forgetfulness, all other of life's circumstances had ceased to afflict. but they were not happy even at that moment of delight and illusion. the gentler spirit of the maiden's sex was uppermost, and the sad story of his crime, which at their last meeting had been told her, lay with heavy influence at her heart. she was a gentle creature, and though dwelling in a wilderness, such is the prevailing influence upon female character, of the kind of education acquirable in the southern,--or, we may add, and thus perhaps furnish the reason for any peculiarity in this respect, the slave-holding states--that she partook in a large degree of that excessive delicacy, as well of spirit as of person, which, while a marked characteristic of that entire region, is apt to become of itself a disease, exhibiting itself too frequently in a nervousness and timidity that unfit its owner for the ruder necessities of life, and permit it to abide only under its more serene and summer aspects. the tale of blood, and its awful consequences, were perpetually recurring to her imagination. her fancy described and dwelt upon its details, her thoughts wove it into a thousand startling tissues, until, though believing his crime unpremeditated, she almost shrank from the embrace of her lover, because of the blood so recently upon his hands. placing her beside him upon the seat he had occupied, he tenderly rebuked her gloomy manner, while an inward and painful consciousness of its cause gave to his voice a hesitating tremor, and his eye, heretofore unquailing at any glance, no longer bold, now shrank downcast before the tearful emphasis of hers. "you have come, kate--come, according to your promise, yet you wear not loving looks. your eye is vacant--your heart, it beats sadly and hurriedly beneath my hand, as if there were gloomy and vexatious thoughts within." "and should i not be sad, mark, and should you not be sad? gloom and sorrow befit our situations alike; though for you i feel more than for myself. i think not so much of our parting, as of your misfortune in having partaken of this crime. there is to me but little occasion for grief in the temporary separation which i am sure will precede our final union. but this dreadful deed, mark--it is this that makes me sad. the knowledge that you, whom i thought too gentle wantonly to crush the crawling insect, should have become the slayer of men--of innocent men, too--makes my heart bleed within, and my eyes fill; and when i think of it, as indeed i now think of little else, and feel that its remorse and all its consequences must haunt you for many years, i almost think, with my father, that it would be better we should see each other no more. i think i could see you depart, knowing that it was for ever, without a tear, were this sin not upon your head." "your words are cruel, kate; but you can not speak to my spirit in language more severe than it speaks momentarily to itself. i never knew anything of punishment before; and the first lesson is a bitter one. your words touch me but little now, as the tree, when the axe has once girdled it, has no feeling for any further stroke. forbear then, dear kate, as you love yourself. brood not upon a subject that brings pain with it to your own spirit, and has almost ceased, except in its consequences, to operate upon mine. let us now speak of those things which concern you nearly, and me not a little--of the only thing, which, besides this deed of death, troubles my thought at this moment. let us speak of our future hope--if hope there may be for me, after the stern sentence which your lips uttered in part even now." "it was for you--for your safety, believe me, mark, that i spoke; my own heart was wrung with the language of my lips--the language of my cooler thought. i spoke only for your safety and not for myself. could--i again repeat--could this deed be undone--could you be free from the reproach and the punishment, i would be content, though the strings of my heart cracked with its own doom, to forego all claim upon you--to give you up--to give up my own hope of happiness for ever." her words were passionate, and at their close her head sunk upon his shoulder, while her tears gushed forth without restraint, and in defiance of all her efforts. the heart of the woodman was deeply and painfully affected, and the words refused to leave his lips, while a kindred anguish shook his manly frame, and rendered it almost a difficulty with him to sustain the slight fabric of hers. with a stern effort, however, he recovered himself, and reseating her upon the bank from which, in the agitation of the moment, they had both arisen, he endeavored to soothe her spirit, by unfolding his plan of future life. "my present aim is the nation--i shall cross the chestatee river to-morrow, and shall push at once for the forest of etowee, and beyond the etowee river. i know the place well, and have been through it before. there i shall linger until i hear all the particulars of this affair in its progress, and determine upon my route accordingly. if the stir is great, as i reckon it will be, i shall push into tennessee, and perhaps go for the mississippi. could i hope that your father would consent to remove, i should at once do this and make a settlement, where, secure from interruption and all together, we might live happily and honorably for the future." "and why not do so now--why stop at all among the cherokees? why not go at once into mississippi, and begin the world, as you propose in the end to do?" "what! and leave you for ever--now kate, you are indeed cruel. i had not thought to have listened to such a recommendation from one who loved me as you profess." "as i do, mark--i say nothing which i do not feel. it does not follow that you will be any nigher your object, if my father continue firm in his refusal, though nigher to me, by lingering about in the nation. on the contrary, will he not, hearing of you in the neighborhood, be more close in his restraints upon me? will not your chance of exposure, too, be so much the greater, as to make it incumbent upon him to pursue his determination with rigor? while, on the other hand, if you remove yourself out of all reach of georgia, in the mississippi, and there begin a settlement, i am sure that he will look upon the affair with different notions." "it can not be, kate--it can not be. you know i have had but a single motive for living so long among this people and in these parts. i disliked both, and only lingered with a single hope, that i might be blessed with your presence always, and in the event of my sufficient success, that i might win you altogether for myself. i have not done much for this object and this unhappy affair forbids me for the present to do more. is not this enough, katharine, and must i bury myself from you a thousand miles in the forest, ignorant of what may be going on, and without any hope, such as i have lived for before? is the labor i have undergone--the life i have led--to have no fruits? will you too be the first to recommend forgetfulness; to overthrow my chance of happiness? no--it must not be. hear me, kate--hear me, and say i have not worked altogether in vain. i have acquired some little by my toils, and can acquire more. there is one thing now, one blessing which you may afford, and the possession of which will enable me to go with a light heart and a strong hand into any forests, winning comforts for both of us--happiness, if the world have it--and nothing to make us afraid." he spoke with deep energy, and she looked inquiringly into his face. the expression was satisfactory, and she replied without hesitation:-- "i understand you, mark forrester--i understand you, but it must not be. i must regard and live for affections besides my own. would you have me fly for ever from those who have been all to me--from those to whom i am all--from my father--from my dear, my old mother! fy, mark." "and are you not all to me, katharine--the one thing for which i would live, and wanting which i care not to live? ay, katharine, fly with me from all--and yet not for ever. they will follow you, and our end will then be answered. unless you do this, they would linger on in this place without an object, even if permitted, which is very doubtful, to hold their ground--enjoying life as a vegetable, and dead before life itself is extinct." "spare your speech, mark--on this point you urge me in vain," was the firm response of the maiden. "though i feel for you as as i feel for none other, i also feel that i have other ties and other obligations, all inconsistent with the step which you would have me take. i will not have you speak of it further--on this particular i am immoveable." a shade of mortification clouded the face of forrester as she uttered these words, and for a moment he was silent. resuming, at length, with something of resignation in his manner, he continued-- "well, kate, since you will have it so, i forbear; though, what course is left for you, and what hope for me, if your father continues in his present humor, i am at a loss to see. there is one thing, however--there is one pledge that i would exact from you before we part." he took her hand tenderly as he spoke, and his eyes, glistening with tearful expectation, were fixed upon her own; but she did not immediately reply. she seemed rather to await the naming of the pledge of which he spoke. there was a struggle going on between her mind and her affections; and though, in the end, the latter seemed to obtain the mastery, the sense of propriety, the moral guardianship of her own spirit battled sternly and fearlessly against their suggestions. she would make no promise which might, by any possibility, bind her to an engagement inconsistent with other and primary obligations. "i know not, mark, what may be the pledge which you would have from me, to which i could consent with propriety. when i hear your desires, plainly expressed to my understanding, i shall better know how to reply. you heard the language of my father: i must obey his wishes as far as i know them. though sometimes rough, and irregular in his habits, to me he has been at all times tender and kind: i would not now disobey his commands. still, in this matter, my heart inclines too much in your favor not to make me less scrupulous than i should otherwise desire to be. besides, i have so long held myself yours, and with his sanction, that i can the more easily listen to your entreaties. if, then you truly love me, you will, i am sure, ask nothing that i should not grant. speak--what is the pledge?" "it shall come with no risk, kate, believe me, none. heaven forbid that i should bring a solitary grief to your bosom; yet it may adventure in some respects both mind and person, if you be not wary. knowing your father, as you know him too, i would have from you a pledge--a promise, here, solemnly uttered in the eye of heaven, and in the holy stillness of this place, which has witnessed other of our vows no less sacred and solemn, that, should he sanction the prayer of another who seeks your love, and command your obedience, that you will not obey--that you will not go quietly a victim to the altar--that you will not pledge to another the same vow which has been long since pledged to me." he paused a moment for a reply, but she spoke not; and with something like impetuosity he proceeded:-- "you make no reply, katharine? you hear my entreaty--my prayer. it involves no impropriety; it stands in the way of no other duty, since, i trust, the relationship between us is as binding as any other which may call for your regard. all that i ask is, that you will not dispose of yourself to another, your heart not going with your hand, whatever may be the authority which may require it; at least, not until you are fully assured that it is beyond my power to claim you, or i become unworthy to press the claim." "it is strange, mark, that you should speak in a manner of which there is so little need. the pledge long since uttered as solemnly as you now require, under these very boughs, should satisfy you." "so it should, kate--and so it would, perhaps, could i now reason on any subject. but my doubts are not now of your love, but of your firmness in resisting a control at variance with your duty to yourself. your words reassure me, however; and now, though with no glad heart, i shall pass over the border, and hope for the better days which are to make us happy." "not so fast, master forrester," exclaimed the voice of old allen, emerging from the cover of the sycamore, to the shelter of which he had advanced unobserved, and had been the unsuspected auditor of the dialogue from first to last. the couple, with an awkward consciousness, started up at the speech, taken by surprise, and neither uttering a word in reply to this sudden address. "you must first answer, young man, to the charge of advising my daughter to disobedience, as i have heard you for the last half hour; and to elopement, which she had the good sense to refuse. i thought, master forrester, that you were better bred than to be guilty of such offences." "i know them not as such, mr. allen. i had your own sanction to my engagement with katharine, and do not see that after that you had any right to break it off." "you do not--eh? well, perhaps, you are right, and i have thought better of the matter myself; and, between us, kate has behaved so well, and spoken so prettily to you, and obeyed my orders, as she should have done, that i'm thinking to look more kindly on the whole affair." "are you, dear father?--oh, i am so happy!" "hush, minx! the business is mine, and none of yours.--hark you, mark. you must fly--there's no two ways about that; and, between us, there will be a devil of a stir in this matter. i have it from good authority that the governor will riddle the whole nation but he'll have every man, woman, and child, concerned in this difficulty: so that'll be no place for you. you must go right on to the _massassippi_, and enter lands enough for us all. enter them in kate's name, and they'll be secure. as soon as you've fixed that business, write on, say where you are, and we'll be down upon you, bag and baggage, in no time and less." "oh, dear father--this is so good of you!" "pshaw, get away, minx! i don't like kisses _jest_ after supper; it takes the taste all out of my mouth of what i've been eating." forrester was loud in his acknowledgments, and sought by eulogistic professions to do away the ill effect of all that he might have uttered in the previous conversation; but the old man cut him short with his wonted querulousness:-- "oh, done with your blarney, boy! 'it's all my eye and betty martin!' won't you go in and take supper? there's something left, i reckon." but forrester had now no idea of eating, and declined accordingly, alleging his determination to set off immediately upon his route--a determination which the old man highly approved of. "you are right, mark--move's the word, and the sooner you go about it the better. here's my hand on your bargain, and good-by--i reckon you'll have something more to say to kate, and i suppose you don't want me to help you in saying it--so i leave you. she's used to the way; and, if she's at all afraid, you can easily see her home." with a few more words the old man took his departure, leaving the young people as happy now as he had before found them sad and sorrowful. they did not doubt that the reason of this change was as he alleged it, and gave themselves no thought as to causes, satisfied as they were with effects. but old allen had not proceeded without his host: he had been advised of the contemplated turn-out of all the squatters from the gold-region; and, having no better tenure than any of his neighbors, he very prudently made a merit of necessity, and took his measures as we have seen. the lovers were satisfied, and their interview now wore, though at parting, a more sunshiny complexion. but why prolong a scene admitting of so little variety as that which describes the sweets, and the strifes, and the sorrows, of mortal love? we take it there is no reader of novels so little conversant with matters of this nature as not to know how they begin and how they end; and, contenting ourselves with separating the parties--an act hardhearted enough, in all conscience--we shall not with idle and questionable sympathy dwell upon the sorrows of their separation. we may utter a remark, however, which the particular instance before us occasions, in relation to the singular influence of love upon the mental and moral character of the man. there is no influence in the world's circumstance so truly purifying, elevating, and refining. it instils high and generous sentiments; it ennobles human endeavor; it sanctifies defeat and denial; it polishes manners; it gives to morals a tincture of devotion; and, as with the spell of magic, such as milton describes in "comus," it dissipates with a glance the wild rout of low desires and insane follies which so much blur and blot up the otherwise fair face of human society. it permits of no meanness in its train; it expels vulgarity, and, with a high stretch toward perfected humanity, it unearths the grovelling nature, and gives it aspirations of sand and sunshine. its effect upon forrester had been of this description. it had been his only tutor, and had taught him nobly in numberless respects. in every association with the maiden of his affections, his tone, his language, his temper, and his thoughts, seemed to undergo improvement and purification. he seemed quite another man whenever he came into her presence, and whenever the thought of her was in his heart. indeed, such was the effect of this passion upon both of them; though this may have been partially the result of other circumstances, arising from their particular situation. for a long time they had known few enjoyments that were not intimately connected with the image of one another; and thus, from having few objects besides of contemplation or concern, they refined upon each other. as the minute survey in the forest of the single leaf, which, for years, may not have attracted the eye, unfolds the fine veins, the fanciful outline, the clear, green, and transparent texture, and the delicate shadowings of innumerable hues won from the skies and the sunshine--so, day by day, surveying the single object, they had become familiar with attractions in one another which the passing world would never have supposed either of them to possess. in such a region, where there are few competitors for human love and regard, the heart clings with hungering tenacity to the few stray affections that spring up, here and there, like flowers dropped by some kindly, careless hand, making a bloom and a blessing for the untrodden wilderness. nor do they blossom there in vain, since, as the sage has told us, there is no breeze that wafts not life, no sun that brings not smiles, no water that bears not refreshment, no flower that has not charms and a solace, for some heart that could not well hope to be happy without them. they separated on the verge of the copse to which he had attended her, their hands having all the way been passionately linked, and a seal having been set upon their mutual vows by the long, loving embrace which concluded their interview. the cottage was in sight, and, from the deep shade which surrounded him, he beheld her enter its precincts in safety; then, returning to the place of tryst, he led forth his steed, and, with a single bound, was once more in his saddle, and once more a wanderer. the cheerlessness of such a fate as that before him, even under the changed aspect of his affairs, to those unaccustomed to the rather too migratory habits of our southern and western people, would seem somewhat severe; but the only hardship in his present fortune, to the mind of forrester, was the privation and protraction of his love-arrangements. the wild, woodland adventure common to the habits of the people of this class, had a stimulating effect upon his spirit at all other times; and, even now--though perfectly legitimate for a lover to move slowly from his mistress--the moon just rising above the trees, and his horse in full gallop through their winding intricacies, a warm and bracing energy came to his aid, and his heart grew cheery under its inspiriting influences. he was full of the future, rich in anticipation, and happy in the contemplation of a thousand projects. with a free rein he plunged forward into the recesses of the forest, dreaming of a cottage in the mississippi, a heart at ease, and katharine allen, with all her beauties, for ever at hand to keep it so. chapter xix. midnight surprise. the night began to wane, and still did lucy munro keep lonely vigil in her chamber. how could she sleep? threatened with a connection so dreadful as to her mind was that proposed with guy rivers--deeply interested as she now felt herself in the fortunes of the young stranger, for whose fate and safety, knowing the unfavorable position in which he stood with the outlaws, she had everything to apprehend--it can cause no wonder when we say sleep grew a stranger to her eyes, and without retiring to her couch, though extinguishing her light, she sat musing by the window of her chamber upon the thousand conflicting and sad thoughts that were at strife in her spirit. she had not been long in this position when the sound of approaching horsemen reached her ears, and after a brief interval, during which she could perceive that they had alighted, she heard the door of the hall gently unclosed, and footsteps, set down with nice caution, moving through the passage. a light danced for a moment fitfully along the chamber, as if borne from the sleeping apartment of munro to that adjoining the hall in which the family were accustomed to pursue their domestic avocations. then came an occasional murmur of speech to her ears, and then silence. perplexed with these circumstances, and wondering at the return of munro at an hour something unusual--prompted too by a presentiment of something wrong, and apprehensive on the score of ralph's safety--a curiosity not, surely, under these circumstances, discreditable, to know what was going on, determined her to ascertain something more of the character of the nocturnal visitation. she felt secured from the strangeness of the occurrence, that evil was afoot, and solicitous for its prevention, she was persuaded to the measure solely with the view to good. hastily, but with trembling hands, undoing the door of her apartment, she made her way into the long, dark gallery, with which she was perfectly familiar, and soon gained the apartment already referred to. the door fortunately stood nearly closed, and she successfully passed it by and gained the hall, which immediately adjoined, and lay in perfect darkness. without herself being seen, she was enabled, through a crevice in the partition dividing the two rooms, to survey its inmates, and to hear distinctly everything that was uttered. as she expected, there were the two conspirators, rivers and munro, earnestly engaged in discourse; to which, as it concerns materially our progress, we may well be permitted to lend our attention. they spoke on a variety of topics entirely foreign to the understanding of the half-affrighted and nervously-susceptible, but still resolute young girl who heard them; and nothing but her deep anxieties for one, whose own importance in her eyes at that moment she did not conjecture, could have sustained her while listening to a dialogue full of atrocious intention, and larded throughout with a familiar and sometimes foul phraseology that certainly was not altogether unseemly in such association. "well, blundell's gone too, they say. he's heartily frightened. a few more will follow, and we must both be out of the way. the rest could not well be identified, and whether they are or not does not concern us, except that they may blab of their confederates. such as seem likely to suffer detection must be frightened off; and this, by the way, is not so difficult a matter. pippin knows nothing of himself. forrester is too much involved to be forward. it was for this that i aroused and set him on. his hot blood took fire at some little hints that i threw out, and the fool became a leader in the mischief. there's no danger from him; besides, they say, he's off too. old allen has broken off the match between him and his daughter, and the fellow's almost mad on the strength of it. there's but one left who might trouble us, and it is now understood that but one mode offers for his silence. we are perfectly agreed as to this, and no more scruples." the quick sense of the maiden readily taught her who was meant; and her heart trembled convulsively within her, as, with a word, munro, replying to rivers, gave his assent. "why, yes--it must be done, i suppose, though somehow or other i would it could be got rid of in any other way." "you see for yourself, wat, there can be no other way; for as long as he lives, there is no security. the few surviving guard will be seen to, and they saw too little to be dangerous. they were like stunned and stupified men. this boy alone was cool and collected, and is so obstinate in what he knows and thinks, that he troubles neither himself nor his neighbors with doubt or difficulty. i knew him a few years ago, when something more of a boy than now; and even then he was the same character." "but why not let him start, and take the woods for it? how easy to settle the matter on the roadside, in a thousand different ways. the accumulation of these occurrences in the village, as much as anything else, will break us up. i don't care for myself, for i expect to be off for a time; but i want to see the old woman and lucy keep quiet possession here--" "you are becoming an old woman yourself, wat, and should be under guardianship. all these scruples are late; and, indeed, even were they not, they would be still useless. we have determined on the thing, and the sooner we set about it the better. the night wanes, and i have much to see to before daylight. to-morrow i must sleep--sleep--" and for a moment rivers seemed to muse upon the word sleep, which he thrice repeated; then suddenly proceeding, as if no pause had taken place, he abruptly placed his hand upon the shoulder of munro, and asked-- "you will bear the lantern; this is all you need perform. i am resolute for the rest." "what will you use--dirk?" "yes--it is silent in its office, and not less sure. are all asleep, think you--your wife?" "quite so--sound when i entered the chamber." "well, the sooner to business the better. is there water in that pitcher? i am strangely thirsty to-night; brandy were not amiss at such a time." and speaking this to himself, as it were, rivers approached the side-table, where stood the commodities he sought. in this approach the maiden had a more perfect view of the malignities of his savage face; and as he left the table, and again commenced a brief conversation in an under-tone with munro, no longer doubting the dreadful object which they had in view, she seized the opportunity with as much speed as was consistent with caution and her trembling nerves, to leave the place of espionage, and seek her chamber. but to what purpose had she heard all this, if she suffered the fearful deed to proceed to execution? the thought was momentary, but carried to her heart, in that moment, the fullest conviction of her duty. she rushed hurriedly again into the passage--and, though apprehending momentarily that her knees would sink from under her, took her way up the narrow flight of steps leading into the second story, and to the youth's chamber. as she reached the door, a feminine scruple came over her. a young girl seeking the apartment of a man at midnight--she shrunk back with a new feeling. but the dread necessity drove her on, and with cautious hand undoing the latch securing the door by thrusting her hand through an interstice between the logs--wondering at the same time at the incautious manner in which, at such a period and place, the youth had provided for his sleeping hours--she stood tremblingly within the chamber. wrapped in unconscious slumbers, ralph colleton lay dreaming upon his rude couch of a thousand strange influences and associations. his roving fancies had gone to and fro, between his uncle and his bewitching cousin, until his heart grew softened and satisfied, not less with the native pleasures which they revived in his memory, than of the sweet oblivion which they brought of the many painful and perilous prospects with which he had more recently become familiar. he had no thought of the present, and the pictures of the past were all rich and ravishing. to his wandering sense at that moment there came a sweet vision of beauty and love--of an affection warmly cherished--green as the summer leaves--fresh as its flowers--flinging odors about his spirit, and re-awakening in its fullest extent the partially slumbering passion--reviving many a hope, and provoking with many a delicious anticipation. the form of the one, lovely beyond comparison, flitted before him, while her name, murmured with words of passion by his parted lips, carried with its utterance a sweet promise of a pure faith, and an unforgetting affection. never once, since the hour of his departure from home, had he, in his waking moments, permitted that name to find a place upon his lips, and now syllabled into sound by them in his unconscious dreams, it fell with a stunning influence upon an auditor, whose heart grew colder in due proportion with the unconscious but warm tenderness of epithet with which his tongue coupled its utterance. the now completely unhappy lucy stood sad and statue-like. she heard enough to teach her the true character of her own feelings for one, whose articulated dreams had revealed the secret of his passion for another; and almost forgetting for a while the office upon which she had come, she continued to give ear to those sounds which brought to her heart only additional misery. how long ralph, in his mental wanderings, would have gone on, as we have seen, incoherently developing his heart's history, may not be said. gathering courage at last, with a noble energy, the maiden proceeded to her proposed duty, and his slumbers were broken. with a half-awakened consciousness he raised himself partially up in his couch, and sought to listen. he was not deceived; a whispered sentence came to his ears, addressed to himself, and succeeded by a pause of several moments' continuance. again his name was uttered. half doubting his senses, he passed his hand repeatedly over his eyes, and again listened for the repetition of that voice, the identity of which he had as yet failed utterly to distinguish. the sounds were repeated, and the words grew more and more distinct. he now caught in part the tenor of the sentence, though imperfectly heard. it seemed to convey some warning of danger, and the person who spoke appeared, from the tremulous accents, to labor under many apprehensions. the voice proceeded with increased emphasis, advising his instant departure from the house--speaking of nameless dangers--of murderous intrigue and conspiracy, and warning against even the delay of a single instant. the character of ralph was finely marked, and firmness of purpose and a ready decision were among its most prominent attributes. hastily leaping from his couch, therefore, with a single bound he reached the door of his chamber, which, to his astonishment, he found entirely unfastened. the movement was so sudden and so entirely unlooked-for, that the intruder was taken by surprise; and beheld, while the youth closed securely the entrance, the hope of escape entirely cut off. ralph advanced toward his visiter, the dim outline of whose person was visible upon the wall. lifting his arm as he approached, what was his astonishment to perceive the object of his assault sink before him upon the floor, while the pleading voice of a woman called upon him for mercy. "spare me, mr. colleton--spare me"--she exclaimed, in undisguised terror. "you here, miss munro, and at this hour of the night!" was the wondering inquiry, as he lifted her from the floor, her limbs, trembling with agitation, scarcely able to support even her slender form. "forgive me, sir, forgive me. think not ill of me, i pray you. i come to save you,--indeed, mr. colleton, i do--and nothing, believe me, would have brought me here but the knowledge of your immediate danger." she felt the delicacy of her situation, and recognising her motive readily, we will do him the justice to say, ralph felt it too in the assurance of her lips. a respectful delicacy pervaded his manner as he inquired earnestly:-- "what is this danger, miss munro? i believe you fear for me, but may you not have exaggerated the cause of alarm to yourself? what have i to fear--from what would you save me?" "nay, ask me not, sir, but fly. there is but little time for explanation, believe me. i know and do not imagine the danger. i can not tell you all, nor can you with safety bestow the time to hear. your murderers are awake--they are in this very house, and nothing but instant flight can save you from their hands." "but from whom, miss munro, am i to fear all this? what has given you this alarm, which, until you can give me some clue to this mystery, i must regard as unadvised and without foundation. i feel the kindness and interest of your solicitude--deeply feel, and greatly respect it; but, unless you can give me some reasonable ground for your fears, i must be stubborn in resisting a connection which would have me fly like a midnight felon, without having seen the face of my foe." "oh, heed not these false scruples. there is no shame in such a flight, and believe me, sir, i speak not unadvisedly. nothing, but the most urgent and immediate danger would have prompted me, at this hour, to come here. if you would survive this night, take advantage of the warning and fly. this moment you must determine--i know not, indeed, if it be not too late even now for your extrication. the murderers, by this time, may be on the way to your chamber, and they will not heed your prayers, and they will scorn any defence which you might offer." "but who are they of whom you speak, miss munro? if i must fly, let me at least know from what and whom. what are my offences, and whom have i offended?" "that is soon told, though i fear, sir, we waste the time in doing so. you have offended rivers, and you know but little of him if you think it possible for him to forget or forgive where once injured, however slightly. the miners generally have been taught to regard you as one whose destruction alone can insure their safety from punishment for their late aggressions. my uncle too, i grieve to say it, is too much under the influence of rivers, and does indeed just what his suggestions prescribe. they have plotted your death, and will not scruple at its performance. they are even now below meditating its execution. by the merest good fortune i overheard their design, from which i feel persuaded nothing now can make them recede. rely not on their fear of human punishment. they care perhaps just as little for the laws of man as of god, both of which they violate hourly with impunity, and from both of which they have always hitherto contrived to secure themselves. let me entreat, therefore, that you will take no heed of that manful courage which would be honorable and proper with a fair enemy. do not think that i am a victim to unmeasured and womanly fears. i have seen too much of the doings of these men, not to feel that no fancies of mine can do them injustice. they would murder you in your bed, and walk from the scene of their crime with confidence into the very courts of justice." "i believe you, miss munro, and nothing doubt the correctness of your opinion with regard to the character of these men. indeed, i have reason to know that what you say of rivers, i have already realized in my own person. this attempt, if he makes it, will be the second in which he has put my life in hazard, and i believe him, therefore, not too good for any attempt of this evil nature. but why may i not defend myself from the assassins? i can make these logs tenable till daylight from all their assaults, and then i should receive succor from the villagers without question. you see, too, i have arms which may prove troublesome to an enemy." "trust not these chances; let me entreat that you rely not upon them. were you able, as you say, to sustain yourself for the rest of the night in this apartment, there would be no relief in the morning, for how would you make your situation understood? many of the villagers will have flown before to-morrow into the nation, until the pursuit is well over, which will most certainly be commenced before long. some of them have already gone, having heard of the approach of the residue of the georgia guard, to which the survivors at the late affair bore the particulars. those who venture to remain will not come nigh this house, dreading to be involved in the difficulties which now threaten its occupants. their caution would only be the more increased on hearing of any commotion. wait not, therefore, i implore you, for the dawning of the day: it could never dawn to you. rivers i know too well; he would overreach you by some subtlety or other; and how easy, even while we speak, to shoot you down through these uneven logs. trust not, trust not, i entreat you; there is a sure way of escape, and you still have time, if at once you avail yourself of it." the maid spoke with earnestness and warmth, for the terrors of her mind had given animation to her anxiety, while she sought to persuade the somewhat stubborn youth into the proposed and certainly judicious flight she contemplated for him. her trepidation had made her part with much of that retreating timidity which had usually distinguished her manner; and perfectly assured herself of the causes of her present apprehension, she did not scruple to exhibit--indeed she did not seem altogether conscious of--the deep interest which she took in the fate and fortunes of him who stood beside her. flattered as he must have been by the marked feeling, which she could neither disguise nor he mistake, the youth did not, how ever, for a moment seek to abuse it; but with a habit at once gentle and respectful, combated the various arguments and suggestions which, with a single eye to his safety, she urged for his departure. in so doing, he obtained from her all the particulars of her discovery, and was at length convinced that her apprehensions were by no means groundless. she had accidentally come upon the conspirators at an interesting moment in their deliberations, which at once revealed their object and its aim; and he at length saw that, except in flight, according to her proposition, the chances were against his escape at all. while they thus deliberated, the distant sound of a chair falling below, occurring at an hour so unusual, gave an added force to her suggestions, and while it prompted anew her entreaties, greatly diminished his reluctance to the flight. "i will do just as you advise. i know not, miss munro, why my fate and fortune should have provoked in you such an interest, unless it be that yours being a less selfish sex than ours, you are not apt to enter into calculations as to the loss of quiet or of personal risk, which, in so doing, you may incur. whatever be the motive, however, i am grateful for its effects, and shall not readily forget the gentleness of that spirit which has done so much for the solace and the safety of one so sad in its aspect and so much a stranger in all respects." the youth spoke with a tone and manner the most tender yet respectful, which necessarily relieved from all perplexity that feeling of propriety and maiden delicacy which otherwise must have made her situation an awkward one. ralph was not so dull, however, as not to perceive that to a livelier emotion he might in justice attribute the conduct of his companion; but, with a highly-honorable fastidiousness, he himself suggested a motive for her proceeding which her own delicacy rendered improper for her utterance. still the youth was not marble exactly: and, as he spoke, his arm gently encircled her waist; and her form, as if incapable of its own support, hung for a moment, with apathetic lifelessness, upon his bosom; while her head, with an impulse not difficult to define, drooped like a bending and dewy lily upon his arm. but the passive emotion, if we may so style it, was soon over; and, with an effort, in which firmness and feebleness strongly encountered, she freed herself from his hold with an erect pride of manner, which gave a sweet finish to the momentary display which she had made of womanly weakness. her voice, as she called upon him to follow her into the passage, was again firm in a moment, and pervaded by a cold ease which seemed to him artificial:-- "there is but little time left you now, sir, for escape: it were criminal not to use it. follow me boldly, but cautiously--i will lead the way--the house is familiar to me, in night and day, and there must be no waste of time." he would have resisted this conduct, and himself taken the lead in the advance; but, placing her small and trembling hand upon his arm, she insisted upon the course she had prescribed, and in a manner which he did not venture to resist. their steps were slow into the open space which, seeming as an introduction to, at the same time separated the various chambers of the dwelling, and terminated in the large and cumbrous stairway which conducted to the lower story, and to which their course was now directed. the passage was of some length, but with cautious tread they proceeded in safety and without noise to the head of the stairway, when the maiden, who still preserved the lead, motioned him back, retreating herself, as she did so, into the cover of a small recess, formed by the stairs, which it partially overhung, and presenting a doubtful apology for a closet. its door hung upon a broken and single hinge, unclosed--leaving, however, so small an aperture, that it might be difficult to account for their entrance. there, amid the dust and mystery of time-worn household trumpery, old saddles, broken bridles, and more than one dismembered harness, they came to a pause, and were enabled now to perceive the realization in part of her apprehensions. a small lantern, the rays of light from which feebly made their way through a single square in front, disclosed to the sight the dim forms of the two assassins, moving upward to the contemplated deed of blood. the terrors of lucy, as she surveyed their approach, were great; but, with a mind and spirit beyond those commonly in the possession of her sex, she was enabled to conquer and rise above them; and, though her heart beat with a thick and hurried apprehension, her soul grew calmer the more closely approached the danger. her alarm, to the mind of ralph, was now sufficiently justified, as, looking through a crevice in the narrow apartment in which he stood, he beheld the malignant and hell-branded visage of rivers, peering like a dim and baleful light in advance of his companion, in whose face a partial glimmer of the lamp revealed a something of reluctance, which rendered it doubtful how far munro had in reality gone willingly on the task. it was, under all the circumstances, a curious survey for the youth. he was a man of high passions, sudden of action, impetuous and unhesitating. in a fair field, he would not have been at a loss for a single moment; but here, the situation was so new, that he was more and more undetermined in his spirit. he saw them commissioned with his murder--treading, one by one, the several steps below him--approaching momently higher and higher--and his heart beat audibly with conflicting emotions; while with one hand he grasped convulsively and desperately the handle of his dirk, the other being fully employed in sustaining the almost fainting form of his high-souled but delicate companion. he felt that, if discovered, he could do little in his defence and against assault; and though without a thought but that of fierce struggle to the last, his reason taught him to perceive with how little hope of success. as the assassins continued to advance, he could distinctly trace every change of expression in their several countenances. in that of rivers, linked with the hideousness that his wound conferred upon it, he noted the more wicked workings of a spirit, the fell character of whose features received no moderate exaggeration from the dim and flickering glare of the lamp which his hand unsteadily carried. the whole face had in it something awfully fearful. he seemed, in its expression, already striking the blow at the breast of his victim, or rioting with a fiendish revenge in his groaned agonies. a brief dialogue between his companion and himself more fully describes the character of the monster. "stay--you hurry too much in this matter," said munro, putting his hand on that of rivers, and restraining his steps for a moment as he paused, seemingly to listen. he continued-- "your hand trembles, rivers, and you let your lamp dance about too much to find it useful. your footstep is unsteady, and but now the stairs creaked heavily beneath you. you must proceed with more caution, or we shall be overheard. these are sleepless times, and this youth, who appears to trouble you more than man ever troubled you before, may be just as much awake as ourselves. if you are determined in this thing, be not imprudent." rivers, who, on reaching the head of the flight, had been about to move forward precipitately, now paused, though with much reluctance; and to the speech of his companion, with a fearful expression of the lips, which, as they parted, disclosed the teeth white and closely clinched beneath them, replied, though without directly referring to its import-- "if i am determined--do you say!--but is not that the chamber where he sleeps?" "no; old barton sleeps there--_he_ sleeps at the end of the gallery. be calm--why do you work your fingers in that manner?" "see you not my knife is in them? i thought at that moment that it was between his ribs, and working about in his heart. it was a sweet fancy, and, though i could not hear his groans as i stooped over him to listen, i almost thought i felt them." the hand of the maiden grasped that of ralph convulsively as these muttered words came to their ears, and her respiration grew more difficult and painful. _he_ shuddered at the vindictive spirit which the wretch exhibited, while his own, putting on a feller and a fiercer temper, could scarcely resist the impulse which would have prompted him at once to rush forth and stab him where he stood. but the counsels of prudence had their influence, and he remained quiet and firm. the companion of the ruffian felt no less than his other hearers the savage nature of his mood, as thus, in his own way, he partially rebuked it: "these are horrid fancies, rivers--more like those which we should look to find in a panther than in a man; and you delight in them quite too much. can you not kill your enemy without drinking his blood?" "and where then would be the pleasure of revenge?"--he muttered, between his closed teeth. "the soldier who in battle slays his opponent, hates him not--he has no personal animosity to indulge. the man has never crossed his path in love or in ambition--yet he shoots him down, ruthlessly and relentlessly. shall _he_ do no more who hates, who fears, who sickens at the sight of the man who has crossed his path in love and in ambition? i tell you, munro, i hate this boy--this beardless, this overweening and insolent boy. he has overthrown, he has mortified me, where i alone should have stood supreme and supereminent. he has wronged me--it may be without intention; but, what care i for that qualification. shall it be less an evil because he by whom it is perpetrated has neither the soul nor the sense to be conscious of his error. the child who trifles with the powder-match is lessoned by the explosion which destroys him. it must be so with him. i never yet forgave a wrong, however slight and unimportant--i never will. it is not in my nature to do so; and as long as this boy can sleep at night, i can not. i will not seek to sleep until he is laid to rest for ever!" the whole of this brief dialogue, which had passed directly beside the recess in which the maiden and youth had taken shelter, was distinctly audible to them both. the blood of ralph boiled within him at this latter speech of the ruffian, in which he avowed a spirit of such dire malignity, as, in its utter disproportionateness to the supposed offence of the youth, could only have been sanctioned by the nature which he had declared to have always been his prompter; and, at its close, the arm of the youth, grasping his weapon, was involuntarily stretched forth, and an instant more would have found it buried in the bosom of the wretch--but the action did not escape the quick eye of his companion, who, though trembling with undiminished terror, was yet mistress of all her senses, and perceived the ill-advised nature of his design. with a motion equally involuntary and sudden with his own, her taper fingers grasped his wrist, and her eyes bright with dewy lustres, were directed upward, sweetly and appealingly to those which now bent themselves down upon her. in that moment of excitement and impending terror, a consciousness of her situation and a sense of shame which more than ever agitated her, rushed through her mind, and she leaned against the side of the closet for that support for which her now revived and awakened scruples forbade any reference to him from whom she had so recently received it. still, there was nothing abrupt or unkind in her manner, and the youth did not hesitate again to place his arm around and in support of the form which, in reality, needed his strength. in doing so, however, a slight noise was the consequence, which the quick sense of rivers readily discerned. "hark!--heard you nothing, munro--no sound? hear you no breathing?--it seems at hand--in that closet." "thou hast a quick ear to-night, guy, as well as a quick step. i heard, and hear nothing, save the snorings of old barton, whose chamber is just beside you to the left. he has always had a reputation for the wild music which his nose contrives, during his sleep, to keep up in his neighborhood." "it came from the opposite quarter, munro, and was not unlike the suppressed respiration of one who listens." "pshaw! that can not be. there is no chamber there. that is but the old closet in which we store away lumber. you are quite too regardful of your senses. they will keep us here all night, and the fact is, i wish the business well over." "where does lucy sleep?" "in the off shed-room below. what of her?" "of her--oh nothing!" and rivers paused musingly in the utterance of this reply, which fell syllable by syllable from his lips. the landlord proceeded:-- "pass on, rivers; pass on: or have you determined better about this matter? shall the youngster live? indeed, i see not that his evidence, even if he gives it, which i very much doubt, can do us much harm, seeing that a few days more will put us out of the reach of judge and jury alike." "you would have made a prime counsellor and subtle disputant, munro, worthy of the philadelphia lawyers," returned the other, in a sneer. "you think only of one part of this subject, and have no passions, no emotions: you can talk all day long on matters of feeling, without showing any. did i not say but now, that while that boy slept i could not?" "are you sure that when he ceases to sleep the case will be any better?" the answer to this inquiry was unheard, as the pair passed on to the tenantless chamber. watching their progress, and under the guidance of the young maiden, who seemed endued with a courage and conduct worthy of more experience and a stronger sex, the youth emerged from his place of precarious and uncomfortable concealment, and descended to the lower floor. a few moments sufficed to throw the saddle upon his steed, without arousing the sable groom; and having brought him under the shadow of a tree at some little distance from the house, he found no further obstruction in the way of his safe and sudden flight. he had fastened the door of his chamber on leaving it, with much more caution than upon retiring for the night; and having withdrawn the key, which he now hurled into the woods, he felt assured that, unless the assassins had other than the common modes of entry, he should gain a little time from the delay they would experience from this interruption; and this interval, returning to the doorway, he employed in acknowledgments which were well due to the young and trembling woman who stood beside him. "take this little token, sweet lucy," said he, throwing about her neck the chain and casket which he had unbound from his own--"take this little token of ralph colleton's gratitude for this night's good service. i shall redeem it, if i live, at a more pleasant season, but you must keep it for me now. i will not soon forget the devotedness with which, on this occasion, you have perilled so much for a stranger. should we never again meet, i pray you to remember me in your prayers, and i shall always remember you in mine." he little knew, while he thus spoke in a manner so humbly of himself, of the deep interest which his uniform gentleness of manner and respectful deference, so different from what she had been accustomed to encounter, had inspired in her bosom; and so small at this period was his vanity, that he did not trust himself for a moment to regard the conjecture--which ever and anon thrust itself upon him--that the fearless devotion of the maiden in his behalf and for his safety, had in reality a far more selfish origin than the mere general humanity of her sex and spirit. we will not say that she would not have done the same by any other member of the human family in like circumstances; but it is not uncharitable to believe that she would have been less anxiously interested, less warm in her interest, and less pained in the event of an unfortunate result. clasping the gorgeous chain about her neck, his arm again gently encircled her waist, her head drooped upon her bosom--she did not speak--she appeared scarcely to feel. for a moment, life and all its pulses seemed resolutely at a stand; and with some apprehensions, the youth drew her to his bosom, and spoke with words full of tenderness. she made no answer to his immediate speech; but her hands, as if unconsciously, struck the spring which locked the casket that hung upon the chain, and the miniature lay open before her, the dim light of the moon shining down upon it. she reclosed it suddenly, and undoing it from the chain, placed it with a trembling hand in his own; and with an effort of calm and quiet playfulness, reminded him of the unintended gift. he received it, but only to place it again in her hand, reuniting it to the chain. "keep it," said he, "miss munro--keep it until i return to reclaim it. it will be as safe in your hands--much safer, indeed, than in mine. she whose features it describes will not chide, that, at a moment of peril, i place it in the care of one as gentle as herself." her eyes were downcast, as, again receiving it, she inquired with a girlish curiosity, "is her name edith, mr. colleton, of whom these features are the likeness!" the youth, surprised by the question, met the inquiry with another. "how know you?--wherefore do you ask?" she saw his astonishment, and with a calm which had not, during the whole scene between them, marked her voice or demeanor, she replied instantly:-- "no matter--no matter, sir. i know not well why i put the question--certainly with no object, and am now more than answered." the youth pondered over the affair in silence for a few moments, but desirous of satisfying the curiosity of the maiden, though on a subject and in relation to one of whom he had sworn himself to silence--wondering, at the same time, not less at the inquiry than the knowledge which it conveyed, of that which he had locked up, as he thought, in the recesses of his own bosom--was about to reply, when a hurried step, and sudden noise from the upper apartment of the house, warned them of the dangers of further delay. the maiden interrupted with rapid tones the speech he was about to commence:-- "fly, sir--fly. there is no time to be lost. you have lingered too long already. do not hesitate longer--you have heard the determination of rivers--this disappointment will only make him more furious. fly, then, and speak not. take the left road at the fork: it leads to the river. it is the dullest, and if they pursue, they will be most likely to fall into the other." "farewell, then, my good, my protecting angel--i shall not forget you--have no apprehensions for me--i have now but few for myself. yet, ere i go--" and he bent down, and before she was conscious of his design, his lips were pressed warmly to her pale and beautiful forehead. "be not vexed--chide me not," he murmured--"regard me as a brother--if i live i shall certainly become one. farewell!" leaping with a single bound to his saddle, he stood erect for a moment, then vigorously applying his spurs, he had vanished in an instant from the sight. she paused in the doorway until the sounds of his hurrying progress had ceased to fall upon her ears; then, with a mournful spirit and heavy step, slowly re-entered the apartment. chapter xx. the outlaw and his victim. lucy munro re-entered the dwelling at a moment most inopportune. it was not less her obvious policy than desire--prompted as well by the necessity of escaping the notice and consequent suspicions of those whom she had defrauded of their prey, as by a due sense of that delicate propriety which belonged to her sex, and which her education, as the reader will have conjectured, had taught her properly to estimate--that made her now seek to avoid scrutiny or observation at the moment of her return. though the niece, and now under the sole direction and authority of munro, she was the child of one as little like that personage in spirit and pursuit as may well be imagined. it is not necessary that we should dwell more particularly upon this difference. it happened with the two brothers, as many of us have discovered in other cases, that their mental and moral make, though seemingly under the same tutorship, was widely dissimilar. the elder munro, at an early period in life, broke through all restraints--defied all responsibilities--scorned all human consequences--took no pride or pleasure in any of its domestic associations--and was only known as a vicious profligate, with whom nothing might be done in the way of restraint or reformation. when grown to manhood, he suddenly left his parental home, and went, for a time, no one could say whither. when heard of, it appeared from all accounts that his licentiousness of habit had not deserted him: still, however, it had not, as had been anticipated, led to any fearful or very pernicious results. years passed on, the parents died, and the brothers grew more than ever separate; when, in different and remote communities, they each took wives to themselves. the younger, edgar munro, the father of lucy, grew prosperous in business--for a season at least--and, until borne down by a rush of unfavorable circumstances, he spared neither pains nor expense in the culture of the young mind of that daughter whose fortunes are now somewhat before us. nothing which might tend in the slightest to her personal improvement had been withheld; and the due feminine grace and accomplishment which followed these cares fitted the maiden for the most refined intellectual converse, and for every gentle association. she was familiar with books; had acquired a large taste for letters; and a vein of romantic enthusiasm, not uncommon to the southern temperament, and which she possessed in a considerable degree, was not a little sharpened and exaggerated by the works which fell into her hands. tenderly loved and gently nurtured by her parents, it was at that period in her life in which their presence and guardianship were most seriously needed, that she became an orphan; and her future charge necessarily devolved upon an uncle, between whom and her father, since their early manhood, but little association of any kind had taken place. the one looked upon the other as too licentious, if not criminally so, in his habits and pursuits; he did not know their extent, or dream of their character, or he had never doubted for an instant; while he, in turn, so estimated, did not fail to consider and to style his more sedate brother an inveterate and tedious proser; a dull sermonizer on feelings which he knew nothing about, and could never understand--one who prosed on to the end of the chapter, without charm or change, worrying all about him with exhortations to which they yielded no regard. the parties were fairly quits, and there was no love lost between them. they saw each other but seldom, and, when the surviving brother took up his abode in the _new purchase_, as the indian acquisitions of modern times have been usually styled, he was lost sight of, for a time, entirely, by his more staid and worthy kinsman. still, edgar munro did not look upon his brother as utterly bad. a wild indifference to social forms, and those staid customs which in the estimation of society become virtues, was, in his idea, the most serious error of which walter had been guilty. in this thought he persisted to the last, and did not so much feel the privations to which his death must subject his child, in the belief and hope that his brother would not only be able but willing to supply the loss. in one respect he was not mistaken. the afflictions which threw the niece of walter a dependant upon his bounty, and a charge upon his attention, revived in some measure his almost smothered and in part forgotten regards of kindred; and with a tolerably good grace he came forward to the duty, and took the orphan to the asylum, such as it was, to which his brother's death-bed prayer had recommended her. at first, there was something to her young mind savoring of the romance to which she had rather given herself up, in the notion of a woodland cottage, and rural sports, and wild vines gadding fantastically around secluded bowers; but the reality--the sad reality of such a home and its associations--pressed too soon and heavily upon her to permit her much longer to entertain or encourage the dream of that glad fancy in which she originally set out. the sphere to which she was transferred, it was soon evident, was neither grateful to the heart nor suited to the mind whose education had been such as hers; and the spirit of the young maiden, at all times given rather to a dreamy melancholy than to any very animated impulses, put on, in its new abiding-place, a garb of increased severity, which at certain moments indicated more of deep and settled misanthropy than any mere constitutionality of habit. munro was not at all times rude of speech and manner; and, when he pleased, knew well how so to direct himself as to sooth such a disposition. he saw, and in a little while well understood, the temper of his niece; and, with a consideration under all circumstances rather creditable, he would most usually defer, with a ready accommodation of his own, to her peculiarities. he was pleased and proud of her accomplishments; and from being thus proud, so far as such an emotion could consistently comport with a life and a licentiousness such as his, he had learned, in reality, to love the object who could thus awaken a sentiment so much beyond those inculcated by all his other habits. to her he exhibited none of the harsh manner which marked his intercourse with all other persons; and in his heart sincerely regretted, and sought to avoid the necessity which, as we have elsewhere seen, had made him pledge her hand to rivers--a disposition of it which he knew was no less galling and painful to her than it was irksome yet unavoidable to himself. unhappily, however, for these sentiments, he was too much under the control and at the mercy of his colleague to resist or refuse his application for her person; and though for a long time baffling, under various pretences, the pursuit of that ferocious ruffian, he felt that the time was at hand, unless some providential interference willed it otherwise, when the sacrifice would be insisted on and must be made; or probably her safety, as well as his own, might necessarily be compromised. he knew too well the character of rivers, and was too much in his power, to risk much in opposition to his will and desires: and, as we have already heard him declare, from having been at one time, and in some respects, the tutor, he had now become, from the operation of circumstances, the mere creature and instrument of that unprincipled wretch. whatever may have been the crimes of munro beyond those already developed--known to and in the possession of rivers--and whatever the nature of those ties, as well of league as of mutual risk, which bound the parties together in such close affinity, it is not necessary that we should state, nor, indeed, might it be altogether within our compass or capacity to do so. their connection had, we doubt not, many ramifications; and was strengthened, there is little question, by a thousand mutual necessities, resulting from their joint and frequently-repeated violations of the laws of the land. they were both members of an irregular club, known by its constituents in georgia as the most atrocious criminal that ever offended society or defied its punishments; and the almost masonic mysteries and bond which distinguished the members provided them with a pledge of security which gave an added impetus to their already reckless vindictiveness against man and humanity. in a country, the population of which, few and far between, is spread over a wide, wild, and little-cultivated territory, the chances of punishment for crime, rarely realized, scarcely occasioned a thought among offenders; and invited, by the impunity which marked their atrocities, their reiterated commission. we have digressed, however, somewhat from our narrative, but thus much was necessary to the proper understanding of the portions immediately before us, and to the consideration of which we now return. the moment was inopportune, as we have already remarked, at which lucy munro endeavored to effect her return to her own apartment. she was compelled, for the attainment of this object, to cross directly over the great hall, from the room adjoining and back of which the little shed-room projected in which she lodged. this hall was immediately entered upon from the passage-way, leading into the court in front, and but a few steps were necessary for its attainment. the hall had but a single outlet besides that through which she now entered, and this led at once into the adjoining apartment, through which only could she make her way to her own. unhappily, this passage also contained the stairway flight which led into the upper story of the building; and, in her haste to accomplish her return, she had penetrated too far to effect her retreat, when a sudden change of direction in the light which rivers carried sufficed to develop the form of that person, at the foot of the stairs, followed by munro, just returning from the attempt which she had rendered fruitless, and now approaching directly toward her. conscious of the awkwardness of her situation, and with a degree of apprehension which now for the first time seemed to paralyze her faculties, she endeavored, but with some uncertainty and hesitation of manner, to gain the shelter of the wall which stretched dimly beside her; a hope not entirely vain, had she pursued it decisively, since the lamp which rivers carried gave forth but a feeble ray, barely adequate to the task of guiding the footsteps of those who employed it. but the glance of the outlaw, rendered, it would seem, more malignantly penetrating from his recent disappointment, detected the movement; and though, from the imperfectness of the light, uncertain of the object, with a ready activity, the result of a conviction that the long-sought-for victim was now before him, he sprang forward, flinging aside the lamp as he did so, and grasping with one hand and with rigid gripe the almost-fainting girl: the other, brandishing a bared knife, was uplifted to strike, when her shrieks arrested the blow. disappointed in not finding the object he sought, the fury of the outlaw was rather heightened than diminished when he discovered that his arm only encircled a young and terrified female; and his teeth were gnashed in token of the bitter wrath in his bosom, and angry curses came from his lips in the undisguised vexation of his spirit. in the meantime, munro advanced, and the lamp having been dashed out in the onset of rivers, they were still ignorant of the character of their prisoner, until, having somewhat recovered from her first alarm, and struggling for deliverance from the painful gripe which secured her arm, she exclaimed-- "unhand me, sir--unhand me, on the instant. what mean you by this violence?" "ha! it is you then, fair mistress, that have done this work. it is you that have meddled in the concerns of men, prying into their plans, and arresting their execution. by my soul, i had not thought you so ready or so apt; but how do you reconcile it to your notions of propriety to be abroad at an hour which is something late for a coy damsel? munro, you must look to these rare doings, or they will work you some difficulty in time to come." munro advanced and addressed her with some sternness--"why are you abroad, lucy, and at this hour? why this disquietude, and what has alarmed you?--why have you left your chamber?" the uncle did not obtain, nor indeed did he appear to expect, any answer to his inquiries. in the meanwhile, rivers held possession of her arm, and she continued fruitlessly struggling for some moments in his grasp, referring at length to the speaker for that interference which he now appeared slow to manifest. "oh, sir! will you suffer me to be treated thus--will you not make this man undo his hold, and let me retire to my chamber?" "you should have been there long before this, lucy," was the reply, in a grave, stern accent. "you must not complain, if, found thus, at midnight, in a part of the building remote from your chamber, you should be liable to suspicions of meddling with things which should not concern you." "come, mistress--pray answer to this. where have you been to-night--what doing--why abroad? have you been eavesdropping--telling tales--hatching plots?" the natural ferocity of rivers's manner was rather heightened by the tone which he assumed. the maiden, struggling still for the release for which her spirit would not suffer her to implore, exclaimed:-- "insolent! by what right do you ask me these or any questions? unhand me, coward--unhand me. you are strong and brave only where the feeble are your opponents." but he maintained his grasp with even more rigidity than before; and she turned towards the spot at which stood her uncle, but he had left the apartment for a light. "your speech is bold, fair mistress, and ill suits my temper. you must be more chary of your language, or you will provoke me beyond my own strength of restraint. you are my property--my slave, if i so please it, and all your appeals to your uncle will be of no effect. hark you! you have done that to-night for which i am almost tempted to put this dagger into your heart, woman as you are! you have come between me and my victim--between me and my enemy. i had summed up all my wrongs, intending their settlement to-night. you have thwarted all my hopes--you have defrauded me of all my anticipations. what is it prevents me from putting you to death on the spot? nothing. i have no fears, no loves, to hold and keep me back. i live but for revenge, and that which stays and would prevent me from its enjoyment, must also become its victim." at this moment, munro returned with a lamp. the affrighted girl again appealed to him, but he heeded her not. he soon left the passage, and the outlaw proceeded:-- "you love this youth--nay, shrink not back; let not your head droop in shame; he is worthy of your love, and for this, among other things, i hate him. he is worthy of the love of others, and for this, too, i hate him. fool that you are, he cares not for you. 'spite of all your aid to-night, he will not remember you to-morrow--he has no thought of you--his hope is built upon--he is wedded to another. "hear me, then! your life is in my hands, and at my mercy. there are none present who could interfere and arrest the blow. my dagger is even now upon your bosom--do you not feel it? at a word--a single suggestion of my thought--it performs its office, and for this night's defeat i am half revenged. you may arrest my arm--you may procure your release--even more--you may escape from the bondage of that union with me for which your uncle stands pledged, if you please." "speak--say--how!" was the eager exclamation of the maiden when this last suggestion met her ears. "put me on the scent--say on what route have you sent this boy, that i may realize the revenge i so often dream of." "never, never, as i hope to live. i would rather you should strike me dead on the spot." "why, so i will," he exclaimed furiously, and his arm rose and the weapon descended, but he arrested the stroke as it approached her. "no! not yet. there will be time enough for this, and you will perhaps be more ready and resigned when i have got rid of this youth in whom you are so much interested. i need not disguise my purpose to you--you must have known it, when conspiring for its defeat; and now, lucy, be assured, i shall not slumber in pursuit of him. i may be delayed, my revenge may be protracted, but i shall close with him at last. with holding the clue which you may unfold, can not serve him very greatly; and having it in your hands, you may serve yourself and me. take my offer--put me on his route, so that he shall not escape me, and be free henceforward from pursuit, or, as you phrase it, from persecution of mine." "you offer highly, very highly, guy rivers, and i should be tempted to anything, save this. but i have not taken this step to undo it. i shall give you no clue, no assistance which may lead to crime and to the murder of the innocent. release my hand, sir, and suffer me to retire." "you have the means of safety and release in your own hands--a single condition complied with, and, so far as i am concerned, they are yours. where is he gone--where secreted! what is the route which you have advised him to take? speak, and to the point, lucy munro, for i may not longer be trifled with." "he is safe, and by this time, i hope, beyond your reach. i tell you thus much, because i feel that it can not yield you more satisfaction than it yields to me." "it is in vain, woman, that you would trifle with and delay me; he can not escape me in the end. all these woods are familiar to me, in night as in day, as the apartment in which we stand; and towards this boy i entertain a feeling which will endue me with an activity and energy as unshrinking in the pursuit as the appetite for revenge is keen which gives them birth and impulse. i hate him with a sleepless, an unforgiving hate, that can not be quieted. he has dishonored me in the presence of these men--he has been the instrument through which i bear this badge, this brand-stamp on my cheek--he has come between my passion and its object--nay, droop not--i have no reference now to you, though you, too, have been won by his insidious attractions, while he gives you no thought in return--he has done more than this, occasioned more than this, and wonder not that i had it in my heart at one moment to-night to put my dagger into your bosom, since through you it had been defrauded of its object. but why tremble--do you not tell me he is safe?" "i do! and for this reason i tremble. i tremble with joy, not fear. i rejoice that through my poor help he is safe. i did it all. i sought him--hear me, guy rivers, for in his safety i feel strong to speak--i sought him even in his chamber, and felt no shame--i led the way--i guided him through all the avenues of the house--when you ascended the stairs we stood over it in the closet which is at its head. we beheld your progress--saw, and counted every step you took; heard every word you uttered; and more than once, when your fiend soul spoke through your lips, in horrible threatenings, my hand arrested the weapon with which the youth whom you now seek would have sent you to your long account, with all your sins upon your head. i saved you from his blow; not because you deserved to live, but because, at that moment, you were too little prepared to die." it would be difficult to imagine--certainly impossible to describe, the rage of rivers, as, with an excited spirit, the young girl, still trembling, as she expressed it, from joy, not fear, avowed all the particulars of colleton's escape. she proceeded with much of the fervor and manner of one roused into all the inspiration of a holy defiance of danger:-- "wonder not, therefore, that i tremble--my soul is full of joy at his escape. i heed not the sneer and the sarcasm which is upon your lips and in your eyes. i went boldly and confidently even into the chamber of the youth--i aroused him from his slumbers--i defied, at that moment of peril, what were far worse to me than your suspicions--i defied such as might have been his. i was conscious of no sin--no improper thought--and i called upon god to protect and to sanction me in what i had undertaken. he has done so, and i bless him for the sanction." she sunk upon her knees as she spoke, and her lips murmured and parted as if in prayer, while the tears--tears of gladness--streamed warmly and abundantly from her eyes. the rage of the outlaw grew momently darker and less governable. the white foam collected about his mouth--while his hands, though still retaining their gripe upon hers, trembled almost as much as her own. he spoke in broken and bitter words. "and may god curse you for it! you have dared much, lucy munro, this hour. you have bearded a worse fury than the tiger thirsting after blood. what madness prompts you to this folly? you have heard me avow my utter, uncontrollable hatred of this man--my determination, if possible, to destroy him, and yet you interpose. you dare to save him in my defiance. you teach him our designs, and labor to thwart them yourself. hear me, girl! you know me well--you know i never threaten without execution. i can understand how it is that a spirit, feeling at this moment as does your own, should defy death. but, bethink you--is there nothing in your thought which is worse than death, from the terrors of which, the pure mind, however fortified by heroic resolution, must still shrink and tremble? beware, then, how you chafe me. say where the youth has gone, and in this way retrieve, if you can, the error which taught you to connive at his escape." "i know not what you mean, and have no fears of anything you can do. on this point i feel secure, and bid you defiance. to think now, that, having chiefly effected the escape of the youth, i would place him again within your power, argues a degree of stupidity in me that is wantonly insulting. i tell you he has fled, by this time, beyond your reach. i say no more. it is enough that he is in safety; before a word of mine puts him in danger, i'll perish by your hands, or any hands." "then shall you perish, fool!" cried the ruffian; and his hand, hurried by the ferocious impulse of his rage, was again uplifted, when, in her struggles at freedom, a new object met his sight in the chain and portrait which ralph had flung about her neck, and which, now falling from her bosom, arrested his attention, and seemed to awaken some recognition in his mind. his hold relaxed upon her arm, and with eager haste he seized the portrait, tearing it away with a single wrench from the rich chain to which it was appended, and which now in broken fragments was strewed upon the floor. lucy sprang towards him convulsively, and vainly endeavored at its recovery. rivers broke the spring, and his eyes gazed with serpent-like fixedness upon the exquisitely beautiful features which it developed. his whole appearance underwent a change. the sternness had departed from his face which now put on an air of abstraction and wandering, not usually a habit with it. he gazed long and fixedly upon the portrait, unheeding the efforts of the girl to obtain it, and muttering at frequent intervals detached sentences, having little dependence upon one another:-- "ay--it is she," he exclaimed--"true to the life--bright, beautiful, young, innocent--and i--but let me not think!"-- then turning to the maid-- "fond fool--see you the object of adoration with him whom you so unprofitably adore. he loves _her_, girl--she, whom i--but why should i tell it you? is it not enough that we have both loved and loved in vain; and, in my revenge, you too shall enjoy yours." "i have nothing to revenge, guy rivers--nothing for you, above all others, to revenge. give me the miniature; i have it in trust, and it must not go out of my possession." she clung to him as she spoke, fruitlessly endeavoring at the recovery of that which he studiously kept from her reach. he parried her efforts for a while with something of forbearance; but ere long his original temper returned, and he exclaimed, with all the air of the demon:-- "why will you tempt me, and why longer should i trifle? you cannot have the picture--it belongs, or should belong, as well as its original, to me. my concern is now with the robber from whom you obtained it. will you not say upon what route he went? will you not guide me--and, remember well--there are some terrors greater to your mind than any threat of death. declare, for the last time--what road he took." the maiden was still, and showed no sign of reply. her eye wandered--her spirit was in prayer. she was alone with a ruffian, irresponsible and reckless, and she had many fears. "will you not speak?" he cried--"then you must hear. disclose the fact, lucy--say, what is the road, or what the course you have directed for this youth's escape, or--mark me! i have you in my power--my fullest power--with nothing to restrain my passion or my power, and--" she struggled desperately to release herself from his grasp, but he renewed it with all his sinewy strength, enforcing, with a vicelike gripe, the consciousness, in her mind, of the futility of all her physical efforts. "do you not hear!" he said. "do you comprehend me." "do your worst!" she cried. "kill me! i defy your power and your malice!" "ha! but do you defy my passions. hark ye, if ye fear not death, there is something worse than death to so romantic a damsel, which shall teach ye fear. obey me, girl--report the route taken by this fugitive, or by all that is black in hell or bright in heaven, i--" and with a whisper, he hissed the concluding and cruel threat in the ears of the shuddering and shrinking girl. with a husky horror in her voice, she cried out:-- "you dare not! monster as you are, you dare not!" then shrieking, at the full height of her voice--"save me, uncle! save me! save me!" "save you! it is he that dooms you! he has given you up to any fate that i shall decree!" "liar! away! i defy you. you dare not, ruffian! your foul threat is but meant to frighten me." the creeping terrors of her voice, as she spoke, contradicted the tenor of her speech. her fears--quite as extreme as he sought to make them--were fully evinced in her trembling accents. "frighten you!" answered the ruffian. "frighten you! why, not so difficult a matter either! but it is as easy to do, as to threaten--to make you feel as to make you fear--and why not? why should you not become the thing at once for which you have been long destined? once certainly mine, lucy munro, you will abandon the silly notion that you can be anything to ralph colleton! come!--" her shrieks answered him. he clapped his handkerchief upon her mouth. "uncle! uncle! save me!" she was half stifled--she felt breath and strength failing. her brutal assailant was hauling her away, with a force to which she could no longer oppose resistance; and with a single half-ejaculated prayer--"oh, god! be merciful!" she sunk senselessly at his feet, even as a falling corse. chapter xxi. "thou shalt do no murder!" even at this moment, munro entered the apartment. he came not a moment too soon. rivers had abused his opportunity thus far; and it is not to be doubted that he would have forborne none of the advantages which his brute strength afforded him over the feeble innocent, were it not for the interposition of the uncle. he _had_ lied, when he had asserted to the girl the sanction of the uncle for his threatened crime. munro was willing that his niece should become the _wife_ of the outlaw, and barely willing to consent even to this; but for anything less than this--base as he was--he would sooner have braved every issue with the ruffian, and perished himself in defence of the girl's virtue. he had his pride of family, strange to say, though nursed and nestled in a bosom which could boast no other virtue. the moment he saw the condition of lucy, with the grasp of rivers still upon her, he tore her away with the strength of a giant. "what have you been doing, guy?" his keen and suspicious glance of eye conveyed the question more significantly. "nothing! she is a fool only!" "and you have been a brute! beware! i tell you, guy rivers, if you but ruffle the hair of this child in violence, i will knife you, as soon as i would my worst enemy." "pshaw! i only threatened her to make her confess where she had sent colleton or hidden him." "ay, but there are some threats, guy, that call for throat-cutting. look to it. we know each other; and you know that, though i'm willing you should _marry_ lucy, i'll not stand by and see you harm her; and, with my permission you lay no hands on her, until you are married." "very well!" answered the ruffian sullenly, and turning away, "see that you get the priest soon ready. i'll wait upon neither man nor woman over long! you sha'n't trifle with me much longer." to this speech munro made no answer. he devoted himself to his still insensible niece, whom he raised carefully from the floor, and laid her upon a rude settee that stood in the apartment. she meanwhile remained unconscious of his care, which was limited to fanning her face and sprinkling water upon it. "why not carry her to her chamber--put her in bed, and let us be off?" said rivers. "wait awhile!" was the answer. the girl had evidently received a severe shock. munro shook his head, and looked at rivers angrily. "see to it, guy, if any harm comes to her." "pshaw!" said the other, "she is recovering now." he was right. the eyes of the sufferer unclosed, but they were vacant--they lacked all intelligence. munro pulled a flask of spirits from his pocket, and poured some into her lips. they were livid, and her cheeks of ashy paleness. "she recovers--see!" the teeth opened and shut together again with a sudden spasmodic energy. the eyes began to receive light. her breathing increased. "she will do now," muttered munro. "she will recover directly. get yourself ready, guy, and prepare to mount, while i see that she is put to bed. it's now a necessity that we should push this stranger to the wall, and silence him altogether. i don't oppose you now, seeing that we've got to do it." "ay," quoth rivers, somewhat abstractedly--for he was a person of changing and capricious moods--"ay! ay! it has to be done! well! we will do it!--as for her!" here he drew nigh and grasped the hand of the only half-conscious damsel, and stared earnestly in her face. her eyes opened largely and wildly upon him, then closed again; a shudder passed over her form, and her hand was convulsively withdrawn from his grasp. "come, come, let her alone, and be off," said munro. "as long as you are here, she'll be in a fit! see to the horses. there's no use to wait. you little know lucy munro if you reckon to get anything out of her. you may strike till doomsday at her bosom, but, where she's fixed in principle, she'll perish before she yields. nothing can move her when she's resolved. in that she's the very likeness of her father, who was like a rock when he had sworn a thing." "ha! but the rock may be split, and the woman's will must be made to yield to a superior. i could soon--" he took her hand once more in his iron grasp. "let her go, guy!" said munro sternly. "she shall have no rough usage while i'm standing by. remember that! it's true, she's meddled in matters that didn't concern her, but there is an excuse. it was womanlike to do so, and i can't blame her. she's a true woman, guy--all heart and soul--as noble a young thing as ever broke the world's bread--too noble to live with such as we, guy; and i only wish i had so much man's strength as to be worthy of living with such as she." "a plague on her nobility! it will cut all our throats, or halter us; and your methodistical jargon only encourages her. noble or not, she has been cunning enough to listen to our private conversation; has found out all our designs; has blabbed everything to this young fellow, and made him master of our lives. yes! would you believe it of her nobleness and delicacy, that she has this night visited him in his very chamber?" "what!" "yes! indeed! and she avows it boldly." "ah! if she avows it, there's no harm!" "what! no harm?" "i mean to _her_. she's had no bad purpose in going to his chamber. i see it all!" "well, and is it not quite enough to drive a man mad, to think that the best designs of a man are to be thwarted, and his neck put in danger, by the meddling of a thing like this? she has blabbed all our secrets--nay, made him listen to them--for, even while we ascended the stairs to his chamber, they were concealed in the closet above the stairway, watched all our movements, and heard every word we had to say." "and you _would_ be talking," retorted the landlord. the other glared at him ferociously, but proceeded:-- "i heard the sound--their breathing--i told you at the time that i heard something stirring in the closet. but you had your answer. for an experienced man, munro, you are duller than an owl by daylight." "i'm afraid so," answered the other coolly. "but it's too late now for talk. we must be off and active, if we would be doing anything. i've been out to the stable, and find that the young fellow has taken off his horse. he has been cool enough about it, for saddle and bridle are both gone. he's had time enough to gear up in proper style, while you were so eloquent along the stairs. i reckon there was something to scare him off at last, however, for here's his dirk--i suppose it's his--which i found at the stable-door. he must have dropped it when about to mount." "'tis his!" said rivers, seizing and examining it. "it is the weapon he drew on me at the diggings." "he has the start of us--" "but knows nothing of the woods. it is not too late. let us be off. lucy is recovering, and you can now leave her in safety. she will find the way to her chamber--or to _some_ chamber. it seems that she has no scruples in going to any." "stop that, guy! don't slander the girl." "pooh! are you going to set up for a sentimentalist?" "no: but if you can't learn to stop talking, i shall set you down as a fool! for a man of action, you use more of an unnecessary tongue than any living man i ever met. for god's sake, sink the lawyer when you're out of court! it will be high time to brush up for a speech when you are in the dock, and pleading with the halter dangling in your eyes. oh, don't glare upon me! he who flings about his arrows by the handful mustn't be angry if some of them are flung back." "are you ready?" "ay, ready!--she's opening her eyes. we can leave her now.--what's the course?" "we can determine in the open air. he will probably go west, and will take one or other of the two traces at the fork, and his hoofs will soon tell us which. our horses are refreshed by this, and are in readiness. you have pistols: see to the flints and priming. there must be no scruples now. the matter has gone quite too far for quiet, and though the affair was all mine at first, it is now as perfectly yours." as rivers spoke, munro drew forth his pistols and looked carefully at the priming. the sharp click of the springing steel, as the pan was thrown open, now fully aroused lucy to that consciousness which had been only partial in the greater part of this dialogue. springing to her feet with an eagerness and energy that was quite astonishing after her late prostration, she rushed forward to her uncle, and looked appealingly into his face, though she did not speak, while her hand grasped tenaciously his arm. "what means the girl?" exclaimed munro, now apprehensive of some mental derangement. she spoke, with a deep emphasis, but a single sentence:-- "it is written--thou shalt do no murder!" the solemn tone--the sudden, the almost fierce action--the peculiar abruptness of the apostrophe--the whitely-robed, the almost spiritual elevation of figure--all so dramatic--combined necessarily to startle and surprise; and, for a few moments, no answer was returned to the unlooked-for speech. but the effect could not be permanent upon minds made familiar with the thousand forms of human and strong energies. munro, after a brief pause, replied-- "who speaks of murder, girl? why this wild, this uncalled-for exhortation?" "not wild, not uncalled-for, uncle, but most necessary. wherefore would you pursue the youth, arms in your hands, hatred in your heart, and horrible threatenings upon your lips? why put yourself into the hands of this fierce monster, as the sharp instrument to do his vengeance and gratify his savage malignity against the young and the gentle? if you would do no murder, not so he. he will do it--he will make you do it, but he will have it done. approach me not--approach me not--let me perish, rather! o god--my uncle, let him come not near me, if you would not see me die upon the spot!" she exclaimed, in the most terrified manner, and with a shuddering horror, as rivers, toward the conclusion of her speech, had approached her with the, view to an answer. to her uncle she again addressed herself, with an energy which gave additional emphasis to her language:-- "uncle--you are my father now--you will not forget the dying prayer of a brother! my prayer is his. keep that man from me--let me not see him--let him come not near me with his polluted and polluting breath! you know not what he is--you know him but as a stabber--as a hater--as a thief! but were my knowledge yours--could i utter in your ears the foul language, the fiend-threatenings which his accursed lips uttered in mine!--but no--save me from him is all i ask--protect the poor orphan--the feeble, the trampled child of your brother! keep me from the presence of that bad man!" as she spoke, she sank at the feet of the person she addressed, her hands were clasped about his knees, and she lay there shuddering and shrinking, until he lifted her up in his arms. somewhat softened by his kindness of manner, the pressure upon her brain of that agony was immediately relieved, and a succession of tears and sobs marked the diminished influence of her terrors. but, as rivers attempted something in reply, she started-- "let me go--let me not hear him speak! his breath is pollution--his words are full of foul threats and dreadful thoughts. if you knew all that i know--if you feared what i fear, uncle--you would nigh slay him on the spot." this mental suffering of his niece was not without its influence upon her uncle, who, as we have said before, had a certain kind and degree of pride--pride of character we may almost call it--not inconsistent with pursuits and a condition of life wild and wicked even as his. his eye sternly settled upon that of his companion, as, without a word, he bore the almost lifeless girl into the chamber of his wife, who, aroused by the clamor, had now and then looked forth upon the scene, but was too much the creature of timidity to venture entirely amid the disputants. placing her under the charge of the old lady, munro uttered a few consolatory words in lucy's ear, but she heard him not. her thoughts evidently wandered to other than selfish considerations at that moment, and, as he left the chamber, she raised her finger impressively:-- "do no murder, uncle! let him not persuade you into crime; break off from a league which compels you to brook a foul insult to those you are bound in duty to protect." "would i could!" was his muttered sentence as he left the chamber. he felt the justice of the counsel, but wore the bewildered expression of countenance of one conscious of what is right, but wanting courage for its adoption. "she has told you no foolish story of me?" was the somewhat anxious speech of rivers upon the reappearance of the landlord. "she has said nothing in plain words, guy rivers--but yet quite enough to make me doubt whether you, and not this boy we pursue, should not have my weapon in your throat. but beware! the honor of that child of edgar munro is to me what would have been my own; and let me find that you have gone a tittle beyond the permitted point, in speech or action, and we cut asunder. i shall then make as little bones of putting a bullet through your ribs as into those of the wild bullock of the hills. _i_ am what i am: my hope is that _she_ may always be the pure creature which she now is, if it were only that she might pray for me." "she has mistaken me, munro--" "say no more, guy. she has not _much_ mistaken you, or i have. let us speak no more on this subject; you know my mind, and will be advised.--let us now be off. the horses are in readiness, and waiting, and a good spur will bring us up with the game. the youth, you say, has money about him, a gold watch, and--" the more savage ruffian grinned as he listened to these words. they betrayed the meaner motives of action in the case of the companion, who could acknowledge the argument of cupidity, while insensible to that of revenge. "ay! enough to pay you for your share in the performance do your part well, and you shall have all that he carries--gold, watch, trinkets, horse, everything. i shall be quite content to take--his life! are you satisfied? are there any scruples now?" "no! none! i have no scruples! but to cut a throat, or blow out a man's liver with a brace of bullets, is a work that should be well paid for. the performance is by no means so agreeable that one should seek to do it for nothing." guy rivers fancied himself a nobler animal than his companion, as he felt that he needed not the mercenary motive for the performance of the murderous action. they were mounted, the horses being ready for them in the rear of the building. "round the hollow. we'll skirt the village, and not go through it," said munro. "we may gain something on the route to the fork of the roads by taking the blind track by the red hill." "as you will. go ahead!" a few more words sufficed to arrange the route, and regulate their pursuit, and a few moments sufficed to send them off in full speed over the stony road, both with a common and desperate purpose, but each moved by arguments and a passion of his own. in her lonely chamber, lucy munro, now recovered to acutest consciousness, heard the tread of their departing hoofs; and, clasping her hands, she sank upon her knees, yielding up her whole soul to silent prayer. the poor girl never slept that night. chapter xxii. the bloody deed. let us leave the outlaws to their progress for a brief space, while we gather up and pursue for awhile some other clues of our story. we have witnessed the separation of mark forrester from his sweetheart, at the place of trysting. the poor fellow had recovered some of his confidence in himself and fortune, and was now prepared to go forth with a new sentiment of hope within his bosom. the sting was in a degree taken from his conscience--his elastic and sanguine temperament contributed to this--and with renewed impulses to adventure, and with new anticipations of the happiness that we all dream to find in life; the erring, but really honest fellow, rode fearlessly through the dim forests, without needing more auspicious lights than those of the kindling moon and stars. the favor of old allen, the continued love of kate, the encouragements of young colleton, his own feeling of the absence of any malice in his heart, even while committing his crime, and the farther fact that he was well-mounted, and speeding from the region where punishment threatened--all these were influences which conspired to lessen, in his mind, the griefs of his present privation, and the lonely emotions which naturally promised to accompany him in his solitary progress. his course lay for the great southwest--the unopened forests, and mighty waters of the mississippi valley. here, he was to begin a new life. unknown, he would shake off the fears which his crime necessarily inspired. respited from death and danger, he would atone for it by penitence and honest works. kate allen should be his solace, and there would be young and lovely children smiling around his board. such were the natural dreams of the young and sanguine exile. "but who shall ride from his destiny?" saith the proverb. the wing of the bird is no security against the shaft of the fowler, and the helmet and the shield keep not away the draught that is poisoned. he who wears the greaves, the gorget, and the coat-of-mail, holds defiance to the storm of battle; but he drinks and dies in the hall of banqueting. what matters it, too, though the eagle soars and screams among the clouds, halfway up to heaven--flaunting his proud pinions, and glaring with audacious glance in the very eye of the sun--death waits for him in the quiet of his own eyry, nestling with his brood. these are the goodly texts of the arabian sage, in whose garden-tree, so much was he the beloved of heaven, the birds came and nightly sang for him those solemn truths--those lessons of a perfect wisdom--which none but the favored of the deity are ever permitted to hear. they will find a sufficient commentary in the fortune of the rider whom we have just beheld setting out from his parting with his mistress, on his way of new adventure--his heart comparatively light, and his spirit made buoyant with the throng of pleasant fancies which continually gathered in his thought. the interview between forrester and his mistress had been somewhat protracted, and his route from her residence to the road in which we find him, being somewhat circuitous, the night had waned considerably ere he had made much progress. he now rode carelessly, as one who mused--his horse, not urged by its rider, became somewhat careful of his vigor, and his gait was moderated much from that which had marked his outset. he had entered upon the trace through a thick wood, when the sound of other hoofs came down upon the wind; not to his ears, for, swallowed up in his own meditations, his senses had lost much of their wonted acuteness. he had not been long gone from the point of the road in which we found him, when his place upon the same route was supplied by the pursuing party, rivers and munro. they were both admirably mounted, and seemed little to regard, in their manner of using them, the value of the good beasts which they bestrode--driving them as they did, resolutely over fallen trees and jutting rocks, their sides already dashed with foam, and the flanks bloody with the repeated application of the rowel. it was soon evident that farther pursuit at such a rate would be impossible: and munro, as well for the protection of the horses, as with a knowledge of this necessity, insisted upon a more moderated and measured pace. much against his own will, rivers assented, though his impatience frequent found utterance in words querulously sarcastic. the love of gain was a besetting sin of the landlord, and it was by this passion that his accomplice found it easy, on most occasions, to defeat the suggestions of his better judgment. the tauntings of the former, therefore, were particularly bestowed upon this feature in his character, as he found himself compelled to yield to the requisition of the latter, with whom the value of the horses was no small consideration. "well, well," said rivers, "if you say so, it must be so; though i am sure, if we push briskly ahead, we shall find our bargain in it. you too will find the horse of the youth, upon which you had long since set your eyes and heart, a full equivalent, even if we entirely ruin the miserable beasts we ride." "the horse you ride is no miserable beast," retorted the landlord, who had some of the pride of a southron in this particular, and seemed solicitous for the honor of his stud--"you have jaded him by your furious gait, and seem entirely insensible to the fact that our progress for the last half hour, continued much longer, would knock up any animal. i'm not so sure, too, guy, that we shall find the youngster, or that we shall be able to get our own bargain out of him when found. he's a tough colt, i take it, and will show fight unless you surprise him." "stay--hear you nothing now, as the wind sets up from below? was not that the tramping of a horse?" they drew up cautiously as the inquiry was put by rivers, and pausing for a few minutes, listened attentively. munro dismounted, and laying his ear to the ground, endeavored to detect and distinguish the distant sounds, which, in that way, may be heard with far greater readiness; but he arose without being satisfied. "you hear nothing?" "not a sound but that which we make ourselves. your ears to-night are marvellous quick, but they catch nothing. this is the third time to-night you have fancied sounds, and heard what i could not; and i claim to have senses in quite as high perfection as your own." "and without doubt you have; but, know you not, munro, that wherever the passions are concerned, the senses become so much more acute; and, indeed, are so many sentinels and spies--scouring about perpetually, and with this advantage over all other sentinels, that they then never slumber. so, whether one hate or love, the ear and the eye take heed of all that is going on--they minister to the prevailing passion, and seem, in their own exercise, to acquire some of the motive and impulse which belong to it." "i believe this in most respects to be the case. i have observed it on more than one occasion myself, and in my own person. but, guy, in all that you have said, and all that i have seen, i do not yet understand why it is that you entertain such a mortal antipathy to this young man, more than to many others who have at times crossed your path. i now understand the necessity for putting him out of the way; but this is another matter. before we thought it possible that he could injure us, you had the same violent hatred, and would have destroyed him at the first glance. there is more in this, guy, than you have been willing to let out; and i look upon it as strange, to say nothing more, that i should be kept so much in the dark upon the subject." rivers smiled grimly at the inquiry, and replied at once, though with evident insincerity,-- "perhaps my desire to get rid of him, then, arose from a presentiment that we should have to do it in the end. you know i have a gift of foreseeing and foretelling." "this won't do for me, guy; i know you too well to regard you as one likely to be influenced by notions of this nature--you must put me on some other scent." "why, so i would, wat, if i were assured that i myself knew the precise impulse which sets me on this work. but the fact is, my hate to the boy springs from certain influences which may not be defined by name--which grow out of those moral mysteries of our nature, for which we can scarcely account to ourselves; and, by the operation of which, we are led to the performance of things seemingly without any adequate cause or necessity. a few reflections might give you the full force of this. why do some men shrink from a cat? there is an instance now in john bremer; a fellow, you know, who would make no more ado about exchanging rifle-shots with his enemy at twenty paces, than at taking dinner; yet a black cat throws him into fits, from which for two days he never perfectly recovers. again--there are some persons to whom the perfume of flowers brings sickness, and the song of a bird sadness. how are we to account for all these things, unless we do so by a reference to the peculiar make of the man? in this way you may understand why it is that i hate this boy, and would destroy him. he is my black cat, and his presence for ever throws me into fits." "i have heard of the things of which you speak, and have known some of them myself; but i never could believe that the _nature_ of the person had been the occasion. i was always inclined to think that circumstances in childhood, of which the recollection is forgotten--such as great and sudden fright to the infant, or a blow which affected the brain, were the operating influences. all these things, however, only affect the fancies--they beget fears and notions--never deep and abiding hatred--unquiet passion, and long-treasured malignity, such as i find in you on this occasion." "upon this point, munro, you may be correct. i do not mean to say that hatred and a desire to destroy are consequent to antipathies such as you describe; but still, something may be said in favor of such a notion. it appears to me but natural to seek the destruction of that which is odious or irksome to any of our senses. why do you crush the crawling spider with your heel? you fear not its venom; inspect it, and the mechanism of its make, the architecture of its own fabrication, are, to the full, as wonderful as anything within your comprehension; but yet, without knowing why, with an impulse given you, as it would seem, from infancy, you seek its destruction with a persevering industry, which might lead one to suppose you had in view your direst enemy." "this is all very true; and from infancy up we do this thing, but the cause can not be in any loathsomeness which its presence occasions in the mind, for we perceive the same boy destroying with measured torture the gaudiest butterfly which his hat can encompass." "_non sequitur_," said rivers. "what's that? some of your d----d law gibberish, i suppose. if you want me to talk with you at all, guy, you must speak in a language i understand." "why, so i will, wat. i only meant to say, in a phrase common to the law, and which your friend pippin makes use of a dozen times a day, that it did not follow from what you said, that the causes which led to the death of the spider and the butterfly were the same. this we may know by the manner in which they are respectively destroyed. the boy, with much precaution and an aversion he does not seek to disguise in his attempts on the spider, employs his shoe or a stick for the purpose of slaughter. but, with the butterfly, the case is altogether different. he first catches, and does not fear to hold it in his hand. he inspects it closely, and proceeds to analyze that which his young thought has already taught him is a beautiful creation of the insect world. he strips it, wing by wing of its gaudy covering; and then, with a feeling of ineffable scorn, that so wealthy a noble should go unarmed and unprotected, he dashes him to the ground, and terminates his sufferings without further scruple. the spider, having a sting, he is compelled to fear, and consequently taught to respect. the feelings are all perfectly natural, however, which prompt his proceedings. the curiosity is common and innate which impels him to the inspection of the insect; and that feeling is equally a natural impulse which prompts him to the death of the spider without hesitation. so with me--it is enough that i hate this boy, though possessed of numberless attractions of mind and person. shall i do him the kindness to inquire whether there be reason for the mood which prompts me to destroy him?" "you were always too much for me, guy, at this sort of argument, and you talk the matter over ingeniously enough, i grant; but still i am not satisfied, that a mere antipathy, without show of reason, originally induced your dislike to this young man. when you first sought to do him up, you were conscious of this, and gave, as a reason for the desire, the cut upon your face, which so much disfigured your loveliness." rivers did not appear very much to relish or regard this speech, which had something of satire in it; but he was wise enough to restrain his feelings, as, reverting back to their original topic, he spoke in the following manner:-- "you are unusually earnest after reasons and motives for action, to-night: is it not strange, munro, that it has never occasioned surprise in your mind, that one like myself, so far superior in numerous respects to the men i have consented to lead and herd with, should have made such my profession?" "not at all," was the immediate and ready response of his companion. "not at all. this was no mystery to me, for i very well knew that you had no choice, no alternative. what else could you have done? outlawed and under sentence, i knew that you could never return, in any safety or security, whatever might be your disguise, to the society which had driven you out--and i'm sure that your chance would be but a bad one were you to seek a return to the old practice at gwinnett courthouse. any attempt there to argue a fellow out of the halter would be only to argue yourself into it." "pshaw, munro, that is the case now--that is the necessity and difficulty of to-day. but where, and what was the necessity, think you, when, in the midst of good practice at gwinnett bar, where i ruled without competitor, riding roughshod over bench, bar, and jury, dreaded alike by all, i threw myself into the ranks of these men, and put on their habits? i speak not now in praise of myself, more than the facts, as you yourself know them, will sufficiently warrant. i am now above those idle vanities which would make me deceive myself as to my own mental merits; but, that such was my standing there and then, i hold indisputable." "it is true. i sometimes look back and laugh at the manner in which you used to bully the old judge, and the gaping jury, and your own brother lawyers, while the foam would run through your clenched teeth and from your lips in very passion; and then i wondered, when you were doing so well, that you ever gave up there, to undertake a business, the very first job in which put your neck in danger." "you may well wonder, munro. i could not well explain the mystery to myself, were i to try; and it is this which made the question and doubt which we set out to explain. to those who knew me well from the first, it is not matter of surprise that i should be for ever in excitements of one kind or another. from my childhood up, my temper was of a restless and unquiet character--i was always a peevish, a fretful and discontented person. i looked with scorn and contempt upon the humdrum ways of those about me, and longed for perpetual change, and wild and stirring incidents. my passions, always fretful and excitable, were never satisfied except when i was employed in some way which enabled me to feed and keep alive the irritation which was their and my very breath of life. with such a spirit, how could i be what men style and consider a good man? what folly to expect it. virtue is but a sleepy, in-door, domestic quality--inconsistent with enterprise or great activity. there are no drones so perfect in the world as the truly orthodox. hence the usual superiority of a dissenting, over an established church. it is for this reason, too, and from this cause, that a great man is seldom, if ever, a good one. it is inconsistent with the very nature of things to expect it, unless it be from a co-operation of singular circumstances, whose return is with the comets. vice, on the contrary, is endowed with strong passions--a feverish thirst after forbidden fruits and waters--a bird-nesting propensity, that carries it away from the haunts of the crowded city, into strange wilds and interminable forests. it lives upon adventure--it counts its years by incidents, and has no other mode of computing time or of enjoying life. this fact--and it is undeniable with respect to both the parties--will furnish a sufficient reason why the best heroes of the best poets are always great criminals. were this not the case, from what would the interest be drawn?--where would be the incident, if all men, pursuing the quiet paths of non-interference with the rights, the lives, or the liberties of one another, spilt no blood, invaded no territory, robbed no lord of his lady, enslaved and made no captives in war? a virtuous hero would be a useless personage both in play and poem--and the spectator or reader would fall asleep over the utterance of stale apothegms. what writer of sense, for instance, would dream of bringing up george washington to figure in either of these forms before the world--and how, if he did so, would he prevent reader or auditor from getting excessively tired, and perhaps disgusted, with one, whom all men are now agreed to regard as the hero of civilization? nor do i utter sentiments which are subjects either of doubt or disputation. i could put the question in such a form as would bring the million to agree with me. look, for instance, at the execution of a criminal. see the thousands that will assemble, day after day, after travelling miles for that single object, to gape and gaze upon the last agonizing pangs and paroxsyms of a fellow-creature--not regarding for an instant the fatigue of their position, the press of the crowd, or the loss of a dinner--totally insusceptible, it would seem, of the several influences of heat and cold, wind and rain, which at any other time would drive them to their beds or firesides. the same motive which provokes this desire in the spectator, is the parent, to a certain extent, of the very crime which has led to the exhibition. it is the morbid appetite, which sometimes grows to madness--the creature of unregulated passions, ill-judged direction, and sometimes, even of the laws and usages of society itself, which is so much interested in the promotion of characteristics the very reverse. it may be that i have more of this perilous stuff about me than the generality of mankind; but i am satisfied there are few of them, taught as i have been, and the prey of like influences, whose temper had been very different from mine. the early and operating circumstances under which i grew up, all tended to the rank growth and encouragement of the more violent and vexing passions. i was the victim of a tyranny, which, in the end, made me too a tyrant. to feel, myself, and exercise the temper thus taught me, i had to acquire power in order to secure victims; and all my aims in life, all my desires, tended to this one pursuit. indifferent to me, alike, the spider who could sting, or the harmless butterfly whose only offensiveness is in the folly of his wearing a glitter which he can not take care of. i was a merciless enemy, giving no quarter; and with an ishmaelitish spirit, lifting my hand against all the tribes that were buzzing around me." "i believe you have spoken the truth, guy, so far as your particular qualities of temper are concerned; for, had i undertaken to have spoken for you in relation to this subject, i should probably have said, though not to the same degree, the same thing; but the wonder with me is, how, with such feelings, you should have so long remained in quiet, and in some respects, perfectly harmless." "there is as little mystery in the one as in the other. you may judge that my sphere of action--speaking of _action_ in a literal sense--was rather circumscribed at gwinnett courthouse: but, the fact is, i was then but acquiring my education. i was, for the first time, studying rogues, and the study of rogues is not unaptly fitted to make one take up the business. _i_, at least, found it to have that effect. but, even at gwinnett courthouse, learning as i did, and what i did, there was one passion, or perhaps a modified form of the ruling passion, which might have swallowed up all the rest had time been allowed it. i was young, and not free from vanity; particularly as, for the first time, my ears had been won with praise and gentle flatteries. the possession of early, and afterward undisputed talents, acquired for me deference and respect; and i was soon tempted to desire the applauses of the swinish multitude, and to feel a thirsting after public distinction. in short, i grew ambitious. i soon became sick and tired of the applauses, the fame, of my own ten-mile horizon; its origin seemed equivocal, its worth and quality questionable, at the best. my spirit grew troubled with a wholesale discontent, and roved in search of a wider field, a more elevated and extensive empire. but how could i, the petty lawyer of a county court, in the midst of a wilderness, appropriate time, find means and opportunities even for travel? i was poor, and profits are few to a small lawyer, whose best cases are paid for by a bale of cotton or a negro, when both of them are down in the market. in vain, and repeatedly, did i struggle with circumstances that for ever foiled me in my desires; until, in a rash and accursed hour, when chance, and you, and the devil, threw the opportunity for crime in my path! it did not escape me, and--but you know the rest." "i do, but would rather hear you tell it. when you speak thus, you put me in mind of some of the stump-speeches you used to make when you ran for the legislature." "ay, that was another, and not the least of the many reverses which my ambition was doomed to meet with. you knew the man who opposed me; you know that a more shallow and insignificant fop and fool never yet dared to thrust his head into a deliberative assembly. but, he was rich, and i poor. he a potato, the growth of the soil; i, though generally admitted a plant of more promise and pretension--i was an exotic! he was a patrician--one of the small nobility--a growth, _sui generis_, of the place--" "damn your law-phrases! stop with that, if you please." "well, well! he was one of the great men; i was a poor plebeian, whose chief misfortune, at that time, consisted in my not having a father or a great-grandfather a better man than myself! his money did the work, and i was bought and beat out of my election, which i considered certain. i then acquired knowledge of two things. i learned duly to estimate the value of the democratic principle, when i beheld the vile slaves, whose votes his money had commanded, laughing in scorn at the miserable creature they had themselves put over them. they felt not--not they--the double shame of their doings. they felt that he was king log, but never felt how despicable they were as his subjects. this taught me, too, the value of money--its wonderful magic and mystery. in the mood occasioned by all these things, you found me, for the first time, and in a ready temper for any villany. you attempted to console me for my defeats, but i heard you not until you spoke of revenge. i was not then to learn how to be vindictive: i had always been so. i knew, by instinct, how to lap blood; you only taught me how to scent it! my first great crime proved my nature. performed under your direction, though without your aid, it was wantonly cruel in its execution, since the prize desired might readily have been obtained without the life of its possessor. you, more merciful than myself, would have held me back, and arrested my stroke; but that would have been taking from the repast its finish: the pleasure, for it was such to me in my condition of mind, would have been lost entirely. it may sound strangely even in your ears when i say so, but i could no more have kept my knife from that man's throat than i could have taken wing for the heavens. he was a poor coward; made no struggle, and begged most piteously for his life; had the audacity to talk of his great possessions, his rank in society, his wife and children. these were enjoyments all withheld from me; these were the very things the want of which had made me what i was--what i am--and furiously i struck my weapon into his mouth, silencing his insulting speech. should such a mean spirit as his have joys which were denied to me? i spurned his quivering carcass with my foot. at that moment i felt myself; i had something to live for. i knew my appetite, and felt that it was native. i had acquired a knowledge of a new luxury, and ceased to wonder at the crimes of a nero and a caligula. think you, munro, that the thousands who assemble at the execution of a criminal trouble themselves to inquire into the merits of his case--into the justice of his death and punishment? ask they whether he is the victim of justice or of tyranny? no! they go to see a show--they love blood, and in this way have the enjoyment furnished to their hands, without the risk which must follow the shedding of it for themselves." "there is one thing, guy, upon which i never thought to ask you. what became of that beautiful young girl from carolina, on a visit to the village, when you lost your election? you were then cavorting about her in great style, and i could see that you were well nigh as much mad after her as upon the loss of the seat." rivers started at the inquiry in astonishment. he had never fancied that, in such matters, munro had been so observant, and for a few moments gave no reply. he evidently winced beneath the inquiry; but he soon recovered himself, however--for, though at times exhibiting the passions of a demoniac, he was too much of a proficient not to be able, in the end, to command the coolness of the villain. "i had thought to have said nothing on this subject, munro, but there are few things which escape your observation. in replying to you on this point, you will now have all the mystery explained of my rancorous pursuit of this boy. that girl--then a mere girl--refused me, as perhaps you know; and when, heated with wine and irritated with rejection, i pressed the point rather too warmly, she treated me with contempt and withdrew from the apartment. this youth is the favored, the successful rival. look upon this picture, walter--now, while the moon streams through the branches upon it--and wonder not that it maddened, and still maddens me, to think that, for his smooth face and aristocratic airs of superiority, i was to be sacrificed and despised. she was probably a year younger than himself; but i saw at the time, though both of them appeared unconscious of the fact, that she loved him then. what with her rejection and scorn, coming at the same time with my election defeat, i am what i am. these defeats were wormwood to my soul; and, if i am criminal, the parties concerned in them have been the cause of the crime." "a very consoling argument, if you could only prove it!" "very likely--you are not alone. the million would say with yourself. but hear the case as i put it, and not as it is put by the majority. providence endowed me with a certain superiority of mind over my fellows. i had capacities which they had not--talents to which they did not aspire, and the possession of which they readily conceded to me. these talents fitted me for certain stations in society, to which, as i had the talents pre-eminently for such stations, the inference is fair that providence intended me for some such stations. but i was denied my place. society, guilty of favoritism and prejudice, gave to others, not so well fitted as myself for its purposes or necessities, the station in all particulars designed for me. i was denied my birthright, and rebelled. can society complain, when prostituting herself and depriving me of my rights, that i resisted her usurpation and denied her authority? shall she, doing wrong herself in the first instance, undertake to punish? surely not. my rights were admitted--my superior capacity: but the people were rotten to the core; they had not even the virtue of truth to themselves. they made their own governors of the vilest and the worst. they willingly became slaves, and are punished in more ways than one. they first create the tyrants--for tyrants are the creatures of the people they sway, and never make themselves; they next drive into banishment their more legitimate rulers; and the consequence, in the third place, is, that they make enemies of those whom they exile. such is the case with me, and such--but hark! that surely is the tread of a horse. do you hear it? there is no mistake now--" and as he spoke, the measured trampings were heard resounding at some distance, seemingly in advance of them. "we must now use the spur, munro; your horses have had indulgence enough for the last hour, and we may tax them a little now." "well, push on as you please; but do you know anything of this route, and what course will you pursue in doing him up?" "leave all that to me. as for the route, it is an old acquaintance; and the blaze on this tree reminds me that we can here have a short cut which will carry us at a good sweep round this hill, bringing us upon the main trace about two miles farther down. we must take this course, and spur on, that we may get ahead of him, and be quietly stationed when he comes. we shall gain it, i am confident, before our man, who seems to be taking it easily. he will have three miles at the least to go, and over a road that will keep him in a walk half the way. we shall be there in time." they reached the point proposed in due season. their victim had not yet made his appearance, and they had sufficient time for all their arrangements. the place was one well calculated for the successful accomplishment of a deed of darkness. the road at the foot of the hill narrowed into a path scarcely wide enough for the passage of a single horseman. the shrubbery and copse on either side overhung it, and in many places were so thickly interwoven, that when, as at intervals of the night, the moon shone out among the thick and broken clouds which hung upon and mostly obscured her course, her scattered rays scarcely penetrated the dense enclosure. at length the horseman approached, and in silence. descending the hill, his motion was slow and tedious. he entered the fatal avenue; and, when in the midst of it, rivers started from the side of his comrade, and, advancing under the shelter of a tree, awaited his progress. he came--no word was spoken--a single stroke was given, and the horseman, throwing up his hands, grasped the limb which projected over, while his horse passed from under him. he held on for a moment to the branch, while a groan of deepest agony broke from his lips, when he fell supine to the ground. at that moment, the moon shone forth unimpeded and unobscured by a single cloud. the person of the wounded man was fully apparent to the sight. he struggled, but spoke not; and the hand of rivers was again uplifted, when munro rushed forward. "stay--away, guy!--we are mistaken--this is not our man!" the victim heard the words, and, with something like an effort at a laugh, though seemingly in great agony, exclaimed-- "ah, munro, is that you?--i am so glad! but i'm afraid you come too late. this is a cruel blow; and--for what? what have i done to you, that--oh!--" the tones of the voice--the person of the suffering man--were now readily distinguishable. "good god! rivers, what is to be the end of all this blundering?" "who would have thought to find _him_ here?" was the ferocious answer; the disappointed malice of the speaker prompting him to the bitterest feelings against the unintended victim--"why was he in the way? he is always in the way!" "i am afraid you've done for him." "we must be sure of it." "great god! would you kill him?" "why not? it must be done now." the wounded man beheld the action of the speaker, and heard the discussion. he gasped out a prayer for life:-- "spare me, guy! save me, wat, if you have a man's heart in your bosom. save me! spare me! i would live! i--oh, spare me!" and the dying man threw up his hands feebly, in order to avert the blow; but it was in vain. munro would have interposed, but, this time, the murderer was too quick for him, if not too strong. with a sudden rush he flung his associate aside, stooped down, and smote--smote fatally. "kate!--ah!--o god, have mercy!" the wretched and unsuspecting victim fell back upon the earth with these last words--dead--sent to his dread account, with all his sins upon his head! and what a dream of simple happiness in two fond, feeble hearts, was thus cruelly and terribly dispersed for ever! chapter xxiii. what followed the murder. there was a dreadful pause, after the commission of the deed, in which no word was spoken by either of the parties. the murderer, meanwhile, with the utmost composure wiped his bloody knife in the coat of the man whom he had slain. boldly and coolly then, he broke the silence which was certainly a painful one to munro if not to himself. "we shall hear no more of his insolence. i owed him a debt. it is paid. if fools will be in the way of danger, they must take the consequences." the landlord only groaned. the murderer laughed. "it is your luck," he said, "always to groan with devout feeling, when you have _done_ the work of the devil! you may spare your groans, if they are designed for repentance. they are always too late!" "it is a sad truth, though the devil said it." "well, rouse up, and let's be moving. so far, our ride has been for nothing. we must leave this carrion to the vultures. what next? will it be of any use to pursue this boy again to-night? what say you? we must pursue and silence him of course; but we have pushed the brutes already sufficiently to-night. they would be of little service to-night, in a longer chase." the person addressed did not immediately reply, and when he spoke, did not answer to the speech of his companion. his reply, at length, was framed in obedience to the gloomy and remorseful course of his thought. "it will be no wonder, guy, if the whole country turn out upon us. you are too wanton in your doings. wherefore when i told you of your error, did you strike the poor wretch again." the landlord, it will be seen, spoke simply with reference to policy and expediency, and deserved as little credit for humanity as the individual he rebuked. in this particular lay the difference between them. both were equally ruffianly, but the one had less of passion, less of feeling, and more of profession in the matter. with the other, the trade of crime was adopted strictly in subservience to the dictates of ill-regulated desires and emotions, suffering defeat in their hope of indulgence, and stimulating to a morbid action which became a disease. the references of munro were always addressed to the petty gains; and the miserly nature, thus perpetually exhibiting itself, at the expense of all other emotions, was, in fact, the true influence which subjected him almost to the sole dictation of his accomplice, in whom a somewhat lofty distaste for such a peculiarity had occasioned a manner and habit of mind, the superiority of which was readily felt by the other. still, we must do the landlord the justice to say that he had no such passion for bloodshed as characterized his companion. "why strike again!" was the response of rivers. "you talk like a child. would you have had him live to blab? saw you not that he knew us both? are you so green as to think, if suffered to escape, his tongue or hands would have been idle? you should know better. but the fact is, he could not have lived. the first blow was fatal; and, if i had deliberated for an instant, i should have followed the suggestions of your humanity--i should have withheld the second, which merely terminated his agony." "it was a rash and bloody deed, and i would we had made sure of your man before blindly rushing into these unnecessary risks. it is owing to your insane love of blood, that you so frequently blunder in your object" "your scruples and complainings, wat, remind me of that farmyard philosopher, who always locked the door of his stable after the steed had been stolen. you have your sermon ready in time for the funeral, but not during the life for whose benefit you make it. but whose fault was it that we followed the wrong game? did you not make certain of the fresh track at the fork, so that there was no doubting you?" "i did--there was a fresh track, and our coming upon forrester proves it. there may have been another on the other prong of the fork, and doubtless the youth we pursue has taken that; but you were in such an infernal hurry that i had scarce time to find out what i did." "well, you will preach no more on the subject. we have failed, and accounting for won't mend the failure. as for this bull-headed fellow, he deserves his fate for his old insolence. he was for ever putting himself in my way, and may not complain that i have at last put him out of it. but come, we have no further need to remain here, though just as little to pursue further in the present condition of our horses." "what shall we do with the body? we can not leave it here." "why not?--what should we do with it, i pray? the wolves may want a dinner to-morrow, and i would be charitable. yet stay--where is the dirk which you found at the stable? give it me." "what would you do?" "you shall see. forrester's horse is off--fairly frightened, and will take the route back to the old range. he will doubtless go to old allen's clearing, and carry the first news. there will be a search, and when they find the body, they will not overlook the weapon, which i shall place beside it. there will then be other pursuers than me; and if it bring the boy to the gallows, i shall not regret our mistake to night." as he spoke, he took the dagger, the sheath of which he threw at some distance in advance upon the road, then smeared the blade with the blood of the murdered man, and thrust the weapon into his garments, near the wound. "you are well taught in the profession, guy, and, if you would let me, i would leave it off, if for no other reason than the very shame of being so much outdone in it. but we may as well strip him. if his gold is in his pouch, it will be a spoil worth the taking, for he has been melting and running for several days past at murkey's furnace." rivers turned away, and the feeling which his countenance exhibited might have been that of disdainful contempt as he replied, "take it, if you please--i am in no want of his money. _my_ object was not his robbery." the scorn was seemingly understood; for, without proceeding to do as he proposed, munro retained his position for a few moments, appearing to busy himself with the bridle of his horse, having adjusted which he returned to his companion. "well, are you ready for a start? we have a good piece to ride, and should be in motion. we have both of us much to do in the next three days, or rather nights; and need not hesitate what to take hold of first. the court will sit on monday, and if you are determined to stand and see it out--a plan which i don't altogether like--why, we must prepare to get rid of such witnesses as we may think likely to become troublesome." "that matter will be seen to. i have ordered dillon to have ten men in readiness, if need be for so many, to carry off pippin, and a few others, till the adjournment. it will be a dear jest to the lawyer, and one not less novel than terrifying to him, to miss a court under such circumstances. i take it, he has never been absent from a session for twenty years; for, if sick before, he is certain to get well in time for business, spite of his physician." the grim smile which disfigured still more the visage of rivers at the ludicrous association which the proposed abduction of the lawyer awakened in his mind, was reflected fully back from that of his companion, whose habit of face, however, in this respect, was more notorious for gravity than any other less stable expression. he carried out, in words, the fancied occurrence; described the lawyer as raving over his undocketed and unargued cases, and the numberless embryos lying composedly in his pigeonholes, awaiting, with praiseworthy patience, the moment when they should take upon them a local habitation and a name; while he, upon whom they so much depended, was fretting with unassuaged fury in the constraints of his prison, and the absence from that scene of his repeated triumphs which before had never been at a loss for his presence. "but come--let us mount," said the landlord, who did not feel disposed to lose much time for a jest. "there is more than this to be done yet in the village; and, i take it, you feel in no disposition to waste more time to-night. let us be off" "so say i, but i go not back with you, wat. i strike across the woods into the other road, where i have much to see to; besides going down the branch to dixon's ford, and wolf's neck, where i must look up our men and have them ready. i shall not be in the village, therefore, until late to-morrow night--if then." "what--you are for the crossroads, again," said munro. "i tell you what, guy, you must have done with that girl before lucy shall be yours. it's bad enough--bad enough that she should be compelled to look to you for love. it were a sad thing if the little she might expect to find were to be divided between two or more." "pshaw--you are growing puritan because of the dark. i tell you i have done with _her_. i can not altogether forget what she was, nor what i have made her; and just at this time she is in need of my assistance. good-night! i shall see dillon and the rest of them by morning, and prepare for the difficulty. my disguise shall be complete, and if you are wise you will see to your own. i would not think of flight, for much may be made out of the country, and i know of none better for our purposes. good-night!" thus saying, the outlaw struck into the forest, and munro, lingering until he was fairly out of sight, proceeded to rifle the person of forrester--an act which the disdainful manner and language of his companion had made him hitherto forbear. the speech of rivers on this subject had been felt; and, taken in connection with the air of authority which the mental superiority of the latter had necessarily imparted to his address, there was much in it highly offensive to the less adventurous ruffian. a few moments sufficed to effect the lightening of the woodman's purse of the earnings which had been so essential a feature in his dreams of cottage happiness; and while engaged in this transfer, the discontent of the landlord with his colleague in crime, occasionally broke out into words-- "he carries himself highly, indeed; and i must stand reproved whenever it pleases his humor. well, i am in for it now, and there is no chance of my getting safely out of the scrape just at this moment; but the day will come, and, by g-d! i will have a settlement that'll go near draining his heart of all the blood in it." as he spoke in bitterness he approached his horse, and flinging the bridle over his neck, was in a little while a good distance on his way from the scene of blood; over which silence now folded her wings, brooding undisturbed, as if nothing had taken place below; so little is the sympathy which the transient and inanimate nature appears, at any time, to exhibit, with that to the enjoyment of which it yields the bloom and odor of leaf and flower, soft zephyrs and refreshing waters. chapter xxiv. the fates favor the fugitive. let us now return to our young traveller, whose escape we have already narrated. utterly unconscious of the melancholy circumstance which had diverted his enemies from the pursuit of himself, he had followed studiously the parting directions of the young maiden, to whose noble feeling and fearless courage he was indebted for his present safety; and taken the almost _blind_ path which she had hastily described to him. on this route he had for some time gone, with a motion not extravagantly free, but sufficiently so, having the start, and with the several delays to which his pursuers had been subjected, to have escaped the danger--while the vigor of his steed lasted--even had they fallen on the proper route. he had proceeded in this way for several miles, when, at length, he came upon a place whence several roads diverged into opposite sections of the country. ignorant of the localities, he reined in his horse, and deliberated with himself for a few moments as to the path he should pursue. while thus engaged, a broad glare of flame suddenly illumined the woods on his left hand, followed with the shrieks, equally sudden, seemingly of a woman. there was no hesitation in the action of the youth. with unscrupulous and fearless precipitation, he gave his horse the necessary direction, and with a smart application of the rowel, plunged down the narrow path toward the spot from whence the alarm had arisen. as he approached, the light grew more intense, and he at length discovered a little cottage-like dwelling, completely embowered in thick foliage, through the crevices of which the flame proceeded, revealing the cause of terror, and illuminating for some distance the dense woods around. the shrieks still continued; and throwing himself from his horse, ralph darted forward, and with a single and sudden application of his foot, struck the door from its hinges, and entered the dwelling just in time to save its inmates from the worst of all kinds of death. the apartment was in a light blaze--the drapery of a couch which stood in one corner partially consumed, and, at the first glance, the whole prospect afforded but little hope of a successful struggle with the conflagration. there was no time to be lost, yet the scene was enough to have paralyzed the nerves of the most heroic action. on the couch thus circumstanced lay an elderly lady, seemingly in the very last stages of disease. she seemed only at intervals conscious of the fire. at her side, in a situation almost as helpless as her own, was the young female whose screams had first awakened the attention of the traveller. she lay moaning beside the couch, shrieking at intervals, and though in momentary danger from the flames, which continued to increase, taking no steps for their arrest. her only efforts were taken to raise the old woman from the couch, and to this, the strength of the young one was wholly unequal. ralph went manfully to work, and had the satisfaction of finding success in his efforts. with a fearless hand he tore down the burning drapery which curtained the windows and couch; and which, made of light cotton stuffs, presented a ready auxiliar to the progress of the destructive element. striking down the burning shutter with a single blow, he admitted the fresh air, without which suffocation must soon have followed, and throwing from the apartment such of the furniture as had been seized upon by the flames, he succeeded in arresting their farther advance. all this was the work of a few moments. there had been no word of intercourse between the parties, and the youth now surveyed them with looks of curious inquiry, for the first time. the invalid, as we have said, was apparently struggling with the last stages of natural decay. her companion was evidently youthful, in spite of those marks which even the unstudied eye might have discerned in her features, of a temper and a spirit subdued and put to rest by the world's strife and trial, and by afflictions which are not often found to crowd and to make up the history and being of the young. their position was peculiarly insulated, and ralph wondered much at the singularity of a scene to which his own experience could furnish no parallel. here were two lone women--living on the borders of a savage nation, and forming the frontier of a class of whites little less savage, without any protection, and, to his mind, without any motive for making such their abiding-place. his wonder might possibly have taken the shape of inquiry, but that there was something of oppressive reserve and shrinking timidity in the air of the young woman, who alone could have replied to his inquiries. at this time an old female negro entered, now for the first time alarmed by the outcry, who assisted in removing such traces of the fire as still remained about the room. she seemed to occupy a neighboring outhouse; to which, having done what seemed absolutely necessary, she immediately retired. colleton, with a sentiment of the deepest commiseration, proceeded to reinstate things as they might have been before the conflagration, and having done so, and having soothed, as far as he well might, the excited apprehensions of the young girl, who made her acknowledgments in a not unbecoming style, he ventured to ask a few questions as to the condition of the old lady and of herself; but, finding from the answers that the subject was not an agreeable one, and having no pretence for further delay, he prepared to depart. he inquired, however, his proper route to the chestatee river, and thus obtained a solution of the difficulty which beset him in the choice of roads at the fork. while thus employed, however, and just at the conclusion of his labors, there came another personage upon the scene, to whom it is necessary that we should direct our attention. it will be remembered that rivers and munro, after the murder of forrester, had separated--the latter on his return to the village--the other in a direction which seemed to occasion some little dissatisfaction in the mind of his companion. after thus separating, rivers, to whom the whole country was familiar, taking a shorter route across the forest, by which the sinuosities of the main road were generally avoided, entered, after the progress of a few miles, into the very path pursued by colleton, and which, had it been chosen by his pursuers in the first instance, might have entirely changed the result of the pursuit. in taking this course it was not the thought of the outlaw to overtake the individual whose blood he so much desired; but, with an object which will have its development as we continue, he came to the cottage at the very time when, having succeeded in overcoming the flames, ralph was employed in a task almost as difficult--that of reassuring the affrighted inmates, and soothing them against the apprehension of farther danger. with a caution which old custom had made almost natural in such cases, rivers, as he approached the cross-roads, concealed his horse in the cover of the woods, advanced noiselessly, and with not a little surprise, to the cottage, whose externals had undergone no little alteration from the loss of the shutter, the blackened marks, visible enough in the moonlight, around the window-frame, and the general look of confusion which hung about it. a second glance made out the steed of our traveller, which he approached and examined. the survey awakened all those emotions which operated upon his spirit when referring to his successful rival; and, approaching the cottage with extreme caution, he took post for a while at one of the windows, the shutter of which, partially unclosed, enabled him to take in at a glance the entire apartment. he saw, at once, the occasion which had induced the presence, in this situation, of his most hateful enemy; and the thoughts were strangely discordant which thronged and possessed his bosom. at one moment he had drawn his pistol to his eye--his finger rested upon the trigger, and the doubt which interposed between the youth and eternity, though it sufficed for his safety then, was of the most slight and shadowy description. a second time did the mood of murder savagely possess his soul, and the weapon's muzzle fell pointblank upon the devoted bosom of ralph; when the slight figure of the young woman passing between, again arrested the design of the outlaw, who, with muttered curses, uncocking, returned the weapon to his belt. whatever might have been the relationship between himself and these females, there was an evident reluctance on the part of rivers to exhibit his ferocious hatred of the youth before those to whom he had just rendered a great and unquestioned service; and, though untroubled by any feeling of gratitude on their behalf, or on his own, he was yet unwilling, believing, as he did, that his victim was now perfectly secure, that they should undergo any further shock, at a moment too of such severe suffering and trial as must follow in the case of the younger, from those fatal pangs which were destroying the other. ralph now prepared to depart; and taking leave of the young woman, who alone seemed conscious of his services, and warmly acknowledged them, he proceeded to the door. rivers, who had watched his motions attentively, and heard the directions given him by the girl for his progress, at the same moment left the window, and placed himself under the shelter of a huge tree, at a little distance on the path which his enemy was directed to pursue. here he waited like the tiger, ready to take the fatal leap, and plunge his fangs into the bosom of his victim. nor did he wait long. ralph was soon upon his steed, and on the road; but the providence that watches over and protects the innocent was with him, and it happened, most fortunately, that just before he reached the point at which his enemy stood in watch, the badness of the road had compelled those who travelled it to diverge aside for a few paces into a little by-path, which, at a little distance beyond, and when the bad places had been rounded, brought the traveller again into the proper path. into this by-path, the horse of colleton took his way; the rider neither saw the embarrassments of the common path, nor that his steed had turned aside from them. it was simply providential that the instincts of the horse were more heedful than the eyes of the horseman. it was just a few paces ahead, and on the edge of a boggy hollow that guy rivers had planted himself in waiting. the tread of the young traveller's steed, diverging from the route which he watched, taught the outlaw the change which it was required that he should also make in his position. "curse him!" he muttered. "shall there be always something in the way of my revenge?" such was his temper, that everything which baffled him in his object heightened his ferocity to a sort of madness. but this did not prevent his prompt exertion to retrieve the lost ground. the "turn-out" did not continue fifty yards, before it again wound into the common road, and remembering this, the outlaw hurried across the little copse which separated the two routes for a space. the slow gait at which colleton now rode, unsuspicious of danger, enabled his enemy to gain the position which he sought, close crouching on the edge of the thicket, just where the roads again united. here he waited--not many seconds. the pace of our traveller, we have said, was slow. we may add that his mood was also inattentive. he was not only unapprehensive of present danger, but his thoughts were naturally yielded to the condition of the two poor women, in that lonely abode of forest, whom he had just rescued, in all probability, from a fearful death. happy with the pleasant consciousness of a good action well performed, and with spirits naturally rising into animation, freed as they were from a late heavy sense of danger--he was as completely at the mercy of the outlaw who awaited him, pistol in hand, as if he lay, as his poor friend, forrester, so recently had done, directly beneath his knife. and so thought rivers, who heard the approaching footsteps, and now caught a glimpse of his approaching shadow. the outlaw deliberately lifted his pistol. it was already cocked. his form was sheltered by a huge tree, and as man and horse gradually drew nigh, the breathing of the assassin seemed almost suspended in his ferocious anxiety for blood. the dark shadow moved slowly along the path. the head of the horse is beside the outlaw. in a moment the rider will occupy the same spot--and then! the finger of the outlaw is upon the trigger--the deadly aim is taken!--what arrests the deed? ah! surely there is a providence--a special arm to save--to interpose between the criminal and his victim--to stay the wilful hands of the murderer, when the deed seems already done, as it has been already determined upon. even in that moment, when but a touch is necessary to destroy the unconscious traveller--a sudden rush is heard above the robber. great wings sweep away, with sudden clatter, and the dismal hootings of an owl, scared from his perch on a low shrub-tree, startles the cold-blooded murderer from his propriety. with the nervous excitement of his mind, and his whole nature keenly interested in the deed, to break suddenly the awful silence, the brooding hush of the forest, with unexpected sounds, and those so near, and so startling--for once the outlaw ceased to be the master of his own powers! the noise of the bird scared the steed. he dashed headlong forward, and saved the life of his rider! yet ralph colleton never dreamed of his danger--never once conjectured how special was his obligations to the interposing hand of providence! and so, daily, with the best of us--and the least fortunate. how few of us ever dream of the narrow escapes we make, at moments when a breath might kill us, when the pressure of a "bare bodkin" is all that is necessary to send us to sudden judgment! and the outlaw was again defeated. he had not, perhaps, been scared. he had only been surprised--been confounded. in the first cry of the bird, the first rush of his wings, flapping through the trees, it seemed as if they had swept across his eyes. he lowered the pistol involuntarily--he forgot to pull the trigger, and when he recovered himself, steed and rider had gone beyond his reach. "is there a devil," he involuntarily murmured, "that stands between me and my victim? am i to be baffled always? is there, indeed, a god?" he paused in stupor and vexation. he could hear the distant tramp of the horse, sinking faintly out of hearing. "that i, who have lived in the woods all my life, should have been startled by an owl, and at such a moment!" cursing the youth's good fortune, not less than his own weakness, the fierce disappointment of guy rivers was such that he fairly gnashed his teeth with vexation. at first, he thought to dash after his victim, but his own steed had been fastened near the cottage, several hundred yards distant, and he was winded too much for a further pursuit that night. colleton was, meanwhile, a mile ahead, going forward swimmingly, never once dreaming of danger. he was thus far safe. so frequently and completely had his enemy been baffled in the brief progress of a single night, that he was almost led to believe--for, like most criminals, he was not without his superstition--that his foe was under some special guardianship. with ill-concealed anger, and a stern impatience, he turned. chapter xxv. subdued agonies. the entrance of guy rivers awakened no emotion among the inmates of the dwelling; indeed, at the moment, it was almost unperceived. the young woman happened to be in close attendance upon her parent, for such the invalid was, and did not observe his approach, while he stood at some little distance from the couch, surveying the scene. the old lady was endeavoring, though with a feebleness that grew more apparent with every breath, to articulate something, to which she seemed to attach much importance, in the ears of the kneeling girl, who, with breathless attention, seemed desirous of making it out, but in vain; and, signifying by her countenance the disappointment which she felt, the speaker, with something like anger, shook her skinny finger feebly in her face, and the broken and incoherent words, with rapid effort but like success, endeavored to find their way through the half-closed aperture between her teeth. the tears fell fast and full from the eyes of the kneeling girl, who neither sobbed nor spoke, but, with continued and yet despairing attention, endeavored earnestly to catch the few words of one who was on the eve of departure, and the words of whom, at such a moment, almost invariably acquire a value never attached to them before: as the sounds of a harp, when the chords are breaking, are said to articulate a sweet sorrow, as if in mourning for their own fate. the outlaw, all this while, stood apart and in silence. although perhaps but little impressed with the native solemnity of the scene before him, he was not so ignorant of what was due to humanity, and not so unfeeling in reference to the parties here interested, as to seek to disturb its progress or propriety with tone, look, or gesture, which might make either of them regret his presence. becoming impatient, however, of a colloquy which, as he saw that it had not its use, and was only productive of mortification to one of the parties, he thought only prudent to terminate, he advanced toward them; and his tread, for the first time, warned them of his presence. with an effort which seemed supernatural, the dying woman raised herself with a sudden start in the bed, and her eyes glared upon him with a threatening horror, and her lips parting, disclosed the broken and decayed teeth beneath, ineffectually gnashing, while her long, skinny fingers warned him away. all this time she appeared to speak, but the words were unarticulated, though, from the expression of every feature, it was evident that indignation and reproach made up the entire amount of everything she had to express. the outlaw was not easily influenced by anger so impotent as this; and, from his manner of receiving it, it appeared that he had been for some time accustomed to a reception of a like kind from the same person. he approached the young girl, who had now risen from her knees, and spoke to her in words of comparative kindness:-- "well, ellen, you have had an alarm, but i am glad to see you have suffered no injury. how happened the fire?" the young woman explained the cause of the conflagration, and narrated in brief the assistance which had been received from the stranger. "but i was so terrified, guy," she added, "that i had not presence of mind enough to thank him." "and what should be the value of your spoken thanks, ellen? the stranger, if he have sense, must feel that he has them, and the utterance of such things had better be let alone. but, how is the old lady now? i see she loves me no better than formerly." "she is sinking fast, guy, and is now incapable of speech. before you came, she seemed desirous of saying something to me, but she tried in vain to speak, and now i scarcely think her conscious." "believe it not, ellen: she is conscious of all that is going on, though her voice may fail her. her eye is even now fixed upon me, and with the old expression. she would tear me if she could." "oh, think not thus of the dying, guy--of her who has never harmed, and would never harm you, if she had the power. and yet, heaven knows, and we both know, she has had reason enough to hate, and, if she could, to destroy you. but she has no such feeling now." "you mistake, ellen, or would keep the truth from me. you know she has always hated me; and, indeed, as you say, she has had cause enough to hate and destroy me. had another done to me as i have done to her, i should not have slept till my hand was in his heart." "she forgives you all, guy, i know she does, and god knows i forgive you--i, who, above all others, have most reason to curse you for ever. think not that she can hate upon the brink of the grave. her mind wanders, and no wonder that the wrongs of earth press upon her memory, her reason being gone. she knows not herself of the mood which her features express. look not upon her, guy, i pray you, or let me turn away my eyes." "your spirit, ellen, is more gentle and shrinking than hers. had you felt like her, i verily believe that many a night, when i have been at rest within your arms, you would have driven a knife into my heart." "horrible, guy! how can you imagine such a thing? base and worthless as you have made me, i am too much in your power, i fear--i love you still too much; and, though like a poison or a firebrand you have clung to my bosom, i could not have felt for you a single thought of resentment. you say well when you call me shrinking. i am a creature of a thousand fears; i am all weakness and worthlessness." "well, well--let us not talk further of this. when was the doctor here last?" "in the evening he came, and left some directions, but told us plainly what we had to expect. he said she could not survive longer than the night; and she looks like it, for within the last few hours she has sunk surprisingly. but have you brought the medicine?" "i have, and some drops which are said to stimulate and strengthen." "i fear they are now of little use, and may only serve to keep up life in misery. but they may enable her to speak, and i should like to hear what she seems so desirous to impart." ellen took the cordial, and hastily preparing a portion in a wine-glass, according to the directions, proceeded to administer it to the gasping patient; but, while the glass was at her lips, the last paroxysm of death came on, and with it something more of that consciousness now fleeting for ever. dashing aside the nostrum with one hand, with the other she drew the shrinking and half-fainting girl to her side, and, pressing her down beside her, appeared to give utterance to that which, from the action, and the few and audible words she made out to articulate, would seem to have been a benediction. rivers, seeing the motion, and remarking the almost supernatural strength with which the last spasms had endued her, would have taken the girl from her embrace; but his design was anticipated by the dying woman, whose eyes glared upon him with an expression rather demoniac than human, while her paralytic hand, shaking with ineffectual effort, waved him off. a broken word escaped her lips here and there, and--"sin"--"forgiveness"--was all that reached the ears of her grandchild, when her head sank back upon the pillow, and she expired without a groan. a dead silence followed this event. the girl had no uttered anguish--she spoke not her sorrows aloud; yet there was that in the wobegone countenance, and the dumb grief, that left no doubt of the deep though suppressed and half-subdued agony of soul within. she seemed one to whom the worst of life had been long since familiar, and who would not find it difficult herself to die. she had certainly outlived pride and hope, if not love; and if the latter feeling had its place in her bosom, as without doubt it had, then was it a hopeless lingerer, long after the sunshine and zephyr had gone which first awakened it into bloom and flower. she knelt beside the inanimate form of her old parent, shedding no tear, and uttering no sigh. tears would have poorly expressed the wo which at that moment she felt; and the outlaw, growing impatient of the dumb spectacle, now ventured to approach and interrupt her. she rose, meekly and without reluctance, as he spoke; with a manner which said as plainly as words could have, said--'command, and i obey. bid me go even now, at midnight, on a perilous journey, over and into foreign lands, and i go without murmur or repining.' she was a heart-stricken, a heart-broken, and abused woman--and yet she loved still, and loved her destroyer. "ellen," said he, taking her hand, "your mother was a christian--a strict worshipper--one who, for the last few years of her life, seldom put the bible out of her hands; and yet she cursed me in her very soul as she went out of the world." "guy, guy, speak not so, i pray you. spare me this cruelty, and say not for the departed spirit what it surely never would have said of itself." "but it did so say, ellen, and of this i am satisfied. hear me, girl. i know something of mankind, and womankind too, and i am not often mistaken in the expression of human faces, and certainly was not mistaken in hers. when, in the last paroxysm, you knelt beside her with your head down upon her hand and in her grasp, and as i approached her, her eyes, which feebly threw up the film then rapidly closing over them, shot out a most angry glare of hatred and reproof; while her lips parted--i could see, though she could articulate no word--with involutions which indicated the curse that she could not speak." "think not so, i pray you. she had much cause to curse, and often would she have done so, but for my sake she did not. she would call me a poor fool, that so loved the one who had brought misery and shame to all of us; but her malediction was arrested, and she said it not. oh, no! she forgave you--i know she did--heard you not the words which she uttered at the last?" "yes, yes--but no matter. we must now talk of other things, ellen; and first of all, you must know, then, i am about to be married." had a bolt from the crossbow at that moment penetrated into her heart, the person he addressed could not have been more transfixed than at this speech. she started--an inquiring and tearful doubt rose into her eyes, as they settled piercingly upon his own; but the information they met with there needed no further word of assurance from his lips. he was a stern tyrant--one, however, who did not trifle. "i feared as much, guy--i have had thoughts which as good as told me this long before. the silent form before me has said to me, over and over again, you would never wed her whom you have dishonored. oh, fool that i was!--spite of her forebodings and my own, i thought--i still think, and oh, guy, let me not think in vain--that there would be a time when you would take away the reproach from my name and the sin from my soul, by making me your wife, as you have so often promised." "you have indeed thought like a child, ellen, if you suppose that, situated as i am, i could ever marry simply because i loved." "and will you not love her whom you are now about to wed?" "not as much as i have loved you--not half so much as i love you now--if it be that i have such a feeling at this moment in my bosom." "and wherefore then would you wed, guy, with one whom you do not, whom you can not love? in what have i offended--have i ever reproached or looked unkindly on you, guy, even when you came to me, stern and full of reproaches, chafed with all things and with everybody?" "there are motives, ellen, governing my actions into which you must not inquire--" "what, not inquire, when on these actions depend all my hope--all my life! now indeed you are the tyrant which my old mother said, and all people say, you are." the girl for a moment forgot her submissiveness, and her words were tremulous, less with sorrow than the somewhat strange spirit which her wrongs had impressed upon her. but sue soon felt the sinking of the momentary inspiration, and quickly sought to remove the angry scowl which she perceived coming over the brow of her companion. "nay, nay--forgive me, guy--let me not reproach--let me not accuse you. i have not done so before: i would not do so now. do with me as you please; and yet, if you are bent to wed with another, and forget and overlook your wrongs to me, there is one kindness which would become your hands, and which i would joy to receive from them. will you do for me this kindness, guy? nay, now be not harsh, but say that you will do it." she seized his hand appealingly as she spoke, and her moist but untearful eyes were fixed pleadingly upon his own. the outlaw hesitated for a moment before he replied. "i propose, ellen, to do for you all that may be necessary--to provide you with additional comforts, and carry you to a place of additional security, where you shall live to yourself, and have good attendance." "this is kind--this is much, guy; but not much more than you have been accustomed to do for me. that which i seek from you now is something more than this; promise me that it shall be as i say." "if it breaks not into my arrangements--if it makes me not go aside from my path, i will certainly do it, ellen. speak, therefore; what is it i can do for you?" "it will interfere with none of your arrangements, guy, i am sure; it can not take you from your path, for you could not have provided for that of which you knew not. i have your pledge, therefore--have i not?" "you have," was the reply, while the manner of rivers was tinctured with something like curiosity. "that is kind--that is as you ought to be. hear me now, then," and her voice sunk into a whisper, as if she feared the utterance of her own words; "take your knife, guy--pause not, do it quickly, lest i fear and tremble--strike it deep into the bosom of the poor ellen, and lay her beside the cold parent, whose counsels she despised, and all of whose predictions are now come true. strike--strike quickly, guy rivers; i have your promise--you can not recede; if you have honor, if you have truth, you must do as i ask. give me death--give me peace." "foolish girl, would you trifle with me--would you have me spurn and hate you? beware!" the outlaw well knew the yielding and sensitive material out of which his victim had been made. his stern rebuke was well calculated to effect in her bosom that revulsion of feeling which he knew would follow any threat of a withdrawal, even of the lingering and frail fibres of that affection, few and feeble as they were, which he might have once persuaded her to believe had bound him to her. the consequence was immediate, and her subdued tone and resigned action evinced the now entire supremacy of her natural temperament. "oh, forgive me, guy, i know not what i ask or what i do. i am so worn and weary, and my head is so heavy, that i think it were far better if i were in my grave with the cold frame whom we shall soon put there. heed not what i say--i am sad and sick, and have not the spirit of reason, or a healthy will to direct me. do with me as you will--i will obey you--go anywhere, and, worst of all, behold you wed another; ay, stand by, if you desire it, and look on the ceremony, and try to forget that you once promised me that i should be yours, and yours only." "you speak more wisely, ellen; and you will think more calmly upon it when the present grief of your grandmother's death passes off." "oh, that is no grief, now, guy," was the rather hasty reply. "that is no grief now: should i regret that she has escaped these tidings--should i regret that she has ceased to feel trouble, and to see and shed tears--should i mourn, guy, that she who loved me to the last, in spite of my follies and vices, has ceased now to mourn over them? oh, no! this is no grief, now; it was grief but a little while ago, but now you have made it matter of rejoicing." "think not of it,--speak no more in this strain, ellen, lest you anger me." "i will not--chide me not--i have no farther reproaches. yet, guy, is she, the lady you are about to wed--is she beautiful, is she young--has she long raven tresses, as i had once, when your fingers used to play in them?" and with a sickly smile, which had in it something of an old vanity, she unbound the string which confined her own hair, and let it roll down upon her back in thick and beautiful volumes, still black, glossy and delicately soft as silk. the outlaw was moved. for a moment his iron muscles relaxed--a gentler expression overspread his countenance, and he took her in his arms. that single, half-reluctant embrace was a boon not much bestowed in the latter days of his victim, and it awakened a thousand tender recollections in her heart, and unsealed a warm spring of gushing waters. an infantile smile was in her eyes, while the tears were flowing down her cheeks. but, shrinking or yielding, at least to any great extent, made up very little of the character of the dark man on whom she depended; and the more than feminine weakness of the young girl who hung upon his bosom like a dying flower, received its rebuke, after a few moments of unwonted tenderness, when, coldly resuming his stern habit, he put her from his arms, and announced to her his intention of immediately taking his departure. "what," she asked, "will you not stay with me through the night, and situated as i am?" "it is impossible; even now i am waited for, and should have been some hours on my way to an appointment which i must not break. it is not with me as with you; i have obligations to others who depend on me, and who might suffer injury were i to deceive them." "but this night, guy--there is little of it left, and i am sure you will not be expected before the daylight. i feel a new terror when i think i shall be left by all, and here, too, alone with the dead." "you will not be alone, and if you were, ellen, you have been thus lonely for many months past, and should be now accustomed to it." "why, so i should, for it has been a fearful and a weary time, and i went not to my bed one night without dreading that i should never behold another day." "why, what had you to alarm you? you suffered no affright--no injury? i had taken care that throughout the forest your cottage should be respected." "so i had your assurance, and when i thought, i believed it. i knew you had the power to do as you assured me you would, but still there were moments when our own desolation came across my mind; and what with my sorrows and my fears, i was sometimes persuaded, in my madness, to pray that i might be relieved of them, were it even by the hands of death." "you were ever thus foolish, ellen, and you have as little reason now to apprehend as then. besides, it is only for the one night, and in the morning i shall send those to you who will attend to your own removal to another spot, and to the interment of the body." "and where am i to go?" "what matters it where, ellen? you have my assurance that it shall be a place of security and good attendance to which i shall send you." "true, what matters it where i go--whether among the savage or the civilized? they are to me all alike, since i may not look them in the face, or take them by the hand, or hold communion with them, either at the house of god or at the family fireside." the gloomy despondence of her spirit was uppermost; and she went on, in a series of bitter musings, denouncing herself as an outcast, a worthless something, and, in the language of the sacred text, calling on the rocks and mountains to cover her. the outlaw, who had none of those fine feelings which permitted of even momentary sympathy with that desolation of heart, the sublime agonies of which are so well calculated to enlist and awaken it, cut short the strain of sorrow and complaint by a fierce exclamation, which seemed to stun every sense of her spirit. "will you never have done?" he demanded. "am i for ever to listen to this weakness--this unavailing reproach of yourself and everything around you? do i not know that all your complaints and reproaches, though you address them in so many words to yourself, are intended only for my use and ear? can i not see through the poor hypocrisy of such a lamentation? know i not that when you curse and deplore the sin you only withhold the malediction from him who tempted and partook of it, in the hope that his own spirit will apply it all to himself? away, girl; i thought you had a nobler spirit--i thought you felt the love that i now find existed only in expression." "i do feel that love; i would, guy that i felt it not--that it did exist only in my words. i were then far happier than i am now, since stern look or language from you would then utterly fail to vex and wound as it does now. i can not bear your reproaches; look not thus upon me, and speak not in those harsh sentences--not now--not now, at least, and in this melancholy presence." her looks turned upon the dead body of her parent as she spoke, and with convulsive effort she rushed toward and clasped it round. she threw herself beside the corpse and remained inanimate, while the outlaw, leaving the house for an instant, called the negro servant and commanded her attendance. he now approached the girl, and taking up her hand, which lay supine upon the bosom of the dead body, would have soothed her grief; but though she did not repulse, she yet did not regard him. "be calm, ellen," he said, "recover and be firm. in the morning you shall have early and good attention, and with this object, in part, am i disposed to hurry now. think not, girl, that i forget you. whatever may be my fortune, i shall always have an eye to yours. i leave you now, but shall see you before long, when i shall settle you permanently and comfortably. farewell." he left her in seeming unconsciousness of the words whispered in her ears, yet she heard them all, and duly estimated their value. to her, to whom he had once pledged himself entirely, the cold boon of his attention and sometime care was painfully mortifying. she exhibited nothing, however, beyond what we have already seen, of the effect of this consolation upon her heart. there is a period in human emotions, when feeling itself becomes imperceptible--when the heart (as it were) receives the _coup de grace_, and days, and months, and years, before the body expires, shows nothing of the fire which is consuming it. we would not have it understood to be altogether the case with the young destitute before us; but, at least, if she still continued to feel these still-occurring influences, there was little or no outward indication of their power upon the hidden spirit. she said nothing to him on his departure, but with a half-wandering sense, that may perhaps have described something of the ruling passion of an earlier day, she rose shortly after he had left the house, and placing herself before the small mirror which surmounted the toilet in the apartment, rearranged with studious care, and with an eye to its most attractive appearance, the long and flowing tresses of that hair, which, as we have already remarked, was of the most silky and raven-like description. every ringlet was adjusted to its place, as if nothing of sorrow was about her--none of the badges and evidences of death and decay in her thought. she next proceeded to the readjustment of the dress she wore, taking care that a string of pearl, probably the gift of her now indifferent lover, should leave its place in the little cabinet, where, with other trinkets of the kind, it had been locked up carefully for a long season, and once more adorned with it the neck which it failed utterly to surpass in delicacy or in whiteness. having done this, she again took her place on the couch, along with the corpse; and with a manner which did not appear to indicate a doubt of the still lingering spirit, she raised the lifeless head, with the gentlest effort placing her arm beneath, then laid her own quietly on the pillow beside it. chapter xxvi. the camp. ignorant, as we have already said, of his late most providential escape from the weapon of his implacable enemy, ralph colleton was borne forward by his affrighted steed with a degree of rapidity which entirely prevented his rider from remarking any of the objects around him, or, indeed, as the moon began to wane amid a clustering body of clouds, of determining positively whether he were still in the road or not. the _trace_ (as public roads are called in that region) had been rudely cut out by some of the earlier travellers through the indian country, merely _traced_ out--and hence, perhaps, the term--by a _blaze_, or white spot, made upon the trees by hewing from them the bark; which badge, repeated in succession upon those growing immediately upon the line chosen for the destined road, indicated its route to the wayfarer. it had never been much travelled, and from the free use at the present time of other and more direct courses, it was left almost totally unemployed, save by those living immediately in its neighborhood. it had, therefore, become, at the time of which we speak, what, in backwood phrase, is known as a _blind-path_. such being the case, it is not difficult to imagine that, when able to restrain his horse, ralph, as he feared, found himself entirely out of its guidance--wandering without direction among the old trees of the forest. still, as for the night, now nearly over, he could have no distinct point in view, and saw just as little reason to go back as forward, he gave himself but little time for scruple or hesitation. resolutely, though with a cautious motion, he pricked his steed forward through the woods, accommodating his philosophy, as well as he could, to the various interruptions which the future, as if to rival the past, seemed to have treasured up in store for him. he had not proceeded far in this manner when he caught the dim rays of a distant fire, flickering and ascending among the trees to the left of the direction he was taking. the blaze had something in it excessively cheering, and, changing his course, he went forward under its guidance. in this effort, he stumbled upon something like a path, which, pursuing, brought him at length to a small and turbid creek, into which he plunged fearlessly, and soon found himself in swimming water. the ford had been little used, and the banks were steep, so that he got out with difficulty upon the opposite side. having done so, his eye was enabled to take a full view of the friendly fire which had just attracted his regard, and which he soon made out to proceed from the encampment of a wagoner, such as may be seen every day, or every night, in the wild woods of the southern country. he was emigrating, with all his goods and gods, to that wonderfully winning region, in the estimation of this people, the valley of the mississippi. the emigrant was a stout, burly, bluff old fellow, with full round cheeks, a quick, twinkling eye, and limbs rather herculean than human. he might have been fifty-five years or so; and his two sons, one of them a man grown, the other a tall and goodly youth of eighteen, promised well to be just such vigorous and healthy-looking personages as their father. the old woman, by whom we mean--in the manner of speech common to the same class and region--to indicate the spouse of the wayfarer, and mother of the two youths, was busied about the fire, boiling a pot of coffee, and preparing the family repast for the night. a somewhat late hour for supper and such employment, thought our wanderer; but the difficulty soon explained itself in the condition of their wagon, and the conversation which ensued among the travellers. there was yet another personage in the assembly, who must be left to introduce himself to the reader. the _force_ of the traveller--for such is the term by which the number of his slaves are understood--was small, consisting of some six _workers_, and three or four little negro children asleep under the wagon. the workers were occupied at a little distance, in replacing boxes, beds, and some household trumpery, which had been taken out of the wagon, to enable them to effect its release from the slough in which it had cast one of its wheels, and broken its axle, and the restoration of which had made their supper so late in the night. the heavier difficulties of their labor had been got over, and with limbs warmed and chafed by the extra exercise they had undergone, the whites had thrown themselves under a tree, at a little distance from the fire at which the supper was in preparation, while a few pine torches, thrown together, gave them sufficient light to read and remark the several countenances of their group. "well, by dogs, we've had a tough 'bout of it, boys; and, hark'ye, strannger, gi' us your hand. i don't know what we should have done without you, for i never seed man handle a little poleaxe as you did that same affair of your'n. you must have spent, i reckon, a pretty smart time at the use of it, now, didn't ye?" to this speech of the farmer, a ready reply was given by the stranger, in the identical voice and language of our old acquaintance, the pedler, jared bunce, of whom, and of whose stock in trade, the reader will probably have some recollection. "well, now, i guess, friend, you an't far wide of your reckoning. i've been a matter of some fifteen or twenty years knocking about, off and on, in one way or another, with this same instrument, and pretty's the service now, i tell ye, that it's done me in that bit of time." "no doubt, no doubt; but what's your trade, if i may be so bold, that made you larn the use of it so nicely?" "oh, what--my trade? why, to say the truth, i never was brought up to any trade in particular, but i am a pretty slick hand, now, i tell you, at all of them. i've been in my time a little of a farmer, a little of a merchant, a little of a sailor, and, somehow or other, a little of everything, and all sort of things. my father was jest like myself, and swore, before i was born, that i should be born jest like him--and so i was. never were two black peas more alike. he was a 'cute old fellow, and swore he'd make me so too--and so he did. you know how he did that?--now, i'll go a york shilling against a louisiana bit, that you can't tell to save you." "why, no, i can't--let's hear," was the response of the wagoner, somewhat astounded by the volubility of his new acquaintance. "well, then, i'll tell you. he sent me away, to make my fortin, and git my edication, 'mongst them who was 'cute themselves, and maybe that an't the best school for larning a simple boy ever went to. it was sharp edge agin sharp edge. it was the very making of me, so far as i was made." "well, now, that is a smart way, i should reckon, to get one's edication. and in this way i suppose you larned how to chop with your little poleaxe. dogs! but you've made me as smart a looking axle as i ever tacked to my team." "i tell you, friend, there's nothing like sich an edication. it does everything for a man, and he larns to make everything out of nothing. i could make my bread where these same indians wouldn't find the skin of a hoe-cake; and in these woods, or in the middle of the sea, t'ant anything for me to say i can always fish up some notion that will sell in the market." "well, now, that's wonderful, strannger, and i should like to see how you would do it." "you can't do nothing, no how, friend, unless you begin at the beginning. you'll have to begin when you're jest a mere boy, and set about getting your edication as i got mine. there's no two ways about it. it won't come to you; you must go to it. when you're put out into the wide world, and have no company and no acquaintance, why, what are you to do? suppose, now, when your wagon mired down, i had not come to your help, and cut out your wood, and put in the spoke, wouldn't you have had to do it yourself?" "yes--to be sure; but then i couldn't have done it in a day. i an't handy at these things." "well, that was jest the way with me when i was a boy. i had nobody to help me out of the mud--nobody to splice my spokes, or assist me any how, and so i larned to do it myself. and now, would you think it, i'm sometimes glad of a little turn-over, or an accident, jest that i may keep my hand in and not forget to be able to help myself or my neighbors." "well, you're a cur'ous person, and i'd like to hear something more about you. but it's high time we should wet our whistles, and it's but dry talking without something to wash a clear way for the slack. so, boys, be up, and fish up the jemmi-john--i hope it hain't been thumped to bits in the rut. if it has, i shall be in a tearing passion." "well, now, that won't be reasonable, seeing that it's no use, and jest wasting good breath that might bring a fair price in the market." "what, not get in a passion if all the whiskey's gone? that won't do, strannger, and though you have helped me out of the ditch, by, dogs, no man shall prevent me from getting in a passion if i choose it." "oh, to be sure, friend--you an't up to my idee. i didn't know that it was for the good it did you that you got in a passion. i am clear that when a man feels himself better from a passion, he oughtn't to be shy in getting into it. though that wasn't a part of my edication, yet i guess, if such a thing would make me feel more comfortable, i'd get in a passion fifty times a day." "well, now, strannger, you talk like a man of sense. 'drot the man, says i, who hain't the courage to get in a passion! none but a miserable, shadow-skinning yankee would refuse to get in a passion when his jug of whiskey was left in the road!" "a-hem--" coughed the dealer in small wares--the speech of the old wagoner grating harshly upon his senses; for if the yankee be proud of anything, it is of his country--its enterprise, its institutions; and of these, perhaps, he has more true and unqualified reason to be pleased and proud than any other one people on the face of the globe. he did not relish well the sitting quietly under the harsh censure of his companion, who seemed to regard the existence of a genuine emotion among the people down east as a manifest absurdity; and was thinking to come out with a defence, in detail, of the pretensions of new england, when, prudence having first taken a survey of the huge limbs of the wagoner, and calling to mind the fierce prejudices of the uneducated southrons generally against all his tribe, suggested the convenient propriety of an evasive reply. "a-hem--" repeated the yankee, the _argumentum ad hominem_ still prominent in his eyes--"well, now, i take it, friend, there's no love to spare for the people you speak of down in these parts. they don't seem to smell at all pleasant in this country." "no, i guess not, strannger, as how should they--a mean, tricky, catchpenny, skulking set--that makes money out of everybody, and hain't the spirit to spend it! i do hate them, now, worse than a polecat!" "well, now, friend, that's strange. if you were to travel for a spell, down about boston or salem in massachusetts, or at meriden in connecticut, you'd hear tell of the yankees quite different. if you believe what the people say thereabouts, you'd think there was no sich people on the face of the airth." "that's jist because they don't know anything about them; and it's not because they can't know them neither, for a yankee is a varmint you can nose anywhere. it must be that none ever travels in those parts--selling their tin-kettles, and their wooden clocks, and all their notions." "oh, yes, they do. they make 'em in those parts. i know it by this same reason, that i bought a lot myself from a house in connecticut, a town called meriden, where they make almost nothing else but clocks--where they make 'em by steam, and horse-power, and machinery, and will turn you out a hundred or two to a minute." the pedler had somewhat "overleaped his shoulders," as they phrase it in the west, when his companion drew himself back over the blazing embers, with a look of ill-concealed aversion, exclaiming, as he did so-- "why, you ain't a yankee, air you?" the pedler was a special pleader in one sense of the word, and knew the value of a technical distinction as well as his friend, lawyer pippin. his reply was prompt and professional:-- "why, no, i ain't a yankee according to your idee. it's true, i was born among them; but that, you know, don't make a man one on them?" "no, to be sure not. every man that's a freeman has a right to choose what country he shall belong to. my dad was born in ireland, yet he always counted himself a full-blooded american." the old man found a parallel in his father's nativity, which satisfied himself of the legitimacy of the ground taken by the pedler, and helped the latter out of his difficulty. "but here's the whiskey standing by us all the time, waiting patiently to be drunk. here, nick snell, boy, take your hands out of your breeches-pocket, and run down with the calabash to the branch. the water is pretty good thar, i reckon; and, strannger, after we've taken a sup, we'll eat a bite, and then lie down. it's high time, i reckon, that we do so." it was in his progress to the branch that ralph colleton came upon this member of the family. nick snell was no genius, and did not readily reply to the passing inquiry which was put to him by the youth, who advanced upon the main party while the dialogue between the pedler and the wagoner was in full gust. they started, as if by common consent, to their feet, as his horse's tread smote upon their ears; but, satisfied with the appearance of a single man, and witnessing the jaded condition of his steed, they were content to invite him to partake with them of the rude cheer which the good-woman was now busied in setting before him. the hoe-cakes and bacon were smoking finely, and the fatigue of the youth engaged his senses, with no unwillingness on their part, to detect a most savory attraction in the assault which they made upon his sight and nostrils alike. he waited not for a second invitation, but in a few moments--having first stripped his horse, and put the saddle, by direction of the emigrant, into his wagon--he threw himself beside them upon the ground, and joined readily and heartily in the consumption of the goodly edibles which were spread out before them. they had not been long at this game, when a couple of fine watch-dogs which were in the camp, guarding the baggage, gave the alarm, and the whole party was on the alert, with sharp eye and cocked rifle. they commenced a survey, and at some distance could hear the tread of horsemen, seemingly on the approach. the banditti, of which we have already spoken, were well known to the emigrant, and he had already to complain of divers injuries at their hands. it is not, therefore, matter of surprise, that he should place his sentinels, and prepare even for the most audacious attack. he had scarcely made this disposition of his forces, which exhibited them to the best advantage, when the strangers made their appearance. they rode cautiously around, without approaching the defences sufficiently nigh to occasion strife, but evidently having for their object originally an attack upon the wayfarer. at length, one of the party, which consisted of six persons, now came forward, and, with a friendly tone of voice, bade them good-evening in a manner which seemed to indicate a desire to be upon a footing of the most amiable sort with them. the old man answered dryly, with some show of sarcastic indifference in his speech-- "ay, good evening enough, if the moon had not gone down, and if the stars were out, that we might pick out the honest men from the rogues." "what, are there rogues in these parts, then, old gentleman?" asked the new-comer. "why do you ask me?" was the sturdy reply. "you ought to be able to say, without going farther than your own pockets." "why, you are tough to-night, my old buck," was the somewhat crabbed speech of the visiter. "you'll find me troublesome, too, mr. nightwalker: so take good counsel, and be off while you've whole bones, or i'll tumble you now in half a minute from your crittur, and give you a sharp supper of pine-knots." "well, that wouldn't be altogether kind on your part, old fellow, and i mightn't be willing to let you; but, as you seem not disposed to be civil, i suppose the best thing i can do is to be off." "ay, ay, be off. you get nothing out of us; and we've no shot that we want to throw away. leave you alone, and jack ketch will save us shot." "ha, ha!" exclaimed the outlier, in concert, and from the deeper emphasis which he gave it, in chorus to the laughter which followed, among the party, the dry expression of the old man's humor-- "ha, ha! old boy--you have the swing of it to-night," continued the visiter, as he rode off to his companions; "but, if you don't mind, we shall smoke you before you get into alabam!" the robber rejoined his companions, and a sort of council for deliberation was determined upon among them. "how now, lambert! you have been at dead fault," was his sudden address, as he returned, to one of the party. "you assured me that old snell and his two sons were the whole force that he carried, while i find two stout, able-bodied men besides, all well armed, and ready for the attack. the old woman, too, standing with the gridiron in her fists, is equal of herself to any two men, hand to hand." lambert, a short, sly, dogged little personage, endeavored to account for the error, if such it was--"but he was sure, that at starting, there were but three--they must have have had company join them since. did the lieutenant make out the appearance of the others?" "i did," said the officer in command, "and, to say truth, they do not seem to be of the old fellow's party. they must have come upon him since the night. but how came you, lambert, to neglect sawing the axle? you had time enough when it stood in the farmyard last night, and you were about it a full hour. the wagon stands as stoutly on its all-fours as the first day it was built." "i did that, sir, and did it, i thought, to the very mark. i calculated to leave enough solid to bear them to the night, when in our circuit we should come among them just in time to finish the business. the wood is stronger, perhaps, than i took it to be, but it won't hold out longer than to-morrow, i'm certain, when, if we watch, we can take our way with them." "well, i hope so, and we must watch them, for it won't do to let the old fellow escape. he has, i know, a matter of three or four hundred hard dollars in his possession, to buy lands in mississippi, and it's a pity to let so much good money go out of the state." "but why may we not set upon them now?" inquired one of the youngest of the party. "for a very good reason, briggs--they are armed, ready, and nearly equal in number to ourselves; and though i doubt not we should be able to ride over them, yet i am not willing to leave one or more of us behind. besides, if we keep the look-out to-morrow, as we shall, we can settle the business without any such risk." this being the determination, the robbers, thus disappointed of their game, were nevertheless in better humor than might have been well expected; but such men are philosophers, and their very recklessness of human life is in some respects the result of a due estimate of its vicissitudes. they rode on their way laughing at the sturdy bluntness of the old wagoner, which their leader, of whom we have already heard under the name of dillon, related to them at large. with a whoop and halloo, they cheered the travellers as they rode by, but at some distance from, the encampment. the tenants of the encampment, thus strangely but fortunately thrown together, having first seen that everything was quiet, took their severally assigned places, and laid themselves down for repose. the pedler contenting himself with guessing that "them 'ere chaps did not make no great deal by that speculation." chapter xxvii. the outlaws. it was in the wildest and least-trodden recesses of the rock and forest, that the band of outlaws, of which rivers was the great head and leader, had fixed their place of abode and assemblage. a natural cavity, formed by the juxtaposition of two huge rocks, overhung by a third, with some few artificial additions, formed for them a cavern, in which--so admirably was it overgrown by the surrounding forest, and so finely situated among hills and abrupt ridges yielding few inducements for travel--they found the most perfect security. it is true such a shelter could not long have availed them as such, were the adjacent country in the possession of a civilized people; but the near neighborhood of the cherokees, by keeping back civilization, was, perhaps, quite as much as the position they had chosen, its protection from the scrutiny of many, who had already, prompted by their excesses, endeavored, on more than one occasion, to find them out. the place was distant from the village of chestatee about ten miles, or perhaps more. no highway--no thoroughfare or public road passed in its neighborhood, and it had been the policy of the outlaws to avoid the use of any vehicle, the traces of which might be followed. there was, besides, but little necessity for its employment. the place of counsel and assemblage was not necessarily their place of abode, and the several members of the band found it more profitable to reside, or keep stations, in the adjacent hamlets and _stands_ (for by this latter name in those regions, the nightly stopping-places of wayfarers are commonly designated) where, in most cases, they put on the appearance, and in many respects bore the reputation, of staid and sober working men. this arrangement was perhaps the very best for the predatory life they led, as it afforded opportunities for information which otherwise must have been lost to them. in this way they heard of this or that traveler--his destination--the objects he had in view, and the wealth he carried about with him. in one of these situations the knowledge of old snell's journey, and the amount of wealth in his possession, had been acquired; and in the person of the worthy stable-boy who brought corn to the old fellow's horses the night before, and whom he rewarded with a _thrip_ (the smallest silver coin known in the southern currency, the five-cent issue excepted) we might, without spectacles, recognise the active fugleman of the outlaws, who sawed half through his axle, cleaned his wheels of all their grease, and then attempted to rob him the very night after. though thus scattered about, it was not a matter of difficulty to call the outlaws together upon an emergency. one or more of the most trustworthy among them had only to make a tour over the road, and through the hamlets in which they were harbored within the circuit of ten or twenty miles, and as they kept usually with rigid punctuality to their several stations, they were soon apprized, and off at the first signal. a whisper in the ear of the hostler who brought out your horse, or the drover who put up the cattle, was enough; and the absence of a colt from pasture, or the missing of a stray young heifer from the flock, furnished a sufficient reason to the proprietor for the occasional absence of tom, dick, or harry: who, in the meanwhile, was, most probably, crying "stand" to a true man, or cutting a trunk from a sulkey, or, in mere wantonness, shooting down the traveller who had perhaps given him a long chase, yet yielded nothing by way of compensation for the labor. dillon, or, to speak more to the card, lieutenant dillon, arrived at the place of assemblage just as the day was breaking. he was a leader of considerable influence among the outlaws, and, next to rivers, was most popular. indeed, in certain respects, he was far more popular; for, though perhaps not so adroit in his profession, nor so well fitted for its command, he was possessed of many of those qualities which are apt to be taking with "the fierce democratic!" he was a prince of hail fellows--was thoroughly versed in low jest and scurvy anecdote--could play at pushpins, and drink at every point in the game; and, strange to say, though always drinking, was never drunk. nor, though thus accomplished, and thus prone to these accomplishments, did he ever neglect those duties which he assumed to perform. no indulgence led him away from his post, and, on the other hand, no post compelled or constrained him into gravity. he was a careless, reckless blade, indifferent alike, it would seem, to sun and storm--and making of life a circle, that would not inaptly have illustrated the favorite text of sardanapalus. he arrived at the cave, as we have said just as the day was breaking. a shrill whistle along the ridges of wood and rock as he passed them, denoted the various stations of the sentinels, as studiously strewed along the paths by which their place of refuge might be assailed, as if they were already beleaguered by an assailing army. without pausing to listen to the various speeches and inquiries which assailed his ears upon his arrival he advanced to the cavern, and was told that the captain had been for some time anxiously awaiting his arrival--that he had morosely kept the inner recess of the cave, and since his return, which had not been until late in the night, had been seen but two or three times, and then but for a moment, when he had come forth to make inquiries for himself. leaving his men differently disposed, dillon at once penetrated into the small apartment in which his leader was lodged, assured of the propriety of the intrusion, from what had just been told him. the recess, which was separated from the outer hall by a curtain of thick coarse stuff, falling to the floor from a beam, the apertures for the reception of which had been chiselled in the rock, was dimly illuminated by a single lamp, hanging from a chain, which was in turn fastened to a pole that stretched directly across the apartment. a small table in the centre of the room, covered with a piece of cotton cloth, a few chairs, a broken mirror, and on a shelf that stood trimly in the corner, a few glasses and decanters, completed the furniture of the apartment. on the table at which the outlaw sat, lay his pistols--a huge and unwieldy, but well-made pair. a short sword, a dirk and one or two other weapons of similar description, contemplated only for hand-to-hand purposes, lay along with them; and the better to complete the picture, now already something _outre_, a decanter of brandy and tumblers were contiguous. rivers did not observe the slide of the curtain to the apartment, nor the entrance of dillon. he was deeply absorbed in contemplation; his head rested heavily upon his two palms, while his eyes were deeply fixed upon the now opened miniature which he had torn from the neck of lucy munro, and which rested before him. he sighed not--he spoke not, but ever and anon, as if perfectly unconscious all the while of what he did, he drank from the tumbler of the compounded draught that stood before him, hurriedly and desperately, as if to keep the strong emotion from choking him. there was in his look a bitter agony of expression, indicating a vexed spirit, now more strongly than ever at work in a way which had, indeed, been one of the primest sources of his miserable life. it was a spirit ill at rest with itself--vexed at its own feebleness of execution--its incapacity to attain and acquire the realization of its own wild and vague conceptions. his was the ambition of one who discovers at every step that nothing can be known, yet will not give up the unprofitable pursuit, because, even while making the discovery, he still hopes vainly that he may yet, in his own person, give the maxim the lie. for ever soaring to the sun, he was for ever realizing the fine grecian fable of icarus; and the sea of disappointment into which he perpetually fell, with its tumultuous tides and ever-chafing billows, bearing him on from whirlpool to whirlpool, for ever battling and for ever lost. he was unconscious, as we have said, of the entrance and approach of his lieutenant, and words of bitterness, in soliloquy, fell at brief periods from his lips.-- "it is after all the best--" he mused. "despair is the true philosophy, since it begets indifference. why should i hope? what prospect is there now, that these eyes, that lip, these many graces, and the imperial pride of that expression, which looks out like a high soul from the heaven that men talk and dream of--what delusion is there now to bid me hope they ever can be more to me than they are now? i care not for the world's ways--nor feel i now the pang of its scorn and its outlawry; yet i would it were not so, that i might, upon a field as fair as that of the most successful, assert my claim, and woo and win her--not with those childish notes of commonplace--that sickly cant of sentimental stuff which i despise, and which i know she despises no less than i. "yet, when this field was mine, as i now desire it, what more did it avail me? where was the strong sense--the lofty reason that should then have conquered with an unobstructed force, sweeping all before it, as the flame that rushes through the long grass of the prairies? gone--prostrate--dumb. the fierce passion was upward, and my heart was then more an outlaw than i myself am now. "yet there is one hope--one chance--one path, if not to her affections, at least to her. it shall be done, and then, most beautiful witch, cold, stern, and to me heartless, as thou hast ever been--thou shalt not always triumph. i would that i could sleep on this--i would that i could sleep. there is but one time of happiness--but one time when the thorn has no sting--when the scorn bites not--when the sneer chafes not--when the pride and the spirit shrink not--when there is no wild passion to make everything a storm and a conflagration among the senses--and that is--when one forgets!--i would that i could sleep!" as he spoke, his head sunk upon the table with a heavy sound, as if unconsciousness had really come with the articulated wish. he started quickly, however, as now, for the first time, the presence of dillon became obvious, and hurriedly thrusting the portrait into his vest, he turned quickly to the intruder, and sternly demanded the occasion of his interruption. the lieutenant was prepared, and at once replied to the interrogatory with the easy, blunt air of one who not only felt that he might be confided in, but who was then in the strict performance of his duties. "i came at your own call, captain. i have just returned from the river, and skirting down in that quarter, and was kept something later than i looked for; hearing, on my arrival, that you had been inquiring for me, i did not hesitate to present myself at once, not knowing but the business might be pressing." "it is pressing," responded the outlaw, seemingly well satisfied with the tacit apology. "it is pressing, dillon, and you will have little time for rest before starting again. i myself have been riding all night, and shall be off in another hour. but what have you to report? what's in the wind now?" "i hear but little, sir. there is some talk about a detachment of the georgia guard, something like a hundred men, to be sent out expressly for our benefit; but i look upon this as a mistake. their eye is rather upon the miners, and the indian gold lands and those who dig it, and not upon those who merely take it after it is gathered. i have heard, too, of something like a brush betwixt fullam's troop and the miners at tracy's diggings, but no particulars, except that the guard got the worst of it." "on that point i am already advised. that is well for us, since it will turn the eye of the authorities in a quarter in which we have little to do. i had some hand in that scrape myself, and set the dogs on with this object; and it is partly on this matter that i would confer with you, since there are some few of our men in the village who had large part in it, who must not be hazarded, and must yet stay there." "if the brush was serious, captain, that will be a matter of some difficulty; for of late, there has been so much of our business done, that government, i believe, has some thought of taking it up, and in order to do so without competition, will think of putting us down. uncle sam and the states, too, are quarrelling in the business, and, as i hear, there is like to be warm work between them. the georgians are quite hot on the subject, and go where i will, they talk of nothing else than hanging the president, the indians, and all the judges. they are brushing up their rifles, and they speak out plain." "the more sport for us--but this is all idle. it will all end in talk, and whether it do or not, we, at least, have nothing to do with it. but, there is drink--fill--and let us look to business before either of us sleep." the lieutenant did as suggested by rivers, who, rising from his seat, continued for some time to pace the apartment, evidently in deep meditation. he suddenly paused, at length, and resuming his seat, inquired of dillon as to the manner in which he had been employed through the last few days. a narration, not necessary to repeat, followed from the officer in which the numerous petty details of frontier irregularity made up the chief material. plots and counterplots were rife in his story, and more than once the outlaw interrupted his officer in the hope of abridging the petty particulars of some of their attenuated proportions--an aim not always successful, since, among the numerous virtues of lieutenant dillon, that of precision and niceness in his statements must not be omitted. to this narration, however, though called for by himself, the superior yielded but little attention, until he proceed to describe the adventure of the night, resulting so unsuccessfully, with the emigrating farmer. when he described the persons of the two strangers, so unexpectedly lending their aid in defence of the traveller, a new interest was awakened in the features and mariner of his auditor, who here suddenly and with energy interrupted him, to make inquiries with regard to their dress and appearance, which not a little surprised dillon, who had frequently experienced the aversion of his superior to all seemingly unnecessary minutiae. having been satisfied on these points, the outlaw rose, and pacing the apartment with slow steps, seemed to meditate some design which the narrative had suggested. suddenly pausing, at length, as if all the necessary lights had shone in upon his deliberations at once, he turned to dillon, who stood in silent waiting, and thus proceeded:-- "i have it," said he, half-musingly, "i have it, dillon--it must be so. how far, say you, is it from the place where the man--what's his name--encamped last night?" "nine or ten miles, perhaps, or more." "and you know his route for to-day?" "there is now but one which he can take, pursuing the route which he does." "and upon that he will not go more than fifteen or twenty miles in the day. but not so with _him_--not so with _him_. he will scarcely be content to move at that pace, and there will be no hope in that way to overtake him." rivers spoke in soliloquy, and dillon, though accustomed to many of the mental irregularities of his superior, exhibited something like surprise as he looked upon the lowering brows and unwonted indecision of the outlaw. "of whom does the captain speak?" was his inquiry. "of _whom?_--of _him_--of _him_!" was the rather abrupt response of the superior, who seemed to regard the ignorance of his lieutenant as to the object in view, with almost as much wonder as that worthy entertained at the moment for the hallucinations of his captain. "of whom should i speak--of whom should i think but the one--accursed, fatal and singular, who--" and he stopped short, while his mind, now comprehending the true relationship between himself and the person beside him, which, in his moody self-examination, he had momentarily forgotten, proceeded to his designs with all his wonted coherence. "i wander, dillon, and am half-asleep. the fact is, i am almost worn out with this unslumbering motion. i have not been five hours out of the saddle in the last twenty-four, and it requires something more of rest, if i desire to do well what i have on hand--what, indeed, we both have on hand." there was something apologetic in the manner, if not in the language, of the speaker; and his words seemed to indicate, if possible, an excuse for the incoherence of his address, in the physical fatigue which he had undergone--in this way to divert suspicion from those mental causes of excitement, of which, in the present situation, he felt somewhat ashamed. pouring out a glass of liquor, and quaffing it without pause, he motioned to the lieutenant to do the same--a suggestion not possible for that person to misunderstand--and then proceeded to narrate such portions of the late occurrences in and about the village as it was necessary he should know. he carefully suppressed his own agency in any of these events, for, with the policy of the ancient, he had learned, at an early period in his life, to treat his friend as if he might one day become his enemy; and, so far as such a resolution might consistently be maintained, while engaged in such an occupation as his, he rigidly observed it. "the business, dillon, which i want you to execute, and to which you will give all your attention, is difficult and troublesome, and requires ingenuity. mark forrester was killed last night, as is supposed, in a fray with a youth named colleton, like himself a carolinian. if such is not the opinion yet, i am determined such shall be the opinion; and have made arrangements by which the object will be attained. of course the murderer should be taken, and i have reasons to desire that this object too should be attained. it is on this business, then, that you are to go. you must be the officer to take him." "but where is he? if within reach, you know there is no difficulty." "hear me; there is difficulty though he is within reach. he is one of the men whom you found with the old farmer you would otherwise have attacked last night. there is difficulty, for he will fight like a wild beast, and stick to his ground like a rattlesnake; and, supported by the old fellow whom you found him with, he will be able to resist almost any force which you could muster on the emergency. the only fear i have is, that being well-mounted, he will not keep with the company, but as they must needs travel slowly, he will go on and leave them." "should it not rather be a source of satisfaction than otherwise--will it not put him more completely at our disposal?" "no; for having so much the start of you, and a good animal, he will soon leave all pursuit behind him. there is a plan which i have been thinking of, and which will be the very thing, if at once acted upon. you know the sheriff, maxson, lives on the same road; you must take two of the men with you, pick fresh and good horses, set off to maxson's at once with a letter which i shall give you, and he will make you special deputies for the occasion of this young man's arrest. i have arranged it so that the suspicion shall take the shape of a legal warrant, sufficient to authorize his arrest and detention. the proof of his offence will be matter of after consideration." "but will maxson do this--may he not refuse? you know he has been once before threatened with being brought up for his leaning toward us, in that affair of the indian chief, enakamon." "he can not--he dare not refuse!" said the outlaw, rising impatiently. "he holds his place and his life at my disposal, and he knows it. he will not venture to refuse me!" "he has been very scrupulous of late in all his dealings with us, you know, and has rather kept out of our way. besides that, he has been thorough-going at several camp-meetings lately, and, when a man begins to appear over-honest, i think it high time he should be looked after by all parties." "you are right, dillon, you are right. i should not trust it to paper either. i will go myself. but you shall along with me, and on the way i will put you in a train for bringing out certain prisoners whom it is necessary that we should secure before the sitting of the court, and until it is over. they might be foolish enough to convict themselves of being more honest than their neighbors, and it is but humane to keep them from the commission of an impropriety. give orders for the best two of your troop, and have horses saddled for all four of us. we must be on the road." dillon did as directed, and returned to the conference, which was conducted, on the part of his superior, with a degree of excitation, mingled with a sharp asperity of manner, something unwonted for him in the arranging of any mere matter of business. "maxson will not refuse us; if he do, i will hang him by my saddle-straps. the scoundrel owes his election to our votes, and shall he refuse us what we ask? he knows his fate too well to hesitate. and then, dillon, when you have his commission for the arrest of this boy, spare not the spur: secure him at all hazards of horseflesh or personal inconvenience. he will not resist the laws, or anything having their semblance; nor, indeed, has he any reason--" "no reason, sir! why, did you not say he had killed forrester?" inquired his companion. "your memory is sharp, master lieutenant; i did say, and i say so still. but he affects to think not, and i should not be at all surprised if he not only deny it to you, but in reality disbelieve it himself. have you not heard of men who have learned in time to believe the lies of their own invention? why not men doubt the truth of their own doings? there are such men, and he may he one of them. he may deny stoutly and solemnly the charge, but let him not deceive you or baffle your pursuit. we shall prove it upon him, and he shall hang, dillon--ay, hang, hang, hang--though it be under her very eyes!" it was in this way that, in the progress of the dialogue which took place between the chief and his subordinate, the rambling malignity would break through the cooler counsels of the villain, and dark glimpses of the mystery of the transaction would burst upon the senses of the latter. rivers had the faculty, however, of never exhibiting too much of himself; and when hurried on by a passion seemingly too fierce and furious for restraint, he would suddenly curb himself in, while a sharp and scornful smile would curl his lips, as if he felt a consciousness, not only of his own powers of command, but of his impenetrability to all analysis. the horses being now ready, the outlaw, buckling on his pistols, and hiding his dirk in his bosom, threw a huge cloak over his shoulders, which fully concealed his person; and, in company with his lieutenant, and two stout men of his band, all admirably and freshly mounted, they proceeded to the abode of the sheriff. this man, connected, though secretly, with rivers and munro, was indebted to them and the votes which in that region they could throw into the boxes, for his elevation to the office which he held, and was, as might reasonably have been expected, a mere creature under their management. maxson, of late days, however, whether from a reasonable apprehension, increasing duly with increasing years, that he might become at last so involved in the meshes of those crimes of his colleagues, from which, while he was compelled to share the risk, he was denied in great part the profit, had grown scrupulous--had avoided as much as possible their connexion; and, the better to strengthen himself in the increasing favor of public opinion, had taken advantage of all those externals of morality and virtue which, unhappily, too frequently conceal qualities at deadly hostility with them. he had, in the popular phrase of the country, "got religion;" and, like the worthy reformers of the cromwell era, everything which he did, and everything which he said, had scripture for its authority. psalm-singing commenced and ended the day in his house, and graces before meat and graces before sleep, prayers and ablutions, thanksgivings and fastings, had so much thinned the animal necessities of his household, that a domestic war was the consequence, and the sheriff and the sheriff's lady held separate sway, having equally divided the dwelling between them, and ruling each their respective sovereignties with a most jealous watchfulness. all rights, not expressly delegated in the distribution of powers originally, were insisted on even to blood; and the arbitration of the sword, or rather the poker, once appealed to, most emphatically, by the sovereign of the gentler sex, had cut off the euphonious utterance of one of the choicest paraphrases of sternhold and hopkins in the middle; and by bruising the scull of the reformed and reforming sheriff, had nearly rendered a new election necessary to the repose and well-being of the county in which they lived. but the worthy convert recovered, to the sore discomfiture of his spouse, and to the comfort and rejoicing of all true believers. the breach in his head was healed, but that which separated his family remained the same-- "as rocks that had been rent asunder." they knew the fellowship of man and wife only in so much as was absolutely essential to the keeping up of appearances to the public eye--a matter necessary to maintaining her lord in the possession of his dignity; which, as it conferred honor and profit, through him, upon her also, it was of necessity a part of her policy to continue. there had been a brush--a small gust had passed over that fair region of domestic harmony--on the very morning upon which the outlaw and his party rode up the untrimmed and half-overgrown avenue, which led to the house of the writ-server. there had been an amiable discussion between the two, as to which of them, with propriety, belonged the duty of putting on the breeches of their son tommy, preparatory to his making his appearance at the breakfast-table. some extraneous influence had that morning prompted the sheriff to resist the performance of a task which had now for some time been imposed upon him, and for which, therefore, there was the sanction of prescription and usage. it was an unlucky moment for the assertion of his manhood: for, a series of circumstances operating just about that time unfavorably upon the mind of his wife, she was in the worst possible humor upon which to try experiments. she heard the refusal of her liege to do the required duty, therefore, with an astonishment, not unmingled with a degree of pleasure, as it gave a full excuse for the venting forth upon him of those splenetic humors, which, for some time, had been growing and gathering in her system. the little sheriff, from long attendance on _courts_ and _camps_, had acquired something more, perhaps, of the desire and disposition, than the capacity, to make long speeches and longer sermons, in the performance of both of which labors, however, he was admirably fortified by the technicals of the law, and the bible phraseology. the quarrel had been waged for some time, and poor tommy, the bone of contention, sitting all the while between the contending parties in a state of utter nudity, kept up a fine running accompaniment to the full tones of the wranglers, by crying bitterly for his breeches. for the first time for a long period of years, the lady found her powers of tongue fail in the proposed effect upon the understanding of her loving and legal lord; and knowing but of one other way to assail it, her hand at length grappling with the stool, from which she tumbled the breechless babe without scruple, seized upon an argument to which her adversary could oppose neither text nor technical; when, fortunately for him, the loud rapping of their early visiters at the outer door of the dwelling interposed between her wrath and its object, and spared the life of the devout sheriff for other occurrences. bundling the naked child out of sight, the mother rushed into an inner apartment, shaking the stool in the pale countenance of her lord as she retreated, in a manner and with a look which said, as plainly as words could say, that this temporary delay would only sharpen her appetite for vengeance, and exaggerate its terrors when the hour did arrive. it was with a hesitating step and wobegone countenance, therefore, that the officer proceeded to his parlor, where a no less troublesome, but less awkward trial awaited him. [transcriber's note: a chapter number was skipped in the original book.] chapter xxix. arrest. the high-sheriff made his appearance before his early and well-known visiters with a desperate air of composure and unconcern, the effort to attain which was readily perceptible to his companions. he could not, in the first place, well get rid of those terrors of the domestic world from which their interruption had timely shielded him; nor, on the other hand, could he feel altogether assured that the visit now paid him would not result in the exaction of some usurious interest. he had recently, as we have said, as much through motives of worldly as spiritual policy, become an active religionist, in a small way, in and about the section of country in which he resided; and knowing that his professions were in some sort regarded with no small degree of doubt and suspicion by some of his brethren holding the same faith, he felt the necessity of playing a close and cautious game in all his practices. he might well be apprehensive, therefore, of the visits of those who never came but as so many omens of evil, and whose claims upon, and perfect knowledge of, his true character, were such, that he felt himself, in many respects, most completely at their mercy. rivers did not give much time to preliminaries, but, after a few phrases of commonplace, coming directly to the point, he stated the business in hand, and demanded the assistance of the officer of justice for the arrest of one of its fugitives. there were some difficulties of form in the matter, which saved the sheriff in part, and which the outlaw had in great part over looked. a warrant of arrest was necessary from some officer properly empowered to issue one, and a new difficulty was thus presented in the way of colleton's pursuit. the sheriff had not the slightest objections to making deputies of the persons recommended by the outlaw, provided they were fully empowered to execute the commands of some judicial officer; beyond this, the scrupulous executioner of justice was unwilling to go; and having stood out so long in the previous controversy with his spouse, it was wonderful what a vast stock of audacious courage he now felt himself entitled, and ventured, to manifest. "i can not do it, master guy--it's impossible--seeing, in the first place, that i ha'n't any right by the laws to issue any warrant, though it's true, i has to serve them. then, agin, in the next place, 'twont do for another reason that's jist as good, you see. it's only the other day, master guy, that the fear of the lord come upon me, and i got religion; and now i've set myself up as a worker in other courts, you see, than those of man; and there be eyes around me that would see, and hearts to rejoice at the backslidings of the poor laborer. howbeit, master guy, i am not the man to forget old sarvice; and if it be true that this man has been put to death in this manner, though i myself can do nothing at this time, i may put you in the way--for the sake of old time, and for the sake of justice, which requires that the slayer of his brother should also be slain--of having your wish." though something irritated still at the reluctance of his former creature to lend himself without scruple to his purposes, the outlaw did not hesitate to accept the overture, and to press for its immediate accomplishment. he had expostulated with the sheriff for some time on the point, and, baffled and denied, he was very glad, at the conclusion of the dialogue with that worthy, to find that there was even so much of a prospect of concert, though falling far short of his original anticipations, from that quarter. he was too well aware, also, of the difficulty in the way of any proceeding without something savoring of authority in the matter; for, from a previous and rather correct estimate of colleton's character, he well foresaw that, knowing his enemy, he would fight to the last against an arrest; which, under the forms of law and with the sanction of a known officer, he would otherwise readily recognise and submit to. seizing, therefore, upon the speech of the sheriff, rivers eagerly availed himself of its opening to obtain those advantages in the affair, of which, from the canting spirit and newly-awakened morality of his late coadjutor, he had utterly begun to despair. he proceeded to reply to the suggestion as follows:-- "i suppose, i must content myself, maxson, with doing in this thing as you say, though really i see not why you should now be so particular, for there are not ten men in the county who are able to determine upon any of your powers, or who would venture to measure their extent. let us hear your plan, and i suppose it will be effectual in our object, and this is all i want. all i desire is, that our people, you know, should not be murdered by strangers without rhyme or reason." the sheriff knew well the hypocrisy of the sentiment with which rivers concluded, but made no remark. a single smile testified his knowledge of the nature of his colleague, and indicated his suspicion of a deeper and different motive for this new activity. approaching the outlaw closely, he asked, in a half whisper:-- "who was the witness of the murder--who could swear for the magistrate? you must get somebody to do that." this was another point which rivers, in his impatience, had not thought to consider. but fruitful in expedient, his fertile mind suggested that ground of suspicion was all that the law required for apprehension at least, and having already arranged that the body of the murdered man should be found under certain circumstances, he contented himself with procuring commissions, as deputies, for his two officers, and posted away to the village. here, as he anticipated, the intelligence had already been received--the body of forrester had been found, and sufficient ground for suspicion to authorize a warrant was recognised in the dirk of the youth, which, smeared with blood as it had been left by rivers, had been found upon the body. rivers had but little to do. he contrived, however, to do nothing himself. the warrant of pippin, as magistrate, was procured, and the two officers commissioned by the sheriff went off in pursuit of the supposed murderer, against whom the indignation of all the village was sufficiently heightened by the recollection of the close intimacy existing between ralph and forrester, and the nobly characteristic manner in which the latter had volunteered to do his fighting with rivers. the murdered man had, independent of this, no small popularity of his own, which brought out for him a warm and active sympathy highly creditable to his memory. old allen, too, suffered deeply, not less on his own than his daughter's account. she, poor girl, had few words, and her sorrow, silent, if not tearless, was confined to the solitude of her own chamber. in the prosecution of the affair against ralph, there was but one person whose testimony could have availed him, and that person was lucy munro. as the chief particular in evidence, and that which established the strong leading presumption against him, consisted in the discovery of his dagger alongside the body of the murdered man, and covered with his blood; it was evident that she who could prove the loss of the dagger by the youth, and its finding by munro, prior to the event, and unaccompanied by any tokens of crime, would not only be able to free the person suspected, at least from this point of suspicion, but would be enabled to place its burden elsewhere, and with the most conclusive distinctness. this was a dilemma which rivers and munro did not fail to consider. the private deliberation, for an hour, of the two conspirators, determined upon the course which for mutual safety they were required to pursue; and munro gave his niece due notice to prepare for an immediate departure with her aunt and himself, on some plausible pretence, to another portion of the country. to such a suggestion, as lucy knew not the object, she offered no objection; and a secret departure was effected of the three, who, after a lonely ride of several hours through a route circuitously chosen to mislead, were safely brought to the sheltered and rocky abiding-place of the robbers, as we have already described it. marks of its offensive features, however, had been so modified as not to occasion much alarm. the weapons of war had been studiously put out of sight, and apartments, distinct from those we have seen, partly the work of nature, and partly of man, were assigned for the accommodation of the new-comers. the outlaws had their instructions, and did not appear, though lurking and watching around in close and constant neighborhood. nor, in this particular alone, had the guilty parties made due provision for their future safety. the affair of the guard had made more stir than had been anticipated in the rash moment which had seen its consummation; and their advices warned them of the approach of a much larger force of state troops, obedient to the direction of the district-attorney, than they could well contend with. they determined, therefore, prudently for themselves, to keep as much out of the way of detection as they could; and to avoid those risks upon which a previous conference had partially persuaded them to adventure. they were also apprized of the greater excitement attending the fate of forrester, than could possibly have followed the death, in his place, of the contemplated victim; and, adopting a habit of caution, heretofore but little considered in that region, they prepared for all hazards, and, at the same time, tacitly determined upon the suspension of their numerous atrocities--at least, while a controlling force was in the neighborhood. previous impunity had led them so far, that at length the neighboring country was aroused, and all the better classes, taking advantage of the excitement, grew bolder in the expression of their anger against those who had beset them so long. the sheriff, maxson, had been something tutored by these influences, or, it had been fair to surmise that his scruples would have been less difficult to overcome. in the meantime, the pursuit of ralph colleton, as the murderer of forrester, had been hotly urged by the officers. the pursuers knew the route, and having the control of new horses as they proceeded, at frequent intervals, gained of course at every step upon the unconscious travellers. we have seen the latter retiring to repose at a late hour of the night. under the several fatigues which all parties had undergone, it is not strange that the sun should have arisen some little time before those who had not retired quite so early as himself. at a moderately late hour they breakfasted together--the family of the wagoner, and ralph, and our old friend the pedler. pursuing the same route, the two latter, after the repast, separated, with many acknowledgments on both sides, from the emigrating party, and pursued their way together. on their road, bunce gave the youth a long and particular account of all those circumstances at the village-inn by which he had been deprived of his chattels, and congratulated himself not a little on the adroit thought which had determined him to retain the good steed of the lawyer pippin in lieu of his losses. he spoke of it as quite a clever and creditable performance, and one as fully deserving the golden honors of the medal as many of those doings which are so rewarded. on this point his companion said little; and though he could not altogether comprehend the propriety of the pedler's morals, he certainly did not see but that the necessity and pressing danger of his situation somewhat sanctioned the deceit. he suggested this idea to bunce, but when he came to talk of the propriety of returning the animal the moment he was fairly in safety, the speculator failed entirely to perceive the moral of his philosophy. the sheriff's officers came upon the wagoner a few hours after the two had separated from him. the intelligence received from him quickened their pace, and toward noon they descried our travellers ascending a hill a few hundred yards in advance of them. a repeated application of the spur brought them together, and, as had been anticipated by rivers, ralph offered not the slightest objection, when once satisfied of the legality of his arrest, to becoming their prisoner. but the consternation of bunce was inexpressible. he endeavored to shelter himself in the adjoining woods, and was quietly edging his steed into the covert for that purpose, on the first alarm, but was not permitted by the sharp eyes and ready unscrupulosity of the robber representatives of the law. they had no warrant, it is true, for the arrest of any other person than "the said ralph colleton"--but the unlucky color of pippin's horse, and their perfect knowledge of the animal, readily identifying him, did the business for the pedler. under the custody of the laws, therefore, we behold the youth retracing his ground, horror-stricken at the death of forrester--indignant at the suspicions entertained of himself as the murderer, but sanguine of the result, and firm and fearless as ever. not so bunce: there were cruel visions in his sight of seven-sided pine-rails--fierce regulators--lynch's law, and all that rude and terrible sort of punishment, which is studiously put in force in those regions for the enjoyment of evil-doers. the next day found them both securely locked up in the common jail of chestatee. chapter xxx. chub williams. the young mind of colleton, excursive as it was, could scarcely realize to itself the strange and rapidly-succeeding changes of the last few days. self-exiled from the dwelling in which so much of his heart and hope had been stored up--a wanderer among the wandering--assaulted by ruffians--the witness of their crimes--pursued by the officers of justice, and finally the tenant of a prison, as a criminal himself! after the first emotions of astonishment and vexation had subsided--ignorant of the result of this last adventure, and preparing for the worst--he called for pen and paper, and briefly, to his uncle, recounted his adventures, as we have already related them, partially acknowledging his precipitance in departing from his house, but substantially insisting upon the propriety of those grounds which had made him do so. to edith, what could he say? nothing--everything. his letter to her, enclosed in that to her uncle, was just such as might be expected from one with a character such as we have endeavored to describe--that of the genuine aristocrat of carolina--gentle, but firm--soothing, but manly--truly, but loftily affectionate--the rock touched, if not softened by the sunbeam; warm and impetuous, but generally just in his emotions--liberal in his usual estimate of mankind, and generous, to a fault, in all his associations;--ignorant of any value in money, unless for high purposes--as subservient to taste and civilization--a graceful humanity and an honorable affection. with a tenderness the most respectful, ralph reiterated his love--prayed for her prayers--frankly admitted his error in his abrupt flight, and freely promised atonement as soon as he should be freed from his difficulties; an event which, in speaking to her, he doubted not. this duty over, his mind grew somewhat relieved, and, despatching a note by the jailer's deputy to the lawyer pippin, he desired immediately to see him. pippin had looked for such an invitation, and was already in attendance. his regrets were prodigious, but his gratification not less, as it would give him an opportunity, for some time desired, for serving so excellent a gentleman. but the lawyer shook his head with most professional uncertainty at every step of his own narration of the case, and soon convinced ralph that he really stood in a very awkward predicament. he described the situation of the body of forrester when found; the bloody dirk which lay beside it, having the initials of his name plainly carved upon it; his midnight flight; his close companionship with forrester on the evening of the night in which he had been murdered--a fact proved by old allen and his family; the intimate freedom with which forrester had been known to confide his purposes to the youth, deducible from the joint call which they had made upon the sweetheart of the former; and many other smaller details, unimportant in themselves, but linked together with the rest of the particulars, strengthening the chain of circumstances against him to a degree which rendered it improbable that he should escape conviction. pippin sought, however, to console his client, and, after the first development of particulars, the natural buoyancy of the youth returned. he was not disposed readily to despair, and his courage and confidence rose with the pressure of events. he entered into a plain story of all the particulars of his flight--the instrumentality of miss munro in that transaction, and which she could explain, in such a manner as to do away with any unfavorable impression which that circumstance, of itself, might create. touching the dagger, he could say nothing. he had discovered its loss, but knew not at what time he had lost it. the manner in which it had been found was, of course, fatal, unless the fact which he alleged of its loss could be established; and of this the consulting parties saw no hope. still, they did not despair, but proceeded to the task of preparing the defence for the day of trial, which was at hand. the technical portions of the case were managed by the lawyer, who issued his subpoenas--made voluminous notes--wrote out the exordium of his speech--and sat up all night committing it to memory. having done all that the occasion called for in his interview with ralph, the lawyer proceeded to visit, uncalled-for, one whom he considered a far greater criminal than his client. the cell to which the luckless pedler, bunce, had been carried, was not far from that of the former, and the rapid step of the lawyer soon overcame the distance between. never was man seemingly so glad to see his neighbor as was bunce, on this occasion, to look upon pippin. his joy found words of the most honeyed description for his visiter, and his delight was truly infectious. the lawyer was delighted too, but his satisfaction was of a far different origin. he had now some prospect of getting back his favorite steed--that fine animal, described by him elsewhere to the pedler, as docile as the dog, and fleet as the deer. he had heard of the safety of his horse, and his anger with the pedler had undergone some abatement; but, with the consciousness of power common to inferior minds, came a strong desire for its use. he knew that the pedler had been guilty in a legal sense of no crime, and could only be liable in a civil action for his breach of trust. but he suspected that the dealer in wares was ignorant of the advantageous distinctions in morals which the law had made, and consequently amused himself with playing upon the fears of the offender. he put on a countenance of much commiseration, and, drawing a long sigh, regretted the necessity which had brought him to prepare the mind of his old friend for the last terrors of justice. but bunce was not a man easily frightened. as he phrased it himself, he had been quite too long knocking about among men to be scared by shadows, and replied stoutly--though really with some internal misgivings--to the lachrymalities of the learned counsel. he gave him to understand that, if he got into difficulty, he knew some other persons whom his confessions would make uncomfortable; and hinted pretty directly at certain practices of a certain professional gentleman, which, though the pedler knew nothing of the technical significant might yet come under the head of barratry, and so forth. the lawyer was the more timid man of the two, and found it necessary to pare down his potency. he soon found it profitable to let the matter rest, and having made arrangements with the pedler for bringing suit for damages against two of the neighboring farmers concerned in the demolition of his wares--who, happening to be less guilty than their accessaries, had ventured to remain in the country--bunce found no difficulty in making his way out of the prison. there had been no right originally to detain him; but the consciousness of guilt, and some other ugly misgivings, had so relaxed the nerves of the tradesman, that he had never thought to inquire if his name were included in the warrant of arrest. it is probable that his courage and confidence would have been far less than they appear at present, had not pippin assured him that the regulators were no longer to be feared; that the judge had arrived; that the grand-jury had found bills against several of the offenders, and were still engaged in their labors; that a detachment of the state military had been ordered to the station; and that things looked as civil as it was altogether possible for such warlike exhibition to allow. it is surprising to think how fearlessly uncompromising was the conduct of bunce under this new condition of affairs. but the pedler, in his own release from custody, was not forgetful of his less-fortunate companion. he was a frequent visiter in the dungeon of ralph colleton; bore all messages between the prisoner and his counsel; and contributed, by his shrewd knowledge of human kind, not a little to the material out of which his defence was to be made. he suggested the suspicion, never before entertained by the youth, or entertained for a moment only, that his present arrest was the result of a scheme purposely laid with a reference to this end; and did not scruple to charge upon rivers the entire management of the matter. ralph could only narrate what he knew of the malignant hatred of the outlaw to himself--another fact which none but lucy munro could establish. her evidence, however, would only prove rivers to have meditated one crime; it would not free him from the imputation of having committed another. still, so much was important, and casualties were to be relied upon for the rest. but what was the horror of all parties when it was known that neither lucy nor any of the landlord's family were to be found! the process of subpoena was returned, and the general opinion was, that alarmed at the approach of the military in such force, and confident that his agency in the late transactions could not long remain concealed in the possession of so many, though guilty like himself, munro had fled to the west. the mental agony of the youth, when thus informed, can not well he conceived. he was, for a time, utterly prostrate, and gave himself up to despair. the entreaties of the pedler, and the counsels and exhortings of the lawyer, failed equally to enliven him; and they had almost come to adopt his gloomy resignation, when, as he sat on his low bench, with head drooping on his hand, a solitary glance of sunshine fell through the barred window--the only one assigned to his cell. the smile of god himself that solitary ray appeared to the diseased spirit of the youth, and he grew strong in an instant. talk of the lessons of the learned, and the reasonings of the sage!--a vagrant breeze, a rippling water, a glance of the sweet sunlight, have more of consolation in them for the sad heart than all the pleadings of philosophy. they bring the missives of a higher teacher. bunce was an active coadjutor with the lawyer in this melancholy case. he made all inquiries--he went everywhere. he searched in all places, and spared no labor; but at length despaired. nothing could be elicited by his inquiries, and he ceased to hope himself, and ceased to persuade ralph into hope. the lawyer shook his head in reply to all questions, and put on a look of mystery which is the safety-valve to all swollen pretenders. in this state of affairs, taking the horse of the youth, with a last effort at discoveries, bunce rode forth into the surrounding country. he had heretofore taken all the common routes, to which, in his previous intercourse with the people, he had been accustomed; he now determined to strike into a path scarcely perceptible, and one which he never remembered to have seen before. he followed, mile after mile, its sinuosities. it was a wild, and, seemingly, an untrodden region. the hills shot up jaggedly from the plain around him--the fissures were rude and steep--more like embrasures, blown out by sudden power from the solid rock. where the forest appeared, it was dense and intricate--abounding in brush and underwood; where it was deficient, the blasted heath chosen by the witches in macbeth would have been no unfit similitude. hopeless of human presence in this dreary region, the pedler yet rode on, as if to dissipate the unpleasant thoughts, following upon his frequent disappointment. suddenly, however, a turn in the winding path brought him in contact with a strange-looking figure, not more than five feet in height, neither boy nor man, uncouthly habited, and seemingly one to whom all converse but that of the trees and rocks, during his whole life, had been unfamiliar. the reader has already heard something of the cherokee pony--it was upon one of these animals he rode. they are a small, but compactly made and hardy creature--of great fortitude, stubborn endurance, and an activity, which, in the travel of day after day, will seldom subside from the gallop. it was the increasing demand for these animals that had originally brought into existence and exercise a company, which, by a transition far from uncommon, passed readily from the plundering of horses to the cutting of throats and purses; scarcely discriminating in their reckless rapacity between the several degrees of crime in which such a practice involved them. though somewhat uncouth in appearance, the new-comer seemed decidedly harmless--nay, almost idiotic in appearance. his smile was pleasant, though illuminating features of the ruggedest description, and the tones of his voice were even musical in the ears of the pedler, to whom any voice would probably have seemed so in that gloomy region. he very sociably addressed bunce in the _patois_ of that section; and the ceremonial of introduction, without delay or difficulty, was overcome duly on both sides. in the southern wilderness, indeed, it does not call for much formality, nor does a strict adherence to the received rules of etiquette become at all necessary, to make the traveller "hail fellow, well met." anything in that quarter, savoring of reserve or stiffness, is punished with decided hostility or openly-avowed contempt; and, in the more rude regions, the refusal to partake in the very social employments of wrestling or whiskey-drinking, has brought the scrupulous personage to the more questionable enjoyments of a regular gouging match and fight. a demure habit is the most unpopular among all classes. freedom of manner, on the other hand, obtains confidence readily, and the heart is won, at once, by an off-handed familiarity of demeanor, which fails to recognise any inequalities in human condition. the society and the continued presence of nature, as it were, in her own peculiar abode, put aside all merely conventional distinctions, and men meet upon a common footing. thus, even when perfect strangers to one another, after the usual preliminaries of "how are you, friend," or "strannger?"--"_whar_ from?"--"_whar_ going?"--"fair" or "foul weather"--as the case may be--the acquaintance is established, and familiarity well begun. such was the case in the present instance. bunce knew the people well, and exhibited his most unreluctant manner. the horses of the two, in like manner with their masters, made similar overtures; and in a little while, their necks were drawn in parallel lines together. bunce was less communicative, however, than the stranger. still his head and heart, alike, were full, and he talked more freely than was altogether consistent with his yankee character. he told of ralph's predicament, and the clown sympathized; he narrated the quest which had brought him forth, and of his heretofore unrewarded labors; concluded with naming the ensuing monday as the day of the youth's trial, when, if nothing in the meantime could be discovered of the true criminal--for the pedler never for a moment doubted that ralph was innocent--he "mortally feared things would go agin him." "that will be hard, too--a mighty tough difficulty, now, strannger--to be hanged for other folks' doings. but, i reckon, he'll have to make up his mind to it." "oh, no! don't say so, now, my friend, i beg you. what makes you think so?" said the anxious pedler. "why, only from what i _heer'd_ you say. you said so yourself, and i believed it as if i had seed it," was the reply of the simple countryman. "oh, yes. it's but a poor chance with him now, i guess. i'd a notion that i could find out some little particular, you see--" "no, i don't see." "to be sure you don't, but that's my say. everybody has a say, you know." "no, i don't know." "to be sure, of course you don't know, but that's what i tell you. now you must know--" "don't say _must_ to me, strannger, if you want that we shall keep hands off. i don't let any man say _must_ to me." "no harm, my friend--i didn't mean no harm," said the worried pedler, not knowing what to make of his acquaintance, who spoke shrewdly at times, but occasionally in a speech, which awakened the doubts of the pedler as to the safety of his wits. avoiding all circumlocution of phrase, and dropping the "you sees," and "you knows" from his narration, he proceeded to state his agency in procuring testimony for the youth, and of the ill-success which had hitherto attended him. at length, in the course of his story, which he contrived to tell with as much caution as came within the scope of his education, he happened to speak of lucy munro; but had scarcely mentioned her name when his queer companion interrupted him:-- "look you, strannger, i'll lick you now, off-hand, if you don't put miss for a handle to the gal's name. she's miss lucy. don't i know her, and han't i seen her, and isn't it i, chub williams, as they calls me, that loves the very airth she treads?" "you know miss lucy?" inquired the pedler, enraptured even at this moderate discovery, though carefully coupling the prefix to her name while giving it utterance--"now, do you know miss lucy, friend, and will you tell me where i can find her?" "do you think i will, and you may be looking arter her too? 'drot my old hat, strannger, but i do itch to git at you." "oh, now, mr. williams--" "i won't answer to that name. call me chub williams, if you wants to be perlite. mother always calls me chub, and that's the reason i like it." "well, chub,"--said the other, quite paternally--"i assure you i don't love miss munro--and--" "what! you don't love miss lucy. why, everybody ought to love her. now, if you don't love her, i'll hammer you, strannger, off hand." the poor pedler professed a proper sort of love for the young lady--not exactly such as would seek her for a wife, however, and succeeded in satisfying, after a while, the scruples of one who, in addition to deformity, he also discovered to labor under the more serious curse of partial idiocy. having done this, and flattered, in sundry other ways, the peculiarities of his companion, he pursued his other point with laudable pertinacity. he at length got from chub his own history: how he had run into the woods with his mother, who had suffered from the ill-treatment of her husband: how, with his own industry, he had sustained her wants, and supplied her with all the comforts which a long period had required; and how, dying at length, she had left him--the forest boy--alone, to pursue those toils which heretofore had an object, while she yielded him in return for them society and sympathy. these particulars, got from him in a manner the most desultory, were made to preface the more important parts of the narrative. it appears that his harmlessness had kept him undisturbed, even by the wild marauders of that region, and that he still continued to procure a narrow livelihood by his woodland labors, and sought no association with that humanity which, though among fellow-creatures, would still have lacked of fellowship for him. in the transfer of lucy from the village to the shelter of the outlaws, he had obtained a glimpse of her person and form, and had ever since been prying in the neighborhood for a second and similar enjoyment. he now made known to the pedler her place of concealment, which he had, some time before this event, himself discovered; but which, through dread of rivers, for whom he seemed to entertain an habitual fear, he had never ventured to penetrate. "well, i must see her," exclaimed bunce. "i a'n't afraid, 'cause you see, mr. williams--chub, i mean, it's only justice, and to save the poor young gentleman's life. i'm sure i oughtn't to be afraid, and no more i a'n't. won't you go there with me, chub?" "can't think of it, strannger. guy is a dark man, and mother said i must keep away when he rode in the woods. guy don't talk--he shoots." the pedler made sundry efforts to procure a companion for his adventure; but finding it vain, and determined to do right, he grew more resolute with the necessity, and, contenting himself with claiming the guidance of chub, he went boldly on the path. having reached a certain point in the woods, after a very circuitous departure from the main track, the guide pointed out to the pedler a long and rude ledge of rocks, so rude, so wild, that none could have ever conjectured to find them the abode of anything but the serpent and the wolf. but there, according to the idiot, was lucy munro concealed. chub gave the pedler his directions, then alighting from his nag, which he concealed in a clump of neighboring brush, hastily and with the agility of a monkey ran up a neighboring tree which overhung the prospect. bunce, left alone, grew somewhat staggered with his fears. he now half-repented of the self-imposed adventure; wondered at his own rash humanity, and might perhaps have utterly forborne the trial, but for a single consideration. his pride was concerned, that the deformed chub should not have occasion to laugh at his weakness. descending, therefore, from his horse, he fastened him to the hanging branch of a neighboring tree, and with something of desperate defiance in his manner, resolutely advanced to the silent and forbidding mass of rocks, which rose up so sullenly around him. in another moment, and he was lost to sight in the gloomy shadow of the entrance-passage pointed out to him by the half-witted, but not altogether ignorant dwarf. chapter xxxi. the rock castle of the robbers. but the preparations of bunce had been foreseen and provided for by those most deeply interested in his progress; and scarcely had the worthy tradesman effected his entrance fairly into the forbidden territory, when he felt himself grappled from behind. he struggled with an energy, due as much to the sudden terror as to any exercise of the free will; but he struggled in vain. the arms that were fastened about his own bound them down with a grasp of steel; and after a few moments of desperate effort, accompanied with one or two exclamations, half-surprise, half-expostulation, of "hello, friend, what do you mean?" and "i say, now, friend, you'd better have done--" the struggle ceased, and he lay supine in the hold of the unseen persons who had secured him. these persons he could not then discern; the passage was cavernously dark, and had evidently been as much the work of nature as of art. a handkerchief was fastened about his eyes, and he felt himself carried on the shoulders of those who made nothing of the burden. after the progress of several minutes, in which the anxiety natural to his situation led bunce into frequent exclamations and entreaties, he was set down, the bandage was removed from his eyes, and he was once more permitted their free exercise. to his great wonder, however, nothing but women, of all sizes and ages, met his sight. in vain did he look around for the men who brought him. they were no longer to be seen, and so silent had been their passage out, that the unfortunate pedler was compelled to satisfy himself with the belief that persons of the gentler sex had been in truth his captors. had he, indeed, given up the struggle so easily? the thought was mortifying enough; and yet, when he looked around him, he grew more satisfied with his own efforts at resistance. he had never seen such strongly-built women in his life: scarcely one of them but could easily have overthrown him, without stratagem, in single combat. the faces of many of them were familiar to him; but where had he seen them before? his memory failed him utterly, and he gave himself up to his bewilderment. he looked around, and the scene was well calculated to affect a nervous mind. it was a fit scene for the painter of the supernatural. the small apartment in which they were, was formed in great part from the natural rock; where a fissure presented itself, a huge pine-tree, overthrown so as to fill the vacuity, completed what nature had left undone; and, bating the one or two rude cavities left here and there in the sides--themselves so covered as to lie hidden from all without--there was all the compactness of a regularly-constructed dwelling. a single and small lamp, pendent from a beam that hung over the room, gave a feeble light, which, taken in connection with that borrowed from without, served only to make visible the dark indistinct of the place. with something dramatic in their taste, the old women had dressed themselves in sombre habiliments, according to the general aspect of all things around them; and, as the unfortunate pedler continued to gaze in wonderment, his fear grew with every progressive step in his observation. one by one, however, the old women commenced stirring, and, as they moved, now before and now behind him--his eyes following them on every side--he at length discovered, amid the group, the small and delicate form of the very being for whom he sought. there, indeed, were lucy munro and her aunt, holding a passive character in the strange assembly. this was encouraging; and bunce, forgetting his wonder in the satisfaction which such a prospect afforded him, endeavored to force his way forward to them, when a salutary twitch of the arm from one of the beldam troop, by tumbling him backward upon the floor of the cavern, brought him again to a consideration of his predicament. he could not be restrained from speech, however--though, as he spoke, the old women saluted his face on all hands with strokes from brushes of fern, which occasioned him no small inconvenience. but he had gone too far now to recede; and, in a broken manner--broken as much by his own hurry and vehemence as by the interruptions to which he was subjected--he contrived to say enough to lucy of the situation of colleton, to revive in her an interest of the most painful character. she rushed forward, and was about to ask more from the beleaguered pedler; but it was not the policy of those having both of them in charge to permit such a proceeding. one of the stoutest of the old women now came prominently upon the scene, and, with a rough voice, which it is not difficult to recognise as that of munro, commanded the young girl away, and gave her in charge to two attendants. but she struggled still to hear, and bunce all the while speaking, she was enabled to gather most of the particulars in his narration before her removal was effected. the mummery now ceased, and bunce having been carried elsewhere, the maskers resumed their native apparel, having thrown aside that which had been put on for a distinct purpose. the pedler, in another and more secure department of the robbers' hiding-place, was solaced with the prospect of a long and dark imprisonment. in the meantime, our little friend chub williams had been made to undergo his own distinct punishment for his share in the adventure. no sooner had bunce been laid by the heels, than rivers, who had directed the whole, advanced from the shelter of the cave, in company with his lieutenant, dillon, both armed with rifles, and, without saying a word, singling out the tree on which chub had perched himself, took deliberate aim at the head of the unfortunate urchin. he saw the danger in an instant, and his first words were characteristic: "now don't--don't, now, i tell you, mr. guy--you may hit chub!" "come down, then, you rascal!" was the reply, as, with a laugh, lowering the weapon, he awaited the descent of the spy. "and now, bur, what have you to say that i shouldn't wear out a hickory or two upon you?" "my name ain't bur, mr. guy; my name is chub, and i don't like to be called out of my name. mother always called me chub." "well, chub--since you like it best, though at best a bur--what were you doing in that tree? how dare you spy into my dwelling, and send other people there? speak, or i'll skin you alive!" "now, don't, mr. guy! don't, i beg you! 'taint right to talk so, and i don't like it!--but is that your dwelling, mr. guy, in truth?--you really live in it, all the year round? now, you don't, do you?" the outlaw had no fierceness when contemplating the object before him. strange nature! he seemed to regard the deformities of mind and body, in the outcast under his eyes, as something kindred. was there anything like sympathy in such a feeling? or was it rather that perversity of temper which sometimes seems to cast an ennobling feature over violence, and to afford here and there, a touch of that moral sunshine which can now and then give an almost redeeming expression to the countenance of vice itself? he contemplated the idiot for a few moments with a close eye, and a mind evidently busied in thought. laying his hand, at length, on his shoulder, he was about to speak, when the deformed started back from the touch as if in horror--a feeling, indeed, fully visible in every feature of his face. "now, don't touch chub, mr. guy! mother said you were a dark man, and told me to keep clear of you. don't touch me agin, mr. guy; i don't like it." the outlaw, musingly, spoke to his lieutenant: "and this is education. who shall doubt its importance? who shall say that it does not overthrow and altogether destroy the original nature? the selfish mother of this miserable outcast, fearing that he might be won away from his service to her, taught him to avoid all other persons, and even those who had treated her with kindness were thus described to this poor dependant. to him the sympathies of others would have been the greatest blessing; yet she so tutored him, that, at her death, he was left desolate. you hear his account of me, gathered, as he says, and as i doubt not, from her own lips. that account is true, so far as my other relationships with mankind are concerned; but not true as regards my connection with her. i furnished that old creature with food when she was starving, and when this boy, sick and impotent, could do little for her service. i never uttered a harsh word in her ears, or treated her unkindly; yet this is the character she gives of me--and this, indeed, the character which she has given of all others. a feeling of the narrowest selfishness has led her deliberately to misrepresent all mankind, and has been productive of a more ungracious result, in driving one from his species, who, more than any other, stands in need of their sympathy and association." while rivers spoke thus, the idiot listened with an air of the most stupid attention. his head fell on one shoulder, and one hand partially sustained it. as the former concluded his remarks, chub recovered a posture as nearly erect as possible, and remarked, with as much significance as could comport with his general expression-- "chub's mother was good to chub, and mr. guy mustn't say nothing agin her." "but, chub, will you not come and live with me? i will give you a good rifle--one like this, and you shall travel everywhere with me." "you will beat chub when you are angry, and make him shoot people with the rifle. i don't want it. if folks say harm to chub, he can lick 'em with his fists. chub don't want to live with you." "well, as you please. but come in and look at my house and see where i live." "and shall i see the strannger agin? i can lick _him_, and i told him so. but he called me chub, and i made friends with him." "yes, you shall see him, and--" "and miss lucy, too--i want to see miss lucy--chub saw her, and she spoke to chub yesterday." the outlaw promised him all, and after this there was no further difficulty. the unconscious idiot scrupled no longer, and followed his conductors into--prison. it was necessary, for the further safety of the outlaws in their present abode, that such should be the case. the secret of their hiding-place was in the possession of quite too many; and the subject of deliberation among the leaders was now as to the propriety of its continued tenure. the country, they felt assured, would soon be overrun with the state troops. they had no fears of discovery from this source, prior to the affair of the massacre of the guard, which rendered necessary the secretion of many in their retreat, who, before that time, were perfectly unconscious of its existence. in addition to this, it was now known to the pedler and the idiot, neither of whom had any reason for secrecy on the subject in the event of their being able to make it public. the difficulty, with regard to the two latter, subjected them to no small risk of suffering from the ultimate necessities of the rogues, and there was a sharp and secret consultation as to the mode of disposing of the two captives; but so much blood had been already spilled, that the sense of the majority revolted at the further resort to that degree of violence--particularly, too, when it was recollected that they could only hold their citadel for a certain and short period of time. it was determined, therefore, that so long as they themselves continued in their hiding-place, bunce and chub should, perforce, continue prisoners. having so determined, and made their arrangements accordingly, the two last-made captives were assigned a cell, chosen with reference to its greater security than the other portions of their hold--one sufficiently tenacious of its trust, it would seem, to answer well its purpose. in the meantime, the sufferings of lucy munro were such as may well be understood from the character of her feelings, as we have heretofore beheld their expression. in her own apartment--her cell, we may style it, for she was in a sort of honorable bondage--she brooded with deep melancholy over the narrative given by the pedler. she had no reason to doubt its correctness, and, the more she meditated upon it, the more acute became her misery. but a day intervened, and the trial of ralph colleton must take place; and, without her evidence, she was well aware there could be no hope of his escape from the doom of felony--from the death of shame and physical agony. the whole picture grew up before her excited fancy. she beheld the assembled crowd--she saw him borne to execution--and her senses reeled beneath the terrible conjurations of her fancy. she threw herself prostrate upon her couch, and strove not to think, but in vain. her mind, growing hourly more and more intensely excited, at length almost maddened, and she grew conscious herself--the worst of all kinds of consciousness--that her reason was no longer secure in its sovereignty. it was with a strong effort of the still-firm will that she strove to meditate the best mode of rescuing the victim from the death suspended above him; and she succeeded, while deliberating on this object, in quieting the more subtle workings of her imagination. many were the thoughts which came into her brain in this examination. at one time she thought it not impossible to convey a letter, in which her testimony should be carefully set down; but the difficulty of procuring a messenger, and the doubt that such a statement would prove of any avail, decided her to seek for other means. an ordinary mind, and a moderate degree of interest in the fate of the individual, would have contented itself with some such step; but such a mind and such affections were not those of the high-souled and spirited lucy. she dreaded not personal danger; and to rescue the youth, whom she so much idolized, from the doom that threatened him, she would have willingly dared to encounter that doom itself, in its darkest forms. she determined, therefore, to rely chiefly upon herself in all efforts which she should make for the purpose in view; and her object, therefore, was to effect a return to the village in time to appear at the trial. yet how should this be done? she felt herself to be a captive; she knew the restraints upon her--and did not doubt that all her motions were sedulously observed. how then should she proceed? an agent was necessary; and, while deliberating with herself upon the difficulty thus assailing her at the outset, her ears were drawn to the distinct utterance of sounds, as of persons engaged in conversation, from the adjoining section of the rock. one of the voices appeared familiar, and at length she distinctly made out her own name in various parts of the dialogue. she soon distinguished the nasal tones of the pedler, whose prison adjoined her own, separated only by a huge wall of earth and rock, the rude and jagged sides of which had been made complete, where naturally imperfect, for the purposes of a wall, by the free use of clay, which, plastered in huge masses into the crevices and every fissure, was no inconsiderable apology for the more perfect structures of civilization. satisfied, at length, from what she heard, that the two so confined were friendly, she contrived to make them understand her contiguity, by speaking in tones sufficiently low as to be unheard beyond the apartment in which they were. in this way she was enabled to converse with the pedler, to whom all her difficulties were suggested, and to whom she did not hesitate to say that she knew that which would not fail to save the life of colleton. bunce was not slow to devise various measures for the further promotion of the scheme, none of which, however, served the purpose of showing to either party how they should get out, and, but for the idiot, it is more than probable, despairing of success, they would at length have thrown aside the hope of doing anything for the youth as perfectly illusory. but chub came in as a prime auxiliar. from the first moment in which he heard the gentle tones of lucy's voice, he had busied himself with his long nails and fingers in removing the various masses of clay which had been made to fill up sundry crevices of the intervening wall, and had so far succeeded as to detach a large square of the rock itself, which, with all possible pains and caution, he lifted from the embrasure. this done, he could distinguish objects, though dimly, from one apartment in the other, and thus introduced the parties to a somewhat nearer acquaintance with one another. having done so much, he reposed from his labors, content with a sight of lucy, on whom he continued to gaze with a fixed and stupid admiration. he had pursued this work so noiselessly, and the maiden and bunce had been so busily employed in discussing their several plans, that they had not observed the vast progress which chub had made toward furnishing them with a better solution of their difficulties than any of their own previous cogitations. when bunce saw how much had been done in one quarter, he applied himself resolutely to similar experiments on the opposite wall: and had the satisfaction of discovering that, as a dungeon, the dwelling in which they were required to remain was sadly deficient in some few of the requisites of security. with the aid of a small pick of iron, which lucy handed him from her cell, he pierced the outer wall in several places, in which the clay had been required to do the offices of the rock, and had the satisfaction of perceiving, from the sudden influx of light in the apartment, succeeding his application of the instrument, that, with a small labor and in little time, they should be enabled to effect their escape, at least into the free air, and under the more genial vault of heaven. having made this discovery, it was determined that nothing more should be done until night, and having filled up the apertures which they had made, with one thing or another, they proceeded to consult, with more deliberate composure, on the future progress. it was arranged that the night should be permitted to set in fairly--that lucy should retire early, having first taken care that munro and her aunt, with whom she more exclusively consorted--rivers having kept very much out of sight since her removal--should see her at the evening meal, without any departure from her usual habits. bunce undertook to officiate as guide, and as chub expressed himself willing to do whatever miss lucy should tell him, it was arranged that he should remain, occasionally making himself heard in his cell, as if in conversation, for as long a period after their departure as might be thought necessary to put them sufficiently in advance of pursuit--a requisition to which chub readily gave his consent. he was the only one of the party who appeared to regard the whole matter with comparative indifference. he knew that a man was in danger of his life--he felt that he himself was in prison, and he said he would rather be out among the pine-trees--but there was no rush of feeling, such as troubled the heart of the young girl, whose spirit, clothing itself in all the noblest habiliments of humanity, lifted her up into the choicest superiority of character--nor had the dwarf that anxiety to do a service to his fellow, which made the pedler throw aside some of his more worldly characteristics--he did simply as he was bid, and had no further care. miss lucy, he said, talked sweetly, like his mother, and chub would do for miss lucy anything that she asked him. the principle of his government was simple, and having chosen a sovereign, he did not withhold his obedience. thus stood the preparations of the three prisoners, when darkness--long-looked-for, and hailed with trembling emotions--at length came down over the silent homestead of the outlaws. chapter xxxii. escape. the night gathered apace, and the usual hour of repose had come. lucy retired to her apartment with a trembling heart but a courageous spirit, full of a noble determination to persevere in her project. though full of fear, she never for a moment thought of retreat from the decision which she had made. her character afforded an admirable model for the not unfrequent union that we find in woman, of shrinking delicacy with manly and efficient firmness. munro and rivers, having first been assured that all was quiet, by a ramble which they took around their hiding-place, returned to the little chamber of the latter, such as we have described it in a previous portion of our narrative, and proceeded to the further discussion of their plans. the mind of the landlord was very ill at ease. he had arrived at that time of life when repose and a fixed habitation became necessary; and when, whatever may have been the habits of earlier manhood, the mind ceases to crave the excitements of adventure, and foregoes, or would fain forego, all its roving characteristics. to this state of feeling had he come, and the circumstances which now denied him the fruition of that prospect of repose which he had been promising himself so long, were regarded with no little restlessness and impatience. at the moment, the colleagues could make no positive arrangements for the future. munro was both to give up the property which, in one way or other, he had acquired in the neighborhood, and which it was impossible for him to remove to any other region; and, strange to say, a strong feeling of inhabitiveness--the love of home--if home he could be thought to have anywhere--might almost be considered a passion with his less scrupulous companion. thus situated, they lingered on in the hope that the military would soon be withdrawn from the neighborhood, as it could only be maintained at great expense by the state; and then, as the country was but nominally settled, and so sparsely as to scarcely merit any consideration, they felt assured that they might readily return to their old, or any practices, and without any further apprehension. the necessity, however, which made them thus deliberate, had the effect, at the same time, of impressing them with a gloomy spirit, not common to either of them. "let us see, munro," said the more desperate ruffian; "there is, after all, less to apprehend than we first thought. in a week, and the court will be over; in another week, and the guard will be withdrawn; and for this period only will it be necessary that we should keep dark. i think we are now perfectly safe where we are. the only persons who know of our retreat, and might be troublesome, are safe in our possession. they will hardly escape until we let them, and before we do so we shall first see that they can give us no further necessity for caution. of our own party, none are permitted to know the secrets of our hiding-place, but those in whom we may trust confidently. i have taken care to provide for the doubtful at some distance in the adjoining woods, exaggerating so greatly the danger of exposure, that they will hardly venture to be seen under any circumstances by anybody. once let these two weeks go over, and i have no fears; we shall have no difficulties then." "and what's to be done with the pedler and the fool? i say, guy, there must be no more blood--i will not agree to it. the fact is, i feel more and more dismal every day since that poor fellow's death; and now that the youngster's taken, the thought is like fire in my brain, which tells me he may suffer for our crime." "why, you are grown parson. would you go and save him, by giving up the true criminal? i shall look for it after this, and consider myself no longer in safety. if you go on in this manner, i shall begin to meditate an off-hand journey to the mississippi." "ay, and the sooner we all go the better--though, to be plain, guy, let this affair once blow over and i care not to go with _you_ any longer. we must then cut loose for ever. i am not a good man, i know--anything but that; but you have carried me on, step by step, until i am what i am afraid to name to myself. you found me a rogue--you have made me a--" "why do you hesitate? speak it out, munro; it is a large step gained toward reform when we learn to name truly our offences to ourselves." "i dare not. the thought is sufficiently horrible without the thing. i hear some devil whispering it too frequently in my ears, to venture upon its utterance myself. but you--how you can live without feeling it, after your experience, which has been so much more dreadful than mine, i know not." "i do feel it, munro, but have long since ceased to fear it. the reiteration takes away the terror which is due rather to the novelty than to the offence. but when i began, i felt it. the first sleep i had after the affair of jessup was full of tortures. the old man, i thought, lay beside me in my bed; his blood ran under me, and clotted around me, and fastened me there, while his gashed face kept peering into mine, and his eyes danced over me with the fierce light of a threatening comet. the dream nearly drove me mad, and mad i should have been had i gone to my prayers. i knew that, and chose a different course for relief." "what was that?" "i sought for another victim as soon after as i conveniently could. the one spectre superseded the other, until all vanished. they never trouble me now, though sometimes, in my waking moments, i have met them on the roadside, glaring at me from bush or tree, until i shouted at them fiercely, and then they were gone. these are my terrors, and they do sometimes unman me." "they would do more with me; they would destroy me on the spot. but, let us have no more of this. let us rather see if we can not do something towards making our visions more agreeable. do you persevere in the sacrifice of this youngster? must he die?" "am i a child, walter munro, that you ask me such a question? must i again tell over the accursed story of my defeat and of his success? must i speak of my thousand defeats--of my overthrown pretensions--my blasted hopes, where i had set my affections--upon which every feeling of my heart had been placed? must i go over a story so full of pain and humiliation--must i describe my loss, in again placing before your eyes a portraiture like this? look, man, look--and read my answer in the smile, which, denying me, teaches me, in this case, to arm myself with a denial as immutable as hers." he placed before his companion the miniature of edith, which he took from his bosom, where he seemed carefully to treasure it. he was again the envenomed and the excited savage which we have elsewhere seen him, and in which mood munro knew well that nothing could be done with him in the shape of argument or entreaty. he went on:-- "ask me no questions, munro, so idle, so perfectly unnecessary as this. fortune has done handsomely here. he falls through _me_, yet falls by the common hangman. what a double blow is this to both of them. i have been striving to imagine their feelings, and such a repast as that effort has procured me--i would not exchange it--no--not for worlds--for nothing less, munro, than my restoration back to that society--to that place in society, from which my fierce passions, and your cruel promptings, and the wrongs of society itself, have for ever exiled me." "and would you return, if you could do so?" "to-morrow--to-night--this instant. i am sanguinary, munro--revengeful--fierce--all that is bad, because i am not permitted to be better. my pride, my strong feelings and deeply absorbing mood--these have no other field for exercise. the love of home, the high ambition, which, had society done me common justice, and had not, in enslaving itself, dishonored and defrauded me--would, under other circumstances, have made me a patriot. my pride is even now to command the admiration of men--i never sought their love. their approbation would have made me fearless and powerful in their defence and for their rights--their injustice makes me their enemy. my passions, unprovoked and unexaggerated by mortifying repulses, would have only been a warm and stimulating influence, perpetually working in their service--but, pressed upon and irritated as they have been they grew into so many wild beasts, and preyed upon the cruel or the careless keepers, whose gentle treatment and constant attention had tamed them into obedient servants. yet, would i could, even now, return to that condition in which there might be hope. the true spectre of the criminal--such as i am--the criminal chiefly from the crimes and injustice of society, not forgetting the education of my boyhood, which grew out of the same crimes, and whose most dreadful lesson is selfishness--is despair! the black waters once past, the blacker hills rise between, and there is no return to those regions of hope, which, once lost, are lost for ever. this is the true punishment--the worst punishment which man inflicts upon his fellow--the felony of public opinion. the curse of society is no unfit illustration of that ban which its faith holds forth as the penal doom of the future. there is no return!" the dialogue, mixed up thus, throughout, with the utterance of opinions on the part of the outlaw, many of which were true or founded in truth, yet coupled with many false deductions--was devoted, for some little while longer, to the discussion of their various necessities and plans for the future. the night had considerably advanced in this way, when, of a sudden, their ears were assailed with an eldritch screech, like that of the owl, issuing from one of the several cells around them. the quick sense of rivers immediately discerned the voice of the idiot, and without hesitation he proceeded to that division of the rock which contained the two prisoners. to each of these apartments had been assigned a sentinel, or watch, whose own place of abode--while covered completely and from sight, and in all respects furnishing a dwelling, though rather a confined one for himself--enabled him to attend to the duty assigned him without himself being seen. the night had been fairly set in, when bunce, with the aid of chub williams, with all due caution proceeded to his task, and with so much success, that, in the course of a couple of hours, they had succeeded, not only in making a fair outlet for themselves, but for lucy munro too. the watchman, in the meantime, holding his duty as merely nominal, gave himself as little trouble as possible; and believing all things quiet, had, after a little while, insinuated himself into the good graces of as attractive a slumber as may usually be won in the warm summer season in the south, by one to whom a nightwatch is a peculiarly ungracious exercise. before this conclusion, however, he looked forth every now and then, and deceived by the natural stillness of earth and sky, he committed the further care of the hours, somewhat in anticipation of the time, to the successor who was to relieve him on the watch. without being conscious of this decision in their favor, and ignorant entirely of the sentinel himself, the pedler fortunately chose this period for his own departure with the young lady whom he was to escort; and who, with probably far less fear than her gallant, did not scruple, for a single instant, to go forth under his guidance. chub took his instructions from the lips of lucy, and promised the most implicit obedience. they had scarcely been well gone when the sentinels were changed, and one something more tenacious of discipline, or something less drowsy than his predecessor, took his place. after muttering at intervals, as directed, for the space of an hour, probably, from the time at which his companion had departed, chub thought it only prudent to sally forth too. accordingly, ascending to the break in the wall, through which his companion had made his way, the urchin emerged from the cavern at the unlucky moment, when, at some ten or fifteen paces in front of him, the sentinel came forth from his niche to inspect the order of his watch. chub saw his adversary first, and his first impulse originated the scream which drew the attention of rivers, as already narrated. the outlaw rushed quickly to the scene of difficulty, and before the sentinel had well recovered from the astonishment occasioned by the singularly sudden appearance and wild screech of the urchin. "why, what is this, briggs; what see you?" was the hasty inquiry of rivers. "there, sir, there," exclaimed the watch, still half bewildered, and pointing to the edge of the hill, where, in a condition seemingly of equal incertitude with himself, stood the imbecile. "seize upon him--take him at once--let him not escape you!" were the hasty orders of the outlaw. briggs set forward, but his approach had the effect of giving determination also to chub; who, just as the pursuer thought himself sure of his captive, and was indeed indirectly upon him, doubled himself up, as it were into a complete ball, and without effort rolled headlong down the hill; gathering upon his feet as he attained the level, seemingly unhurt, and with all the agility of the monkey. "shall i shoot, sir?" was the inquiry of briggs, as the urchin stood off, laughing wildly at his good fortune. "now, don't"--was the cry--"now, don't"--was the exclamation of chub himself, who, however, trusting nothing to the effect of his entreaty, ran vigorously on his way. "yes, shoot him down," was the sudden exclamation of munro; but rivers struck the poised weapon upward in the hands of the sentinel, to the astonishment, not less of him than of the landlord. "no--let him live, munro. let him live. such as he should be spared. is he not alone--without fellowship--scorned--an outcast--without sympathy--like myself. let him live, let him live!" the word of mercy from his lips utterly confounded his companion. but, remembering that rivers was a monster of contradictions, munro turned away, and gave directions to see after the other prisoners. a few moments sufficed for this, and the panic was universal among the inmates of the rock. the secret was now lost, unless immediate pursuit could avail in the recovery of the fugitives. this pursuit was immediately undertaken, and both rivers and munro, taking different directions, and dispersing their whole force about the forest, set off on the search. apprehensive of pursuit, the policy of bunce, to whom lucy gave up the entire direction of their flight, was determined upon with not a little judgment. assured that his pursuers would search chiefly on the direct route between their abode and the village, to which they would necessarily surmise the flight was directed, he boldly determined upon a course, picked sinuously out, obliquing largely from the true direction, which, while it would materially lengthen the distance, would at least secure them, he thought, from the danger of contact with the scouring party. by no means ignorant of the country, in and about which he had frequently travelled in the pursuit of trade, he contrived, in this way, completely to mislead the pursuers; and the morning found them still some distance from the village, but in a direction affording few chances of interruption in their contemplated approach to it. lucy was dreadfully fatigued, and a frequent sense of weariness almost persuaded her to lay down life itself in utter exhaustion: but the encouraging words of the pedler, and the thought of _his_ peril, for whose safety--though herself hopeless of all besides--she would willingly peril all, restored her, and invigorated her to renewed effort. at the dawn of day they approached a small farmhouse, some of the inmates of which happened to know lucy; and, though they looked somewhat askant at her companion, and wondered not a little at the circumstance of her travelling at such a time of night, yet, as she was generally well respected, their surmises and scruples were permitted to sleep; and, after a little difficulty, they were persuaded to lend her the family pony and side-saddle, with the view to the completion of her journey. after taking some slight refreshment, she hurried on; bunce, keeping the road afoot, alongside, with all the patient docility of a squire of the middle ages; and to the great satisfaction of all parties, they arrived in sight of the village just as counsellor pippin, learned in the law, was disputing with the state attorney upon the non-admissibility of certain points of testimony, which it was the policy of the former to exclude. chapter xxxiii. doom. the village of chestatee was crowded with visiters of all descriptions. judges and lawyers, soldiers and citizens and farmers--all classes were duly represented, and a more wholesome and subordinate disposition in that quarter, may be inferred as duly resulting from the crowd. curiosity brought many to the spot from portions of country twenty, thirty, and even forty miles off--for, usually well provided with good horses, the southron finds a difference of ten or twenty miles no great matter. such had been the reputation of the region here spoken of, not less for its large mineral wealth than for the ferocious character of those in its neighborhood, that numbers, who would not otherwise have adventured, now gladly took advantage of the great excitement, and the presence of so many, to examine a section of country of which they had heard so much. there came the planter, of rather more wealth than his neighbors, solicitous for some excitement and novelty to keep himself from utter stagnation. there came the farmer, discontented with his present abiding-place, and in search of a new spot of more promise, in which to drive stakes and do better. the lawyer, from a neighboring county, in search of a cause; the creditor in search of his runaway debtor--the judge and the jury also adding something, not less to the number than the respectability of the throng. the grand-jury had found several bills, and most of them for the more aggravated offences in the estimation of the law. rivers, munro, blundell, forrester, were all severally and collectively included in their inquiries; but as none of the parties were to be found for the present at least, as one of them had been removed to another and higher jurisdiction, the case of most importance left for trial was that which charged colleton with forrester's murder. there was no occasion for delay; and, in gloomy and half-desponding mood, though still erect and unshrinking to the eye of the beholder, ralph refused the privilege of a traverse, and instructed pippin to go on with the case. the lawyer himself had not the slightest objection to this procedure, for, not to be harsh in our estimate of his humanities, there is no reason to believe that he regarded for a single instant the value of his client's life, but as its preservation was to confer credit upon his capacity as his legal friend and adviser. the issue was consequently made up without delay--the indictment was read--the prisoner put himself upon god and the country, according to the usual forms, and the case proceeded. the general impression of the spectators was decidedly in favor of the accused. his youth--the noble bearing--the ease, the unobtrusive confidence--the gentle expression, pliant and, though sad, yet entirely free from anything like desponding weakness--all told in his favor. he was a fine specimen of the southern gentleman--the true nobleman of that region, whose pride of character is never ostentatiously displayed and is only to be felt in the influence which it invariably exercises over all with whom it may have contact or connection. though firm in every expression, and manly in every movement, there was nothing in the habit and appearance of ralph, which, to the eye of those around, savored of the murderer. there was nothing ruffianly or insincere. but, as the testimony proceeded--when the degree of intimacy was shown which had existed between himself and the murdered man--when they heard that forrester had brought him wounded and fainting to his home--had attended him--had offered even to fight for him with rivers; when all these facts were developed, in connection with the sudden flight of the person so befriended--on the same night with him who had befriended him--he having a knowledge of the proposed departure of the latter-and with the finding of the bloody dagger marked with the youth's initials--the feeling of sympathy very perceptibly underwent a change. the people, proverbially fickle, and, in the present instance justifiably so, veered round to the opposite extreme of opinion, and a confused buzz around, sometimes made sufficiently audible to all senses, indicated the unfavorable character of the change. the witnesses were closely examined, and the story was complete and admirably coherent. the presumptions, as they were coupled together, were conclusive; and, when it was found that not a solitary witness came forward even to say that the accused was a man of character and good connections--a circumstance which could not materially affect the testimony as it stood, but which, wanting, gave it additional force--the unhappy youth, himself, felt that all was over. a burning flush, succeeded by a deathlike paleness, came over his face for a moment--construed by those around into a consciousness of guilt; for, where the prejudices of men become active, all appearances of change, which go not to affect the very foundation of the bias, are only additional proofs of what they have before believed. he rested his head upon his hands in deep but momentary agony. what were his feelings then? with warm, pure emotions; with a pride only limited by a true sense of propriety; with an ambition whose eye was sunward ever; with affections which rendered life doubly desirable, and which made love a high and holy aspiration: with these several and predominating feelings struggling in his soul, to be told of such a doom; to be stricken from the respect of his fellows; to forfeit life, and love, and reputation; to undergo the punishment of the malefactor, and to live in memory only as a felon--ungrateful, foolish, fiendish--a creature of dishonest passions, and mad and merciless in their exercise! the tide of thought which bore to his consciousness all these harrowing convictions, was sudden as the wing of the lightning, and nearly shattered, in that single instant, the towering manhood whose high reachings had attracted it. but the pride consequent to his education, and the society in which he had lived, came to his relief; and, after the first dreadful agony of soul, he again stood erect, and listened, seemingly unmoved, to the defences set up by his counsel. but how idle, even to his mind, desirous as he must have been of every species of defence, were all the vainglorious mouthings of the pettifogger! he soon discovered that the ambition of pippin chiefly consisted in the utterance of his speech. he saw, too, in a little while, that the nonsense of the lawyer had not even the solitary merit--if such it be--of being extemporaneous; and in the slow and monotonous delivery of a long string of stale truisms, not bearing any analogy to the case in hand, he perceived the dull elaborations of the closet. but such was not the estimate of the lawyer himself. he knew what he was about; and having satisfied himself that the case was utterly hopeless, he was only solicitous that the people should see that he could still make a speech. he well knew that his auditory, perfectly assured with himself of the hopelessness of the defence, would give him the credit of having made the most of his materials, and this was all he wanted. in the course of his exhortations, however, he was unfortunate enough to make an admission for his client which was, of itself, fatal; and his argument thence became unnecessary. he admitted that the circumstances sufficiently established the charge of killing, but proceeded, however, to certain liberal assumptions, without any ground whatever, of provocation on the part of forrester, which made his murder only matter of self-defence on the side of the accused, whose crime therefore became justifiable: but ralph, who had for some time been listening with manifest impatience to sundry other misrepresentations, not equally evil with this, but almost equally annoying, now rose and interrupted him; and, though the proceeding was something informal, proceeded to correct the statement. "no one, may it please your honor, and you, gentlemen, now presiding over my fate, can be more conscious than myself, from the nature of the evidence given in this case, of the utter hopelessness of any defence which may be offered on my behalf. but, while recognising, in their fullest force, the strong circumstantial proofs of crime which you have heard, i may be permitted to deny for myself what my counsel has been pleased to admit for me. to say that i have _not_ been guilty of this crime, is only to repeat that which was said when i threw myself upon the justice of the country. i denied any knowledge of it then--i deny any knowledge of, or participation in it, now. i am _not_ guilty of this killing, whether with or without justification. the blood of the unfortunate man forrester is _not_ upon my hands; and, whatever may be your decree this day, of this sweet consciousness nothing can deprive me." "i consider, may it please your honor, that my counsel, having virtually abandoned my cause, i have the right to go on with it myself--" but pippin, who had been dreadfully impatient heretofore, started forward with evident alarm. "oh, no--no, your honor--my client--mr. colleton--how can you think such a thing? i have not, your honor, abandoned the case. on the contrary, your honor will remember that it was while actually proceeding with the case that i was interrupted." the youth, with a singular degree of composure, replied:-- "your honor will readily understand me, though the gentleman of the bar does not. i conceive him not only to have abandoned the case, your honor, but actually to have joined hand and hand with the prosecuting counsel. it is true, sir, that he still calls himself _my_ counsel--and still, under that name, presumes to harangue, as he alleges, in my behalf; but, when he violates the truth, not less than my instructions--when he declares all that is alleged against me in that paper _to be true_, all of which i declare to be _false_--when he admits me to be guilty of a crime of which i am _not_ guilty--i say that he has not only abandoned my case, but that he has betrayed the trust reposed in him. what, your honor, must the jury infer from the confession which he has just made?--what, but that in my conference with him _i_ have made the same confession? it becomes necessary, therefore, may it please your honor, not only that i take from him, thus openly, the power which i confided to him, but that i call upon your honor to demand from him, upon oath, whether such an admission was ever made to him by me. i know that my own words will avail me nothing here--i also know why they should not--but i am surely entitled to require that he should speak out, as to the truth, when _his_ misrepresentations are to make weight against me in future. his oath, that i made no such confession to him, will avail nothing for my defence, but will avail greatly with those who, from present appearances, are likely to condemn me. i call upon him, may it please your honor, as matter of right, that he should be _sworn_ to this particular. this, your honor will perceive, if my assertion be true, is the smallest justice which he can do me; beyond this i will ask and suggest nothing--leaving it to your own mind how far the license of his profession should be permitted to one who thus not only abandons, but betrays and misrepresents his client." the youth was silent, and pippin rose to speak in his defence. without being sworn, he admitted freely that such a confession had not been made, but that he had inferred the killing from the nature of the testimony, which he thought conclusive on the point; that his object had been to suggest a probable difficulty between the parties, in which he would have shown forrester as the aggressor. he bungled on for some time longer in this manner, but, as he digressed again into the defence of the accused, ralph again begged to interrupt him. "i think it important, may it please your honor, that the gentleman should be sworn as to the simple fact which he has uttered. _i want it on record_, that, at some future day, the few who have any interest in my fate should feel no mortifying doubts of my innocence when reminded of the occurrence--which this strange admission, improperly circulated, might otherwise occasion. let him swear, your honor, to the fact: this, i think, i may require." after a few moments of deliberation, his honor decided that the demand was one of right, strictly due, not merely to the prisoner and to the abstract merits of the case, but also to the necessity which such an event clearly occasioned, of establishing certain governing principles for restraining those holding situations so responsible, who should so far wilfully betray their trusts. the lawyer was made to go through the humiliating process, and then subjected to a sharp reprimand from the judge; who, indeed, might have well gone further, in actually striking his name from the rolls of court. it was just after this interesting period in the history of the trial--and when pippin, who could not be made to give up the case, as ralph had required, was endeavoring to combat with the attorney of the state some incidental points of doctrine, and to resist their application to certain parts of the previously, recorded testimony--that our heroine, lucy munro, attended by her trusty squire, bunce, made her appearance in the courthouse. she entered the hall more dead than alive. the fire was no longer in her eye--a thick haze had overspread its usually rich and lustrous expression; her form trembled with the emotion--the strong and struggling emotion of her soul; and fatigue had done much toward the general enervation of her person. the cheek was pale with the innate consciousness; the lips were blanched, and slightly parted, as if wanting in the muscular exercise which could bring them together. she tottered forward to the stand upon which the witnesses were usually assembled, and to which her course had been directed, and for a few moments after her appearance in the courtroom her progress had been as one stunned by a sudden and severe blow. but, when roused by the confused hum of human voices around her, she ventured to look up, and her eye, as if by instinct, turned upon the dark box assigned for the accused--she again saw the form, in her mind and eye, of almost faultless mould and excellence--then there was no more weakness, no more struggle. her eye kindled, the color rushed into her cheeks, a sudden spirit reinvigorated her frame; and, with clasped hands, she boldly ascended the small steps which led to the stand from which her evidence was to be given, and declared her ability, in low tones, almost unheard but by the judge, to furnish matter of interest and importance to the defence. some little demur as to the formality of such a proceeding, after the evidence had been fairly closed, took place between the counsel; but, fortunately for justice, the judge was too wise and too good a man to limit the course of truth to prescribed rules, which could not be affected by a departure, in the present instance, from their restraints. the objection was overruled, and the bold but trembling girl was called upon for her testimony. a new hope had been breathed into the bosoms of the parties most concerned, on the appearance of this interruption to the headlong and impelling force of the circumstances so fatally arrayed against the prisoner. the pedler was overjoyed, and concluded that the danger was now safely over. the youth himself felt his spirit much lighter in his bosom, although he himself knew not the extent of that testimony in his favor which lucy was enabled to give. he only knew that she could account for his sudden flight on the night of the murder, leading to a fair presumption that he had not premeditated such an act; and knew not that it was in her power to overthrow the only fact, among the circumstances arrayed against him, by which they had been so connected as to make out his supposed guilt. sanguine, herself, that the power was in her to effect the safety of the accused, lucy had not for a moment considered the effect upon others, more nearly connected with her than the youth, of the development which she was prepared to make. these considerations were yet to come. the oath was administered; she began her narration, but at the very outset, the difficulties of her situation beset her. how was she to save the man she loved? how, but by showing the guilt of her uncle? how was she to prove that the dirk of the youth was not in his possession at the time of the murder? by showing that, just before that time, it was in the possession of munro, who was setting forth for the express purpose of murdering the very man, now accused and held guilty of the same crime. the fearful gathering of thoughts and images, thus, without preparation, working in her mind, again destroyed the equilibrium by which her truer senses would have enforced her determination to proceed. her head swam, her words were confused and incoherent, and perpetually contradictory. the hope which her presence had inspired as suddenly departed; and pity and doubt were the prevailing sentiments of the spectators. after several ineffectual efforts to proceed, she all at once seemed informed of the opinions around her, and gathering new courage from the dreadful thought now forcing itself upon her mind, that what she had said had done nothing toward her object, she exclaimed impetuously, advancing to the judge, and speaking alternately from him to the jury and the counsel-- "he is _not_ guilty of this crime, believe me. i may not say what i know--i can not--you would not expect me to reveal it. it would involve others whom i dare not name. i must not say _that_--but, believe me, mr. colleton is not guilty--he did not commit the murder--it was somebody else--i know, i will swear, he had no hand in the matter." "very well, my young lady, i have no doubt you think, and honestly believe, all that you say; but what reasons have you for this bold assertion in the teeth of all the testimony which has already been given? you must not be surprised, if we are slow in believing what you tell us, until you can show upon what grounds you make your statement. how know you that the prisoner did not commit this crime? do you know who did? can you reveal any facts for our knowledge? this is what you must do. do not be terrified--speak freely--officer! a chair for the lady--tell us all that you know--keep nothing back--remember, you are sworn to speak _the truth_--the _whole truth_." the judge spoke kindly and encouragingly, while, with considerable emphasis, he insisted upon a full statement of all she knew. but the distress of the poor girl increased with every moment of thought, which warned her of the predicament in which such a statement must necessarily involve her uncle. "oh, how can i speak all this? how can i tell that which must destroy him--" "him?--of whom do you speak, lady? who is _he_?" inquired the attorney of the state. "he--who?--oh, no, i can say nothing. i can tell you nothing. i know nothing but that mr. colleton is _not_ guilty. he struck no blow at forrester. i am sure of it--some other hand--some other person. how can you believe that he would do so?" there was no such charitable thought for him, however, in the minds of those who heard--as how should there be? a whispering dialogue now took place between the judge and the counsel, in which, while they evidently looked upon her as little better than demented with her love for the accused, they still appeared to hold it due to justice, not less than to humanity, to obtain from her every particular of testimony bearing on the case, which, by possibility, she might really have in her possession. not that they really believed that she knew anything which might avail the prisoner. regarding her as individually and warmly interested in his life, they looked upon her appearance, and the evidence which she tendered--if so it might be styled--as solely intended to provoke sympathy, gain time, or, possibly, as the mere ebullition of feelings so deeply excited as to have utterly passed the bounds of all restraining reason. the judge, who was a good, not less than a sensible man, undertook, in concluding this conference, to pursue the examination himself, with the view to bringing out such portions of her information as delicacy or some other more influential motive might persuade her to conceal. "you are sure, miss munro, of the innocence of the prisoner so sure that you are willing to swear to it. such is your conviction, at least; for, unless you saw the blow given by another hand, or could prove mr. colleton to have been elsewhere at the time of the murder, of course you could not, of a certainty, swear to any such fact. you are not now to say whether you believe him _capable_ of such an act or not. you are to say whether you _know_ of any circumstances which shall acquit him of the charge, or furnish a plausible reason, why others, not less than yourself, should have a like reason with yourself to believe him innocent. can you do this, miss munro? can you show anything, in this chain of circumstances, against him, which, of your own knowledge, you can say to be untrue? speak out, young lady, and rely upon every indulgence from the court." here the judge recapitulated all the evidence which had been furnished against the prisoner. the maiden listened with close attention, and the difficulties of her situation became more and more obvious. finding her slow to answer, though her looks were certainly full of meaning, the presiding officer took another course for the object which he had in view. he now proceeded to her examination in the following form:-- "you know the prisoner?" "i do." "you knew the murdered man?" "perfectly." "were they frequently together since the appearance of the prisoner in these regions?" "frequently." "at the house in which you dwell?" "yes." "were they together on the day preceding the night of the murder?" "they were--throughout the better portion of it." "did they separate at your place of residence, and what was the employment of the prisoner subsequently on the same day?" "they did separate while at our house, mr. colleton retiring at an early hour of the evening to his chamber." "so far, miss munro, your answers correspond directly with the evidence, and now come the important portions. you will answer briefly and distinctly. after that, did you see anything more of the prisoner, and know you of his departure from the house--the hour of the night--the occasion of his going--and the circumstances attending it?" these questions were, indeed, all important to the female delicacy of the maiden, as well as to the prisoner, and as her eye sunk in confusion, and as her cheek paled and kindled with the innate consciousness, the youth, who had hitherto been silent, now rose, and without the slightest hesitancy of manner, requested of the maiden that she would say no more. "see you not, your honor, that her mind wavers--that she speaks and thinks wildly? i am satisfied that though she might say something, your honor, in accounting for my strange flight, yet, as that constitutes but a small feature in the circumstances against me, what she can allege will avail me little. press her no farther, therefore, i entreat you. let her retire. her word can do me no good, and i would not, that, for my sake and life, she should feel, for a single instant an embarrassment of spirit, which, though it be honorable in its character, must necessarily be distressing in its exercise. proceed with your judgment, i pray you--whatever it may be; i am now ready for the worst, and though innocent as the babe unborn of the crime urged against me, i am not afraid to meet its consequences. i am not unwilling to die." "but you must _not_ die--they will not--they _can not_ find you guilty! how know they you are guilty? who dares say you are guilty, when _i_ know you are innocent? did i not see you fly? did i not send you on your way--was it not to escape from murder yourself that you flew, and how should you have been guilty of that crime of which you were the destined victim yourself? oh, no--no! you are not guilty--and the dagger--i heard that!--that is not true--oh, no, the dagger,--you dropt it--" the eye of the inspired girl was caught by a glance--a single glance--from one at the opposite corner of the court-room, and that glance brought her back to the full consciousness of the fearful development she was about to make. a decrepit old woman, resting with bent form upon a staff, which was planted firmly before her, seemed wrapped in the general interest pervading the court. the woman was huge of frame and rough of make; her face was large and swollen, and the tattered cap and bonnet, the coarse and soiled materials which she wore, indicated one of the humblest caste in the country. her appearance attracted no attention, and she was unmarked by all around; few having eyes for anything but the exciting business under consideration. but the disguise did not conceal her uncle from the glance of his niece. that one look had the desired effect--the speech was arrested before its conclusion, and the spectators, now more than ever assured of the partial sanity of the witness, gave up any doubts which had previously began to grow in behalf of the accused. a second look of the landlord was emphatic enough for the purpose of completely silencing her farther evidence. she read in its fearful expression, as plainly as if spoken in words--"the next syllable you utter is fatal to your uncle--your father. now speak, lucy, if you can." for a single moment she was dumb and stationary--her eye turned from her uncle to the prisoner. horror, and the agonies natural to the strife in her bosom, were in its wild expression, and, with a single cry of "i can not--i must not save him!" from her pallid lips, she sunk down senseless upon the floor, and was borne out by several of the more sympathizing spectators. there was nothing now to delay the action of the court. the counsel had closed with the argument, and the judge proceeded in his charge to the jury. his remarks were rather favorable than otherwise to the prisoner. he dwelt upon his youth--his manliness--the seeming excellence of his education, and the propriety which had marked his whole behavior on trial. these he spoke of as considerations which must, of course, make the duty, which they had to perform, more severely painful to all. but they could not do away with the strong and tenacious combination of circumstances against him. these were all closely knit, and all tended strongly to the conviction of the guilt of the accused. still they were circumstantial; and the doubts of the jury were, of course, so many arguments on the side of mercy. he concluded. but the jury had no doubts. how should they doubt? they deliberated, indeed, for form's sake, but not long. in a little while they returned to their place, and the verdict was read by the clerk. "guilty." "guilty," responded the prisoner, and for a moment his head dropped upon his clasped hands, and his frame shivered as with an ague. "guilty--guilty--oh, my father--edith--edith--have i lived for this?" there was no other sign of human weakness. he arose with composure, and followed, with firm step, the officer to his dungeon. his only thought was of the sorrows and the shame of others--of those of whom he had been the passion and the pride--of that father's memory and name, of whom he had been the cherished hope--of that maiden of whom he had been the cherished love. his firm, manly bearing won the esteem of all those who, nevertheless, at the same moment, had few if any doubts of the justice of his doom. chapter xxxiv. prayers and promises. ralph colleton was once more in his dungeon--alone and without hope. for a moment during the progress of his trial, and at the appearance of lucy, he deemed it possible that some providential fortune might work a change in the aspect of things, favorable to his escape from what, to his mind, was far worse than any thought of death, in the manner of his death. but when, after a moment of reflection, he perceived that the feminine delicacy of the maiden must suffer from any further testimony from her lips--when he saw that, most probably, in the minds of all who heard her narration, the circumstance of her appearance in his chamber and at such an hour of the night, and for any object, would be fatal to her reputation--when he perceived this consciousness, too, weighing down even to agony the soul of the still courageous witness--the high sense of honor which had always prompted him, not less than that chivalrous consideration of the sex taught in the south among the earliest lessons of society to its youth--compelled him to interpose, and prevent, if possible, all further utterance, which, though possibly all-important to him, would be fatally destructive to her. he did so at his own self-sacrifice! we have seen how the poor girl was silenced. the result was, that ralph colleton was again in his dungeon--hope shut out from its walls, and a fearful death and ignominy written upon them. when the officers attending him had retired--when he heard the bolt shot, and saw that the eyes of curiosity were excluded--the firm spirit fled which had supported him. there was a passing weakness of heart which overcame its energies and resolve, and he sunk down upon the single chair allotted to his prison. he buried his face in his hands, and the warm tears gushed freely through his fingers. while thus weeping, like a very child, he heard the approach of footsteps without. in a moment he recovered all his manliness and calm. the traces of his weakness were sedulously brushed from his cheeks, and the handkerchief employed for the purpose studiously put out of sight. he was not ashamed of the pang, but he was not willing that other eyes should behold it. such was the nature of his pride--the pride of strength, moral strength, and superiority over those weaknesses, which, however natural they may be, are nevertheless not often held becoming in the man. it was the pedler, bunce, who made his appearance--choosing, with a feature of higher characteristic than would usually have been allotted him, rather to cheer the prison hours of the unfortunate, than to pursue his own individual advantages; which, at such a time, might not have been inconsiderable. the worthy pedler was dreadfully disappointed in the result of his late adventure. he had not given himself any trouble to inquire into the nature of those proofs which lucy munro had assured him were in her possession; but satisfied as much by his own hope as by her assurance, that all would be as he wished it, he had been elevated to a pitch of almost indecorous joy which strongly contrasted with his present depression. he had little now to say in the way of consolation, and that little was coupled with so much that was unjust to the maiden, as to call forth, at length, the rebuke of colleton. "forbear on this subject, my good sir--she did what she could, and what she might have said would not have served me much. it was well she said no more. her willingness--her adventuring so much in my behalf--should alone be sufficient to protect her from everything like blame. but tell me, bunce, what has become of her--where is she gone, and who is now attending her?" "why, they took her back to the old tavern. a great big woman took her there, and looked after her. i did go and had a sight on her, and there, to be sure, was munro's wife, though her i did see, i'll be sworn, in among the rocks where they shut us up." "and was munro there?" "where--in the rocks?" "no--in the tavern?--you say his wife had come back--did he trust himself there?" "i rather guess not--seeing as how he'd stand a close chance of 'quaintance with the rope. no, neither him, nor rivers, nor any of the regulators--thank the powers--ain't to be seen nowhere. they're all off--up into the nation, i guess, or off, down in alabam by this time, clear enough." "and who did you see at the rocks, and what men were they that made you prisoners?" "men--if i said men, i was 'nation out, i guess. did i say men?" "i understood you so." "'twan't men at all. nothing better than women, and no small women neither. didn't see a man in the neighborhood, but chub, and he ain't no man neither." "what is he?" "why, for that matter, he's neither one thing nor another--nothing, no how. a pesky little creature! what they call a hobbe-de-hoy will suit for his name sooner than any other that i know on. for he ain't a man and he ain't a boy; but jest a short, half-grown up chunk of a fellow, with bunchy shoulders, and a big head, with a mouth like an oven, and long lap ears like saddle flaps." in this manner the pedler informed ralph of all those previous particulars with which he had not till then been made acquainted. this having been done, and the dialogue having fairly reached its termination--and the youth exhibiting some strong symptoms of weariness--bunce took his departure for the present, not, however, without again proffering his services. these ralph did not scruple to accept--giving him, at the same time, sundry little commissions, and among them a message of thanks and respectful consideration to miss munro. she, in the meanwhile, had, upon fainting in the court-room, been borne off in a state of utter insensibility, to the former residence of munro, to which place, as the pedler has already informed us, the wife of the landlord had that very morning returned, resuming, precisely as before, all the previous order of her domestic arrangements. the reason for this return may be readily assigned. the escape of the pedler and of lucy from their place of temporary confinement had completely upset all the prior arrangements of the outlaws. they now conceived it no longer safe as a retreat; and failing as they did to overtake the fugitives, it was determined that, in the disguises which had been originally suggested for their adoption, they should now venture into the village, as many of them as were willing, to obtain that degree of information which would enable them to judge what further plans to adopt. as rivers had conjectured, chub williams, so far from taking for the village, had plunged deeper into the woods, flying to former and well known haunts, and regarding the face of man as that of a natural enemy. the pedler had seen none but women, or those so disguised as such as to seem none other than what they claimed to be--while lucy had been permitted to see none but her uncle and aunt, and one or two persons she had never met before. under these circumstances, rivers individually felt no apprehensions that his wild refuge would be searched; but munro, something older, less sanguine, and somewhat more timid than his colleague, determined no longer to risk it; and having, as we have seen, effectually checked the utterance of that evidence which, in the unconscious excitation of his niece, must have involved him more deeply in the meshes of the law, besides indicating his immediate and near neighborhood, he made his way, unobserved, from the village, having first provided for her safety, and as he had determined to keep out of the way himself, having brought his family back to their old place of abode. he had determined on this course from a variety of considerations. nothing, he well knew, could affect his family. he had always studiously kept them from any participation in his offences. the laws had no terror for them; and, untroubled by any process against him, they could still remain and peaceably possess his property, of which he well knew, in the existing state of society in the south, no legal outlawry of himself would ever avail to deprive them. this could not have been his hope in their common flight. such a measure, too, would only have impeded his progress, in the event of his pursuit, and have burdened him with encumbrances which would perpetually involve him in difficulty. he calculated differently his chances. his hope was to be able, when the first excitements had overblown, to return to the village, and at least quietly to effect such a disposition of his property, which was not inconsiderable, as to avoid the heavy and almost entire loss which would necessarily follow any other determination. in all this, however, it may be remarked that the reasonings of rivers, rather than his own, determined his conduct. that more adventurous ruffian had, from his superior boldness and greater capacities in general, acquired a singular and large influence over his companion: he governed him, too, as much by his desire of gain as by any distinct superiority which he himself possessed; he stimulated his avarice with the promised results of their future enterprises in the same region after the passing events were over; and thus held him still in that fearful bondage of subordinate villany whose inevitable tendency is to make the agent the creature, and finally the victim. the gripe which, in a moral sense, and with a slight reference to character, rivers had upon the landlord, was as tenacious as that of death--but with this difference, that it was death prolonged through a fearful, and, though not a protracted, yet much too long a life. the determination of munro was made accordingly; and, following hard upon the flight of lucy from the rocks, we find the landlady quietly reinstated in her old home as if nothing had happened. munro did not, however, return to the place of refuge; he had no such confidence in circumstances as rivers; his fears had grown active in due proportion with his increase of years; and, with the increased familiarity with crime, had grown up in his mind a corresponding doubt of all persons, and an active suspicion which trusted nothing. his abode in all this time was uncertain: he now slept at one deserted lodge, and now at another; now in the disguise of one and now of another character; now on horseback, now on foot--but in no two situations taking the same feature or disguise. in the night-time he sometimes adventured, though with great caution, to the village, and made inquiries. on all hands, he heard of nothing but the preparations making against the clan of which he was certainly one of the prominent heads. the state was roused into activity, and a proclamation of the governor, offering a high reward for the discovery and detention of any persons having a hand in the murder of the guard, was on one occasion put into his own hands. all these things made caution necessary, and, though venturing still very considerably at times, he was yet seldom entirely off his guard. rivers kept close in the cover of his den. that den had numberless ramifications, however, known only to himself; and his calm indifference was the result of a conviction that it would require two hundred men, properly instructed, and all at the same moment, to trace him through its many sinuosities. he too, sometimes, carefully disguised, penetrated into the village, but never much in the sight of those who were not bound to him by a common danger. to lucy he did not appear on such occasions, though he did to the old lady, and even at the family fireside. lucy, indeed, had eyes for few objects, and thoughts but for one. she sat as one stupified with danger, yet sufficiently conscious of it as to be conscious of nothing besides. she was bewildered with the throng of horrible circumstances which had been so crowded on her mind and memory in so brief a space of time. at one moment she blamed her own weakness in suffering the trial of ralph to progress to a consummation which she shuddered to reflect upon. had she a right to withhold her testimony--testimony so important to the life and the honor of one person, because others might suffer in consequence--those others the real criminals, and he the innocent victim? and loving him as she did, and hating or fearing his enemies? had she performed her duty in suffering his case to go to judgment? and such a judgment--so horrible a doom! should she now suffer it to go to its dreadful execution, when a word from her would stay the hand of the officer, and save the life of the condemned? but would such be its effect? what credence would be given now to one who, in the hall of justice, had sunk down like a criminal herself--withholding the truth, and contradicting every word of her utterance? to whom, then, could she apply? who would hear her plea, even though she boldly narrated all the truth, in behalf of the prisoner? she maddened as she thought on all these difficulties; her blood grew fevered, a thick haze overspread her senses, and she raved at last in the most wild delirium. some days went by in her unconsciousness, and when she at length grew calm--when the fever of her mind had somewhat subsided--she opened her eyes and found, to her great surprise, her uncle sitting beside her couch. it was midnight; and this was the hour he had usually chosen when making his visits to his family. in these stolen moments, his attendance was chiefly given to that hapless orphan, whose present sufferings he well knew were in great part attributable to himself. the thought smote him, for, in reference to her, all feeling had not yet departed from his soul. there was still a lurking sensibility--a lingering weakness of humanity--one of those pledges which nature gives of her old affiliation, and which she never entirely takes away from the human heart. there are still some strings, feeble and wanting in energy though they be, which bind even the most reckless outcast in some little particular to humanity; and, however time, and the world's variety of circumstance, may have worn them and impaired their firm hold, they still sometimes, at unlooked-for hours, regrapple the long-rebellious subject, and make themselves felt and understood as in the first moments of their creation. such now was their resumed sway with munro. while his niece--the young, the beautiful, the virtuous--so endowed by nature--so improved by education--so full of those fine graces, beyond the reach of any art--lay before him insensible--her fine mind spent in incoherent ravings--her gentle form racked with convulsive shudderings--the still, small, monitorial voice, unheard so long, spoke out to him in terrible rebukings. he felt in those moments how deeply he had been a criminal; how much, not of his own, he had appropriated to himself and sacrificed; and how sacred a trust he had abused, in the person of the delicate creature before him, by a determination the most cruel and perhaps unnecessary. days had elapsed in her delirium; and such were his newly-awakened feelings, that each night brought him, though at considerable risk, an attendant by her bed. his hand administered--his eyes watched over; and, in the new duties of the parent, he acquired a new feeling of duty and domestic love, the pleasures of which he had never felt before. but she grew conscious at last, and her restoration relieved his mind of one apprehension which had sorely troubled it. her condition, during her illness, was freely described to her. but she thought not of herself--she had no thought for any other than the one for whom thoughts and prayers promised now to avail but little. "uncle--" she spoke at last--"you are here, and i rejoice to see you. i have much to say, much to beg at your hands: oh, let me not beg in vain! let me not find you stubborn to that which may not make me happy--i say not that, for happy i never look to be again--but make me as much so as human power can make me. when--" and she spoke hurriedly, while a strong and aguish shiver went through her whole frame--"when is it said that he must die?" he knew perfectly of whom she spoke, but felt reluctant to indulge her mind in a reference to the subject which had already exercised so large an influence over it. but he knew little of the distempered heart, and fell into an error by no means uncommon with society. she soon convinced him of this, when his prolonged silence left it doubtful whether he contemplated an answer. "why are you silent? do you fear to speak? have no fears now. we have no time for fear. we must be active--ready--bold. feel my hand: it trembles no longer. i am no longer a weak-hearted woman." he again doubted her sanity, and spoke to her soothingly, seeking to divert her mind to indifferent subjects; but she smiled on the endeavor, which she readily understood, and putting aside her aunt, who began to prattle in a like strain, and with a like object, she again addressed her uncle. "doubt me not, uncle: i rave no longer. i am now calm--calm as it is possible for me to be, having such a sorrow as mine struggling at my heart. why should i hide it from you? it will not be hidden. i love him--love him as woman never loved man before--with a soul and spirit all unreservedly his, and with no thought in which he is not always the principal. i know that he loves another; i know that the passion which i feel i must feel and cherish alone; that it must burn itself away, though it burn away its dwelling-place. i am resigned to such a fate; but i am not prepared for more. i can not bear that he too should die--and such a death! he must not die--he must not die, my uncle; though we save him--ay, save him--for another." "shame on you, my daughter!--how can you confess so much? think on your sex--you are a woman--think on your youth!" such was the somewhat strongly-worded rebuke of the old lady. "i have thought on all--on everything. i feel all that you have said, and the thought and the feeling have been my madness. i must speak, or i shall again go mad. i am not the tame and cold creature that the world calls woman. i have been differently made. i can love in the world's despite. i can feel through the world's freeze. i can dare all, when my soul is in it, though the world sneer in scorn and contempt. but what i have said, is said to _you_. i would not--no, not for worlds, that he should know i said it--not for worlds!" and her cheeks were tinged slightly, while her head rested for a single instant upon the pillow. "but all this is nothing!" she started up, and again addressed herself to the landlord. "speak, uncle! tell me, is there yet time--yet time to save him i when is it they say he must die?" "on friday next, at noon." "and this--?" "is monday." "he must not die--no, not die, then, my uncle! _you_ must save him--you _must_ save him! you have been the cause of his doom: you must preserve him from its execution. you owe it him as a debt--you owe it me--you owe it to yourself. believe not, my uncle, that there is no other day than this--no other world--no other penalties than belong to this. you read no bible, but you have a thought which must tell you that there are worlds--there is a life yet to come. i know you can not doubt--you must not doubt--you must believe. have a fear of its punishments, have a hope of its rewards, and listen to my prayer. you must save ralph colleton; ask me not how--talk not of difficulties. you must save him--you must--you must!" "why, you forget, lucy, my dear child--you forget that i too am in danger. this is midnight: it is only at this hour that i can steal into the village; and how, and in what manner, shall i be able to do as you require?" "oh, man!--man!--forgive me, dear uncle, i would not vex you! but if there were gold in that dungeon--broad bars of gold, or shining silver, or a prize that would make you rich, would you ask me the how and the where? would that clumsy block, and those slight bars, and that dull jailer, be an obstacle that would keep you back? would you need a poor girl like me to tell you that the blocks might be pierced--that the bars might be broken--that the jailer might be won to the mercy which would save? you have strength--you have skill--you have the capacity, the power--there is but one thing wanting to my prayer--the will, the disposition!" "you do me wrong, lucy--great wrong, believe me. i feel for this young man, and the thought has been no less painful to me than to you, that my agency has contributed in great measure to his danger. but what if i were to have the will, as you say--what if i went forward to the jailer and offered a bribe--would not the bribe which the state has offered for my arrest be a greater attraction than any in my gift? to scale the walls and break the bars, or in any forcible manner to effect the purpose, i must have confederates, and in whom could i venture to confide? the few to whom i could intrust such a design are like myself, afraid to adventure or be seen, and such a design would be defeated by rivers himself, who so much hates the youth, and is bent on his destruction." "speak not of _him_--_say to him nothing_--you must do it _yourself_ if you do it all. you can effect much if you seriously determine. you can design, and execute all, and find ready and able assistance, if you once willingly set about it. i am not able to advise, nor will you need my counsel. assure me that you will make the effort--that you will put your whole heart in it--and i have no fears--i feel confident of his escape." "you think too highly of my ability in this respect. there was a time, lucy, when such a design had not been so desperate, but now--" "oh, not so desperate now, uncle, uncle--i could not live--not a moment--were he to perish in that dreadful manner. have i no claim upon your mercy--will you not do for me what you would do for money--what you have done at the bidding of that dreadful wretch, rivers? nay, look not away, i know it all--i know that you had the dagger of colleton--that you put it into the hands of the wretch who struck the man--that you saw him strike--that you strove not to stop his hand. fear you not i shall reveal it? fear you not?--but i will not--i can not! yet this should be enough to make you strive in this service. heard you not, too, when lie spoke and stopped my evidence, knowing that my word would have saved him--rather than see me brought to the dreadful trial of telling what i knew of that night--that awful night--when you both sought his life? oh, i could love him for this--for this one thing--were there nothing else besides worthy of my love!" the incident to which she referred had not been unregarded by the individual she addressed, and while she spoke, his looks assumed a meditative expression, and he replied as in soliloquy, and in broken sentences:-- "could i pass to the jail unperceived--gain admittance--then--but who would grapple with the jailer--how manage that?--let me see--but no--no--that is impossible!" "what is impossible?--nothing is impossible in this work, if you will but try. do not hesitate, dear uncle--it will look easier if you will reflect upon it. you will see many ways of bringing it about. you can get aid if you want it. there's the pedler, who is quite willing, and chub--chub will do much, if you can only find him out." the landlord smiled as she named these two accessaries "bunce--why, what could the fellow do?--he's not the man for such service; now chub might be of value, if he'd only follow orders: but that he won't do. i don't see how we're to work it, lucy--it looks more difficult the more i think on it." "oh, if it's only difficult--if it's not impossible--it will be done. do not shrink back, uncle; do not scruple. the youth has done you no wrong--you have done him much. you have brought him where he is, he would have been safe otherwise you must save him. save him, uncle--and hear me as i promise. you may then do with me as you please. from that moment i am your slave, and then, if it must be so--if you will then require it, i am willing then to become _his_ slave too--him whom you have served so faithfully and so unhappily for so long a season." "of whom speak you?" "guy rivers! yes--i shall then obey you, though the funeral come with the bridal." "lucy!" "it is true. i hope not to survive it. it will be a worse destiny to me than even the felon death to the youth whom i would save. do with me as you please then, but let him not perish. rescue him from the doom you have brought upon him--and oh, my uncle, in that other world--if there we meet--the one good deed shall atone, in the thought of my poor father, for the other most dreadful sacrifice to which his daughter now resigns herself." the stern man was touched. he trembled, and his lips quivered convulsively as he took her hand into his own. recovering himself, in a firm tone, as solemn as that which she had preserved throughout the dialogue, he replied-- "hear me, lucy, and believe what i assure you. i _will_ try to save this youth. i will do what i can, my poor child, to redeem the trust of your father. i have been no father to you heretofore, not much of one, at least, but it is not too late, and i will atone. i will do my best for colleton--the thing is full of difficulty and danger, but i will try to save him. all this, however, must be unknown--not a word to anybody; and rivers must not see you happy, or he will suspect. better not be seen--still keep to your chamber, and rest assured that all will be done, in my power, for the rescue of the youth." "oh, now you are, indeed, my father--yet--uncle, shall i see you at the time when it is to be done? tell me at what moment you seek his deliverance, that i may be upon my knees. yet say not to him that i have done anything or said anything which has led to your endeavors. he will not think so well of me if you do; and, though he may not love, i would have him think always of me as if--as if i were a woman." she was overcome with exertion, and in the very revival of her hope, her strength was exhausted; but she had sunk into a sweet sleep ere her uncle left the apartment. chapter xxxv. new parties on the stage. a day more had elapsed, and the bustle in the little village was increased by the arrival of other travellers. a new light came to the dungeon of ralph colleton, in the persons of his uncle and cousin edith, whom his letters, at his first arrest, had apprized of his situation. they knew that situation only in part, however; and the first intimation of his doom was that which he himself gave them. the meeting was full of a painful pleasure. the youth himself was firm--muscle and mind all over; but deeply did his uncle reproach himself for his precipitation and sternness, and the grief of edith, like all deep grief, was dumb, and had no expression. there was but the sign of wo--of wo inexpressible--in the ashy lip, the glazed, the tearless and half-wandering eye, and the convulsive shiver, that at intervals shook her whole frame, like strong and sudden gusts among the foliage. the youth, if he had any at such an hour, spared his reproaches. he narrated in plain and unexaggerated language, as if engaged in the merest narration of commonplace, all the circumstances of his trial. he pointed out the difficulties of his situation, to his mind insuperable, and strove to prepare the minds of those who heard, for the final and saddest trial of all, even as his own mind was prepared. in that fearful work of preparation, the spirit of love could acknowledge no restraining influence, and never was embrace more fond than that of ralph and the maiden. much of his uncle's consolation was found in the better disposition which he now entertained, though at too late a day, in favor of their passion. he would now willingly consent to all. "had you not been so precipitate, ralph--" he said, "had you not been so proud--had you thought at all, or given me time for thought, all this trial had been spared us. was i not irritated by other things when i spoke to you unkindly? you knew not how much i had been chafed--you should not have been so hasty." "no more of this, uncle, i pray you. i was wrong and rash, and i blame you not. i have nobody but myself to reproach. speak not of the matter; but, as the best preparation for all that is to come, let your thought banish me rather from contemplation. why should the memory of so fair a creature as this be haunted by a story such as mine? why should she behold, in her mind's eye, for ever, the picture of my dying agonies--the accursed scaffold--the--" and the emotion of his soul, at the subject of his own contemplation, choked him in his utterance, while edith, half-fainting in his arms, prayed his forbearance. "speak not thus--not of this, ralph, if you would not have me perish. i am fearfully sick now, my head swims, and all is commotion at my heart. not water--not water--give me hope--consolation. tell me that there is still some chance--some little prospect--that some noble people are striving in your cause--that somebody is gone in search of evidence--in search of hope. is there no circumstance which may avail? said you not something of--did you not tell me of a person who could say for you that which would have done much towards your escape? a woman, was it not--speak, who is she--let me go to her--she will not refuse to tell me all, and do all, if she be a woman." ralph assured her in the gentlest manner of the hopelessness of any such application; and the momentary dream which her own desires had conjured into a promise, as suddenly subsided, leaving her to a full consciousness of her desolation. her father at length found it necessary to abridge the interview. every moment of its protraction seemed still more to unsettle the understanding of his daughter. she spoke wildly and confusedly, and in that thought of separation which the doom of her lover perpetually forced upon her, she contemplated, in all its fearful extremities, her own. she was borne away half delirious--the feeling of wo something blunted, however, by the mental unconsciousness following its realization. private apartments were readily found them in the village, and having provided good attendance for his daughter, colonel colleton set out, though almost entirely hopeless, to ascertain still farther the particulars of the case, and to see what might be done in behalf of one of whose innocence he felt perfectly assured. he knew ralph too well to suspect him of falsehood; and the clear narrative which he had given, and the manly and unhesitating account of all particulars having any bearing on the case which had fallen from his lips, he knew, from all his previous high-mindedness of character, might safely be relied on. assured of this himself, he deemed it not improbable that something might undergo development, in a course of active inquiry, which might tend to the creation of a like conviction in the minds of those in whom rested the control of life and judgment. his first visit was to the lawyer, from whom, however, he could procure nothing, besides being compelled, without possibility of escape, to listen to a long string of reproaches against his nephew. "i could, and would have saved him, colonel colleton, if the power were in mortal," was the self-sufficient speech of the little man; "but he would not--he broke in upon me when the very threshold was to be passed, and just as i was upon it. things were in a fair train, and all might have gone well but for his boyish interruption. i would have come over the jury with a settler. i would have made out a case, sir, for their consideration, which every man of them would have believed he himself saw. i would have shown your nephew, sir, riding down the narrow trace, like a peaceable gentleman; anon, sir, you should have seen forrester coming along full tilt after him. forrester should have cried out with a whoop and a right royal oath; then mr. colleton would have heard him, and turned round to receive him. but forrester is drunk, you know, and will not understand the young man's civilities. he blunders out a volley of curses right and left, and bullies master colleton for a fight, which he declines. but forrester is too drunk to mind all that. without more ado, he mounts the young gentleman and is about to pluck out his eyes, when he feels the dirk in his ribs, and then they cut loose. he gets the dirk from master colleton, and makes at him; but he picks up a hatchet that happens to be lying about, and drives at his head, and down drops forrester, as he ought to, dead as a door-nail." "good heavens! and why did you not bring these facts forward? they surely could not have condemned him under these circumstances." "bring them forward! to be sure, i would have done so but, as i tell you, just when on the threshold, at the very entrance into the transaction, up pops this hasty young fellow--i'm sorry to call your nephew so, colonel colleton--but the fact is, he owes his situation entirely to himself. i would have saved him, but he was obstinately bent on not being saved; and just as i commenced the affair, up he pops and tells me, before all the people, that i know nothing about it. a pretty joke, indeed. i know nothing about it, and it my business to know all about it. sir, it ruined him. i saw, from that moment, how the cat would jump. i pitied the poor fellow, but what more could i do?" "but it is not too late--we can memorialize the governor, we can put these facts in form, and by duly showing them with the accompanying proofs, we can obtain a new trial--a respite." "can't be done now--it's too late. had i been let alone--had not the youth come between me and my duty--i would have saved him, sir, as under god, i have saved hundreds before. but it's too late now." "oh, surely not too late! with the facts that you mention, if you will give me the names of the witnesses furnishing them, so that i can obtain their affidavits--" "witnesses!--what witnesses?" "why, did you not tell me of the manner in which forrester assaulted my nephew, and forced upon him what he did as matter of self-defense? where is the proof of this?" "oh, proof! why, you did not think that was the true state of the case--that was only the case i was to present to the jury." "and there is, then, no evidence for what you have said?" "not a tittle, sir. evidence is scarcely necessary in a case like this, sir, where the state proves more than you can possibly disprove. your only hope, sir is to present a plausible conjecture to the jury. just set their fancies to work, and they have a taste most perfectly dramatic. what you leave undone, they will do. where you exhibit a blank, they will supply the words wanting. only set them on trail, and they'll tree the 'possum. they are noble hands at it, and, as i now live and talk to you, sir, not one of them who heard the plausible story which i would have made out, but would have discovered more common sense and reason in it than in all the evidence you could possibly have given them. because, you see, i'd have given them a reason for everything. look, how i should have made out the story. mr. colleton and forrester are excellent friends, and both agree to travel together. well, they're to meet at the forks by midnight. in the meantime, forrester goes to see his sweetheart, kate allen--a smart girl, by the way, colonel, and well to look on. parting's a very uncomfortable thing, now, and they don't altogether like it. kate cries, and forrester storms. well, _must_ come comes at last. they kiss, and are off--different ways. well, grief's but a dry companion, and to get rid of him, forrester takes a drink; still grief holds on, and then he takes another and another, until grief gets off at last, but not before taking with him full half, and not the worst half either, of the poor fellow's senses. what then? why, then he swaggers and swears at everything, and particularly at your nephew, who, you see, not knowing his condition, swears at him for keeping him waiting--" "ralph colleton never swears, mr. pippin," said the colonel, grimly. "well, well, if he didn't swear then, he might very well have sworn, and i'll be sworn but he did on that occasion; and it was very pardonable too. well, he swears at the drunken man, not knowing his condition, and the drunken man rolls and reels like a rowdy, and gives it to him back, and then they get at it. your nephew, who is a stout colt, buffets him well for a time, but forrester, who is a mighty, powerful built fellow, he gets the better in the long run, and both come down together in the road. then forrester, being uppermost, sticks his thumb into master colleton's eye--the left eye, i think, it was--yes, the left eye it was--and the next moment it would have been out, when your nephew, not liking it, whipped out his dirk, and, 'fore forrester could say jack robinson, it was playing about in his ribs; and, then comes the hatchet part, just as i told it you before." "and is none of this truth?" "god bless your soul, no! do you suppose, if it was the truth, it would have taken so long a time in telling? i wouldn't have wasted the breath on it. the witnesses would have done that, if it were true; but in this was the beauty of my art, and had i been permitted to say to the jury what i've said to you, the young man would have been clear. it wouldn't have been gospel, but where's the merit of a lawyer, if he can't go through a bog? this is one of the sweetest and most delightful features of the profession. sir, it is putting the wings of fiction to the lifeless and otherwise immovable body of the fact." colonel colleton was absolutely stunned by the fertility and volubility of the speaker, and after listening for some time longer, as long as it was possible to procure from him anything which might be of service, he took his departure, bending his way next to the wigwam, in which, for the time being, the pedler had taken up his abode. it will not be necessary that we should go with him there, as it is not probable that anything materially serving his purpose or ours will be adduced from the narrative of bunce. in the meantime, we will turn our attention to a personage, whose progress must correspond, in all respects, with that of our narrative. guy rivers had not been unapprized of the presence of the late comers at the village. he had his agents at work, who marked the progress of things, and conveyed their intelligence to him with no qualified fidelity. the arrival of colonel colleton and his daughter had been made known to him within a few hours after its occurrence, and the feelings of the outlaw were of a nature the most complex and contradictory. secure within his den, the intricacies of which were scarcely known to any but himself, he did not study to restrain those emotions which had prompted him to so much unjustifiable outrage. with no eye to mark his actions or to note his speech, the guardian watchfulness which had secreted so much, in his association with others, was taken off; and we see much of that heart and those wild principles of its government, the mysteries of which contain so much that it is terrible to see. slowly, and for a long time after the receipt of the above-mentioned intelligence, he strode up and down the narrow cell of his retreat; all passions at sway and contending for the mastery--sudden action and incoherent utterance occasionally diversifying the otherwise monotonous movements of his person. at one moment, he would clinch his hands with violence together, while an angry malediction would escape through his knitted teeth--at another, a demoniac smile of triumph, and a fierce laugh of gratified malignity would ring through the apartment, coming back upon him in an echo, which would again restore him to consciousness, and bring back the silence so momentarily banished. "they are here; they have come to witness his degradation--to grace my triumph--to feel it, and understand my revenge. we will see if the proud beauty knows me now--if she yet continues to discard and to disdain me. i have her now upon my own terms. she will not refuse; i am sure of her; i shall conquer her proud heart; i will lead her in chains, the heaviest chains of all--the chains of a dreadful necessity. he must die else! i will howl it in her ears with the voice of the wolf; i will paint it before her eyes with a finger dipped in blood and in darkness! she shall see him carried to the gallows; i shall make her note the halter about his neck--that neck, which, in her young thought, her arms were to have encircled only; nor shall she shut her eyes upon the last scene, nor close her ears to the last groan of my victim! she shall see and hear all, or comply with all that i demand! it must be done: but how? how shall i see her? how obtain her presence? how command her attention? pshaw! shall a few beardless soldiers keep me back, and baffle me in this? shall i dread the shadow now, and shrink back when the sun shines out that makes it? i will not fear. i will see her. i will bid defiance to them all! she shall know my power, and upon one condition only will i use it to save him. she will not dare to refuse the condition; she will consent; she will at last be mine: and for this i will do so much--go so far--ay, save him whom i would yet be so delighted to destroy!" night came; and in a small apartment of one of the lowliest dwellings of chestatee, edith and her father sat in the deepest melancholy, conjuring up perpetually in their minds those images of sorrow so natural to their present situation. it was somewhat late, and they had just returned from an evening visit to the dungeon of ralph colleton. the mind of the youth was in far better condition than theirs, and his chief employment had been in preparing them for a similar feeling of resignation with himself. he had succeeded but indifferently. they strove to appear firm, in order that he should not be less so than they found him; but the effort was very perceptible, and the recoil of their dammed-up emotions was only so much more fearful and overpowering. the strength of edith had been severely tried, and her head now rested upon the bosom of her father, whose arms were required for her support, in a state of feebleness and exhaustion, leaving it doubtful, at moments, whether the vital principle had not itself utterly departed. at this period the door opened, and a stranger stood abruptly before them. his manner was sufficiently imposing, though his dress was that of the wandering countryman, savoring of the jockey, and not much unlike that frequently worn by such wayfarers as the stagedriver and carrier of the mails. he had on an overcoat made of buckskin, an article of the indian habit; a deep fringe of the same material hung suspended from two heavy capes that depended from the shoulder. his pantaloons were made of buckskin also; a foxskin cap rested slightly upon his head, rather more upon one side than the other; while a whip of huge dimensions occupied one of his hands. whiskers, of a bushy form and most luxuriant growth, half-obscured his cheek, and the mustaches were sufficiently small to lead to the inference that the wearer had only recently decided to suffer the region to grow wild. a black-silk handkerchief, wrapped loosely about his neck, completed the general outline; and the _tout ensemble_ indicated one of those dashing blades, so frequently to be encountered in the southern country, who, despising the humdrum monotony of regular life, are ready for adventure--lads of the turf, the muster-ground, the general affray--the men who can whip their weight in wild-cats--whose general rule it is to knock down and drag out. though startling at first to both father and daughter, the manner of the intruder was such as to forbid any further alarm than was incidental to his first abrupt appearance. his conduct was respectful and distant--closely observant of the proprieties in his address, and so studiously guarded as to satisfy them, at the very outset, that nothing improper was intended. still, his entrance without any intimation was sufficiently objectionable to occasion a hasty demand from colonel colleton as to the meaning of his intrusion. "none, sir, is intended, which may not be atoned for," was the reply. "i had reason to believe, colonel colleton, that the present melancholy circumstances of your family were such as might excuse an intrusion which may have the effect of making them less so; which, indeed, may go far toward the prevention of that painful event which you now contemplate as certain." the words were electrical in their effect upon both father and daughter. the former rose from his chair, and motioned the stranger to be seated; while the daughter, rapidly rising also, with an emotion which gave new life to her form, inquired breathlessly-- "speak, sir! say--how!"--and she lingered and listened with figure bent sensibly forward, and hand uplifted and motionless, for reply. the person addressed smiled with visible effort, while slight shades of gloom, like the thin clouds fleeting over the sky at noonday, obscured at intervals the otherwise subdued and even expression of his countenance. he looked at the maiden while speaking, but his words were addressed to her father. "i need not tell you, sir, that the hopes of your nephew are gone. there is no single chance upon which he can rest a doubt whereby his safety may be secured. the doom is pronounced, the day is assigned, and the executioner is ready." "is your purpose insult, sir, that you tell us this?" was the rather fierce inquiry of the colonel. "calmly, sir," was the response, in a manner corresponding well with the nature of his words; "my purpose, i have already said, is to bring, or at least to offer, relief; to indicate a course which may result in the safety of the young man whose life is now at hazard; and to contribute, myself, to the object which i propose." "go on--go on, sir, if you please, but spare all unnecessary reference to his situation," said the colonel, as a significant pressure of his arm on the part of his daughter motioned him to patience. the stranger proceeded:-- "my object in dwelling upon the youth's situation was, if possible, by showing its utter hopelessness in every other respect, to induce you the more willingly to hear what i had to offer, and to comply with certain conditions which must be preparatory to any development upon my part." "there is something strangely mysterious in this. i am willing to do anything and everything, in reason and without dishonor, for the safety of my nephew; the more particularly as i believe him altogether innocent of the crime laid to his charge. more than this i dare not; and i shall not be willing to yield to unknown conditions, prescribed by a stranger, whatever be the object: but speak out at once, sir, and keep us no longer in suspense. in the meantime, retire, edith, my child; we shall best transact this business in your absence. you will feel too acutely the consideration of this subject to listen to it in discussion. go, my daughter." but the stranger interposed, with a manner not to be questioned:-- "let her remain, colonel colleton; it is, indeed, only to her that i can reveal the mode and the conditions of the assistance which i am to offer. this was the preliminary condition of which i spoke. to her alone can my secret be revealed, and my conference must be entirely with her." "but, sir, this is so strange--so unusual--so improper." "true, colonel colleton; in the ordinary concerns, the everyday offices of society, it would be strange, unusual, and improper; but these are not times, and this is not a region of the world, in which the common forms are to be insisted upon. you forget, sir, that you are in the wild abiding-place of men scarcely less wild--with natures as stubborn as the rocks, and with manners as uncouth and rugged as the woodland growth which surrounds us. i know as well as yourself that my demand is unusual; but such is my situation--such, indeed, the necessities of the whole case, that there is no alternative. i am persuaded that your nephew can be saved; i am willing to make an effort for that purpose, and my conditions are to be complied with: one of them you have heard--it is for your daughter to hear the rest." the colonel still hesitated. he was very tenacious of those forms of society, and of intercourse between the sexes, which are rigidly insisted upon in the south, and his reluctance was manifest. while he yet hesitated, the stranger again spoke: "the condition which i have proposed, sir, is unavoidable, but i ask you not to remove from hearing: the adjoining room is not so remote but that you can hear any appeal which your daughter may be pleased to make. her call would reach your ears without effort. my own security depends, not less than that of your nephew, upon your compliance with the condition under which only will i undertake to save him." these suggestions prevailed. suspecting the stranger to be one whose evidence would point to the true criminal, himself an offender, he at length assented to the arrangement, and, after a few minutes' further dialogue, he left the room. as he retired, the stranger carefully locked the door, a movement which somewhat alarmed the maiden; but the respectful manner with which he approached her, and her own curiosity not less than interest in the progress of the event, kept her from the exhibition of any apprehensions. the stranger drew nigh her. his glances, though still respectful, were fixed, long and searchingly, upon her face. he seemed to study all its features, comparing them, as it would seem, with his own memories. at length, as with a sense of maidenly propriety, she sternly turned away, he addressed her:-- "miss colleton has forgotten me, it appears, though i have some claim to be an old acquaintance. i, at least, have a better memory for my friends--i have not forgotten _her_." edith looked up in astonishment, but there was no recognition in her glance. a feeling of mortified pride might have been detected in the expression of his countenance, as, with a tone of calm unconsciousness, she replied-- "you are certainly unremembered, if ever known, by me, sir. i am truly sorry to have forgotten one who styles himself my friend." "who was--who is--or, rather, who is now willing again to be your friend, miss colleton," was the immediate reply. "yes, and so i will gladly call you, sir, if you succeed in what you have promised." "i have yet promised nothing, miss colleton." "true, true! but you say you have the power, and surely would not withhold it at such a time. oh, speak, sir! tell me how you can serve us all, and receive my blessings and my thanks for ever." "the reward is great--very great--but not greater--perhaps not as great, as i may demand for my services. but we should not be ignorant of one another in such an affair, and at such a time as this. is it true, then, that miss colleton has no memory which, at this moment, may spare me from the utterance of a name, which perhaps she herself would not be altogether willing to hear, and which it is not my policy to have uttered by any lips, and far less by my own? think--remember--lady, and let me be silent still on that one subject. let no feeling of pride influence the rejection of a remembrance which perhaps carries with it but few pleasant reflections." again were the maiden's eyes fixed searchingly upon the speaker, and again, conflicting with the searching character of his own glance, were they withdrawn, under the direction of a high sense of modest dignity. she had made the effort at recognition--that was evident even to him--and had made it in vain. "entirely forgotten--well! better that than to have been remembered as the thing i was. would it were possible to be equally forgotten by the rest--but this, too, is vain and childish. she must be taught to remember me." thus muttered the stranger to himself; assuming, however, an increased decision of manner at the conclusion, he approached her, and tearing from his cheeks the huge whiskers that had half-obscured them, he spoke in hurried accents:-- "look on me now, miss colleton--look on me now, and while you gaze upon features once sufficiently well known to your glance, let your memory but retrace the few years when it was your fortune, and my fate, to spend a few months in gwinnett county. do you remember the time--do you remember that bold, ambitious man, who, at that time, was the claimant for a public honor--who was distinguished by you in a dance, at the ball given on that occasion--who, maddened by wine, and a fierce passion which preyed upon him then, like a consuming fire, addressed you, though a mere child, and sought you for his bride, who--but i see you remember all!" "and are you then creighton--mr. edward creighton--and so changed!" and she looked upon him with an expression of simple wonder. "ay, that was the name once-but i have another now. would you know me better--i am guy rivers, where the name of creighton must not again be spoken. it is the name of a felon--of one under doom of outlawry--whom all men are privileged to slay. i have been hunted from society--i can no longer herd with my fellows--i am without kin, and am almost without kind. yet, base and black with crime--doomed by mankind--banished all human abodes--the slave of fierce passions--the leagued with foul associates, i dared, in your girlhood, to love you; and, more daring still, i dare to love you now. fear not, lady--you are edith colleton to me; and worthless, and vile, and reckless, though i have become, for you i can hold no thought which would behold you other than you are--a creature for worship rather than for love. as such i would have you still; and for this purpose do i seek you now. i know your feeling for this young man--i saw it then, when you repulsed me. i saw that you loved each other, though neither of you were conscious of the truth. you love him now--you would not have him perish--i know well how you regard him, and i come, knowing this, to make hard conditions with you for his life." "keep me no longer in suspense--speak out, mr. creighton"--she cried, gaspingly. "rivers--rivers--i would not hear the other--it was by that name i was driven from my fellows." "mr. rivers, say what can be done--what am i to do--money--thanks, all that we can give shall be yours, so that you save him from this fate." "and who would speak thus for me? what fair pleader, fearless of man's opinion--that blights or blesses, without reference to right or merit--would so far speak for me!" "many--many, mr. rivers--i hope there are many. heaven knows, though i may have rejected in my younger days, your attentions, i know not many for whom i would more willingly plead and pray than yourself. i do remember now your talents and high reputation, and deeply do i regret the unhappy fortune which has denied them their fulfilment." "ah, edith colleton, these words would have saved me once--now they are nothing, in recompense for the hopes which are for ever gone. your thoughts are gentle, and may sooth all spirits but my own. but sounds that lull others, lull me no longer. it is not the music of a rich dream, or of a pleasant fancy, which may beguile me into pleasure. i am dead--dead as the cold rock--to their influence. the storm which blighted me has seared, and ate into the very core. i am like the tree through which the worm has travelled--it still stands, and there is foliage upon it, but the heart is eaten out and gone. your words touch me no longer as they did--i need something more than words and mere flatteries--flatteries so sweet even as those which come from your lips--are no longer powerful to bind me to your service. i can save the youth--i will save him, though i hate him; but the conditions are fatal to your love for him." there was much in this speech to offend and annoy the hearer; but she steeled herself to listen, and it cost her some effort to reply. "i can listen--i can hear all that you may say having reference to him. i know not what you may intend; i know not what you may demand for your service. but name your condition. all in honor--all that a maiden may grant and be true to herself, all--all, for his life and safety." "still, i fear, miss colleton--your love for him is not sufficiently lavish to enable your liberality to keep pace with the extravagance of my demand--" "hold, sir--on this particular there is no need of further speech. whatever may be the extent of my regard for ralph, it is enough that i am willing to do much, to sacrifice much--in return for his rescue from this dreadful fate. speak, therefore, your demand--spare no word--delay me, i pray, no longer." "hear me, then. as creighton, i loved you years ago--as guy rivers i love you still. the life of ralph colleton is forfeit--for ever forfeit--and a few days only interpose between him and eternity. i alone can save him--i can give him freedom; and, in doing so, i shall risk much, and sacrifice not a little. i am ready for this risk--i am prepared for every sacrifice--i will save him at all hazards from his doom, upon one condition!" "speak! speak!" "that you be mine--that you fly with me--that in the wild regions of the west, where i will build you a cottage and worship you as my own forest divinity, you take up your abode with me, and be my wife. my wife!--all forms shall be complied with, and every ceremony which society may call for. nay, shrink not back thus--" seeing her recoil in horror and scorn at the suggestion--"beware how you defy me--think, that i have his life in my hands--think, that i can speak his doom or his safety--think, before you reply!" "there is no time necessary for thought, sir--none--none. it can not be. i can not comply with the conditions which you propose. i would die first." "and he will die too. be not hasty, miss colleton--remember--it is not merely your death but his--his death upon the gallows--" "spare me! spare me!" "the halter--the crowd--the distorted limb--the racked frame--" "horrible--horrible!" "would you see this--know this, and reflect upon the shame, the mental agony, far greater than all, of such a death to him?" with a strong effort, she recovered her composure, though but an instant before almost convulsed-- "have you no other terms, mr. rivers?" "none--none. accept them, and he lives--i will free him, as i promise. refuse them--deny me, and he must die, and nothing may save him then." "then he must die, sir!--we must both die--before we choose such terms. sir, let me call my father. our conference must end here. you have chosen a cruel office, but i can bear its infliction. you have tantalized a weak heart with hope, only to make it despair the more. but i am now strong, sir--stronger than ever--and we speak no more on this subject." "yet pause--to relent even to-morrow may be too late. to-night you must determine, or never." "i have already determined. it is impossible that i can determine otherwise. no more, sir!" "there is one, lady--one young form--scarcely less beautiful than yourself, who would make the same--ay, and a far greater--sacrifice than this, for the safety of ralph colleton. one far less happy in his love than you, who would willingly die for him this hour. would you be less ready than she is for such a sacrifice?" "no, not less ready for death--as i live--not less willing to free him with the loss of my own life. but not ready for a sacrifice like this--not ready for this." "you have doomed him!" "be it so, sir. be it so. let me now call my father." "yet think, ere it be too late--once gone, not even your words shall call me back." "believe me, i shall not desire it." the firmness of the maiden was finely contrasted with the disappointment of the outlaw. he was not less mortified with his own defeat than awed by the calm and immoveable bearing, the sweet, even dignity, which the discussion of a subject so trying to her heart, and the overthrow of all hope which her own decision must have occasioned, had failed utterly to affect. he would have renewed his suggestions, but while repeating them, a sudden commotion in the village--the trampling of feet--the buzz of many voices, and sounds of wide-spread confusion, contributed to abridge an interview already quite too long. the outlaw rushed out of the apartment, barely recognising, at his departure, the presence of colonel colleton, whom his daughter had now called in. the cause of the uproar we reserve for another chapter. chapter xxxvi. proposed rescue. the pledge which munro had given to his niece in behalf of colleton was productive of no small inconvenience to the former personage. though himself unwilling--we must do him the justice to believe--that the youth should perish for a crime so completely his own, he had in him no great deal of that magnanimous virtue, of itself sufficiently strong to have persuaded him to such a risk, as that which he had undertaken at the supplication of lucy. the more he reflected upon the matter, the more trifling seemed the consideration. with such a man, to reflect is simply to _calculate_. money, now--the spoil or the steed of the traveller--would have been a far more decided stimulant to action. in regarding such an object, he certainly would have overlooked much of the danger, and have been less heedful of the consequences. the selfishness of the motive would not merely have sanctioned, but have smoothed the enterprise; and he thought too much with the majority--allowing for any lurking ambition in his mind--not to perceive that where there is gain there must be glory. none of these consolatory thoughts came to him in the contemplation of his present purpose. to adventure his own life--perhaps to exchange places with the condemned he proposed to save--though, in such a risk, he only sought to rescue the innocent from the doom justly due to himself--was a flight of generous impulse somewhat above the usual aim of the landlord; and, but for the impelling influence of his niece--an influence which, in spite of his own evil habits, swayed him beyond his consciousness--we should not now have to record the almost redeeming instance in the events of his life at this period--the _one_ virtue, contrasting with, if it could not lessen or relieve, the long tissue of his offences. there were some few other influences, however--if this were not enough--coupled with that of his niece's entreaty, which gave strength and decision to his present determination. munro was not insensible to the force of superior character, and a large feeling of veneration led him, from the first, to observe the lofty spirit and high sense of honor which distinguished the bearing and deportment of ralph colleton. he could not but admire the native superiority which characterized the manner of the youth, particularly when brought into contrast with that of guy rivers, for whom the same feeling had induced a like, though not a parallel respect, on the part of the landlord. it may appear strange to those accustomed only to a passing and superficial estimate of the thousand inconsistencies which make up that contradictory creation, the human mind, that such should be a feature in the character of a ruffian like munro; but, to those who examine for themselves, we shall utter nothing novel when we assert, that a respect for superiority of mental and even mere moral attribute, enters largely into the habit of the ruffian generally. the murderer is not unfrequently found to possess benevolence as well as veneration in a high degree; and the zealots of all countries and religions are almost invariably creatures of strong and violent passions, to which the extravagance of their zeal and devotion furnishes an outlet, which is not always innocent in its direction or effects. thus, in their enthusiasm--which is only a minor madness--whether the hindoo bramin or the spanish bigot, the english roundhead or the follower of the "only true faith" at mecca, be understood, it is but a word and a blow--though the word be a hurried prayer to the god of their adoration, and the blow be aimed with all the malevolence of hell at the bosom of a fellow-creature. there is no greater inconsistency in the one character than in the other. the temperament which, under false tuition, makes the zealot, and drives him on to the perpetration of wholesale murder, while uttering a prayer to the deity, prompts the same individual who, as an assassin or a highwayman, cuts your throat, and picks your pocket, and at the next moment bestows his ill-gotten gains without reservation upon the starving beggar by the wayside. there was yet another reason which swayed munro not a little in his determination, if possible, to save the youth--and this was a lurking sentiment of hostility to rivers. his pride, of late, on many occasions, had taken alarm at the frequent encroachments of his comrade upon its boundaries. the too much repeated display of that very mental superiority in his companion, which had so much fettered him, had aroused his own latent sense of independence; and the utterance of sundry pungent rebukes on the part of rivers had done much towards provoking within him a new sentiment of dislike for that person, which gladly availed itself of the first legitimate occasion for exercise and development. the very superiority which commanded, and which he honored, he hated for that very reason; and, in our analysis of moral dependence, we may add, that, in greece, and the mere hob of the humble farmhouse, munro might have been the countryman to vote aristides into banishment because of his reputation for justice. the barrier is slight, the space short, the transition easy, from one to the other extreme of injustice; and the peasant who voted for the banishment of the just man, in another sphere and under other circumstances, would have been a borgia or a catiline. with this feeling in his bosom, munro was yet unapprized of its existence. it is not with the man, so long hurried forward by his impulses as at last to become their creature, to analyze either their character or his own. vice, though itself a monster, is yet the slave of a thousand influences, not absolutely vicious in themselves; and their desires it not uncommonly performs when blindfolded. it carries the knife, it strikes the blow, but is not always the chooser of its own victim. but, fortunately for ralph colleton, whatever and how many or how few were the impelling motives leading to this determination, munro had decided upon the preservation of his life; and, with that energy of will, which, in a rash office, or one violative of the laws, he had always heretofore displayed, he permitted no time to escape him unemployed for the contemplated purpose. his mind immediately addressed itself to its chosen duty, and, in one disguise or another, and those perpetually changing, he perambulated the village, making his arrangements for the desired object. the difficulties in his way were not trifling in character nor few in number; and the greatest of these was that of finding coadjutors willing to second him. he felt assured that he could confide in none of his well-known associates, who were to a man the creatures of rivers; that outlaw, by a liberality which seemed to disdain money, and yielding every form of indulgence, having acquired over them an influence almost amounting to personal affection. fortunately for his purpose, rivers dared not venture much into the village or its neighborhood; therefore, though free from any fear of obstruction from one in whose despite his whole design was undertaken, munro was yet not a little at a loss for his co-operation. to whom, at that moment, could he turn, without putting himself in the power of an enemy? thought only raised up new difficulties in his way, and in utter despair of any better alternative, though scarcely willing to trust to one of whom he deemed so lightly, his eyes were compelled to rest, in the last hope, upon the person of the pedler, bunce. bunce, if the reader will remember, had, upon his release from prison, taken up his abode temporarily in the village. under the protection now afforded by the presence of the judge, and the other officers of justice--not to speak of the many strangers from the adjacent parts, whom one cause or another had brought to the place--he had presumed to exhibit his person with much more audacity and a more perfect freedom from apprehension than he had ever shown in the same region before. he now--for ever on the go--thrust himself fearlessly into every cot and corner. no place escaped the searching analysis of his glance; and, in a scrutiny so nice, it was not long before he had made the acquaintance of everybody and everything at all worthy, in that region, to be known. he could now venture to jostle pippin with impunity; for, since the trial in which he had so much blundered, the lawyer had lost no small portion of the confidence and esteem of his neighbors. accused of the abandonment of his client--an offence particularly monstrous in the estimation of those who are sufficiently interested to acquire a personal feeling in such matters--and compelled, as he had been--a worse feature still in the estimation of the same class--to "eat his own words"--he had lost caste prodigiously in the last few days, and his fine sayings lacked their ancient flavor in the estimation of his neighbors. his speeches sunk below par along with himself; and the pedler, in his contumelious treatment of the disconsolate jurist, simply obeyed and indicated the direction of the popular opinion. one or two rude replies, and a nudge which the elbow of bunce, effected in the ribs of the lawyer, did provoke the latter so far as to repeat his threat on the subject of the prosecution for the horse; but the pedler snapped his fingers in his face as he did so, and bade him defiance. he also reminded pippin of the certain malfeasances to which he had referred previously, and the consciousness of the truth was sufficiently strong and awkward to prevent his proceeding to any further measure of disquiet with the offender. thus, without fear, and with an audacity of which he was not a little proud, bunce perambulated the village and its neighborhood, in a mood and with a deportment he had never ventured upon before in that quarter. he had a variety of reasons for lingering in the village seemingly in a state of idleness. bunce was a long-sighted fellow, and beheld the promise which it held forth, at a distance, of a large and thriving business in the neighborhood; and he had too much sagacity not to be perfectly aware of the advantage, to a tradesman, resulting from a prior occupation of the ground. he had not lost everything in the conflagration which destroyed his cart-body and calicoes; for, apart from sundry little debts due him in the surrounding country, he had carefully preserved around his body, in a black silk handkerchief, a small wallet, holding a moderate amount of the best bank paper. bunce, among other things, had soon learned to discriminate between good and bad paper, and the result of his education in this respect assured him of the perfect integrity of the three hundred and odd dollars which kept themselves snugly about his waist--ready to be expended for clocks and calicoes, horn buttons and wooden combs, knives, and negro-handkerchiefs, whenever their proprietor should determine upon a proper whereabout in which to fix himself. bunce had grown tired of peddling--the trade was not less uncertain than fatiguing. besides, travelling so much among the southrons, he had imbibed not a few of their prejudices against his vocation, and, to speak the truth, had grown somewhat ashamed of his present mode of life. he was becoming rapidly aristocratic, as we may infer from a very paternal and somewhat patronizing epistle, which he despatched about this time to his elder brother and copartner, ichabod bunce, who carried on his portion of the business at their native place in meriden, connecticut. he told him, in a manner and vein not less lofty than surprising to his coadjutor, that it "would not be the thing, no how, to keep along, lock and lock with him, in the same gears." it was henceforward his "idee to drive on his own hook. times warn't as they used to be;" and the fact was--he did not say it in so many words--the firm of ichabod bunce and brother was scarcely so creditable to the latter personage as he should altogether desire among his southern friends and acquaintances. he "guessed, therefore, best haul off," and each--here bunce showed his respect for his new friends by quoting their phraseology--"must paddle his own canoe." we have minced this epistle, and have contented ourselves with providing a scrap, here and there, to the reader--despairing, as we utterly do, to gather from memory a full description of a performance so perfectly unique in its singular compound of lofty vein, with the patois and vulgar contractions of his native, and those common to his adopted country. it proved to his more staid and veteran brother, that jared was the only one of his family likely to get above his bread and business; but, while he lamented the wanderings and follies of his brother, he could not help enjoying a sentiment of pride as he looked more closely into the matter. "who knows," thought the clockmaker to himself, "but that jared, who is a monstrous sly fellow, will pick up some southern heiress, with a thousand blackies, and an hundred acres of prime cotton-land to each, and thus ennoble the blood of the bunces by a rapid ascent, through the various grades of office in a sovereign state, until a seat in congress--in the cabinet itself--receives him;"--and ichabod grew more than ever pleased and satisfied with the idea, when he reflected that jared had all along been held to possess a goodly person, and a very fair development of the parts of speech. he even ventured to speculate upon the possibility of jared passing into the white house--the dawn of that era having already arrived, which left nobody safe from the crowning honors of the republic. whether the individual of whom so much was expected, himself entertained any such anticipations or ideas, we do not pretend to say; but, certain it is, that the southern candidate for the popular suffrage could never have taken more pains to extend his acquaintance or to ingratiate himself among the people, than did our worthy friend the pedler. in the brief time which he had passed in the village after the arrest of colleton, he had contrived to have something to say or do with almost everybody in it. he had found a word for his honor the judge; and having once spoken with that dignitary, bunce was not the man to fail at future recognition. no distance of manner, no cheerless response, to the modestly urged or moderate suggestion, could prompt him to forego an acquaintance. with the jurors he had contrived to enjoy a sup of whiskey at the tavern bar-room, and had actually, and with a manner the most adroit, gone deeply into the distribution of an entire packet of steel-pens, one of which he accommodated to a reed, and to the fingers of each of the worthy twelve, who made the panel on that occasion--taking care, however, to assure them of the value of the gift, by saying, that if he were to sell the article, twenty-five cents each would be his lowest price, and he could scarcely save himself at that. but this was not all. having seriously determined upon abiding at the south, he ventured upon some few of the practices prevailing in that region, and on more than one occasion, a gallon of whiskey had circulated "free gratis," and "_pro bono publico_," he added, somewhat maliciously, at the cost of our worthy tradesman. these things, it may not be necessary to say, had elevated that worthy into no moderate importance among those around him; and, that he himself was not altogether unconscious of the change, it may be remarked that an ugly _kink_, or double in his back--the consequence of his pack and past humility--had gone down wonderfully, keeping due pace in its descent with the progress of his upward manifestations. such was the somewhat novel position of bunce, in the village and neighborhood of chestatee, when the absolute necessity of the case prompted munro's application to him for assistance in the proposed extrication of ralph colleton. the landlord had not been insensible to the interest which the pedler had taken in the youth's fortune, and not doubting his perfect sympathy with the design in view, he felt the fewer scruples in approaching him for the purpose. putting on, therefore, the disguise, which, as an old woman, had effectually concealed his true person from bunce on a previous occasion, he waited until evening had set in fairly, and then proceeded to the abode of him he sought. the pedler was alone in his cottage, discussing, most probably, his future designs, and calculating to a nicety the various profits of each premeditated branch of his future business. munro's disguise was intended rather to facilitate his progress without detection through the village, than to impose upon the pedler merely; but it was not unwise that he should be ignorant also of the person with whom he dealt. affecting a tone of voice, therefore, which, however masculine, was yet totally unlike his own, the landlord demanded a private interview, which was readily granted, though, as the circumstance was unusual, with some few signs of trepidation. bunce was no lover of old women, nor, indeed, of young ones either. he was habitually and constitutionally cold and impenetrable on the subject of all passions, save that of trade, and would rather have sold a dress of calico, than have kissed the prettiest damsel in creation. his manner, to the old woman who appeared before him, seemed that of one who had an uncomfortable suspicion of having pleased rather more than he intended; and it was no small relief, therefore, the first salutation being over, when the masculine tones reassured him. munro, without much circumlocution, immediately proceeded to ask whether he was willing to lend a hand for the help of colleton, and to save him from the gallows? "colleton!--save master colleton!--do tell--is that what you mean?" "it is. are you the man to help your friend--will you make one along with others who are going to try for it?" "well, now, don't be rash; give a body time to consider. it's pesky full of trouble; dangerous, too. it's so strange!--" and the pedler showed himself a little bewildered by the sudden manner in which the subject had been broached. "there's little time to be lost, bunce: if we don't set to work at once, we needn't set to work at all. speak out, man! will you join us, now or never, to save the young fellow?" with something like desperation in his manner, as if he scrupled to commit himself too far, yet had the will to contribute considerably to the object, the pedler replied:-- "save the young fellow? well, i guess i will, if you'll jest say what's to be done. i'll lend a hand, to be sure, if there's no trouble to come of it. he's a likely chap, and not so stiff neither, though i did count him rather high-headed at first; but after that, he sort a smoothed down, and now i don't know nobody i'd sooner help jest now out of the slush: but i can't see how we're to set about it." "can you fight, bunce? are you willing to knock down and drag out, when there's need for it?" "why, if i was fairly listed, and if so be there's no law agin it. i don't like to run agin the law, no how; and if you could get a body clear on it, why, and there's no way to do the thing no other how, i guess i shouldn't stand too long to consider when it's to help a friend." "it may be no child's play, bunce, and there must be stout heart and free hand. one mustn't stop for trifles in such cases; and, as for the law, when a man's friend's in danger, he must make his own law." "that wan't my edication, no how; my principles goes agin it. i must think about it. i must have a little time to consider." but the landlord saw no necessity for consideration, and, fearful that the scruples of bunce would be something too strong, he proceeded to smooth away the difficulty. "after all, bunce, the probability is, we shall be able to manage the affair without violence: so we shall try, for i like blows just as little as anybody else; but it's best, you know, to make ready for the worst. nobody knows how things will turn up; and if it comes to the scratch, why, one mustn't mind knocking a fellow on the head if he stands in the way." "no, to be sure not. 'twould be foolish to stop and think about what's law, and what's not law, and be knocked down yourself." "certainly, you're right, bunce; that's only reason." "and yet, mister, i guess you wouldn't want that i should know your raal name, now, would you? or maybe you're going to tell it to me now? well--" "to the business: what matters it whether i have a name or not? i have a fist, you see, and--" "yes, yes, i see," exclaimed he of the notions, slightly retreating, as munro, suiting the action to the word, thrust, rather more closely to the face of his companion than was altogether encouraging, the ponderous mass which courtesy alone would consider a fist-- "well, i don't care, you see, to know the name, mister; but somehow it raally aint the thing, no how, to be mistering nobody knows who. i see you aint a woman plain enough from your face, and i pretty much conclude you must be a man; though you have got on--what's that, now? it's a kind of calico, i guess; but them's not fast colors, friend. i should say, now, you had been taken in pretty much by that bit of goods. it aint the kind of print, now, that's not afeard of washing." "and if i have been taken in, bunce, in these calicoes, you're the man that has done it," said the landlord, laughing. "this piece was sold by you into my own hands, last march was a year, when you came back from the cherokees." "now, don't! well, i guess there must be some mistake; you aint sure, now, friend: might be some other dealer that you bought from?" "none other than yourself, bunce. you are the man, and i can bring a dozen to prove it on you." "well, i 'spose what you say's true, and that jest let's me know how to mister you now, 'cause, you see, i do recollect now all about who i sold that bit of goods to that season." the landlord had been overreached; and, amused with the ingenuity of the trader, he contented himself with again lifting the huge fist in a threatening manner, though the smile which accompanied the action fairly deprived it of its terrors. "well, well," said the landlord "we burn daylight in such talk as this. i come to you as the only man who will or can help me in this matter; and lucy munro tells me you will--you made her some such promise." "well, now, i guess i must toe the chalk, after all; though, to say truth, i don't altogether remember giving any such promise. it must be right, though, if she says it; and sartain she's a sweet body--i'll go my length for her any day." "you'll not lose by it; and now hear my plan. you know brooks, the jailer, and his bulldog brother-in-law, tongs? i saw you talking with both of them yesterday." "guess you're right. late acquaintance, though; they aint neither on 'em to my liking." "enough for our purpose. tongs is a brute who will drink as long as he can stand, and some time after it. brooks is rather shy of it, but he will drink enough to stagger him, for he is pretty weak-headed. we have only to manage these fellows, and there's the end of it. they keep the jail." "yes, i know; but you don't count young brooks?" "oh, he's a mere boy. don't matter about him. he's easily managed. now hear to my design. provide your jug of whiskey, with plenty of eggs and sugar, so that they shan't want anything, and get them here. send for tongs at once, and let him only know what's in the wind; then ask brooks, and he will be sure to force him to come. say nothing of the boy; let him stay or come, as they think proper. to ask all might make them suspicious. they'll both come. they never yet resisted a spiritual temptation. when here, ply them well, and then we shall go on according to circumstances. brooks carries the keys along with him: get him once in for it, and i'll take them from him. if he resists, or any of them--" "knock 'em down?" "ay, quickly as you say it!" "well, but how if they do not bring the boy, and they leave him in the jail?" "what then! can't we knock him down too?" "but, then, they'll fix the whole business on my head. won't brooks and tongs say where they got drunk, and then shan't i be in a scant fixin'?" "they dare not. they won't confess themselves drunk--it's as much as their place is worth. they will say nothing till they got sober, and then they'll get up some story that will hurt nobody." "but--" "but what? will you never cease to but against obstacles? are you a man--are you ready--bent to do what you can? speak out, and let me know if i can depend on you," exclaimed the landlord, impatiently. "now, don't be in a passion! you're as soon off as a fly-machine, and a thought sooner. why, didn't i say, now, i'd go my length for the young gentleman? and i'm sure i'm ready, and aint at all afeared, no how. i only did want to say that, if the thing takes wind, as how it raaly stood, it spiles all my calkilations. i couldn't 'stablish a consarn here, i guess, for a nation long spell of time after." "and what then? where's your calculations? get the young fellow clear, and what will his friends do for you? think of that, bunce. you go off to carolina with him, and open store in his parts, and he buys from you all he wants--his negro-cloths, his calicoes, his domestics, and stripes, and everything. then his family, and friends and neighbors, under his recommendation--they all buy from you; and then the presents they will make you--the fine horses--and who knows but even a plantation and negroes may all come out of this one transaction?" "to be sure--who knows? well, things do look temptatious enough, and there's a mighty deal of reason, now, in what you say. large business that, i guess, in the long run. aint i ready? let's see--a gallon of whiskey--aint a gallon a heap too much for only three people?" "better have ten than want. then there must be pipes, tobacco, cigars; and mind, when they get well on in drinking, i shall look to you through that window. be sure and come to me then. make some pretence, for, as brooks may be slow and cautious, i shall get something to drop into his liquor--a little mixture which i shall hand you." "what mixture? no pizen, i hope! i don't go that, not i--no pizening for me." "pshaw! fool--nonsense! if i wanted their lives, could i not choose a shorter method, and a weapon which i could more truly rely upon than i ever can upon you? it is to make them sleep that i shall give you the mixture." "oh, laudnum. well, now why couldn't you say laudnum at first, without frightening people so with your mixtures'?--there's no harm in laudnum, for my old aunt tabitha chaws laudnum-gum jest as other folks chaws tobacco." "well, that's all--it's only to get them asleep sooner. see now about your men at once. we have no time to lose; and, if this contrivance fails, i must look about for another. it must be done to-night, or it can not be done at all. in an hour i shall return; and hope, by that time, to find you busy with their brains. ply them well--don't be slow or stingy--and see that you have enough of whiskey. here's money--have everything ready." the pedler took the money--why not? it was only proper to spoil the egyptians--and, after detailing fully his plans, munro left him. bunce gave himself but little time and less trouble for reflection. the prospects of fortune which the landlord had magnified to his vision, were quite too enticing to be easily resisted by one whose _morale_ was not of a sort to hold its ground against his habitual cupidity and newly-awakened ambition; and having provided everything, as agreed upon, necessary for the accommodation of the jailer and his assistant, bunce sallied forth for the more important purpose of getting his company. chapter xxxvii. sack and sugar. the task of getting the desired guests, as munro had assured him, was by no means difficult, and our pedler was not long in reporting progress. tongs, a confirmed toper, was easily persuaded to anything that guarantied hard drinking. he luxuriated in the very idea of a debauch. brooks, his brother-in-law, was a somewhat better and less pregnable person; but he was a widower, had been a good deal with tongs, and, what with the accustomed loneliness of the office which he held, and the gloomy dwelling in which it required he should live, he found it not such an easy matter to resist the temptation of social enjoyment, and all the pleasant associations of that good-fellowship, which bunce had taken care to depict before the minds of both parties. the attractions of bunce himself, by-the-way, tended, not less than the whiskey and cigars, to persuade the jailer, and to neutralize most of the existing prejudices current among those around him against his tribe. he had travelled much, and was no random observer. he had seen a great deal, as well of human nature as of places; could tell a good story, in good spirit; and was endowed with a dry, sneaking humor, that came out unawares upon his hearers, and made them laugh frequently in spite of themselves. bunce had been now sufficiently long in the village to enable those about him to come at a knowledge of his parts; and his accomplishments, in the several respects referred to, were by this time generally well understood. the inducement was sufficiently strong with the jailer; and, at length, having secured the main entrance of the jail carefully, he strapped the key to a leathern girdle, which he wore about him, lodging it in the breast-pocket of his coat, where he conceived it perfectly safe, he prepared to go along with his worthy brother-in-law. nor was the younger brooks forgotten. being a tall, good-looking lad of sixteen, tongs insisted it was high time he should appear among men; and the invitation of the pedler was opportune, as affording a happy occasion for his initiation into some of those practices, esteemed, by a liberal courtesy, significant of manliness. with everything in proper trim, bunce stood at the entrance of his lodge, ready to receive them. the preliminaries were soon despatched, and we behold them accordingly, all four, comfortably seated around a huge oaken table in the centre of the apartment. there was the jug, and there the glasses--the sugar, the peppermint, the nutmegs--the pipes and tobacco--all convenient, and sufficiently tempting for the unscrupulous. the pedler did the honors with no little skill, and tongs plunged headlong into the debauch. the whiskey was never better, and found, for this reason, anything but security where it stood. glass after glass, emptied only to be replenished, attested the industrious hospitality of the host, not less than its own excellence. tongs, averaging three draughts to one of his companion's, was soon fairly under way in his progress to that state of mental self-glorification in which the world ceases to have vicissitudes, and the animal realizes the abstractions of an ancient philosophy, and denies all pain to life. brooks, however, though not averse to the overcoming element, had more of that vulgar quality of prudence than his brother-in-law, and far more than was thought amiable in the opinion of the pedler. for some time, therefore, he drank with measured scrupulousness; and it was with no small degree of anxiety that bunce plied him with the bottle--complaining of his unsociableness, and watching, with the intensity of any other experimentalist, the progress of his scheme upon him. as for the lad--the younger brooks--it was soon evident that, once permitted, and even encouraged to drink, as he had been, by his superiors, he would not, after a little while, give much if any inconvenience to the conspirators. the design of the pedler was considerably advanced by tongs, who, once intoxicated himself, was not slow in the endeavor to bring all around him under the same influence. "drink, brooks--drink, old fellow," he exclaimed; "as you are a true man, drink, and don't fight shy of the critter! whiskey, my boy--old monongahely like this, i say--whiskey is wife and children--house and horse--lands and niggers--liberty and [hiccup] plenty to live on! don't you see how i drive ahead, and don't care for the hind wheels? it's all owing to whiskey! grog, i say--hark ye, mr. pedler--grog, i say, is the wheels of life: it carries a man _for'ad_. why don't men go _for'ad_ in the world? what's the reason now? i'll tell you. they're afeared. well, now, who's afeared when he's got a broadside of whiskey in him? nobody--nobody's afeared but you--you, ben brooks, you're a d----d crick--crick--you're always afeared of something, or nothing; for, after all, whenever you're afeared of something, it turns out to be nothing! all 'cause you don't drink like a man. that's his cha-cha-_rack_-ter, mr. bunce; and it's all owing 'cause he won't drink!" "guess there's no sparing of reason in that bit of argument, now, i tell you, mr. tongs. bless my heart--it's no use talking, no how, but i'd a been clean done up, dead as a door-nail, if it hadn't been for drink. strong drink makes strong. many's the time, and the freezing cold, and the hard travelling in bad roads, and other dreadful fixins i've seed, would soon ha' settled me up, if it hadn't been for that same good stuff there, that master brooks does look as if he was afeared on. now, don't be afeared, master brooks. there's no teeth in whiskey, and it never bites nobody." "no," said brooks, with the utmost simplicity; "only when they take too much." "how?" said the pedler, looking as if the sentence contained some mysterious meaning. brooks might have explained, but for tongs, who dashed in after this fashion:-- "and who takes too much? you don't mean to say i takes too much, ben brooks. i'd like to hear the two-legged critter, now, who'd say i takes more of the stuff than does me good. i drinks in reason, for the benefit of my health; and jest, you see, as a sort of medicine, mr. bunce; and, brooks, you knows i never takes a drop more than is needful." "sometimes--sometimes, tongs, you know you ain't altogether right under it--now and then you take a leetle too much for your good," was the mild response of brooks, to the almost fierce speech of his less scrupulous brother-in-law. the latter, thus encountered, changed his ground with singular rapidity. "well, by dogs!--and what of that?--and who is it says i shan't, if it's my notion? i'd like now to see the boy that'll stand up agin me and make such a speech. who says i shan't take what i likes--and that i takes more than is good for me? does you say so, mr. bunce?" "no, thank ye, no. how should i say what ain't true? you don't take half enough, now, it's my idee, neither on you. it's all talk and no cider, and that i call monstrous dry work. come, pass round the bottle. here's to you, master tongs--master brooks, i drink your very good health. but fill up, fill up--you ain't got nothing in your tumbler." "no, he's a sneak--you're a sneak, brooks, if you don't fill up to the hub. go the whole hog, boy, and don't twist your mouth as if the stuff was physic. it's what i call nation good, now; no mistake in it, i tell you." "hah! that's a true word--there's no mistake in this stuff. it is jest now what i calls ginywine." "true monongahely, master bunce. whoever reckoned to find a yankee pedler with a _raal_ good taste for monongahely? give us your fist, mr. bunce; i see you know's what's what. you ain't been among us for nothing. you've larned something by travelling; and, by dogs! you'll come to be something yit, if you live long enough--if so be you can only keep clear of the _old range_." the pedler winced under the equivocal compliments of his companion, but did not suffer anything of this description to interfere with the vigorous prosecution of his design. he had the satisfaction to perceive that brooks had gradually accommodated himself not a little to the element in which his brother-in-law, tongs, was already floating happily; and the boy, his son, already wore the features of one over whose senses the strong liquor was momentarily obtaining the mastery. but these signs did not persuade him into any relaxation of his labors; on the contrary, encouraged by success, he plied the draughts more frequently and freely than before, and with additional evidence of the influence of the potation upon those who drank, when he found that he was enabled, unperceived, to deposit the contents of his own tumbler, in most instances, under the table around which they gathered. in the cloud of smoke encircling them, and sent up from their several pipes, bunce could perceive the face of his colleague in the conspiracy peering in occasionally upon the assembly, and at length, on some slight pretence, he approached the aperture agreeably to the given signal, and received from the hands of the landlord a vial containing a strong infusion of opium, which he placed cautiously in his bosom, and awaited the moment of more increased stupefaction to employ it. so favorably had the liquor operated by this time upon the faculties of all, that the elder brooks grew garrulous and full of jest at the expense of his son--who now, completely overcome, had sunk down with his head upon the table in a profound slumber. the pedler joined, as well as tongs, in the merriment--this latter personage, by the way, having now put himself completely under the control of the ardent spirit, and exhibiting all the appearance of a happy madness. he howled like the wolf, imitated sundry animals, broke out into catches of song, which he invariably failed to finish, and, at length, grappling his brother-in-law, brooks, around the neck, with both arms, as he sat beside him, he swore by all that was strong in _monongahely_, he should give them a song. "that's jest my idee, now, master tongs. a song is a main fine thing, now, to fill up the chinks. first a glass, then a puff or two, and then a song." brooks, who, in backwood parlance, was "considerably up a stump"--that is to say, half drunk--after a few shows of resistance, and the utterance of some feeble scruples, which were all rapidly set aside by his companions, proceeded to pour forth the rude melody which follows:-- the how-d'ye-do boy. "for a how-d'ye-do boy, 'tis pleasure enough to have a sup of such goodly stuff-- to float away in a sky of fog, and swim the while in a sea of grog; so, high or low, let the world go, the how-d'ye-do boy don't care for it--no--no--no--no." tonga, who seemed to be familiar with the uncouth dithyrambic, joined in the chorus, with a tumultuous discord, producing a most admirable effect; the pedler dashing in at the conclusion, and shouting the _finale_ with prodigious compass of voice. the song proceeded:-- "for a how-d'ye-do boy, who smokes and drinks, he does not care who cares or thinks; would grief deny him to laugh and sing, he knocks her down with a single sling-- so, high or low, let the world go, the how-d'ye-do boy don't care for it--no--no--no--no. "the how-d'ye-do boy is a boy of the night-- it brings no cold, and it does not fright; he buttons his coat and laughs at the shower, and he has a song for the darkest hour-- so, high or low, let the world go, the how-d'ye-do boy don't care for it--no--no--no--no." the song gave no little delight to all parties. tongs shouted, the pedler roared applause, and such was the general satisfaction, that it was no difficult thing to persuade brooks to the demolition of a bumper, which bunce adroitly proposed to the singer's own health. it was while the hilarity thus produced was at its loudest, that the pedler seized the chance to pour a moderate portion of the narcotic into the several glasses of his companions, while a second time filling them; but, unfortunately for himself, not less than the design in view, just at this moment brooks grew awkwardly conscious of his own increasing weakness, having just reason enough left to feel that he had already drunk too much. with a considerable show of resolution, therefore, he thrust away the glass so drugged for his benefit, and declared his determination to do no more of that business. he withstood all the suggestions of the pedler on the subject, and the affair began to look something less than hopeless when he proceeded to the waking up of his son, who, overcome by the liquor, was busily employed in a profound sleep, with his head upon the table. tongs, who had lost nearly all the powers of action, though retaining not a few of his parts of speech, now came in fortunately to the aid of the rather-discomfited pedler. pouring forth a volley of oaths, in which his more temperate brother-in-law was denounced as a mean-spirited critter, who couldn't drink with his friend or fight with his enemy, he made an ineffectual effort to grapple furiously with the offender, while he more effectually arrested his endeavor to waken up his son. it is well, perhaps, that his animal man lacked something of its accustomed efficiency, and resolutely refused all co-operation with his mood; or, it is more than probable, such was his wrath, that his more staid brother-in-law would have been subjected to some few personal tests of blow and buffet. the proceedings throughout suggested to the mind of the pedler a mode of executing his design, by proposing a bumper all round, with the view of healing the breach between the parties, and as a final draught preparatory to breaking up. a suggestion so reasonable could not well be resisted; and, with the best disposition in the world toward sobriety, brooks was persuaded to assent to the measure. unhappily, however, for the pedler, the measure was so grateful to tongs, that, before the former could officiate, the latter, with a desperate effort, reached forward, and, possessing himself of his own glass, he thrust another, which happened to be the only undrugged one, and which bunce had filled for himself, into the grasp of the jailer. the glass designed for brooks was now in the pedler's own hands, and no time was permitted him for reflection. with a doubt as to whether he had not got hold of the posset meant for his neighbor, bunce was yet unable to avoid the difficulty; and, in a moment, in good faith, the contents of the several glasses were fairly emptied by their holders. there was a pause of considerable duration; the several parties sank back quietly into their seats; and, supposing from appearances that the effect of the drug had been complete, the pedler, though feeling excessively stupid and strange, had yet recollection enough to give the signal to his comrade. a moment only elapsed, when munro entered the apartment, seemingly unperceived by all but the individual who had called him; and, as an air of considerable vacancy and repose overspread all the company he naturally enough concluded the potion had taken due hold of the senses of the one whom it was his chief object to overcome. without hesitation, therefore, and certainly asking no leave, he thrust one hand into the bosom of the worthy jailer, while the other was employed in taking a sure hold of his collar. to his great surprise, however, he found that his man suffered from no lethargy, though severely bitten by the drink. brooks made fierce resistance; though nothing at such a time, or indeed at any time, in the hands of one so powerfully built as munro. "hello! now--who are you, i say? hands off!--tongs! tongs!--hands off!--tongs, i say--" but tongs heard not, or heeded not, any of the rapid exclamations of the jailer, who continued to struggle. munro gave a single glance to the pedler, whose countenance singularly contrasted with the expression which, in the performance of such a duty, and at such a time, it might have been supposed proper for it to have worn. there was a look from his eyes of most vacant and elevated beatitude; a simper sat upon his lips, which parted ineffectually with the speech that he endeavored to make. a still lingering consciousness of something to be done, prompted him to rise, however, and stumble toward the landlord, who, while scuffling with the jailer, thus addressed him:-- "why, bunce, it's but half done!--you've bungled. see, he's too sober by half!" "sober? no, no--guess he's drunk--drunk as a gentleman. i say, now--what must i do?" "do?" muttered the landlord, between his teeth, and pointing to tongs, who reeled and raved in his seat, "do as i do!" and, at the word, with a single blow of his fist, he felled the still refractory jailer with as much ease as if he had been an infant in his hands. the pedler, only half conscious, turned nevertheless to the half-sleeping tongs, and resolutely drove his fist into his face. it was at that moment that the nostrum, having taken its full effect, deprived him of the proper force which alone could have made the blow available for the design which he had manfully enough undertaken. the only result of the effort was to precipitate him, with an impetus not his own, though deriving much of its effect from his own weight, upon the person of the enfeebled tongs: the toper clasped him round with a corresponding spirit, and they both rolled upon the floor in utter imbecility, carrying with them the table around which they had been seated, and tumbling into the general mass of bottles, pipes, and glasses, the slumbering youth, who, till that moment, lay altogether ignorant of the catastrophe. munro, in the meanwhile, had possessed himself of the desired keys; and throwing a sack, with which he had taken care to provide himself, over the head of the still struggling but rather stupified jailer, he bound the mouth of it with cords closely around his body, and left him rolling, with more elasticity and far less comfort than the rest of the party, around the floor of the apartment. he now proceeded to look at the pedler; and seeing his condition, though much wondering at his falling so readily into his own temptation--never dreaming of the mistake which he had made--he did not waste time to rouse him up, as he plainly saw he could get no further service out of him. a moment's reflection taught him, that, as the condition of bunce himself would most probably free him from any suspicion of design, the affair told as well for his purpose as if the original arrangement had succeeded. without more pause, therefore, he left the house, carefully locking the doors on the outside, so as to delay egress, and hastened immediately to the release of the prisoner. chapter xxxviii. freedom--flight. the landlord lost no time in freeing the captive. a few minutes sufficed to find and fit the keys; and, penetrating at once to the cell of ralph colleton, he soon made the youth acquainted with as much of the circumstances of his escape as might be thought necessary for the satisfaction of his immediate curiosity. he wondered at the part taken by munro in the affair, but hesitated not to accept his assistance. though scrupulous, and rigidly so, not to violate the laws, and having a conscientious regard to all human and social obligations, he saw no immorality in flying from a sentence, however agreeable to law, in all respects so greatly at variance with justice. a second intimation was not wanting to his decision; and, without waiting until the landlord should unlock the chain which secured him, he was about to dart forward into the passage, when the restraining check which it gave to his forward movement warned him of the difficulty. fortunately, the obstruction was small: the master-key, not only of the cells, but of the several locks to the fetters of the prison, was among the bunch of which the jailer had been dispossessed; and, when found, it performed its office. the youth was again free; and a few moments only had elapsed, after the departure of munro from the house of the pedler, when both ralph and his deliverer were upon the high-road, and bending their unrestrained course toward the indian nation. "and now, young man," said the landlord, "you are free. i have performed my promise to one whose desire in this matter jumps full with my own. i should have been troubled enough had you perished for the death of forrester, though, to speak the truth, i should not have risked myself, as i have done to-night, but for my promise to her." "who?--of whom do you speak? to whom do i owe all this, if it comes not of your own head?" "and you do not conjecture? have you not a thought on the subject? was it likely, think you, that the young woman, who did not fear to go to a stranger's chamber at midnight, in order to save him from his enemy, would forget him altogether when a greater danger was before him?" "and to miss munro again do i owe my life? noble girl! how shall i requite--how acknowledge my deep responsibility to her?" "you can not! i have not looked on either of you for nothing; and my observation has taught me all your feelings and hers. you can not reward her as she deserves to be rewarded--as, indeed, she only can be rewarded by you, mr. colleton. better, therefore, that you seek to make no acknowledgments." "what mean you? your words have a signification beyond my comprehension. i know that i am unable to requite services such as hers, and such an endeavor i surely should not attempt; but that i feel gratitude for her interposition may not well be questioned--the deepest gratitude; for in this deed, with your aid, she relieves me, not merely from death, but the worse agony of that dreadful form of death. my acknowledgments for this service are nothing, i am well aware; but these she shall have: and what else have i to offer, which she would be likely to accept?" "there is, indeed, one thing, mr. colleton--now that i reflect--which it may be in your power to do, and which may relieve you of some of the obligations which you owe to her interposition, here and elsewhere." the landlord paused for a moment, and looked hesitatingly in ralph's countenance. the youth saw and understood the expression, and replied readily:-- "doubt not, mr. munro, that i shall do all things consistent with propriety, in my power to do, that may take the shape and character of requital for this service; anything for miss munro, for yourself or others, not incompatible with the character of the gentleman. speak, sir: if you can suggest a labor of any description, not under this head, which would be grateful to yourself or her, fear not to speak, and rely upon my gratitude to serve you both." "i thank you, mr. colleton; your frankness relieves me of some heavy thoughts, and i shall open my mind freely to you on the subject which now troubles it. i need not tell you what my course of life has been. i need not tell you what it is now. bad enough, mr. colleton--bad enough, as you must know by this time. life, sir, is uncertain with all persons, but far more uncertain with him whose life is such as mine. i know not the hour, sir, when i may be knocked on the head. i have no confidence in the people i go with; i have nothing to hope from the sympathies of society, or the protection of the laws; and i have now arrived at that time of life when my own experience is hourly repeating in my ears the words of scripture: 'the wages of sin is death.' mine has been a life of sin, mr. colleton, and i must look for its wages. these thoughts have been troubling me much of late, and i feel them particularly heavy now. but, don't think, sir, that fear for myself makes up my suffering. i fear for that poor girl, who has no protector, and may be doomed to the control of one who would make a hell on earth for all under his influence. he has made a hell of it for me." "who is he? whom do you mean?" "you should know him well enough by this time, for he has sought your life often enough already--who should i mean, if not guy rivers?" "and how is she at the mercy of this wretch?" the landlord continued as if he had not heard the inquiry: "well, as i say, i know not how long i shall be able to take care of and provide for that poor girl, whose wish has prompted me this night to what i have undertaken. she was my brother's child, mr. colleton, and a noble creature she is. if i live, sir, she will have to become the wife of rivers; and, though i love her as my own--as i have never loved my own--yet she must abide the sacrifice from which, _while i live_, there is no escape. but something tells me, sir, i have not long to live. i have a notion which makes me gloomy, and which has troubled me ever since you have been in prison. one dream comes to me every night--whenever i sleep--and i wake, all over perspiration, and with a terror i'm ashamed of. in this dream i see my brother always, and always with the same expression. he looks at me long and mournfully, and his finger is uplifted, as if in warning. i hear no word from his lips, but they are in motion as if he spoke, and then he walks slowly away. thus, for several nights, has my mind been haunted, and i'm sure it is not for nothing. it warns me that the time is not very far distant when i shall receive the wages of a life like mine--the wages of sin--the death, perhaps--who knows?--the death of the felon!" "these are fearful fancies, indeed, mr. munro; and, whether we think on them or not, will have their influence over the strongest-minded of us all: but the thoughts which they occasion to your mind, while they must be painful enough, may be the most useful, if they awaken regret of the past, and incite to amendment in the future. without regarding them as the presentiments of death, or of any fearful change, i look upon them only as the result of your own calm reflections upon the unprofitable nature of vice; its extreme unproductiveness in the end, however enticing in the beginning; and the painful privations of human sympathy and society, which are the inevitable consequences of its indulgence. these fancies are the sleepless thoughts, the fruit of an active memory, which, at such a time, unrestrained by the waking judgment, mingles up the counsels and the warnings of your brother and the past, with all the images and circumstances of the present time. but--go on with your suggestion. let me do what i can for the good of those in whom you are interested." "you are right: whatever may be my apprehensions, life is uncertain enough, and needs no dreams to make it more so. still, i can not rid myself of this impression, which sticks to me like a shadow. night after night i have seen him--just as i saw him a year before he died. but his looks were full of meaning; and when his lips opened, though i heard not a word, they seemed to me to say, 'the hour is at hand!' i am sure they spoke the truth, and i must prepare for it. _if i live_, mr. colleton, lucy must marry rivers: there's no hope for her escape. if i die, there's no reason for the marriage, for she can then bid him defiance. she is willing to marry him now merely on my account; for, to say in words, what you no doubt understand, _i_ am at his mercy. if i perish before the marriage take place, it will not take place; and she will then need a protector--" "say no more," exclaimed the youth, as the landlord paused for an instant--"say no more. it will be as little as i can say, when i assure you, that all that my family can do for her happiness--all that i can do--shall be done. be at ease on this matter, and believe me that i promise you nothing which my heart would not strenuously insist upon my performing. she shall be a sister to me." as he spoke, the landlord warmly pressed his hand, leaning forward from his saddle as he did so, but without a single accompanying word. the dialogue was continued, at intervals, in a desultory form, and without sustaining, for any length of time, any single topic. munro seemed heavy with gloomy thoughts; and the sky, now becoming lightened with the glories of the ascending moon, seemed to have no manner of influence over his sullen temperament. not so with the youth. he grew elastic and buoyant as they proceeded; and his spirit rose, bright and gentle, as if in accordance with the pure lights which now disposed themselves, like an atmosphere of silver, throughout the forest. the thin clouds, floating away from the parent-orb, and no longer obscuring her progress, became tributaries, and were clothed in their most dazzling draperies--clustering around her pathway, and contributing not a little to the loveliness of that serene star from which they received so much. but the contemplations of the youth were not long permitted to run on in the gladness of his newly-found liberty. on a sudden, the action of his companion became animated: he drew up his steed for an instant, then applying the rowel, exclaimed in a deep but suppressed tone-- "we are pursued--ride, now--for your life, mr. colleton; it is three miles to the river, and our horses will serve us well. they are chosen--ply the spur, and follow close after me." let us return to the village. the situation of the jailer, brooks, and of his companions, as the landlord left them, will be readily remembered by the reader. it was not until the fugitives were fairly on the road, that the former, who had been pretty well stunned by the severe blow given him by munro, recovered from his stupor; and he then laboured under the difficulty of freeing himself from the bag about his head and shoulders, and his incarceration in the dwelling of the pedler. the blow had come nigh to sobering him, and his efforts, accordingly, were not without success. he looked round in astonishment upon the condition of all things around him, ignorant of the individual who had wrested from him his charge, besides subjecting his scull to the heavy test which it had been so little able to resist or he to repel; and, almost ready to believe, from the equally prostrate condition of the pedler and his brother, that, in reality, the assailant by which he himself was overthrown was no other than the potent bottle-god of his brother's familiar worship. such certainly would have been his impression but for the sack in which he had been enveloped, and the absence of his keys. the blow, which he had not ceased to feel, might have been got by a drunken man in a thousand ways, and was no argument to show the presence of an enemy; but the sack, and the missing keys--they brought instant conviction, and a rapidly increasing sobriety, which, as it duly increased his capacity for reflection, was only so much more unpleasant than his drunkenness. but no time was to be lost, and the first movement--having essayed, though ineffectually, to kick his stupid host and snoring brother-in-law into similar consciousness with himself--was to rush headlong to the jail, where he soon realized all the apprehensions which assailed him when discovering the loss of his keys. the prisoner was gone, and the riotous search which he soon commenced about the village collected a crowd whose clamors, not less than his own, had occasioned the uproar, which concluded the conference between miss colleton and guy rivers, as narrated in a previous chapter. the mob, approaching the residence of colonel colleton, as a place which might probably have been resorted to by the fugitive, brought the noise more imperiously to the ears of rivers, and compelled his departure. he sallied forth, and in a little while ascertained the cause of the disorder. by this time the dwelling of colonel colleton had undergone the closest scrutiny. it was evident to the crowd, that, so far from harboring the youth, they were not conscious of the escape; but of this rivers was not so certain. he was satisfied in his own mind that the stern refusal of edith to accept his overtures for the rescue, arose only from the belief that they could do without him. more than ever irritated by this idea, the outlaw was bold enough, relying upon his disguise, to come forward, and while all was indecisive in the multitude, to lay plans for a pursuit. he did not scruple to instruct the jailer as to what course should be taken for the recovery of the fugitive; and by his cool, strong sense and confidence of expression, he infused new hope into that much-bewildered person. nobody knew who he was, but as the village was full of strangers, who had never been seen there before, this fact occasioned neither surprise nor inquiry. his advice was taken, and a couple of the georgia guard, who were on station in the village, now making their appearance, he suggested the course which they should pursue, and in few words gave the reasons which induced the choice. familiar himself with all the various routes of the surrounding country, he did not doubt that the fugitive, under whatever guidance, for as yet he knew nothing of munro's agency in the business, would take the most direct course to the indian nation. all this was done, on his part, with an excited spirit, the result of that malignant mood which now began to apprehend the chance of being deprived of all its victims. had this not been the case--had he not been present--the probability is, that, in the variety of counsel, there would have been a far greater delay in the pursuit; but such must always be the influence of a strong and leading mind in a time of trial and popular excitement. such a mind concentrates and makes effective the power which otherwise would be wasted in air. his superiority of character was immediately manifest--his suggestions were adopted without dissent; and, in a few moments the two troopers, accompanied by the jailer, were in pursuit upon the very road taken by the fugitives. rivers, in the meanwhile, though excessively anxious about the result of the pursuit, was yet too sensible of his own risk to remain much longer in the village. annoyed not a little by the apprehended loss of that revenge which he had described as so delicious in contemplation to his mind, he could not venture to linger where he was, at a time of such general excitement and activity. with a prudent caution, therefore, more the result of an obvious necessity than of any accustomed habit of his life, he withdrew himself as soon as possible from the crowd, at the moment when pippin--who never lost a good opportunity--had mounted upon a stump in order to address them. breaking away just as the lawyer was swelling with some old truism, and perhaps no truth, about the rights of man and so forth, he mounted his horse, which he had concealed in the neighborhood, and rode off to the solitude and the shelter of his den. there was one thing that troubled his mind along with its other troubles, and that was to find out who were the active parties in the escape of colleton. in all this time, he had not for a moment suspected munro of connection with the affair--he had too much overrated his own influence with the landlord to permit of a thought in his mind detrimental to his conscious superiority. he had no clue, the guidance of which might bring him to the trail; for the jailer, conscious of his own irregularity, was cautious enough in suppressing everything like a detail of the particular circumstances attending the escape; contenting himself, simply, with representing himself as having been knocked down by some persons unknown, and rifled of the keys while lying insensible. rivers could only think of the pedler, and yet, such was his habitual contempt for that person, that he dismissed the thought the moment it came into his mind. troubled thus in spirit, and filled with a thousand conflicting notions, he had almost reached the rocks, when he was surprised to perceive, on a sudden, close at his elbow, the dwarfish figure of our old friend chub williams. without exhibiting the slightest show of apprehension, the urchin resolutely continued his course along with the outlaw, unmoved by his presence, and with a degree of cavalier indifference which he had never ventured to manifest to that dangerous personage before. "why, how now, chub--do you not see me?" was the first inquiry of rivers. "can the owl see?--chub is an owl--he can't see in the moonlight." "well, but, chub--why do you call yourself an owl? you don't want to see me, boy, do you?" "chub wants to see nobody but his mother--there's miss lucy now--why don't you let me see her? she talks jest like chub's mother." "why, you dog, didn't you help to steal her away? have you forgotten how you pulled away the stones? i should have you whipped for it, sir--do you know that i can whip--don't the hickories grow here?" "yes, so chub's mother said--but you can't whip chub. chub laughs--he laughs at all your whips. _that_ for your hickories. ha! ha! ha! chub don't mind the hickories--you can't catch chub, to whip him with your hickories. try now, if you can. try--" and as he spoke he darted along with a rickety, waddling motion, half earnest in his flight, yet seemingly, partly with the desire to provoke pursuit. something irritated with what was so unusual in the habit of the boy, and what he conceived only so much impertinence, the outlaw turned the horse's head down the hill after him, but, as he soon perceived, without any chance of overtaking him in so broken a region. the urchin all the while, as if encouraged by the evident hopelessness of the chase on the part of the pursuer, screeched out volley after volley of defiance and laughter--breaking out at intervals into speeches which he thought most like to annoy and irritate. "ha, ha, ha! chub don't mind your hickories--chub's fingers are long--he will pull away all the stones of your house, and then you will have to live in the tree-top." but on a sudden his tune was changed, as rivers, half-irritated by the pertinacity of the dwarf, pull out a pistol, and directed it at his head. in a moment, the old influence was predominant, and in undisguised terror he cried out-- "now don't--don't, mr. guy--don't you shoot chub--chub won't laugh again--he won't pull away the stones--he won't." the outlaw now laughed himself at the terror which he had inspired, and beckoning the boy near him, he proceeded, if possible, to persuade him into a feeling of amity. there was a strange temper in him with reference to this outcast. his deformity--his desolate condition--his deficient intellect, inspired, in the breast of the fierce man, a feeling of sympathy, which he had not entertained for the whole world of humanity beside. such is the contradictory character of the misled and the erring spirit. warped to enjoy crime--to love the deformities of all moral things--to seek after and to surrender itself up to all manner of perversions, yet now and then, in the long tissue, returning, for some moments, to the original temper of that first nature not yet utterly departed; and few and feeble though the fibres be which still bind the heart to her worship, still strong enough at times to remind it of the _true_, however it may be insufficient to restrain it in its wanderings after the _false_. but the language and effort of the outlaw, though singularly kind, failed to have any of the desired effect upon the dwarf. with an unhesitating refusal to enter the outlaw's dwelling-place in the rocks, he bounded away into a hollow of the hills, and in a moment was out of sight of his companion. fatigued with his recent exertions, and somewhat more sullen than usual, rivers entered the gloomy abode, into which it is not our present design to follow him. chapter xxxix. pursuit--death. the fugitives, meanwhile, pursued their way with the speed of men conscious that life and death hung upon their progress. there needed no exhortations from his companion to ralph colleton. more than life, with him, depended upon his speed. the shame of such a death as that to which he had been destined was for ever before his eyes, and with a heart nerved to its utmost by a reference to the awful alternative of flight, he grew reckless in the audacity with which he drove his horse forward in defiance of all obstacle and over every impediment. nor were the present apprehensions of munro much less than those of his companion. to be overtaken, as the participant of the flight of one whose life was forfeit, would necessarily invite such an examination of himself as must result in the development of his true character, and such a discovery must only terminate in his conviction and sentence to the same doom. his previously-uttered presentiment grew more than ever strong with the growing consciousness of his danger; and with an animation, the fruit of an anxiety little short of absolute fear, he stimulated the progress of colleton, while himself driving the rowel ruthlessly into the smoking sides of the animal he bestrode. "on, sir--on, mr. colleton--this is no moment for graceful attitude. bend forward--free rein--rashing spur. we ride for life--for life. they must not take us alive--remember _that_. let them shoot--strike, if they please--but they must put no hands on us as living men. if we must die, why--any death but a dog's. are you prepared for such a finish to your ride?" "i am--but i trust it has not come to that. how much have we yet to the river?" "two miles at the least, and a tough road. they gain upon us--do you not hear them--we are slow--very slow. these horses--on, syphax, dull devil--on--on!" and at every incoherent and unconnected syllable, the landlord struck his spurs into his animal, and incited the youth to do the same. "there is an old mill upon the branch to our left, where for a few hours we might lie in secret, but daylight would find us out. shall we try a birth there, or push on for the river?" inquired munro. "push on, by all means--let us stop nowhere--we shall be safe if we make the nation," was the reply. "ay, safe enough but that's the rub. if we could stretch a mile or two between us, so as to cross before they heave in sight, i could take you to a place where the whole united states would never find us out--but they gain on us--i hear them every moment more and more near. the sounds are very clear to-night--a sign of rain, perhaps to-morrow. on, sir! push! the pursuers must hear us, as we hear them." "but i hear them not--i hear no sounds but our own--" replied the youth. "ah, that's because you have not the ears of an outlaw. there's a necessity for using our ears, one of the first that we acquire, and i can hear sounds farther, i believe, than any man i ever met, unless it be guy rivers. he has the ears of the devil, when his blood's up. then he hears further than i can, though i'm not much behind him even then. hark! they are now winding the hill not more than half a mile off, and we hear nothing of them now until they get round--the hill throws the echo to the rear, as it is more abrupt on that side than on this. at this time, if they heard us before, they can not hear us. we could now make the old mill with some hope of their losing our track, as we strike into a blind path to do so. what say you, master colleton--shall we turn aside or go forward?" "forward, i say. if we are to suffer, i would suffer on the high road, in full motion, and not be caught in a crevice like a lurking thief. better be shot down--far better--i think with you--than risk recapture." "well, it's the right spirit you have, and we may beat them yet! we cease again to hear them. they are driving through the close grove where the trees hang so much over. god--it is but a few moments since we went through it ourselves--they gain on us--but the river is not far--speed on--bend forward, and use the spur--a few minutes more close pushing, and the river is in sight. kill the beasts--no matter--but make the river." "how do we cross?" inquired the youth, hurriedly, though with a confidence something increased by the manner of his companion. "drive in--drive in--there are two fords, each within twenty yards of the other, and the river is not high. you take the path and ford to the right, as you come in sight of the water, and i'll keep the left. your horse swims well--so don't mind the risk; and if there's any difficulty, leave him, and take to the water yourself. the side i give you is the easiest; though it don't matter which side i take. i've gone through worse chances than this, and, if we hold on for a few moments, we are safe. the next turn, and we are on the banks." "the river--the river," exclaimed the youth, involuntarily, as the broad and quiet stream wound before his eyes, glittering like a polished mirror in the moonlight. "ay, there it is--now to the right--to the right! look not behind you. let them shoot--let them shoot! but lose not an instant to look. plunge forward and drive in. they are close upon us, and the flat is on the other side. they can't pursue, unless they do as we, and they have no such reason for so desperate a course. it is swimming and full of snags! they will stop--they will not follow. in--in--not a moment is to be lost--" and speaking, as they pursued their several ways, he to the left, and ralph colleton to the right ford, the obedient steeds plunged forward under the application of the rowel, and were fairly in the bosom of the stream, as the pursuing party rode headlong up the bank. struggling onward, in the very centre of the stream, with the steed, which, to do him all manner of justice, swam nobly, ralph colleton could not resist the temptation to look round upon his pursuers. writhing his body in the saddle, therefore, a single glance was sufficient and, in the full glare of the moonlight unimpeded by any interposing foliage, the prospect before his eyes was imposing and terrible enough. the pursuers were four in number--the jailer, two of the georgia guard, and another person unknown to him. as munro had predicted, they did not venture to plunge in as the fugitives had done--they had no such fearful motive for the risk; and the few moments which they consumed in deliberation as to what they should do, contributed not a little to the successful experiment of the swimmers. but the youth at length caught a fearful signal of preparation; his ear noted the sharp click of the lock, as the rifle was referred to in the final resort; and his ready sense conceived but of one, and the only mode of evading the danger so immediately at hand. too conspicuous in his present situation to hope for escape, short of a miracle, so long as he remained upon the back of the swimming horse, he relaxed his hold, carefully drew his feet from the stirrups, resigned his seat, and only a second before the discharge of the rifle, was deeply buried in the bosom of the chestatee. the steed received the bullet in his head, plunged forward madly, to the no small danger of ralph, who had now got a little before him, but in a few moments lay supine upon the stream, and was borne down by its current. the youth, practised in such exercises, pressed forward under the surface for a sufficient time to enable him to avoid the present glance of the enemy, and at length, in safety, rounding a jutting point of the shore, which effectually concealed him from their eyes, he gained the dry land, at the very moment in which munro, with more success, was clambering, still mounted, up the steep sides of a neighboring and slippery bank. familiar with such scenes, the landlord had duly estimated the doubtful chances of his life in swimming the river directly in sight of the pursuers. he had, therefore, taken the precaution to oblique considerably to the left from the direct course, and did not, in consequence, appear in sight, owing to the sinuous windings of the stream, until he had actually gained the shore. the youth beheld him at this moment, and shouted aloud his own situation and safety. in a voice indicative of restored confidence in himself, no less than in his fate, the landlord, by a similar shout, recognised him, and was bending forward to the spot where he stood, when the sharp and joint report of three rifles from the opposite banks, attested the discovery of his person; and, in the same instant, the rider tottered forward in his saddle, his grasp was relaxed upon the rein, and, without a word, he toppled from his seat, and was borne for a few paces by his horse, dragged forward by one of his feet, which had not been released from the stirrup. he fell, at length, and the youth came up with him. he heard the groans of the wounded man, and, though exposing himself to the same chance, he could not determine upon flight. he might possibly have saved himself by taking the now freed animal which the, landlord had ridden, and at once burying himself in the nation. but the noble weakness of pity determined him otherwise; and, without scruple or fear, he resolutely advanced to the spot whore munro lay, though full in the sight of the pursuers, and prepared to render him what assistance he could. one of the troopers, in the meantime, had swum the river; and, freeing the flat from its chains, had directed it across the stream for the passage of his companions. it was not long before they had surrounded the fugitives, and ralph colleton was again a prisoner, and once more made conscious of the dreadful doom from which he had, at one moment, almost conceived himself to have escaped. munro had been shockingly wounded. one ball had pierced his thigh, inflicting a severe, though probably not a fatal wound. another, and this had been enough, had penetrated directly behind the eyes, keeping its course so truly across, as to tear and turn the bloody orbs completely out upon the cheek beneath. the first words of the dying man were-- "is the moon gone down--lights--bring lights!" "no, munro; the moon is still shining without a cloud, and as brightly as if it were day" was the reply of ralph. "who speaks--speak again, that i may know how to believe him." "it is i, munro--i, ralph colleton." "then it is true--and i am a dead man. it is all over, and he came not to me for nothing. yet, can i have no lights--no lights?--ah!" and the half-reluctant reason grew more terribly conscious of his situation, as he thrust his fingers into the bleeding sockets from which the fine and delicate conductor of light had been so suddenly driven. he howled aloud for several moments in his agony--in the first agony which came with that consciousness--but, recovering, at length, he spoke with something of calm and coherence. "well, mr. colleton, what i said was true. i knew it would be so. i had warning enough to prepare, and i did try, but it's come over soon and nothing is done. i have my wages, and the text spoke nothing but the truth. i can not stand this pain long--it is too much--and--" the pause in his speech, from extreme agony, was filled up by a shriek that rung fearfully amid the silence of such a scene, but it lasted not long. the mind of the landlord was not enfeebled by his weakness, even at such a moment. he recovered and proceeded:-- "yes, mr. colleton, i am a dead man. i have my wages--but my death is your life! let me tell the story--and save you, and save lucy--and thus--(oh, could i believe it for an instant)--save myself! but, no matter--we must talk of other things. is that brooks--is that brooks beside me?" "no, it is i--colleton." "i know--i know," impatiently--"who else?" "mr. brooks, the jailer, is here--ensign martin and brincle, of the georgia guard," was the reply of the jailer. "enough, then, for your safety, mr. colleton. they can prove it all, and then remember lucy--poor lucy! you will be in time--save her from guy rivers--guy rivers--the wretch--not guy rivers--no--there's a secret--there's a secret for you, my men, shall bring you a handsome reward. stoop--stoop, you three--where are you?--stoop, and hear what i have to say! it is my dying word!-and i swear it by all things, all powers, all terrors, that can make an oath solemn with a wretch whose life is a long crime! stoop--hear me--heed all--lose not a word--not a word--not a word! where are you?" "we are here, beside you--we hear all that you say. go on!" "guy rivers is not his name--he is not guy rivers--hear now--guy rivers is the outlaw for whom the governor's proclamation gives a high reward--a thousand dollars--the man who murdered judge jessup. edward creighton, of gwinnett courthouse--he is the murderer of jessup--he is the murderer of forrester, for whose death the life of mr. colleton here is forfeit! i saw him kill them both!--i saw more than that, but that is enough to save the innocent man and punish the guilty! take down all that i have said. i, too, am guilty! would make amends, but it is almost too late--the night is very dark, and the earth swings about like a cradle. ah!--have you taken down on paper what i said? i will tell you nothing more till all is written--write it down--on-paper--every word--write that before i say any more!" they complied with his requisition. one of the troopers, on a sheet of paper furnished by the jailer, and placed upon the saddle of his horse, standing by in the pale light of the moon, recorded word after word, with scrupulous exactness, of the dying man's confession. he proceeded duly to the narration of every particular of all past occurrences, as we ourselves have already detailed them to the reader, together with many more, unnecessary to our narrative, of which we had heretofore no cognizance. when this was done, the landlord required it to be read, commenting, during its perusal, and dwelling, with more circumstantial minuteness, upon many of its parts. "that will do--that will do! now swear me, brooks!--you are in the commission--lift my hand and swear me, so that nothing be wanting to the truth! what if there is no bible?" he exclaimed, suddenly, as some one of the individuals present suggested a difficulty on this subject. "what!--because there is no bible, shall there be no truth? i swear--though i have had no communion with god--i swear to the truth--by him! write down my oath--he is present--they say he is always present! i believe it now--i only wish i had always believed it! i swear by him--he will not falsify the truth!--write down my oath, while i lift my hand to him! would it were a prayer--but i can not pray--i am more used to oaths than prayers, and i can not pray! is it written--is it written? look, mr. colleton, look--you know the law. if you are satisfied, i am. will it do?" colleton replied quickly in the affirmative, and the dying man went on:-- "remember lucy--the poor lucy! you will take care of her. say no harsh words in her ears--but, why should i ask this of you, whom--ah!--it goes round--round--round--swimming--swimming. very dark--very dark night, and the trees dance--lucy--" the voice sunk into a faint whisper whose sounds were unsyllabled--an occasional murmur escaped them once after, in which the name of his niece was again heard; exhibiting, at the last, the affection, however latent, which he entertained in reality for the orphan trust of his brother. in a few moments, and the form stiffened before them in all the rigid sullenness of death. chapter xl. wolf's neck--capture. the cupidity of his captors had been considerably stimulated by the dying words of munro. they were all of them familiar with the atrocious murder which, putting a price upon his head, had driven creighton, then a distinguished member of the bar in one of the more civilized portions of the state, from the pale and consideration of society; and their anxieties were now entirely addressed to the new object which the recital they had just heard had suggested to them. they had gathered from the narrative of the dying man some idea of the place in which they would most probably find the outlaw; and, though without a guide to the spot, and altogether ignorant of its localities, they determined--without reference to others, who might only subtract from their own share of the promised reward, without contributing much, if any, aid, which they might not easily dispense with--at once to attempt his capture. this was the joint understanding of the whole party, ralph colleton excepted. in substance, the youth was now free. the evidence furnished by munro only needed the recognition of the proper authorities to make him so; yet, until this had been effected, he remained in a sort of understood restraint, but without any actual limitations. pledging himself that they should suffer nothing from the indulgence given him, he mounted the horse of munro, whose body was cared for, and took his course back to the village; while, following the directions given them, the guard and jailer pursued their way to the wolf's neck in their search after guy rivers. the outlaw had been deserted by nearly all his followers. the note of preparation and pursuit, sounded by the state authorities, had inspired the depredators with a degree of terror, which the near approximation of the guard, in strong numbers, to their most secluded places, had not a little tended to increase; and accordingly, at the period of which we now speak, the outlaw, deserted by all but one or two of the most daring of his followers--who were, however, careful enough of themselves to keep in no one place long, and cautiously to avoid their accustomed haunts--remained in his rock, in a state of gloomy despondency, not usually his characteristic. had he been less stubborn, less ready to defy all chances and all persons, it is not improbable that rivers would have taken counsel by their flight, and removed himself, for a time at least, from the scene of danger. but his native obstinacy, and that madness of heart which, as we are told, seizes first upon him whom god seeks to destroy, determined him, against the judgment of others, and in part against his own, to remain where he was; probably in the fallacious hope that the storm would pass over, as on so many previous occasions it had already done, and leave him again free to his old practices in the same region. a feeling of pride, which made him unwilling to take a suggestion of fear and flight from the course of others, had some share in this decision; and, if we add the vague hungering of his heart toward the lovely edith, and possibly the influence of other pledges, and the imposing consideration of other duties, we shall not be greatly at a loss in understanding the injudicious indifference to the threatening dangers which appears to have distinguished the conduct of the otherwise politic and circumspect ruffian. that night, after his return from the village, and the brief dialogue with chub williams, as we have already narrated it he retired to the deepest cell of his den, and, throwing himself into a seat, covering his face with his hands, he gave himself up to a meditation as true in its philosophy as it was humiliating throughout in its application to himself. dillon, his lieutenant--if such a title may be permitted in such a place, and for such a person--came to him shortly after his arrival, and in brief terms, with a blunt readiness--which, coming directly to the point, did not offend the person to whom it was addressed--demanded to know what he meant to do with himself. "we can't stay here any longer," said he; "the troops are gathering all round us. the country's alive with them, and in a few days we shouldn't be able to stir from the hollow of a tree without popping into the gripe of some of our hunters. in the wolf's neck they will surely seek us; for, though a very fine place for us while the country's thin, yet even its old owners, the wolves, would fly from it when the horn of the hunter rings through the wood. it won't be very long before they pierce to the very 'nation,' and then we should have but small chance of a long grace. jack ketch would make mighty small work of our necks, in his hurry to go to dinner." "and what of all this--what is all this to me?" was the strange and rather phlegmatic response of the outlaw, who did not seem to take in the full meaning of his officer's speech, and whose mind, indeed, was at that moment wandering to far other considerations. dillon seemed not a little surprised by this reply, and looked inquiringly into the face of the speaker, doubting for a moment his accustomed sanity. the stern look which his glance encountered directed its expression elsewhere, and, after a moment's pause, he replied-- "why, captain, you can't have thought of what i've been saying, or you wouldn't speak as you do. i think it's a great deal to both you and me, what i've been telling you; and the sooner you come to think so too, the better. it's only yesterday afternoon that i narrowly missed being seen at the forks by two of the guard, well mounted, and with rifles. i had but the crook of the fork in my favor, and the hollow of the creek at the old ford where it's been washed away. they're all round us, and i don't think we're safe here another day. indeed, i only come to see if you wouldn't be off with me, at once, into the 'nation.'" "you are considerate, but must go alone. i have no apprehensions where i am, and shall not stir for the present. for yourself, you must determine as you think proper. i have no further hold on your service. i release you from the oath. make the best of your way into the 'nation'--ay, go yet farther; and, hear me, dillon, go where you are unknown--go where you can enter society; seek for the fireside, where you can have those who, in the dark hour, will have no wish to desert you. i have no claim now upon you, and the sooner you 'take the range' the better." "and why not go along with me, captain? i hate to go alone, and hate to leave you where you are. i shan't think you out of danger while you stay here, and don't see any reason for you to do so." "perhaps not, dillon; but there is reason, or i should not stay. we may not go together, even if i were to fly--our paths lie asunder. they may never more be one. go you, therefore, and heed me not; and think of me no more. make yourself a home in the mississippi, or on the red river, and get yourself a fireside and family of your own. these are the things that will keep your heart warm within you, cheering you in hours that are dark, like this." "and why, captain," replied the lieutenant, much affected--"why should you not take the course which you advise for me? why not, in the arkansas, make yourself a home, and with a wife--" "silence, sir!--not a word of that! why come you to chafe me here in my den? am i to be haunted for ever with such as you, and with words like these?" and the brow of the outlaw blackened as he spoke, and his white teeth knit together, fiercely gnashing for an instant, while the foam worked its way through the occasional aperture between them. the ebullition of passion, however, lasted not long, and the outlaw himself, a moment after, seemed conscious of its injustice. "i do you wrong, dillon; but on this subject i will have no one speak. i can not be the man you would have me; i have been schooled otherwise. my mother has taught me a different lesson; her teachings have doomed me, and these enjoyments are now all beyond my hope." "your mother?" was the response of dillon, in unaffected astonishment. "ay, man--my mother! is there anything wonderful in that? she taught me the love of evil with her milk--she sang it in lullabies over my cradle--she gave it me in the playthings of my boyhood; her schoolings have made me the morbid, the fierce criminal, the wilful, vexing spirit, from whose association all the gentler virtues must always desire to fly. if, in the doom which may finish my life of doom, i have any one person to accuse of all, that person is--my mother!" "is this possible? can it be true? it is strange--very strange!" "it is not strange; we see it every day--in almost every family. she, did not _tell_ me to lie, or to swindle, or to stab--no! oh, no! she would have told me that all these things were bad; but she _taught_ me to perform them all. she roused my passions, and not my _principles_, into activity. she provoked the one, and suppressed the other. did my father reprove my improprieties, she petted me, and denounced him. she crossed his better purposes, and defeated all his designs, until, at last, she made my passions too strong for my government, not less than hers; and left me, knowing the true, yet the victim of the false. thus it was that, while my intellect, in its calmer hours, taught me that virtue is the only source of true felicity, my ungovernable passions set the otherwise sovereign reason at defiance, and trampled it under foot. yes, in that last hour of eternal retribution, if called upon to denounce or to accuse, i can point but to one as the author of all--the weakly-fond, misjudging, misguiding woman who gave me birth! "within the last hour i have been thinking over all these things. i have been thinking how i had been cursed in childhood by one who surely loved me beyond all other things besides. i can remember how sedulously she encouraged and prompted my infant passions, uncontrolled by her authority and reason, and since utterly unrestrainable by my own. how she stimulated me to artifices, and set me the example herself, by frequently deceiving my father, and teaching me to disobey and deceive him! she told me not to lie; and she lied all day to him, on my account, and to screen me from his anger. she taught me the catechism, to say on sunday, while during the week she schooled me in almost every possible form of ingenuity to violate all its precepts. she bribed me to do my duty, and hence my duty could only be done under the stimulating promise of a reward; and, without the reward, i went counter to the duty. she taught me that god was superior to all, and that he required obedience to certain laws; yet, as she hourly violated those laws herself in my behalf, i was taught to regard myself as far superior to him! had she not done all this, i had not been here and thus: i had been what now i dare not think on. it is all her work. the greatest enemy my life has ever known has been my mother!" "this is a horrible thought, captain; yet i can not but think it true." "it is true! i have analyzed my own history, and the causes of my character and fortunes now, and i charge it all upon her. from one influence i have traced another, and another, until i have the sweeping amount of twenty years of crime and sorrow, and a life of hate, and probably a death of ignominy--all owing to the first ten years of my infant education, where the only teacher that i knew was the woman who gave me birth!--but this concerns not you. in my calm mood, dillon, you have the fruit of my reason: to abide its dictate, i should fly with you; but i suffer from my mother's teachings even in this. my passions, my pride, my fierce hope--the creature of a maddening passion--will not let me fly; and i stay, though i stay alone, with a throat bare for the knife of the butcher, or the halter of the hangman. i will not fly!" "and i will stay with you. i can dare something, too, captain; and you shall not say, when the worst comes to the worst, that tom dillon was the man to back out. i will not go either, and, whatever is the chance, you shall not be alone." rivers, for a moment, seemed touched by the devotion, of his follower, and was silent for a brief interval; but suddenly the expression of his eye was changed, and he spoke briefly and sternly:-- "you shall not stay with me, sir! what! am i so low as this, that i may not be permitted to be alone when i will? will my subordinates fly in my face, and presume to disobey my commands? go, dillon--have i not said that you _must_ fly--that i no longer need your services? why linger, then, where you are no longer needed? i have that to perform which requires me to be alone, and i have no further time to spare you. go--away!" "do you really speak in earnest, captain?" inquired the lieutenant, doubtingly, and with a look of much concern. "am i so fond of trifling, that my officer asks me such a question?" was the stern response. "then i am your officer still--you will go with me, or i shall remain." "neither, dillon. the time is past for such an arrangement. you are discharged from my service, and from your oath. the club has no further existence. go--be a happy, a better man, in another part of the world. you have some of the weaknesses of your better nature still in you. you had no mother to change them into scorn, and strife, and bitterness. go--you may be a better man, and have something, therefore, for which to live. i have not--my heart can know no change. it is no longer under the guidance of reason. it is quite ungovernable now. there was a time when--but why prate of this?--it is too late to think of, and only maddens me the more. besides, it makes not anything with you, and would detain you without a purpose. linger no longer, dillon--speed to the west, and, at some future day, perhaps you shall see me when you least expect, and perhaps least desire it." the manner of the outlaw was firm and commanding, and dillon no longer had any reason to doubt his desires, and no motive to disobey his wishes. the parting was brief, though the subordinate was truly affected. he would have lingered still, but rivers waved him off with a farewell, whose emphasis was effectual, and, in a few moments, the latter sat once more alone. his mood was that of one disappointed in all things, and, consequently, displeased and discontented with all things--querulously so. in addition to this temper, which was common to him, his spirit, at this time, labored under a heavy feeling of despondency, and its gloomy sullenness was perhaps something lighter to himself while dillon remained with him. we have seen the manner in which he had hurried that personage off. he had scarcely been gone, however, when the inconsistent and variable temper of the outlaw found utterance in the following soliloquy:-- "ay, thus it is--they all desert me; and this is human feeling. they all fly the darkness, and this is human courage. they love themselves only, or you only while you need no love; and this is human sympathy. i need all of these, yet i get none; and when i most need, and most desire, and most seek to obtain, i am the least provided. these are the fruits which i have sown, however; should i shrink to gather them? "yet, there is one--but one of all--whom no reproach of mine could drive away, or make indifferent to my fate. but i will see her no more. strange madness! the creature, who, of all the world, most loves me, and is most deserving of my love, i banish from my soul as from my sight. and this is another fruit of my education--another curse that came with a mother--this wilful love of the perilous and the passionate--this scorn of the gentle and the soft--this fondness for the fierce contradiction--this indifference to the thing easily won--this thirst after the forbidden. poor ellen--so gentle, so resigned, and so fond of her destroyer; but i will not see her again. i must not; she must not stand in the way of my anxiety to conquer that pride which had ventured to hate or to despise me. i shall see munro, and he shall lose no time in this matter. yet, what can he be after--he should have been here before this; it now wants but little to the morning, and--ah! i have not slept. shall i ever sleep again!" thus, striding to and fro in his apartment, the outlaw soliloquized at intervals. throwing himself at length upon a rude couch that stood in the corner, he had disposed himself as it were for slumber, when the noise, as of a falling rock, attracted his attention, and without pausing, he cautiously took his way to the entrance, with a view to ascertain the cause. he was not easily surprised, and the knowledge of surrounding danger made him doubly observant, and more than ever watchful. let us now return to the party which had pursued the fugitives, and which, after the death of the landlord, had, as we have already narrated, adopting the design suggested by his dying words, immediately set forth in search of the notorious outlaw, eager for the reward put upon his head. having already some general idea of the whereabouts of the fugitive, and the directions given by munro having been of the most specific character, they found little difficulty, after a moderate ride of some four or five miles, in striking upon the path directly leading to the wolf's neck. at this time, fortunately for their object, they were encountered suddenly by--our old acquaintance, chub williams, whom, but little before, we have seen separating from the individual in whose pursuit they were now engaged. the deformed quietly rode along with the party, but without seeming to recognise their existence--singing all the while a strange woodland melody of the time and region--probably the production of some village wit:-- "her frock it was a _yaller_, and she was _mighty sprigh_ and she bounced at many a _feller_ who came _a-fighting shy_. "her eye was like a _sarpent's eye_. her cheek was like a flower, but her tongue was like a pedler's clock, 'twas a-striking every hour. "and wasn't she the gal for me, and wasn't she, i pray, sir, and i'll be _drot_, if you say not, we'll fight this very day, sir. we'll fight this very day, sir." having delivered himself of this choice morsel of song, the half-witted fellow conceitedly challenged the attention of the group whom he had not hitherto been disposed to see. "'spose you reckon i don't see you, riding 'longside of me, and saying nothing, but listening to my song. i'm singing for my own self, and you oughtn't to listen--i didn't ax you, and i'd like to know what you're doing so nigh chub's house." "why, where's your house, chub?" asked one of the party. "you ain't looking for it, is you? 'cause you can't think to find it a-looking down. i lives in the tree-top when weather's good like to-night, and when it ain't, i go into the hollow. i've a better house than guy rivers--he don't take the tree at all, no how." "and where is his house, chub?" was the common inquiry of all the party. the dwarf looked at them for a few moments without speech, then with a whisper and a gesture significant of caution, replied-- "if you're looking for guy, 'tain't so easy to find him if he don't want to be found, and you must speak softly if you hunt him, whether or no. he's a dark man, that guy rivers--mother always said so--and he lives a long way under the ground." "and can't you show us where, chub? we will give you money for your service." "hain't you got 'tatoes? chub's hungry--hain't eat nothing to-night. guy rivers has plenty to eat, but he cursed chub's mother." "well, show us where he is, and we'll give you plenty to eat. plenty of potatoes and corn," was the promise of the party. "and build up chub's house that the fire burnt? chub lives in the tree now. guy rivers' man burnt chub's house, 'cause he said chub was sassy." "yes, my boy, we'll build up your house, and give you a plenty to go upon for a year. you shall have potatoes enough for your lifetime, if you will show us how to come upon guy rivers to-night. he _is_ a bad fellow, as you say; and we won't let him trouble you any more, if you'll only show us where he is to be found." "well--i reckon i can," was the response, uttered in a confidential whisper, and much more readily given than was the wont of the speaker. "chub and guy talked together to-night, and guy wanted chub to go with him into his house in wolf's neck. but chub don't love the wolf, and he don't love the wolf's neck, now that miss lucy's gone away from it. it's a mighty dark place, the wolf's neck, and chub's afear'd in the dark places, where the moon and stars won't shine down." "but you needn't be afraid now, little chub. you're a good little fellow, and we'll keep with you and follow close, and there shall be no danger to you. we'll fight guy rivers for you, so that he can't hurt you any more." "you'll fight guy! you! guy kin fight to kill!" "yes, but we'll kill _him;_ only you show us where he is, so that we can catch him and tie him, and he'll never trouble chub any more." "what! you'll tie guy? how i'd like to see anybody tie guy! you kain't tie guy. he'd break through the ropes, he would, if he on'y stretched out his arms." "you'll see! only show us how to find him, and we'll tie him, and we'll build you a new house, and you shall have more potatoes and corn than you can shake a stick at, and we'll give you a great jug of whiskey into the bargain." "now will you! and a jug of whiskey too, and build a new house for chub's mother--and the corn, and the 'tatoes." "all! you shall have all we promise." "come! come! saftly! put your feet down saftly, for guy's got great white owls that watch for him, and they hoot from the old tree when the horses are coming. saftly! saftly!" there is an idiocy that does not lack the vulgar faculty of mere shrewdness--that can calculate selfishly, and plan coolly--in short, can show itself cunning, whenever it has a motive. find the motive for the insane and the idiotic, always, if you would see them exercise the full extent of their little remaining wits. chub williams had a sagacity of this sort. his selfishness was appealed to, and all his faculties were on the alert. he gave directions for the progress of the party--after his own manner, it is true--but with sufficient promptness and intelligence to satisfy them that they might rely upon him. having reached a certain lonely spot among the hills, contiguous to the crag, or series of crags, called the wolf's neck, chub made the party all dismount, and hide their horses in a thicket into which they found it no easy matter to penetrate. this done, he led them out again, cautiously moving along under cover, but near the margin of the road. he stept as lightly himself as a squirrel, taking care, before throwing his weight upon his foot, to feel that there was no rotting branch or bough beneath, the breaking of which might occasion noise. "saftly! saftly!" he would say in a whisper, turning back to the party, when he found them treading hurriedly and heavily upon the brush. sometimes, again, he ran ahead of all of them, and for a few moments would be lost to sight; but he usually returned, as quickly and quietly as he went, and would either lead them forward on the same route with confidence, or alter it according to his discoveries. he was literally feeling his way; the instincts and experience of the practised scout finding no sort of obstacle in the deficiency of his reasoning powers. his processes did not argue any doubts of his course; only a choice of direction--such as would promise more ease and equal security. some of his changes of movement, he tried to explain, in his own fashion, when he came back to guide them on other paths. "saftly back--saftly now, this way. guy's in his dark house in the rock, but there's a many rooms, and 't mout be, we're a walking jest now, over his head. then he mout hear, you see, and guy's got ears like the great owl. he kin hear mighty far in the night, and see too; and you mustn't step into his holes. there's heap of holes in guy's dark house. saftly, now--and here away." briefly, the rocky avenues were numerous in the wolf's neck, and some of them ran near the surface. there were sinks upon the surface also, covered with brush and clay, into which the unthinking wayfarer might stumble, perhaps into the very cavern where the outlaw at that moment housed himself. the group around the idiot did not fail to comprehend the reasons for all his caution. they confided to his skill implicitly; having, of themselves, but small knowledge of the wild precincts into which they desired to penetrate. having, at length, brought them to points and places, which afforded them the command of the avenues to the rock, the next object of their guide was to ascertain where the outlaw was at that moment secreted. it was highly important to know _where_ to enter--where to look--and not waste time in fruitless search of places in which a single man might have a dozen blind seekers at his mercy. the cunning of the idiot conceived this necessity himself. his policy made each of the party hide himself out of sight, though in a position whence each might see. all arranged as he desired, the urchin armed himself with a rock, not quite as large as his own head, but making a most respectable approach to it. this, with the aid of coat and kerchief he secured upon his back, between his shoulders; and thus laden, he yet, with the agility of the opossum, her young ones in her pouch, climbed up a tree which stood a little above that inner chamber which guy rivers had appropriated for himself, and where, on more occasions than one, our idiot had peeped in upon him. perched in his tree securely, and shrouded from sight among its boughs, the urchin disengaged the rock from his shoulders, took it in both his hands, and carefully selecting its route, he pitched it, with all his might, out from the tree, and in such a direction, that, after it had fairly struck the earth, it continued a rolling course down the declivity of the rocks, making a heavy clatter all the way it went. the _ruse_ answered its purpose. the keen senses of the outlaw caught the sound. his vigilance, now doubly keen, awakened to its watch. we have seen, in previous pages, the effect that the rolling stone had upon the musing and vexed spirit of guy rivers, after the departure of dillon. he came forth, as we have seen, to look about for the cause of alarm; and, as if satisfied that the disturbance was purely accidental, had retired once more to the recesses of his den. here, throwing himself upon his couch, he seemed disposed to sleep. sleep, indeed! he himself denied that he ever slept. his followers were all agreed that when he did sleep, it was only with half his faculties shut up. one eye, they contended, was always open! chub williams, and one of the hunters had seen the figure of the outlaw as he emerged from the cavern. the former instantly identified him. the other was too remote to distinguish anything but a slight human outline, which he could only determine to be such, as he beheld its movements. he was too far to assault, the light was too imperfect to suffer him to shoot with any reasonable certainty of success, and the half of the reward sought by his pursuers, depended upon the outlaw being taken alive! but, there was no disappointment among the hunters. allowing the outlaw sufficient time to return to his retreats, chub williams slipped down his tree--the rest of the party slowly emerged from their several places of watch, and drew together for consultation. in this matter, the idiot could give them little help. he could, and did, describe, in some particulars, such of the interior as he had been enabled to see on former occasions, but beyond this he could do nothing; and he was resolute not to hazard himself entering the dominion of a personage, so fearful as guy rivers, in such companionship as would surely compel the wolf to turn at bay. alone, his confidence in his own stealth and secresy, would encourage him to penetrate; but, _now!_--he only grinned at the suggestion of the hunters saying shrewdly: "no! thank you! i'll stay out here and keep chub's company." accordingly, he remained without, closely gathered up into a lump, behind a tree, while the more determined georgians penetrated with cautious pace into the dark avenue, known in the earlier days of the settlement as a retreat for the wolves when they infested that portion of the country, and hence distinguished by the appellation of the wolf's neck. for some time they groped onward in great uncertainty as to their course; but a crevice in the wall, at one point, gave them a glimmer of the moonlight, which, falling obliquely upon the sides of the cavern, enabled them to discern the mouth of another gorge diverging from that in which they were. they entered, and followed this new route, until their farther progress was arrested by a solid wall which seemed to close them in, hollowly caved from all quarters, except the one narrow point from which they had entered it. here, then, they were at a stand; but, according to chub's directions, there must be a mode of ingress to still another chamber from this; and they prepared to seek it in the only possible way; namely, by feeling along the wall for the opening which their eye had failed to detect. they had to do this on hands and knees, so low was the rock along the edges of the cavern. the search was finally successful. one of the party found the wall to give beneath his hands. there was an aperture, a mere passage-way for wolf or bear, lying low in the wall, and only closed by a heavy curtain of woollen. this was an important discovery. the opening led directly into the chamber of the outlaw. how easily it could be defended, the hunters perceived at a glance. the inmate of the cavern, if wakeful and courageous, standing above the gorge with a single hatchet, could brain every assailant on the first appearance of his head. how serious, then, the necessity of being able to know that the occupant of the chamber slept--that occupant being guy rivers. the pursuers well knew what they might expect at his hands, driven to his last fastness, with the spear of the hunter at his throat. did he sleep, then--the man who never slept, according to the notion of his followers, or with one eye always open! he did sleep, and never more soundly than now, when safety required that he should be most on the alert. but there is a limit to the endurance of the most iron natures, and the outlaw had overpassed his bounds of strength. he was exhausted by trying and prolonged excitements, and completely broken down by physical efforts which would have destroyed most other men outright. his subdued demeanor--his melancholy--were all due to this condition of absolute exhaustion. he slept, not a refreshing sleep, but one in which the excited spirit kept up its exercises, so as totally to neutralize what nature designed as compensation in his slumbers. his sleep was the drowse of incapacity, not the wholesome respite of elastic faculties. it was actual physical imbecility, rather than sleep; and, while the mere animal man, lay incapable, like a log, the diseased imagination was at work, conjuring up its spectres as wildly and as changingly, as the wizard of the magic-lanthorn evokes his monsters against the wall. his limbs writhed while he slept. his tongue was busy in audible speech. he had no secrets, in that mysterious hour, from night, and silence, and his dreary rocks. his dreams told him of no other auditors. the hunter, who had found and raised the curtain that separated his chamber from the gloomy gorges of the crag, paused, and motioned his comrades back, while he listened. at first there was nothing but a deep and painful breathing. the outlaw breathed with effort, and the sigh became a groan, and he writhed upon the bed of moss which formed his usual couch in the cavern. had the spectator been able to see, the lamp suspended from a ring in the roof of the cavern, though burning very dimly, would have shown him the big-beaded drops of sweat that now started from the brows of the sleeper. but he could hear; and now a word, a name, falls from the outlaw's lips--it is followed by murmured imprecations. the feverish frame, tortured by the restless and guilt-goading spirit, writhed as he delivered the curses in broken accents. these, finally, grew into perfect sentences. "dying like a dog, in her sight! ay, she shall see it! i will hiss in her ears as she gazes--'it is _my_ work! this is _my_ revenge!' ha! ha! where her pride then?--her high birth and station?--wealth, family? dust, shame, agony, and death!" such were the murmured accents of the sleeping man, when they were distinguishable by the hunter, who, crouching, beneath the curtain, listened to his sleeping speech. but all was not exultation. the change from the voice of triumph to that of woe was instantaneous; and the curse and the cry, as of one in mortal agony, pain or terror, followed the exulting speech. the georgian, now apprehensive that the outlaw would awaken, crept forward, and, still upon his hands and knees, was now fairly within the vaulted chamber. he was closely followed by one of his companions. hitherto, they had proceeded with great caution, and with a stealth and silence that were almost perfect. but the third of the party to enter--who was brooks, the jailer--more eager, or more unfortunate, less prudent certainly--not sufficiently stooping, as the other two had done, or rising too soon--contrived to strike with his head the pole which bore the curtain, and which, morticed in the sides of the cavern, ran completely across the awkward entrance. a ringing noise was the consequence, while brooks himself was precipitated back into the passage, with a smart cut over his brows. the noise was not great, but quite sufficient to dissipate the slumbers of the outlaw, whose sleep was never sound. with that decision and fierce courage which marked his character, he sprang to his feet in an instant, grasped the dirk which he always carried in his bosom, and leaped forward, like a tiger, in the direction of the narrow entrance. familiar with all the sinuosities of his den, as well in daylight as in darkness, the chances might have favored him even with two powerful enemies within it. certainly, had there been but one, he could have dealt with him, and kept out others. but the very precipitation of the jailer, while it occasioned the alarm, had the effect, in one particular, of neutralizing its evil consequences. the two who had already penetrated the apartment, had net yet risen from their knees--in the dim light of the lamp, they remained unseen--they were crouching, indeed, directly under the lamp, the rays of which lighted dimly the extremes, rather than the centre of the cell. they lay in the way of the outlaw, as he sprang, and, as he dashed forward from his couch toward the passage-way, his feet were caught by the georgian who had first entered, and so great was the impetus of his first awakening effort, that he was precipitated with a severe fall over the second of the party; and, half stunned, yet still striking furiously, the dirk of rivers found a bloodless sheath in the earthen floor of the cell. in a moment, the two were upon him, and by the mere weight of their bodies alone, they kept him down. "surrender, guy! we're too much for you, old fellow!" there was a short struggle. meanwhile, brooks, the jailer, joined the party. "we're _three_ on you, and there's more without." the outlaw was fixed to the ground, beneath their united weight, as firmly as if the mountain itself was on him. as soon as he became conscious of the inutility of further struggle--and he could now move neither hand nor foot--he ceased all further effort; like a wise man economizing his strength for future occasions. without difficulty the captors bound him fast, then dragged him through the narrow entrance, the long rocky gorges which they had traversed, until they all emerged into the serene light of heaven, at the entrance of the cavern. here the idiot boy encountered them, now coming forward boldly, and staring in the face of the captive with a confidence which he had never known before. he felt that his fangs were drawn; and his survey of the person his mother had taught him so to dread, was as curious as that which he would have taken of some foreign monster. as he continued this survey, rivers, with a singular degree of calmness for such a time, and such circumstances, addressed him thus:-- "so, chub, this is your work;--you have brought enemies to my home, boy! why have you done this? what have i done to you, but good? i gave bread to your mother and yourself!" "psho! chub is to have his own bread, his own corn, and 'taters, too, and a whole jug of whiskey." "ah! you have sold yourself for these, then, to my enemies. you are a bad fellow, chub--a worse fellow than i thought you. as an idiot, i fancied you might be honest and grateful." "you're bad yourself, mr. guy. you cursed chub, and you cursed chub's mother; and your man burnt down chub's house, and you wanted to shoot chub on the tree." "but i didn't shoot, chub; and i kept the men from shooting you when you ran away from the cave." "you can't shoot now," answered the idiot, with an exulting chuckle; "and they'll keep you in the ropes, mr. guy; they've got you on your back, mr. guy; and i'm going to laugh at you all the way as you go. ho! ho! ho! see if i don't laugh, till i scares away all your white owls from the roost." the outlaw looked steadily in the face of the wretched urchin, with a curious interest, as he half murmured to himself:-- "and that i should fall a victim to such a thing as this! the only creature, perhaps, whom i spared or pitied--so wretched, yet so ungrateful. but there is an instinct in it. it is surely in consequence of a law of nature. he hates in proportion as he fears. yet he has had nothing but protection from me, and kindness. nothing! i spared him, when--but--" as if suddenly recollecting himself, and speaking aloud and with recovered dignity:-- "i am your prisoner, gentlemen. do with me as you please." "hurrah!" cried the urchin, as he beheld the troopers lifting and securing the outlaw upon the horse, while one of the party leaped up behind him--one of his hands managing the bridle, and the other grasping firmly the rope which secured the captive; "hurrah! guy's in the rope! guy's in the rope!" thus cried the urchin, following close behind the party, upon his mountain-tacky. that cry, from such a quarter, more sensibly than anything besides, mocked the outlaw with the fullest sense of his present impotence. with a bitter feeling of humiliation, his head dropped upon his breast, and he seemed to lose all regard to his progress. daylight found him safely locked up in the jail of chestatee, the occupant of the very cell from which colleton had escaped. but no such prospect of escape was before him. he could command none of the sympathies that had worked for his rival. he had no friends left. munro was slain, dillon gone, and even the miserable idiot had turned his fangs upon the hand that fed him. warned, too, by the easy escape of colleton, brooks attended no more whiskey-parties, nor took his brother-in-law tongs again into his friendly counsels. more--he doubly ironed his prisoner, whose wiles and resources he had more reason to fear than those which his former captive could command. to cut off more fully every hope which the outlaw might entertain of escape from his bonds and durance, a detachment of the georgia guard, marching into the village that very day, was put in requisition, by the orders of the judge, for the better security of the prisoner, and of public order. chapter xli. quiet passages and new relations. we have already reported the return of lucy munro to the village-inn of chestatee. here, to her own and the surprise of all other parties, her aunt was quietly reinstated in her old authority--a more perfect one now--as housekeeper of that ample mansion. the reasons which determined her liege upon her restoration to the household have been already reported to the reader. his prescience as to his own approaching fate was perhaps not the least urgent among them. he fortunately left her in possession, and we know how the law estimates this advantage. of her trials and sorrows, when she was made aware of her widowhood, we will say nothing. sensitive natures will easily conjecture their extent and intensity. it is enough for the relief of such natures, if we say that the widow munro was not wholly inconsolable. as a good economist, a sensible woman, with an eye properly regardful of the future, we are bound to suppose that she needed no lessons from hamlet's mother to make the cold baked funeral-meats answer a double purpose. but what of her niece? we are required to be something more full and explicit in speaking to her case. the indisposition of lucy was not materially diminished by the circumstances following the successful effort to persuade the landlord to the rescue of ralph colleton. the feverish excitements natural to that event, and even the fruit of its fortunate issue, in the death of munro, for whom she really had a grateful regard, were not greatly lessened, though certainly something relieved, by the capture of rivers, and his identification with the outlawed creighton. she was now secure from him: she had nothing further to apprehend from the prosecution of his fearful suit; and the death of her uncle, even if the situation of rivers had left him free to urge it further, would, of itself, have relieved her from the only difficulty in the way of a resolute denial. so far, then, she was at peace. but a silent sorrow had made its way into her bosom, gnawing there with the noiselessness and certainty of the imperceptible worm, generated by the sunlight, in the richness of the fresh leaf, and wound up within its folds. she had no word of sorrow in her speech--she had no tear of sorrow in her eye--but there was a vacant sadness in the vague and wan expression of her face, that needed neither tears nor words for its perfect development. she was the victim of a passion which--as hers was a warm and impatient spirit--was doubly dangerous; and the greater pang of that passion came with the consciousness, which now she could no longer doubt, that it was entirely unrequited. she had beheld the return of ralph colleton; she had heard from other lips than his of his release, and of the atoning particulars of her uncle's death, in which he furnished all that was necessary in the way of testimony to the youth's enlargement and security; and though she rejoiced, fervently and deeply, at the knowledge that so much had been done for him, and so much by herself, she yet found no relief from the deep sadness of soul which necessarily came with her hopelessness. busy tongues dwelt upon the loveliness of the carolina maiden who had sought him in his prison--of her commanding stature, her elegance of form, her dignity of manner and expression, coupled with the warmth of a devoted love and a passionate admiration of the youth who had also so undesiringly made the conquest of her own heart. she heard all this in silence, but not without thought. she thought of nothing besides. the forms and images of the two happy lovers were before her eyes at all moments; and her active fancy pictured their mutual loves in colors so rich and warm, that, in utter despondency at last, she would throw herself listlessly upon her couch, with sometimes an unholy hope that she might never again rise from it. but she was not forgotten. the youth she had so much served, and so truly saved, was neither thoughtless nor ungrateful. having just satisfied those most near and dear to him of his safety, and of the impunity which, after a few brief forms of law, the dying confession of the landlord would give him and having taken, in the warm embrace of a true love, the form of the no-longer-withheld edith to his arms, he felt that his next duty was to her for whom his sense of gratitude soon discovered that every form of acknowledgment must necessarily prove weak. at an early hour, therefore--these several duties having been done--ralph made his appearance at the village-inn, and the summons of the youth soon brought lucy from her chamber. she came freely and without hesitation, though her heart was tremulous with doubt and sorrow. she had nothing now to learn of her utter hopelessness, and her strength was gathered from her despair. ralph was shocked at the surprising ravages which a few days of indisposition had made upon that fine and delicate richness of complexion and expression which had marked her countenance before. he had no notion that she was unhappy beyond the cure of time. on the contrary, with a modesty almost akin to dullness--having had no idea of his own influence over the maiden--he was disposed to regard the recent events--the death of munro and the capture of rivers--as they relieved her from a persecution which had been cruelly distressing, rather calculated to produce a degree of relief, to which she had not for a long time been accustomed; and which, though mingled up with events that prevented it from being considered matter for rejoicing, was yet not a matter for one in her situation very greatly to deplore. her appearance, however, only made him more assiduously gentle and affectionate in the duties he had undertaken to perform. he approached her with the freedom of one warranted by circumstances in recognising in her person a relation next to the sweetest and the dearest in life. with the familiar regard of a brother, he took her hand, and, placing her beside him on the rude sofa of the humble parlor, he proceeded to those little inquiries after her health, and of those about her, which usually form the opening topics of all conversation. he proceeded then to remind her of that trying night, when, in defiance of female fears, and laudably regardless of those staid checks and restraints by which her sex would conceal or defend its weaknesses, she had dared to save his life. his manner, generally warm and eager, dilated something beyond its wont; and if ever gratitude had yet its expression from human lips and in human language, it was poured forth at that moment from his into the ears of lucy munro. and she felt its truth; she relied upon the uttered words of the speaker; and her eyes grew bright with a momentary kindling, her check flushed under his glance, while her heart, losing something of the chillness which had so recently oppressed it, felt lighter and less desolate in that abode of sadness and sweetness, the bosom in which it dwelt. yet, after all, when thought came again under the old aspect--when she remembered his situation and her own, she felt the shadow once more come over her with an icy influence. it was not gratitude which her heart craved from that of ralph colleton. the praise and the approval and the thanks of others might have given her pleasure, but these were not enough from him; and she sighed that he from whom alone love would be precious, had nothing less frigid than gratitude to offer. but even that was much, and she felt it deeply. his approbation was not a little to a spirit whose reference to him was perpetual; and when--her hand in his--he recounted the adventures of that night--when he dwelt upon her courage--upon her noble disregard of opinions which might have chilled in many of her sex the fine natural currents of that godlike humanity which conventional forms, it is well to think, can not always fetter or abridge--when he expatiated upon all these things with all the fervor of his temperament--she with a due modesty, shrinking from the recital of her own performances--she felt every moment additional pleasure in his speech of praise. when, at length, relating the particulars of the escape and death of munro, he proceeded, with all the tender caution of a brother, softening the sorrow into sadness, and plucking from grief as much of the sting as would else have caused the wound to rankle, she felt that though another might sway his heart and its richer affections, she was not altogether destitute of its consideration and its care. "and now, lucy--my sweet sister--for my sister you are now--you will accede to your uncle's prayer and mine--you will permit me to be your brother, and to provide for you as such. in this wild region it fits not that you should longer abide. this wilderness is uncongenial--it is foreign to a nature like yours. you have been too long its tenant--mingling with creatures not made for your association, none of whom are capable of appreciating your worth. you must come with us, and live with my uncle--with my cousin edith--" "edith!"--and she looked inquiringly, while a slight flush of the cheek and kindling of the eye in him followed the utterance of the single word by her, and accompanied his reply. "yes, edith--edith colleton, lucy, is the name of my cousin, and the relationship will soon be something closer between us. you will love her, and she, i know, will love you as a sister, and as the preserver of one so very humble as myself. it was a night of danger when you first heard her name, and saw her features; and when you and she will converse over that night and its events, i feel satisfied that it will bring you both only the closer to one another." "we will not talk of it farther, mr. colleton--i would not willingly hear of it again. it is enough that you are now free from all such danger--enough that all things promise well for the future. let not any thought of past evil, or of risk successfully encountered, obscure the prospect--let no thought of me produce an emotion, hostile, even for a moment, to your peace." "and why should you think, my sweet girl, and with an air of such profound sorrow, that such a thought must be productive of such an emotion. why should the circumstances so happily terminating, though perilous at first, necessarily bring sorrow with remembrance. surely you are now but exhibiting the sometimes coy perversity which is ascribed to your sex. you are now, in a moment of calm, but assuming those winning playfulnesses of a sex, conscious of charm and power, which, in a time of danger, your more masculine thought had rejected as unbecoming. you forget, lucy, that i have you in charge--that you are now my sister--that my promise to your departed uncle, not less than my own desire to that effect, makes me your guardian for the future--and that i am now come, hopeful of success, to take you with me to my own country, and to bring you acquainted with her--(i must keep no secret from you, who are my sister)--who has my heart--who--but you are sick, lucy. what means this emotion?" "nothing, nothing, mr. colleton. a momentary weakness from my late indisposition--it will soon be over. indeed, i am already well. go on, sir--go on!" "lucy, why these titles? why such formality? speak to me as if i were the new friend, at least, if you will not behold in me an old one. i have received too much good service from you to permit of this constraint. call me ralph--or colleton--or--or--nay, look not so coldly--why not call me your brother?" "brother--brother be it then, ralph colleton--brother--brother. god knows, i need a brother now!" and the ice of her manner was thawed quickly by his appeal, in which her accurate sense, sufficiently unclouded usually by her feelings, though themselves at all times strong, discovered only the honest earnestness of truth. "ah, now, you look--and now you are indeed my sister. hear me, then, lucy, and listen to all my plans. you have not seen edith--my edith now--you must be _her_ sister too. she is now, or will be soon, something nearer to me than a sister--she is something dearer already. we shall immediately return to carolina, and you will go along with us." "it may not be, ralph--i have determined otherwise. i will be your sister--as truly so as sister possibly could be--but i can not go with you. i have made other arrangements." the youth looked up in astonishment. the manner of the maiden was very resolute, and he knew not what to understand. she proceeded, as she saw his amazement:-- "it may not be as you propose, mr.--ralph--my brother--circumstances have decreed another arrangement--another, and perhaps a less grateful destiny for me." "but why, lucy, if a less pleasant, or at least a doubtful arrangement, why yield to it--why reject my solicitation? what is the plan to which, i am sad to see, you so unhesitatingly give the preference?" "not unhesitatingly--not unhesitatingly, i assure you. i have thought upon it deeply and long, and the decision is that of my cooler thought and calmer judgment. it may be in a thousand respects a less grateful arrangement than that which you offer me; but, at least, it will want one circumstance which would couple itself with your plan, and which would alone prompt me to deny myself all its other advantages." "and what is that one circumstance, dear lucy, which affrights you so much? let me know. what peculiarity of mine--what thoughtless impropriety--what association, which i may remove, thus prevents your acceptance of my offer, and that of edith? speak--spare me not in what you shall say--but let your thoughts have their due language, just as if you were--as indeed you are--my sister." "ask me not, ralph. i may not utter it. it must not be whispered to myself, though i perpetually hear it. it is no impropriety--no peculiarity--no wrong thought or deed of yours, that occasions it. the evil is in me; and hence you can do nothing which can possibly change my determination." "strange, strange girl! what mystery is this? where is now that feeling of confidence, which led you to comply with my prayer, and consider me as your brother? why keep this matter from me--why withhold any particular, the knowledge of which might be productive of a remedy for all the difficulty." "never--never. the knowledge of it would be destructive of all beside. it would be fatal--seek not, therefore, to know it--it would profit you nothing, and me it would crush for ever to the earth. hear me, ralph--my brother!--hear me. hitherto you have known me--i am proud to think--as a strong-minded woman, heedless of all things in her desire for the good--for the right. in a moment of peril to you or to another, i would be the same woman. but the strength which supports through the trial, subsides when it is over. the ship that battles with the storms and the seas, with something like a kindred buoyancy, goes down with the calm that follows their violence. it is so with me. i could do much--much more than woman generally--in the day of trial, but i am the weakest of my sex when it is over. would you have the secret of these weaknesses in your possession, when you must know that the very consciousness, that it is beyond my own control, must be fatal to that pride of sex which, perhaps, only sustains me now? ask me not further, ralph, on this subject. i can tell you nothing; i _will_ tell you nothing; and to press me farther must only be to estrange me the more. it is sufficient that i call you brother--that i pledge myself to love you as a sister--as sister never loved brother before. this is as much as i can do, ralph colleton--is it not enough?" the youth tried numberless arguments and entreaties, but in vain to shake her purpose; and the sorrowful expression of his voice and manner, not less than of his language, sufficiently assured her of the deep mortification which he felt upon her denial. she soothed his spirit with a gentleness peculiarly her own, and, as if she had satisfied herself that she had done enough for the delicacy of her scruples in one leading consideration, she took care that her whole manner should be that of the most confiding and sisterly regard. she even endeavored to be cheerful, seeing that her companion, with her unlooked-for denial, had lost all his elasticity; but without doing much to efface from his countenance the traces of dissatisfaction. "and what are your plans, lucy? let me know them, at least. let mo see how far they are likely to be grateful to your character, and to make you happy." "happy! happy!" and she uttered but the two words, with a brief interval between them, while her voice trembled, and the gathering suffusion in her large and thickly-fringed blue eyes attested, more than anything besides, the prevailing weakness of which she had spoken. "ay, happy, lucy! that is the word. you must not be permitted to choose a lot in life, in which the chances are not in favor of your happiness." "i look not for that now, ralph," was her reply, and with such hopeless despondency visible in her face as she spoke, that, with a deeper interest, taking her hand, he again urged the request she had already so recently denied. "and why not, my sweet sister? why should you not anticipate happiness as well as the rest of us? who has a better right to happiness than the young, the gentle, the beautiful, the good?--and you are all of these, lucy! you have the charms--the richer and more lasting charms--which, in the reflective mind, must always awaken admiration! you have animation, talent, various and active--sentiment, the growth of truth, propriety, and a lofty aim--no flippancy, no weak vanity--and a gentle beauty, that woos while it warms." her face became very grave, as she drew back from him. "nay, my sweet lucy! why do you repulse me? i speak nothing but the truth." "you mock me!--i pray you, mock me not. i have suffered much, mr. colleton--very much, in the few last years of my life, from the sneer, and the scorn, and the control of others! but i have been taught to hope for different treatment, and a far gentler estimate. it is ill in you to take up the speech of smaller spirits, and when the sufferer is one so weak, so poor, so very wretched as i am now! i had not looked for such scorn from you!" ralph was confounded. was this caprice? he had never seen any proof of the presence of such an infirmity in her. and yet, how could he account for those strange words--that manner so full of offended pride? what had he been saying? how had she misconceived him? he took her hand earnestly in his own. she would have withdrawn it; but no!--he held it fast, and looked pleadingly into her face, as he replied:-- "surely, lucy, you do me wrong! how could you think that i would design to give you pain? do you really estimate me by so low a standard, that my voice, when it speaks in praise and homage, is held to be the voice of vulgar flattery, and designing falsehood?" "oh, no, ralph! not that--anything but that!" "that i should sneer at _you_, lucy--feel or utter scorn--_you_, to whom i owe so much! have i then been usually so flippant of speech--a trifler--when we have spoken together before?--the self-assured fopling, with fancied superiority, seeking to impose upon the vain spirit and the simple confidence? surely, i have never given you cause to think of me so meanly!" "no! no! forgive me! i know not what i have said! i meant nothing so unkind--so unjust!" "lucy, your esteem is one of my most precious desires. to secure it, i would do much--strive earnestly--make many sacrifices of self. certainly, for this object, i should be always truthful." "you are, ralph! i believe you." "when i praised you, i did not mean merely to praise. i sought rather to awaken you to a just appreciation of your own claims upon a higher order of society than that which you can possibly find in this frontier region. i have spoken only the simple truth of your charms and accomplishments. i have _felt_ them, lucy, and paint them only as they are. your beauties of mind and person--" "oh, do not, i implore you!" "yes, i must, lucy! though of these beauties i should not have spoken--should not now speak--were it not that i feel sure that your superior understanding would enable you to listen calmly to a voice, speaking from my heart to yours, and speaking nothing but a truth which it honestly believes! and it is your own despondency, and humility of soul, that prompts me thus to speak in your praise. there is no good reason, lucy, why you should not be happy--why fond hearts should not be rejoiced to win your sympathies--why fond eyes should not look gladly and gratefully for the smiles of yours! you carry treasures into society, lucy, which society will everywhere value as beyond price!" "ah! why will you, sir--why, ralph?--" "you must not sacrifice yourself, lucy. you must not defraud society of its rights. in a more refined circle, whose chances of happiness will be more likely to command than yours? you must go with me and edith--go to carolina. there you will find the proper homage. you will see the generous and the noble;--they will seek you--honorable gentlemen, proud of your favor, happy in your smiles--glad to offer you homes and hearts, such as shall be not unworthy of your own." the girl heard him, but with no strengthening of self-confidence. the thought which occurred to her, which spoke of her claims, was that _he_ had not found them so coercive. but, of course, she did not breathe the sentiment. she only sighed, and shook her head mournfully; replying, after a brief pause:-- "i must not hear you, ralph. i thank you, i thank miss colleton, for the kindness of this invitation, but i dare not accept it. i can not go with you to carolina. my lot is here with my aunt, or where she goes. i must not desert her. she is now even more destitute than myself." "impossible! why, lucy, your aunt tells me that she means to continue in this establishment. how can you reconcile it to yourself to remain here, with the peril of encountering the associations, such as we have already known them, which seem naturally to belong to such a border region." "you forget, ralph, that it was here i met with you," was the sudden reply, with a faint smile upon her lips. "yes; and i was driven here--by a fate, against my will--that we _should_ meet, lucy. but though we are both here, now, the region is unseemly to both, and neither need remain an hour longer than it is agreeable. why should you remain out of your sphere, and exposed to every sort of humiliating peril." "you forget--my aunt." "ay, but what security is there that she will not give you another uncle?" "oh, fie, ralph!" "ay, she is too feeble of will, too weak, to be independent. she will marry again, lucy, and is not the woman to choose wisely. besides, she is not your natural aunt. she is so by marriage only. the tie between you is one which gives her no proper claim upon you." "she has been kind to me, ralph." "yet she would have seen you sacrificed to this outlaw!" lucy shuddered. he continued:-- "her kindness, lacking strength and courage, would leave you still to be sacrificed, whenever a will, stronger than her own, should choose to assert a power over you. she can do nothing for you--not even for your security. you must not remain here, lucy." "frankly, then, ralph, i do not mean to do so long; nor does my aunt mean it. she is feeble, as you say; and, knowing it, i shall succeed in persuading her to sell out here, and we shall then remove to a more civilized region, to a better society, where, indeed, if you knew it, you would find nothing to regret, and see no reason to apprehend either for my securities or tastes. we shall seek refuge among my kindred--among the relatives of my mother--and i shall there be as perfectly at home, and quite as happy, as i can be any where." "and where is it that you go, lucy?" "forgive me, ralph, but i must not tell you." "not tell me!" "better that i should not--better, far better! the duties for which the high providence brought us together have been, i think, fairly accomplished. i have done my part, and you, mr. colleton--ralph, i mean--you have done yours. there is nothing more that we may not do apart. here, then, let our conference end. it is enough that you have complied with the dying wish of my uncle--that i have not, is not your fault." "not my fault, lucy, but truly my misfortune. but i give not up my hope so easily. i still trust that you will think better of your determination, and conclude to go with us. we have a sweet home, and should not be altogether so happy in it, with the thought of your absence for ever in our minds." "what!--not happy, and she with you!" "happy!--yes!--but far happier with both of you. you, my sister, and--" "say no more--" "no more now, but i shall try other lips, perhaps more persuasive than mine. edith shall come--" his words were suddenly arrested by the energetic speech and action of his companion. she put her hand on his wrist--grasped it--and exclaimed-- "let her not come! bring her not here, ralph colleton! i have no wish to see her--_will not_ see her, i tell you--would not have her see _me_ for the world!" ralph was confounded, and recoiled from the fierce, spasmodic energy of the speaker, so very much at variance with the subdued tone of her previous conversation. he little knew what an effort was required hitherto, on her part, to maintain that tone, and to speak coolly and quietly of those fortunes, every thought of which brought only disappointment and agony to her bosom. she dropped his hand as she concluded, and with eyes still fixed upon him, she half turned round, as if about to leave the room. but the crisis of her emotions was reached. she sickened with the effort. her limbs grew too weak to sustain her; a sudden faintness overspread all her faculties--her eyes closed--she gasped hysterically, and tottering forward, she sank unconscious into the arms of ralph, which were barely stretched out in time to save her from falling to the floor. he bore her to the sofa, and laid her down silently upon it. he was struck suddenly with the truth to which he had hitherto shown himself so blind. he would have been the blindest and most obtuse of mortals, did he now fail to see. that last speech, that last look, and the fearful paroxysm which followed it, had revealed the poor girl's secret. its discovery overwhelmed him, at once with the consciousness of his previous and prolonged dullness--which was surely mortifying--as with the more painful consciousness of the evil which he had unwittingly occasioned. but the present situation of the gentle victim called for immediate attention; and, hastily darting out to another apartment, he summoned mrs. munro to the succor of her niece. "what is the matter, mr. colleton?" "she faints," answered the other hoarsely, as he hurried the widow into the chamber. "bless my soul, what _can_ be the matter!" the wondering of the hostess was not permitted to consume her time and make her neglectful; colleton did not suffer this. he hurried her with the restoratives, and saw them applied, and waiting only till he could be sure of the recovery of the patient, he hurried away, without giving the aunt any opportunity to examine him in respect to the cause of lucy's illness. greatly excited, and painfully so, ralph hastened at once to the lodgings of edith. she was luckily alone. she cried out, as he entered-- "well, ralph, she will come with us?" "no!" "no!--and why not, ralph! i must go and see her." "she will not see you, edith." "not see me!" "no! she positively declines to see you." "why, ralph, that is very strange. what can it mean?" "mean, edith, it means that i am very unfortunate. i have been a blind fool if nothing worse." "why, what can _you_ mean, ralph. what is this new mystery? this is, surely, a place of more marvels than--" "hear me, edith, my love, and tell me what you think. i am bewildered, mortified, confounded." he proceeded, as well as he could, to relate what had occurred; to give, not only the words, but to describe the manner of lucy--so much of it had been expressed in this way--and he concluded, with a warm suffusion of his cheeks, to mention the self-flattering conclusion to which he had come:-- "now, edith, you who know me so well, tell me, can you think it possible that i have done, or said anything which has been calculated to make her suppose that i loved her--that i sought her. in short, do you think me capable of playing the scoundrel. i feel that i have been blind--something of a fool, edith--but, on my soul, i can not recall a moment in which i have said or shown anything to this poor girl which was unbecoming in the gentleman." the maiden looked at him curiously. at first there was something like an arch smile playing upon her lips and in her light lively eyes. but when she noted how real was his anxiety--how deeply and keenly he felt his own doubt--she felt that the little jest which occurred to her fancy, would be unseemly and unreasonable. so, she answered promptly, but quietly-- "pshaw, ralph, how can you afflict yourself with, any such notions? i have no doubt of the perfect propriety of your conduct; and i will venture to say that miss munro entertains no reproaches." "yet, feeling so grateful to her, edith--and when i first came here, lonely, wounded and suffering every way--feeling so much the want of sympathy--i may have shown to her--almost the only being with whom i could sympathize--i may have shown to her a greater degree of interest, than--" "my dear ralph, you are certainly one of the most modest young men of the present generation; that is, if you do not deceive yourself now, in your conjectures touching the state of miss munro's affections. after all, it may be a sudden illness from exhaustion, excitement, terror--which you have undertaken to account for by supposing her desperately in love." "heaven grant it be so," answered ralph. "well, whether so or not, do not distress yourself. i will answer for it, you are not to blame. and here, let me whisper a little secret in your ears. however forbidden by all the wise, solemn, staid regulations of good society, there are young women--very few i grant you--who will, without the slightest call for it, or provocation, suffer their little hearts to go out of their own keeping--who will--i am ashamed to confess it--positively suffer themselves to love even where the case is hopeless--where no encouragement is given to them--where they can have no rights at all, and where they can only sigh, and mourn, and envy the better fortunes of other people. i have no doubt that miss munro is one of these very unsophisticated persons; and that you have been all the while, and only the innocent cause of all her troubles. i acquit you of _lèse majesté_, ralph, so put off your doleful faces." "don't speak so carelessly of the matter, edith. we owe this dear girl a heavy debt--i do, at least." "and we shall try and pay it, ralph. but you must leave this matter to me. i will go and see lucy." "but she refuses to see you." "i will not be refused. i _will_ see her, and she _shall_ see me, and i trust we shall succeed in taking her home with us. it may be, ralph, that she will feel shy in thinking of you as a brother, but i will do my best to make her adopt me as a sister." "my own, my generous edith--it was ever thus--you are always the noble and the true. go, then--you are right--you must go alone. relieve me from this sorrow if you can. i need not say to you, persuade her, if in your power; for much i doubt whether her prospects are altogether so good as she has represented them to me. so fine a creature must not be sacrificed." edith lost no time in proceeding to the dwelling and into the chamber of lucy munro. she regarded none of the objections of the old lady, the aunt of her she sought, who would have denied her entrance. edith's was a spirit of the firmest mould--tenacious of its purpose, and influenced by no consideration which would have jostled with the intended good. she approached the sufferer, who lay half-conscious only on her couch. lucy could not be mistaken as to the person of her visiter. the noble features, full of generous beauty and a warm spirit, breathing affection for all human things, and doubly expanded with benevolent sweetness when gazing down upon one needing and deserving of so much--all told her that the beloved and the betrothed of ralph colleton was before her. she looked but once; then, sighing deeply, turned her head upon the pillow, so as to shut out a presence so dangerously beautiful. but edith was a woman whose thoughts--having deeply examined the minute structure of her own heart--could now readily understand that of another which so nearly resembled it. she perceived the true course for adoption; and, bending gently over the despairing girl, she possessed herself of one of her hands, while her lips, with the most playful sweetness of manner, were fastened upon those of the sufferer. the speech of such an action was instantaneous in its effect. "oh, why are you here--why did you come?" was the murmured inquiry of the drooping maiden. "to know you--to love you--to win you to love me, lucy. i would be worthy of your love, dear girl, if only to be grateful. i know how worthy you are of all of mine. i have heard all." "no! no! not all--not all, or you never would be here." "it is for that very reason that i am here. i have discovered more than ralph colleton could report, and love you all the better, lucy, as you can feel with me how worthy he is of the love of both." a deep sigh escaped the lips of the lovely sufferer, and her face was again averted from the glance of her visiter. the latter passed her arm under her neck, and, sitting on the bedside, drew lucy's head to her bosom. "yes, lucy, the woman has keener instincts than the man, and feels even where he fails to see. do not wonder, therefore, that edith colleton knows more than her lover ever dreamed of. and now i come to entreat you to love _me_ for _his_ sake. you shall be my sister, lucy, and in time you may come to love me for my own sake. my pleasant labor, lucy, shall be to win your love--to force you to love me, whether you will or no. we can not alter things; can not change the courses of the stars; can not force nature to our purposes in the stubborn heart or the wilful fancy: and the wise method is to accommodate ourselves to the inevitable, and see if we can not extract an odor from the breeze no matter whence it blows. now, i am an only child, lucy. i have neither brother nor sister, and want a friend, and need a companion, one whom i can love--" "you will have--have--your husband." "yes, lucy, and as a husband! but i am not content. i must have _you_, also, lucy." "oh, no, no! i can not--can not!" "you _must_! i can not and will not go without you. hear me. you have mortified poor ralph very much. he swore to your uncle, in his dying moments--an awful moment--that you should be his sister--that you should enjoy his protection. his own desires--mine--my father's--all concur to make us resolute that ralph shall keep his oath! and he must! and you must consent to an arrangement upon which we have set our hearts." "to live with _him_--to see _him_ daily!" murmured the suffering girl. "ay, lucy," answered the other boldly; "and to love him, and honor him, and sympathize with him in his needs, as a true, devoted woman and sister, so long as he shall prove worthy in your eyes and mine. i know that i am asking of you, lucy, what i would ask of no ordinary woman. if i held you to be an ordinary woman, to whom we simply owe a debt of gratitude, i should never dream to offer such an argument. but it is because you _do_ love him, that i wish you to abide with us; your love hallowed by its own fires, and purifying itself, as it will, by the exercise of your mind upon it." the cheeks of lucy flushed suddenly, but she said nothing. edith stooped to her, and kissed her fondly; then she spoke again, so tenderly, so gently, with such judicious pleading--appealing equally to the exquisite instincts of the loving woman and the thoughtful mind--that the suffering girl was touched. but she struggled long. she was unwilling to be won. she was vexed that she was so weak: she was so weary of all struggle, and she needed sympathy and love so much! how many various influences had edith to combat! how many were there working in her favor! what a conflict was it all in the poor heart of the sorrowful and loving lucy! edith was a skilful physician for the heart--skilful beyond her years. love was the great want of lucy. edith soon persuaded her that she knew how to supply it. she was so solicitous, so watchful, so tender, so-- suddenly the eyes of lucy gushed with a volume of tears, and she buried her face in edith's bosom; and she wept--how passionately!--the sobbings of an infant succeeding to the more wild emotions of the soul, and placing her, like a docile and exhausted child, at the entire control of her companion, even as if she had been a mother. "do with me as you will, edith, my sister." there was really no argument, there were no reasons given, which could persuade any mind, having first resolved on the one purpose, to abandon it for the other. how many reasons had lucy for being firm in the first resolution she had made! but the ends of wisdom do not depend upon the reasons which enforce conviction. nay, conviction itself, where the heart is concerned, is rarely to be moved by any efforts, however noble, of the simply reasoning faculty. shall we call them _arts_--the processes by which edith colleton had persuaded lucy munro to her purposes? no! it was the sweet nature, the gentle virtues, the loving tenderness, the warm sympathies, the delicate tact--these, superior to art and reason, were made evident to the suffering girl, in the long interview in which they were together; and her soul melted under their influence, and the stubborn will was subdued, and again she murmured lovingly-- "do with me as you will, my sister." chapter xlii. "last scene of all." there was no little stir in the village of chestatee on the morning following that on which the scene narrated in the preceding chapter had taken place. it so happened that several of the worthy villagers had determined to remove upon that day; and colonel colleton and his family, consisting of his daughter, lucy munro, and his future son-in-law, having now no further reason for delay, had also chosen it as their day of departure for carolina. nor did the already named constitute the sum total of the cavalcade setting out for that region. carolina was about to receive an accession in the person of the sagacious pedler, who, in a previous conversation with both colonel colleton and ralph, had made arrangements for future and large adventures in the way of trade--having determined, with the advice and assistance of his newly-acquired friends, to establish one of those wonders of various combinations, called a country store, among the good people of sumter district. under their direction, and hopeful of the colleton patronage and influence, bunce never troubled himself to dream of unprofitable speculations; but immediately drawing up letters for his brother and some other of his kinsmen engaged in the manufacture, in connecticut, of one kind of _notion_ or other, he detailed his new designs, and furnished liberal orders for the articles required and deemed necessary for the wants of the free-handed backwoodsmen of the south. lest our readers should lack any information on the subject of these wants, we shall narrate a brief dialogue between the younger colleton and our worthy merchant, which took place but a few hours before their departure:-- "well, bunce, are you ready? we shall be off now in a couple of hours or so, and you must not keep us waiting. pack up at once, man, and make yourself ready." "i guess you're in a little bit of a small hurry, master colleton, 'cause, you see, you've some reason to be so. you hain't had so easy a spell on it, no how, and i don't wonder as how you're no little airnest to get off. well, you won't have to wait for me. i've jest got through mending my little go-cart--though, to be sure, it don't look, no how, like the thing it was. the rigilators made awful sad work of the box and body, and, what with patching and piecing, there's no two eends on it alike." "well, you're ready, however, and we shall have no difficulty at the last hour?" "none to speak on. jared bunce aint the chap for burning daylight; and whenever you're ready to say, 'go,' he's gone. but, i say, master ralph, there's one little matter i'd like to look at." "what's that? be quick, now, for i've much to see to." "only a minute. here, you see, is a letter i've jest writ to my brother, ichabod bunce, down to meriden. he's a 'cute chap, and quite a yankee, now, i tell you; and as i knows all his ways, i've got to keep a sharp look-out to see he don't come over me. ah, master ralph, it's a hard thing to say one's own flesh and blood aint the thing, but the truth's the truth to be sure, and, though it does hurt in the telling, that's no reason it shouldn't be told." "certainly not!" "well, as i say, ichabod bunce is as close and 'cute in his dealings as any man in all connecticut, and that's no little to say, i'm sartin. he's got the trick, if anybody's got it, of knowing how to make your pocket his, and squaring all things coming in by double multiplication. if he puts a shilling down, it's sure to stick to another; and if he picks one up, it never comes by itself--there's always sure to be two on 'em." "a choice faculty for a tradesman." "you've said it." "just the man for business, i take it." "jest so; you're right there, master colleton--there's no mistake about that. well, as i tell'd you now, though he's my own brother, i have to keep a raal sharp look out over him in all our dealings. if he says two and two makes four, i sets to calkilate, for when he says so, i'm sure there's something wrong in the calkilation; and tho' to be sure i do know, when the thing stands by itself, that two and two does make four; yet, somehow, whenever he says it, i begin to think it not altogether so sartain. ah, he's a main hand for trade, and there's no knowing when he'll come over you." "but, bunce, without making morals a party to this question, as you are in copartnership with your brother, you should rather rejoice that he possesses so happy a faculty; it certainly should not be a matter of regret with you." "why, how--you wouldn't have me to be a mean-spirited fellow, who would live all for money, and not care how it comes. i can't, sir--'tain't my way, i assure you. i do feel that i wasn't born to live nowhere except in the south; and so i thought when i wrote ichabod bunce my last letter. i told him every man on his own hook, now--for, you see, i couldn't stand his close-fisted contrivances no longer. he wanted me to work round the ring like himself, but i was quite too up-and-down for that, and so i squared off from him soon as i could. we never did agree when we were together, you see--'cause naterally, being brothers and partners, he couldn't shave me as he shaved other folks, and so, 'cause he couldn't by nature and partnership come 'cute over me, he was always grumbling, and for every yard of prints, he'd make out to send two yards of grunt and growls, and that was too much, you know, even for a pedler to stand; so we cut loose, and now as the people say on the river--every man paddle his own canoe." "and you are now alone in the way of trade, and this store which you are about to establish is entirely on your own account?" "guess it is; and so, you see, i must pull with single oar up stream, and shan't quarrel with no friend that helps me now and then to send the boat ahead." "rely upon us, bunce. you have done too much in my behalf to permit any of our family to forget your services. we shall do all that we can toward giving you a fair start in the stream, and it will not be often that you shall require a helping-hand in paddling your canoe." "i know'd it, master colleton. 'tain't in carolina, nor in georgy, nor virginny, no--nor down in alabam, that a man will look long for provisions, and see none come. that's the people for me. i guess i must ha' been born by nature in the south, though i did see daylight in connecticut." "no blarney, bunce. we know you--what you are and what you are not!--good and bad in fair proportions. but what paper is that in your hand?" "oh, that? that's jest what i was going now to ax you about. that's my bill of particulars, you see, that i'm going to send on by the post, to ichabod bunce. he'll trade with me, now we're off partnership, and be as civil as a lawyer jest afore court-time. 'cause, you see, he'll be trying to come over me, and will throw as much dust in my eyes as he can. but i guess he don't catch me with mouth ajar. i know his tricks, and he'll find me up to them." "and what is it you require of me in this matter?" "oh, nothing, but jest to look over this list, and tell me how you 'spose the things will suit your part of the country. you see i must try and larn how to please my customers, that is to be. now, you see, here's, in the first place--for they're a great article now in the country, and turn out well in the way of sale--here's--" but we need not report the catalogue. enough, that he proceeded to unfold (dwelling with an emphatic and precise description of each article in turn) the immense inventory of wares and merchandises with which he was about to establish. the assortment was various enough. there were pen-knives, and jack-knives, and clasp-knives, and dirk-knives, horn and wooden combs, calicoes and clocks, and tin-ware and garden seeds; everything, indeed, without regard to fitness of association, which it was possible to sell in the region to which he was going. ralph heard him through his list with tolerable patience; but when the pedler, having given it a first reading, proposed a second, with passing comments on the prospects of sale of each separate article, by way of recapitulation, the youth could stand it no longer. apologizing to the tradesman, therefore in good set terms, he hurried away to the completion of those preparations called for by his approaching departure. bunce, having no auditor, was compelled to do the same; accordingly a few hours after, the entire party made its appearance in the court of the village-inn, where the carriages stood in waiting. about this time another party left the village, though in a different direction. it consisted of old allen, his wife, and daughter kate. in their company rode the lawyer pippin, who, hopeless of elevation in his present whereabouts, was solicitous of a fairer field for the exhibition of his powers of law and logic than that which he now left had ever afforded him. he made but a small item in the caravan. his goods and chattels required little compression for the purposes of carriage, and a small _jersey_--a light wagon in free use in that section, contained all his wardrobe, books, papers, &c.--the heirlooms of a long and carefully economized practice. we may not follow his fortunes after his removal to the valley of the mississippi. it does not belong to the narrative; but, we may surely say to those in whom his appearance may have provoked some interest, that subsequently he got into fine practice--was notorious for his stump-speeches; and a random sheet of the "republican star and banner of independence" which we now have before us, published in the town of "modern ilium," under the head of the "triumph of liberty and principle," records, in the most glowing language, the elevation of peter pippin, esq., to the state legislature, by seven votes majority over colonel hannibal hopkins, the military candidate--pippin , hopkins . such a fortunate result, if we have rightly estimated the character of the man, will have easily salved over all the hurts which, in his earlier history, his self-love may have suffered. but the hour of departure was at hand, and assisting the fair edith into the carriage, ralph had the satisfaction of placing her beside the sweetly sad, the lovely, but still deeply suffering girl, to whom he owed so much in the preservation of his life. she was silent when he spoke, but she looked her replies, and he felt that they were sufficiently expressive. the aunt had been easily persuaded to go with her niece, and we find her seated accordingly along with colonel colleton in the same carriage with the young ladies. ralph rode, as his humor prompted, sometimes on horseback, and sometimes in a light gig--a practice adopted with little difficulty, where a sufficient number of servants enabled him to transfer the trust of one or the other conveyance to the liveried outriders. then came the compact, boxy, buggy, buttoned-up vehicle of our friend the pedler--a thing for which the unfertile character of our language, as yet, has failed to provide a fitting name--but which the backwoodsman of the west calls a go-cart; a title which the proprietor does not always esteem significant of its manifold virtues and accommodations. with a capacious stomach, it is wisely estimated for all possible purposes; and when opened with a mysterious but highly becoming solemnity, before the gaping and wondering woodsman, how "awful fine" do the contents appear to miss nancy and the little whiteheads about her. how grand are its treasures, of tape and toys, cottons and calicoes, yarn and buttons, spotted silks and hose--knives and thimbles--scissors and needles--wooden clocks, and coffee-mills, &c.--not to specify a closely-packed and various assortment of tin-ware and japan, from the tea-kettle and coffee-pot to the drinking mug for the pet boy and the shotted rattle for the infant. a judicious distribution of the two latter, in the way of presents to the young, and the worthy pedler drives a fine bargain with the parents in more costly commodities. the party was now fairly ready, but, just at the moment of departure, who should appear in sight but our simple friend, chub williams. he had never been a frequent visiter to the abodes of men, and of course all things occasioned wonder. he seemed fallen upon some strange planet, and was only won to attention by the travellers, on hearing the voice of lucy munro calling to him from the carriage window. he could not be made to understand the meaning of her words when she told him where she was going, but contented himself with saying he would come for her, as soon as they built up his house, and she should be his mother. it was for this purpose he had come to the village, from which, though surprised at all things he saw, he was anxious to get away. he had been promised, as we remember, the rebuilding of his cabin, by the men who captured rivers; together with sundry other little acquisitions, which, as they were associated with his animal wants, the memory of the urchin did not suffer to escape him. ralph placed in his hands a sum of money, trifling in itself, but larger in amount than chub had ever seen at any one time before; and telling him it was his own, rejoined the party which had already driven off. the pedler still lingered, until a bend in the road put his company out of sight; when, driving up to the idiot, who stood with open mouth wondering at his own wealth, he opened upon him the preliminaries of trade, with a respectful address, duly proportioned to the increased finances of the boy. "i say, now, chub--seeing you have the raal grit, if it ain't axing too much, what do you think to do with all that money? i guess you'd like to lay out a little on't in the way of trade; and as i ain't particular where i sell, why, the sooner i begin, i guess, the better. you ain't in want of nothing, eh? no knife to cut the saplings, and pare the nails, nor nothing of no kind? now i has everything from--" bunce threw up the lid of his box, and began to display his wares. "there's a knife for you, chub williams--only two bits. with that knife you could open the stone walls of any house, even twice as strong as guy rivers's. and there's a handkerchief for your neck, chub--guy'll have to wear one of rope, my lad: and look at the suspenders, chub--fit for the king; and--" where the pedler would have stopped, short of the display and enumeration of all the wares in his wagon, it is not easy to say, but for an unexpected interruption. one of the outsiders of the colleton party, galloped back at this moment, no other indeed, than our former acquaintance, the blacky, cæsar, the fellow whose friendship for ralph was such that he was reluctant to get him the steed upon which he left his uncle's house in dudgeon. ralph had sent him back to see what detained the pedler, and to give him help in case of accident. cæsar at once divined the cause of the pedler's delay, as he saw the box opened, and its gaudy contents displayed before the eyes of the wondering idiot. he was indignant. the negro of the south has as little reverence for the yankee pedler as his master, and cæsar was not slow to express the indignation which he felt. "ki! misser bunce, aint you shame for try for draw de money out ob the boy pocket, wha' massa gee um?" "why, cæsar, he kaint eat the money, old fellow, and he kaint wear it; and he'll have to buy something with it, whenever he wants to use it." "but gee um time, misser bunce--gee um time! de money aint fair git warm in de young man pocket. gee um time! le' um look 'bout um, and see wha' he want; and ef you wants to be friendly wid um, gee um somet'ing youse'f--dat knife burn bright in he eye! gee um dat, and le's be moving! maussa da wait! ef you's a coming for trade in we country, you mus' drop de little bizness--'taint 'spectable in car'lina." the pedler was rebuked. he looked first at cæsar, then at chub, and finally handed the boy the knife. "you're right. there, chub, there's a knife for you. you're a good little fellow, as well as you knows how to be." chub grinned, took the knife, opened both blades, and nodding his head, made off without a word. "the etarnal little heathen! never to say so much as thank ye." "nebber mind, misser bunce; dat's de 'spectable t'ing wha' you do. always 'member, ef you wants to be gempleman's, dat you kaint take no money from nigger and poor buckrah. you kin gib um wha' you please, but you mustn't 'speck dem to be gibbing you." "but in the way of _trade_, cæsar," said the pedler, putting his horse in motion. "der's a time for _trade_, and a time for _gib_, and you must do de genteel t'ing, and nebber consider wha's de 'spense of it, or de profit. de nigger hab he _task_ in de cornfiel', and he hab for do um; but 'spose maussa wants he nigger to do somet'ing dat aint in he task--dat's to say in de nigger own time--wha' den? he _pays_ um han'some for it. when you's a trading, trade and git you pay, but when you's a trabelling with gemplemans and he family, da's no time for trade. ef you open you box at dem times, you must jest put in you hand, and take out de t'ing wha' you hab for gib, and say, 'yer cæsar--somet'ing for you, boy!'" "hem! that's the how, is it?" said the pedler with a leer that was good-humoredly knowing. "well, old fellow, as you've given me quite a lesson how to behave myself, i guess i must show you that i understand how to prove that i'm thankful--so here, cæsar, is a cut for you from one of my best goods." he accompanied the words with a smart stroke of his whip, a totally unexpected salutation, over the shoulders, which set the negro off in a canter. bunce, however, called him back; holding up a flaming handkerchief of red and orange, as a means of reconciliation. cæsar was soon pacified, and the two rode on together in a pleasant companionship, which suffered no interruptions on the road; cæsar all the way continuing to give the pedler a proper idea of the processes through which he might become a respectable person in carolina. there are still other parties to our story which it is required that we should dispose of according to the rules of the novel. let us return to the dungeon of the outlaw, where we behold him in a situation as proper to his deserts as it is new to his experience. hitherto, he has gone free of all human bonds and penalties, save that of exile from society, and a life of continued insecurity. he has never prepared his mind with resignation to endure patiently such a condition. what an intellect was here allowed to go to waste--what fine talents have been perverted in this man. endowments that might have done the country honor, have been made to minister only in its mischiefs. how sad a subject for contemplation! the wreck of intellect, of genius, of humanity. fortunate for mankind, if, under the decree of a saving and blessing providence, there be no dark void on earth--when one bright star falls from its sphere, if there is another soon lighted to fill its place, and to shine more purely than that which has been lost. may we not believe this--nay, we must, and exult, on behalf of humanity--that, in the eternal progress of change, the nature which is its aliment no less than its element, restores not less than its destiny removes. yet, the knowledge that we lose not, does not materially lessen the pang when we behold the mighty fall--when we see the great mind, which, as a star, we have almost worshipped, shooting with headlong precipitance through the immense void from its place of eminence, and defrauding the eye of all the glorious presence and golden promise which had become associated with its survey. the intellect of guy rivers had been gigantic--the mistake--a mistake quite too common to society--consisted in an education limited entirely to the mind, and entirely neglectful of the _morale_ of the boy. he was taught, like thousands of others; and the standards set up for his moral government, for his passions, for his emotions, were all false from the first. the capacities of his mind were good as well as great--but they had been restrained, while the passions had all been brought into active, and at length ungovernable exercise. how was it possible that reason, thus taught to be subordinate, could hold the strife long, when passion--fierce passion--the passion of the querulous infant, and the peevish boy, only to be bribed to its duty by the toy and the sugarplum--is its uncompromising antagonist? but let us visit him in his dungeon--the dungeon so lately the abode of his originally destined, but now happily safe victim. what philosophy is there to support _him_ in _his_ reverse--what consolation of faith, or of reflection, the natural result of the due performance of human duties? none! every thought was self-reproachful. every feeling was of self-rebuke and mortification. every dream was a haunting one of terror, merged for ever in the deep midnight cry of a fateful voice which bade him despair. "curse god and die!" in respect to his human fortunes, the voice was utterly without pity. he had summed up for himself, as calmly as possible, all his chances of escape. there was no hope left him. no sunlight, human or divine, penetrated the crevices of his dungeon, as in the case of ralph colleton, cheering him with promise, and lifting his soul with faith and resignation. strong and self-relying as was his mind by nature, he yet lacked all that strength of soul which had sustained ralph even when there seemed no possible escape from the danger which threatened his life. but guy rivers was not capable of receiving light or warmth from the simple aspects of nature. his soul, indurated by crime, was as insusceptible to the soothing influence of such aspects, as the cold rocky cavern where he had harbored, was impenetrable to the noonday blaze. the sun-glance through the barred lattice, suddenly stealing, like a friendly messenger, with a sweet and mellow smile upon his lips, was nailed as an angelic visiter, by the enthusiastic nature of the one, without guile in his own heart. rivers would have regarded such a visiter as an intruder; the smile in his eyes would have been a sneer, and he would have turned away from it in disgust. the mind of the strong man is the medium through which the eyes see, and from which life takes all its color. the heart is the prismatic conductor, through which the affections show; and that which is seared, or steeled, or ossified--perverted utterly from its original make--can exhibit no rainbows--no arches of a sweet promise, linking the gloomy earth with the bright and the beautiful and the eternal heavens. the mind of guy rivers had been one of the strongest make--one of large and leading tendencies. he could not have been one of the mere ciphers of society. he must be something, or he must perish. his spirit would have fed upon his heart otherwise, and, wanting a field and due employment, his frame must have worn away in the morbid repinings of its governing principles. unhappily, he had not been permitted a choice. the education of his youth had given a fatal direction to his manhood; and we find him, accordingly, not satisfied with his pursuit, yet resolutely inflexible and undeviating in the pursuit of error. such are the contradictions of the strong mind, to which, wondering as we gaze, with unreasonable and unthinking astonishment, we daily see it subject. our philosophers are content with declaiming upon effects--they will not permit themselves or others to trace them up to their causes. to heal the wound, the physician may probe and find out its depth and extent; the same privilege is not often conceded to the physician of the mind or of the morals, else numberless diseases, now seemingly incurable, had been long since brought within the healing scope of philosophical analysis. the popular cant would have us forbear even to look at the history of the criminal. hang the wretch, say they, but say nothing about him. why trace his progress?--what good can come out of the knowledge of those influences and tendencies, which have made him a criminal? let them answer the question for themselves! the outlaw beheld the departing cavalcade of the colletons from the grated window. he saw the last of all those in whose fortunes he might be supposed to have an interest. he turned from the sight with a bitter pang at his heart, and, to his surprise, discovered that he was not alone in the solitude of his prison. one ministering spirit sat beside him upon the long bench, the only article of furniture afforded to his dungeon. the reader has not forgotten the young woman to whose relief, from fire, ralph colleton so opportunely came while making his escape from his pursuers. we remember the resignation--the yielding weakness of her broken spirit to the will of her destroyer. we have seen her left desolate by the death of her only relative, and only not utterly discarded by him, to whose fatal influence over her heart, at an earlier period, we may ascribe all her desolation. she then yielded without a struggle to his will, and, having prepared her a new abiding-place, he had not seen her after, until, unannounced and utterly unlooked-for, certainly uninvited, she appeared before him in the cell of his dungeon. certainly, none are utterly forgotten! there are some who remember--some who feel with the sufferer, however lowly in his suffering--some who can not forget. no one perishes without a tearful memory becoming active when informed of his fate; and, though the world scorns and despises, some one heart keeps a warm sympathy, that gives a sigh over the ruin of a soul, and perhaps plants a flower upon its grave. rivers had not surely looked to see, in his dungeon, the forsaken and the defrauded girl, for whom he had shown so little love. he knew not, at first, how to receive her. what offices could she do for him--what influence exercise--how lighten the burden of his doom--how release him from his chains? nothing of this could she perform--and what did she there? for sympathy, at such a moment, he cared little for such sympathy, at least, as he could command. his pride and ambition, heretofore, had led him to despise and undervalue the easy of attainment. he was always grasping after the impossible. the fame which he had lost for ever, grew doubly attractive to his mind's eye from the knowledge of this fact. the society, which had expelled him from its circle and its privileges, was an eden in his imagination, simply on that account. the love of edith colleton grew more desirable from her scorn;--and the defeat of hopes so daring, made his fierce spirit writhe within him, in all the pangs of disappointment, only neutralized by his hope of revenge. and that hope was now gone; the dungeon and the doom were all that met his eyes;--and what had she, his victim, to do in his prison-cell, and with his prison feelings--she whom providence, even in her own despite, was now about to avenge? no wonder he turned away from her in the bitterness of the thought which her appearance must necessarily have inspired. "turn not away!--speak to me, guy--speak to me, if you have pity in your soul! you shall not drive me from you--you shall not dismiss me now. i should have obeyed you at another time, though you had sent me to my death--but i can not obey you now. i am strong now, strong--very strong since i can say so much. i am come to be with you to the last, and, if it be possible, to die with you; and you shall not refuse me. you shall not--oh, you will not--you can not--" and, as she spoke, she clung to him as one pleading herself for life to the unrelenting executioner. he replied, in a sarcasm, true to his general course of life. "yes, ellen! your revenge for your wrongs would not be well complete, unless your own eyes witnessed it; and you insist upon the privilege as if you duly estimated the luxury. well!--you may stay. it needed but this, if anything had been needed, to show me my own impotence." "cruel to the last, guy--cruel to the last! surely the few hours between this and that of death, are too precious to be employed in bitterness. were not prayer better--if you will not pray, guy, let me. my prayer shall be for you; and, in the forgiveness which my heart shall truly send to my lips for the wrongs you have done to me and mine, i shall not altogether despair, so that you join with me, of winning a forgiveness far more important and precious! guy, will you join me in prayer?" "my knees are stiff, ellen. i have not been taught to kneel." "but it is not too late to learn. bend, bow with me, guy--if you have ever loved the poor ellen, bow with her now. it is her prayer; and, oh, think, how weak is the vanity of this pride in a situation like yours. how idle the stern and stubborn spirit, when men can place you in bonds--when men can take away life and name--when men can hoot and hiss and defile your fettered and enfeebled person! it was for a season and a trial like this, guy, that humility was given us. it was in order to such an example that the savior died for us." "he died not for me. i have gained nothing by his death. men are as bad as ever, and wrong--the wrong which deprived me of my right in society--has been as active and prevailing a principle of human action as before he died. it is in his name now that they do the wrong, and in his name, since his death, they have contrived to find a sanction for all manner of crime. speak no more of this, ellen; you know nothing about it. it is all folly." "to you, guy, it may be. to the wise all things are foolish. but to the humble heart there is a truth, even in what are thought follies, which brings us the best of teachings. that is no folly which keeps down, in the even posture of humility, the spirit which circumstances would only bind and crush in every effort to rise. that is no folly which prepares us for reverses, and fortifies us against change and vicissitude. that is no folly which takes away the sting from affliction--which has kept me, guy, as once before you said, from driving a knife into your heart, while it lay beating against the one to which yours had brought all manner of affliction. oh, believe me, the faith and the feeling and the hope, not less than the fear, which has made me what i am now--which has taught me to rely only on the one--which has made me independent of all things and all loves--ay, even of yours, when i refer to it--is no idle folly. it is the only medicine by which the soul may live. it is that which i bring to you now. hear me, then--guy, hear the prayer of the poor ellen, who surely has some right to be heard by you. kneel for me, and with me, on this dungeon floor, and pray--only pray." "and what should i pray for, and what should i say--and whom should i curse?" "oh, curse none!--say anything you please, so that it have the form of a prayer. say, though but a single sentence, but say it in the spirit which is right." "say what?" "say--'the lord's will be done,' if nothing more; but say it in the true feeling--the feeling of humble reliance upon god." "and wherefore say this? his will must be done, and will be done, whether i say it or not. this is all idle--very idle--and to my mind excessively ridiculous, ellen." "not so, guy, as your own sense will inform you. true, his will must be done; but there is a vast difference between desiring that it be done, and in endeavoring to resist its doing. it is one thing to pray that his will have its way without stop, but quite another to have a vain wish in one's heart to arrest its progress. but i am a poor scholar, and have no words to prove this to your mind, if you are not willing to think upon the subject. if the danger is not great enough in your thought--if the happiness of that hope of immortality be not sufficiently impressive to you--how can i make it seem different? the great misfortune of the learned and the wise is, that they will not regard the necessity. if they did--if they could be less self-confident--how much more readily would all these lights from god shine out to them, than to us who want the far sense so quickly to perceive and to trace them out in the thick darkness. but it is my prayer, guy, that you kneel with me in prayer; that you implore the feeling of preparedness for all chances which can only come from heaven. do this for me, guy--guy, my beloved--the destroyer of my youth, of all my hope, and of all of mine, making me the poor destitute and outcast that you find me now--do this one, one small kindness for the poor ellen you have so much wronged, and she forgives you all. i have no other prayer than this--i have no other wish in life." as she spoke, she threw herself before him, and clasped his knees firmly with her hands. he lifted her gently from the floor, and for a few moments maintained her in silence in his arms. at length, releasing her from his grasp, and placing her upon the bench, on which, until that moment, he had continued to sit, he replied:-- "the prayer is small--very small, ellen--which you make, and i know no good reason why i should not grant it. i have been to you all that you describe me. you have called me truly your destroyer, and the forgiveness you promise in return for this prayer is desirable even to one so callous as myself. i will do as you require." "oh, will you? then i shall be so happy!--" was her exclamation of rejoicing. he replied gravely-- "we shall see. i will, ellen, do as you require, but you must turn away your eyes--go to the window and look out. i would not be seen in such a position, nor while uttering such a prayer." "oh, be not ashamed, guy rivers. give over that false sentiment of pride which is now a weakness. be the man, the--" "be content, ellen, with my terms. either as i please, or not at all. go to the window." she did as he directed, and a few moments had elapsed only when he called her to him. he had resumed his seat upon the bench, and his features were singularly composed and quiet. "i have done something more than you required, ellen, for which you will also have to forgive me. give me your hand, now." she did so, and he placed it upon his bosom, which was now streaming with his blood! he had taken the momentary opportunity afforded him by her absence at the window to stab himself to the heart with a penknife which he had contrived to conceal upon his person. horror-struck, the affrighted woman would have called out for assistance, but, seizing her by the wrist, he sternly stayed her speech and action. "not for your life, ellen--not for your life! it is all useless. i first carefully felt for the beatings of my heart, and then struck where they were strongest. the stream flows now which will soon cease to flow, and but one thing can stop it." "oh, what is that, guy?--let me--" "death--which is at hand! now, ellen, do you forgive me? i ask no forgiveness from others." "from my heart i do, believe me." "it is well. i am weak. let me place my head upon your bosom. it is some time, ellen, since it has been there. how wildly does it struggle! pray, ellen, that it beat not long. it has a sad office! now--lips--give me your lips, ellen. you have forgiven me--all--everything?" "all, all!" "it grows dark--but i care not. yet, throw open the window--i will not rest--i will pursue! he shall not escape me!--edith--edith!" he was silent, and sunk away from her embrace upon the floor. in the last moment his mind had wandered to the scene in which, but an hour before, he had witnessed the departure of edith with his rival, colleton. the jailer, alarmed by the first fearful cry of ellen succeeding this event, rushed with his assistants into the cell, but too late. the spirit had departed; and they found but the now silent mourner, with folded arms, and a countenance that had in it volumes of unutterable wo, bending over the inanimate form of one whose life and misnamed love had been the bane of hers. the end. mass' george, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ george bruton, son of captain bruton is a young teenager. his father's plantation is in georgia. the time is around the middle of the eighteenth century. although not keen on the idea of slavery, captain bruton determines that he will buy one of them and will try to treat him extremely well. the man has a son, whom the family nickname pompey, pomp for short. eventually these two become relaxed, realising that there will be no hard treatment for them, and the two boys, george and pomp, become fast friends. they have various adventures, including attacks by alligators, floods, fire, red indians, spaniards, snakes, ants, and several other nasties. the book very largely consists of dialogue between the two boys, starting at the point when pomp can barely speak english, which he soon masters after a fashion (which his father never does), and going on to the point when captain bruton decides to free the two slaves, who had comported themselves well during a prolonged series of attacks by indians, and later by spaniards from florida as well. it's quite a long book, but the action is well-sustained, and you will enjoy it. nh ________________________________________________________________________ mass' george, by george manville fenn. chapter one. interesting? my life? well, let me see. i suppose some people would call it so, for now i come to think of it i did go through a good deal; what with the fighting with the spaniards, and the indians, and the fire, and the floods, and the wild beasts, and such-like adventures. yes; it never seemed to occur to me before, you know, me--george bruton, son of captain bruton of the king's army, who went out with the general to help colonise georgia, as they called the country after his majesty king george the second, and went through perils and dangers such as no one but english gentlemen and their brave followers would dare and overcome. you'll find it all in your histories; how the general had leave to take so many followers, and carve out for themselves land and estates in the beautiful new country. my father was one of the party. he went, for he was sick at heart and despondent. he had married a sweet english lady--my mother--and when i was about six years old she died; and after growing more and more unhappy for a couple of years, his friends told him that if he did not seek active life of some kind, he would die too, and leave me an orphan indeed. that frightened him so that he raised himself up from his despondent state, readily embraced the opportunity offered by the general's expedition, sold his house in the country to which he had retired on leaving the army, and was going out to the southern part of north america with me only. but sarah would not hear of parting from me, and begged my father to take her to be my attendant and his servant, just as on the same day morgan johns, our gardener, had volunteered to go with his master. not that he was exactly a gardener, though he was full of gardening knowledge, and was a gardener's son; for he had been in my father's company in the old regiment, and when my father left it, followed him down and settled quite into a domestic life. well, as morgan johns volunteered to go with the expedition, and said nothing would suit him better than gardening in a new country, and doing a bit of fighting if it was wanted, and as our sarah had volunteered too, it fell out quite as a matter of course, that one day as my father was seated in his room writing letters, and making his final preparations for his venturesome journey, and while i was seated there looking at the pictures in a book, morgan and sarah came in dressed in their best clothes, and stood both of them looking very red in the face. "well?" said my father, in the cold, stern way in which he generally spoke then; "what is it?" "tell him, sarah," i heard morgan whisper, for i had gone up to put my hand in hers. "for shame!" she said; "it's you who ought." "now look you," said morgan, who was a welshman, and spoke very welshy sometimes, "didn't you just go and promise to help and obey? and the first thing i tells you to do you kicks." "i am very busy," said my father. "if you two want a holiday, say so." "holiday, sir? not us," said morgan, in a hesitating way. "we don't want no holiday, sir, only we felt like as it was our dooty to tell you what--" "to tell me what?" "yes, sir; seeing as we were going out to a savage country, where you've got to do everything yourself before you can have it, and as there'd be no parsons and churches, we thought we'd get it done decent and 'spectable here first." "my good fellow, what do you mean?" said my father. "why, what i've been telling of you, sir. sarah says--" "i did not, morgan, and i shouldn't have thought of such a thing. it was all your doing." "steady in the ranks, my lass. be fair. i'll own to half of it, but you know you were just as bad as me." "i was not, sir, indeed," cried sarah, beginning to sob. "he deluded me into it, and almost forced me to say yes." "man's dooty," said morgan, dryly. "what!" cried my father, smiling; "have you two gone and been married?" "stop there, sir, please, begging your pardon," said morgan; "i declare to gootness, you couldn't make a better guess than that." "i beg your pardon, sir," said sarah, who was very red in the face before, but scarlet now; and as i sit down and write all this, as an old man, everything comes back to me as vividly as if it were only yesterday--for though i have forgotten plenty of my later life, all this is as fresh as can be--"i beg your pardon, sir, but as you know all the years i have been in your service, and with my own dear angel of a mistress--heaven bless her!" "amen," said my father, and, stern soldier as he was, i saw the tears stand thick in his eyes, for poor sarah broke down and began to sob, while morgan turned his face and began to blow his nose like a trumpet out of tune. "i--i beg your pardon for crying, sir, and it's very weak, i own," continued sarah, after a few minutes' interval, during which i hurriedly put my arm round her, and she dabbed down and kissed me, leaving my face very wet; "but you know i never meant to be married, but when morgan comes to me and talks about what i was thinking about--how you and that poor darling motherless boy was to get on in foreign abroad, all amongst wild beasts and savages, and no one to make a drop o' gruel if you had colds, or to make your beds, or sew on a button, and your poor stockings all in holes big enough to break any decent woman's heart, and to master george's head--" "i can wash my own head well enough now, sarah," i said. "yes, my dear; but i don't believe you'd do it as well as i could, and you know i never let the soap get in your eyes. and when, sir, morgan comes to me, and he asks me if i'd got the heart to let you both go out into the wilderness like that without a soul to look after you, and tells me as it was my dooty to marry him, and go out and look after the housekeeping for you both, while he did the garden, what could i say?" poor sarah paused quite out of breath. "say?" said my father, smiling, but looking very much moved. "you could only say _yes_, like the good, true-hearted woman you are." "oh, sir!" exclaimed sarah. "you have both relieved me of a great deal of care and anxiety by your faithful, friendly conduct," continued my father, "for it will make what i am going to seek in the wilderness quite a home at once. it is not the wilderness you think, for i know on very good authority that the place where we are going is a very beautiful and fertile country." "can't come up to wales," said morgan, shaking his head. "perhaps not," said my father, smiling; "but very beautiful all the same. i ought to warn you both, though, while there is time to draw back, that the land is entirely new." "what, wasn't it made with the rest of the world, sir?" said morgan, staring. "yes, of course," said my father; "but i mean it has never been inhabited more than by a few indians, who passed through it when hunting. no houses; not so much as a road." "then there won't be no taverns, sarah," said morgan, giving her a nudge. "and a very good thing too," she replied. "so that," continued my father, "i shall have to help cut down the trees to build my own house, make my own furniture, and fence in the estate-- in short, do everything." "well, i don't see nothing to grumble at in that, sir, so long as there's plenty of wood," said morgan. "there'll be too much wood, my man," said my father, smiling, "and we shall have to ply the axe hard to clear our way." "any stone or slate, sir?" "plenty of stone, but no slate that i am aware of." "no," cried morgan, triumphantly. "i knew there'd be no slate. that proves as it won't come up to wales. there isn't such a country for slate anywhere as wales. well, sir, but even if there's no slate, we can make shift. first thing we do as soon as we get out, will be for me to rig the missus up a bit of a kitchen, and we shall take a few pots and pans in a box." "oh, i shall go well provided with necessaries," said my father. "then pray don't forget a frying-pan, sir. it's wonderful what the missus here can do with a frying-pan." "do be quiet, morgan johns," said sarah. "shan't," he growled. "i'm a-telling of the truth. it's wonderful, sir, that it is. give her a frying-pan and a bit o' fire, and we shan't never hurt for a bit o' well-cooked victuals." "but--" began my father, when morgan rushed in again. "washin', sir, i forgot all about the washing. we shall want a tub and a line. trees 'll do for tying up to, and you'll see we shall none of us ever want for clean clothes." "do be quiet, morgan." "i shan't, sarah. it's only fair as the master should know what you can do, look you." "but i wish you people to think seriously now, while there is yet time," said my father. "seriously, sir? oh yes, we've been thinking of it seriously enough, and--i say, missus, do try and do without flat-irons; they're very heavy kind o' traps for a man to take in his kit." "come, come," said my father; "you had better think better of it, and not embrace such a rough life." "we have thought better on it, sir, and the very best too. we're coming, and if you won't take us, we'll come without. and look you, sir, of course you'll take some guns, and swords, and powder and shot." "of course." "then don't forget some tools: spades, and hoes, and seeds, and some carpenter's things and nails. you can't think what a deal can be done with a hammer, a saw, and a few nails." "then you mean to come?" "mean to come, sir?" cried morgan, in astonishment. "why we got married o' purpose; didn't we, sarah?" "oh yes, sir; that's the very truth." "and we shall be obliged to go now." i did not see where the obligation came in, but i supposed it was all right. "then i can only say thank you heartily," cried my father, warmly; "and for my part, i'll do my duty by you both." "of course we know that, don't we, sarah? or else we shouldn't go." "my dear master!" said sarah, and she bent forward and kissed his hand before clapping her handkerchief to her eyes, and rushing out of the room. "she'll be all right, sir, soon," whispered morgan. "and look you, i'll begin getting together all sorts of little tackle, sir, as i think 'll be useful out yonder. knives and string, and--look you, master george, strikes me as a few hooks and lines wouldn't be amiss. a few good fish in a frying-pan, cooked as sarah can cook 'em, arn't to be sneezed at now and then." he gave us both a sharp nod, and hastily followed his wife, while i stayed to pester my father with endless questions about our new home. chapter two. the month which followed was one scene of excitement to me. we went into lodgings in bristol, and my father seemed to be always busy making purchases, or seeing the different gentlemen who were going out with us in the same ship. i recollect many of their faces. there was the general, a firm, kindly-looking man, who always seemed to me as if he could not possibly be a soldier, he was too quiet. then there was colonel preston, a handsome, florid gentleman, ten years older than my father, and i heard that his wife, two sons and daughter were to be of the party. in a misty kind of way, too, i can recollect that the gentlemen who came and had long talks with my father, used to chat about the plantations in virginia and carolina, and about a charter from the king, and that the place we were going to was to be called georgia, because the king's name was the same as mine. then, too, there was a great deal of talk about the enemy; and as i used to sit and listen, i understood that the spaniards were the enemy, and that they lived in florida. but every one laughed; and my father, i remember, said gravely-- "i do not fear anything that the spaniards can do to hinder us, gentlemen, i am more disposed to dread the climate." a great deal that followed has now, at this time of writing, become confused and mixed up; but i can remember the cheering from the wharves as our ship floated away with the tide, people talking about us as adventurers, and that soon after it came on to blow, and my next recollections are of being in a dark cabin lit by a lantern, which swung to and fro, threatening sometimes to hit the smoky ceiling. i did not pay much heed to it though, for i was too ill, and the only consolation i had was that of seeing sarah's motherly face by the dim light, and hearing her kindly, comforting words. then, after a very stormy voyage, we seemed, as i recollect it, to have glided slowly out of winter into summer, and we were off a land of glorious sunshine at the mouth of a river, up which we sailed. i know there was a great deal done afterwards in the way of formal taking possession in the name of the king, and i can recollect being delighted with the show that was made, and at seeing my father and the other gentlemen wearing gay clothes and sashes and plumes, and with swords buckled on. even morgan partook of the change, and i well recall how he came to me just before he landed, in a kind of grenadier uniform, with sword and musket and belts, drawing himself up very stiff and proud-looking as he let down the butt-end of his firelock with a loud bang upon the deck. "do i look all right and soldierly, master george?" he whispered, after a glance round to see that he was not overheard. "yes," i said, "you look fine. is your gun loaded?" "not yet, my lad." "pull out your sword and let's look at it." "by and by, my lad," he said; "but tell me; i do look all right, don't i?" "yes. why?" "because sarah's got a nasty fit on this mornin'. don't tell her i told you; but she said i looked fit to be laughed at, and that there'd be no fighting for me: indians would all run away." "oh, never mind what she says," i cried. "i wish i was big enough for a soldier." "wait a bit, boy, you'll grow," he said, as he busily tightened a well-whitened belt. "you see it's so long since i've been soldiering, that i'm a bit out of practice." there was no enemy, indian or spaniard, to oppose us, and before long the land had been roughly surveyed and portioned out, my father, as an officer of good standing, being one of the earliest to choose; and in a very short time we were preparing to go out on the beautiful little estate that had become his, for the most part forest-land, with a patch or two of rich, easily-drained marsh on both sides of a little stream which ran, not far away, into the great river up which we had sailed, and upon which, just below us, was to be formed the new city. then time glided on, and as i recall everything i can, i have recollections of the gentlemen of the expedition, and common men, soldiers and others, coming with their swords and guns to our place, and all working hard together, after setting sentries and scouts to give warning of danger, and cutting down trees, and using saws, and helping to roughly build a little wooden house, and put up a fence for us. then, after getting our things in shelter, my father and morgan joined in helping to build and clear for some one else; and so on, week after week, all working together to begin the settlement, till we were all provided with rough huts and shelters for the valuable stores and ammunition brought out. after which people began to shift for themselves, to try and improve the rough places first built. chapter three. with a new place, every touch makes a difference; and when some of those touches are given by the hand of a gardener, nature begins to help. it was so at our georgia home. every bit of time my father or morgan could find to spare, they were digging, or trimming, or planting, till sarah would set to and grumble to me because they would not come in to their meals. "i wouldn't care, sir," she would say, "only the supper's getting spoiled." "but the home made more beautiful," replied my father; and then i have heard him say as he glanced through the window at flower and tree flourishing wonderfully in that beautiful climate, "if my poor wife had lived to see all this!" early and late worked morgan, battling with the wild vines and beautiful growths that seemed to be always trying to make the garden we were redeeming from the wilderness come back to its former state. but he found time to gratify me, and he would screw up his dry welsh face and beckon to me sometimes to bring a stick and hunt out squirrel, coon, or some ugly little alligator, which he knew to be hiding under the roots of a tree in some pool. then, as much to please me as for use, a punt was bought from the owners of a brig which had sailed across from bristol to make her last voyage, being condemned to breaking up at our infant port. the boat, however, was nearly new, and came into my father's hands complete, with mast, sail, ropes, and oars; and it was not long before i gained the mastery over all that it was necessary to learn in the management. morgan's fishing-tackle came into use, and after a little instruction and help from the welshman, i began to wage war upon the fish in our stream and in the river, catching, beside, ugly little reptiles of the tortoise or turtle family--strange objects to be hauled up from muddy depths at one end of a line, but some of them very good eating all the same. the little settlement throve as the time went on, and though the indians were supposed to be threatening, and to look with very little favour upon the settlement so near their hunting-grounds, all remained peaceful, and we had nothing but haughty overbearing words from our spanish neighbours. to a man the officers and gentlemen who had come out turned their attention to agriculture, and many were the experiments tried, and successfully too. at one estate cotton was growing; at another, where there was a lot of rich low land easily flooded, great crops of rice were raised. here, as i walked round with my father, we passed broad fields of sugar-cane, and farther on the great crinkled-leaved indian corn flourished wonderfully, with its flower tassels, and beautiful green and then orange-buff ears of hard, sweet, flinty corn. then came long talks about the want of more help, and one of the settlers braved public opinion, and every one began to talk about how shocking it was for an english gentleman to purchase slaves. but before many months had passed there was hardly a settler without slave labour, the principal exception being my father. it is hard to paint a picture in words, but i should like those who read this to understand what my home was like when i was about twelve years old, a great strong healthy boy, with cheeks burned brown by the sun. our place began with one low erection, divided by a rough partition into two--our room and the morgans'; most of our meals being eaten in the big rustic porch contrived by morgan in what he called his spare time, and over which ran wildly the most beautiful passion-flower i had ever seen. but then as wood was abundant, and a saw-pit had been erected, a more pretentious one-floored cottage residence was planned to join on to the first building, which before long was entirely devoted to the servants; and we soon had a very charming little home with shingle roof, over which beautiful creepers literally rioted, and hung down in festoons from our windows. every day seemed to mellow and beautify this place, and the wild garden dotted with lovely cypresses and flowering shrubs, mingled with every kind of fruit-tree that my father and morgan had been able to get together. over trellises, and on the house facing south, grape-vines flourished wonderfully. peaches were soon in abundance, and such fruits familiar to english people at home as would bear the climate filled the garden. my father's estate extended for a considerable distance, but the greater part remained as it had been tilled by nature, the want of assistance confining his efforts to a comparatively small garden; but he used to say to me, in his quiet, grave way-- "we might grow more useful things, george, but we could not make the place more beautiful." and i often used to think so, as i gazed out of my window at the wild forest, and the openings leading down to the stream and away to the swamp, where i could hear the alligators barking and bellowing at night, with a feeling half dread, half curiosity, and think that some day i should live to see one that i had caught or killed myself, close at hand. now and then morgan used to call me to come and see where a 'gator, as he called it, had been in the night, pointing out its track right up to the rough fence of the garden. "you and i'll have a treat one of these days, my lad." "yes," i used to say; "but when?" "oh, one of these days when i'm not busy." "ah, morgan," i used to say, impatiently, "when you're not busy: when will that be?" "be? one o' these days when we've cut down all the wood, and turned all that low flat swamp into plantation. you see i'm so busy just now." "oh, very well," i said, "i shall go by myself." "that you won't, look you," he cried. "i heard you promise your father you wouldn't go alone. you're not much of a boy, but you're too good to feed alligators with, or let the rattlesnakes and 'cassins try their pyson on." "but they wouldn't, i should take care." "take care? do you know, there's 'gators big as trees in these swamp-holes. i shouldn't wonder if there's some of the old open-countenanced beauties big round as houses. why, master george, i believe there's fellows out there as old as the river, and as could take you as easy as i do a pill." "don't believe it." "_ve_-ry well then; only mind, if one does take you across the middle, give you a pitch up in the air, and then catch you head-first and swallow you, don't you blame me." "why, how could i, if he swallowed me?" i said. "oh, i don't know. you might holler or knock, if you had a stick in your hand." "what stuff!" "oh, is it! there's plenty of room in 'em, and they're as hard as horn. but you take my advice, and don't try." "well, then, come with me; i know several holes where i think they live." "how do you know that?" "because i've seen the footmarks leading down to them all plain in the mud." "then you've been going too far, and don't you run no risks again." i walked away discontentedly, as i'd often walked away before, wishing that i had a companion of my own age. some of the gentlemen settled out there had sons; but they were away, and at times the place seemed very lonely; but i fancy now that was only just before a storm, or when everything felt strange and depressing. at other times i was happy enough. every morning i had three hours' good study with my father, who very rarely let me neglect that. then in the afternoon there was always something to do or something to see and help over. for, as far as my father's means would allow, he planned and contrived endless things to make our home more attractive and convenient. one week it would be the contriving of rough tree-trunk steps down from the bank to the water's edge, so that the boat was easily reached, and ringbolts were driven into cut-down trees, which became natural posts for mooring the boat. another time during one of our walks, he stopped by a lovely pool out toward the swamp--a spot of about an acre and a half in extent, where the trees kept off the wind, and where the morning sun seemed to light up the bottom, showing every pebble and every fish as if seen through crystal glass. "there," he said, "that will be ten times better than bathing in the river. i always feel a little nervous about you there. this shall be your own private bathing-pool, where you can learn to swim to your heart's content. that old fallen hickory will do for your dressing-room, and there are places to hang up your clothes. i don't think you can come to harm here." of course i was delighted, and at the same time a little disappointed; for the fact that the pool was perfectly safe took away somewhat from its attractiveness, and i began to think that there was no stream to carry one along; no very deep places to swim over and feel a thrill at the danger; no holes in the banks where an alligator might be smiling pleasantly as he thought how good a boy would be to eat. chapter four. i am obliged to run quickly through my early unadventurous days, skipping, as it were, from memory to memory of things which happened before life became serious and terrible for us all at the plantation, and storms and peril followed rapidly after the first pleasant calm. for it seems to me now, as i sit and think, that nothing could have been happier than the life on the river during the first days of the settlement. of course, everybody had to work hard, but it was in a land of constant sunshine, of endless spring and summer days--cold weather was hardly known--and when a storm came, though the thunder and lightning were terrible and the rain tremendous, everything afterwards seemed to bound into renewed life, and the scent of the virgin forest was delightful. all worked hard, but there was the certain repayment, and in what must have been a very short time, the settlers had raised a delightful home in the wilderness, where all was so dreamy and peaceful that their weapons and military stores seemed an encumbrance, and many felt that they would have done more wisely if they had brought agricultural implements instead. before we left england, as i have told you, the adventurers who met at my father's rooms talked of the ruthless savage--the lurking indian of the forest and prairie, and also of our neighbours the spaniards; but as soon as we reached the place, it seemed to all that the indians did not exist; and as to the spaniards, they were far south, separated by long stretches of open land, forests, river, and swamp, and might, for aught we knew, be at the other side of the world. i was sitting indoors one bright sunny day, and i had just reached finishing distance with a latin translation my father had left me to do, when i heard a quick "hist!" looking up, i saw morgan at the window. "'most done?" he said. "yes." "then come along, i'll show you something." i bounded out, to find him armed with a stick about six feet long, provided with a little fork at the end made by driving in a couple of nails and bending them out. "what is it?" i cried, excitedly. "enemy. get yourself a good stout stick." "rake-handle do?" "yes, capital." i ran to the tool-shed and came back directly, panting. "now," i said, "what enemy is it--an alligator?" "no. you said you didn't believe there were any snakes here. i've got one to show you now." "yes; but where?" "never you mind where. all you've got to do is to creep after me silent like; and when you see me pin him down with this fork, you can kill him." "but what a cowardly way," i cried; "it isn't fair." "well, look you, i never did see such a boy as you are, master george. do you know what sort of a snake it is?" "how should i? you wouldn't tell me." "well, you talk as if it was a little adder, foot and half long, or a snake at home that you might pick up in your hand. why, it's a real rattlesnake." "oh!" i exclaimed, excitedly. "over six foot long, and as thick as my wrist." "pooh!" i said, with my imagination full of boa-constrictors big enough to entwine and crush us up. "that's nothing!" "nothing! do you know one bite from a fellow like this will kill a man? and you talk about fighting fair. nice lot of fairness in the way they fight. you come along, and promise to be very careful, or i shan't go." "oh, i'll be careful," i said. "but if you feel afraid, say so, and i'll go alone." "i don't feel afraid," i replied; "and if i did," i added with a laugh, "i wouldn't say i was." "not you," he muttered, and he held up a finger, and led the way down by the garden, and from thence into the uncleared forest, where a faint track wandered in and out among the great, tall, pillar-like trunks whose tops shut out the light of day, all but where at intervals what seemed to us like rays of golden dust, or there were silvery-looking lines of finest cobweb stretching from far on high, but which proved to be only delicate threads of sunshine which had pierced the great canopy of leaves. beyond this i knew that there was an opening where all was warm and glowing that was subdued and gloomy now, and it was not long before i saw, without a doubt, that morgan was making for this clearing, and in all probability for one of the patches of stony ground that lay full in the sunshine, baked and hot. it was very cool and silent in among the trees, whose great trunks towered up so high, and though we could hear a chirp now and then far above us in the leaves, all was as still as possible, not so much as a beetle or fly breaking the silence with its hum. there was the opening at last, and as we neared it, the tree-trunks stood out like great black columns against the warm golden light. morgan held up his hand, and for the moment i felt as if we were going to do something very treacherous, till i recalled reading about some one having died twenty minutes after the bite of one of these snakes, and that made me feel more merciless, as i followed my leader, who kept picking his way, so that his feet should not light upon some dead twig which would give forth a snap. the next minute we were out in the sunshine, and here morgan stopped for me to overtake him, when he placed his lips close to my ear, and whispered-- "i'd been over to the bathing-pool to get some o' that white sand out of the bottom, when as i come back, i see my gentleman coiled up fast asleep. he's over yonder, just this side of the pine-trees, left of that big sugar-loaf--the light-green one." he pointed to a tall cone-like cypress, and i felt that i knew the rough, bare, stony place exactly. "ready?" he whispered again. i nodded. "then you must walk this time like a cat. perhaps he's gone, but he may be fast asleep still." he made a point with his fork to show me how he meant to fix the reptile to the ground, and i took a good grip of my rake-handle, intending to try and disable the monster by one blow. this part of our journey was much more tedious than the other, for we were now getting close to the spot, and we knew that though sometimes it was possible to walk close by a snake without disturbing it, at other times the slightest sound would send it gliding rapidly out of sight. we approached then in the most stealthy way, morgan holding his fork the while as if it were a gun, and we were advancing upon the enemy. low growth had sprung apace about the clearing, so that we could not get a sight of the spot till we were close by, when morgan softly parted the bush-like growth, peered out, drew back, and signed to me to advance, moving aside the while, so that i could pass him, and peer out in turn. i was not long in availing myself of the opportunity; and there, not a dozen feet from me, lay twisted about, something like a double s, a large specimen of the serpent i had so often heard about; and a curious shrinking sensation came over me, as i noticed its broad flat head, shaped something like an old-fashioned pointed shovel, with the neck quite small behind, but rapidly increasing till the reptile was fully, as morgan said, thick as his wrist; and then slowly tapering away for a time before rapidly running down to where i could see five curious-looking rings at the end of the dull grey tail. "a rattlesnake," i said to myself, as with a kind of fascination i eagerly looked at the line which marked the gaping mouth showing plainly in an ugly smile; then at the dull creamy-brown and grey markings, and the scales which covered the skin, here and there looking worn and crumpled, and as if it was a trifle too big for the creature that wore it as if it were a shirt of mail. i should have stood there staring at the repellent-looking creature for long enough, had not morgan softly drawn me back, and then led the way round to our left, so that we could have the sun behind us, and approach the dangerous reptile without having to rustle through the bushes close at hand. "mind you keep back, my lad, till i've got him safe," whispered morgan, "then hit him hard." "is it as dangerous as they say?" i asked. "worse, look you; that's why i want to pin him first. i might hit him a good crack, but snakes are hard to kill, and he might throw his head about and bite even then, though i arn't quite sure even now that they don't sting with their tails." "i'm sure they don't," i whispered back. "ah, that's all very well, master george, but i don't see as you can know much better than me. anyhow, i'm going to risk it; so here goes, and when i say `now,' bring down that rake-handle as big a whop as you can with both hands, right on his back." i nodded, and we stood out now on the barren, stony patch close to the fir-trees, with the sun casting our shadows in a curious dumpy way on the earth, and our enemy about thirty feet away. morgan signed to me to stand still, and i obeyed trembling with excitement, and eagerly watching as he cautiously approached with his pole extended before him, ready to make a dart at the snake, whose head lay half turned for him, and its neck temptingly exposed, ready for the fork which should hold it down. on went morgan, inch by inch, his shadow just before him, and in spite of his injunction, i could not refrain from following, so as to get a good view of the encounter; and besides, i argued with myself, how could i be ready to help unless i was close at hand? consequently i stepped on nearer too, till i could see the reptile quite clearly, distinguishing every scale and noting the dull, fixed look of its eyes, which did not seem to be closed, for i was not familiar then with the organisation of snakes. as morgan went on the stillness of the clearing seemed terrible, and once more i could not help thinking of what a treacherous act it was to steal upon the creature like that in its sleep. but directly after, the killing instinct toward a dangerous enemy grew strong within me, and i drew in my breath, my teeth were set fast, and my fingers tightened about the rake-handle, ready to deliver a blow. all this took very few minutes, but it seemed to me to last a long time, and thought after thought ran through my mind, each one suggestive of danger. "suppose morgan misses it," i said to myself; "it will be frightened and vicious, and strike at him, and if he is bitten i shall be obliged to attack it then, and i shall not have such a chance as he has, for the head will be darting about in all directions." then i began to wish i had gone first, and hit at it as it lay, with all my might. too late now, i knew; and as i saw in imagination morgan lying helpless there, and myself striking hard at the snake, never taking into consideration the fact that after a deadly stroke the animal would rapidly try to escape, and glide away. morgan was now so near that i saw the shadow of his head begin to creep over the snake, and it loomed so black and heavy that i wondered why the reptile did not feel it and wake up. then i stood fast as if turned to stone, as i watched my companion softly extend the pole he carried, with the fork nearer and nearer the creature's neck, to remain perfectly motionless for a moment or two. there was a darting motion, and morgan stood pressing the staff down as the serpent leaped into life, writhing, twining, and snapping its body in waves which ran from head to the tail which quivered in the air, sending forth a peculiar low, dull, rattling noise, and seeming to seek for something about which to curl. "i've got him, master george. come along now; it's your turn." i sprang forward to see that the evil-looking head was held down close to the ground, and that the jaws were gaping, and the eyes bright with a vindictive light, literally glittering in the sun. "can you hold him?" i said, hoarsely. "oh, yes; i've got him pretty tight. my! see that? he is strong." for at that moment the snake's tail struck him, and twined about his left leg; untwined, and seemed to flog at him, quivering in the air the while, but only after writhing horribly, twisting round the pole which pressed it down, and forming itself into a curious moving knot. "i can't hit at it now," i said, hoarsely; "it will strike away the pole." "yes; don't hit yet. wait a bit till he untwissens himself; then give it him sharp, look you." "you won't let it go?" i said. "not a bit of it, my lad. too fond of morgan johns to let him stick his fangs into me. now you've got a chance. no, you haven't; he's twisted up tighter than ever. never mind, wait a bit; there's no hurry." "but you are torturing it so," i cried. "can't help it, master george. if i didn't, he'd torture me and you too. well, he does twissen about. welsh eel's nothing to him." for the snake in its rage and pain kept twining about the pole, treating that as the cause of all its suffering. morgan stood there full of excitement, but though longing to deliver a blow that should paralyse if it did not kill our enemy, i could not get the slightest chance. "ah, we ought to have had a cut at him before he twined about my pole," said morgan, after this had been going on for some minutes; "but it wasn't your fault; there wasn't time." "no," i said, gloomily, "there was no time. now then, hold tight." i made a rapid stroke at the long, lithe body which suddenly untwisted to its full length, but my rake-handle only struck the ground, for the serpent was quicker than i, and it threw itself once more in a series of quivering folds about morgan's pole. "well, he is strong," cried the latter. "but i have it. i'm getting a bit 'fraid he'll work quite a hole, and get out, and i'm not at all sure that the nails arn't giving. look here, master george; put your hand in my pocket, and pull out and open my big knife ready for me. then you shall hold the pole, and i'll go down and try and cut his head off." "but will that be safe?" i said. "hadn't we better leave go and run away?" "what, and leave a customer like this free to hunt about our place? now you wouldn't like to do that, i know." "no; i shouldn't like to do that," i said; "but it would be terrible if he got away." "well then, out with my knife--quick! i'm beginning to wish we'd left him alone, for it'll be chizzle for both of us if he do get loose." i hastily took his knife from his pocket, and opened it. "that's your style, master george. now then, stick it across my mouth, and then take hold just under my hands. you must press it down hard, or he'll heave himself out, for he's mighty strong, i can tell you. got hold?" "yes," i said, as i took hold of the pole, keeping my feet as far away as i could from the writhing knot, for fear it should suddenly untwine and embrace my legs. "that's right, press down hard. think you can hold him?" "i don't know; i think so." "now, look ye here, my lad, thinking won't do; you've got to hold him, and if you feel as you can't you must say so. rattlesnakes arn't garden wums." "i'll try, and i will hold it," i said. "there you have it, then," he said, releasing the pole, and leaving it quivering and vibrating in my hands. "now then, i'm going to wait till he untwines again, and then i'm going to have off his head, if he don't work it out before. if he do, you've got to run as hard as you can: jump right away, my lad, never mind me." i nodded; i could not speak, and i stood holding down the pole, seeing the snake striving to draw its head back between the little prongs of the fork, and knowing that if it did our position would be terrible. "now then, hold him tight," cried morgan; "i'm going to lay hold and draw him out a bit, so as to get a cut through somewhere." i did not speak, but pressed down with all my might, feeling my eyes strained as, with a shudder of dread, i saw morgan stoop and boldly seize hold of the snake. but the touch only seemed to make the great living knot tighten, and after a try morgan ceased. "no," he said, "it won't do. i shall only drag him out, for i'm not at all sure about those nails. i say, my lad, i really do wish we had let him alone, or had a go at him with a gun." i tried to answer, but no words would come, and i wanted to look hopelessly at morgan, but i could not take my eyes off the great, grey, writhing knot which was always in motion, heaving and working, now loosening, now tightening up. "hah!" cried morgan, suddenly, as once more the horrible creature threw itself out to full length, and he sprang forward to seize the neck just as a wave ran along the body from tail to head; and as i pressed the pole down hard, the head rose like lightning, struck morgan right in the face, and i saw him fall backward, rolling over and over; while, after writhing on the ground a moment or two, the snake raised its bleeding head, and i saw that it was drawing back to strike. i don't know how it happened exactly; i only can tell that i felt horribly frightened, starting back as morgan fell over, and that then, as the snake was preparing to strike, being naturally slow and weak from its efforts, the pole i held in both hands came down heavily, and then again and again, till our enemy lay broken and twisting weakly, its back broken in two places, and the blood flowing from its mouth. chapter five. i was brought to myself again by a hearty shout just as i was trying to get rid of a shuddering sensation of fear, and wanting to go to morgan's help--asking myself what i ought to do to any one who had been bitten by a rattlesnake. "brayvo! as they say, master george. you did give it him well." "but--morgan--arn't you stung--bitten, i mean?" i faltered. "me? no, my lad. he gave me a flop on the cheek with the back of his head as he shook himself loose, and i didn't stop to give him another chance. but you did bring that down smart, and no mistake. let's look at the end." he took hold of the pole and examined the place where the two nails had been driven in to form the fork. "yes," he said, thoughtfully. "i was beginning to be afraid of that-- see here. this nail's regularly bent down, and it opened the fork out so that when he snapped himself like a cart-whip he shook himself clear. know better next time. i'll get a bit of iron or an old pitchfork, and cut the tines down short on purpose for this sort of game, master george. ah, would you?" he shouted, as he made a dart for where the snake was feebly writhing itself toward the undergrowth, and catching it by the tail snatched it back to lie all together, writhing slowly. "wait till i find my knife. oh, here it is," he said. "no. never mind, give me yours. i'll look afterwards. dropped it when i rolled over yonder." i took out my knife and opened it. "oh, i say, my lad, don't look so white. wern't 'fraid, were you?" "yes," i said, huskily. "i could not help being frightened." "not you," said morgan, roughly; "you wasn't half frightened, or you wouldn't have done what you did. now then, my gentleman, you're never going to bite and kill any one, so--there--and there!" as he spoke he placed one foot a few inches from the rattlesnake's head, the creature opening its mouth and making a feeble attempt to bite, but the next moment my keen knife had divided the neck, and morgan picked up the piece. "now look ye here, master george, i shouldn't wonder if this gentleman's got two sharp teeth at the top here like an adder has at home. they're the poison ones, and--yes, what did i tell you?" he laughed as he opened the creature's wide mouth with the blade of the knife, and drew forward two keen-looking fangs, to show me. "there you are," he said. "just like adders', only theirs is little tiny things just like a sharp bit of glass, and they lay back in the roof of their mouths so that you have to look close to see 'em." "throw the horrible poisonous thing away," i said. "yes; we'll pitch it all together in the river. some big alligator will think it's a fine worm, and i hope he'll like it. one moment; i must find my knife." he threw down the rattlesnake's head, and then said thoughtfully-- "no; let's take it up to the house, master george, and let your father see the kind of game he's got on his property. i'll show it to my sarah too, or she won't believe it was such a big one, or got such poison fangs." "you'll have to carry it home," i said, with a shudder. "no, i shan't, master george, and it's of no use for you to try to make me believe you're afraid, because i shan't have it. you killed it, and i'll twist up a bit o' grass to make a rope, and you shall carry it home to show master and our sarah. i can tie it to the end of the pole. stop a minute; where's my knife?--must be just here." he went straight for the low growth and bushes, and began peering about while i stood leaning on the pole and looking down at the slightly heaving form of the serpent, when my attention was taken by a hoarse cry from morgan. "what's the matter?" i said, as i saw that he was bending forward staring in among the bushes. he did not reply, and feeling certain that he had found another rattlesnake, i raised the pole once more, and went to where he stood, when my lips parted, and i turned to call for help, but stopped there, for i found myself face to face with a similar object to that which had arrested morgan. a tall, keen-faced, half-naked indian stood before me, with his black hair gathered back and tied up so that a few eagle feathers were stuck through it; a necklace or two was about his neck and hanging down upon his breast; a pair of fringed buckskin leggings covered his legs; and he carried a tomahawk in one hand, and a bow in the other. almost before i could recover from my surprise, i saw that we were completely surrounded, for at least a dozen more were dotted about the clearing. at that moment morgan seemed to get the better of his start, and backed to where i stood, with the indian following him in a slow, stately manner. "we're in for it, master george," whispered morgan. "what shall we do-- run?" "it would be of no use to try," i whispered. "not a bit, lad, they'd run us down directly. hold up your head, lad; you arn't afraid of a rattlesnake, so you needn't be afraid of these furreners. what are they--injuns?" "yes," i answered; "red indians," though i had never seen one before. "ah, well, look you, there's nothing to mind--they arn't poisonous. i shall ask them what they want. i say, what are they all coming close up to us for?" "i don't know," i said, as i made a strong effort not to be afraid, and to keep from thinking about the stories i had heard of the indians' cruelty, as the party came forward, evidently at a sign from the man who had faced me, and who wore more feathers than the rest. "i say, master george," whispered morgan again, "hadn't i better ask 'em what they want?" "it's of no use. i don't think they would understand." "well," said morgan, coughing to clear his throat, "i'm a soldier, and i've been in a fight before now, so i know a little about it. we're surprised, master george, by the enemy, and without arms. first dooty is to retreat, and you being my officer, you says we can't." "i'm sure we can't," i said, talking to morgan, but looking sharply round at the indians, who all stood gazing at us in the sternest and most immovable way. "quite right, lad. madness to talk about running, but i'd give all the wage i've got to take dooring the next ten year, look you, to be able to let the master know." "shall i call to him?" "only bring him up to be took prisoner too. here, let's make the best of it," cried morgan, jauntily. "how are you, gentlemen?--strangers in these parts, arn't you?" the only man to take any notice of this easy-going address was the indian i imagined to be the chief, and he uttered a grunt. "ah, i thought so. nice country isn't it, only we've got some ugly customers here.--sure they can't understand, master george?" "i feel nearly sure." "so do i, lad.--ugly customers, snakes--see?--snakes." he took the pole quickly from my hand, and at the same moment i saw, as it were, a shock run through the group of indians, each man taking tightly hold of the tomahawk he carried. but morgan did not notice it, and thrusting the end of the pole under the snake, he raised it up. "see?" he cried. "we just killed it--no, we didn't, for it isn't quite dead." the indians looked at him and then at the snake, but in the most stolid way, and i stood wondering what was to come next. "know what it is, i suppose?" continued morgan, who kept on talking in an excited way, as if to gain time while he tried to think out some plan, as was really the case; but the audience merely looked on frowningly, and i saw the chief draw back slightly as morgan picked up the head and pointed to its fangs with his finger. the thoughts of the risk he might be running made me forget for the moment any that was threatening us from the indians, and i cried, in warning tones-- "be careful; it may be dangerous though it's dead." "yes; this seems to be dead," replied morgan; "but i say, master george, i don't know whatever to do." "scrape a hole first, and bury that horrid thing," i said; "and then perhaps we shall see what they are going to do." "not to kill us, are they?" he whispered. i could not help giving a start of horror, and looking wildly round at the indians, who stood like so many statues looking on, as, in a hasty, excited way, morgan roughly kicked away some of the loose gravel, and then with the rake-handle scraped out a good-sized hole, into which he threw the snake's head and dragged the body, raking the loose gravel back over them and stamping it down. "now then, master george, what 'll us do next?" "i don't know; let them take us away as prisoners, i suppose. we must not try to run away, because they would follow, and we should lead them home. shall we run into the woods?" "never get there, my lad," he replied, sadly. "they'd have us before we got a hundred yards." all doubt as to our next proceedings were put an end to at once, for the chief laid his hand upon my shoulder, and said, in a deep voice, something which was quite unintelligible to us both. i shook my head, but he grasped my arm firmly, and pointed toward the forest. "he means us to go," i said; and in obedience i walked toward the darkest part, but the chief checked me, and pointed toward the spot where our faint track lay which led toward the house; and feeling constrained to obey, i gave morgan a disconsolate look, and went slowly on with the indian walking by my side. "we can't help it, master george," said morgan. "don't be down-hearted, lad. perhaps they don't mean any harm, and let's hope your father or my sarah will see us in time to shut up the place, and get the guns down from the racks." the distance was very short, but it was the most painful walk i ever had, for i felt as if i was being the guide to take the enemy right to the place my father had toiled so hard to win from the wilderness, and twice over i tried to deviate from the path, and lead the party into the forest, so as to bear right away from the house. but it was of no use. a strong hand gripped my arm instantly; there was a stern look, a low, deep utterance, and the chief pointed again to the right track. it was useless to try and misunderstand him, and at last, after two more feints, i felt that there was nothing else to be done but to allow myself to be forced onward. just before we came in sight of the house, the chief said something, and two of the men pushed morgan forward till he was close to me, and one of the men walked on his left and the other came behind. "see what that means, master george?" "no; what does it mean?" "that indians are clever as white men, and they've put us in the front rank to keep any one from firing at them." i saw it plainly enough now, for as we advanced, my father appeared at the window, and i saw a gun in his hand. he started as he caught sight of us two prisoners, but feeling, i suppose, that any attempt at defence was useless under the circumstances, he left the window for a moment or two, and i heard his voice speaking. then he reappeared, and climbed out of the window, the door being closed and fastened. he stepped forward boldly with the firelock resting on his arm, and walked to where the indians had halted, holding out his hand in token of friendship, but it was not taken, the indians' eyes running from him all over and about the place, as if they were astonished at what they saw. "tell me quickly," said my father, "but be cool. everything depends upon our treating them in a friendly way, and not being afraid." i told him how we had been surprised, and his face looked very grave as he listened. "well," he said, "we are in their power. if i fired it might bring help, but it would be too late to benefit us; and for aught we know, the rest of the tribe may already be up in the settlement. stay with them and don't attempt to escape." the indian chief watched us curiously as my father talked to me, and two of his men half started forward as my father turned away to go back to the house. but a word from the chief checked them, and every eye was fixed upon the returning figure, as my father walked to the door, beat upon it, called sarah to open, and then passed in. the faces of the indians were a study, but they preserved their stolid looks, and uttered a sigh of satisfaction as my father appeared again with such provisions as the place afforded, and proceeded to offer them to our visitors. i watched everything attentively, and saw the men stand fast without looking either at my father or the provisions which he placed before them, till the chief said a few words in a loud tone. then with an eagerness in sharp contrast to their former apathy, they seized the food and began to eat. my father spoke to the chief again and again, and the indian said something coldly in reply; but they were wasted words, and the rough meal was partaken of in comparative silence. "they only mean to be friendly, father, do they?" i said at last. "it is impossible to say; they may prove treacherous," he replied. "but don't talk, and if you grasp anything they seem to want, tell me, so that i can satisfy them. it would be terrible if they attempted to destroy all we have been at such pains to get together." "couldn't we all make a dart for indoors, sir?" said morgan, in a whisper. "we have got plenty of weepons there, sir, and might manage to keep them off till help came." "the risk is too great," said my father. "these men are as active as leopards, and before we could get within doors we should each have an axe in his brain." "but, begging your pardon, sir, we can all run." "as fast as a tomahawk can fly? no; they are peaceful now, and friendly; let us treat them as friends, and hope that they will soon go." at that moment the chief made a sign with his hands to his lips, a sign that was unmistakable, and a large pail of water was fetched out by morgan, and drunk from with avidity. this done, the indians sat and stood about watching everything within reach, while we were in the unpleasantly helpless state of being unable to speak, or to make them understand, and in the more unpleasant or perilous position of being unable to grasp their intentions. as the time went on my father appeared to grow more hopeful. he had evidently come to the conclusion that it was useless to attempt resistance, and he seemed to think that our friendly treatment might win the respect of these stern, morose-looking men. then, all at once, i saw that his hopes were dashed. he looked at me wildly, and i saw the firelock he held tremble in his hand. "try and be firm, george," he said, quietly, "and do not look as if i am saying anything serious to you," he continued, laughing. "i understand, father," i said, cheerfully, though my heart kept giving great thumps against my ribs. "can you hear what i am saying, morgan?" continued my father, pleasantly, and not appearing to pay the slightest attention to the indians. "every word, sir; but it's hard work, for i want to run indoors to try and comfort that poor woman who is trembling there." "so we all do," said my father, and he looked quite merry; "but don't look like that, man. it is inviting an attack if these men do mean evil." "right, sir; i am quite laughing now," said morgan. "ah, that's worse," cried my father, "that ghastly grin will ruin us. there, listen to what i am saying. when these savages attack us, it will be in some treacherous way, so as to get the advantage of us without injury to themselves. if they do attack, never mind who goes down, the survivors must rush into the house and defend it to the last, for that poor woman's sake. fight hopefully if i am not with you; for as soon as firing begins it may bring help from the settlement." "then why not fire at once, sir?" cried morgan, earnestly. "because, as i intimated before, it would bring help, but help that came too late." the calm forced way in which my father spoke seemed to be the most terrible part of the whole day's work. the inaction was bad enough, and to sit there expecting that at any moment the indians might turn upon us and kill us with their axes, made it almost impossible to sit there as my father wished; but sit there we did, and as my eyes wandered from one to the other of the weird, fierce-looking indians, who seemed to be doing nothing but watch us for an excuse to make an attack, it made my brain swim. how it was all burnt into my memory, and how i can picture it all now! the bright garden, the flowers, and the promise of fruit, and the house beginning to look more lovely every month; and now in front of it red indians squatting about, or standing with their bows strung, arrows in a case behind them, and axes in hand, ready at the word from their chief to spring upon us. all at once the chief uttered a peculiar sound, and the men who were seated sprang to their feet, and stood watching the tall, fierce-looking fellow. he spoke again, and without a word they all moved off quickly toward the settlement, making straight for colonel preston's estate. i sat there watching them till the last man had disappeared. then all the bright sunshiny scene around began to swim, and wave, and grow distant, and all was blank. chapter six. "better, my boy?" "yes. what is it? i felt so sick and strange." i was lying on my back looking up at my father, who was bending over me bathing my forehead with cold water. "the sun--a little overdone. there, you are better now." "ah, i recollect," i said, "where are the indians?" "hush! don't get excited. they are gone now." "yes, i know," i said; "gone to colonel preston's." "hist!" he cried, as i heard steps close by, and morgan came hurrying up. "couldn't get far, sir. i was making haste, and getting close up to the last man as i thought, when three of the savages jumped up just in my path, and held up their bows and arrows in a way that said, plain as any tongue could speak, `go back, or we'll send one of these through you.'" "the chief knows what he is about," said my father, "and we cannot communicate. now then, get inside, and we will barricade the place as well as we can, in case of their coming back. can you walk now, george?" "yes, father, the giddiness has gone off now," i said; and i sprang up, but reeled and nearly fell again. "take my arm, boy," he said, as he helped me toward the window, and i climbed in by it, when the first thing my eyes lighted upon was the figure of our sarah, down on her knees behind the door with her eyes shut; but a gun was leaning up against the wall; and as she heard us she sprang up, seized it, and faced round. "oh! i thought it was the indians," she said, with a sigh of relief. "perhaps we have been frightening ourselves without cause," said my father, helping morgan to fix up the strong shutter with which the window was provided. "the indians are gone now." "yes," muttered morgan, so that i could hear, "but they may come back again. i don't trust 'em a bit." "nor i, morgan," said my father, for he had heard every word; "but a bold calm front seems to have kept them from attempting violence. if we had been shut up here, and had opened fire, not one of us would now have been alive." "never mind, sir," said morgan. "if they come back let's risk it, and show a bold front here behind the shutters, with the muzzles of our guns sticking out, for i couldn't go through another hour like that again. i was beginning to turn giddy, like master george here, and to feel as if my head was going to burst." "go up into the roof, and keep a good look-out from the little gratings; but keep away, so as not to show your face." "then you do think they'll come back, sir?" "yes, i feel sure of it. i am even now in doubt as to whether they are all gone. indians are strangely furtive people, and i fully expect that a couple of them are lying down among the trees to watch us, for fear we should try to communicate with the others. i am afraid now that i made a mistake in settling down so far from the rest. ah! listen! a shot. yes; there it is again." "no, sir," said morgan, "that wasn't a shot: it was--there it goes again!--and another." two distant sounds, exactly like shots, fell again upon our ears. "yes," cried my father, excitedly, "the fight has begun." "nay, sir, that was only a big 'gator threshing the water up in some corner to kill the fish," cried morgan; and he passed up through the ceiling into the roof. as morgan went out of sight, and took his place in the narrow loft between the sloping rafters, my father busied himself loading guns, and placing them ready by the openings in the shutters which i had always supposed were for nothing else but to admit the light. and as he worked, sarah stood ready to hand him powder or bullets, or a fresh weapon, behaving with such calm seriousness, and taking so much interest in the work, that my father said, gravely-- "hardly a woman's task this, sarah." "ah, sir," she replied, quietly; "it's a woman's work to help where she is wanted." "quite right," said my father. then, turning to me, he went on, "i am a soldier, george, and all this is still very horrible to me, but i am making all these preparations in what i think is the right and wisest spirit; for if an enemy sees that you are well prepared, he is much less likely to attack you and cause bloodshed. we are safe all together indoors now, and with plenty of protection, so that if our indian visitors come again, we are more upon equal terms." "do you really think they will come again, father?" i said. "i'm afraid so. we have been living in too much fancied security, and ready to think there was no danger to apprehend from indians. now we have been rudely awakened from our dream." "and if they come shall you shoot, father?" "not unless it is absolutely necessary to save our lives. i cannot help feeling that we ought to be up at the settlement, but i should have been unwilling to leave our pleasant home to the mercy of these savages; and, of course, now it is impossible to go, so we must make the best defence we can, if the enemy returns." all this was very startling, and from time to time little shudders of dread ran through me, but at the same time there was so much novelty and excitement, that i don't think i felt very much alarmed. in fact, i found myself hoping once that the indians would come back, so that i could see how they behaved now that we were shut up tightly in our house, all of which was very reprehensible no doubt; but i am recording here, as simply and naturally as i can, everything that i can remember of my boyish life. the preparations for attack were at last ended, and after securing and barricading door and window in every way possible, we sat down to wait for the first sign of the enemy, and i was wondering how long it would be before we saw the indians return, when i suddenly awoke to the fact that i was terribly hungry. i don't suppose i should have thought of it, though, if sarah had not made her appearance with bread and meat all ready cut for us, and very welcome it proved; morgan, on receiving his share passed up to him in the loft, giving me a nod and a smile before he went back to continue his watch. and this proved to be a long and weary one. the afternoon sun slowly descended; and as it sank lower, i could see that my father's face grew more and more stern. i did not speak to him, but i knew what it meant--that he was thinking of the coming darkness, and of how terribly difficult our watch would be. "yes," he said, suddenly, just as if he had heard my thoughts; "they are naturally quiet, stealthy people, and the darkness will give them opportunities which would be full of risk by day. i am afraid that they are waiting in ambush for the night, and that then they will come on." "i hope not," i thought; but i would not have let my father see how frightened i was for all the world; and trying to be as cheerful as i could under the circumstances, i went up and joined morgan to help him watch from the latticed openings in the roof, with the garden gradually growing more gloomy, and the trees of the forest beyond rapidly becoming black. then darker and darker, and there was no moon that night till quite late. beyond the possibility of there being some reptile about that had crawled up from the river, hungry and supper-hunting, there had never seemed to be anything about home that was alarming, and night after night i had stolen out to listen to the forest sounds, and scent the cool, damp, perfumed air; but now there was a feeling of danger at hand, lurking perhaps so close that it would not have been safe to open the door; and as i watched beside morgan from between the window-bars, we were constantly touching each other, and pointing to some tree-stump, tuft, or hillock, asking whether that was an indian creeping cautiously toward the house. somehow that seemed to me the darkest night i could remember, and the various sounds, all of which were really familiar, seemed strange. now there was the plaintive cry of one of the goat-suckers which hawked for moths and beetles round the great trees; then, after a silence so profound that it was painful, came the deep croak of the bullfrog rising and falling and coming from a hundred different directions at once. then all at once their deep croaking was dominated by a loud barking bellow; and as i listened with my hands feeling cold and damp, i caught hold of morgan. "what's that?" i whispered, excitedly. "my arm," he replied, coolly. "don't pinch, lad." "no, no; i mean the sound. what noise was that?" "oh! why, you know. that was a 'gator." "are you sure? it sounded like a man's voice." "not it. who did you think could be there? nobody likely to be out there but indians, and they wouldn't shout; they'd whisper so that we shouldn't know they were near." i was silent again, and sat watching and listening as sound after sound struck my ear, making it seem that the wilds had never been so full before of strange noises, though the fact was that nothing was unusual except that i did not realise that i had never been in danger before, and sat up to listen. all at once i jumped and uttered a cry, for something had touched me. "hush! don't make a noise," said a familiar voice. "i only wanted to know whether you could make out anything." "no, father. only the frogs and alligators are barking and bellowing." "can't see any sign of indians, nor any red light from over toward the settlement?" "no, father." "no, sir. all's quiet," said morgan. "it isn't, father," i whispered. "i never heard so much noise from out by the river before. there, hark!" we all listened in silence as a loud bellowing sound came from a distance. "there!" i whispered, in awe-stricken tones. "only one of the reptiles by the stream," said my father, quietly. "but don't you think it's because some one is there?" "no; certainly not. keep a sharp look-out on both sides, morgan, and warn me if you see the slightest movement, for it may be a crawling, lurking indian." "we'll keep a good look-out, sir, never fear," said morgan, and we resumed our watch--if watch it could be called, where we were more dependent upon our ears than upon our eyes. morgan was very silent and thoughtful till i spoke to him. "what did my father mean about the red glare over at the settlement?" "hah!" he ejaculated, and he was again silent for a minute or two. then in a quick whisper, "i was just thinking about that, master george, when you spoke, and that it was the enemy we had to fear the most." "what do you mean?" i asked. "fire, my lad, fire. i dare say that with our guns and swords we may keep them off; but that's how they'll get the better of us." "by fire?" "yes; they'll get something blazing up against the house, and the moment it catches fire it's all over with us." "what! set fire to the house?" "yes, master george, that's what your father's afraid of. no; i'm wrong there. i was at the wars with him, and i never saw him afraid--not even to-day. takes a bold man to come out of his fort and go up to the enemy as he did--twelve to one--expecting every moment a crack from a tomahawk. he hasn't got any fear in him; but he thinks about the fire all the same. now then, don't talk, but keep a sharp look-out, or they may steal on to us without our seeing them." all this was said in a low whisper as we tried to keep a good look-out from the little trellised dormers; and the minutes stole on and became hours, with the darkness seeming to increase till about midnight. then all looked darker, when morgan pressed my arm, and i gave, a violent start. "'sleep, sir?" "i? asleep? no! yes; i'm afraid i must have been," i said, feeling the colour come burning into my face. "look yonder," he whispered. i looked from the grating and saw that, all at once, as it appeared to me, the tops of the trees were visible out to the east, and it grew plainer and plainer as i watched. "moon's getting very old, master george," whispered morgan, "but yonder she comes up." "then it will soon be light." "no; but not so dark." "then the indians won't come now?" i said eagerly. "i don't know much about them, master george, but from what i've heard say from those who do, indians always comes when they're not expected, and if you're to be ready for them you must always be on the watch." the overpowering sense of sleep which had made me lose consciousness for a few minutes ceased to trouble me now, and i stood watching eagerly for the time when the moon would rise above the trees, and send its light across the clearing in front of the house. i waited anxiously, for there had been the lurking dread that the indians might creep up to the garden through the darkness, unseen, and perhaps strike at my father down below before he could be on his guard. once the moon was up, i felt that we should have light till daybreak, and with that light a good deal of the shivering dread caused by the darkness would pass away. it was a long, very long while before the moon reached the tops of the trees, but when it did, the clearing and the gardens seemed to have been transformed. long shadows, black as velvet, stretched right away, and trees were distorted so that i felt as if i was dreaming of seeing a garden upon which i had never set eyes before. at last, almost imperceptibly, the moon, well on to its last quarter, appeared above the edge of the forest, and i was in the act of drawing myself back with a feeling of satisfaction that all was safe, when i saw something dark lying close to the shadow cast by a tree. "would indians lie down and crawl?" i whispered. "more likely to than walk, if all i hear's true, master george." "then look there!" i whispered, as i pointed to the dark, shadowy figure. "where, lad? i can't see anything." "there; just at the edge of that long, stretched-out shadow." morgan drew in his breath with a faint hiss. "it's moving--_he's_ moving," he whispered; "crawling right along to get round to the back, i should say. and look, sir, look!--another of 'em." i just caught sight of the second figure, and then crept to the rough trap-door opening. "father," i whispered, "come up here. bring a gun." he was beneath the opening in a moment. "take hold of the gun," he said. "mind!--be careful"--and he passed the heavy weapon up to me. the next moment he was up in the rough loft, and i pointed out the figures of the indians. i heard him too draw in his breath with a faint hiss, as he stretched out his hand for the gun, took it, softly passed the barrel out through the open window and took aim, while i stood suffering from a nervous thrill that was painful in the extreme, for i knew that when he fired it must mean death. i involuntarily shrank away, waiting for the heavy report which seemed as if it would never come; and at last, unable to bear the suspense longer, i pressed forward again to look hesitatingly through the window, feeling that i might have to fire a gun myself before long. all at once, as the suspense had grown unbearable, the barrel of the firelock made a low scraping noise, for my father was drawing it back. "a false alarm, george," he said, gently. "no, no," i whispered; "look--look!" for i could see both figures crawling along slowly, flat on their breasts. "yes, i see them, my boy," he said; "and i was deceived too, for the moment, but we must not waste shot on creatures like these." "why, if it arn't a pair o' 'gators," said morgan, with a suppressed laugh. "well, they did look just like injins, and no mistake." i felt so vexed at making so absurd a mistake, that i remained silent till my father passed the gun to me. "take hold," he said, gently. "it was a mistake that deceived us all. better be too particular than not particular enough." he lowered himself down into the room below, and i passed him the gun before going back to where morgan leaned against the window. "there they go, master george," he said, laughing. "you and me must have a new pair o' spectacles apiece from the old country if we have to do much of this sort of thing." "i did not think i could have been so stupid," i said, angrily; and going away to the other window, so that i should not have to listen to my companion's bantering, which i felt pretty sure would come, i stood gazing at the beautiful scene without, the moon making the dark green leaves glisten like silver, while the shades grew to be of a velvety black. every here and there patches of light shone on the great trunks of the trees, while their tops ran up like great spires into the softly-illumined sky. the excitement had driven away all desire for sleep, and we watched on listening to every sound and cry that came from the forest surrounding, wonderfully plain in the silence of the night, which magnified croak, bellow, or faint rustling among the leaves or bushes, as some nocturnal creature made its way through the trees. at times the watching seemed to be insufferably dreary and wearisome; then something startling would send the blood thrilling through my veins again; and so on and on, till the moon began to grow pale, the light to appear of a pearly grey in the east, golden flecks glistened high all above the trees, and once more it was new day, with the birds singing, and a feeling of wonder impressing me, it appeared so impossible that i could have been up and watching all night. chapter seven. "master george!--master george!" the call was repeated, for i did not answer the first, my mouth being expanded to its fullest stretch in a tremendous yawn. "come down, and have some breakfast. you must want it sore." the very fact of sarah mentioning it made me feel a horrible sinking sensation, and as soon as my father gave leave for one of us to leave the post at the window, i came down to find that, though we up in the narrow loft had heard nothing, sarah had been for some time preparing a good meal, which, whatever might be the perils awaiting us later on, we all ate with the greatest of enjoyment. we had hardly finished when morgan gave the alarm, and my father hurried to his post of observation, but only to conceal his piece directly, as he uttered the word "friend!" for our nearest neighbour, colonel preston, a tall, stern, rather overbearing man, came up, followed by a couple of men. "i've come to give you warning, bruton," he said. "i tried to send you warning last night," replied my father. "what! you know?" "do you not see how we are barricaded?" "oh, i thought it was because you were just getting up. the indians came by here then?" "yes," said my father; and he briefly told of our adventure, and the watch we had kept. "well," said the colonel, sharply, and as i thought in rather a dictatorial way; "it all goes to prove that it was a mistake for you to isolate yourself here. you must move close up to us, so that in a case of emergency we can all act together." "it would be better," said my father, quietly. "then you will come?" "no; i selected this place for its beauty, as you chose yours. i should not like to give it up." "you'll repent it, bruton. you must have had a narrow escape last night." "i do not know," said my father, thoughtfully. "of course we were very suspicious of the reason for the indians' visit, but they did us no harm." "nor to us. our numbers overawed them, i suppose." "our numbers did not overawe them here," said my father, smiling; but he added rather bitterly, "if they had meant mischief, we could not have counted on your help." "nor we on yours," said the colonel, in a rather irritable manner. "well, of course i have no right to dictate to you; but i may as well tell you that as soon as the indians left us, we met together, and determined to erect a block-house or fort ready to flee to in case of emergency. it is for you to chose whether you will join us in the work." "i shall join you, of course," said my father, quietly; and, refusing any refreshment, evidently to the great disgust of his men, who exchanged glances which evidently meant breakfast, the colonel walked off. "see those two fellows, master george?" whispered morgan, as my father stood gazing thoughtfully after the colonel. "yes; why?" "never see two look more hungry in my life. they'd have cleared us out, see if they wouldn't. good job there arn't many in the settlement like 'em." "why?" i said. "because we should soon be having a famine in the land. what are you laughing at, lad?" "you," i said, as i recalled a number of morgan's performances with the knife and fork. he looked at me fiercely, and as if he were terribly offended; for morgan's welsh blood had a way of bubbling up and frothing over like mead; but directly after there was a bit of a twitch at one corner of his mouth, then a few wrinkles started out at each side of his face about the eyes, and began to spread all over till he was showing his teeth. "ah, well, master george," he said, "i can see through you. perhaps i aren't such a very bad trencherman. sarah says i do eat. but what's the harm? man can't work well without; nor more can't a fire burn without you keeps on putting plenty o' wood. but i say, my lad, when those injin fellows came down upon us, i began to think i should never be hungry again. did i look very much frightened?" "no; i thought you looked very brave." "did i? did you think so, master george?" "yes; certainly." "now, you're not making fun of me, are you?" "certainly not." "well, come, i'm glad of that," said morgan, brightening up; "because do you know, master george, 'twix' you and me, i don't think i'm quite so good that way as i ought to be. i tried hard not to seem in a fright, but i was in one all the same, and seemed to feel arrows sticking into me, and them chopping at me with tomahawks. wasn't pleasant, look you, was it?" "no, and it was no wonder." "no, sir, it warn't. but i say, master george, you didn't feel so bad as that, did you?" i glanced round to see if my father was within hearing, and then said with a laugh-- "i'm afraid i felt ever so much worse." "then we'll shake hands over it," said morgan; "but i say, master george, i'd give everything to know whether the master felt scared too." "i don't think he did. oh, i'm sure he did not. see how erect and firm he was." "ah, that's being a soldier, sir. they drill 'em up into being as stiff as can be, and to look as if they like it when they're being shot at. that's what makes english soldiers such fine fellows in a battle." further discussion was put an end to by the coming up to us of my father. "you heard what colonel preston said, george?" "yes, father." "about being safe, and the risk of fresh attacks by the indians?" "yes, father; we heard every word--didn't we, morgan?" "oh yes; everything, sir." "well," said my father, "it is quite possible that this party came to spy out the land so as to prepare for a descent. if this is so, there is a good deal of risk in staying here. i have made up my mind what to do under the circumstances." "oh, master! oh, captain bruton!" broke out morgan; "don't say that after the pains we took in getting our garden in order, and in helping to build the house, and never happy unless i was going to do something to make it look pretty, you're thinking of moving and letting some one else come in?" "i think the risk is very great in staying; and that for your wife's sake, my son's, and yours, i perhaps ought to give up this, and go and take up fresh land close to my brother settlers." "but, begging your pardon, sir, don't you think nothing of the sort again. what do you say, master george?" "oh, i shouldn't like to go away from here," i said. "there, sir! hear that?" cried morgan. "why, if you come to reckon it up, how do you know that you're going to be safer there than here? if the injins come, that's where they'll go for first, and we're just as likely to be killed there as here." "possibly, morgan." "and then look at the place, sir, all along by the big river. it arn't half so healthy as this. i never feel well there, and i know the land arn't half so rich." "but we must study safety, my man," said my father. "of course we must, sir, so what's the good of being scared about some injins, who may never come again, and running right into where there's likely to be fevers--and if some day there don't come a big flood and half drown 'em all, i'm a dutchman, and wasn't born in carnarvon after all." "but there is another consideration, morgan; we have some one else to look after--your wife." "oh, don't you trouble about me, sir," cried sarah; and we looked up in astonishment. "i came out here to look after you and master george, not for you to look after me." "why, what are you doing up there?" said my father, as sarah's nose showed between the bars of the window of the loft. "keeping a sharp look-out for indians, sir." "that's right sarah," cried morgan. "and, i say, you don't think we had better go, do you?" "certainly not," said sarah, sharply. "just as we're getting the place and my kitchen so snug and comfortable. i should think not indeed." "there, sir," cried morgan, triumphantly. "well," said my father, "i had made up my mind to stop, at any rate as far as i was concerned, but i wished to give you all the opportunity of going up to the settlement." "'tchah, sir! i don't call that a settlement. but, begging your pardon, captain, speaking _as_ an old soldier _to_ an old soldier," continued morgan, "what you say is ridickerlus." "morgan!" cried my father, sternly. "can't help it, sir, even if you order me pack-drill, or even black-hole and a flogging. why, its ridickerlus for you as an officer to tell your men to forsake you and leave you in the lurch." "but, my good fellow--" "ah, i haven't done yet, captain. you've worried me and gone on till it's mutiny in the ranks, and i refuse to obey." "well, george," said my father, "you hear this; what do you say?" "i say it would be a horrid pity to go away and leave the place, father. oh, don't! i like it ever so! and we're so happy here, and i don't believe the indians will come again." "then you would not be afraid to stay here and take our chance? no," he said, reverently, "place ourselves in his hands, my boy, and be content." "amen to all that, sir, says i," cried morgan, taking off his hat; and then i saw him close his eyes, and his lips were moving as he turned away. "thank you, morgan," said my father, quietly; "and thank you too, my boy. we will not give up our restful, beautiful home for a scare. perhaps if the indians find that we wish to be at peace with them, they may never attempt to molest us. we will stay." morgan gave his leg a slap, and turned round to me. "there, master george!" he cried. "why, with all these fruit and vegetables coming on, i should have 'most broke my heart, and i know our sarah would have broken hers." that day was after all a nervous one, and we felt as if at any moment an indian might appear at the edge of the wood, followed by a body perhaps a hundred strong. so our vigilance was not relaxed, neither that day nor during the next week; but nothing occurred to disturb our peace, and the regular routine went on. from what we heard at the settlement the idea of building a block-house had been for the present given up; but morgan came back one morning, after a visit to the colonel's man, with some news which rather disturbed my father. "small schooner in the river?" "yes, sir." "and you say that several of the gentlemen have been buying?" "yes, sir; that's right," said morgan, "and the blacks are put to work in their plantations." my father frowned and walked away, while i eagerly turned to morgan for an explanation. "oh, it's all right enough, sir, what i tell you," said morgan; "and seems to me they're right, so long as they treat 'em well. here's lots of land wants clearing and planting, and one pair of hands can't do it, of course, and there's no men to be hired out here, so the gentlemen have been buying slaves." "what a shame!" i cried. "how would you like to be bought for a slave?" morgan looked at me, then at the sky, then down at the ground; then away straight before him, as he took off his hat and scratched one ear. "humph!" he ejaculated, suddenly; "that's a puzzler, master george. do you know i never thought of that." "it seems to me horribly cruel." "but then, you see, master george, they're blacks, and that makes all the difference." i could not see it, but i did not say so, and by degrees other things took my attention. there was so much to see, and hear, and do, that i forgot all about indians and blacks; or if they did come to mind at all as time went on, i merely gave them a passing thought, and went off to talk to morgan, to set a trap, to fish, or to watch the beautiful birds that came into the sunny clearing about my home. chapter eight. "there," said morgan, one day, as he gave the soil a final pat with his spade, "that job's done, and now i'm going to have a bit of a rest. leaving-off time till the sun gets a bit down." "what have you been planting?" i asked. "seeds, my lad; flower seeds, as i've picked myself. i like to keep raising the useful things, but we may as well have some bright flowers too. where's the master?" "indoors, writing." "then what do you say to a bit of sport?" "another rattlesnake?" i cried. "no, thank ye, my lad; meddling with rattlesnakes may mean bringing down the indians, so we'll let them alone." "nonsense!" "well, perhaps it is, my lad." "but what have you found?" "what do you say to a 'coon?" "oh, they get into the hollow trees, where you can't catch them." "well then, a bear?" "a bear!" i cried; "a real wild bear?" "ah, i thought that would set you off; but it arn't a bear; they're up among the hills." "what is it then? how you do hang back from telling!" "course i do. if i let you have it all at once, you wouldn't enjoy it half so much." "oh, i know," i cried, "it's going to fish after those ridiculous little terrapins, and they're such horrid things to take off the hook." "guess again." "birds? an eagle?" "no; guess again, nearly right; something as lays eggs--" "a turtle?" morgan shook his head. "not an alligator, is it?" he wrinkled up his face in a hearty laugh. "alligator it is, sir. i found a nest yesterday." "and didn't tell me. i want to see an alligator's nest. i never could find one." "ah, you didn't look in the right kind of tree, master george." "don't talk to me as if i were a baby, morgan," i said; "just as if i didn't know better than that." "oh, but you don't know everything. i got awfully laughed at once for saying squirrels build nests in trees." "oh, but they do," i said; "i've seen them." "'course you have; but when i said so, some one laughed, and asked how many eggs you can find in a squirrel's nest.--so you don't believe the 'gators build in trees, don't you?" "no; but i believe they lay eggs. how many are there in this?" "oh, it isn't that sort of nest. i mean a nest where he goes to sleep in; and you and me's going to wake him up, and try if we can't catch him and bring him home." i could not help thinking of the indians, as i went with morgan to make the preparations, which were simple enough, and consisted in arming himself with a long pole and giving me one similar, after which he put a piece of rope in his pocket, and declared himself ready. we went off in the same direction as that chosen when we killed the rattlesnake, but turned off to the left directly, and made for the bank of the river, that bore away from the landing-place, towards a low, moist part, intersected by the meandering stream which drained the marshy part. here we had to proceed rather cautiously, for the place was full of decayed trees covered with brilliant green and grey moss, and looking solid, but which crumbled away at a touch from the foot, and often concealed holes into which it would have been awkward to fall, since we did not know what kind of creatures lived therein. "seem to have lost the place," said morgan, after we had been going along for some time pretty well parallel with the river. "oh, morgan!" i exclaimed, impatiently. "no; i have it," he cried. "i remember that tree with the long moss hanging down so far. the ground's harder here too. more to the left, master george. there you are at last." "but where's the nest?" i said. "why, there it is, my lad; can't you see?" i looked round, but there was nothing visible but a few footprints in a muddy spot, and a hole of very moderate size, evidently going some distance down into the moist, boggy soil. "is this it?" "yes, of course." "but you said a nest." "well, i meant, as i told you, his nest, his snuggery. now i'm going to see if he's at home." i looked on full of doubt, for the whole proceeding seemed to me to be very absurd, and i felt sure that morgan was mistaken. "i don't believe he knows any more about alligators than i do," i said to myself, as i saw him thrust the long pole down into the hole. "i tried this game on yesterday, master george, and he said he was at home." "nonsense!" i cried, pettishly. "but i'm afraid he has gone out for a walk this time, and it's a case of call again to-morrow. no," he added, energetically, "it's all right. says he's at home." "why, what do you mean?" i cried. "got a bite," said morgan, grinning. "you try. but mind he don't come out with a rush. he might be nasty." i hesitated for a moment, then leaning my own pole against a bush, i took hold of the one morgan gave into my hands, and moved it slightly. "well?" i said. "i don't feel anything." "give it a bit of a stir round, my lad," he said. i moved the pole a little, and then jumped and let go. "what's the matter?" cried morgan, laughing. "something bit the pole, and made it jar right up my arm." "that's him. i told you he was at home. now then, you aren't afraid, are you?" "not a big one, is it?" "no, not very; only tidy size; but we shall see if we get him out." i looked rather aghast at morgan, for the idea of getting a large alligator out there in the marshy place, and both of us unarmed, was rather startling. "now then, give him a good stir up." sooner than seem afraid, but with my heart beating heavily, i took hold of the pole, and gave it a good shake, and left go again, for it seemed as if some one had given it a good rap with a heavy stick, and a jarring sensation ran up my arm. "no mistake about it this time," said morgan, grinning. "puts me in mind of sniggling for eels, and pushing a worm at the end of a willow-stick up an eel's burrow in a muddy bank. they give it a knock like that sometimes, but of course not so hard. well, why don't you go on?" "go on with what?" i cried, wishing myself well out of the whole business. "stirring of him up, and making him savage. but stop a moment, let's have this ready." he took out the piece of rope, and made a large noose, laying it on some thick moss, and then turning to me again. "now then, my lad, give him a good stir up. don't be afraid. make him savage, or else he won't hold on." with a dimly defined notion of what we were aiming at, i gave the pole a good wrench round in the hole, feeling it strike against something, and almost simultaneously feeling something strike against it. "that's the way, sir. give it him again." growing reckless now, and feeling that i must not shrink, i gave the pole another twist round, with the result that it was snatched out of my hand. "he has it," cried morgan, excitedly. "feel if he has got it fast, master george." i took hold of the pole, gazing down with no little trepidation, in the expectation of at any moment seeing some hideous monster rush out, ready to seize and devour me. but there was no response to my touch, the pole coming loosely into my hand. "give him another stir up, master george. they tell me that's the way they do it to make them savage." "but do we want to make the creature savage?" i said. "course we do! there, you do as i tell you, my lad, and you'll see." i gave the pole a good poke round in the hole again, just as if i was stirring up something in a huge pot, when almost before i had gone right round--_whang_! the pole quivered in my hand, and a thrill ran through me as in imagination i saw a monstrous beast seize the end of the stick in its teeth and give it a savage shake. "hurrah!" cried morgan. "he has got it tight now. that's right, master george; let me come. we'll soon haul him out." "no, no," i said, as excited now as the welshman. "it may be dangerous." "we'll dangerous him, my lad." "but he may bite." "well, let him. 'gators' bites arn't poisonous, like snakes. i should just like to see him bite." "i shouldn't," i said, mentally, as morgan pushed me a little on one side, and took hold of the pole. "now then, don't you be scared; i'll tackle him if he's vicious. both pull together. he's so vexed now that he won't leave go if his teeth 'll hold." "no," i said, setting my own teeth fast, but not in the pole. "am i to pull?" "to be sure. both pull together. it's like fishing with a wooden line. now then, haul away!" there was a length of about ten feet of the pole down in the hole as we took hold together and began to haul, feeling something very heavy at the end, which came up in a sullen, unresisting way for some distance, giving me courage and making me nearly as eager and excited as our man. "that's the way, sir. we'll soon--hi! hold tight! wo--ho, there; wo-- ho! ah!" for all at once the creature began to struggle furiously, shaking the pole so that we dragged at it with all our might; and then--_whoosh_! the alligator left go, and we went backward on the soft mossy earth. "i _am_ glad!" i thought, as we struggled up. "there, master george, what d'yer think o' that? can't have such games as this at home in the old country, eh?" "no," i said. "but you're not going to try again, are you?" "not going to try again? i should think i am, till i get the great ugly creature here at the top. why, you're not skeart of him, are you?" "wait till he's out, and then we'll see," i replied, as i thrust the pole down again, giving it a fierce twist, and felt it seized once more. "that's the way. this is a bit of the finest sport i ever had, and it's just dangerous enough to make it exciting. haul away, my lad." i set my teeth and hauled, the reptile coming up quickly enough half-way, and then beginning to writhe and shake its head furiously, every movement being communicated to our arms, and giving us a good notion of the strength of the enemy we were fighting, if fighting it could be called. up we drew it inch by inch, and i must confess that with every change of the position of my hands i hoped it would be the last, that the creature would leave go, and drop back into the hole, and that morgan would be so disappointed that he would not try any more. that is just how i felt, and yet, odd as it may sound, it is not as i felt, for mingled with that series of thoughts--just as a change of position shows another set of colours on a bird's back or in a piece of silk--there was another, in which i was hoping the alligator would hold on tightly, so that we might get it right out of the hole, and i could attack and kill it with the pole, so that i could show morgan and--much more important--myself that i was not afraid to behave as boldly as the man who had hold with his hands touching mine. my last ideas were gratified, for as we hauled together there was another savage shaking of the pole, which quivered in our grasp; then a strong drag or two, and we knew by the length of the pole that we must have the reptile within a yard of the surface, when morgan looked down where a bright gleam of the sunlight shot from above. "all right, master george," he cried; "this way--over with you!" and setting the example, he dragged the pole over in the opposite direction to that in which we had it bent, when i perforce followed with him, and the next moment we were dragging a great alligator through the wet moss and black mud, the creature making very little resistance, for it was on its back, this being the result of morgan's last movement when he dragged the pole across the hole. the shape of the reptile's head and back made our task the more easy, and we had run with it a good fifty feet before it recovered from its surprise, loosened its hold of the pole, and began to writhe and thrash about with its tail as it twisted itself over into its proper position, in a way that was startling. "now, master george, we've got him. i'll keep him from running back into his hole; you go and get the rope." i could not stir for a few moments, but stood watching, as i saw morgan raise up the pole, and bring it down bang across the alligator's back, but without doing it the slightest injury, for the end struck a half-rotten log, and the pole snapped off a yard above morgan's hands. "never mind! i'll keep him back," roared morgan, as the reptile kept facing him, and half turning to strike at him with its tail. "quick, lad! the rope--the rope!" i started off at once, and picked up the rope with its noose all ready, and then seized my pole as well, too much excited now to think of being afraid. then i trotted back to morgan just as he was having a fierce fight with the creature, which kept on snapping and turning at him in a way that, to say the least, was alarming. "ah, would you!" morgan kept crying, as the brute snapped at him, and he presented the broken pole, upon which the reptile's teeth closed, giving the wood a savage shake which nearly wrenched it out of morgan's hands; but he held on, and had all his work to do to avoid the tangled growth and the blows of the creature's tail. "that's it, master george. now quick: drop that rope, and next time he opens his pretty mouth give him the pole. aren't afraid of him, are you?" i did not answer. i did not want to answer just then, but i did exactly as i was told, dropping the rope and standing ready with my pole on one side, so as to thrust it into the brute's mouth. i did not have long to wait for my opportunity, and it was not the alligator's fault that he did not get right hold, for through nervousness, i suppose, i thrust short, and the jaws came together with an ugly snap that was startling. "never mind; try again; quick, my lad, or he'll get away back to the hole." to prevent this morgan made a rush, and gave the brute a sounding thwack with his broken pole, sufficiently hard to make it turn in another direction, when, thoroughly excited now, i made a poke at it with the pole, and it snapped at it viciously. i made another and another, and then the teeth closed upon the end, and the pole quivered in my grasp. "well done! brave lad!" shouted morgan, for he did not know i was all of a tremble. "that's the way; hold on, and keep him thinking about you just a moment. pull! let go! pull again!" as he gave me these directions, he got the end of the pole from me for a moment so as to pass the noose of the rope he had picked up over it, and then once more shouting to me to pull, he boldly ran the wide noose down over the pole; and as the brute saw him so near, it loosed its hold to make a fierce snap; but morgan was too quick for the creature, and leaped away with a shout of triumph, tightening the rope, which was right round the reptile's neck, and running and passing the other end about a tree. "got him now," panted morgan, as the alligator thrashed at the rope with its tail, and tugged and strained with all its might, but of course only tightening the noose with every effort. "yes," i said, breathlessly, as i stood now well out of danger; "we've got him now." "yes, we've got him now," said morgan again, as we made the end of the rope fast to a branch. "that would hold one twice as big. let's see; 'bout how long is he?" "seven feet," i said, making a rapid guess. "well," said morgan, in a slow, hesitating way; "here, hi! keep your tail still, will you, while you're being measured." but the reptile seemed to thrash all the harder, dragging the noose tight, and flogging at the rope in a way which promised, if time enough was given, to wear it through. "oh, well, if you won't, i must guess. yes, sir, he's quite seven feet long--nearer eight; but he must be pretty young, for he's a lean, lizardly-looking brute. not nice things to tackle, are they? look ye here at the marks of his teeth." as he said this, morgan held up his broken pole, first one piece then the other. "i say, master george, he can nip. if that had been your leg or my arm, we should have wanted a bit or two of sticking-plaster, even if we hadn't had the bone cracked in two." "it's a horribly ugly brute," i said, as i approached it a little nearer, and examined it by the warm ruddy glow which shone down here and there into the gloomy swamp forest. "yes; his mother ought to be very proud of him," said morgan, laughing; "wonder what his brothers and sisters are like. ha! ha! ha!" "what are you laughing at?" i said. "i was only thinking, master george. the idea of me coming out of carnarvonshire across the sea to find things like that!" "yes; it's different to home," i said. "this is home," replied morgan, stolidly--"home now. i've set and tended many a lot of eggs; but i say, master george, only think of a thing like that coming out of a new-laid egg. do rattlesnakes!" i could not help smiling at the idea, but my face felt strange, and there was a twitching about my temples as the last words fell upon my ears. "halloa! what's the matter, lad?" "you--you said rattlesnakes," i whispered hoarsely. "well, what of it? this is 'gator country. rattlesnakes, they tell me, likes the high, dry, hot, stony places." "yes--father said so," i replied in a whisper, as i looked cautiously round. "well then, what are you looking for?" "indians," i whispered, for i had recalled how the savages had surrounded us while our attention was taken up by the last noxious creature we had attacked. at my words morgan made a bound, and then began to move past a tree. but he stopped short, and returned to my side, looking wildly round the while. "see 'em--see any of 'em?" he whispered. "no; but suppose they have stolen upon us again as they did before!" "yah! what do you mean by frightening a man? i teclare to cootness it's too bad of you, master george." i smiled once more, for morgan's speech had sounded very droll and welsh, as it often was when he grew excited. "you tit it to scare me," he said, angrily. "indeed, no." "yes, inteet," he said; "and look you--i say, master george, was it meant for a choke?" "indeed, no, morgan; i really felt startled." "then it's all right," he said. "there's none of 'em here, so let's get home." "but what are you going to do with the alligator?" "eh? oh, i never thought of that. i wanted to catch him so that you might have a bit of fun." "but now we have caught him?" "well, dunno, my lad. might take him home and chain him up. turn down a barrel to make him a kennel; he can bark." "oh, nonsense! we can't do that." "he's no good to eat, though they say the savages eat 'em. here, i know; let's take him home, and ask master what's to be done with him." "take him home?" i faltered. "ay, to be sure. i'll lead him by the string, and you can come behind and give him a poke with the pole when he won't go. ought by rights to have two ropes, like they do at home with a vicious cow; then when he ran at me, you could pull; and when he ran at you, i could pull him back." "but we haven't two ropes. that isn't long enough to cut, and i can't stop him if he runs at you." "might pull his tail," said morgan. "ugh!" i ejaculated, as i recalled the use the creature could make of it, giving blows that i knew would knock me off my feet. "well then, i tell you what; let's leave him tied up as he is, and get back. the master will be wondering where we are, and fancying all sorts of trouble." "seems cruel," i said. "the creature will be strangled." "not he. if he does, he'll strangle himself. i never feel very merciful to things that go about doing all the harm they can as long as they live. say, shall i kill him at once?" "no; let's leave him, and see what my father says." morgan examined the knot he had made, and then started away, for the reptile made a lash at him with its tail, and in retort he took out his big-bladed knife, opened it, and held it out threateningly. "it's all very well, look you," he said; "but if you'd hit me with that tail of yours, i'd have had it off as sure as you're alive." it was morgan's farewell to the alligator as we turned off with our poles, broken and sound, and hurried back to find my father with a gun over his arm, fast coming in search of us. chapter nine. "i was afraid something was wrong," he said. "and look here, morgan, i want to live at peace with all the world, but self-preservation is the first law of nature, and i would rather you did not leave the place again unarmed.--well, george," he continued, turning to me, "where have you been?" i told him of our adventure, and he was thoughtful for a few moments. "you must go together in the morning and kill the thing," he said. "i don't like destroying life, but these wild creatures of the forest and swamp must give way to man. if they do not they must perish. all deadly creatures must be killed without mercy. there is not room in the parts of the earth we chose to live in for both." consequently, after making our arrangements, i called morgan at daybreak, and we took a gun and ammunition to execute the alligator. "be a lesson for you in the use of a firelock, master george," said morgan, as we travelled on across our clearing, and paused at the edge of the forest. "now then, my lad," he cried, giving his orders in a military way, and bidding me load. i had seen the charging of a gun often enough to be able to go through the task sufficiently well to get a few words of commendation, but a good many of blame. "ram well home, my lad. i like to see the rod hop again, and the powder solid." "what difference does it make?" i asked. "all the difference in the world, my lad. powder's rum stuff, and good loading makes it do its work well. bad loading makes it do its work anyhow." "i don't understand you," i said. "it's easy enough, sir. s'pose i take a charge of powder, and lay it loose on a stone. if i set light to it there's a puff and some smoke, and that's all, because it has plenty of room. but if i shut it up tight in a gun-barrel rammed down hard, it goes off with a loud bang, because it has to burst its way out. if you ram lightly, the bullet will go only a little way. if you ram hard, your bullet will go straight to the mark." "there it is then, rammed hard," i said, as i made the ramrod ring. "that's right. now you shall shoot the 'gator. some folks say their skin's too hard for the bullet to go through. we shall see." we went on together toward our landing-place, and then on and away to the left, following our previous day's trail more and more into the swamp, beside the river, talking about the fight we had had with the reptile, morgan laughingly saying that he should like to have another with one twice as big, while i thought i should not, but did not say so. the morning was delightful, with the birds piping and singing, and in the open sunny parts we caught sight of the lovely orange orioles, and those all yellow and black--birds which took the place of our thrushes and blackbirds of the old country. every now and then a tall crane would fly up from where he had been prodding about with his sharp bill in some mossy pool, his long legs trailing out behind him as if he had been dancing on stilts. it had all grown familiar to me now, but i was never tired of gazing at the dark, shadowy places where the cypresses rose right out of the black water, and the great trailing moss, ten and fifteen feet long, hung down from the boughs like ragged veils. the place looked as if it might be the haunt of large, water-loving serpents, or strange beasts which lurked in waiting for the unwary traveller; but we heard nothing but the cries of birds and the rustling and beating of wings, or the hum of insect life, save now and then when there was a splash from the river away to our right, or from a black pool hidden from us by the dense growth. "make some of 'em stare over at home, master george," said morgan. "what at?" "place like this. miles and miles of it, and no use made of it. round here! that's right. remember that old rotten tree?" "yes," i said; "we must be close to the place now. how near shall i stand to the alligator when i shoot?" "oh, just as near as you like. mind that hole; i shouldn't wonder if another one lived there." i stepped quickly aside from the ugly-looking spot, and felt so vexed on seeing my companion smile, that i turned back and stood looking down into the place, forcing myself to do so quietly, and then following in a deliberate way, though all the time i could not help feeling a kind of shuddering sensation run over me, as if i had suddenly stepped out of the hot woodland into a current of fresh cool air. i glanced at morgan as i overtook him, but he did not say anything, only trudged on till, suddenly laying his hand upon my arm, he pointed to a tree dimly-seen through the overhung shades. "that's the one i tied the line to," he said; "now i shouldn't wonder if we find he has scratched himself a hole in the soft earth. it's nearly half water, and i dare say he could easy." "and if he has, what then?" "why, we must pull him back by the rope. he won't make much of a struggle; it will be too tight round his neck, and choke him so. there, what did i tell you!" he pointed to where the rope ran down from the tree apparently into the ground. "but if he had scratched a hole," i said, "he would have made a heap." "oh no; it's all so soft as soon as you get through the roots. he'd worm himself down right out of sight in no time, and--well, i am took aback." morgan had stooped down and picked up the noose. the alligator had gone. "somebody must have set him free, morgan." "somebody? what somebody would do that? there arn't no monkeys about here as i know of, or it might have been one of them. nobody else would do it. ah, i see." he pointed to the noose, and showed me how the rope was frayed and teazled out, as if by the application of claws. "that's it, plain enough. he's had all night to do it in, and there he has been scrat, scrat, scrat, scrat at his neck with those fore-paws of his, till he got it loose and pushed it over his head." "nonsense!" i said; "a thing like that wouldn't be clever enough." "i don't know," said morgan. "they're clever enough to hunt and catch dinners by slapping the water with their tails till the fish are stunned; they're clever enough to make nests and lay eggs; and this one was clever enough to try and cut me down with his tail, and i don't see that it was so very wonderful for him to try and scratch off anything that hurt his neck. mind that gun, my lad; you don't want to shoot me, i know." i coloured, and felt vexed at my clumsiness in the way of carrying the loaded piece, and stood watching while morgan untied the rope from the tree, rolled it up in a ring, fastened it, and put his arm through before turning back. "never mind," he said, cheerily, "better luck next time. now let's get home to breakfast. i dare say he has gone down to the river and got his long enough ago." we walked back to find a couple of men from the settlement--which promised some day to be a town--and as i caught sight of them, i felt sure that it was bad news which they had brought, and my father's serious face confirmed the idea as he spoke to one of the men. "yes; tell the general i will be there in good time," my father was saying, as we came within earshot; and the men saluted and went off in regular military style, for many of them who had now turned settlers and farmers had served in the army with the leaders of the expedition. and often, on thinking it over since, i have felt how wise a selection of men there was; for, as you have yet to learn, it was highly necessary to have folk who could turn their swords and spears into ploughshares and sickles; but who, when it was necessary, could turn them back and use them in the defence of their new homes. "have the indians come back, father?" i asked, eagerly. he looked round quickly, starting slightly, for he had not seen me approach, and he was deep in thought. "no, boy," he said, sighing, "but it seems we are not to enjoy our homes in peace; a new enemy is in the field." i looked at him, waiting to hear more, but he was silent, and began walking slowly to and fro till breakfast was ready. during the meal he said suddenly-- "put on the best things you have, my boy. i am going up to the settlement this morning. i thought you would like to go." i was not long in getting ready as soon as the meal was ended, and, to my surprise, i found my father in uniform, and with his sword by his side; but he looked so quiet and stern that i did not like to question him, and walked on steadily by his side, as he drew himself up and marched forward, just as if his clothes had brought back old days, and made him the stern, firm soldier once more. it was a glorious walk. the sun was scorchingly hot, but our whole way was between the great sweet-scented pines, whose needle-like leaves glistened like silver as they reflected back the sun's beams, and shaded our way. after a time we began to have glimpses of the big river, and at last as we approached an opening i caught sight of a large ship, and uttered an exclamation. "yes," said my father, as he saw what had taken my attention; "it is a fine ship, but unfortunately she is not a friend." i looked up at him inquiringly. "spaniard," he said, laconically. "the spaniards have a settlement down in the south, and they have taken it into their heads that we are trespassers. i am going to be one of those who meet the officers this morning." our walk was soon at an end, and my eyes were busy noting the way in which houses had sprung up in large patches of land, spread along at a short distance from the bank of the broad river into which our stream ran, and evidently marked out regularly and running for some distance back. it was the beginning of a town, but as i saw it then, it was a collection of houses and goodly gardens, with plantations of corn, sugar-cane, and cotton, all growing luxuriantly among the trees, which had been left standing here and there. the scene was as animated as it was beautiful. boats lay at anchor, dotted about in the glistening river, and right out, a quarter of a mile from the shore, lay the spanish vessel with her colours flying, and a large boat lying alongside; while on shore i could see several of the gentlemen i knew by sight, dressed like my father in uniform, and mostly walking two and two in deep converse. i had eyes for everything, and the picture i saw was soon printed vividly in my imagination; one object that i remember well being the english flag, which was blowing out from the top of a pole, which i soon saw was not planted by man, being a tall straight pine which had been lopped and smoothed down till it was exactly suited for the purpose to which it was put. another thing too struck me, and that was the fact that though the greater part of the men i saw about, standing idling and evidently watching the ship with its boat alongside, were familiar to me, there was quite a number of black faces, whose owners were loosely clad in white cotton shirt and breeches, talking together, showing their white teeth, and basking in the sun. "yes," said my father, as i looked inquiringly at him, "and it has been in opposition to my wishes; but i am only one against many--they are slaves." directly after, colonel preston came out of the largest of the wooden houses in company with another officer, and as they caught sight of my father, they hastened their pace and came towards him. "ah, bruton," said the colonel, "you have come." "yes," said my father, smiling, as he shook hands with both; "and you had been thinking that as i was such an opponent of many of your measures, and held myself so much aloof, i should stay away." "well," said the colonel, who seemed startled by my father's words, "i must confess i--" "had not much faith in me, preston. but i hope that in any emergency where my help is required, i shall not be found wanting." "i am sure of it. i beg your pardon for my ungenerous thoughts," said the colonel, warmly; "and i am sorry that you and i do not always think the same." "whatever we may think, preston," said my father, warmly, "i hope we shall always hold each other in esteem." "i know we shall," cried the colonel; and he shook hands warmly with me. "glad to see you, youngster," he said; "but be quick and grow into a man. we want sturdy fellows who can handle a sword, and fight for their land." "then they are aggressive, preston?" said my father. "aggressive! you never heard such overbearing insolence." "yes, insolence," said the other officer. "would you believe it, captain bruton; they demand that we shall immediately give up this land--this settlement which we have taken in the name and by permission of his majesty the king--and go." "where?" said my father, gravely. "ah, that they do not say," cried colonel preston. "an officer has come with this command from the governor of their settlement, and, in the customary haughty style of the overbearing spaniard, the message has been delivered, and the ambassador is coming to meet us at the general's in about an hour for our reply as to how soon we shall be gone." "that sounds spanish," said my father. "then they do not propose to reimburse us for all that we have done, or to find us another settlement?" "no, no, no," cried the colonel, angrily; "our orders are to go--to evacuate the settlement at once." "that would be a painful task if we had to submit." "submit!" said the colonel, angrily. "surely, bruton, you would not advocate such a plan after all that we have done?" my father made no reply, but turned to look thoughtfully at the spanish ship, while the colonel seemed to be raging with anger. "you will be present at the meeting, of course?" he said. "yes," said my father, quickly; "i have come on purpose. we must have this peaceably settled if possible." "good heavens!" cried the colonel. "ah, here is the general," he cried, as the quiet, grave, benevolent man came up, dressed in a very shabby uniform, whose gold lace was sadly frayed and tarnished. "hark here, sir; captain bruton talks of a peaceful settlement of this difficulty." "indeed!" said the general, frowning; and i looked at him eagerly, as i recalled that he it was who had been spoken of as the leader of our expedition. "well, we shall see." "and very shortly too," said colonel preston, warmly, "for here they come." all eyes were directed toward the large boat which had just pushed away from the spaniard, and which was now running rapidly toward the shore, with the blades of the oars flashing, the flag in the stern-sheets trailing in the water, and the glint of weapons seen now and then, showing that those on board were well-armed. then the general spoke. "preston and crayford, have the goodness to receive these spanish gentlemen, and bring them up to my house. the rest, i hope, will assemble quickly there, so that i can hear what they have to say." this had evidently all been planned over night, for the officers in uniform all seemed to be making fast for the house out of which i had seen the general come, and before many minutes had elapsed the room was thronged, and i was standing behind my father, who was close to where the general stood. not a word was spoken, and in the silence i could hear plainly the noise made by the sailors in laying in their oars, after which there was a pause, and then plainly heard there were the tramp of men, the buzz of voices. about a dozen soldiers halted outside, and four tall, dark, handsome-looking spanish officers were ushered in by colonel preston and mr crayford. seats were proffered, but declined, and all remained standing, while the spanish officers conferred together for a few moments before one, who seemed the youngest and lowest in rank, stepped forward, and in fair english said haughtily-- "gentlemen, i have come for your answer to the communication brought to you last night from the governor of his most sacred majesty's possessions here in america. what is it to be?" "let me say first, sir," said the general, quietly, "that we do not recognise the authority here of the king of spain. we are on ground belonging to his majesty the king of england." "you are interlopers, sir, on the colonial possessions of his majesty the king of spain," said the young officer, coldly. "when will you have evacuated this land?" "what is to be our reply, gentlemen?" said the general, looking round. "am i to send word back that you will give up tamely, and submit to this demand?" "no, no, no," rose in an angry roar throughout the room. "you alone were silent, captain bruton," said the general, sternly. "have you nothing to say?" "yes," said my father, who turned very white; and he took a step forward. "sir," he said to the spanish officer, "is the governor of your settlement aware that we are no trespassers here, but that we came under the authority of his majesty king george?" "i believe all that has been discussed, sir," said the officer, coldly. "again i ask, how soon will you evacuate this place?" "you are hasty, sir," said my father; and a murmur arose in the room. "gentlemen," he continued, turning towards his brother officers and members of the expedition, "bear with me for a few moments." there was another murmur and then silence, with every eye fixed angrily upon my father's face, as he turned once more to the spanish officers. "gentlemen," he said, "all of us who are here consider that we are acting within our rights in taking and holding this land, which you see we have turned from a wilderness into a smiling home. the question of right seems to be in dispute. cannot it be peacefully settled, for the sake of all? i think we can convince your governor that we are only acting within our rights." the spanish officer who was evidently the leader said a few words angrily to the interpreter, who nodded shortly. "your answer?" he said, haughtily. "that we demand a peaceable solution of this difficulty, and that there be no bloodshed." "when will you go?" cried the young spaniard aggressively, and amidst a low angry murmur i saw my father's face flush, as he took another step forward, and raising his sword with his left hand he clapped his right down upon the hilt. a silence fell upon all, and his words rang out loudly and clearly as he exclaimed with his eyes flashing and his brows knit-- "when our hands have no longer strength to draw our swords, sir--when the last man has been beaten down in our struggle for liberty and life-- when we have again taught haughty, overbearing spain that the english race is not one to draw back--when--i beg your pardon, general," said my father, stopping short. "go on, sir," said the general, sternly. "i would not wish for a better exponent of my views." "then go, sir," continued my father, "and tell the man who sent you that we are, all whom you see here, englishmen who have made this our home-- men who mean to keep what we have won in defiance of spain and all her hosts." "is this your answer?" said the spanish officer, sternly, as soon as silence came after a tremendous cheer. "yes," cried the general, "that is our answer, gentlemen, so go in peace." "yes, sir," said the spaniard, after a few muttered words with his companions, "to return in war." his defiance was received in calm silence, and he and his companions were led out again by colonel preston and mr crayford, not a word being spoken till they had been seen to march down to the rough quay, embark, and row off to their ship. it was not till colonel preston and mr crayford had returned, full of excitement, that the silence was broken by the general. "well, gentlemen," he said, "what have you to say?" "god save the king!" said my father, enthusiastically. "then you will all fight in defence of your hearths and homes?" a tremendous cheer was the answer. "well, then," said the general, "we must be prepared. i look upon it all as an empty, insolent piece of bombast; but whatever it is, we must not be taken unawares. help shall be at once asked from england, and meantime we must do all we can to place ourselves in a state of defence." "well, george," said my father, as we walked back home, seeing the sails of the spaniard set, and that she was gliding slowly down the river, "what have you to say to all this?" "i should like to know whether the spaniards will come back." "ah, that remains to be proved, my boy. we shall see." "not they," said morgan, when i told him, and he was listening eagerly to my account of what had taken place. "if we were indians perhaps they would; but we're englishmen and welshmen, look you. no, my lad, we're more likely to see those indians. depend upon it, all that spaniel said was a bit of bounce." chapter ten. those were busy times at the settlement, where the crops and everything else were neglected so that all hands might work at the block-house, or fort, it was determined to build, so as to have a place to flee to in case of attack, and the fight going against us. wood was plentiful enough, and the _chip-chop_ of the axes was heard all day long, willing hands toiling hard, so that at the end of a week a strong wooden breastwork was contrived; and this, as the time went by, was gradually improved, sheds and huts being run up within for shelter from the dews and rain, and for store-places in case we were besieged. but the weeks went by, and the spaniards made no sign, and as far as we could tell were not likely to. still the general did not relax his efforts; outposts and guards did duty; a well was dug inside the fort, and stores were gathered in, but no enemies came, and their visit began to seem like a bit of history. my father and morgan had walked over with me to the fort every morning, and there gentlemen toiled beside the ordinary labourers and the slaves; but no fresh alarm came, and at last we were back at the house regularly, and time was devoted to making up for the past neglect, morgan bemoaning the state of the garden most piteously. i suppose i must have been about fifteen years old then, but cannot be sure. all i know is that the whole business stands out vividly in my mind, as if it had taken place yesterday. in fact i can sit down, close my eyes, and recall nearly the whole of my boyish life on the river, with the scenes coloured by memory till they seem to grow. at such times it seems to me that i can actually breathe in the sweet lemony odour of the great laurel-leaved flowers borne on what, there, were often great trees dotted with blossoms which looked like gigantic creamy-white tulips, one of which great magnolias flourished at the end of our house. on the day of which i am speaking, morgan johns, our serving-man and general hand, for there was nothing he was not ready to do, came and told my father that there was a schooner in the river, adding something which my father shook his head over and groaned. this, of course, made me open my ears and take an interest in the matter at once. "well, sir, look you," said morgan, "i'll do as much as i can, but you keep on fencing in more and more land, and planting more and more trees." "yes, i do, morgan," said my father, apologetically; "but see how different it is to cold, mountainous north wales." "north wales is a very coot country, sir," said morgan, severely. "no man should look down on the place of his birth." "nobody does, morgan. i often long to see snowdon, and the great ridge of blue mountains growing less and less till they sink into the sea." "ah," said morgan, enthusiastically, and speaking more broadly, "it's a fery coot country is wales. where are your mountains here?" "ah, where are they, morgan? the place is flat enough, but see how rich and fat the soil is." "yes, it's fery good," said morgan, growing more english. "and see how things grow." "yes; that's the worst of them, sir; they grow while you're looking at them; and how can one man fight against the weeds, which grow so fast they lift your coat off the ground?" "in time, morgan, in time," said my father. "yes, sir, in time. ah, well, i'll work till i die, and i can't do any more." "no, morgan," said my father, quietly, "you cannot do any more." "the other gentlemen who came out don't mind doing it, and their little estates are in better order than ours." "no, morgan," said my father, decisively, "i will not have that. nobody had such fruit as we did last year." "well, master," said our old servant, with his hard, dry face brightening up into a smile, "i think we can beat them all round; but if you are going on enclosing fresh clearings from the forest, i must have more help." my father shook his head and morgan went on, "the other gentlemen are going aboard, one after another; why don't you go too, sir?" "if i went, it would be to try to put a stop to it, morgan, and cry shame on my neighbours for what they are doing." "ah, well, master, i've done," said morgan. "i'll work till i drop, and i can do no more." my father turned to the old-fashioned desk he had brought from home, and went on writing a letter, while, after giving him a look full of vexation, our man gave his straw hat a flop against his side, and went out. i was not long in following and overtaking him by the rough fence which enclosed our garden. "morgan! morgan!" i cried. "well, master george, boy, what is it?" "what did you want father to do?" "go and ask him." "no, i shan't; i shall ask you. did you want him to buy something to help in the garden?" morgan looked at me quietly and nodded. "what was it?--a new spade?" "nay, boy; but people to use spades and hoes--'specially the last." "but you can't buy people." "can't you, boy?" "only slaves. oh, i say, morgan! i know; you wanted father to buy some slaves." "ay, boy, that's it. every one else here's doing it, so why shouldn't we?" "i don't know," i said, thoughtfully. "i know this," i cried; "that schooner that came into the river has got slaves on board." "that's right, master george, boy. cargo of blacks from the guinea coast, and our neighbours are buying 'em so fast that there won't be one left if we want any." "we don't want any," i said, indignantly. "no, master george, boy, so your father said; and i'm going to ask him to graft me." "to graft you?" "ay, my lad, with a row of extra arms all down each side, like that picture of the injin idol in your book." "what nonsense, morgan!" "oh, i don't know, master george. one pair of hands can't do the work here. wants a dozen pair, seems to me. well, i've done my dooty. i told master there was a chance to get some slaves." "and of course my father would not buy slaves," i said, indignantly. "no, sir; and the house and plantations i've took such pride in will all go to ruin now." "morgan!" we both started and looked round to see my father standing in the rough porch of rugged oak-wood. the man went up to him. "you have made me uneasy about all this," he said, thoughtfully. "i will go on board the schooner, and see who is there among my neighbours. i should like to interfere if i could." "better not, sir. may make bad blood after." "morgan!" cried my father, so sternly that the man drew himself up as if he were on parade, and his old officer were in uniform. "do not forget yourself, sir. go and unloose the boat. you can row me on board." morgan saluted and went away, while my father began to walk up and down the sandy path among his flowers. i waited a bit, and then went hesitatingly up to him. for a few minutes he did not notice me, and i saw that his lips were pressed close together, and his brow wrinkled. "ah, george," he said at last, and he laid his hand upon my shoulder. "going out in the boat, father?" "yes, my boy." "take me too." he looked at me quickly, and shook his head. "but i should like to go, father." "my boy," he said, "i am going on board a ship lying in the river--a vessel used by cruel-hearted men for trafficking in their fellow-creatures." "yes, i know, father," i said; "a slaver." he frowned a little, but went on. "i am going to see if i can do any good among my friends and neighbours. it would be no proper sight for you." i felt disappointed, but when my father spoke in that firm, quiet way, i knew that he meant every word he said, and i remained silent, but followed him as he took his hat and stick and walked slowly down to the little landing-place, where morgan was already seated in the boat with the painter held in one hand, passed just round the trunk of the nearest tree, and ready to slip as soon as my father stepped on board. a slight motion of an oar sent the stern of the boat close in to the bank, my father stepped in, the painter was slipped, and the boat yielded to the quick current, and began to glide away. but just then my father raised his head, saw me standing there disconsolate, and said aloud-- "would you very much like to come, george?" "oh, yes, father," i shouted; and he made a sign. morgan pulled his left-hand oar, and i forced my way through the dense undergrowth to reach the spot where the boat was being pulled in, fifty yards down stream. it was hard work, and i had not gone far through the dense leafage, and over the soft, spongy, river-soaked bank, before there was a rush and a scuffle, followed by a splash, and though i saw nothing, i knew that it was a small alligator, taking refuge in the water after a night's wandering ashore. i had heard these sounds so often, and was so accustomed to the dread shown by the reptiles, that i did not hesitate to go on, and soon after reached the place where morgan was holding on by the overhanging bushes, drawing the boat so close in that i easily stepped down on to one of the thwarts, giving my father a bright, eager look, but he did not see it; so taking one of the oars, i sat down behind our man, and rowed hard till our boat glided out of the mouth of the stream which ran through my father's property, and reached the turbid waters of the great river. as we passed out of the mouth of our stream, and round the bushes on the point, there lay the schooner a couple of hundred yards away, anchored in the middle, with her long raking masts tapering in the sunshine, and the great spars glistening and bright as if freshly greased. she was low in the water, and as i looked over my shoulder, i caught sight of a boat just pushing off to go down stream, and noted that she was rowed by some of our neighbours, and had black men on board. i saw my father give a quick look in the direction of the boat, and frown, but he did not speak, and we rowed on. as we neared the schooner i more than once became conscious of a peculiar offensive odour, that i thought must be something coming up with the tide; but i was too much interested in the slaver to give more than a passing thought to such a matter, and my eagerness and excitement increased as we drew near. for i heard loud voices, and saw our nearest neighbour close to the side, talking to a hard-looking, deeply-bronzed man. then one of the sailors threw us a rope; we made fast, my father stepped on board, and i followed. "better take the other two i've got, colonel, and clear me out," said the bronzed man. "no, i think not," said colonel preston, who had exchanged a short nod with my father, and he turned to where a dejected-looking group of negroes, both men and women, were standing on the deck close to the open hold. "better alter your mind; make your black hay while the sun shines. i may never come up your river again. i'll throw in the other two dirt cheap." i felt the colour come into my cheeks, and then felt how pitiful it was for the miserable, drooping, nearly nude creatures to be sold like that; but my attention was taken up directly by my father's looks and the colonel's words as he said, sternly-- "no; six are all i want, and it seems to me that half of these will die before i have had them long ashore." "no; they'll soon pick up. we've had a rough crossing," said the slaver captain, "and the quarters are a bit close. we ran short of water too, and a tidy lot died, and made the others bad. you give 'em time, and that lot 'll turn out as cheap as anything you ever bought. you should have seen them when they first came aboard--lively and spry as could be. have the other two. hi! below there!" he continued, as he went to the open hold, and boy-like i stepped forward, full of curiosity, to look down too. but i started back in horror, as a hot puff of the revolting odour i had previously noticed came up from below. "ah, not very sweet, youngster," said the slaver captain, with a laugh. "going to brimstone it out well as soon as i've made a clearance. got two more, haven't you?" "ay," came up in a growl. "man and woman, eh?" "boy and a man," came up. "send 'em on deck." there was a pause, during which i heard from below--"now then! up with you!" and the sound of blows, which made me draw a long breath, and i was going back once more to the hold when i felt my father's hand upon my shoulder, and saw as i looked up that he was deadly pale. "hoist 'em up there!" shouted the captain, and a rope rove through a block was lowered down. "how can you join in this cursed business, preston?" said my father in a low tone to our neighbour. "i was going to ask you that," said the colonel, coldly. "me? ask me?" "yes, sir; you have come on board to buy slaves, i suppose, with the rest of us?" "i deny it," said my father, flashing out, as he drew himself up. "i came on board, too late it seems, to try and prevail upon my brother emigrants--english gentlemen of birth and position--to discountenance this hateful traffic in the bodies of our fellow-creatures." "we must have men to work if our colony is to succeed, captain bruton." "oh!" ejaculated my father, and then in a low voice, as his eyes rested on the group of poor black wretches huddled together, i heard him say, "it is monstrous!" at that moment a couple of sailors began to haul at the rope run through the block; it tightened, and with a cheery "yo-ho!" they ran up what seemed to be the dead body of a big negro, whose head and arms hung down inert as he was hoisted on high; the spar to which the block was fastened swung round, the rope slackened, and the poor wretch plumped down on the deck, to lie motionless all of a heap. "not in very good fettle," said the slave captain, curtly; "but he'll come round." the rope was cast loose from the negro's chest, lowered down again, and i gazed from the poor wretch lying half or quite dead on the deck, to my father, and back again, noting that he was very pale, biting his lower lip, and frowning in a way that i knew of old meant a storm. "now then, up with him!" shouted the captain. "ay, ay, but look out, or he'll be overboard. he's lively as an eel," came from below. "right!" said the captain; and he took up a small line and held it ready in both hands. the rope tightened; there was a cheery "yo-ho!" and up came a black, impish-looking boy of about my own age, kicking, struggling, and tearing at the rope round his chest. but it was all in vain; he was swung round, held suspended with his feet just clear of the deck, and his wrists were caught in a loop of the line bound together, his ankles were served the same, and the lad was dropped on the deck to lie writhing like some wild animal, showing his teeth, and watching us all in turn with his rolling eyes. "come," said the slave captain, laughingly turning to colonel preston; "he's lively enough to make up for the other. better have 'em. i'll throw them in for next to nothing." "no," said our neighbour, coldly. "that man is dying, and the boy would be of no use to me." "the man is not dying," said the slave captain roughly, "but he soon will be if you don't have him. as for this shaver, he's about as near being an imp as we can find. keep away, my lad, or he may bite you." this was to me, as i approached the boy, who showed his teeth at me like a vicious dog. "going to have 'em, colonel?" "no; once more, no," said the colonel, sternly. "i am only waiting for my boat." "all right, sir, i don't go begging. what do you say?" he continued, turning to my father. "will you buy those two?" "i?" cried my father, angrily; "buy my fellow-creatures for slaves?" "oh, no, of course not," said the slave captain. and then to himself, but i heard him, "too good a man, i suppose.--sorry you won't have 'em, colonel.--heave 'em down." the men on deck advanced to the insensible negro, and were in the act of stooping to pass the rope once more about his chest, when my father, who could bear the scene no longer, said quietly-- "do you not see that man is dying?" "yes, sir. altered your mind? you can have the two a bargain." "bah!" exclaimed my father, fiercely. "man, have you no heart, no feeling?" "not that i know of, sir. this trade would take it out of any one." "but the poor creature's lips are dried up. he wants water." "he'll have plenty to-night, sir," said the slave captain, with a laugh. "down with him, my lads." "ay, ay, sir," said the men; the rope was passed round the negro, and the men seized the end to haul. "i can't bear it," i heard my father say in a whisper; and then aloud--"stop!" "eh? what for?" "i will buy the man," said my father. "and the boy?" "n--" "yes, yes," i shouted, excitedly. my father turned upon me with an angry look, but he seemed to read mine, and his face changed. "yes," he said, quietly. "right, and a good riddance," said the captain, laughing, as he held out his hand for the money my father began to count out. "i don't mind telling you now, sir; if you hadn't bought him, he'd have been dead enough to-night; but you get him ashore and take care of him, and he'll come round--he will indeed; i'm not tricking you. it's wonderful what a deal these niggers will bear. there, i like to deal square," he added, as he thrust the money in his pocket. "smithers, shove a chain on that boy's legs, and another on the man's." "ay, ay, sir." "no, no, for heaven's sake, no," cried my father. "oh, just as you like," said the slave captain. "i was going to give you the shackles; only i warn you, if you don't have them on, that man as soon as you revive him will make for the river and drown himself, and the boy will be off into the woods." "do what is best," said my father, and the shackles were put on. "shall we hoist them into the boat for you?" "if you please," said my father, coldly. "heave ahead, my lads," cried the slave captain; "and below there, get those brimstone-pans going at once." "ay, ay," came from below, and i saw a lighted lanthorn passed down as my father's two slaves were hoisted over the side, and lowered into the boat, where morgan stood ready with a grim smile upon his lip. "you'll get yours home first, bruton," said colonel preston, coming to my father's side; "my boat's all behind. i say, neighbour, don't preach at me any more. you're as bad as any of us, and i'm glad you've come to your senses at last." my father gave him a peculiar look, and then glanced at the group of slaves destined for the preston property, where they stood huddled together quite apathetic and hopeless-looking. the next minute we were at the gangway, and as i passed down, i saw three rough-looking men coming up out of the hold, and a thin bluish vapour began to curl up before they smothered it down by rapidly covering the opening and drawing over it a well-tarred canvas. very soon after i was in the boat, stooping to take an oar, and gazing at the stern, where the man lay as if dead, and the boy, whose bonds had been secured to the thwart, lay glaring at me viciously, and had taken hold of the edge of the boat in his white teeth; and directly after, as we rowed away from the floating horror upon whose deck we had so lately stood, there came the regular beat of oars, and i saw colonel preston's boat, which had evidently been ashore with one load, coming back for the other poor wretches and their owner. "why, hang me!" said a voice, evidently not intended for our ears, "if that puritanical captain bruton hasn't been buying niggers too." the calm water bears sound to a great distance. i saw my father wince a little, and he turned to me bending down, so that his lips were pretty close to my ear. "yes," he said, "captain bruton has been buying niggers too." "no, no, father," i said, looking up; "one of them is mine." "and what are you going to do with him?" he said, slowly, as his eyes seemed to search mine. "do with him, father?" i said, promptly. "let him go." chapter eleven. our first task on getting out of the main river and up our stream to the landing-place where the boat was made fast, was to get the boy ashore, and it proved to be no light task; coaxing and threats were received in the same spirit--for of course he could not comprehend a word. all he seemed to realise was that he was in the hands of his enemies; and that if he could get a chance, he ought to bite those hands. "you'll have to be careful, morgan," i said, as our man stooped down to unfasten the rope which held the boy to the thwart. "careful? what for, master george? think i should break him?" "no; he bites." "oh, he won't bite me," said morgan, confidently. "like to catch him at it." he had his wish, for the boy swung himself round and set his teeth hard in morgan's leg. "oh! well, he is hungry, and no mistake," said morgan, freeing himself by giving the boy's head a sharp thrust. "has he bitten you?" said my father. "well, he have, and he haven't, sir. breeches was a bit too tough for him, but he has nipped me finely. wonderful power in his jaw. no, no, master george, don't you touch him; he'll have to go in the copper first. ah, would you! why, he's like a fish, only he arn't hooked." for the boy had made a dash for liberty, and it was only after a severe struggle that he was held down, and this time i was the sufferer; for, as i helped to keep him from springing overboard, he swung his head round and fixed his teeth in my left arm in a pinch that seemed to be scooping out a circular piece of flesh. "well, he is a warmint, and no mistake. let go, will you, sir?" "don't strike the boy," said my father. "let me get hold of his jaw." the boy saw the hand coming and wrenched himself away, seeming to take a piece of my arm with him, and leaving me throbbing with agonising pain, and feeling as if i must yell out and sob and cry. "well done, george!" said my father, pressing my shoulder in a firm grip. "that's brave; always try and bear pain like a man." "but it hurts horribly," i said, with my eyes full of tears. "i know it does, my lad, but noise will not ease the pang.--now, morgan, you had better fetch another rope and bind him well." "s'pose i had, sir. i'd take hold of him and carry him ashore, but he'd have his teeth into me directly. s'pose people don't go mad after being bit by boys? on'y feel mad, eh, master george?" i nodded, for i could not trust myself to speak, and i stood looking on as the boy was held back in the bottom of the boat, with my father's foot upon his breast. "shall i fetch a rope, sir? can you hold him?" "yes, i think so. we can manage him between us." morgan leaped ashore, and he was about to go up to the house, when a rush and scramble brought him back, for the boy was struggling like an eel; and how he managed i do not know, but he wriggled from beneath my father's foot, passed under the thwart, and, as i tried to stop him, threw me backwards, and was over the side with a splash and beneath the stream. as i uttered a cry of horror i saw the boy's woolly head appear for a moment above the surface, and then go down, weighted as he was by the shackles on his ankles; and, as i gazed, i nearly went after him, the boat gave such a lunge, but i saved myself, and found that it was caused by morgan leaping back rope in hand, after unfastening the moorings, and it was well he did so, sending the boat well off into the stream, floating after our purchase. "see him?" cried my father, eagerly, as he threw off hat and coat ready to dive in. "not yet, sir," said morgan, standing ready with the boat-hook. "i would not have him drowned for five hundred pounds," cried my father. "no, no, george, my boy, you must not go after him; his struggles would drown you both." "don't see him, sir. big alligator hasn't got him, has it?" "don't talk like that, man," cried my father, with a shudder; "but you ought to be able to see him in this clear water." "i see him!" i cried, excitedly; "give me the boat-hook." it was passed to me, and after a couple of misses, i felt the hook take hold, drew up gently, and as i hauled in, we found that the boy was coming up feet first, the iron having passed between the ring of the shackle and the boy's ankle. "steady, my lad, steady!" cried morgan, as i drew the boy nearer, and the next minute he was seized and drawn into the boat, feeble and helpless now, half dead, and making no further attempt to escape as the boat was paddled back toward the landing-place. "that's quieted him a bit anyhow, sir," said morgan. "won't take his clothes long to dry, master george, will it?" "poor fellow! he has been so ill-used," said my father, "that he thinks we mean to do him harm." "oh, we'll soon teach him better, sir," replied morgan, as i laid my hand on the boy's side to feel if his heart was beating. "oh, he arn't drowned, sir, and the wash 'll do him no end of good. here we are!" he leaped out, made the boat fast, and then, coming back, was about to carry the boy ashore; but my father had forestalled him, and stepped out with the boy in his arms, laying him gently down on the grass, and then looking wonderingly at morgan, who had followed, and knelt down to pass a rope through the shackle and make it fast to a ring-bolt used for mooring the boat, and driven into one of the tree-trunks close to the water. "not necessary," said my father. "begging your pardon, sir, he'll come to and be off while we're busy perhaps. now about the man; i'm rather 'fraid about him." "we must get him ashore," said my father; and after securing the boat parallel with the log which formed the bottom of the landing-place, they managed to get the poor creature, who was quite an inert mass, out upon the bank, and then, after placing one of the bottom-boards of the boat under his back, i joined in, and we dragged him right up to where the boy lay insensible. "i'm afraid we are too late," said my father, as he felt the black's pulse. "yes, sir, you've threw good money away here," said morgan; "he'll never do a stroke of work for us, but thank you kindly for meaning help all the same, and i must try what i can do with the boy." "is he dead, father?" i whispered, in an awe-stricken tone. "no, but dying, i am afraid. he has been starved and suffocated in that vile schooner. good heavens! how can men be such fiends?" "ay, that can't do no harm," said morgan, as i filled the boat's baler with water, and knelt down by the negro's side to begin trickling a few drops from time to time between his cracked lips, and sprinkling his face. "i will fetch a few drops of spirit," said my father. "keep on giving him a little water." he went away toward the house while i continued my task, and morgan kept up a running commentary upon the man's appearance. "pity, too," he said. "master oughtn't to have let them cheat him though, like this. fine working chap. see what a broad, deep chest he's got, master george. don't think much of his legs, but he's got wonderful arms. my! what a sight of hoeing i could have got him to do, but it's a case of hoe dear me! with him, i'm afraid." "you don't think he'll die, morgan, do you?" i said, piteously. "ay, but i do, my dear lad. they've 'bout killed him. we want help, but i'm 'fraid all that slave-dealing's 'bout as bad as bad can be. give him a few more drops o' water; those others trickled down." i gave the man a few more drops, pouring them from my fingers almost at minute intervals, but he made no sign. then, all at once, i felt half startled, for a pair of eyes were watching me, and i saw that the boy had recovered sufficiently to be noticing everything that was going on. as our eyes met, he looked at me like a fierce dog who was watching for an opportunity to make a successful snap; but as he saw me trickle a few more drops of water between the man's lips, his face suddenly grew eager, and he looked at me, found my eyes fixed upon him, and slowly opened his mouth widely. "want some water?" i said; and i was going to him when he jerked himself fiercely away, and showed his beautiful white teeth at me. "wo ho!" cried morgan. "mind, lad, or he'll have his teeth in you." "he's thirsty," i said; and i held the tin baler half full of water to him. he looked at me, then at the water, and i could see his lips move and his teeth part, showing his dry tongue quivering like that of a dog. then he fixed his eyes upon me again fiercely. "let me give it him," said morgan, as the boy's mouth opened widely again, and there was a pitiful, imploring look in his eyes. now i could not understand all that when i was so young, but i've often thought about it since, and seemed to read it all, and how nature was making him beg for water for his parched tongue, while his education forced upon him the desire to fight me as a cruel enemy. "there," i said, going a little nearer, pushing the baler close to his hands, and drawing back. he looked at me, then at the water, and back at me, fixing me with his eyes, as one hand stole slowly from his side towards the baler, drawing it nearer and nearer stealthily, as if in dread of my snatching it away; and then it was at his lips, and he gulped down the contents. "there, i'm not going to hurt you," i said, stretching out my hand for the baler, and getting it, meaning to go and fill it once more; and as i returned i saw that he was watching me so wildly that i walked up, with him shrinking away as far as he could go, and offered the tin to him again. he took it in the same shrinking way, evidently expecting a blow, and drank heavily once more. "well, he couldn't ha' swallowed much, master george, else he wouldn't be so thirsty," said morgan. "now give this here one a dose, though it seems to me labour in vain; only it may make him go off a bit easy." he filled the baler, and i knelt down again to sprinkle the poor fellow's temples, and trickle a few drops once more between his lips, the boy watching me the while, and then giving me the first notice of my father's return by shuffling away in another direction. "poor wretch!" i heard my father mutter, as he gave me a piece of bread-cake, and pointed to the boy, before taking the cork from a bottle, and slowly dropping a spoonful or two of spirit between the man's teeth. after this he waited, and i saw that the boy was watching him wildly. then he poured in a little more, without apparently the slightest effect, and after looking on for a few minutes, i advanced toward the boy, holding out the cake. but i stopped short, with my hand extended, looking at him, and then, as he took no notice of the cake, but stared wildly at me, i broke off a few crumbs, and began to eat before him, treating him as i would have treated some savage creature i wished to tame, and breaking off a piece and throwing it within his reach. then i went on eating again, and after a time i saw his hand steal slowly to the bread, his eyes fixed on mine, and he snatched the piece and conveyed it to his mouth with a motion that was wonderful from its rapidity. this i repeated two or three times before feeling that i ought now to have won his confidence a little, when i went close to him, put down the cake, and went back to kneel by my father, whose hand was upon the man's throat. "is he getting better?" i said. there was a shake of the head, and i looked then with a feeling of awe at the black face before me, with the eyes so close that there was just a gleam of the white eyeballs visible; but as i gazed, i fancied i saw a jerking motion in the throat, and i whispered to my father to look. "a good sign, or a bad one, my boy," he whispered. "you had better go now, back to the house." "yes, father," i said, unwillingly; "but don't you think you can cure him like you did me when i was so ill?" "i would to heaven i could, boy!" he said, so earnestly that i was startled, and the more so that at the same moment the man slowly opened his eyes, and stared at us vacantly. "it is a hopeful sign," said my father, and he took the baler, poured out all but a few drops of water, added some spirit, and placed it to the man's lips, with the result that he managed to drink a little, and then lay perfectly still, gazing at my father with a strange look which i know now was one full of vindictive hate, for the poor wretch must have read all this attention to mean an attempt to keep him alive for more ill-treatment, or until he was sold. "take a little more," said my father, offering the vessel again, and the man drank and once more lay still, glaring at us all in turn. "why, you'll save him after all, sir," said morgan, eagerly. "hurrah!" but no one paid heed to his remark, for at that moment there was a sort of bound, and we saw that the boy had contrived to force himself so near that he could lay his hand on the man's cheek, uttering as he did so a few words incomprehensible to us, but their effect on the man was magical: his features softened, and two great tears stole slowly from his eyes as we watched the pair, the boy glaring at us defiantly, as if to protect his companion, and i heard my father say softly-- "thank god!" chapter twelve. after a time, with the boy seeming to watch defiantly beside the great fellow, the black revived sufficiently to swallow some bread soaked in wine-and-water; the dull, filmy look left his eyes; and at last he dropped off into a heavy sleep. "shall we try and carry him up to one of the sheds, sir?" said morgan. "no; the poor fellow has had a very narrow escape from death," replied my father; "and i do not know even now that he will recover. fetch a few boards to lay against that bough, and tie the boat-mast up there, and fasten the sail against it, so as to act as a bit of shelter to keep off the sun. george, put some dry grass in a sack, and it will do for a pillow." we set about our task at once. "lor' ha' mussy!" grumbled morgan, "what a fuss we are making about a nigger. pillows for him! why don't master say, `get the best bedroom ready, and put on clean sheets'? i say, master george, think he'd come off black?" but all the same morgan worked hard, with the great drops of perspiration running off his face, till he had rigged up the shelter, the black sleeping heavily the while, but the boy watching every act of ours in a suspicious way, his eyes rolling about, and his lips twitching as if he were ready to fly at us and bite. "i know," said morgan, all at once with a broad grin, as he was sloping some boards lately cut from a tree over the sleeping negro. "know what?" i said. "what young sooty's a thinking. he's a young canny ball, and he believes we're going to make a fire and roast 'em for a feast." whatever the boy thought, he had ceased to struggle to get away, but lay quite still with his arm stretched-out, so that he could touch the big negro, and he was in this attitude when my father came back from the house. "yes, that will do," he said, approvingly. "yes, sir, there won't be no sun get at him now. think he'll come right?" "yes, i hope so. poor fellow!--if he has managed to live through the horrors of that slaver's hold, now that he has taken a turn for the better he may recover. he must have been a splendidly healthy fellow, and--" "well, he arn't now, sir, anyhow," said morgan. "what'll i do with young coal-box, sir? better chain him up in the shed, hadn't i, or he'll be off?" my father did not reply for some moments, but stood watching the boy, as he lay with his bright eyes fixed on first one and then the other, like a wild creature ready to act on its defence. "he must have known a good deal of this negro," said my father, thoughtfully. "go and slacken that rope." "if i do, sir, he'll go off like a 'coon, and we shall never see him again," said morgan. "did you hear my orders?" said my father, in the sharp military way in which he spoke sometimes. morgan went to the ring-bolt, and began to unfasten the rope, when at the first quiver the boy half started up and remained crouching, ready to spring away. "shall i go on, sir?" said morgan. "yes; slacken the rope sufficiently to let him reach the man." "he'll make a dash for it, master george," grumbled morgan. he was right, for the boy did make a dash as soon as he saw that the rope which tethered him to the tree was loosened, but only to creep close up to the negro, thrust his arm under his neck, and press close to his side. "i thought so," said my father. "draw that rope from the shackles." "what, undo him altogether, sir?" "yes." "oh, all right, master george," grumbled morgan to me. "i could have leathered the young imp into shape, and made a labourer of him in time; but if your father likes to waste his money it is no business of mine." my father's back was towards us, and he was standing at some little distance so as not to startle the boy, who rose again, crouched, and looked wildly at us, as the rope which had been simply passed through the iron shackles began to run through a link till the end was drawn out, and run over the ground to where morgan stood grumbling and coiling up the rope. "no, he will not," said my father, gravely. "there is something stronger than hempen rope to hold him, george, evidently. unless i am much mistaken, he will not leave the poor fellow's side." "ah, well, sir," said morgan, as he hung the rope on the stump of a branch, "they're your niggers, and niggers _is_ niggers. i shouldn't trust 'em, and they'll cut and run." "if they do, my man, i shall be sorry," said my father, gravely, "for they may fall into worse hands than ours. we have no key to those shackles; could you turn them with a file?" "little screwdriver may do it, sir?" said morgan, thoughtfully. "fetch it from the tool-chest," said my father, shortly; and morgan went off grumbling something about waste of money. he was back in a short time, during which the black still slept, and the boy crouched by him watching us eagerly. "now," said my father, "see if you can open those ankle-rings. no, no; i mean the man's." "but s'pose he's only shamming, sir, and jumps up, half kills me, and runs?" "i'll forgive him if he does," said my father, dryly, "for you are getting to be a very dictatorial, meddling, insolent servant, morgan." "well!" exclaimed morgan. "hear that, master george, and after me following faithful all the way to these here wild shores. ah, master, i didn't think you'd ha' said--hi! keep back, you young warmint!" for at the first movement of morgan toward the sleeping black's feet, the boy sprang up and showed his teeth like a dog. "stop! keep back," said my father, and morgan drew away, muttering something about a savage young tom wolf. "it is quite natural," said my father, "and strengthens my ideas. he thought his companion was going to be hurt." as my father spoke, he moved toward the boy. "don't go anigh him without a stick, sir," said morgan, hastily. my father did not notice the remark, but turned to me. "be on your guard, george," he said; "but be firm, and i think the poor fellow will understand what you are going to do. take the screwdriver, and try if you can unfasten the boy's anklets first." i obeyed, and advanced to the boy, whose aspect was rather startling; but i went down on my knees, and before he could fly at me i caught quickly hold of the chain which connected his legs. that made him pause for a moment, and look down sharply to see what i was going to do. he seemed to have some idea directly; and as luck would have it, the little square hole that was used to turn the screw was toward me, the screwdriver went in, and it turned so easily that i was able to open the filthy, rusty shackle, and set one leg free. the boy's head moved like that of a bird, as he looked first at his foot and then at me, and he stood quite still now, as i unscrewed the second anklet and took it off. "throw the chains into the river," said my father. "no, no," cried morgan; "they may come in handy." "for you?" said my father, with a curious smile. splash! went the iron rings and links, and the boy looked puzzled, but made no opposition as i knelt down hard by the sleeping negro's feet, and using the screwdriver as a key, opened both the anklets in turn, and pointed to them as they lay on the grass, looking hard at the lad the while. he stared at me stupidly for a few moments, and then in a curiously sullen manner stooped down, knelt down, and began to replace them on the sleeping man's legs. "no, no," i shouted; and the boy started away, flinching as if expecting a blow; but as i stood pointing down at the irons, he stooped once more and picked them up, looking at me wonderingly again, but as i pointed to the river a flash of intelligence came from his eyes, and he whisked the irons over his head, and cast them right out into the stream. "now fetch him something to eat," said my father, as the boy crouched down by the man's head again under the shelter. i went for some bread, and after a long time managed to make the boy take it; but he only snatched it up after the fashion of a wild animal, and ate it voraciously. "there," said my father at last; "leave them now. i dare say the poor fellow will sleep for hours, and it will be the best thing for him. don't go far away, george; and if you find that he wakes, try and give him some bread soaked in that thin french wine." "well," said morgan, as soon as my father had gone back into the house, "you don't catch me saying any more about it; but your father gave a lot o' money for them two, and they might ha' been useful on the plantation; but you mark my word, master george, that there big nigger 'll begin to open first one eye and then the other when we aren't looking; then him and the boy 'll slip into the boat, and a'most afore we know it, look you, they'll be gone." "nonsense, morgan!" i said. "nonsense! why, no, my boy, i reckon it's madness. if master didn't mean to have slaves why did he buy them?" "to save them from being ill-treated." "ill-treated?" said morgan, scornfully; "why, they're only niggers." "well, they're men, morgan." "dunno so much about that, master george. they're blacks, that's what they are, and everybody but master buys 'em to work on the plantations. i did think master was going to be sensible at last. only slaves!" "how would you like to be a slave, morgan?" "me, master george? well, you see i couldn't be. i aren't a black. there, i've got lots to do, and can't stand talking here. these weeds 'll be all over my garden again directly. you're going to stop, i s'pose?" "yes." "well, call me if they seize the boat. we can't let 'em have that. when they do go, they'll have to swim." so morgan went off to his hoeing, and i stopped under the shade of the big magnolia to keep my long watch. chapter thirteen. i kept about near the rough shelter rigged up for the two blacks, wondering how my father would set about giving them their freedom, for i seemed fully to understand that this was what he intended to do. every now and then i glanced toward the place, where everything was wonderfully still, and at such times i found myself thinking about morgan's words; and it appeared only natural that the poor fellows should try to escape, being quite in ignorance of the hands into which they had fallen; but if they did, i was fully determined to put a stop to their taking our boat, for i did not mean to lose that, and have my fishing expeditions spoiled. after a time my task began to grow tedious, and i wanted to go and peep in to see if they were asleep; but somehow i shrank from doing this, and i began to wander about, now up to the house, and now back to the river, thinking, as i stood there gazing down into the clear water, that it would not be safe for the two blacks to lie there after dark, when the great alligators came crawling out of the pools in search of food. for there were plenty of accounts current among the settlers of how people had been attacked by the great reptiles, and i meant to suggest to my father that the two should be sheltered in the great shed, which had a strong door. i glanced toward the canvas which hung from the spar, and suddenly awoke to the fact that there was something black at one end; seeing directly after that a bright eye was watching me, but only to be carefully withdrawn as soon as its owner realised that he was seen. i smiled to myself at this, and went off into the garden, where i could hear morgan's great hoe with its regular chop-chop, as he battled away with the weeds which refused to acknowledge the difference between wild waste and cultivated ground. "hullo!" cried morgan, as soon as he saw me. "what, have they slipped off?" "slipped off? no," i said, indignantly. "i want a peach." "right, my lad," said morgan; "and, look you, get one off the further tree; they're not the best to look at, but they're the sweetest and the best to taste, i can tell you." peaches grew easily and plentifully in the hot sunshine of our garden, and securing a sample of the best, i went back toward the landing-place, where i saw the boy's head pop back out of sight as soon as i appeared. then laying down the fruit just within reach of the corner from which i had seen the boy watching me, i was in the act of turning away, when i saw that i was being watched from the other side. "hullo, morgan!" i said. "you there?" "yes, master george, i'm here, and it's time i was," he cried, sourly. "do you think your father and me grafted them peach trees, and coaxed 'em on into bearing, for you to feed niggers with them?" "i've a right to do what i like with the fruit, if i don't eat it," i said, angrily. "oh, very well; i've done. seems to me that if master's to be always bullying me on one side, and you on the other, the sooner i make up my bundle and go home to carnarvon, the better." "that's what you always say, morgan," i replied, laughing; "but you never do go." "ah, but you'll see some day; and then you'll be sorry," he grumbled, and away he went. "i don't want to hurt his feelings," i thought; "but he needn't be so disagreeable about the poor black fellows." after a time i went to the shelter and looked in, to see that the man was lying with his eyes opened; and, recalling what my father had said, i gave him some bread and wine, which he ate as it was put to his lips, in a dull, forbidding way which took all the pleasure out of what i had thought was an act of kindness. the peaches had disappeared, and i was saying to myself, "you might have given him one!" when i found that both of them were lying close to the black's head untouched. about sunset my father came and looked at his purchase in a very grave way, and then apparently satisfied he drew back. "the man is recovering," he said. "we saved his life, my boy, but they must not stay there to-night. i hardly believe that an alligator would attack them; but one great fellow has been travelling through the garden in the night, and if he came near them, there would be a terrible scare if nothing worse." "where are they to go then, father?" "in the large shed. there are plenty of bundles of corn straw, and they must make shift with that until we can build them a hut." "build them a hut?" i said, in wondering tones. "are they going to stop?" "stop? where else can they go, my lad?" "i did not think of that, father," i said. "no, poor fellows, when they have been sold into slavery, there is no going back. even if we could put them ashore in africa, it would only be for them to be slain or sold again." "then--" i stopped short, afraid to finish my speech. "well, what were you going to say?" "i was going to ask you if--if--" "i was going to keep slaves like my neighbours, eh?" "yes, father," i said, bluntly. "yes, my boy. it is forced upon me to do so; but it will be an easy slavery, george. we have thrown their chains away, and they are free to go wherever they like. now call morgan, and let's have them up here." i called our man, and the sail was dragged aside, for the boy to crouch menacingly by the man, who lay gazing at us in a dull, heavy way. "how are we to make them understand?" said my father, who advanced, bent down, and took hold of the negro's wrist and felt his pulse. the boy bared his teeth, but the man said a word or two in his own language, and the boy drew back. "stronger, decidedly," said my father; and he stood watching his patient, while i fetched some more bread and soaked it in wine. he ate it slowly and mechanically, like some beast of burden, and when it was finished my father signed to him to get up, saying the words at the same time. he evidently understood, and tried to raise himself, nearly reaching to a sitting position, but falling back from sheer weakness, and gazing shrinkingly at us as if expecting a blow. but as no blow came he spoke to the boy, who at once took his hands and pulled him into a sitting position, but the man could do no more, and uttered a low groan in his abject weakness as he gazed up in his eyes. my father thought for a moment and then turned to morgan. "get the sail," he said; and the triangular piece of canvas was spread beside the man on the ground. "now," said my father, "creep on to that, and we'll carry you." the man looked up at him with his brow puckered over with lines, but he did not comprehend. "show him what i mean," said my father; and i lay down on the canvas, and then rose up, and my father pointed. the negro understood him, spoke to the boy, and with his help and morgan's half rolled, half dragged himself on to the sail. "now," said my father; "he's big and heavy; morgan and i will take the top, you take the bottom, george. if you could get that boy to understand, it would be easy." i took hold of the bottom of the sail and made signs to the boy, but he could not or would not understand, till the black uttered a guttural word or two, when he came shrinkingly to my side, and took hold, watching me the while as if to be aware of danger. "now then," said my father, "i don't suppose you two can lift; but if you ease the load up a little from the ground, that will be all that is necessary. now together, morgan." they turned their backs on us as they took a good hold of the sail, and began to drag our load toward the great barn-like shed at the end of the house, reaching it without much difficulty, and drawing the sail right over a quantity of dry corn-stalks. here, after giving them some food to eat if they desired it, we left them and closed the door. "there, morgan," said my father, with a smile, as we crossed the garden, "i am a slave-owner now like my neighbours, and as soon as that man is well and strong, you will have no excuse for grumbling about the want of help." chapter fourteen. i was so curious the next morning to see whether the slaves had run away, that i crept down soon after daybreak, and a curious feeling of vexation came over me as i saw that the door of the big shed was open. "they're gone," i said, and ran back and down to the landing-place, to see if they had taken to the boat. but there it was, all safe, and i drew back and stood watching as i caught sight of a droll-looking object, so busy that he had not noticed me; for about forty yards away there was the boy, coating himself all over with the soft yellow mud he scooped up from the stream, where he stood about up to his knees, rubbing it well, and not forgetting his woolly head, just as i might have used soap. the appearance of the boy was so comical that i could hardly keep back a laugh. but i refrained, and watched him earnestly at work for a few minutes, before throwing himself down, and sluicing off the thin mud, his black skin appearing once more, and ending by diving out into deep water, and beginning to swim with an ease that i envied. this went on for about ten minutes, when he came out dripping, gave himself a shake, and then catching sight of me, ran up the bank and as hard as he could go for the shed. i followed, and on reaching it found that the boy was not visible, having probably hidden himself among the corn-stalks, while his companion lay sleeping heavily--a great savage-looking black. i came away without closing the door, thinking of my father's words; and i'm afraid with something of the same thoughts as i should have had about some of the wild creatures i had before tried to tame, i began to long for the coming down of mrs morgan to prepare breakfast, meaning to get from her a good bowl of the indian corn porridge that she regularly prepared. as it happened she was extra early that morning; and as soon as i had proffered my request, she informed me rather tartly that she knew all about it, for the master had given her orders the night before. by the time it was ready and cooling, my father was down. "that for the blacks?" he said, as he saw the bowl i was taking to the shed. "yes," i said; and i told him about what i had seen. "poor fellow! i am not surprised," he said. "what can be more horrible than the way in which they were confined?" the man was awake, and on our entering the dim shed he made an effort to rise, but fell back helplessly, and lay gazing at us in a half fierce, half sullen way, not changing his aspect as my father felt his pulse, and laid his hand upon his head. "hah! that's better," said my father; "less fever. if he can eat, it is only a question of time. where is the boy?" we looked round, but he was invisible. "call the boy," said my father, looking hard at the man, and pointing to the food; but there was no sign of being understood, and my father turned to me. "set the bowl down," he said. "they will get used to us in time." i followed him out, and we went in to our breakfast, where the position was pretty well discussed. "let them be, poor wretches," said my father at last. "by and by, perhaps, they will find out that all white people do not mean evil by them. it is very unfortunate, and i had made a vow that i would never have a slave, and here i am with two of my own purchasing." as soon as i could get away, i hurried off to the shed to hear a quick rustling sound as i neared the door, and i got to the opening time enough to see some of the corn-stalks in motion, betraying where the boy had rushed off to on hearing my steps. i did not make a rush after him, for fear of making him more wild, but took up the bowl to find it empty, and i looked at our invalid and laughed. but he made no sign, only gazed at me with the same weary sullen look, and i went away feeling a little disheartened. "hullo, master george, been to see my deppyties?" said morgan. "i was just going to look at 'em. that big black isn't going to die, is he?" i turned back with him to the door of the shed, and he stood gazing in. "no; he won't die this time. but i don't much like his looks, master george. seems the sort of fellow to turn ugly and knock me down with the big hoe, and i shan't like that, nor my wife neither. where's young smutty?" "under the corn-stalks in the corner." "what, hiding?" "yes." "here, stop a minute till i get the pitchfork; i'll soon turn him out." "no, no," i cried; "they're to be treated gently." "and as if they were human beings," said my father's stern voice, for he had come silently behind us. "have the goodness to remember that, morgan. if i am to be a slave-owner, my people shall meet with consideration, and not be treated as if they were the beasts of the field. do you understand?" "oh yes, sir, i understand," said morgan, good-humouredly; "you can count on me doing what's right by them. they can't help the colour of their skins." "i am satisfied," said my father, quietly, and he left us staring in that heavy, sombre face before us--a face full of despair, but one to which we could not address words of sympathy. the change that took place in the man day by day was wonderful, as far as health was concerned. in three days he was walking slowly about; in a week he was ready to take the tool in hand which morgan gave him, and he went on clumsily with the work he was set to do, but displaying strength that was the admiration of us all. but he was moody, shrinking, and suspicious, and the boy was precisely the same. for it always seemed to me that the boy was constantly on the look-out to avoid a blow or some ill-usage on my part, and his companion to be expecting it from my father. the treatment they had been receiving for months had utterly cowed them, but when they began to realise that they had fallen among friends, the change was rapid indeed. of course they could not understand us, and when they spoke, which was very seldom, their language was utterly beyond our comprehension; but we got on pretty well by signs, after a few weeks when the change came. it was one glorious afternoon, when, after worrying morgan into getting me some bait, i prepared my rough lines for fishing, and while i was disentangling the hooks which had been thrown carelessly together, the boy who was passing nodded and looked on. "going fishing," i said. "come with me?" he looked at me without comprehension, and when i took hold of him by the arm, he shrank away. "oh, i say," i said, "i wish you wouldn't. who's going to hit you? carry this basket." i placed one in his hand, and gave him the pot containing the bait in the other, signed to him to follow, and in a dull, sad way he came behind to where the boat was moored; but as soon as he saw me step in, he began to look wildly out into the stream, and to shrink away. "it's all right," i said, "there's no slaver out there. come along." but he shrank away more and more, with his eyes dilating, and he said a few words quite fiercely in his own tongue. "don't be so stupid," i said, jumping out and securing him just in time to stop him from running off with my bait and lines. he struggled for a moment, but ceased, and in a drooping, dejected way allowed me to lead him to the boat, into which he stepped sadly, and dropped down in a sitting position, with his legs under him, and his head bent upon his breast. "oh, i say," i cried, "don't do that. look here; we are going fishing. here, take an oar and row." i had cast off the boat, and we were floating down the stream as i placed the oar in his hands, took the other, and in a sad, depressed, obedient way, he clumsily imitated my actions, rowing steadily if not ably on. "there," i said, when we were as far out as i wished to be; "that will do. lay your oar in like that," and i laid down my own. he obeyed me, and then sat looking at me as mournfully as if i were going to drown him. "oh, i do wish you'd try and take it differently," i said, looking pleasantly at him the while. "now, look here, i'm going to catch a fish." as i spoke, i put a large bait on the strong hook i had ready, threw it over the side, and twisted the stout cord round my hand, while the boy sat watching me. "well, you have got a bit better," i said to him; "the other day you always wanted to bite. do try and come round, because you're not a slave, after all. oh!" i uttered a yell, as i started up to pay out line, for, as we floated gently down stream, there was a tremendous tug which cut my hand, and seemed ready to jerk my arm from out its socket. but i had so twisted the line that i could not pay it out, and as i stood, there came another so fierce a tug that i lost my balance, caught at the boy to save myself, and the light boat careened over, and seemed to shoot us both out into the river. for a few moments the water thundered in my ears; the great fish, which must have been a gar pike, tugged at my hand, broke away, and i was swimming with the black head of the boy close by me, as we struggled as quickly as we could to the bank, reached it together, climbed out, and i dropped down into a sitting position, with my companion staring wonderingly at me. his aspect was so comical, and his eyes sought mine in such a wondering way, as if asking me whether this was the way i went fishing, that i burst out into an uncontrollable roar of laughter, when, to my utter astonishment, the sad black face before me began to expand, the eyes to twinkle, the white teeth to show, and for the first time perhaps for months the boy laughed as merrily as i did. then, all at once, i remembered the boat, which was floating steadily away down stream toward the big river, and pointing to it, i ran as far as i could along the bank, and plunged in to swim out and secure it. there was another plunge and the boy was by my side, and we swam on, he being ready to leave me behind, being far more active in the water than i. but he kept waiting for me, till i pointed on at the boat, and he seemed to understand, and went on. the boat had gone into a swift current, and it was a long way from where i swam, and by degrees i began to find that i had rather miscalculated my strength. i was only lightly clad, but my clothes began to feel heavy, the banks to look a long way off, and the boat as far; while all at once the thought struck me, after i had been swimming some time, that i should never be able to reach the boat or the shore. i tried to get rid of the fancy, but it would not go, and one effect of that thought was to make me swim more quickly than i should have done, or, as i should express it, use my limbs more rapidly than i ought, so that i was quickly growing tired, and at last so utterly worn out that a cold chill came over me. i looked despairingly to right and left at the beautiful tree-hung river-side, and then forward to where the boy had just reached the boat, and saw him climb in, the sun shining upon his wet back. "hi! boy!" i shouted, "take the oars, and row." i might as well have held my tongue, for he could not understand a word; and as i shouted again and again i looked at him despairingly, for he was sitting on the thwart laughing, with the boat gliding downstream faster than i seemed to be able to swim, while i knew that i should never be able to overtake it, and that i was getting deeper in the water. "oh, if i could only make him understand!--if i could only make him understand!" i kept thinking, as i shouted again hoarsely; and this time he did seem to comprehend that something was wrong, for i saw him jump up and begin making signs to me. then he shouted something, and i saw that he was about to jump in again as if to come to me. but he stopped, and took up one of the oars, to begin rowing, but of course only to send the boat round. then, as if puzzled, he put the oar over the other side, and rowed hard like that, to send the boat's head in the other direction, repeating this again and again, and now standing up to shout to me. i could not shout in return, only stare at him wildly, as he kept on making ineffective efforts to row to me, till all seemed to be over; the bright water and the beautiful green banks began to grow misty; and i knew that though i might keep struggling on for a few minutes, i should never reach the boat, and that he would never be able to row it to me. i did not feel in much trouble nor get in any great alarm, for i suppose the severe exertion dulled everything, and robbed my sufferings of their poignancy as i still swam on more and more slowly, with my starting eyes fixed upon the boat still many yards away from me, and growing more and more dim as the water began to bubble about my lips. all at once in front of me i saw the boy's black figure rise up in the boat like a shadow. then there was a splash and the water flashed up, and i knew he must be swimming toward me to help me; but i could not see that he had taken the rope in his teeth, after finding himself unable to row in my direction, and had essayed to swim to me and tug the boat in his wake. this in so swift a stream was impossible, but his brave act saved my life, for he was able to hold his own by swimming hard till the current bore me down to him just as i was sinking; and my next recollection is of feeling myself clutched and my hand being raised to the edge of the boat, while one arm was about my waist. the feeling of comparative security brought back my fleeting senses, and i made a convulsive clutch with the other hand at the gunwale; while the next thing i remember is feeling myself helped over the side by the boy, who had climbed in, and lying in the bottom with the sun beating down upon me--sick almost to death. chapter fifteen. by a wonderfully kindly arrangement of nature we recover very rapidly when we are young; and before half an hour had passed i was seated on the thwart, using one of the oars, while the boy was using the other, but he kept leaving off rowing to gaze earnestly in my face; and when i smiled at him to show him that i was better, he showed his white teeth, and even then i could not help thinking what a bright, chubby-looking face he had, as he plunged his oar in again, and tugged at it, rowing very clumsily, of course, but helping me to get the boat along till we reached the rough logs and the stumps which formed our landing-place, where i was very glad to get ashore and make the boat fast. "well, george, how many fish?" cried my father, as i went up to the house, to find him in the garden trying to direct the big black how to use his hoe. "none, father," i said, half hysterically, for i was quite broken down. "why, what's the matter?" he said. "hallo! been in?" "yes--been drowned--that boy." "what!" cried my father, furiously. "no, no! he jumped in--saved me--i was going down." i saw my father close his eyes, and his lips moved as he stood holding my hand in his, evidently struggling with his emotion. then he said quietly-- "better go in and get some dry clothes, and--" he stopped and stood listening and gazing in wonder at the great negro and my companion, for the boy had gone up to him, and gesticulating rapidly and with animated face he seemed to be relating what had passed. the change that came over the big fellow's face was wonderful. the minute before it wore its old, hard, darkening look of misery, with the eyes wild and the forehead all wrinkled and creased; but now as he stood listening, his eyes lit up, his forehead grew smooth, and his face seemed to have grown younger; his tightly-drawn-together lips parted, showing his white teeth. so that as my father took a step or two forward, seized the boy's arm, and then laid his hand upon his head, it was a completely transformed countenance that looked in my father's. for the man caught his hand, bent down and held it against his forehead, saying a few words in a low tone, and then drew respectfully away. "you have had a narrow escape, my boy," said my father, huskily; "but out of evil sometimes comes good; and it looks as if your accident has broken the ice. those two are completely transformed. it is just as if we had been doing them good, instead of their doing good to us. but there, get in. i don't want to have you down with a fever." my father was right; our two servants--i will not call them slaves, for they never were that to us--appeared indeed to be quite transformed, and from that day they always greeted me with a smile, and seemed to be struggling hard to pick up the words of our language, making, too, the most rapid progress. the heavy, hard look had gone from the black's face, and the boy was always showing his white teeth, and on the look-out either to do something for me, or to go with me on my excursions. in a week it was "mass' george," and in a month, in a blundering way, he could begin to express what he had to say, but only to break down and stamp, ending by bursting into a hearty laugh. it was my doing that the pair were called pompey and hannibal, and day after day, as i used to be out in the garden, watching the big black, who had entirely recovered his strength, display how great that strength was, i wondered how it was possible that the great happy-looking fellow could be the same dull, morose savage that we had brought dying ashore. at the end of another couple of months, i went in one day full of a new discovery. "do you know who pomp is, father?" i exclaimed. "yes; an unfortunate young negro from the west coast of africa." "yes, father, but more than that. hannibal has been telling me, and i think i understand him, though it's rather hard. they lived in a village up the country, and the enemy came in the night, and killed some, and took the rest prisoners to march them down to the coast, and sell them for slaves. pomp's mother was one of them, and she fell down and died on the march." "did hannibal tell you this?" "yes, father, and sat and cried as he told me; and pompey's his son." "are you sure?" "oh, yes. he always calls pompey `my boy,' and pomp called him `fader' to-day." "ah, but that may merely be imitation." "i don't think it is," i said, eagerly; and i proved to be right, for they certainly were father and son. the winter came and passed rapidly away, and it was never cold to signify, and with the coming spring all thoughts of the indians and the spaniards died away. my father would talk about the indians' visitation sometimes, but he considered that it was only to see if we were disposed to be enemies, and likely to attack them; but finding we did not interfere in the least, and were the most peaceable of neighbours, they were content to leave us alone. "and the spaniards only tried to frighten us away, morgan," i said one day. "well, i s'pose so, master george; but you see we're so shut up here we never know what's going to take place unless a ship puts in. it's a very beautiful place, but there isn't a road, you see, that's worth calling a road. ah, there were roads in carnarvon!" "i don't believe you'd care to go back to them though, morgan," i said. "well, i hardly know, master george; you see this place don't 'pear to agree with our sarah's temper. it gets very trying sometimes when it's hot. it was very hot this morning, and she was so put out that when young pomp put his black head in at the door she threw the big wooden shovel at him." "but what for?" "that's what i said to her, master george. `sarah,' i says, `what had the poor black boy done to make you throw things at him?' "`done,' she says; `didn't you see him put his head round the door and grin at me?' "`well,' i says, `sarah, my girl, that's only his way of showing that he likes you.' "`then i don't want him to like me, and he's more trouble than he's worth.' and there's a lot of truth in that, master george." "why he works hard, morgan," i said. "yes, just so long as you are watching him. then he's off to play some prank or another. that boy always seems to me as if he must be doing something he ought not to do." "oh, he's a very good boy." "never make such a man as his father, my lad. humph! here he is." i turned, and there, sure enough, was pomp making a large display of his white teeth, and holding something behind so that we should not see. "what have you got?" i said. he drew a basket forward and displayed four good-sized terrapins, and offered them to morgan for a present. "no, no," grumbled the man, "i don't want them, and i'm sure that the missus would find fault if i took them in. she hates them; besides, i'm not going to be sugared over like that, to keep me from speaking out. now, look here, you've been fishing." "yes, sah. kedge de terrupum." "and i told you to hoe down between those yams, didn't i?" "yes, mass' morgan, i going to hoe down de yam-yam." "but why isn't it done?" "i d'know," said pomp, innocently. "you don't know?" "no, sah, don't know 'tall." "but i told you to do them," said morgan, angrily. "didn't i?" "yes, sah." "then why didn't you do them?" "wanted to go and kedge terrupum." "now, look here, sir, you've got to do what you're told." "what you tell me, den?" "i told you to go and hoe those yams, and you neglected the duty to go fishing." "yes, sir, go fishing; kedge terrupum." "instead of doing your work." "mass' morgan, sah," began pomp, in a tone of protest, but morgan interrupted him. "now then, how is it those yams are not hoed?" "don't know, sah. tell hannibal hoe them." "you told hannibal to hoe them--your father?" "yes, tell um fader hoe um; mass' morgan want um done." "yes, but i wanted you to do them." "yes, sah, and i want um fader to hoe um yam while i go kedge terrupum. you make big holler at um for not do um." "now then, look you, master george, oughtn't this fellow to be flogged?" "you say no, mass' george, and--" morgan darted out a hand to catch pomp's arm, but the boy was too quick, and dodged behind me. "let him be," i said; "he doesn't know any better." "but i want to teach him better," grumbled morgan. "hist! mass' george. i find great 'gator." "where?" i asked, eagerly, for i had long had an idea that i should like to see another of the monsters. "down by de ribber. all lay long so, out in de hot sun." pomp threw himself on the ground, and wallowed along a little way. "all along so, sah, while i done kedge de terrupum, and then all along tell mass' george come and shoot um." "how big was it?" i said, eagerly. "big as ebber so much. come on, see um, mass' george." "it's only some little one, half as big as the one we pulled out of the hole," said morgan. "you never want to go on them games now you've got that black chap." "oh, i'll go with you any time, if you'll come." "too busy, sir, too busy. going to get a gun?" "yes, i'll go and see. it may be a big one. colonel preston's man told me there are some very big ones up the river on the mud-banks." "yes, sir, but nobody ever sees them." "well, i'll try this time, and if my father asks for me, say where i've gone." i heard morgan mutter something, but paid no heed, knowing that it was something about being careful with the gun, for i was not without my share of conceit and belief in my capacity of taking care of a gun. for my father had rather encouraged me to practise with his fowling-piece, as also with one of the heavy fire-locks we had in the house. "an emergency might come," he said; and what with his instructions and those of morgan, i was, if not a good marksman, as fairly expert as could be expected from a boy of my years. i soon had the gun from its slings, and, providing myself with powder and ball, rejoined pomp, whose eyes rolled with excitement at the sight of the piece. "me carry de powder shot bag," he cried, eagerly; and i let him sling the pouches over his shoulder, and followed behind him, as he marched off with head erect, and a look of pride that was ludicrous. he was, as a rule, a creature apparently made up of springs, which were always setting him in motion; but when bound upon any shooting or fishing excursion the natural pride in his brain rose above everything else, and i was often turned into quite a secondary personage, and had to obey. it was so upon this occasion, for just as we reached the edge of the forest he stopped short, and in a stern whisper said-- "'top here and load um gun, or wake ole 'gator where um sleep." i obeyed, of course, ramming home a bullet, and as i was in the act of removing the rod from the barrel, pomp suddenly exclaimed-- "top um bit." he ran off at full speed, and came back with his eyes flashing, and flourishing a small axe which he had fetched from the shed. this he directly after thrust into his belt, and holding up his hand, whispered-- "now, no make noise. i go first." he went on, leading me through the drier part of the swamp, and right away from the river, to my great wonderment; but after walking silently about half an hour he stopped, again held up his hand, and then with the greatest of caution crept on through the bushes, and in and out among the swamp-trees, never making the slightest sound, and i followed as well as i could for about a quarter of an hour, when he signed to me to stop, and i knew by the bright light a little farther on that the river was pretty near. the next moment he was down flat, crawling slowly over the mossy ground, looking back to see if i was watching him, and pausing at last close to a gnarled old tree, which he tried to keep between him and the water. i had been watching him lying there for about five minutes, when i became aware of the fact that he was returning as silently as he had gone, and as he reached me he put his lips to my ear. "'gator sleep in de mud. mass' george, crawl up to de big tree, look 'long gun, and shoot um." i was skilled enough then in the huntsman's craft to know what to do, and divesting myself of hat and boots, i went down and crawled cautiously in the trail made by the boy, trying hard to go as silently and with as little effort, but the nervous excitement set my heart beating, and by the time i reached the great gnarled tree i felt breathless, and my hands trembled exceedingly. i lay quite still for a few minutes before venturing to do more, and then inch by inch i drew myself sidewise, and peered round the rugged trunk of the tree. the next moment i was quite paralysed by the surprise i felt, for there, not twenty feet away from the spot where i lay, was a monstrous alligator, evidently fast asleep on a glistening mud-bank, his trail from the water being distinctly marked in the soft mud. there were the prints of his paws, and of his long tapering tail, and i could do nothing but gaze at his great proportions. as far as i could judge he was about fourteen feet long, but evidently of great age, from his bulk, his horny hide banded and barred and corrugated, while the strength of such a beast must be, i knew, tremendous. how long i watched the sleeping monster i cannot tell, but it was some time before i woke up to the fact that i had come on purpose to put an end to its destructive career, and that i had a gun ready charged in my hand lying close alongside. then with my heart beating fast i slowly pushed the barrel forward, resting it upon one of the mossy buttresses at the tree-trunk, my eyes fixed all the time upon the great closed and smiling mouth, and the peculiar heavily-browed eyes. as if i were moved by something that was not myself, i gradually got the gun into position, grasping it firmly and pressing the butt home, while i carefully sighted the monster, wondering a little what the consequences would be if i missed, whether i should be attacked, and whether i should have time to get away. but directly after every sense was concentrated upon the task i had in hand, and just as i was about to draw trigger the creature quickly raised its head, as if suspecting the nearness of danger. i was well ready though now, and raised the barrel of my gun slightly, pressed it against the tree, and fired. there was the roar of the gun, a tremendous kick on the shoulder, and beyond the heavy sour-smelling smoke by which i was surrounded i heard a tremendous splashing and thrashing noise, accompanied by heavy blows, as if the monster was striking hard at something near. but i lay perfectly still, feeling that the wounded monster would on seeing me make a spring, and if it did i knew that my life was at an end. the splashings and the dull beating sound continued, but i kept behind the sheltering tree, now wondering whether the creature would have strength to get back into the river, or whether it would be there waiting for its assailant. at last, fascinated as it were by the desire to peep round the tree-trunk which sheltered me from my victim, i gently peered out, and stared in astonishment, for there was pomp busy at work with his axe cutting off the reptile's head, while the tail kept writhing and lashing the stream, alongside which it had nearly crawled. "dat's got um," cried pomp. "hi! ohey! mass' george." i was already on my legs, and, gun in hand, i parted the bushes, and joined the boy just as the monster gave a tremendous heave and a writhe, and rolled off the bank with a tremendous splash in the water. "ah, you no kedge fish and eat um no more, eh, mass' george?" he cried. "'gator no good widout um head, eh?" i looked down on the mud, and there, sure enough, lay the creature's head. "why, pomp!" i exclaimed; "what have you been doing?" "cut off um head, mass' george. he no like dat." pomp broke out with one of his laughs, hooked hold of the grinning head, and dragged it out of the mud up to the side of a clear pool, a little way back in the swamp. "stop a bit," i said; "i want to have a good look at it." "wait till i wash um, mass' george. no; must wash umself fus. here a mess." pomp was about to jump into the pool to wash the mud from his legs, when he suddenly clapped his hands. "oh, here's game, mass' george; only look. dat's ole 'gator's house a water, where he keep all 'um lil pickaninny. look at 'um." sure enough, there were five or six small alligators at the far end-- little fellows not very long out of the shell. "oh dear!" cried pomp, "i very sorry for you poor fellows. poor old fader got um head cut off. what, you no b'lieve um? den look dah." he threw the great head into the pool with a splash, and then jumped in to stand up to his knees, washing it about till it was free from mud, and his legs too, when he dragged it out again on to the green moss, and we proceeded to examine the horrible jaws. "him much worse den pomp." "what do you mean?" "mass' morgan and de capen say pomp do lot o' mischuff. dat do more mischuff den pomp." "yes, i should think so," i said, as i examined the dripping head, and saw plainly that my bullet must have gone right through the monster's brain, probably only stunning it for the time being, and enough to give the boy time to hack off its head. for these creatures have an amount of vitality that is wonderful, and after injuries that are certain in the end to prove fatal, contrive to get back into the water and swim away. it was a long time before i was satisfied with gazing at the grinning head, with its great teeth and holes in the upper jaw into which they seemed to fit as into a sheath. at last though i turned to the boy. "we must take it home, pomp," i said. "no," he said, with a look of disgust. "um quite dead now. frow um into de ribber." "oh no! i want my father to see it, and morgan." "we go an' fess um den." "no, no. you must carry it home." "no, too heaby, mass' george, and um begin to 'tink." i laughed, for pomp was beginning to show his natural disinclination for work, though certainly the hideous head did send forth an unpleasant, musky odour. so long as an exciting task was on hand which interested him, pomp would work most industriously; but over anything plodding and approaching drudgery he was laziness itself. "i frow um in de ribber, or you frow um in, mass' george." "neither," i said. "it must be carried home." "what, dat great heaby head?" "yes." "what, all de way fro' de tree?" "yes." "no, no, mass' george, um too heaby. dat kill a poor nigger all dead, oh!" "nonsense! it is not so heavy as all that." "oh, yes; um drefful heaby. frow um in." "but i want my father to see it, and morgan would like to." "eh? i see." he ducked down quickly, and lifted the head on to an old stump. then, breaking off a bough of dead wood, he chopped a short piece off and propped open the huge jaws. "dah!" he exclaimed, gleefully. "dat make um laugh, and de fly come in an' out, an' um no snap at um no more." "but don't i tell you that i want them to see it at home. sarah would like to see it too." "eh? oh, no, mass' george," cried pomp, excitedly, and beginning to imitate poor sarah's sharp acid way so accurately that i roared with laughter. for every tone of her voice--every gesticulation--was exactly true to nature. "`what!'" he cried; "`what you mean, you nast' black young rascal, bring dat ting in my clean kitchun? i get hold ob you, i box your ears. how dah you--how dah you! take um away--take um away!' dat what misses sarah say." "but we will not take it into her clean kitchen, pomp. we'll put it on that pine-stump at the bottom of the garden." "oh, no, mass' george. sun shine on um, and de fly come on. make um 'mell horrid." "oh, that will soon go off," i said. "come, let's get back. wait till i've loaded again though. here, give me the powder and a bullet. we might see something else." "eh?" "i said give me the powder and a bullet. halloa! where's the ammunition?" "eh? now where i put dat amnisham, mass' george? i dunno." "why, you must have laid it down on the ground when we came after the alligator." "sure i did, mass' george. ah, you are clebber boy. come 'long, we find um we go back." "no, no, stop. i want that head carried home." "but um so heaby, mass' george, and poor pomp drefful hot an' tire." "dreadful lazy you mean," i cried, angrily. "come, sir." "now, mass' george cross again, and goin' break poor lil nigger heart," he whimpered. "stuff! sham! lay hold of that head." "break um back den, carry dat great heaby thing." "it will not. you didn't think it heavy when you dragged it along with the axe." "head all hot den, mass' george; got cold now." "why, you lazy, cunning young rascal!" i cried; "if you don't pick that head up directly, and bring it along!" "ugh!" ejaculated pomp, with a shudder; "um so dreffel ugly, pomp frighten to deff." i could not help laughing heartily at his faces, and the excuses he kept inventing, and he went on-- "pomp wouldn't mind a bit if de head dry, but um so dreffel wet an' nasty. an' you come close here, mass' george, an' 'mell um. ugh!" he pinched his nose between his fingers, and turned his back on the monster. "now, no nonsense, sir," i said, severely. "i will have that carried home." "for de massa see um, an' mass' morgan?" "yes," i said. "oh!" exclaimed the boy, in a tone which suggested that he at last understood me; "for de massa and mass' morgan see um. i run home fess um here." he was off like a shot, but my voice checked him. "stop, sir." "you call, mass' george?" "come here, you young rascal!" "come dah, mass' george? no fess um here?" he said, coming slowly cringing up. "no, sir. now then, no nonsense; take hold of that head." pomp stuck the handle of the axe into the band of his short cotton drawers, wiped a tear out of each eye, and took the hideous great head off the stump, looking at me reproachfully, as he bent with its weight. "is it very heavy?" i said. "kill poor boy carry um all dat way, mass' george." i stood the gun up against the nearest tree, and went to him and lifted the head, to find that it really was a pretty good weight. "yes," i said, replacing it on the stump; "it is heavy, pomp." "den i go fess mass' bruton here," he cried, joyfully. "no. give me that axe." he took the little chopper out of his belt, and slowly and shrinkingly gave me the handle; then dropped on his knees, crossed his hands on his breast, and lowered his head. "don' kill um dis time, mass' george. pomp berry sorry such a lazy rascal." "get up, and don't to stupid," i said, roughly. "who's going to kill you?" and looking round, i had soon found and cut down a stout young sapling, which i trimmed into a pole, pomp watching me the while with a piteous expression on his countenance. "there," i said, when i had done, and provided myself with a stout pole about ten feet long. "oh! ow!" burst forth pomp in a terrified howl. "what's the matter now?" i cried in astonishment. "nebber tink mass' george such coward." "eh? what do you mean?" "lil bit do, mass' george." "no, it wouldn't." "off!" "here, what's the matter? what do you mean?" i cried, as he threw himself down on the moss, and kept on drawing up his legs as if in agony, and kicking them out again like a frog. "nebber tink mass' george such coward." "i'm not, sir. why?" "cut great big 'tick like dat to beat poor lil nigger like pomp." "lil nigger like pomp!" i cried, mockingly; "why, you're as big as i am. get up, you great tar-coloured stupid." "no, no, mass' george; hit um lyem down, please; not hurt so much." "get up!" i shouted; and i poked him in the ribs with the end of the pole. "ow! ow!" yelled pomp at every touch, and the more he shouted the more i laughed and stirred him up, till he suddenly sat up, drew his knees to his chest, put his arms round them, and wrinkling his forehead into lines, he looked up at me pitifully. "arn't done nuff yet, mass' george?" he whimpered. "enough?" i cried. "did you think i cut this great pole to whop you?" "yes, mass' george." "why, it was to carry the head on, one at each end." "oh!" cried pomp, jumping up as if made of springs, and showing his teeth; "i knew dat a hall de time." "you wicked young story-teller," i cried, raising the pole quarter-staff fashion, and making an offer at him, when pomp dropped on his knees again, and raised his hands for mercy. "ah, you deserve it," i said; "telling a fib like that." "was dat a fib, mass' george?" "yes; you didn't know it all the time." "no, mass' george; not till you tell um. i tought you cut de big 'tick to whop poor nigger all black and blue." "why, how could i?" and i roared with laughter as i looked at his shiny, ebony skin. "dunno, mass' george. hit berry hard, make um bruisum all ober de body, same as you say when you tumble down--you say make um all black and blue." "there, come along," i said; "let's get the thing home. phew! look at the flies already." "whish--whoosh--whoosh!" cried pomp, breaking off a bough and sweeping it round. "nebber mind, mass' george; fly keep on eat lit bit all de way home; not hab so much a carry." "but how are we to manage? here, you must find some tough cane to lay the head on." "i know now," cried pomp, taking the pole. "what are you going to do?" i said. "put um down um troat. so." as he spoke, he ran the pole through the open jaws and out at the neck, so that the head was safely swinging in the middle. "dah," he said, "now you carry dat end, i carry dis end. dat end nice an' tin for mass' george." "why, you cunning young rascal," i said, "you want me to carry the dirty wet end, do you?" pomp grinned, and broke off some thick leaves to carefully clean the sullied end, chuckling merrily the while. "um was horrid nassy, mass' george," he said. "now all right." i took up and shouldered the gun, and then seizing one end of the pole, we marched triumphantly back with our grisly trophy, accompanied by quite a cloud of flies which kept up a tremendous humming noise. i went first, and easily found the spot where the ammunition had been set down by pomp in his excitement; and after he had thrown the pouch-straps over his shoulder and i had decided not to load again, as we were going straight home, we prepared for a fresh start. "mass' george like to come dis end?" said pomp. "no," i said; "i'll go first;" and we went on till pomp began to grunt and shudder. "what's the matter?" i said, looking back. "poor pomp get all de 'mell ob de head dis end." "all right," i said; "it won't hurt you." "but um do 'tink horrid, mass' george." "we'll carry it the other way, side by side, as soon as we get out of the trees," i said; and we went on a little further, when the boy uttered a shout. "what's the matter now?" i said. "de fly, mass' george." "never mind the flies," i said; "they will not hurt you." "but dey do, mass' george. dey keep tink pomp am de head, and sit on um and bite lil bit out ob um arm and neck. poor nigger hardly got a bit ob clothes on." "and a good job too, pomp," i cried. "i wish i hadn't. phew! it is hot!" after divers changes about, in which i got my fair share of the nuisance, we reached the house, to find my father at home; and he, morgan, and hannibal came on to meet our triumphant procession. "bravo, george!" said my father; "why, that's quite a patriarch. how did you manage to kill him?" "mass' george shoot um, and pomp cut um head off," cried the boy, proudly. "yes," i said; "pomp found him asleep, and fetched me. morgan, i want it on that stump." "no, no, sir," said morgan. "i'll get the hammer and a big spike-nail, and drive it through the back of the skin into that big tree at the bottom." "capital!" i cried. "but it will be a nuisance," said my father. "oh no, sir. it's full in the hot sun, and the flies will clean it. before a week's out it will be dry." hannibal fetched the short ladder, and held the head, while morgan drove in the nail so that the great head with its propped open jaws hung there grinning at the bottom of the garden; the skin soon shrinking away so that the head hung as it were by a skin loop; and before a month was past it was perfectly inoffensive, and had preserved in drying its natural appearance in a wonderful way. chapter sixteen. recollections of sunny days in the cotton-fields, with the men and women cramming the white bursting pods into baskets as they laughed and chattered together, and every now and then burst into some song or chorus, their natural light-heartedness making them, if well treated, forget the bonds from which they suffered. of those many days in the hot glow, where the men were busy with great chopping-knives cutting down the tall, towering canes ready to be piled high in the mule-carts and borne off to the crushing-mills. for as time went on the visit of the slave schooner was repeated again and again, and the settlers brought more land under cultivation, and the place grew more busy week by week. but at home all remained the same, only that by the help of hannibal our garden increased in beauty and productiveness to a wonderful extent, and pomp and i revelled in the abundance of the fruit. i used to look at the boy and his father, and wonder how it was possible for them to have settled down so contentedly. but they had, and it did not seem to me that they had a single thought of the past, so light and easy-going they were. but i misjudged them, as time proved. i was merry and lively enough in those days, never happier than when playing morgan some trick to arouse his wrath; but i was the perfection of quietness compared to pomp, who was more like a monkey in his antics than a boy; and his father, the morose-looking, gloomy slave that he had been, seemed to have grown as full of life and fun as his son. i don't think that there was anything i could have asked that pair that they would not have done. if i expressed a wish to have a pair of young squirrels for pets, they were sure to be obtained, just as the raccoon was, and the woodchuck. if i wished to fish, the baits were ready and the boat cleaned out; while if i told hannibal i wanted him to come and row for me, his black face shone with pleasure, and he would toil on in the hot sun, hour after hour, with the oars, evidently sharing my delight whenever i caught a fish. i remember one day when my father had gone across to the settlement on some business, taking morgan with him--i think it was to see and select from some fruit-trees and seeds which had been brought over from the old country--that i sat in our room, busy over the study which i had promised to have done by the time of my father's return. as i sat there i glanced out of the window from time to time to see hannibal toiling away with his hoe, in a great perspiration which glistened in the sun, but evidently supremely happy, as he chattered away to pomp, who was also supposed to be working hard, but only at preserving his position as he squatted on the top of a post with his arms about his knees, and his hoe laid across his head, perfectly balanced. i laughed to myself, and then went on with my work, a piece of latin translation, for my father used to say, "there is nothing to prevent you being a gentleman, my boy, even if we do live out in the wilds." all at once i heard sarah's quick step, as she went out of the place, and directly after she was busy over something. carelessly enough i looked up, and saw that she was beating and brushing my father's uniform, previous to hanging it over a rail, so as to guard it from decay by exposure to the sun. i sat looking at the bright scarlet and gold lace, and saw that she had brought out the cap too. then i went on with my work again, finished it, and with a sigh of satisfaction put all away, thinking that i would go down to the pool and have a bathe. the idea seemed good, and i stepped out, thinking what a patient, industrious, careful woman sarah was, and seeing that she must have fetched is the uniform again, and put it away. i went through the fence into the garden, meaning to make pomp go with me, but he was no longer perched on the stump, one of the many left when the garden was made; and on looking round for hannibal to ask where the boy had gone, i found he too had left his work. "hasn't finished," i said to myself, for the man's hoe was leaning against the tree. carelessly enough, i strolled on down to the bottom of the garden, looking at the alligator's great grinning jaws as i went by, and out at the end, to see if the pair were in the little hut that had been built for their use, and a laugh which i heard as i drew nearer told me that i was right as far as hannibal was concerned, while a few excited words which i could not make out proved that pomp was there as well. "what are they doing?" i thought to myself; and with the idea of giving them a surprise, i did not go up to the door, but turned off, walked round to the back, and parting the trees by whose leaves the place was shadowed, i reached the little square window at the rear of the house, and stood looking in, hardly knowing which to do--be furiously angry, or burst out laughing. for the moment i did neither, but stood gazing in unseen. there to my left was pomp, both his eyes twinkling with delight, squatting on the floor, and holding his knees, his favourite attitude, while his thick lips were drawn back from his milky-white teeth, from between which came a low, half-hissing, half-humming noise evidently indicative of his satisfaction, and in its way resembling the purring of a cat. to my right, slowly walking up and down, with a grave display of dignity that was most ludicrous, was hannibal, his head erect, eyes very wide open, and arms held firmly to his sides, a position that he must have imitated from seeing some of the drilling preparations going on at the settlement, and kept up ever since the scare produced by the coming of the indians and the spaniards. the reason for this attitudinising and parading was plain the moment i appeared at the window and grasped the situation; for it was clear enough--pomp had seen the gay uniform airing upon the rail, had annexed it, and carried it off to the hut, probably with his father as an abettor, in what could only have been meant for a loan; and he had followed the boy in, and possibly with his assistance put on the clothes, which fitted him fairly well; but his appearance was not perfect. for there over the white-faced scarlet coat was the shiny black face, surmounted by the military cap worn wrong way foremost, while the breeches were unbuttoned at the knee, and the leggings were not there, only hannibal's black legs, and below them his dusty toes, which spread out far from each other, and worked about in a way most absurd. but the most absurd thing of all was the aspect of satisfied dignity in the man's countenance. it was as if he were supremely happy and contented with himself, the clothes having evidently raised him enormously in his own estimation. "now what shall i do?" i thought; "go in and scold them both, or wait and see if they put the things back?" i was still hesitating and thinking how angry my father would be, when i found suddenly that there would be no need for me to speak and upset the equanimity of the happy pair, for all at once i heard a loud exclamation from the direction of the house, where sarah had just come out to fetch in the uniform; and directly after, she jumped at the right conclusion, and made the place echo with the cry of "pompey!" the effect was wondrous. the boy seemed for the moment turned to stone; his jaw fell, and he stared at his father, whose face seemed to grow ashy, and from whose aspect all the dignity had vanished in an instant. then, quick as some wild animal, pomp sprang at his father, the shock with which he struck him in the chest causing the hat to fall off back on to the floor as he tore at the buttons to get the coat off. hannibal, with his fingers shaking and twitching, helped all he could, and hindered more, while i stood smothering my laughter and waiting to see the end of the comedy. those garments were dragged off doubtlessly much more quickly than they were put on, and as soon as they were huddled together, father and son stood listening to sarah's voice, their eyes starting, and the perspiration standing in great drops upon their faces. "what will they do next?" i said to myself. apparently they had no plans, for hannibal looked reproachfully at his son and shook his head at him, his lips moving, and in a low, husky voice he said-- "whatebber will i do!" a way out of the difficulty seemed to come to the younger black, for he suddenly darted at the hat, picked it up, and dabbed it down on the bundle of white and scarlet clothes. then, whispering a few words to his father--who seemed to be hanging back but to give way at last--the boy ran to the door, dropped down on all fours so as to be hidden by the trees from the house, and glided off almost as rapidly as some four-legged animal. "the young coward, to run away like that," i said to myself, as another loud cry of "pompey, pompey! where are you?" came from the front of the house. "poor old hannibal!" i thought to myself, as i saw the utterly cowed object before me, so strangely contrasted with the dignified being a short time back in uniform, that i could hardly restrain my merriment. but i did not laugh out, for i was sorry for the poor fellow, and tried to think of some way of extricating him from his difficulty, as he stood there with the uniform huddled up in his arms. somehow no idea came, only a feeling of anger against the cowardly young scoundrel of a boy, who had left his father in the lurch. "if it was only he," i said to myself, "i'd glory in seeing old sarah pull his ears, a mischievous young dog!" but there was hannibal before me, and whenever i looked in the poor fellow's face i never could help a feeling of respectful liking for the unhappy slave whom i had seen lying half dead upon the bank of the stream when we first brought him ashore. then with sarah's voice still heard at intervals raging and storming, i strove to think of a plan to get the poor fellow out of his hobble, while at the same time, in a confused way, the scene on the bank kept coming back, and with it thoughts of how the boy had been ready to fight for his father then, while now he had taken to his heels and fled. "i don't know what to do," i said at last to myself, as i felt that our civilising had spoiled pomp. "to go and talk to her, and tell her not to make a fuss." "pompey! pompey!" rang out from close by now, and hannibal let fall the uniform, and clasped his hands. it was evident that sarah was coming to see if the boy was in the hut, and there was nothing for it but to bear the blame. "pompey! do you hear me?" "a--y--ou," came from right the other side of the house. "you call a me, missie sarah?" "oh, there you are, are you?" she cried; and as i peeped through the trees, i saw her turn sharply round and hurry back, talking volubly the while. then she called again-- "pompey!" "yes, missie." "come here, sir." "you call a me, missie?" "yes, you know i called you. where are you?" "hey--oh--hi--ho! hey oh--hi oh! ally olly hi--oh--olly olly hi!" came in musical tones from the other side of the house; and as i peeped once more through the windows i saw hannibal's bent back, as he stooped and picked up the clothes, brushed off some dust, and then with them held all ready and his face working with excitement, he crept to the door. "pompey, do you hear me?" cried sarah, who was gone up now to the house. "hey--oh--hi--oh! yes, missie, you call a me?" came from a little farther away. "do you hear what i say, sir?" "yes, missie." "then come here directly." "ole massa go along, an' massa george a 'top alonga." "pompey!" "yes, missie; you call a me?" "oh!" cried sarah, fiercely, "just wait till i get hold of you, sir;" and she ran off down the path at the other side of the house, shouting for the boy, who kept on answering, and, as i realised now, purposely leading her farther and farther away to give his father time. for, stooping low down, and with wonderful speed and agility, hannibal, who had crept out of the hut, suddenly darted into and down the garden, and as i followed, keeping well hidden among the trees, i saw him reach the front of the house, shake out the uniform, hang coat and breeches on the rail, stick the cap on the end, and dart off away in another direction, so to reach the path leading into the forest on the way to the stream. i ached with my efforts to keep down my laughter, as i saw him scud off, glad at heart though, all the same, for, poor fellow, he had escaped. then all at once my admiration for pomp increased to a wonderful degree, for i heard a howl from the other side of the house, the sound of blows, heavy ones too; and as pomp shrieked and howled, it was evident that sarah was cuffing him tremendously. her voice grew louder every moment, so did pomp's cries and protestations, till i could hear every word from my hiding-place, thoroughly enjoying of course the punishment that had fallen on the boy, while delighted by his ruse to get the clothes back and save his father. "oh don't, missie; don't whop a poor lil nigger," came loudly. "you mischievous--(_bang_!)--young--(_bang_!)--where are those clothes?" "no, haven't got 'em, missie; no, haven't got 'em. oh! _oh_! oh!" "don't tell me your wicked stories, sir. tell me this moment, or master shall know, and you shall be flogged. you have stolen them away." "no, no, missie, pompey nebber 'teal, no, nebber; wouldn't 'teal notin'." "you--(_bang_!)--have taken--(_bang_!)--those clothes away. where are they, sir?" "oh, don't whip lil nigger, missie. no got no clothes on'y lil cotton drawers, an' lil shirtums," howled pomp, as he was dragged into sight now, sarah holding on tightly by one of his ears. "and i say you have got them, sir. nobody else could have taken them," cried sarah. "you wicked black magpie, you! show me this instant where you have put them, or i don't know what i won't do." i knew what was coming; it was all plain enough. but no, not quite all; but i did see the _denouement_ to some extent, for, as sarah dragged the boy forward, i could contain myself no longer. "oh don't, missie!" howled the young dog. "oh, but i will," cried sarah. "i put poor master's uniform on that rail to air, and--_well_!" "ha--ha--ha--ha--ha!" i never laughed louder in my life, as i burst forth into quite a yell, for there stood poor sarah, with her mouth wide open, staring at the uniform hanging on the rail, and then at pomp, who looked up at her with his face screwed up in mock agony, but his eyes twinkling with delight. "was dem a clothes you gone lose, missie?" he said, innocently; and sarah panted and looked is my direction. "dat massa george brass out alarfin for you whip poor lil nigger nuffin tall." "oh--oh--oh!" burst forth sarah at last, hysterically; "it's a shame--a cruel shame, master george, to play me such a good-for-nothing trick." i ceased laughing directly, and my mouth opened now with astonishment at the turn things had taken. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir," cried sarah; "and here have i been ill-using this poor boy because--oh, pompey, pompey, pompey!" she caught him in her arms and gave him a motherly hug, while i stood amongst the trees speechless. "missie cry her eyes cos she whip pompey?" "yes, my poor boy," cried sarah. "but his father shall know. ah, you may well stop in hiding, sir; it's a shame." then, ever so much louder, "it's a shame!" "don't 'cold massa george, missie," said pompey. "him nebber do nuffin." "do nothing, indeed!" cried sarah. "you come along in with me, and i'm very, very sorry i whipped you." "pompey done mind, missie," said the boy, showing his teeth. "there, you're a very good, forgiving boy," said sarah, as she caught up the uniform to take it in; "and i wish i could forgive myself." then, catching pomp by the arm, she led him into the house, from which he soon after returned with a corn-cake and half a pot of prime jam of sarah's own make. and there i stood all the time thinking seriously among the trees, and unable to make up my mind what to do. if i did not speak, i should bear the blame, and sarah would remain angry with me. if i told all, poor hannibal, who had been led into the indulgence in a bit of vanity by his boy, would be in disgrace, and i knew that the poor fellow would feel it keenly. if i did not tell all, that young rascal would triumph in his cunning and deceit, and enjoy letting me have the credit of playing the trick on sarah. "i will tell," i said, sharply, as i saw pomp come out licking his thick lips, and enjoying the jam. then i thought of how patiently he had borne sarah's blows, so as to save his father from getting into disgrace, and that disarmed me again; so that my mind see-sawed about in the most tiresome way, till i gave up in despair, coming to no conclusion, and leaving the matter to settle itself, but determined to give master pomp a good thrashing soon, so as to get some satisfaction out of the affair. "pomp," i said, half aloud, "pomp. yes, i called him pomp; and after what i saw in the hut i ought to call old hannibal vanity. so i will-- pomp and vanity. i wish i could make up my mind what to do." i had something else to think of the next moment, for i heard a shout, and hannibal himself came running along the path from the stream. "hi--hi--mass' george!" he shouted, breathlessly. "what's the matter?" i said, running towards the house to get a gun. "here, quick, come in here." i strained my eyes as i ran, expecting to see indians in pursuit of him, but he alone was visible, and he pointed, breathless and panting, in the direction from which he came. "what is it?" i cried. "what's the matter?" the answer came in a peculiar, low, hissing, rushing sound, as if a storm were coming through the forest. it ceased directly, and died away in a low, dull roar. chapter seventeen. "here, what's the matter?" i cried; and at that moment sarah came running out again, looking inquiringly from one to the other. "what was that noise?" she said. "de ribber--de ribber," panted hannibal. then he tried to say more, but he was so excited that his command of english failed him, and he turned to pomp, who had just come back from the hut, and said something to him volubly in his own tongue. pomp's mouth opened wide, and he stared wildly at his father. then turning to me, he caught hold of my arm. "come, get up the tree, mass' george. pull missie up the tree." "what for? what's the matter?" i said, as the dull roaring seemed to be coming back. "ribber run all ober; water take away de boat, and all gone." "river running over? what do you mean--a flood?" "yes, dat's flood. come, get up a tree." "oh, nonsense! come and see." "no, no, mass' george, mustn't go," cried pomp, seizing my arm, and i was making for the path leading to the stream. "hark! hear dat?" i certainly did hear a low, ominous roar rising and falling in the air, but it sounded like distant thunder dying away. i began to be startled now, for the look of dread in hannibal's features was not without its effect upon me. just then pomp began to drag sarah toward the biggest cypress about the place, chattering to her excitedly the while. "no, no, i can't; my good boy, no," she cried. "what! get up the tree? oh, nonsense! here, master george, my dear boy, what does it all mean?" "i don't know. i'm as puzzled as you are, but it means that we're going to have a flood. i wish my father was here." "look here, pomp," i said; "we need not climb a tree; it's a great chance if the water reaches as high as the garden;" and i looked round, thinking how wise my father had been to select this spot, which was the only rising bit of ground near, though he had not chosen it on account of fears of flood, but so as to be well above the swamp damp and mists. hannibal said something excitedly to his son. "yes; climb up a tree, mass' george. big water come roll down, wash um all away. ah! make um hase, mass' george." he seized me by the arm, and pushed me toward the tree, which was about a hundred feet away down the slope at the back, but almost instantaneously a wave of water came washing and sighing through the forest slowly but surely, and lapped onward as it swept out from the forest line at a rate which, deliberate as it seemed, was sufficient for it to reach the big cypress before we could; and i stopped short appalled and looked round for a place of refuge. the water came on, and in another minute would have been up to where we stood, but it shrank back again toward the forest, and i felt that the danger was over, when to my great delight i heard a shout, the splashing of some one running through water, and my father came into sight to run up the slope to the place where we stood, closely followed by morgan, and both at first too much exhausted to speak. "thank god!" he cried at last. "don't speak. flood. the settlement deep in water. rising fast. the boat?" "wash away, massa," cried pomp. "ah!" cried my father, despairingly. "quick, all of you. it is coming now." as he spoke i heard the deep roar increasing, and after a glance round, my father pointed to the tree. "we must get up into that. no: too late." for the flood came in a great, smooth, swelling wave out from the edge of the forest, and then glided toward us, rising rapidly up the slope. "i'm with you," cried my father, and catching sarah by the hand, he dragged her into the house, seized the rough ladder, and made her climb up silent and trembling into the loft, where, before we could join her, the water was over the doorsteps and had risen to our knees. but the moment sarah was in the loft, my father ordered pomp and me to follow, then hannibal and morgan, coming up last himself, by which time the water was up to his waist. as soon as he was in the little low loft, my father forced out the wooden bars across one of the windows and looked out, to take in the extent of our danger, and i pressed close to his side. "is there any danger?" i said, rather huskily. "i hope not, my boy," he said, sadly. "the question is whether the house will be swept right away. everything depends upon whether it comes with a fierce rash, or rises slowly." i looked round and could see that the flood kept coming in little swells or waves from the edge of the forest, the water rushing out from among the tall trunks, and then seeming to undulate gently toward the house. the garden was covered deeply, and where i had been accustomed to look at the pleasant sand-walks, and the young fruit-trees, all was now water, out of which rose the tops of trees here and there. the thatched roof of the blacks' hut was just visible as a grey point seen amongst the tree-tops, and all at once i saw it rise up high out of the water and then settle down again and float slowly away. at that moment my father uttered a low sigh, and then there was another loud dull roar, and a great wave came rolling out of the edge of the forest, swelling onward, the tops of the trees bending towards us as it came on and on slowly, but with a force that bore all before it, and i felt my father's hand clasp mine in his. "quick!" he whispered; "climb out, and get on the ridge of the roof." "are you coming too, father?" i said. "out, quick!" he answered, but before i was clear of the window, he had hold of me and half drew me back, holding to me tightly, and not without need, for there was a dull thud, the house quivered from the tremendous blow, and i felt the water leap over me, deluging me from head to foot, and making me gasp for breath as i struggled to get back. "quiet!" said my father, sternly, and i remained still, expecting to feel the house swept away, to go floating like the roof of the hut, right away. but it stood firm, the wave gliding off, but leaving the water now rippling up between the boards, telling that the lower floor was filled, and the flood rising through the ceiling. an anxious ten minutes ensued, during which wave after wave came rolling out of the forest, each to deliver a heavy blow at our house, making the roof crack, but never yield, and with the last came so great an influx of water that our position rapidly began to grow untenable. my father made no effort to induce me to climb up after the first wave struck us, till the water had risen well up into the loft, when he said quietly-- "up with you, morgan, on to the ridge." "begging your pardon, sir, i--" "silence, sir! out and up with you, and be ready to take your wife's hands." it was the officer spoke then, and morgan crept out through the rough dormer window, and directly after shouted briefly-- "ready." "now, sarah, my good woman, be brave and firm; creep out here," said my father. "don't think about the water, and grasp your husband's hands at once." i heard sarah give a deep sigh, and she caught at and pressed my shoulder as she passed; then with an activity i should not have expected of her, she crept out of the window, my father holding her dress tightly; there was a loud scrambling sound heard above the hissing and roaring of the water, and my father spoke again. "safe!" he muttered. then aloud, "now, boys--both of you--up, and on to the ridge." "you first, pomp," i said; and the boy scrambled out, and i followed, the task being, of course, mere play to us as we crept up the well-timbered roof, and got outside of the ridge-pole. we had not been there a minute before hannibal and my father were beside us, and the waste of water all around. "not much too soon," said my father, cheerfully. "do you see, george?" "yes, father," i said, feeling rather white, or as i suppose any one would feel if he were white, for the water was level now with the bottom of the window; "will it rise higher?" "i am afraid so," he said, gravely, as he looked sharply round at the various trees standing out of the water. "yes," he continued, with the firmness of one who has made his decision; "morgan, you swim well, and the current sets in the right direction. if the house gives way--" "oh, but it won't, sir; we made it too strong for that." "then if the water compels us to leave here, do you think you can support your wife to that tree, if i swim beside and help you?" "i will support her there, sir," said morgan, firmly. "that's right. hannibal, you can easily reach there?" "yes, sah." "and you boys can, of course. we may have to take to that tree, for i think it will stand." we all declared our ability to reach the new refuge, and pomp gave me a nod and a smile, for it was the tree we had before meant to reach; and then we sat there awe-struck, and wondering whether the house would give way, and be swept from its position. but now no fresh waves came rolling out of the forest, only a current swept gently past, and after a long silence my father said-- "yes, that must be it. a terrible series of storms must have been occurring, hundreds, perhaps a thousand miles away up in the highlands and mountains, gathering force, till a flood has swept down to here like a series of huge waves passing down the rivers, and flooding all their banks. the first violence has passed, and i think we may hope that the waters will go down as rapidly as they rose." but his words did not seem likely to prove correct, for as we sat there, with evening creeping on, it was plain to see that the water was still rising--very slowly, but creeping steadily on. at first it was only level with the dormer window; then by slow degrees it was half way up; and as darkness was coming on, the top of the window was nearly reached. the roof was high in pitch, so that we were well out of the reach of the cold current as yet; but calculating by the rate of advance, it was plain that before many hours had passed the water would have risen to us; and the question my father had to ask us all was, whether we should stay there in the hope that at any time the highest point of the flood might have been reached, or try and swim at once to the great cypress, and take refuge among its boughs. "what do you say, morgan?" said my father at last. "shall we go or stay?" "don't know what to say, sir. we are dry now, but if we swim to the tree we shall all be drenched, except these two blacks, and they can easily wring out their things. then it means sitting in our wet clothes half perished through the night. i don't so much mind, but it would be terrible for her." "don't study me, sir, please," said sarah, firmly. "do what is for the best." "i think what you say is right, morgan. we can but swim to the tree when the water rises too high for us to stay here longer." "but you don't really think it'll get any higher, sir, do you?" "i am afraid to say what i think," replied my father. "we are in a vast continent whose rivers are enormous. you see the water is still rising." "oh yes, sir, it's still rising," grumbled morgan; "but i wish it would keep still. going to stop or go, sir? if we go it had better be at once." "we will stay," said my father; and as terrible a vigil as ever poor creatures kept commenced. fortunately for us the night was glorious, and as the last gleam of daylight passed away, the great stars came out rapidly, till the darkened heavens were one blaze of splendour, while the scene was made more grand by the glittering being reflected from the calm surface of the waters all around, till we seemed to be sitting there in the midst of a sea of gold, with blackened figures standing up dotted here and there, and beyond them the dark line of the forest. the silence for a time was awful, for the current now ran very slowly, and the rise of the water was so insidious that it could hardly be perceived. from time to time my father tried to raise our spirits by speaking hopefully and prayerfully of our position, but it was hard work to raise the spirits of poor creatures in so perilous a strait, and after a time he became silent, and we all sat wondering, and bending down to feel if the water was still rising. then all at once a curious thrill of horror ran through me, for the hideous bellow of an alligator was heard, and morgan's hand went involuntarily to his pocket. "got knives, everybody?" he said. "don't want them cowardly beasts to tackle us now." "it is hardly likely," said my father, but at that moment as he spoke pomp touched my arm. "dah 'gator!" he said, pointing. i could see nothing, only that there was a broken lustre of the stars reflected on the water; and if it was one of the monsters it slowly glided away. then it began to grow colder and colder, and as i sat and gazed before me, the dark trees standing above the flood grew misty, and a pleasant sensation was stealing over me, when i felt my arm grasped tightly, and i gave quite a jump. "no, no, my boy!" said my father, sternly. "you must not give way to that." "i--i--" i faltered. "you were dropping off to sleep," said my father, firmly. "you must master the desire. hannibal, take care that pomp does not go to sleep." "him sleep long time, sah," said the black. "wake um up?" "no; let him sleep; only keep watch over him, or he may slide into the water." there was silence again, only broken by a low sigh or two from sarah, to whom morgan muttered something again and again as the time crawled slowly on and the waters still rose higher and higher toward our feet. never did the night seem so long before, and the only relief i had in my wearisome position was derived from the efforts i had to make from time to time to master the terrible feeling of drowsiness which would keep coming on. every now and then there was a little buzz of conversation, and i made out that my father asked every one's opinion, and made all try to make out how much higher the water had risen, so as to excite their interest, though it was all plain enough. and so the night wore on, with the flood gliding up and up, and strange splashings and bellowings heard from time to time, now far off, now nearer, and every eye was strained to see if the creatures that made these noises were appearing. then all was silent again, and we waited, with the water still rising. all at once i caught at my father's arm. "what's that?" i whispered, in awe-stricken tones, for there was a curious quivering thrill in the timbers of the house, and it felt to me as if it was at last yielding to the presence of the water, and preparing to break up and float away. my father did not answer for a few moments, and i knew that he was listening intently. "i am not sure," he said at last. "i think--and hope--that it was something heavy swept against the house, and that it has passed on." the alarm died out, and we sat either in silence or talking together of the state of affairs at the settlement, and the possibility of help coming in the shape of boats at daybreak, when pomp's sharp voice suddenly rang out-- "hi! who did dat? who pour cole water on nigger leg?" in spite of the cold and misery and peril of my position, i could not help laughing heartily as i heard hannibal speaking angrily. pomp retorted just as sharply, but though his father spoke in their west african tongue the boy replied in his broken english, to which he was daily becoming more accustomed, while his father acquired it far more slowly. "how i know?" cried pomp, irritably. "i tought mass' george play trick. hi! mass' george, you dah?" "yes," i said. "what is it?" "you got anyfing to eat? i so dreffle hungry." "no, pomp," i replied, sadly; "nothing at all." "you been sleep, sah?" he continued, turning to my father. "no, my lad, no," replied my father, good-humouredly, and i heard the boy yawn loudly. there was no need to measure the water now, or to be in doubt as to whether it was rising, for it had wetted our feet as we sat astride, or eased the position by sitting in the ordinary way. but the stars still shone, and the night dragged its slow way on. "will morning never come?" i said, despairingly to my father at last. "oh, i am so--so sleepy." he took my hand and pressed it. "try and bear it all like a man, my boy," he whispered. "there is a woman with us, and you have not heard her make a single complaint." "no; it was very selfish and cowardly of me, father," i whispered back, "and i will try." i did, and i conquered, for i know that not a single complaint afterwards escaped my lips. and higher still rose the black, gold-spangled water over our ankles, creeping chilly and numbing up our legs, and we knew that before long the effort would have to be made to reach the great black mound of boughs which we could dimly see a short distance away. "how far do you think it is from daybreak, morgan?" said my father suddenly, after what seemed to me a terrible time of suspense. "don't know, sir. daren't guess at it," said morgan, despondently. "time has gone so slowly that it may be hours off yet." "no," said my father, "it cannot be very far away. if i could feel sure i would still wait before making our attempt, but i am afraid to wait long. we are getting chilled and numb." "just so, sir," said morgan, sadly. "you think for us all, sir, and give your orders. i'll do my best." there was another pause, and i heard my father draw a deep breath, and then speak sharply-- "well, george," he said; "how do you feel for your swim?" i tried to answer, but a feeling of despair choked me, as i looked across at the dark boughs, thought of the depth of water between, and that i could not swim there now. "oh, come, come, lad, pick up," cried my father. "the distance is nothing. i shall want you to help me." "yes, father," i said, despondently; and i heard him draw a deep, catching breath. but he knew that on him lay the task of saving us all, and he said cheerfully-- "you can easily swim that, hannibal?" "yes, sah," said the black, quietly. "and you, pompey?" "eh, massa? swim dat? yes, pomp swim all dat, sah." "we shall be forced to start directly," said my father. "do you hear, morgan? we must not wait to be floated off." "no, sir," replied morgan; and his voice sounded sad and grave, and a low sigh came from by his side. then arose in a low voice-- "master george, dear, could you get here?" "yes," i said, trying to stir myself; and, catching hold of my father's hand, i stood up with a foot on each side of the ridge, stiff, cramped, and with the water streaming from me. "that's right," said my father, cheerfully. "mind how you go, my lad. it will stretch your legs. take hold of hannibal; don't slip and get a ducking." he said all this cheerily, and i knew it was to encourage us all; but as i passed by him, stepping right over his legs, he whispered, "speak cheerily to the poor woman." "yes, father," i whispered back. "don't keep him, sarah," said my father. "i want to come there myself; i shall swim by your other side." she did not answer, and i crept by hannibal and then over pomp, who gave me a hug, his teeth chattering as he said-- "oh, i say, mass' george, i so dreffle cold. water right up a-top." the next moment i was seated again on the ridge, feeling that the water really was right up to the top, as sarah's cold arms closed round me, and her wet face was pressed to mine as she kissed me. "good-bye; god bless you, my darling!" "don't, don't talk like that," i said. "we'll all mount the tree, and the water will go down." a piteous, despairing sigh came into my ear, and i felt morgan's hand seek mine, and give me what i knew was meant for a farewell grip. a bad preparation for a swim to save one's life, and the chill of the rising water began now to increase as i fancied it made a leap at us, as if to snatch us off and bear us away to the far-off dark shores beyond which there was a newer life. "come, george, my lad. back with you," cried my father; "i want to come there. be ready every one; we must start in a few minutes." "yes, father," i said; and i was on my way back, passing pomp, who began to follow me, and together we crept, splashing through the water, holding tight by hannibal, and then by my father. "you too, my lad?" he said, kindly. "yes, massa," replied pomp. "swim steadily, both of you. the distance is very short, and there is nothing to mind." then as if to himself--"oh, if i could only tell when morning would come!" "massa want know when time to get up to go to work?" said pomp, sharply. "yes." "oh, quite soon, sah. sun come up dreckly, and warm poor little nigger; i so dreffle cold." "how do you know?" cried my father, clinging as it were like a drowning man to a straw of hope. "oh, pomp know, sah. dah! you ope bofe ear, and listum to lil bird. dat him. lil blackum yallow bird, go _pinkum-winkum-wee_." a dead silence fell upon us, and what had been inaudible to me, but quite plain to the boy, came faintly from the distance--the twittering cry of a bird in one of the trees at the edge of the forest; and directly after it was answered from far away, and i felt my father's cold wet hand grasp mine as he exclaimed hoarsely--"thank god." i could hear him breathing hard, and the tears ran down my cheeks as my head rested on his breast, and i clung to him for a few seconds. then he drew another deep breath, and his voice and manner were entirely changed, as he cried out-- "do you hear, morgan? daybreak in a few minutes, and the sun before long. i think we could hold out here for an hour at a pinch. we shall have our swim long before that, and with heaven's good light to help us safely there." "hurrah!" shouted morgan, hoarsely. and then we all joined in a hearty cheer, while the cry of the bird rang out directly after from close at hand. chapter eighteen. black night comes quickly down there in the south, with but little of the twilight of the north, and after the night's dark reign there is but a short dawn before the sun springs up to shed hope and light, and the bright thoughts of a new day. and now, with the blood seeming to flow more swiftly through our chilled frames, came the pipings and twitterings of the birds at the edge of the forest; there was a misty light, then a roseate flush overhead which rapidly changed to orange above and below. the black mirror spangled with diamonds and gold had gone, and as we sat there with the water lapping now over the ridge, which was quite invisible, the sun's edge rose over the forest, glorifying the tops of the trees, and the great green cypress stood up with golden gleams darting through it, and offering us an inviting refuge from the peril in which we were placed. "now, morgan, ready?" said my father, as he stood up and shook his limbs. "yes, sir, ready. cheer up, old lass; we'll soon get you there." i caught a glimpse of sarah's white despairing face, but my attention was taken up directly by my father's words. "come, pompey, brave lad, jump in and swim across to the big tree, and show us the way." "iss, massa," cried the boy; and he started up and dived in plump, to disappear, and then his black head popped up. "come 'long, mass' george," he cried; "so lubbly warm." "yes; in with you!" cried my father; and i rose, hesitated a moment, and then plunged in, to find that by comparison with the air the water was quite warm. "i dab fuss," cried pompey, and he swam on to soon reach one of the boughs, and turn round to wait for me. i did not keep him long; and as soon as we had seated ourselves astride of the great branch just level with the water, we stayed to watch the coming of the rest. that little swim after the effort required to make the first plunge was simplicity itself to us boys; and consequently i looked almost wonderingly at the effort it caused my father and morgan to get across with sarah, whom they supported between them. they started well, swimming of course abreast, and with hannibal coming behind, but after a time they began to get deeper in the water, and to be swimming with more effort, fighting so fiercely at last that if it had not been for hannibal lending them a helping hand, they would have been swept away. i could not understand the reason for some time, but at last made out that they had drifted into a spot where two little currents met, and were striving against a force which i had not encountered, and were being carried away. at last, by making a desperate effort, they swam on up the swift little current, and were nearing the tree fast, getting well toward the bough on which we two boys were seated, when all at once they stopped and began struggling again. they were so near the end of the bough, that had we been there i could almost have reached them, and yet, so close to safety, they were, as i at last realised, completely helpless. "what is it? what's the matter, father?" i cried, excitedly. "caught--caught among the boughs underneath," he panted, hoarsely; and i knew now that they had swum into and become entangled among the submerged boughs. just then i heard sarah say piteously-- "it's of no use. try and save yourselves." i looked at pomp, and he nodded his head, as if he fully comprehended me, beginning at once to creep along the bough we were on, like a monkey, and i followed as well as i could, pretty quickly, but not with his agility. the bough was thick where we sat, about a couple of feet above the water, and rose up at the end to about ten feet above. but as i hoped, when we were some distance along, it began to bend more and more, and the thinner branch we now reached bent so rapidly that we were soon only five feet, after climbing to six, then four, three--two--then one, and then touching the water into which we sank now, going along hand over hand, making the rough bough act as a natural rope, till pomp was at the full extent of the thinnest twigs and nearly within reach of the helpless group. "now, mass' george, come," he said. i grasped his meaning and passed on abreast of him, took a good hold with one hand grasping quite a bunch of twigs, while the boy took the other and reached out toward where morgan was just able to keep himself afloat, with the others beyond him, and all growing weaker minute by minute. pomp got out as far as he could and stretched out his hand, but he was a full yard off still, and in a despairing way i looked at morgan's upturned face. "no catch hold, massa?" cried pomp; and then he said something in his own tongue, whose effect was to make hannibal swim rapidly towards him from where he had been supporting my father, he being the only one not entangled by the boughs. the peril taught the man how to act, and catching his son's hand, he bridged the space and extended his other hand to morgan, so that we formed a human chain in the water, dependent upon the strength of my wrist and the bunch of twigs and leaves i held. "now, father," i said; "can you get clear?" he struggled feebly, and i began to tremble for my hold. "no," he said; "my foot is caught in a fork among the boughs, and if you draw, it only tightens it." a dead silence ensued. what was to be done? i could not answer the question, and i knew that everything depended upon how long i could hold on. was all our effort to result in failure after all? it seemed so, and i tried to say something about kicking free, but no words would come, and once more i began to feel a horrible sensation of fear. the difficulty was solved by my father, who roused himself to a final effort just in the height of our despair. "get her into the tree," he said, hoarsely. "never mind me." what followed seems to me now like part of a confused dream. nearly all my early adventures stand out, when i go back, brightly vivid and distinct, but a mist comes over my brain when i try to recall that scene. i can remember though how pomp changed his grasp of my hand after a struggle, by getting his teeth well into the skirt of the loose black garment i wore, thus setting both my hands at liberty, so that i was able to get a double hold upon the boughs, and drag and draw with such good effect that pomp was soon within reach of another. he seized this, and together we managed to draw hannibal and then morgan within reach, so that they too got a good grip of the bended twigs, and were in comparative safety. but my father? i looked from where i held on, up to my chin in the water, outward toward the spot in which i had seen him last. but he was not there. he had really been the only one entangled, and as soon as he had loosened his hold of poor sarah, a good struggle in the outward direction had set him free, and i saw him now striking out feebly and floating helplessly away. my first thought was to swim to his help, but i was utterly unnerved and overdone. a few strokes would have been all that i could have taken, and then i might have gone down, but a hand was stretched-out and caught me by the collar, and morgan's voice whispered-- "no, no, my lad, leave it to them." and now for the first time, in a confused way, i understood that hannibal and pompey were swimming to my father's help, while i remained clinging there. more misty than ever all that follows seems, but i have a recollection of seeing the two black heads nearing where my father was still struggling to keep afloat, drifting farther and farther away, and next of his being close up to the great fork of the tree some dozen yards from where we clung. it was no easy task to join them, but the danger was past now, and after a rest we three--morgan, sarah, and myself--managed to get along the bough to where we could reach another, lower down, and level with the water. the rest was simple, and before many more minutes had elapsed, we were all gathered together in the great fork among the huge branches, wringing away part of the water that drenched us, and mentally thankful for our narrow escape from death as we revelled in the warm beams of the sun. chapter nineteen. very little was said for some time, every one being glad of the calm and silence, and drawing in the genial warmth which was delicious to our cramped and thoroughly weary limbs. and as i sat there, gazing out over the waters at what seemed to be a vast lake, it did not appear like a scene of desolation, for the sunbeams danced on the rippled water, or turned it to a glittering mirror, where it flowed calm and still; the trees stood out at intervals all green and beautiful; and the forest beyond the clearings, though dwarfed, was unchanged. now and then a fish flashed out like a bar of silver, and the birds twittered, piped, and sang as if nothing had happened. it was only the poor human beings who were helpless, and beginning to feel, now that the excitement had passed, the pangs of a trouble that it was impossible to meet. one of my first acts, as soon as i began to grow dry and warm, was to take my knife from my pocket and cut a notch in the tree just on a level with the water. pomp looked at me and then shook his head. "no," he said; "no, mass' george, no get sug gum dah, an' pomp dreffle hungry." "i know that," i said, rather surlily, for my notch was not meant for the purpose he thought, and i knew the difference between a cypress and a sugar maple. "den what for cut um tree?" "to see whether the water is rising or going down." "not do nuffum," said the boy, eagerly. "'top so." "yes, he is right," said my father, who had been higher up the tree, trying to get a glimpse in the direction of the settlement, in the hope of help in the shape of a boat being on the way. "the flood seems to have reached its highest point, and we may begin to hope that it will go down now." but the hours glided by and there was no help, and no sign of the flood sinking. pomp was quite right; it did "'top so," and we began to suffer keenly from hunger. we had long got well warm in the sunshine, and the thirst we felt was easily assuaged, though there was very little temptation to partake of the turbid water; but our sensations of hunger grew apace, and i saw that while we white people sat there about the fork of the tree, trying to bear our sufferings stoically, both the blacks were in constant movement, and they had always something to say, hannibal confining his remarks however to his son. "look, look!" cried pomp, excitedly; "dah um fis. no got hookum line, no got net." he shook his head despondently, evidently quite oblivious of the fact that even with hook and line he had no bait, and that it was impossible to use a net. then he was off up the tree, first ascending one great bough and then another, to lean out, staring away between the twigs in search of something, but he always came down again looking quite disconsolate. "what have you been looking for?" i said on one of these occasions. "simmon tree, mass' george. no see one nowhere 'bout." "but you couldn't get there if you could see them." "no get um?" he said with a laugh. "pomp no get um? wait a bit." "why, how could you manage?" "no manage 'tall. 'wim dah, and 'wim back." then we scanned the waste of waters in the hope that we might see something, even if it was only some drowned animal, but nothing came in sight till well on in the afternoon, when hannibal made some remark which sent pompey into a tremendous state of excitement. "what is it?" i cried, eagerly rising from where i had been down to examine my notch, to find that the water remained nearly unchanged. "pomp and um fader see some fis' good to eat," said the boy. "come see." i climbed up to where he was, and he pointed; but for some time i could make out nothing but driftwood, a tree floating roots upward, and some great patches of grass that seemed to have been scooped out of a bank, roots and all. "i can't see anything," i said at last. "what, not dah?" cried pomp. "no." "all 'long side dat tree?" "oh, yes," i cried; "what is it--a big fish?" "no; dat nice lil 'gator, sah." "what? why, we couldn't eat alligator." "oh, yes; eat um, got nuffum else," cried pomp, to my great disgust. "but even if you would eat the nasty wretch, you can't catch it." "no," said pomp. "tell um fader can't catch. pomp wish dat, but lil 'gator, see um come on, cock um tail up and go right to de bottom. oh, oh, mass' george, i so dreffle hungry. feel as if um eatum own fader." there was something so comic in the poor fellow's trouble that i could not forbear smiling as i went along to where morgan was seated quietly enough by sarah, and i felt something like anger and disgust as i saw that the former was eating something. "oh, morgan!" i said, sharply; "if i had had something to eat i would have shared it." "isn't much, but you shall have some if you like, sir. sarah here won't touch it." he took a flat brass box out of his pocket, opened it, and held it to me. "tobacco!" i said, looking with disgust at the black, twisted leaf. "yes, sir, 'bacco keeps off the hunger." "i'd rather have the hunger," i said; and he shut the box with a snap. restless as pomp now, and growing more and more miserable, i climbed to where my father was sitting watching one break among the trees in the direction of the settlement, and he turned to me with a smile. "tired and hungry?" he said. "yes, i know. but patience, my boy, patience. our lives have been spared, and help may come at any moment." "but do you think we shall escape?" "why not?" he said, calmly. "we were in much greater peril last night." "yes, father," i said; "but we weren't half so hungry." my remark brought the first smile i had seen to his lip for hours. "yes, yes; i know," he said; "but patience. i think we shall soon see the water begin to fall, for when i was at the settlement yesterday, the tide was turning and going down about this time. if it does not take with it the inundation, we must divide ourselves into two parties, one to sit and watch while the other sleeps. by to-morrow the flood will either have fallen, or help will have come." "sleep, father!" i said, dolefully; "who can sleep at a time like this?" "all of us, i hope," he said. "we shall easily drop off after our past night's watch." "but who could go to sleep feeling so hungry as this?" i protested. "you," he said, smiling; "and recollect the french proverb, _qui dort dine_. you know what that means." "no, father," i said, dolefully. "shame! you should not forget your french. he who sleeps dines, my boy." "perhaps that's so in france, father, but it isn't so here, in the midst of a flood, and i don't think any frenchman would say so if he were up in this tree like we are now." i climbed down again to look at the notch i had made, and see if there was any difference, then sent up a shout of delight, for the water had sunk a foot, and was going down so rapidly that i could almost trace its descent. it was as my father had hoped; the flood was running out with the tide; and as the cause was over we had every prospect of being set at liberty before many hours had passed. it was the apparent certainty of this hope which enabled us to bear patiently the rest of our imprisonment, and the pangs of hunger. for night came with the water still falling; but the fact was plainly before us--we should have to pass one night in the tree. i looked forward to the long, dreary hours with horror, but after getting astride of one branch, and putting my arms round another, feeling half ready to groan with misery, the present dropped away all at once, and i was conscious of nothing till the sun was brightly shining again, when i awoke to find that my wrists were tightly bound together on the other side of the great bough i had embraced; and on recovering my senses sufficiently to look down, i saw that the water had not all drained away, there being several feet in the lower part of the clearings, but the house was so nearly standing out clear that there could not have been more than a couple of feet in depth on the floor. morgan and hannibal were already down, wading breast-high towards the house; and as my father set free my hands, we prepared to follow. it was no easy task, for the branches were far apart, and covered with slimy mud, but we descended cautiously, promising to come back with ropes to lower poor sarah and pomp. the latter looked gloomy and discontented on being told that he was to stay and keep sarah company; but he proceeded to walk along to her as we lowered ourselves down, and then contrived to be first, for his bare feet slipped on the muddy bough, and he went headlong down splash into five feet of water and mud, to rise again looking the most pitiable object imaginable. "pomp come up again?" he asked, dolefully. "no; go and have a good wash," said my father, and as the boy went off swimming and wading, we two descended into the thin mud and water, and made our way toward the house. i looked up at my father to see what he would say to the desolation, as i saw the change that had taken place in so short a time, and then, miserably weak and half-hysterical as i was--perhaps that was the cause--i burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. for pomp had come close up behind us, after an expedition to the hut that had been made for his home, and his sharp voice rose suddenly just in the midst of our sad thoughts, with-- "oh! here a mess!" even my father could not help laughing as he looked at the boy. but there was nothing humorous in the scene to pomp, who looked up at my father with his brow knit, and continued-- "place all gone--wash away, and can't find my tick." "the hut washed away?" asked my father. "iss; all agone." "never mind! we must build another. well, morgan, can you find anything to eat?" for morgan had just waded out of the house again with a basket in his hand, and he hastened to open it and produce a couple of roast fowls and a couple of loaves of bread, the latter all swollen up into a great sop, while the former were covered with a thin coating of mud. "quick!" said my father, seizing one of the fowls and cutting it in two; "get a rope from the shed, and the little ladder. take this to your wife at once. no; stop a minute. here, you go, george; there is some wine in the cupboard." i went splashing through the door, and fetched the bottle, for i knew exactly where it stood; and on my return this was given to morgan, who was sent at once to the tree, while we four stood there in the water eating the remains of the fowls ravenously, both hannibal and pomp evidently enjoying the well-soaked bread, which was not bad to one so hungry as i, after i had cut away the muddy outside. "yes," said my father, smiling at pomp, after we had relieved the terrible cravings of hunger from which we had suffered; "it is a mess. but look, george, the water is still sinking fast." that was plain enough to see now, and as it went lower and lower, the damage done, though of course great, was not what might have been expected. we had been saved from utter destruction by the fact that only a moderate-sized clearing had been made in the virgin forest, whose mighty trunks had formed a natural fence round our house, and checked the rush of the flood, which, instead of reaching us in an overwhelming wave, had been broken up, and its force destroyed before it could reach us. even the open fences about the garden had escaped, the water having played freely in and out; and though hannibal's hut had been lifted up and floated right away, the fence-top was now appearing above the water, and seemed to be quite unharmed. the water sank so fast now that my father shouted to morgan to let sarah stay where she was till there was solid earth for her to descend to, and consequently he came down to see what he could do to help. that amounted to nothing, for until the water had passed away nothing could be done, save splash here and there, looking at the fruit-trees bestrewed with moss and muddy reeds and grass, while morgan uttered groan after groan, as he at last saw the bushes and the tops of his vegetables appear covered with slime. "the place is ruined, sir," he groaned. "whatever is to be done? go back to the old country?" "get to work as soon as the place is dry," replied my father. "a few showers of rain after the sun has dried and cracked the mud will soon wash your garden clean." morgan shook his head. "and i don't know what my poor wife will say to her kitchen." "ah, now you are touching upon the more serious part, my man," said my father. "come, morgan, you and i have got the better of worse troubles than this, so set to work, and by some means contrive to get fires going in each of the rooms." "with wet wood," said morgan, grumpily. "why, it's only wet outside," i cried. "here, pomp, try and find the little chopper. know where it is?" "ise know where chopper, but de hut all gone away." the wood-shed was standing though, and before very long, with hannibal's help, a good basketful of dry wood was cut; and after a long struggle and several dryings in the hot sun, the tinder and matches acted, and big fires were blazing in the house, whose floors were now only covered with mud. already the thatch and shingle roof had ceased to drip, and was rapidly drying, while by midday sarah was busy at work with brush and pail cleansing the floors, and keeping the two blacks and myself busy bringing things out to dry, while morgan was removing mud from the various objects within the house. the main difficulty we had to encounter was how to find a dry resting-place for the night. sheets and blankets promised to be quite fit for use by sundown, but the question was where to lay them. every one naturally objected to the trees, and the ridge of the roof was no more inviting than on the first night. but a little ingenuity soon put all right. timber was so plentiful with us that poles and planks lay piled up at the back of the house, and after a number of these had been hunted up, from where they had floated among the trees, and laid in the full sunshine, a platform was built up high above the muddy earth, and then another upon which pine boughs were laid, and good, dry resting-places contrived for our weary bones. chapter twenty. it is needless to relate the shifts and plans adopted to restore the place to its former state, but we were favoured by the weather, a long spell of hot sunshine working wonders, and the rapid drying and the work of many hands soon produced a change. in two days we could go about on dry ground. in four, mud was scaling over everything in cakes, and being cracked into dust it regularly powdered off the trees, and a couple of tremendous tropical showers sufficed to clear off the remainder from twig and leaf, so that what with the rapid vegetation, and the clearing effects of rain and dew, a month had hardly passed before the place began to look very much as it did before the misfortune, morgan informing me smilingly that the soft mud was as good for the garden as a great dressing of manure. our furniture in the house was of the simplest, and though sarah declared that the place would never be the same again, i very soon began to forget all about our trouble, and was only reminded of it by the wisps of dry grass and muddy, woody twigs that clung here and there among some of the trees. on one occasion i found pomp busy with a bucket of water and a brush down at the bottom of the garden, where he was scrubbing away at something black. "hallo!" i exclaimed. "what's that?" "'gator head, mass' george. pomp find um 'tuck in dah 'tween um two trees." he illustrated his meaning by showing me how the head had been washed from its place, and swept between a couple of tree-stumps, where it had remained covered with mud and rubbish, till it had caught his eye, such a trophy being too valuable to lie there in neglect. i stopped till he had done, and then, all wet and glistening, the great dried head with its gaping jaws was replaced on the spike-nail morgan had driven in the tree. "dah, you 'top till water come and wash um down again, and den pomp come and wash um up." these words of the boy set me thinking; and that night i asked my father about the probabilities of another flood. "it is impossible to say how long it may be before we have another visitation," he replied. "from what i can gather, it seems that they are so rare that a generation may go by without such a flood occurring, and i hardly like to give up so satisfactory a home on the chance of a fresh one coming during our lives." "oh no, father, don't give it up," i said. "everything at the settlement seems to be straight again." "they suffered more than we did too," he continued. "but don't you think some one ought to have come in a boat to help us?" "yes, if the poor things had thought of it; but i fully believe that in their trouble and excitement, trying to save life as they were, they did not even give a thought to us." then the flood was set aside with the troubles from the indians and the spaniards, my father saying quietly enough that people who came out to an entirely new country must do so bearing in mind that they have to take the risks with the pleasures. some of which sarah heard, for she took up the subject next time i saw her alone, and she shook her head at me as she said-- "yes, my dear, there's a lot to put up with for those who come to live in new lands, and a couple more of my chickens gone; but i don't know what you and your poor father would have done if me and morgan had not made up our minds to come too." i'm afraid i was playing the impostor a little, for i said to her, "we couldn't have got on at all without you, sarah;" but all the time i was thinking how much more easily we could have managed during the night of peril if we had not had sarah with us, and how it was in trying to save her that my father nearly lost his life. but i did not let her see it, and said quietly-- "lost two more of the chickens?" "yes, my dear; and it seems so strange that the birds that could take such care of themselves all through that dreadful flood should be lost now." "it does seem strange," i said, as my thoughts went back to the flood, and i recalled how the fowls took refuge in the pine-trees, and kept going higher and higher as the water rose, hopping calmly enough from branch to branch, and roosting high up at the top, to stop picking about till the flood was sinking, and then slowly descend with the falling waters, to find quite a feast in the mud. "you don't think, do you, that those two blacks, master george--" "what, like chickens?" "yes, my dear." "the people up at the settlement say they do, and that they can't keep any fowls at all." "then that's it," cried sarah, triumphantly; "and i was right about that smell a few nights ago." "what smell?" "of something roasting in the lean-to shed where those two sleep." "nonsense, sarah! it was squirrel or something of that kind that they had knocked down and cooked." "no, my dear; it was exactly like roast chicken, and i'm very much afraid--" "so am i, sarah, that you are going to make a mistake. i don't believe either of them would steal. ah! here comes pomp all in a hurry about something.--what is it?" "hi! find um, mass' george," cried the boy, who was in a high state of excitement. "find what?" i cried. "oh, yes, pomp find um; come and see." "yes, i'll come," i said. "but, i say, pomp, there are two chickens gone. do you know anything about them?" "yes. such big bird come and take um, mass' george. big bird fly ober de tree, _whish_--_whoosh_! and 'tick um foot into de chickum." sarah shook her head in a peculiar severe way; but i guessed that she had the question of the uniform upon her mind, and she held her tongue, while pomp dragged me off to see his discovery. he led me into a part of the forest where i had not been since the flood, and there, sure enough, twenty feet above the ground, and preserving its perpendicular position, was the greater part of the hut, pomp climbing up to it in triumph, and then on to the top, with the result that his weight was just sufficient to dislodge it, and the whole affair came down with a crash, and with the boy seated in the ruins. "what do dat for?" he cried in a whimpering tone as he sat rubbing himself. "do what?" i cried, laughing. "pull um down down an' break up. how we get um back now?" "i didn't touch it." "not touch um! how um tumble down den? oh my leg--my leg!" "no, no; you're not hurt much, pomp. there, get up, we can't get the hut back; and you know father said a new and better one was to be built. we'll set this one up here and make a summer-house of it, to come to when i'm shooting." "eh! what a summer-house?" "that will be." "no; dat hut; massa say dat hut." "but we'll make it into a summer-house." pomp shook his head and looked puzzled. "pomp find de hut, and massa george say um summer-house. 'pose um find de boat 'ticking in tree, dat be summer-house too?" "no, no, you old stupid," i cried. "but, i say, pomp," i continued, as the thought occurred to me that this might be possible, and that the boat had not gone down the stream to the river, and from thence out to sea. "what mass' george say?" cried the boy, for i had stopped to think. "wait a minute," i cried. then, after a few moments' thought-- "why, yes, it is possible; the flood came from the big river, up ours, and the boat must be somewhere in the forest after all." pomp shook his head. "done know what um mean," he said. "i mean that perhaps our boat was washed up somewhere." "iss, pomp wash um up two-tree-day 'fore took away wif de mop." "i mean the flood carried the boat up into the forest among the trees, like it did the hut." "mass' george fink so?" "yes." "come 'long find um." willingly enough i started with the boy, but stopped directly, for i remembered that hannibal had come running up to announce the loss of the boat, and that he might have some recollection of the direction in which it was carried. "let's ask your father," i said; and we went to where he was in the garden. to my great delight, his description tallied with my idea. the boat had been carried up stream, and full of eagerness we set out, but it was too late to do much that day, and we soon returned, after planning to start at daybreak the next morning, pomp having undertaken to awaken me, while i arranged with sarah for a basketful of provisions, so that we might be able to spend a good long day. in the course of the evening i related the finding of the hut to my father, and my hope that the boat might be discovered too, but he shook his head. "extremely doubtful, my boy. but wait a bit and then go and search, though, if you like; and even if you do not find it, you will have a glorious ramble along the river-bank." "will you come too, father?" i said. "i should like to, but i have promised for several days to go over to the settlement to meet the general and colonel preston. take morgan or hannibal with you, if you like." "oh no, father," i said, "pomp will be guide enough; i believe he often steals off to go long distances into the forest after woodchucks and squirrels." "you will take a gun, i suppose. any game will be welcome." "yes, father." "and take care not to get into danger." "what danger?" "snakes and other reptiles may be in abundance." "i'll take care." "and for aught we know indians may be hunting in the neighbourhood." "should not we have heard them or seen them, if they were?" i said, for i did not like the idea of giving up my trip. "well, perhaps so," said my father. "there, i will not stop you; i only say again, be careful when you do go." "can't i go to-morrow?" i said. "no, i would rather that you did not go right away while i am from home. wait a few days, and then have your trip." i said no more, but of course felt disappointed, and a strange temptation came over me next day, on finding how bright it was, to go and explore a little, the more especially that pomp came up with his face shining and full of excitement. "now," he cried, "go and find summer-house." "no, no," i said; "the boat." "mass' george call him summer-house yesterday." "we'll go soon," i said, "but not for a few days." "what mass' george going do, then?" "stop about at home and take care of the house." "mass' george tink water come 'gain, wash um away?" "no, no, i hope not," i said, laughing. "but i'm not going far away." "mass' george come fish terrapum?" "no, pomp, i'm going to stop about here. perhaps i shall go and have a bathe at the pool by and by, but i'm not sure." "pomp go wif mass' george have 'wim." "no, no," i said, pettishly, for i was out of temper, hot and disappointed at not being able to go and hunt for the boat. then i felt annoyed at having to stop at home when my father had gone to the settlement, and somehow that place had never seemed to attract me so much before. "father might have taken me," i said to myself, as i thought of how beautiful the sugar-canes must be now, after the soaking and dressing they had had with the mud. then, too, the indian corn must be waving gloriously, and i longed to see slaves at work in the cotton-field. "father will be seeing all that," i thought, "and it's all nonsense about stopping and taking care of the place. i couldn't do anything if there was a flood, or if the indians came. i should have liked to go." all of which was very absurd and stupid, but i have known other boys think and talk in a similar way. i went to the fence, and stood leaning over it, feeling more out of humour than ever, and i hit viciously at a fly or two which settled upon me. pomp was watching me all the time in a half puzzled way, and at last he broke out with-- "mass' george." "don't bother!" pomp drew back, took out the knife i had given him, picked up a piece of wood and began to cut it, while i stood kicking at the fence, and watching morgan and old vanity, as i mentally called him, busy at work cutting down the former's deadly enemies, the weeds. "say, mass' george." "don't bother, i tell you," i cried viciously; and there was another pause, during which pomp made a low whistling noise, which was not such a very bad imitation of the bobolink. but pomp could not be quiet long, and he broke out again with-- "mass' george." i turned fiercely round to see that his black face was full of animation, and eyes and lips bright with mischievous glee, all of which annoyed me the more, for what business had he to be happy when i was so disappointed, out of humour, and miserable? "be off! why don't you go to work, sir?" "won't mass' george come in de wood?" "no. be off!" "pomp come and have a 'wim 'long o' mass' george?" "no, you won't. be off; i don't want you." the boy looked at me aghast, and his thick lower lip worked. "mass' george get tire poor old pomp?" "yes. be off!" "mass' george send poor old pomp 'way?" "yes. don't bother. can't you see i don't want you?" "wugh!" pomp threw himself down on his face, and rested his forehead on his crossed arms. "don't do that," i said. "get up, and be off, or i shall kick you." the boy sprang up with his eyes flashing, but they were full of tears, and this gave me satisfaction, for i was in that absurd state of mind when one likes to make others feel as uncomfortable as oneself. "mass' george want poor ole pomp to go away?" "yes," i cried; "and don't be so idiotic, you miserable little nigger, calling yourself `poor ole pomp!'" "mass' george break poor ole pomp heart." "i'll break poor ole pomp's head if he bothers me any more," i cried, sulkily, as i once more leaned over the fence and began kicking off some of the dry mud which still adhered, though the leafage above it was clear and green. i heard pomp draw in his breath hard, and he gave his bare foot a stamp on the ground. "you want poor ole pomp go drown self?" "yes," i said, sourly. "pomp go jump in de ribber." "go on then." "you nebber see poor ole pomp, nebber no more." "don't want to." "oh, mass' george!--oh, mass' george!" these words came so piteously that all my ill-humour gave way to pity for the boy, who was as affectionate as he was passionate by nature; but his next words hardened me, and i stood fast, trying to hide my mirth as he broke out in a lachrymose way, pitying himself. "poor lil nigger! oh dear, dear, poor lil black nigger slave! nobody care dump poor ole pomp!" then there was a long pause. "you want pomp go drown self, mass' george?" "yes," i said. "mind you don't get wet." "eh?" "i say, go and have a good dry drown." "how you do dat all?" "i don't know. be off." "poor ole pomp! de 'gators eat um all up like lil yam." "ha--ha--ha--ha--ha!" i burst out, for i could contain myself no longer. the comparison to the "lil yam" was too much for me, and as i faced round, good-humoured once more, and ready to go and bathe or do anything with the boy who was my only companion, he showed his teeth at me fiercely, made a run, jumped over the fence into the garden, and i saw him dash down the middle path toward the forest as hard as he could go. i stood looking in the direction he had taken for a minute or two, and felt disposed to go after him; but i had seen him get into a temper before, and get out of it again, and i knew that next time we met all this would have passed away from both of us like a cloud. "no, i won't go after him," i said to myself; "it will make him vain and conceited, and he's bad enough as it is. poor ole pomp! poor lil nigger! what a rum fellow he can be when he likes!" this little episode had quite carried off the sour feeling from which i had suffered, and i began to look about me, enjoying the beauty of the morning, forgetting all about pomp, who had, no doubt, i thought, found out a nice sunny spot and gone off to sleep. chapter twenty one. no one would have thought there had been a flood to have seen the garden and plantation so soon after the waters had gone down; for where the slimy mud had lain in pools, it had cracked all over till it was creased and marked like an alligator's back, through which cracks the tender green growth soon thrust itself, to spring up at a wondrous rate, as if glad to be fertilised by the soft alluvial soil. wherever the mud had lain thick on broad leaf or grass, it had, as i have said, cracked and fallen off, or been washed away by the heavy rains and dews, and our grounds and the country round were as beautiful as ever--more beautiful, i ought to say, for everything was fresher and greener, and where the swamps had been muddy and parched, and overhung with dry growth, all was bright and glorious, with the pools full up, and the water-ways overhung with mossy drapery, glittering and flashing back the sun's rays wherever the sun pierced the trees. "going for a walk, master george?" said morgan that morning, as i sauntered down the garden in the hot sunshine, wondering what i should do with myself. "yes," i said, eagerly, for the question had given me the idea i wanted. yes, i would go for a walk. "better be careful, my lad. i would not overheat myself. after all this flooding there may be fever in the air. but there, you will take care of yourself." "yes, morgan," i said, "i'll try. seen pomp anywhere?" "no; not since breakfast. a lazy young dog. make his father do all the work. what's that, sir?" we both looked sharply round toward the forest, for there was the faint rustle of something moving, but the sound ceased as he spoke. "only a squirrel," i said, at a guess. "i think i shall go and have a bathe." "where?" said morgan; "not in the river; the stream is too swift, sir, yet." "no; in our big pool." "better take a pole and prod about well first. after all this water there may be a young alligator or two crept in." "oh, i'm not afraid of them," i said, laughing; and i listened again, for there was another faint rustle among the leaves, but it ceased, and i stood watching as morgan tied up two or three of the great succulent vine-shoots which were trailing over one of the trees, luxuriating in the glowing sunshine, and showing goodly-sized bunches of grapes, such as would in another two months be so many little amber bags of luscious sweetness. "yes, i haven't had a swim since the flood," i thought to myself, as i went on, leaped over the rough, moss-grown fence, and was soon after making my way along past the edge of the sugar-cane plantation, where the weeds were growing like mad, and then through the great, tall-leaved rows of tobacco in the new clearing, where the stumps of the trees so laboriously cut down still stood. in another ten minutes i was out of the glowing sunshine beneath the oaks with their flowing drapery of moss, now peering up to see if anything alive was moving among the branches, now noticing how far up the flood had risen, as shown by the mark of dried mud and the patches of withered reed, which still clung here and there. but there was no sign of living thing, and i walked on for a time in and out among the great trunks in the deep shade towards where there was a broad patch of sunshine, and all therein looked to be of green and gold. it was the clearing where the trees had been cut down for building and fencing when we first came. i was not long in placing myself upon a stump out here in the broad sunshine, to watch what was going on, for this was a favourite old place of mine, where i generally found something to interest me. so it was on this day, for a great crane flew up and went off with a great deal of wing-flapping before it was clear of the trees; and as i was eagerly watching the spot where it had disappeared, there was one bright flash, and one only, as a humming-bird darted across the sunny clearing, to poise itself first here and then there, before the open flowers of the great creepers, its wings vibrating so rapidly that they were invisible, and the lovely little creature looked more like some great moth than a bird. i knew him and his kind well enough, and that if i had had it in my hand, i should have seen his head and crest all of a bright ruby tint, and the scale-like feathers of its throat glowing almost like fire; but as it flew rapidly here and there, it seemed all of a dull, warm brown, surrounded by a transparency formed by its rapidly-beating wings. i sat watching the humming-bird till another and another came to disturb the first, and begin chasing it, darting here and there like dragon-flies, now up, and now down; round and round, and sometimes coming so close that i could have beaten one to the ground with a bough. then, all at once, they soared up and up, passed over the trees, and were gone, leaving me swinging my legs and whistling softly, as my eyes now wandered about in search of something else. oaks draped with moss, a great cypress at the edge of the clearing, which had grown up and up till it was higher than some of the trees, and spread its boughs over them like an umbrella to keep off the rain, and keeping off the sunshine as well, so that they had grown up so many tall, thin trunks, with tops quite hidden by the dark green cypress, and looking like upright props to keep its great top spread. i knew that in all probability there was more than one 'possum in the great trees surrounding the opening, but pomp was not there to find them, and i had no dog. i felt, too, that in all probability more than one bright pair of eyes were watching me from some bough, and their owners' bushy tails twitching and whisking about; but i could see nothing, and after a time, as a sudden thought struck me, i got down softly, and looked round for a stick. this was soon found, for whenever i cut one i generally left it thrust in somewhere among the dense growth. thus armed, i went cautiously across the clearing toward the farther side, where the gravelly bank was crowned by a tuft of pines, beneath which, in the full sunshine, the ground was almost bare, and dotted with stones, ashy, and dark, and dull, and grey. i had committed more than one murder there, but they were murders in which i exulted, for they meant death to the horrible rattlesnake or deadly moccasin, as they lay sunning their cold blood in the hot rays, ready to deal death to the passer-by, whose inadvertent foot should disturb their sleep. i went very cautiously, with my eyes scanning the spot eagerly, for at very little distance the reptiles would be invisible from the way in which their scales assimilated with the earth. but, though i used every caution, i saw no wavy or coiled up serpent asleep, nor caught sight of a tail rapidly following its owner in amongst the stunted herbage and stones. "getting scarcer," i said to myself, as i turned off again, and made for a faint track between the trees--a seldom-used path, leading on to the edge of the swamp that bordered the little river running down to the great tidal stream, which came from far away to the north-west among the mountains. for a time, as i went on peering here and there, i forgot all about my first intention, but it came back strongly as i reached a natural opening, and once more passed out of the shade, which seemed streaked with threads of silver where the sun-rays darted through, and stood looking down at the broad, glistening, shallow pool, where we boys had often bathed. the place looked beautiful as ever; the water wonderfully clear. small fish darted away at my approach, and took refuge in the reeds and grass at the side, or in the broad patch of water-growth in one corner some twenty yards across. there was the dead tree on my side of the pool, which was about sixty yards in length, and looked as tempting a spot for a bath as can be imagined. the heat was growing oppressive, but the air was beautifully pure and clear; and the insects which darted about flashed in the sunshine, and kept up a continuous hum that was soothing and pleasant, as i began to take off my clothes, enjoying the sensation of the hot sun pouring its heat down upon my skin. "i wish pomp was here," i said to myself; and as i said those words, i burst out into a hearty fit of laughter, as in imagination i saw his black face shining in the water, and the great drops standing like pearls in his woolly head. my thoughts did not promise him much enjoyment in his bath, for divers ideas connected with ducking, splashing, and the like occurred to me, the more forcibly from the fact, that though pomp swam admirably, it was after the fashion of a duck, and not of a fish, for he never, if he could possibly help it, put his head under water. i was half undressed, when i caught a glimpse of a good-sized pike, slowly rising to the surface to bask, and stooping down, and picking up the stick i had brought with me--a good stout piece of hickory nearly six feet long--i drew back a little, stole gently along the edge of the pool till i deemed myself about opposite, and then raising the stick with both hands, stole forward, to deal a heavy blow at the fish, trusting that if i missed it the stroke on the water might paralyse it, until i had had time to hook it ashore. "don't see why a crack with a stick should not do as well as an alligator's tail," i said to myself. that blow was not delivered, for before i could gather myself up and bring my muscles to bear, the water flashed as a little wave rose, and the fish was far out of reach. "better luck next time," i said, as i went back to the tree, finished undressing, stood for a moment or two on the edge of the pool, and then dived in, sending the water flying up sparkling in the light. it was deliciously invigorating, though the water was too much warmed by the sun to give me a swift electric shock; and as i rose to the surface, shook the drops from my eyes, and began to swim slowly along, i felt as if i had never enjoyed a bath so well before. for the water felt soft, and yielding, and elastic, and as if no effort was required to keep myself afloat. "pity old pomp isn't here," i said, as i lazily swam to one end, where there were tufts of water weeds, and a kind of natural ditch took off the surplus water into a pool of similar size, a hundred yards away among the trees--a black-looking, overhung place, suggestive of reptiles, and depth, and dead tree-trunks with snaggy boughs ready to remove a swimmer's skin, though possibly if the trees had all been cleared away, and the bright sunshine had flooded it with light, it might have looked attractive enough. as it was, i should have thought it madness to venture into such a spot, not knowing what danger might lurk therein, and i turned and swam back toward the other end, but stopped in the middle opposite my clothes lying on the fallen tree, and turned over to float and gaze up at the blue sky and the glorious hues of green upon the trees which surrounded the pool. "i wonder where pomp is," i said to myself, and then, satisfied that if he saw morgan he would learn where i had gone, and follow, i turned over on my breast and began to swim lazily toward the end where the reeds grew. "i dare say all the fish have taken refuge in there," i said to myself. "if one had a net to spread round, and then send pomp in there with a pole to beat and thrash about, one might get, a good haul." i swam on, driven by i don't know what attraction toward the great patch of reeds standing up out of the clear water, when all at once morgan's words concerning alligators came to my mind, and for a moment i hesitated and ceased swimming, gazing straight before me at the large patch of aquatic growth, and then at another, a dozen yards away to my right. "they'd only he little ones and scuttle off as hard as they could," i thought directly, and continued swimming toward the great patch before me, when, just as i was about a dozen feet from the thickest part, i felt a chill of horror run through me, paralysing every nerve, and my lips parted to utter a cry, for the reeds were suddenly agitated as by the passage of something forcing its way out, and to my horror the hideous open-mouthed snout of a great alligator was thrust forth, and from its wide jaws there came a horrible bellowing roar which sounded to me at the moment as if the monster had uttered the word _houk_! i could not for the moment stir nor utter a cry for help. then as the reeds were more roughly agitated, and i saw that the brute was struggling out from the tangle of matted roots below the surface, i threw myself back, and splashing and beating the water with all my might to scare the reptile, i made for the shore. the distance was only short, but to me then it seemed interminable. i had only glanced over my shoulder once, to see that the alligator was in full pursuit, with its open jaws well above the surface, and evidently gaining upon me fast, as i tore through the water, sending all i could back over the monster's muzzle; but in those agonised moments all seemed in vain, as in imagination i felt myself seized, dragged under, and drowned. the thought was far too horrible to bear; and, in spite of myself, i felt that i must turn round and face the brute, to make one brave struggle for life, and not let it seize me by the leg and drag me down, when just as i was about to yield to this feeling, and in the act of turning, my horror culminated, for there was a rush, and a great wave of water rose from the open patch of reeds on my left, and i knew that a second enemy had rushed out from its lair and was making for me. i uttered a hoarse gasp, and began swimming again toward the shore, when once more a strange sensation ran through me, mingled of horror, despair, and wonder, as i heard in a hoarse, hollow voice i well knew, though it sounded strange-- "oh, oh, mass' george! help! great 'gator, mass' george--help!" the cry did not come from the bank, nor from among the trees, but from close behind me where the first alligator was in full pursuit, and as i once more ceased swimming, paralysed by wonder, i saw my first pursuer rise up in a peculiar way in the water, raise its two black paws to its head, take it off, and dash it at the second alligator, which seized it on the instant, a second head appearing just above the surface, closing upon the first with a snap, and then there was a tremendous swirl in the water, a tail appeared above the surface as the brute dived down, and as i swam on panting, the surface of the water behind grew calm. but i was not swimming alone. pomp's black head was close by me, and his voice rose in a sobbing howl as, shivering with horror, he kept on-- "oh, swim fass, mass' george; swim fass, mass' george, 'fore de 'gator catch us. oh, swim fass, mass' george; swim fass, mass' george! 'fore de 'gator catch us," till we reached the shore and scrambled out, white and black, in the blazing sun, the water streaming down us, and both panting hard and trembling in every limb. chapter twenty two. "oh--ho--ho--ho--ho! what a lubbly bit fun!" cried pomp, as soon as the danger had passed away. "why, pomp!" i cried at last, fiercely, for i was too much astonished to speak at first. but he was off along the bank, to stop opposite the smaller batch of reeds, where he stood with both his fists doubled, stamping his bare feet, and shouting a perfect torrent of abuse at the invisible enemy. i caught a word here and there, words full of threats of what he would do to the "ugly 'gator, nex' time." but i was too much upset to shout till i had scrambled into my clothes, when i went sharply along the edge of the pool to where the boy was still shaking his fists, and abusing the reptile which had nearly scared him to death. but there was another scare ready for pomp. indignation was hot within me, and i made my presence known by a smart kick with my bare foot which nearly sent him into the pool again, and a cuff on the side of the head which knocked him back. "oh--oh--oh! don't, mass' george," he bellowed, as he dropped on his knees and held up his hands; "don't flog um, mass' george. i nebber, nebber do so no more." "you rascal!" i cried, catching him by the ear. "how came you to play me that trick?" "on'y for bit ob fun, mass' george; on'y for bit ob fun." "you dog!" i cried, shaking him. "on'y lil bit o' fun, mass' george; got de 'gator's head on to frighten um. nebber tink no 'gator dah, or not nebber done it." "no, i suppose not," i cried. "how dare you try to frighten me like that!" "say, mass' george, you pull dat ear right off." "serve you right too, sir. you insolent rascal. but i'll tell my father, and you shall be flogged." "oh no, don't do dat ah, mass' george. kick um again and pull um oder ear. pomp won't holler much. don't tell de massa." "a blackguardly, cowardly trick with that nasty old alligator's head." "but, mass' george," cried pomp, suddenly jumping up, "you no business beat kick a boy." "what, sir!" "why, if i no do dat, an de ole 'gator get hold ob de head, he get hold ob you, an where you be now?" my hand dropped to my side, and i stared in a puzzled way at pomp, who began to show his white teeth, as it seemed to me that what he said was true, and that if the reptile had not dashed at the boy, and seized the old head thrown at him, he might have seized me and dragged me down. "tink i sabe you, mass' george, and you hab berry narrow scrape; and den you say you tell de massa, and hab me flog." "yes," i said, half aloud, "he might have seized me." "oh, he hab you, sure 'nuff, mass' george, and um be pickin' you bone now down in de mud--iyah--iyah--iyah!" he roared, in a great burst of laughter as he turned round to the water, rested his hands on his knees, and shouted-- "how you like big 'gator head, eh? you find um berry hard? hope you like um, sah." he faced round to me again, showing his teeth, and with his eyes twinkling with merriment. "don't tell a massa," he said, pleadingly. i was conquered, for it was clear enough to me now that the boy's prank had in all probability saved my life. but i still hesitated as i seized him by both ears now, and gently swayed his head to and fro. "dat's right, mass' george, pull um hard. i no mine a bit." "you rascal!" i cried; "will you promise never to do it again?" "can't do it again, mass' george; ugly great 'gator got de head." "but will you play me such a trick again?" "dunno, mass' george. you pull hard bofe ears togedder, and kick um." "where are your clothes?" i said, quite disarmed now. "in de tree, mass' george. hab noder pull." "no," i said. "put on your clothes." pomp threw himself on the ground and began to howl. "what's that for, sir?" "you go tell de capen, and hab poor nigger flog. ah, mass' george, you bery cruel young massa." "get up, pomp. i'm not going to tell father, but you shouldn't have played me such a trick." the boy seemed as if made of india-rubber, for he sprang up, ducked down, stood on his head, and then went over and over head over heels three or four times before leaping up with a loud shout. "oh, mass' george, pull um out; got big forn in um back." it was quite true, and after i had relieved him of the spine, he ran to the biggest tree near, climbed up into the fork, and descended directly with his clothes, into which he slipped--not a long job, for he was by this time dry, and his garments consisted only of a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of cotton drawers, which came down to mid thigh. "now, look here, mass' george," he cried, excitedly; "you'n me got to kill dat 'gator." "yes," i said, "i must lie in wait and shoot him." "i tink so. what did he come in young mass' bath for? i go fetch um gun now." "no, no," i said. "it would be no use." "no," said pomp, thoughtfully, and then showing his teeth; "too busy fryin' um dinner. oh, mass' george, what a bit ob fun!" pompey threw himself down, and laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. "i ten times--hund times more frightum than you, mass' george. i tought um catch dis nigger for sartum, an' i felt so sorry for you, mass' george, dat i holler out loud." "sorry for me?" "yes, sah. what you do widout pomp?" "come along," i said, half surlily, half amused at the easy-going, light-hearted way in which the boy could forget the horrible peril in which he had placed himself. "you berry sorry too, mass' george.--i know." "know what?" "how catch um 'gator?" "how?" "pompey know. show um a morrow. good-bye, sah. bring you 'noder dinner morrow morning." he made a mock salutation in the direction he believed the reptile to have taken, and then together we began to thread our way through the trees, back toward the clearing, and then after another cautious look round for snakes made for the garden. but before we were within a hundred yards, pomp stopped. "ole massa in big garden, mass' george?" "i don't know," i said. "he was going to be back to dinner." "i go round de oder way. mass' say i chop wood, and i was going to chop wood till i hear you say morgan you go for walk, and i know you go for 'wim." "well?" "pomp very hurt upon mass' george." "oh, were you?" i said. "mass' george say cruel fing to pomp, so um go an' fess de ole 'gator head, and undress umself, an' get in de water firs, an' fright um." "ah, well, you'll be flogged one of these days, master pomp, without my telling tales of you." "i 'pose i will," he said, thoughtfully. "no like for mass' george tell, dough." "why not?" "cos dat hurt pomp more dan de floggum." "nonsense!" "eh? dat nonsense, mass' george? i don't know. if mass' morgan tell and get pomp flog, pomp holler, `oh don't, oh don't!' an' fro himself on de ground, an' squiggle an' kick. but soon as done flog um, pomp rub um back up gen tree, an' nebber mine a bit." "i suppose so," i said. "but if mass' george tell an' get pomp flog, dunno why, but no use rub back gen de tree. hurt pomp all de same." so pomp ran off to get round to the wood-shed, where i heard him as i reached the house chopping away as hard as he could, and making the wood fly; and i need hardly say i did not tell any tales about the boy's trick, though i thought about it a great deal. my ideas of punishment were not of the flogging kind, but connected with some way of giving master pomp tit for tat by means of a scare; but my invention was rather at fault, and idea after idea was dismissed as soon as formed. they were not pleasant ideas, some of them, and they were all wanting in the element i wished to impart. one of sarah's wild-plum jam puffs, with a dose of medicine concealed therein, was dismissed at once. so was a snake in his bed, because there were objections to the trick. in all probability the snake would not stop there; and if it did, as it must necessarily be a harmless one, it would not frighten pomp a bit, and might suggest the idea of playing a similar trick on me. i could push him into the water first time we were on the river-bank, but he would only laugh and swim out. i might lasso him suddenly some day, and tie him up to a tree, and leave him in the forest without anything to eat for a few hours; but i knew that i couldn't find the heart to torture the poor fellow like that; and if i could, no knots that i contrived would ever hold him very long. "bah! it's waste of time!" i said; and i gave it up, not knowing that i should soon have something far more serious to think about. for just as i was deep in my cogitations i heard a step, and my father came into sight, looking very hot and tired. that evening, as we sat together by the light of a candle, with the forest insects humming round, he said suddenly-- "i'm afraid our troubles with the spaniards are not over, george. these people are threatening again." "but that does not matter, does it, father?" "i don't know yet, my boy. there is a great deal of braggadocio and pride in your spanish don, and they have plenty of enterprise and fight in them sometimes, as we know by what they have done." "but will they come and fight against us, father?" i said, eagerly. "i don't know that they will come and fight against _us_," he replied, dryly. i felt the blood come up into my temples, and i spoke quickly-- "i know i'm only a boy, father, and not big enough to fight for you, or by your side like a soldier, but i could load." he smiled and leaned toward me, and patted my shoulder. "i beg your pardon, george," he said, kindly. "i ought not to have spoken as i did. you are only a boy, and while you are a boy i pray heaven that you may enjoy a boy's happy life, and that we may be free from all the troubles that are threatening. i am a soldier, and i have fought in the service of my country." "yes," i said, proudly, "i know. morgan has often told me." "morgan ought to hold his tongue, and not put vain notions into your head." "but he said it was glorious, father." he looked at me sadly, and sighed. "i am a soldier, george," he said; "but i am afraid that i have very little belief in what people call glory. in too many cases the brilliancy of the glory is dulled with blood and horror too terrible to be spoken of without a shudder. it is glorious to fight in defence of your country, its women and children, or to fight here for our homes; and while i have strength to lift a sword, or voice and knowledge to lead and direct others in such a cause, i will, if it is necessary, fight again. but after what i have been through and seen, i am ready to go down on my knees and pray the god of love and peace and mercy that neither i nor you may ever see sword flashed or shot fired in anger while we live." he was silent for a few moments, and then he said, cheerfully-- "come, what did the latin writer say about a man defending his own country?" "`_dulce et decorum est_--'" i said, promptly, and then stopped short. "i forget the rest, father." he laughed. "our life out here, as the pioneers of a new civilisation, is not conducive to the study of the classics, my boy. it's a rough school, where we have to take care to avoid fevers, and meet indians, and are threatened with spanish aggression, and have to fight for our lives against a flood. but there, we have drifted into a very serious talk." "but i like it, father," i said eagerly, "though i am ashamed to have forgotten my latin." "ah, well, you will look that passage up in your horace, and i venture to say that it will be so impressed now upon your memory that it will never slip away. there, i mentioned the flood. flood suggests boat. you said you thought the boat might have been carried up the stream into the woods somewhere." "yes," i said; "the water did come out of the big river and rush up ours." "it is quite probable. you may find it as you say you did the hut. when are you going to search for it?" "when you give me leave." "go when you like. i did think i should have to go again to-morrow to the settlement to confer with the general and the others, but messages have again been sent back to the spanish governor of florida, and it must be many days, perhaps weeks, before we hear again, so you can go to-morrow if you will." i leaped up from my seat excitedly. "where are you going now?" "to tell pomp to call me, and ask sarah to prepare a basket of something to eat." he nodded and took up a book, while after telling our housekeeper of my wants, i ran across the clearing to the edge of the forest to call the boy to get ready. as i drew near i found hannibal seated on a stump left by the cutting down of one of the trees to make room for the new hut, with his chin resting in his hands. "hallo, han," i said; "anything the matter?" "no, mass' george," he said. "i only look up at de 'tars and tink." "what about?" "i wonder wedder dey de 'tars i see in my own country." "yes," i said; "i do know that. do you ever want to go back again?" "back again, sah?" "yes--to your own country." he shook his head. "no, mass' george. too much fight--too much kill-- too much sell for slave; nebber go back again." "then you are happy here?" "yes, sah. happy here wif mass' george and de capen. can't talk. understand?" "oh, yes," i said; "i understand. where's pomp?" "sleep. dah! i call um." "no, no; let me," i said, laughing. i went into the hut, and there on the blanket in a corner, with his mouth wide open, lay the boy fast asleep. it was so dark inside that i should not have been able to make him out but for the gleam of light from the window, which made his teeth just visible. i stood looking down at him and listening to his breathing for a few moments, before slipping out of the hut, taking my knife from my pocket, and cutting a long twig which i stripped, all but a few leaves at the end. as i came back, hannibal rose. "don't whip, mass' george," he said in a pleading whisper, as he laid his hand upon my arm. "i was not going to," i said, laughing, "only to tickle him." i saw the big african's teeth gleam, and i stole back into the hut on tip-toe, thinking the while how marvellous it was that a great fellow like the black, who could have almost crushed me with one hand, should be so patiently submissive, and give up to me as he did. but that thought passed away as i stood over pomp and gently tickled him on one cheek. he moved restlessly, and i tickled the other with the leaves. he turned back again, and the end of the twig began to play about his neck. there was a quick rustle, one hand struck at the twig and pomp rolled over upon his face. this gave me a good opportunity to titillate both sides of his neck, and he sprang round again. "bodder!" i heard him mutter; but i persevered, making the twig play well about him. "bodder de fly!" he cried, viciously; but the twig tickled away, and pomp's eyes were so tightly closed that he contented himself with twisting and rubbing himself. "wait i get up, i mash all de ole fly eberywhere," he muttered. tickle--tickle--tickle. _slip slap_. pomp's hands delivered a couple of blows on his bare skin. tickle--tickle--tickle. "you no like me come mash you, eh?" tickle--tickle--tickle. "yah! you great ugly skeeter, you leave lil nigger go sleep." "_buzz_--_buzz_--_hum_." tickle--tickle--tickle. i made as good an imitation as i could of a gnat's hum, and kept up the tickling till he made two or three vicious lounges out at where i stood in the darkness, and this time he got hold of the twig. "eh?" he exclaimed. "dat not skeeter fly. dat you, fader? you let lil nigger go sleep. keep a 'tick 'till." "eh? who dat? ah, yah! it you, mass' george. i know all de time." "no, you didn't, old sleepy head." "eh? well, what head for at night but sleep um? you want pomp go after 'coon?" "no; look here, pomp; we're to go and try to find the boat in the morning. come and call me as soon as it's day." "eh? why not go now, mass' george?" "no, no; i want to go and have a good sleep first. mind, as soon as it's light; i'll take the gun." "i call you, mass' george, widout come an' ticklum wif lil 'tick, ha-- ha--ha! i know." "good-night." "good-night, mass' george; i come and climb up your window; and you look out." "i will," i said to myself as i went away, said good-night to hannibal, and hurried back to bed, but not till i had carefully fastened my window ajar, so that pomp could not get it open in the morning. and there i was, too much excited by the ideas of the trip to get to sleep. for as i lay there i could picture the little river winding in and out among the great trees of the primeval forest, and see it here black as night flowing sluggishly beneath the drooping moss-hung trees, there dancing in the sunshine that rained down from above, and then on and on in amongst the mysterious shades where in all probability the foot of man had never trod. "oh," i said to myself at last, as i lay listening to the monotonous piping insect hum, and the bellowings and croakings from the wood, "how hot it is! i do wish it was day." but it seemed that many hours must elapse before day could come, and in a curious dreamy way i was wandering on and on through the tangled wood close to the river-bank, when pomp said in a whisper-- "hi! mass' george, you go 'top seep all day?" i started up to find that i had slept for hours, and light in the shape of the morning was at the window, in company with darkness in the form of pomp's black face. chapter twenty three. i lost no time in dressing after opening my window wide, there being no fear now of pomp getting at me to have his revenge while i was asleep for the tricks i had played upon him. the boy thrust in his legs with an easy motion, as soon as the window was thrown open, raising himself and dropping gently into a sitting position to watch me wash and dress. "well, why are you looking on in that contemptuous way?" i said at last, as i noted the play of his face. "dat not temshus, mass' george," he said. "i only sit and fink what long time you are wash and dress." "that's not long," i said; "why, how long are you?" "no time, mass' george. i go bed like am now, and get up like am now, and come on." "but do you mean to say you haven't washed this morning?" "how i 'top go to ribber an' wash, when mass' george wait to be called? hab good 'wim when we get to ribber." i finished dressing, and took pomp into sarah's kitchen, where we both made a hearty meal, which was interrupted by pomp insisting upon having the shot and powder pouches buckled on him at once, so that he might make sure of them, and not be defrauded of the honour of carrying them by any tricks on my part. he did not look so pleased at having to carry the wallet which had been well stored ready for our use, but he submitted to have the strap thrown over his head, and passed one arm through. then full of eagerness i shouldered the gun, and we started off into the forest, passing the clearing where the rattlesnake had been killed, and next passing on to the little river, up whose course we were to make our way, keeping a good look-out for the boat the while. the morning was glorious, the sun piercing the low-lying mist, which rapidly grew more transparent, broke up, and seemed to dissolve away. the birds were piping and screaming in the trees, and as we reached the river, where all was light and sunshine, we started first a great white crane, which rose from the shallows and flew off, then a kingfisher with dazzling coat, and soon after came in sight of a little flock of rosy-winged flamingoes, with their curious, long, snaky, writhing necks, and quaintly-shaped bills, which always looked to me as if they were made to use upside down. "well, i nebber see!" cried pomp at last, after stepping back, and preserving the most profound silence time after time. "what's the matter?" "why mass' george no shoot?" "because we don't want the birds. you don't care to have to carry them, do you?" "no; dis wallet um so dreffle heabby." we tramped on a little farther, now in the deep shade, now in the golden sunshine when we could get close to the stream, and then pomp sighed. "mass' george like to carry de walletum now?" "no; i'm carrying the gun." "pomp carry de gun." "oh, no," i said, "i'll manage that;" and we went slowly on again. there was no track, and near the river where the light and sunshine played there was plenty of thick undergrowth, while a short distance back in the forest the walking was easy among the trees, where scarcely anything clothed the ground in the deep shadow. pomp kept trudging away toward the dark, shadowy forest, and i had to stop him again and again, for the boat was not likely to be in there. on the last occasion he said-- "walletum dreffle heabby, mass' george. don't think better carry um inside?" "what do you mean?" "mass' george eat half, and pomp eat half. den we hab nuffum to carry." i naturally enough burst out laughing. "why, we've only just had a good breakfast, and couldn't eat any more." "oh yes, pomp could, big lots." "and what are we to have to eat by and by, when we get hungry?" "mass' george shoot ducks; pomp make fire an' roace um." "no, no, no," i cried. "here, pass me the wallet, and i'll give you a rest." "and pomp carry de gun," he cried, eagerly. "no, sir. if you can carry the gun, you can carry the wallet. here, give me hold." pomp looked disappointed as he handed over the wallet very slowly, and after slinging it on we once more progressed, looking carefully in all directions in search of the lost boat, but seeing nothing; and i soon had to come to the conclusion that the chances were very greatly against our finding the object of our search. it was slow work, but for some miles the place was familiar, my father having brought me as far exploring, and pomp and i having several times over boated through the dark forest along that bright, winding highway-- the river; generally with some difficulty, on account of the fallen trees, and snags, and dense overgrowth, beneath which we often had to force our way, while at other times we had almost to cut a channel through the lilies and other water plants which choked the stream. it was plain enough to see though, now, how comparatively easy a journey would have been in a boat, for the large flood-waves which had swept up the river had scoured out its bed, throwing vast rotting heaps of the succulent water-growths ashore to rot, fester, and dry in the hot sun. high up too i could see the traces where the flood had reached, well marked by the dry grass hanging among the boughs. but we kept on forcing our way slowly, soon getting into a part of the river that was entirely new, and growing more and more fascinating to me at every step. for there was, in addition to the glorious beauty of the bright, sunny river, with its banks where in places the trees drooped down and dipped their boughs in the smooth water, and the various growths were of the most dazzling green, always something new--bird, quadruped, insect, or fish taking my attention to such a degree that i often forgot the boat and the object of our journey. pomp was just as excited as i, touching my arm every now and then to point with a black finger at some grey heron standing thigh-deep, watching for the fish that nearly made the waters alive; and perhaps just as we were waiting to see him make the next dart with his beak at some shoal of unfortunate fry, there would be what seemed to be a great curved bar of silver flash out of the water, to plunge in again, giving us just a glimpse of the fierce fish's glittering scales. every now and then some big fellow would leap right out, to come down again with a heavy splash, and send a whole shoal of tiny fish, invisible to us before, flying out of the water to avoid their enemy, the river shark. a little farther, and pomp's lips would be close to my ear imploring me to shoot as he indicated a bit of sandy or muddy shore where, just clear of the water and looking like a piece of tree-stump, a great alligator would lie basking in the hot sunshine. but i invariably resisted his prayers, and as we went on, the reptile would suddenly hear our coming and scuffle rapidly out of sight, making a great swirl in the water as he disappeared. "no, pomp," i would say, "the first 'gator i shoot must be that one in the bathing-pool. come along." on we went, with the river winding in and out through the forest, and there was always something fresh to see: humming-birds that were not so big as some of the butterflies and beetles that swarmed in the sunshiny parts; great lagoon-like pools where the running of the stream became invisible, and we could see far down in the deep water where fish were slowly gliding in and out among the roots of the trees, which in many places clothed the bottom with masses of fibre. now pomp's eyes would be ready to start out of his head as we neared a corner, or starting off into the forest to avoid some wild or swampy patch, we crept out to the river's bank again, to startle a little flock of ducks which had been preening themselves, and sent feathers like tiny boats floating down the stream. "plenty of time," i would keep saying. "we don't want them yet, and i'll shoot them when we do." "but 'pose dey not dah to shoot when you want um, mass' george. i dreffle hungry now." "ah," i said at last, "our wallet is getting heavy. let's pick out a place, and have some lunch." pomp pricked up his ears, as he generally did when he heard a new word, and this was one ready for him to adopt. "iss," he said, eagerly, "i berry fond o' lunch. i fought smell um yesday when missie cook um." "cook what?" i said. "dat lunch, mass' george." i laughed, and pressed on to look for a good spot, and soon found one where a great tree, whose roots had been undermined by the river, had fallen diagonally with its branches half in the water, and offering us a good seat just nicely shaded from the burning sun, while we had only to lie out on its great trunk and reach down to be able to fill the tin can i had with the clear water. the gun was leaned up against the tree-roots; we each sat astride facing each other, the bigness of the tree making it rather an uneasy seat; i slung the wallet round and placed it between us, and had just thrust in my hand, while pomp wrenched himself round to hang the ammunition pouches close to the gun on a ragged root behind him, when, all at once, the boy's left leg flew over and kicked the wallet out of my hands, and he bounded a couple of yards away to stand grinning angrily and rubbing himself. "too bad, mass' george. what do dat for?" "do what?" i cried, roaring with laughter, as i stooped down and picked up the wallet, out of which fortunately nothing had fallen. "'tick um pin in poor lil nigger." "i didn't," i said; "and see what you've done." "yes, mass' george did. pomp felt um. you wait bit, i serb you out." "but i tell you i did not, pomp," i cried, as i wiped my eyes. "oh, you ridiculous-looking little chap! come and sit down." "no, won't. you 'tick um pin in poor lil nigger behind leg 'gain." "i will not, 'pon my honour," i cried. "oh, you did look comic." "made um feel comic dicklus," cried pomp, catching up the two words i had used. "did hurt." "come and sit down." "you no 'tick um pin in 'gain?" "i haven't got a pin," i said. "den i know; it was um big forn." "it wasn't, pomp. come and sit down and have some lunch." "no. won't come. don't want no lunchum. hurt poor pomp dreffle. you alway play um trick." "i tell you i didn't do anything, pomp. there, come along." he caught sight of the food i brought now from the wallet, and it was irresistible. "you no 'tick pin in nigger 'gain?" "no." "nor yet um forn?" "no. come along, you little unbeliever. come along." "i serb you out fo dat, mass' george, you see," he said, sidling back to the tree, watching me cautiously the while. "oh, very well, i'll forgive you," i said, as he retook his place. "i say, pomp, i am thirsty." "so 'm i, mass' george. dat lunchum?" "yes; that's lunch," i said, as i laid the neatly-done-up napkin containing provision of some kind on the tree-trunk between us, and taking out the tin can i leaned right back, gripping the tree with both legs, and lowering my hand i dipped the vessel full of water. i was just in the act of rising cautiously and very slowly, when a sharp pain in the fleshy part of my leg made me spring forward in agony, dashing the water in pomp's face, knocking the wallet and its contents over sidewise, and in my pain and rage i seized the boy to begin cuffing him, while he wrestled with me to get away, as we hugged and struggled like two fighting men in a _melee_ on the same horse. "how dare you!" i panted; "that was the point of your knife. i'll teach you to--oh, murder!" "oh, mass' george, don't! _oh_! oh! oh!" we both made a bound together, went off the trunk sidewise, and pomp struggled up, tore off his shirt and drawers, and began to beat and shake them, and then peep inside, pausing every moment to have a rub; while i, without going to his extreme, was doing the best i could to rid myself of my pain. "nas' lil fing!" cried pomp, stamping on something in the grass. "look, look, mass' george, make hase; dey eat all de lunchum." the mystery was out. we had seated ourselves upon the home of a vicious kind of ant, whose nest was under the rotten bark of the tree, and as soon as pomp realised the truth he danced about with delight. "i fought you 'tick pin in lil nigger. you fought i 'tick um knife in mass' george! you catch um, too." "yes," i said, wriggling under my clothes, and rubbing myself. "oh! quick! back of my neck, pomp, look. biting." pomp sprang to me in an instant. "i got um, mass' george. dah!" he cried, as he placed the vicious little insect between his teeth, and bit it in two. "you no bite young massa 'gain. how you like be bite, sah? make you feel dicklus, eh? oh! ugh! tiff! tiff! tiff! oh, um do tase nasty." pomp spat and shuddered and ended by washing out his mouth by running a little way, lying flat with his head over the bank, and scooping up some water with his hand. meanwhile i cautiously picked up the provisions, the napkin and wallet, and carefully shook them clear of the vicious little things--no easy job, by the way; after which, stinging and smarting still, i sought another place where we could eat our meal in peace. chapter twenty four. "no, no, pomp," i said, after a time, during which we had been thoroughly enjoying our food, "you've had quite enough. we shall want to make this last till night." "mass' george no want to finish um all up?" "no." "so not hav' to carry walletum." "of course not. we shall soon be hungry again." "catch fis; shoot de duck; pomp fine plenty 'tick; and make a fire." "i wish you'd find the boat," i said, packing up the remains of the meal the while. "think it's any use to go any farther?" "yes; go right on, mass' george; plenty time." "yes, we'll go on," i said, for i felt refreshed and rested, and as if i should like to go journeying on for days--the beauty of the river and the various things we saw exciting a desire to continue our trip. "i don't suppose any one ever came here before, but we mustn't lose our way." "couldn't lose way, mass' george. ony got to keep by ribber, and he show de way back." "of course," i said; "i forgot that." "no walk back." "i hope not," i said. "we are going to find the boat." pomp made a grimace and looked round, as if to say, "not likely." "no find a boat, put lot ob 'tick togedder and float down de ribber home." "ah, well, we'll see," i said; and we continued our journey for hour after hour, always finding some fresh beauty to entice me, or living object for pomp to stalk and beg me to shoot. but though we looked here and there as well as we could, there was no sign of the object of our search; in fact, i soon began to feel that i had embarked upon an enterprise that was almost an impossibility. the river had now grown a little swifter, and though there was plenty of swampy land down by its banks, it seemed as if we were getting into a more elevated region, the margin being higher, and here and there quite precipitous, but it was always more beautiful, and the objects of natural history grew frequent every hour. now it was a squirrel, of which there seemed to be great numbers; then all at once, as we were threading our way through the low bushes, something sprang up from its lair and went bounding off among the trees, giving me just a glimpse of a pretty head with large eyes and small horns, before it was gone. "oh, mass' george, you ought shoot dat," said pomp, reproachfully. "dat berry good to eat." "if i had been on the look-out, i could not have hit it," i said. "but i say, pomp," i continued, looking round as we came upon a high sandy bluff through which the river had cut its way, and whose dry, sun-bathed sides offered a pleasant resting-place, "aren't you tired?" "no," said the boy, thoughtfully, "pomp not bit tired, only one leg." "well, are you hungry then?" "dreffle, mass' george. you like emp de walletum now?" "yes, we'll sit down and have a good meal, and then we shall have to make haste back." "top lil bit, mass' george," said the boy, cautiously. "oh no, there are no pins and forns there to 'tick in us," i said. "no, mass' george, but dat sort o' place for rattle tailum 'nake. i go look fust." i felt a shudder run through me at the mention of the noxious creature, and brought the gun to bear as we advanced. "no; no shoot," whispered the boy. "big 'tick bess for 'nake." we advanced very cautiously, with our eyes searching the ground, but there was nothing in sight, and after selecting a comfortable place where the sand had slowly been washed down from the bluff till it lay thick and dry as when it is drifted on the seashore, we sat down, the fine grains feeling delightful to our limbs, and made a hearty meal of the remains left in the wallet. it was wonderfully still there, the trees being quite motionless, and the only sounds heard being the hum of some insect and the ripple of the water a dozen yards away. high above us through the thin tracery of an overhanging tree the sky looked of a brilliant blue, and away to left and right extended the forest. pomp was lying face downwards, lazily scooping a hole in the sand, and watching it trickle back as fast as he scraped it away, just as if it were so much dry water in grains. i was lying on my back where the sand sloped up to the bank; and as i gazed at the trees, half expecting to see our boat sticking somewhere up among the branches, it seemed to me as if i had never felt so happy and contented before. perhaps it was the soft, clear atmosphere, or the fact that i was resting, or that i had just partaken of a pleasant meal. i don't know. all i can say is that everything felt peaceful and restful; even pomp, who as a rule was like a piece of spring in motion. there was a lovely pale blue haze in the distance, and a warm golden glow nearer at hand; the sun was getting well to the west; and i knew that we must soon start and walk fast, so as to get back, but i did not feel disposed to move for a few minutes. we should be able to walk so much better after a rest, i thought, and we should not stop to look for the boat, or at anything, but keep steadily walking on, so that it would not take us a quarter of the time; and if night did come on, the moon would rise early, and we could easily get to the house. how deliriously faint and blue that looked right away there in the distance, and how still it all was! even pomp enjoyed the silence, and i would not disturb him yet, but let him rest too. no fear of any snakes coming if we were there, and in a few minutes i'd jump up, tell pomp, and we'd go and have a delicious bathe, and dry ourselves in the warm sand; that would make us walk splendidly. but i would not wake him yet--not just yet--i'd wake him presently, for he was so still that he must have gone to sleep. there he lay with his face to the sand, and his fingers half buried in the hole he had been scraping. "what a fellow he is to snooze!" i thought to myself. "lucky i'm not so ready to go to sleep. how--how long shall i wait before i wake him?--how long--how long--how--" chapter twenty five. a jerk! then a hasty movement. i must have left the window open, and a fly or a beetle had got in and was tickling my ear. now it was on my cheek--then on the other cheek--my neck again--my ear--my eyes--and now-- "ertchsshaw--ertchsshaw!" it was right on my nose, and i start up to brush it away, and in the gloom recognise the figure of pomp, who burst into a roar of laughter. "mass' george tiddle lil nigger; now lil nigger tiddle mass' george." "why, pomp," i said, sitting up and staring, "i--i thought i was at home." "no, mass' george. home long a way. been sleep, and pomp been sleep." i shivered, got up, and stamped about. "yes, mass' george, um dreffle cole." "here, get the powder and shot, and let's go back." pomp shook his head. "no good go now. get 'tuck in de forn, or tumble in de ribber." "but we must go." "no see de way; an' all de big 'gator go out for walk now, mass' george." "what time can it be?" "dunno, mass' george, o'ny know not morrow mornin' yet." i looked about me, and tried to make out the forest path by which we should have to go; but all was dark as night could be, except overhead where a faint gleam showed where the moon should have been giving her light, had not the clouds and mist interposed. i did not like the look of it, but on the other hand i was afraid to give up; i knew that my father would be anxious, perhaps setting out in search of me. that last thought fixed me in my determination, and taking up the gun, i said firmly-- "come along." "mass' george go shoot somefin?" "no; let's get back home." "no get home now. too dark." "but we must get home." "mass' george say muss get home, but de dark night say he no get home." "let's try," i said. pomp was obedience itself, and he followed me as i strode back to the edge of the forest, entered the dense thicket close to the river, and had not gone a hundred yards before just in front of me there was a crashing, rustling noise, and a dull sullen plunge. "i yah, ugly ole 'gator. take care, mass' george, he don't hab you." i felt my heart beat fast, but i tried to fix it upon my mind in the foremost place that the reptiles fled from me, and were perhaps more alarmed than i was; but as i pressed forward, pomp suddenly said, piteously-- "no got shoe like mass' george. poor pomp put him foot in 'gator mouf. oh!" pomp caught hold of me tightly, for from somewhere in front there came a low snarling roar, which i had never before heard; but report had told of different savage creatures which came down from the hills sometimes, mountain lions, as the settlers called them, and to face one of these creatures in the dark was too much for my nerves. "it's unlucky," i said to pomp; "but we can't get back to-night. we had better get out from among the trees." pomp wanted no second hint; he was behind, and he turned at once, and led the way back to the sandy bluff, where he stood shivering. "what was dat, mass' george?" "i don't know," i said. "some kind of great cat, i suppose." "pomp tink he know. it great big monkey like in him country. great big as fader, and big long arm, an um shout _ooooor_! like dat." he uttered as deep-toned a roar as he could, and made a snatch at me directly and held on, for from out of the forest came an answering roar that sounded terrific to us, as we stood there shivering with cold and fear. "mass' george! mass' george!" whispered pomp, with his lips close to my ear, "tell um i berry sorry. i no do um no more." "hush!" i said, and i stood ready with the gun presented, fully expecting to see a dark shadowy form crawling over the light-coloured sand, and trying to get within range for a spring. but all was still once more, and we waited in expectancy for some minutes before there was a great floundering splash in the water to our right; and then away to the left where the river ran black and mysterious in the night--where all was bright and beautiful by day-- there came evidently from three different parts as many bellows, such as must have been given by alligators of great size. "come 'long, mass' george," whispered pomp. "no," i said, "we must wait till day." "dey come and hab us bofe, mass' george, we 'top here. come 'long." "but it is impossible." "yes, mass' george, um possible; come and get up dat big tree." the proposition seemed so much in unison with my feelings that i followed my companion at once, and he paused under a great oak a little farther from the river, and beyond the bluff. "dah, mass' george, make base up an' let me come. i dreffle frighten." "then go first." "no, mass' george, you go firs', you de mas'r." "then i order you to go first, pomp," i said. "den we bofe clime up togedder, mass' george. you go one way, and pomp go oder way." there seemed to be no time for discussion on questions of precedent, so we began to climb together, reaching a great branch about twenty feet from the ground, no easy task for me, encumbered as i was by the gun. "ha ha!" cried pomp, who seemed to have recovered his courage as soon as he was up in the tree; "no 'gator catch um up here, mass' george. nebber see 'gator, no, not eben lil 'gator, climb up tree." "no," i said in a low tone, which impressed the boy so that he sat speechless for some time; "no, but the panthers can, more easily than we do, pomp." i don't know what sort of a shot i should have made; probably i should have been too nervous to take good aim up there in the dark; but for what seemed a terrible length of time i sat there gun in hand, ready to fire at the first savage creature i could see, and a dozen times over i conjured up something stealthily approaching. but it was not until we had been up there about an hour that i felt quite certain of some great cat-like creature being beneath the tree. it was not creeping forward, but crouched down as if watching us, ready at our first movement to change its waiting attitude into one of offence. pomp made no sign, but he was so still that i felt sure he could see it too, and i was afraid to call his attention to it, lest it should bring the creature on me so suddenly that it might disorder my aim. so i sat on with the piece directed at the object, my finger on the trigger, hesitating, then determined to fire, when all at once it seemed to me that the animal had grown plainer. this, though i had not detected the movement, must mean that it was getting nearer and about to spring, so casting all hesitancy to the winds, i raised the gun to my shoulder, and then quite started, for pomp said aloud-- "mass' george going shoot?" "yes," i said, in a husky whisper. "keep still; do you see it?" "no. where be um?" "there, there," i whispered; "down straight before us." "what, dat?" "yes. be still, or you'll make it leap at us." "why, dat lil tree." there was a tone of such astonishment in the boy's voice that i bent lower and lower down, knowing how much better pomp's eyes were than mine; and as i looked, i saw that the object was clear, and that it was indeed a low patch of shrub getting plainer and plainer rapidly now, for it was morning once more. chapter twenty six. "now, mass' george," said pomp, as we stood at the foot of the tree, and stamped about to get rid of the stiffness, and cold brought on by our cramped position on the branch, "de fuss ting am breckfuss. i so dreffle hungry." "but we ate everything last night," i said. "neb mind; plenty duck in de ribber. you go shoot four lil duck, dat two piece, while pomp make fire to roace um." "but how are we to get a light?" "you see," he said, as he busily began to get together all the loose sticks he could find lying about, at the same time showing me a stone and his knife with a little bag full of tinder. "i soon get light, mass' george; i get big fire much soon you get de duck." the proposition was so sensible that i went off with the gun, and following the course of the river beyond the bluff, i was not long before i heard a familiar noise, and creeping forward in the grey dawn, i was soon crouching behind the low growth by a wide pool of the river, where quite a flock of ducks were disporting themselves, preening their feathers, diving, making the bright drops run over their backs like pearls, and ending by flapping and beating the water heavily with their wings, exactly as i had seen them perform in the pond at home. i waited my opportunity, lying flat now on my chest, and at last, after nearly firing three or four times and always waiting for a better chance, i drew trigger upon a knot of the ducks after getting several well in a line. there was a deafening report, a sensation as if my shoulder was broken, and a thick film of smoke hid everything from my sight. but as the shot went echoing along the side of the forest, i could hear the whistling and whirring of wings where the ducks flapped along the water, rose, and swept away over the trees. then the smoke rose, and to my great delight there lay five of the unfortunate ducks; three perfectly still, and floating slowly to the shallow below the pool, the other two flapping wildly and trying to reach the farther shore. to get the three was easy. i had but to wait and then wade in over the shallow to where i could see the sandy and pebbly bottom quite plain. to get the wounded ducks meant a swim, and perhaps a long hunt. "better shoot at them again," i thought, when i shuddered, for something dark appeared behind one; there was a snap, and it disappeared, while almost at the same moment the other, which must have been nearly twenty yards away, was suddenly struck down beneath the water by something which puzzled me at first, but which the next minute i knew to be an alligator's tail. i turned to my three, now well over the shallows, and hesitated as to whether i dared risk going after them, not knowing but that an alligator might make a rush out of the deep black pool and seize them first, or failing them perhaps seize me. but i was hungry too, and leaping in, i secured all three birds after splashing through the water a bit, and reached the shore again in safety, but not without many an excited look round at the deep place where i knew the monsters were lurking; and as i shook the water from my legs, and stamped about on the bank, i found myself thinking what a pity it was such a lovely country should be marred by dangerous beasts and horrible reptiles like the rattlesnakes and alligators. then i thought of the ducks, and as i held them all three by their orange legs, and looked down at their beautifully-coloured plumage, all soft browns and chestnuts, and with wing-spots of lovely green, and having a head of the same colour, my conscience smote me, and i found myself wondering what the ducks thought that beautiful morning when they were having their baths and preening themselves ready for a long flight or a good swim. and i seemed to see them all again playing about, and passing their heads over their backs, and rubbing the points of their beaks in the oil-gland to make their plumage keep off the water. and how soft and close it was! "what must they have thought," i said to myself, "about a monster who came with a horrible, fire-dealing weapon that strikes them down like a flash of lightning? not much room for me to complain about the alligators!" i exclaimed. "but if i had not killed the ducks they would have killed all kinds of insects and little fishes, and if they did not kill the insects and fishes, the insects and fishes would have killed smaller ones. everything seems to be killing everything else, and i suppose it's because we are all hungry, as i am now." i walked sharply back along the river-bank with the sun now well up, and before long came in sight of a little cloud of smoke rising softly above the trees, and soon after i could hear the crackling of wood, and as i drew near, there was pomp dodging about in the smoke, piling up pieces of dried stick, and making a roaring fire. the sight of this took away all my feelings of compunction, and in imagination i began to see the brown sides of the well-roasted ducks, to smell their appetising odour, and to taste the juicy, tender bits about the bones. "i heard you shoot um, mass' george," cried pomp, excitedly. "got lubbly fire. how many?" "three," i said. "oh!" "what's the matter?" "on'y got flee. dat two mass' george, and on'y one for pomp, an' i so dreffle hungly, i mose eat bit a 'gator." "there'll be plenty," i said. "i shall only eat one." "eh? mass' george on'y eat one duck-bird?" "that's all." "mass' george sure?" "yes. let's cook them." "but is mass' george quite sure?" "yes--yes--yes!" "oh! den mass' george hab dis bewfler one wid um green head. dat's biggess and bess." "here, what are you going to do?" i cried, as pomp suddenly seized the three ducks and threw them into the fire. "that's not the way to roast ducks." "pomp know dat, mass' george," cried the boy, poking the birds about with a long, sharp-pointed stick, one of several which he had cut ready. "pomp fader show um how to do ober dah." "ober dah" evidently meant africa. "dat a way to get all de fedder off fuss. dah, see dat?" he cried, as he turned one out scorched brown. "now mass' george see." as i watched him, he cleverly ran his sharp-pointed stick through this first duck, stuck the point down into the sand, so that the bird was close in to the glowing embers, and then deftly served the others the same. "mass' george shoot um duck, pomp cook um; same pomp cook and make de cake at home. pomp fader nebber cook. pomp cook de fis, and de yam, and make um hominy. pomp berry clebber 'deed, mass' george. ah, you try burn you 'tick an' tummle in de fire, would you, sah? no, you don't! you 'top dah an' get rock nice for mass' george." as he spoke he made a snatch at one of the sticks, and turned the bird, as he stuck it afresh in the sand, closer to the glowing embers, for the flame and smoke had nearly gone now, and the ducks were sputtering, browning, and beginning to give forth a tempting odour. as the boy was evidently, as he modestly said, so "clebber," i did not interfere, but took off my shoes and stockings, wrung the latter well out, and laid them and the shoes in the warm glow to dry, a little rubbing about in the hot dry sand from the bluff soon drying my feet. then i carefully reloaded the gun, in accordance with morgan's instructions, making the ramrod leap well on the powder charge and wad, while pomp looked on eagerly, his fingers working, his lips moving, and his eyes seeming to devour everything that was done. "pomp load um gun," he said all at once. "you go on with your cooking," i replied; "that one's `burning um 'tick.'" pomp darted at the wooden spit, and drawing it out replaced it in a better position. "dat duck lil rarksle," he said, showing his teeth. "dat free time try to burn um 'tick and tummle in de fire, rock umself. dah, you 'tan 'till, will you? oh, i say, mass' george, done um 'mell good?" "yes; they begin to smell nice." "dat de one hab green head. he berry juicy 'deed; dat one for mass' george. what mass' george going to do?" "put the gun and powder and shot farther away from the fire." "what for?" "a spark might set the powder off." "oh!" ejaculated pomp. then, "what powder do if 'park send um off?" "blow the fire out and send the ducks into the river." "what? an' de 'gator get um? pomp not cook de duck for 'gator. 'gator eat de duck raw, and no pick um fedder. take de gun away." i was already doing so, and standing it up behind us against a patch of low bushes, i hung the powder and shot pouches by their straps to the iron ramrod. then going back to my place i sat watching the cooking, as the boy turned and re-turned the birds, which grew browner and more appetising every moment. there were faults in that cooking, no doubt. there was neither plate nor dish, no bread, no salt or pepper, and no table-cloth. but there was something else--young, healthy appetite, as we sat at last in the bright morning sunshine, drawn back now from the fire, pomp and i, each with a roasting-stick in one hand, his knife in the other, cutting off the juicy brown bits, and eating them with the greatest of gusto, after an incision had been made, and the whole of the hardened interior had been allowed to fall out into the fire. we hardly spoke, but went on eating, pomp watching me and cutting the bird exactly as i did mine; then picking each bone as it was detached from the stick, and so on and on, till we had each finished his duck. our hands were not very clean, and we had no table napkins for our lips; but as we ate that meal, i can safely say for myself that it was the most delicious repast i ever had. then we sat perfectly still, after throwing our sticks into the remains of the fire, reduced now to a few glowing embers. but there is one thing more of which i must speak, that is the third duck, which, certainly the best cooked and least burned of the three, had been served to table; that is to say, its burnt stick had been stuck in the sand between us, and there it was, nicely cooling down, and looking tempting in the extreme. pomp looked at me, and i looked at pomp. "i dreffle glad we come an' 'top out all night," he said, showing his white teeth. "mass' george, go an' shoot more duck, an' pomp cook um." "we haven't finished that one," i said. "no, mass' george, no hab finish dat oder duck." "well, go on; i've had quite enough." "pomp had quite nuff too." "then we'll wrap it up in the napkin, and we'll eat it by and by for lunch." "yes; wrap um up an' eat um bime by." i drew out the napkin, and pomp shot the duck off the wooden spit on to the cloth, which, with due care to avoid the addition of sand, was folded up, and then i said-- "now, pomp, we must find the boat as we go back." "mass' george go back?" he said. "yes, of course; and get there as soon as we can." "yes, mass' george," he said, sadly. "pomp wouldn't mind 'top if mass' george say 'top here." "we'll come again," i said, laughing. "let's find the boat if we can, but we must make haste back." "hi! ohey!" he shouted. "what's the matter?" i said. "wha dat all gun?" chapter twenty seven. i looked sharply round at the bush, hardly comprehending my black companion's remark. "what?" i said, in a confused way. "wha dat gun?" "i stood it up against that bush," i said; and then, shaking off the dull stupid feeling which troubled me, darted to the bush, expecting to see that it had slipped down among the little branches. the gun was gone, and i looked round at the other bushes dotted about. "i put it here, didn't i?" "yes; mass' george put um gun dah. pomp know," he cried, running to me, and dropping on his knees as he pointed to the impression left in the dry sand by the butt. "gun gone down dah." he began scratching up the sand for a few moments, and i watched him, half hoping and believing that he might be right. but the boy ceased as quickly as he had begun. "i know, mass' george," he cried, starting up and gazing toward the river. "'gator 'fraid we come shoot um, and come out of de ribber and 'teal a gun." "nonsense! an alligator wouldn't do that." "oh, i done know. 'gator berry wicked ole rarksle." "where are the marks then?" i said. "ah, pomp find um foots and de mark of de tail." he looked sharply round, so did i; but as he searched the sand i examined the bushes, feeling that i must be mistaken, and that i must have laid the gun somewhere else. it was very stupid, but i knew people did make such mistakes sometimes; and quite convinced now that this was a lapse of memory, began to cudgel my brains to try and recall the last thing i had done with the gun. pomp settled that, for he came back to me suddenly, and said-- "see mass' george put de gun dah!" "you are sure, pomp?" i said, as he stood pointing his black finger at the bush. "yes, pomp ebber so sure." "did you find any alligator marks?" "no, mass' george, nowhere." "then some one must have come and stolen it while we were eating." "how people come 'teal a gun wif pomp and mass' george eatin' um breakfast here?" "i don't know. come and look for footsteps." "did; and de 'gator not been." "no, but perhaps a man has." "man? no man lib here." "let's look," i whispered--"look for men's footsteps." the boy glanced at me wonderingly for a moment or two, then nodded his head and began to search. where we stood by the bush, saving that the ground had been trampled by my feet, the task would have been easy enough, for everything showed in the soft dry sand; but the bush was at the edge where the sand began running from the foot of the bluff to the river, and everywhere on the other side was dense growth; patches of shrubs, grass, dry reed and rush, where hundreds of feet might have passed, and, save to the carefully-trained eye of an indian, nothing would have been seen. certainly nothing was visible to me, but the fact that it was quite possible for a man to have crawled from the forest, keeping the patches of shrubby growth between him and us, till he reached the bushes, through which he could have cautiously stolen, and passing a hand over softly, lifted the gun and its pouches from where i had stood them, and then stolen away as he had come. one thing was evident, we had an enemy not far away; and, unarmed as we were, saving that we had our knives, the sooner we took flight the better. all this was plain to me, but as i gazed in pomp's face i found it was not so clear to him; there was a strange look in his eyes, his skin did not seem so black as usual, and he was certainly trembling. "why, pomp," i said, "don't look like that." for though i felt a little nervous, i saw no cause for the boy's abject dread, having yet to learn that anything not comprehensible to the savage mind is set down at once as being the work of some evil spirit. he caught my arm and looked round, the whites of his eyes showing strangely, and his thick lips seemed drawn in as if to make a thin line. "come 'way," he whispered. "run, mass' george, run, 'fore um come and cotch us." "who? what?" i said, half angrily, though amused. "hush! done holler, mass' george, fear um hear. come take us bofe, like um took de gun." "i have it," i said suddenly. "your father has come up the river after us, and he has taken the gun to tease us. hi! hannibal--vanity--van!" "oh, mass' george! oh, mass' george, done, done holler. not fader. oh, no. it somefing dreffle. let run." "why isn't it your father playing a trick?" "him couldn't play um trick if him try. no, mass' george, him nebber play trick. it somefing dreffle. come 'way." "well, we were going back," i said, feeling rather ashamed of my eagerness to get away, and still half uneasy about the gun, as i looked up at the tree where we had slept to see if i had left it there. no; that was impossible, because i had had it to shoot the ducks. but still i might have put it somewhere else, and forgotten what i had done. i turned away unwillingly, and yet glad, if that can be understood, and with pomp leading first, we began our retreat as nearly as possible over the ground by which we had come. for some little distance we went on in silence, totally forgetting the object of our journey; but as we got more distant from the scene of our last adventure, pomp left off running into bushes and against trees in spite of my warnings, for he had been progressing with his head screwed round first on one side then on the other to look behind him, doing so much to drive away such terror as i felt by his comical aspect, that i ended by roaring with laughter. "oh, mass' george," he said, reproachfully, "you great big foolish boy, or you no laugh like dat all. you done know what am after us." "no," i said; "but i know we lost one of our guns, and father will be very cross. there, don't walk quite so fast." "but pomp want to run," he said, pitifully. "and we can't run, because of the bushes and trees. i don't think there was anything to be afraid of, after all." "oh! run, mass' george, run!" yelled pomp; and instead of running i stood paralysed for an instant at the scene before me. we were pretty close to the river-bank, and forcing our way through a cane brake which looked just as if it must be the home of alligators, when a man suddenly stood in the boy's path. quick as thought the brave little fellow sprang at him, seeing in him an enemy, and called to me to run, which of course i did not do, but, as soon as i recovered from my surprise, ran on to his help. as i did so the path seemed darkened behind me, i heard a quick rustling, my arms were seized, and the next moment i was thrown down and a knee was on my chest. "oh, mass' george, why didn't you run?" poor pomp's voice rang out from close beside me in despairing tones, and i wrenched my head round, just catching a glimpse of him through the canes. then i looked up in the stern faces of my captors, thinking that i had seen them before, though no doubt it was only a similarity of aspect that struck me, as i realised that we had fallen into the hands of the indians once more. they did not give us much time to think, but after taking away our knives twisted up some lithe canes and secured our wrists and arms behind us, two holding each of us upright, while another fastened our hands. then they drew back from us, and stood round looking at us as if we were two curiosities. "well, this is a nice game, pomp," i said at last. "yes, dis nice game, mass' george. why you no run away?" "how could i?" "how you could? you ought run, jump in libber and go 'cross. wish i run and tell de capen an' mass' morgan." "ah!" i ejaculated. "you tie too tight, mass' george?" "yes, but i was thinking of something else. pomp, those indians are going to attack our place and the settlement, and no one will know they are coming." "pomp hope so," he said, sulkily, and screwing himself about with the pain caused by his tight bonds. "what?" "den de capen an' mass' morgan shoot um, an' serb um right." "but they will take them by surprise." "wait bit. we soon get dese off, and go down tell 'em injum come." "i'm afraid we shall not have the chance." just then a firm brown hand was clapped on my shoulder, and a stalwart indian signed to me to go on through the canes. i obeyed mechanically, seeing the while that the half-dozen indians who had captured us had silently increased to over a dozen quietly-moving, stealthy-looking fellows, who passed through the dense thicket, almost without a sound, and with their eyes watchfully turned in every direction, as if they were always on the look-out for danger. and so i walked awkwardly on, feeling, now that my arms were bound behind me, as if at any moment i should stumble and fall. the mystery of the gun's disappearance was clear enough now, without the proof which came later on. it was quite plain to me that some of these strange, furtive-looking savages had crawled up behind the bush and carried off the piece, after which they had lain in ambush waiting for us to retrace our steps along the track we had broken down the previous day, and then pounced upon us and made us prisoners. at my last encounter they had contented themselves with following us home, but now everything seemed to betoken mischief. they seemed to me to be better armed, and had begun to treat us roughly by binding our arms, and this it struck me could only mean one thing--to keep us from getting away and giving the alarm. i felt too now--for thoughts came quickly--that the report of the gun that morning had guided them to our temporary camp, that and the smoke of the fire; and as i felt how unlucky all this was, i found that we were getting farther and farther from the river, and in a few minutes more we were in an open portion of the wood, where about fifty more indians were seated about a fire. a shout from our party made them all start to their feet and come to meet us, surrounding and staring at us in a fierce, stolid way that sent a chill through me as the question rose--would they kill us both? in a dull, despondent way the answer seemed to me--_yes_; not just then, for we were both placed back against a young tree, and hide ropes being produced, we were tightly bound to the trunks and left, while the indians all gathered together in a group, squatted down, and sat in silence for a time smoking. then all at once i saw one jump up, axe in hand, to begin talking loudly, gesticulating, waving his axe, and making quite a long address, to which the others listened attentively, grunting a little now and then, and evidently being a good deal influenced by his words. at last he sat down and another took his place, to dance about, talking volubly the while, and waving his axe too, and evidently saying threatening things, which, as he pointed at us now and then, and also in the direction of the settlement, i felt certain must relate to their expedition. in spite of my anxiety about my fate, i could not help feeling interested in these people, for everything was so new and strange. but other thoughts soon forced themselves upon me. they must, i felt, be going on to the settlement, and it was my duty at any cost to get away, and give the alarm. but how? "pomp," i said, after a time, "do you think we could get loose and run back home?" the boy looked at me with his face screwed up. "pomp done know," he said. "could you get the knots undone?" "pomp 'fraid try. come and hit um. going to kill us, mass' george?" "oh, no; i don't think there's any fear of that." "then why they tie us up?" "don't talk so loud. it makes them look round." "look dah!" "what at?" "dah de gun. dat big ugly injum got um. him fief." "never mind the gun," i said. "let's think about getting away." "yes; dat's what pomp do fink about, mass' george." "if they had not taken our knives, i might perhaps have cut ourselves free. oh, i'd give anything to let them know at home. look here; if you can get loose, never mind about me; run back home, and warn my father to escape to the settlement." "you tell um," said pomp, shortly. "but i mean if you can get free without me." "what, you fink pomp run 'way and leab mass' george all 'lone?" "yes; it is to save those at home." "capen flog um for going." "no, no; he would not." "fader knock um down an' kick um." "i tell you he would not. try all you can to get loose and creep away when they are not looking." "always looking," said pomp, shortly; and it was quite true, for some one or other of the indians always seemed to be on the watch, and after trying to wrench myself clear, i stood resting my aching legs by hanging a little on the rope, for the hours were slowly gliding by, and afternoon came without relief. at last a couple of the men brought us some water and a piece each of badly-roasted and burned deer-flesh, setting our hands at liberty so that we could eat and drink, but leaving the hide ropes holding us tightly to the trees, and sitting down to watch us, listening intently as we spoke, but evidently not understanding a word. "well," i said, after a few minutes, during which i had been eating with very poor appetite, "why don't you eat, pomp?" "done like um. 'mell nasty." "it's only burnt," i said. "how mass' george know what um eat?" "what?" i said, looking curiously at the meat. "pomp fink it poor lil nigger been kill and cook um." "nonsense; it's deer's flesh." "mass' george sewer?" "yes, quite." "oh!" that was all the boy said, for he set to work directly and soon finished his portion, taking a good deep drink afterward; and as soon as he had done one of the indians secured his hands again, a task which necessitated a loosening of the hide rope, pomp submitting with a very good grace. then came my turn, and as soon as i was secured, the indians went slowly back to where the others were grouped, and squatted down to listen to the talking going on. it was a weary, weary time; the sun was getting lower, and birds came and chirped about in the dense branches of the trees to which we were bound, and i felt a strange feeling of envy as i looked up from time to time and thought of their being at liberty to come and go. and all through those painfully long hours the talking went on constantly about the fire, which one or the other of the indians made up by throwing on some branches of wood. as i watched them, i saw that they kept going and coming in different directions, so that the number in the camp did not vary much, and though the day wore on, there was no cessation of the talking, for there was always a fresh indian ready to leap to his feet, and begin relating something with the greatest vehemence, to which the rest listened attentively. "they must be going on to the settlement to-night," i thought; and as i noted their bows, arrows, axes, and knives, i conjured up horrors that i felt would be sure to take place if we could not get free and give the alarm. all sorts of plans occurred to me. the forest would, i felt, be full of the enemy, and if we could get loose there would be no chance of our stealing away without being captured. but could we get across the river in safety, and make our way along the farther bank; or could we swim down? i shuddered as i thought of what would be the consequences of trying such a feat. then my ponderings were interrupted by the coming of a couple more of the indians, who examined our fastenings and then went back. "mass' george 'leep?" said pomp suddenly, in a low voice. "asleep? no. who could go to sleep like this?" "no, not nice go 'leep 'tanning up," said pomp, coolly; and there was a long pause, with the monotonous talking of the indians still going on. all at once one of the indians who had last examined our bonds came back, peeping about him inquiringly, examining our ropes, and looking about our feet for some minutes before going back, carefully scanning the ground and bushes as he went, and after a good deal of hesitation reseating himself. by this time i was utterly wearied out, and hung forward from the rope with my head upon my chest, gazing down hopelessly at the thick moss and other growth at our feet. "mass' george 'leep?" whispered pomp again. "no, no," i said, sadly; "i could not sleep at a time like this." "'cause mass' george no go to sleep." i looked at him despondently, and saw that he was amusing himself by picking the moss and leaves with his toes, getting a tuft together, snatching it off, and dropping it again, almost as cleverly as a monkey would have done the same thing. then i ceased to notice it, for i saw a couple of the indians get up from the fireside, and come to examine us again. they felt all the knots, and appeared satisfied, going back to the fire as before, while others threw on fresh sticks. then the smoking and talking went on, and the flames cast their shadows about, and on the trees now in a peculiarly weird way. we were almost in darkness, but they were in what seemed to be a circle or great halo of red light, which shone upon their copper-coloured skins, and from the axes and the hilts of the knives they had stuck in the bands of their deer-skin leggings. "soon be quite dark now, mass' george," whispered pomp; "den you see." "see? see what? their fire?" "wait bit--you see." my heart gave a great throb, and i wanted to speak, but the words in my agitation would not come. it was evident that the boy had some plan afoot, and as i waited for him to speak again, feeling ashamed that this poor black savage lad should be keener of intellect than i, he suddenly began to laugh. "pomp," i whispered, "what is it?" "you mose ready, mass' george?" "ready? what for?" "you see dreckerly. you know what dat injum look about for?" "no." "lose um knife." "well?" "pomp got um." "you have? where?" "down dah," he said, making a sign with one foot toward the loose moss and leaves he had picked. "why, pomp," i whispered, joyfully, "how did you manage that?" "ciss! coming." two of the indians had risen again from the fire, and once more approached, feeling the knots, and to my despair, binding us more securely with a couple of fresh ropes of hide. then i saw their dark figures go half way to the fire, return and pass near us, and out along the banks of the river toward the settlement. then six more rose and went slowly out of sight among the trees, and i felt that these must be going to form outposts to guard the little camp from attack. "now, mass' george," whispered pomp--"ah, look dah." i was already looking, and saw that about a dozen more left the fireside to go out in different directions, their tall dark figures passing out of sight among the trees. "what are you going to do with the knife?" i whispered softly. "'top; you see," said the boy. "but how did you get it?" "you see dat injum come feel de rope. he 'tuck pomp head down under um arm while he tie de knot hurt um, so pomp mean to bite um; but pomp see de handle ob de knife 'tick up close to um mouf, and um take hold wid um teef, pull um out, and let um fall and put um foot ober um." "oh, pomp!" i said. "den he gone, pomp push um out ob sight and put um foot ober um again, and now i juss pick um up wid pomp toe." i heard a faint rustle, and then he whispered after a faint grunting sound-- "got um." i stared sidewise at where he was--only about six feet away--and half fancied that i could see him pick up the knife with his toes, and bend his foot up till he could pass the blade into his hand. "hff!" "what's the matter?" i whispered, as i heard a faint ejaculation. "pomp cut umself." then i heard a curious sawing sound, which seemed to be loud enough to reach the indians' ears, but as i looked, they were all talking, and i turned my eyes again in the direction of my companion, whose black body and light drawers had stood out plainly in the faint glow of the fire a minute before, and i could only just restrain an exclamation, for he was not there. at the same moment his lips were at my ear-- "'tan 'till." i obeyed, and felt the tension and loosening as he rapidly cut through the hide rope and the cane bonds which held me; but i was so stiff, and my wrists were so numbed, that the feeling had gone from my hands. "mass' george ready?" "no; yes," i said, as i gazed wildly at the group about the fire, and felt that our movements must be seen. but the indians made no sign, and pomp went on-- "injum ebberywhere now. can't run away." "but we must," i whispered. "catchum gain, dreckerly. dis here tree. mass' george go up fuss." "up the tree!" i faltered. then grasping the cleverness of the boy's idea, i stretched out my arms, seized a branch overhead, and in spite of my numbness, swung myself up and stood on it, holding by the branch of the great pine close behind the two small trees to which we had been bound. pomp was beside me directly. "up!" he whispered; and as silently as i could, i crept on toward the dense crown, the many horizontal branches giving good foot-hold, and the fire gleaming among the needle-like foliage as i went higher, with pomp always ready to touch me and try to guide. it was a huge tree, quite a cone of dense foliage, after we were some distance up, and we had just reached the part where great, flat, heavily-laden boughs spread between us and the ground, when pomp drew himself quickly to my side, and laid his hand on my mouth. it was not necessary, for at the same moment as he i had noted the danger, just catching sight of two black shadows on the ground, which i knew were those of a couple of the indians approaching our trees from the fire. then we could see no more, but remained there clinging to the boughs as if part of the tree itself, wondering what was to come. it seemed quite a space of time before from just below i heard a discordant yell which thrilled through me, and actually for the moment made me loose my hold. but i was clinging fast again directly, as the yell was answered by a couple of score of throats; there was the rapid beat of feet, the crunching of dead sticks and crushing of bushes, and i clung there with closed eyes, listening to a confused gabble of excited voices, and waiting for what i seemed to know would come next. for in my excitement i could in fancy picture the indians examining the cut thongs lying where they had dropped by the trees, and then one great stalwart fellow took a step out from the rest and pointed up to where we two clung forty feet from the ground, and i saw a score of arrows fitted to the bow-strings, and their owners prepare to shoot and bring us down. i cannot attempt to describe the sensation that thrilled through me in what was almost momentary, nor the wild thoughts flashing in my brain. i only know that i wondered whether the arrow which pierced me would hurt much, and thought what a pity it was that the tree we were in did not hang over the stream, so that we might have fallen in the water. but no flight of arrows rattled among the boughs, and all we heard was the gabble of excited voices. then came yell after yell from a little distance farther away from the settlement, and from the excited questioning which seemed to follow, i knew that a number of the indians had returned to the camp to talk hurriedly to those beneath the tree. then there were a couple of yells given in a peculiar tone, and a faint series of sounds reached us, suggesting to me that the whole party had spread out, and were quickly and cautiously creeping along through the forest from the edge of the stream for some distance in, and then all was still. chapter twenty eight. a pair of warm lips at my ear made me start again. "dey all 'tupid, dem injum. i know dey nebber tink we get up tree. think we run home. all gone. come down." "no, no; it is not safe," i whispered. "yes; all gone dat way. we go oder." he was already descending almost as rapidly as a monkey, and i followed as fast as i could, fully expecting to be seized; but all was silent, and the fire had sunk quite low as we bent down and crept along by the edge of the opening, and directly after were well in the shelter and darkness of the trees, with the fire behind only making its presence known by a dull glow. "where are you going?" i whispered at last. "get away from injum. come!" he said this shortly, and i began thinking that it was our wisest course to get right away, and, as soon as we could find a spot at daybreak, cross to the other side, and then try to thread our way back home. but a curiously dull, deadening feeling came over me, as i felt that the indians must now get there first, and that we should be too late to give the alarm. i was just thinking this when pomp stopped short. "mass' george take off um shoes," he whispered. "carry um. injum no see footmarks a-morrow." i hurriedly did as he suggested, for there was wisdom in what he said, and i hoped that the print of my stockinged feet, if our trail was found and followed, might pass for the impressions made by moccasins. i did not know much then about such matters, but still i had heard a good deal of talk about the skill of the indians in tracking, and naturally felt nervous as i immediately began magnifying their powers, and fancied that as soon as it was day they would take up our trail like a pack of hounds, and follow it step by step, first my clumsy shoe-prints, then pomp's bare feet, with the great toe spreading wide out from the others, which all seemed long and loose, as i had often noticed and laughed at when i had seen them in the mud or sand. in fact, i had more than once followed him by his footprints, and as i recalled all this, i seemed to see the fierce-looking savages coming on swiftly, and urged pomp to make haste, though my heart sank as i felt that every step took us farther into the wilderness, and with the exception of the knife the boy had secured, we were without arms. "can't go no fasser, mass' george," he said; "so dark. but done you be 'fraid. dem on'y 'tupid savage. pomp too clebber let um cotch him 'gain." in spite of my anxiety i could not help smiling at my companion's conceit, and his reference to "'tupid" savages. pomp's connection with civilisation was making its mark upon him in other ways beside the rapid manner in which he had acquired our tongue. and so we tramped on hour after hour, going, as i knew by the stars whenever we got a glimpse of them, nearly due west, and trying to avoid breaking branch or trampling down thick patches of growth by making a detour. of course this hindered us a good deal, but still it was the surest way of avoiding recapture; and at last, after our long, weary walk, whose monotony i had relieved by softly chafing my arms and wrists to get rid of the remains of the numbness produced by the bonds, there came a familiar note or two from the trees overhead, and i knew that in a very short time it would be light. "tired, pomp?" i said. "no, mass' george, but i dreffle hungly 'gain. oh! dem ugly tief 'teal de gun. no get duck for breakfass, eh?" "let's think about escaping and getting back to the house before these savages.--ah, it's getting light." i remember how eagerly i said this, as i saw the pale grey appearing through the leaves, and making the tall, gloomy-looking trunks stand up like great columns in all directions. "now," i said, "where do you think the river is?" "ober dah," said pomp, without a moment's hesitation; and he pointed to the left. "is it far?" "no, not far." "let's get to it at once then." we struck off again, bearing to the left, and just at sunrise found that we were at the edge of the forest once more, with a well-defined track, showing where the river ran. where we stood we were under the shade of the great trees, where scarcely anything grew beneath the spreading, tangled branches, while just beyond them there was a dense thicket of succulent growth glittering in the sunshine, where the leaves were still moist with dew, and some hundred or a hundred and fifty yards away there once more was the other edge of the forest, rising up over a rich band of growth similar to that which was close to where we stood. the river lay between, i knew, though invisible from where we stood; and for the moment i felt more hopeful, for, after the long, dark tramp through the wilderness, we seemed to be now on the broad high-road which led straight past home. then my heart sank again, as i felt that perhaps the indians were already on our track, and that even if they were not, they were between us and safety. my reverie was interrupted by pomp, who said briskly-- "now, mass' george, what you tink?" "we must get across the river at once." pomp made a grimace. "how we 'wim ober dah wid de 'gator all awaiting to hab us for breakfass, mass' george?" i shuddered as i thought of the task, but it seemed as if that was the only thing to do, and then tramp along the opposite bank downward. "what are you doing?" i said, as the boy began to step about, cautiously penetrating once more into the forest, and stopping at last beside a moderate-sized pine, whose trunk was dotted with the stumps of dead branches, till about fifty feet from the ground, where it formed a pretty dense tuft, whose top was well in the sunlight. "now we go up dah and hide, and rest a bit." "but why not try that tree, or that, or that?" i said; and i pointed rapidly to three or four more, all far more thickly clothed with branch and foliage. "if injum come he fink p'raps we hide in dah, an' look. no fink we get up dat oder tree. injum berry 'tupid." "but hadn't we better try and get across or down the stream?" pomp shook his head. "see injum, and dey dreffle cross dat we run 'way. wait a bit, mass' george." "but my father--yours--and morgan?" "well, what 'bout um, mass' george?" "we ought to warn them." "dey must take care ob demself. no good to go and be caught. dat not help um fader." there was so much truth in this that i did not oppose pomp's plan of getting up in the tree, and hiding until the pursuit was over. for it was only reasonable to suppose that after a thorough hunt in one direction, the indians would come in the other. besides, i was utterly wearied out the previous evening, and glad to rest my tired limbs by hanging against the rope, and taking the weight off my feet. since then we had tramped through the night many dreary miles, made more painful by the constant stress of avoiding obstacles, and the sensation of being hunted by a pack of savages whose cries might at any moment rise upon the ear. it was not a comfortable resting-place for one who felt as if he would give anything to throw himself down and lie at full length, but it promised to be safe, and following pomp's lead, i climbed steadily up the tree to where the dense head formed quite a scaffolding of crossing boughs, and here, after getting well out of sight of any one who might be passing below, we seated ourselves as securely as possible, and waited for what was to come next. "wait injum gone, and we kedge fis' and roast um for dinner," said pomp; and then we sat for some little time in silence, listening for the slightest sound. birds we heard from time to time, and now and then the rustle of a squirrel as it leaped from bough to bough, but nothing else till there were, one after the other, four ominous splashings in the river, which gave me a very uncomfortable feeling with regard to crossing to the other side, and i looked at pomp. "dat 'gators," he said shortly. "no 'wim cross de ribber." then quite a couple of hours must have passed, and pomp began to fidget about terribly, making so much noise that if the indians had been anywhere at hand, they must have heard. "hush!" i said; "sit still." "can't, mass' george," he said sharply. "i so dreffle hungly." "yes, so am i. what are you going to do?" "get down again. injum no come now." i hesitated; and as i was heartily sick of waiting, and famished, i made myself believe that our enemies were not pursuing us, and descended quickly to look at my companion. "what we do now, mass' george--kedge fis?" "if we can," i said; "but how?" "pomp show mass' george." he led on through the thick growth just outside the forest edge, and looking sharply from side to side, soon pitched upon a couple of long, thin, tapering canes, which he hacked off and trimmed neatly, so that they formed a pair of very decent fishing-rods, and he looked at me triumphantly. "dah!" he said. "but where are the hooks and lines?" pomp's face was wonderful in its change. "wha de hookum line?" he said. "yes, you can't catch fish like that." scratching the head when puzzled must be a natural act common to all peoples, for the boy gave his woolly sconce a good scratch with first one hand and then the other. "dat berry 'tupid," he said at last; "pomp no 'tink of dat. what we do now?" i stood musing for a few minutes as puzzled as he was. then the bright thought came, and i took the lighter of the two canes, cut off the most pliant part, and then tearing my silk neckerchief in thin strips, i split the end of the cane, thrust in the haft of the knife, so that it was held as by a fork, and bound the cane tightly down the length of the knife-handle, and also below, so that the wood should split no farther; and as the knife was narrow in blade, and ran to a sharp point, we now had a formidable lance, with shaft fully twelve feet long. "there!" i said triumphantly in turn, as i looked at pomp. "'tick um froo de fis?" he said. "yes. we must find some deep pool, and see if we cannot spear something, so as to be food for the day." "mass' george 'tick um fis, pomp find um." i nodded, eager enough to try and get something in the way of food, so that we might be better able to bear our day's journey, for i felt that somehow we must get back; but i always hesitated from starting, lest we should be seen by pursuing indians, and being recaptured, have no chance of giving the alarm at home. pomp was not long in finding a deep hole close under the bank, in whose clear, tree-shaded water i could see about a dozen fish slowly gliding about. they were only small, but anything was food for us then; and introducing my lance cautiously, i waited my opportunity, and then struck rapidly at a fish. vain effort! the fish was out of reach before the point of the knife could reach him; and a few more such strokes emptied the hole, but not in the way i intended. "find another," i said; and pomp crept along, and soon signed to me to come. as he made way for me, and i crept to the edge, i felt a thrill of pleasure, for there, close under the bank, just balanced over some water-weed, was a fine fish about a foot and a half long. "if i can get you," i thought, "we shall do." carefully getting my spear-shaft upright, i lowered the point, and aiming carefully, i struck. whether i aimed badly, or the refraction of the water was not allowed for, i cannot say, but there was no result. i only saw a quivering of the surface and the fish was off into the river. the same result for a dozen more tries, and then pomp said protestingly-- "i nebber tink dat ob any good." "but it is good if i could strike one," i said, testily. "um on'y tummle off 'gain, mass' george." "never mind; try and find another good hole, i'll do it yet." he gave his head a rub and went on along the river-side, peering among the overhanging bushes, and one way and another we made a trail that any one could have followed; but likely holes and pools were scarce now, and i was getting hot, faint, and weary, when, after creeping close to the edge of the stream again, pomp signed to me to give him the lance. i hesitated for a moment, not liking to give up, but ended by passing the spear; and, taking it, pomp lay flat down, crept to the edge where the bank overhung the river, as it proved, very gently thrust his eyes beyond, drew back, and quickly picked a good-sized bunch of long grass, which he bound at one end, opened the bunch at the other, and put it on like a cap, the result being that the long grassy strands hung right over his face loosely. he laughed at me, and crept back again, moving his head slowly to and fro for a few moments, as if to get the occupants of the pool used to his presence. then very slowly and cautiously he manipulated the lance shaft, so that it was upright, and holding it with both hands lowered the point down and down till six feet had disappeared, then seven, eight, nine at least; and as i was thinking how deep it must be down there, the long cane became stationary, with the boy's hands holding it above his head. i stood leaning forward, wondering what luck he would have, and full of hope, for i was too hungry to feel envious and hope that he would miss. but still he did not strike, and the moments glided on till i was getting quite out of patience, and about to creep forward and look down to see how big the fish might be, when, quick as thought, down went the shaft with a tremendous dig, and then, with the cane quivering exceedingly, pomp seemed to be holding something he had pinned tightly down against the bottom, till its first fierce struggles were at an end. "got him?" i exclaimed, joyfully. "pomp 'tick knife right froo um," he panted; and then springing up, he rapidly drew the shaft from the water, hand over hand, till, to my intense astonishment, he raised to the bank, muddy, dripping, and flapping heavily, the largest terrapin i had seen, and putting his foot upon it, he drew out the spear, which had transfixed it right in the middle of the back. "dah!" he exclaimed; and seizing his capture, he led the way into the forest, where, risking discovery, we soon had a fire of dead sticks and pine-needles blazing merrily over the shell of our terrapin, off which we made at last, if not a good meal, a sufficiently satisfying one to give us spirit for trying to get back home. chapter twenty nine. "now, pomp," i said, after we had each lain down and had a good hearty drink of clear water, "the way to get home is to make a raft and float down the river." "don't want raft--want um boat," he said. "do you know what a raft is?" i said. "no, mass' george." i explained to him, and he shook his head. "'gator come and pick pomp and mass' george off." "we must make it so big that they could not." "how make big raft?--no chopper to cut down tree." "we must cut down and tie together bundles of canes," i said, after a long pause, well occupied by thinking. "they will bear us if we lie down upon them. we have a knife; let's try." it was no easy task to get the knife free, for the threads by which it was bound into the split end of the cane had swollen; but it was clear at last, and selecting a suitable spot where the shore was quite a cane brake, we toiled away cutting and tying together bundle after bundle of canes, till we had six which roughly resembled as many big trusses of straw. these we secured to four of the stoutest canes we could find, passing them through the bands crosswise, and after a good deal of difficulty, and at the risk of undoing our work, we managed to thrust it off the bank into the river, where, to my great delight, upon trying it, the buoyancy far exceeded my expectations. in fact, though we could not have stood upon it, lying down it supported us well, and without any hesitation, after cutting a couple of light poles for steering or directing, we thrust off from the side, and began gliding down the stream. from that moment it seemed as if our troubles were over, for we had little difficulty in keeping well out from the overhanging boughs, while a thrust or two with our poles enabled us to avoid fallen trees and patches of growth rising from the river shallows. i soon felt convinced that if the bands we had made would hold out, we should have no difficulty in floating down, for i could recall no rapids or falls likely to give us trouble. certainly we had seen nor heard neither. our risks were from the collapse of our raft, from the reptiles that we kept seeing from time to time as we glided slowly on, and from the indians, whom, as i scanned the bank, i expected moment by moment to see start from the dense growth which fringed the sides with a yell. if we could have felt secure, the ride down the river would have been delightful, for it was all in the bright sunshine, with a wall of the loveliest verdure on either side. flowers hung in clusters, or sprang from the moist banks; birds flitted here and there, and every now and then some great heron or crane sprang up with flapping wings and harsh cry at being disturbed while fishing. but every now and then an excited movement on the part of pomp told me that an alligator was in sight, sunning himself on a shoal, or where he had beaten down the reedy growth as he had crawled out upon the bank. such movements on the boy's part were perilous, the side of the raft going down slowly and steadily, till i forced him to lie still. "they will not touch us," i said, "unless we are struggling in the water. do you want to fall in or upset the raft?" he shuddered, and his eyes rolled a little, but he lay still, and we glided on till we must have gone down a couple of miles, when all at once pomp uttered a cry. "hush!" i said, despairingly. "you will be heard." "nebber mind. quick, mass' george! push! push!" i could not understand what he meant, but it was evident that something was wrong, and there was no time to ask for an explanation; so i helped all i could to push the raft toward the farther shore, convinced that the indians were upon us, and that we must seek safety in the forest once again. it was easy enough to float with the stream, but hard work to make the raft to move as we wished, and we must have gone down fully a hundred yards farther before there was a chance to seize an overhanging branch, and tow the raft to a clear piece of the farther bank, on to which pomp scrambled at once. "quick, mass' george, quick!" he cried; and leaving me to follow, he disappeared at once in the dense cane and bush. i was not long in following; and as i got ashore i saw the raft caught by an eddy, as it rose relieved from my weight, and as i plunged into the thicket i had a glimpse of it being carried out into the swift stream. i was too much excited and hurried to follow pomp, whom i heard crashing on before me, to pause to think about our retreat being now cut off by water, unless we made a new raft. the indians must be there within view, i felt; but why did no arrows come; and why did not my companion plunge at once into the forest? the explanation came directly, as i struggled on, seeing my route marked by trampled down reed and broken twig, for pomp suddenly shouted-- "i got um, mass' george." what had he got? something eatable, i felt, for he was always hungry; and to obtain this we had lost our raft, and should have all the work to do over again. "hush!" i whispered, angrily; "you will be heard." "done matter now," came from close at hand, though i could see nothing yet. "pomp fine um." i struggled out of the low brushwood, and came into a more open part of the bank, and there stood in astonishment, to find my companion dancing with delight, and pointing to where, six feet above my head, just as it had been left by the subsiding of the water, and on a nearly even keel, was the lost boat, perched among the bushes, and apparently none the worse for its journey. "oh, pomp!" i cried, as excited now as he, "this is a find." "see juss lit' bit ob um back up dah, mass' george," he said. "come try and get um down." i beat and pressed down the bushes as much as i could, and together we reached the stern of the boat; but as i touched it a fresh thought arose to damp my spirits. there was the boat, but in what condition was it? it did not seem possible that it could have been drifting about in that flood and left here without damage--a hole made by some jagged projecting tree branch, or a plank started. "now den, mass' george, pull." i dragged at the stem, and then uttered a warning cry and threw myself back, for the boat was so lightly perched on the bushes that it came down with a rush, and as we started up again, and examined it, as far as i could see it was completely uninjured, and even the oars were in their places beneath the thwarts. the rest of the journey toward the water was not quite so easy, but we tugged and lifted, and by degrees got it on the few yards farther, and at last had the satisfaction of sending it crashing down into a bed of reedy growth, and springing in to push it onward into the stream, where, once clear of the dense water grasses, it began to glide down easily and well. now that the excitement of the discovery and launching of the boat was over, it all seemed to have been a kind of day-dream; and though i took my seat on a thwart, and got an oar over the side, i could hardly believe it real till i recalled that it was possible that our actions had all been watched, and that amongst the trees and bushes of the other side dozens of keen eyes might be aiming arrows at us, and the oar almost dropped from my hand. pomp was thinking of our enemies too, for, as he got his oar over the side, and was looking down stream, he exclaimed suddenly-- "yah! who 'fraid now? look, mass' george, dat big ugly ole 'gator, dah." "pomp!" i cried, in an excited whisper; and i half rose to fling myself down, to lie in shelter of the boat's side. for at that moment, from some distance off, came a cry that i recognised as an indian yell. chapter thirty. i do not suppose that many who read this have ever heard a red indian's cry, and i hope those who have not never will. it was no doubt invented on purpose to scare an enemy, and it answers its purpose thoroughly. to me it sounded blood-curdling, and a curious sensation ran through me, as if the blood was chilling in my veins. but on thinking of it afterwards, i did not believe that it curdled, and on talking the matter over just before sitting down to write this narrative of my boyish adventures, my doctor said it was all nonsense; that the sensation was produced by the nerves, and that if a body's blood curdled there would be an end of him at once. of course the doctor was right, for the effect of that cry was to make me drop down in the boat again, whisper to pomp to pull, and row with all my might. then another yell came from our right, and was answered from the forest, the indian who shouted evidently being not very far away. "hear dat, mass' george?" said pomp. "yes; pull hard. it is the indians." "well, who car' for old injum? dey can't cotch us now." "don't be too sure," i whispered. "there may be some of them waiting to shoot at us with their bows and arrows." pomp turned his head quickly over his right shoulder to look at the low bushes and reedy plants by the river-bank, and in doing so thrust his oar too deeply down, with the result that he received a blow in the chest, his legs rose up in the air, and his head went down between my legs. he lay on his back for a moment staring wildly up at me over his forehead, his eyes rolling and his mouth wide. "why mass' george do dat?" he cried. "i didn't, you stupid little nigger," i cried, angrily. "get up and mind your oar. you caught a crab. pull!" pomp scrambled back in his place, and began to pull again as hard as he could, for my voice had rather startled him. "what mass' george say?" he whispered. "pull!" "yes, i pull; but what mass' george say 'fore dat?" "i said you caught a crab." "didn't! it was great big terrapum." "i mean you put your oar in too deep." "den what for say catch um crab? mass' george say injum in de bush shootin' at pomp, and den he look round an' no injum dah; mass' george play trick to fright um, and den call poor pomp 'tupid lil nigger." "will you hold your tongue and row?" i whispered fiercely. "pomp can't hold um tongue and pull de oar bofe togedder." "hush!" _pow_--_ow_--_ow_--_ow_--_ow_--_ow_! came faintly from among the trees, and pomp turned sharply round, with circles of white showing round the dark part of his eyes; but this time he kept his oar out of the water, and the boat instead of turning toward the side continued to glide swiftly down the stream. "dat de injum?" he whispered. "yes. pull--hard!" he swung round in his place, and began to row again so sturdily that i had to work hard to keep the boat's head straight; and the stream favouring us, we went on down at a rapid rate, though every now and then i was obliged to whisper to him to easy as we neared some sharp curve or sandbank, to avoid which obstacles i had to keep turning round to look ahead. we had been rowing steadily like this for some time now without hearing the cries of the indians, but i did not feel any the more confident, for i knew enough of their habits to think that when they were most silent the greatest danger might be near. the banks glided slowly by us, and we had this great advantage, that even if we slackened speed the boat still travelled fast. but pomp worked hard, and evidently believing that the danger was entirely past, his spirits rose again and he began to laugh. "poor ole injum," he said; "i berry sorry for um. poor ole injum lose um knife. pomp wonner what um say. how soon we get home now, mass' george?" "oh, it will take hours yet," i replied; and just then i turned my head to see that we were rapidly approaching a ridge of sand right in the middle of the river. i was about to give my oar a vigorous tug, when i noted that the stream divided, and ran in two swift currents on either side of the ridge. as we then were, i saw that the boat would go through the narrower one--the swifter evidently; and at the same moment a pile of wood and dead rubbish on the sandspit ceased to obstruct the view, and to my horror i saw that the little long islet, whose sands were only just above the level of the water, was occupied by a group of seven or eight alligators, the nearest being a monster, the rest varying to the smallest, which was not above three feet long. i involuntarily ceased rowing and pomp did the same, just as we were entering the narrow channel, and so close to the sandspit, that the blade of the boy's oar held ready for the next dip swept over the sand. pomp was gazing in the other direction, scanning the river-bank; and as i saw what was about to happen, i said in a quick whisper-- "look out!" almost as i spoke, the blade of pomp's oar swept over the rugged horny coat of the largest alligator, which, like the rest, was sleeping in the hot sunshine perfectly ignorant of our near approach. the effect was instantaneous. as the boy turned sharply round to look out, the great reptile sprang up, opened its huge jaws, and made a snap at the oar-blade, whisked round its tail, striking the boat, and then made a series of plunges to reach the water on the other side, its actions alarming the rest, which on their retreat made the sandspit seem alive, and the water splash and foam; while pomp uttered a yell of horror, loosed his hold of his oar, and dived down into the boat, to rise again and stare over the stern as soon as i told him the danger was past. it was all the work of a few moments, during which i was startled enough, especially when i saw the gaping jaws of the great reptile, and heard the snap it made at the oar-blade; but we were going swiftly by, and mingled with the terror there was something so comic in pomp's actions, that in the reaction i began to laugh. this brought pomp's face round directly, and his reproachful black eyes seemed to ask me what i could see to laugh at. "come," i said, "you can't tell me i was playing tricks then.--why, pomp, your oar's overboard," i cried as i realised that fact. "yes, mass' george. dat great 'gator 'wallow um." "nonsense!" i cried, as i tried to check the progress of the boat on catching sight of the oar gliding swiftly down stream twenty yards away. "there it is. wait till it comes close. i'll try and manage to get you near it." "dah it am! whah?" "there, just off to your left." "so um are, mass' george. 'gator no like um, an' 'pit um out 'gain." "there: mind! now then, quick! catch hold." i had managed to check the boat enough to let the oar overtake us, and pomp made a snatch at it, but drew back sharply with a low cry of horror. "what's the matter now?" i said. "make haste; you'll lose it." "great big injum down dah," he whispered, hoarsely. "um want to bite off poor pomp arm." "nonsense! how could an indian be there?" i said, as we floated on side by side with the oar. "injum? pomp say great big 'gator. you look, mass' george." "you said indian, pomp," i continued, as i drew in my oar, picked up the boat-hook, and went cautiously to the side to look down into the transparent water, where, sure enough, one of the reptiles was swimming along; but it was quite a small one, and a sharp dig down with the boat-hook sent it undulating away, and i recovered the oar, passing it to pomp with a gesture, as there arose once more a cry from the forest right away back, and it was answered in two places. pomp took the oar and began to row again steadily, staring back at the sandspit, now fast growing distant. then all at once, as the faint cry arose from the forest-- "dat not injum," he cried sharply; "dat fock." "fox!" i said, recalling the little jackal-like creatures, of which i had seen one or two that had been shot by morgan. "yes, dat fock. um shout like dat to noder fock in um wood when um lose umself." "yes, but that would be at night," i said, wondering whether he was right. "'pose um lose umself in de day. make um cry?" "no," i said, thoughtfully. "it is like the cry of the fox, pomp, but i think it's the indians making it." "why injum cry out like fock when um can cry like injum?" "to deceive any one who hears them." "what deceive?" said pomp. "cheat--trick." "oh!" he said, and we rowed on steadily hour after hour, realising how we must have increased our distance from home in the night. sometimes as we swept round one of the river bends we encountered a breath of fresh air, but mostly deep down in that narrow way winding through the forest the heat was intense; and there were times when, as i paused to sweep the perspiration from my face, i felt that i must give up, and lie down at the bottom of the boat. but almost invariably at these times i heard faintly what i believed to be the indians calling to each other as they came on through the forest; and in the hope that perhaps after all we had got the start, and would reach home in time to give the alarm, i tugged at my oar again, and so long as i rowed pomp never for a moment flagged. but i could not keep his tongue quiet. now he would be making derisively defiant remarks about the 'gators; then he had something disparaging to say about the indians; and when i spoke to him angrily he would be quiet for a time, but only to burst out with reproaches at me for calling him a "'tupid lil nigger." nothing ever hurt pomp's feelings more than that term, which seemed to him the very extreme of reviling, and always went straight to his heart. it was getting toward evening, and a rich orange glow was beginning to glorify the long reach of the river down which we were rowing-- sluggishly now, for we were both tired out--when it struck me that i had not heard the cry for some time now, and i made the remark to pomp. "no; fock gone asleep now till de moon get up. den fock get up too, an' holler." "no, pomp," i said, "it's the indians, and they are silent because they are getting near the house now." "so pomp get near de house, and don't care for de injum. he so dreffle hungry." so was i; but my intense anxiety drove away all that, and i tried to tug harder at the oar, for i knew that we were near home now; familiar trees and corners of the stream kept coming into view, and i was just thinking that very soon i should be able to look behind me and see our landing-place, when a faintly-heard hail came along the river. we both turned sharply, and pomp exclaimed in words what i only too gratefully saw-- "dah de capen an mass' morgan in 'noder boat. wha my fader too?" i stood up for a moment and waved my hand, and then sat down, and we both pulled our best, after pomp had grumbled a little, and wanted to let the boat float down alone. a few minutes later i was holding on to the gunwale of the strange boat in which my father was seated, almost too much exhausted to speak. "i was getting uneasy about you, my boy," my father said, "for there have been some fresh rumours at the settlement about indians, and morgan went round and borrowed this boat; we were coming on to see after you. why, george, is anything the matter?" "yes, father," i panted. "the indians--they are coming on." "no," said pomp sharply, and he struck his hand on the side of the boat to emphasise his words. "mass' george hear de fock--lose him lil self an holler, and he only tink it de--ah, look! look, mass' george, look! who dat?" he pointed back up the steam, where at the edge of the bank that the river swept round previous to passing along the straight reach, there stood two tall figures, their feathers and wild dress thrown up by the bright glare of the setting sun. they were evidently reconnoitring, and though we saw them clearly for a few seconds, the next moment they seemed to have died away. "indians," said my father, drawing in his breath with a low hiss; "and we must not neglect this warning. morgan, i'll get in here with the boys; you go back, make your boat fast at the landing-place, and run up to the house, and bring your wife and hannibal down." "but the things in the house, sir?" "lives are of more importance than chattels, man," said my father, in his sternest and most military way. "tell your wife she is to stop for nothing, but to come." "an' s'pose she won't, sir?" said morgan sharply. "carry her," said my father laconically, as he stepped into our boat and pushed the other off. "but bring nothing else, sir?" said morgan, piteously. "yes; two guns, and all the ammunition you can carry; but be quick, man, we shall be waiting at the landing-place. the indians are coming in earnest now. we shall stop till you come, and open fire if it is necessary." my father capped the gun he had brought from the boat. "stop. hand me your gun and pouches." morgan gave a stroke or two with his oar, and brought the boats alongside of each other again, then handed the gun to me. "now then," said my father, "off! remember, i shall be trying to keep the indians at bay if they show, and delay on your part may mean the loss of our lives and--your own." morgan gave his head a sharp nod, bent to his oars, and my father turned to me, and cried, as if he were addressing a line of men-- "load!" chapter thirty one. i believe my hands trembled, but i stood up firmly in the boat and charged the heavy piece, making the ramrod leap, as i had been told, examined the priming, and then, in obedience to my father's sign, sat down. pomp had taken both oars, and was dipping them gently from time to time, to keep the boat's head straight, and after a long look up the reach, my father sat down too. "let's see, george," he said, "we are about a mile above the landing-place, and we must give morgan plenty of time to get there, up to the house, and back. hold up your gun, and let the indians see it if they are watching, and i suppose they are. these bow-and-arrow people have a very wholesome dread of powder." "but suppose they keep creeping near us under shelter, father," i said, "and shoot?" "they will in all probability miss; let's hope so, at all events. come, my lad, you have a gun, and you must play soldier now. will you lie down under shelter of the boat's side?" "soldiers don't lie down," i said firmly, though i wanted to do so very badly indeed. "oh, yes, they do sometimes. we will as soon as it is necessary; but what i want to do now, my boy, is to gain time. if we row swiftly to the landing-place, the indians will come on rushing from tree to tree, and be upon us in a few minutes, for i presume they are in force." i told him quickly how many we had seen. "it is a mercy that you went and were taken, george," he said; "it has saved our lives, no doubt. but as i was saying, we want to gain time, and while we sit here slowly drifting down, with these menacing guns pointing in their direction, they will advance very slowly, and keep under cover. if it becomes necessary, i shall have the boat turned, and advance to meet them." "and then, father?" "they will retire for a time, not being able to understand so bold an advance, and think that an attack is about to be made upon them from the other side. we must keep them back, and it is to be done by preserving a bold front. they are cruel and treacherous, and can fight well when they think they are in strength over a weak adversary; but from what i learned of those who have had to do with them, they are as cowardly as they are cruel. look!" i gazed sharply up the wooded bank of the river, but i could see nothing, and said so. "no; they were gone directly. they were two spies who had stolen closer up. it means war in earnest now, i am afraid." he changed his position a little, and examined his gun. "mass' goin' shoot dat gun?" said pomp, excitedly, after watching and listening with all his energy. "yes, my lad," said my father, smiling. "mass' won't shoot pomp?" "no. attend to the oars, and keep the boat's head straight. don't speak." "no, massa. oh, look, dat dah!" pomp's loud exclamation was due to the fact that an arrow came flying from a low clump of bushes nearly two hundred yards away, its reed shaft glistening in the ruddy light, and its wings looking as if of fire, till it dropped without a splash into the river, far away from where we sat. "now i should like to return their fire," said my father, "but i am very doubtful about my gun doing any harm at this distance, so we must wait. pull a little, boy, but very gently, so that they will hardly be able to see that we are doing anything to get away." pomp dipped the oars, and i sat with my heart beating, waiting to see another arrow come, but for quite a minute there was no sign. "good practice for one beginning a frontier life, george," said my father. "sweep the bank well, and note the smallest movement of a bough. you see there is no wind to move them now." "i am watching, father," i said, "but i cannot see anything." "pomp see lil bit o' one," came from behind us. "where, boy?" "dah by dat big tree. see um arm. going to shoot." almost as the words left the boy's lips, an arrow came spinning through the air, describing a good arc, and falling in a direct line with the boat, some twenty yards short. "that's better," said my father, coolly resting his gun on the stern, and half lying down in the boat. "hah! i could see that." i had also seen what appeared to be a quick movement of the bushes a short distance from the edge of the bank, a movement which seemed such as would have been made by an animal dashing through. the waving of the foliage stopped just by a great swamp oak, and upon this tree i fancied that my father fixed his eye. "dah again," said pomp, excitedly. "going shoot um bow an' arrow." _bang_! the boat rocked a little with the concussion, and as the smoke lifted, i saw an arrow drop into the river a long way to our left. "i don't think i hit him," said my father; "but i disarranged his aim, and it will check him for a bit." his words proved correct, for though he stood up in the boat to re-charge his piece, and offered a striking object for the indian's arrows, none came; and as we floated on and on, it began to seem as if the one shot had been enough to scare the enemy. i said so, but my father shook his head. "no such good fortune, my boy." "what are you going to do, father?" i said, after some minutes' watching, and thinking how strange it was that my calm, quiet father, who was so fond of his studies and his garden, should in a time of emergency like this prove himself to be a firm soldier, ready to fight or scheme against our dangerous foes. "escape to the settlement if we can get safely away." "but--" i stopped short. "well?" he said. "i was thinking about the house and garden, the furniture and books, and all our treasures." "doomed, i'm afraid, george," he said with a sigh. "we must think about saving our lives. we can build up the house again." "build it up again, father?" "yes, if it is burnt, and replace our books; but we cannot restore life, my boy. besides, all these things that we shall lose are not worth grieving over. there, i think we have waited long enough now to give them time, and we are near the landing-place. pull steadily now, boy, right for the posts." pomp obeyed, and the boat glided on, swept round a wooded point, and the landing-place with its overhanging trees was in sight. "are they there?" said my father, sharply. "i can't see them, father." a sharp stamp with his foot on the thwart of the boat told of the excitement he felt, and made me realise more than ever the peril we were in. "pull, boy--pull!" he said. i sat down in front of pomp, laid my gun across the thwarts, and placing my hands on the oars, helped with a good thrust at every tug, sending the boat well along, so that in a couple of minutes more we were at the landing-place, where i leaped out, and secured the boat by passing the rope through a ring-bolt. "don't fasten it tightly," said my father; "leave it so that you can slip it at a moment's notice. no, no, boy, sit still ready to row." pomp, who was about to spring out, plumped down again, his brow wrinkled up, and his twinkling dark eyes watching my father, of whom he stood in terrible awe. "they ought to have been here; they ought to have been here," said my father, unfastening the other boat, and making a loop of the rope that could be just hung over one of the posts, besides bringing the boat close in. "i cannot go, george," he said sharply. "this is our only means of escape, and it would be like throwing it away: they ought to have been here." "pomp hear um come," cried the boy eagerly; and we both listened, but for a few moments i could make out nothing. then as my father was eagerly scanning the edge of the river, gun in hand, on the look-out for the first approach of the indians, i heard _plod_--_plod_--_plod_--_plod_, and directly after morgan came into sight laden with the guns and ammunition, followed by hannibal with a box on his shoulder; and lastly there was sarah, red-faced and panting, as she bore a large white bundle that looked like a feather-bed tied up in a sheet. "what madness!" cried my father, angrily stamping his foot. "quick, morgan! quick!" morgan broke into a trot, and soon reached us, rapidly placed his load in the boat, and took up one of the pieces. "how could you waste time by letting that woman come loaded in this ridiculous way?" "she would bring them, sir; she wouldn't come without." "no," said sarah, who came up completely breathless, "i wasn't going to." "into the boat," cried my father, "if you value your life!" hannibal was already in with his box, and my father tried to drag the bundle from sarah, but she held on with such tenacity that she was forced in bundle and all. hannibal placed the huge white sphere in the stern, where it rose up high and projected far over the sides. then, in obedience to my father's orders, he seized the oars and sat down. "quick, morgan!" said my father; "be ready to fire steadily as you can if i give the order. stop!" he cried quickly, as a sudden thought struck him; "pass that box into this boat. there, across the stern, as you have placed that bundle." the boats were drawn together, and the transfer was made, while my hands grew wet with perspiration as i scanned the edge of the forest, fancying i could hear the breaking and rustling of twigs and leaves. "here dey come," said pomp, huskily, just as my father exclaimed, "cast off!" and the boats were thrust out into the stream. it was only just in time, for as our boat was being thrust away with the oar there was a fierce yell, and a score of savages rushed out of the edge of the forest, ran rapidly over the bushy ground between, and the two first sprang into the shallow water, one of them seizing an oar, the other coming further out, and catching at the boat's side with one hand, striking at my father with an axe at the same time. i felt as if the blow had struck me, so keen was the agony i endured; but relief came on the instant, for the axe edge was warded off by the barrel of the piece my father held, and before the savage could strike again he received the butt of the piece full in his forehead, and dropped back into the water. meanwhile the other savage was trying to tear the oar from pomp's grasp, and he would have succeeded had not the boy drawn the knife he had stuck in his waist, and given the indian quickly a sharp cut across the hands, making him yell and loosen his hold. the others were so near that we must have been captured had it not been for the sharp stream which had caught the boat, and was bearing us away. in the second boat another struggle had taken place, three of the indians, as i saw at my second glance, making for it; but they fared no better than their companions. hannibal had already pushed off, and was standing up with one oar in his hand. this he swept round as if it were a huge two-handed sword, and one indian went down at once; the second caught and clung to the oar, and he too struck at hannibal with his axe; but the great black caught the handle, gave it a wrench round, tore it from the man's grasp, and i closed my eyes for a moment as i saw what was about to follow. when i opened them again the indian was floating in the river, and a companion was drawing him to land, while another was helping the indian who had attacked morgan, and was struck down by a blow with the gun-barrel. the boats were now moving fast, and as i saw the indians all there bending their bows, my father shouted "fire!" our three pieces went off nearly simultaneously with a tremendous roar, and when the smoke rose i saw three men on the ground by our landing-place, and the others in full flight for the forest. i stared at these three in horror, when, to my surprise, they leaped up and ran after their companions. but three others lay where their comrades had dragged them half drowned, and stunned by the blows they had received. those who got up and ran were no doubt knocked down by their companions in their flight and dismay, for i do not think our fire did them any harm. but i was brought to myself by a sharp command to reload. "quick! crouch down!" said my father; and as he spoke a shower of arrows whistled by, fortunately without doing hurt. "morgan," continued my father, "make a breastwork of that bundle; it will protect you. hannibal, row straight out, so as to get that bundle between you and the enemy." the great black's response was a pull or two with one oar, while, in obedience to my father's instructions, pomp did the same; and i now saw the good of the box placed across the stern, behind which we two sheltered, and kept up as rapid a fire as we could, doing but little harm, for the indians were well sheltered among the trees, and rarely showed more than a hand and arm with one side of the face, the rest of the body being always hidden behind the trunk of some great tree. but our shots did good to this extent, for whenever the enemy made a determined rush, as if to reach a spot opposite to where the boats glided down stream, a little volley invariably sent them back to cover. still by darting from tree to tree, or crawling under the thick bushes, they kept close in our wake, and poor sarah's encumbrances proved invaluable, the box and huge bundle forming excellent shelter, from behind which we could fire, saving the woman too as she lay right in the bottom of the boat; for the arrows came fast--_whizz, whizz, whizz_, now sticking in the box with a hollow sounding rap, or into the big bundle in the other boat with a dull, thudding sound, till both box and bundle actually bristled with the missiles. "keep your head down, my boy," my father kept saying to me. "only look up when you are going to fire." this was good advice, but i did not see that he took it to himself, and i kept feeling a curious shrinking sensation as some better-aimed arrow than usual struck the box close to his head. and so we went slowly on, my father dividing his time between loading, firing, and directing pomp and hannibal how to row, so as to keep the boats one behind the other, and diagonally across the stream, so that our sheltering defences might be presented square to the enemy, who followed us along the bank. i'm afraid--and yet i do not know that i ought to speak like that of a set of savages who were thirsting for our blood--several of the indians went down severely wounded, not from my firing, but from that of morgan, for i saw them stagger and fall three times over after his shots. what happened after my father's i could not see, for we were close together, and the smoke obscured everything. for fully ten minutes this duel between lead and arrow went on, but no one on our side was hurt, though we had some very narrow escapes. i felt one arrow give quite a twitch at my hair as it passed close to my temple, and another went through my father's hat. in the other boat too morgan kept answering to our inquiries, and telling us that all was right, only that some of the arrows had come, as he termed it, "precious nigh, look you." "we shall not shake them off," said my father, "till we reach the mouth and get into the big river, when i hope our firing will be heard and put them on their guard at the settlement. so don't spare your shots when we get well out. they will be doing double duty--scaring the enemy and warning our friends. that's right, pompey, my lad, pull steadily." "iss, massa, pull berry 'tead'ly," said the boy, grinning. "as soon as we get a little farther we will relieve you, my lad; and then, george," he said, turning to me, "we must row hard for the settlement, unless," he added, sadly, "the enemy are before us, and then--hah!" i started at the moment when my father uttered that ejaculation, for an arrow dropped between us, and stuck quivering in the thwart, standing nearly upright, as if it had fallen from the clouds. "they have altered their tactics," said my father. "look there." another arrow fell with a faint _plop_ into the river close to the edge of the boat. "they find our breastwork too much for them," said my father; "and they are shooting up right over us, so as to try and hit us that way." "oh! oh! oh!" came in wild yells of pain from pomp, as i heard a dull thud just behind me; and turning sharply, there was the boy dancing about in his agony, and tugging to free his hand from an arrow which had fallen and gone right through, pinning it to one of the oars. "stop! don't struggle, boy," cried my father, laying his gun across the box. "but um hurt dreffle, massa. oh, mass' george, lookye here--lookye dah." the boat was drifting now, and turning slowly side on to the shore, when my father made a sign, and i left my gun lying across the box and crept into pomp's place, while my father seized the boy's hand, held it tightly, detached the arrow with a tug from where it stuck in the oar, and then as i began to row he pulled pomp down into the bottom of the boat, the boy sobbing with the pain. _whizz_! an arrow made me duck my head, and i don't know how i looked, but i felt as if i must have turned pale. "pull your right, george; pull your right," said my father, coolly. "now, pomp, my boy, let me look. come, be a man." my father took his hand, and the boy jumped and uttered a cry of pain, but he evidently mastered himself, and rising to his knees, he resigned himself to my father, but doubled his other fist and shook it in the direction of the shore as he shouted fiercely-- "ah, you wait bit, great big coward--great big ugly injum tief. you wait bit--pomp and um fader get hold you, gib you de 'tick. hab you flog--hab you--oh! oh, mass' capen, done, done," he cried piteously, changing his tone and appealing to my father, as he saw him take out and open his great gardening knife, which was as sharp as a razor. "be quiet," said my father; "i will not hurt you much." "no, no," whimpered pomp. "mass' george, ask massa not cut arm off. cut off lil toe, massa capen; cut off um foot. what poor lil nigger do wif ony one arm?" "be quiet, you cowardly little rascal," said my father, smiling, as with one sharp cut he took off the head of the arrow, and then easily drew the shaft back from where it had passed right through pomp's black hand. as soon as he saw the arrow-head cut off, and understood what my father meant, pomp knelt there as coolly as could be. "hurt much?" said my father, pressing his finger and thumb on the wound at the back and palm of the boy's hand. "um tickle, sah: dat all. pomp tought you cut um arm off. hi! you dah," he shouted excitedly; "you wait till pomp get lil bit of rag round um hand, you see how i serb you. yah! you big coward injum tief." my father rapidly drew his handkerchief from his pocket, tore a piece off, divided it in two, and making the two pieces into little pads, applied one each to the back and front of the boy's hand before binding them securely there. as soon as this was done, pomp looked up at him with his eyes sparkling and showing his teeth. "pomp not mind a bit," he said. "here, mass' george, come here an' shoot um. let pomp hab de oars." "no," said my father. "sit down there in the bottom of the boat. hah!" he seized his gun and fired; then caught up mine, waited till the smoke had risen a little, and fired again, a shot coming almost at the same moment from the other boat. it was quite time, for the indians, encouraged by the cessation of the firing, and seeing that some one was wounded, were coming on well abreast of us. but the first shot warned them, and the two which followed sent them once more back under cover, leaving one of their number, to pomp's great delight, motionless among the canes. "ha, ha!" he laughed; "you cotch it dis time, sah. how you like feel de shot, eh? you no 'tick arrow froo poor lil nigger hand again, you no-- oh, mass' george, look dah!" for the prostrate man suddenly rolled over, half rose, darted amongst the canes, and we could see by his movements that he was rapidly getting ahead. then another and another darted to him, and to our misery we saw that they were making for a wooded point a couple of hundred yards ahead. "mean to take us between two fires," said my father, who was coolly reloading, in spite of the arrows which kept on dropping down in and about the boat as the indians sent them right up in the air. "morgan!" shouted my father. "yes, sir." "turn your fire in the other direction, and drive those fellows out of that clump of trees on the point." "yes, sir." the next minute there was a sharp report, and then another. "that's right, boy," said my father to pomp, who was eagerly watching him reloading, and handing the ammunition. "why, george--ah, that arrow was near; did it hurt you?" "only scratched me, father," i said, as i winced a little, for one of the indians' missiles had fallen, ploughed my leg a little, and pinned the fold of my breeches to the thwart on which i sat. pomp crept to my side and pulled out the arrow, examining the hole in the thwart, and saying merrily-- "i no 'tink you want lil bit rag round you, sah." "no, pomp; go back and help to load." _bang_--_bang_! was heard again from the foremost boat; but arrows came now fast from the wooded point we were approaching. "how does morgan manage to load so quickly?" said my father, who kept on talking calmly, as i believe now to encourage us. "i think morgan is--i mean i think sarah is loading for him," i replied, rather confusedly, as the trees and the wooded bank began to grow misty and dim. "ah, very likely. great--" the one word came in a very different tone of voice, as a wild shriek rang out from the foremost boat, followed by a momentary silence. "what is it?" said my father, sternly. his demand was almost accompanied by a couple more shots in close succession. "one down, sir," said morgan, coolly; but his voice sounded to me distant and strange. "pull hard, george, my lad--your right. we must give that point as wide a berth as we can." i obeyed as well as i could, and half wondered at the singing noise in my ears. _bang_! came from the foremost boat, and i seemed to know that morgan had no one to load for him now, and that poor sarah had uttered that shriek we had heard. then i saw that my father was resting his gun on the foremost part of the boat, and he too fired at the woody point, from which arrow after arrow came in quick succession. and still i rowed hard, with the perspiration streaming down to soak me. _whizz_--_thud_--_whizz_--_whizz_, and an angry ejaculation from my father; i did not know why, nor yet why pomp uttered a shrill ejaculation, for i was pulling with all my might like one in a dream. i felt once as if i should like to look back and see how near we were to the point that i knew must be close at hand; but everything was getting dark, and a horrible sensation of sickness was coming on. then the sharp report of my father's piece made me start and pull harder, as i thought, and i tried to look toward the shore, where a wild yelling had arisen; but pomp's words uttered close to me took my attention, and in a dreamy way i supposed that another indian had been killed. then the boy spoke again in a low whimpering way-- "massa--massa--look at de blood. oh, mass' george! mass' george!" chapter thirty two. "better, my lad?" i did not answer, but looked in my father's face, wondering what was the matter--why i felt so deathly sick, as i lay back feeling water splashed in my face, and seeing a black hand going and coming from somewhere at my side. "come: try and hold up," said my father. "yes," i said. "what's the matter?" "nothing very serious for you, my lad. we have been playing at soldiers in earnest, that's all, and you have been wounded." "i, father--i? ah yes, i remember," i said, essaying to sit up. "but i did try hard to bear it." "i know--i know, my lad. i didn't know you were hurt like that." "but--but the indians?" i said, struggling up, and then catching at my father's hand, for i felt a burning pain run through my leg, and the sick sensation returned. "we have left them behind," he said, "and are out of their reach for the present. now sit still, and the faintness will go off. i must go to the other boat." i looked sharply round, and found that the wooded point was far behind, and also that we were well out of our stream, and floating steadily down the big river toward the settlement, whose flagstaff and houses stood out in the sunshine on our left about a mile away. i saw too that a rope had been made fast to the end of the other boat, and that we were being towed, but by whom, or what was going on there, i could not see for the great bundle in the white sheet which filled up the stern, and was still bristling with arrows. "hold hard!" shouted my father, and our boat began to glide alongside of the other. "can you sit up, my lad?" "yes, father," i said. "pomp take car' of him, massa." "yes, but you are wounded too," said my father. "oh, dat nuffum," said the boy contemptuously. my attention was riveted now on sarah, whom i could see as the boats were alongside lying crouched back in the bottom, looking deathly white as morgan knelt by her, holding a handkerchief pressed to her shoulder. "now let me come," said my father. "are both your pieces loaded?" "i have that charged, sir," he said aloud. then i heard him whisper, "you don't think she's very bad, do you, sir?" my father made no reply, but took morgan's place. "go and take an oar," he said then. "help hannibal; and try and get us to the fort if you can. yes," he continued, after shading his eyes with his hand, "the flag is still flying; the indians cannot be there yet." "boat coming," cried pomp; and to our great delight, we saw a well-manned boat shoot out from the shore, and begin to head in our direction. my father uttered a sigh of relief, and i heard him mutter "thank god!" as he proceeded to bandage the poor woman's shoulder as well as he could; and in a momentary glance i saw that an arrow, with the shaft sticking out, broken short off, was still in the wound. i wondered why my father did not draw it out, but of course said nothing, only sat gazing from the coming boat to the shore, which all seemed peaceful and calm now, there being no sign of indians or trace of the trouble, save on board our boats. just then, as i was reviving more and more, and fully learning the fact that i had received what might have proved a dangerous wound had not the bleeding been stopped, a hail came from the approaching boat, which proved to be colonel preston's. "anything the matter? what's all that firing about?" cried the colonel, as his boat's way was checked. "indians!--attacked!" said my father, speaking excitedly as he waved his hand toward his wounded; and then, "don't lose a moment. help us ashore, and there must not be a soul out of the fort in half an hour's time." there was a disposition in colonel preston's manner to make light of the matter, but the sight of the arrows bristling about the defences checked him; and ordering a couple of men out of his own boat to help row ours, he stayed with us to hear the narrative of our fight. "they are good marksmen too," he said; and then, turning to my father, i heard him whisper, "that woman--wound dangerous?" "i am afraid so," my father replied. "she must have better attention than i can give her." i turned to gaze on the poor sufferer lying there close beneath the bundle which she had insisted upon bringing--the great pile of soft things which had been a protection to those with her, but had not saved her from the indians' arrow; and as i watched her i forgot my own pain and suffering, and thought of how good and kind she had always been to me in spite of her quaint, rather harsh ways; and the great hot tears came into my eyes, to make things look dim and misty again, as i thought of my father's words. a sharp look-out was kept, and the colonel and his men armed themselves with some of the pieces we had in the boats; but the indians were in the forest right at the back of the settlement, and had not kept along the bank when we reached the great river. quite a little crowd was awaiting our coming at the wharf, and as soon as the news spread, the excitement was tremendous; but almost before poor sarah had been carried up to the great block-house, and i had limped there, resting on hannibal, a bugle had, rung out, and having been drilled by the general in case of such emergency, men, women, and children, followed by the black slaves, ran scurrying to the entrance-gates, carrying such little household treasures as they could snatch up in the hurry. as the women and children took refuge inside the strong palisades, the able-bodied men formed up ready outside, all well-armed; and looking a thoroughly determined set, as they were marched in, guard set, and ammunition served out. the military training of many of the settlers stood them in good stead, while the general, who the last time i saw him was superintending his slaves in the cotton-field, was hurrying about now giving his orders; and in an amazingly short time scouts were sent out, arrangements were made for barricading the gates, and every musket that could be procured was stood ready to battle with the savage foe. colonel preston and my father were, i soon saw, the general's right-hand men, and each had his particular duty to do, my father's being the defence of the gates, just outside which i was standing in spite of my wound, pomp being close at hand, ready, with several other of the black boys, to fetch ammunition, to carry messages, and, with the guarding force outside the gates at the present, being sent to first one and then another of the abandoned houses, to bring out valued articles, such as could be hurriedly saved. i was in a good deal of pain, but everything was so exciting that i could not find it in my heart to go into the great barrack-like wooden fort in the centre of the palisaded enclosure, but stood watching the preparations, and thinking how rapidly the settlement had increased since we came. one thing i heard over and over again, and that was the people bemoaning their fate at having to leave their comfortable houses just as everything had been made homely and nice, to be pillaged and burned by the indians. "and they'll pillage and burn our place," i thought, "perhaps the first." and i was thinking bitterly of all this, and that we had far more right to complain than the rest, when pomp came strutting up with his arm in the loose sling, of which he seemed to be very proud. he stopped short as he came quickly up, having been summoned away a few minutes before; and now he pointed at me, and turned to a quiet, keen-looking youngish man, who wore a sword, but had his pockets stuffed full of bandages and bottles, for i heard them chink. "dat mass' george, sah," he cried. "ah, that's right. your father wished me to examine your wound." "are you a doctor?" i said eagerly. "well, yes--a surgeon." "come with me, then," i cried. "there's some one who was wounded in one of our boats." "the woman? yes, i have seen her and attended to her. now then, quick, my lad. lean on me, and let's see about you." i limped beside him to the part of the block-house set apart for such troubles, and after giving me no little pain, he said-- "there, you can sit somewhere and load guns. you will not hurt now." "it's not dangerous then?" i said. "not at all; but if it had not been sharply attended to by your father you would have bled to death." "and how is our sarah?" i said, eagerly. "if you mean captain bruton's housekeeper, she is badly wounded, but i have removed the arrow-head, and i think she will do. i suppose you are master george?" "yes." "then as soon as you can you must go and see the poor woman. she was talking constantly of you, and begged me to send you if we met." i thanked him, and left him emptying his pockets of strips of linen, threads, a box of something that made me think about pistols in the case at home, and then of some bottles, all of which he laid about in the most orderly manner, and i left him with a shudder, as i thought of what they were for. as soon as i got outside i was accosted by pomp, who came up to me, saying-- "leg quite well now?" "no; nor likely to be, pomp." "mass' george better wear um in fling like pomp arm. missie sarah want mass' george." he took me to where the poor woman lay, very white and exhausted, but she brightened up as soon as she saw me approach, and the black nurse who was attending to her drew back. "ah, sarah," i exclaimed, as i went to her side, "i am sorry to see you like this." she paid no heed to my words of condolence, but caught me by the wrist. "where is that box?" she said eagerly. "the box? the one hannibal carried down?" "yes; where is it?" "i don't know," i said. "what? you don't know? oh, master george!" "it was brought up from the boat, and put in the enclosure somewhere." "thank goodness," she said with a sigh. "and the bundle?" she suddenly exclaimed. "ought you to worry about such things now?" i asked. "what does it matter?" "matter?" she gasped. "yes. do you know your waiting to get those things made us nearly caught by the indians?" "if it did, they saved you all from being shot by them as i was with that dreadful arrow." "well--yes, they did keep off the arrows; but if you had been quicker we should not have been shot at. you shouldn't have stopped to worry about your clothes. my father would have paid for more." "and me so weak and ill, master george, and you to reproach me like that," she said, with the tears brimming over on to her cheeks. "nonsense!" i said, taking her hand, to feel her cling to mine affectionately. "i was not reproaching you, and we are all safe, and nothing to mind." "nothing to mind? ah, my dear, think of what our poor house will be like when we get back." "i don't think i will," i said dryly; but she did not heed, and went on-- "it was bad enough after that dreadful flood. what will it be now? and so much pride as i took in it, and such a home as it had become. and then, my dear, for you to go and think that i should keep those two waiting while i got together things of my own." "well, you know you did," i said, laughing. "for shame, master george! that box has got everything in that i knew you would like to save." "oh, sarah!" "and in that bundle is all the best of the linen, and right in the middle, your poor dear father's uniform." i did not know which to do--to laugh at the poor woman for her kindly but mistaken thoughts, or to feel affected, so i did neither, but pressed her hand gently, told her she must sleep, and rose to go; but she clung to my hand. "you'll take care, and not go into danger," she said. "you have been hurt enough." "i'll try not," i said, as she still clung to my hand, looking wistfully at me. i seemed to understand what she meant, stooped over and kissed her, and made her cry. "poor old nurse!" i said to myself as i limped out, and across the enclosure, where the people were gathered in knots discussing the possibility of an attack. in one part all the blacks were together--the women and the younger boys; in another part the ladies with their children; while on the rough platforms erected at the corners of the great palisade sentries were stationed, keeping a vigilant look-out; and i now saw that to every white man there were two armed blacks, and i could not help thinking that we should all be massacred if the blacks sided with the savages against those who had made them their slaves. at one of these corners i saw that our hannibal was placed, his great bulk and height making him stand out prominently from his companions; and feebly enough, and with no little pain, i went towards him, thinking very little of my injury in my boyish excitement, though had i been older, and more given to thought, i suppose i should have lain up at once in the temporary hospital. i signed to hannibal to come to me, and the gentleman mounting guard with him giving permission, i took him aside. "well, han," i said, as he smiled at me in his quiet, grave way, "you've got a gun, and are going to fight then?" "yes, mass' george, going to fight." "and will the other people fight too?" "yes; all going to fight," he said. "capen say must fight for us, hannibal, and hannibal going to fight for capen and mass' george." "but--" i checked myself, for it seemed to come to me like a flash that it would be foolish to ask the question i intended about the blacks being faithful. "it would be like putting it into their heads to be false," i said to myself; and then, as the great fellow looked at me inquiringly, i continued aloud-- "try and protect my father if you can, han." he gave me a quick look, and the tears stood in his eyes. "han die for capen and mass' george," he said. at that moment there was a bustle and excitement at the gate, and i tried as quickly as my injury would allow to join the group who were hurrying that way. chapter thirty three. it was the scouts coming back from different directions, with the same report that no enemy was in sight, though they had penetrated in one or two instances right to the forest. "isn't a false alarm, is it, captain bruton?" said one of the newer settlers. "two of us went right to your little plantation." "well?" said my father, eagerly. "well, sir, you were not at home, so we did what i hope you approve of-- treated ourselves as you in your hospitality would have treated us. we sat down, ate and drank, and after we were refreshed we came back, but we saw no enemy." i felt hot and cold with indignation as i listened to this man's cavalier treatment of my father, and to see that many of those present were ready to join this scout in believing it to be a false alarm. "i am glad, sir, that you have returned in safety to make your report," said my father, coldly. "oh, come, winters," said colonel preston, warmly, "if you had seen those boats bristling with arrows you would not think our friend bruton had been crying wolf." "and if he will go into our temporary hospital he will see one of the wounded lying there seriously injured." "but i do not want to cast doubts on captain bruton's report." "then why did you try, sir?" i said hotly. "ask the doctor if it was a sham wound from an arrow that i got in my leg." "george!" said my father, sternly, "remember what you are." "i do, father," i said vehemently; "but this man seemed to think you had not spoken the truth." "no, no," said the settler, flushing up, "only that he might have been deceived." "i only wish you had been tied up for hours to a tree as i was, sir," i said, "expecting to be killed by the indians. i believe even now you can't believe it is true." "hush!" said my father, sternly. "i'm afraid, gentlemen, that though nothing has been seen of them, the indians are hiding in the forest, ready to descend upon us at what they consider a favourable opportunity, and i beg, i implore, for your own sakes--for the sake of all whom you hold dear, not to treat what i have said as being exaggerated." "we shall not, bruton," said the general firmly, after standing listening in silence all through. "i have plenty of faith in my young friend, your son, and you may rest assured that i am not going to treat what has taken place as a false alarm. gentlemen, to your posts. colonel preston, the gate must be closed at once, and every other man will remain under arms till ten to-night, when the second half will relieve them. gentlemen, i consider that the siege has begun." the evening came in dark and gloomy, and night fell as if almost at once. all was still but the faintly-heard lapping of the water on the strand, and the customary croaking and hollow bellowing from the forest; and it seemed to me, feverish and ill at ease now, that a feeling of awe had come upon the occupants of the enclosure, who were seated about in groups of families, discussing their strange positions in whispers, and waiting at the first alarm to obey the general's command, and take shelter in the great block of wooden buildings constituting the fort--a building which had been gradually enlarged as the settlement had increased, so that, in addition to shelter and protection, there might be ample room for magazines, armoury, and stores. i was seated with pomp and my father, where we had partaken of the food that had been served out, thinking of my bed at home, and of how dearly i would have liked to be lying there instead of upon the hard ground, when an alarm was given, and the officers, my father amongst them, hurried up to the fort to ascend to the roof, and watch the glow which had suddenly begun to appear in the southwest. i had followed my father and stood by him, as i heard the general say sharply, in answer to a remark made by some one of those present, upon whose faces the faint glow was reflected-- "forest fire, sir? no; i am afraid it is--" "my house, gentlemen," said my father, calmly. "the attack has begun." a dead silence followed my father's words, and it was almost a minute before the general said gravely-- "yes, bruton, the attack has begun, and in a way i dreaded. well, we must beat it off. i am sorry that your pleasant home should be one of the first to fall a victim to the enemy; but as it was built up, so it can be built up again. there will be plenty of willing hands to help one of our most trusty brothers." a murmur of warm assent followed this remark, and then the general spoke again. "is mr winters here?" he said. "yes, general." "what have you to say, sir, now?" "that i beg captain bruton's pardon, sir; and that i will be one of the first to help restore his house, if it please god i live through the trouble that is to come." "thank you, mr winters," said my father, quietly. "if we are staunch to each other i have no fear for the result." "look--look!" came in a low murmur, and my heart sank, for it seemed so piteous to see the bright glare rising over the forest, as the poor house over which so much pains had been taken seemed, in spite of the distance, to be sending up wreath after wreath of golden smoke, while for a short time there was a ruddy light spreading high up into the sky. but it all faded out as rapidly as it had arisen, and i went down into the enclosure, to stumble soon after upon morgan, who said grimly-- "didn't think after that soaking, look you, she would have burnt out so quick, master george." "oh, don't talk about it, morgan," i said. "there, i must lie down now; i am too weak and tired to stand." "come this way then, my lad, and lean on me," he said gently; and he helped me to where i could see something white lying on the ground. it was the great bundle sarah had made, and close by it lay pomp fast asleep. "burned so quickly after the soaking it had had," seemed to be buzzing in my brain, and the ruddy glow flashed up before my eyes once more; but only in imagination, for i believe that as my head touched that great soft bundle, regardless of danger from tomahawk or arrow, i went off fast asleep, and slept on hour after hour, nor opened my eyes again till it was broad day. chapter thirty four. it was a miserable scene upon which i gazed, in spite of its being a bright clear morning; but as i grasped where i was, and shook off the drowsy confusion, there was a feeling of thankfulness in my heart, for the dark night had passed away, and we had not been attacked by the indians. but the moment i had felt more cheerful, down came a depressing cloud, as i remembered our row for life, our narrow escape, and the reflection of the fire i had seen. "poor old house!" i sighed to myself, for it was so terrible that the beautiful little home should have been utterly destroyed; and it all seemed to come up before me with its high-pitched gable ends, the rough pine porch, the lead-paned windows that came over from england; and as i saw it all in imagination once more, i fancied how the passion-flowers and other creepers must have looked crisping and curling up as the flames reached them; and what with my miserable thoughts, the stiffness i felt from my previous day's exertions, and the pain from my little wound, if ever i had felt horribly depressed, i did then. "mass' george hungly?" said a familiar voice; and there was pomp's contented face before me, as he came up hugging to him some slices of bread. "no," i said, ill-humouredly, "i can't eat; my leg hurts me so." "pomp can," he said; "and him hand hurt too. missie morgan want to see mass' george." i took one of the pieces of bread pomp gave me, and began to eat mechanically as i walked across the enclosure by the various little groups of settlers and their families, to where my father was busy with the other officers superintending the construction of a barricade outside the gate, so as to divide the indians in case of an attack, and force them to come up to the entrance one by one. "ah, my boy," said my father, quickly, "how is the leg?" "hurts," i said, in an ill-used tone. "naturally," he cried with a laugh. "there, don't be down-hearted about a little pain. i came and had a look at you, but you were asleep. there, do you see how we are getting ready for your indian friends? we hope to give them such a severe lesson that they will leave us alone in future." "then you think they will attack us, father?" i said. "some one just now told me that all was quiet, and that the indians had gone." "that is the very reason why i think they will attack us, my boy, and the sooner the better, george. it must come, and i should like them to get their sharp lesson and go; for i want to hang this up for an ornament or to turn it into a pruning-hook." he touched his sword as he spoke, and turned to morgan, who came up. "how is she?" "doctor says she's very feverish, sir, but he thinks she is going on all right." "i am very, very sorry, morgan," said my father, sadly. "i feel as if i were to blame for bringing you people out to this wilderness." "i teclare to cootness, sir," began morgan, in a high-pitched welsh fashion; but he checked himself and smiled. "there, sir, don't you talk like that. wilderness? why, it's a pleasure to do a bit of gardening here. see what rich deep soil it is, and how the things rush up into growth." "very poor consolation for your wife, morgan," said my father, dryly. "all that does not make her wound the more bearable." "bah! nonsense, sir! she don't mind. why, as she said to me just now, she wouldn't have got a wound from an indian's arrow if she had stopped at home, but the knife might have slipped, and she might have cut herself, or upset a pot of boiling water over her, or failed down the cellar steps and broken a dish and run a piece into her side." "well, that's good philosophy, morgan, and very comforting to me. what do you say, george, are you sorry you came?" "no, father, not at all," i replied, for unwittingly i had finished the big slice of bread, and felt all the better for the food. "i only wish i were a man, and could fight." "don't wish that, my lad," he said quickly. "there is nothing more glorious in life than being a boy. but there, i have no time to waste in preaching to you about that," he said, laughing. "it would be labour thrown away. no boy can believe it. he has to grow into a man, and look back: then he does. there, don't worry yourself till your leg is better, but do any little thing to be useful, and if an attack is made, keep with morgan. you can load." "yes, i can load," i said to myself, as i limped off with pomp following me, looking very proud of his hand being in a sling, and we went into the part of the block-house where poor sarah was lying. as i crossed the enclosure i seemed to understand now why it had been contrived as it was to form an outer defence, which, if taken, only meant that the enemy had a more formidable place to attack, for the block-house seemed to my inexperienced eyes to be impregnable. as i quietly entered the place, i encountered the doctor. "ha!" he said; "come to see me?" i explained that i had come to see our housekeeper. "asleep," he said. "don't disturb her. let's have a look at your wound." he drew me into his rough room, and gave me no little pain as he rebandaged my leg, pomp standing by and looking on. "oh, that's all right, my lad," said the doctor. "smarts, of course, but you'll soon mend up. very different if it had gone into your chest. now, ebony, let's look at your hand." "pomp, sah," said the boy with dignity, "not eb'ny." "oh, well then, pomp. now then. how's the hand?" "on'y got lil hole in um, sah. hurt lil bit. oh! hurt big bit, you do dat." "yes, i suppose so," said the doctor, examining and rebandaging the wound. "there, that will soon be well if you do not use it. well, young bruton, so they burnt you out, did they, last night?" "yes," i said, bitterly. "oh, never mind. you heard what was said. well, let's go and see what they are doing. we're non-combatants, eh?" we walked out into the open square, after the young doctor had admonished the black woman who had been appointed the first nurse to be watchful and attentive to her patient. there was something going on down by the gate, and i forgot all about the pain in my leg as i accompanied the doctor there, continuing my breakfast on the second slice of bread pomp handed to me. we soon learned what caused the bustle. a strong party of well-armed scouts was out in the direction of the forest, which lay some distance back from the block-house now, as clearing after clearing had been made, and turned into plantations; and these scouts, with a second line in support, were ready to give the alarm and arrest the first attack, their orders being to fall back slowly to the gate, so that ample time would be given at the alarm of the first shot for the busy party now being sent out to retreat and get under cover. for now that every one was safe, it had been decided to try and bring in, as far as was practicable, the most valuable things from the nearest houses. i was not long in mounting to a good place inside the great palisade, where i could command a view of what was going on, and soon saw that a couple of lines of men had been made with military precision, extending from the gate to the general's house, which had been voted the first to be cleared; and between these lines, under the command of colonel preston, a strong body of the slaves--men only at first, but as the work went on women too--were soon going and coming, bearing the most valuable of the household chattels, and these were so stacked in the centre of the enclosure that they would be safe so long as the palisade kept the enemy at bay, and would afterwards act as a line of defence. in little over half an hour another house was treated in the same way, and all through that day the work went on, till a goodly stack of the best of the things had been brought in, along with stores of provisions, that in the first hurry had been left behind. as this went on the people who had been sick at heart and despondent began to look more hopeful, and family after family had their goods arranged so that they were able to make comfortable bivouacs out in the middle of the square; but these were all arranged under the orders of the general and his officers, so as to form places of defence, to which the defenders of the palisade could flee and be under cover, the whole of the new barricade being arranged so that a way was left leading up to the main entrance of the block-house. i grasped all this from my position of looker-on, pomp never leaving my side, and asking questions which i tried to answer, so that he could understand. and he did comprehend too, much better than i should have expected, for toward evening, after the day had passed, with the scouts relieved twice over without having seen the slightest token of indians being near, all at once he said to me-- "when injum come an' shoot an' get over de big fence, all dat make great big fire." my father's words about the great enemy we had to fear came back to me at this, and it was with a curiously uncomfortable feeling that i left my look-out place for the second time to go and partake of the food that had been prepared. for the garrison of the fort were rapidly settling down to make the best of their position, and all was being done as to the serving out of food with military precision, the general having drilled his followers in the past, so that they might be prepared for such an emergency as this; and it was quite wonderful how soon the confusion and disorder of the first hours had changed to regular ways. and now the night would soon be here--a time looked forward to with the greatest of anxiety by all. the scouts were called in by sound of bugle, and at sundown the gates were barricaded, and sentries placed all round our defences. fires were put out, and as darkness fell, and the customary chorus of the reptiles arose from the forest and distant swamps, a curious feeling of awe came over me where i sat watching by my father, who, after a long and arduous day's work was sleeping heavily, morgan close at hand, with pomp and hannibal too. i could not sleep, for there was a dull, gnawing pain in my wound; and so i sat in discomfort and misery, thinking that though the sentries were all on the watch, the place would not be so safe now that my father was asleep. the moon was hidden, but the stars shone down brightly, and i sat back, leaning against sarah's big bundle, in which some of the arrows were still sticking, gazing up at the spangled heavens, listening to the bull-frogs, and thinking how far off they sounded as compared to when i had heard them at home. i was listening and wondering whether the indians would come, when i heard a rustling sound close by, and directly after a low muttering. but i did not pay any heed, thinking that morgan or one of the blacks had turned in his sleep; but the noise came again and again, and then there was a loud ejaculation, and directly after i heard a familiar voice exclaim-- "bodder de ole han'! oh, how um do hurt!" "can't you sleep, pomp?" i whispered, as i crept softly to his side. "dat you, mass' george?" "yes; i say, can't you sleep?" "yes, mass' george. pomp can't sleep ebber so, but dis 'tupid han' won't let um." "does it hurt?" "yes. big hot fly in um keep goin' froo. pomp goin' take off de rag." "no, no; let it be; it will soon be better. go to sleep." "han' say no go sleep. let's go an' try find de coon." "no, no; we are not at home now. we can't go out of the fort." "out ob de fort?" "well, outside of the big fence." pomp gave a little laugh. "why, pomp go over easy 'nuff." "but it's against orders," i said. "here, i can't sleep either. let's go and have a talk to the sentries." pomp jumped up at once, and without waking the others, we walked slowly to the gate, where one of the sentries challenged us and let us go on, after recognising me, the man saying with a laugh-- "that anybody with you, sir?" "yes," i said; "our boy pompey." "oh! shouldn't hardly have thought it. looks like a bit o' the black night out for a walk in a pair o' white cotton drawers." "him laugh at pomp," said the boy, as we went on. "yes; it was only his fun." "but what um mean 'bout de dark night in cottum drawer?" "oh, nothing. nonsense!" "yes, nonsense; pomp know better. night can't wear cottum drawer. all 'tuff." "hush! don't talk so loud." "den why say dat, an' make fun ob poor lil nigger? i know dat man. wait bit; i make fun ob him, an' mass' george an' me laugh den." "will you be quiet, pomp?" "yes; pomp be ebber so quiet. wait till laugh at him." "who goes there?" came from just ahead, out of the darkness. "mass' george an' me," said pomp, promptly. i hastened to give the word, and we were allowed to pass on, to be challenged again and again, till we reached the part of the palisade on the farther side of the block-house. here the sentry proved to be one of the men who had rowed out to us in colonel preston's boat; and as he asked about my wound and pomp's hand, we stopped by him where upon the raised platform he stood, firelock in hand, gazing over the great fence toward the forest. "so your hurts wouldn't let you sleep, eh?" he said. "well, we must pay the indians off for it if they come nigh; but it's my belief that they won't." then he fell to questioning me in a low tone about my adventures, and i had to tell him how pomp and i escaped. "i should have liked to have been with you, my lad," he said. "i'm not fond of fighting; had too much along with colonel preston; but i should have liked to have been with you when the arrows were flying." "i wish you had been," i said. "do you? well, come, i like that; it sounds friendly. yes, i wish i'd been there. the cowards, shooting at people who've been soldiers, but who want to settle down into peaceable folk, and wouldn't interfere with them a bit. i only wish they'd come; i don't think they'd want to come any more." "that's what my father says," i observed. "he thinks the indians want a good lesson." "so they do, my lad, so they do. let's take, for instance, your place, which they burned down last night. now what for, but out of sheer nasty mischief! there's plenty of room for them, and there's plenty of room for us. if they think they're going to frighten us away they're mistaken. they don't know what englishmen are, do they, little nigger?" "how pomp know what de injum tink?" said the boy, promptly. the man turned to me and gave me a nudge, as he laughingly continued, in the whisper in which the conversation was carried on-- "ah, well, they don't know, but if they'd come, i think we should teach them, for every one here's fighting for his home, without thinking about those who are fighting for their wives and children as well. you don't understand that yet, squire." "i think i do," i said. "i suppose a man would fight for his wife and children in the same way as i would try and fight for my father." "well, suppose it is about the same. you'll have to fight some day, perhaps." "mass' george fight dreffle," put in pomp. "shoot lot of injum." "nonsense, pomp!" i said, hurriedly. "not nonsense. pomp see um tummle down when. mass' george shoot um." "why, you didn't fire on the indians, did you, squire?" said the man. "lot o' times," said pomp, quickly. the man let his firelock go into the hollow of his left arm, and he shook my hand warmly, as pomp stood staring over the fence into the darkness. "i like that," he said, as i felt very uncomfortable and shrinking. "but then i might have known it. your father and colonel preston didn't hit it very well together, but the colonel always said your father was a very brave officer, quiet as he seemed--and like father, like son. feel chilly?" "no," i said. "well, it isn't cold, but after being so hot all day it feels a bit different. heigho! i shouldn't at all mind having a good sleep. one gets tired of watching for nothing." "sit down and have a sleep," i said. "i'll hold your gun and keep guard." "will you, my lad?" he said, eagerly. "yes; i can't sleep, and i'll wake you directly if there is anything wrong." "come, that's friendly," said the man. "i like that, and i'd give anything for an hour's sleep. catch hold; i'll lie down here. you'll be sure and call me?" "you may trust me." "bah!" cried the man in an ill-used tone, and snatching back his firelock, "that's done it." "what is the matter?" i said, wonderingly. "you said you may trust me." "yes; i did." "that did it. it's just what i said to the colonel when he asked me if i could keep on sentry without going to sleep." "but you would not go to sleep without leaving some one else to watch." "no," he said, sternly, "and i won't skulk. i've been digging and planting so long that i've forgotten my soldiering. no, sir, a man who goes to sleep at his post when facing the enemy ought to be shot, and," he added with emphasis, "he deserves it." "here um come, mass' george," whispered pomp just at that moment. "what--to relieve guard?" i said, quickly, as i thought of the sentry's mistake. "no, mass' george, de injum." chapter thirty five. the sentry craned his neck forward over the great fence staring out into the gloom, and i followed his example, my heart beating heavily the while, the regular throbs seeming to rise right up to my throat in a way that was painful; but i could see nothing. there was the great star-specked sky reaching down towards earth, and ending suddenly in a clearly defined line which i knew was the edge of the forest beyond the plantations, which all lay in darkness that was almost black. i strained my eyes, and held my breath, looking and listening, but could make out nothing, and at last i placed my lips close to pomp's ear. "where are they?" i said. "dah!" as he uttered that one word he stretched out his black hand, pointing straight away toward the forest; but still i could see nothing, and there was not a sound. at that moment the sentry laid his hand upon my shoulder, and said softly, "is he playing tricks with us?" "no," i answered; "he thinks he sees them. his eyes are wonderful by night." "well, mine are not, for i can see nothing or hear anything either." "are you sure, pomp?" i whispered. "yes; sure," he said. "big lot of injum coming to fight." "hadn't you better give the alarm?" i said to the sentry. "i can't give the alarm till i'm certain there's danger coming," he said, rather sulkily. "i haven't got eyes like a cat, and i don't know that he can see them yet." i could not help sympathising with the man as he continued-- "'spose i fire," he said, "and the enemy don't come on; nobody has seen them, and nice and stupid i should look." "but pomp says he's sure." "i'm not," said the man, gruffly. "be ready then, and fire the moment they begin to make a rush," i said, excitedly. then, turning to the boy, i whispered, "now then; tell me once more, can you see the indians?" "yes, dah," he said, quietly. "you are sure?" "yes, suah. dey come now. let pomp shoot." "no, no; come with me," i said, catching hold of his arm. "let's run to my father." the boy was so accustomed to obey me, that he left the place directly, and hurried with me across the enclosure in and out among the camping groups, to where our few poor belongings lay, and i at once awakened my father. "pomp has seen the indians coming on," i said. he started up, and so dull and heavy had been his sleep that he did not understand me for the time. "the indians, father," i said. he sprang up on the instant then, and felt for his sword. "you say the boy saw them?" "yes, coming on. we were with one of the sentries." "but he has not fired. i should have heard." "no, father, he would not believe pomp could see them." "pomp could see um--big lots," said the boy. "that is enough," said my father. "tell the bugler--no; we will not show them that we know," he said. "come with me." we followed him to where the general was lying on a blanket or two in the midst of his possessions, and he was on his feet in an instant giving his orders, which were conveyed here and there to the various officers, from whence they spread to the men so rapidly and silently that in a few minutes, almost without a sound, a hundred well-armed defenders of the fort were on their way to the fence in twenty little squads, each of which reinforced the sentries, and stood waiting for the attack. so silent and unchanged was everything when i played the part of guide, and led my father and the general to where we had been watching, that my heart sank, and i felt guilty of raising a false alarm. then i half shrank away as i heard the general question the sentry, and he replied that he had neither seen nor heard anything. just then my father turned to me. "where's the boy?" "here, pomp," i whispered; but i looked round in vain, and after a few minutes' search i was fain to confess that he had gone. "it is some trick," whispered my father, with suppressed anger. "i cannot hear a sound." "no; i feel sure he was in earnest. he certainly believed he saw the indians." my father turned to the general, and they conversed together in a low voice for some minutes, during which i stood there feeling as if i were wrong, and forgetting that even if i were it was only a case of being over anxious in our cause. "no, no," i heard the general say quietly; "don't blame the boys. of course it is vexatious, and seems like harassing the men for nothing; but it has its good side, for it proves how quickly we can man our defences. well, what do you say--shall we go back to our beds? there seems to be no danger. ah, here is preston. well, have you been all round?" "right round, sir, and there does not seem to be anything moving. a false alarm, i think." "yes," said the general, "a false alarm, and--what is it?" my father had caught his arm in a strong grip, and pointed over the palisade. "i don't know what it is," he whispered; "but something is moving out yonder, a hundred yards away." amidst a dead silence every eye was fixed in the direction pointed to by my father; but no one else could make anything out, and the general said-- "no; i cannot see it." "are you sure?" whispered my father. "george, are you there?" i replied in a whisper too, and crept to his side. "look. can you make out anything?" he said. i looked long and intently, and was obliged to answer-- "no." "quick! try and find that boy," said my father, angrily now. "he ought to have been here." _bang_! _bang_! then report after report, followed by a volley quite from the other side of the enclosure; and, horrible as it seemed, followed as it was by a burst of yells, i felt my heart leap with satisfaction. there was a rush being made for the spot whence the firing had come; but my father's voice rang out, calling upon the men to stand fast, and it was well that his order was promptly obeyed, for almost immediately after there was a whizzing sound that i well knew, accompanied by a sharp series of pats as of arrows striking wood, and we knew that the indians were attacking on our side too. then followed the quick firm command, and the darkness was cut by the flashes of a dozen fire-locks, whose reports went rolling away, to be echoed by the great trees of the forest beyond the clearings. then nothing was heard but the quick beating and hissing of the iron ramrods in the guns, while i stood close under the shelter of the fence, listening intently in the terrible silence, and trying to make out whether the indians were near. again came the report of a firelock, and a volley from nearer the gate, followed by a burst of yells; and a minute later a fresh volley, and the same defiant shouting, just as if the indians had made their attack in four different places, but had been checked by the watchfulness of our men, who had been thoroughly prepared for the attacks. i was wondering to myself whether the indians were in a body, and had come on in one place, and then hurried on to the others, or were in four different bodies; but my wonderings soon ceased, for i quite started at hearing a voice close to my ear. "no got arrow 'tick in um dis time, mass' george. tell um injum coming again." "where? where?" i whispered. "pomp see um crawl 'long de groun' like 'gator," he said. "dah--one, two, tick, nineteen, twenty." i gazed intently over the fence, but could only see the dark ground; but pomp's warning was too valuable to be trifled with. he had proved himself now, and i hurried to where my father stood ready with twenty of our men, and told him. he gave orders, and half the men fired slowly, one after the other, the instructions being to those who held their fire, that if they could make out the bodies of the crawling indians by the flashing of their comrades' pieces, they were to fire too. the rapid scattered reports were followed by a furious burst of yells; there was the rush of feet, sounds as of blows struck against the stout poles, and directly after, dimly-seen against the starlit sky, dark grotesque-looking heads appeared as at least a dozen of the indians gained the top of the defence, but only to be beaten back by the butt-ends of the men's fire-locks, all save two who dropped over in our midst, and fought desperately for a time before they were despatched. as silence--an ominous silence full of danger and portent--fell upon us again here, we could tell that quite as desperate a struggle was going on at other points of the palisading. flash was succeeded by report and yell, so loud and continuous that we knew now that the indians were delivering their attack in four different places; and more than once i shuddered as i felt how terrible it would be should one of these bands gain an entry. i knew enough of such matters from old conversations with my father, to be able to grasp that if a party did get in over the stockade they would desperately attack one of our defending companies in the rear, and the others in response to their yells would come on at the same moment, when our numbers and discipline would be of little value in a hand-to-hand attack with the lithe savages, whose axes and knives would be deadly weapons at close quarters. for quite half an hour the firing and yelling continued. then it ceased as quickly as it had begun, and the indians seemed to have retreated. but there was no relaxation of our watchfulness, for we could not tell but that in their silent furtive way the enemy were preparing for a fresh assault, or perhaps merely resting and gathering together to come on in one spot all at once. "more likely to make a feint somewhere," i heard the general say to my father. "if they do it will be to make a big attack somewhere else, and that is where the supports must be ready to flock down." "you will see to that, sir?" said my father. "yes. you and preston cannot do better service," continued the general, "so keep your places." "pomp," i whispered; "where are you?" "here, mass' george." "let's go all round, and you can tell me where the indians are gathering now." "pomp go outside," he said, softly. "climb over." "no, no; they would see and kill you." "no. dey too 'tupid. i go ober. you gib leg lil hyste up." "i tell you no. come along with me, and let's try and find out where they are." "much too dark, mass' george, but i look all de same, try and fine em." "quick then; come!" we started off, creeping along silently close inside the great palisade, and stopping to listen from time to time. we had left one of the parties that defended the palisade close to the far side of the gate behind for about twenty yards, when pomp, who was first, suddenly stopped short, caught me by the wrist, and said softly-- "you listum. injum dah." i placed my ear close to the paling, and stood for a few moments unable to make sure that the dull heavy rustling i heard meant anything; but at last i felt at one with my companion, for i felt convinced that a strong party was once more creeping up to the attack, and just to a spot where the sentries had not been placed. chapter thirty six. certainly there was a body of our defenders five-and-twenty yards away in one direction, and sixty in another; but while the alarm was spreading a dozen active indians would be able to scale the fence. at least so it seemed to me, as without hesitation i uttered a wild cry for help, pomp raising his voice to supplement mine. "here! this way! here! indians!" i shouted; and i heard the sound of hurrying feet, and a sharp decisive order or two being given; but at the same moment there was a peculiar scraping sound on the rough fence which told me that the indians were climbing over, and i stood hesitating, puzzled as to whether it was my duty to run or stop where i was, so as to keep up the alarm and guide our people through the darkness to the exact spot. all this was a matter of moments, and i hesitated too long. i was conscious of our people being close at hand; then of feeling pomp dragging at me, and saying something excitedly. then it was as if a big mass had fallen from above, and i lay crushed down and senseless in a darkness far greater than that of the night. when i came to my senses again, i found that i was lying on my face with something heavy across me, from beneath which i managed to creep at last, shuddering the while, as i felt that it was the body of a dead or wounded man. everything about me was still, but i could hear voices at a distance, and i wondered what had taken place, and why i was left there like that. it was very puzzling, for my head was so confused that i could not recollect what had taken place before, so as to understand why it was that i was lying out there in the darkness, close to this wounded man. at last i concluded to shout for help, and my lips parted, but no sound came. this startled me, and i began to tremble, for it was all so new and strange. but by degrees my brain grew clearer, and i began to have faint rays of understanding penetrate my darkened mind. these grew brighter and brighter, till at last i was able to understand that i had been struck down by a tremendous blow on the head, the very realisation of that fact being accompanied by such acute pain, that i was glad to lie there perfectly inert without thinking at all. but this fit did not last long, and i could see now the matter in its true light, and it all came back about how i gave the alarm, and must have been standing there as the indians came over, and i was struck down at once. then as i lay there in the darkness, i began to recall how i had been lying with some one across me, and half suffocating me. i had crawled away a few yards in my half insensible condition, but now a shuddering desire came over me to creep back, and find out who it was that lay there dead or dying. it was terrible, that feeling, for i felt that i must go, and as i crept back, it was with the idea that it was probably one of those who would be the first to rush to the defence of the palisade, and in a confused, half-dreamy way, i found myself combating the fancy that it might be my father. i paused when about half-way back, afraid to go farther, but the intense desire to know the worst came over me again, and i crept on and then stopped with my hand raised, and held suspended over the prostrate figure, afraid to move it and touch the body. at last, and i uttered a faint sigh full of relief, for my hand had fallen upon the bare breast of a man, and i knew that it must be one of the indians. it was puzzling that he and i should be there, and no one near, for i could not detect the presence of either of the sentries. where was everybody? some one was coming, though, the next minute, for i heard soft footsteps, and then the murmur of voices, which came nearer and nearer till i heard a familiar voice say-- "oh, mass' george, do 'peak." i tried to obey, but no sound would come, even now that i felt a vast sense of relief, for i knew that i must have been hurt, and the two blacks were in search of me. "ah, here him are," suddenly cried pomp, and i next felt two great hands lifting me gently, and i was carried through the darkness to what i knew must be the block-house, where i had some recollection of being laid down. then i directly went off to sleep, and did not awake till nearly day, to see a black face close to the rough pallet on which i lay, and as the day grew broader, i made out that it was pomp watching by my side. "mass' george better now?" "better? yes; i am not ill," i said, and i tried to get up, but lay still again, for the effort seemed to give me a violent pain in the head which made me groan. "mass' george not seem very better." "but i am. i'll get up directly. but tell me, pomp, how was it all?" "how was?" "yes; how did it happen?" "done know, mass' george. 'pose injum come over big fence and jump on and knock poor lil nigger and mass' george down. den um hab big fight an kill de injum, an noder big fight by de gate an kill more injum, and den injum say good-night, time go to bed, an dat's all." "the indians gone?" "yes; all gone." "then we have beaten them. hurrah! oh, my head!" "hurrah--oh my head!" cried pomp, in imitation. "why say `hurrah! oh, my head'?" "oh, don't, pomp. you make me laugh." "dat right; glad see mass' george laugh. mass' george couldn't laugh lil bit when pomp fess um fader carry um." "no; i remember now. i had forgotten." "mass' dockor say good job mass' george got tick head, or kill um." "did the doctor say that, pomp?" "yes, mass' dockor say dat. injum hit um wif um lil chopper, same time some one shoot and kill injum; den pomp knock down, and all jump on um, and dey pick um up, and take um 'way, and bring um here." "then were you hurt too?" "yes, hurt dreffle, and dockor laugh, and say nuffum matter wif um, and send um 'way 'gain. den pomp go an' fine um fader, and come an' fine mass' george, and bring um here. dockor no laugh at mass' george, ony say, `poor fellow!' and `put um to bed,' an' `good job um got such tick head,' and put plaster on um." i raised my hand to my head, and sure enough there was some sticking-plaster there. "does my father know?" i said, as a sudden thought occurred to me. "pomp done know, mass' george. haben see mass' capen long time." our conversation was checked by the entrance of the doctor, who smiled as he saw me sitting up on the rude bed. "well, squire," he said, "you seem determined to be a patient. how are you now?" "my head aches a good deal." "no wonder, my lad, you got an ugly crack with the flat of a tomahawk. the man must have slipped as he was leaping from the fence. a narrow escape for you." "but the indians are beaten off," i said, eagerly. "for the present at all events. but they may attack again to-night, and i am beginning to be busy." "must i stop here, sir?" "certainly not, if you feel well enough to get up." at that moment a shadow darkened the door, and my father came in quickly, followed by hannibal. "george? hurt?" he exclaimed, huskily. "not much, father," i said, "and the doctor says i may get up." "thank heaven!" muttered my father. then aloud, "i have only just heard from hannibal here. you gave me a terrible fright." my father took hold of my hands to hold them in his for a few moments, as he looked full in my eyes; and i wondered at it, for i was not old enough then to understand his emotion, nor to think i was bad enough to stop in bed. ten minutes later i was out in the enclosure, and learned a little more about what had taken place after i was knocked down insensible. how there had been several hand-to-hand encounters where the indians had determinedly climbed over and gained a footing, from which they were dislodged directly, with the result that several were killed and wounded--four of our party also having ugly wounds. as i was going across the enclosure, hearing how the enemy had been finally beaten off, and had retreated into the forest, where it was not considered safe to follow them, colonel preston met us, looking jaded and anxious, but his face brightened up as he saw me, and he came up and shook hands. "why, george bruton, you are a lucky fellow," he cried, laughingly. "two wounds. this is grand. of course he must be promoted, bruton, as soon as peace is proclaimed." "why, george," said my father, as we went on, "what's the matter?" "i don't like to be laughed at, father," i said; "and colonel preston was making fun of me, as if i were a little child." "he did not mean it unkindly. there, come and have some light breakfast, and you must keep out of the sun." chapter thirty seven. that day passed quietly enough, with scouts going and coming to report that the indians' trail was plainly to be seen going along the north bank of our little stream, as if they were making right away for their own country, and after the scouts had gone as far as they dared, they had returned with their good news. this was quickly debated in a little council, and the result was a firm determination not to put any faith in appearances, but to keep everything on a war footing, scouting carefully so as not to be surprised by an enemy full of cunning and treachery; and though there was some little demur amongst those whose houses and plantations were farthest from the fort, all soon settled down to what resolved itself during the next week into a pleasant kind of camping out. rough tents were rigged up, and the different parties vied with each other in their efforts to make their homes attractive. fresh things were brought in by the help of the slaves from the most outlying of the houses, and when lights were lit in the evening the place looked pretty in the extreme, so that more than once i found myself thinking that we were to be the only sufferers from the indian attack, and wondered, now that the enemy had had so severe a lesson read them, how long it would be before my father decided to go back and get our neighbours' help to rebuild the house. a fortnight glided by--fourteen days of uninterruptedly fine weather. i had almost forgotten my injuries. pomp had taken his wounded limb out of the sling, and only remembered the injury when he tried to move his hand, when he would utter a cry and begin softly rubbing the place. sarah too was recovering fast, and i knew no reason now why we should still go on living such a military life, with the general and his officers seeming to take delight in drilling, practising the men in the use of their weapons, and setting guards by night, and sending out scouts by day, with the gates closed rigorously at a certain time. there was another thing done too, the idea being suggested by my father--a lesson taught by our own misfortune--and this was that every tub and cask that could be obtained in the settlement should be put about in handy places, and kept well filled with water always, these being supplemented by pails and buckets, which every one was bound to set outside his place full of water every night, while the men were all well practised in the extremely simple art of passing and refilling buckets--so as to be ready in case of fire. "there's some talk of giving up all this here playing at soldiers, master george," said morgan to me one day. "is there?" i said, eagerly. "yes, and if you ar'n't tired of it, i am. never so much as had a chance to go out and scout like the others have." "well, i haven't either, nor hannibal, nor pomp." "no, my lad; but if you don't tie down that jockey or chain him by the leg, he'll be off one of these days. i'm always finding him sitting a-top of the fence like a crow with his wing cut, thinking he wished he could fly." "looking out for the indians," i said. "not him, sir; he's thinking about games in the woods; hunting snakes, catching 'gators, or killing 'coons. he's getting a nice howdacious one, he is. if it wasn't for his black skin, you might think he was a reg'lar boy." "so he is," i said; "what difference does his skin make? i like old pomp." "well, sir," said morgan, thoughtfully, "i like old hannibal--old vanity, as you call him; but you know he is black." "of course." "very black, master george. why, i should say he's got the blackest skin and the whitest teeth of any one i ever did see." "and i dare say he thinks you've got the whitest skin and the blackest teeth he ever saw." "now--now--now--now--master george; gently there, if you please. my skin's getting redder and browner every day, so as i don't half know myself when i shaves; and as to my teeth, just wait till you've used yours five-and-forty year, and had to eat such beef as i've had to eat in the army, and you won't be quite so proud of them bits o' ivory of yours, look you." "why don't you leave off saying `look you,' morgan? it's always `look you,' or `teclare to cootness,' and it does sound so stupid." "not it, my lad," said morgan, proudly. "it's that which shows i belong to the ancient british." "nonsense! you're a welshman." "ah, you call me so, my lad, but i belong to the genuwyne old british stock. you ask the captain if i don't. and as to my teeth, why, when we was out with the army, i believe they used to buy all the old bulls, and the older and harder they were the better they used to like 'em." "why?" "because they used to go the further. ah, we did a lot of fighting on it though, and i thought i'd come to the end of that sort of thing; but it don't seem like it. oh, how i do long to have a spade or a hoe in my hand again. i say, master george." "well?" i said, as i lay in the sun enjoying my returning strength, for it came back fast. "think the master really means to go back and build up the house again?" "yes, i'm sure of it," i said. "that's a good job, my lad, for it would be heartbreaking to know that all we've done out there, planting fruit-trees and getting the place in such nice trim, should be 'lowed to go back again to ruin, and grow over into forest wilds, as it would in a year or two." "ah, that would be a pity, morgan," i said, eagerly, as i thought of the fruit-trees and the vines. "i say, look here, master george, i'm 'bout heart-broke over that garden. i want to see what it's like. we all might go for a day and torment some of them weeds, and keep things from getting worse, and see what mischief the indians did." "yes; i should like to go and see that," i said, thoughtfully. "should you, my lad? then let's go." i shook my head, for i saw a lot of difficulties in the way. "nay, nay; now don't do that, lad. i teclare to coot--" "morgan!" i shouted. "well, look you, dear boy--" "morgan!" "oh, dear me, how is a man to speak! i was going to say, i did ask some of them who went scouting, and they'd got it all pat enough about how the house was a heap of ashes, but i don't believe one of 'em so much as looked at the garden, and i know there's things ready in those beds as would be a blessing to us now." "a heap of ashes!" i said, sadly. "yes, master george; but think of the barrow-loads there'll be, and they'll be worth anything for the garden nicely spread about." "i should like to go and see the old place," i said, thoughtfully. "then ask the captain, lad. do. he's just over yonder talking to the colonel. hist! here he comes. ask him--do." "well, george," said my father, coming up. "ah, morgan. want to speak to me?" "well, sir, i--er--that is, i think master george does." "no, father; it's morgan, only he's afraid." "nay, nay, not afraid, master george. don't say that. on'y a bit okkard over it. but i will speak if you're afraid to." "what is it?" said my father. "well, father, it's this; morgan--" "oh, master george!" "--and i think we should like to go over to the old place and see what it looks like." "and take a tool or two, sir; and go early and tidy up the garden a bit." "well," said my father, thoughtfully, "i don't see why you should not. i was thinking of something of the kind, now that the indians seem to be gone for good." "then when may we go, father?" "i'll speak to the general, and if he sees no objection you shall go to-morrow morning, first thing, if you feel well enough." "oh, father!" i exclaimed, with a thrill of delight running through me, for it was as if i was to be freed from prison. "you will not be able to do much, morgan," said my father, thoughtfully; "but you might take a billhook and cut back a little of the overgrowth, for we must not be beaten. george, my boy, we must go back and make the place more beautiful than it was before; for it is a beautiful land, if man would not blot it with his cruelties and evil deeds." i saw that his eyes were fixed upon the corner of the enclosure, where the blacks were gathered. "then we may go, father?" i said. "if the general approves. no one can stir outside the gates without his orders now." he turned and walked to the central part where the general's furniture was piled up, and he had been living as humbly as the rest; and in less than half an hour he was back, just in fact as morgan was saying, grumblingly-- "it's all over, my lad; the governor won't let us go." "the general gives his consent," said my father, "provided that you are very careful; so the next thing is, how do you propose to go?" "walk across," i said. "no; decidedly not. you will take the boat. there she lies safe enough with the others. you can have hannibal and pompey to row, and morgan and the black can be both well-armed, for that man is very trustworthy. but of course you will all be very cautious. you can send out that boy in different directions to scout; not that there is any danger, but we must treat this as an enemy's country, and be prepared." "yes, father, we'll be very careful; and we may go soon in the morning?" "as soon as you like. get your bag of provisions ready to-night. morgan, you can be passed through the gates now. have the boy with you, and see that the boat is baled out and cleaned." "yes, sir," said morgan; and as soon as my father had gone we two shook hands in our delight, for morgan was as excited as i. "hurrah, master george!" he cried. "what a day we will have! i'm off to find pomp. you go and tell old han. won't they be just pleased too!" we parted on the instant, and five minutes later i found father and son together, and told them my news, with the result that hannibal smiled with pleasure, and pomp threw himself down on the ground to writhe and twist and worm about till he heard morgan's voice summoning him to go and help to bale out the boat. chapter thirty eight. i lay down to sleep that night quite satisfied of my ability to wake up in good time; but it was still dark when pomp was shaking my arm. "make hase, mass' george," he cried, with his lips to my ear, "um gettin' so dreffle late." "eh? now, no tricks," i said, in that irritable state of sleepiness when one wants just an hour longer. "why, i have only just lain down." "why, you've been seep all de night. you call me laze lil nigger if i say dat. get up!" "but is it nearly morning, pomp?" i said, with my eyes closely shut. "ah, you do dat 'gain! you roll ober de oder side for? you tink um dis week when it morrow morning." "but it isn't really morning." "yes; bror daylight. able see dreckly." "it isn't," i said, opening my eyes and looking from under the boat-sail that made our tent, and seeing the stars burning brightly. "i neb see such dreffle man," whispered pomp, for fear of rousing my father. "get late. sun get up soon 'fore we get dah. mass' morgan an' pomp fader gone down to de boat, and carry big bag somefin to eat. pomp got de fishum-line, and dey say you'n me bring free guns and de powder shot." "eh! gone down to the boat?" i said, rising hurriedly, for this was suggestive of being left behind; and hurrying my preparations--my dressing-room being outside the tent--i was soon ready, took the pouches and the three guns i had undertaken to have ready, and in a very few minutes we two were marching toward the gate, i carrying one firelock under my arm, and pomp stepping out proudly with one on each shoulder. "how long is it since morgan and our man hannibal went through?" i said to the guard at the gate. "'bout half an hour," said the man, rather sourly. "nice to be you, young gentleman, going out like that instead of keeping watch here." "oh, that will soon be over," i said. "come along, pomp." it was for the sake of saying something, for pomp was already outside, waiting. but i wanted to get down to the boat, and not stop to be questioned by the guard as to what we were going to do. as we went on down toward the wharf, the stars were still making their reflections glimmer in the smooth water of the big river, and a sculling sound and the rattle of an oar being heard, told me where the boat lay. "that you, master george?" said a familiar voice. "yes; but isn't it too early?" "not a bit, sir. but it'll be daybreak directly, to be sure. see there?" i could see a very pale streak right away down and over the big river in what i knew to be the east, but i was still too drowsy to feel much interest in our excursion, and consequently replied rather gruffly to hannibal's good-natured-- "morn', mass' george." just then the boat's keel grated on the pebbles, hannibal jumped out, took the guns which pomp parted with unwillingly, and passed them to morgan, who stowed them in the stern. then mine was passed in, and hannibal bent down. "jump on, mass' george, no get foot wet." i leaped on his great broad back, thinking that he was getting his feet wet, but that it did not matter as they were bare; then wash, wash went the water on both sides as the great black and his boy waded out. i was dropped into the boat, the two blacks ran it out a little and stepped in, morgan came aft to me, and the others backed water a while, and after turning, rowed out a little but kept pretty close, so as to be out of the swift current running down toward the sea. "talk about early," said morgan, pointing to the increasing pallor of the sky; "why, it will soon be broad daylight, and i want to get to the mouth of the stream by that time." they rowed on, and the freshness of the air, the motion of the boat, and the thorough feeling of change soon made me forget my discomfort, and as the pale dawn spread and showed the thick mist hanging over the low growth at the edge of the river, the memory of the last time i came by there started to my mind, and i looked eagerly at the near shore, thinking of hidden indians ready to send flying their keenly-pointed arrows. morgan saw the direction of my glance, and said with a laugh-- "no; not this time." "what?" i said sharply. "indians. that was a nice row we had that day, though, master george." "mass' george going have fishum-line?" said pomp, suddenly, as the dark line of forest began to look green, and higher up there was a tiny point of orange mist. "no," i said; "we'll get right on home." pomp seemed so disappointed that i added, "perhaps we will fish later on." vague as the promise was it sufficed to raise pomp's spirits, and he tugged well at his oar, while i watched the splashing of fish in the river, heard the low, floundering noise made by the alligators, and listened to the fresh, clear song of the birds which were welcoming the coming of another day. then slowly the sun rose to glorify the dripping reeds and canes, and fringe them as if with precious stones; the different kinds of ducks and cranes disturbed by our boat fled at our approach with much flapping of wings and many a discordant cry. and before i could fully realise it, and think of anything else, it was bright, beautiful morning; all glorious, free, fresh, and delicious, with the moss draping the sunlit trees, the water sparkling, and the sensation growing upon me that i had just escaped from prison, and was going home. "not sorry you got up so soon, are you, sir?" said morgan, smiling, as he saw how eager and excited i had grown. "sorry? no," i cried. "here, you two, are you tired? morgan and i will row." "no, no," said hannibal, showing his white teeth. "we row mass' george boat all away." "look, mass' george," cried pomp, as there was a scuffle, a splash, and a good-sized alligator startled by our coming hurried into the river. "you like shoot um?" "no, no. let's get right away home first." "all the same, sir, we'll load the guns," said morgan. "i don't think we shall want to use 'em, but there's a few marks about this boat to show that sometimes it is necessary." he pointed laughingly to the holes left where the arrows stuck in the sides and thwarts. "i broke out an arrow-head this morning," he said; and he picked it up from where it lay. pomp watched us eagerly as we charged all three pieces, and laid them down in the stern, after which i sat thoroughly enjoying the scene, which was all as fresh to me as if i had never been there before. but at the same time, as we went on, i recognised the different spots where the indians had made their stand to harass us during our memorable escape down the river, notably at the wooded point we passed round just before reaching the mouth of our stream, and leaving the main river behind. then, as the space contracted and the banks seemed to draw gradually closer together, we soon began to get into more familiar parts, and at last the higher trees and points and bends were all memorable, known as they were to pomp and myself in connection with fishing excursions or hunts for squirrel or nest. the stream here ran swiftly, and swirled round some of the bends, at times well open, at others so close did the forest come that we seemed to be going along between two huge walls of verdure; and i don't know whether they would have noticed it, but just before we turned into our lesser river, something induced me to begin talking rather rapidly to both pomp and hannibal, for we were passing the place where the slaver had lain, and as we came by, it seemed to me that the poor fellows must begin thinking of the horrors of that day when we brought them up in that very boat, one dying, the other as wild as any savage creature of the forest. "here we are at last," i cried, as we came close up to the cut-down trees on the bank which served as posts to our landing-place. "yes. take your piece, master george," said morgan, "and don't shout aloud. let's have a good look round first." it was good advice, and we made our rowers take the boat up a couple of hundred yards past the landing-place, and then let her drift back. but all was still. there were two or three busy squirrels, and some birds, but no sign of lurking enemy. "it's quite safe, i think," i said. "yes, sir, safe enough. no indian here, or we should have had an arrow at us before now." "we may fasten the boat there, and leave it?" i said. morgan hesitated. "well, yes," he said; "we had better keep all together. it would not be fair to leave those two alone to mind her in case the indians did come." "if they do," i said, "we must retreat overland if we can't get to the boat." "or they get it first," said morgan, grimly. so we landed at the familiar place, the boat was made fast, and with hannibal carrying one of the guns, we started for the old home, all eager and excited except pomp, whose brow puckered up, and i knew the reason why--he had no gun to carry. "here, pomp," i said; "you keep close to me, and carry my gun." the sun was shining brilliantly over the river; now it began to shine in the wood all over pomp's smooth black skin, out of his dark eyes, and off his white teeth, as he shouldered the piece, now the very embodiment of pride. we had not far to go, and as we went on and found everything as we had left it, and no signs of enemy, the shrinking feeling which had haunted me, and made me fancy i saw a living savage behind every great tree, passed away, and i strode on till we reached the clearing where morgan and i killed the rattlesnake, and there the same shrinking feeling attacked me again, for it was here that we had long back made our first acquaintance with the enemy. my eyes met morgan's, and he was evidently thinking the same thing as he gave me a nod. "no rattlesnakes here to-day, sir," he said, and he smiled meaningly, "not of any sort. shall i go first?" "no," i said, rather unwillingly, for i felt that i ought to lead; and, taking the firelock now from pomp, i went toward the path leading through the forest trees to our larger clearing where the house and garden stood. "mass' george let pomp go firs and see if any-boddy dah," whispered the boy. "no," i said; but morgan turned to me quickly, as pomp looked disappointed. "why not let him go on? he'll creep through the trees like a snake, and get there and back unseen if there's danger." "nobody see pomp if him hide." "go then," i said; and the boy darted off at once through the densest part, while we followed cautiously, for there was the possibility of some of the indians lurking about still. but in a few minutes pomp was back, looking very serious, but ready to tell us at once that no one was there. upon this we pushed on rapidly, and soon stood in the midst of our lovely clearing, framed in by the forest, where everything seemed more beautiful than ever, except in one place, where, with the strands of creepers already beginning to encroach on the blackened ruins, lay a heap of ashes, with here and there some half-burned timbers and ends of boards. i felt a choking sensation as i looked at the ruins, and thought of how many pleasant hours i had passed there with my father, and now i could only just trace out where the rooms had been, so complete was the destruction the fire had made. not that it was surprising, the whole place having been built solidly of the finest pine from the sandy tract between us and the little river-- wood that i knew would blaze up when dry and burn with a fierce resinous flame. but it seemed so pitiful that the delightful little home, with all the pleasant surroundings, over which my father had toiled to make it as much as possible like an english country home, should have been entirely destroyed. and for what? ah, it was a hard question to answer. but i supposed then that as we had come into the land the savages looked upon as their special hunting-ground, they considered that they had a right to destroy. i tore myself away from the heap of black and grey ashes, and rejoined morgan, who said nothing, but accompanied me then around the garden, which to our great surprise we found untouched. it was weedy, and beginning to show a great want of the master's hand, but otherwise it looked delightful after the desolation i had just left. "seems hard as my part should have escaped, and your part be all burnt up, master george," said morgan, slowly. "but it ar'n't my fault. i'd almost rather they'd ragged the garden to pieces, and cut down the trees, than have burnt the house." "it can't be helped," i said, thankful for the sympathetic way in which the man spoke, and at the same time a little amused at his considering the garden his part, and the house wherein he always lived too as being ours. we went all round and were on the way to the hut where the blacks slept, when i suddenly noticed that pomp was not with us, and i drew morgan's attention to the fact. "he was here just now, because i saw him stoop down and pick up something to throw at a bird." "no, no: don't shout," i said. "i dare say he'll be here directly, and one don't know how near the enemy may be." but hannibal did not seem satisfied, and he began looking round the garden and peering about close up to the trees in search of the boy, though without success. i had taken little notice of this, for i had been talking in a low voice to morgan about the garden, and whether it was worth while to do anything, seeing that beyond a little weeding nothing hardly was required. "i thought the fences would all be down, and the place trampled, and that i should have to cut rails and stakes to save the place from desolation." so said morgan, and i agreed that as far as the garden was concerned we had met with a pleasant surprise. "we'll have a good meal now," i said. "let's sit down under the big cypress," and i pointed to the great tree which had proved so good a friend during the flood, and unslinging the bag which he had been carrying, morgan led the way toward the resting-place. "why, hannibal's gone now," i said, looking round wonderingly. "oh, i know," i added, laughing; "he heard me say we would have something to eat, and he has gone to look for pomp." we were soon comfortably seated with the food spread before us, and as i cut some of the bread and salt pork we had brought, i said-- "it's of no use to go looking out for indians, i suppose. we must chance their being near." "if we go looking for them, master george, we shall have to spend all our time over it. i'm beginning to hope we shan't see them any more." then morgan's mouth became too full for him to talk with comfort, and i'm afraid mine was in a similar condition, for the long row, the fresh air, and the absence of breakfast before starting had had a great effect upon my appetite. "i wish they'd come now," i said, as i half turned to morgan, who was leaning forward with his head thrown back in the act of drinking from a bottle, when i felt as if turned to ice--frozen--motionless--gazing up at a great muscular brown arm raised to strike; and i don't know how to explain it, for the space of time must have been short as that taken up by the flashing of lightning; but all the same, the time seemed prolonged to me sufficiently for me to see that the owner of that arm was half concealed behind the tree; that the hand belonging to that arm held one of the keen little axes used by the indians; that the blow was intended for my head; and i knew that before i could utter a word to alarm my companion, all would be over. a good deal to think in that moment of time, but people do see and think a great deal instantaneously, just as they have quite long dreams in a few instants of time; and as i tell you, i thought all that as i saw the raised axe, and i could not stir, though it was in motion to strike me down. a loud report set me free, the sound of a shot from the forest, and the indian sprang forward between me and morgan, turned half round, struck at the air with his tomahawk, then twisted back so that i had a full view of his hideous, distorted face, and then it was hidden from me, for the little axe escaped from his hand, and he fell clutching and tearing at the grass and leaves. by this time morgan and i had seized the fire-locks we had stood against the trunk of the tree, and stooped down to shelter ourselves with its trunk, as we presented the barrels at where we heard some one crashing through the bushes. but it was han. "mass' george not hurt?" "no, no," i said. "did you fire?" he nodded shortly, and gave me the piece to reload as he picked up the axe the indian had let fall, and took the savage's knife from his belt to stick it in his own. "if there's one indian there's more," said morgan, excitedly. "quick, sir, ram the bullet well down. we must make for the boat. where's that boy pomp?" "no," said hannibal, shaking his head; "gone, gone. han look for him; saw indian and mass' george." "and you fired and saved my life," i cried, catching his hand, as i gave him back the reloaded piece. he smiled at me, and shook his head sadly as i exclaimed-- "now then to find pomp, and get back to the boat." i had hardly uttered the words when there was a yell, and four savages dashed out of the forest toward us, knife in one hand, axe in the other. they were not twenty yards away, and i raised my heavy piece to my shoulder as i saw morgan let his barrel fall into one hand and fire. a hideous yell followed, and one of the indians leaped in the air. i saw no more for the smoke, but i drew trigger too, and staggered back with the violent concussion of the piece. then i stood aghast at what followed, for as the smoke lifted i saw an indian spring on morgan, and hannibal drop the gun he held as the other two indians rushed at him axe in hand, yelling horribly. then in what seemed to me was a nightmare dream, i saw morgan seize the indian's hand, and they closed in a desperate struggle, while on my other side hannibal was battling with two, and i was helpless to assist either, and--well, i was a boy of sixteen or so, and how could i at close quarters like that try to shed blood? true, in the excitement of the flight in the boat, i had loaded and fired again and again as the indians kept sending their arrows at us; but all i could do now was to drop my own piece and run to pick up the one hannibal had dropped. but i did not fire it. i could only stand and gaze first at one, and then at the other, as i saw the great calm black now frenzied with rage and the thirst for battle. he was bleeding from blows given by the knife of one indian and the axe of the other, but his wounds only seemed to have made him furious, and he stood there now looking like a giant, holding one of his enemies by the throat, the other by the wrist, in spite of their writhings and desperate efforts to strike him some deadly blow. he looked to me then like a giant in strength; but the indians were strong too, and though he was rapidly subduing the one whose throat he grasped, the other was gradually wriggling himself free, when, seizing my opportunity, rendered desperate by the position, i raised the heavy piece i held as if it were a club, and brought the barrel down with all my might upon the indian's head. i stepped back sickened by what i had done, as his arm relaxed and he fell prone, while, freed now from one adversary whose axe would the next moment have brained him, hannibal grasped his remaining enemy with both hands, raised him up, and dashed him heavily upon the earth. it was time, for morgan was down, the indian upon him, his knife raised high to plunge into the poor fellow's throat, but held back by morgan's hand, which was yielding fast. i stood paralysed and watching, when, with a roar like a wild beast, hannibal dashed at this last man, and with the axe he had at his waist struck him full in the temple, and he dropped down sidewise quivering in death. i remember thinking it very horrible as i saw all this bloodshed, but i knew it would have been far more horrible if the savage wretches had killed us. then every other thought was driven out of my head by the appearance of hannibal, who was quite transformed. as a rule he was the quiet, gentle-looking black, always ready to obey the slightest command; now he seemed to tower up a ferocious-looking being, with wild glaring eyes looking about for something else to destroy, and had i not caught hold of his arm he would have used the axe he held on the fallen men. "under cover, my lad," said morgan, who was panting heavily. "don't leave that gun. now hannibal, quick!" he led the way in among the trees, where we quickly loaded the discharged pieces, crouching down under bushes, while hannibal knelt beside us keeping watch, his wild eyes glaring round in every direction for some fresh enemy to attack. "nice--narrow--escape that! master george," said morgan, in a low voice, as he gave the ramrod a thud between every two words. "pretty object i should have looked if i'd had to go back to your father and say you were killed by the indians. oh dear! oh dear! i did hope i'd done killing people to the end of my days, and now look yonder." "it was forced upon you, morgan," i whispered, as i finished charging one of the pieces. "upon me!" cried morgan. "oh, come now, master george, play fair. don't get putting on all down to my account. my word! who'd have thought old hannibal here could fight like that?" the great black looked fiercely round, but smiled sadly as morgan held out his hand and said-- "thank you, old lad." "yes! thank you, hannibal, for saving my life," i whispered. "mass' george save han's life," was the reply in deep tones. then the smile passed from the great fellow's face, and a terrible expression came over it again as his eyes rolled round, and he said in a deep, low, muttering voice-- "come--quick find pomp." "and i was just going to say, let's make a run now for the boat," said morgan. "but we can't leave the boy, master george." "no," i said. "here, take your gun, han." i passed the firelock to him, and followed his gaze as he glared round among the trees from behind whose trunks i expected to see the enemy peering, ready to take revenge for the death of their companions. but there was no one near as far as i could see, and we rose cautiously to get a better view round through the clustering boughs whose heavy foliage cut off the light, so that we were gazing down glorious vistas that ended far away in the deepest shade. "might hide an army there, and no one could see 'em," muttered morgan. "find pomp?" said hannibal, looking at me inquiringly. "yes," i said; "try and find him. go on." the great fellow drew a deep breath, and led off at once with the firelock in his left hand, the axe in his right; and i knew that if we had a fresh encounter, the modern weapon would be useless in his hands, while the axe would be terrible. to my great horror, the course he chose was out by where the desperate struggle had taken place, and my first instinct was to close my eyes and not look at the dead indians; but i told myself i was a soldier's son, and that these men had fallen as we were fighting for our lives. but it was very terrible to see them lying there as they had fallen, two of them still grasping their weapons, and with a look of savage hatred in their faces. hannibal led on, morgan followed, and i was last, and i was beginning to feel glad that we were leaving the dead behind, where they lay beneath the great cypress, when hannibal turned round and raised his axe to point as it seemed to me in the direction of the forest beyond the garden, and to my horror it appeared as if the man had been seized with a fresh desire to shed blood, for his great lips were drawn away from his glistening teeth, his eyes opened widely showing broad rings of white round the dark irides, and throwing up the axe ready to strike, he dropped the gun and literally bounded at me. with a faint cry of horror as i saw the awful-looking object leaping at me, the firelock dropping from his left hand, and the blood glistening on his great arms, i dropped sidewise just as a knife flashed by my cheek and over my left shoulder. it was then that i realised the truth, and drew my breath hard, as i saw hannibal's axe descend; there was a terrible crashing sound and a heavy fall, and as, sick and seeing dimly, i looked down to my left, the great figure of the black was bending over a grinning object in the bushes at the forest edge, his foot was pressing back one of our enemies, and he dragged the axe free. "is he dead now?" morgan whispered, hoarsely, and his face looked ghastly as he caught me by the arm. hannibal uttered a low deep sound, and drew himself up to his full height. then he bent down again, and i saw him tear a glittering knife out of a brown hand, which with its arm rose above the bushes and was clinging still to the haft. "morgan," i said, faintly, as the great black strode back toward where we had had the struggle first, "stop him. what is he going to do?" "i want to stop him, lad," whispered the faithful fellow, in low, awe-stricken tones; "but i can't try; i daren't. it must be done." "but that was another indian," i whispered, as i saw hannibal bend down, rise up, take a step or two, and bend down again, and then everything swam before my eyes. i could hear morgan's voice though as he went on-- "it was horribly near, sir," he said. "it wasn't another indian, but one of those shamming dead, and as soon as we'd got by he must have crawled after us, and old han turned just in time, and went at him as he was striking at you with his knife. it's very horrid, my lad, but these savages don't understand fair fighting and giving quarter to the wounded. there, come away, and don't look angry at the black when he comes back. he has just saved your life again, and what he is doing now is to make sure you are not attacked again." i stood speechless, resting on the piece i held in my hand till the great negro came back with the knife stuck in his waist-belt, to stoop and pick up the gun he had dropped; and then he pointed again with the axe toward the forest beyond the garden. "come," he said, quietly. "find pomp." he looked at me once more with so grave and kindly an aspect that i tried to smother the horror i felt, and taking a step or two forward, i drew out a handkerchief and pointed to his bleeding arms, which were gashed by two blows of axe and knife. he smiled and nodded half contemptuously as i tore the handkerchief in two, and he held out his arms one by one for me to bind them tightly. "now," he said, "find pomp." i held up my hand and we listened to a low, hoarse, gurgling noise, which seemed to come from a distance in the forest, and i shuddered as i fancied for a moment that it must be one of the indians dying; but i knew that the sound came from a different direction. we listened intently as we stooped under cover and kept a watchful gaze in every direction for danger. but the sound had ceased and for the moment we were safe, for no leaf was stirring, and the deep shadowy wood appeared to be untenanted. hannibal shook his head, and was in the act of turning when the curious hoarse gurgling sound came again. it was like nothing i had ever heard before, and what was more strange, it was impossible to make out whence it came, for it rose and fell, rose again, and then died out. "what is it?" i said to morgan. "an indian cry?" "no," he replied. "hark! there it is again." yes; there it was again, but appeared to be from a fresh direction. "is it something down amongst the bushes--a frog or a young 'gator?" "no; i don't think it can be that, sir. i've heard nearly every sound they make, and it isn't anything like that." all was still again, and we moved on slowly farther into the forest, going cautiously in and out among the trees, our weapons ready, and a strict look-out kept for the enemy. for it seemed to me that the main body could not be far off, our encounter having been with a skirmishing party. "there again," i whispered. "what is it, hannibal?" he was kneeling down now listening; and as he looked up at me, i could see that he was puzzled, for he shook his head. "han done know," he said. again the sound came--a hoarse, gurgling, faint noise, as from a great distance, but somehow we were as far off from understanding what it meant as ever. "never mind," said morgan. "it isn't what we are looking for. go on, han; we must find that boy, and escape for our lives." the great black nodded and started off at once, morgan and i going to right and left of him, and we searched through the great trees, working away round the opening cleared from the forest for our house, but though the sound continued, we could find no trace of the cause nor yet of the poor boy, who had dropped completely out of sight. my heart sank as i felt sure that the indians must have surprised him, and moment by moment, as we started again into the forest, making now toward the rattlesnake clearing and the path leading to the landing-place, i expected to come upon him lying dead where he had been struck down. but we examined the place again and again in every direction without success, and we were neither of us sufficiently skilled to attempt in the gloom beneath the trees to find him by his tracks. the sound had nearly ceased now, only occurring faintly at intervals, and still it was as confusing as ever, for we could not make out whence it came. at last we stopped at the edge of the rattlesnake clearing, near where the path struck out leading to the water-side. "what are we to do, master george?" said morgan. "i want to find that boy, and at any moment we may be attacked by enemies, and it seems to be our duty to get down to the boat, row back as fast as we can, and give warning that the indians are still near at hand." "yes, go," said hannibal, who had been listening intently to morgan's words. "boat. injum. han 'top find um boy." morgan looked at me, but i shook my head. "no," i said; "we will not go--we cannot, and leave him here. will you come, hannibal?" "to find um boy," he said, frowning. "and we'll stop too, morgan," i said. "we may find him at any moment, and it is impossible to go and leave the poor boy like this." hannibal did not speak, but i saw his eyes fixed on me as morgan spoke. "i don't want to go and leave him, master george," he said, "because it's like leaving a comrade, and old soldiers don't do that. but soldiers has their duty to do, and duty says--go and let them know at the settlement. besides, my duty to your father seems to say, get you out of this as quick as you can." "yes, i know that, morgan," i said. "and the indians may be on us at any moment." "yes, but we can't leave him," i said; "and--ah, there's that noise again. i'm sure it came from right in there." i pointed back toward the other side of the clearing, toward which spot hannibal immediately rushed, and we followed as quickly as we could, for something seemed to tell us that a discovery was at hand. it was close by the part of the forest through which morgan and i had made our way cautiously and silently when we were going to kill the rattlesnake; and as we reached the edge, and passed in amongst the densely growing trees, all was silent, dark, and mysterious-looking; but there was nothing to be seen but tree-trunks, and we crept up to where the great black stood bending down and listening. all was silent. then there was a faint rap as a squirrel dropped a fir-cone from high up somewhere invisible to us. as far as we could see there were the gloomy aisles of great growing pillars, and we knew that we had passed through this portion of the forest again and again, though it was quite possible that we might have missed parts. "well, do you hear it?" i said, in a whisper. hannibal shook his head despondently, and then his face lit up as we heard from our right, and quite close at hand, the same faint, gurgling sound, now evidently a cry. the black rushed on in and out among the trees, a gleam of sunshine catching his black skin once, just as we were passing the gloomiest part; and then, as i was close behind him, he disappeared beyond a group of great pillar-like pine-trees, and when i reached them i came upon him suddenly in a hollow, deep with fir-needles--a natural hole formed by the fall of a monstrous tree, whose root still lay as it had been wrenched out when the tree fell, but the trunk itself had gradually mouldered into dust. and there was hannibal busily cutting the hide thongs which bound pomp, who was lying helpless at the bottom of the hole, with a blanket and a rough skin garment close by him, and beside these five bows and their arrows. it was evidently the lurking-place of the indian scouting party, who had suddenly pounced upon the boy, gagged and bound him, for his jaws were forced wide apart, a piece of ragged blanket was thrust into his mouth, and this was kept in by another hide thong tied round and round his face and neck, passing between his jaws as if he were bridled with a leather bit, while his arms and wrists and legs were so securely tied that the poor fellow was perfectly helpless. "can't say he's black in the face, in the way we mean," said morgan, sympathetically, "because, poor lad, it is his nature to be so, look you, but he's half dead." i was already down on my knees chafing the wrists set at liberty, after the hide had been cut away from the boy's cheeks and the gag taken out, but he made no sign whatever, and we were still rubbing him, and trying to restore the circulation, when morgan said quickly-- "we can do that in the boat. up with him, han, i'll carry your gun. there must be more indians near. these were on the advance, i'll lay, and i wouldn't say we don't have a fresh attack to-night." without a word hannibal handed the gun, took pomp by the arms, gently swung him on his back, and tore off a strip of blanket with which he tightly bound the boy's wrists together upon his own chest, so that it left the black's hands at liberty should he want to use them. "go on now," he said; and he held out his hand for his gun. it was only a short distance from where we were to the boat, but it was really to be the most anxious part of all, and as we approached rattlesnake clearing, i involuntarily checked the others to look out cautiously before we left the dark pine-shade. but all was still, the beautiful young growth glistening in the hot sunshine; and striking the path on the other side, gazing watchfully as we could, ready for attack, and fully expecting to see the indians in possession of the boat, we finally reached the landing-place, where pomp was laid in the stern, the weapons were placed ready, and faint and dripping with perspiration, i sank down beside pomp as the rope was cast off. chapter thirty nine. my eyes were for ever running from tree to bush, and plunged into the windings of the path, as hannibal and morgan seized the oars, sat down, and, after the head had been pushed off into the current, began to pull a heavy stroke that sent the boat rapidly along and out into the middle of the stream. for after my old experiences of starting from that landing-place, in addition to that which i had gone through that day, the nervous tension was so great that my imagination ran riot at first, and i saw dark faces peering out from among the canes, bronzed arms holding bows, while others drew arrows to the heads, and the loud yells of the indians seemed to ring through my dizzy brain. but as, after we had reached the farther side of the stream, the boat surged on through the water with no sound really heard but the splash of the oars, i began to grow more calm, the more so that we passed clump after clump, and patch after patch of undergrowth, from which arrows came whizzing last time, to strike into the sides of the boat, or fix themselves in the box with a hollow sounding rap. as soon as i could collect myself a little, i plunged my hands over the side and bathed my face, and drank. then hurriedly turning to poor pomp, i placed his head more easily, hannibal's great dark eyes watching me the while, and then took the tin baler, filled it with the cold, clear water, and began to bathe the boy's temples, pausing again and again to trickle water between his closely-set teeth. but for a long time he gave no sign of recovery, but lay back breathing faintly, and with his eyes tightly closed. "coming to, master george?" said morgan. "no," i had to reply again and again. and each time at my response i heard the boy's father utter a sigh. but hannibal did not cease to row a steady stroke, though i saw his forehead wrinkle up, and there was a wild look of misery in his eyes. we had passed round the wooded point in safety, and soon after were well out of our stream and in the big river, when, seeing that we were beyond the reach of arrows, the rowing was slackened a little, just as, to the great delight of all, pomp showed signs of recovery. i was bending over him after dipping the tin full of water once more, and began to trickle a little water on his forehead, when _flip_, the tin went flying, the water sparkling in the sun, and a quantity of it sprinkling hannibal where he sat, while it was all so sudden that i burst out laughing, for pomp's familiar voice rang out sharply and angrily-- "don't do dat." then memory must have come back like a flash, for the boy's hands seized me as i bent over and touched him, his eyes opened and glared at me, he showed his teeth viciously, and then let his hands drop, and he sank back. "mass' george!" he said, feebly. "ah, pomp know all de time. mass' george play trick. pash water, and--" then with a sudden fierce change of manner--"run, mass' george--run--quick--what gone long dem injum?" he looked round wildly. "they are gone, pomp," i said; and i shivered a little as i spoke. "we're quite safe now. drink a little water." i raised his head, and held the refilled water-can to his lips, when he drank with avidity. "are you better?" "eh? better, mass' george? injum cotch pomp, and 'tuff mouf full. couldn't holler. tie um all up tightum. no move, no breve, no do nuffum." "yes; don't talk now. we found you. no; lie still. what do you want?" "go kill all de injum." "sit still," i said, with another little shiver, as i recalled the scene of the struggle. "no; pomp won't sit 'till." he rose to a sitting position and began rubbing his wrists, staring at his father the while, as the latter rowed steadily on with his arms bandaged and showing stains. "what matter wif yo' arm?" hannibal said something to the boy in his own tongue, and pomp leaned forward, still rubbing his numbed wrists softly, and evidently listening intently till his father had done, when he clapped his hands together and uttered a harsh laugh. "ah," he cried; "dat a way. dey no come try kill mass' george 'gain." then reverting to his own injuries, he felt all his teeth gently with thumb and finger, as if to try whether they were loose. "'tick 'tuff, great big dirty bit blank in pomp mouf," he said, angrily. "no couldn't breve." he gave himself another rub or two, worked his head about, rubbed behind his back, and opened and shut his jaws softly. then giving himself a final shake, he exclaimed-- "pomp quite well 'gain." "want something to eat?" i said, smiling. "yes, mass' george. pomp dreffle hungly now." "oh well, we'll soon settle that," i said; and i looked round for the food, much of which was then lying under the big cypress, close to the heap of ashes i had once called home. "i'm afraid there is nothing left, pomp," i said, apologetically. "eh?" "i'm afraid there is nothing to give you," i said. "what? no go eat all dat and hab not bit for poor pomp! oh!" he swung himself round, threw himself down on his face, and groaned. hannibal said a few words in a deep stern voice, and the boy moaned out-- "but poor pomp so dreffle hungly." there was something so childishly absurd in his anger that i could not help laughing, the effect being that in his excitable state he turned upon me with a fierce gesture that reminded me of the day he was landed from the slaver. but at that moment hannibal's deep firm voice rose in so stern a tone that the boy shrank down again in the boat. hannibal spoke again as he continued rowing, and as i listened to the curious sweet-sounding barbarous tongue, i felt as if i would have given anything to have been able to understand what was said. but though i did not comprehend the words, i did their sense, for pomp came crawling up closer to me like a beaten dog, and held up one hand deprecatingly. "pomp dreffle sorry," he said. "don't mass' george flog lil nigger for get in pashum. pomp so dreffle hungly." "oh, i'm not cross," i said, good-temperedly. "and mass' george not flog poor lil nigger?" "i will if you ever say so again," i cried. "oh!" "when were you ever flogged? did i ever flog you?" "no, mass' george." "then why did you say that?" "mass' george often look going flog lil nigger." "then don't say it again, and you shall soon have something to eat. we are close to the wharf." for there in full view was the flag flying on its pine-tree staff, and the boats lay off anchored in the river. but the place looked singularly deserted, and it seemed very strange for there to be no one visible idling about, boating, or at work in the plantations; not a single person being in sight till we got some distance farther on, and the block-house and palisade seemed to come out from behind the trees, when the sentries could be plainly seen, and the group by the open gates, while the interior of the enclosure looked like a busy camp, so crowded was it with people and their household goods. we left the two blacks to moor the boat, after telling pomp to make haste up and have some dinner, and morgan and i hurried up to my father's quarters. he was not there, and we learned that he was with the general. under the circumstances we did not hesitate to go to the latter's tent, where we found that a little council was being held, and that colonel preston and the principal part of the other gentlemen of the expedition were there. "well, sir," i heard colonel preston say, "my opinion is that further inaction would be cowardly." "i am sorry to go against my friend, colonel preston," said my father, his voice coming clearly to me from under the looped-up sail which made the tent, "but i feel convinced that in spite of the lesson they have received, the indians will attack again, and it would be extremely unwise to leave our strong quarters and go to our homes until we are satisfied that we can be safe." "i must say, gentlemen," said the general, gravely, "that in spite of the adverse opinions i have heard--some of which sounded to me rather rash--i agree with captain bruton." there was a loud murmur here. "we have our women and children to think of." "of course, sir," said colonel preston; "and i think of mine as seriously as any man here. but our close confinement is getting painful for them all. we shall be having another enemy in our midst--fever--if we do not mind. now with all respect for captain bruton, i must say he is carrying caution too far. at the slightest alarm we can again take refuge in the fort." there was a chorus of approval here. "our scouts have been out in every direction, and i am convinced that there has not been for many days past an indian within a hundred miles." "you are wrong, sir," i said excitedly, as i stepped forward with morgan close behind me; and at the sight of us both, and what i had not thought of till then, our blood-stained garments, there was a loud buzz of excitement. "what? speak out. are you wounded, boy?" cried my father, excitedly. "no, father; i have escaped." "but the indians; you have seen them?" "yes," i said; and in the midst of a breathless silence, morgan and i told of our terrible adventures that day. chapter forty. "i am wrong, bruton," said colonel preston, as i finished my narrative, and the last question had been answered--"quite wrong, gentlemen all. i was longing to get back to my comfortable home. come along. i suppose we may have a fresh visit at any time." the meeting broke up, and my father led me back to our quarters. "i ought not to have let you go," he said. "the risk was too great, but i was influenced by the general opinion. ah!" he continued, as he saw hannibal standing by our rough tent, "why, my good fellow, you are wounded." he laid his hand upon the black's arm, and said something in a low voice, but i could not catch his words. i saw hannibal's eyes brighten, though, and a look of pleasure in his face as he suffered himself to be led to the temporary hospital; and i followed, to find our sarah sitting up and ready to welcome me with a few sharp snappish words, after her fashion. i have often laughed since at the way in which she showed her affection for me; for that she was fond of me she often proved. "you've come back then?" she said, as i seated myself upon a box. "yes; and i'm as bad as pomp now," i replied. "oh, i don't doubt that a bit, master george. what new mischief has he been at now?" "getting himself taken by the indians, and nearly killed." "and you have too?" "not taken, but nearly killed." "well, it serves you both right," she cried, with her lips working. "it was bad enough to come to this terrible place without you two boys going and running into all kinds of risks, and getting yourselves nearly killed. i don't know what the captain has been about, i'm sure." "about here," i said, good-humouredly. "but tell me at once, sir. what do you mean about being as bad as that impudent black boy?" "oh, only that i'm dreffle hungry," i said, laughing. "hungry? then why didn't you have some food as soon as you got back?" "because i had to go and tell them my news; and then i wanted to see how you were. how is your wound?" "oh, it don't matter about me a bit. i'm in hospital, and being attended to, so of course my husband can go on pleasure-trips, and leave his poor wife to die if so inclined." "curious sort of pleasure-trip, sarah," i said. "i say, you should see how morgan can fight." "fight? did he have to fight?" "yes;" and i told her what he had done. "oh, what a foolish, foolish man! how could he go leading you into danger like that?" "he didn't. i led him." "then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, master george. but tell me; why did you go back home?" "to see what the place was like, and whether it could be built up again." "built up? why, it hasn't been blown down." "no; burnt down." "burnt! what, our house?" "yes." "but not my kitchen? oh, master george, don't say that my kitchen has been burned too." "there's nothing left of the place but a little firewood and a few scuttles of ashes." sarah wrung her hands. "oh dear--oh dear!" she cried, "why wasn't i told before?" "never mind; you'll soon be well again. you were not told for fear of worrying you; and as soon as we have got rid of the indians my father will have the place all built up again, and it will be better than ever." "never!" said sarah, emphatically. "but you were not hurt, my dear, were you?" "no," i said, "only horribly frightened." "no," said sarah, emphatically, "you may have been startled, my dear, but i'm not going to believe that you were frightened. and you are hungry, too, and me not able to get about and cook you a bit of food." "oh, never mind. now i know you are better i'll go and get something to eat." "yes, do, my dear, do," she cried, "and make haste. it was very kind of you to come. but do, please, do take care of yourself, my dear, and don't go running any more of these dreadful risks. then you killed all the indians?" "they did," i said. "that's a comfort," said sarah. "i'm sorry for the poor savages, but it's their own fault. they should leave us alone. the cowards too-- shooting a poor woman like me. well, there's an end of them now." "of that party," i said. "we are afraid that there will be another attack to-night." "what? oh dear me! now i ask you, master george, how can i get well with such goings-on as this?" i did what i could to cheer her up, and went out to find hannibal just leaving the doctor, and ready to laugh at the wounds upon his arms as being too trifling to be worthy of notice. in fact the pains he suffered did not prevent him from partaking of a hearty meal, at which pomp stood looking on regretfully. i happened to catch his eye just as i was eating rather voraciously, the excitement and exertion having given me a tremendous appetite. "have some, pomp?" i said, feeling half guilty at sitting there eating, while the poor boy who had suffered so much in our service should be only looking on. "what mass' george say?" he replied, coming nearer. "i say, will you have something to eat?" pomp sighed. "what's the matter?" i asked. "poor pomp can't." "can't? why not? if i like to give you some now, no one will say anything." "poor fellow," i added to myself, "how he remembers that he is a slave!" all the time i was cutting him one of the solid slices of bread in which i knew from old experience he delighted so much, and then carved off a couple of good, pink-striped pieces of cold salt pork. but he drew away with a sigh. "why, what's the matter, pomp?" "eat much, too much now," he said, quaintly. "pomp can't eat no more." the mournful way in which he said this was comical in the extreme, for he accompanied it with a sigh of regret, and shook his head as he turned away, unable to bear longer the sight of the good food of which he was unable to partake. i had hardly finished my meal, and begun to feel a little rested and refreshed, before i was attracted out into the enclosure where the ladies and children, whom i had seen only the day before looking cheerful and merry, were wearing a wild, scared look as they were being hurried into the block-house, while the most vigorous preparations were carried on. "they don't mean to be taken by surprise, morgan," i said, as i ran against him, watching. "the indians may not come after all." "not come?" he said. "what! haven't you heard?" "i--heard?" "the message brought in by one of the scouts?" i had not heard that any had been sent out, and i said so. "the general sent them out directly, and one has come back to say that they had found signs of indians having been about, and that they had been round by our clearing." "yes! well?" i said. "the dead indians were gone." i started at the news. "perhaps they did not go to the right place." "oh, yes, they did," said morgan, seriously, "because two men told me about finding the marks close beside the big tree where we had our fight." "marks?" i said. "yes; you know. well, they are keeping a good look-out, spread all round, and keeping touch with each other. so you may be sure that the enemy is not far off, and we expect them down upon us before long." the thought of all this made the evening look gloomy and strange, though it was a glorious sunset, for the clouds that gathered in the west were to me like the smoke of burning houses touched with fire, and the deep rich red glow like blood. and as i watched the changes, it seemed that the softened reflections had turned into one fierce fiery glow that told of the destruction of the fort and the houses of the settlement, till, as it all died out, the light growing paler and paler, there was nothing at last but the cold grey ashes to tell of where the houses had been. chapter forty one. i quite started as a hand was laid upon my shoulder. "thinking, george?" said my father. i told him i had been watching the sunset. shame kept me from saying more. "ah, yes," he said, sadly. "it was very glorious. what a pity that the beautiful land over which such a sun shines should be spoiled by bloodshed!" "do you think the indians will come to-night?" i said, a little huskily. he was silent for a few moments, and stood gazing in my face. "afraid?" he said, with a smile. "yes, father," i said, frankly. "it makes me feel afraid. but when all the fighting and excitement is going on i don't feel to mind it half so much." "that is human nature, my boy," he said, smiling. "no doubt there are men who never know what fear is, but they must be very rare. i have known very few." "but you, father?" i said, excitedly. "you never knew what it was to be afraid?" he laughed as he pressed my shoulder with his hand. "always, my boy, when i am going to encounter danger, and from the general downward, i think i may say we all feel fear. it is no disgrace to a brave man to shrink from that which he has to encounter. why, my experience teaches me that those men who think and feel in this way do the bravest deeds." "then i needn't be ashamed of feeling a little alarm--i mean being a bit of a coward now, father?" "no," he said, with a peculiar smile. "but as it is highly probable that we shall be attacked to-night, it would be as well to be careful. the women and children are all in the block-house now; the men will be strongly posted at the gates and palisade, while the reserves will be in front of the block-house, in our rough outer works, ready to go to any menaced point or to cover their comrades if they have to retreat, and we are compelled to take to the block-house as a last resource.--there: i must go. you are tired, boy. you have had a long and perilous day. i'll excuse you from everything to-night, and you had better get to the block-house and have a good night's rest." "oh, don't say that, father," i cried, dolefully. "go and be shut up there with the women and children!" "what do you wish to do, then?" he said, still smiling in a peculiar way. "be about here, and go round to the different sentries." "with arrows flying, perhaps." "but it will be dark, and they are not likely to hit," i said. "besides, i might be useful fetching ammunition and helping to load." "you can stay about," he said, clapping both hands on my shoulders, and laughing. "i don't think you need be ashamed of your cowardice, my boy." he walked away, leaving me feeling puzzled, for i hardly knew what he meant, whether he was joking me or laughing at me for what i said. but it was all put out of my head directly by a little bustle at the gate, where the men who had been scouting were beginning to return, so as to be well in shelter before it grew dark; and as i followed them up, the report they made to the officers soon reached my ears. it was very brief: they had seen no indians, but had followed the track of those who had fetched away the bodies of their dead, and traced them to a portion of the forest some six miles away, when, not feeling it wise to follow farther, they had come straight across country home. there was neither moon nor star that night, as, with every light carefully extinguished in camp, patient watch was kept, and every eye fixed from three of the sides upon the edge of the forest beyond the plantations. so still was everything that, save when a faint whisper rose when an officer went round, the place might have been unoccupied. but the hours glided by with nothing to occasion the slightest alarm, as we all listened to the faint sounds which came from distant forest and swamp. so still was it that even the splash of some great fish in the river reached our ears as we leaned over the great fence by the gateway. i had been round the enclosure with my father twice in the course of the evening, for though tired i was too much excited to sleep. then i had been and had a chat with our sarah, in the hospital-room, and after that gone to the little side shelter by our tent, where hannibal and pomp were both sleeping as peaceably as if there were no danger in the air. as i stood looking down at them, it was with something like a feeling of envy, for i was terribly heavy, and would gladly have lain down to sleep, but it was impossible then; and as i left them and crossed the great enclosure, i heard a low whispered conversation going on just in front, and as i stopped short a hand caught mine, and said sternly-- "who is this? oh, it's you, young bruton. no alarm, is there?" it was colonel preston who spoke, and after telling him that all seemed quiet i passed on, and in an uneasy way went from sentry to sentry to say a word or two to each, as i inquired whether my father had been by. he had not, so i went on till i came to the corner of the enclosure farthest from the forest, where i could dimly see the man on duty straining himself over the great fence; and so occupied was he in gazing into the distance that he did not notice my presence till i spoke. "you, master george?" "you, morgan?" "why, i thought you'd ha' been asleep." "no; i could not go," i said. "but why were you looking out there?" "i don't know, my lad," he whispered. "this sort of work puts one all on the screw and fidget. i do nothing else but fancy all sorts of things, and keep finding out i'm wrong." "but the indians are not likely to come this way," i said. "it is too far from the forest." "then the more likely, my lad. but speak lower. now look straight out there, and try if you can see anything." i looked out in the gloom in the direction indicated, and said softly-- "yes, i am looking." "well, what can you see?" "a house." "yes, that's right; just dimly showing against the sky." "well, what of it? it is colonel preston's." "i didn't know for certain, but i thought it was his. well, look again; can you see anything about it?" i looked, making a telescope of my hands, and then laughed to myself. "as i watched it, master george, it seemed to me as if there was some one moving about it. i'm sure i saw men against the sky." "why, morgan," i said, "what you see is those tall, thin cypress trees standing up at the ends. they do look something like people, but they would be folks twenty feet high." "nonsense, sir! look again." i did look again, and, very dimly-seen against the sky, i fancied i could see something moving, and i had no doubt now about its being the colonel's house, for it was the only one standing on raised ground. "well," whispered morgan, "what do you make of it now?" "nothing. one's eyes get dizzy and misty with looking so long. i believe it is only fancy." morgan gazed long and eagerly for quite a minute before he said in a low, excited whisper-- "then fancy's precious busy to-night, master george. i got to be wonderful powerful in the sight during the wars, being out on vidette duty. i say there's something wrong there." i looked again, but i could not distinguish anything, and i said so. "look here, sir," whispered morgan, "i don't like to give an alarm for nothing, but i can't rest over this. will you ask the captain to come?" "tell you what," i said; "i'll fetch pomp first. he has eyes like a cat." "the very thing, sir. fetch him," whispered morgan, and i hurried back to our quarters, roused up pomp, who was ill-tempered at being disturbed, and taking him by the wrist i led him to morgan's post, telling him in whispers the while what i wanted of him. "but it all dark," he said, peevishly. "how pomp go to see in um dark? wait till a-morrow morning." "come, pomp," i said; "don't be foolish. you have such good eyes, and we want you to see." "no; not good eyes," he said. "all seepy now out ob 'em." "hush! don't talk," i said, gently. "how pomp see which way um go if don't talk lil bit? i tink you berry cross on poor lil nigger, mass' george." "hist! here we are." "hah! now we shall see," said morgan, eagerly. "come, pomp, look over yonder--straight away beneath that tall tree that goes to a point. now then, what can you see?" "house," replied the boy, shortly. "well, what else?" "lot man coming and going way 'gain." "there!" said morgan, triumphantly. "now, master george, was i right?" "who are they, pomp?" i whispered. "look, quick!" "pomp can't look, so 'leepy." "but you must." "pomp go back--go 'leep." "no, on, please look again. oh, pomp!" "mass' george want pomp look?" "yes, yes." "mass' george won't call pomp 'tupid lil nigger 'gain?" "i'll promise anything, only pray look." the boy rested his chin on the fence, and gazed again, while i could hear my heart going _thump_, _thump_ with excitement. "lot men. all black dark." "black?" i said, eagerly. "you don't mean the slaves?" "pomp nebber say dey nigger. pomp say all black." "don't talk so loudly," whispered morgan, eagerly. "pomp no want talk loud. pomp go back 'leep." "no, no, pray look again and tell me, pomp," i whispered. "mass' morgan talk sabbage. want to flog pomp." "no, no, he does not, and i want you to look and tell me." "pomp look and tell mass' george, but now too 'leepy, an' eye all 'tick togedder much, tell mass' morgan." "then tell me," i whispered. he looked again, then seemed suddenly to grow interested, and as excited as we were, as he caught my arm. "dem injum!" "there, master george. quick! fetch the captain." "no, no, fire and give the alarm," i said. "no. better not. it will alarm them too. go and fetch the captain." i hurried away, closely followed by pomp, and luckily found my father on his way to go the rounds in company with colonel preston. i told them what we had seen, and they hurried with us to the spot where morgan was on duty. "it can only mean one thing," said the colonel, excitedly. "they would not trouble much about plunder." "what do you mean then?" said my father; "a point from which to attack?" "no," said the colonel, hoarsely. "that!" as he said the words, there was a faint gleam of light in the direction of the house, a flash, then quite a burst of ruddy flame; and by the time we reached morgan, his face was lit up by the glow as the wooden structure blazed away rapidly, and the flames like great golden tongues licked at porch and veranda; while from one window, which showed quite plainly, so great a volume rushed out that it showed where the house had been fired. there was no need to sound an alarm, the great golden fire-flag which floated in the darkness of the night brought every man out to gaze; and as the flames mounted higher, illuminating the settlement far and near, the other houses stood forth plainly, the trees seemed turned to gold, and the wavy corn and cane came into sight and died out again in a way wonderful to behold. "preston! bruton!" said a firm voice, "round to the men. every one on his guard. reserves in the centre ready. this is a ruse to take our attention prior to an attack." i looked up admiringly at the stern old man, who gave his orders so promptly, and then saw my father and the colonel hurry off, while the general shaded his eyes, and looked keenly over the place. "no," he said, as if to himself, as he drew back. "ah, you boys! your eyes are young and sharp. try if you can see the indians crossing along by the edges of either of the plantations, or coming this way." "no, sir," i said, quickly. "i have been trying to see them." "injum gone round dah," said pomp, pointing. "ah!" cried the general; "you saw them?" "yes; gone dat big house." "mine," said the general, with a quick catching of the breath. "yes; there is no doubt about that." for as we were speaking, a tiny tongue of fire began to creep up one of the pine-tree supports of the porch, which, quite invisible before, now stood out plainly, and in a very few minutes was blazing furiously, while a light from the back showed that it had been fired there as well. "watch for the men who are doing this, my boy," said the general. "here, sentry, can you use that piece of yours?" "middlin', sir, middlin'," replied morgan. "then wait till you see one of the wretches, and try and bring him down. no," he said, directly after, "it would be useless. it would have no good effect." the indians who had fired the general's house must have stolen off by the back, for pomp did not see them go; and we were not long in learning that they were busy still, for at intervals of only a few minutes, six more of the best of the settlers' houses were blazing furiously, lighting up the whole of the clearings, while the sparks ascended in great clouds, and floated gently away as if a fall of snow had been suddenly turned into gold. overhead a cloud of wreathing smoke rolled over and over, turned ruddy by the burning homes, as if a second fire were in the heavens, and reflecting the light so that the block-house and the encumbered enclosure, with its piles of boxes and rough furniture, with here and there a tent, rapidly grew lighter and lighter, but with shadows of intense blackness marked out where the light did not fall. so clearly did the defenders' faces show now, as they sheltered behind the defences, that had there been high ground near that the enemy could have held, our position would have been bad, so excellent a mark should we have made for the indian arrows. but, fortunately for us, save where colonel preston's house stood, the land round the fort was absolutely flat, and the indians could not very well get into position for attack without exposing themselves to a rain of bullets. our officers were soon fairly well satisfied that if an attack were coming it would be from the dark side, and there our forces were concentrated to stand waiting, while scarcely any one but the sentries stood at the fence nearest the house and watched the flames. had the houses been together, the whole place would have been rapidly burned down; but, fortunately for us, each little house stood in the middle of its own plot, fifty, a hundred, and sometimes several hundred yards apart, so that they burned as so many separate fires, others springing up in various directions till twelve were blazing, and no effort could be made to check the flames. "it would only be sending men to their death," i heard my father say as i stood near, hot with impotent rage. "yes. it is impossible to do anything," replied the general. "if we were free to act, our whole force could not save the houses; and i cannot set the men to work with their buckets in the blazing light, to be shot down by the arrows of the indians hidden somewhere in the darkness." as the twelfth house blazed up, with the indians still cunningly keeping out of sight and crawling among the trees or crops, we all stood watching the houses left, wondering which would be the next to burst out into flame; but now we waited in vain, for the destruction had ceased as far as fresh additions were concerned. but the doomed dwellings crackled and flashed, and every time a beam or a ceiling fell in, the heavens were brilliant with the great bursts of sparks, which eddied and rose higher and higher, to join the great cloud floating quietly toward the now golden river. still there was no sign of indians; and at last my father walked round to the other side to join the most keen-sighted of our men in the look-out for the enemy, who was momentarily expected to be detected creeping up. from where i now stood i could hear the buzz of voices in the block-house, where the whole of the occupants were watching the destruction--in twelve of the cases this being the sweeping away of a treasured and peaceful home. by degrees the exclamations and words of sorrow--more than once mingled with sobs--grew fainter, and there was a terrible silence, through which came the sharp hissing and crackling of the burning wood, with again and again a dull thud as some beam went down. at such times the flames seemed to glow with twofold brilliancy, and the sparks were doubled in size, while after a few minutes the fire, that had been temporarily damped, blazed up higher than ever. "if we only had the orders to shoot," i heard one man say to another, "i wouldn't care then." "but there's nothing to shoot at," was the reply. "i say, though, i've been thinking." "what?" "suppose that they could manage to set fire to the block-house here." "don't talk about it, man. what? with those women and children there! no; we must shelter them from that, even if we die for it." i was standing with my father when colonel preston's house had been reduced to a glowing heap of embers, and he came up to my father to say in a light, cheerful way-- "ah, i've been looking for you, bruton. i wanted to tell you that i thoroughly understand now what your feelings must have been like the other night." "don't talk about it," said my father. "oh, i don't know," said the colonel. "it's painful, but one knows the worst." "no," said my father, sadly; "unfortunately we do not know the worst." "what do you mean? we can soon set to work and rebuild. the ground is clear. we cannot be so badly off as when we first landed." "i was thinking," said my father, in a low voice, "that the enemy has achieved his work for the night, but to-morrow they will continue this horrible destruction, and the next night and the next night, till the palisade and the block-house only remain. then the worst will come." "they will try and fire that?" said the colonel, in a whisper. "yes. we have a deadly foe to combat, and one full of cunning." "but we must never let him and his fire-fiends approach the place,--we must make an outer palisade." "of brave men?" said my father. "yes; i had thought of that; but the danger cannot be stopped that way. they will fire the place without coming close." "how?" cried the colonel. "with winged messengers," said my father; and i felt what he was going to say before he spoke. "fiery arrows? i see what you mean. pray heaven they may not think of such a hideous plan. but if they do, bruton, we are englishmen, and know how to die." "yes," said my father, sadly. "if the worst comes to the worst, we know how to die. well, there will be no attack to-night," he continued; and he turned round and seemed to realise the fact that i was there, having forgotten my presence in the earnestness of his conversation with the colonel. "ah, george," he said, "i did not think that you were there to hear what i said. did you catch it?" "yes, father," i said in a hoarse voice. "what did i say?" "that we should know how to die." there was silence then, and the ruddy glow in the smoke-clouds began to die away, leaving everything dark, and cold, and depressing; so that the cheerful words of the various officers now, as they talked encouragingly to the men, appeared to have lost their power. chapter forty two. morning at last, after the horrors of that eventful night. every one looked jaded and despondent; but as the sun rose, and the women and children were allowed to leave the confinement of the prison-like block-house to return to their larger tents and shelters, a good deal of the misery and discomfort was forgotten. for as soon as it was day a couple of scouting parties issued from the gate and advanced cautiously through the plantations, tracing the course of the indians easily enough, and following it up to the forest. the advance was made with the greatest precaution, the men stealing from garden to plantation, and from fence to fence, expecting to receive arrows at any moment, and with their fire-locks ready to reply to the first inimical shot. but no arrow sped toward them as they scouted on past the ruined houses; and the men's countenances grew sadder as they passed the smouldering heaps of ashes, and grasped their pieces more firmly, longing for an opportunity to punish the wretches who were destroying our homes. my father took command of one of these scouting parties, and after a little persuasion he gave me his consent that we two boys should accompany it. he refused at first, but on my pointing out how keen pomp's sight and sense of hearing were, he reluctantly said yes, and we went slowly on. we stopped at each burned home we passed, to see how complete the destruction was; and, though i said nothing to my father, i could not help comparing the piles of newly-charred wood, and ashes to what i had seen at our own clearing. it was exciting work as we went on, with our eyes fixed upon every spot likely to afford shelter to an indian. the men spread out, and worked round clump of trees or patch of cane. but no indian was seen, and at last we approached the forest. here pomp was invaluable. he seemed to have no sense of fear, in spite of the experiences he had gone through; and again and again he had to be checked and kept from rushing among the trees, where the enemies might have been lying waiting in force. he was not long in pointing out the place where the indians had left the shelter of the forest, and soon after he found out another spot where it was quite as plain that they had returned--evidently working in a regularly organised way; and at first sight, as we gazed down at the footprints, one might have thought that only one man had passed, but my father explained to me how one seemed to have stepped in another's track, which had grown deeper and broader, till it was plainly marked wherever the soil was soft. as soon as pomp had pointed this out, he was for diving in among the densely-clustered trees, which began directly cultivation ended, just beyond where their fellows had been levelled and dragged away, leaving the stumps in many cases standing out of the ground with the crops between. but my father sternly called him back, and, satisfied that the enemy was not within touch, as proved by the fact that no arrow had sped towards us, the word was passed along the widespread line from our centre to the extreme ends, and we retreated, leaving three videttes under shelter in commanding positions, where they could at once see if any indian scouts left the edge of the forest, and so give the alarm. as we marched back toward the fort through the plantations, which were already displaying the effects of neglect, i asked my father if he did not think it possible that the indians might be watching us all the time. "they were watching morgan and me that day when we killed the rattlesnake," i said. "it is quite possible," he replied, turning to me directly; "but we could do no more. my orders were to search the ground, and make sure that no indians were lurking in the plantations. i have done that. to have attempted to enter the forest with the few men under my orders would have been to invite destruction without doing any good." "yes, i see, father," i replied. "they may have been lying in hiding only a short distance in, but i scarcely think so. the temptation to destroy from their lurking-places, whence they could shoot at us unseen, would have been too great." by this time we had reached the gate, and we filed in for my father to go and make his report of what he had done to our commanding officer, while i went with pomp to where hannibal was playing the part of cook, and waiting our return. "what's the matter?" i said to my companion, who was looking disturbed and sulky. "why come back?" he said. "why not go shoot all um injum, and--" pomp stopped short and gave a loud sniff. he had smelt food, and nothing else had the smallest interest for him now till his wants had been supplied. a busy day was spent in perfecting our means of defence against the enemy we dreaded now the most. blankets were laid ready by twos, and men were drilled in the use to which they were to be put if the block-house was fired. for they were to be rapidly spread here and there and deluged with water, scouting parties being sent out to each of the uninjured homes in turn to collect any tubs or barrels that had been overlooked before. the men worked well, and a cheer was sent up whenever some barrel was rolled in from one of the farther dwellings and carried up to the block-house roof, and filled ready. but at last there was nothing more to be done in this direction, and we rested from our labours. so great had been the stress of the previous night, that the men were ordered to lie down to sleep in turns, so as to be prepared for a fresh alarm; but it was a long time before i could close my eyes as i lay under the canvas. i was weary, of course, but too weary, and though i closed my eyes tightly, and said i would go to sleep, there was always something to battle against it. at one time, just as i fancied i was dozing off, there was the sound of footsteps and a burst of laughter from some of the children, who raced about in the hot sunshine untroubled by the dangers that threatened. as i lay listening, and recognising the sport in which they were engaged, i could not help wishing that i was a child, and not mixed up with all these terrors just as if i were a man. "if we could only be at peace again!" i thought; and i lay wakeful, still thinking of the garden, the growing fruit, the humming-birds that whirred about like great insects among the flowers, and emitted a bright flash every now and then as the sun glanced from their scale-like feathers. then i pictured the orioles too, that pale yellow one with the black back and wings, and the gay orange and black fellow i so often saw among the trees. "how beautiful it all used to be!" i sighed. "why can't the indians leave us alone?" at last i grew drowsy, and lay dreamily fancying it was a hot, still night at home with the window open, and the cry of the whip-poor-will-- that curious night-jar--coming from out of the trees of the swamp far beyond the stream where the alligators bellowed and the frogs kept up their monotonous, croaking roar. _buzz_--_oooz_--_oooz_! "bother the flies!" i was wide-awake with the sun glaring on the canvas, and a great fly banging against it, knocking and butting its head and wings, when all the time there was the wide opening through which it had come ready for it to fly out. "ugh! you stupid thing," i muttered, pettishly, as i lay watching it hardly awake, thinking i would get up and catch it, or try to drive it out; but feeling that if i did i should only kill it or damage it so that its life would be a misery to it, make myself hotter than i was, and perhaps not get rid of the fly after all. "well," i cried, pettishly, "that's too bad!" for there was a fresh buzzing. another fly had dashed in, and the two were playing a duet that was maddening to my overwrought senses. "now, what can be the use of flies?" i said, pettishly. "they are insufferable: buzzing, teasing, and stinging, making the whole place miserable." i was in such an overstrung state from want of rest and excitement that i found myself thinking all kinds of nonsense, but there was some common-sense mixed up with it, like a few grains of oats amongst a great deal of the rough tares in which they grew, and i began to look at the state of affairs from the other point of view, as i watched those two flies darting here and there in zigzag, or sailing round and round, to every now and then encounter with a louder buzz, and dart off again. and in spite of my vexation, i found myself studying them, and thinking that small as they were their strength was immense. compared to mine it was astounding. i walked a few miles and i was weary, but here were they apparently never tiring, darting here and there with their wings vibrating at such an astounding rate that they were invisible. _whizz_--_whuzz_--_dash_!--here, there, and everywhere with lightning-like rapidity. "it's wonderful," i said at last, and i thought how strange it was that i had never thought of such a thing before. "now i dare say," i found myself saying, "they think that we are as great a nuisance as we think them, for putting up a rough canvas tent like this, and catching them so that they cannot get out. stuff! i don't believe flies can think, or else they would be able to find the way out again." _buzz_--_buzz_! _buzz_--_buzz_! a regular heavy, regular long-drawn breathing that grew louder now after a rustling sound, and i knew at once that it was pomp who had turned round, got into an uncomfortable position, and was now drawing his breath in a way that closely resembled a snore. "oh, you tiresome wretch!" i muttered. "how dare you go and sleep soundly when i am so tired out that i can't?" at last in utter despair i rose, pulled off my loose coat so as only to retain shirt and breeches, bathed my face in a bucket just outside, and could not resist the temptation to sprinkle a few drops on pomp's face as he lay there fast asleep in the shade. but they had not the slightest effect, and i crept into our rough tent again, smoothed the blanket, and lay down and closed my eyes once more, while the two flies were joined by another, and the buzzing was louder than ever. "go on," i said; "i don't care. one can't go to sleep in the daytime, but one can rest one's legs;" and as i said this pettishly i knew it was not true, for pomp's heavy breathing came plainly through the canvas to prove how thoroughly i was in the wrong. so giving up all idea of going to sleep, i lay there on my back, looking up at the fabric of the canvas, through which every now and then there was a faint ray of sunshine so fine that a needle-point would have been large in comparison. then i began to think about my father, and what a deal of care and anxiety he seemed to have; how sad he generally was; and i set his grave manner down to the real cause--my mother's death. then i began to think of how hot it was, and that as near as i could guess it must be two hours after noon. then about how pleasant it would be to begin rebuilding our house, and how long it would take, and about hannibal and pomp, and what a gentleman the former seemed to be by nature in his stern, quiet way; always willing to do anything for us, and watching me whenever he saw me, to know if there was anything i wanted; and so big, and strong, and brave. then i thought of our terrible experience under the great cypress tree, and at one time it was very horrible, but directly after not at all so. "it seems very terrible to kill any one, but han knew that if he did not kill them they would kill us, and i do believe he would sooner be killed himself than let any one hurt either father or me. and what a rum little fellow pomp is," i thought; "and how he gives up directly hannibal says anything in his language. "i wonder what his language is! one can't call it black language, because it isn't black--only what black people speak. i wonder whether i could learn it. seems to be all _ing_, and _ung_, and _ang_, and _ng_, without any letters before it. i'll make hannibal teach me to speak like he does. he would if i asked him. s'pose i should have to learn it without books, and one couldn't write it, and--oh, dear me! how hot, and tired, and thirsty i am! "i wish pomp wouldn't buzz so. "no, i mean i wish the flies wouldn't snore so. "no; i mean the indians--the--" i started up, and looked round confusedly, to see the flies darting here and there, and buzzing more loudly than ever, while pomp had settled into a decided snore. it was hotter than before, and great drops stood on my face, and tickled as they ran together and made greater drops. the children too were still playing about, and laughing merrily, and i went on thinking that the flies must be teasing pomp very much, and that those children would laugh and play if the indians came and buzzed round the tent; and that one which had settled on the canvas just over my head didn't frighten them by swelling out so big, and opening and shutting his great jaws with such a loud snap. what a number of fish he must eat in a day, and how i should have liked to watch him when he beat the water with his tail, so as to stun the fish and make them easy to catch! "and so that's where you live, is it, my fine fellow? pomp and i will come with a stick, and thrust it down the hole, and make you bite, and drag you out. we should want a rope ready to put round your neck, and another to tie your jaws, and one of us would have to slip it on pretty quickly before you spread your wings and began to fly round the tent, and began talking in that ridiculous way. whoever heard of an alligator imitating morgan, and trying to deceive me like that, just as we were going to catch him on the canvas where it was so tight? eh! what say? why don't you bellow? what!--no, i shan't. he is very comfortable here, and--ah!" that alligator had crept over into the tent, planted its foot upon my chest, and was moving it heavily, as it said out of the darkness in morgan's voice-- "oh, master george, do wake up, my lad, and come! be quick, pray!" chapter forty three. quite dark. my head confused. the alligator's foot on my chest. no; it was the butt-end of a gun pushing me. "here! don't! what's the matter?" "i thought i should never get you to wake, sir. come along. the indians are here." i sprang out of the tent, with it gradually dawning upon me that i had been sleeping heavily from early afternoon right into the darkness of night, and dreaming away in a heavily confused fashion of the various objects that had just filled my eyes and ears. "you said the indians were here?" i said, excitedly. "yes, my lad. look!" i gazed in the direction pointed out, and saw there was a bustle going on at the block-house, where by a faint blaze men were throwing buckets of water. "just caught it in time, sir," continued morgan. "they mean mischief now." "yes, i know. they fired arrows at it blazing." "how did you know when you were asleep?" "my father expected they would; i heard him say so." "ah, well, they won't do it again. we're going to soak blankets, and lay all over the top." "morgan, look--look!" i exclaimed, as three fiery long-tailed stars came swiftly sailing through the air from one direction; and as if they had been sent as a signal, three more came from the opposite quarter, and directly after two more threes, and all fell blazing on different parts of the block-house, the indians evidently aiming for the spot where the first blaze appeared--that which was rapidly being extinguished as i crept out of our tent. these fiery arrows had no doubt been prepared with tufts of cotton saturated with some resinous gum, which, after being lighted, burned furiously in its rapid passage through the air, and seemed to resist the efforts of those who were on the roof trying to extinguish the patches of glowing fire. in fact their efforts soon became useless, for the first twelve arrows were followed by dozens more, and then by hundreds, till at one time quite a fiery shower descended on the doomed place; while, emboldened by their success, amidst a fierce yelling, some of the indians ran from their cover, their progress being marked by tiny specks of light which seemed to glide like fireflies over the fields. then they made a sudden dart, blazed out, and stuck in the sides of the fort. this was repeated again and again before sharp orders were rung out, and from that moment whenever one of these sparks was seen gliding along toward the palisades, it was met by shot after shot, sometimes by a regular volley. twice over as i watched i saw one of these sparks drop to the ground and begin to burn, showing by it the body of an indian; but though scores of shots were fired, these were the only two which checked the savages, who, encouraged by their success, kept on running in and shooting at the fort. "hard to hit a man running with a bullet," said morgan, in answer to one of my ejaculations of impatience. "but why are you here, morgan?" i said, suddenly, as i felt that most of the defenders were either at work firing, or busy with buckets and water. "because i was sent here, sir," said morgan, gruffly. and though i questioned him, he said no more, but chuckled a little when i made a guess, and said that my father must have sent him to look after me. the men on the roof of the block-house worked splendidly amidst the fiery shower, though they were checked several times by the horrible missiles taking effect, inflicting wounds and burning the poor fellows' clothing as well; but they returned to their duty as soon as their comrades were passed down below into the fort, and wherever the flames got hold they were extinguished. but that which the falling arrows sent high in air, to drop almost perpendicularly on the fort, failed to do, though shot with wondrous skill, was accomplished by the arrows sent in the ordinary way point-blank against the walls. i was watching the progress of the attack with morgan, and we were uttering congratulations about the admirable way in which the men on the roof worked, and how cleverly each fiery messenger was quenched now almost as soon as it fell, when there was a fresh attack. "yes; we've done 'em, clever as they are, this time, sir," said morgan. "i tell you what: if i'd had the management of that affair i'd have had young pomp up there." "where is he?" i said, for i had forgotten all about him. "'long of his father carrying water, sir. but as i was saying, i'd have had young pomp up there with a small bucket as he could handle easy, half full o' water, and set him to catch the arrows as they fell. he's quick as lightning, and i'll be bound to say he'd have caught the arrows one by one in his bucket." "look--look!" i cried excitedly. "eh? what? ah!" ejaculated morgan, as evidently from behind one of the houses, quite invisible in the darkness, we saw quite a little group of specks glide out, and almost simultaneously another group--and there seemed to be about thirty in each--came out from the other side, the two parties joining with almost military precision, and gliding as it were over the fields till quite close in, when there was a perfect blaze of light as a golden cloud of trailing lights was discharged straight at the wooden wall of the fort, and in a few seconds it was wrapped in fire from top to bottom. a tremendous yell followed this successful discharge, but it was drowned by the rapid firing which succeeded, and as i looked on excitedly, longing to go and assist, and wondering why i had received no orders, i had the satisfaction of seeing figures flitting to and fro before the blazing pine-trunks, and hearing the hiss of the water as bucketful after bucketful was discharged. "why, morgan!" i exclaimed suddenly; "the women and children?" "well, sir, they'd be safe enough." "what, if the fire is not put out?" "oh, it'll be put out, my lad. look, they're battering it now. it aren't so fierce, but they don't happen to be there; the captain spoke to the governor this afternoon." "to the general?" "yes, sir. we're getting to call him the governor now; and the captain told him, i hear, that he was afraid the main attack would be on the block-house, and it was settled to have all the women and children out; and they're all safe behind barricades in the middle there. yonder, you see." "see? no," i said; "how can i see through this terrible darkness?" "darkness?" said morgan, in a peculiar tone. "i was just thinking that it was a bit lighter now, and yet they seem to be getting the fire a bit under." "yes," i said; "and now the clouds of steam are rising; you can see them quite plainly now. perhaps they are reflecting the light down upon the building. oh, look!" i could hold back no longer, but started off at a run, closely followed by morgan, so as to get to the other side and see what was going on there. for i had suddenly grasped the meaning of the light that had puzzled me. it was plain enough now. with their customary cunning, the indians had fired such a flight of fiery arrows that they had forced our people to combine their forces to put out the blazing side of the block-house, and then combining their own forces, the enemy had sent low down on the opposite side, after creeping close in, a tremendous discharge, which at once took hold, and the flames as i got round were already running up the building, fanned by the wind which seemed to be rising, and there was a fluttering roar which sounded like the triumphant utterances of the flames. "that comes of using pine-logs," said morgan, in a low voice, as amidst the shouting of orders, the tramp of men, and the hissing of the fire, volley after volley was fired from the palisades; but naturally these shots sent forth into the darkness were aimless, and in imagination i could see the enemy, after sending in their arrows, crawling away unhurt. the progress of this last fire was rapid. something was done to check it at first with the buckets, and the brave fellows on the roof made desperate efforts by hanging the saturated blankets over the side, but they were soon driven back by the heat and smoke; all but one, whom i saw--after working desperately, the leader evidently of the shadowy-looking, blackened band--topple forward and fall into the flames at the foot, just as a herculean black approached, bearing two buckets of water. then there was a rush, a deal of confusion and shouting; and as i neared i saw the black coming through the crowd bearing some one on his shoulder. i needed no telling that the slave, whoever he was, had dashed in and dragged the fallen man away, and, roused to enthusiasm by the daring act, i was approaching the group, when i heard murmurs running from one to the other of the line of men we had approached, men whose duty it had been to pass water from the well to those whose task it was to scatter the fluid on the flames. "what--what did they say, morgan?" i whispered. "water's give out, sir." "what! just as it is needed most?" "ay, my lad, that's just when it would be sure to go. they've been too generous with it t'other side." "but look!" i said; "the fire's getting firmer hold. can nothing be done?" "not that we can do, sir," said morgan, sadly. "it's got it tight now." it was too true. started by the indians' fiercely-blazing arrows, the pine-logs were beginning to blaze well now, dispiriting those who had worked so bravely before; and, seeing that their attack hail been successful, the indians ceased now to send in their fiery flights, for moment by moment the flames increased, completely enveloping one corner of the block-house, and displaying such fierce energy that we knew the place was doomed. and now, not to solve a puzzle that had troubled me, but of course to strike fresh terror into their enemies, the indians made it plain how they had managed to keep up their supply of fiery shafts. for, all at once, a house standing back in the plantation, on each of the three sides of the fort away from the river front, began to stand out clear in the darkness of the night. one of them was the place from behind which i had seen the two groups of sparks glide out, and in these they had cunningly had parties preparing the fiery arrows ready to start alight for others to discharge. yell after yell now arose from a distance as the three houses rapidly began to blaze and add to the lurid glare that was illumining the whole interior of the enclosure, while groups of smoke-blackened men were watching the destruction going on. "better seek cover, my lads," cried colonel preston. "get your pieces, and be ready. we can do no more there. it must burn." the men showed their military training by rapidly getting their piled weapons, and taking their positions behind the barricades which surrounded the temporary quarters of the women and children. "i don't think they'll attack," said colonel preston to the general, who came up now. "no," he said, calmly. "the men are standing well to their places round the palisades, but i have no fear of an assault to-night. by the way, how is bruton?" i heard the words, and my throat seemed to grow dry. "bruton? i don't know. tired out, i suppose." "what!" said the general; "didn't you know?" "nothing; only that we have all been working like slaves to put that fire out." "great heavens, preston, didn't you hear?" "hear?" cried the colonel, excitedly; "is he wounded?" "not wounded, but badly hurt, i fear. didn't you see a man fall from the roof right into the flames?" "yes, but--" "it was bruton." "ah!" i felt as if i should have dropped, but at that moment, as i was trying to get over the horrible feeling of sickness, and to make my way to the place the doctor had been forced to take as his temporary hospital, i felt a thrill of delight run through me, for a voice exclaimed-- "gentlemen, are you all mad?" "bruton!" exclaimed preston, hoarsely; "then you are not badly hurt?" "badly enough," said my father; "but look--look! of what are you thinking?" "thinking?" cried the general. "we can do no more; the place is doomed." "but are we to be doomed too, man?" cried my father, furiously; and he looked as if he might have had the question he had first asked put to him. for his face was blackened and wild, his long hair burned, and a terrible look of excitement was in his starting eyes. "doomed?" exclaimed the general and the colonel in a breath, as the men gathered round. "yes; the women--the children. this enclosure will be swept away. have you forgotten the powder--the magazine?" chapter forty four. there was an involuntary movement amongst those within hearing at this, and for the moment it was as if every one present was about to seek safety in flight, as my father stood pointing wildly toward the blazing fort. then, recovering himself from the shock of my father's words, the general exclaimed, hoarsely-- "i had forgotten that." and then in his customary firm way, he said, "the reserve supply of ammunition is in the little magazine, men. twelve volunteers to bring it out." a deathly silence for a few minutes, only broken by the terrible crackle and roar of the flames; and then my father stepped toward the blazing building. "i am too much hurt to carry," he said, "but i will lead. now, my lads, for old england!" "hurray!" shouted morgan, darting to his side, "and bonny cymrw." a great black figure with torn and scorched cotton garments was the next to step forward, and, carried away by a strange feeling of enthusiasm which mastered the horrible dread i felt, i ran to my father's side. "no, no, no, my boy," he groaned. "go back!" "with you, father," i said; and he uttered a sob as he grasped my hand. "god be with us!" i heard him whisper; and he said no more, but halting and resting wearily on me, as a dozen men now came forward with a cheer, he led the way to the door of the blazing pile. twice over i felt my legs tremble beneath me, but the tremor passed away in the excitement, and with the flames seeming to roar more fiercely, as if resenting an attempt to save that which was their prey, we passed from the eye-aching blaze of light through the strong doors into the black darkness of the fort, all reeking with smoke and steam. chapter forty five. i often sit back in my chair pondering about those old days, and thinking about them in a very different way to that in which i looked upon them then. for to be quite frank, though something in me kept tugging me on, and seeming to say to me, "be a man; go bravely on and support your poor lame, suffering father, who is going to risk his life to save the poor people around!" there was something else which would keep suggesting that i might be killed, and that i should see the bright sunshine no more; that i was bidding farewell to everything; and i know i felt as if i would have given the world to have heard him say, "go back. it is too dangerous for you." but he only hesitated a few moments, and then, as i have said, he grasped my shoulder as if glad of my help, and went on into the great dark place. on thinking over these things, i often tell myself that though my father may not have been a hero--and i don't believe much in heroes myself--i know they do brave deeds sometimes; but i have often found that they have what an american friend from the north--pennsylvania way--called a great deal of human nature in them, and that sometimes when you come to know them, you find that they are very much like looking-glasses. i do not mean because they pander to your vanity and show you your own face, but because they are all bright and shining and surrounded by gold that is not solid, and have a side, generally kept close to the wall, which is all rough wood, paint, and glue. let me see! where have i got to? ah, i remember. i said my father may not have been a hero, but he had a great deal of that sterling stuff in him which you find in really sterling people; and in addition, he performed his brave acts in a quiet, unassuming way, so that often enough they passed unnoticed; and when he had finished, he sank back into his perfectly simple life, and never marched about in metaphorical uniform with a drawn sword, and men before him beating drums, and banging cymbals, and blowing trumpets for the people to see, and hear, and say, "oh, what a brave man!" some may think it was not the act of a brave, self-denying man to let his young son go with him into that awful place to try and remove the powder. i am not going to set up as his judge. he thought as a true man thinks, as a soldier, one of the thousands of true men we have had, who, without a word, have set their teeth fast, and marched for their country's sake straight away to where cannons were belching forth their terrible contents, and it has seemed as if the next step they took must be the last. my father no doubt thought that as he was so weak he must have help, and that it would be better for his son to die helping him to save the lives of hundreds, than to hang back at such a time as that, when we marched straight into the steam and smoke of the burning block-house. i can remember now that, although overhead the logs were burning and splitting and hissing in the fierce fire, and i knew that almost at any moment the burning timbers might come crashing down upon us, or the fire reach the little magazine of spare powder, the feeling of cowardice gave place to a strange sensation of exaltation, and i stood by my father, supporting him as he gave his orders firmly, the men responding with a cheer, and groping their way boldly to the corner of the building beyond the roughly-made rooms, where the good-sized place, half cellar, half closet, had been formed. it was quite dark, and the men had to feel their way, while the air we breathed was suffocating, but we had to bear it. my father, morgan, and i were the first to reach the place, and there and then seized the cumbrous door which was made on a slope, like a shutter, to slide sidewise, while just above was a small opening leading into a rough room beyond, between the magazine and the outer wall, in which was a sort of port-hole well closed and barred. "shall i get through and open that port, sir?" cried morgan, his voice sounding muffled and hoarse. "it will give us fresh air and light." "yes, and perhaps flames and sparks," cried my father. "no, no, down with you and hand out the powder-kegs. form a line, men, and pass them along to the door." "hurrah!" came in muffled tones; and directly after, from somewhere below, morgan's voice cried-- "ready there! one!" "ready!--right!" cried a man by me, and a quick rustling sound told that the first powder-keg was being passed along. "ready!--two!" cried morgan; and i pictured in my own mind morgan down in the half cellar, handing out keg after keg, the men working eagerly in the dark, as they passed the kegs along, and a cheer from the outside reaching our ears, as we knew that the dangerous little barrels were being seized and borne to some place of safety. not that in my own mind i could realise any place of safety in an open enclosure where sparks might be falling from the burning building, and where, if the indians could only guess what was going on, flaming arrows would soon come raining down. it was a race with death within there, as i well knew; and as i stood fast with my father's hand clutching my shoulder, and counted the kegs that were handed out, my position, seemed to me the most painful of all. if i had been hard at work i should not have felt it so much, but i was forced to be inert, and the sounds i heard as i stood breathing that suffocating air half maddened me. hissing that grew fiercer and fiercer as the fire licked up the moisture, sharp cracking explosions as the logs split, and must, i knew, be sending off bursts of flame and spark, and above all a deep fluttering roar that grew louder and louder till all at once there was a crash, a low crackling, and then, not two yards away from where i stood, a broad opening all glowing fire. the men nearest to us uttered a yell, and there was the rush of feet, but my father's voice rose clear above all. "halt!" he cried; and discipline prevailed, as through the smoke i could now see all that was going on; morgan still in the magazine, and hannibal standing ready to take the kegs he passed out, while the men, instead of being in line, had crowded together by the entrance. "how many more, morgan?" said my father, calmly, as he backed a little toward the fiery opening at the end where i could feel the fierce glow on my back. "three more, sir. shall we leave them and go?" "leave them? come, my men, you can see what you are doing now. morgan--hannibal--the next keg." it looked to be madness to bring out that keg into a low, earthen-floored room, one end of which was blazing furiously, with great tongues of fire darting toward us. but it was done; for morgan stooped down and reappeared directly with a keg, which he handed to the great black, who took it quietly as if there was no danger, but only to have it snatched excitedly away by the next man, who passed it along the line. "steady, men!" said my father. "don't make danger by being excited and dropping one of those barrels." those moments seemed to me to be hours. the heat was terrific, and the back of my neck was scorching as the second and third kegs were handed out. "last," shouted morgan, with a wild cry of thankfulness. "look again," said my father. "stand fast all." morgan dropped down again, and as he did so there was another crash behind us, a shower of sparks were literally shot into the place, and one burning ember fell right into the opening of the magazine, to be followed as morgan leaped out by a quick sputtering noise, and then the smell of powder. there was a rush for the door, and we four were alone. "only a little loose powder lying about," said morgan, huskily. "that was the last. look out, master george--quick!" the task was done, the place saved from hideous ruin by an explosion; and as the last man rushed from the place, the energy my father had brought to bear was ended, and i had just time, in response to morgan's warning, to save him from falling as he lurched forward. but there was other help at hand, and we three bore him out fainting just as a burst of flame, sparks, and burning embers filled the place where we had stood a minute before, and we emerged weak and staggering, bearing my father's insensible form out into the bright light shed by the burning building. "bravely done! bravely done!" we heard on all sides; and then there was a burst of cheering. but i hardly seemed to hear it, as i was relieved by willing hands from my share in the burden, and i only recollected then finding myself kneeling beside a blanket under the rough canvas of our extemporised tent, waiting until the surgeon had ended, when i panted forth-- "is--is he very bad?" "very, my lad," said the surgeon as he rose, "but not bad enough for you to look like that. come, cheer up; i won't let him die. we can't spare a man like your father." chapter forty six. everybody considered it was all over then, as we stood regularly at bay behind our palisades and barricades of boxes, cases, and furniture with which the women and children were surrounded, watching the flames of the great block-house rising higher and higher in the still night air, in a way that to me was awful. so there we were waiting for the final onslaught, gloomy, weary, and dispirited. the men were chilled, many of them, with the water, and worn out by their efforts, and as i went round from group to group silently, in search of some one i knew to talk to, i could not help seeing that they were beaten, and thinking that the indians would have an easy task now when they came. "it's very horrible," i thought; and i went over the past, and dwelt upon the numbers that we must have killed. i knew that there would be no mercy; that the men would all be butchered, and the women and children, if they escaped that fate, would be carried off into a horrible captivity. pomp seemed to have disappeared, for though i came upon group after group of black faces whose owners sat about in a stolid indifferent way, as if the affair did not concern them, and they were resting until called upon to work once more, i did not see our boy. i could not see colonel preston, and morgan had gone away from my side on being summoned by one of the men. there were plenty of our people about, but all the same i seemed to be alone, and i was wandering along in the fitful glare of the fire, when i saw at last a group of men standing together by a pile of something wet and glistening, over which one man was scattering with his hand some water from a bucket as if to keep the surface wet, and in this man i recognised morgan. "what's he doing?" i asked myself; and it was some few moments before i could grasp the truth, and then in a shrinking manner, with sensations similar to those i had felt when i was going into the burning block-house, i slowly advanced toward the group. sparks were being hurled high in the air at every fall of beam or timber, and they rushed round and round, as if agitated by a whirlwind, to be carried far away, but every now and then flashes of fire that escaped the whirl floated softly here and there, making it seem horrible to me as i watched them drop slowly to earth, some to be extinguished and disappear just as a great pat of snow will melt away when it touches the moist ground, while others remained alight and burned for a few moments. "if one did," i said to myself as i approached timidly, for i knew now that i was opposite to the little heap of powder-kegs that had been brought out of the magazine with so much risk, and were lying covered over with canvas and a tarpaulin, whose surface was being kept wet. "the powder, morgan?" i said, as i approached, just as the men were talking earnestly together, morgan standing by and holding his empty bucket. "yes, sir; the powder," he replied, turning and giving me a nod before looking back at his companions and saying sadly-- "then you do mean it, my lads?" "i do," said one of the men, sternly; "and i think it's what we ought to do." "without waiting for orders from our officers?" "i shouldn't say do it while they can lead us and help us to fight and drive these demons back. i say when all's over and we've got to the last. i mean when the indians have got in and are butchering us." "yes, yes," came in a murmur from one man, "it will be quite right then, and they'll feel it too." "yes," said the first, "it wants doing just as they've crowded into the place, and the lad among us left living must swear he'll do it." "don't need any swearing," said morgan, in a low deep voice. "i'm afraid that you're right, my lads, and for one i'll promise to do it when it's all over." "do what?" i said in a whisper, though i felt that i did not need telling. morgan looked round at the others. "there's no harm in telling him," he said. "not a bit. tell him." morgan coughed as if to clear his throat, and he raised the bucket and threw a few drops from the bottom on the glistening heap. "you see, master george," he said, "we're afraid that we're getting close to the time when the indians will quite get the better of us, and we shall be beaten." "englishmen are never beaten," i said, looking round proudly. "ah, that's only a bit of brag, master george," said morgan, quietly. "that's what we all say, and perhaps we never are in spirit, but our bodies aren't much stronger than other men's bodies, and there are times when the enemy gets too strong for us. i've been beaten many a time, and i've beat many a time. this is one of the times when i've been beat." "but we are not beaten yet," i said, excitedly. "when the indians come and attack we shall drive them off." "if we can, my lad--if we can. eh, my lads?" "yes, yes," came in a loud murmur. "don't you be afraid about that. as long as our officers can lead us we shall fight, and some say we shall do our best when we haven't one left to lead us. in plain honest english, master george, we shall fire as long as we can load; when we can't use our guns we shall use our fists, and when we can't raise an arm we shall kick." "yes, i know, i know," i said, excitedly. "but what you are thinking of it so dreadful." "so's lying down beat out to let savages knock out your brains, my lad; and so we've all made up our minds that when the worst comes to the very worst, it will be an act of kindness to everybody and a big lesson to the indians to let settlers alone, and perhaps be the means of saving the lives of hundreds of poor creatures in times to come, if one of us--" "yes, i know," i half groaned--"sets fire to this powder and blows everything away." "that's it, master george, and the right thing too." "oh!" i cried, with a shudder. "don't take on, my lad," said morgan, gently. "it's fate, that's what it is. we shan't do it till the place is full of indians, and they've begun their terrible work; then one touch with a spark and it'll be all over." "morgan!" i cried. "ay, my lad, it seems very horrid, and i don't want to have it to do; but when we're all half dead, and can't lift a hand, it will be a mercy to every one; and i know if your poor father was here and listening to what we say, he'd think so too." "but--but--" i faltered, despairingly, "i don't want to die." "more don't i, my lad," he said, taking my hand; and i saw by the light of the burning building that the tears stood in his eyes. "i'd give anything to live, and go back yonder and work like a man to put everything straight again, and see my trees and plants growing more beautiful every day in god's bright sunshine; but if it aren't to be, master george, why, it aren't. i haven't been a man who hasn't done his duty." "no, no," i said; "they've all fought bravely." "ay, that they have, and are going to fight bravely to the very end. why, look at those poor niggers too. see how they've fought, brave lads! no one would have thought they were slaves to see the way they've gone at it, just as if this was their own place, and they'd never been sold and bought. there, my lad, once more, don't you go thinking we're all going to turn cowards, because we're not. our officers have done their duty by us, and we've tried to do our duty by them; and if it comes to the worst, i say what's been proposed is only doing our duty still; what say you?" "ay, ay," came in a chorus; and i could not say a word. i felt choked as i looked round at the enclosure, all lit up by the glow, with black shadows cast here and there by the various piles of cases and the tents, and then i seemed to see beyond the great fence, and the black and pale-faced men, right away through the forest to our own bright home, close to the pleasant river, where all was sunshine, and glorious with bird and flower and tree. it was impossible to believe that i was never to see it all again, never to wander through the forest, never to ride on the stream and pause to watch the brightly-plumaged birds and the glittering insects or the gorgeously-scaled fish gliding through the clear waters, down where i had so often seen them amongst the roots of the overhanging trees. it all came back like some bright dream--the creeper-covered house, my father seated at his window, about which the flowers bloomed, as he sat and studied some book, morgan and hannibal busy in their long fight with the weeds, and a magpie-like patch under some tree, where black pomp lay asleep in his white shirt and short drawers, while from the end of the house came the busy sounds made by poor sarah. i think it was at that moment most of all that i quite thoroughly realised what a delightful home we had built up in the wilderness. and now it was a heap of ashes; my father, hannibal, and poor sarah seriously hurt; pomp gone too for aught i could tell; and morgan here talking so calmly and coolly of setting alight to the pile of destruction lying there by our side. was it all true? i asked myself, and felt ready to rub my eyes and try to rouse myself from the horrible nightmare dream from which i was suffering. i was awakened sufficiently the next moment by morgan's words, as he said in a quiet, decided manner-- "yes, master george, we've done our duty as far as we can, and there's only one more thing left to do--when the time comes, sir; when the time comes." just then, to my utter astonishment, there was a movement among the men, and one of them came up close to me. "you'll shake hands, sir," he said. "i've taken a deal of notice of you, different times." i held out my hand mechanically, felt it warmly wrung, and then had it seized in turn by the others, while i was struggling to speak words that would not come. at last though they burst forth. "but the women and children!" i cried, as my heart seemed to stand still. "better than being butchered by those savages," said morgan, gloomily. "i'd sooner see my poor wife die than fall into their hands." his words silenced me, for i knew that they could expect no mercy. then feeling utterly exhausted, i was munching a piece of bread, where i sat on a rough case, and sipping a little water from time to time, when just as the fire was at its height, with great waves of flame floating gently away from the great pine-wood building and illumining the wide clearing all round, i heard a familiar voice behind me say in his droll, dry fashion-- "what pity!" "ah, pomp!" i cried, turning to him; "you there?" "iss, mass' george. when we go home again? pomp done like dis place 'tall." "no, nor nobody else, boy," said morgan, sadly. "hark! hear anything?" he seized his gun as he spoke, but it was only a hissing scream made by one of the water-soaked timbers as the steam was forced out. "nobody come. injum all gone away." "how do you know?" i cried, eagerly. "pomp done know. tink um all gone. no shoot arrow now." "wrong, boy," said morgan. "they are hatching some fresh scheme, and they'll be down upon us directly." there was a pause. "and then it will be all over," muttered morgan, as he turned towards pomp, looked at him firmly, and then held out his hand. "come here, boy," he said. "wha' for? pomp no do nuffum. can't do nuffum here." "come and shake hands." pomp laughed and held out his hand, which morgan took. "if i don't see you again, boy, good-bye, and i'm sorry i've been so rough to you sometimes." "mass' morgan go walking out in wood? take pomp." morgan heaved a deep sigh. "ah, you don't bear any malice," he said. pomp shook his head, and looked at me, for it was greek to him. "not so bad as that," i said. "come, cheer up." "can't any more, my lad," said morgan. "no one can't say, look you, that i haven't cheered up through thick and thin. but, look here, master george, speaking fair now, what is the good of injuns?" "injum no good," said pomp, sharply. "right, boy; no good at all. phew!" he whistled; "how them logs do burn!" "ah! no duck, no fis', no turkey roace on 'tick!" said pomp, regretfully. "shoot, shoot, shoot, lot time, an' no shoot nuffum to eat. pomp dreffle hungly." "there's plenty of bread," i said, smiling at the boy's utter unconcern about our position of peril. "yah, 'tuff! nas' 'tuff. pomp too dreffle hungly eat any more bread. why no go now and kill all injum? pomp fine de way." the boy looked quite vexed at his proposition being declined, and squatted down to gaze at the fire, till after a time he lay down to look at it, and at last morgan said to me-- "don't trouble him much, lad. fast asleep." it was quite true. there lay pomp enjoying a good rest, while we watched the progress of the flames, which rose and fell and gleamed from the pieces of the watchful men dotted round the great place, then left them in shadow, while a terrible silence had now fallen upon the camp. the fierce fire crackled and roared, and the flames fluttered as a great storm of sparks kept floating far away, but no one spoke, and it was only when an officer went round to the various posts that there seemed to be the slightest motion in the camp. "takes a cleverer man than me to understand injun," said morgan at last, just before daybreak, as i returned from the tent where my father was sleeping peacefully, and hannibal outside wrapped in a blanket quite calmly taking his rest. "what do you mean?" i said, wearily. "i mean i can't make out the ways of injuns. here have we been watching all night, expecting to have a big fight by way of finish up, and pomp's right after all. they seem to have gone." "if i could only think so!" i replied, with a sigh. "well, lad, i think they are," said morgan. "they might have had it all their own way, and beaten us pretty easy a time back, but they've let their chance go by; and i suppose they're satisfied with the mischief they've done for one night, and have gone back to their camp to sing and dance and brag to one another about what brave fellows they all are." it soon proved to be as morgan had said, for the day broke, and the sun rose soon after, to shine down warm and bright upon as dejected, weary-looking, and besmirched a body of men as could have been seen. for they were all blackened with powder and smoke; some were scorched, and in every face i could read the same misery, dejection, and despair. but the general, colonel preston, and several of the leading gentlemen soon sent a different spirit through the camp. a few orders were given, the sentries changed, three parts being withdrawn; the women, who looked one half-hour haggard, pale, and scared, wore quite a changed aspect, as they hurriedly prepared food for their defenders; and in a very short time cries and shouts from the children helped to make some of us think that matters were not quite so desperate after all. chapter forty seven. it is astonishing what can be done in the most painful times when there are good leaders, and a spirit of discipline reigns. i remember how i noted it here that noontide; when, after food and rest, the fresher men relieved sentries, and strove to listen to the general as he pointed out that though the block-house was gone and our retreat cut off, we were in nearly as good a position of defence as ever, for our barriers were firm, and it was not certain, even in the most fierce of assaults, that the enemy could win. in addition, he pointed out that at any hour a british ship might appear in the river, whose presence alone would startle the indians; while if the worst came to the worst, there would be a place for us to find safety. "there, morgan," i said, feeling quite inspirited, as i noted the change which seemed to have come over the men. "you see how mad all that was last night." he smiled as he laid his hand on my arm. "look you, master george," he said, "you always forget that i only talked of that as being something to be done if it came to the worst." "and it has not come to the worst," i said. "and i hope it never may," he replied. i hurried to my father's side to tell him what had gone on; and i found him in a great deal of pain, but apparently quite cheerful and grateful to the big black, who now declared himself well enough to attend to "de massa," and forgetful of his own injuries, which were serious enough, the cuts on his arms being still bad, while he had been a good deal scorched by the fire. "i can never be grateful enough to you, hannibal," said my father again. "you saved my life." "massa sabe hannibal life," said the great negro, with a grave smile. "can't say well, but tink great deal 'bout all massa done for us." "don't talk about it," said my father, quietly. "no, sah," replied the great black, turning to me, "not talk 'bout; tink about much--much more." "well, hannibal, if we live to get clear of this dreadful trouble, i will try to be fair to--" he stopped for a few moments, wincing evidently from pain. "better now," he said, with a smile. "i was going to say, i have never considered either you, hannibal, or your boy as slaves." "no, massa," said the big black, calmly. "but you are considered to be so here; and from this day i give you both your liberty." hannibal smiled, and shook his head. "do you not understand me?" "massa give holiday. han done want holiday," said the black, laboriously. "no, no; i set you both perfectly free." "massa tink pomp lazy--hannibal no fight 'nuff?" "my good fellow, no," said my father, drawing his breath hard. "you do not fully understand. you were brought to this place and sold for a slave." "yes, understand. massa bought hannibal." "then now you are quite free to go where you like." "where go to, sah?" "as soon as we have beaten off these indians, back to your own country." the black shook his head. "you would like to go back to your own country?" "no," said the black, thoughtfully. "'top fight for capen and mass' george." "but we shall have done fighting soon, i hope, and then you can go in peace." "no peace in han country." "what?" "alway fight--make prisoner--sell slave. han want pomp here talk for um." "ah, well, wait till we get peace, and things are getting on smoothly again, then we can talk." "capen cross wif hannibal?" "cross? no; grateful." "han stay here 'long massa and mass' george." "ah, george, any good news?" said my father, turning to me. "you see i am forced to be a slave-owner." i shook my head rather sadly as i thought of morgan's words. "oh, don't despair, my boy," he said, cheerfully. "it has seemed very desperate several times, but the indians are still at bay, and we are alive." "yes, father, but--" "well?" "the fort is burnt down." "yes; the enemy got the better of us there, but we are not beaten yet. things looked black last night; after rest and food they are as different as can be. when shall you be ready to start home to begin rebuilding?" "you are only talking like that, father, to cheer me up," i said, sadly. "do you think i don't know that it is all over?" "i do not think--i am sure you don't know, my boy," he said, smiling. "how can you? a battle is never lost till it is won. did you ever see two cocks fight?" "yes; once or twice, father," i said, wonderingly. "so have i," he replied, "not in the case of so-called sport, but naturally, as such birds will fight; and i have seen one beaten down, apparently quite conquered, and the victor as he believed himself has leaped upon his fallen adversary and begun to crow." "yes, i know," i cried, eagerly; "and then the beaten bird has struggled and spurred the other so fiercely that he has run away in turn." "yes; you have finished my anecdote for me. it is too soon yet for the indians to begin to crow. they are still outside our place, and the powder is plentiful yet." i shivered a little at the mention of the powder, and tried to tell him what i had heard, but somehow the words would not come, and soon after as he dropped asleep i went down into the open space about the block-house. to reach it i had to pass the powder, which still lay covered as before, and it seemed to me that some fresh place might be found for it, since if the indians began to send their fiery arrows into the camp again, one might fall there, and the destruction talked of befall us at once. but a little thought told me that if arrows came now, they would be aimed at men and not at buildings. there was nothing more within for the fire to burn, so i went in and walked round the pile of smouldering ashes, and tried to recall the scene of the previous night, and the position of the magazine. but it was rather hard to do now, there being nothing left by which i could judge, and i was going on, when i caught sight of something which made me alter my course, and walk softly up behind where pomp was busy with a shovel at the edge of a great heap of smouldering ashes. "what are you doing?" i said. "eh? mass' george 'top bit and see." "no, i can't stop," i cried. "what are you doing with that shovel?" "dat to 'crape de fire up. you no see? pomp bake cake for de capen." "what?" "oh yes. plenty cake in de hot ash. hot bread for um. 'top see if um done." he looked up at me and laughed as merrily as if there was no danger near. "mass' george see more injum?" "no," i said. "they are in the forest somewhere." "pomp like roace all de whole lot. come burn fellow place down like dat. ah, you don't want come, sah! hah, i pob you in dah lil soft wet dab ob dough, and now you got to come out nice cake all hot." he felt about in the fine embers with the shovel, and directly after thrust it under something invisible, drew it out, blew off a quantity of glowing ash, tossed his find round and brown up in the air, caught it again on the shovel, and held just under my nose a hot, well-cooked bread-cake, showing his teeth the while, as he exclaimed triumphantly-- "dah!" "bread," i said, mechanically. "nice hot cake, sah, for de capen, and pomp got fibe more juss done. dat one for capen, one for mass' george, one for pomp fader, one for pomp. how many dat make?" "four," i said, in the same mechanical way. "four, and den dah two more for a-morrow mornin'." "oh, pomp," i said, "how can you think of such things now!" "eh? cos such boofle fire, and pomp know where de barl ob flour. mass' george not glad to hab nice hot cake?" i shook my head, but the boy was too busy fetching out his loaves, and soon had the whole six, well-cooked and of a delicate creamy-brown, beside him ready to be replaced in a little heap on the shovel. "dah!" he said; "now go take um home ready for tea." "why, pomp," i said, sadly, "suppose the indians come, what then?" "what den? dey 'tupid 'nuff to come, we shoot dem all, sah. pomp don't fink much ob injum." "do you think they'll come to-night?" "pomp done know. 'pose so." "you think so, then?" "yes, mass' george. injum very 'tupid. come be shot." evening was coming on so fast that it would soon, i felt, be put to the proof, and followed by the boy with his cakes balanced on the shovel held over his shoulder, i went back to our apology for a tent. my coming in awoke my father, and he sat up wincing with pain, but trying hard directly to hide his sufferings from me. "give me your hand," he said. "i must get out now and help." i gave him my hand, and he rose, but sank back with his eyes half closed. "no," he said, sadly; "i have no strength. go out and see what preparations are being made, and--" "here is colonel preston, father," i whispered. it was he, but he was not alone, for the general was with him, and both exclaimed loudly against my father attempting to move, but stayed both of them some time discussing the position, and asking his candid opinion about certain things which they had done for strengthening the defences, and they ended by proposing that i should accompany them as a sort of aide-de-camp, and bear messages to and fro. i followed them, and was soon after going with them from post to post, to see that the men were well supplied with ammunition; and i could not help noticing that in spite of all they had gone through, they looked rested and self-reliant; quite ready in fact for a fresh encounter with our hidden foe. for as the setting sun turned the plantations and edge of the forest to ruddy gold, all was perfectly calm, and for aught we could see there was no sign of an enemy. in fact to judge from appearances the indians might have departed finally to their home, satisfied with the harm they had done. as night fell all fires were extinguished, and we then commenced our dreary watch, every one feeling that the attack was coming, but how soon or from what quarter it was impossible to say. chapter forty eight. i passed the early part of that night now seated in the darkness by my father, now stealing away when i believed him to be asleep, and joining morgan, who was acting as one of the sentries, and had kept pomp by his side so as to make use of his keen young eyes, which seemed to see farther through the darkness of the night than those of any one else in the camp. and as i stood at morgan's side i could not help thinking of the great change that had taken place. only a few hours before the fort was crackling and blazing, huge logs splitting with a loud report, and wreaths of fire and smoke circling up into the lurid sky, while all within the enclosure was lit up, and glistened and glowed in the intense light. now all was gloom, depression, and darkness--a darkness so thick that it seemed to me as if the indians had only to come gently up and select the place to climb over and then carry all before them. i was tired and despondent, and that made me take, i suppose, so dreary a view of my position, as i waited for the enemy's advance. and yet i think my despondency was warranted, for i felt that if the indians attacked they would carry everything before them; and if they did i could not doubt the determination of morgan and his companions. and there i found myself standing beside the man who was ready to put a light to the powder and send everything into chaos--for that he would do it in the emergency i felt sure. i had been backwards and forwards several times, and was standing at last gazing over the fence in silence, trying to convince myself that some objects i saw in the distance were bushes and not indians, when pomp suddenly yawned very loudly. "hush!" whispered morgan, sternly. "pomp can't help um. so dreffle tire." "then keep a sharp look-out, and try if you can't see the indians." "pomp did, but eye got blunt now. why not go look for injum?" "i wish the general would let the boy go," whispered morgan. "he might be able to get in some news." "pomp nebber see noting here. may pomp go, mass' george?" "of course you can't, boy," said morgan, shortly. "go and ask the commanding officer, and see what he'd say to you." pomp yawned, put his arms over the edge of the fence, after getting his feet into a couple of notches, and drawing himself up and resting his chin upon his fists, he stared out into the darkness. "here de injum," he said; and a thrill ran through me as i followed the boy's pointing finger, but could see nothing. "can you, morgan?" "see? no!" he said, pettishly; "but you'd better go and give warning, sir." i hurried off, and found colonel preston with the general, who received my news, and word was passed round to the various sentries, while the colonel made for the reserves in the centre of the enclosure, where in utter silence every man seized his piece, and stood ready to march to the point threatened, while i guided the general to where morgan was stationed. "no, sir. not seen anything, nor heard a sound," said the latter, on being questioned. "it was this boy who saw them." "yes, ober dah," said pomp, pointing. "can you see them now?" "no, sah. all gone." this was unsatisfactory, but the general seemed to have perfect faith in the boy's declaration, and a long exciting watch followed. the indians' habits had grown so familiar that every eye and ear was on the strain, and finger upon trigger, as tree, shrub, and grassy clump was expected momentarily to develop into a foe. the secretive nature of these people made our position at times more painful and exciting, as we knew that at any moment they might come close to us in the darkness, and almost before the alarm could be given, dash up to the palisade and begin climbing over. but the weary hours crept on without any fresh sign, and the opinion began to spread that it was a false alarm, while pomp was so pressed with questions that he slunk away into the darkness. i followed him though, just making him out by his light, white cotton clothes, and saw him at last throw himself down on his face; but he started up into a crouching position, ready to bound away as i came up to him. "no good, mass' george," he said, angrily. "i 'tupid lil nigger, and done know nuff talk. nebber see no injum; nebber see nobody. keep ask say--`are you suah?' `are you suah?' pomp going run away and lib in de tree. nobody b'leeve pomp." "yes, some one does," i said, as i sat down beside him in the darkness; and for the first time i noticed that we were close to the tarpaulin and canvas spread over the powder-kegs. "no. nobody b'leeve pomp. um wish injum come and kill um." "no, you don't," i said; "because you know i believe you, and have often seen that you have wonderful eyes." "eh? mass' george tink pomp got wunful eye?" "yes; you can see twice as well in the dark as i can." "no; mass' george tink pomp 'tupid lil nigger; no good 'tall. pomp go run away." "i shall call you a stupid little nigger if you talk like that," i said. "don't be foolish. i hope the indians will not come any more, and that we shall soon go back home." "injum coming; pomp see um. dey hide; lie flat down on um 'tummuck so; and creep and crawl um." he illustrated his meaning, but crouched down by me again directly. "dat on'y pomp fun," he whispered. "pomp nebber run away from mass' george, and ah!--look dah!" he pointed away into the darkness so earnestly that i stared in that direction, but for some little time i could see nothing. then, all at once, i made out a figure which came cautiously toward where we sat, but turned off and went round to the opposite side of the heap out of our sight, and it was evident that we were not seen. i was going to speak, but just as the words were on my lips i recognised morgan, who must have just been relieved; and as i fully grasped now where we were, i turned cold as ice, and a peculiar feeling of moisture came in the palms of my hands. i wanted to speak, but i could not; i wanted to cry to him hoarsely, but no words would come; and if ever poor fellow suffered from nightmare when he was quite awake, it was i in those terrible moments, during which there was a peculiar rustling, then a loud cracking sound, as if something was being wrenched open and broken, and the tarpaulin was agitated and shaken. my ears were strained to listen to what came next, and that would be, i felt sure, the clicking of a flint and steel; but the sounds did not come, and just as i was at last feeling as if i could bear all this no longer, there was a sound of the tarpaulin falling on the earth, and morgan came softly round and close by again without seeing us, while i crouched there ready to faint, and fully expecting every moment to be swept away by a terrific explosion. "what mass' morgan want?" said pomp at last, as a sudden thought struck me, and mastering the feeling of paralysis which had held me there, i made a dash round to the other side to tear away the slow match which the man must have started, and which would, i supposed, burn for a few moments and then start a train. to my surprise i could see no sparkling fuse nor smell smoke, but concluding that it must be under the tarpaulin, i raised the edge with trembling hands, when pomp said quietly-- "dat powder, mass' george; pomp know. mass' morgan come fess lot more; and oh! what lot tumble all about." his quick eyes had made out that which was invisible to mine; and, after stooping, he held a handful before me. i drew a breath full of relief. i knew now. he had not come to fire the fuse, but to tear open one of the kegs and let a portion of the powder lie loose, so that whoever came to do the terrible deed would only have to discharge his firelock down amongst it, when a spark would explode the whole. "only to be quite ready," i thought, as the desire for life thrilled through my veins. "pomp 'crape it up and put in mass' george pocket," said pomp; and then we both stood away, for there was a flash and the sharp report of a gun. "pomp did see injum, mass' george," said the boy; "and here dey come." another shot, and another, and my heart seemed to leap as i felt that morgan's plan might not be long before execution after all, if the indians made a desperate assault. one minute before, the great enclosure was perfectly still, now it was all excitement; orders rang out; there was the tramp of armed men, as they hurried toward the spot from whence the firing had come. then came a shot from quite the opposite side, fresh orders were shouted, and there was a tramp of feet in that direction, the enemy evidently attacking in two places at once so as to divide our little force. flash after flash now cut the darkness to right and left, and we both stood listening to the quick orders and the curious ringing sound made by the ramrods as the men reloaded. the firing was not rapid, our men seeming to have had instructions to be very careful and only fire when they saw a good chance; but it was kept up steadily, and it was evident that the indians had not succeeded in gaining a footing as yet. "let's run and tell my father what's going on," i said. "he'll be so anxious." i made for the tent, with pomp following, and found my father standing at the entrance, supporting himself on hannibal's arm. "ah, george, my boy," he said, excitedly. "it's hard not to be able to help. who is at the front?" "at the front?" i said, wonderingly. "yes. is any one protecting the palisade between the two points attacked? go and see how many are there; and if few, tell colonel preston to draw the general's attention to the fact. if there are people there, ask his forgiveness for my interference. it is solely from anxiety for our safety." i ran off, followed by pomp, and soon found colonel preston and gave him my father's message, as he was leading some more men to where the firing was fiercest. "yes, yes, of course," he said, angrily. "it is not likely it has been forgotten." i drew back at his words, and felt that i should like the general to have heard my father's message; and just then i came upon morgan running, loaded with ammunition, to the other side. "where is the general?" i asked. "over here, lad, where i'm going. don't stop me." but i did stop him to tell him my father's words. "of course it is!" replied morgan, as sharply as the colonel had spoken. and i have often thought about it since--that such a slip should have been made by two gentlemen, both of whom had had great experience in military matters. but, of course, in the excitement of the double advance, and with so few men at their call, it was easy to think of nothing but repelling that attack, the more especially as there were men posted all round. my answers were so unsatisfactory for taking back to where my father was, that i determined to go over to the part in question, and see how it was for myself. as i hurried on, my course lay round the heap of ashes and burnt wood which had formed the block-house; and curiously weird it all seemed to be, with the flashes and heavy reports of the pieces to right, and left, mingled with the savage yells of the attacking indians, who, as far as i could tell, seemed to be striving to beat back our men from the fence. it was darker than ever as i got round the remains of the fort, and knowing that the ground there was free from impediment, i was in the act of breaking into a trot, when there was a curious stifled sound in front--a noise as of an axe falling on wood; and my companion sprang at me and dragged me back. "mass' george," he whispered, "injum dah. come ober big fence." i was too late, and yet not too late to give warning. "run and tell colonel preston," i said in a whisper. "quick." pomp was too well accustomed to obey to hesitate, and he ran off in one direction round the ruins to where the colonel was defending the palisade, while i darted off in the other, rushed right up to where the general was standing calmly enough giving directions. as i reached him i heard him utter the word, "forward!" and about twenty men moving round, and were evidently going up to the part from which i had come. my news resulted in their recall, and that of the men defending the palisade, orders being given to fall back toward the rough defence made in the centre of the enclosure, which we reached in safety, just as we found that colonel preston's men were falling back towards us, firing as they came, but toward the direction from which the new danger threatened. the way in which the defence had been planned stood us in good stead now, for as our party was halted, waiting for the colonel's men, a loud yelling came from behind the block-house ruins, and the rapid beat of feet told plainly enough that a large body of the enemy had clambered in and were coming on. any want of promptitude would have resulted in the indians getting between our two little forces; but a sharp order was given, and a volley rattled out--the flashing of the pieces showing in a dimly-seen line the fierce faces of our enemies, who appeared to be thrown into confusion, but who still came on, when a second volley was poured into them, and that was followed by one from the colonel's men, the last checking them so effectually that we had time to get well behind the breastwork and reload. i say we, though i was unarmed, but still i had played my part; and as soon as i could get through the men crowded behind our last defence, i hurried to where my father was anxiously awaiting my return, and the report which i had to make. chapter forty nine. "it was a mistake--a mistake," said my father, excitedly; "but i might have made it if i had been in the hurry and excitement there. resting here i had plenty of time to think." at that moment the firing began to be fiercer, and my father groaned aloud. "oh, it is pitiable!" he said, "obliged to lie by here, and not able to help. here, george, go to the front; don't get into danger. keep well under cover. i want you to take pity on me, my boy. do you hear?" "yes, father; but i don't understand." "can't you see my position? i am helpless, and my friends and companions are fighting for our lives. i want you to keep running to and fro so as to let me know what is going on, and--mind this--keep nothing back." "nothing, father?" i said. "nothing." i hesitated a few moments, and then with the reality of the horror impressed more and more by the shouting, yelling, and rapid firing going on, i told him about morgan and the other men, even to finding the opened keg and loose powder. "great heavens!" he muttered as i finished; and i looked at him to hear what more he would say, but he remained silent. "shall i send morgan to you, father?" i said. he remained silent for a few moments, and then said softly-- "no." there was another pause, during which the firing grew more fierce. "george." "yes, father." "go to and fro, as i told you, and keep me well informed till you think matters are growing desperate. then seize your chance, run down to the water's edge, swim to one of the boats, and try and escape." "without you, father?" he caught my hand. "you could not escape with me, my boy," he said. "there, do as i command. i can give you no farther advice, only use your own judgment as to where you will go." "but, father--" "silence! is hannibal there?" he said, raising his voice. "yes, massa." "here, my man," continued my father, as the great black came to him. "you will try and serve me, will you not?" "massa want han do somefin?" "yes. there is great danger from the indians. i want you to stay with and help my son; when the time comes, you will swim with him to a boat, and try and get away." "and carry massa down to the boat?" "no. save my son. now go with him at once." his words were so imperative that we both left him, and i went back toward where the fighting was going on, with han following me like a great black shadow, till, all at once, he touched me on the arm. "yes," i said. "mass' george won't go 'way an' leave his fader?" "no," i replied, fiercely. "we must get him away too, han, and pomp." "suah, suah," said the great fellow, quietly. "could carry de capen down to de boat. find pomp and make him swim out for boat all ready." "yes," i cried, eagerly, "we must save them both." the next minute we were close to where our men fought bravely, driving back the indians, who were close up now, avoiding the firing by crawling right in, and then leaping up suddenly out of the darkness to seize the barrels of the men's pieces, and strike at them with their tomahawks. but they were always beaten back, and twice over i was able to go and tell my father of the success on our side, hannibal following close behind me; but these checks were only temporary. the indians literally swarmed about the frail stronghold, and as fast as they were driven back in one place, they seemed to run along the sides of our defences and begin a fresh attack somewhere else, while our men's firing, being necessarily very ineffective in the darkness, began to lose its effect; the savages, finding how few of them dropped from the discharges, beginning to look upon the guns with contempt. their attacks grew so bold at last, that twice over, as i saw dimly one of our poor fellows go down, i felt that all was over, and that the time had come for me to go and try whether i could get my father away before the last terrible catastrophe, though how it was to be contrived, with the place surrounded as it was by indians, i could not tell. can you think out what my position was, with all this firing and desperate fighting going on, our men striking desperately at the indians to keep them out as they swarmed and leaped up at us; and all the time there were the women, children, and wounded huddled up together in the inner shelter formed of barrels, boxes, and half-burned planks? it was horrible. minute after minute crept by, and i began to blame myself for not going. then a lull would make me determine to wait a little longer, just perhaps as some louder burst of firing made me believe that it was the first keg of powder gone, till a round of cheering told me that it was not, and i was able to go and report that our men were still holding their own. i was returning from one of these visits to my father, picking my way in the darkness over broken guns snapped off at the stock through being used as clubs, and in and out among groaning men over whom the doctor was busy, when all seemed to me to be unusually silent, and then i found that i was able to see a little more as i got right forward to where colonel preston was making his men close up together, and handing fresh ammunition. it was rapidly growing lighter, and i saw dimly enough at a short distance, just behind where the block-house stood, the misty-looking figures of a large body of indians. "look, quick!" i panted. "ah!" exclaimed the colonel. "good! you can see now, my men. hold your fire till they are close in, and then let them have a volley." a low murmur ran along the line of men, and a feeling of elation thrilled me, but only for a deathly cold chill to run through every vein. for this was evidently such a desperate season as morgan or his confederates might choose. i could not stir for the moment. then, as i mastered the horrible feeling of inaction, i drew back and made my way through the confusion within our defences to where i could be opposite to the covered-in kegs, which lay not twenty yards away untouched. the light increased rapidly as it does down south, and i caught sight of a dark figure crawling half-way between our rough works and the tarpaulin. one moment i thought it was a dead or wounded man; the next i recognised morgan by the back of his head, and a cry arose to my lips, but it was drowned by a deafening volley followed by a cheer. i glanced to my left, and saw the body of fully a couple of hundred indians checked and wavering, when a second volley was fired and they fled. the smoke hid the rest from my eyes, and when it rose, morgan was standing close beside me watching the indians, who had all crowded through the palisade where a great piece was torn down, dragging with them their dead and wounded. chapter fifty. "morgan," i whispered, and he started and looked at me wildly, the morning dawn showing his face smeared with blood, and blackened with the grime of powder. "yes, my lad," he said, sadly; "i thought it was all over, and as soon as they were well at their work i meant to fire it." i could not speak, and i knew it would be useless, so i shrank away, and crept back past scores of despairing faces, to where my father lay eagerly waiting for news. as i went i saw that the officers were giving orders for restoring portions of our torn down defences, and that the day had given the men fresh energy, for they were working eagerly with their loaded pieces laid ready, while food and drink were being rapidly passed along the front. "only a temporary check, i'm afraid," said my father, as i described everything. "brave fellows! what a defence! but you have waited too long," he said. "where is that man?" "hannibal?" i exclaimed; "i had forgotten him." for he had evidently glided away in the dark; but almost as i spoke he came up. "boat ready, mass' george," he said. "pomp swam out and got him. waiting to take mass' george and capen." a warning cry just then rang out, and my father caught my arm. "go and see," he whispered; "don't keep me waiting so long." i hurried to the front again, seeing morgan and another man in earnest conversation, but they separated before i reached them, and as morgan went in the direction from whence he would pass out from our piled-up defence to get to the powder, i followed him, seeing now clearly enough he had his gun in his hand. i forgot about my own escape--the coming on of the indians, of whom i had a glimpse outside the palisades--everything, in my intense desire to stop this man from carrying out his terrible plan. i was very near him now, and should have caught him up had i not stumbled over a poor fellow lying in my way, and nearly fallen. as i recovered i could hear a fearful yelling, and saw morgan's hard-set face as he climbed backward down from the boxes, one of the men, whom i recognised as his confederate, helping him by holding his gun. in a wild fit of despair, as i saw morgan's hard-set face, i shouted to him to stop, but my voice was drowned by the yelling of the indians now coming on again with a rush, brandishing their axes, and evidently bent on carrying all before them. as i reached the edge, morgan was half-way to the powder, crawling on his chest, the indians to our left, and the men i was trying to pass firing over morgan's head. they shouted to me, but i glided between two of them; and as they tried to pull me back, han pressed them apart, and the next moment i was creeping after morgan. the firing went on over us, and the indians dashed forward on our left, yelling more loudly than ever. then i heard a volley, and just caught a glimpse of the half-naked figures passing through the smoke. it was but a glance, for my attention was fixed upon morgan, who had now reached the tarpaulin and canvas, thrown it partly aside, examined the priming of his gun, and i thought he was about to fire right into the midst of the powder-kegs, but he turned first to see whether the fight had yet reached the most desperate stage. that was my time, and i leaped upon him, and tried to wrench the gun away, as his wildly desperate face looked into mine. "no, no, morgan," i cried. "you must not; you shall not do that." "let go!" he cried, roughly; and the eyes that glared at mine seemed almost those of a madman. "no," i cried, "i will not." "don't you hear, master george? hark at them; the wretches have begun their work." i still clung to the gun, and turned my head as a wild burst of shrieks rose from behind--the firing had ceased, but the shouting and yelling were blood-curdling, as in that horrible moment i felt sure that our men were beaten, and a massacre had begun. but my father was there, and it seemed too horrible for such a deed as this to be done. if we were to die by the indians' hands, i felt that we must. but quietly stand by and let morgan do this thing i would not, and i clung to the gun. "let go before it's too late, boy," panted morgan, tugging fiercely now to get the gun from me. "no," i panted; "you shall not." "i must, boy. there: hark at them. i shall be too late. look, boy; run for your life. i'll wait till i see you over the big fence first." "no," i panted again; "you shall not." "will you run for your life?" "no!" i cried, as i seemed to see my helpless father stretching out his hands to me. "then i must have it," cried morgan, fiercely, and as we knelt together, he twisted the gun in one direction, then in the other; and, boy as i was in strength, in another moment he would have torn it from my grasp, when a great black hand darted from just behind me, caught morgan by the throat, forced him back, and with a cry of triumph i dragged away the piece, and fired it right away from the powder. "hold him, han," i panted; "he is mad." as if my shot had been the signal, a tremendous volley rang out from beyond the palisade; then another, and another; and the indians, who the moment before were battling desperately, and surmounting our defences as a wild hand-to-hand fight went on, began to give way; then they turned and fled for the gap they had made, while, led by colonel preston, our men dashed after them. "look," i cried. "morgan, we've won!" we all gazed wonderingly as the indians disappeared through the gap in the great fence, when another sharp volley rang out, but the smoke rose from outside. "help has come!" i shouted, and feeling no fear now of morgan putting his desperate plan into action, i ran to join our men and learn what it meant, closely followed by hannibal, morgan coming last. chapter fifty one. our party was cheering loudly as i got up in time to see the indians in full flight toward the forest, and a strong force of men in pursuit, stopping and kneeling from time to time to fire on the retreating savages, who did not attempt to make a stand. for some minutes i could not understand what it meant, nor who our rescuers were, but directly after the word ran round from mouth to mouth--"spaniards--spaniards!" and i turned to see a large ship lying in the river as i ran back to our defences, and past the dead and wounded, to bear my father the news. "one enemy to save us from the other," said my father. "well, better to fall into the hands of civilised people than savages. in this case it will be prison, in the other it would have been death." "but shall we have to give up to them?" i said. "in our helpless state i am afraid so, unless the general and preston hold that we are englishmen still. oh, if i could only get to their side, and join in the council!" "hannibal carry capen," said the great black, who in strict obedience to his orders was at my back. "can you?" cried my father, eagerly. hannibal smiled and took my father up as easily as if he had been a child, starting to carry him just as morgan came up. "stop!" said my father; "let me go in a more dignified way if i can. here, morgan, pick up one of these fire-locks. hannibal, my man, set me down again;" and, after giving his orders, morgan and the black each took hold of one end of the firelock, holding it across him, and my father sat upon it, supporting himself by passing his arms through those of his bearers, and in this fashion he reached the group at the gap in the fence. here an earnest conversation was going on, while the spaniards were still in full pursuit of the indians, chasing them right into the forest, and their shots growing more and more distant. "ah," cried the general, as my father reached the group, "i am glad you have come, bruton. i feel bound in our present strait to take the opinion of all. we are terribly shaken in our position; there are many wounded, and the question we debate is, whether now we surrender quietly to the spaniards, or make one more bold stand." "what does colonel preston say?" said my father, quietly. "fight, sir," cried the colonel, fiercely, "as long as we can fire shot or lift an arm; but the majority are for giving up. what does captain bruton say?" my father was so weak that he could not stand alone, but his eyes were bright still, and he drew back his head as he looked round. "first let me hear what others have to say." one of the settlers took a step forward. "that we have fought like men, sir, but it is too much to attempt more. we have failed in our attempt to establish this colony, so now let us make the best terms we can with the spaniards, and try to get back home. come, captain bruton, you are terribly hurt; you have done all you can. speak out now, sir, like a brave man, who wishes to save further slaughter. you agree with me?" every eye was turned on my father, who, in spite of his quiet ways, had gained enormous influence, and even the general seemed to look at him anxiously as he spoke. "i quite agree with you, sir, that we want peace, and to return home; but this is home--this country that we chose and obtained the king's charter to hold, and to defend against all comers. the spaniards' descent has been most fortunate; but when they come back and arrogantly order us to surrender, there is not surely an englishman here who will give up? i say no. we have our defences nearly perfect still, and half an hour to repair this breach. ammunition in plenty; provisions still for quite a siege. who says surrender? not i." there was a cheer at this, and the general laid his hand on my father's shoulder, crying-- "no one says surrender. quick, men! work!" he issued his orders sharply; they were readily obeyed, and in a very short space of time the gap in the palisade was filled with board, plank, and barrel from the central defence that had been so hotly contested that morning. the barrels were stood up on end and filled with earth, and by the time the spaniards' firing had ceased, and they were returning, our men were posted here and there; and our weakness being hidden, we presented a formidable appearance to the spanish force, as it marched back, and without coming near our weakest part at the back, formed up at a short distance from the well-manned gates. quite a hopeful feeling seemed to have come over men who had been in despair a short hour before, as the ladies and women were put in the enclosure, busy, with the black people, obeying the surgeon's orders. for it was felt that if another encounter took place, it would only be after due warning, and then that we had ordinary enemies to contend against, not the savages, who had received a severe enough lesson to perhaps check further attack. a strong desire too was manifested to make the best of things in our enemies' sight, and stores were attacked, rations served out, and every man who was wounded was disposed to treat it lightly. i cannot explain it, but i know now that in the reaction, all felt as i did--ready to forget pain, weariness, and the peril through which we had passed. we knew that another enemy had come; but though he had driven off the savages, he did not seem at all formidable; and the blacks in their quick, childlike way, taking their tone from us, were soon laughing and chattering, as they made fires, fetched water, and busied themselves about the camp as if nothing unusual was the matter. after seeing my father comfortably lying down and refreshed, i left him to go and find out what was going on in front of the gate, where morgan was one of the little party on guard. as i went up to him he stared at me curiously, and i looked at him, each of course thinking of our encounter, and it appeared to me as if it was something that had occurred a long time ago, and that i ought not to refer to such a horror--at least not till some time in the future, when we could speak of it calmly, as of some adventure of the past. the change in his aspect was striking as i spoke, his face lighting up; and he looked like the morgan of old, as i said, quietly-- "what are the spaniards doing?" "smoking, some of 'em, master george," he said, eagerly. "and some of 'em's eating and drinking; and, look you, the big dons are all together yonder having a sort of confab. think it'll come to a fight with them, sir?" "i don't know. but hasn't any one been up to the gate or brought a message?" "no, sir, and they don't seem to be in any hurry. look!" he made way for me to look over the gate at the little force, which lay about half-way between us and their boats at the river-side, while about a couple of hundred yards away lay their ship, with the spanish flag blown well out by the breeze. the men were standing or lying down, and, as far as i could see, no one had been hurt in their encounter; in fact it had been confined to firing upon the retreating savages. they were taking matters very coolly, all but their leaders, who were evidently holding a council before deciding on their next step. "strikes me, master george," said morgan, "that they're thinking that winning one little battle's enough work for the day, and i shouldn't be much surprised if they went back on board. they don't want to fight us, only to frighten us away." "think so?" i said. "they attacked the indians very bravely." "don't see much bravery in a hundred men firing at a lot of savages who are running away. they never expected to find us all ready for them in a stout stockade, with every man jack of us standing to arms, in full fighting rig, and with our war-paint on." he said this last meaningly, and i shuddered as i thought of what i had seen. "well, i must go back," i said. "my father is anxious to know." "yes, of course sir. then you go and tell him what you've seen, and that i say i don't think they mean fighting; but that if they do, it won't be till after they've had a good parly-parly, and asked us first whether we mean to go." just then there was a burst of talking close by us, and a laugh; the officer in command gave an order or two, and a couple of the men leaned over and held out a hand each. then there was a bit of a scramble, and a curly black head appeared above the gates. the next moment its owner was over, and had dropped down, caught sight of us, and run up. "why, pomp!" i said; "i had forgotten you." "what for send pomp out to boat and no come? pomp dreffle tire, and come back." "i say i had forgotten you." "ah, pomp no forget mass' george," he replied, reproachfully. "eh? lil fire--two lil fire--twent lil fire," he cried, excitedly. "'mell um cook suffum. come 'long, mass' george, i dreffle hungly." i led the way in and out among the busy groups, where, chattering over the fires they had lit, the blacks were making bread or cooking, and every now and then i had to catch hold of pomp's arm and half drag him along, so great was the interest he took in what was going on; for he evidently felt no modesty or shrinking about making his presence known. i soon had my father fully acquainted with the state of affairs, and while i was talking to him, colonel preston came to sit down upon an upturned barrel, and talk for a time about the state of affairs. chapter fifty two. our officers and gentlemen made a very shabby parade that evening, when just before sundown word was passed from the sentries that a party was approaching from the spaniards, and it was decided to go outside and meet them, so as not to show the poverty of our resources within the defences, and the sore straits to which we had been brought. so the general and colonel preston, with about half a dozen gentlemen, went out to meet the new enemy, while morgan contrived that i should, as captain bruton's son, be where i could see and hear all that was going on. and, as i said, our officers and gentlemen made a very shabby parade, for their clothes were torn and stained, and there were no brave uniforms now, such as they wore the last time the spaniards from the south came to demand that we should leave the place. but if they had no scarlet and gold to show, there was a grim sternness about our people that was very impressive, something which taught the visitors that ours were no feather-bed soldiers, but men who could face fire and use the sword. of that party of six who went out to meet the spaniards, there was not one who was not injured, though slightly, while the little body-guard of eight soldiers who followed them was in similar plight. our numbers were hastily selected by the general, on seeing that while a larger number had come away from the main body of the spaniards, only eight approached the gates. everything was done so deliberately that i noticed that the general carried his left arm in a scarf, and that the hair had been all cut away in a patch at the back of colonel preston's head, so as to admit of its being strapped with plaister. another officer had a cut on his left cheek which had divided the lip; another wore a bandage in the shape of a red silk handkerchief, and another carried his injured hand in his breast. one and all had been wounded, but there was not a man who did not seem full of fight, and ready to stand his ground come what might. on the other hand, although they had been in an engagement that day, and had pursued the indians, the spaniards were smooth-looking and well-dressed; not a hair seemed to be out of place, so that they presented a remarkable contrast to our grim-looking set. they paused at a few yards' distance, and i stood gazing over the top of the fence at their dress and weapons, all of which looked clean and well-kept, quite in keeping with the dignified, well-dressed wearers, who were looking at our people with a kind of tolerant contempt. as they drew near, i recognised two of them as being of the party who had come before, and these two spoke to a broad-shouldered, swarthy-looking man, who nodded from time to time as if receiving his instructions. then he stepped forward, looking from one to the other, and said, bluntly-- "which of you is captain?" there was a pause, every one being surprised at hearing our language so plainly spoken. "you can address yourself to me," said the general, quietly. "oh, that's all right then. you see--" "stop a moment," said the general. "you are an englishman?" "i was," said the man; "but i've thrown in my lot here now, and i'm a spaniard." "indeed?" "yes; that's it. i'm settled among them, and they're not bad sort of people, let me tell you. i just say this by way of advice to all of you, who seem to be in a tidy pickle." "were you instructed to say this, sir?" said the general, coldly. "well, no, not exactly; only having once been an englishman, and meeting englishmen, i wanted to do you a good turn if i could." "thank you. now your message." "oh, that's short enough. the don here says i'm to tell you that he is glad he arrived in time to save your lives, all of you, for if he hadn't come you'd all have been massacred." "go on," said the general. "and that he supposes you see now what a mad trick it was to come and settle down here among the indians. let me see; what was next?" muttered the man; and he turned sharp round, and spoke to the spanish leader for a minute or so, and then came back and went on-- "that he came once before and gave you fair warning that you were trespassing on the lands of his majesty the king of spain, and that he wants to know how soon you are going." "is that all?" "yes," said the man, "i think that's about all. it isn't exactly what he said, because spanish lingo's awkward stuff to put into plain english; but that's about what it all meant; and, speaking as a friend, i should advise you to get a passage up north as soon as you can." "thank you." "shall i say you're going to sheer off?" "tell your leader or officer, sir," said the general, coldly, "that his message is insulting." "oh, come, now," said the man, "it was as civil as could be." "that we are here in the dominion of his majesty the king of england, upon our own lands, and that his demand is absurd. i do not wish to be insulting in return for the service he has done us and his own people by giving these savages so severe a lesson, but you may ask him what he would say if i came down with a strong party and ordered him and his people to quit the spanish settlement." "am i to tell him that?" said the ambassador. "yes; and that we are here, and mean to stay, even to holding our homes by force of arms if it is necessary." "oh!" said the man, staring and looking from one to the other. "isn't that foolish talk! you see we are very strong, while you are--" "not so very weak as you think for, sir." "but i'm sure you don't want us to turn you all out by force, and burn down your settlement, though it seems to me as if there isn't much left to burn," he added, as he glanced round at the distant heaps of burned timber and ashes. "we will build it all up ready for you, sir, against your expedition comes," said colonel preston, sharply. "oh, come, come," said the man; "that's all brag. look here: take my advice, make friends with the dons here, and let me say you'll pack off quietly, because they mean mischief if you do not go." "you have had my answer, sir," said the general, haughtily. "tell your leader that, for his own sake, i hope he will not drive us to extremities. we are prepared to fight, and fight we shall to the end." "oh, very well," said the man, in a grumbling tone; "i'm only a messenger. i've given our people's orders, and now i'm ready to take back yours. only don't say, when you're all made prisoners and marched off to our plantations, that i didn't as an englishman give you a timely hint." the general bowed, and the man stood staring at him for a few moments, and then from one to the other, in an undecided way. "then you won't go?" he said at last. the general made a sign to colonel preston. "no, sir; we will not go," said the latter, firmly. "oh, very well. 'tarn't my fault. i like peace, i do; but if you will have it rough, why, it's your own fault." he turned away, and talked to the two leading spaniards for a few moments, the elder of the two stamping his foot imperiously as he frowned and pointed to us. the man shrugged his shoulders, and came back. "look here," he said, roughly; "the dons say they won't stand any nonsense, and you are to go." "tell him he has had his answer, preston," said the general. "oh, yes, i know about that answer," said the man; "and i'm to tell you that if you do not give up at once, you will all be driven off, and you must expect no mercy then." the colonel glanced at the general, who nodded, and the former said, half-mockingly-- "tell your leaders we are here, and if the king of spain wishes for this part of his britannic majesty's possessions, he will have to send a stronger force than you have brought, to take it; and as for you, my friend, your position as a kind of envoy protects you; but if i were you i should be careful. your speech tells me plainly that you have been a sailor." "well, suppose i have," said the man, sharply. "and i should say that you have deserted, and become a renegade." "what?" "i would not speak so harshly to you, but your conduct warrants it. an englishman to come with such cowardly proposals to your fellow-countrymen! faugh!" the man seemed to grow yellow as he gazed at the colonel; then, turning away, he spoke hurriedly to the two spanish officers, who stood gazing at our party for a few moments, then bowed, and stalked back. "well, preston," said the general; "shall we have to give up?" "to them?" cried the colonel, sharply. "no! do you know what bruton will say?" "how can i?" "well, sir, he will say, `let them come, and if they drive us out of here, we will retire into the forest.' but, bah! i am not afraid. all spanish bombast. ah, young bruton, what do you say to this?" he continued, as they entered the gates, and he caught sight of me. "i'm not old enough to say anything about it," i replied; "but i think a great deal." "and what do you think?" said the general, smiling, as he laid his hand upon my shoulder. "that they will be afraid to fight, sir." chapter fifty three. a strict watch was kept on the spaniards, while everything possible was done in the way of preparation for an attack, possibly a double attack for aught we knew. it was quite probable that, in spite of their defeat, the indians would return that night, perhaps in greater strength, to come on just at the same time as the spaniards. "and then," said morgan, "what the officers ought to do is to keep us all out of the way, and let 'em fight it out between them." but that such an encounter was not likely to occur i soon saw, for the spaniards after a long talk together slowly marched back to their boats, and rowed to the ship lying at anchor in the river; and after a night of watchfulness, the sun rose again without our being assailed either from water or land. as soon as it was light, work was recommenced, and our defences strengthened; but it was soon found that the defenders would be much fewer in number, for many of the men who, in spite of their wounds, held up on the previous day, were unable to leave their rough couches, and had to resign themselves to the surgeon's orders, to have patience and wait. all the same though, a fairly brave show was made, when towards midday boats were seen to leave the ship again and row to the shore. then, after landing a strong body of well-armed men, they put back a little, cast out grapnels, and waited while those landed marched right for the enclosure. there appeared to be no hesitation now, and as memories of the brave old deeds of the spaniards came up, it was felt that in all probability a fiercer fight was in store for us than those which we had had with the indians. but not a man flinched. the perils they had gone through seemed to have hardened them, and made them more determined. so that our stockade was well-manned, and in breathless silence all waited for the attack. it was dangerous, of course, and i knew the risk, but i could not resist the temptation of trying to see the encounter, and, well down to one side of the gateway, i watched the coming on of the spaniards. there was no waiting for dark, or stealthy approach; they did not even spread to right and left to search for a weaker point, such as they would have found right at the back, but came boldly up toward the gate, as being the proper place to attack, halted about a hundred yards away, and then an officer and two men advanced, in one of whom i recognised the interpreter of the previous day. they came right on, the englishman shouting to us not to fire, and then asking, as he came close, to speak with an officer. colonel preston appeared, and the messenger called upon us to surrender. "and if we do not?" said the colonel. "the gate will be stormed at once, and very little mercy shown," said the man, speaking dictatorially now, as if he had caught the manner of his spanish companions. "very well," said the colonel. "you can storm, and we'll defend the place." the envoys went back with our defiance, and there was a short consultation, followed by a rapid advance, a halt about fifty yards away, and then a volley was fired by about fifty men, who uttered a shout, and made a rush for the gate. i heard the word "fire." there was a scattering answer to the spaniards' volley; but instead of its proving harmless, about a dozen men fell, and began to crawl or limp back, after rising, to the rear. this checked the advance by quite half, and only half of these came on much farther, the rest dropping back rapidly till of the brave force who attacked, only one ran right up to the gate, and he, a handsome-looking young officer, struck it fiercely with his sword, shouted something in spanish, and then began to go back, but keeping his face to us defiantly all the time. a dozen pieces were raised to fire at him, but the colonel struck them up, and showed himself above the gate, to raise his hat to the young officer, who, half laughingly, half bitterly, returned the salute. morgan told me afterwards what colonel preston said: that if there had been fifty men like this one the stockade could not have been held. but there were not, for when the wounded spaniards had been carried down to the boats, and a line was formed for a fresh attack, a loud murmur arose; and, as plainly as if i had heard every word, i made out that the men would not advance, and that the officer threatened to go alone. then one man only ran to his side, and they two advanced together, trying to shame the spaniards to attack. but they were not shamed a bit, but let those two come right on, when, as they reached to within twenty yards of the gate, our men sent up a hearty cheer, for the one who accompanied the spanish officer was the englishman. "bravo!" cried colonel preston. "hallo, there, you renegade; you're a brave man after all. tell the spanish officer i salute him as one worthy of all respect." the officer raised his hat as this was interpreted to him. "now tell him," continued the colonel, "not to risk his life in another advance. an accidental shot might injure him, and i should be most grieved." "are you mocking him, sir? he says," shouted the man. for answer, colonel preston leaped down from over the gate and advanced, morgan following him. i saw the spanish officer start at this, and advance sword in hand to the attack; but colonel preston sheathed his. "tell him," he said aloud,--"no, there is no need to tell him; he can understand this.--sir, i wish to take the hand of a gallant officer in mine," and he stretched out his hand. the spanish officer lowered the point of his sword, and after a moment's hesitation changed it into his left hand. "you can tell him that i do not mean treachery or trying to take prisoners," said the colonel. his words were interpreted, and the spanish officer said something hastily in reply. "says, sir, that he cannot take your hand, but respects you all the same." at that moment the spaniards began firing, and this roused our men into replying, a sufficiently perilous position for the group between them, till the young officer ran towards his men, holding up his sword; but before the spaniards had ceased our fire was silenced, for i saw the general run here and there, shouting angrily. "that was a risky proceeding of yours, preston," said the general, as the colonel came back within the fence. "yes, sir; a foolish, undisciplined act," replied the colonel; "but i felt carried away by the bravery of that young fellow, deserted as he was by his cowardly crew." "i cannot blame you," said the general, "for i felt similarly moved." little more was said, for every one was intent upon the proceedings of the enemy, who drew back about a hundred yards, and then formed up with military precision, apparently previous to making a determined advance together; but a full hour passed, and no advance was made. two officers came ashore from the ship with ten more men, and we were all kept in a state of tension, momentarily expecting to have to defend ourselves against a desperate attack. but none came, and soon after the whole force marched down to the boats and embarked, while a couple of hours later the ship was going slowly down the big river with the tide. now it might have been expected that on seeing this our men would have burst into a triumphant cheer, but they did not, but stood watching the ship in silence. for there seemed to be something too solemn for words or any display of exultation. utterly worn out with fighting and watching, and feeling as if we had all been rescued from death, men moved about gravely and quietly, and i saw group after group where gentlemen and ordinary working men, old soldiers who had come out there to that pleasant land believing they had for ever turned their swords into shares and pruning-hooks, were seated holding the hands of their wives, and with their children on their knees, their heads bent, and the tears streaming down the women's faces; and i know that a heartfelt thanksgiving went silently up to heaven that night for the escape we had all had. but still there was the feeling of insecurity afloat, which caused the greatest precautions to be taken. the forest was not far distant, and for aught we knew the indians might again come on. so sentries were placed, to be relieved after short watches, and i fully intended to take my turn when i lay down; but, just as it was once before, almost as i began thinking, all became blank, and the next thing i remember was waking up, feeling ashamed of my neglect, to find that once more it was broad day. chapter fifty four. morgan and i had more than one long talk that next day about the spaniards and the pusillanimous way in which they had behaved; but not until a good deal had been done to make our tent comfortable, and that in which poor sarah was lying, mending fast, but still very weak. a great deal too had to be done for the wounded, who bore their sufferings with wonderful patience, and were delighted when i went and sat with them, and talked over the different phases of the fight. morgan was sentry once more in the afternoon, and after seeing my father comfortably asleep, i went across to him, where he was keeping a sharp look-out for the indians; but so far there had been no sign, and we began talking about the wounded, and how long it would be before they were stirring again. "ah, a long time, sir," he said. "you can make a man weak with a shot or a cut with a sword. it's done in a moment, but it takes months to make one strong." "i say, morgan," i whispered, "don't you think the general ought to have a place dug and made for that powder?" he turned sharply and looked me full in the eyes, but instead of answering my question, he said-- "you see, master george, they were regularly cheated over us." "who were--the indians?" "the indians? no; the spanish." "he will not talk about the powder business," i said to myself. "he always turns it off." "you see, sir," he continued, as he softly rubbed the barrel of his piece to get rid of some of the rust that had encrusted it, "they expected to find us a set of quiet spade-and-hoe-and-wheelbarrow sort of people, quite different to them, as are looked upon as being so warlike and fierce." "and so we are, morgan." "and so we are, lad. we came out here to dig and live, and be at peace, with our barrows; but that doesn't mean that we haven't got the fighting stuff in us, ready for use when it's wanted. i don't want to fight, and i save my fists for digging, but they are fists all the same, sir." "yes, of course." "yes, of course, sir. but they spanish didn't understand that. they thought that in spite of what was said last time they came, all they had to do was to make a show, and order us off, and we should go; so they made a show by shooting at the indians; and i'll be bound to say that every time the spanish officers cried `fire!' they thought they were frightening us too." "but they didn't, morgan." "not a bit, sir. wrong stuff. they made a great big mistake, and when they get back to flori--what is it?" "florida." "ah, florida, i should say there'll be a good bit o' trouble, for they were meant to do more than they contrived. you see, when they fired, the indians ran, and they followed them up, and fired again, and the indians ran faster. then by and by they came and fired at us." "and we did not run, morgan." "no, sir, not a bit; and as somebody had to run--one side must, you see--why, they did. you see we didn't look nice. we'd been at it, look you, and got the marks of battle on us to show that we could do something, and it was rather startling to men coming on to attack a place. first beginning of fighting one feels a bit squeamish; after that one don't. we'd got over our squeamishness; they hadn't, for i don't count their bit of firing as anything. think they'll come back, sir?" "if they do, it will be with a war-ship, and great guns," i said. "not as they did this time." "then i don't think they'll come at all, sir, for bringing a war-ship means big business, and our having war-ships too to keep them off. do you know, i begin to think that we shall have a holiday now, so as to go back home." day after day glided by, and in the rest and relief it seemed as if quite a new life was opening out for us. my father was mending rapidly, and sarah was well enough to insist upon busying herself about many little matters to add to our comfort. hannibal only seemed to me to be dull and quiet, while pomp was at me every day about going out somewhere, and looked as if he were a prisoner chained by the leg when told that he must not stray from camp. there had been repeated discussions, so my father told me, over the all-important question of giving up our watchful life, and beginning once more to take to that of peace; but it was still deemed advisable to wait, and another week glided away, made memorable by the deaths of two of the brave fellows who had been wounded. it was the evening after the last of these two had been sadly laid in his resting-place, that morgan startled me by saying suddenly-- "he's only a black, certainly, master george, but somehow one's got to like him." "why, what has pomp been doing now?" i said. "i was talking about his father, sir." "hannibal? well, what of him? i haven't seen him to-day--no; now i come to think of it, nor yesterday neither." "no; he hasn't been up." "why, morgan," i said, "i was out round the plantations yesterday with colonel preston, and i've been with my father and sarah all to-day; is poor old hannibal ill?" "very bad, i think, sir. i asked the doctor to go and see him." i ran off to the rough tent he and pomp had contrived for themselves, and to my horror i found the doctor inside, and that my father had contrived to get there by the help of a couple of sticks. "i didn't know han was ill," i exclaimed. "hush! don't speak loud," said the doctor. "the poor fellow is in a serious condition." i crept into the hut to find pomp on his knees by his father's head, and with his face buried in his hands, while a startled feeling came over me as i saw how still and helpless the great broad-shouldered giant lay, his brow wrinkled up, and his cheeks hollow; but his countenance changed as he caught sight of me. "mass' george," he said, and he tried to raise one of his hands. "oh, hannibal!" i cried. "i did not know you were so ill. pomp, why didn't you tell me?" the boy raised his face all wet with tears, and his eyes swollen. "how pomp know?" he cried. "fader nebber tell um." "don't talk, hannibal, my man," said my father, gently. "we none of us knew, my boy. the poor fellow was wounded, and has been going about all this time with an arrow-head in his side, saying nothing, but patiently bearing it all. my poor brave fellow," he continued, taking the man's hand, "you have always been risking your life in our defence." "han belong to mass' capen," he said, feebly, as he smiled at us. "if arrow not hit um, hit massa." "what!" said my father, eagerly, as if he suddenly recollected something; "was it that night when you dragged me back, as the arrows flew so fast?" hannibal smiled, and clung to the hand which held his. "yes; i remember now feeling you start," said my father. "yes--what is it?" he leaned over the rough bed that had been made for the wounded man, for the black's lips moved. "massa do somefin for han?" he said. "my poor fellow, only speak," said my father, who was much moved, while i felt choking. "if han die, massa be kind to pomp?" "no," cried the boy, with a passionate burst of grief, "pomp die too." "and massa george be good to um." "oh, han," i cried, in a broken voice, as i knelt on the opposite side to my father, and held the poor fellow's other hand. he looked keenly in both our faces, and though neither of us spoke, he was satisfied, and half closed his eyes. "han sleep now," he said. just then the doctor bent in at the opening of the tent, and signed to us to come out, and we obeyed. "let him sleep, boy," he whispered to pomp. "don't speak to him, but if he asks for anything fetch me." pomp nodded; he could not answer, and we accompanied the doctor to his rough tent only a few yards away. "well?" he said to me as i caught his hand, and questioned him with my eyes. "do you mean can i save him? i don't know; but i do know this-- if it had been a white his case would have been hopeless. the poor fellow must have been in agony; but i have extracted the arrow-head, and these blacks have a constitution that is wonderful. he may recover." "please god!" i said to myself, as i walked right away to try and get somewhere quite alone to sit down and think. for i was beginning to waken to the fact of how much i cared for the great kind-hearted, patient fellow, who had all along devoted his life to our service, and in the most utter self-denial offered that life in defence of ours. ever since the departure of the spaniards i had slept soundly, but that night i passed on my knees by poor old hannibal's pillow. it was a strange experience, for the poor fellow was delirious, and talked rapidly in a low tone. his thoughts had evidently gone back to his own land and other scenes, but i could not comprehend a word. pomp was there too, silent and watchful, and he whispered to me about how the doctor had cut his father's side, and it took all my powers of persuasion and insistence, upon its being right, to make the boy believe that it was to do the wounded man good. "if mass' george say um good," he said at last, "pomp b'leeve um. oh, pomp poor fader. pomp die too," he sobbed. "he shan't die," i cried, passionately. "don't talk like that." there was silence for a time, and then the poor fellow began to mutter again. "what does he say?" i whispered; but the boy broke down, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed. but after a time, in broken tones, he told me that his father was talking about dying down in the hold of the stifling ship, and about being brought ashore. "dat all pomp hear," whispered the boy. "talk 'tuff. done know what." it was a long, long, weary night, but towards morning the poor fellow slept peacefully, and soon after daylight the doctor was there, as indefatigable in his attentions as he had been over my father, for the colour of a man's skin did not trouble him. "less fever," he said to me. "i've got a nurse for him now, so you go and get some sleep." i was about to protest, but just then i saw who the nurse was, for sarah stooped down to enter the shelter, and i knew that poor old hannibal would be safe with her. chapter fifty five. that day the embargo was taken off, and one by one the settlers began to return to their homes, those whose houses were standing sharing them with the unfortunates whose places had been burned, so that at night the camp wore a peculiarly silent and solemn aspect, one which, depressed as i felt by hannibal's state, seemed strange indeed. a certain number of men stayed in the enclosure, and there were ten wounded in our temporary hospital; but the doctor set others of those who had crowded the place free. one thing struck me directly, and that was the change in pomp, who could hardly be persuaded to leave his father's side, but sat holding his hand, or else nestled down beside him, with his black curly head just touching the great black's arm, and gently raising it whenever i went to the tent. i can recall it all very vividly as i now write these my recollections of the early incidents in my life, and how in the days which followed i gradually found that hannibal fully justified the doctor's words about his fine healthy state; for after the first few days, during which his life seemed to be on the balance, he rapidly began to mend, and his being out of danger was the signal for a change. my father had been talking about it for quite a month, but our friends at the settlement persuaded him to stay in the quarters that had been rigged up for us, and nothing could have been kinder than the treatment we received. it was always pointed out by the settlers that at any time the indians might return, and a fresh expedition be on foot from florida, though this was looked upon as of little consequence, every one feeling that if the block-house were rebuilt, and the enclosure strengthened, we could laugh any spanish attack to scorn. with this in view, and with an eye to the attack of the indians, very little was done in the way of rebuilding houses and cottages, but the whole strength of the settlement was devoted to the rebuilding of our little fort, and the strengthening of the stockade; and so much energy was thrown into the work by the little white and black population that a stronger building was erected, and left to be finished off afterwards. i remember well standing with morgan one day, and seeing the powder-kegs, which had for safety been buried under a heap of sand, disinterred and borne into the new cellar-magazine prepared for them early in the making of the block-house. nothing was said for some time, but all at once, as our eyes encountered, morgan exclaimed-- "there, it's of no use for you to keep looking at me like that, master george; i know what you are thinking about." "do you?" "yes, i just do; and i teclare to cootness, i feel as if it would have been right. the only thing against it that i can see is, that i was rather in too great a hurry." "but it was utter madness," i said, with a shudder. "ah, you say so now, sir, because help came, and we were saved; but how would it have been if the indians had got the mastery, as they nearly did? there is nothing that they stop at in the way of torture and murder, and it would have been a blessing for an end to have been made of us all at once." "well," i said, "don't talk about it. let's be thankful we were saved." "oh, i won't say another word, sir, and i wouldn't have spoken now, only you're always looking at me in an aggravating manner." "ah, well, morgan," i replied; "the powder's being put out of sight now, and i will not think about it any more." "yes, sir," he said, as a man lifted a keg; "and if i had my way in the world, it should never be brought out again." "and suppose the indians came?" "didn't i say if i could have my own way in the world, sir? if i did the indians wouldn't come, nor the spaniards neither--you said it was spaniards didn't you? i always thought it was spaniels." "yes; spaniards. and suppose they come?" "bah! who cares for them? why, i'd send them flying with a regiment of men armed with spades, and strict orders given only to use the flat side." i burst out laughing, for somehow everything seemed bright and happy once more, and in the midst of my mirth a quick, eager voice exclaimed-- "what mass' george laugh upon? tell pomp. pomp want laugh too." i told him, and as he could not appreciate the comicality of morgan's remark, he looked sulky and full of doubt for a few moments, but showed his white teeth directly after. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it did not seem long after that the four largest boats of the settlement were loaded deep down with timbers and planks, to supplement those which lay just under the trees by the rattlesnake clearing, and now well seasoned and dry. many of them had been carried here and there during the flood, but being ready cut down when the clearing was made, they were hunted up at the first thought of the return to build up our house, and dragged out of spots where they had been overgrown with the rapidly-sprung-up verdure. expeditions had been sent out several times toward the indians' country, but as no signs of the savages were seen, our confidence rapidly increased, and some of my happiest hours were passed with pomp, hunting out these logs and planks, and marking the spots with a blaze from an axe on the nearest tree. then a strong party came over from the settlement on the day the boats were despatched, travelled across rapidly, knocked up a shed of the planks and newly-sawn-up boards unloaded at our landing-place from the boats, and i honestly believe the two happiest people there that day among the strange party of blacks, who carried the wood along the forest path, were pomp and hannibal, who, though far from strong, insisted upon his being well enough to help. so many willing bands were there who came over in a couple of boats morning by morning, that with the help of the blacks camped in the rough shed, a fortnight had not passed before the nucleus of our home was up, sufficient for shelter, the finishing and improvements being left to come by degrees. i believe that the sight of our home slowly rising from the ruins did more to give my father back his strength than anything done by the doctor, but perhaps that is ungrateful. but be that as it may, it was a pleasure to see him. "only look at the captain," morgan said to me one morning, two days after our friends had gone back. "don't he look lovely again, sir?" "well, i don't know about lovely. i thought that about sarah." "now, don't you make fun," said morgan, giving a heap of wood ashes a tap with his spade, to make it lie close in his rough barrow, whose wheel was a section sawn off the end of a very round-trunked pine, and tired by nailing on the iron hooping from a cask. "don't you send that ash flying and smothering me," i cried, as pomp, who was helping load and wheel the heap to the garden, began to sneeze violently. "then you shouldn't make fun of a woman, sir, because she's plain." "i didn't," i said, stoutly. "i meant lovely and well. and if you say your wife's plain again, i'll go and tell her so. she's the dearest old motherly body that ever lived." morgan drove his spade down into the earth, took my hand, and shook it solemnly, pomp, who had ceased sneezing, looking on wonderingly the while. "thankye, master george, thankye, sir; so she is--so she is." pomp came forward and held out his hand. "well, what now?" growled morgan. "tought mass' morgan want shake hand," said the boy. "get out with you, sir. wheel that barrow right on to the bed next to the last load." pomp seized the handles, went off with the barrow, caught the edge against the stump of a tree, one of the many not yet grubbed up, upset the ashes, and bounded off into the forest, to stand watching us from behind a tree, as if in dread of punishment; but seeing me roaring with laughter, he came cautiously back, grinning as if it was after all an excellent joke. "there, shovel it up again, boy," said morgan, good-temperedly; "it was an accident." "iss, mass' morgan, all um axden," cried the boy, working away. "one can't be very cross with him, master george; he's such a happy young dog, and somehow, after all the trouble, i feel too happy, and so does sarah; and to see her smile, sir, at getting a bit of a shelf put up in her new kitchen, and to hear her talk about the things the captain sent for from england--lor', sir, it would do you good." "lubbly 'tuff!" cried pomp, as he scraped up the fallen wood ashes. "what's lovely stuff?" i said. "all dat, mass' george. mass' morgan say make um rings grow, and wish dah twenty times as much." "ah, that i do," cried morgan. "wish i had--" "mass' morgan like injum come burn down house 'gain make more?" "no, you stupid little nigger," cried morgan; "of course not." _flop_! down went the spade, and pomp began to stalk away sulkily, working his toes about--a way he had of showing his annoyance. "hi! stop!" i cried; "where are you going?" "pomp go jump in um ribber, and let de ole 'gator eat um." "nonsense! what for?" "mass' morgan call um 'tupid lil nigger. allus call um 'tupid lil nigger, and hurt pomp all over." "no, no; come along. morgan didn't mean it." "eh? you no mean it, mass' morgan?" cried the boy, eagerly. "no, of course not. you're the cleverest boy i ever knew." "dah, mass' george, hear dat. now see pomp wheel dat barrow, and neber spill lil bit ob ashums, and nex' time he go over oder place, he bring um pockets full for mass' morgan garden." "he's a rum un, sir," said morgan, "but somehow i like him. rather like to paint him white, though. lor', master george, what a treat it is to be getting down the weeds again. look at old han, how he is giving it to 'em. i'm 'bliged to check him a bit though, sometimes; he aren't quite strong yet. here's the captain." "well, morgan," said my father, as he came up, "how soon do you think we might plant a few creepers about the house? the finishing and glazing need not interfere with them." "oh, we can't put in any more, sir." "what? why not? i particularly want two of those wild vines to be put in." "did put 'em in before you come out this morning, sir, and the 'suckle and passion-flowers too. they'll be up a-top of the roof before we know where we are." my father looked pleased, and turned to examine the young plants that had been set. "does me good, master george, to see the captain coming round as he is. quite takes to the garden again. but dear, dear! it's in a melancholy state." "nonsense!" i cried; "why, it's wonderful how well it looks." "wonderful? well, sir, i wouldn't have thought you could talk in that way of such a wilderness. why, even old han there, in his broken english savage way, said he was ashamed of it." "oh, well, i'm not," i said. "it's glorious to be able to get back once more to the dear old place. i say, though, you don't want pomp any longer?" "ah, but i do, sir. why?" "i want to row up and have a bit of fishing. it does seem so long since i've had a turn." "eh? who said go fis?" cried pomp, sharply. "mass' george go fish? catch terrapum, and take de gun?" "morgan says he can't spare you." "oh!" exclaimed pomp; but morgan smiled one of his curious dry smiles, as he took off his hat and pointed with the corner. "just you go to the far end of the shed, pomp, and you'll find in the damp place an old pot with a lot of bait in it as i put ready. on'y mind this, it's not to be all games." "what do you mean?" i said, for pomp had rushed off to get the bait. "bring us a bit o' fish. be quite a treat." half an hour after pomp and i were pulling up the river close in beneath the over-spreading boughs, ready to shout for joy as the golden sunbeams came down through the leaves and formed a lace-work of glory on the smooth deep water. every now and then there was a familiar rustle and a splash, a flapping of wings, and a harsh cry as a heron or stork rose from his fishing-ground; then some great hawk hovered over the stream, or we caught sight of the yellow and orange of the orioles. pomp was for rowing on and up to a favourite spot where there was a special haunt of the fish, where the stream curved round and formed a deep pool. but i felt as if i must stop again and again to let the boat drift, and watch humming-birds, or brightly-painted butterflies and beetles, flitting here and there, so that it was quite a couple of hours before we reached the spot, and suddenly turned the curve of the river into the eddy. as we did so silently i turned to look, and sat there petrified for a few moments, before i softly laid my hand on pomp's arm. he turned round sharply and saw what i did--a party of six indians on the opposite bank. before either of us could dip oar again we were seen; there was a deep, low exclamation, and the party turned and plunged into the forest and were gone. with one sweep of my oar i sent the boat round into the stream, and we rowed back as rapidly as we could, expecting to hear arrows whizzing by us every moment. but we reached the landing-place in safety, secured the boat, and ran to the newly-erected house to give the alarm. i saw my father's brow contract with agony, but he was prompt in his measures. "we will face them here," he said, "if they come." and, summoning in morgan and hannibal, the door and windows were barricaded, the weapons loaded, and we waited for the attack. but we waited in vain. the severe lesson dealt to the indians by our people and the spaniards had had its result, and though i had not understood it then, the savages were more frightened of us than we of them; and the very next day, while we were still expecting attack, colonel preston came over from the settlement in company with the doctor, who wished to see his three patients once again, while the former announced a visit from some of the chiefs to make peace with our people, and to ask permission to trade. that was the last alarm we had from the indians, who would often come afterwards to barter skins, and some of their basket-work, with venison and fish, for knives and tobacco. and in the course of time my father and i had them for guides in many a pleasant hunting expedition, and for allies against the spaniards, when they resumed their pretensions to the country, and carried on a feeble, desultory warfare, which kept the settlement always on the alert, but never once disturbed us, for our home lay quite out of their track and beyond them, when they came up the river upon one of their expeditions. at such times my father always answered the call to arms; and as time went on, in addition to morgan and the black, he had two great strapping fellows in pomp and me--both young and loose-jointed, but able hands with a firelock. such calls were exciting; but after two or three, so little damage was done, that they ceased to cause us much anxiety; and after a bold attempt or two at retaliation, in which the war was carried right into the spaniards' own land, and away up to their floridan fort, matters gradually settled down. for our settlement had prospered and increased, the broad savannahs grew year by year into highly-cultivated cotton land; the sugar-cane nourished; coffee was grown; and as the plantations spread, the little settlement gradually developed into a town and fort, to which big ships came with merchandise from the old country, and took back the produce of our fields. then as the town increased, and the forest disappeared in the course of years, we found ourselves in a position to laugh at the pretensions of the spaniards. but over all that there seems to hang a mist, and i recall but little of the troubles of those later days. it is of the early i write--of the times when all was new and fresh; and i have only to close my eyes to see again our old home surrounded by forest, that was always trying to reclaim the portions my father had won; but the skirmishers of nature gained nothing, and a pleasant truce ensued. for my father was too wealthy to need to turn his land into plantations and trouble himself about the produce; he loved to keep it all as he had made it at first, save that now and again pleasant little additions were made, and the comforts of civilisation were not forgotten. but as time went on, and i grew up, my pleasant life there had to come to an end, and i was obliged to go out into the world as became a man. it was my great delight though as the years rolled on to get down south for a month's stay at the old place, and with hannibal and pomp for companions, and an indian or two for guides, to penetrate the wilds for days and days together, boating, fishing, shooting, and studying the glories of the wondrous water-ways of the forest and swamps. such trips seemed always fresh, and when i returned there was the delightful old home in which my father had elected to end his days; and i picture one of those scenes outside the embowered house with its broad veranda, and the pretty cottages a couple of hundred yards away beyond the noble garden, morgan's pride. the home was simple still, for my father did not increase his establishment, save that a couple of young black girls elected to come from the settlement to place themselves under old sarah's management. i should not have mentioned this but for one little incident which took place two years after. i had been in england for a long stay, and at the termination of my visit i had taken passage, landed at the settlement, made a hasty call on two old friends, and then walked across to my father's, where, after my warm welcome from within doors, including a kiss from our sarah for the great swarthy man she always would call "my dear boy," i went out to have my hand crunched by grey-headed old morgan, and to grasp old hannibal's broad palm as well. "why, where's pomp?" i said. "him heah, mass' george," was shouted from the direction of one of the cottages. "i come, sah, but she juss like 'tupid lil nigger. come 'long, will you; mass' george won't eat you." i opened my eyes a little as i recognised in the smart, pleasant-looking black girl by his side, salome, one of the maids i had seen at the cottage before i sailed for europe. "why, pomp," i said, laughing, "what does this mean?" "dab juss what i tell her, mass' george," he cried. "i know you be quite please, on'y she all ashame and foolis like." "but, pomp, my good fellow, you don't mean--" "oh yes, i do, mass' george; and i know you be dreffle glad--dat my wife." yes; i can picture it all--that old plantation life started by brave-enduring englishmen, who were ready to face stern dangers, and determined to hold their own--picture it all more vividly than perhaps i have done for you; but as far as in me lay, i have tried to place before you who read the incidents of a boy's life in those distant days; and if i have been somewhat prosy at times, and made much of trifles, which were serious matters to us, forgive my shortcomings as i lay down my pen. the end. produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington, volume iv georgia narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of georgia informants telfair, georgia thomas, cordelia thomas, ike toombs, jane mickens town, phil [tr: in the interview, he's named phil towns.] upson, neal van hook, john f. vinson, addie virgel, emma walton, rhodus ward, william , washington, lula willbanks, green williamson, eliza willingham, frances willis, adeline willis, uncle [tr: willis bennefield in combined interview.] winfield, cornelia womble, george [tr: also called wombly in the interview.] wright, henry young, dink walton combined interviews [excerpts from slave interviews] adeline eugene mary rachel laura matilda easter carrie malinda amelia [four slaves interviewed by maude barragan, edith bell love, ruby lorraine radford] ellen campbell rachel sullivan eugene wesley smith willis bennefield [tr: uncle willis in individual interview.] [folklore] emmaline heard rosa and jasper millegan camilla jackson anna grant emmaline heard compilations [richmond county] folklore conjuration folk remedies and superstitions mistreatment of slaves slavery work, play, food, clothing, marriage, etc. transcriber's notes: [tr: the interview headers presented here contain all information included in the original, but may have been rearranged for readability. also, some ages and addresses have been drawn from blocks of information on subsequent interview pages. names in brackets were drawn from text of interviews.] [tr: some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added to interview headers in brackets. where part of date could not be determined -- has been substituted. these dates do not appear to represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews were received or perhaps transcription dates.] [tr: in general, typographical errors have been left in place to match the original images. in the case where later editors have hand-written corrections, simple typographical errors have been silently corrected.] plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave georgia telfair, age box , r.f.d. # athens, ga. written by: miss grace mccune athens, ga. edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens, ga. and mrs. leila harris augusta, ga. [date stamp: apr ] "yes chile, i'll be glad to tell you de story of my life, i can't tell you much 'bout slav'ry 'cause i wuz jus' six months old when freedom come, but i has heared quite a lot, and i will tell you all i kin 'member 'bout everythin." said old "aunt" georgia telfair, who lives with her son to whom her devotion is quite evident. both "aunt" georgia and the little home show the excellent care that is given them. "my pa," she said, "wuz pleasant jones, an' he b'longed to marse young l.g. harris. dey lived at de harris place out on dearing street. hit wuz all woods out dar den, an' not a bit lak dearing street looks now. "rachel wuz my ma's name. us don' know what her las' name wuz 'cause she wuz sold off when she wuz too little to 'member. dr. riddin' (redding) bought her an' his fambly always jus' called her rachel riddin'. de riddin' place wuz whar hancock avenue is now, but it wuz all in woods 'roun' dar, jus' lak de place whar my pa wuz. atter dey wuz married ma had to stay on wid de riddin' fambly an' her chilluns b'longed to de riddin's 'cause dey owned her. miss maxey riddin' wuz my brudder's young missus, an' i wuz give to her sister, miss lula riddin', for to be her own maid, but us didn't git to wuk for 'em none 'cause it wuz jus' at dis time all de slaves got sot free. atter dat my pa tuk us all wid him an' went to farm on de old widderspoon (witherspoon) place. "it wuz 'way off in de woods. pa cut down trees an' built us a log cabin. he made de chimbly out of sticks an' red mud, an' put iron bars crost de fireplace to hang pots on for to bile our vittuls an' made ovens for de bakin'. de bes' way to cook 'tatoes wuz to roas' 'em in de ashes wid de jackets on. dey ain' nothin' better tastin' dan ash-roasted 'tatoes wid good home-made butter to eat wid 'em. an 'us had de butter, 'cause us kep' two good cows. ma had her chickens an' tukkeys an' us raised plenty of hogs, so we nebber wuz widout meat. our reg'lar sunday breakfas' wuz fish what pa cotch out of de crick. i used to git tired out of fish den, but a mess of fresh crick fish would sho' be jus' right now. "us always kep' a good gyardan full of beans, corn, onions, peas an' 'taters, an' dey warn't nobody could beat us at raisin' lots of greens, 'specially turnips an' colla'd greens. us saved heaps of dry peas an' beans, an' dried lots of peaches an' apples to cook in winter. when de wind wuz a howlin an' de groun' all kivvered wid snow, ma would make dried fruit puffs for us, dat sho' did hit de spot. "when i wuz 'bout eight years old, dey sont me to school. i had to walk from epps bridge road to knox school. dey calls it knox institute now. i toted my blue back speller in one han' and my dinner bucket in de other. us wore homespun dresses wid bonnets to match. de bonnets wuz all made in one piece an' had drawstrings on de back to make 'em fit, an' slats in de brims to make 'em stiff an' straight. our dresses wuz made long to keep our legs warm. i don't see, for to save me, how dey keeps dese young-uns from freezin' now since dey let 'em go 'roun' mos' naked. "our brush arbor church wuz nigh whar brooklyn mount pleasant church is now, an' us went to sunday school dar evvy sunday. it warn't much of a church for looks, 'cause it wuz made out of poles stuck in de groun' an' de roof wuz jus' pine limbs an' brush, but dere sho' wuz some good meetin's in dat old brush church, an' lots of souls foun' de way to de heb'enly home right dar. "our reg'lar preacher wuz a colored man named morrison, but mr. cobb preached to us lots of times. he wuz a white gemman, an' he say he could a sot all night an' lissen long as us sung dem old songs. some of 'em i done clar forgot, but de one i lak bes' goes sorter lak dis: 'i want to be an angel an' wid de angels stan' a crown upon my forehead and a harp widin my han'.' "another tune wuz 'roll, jordan roll.' little chillun wuz larnt to sing, 'how sweetly do de time fly, when i please my mother,' an' us chillun sho' would do our best a singin' dat little old song, so preacher cobb would praise us. "when i jined de church dere wuz of us baptized de same day in de crick back of de church. while preacher brown wuz a baptizin' us, a big crowd wuz standin' on de bank a shoutin' an' singin', 'dis is de healin' water,' an', 'makin' for de promise lan! some of 'em wuz a prayin' too. atter de baptizin' wuz done dey had a big dinner on de groun's for de new members, but us didn't see no jugs dat day. jus' had plenty of good somethin' t'eat. "when us warn't in school, me an' my brudder wukked in de fiel' wid pa. in cotton plantin' time, pa fixed up de rows an' us drap de seeds in 'em. nex' day us would rake dirt over 'em wid wooden rakes. pa made de rakes hisse'f. dey had short wooden teef jus' right for to kivver de seed. folkses buys what dey uses now an' don't take up no time makin' nothin' lak dat. "in dem days 'roun' de house an' in de fiel' boys jus' wo' one piece of clo'es. it wuz jus' a long shirt. dey didn't know nothin' else den, but i sho' would lak to see you try to make boys go 'roun' lookin' lak dat now. "dey hired me out to mr. jack weir's fambly when i wuz 'bout fo'teen years old to do washin', ironin', an' cleanin' up de house, an' i wukked for 'em 'til i married. dey lemme eat all i wanted dere at de house an' paid me in old clo'es, middlin' meat, sirup, 'tatoes, an' wheat flour, but i never did git no money for pay. not nary a cent. "us wukked mighty hard, but us had good times too. de bigges' fun us had wuz at candy pullin's. ma cooked de candy in de wash pot out in de yard. fust she poured in some home-made sirup, an' put in a heap of brown sugar from de old sirup barrel an' den she biled it down to whar if you drapped a little of it in cold water it got hard quick. it wuz ready den to be poured out in greasy plates an' pans. us greased our han's wid lard to keep de candy from stickin' to 'em, an' soon as it got cool enough de couples would start pullin' candy an' singin'. dat's mighty happy music, when you is singin' an' pullin' candy wid yo' bes' feller. when de candy got too stiff an' hard to pull no mo', us started eatin', an' it sho' would evermo' git away from dar in a hurry. you ain't nebber seed no dancin', what is dancin', lessen you has watched a crowd dance atter dey et de candy what dey done been pullin'. "quiltin's wuz a heap of fun. sometimes two or three famblies had a quiltin' together. folkses would quilt some an' den dey passed 'roun' de toddy. some would be cookin' while de others wuz a quiltin' an' den when supper wuz ready dey all stopped to eat. dem colla'd greens wid cornpone an' plenty or gingercakes an' fruit puffs an' big ole pots of coffee wuz mighty fine eatin's to us den. "an' dere warn't nothin' lackin' when us had cornshuckin's. a gen'ral of de cornshuckin' wuz appointed to lead off in de fun. he sot up on top of de big pile of corn an' hysted de song. he would git 'em started off singin' somethin' lak, 'sallie is a good gal,' an' evvybody kept time shuckin' an' a singin'. de gen'ral kept singin' faster an' faster, an' shucks wuz jus' flyin'. when pa started passin' de jug 'roun' dem niggers sho' nuff begun to sing loud an' fas' an' you wuz 'bliged for to 'low sallie mus' be a good gal, de way de shucks wuz comin' off of dat corn so fas'. dey kep' it up 'til de corn wuz all shucked, an' ma hollered, 'supper ready!' den dey made tracks for de kitchen, an' dey didn't stop eatin' an' drinkin' dat hot coffee long as dey could swallow. ain't nobody fed 'em no better backbones, an' spareribs, turnip greens, 'tato pies, an' sich lak dan my ma set out for 'em. old time ways lak dat is done gone for good now. folkses ain't lak dey used to be. dey's all done got greedy an' don't keer 'bout doin' nothin' for nobody else no more. "ma combed our hair wid a jim crow comb, or cyard, as some folkses called 'em. if our hair wuz bad nappy she put some cotton in de comb to keep it from pullin' so bad, 'cause it wuz awful hard to comb. "evvybody tried to raise plenty of gourds, 'cause dey wuz so handy to use for dippers den. water wuz toted from de spring an' kept in piggins. don't spec' you ebber did see a piggin. dats a wooden bucket wid wire hoops 'roun' it to keep it from leakin'. de wash place wuz nex' to de spring. pa fixed us up a big old stump whar us had to battle de clo'es wid a battlin' stick. it tuk a sight of battlin' to git de dirt out sometimes. "if you turned a chunk over in de fire, bad luck wuz sho' to come to you. if a dog howled a certain way at night, or if a scritch owl come in de night, death wuz on de way to you, an' you always had to be keerful so maybe bad spirits would leave you alone. "pa built us a new kitchen, jus' lak what de white folkses had dem days. it sot out in de back yard, a little piece of a way from our house. he made it out of logs an' put a big old chimbly wid a big fireplace at one end. benches wuz built 'roun' de sides for seats. dere warn't no floor in it, but jus' dirt floor. dat wuz one gran' kitchen an' us wuz mighty proud of it. [hw: p. ] "my w'ite folkses begged me not to leave 'em, when i told 'em i wuz gwine to marry joe telfair. i'd done been wukkin' for 'em nigh on to six years, an' wuz mos' twenty years old. dey gimme my weddin' clo'es, an' when i seed dem clo'es i wuz one proud nigger, 'cause dey wuz jus' lak i wanted. de nightgown wuz made out of white bleachin' an' had lots of tucks an' ruffles an' it even had puff sleeves. sho' 'nough it did! de petticoat had ruffles an' puffs plum up to de wais' ban'. dere wuz a cosset kiver dat wuz cut to fit an' all fancy wid tucks an' trimmin', an' de drawers, dey sho' wuz pretty, jus' full of ruffles an' tucks 'roun' de legs. my dress wuz a cream buntin', lak what dey calls serge dese days. it had a pretty lace front what my ma bought from one of de moss ladies. when i got all dressed up i wuz one mo' gran' lookin' bride. "us got married in de new kitchen an' it wuz plum full, 'cause ma had done axed folkses to de weddin'. some of 'em wuz joe's folkses, an' us had eight waiters: four gals, an' four boys. de same preacher brown what baptized me, married us an' den us had a big supper. my missus, lula weir, had done baked a great big pretty cake for me an' it tasted jus' as good as it looked. atter us et all us could, one of de waiters called de sets for us to dance de res' of de night. an' sich dancin' as us did have! folkses don't know how to dance dat good no mo'. dat wuz sho' nuff happy dancin'. yes ma'am, i ain't nebber gonna forgit what a gran' weddin' us had. "next day us moved right here an' i done been here ever since. dis place b'longed to joe's gran'ma, an' she willed it to him. us had chillun, but ain't but five of 'em livin' now, an' joe he's been daid for years. us always made a good livin' on de farm, an' still raises mos' of what us needs, but i done got so po'ly i can't wuk no more. "i'se still tryin' to live right an' walk de narrow way, so as i kin go to heb'en when i dies. i'se gwine to pray for you an' ax de lawd to bless you, for you has been so good an' patient wid me, an' i'se sho' thankful my son sont you to see me. you done helped me to feel lots better. good-bye, an' god bless you, an' please ma'am, come back to see me again." plantation life cordelia thomas, age berry street athens, ga. written by: grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & a long, hot walk over rough, hilly roads brought the visitor to cordelia's place just after the noon hour of a sweltering july day, and the shade of the tall water oaks near the little cabin was a most welcome sight. the house stood only a few feet from a spur of railroad track but the small yard was enclosed by a luxurious green hedge. roses predominated among the many varieties of flowers in evidence on the otherwise drab premises. a dilapidated porch across the front of the residence had no roof and the floorboards were so badly rotted that it did not seem quite safe to walk from the steps to the front door where cordelia stood waiting. "come right in, missy," she invited, "but be keerful not to fall through dat old porch floor." the tall, thin negress was clad in a faded but scrupulously clean blue dress, a white apron, and a snowy headcloth crowned by a shabby black hat. black brogans completed her costume. cordelia led the way to the rear of a narrow hall. "us will be cooler back here," she explained. sunlight poured through gaping holes in the roof, and the coarse brown wrapping paper pasted on the walls was splattered and streaked by rain. the open door of cordelia's bedroom revealed a wooden bed, a marble-topped bureau, and a washstand of the victorian period. a rocker, two straight chairs, a small table, and a trunk completed the furnishings of the room and left but little space for its occupant to move about. "i'se jus' a mite tired," cordelia stated, "'cause i jus' got back from de courthouse whar dem welfare 'omans done gimme a sack o' flour and some other bundles what i ain't opened up yit, but i knows dey's got somepin in 'em to holp me, 'cause dem folks is sho' been mighty good to me since my rheumatiz is been so bad i couldn't wuk enough to make a livin'. de doctor, he say i got de blood presser. i don't rightly know jus' what dat is, but it looks lak somepin's a-pressin' right down in my haid 'til i feels right foolish, so i reckon he's right 'bout it a-bein de blood presser. when i gits down on my knees it takes a long time for me to git straight up on my feet again. de lord, he's done been wid me all dese years, and old cordelia's goin' to keep right on kneelin' 'fore him and praisin' him often 'til he 'cides de time has come for her to go home to heben. "i was borned on marse andrew jackson's plantation down in 'conee (oconee) county, twixt here and high shoals. marse andy, he owned my mammy, and she was named em'ly jackson. bob lowe was my daddy, and he b'longed to marse ike lowe. the lowe plantation was nigh whar marse andy's was, down der in 'conee county. 'cause neither one of deir marsters wouldn't sell one of 'em to de other marster, mammy had to stay on de jackson plantation and daddy was kept right on wukin' on de lowe place atter dey had done got married. marse bob, he give daddy a ticket what let him go to see mammy evvy wednesday and sadday night, and dem patterollers couldn't bother him long as he kept dat ticket. when dey did find a slave off his marster's plantation widout no ticket, it was jus' too bad, for dat meant a beatin' what most kilt him. mammy said dey didn't never git my daddy, 'cause he allus had his ticket to show. "i don't ricollect much 'bout days 'fore de big war ended 'cause i was so little den, but many's de time i heared mammy and daddy and de other old folks tell 'bout dem times. us chillun had de bestes' time of anybody dem days, 'cause dey didn't 'low us to do nothin' but jus' eat all us could and play de rest of de time. i don't know how it was on other places, but dat was de way us was raised on our old marster's plantation. "de cracks of de log cabins whar de slaves lived was chinked wid red mud to keep out de cold and rain. dere warn't no glass in de windows, dey jus' had plank shutters what dey fastened shut at night. thin slide blocks kivvered de peepholes in de rough plank doors. dey had to have dem peepholes so as dey could see who was at de door 'fore dey opened up. dem old stack chimblies what was made out of sticks and red clay, was all time gittin' on fire. dem old home-made beds had high posties and us called 'em 'teesters.' to take de place of springs, what hadn't never been seen 'round dar in dem days, dey wove heavy cords lengthways and crostways. over dem cords dey laid a flat mat wove out of white oak splints and on dat dey put de homespun bed ticks stuffed wid wheat straw. dey could have right good pillows if dey was a mind to pick de scrap cotton and fix it up, but dere warn't many of 'em keered dat much 'bout no pillows. "slaves didn't do no cookin' on our place 'cause marster fed evvybody up at de big house. missy, i ain't never gwine to forgit dat big old fireplace up dar. dey piled whole sticks of cord wood on it at one time, wid little sticks crossways under 'em and, let me tell you, dat was a fire what would cook anything and evvything. de pots hung on swingin' racks, and dere was big ovens, little ovens, long-handled fryin' pans, and heavy iron skillets wid tight, thick lids. it sho' was a sight de way us chillun used to make 'way wid dem ash-roasted 'taters and dat good, fresh butter. us chillun had to eat supper early 'cause all chillun had to be in bed 'fore dark. it warn't lak dese days. why missy, chilluns now stays up 'most all night runnin' 'round dese parts. "marster was sho' good 'bout seein' dat his niggers had plenty to eat and wear. for supper us et our bread and milk wid wooden spoons out of wooden bowls, but for dinner dey give us veg'ables, corn pone, and 'taters. marster raised all de sorts of veg'ables what dey knowed anything 'bout in dem days, and he had big old fields of wheat, rye, oats, and corn, 'cause he 'lowed dat stock had to eat same as folkses. dere was lots of chickens, turkeys, cows, hogs, sheep, and some goats on dat plantation so as dere would allus be plenty of meat for evvybody. "our marster evermore did raise de cotton--lots of it to sell, and plenty for clothes for all de folkses, white and black, what lived on his place. all de cloth was home-made 'cept de calico for de best sunday dresses. chillun had to spin de thread and deir mammies wove de cloth. 'fore de end of de war, whilst i was still so little i had to stand on a box to reach de spinnin' wheel good, i could spin six reels a day. "chillun was happy when hog-killin' time come. us warn't 'lowed to help none, 'cept to fetch in de wood to keep de pot bilin' whar de lard was cookin'. our mist'ess allus had de lard rendered in de bigges' washpot, what dey sot on rocks in de fireplace. us didn't mind gittin' de wood for dat, 'cause when dem cracklin's got done, dey let us have all us could eat and, jus' let me tell you, missy, you ain't never had nothin' good 'less you has et a warm skin cracklin' wid a little salt. one time when dey was renderin' lard, all us chillun was crowdin' 'round close as us could git to see which one could git a cracklin' fust. mist'ess told us to stand back 'fore somebody got burnt; den mammy said she was gwine to take de hides off our backs 'bout gittin' so close to dat fire, and 'bout dat time somebody 'hind me gimme a quick push; and in de fire i went. marster grabbed me 'most time i hit dem red coals, but one hand and arm was burnt so bad i had to wear it in a sling for a long time. den marster laid down de law and told us what he would do if he cotch us chillun hangin' 'round de fire whar dey was cookin' lard again. "folkses said our marster must have a powerful sweet tooth on account of he kept so many bee hives. when bees swarmed folkses rung bells and beat on tin pans to git 'em settled. veils was tied over deir haids to keep de bees from gittin' to deir faces when dey went to rob de hives. chillun warn't never 'lowed to be nowhar nigh durin' dat job. one day i sneaked out and got up close to see how dey done it, and dem bees got all over me. dey stung me so bad i couldn't see for days and days. marster, he jus' fussed and said dat gal, cordelia, she was allus whar she didn't b'long. missy, i ain't never wanted to fool wid no more bees, and i don't even lak honey no more. "slaves all went to church wid deir white folkses 'cause dere warn't no nigger churches dem days. all de preachin' was done by white preachers. churches warn't nigh and convenient dem days lak dey is now and dey was such a fur piece from de plantations dat most of de folkses stayed all day, and dem meetin' days was big days den. de cooks was told to fix de bestes' dinners dey could git up, and chillun was made to know dey had better mind what dey was 'bout when dey was in de meetin' house or it was gwine to be made mighty hot for 'em when dey got back home. dat was one thing our marster didn't 'low no foolin' 'bout. his niggers had to be-have deyselfs at de meetin' house. 'long 'bout august when craps was laid by, dey had brush arbor meetin's. white folks brought deir slaves and all of 'em listened to a white preacher from watkinsville named mr. calvin johnson. dere was lots of prayin' and shoutin' at dem old brush arbor 'vival meetin's. "dey had campmeetin's too. de old freeman place was whar dey had some of dem fust campmeetin's, and hillsboro, mars hill, and bethabara was some of de other places whar marster tuk us to campmeetin's. missy, you jus' don't know nothin' 'bout 'citement if you ain't never been to one of dem old-time campmeetin's. when folkses would git 'ligion dey would holler and shout a-testifyin' for de lord. atter de meetin' dey dammed up de crick and let it git deep enough for de baptizin'. dey dipped de white folkses fust, and den de niggers. you could hear 'em singin' a mile away dem old songs lak: _on jordan's stormy banks i stand_,--_roll, jordan roll_,--_all god's chilluns is a-goin' home_, and--_whar de livin' waters flow_. i jus' can't 'member half of dem good old songs 'cause my mem'ry ain't good as it used to be." here cordelia paused. she seemed oblivious to all around her for several minutes, and then she suddenly smiled. "lordy, missy," she began, "if i could jus' call back dem days wid our good old marster to look atter us and see dat us had what us needed to eat and wear and a good comf'table cabin to live in, wouldn't dis be a happy old 'oman? lots of de other old folks would lak it too, 'cause our white folkses day sho' did take good keer of deir slaves. "did you ever hear of dem logrollin's? on our place dey spent 'bout two whole days cookin' and gittin' ready. marster axed evvybody from fur and nigh, and dey allus come 'cause dey knowed he was gwine to give 'em a good old time. de way dey rolled dem logs was a sight, and de more good corn liquor marster passed 'round, de faster dem logs rolled. come night-time, marster had a big bonfire built up and sot lots of pitchpine torches 'round so as dere would be plenty of light for 'em to see how to eat dat fine supper what had done been sot out for 'em. atter supper, dey danced nigh all de rest of de night. mammy used to tell us 'bout de frolics next day, 'cause us chillun was made to go to bed at sundown. come day, go day, no matter what might happen, growin' chillun had to be in bed at deir reg'lar time, but mammy never forgot to tell us all 'bout de good times next day. "mammy said dem cornshuckin's meant jus' as much fun and jollification as wuk. dey gathered marster's big corn crap and 'ranged it in long, high piles, and sometimes it tuk sev'ral days for dem cornshuckers to git it all shucked, but evvybody stayed right dar on de job 'til it was finished. at night, dey wukked by de light of big fires and torches, den dey had de big supper and started dancin'. dey stopped so often to swig dat corn liquor marster pervided for 'em dat 'fore midnight folkses started fallin' out and drappin' down in de middle of de dance ring. de others would git 'em by de heels and drag 'em off to one side 'til dey come to and was ready to drink more liquor and dance again. dat was de way dey went on de rest of de night. "corpses! buryin's! graveyards! why, miss, dere warn't nigh so many folkses a-dyin' all de time dem days as dere is now. folkses lived right and was tuk better keer of and dere warn't so much reason for 'em to die out den. when somebody did die, folkses come from miles and miles around to de buryin'. dey give de slaves de same sort of funerals de white folkses had. de corpses was washed good all over wid hot water and home-made soap, den dey was dressed and laid out on de coolin' boards 'til de cyarpenter man had time to make up de coffins. lordy, missy, ain't you never seed no coolin' board? i 'spects dey is all gone now though. dey looked a good deal lak ironin' boards, only dey had laigs to stand on. lots of times dey didn't dress de corpses, but jus' wropped 'em in windin' sheets. dem home-made, pine coffins didn't look so bad atter dey got 'em painted up and lined nice. dey driv de wagon what had de corpse on it right slow to de graveyard. de preacher talked a little and prayed; den atter de mourners had done sung somepin on de order of _harps [hw: hark?] from de tomb_, dey shovelled in de dirt over de coffin whilst de preacher said comfortin' words to de fambly of de daid. evvy plantation had its own graveyard wid a fence around it, and dere was a place in it for de slaves 'nigh whar deir white folks was buried. "honey, didn't you never hear tell of dr. frank jackson? he was sho' a grand doctor. dr. jackson made up his own medicines and toted 'em 'round wid him all de time. he was close kin to our marse andy jackson's fambly. all dem jacksons down in 'conee was good white folks. "us stayed on wid old marster for a little while atter de war was over, and den right away mammy died and daddy hired me out to mrs. sidney rives (reaves?). i 'spects one reason she was so mighty good to me was 'cause i was so little den. i was nigh grown when i left her to wuk for dr. palmer's fambly. all his chillun was little den and i was deir nuss. one of de best of his chillun was little miss eunice. she is done growed to be a school teacher and dey tells me she is still a-teachin'. it warn't long atter my daddy died dat i left de palmers and started wukkin' for mr. dock dorsey's fambly. if dere ever was a good christian 'oman in dis here old world it was miss sallie dorsey, mr. dock dorsey's wife. she had been miss sallie chappell 'fore she married mr. dorsey. miss sallie tried to git evvybody what stayed 'round her to live right too, and she wanted all her help to go to church reg'lar. if miss sallie and marse dock dorsey was livin' now, dey would pervide for old 'delia jus' lak dey used to do. all deir chillun was nice. miss fannie and miss sue, dey was extra good gals, but somehow i jus' can't call back de names of dem other ones now. dey all had to be good wid de sort of mammy and daddy dey had. miss sallie, she was sick a long time 'fore she died, and dey let me wait on her. missy, i tell you de gospel truth, i sho' did love dat 'oman. not long 'fore she passed on to heben, she told her husband dat atter she was gone, she wanted him to marry up wid her cousin, miss hargrove, so as he would have somebody to help him raise up her chillun, and he done 'zactly what she axed him to. all of my own white folkses has done died out, and old 'delia won't be here much longer. one of de thorntons here--i forgits which one--married up wid my young mist'ess, rebecca jackson. her gal got married up wid dr. jago, a horse-doctor. a insurance man named mr. speer married into de jackson fambly too. he moved his fambly from here to de mountains on account of his son's health, and i jus' los' track of 'em den. "lordy, chile! what you want to know 'bout my weddin' for, nowhow? dere ain't never gwine to be no more weddin's lak dey had back dere in dem times 'cause folkses thinks dey got to have too much nowadays. when folkses got married den dey was a-thinkin' 'bout makin' sho' 'nough homes for deyselfs, and gittin' married meant somepin sort of holy. mammy said dat most times when slaves got married dey jus' jumped backwards over a broomstick whilst deir marster watched and den he pernounced dat dey was man and wife. now dey is got to go to de courthouse and pay out good money for a license and den go git a preacher or somebody lak a jestice jedge to say de marriage words over 'em. "me and solomon thomas had to go buy us a license too, but us didn't mind 'bout 'puttin out 'dat money cause us was so much in love. i wore a pretty white dress and a breakfast shawl, and atter us had done went to de preacher man's house and got married, us come right on here to dis very house what had b'longed to solomon's daddy 'fore it was solomon's. us built two more rooms on de house, but all de time solomon lived us tried to keep de place lookin' a good deal lak it was de day us got married. "atter solomon died, i sold off most of de land to de railroad for de right of way for dat dere track what you sees out dere, and it sho' has made plenty of wuk for me to keep dat soot what dem engines is all time a-spittin' out cleaned off my things in de house. it draps down through dem big holes overhead, and i can't git hold of no money to have de roof patched up. "me and solomon, us had chillun, but dey is all daid out but three. one of my boys is in baltimore and another boy lives in louisiana somewhar. my gal, delia, she stays over in de newtown part of athens here. she would love to help her old mammy, but my delia's got chillun of her own and she can't git nothin' to do 'cept a little washin' for de white folkses, and she ain't able to pervide what her own household needs to eat. dem boys of mine is done got so fur off dey's done forgot all 'bout deir old mammy. "when us fust got married, solomon wukked at mr. orr's cotton house, and he stayed dere a long time 'fore he went to wuk for mr. moss and mr. levy. all dem white folks was good to me and solomon. i kept on wukkin' for de dorseys 'til us had so many chillun i had to stay home and look atter 'em. solomon got sick and he lay dere sufferin' a long, long time, but mr. moss and mr. levy seed dat he didn't want for nothin'. even atter solomon died dem good white mens kept on comin' out now and den to see if me and solomon's chillun had what us needed. "solomon, my solomon, he went out of dis here world, in dat dere room whar you sees dat old bed, and dat is perzactly whar i wants to be when de blessed lord lays his hands on me and tells me to come on home to glory. i wants to be toted out of dat room, through dis hall and on out to de graveyard jus' lak my man was. i knows dat evvything would be done nice jus' lak i wants it if mr. moss and mr. levy was a-livin' 'cause dey was both masons, and members of de masons is all done swore a oath to look atter deir own folkses. dey said solomon and his fambly was lak deir own folkses, mr. moss and mr. levy did. most of de folkses, both white and black, dat i has knowed and loved has done gone on over de jordan, out of dis world of trouble, and it will be happy days for all of us when us meets again in de place 'of many mansions' whar dere won't be nothin' for none of us to pester ourselfs 'bout no more. "all of my life, i'se had a great desire to travel, jus' to go evvywhar, but atter all dese years of busy livin' i 'spects all de trav'lin' i'll ever do will be on de road to glory. dat will be good enough for me 'cause i got so many more of 'em i loves over dar dan is left here." as the visitor passed out of earshot of cordelia's cabin the last words she heard from the old negress were: "good-bye again, missy. talkin' to you has been a heap of consolation to me." [hw: dist- ex slave # ] alberta minor re-search worker folklore ex-slave--ike thomas heidt bridges farm near rio georgia interviewed september , [date stamp: may ] [tr: this interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was transposed or meaning was significantly changed, it has been noted.] ike thomas was born near monticello in jasper county on the thomas plantation. his mother and father were sold when he was a little boy, and "missus" thomas, in picking her house boy, took ike to raise for a carriage boy. she picked her little niggers by the way they wore their hats. if they set them on the back of their heads, they grew up to be "high-minded", but if they pulled them over their eyes, they'd grow up to be "sneaky and steal". mrs. thomas let him sleep on a trundle bed pulled out at night and put under her bed in the day and fed him under the table. she'd put a piece of meat in a biscuit and hand it down to him and warned him if they had company not to holler when he was thru so he'd touch her on the knee but his mouth was so big and he'd eat so fast that he "jes kep' on teching her on the knee." during the war, when they got word the yankees were coming, mrs. thomas would hide her "little niggers" sometimes in the wardrobe back of her clothes, sometimes between the mattresses, or sometimes in the cane brakes. after the yankees left, she'd ring a bell and they would know they could come out of hiding. (when they first heard the slaves were free, they didn't believe it so they just stayed on with their "white folks".) [hw: transpose to page .] if the negroes were mean or ran away, they would be chased by hounds and brought back for punishment. when still a young man, ike ran away with a negro couple coming in a buggy to blanton mill near griffin and worked for mr. william blanton until he died. after he had been here a while, he got married. his wife's people had the wedding supper and party. he was a fiddler so had to fiddle most all night then the next day his "white folks" gave him the food for the wedding dinner that he had at his own house. ike says every seven [hw: ] years the locusts come and its sure to be a short crop that "god sends all sorts of cusses" (curses) sometimes its the worms that eat the cotton or the corn or the bugs that eat the wheat. he doesn't believe in "hants" or "conjurin'". it seems sid scott was a "mean nigger", [hw: and] everyone was afraid of [hw: him]. he was cut in two by the saw mill and after his funeral whenever anyone pass his house at night that could hear his "hant" going "rat-a-tat-tat-bang, bang, bang" like feet running. one night when ike was coming home from "fiddlin'" at a white folks party, he had to pass scott's house. now they kept the cotton seed in half of the house and the other half was empty. when ike got close, he made a racket and sure enough the noise started. "the moon was about an hour up" and he saw these funny white things run out from under the house and scatter. it scared him at first but he looked and looked and saw they were sheep that [hw: having] found a hole into the cotton seed would go in at night to eat. before the war the negroes had a big celebration on the th of july, a big barbecue, ball game, wrestling matches, lots of music and singing. they had to have a pass from their masters to attend and pay to get in. the "patta-roll" came by to see your pass and if you didn't have one, they'd whip you and send you home. [hw: when the negroes first heard that they were free, they didn't believe it so they just stayed on with their white folks.] after he came to blanton's, the negroes could come and go as they pleased for they were free. ike has been a member of several "societies" but something has always happened to the president and secretary or they ran off with the money so now he just has a sick and accident policy. ike will be years old next month. his hair is white, his eyes blurred with age, but he's quite active tho' he does walk with a stick. [hw: dist ex-slave # ] jane mickens toombs of washington-wilkes age approx. by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia [date stamp: jan ] [date stamp: may ] a story of happiness and contentment on a big plantation where there were "a heap of us slaves" is told by jane mickens toombs who said she was "five er six years ole when de wah come on ( ), or maby a lit'le ol'er." she is a bright old woman, well and spry despite the fact she "wuz conjured onst when i wuz young an' dat lef' me lame an' dis eye plum' out an' de t'other bad." when asked about the conjuring she said: "no'm, i don't 'zackly know how t'wuz, but enyhow somebody whut knowed how ter 'wu'k roots' got me lame on dis side, an' my eye out, jess kase i wuz a decent, nice lookin' gal, an' went on 'tendin' ter my business an' payin' dem no mind. dat's de way dey done in dem days, jess jealous of nice colored niggers. yassum, i wuz sick fer nigh on ter two years an' de doctuhs never knowed what ailed me. dey done everything dey could, but i wuz conjured an' dey couldn't hep' me. a doctuh-man frum up yander in new yalk cum down here ter see his folks, an' he tried to kure [hw: cyore] me, but doctuhs kain't [hw: kaan't] kure [hw: cyore] conjured folks, so i had ter lay an' suffer 'til de conjure wore out. dem whut done dat knowed dey done me wrong, but i kep' trustin' in my lawd, an' now dey's gone an' i'se er stumblin' roun' yit. no mam, i never knowed jess whut dey done ter me, but hit wuz bad, i kin tell yer dat, hit might nigh kilt me." aunt jane was born on the gullatt plantation on the line of wilkes and lincoln counties. her mother was liza gullatt and her father john mickens who belonged to mr. augustus mcmekin. "yassum, my pa wuz john 'mickens an' his marster bought him in alabamy. all de slaves whut belonged to de mcmekins called dey selves 'mickens. i wuz one of fifteen chillun an' cum er long in betweenst de oldest 'uns an' de youngest sum'ers. i wuz named fer my mistess jane gullatt whut died. young marse george gullatt choosed me out, dough, an' i'd er been his'en ef freedom hadn't er come. you know dat's de way dey use ter do back in slavery time, de young mistesses an' marsters choosed out de little niggers dey wanted fer their'n." this is another case where the father and mother belonged to different families. the father had a pass to go and come as he pleased, although his family lived a little distance away. jane said her father's master would have bought her mother if the war hadn't come on and they were set free. jane told of the log cabins in the quarters where all the negroes lived. she said they were all in a row "wid er street in de front, er wide street all set thick wid white mulberry trees fer ter mak' shade fer de chillun ter play in." they never had any punishment only [hw: except] switchings by their mistess, and that was not often. they played dolls, "us had home-made rag dolls, nice 'uns, an' we'd git dem long grass plumes (pampas grass) an' mak' dolls out'n dem too. us played all day long every day. my mistess' chillun wuz all growed up so jess us little niggers played tergether. "my mother spun an' wove de cloth, an' dyed hit, but our mistess made our clothes. my grandma, nancy, wuz de cook an' she fed all de little 'uns in de big ole kitchen whut sot out in de yard. she had a tray she put our victuals on an uh, uh, whut good things we had ter eat, an' er plenty of everything! us et jess whut our white folks had, dey didn't mak' no difference in us when hit cum ter eatin'. my grandaddy looked atter de meat, he done everything 'bout dat, an' he sho' knowed how ter fix it, too. "de fust thing i recollects is bein' round in de kitchen when dey wuz makin' ginger cakes an' my mistess givin' me de pan she made 'em in fer me ter sop hit out. dey ain't nothin' whut smells good lak' de cookin' in dem days, i kain't smell no victuals lak' dat now. everything wuz cooked on a big ole open fire place in one end of de kitchen. dem good ole days done gone now. folkes done got wiser an' wickeder--dey ain't lak' dey use ter be." at christmas santa claus found his way to the quarters on the gollatt plantation and each little slave had candy, apples, and "sich good things as dat." aunt jane gave a glowing description of the preparation for the christmas season: "lawdy, how de folks wu'ked gittin' ready fer chris'mus, fer three er fo' days dey stayed in de kitchen er cookin' an' er bakin'--daye wuz de bes' light bread--great big loaves baked on de fire place, an' cakes an' mo' good ginger cakes. dey wuz plenty cooked up to las' er long time. an' another thing, dare want no cookin' on sunday, no mam, no wu'k of no kind. my mistess had de cook cookin' all day fridays an' saddays so when sunday come dare wuz hot coffee made an' dat wuz all, everything else wuz cooked up an' cold. everybody went to church, de grown folks white and black, went to de preachin' an' den all de little niggers wuz called in an de bible read an' 'splained ter dem. "dare wuz preachin' down in de quarters, but dat wuz at night an' wuz led by de colored preachers. i recollects one night dare wuz a service gwine on in one of de cabins an' all us wuz dare an' ole uncle alex frazier wuz up a linin' off a hymn 'bout 'broad is de road dat leads ter death an' there an' here we travel.' when in come some mens atter a colored feller whut had stole some sheep an' hogs. dey kotch 'im, but sho broke up de meetin'. in de hot summer time uncle george gullatt use ter preach ter de slaves out under de trees. uncle george waz a kind of er preacher. "my pa didn't 'low his chillun ter go 'roun'. no'm, he kep' us home keerful lak. young folks in dem days didn't go all over de country lak dey does now, dey stayed at home, an' little chillun wuz kep' back an' dey didn' know no badness lak de chillun do terday. us never even heared de ole folks talk nothin' whut we oughtn't ter hear. us jess played an' stayed in a child's place. when we wuz sick de white folks seed dat we wuz 'tended to. dey use ter mak jerusalem oak candy an' give us. dey took de leaves of dat bush an' boiled 'em an' den use dat water dey wuz boiled in an' put sugar 'nough in hit ter mak candy. an dey used plenty of turpentine on us too--plenty ov hit, an' i believes in dat terday, hit's er good medicine." when asked about the war, aunt jane said she didn't remember much about it. "but dare's one thing 'bout hit i sho' does 'member, an' dat's my young mistess beckie's husband, mr. frazier, being off fightin' in de wah, an' she gittin' er letter frum him sayin' he wuz comin' home sich an' sich er day. she wuz so happy she had all de grown slaves wu'kin' gittin' ready fer him. den dey brung her er letter sayin' he had been kilt, an' she wuz in de yard when she read hit an' if dey hadn't er kotch her she'd ov fell. i 'members de women takin' her in de house an' gittin' her ter bed. she wuz so up sot an' took hit so hard. dem wuz sho' hard times an' sad 'uns too. 'course i wuz too small ter know much whut wuz gwine on, but i could tell hit wuz bad frum de way de older folks looked. "i recollects when dey say freedom had cum. dare wuz a speakin' fer de slaves up here in town in barnett's grove. dat mornin' ole miss sont all de oldes' niggers to de speakin' an' kep' us little 'uns dat day. she kep' us busy sweepin' de yards an' sich as dat. an' she cooked our dinner an' give hit to us herself. i 'members de grown folks leavin' early dat mornin' in a great big waggin. "a while after de wah, pa took us over to de mcmekins place an' we lived dare fer a long time. he died an' lef' us an' den us had ter do de bes' we could. col. tolbert hired me fer ter nuss his chillun an' i went over ter his place ter live." aunt jane said she isn't superstitious, but likes to see the new moon clear and bow to it for good luck. she said it is better to show it a piece of money, but as she doesn't always have money handy, she "jess bows to hit nice an' polite". she keeps up with the weather by her rheumatism and the cat: "ef i has de reumatics i knows hit's gwine ter rain, an' when de cat comes 'round an' sets washin' her face, look fer rain, kase hit's er comin'. i've heared folks say dat hit's bad luck ter stump yo' lef' foot, but i don't know boud dat. but i tell yer, when i meets er cat i allus turns er round 'fore i goes on, dat turns de bad luck er way." when years of age jane married albert toombs. he belonged to the toombs family of wilkes county. aunt jane said albert brought her many gifts while he was courting: "he warnt much on bringin' candy an' nothin' lak dat ter eat, but he brung me shawls an' shoes--sumpin' i could wear." they had four children, but only one is living. "when i wuz a growin' up", said aunt jane, "folks had ter wu'k." she worked on the farm, spun, wove, "done seamster wu'k" and knitted stockings, sox and gloves. she said she carded too, "an' in dem times ef a nigger wanted ter git de kinks out'n dey hair, dey combed hit wid de cards. now dey puts all kinds ov grease on hit, an' buy straightenin' combs. sumpin' dat costs money, dat's all dey is, old fashion cards'll straighten hair jess as well as all dis high smellin' stuff dey sells now." aunt jane likes to tell of those days of long ago. her memory is excellent and she talks well. she says she is living out her miss jane's time. "yassum, my miss jane died when she wuz so young, i specks i jess livin' out her days kase i named fer her. but i does miss dem good ole days whut's gone. i'se hungry fer de sight ov a spinnin' wheel--does you know whare's one? things don't look lak' dey use ter, an' as fer whut we has ter eat, dare ain't no victuals ever smelled an' et as good as dem what dey use ter have on de plantation when i wuz a comin' on. yassum, folkes has got wiser an' know mo' dan dey did, but dey is wickeder--dey kills now 'stid er conjurin' lak' dey did me." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] district adella s. dixon phil towns old slave story [date stamp: -- ] [tr: this interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was transposed, meaning was significantly changed, or the edit could not be clearly read, it has been noted.] on june , , a son was born to washington and clara towns who resided in richmond, virginia. this was the fourth child in a family which finally numbered thirteen. phil, as he was called, does not recall many incidents on this estate as the family moved when he was in his teens. his grandfather and grandmother were brought here from africa and their description of the cruel treatment they received is his most vivid recollection. his grandmother, hannah, lived to be years of age. mr. george towns, called "governor" by all of his slaves as well as his intimate friends, moved to georgia and settled at reynolds in taylor county. here he purchased a huge tract of land-- acres--and built his new home upon this level area on the flint river. the "big house," a large unpainted structure which housed a family of eighteen, was in the midst of a grove of trees near the highway that formed one of the divisions of the plantation. it was again divided by a local railway nearly a mile from the rear of the house. eighty-eight slaves were housed in the "quarters" which were on each side of the highway a little below the planter's home. these "quarters" differed from those found in the surrounding territory as the size of the houses varied with the number in the family. the interiors were nicely furnished and in most instances the families were able to secure any furniture they desired. feather mattresses, trundle beds and cribs were common and in families where there were many children, large fireplaces--some as many as eight feet wide--were provided so that every one might be [tr: 'able to keep' crossed out] comfortable in winter. a variety of cooking utensils were given and large numbers of waffle irons, etc., then considered luxuries, were found here. to consider only the general plan of operation, this plantation was no different from the average one in pre-civil war days but there was a phase of the life here which made it a most unusual home. "governor" was so exceptionally kind to his slaves that they were known as "gov. towns' free negroes" to those on the neighboring farms. he never separated families, neither did he strike a slave except on rare occasions. two things which might provoke his anger to this extent, were: to be told a lie, and to find that a person had allowed some one to take advantage of him. they were never given passes but obtained verbal consent to go where they wished and always remained as long as they chose. phil towns' father worked in the field and his mother did light work in the house, such as assisting in spinning. mothers of three or more children were not compelled to work, as the master felt that their children needed care. from early childhood boys and girls were given excellent training. a boy who robbed a bird's nest or a girl who frolicked in a boisterous manner was severely reprimanded. separate bedrooms for the two sexes were maintained until they married. the girls passed thru two stages--childhood, and at sixteen they became "gals". three years later they might marry if they chose but the husband had to be older--at least . courtships differed from those of today because there were certain hours for visiting and even though the girl might accompany her sweetheart away from home she had to be back at that hour. they had no clocks but a "time mark" was set by the sun. a young man was not allowed to give his girl any form of gift, and the efforts of some girls to secretly receive gifts which they claimed to have "found", were in vain, for these were taken from them. after the proposal, the procedure was practically the same as is observed today. the consent of the parent and the master was necessary. marriages were mostly held at night and no pains were spared to make them occasions to be remembered and cherished. beautiful clothes--her own selections--were given the bride, and friends usually gave gifts for the house. these celebrations, attended by visitors from many plantations, and always by the towns family, ended in gay "frolics" with cakes, wine, etc., for refreshments. during the first year of married life the couple remained with the bride's mother who instructed her in the household arts. disputes between the newlyweds were not tolerated and punishment by the parents was the result of "nagging". at the end of a year, another log cabin was added to the quarters and the couple began housekeeping. the moral code was exceedingly high; the penalty for offenders--married or single, white or colored--was to be banished from the group entirely. thus illegitimate children were rare enough to be a novelty. young phil was in his teens when he began his first job--coach driver for "gov." towns. this was just before they moved to georgia. he traveled with him wherever he went, and as the gov. purchased a plantation in talbot county, (the house still stands), and a home in macon, (the site of mt. de sales academy), a great deal of his time was spent on the road. phil never did any other work except to occasionally assist in sweeping the large yard. the other members of this group split rails, did field work, spinning, tailoring and any of the many things that had to be done. each person might choose the type of work he liked best. opportunities to make cash money were plentiful. some made baskets and did hand work which was sold and the money given the maker. a man or woman who paid gov. towns $ . might hire himself to the gov. for a year. when this was done he was paid cash for all the work he did and many were able to clear several hundred dollars in a year. in addition to this opportunity for earning money, every adult had an acre of ground which he might cultivate as he chose. any money made from the sale of this produce was his own. recreation was not considered important so no provision was made in the regular routine. it was, however, possible to obtain "time off" at frequent intervals and these might be termed irregular vacation periods. evening entertainment at which square dancing was the main attraction, were common. quill music, from a homemade harmonica, was played when banjoes were not available. these instruments were made by binding with cane five to ten reeds of graduated lengths. a hole was cut in the upper end of each and the music obtained by blowing up and down the scale. guests came from all neighboring farms and engaged in the "green corn" dance which was similar to what is now called buck dancing. near the end of such a hilarious evening, the guests were served with persimmon beer and ginger cakes,--then considered delicacies. "gov." towns was interested in assisting any one [hw: wanting to learn]. [tr: original reads 'desirous of learning.'] the little girls who expressed the desire to become "ladies" were kept in the "big house" and very carefully trained. the tastes of these few were developed to the extent that they excelled the ordinary "quarter" children and were the envy of the group at social affairs. sunday was a day of reverence and all adults were required to attend religious services. the trip was usually made in wagons, oxcarts, etc., although the young women of the big house rode handsome saddle horses. at each church there was placed a stepping block by which they descended from their steeds. white and colored worshipped at the same church, constructed with a partition separating the two parts of the congregation but not extending to the pulpit. professions of faith were accepted at the same altar while baptismal services ware held at a local creek and all candidates were baptized on the same day. regular clothing was worn at this service. children were not allowed to attend church, and christenings were not common. small boys, reared entirely apart from strict religious observances, used to slip away and shoot marbles on sunday. the health problem was not acute as these people were provided with everything necessary for a contented mind and a robust body. [tr: original line: the health problem was not a very acute one as these people were provided with everything conducive to a contented mind which plays a large part in maintaining a robust body.] however, a doctor who lived nearby cared for the sick. two fees were set--the larger one being charged if the patient recovered. home remedies were used for minor ills--catnip tea for thrash, tea from samson snakeroot for cramps, redwood and dogwood bark tea [hw: and horehound candy] for worms, [hw: many] root teas used [hw: medicinally] by this generation. peach brandy was given to anyone suspected of having pneumonia,--if the patient coughed, it was certain that he was a victim of the disease. in these days, a mother named her children by a name [tr: unreadable] during pregnancy. [tr: original line: in these days, it was always thought best for the mother to name her children if the proper name for the babe was theoretically revealed to her during pregnancy.] if another name was given the child, the correct one would be so firmly implanted in his subconscious mind that he would never be able to resist the impulse to turn his head when that name was called. the seventh child was always thought to be exceptionally lucky, and [tr: unreadable hw replaces 'the bond of affection between the parents and this child was greater']. this belief persists today in many localities. every family was given a weekly supply of food but this was more for convenience than anything else as they were free to eat anything their appetites called for. they killed chickens, ate vegetables, meats, etc. at any time. the presence of guests at the "quarters" roused mrs. towns to activity and she always helped to prepare the menu. one of her favorite items was chicken--prepared four different ways, in pie, in stew, fried, and baked. she gave full directions for the preparation of these delicacies to unskilled cooks. pound cake was another favorite and she insisted that a pound of butter and a dozen eggs be used in each cake. when the meal was nearly ready, she usually made a trip to the cabin to see if it had been well prepared. the hostess could always tell without any comment whether she had satisfied her mistress, for if she had, a serving was carried back to the big house. fishing was a form of remunerative recreation enjoyed by all. everyone usually went on saturday afternoon, but if only a few made the trip, the catch was shared by all. sewing was no easy job as there were few small women among the servants. the cloth made at home, was plentiful, however, and sufficient clothing was made for all. some persons preferred making their own clothes and this privilege was granted; otherwise they were made in a common sewing room. ten yards was the average amount of cloth in a dress, homespun and gingham, the usual materials. the men wore suits of osnaburg and jeans. this was dyed to more durable colors through the use of [hw: with] indigo [hw: (blue)] and a dye made from railroad bark (brown). phil believes that the screeching of an owl, the bellowing of a cow, and the howling of a dog after dark are signs of death because the [hw: immediate] death of a human being is revealed to animals, which [tr: illegible. 'in turn'?] warn humans. though we may find some way to rid ourselves of the fear of the warning--the death will occur just the same. on nearly all plantations there were some slaves who, trying to escape work, hid themselves in the woods. [tr: original line: on nearly all plantations there were some slaves who did not wish to work, consequently, for this, or similar reasons, hid themselves in the woods.] they smuggled food to their hiding place by night, and remained away [hw: lost] in some instances, many months. their belief in witchcraft caused them to resort to most ridiculous means of avoiding discovery. phil told the story of a man who visited a conjurer to obtain a "hand" for which he paid fifty dollars in gold. the symbol was a hickory stick which he used whenever he was being chased, and in this manner warded off his pursuers. the one difficulty in this procedure was having to "set up" at a fork or cross roads. often the fugitive had to run quite a distance to reach such a spot, but when the stick was so placed human beings and even bloodhounds lost his trail. with this assistance, he was able to remain in the woods as long as he liked. snakes ware frequent visitor in the cabins of the "quarters". one morning while betty, a cook, was confined to bed, she sent for mrs. towns to tell her that a snake had lain across her chest during the previous night and had tried to get under the cover where her young baby lay asleep. mrs. towns was skeptical about the size and activities of the reptile but sent for several men to search the house. they had given up the search when one chanced to glance above the sick woman's bed and there lay the reptile on a shelf. the bed was roped and moved to another part of the room and preparations made to shoot him. quilts were piled high on the bed so that the noise of the gun would not frighten the baby. when all was ready mrs. towns asked the old man with the gun-- "daddy luke, can you _kill_ the snake?" "yessum, mistress," he replied. "daddy luke, can you _kill_ the snake?" "yessum, mistress." "daddy luke, can you _kill_ the snake?" "yessum, mistress." "shoot!!" he took careful aim and fired. the huge reptile rolled to the floor. when the men returned to the yard to work near the woodpile, the mate was discovered by one of the dogs that barked until a log was moved and the second snake killed. [hw: in those days] small snakes were not feared and for several years it was customary for women to carry a tiny green snake in their bosoms. this fad was discontinued when one of the women was severely injured through a bite on her chest. phil remembers when the stars fell in . "they came down like rain," he said. when asked why he failed to keep some, he replied that he was afraid to touch them even after they became black. [tr: the following paragraphs contain many crossouts replaced by unreadable handwritten edits, and will be indicated by: 'deleted words' replaced by ??.] freedom was discussed on the plantation [tr: ??] for many years before the civil war began. as contented as [tr: 'they' replaced by ??] were [tr: 'there was something to look forward to when they thought of' replaced by ??] being absolutely free. an ex-slave's description of the real cause of the civil war, deserves a place here. it seems that lincoln had sent several messages to davis requesting that he free the slaves. no favorable response was received. lincoln had a conference with mr. davis and to this meeting he carried a bible and a gun. he tried in vain to convince davis that he was wrong according to the bible, so he finally threw the two upon the table and asked davis to take his choice. he chose the gun. lincoln grasped the bible and rushed home. thus davis _began_ the war but lincoln had god on his side and so he _ended_ it. one of gov. towns' sons went to the army and phil was sent to care for him while he was there; an aristocratic man never went to the war without his valet. his [hw: phil's] duty was to cook for him, keep his clothes clean, and to bring the body home if he was killed. poor soldiers were either buried [hw: where they fell] or left lying on the field for vultures to consume. food was not so plentiful in the [tr: 'army' replaced by ??] and their diet of flapjacks and canned goods was varied only by coffee and whiskey given when off duty. all cooking was done between two battles or during the lull in a battle. john towns was soon sent back home as they [hw: the officers] felt he was too [tr: 'valuable a southerner' crossed out] important to be killed in battle, and his services were needed at home. near the close of the war, sherman made a visit to this vicinity. as was his usual habit, he had [tr: 'obtained' replaced by 'learned'?] the reputation of gov. towns before he arrived. he found conditions so ideal [tr: 'that not one thing was touched' replaced by ??]. he talked with [hw: slaves and owners, he] went [tr: 'gaily' deleted] on his way. phil was so impressed by sherman that he followed him and camped with the yankees about where central city park is now. he thought that anything a yankee said was true. [hw: when] one [hw: of them] gave him a knife and told him to go and cut the first man he met, he followed instructions even though he knew the man. [hw: later] realizing how foolishly he had acted, he readily apologized and explained why. [hw: the yankee soldiers robbed beehives barehanded and were never stung, they] seemed to fear nothing but lizards. never having seen such reptiles they would run in terror at the sight of one. the confederates never discovered this. after the close of the war they [hw: federal soldiers] were stationed in the towns to keep order. union flags were placed everywhere, and a southerner was accused of not respecting the flag if he even passed under one without bowing. penalties for this offense were, to be hung up by the thumbs, to carry greasy [hw: greased] poles for a certain time, and numerous other punishments which caused a deal of discomfort to the victims but sent the soldiers and ex-slaves into peals of laughter. the sight of a yankee soldier sent a confederate one into hysteria. [hw: phil says his fellow] slaves laughed when told they were free, but gov. towns was almost indifferent. his slaves, he said, were always practically free, so a little legal form did not [tr: 'add' replaced by ??] much to them. nearly every one remained there and worked for wages. for the past thirty-five years, phil towns has been almost totally disabled. long life seems no novelty to him for he says everyone used to live longer when they honored their elders more. he has eighty-four relatives in virginia--all older than he, but states that friends who have visited there say he looks more aged than any of them. his great desire is to return to virginia, as he believes he will be able to find the familiar landmarks in spite of the changes that have taken place. mr. alex block, of macon, makes no charges for the old shack in which phil lives; his food furnished by the department of public welfare is supplemented by interested friends. plantation life neal upson, age th street athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. august , alternate rain and sunshine had continued for about days and the ditches half filled with water, slippery banks of red clay, and the swollen river necessitating a detour, added to the various difficulties that beset the interviewer as she trudged through east athens in search of neal upson's shabby, three-room, frame house. a magnificent water oak shaded the vine-covered porch where a rocking chair and swing offered a comfortable place to rest. "good mornin', miss," was the smiling greeting of the aged negro man who answered a knock on the front door. "how is you? won't you come in? i would ax you to have a cheer on the porch, but i has to stay in de house cause de light hurts my eyes." he had hastily removed a battered old felt hat, several sizes too large for him, and as he shuffled down the hall his hair appeared almost white as it framed his black face. his clean, but faded blue overalls and shirt were patched in several places and heavy brogans completed his costume. the day was hot and humid and he carefully placed two chairs where they would have the advantage of any breeze that might find its way through the open hallway. "miss, i'se mighty glad you come today," he began, "cause i does git so lonesome here by myself. my old 'oman wuks up to de court'ouse, cookin' for de folkses in jail, and it's allus late when she gits back home. 'scuse me for puttin' my old hat back on, but dese old eyes jus' can't stand de light even here in the hall, less i shades 'em." when asked to tell the story of his life, he chuckled. "lawsy, missy," he said. "does you mean dat you is willin' to set here and listen to old neal talk? 'tain't many folkses what wants to hear us old niggers talk no more. i jus' loves to think back on dem days 'cause dem was happy times, so much better'n times is now. folkses was better den. dey was allus ready to holp one another, but jus' look how dey is now! "i was borned on marster frank upson's place down in oglethorpe county, nigh lexin'ton, georgy. marster had a plantation, but us never lived dar for us stayed at de home place what never had more'n 'bout acres of land 'round it. us never had to be trottin' to de sto' evvy time us started to cook, 'cause what warn't raised on de home place, marster had 'em raise out on de big plantation. evvything us needed t'eat and wear was growed on marse frank's land. "harold and jane upson was my daddy and mammy; only folkses jus' called daddy 'hal.' both of 'em was raised right der on de upson place whar dey played together whilst dey was chillun. mammy said she had washed and sewed for daddy ever since she was big enough, and when dey got grown dey jus' up and got married. i was deir only boy and i was de baby chile, but dey had four gals older'n me. dey was: cordelia, anna, parthene, and ella. ella was named for marse frank's onliest chile, little miss ellen, and our little miss was sho a good little chile. "daddy made de shoes for all de slaves on de plantation and mammy was called de house 'oman. she done de cookin' up at de big 'ouse, and made de cloth for her own fambly's clothes, and she was so smart us allus had plenty t'eat and wear. i was little and stayed wid mammy up at de big 'ouse and jus' played all over it and all de folkses up der petted me. aunt tama was a old slave too old to wuk. she was all de time cookin' gingerbread and hidin' it in a little trunk what sot by de fireplace in her room. when us chillun was good aunt tama give us gingerbread, but if us didn't mind what she said, us didn't git none. aunt tama had de rheumatiz and walked wid a stick and i could git in dat trunk jus' 'bout anytime i wanted to. i sho' did git 'bout evvything dem other chillun had, swappin' aunt tama's gingerbread. when our white folkses went off, aunt tama toted de keys, and she evermore did make dem niggers stand 'round. marse frank jus' laughed when dey made complaints 'bout her. "in summertime dey cooked peas and other veg'tables for us chillun in a washpot out in de yard in de shade, and us et out of de pot wid our wooden spoons. dey jus' give us wooden bowls full of bread and milk for supper. "marse frank said he wanted 'em to larn me how to wait on de white folkses' table up at de big 'ouse, and dey started me off wid de job of fannin' de flies away. mist'ess serena, marse frank's wife, made me a white coat to wear in de dinin' room. missy, dat little old white coat made me git de onliest whuppin' marse frank ever did give me." here old neal paused for a hearty laugh. "us had comp'ny for dinner dat day and i felt so big showin' off 'fore 'em in dat white coat dat i jus' couldn't make dat turkey wing fan do right. dem turkey wings was fastened on long handles and atter marster had done warned me a time or two to mind what i was 'bout, the old turkey wing went down in de gravy bowl and when i jerked it out it splattered all over de preacher's best sunday suit. marse frank got up and tuk me right out to de kitchen and when he got through brushin' me off i never did have no more trouble wid dem turkey wings. "evvybody cooked on open fireplaces dem days. dey had swingin' racks what dey called cranes to hang de pots on for bilin'. dere was ovens for bakin' and de heavy iron skillets had long handles. one of dem old skillets was so big dat mammy could cook biscuits in it at one time. i allus did love biscuits, and i would go out in de yard and trade aunt tama's gingerbread to de other chilluns for deir sheer of biscuits. den dey would be skeered to eat de gingerbread 'cause i told 'em i'd tell on 'em. aunt tama thought dey was sick and told marse frank de chilluns warn't eatin' nothin'. he axed 'em what was de matter and dey told him dey had done traded all deir bread to me. marse frank den axed me if i warn't gittin' enough t'eat, 'cause he 'lowed dere was enough dar for all. den aunt tama had to go and tell on me. she said i was wuss dan a hog atter biscuits, so our good marster ordered her to see dat li'l neal had enough t'eat. "i ain't never gwine to forgit dat whuppin' my own daddy give me. he had jus' sharpened up a fine new axe for hisself, and i traded it off to a white boy named _roar_ what lived nigh us when i seed him out tryin' to cut wood wid a sorry old dull axe. i sold him my daddy's fine new axe for biscuits. when he found out 'bout dat, he 'lowed he was gwine to give me somepin to make me think 'fore i done any more tradin' of his things. mist'eas, let me tell you, dat beatin' he give me evermore was a-layin' on of de rod. "one day miss serena put me in de cherry tree to pick cherries for her, and she told me not to eat none 'til i finished; den i could have all i wanted, but i didn't mind her and i et so many cherries i got sick and fell out of de tree. mist'ess was skeered, but marse frank said: 'it's good enough for him, 'cause he didn't mind.' "mammy never did give me but one whuppin' neither. daddy was gwine to de circus and i jus' cut up 'bout it 'cause i wanted to go so bad. mist'ess give me some cake and i hushed long as i was eatin', but soon as de last cake crumb was swallowed i started bawlin' again. she give me a stick of candy and soon as i et dat i was squallin' wuss dan ever. mammy told mist'ess den det she knowed how to quiet me and she retch under de bed for a shoe. when she had done finished layin' dat shoe on me and put it back whar she got it, i was sho willin' to shet my mouth and let 'em all go to de circus widout no more racket from me. "de fust school i went to was in a little one-room 'ouse in our white folkses' back yard. us had a white teacher and all he larnt slave chillun was jus' plain readin' and writin'. i had to pass dr. willingham's office lots and he was all de time pesterin' me 'bout spellin'. one day he stopped me and axed me if i could spell 'bumble bee widout its tail,' and he said dat when i larnt to spell it, he would gimme some candy. mr. sanders, at lexin'ton, gimme a dime onct. it was de fust money i ever had. i was plumb rich and i never let my daddy have no peace 'til he fetched me to town to do my tradin'. i was all sot to buy myself a hat, a sto-bought suit of clothes, and some shoes what warn't brogans, but missy, i wound up wid a gingercake and a nickel's wuth of candy. i used to cry and holler evvy time miss serena went off and left me. whenever i seed 'em gittin' out de carriage to hitch it up, i started beggin' to go. sometimes she laughed and said; 'all right neal.' but when she said, 'no neal,' i snuck out and hid under de high-up carrigge seat and went along jus' de same. mist'ess allus found me 'fore us got back home, but she jus' laughed and said: 'well, neal's my little nigger anyhow.' "dem old cord beds was a sight to look at, but dey slept good. us cyarded lint cotton into bats for mattresses and put 'em in a tick what us tacked so it wouldn't git lumpy. us never seed no iron springs dem days. dem cords, criss-crossed from one side of de bed to de other, was our springs and us had keys to tighten 'em wid. if us didn't tighten 'em evvy few days dem beds was apt to fall down wid us. de cheers was homemade too and de easiest-settin' ones had bottoms made out of rye splits. dem oak-split cheers was all right, and sometimes us used cane to bottom de cheers but evvybody laked to set in dem cheers what had bottoms wove out of rye splits. "marster had one of dem old cotton gins what didn't have no engines. it was wuked by mules. dem old mules was hitched to a long pole what dey pulled 'round and 'round to make de gin do its wuk. dey had some gins in dem days what had treadmills for de mules to walk in. dem old treadmills looked sorter lak stairs, but most of 'em was turned by long poles what de mules pulled. you had to feed de cotton by hand to dem old gins and you sho had to be keerful or you was gwine to lose a hand and maybe a arm. you had to jump in dem old cotton presses and tread de cotton down by hand. it tuk most all day long to gin two bales of cotton and if dere was three bales to be ginned us had to wuk most all night to finish up. "dey mixed wool wid de lint cotton to spin thread to make cloth for our winter clothes. mammy wove a lot of dat cloth and de clothes made out of it sho would keep out de cold. most of our stockin's and socks was knit at home, but now and den somebody would git hold of a sto-bought pair for sunday-go-to-meetin' wear. "colored folkses went to church wid deir own white folkses and sot in de gallery. one sunday us was all settin' in dat church listenin' to de white preacher, mr. hansford, tellin' how de old debbil was gwine to git dem what didn't do right." here neal burst into uncontrollable laughter. his sides shook and tears ran down his face. finally he began his story again: "missy, i jus' got to tell you 'bout dat day in de meetin' 'ouse. a nigger had done run off from his marster and was hidin' out from one place to another. at night he would go steal his somepin t'eat. he had done stole some chickens and had 'em wid him up in de church steeple whar he was hidin' dat day. when daytime come he went off to sleep lak niggers will do when dey ain't got to hustle, and when he woke up preacher hansford was tellin' 'em 'bout de debbil was gwine to git de sinners. right den a old rooster what he had stole up and crowed so loud it seemed lak gabriel's trumpet on judment day. dat runaway nigger was skeered 'cause he knowed dey was gwine to find him sho, but he warn't skeered nuffin' compared to dem niggers settin' in de gallery. dey jus' knowed dat was de voice of de debbil what had done come atter 'em. dem niggers never stopped prayin' and testifyin' to de lord, 'til de white folkses had done got dat runaway slave and de rooster out of de steeple. his marster was der and tuk him home and give him a good, sound thrashin'. "slaves was 'lowed to have prayermeetin' on chuesday (tuesday) and friday 'round at de diffunt plantations whar deir marsters didn't keer, and dere warn't many what objected. de good marsters all give deir slaves prayermeetin' passes on dem nights so de patterollers wouldn't git 'em and beat 'em up for bein' off deir marster's lands. dey 'most nigh kilt some slaves what dey cotch out when dey didn't have no pass. white preachers done de talkin' at de meetin'houses, but at dem chuesday and friday night prayermeetin's, it was all done by niggers. i was too little to 'member much 'bout dem meetin's, but my older sisters used to talk lots 'bout 'em long atter de war had brung our freedom. dere warn't many slaves what could read, so dey jus' talked 'bout what dey had done heared de white preachers say on sunday. one of de fav'rite texties was de third chapter of john, and most of 'em jus' 'membered a line or two from dat. missy, from what folkses said 'bout dem meetin's, dere was sho a lot of good prayin' and testifyin', 'cause so many sinners repented and was saved. sometimes at dem sunday meetin's at de white folkses' church dey would have two or three preachers de same dey. de fust one would give de text and preach for at least a hour, den another one would give a text and do his preachin', and 'bout dat time another one would rise up and say dat dem fust two brudders had done preached enough to save , souls, but dat he was gwine to try to double dat number. den he would do his preachin' and atter dat one of dem others would git up and say: 'brudders and sisters, us is all here for de same and only purpose--dat of savin' souls. dese other good brudders is done preached, talked, and prayed, and let the gap down; now i'm gwine to raise it. us is gwine to git 'ligion enough to take us straight through dem pearly gates. now, let us sing whilst us gives de new brudders and sisters de right hand of fellowship. one of dem old songs went sort of lak dis: 'must i be born to die and lay dis body down?' "when dey had done finished all de verses and choruses of dat dey started: 'amazin' grace, how sweet de sound dat saved a wretch lak me.' "'fore dey stopped dey usually got 'round to singin': 'on jordan's stormy banks i stand, and cast a wishful eye, to canaan's fair and happy land whar my possessions lie.' "dey could keep dat up for hours and it was sho' good singin', for dat's one thing niggers was born to do--to sing when dey gits 'ligion. "when old aunt flora come up and wanted to jine de church she told 'bout how she had done seed de hebenly light and changed her way of livin'. folkses testified den 'bout de goodness of de lord and his many blessin's what he give to saints and sinners, but dey is done stopped givin' him much thanks any more. dem days, dey 'zamined folkses 'fore dey let 'em jine up wid de church. when dey started 'zaminin' aunt flora, de preacher axed her: 'is you done been borned again and does you believe dat jesus christ done died to save sinners?' aunt flora she started to cry; and she said: 'lordy, is he daid? us didn't know dat. if my old man had done 'scribed for de paper lak i told him to, us would have knowed when jesus died?" neal giggled. "missy," he said, "ain't dat jus' lak one of dem old-time niggers? dey jus' tuk dat for ign'ance and let her come on into de church. "dem days it was de custom for marsters to hire out what slaves dey had dat warn't needed to wuk on deir own land, so our marster hired out two of my sisters. sis' anna hired to a fambly 'bout miles from our place. she didn't lak it dar so she run away and i found her hid out in our 'tater 'ouse. one day when us was playin' she called to me right low and soft lak and told me she was hongry and for me to git her somepin t'eat but not to tell nobody she was dar. she said she had been dar widout nothin' t'eat for several days. she was skeered marster might whup her. she looked so thin and bad i thought she was gwine to die, so i told mammy. her and marster went and brung anna to de 'ouse and fed her. dat pore chile was starved most to death. marster kept her at home for weeks and fed her up good, den he carried her back and told dem folkses what had hired her dat dey had better treat anna good and see dat she had plenty t'eat. marster was drivin' a fast hoss dat day, but bless your heart, anna beat him back home dat day. she cried and tuk on so, beggin' him not to take her back dar no more dat he told her she could stay home. my other sister stayed on whar she was hired out 'til de war was over and dey give us our freedom. "daddy had done hid all old marster's hosses when de yankees got to our plantation. two of de ridin' hosses was in de smokehouse and another good trotter was in de hen 'ouse. old jake was a slave what warn't right bright. he slep' in de kitchen, and he knowed whar daddy had hid dem hosses, but dat was all he knowed. marster had give daddy his money to hide too, and he tuk some of de plasterin' off de wall in marster's room and put de box of money inside de wall. den he fixed dat plasterin' back so nice you couldn't tell it had ever been tore off. de night dem yankees come, daddy had gone out to de wuk 'ouse to git some pegs to fix somepin (us didn't have no nails dem days). when de yankees rid up to de kitchen door and found old jake right by hisself, dat pore old fool was skeered so bad he jus' started right off babblin' 'bout two hosses in de smoke'ouse and one in de hen 'ouse, but he was tremblin' so he couldn't talk plain. old marster heared de fuss dey made and he come down to de kitchen to see what was de matter. de yankees den ordered marster to git 'em his hosses. marster called daddy and told him to git de hosses, but daddy, he played foolish lak and stalled 'round lak he didn't have good sense. dem sojers raved and fussed all night long 'bout dem hosses, but dey never thought 'bout lookin' in de smoke'ouse and hen 'ouse for 'em and 'bout daybreak dey left widout takin' nothin'. marster said he was sho proud of my daddy for savin' dem good hosses for him. [tr: 'horses saved' written in margin.] "marster had a long pocketbook what fastened at one end wid a ring. one day when he went to git out some money he dropped a roll of bills dat he never seed, but daddy picked it up and handed it back to him right away. now my daddy could have kept dat money jus' as easy, but he was a 'ceptional man and believed evvbody ought to do right. "aunt tama's old man, uncle griff, come to live wid her on our place atter de war was over. 'fore den he had belonged to a man named colquitt.[hw: !!] marster pervided a home for him and aunt tama 'til dey was both daid. when dey was buildin' de fust colored methodist church in dat section uncle griff give a whole hundred dollars to de buildin' fund. now it tuk a heap of scrimpin' for him to save dat much money 'cause he never had made over $ a month. aunt tama had done gone to glory a long time when uncle griff died. atter dey buried him dey come back and was 'rangin' de things in his little cabin. when dey moved dat little trunk what aunt tama used to keep gingerbread in, dey found jus' lots of money in it. marster tuk keer of dat money 'til he found uncle griff's own sister and den he give it all to her. "one time marster missed some of his money and he didn't want to 'cuse nobody, so he 'cided he would find out who had done de debbilment. he put a big rooster in a coop wid his haid stickin' out. den he called all de niggers up to de yard and told 'em somebody had been stealin' his money, and dat evvybody must git in line and march 'round dat coop and tetch it. he said dat when de guilty ones tetched it de old rooster would crow. evvybody tetched it 'cept one old man and his wife; dey jus' wouldn't come nigh dat coop whar dat rooster was a-lookin' at evvybody out of his little red eyes. marster had dat old man and 'oman sarched and found all de money what had been stole. "mammy died about a year atter de war, and i never will forgit how mist'ess cried and said: 'neal, your mammy is done gone, and i don't know what i'll do widout her.' not long atter dat, daddy bid for de contract to carry de mail and he got de place, but it made de white folkses mighty mad, 'cause some white folkses had put in bids for dat contract. dey 'lowed dat daddy better not never start out wid dat mail, 'cause if he did he was gwine to be sorry. marster begged daddy not to risk it and told him if he would stay dar wid him he would let him have a plantation for as long as he lived, and so us stayed on dar 'til daddy died, and a long time atter dat us kept on wukin' for old marster. "white folkses owned us back in de days 'fore de war but our own white folkses was mighty good to deir slaves. dey had to larn us 'bedience fust, how to live right, and how to treat evvybody else right; but de best thing dey larned us was how to do useful wuk. de onliest time i 'member stealin' anything 'cept aunt tama's gingerbread was one time when i went to town wid daddy in de buggy. when us started back home a man got in de seat wid daddy and i had to ride down in de back of de buggy whar daddy had hid a jug of liquor. i could hear it slushin' 'round and so i got to wantin' to know how it tasted. i pulled out de corncob stopper and tuk one taste. it was so good i jus' kep' on tastin' 'til i passed out, and didn't know when us got home or nuffin else 'til i waked up in my own bed next day. daddy give me a tannin' what i didn't forgit for a long time, but dat was de wussest drunk i ever was. lord, but i did love to follow my daddy. "folkses warn't sick much in dem days lak dey is now, but now us don't eat strong victuals no more. us raked out hot ashes den and cooked good old ashcakes what was a heap better for us dan dis bread us buys from de stores now. marster fed us plenty ashcake, fresh meat, and ash roasted 'taters, and dere warn't nobody what could out wuk us. "a death was somepin what didn't happen often on our plantation, but when somebody did die folkses would go from miles and miles around to set up and pray all night to comfort de fambly of de daid. dey never made up de coffins 'til atter somebody died. den dey measured de corpse and made de coffin to fit de body. dem coffins was lined wid black calico and painted wid lampblack on de outside. sometimes dey kivvered de outside wid black calico lak de linin'. coffins for white folkses was jus' lak what dey had made up for deir slaves, and dey was all buried in de same graveyard on deir own plantations. "when de war was over dey closed de little one-room school what our good marster had kept in his back yard for his slaves, but out young miss ellen larnt my sister right on 'til she got whar she could teach school. daddy fixed up a room onto our house for her school and she soon had it full of chillun. dey made me study too, and i sho did hate to have to go to school to my own aister for she evermore did take evvy chance to lay dat stick on me, but i s'pects she had a right tough time wid me. when time come 'round to celebrate school commencement, i was one proud little nigger 'cause i never had been so dressed up in my life before. i had on a red waist, white pants, and a good pair of shoes; but de grandest thing of all 'bout dat outfit was dat daddy let me wear his watch. evvybody come for dat celebration. dere was over folks at dat big dinner, and us had lots of barbecue and all sorts of good things t'eat. old marster was dar, and when i stood up 'fore all dem folks and said my little speech widout missin' a word, marster sho did laugh and clap his hands. he called me over to whar he was settin' and said: 'i knowed you could larn if you wanted to.' _best of all, he give me a whole dollar._ [tr: 'for reciting a speech' written in margin.] i was rich den, plumb rich. one of my sisters couldn't larn nothin'. de only letters she could ever say was 'g-o-d.' no matter what you axed her to spell she allus said 'g-o-d.' she was a good field hand though and a good 'oman and she lived to be more dan years old. "now, talkin' 'bout frolickin', us really used to dance. what i means, is sho 'nough old-time break-downs. sometimes us didn't have no music 'cept jus' beatin' time on tin pans and buckets but most times old elice hudson played his fiddle for us, and it had to be tuned again atter evvy set us danced. he never knowed but one tune and he played dat over and over. sometimes dere was or couples on de floor at de same time and us didn't think nothin' of dancin' all night long. us had plenty of old corn juice for refreshment, and atter elice had two or three cups of dat juice, he could git 'turkey in de straw' out of dat fiddle lak nobody's business. "one time a houseboy from another plantation wanted to come to one of our saddy night dances, so his marster told him to shine his boots for sunday and fix his hoss for de night and den he could git off for de frolic. abraham shined his marster's boots 'till he could see hisself in 'em, and dey looked so grand he was tempted to try 'em on. dey was a little tight but he thought he could wear 'em, and he wanted to show hisself off in 'em at de dance. dey warn't so easy to walk in and he was 'fraid he might git 'em scratched up walkin' through de fields, so he snuck his marster's hoss out and rode to de dance. when abraham rid up dar in dem shiny boots, he got all de gals' 'tention. none of 'em wanted to dance wid de other niggers. dat abraham was sho sruttin' 'til somebody run in and told him his hoss had done broke its neck. he had tied it to a limb and sho 'nough, some way, dat hoss had done got tangled up and hung its own self. abraham begged de other nigger boys to help him take de deid hoss home, but he had done tuk deir gals and he didn't git no help. he had to walk long miles home in dem tight shoes. de sun had done riz up when he got dar and it warn't long 'fore his marster was callin': 'abraham, bring, me my boots.' dat nigger would holler out: 'yas sah! i'se a-comin'. but dem boots wouldn't come off 'cause his foots had done swelled up in 'em. his marster kept on callin' and when abraham seed he couldn't put it off no longer, he jus' cut dem boots off his foots and went in and told what he had done. his marster was awful mad and said he was a good mind to take de hide off abraham's back. 'go git my hoss quick, nigger, 'fore i most kills you,' he yelled. den abraham told him: 'marster i knows you is gwine to kill me now, but your hoss is done daid.' den pore abraham had to out and tell de whole story and his marster got to laughin' so 'bout how he tuk all de gals away from de other boys and how dem boots hurt him dat it looked lak he never would stop. when he finally did stop laughin' and shakin' his sides he said: 'dat's all right abraham. don't never let nobody beat your time wid de gals.' and dat's all he ever said to abraham 'bout it. "when my sister got married, us sho did have a grand time. us cooked a pig whole wid a shiny red apple in its mouth and set it right in de middle of de long table what us had built out in de yard. us had evvything good to go wid dat pig, and atter dat supper, us danced all night long. my sister never had seed dat man but one time 'fore she married him. "my daddy and his cousin jim swore wid one another dat if one died 'fore de other dat de one what was left would look atter de daid one's fambly and see dat none of de chillun was bound out to wuk for nobody. it warn't long atter dis dat daddy died. i was jus' fourteen, and was wukin' for a brick mason larnin' dat trade. daddy had done been sick a while, and one night de fambly woke me up and said he was dyin'. i run fast as i could for a doctor but daddy was done daid when i got back. us buried him right side of mammy in de old graveyard. it was most a year atter dat 'fore us had de funeral sermon preached. dat was de way folkses done den. now mammy and daddy was both gone, but old marster said us chillun could live dar long as us wanted to. i went on back to wuk, 'cause i was crazy to be as good a mason as my daddy was. in lexin'ton dere is a rock wall still standin' 'round a whole square what daddy built in slavery time. long as he lived he blowed his bugle evvy mornin' to wake up all de folkses on marse frank's plantation. he never failed to blow dat bugle at break of day 'cep on sundays, and evvybody on dat place 'pended on him to wake 'em up. "i was jus' a-wukin' away one day when cousin jim sent for me to go to town wid him. missy, dat man brung ne right here to athens to de old courthouse and bound me out to a white man. he done dat very thing atter swearin' to my daddy he wouldn't never let dat happen. i didn't want to wuk dat way, so i run away and went back home to wuk. de sheriff come and got me and said i had to go back whar i was bound out or go to jail. pretty soon i runned away again and went to atlanta, and dey never bothered me 'bout dat no more. "de onliest time i ever got 'rested was once when i come to town to see 'bout gittin' somebody to pick cotton for me and jus' as i got to a certain nigger's house de police come in and caught 'em in a crap game. mr. mccune, de policeman, said i would have to go 'long wid de others to jail, but he would help me atter us got der and he did. he 'ranged it so i could hurry back home. "'bout de best times us had in de plantation days was de corn shuckin's, log rollin's and syrup cookin's. us allus finished up dem syrup cookin's wid a candy pullin'. "atter he had all his corn gathered and put in big long piles, marster 'vited de folkses from all 'round dem parts. dat was de way it was done; evvybody holped de others git de corn shucked. nobody thought of hirin' folkses and payin' out cash money for extra wuk lak dat. dey 'lected a gen'ral to lead off de singin' and atter he got 'em to keepin' time wid de singin' de little brown jug was passed 'round. when it had gone de rounds a time or two, it was a sight to see how fast dem niggers could keep time to dat singin'. dey could do all sorts of double time den when dey had swigged enough liquor. when de corn was all shucked dey feasted and den drunk more liquor and danced as long as dey could stand up. de logrollin's and candy pullin's ended de same way. dey was sho grand good times. "i farmed wid de white folkses for years and never had no trouble wid nobody. us allus settled up fair and square and in crop time dey never bothered to come 'round to see what neal was doin', 'cause dey knowed dis nigger was wukin' all right. dey was all mighty good to me. atter i got so old i couldn't run a farm no more i wuked in de white folkses' gyardens and tended deir flowers. i had done been wukin' out mrs. steve upson's flowers and when she 'come to pay, she axed what my name was. when i told her it was neal upson she wanted to know how i got de upson name. i told her mr. frank upson had done give it to me when i was his slave. she called to mr. steve and dey lak to have talked me to death, for my marse frank and mr. steve's daddy was close kinfolkses. "atter dat i wuked deir flowers long as i was able to walk way off up to deir place, but old neal can't wuk no more. mr. steve and his folkses comes to see me sometimes and i'se allus powerful glad to see 'em. "i used to wuk some for miss mary bacon. she is a mighty good 'oman and she knowed my daddy and our good old marster. miss mary would talk to me 'bout dem old days and she allus said: 'neal, let's pray,' 'fore i left. miss mary never did git married. she's one of dem solitary ladies. "now, missy, how come you wants to know 'bout my weddin'? i done been married two times, but it was de fust time dat was de sho 'nough 'citin' one. i courted dat gal for a long, long time while i was too skeered to ax her daddy for her. i went to see her evvy sunday jus' 'termined to ax him for her 'fore i left, and i would stay late atter supper, but jus' couldn't git up nerve enough to do it. one sunday i promised myself i would ax him if it kilt me, so i went over to his house early dat mornin' and told lida, dat was my sweetheart's name--i says to her: 'i sho is gwine to ax him today.' well, dinnertime come, suppertime come, and i was gittin' shaky in my jints when her daddy went to feed his hogs and i went along wid him. missy, dis is de way i finally did ax him for his gal. he said he was goin' to have some fine meat come winter. i axed him if it would be enough for all of his fambly, and he said: 'how come you ax dat, boy?' den i jus' got a tight hold on dat old hog pen and said: 'well, sir, i jus' thought if you didn't have enough for all of 'em, i could take lida.' i felt myself goin' down. he started laughin' fit to kill. 'boy,' he says, 'is you tryin' to ax for lida? if so, i don't keer 'cause she's got to git married sometime.' i was so happy i left him right den and run back to tell lida dat he said it was all right. "us didn't have no big weddin'. lida had on a new calico dress and i wore new jeans pants. marster heared us was gittin' married dat day and he sont his new buggy wid a message for us to come right dar to him. i told lida us better go, so us got in dat buggy and driv off, and de rest of de folkses followed in de wagon. marster met us in front of old salem church. he had de church open and preacher john gibson waitin' der to marry us. us warn't 'spectin' no church weddin', but marster said dat neal had to git married right. he never did forgit his niggers. lida she's done been daid a long time, and i'se married again, but dat warn't lak de fust time." by now, neal was evidently tired out but as the interviewer prepared to leave, neal said: "missy, i'se sho got somepin to tell my old 'oman when she gits home. she don't lak to leave me here by myself. i wish dere was somebody for me to talk to evvyday, for i'se had sich a good time today. i don't s'pect it's gwine to be long 'fore old neal goes to be wid dem i done been tellin' you 'bout, so don't wait too long to come back to see me again." [hw: georgia] plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave john f. van hook, age newton bridge road athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby area athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth area supervisor of federal writers' project--areas & , augusta, ga. dec. , john f. van hook was a short, stout man with a shining bald pate, a fringe of kinky gray hair, kindly eyes, and a white mustache of the lord chamberlain variety. his shabby work clothes were clean and carefully mended, and he leaned on a cane for support. john was looking for the "farm bureau office," but he agreed to return for an interview after he had transacted his business. when he reappeared a short time later and settled down in a comfortable chair he gave the story of his early life with apparent enjoyment. in language remarkably free of dialect, john began by telling his full name and added that he was well known in georgia and the whole country. "until i retired," he remarked, "i taught school in north carolina, and in hall, jackson, and rabun counties, in georgia. i am farming now about five miles from athens in the sandy creek district. i was born in in macon county, north carolina, on the george seller's plantation, which borders the little tennessee river. "i don't know anything much, first hand, about the war period, as i was quite a child when that ended, but i can tell you all about the days of reconstruction. what i know about the things that took place during the war was told me by my mother and other old people. "my father was bas van hook and he married mary angel, my mother. mother was born on marse dillard love's plantation, and when his daughter, miss jenny, married marse thomas angel's son, marse dillard gave mother to miss jenny and when little miss jenny angel was born, mother was her nurse. marse thomas and miss jenny angel died, and mother stayed right there keeping house for little miss jenny and looking after her. mother had more sense than all the rest of the slaves put together, and she even did little miss jenny's shopping. "my father was the only darkey old man isaac van hook owned, and he did anything that came to hand: he was a good carpenter and mechanic and helped the van hooks to build mills, and he made the shoes for that settlement. thomas aaron, george, james, claude, and washington were my five brothers, and my sisters were zelia, elizabeth, and candace. why, miss, the only thing i can remember right off hand that we children done was fight and frolic like youngsters will do when they get together. with time to put my mind on it, i would probably recollect our games and songs, if we had any. "our quarters was on a large farm on sugar fork river. the houses were what you would call log huts and they were scattered about promiscuously, no regular lay-out, just built wherever they happened to find a good spring convenient. there was never but one room to a hut, and they wern't particular about how many darkies they put in a room. "white folks had fine four-poster beds with a frame built around the top of the bed, and over the frame hung pretty, ruffled white curtains and a similar ruffled curtain was around the bottom of the bed; the curtains made pretty ornaments. slaves had beds of this general kind, but they warn't quite as pretty and fine. corded springs were the go then. the beds used by most of the slaves in that day and time were called 'georgia beds,' and these were made by boring two holes in the cabin wall, and two in the floor, and side pieces were run from the holes in the wall to the posts and fastened; then planks were nailed around the sides and foot, box-fashion, to hold in the straw that we used for mattresses; over this pretty white sheets and plenty of quilts was spreaded. yes, mam, there was always plenty of good warm cover in those days. of course, it was home-made, all of it. "my grandfather was a blacksmith and farmhand owned by old man dillard love. according to my earliest recollection my grandmother van hook was dead and i have no memories about her. my great, great grandmother, sarah angel, looked after slave children while their mothers were at work. she was a free woman, but she had belonged to marse tommy angel and miss jenny angel; they were brother and sister. the way granny sarah happened to be free was; one of the women in the angel family died and left a little baby soon after one of granny's babies was born, and so she was loaned to that family as wet nurse for the little orphan baby. they gave her her freedom and took her into their home, because they did not want her sleeping in slave quarters while she was nursing the white child. in that settlement, it was considered a disgrace for a white child to feed at the breast of a slave woman, but it was all right if the darkey was a free woman. after she got too old to do regular work, granny sarah used to glean after the reapers in the field to get wheat for her bread. she had been a favored slave and allowed to do pretty much as she pleased, and after she was a free woman the white folks continued to look after her every need, but she loved to do for herself as long as she was able to be up and about. "what did we have to eat then? why, most everything; ash cakes was a mighty go then. cornbread dough was made into little pones and placed on the hot rocks close to the fire to dry out a little, then hot ashes were raked out to the front of the fireplace and piled over the ash cakes. when thoroughly done they were taken out and the ashes washed off; they were just like cake to us children then. we ate lots of home-made lye hominy, beans, peas, and all kinds of greens, cooked with fat meat. the biggest, and maybe the best thing in the way of vegetables that we had then was the white-head cabbage; they grew large up there in carolina where i lived. there was just one big garden to feed all the folks on that farm. "marse george had a good 'possum dog that he let his slaves use at night. they would start off hunting about o'clock. darkies knew that the best place to hunt for 'possums was in a persimmon tree. if they couldn't shake him out, they would cut the tree down, but the most fun was when we found the 'possum in a hollow log. some of the hunters would get at one end of the log, and the others would guard the other end, and they would build a fire to smoke the 'possum out. sometimes when they had to pull him out, they would find the 'possum in such a tight place that most of his hair would be rubbed off before they could get him out. darkies hunted rabbits, squirrels, coons, all kinds of birds, and 'specially they was fond of going after wild turkeys. another great sport was hunting deer in the nearby mountains. i managed to get a shot at one once. marse george was right good about letting his darkies hunt and fish at night to get meat for themselves. oh! sure, there were lots of fish and they caught plenty of 'em in the little tennessee and sugar fork rivers and in the numerous creeks that were close by. red horse, suckers, and salmon are the kinds of fish i remember best. they were cooked in various ways in skillets, spiders, and ovens on the big open fireplace. "now, about the clothes we wore in the days of the war, i couldn't rightly say, but my mother said we had good comfortable garments. in the summer weather, boys and men wore plain cotton shirts and jeans pants. the home-made linsey-woolsy shirts that we wore over our cotton shirts, and the wool pants that we wore in winter, were good and warm; they had brogan shoes in winter too. folks wore the same clothes on sundays as through the week, but they had to be sure that they were nice and clean on sundays. dresses for the women folks were made out of cotton checks, and they had sunbonnets too. "marse george sellars, him that married miss ca'line angel, was my real master. they had four children, bud, mount, elizabeth, and, and er; i just can't bring to recollect the name of their other girl. they lived in a two-story frame house that was surrounded by an oak grove on the road leading from franklin, north carolina, to clayton, georgia. hard sellars was the carriage driver, and while i am sure marse george must have had an overseer, i don't remember ever hearing anybody say his name. "really, miss, i couldn't say just how big that plantation was, but i am sure there must have been at least four or five hundred acres in it. one mighty peculiar thing about his slaves was that marse george never had more than slaves at one time; every time he bought one to try to make it an even hundred, a slave died. this happened so often, i was told, that he stopped trying to keep a hundred or more, and held on to his slaves, and long as he did that, there warn't any more deaths than births among his slaves. his slaves had to be in the fields when the sun rose, and there they had to work steady until the sun went down. oh! yes, mam, marse tommy angel was mighty mean to his slaves, but miss jenny, his sister, was good as could be; that is the reason she gave my mother to her sister, miss ca'line sellars; because she thought marse tommy was too hard on her. "i heard some talk as to how after the slaves had worked hard in the field all day and come to the house at night, they were whipped for mighty small offenses. marse george would have them tied hand and foot over a barrel and would beat them with a cowhide, or cat-o'-nine tails lash. they had a jail in franklin as far back as i can recollect. old big andy angel's white folks had him put in jail a heap of times, because he was a rogue and stole everything he could get his hands on. nearly everybody was afraid of him; he was a great big double jointed man, and was black as the ace of spades. no, mam, i never saw any slaves sold, but my father's mother and his sister were sold on the block. the white folks that bought 'em took them away. after the war was over my father tried to locate 'em, but never once did he get on the right track of 'em. "oh! why, my white folks took a great deal of pains teaching their slaves how to read and write. my father could read, but he never learned to write, and it was from our white folks that i learned to read and write. slaves read the bible more than anything else. there were no churches for slaves on marse george's plantation, so we all went to the white folks' church, about two miles away; it was called clarke's chapel. sometimes we went to church at cross roads; that was about the same distance across sugar fork river. my mother was baptized in that sugar fork river by a white preacher, but that is the reason i joined the baptist church, because my mother was a baptist, and i was so crazy about her, and am 'til yet. "there were no funeral parlors in those days. they just funeralized the dead in their own homes, took them to the graveyard in a painted home-made coffin that was lined with thin bleaching made in the loom on the plantation, and buried them in a grave that didn't have any bricks or cement about it. that brings to my memory those songs they sung at funerals. one of them started off something like this, _i don't want you to grieve after me_. my mother used to tell me that when she was baptized they sung, _you shall wear a lily-white robe_. whenever i get to studying about her it seems to me i can hear my mother singing that song again. she did love it so much. "no, mam, there didn't none of the darkies on marse george sellar's place run away to the north, but some on marse tommy angel's place ran to the west. they told me that when little charles angel started out to run away a bird flew in front of him and led him all the way to the west. understand me, i am not saying that is strictly so, but that is what i heard old folks say, when i was young. when darkies wanted to get news to their girls or wives on other plantations and didn't want marse george to know about it, they would wait for a dark night and would tie rags on their feet to keep from making any noise that the paterollers might hear, for if they were caught out without a pass, that was something else. paterollers would go out in squads at night and whip any darkies they caught out that could not show passes. adam angel was a great big man, weighing about pounds, and he slipped out one night without a pass. when the paterollers found him, he was at his girl's place where they were out in the front yard stewing lard for the white folks. they knew he didn't belong on that plantation, so they asked him to show his pass. adam didn't have one with him, and he told them so. they made a dive for him, and then, quick as a flash, he turned over that pot of boiling lard, and while they were getting the hot grease off of them he got away and came back to his cabin. if they had caught adam, he would have needed some of that spilt grease on him after the beating they would have give him. darkies used to stretch ropes and grapevines across the road where they knew paterollers would be riding; then they would run down the road in front of them, and when they got to the rope or vine they would jump over it and watch the horses stumble and throw the paterollers to the ground. that was a favorite sport of slaves. "after the darkies got in from the field at night, ate their supper, and finished up the chores for the day, on nights when the moon shone bright the men would work in their own cotton patches that marse george allowed them; the women used their own time to wash, iron, patch, and get ready for the next day, and if they had time they helped the men in their cotton patches. they worked straight on through saturdays, same as any other day, but the young folks would get together on saturday nights and have little parties. "how did they spend sundays? why, they went to church on sunday and visited around, holding prayermeetings at one another's cabins. now, christmas morning! yes, mam, that was a powerful time with the darkies, if they didn't have nothing but a little sweet cake, which was nothing more than gingerbread. however, marse george did have plenty of good things to eat at that time, such as fresh pork and wild turkeys, and we were allowed to have a biscuit on that day. how we did frolic and cut up at christmas! marse george didn't make much special to do on new year's day as far as holiday was concerned; work was the primary object, especially in connection with slaves. "oh-oo-h! everybody had cornshuckings. the man designated to act as the general would stick a peacock tail feather in his hat and call all the men together and give his orders. he would stand in the center of the corn pile, start the singing, and keep things lively for them. now and then he would pass around the jug. they sang a great deal during cornshuckings, but i have forgotten the words to those songs. great excitement was expressed whenever a man found a red ear of corn, for that counted points, a speckled ear was points and a blue ear points, toward a special extra big swig of liquor whenever a person had as many as points. after the work was finished they had a big feast spread on long tables in the yard, and dram flowed plentiful, then they played ball, tussled, ran races, and did anything they knew how to amuse themselves. "now, ladies," john said, "please excuse me. i left my wife at home real sick, and i just must hurry to the drug store and get some flaxseed so i can make a poultice for her." as he made a hasty departure, he agreed to complete the story later at his home, and gave careful directions for finding the place. a month later, two visitors called on john at his small, unpainted house in the center of a hillside cotton patch. a tall, thin negress appeared in the doorway. "yes, mam, john van hook lives here. he's down in the field with his hoe, digging 'taters." she leaned from the porch and called, "daddy, daddy! somebody wants to see you." asked if john was her father, she answered "no, mam, he is my husband. i started calling him daddy when our child was little, so i've been calling him that ever since. my name is laney." the walls of the room into which john invited his callers were crudely plestered with newspapers and the small space was crowded with furniture of various kinds and periods. the ladder-back chairs he designated for his guests were beautiful. "they are plantation-made," he explained, "and we've had 'em a mighty long time." on a reading table a pencil and tablet with a half-written page lay beside a large glass lamp. newspapers and books covered several other tables. a freshly whitewashed hearth and mantel were crowned by an old-fashioned clock, and at the end of the room a short flight of steps led to the dining room, built on a higher floor level. "now, let's see! where was i?," john began. "oh, yes, we were talking about cornshuckings, when i had to leave your office. well, i haven't had much time to study about those cornshucking songs to get all the words down right, but the name of one was _general religh hoe_, and there was another one that was called, _have a jolly crowd, and a little jolly johnny_. "now you needn't to expect me to know much about cotton pickings, for you know i have already told you i was raised in north carolina, and we were too far up in the mountains for cotton growing, but i have lived in a cotton growing country for forty-odd years. "as to parties and frolics, i guess i could have kept those things in mind, but when i realized that being on the go every night i could get off, week in and week out, was turning my mind and heart away from useful living, i tried to put those things out of my life and to train myself to be content with right living and the more serious things of life, and that's why i can't remember more of the things about our frolics that took place as i was growing up. about all i remember about the dances was when we danced the cotillion at regular old country break-downs. folks valued their dances very highly then, and to be able to perform them well was a great accomplishment. _turkey in the straw_ is about the oldest dance tune i can remember. next to that is _taint gonna rain no more_, but the tune as well as words to that were far different from the modern song by that name. _rabbit hair_ was another favorite song, and there were dozens of others that i just never tried to remember until you asked me about them. "my father lived in caswell county and he used to tell us how hard it was for him to get up in the morning after being out most of the night frolicking. he said their overseer couldn't talk plain, and would call them long before crack of dawn, and it sounded like he was saying, 'ike and a bike, ike and a bike.' what he meant was, 'out and about! out and about!' "marriage in those days was looked upon as something very solemn, and it was mighty seldom that anybody ever heard of a married couple trying to get separated. now it's different. when a preacher married a couple, you didn't see any hard liquor around, but just a little light wine to liven up the wedding feast. if they were married by a justice of the peace, look out, there was plenty of wine and," here his voice was almost awe-stricken, "even whiskey too." laney interrupted at this stage of the story with, "my mother said they used to make up a new broom and when the couple jumped over it, they was married. then they gave the broom to the couple to use keeping house." john was evidently embarrassed. "laney," he said, "that was never confirmed. it was just hearsay, as far as you know, and i wouldn't tell things like that. "the first colored man i ever heard preach was old man johnny mcdowell. he married angeline pennon and william scruggs, uncle to ollie scruggs, who lives in athens now. after the wedding they were all dancing around the yard having a big time and enjoying the wine and feast, and old man mcdowell, sitting there watching them, looked real thoughtful and sad; suddenly he said: 'they don't behave like they knew what's been done here today. two people have been joined together for life. no matter what comes, or what happens, these two people must stand by each other, through everything, as long as they both shall live.' never before had i had such thoughts at a wedding. they had always just been times for big eats, dancing, frolicking, and lots of jokes, and some of them pretty rough jokes, perhaps. what he said got me to thinking, and i have never been careless minded at a wedding since that day. brother mcdowell preached at clarke's chapel, about five miles south of franklin, north ca'lina, on the road leading from england to georgia; that road ran right through the van hook place." again laney interrupted her husband. "my mother said they even had infare dinners the next day after the wedding. the infare dinners were just for the families of the bride and groom, and the bride had a special dress for that occasion that she called her infare dress. the friends of both parties were there at the big feast on the wedding day, but not at the infare dinner." "and there was no such a thing as child marriages heard of in those days," john was speaking again. "at least none of the brides were under or years old. now you can read about child brides not more than years old, 'most ever' time you pick up a paper. "i don't remember much, about what i played until i got to be about years old. i was a terrible little fellow to imitate things. old man tommy angel built mills, and i built myself a little toy mill down on the branch that led to sugar fork river. there was plenty of nice soapstone there that was so soft you could cut it with a pocket knife and could dress it off with a plane for a nice smooth finish. i shaped two pieces of soapstone to look like round millstones and set me up a little mill that worked just fine. "we run pretty white sand through it and called that our meal and flour. my white folks would come down to the branch and watch me run the little toy mill. i used to make toy rifles and pistols and all sorts of nice playthings out of that soapstone. i wish i had a piece of that good old soapstone from around franklin, so i could carve some toys like i used to play with for my boy." "we caught real salmon in the mountain streams," john remarked. "they weighed from to pounds, and kind of favored a jack fish, only jack fishes have duck bills, and these salmon had saw teeth. they were powerful jumpers and when you hooked one you had a fight on your hands to get it to the bank no matter whether it weighed or pounds. the gamest of all the fish in those mountain streams were red horses. when i was about or years old i took my brother's fish gig and went off down to the river. i saw what looked like the shadow of a stick in the clear water and when i thrust the gig at it i found mighty quick i had gigged a red horse. i did my best to land it but it was too strong for me and pulled loose from my gig and darted out into deep water. i ran fast as i could up the river bank to the horseshoe bend where a flat bottom boat belonging to our family was tied. i got in that boat and chased that fish 'til i got him. it weighed pounds and was feet and inches long. there was plenty of excitement created around that plantation when the news got around that a boy, as little as i was then, had landed such a big old fighting fish." "suckers were plentiful and easy to catch but they did not give you the battle that a salmon or a red horse could put up and that was what it took to make fishing fun. we had canoes, but we used a plain old flat boat, a good deal like a small ferry boat, most of the time. there was about the same difference in a canoe and a flat boat that there is in a nice passenger automobile and a truck." when asked if he remembered any of the tunes and words of the songs he sang as a child, john was silent for a few moments and then began to sing: "a frog went courtin' and he did ride uh hunh with a sword and pistol by his side uh hunh. "old uncle rat laughed, shook his old fat side; he thought his niece was going to be the bride. uh hunh, uh hunh "where shall the wedding be? uh hunh where shall the wedding be? uh hunh "way down yonder in a hollow gum tree. uh hunh, un hunh, uh hunh. "who shall the waiters be? uh hunh granddaddy louse and a black-eyed flea. uh hunh, uh hunh, uh hunh." laney reminded him of a song he used to sing when their child was a baby. "it is hard for me to formulate its words in my mind. i just cannot seem to get them," he answered, "but i thought of this one the other night and promised myself i would sing it for you sometime. it's _old granny mistletoe_. "old granny mistletoe, lyin' in the bed, out the window she poked her head. "she says, 'old man, the gray goose's gone, and i think i heard her holler, king-cant-you-o, king-cant-you-o!' "the old fox stepped around, a mighty fast step. he hung the old gray goose up by the neck. "her wings went flip-flop over her back, and her legs hung down. ding-downy-o, ding-downy-o. "the old fox marched on to his den. out come his young ones, some nine or ten. "now we will have some-supper-o, some-summer-o. now we will have some-supper-o, some-supper-o." "the only riddle i remember is the one about: 'what goes around the house, and just makes one track?' i believe they said it was a wheelbarrow. mighty few people in that settlement believed in such things as charms. they were too intelligent for that sort of thing. "old man dillard love didn't know half of his slaves. they were called 'love's free niggers.' some of the white folks in that settlement would get after their niggers and say 'who do you think you are, you must think you are one of dillard love's free niggers the way you act.' then the slave was led to the whipping post and brushed down, and his marster would tell him, 'now you see who is boss.' "marse dillard often met a darkey in the road, he would stop and inquire of him, 'who's nigger is you?' the darkey would say 'boss i'se your nigger.' if marse dillard was feeling good he would give the darkey a present. heaps of times he gave them as much as five dollars, 'cording to how good he was feeling. he treated his darkies mighty good. "my grandfather belonged to marse dillard love, and when the war was declared he was too old to go. marse george sellars went and was wounded. you know all about the blanket rolls they carried over their shoulders. well, that bullet that hit him had to go all the way through that roll that had i don't know how many folds, and its force was just about spent by the time it got to his shoulder; that was why it didn't kill him, otherwise it would have gone through him. the bullet was extracted, but it left him with a lame shoulder. "our mr. tommy angel went to the war, and he got so much experience shooting at the yankees that he could shoot at a target all day long, and then cover all the bullet holes he made with the palm of one hand. mr. tommy was at home when the yankees come though. "folks around our settlement put their darkies on all their good mules and horses, and loaded them down with food and valuables, then sent them to the nearby mountains and caves to hide until the soldiers were gone. mr. angel himself told me later that lots of the folks who came around pilfering after the war, warn't northerners at all, but men from just anywhere, who had fought in the war and came back home to find all they had was gone, and they had to live some way. "one day my father and another servant were laughing fit to kill at a greedy little calf that had caught his head in the feed basket. they thought it was just too funny. about that time a yankee, in his blue uniform coming down the road, took the notion the men were laughing at him. 'what are you laughing at?' he said, and at that they lit out to run. the man called my father and made him come back, 'cause he was the one laughing so hard. father thought the yankee vas going to shoot him before he could make him understand they were just laughing at the calf. "when the war was over, mr. love called his slaves together and told them they had been set free. he explained everything to them very carefully, and told them he would make farming arrangements for all that wanted to stay on there with him. lots of the darkies left after they heard about folks getting rich working on the railroads in tennessee and about the high wages that were being paid on those big plantations in mississippi. some of those labor agents were powerful smart about stretching the truth, but those folks that believed them and left home found out that it's pretty much the same the world over, as far as folks and human nature is concerned. those that had even average common sense got along comfortable and all right in tennessee and mississippi, and those that suffered out there were the sort that are so stupid they would starve in the middle of a good apple pie. my brother that went with the others to tennessee never came back, and we never saw him again. "my father did not want me to leave our home at franklin, north carolina, and come to georgia, for he had been told georgia people were awful mean. there was a tale told us about the mr. oglethorpe, who settled georgia, bringing over folks from the jails of england to settle in georgia and it was said they became the ruling class of the state. anyway, i came on just the same, and pretty soon i married a georgia girl, and have found the people who live here are all right." laney eagerly took advantage of the pause that followed to tell of her mother's owner. "mother said that he was an old, old man and would set in his big armchair 'most all day. when he heard good news from the soldiers he would drum his fingers on his chair and pat his feet, whilst he tried to sing, 'te deum, te deum. good news today! we won today!' whenever he heard the southern armies were losing, he would lie around moaning and crying out loud. nobody could comfort him then." john was delighted to talk about religion. "yes, mam, after the war, darkies used to meet at each others' houses for religious services until they got churches of their own. those meetings were little more than just prayermeetings. our white folks were powerful careful to teach their slaves how to do the right thing, and long after we were free mr. tommy would give long talks at our meetings. we loved to listen to him and have him interested in us, for we had never been treated mean like heaps of the slaves in that neighborhood had. "one white man in our county needed the help of the lord. his name was boney ridley and he just couldn't keep away from liquor. he was an uncle of that famous preacher and poet, mr. caleb ridley. one day when mr. boney had been drinking hard and kind of out of his head, he was stretched out on the ground in a sort of stupor. he opened his eyes and looked at the buzzards circling low over him and said, sort of sick and fretful-like, 'git on off, buzzards; i ain't dead yet.'" "the reverend doctor george truett was a fine boy and he has grown into a splendid man. he is one of god's chosen ones. i well remember the first time i heard him speak. i was a janitor at the state normal school when he was a pupil there in . i still think he is about the greatest orator i ever listened to. in those days, back in , i always made it convenient to be doing something around the school room when time came for him to recite or to be on a debate. after he left that school he went on to the seminary at louisville and he has become known throughout this country as a great christian. "i started teaching in old field schools with no education but just what our white folks had taught me. they taught me to read and write, and i must say i really was a mighty apt person, and took advantage of every opportunity that came my way to learn. you know, teaching is a mighty good way to learn. after i had been teaching for some time i went back to school, but most of my knowledge was gotten by studying what books and papers i could get hold of and by watching folks who were really educated; by listening carefully to them, i found i could often learn a good deal that way." laney could be quiet no longer. "my husband," she said, "is a self-made man. his educated brother, claude, that graduated from maryville school in tennessee, says that he cannot cope with my husband." john smiled indulgently and continued: "we were in sad and woeful want after the war. once i asked my father why he let us go so hungry and ragged, and he answered: 'how can we help it? why, even the white folks don't have enough to eat and wear now.' "eleven years ago i rented a little farm from. mr. jasper thompson, in jackson county. after the boll-weevil got bad i came to the other side of the river yonder, where i stayed years. by this time most of the children by my first two wives had grown up and gone off up north. my first wife's children were robert, ella, the twins, julius and julia anne, (who died soon after they were grown-up), and charlie, and dan. robert is in philadelphia, ella in cincinnati, and dan is dead. "fred, george, and johnny, my second wife's children are all living, but are scattered in far-off places. "everybody was powerful sorry to hear about lincoln's assassination. at that time jefferson davis was considered the greatest man that ever lived, but the effect of lincoln's life and deeds will live on forever. his life grows greater in reputation with the years and his wisdom more apparent. "as long as we were their property our masters were mighty careful to have us doctored up right when there was the least sign of sickness. there was always some old woman too old for field work that nursed the sick on the big plantations, but the marsters sent for regular doctors mighty quick if the patient seemed much sick. "after the war we were slower to call in doctors because we had no money, and that's how i lost my good right eye. if i had gone to the doctor when it first got hurt it would have been all right now. when we didn't have money we used to pay the doctor with corn, fodder, wheat, chickens, pork, or anything we had that he wanted. "we learned to use lots of herbs and other home-made remedies during the war when medicine was scarce at the stores, and some old folks still use these simple teas and poultices. comfrey was a herb used much for poultices on risings, boils, and the like, and tea made from it is said to be soothing to the nerves. garlic tea was much used for worms, but it was also counted a good pneumonia remedy, and garlic poultices helped folks to breathe when they had grippe or pneumonia. boneset tea was for colds. goldenrod was used leaf, stem, blossom, and all in various ways, chiefly for fever and coughs. black snake root was a good cure for childbed fever, and it saved the life of my second wife after her last child was born. slippery ellum was used for poultices to heal burns, bruises, and any abrasions, and we gargled slippery ellum tea to heal sore throats, but red oak bark tea was our best sore throat remedy. for indigestion and shortness of the breath we chewed calamus root or drank tea made from it. in fact, we still think it is mighty useful for those purposes. it was a long time after the war before there were any darkies with enough medical education to practice as doctors. dr. doyle in gainesville was the first colored physician that i ever saw. "the world seems to be gradually drifting the wrong way, and it won't get any better 'til all people put their belief--and i mean by that--simple faith, in the bible. what they like of it they are in the habit of quoting, but they distort it and try to make it appear to mean whatever will suit their wicked convenience. they have got to take the whole bible and live by it, and they must remember they cannot leave out those wise old laws of the old testament that god gave for men everywhere to live by." laney had quietly left the room, but as the visitors were taking their departure she returned with a small package. "this," she explained, "is some calamus root that i raised and dried myself, and i hope it comes in handy whenever you ladies need something for the indigestion." "next time you come, i hope to have more songs remembered and written down for you," promised john. plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave addie vinson, age dearing street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens, georgia edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens, georgia and john n. booth wpa residency no. & august , perched on an embankment high above the street level is the four-room frame cottage where addie vinson lives with her daughter. the visitor scrambled up the steep incline to the vine covered porch, and a rap on the front door brought prompt response. "who dat?" asked a very black woman, who suddenly appeared in the hall. "what you want?... yassum, dis here's addie, but dey calls me mammy, 'cause i'se so old. i s'pects i'se most nigh a hunnert and eight years old." the old negress is very short and stout. her dark blue calico dress was striped with lines of tiny polka dots, and had been lengthened by a band of light blue outing flannel with a darker blue stripe, let in just below the waist line. her high-topped black shoes were worn over grey cotton hose, and the stocking cap that partially concealed her white hair was crowned by a panama hat that flopped down on all sides except where the brim was fastened up across the front with two conspicuous "safety-first" pins. addie's eyesight is poor, and she claims it was "plum ruint by de st. vitus's dance," from which she has suffered for many years. she readily agreed to tell of her early life, and her eyes brightened as she began: "lawsy, missy! is dat what you come 'ere for? oh, dem good old days! i was thinkin' 'bout old miss jus' t'other day. "i was borned down in oconee county on marse ike vinson's place. old miss was marse ike's mother. my mammy and pappy was peter and 'nerva vinson and dey was both field hands. marse ike buyed my pappy from marse sam brightwell. me and bill, willis, maze, harrison, easter, and sue was all de chillun my mammy and pappy had. dere warn't but four of us big enough to wuk when marse ike married miss ann hayes and dey tuk mammy wid 'em to dey new home in town. i stayed dar on de plantation and done lots of little jobs lak waitin' on table; totin' old miss' breakfast to her in her room evvy mornin', and i holped 'tend to de grainery. dey says now dat folkses is livin' in dat old grainery house. "dat was a be-yootiful place, wid woods, cricks, and fields spread out most as fur as you could see. de slave quarters would'a reached from here to milledge avenue. us lived in a one-room log cabin what had a chimbly made out of sticks and mud. dem homemade beds what us slep' on had big old high posties wid a great big knob on de top of each post. our matt'esses was coarse home-wove cloth stuffed wid field straw. you know i laked dem matt'esses 'cause when de chinches got too bad you could shake out dat straw and burn it, den scald de tick and fill it wid fresh straw, and rest in peace again. you can't never git de chinches out of dese cotton matt'esses us has to sleep on now days. pillows? what you talkin' 'bout? you know niggers never had no pillows dem days, leaseways us never had none. us did have plenty of kivver dough. folkses was all time a-piecin' quilts and having quiltin's. all dat sort of wuk was done at night. "pappy's ma and pa was grandma nancy and grandpa jacob. day was field hands, and dey b'longed to marse obe jackson. grandma lucy and grandpa toney murrah was owned by marse billy murrah. marse billy was a preacher what sho could come down wid de gospel at church. grandma lucy was his cook. miss sadie leseur got grandma lucy and tuk her to columbus, georgy, and us never seed our grandma no more. miss sadie had been one of de vinson gals. she tuk our aunt haley 'long too to wait on her when she started out for europe, and 'fore dey got crost de water, aunt haley, she died on de boat. miss sarah, she had a time keepin' dem boatsmens from th'owing aunt haley to de sharks. she is buried in de old country somewhar. "now missy, how was nigger chillun gwine to git holt of money in slavery time? old marse, he give us plenty of somepin t'eat and all de clothes us needed, but he sho kep' his money for his own self. "now 'bout dat somepin t'eat. sho dat! us had plenty of dem good old collards, turnips, and dem sort of oatments, and dar was allus a good chunk of meat to bile wid 'em. marse ike, he kep' plenty of evvy sort of meat folkses knowed about dem days. he had his own beef cattle, lots of sheep, and he killed more'n a hunnert hogs evvy year. dey tells me dat old bench dey used to lay de meat out on to cut it up is standin' dar yet. "'possums? lawd, dey was plentiful, and dat ain't all dere was on dat plantation. one time a slave man was 'possum huntin' and, as he was runnin' 'round in de bresh, he looked up and dar was a b'ar standin' right up on his hind laigs grinnin' and ready to eat dat nigger up. oh, good gracious, how dat nigger did run! dey fetched in 'possums in piles, and dere was lots of rabbits, fixes, and coons. dem coon, fox and 'possum hounds sho knowed deir business. lawsy, i kin jus' smell one of dem good old 'possums roastin' right now, atter all dese years. you parbiled de 'possum fust, and den roasted him in a heavy iron skillet what had a big old thick lid. jus' 'fore de 'possum got done, you peeled ash-roasted 'taters and put 'em all 'round da 'possum so as day would soak up some of dat good old gravy, and would git good and brown. is you ever et any good old ashcake? you wropped de raw hoecake in cabbage or collard leafs and roasted 'em in de ashes. when dey got done, you had somepin fit for a king to eat. "de kitchen was sot off a piece from de big house, and our white folkses wouldn't eat deir supper 'fore time to light de lamps to save your life; den i had to stan' 'hind old miss' cheer and fan her wid a turkey-feather fan to keep de flies off. no matter how rich folkses was dem days dere warn't no screens in de houses. "i never will forgit pore old aunt mary; she was our cook, and she had to be tapped evvy now and den 'cause she had de drapsy so bad. aunt mary's old man was uncle harris, and i 'members how he used to go fishin' at night. de udder slaves went fishin' too. many's de time i'se seed my mammy come back from barber's crick wid a string of fish draggin' from her shoulders down to de ground. me, i laked milk more'n anything else. you jus' oughta seed dat place at milkin' time. dere was a heap of cows a fightin', chillun hollerin', and sich a bedlam as you can't think up. dat old plantation was a grand place for chillun, in summertime 'specially, 'cause dere was so many branches and cricks close by what us chillun could hop in and cool off. "chillun didn't wear nothin' but cotton slips in summer, but de winter clothes was good and warm. under our heavy winter dresses us wore quilted underskirts dat was sho nice and warm. sunday clothes? yes mar'm, us allus had nice clothes for sunday. dey made up our summertime sunday dresses out of a thin cloth called sunday-parade. dey was made spenser fashion, wid ruffles 'round de neck and waist. our ruffled petticoats was all starched and ironed stiff and slick, and us jus' knowed our long pantalettes, wid deir scalloped ruffles, was mighty fine. some of de 'omans would wuk fancy eyelets what dey punched in de scallops wid locust thorns. dem pantalettes was buttoned on to our drawers. our sunday dresses for winter was made out of linsey-woolsey cloth. white ladies wore hoopskirts wid deir dresses, and dey looked lak fairy queens. boys wore plain shirts in summer, but in winter dey had warmer shirts and quilted pants. dey would put two pair of britches togedder and quilt 'em up so you couldn't tell what sort of cloth dey was made out of. dem pants was called suggins. "all de niggers went barfoots in summer, but in winter us all wore brogans. old miss had a shoe shop in de cellar under de big house, and when dem two white 'omans dat she hired to make our shoes come, us knowed wintertime was nigh. dem 'omans would stay 'til day had made up shoes enough to last us all winter long, den dey would go on to de next place what dey s'pected to make shoes. "marse ike vinson was sho good to his niggers. he was de hanger, 'cept he never hung nobody. him and miss ann had six chillun. dey was miss lucy, miss myrt, miss sarah, miss nettie, marse charlie, and marse tom. marse ike's ma, old miss, wouldn't move to town wid him and miss ann; she stayed on in de big house on de plantation. to tell de truf i done forgot old miss' name. de overseer and his wife was mr. edmond and miss betsey, and dey moved up to de big house wid old miss atter marse ike and miss ann moved to town. stiles vinson was de carriage driver, and he fotched marse ike out to de plantation evvy day. lord! gracious alive! it would take a week to walk all over dat plantation. dere was more'n a thousand acres in it and, countin' all de chillun, dere was mighty nigh a hunnert slaves. "long 'fore day, dat overseer blowed a bugle to wake up de niggers. you could hear it far as high shoals, and us lived dis side of watkinsville. heaps of folkses all over dat part of de country got up by dat old bugle. i will never forgit one time when de overseer said to us chillun, 'you fellows go to do field and fetch some corn tops.' mandy said: 'he ain't talkin' to us 'cause us ain't fellows and i ain't gwine.' bless your sweet life, i runned and got dem corn tops, 'cause i didn't want no beatin'. dem udder 'chillun got deir footses most cut off wid dem switches whan dat overseer got to wuk to sho 'em dey had to obey him. dat overseer sho did wuk de niggers hard; he driv' 'em all de time. dey had to go to de field long 'fore sunup, and it was way atter sundown 'fore dey could stop dat field wuk. den dey had to hustle to finish deir night wuk in time for supper, or go to bed widout it. [hw sidenote: beating] "you know dey whupped niggers den. atter dey had done wukked hard in de fields all day long, de beatin' started up, and he allus had somepin in mind to beat 'em about. when dey beat my aunt sallie she would fight back, and once when uncle randall said somepin he hadn't oughta, dat overseer beat him so bad he couldn't wuk for a week. he had to be grez all over evvy day wid hoalin' ointment for a long time 'fore dem gashes got well. "rita and retta was de nigger 'omans what put pizen in some collards what dey give aunt vira and her baby to eat. she had been laughin' at a man 'cause his coattail was a-flappin' so funny whilst he was dancin', and dem two jezebels thought she was makin' fun of dem. at de graveyard, 'fore dey buried her, dey cut her open and found her heart was all decayed. de overseer driv dem 'omans clear off de plantation, and marster, he was mighty mad. he said he had done lost 'bout $ , . if he had kotched dem 'omans he woulda hung 'em, cause he was de hanger. in 'bout two weeks dat overseer left dar, and old marse had to git him anudder man to take his place. "sho! dere was a jail for slaves and a hangin' place right in front of de jail, but none of old marster's niggers warn't never put in no jailhouse. oh god! yes, dey sold slaves. my own granddaddy was made to git up on dat block, and dey sold him. one time i seed old marse buy four boys." at this point the narrative ceased when addie suddenly remembered that she must stop to get supper for the daughter, who would soon be returning from work. the visitor called early in the morning of the following day, and found addie bent over her washtubs in the back yard. "have dat cheer," was the greeting as the old negress lifted a dripping hand to point out a chair under the spreading branches of a huge oak tree, "you knows you don't want to hear no more 'bout dat old stuff," she said, "and anyhow, is you gittin' paid for doin' dis?" when the visitor admitted that these interviews were part of her salaried work, addie quickly asked: "what is you gwine to give me?" when the last piece of wash had been hung on the line and addie had turned a large lard can upside down for a stool, she settled down and began to talk freely. "no ma'm, dey didn't low niggers to larn how to read and write. i had to go wid de white chillun to deir school on hog mountain road evvy day to wait on 'em. i toted water for 'em kep' de fire goin', and done all sorts of little jobs lak dat. miss martha, de overseer's daughter, tried to larn me to read and write, but i wouldn't take it in. "no ma'm dere warn't no churches for niggers in slavery time, so slaves had to go to deir white folkses churches. us went to church at betty berry (bethabara) and mars hill. when time come for de sermon to de niggers, sometimes de white folkses would leave and den again dey would stay, but dat overseer, he was dar all de time. old man isaac vandiver, a nigger preacher what couldn't read a word in de bible, would git up in dat pulpit and talk from his heart. you know dere's heaps of folkses what's got dat sort of 'ligion--it's deep in deir hearts. de reverend freeman was de white folkses' preacher. i laked him best, for what he said allus sounded good to me. "at funerals us used to sing _hark from de tomb a doleful sound_. i never went to no funerals, but old marster's and aunt nira's, 'fore de end of de war. "when old marster went off to de war, he had all his slaves go to de musterin' ground to see him leave. he was captain of his company from oconee county, and 'fore he left he had de mens in dat company bury deir silver and gold, deir watches, rings, and jus' anything dey wanted to keep, on hog mountain. ha lef' a guard to watch de hidin' place so as dey would have somepin when dey come back home, den dey marched back to de musterin' ground dat was twixt de hopkins' plantation and old marster's place. uncle solomon went along to de war to tote marster's gun, cook for him, and sich lak. it warn't long 'fore old marse was kilt in dat war, and uncle solomon fetches him back in a coffin. all de slaves dat went to de buryin' jus' trembled when guns was fired over old marster's grave. dat was done to show dat old marster had been a powerful high-up man in de army. "good gracious! dere didn't nary a nigger go off from our place to de north, 'cause us was skeered of dem yankees. dere was a white slave-trader named mcraleigh what used to come to old marster's plantation to buy up niggers to take 'em to de mississippi bottoms. when us seed him comin' us lit out for de woods. he got aunt rachel; you could hear her hollerin' a mile down de road. "oh! good lord! dem patterollers was awful. folkses what dey cotched widout no paper, dey jus' plum wore out. old man john was de fiddler on our place, and when de patterollers cotched him dey beat him up de wust of all, 'cause him and his fiddle was all de time drawin' niggers out to do dances. "if old marster wanted to send a massage he sont uncle randall on a mule named jim. sometimes dat old mule tuk a notion he didn't want to go; den he wouldn't budge. i ricollects one time dey tuk a bundle of fodder and tied it to old jim's tail, but still he wouldn't move. old marster kep' a special man to fetch and carry mail for de plantation in a road cyart, and nobody warn't 'lowed to go nigh dat cyart. "when slaves got in from de fields at night dey cooked and et deir supper and went to bed. dey had done been wukin' since sunup. when dere warn't so much to do in de fields, sometimes old marster let his niggers lay off from wuk atter dinner on saddays. if de chinches was most eatin' de niggers up, now and den de 'omans was 'lowed to stay to de house to scald evvything and clear 'em out, but de menfolkses had to go on to de field. on sadday nights de 'omans patched, washed, and cut off peaches and apples to dry in fruit season. in de daytime dey had to cut off and dry fruit for old miss. when slaves got smart wid deir white folkses, deir marsters would have 'em beat, and dat was de end of de matter. dat was a heap better'n dey does now days, 'cause if a nigger gits out of place dey puts him on de chaingang. [tr: 'whipping' written in margin.] "sunday was a day off for all de slaves on our plantation. cause, de mens had to look atter de stock in de lot right back of de cabins. de 'omans cooked all day for de next week. if dey tuk a notion to go to church, mules was hitched to wagons made lak dippers, and dey jigged off down de road. us had four days holiday for christmas. old miss give us lots of good things to eat dem four days; dere was cake, fresh meat, and all kinds of dried fruit what had been done stored away. all de niggers tuk dat time to rest but my mammy. she tuk me and went 'round to de white folkses' houses to wash and weave. dey said i was a right smart, peart little gal, and white folkses used to try to hire me from old miss. when dey axed her for me, old miss allus told 'em: 'you don't want to hire dat gal; she ain't no 'count.' she wouldn't let nobody hire her niggers, 'cept mammy, 'cause she knowed mammy warn't gwine to leave her nohow. on new year's day, if dere warn't too much snow on de ground, de niggers burnt brush and cleared new ground. "when aunt patience led de singin' at cornshuckin's, de shucks sho'ly did fly. atter de corn was shucked, dey fed us lots of good things and give us plenty of liquor. de way cotton pickin' was managed was dis: evvybody dat picked a thousand pounds of cotton in a week's time was 'lowed a day off. mammy picked her thousand pounds evvy week. "dances? now you's talkin' 'bout somepin' sho' 'nough. old john, de fiddler man, was right dere on our plantation. niggers dat had done danced half de night would be so sleepy when de bugle sounded dey wouldn't have time to cook breakfast. den 'bout de middle of de mawnin' dey would complain 'bout bein' so weak and hongry dat de overseer would fetch 'em in and have 'em fed. he let 'em rest 'bout a hour and a half; den he marched 'em back to de field and wuked 'em 'til slap black dark. aunt sook was called de lead wench. if de moon warn't out, she put a white cloth 'round her shoulders and led 'em on. "didn't none of old marsters chillun marry in slavery time, but old miss, she let us see a nigger gal named frances hester git married. when i sot down to dat weddin' supper i flung de chicken bones over my shoulder, 'cause i didn't know no better. i don't 'member what gals played when i was little, but boys played ball all day long if dey was 'lowed to. one boy, named sam, played and run so hard he tuk his bed monday and never got up no more. "i heared tell of raw haid and bloody bones. old folkses would skeer us most nigh to death tellin' us he was comin'. mankind! us made for de house den. missy, please mam, don't ax me 'bout dem ha'nts. i sees 'em all de time. atter she had done died out, old miss used to come back all de time. she didn't lak it 'cause day wropped her in a windin' sheet and buried her by de doorsteps, but i reckon dey done fixed her by now, 'cause she don't come back no more. dere's a house in athens, called de bell house, dat nobody kin live in, 'cause a man run his wife from home and atter she died, she come back and ha'nted dat house. "lawd have mercy! look here, don't talk lak dat. i ain't told you before but part o' dis here yard is conjured. a man comes here early evvy mornin' and dresses dis yard down wid conjuration. soon as i sot down here to talk to you, a pain started in my laigs, and it is done gone all over me now. i started to leave you and go in de house. come on. let's leave dis yard right now. hurry!" on reaching the kitchen addie hastily grasped the pepper box and shook its contents over each shoulder and on her head, saying: "anything hot lak dis will sho drive dis spell away. de reason i shakes lak i does, one day i was in de yard and somepin cotch me. it helt fast to my footses, den i started to shake all over, and i been shakin' ever since. a white 'oman gimme some white soap, and evvy mornin' i washes myself good wid dat soap 'fore i puts on my clothes." leaving the kitchen, addie entered the front room which serves as a bedroom. "lawdy, missy!" she exclaimed, "does you smell dat funny scent? oh, good lawd! jus' look at dem white powders on my doorstep! let me git some hot water and wash 'em out quick! now missy, see how dese niggers 'round here is allus up to deir meanness? dere's a man in de udder room bilin' his pizen right now. i has to keep a eye on him all de time or dis here old nigger would be in her grave. i has to keep somepin hot all de time to keep off dem conjure spells. i got three pids of pepper most ready to pick, and i'se gwine to tie 'em 'round my neck, den dese here spells folkses is all de time tryin' to put on me won't do me no harm." addie now lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "i found a folded up piece of white paper under our back doorstep dis very mornin'. bless your life, i got a stick from de kitchen quick and poked it in a crack in de steps and got it out 'fore i put my foots down on dem steps. i sho did." here addie reverted to her story of the plantation. "old marster was mighty good to his niggers," she said. when any of 'em got sick old miss sont to town for him, and he allus come right out and fetched a doctor. old miss done her very best for pappy when he was tuk sick, but he died out jus' de same. pappy used to drive a oxcart and, when he was bad off sick and out of his haid, he hollered out: 'scotch dat wheel! scotch dat wheel!' in his mind, he was deep in de bad place den, and didn't know how to pray. old miss, she would say: 'pray, pete, pray.' old miss made a heap of teas from diff'unt things lak pennyroyal, algaroba wood, sassafras, flat tobacco, and mullein. us wore rabbits foots, little bags of asfiddy (asafetida), and garlic tabs 'round our necks to keep off mis'ries. i wishes i had a garlic tab to wear 'round my neck now. "one day old miss called us togedder and told us dat us was free as jay birds. de niggers started hollerin': 'thank de lawd, us is free as de jay birds.' 'bout dat time a white man come along and told dem niggers if he heared 'em say dat again he would kill de last one of 'em. old miss axed us to stay on wid her and dar us stayed for 'bout three years. it paid us to stay dere 'stead of runnin' off lak some udder niggars dat played de fool done. t'warn't long 'fore dem yankees come 'long, and us hustled off to town to see what dey looked lak. i never seed so many mens at one time in my life before. when us got back to de plantation de overseer told us not to drink no water out of de well, 'cause somebody had done put a peck of pizen in dar. he flung a whole bushel of salt in de well to help git rid of de pizen. "atter de end of de war, i went to wuk as a plow-hand. i sho did keep out of de way of dem ku kluxers. folkses would see 'em comin' and holler out: 'de ku kluxers is ridin' tonight. keep out of deir way, or dey will sho kill you.' dem what was skeered of bein' cotched and beat up, done deir best to stay out of sight. "it was a long time atter de war was done over 'fore schools for niggers was sot up, and den when nigger chillun did git to go to school dey warn't 'lowed to use de old blue-back spellin' book 'cause white folkses said it larn't 'em too much. "it was two or three years atter de war 'fore any of de niggers could save up enough money to start buyin' land, and den, if dey didn't watch dey steps mighty keerful, de white folkses would find a way to git dat land back from de niggers. "what! is i got to tell you 'bout dat old nigger i got married up wid? i don't want to talk 'bout dat low down, no 'count devil. anyhow, i married ed griffeth and, sho dat, i had a weddin'. my weddin' dress was jus' de purtiest thing; it was made out of parade cloth, and it had a full skirt wid ruffles from de knees to de hem. de waist fitted tight and it was cut lowneck wid three ruffles 'round de shoulder. dem puff sleeves was full from de elbow to de hand. all dem ruffles was aidged wid lace and, 'round my waist i wore a wide pink sash. de underskirt was trimmed wid lace, and dere was lace on de bottom of de drawers laigs. dat was sho one purty outfit dat i wore to marry dat no 'count man in. i had bought dat dress from my young mist'ess. "us had seven chillun and ten grandchillun. most of 'em is livin' off up in detroit. if ed ain't daid by now he ought to be; he was a good match for de devil. "i reckon mr. lincoln and mr. jeff davis done right as fur as dey knowed how and could. if dem northern folkses hadn't fotched us here, us sho wouldn't never have been here in de fust place. den dey hauled off and said de south was mean to us niggers and sot us free, but i don't know no diffunce. de north sho let us be atter dat war, and some of de old niggers is still mad 'cause dey is free and ain't got no marster to feed 'em and give 'em good warm clothes no more. "oh! you gits happy when you jines up wid de church. i sho don't want to go to de bad place. dere ain't but two places to go to, heaven and hell, and i'se tryin' to head for heaven. folkses says dat when old dives done so bad he had to go to de bad place, a dog was sot at his heels for to keep him in dar. no mam, if it's de good lawd's will to let me git to heaven, i is sho gwine to keep out of hell, if i kin. "goodbye, missy. next time you comes fetch me a garlic tab to keep de conjure spells 'way from me," was addie's parting request. plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave emma virgel, age w. broad street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. [date stamp: may ] hurrying for shelter from a sudden shower, the interviewer heard a cheerful voice singing "lord i'se comin' home," as she rushed up the steps of aunt emma's small cabin. until the song was ended she quietly waited on the tiny porch and looked out over the yard which was attractive with roses and other old-fashioned flowers; then she knocked on the door. dragging footsteps and the tap, tap of a crutch sounded as aunt emma approached the door. "come in out of dat rain, chile, or you sho' will have de pneumony," she said. "come right on in and set here by my fire. fire feels mighty good today. i had to build it to iron de white folkses clothes." aunt emma leaned heavily on her crutch as she wielded the iron with a dexterity attainable only by long years of experience. asked if her lameness and use of a crutch made her work difficult, she grinned and answered: "lawsy chile, i'se jus' so used to it, i don't never think 'bout it no more. i'se had to wuk all of my life, no matter what was in de way." the comfort, warmth and cheer of the small kitchen encouraged intimate conversation and when aunt emma was asked for the story of her childhood days and her recollections of slavery, she replied: "i was too little to 'member much, but i'se heared my ma tell 'bout dem days. "my pa and ma was louis and mary jackson. dey b'longed to marse john montgomery, way down in oconee county. marse john didn't have no wife den, 'cause he didn't git married 'til atter de war. he had a big place wid lots of slaves. he was sho' good to 'em, and let 'em have plenty of evvything. de slave quarters was log cabins wid big fireplaces, whar dey done de cookin'. dey had racks to hang pots on to bile and dey baked in ovens set on de harth (hearth). dat was powerful good eatin'. dey had a big old gyarden whar dey raised plenty of corn, peas, cabbages, potatoes, collards, and turnip greens. out in de fields dey growed mostly corn, wheat, and cotton. marster kep' lots of chickens, cows, hogs, goats, and sheep; and he fed 'em all mighty good. "marster let his slaves dance, and my ma was sho' one grand dancer in all de breakdown's. dey give 'em plenty of toddy and niggers is dancers f'um way back yonder while de toddy lasts. "slaves went to deir marster's meetin's and sot in de back of de church. dey had to be good den 'cause marster sho' didn't 'low no cuttin' up 'mongst his niggers at de church. ma said he didn't believe in whuppin' his niggers lessen it jus' had to be done, but den dey knowed he was 'round dar when he did have to whup 'em. "ma said when dey had big baptizin's in de river dey prayed and shouted and sung 'washin' 'way my sins,'--'whar de healin' water flows,' and 'crossin' de river jerdan.' de white preacher baptized de slaves and den he preached--dat was all dere was to it 'ceppen de big dinner dey had in de churchyard on baptizin' days. "when slaves died, dey made coffins out of pine wood and buried 'em whar de white folkses was buried. if it warn't too fur a piece to de graveyard, dey toted de coffin on three or four hand sticks. yessum, hand sticks, dat's what day called 'em. dey was poles what dey sot de coffin on wid a nigger totin' each end of de poles. de white preacher prayed and de niggers sung 'hark f'um de tomb.' "ma said she had a grand big weddin'. she wore a white swiss dress wid a bleachin' petticoat, made wid heaps of ruffles and a wreath of flowers 'round her head. she didn't have no flower gals. pa had on a long, frock tail, jim swinger coat lak de preacher's wore. a white preacher married 'em in de yard at de big house. all de niggers was dar, and marster let 'em dance mos' all night. "i was de oldest of ma's chillun. dey done all gone to rest now 'ceptin' jus' de three of us what's lef in dis world of trouble. yessum, dere sho' is a heap of trouble here. "atter de war, ma and pa moved on mr. bill marshall's place to farm for him and dar's whar i was born. dey didn't stay dar long 'fore dey moved to mr. jim mayne's place away out in de country, in de forks of de big road down below watkinsville. i sho' was a country gal. yessum, i sho' was. mr. mayne's wife was mrs. emma mayne and she took a lakin' to me 'cause i was named emma. i stayed wid her chilluns all de time, slep' in de big house, and et dar too, jus' lak one of dem, and when dey bought for dey chillun dey bought for me too. "us wore homespun dresses and brass toed shoes. sometimes us would git mighty mad and fuss over our games and den miss emma would make us come in de big house and set down. no ma'am, she never did whup us. she was good and she jus' talked to us, and told us us never would git to heb'en lessen us was good chillun. us played games wid blocks and jumped de rope and, when it was warm, us waded in de crick. atter i was big 'nough, i tuk de white chillun to sunday school, but i didn't go inside den--jus' waited on de outside for 'em. i never got a chanct to go to school none, but de white chilluns larnt me some. "marse jim was mighty good to de niggers what wukked for him, and us all loved him. he didn't 'low no patterollers or none of dem ku kluxers neither to bother de niggers on his place. he said he could look atter 'em his own self. he let 'em have dances, and evvy fourth of july he had big barbecues. yessum, he kilt hogs, goats, sheep and sometimes a cow for dem barbecues. he believed in havin' plenty to eat. "i 'members dem big corn shuckin's. he had de mostes' corn, what was in great big piles put in a circle. all de neighbors was axed to come and bring deir niggers. de fus' thing to do was to 'lect a gen'ral to stand in de middle of all dem piles of corn and lead de singin' of de reels. no ma'am, i don't 'member if he had no shuck stuck up on his hat or not, and i can't ricollec' what de words of de reels was, 'cause us chillun was little den, but de gen'ral he pulled off de fus' shuck. den he started singin' and den dey all sung in answer to him, and deir two hands a-shuckin' corn kep' time wid de song. as he sung faster, dey jus' made dem shucks more dan fly. evvy time de gen'ral would speed up de song, de niggers would speed up deir corn shuckin's. if it got dark 'fore dey finished, us chillun would hold torch lights for 'em to see how to wuk. de lights was made out of big pine knots what would burn a long time. us felt mighty big when us was 'lowed to hold dem torches. when dey got done shuckin' all de corn, dey had a big supper, and honey, dem was sho' some good eatments--barbecue of all sorts--jus' thinkin' 'bout dem pies makes me hongry, even now. ma made 'em, and she couldn't be beat on chicken pies and sweet potato pies. atter dey done et and drunk all dey wanted, marse jim would tell 'em to go to it. dat was de word for de gen'ral to start up de dancin', and dat lasted de rest of de night; dat is if dey didn't all fall out, for old time corn shuckin' breakdowns was drag-outs and atter all dem 'freshments, hit sho' kept somebody busy draggin' out dem what fell out. us chillun was 'lowed to stay up long as us wanted to at corn shuckin's, and sometimes us would git out and try to do lak de grown-up niggers. hit was de mos' fun. "dey went huntin' and fishin' and when dey cotch or kilt much, dey had a big supper. i 'members de fus' time i ever cooked 'possum. ma was sick in de bed, and de mens had done been 'possum huntin'. ma said i would jus' have to cook dem 'possums. she told me how to fix 'em and she said to fix 'em wid potatoes and plenty of butter and red pepper. den she looked at me right hard and said dat dey had better be jus' right. dat skeered me so i ain't never been so i could eat no 'possum since den. yessum, dey was cooked jus' right, but cookin' 'em jus' once when i was skeered cured me of de taste for eatin' 'possum. "us chillun didn't git out and go off lak dey does dese days. us stayed dar on de plantation. in winter us had to wear plenty of clothes, wid flannel petticoats and sich lak, and us stayed in by de fire. big boys had clothes made out of jeans, but little boys wore homespun shirts. on hot days us jus' wore one piece of clothes, a sort of shirt what was made long and had a yoke in it. "dey made me use snuff to cure my sore eyes when i was little, and i never could quit usin' it no more. when i was 'bout , ma and pa moved to athens and i went to wuk for mr. joe webb's fambly. i wukked for 'em for years and raised all deir chillun. dey was all mighty good to me and seed dat i had plenty of evvything. i would still be dar, but de old folkses all done died out and gone to dey rest and de younguns done married and lef' here. "i was wukkin' right in de house wid 'em when i 'cided to git married. yes ma'am, i sho' done had one swell elegant weddin'. jus' evvything heart could ask for. i married at my ma's house, but my white folkses was all right dar, and dey had done fixed de house up pretty wid flowers all over it. dey give me my white flannel weddin' dress and it was sho' pretty, but dey warn't nothin' lackin' 'bout my second day dress. my white folkses bought dat too,--it was a bottle green silk. lawsy, but i was sho' one dressed up bride. it was o'clock dat night when de preacher got finished wid tyin' dat knot for me and sam virgel. my sister and her fellow stood up wid us and us had a big crowd at our weddin' supper. dere was one long table full of our white folkses, 'sides all de niggers, and i jus' never seed so much to eat. my white folkses said dat emma jus' had to have plenty for her weddin' feast and dey evermore did lay out good things for dat supper, and dem niggers sho' did hide dat chicken and cake away lak dey hadn't never seed none before. "i wukked on for de webbs 'til dey was all gone. de old folks is in heb'en whar i 'spects to see 'em some day when de lord done called me home. de younguns moved away, but i still loves 'em evvyone, 'cause dey looked atter old emma so good when dey was here. us never had no chillun and sam done been gone to his res' long years ago. i'se jus' a-wukkin and a-waitin 'til i gits called to go too. i don't have plenty all de time now lak i used to, and nobody here looks atter old emma no more, but i makes out. "i'se mighty glad it rained if dat's what sont you to my door. it's been nice to talk wid white folkses again. i wisht i had somepin' nice for you! let me cut you a bunch of my flowers?" she carefully placed her iron on the hearth and hobbled out in the yard. the may shower had been followed by sunshine as she handed her guest a huge bouquet of roses, aunt emma bowed low. "good-bye, missy," she said, "please come back to see me." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] adella s. dixon interview with rhodus walton, ex-slave, age [date stamp: may ] ten years before the emancipation proclamation was signed, a son was born to antony and patience walton who lived in lumpkin, stewart county, ga. when this son, rhodus, was three weeks old, his mother, along with the three younger children, was sold. his father and the thirteen sons and daughters that she left behind were never seen again. his parents' birthplace and the name they bore before moving to the walton home are unknown to rhodus and he never was able to trace his family even after "freedom." the walton plantation, home of mr. sam b. walton who purchased his mother, was a very large one with the "big house" on an elevation near the center. the majestic colonial home with its massive columns was seen for miles around and from its central location the master was able to view his entire estate. approximately one block from the planter's home, the "quarters" were clustered. these were numerous loghouses with stick-and-clay chimneys in which the slave families dwelt. each house was composed of one room sparsely furnished. the beds were corded with rope and as large families were stressed, it was often necessary for several members to sleep on the floor. there was an open fireplace at which family meals were prepared. equipment consisted of an iron pot suspended by a hanger and a skillet with long legs that enabled the cook to place fire beneath it. bread known as "ash cake" was sometimes cooked on the hot coals. the auction block was located not far from this old home. here rhodus walton with other young children watched slaves emerge from boxcars, where they had been packed so closely that there was no room to sit, to be sold to the highest bidder. this was one of his most vivid recollections. as rhodus' father did not come to this home with his family, he knows nothing of him. except for brief intervals his mother worked in the house where cotton and wool were spun into thread and then woven into cloth from which the slaves' clothing was made. an elder sister nursed the master's smaller children. rhodus' first duties were to drive the cows to and from the pastures and to keep the calves from annoying the milkers. his master was a very cruel man whose favorite form of punishment was to take a man (or woman) to the edge of the plantation where a rail fence was located. his head was then placed between two rails so that escape was impossible and he was whipped until the overseer was exhausted. this was an almost daily occurrence, administered on the slightest provocation. saturday was the only afternoon off and christmas was the only vacation period, but one week of festivities made this season long remembered. many "frolics" were given and everyone danced where banjoes were available; also, these resourceful people secured much of their music from an improvised fiddle fashioned from a hand saw. immediately after these festivities, preparations began for spring planting. new ground was cleared; old land fertilized and the corn fields cleared of last year's rubbish. courtship began at a later age than is customary now but they were much more brief. gifts to one's sweetheart were not permitted, but verses such as: roses are red, violets blue, i don't love no one but you were invariably recited to the loved one. young negro men always "cocked" their hats on one side of their heads when they became interested in the other sex. marriages were performed by the master. common law situations did not exist. serious illnesses were not frequent and home remedies compounded of roots and herbes usually sufficed. queensy's light root, butterfly roots, scurry root, red shank root, bull tongue root were all found in the woods and the teas made from their use were "cures" for many ailments. whenever an illness necessitated the services of a physician, he was called. one difference in the old family doctor and those of today was the method of treatment. the former always carried his medicine with him, the latter writes prescriptions. the fee was also much smaller in olden times. food was distributed weekly in quantities according to the size of the family. a single man would receive: pk. meal on sunday qt. syrup flour (seconds) - / lbs. meat holidays--july th and christmas fresh meat. peas, pepper grass, polk salad were plentiful in the fields. milk and "pot likker" could be had from the big house when desired, although every family cooked for itself. saturday afternoon was the general fishing time and each person might catch as many as he needed for his personal use. the slaves did most of the weaving on the plantation, but after the cloth was woven the problem of giving it color presented itself. as they had no commercial dye, certain plants were boiled to give color. a plant called indigo, found in the cotton patch, was the chief type of dye, although thare was another called copperas. the dresses made from this material were very plain. walton believes in most of the old signs and superstitions because he has "watched them and found that they are true." the continuous singing of a whipporwill near a house is a sign of death, but if an iron is placed in the fire and allowed to remain there, the bird will fly away. when the news of the war finally reached the plantation, the slaves followed the progress with keen interest and when battles were fought near columbus, and firing of guns was heard, they cried joyfully--"it ain't gonna be long now." two of their master's sons fought in the confederate army, but both returned home before the close of the war. one day news came that the yankee soldiers were soon to come, and walton began to hide all valuables. the slaves were sent to the cemetery to dig very deep graves where all manner of food was stored. they were covered like real graves and wooden slabs placed at either end. for three days before the soldiers were expected, all the house servants were kept busy preparing delicacies with which to tempt the yankees and thus avoid having their place destroyed. in spite of all this preparation, they were caught unawares and when the "blue coats" were seen approaching, the master and his two sons ran. the elder made his way to the woods; the younger made away on "black eagle" a horse reputed to run almost a mile a minute. nearly everything on the place was destroyed by these invaders. one bit of information has been given in every interview where northern soldiers visited a plantation, they found, before coming, whether the master was mean or kind and always treated him as he had treated his slaves. thus mr. walton was "given the works" as our modern soldiers would say. when the war ended the slaves were notified that they were free. just before rhodus' family prepared to move, his mother was struck on the head by a drunken guest visiting at the "big house." as soon as she regained consciousness, the family ran off without communicating with an elder sister who had been sold to a neighbor the previous year. a year later, news of this sister reached them through a wagoner who recognized the small boys as he passed them. he carried the news to the family's new residence back to the lost sister and in a few weeks she arrived at cuthbert to make her home with her relatives. for the past years rhodus has been unable to work as he is a victim of a stroke on his left side; both sides have been ruptured, and his nerves are bad. he attributes his long life to his faith in god. [hw: dist. ex-slave # (ross)] an account of slavery related by william ward--ex-slave [date stamp: - - ] in a small one-room apartment located on one of atlanta's back streets lives william ward, an ex-slave, whose physical appearance in no way justifies his claim to being years of age. he is about five ft. in height with a rather smooth brown complexion. what hair he has is gray. he moves about like a much younger person. for a person of his age his thoughts and speech are remarkably clear. on a bright sunny afternoon in september this writer had an opportunity of talking with mr. ward and in the course of the conversation some very interesting things were learned regarding the institution of slavery and its customs. ward took a dip of snuff from his little tin box and began his story by saying that he is the son of bill and leana ward who were brought to this country from jamaica, b.w.i. the first thing he remembers was the falling of the stars in . from that time until he was years old he played around the yard with other slave children. then his parents were sent back to jamaica by their master, the former governor joseph e. brown. while he was in bondage he carried the name of his masters instead of ward, his parents' name. from the age of until he was old enough to do heavy work, he kept the master's yard clean. although mr. brown owned between and slaves, he had no plantation but hired his slaves out to other men who needed more help but were not able to own as many slaves as their work required. mr. ward and his fellow slaves lived in one-room houses in the rear of the master's home. the furnishings consisted of a bed which was known as a "grand rascal" due to its peculiar construction. the mattress made in the form of a large bag was stuffed with hat and dried grass. at daybreak each morning they were called from these crude beds to prepare for the day's work. breakfast, which consisted of white bacon, corn bread, and imitation coffee, was served before they left for the scene of their day's work. incidentally the slaves under mr. brown's ownership never had any other form of bread than corn bread. this imitation coffee was made by putting corn meal in a pan, parching it until it reached a deep golden brown and steeping it in boiling water. at noon, dinner was brought to them in the field in wash tubs placed on carts drawn by oxen. dinner consisted of fat meat, peas and corn bread. often all laundry was done in these same tubs. the only time that this diet ever varied was at christmas time when the master had all slaves gathered in one large field. then several hogs were killed and barbecued. everyone was permitted to eat as much as he could, but was forbidden to take anything home. when some one was fortunate enough to catch a possum or a coon, he had a change of food. on sundays the slaves were permitted to have a religious meeting of their own. this usually took place in the back yard or in a building dedicated for this purpose. they sang spirituals which gave vent to their true feelings. many of these songs are sung today. there was one person who did the preaching. his sermon was always built according to the master's instructions which were that slaves must always remember that they belonged to their masters and were intended to lead a life of loyal servitude. none of the slaves believed this, although they pretended to believe because of the presence of the white overseer. if this overseer was absent sometimes and the preacher varied in the text of his sermon, that is, if he preached exactly what he thought and felt, he was given a sound whipping. mr. brown was a kind person and never mistreated his slaves, although he did furnish them with the whip for infractions of rules such as fighting, stealing, visiting other plantations without a "pass", etc. ward vividly recalls that one of the soundest thrashings he ever got was for stealing mr. brown's whisky. his most numerous offenses were fighting. another form of punishment used in those days was the stocks, such as those used in early times in england. serious offenses like killing another person was also handled by the master who might hang him to a tree by the feet or by the neck, as he saw fit. few slaves ever attempted to escape from mr. brown, partially because of his kindliness and partically because of the fear inspired by the pack of blood hounds which he kept. when an escaped slave was caught he was returned to his master and a sound beating was administered. as far as marriage was concerned on the brown estate, mr. brown, himself placed every two individuals together that he saw fit to. there was no other wedding ceremony. if any children were born from the union, mr. brown named them. one peculiarity on the brown estate was the fact that the slaves were allowed no preference or choice as to who his or her mate would be. another peculiarity was these married couples were not permitted to sleep together except when the husband received permission to spend the night with his wife. ward is the father of children whose whereabouts he does not know. at this point ward began to smile, and when he was asked the cause of his mirth, he replied that he was thinking about his fellow slaves beliefs in conjuring one another. this was done by putting some sort of wild berries in the person's food. what he can't understand is why some of this black magic was not tried on the white people since they were holding the negroes as slaves. ward recalls vividly sherman's march through georgia. when sherman reached the present site of hapeville, he bombarded atlanta with cannon, afterwards marching through and burning the city. the white residents made all sorts of frantic attempts to hide their money and other valuables. some hiding places were under stumps of trees and in sides of hills. incidentally sherman's army found quite a bit of the hidden wealth. slaves were never allowed to talk over events and so very few, if any, knew about the war or its results for them before it actually happened. at the time that sherman marched through atlanta, ward and other slaves were living in an old mansion at the present site of peachtree and baker streets. he says that sherman took him and his fellow slaves as far as virginia to carry powder and shot to the soldiers. he states that he himself did not know whether sherman intended to keep him in slavery or free him. at the close of the war, his master, mr. brown, became ill and died later. before his death he informed the slaves that they could remain on his property or go where they wanted to. ward was taken to mississippi where he remained in another form of slavery (peonage system) for years. he remembers when atlanta was just a few hills without any buildings. some of the buildings he worked on are the herman building and the original kimball house, a picture of which is attached. he attributes his old age to his belief in god and living a sane life. whenever he feels bad or in low spirits, a drink of coffee or a small amount of whisky is enough to brace him. he believes that his remedy is better than that used in slavery which consisted mainly of pills and castor oil. with a cheerful good-bye, ward asked that the writer stop in to see him again; said that he would rather live in the present age under existing conditions than live in slavery. driskell jwl - - [mr. william ward] following is mr. william ward's description of the bed called "the grand rascal." "de beds dat all o' de slaves slept in wus called 'grand rascals'. dey wus made on de same order as a box. de way dey made 'em wus like dis: dey took four strips of narrow wood, each one of 'em 'bout a foot wide, an' den dey nailed 'em together so dat dey wus in de shape of a square. den dey nailed a bottom onto dis square shape. dis bottom wus called de slats. when dis wus finished dey set dis box on some legs to keep it off'n de floor, an' den dey got busy wid de mattress. dey took ol' oat sacks an' filled 'em wid straw an' hay an' den dey put dis in de box an' slept on it. dere wusn't no springs on dese bunks an' everybody had a hard time sleepin'. "de real name of dese wus 'sonova-bitches' but de slaves called 'em 'grand rascals' 'cause dey didn't want people to hear 'em use a bad word. "after sherman come through atlanta he let de slaves go, an' when he did, me an' some of de other slaves went back to our ol' masters. ol' man gov. brown wus my boss man. after de war wus over ol' man gordon took me an' some of de others out to mississippi. i stayed in peonage out dere fer 'bout forty years. i wus located at jes' 'bout forty miles south of greenwood, an' i worked on de plantations of ol' man sara jones an' ol' man gordon. "i couldn't git away 'cause dey watched us wid guns all de time. when de levee busted dat kinda freed me. man, dey was devils; dey wouldn't 'low you to go nowhere--not even to church. you done good to git sumpin' to eat. dey wouldn't give you no clothes, an' if you got wet you jes' had to lay down in whut you got wet in. "an', man, dey would whup you in spite of de devil. you had to ask to git water--if you didn't dey would stretch you 'cross a barrel an' wear you out. if you didn't work in a hurry dey would whup you wid a strap dat had five-six holes in it. i ain't talkin' 'bout whut i heard--i'm talkin' 'bout whut i done see'd. "one time dey sent me on ol' man mack williams' farm here in jasper county, georgia. dat man would kill you sho. if dat little branch on his plantation could talk it would tell many a tale 'bout folks bein' knocked in de head. i done seen mack williams kill folks an' i done seen 'im have folks killed. one day he tol' me dat if my wife had been good lookin', i never would sleep wid her again 'cause he'd kill me an' take her an' raise chilluns off'n her. dey uster take women away fum dere husbands an' put wid some other man to breed jes' like dey would do cattle. dey always kept a man penned up an' dey used 'im like a stud hoss. "when you didn't do right ol' mack williams would shoot you or tie a chain 'roun your neck an' throw you in de river. he'd git dem other niggers to carry dem to de river an' if dey didn't he'd shoot 'em down. any time dey didn't do whut he said he would shoot 'em down. he'd tell 'em to "ketch dat nigger", an' dey would do it. den he would tell 'em to put de chain 'roun dere neck an' throw 'em in de river. i ain't heard dis--i done seen it. "in i wus still in peonage but i wus back in mississippi on gordon's farm. when de levee broke in may of dat same year i lost my wife an' three chilluns. i climbed a tree an' stayed dere fer four days an' four nights. airplanes dropped food an' when i got ready to eat i had to squeeze de water out of de bread. after four days i got out of de tree an' floated on logs down de river 'till i got to mobile, alabama, an' i wade fum dere to palmetto, georgia, where i got down sick. de boss mans dere called gov. harden an' he sent de grady hospital examiners down dere an' got me an' i been in atlanta since dat time." willie h. cole - - the story of an ex-slave [mrs. lula washington, age ] mrs. lula washington was born a slave. she claims to be eighty-four years old. mrs. washington was confined to bed because of a recent accident in which she received a broken leg. she is the mother of twenty-three children of which only two are living. she lives in one room at butler st., n.e. with one of her daughters. since the death of her husband several years ago she has been making her living as a dray-women, driving a mule and wagon. following are some of the events she remembers. "ah wuz born in randolph, alabama on de plantation of marster john terrell, de sixth child of my mammy and pappy". "when ah wuz six years old marster john sold me an' my sister, lize and brother, ben to marster charlie henson." "marster charlie wuz good to his niggers. "he never whipped dem 'less dey done somethin' awful bad, like stealin chickens or slipping off de plantation without permission." "it wuz funny, de white folks would whipped de niggers for stealin' but if dey saw a hog in de woods, dey would make the niggers catch de hog an kill him an hide him under dey bushes. den at night de niggers would hafta' go down to de spring, build a fire, heat water an skin de hog." "de man on de plantation next to us' shore wuz mean to his niggers, marster jim roberts wus his name. he would take his niggers an strip there clothes to dere waist an' lay dem 'cross a barrel an beat dem 'til the blood run. den he would pore salt water on de sore places." "oh 'member one time he tied two wimmen by dere thumbs to a limb of a tree for blessin' out the missus." "us had plenty to eat and plenty to wear, calico dresses an' brogan shoes. sometimes dere misses would give the wimmen some of her old clothes". "all de niggers on marster charlie's plantation had to work in de field 'cept malindy lu, a mulatto nigger gal. marster charlie kept her in de house to take care of missus jane, dat wuz marster charlie wife." "one thing 'bout de mulatto niggers, wuz, dey thought dey wuz better than de black niggers. i guess it wuz 'cause dey was half white. dere wuz a bad feelin' 'tween the mulatto slaves an de black ones." asked, how did the slaves marry? she replied, "ah jest don't 'member seeing any marry 'cause ah wuz so small. ah wuz jest eleven years old de time of de war but ah' members hearing some of dem say dat when two slaves wanted to git married dey would hafta get permission from dere marster. den dey would come 'fore de marster an' he would have dem to jump over a broom an den 'nounce dem married." "when de yankees come thru" de white folks told us to go down to de swamp an hide cause dey would git us. when de war wuz over de white folks told us we wuz free." "marster terrell gave my mammy an pappy a oxcart an mule an a bushel of meal. den my pappy an mammy come got me an my sister an' brother. den we come from randolph, alabama to georgia." "sometimes i wish i wuz back in slavery, times is so hard." mrs. washington's chief concern now is getting her old-age pension. plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave green willbanks, age fairview street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia sept. , fairview street, where green willbanks lives is a section of shabby cottages encircled by privet hedges. as the visitor carefully ascended the shaky steps to his house a mulatto man, who was sitting on the veranda, quickly arose. "good morning," he said, "yes mam, this is green willbanks. have a seat in the swing." the porch furniture was comprised of a chair, a swing, and a long bench. green is tall, slender, and stooped; a man with white hair and grizzled face. a white broadcloth shirt, white cotton trousers, blue socks, and low-cut black shoes made up his far from immaculate costume. the old man's eyes brightened when he was asked to give the story of his life. his speech showed but little dialect, except when he was carried away by interest and emotion, and his enunciation was remarkably free from negroid accent. "i don't mind telling you what i know," he began, "but i was such a little chap when the war ended that there's mighty little i can recollect about slavery time, and it seems that your chief interest is in that period. i was born on a plantation the other side of commerce, georgia, in jackson county. my ma and pa were mary and isom willbanks; they were raised on the same plantation where i was born. ma was a field hand, and this time of the year when work was short in the field--laying-by time, we called it--and on rainy days she spun thread and wove cloth. as the thread left the spinning wheel it went on a reel where it was wound into hanks, and then it was carried to the loom to be woven into cloth. pa had a little trade; he made shoes and baskets, and old boss let him sell them. pa didn't make shoes for the slaves on our plantation; old boss bought them ready-made and had them shipped here from the west. "me and jane, sarah, mitchell, and willie were the five children in our family. oh! miss, i was not big enough to do much work. about the most i done was pick up chips and take my little tin bucket to the spring to get a cool, fresh drink for old miss. us children stayed 'round the kitchen and drunk lots of buttermilk. old miss used to say, 'give my pickaninnies plenty of buttermilk.' i can see that old churn now; it helt about seven or eight gallons. "our houses? slaves lived in log cabins built the common way. there was lots of forest pine in those days. logs were cut the desired length and notches put in each end so they would fit closely and have as few cracks as possible, when they stacked them for a cabin. they sawed pine logs into blocks and used a frow to split them into planks that were used to cover the cracks between the logs. don't you know what a frow is? that's a wooden wedge that you drive into a pine block by hitting it with a heavy wooden mallet, or maul, as they are more commonly called. they closed the cracks in some of the cabins by daubing them with red mud. the old stack chimneys were made of mud and sticks. to make a bed, they first cut four posts, usually of pine, and bored holes through them with augers; then they made two short pieces for the head and foot. two long pieces for the sides were stuck through the auger holes and the bedstead was ready to lay on the slats or cross pieces to hold up the mattress. the best beds had heavy cords, wove crossways and lengthways, instead of slats. very few slaves had corded beds. mattresses were not much; they were made of suggin sacks filled with straw. they called that straw 'georgia feathers.' pillows were made of the same things. suggin cloth was made of coarse flax wove in a loom. they separated the flax into two grades; fine for the white folks, and coarse for the negroes. "the only one of my grandparents i can bring to memory now is grandma rose on my pa's side. she was some worker, a regular man-woman; she could do any kind of work a man could do. she was a hot horse in her time and it took an extra good man to keep up with her when it came to work. "children were not allowed to do much work, because their masters desired them to have the chance to grow big and strong, and therefore they had few opportunities to earn money of their own. i never did own any money during slavery days, but i saw plenty of ten cent greenbacks (shinplasters). "white children and slave children played around the plantation together but they were not allowed to fight. they had to be on friendly terms with each other. "what about our food? the biggest thing we had was buttermilk, some sweet milk, and plenty of cornbread, hog meat, and peas. as a rule we had wheat bread once a week, usually on sunday. all kinds of fruits were plentiful in their seasons. each slave family was permitted to have separate garden space, in fact, old boss insisted that they work their own gardens, and they raised plenty of vegetables. grown folks had rabbits and 'possums but i never did get much 'quainted with them. we fished in the cricks and rills 'round the plantation and brought in lots of hornyheads and perch. you never saw any hornyheads? why they is just fish a little bigger and longer than minnows and they have little horns on their heads. we caught a good many eels too; they look like snakes, but folks call them eels. i wasn't much 'quainted with them fish they brought from way down south; they called them mullets. "the kitchen was a separate log house out in the back yard. the fireplace, where the cooking was done, took up one end of the kitchen, and there was a rack acrost it to hang the cook-pots on for biling. baking and frying was done in ovens and heavy iron skillets that sat on trivets so coals could be piled underneath, as well as over the lids. "the long shirts slave boys wore in summer were straight like a meal sack open at both ends, with holes in the sides for your arms to go through. you stuck your head in one end and it came out the other; then you were fully dressed for any whole summer day. these summer shirts were made of thin osnaburg. our winter clothes were made of woolen cloth called merino. old boss kept enough sheep to provide plenty of wool and some mighty good food. slave children had no extra or special clothes for sunday; they wore the same kind of gowns, or long shirts, seven days a week. old boss provided brass-toed brogans for winter, but we never thought of such a thing as shoes to wear in hot weather. "my owners were marse solomon and his wife, miss ann willbanks. we called them old boss and old miss. as i saw it, they were just as good as they could be. old boss never allowed nobody to impose on his slave children. when i was a little chap playing around the big house, i would often drop off to sleep the minute i got still. good old boss would pick me up and go lay me on his own bed and keep me there 'til ma come in from the field. "old boss and old miss had five children. the boys were solomon, isaac, james, and wesley. for the life of me i can't bring to memory the name of their only daughter. i guess that's because we frolicked with the four boys, but we were not allowed to play with little miss. "it was a right decent house they lived in, a log house with a fine rock chimney. old boss was building a nice house when the war come on and he never had a chance to finish it. the log house was in a cedar grove; that was the style then. back of the house were his orchards where fruit trees of every kind we knew anything about provided plenty for all to eat in season as well as enough for good preserves, pickles, and the like for winter. old boss done his own overseeing and, 'cording to my memory, one of the young bosses done the driving. "that plantation covered a large space of land, but to tell you how many acres is something i can't do. there were not so many slaves. i've forgot how they managed that business of getting slaves up, but i do know we didn't get up before day on our place. their rule was to work slaves from sunup to sundown. before they had supper they had a little piddlin' around to do, but the time was their own to do as they pleased after they had supper. heaps of times they got passes and went off to neighboring plantations to visit and dance, but sometimes they went to hold prayer-meetings. there were certain plantations where we were not permitted to go and certain folks were never allowed on our place. old boss was particular about how folks behaved on his place; all his slaves had to come up to a certain notch and if they didn't do that he punished them in some way or other. there was no whipping done, for old boss never did believe in whipping slaves. "none of the slaves from our place was ever put in that county jail at jefferson. that was the only jail we ever heard of in those days. old boss attended to all the correction necessary to keep order among his own slaves. once a slave trader came by the place and offered to buy ma. old boss took her to jefferson to sell her on the block to that man. it seemed like sales of slaves were not legal unless they took place on the trading block in certain places, usually in the county site. the trader wouldn't pay what old boss asked for her, and old miss and the young bosses all objected strong to his selling her, so he brought ma back home. she was a fine healthy woman and would have made a nice looking house girl. "the biggest part of the teaching done among the slaves was by our young bosses but, as far as schools for slaves was concerned, there were no such things until after the end of the war, and then we were no longer slaves. there were just a few separate churches for slaves; none in our part of the country. slaves went to the same church as their white folks and sat in the back of the house or in a gallery. my pa could read the bible in his own way, even in that time of slavery; no other slave on our place could do that. "not one slave or white person either died on our plantation during the part of slavery that i can bring to memory. i was too busy playing to take in any of the singing at funerals and at church, and i never went to a baptizing until i was a great big chap, long after slavery days were over. "slaves ran off to the woods all right, but i never heard of them running off to no north. paterollers never came on old boss' place unless he sont for them, otherwise they knowed to stay off. they sho was devils in sheeps' clothing; that's what we thought of them paterollers. slaves worked all day saddays when there was work to be done, but that night was their free time. they went where they pleased just so old boss gave them a pass to protect them from paterollers. "after slaves went to church sunday they were free the rest of the day as far as they knowed. lots of times they got 'em a stump speaker--usually a negro--to preach to them. there were not as many preachers then as now. "'bout christmas day? they always had something like brandy, cider, or whiskey to stimulate the slaves on christmas day. then there was fresh meat and ash-roasted sweet 'taters, but no cake for slaves on our place, anyhow, i never saw no cake, and surely no santa claus. all we knowed bout christmas was eating and drinking. as a general thing there was a big day's work expected on new years day because we had to start the year off right, even if there was nothing for the slaves to do that day but clean fence corners, cut brush and briers, and burn off new ground. new years day ended up with a big old pot of hog jowl and peas. that was for luck, but i never really knowed if it brought luck or not. "well, yes, once a year they had big cornshuckings in our section and they had generals to lead off in all the singing; that was done to whoop up the work. my pa was one of the generals and he toted the jug of liquor that was passed 'round to make his crowd hustle. after the corn was shucked the crowd divided into two groups. their object was to see which could reach the owner of the corn first and carry him where he wanted to go. usually they marched with him on their shoulders to his big house and set him down on his porch, then he would give the word for them to all start eating the good things spread out on tables in the yard. there was a heap of drinking done then, and dancing too--just all kinds of dancing that could be done to fiddle and banjo music. my pa was one of them fiddlers in his young days. one of the dances was the cotillion, but just anybody couldn't dance that one. there was a heap of bowing and scraping to it, and if you were not 'quainted with it you just couldn't use it. "when any of the slaves were bad sick old boss called in his own family doctor, dr. joe bradbury. his plantation hit up against ours. the main things they gave for medicine them days was oil and turpentine. sometimes folks got black snakeroot from the woods, biled it, and gave the tea to sick folks; that was to clean off the stomach. everybody wore buckeyes 'round their necks to keep off diseases for we never knowed nothing about asefetida them days; that came later. "when the yankees came through after the surrender old boss and old miss hid their valuables. they told us children, 'now, if they ask you questions, don't you tell them where we hid a thing.' we knowed enough to keep our mouths shut. we never had knowed nothing but to mind old boss, and we were scared 'cause our white folks seemed to fear the yankees. "old boss had done told slaves they were free as he was and could go their own way, but we stayed on with him. he provided for pa and give him his share of the crops he made. all of us growed up as field hands. "them night-riders were something else. they sho did beat on negroes that didn't behave mighty careful. slaves didn't buy much land for a long time after the war because they didn't have no money, but schools were set up for negroes very soon. i got the biggest part of my education in west athens on biggers hill. when i went to the union baptist school my teacher was professor lyons, the founder of that institution. "when me and molly tate were married years ago we went to the church, because that was the cheapest place to go to have a big gathering. molly had on a common, ordinary dress. folks didn't dress up then like they does now; it was quite indifferent. of our children, are living now and we have grandchildren. six of our children live in the north and two have remained here in athens. one of them is employed at bernstein's funeral home and the other works on the university campus. i thanks the lord that molly is still with me. we bought this place a long time ago and have farmed here ever since. in fact, i have never done nothing but farm work. now i'm too old and don't have strength to work no more. "i thinks abraham lincoln was a all right man; god so intended that we should be sot free. jeff davis was all right in his way, but i can't say much for him. yes mam, i'd rather be free. sho! give me freedom all the time. jesus said: 'if my son sets you free, you shall be free indeed.' "when i jined the church, i felt like i was rid of my burden. i sot aside the things i had been doing and i ain't never been back to pick 'em up no more. i jined the baptist church and have been teaching a class of boys every sunday that i'm able to go. i sho am free from sin and i lives up to it. "i wonder if molly's got them sweet 'taters cooked what i dug this morning. they warn't much 'count 'cause the sun has baked them hard and it's been so dry. if you is through with me, i wants to go eat one of them 'taters and then lay this old nigger on the bed and let him go to sleep." [hw: dist ] josephine lowell [hw: eliza williamson] [tr: this interview contained many handwritten edits; where text was transposed or meaning was significantly changed, it has been noted.] just a few recollections of life in slavery time, as told me by [tr: illegible] who was eliza taliaferro williamson, daughter of dickerson and polly taliaferro. my mother was born at mt. airy, north carolina, near the virginia line, and always went to school, across the line, in virginia. her grandfather was john taliaferro, slave holder, tobacco raiser, and farmer. the negro quarters were near the main or big house. mother said that great-grandfather would go to the back door each night and call every slave to come in for family prayer. they came and knelt in the big house, while old marster prayed. mother said it was like a camp-meeting when he died--wailing and weeping by the negroes for their old marster. she said the slaves had the same food that the white family had and the same warm clothes for winter. all clothing, bed sheeting, table linen, towels, etc. were hand woven. they raised sheep for wool, and flax for linen, but i don't know where they got the cotton they used. the work of the house and farm was divided as with a big family. some of the women cooked, sewed, wove, washed, milked, but was never sent to the field. none of the toliver family believed in women working in the field. when each of great-grandfather's children married, he or she was given a few slaves. i think he gave my grandfather, dickerson taliaferro, three slaves, and these he brought with him to georgia when they settled in whitfield county. my grandfather was a member of the legislature from whitfield county for two terms. he was as gentle with his slaves as a father would have been, and was never known to abuse one of them. one of his slaves, who was a small boy at the close of the war, stayed with my grandfather until he was a grown man, then after a few years away from home, came home to old marster to die. this is the picture of good slave holders, but sad to say all were not of that type. [tr: deleted: 'see next sheet for'] a picture of horror, which was also told me by my mother. [tr: deleted: 'the thought of it'] was like a nightmare to my childish mind. the story of little joe. [tr: deleted: 'mother said there were'] two families lived on farms adjacent to her father. they were the two tucker brothers, tobacco raisers. one of the wives, polly, or pol, as she was called, hated the family of her husband's brother because they were more affluent than she liked them to be. it [hw: her jealousy] caused the two families to live in disagreement. little joe belonged to pol's family, and was somewhere between ten and fourteen years old. mother said pol made joe work in the field at night, and forced him to sing so they would know he wasn't asleep. he wore nothing in summer but an old shirt made of rough factory cloth which came below his knees. she said the only food pol would give him was swill [hw: scraps] from the table--handed to him out the back door. mother said pol had some kind of impediment in her speech, which caused her to say 'ah' at the close of a sentence. so, when she called joe to the back door to give him his mess of scraps, she would say, "here, joe, here's your truck, ah." mother was a little girl then, and she and grandmother felt so sorry for joe that they would bake baskets of sweet potatoes and slip [tr: 'to the field to give him' replaced with illegible text ending 'in the field']. she said he would come through the corn, almost crawling, so pol wouldn't see him, and take the sweet potatoes in the tail of his shirt and scuttle back through the tall stuff where he might hide and eat it them. she had a negro woman who had a baby (and there may have been other women) but this negro woman was not allowed to see her baby except just as a cow would be let in to her calf at certain times during the day, [tr: 'then' replaced by ??] she had to go to the field and leave it alone. mother said that pol either threw or kicked the baby into the yard because it cried, and it died. i don't know why the authorities didn't arrest her, but she may have had an alibi, or some excuse for the death of the child. the burning of the tobacco barn the [hw: other] tucker brother had made a fine crop of tobacco that year, more than a thousand dollars worth in his big barn. pol made one of her slaves go with her, [hw: when] and she set fire to the tobacco barn of her brother-in-law's barn, and not being able to get away [hw: unable to escape] before the flames [hw: brought] a crowd, she hid in the grass, right near the path where the people were running to the fire. she had some kind of stroke, perhaps from fright, or pure deviltry which 'put her out of business'. i wish i could remember whether it killed her or just made a paralytic of her, but this is a true story. plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave frances willingham, age bridge street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & the interviewer arrived at frances willingham's address on a sultry july morning, and found a fat and very black negress sweeping the sidewalk before the three-room frame house. there was no front yard and the front steps led up from the sidewalk into the house. a vegetable garden was visible at the rear of the lot. the plump sweeper appeared to be about five feet tall. her wooly white hair was plaited in tiny braids, and she wore a brown print dress trimmed in red and blue. a strand of red beads encircled her short neck, and a blue checked coat and high topped black shoes completed her costume. asked if frances willingham was at home, the woman replied: "dis is her you is a-talkin' to. come right in and have a seat." when frances was asked for the story of her life, her daughter who had doubtless been eavesdropping, suddenly appeared and interrupted the conversation with, "ma, now don't you git started 'bout dem old times. you knows your mind ain't no good no more. tomorrow your tongue will be runnin' lak a bell clapper a-talkin' to yourself." "shut your big mouth, henrietta." frances answered. "i been sick, and i knows it, but dere ain't nothin' wrong wid my mind and you knows it. what i knows i'se gwine to tell de lady, and what i don't know i sho' ain't gwine tell no lie about. now, missus, what does you want to know? don't pay no 'tention to dis fool gal of mine 'cause her mouth is big as dis room. "i was born way off down in twiggs county 'bout a mile from de town of jeffersonville. my pa and ma was otto and sarah rutherford. our mist'ess, dat was miss polly, she called ma, sallie for short. dere was nine of us chillun, me and esau, harry, jerry, bob, calvin, otto, sallie and susan. susan was our half-sister by our pa's last marriage. us chillun never done much but play 'round de house and yards wid de white chillun. i warn't but four years old when dey made us free." henrietta again interrupted, "see dere, i told you she don't know what she's a-talkin' 'bout." frances ignored the interruption and continued: "us lived in log cabins what had jus' one room wid a stick and mud chimbly at de end. our bedsteads was made out of rough planks and poles and some of 'em was nailed to de sides of de cabins. mattress ticks was made out of osnaburg and us filled 'em wid wheat straw in season. when dat was used up us got grass from de fields. most any kind of hay was counted good 'nough to put in a slave's mattress. dey let us mix some cotton wid de hay our pillows was stuffed wid. "my grandmas lived on another plantation. i 'members once grandma suck, she wes my ma's mammy, come to our house and stayed one or two days wid us. daddy's ma was named puss. both my grandmas was field hands, but ma, she was a house gal 'til she got big enough to do de cyardin' and spinnin'. aunt phoebie done de weavin' and aunt polly was de seamster. all de lak of dat was done atter de craps was done laid by. "no ma'am, nobody never give slave chillun no money in dem times. i never had none 'til atter us had done been give our freedom. i used to see old marster countin' of it, but de slaves never did git none of dat money. "our old marster was a pow'ful rich man, and he sho' b'lieved in givin' us plenty to eat. it warn't nothin' fine, but it was good plain eatin' what filled you up and kept you well. dere was cornbread and meat, greens of all sorts, 'taters, roas'en-ears and more other kinds of veg'tables dan i could call up all day. marster had one big old gyarden whar he kept most evvything a-growin' 'cept cabbages and 'matoes. he said dem things warn't fittin' for nobody to eat. marster let daddy go huntin' enough to fetch in lots of 'possums, coons, rabbits, and squirrels. us cooked 'em 'bout lak us does now, only us never had no stoves den, and had to do all de cookin' in open fireplaces in big old pots and long handled skillets what had big old heavy lids. i'se seed ma clean many a 'possum in hot ashes. den she scalded him and tuk out his innards. she par-boiled and den baked him and when she fetched him to de table wid a heap of sweet 'taters 'round him on de dish, dat was sho' somepin good to eat. daddy done his fishin' in muddy crick 'cause slaves wern't 'lowed to leave de plantation for nothin' lak dat. "summertimes us wore homespun dresses, made wid full skirts sewed on to tight fittin' waisties what was fastened down de back wid buttons made out of cows and rams horns. our white petticoat slips and pantalettes was made on bodices. in winter us wore balmorals what had three stripes 'round de bottom, and over dem us had on long sleeved ap'ons what was long as de balmorals. slave gals' pantalettes warn't ruffled and tucked and trimmed up wid lace and 'broidery lak miss polly's chilluns' was. ours was jus' made plain. grown folks wore rough brogans, but me, i wore de shoes what miss polly's chillun had done outgrowed. dey called 'em jackson shoes, 'cause dey was made wid a extra wide piece of leather sewed on de outside so as when you knocked your ankles 'gainst one another, it wouldn't wear no holes in your shoes. our sunday shoes warn't no diffunt from what us wore evvyday. [tr: hw sidenote: 'durable', regarding jackson shoes] "marse lish jones and his wife--she was miss polly--was our marster and mist'ess. dey sho' did love to be good to deir little niggers. dey had five chillun of deir own, two gals and three boys. dey was: mary, anna della, steve, john, and bob. 'bout deir house! oh, missus, dat was somepin to see for sho'. it was a big old fine two-story frame house wid a porch 'cross de front and 'round both sides. dere was five rooms on de fust floor and three upstairs. it sho' did look grand a-settin' back dar in dat big old oak grove. "old marster had a overseer but he never had no car'iage driver 'cause he loved to drive for hisself so good. oh lord! how big was dat plantation? why, it must have been as big as from here to town. i never did know how many slaves marster had, but dat old plantation was plumb full of 'em. i ain't never seed old marster do nothin' 'cept drive his car'iage, walk a little, and eat all he wanted to. he was a rich man, and didn't have to do nothin'. "our overseer got all de slaves up 'fore break of day and dey had to be done et deir breakfast and in de field when de sun riz up. dat sun would be down good 'fore dey got to de house at night. i never seed none of de grown folks git whupped, but i sho' got a good beatin' myself one time. i had done got up on top of de big house porch and was a-flappin' my arms and crowin' lak a rooster. dey told me to come on down, but i wouldn't mind nobody and kept on a-crowin' and a-flappin', so dey whupped me down. "dey had jails in jeffersonville, but dem jails was for white folks what didn't be-have deirselfs. old marster, de overseer, and de patterollers kept de slaves straight. dey didn't need no jails for dem. "i ain't never been to school a day in my life, 'cause when i was little, niggers warn't 'lowed to larn to read and write. i heared ma say de colored preacher read out of de bible, but i never seed him do it, 'cause i never went to church none when i was a chap. colored folks had deir own church in a out settlement called john de baptist. dat's whar all de slaves went to meetin'. chilluns was 'lowed to go to baptizin's. evvybody went to 'em. dey tuk dem converts to a hole in de crick what dey had got ready for dat purpose. de preacher went fust, and den he called for de converts to come on in and have deir sins washed away. "our marster sot aside a piece of ground 'long side of his own place for his niggers to have a graveyard. us didn't know nothin' 'bout no fun'rals. when one of de slaves died, dey was put in unpainted home-made coffins and tuk to de graveyard whar de grave had done been dug. dey put 'em in dar and kivvered 'em up and dat was all dey done 'bout it. "us heared a plenty 'bout patterollers beatin' up niggers what dey cotched off deir marsters' plantations widout no passes. sometimes dey cotched one of our marster's slaves and sometimes dey didn't, but dey was all time on deir job. "when slaves come in from de fields at night de 'omans cleant up deir houses atter dey et, and den washed and got up early next mornin' to put de clothes out to dry. mens would eat, set 'round talkin' to other mens and den go to bed. on our place evvybody wukked on saddays 'til 'bout three or four o'clock and if de wuk was tight dey wukked right on 'til night lak any other day. sadday nights de young folks got together to have deir fun. dey danced, frolicked, drunk likker, and de lak of dat. old marster warn't too hard on 'em no time, but he jus' let 'em have dat night to frolic. on sunday he give dem what wanted 'em passes to go to church and visit 'round. "christmas times, chilluns went to bed early 'cause dey was skeered santa claus wouldn't come. us carried our stockin's up to de big house to hang 'em up. next mornin' us found 'em full of all sorts of good things, 'cept oranges. i never seed nary a orange 'til i was a big gal. miss polly had fresh meat, cake, syrup puddin' and plenty of good sweet butter what she 'lowanced out to her slaves at christmas. old marster, he made syrup by de barrel. plenty of apples and nuts and groundpeas was raised right dar on de plantation. in de christmas, de only wuk slaves done was jus' piddlin' 'round de house and yards, cuttin' wood, rakin' leaves, lookin' atter de stock, waitin' on de white folks and little chores lak dat. hard work started again on de day atter new year's day. old marster 'lowed 'em mighty little rest from den 'til atter de craps was laid by. "course marster let his slaves have cornshuckin's, cornshellin's, cotton pickin's, and quiltin's. he had grove atter grove of pecan, chestnut, walnut, hickor'nut, scalybark, and chinquapin trees. when de nuts was all gathered, old marster sold 'em to de big men in de city. dat was why he was so rich. atter all dese things was gathered and tended to, he give his slaves a big feast and plenty to drink, and den he let 'em rest up a few days 'fore dey started back to hard wuk. "i never seed but one marriage on old marster's plantation, and i never will forgit dat day. miss polly had done gimme one of little miss mary's sho' 'nough pretty dresses and i wore it to dat weddin', only dey never had no real weddin'. dey was jus' married in de yard by de colored preacher and dat was all dere was to it. "ma used to tell us if us didn't be-have raw head and bloody bones would come git us and take us off. i tried to see him but i never did. grown folks was all time skeerin' chillun. then us went to bed at night, us used to see ghosties, what looked lak goats tryin' to butt us down. ma said i evermore used to holler out in my sleep 'bout dem things i was so skeered of. [hw sidenote: home remedies] "white folks was mighty good and kind when deir slaves got sick. old marster sont for dr. 'pree (dupree) and when he couldn't git him, he got dr. brown. he made us swallow bitter tastin' powders what he had done mixed up in water. miss polly made us drink tea made out of jerusalem oak weeds. she biled dem weeds and sweetened de tea wid syrup. dat was good for stomach trouble, and us wore elder roots strung 'round our necks to keep off ailments. "mercy me! i'se seed plenty of dem yankees a-gwine and comin'. dey come to our marster's house and stole his good mules. dey tuk what dey wanted of his meat, chickens, lard and syrup and den poured de rest of de syrup out on de ground. atter de war was over niggers got so rowdy dem ku kluxers come 'long to make 'em be-have deirselfs.' dem niggers and kluxers too jus' went hog wild. "what did niggers have to buy no land wid, when dey never had no money paid 'em for nothin' 'til atter dey was free? us jus' stayed on and wukked for old marster, 'cause dere warn't no need to leave and go to no other place. i was raised up for a field hand, and i ain't never wukked in no white folks house. "me i'se sho' glad mr. lincoln sot us free. iffen it was still slav'ry time now old as i is, i would have to wuk jus' de same, sick or no. now i don't have to ax nobody what i kin do. dat's why i'se glad i'se free. "now, 'bout my marriage; i was a-living in putnam county at dat time, and i got married up wid green willingham. he had come dar from jasper county. i didn't have no weddin'. ma jus' cooked a chicken for us, and i was married in a white dress. de waist had ruffles 'round de neck and sleeves. us had chilluns in all, seven boys and gals, dere was grandchillun and great grandchillun. dey ain't all of 'em livin', and my old man, he's done been daid a long time ago." henrietta again made her appearance and addressed her mother: "hush your mouth ma, for you knows you ain't got all dem chillun. i done told de lady you ain't got your right mind." frances retorted: "you shut up your mouth, henrietta. i is so got my right mind, and i knows how many chillun of mine dere was. one thing sho' you is got more mouth dan all de rest of my chillun put together." the interviewer closed her notebook and took her departure, leaving frances dozing in her chair. [hw: dist- - ex-slave # (mrs. stonestreet)] adeline willis--ex-slave [date stamp: may ] who is the oldest ex-slave in wilkes county? this question was answered the other day when the quest ended on the sunny porch of a little cottage on lexington road in washington-wilkes, for there in a straight old-fashioned split-bottom chair sat "aunt" adeline willis basking in the warm october sunshine. she is remarkable for her age--she doesn't know just exactly how old she is, from all she tells and what her "white folks" say she is around a hundred. her general health is good, she spends her days in the open and tires only on the days she cannot be out in her place in the sun. she has the brightest eyes, her sight is so good she has never had to wear glasses; she gets around in the house and yard on her cane. her memory is excellent, only a time or two did she slowly shake her head and say apologetically--"mistress, it's been so long er go, i reckon i done forgot". from her long association with white people she uses very little negro dialect and always refers to her mother as "mother", never as ma or mammy as most negroes do. this is very noticable. her mother was marina ragan, "cause she belonged to the ragans," explained aunt adeline, "and she was born on the ragan plantation right down on little river in greene county" (georgia). when marina's "young mistress" married young mr. mose wright of oglethorpe county, she took marina to her new home to be her own servant, and there is where adeline was born. the place was known as the wright plantation and was a very large one. adeline doesn't remember her father, and strange to say, she cannot recall how many brothers and sisters she had though she tried hard to name them all. she is sure, however, there were some older and some younger, "i reckon i must er come along about the middle", she said. after a little while aunt adeline was living far back in the past and talked freely--with questions now and then to encourage her reminiscences, she told many interesting things about her life as a slave. she told about the slaves living in the quarters--log houses all in a long row near the "white folks' house", and how happy they were. she couldn't remember how many slaves were on the plantation, but was sure there were many: "yas'm, my marster had lots of niggers, jest how many, i don't know, but there sho' was a sight of us". they were given their allowance of "rations" every week and cooked their own meals in their cabins. they had good, plain, home-raised things to eat--"and we was glad to get it too. we didn't have no fancy fixings, jest plain food". their clothes were made by negro sewing women out of cloth spun and woven right there in the quarters. all the little dresses were made alike. "when they took a notion to give us striped dresses we sho' was dressed up. i never will forget long as i live, a hickory stripe--(that's what they called stripes in them days)--dress they made me, it had brass buttons at the wrist bands. i was so proud of that dress and felt so dressed up in it i jest strutted er round with it on", and she chuckled over the recollection of that wonderful dress she wore so long ago. when asked what was the very first thing she remembered, aunt adeline gave a rather surprising answer: "the first thing i recollect is my love for my mother--i loved her so and would cry when i couldn't be with her, and as i growed up i kept on loving her jest that a-way even after i married and had children of my own." the first work she did was waiting in the house. before she could read her mistress taught her the letters on the newspapers and what they spelled so she could bring them the papers they wanted. her mother worked in the field: she drove steers and could do all kinds of farm work and was the best meat cutter on the plantation. she was a good spinner too, and was required to spin a broach of "wool spinning" every night. all the negro women had to spin, but aunt adeline said her mother was specially good in spinning wool and "that kind of spinning was powerful slow". thinking a moment, she added: "and my mother was one of the best dyers anywhere 'round, and i was too. i did make the most colors by mixing up all kinds of bark and leaves. i recollect the prettiest sort of a lilac color i made with maple bark and pine bark, not the outside pine bark, but that little thin skin that grows right down next to the tree--it was pretty, that color was." aunt adeline thinks they were more fortunate than any other little slaves she knew because their marster had a little store right there where he would give them candy every now and then--bright pretty sticks of candy. she remembers one time he gave them candy in little tin cups, and how proud of those cups they were. he never gave them money, but out of the store they could get what money bought so they were happy. but they had to have whippings, "yas'um, good er bad we got them whippings with a long cowhide kept jest fer that. they whipped us to make us grow better, i reckon". although they got whippings a-plenty they were never separated by sale. "no mam, my white folks never believed in selling their niggers", said aunt adeline, and related an incident proving this. "i recollect once my oldest brother done something marster didn't like an' he got mighty mad with him an' said 'gus, i'm goin' ter sell you, i ain't a-goin' to keep you no longer'. mistress spoke up right quick and said: 'no you ain't a-goin' to sell gus, neither, he's nussed and looked after all our oldest chillun, and he's goin' to stay right here'. and that was the last of that, gus was never sold--he went to war with his young marster when he went and died up there in the war cause he was homesick, so marster come back and said." aunt adeline was surprised when asked if the doctor ever was called in to see her or any of the slaves when they were sick back in slavery days--in fact she was a bit indignant as she answered; "_no mam_, i was born, growed up, married, had sixteen children and never had no doctor with me 'til here since i got so old". she went on to say that her white folks looked after their negroes when they were sick. they were given tonics and things to keep them well so sickness among them was rare. no "store-bought" medicines, but good old home-made remedies were used. for instance, at the first sniffle they were called in and given a drink of fat lightwood tea, made by pouring boiling water over finely split kindling--"that" explained aunt adeline, "was cause lightwood got turpentine in it". in the springtime there was a mixture of anvil dust (gathered up from around the anvil in the blacksmith's shop) and mixed with syrup, and a teaspoon full given every morning or so to each little piccaninny as they were called up in the "white folks' yard". sometimes instead of this mixture they were given a dose of garlic and whisky--all to keep them healthy and well. there was great rejoicing over the birth of a negro baby and the white folks were called upon to give the little black stranger a name. adeline doesn't remember anything about the holidays and how they were spent, not even christmas and thanksgiving, but one thing she does remember clearly and that is: "all my white folks was methodist folks, and they had fast days and no work was done while they was fastin' and prayin'. and we couldn't do no work on sunday, no mam, everybody had to rest on that day and on preachin' days everybody went to church, white and black to the same church, us niggers set up in the gallery that was built in the white folks' church for us". there wasn't any time for play because there was so much work to do on a big plantation, but they had good times together even if they did have so much to do. before adeline was grown her "young mistress," miss mary wright, married mr. william turner from wilkes county, so she came to the turner plantation to live, and lived there until several years after the war. adeline hadn't been in her new home long before lewis willis, a young negro from the adjoining plantation, started coming to see her. "lewis come to see me any time 'cause his marster, mr. willis, give him a pass so he wasn't scared to be out at night 'count of the patterollers. they didn't bother a nigger if he had a pass, they sho' did beat him." [hw: ?] when adeline was fourteen years old she and lewis married, or rather it was like this: "we didn't have no preacher when we married, my marster and mistess said they didn't care, and lewis's master and mistress said they didn't care, so they all met up at my white folks' house and had us come in and told us they didn't mind our marryin'. my marster said, 'now you and lewis wants to marry and there ain't no objections so go on and jump over the broom stick together and you is married'. that was all there was to it and we was married. i lived on with my white folks and he lived on with his and kept comin' to see me jest like he had done when he was a courtin'. he never brought me any presents 'cause he didn't have no money to buy them with, but he was good to me and that was what counted." superstition and signs still have a big place in the life of this woman even after a hundred long years. she has outlived or forgotten many she used to believe in, but still holds fast to those she remembers. if a rooster crows anywhere near your door somebody is coming "and you might as well look for 'em, 'cause that rooster done told you". when a person dies if there is a clock in the room it must be stopped the very minute of death or it will never be any more good--if left ticking it will be ruined. every dark cloudy day brings death--"somebody leaving this unfriendly world today". then she is sure when she "feels sadness" and doesn't know why, it a sign somebody is dying "way off somewhere and we don't know it". yes, she certainly believes in all the signs she remembers even "to this good day", as she says. when asked about the war aunt adeline said that times were much harder then: "why we didn't have no salt--jest plain salt, and couldn't get none them days. we had to get up the dirt in the smokehouse where the meat had dripped and 'run it' like lye, to get salt to put on things--yas'm, times was sho' hard and our marster was off in war all four years and we had to do the best we could. we niggers wouldn't know nothing about it all if it hadn't a been for a little old black, sassy woman in the quarters that was a talkin' all the time about 'freedom'. she give our white folks lots of trouble--she was so sassy to them, but they didn't sell her and she was set free along with us. when they all come home from the war and marster called us up and told us we was free, some rejoiced so they shouted, but some didn't, they was sorry. lewis come a runnin' over there an' wanted me and the chillun to go on over to his white folks' place with him, an' i wouldn't go--_no mam_, i wouldn't leave my white folks. i told lewis to go on and let me 'lone, i knowed my white folks and they was good to me, but i didn't know his white folks. so we kept living like we did in slavery, but he come to see me every day. after a few years he finally 'suaded me to go on over to the willis place and live with him, and his white folks was powerful good to me. after a while, tho' we all went back and lived with my white folks and i worked on for them as long as i was able to work and always felt like i belonged to 'em, and you know, after all this long time, i feel like i am their's." "why i live so long, you asking? 'cause i always been careful and took good care of myself, eat a plenty and stayed out in the good fresh open air and sunshine when i could--and then i had a good husband that took care of me." this last reason for her long life was added as an after thought and since lewis, her husband, has been dead these forty years maybe those first named causes were the real ones. be that as it may, aunt adeline is a very remarkable old woman and is most interesting to talk with. federal writers' projects augusta-athens supervisor: miss velma bell excerpts from slave interviews uncle willis [date stamp: apr ] [tr: also in combined interviews as willis bennefield.] "uncle willis" lived with his daughter, rena, who is years old. "i his baby," said rena. "all dead but me and i ain't no good for him now, 'cause i kain't tote nothin'." when asked where her father was, rena looked out over the blazing cotton field and called: "pap! oh--pappy! stop pickin' cotton and come in awhile. dey's some ladies wants to see you." uncle willis hobbled slowly to the cabin, which was set in the middle of the cotton patch. he wore clean blue overalls, obviously new. his small, regular features had high cheekbones. there was a tuft of white hair on his chin, and his head was covered with a "sundown" hat. "mawnin," he said. "i bin sick. so i thought i might git some cotton terday." willis thinks he is years old. he said: "i was years old when freedom declared." he belonged to a doctor in burke county, who, willis at first said, had three or four plantations. later he stated that the good doctor had five or six places, all in burke county. "i wuk in de fiel'," he went on: "and i drove de doctor thirty years. he owned slaves. i never went to school a day in my life, 'cept sunday school, but i tuk de doctor's sons four miles ev'y day to school. guess he had so much business in hand he thought de chillun could walk. i used to sit down on de school steps 'till dey turn out. i got way up de alphabet by listenin', but when i went to courtin' i forgot all dat." asked what his regular duties were, willis answered with pride: "marster had a ca'yage and a buggy too. my father driv' de doctor. sometimes i was fixin' to go to bed, and had to hitch up my horse and go five or six mile. i had a regular saddle horse, two pair of horses for ca'yage. doctor were a rich man. richest man in burke county. he made his money on his farm. when summertime come, i went wid him to bath, wheh he had a house on tena hill. we driv' down in de ca'yage. sundays we went to church when dr. goulding preach. de darkies went in de side do'. i hear him preach many times." asked about living conditions on the plantation, willis replied: "de big house was set in a half acre yard. 'bout fifty yards on one side was my house, and fifty yards on de yudder side was de house o' granny, a woman what tended de chillun and had charge o'de yard when we went to bath." willis gestured behind him. "back yonder was de quarters, half a mile long; dey wuz one room 'crost, and some had shed room. when any of 'em got sick, marster would go round to see 'em all." as to church, willis said: "i belongst to hopeful church. church people would have singin' and prayin' and de wicked people would have dancin' and singin'." willis chuckled. "at dat time i wuz a regular dancer! i cut de pigeon wing high enough! not many cullud peoples know de bible in slavery time. we had dances, and prayers, and sing, too. we sang a song, 'on jordan's stormy banks i stand, and cast a wishful eye.'" "how about marriages?" willis was asked. "colored preacher marry 'em. you had to get license and give it to de preacher and he marry 'em. when de men on our plantation had wives on udder plantations, dey call 'em broad wives." "did you give your wife presents when you were courting?" he was asked. "i went to courtin' and never give her nuthin' till i marry her." as to punishments, willis said that slaves were whipped as they needed it, and as a general rule the overseer did the whipping. "when derky wouldn't take whippin' from de overseer," he said, "he had to ca'y dem to de boss; and if we needed any brushin' de marster brush 'em. why, de darkies would whip de overseer!" willis was asked to describe how slaves earned money for personal use, and replied: "dey made dey own money. in slavery time, if you wanted four-five acre of land to plant you anything on, marster give it to you and whatever dat land make, it belong to you. you could take dat money and spend it any way you wanted. still he give you somethin' to eat and clothe you, but dat patch you mek cotton on, sometimes a whole bale, dat money yours." willis thought the plantation house was still there, "but it badly wounded," he said. "dey tell me dere ain't nobuddy living in it now. it south of waynesboro." "when de soldiers come thoo'," continued willis, "dey didn't burn dat place, but dey went in dere and took out ev'yting dey want and give it to de cullud people. dey kep' it till dey got free. de soldiers tuk de doctor's horses and ca'y 'em off. got in de crib and tek de corn. got in de smoke 'ouse and tek de meat out. old marssa bury his money and silver in an iron chist. dey tuk it yards away to a clump o' trees and bury it. it tuk fo' men to ca'y it. dere was money widout mention in dat chist! after de soldiers pass thoo' dey went down and got it back." "what did you do after freedom was declared?" willis straightened up. "i went down to augusta to de freedman's bureau to see if twas true we wuz free. i reckon dere was over a hundred people dere. de man got up and stated to de people: 'you all is jus' as free as i am. you ain't got no mistis and no marster. work when you want.' on sunday morning old marster sont de house gal and tell us to all come to de house. he said: 'what i want to send for you all is to tell you dat you are free. you hab de privilege to go anywheh you want, but i don't want none o' you to leave me now. i wants you-all to stay right wid me. if you stay, you mus' sign to it.' i asked him: 'what you want me to sign for? i is free.' 'dat will hold me to my word and hold you to yo' word,' he say. "all my folks sign it, but i wouldn't sign. marster call me up and say: 'willis, why wouldn't you sign?' i say: 'if i is already free, i don't need to sign no paper. if i was workin' for you and doin' for you befo' i got free, i kin do it still, if you wants me to stay wid you.' "my father and mother tried to git me to sign, but i wouldn't sign. my mother said: 'you oughter sign. how you know marster gwine pay?' i say: 'den i kin go somewheh else.' "marster pay first class hands $ . a month, other hands $ . , and den on down to five and six dollars. he give rations like dey always have. when christmus' come, all come up to be paid off. den he calls me. ask whar is me? i was standin' roun' de corner of de house. 'come up here, willis,' he say. 'you didn't sign dat paper but i reckon i hab to pay you too.' he paid me and my wife $ . . i said: 'well, you-all thought he wouldn't pay me, but i got my money too.' "i stayed to my marster's place one year after de war, den i lef' dere. nex' year i decided i would quit dere and go somewheh else. it was on account o' my wife. you see, marster bought her off, as de highes' bidder, down in waynesboro, and she ain't seen her mother and father for fifteen years. when she got free, she went down to see 'em. waren't willin' to come back. t'was on account o' mistis and her. dey bofe had chilluns, five-six year old. de chilluns had disagreement. mistis slap my gal. my wife sass de mistis. but my marster, he wuz as good a man as ever born. i wouldn't have lef' him for nobody, just on account of his wife and her fell out." "what did your master say when you told him you were going to leave? was he sorry?" "i quit and goes over three miles to another widow lady's house, and mek bargain wid her," said willis. "i pass right by de do'. old boss sittin' on de pi--za. he say: 'hey, boy, wheh you gwine?' i say: 'i 'cided to go.' i wuz de fo'man' o' de plow-han' den. i saw to all de looking up, and things like dat. he say: 'hold on dere.' he come out to de gate. 'tell you what i give you to stay on here. i give you five acre of as good land as i got, and $ . a month, to stay here and see to my bizness.'" willis paused a moment, thinking back on that long distant parting. "i say," he went on, "'i can't, marster. it don't suit my wife 'round here. she won't come back. i can't stay.' "he turn on me den, and busted out crying. 'i didn't tho't i could raise up a darky dat would talk dat-a-way,' he said. well, i went on off. i got de wagon and come by de house. marster say: 'now, you gwine off but don't forget me, boy. remember me as you always done.' i said: 'all right.'" willis chewed his tobacco reflectively for a few minutes, spat into the rosemary bush and resumed his story. "i went over to dat widow lady's house and work. along about may i got sick. she say: 'i going send for de doctor.' i say: 'please ma'am, don't do dat.' (i thought maybe he kill me 'cause i lef' him.) she say: 'well, i gwine send fo' him.' i in desprut condition. when i know anything, he walk up in de do'. i was laying' wid my face toward de do', and i turn over. "doctor come up to de bed. 'boy, how you gettin' on?' 'i bad off,' i say. he say: 'see you is. yeh.' lady say: 'doctor, whut you think of him?' doctor say: 'mistis, it mos' too late, but i do all i kin.' she say: 'please do all you kin, he 'bout de bes' han' i got.' "doctor fix up med'cine and tole her to give it to me. "she say: 'uncle will, tek dis med'cine. i 'fraid to tek it. 'fraid he wuz tryin' to kill me. den two men, john and charlie, come in. lady say: 'get dis med'cine in uncle will.' one o' de men hold my hand and dey gag me and put it in me. nex' few days i kin talk and ax for somethin' to eat so i git better. (i say: "well, he didn't kill me when i tuk de med'cine!') "i stayed dere wid her," continued willis. "nex' year i move right back in two miles, other side wheh i always live, wid anudder lady. i stay dere three year. got along all right. when i lef' from there, i lef' dere wid $ . and plenty corn and hog. everything i want, and three hundred cash dollars in my pocket!" it was plain that in his present status of relief ward, uncle willis looked back on that sum of money as a small fortune. he thought about it awhile, spat again, and went on: "fourth year i lef and went down to anudder place near de creek. i stay dere years in dat one place." "uncle willis, did you ever see the doctor again?" "he die 'fore i know it," he replied. "i was 'bout fifteen miles from him, and by de time i year o' his death, he bury on plantation near de creek." willis was asked about superstitions and answered with great seriousness: "eve'ybuddy in de worl' hab got a sperrit what follow 'em roun' and dey kin see diffrunt things. in my sleep i hab vision." "pappy, tell de ladies 'bout de hant," urged aunt rena from her post in the doorway, and willis took up the story with eagerness: "one night i was gwine to a lady's store, ridin' a horse. de graveyard was yards from de road i wuz passin'. de moon was shinin' bright as day. i saw somethin' comin' out of dat graveyard. it come across de road, right befo' me. his tail were draggin' on de ground--a long tail. he had hair on both sides of him, layin' down on de road. he crep' up. i pull de horse dis way. he move too. i yell out: 'what in de name o' god is dat?' and it turn right straight around and went back to de graveyard. i went on to de lady's house and done my shoppin'. i tell you i wuz skeered, 'cause i was sho' i would see it going back, but i never saw it. de horse was turrible skeered of it. it looked like a maryno sheep and it had a long, swishy tail." uncle willis was asked if he had ever seen a person "conjured" and he answered: "dey is people in de worl' got sense enough to kill out de conjur in anybuddy, but nobuddy ever conjur me. i year 'um say, if a person conjur you, you'll git somethin' in you dat would kill you." asked to what he attributed his long, healthy life, willis raised his head with a preaching look and replied: "i tell you, missis, 'zactly what i believe, i bin tryin' to serve god ever since i come to be a man of family. i bin tryin' to serve de lawd years, and i live by precept of de word. until today nobuddy can turn me away from god business. i am a man studying my gospel, i ain't able to go to church, but i still keep serving god." [tr: return visit] a week later uncle willis was found standing in his cabin door. "do you want to ride to the old plantation to-day?" he was asked. his vitality was almost too low for him to grasp the invitation. "i'se mighty weak to-day," he said in a feeble voice. "i don't feel good for much." "where is aunt rena?" he was asked. "do you think she would mind your taking an automobile trip?" "she gone to town on de bus, to see de fambly welfare." "have you had breakfast?" "i had some coffee, but i ain't eat none." "well, come on, uncle willis. we'll get you some breakfast and then we'll take you to the plantation and take your picture in the place where you were born, years ago." uncle willis appeared to be somewhat in a daze as he padlocked the cabin door, put on his "sundown" hat, took up his stout stick and tottered down the steps. he wore a frayed sweater with several layers of shirts showing at the cuffs. on the way he recalled the first railroad train that passed through burke county. "i kinder skeered," he recollected. "we wuz all 'mazed to see dat train flying' long 'thout any horses. de people wuz all afraid." "had you heard of airplanes before you saw one, uncle willis?" "yes, ma'am. i yeared o' dem but you couldn't gimme dis car full o' money to fly. dey's too high off de ground. i never is gwine in one!" uncle willis was deposited on the porch of one of the remaining slave cabins to eat his "breakkus," while his kidnapers sought over hill and field for "the big house," but only two cabins and the chimney foundations of a large burned dwelling rewarded the search. the old ex-slave was posed in front of the cabin, to one side of the clay and brick chimney, and took great pleasure in the ceremony, rearing his head up straight so that his white beard stuck out. the brutal reality of finding the glories of the plantation forever vanished must have been a severe blow for the old man. several times on the way back he wiped tears from his eyes. once again at his cabin in the cottonfield, his vitality reasserted itself, and he greeted his curious dusky neighbors with the proud statement. "dey tuk me when i was bred and born! i ain't ax no better time!" willis' farewell words were: "goo'bye! i hopes you all gits to paradise!" [hw: dist - ex-slave # ] ex-slave interview cornelia winfield, age richmond county ninth street augusta, georgia by: (mrs.) margaret johnson--editor federal writers' project augusta, georgia [date stamp: may ] cornelia winfield, ninth street, was born in crawford, oglethorpe county, georgia march , . her father, being the same age as her master, was given to him as a little boy. they grew up together, playing games, and becoming devoted to each other. when her master was married her father went to his home with him and became the overseer of all the slaves on the plantation. "my father and mother wuz house servants. my marster served my father's plate from his own table and sent it to him, every meal. he had charge of the work shop, and when marster was away he always stayed at the big house, to take care of my missis and the children. my mother was a seamstress and had three younger seamsters under her, that she taught to sew. we made the clothes for all the house servants and fiel' hans. my mother made some of the clothes for my marster and missis. my mother was a midwife too, and useter go to all the birthings on our place. she had a bag she always carried and when she went to other plantations she had a horse and buggy to go in. "all the slaves on our place wuz treated well. i never heard of any of 'em bein' whipped. i was ten years old when freedom come, and i always knowed i wuz to belong to one of marster's daughters. after freedom my father and mother worked on just the same for marster. when my father died, marster's fam'ly wanted him buried in the fam'ly lot but i wanted him to lie by my mother." cornelia's husband was a methodist preacher, and she lived with him to celebrate their golden wedding. during the last years of his life they lived in augusta. for sixteen years she washed all the blankets for the fire department, and did some of the washing for the firemen. cornelia is now years of age, but her memory is good and her mind active; and she is extremely loquacious. she is quite heavy, and crippled, having to use a crutch when she walks. her room was clean, but over-crowded with furniture, every piece of which has recently been painted. of the wardrobe in her room cornelia told the following story. "all the planks eny of our family was laid out on, my father kep'. when he came to augusta he brought all these planks and made this here wardrobe. when the fire burnt me out, this here wardrobe was the only thing in my house that was saved." during the past summer she put up quantities of preserves, pickles and canned fruits. these she sells in a little shop-room adjoining her house, and when the weather permits, on the steps of the post office. cornelia can read, and spends much of time reading the bible but she learned to read after "freedom." she is greatly interested to tell of the "best families" she has worked for and the gifts she has received from them. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] e. driskell whitley - - george womble ex-slave [date stamp: may ] one of the relics of slavery is george womble. from all appearances mr. womble looks to be fifty-three years of age instead of the ripe old age of ninety-three that he claims. he is about five and one-half or six feet in height, weighs one-hundred and seventy-five pounds or more, and has good sight and hearing in addition to a skin that is almost devoid of any wrinkle. besides all of this he is a clear thinker and has a good sense of humor. following is an account of the experiences of mr. womble as a slave and of the conditions in general on the plantations where he lived: "i was born in the year of near the present site of what is now known as clinton, georgia. the names of my parents were patsy and raleigh ridley. i never saw my father as he was sold before i was old enough to recognize him as being my father. i was still quite young when my mother was sold to a plantation owner who lived in new orleans, la. as she was being put on the wagon to be taken away i heard her say: "let me see my poor child one more time because i know i'll never see him again". that was the last i ever saw or heard of her. as i had no brothers or sisters or any other relatives to care for me my master, who was mr. robert ridley, had me placed in his house where i was taught to wait tables and to do all kinds of house work. mr. ridley had a very large plantation and he raised cotton, corn, oats, wheat, peas, and live stock. horses and mules were his specialty--i remember that he had one little boy whose job was to break these animals so that they could be easily sold. my job was to wait tables, help with the house cleaning, and to act as nurse maid to three young children belonging to the master. at other times i drove the cows to and from the pasture and i often helped with the planting in the fields when the field hands were rushed. out of the forty-odd slaves that were held by the ridleys all worked in the field with the exception of myself and the cook whose name was harriet ridley." continuing, mr. womble says: "i believe that mr. ridley was one of the meanest men that ever lived. sometimes he whipped us, especially us boys, just to give himself a little fun. he would tie us in such a way as to cause our bodies to form an angle and then he preceeded to use the whip. when he had finished he would ask: "who do you belong to?" and we had to answer; "marse robert". at other times he would throw us in a large tank that held about two-thousand gallons of water. he then stood back and laughed while we struggled to keep from drowning." "when marse robert died i was still a small boy. several months after his death mrs. ridley gave the plantation up and took her share of the slaves (ten in number) of which i was one, and moved to tolbert county, georgia near the present location of talbottom, georgia. the other slaves and the plantation were turned over to marse robert's relatives. after a few months stay in this place i was sold to mrs. ridley's brother, enoch womble. on the day that i was sold three doctors examined me and i heard one of them say: "this is a thoroughbred boy. his teeth are good and he has good muscles and eyes. he'll live a long time." then mr. womble said: "he looks intelligent too. i think i'll take him and make a blacksmith out of him." and so to close the deal he paid his sister five-hundred dollars for me." according to mr. womble his new master was even meaner than the deceased mr. ridley. he was likewise a plantation owner and a farmer and as such he raised the same things that mr. ridley did with the exception of the horses and the mules. in all there were about five-hundred acres to the plantation. there were six children in the womble family in addition to mr. womble and his wife, and they all lived in a large one-storied frame house. a large hickory tree grew through the center of the porch where a hole had been cut out for its growth. mr. womble says that his reputation of being an excellent house boy had preceded him, and so here too he was put to work in the master's house where he helped with the cooking, washed the dishes, cleaned the house, and also acted as nurse for the younger white children. in addition to this, he was also required to attend to the cows. he remembers how on one night at a very late hour he was called by the master to go and drive the cows from the pasture as the sleet and snow might do them more harm than good. he was so cold that on the way back from the pasture he stopped at the pig pens where he pushed one or two of them out of the spots where they had lain so that he could squat there, and warm his feet in the places left warm by their bodies. to add to his discomfort the snow and sleet froze in his long hair and this made him even more miserable than ever. mr. womble was asked to tell what time he had to arise in the morning to be at his day's work, and he replied that sometimes he didn't even go to sleep as he had to keep one hand on the baby crib to keep it from crying. most of the time he got up at four o'clock in the morning, and went to the kitchen where he helped the cook prepare breakfast. after this was done, and he had finished waiting on the master and his family he started to clean the house. when he had finished this, he had to take care of the younger womble children, and do countless the other things to be done around a house. of the other slaves, mr. womble says: "none of them ever suffered from that disease known as "mattress fever". they all got up long before day, and prepared their breakfasts and then before it was light enough to see clearly they were standing in the field holding their hoes and other implements--afraid to start work for fear that they would cover the cotton plants with dirt because they could'nt see clearly due to the darkness." an overseer was hired by the master to see that the work was done properly. if any of the slaves were careless about their work they were made to take off their clothes in the field before all the rest and then a sound whipping was administered. field hands also get whippings when they failed to pick the required three-hundred pounds of cotton daily. to avoid a whipping for this they sprinkled the white sand of the fields on the dew soaked cotton and at the time it was weighed they were credited with more pounds than they had actually picked. around ten or eleven o'clock in the morning they were all allowed to go to the cook house where they were given dinner by the plantation cook. by one o'clock they were all back in the field where they remained until it was too dark to see clearly, and then they were dismissed by the overseer after he had checked the number of pounds of cotton that they had picked. the slaves knew that whenever mr. womble hired a new overseer he always told the prospect that if he could'nt handle the slaves his services would not be needed. the cook had heard the master tell a prospective overseer this and so whenever a new one was hired the slaves were quick to see how far they could go with him. mr. womble says that an overseer had to be a very capable man in order to keep his job as overseer on the womble plantation because if the slaves found out that he was afraid of them fighting him (and they did sometimes) they took advantage of him so much so that the production dropped and the overseer either found himself trying to explain to his employer or else looking for another job. the master would never punish a slave for beating an overseer with his fists stated mr. womble. during rainy weather the slaves shucked corn, piled manure in the barns, and made cloth. in the winter season the men split rails, built fences, and dug ditches, while the women did the weaving and the making of cloth. these slaves who were too old to work in the fields remained at home where they nursed the sick slaves (when there was sickness) and attended to the needs of those children who were too young for field work. those children who were still being fed from their mother's breasts were also under the care of one of these old persons. however, in this case the mothers were permitted to leave the field twice a day (once between breakfast and dinner and once between dinner and supper) so that these children could be fed. at times mr. womble hired some of his slaves out to work by the day for some of the other nearby plantation owners. mr. geo. womble says that he was often hired out to the other white ladies of the community to take care of their children and to do their housework. because of his ability to clean a house and to handle children he was in constant demand. the men worked every day in the week while the women were given saturday afternoon off so that they might do their personal work such as the washing and the repairing of their clothing etc. the women were required to do the washing and the repairing of the single men's clothing in addition to their own. no night work was required of any of them except during the winter when they were given three cuts of thread to card, reel, and spin each night. there were some days when the master called them all to his back yard and told them that they could have a frolic. while they danced and sang the master and his family sat and looked on. on days like the fourth of july and christmas in addition to the frolic barbecue was served and says mr. womble: "it was right funny to see all of them dancing around the yard with a piece of meat in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. mr. womble stated further that clothes were given to all the slaves once a year. an issue for the men usually consisted of one or two pairs of pants and some shirts, underwear, woolen socks, and a pair of heavy brogans that had been made of horse hide. these shoes were reddish in appearance and were as stiff as board according to mr. womble. for special wear the men were given a garment that was made into one piece by sewing the pants and shirt together. this was known as a "roundabout". the women were given one or two dresses that had been made of the same material as that of the men's pants. as the cloth that these clothes were made of was very coarse and heavy most of them lasted until the time for the next issue. none of the clothing that the slaves wore was bought. after the cloth had been made by the slaves who did all the spinning and the weaving the master's wife cut the clothes out while the slave women did the sewing. one of the men was a cobbler and it was he who made all of the shoes for slave use. in the summer months the field hands worked in their bare feet regardless of whether they had shoes or not. mr. womble says that he was fifteen years of age when he was given his first pair of shoes. they were a pair of red boots and were so stiff that he needed help to get them on his feet as well as to get them off. once when the master had suffered some few financial losses the slaves had to wear clothes that were made of crocus material. the children wore sacks after holes had been cut out for their heads and arms. this garment looked like a slightly lengthened shirt in appearance. a dye made from red clay was used to give color to these clothes. the bed clothing consisted of bagging sacks and quilts that were made out of old clothes. at the end of the week all the field hands met in the master's backyard where they were given a certain amount of food which was supposedly enough to last for a week. such an issue was made up of three pounds of fat meat, one peck of meal, and one quart of black molasses. mr. womble was asked what the slaves did if their allowance of food ran out before the end of the week, and he replied in the following manner: "if their food gave out before the time for another issue they waited until night and then one or two of them would go to the mill-house where the flour and the meal was kept. after they had succeeded in getting in they would take an auger and bore a hole in the barrel containing the meal. one held the sack while the other took a stick and worked it around in the opening made by the auger so as to make the meal flow freely. after their bags were filled the hole was stopped up, and a hasty departure was made. sometimes when they wanted meat they either went to the smoke house and stole a ham or else they would go to the pen where the pigs were kept and take a small pig out. when they got to the woods with this animal they proceeded to skin and clean it (it had already been killed with a blow in the head before they left the pen). all the parts that they did not want were either buried or thrown in the nearby river. after going home all of this meat was cooked and hidden. as there was danger in being caught none of this stolen meat was ever fried because there was more danger of the odor of frying meat going farther away than that odor made by meat being boiled." at this point mr. womble stated that the slaves were taught to steal by their masters. sometimes they were sent to the nearby plantations to steal chickens, pigs, and other things that could be carried away easily. at such times the master would tell them that he was not going to mistreat them and that he was not going to allow anyone else to mistreat them and that by taking the above mentioned things they were helping him to be more able to take care of them. at breakfast the field hands ate fried meat, corn bread, and molasses. when they went to the house for dinner they were given some kind of vegetable along with pot liquor and milk. when the days work was done and it was time for the evening meal there was the fried meat again with the molasses and the corn bread. mr. womble says that they ate this kind of food every day in the week. the only variation was on sunday when they were given the seconds of the flour and a little more molasses so that they might make a cake. no other sweetening was used except the molasses. as for mr. womble and the cook they fared better as they ate the same kind of food that the master and his family did. he remembers how he used to take biscuits from the dishes that were being sent to the masters table. he was the waiter and this was an easy matter. later he took some of these biscuits and sold them to the other little boys for a nickle each. neither the master or the slaves had real coffee. they all drank a type of this beverage that had been made by parching bran or meal and then boiled in water. the younger children were fed from a trough that was twenty feet in length. at meal time each day the master would come out and supervise the cook whose duty it was to fill the trough with food. for breakfast the milk and bread was all mixed together in the trough by the master who used his walking cane to stir it with. at dinner and supper the children were fed pot liquor and bread and sometimes milk that had been mixed together in the same manner. all stood back until the master had finished stirring the food and then at a given signal they dashed to the trough where they began eating with their hands. some even put their mouths in the trough and ate. there were times when the master's dogs and some of the pigs that ran round the yard all came to the trough to share these meals. mr. womble states that they were not permitted to strike any of these animals so as to drive them away and so they protected their faces from the tongues of the intruders by placing their hands on the sides of their faces as they ate. during the meal the master walked from one end of the trough to the other to see that all was as it should be. before mr. womble started to work in the master's house he ate as the other children for a short time. some of the times he did not have enough food to eat and so when the time came to feed the cows he took a part of their food (a mixture of cotton seed, collard stalks, and small ears of corn) and ate it when night came. when he started working in the house regularly he always had sufficient food from then on. all the food that was eaten was grown on the plantation in the master's gardens. he did not permit the slaves to have a garden of their own neither could they raise their own chickens and so the only time that they got the chance to enjoy the eating of chicken was when they decided to make a special trip to the master's poultry yard. the housing facilities varied with the work a slave was engaged in on the womble plantation according to mr. womble. he slept in the house under the dining-room table all of the time. the cook also slept in the house of her owner. for those who worked on the fields log cabins (some distance behind the master's house.) were provide [sic]. asked to describe one of these cabins mr. womble replied: "they were two roomed buildings made out of logs and daubed with mud to keep the weather out. at one end there was a chimney that was made out of dried mud, sticks and stones. the fireplace was about five or six feet in length and on the inside of it there were some hooks to hang the pots from when there was cooking to be done. "there was only one door and this was the front one. they would'nt put a back door in a cabin because it would be easy for a slave to slip out of the back way if the master or the overseer came to punish an occupant. there were one or two small openings cut in the back so that they could get air." "the furniture was made by the blacksmith", continued mr. womble. "in one corner of the room there was a large bed that had been made out of heavy wood. rope that ran from side to side served as the springs while the mattress was a large bag that had been stuffed with wheat straw. the only other furnishings were a few cooking utensils and one or two benches." as many as four families lived in one of these cabins although the usual number to a cabin was three families. there was one other house where the young children were kept while their parents worked in the fields. most of the sickness on the womble plantation was due to colds and fever. for the treatment of either of these ailments the master always kept a large can filled with a mixture of turpentine and caster oil. when anyone complained of a cold a dose of this oil was prescribed. the master gave this dose from a very large spoon that always hung from the can. the slaves also had their own home made remedies for the treatment of different ailments. yellow root tea and black-hall tea were used in the treatment of colds while willow tea was used in the treatment of fever. another tea made from the droppings of sheep was used as a remedy for the measles. a doctor was always called when anyone was seriously ill. he was always called to attend those cases of childbirth. unless a slave was too sick to walk he was required to go to the field and work like the others. if, however, he was confined to his bed a nurse was provided to attend to his needs. on sundays all of the slaves were allowed to attend the white church where they listened to the services from the rear of the church. when the white minister was almost through he would walk back to where the slaves sat and tell them not to steal their master's chickens, eggs, or his hogs and their backs would not be whipped with many stripes. after this they were dismissed and they all left the church wondering what the preacher's sermon meant. some nights they went to the woods and conducted their own services. at a certain spot they all knelt and turned their faces toward the ground and then they began moaning and praying. mr. womble says that by huddling in this circle and turning their voices toward the ground the sound would not travel very far. none of them ever had the chance to learn how to read and write. some times the young boys who carried the master's children's books to and from school would ask these children to teach them to write but as they were afraid of what their father might do they always refused. on the adjoining plantation the owner caught his son teaching a little slave boy to write. he was furious and after giving his son a severe beating he then cut the thumb and forefinger off of the slave. the only things that were taught the slaves was the use of their hands. mr. womble says that all the while that he was working in the master's house they still found the time for him to learn to be a blacksmith. when a male slave reached the age of twenty-one he was allowed to court. the same was true of a girl that had reached the age of eighteen. if a couple wished to marry they had to get permission from the master who asked each in turn if they wished to be joined as man and wife and if both answered that they did they were taken into the master's house where the ceremony was performed. mr. womble says that he has actually seen one of these weddings and that it was conducted in the following manner: "a broom was placed in the center of the floor and the couple was told to hold hands. after joining hands they were commanded to jump over the broom and then to turn around and jump back. "after this they were pronounced man and wife." a man who was small in stature was never allowed to marry a large, robust woman. sometimes when the male slaves on one plantation were large and healthy looking and the women slaves on some nearby plantation looked like they might be good breeders the two owners agreed to allow the men belonging to the one visit the women belonging to the other, in fact they encouraged this sort of thing in hopes that they would marry and produce big healthy children. in such cases passes were given freely. all of the newly born babies were named by the master. "the only baptisms that any of us get was with a stick over the head and then we baptised our cheeks with our tears," stated mr. wombly. continuing, mr. wombly stated that the slaves on the womble plantation were treated more like animals rather than like humans. on one or two occasions some of them were sold. at such a time those to be sold were put in a large pen and then they were examined by the doctors and prospective buyers and later sold to the highest bidder the same as a horse or a mule. they were sold for various reasons says mr. womble. his mother was sold because she was too hard to rule and because she made it difficult to discipline the other slaves. mr. womble further reported that most of his fellow slaves believed in signs. they believed that if a screech owl or a "hoot" owl came near a house and made noises at night somebody was going to die and instead of going to heaven the devil would get them. "on the night that old marse ridley died the screech owls like to have taken the house away," he says. there was always a great amount of whipping on this plantation. this was practically the only form of punishment used. most of them were whipped for being disobedient or for being unruly. mr. womble has heard his master say that he would not have a slave that he could not rule and to be sure that the slaves held him and his family in awe he even went so far as to make all of them go and pay their respects to the newly born white children on the day after their birth. at such a time they were required to get in line outside of the door and then one by one they went through the room and bowed their heads as they passed the bed and uttered the following words: "young marster" or if the baby was a girl they said: "young mistress". on one occasion mr. womble says that he has seen his master and a group of other white men beat an unruly slave until his back was raw and then a red hot iron bar was applied to his back. even this did not make the slave submissive because he ran away immediately afterwards. after this inhuman treatment any number of the slaves ran away, especially on the ridley plantation. some were caught and some were not. one of the slaves on the womble plantation took his wife and ran away. he and his wife lived in a cave that they found in the woods and there they raised a family. when freedom was declared and these children saw the light of day for the first time they almost went blind stated mr. womble. mr. womble says that he himself has been whipped to such an extent by his master, who used a walking cane, that he had no feeling in his legs. one other time he was sent off by the master and instead of returning immediately he stopped to eat some persimmons. the master came upon him at the tree and started beating him on the head with a wagon spoke. by the time he reached the house his head was covered with knots the size of hen eggs and blood was flowing from each of them. the slaves on the womble plantation seldom if ever came in contact with the "paddle-rollers" who punished those slaves who had the misfortune to be caught off of their plantations without passes. in those days the jails were built for the white folks because the masters always punished the slaves when they broke any of the laws exclaimed mr. womble. several years before the war mr. wombly was sold to mr. jim wombly, the son of mr. enoch wombly. he was as mean as his father or meaner, mr. wombly says that the first thing that he remembers in regard to the war was to hear his master say that he was going to join the army and bring abe lincoln's head back for a soap dish. he also said that he would wade in blood up to his neck to keep the slaves from being freed. the slaves would go to the woods at night where they sang and prayed. some used to say; "i knew that some day we'll be free and if we die before that time our children will live to see it." when the yankees marched through they took all of the silver and gold that had been hidden in the wall on the womble plantation. they also took all of the live stock on the plantation, most of which had been hidden in the swamps. these soldiers then went into the house and tore the beds up and poured syrup in the mattresses. at the time all of the white people who lived on the plantation were hiding in the woods. after the soldiers had departed (taking these slaves along who wished to follow) mrs. womble went back into the house and continued to make the clothes and the bandages that were to be used by the confederate soldiers. after the slaves were set free any number of them were bound over and kept, says mr. womble. he himself was to remain with the womble family until he reached the age of twenty-one. when this time came mr. womble refused to let him go. however, mrs. womble helped him to escape but he was soon caught one night at the home of an elderly white lady who had befriended him. a rope was tied around his neck and he was made to run the entire way back to the plantation while the others rode on horse back. after a few more months of cruel treatment he ran away again. this time he was successful in his escape and after he had gone what he considered a safe distance he set up a blacksmith shop where he made a living for quite a few years. later one of the white men in that community hired him to work in his store. after a number of years at this place he decided to come to atlanta where he has been since. mr. womble concluded by saying that he has been able to reach his present age because he has never done any smoking or drinking. an old lady once told him not to use soap on his face and he would not wrinkle. he accounts for his smooth skin in this manner. [hw: dist. ex. slave # e. driskell] slavery as seen through the eyes of henry wright--ex-slave, age in atlanta among that ever decreasing group of persons known as ex-slaves there is an old negro man named henry wright. although mr. wright is years of age his appearance is that of a much younger man. he is about feet in height; his dark skin is almost free of wrinkles and his head is thickly covered with gray hair. his speech and thought indicate that he is very intelligent and there is no doubt that he still possesses a clear and active mind. as he noisily puffed on a battered old pipe he related the following tale of his experiences in slavery and of conditions in general as he saw them at that time. mr. wright was born on the plantation of mr. phil house. this plantation was located near the present site of buckhead, ga. his parents were henry wright and margaret house. in those days it was customary for slaves to carry the name of their owners. his father was owned by mr. spencer wright and his mother was owned by mr. phil house. both of these slave owners lived in the same district. his grandparents, kittie and anite house also belonged to mr. phil house and it was they who told him how they had been sold like cattle while in virginia to a speculator (slave dealer) and brought to decatur, ga. where they were sold to mr. house. mr. wright lived with his mother on the house plantation for several years then he was given to mr. george house, the brother of phil house, as a wedding present. however, he saw his parents often as they were all allowed "passes" so that they might visit one another. according to mr. wright, his master was a very rich man and a very intelligent one. his plantation consisted of about three or four hundred acres of land on which he raised cotton, cane, corn, vegetables and live stock. although he was not very mean to his slaves or "servants" as he called them, neither did his kindness reach the gushing or overflowing stage. on this plantation there were a large number of slaves, some of whom worked in "old marster's" (as mr. house was called) house and some of whom worked in the fields. as a youngster mr. wright had to pick up chips around the yard, make fires and keep the house supplied with water which he got from the well. when he was ten years of age he was sent to the field as a plow-boy. he remembers that his mother and father also worked in the fields. in relating his experience as a field hand mr. wright says that he and his fellow slaves were roused each morning about o'clock by the blowing of a horn. this horn was usually blown by the white overseer or by the negro foreman who was known among the slaves as the "nigger driver." at the sounding of the horn they had to get up and feed the stock. shortly after the horn was blown a bell was rung and at this signal they all started for the fields to begin work for the day. they were in the field long before the sun was up. their working hours were described as being from "sun to sun." when the time came to pick the cotton each slave was required to pick at least lbs. of cotton per day. for this purpose each was given a bag and a large basket. the bag was hung around the neck and the basket was placed at the end of the row. at the close of the day the overseer met all hands at the scales with the lamp, the slate and the whip. if any slave failed to pick the required lbs. he was soundly whipped by the overseer. sometimes they were able to escape this whipping by giving illness as an excuse. another form of strategy adopted by the slaves was to dampen the cotton or conceal stones in the baskets, either of which would make the cotton weigh more. sometimes after leaving the fields at dark they had to work at night--shucking corn, ginning cotton or weaving. everyday except sunday was considered a work day. the only form of work on sunday was the feeding of the live stock, etc. when mr. wright was asked about the treatment that was given the house slaves in comparison to that given the field slaves, he replied with a broad grin that "old marster" treated them much the same as he would a horse and a mule. that is, the horse was given the kind of treatment that would make him show off in appearance, while the mule was given only enough care to keep him well and fit for work. "you see," continued mr. wright, "in those days a plantation owner was partially judged by the appearance of his house servants." and so in addition to receiving the discarded clothes of "old marster" and his wife, better clothing was bought for the house slaves. the working hours of the house slave and the field slave were practically the same. in some cases the house slaves had to work at night due to the fact that the master was entertaining his friends or he was invited out and so someone had to remain up to attend to all the necessary details. on the plantation of mr. house the house slaves thought themselves better than the field slaves because of the fact that they received better treatment. on the other hand those slaves who worked in the fields said that they would rather work in the fields than work in the house because they had a chance to earn spending money in their spare or leisure time. house servants had no such opportunity. in bad weather they were not required to go to the fields--instead they cut hedges or did other small jobs around the house. the master did not want them to work in bad weather because there was too much danger of illness which meant a loss of time and money in the end. mr. house wanted his slaves to learn a trade such as masonry or carpentry, etc., not because it would benefit the slave, says mr. wright, but because it would make the slave sell for more in case he had "to get shet (rid) of him." the slaves who were allowed to work with these white mechanics, from whom they eventually learned the trade, were eager because they would be permitted to hire themselves out. the money they earned could be used to help buy their freedom, that is, what money remained after the master had taken his share. on the other hand the white mechanic had no particular objection to the slaves being there to help him, even though they were learning the trade, because he was able to place all the hard work on the slave which made his job easier. mr. wright remembers how his grandfather used to hire his time out doing carpentry work, making caskets and doing some masonry. he himself can plaster, although he never hired out during slavery. clothing was issued once per year usually around september. an issue consisted mostly of the following: pair of heavy shoes called "negro brogans." several homespun shirts, woolen socks and two or three pairs of jeans pants. the women were either given dresses and underskirts that were already made or just the plain cloth to make these garments from. some of their clothing was bought and some was made on the plantation. the wool socks were knitted on the plantation along with the homespun which was woven there. the homespun was dyed by placing it in a boiling mixture of green walnut leaves or walnut hulls. in the event that plaid material was to be made the threads were dyed the desired color before being woven. another kind of dye was made from the use of a type of red or blue berry, or by boiling red dirt in water (probably madder). the house slaves wore calico dresses or sometimes dresses made from woolen material. often this clothing was insufficient to meet the individual needs. with a broad smile and an almost imperceptible shake of his old gray head mr. wright told how he had worked in the field without shoes when it was so cold until the skin cracked and the blood flowed from these wounds. he also told how he used to save his shoes by placing them under his arm and walking barefooted when he had a long distance to go. in order to polish these shoes a mixture of soot and syrup was used. the young slave children wore a one-piece garment with holes cut for the head and arms to go through. in appearance it resembled a slightly long shirt. as mr. house did not give blankets, the slaves were required to make the necessary cover by piecing together left over goods. after this process was completed, it was padded with cotton and then dyed in much the same way as homespun. after the dyeing was completed the slave was the owner of a new quilt. the food that the slaves ate [**tr: was] all raised on the plantation. at the end of each week each slave was given lbs. of meat (usually pork), peck of meal and some syrup. breakfast and dinner usually consisted of fried meat, corn bread and syrup. vegetables were usually given at dinner time. sometimes milk was given at supper. it was necessary to send the meals to the field slaves as they were usually too far away from the house to make the trip themselves. for this purpose there was a woman who did all the cooking for the field hands in a cook house located among the slave cabins. mr. house permitted his slaves to have a garden and chickens of their own. in fact, he gave each of them land, a small plot of ground for this purpose. the benefit of this was twofold as far as the slave was concerned. in the first place he could vary his diet. in the second place he was able to earn money by selling his produce either in town or to "old marster." sometimes old marster took the produce to town and sold it for them. when he returned from town the money for the sale of this produce was given to the slave. mr. wright says that he and all the other slaves felt that they were being cheated when the master sold their goods. mr. house also permitted his slaves to hunt and fish both of which were done at night for the most part. coffee was made by parching meal and then placing it in boiling water. to sweeten this coffee, syrup was used. one delicacy that he and the other slaves used to have on sunday was biscuit bread which they called "cake bread." all children who were too young to work in the field were cared for by some old slave woman who was too old to go to the field. she did all of their cooking, etc. the diet of these children usually consisted of pot liquor, milk, vegetables and in rare cases, meat. mr. wright laughed here as he stated that these children were given long handled spoons and were seated on a long bench before a trough out of which they all ate like little pigs. not a slave ever suffered the pangs of hunger on the plantation of mr. george house. the houses or cabins of the slaves were located a short distance in the rear of "old marster's" house. these houses were usually made from logs--the chinks being closed with mud. in some cases boards were used on the inside of the cabin to keep the weather out, but according to mr. wright, mud was always the more effective. the floor was usually covered with boards and there were two or three windows to each cabin, shutters being used in place of glass. the chimney and fireplace were made of mud, sticks and stones. all cooking was done on the fireplace in iron utensils, which mr. wright declares were a lot better than those used today. for boiling, the pots hung from a long hook directly above the fire. such furniture as each cabin contained was all made by the slaves. this furniture usually consisted of a wooden bench, instead of a chair, and a crude bed made from heavy wood. slats were used in the place of springs. the mattress was made stuffing a large bag with wheat straw. "this slept as good as any feather bed" says mr. wright. candles were used to furnish light at night. on this plantation each family did not have an individual cabin. sometimes as many as three families shared a cabin, which of course was rather a large one. in this case it was partitioned off by the use of curtains. besides having to take care of the young children, these older slaves were required to care for those slaves who were ill. mr. house employed a doctor to attend his slaves when their cases seemed to warrant it. if the illness was of a minor nature he gave them castor oil, salts or pills himself. then, too, the slaves had their own home remedies. among these were different tonics made from "yarbs" (herbs), plasters made from mustard, and whisky, etc. most illnesses were caused by colds and fevers. mr. wright says that his two brothers and his sister, all of whom were younger than he, died as a result of typhoid fever. even with all the hardships that the slaves had to suffer they still had time to have fun and to enjoy themselves, mr. wright continued. at various times mr. house permitted them to have a frolic. these frolics usually took place on such holidays as th of july, christmas or "laying-by time", after the cultivating of the crops was finished and before gathering time. during the day the master provided a big barbecue and at night the singing and dancing started. music was furnished by slaves who were able to play the banjo or the fiddle. the slaves usually bought these instruments themselves and in some cases the master bought them. "in my case," declared mr. wright, "i made a fiddle out of a large sized gourd--a long wooden handle was used as a neck, and the hair from a horse's tail was used for the bow. the strings were made of cat-gut. after i learned to play this i bought a better violin." sometimes the slaves slipped away to the woods to indulge in a frolic. as a means of protection they tied ropes across the paths where they would be less likely to be seen. these ropes were placed at such a height as to knock a man from his horse if he came riding up at a great speed. in this way the master or the overseer was stopped temporarily, thereby giving the slaves time to scamper to safety. in addition to the presents given at christmas (candy and clothing) the master also gave each family half a gallon of whisky. this made the parties more lively. one of the songs that the slaves on the house plantation used to sing at their parties runs as follows: "oh, i wouldn't have a poor girl, (another version says, "old maid") and i'll tell you the reason why, her neck's so long and stringy, i'm afraid she'd never die." on sundays mr. house required all of his slaves to attend church. all attended a white church where they sat in the back or in the balcony. after preaching to the white audience, the white pastor turned his attention to the slaves. his sermon usually ran: "obey your master and your mistress and the lord will love you." sometimes a colored preacher was allowed to preach from the same rostrum after the white pastor had finished. his sermon was along similar lines because that is what he had been instructed to say. none of the slaves believed in the sermons but they pretended to do so. marriages were usually performed by the colored preacher although in most cases it was only necessary for the man to approach "old marster" and tell him that he wanted a certain woman for his wife. "old marster" then called the woman in question and if she agreed they were pronounced man and wife. if the woman was a prolific breeder and if the man was a strong, healthy-looking individual she was forced to take him as a husband whether she wanted to or not. when mr. wright was asked if he had ever been arrested and placed in jail for any offense while he was a slave he replied that in those days few laws, if any, applied to slaves. he knows that it was against the law for anyone to teach a slave to write because on one occasion his father who had learned to do this with the help of his master's son was told by the master to keep it to himself, because if the men of the community found out that he could write they would cut his fingers or his hand off. horse stealing or house burning was another serious crime. on the house plantation was a mulato slave who was to have been given his freedom when he reached the age of . when this time came mr. house refused to free him and so an attempt was made to burn the house mansion. mr. wright remembers seeing the sheriff come from town and take this slave. later they heard on the plantation that said slave had been hanged. for the most part punishment consisted of severe whipping sometimes administered by the slaves' master and sometimes by the white men of the community known as the patrol. to the slaves this patrol was known as the "paddle" or "paddie-rollers." mr. wright says that he has been whipped numerous times by his master for running away. when he was caught after an attempted escape he was placed on the ground where he was "spread-eagled," that is, his arms and feet were stretched out and tied to stakes driven in the ground. after a severe beating, brine water or turpentine was poured over the wounds. this kept the flies away, he says. mr. house did not like to whip his slaves as a scarred slave brought very little money when placed on the auction block. a slave who had a scarred back was considered as being unruly. whenever a slave attempted to escape the hounds were put on his trail. mr. wright was caught and treed by hounds several times. he later found a way to elude them. this was done by rubbing his feet in the refuse material of the barnyard or the pasture, then he covered his legs with pine tar. on one occasion he managed to stay away from the plantation for months before he returned of his own accord. he ran away after striking his master who had attempted to whip him. when he returned of his own accord his master did nothing to him because he was glad that he was not forever lost in which case a large sum of money would have been lost. mr. wright says that slave owners advertised in the newspapers for lost slaves, giving their description, etc. if a slave was found after his master had stopped his advertisements he was placed on the block and sold as a "stray." while a fugitive he slept in the woods, eating wild berries, etc. sometimes he slipped to the plantation of his mother or that of his father where he was able to secure food. he took a deep puff on his pipe and a look of satisfaction crossed his face as he told how he had escaped from the "paddle rollers." it was the "paddle-rollers" duty to patrol the roads and the streets and to see that no slave was out unless he had a "pass" from his master. further, he was not supposed to be any great distance away from the place he had been permitted to go. if a slave was caught visiting without a "pass" or if at any time he was off his plantation without said "pass" and had the misfortune to be caught by the "paddle-rollers" he was given a sound whipping and returned to his master. when the civil war began all the slaves on the house plantation grew hopeful and glad of the prospect of being set free. mr. house was heard by some of the slaves to say that he hoped to be dead the day negroes were set free. although the slaves prayed for their freedom they were afraid to even sing any type of spiritual for fear of being punished. when the yankee troops came through near the house plantation they asked the slaves if their master was mean to them. as the answer was "no" the soldiers marched on after taking all the livestock that they could find. at the adjoining plantation where the master was mean, all property was burned. mr. house was not present for when he heard of the approach of sherman he took his family, a few valuables and some slaves and fled to augusta. he later joined the army but was not wounded. however, his brother, phil house, lost a leg while in action. mr. wrights says that he witnessed one battle which was fought just a few miles beyond his plantation near nancy's creek. although he did not officially join the yankee army he cooked for them while they were camped in his vicinity. when freedom was declared he says that he was a very happy man. freedom to him did not mean that he could quit work but that he could work for himself as he saw fit to. after he was freed he continued working for his master who was considerably poorer than he had ever been before. after the war things were in such a state that even common table salt was not available. he remembers going to the smokehouse and taking the dirt from the floor which he later boiled. after the boiling process of this water which was now salty was used as a result of the dripping from the meats which had been hung there to be smoked in the "good old days." after seven years of share-cropping with his former master mr. wright decided to come to atlanta where he has been since. he attributes his ripe old age to sane and careful living. in any case he says that he would rather be free than be a slave but--and as he paused he shook his head sadly--"in those days a man did not have to worry about anything to eat as there was always a plenty. it's a lot different now." [hw: dist. ex-slave # v. ] "mammy dink" [hw: dink walton young], age place of birth: on the walton plantation, near old baughville, talbot county, georgia date of birth: about present residence: fifth avenue, between th and th streets, columbus, georgia interviewed: august , dink walton young, better known as "mammy dink", is one of the oldest ex-slaves living in muscogee county. she was born the chattel of major jack walton, the largest ante-bellum planter and slave-holder of talbot county, a man who owned several hundred negroes and ten thousand or more acres of land. as a child, "mammy dink" was "brung up" with the walton white children, often joining and playing with them in such games as "mollie bright", "william trembletoe", and "picking up sticks". the boys, white and black, and slightly older than she, played "fox" and "paddle-the-cat" together. in fact, until the white boys and girls were ten or twelve years of age, their little negro playmates, satellites, bodyguards, "gangs", and servants, usually addressed them rather familiarly by their first names, or replied to their nicknames that amounted to titles of endearment. thus, miss susie walton--the later mrs. robert carter--was "susie sweet" to a host of little negro girls of her age. later on, of course, this form of familiarity between slave child and white child definitely ceased; but for all time there existed a strong bond of close friendship, mutual understanding, and spirit of comradeship between the whites and blacks of every plantation. as an example, pat walton, aged , colored and slave, "allowed" to his young master in : "marse rosalius, youse gwine to de war, ain't yer?" and without waiting for an answer, continued: "so is pat. you knows you ain't got no bizness in no army 'thout a nigger to wait on yer an keep yer outa devilment, marse rosalius. now, doen gin me no argyment, marse rosalius, case ise gwine 'long wid yer, and dat settles it, sah, it do, whether you laks it or you don't lak it." parenthetically, it might be here inserted that this speech of pat's to his young master was typical of a "style" that many slaves adopted in "dictating" to their white folks, and many southern negroes still employ an inoffensive, similar style to "dominate" their white friends. according to "mammy dink", and otherwise verified, every time a negro baby was born on one of his plantations, major dalton gave the mother a calico dress and a "bright, shiny", silver dollar. all walton slaves were well fed and clothed and, for a "drove" of about fifty or sixty little "back-yard" piccaninnies, the waltons assumed all responsibility, except at night. a kind of compound was fenced off for "dese brats" to keep them in by day. when it rained, they had a shelter to go under; play-houses were built for them, and they also had see-saws, toys, etc. here, their parents "parked dese younguns" every morning as they went to the fields and to other duties, and picked them up at night. these children were fed about five times a day in little wooden trough-like receptacles. their principal foods were milk, rice, pot-licker, vegetables and corn dumplings; and they stayed so fat and sleek "dat de niggers calt 'em marse major's little black pigs." the average weekly ration allowed an adult walton slave was a peck of meal, two "dusters" of flour (about six pounds), seven pounds of flitch bacon, a "bag" of peas, a gallon of grits, from one to two quarts of molasses, a half pound of green coffee--which the slave himself parched and "beat up" or ground, from one to two cups of sugar, a "hatful" of peas, and any "nicknacks" that the major might have--as extras. many acres were planted to vegetables each year for the slaves and, in season, they had all the vegetables they could eat, also irish potatoes, sweet potatoes, roasting ears, watermelons and "stingy green" (home raised tobacco). in truth, the planters and "niggers" all used "stingy green", there then being very little if any "menufro" (processed tobacco) on the market. the standard clothes of the slaves were: jeans in the winter for men and women, cottonades and osnabergs for men in the summer, and calicos and "light goods" for the women in the summer time. about % of the cloth used for slaves' clothing was made at home. if a "nigger come down sick", the family doctor was promptly called to attend him and, if he was bad off, the major "sat up" with him, or had one of his over-seers do so. never in her life was "mammy dink" whipped by any of the waltons or their over-seers. moreover, she never knew a negro to be whipped by a white person on any of the dozen or more walton plantations. she never "seed" a pataroler in her life, though she "has heard tell dat judge henry willis, marses johnnie b. jones, ned giddens, gus o'neal, bob baugh, an jedge henry collier rid as patarolers" when she was a girl. when the yankee raiders came through in ' , "mammy dink" was badly frightened by them. she was also highly infuriated with them for "stealin de white fokes' things", burning their gins, cotton and barns, and conducting themselves generally as bandits and perverts. in , the year of the cyclone "whooch kilt sebenteen fokes twixt ellesli (ellerslie) and talbotton", including an uncle of her's. "mammy dink" was living at the dr. m.w. peter's place near baughville. later, she moved with her husband--acquired subsequent to freedom--to the dr. thomas d. ashford's place, in harris county, near ellerslie. there, she lost her husband and, about thirty-five years ago, moved to columbus to be near mrs. john t. davis, jr., an only daughter of dr. ashford, to whom she long ago became very attached. when interviewed, "mammy dink" was at mrs. davis' home, "jes piddlin 'round", as she still takes a pride in "waiting on her white fokes." naturally, for one of her age, the shadows are lengthening. "mammy dink" has never had a child; all her kin are dead; she is and has no money and no property, but she has her memories and, "thank gawd", mrs. davis--her guardian-angel, friend and benefactress. whitley, - - ex-slave # mammy dink is dead [hw: (from columbus news-record of dec- - )] mammy dink, who cooked and served and gained pure joy through faithful service, has gone to the big house in the skies. she lacked but a few years of a hundred and most of it was spent in loving service. she was loyal to the families she worked for and was, to all practical intents, a member of the family circle. she was or when she passed away--mammy was about to lose track of mere age, she was so busy with other things--and she was happily at work to within a week of her death. she was an institution in columbus, and one of the best known of the many faithful and loyal colored servants in this city. mammy dink--her full name, by the way, was dink young--started out as a cook in a talbot county family and wound up her career as cook for the granddaughter of her original employer. she was first in service in the home of dr. m.w. peters, in talbot county, and later was the cook in the family of dr. t.r. ashford, at ellerslie, in harris county. then, coming to columbus, she was cook in the home of the late captain t.j. hunt for some years. for the last years she had been cook for mrs. john t. davis, just as she had been cook in the home of her father, dr. ashford, and her grandfather, dr. peters. mammy, in leisure hours, used to sit on the coping at the sixteenth street school, and watch the world go by. but her greatest joy was in the kitchen. the davis family was devoted to the faithful old servant. a week ago she developed a severe cold and was sent to the hospital. she passed away saturday night--the old body had given out. the funeral service was conducted yesterday afternoon from st. philips colored church in girard. she was buried in a churchyard cemetery, two or three miles out, on the opelika road. the white people who were present wept at the departure of one who was both servant and friend. thus passes, to a sure reward, mammy dink, whose life was such a success. [hw: mammy dink died saturday night, dec. th, ] combined interviews [hw: dist - ex-slave # ] federal writers' projects, augusta-athens supervisor: miss velma bell [date stamp: may ] excerpts from slave interviews [adeline] "aunt adeline," an ex-slave of wilkes county, georgia, thinks she is "around a hundred." her first memory is, in her own words, "my love for my mother. i loved her so! i would cry when i couldn't be with her. when i growed up, i kep' on loving her jes' that-a-way, even after i married and had children of my own." adeline's mother worked in the field, drove steers, and was considered the best meat cutter on the plantation. the slave women were required to spin, and adeline's mother was unusually good at spinning wool, "and that kind of spinning was powerful slow," added the old woman. "my mother was one of the best dyers anywhere around. i was too. i made colors by mixing up all kinds of bark and leaves. i made the prettiest sort of lilac color with maple bark and pine bark--not the outside pine bark, but that little thin skin that grows right down next to the tree." adeline remembers one dress she loved: "i never will forget it as long as i live. it was a hickory stripe dress they made for me, with brass buttons at the wrist bands. i was so proud of that dress and felt so dressed up in it, i just strutted!" she remembers the plantation store and the candy the master gave the negro children. "bright, pretty sticks of candy!" tin cups hold a special niche in her memory. but there were punishments, too. "good or bad, we got whippings with a long cowhide kept just for that. they whipped us to make us grow better, i reckon!" asked about doctors, adeline replied: "i was born, growed up, married and had sixteen children and never had no doctor till here since i got so old!" plantation ingenuity was shown in home concoctions and tonics. at the first sniffle of a cold, the slaves were called in and given a drink of fat lightwood tea, made by pouring boiling water over split kindling. "'cause lightwood got turpentine in it," explained adeline. she said that a springtime tonic was made of anvil dust, gathered at the blacksmith's shop, mixed with syrup. this was occasionally varied with a concoction of garlic and whiskey! adeline adheres to traditional negro beliefs, and concluded her recountal of folklore with the dark prediction: "every gloomy day brings death. somebody leaving this unfriendly world to-day!" [eugene] another version of slavery was given by eugene, an augusta negro. his mother was brought to augusta from pennsylvania and freed when she came of age. she married a slave whose master kept a jewelry store. the freed woman was required to put a guardian over her children. the jeweler paid eugene's father fifty cents a week and was angry when his mother refused to allow her children to work for him. eugene's mother supported her children by laundry work. "free colored folks had to pay taxes," said eugene, "and in augusta you had to have a pass to go from house to house. you couldn't go out at night in augusta after o'clock. they had a bell at the old market down yonder, and it would strike every hour and half hour. there was an uptown market, too, at broad and mckinne." eugene told of an old negro preacher, ned purdee, who had a school for negro children in his back yard, in defiance of a law prohibiting the education of negroes. ned, said eugene, was put in jail but the punishment of stocks and lashes was not intended to be executed. the sympathetic jailor told the old man: "ned, i won't whip you. i'll just whip down on the stock, and you holler!" so ned made a great noise, the jailor thrashed about with his stick, and no harm was done. eugene touched on an unusual angle of slavery when he spoke of husbands and wives discovering that they were brother and sister. "they'd talk about their grandfathers and grandmothers, and find out that they had been separated when they were children," he said. "when freedom was declared, they called the colored people down to the parade ground. they had built a big stand, and the yankees and some of the leading colored men made addresses. 'you are free now. don't steal. work and make a living. do honest work. there are no more masters. you are all free.' he said the negro troops came in, singing: "don't you see the lightning? don't you hear the thunder? it isn't the lightning, it isn't the thunder, it's the buttons on the negro uniforms!" [mary] mary is a tiny woman, years old. "i'd love to see some of the white folks boys and girls," she said, smiling and showing a set of strong new teeth. "we had school on our plantation, and a negro teacher named mathis, but they couldn't make me learn nothin'. i sure is sorry now!" mary's plantation memories, in contrast to those of slaves who remember mostly molasses and corn-pone, include tomato rice, chickens, baked, fried and stewed. "and chicken pies!" mary closed her eyes. "don't talk about 'em! i told my grand children last week, i wanted to eat some old-time potato pie!" they played "peep-squirrel," mary remembered. "i never could put up to dance much, but none could beat me runnin'. "peep squirrel" was a game we made up on the plantation. the girls peeped out, then ran by the men, and they'd be caught and twirled around. they said i was like a kildee bird, i was so little and could run so fast! they said i was married when i was years old. i know it was after freedom. i had the finest kind of marrying dress that my father bought for me. it had great big grapes hanging down from the sleeves and around the skirt." mary sighed. "i wish't i had-a kep' it for my children to saw!" [rachel] rachel's master called his people "servants", not negroes or slaves. "he de bes' marster in de worl'," said rachel. "i love his grave!" rachel nursed her aunt's children while the mother acted as nurse for "de lady's baby whut come fum russia wid de marster's wife." the czarina was godmother for the ambassador's baby. "marster bin somewheh in de back part o' de worl'." explained the old woman, "you see, he wuz de guv'nor. he knowed all de big people, senetras and all." rachel laughed. "i was a old maid when i married," she said. "de broom wuz de law. all we hadder do was step over de broom befo' witnesses and we wuz marry!" [laura] "as far as i kin rekellec'," said laura, "my mother was give." she could not remember her age, but estimated that she might be years old. her native dignity was evident in her calm manner, her neat clothing and the comfortable, home-like room. "dey say in dem days," she continued, "when you marry, dey give you so many colored people. my mother, her brother and her aunt was give to young mistis when she marry de baptis' preacher and come to augusta. when dey brought us to augusta, i wuz de baby. round wheh de barracks is now, was de baptis' parsonage. my mother was a cook. i kin remember de yankees comin' down broad street. dey put up wheh de barracks is on reynolds street. dey ca'yed me to de fairground. de man was speakin'. i thought it wuz up in de trees, but i know now it muster been a platform in bushes. mistis say to me: 'well, laura, what did you see?' i say: 'mistis, we is all free.' i such a lil' chile she jus' laugh at me for saying sich a thing. when i was sick, she nuss me good." laura remembered a long house with porches on ellis street, "running almost to greene," between th and th, where slaves were herded and kept for market day. "dey would line 'em up like horses or cows," she said, "and look in de mouf' at dey teeth. den dey march 'em down together to market, in crowds, first tuesday sale day." [matilda] in contrast to the pleasant recollections of most of the ex-slaves, matilda gave a vivid picture of the worst phase of plantation life on a georgia plantation. she had been plowing for four years when the war started. "i wuz in about my thirteen when de war end," she mumbled, "fum de fus' overseer, dey whu-op me to show me how to wuk. i wuk hard, all de time. i never had no good times. i so old i kain't rekellec' my marster's name. i kain't 'member, honey. i had too hard time. we live in, a weather-board house, jus' hulled in. we had to eat anyting dey give us, mos'ly black 'lasses in a great big ole hogshead. when de war gwine on, we had to live on rice, mos'ly, what dey raise. we had a hard time. didn't know we wuz free for a long time. all give overseer so mean, de slaves run away. dey gits de blood-houn' to fin' 'em. dey done dug cave in de wood, down in de ground, and hide dere. dey buckle de slave down to a log and beat de breaf' outter dem, till de blood run all over everywhere. when night come, dey drug 'em to dey house and greases 'em down wid turpentine and rub salt in dey woun's to mek 'em hurt wuss. de overseer give de man whiskey to mek him mean. when dey whu-op my mother, i crawl under de house and cry." one of matilda's younger friends, listening, nodded her head in sympathy. "when matilda's mind was clearer she told us terrible stories," she said. "it makes all the rest of us thankful we weren't born in those times." matilda was mumbling end weeping. "dey wuz mean overseer," she whispered. "but dey wuz run out o' de country. some white ladies in de neighborhood reported 'um and had 'um run out." [easter] "aunt easter" is from burke county. her recollections are not quite so appalling as matilda's, but they are not happy memories. "dey didn' learn me nothin' but to churn and clean up house. 'tend day boy, churn dat milk, spin and cyard dat roll." asked if the slaves were required to go to church, easter shook her head. "too tired. sometime we even had to pull fodder on sunday. sometime we go to church, but all dey talk about wuz obeyin' massa and obeyin' missus. befo' we went to church, we had to git up early and wash and iron our clo'es." easter's brother was born the day lee surrendered. "dey name him richmond," she said. [carrie] carrie had plenty to eat in slavery days. "i'd be a heap better off if it was dem times now," she said, "my folks didn't mistreet de slaves. when freedom come, de niggers come 'long wid dere babies on dey backs and say i wuz free. i tell 'em i already free! didn't mek no diffrunce to me, freedom!" [malinda] malinda would gladly exchange all worldly possessions and freedom to have plantation days back again. she owns her home and has a garden of old-fashioned flowers, due to her magic "growing hand." "i belonged to a preacher in ca'lina," said malinda. "a baptis' preacher. my fambly wasn't fiel' han's, dey wuz all house servants. marster wouldn't sell none o' his slaves. when he wanted to buy one, he'd buy de whole fambly to keep fum having 'em separated." malinda and her sister belonged to the young girls. "whar'ever da young mistises visited, we went right erlong. my own mammy tuk long trips wid ole mistis to de blue ridge mountings and sometimes over de big water." malinda said the slaves danced to "quills," a home-made reed instrument. "my mammy wuz de bes' dancer on de planteshun," asserted the old woman. "she could dance so sturdy, she could balance a glass of water on her head and never spill a drap!" [amelia] amelia, like many of the old slaves in augusta to-day, came from south carolina. "i put on a hoopskirt one time," she said. "i wanted to go to church wid a hoop on. i such a lil' gal, all de chillun laugh at me, playin' lady. i take it off and hide it in de wood." amelia remembered her young mistresses with affection. "dey wuz so good to me," she said, "dey like to dress me up! i was a lil' gal wid a tiny wais'. dey put corsets on me and lace me up tight, and then dey take off all dey medallion and jewelry and hang 'em roun' my neck and put long sash on me. i look pretty to go to dance. when i git back, i so tired i thow myself on de bed and sleep wid dat tight corset on me!" four slaves interviewed by maude barragan, edith bell love, ruby lorraine radford ellen campbell, brayton street, augusta, ga., born . ellen campbell lives in a little house in a garden behind a picket fence. ellen is a sprightly, erect, black woman ninety years old. beady little eyes sparkled behind her glasses as she talked to us. her manner is alert, her mind is very keen and her memory of the old days very clear. though the temperature was in the high nineties she wore two waists, and her clothes were clean and neatly patched. there was no headcloth covering the fuzzy grey wool that was braided into innumerable plaits. she invited us into her tiny cabin. the little porch had recently been repaired, while the many flowers about the yard and porch gave evidence of constant and loving care to this place which had been bought for her long ago by a grandson who drove a "hack." when she took us into the crowded, but clean room, she showed us proudly the portrait of this big grandson, now dead. all the walls were thickly covered with framed pictures of different members of her family, most of whom are now dead. in their midst was a large picture of abraham lincoln. "dere's all my chillun. i had fo' daughter and three 'grands', but all gone now but one niece. i deeded de place to her. she live out north now, but she send back de money fer de taxes and insurance and to pay de firemens." then she proudly pointed out a framed picture of herself when she was young. "why auntie, you were certainly nice looking then." her chest expanded and her manner became more sprightly as she said, "i wus de pebble on de beach den!" "and i suppose you remember about slavery days?" "yes ma'm, i'm ninety years old--i wus a grown 'oman when freedom come. i 'longed to mr. william eve. de plantachun was right back here--all dis land was fields den, slap down to bolzes'." "so you remember a lot about those times?" she laughed delightedly. "yas'm. i 'longed to miss eva eve. my missus married colonel jones. he got a boy by her and de boy died." "you mean colonel jones, the one who wrote books?" "yas'm. he a lawyer, too, down to de cote house. my missus was mrs. carpenter's mother, but she didn't brought her here." "you mean she was her step-mother?" "yas'm, dat it. i go to see dem folks on de hill sometime. dey good to me, allus put somepen in mah hands." "what kind of work did you do on the plantation?" "when i wus 'bout ten years old dey started me totin' water--you know ca'in water to de hands in de field. 'bout two years later i got my first field job, 'tending sheep. when i wus fifteen my old missus gib me to miss eva--you know she de one marry colonel jones. my young missus wus fixin' to git married, but she couldn't on account de war, so she brought me to town and rented me out to a lady runnin' a boarding house. de rent was paid to my missus. one day i wus takin' a tray from de out-door kitchen to de house when i stumbled and dropped it. de food spill all over de ground. de lady got so mad she picked up a butcher knife and chop me in de haid. i went runnin' till i come to de place where my white folks live. miss eva took me and wash de blood out mah head and put medicine on it, and she wrote a note to de lady and she say, 'ellen is my slave, give to me by my mother. i wouldn't had dis happen to her no more dan to me. she won't come back dere no more.'" "were you ever sold during slavery times, aunt ellen?" "no'm. i wa'nt sold, but i knows dem whut wus. jedge robinson he kept de nigger trade office over in hamburg." "oh yes, i remember the old brick building." "yas'm, dat it. well, all de colored people whut gonner be sold was kept dere. den dey brung 'em over to de market and put 'em up fer sale. anybody fixin' to buy 'em, 'zamines 'em to see if dey all right. looks at de teef to tell 'bout de age." "and was your master good to you, auntie?" "i'll say dis fer mr. william eve--he de bes' white man anywhere round here on any dese plantachuns. dey all own slaves. my boss would feed 'em well. he wus killin' hogs stidy fum jinury to march. he had two smoke-houses. dere wus four cows. at night de folks on one side de row o' cabins go wid de piggins fer milk, and in de mawnin's dose on de odder side go fer de piggins o' milk." "and did you have plenty of other things to eat?" "law, yas'm. rations wus given out to de slaves; meal, meat and jugs o' syrup. dey give us white flour at christmas. every slave family had de gyrden patch, and chickens. marster buy eggs and chickens fum us at market prices." "did the overseers ever whip the slaves or treat them cruelly?" "sometimes dey whup 'em--make 'em strip off dey shirt and whup 'em on de bare skin. my boss had a white overseer and two colored men dey call drivers. if dey didn't done right dey dus whup you and turn you loose." "did the eves have a house on the plantation, too?" "no'm, dey live in town, and he come back and fo'th every day. it warn't but three miles. de road run right fru de plantachun, and everybody drive fru it had to pay toll. dat toll gate wus on de d'laigle plantachun. dey built a house fer miss kitty bowles down by de double gate where dey had to pay de toll. dat road where de savannah road is." when asked about war times on the plantation ellen recalled that when the northern troops were around waynesboro orders were sent to all the masters of the nearby plantations to send ten of their best men to build breastworks to hold back the northern advance. "do you remember anything about the good times or weddings on the plantation?" she laughed delightedly. "yas'm. when anybody gwine be married dey tell de boss and he have a cake fix. den when sunday come, atter dey be married, she put on de white dress she be married in and dey go up to town so de boss see de young couple." "den sometimes on sadday night we have a big frolic. de nigger frum hammond's place and phinizy place, eve place, clayton place, d'laigle place all git togedder fer big dance and frolic. a lot o' de young white sports used to come dere and push de nigger bucks aside and dance wid de wenches." "what happened, auntie, if a slave from one plantation wanted to marry a slave from another?" she laughed significantly. "plenty. old mr. miller had a man name jolly and he wanner marry a woman off anudder plantachun, but jolly's marster wanna buy de woman to come to de plantachun. he say, 'whut's fair fer de goose is fair fer de gander.' when dey couldn't come to no 'greement de man he run away to de woods. den dey sot de bloodhounds on 'im. dey let down de rail fence so de hounds could git fru. dey sarch de woods and de swamps fer jolly but dey neber find him. "de slaves dey know whar he is, and de woman she visit him. he had a den down dere and plenty o' grub dey take 'im, but de white folks neber find him. five hundred dollars wus what miller put out for whomsover git him." "and you say the woman went to visit him?" "yes, ma'm. de woman would go dere in de woods wid him. finally one night when he was outer de swamp he had to lie hidin' in de ditch all night, cross from de nigger hospital. den somebody crep' up and shot him, but he didn't die den. dey cay'ed his [tr: sic] crost to de hospital and he die three days later." "what about church? did you go to church in those days?" "yas'm, we used to go to town. but de padderolas wus ridin' in dem days, and you couldn't go off de plantachun widout a pass. so my boss he build a brick church on de plantachuhn, and de d'laigles build a church on dere's." "what happened if they caught you off without a pass?" "if you had no pass dey ca'y you to de cote house, and your marster hadder come git you out." "do you remember anything about the yankees coming to this part of the country?" at this her manner became quite sprightly, as she replied, "yas'm, i seen 'em comin' down de street. every one had er canteen on he side, a blanket on his shoulder, caps cocked on one side de haid. de cavalry had boots on and spurros on de boots. first dey sot de niggers free on dead river, den dey come on here to sot us free. dey march straight up broad street to de planters' hotel, den dey camped on dead river, den dey camped on de river. dey stayed here six months till dey sot dis place free. when dey campin' on de river bank we go down dere and wash dey clo'es fer a good price. dey had hard tack to eat. dey gib us de hard tack and tell us to soak it in water, and fry it in de meat gravy. i ain't taste nothing so good since. dey say, 'dis hard tack whut we hadder lib on while we fightin' to sot you free." rachel sullivan, reynolds street, augusta, ga., born . we found rachel sullivan sitting on the porch of a two room house on reynolds street. she is a large, fleshy woman. her handmade yellow homespun was baggy and soiled, and her feet were bare, though her shoes were beside her rocker. we approached her cautiously. "auntie, we heard you were one of the slaves who used to live on governor pickens' place over near edgefield." "yas'm, yas'm. i shore wus. he gin us our chu'ch--de one over yonder on de edgefield road. no'm you can't see it fum de road. you has to cross de creek. old marster had it pulled out de low ground under de brush arbor, and set it dere." "and what did you do on the plantation, auntie?" "i wus a nu's gal, 'bout 'leben years old. i nu'sed my auntie's chillun, while she nu'sed de lady's baby whut come from russia wid de marster's wife--nu'sed dat baby fum de breas's i mean. all de white ladies had wet nusses in dem days. her master had just returned from russia, where he had been ambassador. her baby had the czarina for a godmother." "and so you used to look after you aunt's children?" "yas'm. i used to play wid 'em in de big ground wid de monuments all around." "miss lucy holcome was governor pickens' second wife, wasn't she?" "musta wus, ma'm." "and were you born on the plantation at edgefield?" "i wus born at ninety-six. log creek place was marster's second place. oh, he had plantachuns everywhere, clear over to alabama. he had overseers on all de places, ma'm." "did the overseers whip you or were they good?" "overseers wus good. dey better been good to us, marster wouldn't let 'em been nothin' else. and marster wus good. lawdy, us had de bes' marster in de world. it wus great times when he come to visit de plantachun. oh lord, when de governor would come--dey brung in all de sarvants. marster call us 'sarvants', not 'niggers.' he say 'niggers wuk down in de lagoons.' so when de governor come dey brung in all de sarvants, and all de little chillun, line 'em's up whar marster's cai'age gwine pass. and marster stop dere in de lane and 'zamine us all to see is us all right. he de bes' marster in de world. i love his grave!" "den he'd talk to de overseer. dere was emmanuel and mr. deloach. he gib 'em a charge. dey couldn't whup us or treat us mean." "how many slaves did your master have, auntie?" "oh, i don't know 'xactly--over a thousand in all i reckon. he had plantachuns clear over to alabama. marster wus a world manager! lordy, i luv my marster. dere wus 'bout seventy plower hands, and 'bout a hunnard hoe hands." "did your master ever sell any of the slaves off his plantation?" "no'm--not 'less dey did wrong. three of 'em had chillun by de overseer, mr. whitefield, and marster put 'em on de block. no ma'm he wouldn't tolerate dat. he say you keep de race pure. lawdy, he made us lib right in dem time." "and what did he do to the overseer?" "he sont him off--he sont him down to de low place." "i guess you had plenty to eat in those good old days?" "oh, yes ma'm--dey's kill a hunnard hogs." "and what kind of houses did you have?" "des like dis street--two rows facin' each odder, only dey wus log houses." "did they have only one room?" "yas'm. but sometimes dey drap a shed room down if dere wus heap o' chullun.' "did you have a good time at christmas?" "oh yas'm. no matter where marster wus--crost de water er ennywhere he send us a barrel o' apples, and chestnuts--dey had chestnuts in dem days--and boxes o' candy. he sont 'em to 'manuel and mr. deloach to gib out." "so your master would sometimes be across the water?" "lawdy, yas'm, he be dere somewhere in de back part o' de world. you see he wus gov'nur. he knowed all de big people--mr. ben tillman and all--he was senetra." "auntie do you remember seeing any of the soldiers during the war?" "does i? law honey! dey come dere to de plantachun 'bout ten o'clock after dey surrender. oh and dey wus awful, some of 'em wid legs off or arms off. de niggers took all de mules and put 'em down in de sand field. den dey took all de wimmens and put 'em in de chillun's house. and dey lef' a guard dere to stand over 'em, and tell him not to git off de foot. you know dey didn't want put no temptation in de way o' dem soldiers." "what kind of work did some of the slave women do?" "everything. i had a one-legged auntie--she was de seamster. she sew fum one year end to de odder. anodder auntie wus a loomer." "and where did you go to church?" "we went to de salem chu'ch. yas'm we all go to chu'ch. marster want us to go to chu'ch. we sit on one side--so--and dey sit over dere. dey wus methodis'. my mother was methodis', but dey gib her her letter when freedom come." "how about dances, auntie? did they have dances and frolics?" "yassum, on sadday night. but boys had to git a pass when dey go out or de padderola git 'em." "so you had a happy time in those days, eh?" "lawdy, yas'm. if de world would done now like dey did den de world wouldn't be in such a mess. i gwine on eighty-five, but i wish de young ones wus raise now like i was raise. marster taught us to do right." "how many children have you?" "i had 'leben--seben livin now." then she laughed. "but i wus ole maid when i git married." "i wus twenty years old! in dem days all dey hadder do to git married wus step over de broom." "step over the broom. didn't your master have the preacher come and marry you?" "lawdy, no'm. de broom wus de law!" then she laughed. "jus' say you wanner be married and de couple git together 'fore witnesses and step ober de broom." "do you remember when freedom came?" "lawdy yas'm. mr. deloach come riding up to de plantachun in one o' dem low-bellied ca'yages. he call to jo and james--dem de boys what stay round de house to bring wood and rake de grass and sich--he sont jo and jim down to all de fields to tell all de hands to come up. dey unhitch de mules fum de plows and come wid de chains rattlin', and de cotton hoers put dey hoes on dey shoulders--wid de blades shinin' in de sun, and all come hurrying to hear what mr. deloach want wid'em. den he read de freedom warrant to 'em. one man so upset he start runnin' and run clear down to de riber and jump in." eugene wesley smith, robert street, augusta, ga., born eugene is years old. he has thin features, trembling lips and a sparse beard. his skin is a deep brown, lined and veined. his legs showing over white socks are scaly. his hands are palsied, but his mind is intelligent. he shows evidences of association with white people in his manner of speech, which at times is in the manner of white persons, again reverting to dialect. eugene stated that his father was a slave who belonged to steadman clark of augusta, and acted as porter in mr. clark's jewelry store on broad street. his grandmother came from pennsylvania with her white owners. in accordance with the laws of the state they had left, she was freed when she came of age, and married a man named smith. her name was louisa. eugene's "arnt" married a slave. as his mother was free, her children were free, but eugene added: "she had put a guardian over us, and captain crump was our guardian. guardians protected the negro children who belonged to them." to illustrate that children were considered the property of the mothers' owners, he added that his uncle went to columbia county and married a slave, and that all of her children belonged to her master. mr. clark, who owned eugene's father, paid him ¢ a week, and was angry when louisa refused to allow her children to work for him. "he was good in a way," admitted eugene, "some masters were cruel to the colored people, but a heap of white people won't believe it. "i was too little to do any work before freedom. i just stayed with my mother, and ran around. she did washing for white folks. we lived in a rented house. my father's master, mr. clark, let him come to see us sometimes at night. free colored folks had to pay taxes. mother had to pay taxes. then when they came of age, they had to pay taxes again. even in augusta you had to have a pass to go from house to house. they had frolics. sometimes the white people came and looked at 'em having a good time. you couldn't go out at night in augusta after o'clock. they had a bell at the old market down yonder, and it would strike every hour and every half hour. there was an uptown market, too, at broad and mckinne." asked about school, eugene said: "going to school wasn't allowed, but still some people would slip their children to school. there was an old methodist preacher, a negro named ned purdee, he had a school for boys and girls going on in his back yard. they caught him and put him in jail. he was to be put in stocks and get so many lashes every day for a month. i heard him tell many times how the man said: 'ned, i won't whip you. i'll whip on the stock, and you holler.' so ned would holler out loud, as if they were whipping him. they put his feet and hands in the holes, and he was supposed to be whipped across his back." "i read in the paper where a lady said slaves were never sold here in augusta at the old market, but i saw them selling slaves myself. they put them up on something like a table, bid 'em off just like you would horses or cows. dey was two men. i kin rekellect. i know one was called mr. tom heckle. he used to buy slaves, speculating. the other was named wilson. they would sell your mother from the children. that was the reason so many colored people married their sisters and brothers, not knowing until they got to talking about it. one would say, 'i remember my grandmother,' and another would say, "that's _my_ grandmother," then they'd find out they were sister and brother. "speculators used to steal children," said eugene. "i saw the wagons. they were just like the wagons that came from north carolina with apples in. dey had big covers on them. the speculators had plantations where they kept the children until they were big enough to sell, and they had an old woman there to tend to those children." "i was a butler." (a dreamy look came into eugene's old eyes.) "so i were young. i saw a girl and fell in love with her, and asked her to marry me. 'yes,' she said, 'when i get grown!' i said, 'i am not quite grown myself.' i was sixteen years old. when i was twenty-one years old i married her in my father's house. my mother and father were dead then. i had two sisters left, but my brothers were dead too." "i quit butling when i got married. they was enlarging the canal here. it was just wide enough for the big flats to go up with cotton. they widened it, and i went to work on dat, for $ . a day. they got in some chinese when it was near finished, but they wasn't any good. the irishmen wouldn't work with niggers, because they said they could make the job last eight years--the niggers worked too fast. they accomplished it in about four years. "after working on the canal, i left there and helped dig the foundations of sibley mill. the raceway, the water that run from canal to river, i helped dig that. then after that, i went to mr. berckmans and worked for him for fifty years. all my children were raised on his place. that's how come my boy do garden work now. i worked for ¢ a day, but he give me a house on the place. he 'lowed me to have chickens, a little fence, and a garden. he was very good to us. that was mr. p.j. berckmans. i potted plants all day long. i used to work at night. i wouldn't draw no money, just let them keep it for me. after they found out i could read and write and was an honest fellow, they let me take my work home, and my children helped me make the apple grass and plum grass, and mulberry grass. a man come and told me he would give me $ a month if i would go with him, but i didn't i couldn't see hardly at all then--i was wearing glasses. now, in my th year, i can read the newspaper, bible and everything without glasses. my wife died two years ago." (tears came into eugene's eyes, and his face broke up) "we lived together years!" asked if his wife had been a slave, eugene answered that she was but a painful effort of memory did not reveal her owner's name. "i do remember she told me she had a hard time," he went on slowly. "her master and misses called themselves 'religious people' but they were not good to her. they took her about in the barouche when they were visiting. she had to mind the children. they had a little seat on the back, and they'd tie her up there to keep her from falling off. once when they got to a big gate, they told her to get down and open it for the driver to go through, not knowing the hinges was broken. that big gate fell on her back and she was down for i don't know how long. before she died, she complained of a pain in her back, and the doctor said it must have been from a lick when she was a child. "during the war there were some southern soldiers went through. i and two friends of mine were together. those soldiers caught us and made us put our hands down at our knees, and tied 'em, and run the stick through underneath. "it was wintertime. they had a big fire. they pushed us nearer and nearer the fire, until we hollered. it was just devilment. they was having fun with us, kept us tied up about a half hour. there was a mulatto boy with us, but they thought he was white, and didn't bother him. one time they caught us and throwed us up in blankets, way up, too--i was about years old then." asked about church, eugene said: "we went to bush meetings up on the sand hill out in the woods. they didn't have a church then." eugene's recollections were vivid as to the ending of the war: "the northern soldiers come to town playing yankee doodle. when freedom come, they called all the white people to the courthouse first, and told them the darkies was free. then on a certain day they called all the colored people down to the parade ground. they had built a big stand, and the yankees and some of our leading colored men got up and spoke, and told the negroes: "you are free now. don't steal. now work and make a living. do honest work, make an honest living to support yourself and children. no more masters. you are free." eugene said when the colored troops come in, they sang: "don't you see the lightning? don't you hear the thunder? it isn't the lightning, it isn't the thunder, but its the button on the negro uniforms! "the slaves that was freed, and the country negroes that had been run off, or had run away from the plantations, was staying in augusta in guv'ment houses, great big ole barns. they would all get free provisions from the freedmen's bureau, but people like us, augusta citizens, didn't get free provisions, we had to work. it spoiled some of them. when the small pox come, they died like hogs, all over broad street and everywhere." willis bennefield, hephzibah, ga., born . [tr: "uncle willis" in individual interviews.] "uncle willis" lives with his daughter rena berrian, who is years old. "i his baby," said rena, "all dead but me, and i ain't no good for him now 'cause i can't tote nothin'." when asked where uncle willis was, rena looked out over the blazing cotton field and called: "pap! oh--pappy! stop pickin' cotton and come in awhile. dey's some ladies wants to see you." uncle willis hobbled slowly to the cabin, set in the middle of the cotton patch. he wore clean blue overalls, obviously new. his small, regular features had high cheekbones. there was a tuft of curly white hair on his chin, and his head was covered with a "sundown" hat. "mawnin," he said, "i bin sick. so i thought i might git some cotton terday." willis thinks he is years old. he said, "i was years old when freedom delcared." he belonged to dr. balding miller, who lived on rock creek plantation. dr. miller had three or four plantations, willis said at first, but later stated that the good doctor had five or six places, all in burke county. "i wuk in de fiel'," he went on, "and i drove de doctor thirty years. he owned slaves. i never went to school a day in my life, 'cept sunday school, but i tuk de doctor's sons fo' miles ev'y day to school. guess he had so much business in hand he thought the chillun could walk. i used to sit down on de school steps 'till dey turn out. i got way up in de alphabet by listenin', but when i went to courtin' i forgot all dat." asked what his regular duties were, willis answered with pride: "marster had a cay'age and a buggy too. my father driv' de cay'age and i driv de doctor. sometimes i was fixing to go to bed, and had to hitch up my horse and go five or six miles. i had a regular saddle horse, two pairs for cay'age. doctor were a rich man. richest man in burke county. he made his money on his farm. when summertime come, i went wid him to bath, wheh he had a house on tena hill. we driv' down in de cay'age. sundays we went to church when dr. goulding preach. de darkies went in de side do'. i hear him preach many times." asked about living conditions on rock creek plantation, willis replied: "de big house was set in ahalf acre yard. 'bout fifty yards on one side was my house, and fifty yards on de udder side was de house of granny, a woman that tended de chillun and had charge of de yard when we went to bath," willis gestured behind him, "and back yonder was de quarters, a half mile long; dey wuz one room 'crost, and some had shed room. when any of 'em got sick, marster would go round to see 'em all." asked about church and bible study, willis said: "i belongst to hopeful church. church people would have singin' and prayin', and de wicked would have dancin' and singin'. at dat time i was a regular dancer" willis chuckled. "i cut de pigeon wing high enough! not many cullud people know de bible in slavery time. we had dances, and prayers and sing too," he went on, "and we sang a song, 'on jordan's stormy banks i stand, and cast a wishful eye.'" "how about marriages?" he was asked. "colored preacher marry 'em. you had to get license and give it to the preacher, and he marry 'em. then de men on our plantation had wives on udder plantations, dey call 'em broad wives." "did you give your wife presents when you were courting?" he was asked. "i went to courtin' and never give her nuthin' till i marry her." as to punishment, willis said that slaves were whipped as they needed it, and as a general rule the overseer did the whipping. "when darky wouldn't take whippin' from de overseer," he said, he had to cay'y dem to de boss; and if we needed any brushin' de marster brush 'em. why, de darkies would whip de overseer!" willis was asked to describe how slaves earned money for personal use, and replied: "dey made dey own money. in slavery time, if you wanted four or five acres of land to plant anything on, marster give it to you, and whatever dat land make, it belong to you. you could take dat money and spend it any you wanted to. still he give you somethin' to eat and clothe you, but dat patch you mek cotton on, sometimes a whole bale, dat money yours." willis thought the plantation house was still there, "but it badly wounded," he said. "dey tell me dere ain't nobody living in it now. it seven miles from waynesboro, south." "when de soldiers come thoo'," continued willis, "dey didn't burn dat place, but dey went in dere and took out ev'thing dey want, and give it to de cullud people. dey kep' it till dey got free. de soldiers tuk dr. millers horses and carry 'em off. got in de crib and tuk de corn. got in de smoke'ouse and tuk de meat out. old marssa bury his money and silver in a iron chist. dey tuk it yards away to a clump of trees and bury it. it tuk fo' men to ca'y it. dere was money without mention in dat chist! after de soldiers pass thoo, de went down and got it back." "what did you do after freedom was declared?" willis straightened up. "i went down to augusta to de freedmen's bureau to see if twas true we wuz free. i reckon dere was, over a hundred people dere. the man got up and stated to de people, "you is jus' as free as i am. you ain't got no mistis and no marster. work wheh you want." on sunday morning old marster sent de house girl and tell us to all come to de house. he said: "what i want to send for you all, is to tell you you are free. you hab de privilege to go anywhere you want, but i don't want none of you to leave me now. i wants you-all to stay right wid me. if you stay, you you mus' sign to it' i asked him: "what you want me to sign for?, i is free." 'dat will hold me to my word, and hold you to yo' word,' he say. all my folks sign it, but i wouldn't sign. marster call me up and say: 'willis, why wouldn't you sign?' i say: 'if i already is free, i don't need to sign no paper. if i was working for you, and doing for you befo' i got free, i can do it still, if you want me to stay wid yo'.' my father and mother tried to git me to sign, but i wouldn't sign. my mother said: 'you oughter sign. how you know marster gwine pay?' i said: 'den i kin go somewhere else.' marster pay first class hands $ . a month, other hands $ . , and den on down to five and six dollars. he give rations like dey always. when christmas come, all come up to be paid off. den he call me. ask whar is me? i wus standin' roun' de corner of de house. 'come up here,' he say, 'you didn't sign dat paper, but i reckon i have to pay you too.' he paid me and my wife $ . . i said: 'well, you-all thought he wouldn't pay me, but i got my money too.' i stayed to my marster's place one year after de war den i lef'dere. nex' year i decided i wuld quit dere and go somewhere else. it was on account of my wife. you see, marster bought her off, as de highes', and she hadn't seen her mother and father in waynesboro for years. when she got free, she went down to see 'em. waren't willin' to come back. t'was on account mistis and her. dey bofe had chilluns, five-six years old. de chillun had disagreement. mistis slap my girl. my wife sass de mistis. but my marster, he was as good a man as ever born. i wouldn't have lef' him for anybody, just on account of his wife and her fell out." "what did your marster say when you told him you were going to leave? was he sorry?" "i quit and goes over three miles to another widow lady house, and mek bargain wid her," said willis. "i pass right by de do'. old boss sitting on de pi-za. he say: 'hey, boy, wheh you gwine?' i say; 'i 'cided to go.' i was de fo'man of de plow-han' den. i saw to all de locking up, and things like dat. he say: 'hold on dere.' he come out to de gate. 'i tell you what i give you to stay on here, i give you five acre of as good land as i got, and $ . a month, to stay here and see to my bizness.'" willis paused a moment, thinking back on that long distant parting. "i say," he went on, "i can't, marster. it don't suit my wife 'round here, and she won't come back, and i can't stay.' he turn on me den, and busted out crying. 'i didn't tho't i could raise up a darky that would talk thataway,' he said to me. well, i went on off. i got de wagon and come by de house. marster says: 'now you gwone off, but don't forget me, boy. remember me as you always done.' i said: 'all right.'" willis chewed his tobacco reflectively for a few minutes, spat into the rosemary bush, and resumed his story: "i went over to dat widow lady's house and work. along about may i got sick. she say: 'i going to send for de doctor.' i said: 'please ma'am, don't do dat.' i thought maybe he kill me 'cause i lef' him. she say: 'well, i gwine send fo' him.' i in desprut condition. when i know anything, he walk up in de do'. i was laying wid my face toward de do' and i turn over. "doctor come up to de bed. 'boy, how you getting on?' 'i bad off,' i say. he say: 'i see you is. 'yeh.' lady say: 'doctor, what you think of him?' 'mistis, it mos' too late,' he say, 'but i do all i kin.' she say: 'please do all yo' kin, he 'bout de bes' han' i got.' "doctor fix up med'cine and tole her to give it to me. she say: 'uncle will, tek dis med'cine.' i 'fraid to tek it, 'fraid he wuz tryin' to kill me. den two men, john and charles, come in. lady say: 'get dis med'cine in uncle will.' one of de men hold my hand, one hold my head, and dey gagged me and put it in me. nex few days i kin talk, and ax for somethin' to eat, so i git better. i say: 'well, he didn't kill me when i tuk de med'cine.' "i stayed dere wid her. nex' yar i move right back in two miles other side wheh i always live, wid anudder lady. i stay dere three years. got along all right. when i lef' from there, i lef' dere wid $ . and plenty corn and hog. everything i want, and three hundred dollars cash in my pocket!" (it was plain that in his present status of relief ward, uncle willis looked back on that sum of money as a small fortune. he thought about it awhile, spat again, and went on:) "fourth year i lef' and went down to de john fryer place on rock creek. i stayed dere years in dat one place." "uncle willis, did you ever see the doctor again?" "he die 'fore i know it," he replied, "i was 'bout fifteen miles from him and be de time i hear of his death, he bury on plantation near rock creek." willis was asked about superstitions, and answered with great seriousness: "eberybody in de worl' have got a spirit what follow 'em roun' and dey kin see diffrunt things. in my sleep i hab vision." "pappy, tell de ladies 'bout de hant," urged aunt rena from her post in the doorway, and willis took up the story with eagerness: "one night i was gwine to a lady's store, riding a horse. de graveyard was yards from de road i wuz passing. de moon was shining bright as day. i saw somethin' coming out of dat graveyard. it come across de road, right befo' me. his tail were dragging on de ground, a long tail. he had hair on both sides of him, laying down on de road. he crep' up. i pull de horse dis way, he move too. i pull him dat way, he move too. i yell out: 'what in de name o' god is dat?' and it turn right straight 'round de graveyard and went back. i went on to de lady's store, and done my shoppin'. i tell you i was skeered, 'cause i was sho' i would see it going back, but i never saw it. de horse was turrible skeered of it. it looked like a maryno sheep, and it had a long, swishy tail." uncle willis was asked if he had ever seen a person "conjured" and he answered: "dey is people in de worl' got sense to kill out de conjur in anybody, but nobuddy ever conjur me. i year 'um say if a person conjur you, you'll git somethin' in you dat would kill you." asked to what he attributed his long, healthy life, he raised his head with a preaching look and replied: "i tell you, missis, 'zactly what i believe. i bin tryin' to serve god ever since i come to be a man of family. i bin trying to serve de lawd years, and i live by precepts of de word. until today nobuddy can turn me away from god business. i am a man studying my gospel. i ain't able to go to church, but i still keep serving god." a week later uncle willis was found standing in the cabin door. "do you want to ride to the old plantation to-day?" he was asked. his vitality was almost too low form to grasp the invitation. "i'se might weak today," he said in a feeble voice. "i don't feel good for much." "where is aunt rena?" he was asked. "do you think she would mind your taking an automobile trip?" "she gone to town on de bus, to see de fambly welfare." "have you had breakfast?" his weak appearance indicated lack of food. "i had some coffee, but i ain't eat 'none." "well, come on, uncle willis. we'll get you some breakfast, and then we'll take you to the plantation and take your picture in the place where you were born years ago." uncle willis appeared to be somewhat in a daze as he padlocked the cabin door, put on his "sundown" hat, took up his stout stick and tottered down the steps. he wore a frayed sweater, with several layers of shirts showing at the cuffs. on the way he recalled the first railroad train that passed through burke county. "i kinder scared," he recollected, "we wuz all 'mazed to see dat train flyin' long 'thout any horses. de people wuz all afraid." "had you hear of airplanes before you saw one, uncle willis?" "yes, ma'am. i yeared o' them, but you couldn't gimme dis car full of money to fly, they's too high off de ground. i never is gwine in one." uncle willis was deposited on the porch of one of the remaining slave cabins to eat his "brekkus," while his kidnappers sought over hill and field for "the big house," but only two cabins and the chimney foundation of a large burned dwelling rewarded the search. he was posed in front of the cabin, just in front of the clay and brick end chimney, and took great pleasure in the ceremony, rearing his head up straight so that his white beard stuck out. the brutal reality of finding the glories of rock creek plantation forever vanished must have been a severe blow for the old man, for several times on the way back he wiped tears from his eyes. once again at his cabin in the cotton field, his vitality reasserted itself, and he greeted his curious dusky neighbors with the proud statement: "dey tuk me wheh i was bred and born. i don't ax no better time." his farewell words were: "goo'bye. i hopes you all gits to paradise." folklore interviews obtained from: mrs. emmaline heard, cain st. ne mrs. rosa millegan, chestnut ave. ne mr. jasper millegan, chestnut ave. ne atlanta, ga. [date stamp: may ] [mrs. emmaline heard] mrs. emmaline heard, who resides at cain st. ne has proved to be a regular storehouse for conjure and ghost stories. not only this but she is a firm believer in the practice of conjure. to back up her belief in conjure is her appearance. she is a dark brown-skinned woman of medium height and always wears a dirty towel on her head. the towel which was at one time white gives her the weird look of an old-time fortune teller. tuesday, december , a visit was made to her home and the following information was secured: "there wuz onct a house in mcdonough and it wuz owned by the smiths that wuz slave owners way back yonder. now, this is the trufe cause it wuz told ter me by old uncle joe turner and he 'spirience it. nobody could live in this house i don't care how they tried. dey say this house wuz hanted and anybody that tried to stay there wuz pulled out of bed by a hant. well, sir, they offered the house and $ , to anyone who could stay there over night. uncle joe said he decided to try it so sho nuff he got ready one night and went ter this house to stay. after while, says he, something come in the room and started over ter the bed, but fore it got there, he said, "what in the name of the lord you want with me." it said, 'follow me. there is a pot of gold buried near the chimney; go find it and you won't be worried with me no more.' der next morning uncle joe went out there and begin ter dig and sho nuff he found the gold; and sides that he got the house. dis here is the trufe. uncle joe's house is right there in mcdonough now and anybody round there will tell you the same thing cause he wuz well-known. uncle joe is dead now. "anudder story that happened during slavery time and wuz told ter me by father wuz this; the master had a old man on his plantation named jimson. well, jimson's wife wuz sick and had been fer nearly a year. one day there she wanted some peas, black eyed peas; but old man harper didn't have none on his plantation, so jimson planned ter steal off that night and go ter old marse daniel's farm, which wuz miles from marse harper's farm, and steal a few peas for his wife. well, between midnight and day he got a sack and started off down the road. long after while a owl started hootin, sho-o-o are-e-e, who-o-o-o-, and it wounded jest lak someone saying 'who are you.' jimson got scared, pulled off his cap and run all the way to old man daniel's farm. as he run he wuz saying, "sir, dis is me, old jimson" over and over again. now, when he got near the farm old daniel heard him and got up in the loft ter watch him. finally old jimson got dar and started creeping up in the loft. when he got up dar, chile, marse daniel grabbed his whip and 'most beat jimson ter death. "this here story happened in mississippi years ago, but den folks that tell it ter me said it wuz the trufe. 'there wuz a woman that wuz sick; her name wuz mary jones. well, she lingered and lingered till she finally died. in them days folks all around would come ter the settin-up if somebody wuz dead. they done sent some men after the casket. since they had ter go miles they wuz a good while getting back, so the folkses decided ter sing. after while they heard the men come up on the porch and somebody got up ter let 'em in. chile, jest as they opened the door that 'oman set straight up on that bed; and sech another runnin and getting out of that house you never heard; but some folks realized she wuzn't dead so they got the casket out der way so she wouldn't see it, cause they wuz fraid she would pass out sho nuff; jest the same they wuz fraid of her, too. the man went off and come back with postols, guns, sticks, and everything; and when this 'oman saw 'em she said, 'don't run, i won't bother you.' but, chile, they left there in a big hurry, too. well, this here mary went to her sister's house and knocked on the door, and said: 'let me in. this is mary. i want to talk to you and tell you where i've been.' the sister's husband opened the door and let her in. this 'oman told 'em that god had brought her to and that she had been in a trance with the lord. after that every one wuz always afraid of that 'oman and they wouldn't even sit next ter her in the church. they say she is still living. "this happened right yonder in mcdonough years ago. a gal went to a party with her sweet'art and her ma told her not ter go. well, she went on anyhow in a buggy; when they got ter the railroad crossing a train hit the buggy and killed the gal, but the boy didn't git hurted at all. well, while they wuz sittin up with this dead gal, the boy comes long there in his buggy with anudder gal, and do you know that horse stopped right in front uv that house and wouldn't budge one inch. no matter how hard he whip that horse it wouldn't move; instid he rared and kicked and jumped about and almost turned the buggy over. the gal in the buggy fainted. finally a old slavery time man come along and told him to git a quart of whiskey and pour it around the buggy and the hant would go away. so they done that and the sperit let 'em pass. if a hant laked whisky in they lifetime, and you pour it round where they's at, they will go away." the following are true conjure stories supposedly witnessed by mrs. heard: "there wuz a rev. dennis that lived below the federal prison. now, he wuz the preacher of the hardshell baptist church in this community. this man stayed sick about a year and kept gittin different doctors and none uv them did him any good. well, his wife kept on at him till he decided ter go ter see dr. geech. his complaint wuz that he felt something run up his legs ter his thighs. old dr. geech told him that he had snakes in his body and they wuz put there by the lady he had been going wid. dr. geech give him some medicine ter take and told him that on the th day from then that 'oman would come and take the medicine off the shelf and throw it away. course rev. dennis didn't believe a thing he said, so sho nuff she come jest lak dr. geech said and took the medicine away. dr. geech told him that he would die when the snakes got up in his arm, but if he would do lak he told him he would get all right. dis 'oman had put this stuff in some whiskey and he drunk it so the snakes breed in his body. after he quit taking the medicine he got bad off and had ter stay in the bed; sho nuff the morning he died you could see the snake in his arm; the print uv it wuz there when he died. the snake stretched out in his arm and died, too. "i got a son named jack heard. well, somebody fixed him. i wuz in chicago when that happened and my daughter kept writing ter me ter come home cause jack wuz acting funny and she thought maybe he wuz losing his mind. they wuz living in thomasville then and every day he would go sit round the store and laugh and talk, but jest as soon as night would come and he would eat his supper them fits would come on him. he would squeal jest lak a pig and he would get down on his knees and bark jest lak a dog. well, i come home and went ter see a old conjure doctor. he says ter me, 'that boy is hurt and when you go home you look in the corner of the mattress and you will find it. 'sho nuff i went home and looked in the corner of the mattress and there the package wuz. it wuz a mixture of his hair and bluestone wrapped up in red flannel with new needles running all through it. when i went back he says ter me, 'emmaline, have you got dimes?' no, i said, but i got a dollar. 'well, get that dollar changed into dimes and take of 'em and give 'em ter me. then he took jack in a room, took off his clothes and started ter rubbin him down with medicine; all at the same time he wuz saying a ceremony over him; then he took them dimes, put 'em in a bag and tied them around jack's chest somewhere so that they would hang over his heart. 'now, wear them always,' says he ter jack. jack wore them dimes a long time but he finally drunk 'em up anyway, that doctor cured him cause he sho would a died." the following aroma [hw: is a] few facts as related by mrs. heard concerning an old conjure doctor known as aunt barkas [tr: darkas throughout rest of story]. "aunt darkas lived in mcdonough, ga. until a few years ago. she died when she wuz years old; but, chile, lemme tell you that 'oman knowed just what ter do fer you. she wuz blind but she could go ter the woods and pick out any kind of root or herb she wanted. she always said the lord told her what roots to get and always fore sun-up you would see her in the woods with a short handled pick. she said she had ter pick 'em for sun-up; i don't know why. if you wuz sick all you had ter do wuz go ter see aunt darkas and tell her. she had a well and after listening to your complaint she would go out there and draw a bucket of water and set it on the floor, and then she would wave her hand over it and say something. she called this healing the water. after this she would give you a drink of water. as she hand it ter you, she would say, 'now drink, take this and drink.' honey, i had some of that water myself and blieve me it goes all over you and makes you feel so good. old aunt darkas would give you a supply of water and tell you ter come back fer more when that wuz gone. old aunt darkas said the lord gave her power and vision, and she used to fast for a week at a time. when she died there wuz a piece in the paper bout her. "this here is sho the trufe, and if you don't believe it, go out ter southview cemetery and see sid heard, my oldest son; he been out there over years as sexton and bookkeeper. yessir, he tole it ter me and i believe it. this happen long ago, or years. there wuz a couple that lived in macon, ga., but their home wuz in atlanta and they had a lot out ter southview. well, they had a young baby that tuck sick and died so they had the baby's funeral there in macon; then they put the coffin in the box, placed the label on the box, then brought it ter atlanta. folkes are always buried so that they head faces the east. they say when judgment day come and gabriel blow that trumpet everybody will rise up facing the east. well, as i wuz saying, they came here. sid heard met 'em out yonder and instructed his men fer arrangements fer the grave and everything. a few weeks later the 'oman called sid heard up long distance. she said, 'mr. heard.' yesmam, he said. 'i call you ter tell you me and my husband can't rest at all.' 'why?' he asked. 'because we can hear our baby crying every night and it is worrying us ter death. our neighbors next door say our baby must be buried wrong.' sid heard said, well, i buried the baby according ter the way you got the box labeled. 'i am not blaming you, mr. heard, but if i pay you will you take my baby up?' yesmam, i will if you want me to; jest let me know the day you will be here and i'll have everything ready. alright, said she. 'well,' said sid heard, 'the day she wuz ter come she wuz sick and instead sent a car load of her friends. the men got busy and started digging till they got ter the box; when they took it up sho nuff after they opened it, they found the baby had been buried wrong; the head was facing the west instead of the east. they turned the box around and covered it up. the folks then went on back to macon. a week later the 'omen called up again. 'mr. heard,' she says. yesmam, says he. 'well, i haven't heard my baby cry at all in the past week. i wuzn't there but i know the exact date you took my baby up, cause i never heard it cry no more.' [mrs. rosa millegan and mr. jasper millegan] on december , mr. and mrs. millegan who reside at chestnut ave. ne. were interviewed on the subject of superstitions, signs, conjure, etc. mrs. rosa millegan studied awhile after the facts of the interview were made clear to her. finally she said; "i kin tell you more bout conjure; that's all i know bout cause i done been hurted myself and every word of it is the trufe. "well, it happen lak this. i wuz suffering with rheumatism in my arm and a old man in the neighborhood came ter me and gave me some medicine that he said would help me. well, i done suffered so i thought mebbe it might help me a little. chile honey, 'after i done tuck some of that stuff i nearly went crazy. i couldn't talk; couldn't hardly move and my head look lak it bust open. i didn't know what ter do. i called medical doctors and they jest didn't do me no good. let me tell you right here, when you done been conjured, medical doctors can't do you no good; you got ter get a nudder conjur doctor ter get it off you. well, one day i says to my daughter, "i'm through wid medical doctors. i'm gwine ter sam durham. they say he is good and i go find out. chile, folks done give me up ter die. i use ter lay in bed and hear 'em say, she won't never get up. well, i went ter sam durham and he looked at me and said: 'you is hurt in the mouth.' he carried me in a small room, put some medicine around my face, and told me ter sit down a while. after while my mouth and face begin ter feel lak it wuz paralyzed, and he begin ter talk. 'that man that give you that medicine is mad wid you about his wife and he fixed you. now do what i tell you and you will overcome it. he is coming ter your door and is gwine want ter shake your hand. don't let him touch you, but speak ter him in the name of the lord and throw your hands over your head; by doing this you will overcome him and the devil.' anudder thing he says; 'this man is coming from around the back of your house.' then he give me vials of different lengths and a half cup of pills, and told me ter take all that medicine. he told me too ter get a rooster and let him stay on my porch all the time and he couldn't get ter me no more. sho nuff, that nigger come jest lak he said he wuz going ter do, but i fixed him. later on this same man tried ter fix his wife cause he thought she had anudder man. do you know that oman couldn't drink water in her house? and when he died he wuz nearly crazy; they had ter strap him in the bed; all the while he wuz cussin god and raving." the next stories were told to the writer by mr. jasper millegan: "my uncle wuz poisoned. yes, sir, somebody fixed him in coffee. he lingered and lingered and finally got so he wuz confined ter bed fer good. somebody put scorpions in him and whenever they would crawl under his skin he would nearly go crazy, and it looked lak his eyes would jest pop out. he waited so long ter go ter the conjure doctors they couldn't do him any good. and the medical doctors ain't no good fer nothing lak that. yes, sir, them snakes would start in his feet and run up his leg. he nebber did get any better and he died. "a long time ago i saw a lady that wuz conjured in her feet; somebody put something down fer her ter walk over. well, anyway she got down with her feet and couldn't travel from her bed ter a chair. well, she got a old conjure doctor ter come treat her and he rubbed her feet with medicine and after he done that a while he told her that something wuz coming out of her feet. sho nuff, i see'd them maggots with my own eyes when they come out of her feet; but she got well." the following are preventatives to use against conjure; also a few home treatments for different sickness. "ter keep from being conjured, always use plenty salt and pepper. always get up soon in the morning so nobody can see you and sprinkle salt and pepper around your door and they sho can't git at you. "if you think you done been poisoned or conjured, take a bitter gourd and remove the seeds, then beat 'em up and make a tea. you sho will heave all of it up. "ef you think you will have a stroke, go to running water and get four flint rocks; heat 'em and lay on all of them, and believe me, it will start your blood circulating and prevent the stroke. another way to start your blood circulating; heat a brick and (lay) lie on it. "to get rid of corns, bathe your feet in salt water and take a little salt and put it 'tween your toes." mrs. millegan closed her interview by telling the writer that every morning found her sprinkling her salt and pepper, cause she knows what it means ter be fixed. as the writer started out the door she noticed a horse shoe hanging over the door. folklore (negro) minnie b. ross [mrs. camilla jackson] on november , mrs. camilla jackson was interviewed concerning superstitions, signs, etc. mrs. jackson, an ex-slave, is about years of age and although advanced in years she is unusually intelligent in her speech and thoughts. the writer was well acquainted with her having previously interviewed her concerning life as a slave. mrs. jackson related to the writer the following signs and incidents: if a tree is standing in your yard or near your house and an owl lights in it and begins to hoot, some one in the family will die. if, during the illness of a person, a cat comes in the room, or the house, and whines, the person will die. another sure sign of death and one that has been experienced by mrs. jackson is as follows: listen child if a bird flies in your house some one is going to die. my daughter and i were ironing one day and a bird flew in the window right over her head. she looked up and said, "mama that bird came after me or you, but i believe it came for me." one month later my daughter took sick with pneumonia and died. my mother said before the civil war ended her mistress owned an old slave woman years old. this old woman was very wicked and the old miss used to visit her cabin and read the bible to her. well sir, she died and do you know the horses balked and would go every way but the right way to the grave. they rared and kicked and would turn straight around in the road 'cause the evil spirits were frightening them. it was a long time before they could get the body to the grave. mrs. jackson before relating the following experiences emphatically stated her belief in seeing the dead but only believes that you can see them in a dream. "many a night my sister has come to me all dressed in white. i have heard her call me too; but i have never answered. no longer than one night last week old mr. and mrs. tanner came to me in a dream. the old lady came in my room and stood over my bed. her hair was done up on the top of her head just like she always wore it. she was distressed and spoke about some one being after her. old mr. tanner came and led her away. they really were in my room, you see both of them died in this house years ago." mrs. jackson could not relate any stories of conjuring; but did mention the fact that she had often heard of people wearing money around their legs to keep from being conjured. she also spoke of people keeping a horseshoe over the door for good luck. during slavery and since that time, if you should go out doors on a drizzling night for any thing, before you could get back jack o'lantern would grab you and carry you to the swamps. if you hollowed and some one bring a torch to the door the jack o'lantern would turn you aloose. another way to get rid of them is to turn your pockets wrong side out. one day a man came here selling roots called "john the conqueror" and sister blakely there, paid him ¢ for one of the plants, but she never did plant it. he said the plant would bring good luck. [mrs. anna grant] on the same day mrs. jackson was interviewed, mrs. anna grant told the writer that if she didn't mind she would relate to her a ghost story that was supposed to be true. in her own words the writer gives the following story: onst a 'oman, her husband and two chillun wuz travelin'. this 'oman wuz a preacher and only wanted to stop over night. now this 'oman's husban' wuz a sinner, but she wuz a christian. well she saw an old empty house setting in a field but when she went ter inquire 'bout it she wuz told that it wuz hanted and no one had ebber been able ter stay there over night. de lady dat owned de house offered her pillows, bed clothes, sheets, etc., if she intended to stay, and even told her that she would give her de house if she could stay there. the woman that owned the house told her butler to go and make a fire for the family and carry the pillows, sheets, etc. well, they all got there the 'oman built a fire, cooked supper and fed 'em all. her husband and children went ter bed. the husband wanted to know why his wife wanted him to go to bed and she wanted ter stay up. the wife didn't say nothin', just told him ter go to bed, then she laid the bible on the table bottom side up and kept looking behind her. the house wuz two story and after while something came ter the top steps and said, "can i throw down," she said "throw down in the name of the father, son and holy ghost." two thighs and a foot came down. later the same voice sed, "can i throw down," and she said, "throw down in the name of the father, son and the holy ghost," and then a whole body came down. the husband woke up when he heard the noise and ran away from the house. the ghost told the 'oman ter follow her, and she picked up her bible and kept on reading and went on behind the ghost. the ghost showed her where some money was buried near a big oak tree and then vanished. the next morning the 'oman dug and found der money, but the 'oman of the house wouldn't take a penny, said she didn't want it, sides that she gave her the house. they said this wuz a true story and der reason dat house wus hanted wuz 'cause der family dat used to live there got killed about money. mrs. grant ended by saying "deres a horseshoe over my door right now for luck." [mrs. emmaline heard] mrs. emmaline heard lives on cain st. between fort and butler sts. she is an ex-slave and on a previous occasion had given the writer an interesting account of slavery as she knew it. when the writer approached her concerning superstitious signs, ghost tales, conjure etc., mrs. heard's face became lit with interest and quickly assured the writer that she believed in conjuring, ghosts, and signs. it was not long before our interview began. mrs. heard, although seventy or seventy-five years old, is very intelligent in her expression of her different thoughts. this interview, as nearly as possible, was taken in the exact words of the person interviewed. "if you are eating with a mouthful of food and sneeze, that sho is a true sign of death. i know that 'cause years ago i wuz havin' breakfast with my son wylie and one other boy and wylie sneezed and said "mama i'm so sorry i jist coundn't help it the sneeze came on me so quick." i jist sat there and looked at him and began ter wonder. two weeks later my brother rode up and announced my mother's death. that is one sign thats true, yes sir. if a picture falls off the wall some one in the family will die. if you dream about teeth, if one falls out thats another sign of death. another sign of death jest as sho as you live is ter dream of a person naked. i dreamed my son was naked but his body was covered with hair. three months later he died. yes sir, that sho is a true sign. jest as sho as your left hand itches you will receive money. if fire pops on you from the stove, or fire place, you will get a letter. if the left side of your nose itches a man is coming to the house. if it itches on the tip, he will come riding. if the right side of your nose itches a woman is coming to the house. following are stories told to mrs. heard by her parents, which took place during the period of slavery. they are supposed to be true as they were experienced by the persons who told them. "my mother told me a story that happened when she was a slave. when her mistress whipped her she would run away ter the woods; but at night she would sneak back to nurse her babies. the plantation was on old mcdonough road, so ter get ter the plantation she had ter come by a cemetery and you could see the white stones shining in the moonlight. this cemetery was near a cut in the road that people said was hanted and they still say old mcdonough road is hanted. one night, mama said she was on her way to the plantation walking on the middle of the road and the moon was shining very bright. when she reached this cut she heard a noise, clack! clack! clack!, and this noise reminded a person of a lot of machines moving. all at once a big thing as large as a house came down the side of the road. she said it looked like a lot of chains, wheels, posts all mangled together, and it seemed that there were more wheels and chains than anything else. it kept on by making that noise, clack! clack! clack!. she stood right still till it passed and came on ter the farm. on her way back she say she didn't see it any more, but right till ter day that spot is hanted. i have knowed horses to run away right there with people and hurt them. then sometimes they have rared and kicked and turned to go in the other direction. you see, horses can see hants sometimes when folks can't. now the reason fer this cut being hanted was because old dave copeland used to whip his slaves to death and bury them along there." the next story was told to mrs. heard by her father, who experienced it, as a slave boy. "my father sed when he wuz a boy him and two more boys run away from the master 'cause the master whipped 'em. they set out and walked till it got dark, and they saw a big old empty house settin' back from der road. now this house was or miles from any other house. so they went in and made a fire, and laid down 'cause they wuz tired from running from the pader rollers. soon they heard something say tap! tap! tap!, down the stairs it came, a loud noise and then "oh lordy master, i aint goin' do it no more; let me off this time." after a while they heard this same noise like a house falling in and the same words "oh lordy master, i ant goin' do it no more. let me off this time." by this time they had got good and scared, so my pa sed he and his friends looked at each other and got up and ran away from that house jest as fast as they could go. nobody knowed why this old house wuz hanted; but they believed that some slaves had been killed in it." the next is a story of the jack o'lantern as told by mrs. heard. "old south river on' the jonesboro road is jest full of swampy land and on a rainy drizzly night jack o'lanterns will lead you. one night my uncle started out ter see his girl end he had ter go through the woods and the swamps. when he got in der swamp land he had ter cross a branch and the night wuz dark and drizzly, so dark you could hardly see your hand before your face. way up the creek he saw a little bright light, so he followed it thinking he wuz on his way. all night long he sed he followed this light up and down the swamp, but never got near ter it. when day came he was still in the creek and had not gone any distance at all. he went home and told the folks and they went back ter the swamps and saw his tracks up and down in the mud. later a group of 'em set out to find the jack o'lantern and way down the creek they found it on a bush. it looked like soot hanging down from a bush, burnt out. my uncle went ter bed 'cause he wuz sleepy and tired down from walking all night." the following three stories related by mrs. heard deals with practices of conjure. she definitely states that they are true stories; and backs up this statement by saying she is a firm believer in conjure. "as i told you before, my daddy came from virginia. he wuz bought there by old harper and brought ter mcdonough as a slave boy. well as the speculator drove along south, he learned who the different slaves were. when he got here he wuz told by the master to live with old uncle ned 'cause he wuz the only bachelor on the plantation. the master said ter old ned, "well ned, i have bought me a fine young plow boy. i want him ter stay with you and you treat him right." every night uncle ned would make a pallet on the floor for daddy and make him go to bed. when he got in bed he (uncle ned) would watch him out of the corner of his eye, but daddy would pretend he wuz asleep and watch old uncle ned to see what he wuz going ter do. after a while uncle ned would take a broom and sweep the fireplace clean, then he would get a basket and take out of it a whole lot of little bundles wrapped in white cloth. as he lay out a package he would say "grass hoppers," "spiders", "scorpian," "snake heads", etc., then he, would take the tongs and turn 'em around before the blaze so that they would parch. night after night he would do this same thing until they had parched enough, then he would beat all of it together and make a powder; then put it up in little bags. my daddy wuz afraid ter ask old uncle ned what he did with these bags, but heard he conjured folks with 'em. in fact he did conjure a gal 'cause she wouldn't pay him any attention. this gal wuz very young and preferred talking to the younger men, but uncle ned always tried ter hang around her and help hoe, but she would always tell him to go do his own work 'cause she could do hers. one day he said ter her "all right madam, i'll see you later, you wont notice me now but you'll wish you had. when the dinner came, and they left the field they left their hoes standing so they would know jest where ter start when they got back. when that gal went back ter the field the minute she touched that hoe she fell dead. some folks say they saw uncle ned dressing that hoe with conjure. "my sister lizzie sho did get fixed, honey, and it took a old conjurer ter get the spell off of her. it wuz like this: sister lizzie had a pretty peachtree and one limb spreaded out over the walk and jest as soon as she would walk under this limb, she would stay sick all the time. the funny part 'bout it wuz that while she wuz at other folks house she would feel all right, but the minute she passed under this limb, she would begin ter feel bad. one day she sent fer a conjurer, and he looked under the house, and sho nuff, he found it stuck in the sill. it looked like a bundle of rags, red flannel all stuck up with needles and every thing else. this old conjurer told her that the tree had been dressed for her an t'would be best fer her ter cut it down. it wuz a pretty tree and she sho did hate to cut it down, but she did like he told her. yes child, i don't know whither i've ever been conjured or not, but sometimes my head hurts and i wonder." mrs. heard asked the writer to return at a later date and she would probably be able to relate more interesting incidents. folklore (negro) edwin driscoll [mrs. julia rush, mr. george leonard, mr. henry holmes, mr. ellis strickland, mr. sam stevens, joe (a boy)] the negro folklore as recounted below was secured from the following persons: mrs. julia rush (an ex-slave) who lives at coleman street, s.w.; mr. george leonard (a very intelligent elderly person) whose address is chestnut avenue n.e.; and mr. henry holmes (an ex-slave); mr. ellis strickland; mr. sam stevens and a young boy known only as joe. the latter named people can be found at the address of old wheat street, n.e. according to these people this lore represents the sort of thing that their parents and grandparents believed in and at various times they have been heard to tell about these beliefs. voodoo and conjure mr. leonard says: "in dem days de old folks b'lieved in witch-craft and conjure and sicha stuff like dat. dey b'lieved dat an old person could punish anybody by taking a piece of chip and spitting on it and den dey would throw it on 'em. dey said dat in two weeks time maggots would be in 'em." "i have seen 'em take a black cat an' put 'im in a sack an' den dey took 'im an' put 'im in a pot of boiling hot water alive. man de cat would almos' tear dat pot up tryin' to git out. after dey had cooked all de meat off de cat dey took one of his bones (i don't know which one of 'em) and put it crossways in their front teeth while dey mumbled somethin' under their breath an' den dey took dis bone an' throwed it 'cross de right shoulder an' when dey went an' picked it up an' put it in their pocket it was supposed to give 'em de bes' kind of luck. dey could say or do anything dey wanted to an' ole marster couldn't hit 'em." regarding the black cat's bone mr. strickland told the following story which he says he once heard an old man tell his father: "you goes out in de valley in de woods an' you takes a live black cat an' throws 'im in a pot of boiling water. you boils 'im 'till he gits done all to pieces an' den you takes all de bones an' throws 'em in de creek an' de one dat floats up de creek is de one to use. you takes dis bone an' draws it through your teech an' gits all de meat off an' den you can take dat bone an' do all kinds of majic. you can talk to folks an' dey can't see you. you can even disappear an' come right back. it takes a good 'un to do dat (get a black cat's bone). while you's boilin' de cat dat thunder an' lightnin' look like it goin' tear up de face of de earth--you can even see de wind which is like a red blaze of fire." continuing mr. strickland says: "some of de roots dat dey used to bring 'im luck an' to trick folks wid wuz rattle-snake marster, and john de conquerer. john de conquerer is supposed to conquer any kind of trouble you gits intuh. some folks says dat you can tote it in your pocket an' have good luck. "i once knowed a woman who had some lodestone dat she uster work. she could take men an' dere wives apart an' den put 'em back together again. she say dat she had killed so many folks (by the use of conjure and majic etc.) dat she did'nt know whether she would ever git fit fer forgiveness. she sold she sold herself to de devil fer twenty years." "aint nuthin wrong wid folks all de time when dey thinks dey is tricked," says mr. strickland. "i had a friend named joe once an' he uster fool 'roun wid roots an' stuff like dat. one day he heard about a man who had promised to pay five-hundred dollars to anybody dat could cure him of de misery in his stomach. he thought somebody had "tricked" him by puttin' a snake in 'im. joe stayed wid 'im fer two days an' he did'nt git no better an' so he went out de nex' day an' bought a rubber snake an den he come back an' give de man some medecine to make 'im vomit. when he comited joe throwed de snake in de can an' den he said to de man: "dere it is, i knowed somebody had fixed you." de man said: "dey tol' me somebody had put a snake in me." joe took de snake an' done away wid it an' de nex' day de man wuz up walkin' 'roun. he never did know how he had been fooled an' joe made de five-hundred dollars." according to mrs. rush the wife of the colored foreman on her master's plantation was always working with roots. she says "one day i come in fum de field to nurse my baby an' when i got to my house dere was dis woman standing at my door." i said to her: "name o' god aunt candis (dat wus her name) whut is you doin'?" she wus makin' all kings of funny motions when i come up on her. if you aint scared of 'em dey can't do nuthin to you. when i hollored at her de sweat broke out on her face. by dis time i had stayed away fum de field too long an' i knowed i wus goin' to git a whippin' but candis gimme some of de roots she had in her mouth an'in her pockets. she tol' me to put piece of it in my mouth an' chew it. when i got near de overseer i was to spit some of de juice towars him an' i would'nt git a whippin'. i tied a piece of it 'roun my waist an' put some in my trunk too. i did'nt git a whippin' when i got to de field but when i went to look fer de root 'roun my waist it wus gone. when i went back to de house dat night de other piece was gone too. i aint seed it fum dat day to dis. de rest of de women on de plantation honored candis but i did'nt. dey say dat folks like dem can put stuff down fer you to walk in er set in or drink an' dat dey can fix you lie dat. but dey can't do nuthin' wid you if you aint scared of 'em." "not so long ago a woman whut uster live back of me tried to do sumpin' to me after we had a fuss. i woke up one mornin' an' looked out by my back fence an' dere wus a lotsa salt an' sulphur an' stuff all 'roun de yard. de other women wus scared fer me but i wus'nt." several of my informants say that salt can be used as a weapon of conjure. according to joe salt may be used to make a gambler lose all of his money. to do this all that is necessary is to stand behind the person to be conjured and then sprinkle a small amount of salt on his back. from that instant on he will lose money. joe has also seen a woman use the following method to make her male friend remain at home: "she taken some salt an' pepper an' sprinkled it up an' down de steps," says joe, "an' den she taken a plain eatin' fork an' stuck it under de door steps an' de man stayed right in de house until she moved de fork." mr. stevens says: "if you want to fix somebody all you got to do is to sprinkle some salt an' petter 'roun 'em an' it'll make 'em bus' dere brains out. if you wants to make 'em move you go out to de grave yard an' stick your hand down in de middle of a grave an' git a handful of dat red graveyard dirt an' den you comes back an' sprinkles it 'roun dere door an' dey's gone, dey can't stay dere. another conjuration is fer a woman to make three waves over a man's head. i saw one do dat once." another method used to fix or conjure people, according to mrs. rush, is to take a lizard and parch it. the remains must be put in something that the person is to eat and when the food is eaten the individual will be conjured. mr. holmes says if a black cat's tail is tied on someone's doorknob it will "cut dey luck off." silver money tied around the leg will ward off the effects of conjure. mrs. rush says if you are feeling ill and you wish to determine whether or not someone has been trying to conjure you or not just take a silver coin and place it in your mouth. if it turns black somebody is working conjure on you. "i knowed a man who went to newnan to see his mother who wus sick," stated mrs. rush. "she wus so sick dat she could'nt tell whut wus de matter wid her an' so her son took a silver quarter an' put it in her mouth an' it turned as black as a kettle." says mr. holmes: "if anybody comes to your house an' you don't want 'em dere, when dey leaves you take some salt an' throw it at 'em when dey gits out of hearin' you cuss at 'em an' dey won't never come back again." following are some songs that used to be sung about conjure, etc.: son: "mother, make my bed down i will freely lie down, mother, make my bed down i will freely lie down" mother: "ransom, my son, what did she give you to eat? ransom, my son, what did she give you to eat? son: "red head (parched lizard) and speckle back oh, make my bed down i will freely lie down." "i'm goin' to pizen (poison) you, i'm goin' to pizen you, i'm jus' sick an' tired of de way you do, i'm goin' to sprinkle spider legs 'roun yo' bed an' you gonna wake up in de mornin' an find yourself dead" "you beat me an' you kick me an' you black my eyes, i'm gonna take dis butcher knife an' hew you down to my size, you mark my words, my name is lou, you mind out what i say, i'm goin' to pizen you." positive cures and controls mrs. rush says that backache can be cured by rubbing a hot iron up and down the afflicted person's back. asafetida tied around the neck will prevent smallpox. risings can be cured by rubbing them with a poultice made from house-leak root. to prevent a fall while walking from one side of a creek to the other on a log, place a small stick crosswise in the front-teeth and no mishap will result. hold the mouth full of water while peeling onions and the onion juice will not get in the eyes. if a man wishes to make a woman fall in love with him all that he has to do is to take some of her hair, tie it up, and then throw it in running water. in a short while she will fall deeply in love with him. a man may also cause a woman to fall in love with him by letting her drink whiskey in which he has allowed "gin-root" to soak. if a woman wishes to make a man fall in love with her she has only to take the small bow usually found in the back of a man's cap on the sweatband, or the bow usually found on the band of the man's hat. after this has been secured it must be taken and worn under her clothes next to her body. witch riding mrs. betty brown of butler street, n.e. says that when people die angry with someone they usually come back after death in the form of a witch and then they ride the person that they were angry with at the time of their death. according to mr. favors who lives at raymond street, when a witch rides anyone it is a sign that a man, a woman, or a dog, is after that person. mrs. julia rush says: "de old folks uster call witches hags. dey wus some kind of sperrits (spirits) an' dey would ride anybody. my grandmother uster sleep wid de sissors under her pillow to keep 'em away." "i once heerd a woman dat a witch come to a house one night an' took her skin off an' went through de key hole. somebody foun' de skin an' sprinkled salt on it an' when de witch come out she could'nt git in de skin an' she started saying: 'skinny, skinny, don't you know me?'" regarding witches mr. leonard made the following statement: "the old folks b'lieved dat any house a person died in was "hainted" and dat de dead person's spirit was a witch dat would come back at night. they used to put a pan of salt on de corpse to keep it fum purgin' an' to keep de witches away. they burned lamps all night long fer about three weeks after de person was dead an' they sprinkled salt an' pepper 'roun too to keep de witches away." another informant claims that if a person sleeps with his or her shoes under the bed the witches are liable to ride him. mr. strickland says that when the witches are riding anyone if that person can say any three words of the bible such as: "lord have mercy," or "jesus save me" the witch will stop riding. apparitions and ghosts mr. henry holmes claims that he has seen the jack o'lantern and that at one time he even followed it. he says: "one night me an' two more fellows followed de jack o'lantern. it looked like a light in a house or sumpin. we did'nt know where we wus until de nex' mornin' an' when we did find ourselfs we wus at home. all de while we followed it it jus' kep' goin' further an' further until it jus' vanished." according to mr. leonard the jack o'lantern is a light that comes out of the swamps at night and after getting in front of a person it will lead him on and on. the old folks also used to think that the vapor seen rising out of the swamps at night were ghosts. one night he and his grandfather were walking down the railroad tracks when suddenly his grandfather said: "stand back dere george don't you see dat man walkin' 'long dere wid no head?" he says, however, that he himself failed to see any such thing. according to both mrs. brown and mrs. [rush?] people who are born with cauls (a kind of a veil) over their eyes are able to see ghosts. customs concerning courtship and marriage mr. leonard says that a young man wishing to accompany a young woman to her home always spoke in the following manner: "dear kind miss, if you have no objection of my being your protection, i'm going in your direction." it was in this manner that he asked her to allow him to escort her home. for several years after freedom was declared it was the custom for the bride and the groom to jump over the broom together before they were pronounced man and wife. hunting lore the best time to hunt 'possums is on a cloudy night just before the break of day. all of the big ones are out then mr. favors claims. compilation folklore interviews--richmond county conjuration written by: louise oliphant federal writers' project augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth, district supervisor, residencies & , federal writers' project augusta, georgia conjuration richmond county's older colored citizens, particularly the few surviving ex-slaves, are outspoken in their firm belief concerning powers of conjurers and root workers. "when it comes to conjuration, don't nobody know more 'bout that, and there ain't nobody had as much of it done to 'em as i have," said a wizened old woman. "i know nobody could stand what i have stood. the first i knowed 'bout conjuration was when a woman named lucinda hurt my sister. she was always a 'big me,' and her chillun was better than anybody elses. well her oldest child got pregnant and that worried lucinda nearly to death. she thought everybody she seed was talkin' 'bout her child. one day she passed my sister and another 'oman standin' on the street laughin' and talkin'. lucinda was so worried 'bout her daughter she thought they was laughin' at her. she got so mad she cussed 'em out right there and told 'em their 'turn was in the mill.' my sister called the other 'oman in the house and shut the door to keep from listenin' at her. that made it wuss. "'bout three weeks later my sister started complainin'. us had two or three doctors with her, but none of 'em done her any good. the more doctors us got the wuss she got. finally all of the doctors give her up and told us there warn't nothin' they could do. after she had been sick 'bout two months she told us 'bout a strange man comin' to her house a few days 'fore she took sick. she said he had been there three or four times. she 'membered it when he come back after she took sick and offered to do somethin' for her. the doctors hadn't done her no good and she was just 'bout to let him doctor on her when this 'oman that was with her the day lucinda cussed 'em out told her he was lucinda's great uncle. she said that everybody called him the greatest root worker in south carolina. then my sister thought 'bout how this man had come to her house and asked for water every time. he wouldn't ever let her get the water for him, he always went to the pump and got it hisself. after he had pumped it off real cool he would always offer to get a bucket full for her. she didn't think nothin' 'bout it and she would let him fill her bucket. that's how he got her. "she stayed sick a long time and mamie stayed by her bed 'til she died. i noticed mamie wipin' her mouth every few minutes, so one day i asked her what did she keep wipin' from my sister's mouth. she told me it wasn't nothin' but spit. but i had got very anxious to know so i stood by her head myself. finally i seed what it was. small spiders came crawlin' out of her mouth and nose. mamie thought it would skeer me, that's why she didn't want me to know. "that happened on tuesday and that friday when she died a small snake come out of her forehead and stood straight up and stuck his tongue out at us. a old man who was sittin' there with us caught the snake, put him in a bottle, and kept him 'bout two weeks before he died. "don't think lucinda didn't have pore mamie conjured too. mamie took sick just one month after my sister died. after she found out the doctors couldn't do her no good, she got a real good root worker to doctor on her. he got her up and she stayed up for nearly a year before lucinda doubled the dose. that time pore mamie couldn't git up. she suffered and suffered before she died. but lucinda got her pay for all of it. when mamie died lucinda come to see her and said 'some folks was better off dead anyhow'. mamie's daughter started to jump on her but some of the old folks wouldn't let her. "lucinda went a long time, but when she fell she sho' fell hard. she almost went crazy. she stayed sick as long as my sister and mamie put together. she got so bad off 'til nobody couldn't even go in her house. everybody said she was reapin' what she sowed. she wouldn't even let her own chillun come in the house. after she got so sick she couldn't get off the bed she would cuss 'em and yell to the top of her voice 'til they left. nobody didn't feel sorry for her 'cause they knowed she had done too much devilment. "just 'fore she died, lucinda was so sick and everybody was talkin' 'bout it was such a shame for her to have to stay there by herself that her youngest daughter and her husband went to live with her. her daughter was 'fraid to go by herself. when she died you could stand in the street and hear her cussin' and yellin'. she kept sayin' 'take 'em off of me, i ain't done nothin' to 'em. tell 'em i didn't hurt 'em, don't let 'em kill me.' and all of a sudden she would start cussin' god and anybody she could think of. when she died it took four men to hold her down in the bed." "i've been sick so much 'til i can look at other folks when they're sick and tell if its natural sickness or not. once i seed my face always looked like dirty dish water grease was on it every mornin' 'fore i washed it. then after i washed it in the places where the grease was would be places that looked like fish scales. then these places would turn into sores. i went to three doctors and every one of 'em said it was poison grease on my face. i knowed i hadn't put no kind of grease on it, so i couldn't see where it was comin' from. every time i told my husband 'bout it he got mad, but i never paid too much 'tention to that. then one day i was tellin' a friend of mine 'bout it, and she told me my husband must be doin' it. i wondered why he would do such a thing and she said he was just 'bout jealous of me. "the last doctor i went to give me somethin' to put on my face and it really cleared the sores up. but i noticed my husband when my face got clear and he really looked mad. he started grumblin' 'bout every little thing, right or wrong. then one day he brought me a black hen for dinner. my mind told me not to eat the chicken so i told him i wanted to keep the hen and he got mad 'bout that. 'bout two or three days later i noticed a big knot on the side of the chicken's head and it bursted inside of that same week. the chicken started drooping 'round and in a week's time that chicken was dead. you see that chicken was poison. "after that my husband got so fussy i had to start sleepin' in another room. i was still sick, so one day he brought me some medicine he said he got from dr. traylor. i tried to take a dose 'cause i knowed if it was from dr. traylor it was all right, but that medicine burnt me just like lye. i didn't even try to take no more of it. i got some medicine from the doctor myself and put it in the bottom of the sideboard. i took 'bout three doses out of it and it was doing me good, but when i started to take the fourth dose it had lye in it and i had to throw it away. i went and had the doctor to give me another bottle and i called myself hidin' it, but after i took 'bout six doses, lye was put in it. then one day a friend of mine, who come from my husband's home, told me he was a root worker and she thought i already knowed it. well i knowed then how he could find my medicine everytime i hid it. you see he didn't have to do nothin' but run his cards. from then on i carried my medicine 'round in my apron pocket. "i started sleepin' in the kitchen on a cot 'cause his mother was usin' the other room and i didn't want to sleep with her. late at night he would come to the window and blow somethin' in there to make me feel real bad. things can be blowed through the key hole too. i know 'cause i have had it done to me. this kept up for 'bout a year and five or six months. then 'cause he seed he couldn't do just what he wanted to, he told me to get out. i went 'cause i thought that might help me to git out of my misery. but it didn't 'cause he come where i was every night. he never did try to come in, but us would hear somebody stumblin' in the yard and whenever us looked out to see who it was us always found it was him. us told him that us seed him out there, but he always denied it. he does it right now or sometimes he gets other root workers to do it for him. whenever i go out in the yard my feet always feel like they are twistin' over and i can't stop 'em; my legs and knees feel like somethin' is drawin' 'em, and my head starts swimmin'. i know what's wrong, it just what he had put down for me. "when i get up in the mornin' i always have to put sulphur and salt and pepper in my shoes to keep down the devilment he puts out for me. a man who can do that kind of work give me somethin' to help me, but i was s'posed to go back in six months and i ain't been back. that's why it's started worryin' me again. "my sister was conjured by openin' the door and eatin' afterwards without washin' her hands," an -year old ex-slave remarked. "she had just come home and opened her front door and went in the house to eat before goin' to church. she et her supper and started to church with another of my sisters. after she had gone 'bout two or three blocks she started feelin' sick and walkin' as if she was drunk. my sister tried to make her go back home but she wouldn't. when they got to church she couldn't hardly get up the steps and they warn't in church over fifteen minutes 'fore she had a stroke. somebody took a car and carried her home. she couldn't even speak for more than a week. the doctor come and 'xamined her, but he said he didn't see nothin' that would cause her to have a stroke. he treated her for 'bout two weeks but she didn't get no better. a friend told us to try a root worker. she said she knowed one that was good on such things. us was afraid at first, but after the three doctors us had tried didn't seem to do her no good, us decided to get the root worker. "the root worker come that wednesday mornin' and looked at her, but he never touched her. he told us she had been hurt, but he could have her on her feet in 'bout a week or ten days. he didn't give her no medicine, and he never come back 'til after she was up and walkin' 'round. she got up in 'bout seven days, and started talkin' earlier than that. the root worker told her she had got conjured by puttin' her hands on somethin' and eatin' without washin' 'em. "she got along fine for 'bout three years, 'til one day she got home from work and found her house open. she thought her son had gone out and forgot to lock the door. when he come home he told her he had not been back since he left that mornin'. she knowed she didn't forget to lock it, so she guessed somebody had jus 'bout gone in through the window and come out the door. but it was too late then 'cause she had et what was left in the house and had drunk some water. "that night she had her second stroke. us sent for the same man who had got her up before, but he said he doubted gettin' her up this time 'cause the person had made a good job of it by puttin' somethin' in her water and t'eat. he treated her, and she got strong enough to sit up in the house, but she soon had the third stroke and then he give her up. she died 'bout two months later. "i know you don't know how folks can really conjure you. i didn't at one time, but i sho' learnt. everytime somebody gets sick it ain't natchel sickness. i have seed folks die with what the doctors called consumption, and yet they didn't have it. i have seed people die with heart trouble, and they didn't have it. folks is havin' more strokes now than ever but they ain't natchel. i have seed folks fixed so they would bellow like a cow when they die, and i have seed 'em fixed so you have to tie them down in bed to die. i've got so i hardly trust anybody." estella jones thinks conjurers and root workers are much more skillful now than formerly. "folks don't kill you like they used to kill you. they used to put most anythin' in you, but now they got so wise or afraid that somebody will know zactly what killed you, 'til they do it slick as a eel. "once a man named john tried to go with a girl but her step-pa, willie, run him away from the house just like he mought be a dog, so john made it up in his mind to conjure willie. he went to the spring and planted somethin' in the mouth of it, and when willie went there the next day to get a drink he got the stuff in the water. a little while after he drunk the water he started gettin' sick. he tried to stay up but every day he got wuss and wuss 'til he got flat down in bed. "in a few days somethin' started growin' in his throat. every time they tried to give him soup or anythin' to eat, somethin' would come crawlin' up in his throat and choke him. that was what he had drunk in the spring, and he couldn't eat nothin' or drink nothin'. finally he got so bad off he claimed somethin' was chokin' him to death, and so his wife sont off and got a fortune teller. this fortune teller said it was a turtle in his throat. he 'scribed the man that had conjured willie but everybody knowed john had done it 'fore the fortune teller told us. it warn't long after that 'fore willie was dead. that turtle come up in his throat and choked him to death. "some folk don't believe me, but i ain't tellin' no tale 'bout it. i have asked root workers to tell me how they does these things, and one told me that it was easy for folks to put snakes, frogs, turtles, spiders, or most anythin' that you couldn't live with crawlin' and eatin' on the inside of you. he said these things was killed and put up to dry and then beat up into dust like. if any of this dust is put in somethin' you have to eat or drink, these things will come alive like they was eggs hatchin' in you. then the more they grow, the worse off you get. "my aun't son had took a girl away from another man who was going with her too. as soon as this man heard they was going to marry, he started studyin' some way to stop it. so he went to a root worker and got somethin' and then went to this girl's house one night when he knew my cousin was there. finally when he got ready to leave, he was smart enough to get my cousin to take a drink with him. "that next mornin' the boy was feelin' a little bad, but he never paid too much 'tention to it. next day he felt a little wuss, and everyday from then on he felt wuss and wuss 'til he got too sick to stay up. one day a old lady who lived next door told us to try a root worker who lived on jones street. this man came and told us what was wrong, but said us had waited too long to send for him. he give us some thin' to 'lieve the boy of his misery. us kept givin' this to him 'til he finally got up. course he warn't well by no means and this medicine didn't help his stomach. his stomach got so big everybody would ask what was wrong. he told everybody that asked him and some who didn't ask him 'bout the frogs in his stomach. the bigger these frogs got, the weaker he got. "after he had been sick 'bout four months and the frogs had got to be a pretty good size, you could hear 'em holler everytime he opened his mouth. he got to the place where he wouldn't talk much on account of this. his stomach stuck out so far, he looked like he weighed pounds. "after these frogs started hollerin' in him, he lived 'bout three weeks, and 'fore he died you could see the frogs jumpin' 'bout in him and you could even feel 'em. "t'ain't no need talkin'; folks can do anythin' to you they wants to. they can run you crazy or they can kill you. don't you one time believe that every pore pusson they has in the 'sylum is just natchelly crazy. some was run crazy on account of people not likin' 'em, some 'cause they was gettin' 'long a little too good. every time a pusson jumps in the river don't think he was just tryin' to kill hisself; most times he just didn't know what he was doin'. "my daughter was fixed right here under our noses. she was married and had five little chillun and she was the picture of health. but she had a friend that she trusted too much and this friend was single and in love with my daughter's husband. diff'unt people told liza 'bout this girl, but she just didn't believe 'em. every day this girl was at liza's house 'til time for lewis to git off from work. she helped liza wash, clean up, iron and cook, but she always left at the time for lewis to git off from work. "this went on for more'n a year, but i kept tellin' liza to ween off from this girl 'cause i seed she didn't mean her no good. but liza was grown and nobody couldn't tell her nothin'. i think she had liza fixed so she would be crazy 'bout her. people can make you love 'em, even marry 'em when if you was in your right mind you wouldn't give 'em a thought. anyhow liza went on with the girl 'til one afternoon while she was comin' from the store she seed lewis and edna goin' in a house together. he come home 'bout three hours later, and when liza asked him why he was so late he told her they had to work late. he didn't know she had seed him and she never told him. "after this she started watchin' him and edna, and she soon found out what folks had been tellin' her was true. still she never told lewis nothin' 'bout it. she told edna 'bout seein' 'em and asked her to please let lewis alone. edna made up some kind of s'cuse but she never let him alone, and she kept goin' to liza's house. when things finally went too far, liza spoke to lewis 'bout it and asked him to leave edna alone. he did, but that made edna mad and that's when she 'cided to kill liza. lewis really loved liza and would do anythin' she asked him to. "one day edna come to see liza, after she had stayed away for 'bout three weeks, and she was more lovin' than ever. she hung around 'til she got a chance to put somethin' in the water bucket, then she left. people can put somethin' in things for you and everybody else can eat or drink it, but it won't hurt nobody but the one it's put there for. when liza drunk water, she said it tasted like it had salt-peter in it. when she went to bed that night, she never got out 'til she was toted out. she suffered and suffered and we never knowed what was wrong 'til edna told it herself. she took very sick and 'fore she died she told one of her friends 'bout it and this friend told us, but it was too late then, liza was dead." compilation richmond county--ex-slave interviews folk remedies and superstition written by: louise oliphant federal writers' project augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, georgia belief in charms and conjurs is still prevalent among many of augusta's older negroes. signs and omens also play an important part in their lives, as do remedies and cures handed down by word of mouth from generation to generation. if a wrestler can get dirt from the head of a fresh grave, sew it up in a sack, and tie it around his waist, no one can throw him. to make a person leave town, get some dirt out of one of his tracks, sew it up in a sack, and throw it in running water. the person will keep going as long as the water runs. to take a hair out of a person's head and put it in a live fishes mouth will make the person keep traveling as long as the fish swims. if someone dies and comes back to worry you, nail some new lumber into your house and you won't be bothered any more. when the hands of a dead person remain limp, some other member of the family will soon follow him in death. when a spider builds a web in your house, you may expect a visitor the same color as the spider. a singing fire is a sign of snow. if a cat takes up at your house it's a sign of good luck; a dog--bad luck. if a spark of fire pops on you, it is a sign that you will receive some money or a letter. to dream of muddy water, maggots, or fresh meat is a sign of death. to dream of caskets is also a sign of death. you may expect to hear of as many deaths as there are caskets in the dream. to dream of blood is a sign of trouble. to dream of fish is a sign of motherhood. to dream of eggs is a sign of trouble unless the eggs are broken. if the eggs are broken, your trouble is ended. to dream of snakes is a sign of enemies. if you kill the snakes, you have conquered your enemies. to dream of fire is a sign of danger. to dream of a funeral is a sign of a wedding. to dream of a wedding is a sign of a funeral. to dream of silver money is a sign of bad luck; bills--good luck. to dream of dead folk is a sign of rain. wear a raw cotton string tied in nine knots around your waist to cure cramps. to stop nosebleed or hiccoughs cross two straws on top of your head. lick the back of your hand and swallow nine times without stopping to cure hiccoughs. tea made from rue is good for stomach worms. corn shuck tea is good for measles; fodder tea for asthma. goldenrod tea is good for chills and fever. richet weed tea is good for a laxative. tea made from parched egg shells or green coffee is good for leucorrhoea. black snuff, alum, a piece of camphor, and red vaseline mixed together is a sure cure for piles. to rid yourself of a corn, grease it with a mixture of castor oil and kerosine and then soak the foot in warm water. sulphur mixed with lard is good for bad blood. a cloth heated in melted tallow will give relief when applied to a pain in any part of the body. take a pinch of sulphur in the mouth and drink water behind it to cleanse the blood. dog fern is good for colds and fever; boneset tea will serve the same purpose. catnip tea is good for measles or hives. if your right shoe comes unlaced, someone is saying good things about you; left shoe--bad things. if a chunk of fire falls from the fireplace a visitor is coming. if the chunk is short and large the person will be short and fat, etc. don't buy new things for a sick person; if you do he will not live to wear it out. if a person who has money dies without telling where it is, a friend or relative can find it by going to his grave three nights in succession and throwing stones on it. on the fourth night he must go alone, and the person will tell him where the money is hidden. if a witch rides you, put a sifter under the bed and he will have to count the holes in the sifter before he goes out, thus giving you time to catch him. starch your sweetheart's handkerchief and he will love you more. don't give your sweetheart a knife. it will cut your love in two. if it rains while the sun is shining the devil is beating his wife. to bite your tongue while talking is a sign that you have told a lie. persons with gaps between their front teeth are big liars. cut your finger nails on monday, you cut them for news; cut them on tuesday, get a new pair of shoes; cut them on wednesday, you cut them for wealth; cut them on thursday, you cut them for health; cut them on friday, you cut them for sorrow; cut them on saturday, see your sweetheart tomorrow; cut them on sunday, its safety to seek; but the devil will have you the rest of the week. if you start some place and forget something don't turn around without making a cross mark and spitting in it, if you do you will have bad luck. to stump your right foot is good luck, but to stump your left foot is bad luck. to prevent the bad luck you must turn around three times. it is bad luck for a black cat to cross you to the left, but good luck if he crosses you to the right. if a picture of a person falls off the wall it is a sign of death. to dream of crying is a sign of trouble. to dream of dancing is a sign of happiness. if you meet a gray horse pulling a load of hay, a red haired person will soon follow. if you are eating and drop something when you are about to put it in your mouth someone wishes it. if a child never sees his father he will make a good doctor. to dream that your teeth fall out is a sign of death in the family. to dream of a woman's death is a sign of some man's death. to dream of a man's death is the sign of some woman's death. if a chicken sings early in the morning a hawk will catch him before night. always plant corn on the waste of the moon in order for it to yield a good crop. if planted on the growing of the moon there will be more stalk than corn. when there is a new moon, hold up anything you want and make a wish for it and you will get it. if you hear a voice call you and you are not sure it is really someone, don't answer because it may be your spirit, and if you answer it will be a sure sign of death. cross eyed women are bad luck to other women, but cross eyed men are good luck to women and vice-versa for men. to wear a dime around your ankle will ward off witch craft. to put a silver dime in your mouth will determine whether or not you have been bewitched. if the dime turns black, someone has bewitched you, but if it keeps its color, no one has bewitched you. to take a strand of a person's hair and nail it in a tree will run that person crazy. if a rooster crows on your back steps you may look for a stranger. chinaberries are good for wormy children. the top of a pine tree and the top of a cedar tree placed over a large coal of fire, just enough to make a good smoke, will cure chillblain feet. compilation richmond county ex-slave interviews mistreatment of slaves written by: louise oliphant, federal writers' project augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth, district supervisor, federal writers' project augusta, georgia there are many ex-slaves living in richmond county and augusta who have vivid recollections of the days when their lives were inseparably bound to those of their masters. these people have a past rich in tradition and sentiment, and their memories of customs, habits of work and play, and the superstitious beliefs, which still govern their actions to a large extent weave a colorful pattern in local history. mistreatment at the hands of their masters and the watchdog overseers is outstanding in the memory of most of them. "when i was in slavery, us had what you call good white folk. they warn't rich by no means, but they was good. us had rather have 'em poor and good than rich and mean. plenty of white folk mistreated they slaves, but ours never mistreated us. they was a man lived in callin' distance, on the next plantation, who worked his slaves day and night and on sunday for a rarety. you could hear 'em coming from the field about o'clock at night, and they had to be back in the fields by daylight. they couldn't get off on saturday nights like everbody else. whenever he bought their clothes, it was on sunday when they warn't workin'. he was mean, but he was good about buyin' for 'em, new shoes or a suit or anything of the like they said they needed. "marster had overseers, but he wouldn't let 'em whip his slaves unmerciful. they always whipped us just as your mamas whips you now. "bob lampkin was the meanest slave owner i ever knowed. he would beat his slaves and everybody else's he caught in the road. he was so mean 'til god let him freeze to death. he come to town and got drunk and when he was going back home in his buggy, he froze stiff going up race creek hill. white and colored was glad when he died. "his slaves used to run away whenever they got a chance. i 'member he had a real pretty gal on his place. she was light brown and was built up better than anybody i ever saw. one of the overseers was crazy about her, but her mother had told her not to let any of 'em go with her. so this old overseer would stick close 'round her when they was workin', just so he could get a chance to say somethin' to her. he kept followin' this child and followin' this child until she almost went crazy. way afterwhile she run away and come to our house and stayed 'bout three days. when my marster found out she was there, he told her she would have to go back, or at least she would have to leave his place. he didn't want no trouble with nobody. when that child left us she stayed in the woods until she got so hungry she just had to go back. this old man was mad with her for leavin', and one day while she was in the field he started at her again and when she told him flat footed she warn't goin' with him he took the big end of his cow hide and struck her in the back so hard it knocked her plumb crazy. it was a big lake of water about ten yards in front of 'em, and if her mother hadn't run and caught her she would have walked right in it and drowned. "in them times white men went with colored gals and women bold. any time they saw one and wanted her, she had to go with him, and his wife didn't say nothin' 'bout it. not only the men, but the women went with colored men too. that's why so many women slave owners wouldn't marry, 'cause they was goin' with one of their slaves. these things that's goin' on now ain't new, they been happenin'. that's why i say you just as well leave 'em alone 'cause they gwine to do what they want to anyhow. "my marster never did whip any grown folk. he whipped chillun when they did anything wrong. he didn't 'low us to eat plums before breakfus, but all the chillun, his too, would die or do it, so every time he caught us he would whip us." another ex-slave recalled that "you had to call all your marster's chillun marster or mistis, even the babies. you never wore enough clothes and you always suffered for comfort. us warn't even 'lowed to have fire. if you had a fireplace in your house, it was took out and the place closed up. if you was ever caught with fire you was beat 'most to death. many mothers died in confinement on account of takin' cold 'cause us couldn't have fire. "my young marster tried to go with me, and 'cause i wouldn't go with him he pretended i had done somethin' and beat me. i fought him back because he had no right to beat me for not goin' with him. his mother got mad with me for fightin' him back and i told her why he had beat me. well then she sent me to the courthouse to be whipped for fightin' him. they had stocks there where most people would send their slaves to be whipped. these stocks was in the shape of a cross, and they would strap your clothes up around your waist and have nothin' but your naked part out to whip. they didn't care about who saw your nakedness. anyway they beat me that day until i couldn't sit down. when i went to bed i had to lie on my stomach to sleep. after they finished whippin' me, i told them they needn't think they had done somethin' by strippin' me in front of all them folk 'cause they had also stripped their mamas and sisters. god had made us all, and he made us just alike. "they never carried me back home after that; they put me in the nigger trader's office to be sold. about two days later i was sold to a man at mcbean. when i went to his place everbody told me as soon as i got there how mean he was and they said his wife was still meaner. she was jealous of me because i was light; said she didn't know what her husband wanted to bring that half white nigger there for, and if he didn't get rid of me pretty quick she was goin' to leave. well he didn't get rid of me and she left about a month after i got there. when he saw she warn't comin' back 'til he got rid of me, he brought me back to the nigger trader's office. "as long as you warn't sold, your marster was 'sponsible for you, so whenever they put you on the market you had to praise yourself in order to be sold right away. if you didn't praise yourself you got a beatin'. i didn't stay in the market long. a dissipated woman bought me and i done laundry work for her and other dissipated women to pay my board 'til freedom come. they was all very nice to me. "whenever you was sold your folk never knowed about it 'til afterwards, and sometimes they never saw you again. they didn't even know who you was sold to or where they was carryin' you, unless you could write back and tell 'em. "the market was in the middle of broad and center streets. they made a scaffold whenever they was goin' to sell anybody, and would put the person up on this so everybody could see him good. then they would sell him to the highest bidder. everybody wanted women who would have children fast. they would always ask you if you was a good breeder, and if so they would buy you at your word, but if you had already had too many chillun, they would say you warn't much good. if you hadn't ever had any chillun, your marster would tell 'em you was strong, healthy, and a fast worker. you had to have somethin' about you to be sold. now sometimes, if you was a real pretty young gal, somebody would buy you without knowin' anythin' 'bout you, just for yourself. before my old marster died, he had a pretty gal he was goin' with and he wouldn't let her work nowhere but in the house, and his wife nor nobody else didn't say nothin' 'bout it; they knowed better. she had three chillun for him and when he died his brother come and got the gal and the chillun. "one white lady that lived near us at mcbean slipped in a colored gal's room and cut her baby's head clean off 'cause it belonged to her husband. he beat her 'bout it and started to kill her, but she begged so i reckon he got to feelin' sorry for her. but he kept goin' with the colored gal and they had more chillun. "i never will forget how my marster beat a pore old woman so she couldn't even get up. and 'cause she couldn't get up when he told her to, he hit her on the head with a long piece of iron and broke her skull. then he made one of the other slaves take her to the jail. she suffered in jail all night, and the jailer heard her moanin' and groanin', so the next mornin' he made marster come and get her. he was so mad 'cause he had to take her out of jail that he had water pumped into her skull just as soon as he got back home. then he dropped her down in a field and she died 'fore night. that was a sad time. you saw your own folk killed and couldn't say a word 'bout it; if you did you would be beat and sometimes killed too. "a man in callin' distance from our place had a whippin' pole. this man was just as mean as he could be. i know he is in hell now, and he ought to be. a woman on his place had twins and she warn't strong from the beginnin'. the day after the chillun was borned, he told her to go over to his house and scrub it from front to back. she went over to the house and scrubbed two rooms and was so sick she had to lay down on the floor and rest awhile. his wife told her to go on back to her house and get in bed but she was afraid. finally she got up and scrubbed another room and while she was carryin' the water out she fainted. the mistress had some of the men carry her home and got another slave to finish the scrubbin' so the marster wouldn't beat the pore nigger. she was a good woman but her husband was mean as the devil. he would even beat her. when he got home that night he didn't say nothin' 'cause the house had been scrubbed, but the next mornin' one of the chillun told him about the woman faintin' and the other girl finishin' the scrubbin'. he got mad and said his wife was cloakin' for the slaves, that there was nothin' wrong with the woman, she was just lazy. he beat his wife, then went out and tied the pore colored woman to a whippin' pole and beat her unmerciful. he left her hangin' on the pole and went to church. when he got back she was dead. he had the slaves take her down and bury her in a box. he said that laziness had killed her and that she warn't worth the box she was buried in. the babies died the next day and he said he was glad of it 'cause they would grow up lazy just like their mother. "my marster had a barrel with nails drove in it that he would put you in when he couldn't think of nothin' else mean enough to do. he would put you in this barrel and roll it down a hill. when you got out you would be in a bad fix, but he didn't care. sometimes he rolled the barrel in the river and drowned his slaves. "i had a brother who worked at the acadamy and every night when the teacher had his class he would let my brother come in. he taught him to read and write too. he learned to read and write real well and the teacher said he was the smartest one in the class. marster passed our window one night and heard him readin'. the next mornin' he called him over to the house and fooled him into readin' and writin', told him he had somethin' he wanted him to do if he could read and write good enough. my brother read everythin' marster give him and wrote with a pencil and ink pen. marster was so mad that he could read and write better than his own boy that he beat him, took him away from the academy, and put him to work in the blacksmith shop. marster wouldn't let him wear no shoes in the shop 'cause he wanted the hot cinders to fall on his feet to punish him. when the man in charge of the shop told marster he wouldn't work my brother unless he had on shoes, he bought some brogans that he knowed he couldn't wear, and from then on he made him do the hardest kind of work he could think of. "my marster never whipped us himself. he had a coachman do all the whippin' and he stood by to see that it was done right. he whipped us until we was blistered and then took a cat-o-nine-tails and busted the blisters. after that he would throw salty water on the raw places. i mean it almost gave you spasms. whenever they sent you to the courthouse to be whipped the jail keeper's daughter give you a kick after they put you in the stocks. she kicked me once and when they took me out i sho did beat her. i scratched her everwhere i could and i knowed they would beat me again, but i didn't care so long as i had fixed her." one ex-slave "belonged to an old lady who was a widow. this lady was very good to me. of course most people said it was 'cause her son was my father. but she was just good to all of us. she did keep me in the house with her. she knowed i was her son's child all right. when i married, i still stayed with my mistress 'til she died. my husband stayed with his marster in the day time and would come and stay with me at night. "when my mistress died i had to be sold. my husband told me to ask his marster to buy me. he didn't want me to belong to him because i would have to work real hard and i hadn't been use to no hard work, but he was so afraid somebody would buy me and carry me somewhere way off, 'til he decided it was best for his marster to buy me. so his marster bought me and give me and my husband to his son. i kept house and washed for his son as long as he was single. when he married his wife changed me from the house and put me in the field and she put one of the slaves her mother give her when she married, in the kitchen. my marster's wife was very mean to all of us. she didn't like me at all. she sold my oldest child to somebody where i couldn't ever see him any more and kept me. she just did that to hurt me. she took my baby child and put her in the house with her to nurse her baby and make fire. and all while she was in the house with her she had to sleep on the floor. "whenever she got mad with us she would take the cow hide, that's what she whipped us with, and whip us 'til the blood ran down. her house was high off the ground and one night the calf went under the house and made water. the next morning she saw it, so she took two of my sister-in-law's chillun and carried 'em in the kitchen and tied 'em. she did this while her husband was gone. you see if he had been there he wouldn't have let her done that. she took herself a chair and sit down and made one of the slaves she brought there with her whip those chillun so 'til all of the slaves on the place was cryin'. one of the slaves run all the way where our marster was and got him. he come back as quick as he could and tried to make her open the door, but she wouldn't do it so he had to break the door in to make her stop whippin' them chillun. the chillun couldn't even cry when he got there. and when he asked her what she was whippin' them for she told him that they had went under the house and made that water. my master had two of the men to take 'em over to our house, but they was small and neither one ever got over that whippin'. one died two days later and the other one died about a month afterwards. everybody hated her after that. "just before freedom declared, my husband took very sick and she took her husband and come to my house to make him get up. i told her that he was not able to work, but my husband was so scared they would beat me to death 'til he begged me to hush. i expect marster would have if he hadn't been scared of his father. you see his father give me to him. he told me if the legislature set in his behalf he would make me know a nigger's place. you know it was near freedom. i told him if he made my husband get out of bed as sick as he was and go to work, i would tell his father if he killed me afterwards. and that's one time i was goin' to fight with 'em. i never was scared of none of 'em, so i told 'em if they touched my husband they wouldn't touch nothin' else. they wouldn't give us nothin' to eat that whole day. "course we never did have much to eat. at night they would give us a teacup of meal and a slice of bacon a piece for breakfus' the next mornin'. if you had chillun they would give you a teacup of meal for two chillun. by day light the next mornin' the overseer was at your house to see if you was out, and if you hadn't cooked and eat and got out of that house he would take that bull whip, and whip you nearly to death. he carried that bull whip with him everywhere he went. "those folks killed one of my husband's brothers. he was kind of crack-brained, and 'cause he was half crazy, they beat him all the time. the last time they beat him we was in the field and this overseer beat him with that bull hide all across the head and everywhere. he beat him until he fell down on his knees and couldn't even say a word. and do you know he wouldn't even let a one of us go to see about him. he stayed stretched out in the the field 'til us went home. the next mornin' he was found dead right where he had beat him that evenin'. "'bout two or three weeks later than that they told one of the slaves they was goin' to beat him after we quit work that evenin'. his name was josh. "when the overseer went to the other end of the field josh dropped his hoe and walked off. nobody saw him anymore for about three weeks. he was the best hand us had and us sho' did need him. our master went everywhere he could think of, lookin' for josh, but he couldn't find him and we was glad of it. after he looked and looked and couldn't find him he told all of us to tell josh to come back if we knowed where he was. he said if josh would come back he wouldn't whip him, wouldn't let the overseer whip him. my husband knowed where he was but he warn't goin' to tell nobody. josh would come to our house every night and us would give him some of what us had for dinner and supper. us always saved it for him. us would eat breakfus' at our house, but all of us et dinner and supper at the mess house together. everyday when i et dinner and supper i would take a part of mine and my husband would take a part of his and us would carry it to our house for pore josh. 'bout 'leven o'clock at night, when everybody was sleep, josh would come to the side window and get what us had for him. it's really a shame the way that pore man had to hide about just to keep from bein' beat to death 'bout nothin'. josh said the first day he left he went in the woods and looked and looked for a place to hide. later he saw a tree that the wind had blowed the top off and left 'bout ten feet standin'. this was rather a big tree and all of the insides had rotted out. i reckon you have seen trees like that. well that's the way this one was. so josh climbed up this tree and got down inside of it. he didn't know there was nothin' down in that tree, but there was some little baby bears in there. then there he was down there with no way to come out, and knowin' all the time that the mama bear was comin' back. so he thought and thought and thought. after while he thought 'bout a knife he had in his pocket. you see he couldn't climb out of the tree, it was too tall. when he heard the bear climbin' up the tree he opened his knife. have you ever seen a bear comin' down a tree? well he comes down backwards. so when this bear started down inside of the tree he went down backwards, and josh had his knife open and just caught him by the tail and begin stickin' him with the knife. that's the way josh got out of that tree. when he stuck the bear with the knife the bear went back up the tree, and that pulled josh up. and when the bear got to the top of the tree josh caught a hold of the tree and pulled himself on out, but the bear fell and broke his neck. well josh had to find him somewhere else to hide. in them times there was big caves in the woods, not only the woods but all over the country, and that's where pore josh hid all while he was away. josh stayed there in that cave a long time then he come on back home. he didn't get a whippin' either." childhood memories were recalled by an old woman who said: "when i was about nine years old, for about six months, i slept on a crocus bag sheet in order to get up and nurse the babies when they cried. do you see this finger? you wonder why its broke? well one night the babies cried and i didn't wake up right away to 'tend to 'em and my mistess jumped out of bed, grabbed the piece of iron that was used to push up the fire and began beatin' me with it. that's the night this finger got broke, she hit me on it. i have two more fingers she broke beatin' me at diff'unt times. she made me break this leg too. you see they would put the women in stocks and beat 'em whenever they done somethin' wrong. that's the way my leg was broke. you see us had to call all of our marster's chillun 'mistess' or 'marster.' one day i forgot to call one of my young mistesses, 'miss.' she was about eight or nine months old. my mistess heard me and put me in a stock and beat me. while she was beatin' me, i turned my leg by some means and broke it. don't you think she quit beatin' me 'cause i had broke my leg. no, that made no diff'unce to her. that's been years ago, but it still worries me now. now other times when you called your marster's chillun by their names, they would strip you and let the child beat you. it didn't matter whether the child was large or small, and they always beat you 'til the blood ran down. "have you ever slept in the grave yard? i know you haven't but i have. many a time when i was told that i was goin' to get a beatin', i would hide away in the cemetery where i stayed all night layin' in gullies between graves prayin'. all night long i could see little lights runnin' all over the grave yard, and i could see ha'nts, and hear 'em sayin' 'uh, uh, uh, uh, uh,' which meant they were pityin' my case. "when they whipped the men, all their clothes was took off, their hands was fastened together and then they wound 'em up in the air to a post and tied their feet to the bottom of the post. they would begin whippin' 'em at sundown, and sometimes they would be whippin' 'em as late as 'leven o'clock at night. you could hear 'em cryin' and prayin' a long ways off. when they prayed for the lord to have mercy, their marster would cuss the lord and tell 'em they better not call his name again." the whipping pole, as described by lizzie, was a long post several feet in diameter to which was attached a long rope through a pulley. on one end was a device, similiar to the modern handcuff--the other end was used to draw the hand to an upward position, thereby, rendering the individual helpless. at the base of the pole was a clamp like instrument which held the feet in a motionless position. roy redfield recalls going to the courthouse and seeing the older slaves whipped. "when i would go there with my young marster i would see 'em whippin' the slaves. you see they had stocks there then, and they wouldn't put you in jail like they do now. your marster or mistess would send you to the courthouse with a note and they would put you in them stocks and beat you, then they would give you a note and send you back. they never did beat me, if they had my old mistess would have raised sand with 'em. whenever i was whipped my mother did it. i warn't no slave and my ma neither, but my pa was. "when they whipped you they would strap you down in them stocks, then a man would wind the whippin' machine and beat you 'til they had given you the number of lashes your boss had on the note. i didn't see them whippin' any women there, so i can't say they did and i can't say they didn't. "my master wouldn't let us go to school, but his chillun would slip 'round and teach us what they could out of their books. they would also give us books to read. whenever their pa or ma caught them tryin' to teach us they always whipped them. i learned to read and write from 'em and i'll never forget how hard it was for 'em to get a chance to teach me. but if they caught you tryin' to write they would cut your finger off and if they caught you again they would cut your head off. "when i was a young man, a old man stole the head and pluck (pluck is the liver and lites) out of the hog (some people call it the haslet) and hid it up in the loft of his house. when his marster missed it he went to this man's house lookin' for it. the man told him that he didn't have it. he had already told his wife if his marster come not to own it either. well his master kept askin' him over and over 'bout the head and pluck, but they denied having it. the marster told 'em if they didn't give it to him and that quick he was goin' to give 'em a thousand lashes each, if less didn't kill 'em. this woman's husband told her not to own it. he told her to take three thousand lashes and don't own it. so their marster whipped her and whipped her, but she wouldn't own it. finally he quit whippin' her and started whippin' the old man. just as soon as he started whippin' the man he told his wife to go up in the loft of the house and throw the head and pluck down 'cause he didn't want it. "you always had to get a pass when goin' out. sometimes, when you wouldn't be thinking, a patter roller would step up to the door and ask who was there. if any visitor was there they would ask 'em to show their pass. if you didn't have a pass they would take you out and beat you, then make you go home and when you got home, your marster would take you to the barn, strip you buck naked, tie you to a post and beat you. us didn't have to get passes whenever us wanted to go visitin'. all us had to do was tell 'em who us belonged to, and they always let us by. they knowed our marster would let us go 'thout passes. "us used to go to barn dances all the time. i never will forget the fellow who played the fiddle for them dances. he had run away from his marster seven years before. he lived in a cave he had dug in the ground. he stayed in this cave all day and would come out at night. this cave was in the swamp. he stole just 'bout everythin' he et. his marster had been tryin' to catch him for a long time. well they found out he was playin' for these dances and one night us saw some strange lookin' men come in but us didn't pay it much 'tention. us always made a big oak fire and thats where us got mos' of our light from. well these men danced with the girls a good while and after a while they started goin' out one by one. way after while they all came back in together, they had washed the blackenin' off their faces, and us seen they was white. this man had a song he would always sing. 'fooled my marster seven years--expect to fool him seven more.' so when these men came in they went to him and told him maybe he had fooled 'em for seven years, but he wouldn't fool 'em seven more. when they started to grab him he just reached in the fire and got a piece of wood that was burnin' good on one end and waved it all around (in a circle) until he set three of 'em on fire. while they was puttin' this fire out he run out in the swamp and back in his cave. they tried to catch him again. they painted their faces and done just like they did the first time, but this time they carried pistols. when they pulled their pistols on him he did just like he did the first time, and they never did catch him. he stopped comin' to play for the dances after they was straight after him. dogs couldn't trail him 'cause he kept his feet rubbed with onions. "i have seen some marsters make their slaves walk in snow knee deep, barefooted. their heels would be cracked open jus' like corn bread. "the only real mean thing they did to us when i was young was to sell my father when our marster died. they sold him to somebody way off, and they promised to bring him back to see us, but they never did. we always wished he would come, but until this day us hasn't laid eyes on him again. my mother worried 'bout him 'til she died. "chillun didn't know what shoes was 'til they was 'bout fifteen years old. they would go a mile or a mile and a half in the snow for water anytime, and the only thin' they ever had on their feet would be somethin' made out of home-spun. you don't hardly hear of chilblain feet now, but then most every child you saw had cracked heels. the first pair of shoes i ever wore, i was sixteen years old, was too small for me and i pulled 'em off and throwed 'em in the fire." [hw: dist. # ex. slave # ] slavery by ruby lorraine radford compilation made from interviews with slaves and information from slavery laws and old newspaper files [date stamp: may ] slavery the ex-slaves interviewed ranged in ages from to years old. out of about thirty-five negroes contacted only two seemed to feel bitter over memories of slave days. all the others spoke with much feeling and gratitude of the good old days when they were so well cared for by their masters. without exception the manners of these old men and women were gentle and courteous. the younger ones could pass on to us only traditional memories of slavery times, as given them by their parents; on some points a few were vague, while others could give clear-cut and vivid pictures. practically all the negroes interviewed seemed to be of pure african blood, with black or dark brown skin, negroid features, and kinky, tightly wrapped wool. most of the women were small and thin. we found one who had a strain of indian blood, a woman named mary, who belonged to john roof. her grandfather was an indian, and her grandmother was part indian, having migrated into south carolina from virginia. sarah ray, who was born on the curtis lowe place in mcduffie county was one of the few ex-slaves contacted, who was admittedly half-white. although now wrinkled and weazened with age she has no definite negroid features. her eyes are light hazel and her hair fluffs about her face in soft ringlets instead of the tight kinks of the pure negro. "my father was a white man, de overseer," said sarah. "leastways, dey laid me to him." sarah was brought up like the negro children on the plantation. she had no hard work to do. her mother was a field hand, and they lived in a little house in the quarters. "de ve'y fust thing i kin remember is ridin' down de road in de ox cart wid my mammy," she said. "ole man eli wus drivin'. we wus goin' to miss meg's on de odder side o' hart's branch. marster had give us to miss meg when she married mr. obediah cloud." housing conditions the slave houses were called "quarters," which consisted generally of a double row of houses facing each other in a grove of trees behind the "big house." on prosperous plantations each of these cabins had a garden plot and a chicken yard. some of them were built of logs, but many were of planks. most of them were large, one-room, unceiled, with open fireplaces at one end for cooking. when families grew too large a shed room would be "drap down on de back." another type of slave cabin was called the "double-pen" house. this was a large two-room cabin, with a chimney between the two rooms, and accommodating two families. on the more prosperous plantations the slave quarters were white-washed at intervals. on plantations housing arrangements were left entirely to the discretion of the owner, but in the cities strict rules were made. among the ordinances of the city council of augusta, dated from august th, -july , , section , is the following law concerning the housing of slaves: "no person of color shall occupy any house but that of some white person by whom he or she is owned or hired without a license from the city council. if this license is required application must first be made for permission to take it out. if granted the applicant shall give bond with approved security, not exceeding the sum of $ . for his or her good behavior. on execution of charge the clerk shall issue the license. any person renting a house, or tenament contrary to this section or permitting the occupancy of one, may be fined in a sum not exceeding $ . ." descriptions were given of housing conditions by quite a number of slaves interviewed. fannie fulcher, who was a slave on dr. balding miller's plantation in burke county described the slave quarters thus: "houses wus built in rows, one on dat side, one on dis side--open space in de middle, and de overseer's house at de end, wid a wide hall right through it. (fannie was evidently referring to the breezeway or dogtrot, down the middle of many small plantation houses). we cook on de fireplace in de house. we used to have pots hanging right up in de chimbley. when dere wus lots of chillun it wus crowded. but sometimes dey took some of 'em to de house for house girls. some slep' on de flo' and some on de bed. two-three houses had shed rooms at de back. dey had a patch sometime. my father, he used to have a patch. he clean it up hisself at night in de swamp." susie brown, of the evans plantation on little river in columbia county said, in describing the quarters, "dey look like dis street." she indicated the unpaved street with its rows of unpainted shacks. "some of dem wus plank houses and some wus log houses, two rooms and a shed room. and we had good beds, too--high tester beds wid good corn shuck and hay mattresses." on the plantation of john roof the slave cabins were of logs. large families had two or three rooms; smaller ones one or two rooms. susannah wyman, who was a slave on the starling freeman place near troy, s.c. said, "our houses wus made outer logs. we didn't have nothin' much nohow, but my mammy she had plenty o' room fer her chillun. we didn't sleep on de flo', we had bed. de people in de plantachun all had bed." others described mattresses made of straw and corn shucks. another said, "yas'm, we had good cotton mattresses. marster let us go to de gin house and git all de cotton we need." another described the sleeping conditions thus, "chillun pretty much slep' on de flo' and old folks had beds. dey wus made out o' boards nailed togedder wid a rope strung across it instead o' springs, and a cotton mattress across it." food many of the negroes with whom we talked looked back on those days of plenty with longing. rations of meal, bacon and syrup were given out once a week by the overseer. vegetables, eggs and chickens raised in the little plots back of the cabins were added to these staples. ellen campbell, who was owned by mr. william eve of richmond county said, "my boss would feed 'em good. he was killin' hogs stidy fum jinuary to march. he had two smokehouses. dere wus four cows. at night de folks on one side de row o' cabins go wid de piggins fer milk, and in de mawnin's, dose on de odder side go fer de piggins o' milk." "and did you have plenty of other good things to eat?" we asked. "law, yas'm. rations wus give out to de slaves; meal, meat, and jugs o' syrup. dey give us white flour at christmas. every slave family had de gyarden patch and chickens. marster buy eggs and chickens fum us at market prices." another slave told us that when the slaves got hungry before dinner time they would ask the nursing mothers to bring them back hoe-cake when they went to nurse the babies. those hot hoe-cakes were eaten in mid-morning, "to hold us till dinner-time." on one plantation where the mother was the cook for the owner, her children were fed from the big kitchen. a piece of iron crossed the fireplace, and the pots hung down on hooks. "us cooked corn dodgers," one ex-slave recalled, "the hearth would be swept clean, the ash cakes wrapped up into corn shucks and cooked brown. they sure was good!" types of work the large plantations were really industrial centers in which almost everything necessary to the life of the white family and the large retinue of slaves was grown or manufactured. on estates where there were many slaves there were always trained blacksmiths, coopers, carpenters, tanners, shoemakers, seamstresses, laundresses, weavers, spinners, cooks and house servants; all employed in the interest of the community life of the plantation. those who could not learn to do any of this skilled work were turned into the fields and called, "hands". both men and women were employed in the fields where cotton, corn, rice and tobacco were cultivated. house servants ware always considered superior to field hands. melinda mitchell, who was born a slave in edgefield, s.c., said, "my family wasn't fiel' hands. we wus all house servants. my father wus de butler, and he weighed out de rations fer de slaves. my mammy wus de house 'oman and her mother and sister wus de cooks. marster wouldn't sell none of his slaves, and when he wanted to buy one he'd buy de whole fambly to keep fum havin' 'em separated." at an early age melinda and her younger sister were given to the two young ladies of the house as their personal maids. "i wus given to miss nettie," melinda said, "our young mistresses visited, too, and wherever dey went my sister and me went erlong. my own mammy took long trips with ole mistis to de blue ridge mountains and sometimes over de big water." susannah wyman of the starling freeman plantation in south carolina said, "the house servants wuz trained to cook, clean up, de man wuz trained to make shoes. i don't think us had carpenters. i toted water in de field, hoed some. i wuz quite young. i spun but i didn't weave. dere wuz a lady dey had on de place did de weavin'. i had many a striped dress woven on dat big loom and dey wuz pretty, too." susie brown, who used to live on the evans plantation on little river in columbia county was too little to do any hard work during slavery times. "i jus' stayed at home and 'tend de baby," she said. "but my mother was a cook and my father a blacksmith." mary's mother was a plantation weaver. "mistis would cut out dresses out of homespun. we had purple dyed checks. they was pretty. i had to sew seams. marster had to buy shoes for us, he give us good-soled ones." easter jones, who had only bitter memories of the slavery period said, "sometimes we eben had to pull fodder on sunday. but what i used to hate worse'n anything was wipin' dishes. dey'd make me take de dish out de scaldin' water, den if i drap it dey whip me. dey whip you so hard your back bleed, den dey pour salt and water on it. and your shirt stick to your back, and you hadder get somebody to grease it 'fore you kin take it off." ellen campbell, who used to belong to mr. william eve said she did only simple jobs about the plantation in childhood, "when i was 'bout ten years old dey started me totin' water--you know ca'yin' water to de hands in de field. 'bout two years later i got my first field job 'tending sheep. when i wus fifteen year old missus gib me to miss eva, you know she de one marry colonel jones. my young mistus was fixin' to git married, but she couldn't on account de war, so she brought me to town and rented me out to a lady runnin' a boarding house. de rent wus paid to my mistus. one day i was takin' a tray from de out-door kitchen to de house when i stumbled and dropped it. de food spill all over de ground. da lady got so mad she picked up de butcher knife and chop me in de haid. i went runnin' till i come to da place where mah white folks live. miss eva took me and wash de blood out mah head and put medicine on it, and she wrote a note to de lady and she say, 'ellen is my slave, give to me by my mother. i wouldn't had dis happen to her no more dan to me. she won't come back dere no more.'" willis bennefield, who was a slave on dr. balding miller's plantation in burke county, said, "i wuk in de fiel' and i drove him years. he was a doctor. he had a ca'iage and a buggy, too. my father driv de ca'iage. i driv de doctor. sometimes i was fixin' to go to bed and had to hitch up my horse and go five or six miles. he had regular saddle horses, two pair o' horses fer de ca'iage. he was a rich man--riches' man in burke county--had three hundred slaves. he made his money on de plantachuns, not doctorin'." fannie fulcher, who was also one of dr. miller's slaves, and willis bennefield's sister gives this account of the slaves' work in earning extra money. "de marster give 'em ev'y day work clothes, but dey bought de res' deyselves. some raise pumpkins, squashes, potatoes, all sich things like dat in dey patches; sell 'em to different stores. jus' like somebody want ground clear up, dey git big torches fer light, clean up de new groun' at night, dat money b'long to dem. i year my mother and father say de slaves made baskets and quilts and things and sell 'em for they-selves." education the following appears in the statue laws of georgia for concerning educating negroes, under section ii, minor offences. "punishment for teaching slaves or free persons of color to read. if any slave, negro, or free person of color, or any white person, shall teach any other slave, negro or free person of color, to read or write either written or printed characters, the said free person of color or slave shall be punished by fine and whipping, or fine or whipping, at the direction of the court." among the ordinances passed by the city of augusta, effective between august th, and july th, , was the following concerning the teaching of negroes: "no person shall teach a negro or person of color to read or cause any one to be taught within the limits of the city, nor shall any person suffer a school for the instruction of negroes, or persons of color to be kept on his or her lot." none of the ex-slaves whom we interviewed could either read or write. old willis bennefield, who used to accompany his young master to school, said he "larned something then. i got way up in my a b cs, but atter i got to thinkin' 'bout gals i fergit all 'bout dat." another slave said, "we had a school on our plantation and a negro teacher named, mathis, but they couldn't make me learn nothin'. i sure is sorry now." easter jones, who was once a slave of lawyer bennet, on a plantation about ten miles from waynesboro, said, when we asked if she had been to school, "chillun didn't know whut a book wus in dem days--dey didn't teach 'em nothin' but wuk. dey didn' learn me nothin' but to churn and clean up house, and 'tend to dat boy and spin and cyard de roll." religion most of the ex-slaves interviewed received their early religious training in the churches of their masters. many churches which have slave sections in this district are still standing. sometimes the slaves sat in pews partitioned off at the back of the church, and sometimes there was a gallery with a side entrance. the old bath presbyterian church had a gallery and private entrance of this kind. sunday schools were often conducted for the slaves on the plantation. among the ordinances passed by the city of augusta, february , , was section forty-seven, which concerned negro preaching and teaching: "no slave or free person of color shall be allowed to preach, exhort or teach, in any meeting of slaves or free persons of color, for public worship or religious instruction in this city, but except at funerals or sitting up with the dead, without a license in writing from the inferior court of richmond county, and mayor of the city, regularly granted under the act of the general assembly of this state, passed on the rd day of december, . "no colored preacher residing out of the county of richmond, shall preach, exhort, or teach, until he has produced his license granted under the act aforesaid, and had the same countersigned by the mayor of this city, or in his absence by two members of council. "persons qualified as aforesaid, may hold meetings in this city for the purpose aforesaid, at any time during the sabbath day, and on sunday, tuesday, and thursday nights. no other meetings of slaves or free persons of color for religious purposes shall be held, except by permission of council. "no meeting of slaves or free persons of color for the purpose aforesaid, shall continue at any time later than : at night, and all such meetings shall be superintended by one or more citizens, appointed by the ministers in charge of their respective denominations, and approved by the mayor. all slaves or free persons of color attending such meetings, after that hour, shall be arrested, and punished, under the section, whether with or without tickets from their owners; and all such persons returning from such meetings after the ringing of the market bell, without tickets, shall be arrested and punished as in other cases. "every offense against this section shall be punished by whipping, not exceeding lashes, or fined not exceeding $ . ." harriet white, who told us some of her father's slavery experiences said, "yas'm, dey let'em go to chu'ch, but de colored folks hadder sit behind a boarded up place, so dey hadder stretch dey neck to see de preacher, and den day hadder jine de master's chu'ch--de methodis' chu'ch. de spirit done tole my father to jine da baptis' chu'ch--dat de right t'ing, but he hadder jine de methodis', 'cause his master was methodis'. but when he come to augusta he wus baptise in de river. he say he gwine ca'y god's point." we asked ellen campbell of the eve plantation in richmond county about church going. she replied, "yas'm, we used to go to town. but de padderolas wus ridin' in dem days, and you couldn' go off de plantachun widout a pass. so my boss he built a brick chu'ch on de plantachun, and de d'laigles built a chu'ch on dere's." susie brown, who was a slave on the evans plantation in columbia county, said, in speaking of her mother getting religion, "my maw and paw wasn't married till after freedom. when my maw got 'ligion dey wouldn' let her be baptise till she was married." she stated that her mother had seven children then. aunt susie had had eight children herself, but her husband was now dead. when asked why she didn't get married again, she replied, "whut i wanner git married fer? i ain' able to wuk fer myself let alone a man!" augustus burden, who was born a slave on general walker's plantation at windsor springs, ga., said, "we had no churches on our place. we went to the white people's church at hale's gate. then after they stopped the colored people going there to church, they had their little meetings right at home. we had one preacher, a real fine preacher, named ned walker, who was my uncle by marriage." fannie fulcher, a former slave on dr. miller's plantation in burke county, gave this unique account of the slave children's early religious trainings: "dey had a ole lady stay in de quarters who tuk care o' de chillun whilst de mother wus in de fiel'. den dey met at her house at dark, and a man name, hickman, had prayers. dey all kneel down. den de chillun couln' talk till dey got home--if you talk you git a whippin' frum de ole lady nex' night. ole granny whip 'em." fannie said the slaves went to the "white folks church," and that "white folks baptise 'em at farmer's bridge or rock creek." a white preacher also married the slaves. discipline in the patrol system was organized. this was done as a result of continual threats of uprisings among the slaves. all white male citizens living in each district, between the ages of and were eligible for this service. the better class of people paid fines to avoid this duty. members of the patrol group could commit no violence, but had power to search negro houses and premises, and break up illegal gatherings. they were on duty from nine at night until dawn. by there were many laws on the statute books of georgia concerning the duties of patrols. the justice of the peace in each captain's district of the state was empowered to decide who was eligible to patrol duty and to appoint the patrol. every member of the patrol was required to carry a pistol while on duty. they were required to arrest all slaves found outside their master's domain without a pass, or who was not in company with some white person. he was empowered to whip such slave with twenty lashes. he also had power to search for offensive weapons and fugitive slaves. every time a person evaded patrol duty he was required to pay the sum of five dollars fine. the entire life of the slave was hedged about with rules and regulations. beside those passed by individual masters for their own plantations there were many city and state laws. severe punishment, such as whipping on the bare skin, was the exception rather than the rule, though some slaves have told of treatment that was actually inhuman. in the following laws had been passed in georgia, the violation of which brought the death penalty: "capital crimes when punished with death: the following shall be considered as capital offenses, when committed by a slave or free person of color: insurrection or an attempt to excite it; committing a rape, or attempting it on a free white female; murder of a free white person, or murder of a slave or free person of color, or poisoning a human being; every and each of these offenses shall, on conviction, be punished with death." there were severe punishments for a slave striking a white person, burning or attempting to burn a house, for circulating documents to incite insurrection, conspiracy or resistance of slaves. it was against the law for slaves to harbor other fugitive slaves, to preach without a license, or to kill or brand cattle without instructions. in section forty-five of the ordinances of the city of augusta, passed on feb. , , were the following restrictions: "any slave or free person of color found riding or driving about the city, not having a written pass from his or her owner, hirer, or guardian, expressing the date of such pass, the name of the negro to whom it is given, the place or places to which he or she is going, how long he or she is to be absent, and in the case of a slave, that such slave is in the services of the person before the recorder's court by which he or she shall be tried, and on conviction shall be punished by whipping not to exceed lashes. "no slave or free person of color, other than ministers of the gospel, having charge of churches, in the discharge of their duties, and funeral processions, shall be allowed to ride or drive within the limits of the city, on the sabbath, without written permission from his or her owner, or employer, stating that such slave or free parson of color is on business of such owners or employer. "every slave or free person of color not excepted as aforesaid, who shall be found riding or driving in the city on the sabbath, without such permission from his or her owner or employer shall be arrested and taken to recorder's court; and if such slave or free person of color was actually engaged in the business of said owner or employer, the said slave or free person of color shall be convicted and punished by whipping, not to exceed lashes, which punishment in no case be commuted by a fine. "it shall be the duty of the officer making the arrest of such slave or free person of color as aforesaid, to take into his possession the horse or horse and vehicle, or horses and vehicles, so used by such slave or free person of color, which property may be redeemed by the owner, if white, upon the payment of $ . , and if the owner of such property is a slave or free person of color, he or she shall be punished by whipping not less than lashes." "no slave or free person of color shall be allowed to attend military parades, or any procession of citizens, or at the markethouse on public sale days under the penalty of receiving not exceeding lashes, for each and every offense, to be inflicted by the chief of police, captain or any lieutenant; provided no person shall be prevented from having the attendance of his own servant on such occasions." "no slave or free person of color shall walk with a cane, club, or stick, except such slave or free person of color be blind or infirm; nor smoke a pipe or cigar in any street, lane, alley or other public place, under a penalty of not exceeding lashes, to be inflicted by any officer of the city, by order of the recorder's court." section forty-third "no slave or free person of color shall play upon any instrument of music after sunset, without permission from the mayor or two members of council, unless employed in the house of some citizen. no slave or free person of color shall be absent from his or her house minutes after the bell shall have been rung, without a sufficient pass, under the penalty of lashes, to be inflicted by the chief of police, or any officer of the city, and be confined in the guard-room for further examination, if found under suspicious circumstances. no slave or person of color shall keep lights in the house which they occupy after : at night, unless in case of necessity." section forty-four "no slave or free person of color shall in the streets or alleys, fight, quarrel, riot, or otherwise, act in a disorderly manner, under the penalty of chastisement by any officer of the city, not exceeding lashes, and in all cases of conviction before the recorder's court, he or she shall be punished by whipping, not exceeding lashes. "no slave or free person of color, shall be allowed to keep a shop or shops for the sale of beer, cake, fruit, soda water, or any similar articles on their own account or for the benefit of any other person whomsoever. any slave or slaves, or free person of color, found keeping a shop and selling, bartering, or trading in any way, shall be taken up and punished by whipping, with not more than lashes for each and every offense, and shall stand committed until the officer's fees are paid." most of the slaves interviewed were too young during the slavery period to have experienced any of the more cruel punishments, though some remembered hearing tales of brutal beatings. most of the punishments inflicted were mild chastisements or restrictions. susie brown, who was a slave on the evans' plantation on little river in columbia, said, "my marster wus good to me, good as he could be--only thing he whup me fer wus usin' snuff. and when he go to whup me, mistis beg him to stop, and he only gib me a lick or two. and if mistis try to whup me, he make her stop. no, dey didn't had to do much whuppin'. dey wus good to de hand." when asked about her overseer she replied, "dere wus a overseer, but i disremember his name." most of these old ex-slaves' recollections had to do with the "patterolas", as the patrol was called. one of them said about the patrol, "oh yes, ma'm, i seed da patterolas, but i never heard no song about 'em. dey wus all white mens. jus' like now you want to go off your marster's place to another man's place, you had to get a pass from your boss man. if you didn't have dat pass, de patterolas would whip you." a woman who lived on the roof plantation said, "i worked under four overseers, one of 'em was mean, and he had a big deep voice. when the niggers was at the feed lot, the place where they carried the dinner they brought to the fields, he would hardly give 'em time to eat before he hollered out, 'git up and go back to work!'" she also said that mars. thomas, the red-haired young master, was mean about slaves over-staying pass time. "if they want off and stayed too long, when they came back, he'd strip them stark, mother nekked, tie 'em to a tree, and whip 'em good. but old marster, he didn't believe in whipping. it was different when the boys took possession after he died." very few slaves ran away, but when they did the master hunted them with dogs. when carrie lewis, who belonged to captain ward, was asked if the slaves were ever whipped on their plantation, she replied, "no ma'm, de marster say to de overseer, 'if you whup dem, i whup you.' no ma'm, he wouldn't keep a overseer dat wus mean to us--cap'n ward wus good to us. he wouldn't let de little ones call him 'marster', dey had to call him and de missus, 'grampa' and 'gramma'. my folks didn't mistreat de slaves. i'd be better off now if it wus dem times now." we asked ellen campbell, a richmond county slave if her master was good to her and she replied, "i'll say fer mr. william eve--he de bes' white man anywhere round here on any dese plantachuns. dey all own slaves. sometimes de overseer whup 'em--make 'em strip off dey shirt and whup 'em on de bare skin. my boss had a white overseer and two colored men dey call drivers. if dey didn't done right dey dus whup 'em and turn 'em loose." it was said that those who refused to take whippings were generally negroes of african royal blood, or their descendants. edward glenn of the clinton brown plantation in forsythe county, ga., said, "my father would not take a whipping. he would die before he would take a whipping. the marster thought so much of him, he made young marster clinton promise he would never sell him or put a stripe on him. once, when he wanted to punish him, he give him a horse and bridle and fifty dollars. 'go on off somewhere and get somebody to buy you.' my father stayed away a month. one day he come home, he had been off about miles. he brought with him a man who wanted to buy him. marster put the man up for the night, fed his horse, and father went on out to mother. next day when the man made him a price on father, marster said, 'i was just foolin'. i wouldn't sell him for nothing. i was trying to punish him. he is true and honest, but he won't take a whipping.' "sometimes a slave was treated so bad by his owners he was glad if they put him up to be sold. if he was a bad man, they handcuffed him, put him on a stand, like for preachings and auctioned him off to the highest bidder. "when runaway slave was brought back they was punished. once in alabama i saw a woman stripped naked, laid over a stump in a field with her head hangin' down on one side, her feet on the other, and tied to the stump. then they whipped her hard, and you could hear her hollering far off, 'oh, lawd a'musay! lawd a-musay!'." another punishment edward said, was called the "gameron stick", (sometimes called the gamlin stick, or spanish buck). the slave's arms were bound around the bent knees and fastened to a stick run beneath them. this was called the "spanish buck" punishment. they stripped the slave, who was unable to stand up, and rolled him on one side and whipped him till the blood came. they called the whip the "cowhide". slaves were whipped for small things, such as forgetting orders or spilling food. overseers the most important person in the disciplining of negro slaves was the overseer. however, he occupied an unfortunate position socially. he was not regarded as the equal of the owner's family, and was not allowed to mix socially with the slaves. his was a hard lot, and consequently this position was generally filled by men of inferior grade. however, he was supposed to have an education so that he could handle the finances of the plantation accurately, and to be possessed of a good moral character in order to enforce the regulations. on most georgia plantations overseers were given a house near the slave quarters. in some instances he lived in the house with the plantation owner. the average pay for overseers was from three to five hundred dollars a year. next in authority to the overseer was the driver, who directed the work in the fields. every morning the driver blew the horn or rang the plantation bell to summon slaves to their work. next to him was some trusted slave, who carried the keys to the smokehouse and commissary, and helped to give out rations once a week. many of the overseers were naturally cruel and inclined to treat the slaves harshly. often strict rules and regulations had to be made to hold them in check. overseers were generally made to sign these regulations on receiving their appointments. in the southern cultivator and monthly journal published the following rules of the plantation: rules of the plantation rule st. the overseer will not be expected to work in the crop, but he must constantly with the hands, when not otherwise engaged in the employer's business, and will be required to attend on occasions to any pecuniary transactions connected with the plantation. rule nd. the overseer is not expected to be absent from the plantation unless actual necessity compels him, sundays excepted, and then it is expected that he will, on all occasions, be at home by night. rule rd. he will attend, morning, noon and night, at the stable, and see that the mules and horses are ordered, curried, and fed. rule th. he will see that every negro is out by daylight in the morning--a signal being given by a blast of the horn, the first horn will be blown half an hour before day. he will also visit the negro cabins at least once or twice a week, at night, to see that all are in. no negro must be out of his house after ten oclock in summer and eleven in winter. rule th. the overseer is not to give passes to the negroes without the employer's consent. the families the negroes are allowed to visit will be specified by the employer; also those allowed to visit the premises. nor is any negro allowed to visit the place without showing himself to the employer or overseer. rule th. the overseer is required not to chat with the negroes, except on business, nor to encourage tale bearing, nor is any tale to be told to him or employer, by any negro, unless he has a witness to his statements, nor are they allowed, in any instance, to quarrel and fight. but the employer will question any negro, if confidence can be placed in him, without giving him cause of suspicion, about all matters connected with the plantation, if he has any reason to believe that all things are not going on right. rule th. as the employer pays the overseer for his time and attention, it is not to be expected he will receive much company. rule th. as the employer employs an overseer, not to please himself, but the employer, it will be expected that he will attend strictly to all his instructions. his opinion will be frequently asked relative to plantation matters, and respectfully listened to, but it is required they be given in a polite and respectful manner, and not urged, or insisted upon; and if not adopted, he must carry into effect the views of the employer, and with a sincere desire to produce a successful result. he is expected to carry on all experiments faithfully and carefully note the results, and he must, when required by the employer, give a fair trial to all new methods of culture, and new implements of agriculture. rule th. as the whole stock will be under immediate charge of the overseer, it is expected he will give his personal attention to it, and will accompany the hog feeder once a week and feed them, and count and keep a correct number of the same. the hog feeder is required to attend to feeding them every morning. rule th. the negroes must be made to obey, and to work, which may be done by an overseer who attends regularly to his business, with very little whipping; for much whipping indicates a bad tempered or an inattentive manager. he must _never_, on any occasion, unless in self-defense, kick a negro, or strike him with his fist, or butt end of his whip. no unusual punishment must be resorted to without the employer's consent. he is not expected to punish the foreman, except on some extraordinary emergency that will not allow of delay, until the employer is consulted. of this rule the foreman is to be kept in entire ignorance. rule th. the sick must be attended to. when sick they are to make known the fact to him; if in the field, he is requested to send them to the employer, if at home; and if not, the overseer is expected to attend to them in person, or send for a physician if necessary. suckling and pregnant women must be indulged more than others. sucklers are to be allowed time to visit their children, morning, noon and evening, until they are eight months old, and twice a day from thence until they are twelve months old--they are to be kept working near their children. no lifting, pulling fodder, or hard work is expected of pregnant women. rule th. the negroes are to appear in the field on monday mornings cleanly clad. to carry out said rule they are to be allowed time (say one hour by sun) every saturday evening for the purpose of washing their clothes. rule th. the overseer is particularly required to keep the negroes as much as possible out of the rain, and from all kind of exposure. rule th. it will be expected of a good manager, that he will constantly arrange the daily work of the negroes, so that no negro may wait to know what to go to doing. small jobs that will not reasonably admit of delay must be forthwith attended to. rule th. it is required of him, to keep the tools, ploughs, hoes &c. out of the weather and have all collected after they are done using them. the wagon and cart must be kept under a shed. he is expected to keep good gates, bars and fences. rule th. the employer will give him a list of all the tools and farming utensils and place the same in his care, and he is to return them at the years' end to the employer; if any are broke, the pieces are expected to be returned. rule th. he is not to keep a horse or dog against the employer's approbation--and dogs kept for the purpose of catching negroes will not be allowed under any consideration. rule th. he is required to come to his meals at the blowing of the horn. it is not expected he will leave the field at night before the hands quit their work. rule th. it will be expected he will not speak of the employer's pecuniary business, his domestic affairs, or his arrangements to any one. he will be expected to inform the employer of anything going on that may concern his interest. rule th. he is to have no control whatever over the employer's domestic affairs; nor to take any privileges in the way of using himself, or loaning the employers property to others. rule st. he is expected to be guilty of no disrespectful language in the employer's presence--such as vulgarity, swearing &c; nor is he expected to be guilty of any indecencies, such as spitting on the floor, wearing his hat in the house, sitting at the table with his coat off, or whistling or singing in the house (such habits are frequently indulged in, in bachelor establishments in the south). his room will be appropriated to him, and he will not be expected to obtrude upon the employer's private chamber, except on business. rule nd. it will be expected of him that he will not get drunk, and if he returns home in that state he will be immediately discharged. he will also be immediately discharged, if it is ascertained he is too intimate with any of the negro women. rule rd. it is distinctly understood, in the agreement with every overseer, should they separate, from death or other cause--and either is at liberty to separate from the other whenever dissatisfied--without giving his reasons for so doing; in said event the employer, upon settlement, is not expected to pay the cash nor settle for the year, but for the time only he remained in the employer's service, by note, due january next (with interest) pro rata, he was to pay for the year. amusements in spite of the many restrictions that hedged the slaves about there were many good times on the plantation. old mary of the roof plantation described their frolics thus: "we would sing and there was always a fiddle. i never could put up to dance much but nobody could beat me runnin' 'peep squirrel'. that was a game we made up on the plantation. the girls peeped out, then ran by the men, and they'd be caught and twirled around. they said i was like a kildee bird, i was so little and could run so fast. when we growed up we walked the boys to death! they used to say we walked the heels off their boots. we would have dances every christmas, on different plantations. i tell my grandchildren sometimes that my brother-in-law would carry us to dances and wouldn' allow us to sleep, we'd dance all night long. we had a good time, us girls!" when the negroes got married long tables were set under the trees in the back yard and the people from the big house came down to see how the slaves were dressed and to wish them well. concerning her own marriage mary said, "they say i was married when i was years old. i know it was after freedom. i married a boy who belonged to the childs plantation. i had the finest kind of marrying dress, my father bought it for me. it had great big grapes hanging down from the sleeves and around the skirt." she sighed and a shadow passed over her placid old face, as she added, "i wish't i had a kep' it for my children to saw." a slave from the starling freeman plantation in south carolina said, "when cullud people wus married, white people give a supper. a cullud man whut lives on de place marries 'em." "i used to sing good myself," continued susannah, "you could hear the echo of my voice way out yonder, but i can't sing no more." here susannah stuck out her legs, covered with long-ribbed pink stockings. "my legs got de misery in 'em now, and my voice gone. in my mother's house dey never trained us to sing things like the mos' o' people. we sung the good old hymns, like, 'a charge to keep i have, a god to glorify.'" old tim, who used to live on a plantation in virginia, said in speaking of good times before the war, "sho', we had plenty o' banjo pickers! they was 'lowed to play banjos and guitars at night, if de patterolas didn' interfere. at home de owners wouldn' 'low de patterolas to tech their folks. we used to run mighty fast to git home after de frolics! patterolas wus a club of men who'd go around and catch slaves on strange plantations and break up frolics, and whip 'em sometimes." we asked aunt ellen campbell, who was a slave on the eve plantation in richmond county, about good times in slavery days. she laughed delightedly and said, "when anybody gwine be married dey tell de boss and he have a cake fix. den when sunday come, after dey be married she put on de white dress she be married in and dey go up to town so de boss can see de young couple." she was thoughtful a moment, then continued, "den sometimes on sadday night we have a big frolic. de nigger fum hammond's place and phinizy place, eve place, clayton place, d'laigle place, all git together fer a big dance and frolic. a lot o' de young sports used to come dere and push de young nigger bucks aside and dance wid de wenches." "we used to have big parties sometime," said fannie fulcher, a former slave on dr. miller's plantation in burke county. "no white folks--jus' de overseer come round to see how dey git erlong. i 'member dey have a fiddle. i had a cousin who played fer frolics, and fer de white folks, too." according to melinda mitchell, who lived on the plantation of rev. allen dozier in edgefield county, south carolina, the field hands and house servants forgot cares in merriment and dancing after the day's work was over. when asked about her master, a baptist preacher, condoning dancing melinda replied with the simple statement, "he wasn't only a preacher, he was a religious man. de slaves danced at de house of a man who 'tended de stack, way off in de fiel' away fum de big house." they danced to the tunes of banjos and a homemade instrument termed, "quill", evidently some kind of reed. it was fairly certain that the noise of merriment must have been heard at the big house, but the slaves were not interrupted in their frolic. "my mammy wus de bes' dancer on de plantachun," melinda said proudly. "she could dance so sturdy she could balance a glass o' water on her head an never spill a drop." she recalls watching the dancers late into the night until she fell asleep. she could tell of dances and good times in the big house as well as in the quarters. the young ladies were belles. they were constantly entertaining. one day a wandering fortune-teller came on the piazza where a crowd of young people were gathered, and asked to tell the young ladies' fortunes. everything was satisfactory until he told miss nettie she would marry a one-armed man. at this the young belle was so indignant that the man was driven off and the dogs set on him. "but de fortune teller told true-true," melinda said. a faint ominous note crept into her voice and her eyes seemed to be seeing events that had transpired almost three-quarters of a century ago. "after de war miss nettie did marry a one-arm man, like de fortune-teller said, a confederate officer, captain shelton, who had come back wid his sleeve empty." slave sales there were two legal places for selling slaves in augusta; the lower market, at the corner of fifth and broad street, and the upper market at the corner of broad and marbury streets. the old slave quarters are still standing in hamburg, s.c., directly across the savannah river from the lower market in augusta. slaves who were to be put up for sale were kept there until the legal days of sales. advertisements in the newspapers of that day seem to point to the fact that most slave sales were the results of the death of the master, and the consequent settlement of estates, or a result of the foreclosure of mortgages. in the thirty-seventh section of the ordinances of the city of augusta, august , -july , , is the following concerning vendue masters: "if any person acts as a vendue master within the limits of this city without a license from the city council, he shall be fined in a sum not exceeding $ , . . there shall not be more than four vendue masters for this city. they shall be appointed by ballot, and their license shall expire on the day proceeding the st saturday in october of every year. no license shall be issued to a vendue master until he has given bond, with securities according to the laws of this state, and also a bond with approved security to the council for the faithful discharge of his duties in the sum of $ , . ." the newspapers of the time regularly carried advertisements concerning the sale of slaves. the following is a fair sample: "would sell slaves: with this farm will be sold about thirty likely negroes mostly country born, among them a very good bricklayer, and driver, and two sawyers, of them are fit for field or boat work, and the rest fine, thriving children." the following advertisement appeared in _the georgia constitutionalist_ on january , : "to be sold in savannah on thursday the th. inst. a cargo of prime slaves, chiefly men. just arrived in the scow gambia captain nicholas doyle after a passage of six weeks directly from the river gambia." by inglis and hall. most of the advertisements gave descriptions of each slave, with his age and the type of work he could do. they were generally advertised along with other property belonging to the slave owner. the following appeared in the chronicle and sentinel of augusta on december rd, : "negro sales. at an auction in columbus the annexed prices were obtained: a boy years old, $ , . "at a late sale in wilmington the annexed prices were obtained: a girl years old $ , ; a girl years old, $ , ; a girl years $ , ; a negro boy, years old $ , ." very few of the slaves interviewed had passed through the bitter experience of being sold. janie satterwhite, who was born on a carolina plantation, and was about thirteen years old when she was freed, remembered very distinctly when she was sold away from her parents. "yes'm, my mama died in slavery, and i was sold when i was a little tot," she said. "i 'member when dey put me on de block." "were you separated from your family?" we asked. "yes'm. we wus scattered eberywhere. some went to florida and some to odder places. de missus she die and we wus all sold at one time. atter dat nobody could do nothin' on de ole plantachun fer a year--till all wus settled up. my brudder he wasn't happy den. he run away fer five years." "where was he all that time?" "lawd knows, honey. hidin', i reckon, hidin in de swamp." "did you like your new master?" "honey, i wus too little to have any sense. when dat man bought me--dat dr. henry, he put me in a buggy to take me off. i kin see it all right now, and i say to mama and papa, 'good-bye, i'll be back in de mawnin'.' and dey all feel sorry fer me and say, 'she don' know whut happenin'." "did you ever see your family again?" "yes'm. dey wusn't so far away. when christmas come de marster say i can stay wid mama de whole week." easter jones, who had many bitter memories of slavery days back on the bennet plantation near waynesboro, said, when asked if she was ever sold into slavery, "dey had me up fer sale once, but de horse run away and broke de neck o' de man whut gwine buy me." harriet white, whose father was a slave, gives this account of his sale, "yas'm, he tell me many times 'bout when he wus put up for sale on warren block (in augusta). father say dey put him on de block down here. de gemmen whut bought him name mr. tom crew. but when dey tryin' to sell him--dat right durin' de war, one man say, 'no, i don' want him--he know too much.' he'd done been down to savannah wid de yankees. den my father say, 'if you buy me you can't take me oudder de state of georgia, 'cause de yankees all around." carrie lewis, who was owned by captain phillip ward and lived on a plantation down in richmond county said, "no'm, i wasn't never sold, but my mama was sold fum me. see, i belonged to de young girl and old marster fool missus away fum de house so he git to sell my mama." "did you ever see your mother afterwards?" we asked. "no, ma'm. i wouldn' know my mammy no more den you would." "but were you happy on the plantation?" a smile brightened her wrinkled old face as she replied, "i'd be a heap better off if it was dem times now." when we asked ellen campbell if she was ever sold during slavery times she replied, "no'm. i wa'n't sold, but i know dem whut wus. jedge robinson he kept a nigger trade office over in hamburg." "oh yes, we remember--the old brick building." "yas'm, dat it. well, all de colored people whut gonner be sold was kept dere. den dey brung 'em over to de market and put 'em up fer sale. anybody fixin' to buy 'em, 'zamines 'em to see if day all right. looks at de teef to tell 'bout de age." laura steward, who was a slave in a baptist preacher's family in augusta told some interesting things about slave sales here: "slaves were sold at the augusta market, in spite of what white ladies say." she stated that there was a long house with porches on ellis between th and th, where a garage now stands. in this building slaves were herded for market. "dey would line 'em up like horses or cows," said laura, "and look in de mouf at dey teef; den dey march 'em down togedder to market in crowds, first tuesday sale day." old mary used to live on the roof plantation with her mother, while her father lived on a nearby plantation. she said her father tried for a long time to have his owner buy his wife and children, until finally, "one day mr. tom perry sont his son-in-law to buy us in. you had to get up on what they called the block, but we just stood on some steps. the bidder stood on the ground and called out the prices. there was always a speculator at the sales. we wus bought all right and moved over to the perry place. i had another young marster there. he had his own hands and didn't sell them at all. wouldn't none of us been sold from the roof place, except for my father beggin' mr. perry to buy us, so we wouldn't be separated." susannah wyman of the freeman plantation in south carolina said, "once de marster tried to sell my brudder and anodder youngster fer a pair o' mules, and our mistis said, 'no! you don' sell my chillun for no mules!' and he didn't sell us neider. they never sold anybody off our plantation. but people did sell women, old like i am now--or if they didn't have no chillun. the fus' spec-lator come along and wants to buy 'em, he kin have 'em. de marster say, 'bring me han's in. i want han's!'" eugene smith, who used to belong to mr. steadman clark of augusta said, "i read in the papers where a lady said slaves were never sold here in augusta at the old market, but i saw 'em selling slaves myself. they put 'em up on something like a table, bid 'em off just like you would do horses or cows. dere wus two men. i kin recollect. i know one was call mr. tom heckle. he used to buy slaves, speculatin'. the other was name wilson. they would sell a mother from her children. that's why so many colored people married their sisters and brothers, not knowin' till they got to talking 'bout it. one would say: 'i remember my grandmother,' and another would say, 'that's _my_ grandmother!' then they'd find out they were sister and brother." war memories most of the ex-slaves interviewed were too young to have taken any part in war activities, though many of them remembered that the best slaves were picked and sent from each plantation to help build breastworks for the defense of waynesboro. on some places the yankees were encamped and on others the southern soldiers were entertained. "de yankees come through de plantation on sunday," said hannah murphy, a former slave on a georgia plantation. "i'll never forgit dat! dey wus singin' dixie, 'i wisht i wus in dixie, look away!' dey wus all dress in blue. dey sot de gin house afire, and den dey went in de lot and got all de mules and de horses and ca'y 'em wid 'em. dey didn't bother de smoke house where de food wuz, and dey didn't tek no hogs. but dey did go to de long dairy and thowed out all de milk and cream and butter and stuff. dey didn' bother us none. some o' de cullard folks went wid de yankees. de white folks had yeared dey wuz comin' and dey had lef'--after de yankees all gone away, de white folks come back. de cullud folks stayed dere a while, but de owners of de place declaimed dey wuz free, and sont de people off. i know dat my mother and father and a lot o' people come heah to augusta." old tim, from a plantation in virginia, remembers when lee was fighting near danville, and how frightened the negroes were at the sound of the cannon. "they cay'd the wounded by the 'bacco factory," he said, "on de way to de horspittle." the northern troops came to the william morris plantation in burke county. eliza morris, a slave, who was her master's, "right hand bough" was entrusted with burying the family silver. "there was a battle over by waynesboro," eliza's daughter explained to us. "i hear my mother speak many times about how the yankees come to our place." it seems that some of the other slaves were jealous of eliza because of her being so favored by her master. "some of the niggers told the soldiers that my mother had hidden the silver, but she wouldn' tell the hidin' place. the others were always jealous of my mother, and now they tried to made the yankees shoot her because she wouldn' tell where the silver was hidden. my mother was a good cook and she fixed food for the yankees camped on the place, and this softened the soldiers' hearts. they burned both the plantation houses, but they give my mother a horse and plenty of food to last for some time after they left." "what did your mother do after the war?" we asked. "she spent the rest of her life cookin' for her young mistis, mrs. dr. madden in jacksonville. she was cap'n bill's daughter. that was her home till shortly after the world war when she died." "did your master live through the war?" "yas'm. he come home. some of the old slaves had stayed on at the plantation; others followed the yankees off. long time afterward some of 'em drifted back--half starved and in bad shape." "'let'em come home'", marster said. "and them that he couldn' hire he give patches of land to farm." "'member de war? course i do!" said easter jones, "my marster went to savannah, and dey put him in prison somewhere. he died atter he come back, it done him so bad. i 'member my brudder was born dat sunday when lee surrender. dey name him richmond. but i was sick de day dey came and 'nounced freedom." augustus burden, a former slave on general walker's plantation at windsor springs, ga., served as valet for his master, said, "master was killed at chickamauga. when the war ceased they brought us home--our old master's home. my old mistis was living and we came back to the old lady." when the yankees came through georgia the walkers and schleys asked for protection from gunfire. because of school associations with northern officers nothing on the plantation was disturbed. "mrs. jefferson davis came there to visit the schleys," said augustus, and his face lit up with enthusiasm, "she was a mighty pretty woman--a big lady, very beautiful. she seemed to be real merry amongst the white folks, and miss winnie was a pretty little baby. she was talking then." louis jones was seven years old when he was freed. he said, "i kin 'member de yankees comin'. i wasn't skeered. i wanted to see 'em. i hung on de fence corners, and nearabouts some sich place. after freedom my ma didn't go 'way. she stayed on de plantation till she could make more money cookin' some udder place. i don't think dey did anything to de plantation whar i wus. i yeared dey cay'd out de silver and mebbe hid it in places whar de yankees couldn't find it." when ellen campbell of the eve plantation in richmond county, was asked if she remembered anything about the yankees coming through this part of the country, she replied: "yas'm, i seen 'em comin' down de street. every one had er canteen on de side, a blanket on de shoulder, caps cocked on one side de haid. de cavalry had boots on, and spurros on de boots. first dey sot de niggers free on dead river, den dey come on here and sot us free. dey march straight up broad street to de planters hotel, den dey camped on de river. dey stayed here six months till dey sot dis place free. when dey campin' on de river bank we go down dere and wash dey clo'se fer a good price. day had hard tack to eat. dey gib us hard tack and tell us to soak it in water, and fry it in meat gravy. i ain't taste nothin' so good since. dey say, 'dis hard tack whut we hadder lib on while we fightin' to sot you free.'" freedom although the emancipation proclamation was delivered on january st, it was not until lee's final surrender that most of the negroes knew they were free. the freedman's bureau in augusta gave out the news officially to the negroes, but in most cases the plantation owners themselves summoned their slaves and told them they were free. many negroes stayed right with their masters. carrie lewis, a slave on captain ward's plantation in richmond county, said, when asked where she went when freedom came, "me? i didn't went nowhere. da niggers come 'long wid de babies and dey backs, and say i wus free, and i tell 'em i was free already. didn't make no diffunce to me--freedom." old susannah from the freeman plantation said, "when freedom come i got mad at marster. he cut off my hair. i was free so i come from ca'lina to augusta to sue him. i walk myself to death! den i found i couldn't sue him over here in georgia! i had to go back. he was jus' nachally mad 'cause we was free. soon as i got here, dere was a lady on de street, she tole me to come in, tek a seat. i stayed dere. nex' mornin' i couldn't stand up. my limbs was hurtin' all over." tim from the plantation in virginia remembers distinctly when freedom came to his people. "when we wus about to have freedom," he said, "they thought the yankees was a-goin' to take all the slaves so they put us on trains and run us down south. i went to a place whut they call 'butler' in georgia, then they sent me on down to the chattahoochee, where they were cuttin' a piece of railroad, then to quincy, then to tallahassee. when the war ended i weren't 'xactly in 'gusta, i was in irwinville, where they caught mars. jeff davis. folks said he had de money train, but i never seed no gold, nor nobody whut had any. i come on up to 'gusta and jined de bush arbor springfield church. "when freedom came they called all the white people to the court house first, and told them the darkies ware free. then on a certain day they called all the colored people down to the parade ground. they had a big stand," explained eugene wesley smith, whose father was a slave in augusta. "all the yankees and some of our leading colored men got up there and spoke, and told the negroes: "you are free. don't steal! now work and make a living. do honest work, make an honest living and support yourself and children. there are no more masters. you are free!" "when the colored troops came in, they came in playing: 'don't you see the lightning? don't you hear the thunder? it isn't the lightning, it isn't the thunder but the buttons on the negro uniform!' "the negroes shouted and carried on when they heard they were free." this story of freedom was told by edward glenn of forsythe county: "a local preacher, walter raleigh, used to wait by the road for me every day, and read the paper before i give it to mistis. one day he was waiting for me, and instead of handing it back to me he tho'wed it down and hollered, 'i'm free as a frog!' he ran away. i tuk the paper to mistis. she read it and went to cryin'. i didn't say no more. that was during the week. on sunday morning i was talking to my brother's wife, who was the cook. we were talking about the yankees. mistis come in and say, 'come out in the garden with me.' when we got outside mistis said: 'ed, you suppose them yankees would spill their blood to come down here to free you niggers?' "i said, 'i dunno, but i'se free anyhow, miss mary.'" "'shut up, sir, i'll mash your mouth!" "that day marster was eating, and he said, 'doc' (they called me doc, 'cause i was the seventh son). 'you have been a good boy. what did you tell your mistis?'" "i said, 'i told her the truth, that i knowed i was free.' "he said, 'well, doc, you aren't really free. you are free from me, but you aren't of age yet, and you still belong to your father and mother.' "one morning i saw a blue cloud of yankees coming down the road. the leader was waving his arms and singing: 'ha, ha, ha! trabble all the day! i'm in the rebel's happy land of caanan. needn't mind the weather, jump over double trouble, i'm in the rebel's happy land of caanan.' "the yankee captain, captain brown, gathered all us negroes in the fair ground, july or august after freedom, and he made a speech. lawsy! i can see that crowd yet, a-yelling and a-stomping! and the captain waving his arms and shouting! "'we have achieved the victory over the south. today you are all free men and free women!' "we had everybody shouting and jumping, and my father and mother shouted along with the others. everybody was happy." janie satterwhite's memories were very vivid about freedom. "oh yas'm," she said, "my brudder comed fer me. he say, 'jane, you free now. you wanna go home and see papa?' but old mars say, 'son, i don' know you and you don' know me. you better let jane stay here a while.' so he went off, but pretty soon i slip off. i had my little black bonnet in my hand, and de shoes papa give me, and i started off 'ticht, ticht; crost dat bridge. "i kept on till i got to my sister's. but when i got to de bridge de river wus risin'. and i hadder go down de swamp road. when i got dere, wus i dirty? and my sister say, 'how come you here all by yourself?' den she took off my clo'es and put me to bed. and i remember de next mornin' when i got up it wus sunday and she had my clo'es all wash and iron. de fus' sunday atter freedom." folk lore as most of the ex-slaves interviewed were mere children during the slavery period they remembered only tales that were told them by their parents. two bits of folk lore were outstanding as they were repeated with many variations by several old women. one of these stories may be a relic of race memory, dating back to the dawn of the race in africa. several negroes of the locality gave different versions of this story of the woman who got out of her skin every night. hannah murphy, who was once a slave and now lives in augusta gives this version: "dere was a big pon' on de plantation, and i yeared de ole folks tell a story 'bout dat pon', how one time dere was a white mistis what would go out ev'y evenin' in her cay'age and mek de driver tak her to de pon'. she would stay out a long time. de driver kep' a wonderin' whut she do here. one night he saw her go thu' de bushes, and he crep' behin' her. he saw her step out o' her skin. da skin jus' roll up and lay down on de groun', and den de mistis disappear. de driver wus too skeered to move. in a little while he yeared her voice sayin', 'skinny, skinny, don't you know me? den de skin jump up and dere she wus again, ez big as life. he watch her like dat for a lot o' nights, and den he went and tole de marster. de marster wus so skeered o' her he run away frum de plantation and quit her." laura stewart, who was born a slave in virginia, gives this verson of the same story: "dey always tole me de story 'bout de ole witch who git out her skin. i ain't know it all. in dem days i guess dose kinder things went on. dey said while she was out ridin' wid de ole witch she lef' her skin behind her, and when she come back, de other woman had put salt and pepper on it; and whan she say, 'skinny, skinny, don't you know me?' de ole skin wouldn't jump up, so she ain't had no skin a-tall." "granny," laura's granddaughter called to her, "tell the ladies about the mistis what got bury." "oh yes," laura recalled, "dey didn' bury her so far. a bad man went dere to git her gold ring off her finger. she make a sound like 'shs' like her bref comin' out, and de man got skeered. he run off. she got up direckly and come to de house. dey was skeered o' dat mistis de res' o' her life and say she were a hant." interesting customs on one southern plantation soap was made at a certain time of the year and left in the hollowed-out trough of a big log. indigo was planted for blueing. starch was made out of wheat bran put in soak. the bran was squeezed out and used to feed the hogs, and the starch was saved for clothes. a hollow stump was filled with apples when cider was to be made. a hole was bored in the middle, and a lever put inside, which would crush the apples. as mary put it, "you put the apples in the top, pressed the lever, the cider come out the spout, and my, it was good!" dress most of the old ex-slave women interviewed wore long full skirts, and flat loose shoes. in spite of what tradition and story claim, few of the older negroes of this district wear head clothes. most of them wear their wooly hair "wropped" with string. the women often wear men's discarded slouch hats. though many of the old woman were interviewed in mid-summer, they wore several waists and seemed absolutely unaware of the heat. one man, wearing the typical dress of the poverty-stricken old person of this district, is tim thornton, who used to live on the virginia plantation of mrs. lavinia tinsley. his ragged pants are sewed up with cord, and on his coat nails are used where buttons used to be. in the edges of his "salt and pepper" hair are stuck matches, convenient for lighting his pipe. his beard is bushy and his lower lip pendulous and long, showing strong yellow teeth. his manner is kindly, and he is known as "old singing tim" because he hums spirituals all day long as he stumps around town leaning on a stick. number of slaves plantations owned by dr. balding miller in burke county had about eight hundred slaves. governor pickens of south carolina was said to have had about four hundred on his various plantations. the william morris plantations in burke county had about five hundred slaves. bibliography flanders, ralph betts plantation slavery in georgia. chapel hill: the university press of n.c., pages, p. , c. , pp. - . hotchkiss, william a. statute laws of georgia and state papers; savannah, ga.; john m. cooper, pub., pages, p. , c. , pp. , , , , . rutherford, john acts of the general assembly of the state of georgia savannah, ga.: samuel t. chapman, state printer, pages, p. , c. , p. . jones, j.w., editor, southern cultivator augusta, ga.: j.w. and w.s. jones, pubs., vol. , . ordinances of the city council of augusta. august , ; july , ; feb. , . the daily chronicle & sentinel vol. xxviii. no. . augusta, ga., dec. , . clipping. compilation richmond county ex-slave interviews work, play, food, clothing, marriage, etc. written by: louise oliphant federal writers' project augusta, ga. edited by: john n. booth district supervisor, federal writers' project augusta, ga. in recalling habits of work and play, marriage customs, and like memories of southern life before the civil war, richmond county's ex-slaves tell varied stories. one said: "i didn't start workin' 'til i was 'bout nine years old. before that i had watched chickens, carried in wood, gathered eggs and such light work as that. but when i was nine i started workin' in the field. i didn't plow then because i was too small, but i hoed and did other light jobs. "our marster made our shoes for us out of raw cow hide. us got two pairs of shoes a year, one for every day and one for sunday. us made everythin' us needed. the old women, who couldn't work in the field, would make cloth on the looms and the spinnin' wheels. us didn't have chairs; us made benches and stools to sit on. us didn't know what swings was. us used to tie ropes in trees and swing in 'em. "everybody had his own tin plate and tin cup to eat out of. on saturday they would give everybody three pounds of meat, twelve pounds of flour, twelve pounds of meal, and one quart of syrup. this was to last a week. us always had plenty to eat 'til the war started, then us went hungry many a day because they took the food and carried it to the soldiers. us stole stuff from everybody durin' that time. "they always blowed a horn for you to go to work by and get off for dinner by and stop work in the evening by. when that horn blowed, you couldn't get them mules to plow another foot. they just wouldn't do it. us always et dinner out in the yard, in the summer time, at a long bench. in cold weather us always went inside to eat. whenever us didn't have enough to eat us would tell the overseer and he seed to it that us got plenty. our overseers was colored." another old woman said she "started working at the age of seven as a nurse. i nursed, made fire in the house and around the wash pots 'til i was old enough to go to work in the fields. when i got big enough i hoed and later plowed. us didn't wait 'til sun up to start workin', us started as soon as it was light enough. when it come to field work, you couldn't tell the women from the men. of course my marster had two old women on the place and he never made them work hard, and he never did whip' em. they always took care of the cookin' and the little chillun. "i'll tell you one thing, they had better doctors then than they do now. when folks had high blood pressure the doctors would cut you in your head or your arm and folks would get over it then. they took better care of themselves. whenever anybody was caught in the rain they had to go to the marster's house and take some medicine. they had somethin' that looks like black draught looks now, and they would put it in a gallon jug, fill it a little over half full of boiling water, and finish fillin' it with whiskey. it was real bitter, but it was good for colds. young folk didn't die then like they do now. whenever anybody died it was a old person. "i know more about conjuration than i'll ever be able to tell. i didn't believe in it at one time, but i've seen so much of it that i can almost look at a sick person and tell whether he is conjured or not. i wouldn't believe it now if i hadn't looked at snakes come out of my own sister's daughter. she married a man that had been goin' 'round with a old woman who wasn't nothin'. well one day this woman and my niece got in a fight 'bout him, and my niece whipped her. she was already mad with my niece 'bout him, and after she found she couldn't whip her she decided to get her some way and she just conjured her. "my niece was sick a long time and we had 'bout seven or eight diff'unt doctors with her, but none of 'em done her any good. one day us was sittin' on the porch and a man walked up. us hadn't never seen him before, and he said he wanted to talk with the lady of the house. i 'vited him in and he asked to speak to me alone. so i went in the front room and told him to come on in there. when he got there he said just like this: 'you have sickness don't you?' i said, 'yes.' then he said: 'i know it, and i come by here to tell you i could cure her. all i want is a chance, and you don't have to pay me a cent 'til i get her back on her feet, and if i don't put her back on her feet you won't be out one cent. just promise you'll pay me when the work is done.' i told him to come back the next day 'cause i would have to talk with her husband and her mother 'fore i could tell him anythin'. "us all agreed to let him doctor on her since nobody else had did her any good. two days later he brought her some medicine to take and told us to have her say: 'relieve me of this misery and send it back where it come from.' seven days from the day she started takin' this medicine she was up and walkin' 'round the room. 'fore that time she had been in bed for more than five weeks without puttin' her feet on the floor. well three days after she took the first medicine, she told us she felt like she wanted to heave. so we gave her the bucket and that's what come out of her. i know they was snakes because i know snakes when i see 'em. one was about six inches long, but the others was smaller. he had told us not to be scared 'bout nothin' us saw, so i wasn't, but my sister was. after that day my niece started to get better fast. i put the snakes in a bottle and kept 'em 'til the man come back and showed 'em to him. he took 'em with him. it was 'bout three weeks after this that the other woman took sick and didn't live but 'bout a month." roy redfield recalls that "when a person died several people would come in and bathe the body and dress it. then somebody would knock up some kind of box for 'em to be buried in. they would have the funeral and then put the body on a wagon and all the family and friends would walk to the cemetery behind the wagon. they didn't have graves like they does now; they would dig some kind of hole and put you in it, then cover you up. "in olden times there was only a few undertakers, and of course there warn't any in the country; so when a person died he was bathed and dressed by friends of the family. then he was laid on a ironing board and covered with a sheet. "for a long while us knowed that for some cause a part of the person's nose or lips had been et off, but nobody could find out why. finally somebody caught a cat in the very act. most people didn't believe a cat would do this, but everybody started watchin' and later found out it was so. so from then on, 'til the caskets come into use, a crowd of folks stayed awake all night sittin' up with the dead." one old woman lived on a plantation where "every saturday they would give you your week's 'lowance. they would give you a plenty to eat so you could keep strong and work. they weighed your meat, flour, meal and things like that, but you got all the potatoes, lard and other things you wanted. you got your groceries and washed and ironed on saturday evenin' and on saturday night everybody used that for frolicin'. us would have quiltin's, candy pullin's, play, or dance. us done whatever us wanted to. on these nights our mist'ess would give us chickens or somethin' else so us could have somethin' extra. well, us would dance, quilt, or do whatever us had made up to do for 'bout three hours then us would all stop and eat. when us finished eatin' us would tell tales or somethin' for a while, then everybody would go home. course us have stayed there 'til almost day when us was havin' a good time. "my marster wanted his slaves to have plenty of chillun. he never would make you do much work when you had a lot of chillun, and had them fast. my ma had nineteen chillun, and it looked like she had one every ten months. my marster said he didn't care if she never worked if she kept havin' chillun like that for him. he put ma in the kitchen to cook for the slaves who didn't have families. "people who didn't have families would live in a house together, but whenever you married you lived in a house to yourself. you could fix up your house to suit yourself. the house where everybody lived that warn't married, had 'bout a dozen and a half beds in it. sometimes as many as three and four slept in a bed together when it was cold. the others had to sleep on the floor, but they had plenty of cover. us didn't have anythin' in this house but what was made by some of us. there warn't but one room to this house with one fire place in it. us never et in this room, us had another house where everybody from this house and from the house for the men who warn't married, et. our beds was diff'unt from these you see now. they was made by the slaves out of rough lumber. our marster seed to it that all the chillun had beds to sleep in. they was taken good care of. us had no such things as dressers or the like. us didn't have but a very few chairs 'cause the men didn't have time to waste makin' chairs, but us had plenty of benches. our trunks was made by the men. "people who had families lived by theyselves, but they didn't have but one room to their houses. they had to cook and sleep in this one room, and as their chillun got old enough they was sent over to the big house. everybody called it that. the house you lived in with your family was small. it had a fire place and was only big enough to hold two beds and a bench and maybe a chair. sometimes, if you had chillun fast enough, five and six had to sleep in that other bed together. mothers didn't stay in after their chillun was born then like they do now. whenever a child was born the mother come out in three days afterwards if she was healthy, but nobody stayed in over a week. they never stayed in bed but one day. "when they called you to breakfast it would be dark as night. they did this so you could begin workin' at daybreak. at twelve o'clock they blowed the horn for dinner, but they didn't have to 'cause everybody knowed when it was dinner time. us could tell time by the sun. whenever the sun was over us so us could almost step in our shadow it was time to eat. when us went in to eat all the victuals was on the table and the plates was stacked on the table. you got your plate and fork, then got your dinner. some would sit on the floor, some in chairs, and some would sit on the steps, but mos' everybody held their plates in their laps. whenever any of the slaves had company for dinner, us was allowed to set the table and you and your company would eat at the table. in our dinin'-room, we called it mess house, us only had one long table, one small table, a stove, some benches, a few chairs, and stools. whenever us got out of forks the men would make some out of wood to be used 'til some more could be bought. the food we got on saturday would be turned over to the cook. "when you married, your husband didn't stay with you like they do now. you had to stay with your marster and he had to stay with his. he was 'lowed to come every saturday night and stay with you and the chillun 'til monday mornin'. if he was smart enough to have a little garden or to make little things like little chairs for his chillun to sit in or tables for 'em to eat on and wanted you to have 'em 'fore he could get back to see you, they would be sent by the runner. they had one boy they always used just to go from one place to the other, and they called him a runner. the runner wouldn't do anythin' else but that. "us made everythin' us wore. us knitted our socks and stockin's. things was much better then than they are now. shoes lasted two and three years, and clothes didn't tear or wear out as easy as they do now. us made all our cloth at night or mos' times durin' the winter time when us didn't have so much other work to do. "when a person died he was buried the same day, and the funeral would be preached one year later. the slaves made your coffin and painted it with any kind of paint they could find, but they usually painted the outside box black. "the slaves 'tended church with their marsters and after their service was over they would let the slaves hold service. they always left their pastor to preach for us and sometimes they would leave one of their deacons. when they left a deacon with us one of our preachers would preach. they only had two kinds of song books: baptist cluster, and methodist cluster. i kept one of these 'til a few years ago. our preachers could read some, but only a very few other slaves could read and write. if you found one that could you might know some of his marster's chillun had slipped and learned it to him 'cause one thing they didn't 'low was no colored folk to learn to read and write. us had singin' classes on sunday, and at that time everybody could really sing. people can't sing now." images generously made available by st-hand-history.org (http:// st-hand-history.org/) note: images of the original pages are available through st-hand-history.org. see http:// st-hand-history.org/marshall/album .html opinion of the supreme court of the united states, at january term, , delivered by mr. chief justice marshall. in the case of samuel a. worcester, _plaintiff in error_, _versus_ the state of georgia with a statement of the case, extracted from the records of the supreme court of the united states. printed from authenticated copies. washington: printed by gales and seaton. . opinion, &c. samuel a. worcester, _plaintiff in error_, _vs._ the state of georgia. a writ of error was issued from the supreme court of the united states, directed to "the honorable the judges of the superior court for the county of gwinnett, in the state of georgia," commanding them to "send to the said supreme court of the united states, the record and proceedings in the said superior court of the county of gwinnett, between the state of georgia, plaintiff, and samuel a. worcester, defendant, on an indictment in that court." this writ of error was returnable on the second monday of january, , and was attested by the honorable henry baldwin, one of the associate justices of the supreme court of the united states. a citation was issued, directed to "the state of georgia," dated october , , and signed by the honorable henry baldwin, by which the said state was cited to show cause why the error in the judgment against samuel a. worcester, in the writ of error mentioned, if there was any error, should not be arrested, and why speedy justice should not be done to the parties in that behalf. the citation was served on his excellency wilson lumpkin, governor of the state of georgia, on the th november, , and on charles j. jenkins, esq. attorney general of the said state, on the d november, . the writ of error was returned to the supreme court of the united states, with the record of the proceedings in the court for the county of gwinnett annexed thereto, and with the following certificate, under the seal of the court: georgia, _gwinnett county, ss._ i, john g. park, clerk of the superior court for the county of gwinnett, and state aforesaid, do certify that the annexed and foregoing is a full and complete exemplification of the proceedings and judgment had in said court, against samuel a. worcester, one of the defendants in the case therein mentioned as of record in the said superior court. given under my hand, and the seal of the court, this th day of november, . john g. park, _clerk_. _the following is a copy of the record_: "georgia, _gwinnett county_: the grand jurors, sworn, chosen, and selected for the county of gwinnett, to wit: john s. wilson, isaac gilbert, james wells, jr., benjamin s. smith, james w. moore, robert craig, john m. thompson, hamilton garmany, amos wellborn, william green, buckner harris, william rakestraw, jones douglass, wiley brogdon, b. f. johnson, wilson strickland, richard j. watts, and john white-- in the name and behalf of the citizens of georgia, charge and accuse elizur butler, samuel a. worcester, james trott, samuel mays, surry eaton, austin copeland, and edward d. losure, white persons of said county, with the offence of 'residing within the limits of the cherokee nation, without a licence:' for that the said elizur butler, samuel a. worcester, james trott, samuel mays, surry eaton, austin copeland, and edward d. losure, white persons as aforesaid, on the fifteenth day of july, eighteen hundred and thirty one, _did reside_ in that part of the cherokee nation attached by the laws of said state to the said county, and in the county aforesaid, without a licence or permit from his excellency the governor of said state, or from any agent authorized by his excellency the governor aforesaid to grant such permit or licence, and without having taken the oath to support and defend the constitution and laws of the state of georgia, and uprightly to demean themselves as citizens thereof, contrary to the laws of said state, the good order, peace, and dignity, thereof. turner h. trippe, _sol. gen'l._ jno. w. a. sanford, _pros'r._ _september_, . true bill:--john s. wilson, _foreman_. _witnesses sworn._--john w. a. sanford, charles h. nelson, moses cantrell, william wood, jacob r. brooks, jno. f. cox, william tippins, hubbard barker. gwinnett superior court, _september term_, . state of georgia, } _vs._ } _indictment for a_ samuel a. worcester, elizur butler, } _misdemeanor._ and others. } and the said samuel a. worcester, in his own proper person, comes and says, that this court ought not to take further cognizance of the action and prosecution aforesaid, because, he says, that, on the th day of july, in the year , he was, and still is, a resident in the cherokee nation; and that the said supposed crime, or crimes, and each of them, were committed, if committed at all, at the town of new echota, in the said cherokee nation, out of the jurisdiction of this court, and not in the county gwinnett, or elsewhere within the jurisdiction of this court. and this defendant saith, that he is a citizen of the state of vermont, one of the united states of america, and that he entered the aforesaid cherokee nation in the capacity of a duly authorized missionary of the american board of commissioners for foreign missions, under the authority of the president of the united states, and has not since been required by him to leave it: that he was, at the time of his arrest, engaged in preaching the gospel to the cherokee indians, and in translating the sacred scriptures into their language, with the permission and approval of the said cherokee nation, and in accordance with the humane policy of the government of the united states, for the civilization and improvement of the indians; and that his residence there, for this purpose, is the residence charged in the aforesaid indictment: and this defendant further saith, that this prosecution the state of georgia ought not to have or maintain, because, he saith, that several treaties have, from time to time, been entered into between the united states and the cherokee nation of indians, to wit: at hopewell, on the th day of november, ; at holston, on the d day of july, ; at philadelphia, on the th day of june, ; at tellico, on the d day of october, ; at tellico, on the th day of october, ; at tellico, on the th day of october, ; at tellico, on the th day of october, ; at washington city, on the th day of january, ; at washington city, on the d day of march, ; at the chickasaw council house, on the th day of september, ; at the cherokee agency, on the th day of july, , and at washington city, on the th day of february, : all which treaties have been duly ratified by the senate of the united states of america; and, by which treaties, the united states of america acknowledge the said cherokee nation to be a sovereign nation, authorized to govern themselves, and all persons who have settled within their territory, free from any right of legislative interference by the several states composing the united states of america, in reference to acts done within their own territory; and, by which treaties, the whole of the territory now occupied by the cherokee nation, on the east of the mississippi, has been solemnly guarantied to them; all of which treaties are existing treaties at this day, and in full force. by these treaties, and particularly by the treaties of hopewell and holston, the aforesaid territory is acknowledged to lie without the jurisdiction of the several states composing the union of the united states; and, it is thereby specially stipulated, that the citizens of the united states shall not enter the aforesaid territory, even on a visit, without a passport from the governor of a state, or from some one duly authorized thereto, by the president of the united states: all of which will more fully and at large appear, by reference to the aforesaid treaties. and this defendant saith, that the several acts charged in the bill of indictment, were done, or omitted to be done, if at all, within the said territory so recognized as belonging to the said nation, and so, as aforesaid, held by them, under the guaranty of the united states: that, for those acts, the defendant is not amenable to the laws of georgia, nor to the jurisdiction of the courts of the said state; and that the laws of the state of georgia, which profess to add the said territory to the several adjacent counties of the said state, and to extend the laws of georgia over the said territory, and persons inhabiting the same; and, in particular, the act on which this indictment _vs._ this defendant is grounded, to wit: "an act entitled an act to prevent the exercise of assumed and arbitrary power, by all persons, under pretext of authority from the cherokee indians, and their laws, and to prevent white persons from residing within that part of the chartered limits of georgia, occupied by the cherokee indians, and to provide a guard for the protection of the gold mines, and to enforce the laws of the state within the aforesaid territory," are repugnant to the aforesaid treaties; which, according to the constitution of the united states, compose a part of the supreme law of the land; and that these laws of georgia are, therefore, unconstitutional, void, and of no effect: that the said laws of georgia are also unconstitutional and void, because they impair the obligation of the various contracts formed by and between the aforesaid cherokee nation and the said united states of america, as above recited: also, that the said laws of georgia are unconstitutional and void, because they interfere with, and attempt to regulate and control, the intercourse with the said cherokee nation, which, by the said constitution, belongs exclusively to the congress of the united states; and because the said laws are repugnant to the statute of the united states, passed on the ---- day of march, , entitled "an act to regulate trade and intercourse with the indian tribes, and to preserve peace on the frontiers:" and that, therefore, this court has no jurisdiction to cause this defendant to make further or other answer to the said bill of indictment, or further to try and punish this defendant for the said supposed offence or offences alleged in the bill of indictment, or any of them: and, therefore, this defendant prays judgment whether he shall be held bound to answer further to said indictment? georgia, _gwinnett county_: personally appeared in open court, samuel a. worcester, and, being sworn, saith, that the several matters and things contained in the above and foregoing plea, are true in substance and in fact. sworn to, and subscribed in open court, this th september, . samuel a. worcester. john g. park, _clerk_. _september term_, . pleas to the jurisdiction, &c. overruled by the court. arraigned, and pled not guilty. copy bill, and list of witnesses, waived. t. h. trippe, _sol. gen._ _jury sworn and empannelled._ . james h. gilreath, . benjamin towers, . joseph bolton, . thomas weems, . john moffett, . wade peavy, . john l. tippens, . thomas burge, . eli elkins, . wm. w. downs, . matthew brown, . geo. r. edwards. _verdict._ we, the jury, find the defendants guilty. james h. gilreath, _foreman._ _september_ _th_, . _sentence._ the state, } _indictment for residing in the_ _vs._ } _cherokee nation without license:_ b. f. thompson, and others. } _verdict, "guilty."_ the state, } _vs._ } _indictment for residing in the_ elizur butler, samuel a. } _cherokee nation without license:_ worcester, and others. } _verdict, "guilty."_ the defendants, in both of the above cases, shall be kept in close custody, by the sheriff of this county, until they can be transported to the penitentiary of this state, and the keeper thereof is hereby directed to receive them, and each of them, into his custody, and keep them, and each of them, at hard labor in said penitentiary, for and during the term of four years." the case of elizur butler, plaintiff in error, _versus_ the state of georgia, was brought before the supreme court in the same manner. both cases came on for argument on the th of february, , and they were argued by mr. sergeant and mr. wirt, for the plaintiffs in error. there was no appearance for the state of georgia. on the d day of march, , mr. chief justice marshall delivered the opinion of the court. samuel a. worcester, } opinion of the supreme court _vs._ } of the united states, delivered the state of georgia. } by mr. chief justice marshall, } at january term, . this cause, in every point of view in which it can be placed, is of the deepest interest. the defendant is a state, a member of the union, which has exercised the powers of government over a people who deny its jurisdiction, and are under the protection of the united states. the plaintiff is a citizen of the state of vermont, condemned to hard labor for four years in the penitentiary of georgia, under color of an act which he alleges to be repugnant to the constitution, laws, and treaties, of the united states. the legislative power of a state, the controlling power of the constitution and laws of the united states, the rights, if they have any, the political existence of a once numerous and powerful people, the personal liberty of a citizen, are all involved in the subject now to be considered. it behooves this court, in every case, more especially in this, to examine into its jurisdiction with scrutinizing eyes, before it proceeds to the exercise of a power which is controverted. the first step in the performance of this duty is the inquiry whether the record is properly before the court. it is certified by the clerk of the court which pronounced the judgment of condemnation under which the plaintiff in error is imprisoned, and is also authenticated by the seal of the court. it is returned with, and annexed to, a writ of error issued in regular form, the citation being signed by one of the associate justices of the supreme court, and served on the governor and attorney general of the state more than thirty days before the commencement of the term to which the writ of error was returnable. the judicial act,[ ] so far as it prescribes the mode of proceeding, appears to have been literally pursued. [ ] judicial act, sec. , , v. . pp. , . in february, , a rule[ ] was made on this subject, in the following words: "it is ordered by the court, that the clerk of the court to which any writ of error shall be directed, may make return of the same by transmitting a true copy of the record, and of all proceedings in the same, under his hand and the seal of the court." [ ] wh. rules. this has been done. but the signature of the judge has not been added to that of the clerk. the law does not require it. the rule does not require it. in the case of martin vs. hunter's lessee,[ ] an exception was taken to the return of the refusal of the state court to enter a prior judgment of reversal by this court, because it was not made by the judge of the state court to which the writ was directed; but the exception was overruled, and the return was held sufficient. in buel vs. van ness,[ ] also a writ of error to a state court, the record was authenticated in the same manner. no exception was taken to it. these were civil cases. but it has been truly said at the bar, that, in regard to this process, the law makes no distinction between a criminal and civil case. the same return is required in both. if the sanction of the court could be necessary for the establishment of this position, it has been silently given. [ ] st wh. , . [ ] th wh. . mcculloch vs. the state of maryland,[ ] was a _qui tam_ action, brought to recover a penalty, and the record was authenticated by the seal of the court and the signature of the clerk, without that of a judge. brown et al. vs. the state of maryland, was an indictment for a fine and forfeiture. the record in this case, too, was authenticated by the seal of the court and the certificate of the clerk. the practice is both ways. [ ] th wh. . the record, then, according to the judiciary act, and the rule and the practice of the court, is regularly before us. the more important inquiry is, does it exhibit a case cognizable by this tribunal? the indictment charges the plaintiff in error, and others, being white persons, with the offence of "residing within the limits of the cherokee nation without a licence," and "without having taken the oath to support and defend the constitution and laws of the state of georgia." the defendant in the state court appeared in proper person, and filed the following plea: "and the said samuel a. worcester, in his own proper person, comes and says, that this court ought not to take further cognizance of the action and prosecution aforesaid, because, he says, that, on the th day of july, in the year , he was, and still is, a resident in the cherokee nation; and that the said supposed crime or crimes, and each of them, were committed, if committed at all, at the town of new echota, in the said cherokee nation, out of the jurisdiction of this court, and not in the county gwinnett, or elsewhere within the jurisdiction of this court: and this defendant saith, that he is a citizen of the state of vermont, one of the united states of america, and that he entered the aforesaid cherokee nation in the capacity of a duly authorized missionary of the american board of commissioners for foreign missions, under the authority of the president of the united states, and has not since been required by him to leave it: that he was, at the time of his arrest, engaged in preaching the gospel to the cherokee indians, and in translating the sacred scriptures into their language, with the permission and approval of the said cherokee nation, and in accordance with the humane policy of the government of the united states for the civilization and improvement of the indians; and that his residence there, for this purpose, is the residence charged in the aforesaid indictment: and this defendant further saith, that this prosecution the state of georgia ought not to have or maintain, because, he saith, that several treaties have, from time to time, been entered into between the united states and the cherokee nation of indians, to wit: at hopewell, on the th day of november, ; at holston, on the d day of july, ; at philadelphia, on the th day of june, : at tellico, on the d day of october, ; at tellico, on the th day of october, ; at tellico, on the th day of october, ; at tellico, on the th day of october, ; at washington city, on the th day of january, ; at washington city, on the d day of march, ; at the chickasaw council house, on the th day of september, ; at the cherokee agency, on the th day of july, ; and at washington city, on the th day of february, : all which treaties have been duly ratified by the senate of the united states of america; and, by which treaties, the united states of america acknowledge the said cherokee nation to be a sovereign nation, authorized to govern themselves, and all persons who have settled within their territory, free from any right of legislative interference by the several states composing the united states of america, in reference to acts done within their own territory; and, by which treaties, the whole of the territory now occupied by the cherokee nation, on the east of the mississippi, has been solemnly guarantied to them; all of which treaties are existing treaties at this day, and in full force. by these treaties, and particularly by the treaties of hopewell and holston, the aforesaid territory is acknowledged to lie without the jurisdiction of the several states composing the union of the united states; and, it is thereby specially stipulated, that the citizens of the united states shall not enter the aforesaid territory, even on a visit, without a passport from the governor of a state, or from some one duly authorized thereto, by the president of the united states: all of which will more fully and at large appear, by reference to the aforesaid treaties. and this defendant saith, that the several acts charged in the bill of indictment, were done, or omitted to be done, if at all, within the said territory so recognized as belonging to the said nation, and so, as aforesaid, held by them, under the guaranty of the united states: that, for those acts, the defendant is not amenable to the laws of georgia, nor to the jurisdiction of the courts of the said state; and that the laws of the state of georgia, which profess to add the said territory to the several adjacent counties of the said state, and to extend the laws of georgia over the said territory, and persons inhabiting the same; and, in particular, the act on which this indictment _vs._ this defendant is grounded, to wit: "an act entitled an act to prevent the exercise of assumed and arbitrary power, by all persons, under pretext of authority from the cherokee indians, and their laws, and to prevent white persons from residing within that part of the chartered limits of georgia, occupied by the cherokee indians, and to provide a guard for the protection of the gold mines, and to enforce the laws of the state within the aforesaid territory," are repugnant to the aforesaid treaties; which, according to the constitution of the united states, compose a part of the supreme law of the land; and that these laws of georgia are, therefore, unconstitutional, void, and of no effect; that the said laws of georgia are also unconstitutional and void, because they impair the obligation of the various contracts formed by and between the aforesaid cherokee nation and the said united states of america, as above recited: also, that the said laws of georgia are unconstitutional and void, because they interfere with, and attempt to regulate and control the intercourse with the said cherokee nation, which, by the said constitution, belongs exclusively to the congress of the united states; and because the said laws are repugnant to the statute of the united states, passed on the ---- day of march, , entitled "an act to regulate trade and intercourse with the indian tribes, and to preserve peace on the frontiers:" and that, therefore, this court has no jurisdiction to cause this defendant to make further or other answer to the said bill of indictment, or further to try and punish this defendant for the said supposed offence or offences alleged in the bill of indictment, or any of them: and, therefore, this defendant prays judgment whether he shall be held bound to answer further to said indictment." this plea was overruled by the court. and the prisoner, being arraigned, pleaded not guilty. the jury found a verdict against him, and the court sentenced him to hard labor, in the penitentiary, for the term of four years. by overruling this plea, the court decided that the matter it contained was not a bar to the action. the plea, therefore, must be examined, for the purpose of determining whether it makes a case which brings the party within the provisions of the th section of the "act to establish the judicial courts of the united states." the plea avers that the residence, charged in the indictment, was under the authority of the president of the united states, and with the permission and approval of the cherokee nation. that the treaties, subsisting between the united states and the cherokees, acknowledge their right as a sovereign nation to govern themselves and all persons who have settled within their territory, free from any right of legislative interference by the several states composing the united states of america. that the act under which the prosecution was instituted is repugnant to the said treaties, and is, therefore, unconstitutional and void. that the said act is, also, unconstitutional; because it interferes with, and attempts to regulate and control, the intercourse with the cherokee nation, which belongs, exclusively, to congress; and, because, also, it is repugnant to the statute of the united states, entitled "an act to regulate trade and intercourse with the indian tribes, and to preserve peace on the frontiers." let the averments of this plea be compared with the th section of the judicial act. that section enumerates the cases in which the final judgment or decree of a state court may be revised in the supreme court of the united states. these are, "where is drawn in question the validity of a treaty, or statute of, or an authority exercised under, the united states, and the decision is against their validity; or where is drawn in question the validity of a statute of, or an authority exercised under, any state, on the ground of their being repugnant to the constitution, treaties, or laws, of the united states, and the decision is in favor of such their validity; or where is drawn in question the construction of any clause of the constitution, or of a treaty, or statute of, or commission held under, the united states, and the decision is against the title, right, privilege, or exemption, specially set up or claimed by either party, under such clause of the said constitution, treaty, statute, or commission." the indictment and plea, in this case, draw in question, we think, the validity of the treaties made by the united states with the cherokee indians: if not so, their construction is certainly drawn in question; and the decision has been, if not against their validity, "against the right, privilege, or exemption, specially set up and claimed under them." they also draw into question the validity of a statute of the state of georgia, "on the ground of its being repugnant to the constitution, treaties, and laws, of the united states, and the decision is in favor of its validity." it is, then, we think, too clear for controversy, that the act of congress, by which this court is constituted, has given it the power, and, of course, imposed on it the duty, of exercising jurisdiction in this case. this duty, however unpleasant, cannot be avoided. those who fill the judicial department have no discretion in selecting the subjects to be brought before them. we must examine the defence set up in this plea. we must inquire and decide whether the act of the legislature of georgia, under which the plaintiff in error has been prosecuted and condemned, be consistent with, or repugnant to, the constitution, laws, and treaties, of the united states. it has been said at the bar, that the acts of the legislature of georgia seize on the whole cherokee country, parcel it out among the neighboring counties of the state, extend her code over the whole country, abolish its institutions and its laws, and annihilate its political existence. if this be the general effect of the system, let us inquire into the effect of the particular statute and section on which the indictment is founded. it enacts that "all white persons, residing within the limits of the cherokee nation on the first day of march next, or at any time thereafter, without a licence or permit from his excellency the governor, or from such agent as his excellency the governor shall authorize to grant such permit or licence, and who shall not have taken the oath hereinafter required, shall be guilty of a high misdemeanor, and, upon conviction thereof, shall be punished by confinement to the penitentiary, at hard labor, for a term not less than four years." the th section authorizes the governor, "should he deem it necessary for the protection of the mines, or the enforcement of the laws in force within the cherokee nation, to raise and organize a guard," &c. the th section enacts, "that the said guard or any member of them, shall be, and they are hereby, authorized and empowered to arrest any person legally charged with or detected in a violation of the laws of this state, and to convey, as soon as practicable, the person so arrested, before a justice of the peace, judge of the superior, justice of inferior court of this state, to be dealt with according to law." the extra-territorial power of every legislature being limited in its action, to its own citizens or subjects, the very passage of this act is an assertion of jurisdiction over the cherokee nation, and of the rights and powers consequent on jurisdiction. the first step, then, in the inquiry, which the constitution and laws impose on this court, is an examination of the rightfulness of this claim. america, separated from europe by a wide ocean, was inhabited by a distinct people, divided into separate nations, independent of each other and of the rest of the world, having institutions of their own, and governing themselves by their own laws. it is difficult to comprehend the proposition, that the inhabitants of either quarter of the globe could have rightful original claims of dominion over the inhabitants of the other, or over the lands they occupied; or that the discovery of either by the other should give the discoverer, rights in the country discovered, which annulled the pre-existing rights of its ancient possessors. after lying concealed for a series of ages, the enterprise of europe, guided by nautical science, conducted some of her adventurous sons into this western world. they found it in possession of a people who had made small progress in agriculture or manufactures, and whose general employment was war, hunting, and fishing. did these adventurers, by sailing along the coast, and occasionally landing on it, acquire for the several governments to whom they belonged, or by whom they were commissioned, a rightful property in the soil, from the atlantic to the pacific; or rightful dominion over the numerous people who occupied it? or has nature, or the great creator of all things, conferred these rights over hunters and fishermen, on agriculturists and manufacturers? but power, war, conquest, give rights, which, after possession, are conceded by the world, and which can never be controverted by those on whom they descend. we proceed, then, to the actual state of things, having glanced at their origin; because holding it in our recollection might shed some light on existing pretensions. the great maritime powers of europe discovered and visited different parts of this continent at nearly the same time. the object was too immense for any one of them to grasp the whole; and the claimants were too powerful to submit to the exclusive or unreasonable pretensions of any single potentate. to avoid bloody conflicts, which might terminate disastrously to all, it was necessary for the nations of europe to establish some principle which all would acknowledge, and which should decide their respective rights as between themselves. this principle, suggested by the actual state of things, was, "that discovery gave title to the government by whose subjects or by whose authority it was made, against all other european governments, which title might be consummated by possession."[ ] [ ] th wh. . this principle, acknowledged by all europeans, because it was the interest of all to acknowledge it, gave to the nation making the discovery, as its inevitable consequence, the sole right of acquiring the soil and of making settlements on it. it was an exclusive principle, which shut out the right of competition among those who had agreed to it; not one which could annul the previous rights of those who had not agreed to it. it regulated the right given by discovery among the european discoverers; but could not affect the rights of those already in possession, either as aboriginal occupants, or as occupants by virtue of a discovery made before the memory of man. it gave the exclusive right to purchase, but did not found that right on a denial of the right of the possessor to sell. the relation between the europeans and the natives was determined in each case by the particular government which asserted and could maintain this pre-emptive privilege in the particular place. the united states succeeded to all the claims of great britain, both territorial and political, but no attempt, so far as is known, has been made to enlarge them. so far as they existed merely in theory, or were in their nature only exclusive of the claims of other european nations, they still retain their original character, and remain dormant. so far as they have been practically exerted, they exist in fact, are understood by both parties, are asserted by the one, and admitted by the other. soon after great britain determined on planting colonies in america, the king granted charters to companies of his subjects, who associated for the purpose of carrying the views of the crown into effect, and of enriching themselves. the first of these charters was made before possession was taken of any part of the country. they purport generally to convey the soil, from the atlantic to the south sea. this soil was occupied by numerous and warlike nations, equally willing and able to defend their possessions. the extravagant and absurd idea, that the feeble settlements made on the sea coast, or the companies under whom they were made, acquired legitimate power by them to govern the people, or occupy the lands from sea to sea, did not enter the mind of any man. they were well understood to convey the title which, according to the common law of european sovereigns respecting america, they might rightfully convey, and no more. this was the exclusive right of purchasing such lands as the natives were willing to sell. the crown could not be understood to grant what the crown did not affect to claim, nor was it so understood. the power of making war is conferred by these charters on the colonies, but _defensive_ war alone seems to have been contemplated. in the first charter to the first and second colonies, they are empowered, "for their several _defences_, to encounter, expulse, repel, and resist, all persons who shall, without license," attempt to inhabit "within the said precincts and limits of the said several colonies, or that shall enterprise or attempt at any time hereafter the least detriment or annoyance of the said several colonies or plantations." the charter to connecticut concludes a general power to make defensive war with these terms: "and upon _just causes_ to invade and destroy the natives or other enemies of the said colony." the same power, in the same words, is conferred on the government of rhode island. this power to repel invasion, and, upon just cause, to invade and destroy the natives, authorizes offensive as well as defensive war, but only "on just cause." the very terms imply the existence of a country to be invaded, and of an enemy who has given just cause of war. the charter to william penn contains the following recital: "and because, in so remote a country, near so many barbarous nations, the incursions, as well of the savages themselves, as of other enemies, pirates, and robbers, may probably be feared, therefore we have given," &c. the instrument then confers the power of war. these barbarous nations, whose incursions were feared, and to repel whose incursions the power to make war was given, were surely not considered as the subjects of penn, or occupying his lands during his pleasure. the same clause is introduced into the charter to lord baltimore. the charter to georgia professes to be granted for the charitable purpose of enabling poor subjects to gain a comfortable subsistence by cultivating lands in the american provinces, "at present waste and desolate." it recites: "and whereas our provinces in north america have been frequently ravaged by indian enemies, more especially that of south carolina, which, in the late war by the neighboring savages, was laid waste by fire and sword, and great numbers of the english inhabitants miserably massacred; and our loving subjects, who now inhabit there, by reason of the smallness of their numbers, will, in case of any new war, be exposed to the like calamities, inasmuch as their whole southern frontier continueth unsettled, and lieth open to the said savages." these motives for planting the new colony are incompatible with the lofty ideas of granting the soil and all its inhabitants from sea to sea. they demonstrate the truth, that these grants asserted a title against europeans only, and were considered as blank paper so far as the rights of the natives were concerned. the power of war is given only for defence, not for conquest. the charters contain passages showing one of their objects to be the civilization of the indians, and their conversion to christianity--objects to be accomplished by conciliatory conduct, and good example; not by extermination. the actual state of things, and the practice of european nations, on so much of the american continent as lies between the mississippi and the atlantic, explain their claims and the charters they granted. their pretensions unavoidably interfered with each other: though the discovery of one was admitted by all to exclude the claim of any other, the extent of that discovery was the subject of unceasing contest. bloody conflicts arose between them, which gave importance and security to the neighboring nations. fierce and warlike in their character, they might be formidable enemies, or effective friends. instead of rousing their resentments, by asserting claims to their lands, or to dominion over their persons, their alliance was sought by flattering professions, and purchased by rich presents. the english, the french, and the spaniards, were equally competitors for their friendship and their aid. not well acquainted with the exact meaning of words, nor supposing it to be material whether they were called the subjects, or the children of their father in europe; lavish in professions of duty and affection, in return for the rich presents they received; so long as their actual independence was untouched, and their right to self government acknowledged, they were willing to profess dependence on the power which furnished supplies of which they were in absolute need, and restrained dangerous intruders from entering their country: and this was probably the sense in which the term was understood by them. certain it is, that our history furnishes no example, from the first settlement of our country, of any attempt, on the part of the crown, to interfere with the internal affairs of the indians, farther than to keep out the agents of foreign powers, who, as traders or otherwise, might seduce them into foreign alliances. the king purchased their lands when they were willing to sell, at a price they were willing to take; but never coerced a surrender of them. he also purchased their alliance and dependence by subsidies; but never intruded into the interior of their affairs, or interfered with their self government, so far as respected themselves only. the general views of great britain, with regard to the indians, were detailed by mr. stuart, superintendent of indian affairs, in a speech delivered at mobile, in presence of several persons of distinction, soon after the peace of . towards the conclusion he says, "lastly, i inform you that it is the king's order to all his governors and subjects to treat the indians with justice and humanity, and to forbear all encroachments on the territories allotted to them; accordingly, all individuals are prohibited from purchasing any of your lands; but, as you know that, as your white brethren cannot feed you when you visit them, unless you give them ground to plant, it is expected that you will cede lands to the king for that purpose. but, whenever you shall be pleased to surrender any of your territories to his majesty, it must be done, for the future, at a public meeting of your nation, when the governors of the provinces, or the superintendent shall be present, and obtain the consent of all your people. the boundaries of your hunting grounds will be accurately fixed, and no settlement permitted to be made upon them. as you may be assured that all treaties with you will be faithfully kept, so it is expected that you, also, will be careful strictly to observe them." the proclamation issued by the king of great britain, in , soon after the ratification of the articles of peace, forbids the governors of any of the colonies to grant warrants of survey, or pass patents upon any lands whatever, which, not having been ceded to, or purchased by, us, (the king) as aforesaid, are reserved to the said indians, or any of them. the proclamation proceeds: "and we do farther declare it to be our royal will and pleasure, for the present, as aforesaid, to reserve, under our sovereignty, protection, and dominion, for the use of the said indians, all the lands and territories lying to the westward of the sources of the rivers which fall into the sea, from the west and northwest as aforesaid: and we do hereby strictly forbid, on pain of our displeasure, all our loving subjects from making any purchases or settlements whatever, or taking possession of any of the lands above reserved, without our special leave and licence for that purpose first obtained. "and we do further strictly enjoin and require all persons whatever, who have, either wilfully or inadvertently, seated themselves upon any lands within the countries above described, or upon any other lands which, not having been ceded to, or purchased by us, are still reserved to the said indians, as aforesaid, forthwith to remove themselves from such settlements." a proclamation, issued by governor gage, in , contains the following passage: "whereas many persons, contrary to the positive orders of the king, upon this subject, have undertaken to make settlements beyond the boundaries fixed by the treaties made with the indian nations, which boundaries ought to serve as a barrier between the whites and the said nations;" particularly on the ouabache, the proclamation orders such persons to quit those countries without delay. such was the policy of great britain towards the indian nations inhabiting the territory from which she excluded all other europeans; such her claims, and such her practical exposition of the charters she had granted: she considered them as nations capable of maintaining the relations of peace and war; of governing themselves, under her protection; and she made treaties with them, the obligation of which she acknowledged. this was the settled state of things when the war of our revolution commenced. the influence of our enemy was established; her resources enabled her to keep up that influence; and the colonists had much cause for the apprehension that the indian nations would, as the allies of great britain, add their arms to hers. this, as was to be expected, became an object of great solicitude to congress, far from advancing a claim to their lands, or asserting any right of dominion over them, congress resolved "that the securing and preserving the friendship of the indian nations appears to be a subject of the utmost moment to these colonies." the early journals of congress exhibit the most anxious desire to conciliate the indian nations. three indian departments were established; and commissioners appointed in each, "to treat with the indians in their respective departments, in the name and on behalf of the united colonies, in order to preserve peace and friendship with the said indians, and to prevent their taking any part in the present commotions." the most strenuous exertions were made to procure those supplies on which indian friendships were supposed to depend, and everything which might excite hostility was avoided. the first treaty was made with the delawares, in september, . the language of equality in which it is drawn, evinces the temper with which the negotiation was undertaken, and the opinion which then prevailed in the united states. " st. that all offences or acts of hostilities, by one or either of the contracting parties against the other, be mutually forgiven, and buried in the depth of oblivion, never more to be had in remembrance. " d. that a perpetual peace and friendship shall, from henceforth, take place and subsist between the contracting parties aforesaid, through all succeeding generations: and if either of the parties are engaged in a just and necessary war, with any other nation or nations, that then each shall assist the other, in due proportion to their abilities, till their enemies are brought to reasonable terms of accommodation," &c. d. the third article stipulates, among other things, a free passage for the american troops through the delaware nation, and engages that they shall be furnished with provisions and other necessaries at their value. " th. for the better security of the peace and friendship now entered into by the contracting parties against all infractions of the same by the citizens of either party, to the prejudice of the other, neither party shall proceed to the infliction of punishments on the citizens of the other, otherwise than by securing the offender or offenders, by imprisonment, or any other competent means, till a fair and impartial trial can be had by judges or juries of both parties, as near as can be to the laws, customs, and usages, of the contracting parties, and natural justice," &c. th. the fifth article regulates the trade between the contracting parties, in a manner entirely equal. th. the sixth article is entitled to peculiar attention, as it contains a disclaimer of designs which were, at that time, ascribed to the united states, by their enemies, and from the imputation of which congress was then peculiarly anxious to free the government. it is in these words: "whereas the enemies of the united states have endeavored, by every artifice in their power, to possess the indians in general with an opinion that it is the design of the states aforesaid to extirpate the indians, and take possession of their country: to obviate such false suggestion the united states do engage to guaranty to the aforesaid nation of delawares, and their heirs, all their territorial rights, in the fullest and most ample manner, as it hath been bounded by former treaties, as long as the said delaware nation shall abide by, and hold fast, the chain of friendship now entered into." the parties further agree, that other tribes, friendly to the interest of the united states, may be invited to form a state, whereof the delaware nation shall be the heads, and have a representation in congress. this treaty, in its language, and in its provisions, is formed, as near as may be, on the model of treaties between the crowned heads of europe. the sixth article shows how congress then treated the injurious calumny of cherishing designs unfriendly to the political and civil rights of the indians. during the war of the revolution, the cherokees took part with the british. alter its termination, the united states, though desirous of peace, did not feel its necessity so strongly as while the war continued. their political situation being changed, they might very well think it advisable to assume a higher tone, and to impress on the cherokees the same respect for congress which was before felt for the king of great britain. this may account for the language of the treaty of hopewell. there is the more reason for supposing that the cherokee chiefs were not very critical judges of the language, from the fact that every one makes his mark; no chief was capable of signing his name. it is probable the treaty was interpreted to them. the treaty is introduced with the declaration, that "the commissioners plenipotentiary of the united states give peace to all the cherokees, and receive them into the favor and protection of the united states of america, on the following conditions." when the united states gave peace, did they not also receive it? were not both parties desirous of it? if we consult the history of the day, does it not inform us that the united states were at least as anxious to obtain it as the cherokees? we may ask, further: did the cherokees come to the seat of the american government to solicit peace; or, did the american commissioners go to them to obtain it? the treaty was made at hopewell, not at new york. the word "give," then, has no real importance attached to it. the first and second articles stipulate for the mutual restoration of prisoners, and are of course equal. the third article acknowledges the cherokees to be under the protection of the united states of america, and of no other power. this stipulation is found in indian treaties, generally. it was introduced into their treaties with great britain; and may probably be found in those with other european powers. its origin may be traced to the nature of their connexion with those powers; and its true meaning is discerned in their relative situation. the general law of european sovereigns, respecting their claims in america, limited the intercourse of indians, in a great degree, to the particular potentate, whose ultimate right of domain was acknowledged by the others. this was the general state of things in time of peace. it was sometimes changed in war. the consequence was, that their supplies were derived chiefly from that nation, and their trade confined to it. goods, indispensable to their comfort, in the shape of presents, were received from the same hand. what was of still more importance, the strong hand of government was interposed to restrain the disorderly and licentious from intrusions into their country, from encroachments on their lands, and from those acts of violence which were often attended by reciprocal murder. the indians perceived in this protection, only what was beneficial to themselves--an engagement to punish aggressions on them. it involved practically no claim to their lands, no dominion over their persons. it merely bound the nation to the british crown, as a dependent ally, claiming the protection of a powerful friend and neighbor, and receiving the advantages of that protection, without involving a surrender of their national character. this is the true meaning of the stipulation, and is undoubtedly the sense in which it was made. neither the british government, nor the cherokees, ever understood it otherwise. the same stipulation entered into with the united states, is undoubtedly to be construed in the same manner. they receive the cherokee nation into their favor and protection. the cherokees acknowledge themselves to be under the protection of the united states, and of no other power. protection does not imply the destruction of the protected. the manner in which this stipulation was understood by the american government, is explained by the language and acts of our first president. the fourth article draws the boundary between the indians and the citizens of the united states. but, in describing this boundary, the term "allotted" and the term "hunting ground" are used. is it reasonable to suppose, that the indians, who could not write, and most probably could not read, who certainly were not critical judges of our language, should distinguish the word "allotted" from the words "marked out." the actual subject of contract was the dividing line between the two nations, and their attention may very well be supposed to have been confined to that subject. when, in fact, they were ceding lands to the united states, and describing the extent of their cession, it may very well be supposed that they might not understand the term employed, as indicating that, instead of granting, they were receiving lands. if the term would admit of no other signification, which is not conceded, its being misunderstood is so apparent, results so necessarily from the whole transaction, that it must, we think, be taken in the sense in which it was most obviously used. so with respect to the words "hunting grounds." hunting was at that time the principal occupation of the indians, and their land was more used for that purpose than for any other. it could not, however, be supposed, that any intention existed of restricting the full use of the lands they reserved. to the united states, it could be a matter of no concern, whether their whole territory was devoted to hunting grounds, or whether an occasional village, and an occasional corn field, interrupted, and gave some variety to the scene. these terms had been used in their treaties with great britain, and had never been misunderstood. they had never been supposed to imply a right in the british government to take their lands, or to interfere with their internal government. the th article withdraws the protection of the united states from any citizen who has settled, or shall settle, on the lands allotted to the indians, for their hunting grounds; and stipulates that, if he shall not remove within six months, the indians may punish him. the th and th articles stipulate for the punishment of the citizens of either country, who may commit offences on or against the citizens of the other. the only inference to be drawn from them is, that the united states considered the cherokees as a nation. the th article is in these words: "for the benefit and comfort of the indians, and for the prevention of injuries or oppressions on the part of the citizens or indians, the united states, in congress assembled, shall have the sole and exclusive right of regulating the trade with the indians, and _managing all their affairs_, as they think proper." to construe the expression "managing all their affairs," into a surrender of self government, would be, we think, a perversion of their necessary meaning, and a departure from the construction which has been uniformly put on them. the great subject of the article is the indian trade. the influence it gave, made it desirable that congress should possess it. the commissioners brought forward the claim, with the profession that their motive was, "the benefit and comfort of the indians, and the prevention of injuries or oppressions." this may be true, as respects the regulation of their trade, and as respects the regulation of all affairs connected with their trade, but cannot be true, as respects the management of all their affairs. the most important of these, is the cession of their lands, and security against intruders on them. is it credible, that they could have considered themselves as surrendering to the united states, the right to dictate their future cessions, and the terms on which they should be made? or to compel their submission to the violence of disorderly and licentious intruders? it is equally inconceivable that they could have supposed themselves, by a phrase thus slipped into an article, on another and most interesting subject, to have divested themselves of the right of self government on subjects not connected with trade. such a measure could not be "for their benefit and comfort," or for "the prevention of injuries and oppression." such a construction would be inconsistent with the spirit of this and of all subsequent treaties; especially of those articles which recognise the right of the cherokees to declare hostilities, and to make war. it would convert a treaty of peace covertly into an act, annihilating the political existence of one of the parties. had such a result been intended, it would have been openly avowed. this treaty contains a few terms capable of being used in a sense which could not have been intended at the time, and which is inconsistent with the practical construction which has always been put on them; but its essential articles treat the cherokees as a nation capable of maintaining the relations of peace and war; and ascertain the boundaries between them and the united states. the treaty of hopewell seems not to have established a solid peace. to accommodate the differences still existing between the state of georgia and the cherokee nation, the treaty of holston was negotiated, in july, . the existing constitution of the united states had been then adopted, and the government, having more intrinsic capacity to enforce its just claims, was perhaps less mindful of high sounding expressions, denoting superiority. we hear no more of giving peace to the cherokees. the mutual desire of establishing permanent peace and friendship, and of removing all causes of war, is honestly avowed, and, in pursuance of this desire, the first article declares, that there shall be perpetual peace and friendship between all the citizens of the united states of america and all the individuals composing the cherokee nation. the second article repeats the important acknowledgment, that the cherokee nation is under the protection of the united states of america, and of no other sovereign whosoever. the meaning of this has been already explained. the indian nations were, from their situation, necessarily dependent on some foreign potentate for the supply of their essential wants, and for their protection from lawless and injurious intrusions into their country. that power was naturally termed their protector. they had been arranged under the protection of great britain: but the extinguishment of the british power in their neighborhood, and the establishment of that of the united states, in its place, led naturally to the declaration, on the part of the cherokees, that they were under the protection of the united states, and of no other power. they assumed the relation with the united states which had before subsisted with great britain. this relation was that of a nation claiming and receiving the protection of one more powerful: not that of individuals abandoning their national character, and submitting as subjects to the laws of a master. the third article contains a perfectly equal stipulation for the surrender of prisoners. the fourth article declares, that "the boundary between the united states and the cherokee nation shall be as follows: beginning," &c. we hear no more of "allotments" or of "hunting grounds." a boundary is described, between nation and nation, by mutual consent. the national character of each, the ability of each to establish this boundary, is acknowledged by the other. to preclude forever all disputes, it is agreed that it shall be plainly marked by commissioners, to be appointed by each party; and, in order to extinguish forever, all claim of the cherokees to the ceded lands, an additional consideration is to be paid by the united states. for this additional consideration the cherokees release all right to the ceded land, forever. by the fifth article, the cherokees allow the united states a road through their country, and the navigation of the tennessee river. the acceptance of these cessions is an acknowledgment of the right of the cherokees to make or withhold them. by the sixth article it is agreed, on the part of the cherokees, that the united states shall have the sole and exclusive right of regulating their trade. no claim is made to the management of all their affairs. this stipulation has already been explained. the observation may be repeated, that the stipulation is itself an admission of their right to make or refuse it. by the seventh article the united states solemnly guaranty to the cherokee nation all their lands not hereby ceded. the eighth article relinquishes to the cherokees any citizens of the united states who may settle on their lands; and the ninth forbids any citizen of the united states to hunt on their lands, or to enter their country without a passport. the remaining articles are equal, and contain stipulations which could be made only with a nation admitted to be capable of governing itself. this treaty, thus explicitly recognizing the national character of the cherokees, and their right of self government; thus guarantying their lands; assuming the duty of protection, and of course pledging the faith of the united states for that protection; has been frequently renewed, and is now in full force. to the general pledge of protection have been added several specific pledges, deemed valuable by the indians. some of these restrain the citizens of the united states from encroachments on the cherokee country, and provide for the punishment of intruders. from the commencement of our government, congress has passed acts to regulate trade and intercourse with the indians, which treat them as nations, respect their rights, and manifest a firm purpose to afford that protection which treaties stipulate. all these acts, and especially that of , which is still in force, manifestly consider the several indian nations as distinct political communities, having territorial boundaries, within which their authority is exclusive, and having a right to all the lands within those boundaries, which is not only acknowledged, but guarantied by the united states. in , congress passed an act for promoting these humane designs of civilizing the neighboring indians, which had long been cherished by the executive. it enacts, "that, for the purpose of providing against the further decline and filial extinction of the indian tribes adjoining to the frontier settlements of the united states, and for introducing among them the habits and arts of civilization, the president of the united states shall be, and he is hereby, authorized, in every case where he shall judge improvement in the habits and condition of such indians practicable, and that the means of instruction can be introduced, _with their own consent_, to employ capable persons, of good moral character, to instruct them in the mode of agriculture suited to their situation; and for teaching their children in reading, writing, and arithmetic; and for performing such other duties as may be enjoined, according to such instructions and rules as the president may give and prescribe for the regulation of their conduct in the discharge of their duties." this act avowedly contemplates the preservation of the indian nations as an object sought by the united states, and proposes to effect this object by civilizing and converting them from hunters into agriculturists. though the cherokees had already made considerable progress in this improvement, it cannot be doubted that the general words of the act comprehend them. their advance in the "habits and arts of civilization." rather encouraged perseverance in the laudable exertions still farther to meliorate their condition. this act furnishes strong additional evidence of a settled purpose to fix the indians in their country by giving them security at home. the treaties and laws of the united states contemplate the indian territory as completely separated from that of the states; and provide that all intercourse with them shall be carried on exclusively by the government of the union. is this the rightful exercise of power, or is it usurpation? while these states were colonies, this power, in its utmost extent, was admitted to reside in the crown. when our revolutionary struggle commenced, congress was composed of an assemblage of deputies acting under specific powers granted by the legislatures, or conventions of the several colonies. it was a great popular movement, not perfectly organized, nor were the respective powers of those who were entrusted with the management of affairs accurately defined. the necessities of our situation produced a general conviction that those measures which concerned all, must be transacted by a body in which the representatives of all were assembled, and which could command the confidence of all; congress, therefore, was considered as invested with all the powers of war and peace, and congress dissolved our connexion with the mother country, and declared these united colonies to be independent states. without any written definition of powers, they employed diplomatic agents to represent the united states at the several courts of europe; offered to negotiate treaties with them; and did actually negotiate treaties with france. from the same necessity, and on the same principles, congress assumed the management of indian affairs; first in the name of these united colonies, and afterwards in the name of the united states. early attempts were made at negotiation, and to regulate trade with them. these not proving successful, war was carried on under the direction, and with the forces of the united states, and the efforts to make peace, by treaty, were earnest and incessant. the confederation found congress in the exercise of the same powers of peace and war, in our relations with indian nations, as with those of europe. such was the state of things when the confederation was adopted. that instrument surrendered the powers of peace and war to congress, and prohibited them to the states, respectively, unless a state be actually invaded, "or shall have received certain advice of a resolution being formed by some nation of indians to invade such state, and the danger is so imminent as not to admit of delay till the united states, in congress assembled, can be consulted." this instrument also gave the united states in congress assembled the sole and exclusive right of "regulating the trade, and managing all the affairs with the indians, not members of any of the states: _provided_, that the legislative power of any state within its own limits be not infringed or violated." the ambiguous phrases which follow the grant of power to the united states, were so construed by the states of north carolina and georgia as to annul the power itself. the discontents and confusion resulting from these conflicting claims, produced representations to congress, which were referred to a committee, who made their report in . the report does not assent to the construction of the two states, but recommends an accommodation, by liberal cessions of territory, or by an admission, on their part, of the powers claimed by congress. the correct exposition of this article is rendered unnecessary by the adoption of our existing constitution. that instrument confers on congress the powers of war and peace; of making treaties, and of regulating commerce with foreign nations, and among the several states, and _with the indian tribes_. these powers comprehend all that is required for the regulation of our intercourse with the indians. they are not limited by any restrictions on their free actions. the shackles imposed on this power, in the confederation, are discarded. the indian nations had always been considered as distinct, independent political communities, retaining their original natural rights, as the undisputed possessors of the soil, from time immemorial, with the single exception of that imposed by irresistible power, which excluded them from intercourse with any other european potentate than the first discoverer of the coast of the particular region claimed: and this was a restriction which those european potentates imposed on themselves, as well as on the indians. the very term, "nation," so generally applied to them, means "a people distinct from others." the constitution, by declaring treaties already made, as well as those to be made, to be the supreme law of the land, has adopted and sanctioned the previous treaties with the indian nations, and, consequently, admits their rank among those powers who are capable of making treaties. the words "treaty" and "nation" are words of our own language, selected in our diplomatic and legislative proceedings, by ourselves, having each a definite and well understood meaning. we have applied them to indians, as we have applied them to the other nations of the earth. they are applied to all in the same sense. georgia, herself, has furnished conclusive evidence that her former opinions on this subject concurred with those entertained by her sister states, and by the government of the united states. various acts of her legislature have been cited in the argument, including the contract of cession made in the year , all tending to prove her acquiescence in the universal conviction that the indian nations possessed a full right to the lands they occupied, until that right should be extinguished by the united states, with their consent; that their territory was separated from that of any state within whose chartered limits they might reside, by a boundary line, established by treaties; that, within their boundary, they possessed rights with which no state could interfere; and that the whole power of regulating the intercourse with them, was vested in the united states. a review of these acts, on the part of georgia, would occupy too much time, and is the less necessary, because they have been accurately detailed in the argument at the bar. her new series of laws, manifesting her abandonment of these opinions, appears to have commenced in december, . in opposition to this original right, possessed by the undisputed occupants of every country, to this recognition of that right, which is evidenced by our history in every change through which we have passed, is placed the charters granted by the monarch of a distant and distinct region, parcelling out a territory in possession of others, whom he could not remove, and did not attempt to remove, and the cession made of his claims, by the treaty of peace. the actual state of things at the time, and all history since, explain these charters; and the king of great britain, at the treaty of peace, could cede only what belonged to his crown. these newly asserted titles can derive no aid from the articles so often repeated in indian treaties, extending to them, first, the protection of great britain, and afterwards, that of the united states. these articles are associated with others, recognizing their title to self government. the very fact of repeated treaties with them recognizes it; and the settled doctrine of the law of nations is, that the weaker power does not surrender its independence--its right to self government--by associating with a stronger, and taking its protection. a weak state, in order to provide for its safety, may place itself under the protection of one more powerful, without stripping itself of the right of government, and ceasing to be a state. examples of this kind are not wanting in europe. "tributary and feudatory states," says vattel, "do not thereby cease to be sovereign and independent states, so long as self government and sovereign and independent authority is left in the administration of the state." at the present day, more than one state may be considered as holding its right of self government under the guarantee and protection of one or more allies. the cherokee nation, then, is a distinct community, occupying its own territory, with boundaries accurately described, in which the laws of georgia can have no force, and which the citizens of georgia have no right to enter, but with the assent of the cherokees themselves, or in conformity with treaties, and with the acts of congress. the whole intercourse between the united states and this nation, is, by our constitution and laws, vested in the government of the united states. the act of the state of georgia, under which the plaintiff in error was prosecuted, is consequently void, and the judgment a nullity. can this court revise and reverse it? if the objection to the system of legislation, lately adopted by the legislature of georgia, in relation to the cherokee nation, was confined to its extraterritorial operation, the objection, though complete, so far as respected mere right, would give this court no power over the subject. but it goes much further. if the view which has been taken be correct, and we think it is, the acts of georgia are repugnant to the constitution, laws, and treaties, of the united states. they interfere forcibly with the relations established between the united states and the cherokee nation, the regulation of which, according to the settled principles of our constitution, are committed exclusively to the government of the union. they are in direct hostility with treaties, repeated in a succession of years, which mark out the boundary that separates the cherokee country from georgia; guaranty to them all the land within their boundary; solemnly pledge the faith of the united states to restrain their citizens from trespassing on it; and recognize the pre-existing power of the nation to govern itself. they are in equal hostility with the acts of congress for regulating this intercourse and giving effect to the treaties. the forcible seizure and abduction of the plaintiff in error, who was residing in the nation, with its permission, and by authority of the president of the united states, is also a violation of the acts which authorize the chief magistrate to exercise this authority. will these powerful considerations avail the plaintiff in error? we think they will. he was seized, and forcibly carried away, while under guardianship of treaties guarantying the country in which he resided, and taking it under the protection of the united states. he was seized while performing, under the sanction of the chief magistrate of the union, those duties which the humane policy adopted by congress had recommended. he was apprehended, tried, and condemned, under color of a law which has been shown to be repugnant to the constitution, laws, and treaties, of the united states. had a judgment, liable to the same objections, been rendered for property, none would question the jurisdiction of this court. it cannot be less clear when the judgment affects personal liberty, and inflicts disgraceful punishment, if punishment could disgrace when inflicted on innocence. the plaintiff in error is not less interested in the operation of this unconstitutional law than if it affected his property. he is not less entitled to the protection of the constitution, laws, and treaties, of his country. it is the opinion of this court that the judgment of the superior court for the county of gwinnett, in the state of georgia, condemning samuel a. worcester to hard labor, in the penitentiary of the state of georgia, for four years, was pronounced by that court under color of a law which is void, as being repugnant to the constitution, treaties, and laws of the united states, and ought, therefore, to be reversed and annulled. mandate of the court. supreme court of the united states, _january term_, . samuel a. worcester, } _in error to the superior_ _plaintiff in error_, } _court for the county of_ _vs._ } _gwinnett, in the state of_ the state of georgia. } _georgia._ this cause came on to be heard on the transcript of the record from the superior court for the county of gwinnett, in the state of georgia, and was argued by counsel: on consideration whereof, it is the opinion of this court, that the act of the legislature of the state of georgia, upon which the indictment in this case is founded, is contrary to the constitution, treaties, and laws, of the united states; and, that the special plea, in bar, pleaded by the said samuel a. worcester, in manner aforesaid, and relying upon the constitution, treaties, and laws, of the united states, aforesaid, is a good bar and defence to the said indictment, by the said samuel a. worcester; and, as such, ought to have been allowed and admitted by the said superior court for the county of gwinnett, in the state of georgia, before which the said indictment was pending and tried; and that there was error in the said superior court of the state of georgia, in overruling the plea so pleaded, as aforesaid. it is, therefore, ordered and adjudged, that the judgment rendered in the premises, by the said superior court of georgia, upon the verdict upon the plea of not guilty, afterwards pleaded by the said samuel a. worcester, whereby the said samuel a. worcester is sentenced to hard labor in the penitentiary of the state of georgia, ought to be reversed and annulled. and this court, proceeding to render such judgment as the said superior court of the state of georgia should have rendered, it is further ordered and adjudged, that the said judgment of the said superior court be, and hereby is, reversed and annulled; and that judgment be, and hereby is, awarded, that the special plea in bar, so as aforesaid pleaded, is a good and sufficient plea in bar, in law, to the indictment aforesaid, and that all proceedings on the said indictment do forever surcease, and that the said samuel a. worcester be, and hereby is, henceforth dismissed therefrom, and that he go thereof quit without day. and that a special mandate do go from this court to the said superior court, to carry this judgment into execution. march , . domain works at the university of georgia.) [illustration] uncle remus _and_ brer rabbit _by_ joel chandler harris new york frederick a. stokes company publishers copyright, , by joel chandler harris copyright, , by frederick a. stokes company september, the creeturs go to the barbecue [illustration] "once 'pon a time," said uncle remus to the little boy--"but when was once upon a time?" the child interrupted to ask. the old man smiled. "i speck 'twuz one time er two times, er maybe a time an' a half. you know when johnny ashcake 'gun ter bake? well, 'twuz 'long in dem days. once 'pon a time," he resumed, "mr. man had a gyarden so fine dat all de neighbors come ter see it. some 'ud look at it over de fence, some 'ud peep thoo de cracks, an' some 'ud come an' look at it by de light er de stars. an' one un um wuz ol' brer rabbit; starlight, moonlight, cloudlight, de nightlight wuz de light fer him. when de turn er de mornin' come, he 'uz allers up an' about, an' a-feelin' purty well i thank you, suh! [illustration] "now, den, you done hear what i say. dar wuz mr. man, yander wuz de gyarden, an' here wuz ol' brer rabbit." uncle remus made a map of this part of the story by marking in the sand with his walking-cane. "well, dis bein' de case, what you speck gwineter happen? nothin' in de roun' worl' but what been happenin' sence greens an' sparrer-grass wuz planted in de groun'. dey look fine an' dey tas'e fine, an' long to'rds de shank er de mornin', brer rabbit 'ud creep thoo de crack er de fence an' nibble at um. he'd take de greens, but leave his tracks, mo' speshually right atter a rain. takin' an' leavin'--it's de way er de worl'. [illustration] "well, one mornin', mr. man went out in his truck patch, an' he fin' sump'n missin'--a cabbage here, a turnip dar, an' a mess er beans yander, an' he ax how come dis? he look 'roun', he did, an' he seed brer rabbit's tracks what he couldn't take wid 'im. brer rabbit had lef' his shoes at home, an' come bar'footed. [illustration] "so mr. man, he call his dogs 'here, buck! here, brinjer! here, blue!' an' he sicc'd um on de track, an' here dey went! [illustration] "you'd 'a' thunk dey wuz runnin' atter forty-lev'm rhinossyhosses fum de fuss dey made. brer rabbit he hear um comin' an' he put out fer home, kinder doublin' 'roun' des like he do deze days. [illustration] "when he got ter de p'int whar he kin set down fer ter rest his face an' han's, he tuck a poplar leaf an' 'gun ter fan hisse'f. den brer fox come a-trottin' up. he say, 'brer rabbit, what's all dis fuss i hear in de woods? what de name er goodness do it mean?' brer rabbit kinder scratch his head an' 'low, 'why, deyer tryin' fer drive me ter de big bobbycue on de creek. dey all ax me, an' when i 'fuse dey say deyer gwine ter make me go any how. dey aint no fun in bein' ez populous ez what i is, brer fox. ef you wanter go, des git in ahead er de houn's an' go lickity-split down de big road!' [illustration] "brer fox roll his little eyes, an' lick his chops whar he dribble at de mouf, an put out ter de bobbycue, an' he aint mo' dan made his disappearance, 'fo' here come brer wolf, an' when he got de news, off he put. "an' he aint mo'n got out'n sight, 'fo' here come ol' brer b'ar, an' when he hear talk er de bakin' meat an' de big pan er gravy, he sot up on his behime legs an' snored. den off he put, an' he aint got out'n hearin', 'fo' brer coon come rackin' up, an' when he got de news, he put out. [illustration] "so dar dey wuz an' what you gwine do 'bout it? it seem like dey all got in front er de dogs, er de dogs got behime um, an' brer rabbit sot by de creek-side laughin' an' hittin' at de snake doctors. an' dem po' creeturs had ter go clean past de bobbycue--ef dey wuz any bobbycue, which i don't skacely speck dey wuz. dat what make me say what i does--when you git a invite ter a bobbycue, you better fin' out when an' whar it's at, an' who runnin' it." brer rabbit's frolic [illustration] the little boy, when he next saw uncle remus, after hearing how the animals went to the barbecue, wanted to know what happened to them: he was anxious to learn if any of them were hurt by the dogs that had been chasing brother rabbit. the old darkey closed his eyes and chuckled. "you sho is axin' sump'n now, honey. und' his hat, ef he had any, brer rabbit had a mighty quick thinkin' apple-ratus, an' mos' inginner'lly, all de time, de pranks he played on de yuther creeturs pestered um bofe ways a-comin' an' a-gwine. de dogs done mighty well, 'long ez dey had dealin's wid de small fry, like brer fox, an' brer coon, an' brer wolf, but when dey run ag'in' ol' brer b'ar, dey sho struck a snag. de mos' servigrous wuz de identual one dat got de wust hurted. he got too close ter brer b'ar, an' when he look at hisse'f in runnin' water, he tuck notice dat he wuz split wide open fum flank ter dewlap. [illustration] "atter de rucus wuz over, de creeturs hobbled off home de best dey could, an' laid 'roun' in sun an' shade fer ter let der cuts an' gashes git good an' well. when dey got so dey could segashuate, an' pay der party calls, dey 'gree fer ter insemble some'rs, an' hit on some plan fer ter outdo brer rabbit. well, dey had der insembly, an' dey jower'd an' jower'd des like yo' pa do when he aint feelin' right well; but, bimeby, dey 'greed 'pon a plan dat look like it mought work. dey 'gree fer ter make out dat dey gwine ter have a dance. dey know'd dat ol' brer rabbit wuz allers keen fer dat, an' dey say dey'll gi' him a invite, an' when he got dar, dey'd ax 'im fer ter play de fiddle, an' ef he 'fuse, dey'll close in on 'im an' make way wid 'im. [illustration] "so fur, so good! but all de time dey wuz jowerin' an' confabbin', ol' brer rabbit wus settin' in a shady place in de grass, a-hearin' eve'y word dey say. when de time come, he crope out, he did, an' run 'roun', an' de fust news dey know'd, here he come down de big road--bookity-bookity--same ez a hoss dat's broke thoo de pastur' fence. he say, sezee, 'why, hello, frien's! an' howdy, too, kaze i aint seed you-all sence de last time! whar de name er goodness is you been deze odd-come-shorts? an' how did you far' at de bobbycue? ef my two eyeballs aint gone an' got crooked, dar's ol' brer b'ar, him er de short tail an' sharp tush--de ve'y one i'm a-huntin' fer! an' dar's brer coon! i sho is in big luck. dar's gwineter be a big frolic at miss meadows', an' her an' de gals want brer b'ar fer ter show um de roas'n'-y'ar shuffle; an' dey put brer coon down fer de jig dey calls rack-back-davy. [illustration] "'i'm ter play de fiddle--sump'n i aint done sence my oldest gal had de mumps an' de measles, bofe de same day an' hour! well, dis mornin' i tuck down de fiddle fum whar she wuz a-hangin' at, an' draw'd de bow backerds an' forerds a time er two, an' den i shot my eyes an' hit some er de ol'-time chunes, an' when i come ter myse'f, dar wuz my whole blessed fambly skippin' an' sasshayin' 'roun' de room, spite er de fack dat brekkus wuz ter be cooked!' [illustration] "wid dat, brer rabbit bow'd, he did, an' went back down de road like de dogs wuz atter 'im." [illustration] "but what happened then?" the little boy asked. "nothin' 't all," replied uncle remus, taking up the chuckle where he had left off. "de creeturs aint had no dance, an' when dey went ter miss meadows', she put her head out de winder, an' say ef dey don't go off fum dar she'll have de law on um!" brother bear's big house [illustration] "uv all de creeturs", said uncle remus, in response to a questioning took on the part of the little boy, "ol brer b'ar had de biggest an' de warmest house. i dunner why ner wharfo', but i'm a-tellin' you de plain fack, des ez dey to!' it unter me. ef i kin he'p it i never will be deceivin' you, ner lead you inter no bad habits. yo' pappy trotted wid me a mighty long time, an' ef you'll ax him he'll tell you dat de one thing i never did do wuz ter deceive him whiles he had his eyes open; not ef i knows myse'f. well, ol' brer b'ar had de big house i'm a-tellin' you about. ef he y'ever is brag un it, it aint never come down ter me. yit dat's des what he had--a big house an' plenty er room fer him an' his fambly; an' he aint had mo' dan he need, kaze all er his fambly wuz fat an' had what folks calls heft--de nachal plunkness. [illustration] "he had a son name simmon, an' a gal name sue, not countin' his ol' 'oman, an' dey all live wid one an'er day atter day, an' night atter night; an' when one un um went abroad, dey'd be spected home 'bout meal-time, ef not befo', an' dey segashuated right along fum day ter day, washin' der face an' han's in de same wash-pan in de back po'ch, an' wipin' on de same towel same ez all happy famblies allers does. [illustration] "well, time went on an' fotched de changes dat might be spected, an' one day dar come a mighty knockin' on brer b'ar's do'. brer b'ar, he holla out, he did. 'who dat come a-knockin' dis time er de year, 'fo' de corn's done planted, er de cotton-crap's pitched?' de one at de do' make a big noise, an' rattle de hinges. brer b'ar holla out, he did, 'don't t'ar down my house! who is you, anyhow, an' what you want?' an' de answer come, 'i'm one an' darfo' not two; ef youer mo' dan one, who is you an' what you doin' in dar?' brer b'ar, he say, sezee, 'i'm all er one an' mighty nigh two, but i'd thank you fer ter tell me yo' full fambly name.' den de answer come. [illustration] "'i'm de knocker an' de mover bofe, an' ef i can't clim' over i'll crawl under ef you do but gi' me de word. some calls me brer polecat, an' some a big word dat it aint wuff while ter ermember, but i wanter move in. it's mighty col' out here, an' all i meets tells me it's mighty warm in dar whar you is.' den ol' brer b'ar say, sezee. 'it's warm nuff fer dem what stays in here, but not nigh so warm fer dem on de outside. what does you reely want?' brer polecat 'spon', he did, 'i wants a heap er things dat i don't git. i'm a mighty good housekeeper, but i takes notice dat dar's mighty few folks dat wants me ter keep house fer um.' brer b'ar say, sezee, 'i aint got no room fer no housekeeper; we aint skacely got room fer ter go ter bed. ef you kin keep my house on de outside, you er mighty welcome.' [illustration] "brer polecat say, 'you may think you aint got no room, but i bet you got des ez much room ez anybody what i know. ef you let me in dar one time, i boun' you i'll make all de room i want.'" [illustration] uncle remus paused to see what effect this statement would have on the little boy. he closed his eyes, as though he were tired, but when he opened them again, he saw the faint shadow of a smile on the child's face. "'taint gwine ter hurt you fer ter laugh a little bit, honey. brer polecat come in brer b'ar's house, an' he had sech a bad breff dat dey all hatter git out--an' he stayed an' stayed twel time stopped runnin' ag'in' him." brer rabbit treats the creeturs to a race [illustration] one sultry summer day, while the little boy was playing not far from uncle remus's cabin, a heavy black cloud made its appearance in the west, and quickly obscured the sky. it sent a brisk gale before it, as if to clear the path of leaves and dust. presently there was a blinding flash of lightning, a snap and a crash, and, with that, the child took to his heels, and ran to uncle remus, who was standing in his door. "dar now!" he exclaimed, before the echoes of the thunder had rolled away, "dat dust an' win', an' rain, puts me in mind er de time when ol' brer rabbit got up a big race fer ter pleasure de yuther creeturs. it wuz de mos' funniest race you ever hear tell on. brer rabbit went 'way off in de woods twel he come ter de rainmaker's house. he knocked an' went in, an' he ax de rainmaker ef he can't fix it up so dey kin have a race 'tween brer dust an' cousin rain, fer ter see which kin run de fastes'. de rainmaker growled an' jowered, but bimeby he 'gree, but he say that ef 'twuz anybody but brer rabbit, he wouldn't gi' it but one thunk. [illustration] "well, dey fix de day, dey did, an' den brer rabbit put out ter whar de creeturs wuz stayin' at, an' tol' um de news. dey dunner how brer rabbit know, but dey all wanter see de race. now, him an' de rainmaker had fixt it up so dat de race would be right down de middle er de big road, an' when de day come, dar's whar he made de creeturs stan'--brer b'ar at de bend er de road, brer wolf a leetle furder off, an' brer fox at a p'int whar de cross-roads wuz. brer coon an' brer possum an' de yuthers be scattered about up an' down de road. [illustration] "ter dem what has ter wait, it seem like de sun stops an' all de clocks wid 'im. brer b'ar done some growlin'; brer wolf some howlin' an' brer possum some laughin'; but atter while a cloud come up fum some'rs. 'twant sech a big cloud, but brer rabbit know'd dat cousin rain wuz in dar 'long wid uncle win'. de cloud crope up, it did, twel it got right over de big road, an' den it kinder drapped down a leetle closer ter de groun'. it look like it kinder stop, like a buggy, fer cousin rain ter git out, so der'd be a fa'r start. well, he got out, kaze de creeturs kin see 'im, an' den uncle win', he got out. [illustration] "an' den, gentermens! de race begun fer ter commence. uncle win' hep'd um bofe; he had his bellows wid 'im, an' he blow'd it! brer dust got up fum whar he wuz a-layin' at, an' come down de road des a-whirlin'. he stricken ol' brer b'ar fust, den brer wolf, an' den brer fox, an' atter dat, all de yuther creeturs, an' it come mighty nigh smifflicatin' um! not never in all yo' born days is you y'ever heern sech coughin' an' sneezin', sech snortin' an' wheezin'! an' dey all look like dey wuz painted red. brer b'ar sneeze so hard dat he hatter lay down in de road, an' brer dust come mighty nigh buryin' 'im, an' 'twuz de same wid de yuther creeturs--dey got der y'ears, der noses, an' der eyeses full. [illustration] "an' den cousin rain come 'long, a-pursuin' brer dust, an' he come mighty nigh drownin' um. he left um kivver'd wid mud, an' dey wuz wuss off dan befo'. it wuz de longest 'fo' dey kin git de mud out 'n der eyes an' y'ears, an' when dey git so dey kin see a leetle bit, dey tuck notice dat brer rabbit, stidder bein' full er mud, wuz ez dry ez a chip, ef not dryer. [illustration] "it make um so mad, dat dey all put out atter 'im, an' try der level best fer ter ketch, but ef dey wuz anything in de roun' worl' dat brer rabbit's got, it's soople foots, an' 'twant no time 'fo' de yuther creeturs can't see ha'r ner hide un 'im! all de same brer rabbit aint bargain fer ter have two races de same day." "but, uncle remus," said the little boy, "which beat, brother dust or cousin rain?" the old man stirred uneasily in his chair, and rubbed his chin with his hand. "dey tells me," he responded cautiously, "dat when cousin rain can't see nothin' er brother dust, he thunk he am beat, but he holla out, 'brer dust, wharbouts is you?' an' brer dust he holla back, 'you'll hatter scuzen me; i fell down in de mud an' can't run no mo'!'" brer rabbit's flying trip [illustration] dar once wuz a time when most er de creeturs got mighty tired er brer rabbit's capers, an' dey 'semble', dey did, grass an' meat eaters. browsers an' grazers, an' likewiss de bone-scrapers, fer ter see what dey kin do. brer b'ar wuz dar, wid his bid fur suit on, an' ol' brer wolf fetched his big howl along, an' when eve'ything wuz ready, wid a long, loud hoot on, here come ol' simon swamp owl along, a-tootin' of his too-whoo. dar wuz ol' brer fox, suh, wid his black socks, suh, an' a heap er creeturs dat i don't hatter mention; some bow-legged an' some knock-kneed in de hocks, suh. an' dey all agree fer ter hol' a convention fer ter stop brer rabbit's pranks. [illustration] brer fox, he 'low he'll gi' a pot er gol', suh, ter de man what kin tol brer rabbit off, suh; brer buzzard say, "i'm a-gittin' ol', suh, but i'll try my han," an' den he cough, suh. an' de rest un um bowed dere thanks. now, ol' brer b'ar wuz a-settin' in de cheer, suh, so he stand up an' move a motion; he up an' 'low, "le's erso'v right here, suh, fer ter thank brer buzzard whiles we're in de notion, an' not put it off ter some yuther day." an' den dey had it up an' down, suh, 'sputin' 'bout what dey oughter do, some wanter gi' 'im a flower crown, suh, ef he rid brer rabbit up dar in de blue, an' drap 'im when he got half-way. [illustration] dey sont a runner atter ol' brer rabbit ter ax 'im ter call an' 'ten' de convention; but ol' frien' wobble-nose had a quare habit er knowin' a thing befo' it wuz mention', an he come 'fo' he got de word. he wiggle his nose, an' wunk his eye-- "here sho is de man i wants ter see, suh! brer buzzard i'm tryin' ter l'arn how ter fly!" an' c'ose brer buzzard gi' his agree, suh, an' all un um say he's a 'commydatin' bird! [illustration] an' den brer buzzard half spread his wing, suh he try ter look young, but he wuz ol' suh-- he try ter strut an' walk wid a swing, suh; he wuz dreamin' 'bout dat pot er gol', suh, an' what he wuz gwine fer ter buy. brer buzzard ain't skacely got thoo wid his pride, suh, 'fo' brer rabbit lit right 'tween his floppers, wid, "now, hump yo'se'f, an' gi' me a ride, suh, ef you don't i'll hit--i'll hit you some whoppers when i git you up dar in de sky!" [illustration] well, de creeturs grinned when brer buzzard riz, suh. an' made a big fuss accordin' ter der natur'; ez fer ol' brer rabbit, de pleasure wuz all his, suh de ridin' wuz easy ez eatin' tater when it's b'iled an' made inter pie! kaze under bofe wings he had a paw, suh, an', when brer buzzard try fer ter drap 'im. he'd scratch an' tickle 'im wid his claw, suh; an' when brer buzzard try fer ter flap 'im, he'd scratch an' wink his eye! [illustration] an' wid his claws he tuck an' steered 'im fum post ter pillar in de deep blue, suh; he'd holla an' laugh--all de creeturs heer'd 'im-- you know how you'd feel ef it hab been you, suh, a-waitin' fer some un ter fall! when ol' brer rabbit got tired er ridin', he steered brer buzzard right straight ter de groun', suh, an' den an' dar went right inter hidin'. when de creeturs come up he couldn't be foun', suh, an' i speck an' i reckon dat's all! brer rabbit and the gold mine [illustration] there had been silence in the cabin for a long ten minutes, and uncle remus, looking up, saw a threat of sleep in the little boy's eyes. whereupon he plunged headlong into a story without a word of explanation. "well, suh, one year it fell out dat de craps wuz burnt up. a dry drouth had done de work, an' ef you'd 'a' struck a match anywhar in dat settlement, de whole county would 'a' blazed up. ol' man hongriness des natchally tuck of his cloze an' went paradin' 'bout eve'ywhar, an' de creeturs got bony an' skinny. ol' brer b'ar done better dan any un um, kaze all he hatter do wuz go ter sleep an' live off'n his own fat; an' brer rabbit an' his ol' 'oman had put some calamus root by, an' saved up some sugar-cane dat dey fin' lyin' 'roun' loose, an' _dey_ got 'long purty well. but de balance er de creeturs wuz dat ga'nt dat dey ain't got over it down ter dis day. [illustration] "de creeturs had der meetin'-place, whar dey could all set 'roun' an' talk de kind er politics dey had, des like folks does at de cross-roads grocery. one day, whiles dey wuz all settin' an' squottin' 'roun', jowerin' an' confabbin', brer rabbit, he up 'n' say, sezee, dat ol' mammy-bammy-big-money tol' his great gran'daddy dat dar wuz a mighty big an' fat gol' mine in deze parts, an' he say dat he wouldn't be 'tall 'stonished ef 'twant some'rs close ter brer b'ar's house. brer b'ar, he growled, he did, an' say dat de gol' mine better not let him fin' it, kaze atter he got done wid it, dey won't be no gol' mine dar. [illustration] "some laughed, some grinned an' some gapped, an', atter jowerin' some mo', dey all put out ter whar der famblies wuz livin' at; but i boun' you dey ain't fergit 'bout dat gol' mine, kaze, fum dat time on, go whar you mought, you'd ketch some er de creeturs diggin' an' grabblin' in de groun', some in de fields, some in de woods, an' some in de big road; an' dey wuz so weak an' hongry dat dey kin skacely grabble fer fallin' down. [illustration] "well, dis went on fer de longest, but bimeby, one day, dey all 'gree dat sump'n bleeze ter be done, an' dey say dey'll all take one big hunt fer de gol' mine, an' den quit. dey hunted in gangs, wid de gangs not fur fum one an'er, an' it so happen dat brer rabbit wuz in de gang wid brer wolf, an' he know'd dat he hatter keep his eyes wide open. all de creeturs hatter dig in diffunt places, an' whiles brer rabbit want much uv a grabbler, he had a way er makin' de yuthers b'lieve dat he wuz de best er de lot. so he made a heap er motion like he wuz t'arin' up de yeth. dey ain't been gwine on dis away long fo' brer wolf holler out, [illustration] "'run here, brer rabbit! i done foun' it!' brer b'ar an' brer fox wuz bofe diggin' close by, an' brer rabbit kinder wunk one eye at de elements; he say, sezee, 'glad i is fer yo' sake, brer wolf; git yo' gol' an' 'joy yo'se'f!' brer wolf say, 'come git some, brer rabbit! come git some!' ol' brer rabbit 'spon', 'i'll take de leavin's, brer wolf; you take what you want, an' den when you done got 'nough i'll get de leetle bit i want.' brer wolf say, 'i wanter show you sump'n.' brer rabbit 'low, 'my eyes ain't big fer nothin'.' brer wolf say, 'i got a secret i wanter tell you.' brer rabbit 'low, 'my y'ears ain't long fer nothin'. des stan' dar an' do yo' whisperin', brer wolf, an' i'll hear eve'y word you say.' [illustration] "brer wolf ain't say nothin', but make out he's grabblin', an' den, all of a sudden, he made a dash at brer rabbit, but when he git whar brer rabbit wuz at, brer rabbit ain't dar no mo'; he done gone. weak an' hongry ez he is, brer wolf know dat he can't ketch brer rabbit, an' so he holler out, 'what's yo' hurry, brer rabbit? whar you gwine?' brer rabbit holler back, 'i'm gwine home atter a bag fer ter tote de gol' you gwine leave me! so long, brer wolf; i wish you mighty well!' an' wid dat he put out fer home." brer rabbit gets brer fox a hoss [illustration] not many er de creeturs wuz fon' er water, onless it mought 'a' been brer coon's daughter; brer b'ar, brer fox, an' ol' brer rabbit, dey vow'd dey can't never git in de habit er wadin' de creek, er swimmin' de river-- when it come ter dat, dey'd run ter kivver! when folks come 'long fer ter git across, de creeturs tuck notice dat dey rid a hoss. [illustration] brer fox, he say he wish he had one, an' 'mongst all de yuthers he'd be de glad un; he'd git a bridle an' a bran' new saddle, an' git on de hoss an' ride 'im straddle; he say, sezee, "he'd do some trottin', kaze when i git started, i'm a mighty hot un!" brer rabbit, he smole a great big smile, wid, "i can't ride myse'f, kaze i got a b'ile! [illustration] "but it seem like ter me dat i knows whar a hoss is: he's away back yan' whar two roads crosses, an' i'll meet you dar termorrer mornin', des 'bout de time when day's a-dawnin'." brer fox, he say, "i hear yo' sesso, an' ef i ain't sick i'll be dar desso!" brer rabbit tip his hat, wid, "so-long, frien'; we'll git de hoss, you may depen'." [illustration] long 'fo' de time, brer rabbit wuz a-stirrin', an' he chuckle ter hisse'f like a cat a-purrin'; de hoss wuz stretched out asleep in de pastur'; brer rabbit went up des ez close ez he dast ter, fer ter see ef he 'live: hoss switched his tail, suh! "dis time we'll git you widout fail, suh!" so brer rabbit say; den he seed brer fox-- "an' an'er fine gent fer ter git in a box!" [illustration] den he say out loud, "good luck done sont 'im, an' laid 'im down right whar you want 'im! ef youer tied ter his tail, you kin sholy hol' 'im, an' mo' dan dat, you kin trip 'im an' roll 'im!" so said, so done! an' dar brer fox wuz, right close ter de place whar a heap er knocks wuz! brer rabbit, he holla, "hol' 'im down! hol' 'im down! des make 'im stay right spang on de groun'!" [illustration] de hoss, he riz wid a snort an' a whicker, an' showed dat he wuz sump'n uv a kicker! an' den an' dar, brer rabbit 'gun ter snicker, wid, "hol' 'im, brer fox! 'twon't do ter flicker! ef you make 'im stan' still, you kin ride 'im de quicker!" de hoss, he r'ar'd an' raise a mighty dust up, an' fust thing you know, brer rabbit hear a bust-up! "i hope, brer fox, dat you ain't much hurt-- but yo' wife'll be mad, kaze you done tored yo' shirt!" brer rabbit finds the moon in the mill pond [illustration] oh, one bright day in de middle er may, brer rabbit wuz feelin' fine; he tuck ter de road, an' never know'd de place whar he wuz gwine! "oh, fur an' free," sezee, "siree, no gal kin change my min'!" brer tarrypin, sly, he wunk one eye, un'neat' his green-gourd vine! he holla an' say, "whar you gwine dis day, wid yo' pipe an' walkin'-cane?" brer rabbit wave his han' like a gal do her fan-- "my heart's 'bout ter bust wid pain; [illustration] "i'm a heap too nice, i ain't laugh'd but twice sence de big jinawary rain; my day'll be done ef i don't have some fun-- dey'll call me sunday-jane! "i'll git sollumcholic ef i don't have a frolic, my head'll git flabby an' swink; i chaw de pine-bud, kaze i'm 'bout ter lose my cud an' some nights i don't sleep a wink! "ef i has ter set still, oh, i'll w'ar de green willow, an' go in mo'nin' wid de mink! but i bet you a hat dat 'fo' i does dat, i'll show um all a new kink!" [illustration] so, off he put, on his nimbles' foot, wid a grin, a laugh, an' a cough; ter miss motts an' miss meadows, an' all de udders, he tell what 'uz gwineter come off! 'twuz a mill-pon' fishin', an' he lef um a-wishin' dat de win' don't blow fum de norf! an' de creeturs all, bofe long an' tall-- an' dem no bigger dan a dwarf-- brer wolf an' brer b'ar,--all say dey'd be dar, an' dey promise fer ter fetch a seine; dey 'gree ter de day, an' brer rabbit say dat dey don't hatter come ef it rain; [illustration] so said, so done, an' when de time come, de big road ez well ez de lane wuz filled wid a crowd, all talkin' out loud, an' a-prankin' wid might an' main! brer rabbit wuz dar, wid miss molly har', a-waitin' fer de fun ter begin; he shuck his shank, an' went ter de bank, an' make like he gwineter jump in! but de sight dat he saw made 'im drap his jaw, an' break up a great big grin! he sez ter brer coon, "run here an' see de moon! a-floatin' widout a fin!" [illustration] he look ag'in--"she sho fell in, an' we got ter git her out; ef she stays in de pon', it's 'good-bye, john!' an' uv dat dey ain't no doubt; "we got ter have light when we play at night, fer ter see how ter git about; we'll drag wid de seine--ef we don't drag in vain, we'll have good reason ter shout!" but when it come ter seinin', dar wuz some complainin 'bout who wuz ter do it all, dey all make out dat dey wanter wade out, but it fell on dem dat wuz tall: [illustration] brer b'ar, he laugh, ez he tuck a staff, brer wolf say he fear'd he'd fall, but he tuck his place wid a mighty wry face, an' when dey 'gun ter haul. "oh, you better bet dis water's wet! i feel des like a sponge!" an' den dey all, wid a kick an' a squall, wid a squeal an' den a lunge, grabbed at de water--which dey hadn't oughter went over der heads wid a splunge; brer rabbit bent double, "oh, all er yo' trouble fills me full er fun-unj-unj!" how mr. lion lost his wool [illustration] "twuz des sech a day ez dis dat mr lion lost his wool," remarked uncle remus to the little boy, "mr. man tuck a notion dat de time done come fer him fer ter have a hog-killin' an' he got 'im a big barrel, an' fill it half full er water fum de big springs. den he piled up 'bout a cord er wood, an' ez he piled, he put rocks 'twix' de logs, an' den he sot de wood after at bofe een's an' in de middle. 'twan't long 'fo' dey had de hogs killt, an' eve'ything ready fer ter scrape de ha'r off. den he tuck de red-hot rocks what he put in de fire, an' flung um in de barrel whar de water wuz, an' 'twan't long, mon, 'fo' dat water wuz ready fer ter bile. den dey tuck de hogs, one at a time, an' soused um in de water, an' time dey tuck um out, he ha'r wuz ready fer ter drap out by de roots. den dey'd scrape un wid sticks an' chips, an' dey aint leave a ha'r on um. [illustration] "well, bimeby, dey had all de hogs killt an' cleaned, an' hauled off, an' when eve'ything wuz still ez a settin' hen, ol' brer rabbit stuck his head out fum behine a bush whar he been settin' at. he stuck his head out, he did, an' look all 'roun', an' den he went whar de fier wuz an' try fer ter warm hisse'f. he aint been dar long 'fo' here come brer wolf an' brer fox, an den he got busy. [illustration] "he say, 'hello, frien's! howdy an' welcome! i 'm des fixin' fer ter take a warm baff like mr. man gi' his hogs; wont you j'ine me?' dey say dey aint in no hurry, but dey holp brer rabbit put de hot rocks in de barrel an' dey watch de water bubble, an' bimeby, when eve'ything wuz ready, who should walk up but ol' mr. lion? [illustration] "he had a mane fum his head plum ter de een' er his tail, an' in some places it wuz so long it drug on de groun'--dat what make all de creeturs 'fear'd un 'im. he growl an' ax um what dey doin', an' when brer rabbit tell 'im, he say dat's what he long been needin'. 'how does you git in?' 'des back right in,' sez ol' brer rabbit, sezee, an' wid dat, [illustration] "mr. lion backed in, an' de water wuz so hot, he try fer ter git out, an' he slipped in plum ter his shoulder-blades. you kin b'lieve me er not, but dat creetur wuz scall'd so dat he holler'd an' skeer'd eve'ybody fur miles aroun'. [illustration] "an when he come out, all de wool drap't out, 'cep' de bunch you see on his neck, an' de leetle bit you'll fin' on de een' er his tail--an' dat'd 'a' come off ef de tail hadn't 'a' slipped thoo de bung-hole er de barrel." with that, uncle remus closed his eyes, but not so tightly that he couldn't watch the little boy. for a moment the child said nothing, and then, "i must tell that tale to mother before i forget it!" so saying, he ran out of the cabin as fast as his feet could carry him, leaving uncle remus shaking with laughter. how brer rabbit got a house [illustration] oh, once 'pon a time, all de creeturs, all de creeturs, tuck a notion dat dey'd build a house, an' fix it so ez ter keep out de skeeters, an' fix it up nix cummy rous! dey all wuz dar fum de b'ar ter de possum, brer wolf, brer fox, brer coon, wid ol' brer rabbit fer ter stan' 'roun' an' boss um, kaze dey hatter have de' house right soon. [illustration] brer rabbit, he wuz busy, oh, yes, mighty busy, not doin' uv a blessed thing; ef he clim' de scaffle, he say he'll git dizzy, so he medjur an' mark an' sing. dey buil' de house, an' it sho wuz a fine un, made er poplar, oak an' pine; de littlest room wuz a sev'm-by-nine un, whar de sick could go an' whine! [illustration] brer rabbit, he wait, an' when de time come he choosened a upsta's room, an' dar he sot (ef i kin make de rhyme come) a-singin' "hark fum de toom"! an' den he got what he aint had oughter, ez all de creeturs said, a gun, a cannon, an' a tub er water, an' hid um under his bed! [illustration] when de creeturs come home, brer rabbit wuz ready, an' he tell um he gwineter set down; "well, set," sez dey, "an' we'll try ter be ste'dy," an' wid dat, brer rabbit kinder frown; bang-bang! went de gun--de barrels wuz double-- an' de creeturs wuz still ez mice; brer b'ar he say, "dy must be some trouble, but i hope heedon't loosen de j'is!" [illustration] brer rabbit, he say, "wharbouts mus' i spit at?" an' brer wolf answer, wid a grin, "des wharsomever you kin make it hit at!" brer fox, he rub his chin; brer rabbit, he tuck de tub er water, an' empty it all on de sta'rs, an' it come nigh drownin' brer coon's daughter. an' likewise one er brer b'ar's! [illustration] brer rabbit say, "when i sneeze i'll skeer you, an' i hate fer ter have it ter do!" brer fox say, "we'll lissen an' hear you des go right ahead wid yo' sneeze-a-ma-roo!" boom-a-lam! went de cannon, an' de creeturs, dey lit out thoo window-sash an' do' any way, any way dat dey kin git oot, an' dey aint come dar no mo'! brer rabbit and the partridge nest [illustration] oh, what's de matter wid de whipperwill, dat she sets an' cries on de furder hill? an' what's de matter wid miss bob white, dat she choke herse'f wid sayin' good-night? you know mighty well dat sump'n is wrong when dey sets an' sings dat kinder song, 'twix' a call an' a cry, 'twix' a weep an' a wail-- dey must be tellin' a mighty sad tale. [illustration] miss whipperwill's troubles, an' what she say will do fer ter tell some yuther day; but miss bob white--my! aint she a sight?-- i'll hatter tell why she hollers good-night. dey once wuz a time (needer mo' ner less) when she ain't try ter hide ner kivver her nes'; she built it in de open, whar all kin see, an' wuz des ez perlite ez she kin be. [illustration] she'd make her house facin' eas' an' wes', an' den wid eggs she'd fill her nes'; fer ter keep um warm she'd brood an' set, an' keep her house fum gittin' wet. whiles dis gwine on, brer rabbit come by, a-wigglin' his mouf, an' a-blinkin' his eye: "de top er de mornin', miss bob," sezee; "de same ter you, brer rabbit," se' she. [illustration] sez ol' brer rabbit, "i been missin' you long, i wuz mighty fear'd dat sump'n wuz wrong, but here you set ez still ez a mouse, not doin' nothin' but keepin' house!" "oh, well," se' she, "i'm too ol' ter gad, i use' ter do it, but i wish i never had! de only thing i want is ter wash my dress, but i can't do dat whiles i'm on my nes'." [illustration] brer rabbit, he say, "can't i he'p you out? i ain't doin' nothin' but walkin' about, an' my ol' 'oman is willin' fer ter bet dat ef settin 's de thing, i'm ol' man set!" "i know mighty well," sez miss bob white, "ef you set a-tall, it'll be done right." "thanky-do, miss bob! go wash yo' dress, an' i'll do what i kin fer ter kivver yo' nes'!" [illustration] so off she put, wid a flutter an' a flirt, an' washed her dress in a pile er clean dirt; brer rabbit see de eggs, an' shuck his head; his mouf 'gun ter dribble, an' his eye turn red; sezee, "it'd sholy be hard fer ter match um, so i'll des take um home an' try fer ter hatch um!" so said, so done! an' den when he come back, he come in a gait 'twix' a lope an' a rack. [illustration] an' miss bob white, atter washin' her dress, went a-runnin' back ter house an' nes'; "much erbleege, brer rabbit," an' den she bowed. "say nothin', ma'am, fer ter make me proud, kaze i been a-waitin' here, frettin' an' sweatin', fer fear i ain't sech a good han' at settin'; my ol' 'oman say i got a slow fever, an' i 'clar' ter goodness, i'm ready ter b'lieve her! [illustration] "i felt sump'n move, i hear' sump'n run, an' de eggs done gone--dey ain't na'er one! i sho is seed sights, i done hear folks talk-- but never befo' is i seed eggs walk!" "my goodness, me!" sez miss bob white, a-peepin' in de nes', "you sho is right!" an' y'ever sence den, when darkness falls, she gives de lost chillun her good-night calls! an' y'ever sence den, when darkness falls, she gives de lost chillun her good-night calls! images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington volume iv georgia narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of georgia informants kendricks, jennie kilpatrick, emmaline kimbrough, frances king, charlie kinney, nicey larken, julia lewis, george mccommons, mirriam mccree, ed mccullough, lucy mcdaniel, amanda mcgruder, tom mcintosh, susan mckinney, matilda mcwhorter, william malone, mollie mason, charlie [tr: in the interview, aunt carrie mason] matthews, susan mays, emily mention, liza miller, harriet mitchell, mollie mobley, bob nix, fanny nix, henry ogletree, lewis orford, richard parkes, anna pattillio, g.w. [tr: in the interview, g.w. pattillo] pope, alec price, annie pye, charlie raines, charlotte randolph, fanny richards, shade roberts, dora rogers, ferebe rogers, henry rush, julia settles, nancy sheets, will shepherd, robert singleton, tom smith, charles [tr: in the interview, charlie tye smith] smith, georgia smith, mary smith, melvin smith, nancy smith, nellie smith, paul stepney, emeline styles, amanda transcriber's notes: [tr: the interview headers presented here contain all information included in the original, but may have been rearranged for readability. also, some ages and addresses have been drawn from blocks of information on subsequent interview pages. names in brackets were drawn from text of interviews.] [tr: some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added to interview headers in brackets. where part of date could not be determined -- has been substituted. these dates do not appear to represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews were received or perhaps transcription dates.] [hw: dist ex-slave # ] whitley, - - driskell ex slave jennie kendricks [date stamp: may ] jennie kendricks, the oldest of children, was born in sheram, georgia in . her parents were martha and henry bell. she says that the first thing she remembers is being whipped by her mother. jennie kendricks' grandmother and her ten children lived on this plantation. the grandmother had been brought to georgia from virginia: "she used to tell me how the slave dealers brought her and a group of other children along much the same as they would a herd of cattle," said the ex-slave, "when they reached a town all of them had to dance through the streets and act lively so that the chances for selling them would be greater". when asked to tell about mr. moore, her owner, and his family jennie kendricks stated that although her master owned and operated a large plantation, he was not considered a wealthy man. he owned only two other slaves besides her immediate family and these were men. "in mr. moores family were his mother, his wife, and six children (four boys and two girls). this family lived very comfortably in a two storied weatherboard house. with the exception of our grandmother who cooked for the owner's family and slaves, and assisted her mistress with housework all the slaves worked in the fields where they cultivated cotton and the corn, as well as the other produce grown there. every morning at sunrise they had to get up and go to the fields where they worked until it was too dark to see. at noon each day they were permitted to come to the kitchen, located just a short distance in the rear of the master's house, where they were served dinner. during the course of the day's work the women shared all the men's work except plowing. all of them picked cotton when it was time to gather the crops. some nights they were required to spin and to help mrs. moore, who did all of the weaving. they used to do their own personal work, at night also." jennie kendricks says she remembers how her mother and the older girls would go to the spring at night where they washed their clothes and then left them to dry on the surrounding bushes. as a little girl jennie kendricks spent all of her time in the master's house where she played with the young white children. sometimes she and mrs. moore's youngest child, a little boy, would fight because it appeared to one that the other was receiving more attention from mrs. moore than the other. as she grew older she was kept in the house as a playmate to the moore children so she never had to work in the field a single day. she stated that they all wore good clothing and that all of it was made on the plantation with one exception. the servants spun the thread and mrs. moore and her daughters did all of the weaving as well as the making of the dresses that were worn on this particular plantation. "the way they made this cloth", she continued, "was to wind a certain amount of thread known as a "cut" onto a reel. when a certain number of cuts were reached they were placed on the loom. this cloth was colored with a dye made from the bark of trees or with a dye that was made from the indigo berry cultivated on the plantation. the dresses that the women wore on working days were made of striped or checked materials while those worn on sunday were usually white." she does not know what the men wore on work days as she never came in contact with them. stockings for all were knitted on the place. the shoes, which were the one exception mentioned above, were made by one bill jacobs, an elderly white man who made the shoes for all the plantations in the community. the grown people wore heavy shoes called "brogans" while those worn by the children were not so heavy and were called "pekers" because of their narrow appearance. for sunday wear, all had shoes bought for this purpose. mr. moore's mother was a tailoress and at times, when the men were able to get the necessary material, she made their suits. there was always enough feed for everybody on the moore plantation. mrs. moore once told jennie's mother to always see that her children had sufficient to eat so that they would not have to steal and would therefore grow up to be honorable. as the grandmother did all of the cooking, none of the other servants ever had to cook, not even on sundays or other holidays such as the fourth of july. there was no stove in this plantation kitchen, all the cooking was done at the large fireplace where there were a number of hooks called potracks. the pots, in which the cooking was done, hung from these hooks directly over the fire. the meals served during the week consisted of vegetables, salt bacon, corn bread, pot liquor, and milk. on sunday they were served milk, biscuits, vegetables, and sometimes chicken. jennie kendricks ate all of her meals in the master's house and says that her food was even better. she was also permitted to go to the kitchen to get food at any time during the day. sometimes when the boys went hunting everyone was given roast 'possum and other small game. the two male slaves were often permitted to accompany them but were not allowed to handle the guns. none of the slaves had individual gardens of their own as food sufficient for their needs was raised in the master's garden. the houses that they lived in were one-roomed structures made of heavy plank instead of logs, with planer [hw: ?] floors. at one end of this one-roomed cabin there was a large chimney and fireplace made of rocks, mud, and dirt. in addition to the one door, there was a window at the back. only one family could live in a cabin as the space was so limited. the furnishings of each cabin consisted of a bed and one or two chairs. the beds were well constructed, a great deal better than some of the beds the ex-slave saw during these days. regarding mattresses she said, "we took some tick and stuffed it with cotton and corn husks, which had been torn into small pieces and when we got through sewing it looked like a mattress that was bought in a store." light was furnished by lightwood torches and sometimes by the homemade tallow candles. the hot tallow was poured into a candle mold, which was then dipped into a pan of cold water, when the tallow had hardened, the finished product was removed. whenever there was sickness, a doctor was always called. as a child gussie was rather sickly, and a doctor was always called to attend to her. in addition to the doctor's prescriptions there was heart leaf tea and a warm remedy of garlic tea prepared by her grandmother. if any of the slaves ever pretended sickness to avoid work, she knows nothing about it. as a general rule, slaves were not permitted to learn to read or write, but the younger moore children tried to teach her to spell, read, and write. when she used to stand around mrs. moore when she was sewing she appeared to be interested and so she was taught to sew. every sunday afternoon they were all permitted to go to town where a colored pastor preached to them. this same minister performed all marriages after the candidates had secured the permission of the master. there was only one time when mr. moore found it necessary to sell any of his slaves. on this occasion he had to sell two; he saw that they were sold to another kind master. the whipping on most plantation were administered by the [hw: over]seers and in some cases punishment was rather severe. there was no overseer on this plantation. only one of mr. moore's sons told the field hands what to do. when this son went to war it became necessary to hire an overseer. once he attempted to whip one of the women but when she refused to allow him to whip her he never tried to whip any of the others. jennie kendricks' husband, who was also a slave, once told her his master was so mean that he often whipped his slaves until blood ran in their shoes. there was a group of men, known as the "patter-rollers", whose duty it was to see that slaves were not allowed to leave their individual plantations without passes which [hw: they] were supposed to receive from their masters. "a heap of them got whippings for being caught off without these passes," she stated, adding that "sometimes a few of them were fortunate enough to escape from the patter-rollers". she knew of one boy who, after having outrun the "patter-rollers", proceeded to make fun of them after he was safe behind his master's fence. another man whom the patter-rollers had pursued any number of times but who had always managed to escape, was finally caught one day and told to pray before he was given his whipping. as he obeyed he noticed that he was not being closely observed, whereupon he made a break that resulted in his escape from them again. the treatment on some of the other plantations was so severe that slaves often ran away, jennie kendricks told of one man [hw: who was] [tr: "being" crossed out] lashed [hw: and who] ran away but was finally caught. when his master brought him back he was locked in a room until he could be punished. when the master finally came to administer the whipping, lash had cut his own throat in a last effort to secure his freedom. he was not successful; his life was saved by quick action on the part of his master. sometime later after rough handling lash finally killed his master [hw: and] was burned at the stake for this crime. other slaves were more successful at escape, some being able to remain away for as long as three years at a time. at nights, they slipped to the plantation where they stole hogs and other food. their shelters were usually caves, some times holes dug in the ground. whenever they were caught, they were severely whipped. a slave might secure his freedom without running away. this is true in the case of jennie kendricks' grandfather who, after hiring his time out for a number of years, was able to save enough money with which to purchase himself from his master. jennie kendricks remembers very little of the talk between her master and mistress concerning the war. she does remember being taken to see the confederate soldiers drill a short distance from the house. she says "i though it was very pretty, 'course i did'nt know what was causing this or what the results would be". mr. moore's oldest sons went to war [hw: but he] himself did not enlist until the war was nearly over. she was told that the yankee soldiers burned all the gin houses and took all live stock that they saw while on the march, but no soldiers passed near their plantation. after the war ended and all the slaves had been set free, some did not know it, [hw: as] they were not told by their masters. [hw: a number of them] were tricked into signing contracts which bound them to their masters for several years longer. as for herself and her grandmother, they remained on the moore property where her grandmother finally died. her mother moved away when freedom was declared and started working for someone else. it was about this time that mr. moore began to prosper, he and his brother marvin gone into business together. according to jennie kendricks, she has lived to reach such a ripe old age because she has always been obedient and because she has always been a firm believer in god. [hw: dist ex-slave # ] ex-slave interview: emmaline kilpatrick, age born a slave on the plantation of judge william watson moore, white plains, (greene county) georgia by: sarah h. hall athens, ga. [date stamp: may ] one morning in october, as i finished planting hyacinth bulbs on my cemetery lot, i saw an old negro woman approaching. she was emmaline kilpatrick, born in , on my grandfather's plantation. "mawnin' miss sarah," she began, "ah seed yer out hyar in de graveyard, en i cum right erlong fer ter git yer ter read yo' aunt willie's birthday, offen her toomstone, en put it in writin' fer me." "i don't mind doing that for you, emmaline," i replied, "but why do you want to know my aunt's birthday?" "well," answered the old ex-slave, "i can't rightly tell mah age no udder way. my mammy, she tole me, i wuz bawned de same night ez miss willie wuz, en mammy allus tole me effen i ever want ter know how ole i is, jes' ask my white folks how ole miss willie is." when i had pencilled the birthdate on a scrap of paper torn from my note book and she had tucked it carefully away in a pocket in her clean blue checked gingham apron, emmaline began to talk of the old days on my grandfather's farm. "miss sarah, ah sho did love yo' aunt willie. we wuz chilluns growin' up tergedder on marse billie's place. you mought not know it, but black chilluns gits grown heap faster den white chilluns, en whilst us played 'round de yard, en orchards, en pastures out dar, i wuz sposed ter take care er miss willie en not let her git hurt, er nuthin' happen ter her." "my mammy say dat whan marse billie cum hom' frum de war, he call all his niggers tergedder en tell 'am dey is free, en doan b'long ter nobody no mo'. he say dat eny uf 'um dat want to, kin go 'way and live whar dey laks, en do lak dey wanter. howsome ebber, he do say effen enybody wants ter stay wid him, en live right on in de same cabins, dey kin do it, effen dey promise him ter be good niggers en mine him lak dey allus done." "most all de niggers stayed wid marse billie, 'ceppen two er thee brash, good fer nuthin's." standing there in the cemetery, as i listened to old emmaline tell of the old days, i could see cotton being loaded on freight cars at the depot. i asked emmaline to tell what she could remember of the days whan we had no railroad to haul the cotton to market. "well," she said, "fore dis hyar railroad wuz made, dey hauled de cotton ter de pint (she meant union point) en sold it dar. de pint's jes' 'bout twelve miles fum hyar. fo' day had er railroad thu de pint, marse billie used ter haul his cotton clear down ter jools ter sell it. my manny say dat long fo' de war he used ter wait twel all de cotton wuz picked in de fall, en den he would have it all loaded on his waggins. not long fo' sundown he wud start de waggins off, wid yo' unker anderson bossin' 'em, on de all night long ride towards jools. 'bout fo' in de mawnin' marse billie en yo' grammaw, miss margie, 'ud start off in de surrey, driving de bays, en fo' dem waggins git ter jools marse billie done cotch up wid em. he drive er head en lead em on ter de cotton mill in jools, whar he sell all his cotton. den him en miss margie, dey go ter de mill sto' en buy white sugar en udder things dey doan raise on de plantation, en load 'em on de waggins en start back home." "but emmaline," i interrupted, "sherman's army passed through jewels and burned the houses and destroyed the property there. how did the people market their cotton then?" emmaline scratched her head. "ah 'members somepin 'bout dat," she declared. "yassum, i sho' does 'member my mammy sayin' dat folks sed when de fed'rals wuz bunnin' up evvy thing 'bout jools, dey wuz settin' fire ter de mill, when de boss uv dem sojers look up en see er sign up over er upstairs window. hit wuz de mason's sign up day, kaze dat wuz de mason's lodge hall up over de mill. de sojer boss, he meks de udder sojers put out de fire. he say him er mason hisself en he ain' gwine see nobuddy burn up er masonic hall. dey kinder tears up some uv de fixin's er de mill wuks, but dey dassent burn down de mill house kaze he ain't let 'em do nuthin' ter de masonic hall. yar knows, miss sarah, ah wuz jes' 'bout two years ole when dat happen, but i ain't heered nuffin' 'bout no time when dey didden' take cotton ter jools ever year twel de railroad come hyar." "did yer ax me who mah'ed my maw an paw? why, marse billie did, cose he did! he wuz jedge moore, marse billie wuz, en he wone gwine hev no foolis'mant 'mongst 'is niggers. fo' de war en durin' de war, de niggers went ter de same church whar dare white folks went. only de niggers, dey set en de gallery." "marse billie made all his niggers wuk moughty hard, but he sho' tuk good keer uv 'em. miss margie allus made 'em send fer her when de chilluns wuz bawned in de slave cabins. my mammy, she say, ise 'bout de onliest slave baby miss margie diden' look after de bawnin, on dat plantation. when any nigger on dat farm wuz sick, marse billie seed dat he had medicine an lookin' atter, en ef he wuz bad sick marse billie had da white folks doctor come see 'bout 'im." "did us hev shoes? yas ma'am us had shoes. dat wuz all ole pegleg wuz good fer, jes ter mek shoes, en fix shoes atter dey wuz 'bout ter give out. pegleg made de evvy day shoes for marse billie's own chilluns, 'cept now en den marse billie fetched 'em home some sto' bought shoes fun jools." "yassum, us sho' wuz skeered er ghosts. dem days when de war won't long gone, niggers sho' wus skert er graveyards. mos' evvy nigger kep' er rabbit foot, kaze ghosties wone gwine bodder nobuddy dat hed er lef' hind foot frum er graveyard rabbit. dem days dar wuz mos' allus woods 'round de graveyards, en it uz easy ter ketch er rabbit az he loped outer er graveyard. lawsy, miss sarah, dose days ah sho' wouldn't er been standin' hyar in no graveyard talkin' ter ennybody, eben in wide open daytime." "en you ax wuz dey enny thing else uz wuz skert uv? yassum, us allus did git moughty oneasy ef er scritch owl hollered et night. pappy ud hop right out er his bed en stick de fire shovel en de coals. effen he did dat rat quick, an look over 'is lef' shoulder whilst de shovel gittin' hot, den maybe no no nigger gwine die dat week on dat plantation. en us nebber did lak ter fine er hawse tail hair en de hawse trough, kaze us wuz sho' ter meet er snake fo' long." "yassum, us had chawms fer heap er things. us got 'em fum er ole injun 'oman dat lived crost de crick. her sold us chawms ter mek de mens lak us, en chawms dat would git er boy baby, er anudder kind er chawms effen yer want er gal baby. miss margie allus scold 'bout de chawns, en mek us shamed ter wear 'em, 'cept she doan mine ef us wear asserfitidy chawms ter keep off fevers, en she doan say nuffin when my mammy wear er nutmeg on a wool string 'round her neck ter keep off de rheumatiz. "en is you got ter git on home now, miss sarah? lemme tote dat hoe en trowel ter yer car fer yer. yer gwine ter take me home in yer car wid yer, so ez i kin weed yer flower gyarden fo' night? yassum, i sho' will be proud ter do it fer de black dress you wo' las' year. ah gwine ter git evvy speck er grass outer yo' flowers, kaze ain' you jes' lak yo' grammaw--my miss margie." [hw: dist ex slave # ] j.r. jones frances kimbrough, ex-slave place of birth: on kimbrough plantation, harries county, near cataula, georgia date of birth: about present residence: - th avenue, columbus, georgia interviewed: august , [date stamp: may --] "aunt frances" story reveals that, her young "marster" was dr. jessie kimbrough--a man who died when she was about eighteen years of age. but a few weeks later, while working in the field one day, she saw "marse jessie's" ghost leaning against a pine "watchin us free niggers wuckin." when she was about twenty-two years of age, "a jealous nigger oman" "tricked" her. the "spell" cast by this "bad oman" affected the victim's left arm and hand. both became numb and gave her great "misery". a peculiar feature of this visitation of the "conjurer's" spite was: if a friend or any one massaged or even touched the sufferer's afflicted arm or hand, that person was also similarly stricken the following day, always recovering, however, on the second day. finally, "aunt" frances got in touch with a "hoodoo" doctor, a man who lived in muscogee county--about twenty-five miles distant from her. this man paid the patient one visit, then gave her absent treatment for several weeks, at the end of which time she recovered the full use of her arm and hand. neither ever gave her any trouble again. for her old-time "white fokes", "aunt" frances entertains an almost worshipful memory. also, in her old age, she reflects the superstitious type of her race. being so young when freedom was declared, emancipation did not have as much significance for "aunt" frances as it did for the older colored people. in truth, she had no true conception of what it "wuz all about" until several years later. but she does know that she had better food and clothes before the slaves were freed than she had in the years immediately following. she is deeply religious, as most ex-slaves are, but--as typical of the majority of aged negroes--associates "hants" and superstition with her religion. [hw: dist ex-slave # ] mary a. crawford re-search worker charlie king--ex-slave interviewed e. taylor street, griffin, georgia september , charlie was born in sandtown, (now woodbury) meriwether county, georgia, eighty-five or six years ago. he does not know his exact age because his "age got burned up" when the house in which his parents lived was burned to the ground. the old man's parents, ned and ann king, [tr: "were slaves of" crossed out] mr. john king, who owned a big plantation near sandtown [tr: "also about two hundred slaves" crossed out]. [tr: hw corrections are too faint to read.] charlie's parents were married by the "broom stick ceremony." the master and mistress were present at the wedding. the broom was laid down on the floor, the couple held each other's hands and stepped backward over it, then the master told the crowd that the couple were man and wife. this marriage lasted for over fifty years and they "allus treated each other right." charlie said that all the "niggers" on "ole master's place" had to work, "even chillun over seven or eight years of age." the first work that charlie remembered was "toting cawn" for his mother "to drap", and sweeping the yards up at the "big house". he also recalls that many times when he was in the yard at the "big house", "ole miss" would call him in and give him a buttered biscuit. the master and mistress always named the negro babies and usually gave them bible names. when the negroes were sick, "ole master" and "ole miss" did the doctoring, sometimes giving them salts or oil, and if [hw: a negro] refused it, they used the raw hide "whup." when a member of a negro family died, the master permitted all the negroes to stop work and go to the funeral. the slave was buried in the slave grave yard. sometimes a white minister read the bible service, but usually a negro preacher [hw: "officiated"]. the negroes on this plantation had to work from sun up till sun down, except saturday and sunday; those were free. the master blew on a big conch shell every morning at four o'clock, and when the first long blast was heard the lights "'gin to twinkle in every "nigger" cabin." charlie, chuckling, recalled that "ole master" blowed that shell so it could-a-been heard for five miles." some of the "niggers" went to feed the mules and horses, some to milk the cows, some to cook the breakfast in the big house, some to chop the wood, while others were busy cleaning up the "big house." when asked if he believed in signs, charlie replied: "i sho does for dis reason. once jest befo my baby brother died, ole screech owl, he done come and set up in the big oak tree right at the doah by de bed and fo' the next twelve hours passed, my brother was dead. screech owls allus holler 'round the house before death." the slaves always had plenty to eat and wear, and therefore did not know what it was to be hungry. the master planted many acres of cotton, corn, wheat, peas, and all kinds of garden things. every "nigger family was required to raise plenty of sweet potatoes, the master giving them a patch." "my 'ole master' trained his smartest 'niggers' to do certain kinds of work. my mother was a good weaver, and [hw: she] wove all the cloth for her own family, and bossed the weaving of all the other weavers on the plantation." charlie and all of his ten brothers and sisters helped to card and spin the cotton for the looms. sometimes they worked all night, charlie often going to sleep while carding, when his mother would crack him on the head with the carder handle and wake him up. each child had a night for carding and spinning, so they all would get a chance to sleep. every saturday night, the negroes had a "breakdown," often dancing all night long. about twelve o'clock they had a big supper, everybody bringing a box of all kinds of good things to eat, and putting it on a long table. on sunday, all the darkies had to go to church. sometimes the master had a house on his plantation for preaching, and sometimes the slaves had to go ten or twelve miles to preaching. when they went so far the slaves could use 'ole' master's' mules and wagons. charlie recalls very well when the yankees came through. the first thing they did when they reached 'ole master's' place was to break open the smokehouse and throw the best hams and shoulders out to the darkies, but as soon as the yankees passed, the white folks made the "niggers" take "all dey had'nt et up" back to the smokehouse. "yes, miss, we had plenty of liquor. ole master always kept kegs of it in the cellar and big 'jimmy-john's' full in the house, and every saturday night he'd give us darkies a dram, but nobody nevah seed no drunk nigger lak dey does now." charlie's mother used to give her "chillun" "burnt whiskey" every morning "to start the day off." this burnt whiskey gave them "long life". another thing that charlie recalls about the yankees coming through, was that they took the saddles off their "old sore back horses", turned them loose, and caught some of master's fine "hosses", threw the saddles over them and rode away. charlie said though "ole marster" "whupped" when it was necessary, but he was not "onmerciful" like some of the other "ole marsters" were, but the "paterolers would sho lay it on if they caught a nigger off his home plantation without a pass." the passes were written statements or permits signed by the darkies' owner, or the plantation overseer. charlie is very feeble and unable to work. the griffin relief association [tr: "furnishes him his sustenance" crossed out, "sees to him" or possibly "supports him" written in.] plantation life as viewed by ex-slave nicey kinney, age r.f.d. # athens, ga. written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' proj. res. & augusta, ga. sept. , a narrow path under large water oaks led through a well-kept yard where a profusion of summer flowers surrounded nicey kinney's two-story frame house. the porch floor and a large portion of the roof had rotted down, and even the old stone chimney at one end of the structure seemed to sag. the middle-aged mulatto woman who answered the door shook her head when asked if she was nicey kinney. "no, mam," she protested, "but dat's my mother and she's sick in bed. she gits mighty lonesome lyin' dar in de bed and she sho does love to talk. us would be mighty proud if you would come in and see her." nicey was propped up in bed and, although the heat of the september day was oppressive, the sick woman wore a black shoulder cape over her thick flannel nightgown; heavy quilts and blankets were piled close about her thin form, and the window at the side of her bed was tightly closed. not a lock of her hair escaped the nightcap that enveloped her head. the daughter removed an empty food tray and announced, "mammy, dis lady's come to see you and i 'spects you is gwine to lak her fine 'cause she wants to hear 'bout dem old days dat you loves so good to tell about." nicey smiled. "i'se so glad you come to see me," she said, "'cause i gits so lonesome; jus' got to stay here in dis bed, day in and day out. i'se done wore out wid all de hard wuk i'se had to do, and now i'se a aged 'oman, done played out and sufferin' wid de high blood pressur'. but i kin talk and i does love to bring back dem good old days a-fore de war." newspapers had been pasted on the walls of nicey's room. in one corner an enclosed staircase was cut off from the room by a door at the head of the third step; the space underneath the stair was in use as a closet. the marble topped bureau, two double beds, a couple of small tables, and some old chairs were all of a period prior to the current century. a pot of peas was perched on a pair of "firedogs" over the coals of a wood fire in the open fireplace. on a bed of red coals a thick iron pan held a large pone of cornbread, and the tantalizing aroma of coffee drew attention to a steaming coffeepot on a trivet in one corner of the hearth. nicey's daughter turned the bread over and said, "missy, i jus' bet you ain't never seed nobody cookin' dis way. us is got a stove back in de kitchen, but our somepin t'eat seems to taste better fixed dis 'way; it brings back dem old days when us was chillun and all of us was at home wid mammy." nicey grinned. "missy," she said, "annie--dat's dis gal of mine here--laughs at de way i laks dem old ways of livin', but she's jus' as bad 'bout 'em as i is, 'specially 'bout dat sort of cookin'; somepin t'eat cooked in dat old black pot is sho good. "marse gerald sharp and his wife, miss annie, owned us and, child, dey was grand folks. deir old home was 'way up in jackson county 'twixt athens and jefferson. dat big old plantation run plumb back down to de oconee river. yes, mam, all dem rich river bottoms was marse gerald's. "mammy's name was ca'line and she b'longed to marse gerald, but marse hatton david owned my daddy--his name was phineas. de david place warn't but 'bout a mile from our plantation and daddy was 'lowed to stay wid his fambly most evvy night; he was allus wid us on sundays. marse gerald didn't have no slaves but my mammy and her chillun, and he was sho mighty good to us. "marse gerald had a nice four-room house wid a hall all de way through it. it even had two big old fireplaces on one chimbly. no, mam, it warn't a rock chimbly; dat chimbly was made out of home-made bricks. marster's fambly had deir cookin' done in a open fireplace lak evvybody else for a long time and den jus' 'fore de big war he bought a stove. yes, mam, marse gerald bought a cook stove and us felt plumb rich 'cause dere warn't many folks dat had stoves back in dem days. "mammy lived in de old kitchen close by de big house 'til dere got to be too many of us; den marse gerald built us a house jus' a little piece off from de big house. it was jus' a log house, but marster had all dem cracks chinked tight wid red mud, and he even had one of dem franklin-back chimblies built to keep our little cabin nice and warm. why, child, ain't you never seed none of dem old chimblies? deir backs sloped out in de middle to throw out de heat into de room and keep too much of it from gwine straight up de flue. our beds in our cabin was corded jus' lak dem up at de big house, but us slept on straw ticks and, let me tell you, dey sho slept good atter a hard days's wuk. "de bestest water dat ever was come from a spring right nigh our cabin and us had long-handled gourds to drink it out of. some of dem gourds hung by de spring all de time and dere was allus one or two of 'em hangin' by de side of our old cedar waterbucket. sho', us had a cedar bucket and it had brass hoops on it; dat was some job to keep dem hoops scrubbed wid sand to make 'em bright and shiny, and dey had to be clean and pretty all de time or mammy would git right in behind us wid a switch. marse gerald raised all dem long-handled gourds dat us used 'stid of de tin dippers folks has now, but dem warn't de onliest kinds of gourds he growed on his place. dere was gourds mos' as big as waterbuckets, and dey had short handles dat was bent whilst de gourds was green, so us could hang 'em on a limb of a tree in de shade to keep water cool for us when us was wukin' in de field durin' hot weather. "i never done much field wuk 'til de war come on, 'cause mistess was larnin' me to be a housemaid. marse gerald and miss annie never had no chillun 'cause she warn't no bearin' 'oman, but dey was both mighty fond of little folks. on sunday mornin's mammy used to fix us all up nice and clean and take us up to de big house for marse gerald to play wid. dey was good christian folks and tuk de mostest pains to larn us chillun how to live right. marster used to 'low as how he had done paid $ for ca'line but he sho wouldn't sell her for no price. "evvything us needed was raised on dat plantation 'cept cotton. nary a stalk of cotton was growed dar, but jus' de same our clothes was made out of cloth dat mistess and my mammy wove out of thread us chillun spun, and mistess tuk a heap of pains makin' up our dresses. durin' de war evvybody had to wear homespun, but dere didn't nobody have no better or prettier dresses den ours, 'cause mistess knowed more'n anybody 'bout dyein' cloth. when time come to make up a batch of clothes mistess would say, 'ca'line holp me git up my things for dyein',' and us would fetch dogwood bark, sumach, poison ivy, and sweetgum bark. that poison ivy made the best black of anything us ever tried, and mistess could dye the prettiest sort of purple wid sweetgum bark. cop'ras was used to keep de colors from fadin', and she knowed so well how to handle it dat you could wash cloth what she had dyed all day long and it wouldn't fade a speck. "marster was too old to go to de war, so he had to stay home and he sho seed dat us done our wuk raisin' somepin t'eat. he had us plant all our cleared ground, and i sho has done some hard wuk down in dem old bottom lands, plowin', hoein', pullin' corn and fodder, and i'se even cut cordwood and split rails. dem was hard times and evvybody had to wuk. "sometimes marse gerald would be away a week at a time when he went to court at jefferson, and de very last thing he said 'fore he driv off allus was, 'ca'line, you and de chillun take good care of mistess.' he most allus fetched us new shoes when he come back, 'cause he never kept no shoemaker man on our place, and all our shoes was store-bought. dey was jus' brogans wid brass toes, but us felt powerful dressed up when us got 'em on, 'specially when dey was new and de brass was bright and shiny. dere was nine of us chillun, four boys and five gals. us gals had plain cotton dresses made wid long sleeves and us wore big sunbonnets. what would gals say now if dey had to wear dem sort of clothes and do wuk lak what us done? little boys didn't wear nothin' but long shirts in summertime, but come winter evvybody had good warm clothes made out of wool off of marse gerald's own sheep, and boys, even little tiny boys, had britches in winter. "did you ever see folks shear sheep, child? well, it was a sight in dem days. marster would tie a sheep on de scaffold, what he had done built for dat job, and den he would have me set on de sheep's head whilst he cut off de wool. he sont it to de factory to have it carded into bats and us chillun spun de thread at home and mammy and mistess wove it into cloth for our winter clothes. nobody warn't fixed up better on church days dan marster's niggers and he was sho proud of dat. "us went to church wid our white folks 'cause dere warn't no colored churches dem days. none of de churches 'round our part of de country had meetin' evvy sunday, so us went to three diffunt meetin' houses. on de fust sunday us went to captain crick baptist church, to sandy crick presbyterian church on second sundays, and on third sundays meetin' was at antioch methodist church whar marster and mistess was members. dey put me under de watchkeer of deir church when i was a mighty little gal, 'cause my white folks sho b'lieved in de church and in livin' for god; de larnin' dat dem two good old folks gimme is done stayed right wid me all through life, so far, and i aims to live by it to de end. i didn't sho 'nough jine up wid no church 'til i was done growed up and had left marse gerald; den i jined de cedar grove baptist church and was baptized dar, and dar's whar i b'longs yit. "marster was too old to wuk when dey sot us free, so for a long time us jus' stayed dar and run his place for him. i never seed none of dem yankee sojers but one time. marster was off in jefferson and while i was down at de washplace i seed 'bout men come ridin' over de hill. i was sho skeered and when i run and told mistess she made us all come inside her house and lock all de doors. dem yankee mens jus' rode on through our yard down to de river and stayed dar a little while; den dey turned around and rid back through our yard and on down de big road, and us never seed 'em no more. "soon atter dey was sot free niggers started up churches of dey own and it was some sight to see and hear 'em on meetin' days. dey would go in big crowds and sometimes dey would go to meetin's a fur piece off. dey was all fixed up in deir sunday clothes and dey walked barfoots wid deir shoes acrost deir shoulders to keep 'em from gittin' dirty. jus' 'fore dey got to de church dey stopped and put on deir shoes and den dey was ready to git together to hear de preacher. "folks don't know nothin' 'bout hard times now, 'specially young folks; dey is on de gravy train and don't know it, but dey is headed straight for 'struction and perdition; dey's gwine to land in dat burnin' fire if dey don't mind what dey's about. jus' trust in de lord, honey, and cast your troubles on him and he'll stay wid you, but if you turns your back on him, den you is lost, plumb gone, jus' as sho as shelled corn. "when us left marse gerald and moved nigh athens he got a old nigger named egypt, what had a big fambly, to live on his place and do all de wuk. old marster didn't last long atter us was gone. one night he had done let his farm hands have a big cornshuckin' and had seed dat dey had plenty of supper and liquor to go wid it and, as was de custom dem days, some of dem niggers got old marster up on deir shoulders and toted him up to de big house, singin' as dey went along. he was jus' as gay as dey was, and joked de boys. when dey put him down on de big house porch he told old mistess he didn't want no supper 'cept a little coffee and bread, and he strangled on de fust bite. mistess sont for de doctor but he was too nigh gone, and it warn't long 'fore he had done gone into de glory of de next world. he was 'bout years old when he died and he had sho been a good man. one of my nieces and her husband went dar atter marse gerald died and tuk keer of mistess 'til she went home to glory too. "mammy followed old mistess to glory in 'bout years. us was livin' on de johnson place den, and it warn't long 'fore me and george kinney got married. a white preacher married us, but us didn't have no weddin' celebration. us moved to de joe langford place in oconee county, but didn't stay dar but one year; den us moved 'crost de crick into clarke county and atter us farmed dar years, us moved on to dis here place whar us has been ever since. plain old farmin' is de most us is ever done, but george used to make some mighty nice cheers to sell to de white folks. he made 'em out of hick'ry what he seasoned jus' right and put rye split bottoms in 'em. dem cheers lasted a lifetime; when dey got dirty you jus' washed 'em good and sot 'em in de sun to dry and dey was good as new. george made and sold a lot of rugs and mats dat he made out of plaited shucks. most evvybody kep' a shuck footmat 'fore deir front doors. dem sunhats made out of shucks and bulrushes was mighty fine to wear in de field when de sun was hot. not long atter all ten of our chillun was borned, george died out and left me wid dem five boys and five gals. "some old witch-man conjured me into marryin' jordan jackson. dat's de blessed truth, honey; a fortune-teller is done told me how it was done. i didn't want to have nothin' to do wid jordan 'cause i knowed he was jus' a no 'count old drinkin' man dat jus' wanted my land and stuff. when he couldn't git me to pay him no heed hisself, he went to a old conjure man and got him to put a spell on me. honey, didn't you know dey could do dat back in dem days? i knows dey could, 'cause i never woulda run round wid no nigger and married him if i hadn't been witched by dat conjure business. de good lord sho punishes folks for deir sins on dis earth and dat old man what put dat spell on me died and went down to burnin' hell, and it warn't long den 'fore de spell left me. "right den i showed dat no 'count jordan jackson dat i was a good 'oman, a powerful sight above him, and dat he warn't gwine to git none of dis land what my chillun's daddy had done left 'em. when i jus' stood right up to him and showed him he warn't gwine to out whack me, he up and left me and i don't even use his name no more 'cause i don't want it in my business no way a t'all. jordan's done paid his debt now since he died and went down in dat big old burnin' hell 'long wid de old witch man dat conjured me for him. "yes, honey, de lord done put it on record dat dere is sho a burnin' place for torment, and didn't my marster and mistess larn me de same thing? i sho does thank 'em to dis day for de pains dey tuk wid de little nigger gal dat growed up to be me, tryin' to show her de right road to travel. oh! if i could jus' see 'em one more time, but dey can look down from de glory land and see dat i'se still tryin' to follow de road dat leads to whar dey is, and when i gits to dat good and better world i jus' knows de good lord will let dis aged 'oman be wid her dear marster and mistess all through de time to come. "trust god, honey, and he will lead you home to glory. i'se sho enjoyed talkin' to you, and i thanks you for comin'. i'se gwine to ax him to take good keer of you and let you come back to cheer up old nicey again." plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave julia larken, age meigs street athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia julia's small three-room cottage is a servant house at the rear of a white family's residence. a gate through an old-fashioned picket fence led into a spacious yard where dense shade from tall pecan trees was particularly inviting after a long walk in the sweltering heat. an aged mulatto woman was seated on the narrow porch. her straight white hair was arranged in braids, and her faded print dress and enormous checked apron were clean and carefully patched. a pair of dark colored tennis shoes completed her costume. she arose, tall and erect, to greet her visitor. "yessum, dis here's julia larken," she said with a friendly smile. "come right in, chile, and set here and rest on my nice cool porch. i knows you's tired plumb out. you shouldn't be out walkin' 'round in dis hot sun--it ain't good for you. it'll make you have brain fever 'fore you knows it." when asked for the story of her life, julia replied: "lordy, chile, did you do all dis walkin', hot as it is today, jus' to hear dis old nigger talk? well, jus' let me tell you, dem days back yonder 'fore de war was de happiest time of my whole life. "i don't know much 'bout slavery, 'cause i was jus' a little gal when de war ended. i was borned in war times on marse payton sails' plantation, way off down in lincoln county. my ma was borned and bred right dar on dat same place. marster bought my daddy and his mammy from captain lemars, and dey tuk de name of sails atter dey come to live on his place. mammy's name was betsy sails and daddy was named sam'l. dey was married soon atter marster fetched daddy dar. "dere ain't no tellin' how big marster's old plantation was. his house set right on top of a high hill. his plantation road circled 'round dat hill two or three times gittin' from de big road to de top of de hill. dere was a great deep well in de yard whar dey got de water for de big house. marster's room was upstairs and had steps on de outside dat come down into de yard. on one side of his house was a fine apple orchard, so big dat it went all de way down de hill to de big road. "on de other side of de house was a large gyarden whar us raised evvything in de way of good veg'tables; dere was beans, corn, peas, turnips, collards, 'taters, and onions. why dey had a big patch of nothin' but onions. us did love onions. dere was allus plenty of good meat in marster's big old smokehouse dat stood close by de well. marster, he believed in raisin' heaps of meat. he had cows, hogs, goats, and sheep, not to mention his chickens and turkeys. "all de cloth for slaves' clothes was made at home. mammy was one of de cooks up at de big house, and she made cloth too. daddy was de shoe man. he made de shoes for all de folks on de plantation. "de log cabins what de slaves lived in was off a piece from de big house. dem cabins had rock chimblies, put together wid red mud. dere warn't no glass in de windows and doors of dem cabins--jus' plain old home-made wooden shutters and doors." julia laughed as she told of their beds. "us called 'em four posters, and dat's what dey was, but dey was jus' plain old pine posties what one of de men on de plantation made up. two posties at de head and two at de foot wid pine rails betwixt 'em was de way dey made dem beds. dere warn't no sto'-bought steel springs dem days, not even for de white folks, but dem old cord springs went a long ways towards makin' de beds comfortable and dey holped to hold de bed together. de four poster beds de white folks slept on was corded too, but deir posties warn't made out of pine. dey used oak and walnut and sometimes real mahogany, and dey carved 'em up pretty. some of dem big old posties to de white folkses beds was six inches thick. "slaves all et up at de big house in dat long old kitchen. i kin jus' see dat kitchen now. it warn't built on to de big house, 'cept it was at de end of a big porch dat went from it to de big house. a great big fireplace was 'most all de way 'cross one end of dat kitchen, and it had racks and cranes for de pots and pans and ovens but, jus' let me tell you, our marster had a cookstove too. yessum, it was a real sho' 'nough iron cookstove. no'm, it warn't 'zactly lak de stoves us uses now. it was jus' a long, low stove, widout much laigs, jus' flat on top wid eyes to cook on. de oven was at de bottom. mammy and grandma mary was mighty proud of dat stove, 'cause dere warn't nobody else 'round dar what had a cookstove so us was jus' plumb rich folks. "slaves didn't come to de house for dinner when dey was wukin' a fur piece off in de fields. it was sont to 'em, and dat was what kilt one of my brothers. whilst it was hot, de cooks would set de bucket of dinner on his haid and tell him to run to de field wid it fore it got cold. he died wid brain fever, and de doctor said it was from totin' all dem hot victuals on his haid. pore brudder john, he sho' died out, and ever since den i been skeered of gittin' too hot on top of de haid. "dere was twelve of mammy's chillun in all, countin' little peter who died out when he was a baby. de other boys was john, tramer, sam'l, george, and scott. de only one of my brothers left now is george, leastwise i reckon he's livin' yet. de last 'count i had of him he was in chicago, and he must be 'bout a hundred years old now. de gals was me and mary, 'merica, hannah, betsy, and emma. "'fore grandma mary got too old to do all de cookin', mammy wuked in de field. mammy said she allus woke up early, and she could hear marster when he started gittin' up. she would hurry and git out 'fore he had time to call 'em. sometimes she cotch her hoss and rid to the field ahead of de others, 'cause marster never laked for nobody to be late in de mornin'. one time he got atter one of his young slaves out in de field and told him he was a good mind to have him whupped. dat night de young nigger was tellin' a old slave 'bout it, and de old man jus' laughed and said: 'when marster pesters me dat way i jus' rise up and cuss him out.' dat young fellow 'cided he would try it out and de next time marster got atter him dey had a rukus what i ain't never gwine to forgit. us was all out in de yard at de big house, skeered to git a good breath when us heared marster tell him to do somepin, 'cause us knowed what he was meanin' to do. he didn't go right ahead and mind marster lak he had allus been used to doin'. marster called to him again, and den dat fool nigger cut loose and he evermore did cuss marster out. lordy, chile, marster jus' fairly tuk de hide off dat nigger's back. when he tried to talk to dat old slave 'bout it de old man laughed and said: 'shucks, i allus waits 'til i gits to de field to cuss marster so he won't hear me.' "marster didn't have but two boys and one of 'em got kilt in de war. dat sho'ly did hurt our good old marster, but dat was de onliest diffunce de war made on our place. when it was over and dey said us was free, all de slaves stayed right on wid de marster; dat was all dey knowed to do. marster told 'em dey could stay on jus' as long as dey wanted to, and dey was right dar on dat hill 'til marster had done died out and gone to glory. "us chillun thought hog killin' time wes de best time of all de year. us would hang 'round de pots whar dey was rendin' up de lard and all day us et dem good old browned skin cracklin's and ash roasted 'taters. marster allus kilt from to hogs at a time. it tuk dat much meat to feed all de folks dat had to eat from his kitchen. little chillun never had nothin' much to do 'cept eat and sleep and play, but now, jus' let me tell you for sho', dere warn't no runnin' 'round nights lak dey does now. not long 'fore sundown dey give evvy slave chile a wooden bowl of buttermilk and cornpone and a wooden spoon to eat it wid. us knowed us had to finish eatin' in time to be in bed by de time it got dark. "our homespun dresses had plain waisties wid long skirts gathered on to 'em. in hot weather chillun wore jus' one piece; dat was a plain slip, but in cold weather us had plenty of good warm clothes. dey wove cotton and wool together to make warm cloth for our winter clothes and made shoes for us to wear in winter too. marster evermore did believe in takin' good keer of his niggers. "i kin ricollect dat 'fore dere was any churches right in our neighborhood, slaves would walk and miles to church. dey would git up 'way 'fore dawn on meetin' day, so as to git dar on time. us wouldn't wear our shoes on dem long walks, but jus' went barfoots 'til us got nearly to de meetin' house. i jus' kin 'member dat, for chillun warn't 'lowed to try to walk dat fur a piece, but us could git up early in de mornin' and see de grown folks start off. dey was dressed in deir best sunday go-to-meetin' clothes and deir shoes, all shined up, was tied together and hung over deir shoulders to keep 'em from gittin' dust on 'em. [hw in margin: sunday clothing] men folks had on plain homespun shirts and jeans pants. de jeans what deir pants was made out of was homespun too. some of de 'omans wore homespun dresses, but most of 'em had a calico dress what was saved special for sunday meetin' wear. 'omans wore two or three petticoats all ruffled and starched 'til one or dem underskirts would stand by itself. dey went barfoots wid deir shoes hung over deir shoulders, jus' lak de mens, and evvy 'oman pinned up her dress and evvy one of her petticoats but one to keep 'em from gittin' muddy. dresses and underskirts was made long enough to touch de ground dem days. dey allus went off singin', and us chillun would be wishin' for de time when us would be old enough to wear long dresses wid starched petticoats and go to meetin'. us chillun tried our best to stay 'wake 'til dey got home so us could hear 'em talk 'bout de preachin' and singin' and testifyin' for de lord, and us allus axed how many had done jined de church dat day. "long 'fore i was old enough to make dat trip on foot, dey built a baptist church nearby. it was de white folkses church, but dey let deir own niggers join dar too, and how us chillun did love to play 'round it. no'm, us never broke out no windows or hurt nothin' playin' dar. us warn't never 'lowed to throw no rocks when us was on de church grounds. de church was up on top of a high hill and at de bottom of dat hill was de creek whar de white folks had a fine pool for baptizin'. dey had wooden steps to go down into it and a long wooden trough leadin' from de creek to fill up de pool whenever dere was baptizin' to be done. dey had real sermons in dat church and folks come from miles around to see dem baptizin's. white folks was baptized fust and den de niggers. when de time come for to baptize dem niggers you could hear 'em singin' and shoutin' a long ways off. "it jus' don't seem lak folks has de same sort of 'ligion now dey had dem days, 'specially when somebody dies. den de neighbors all went to de house whar de corpse was and sung and prayed wid de fambly. de coffins had to be made atter folks was done dead. dey measured de corpse and made de coffin 'cordin'ly. most of 'em was made out of plain pine wood, lined wid black calico, and sometimes dey painted 'em black on de outside. dey didn't have no 'balmers on de plantations so dey couldn't keep dead folks out long; dey had to bury 'em de very next day atter dey died. dey put de corpse in one wagon and de fambly rode in another, but all de other folks walked to de graveyard. when dey put de coffin in de grave dey didn't have no sep'rate box to place it in, but dey did lay planks 'cross de top of it 'fore de dirt was put in. de preacher said a prayer and de folks sung _harps from de tomb_. maybe several months later dey would have de funeral preached some sunday. "us had all sorts of big doin's at harvest time. dere was cornshuckin's, logrollin's, syrup makin's, and cotton pickin's. dey tuk time about from one big plantation to another. evvy place whar dey was a-goin' to celebrate tuk time off to cook up a lot of tasty eatments, 'specially to barbecue plenty of good meat. de marsters at dem diffunt places allus seed dat dere was plenty of liquor passed 'round and when de wuk was done and de niggers et all dey wanted, dey danced and played 'most all night. what us chillun laked most 'bout it was de eatin'. what i 'member best of all is de good old corn risin' lightbread. did you ever see any of it, chile? why, my mammy and grandma mary could bake dat bread so good it would jus' melt in your mouth. "mammy died whilst i was still little and daddy married again. i guess his second wife had a time wid all of us chillun. she tried to be good to us, but i was skeered of her for a long time atter she come to our cabin. she larnt me how to make my dresses, and de fust one i made all by myself was a long sight too big for me. i tried it on and was plumb sick 'bout it bein' so big, den she said; 'never mind, you'll grow to it.' let me tell you, i got dat dress off in a hurry 'cause i was 'most skeered to death for fear dat if i kept it on it would grow to my skin lak i thought she meant. [hw in margin: humor] i never put dat dress on no more for a long time and dat was atter i found out dat she jus' meant dat my dress would fit me atter i had growed a little more. "all us chillun used to pick cotton for marster, and he bought all our clothes and shoes. one day he told me and mary dat us could go to de store and git us a pair of shoes apiece. 'course us knowed what kind of shoes he meant for us to git, but mary wanted a fine pair of sunday shoes and dat's what she picked out and tuk home. me, i got brass-toed brogans lak marster meant for us to git. 'bout half way home mary put on her shoes and walked to de big house in 'em. when marster seed 'em he was sho' mad as a hornet, but it was too late to take 'em back to de store atter de shoes had done been wore and was all scratched up. marster fussed: 'blast your hide, i'm a good mind to thrash you to death.' mary stood dar shakin' and tremblin', but dat's all marster ever said to her 'bout it. us heared him tell mist'ess dat dat gal mary was a right smart nigger. "marster had a great big old bull dat was mighty mean. he had real long horns, and he could lift de fence railin's down one by one and turn all de cows out. evvy time he got out he would fight us chillun, so marster had to keep him fastened up in de stable. one day when us wanted to play in de stable, us turned old camel (dat was de bull) out in de pasture. he tuk down rails enough wid his horns to let de cows in marster's fine gyarden and dey et it all up. marster was wuss dan mad dat time, but us hid in de barn under some hay 'til he went to bed. next mornin' he called us all up to git our whuppin', but us cried and said us wouldn't never do it no more so our good old marster let us off dat time. "lak i done said before, i stayed on dar 'til marster died, den i married matthew hartsfield. lordy, chile, us didn't have no weddin'. i had on a new calico dress and matthew wore some new blue jeans breeches. de reverend hargrove, de white folks preacher, married us and nobody didn't know nothin' 'bout it 'til it was all over. us went to oglethorpe county and lived dar years 'fore matthew died. i wuked wid white folks dar 'til i married up wid ben larken and us come on here to athens to live. i have done some wuk for 'most all de white folks 'round here. ben's grandpappy was a miller on potts creek, nigh stephens, and sometimes ben used to have to go help him out wid de wuk, atter he got old and feeble. "dey's all gone now and 'cept for some nieces, i'm left all alone. i kin still mind de chillun and even do a little wuk. for dat i do give thanks to de good lord--dat he keeps me able to do some wuk. "goodbye chile," said julia, when her visitor arose to leave. "you must be more keerful 'bout walkin' 'round when de sun is too hot. it'll make you sick sho'. folks jus' don't know how to take de right sort of keer of deyselves dese days." [hw: dist. ex-slave # e.f. driskell / / ] [hw: george lewis] [date stamp: may - --] mr. george lewis was born in pensacola, florida december , . in addition to himself and his parents, sophie and charles lewis, there were thirteen other children; two of whom were girls. mr. lewis (geo.) was the third eldest child. although married mr. lewis' parents belonged to different owners. however, dr. brosenhan often allowed his servant to visit his wife on the plantation of her owner, mrs. caroline bright. in regard to work all of the members of the lewis clan fared very well. the father, who belonged to dr. brosenhan, was a skilled shipbuilder and he was permitted to hire himself out to those needing his services. he was also allowed to hire [hw: out] those children belonging to him who were old enough to work. he was only required to pay his master and the mistress of his children a certain percent of his earnings. on the bright plantation mrs. lewis served as maid and as part of her duties she had to help with the cooking. mr. lewis and his brothers and sisters were never required to do very much work. most of their time was spent in playing around in the yard of the big house. in answer to a query concerning the work requirements of the other slaves on this particular plantation mr. lewis replied "de sun would never ketch dem at de house. by de time it wus up dey had done got to de fiel'--not jes gwine. i've known men to have to wait till it wus bright enough to see how to plow without "kivering" the plants up. dey lef' so early in de mornings dat breakfus' had to be sent to dem in de fiel'. de chillun was de ones who carried de meals dere. dis was de first job dat i had. all de pails wus put on a long stick an' somebody hold to each end of de stick. if de fiel' hands was too far away fum de house at dinner time it was sent to dem de same as de breakfus'". all of the slaves on the plantation were awakened each morning by a bugle or a horn which was blown by the overseer. the same overseer gave the signal for dinner hour by blowing on the same horn. all were usually given one hour for dinner. none had to do any work after leaving the fields unless it happened to be personal work. no work other than the caring for the stock was required on sundays. a few years before the civil war mrs. bright married a dr. bennett ferrel and moved to his home in georgia (troupe county). mr. lewis states that he and his fellow slaves always had "pretty fair" food. before they moved to georgia the rations were issued daily and for the most part an issue consisted of vegetables, rice, beans, meat (pork), all kinds of fish and grits, etc. "we got good clothes too says mr. lewis. all of 'em was bought. all de chillun wore a long shirt until dey wus too big an' den dey was given pants an' dresses. de shoes wus made out of red leather an' wus called brogans. after we moved to georgia our new marster bought de cloth an' had all de clothes made on de plantation. de food wus "pretty fair" here too. we got corn bread an' biscuit sometimes--an' it was sometimes too--bacon, milk, all kinds of vegetables an' sicha stuff like dat. de flour dat we made de biscuits out of was de third grade shorts." the food on sunday was almost identical with that eaten during the week. however, those who desired to were allowed to hunt as much as they pleased to at night. they were not permitted to carry guns and so when the game was treed the tree had to be cut down in order to get it. it was in this way that the family larder was increased. "all in all", says mr. lewis, "we got everything we wanted excep' dere wus no money comin' for our work an' we couldn't go off de place unless we asked. if you wus caught off your plantation without a permit fum marster de paddy-rollers whupped you an' sent you home." the slaves living quarters were located in the rear of the "big house" (this was true of the plantation located in pensacola as well as the one in georgia). all were made of logs and, according to mr. lewis, all were substantially built. wooden pegs were used in the place of nails and the cracks left in the walls were sealed with mud and sticks. these cabins were very comfortable and only one family was allowed to a cabin. all floors were of wood. the only furnishings were the beds and one or two benches or bales which served as chairs. in some respects these beds resembled a scaffold nailed to the side of a house. others were made of heavy wood and had four legs to stand upon. for the most part, however, one end of the bed was nailed to the wall. the mattresses were made out of any kind of material that a slave could secure, burlap sacks, ausenberg, etc. after a large bag had been made with this material it was stuffed with straw. heavy cord running from side to side was used for the bed springs. the end of the cord was tied to a handle at the end of the bed. this pemitted the occupant to tighten the cord when it became loosened. a few cooking utensils completed the furnishings. all illumination was secured by means of the door and the open fire place. all of the slaves on the plantation were permitted to "frolic" whenever they wanted to and for as long a time as they wanted to. the master gave them all of the whiskey that they desired. one of the main times for a frolic was during a corn shucking. at each frolic there was dancing, fiddling, and eating. the next morning, however all had to be prepared to report as usual to the fields. all were required to attend church each sunday. the same church was used by the slave owners and their slaves. the owners attended church in the morning at eleven o'clock and the slaves attended at three o'clock. a white minister did all of the preaching. "de bigges' sermon he preached", says mr. lewis, "was to read de bible an' den tell us to be smart an' not to steal chickens, eggs, an' butter, fum our marsters." all baptising was done by this selfsame minister. when a couple wished to marry the man secured the permission of his intended wife's owner and if he consented, a broom was placed on the floor and the couple jumped over it and were then pronounced man and wife. there was not a great deal of whipping on the plantation of dr. ferrel but at such times all whippings were administered by one of the overseers employed on the plantation. mr. lewis himself was only whipped once and then by the doctor. this was just a few days before the slaves were freed. mr. lewis says that the doctor came to the field one morning and called him. he told him that they were going to be freed but that before he did free him he was going to let him see what it was like to be whipped by a white man, and he proceeded to paddle him with a white oak paddle. when there was serious illness the slaves had the attention of dr. ferrel. on other occasions the old remedy of castor oil and turpentine was administered. there was very little sickness then according to mr. lewis. most every family kept a large pot of "bitters" (a mixture of whiskey and tree barks) and each morning every member of the family took a drink from this bucket. this supposedly prevented illness. when the war broke out mr. lewis says that he often heard the old folks whispering among themselves at night. several times he saw the northern troops as well as the southern troops but he dos'nt know whether they were going or coming from the scene of the fighting. doctor ferrel joined the army but on three different occasions he deserted. before going to war dr. ferrel called mr. lewis to him and after giving him his favorite horse gave him the following "charge" "don't let the yankees get him". every morning mr. lewis would take the horse to the woods where he hid with him all day. on several occasions dr. ferrel slipped back to his home to see if the horse was being properly cared for. all of the other valuables belongings to the ferrels were hidden also. all of the slaves on the plantation were glad when they were told that they were free but there was no big demonstration as they were somewhat afraid of what the master might do. some of them remained on the plantation while others of them left as soon as they were told that they were free. several months after freedom was declared mr. lewis' father was able to join his family which he had not seen since they had moved to georgia. when asked his opinion of slavery and of freedom mr. lewis said that he would rather be free because to a certain degree he is able to do as he pleases, on the other hand he did not have to worry about food and shelter as a slave as he has to do now at times. interview with: mirriam mccommons, age augusta avenue athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune research worker athens, georgia edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens john n. booth district supervisor augusta, georgia [date stamp: apr ] it was a bright sunny day when the interviewer stopped at the home of aunt merry, as she is called, and found her tending her old-fashioned flower garden. the old negress was tired and while resting she talked of days long passed and of how things have changed since she was "a little gal." "my pa wuz william young, and he belonged to old marse wylie young and later to young marse mack young, a son of old marster. pa wuz born in , and he died in . "ma wuz lula lumpkin, and she belonged to marse jack lumpkin. i forgits de year, but she wuz jus' years old when she died. ma's young mistis wuz miss mirriam lumpkin, and she wuz sho' good ter my ma. i 'members, 'cause i seed her lots of times. she married marse william nichols, and she ain't been dead many years. "i wuz born at steebens (stephens), georgia, in at seben 'clock in de mornin' on de th day of april. yassum, i got here in time for breakfast. dey named me mirriam young. when i wuz 'bout eight years old, us moved on de bowling green road dat runs to lexin'ton, georgia. us stayed dar 'til i wuz 'bout years old, den us moved to de old hutchins place. i wukked in de field wid my pa 'til i wuz 'bout 'leben years old. den ma put me out to wuk. i wukked for dollars a year and my schoolin'. den i nussed for marse george rice in hutchins, georgia. i think marse george and his twin sister stays in lexin'ton now. when i wuz twelve, i went to wuk for marse john i. callaway. ma hired me for de same pay, dollars a year and my schoolin'. "missus callaway sho' wuz good to me. sha larnt me my books--readin' and writin'--and sewin', knittin', and crochetin'. i still got some of de wuk dat she larnt me to do." at this point aunt merry proudly displayed a number of articles that she had crocheted and knitted. all were fashioned after old patterns and showed fine workmanship. "mistis larnt me to be neat and clean in evvything i done, and i would walk 'long de road a-knittin' and nebber miss a stitch. i just bet none of dese young folkses now days could do dat. dey sho' don't do no wuk, just run 'round all de time, day and night. i don't know what'll 'come of 'em, lessen dey change deir ways. "whilst i wuz still nussin' missis' little gal and baby boy dey went down to buffalo crick to stay, and dey give me a pretty gray mare. she wuz all mine and her name wuz lucy. "i tuk de chillun to ride evvy day and down at de crick, i pulled off dey clo'es and baptized 'em, in de water. i would wade out in de crick wid 'em, and say: 'i baptizes you in de name of de fadder and de son and de holy ghost.' den i would souse 'em under de water. i didn't know nobody wuz seein' me, but one mornin' missis axed me 'bout it and i thought she mought be mad but she just laughed and said dat hit mought be good for 'em, 'cause she 'spect dey needed baptizin', but to be keerful, for just on t'other side of de rock wuz a hole dat didn't have no bottom. "dere wuz just two things on de place dat i wuz 'fraid of, and one wuz de big registered bull dat marster had paid so much money for. he sho' wuz bad, and when he got out, us all stayed in de house 'til dey cotched 'im. marster had a big black stallion dat cost lots of money. he wuz bad too, but marster kept 'im shut up most of de time. de wust i ever wuz skeert wuz de time i wuz takin' de baby to ride horseback. when one of de nigger boys on de place started off on marster's horse, my mare started runnin' and i couldn't stop 'er. she runned plumb away wid me, and when de boy cotched us, i wuz holdin' de baby wid one hand and de saddle wid t'other. "i sho' did have a big time once when us went to atlanta. de place whar us stayed wuz 'bout four miles out, whar kirkwood is now, and it belonged to mrs. robert a. austin. she wuz a widder 'oman. she had a gal name' mary and us chillun used to play together. it wuz a pretty place wid great big yards, and de mostes' flowers. us used to go into atlanta on de six 'clock 'commodation, and come home on de two 'clock 'commodation, but evvythings changed now. "at de callaway place us colored folks had big suppers and all day dinners, wid plenty to eat--chicken, turkey, and 'possum, and all de hogs us wanted. but dere warnt no dancin' or fightin', 'cause old missis sho' didn't 'low dat. "i married when i wuz sebenteen. i didn't have no weddin'. i wuz just married by de preacher to albert mccommons, at hutchins. us stayed at steebens 'bout one year after us married and den come to athens, whar i stays now. i ain't never had but two chillun; dey wuz twins, one died, but my boy is wid me now. "i used to nuss miss calline davis, and she done got married and left here, but i still hears from 'er. she done married one of dem northern mens, mr. hope. i 'members one time whilst dey wuz visitin' i stayed wid 'em to nuss deir baby. one of mr. hope's friends from new york wuz wid 'em. when dey got to de train to go home, miss calline kissed me good-bye and de yankee didn't know what to say. miss calline say de yankees 'low dat southern folks air mean to us niggers and just beat us all de time. dey just don't know 'cause my white folkses wuz all good to me, and i loves 'em all." as the interviewer left, aunt merry followed her into the yard asking for a return visit and promising to tell more, "bout my good white folkses." plantation life as viewed by ed mccree, age reese street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & ed mccree's home was pointed out by a little albino negro girl about years old. the small front yard was gay with snapdragons, tiger lilies, dahlias, and other colorful flowers, and the two-story frame house, painted gray with white trimmings seemed to be in far better repair than the average negro residence. chewing on a cud of tobacco, ed answered the knock on his front door. "good evenin' lady," he said. "have a cheer on de porch whar it's cool." ed is about five feet, six inches in height, and on this afternoon he was wearing a blue striped shirt, black vest, gray pants and black shoes. his gray hair was topped by a soiled gray hat. nett, his wife, came hobbling out on the porch and sat down to listen to the conversation. at first the old man was reluctant to talk of his childhood experiences, but his interest was aroused by questioning and soon he began to eagerly volunteer his memories. he had just had his noon meal and now and then would doze a little, but was easily aroused when questions called him back to the subject. "i was borned in oconee county," he said, "jus' below watkinsville. my ma and pa was louisa and henry mccree, but old marster called pa 'sherm' for short. far as i ever heared, my ma and pa was borned and brung up right dar in oconee county. dere was six of us chillun: silas, lumpkin, bennie, lucy, babe, and me. babe, she was borned a long time atter de war. "little niggers, what was too young to wuk in de fields, toted water to de field hands and waited on de old 'omans what was too old to wuk in de craps. dem old 'omans looked atter de babies and piddled 'round de yards. "slave quarters was lots of log cabins wid chimlies of criss-crossed sticks and mud. pore white folks lived in houses lak dat too. our bed was made wid high posties and had cords, what run evvy which a-way, for springs. 'course dey had to be wound tight to keep dem beds from fallin' down when you tried to git in 'em. for mattresses, de 'omans put wheat straw in ticks made out of coarse cloth wove right dar on de plantation, and de pillows was made de same way. ole miss, she let her special favorite niggers, what wuked up at de big house, have feather mattresses and pillows. dem other niggers shined dey eyes over dat, but dere warn't nothin' dey could do 'bout it 'cept slip 'round and cut dem feather beds and pillows open jus' to see de feathers fly. kivver was 'lowanced out evvy year to de ones what needed it most. in dat way dere was allus good kivver for evvybody. "grandma liza b'longed to marse calvin johnson long 'fore marse john mccree buyed her. she was cook at de big house. grandpa charlie, he b'longed to marse charlie hardin, but atter him and grandma married, she still went by de name of mccree. "lawdy miss! who ever heared of folks payin' slaves to wuk? leastwise, i never knowed 'bout none of 'em on our place gittin' money for what dey done. 'course dey give us plenty of somepin' t'eat and clothes to wear, and den dey made us keep a-humpin' it. i does 'member seein' dem paper nickels, dimes, and quarters what us chillun played wid atter de war. us used to pretend us was rich wid all dat old money what warn't no good den. "'bout dem eatments, miss, it was lek dis, dere warn't no fancy victuals lak us thinks us got to have now, but what dere was, dere was plenty of. most times dere was poke sallet, turnip greens, old blue head collards, cabbages, peas, and 'taters by de wholesale for de slaves to eat and, onct a week, dey rationed us out wheat bread, syrup, brown sugar, and ginger cakes. what dey give chillun de most of was potlicker poured over cornbread crumbs in a long trough. for fresh meat, outside of killin' a shoat, a lamb, or a kid now and den, slaves was 'lowed to go huntin' a right smart and dey fotch in a good many turkles (turtles), 'possums, rabbits, and fish. folks didn't know what iron cookstoves was dem days. leastwise, our white folks didn't have none of 'em. all our cookin' was done in open fireplaces in big old pots and pans. dey had thick iron skillets wid heavy lids on 'em, and dey could bake and fry too in dem skillets. de meats, cornbread, biscuits, and cakes what was cooked in dem old skillets was sho' mighty good. "de cotton, flax, and wool what our clothes was made out of was growed, spun, wove, and sewed right dar on our plantation. marse john had a reg'lar seamster what didn't do nothin' else but sew. summertime us chillun wore shirts what looked lak nightgowns. you jus' pulled one of dem slips over your haid and went on 'cause you was done dressed for de whole week, day and night. wintertime our clothes was a heap better. dey give us thick jeans pants, heavy shirts, and brogan shoes wid brass toes. summertime us all went bar'foots. "old marster john mccree was sho' a good white man, i jus' tells you de truf, 'cause i ain't in for tellin' nothin' else. i done jus' plum forgot ole miss' fust name, and i can't git up de chilluns' names no way. i didn't play 'round wid 'em much nohow. dey was jus' little young chillun den anyhow. dey lived in a big old plank house--nothin' fine 'bout it. i 'members de heavy timbers was mortised together and de other lumber was put on wid pegs; dere warn't no nails 'bout it. dat's all i ricollects 'bout dat dere house right now. it was jus' a common house, i'd say. "dere was a thousand or more acres in dat old plantation. it sho' was a big piece of land, and it was plumb full of niggers--i couldn't say how many, 'cause i done forgot. you could hear dat bugle de overseer blowed to wake up de slaves for miles and miles. he got 'em up long 'fore sunup and wuked 'em in de fields long as dey could see how to wuk. don't talk 'bout dat overseer whuppin' niggers. he beat on 'em for most anything. what would dey need no jail for wid dat old overseer a-comin' down on 'em wid dat rawhide bull-whup? "if dey got any larnin', it was at night. dere warn't no school 'ouse or no church on dat plantation for niggers. slaves had to git a pass when dey wanted to go to church. sometimes de white preacher preached to de niggers, but most of de time a nigger wid a good wit done de preachin'. dat nigger, he sho' couldn't read nary a word out of de bible. at de baptizin's was when de nigger boys shined up to de gals. dey dammed up de crick to make de water deep enough to duck 'em under good and, durin' de service, dey sung: _it's de good old time religion_. "when folks died den, niggers for miles and miles around went to de funeral. now days dey got to know you mighty well if dey bothers to go a t'all. dem days folks was buried in homemade coffins. some of dem coffins was painted and lined wid cloth and some warn't. de onliest song i ricollects 'em singin' at buryin's was: _am i born to lay dis body down_? dey didn't dig graves lak dey does now. dey jus' dug straight down to 'bout five feet, den dey cut a vault to fit de coffin in de side of de grave. dey didn't put no boards or nothin' over de coffins to keep de dirt off. "'bout dem patterollers! well, you knowed if dey cotched you out widout no pass, dey was gwine to beat your back most off and send you on home. one night my pa 'lowed he would go to see his gal. all right, he went. when he got back, his cabin door was fastened hard and fast. he was a-climbin' in de window when de patterollers got to him. dey 'lowed: 'nigger, is you got a pass?' pa said: 'no sir.' den dey said: 'us can't beat you 'cause you done got home on your marster's place, but us is sho' gwine to tell your marster to whup your hide off. but old marster never tetched him for dat. "atter dey come in from de fields, dem niggers et deir supper, went to deir cabins, sot down and rested a little while, and den dey drapped down on de beds to sleep. dey didn't wuk none sadday atter dinner in de fields. dat was wash day for slave 'omans. de mens done fust one thing and den another. dey cleant up de yards, chopped wood, mended de harness, sharpened plow points, and things lak dat. sadday nights, old marster give de young folks passes so dey could go from one place to another a-dancin' and a-frolickin' and havin' a big time gen'ally. dey done most anything dey wanted to on sundays, so long as dey behaved deyselfs and had deir passes handy to show if de patterollers bothered 'em. "yessum, slaves sho' looked forward to christmas times. dere was such extra good eatin's dat week and so much of 'em. old marster had 'em kill a plenty of shoats, lambs, kids, cows, and turkeys for fresh meat. de 'omans up at de big house was busy for a week ahead cookin' peach puffs, 'tater custards, and plenty of cakes sweetened wid brown sugar and syrup. dere was plenty of home-made candy for de chilluns' santa claus and late apples and peaches had done been saved and banked in wheat straw to keep 'em good 'til christmas. watermelons was packed away in cottonseed and when dey cut 'em open on christmas dey, dey et lak fresh melons in july. us had a high old time for a week, and den on new year's day dey started back to wuk. "come winter, de mens had big cornshuckin's and dere was quiltin's for de 'omans. dere was a row of corn to be shucked as long as from here to milledge avenue. old marster put a gang of niggers at each end of de row and it was a hot race 'tween dem gangs to see which could git to de middle fust. dere was allus a big feast waitin' for 'em when de last ear of corn was shucked. 'bout dem quiltin's!" now lady, what would a old nigger man know 'bout somepin' dat didn't nothin' but 'omans have nothin' to do wid? "dem cotton pickin's was grand times. dey picked cotton in de moonlight and den had a big feast of barbecued beef, mutton, and pork washed down wid plenty of good whiskey. atter de feast was over, some of dem niggers played fiddles and picked banjoes for de others to dance down 'til dey was wore out. "when slaves got sick, our white folks was mighty good 'bout havin' 'em keered for. dey dosed 'em up wid oil and turpentine and give 'em teas made out of hoarhound for some mis'ries and bone-set for other troubles. most all the slaves wore a sack of assfiddy (asafetida) 'round deir necks all de time to keep 'em from gittin' sick. "it was a happy day for us slaves when news come dat de war was over and de white folks had to turn us 'loose. marster called his niggers to come up to de big house yard, but i never stayed 'round to see what he had to say. i runned 'round dat place a-shoutin' to de top of my voice. my folks stayed on wid old marster for 'bout a year or more. if us had left, it would have been jus' lak swappin' places from de fryin' pan to de fire, 'cause niggers didn't have no money to buy no land wid for a long time atter de war. schools was soon scattered 'bout by dem yankees what had done sot us free. i warn't big enough den to do nothin' much 'cept tote water to de field and chop a little cotton. "me and nettie freeman married a long time atter de war. at our weddin' i wore a pair of brown jeans pants, white shirt, white vest, and a cutaway coat. nettie wore a black silk dress what she had done bought from miss blanche rutherford. pears lak to me it had a overskirt of blue what was scalloped 'round de bottom." at this point, nettie, who had been an interested listener, was delighted. she broke into the conversation with: "ed, you sho' did take in dat dress and you ain't forgot it yit." "you is right 'bout dat, honey," he smilingly replied, "i sho' ain't and i never will forgit how you looked dat day." "miss blanche give me a pair of white silk gloves to wear wid dat dress," mused nettie. "us didn't have no sho' 'nough weddin'," continued ed. "us jus' went off to de preacher man's house and got married up together. i sho' is glad my nett is still a-livin', even if she is down wid de rheumatiz." "i'm glad i'm livin' too," nettie said with a chuckle. ed ignored the question as to the number of their children and nettie made no attempt to take further part in the conversation. there is a deep seated idea prevalent among old people of this type that if the "giver'ment folks" learn that they have able-bodied children, their pensions and relief allowances will be discontinued. soon ed was willing to talk again. "yessum," he said. "i sho' had ruther be free. i don't never want to be a slave no more. now if me and nett wants to, us can set around and not fix and eat but one meal all day long. if us don't want to do dat, us can do jus' whatsomever us pleases. den, us had to wuk whether us laked it or not. "lordy miss, i ain't never jined up wid no church. i ain't got no reason why, only i jus' ain't never had no urge from inside of me to jine. 'course, you know, evvybody ought to lissen to de services in de church and live right and den dey wouldn't be so skeered to die. miss, ain't you through axin' me questions yit? i is so sleepy, and i don't know no more to tell you. goodbye." [hw: dist. ex slave # ] ex-slave interview: lucy mccullough, age by: sarah h. hall athens, ga. [date stamp: may ] [tr: this first half of this interview was edited by hand to change many 'er' sounds to 'uh', for example, 'der' to 'duh', 'ter' to 'tuh'; as a single word, 'er' was also changed to 'a'.] "does ah 'member 'bout war time, en dem days fo' de war? yassum, ah sho' does. ah blong ter marse ned carter in walton county." "whut ah 'members mos' is duh onliest beatin' ah ebber got fum de overseer on marse ned's place. de hawgs wuz dyin' moughty bad wid cholry, en marse ned hed 'is mens drag evvy dead hawg off in de woods 'en bun 'em up ter keep de cholry fum spreadin' mongst de udder hawgs. de mens wuz keerless 'bout de fire, en fo' long de woods wuz on fire, en de way dat fire spread in dem dry grape vines in de woods mek it 'peer lak jedgment day tuh us chilluns. us run 'bout de woods lookin' at de mens fight de fire, en evvy time we see uh new place a-blaze we run dis way en dat way, twel fus' thing us knows, we is plum off marse ned's plantation, en us doan rightly know whar us is. us play 'roun' in de woods en arter while marse ned's overseer cum fine us, en he druv us back tuh de big house yahd en give evvy one uv us uh good beaten'. ah sho' wuz black en blue, en ah nebber did fuhgit en run offen marse ned's lan' no mo' lessen i hed uh pass." "mah mammy, she wuz cook at duh big house, en ah wuz raised dah in de kitchen en de back yahd at de big house. ah wuz tuh be uh maid fer de ladies in de big house. de house servants hold that dey is uh step better den de field niggers. house servants wuz niggah quality folks." ah mus' not a been mo' en thee uh fo' yeahs ole when miss millie cum out in de kitchen one day, en 'gin tuh scold my mammy 'bout de sorry way mammy done clean de chitlins. ah ain' nebber heard nobuddy fuss et my mammy befo'. little ez ah wuz, ah swell up en rar' back, en i sez tuh miss millie, "doan you no' mammy is boss uh dis hyar kitchen. you cyan' cum a fussin' in hyar." "miss millie, she jus laff, but mammy grab a switch en 'gin ticklin' my laigs, but miss millie mek her quit it." "who wuz miss millie? why, she wuz marse ned's wife." "whilst marse ned wuz 'way at de war, bad sojer mens cum thoo de country. miss millie done hyar tell dey wuz on de way, an she had de mens haul all marse ned's cotton off in de woods en hide it. de waggins wuz piled up high wid cotton, en de groun' wuz soft atter de rain. de waggins leff deep ruts in de groun', but none us folks on de plantation pay no heed ter dem ruts. when de sojer mens cum, dey see dem ruts en trail 'em right out dar in de woods ter de cotton. den dey sot fire ter de cotton en bun it all up. dey cum back ter de big house en take all de sweet milk in de dairy house, en help 'emselfs ter evvy thing in de smoke houses. den dey pick out de stronges' er marse ned's slave mens en take 'em 'way wid 'em. dey take evvy good horse marse ned had on de plantation. no ma'am, dey diden' bun nuffin ceppen' de cotton." "us wuz mo' skeered er patter-rollers den any thing else. patter-rollers diden' bodder folks much, lessen dey caught 'em offen dar marsters plantations en dey diden' hab no pass. one night en durin' de war, de patter-rollers cum ter our cabin, en i scrooge down under de kiver in de bed. de patter-roller man tho' de kiver offen mah face, en he see me blong dar, en he let me be, but ah wuz skeered plumb ter death. courtin' folks got ketched en beat up by de patter-rollers mo' den enny buddy else, kazen dey wuz allus slippen' out fer ter meet one er nudder at night." "when folks dat lived on diffunt plantations, en blonged ter diffunt marsters wanted ter git married, dey hed ter ax both dar marsters fus'. den effen dar marsters 'gree on it, dey let 'em marry. de mans marster 'ud give de man er pass so he cud go see his wife et night, but he sho' better be back on his own marsters farm when de bell ring evvy morning. de chilluns 'ud blong ter de marster dat own de 'oman." "black folks wuz heap smarter den dey is now. dem days de 'omans knowed how ter cyard, en spin, en weave de cloff, en dey made de close. de mens know how ter mek shoes ter wear den. black folks diden' hev ter go cole er hongry den, kaze dey marsters made 'em wuk en grow good crops, en den der marsters fed 'em plenty en tuk keer uv 'em." "black folks wuz better folks den dey is now. dey knowed dey hed ter be good er dey got beat. de gals dey diden't sho' dare laigs lak dey do now. cloff hed ter be made den, en hit wuz er heap mo' trouble ter mek er yahd er cloff, den it is ter buy it now, but 'omans en gals, dey stayed kivvered up better den. why, ah 'member one time my mammy seed me cummin' crost de yahd en she say mah dress too short. she tuk it offen me, en rip out de hem, en ravel at de aig' er little, en den fus' thing i knows, she got dat dress tail on ter de loom, en weave more cloff on hit, twel it long enuf, lak she want it." "long 'bout dat time dey wuz killin' hawgs on de plantation, en it wuz er moughty cole day. miss millie, she tell me fer ter tote dis quart er brandy out dar fer ter warm up de mens dat wuz er wukkin in de cole win'. 'long de way, ah keep er sippin' dat brandy, en time ah got ter de hawg killin' place ah wuz crazy drunk en tryin' ter sing. dat time 'twon't no overseer beat me. dem slave mens beat me den fo' drinkin' dat likker." "mah folks stayed on en wukked fo' marse ned long atter de war. when ah wuz mos' grown mah fam'ly moved ter logansville. no, ma'am, i ain't nebber been so free en happy es when i diden' hev ter worry 'bout whar de vittles en close gwine cum fum, en all ah had ter do wuz wuk evvy day lak mah whitefolks tole me." [hw: dist. (driskell) ex slave # ] amanda mcdaniel, yrs old ex-slave [date stamp: may ] among these few remaining persons who have lived long enough to tell of some of their experiences during the reign of "king slavery" in the united states is one mrs. amanda mcdaniel. as she sat on the porch in the glare of the warm october sun she presented a perfect picture of the old negro mammy commonly seen during the days of slavery. she smiled as she expectorated a large amount of the snuff she was chewing and began her story in the following manner: "i was born in watsonville, georgia in . my mother's name was matilda hale and my father was gilbert whitlew. my mother and father belonged to different master's, but the plantations that they lived on were near each other and so my father was allowed to visit us often. my mother had two other girls who were my half-sisters. you see--my mother was sold to the speculator in virginia and brought to georgia where she was sold to mr. hale, who was our master until freedom was declared. when she was sold to the speculator the two girls who were my half-sisters had to be sold with her because they were too young to be separated from their mother. my father, gilbert whitlew, was my mother's second husband. "mr. hale, our master, was not rich like some of the other planters in the community. his plantation was a small one and he only had eight servants who were all women. he wasn't able to hire an overseer and all of the heavy work such as the plowing was done by his sons. mrs. hale did all of her own cooking and that of the slaves too. in all mr. hale had eleven children. i had to nurse three of them before i was old enough to go to the field to work." when asked to tell about the kind of work the slaves had to do mrs. mcdaniel said: "our folks had to get up at four o'clock every morning and feed the stock first. by the time it was light enough to see they had to be in the fields where they hoed the cotton and the corn as well as the other crops. between ten and eleven o'clock everybody left the field and went to the house where they worked until it was too dark to see. my first job was to take breakfast to those working in the fields. i used buckets for this. besides this i had to drive the cows to and from the pasture. the rest of the day was spent in taking care of mrs. hale's young children. after a few years of this i was sent to the fields where i planted peas, corn, etc. i also had to pick cotton when that time came, but i never had to hoe and do the heavy work like my mother and sisters did." according to mrs. mcdaniel they were seldom required to work at night after they had left the fields but when such occasions did arise they were usually in the form of spinning thread and weaving cloth. during the winter months this was the only type of work that they did. on days when the weather was too bad for work out of doors they shelled the corn and peas and did other minor types of work not requiring too much exposure. nobody had to work on saturday afternoons or on sundays. it was on saturdays or at night that the slaves had the chance to do their own work such as the repairing of clothing, etc. on the hale plantation clothing was issued two times each year, once at the beginning of summer and again at the beginning of the winter season. on this first issue all were given striped dresses made of cotton material. these dresses were for wear during the week while dresses made of white muslin were given for sunday wear. the dye which was necessary in order to color those clothes worn during the week was made by boiling red dirt or the bark of trees in water. sometimes the indigo berry was also used. the winter issue consisted of dresses made of woolen material. the socks and stockings were all knitted. all of this wearing apparel was made by mrs. hale. the shoes that these women slaves wore were made in the nearby town at a place known as the tan yards. these shoes were called "brogans" and they were very crude in construction having been made of very stiff leather. none of the clothing that was worn on this plantation was bought as everything necessary for the manufacture of clothing was available on the premises. as has been previously stated, mrs. hale did all of the cooking on the plantation with the possible exception of sundays when the slaves cooked for themselves. during the week their diet usually consisted of corn bread, fat meat, vegetables, milk, and potliquor. the food that they ate on sunday was practically the same. all the food that they ate was produced in the master's garden and there was a sufficient amount for everyone at all times. there were two one-room log cabins in the rear of the master's house. these cabins were dedicated to slave use. mrs. mcdaniel says: "the floors were made of heavy wooden planks. at one end of the cabin was the chimney which was made out of dried mud, sticks, and dirt. on the side of the cabin opposite the door there was a window where we got a little air and a little light. our beds were made out of the same kind of wood that the floors were and we called them "bed-stilts." slats were used for springs while the mattresses were made of large bags stuffed with straw. at night we used tallow candles for light and sometimes fat pine that we called light-wood. as mrs. hale did all of our cooking we had very few pots and pans. in the winter months we used to take mud and close the cracks left in the wall where the logs did not fit close together." according to mrs. mcdaniel all the serious illnesses were handled by a doctor who was called in at such times. at other times mr. or mrs. hale gave them either castor oil or salts. sometimes they were given a type of oil called "lobelia oil." at the beginning of the spring season they drank various teas made out of the roots that they gathered in the surrounding woods. the only one that mrs. mcdaniel remembers is that which was made from sassafras roots. "this was good to clean the system," says mrs. mcdaniel. whenever they were sick they did not have to report to the master's house each day as was the case on some of the other plantations. there were never any pretended illnesses to avoid work as far as mrs. mcdaniel knows. on sunday all of the slaves on the hale plantation were permitted to dress in their sunday clothes and go to the white church in town. during the morning services they sat in the back of the church where they listened to the white pastor deliver the sermon. in the afternoon they listened to a sermon that was preached by a colored minister. mrs. mcdaniel hasn't the slightest idea of what these sermons were about. she remembers how marriages were performed, however, although the only one that she ever witnessed took place on one of the neighboring plantations. after a broom was placed on the ground a white minister read the scriptures and then the couple in the process of being married jumped over this broom. they were then considered as man and wife. whippings were very uncommon the the hale plantation. sometimes mr. hale had to resort to this form of punishment for disobedience on the part of some of the servants. mrs. mcdaniel says that she was whipped many times but only once with the cowhide. nearly every time that she was whipped a switch was used. she has seen her mother as well as some of the others punished but they were never beaten unmercifully. neither she or any of the other slaves on the hale plantation ever came in contact with the "paddie-rollers," whom they knew as a group of white men who went around whipping slaves who were caught away from their respective homes without passes from their masters. when asked about the buying and the selling of slaves mrs. mcdaniel said that she had never witnessed an auction at which slaves were being sold and that the only thing she knew about this was what she had been told by her mother who had been separated from her husband and sold in georgia. mr. hale never had the occasion to sell any of those slaves that he held. mrs. mcdaniel remembers nothing of the talk that transpired between the slaves or her owners at the beginning of the war. she says: "i was a little girl, and like the other children then, i didn't have as much sense as the children of today who are of the age that i was then. i do remember that my master moved somewhere near macon, georgia after general wheeler marched through. i believe that he did more damage than the yanks did when they came through. when my master moved us along with his family we had to go out of the way a great deal because general wheeler had destroyed all of the bridges. besides this he damaged a great deal of the property that he passed." continuing, mrs. mcdaniel said: "i didn't see any of the fighting but i did hear the firing of the cannons. i also saw any number of confederate soldiers pass by our place." mr. hale didn't join the army although his oldest son did. at the time that the slaves were freed it meant nothing in particular to mrs. mcdaniel, who says that she was too young to pay much attention to what was happening. she never saw her father after they moved away from watsonville. at any rate she and her mother remained in the service of mr. hale for a number of years after the war. in the course of this time mr. hale grew to be a wealthy man. he continued to be good to those servants who remained with him. after she was a grown woman mrs. mcdaniel left mr. hale as she was then married. mrs. mcdaniel says that she has reached such an old age because she has always taken care of herself, which is more than the young people of today are doing, she added as an after thought. dist. ex. slave # tom mcgruder, years old ex-slave by elizabeth watson, hawkinsville, georgia [date stamp: may ] tom mcgruder, one of the oldest living ex-slaves in pulaski county, was sitting on the porch of his son's home when we went in to see him. his grizzled old head began to nod a "good morning" and his brown face became wreathed in smiles when he saw us. he looked very small as he sat in a low straight chair by the door. his shirt and overalls were ragged but spotlessly clean. on his feet were heavy shoes that were kept free from dirt. his complexion was not black as some of the other members of his race but was a light brown. there were very few wrinkles in his face considering the fact that he was one hundred and two years old in june. he spoke in a quiet voice though somewhat falteringly as he suffers greatly from asthma. "were you born in this county, uncle tom?" we asked. "no mam, missus," he replied. "me and my mother and sister wuz brought from virginia to this state by the speculators and sold here. i was only about eighteen or twenty and i was sold for $ . my mother was given to one of old marster's married chillun. "you see, missus," he spoke again after a long pause. "we wuz put on the block just like cattle and sold to one man today and another tomorrow. i wuz sold three times after coming to this state." tom could tell us very little about his life on the large plantations because his feeble old mind would only be clear at intervals. he would begin relating some incident but would suddenly break off with, "i'd better leave that alone 'cause i done forgot." he remembered, however, that he trained dogs for his "whie folks," trained them to be good hunters as that was one of the favorite sports of the day. the last man to whom tom was sold was mr. jim mcgruder, of emanuel county. he was living in a small cabin belonging to mr. mcgruder, when he married. "i 'members", said tom, "that old marster and missus fixed up a lunch and they and their chillun brought it to my cabin. then they said, 'nigger, jump the broom' and we wuz married, 'cause you see we didn't know nothing 'bout no cer'mony." it was with mr. mcgruder that tom entered the army, working for him as his valet. "i wuz in the army for 'bout four years," tom said. "i fought in the battles at petersburg, virginia and chattanooga, tennessee. i looked after old marster's shoes and clothes. old marster, what he done he done well. he was kind to me and i guess better to me sometimes than i deserved but i had to do what he told me." "do you remember any of the old songs you used to sing?" we asked. "missus, i can't sing no mo'," he replied. but pausing for a few minutes he raised his head and sang in a quiet voice, the words and melody perfectly clear; "why do you wait, dear brother, oh, why do you tarry so long? your saviour is waiting to give you a place in his sanctified throng." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave susan mcintosh, age w. hancook avenue athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby federal writers' project athens, ga. edited by: sarah h. hall athens john n. booth augusta leila harris augusta april , [date stamp: may ] a driving rain sent the interviewer scurrying into the house of susan mcintosh who lives with her son, dr. andrew jones, at the corner of hancock avenue and billups street. susan readily gave her story: "they tell me i was born in november ," she said, "and i know i've been here a long time 'cause i've seen so many come and go. i've outlived 'most all of my folks 'cept my son that i live with now. honey, i've 'most forgot about slavery days. i don't read, and anyway there ain't no need to think of them times now. i was born in oconee county on judge william stroud's plantation. we called him marse billy. that was a long time before athens was the county seat. ma's name was mary jen, and pa was christopher harris. they called him chris for short. marster young l.g. harris bought him from marster hudson of elbert county and turned him over to his niece, miss lula harris, when she married marster robert taylor. marse robert was a son of general taylor what lived in the grady house before it belonged to mr. henry grady's mother. pa was coachman and house boy for miss lula. "marse billy owned ma, and marse robert owned pa, and pa, he come to see ma about once or twice a month. the taylor's, they done a heap of travellin' and always took my pa with 'em. oh! there was thirteen of us chillun, seven died soon after they was born, and none of 'em lived to git grown 'cept me. their names was nanette and ella, what was next to me; susan--thats me; isabelle, martha, mary, diana, lila, william, gus, and the twins what was born dead; and harden. he was named for a dr. harden what lived here then. "marse billy bought my gran'ma in virginia. she was part injun. i can see her long, straight, black hair now, and when she died she didn't have gray hair like mine. they say injuns don't turn gray like other folks. gran'ma made cloth for the white folks and slaves on the plantation. i used to hand her thread while she was weavin'. the lady what taught gran'ma to weave cloth, was mist'ess gowel, and she was a foreigner, 'cause she warn't born in georgia. she had two sons what run the factory between watkinsville and athens. my aunt, mila jackson, made all the thread what they done the weavin' with. gran'pa worked for a widow lady what was a simster (seamstress) and she just had a little plantation. she was mist'ess doolittle. all gran'pa done was cut wood, 'tend the yard and gyarden. he had rheumatism and couldn't do much. "there ain't much to tell about what we done in the slave quarters, 'cause when we got big enough, we had to work: nussin' the babies, totin' water, and helpin' gran'ma with the weavin', and such like. beds was driv to the walls of the cabin; foot and headboard put together with rails, what run from head to foot. planks was laid crossways and straw put on them and the beds was kivvered with the whitest sheets you ever seen. some made pallets on the floor. "no, ma'am, i didn't make no money 'til after freedom. i heard tell of ten and fifteen cents, but i didn't know nothing 'bout no figgers. i didn't know a nickel from a dime them days. "yes, ma'am, marse billy 'lowed his slaves to have their own gyardens, and 'sides plenty of good gyarden sass, we had milk and butter, bread and meat, chickens, greens, peas, and just everything that growed on the farm. winter and summer, all the food was cooked in a great big fireplace, about four feet wide, and you could put on a whole stick of cord wood at a time. when they wanted plenty of hot ashes to bake with, they burnt wood from ash trees. sweet potatoes and bread was baked in the ashes. seems like vittuls don't taste as good as they used to, when we cooked like that. 'possums, oh! i dearly love 'possums. my cousins used to catch 'em and when they was fixed up and cooked with sweet potatoes, 'possum meat was fit for a king. marse billy had a son named mark, what was a little bitty man. they said he was a dwarf. he never done nothing but play with the children on the plantation. he would take the children down to the crick what run through the plantation and fish all day. we had rabbits, but they was most generally caught in a box trap, so there warn't no time wasted a-huntin' for 'em. "in summer, the slave women wore white homespun and the men wore pants and shirts made out of cloth what looked like overall cloth does now. in winter, we wore the same things, 'cept marse billy give the men woolen coats what come down to their knees, and the women wore warm wraps what they called sacks. on sunday we had dresses dyed different colors. the dyes were made from red clay and barks. bark from pines, sweetgums, and blackjacks was boiled, and each one made a different color dye. the cloth made at home was coarse and was called 'gusta cloth. marse billy let the slaves raise chickens, and cows, and have cotton patches too. they would sell butter, eggs, chickens, brooms, made out of wheat straw and such like. they took the money and bought calico, muslin and good shoes, pants, coats and other nice things for their sunday clothes. marse billy bought leather from marster brumby's tanyard and had shoes made for us. they was coarse and rough, but they lasted a long time. "my marster was father-in-law of dr. jones long. marse billy's wife, miss rena, died long before i was born. their six children was all grown when i first knowed 'em. the gals was: miss rena, miss selena, miss liza, and miss susan. miss susan was dr. long's wife. i was named for her. there was two boys; marse john and marse mark. i done told you 'bout marse mark bein' a dwarf. they lived in a big old eight room house, on a high hill in sight of mars hill baptist church. marse billy was a great deacon in that church. yes, ma'am, he sho' was good to his negroes. i heard 'em say that after he had done bought his slaves by working in a blacksmith shop, and wearin' cheap clothes, like mulberry suspenders, he warn't goin' to slash his negroes up. the older folks admired mist'ess and spoke well of her. they said she had lots more property than marse billy. she said she wanted marse billy to see that her slaves was give to her children. i 'spose there was about a hundred acres on that plantation and marse billy owned more property besides. there was about fifty grown folks and as to the children, i just don't know how many there was. around the quarters looked like a little town. "marse billy had a overseer up to the time war broke out, then he picked out a reliable colored man to carry out his orders. sometimes the overseer got rough, then marse billy let him go and got another one. the overseer got us up about four or five o'clock in the morning, and dark brought us in at night. "jails! yes, ma'am, i ricollect one was in watkinsville. no, ma'am, i never saw nobody auctioned off, but i heard about it. men used to come through an buy up slaves for foreign states where there warn't so many. "well, i didn't have no privilege to learn to read and write, but the white lady what taught my gran'ma to weave, had two sons what run the factory, and they taught my uncles to read and write. "there warn't no church on the plantation, so we went to mars hill church. the white folks went in the mornings from nine 'til twelve and the slaves went in the evenings from three 'till about five. the white folks went in the front door and slaves used the back door. rev. bedford lankford, what preached to the white folks helped a negro, named cy stroud, to preach to the negroes. oh! yes, ma'am, i well remembers them baptizings. i believe in church and baptizing. "they buried the slaves on the plantation, in coffins made out of pine boards. didn't put them in two boxes lak dey does now, and dey warn't painted needer. "did you say patterollers? sho' i seen 'em, but they didn't come on our plantation, 'cause marse billy was good to his negroes and when they wanted a pass, if it was for a good reason, he give 'em one. didn't none of marse billy's slaves run off to no north. when marse billy had need to send news somewhere, he put a reliable negro on a mule and sent him. i sho' didn't hear about no trouble twixt white folks and negroes. "i tell you, honey, when the days work was over them slaves went to bed, 'cep' when the moon was out and they worked in their own cotton patches. on dark nights, the women mended and quilted sometimes. not many worked in the fields on saturday evenin's. they caught up on little jobs aroun' the lot; a mending harness and such like. on saturday nights the young folks got together and had little frolics and feasts, but the older folks was gettin' things ready for sunday, 'cause marse billy was a mighty religious man: we had to go to church, and every last one of the children was dragged along too. "we always had one week for christmas. they brought us as much of good things to eat as we could destroy in one week, but on new year's day we went back to work. no, ma'am, as i ricollect, we didn't have no corn shuckings or cotton pickings only what we had to do as part of our regular work. "the white folks mostly got married on wednesday or thursday evenin's. oh! they had fine times, with everything good to eat, and lots of dancing too. then they took a trip. some went to texas and some to chicago. they call chicago, the colored folks' new york now. i don't remember no weddings 'mongst the slaves. my cousin married on another plantation, but i warn't there. "where i was, there warn't no playing done, only 'mongst the little chillun, and i can't remember much that far back. i recall that we sung a little song, about: 'little drops of water little grains of sand, make the mighty ocean and the pleasant land.' "oh! yes, ma'am, marse billy was good to his slaves, when they got sick. he called in dr. jones long, dr. harden, and dr. lumpkin when they was real sick. there was lots of typhoid fever then. i don't know nothing about no herbs, they used for diseases; only boneset and hoarhound tea for colds and croup. they put penrile (pennyroyal) in the house to keep out flies and fleas, and if there was a flea in the house he would shoo from that place right then and there. "the old folks put little bags of assfiddy (assafoetida) around their chillun's necks to keep off measles and chickenpox, and they used turpentine and castor oil on chillun's gums to make 'em teethe easy. when i was living on milledge avenue, i had dr. crawford w. long to see about one of my babies, and he slit that baby's gums so the teeth could come through. that looked might bad to me, but they don't believe in old ways no more." she laughed and said: "no, ma'am, i don't know nothing about such low down things as hants and ghosts! rawhead and bloody bones, i just thought he was a skelerpin, with no meat on him. course lots of negroes believe in ghosts and hants. us chillun done lots of flightin' like chillun will do. i remember how little marse mark stroud used to take all the little boys on the plantation and teach 'em to play dixie on reeds what they called quills. that was good music, but the radio has done away with all that now. "i knowed i was a slave and that it was the war that sot me free. it was 'bout dinner time when marse billy come to the door and called us to the house. he pulled out a paper and read it to us, and then he said: 'you all are free, as i am.' we couldn't help thinking about what a good marster he always had been, and how old, and feeble, and gray headed he looked as he kept on a-talkin' that day. 'you all can stay on here with me if you want to,' he 'lowed, 'but if you do, i will have to pay you wages for your work.' "i never saw no yankees in athens, but i was in atlanta at mrs. winship's on peachtree street, when general sherman come to that town 'parin' his men for to go home. there was about two thousand in all, white and black. they marched up and down marietta street from three o'clock in the evening 'til seven o'clock next morning. then they left. i remember well that there warn't a house left standing in atlanta, what warn't riddled with shell holes. i was scared pretty nigh to death and i never want to leave home at no time like that again. but pa saw 'em soon after that in athens. they was a marching down broad street on their way to macon, and pa said it looked like a blue cloud going through. "ma and me stayed on with marse billy 'bout six months after the war ended before we come to town to live with pa. we lived right back of rock college and ma took in washin' for the folks what went to school there. no, ma'am i never saw no ku kluxers. me and ma didn't leave home at night and the white folks wouldn't let 'em git pa. "major knox brought three or four teachers to teach in a school for negroes that was started up here the first year after the war. major knox, he was left like a sort of justice of peace to get things to going smooth after the war. i went to school there about three months, then ma took sick, and i didn't go no more. my white teacher was miss sarah, and she was from chicago. "now and then the negroes bought a little land, and white folks gave little places to some negroes what had been good slaves for 'em. "i didn't take in about mr. abraham lincoln. a long time after the war, i heard 'em say he got killed. i knowed mr. jeff. davis was president of the confederacy. as for booker washington, i never saw him, but i heard his son whan he was here once and gave a musical of some sort at the congregational church. "i was a old gal when i married 'bout thirty or forty years after the war. i married george mcintosh. wedding clothes!" she chuckled, and said: "i didn't have many. i bought 'em second hand from mrs. ed. bond. they was nice though. the dress i married in was red silk. we had a little cake and wine; no big to do, just a little fambly affair. of our four chillun, two died young, and two lived to git grown. my daughter was a school teacher and she has been dead sometime. i stays wid my only living child. my husban' died a long time ago. "i cooked and washed for mr. prince hodgson for thirty years. miss mary franklin used to tell me 'bout all them strange places she had been to while she was paintin'. there never was nobody in this town could paint prettier pictures than miss mary's. "i'm glad slavery is over. i'm too old to really work anymore, but i'm like a fish going down the crick and if he sees a bug he will catch him if he can. "i joined the church 'cause i believe in the son of god. i know he is a forgiving god, and will give me a place to rest after i am gone from the earth. everybody ought to 'pare for the promised land, where they can live always after they are done with this world." after the interview, she said: "honey, this is the most i have talked about slavery days in twelve years; and i believe what i told you is right. of course, lots has faded from my mind about it now." district # adella s. dixon, macon, georgia matilda mckinney empire avenue, macon, georgia [date stamp: jul ] matilda mckinney was born in texas but was brought to southwest georgia, near albany, at an early age. her mother, amy dean, had eight children, of which aunt matilda is the eldest. the plantation on which they lived was owned by mr. milton ball, and it varied little in size or arrangement from the average one of that time. here was found the usual two-story white house finished with high columns and surrounded by trees. most of the negro mothers did field work, so it was necessary for others to care for the children. mr. ball handled this problem in the usual way. he established what would today be called a day nursery. each mother brought her offspring to the home of an elderly woman before leaving for her day's work. here, they were safely kept until their parents returned. the midday meal for everyone was prepared at the big house and the slaves were served from huge tubs of vegetables and pots of meat. "aunt" julia was responsible for the children's noon meal. when "aunt" matilda was old enough to do a little work, she was moved into the house where she swept floors, waited on the table, and fanned flies while a meal was being served. the adult females who lived in the house did most of the weaving and sewing. all the summer, garments were made and put away for winter use. two dresses of osnaburg were then given each person. the field hands, always considered an inferior group by the house servants, worked from sunup to sundown. when they returned from the fields they prepared supper for their families and many times had to feed the children in the dark, for a curfew horn was blown and no lights could be lighted after its warning note had sounded. there was very little visiting to or from the group which dwelt here, as the curfew hour was early. saturday varied a little from the other week days. the field work was suspended in the afternoon to allow the mothers time to wash their clothing. with sunset came the preparations for the weekly frolic. a fiddler furnished music while the dancers danced numerous square dances until a late hour. home remedies for illness were used much more extensively than any doctor's medicine. teas, compounded from sage, boneset, tansy, and mullen, usually sufficed for any minor sickness, and serious illness was rare. food was distributed on sunday morning. two-and-a-half pounds of meat, a quantity of syrup, and a peck of meal were given each adult for the week. a special ration for sunday alone was potatoes, buttermilk, and material for biscuits. each family had its own garden from which a supply of vegetables could always be obtained in season. the smaller children had additional delicacies, for they early learned that the house where produce was kept had holes in the floor which yielded peanuts, etc, when punched with a stick. "aunt" matilda was unable to give any information regarding the war, but remembers that her family remained at her former owner's plantation for some time after they were freed. she now lives with her granddaughter who takes excellent care of her. her long life is attributed to her habit of going to bed early and otherwise caring for herself properly. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave william mcwhorter, age w. broad street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. sept. , the rambling, one-story frame building where william mcwhorter makes his home with his cousin, sarah craddock, houses several families and is proudly referred to by the neighbors as "de 'partment house." william, better known as "shug," is a very black man of medium build. he wore a black slouch hat pulled well down over tangled gray hair, a dingy blue shirt, soiled gray pants, and black shoes. the smile faded from his face when he learned the nature of the visit. "i thought you was de pension lady 'comin' to fetch me some money," he said, "and 'stid of dat you wants to know 'bout slavery days. i'se disapp'inted. "mistess, it's been a long time since i was born on marse joe mcwhorter's plantation down in greene county and i was jus' a little fellow when slavery was done over wid. allen and martha mcwhorter was my ma and pa. pa, he was de carriage driver, and ma, she was a field hand. dey brought her here from oingebug (orangeburg), south carolina, and sold her to marse joe when she was jus' a little gal. me and annie, ella, jim, and tom was all de chillun in our fambly, and none of us warn't big enough to do no wuk to speak of 'fore de end of de big war. you see, mistess, it was lak dis; marse joe, he owned a old 'oman what didn't do nothin' 'cept stay at de house and look atter us chillun, and dat was one of dem plantations whar dere was sho a heap of slave chillun. "'bout our houses? mistess, i'se gwine to tell you de trufe, dem houses slaves had to live in, dey warn't much, but us didn't know no better den. dey was jus' one-room log cabins wid stick and dirt chimblies. de beds for slaves was home-made and was held together wid cords wove evvy which away. if you didn't tighten dem cords up pretty offen your bed was apt to fall down wid you. suggin sacks was sewed together to make our mattress ticks and dem ticks was filled wid straw. now, don't tell me you ain't heared of suggin sacks a-fore! dem was coarse sacks sort of lak de guano sacks us uses now. dey crowded jus' as many niggers into each cabin as could sleep in one room, and marriage never meant a thing in dem days when dey was 'rangin' sleepin' quarters for slaves. why, i knowed a man what had two wives livin' in de same cabin; one of dem 'omans had all boys and t'other one didn't have nothin' but gals. it's nigh de same way now, but dey don't live in de same house if a man's got two famblies. "i 'members dat my pa's ma, grandma cindy, was a field hand, but by de time i was old 'nough to take things in she was too old for dat sort of wuk and marster let her do odd jobs 'round de big house. de most i seed her doin' was settin' 'round smokin' her old corncob pipe. i was named for grandpa billy, but i never seed him. "mistess, does you know what you'se axin'? whar was slaves to git money whilst dey was still slaves? dere warn't but a few of 'em dat knowed what money even looked lak 'til atter dey was made free. "now, you is talkin' 'bout somepin sho 'nough when you starts 'bout dem victuals. marse joe, he give us plenty of sich as collards, turnips and greens, peas, 'taters, meat, and cornbread. lots of de cornbread was baked in pones on spiders, but ashcakes was a mighty go in dem days. marster raised lots of cane so as to have plenty of good syrup. my pa used to 'possum hunt lots and he was 'lowed to keep a good 'possum hound to trail 'em wid. rabbits and squirrels was plentiful and dey made mighty good eatin'. you ain't never seed sich heaps of fish as slaves used to fetch back atter a little time spent fishin' in de cricks and de river. "de kitchen was sot off from de big house a little piece, but old marster had a roof built over de walkway so fallin' weather wouldn't spile de victuals whilst dey was bein' toted from de kitchen in de yard to de dinin' room in de big house. i don't reckon you ever seed as big a fireplace as de one dey cooked on in dat old kitchen. it had plenty of room for enough pots, skillets, spiders, and ovens to cook for all de folks on dat plantation. no, mam, slaves never had no gardens of deir own; dey never had no time of deir own to wuk no garden, but old marster fed 'em from his garden and dat was big enough to raise plenty for all. "de one little cotton shirt dat was all chillun wore in summertime den warn't worth talkin' 'bout; dey called it a shirt but it looked more lak a long-tailed nightgown to me. for winter, our clothes was made of wool cloth and dey was nice and warm. mistess, slaves never knowed what sunday clothes was, 'cept dey did know dey had to be clean on sunday. no matter how dirty you went in de week-a-days, you had to put on clean clothes sunday mornin'. uncle john craddock made shoes for all de grown folks on our plantation, but chillun went barfoots and it never seemed to make 'em sick; for a fact, i b'lieves dey was stouter den dan dey is now. "marse joe mcwhorter and his wife, miss emily key, owned us, and dey was jus' as good to us as dey could be. mistess, you knows white folks had to make slaves what b'longed to 'em mind and be-have deyselfs in dem days or else dere woulda been a heap of trouble. de big fine house what marse joe and his fambly lived in sot in a cedar grove and woodville was de town nighest de place. oh! yes, mam, dey had a overseer all right, but i'se done forgot his name, and somehow i can't git up de names of marse joe's chillun. i'se been sick so long my mem'ry ain't as good as it used to be, and since i lost my old 'oman 'bout months ago, i don't 'spect i ever kin reckomember much no more. it seems lak i'se done told you my pa was marse joe's carriage driver. he driv de fambly whar-some-ever dey wanted to go. "i ain't got no idee how many acres was in dat great big old plantation, but i'se heared 'em say marse joe had to keep from to slaves, not countin' chillun, to wuk dat part of it dat was cleared land. dey told me, atter i was old enough to take it in, dat de overseer sho did drive dem slaves; dey had to be up and in de field 'fore sunup and he wuked 'em 'til slap, black dark. when dey got back to de big house, 'fore dey et supper, de overseer got out his big bull whip and beat de ones dat hadn't done to suit him durin' de day. he made 'em strip off deir clothes down to de waist, and evvywhar dat old bull whip struck it split de skin. dat was awful, awful! sometimes slaves dat had been beat and butchered up so bad by dat overseer man would run away, and next day aunt suke would be sho to go down to de spring to wash so she could leave some old clothes dar for 'em to git at night. i'se tellin' you, slaves sho did fare common in dem days. "my aunt mary b'longed to marse john craddock and when his wife died and left a little baby--dat was little miss lucy--aunt mary was nussin' a new baby of her own, so marse john made her let his baby suck too. if aunt mary was feedin' her own baby and miss lucy started cryin' marse john would snatch her baby up by the legs and spank him, and tell aunt mary to go on and nuss his baby fust. aunt mary couldn't answer him a word, but my ma said she offen seed aunt mary cry 'til de tears met under her chin. "i ain't never heared nothin' 'bout no jails in slavery time. what dey done den was 'most beat de life out of de niggers to make 'em be-have. ma was brung to bairdstown and sold on de block to marse joe long 'fore i was borned, but i ain't never seed no slaves sold. lordy, mistess, ain't nobody never told you it was agin de law to larn a nigger to read and write in slavery time? white folks would chop your hands off for dat quicker dan dey would for 'most anything else. dat's jus' a sayin', 'chop your hands off.' why, mistess, a nigger widout no hands wouldn't be able to wuk much, and his owner couldn't sell him for nigh as much as he could git for a slave wid good hands. dey jus' beat 'em up bad when dey cotched 'em studyin' readin' and writin', but folks did tell 'bout some of de owners dat cut off one finger evvy time dey cotch a slave tryin' to git larnin'. how-some-ever, dere was some niggers dat wanted larnin' so bad dey would slip out at night and meet in a deep gully whar dey would study by de light of light'ood torches; but one thing sho, dey better not let no white folks find out 'bout it, and if dey was lucky 'nough to be able to keep it up 'til dey larned to read de bible, dey kept it a close secret. "slaves warn't 'lowed to have no churches of dey own and dey had to go to church wid de white folks. dere warn't no room for chillun in de baptist church at bairdstown whar marse joe tuk his grown-up slaves to meetin', so i never did git to go to none, but he used to take my ma along, but she was baptized by a white preacher when she jined up wid dat church. de crick was nigh de church and dat was whar dey done de baptizin'. "none of our niggers never knowed enough 'bout de north to run off up dar. lak i done told you, some of 'em did run off atter a bad beatin', but dey jus' went to de woods. some of 'em come right on back, but some didn't; us never knowed whar dem what didn't come back went. show me a slavery-time nigger dat ain't heared 'bout paterollers! mistess, i 'clar to goodness, paterollers was de devil's own hosses. if dey cotched a nigger out and his marster hadn't fixed him up wid a pass, it was jus' too bad; dey most kilt him. you couldn't even go to de lord's house on sunday 'less you had a ticket sayin': 'dis nigger is de propity of marse joe mcwhorter. let him go.' "dere warn't never no let-up when it come to wuk. when slaves come in from de fields atter sundown and tended de stock and et supper, de mens still had to shuck corn, mend hoss collars, cut wood, and sich lak; de 'omans mended clothes, spun thread, wove cloth, and some of 'em had to go up to de big house and nuss de white folks' babies. one night my ma had been nussin' one of dem white babies, and atter it dozed off to sleep she went to lay it in its little bed. de child's foot cotch itself in marse joe's galluses dat he had done hung on de foot of de bed, and when he heared his baby cry marse joe woke up and grabbed up a stick of wood and beat ma over de head 'til he 'most kilt her. ma never did seem right atter dat and when she died she still had a big old knot on her head. "dey said on some plantations slaves was let off from wuk when de dinner bell rung on saddays, but not on our'n; dere warn't never no let-up 'til sundown on sadday nights atter dey had tended to de stock and et supper. on sundays dey was 'lowed to visit 'round a little atter dey had 'tended church, but dey still had to be keerful to have a pass wid 'em. marse joe let his slaves have one day for holiday at christmas and he give 'em plenty of extra good somepin t'eat and drink on dat special day. new year's day was de hardest day of de whole year, for de overseer jus' tried hisself to see how hard he could drive de niggers dat day, and when de wuk was all done de day ended off wid a big pot of cornfield peas and hog jowl to eat for luck. dat was s'posed to be a sign of plenty too. "cornshuckin's was a mighty go dem days, and folks from miles and miles around was axed. when de wuk was done dey had a big time eatin', drinkin', wrestlin', dancin', and all sorts of frolickin'. even wid all dat liquor flowin' so free at cornshuckin's i never heared of nobody gittin' mad, and marse joe never said a cross word at his cornshuckin's. he allus picked bright moonshiny nights for dem big cotton pickin's, and dere warn't nothin' short 'bout de big eats dat was waitin' for dem niggers when de cotton was all picked out. de young folks danced and cut up evvy chanct dey got and called deyselfs havin' a big time. "games? well, 'bout de biggest things us played when i was a chap was baseball, softball, and marbles. us made our own marbles out of clay and baked 'em in de sun, and our baseballs and softballs was made out of rags. "does i know anything 'bout ghosties? yes, mam, i sees ha'nts and ghosties any time. jus' t'other night i seed a man widout no head, and de old witches 'most nigh rides me to death. one of 'em got holt of me night 'fore last and 'most choked me to death; she was in de form of a black cat. mistess, some folks say dat to see things lak dat is a sign your blood is out of order. now, me, i don't know what makes me see 'em. "marse joe tuk mighty good keer of sick slaves. he allus called in a doctor for 'em, and kept plenty of castor ile, turpentine, and de lak on hand to dose 'em wid. miss emily made teas out of a heap of sorts of leaves, barks, and roots, sich as butterfly root, pine tops, mullein, catnip and mint leaves, feverfew grass, red oak bark, slippery ellum bark, and black gum chips. most evvybody had to wear little sacks of papaw seeds or of assyfizzy (asafetida) 'round deir necks to keep off diseases. "dey used to say dat a free nigger from de north come through de south and seed how de white folks was treatin' his race, den he went back up der and told folks 'bout it and axed 'em to holp do somepin' 'bout it. dat's what i heared tell was de way de big war got started dat ended in settin' slaves free. my folks said dat when de yankee sojers come through, miss emily was cryin' and takin' on to beat de band. she had all her silver in her apron and didn't know whar to hide it, so atter awhile she handed it to her cook and told her to hide it. de cook put it in de woodpile. de yankee mens broke in de smokehouse, brought out meat and lard, kilt chickens, driv off cows and hosses, but dey never found miss emily's silver. it was a long time 'fore our fambly left marse joe's place. "marse joe never did tell his niggers dey was free. one day one of dem yankee sojers rid through de fields whar dey was wukin' and he axed 'em if dey didn't know dey was as free as deir marster. dat yankee kept on talkin' and told em dey didn't have to stay on wid marse joe 'less dey wanted to, end dey didn't have to do nothin' nobody told 'em to if dey didn't want to do it. he said dey was deir own bosses and was to do as dey pleased from de time of de surrender. "schools was sot up for slaves not long atter dey was sot free, and a few of de old marsters give deir niggers a little land, but not many of 'em done dat. jus' as de niggers was branchin' out and startin' to live lak free folks, dem nightriders come 'long beatin', cuttin', and slashin' 'em up, but i 'spects some of dem niggers needed evvy lick dey got. "now, mistess, you knows all niggers would ruther be free, and i ain't no diffunt from nobody else 'bout dat. yes, mam, i'se mighty glad mr. abraham lincoln and jeff davis fit 'til dey sot us free. dat jeff davis ought to be 'shamed of hisself to want niggers kept in bondage; dey says dough, dat he was a mighty good man, and miss millie rutherford said some fine things 'bout him in her book what sarah read to me, but you can't 'spect us niggers to b'lieve he was so awful good. "me and rosa barrow had a pretty fair weddin' and a mighty fine supper. i don't ricollect what she had on, but i'se tellin' you she looked pretty and sweet to me. our two boys and three gals is done growed up and i'se got three grandchillun now. rosa, she died out 'bout months ago and i'se gwine to marry agin soon as i finds somebody to take keer of me. "i was happier de day i jined de church at sander's chapel, dan i'se been since. it was de joyfullest day of all my life, so far. folks ought to git ready for a better world dan dis to live in when dey is finished on dis earth, and i'se sho glad our good lord saw fit to set us free from sin end slavery. if he hadn't done it, i sho would have been dead long ago. yistidday i picked a little cotton to git me some bread, and it laid me out. i can't wuk no more. i don't know how de blessed lord means to provide for me but i feels sho he ain't gwine to let me perish." [hw: dist. : ex-slave # ] henrietta carlisle alberta minor re-search workers mollie malone--ex-slave route b, griffin, georgia interviewed september , [date stamp: may ] mollie was born on a plantation owned by mr valentine brook, near locust grove, georgia. mr. brook died before the war and his wife, "the widder brock", ran the plantation. slaves not needed on the home plantation were "hired out" to other land owners for from $ . to $ . a year. this was done the first of each year by an auction from a "horse block". when mollie was seven months old her mother, clacy brock, was "hired out" and she was taken care of by two old negroes, too old to work, and who did nothing but care for the little "niggers". mollie grew up with these children between the "big house" and the kitchen. when she was old enough she was "put to mind" the smaller children and if they did'nt behave she pinched them, but "when the 'ole miss found it out, she'd sure 'whup me'", she said. these children were fed cornbread and milk for breakfast and supper, and "pot licker" with cornbread for dinner. they slept in a large room on quilts or pallets. each night the larger children were given so many "cuts" to spin, and were punished if all weren't finished. the thread was woven into cloth on the loom and made into clothes by the slaves who did the sewing. there were no "store bought" clothes, and mollie was free before she ever owned a pair of shoes. clothes had to be furnished by the owner for the slaves he "hired out". mr. and mrs. brock had two daughters, margaret and mary anne, who led very quiet secluded lives. mollie remembers visits of the traveling preacher, who conducted services in a nearby church once a month. the slaves walked behind the white folks' carriages to and from the church, where they were seated in the rear during the services. if there were baptisms, the whites were baptized first, then the darkies. on this plantation the negroes were not allowed to engage in any frolics or attend social gatherings. they only knew christmas by the return of the hired out slaves, who came home for a week before the next auction. the young lady daughters of mr. and mrs. brock wore "drag tail" dresses, and mollie says the little negroes had to hold these long skirts off the ground whenever they were out doors, then spread them as they went into the house so they could "strut." the children were not allowed any education other than the "old miss" reading them the bible on sunday afternoons. the older negroes were not allowed to visit on other plantations often, but when they did go they had to have passes from their masters or the "patarolers" would whip them--if they were caught. hoar-hound and penny-royal were used for minor ailments, and "varnish" was put on cuts by the "ole miss". mollie doesn't remember ever seeing a doctor, other than a mid-wife, on the plantation. home made remedies for "palpitation of the heart" was to wear tied around the neck a piece of lead, pounded into the shape of the heart, and punched with nine holes, or to get some one "not kin to you", to tie some salt in a small bag and wear it over your heart. toothache was cured by smoking a pipe of "life everlasting", commonly called "rabbit tobacco". headaches were stopped by beating the whites of an egg stiff, adding soda and putting on a cloth, then tying around the head. mr. brock died before the war, consequently not having any men to go from the plantation, mollie knew very little about it. she remembers confederate soldiers "practicin" at locust grove, the nearest town, and one time the yankees came to the plantation and "took off" a horse mrs. brock had hidden in the swamp, also all the silver found buried. mollie knew nothing of the freedom of the slaves until her mother came to get her. for two years they "hired out" on a farm in butts county, where they worked in the fields. several times in later years mollie returned to the brock plantation to see "the ole miss" and the young misses. mrs. brock and her daughters, who had never married, died on the plantation where they had always lived. mollie's family "knocked around awhile", and then came to griffin where they have since made their home. she became a familiar figure driving an ox-cart on the streets and doing odd jobs for white families and leading a useful life in the community. besides her own family, mollie has raised fifteen orphaned negro children. she is approximately ninety years old, being "about growd" when the war ended. district two ex-slave interview aunt carrie mason milledgeville, georgia (baldwin county) written by: mrs. estelle g. burke research worker federal writers' project milledgeville, georgia edited by: john n. booth asst. district supervisor federal writers' project athens, georgia july , [date stamp: jul ] "howdy, miss, howdy. come on in. george is poly today. my grandchillun is doin' a little cleanin' up fer me 'cause us thinks george ain't got long on this earth an' us don' want de place ter be dirty an' all when he's gone." the home of aunt carrie and uncle george mason, a two-room cabin surrounded by a dirty yard, stands in a clearing. old tin cans, bottles, dusty fruit jars, and piles of rat-tail cotton from gutted mattresses littered the place. an immense sugarberry tree, beautifully proportioned, casts inviting shade directly in front of the stoop. it is the only redeeming feature about the premises. aunt carrie, feeble and gray haired, hobbled out in the yard with the aid of a stick. "have a seat, miss. dat cheer is all right. it won't fall down. don't git yo' feet wet in dat dirty water. my grandchillun is scourin' terday. effen yer want to, us'll set under de tree. dey's a cool breeze dar all de time. "you wants to fin' out my age an' all? law miss, i don' know how ole i is. george is nigh 'bout . i 'members my mammy said i wuz bawn a mont' or two 'fore freedom wuz 'clared. yas'um i rekymembers all 'bout de yankees. how cum i 'members 'bout dem an' de war wuz over den? i cain't tell yer dat, but i knows i 'members seein' 'em in de big road. it mought not uv been mister sherman's mens but mammy said de yankees wuz in de big road long after freedom wuz 'clared, and dey wuz down here gettin' things straight. dey wuz sho' in er mess atter de war! evvythin' wuz tore up an' de po' niggers didn't know which away to turn. "my mammy's name wuz catherine bass an' my pappy wuz ephriam butts. us b'longed ter mars' ben bass an' my mammy had de same name ez marster twell she ma'ied pappy. he b'longed ter somebody else 'til marster bought him. dey had ten chillun. no, mam, mammy didn't have no doctor," aunt carrie chuckled, "didn't nobody hardly have a doctor in dem days. de white folks used yarbs an' ole 'omans to he'p 'em at dat time. mammy had er ole 'oman whut lived on de place evvy time she had a little 'un. she had one evvy year too. she lost one. dat chile run aroun' 'til she wuz one year ole an' den died wid de disentery. "us had er right hard time in dem days. de beds us used den warn't like dese here nice beds us has nowadays. don't you laugh, berry, i knows dese beds us got now is 'bout to fall down," aunt carrie admonished her grandson when he guffawed at her statement, "you chilluns run erlong now an' git thoo' wid dat cleanin'." aunt carrie's spirits seemed dampened by berry's rude laugh and it was several minutes before she started talking again. "dese young folks don't know nuthin' 'bout hard times. us wukked in de ole days frum before sunup 'til black night an' us knowed whut wuk wuz. de beds us slep' on had roun' postes made outen saplins of hickory or little pine trees. de bark wuz tuk off an' dey wuz rubbed slick an' shiny. de sprangs wuz rope crossed frum one side uv de bed to de udder. de mattress wuz straw or cotton in big sacks made outen osnaberg or big salt sacks pieced tergether. mammy didn't have much soap an' she uster scrub de flo' wid sand an' it wuz jes ez white. yas mam, she made all de soap us used, but it tuk a heap. we'uns cooked in de ashes an' on hot coals, but de vittals tasted a heap better'n dey does nowadays. mammy had to wuk in de fiel' an' den cum home an' cook fer marster an' his fambly. i didn' know nuthin' 'bout it 'till atter freedom but i hyearn 'em tell 'bout it. "mammy an' pappy stayed on marster's plantation 'til a year or mo' atter dey had dey freedom. marster paid 'em wages an' a house ter stay in. he didn't hav' many slaves, 'bout , i reckon. my brothers wuz berry, dani'l, ephriam, tully, bob, lin, an' george. de yuthers i disremembers, caze dey lef' home when dey wuz big enough to earn dey livin' an' i jes don't recollec'. "conjur' woman! law miss, i aims ter git ter hebem when i dies an' i show don't know how ter conjur' nobody. no mam, i ain't never seed no ghost. i allus pray to de lord dat he spar' me dat trouble an' not let me see nary one. no good in folks plunderin' on dis earth atter dey leave here de fus time. go 'way, dog." a spotted hound, lean and flop-eared was scratching industriously under aunt carrie's chair. it was a still summer day and the flies droned ceaselessly. a well nearby creaked as the dripping bucket was drawn to the top by a granddaughter who had come in from the field to get a cool drink. aunt carrie watched the girl for a moment and then went back to her story. "effen my mammy or pappy ever runned away from marster, i ain't heered tell uv it, but mammy said dat when slaves did run away, dey wuz cotched an' whupped by de overseer. effen a man or a 'oman kilt another one den dey wuz branded wid er hot i'on. er big s wuz put on dey face somewhars. s stood fer 'slave, 'an' evvybody knowed dey wuz er mudderer. marster din't have no overseer; he overseed hisself. "why is george so white? 'cause his marster wuz er white genemun named mister jimmie dunn. his mammy wuz er cullud 'oman name' frances mason an' his marster wuz his paw. yas mam, i see you is s'prised, but dat happ'ned a lots in dem days. i hyeared tell of er white man what would tell his sons ter 'go down ter dem nigger quarters an' git me mo' slaves.' yas mam, when george wuz borned ter his mamny, his pappy wuz er white man an' he made george his overseer ez soon ez he wuz big e'nuf ter boss de yuther slaves. i wish he wuz able to tell yer 'bout it, but since he had dat las' stroke he ain't been able ter talk none." aunt carrie took an old clay pipe from her apron pocket and filled it with dry scraps of chewing tobacco. after lighting it she puffed quietly and seemed to be meditating. finally she took it from her mouth and continued. "i ain't had no eddication. i 'tended school part of one term but i wuz so skairt of my teacher that i couldn't larn nuthin'. he wuz a ole white man. he had been teachin' fer years an' years, but he had a cancer an' dey had done stopped him frum teachin' white chillun'. his name wuz mister bill greer. i wuz skairt 'cause he was a white man. no mam, no white man ain't never harmed me, but i wuz skairt of him enyhow. one day he says to me, 'chile i ain't goin to hurt yer none 'cause i'm white.' he wuz a mighty good ole man. he would have larned us mo' but he died de nex' year. mammy paid him ten cents a mont' a piece fer all us chillun. de boys would wuk fer dey money but i wuz the onliest gal an' mammy wouldn't let me go off de plantation to make none. whut i made dar i got, but i didn't make much 'til atter i ma'ied. "law honey, does yer want to know 'bout my ma'ige? well, i wuz years ole an' i had a preacher to ma'y me. his name wuz andrew brown. in dem days us allus waited 'til de time of year when us had a big meetin' or at christmus time. den effen one of us wanted ter git mai'ed, he would perform de weddin' atter de meetin' or atter chris'mus celebratin'. i had er bluish worsted dress. i mai'ed in jannywerry, right atter chris'mus. at my mai'ge us had barbecue, brunswick stew, an' cake. de whole yard wuz full uv folks. "mammy wuz a 'ligous 'oman an' de fust day of chris'mus she allus fasted ha'f a day an' den she would pray. atter dat evvybody would hav' eggnog an' barbecue an' cake effen dey had de money to buy it. mammy said dat when dey wuz still slaves marster allus gived 'em chris'mus, but atter dey had freedom den dey had ter buy dey own rations. us would have banjer playin' an' dance de pijen-wing and de shuffle-toe. "no mam, george's pa didn' leave him no lan' when he died. us went ter another farm an' rented when de mai'ge wuz over. george's pa warn't dead, but he didn't offer to do nuthin' fer us. "yas'um, i'se had eight chilluns of my own. us ain' never had no lan' us could call our'n. us jes moved from one farm ter another all our days. this here lan' us is on now 'longs ter mr. cline. my son an' his chillun wuks it an' dey give us whut dey kin spare. de red cross lady he'ps us an' us gits along somehow or nother." works progress administration harry l. hopkins, administrator ellen s. woodward, assistant administrator henry s. alsberg, director of the federal writers' project plantation life interview with: susan matthews, age madison street, macon, georgia written by: ruth h. sanford, macon, georgia edited by: annie a. rose, macon, georgia susan matthews is an intelligent old negress, very tall and weighing close to two hundred pounds. her eyes were bright, her "store-bought" teeth flashed in a smile as she expressed her willingness to tell us all she remembered "'bout ole times." in a tattered, faded print dress, a misshapen hat and ragged shoes, she sat enjoying the sunshine on the porch while she sewed on an underskirt she was making for herself from old sugar sacks. her manner was cheerful; she seemed to get genuine enjoyment from the interview and gave us a hearty invitation to come to see her again. "i was jes a chile" she began, "when de white folks had slaves. my ma an her chillen wuz the onliest slaves my marster and mistis had. my pa belonged to some mo white folks that lived 'bout five miles from us. my marster and mistis were poor folks. they lived in a white frame house; it wuz jes a little house that had 'bout five rooms, i reckon. the house had a kitchen in the backyard and the house my ma lived wuz in the back yard too, but i wuz raised in my mistis' house. i slept in her room; slep' on the foot of her bed to keep her feets warm and everwhere my mistis went i went to. my marster and mistis wuz sho good to us an we loved 'em. my ma, she done the cooking and the washing fer the family and she could work in the fields jes lak a man. she could pick her three hundred pounds of cotton or pull as much fodder as any man. she wuz strong an she had a new baby mos' ev'y year. my marster and mistis liked for to have a lot of chillen 'cause that helped ter make 'em richer." i didn't have much time fer playin' when i wus little cause i wuz allus busy waitin' on my mistis er taking care of my little brothers and sisters. but i did have a doll to play with. it wuz a rag doll an my mistis made it fer me. i wuz jes crazy 'bout that doll and i learned how to sew making clothes fer it. i'd make clothes fer it an wash an iron 'em, and it wasn't long 'fo i knowed how to sew real good, an i been sewing ever since. my white folks wern't rich er tall but we always had plenty of somep'n to eat, and we had fire wood to keep us warm in winter too. we had plenty of syrup and corn bread, and when dey killed a hog we had fine sausage an chitlin's, an all sorts of good eating. my marster and the white an collored boys would go hunting, and we had squirrels an rabbits an possums jes lots of time. yessum, we had plenty; we never did go hongry. "does i remember 'bout the yankees coming?, yes ma'am, i sho does. the white chillen an us had been looking fer 'em and looking fer 'em. we wanted 'em to come. we knowed 'twould be fun to see 'em. and sho 'nuf one day i was out in de front yard to see and i seed a whole passel of men in blue coats coming down de road. i hollered "here come de yankees". i knowed 'twuz dem an my mistis an my ma an ev'y body come out in the front yard to see 'em. the yankees stopped an the leading man with the straps on his shoulders talked to us an de men got water outen de well. no'm, they didn't take nothing an they hurt nothing. after a while they jes went on down the road; they sho looked hot an dusty an tired. "after de war wuz over my pa, he comed up to our house an got my ma an all us chillen an carries us down to his marster's place. i didn't want ter go cause i loved my mistis an she cried when we left. my pa's ole marster let him have some land to work on shares. my pa wuz a hard worker an we helped him an in a few years he bought a little piece of land an he owned it till he died. 'bout once er twice a year we'd all go back ter see our mistis. she wuz always glad to see us an treated us fine. "after de war a white woman started a school fer nigger chillen an my pa sent us. this white lady wuz a ole maid an wuz mighty poor. she an her ma lived by dereselves, i reckon her pa had done got kilt in de war. i don't know 'bout that but i knows they wuz mighty poor an my pa paid her fer teaching us in things to eat from his farm. we didn't never have no money. i loved to go to school; i had a blue back speller an i learned real quick but we didn't get ter go all the time. when there wuz work ter do on the farm we had ter stop an do it. "times warn't no better after de war wuz over an dey warnt no wuss. we wuz po before de war an we wuz po after de war. but we allus had somep'n to wear and plenty to eat an we never had no kick coming. "i never did get married. i'se a old maid nigger, an they tells me you don't see old maid niggers. how come i ain't married i don't know. seems like when i was young i seed somep'n wrong with all de mens that would come around. then atter while i wuz kinder ole an they didn't come around no mo. jes' last week a man come by here what used to co't me. he seed me settin here on the porch an i says 'come on in an set a while', an he did. so maybe, i ain't through co'tin, maybe i'll get married yet." here she laughed gleefully. when asked which she preferred freedom or slavery she replied, "well, being free wuz all right while i wuz young but now i'm old an i wish i b'longed to somebody cause they would take keer of me an now i ain't got nobody to take keer of me. the government gives me eight dollars a month but that don't go fer enough. i has er hard time cause i can't git around an work like i used to." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] alberta minor re-search worker emily mays east solomon street, griffin, georgia interviewed [date stamp: may ] emily was born in on the billy stevens plantation in upson county. her mother, betsy wych, was born at hawkinsville, georgia, and sold to mr. billy stevens. the father, peter wych, was born in west virginia. a free man, he was part indian and when driving a team of oxen into virginia for lime, got into the slave territory, was overtaken by a "speculator" and brought to georgia where he was sold to the wyches of macon. he cooked for them at their hotel, "the brown house" for a number of years, then was sold "on the block" to mr. stevens of upson county. betsy was sold at this same auction. betsy and peter were married by "jumping the broomstick" after mr. stevens bought them. they had sixteen children, of which emily is the next to the last. she was always a "puny", delicate child and her mother died when she was about seven years old. she heard people tell her father that she "wasn't intented to be raised" 'cause she was so little and her mother was "acomin' to get her soon." hearing this kind of remarks often had a depressing effect upon the child, and she "watched the clouds" all the time expecting her mother and was "bathed in tears" most of the time. after the war, peter rented a "patch" from mr. kit parker and the whole family worked in the fields except emily. she was not big enough so they let her work in the "big house" until mrs. parker's death. she helped "'tend" the daughter's babies, washed and ironed table napkins and waited on them "generally" for which she can't remember any "pay", but they fed and clothed her. her older sister learned to weave when she was a slave, and helped sew for the soldiers; so after freedom she continued making cloth and sewing for the family while the others worked in the fields. [buttons were made from dried gourds.] they lived well, raising more on their patch than they could possibly use and selling the surplus. for coffee they split and dried sweet potatoes, ground and parched them. the only education emily received was at the "sugar hill" sunday school. they were too busy in the spring for social gatherings, but after the crops were harvested, they would have "corn shuckings" where the negroes gathered from neighboring farms and in three or four days time would finish at one place then move on to the next farm. it was quite a social gathering and the farm fed all the guests with the best they had. the prayer meetings and "singings" were other pleasant diversions from the daily toil. after mrs. parker's death emily worked in her father's fields until she was married to aaron mays, then she came to griffin where she has lived ever since. she is years old and has cooked for "white folks" until she was just too old to "see good", so she now lives with her daughter. interview with liza mention beech island, s.c. written and edited by: leila harris and john n. booth federal writers' project augusta, georgia march , "come right in. have a seat. i'll be glad to tell you anything i can 'bout dem early days", said liza mention. "course i warn't born till de second year atter freedom, so i don't 'member nothin' 'bout all dat fightin' durin' de war. i'se sho' glad i warn't born in slavery from what i heared 'em tell 'bout dem patterollers ketchin' and beatin' up folks." liza's house, a -room hut with a narrow front porch, stands in a peaceful spot on the edge of the wilson plantation at beech island, south carolina. a metal sign on the door which revealed that the property is protected by a theft insurance service aroused wonder as to what liza had that could attract a burglar. the bedroom was in extreme disorder with clothing, shoes, bric-a-brac, and just plain junk scattered about. the old negress had been walking about the sunshiny yard and apologized for the mess by saying that she lived alone and did as she pleased. "folks says i oughtn't to stay here by myself," she remarked, "but i laks to be independent. i cooked years for de wilson fambly and dey is gonna let me have dis house free 'til i die 'cause i ain't able to do no work." liza's close-fitting hat pinned her ears to her head. she wore a dress that was soiled and copiously patched and her worn out brogans were several sizes too large. ill health probably accounts for this untidiness for, as she expressed it, "when i gits up i hate to set down and when i sets down, i hates to git up, my knees hurts me so," however, her face broke into a toothless grin on the slightest provocation. "i wuz born up on de reese's place in mcduffie county near thomson, georgia. when i wuz chillun us didn't know nothin' 'bout no wuk," she volunteered. "my ma wuz a invalis (invalid) so when i wuz years old she give me to her sister over here at mr. ed mcelmurray's place to raise. i ain't never knowed who my pa wuz. us chaps played all de time wid white chillun jus' lak dey had all been niggers. chillun den didn't have sense lak dey got now; us wuz satisfied jus' to play all de time. i 'members on sundays us used to take leaves and pin 'em together wid thorns to make usselves dresses and hats to play in. i never did go to school none so i don't know nothin' 'bout readin' and writin' and spellin'. i can't spell my own name, but i think it begins wid a m. hit's too late to study 'bout all dat now 'cause my old brain couldn't learn nothin'. hit's done lost most all of what little i did know. "back in dem times, folkses cooked on open fireplaces in winter time and in summer dey built cook stands out in de yard to set de spiders on, so us could cook and eat outdoors. dere warn't no stoves nowhar. when us wuz hard up for sompin' green to bile 'fore de gyardens got goin' good, us used to go out and git wild mustard, poke salad, or pepper grass. us et 'em satisfactory and dey never kilt us. i have et heaps of kinds of diffunt weeds and i still eats a mess of poke salad once or twice a year 'cause it's good for you. us cooked a naked hunk of fat meat in a pot wid some corn dumplin's. "de grown folks would eat de meat and de chilluns would sit around on de floor and eat de potlikker and dumplin's out of tin pans. us enjoyed dat stuff jus' lak it had been pound cake. "dances in dem days warn't dese here huggin' kind of dances lak dey has now. dere warn't no big apple nor no little apple neither. us had a house wid a raised flatform (platform) at one end whar de music-makers sot. dey had a string band wid a fiddle, a trumpet, and a banjo, but dere warn't no guitars lak dey has in dis day. one man called de sets and us danced de cardrille (quadrille) de virginia reel, and de -hand cortillion. when us made syrup on de farm dere would always be a candy pullin'. dat homemade syrup made real good candy. den us would have a big time at corn shuckin's too. "i don't believe in no conjuration. ain't nobody never done nothin' to me but i have seed people dat other folks said had been hurt. if somebody done somethin' to me i wouldn't know whar to find a root-worker to take it off and anyways i wouldn't trust dem sort of folks 'cause if dey can cyore you dey can kill you too. "i'se a member of de silver bluff baptist church, and i been goin' to sunday school dar nearly ever since i can 'member. you know dey say dat's de oldest nigger church in de country. at fust a white man come from savannah and de church wuz built for his family and dey slaves. later dere wuz so many colored members de white folks come out and built another house so de niggers could have de old one. when dat ole church wuz tore down, de colored folks worshipped for a long time in a goat house and den in a brush arbor. "some folks calls it de dead river church 'cause it used to be near dead river and de baptisin' wuz done dar for a long time. i wuz baptised dar myself and i loves de old spot of ground. i has tried to be a good church member all my life but it's hard fer me to get a nickel or a dime for preacher money now." when asked if people in the old days got married by jumping over a broom she made a chuckling sound and replied: "no, us had de preacher but us didn't have to buy no license and i can't see no sense in buyin' a license nohow, 'cause when dey gits ready to quit, dey just quits." liza brought an old bible from the other room in which she said she kept the history of the old church. there were also pictures from some of her "white folks" who had moved to north carolina. "my husband has been daid for years," she asserted, "and i hasn't a chile to my name, nobody to move nothin' when i lays it down and nobody to pick nothin' up. i gets along pretty well most of de time though, but i wishes i could work so i would feel more independent." district two ex-slave interview aunt harriet miller toccoa, georgia (stephens county) written by: mrs. annie lee newton research worker federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: john n. booth asst. district supervisor federal writers' project athens, georgia july , aunt harriet miller, a chipper and spry indian half-breed, thinks she is about years old. it is remarkable that one so old should possess so much energy and animation. she is tall and spare, with wrinkled face, bright eyes, a kindly expression, and she wears her iron grey hair wound in a knob in the manner of a past generation. aunt harriet was neatly dressed as she had just returned from a trip to cornelia to see some of her folks. she did not appear at all tired from the trip, and seemed glad to discuss the old days. "my father," said aunt harriet, "was a cherokee indian named green norris, and my mother was a white woman named betsy richards. you see, i am mixed. my mother give me to mr. george naves when i was three years old. he lived in de mountains of south carolina, just across de river. he didn't own his home. he was overseer for de jarretts, old man kennedy jarrett. honey, people was just like dey is now, some good and some bad. mr. naves was a good man. dese here jarretts was good to deir slaves but de ----s was mean to deirs. my whitefolks tried to send me to school but de whitefolks wouldn't receive me in deir school on account of i was mixed, and dere warn't no colored school a t'all, nowhere. some of de white ladies taught deir slaves. yes'm, some of 'em did. now, miss sallie jarrett, dat was mrs. bob jarrett's daughter, used to teach 'em some. "slaves had half a day off on saturday. dey had frolics at night, quiltings, dances, corn-shuckings, and played de fiddle. dey stayed in de quarters sunday or went to church. dey belonged to de same church wid de whitefolks. i belonged to old liberty baptist church. de back seats was whar de slaves set. dey belonged to de same church just like de whitefolks, but i wasn't with 'em much." as a child, aunt harriet associated with white people, and played with white children, but when she grew up, had to turn to negroes for companionship. "if slaves stayed in deir places dey warn't never whipped or put in chains. when company come i knowed to get out doors. i went on to my work. i was treated all right. i don't remember getting but three whippings in my life. old mistis had brown sugar, a barrel of sugar setting in de dinin' room. she'd go off and she'd come back and ask me 'bout de sugar. she'd get after me 'bout it and i'd say i hadn't took it, and den when she turned my dress back and whipped me i couldn't hardly set down. she whipped me twice 'bout the sugar and den she let me alone. 'twasn't de sugar she whipped me 'bout, but she was trying to get me to tell de truth. yes'm, dat was de best lesson dat ever i learned, to tell de truth, like david. "i had a large fambly. lets see, i had ten chillun, two of 'em dead, and i believes 'bout grand-chillun. i could count 'em. last time i was counting de great-grandchillun dere was but some have come in since den. maggie has chillun. maggie's husband is a farmer and dey lives near eastonallee. lizzie, her husband is dead and she lives wid a daughter in chicago, has chillun. den media has two. her husband, hillary campbell, works for de govemint, in washington. lieutenant has six; he farms. robert has six; robert is a regular old farmer and sunday school teacher. davey has four, den luther has seven, and dat leaves jim, my baby boy. he railroads and i lives wid him. jim is . he ain't got no chillun. my husband, judge miller, been dead years. he's buried at tugalo. dis old lady been swinging on a limb a long time and she going to swing off from here some time. i'm near about a hundred and i won't be here long, but when i go, i wants to go in peace wid everybody. "i don't know. i'd be 'feard to say dere ain't nothing in voo-doo. some puts a dime in de shoe to keep de voo-doo away, and some carries a buckeye in de pocket to keep off cramp and colic. dey say a bone dey finds in de jawbone of a hog will make chillun teethe easy. when de slaves got sick, de whitefolks looked after 'em. de medicines for sickness was nearly all yerbs. dey give boneset for colds, made tea out of it, and acheing joints. butterfly root and slippery elm bark was to cool fever. willow ashes is good for a corn, poke root for rheumatism, and a syrup made of mullein, honey, and alum for colds. dey use barks from dogwood, wild cherry, and clack haws, for one thing and another. i'll tell you what's good for pizen-oak, powdered alum and sweet cream. beat it if it's lump alum, and put it in sweet cream, not milk, it has to be cream. dere's lots of other remedies and things, but i'm getting so sap-skulled and i'm so old i can't remember. yes'm, i've got mighty trifling 'bout my remembrance. "once some indians camped on de river bottoms for three or four years, and we'd go down; me, and anne, and genia, nearly every saturday, to hear 'em preach. we couldn't understand it. dey didn't have no racket or nothing like colored folks. dey would sing, and it sounded all right. we couldn't understand it, but dey enjoyed it. dey worked and had crops. dey had ponies, pretty ponies. nobody never did bother 'em. dey made baskets out of canes, de beautifulest baskets, and dey colored 'em wid dyes, natchel dyes. "indian woman wore long dresses and beads. deir hair was plaited and hanging down de back, and deir babyes was tied on a blanket on de back. mens wore just breeches and feathers in deir hats. i wish you could have seen 'em a cooking. dey would take corn dough, and den dey'd boil birds, make sort of long, not round dumplings, and drop 'em in a pot of hot soup. we thought dat was terrible, putting dat in de pot wid de birds. dey had blow-guns and dey'd slip around, and first thing dey'd blow, and down come a bird. dey'd kill a squirrel and ketch fish wid deir blow guns. dem guns was made out of canes 'bout eight feet long, burned out at de j'ints for de barrel. dey put in a arrow what had thistles on one end to make it go through quick and de other end sharp. "yes honey, i believes in hants. i was going 'long, at nine o'clock one night 'bout the denham fill and i heard a chain a rattling 'long de cross-ties. i couldn't see a thing and dat chain just a rattling as plain as if it was on dis floor. back, since the war, dere was a railroad gang working 'long by dis fill, and de boss, captain wing, whipped a convict. it killed him, and de boss throwed him in de fill. i couldn't see a thing, and dat chain was just rattling right agai' de fill where dat convict had been buried. i believes de lord took keer of me dat night and i hope he keeps on doing so." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] folklore alberta minor re-search worker mollie mitchell, ex negro slave east chappell street griffin, georgia august , [date stamp: may ] mollie mitchell, a white haired old darkey, years old was born on the newt woodard plantation. it is the old jackson road near beulah church. until she was years old she helped about the house running errands for her "missus", "tendin' babies", "sweeping the yard", and "sich." at she was put in the fields. the first day at work she was given certain rows to hoe but she could not keep in the row. the master came around twice a day to look at what they had done and when it was not done right, he whipped them. "seems like i got whipped all day long," she said. one time when mollie was about years old, she was real sick, the master and missus took her to the bathing house where there was "plenty of hot water." they put her in a tub of hot water then took her out, wrapped her in blankets and sheets and put her in cold water. they kept her there or days doing that until they broke her fever. whenever the negroes were sick, they always looked after them and had a doctor if necessary. at christmas they had a whole week holiday and everything they wanted to eat. the negroes lived a happy carefree life unless they "broke the rules." if one lied or stole or did not work or did not do his work right or stayed out over the time of their pass, they were whipped. the "pass" was given them to go off on saturday. it told whose "nigger" they were and when they were due back, usually by o'clock sunday afternoon or monday morning. "the patta-roll" (patrol) came by to see your pass and if you were due back home, they would give you a whippin'!" mollie was years old when the master came out in the fields and told them they were as free as he was. her family stayed with him. he gave them a horse or mule, their groceries and a "patch to work", that they paid for in about three years time. before the war whenever his slaves reached years, the master set them free and gave them a mule, cow and a "patch". mollie can remember her grandmother and grandfather getting theirs. when mollie married ( years old), she moved to her husband's farm. she had children. she had to "spin the cloth" for their clothes, and did any kind of work, even the men's work too. out of herbs she made syrup for worms for her children. with the barks of different trees she made the spring tonic and if their "stomachs was wrong", she used red oak bark. when she was younger, she would "dream a dream" and see it "jes' as clear" next morning and it always came true, but now since she's aged her dreams are "gone away" by next morning. when she was a little girl, they made them go to sunday school and taught them out of a "blue back speller". after freedom, they were sent to day school "some". the "little missus" used to teach her upstairs after they were supposed to be in bed. she's been a member of the methodist church since she was years old. mollie's husband was always a farmer and he always planted by the moon. potatoes, turnips and things that grow under the ground were planted in the dark of the moon while beans and peas and things that develope on top the ground were planted in the light of the moon. she said she couldn't remember many superstitions but she knew a rabbit's foot was tied round your neck or waist for luck and a crowing hen was bad luck, so bad that they killed them and "put 'em in the pot" whenever they found one. when you saw a cat washing its face, it was going to rain sure. mollie is quite wrinkled, has thinning white hair, very bad teeth but fairly active physically and her mind is moderately clear. elizabeth watson bob mobley, ex-slave, aged about pulaski county, georgia ( ) [date stamp: jul ] when recently interviewed, this aged colored man--the soul of humbleness and politeness--and long a resident of pulaski county, sketched his life as follows (his language reconstructed): "i was the seventh child of the eleven children born to robert and violet hammock, slaves of mr. henry mobley of crawford county. my parents were also born in crawford county. my master was well-to-do: he owned a great deal of land and many negroes. macon was our nearest trading town--and mr. mobley sold his cotton and did his trading there, though he sent his children to school at knoxville (crawford county). my mother was the family cook, and also superintended the cooking for many of the slaves. we slaves had a good time, and none of us were abused or mistreated, though young negroes were sometimes whipped--when they deserved it. grown negro men, in those days, wore their hair long and, as a punishment to them for misconduct (etc.), the master cut their hair off. i was raised in my master's house--slept in his room when i was a small boy, just to be handy to wait on him when he needed anything. if a slave became sick, a doctor was promptly called to attend him. my mother was also a kind of doctor and often rode all over the plantation to dose ailing negroes with herb teas and home medicines which she was an adept in compounding. in cases of [hw: minor] illness, she could straighten up the sick in no time. before the war started, i took my young master to get married, and we were certainly dressed up. you have never seen a nigger and a white man as dressed up as we were on that occasion. an aunt of mine was head weaver on our plantation, and she bossed the other women weavers and spinners. two or three seamstresses did all the sewing. in winter time we slaves wore wool, which had been dyed before the cloth was cut. in summer we wore light goods. we raised nearly every thing that we ate, except sugar and coffee, and made all the shoes and clothes worn on the place, except the white ladies' silks, fine shawls, and slippers, and the men's broadcloths and dress boots. my young master went to the war, but his father was too old to go. when we heard that the yankees were coming, old mister refugeed to dooly county--where he bought a new farm, and took his negroes with him. but the new place was so poor that, right after the war closed, he moved back to his old plantation. i stayed with mr. henry for a long time after freedom, then came to hawkinsville to work at the carpenter's trade. and i did pretty well here until i fell off a house several years ago, since which time i haven't been much good--not able to do hardly any work at all." now old, feeble, and physically incapacitated, "uncle" bob lives with a stepdaughter--a woman of --who, herself, is failing fast. both are supported mainly by pulaski county and the federal government. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] folklore mary a. crawford re-search worker fanny nix--ex-slave interviewed [date stamp: may ] fanny was born in slavery and was "a great big girl" when the slaves were freed but does not know her exact age, however, she thinks that she was "at least twelve when the war broke out." according to this method of estimating her age, fanny is about eighty-seven. the old woman's parents were john arnold and rosetta green, who were married 'away befo de wah' by steppin' over the broom' in the presence of "old marse," and a lot of colored friends. fanny does not know where her parents were born, but thinks that they were born in upson county near thomaston, georgia, and knows that she and her two brothers and other sister were. fanny and her family were owned by judge jim green. judge green had a hundred or so acres of land fanny 'reckon', and between twenty-five and seventy-five slaves. "the marster was just as good as he could be to all the slaves, and especially to the little chillun." "the judge did not 'whup' much--and used a peach tree limb and done it hisself. there wuzn't no strop at marse green's big house." rosetta green, the mother of fanny, "cooked and washed for judge green for yeahs and yeahs." fanny "found her mammy a cookin' at the big house the fust thing she knowed." as fanny grew up, she was trained by "ole miss" to be a house girl, and did "sech wuk" as churning, minding the flies "offen de table when de white folks et, gwine backards and forads to de smoke-house for my mammy." she recalls that when she "minded the flies offen the table she allus got plenty of biscuits and scraps o' fried chicken the white folks left on their plates." "but," fanny added with a satisfied smile, "marse green's darkies never wanted for sumpin t'eat, case he give 'em a plenty, even molasses all dey wanted." fanny and her mammy always ate in "de missis kitchen." "yes," said fanny, "i remembers when de yankees come through, it tickled us chillun and skeered us too! dey wuz mo'n a hundred, miss, riding mighty po' ole wore out hosses. all de men wanted wuz sumpin' t'eat and some good hosses. de men poured into de smokehouse and de kitchen (here fanny had to laugh again) an how dem yankee mens did cut and hack "ole marse's" best hams! after dey et all dey could hol' dey saddled up "ole marse's" fine hosses an' away dey rid!" when asked why the white folks did not hide the horses out in the swamps or woods, fanny replied, "case, dey didn't have time. dem yankees pounced down like hawks after chickens!" "ole marse jost did have time to 'scape to de woods hisself." the judge was too old to go to the war. john arnold, fanny's daddy, was owned by mr. john arnold on an adjoining plantation to judge greene, and when he and fanny's mother were married, john was allowed to visit rosetta each week-end. of course he had to carry a pass from his "marster." john and rosetta "never lived together year in and year out," according to fanny's statement, "till long after freedom." fanny relates that judge green's slaves all went to "meetin" every sunday in the white folks church. the darkies going in the after-noon and the white people going in the forenoon. the white preacher ministered to both the white and colored people. if the negroes were sick and needed mo [hw: den] "old marse" knowed what to give em, he "sont the white folk's doctor." "you see, miss," said old fanny with pride, "i wuz owned by big white folks." she tells that judge green had two young sons (not old enough to fight) and three daughters, 'jest little shavers, so high', (here fanny indicated from three, to four or five feet at intervals, to indicate small children's height,) then added, "we allus said, 'little miss peggy', 'little miss nancy', and 'little missz jane', and 'young marse jim' and 'little marster bob'". "did you ever forget to speak to the children in that way?" the interviewer asked. "no, miss, we sho didn't, we knowed better dan to fergit!" fanny is very feeble in every way, voice is weak and her step most uncertain, but she is straight of figure, and was ripping up smoking tobacco sacks with which her daughter is to make 'a purty bed spread'. fanny and her husband, another ex-slave, live with fanny's daughter. the daughter supports her mother. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] mary a. crawford re-search worker henry nix--ex-slave e. slaton ave. griffin, georgia interviewed september , [date stamp: may ] [tr: numerous handwritten changes were made in this interview. where a word appears in brackets after a hw entry, it was replaced by that handwritten entry. all numbers were originally spelled out.] henry nix was born march , in upson county, about miles from barnesville, georgia. [hw: his] [henry's] parents were john nix and catherine willis, who were not married, because as henry reports, john nix was an overseer on the plantation of mr. jasper willis, "and when marster found out what kind of man john nix was he (nix) had to skip out." when henry "was a good sized boy, his mother married a darky man", and other children were born, boys and a girl. henry loved his mother very much and [hw: says] relates that on her death bed she told him who his father was, and [tr: "also told him" crossed out] how to live so as not to get into trouble, and, [hw: due to her advice] that he has never been in jail nor in any meanness of any kind [tr: "due to what she told him" crossed out]. mr. jasper willis, [tr: "who was" crossed out] henry's owner, lived on a large plantation of about three hundred acres in upson county, [hw: and] [mr. willis] owned only about or slaves as well as henry can remember. the old man considers mr. willis "the best marster that a darky ever had," saying that he "sho" made his darkies work and mind, but he never beat them or let the patter-role do it, though sometimes he did use a switch on 'em". henry recalls that he received "a sound whuppin onct, 'case he throwed a rock at one o' marse jasper's fine cows and broke her laig!" when asked if mr. willis had the slaves taught to read and write, henry hooted at the idea, saying emphatically, "no, mam, 'ole marse' wuz sho hard about dat. he said 'niggers' wuz made by de good lawd to work, and onct when my uncle stole a book and wuz a trying to learn how to read and write, marse jasper had the white doctor take off my uncle's fo' finger right down to de 'fust jint'. marstar said he fixed dat darky as a sign fo de res uv 'em! no, miss, we wuzn't larned!" mr. willis allowed his slaves from saturday at noon till monday morning as a holiday, and then they always had a week for christmas. all of the negroes went to meeting on sunday afternoon in the white people's church and were served by the white minister. henry says that they had a "circuit doctor" on his marster's place and the doctor came around regularly at least every two weeks, "case marster paid him to do so and [hw: he] 'xamined evah darky big and little on dat plantation." one time henry recalls that he "had a turrible cowbunkle" on the back of his neck and 'marse' had the doctor to cut it open. henry knowed better den to holler and cut up, too, when it was done. the old man remembers going to war with his young master and remaining with him for the two years he was in service. they were in richmond when the city surrendered to grant and soon after that the young master was killed in the fight at tumlin gap. henry hardly knows how he got back to "ole marster" but is thankful he did. after freedom, [hw: al]most all of mr. willis' darkies stayed on with him but henry "had to act smart and run away." he went over into alabama and managed "to keep [tr: "his" crossed out] body and soul together somehow, for several years and then [tr: "he" crossed out] went back to "ole marster." henry is well and rather active for his or years and likes to work. he has a job now cleaning off the graves at the white cemetery but he and his wife depend mainly [hw: for support] on their son [tr: "for support" crossed out], who lives just across the street from them. [hw: dist. ] mary a. crawford re-search worker lewis ogletree--ex-slave e. tinsley street griffin, georgia august , [date stamp: may ] [tr: numerous handwritten changes were made in this interview. where a word appears in brackets after a hw entry, it was replaced by that handwritten entry.] lewis ogletree was born on the plantation of mr. fred crowder of spalding county, georgia [hw: ga], near griffin. [hw: he] [lewis] does not know exactly when he was born, but says that [tr: "he knows that" crossed out] he was maybe years old at the end of the war in ' . this would make him now. mr. crowder was the owner of a large number of slaves and among them was lettie crowder, [tr: "(married an ogletree) the" crossed out] housekeeper and head servant in the home of mr. fred crowder. lettie was lewis' mother. lewis remembers standing inside the picket fence with a lot of other little pick-a-ninnies watching for sherman's army, and when the yankees got close enough to be heard plainly, they hid in the bushes or under the house. the yankees poured into the yard and into the house, making lettie open the smoke-house and get them mr. crowder's best whiskey and oftentimes they made her cook them a meal of ham and eggs. mr. crowder, lettie's master, was ill during the war, having a cancer on his left hand. lewis reports that mr. crowder was a very hard master but a good one saying, "that it wasn't any use for the "patty-role" (the patrol) to come to marse crowder's, 'cause he would not permit him to "tech one of his darkies." mrs. crowder, the "ole mistis", had died just before the war broke out and mr. crowder lived alone with his house servants. there were two young sons in the war. the oldest son, col. crowder, was in virginia. lewis said that his master whipped him only once and that was for stealing. one day when the old master was taking a nap, lewis "minding off the flies" and thinking his "marster" asleep slipped over to the big table and snatched some candy. just as he picked up a lump, (it was "rock candy,") "wham! old [hw: marster] [mastah] had me, and when he got through, well, lewis, didn't steal anymore candy nor nothin'." "mastah nevah took no foolishness from his darkies." lewis remembers very clearly when mr. crowder gave his darkies their freedom. "mastah sont me and my mammy out to the cabin to tell all de darkies to come up to de "big house". when they got there, there were so many that [hw: they] [some] were up on the porch, on the steps and all over the yard." "mr. crowder stood up on the porch and said, "you darkies are all free now. you don't belong to me no more. now pack up your things and go on off." my lord! how them darkies did bawl! and most of them did not leave ole mastah." [richard orford, age around ] the following version of slavery was told by mr. richard orford of brown avenue in south atlanta. mr. orford is large in statue and although years of age he has a very active mind as well as a good sense of humor. mr. orford was born in pike county, georgia (near the present site of griffin) in . his master's name was jeff orford. mr. orford describes him as follows: "marster wus a rich man an' he had 'bout slaves--'course dat was'nt so many 'cause some of de folks 'round dere had and . he had plenty of land too--i don't know how many acres. he raised everything he needed on de plantation an' never had to buy nothing. i 'members when de yankees come through--ol' marster had 'bout barrels of whiskey hid in de smokehouse--dat wus de fust time i ever got drunk." "besides hisself an' his wife ol' marster had two boys an' nine girls". continuing, mr. orford said: "my ma did'nt have many chillun--jus' ten boys an' nine girls. i went to work in marster's house when i wus five years old an' i stayed dere 'till i wus thirty-five. de fust work i had to do wus to pick up chips, feed chickens, an' keep de yard clean. by de time i wus eight years old i wus drivin' my missus in de carriage." "all de rest of de slaves wus fiel' hands. dey spent dere time plowing an' takin' care of de plantation in general. dere wus some who split rails an' others who took care of de stock an' made de harness--de slaves did everything dat needed to be done on de plantation. everybody had to git up 'fore daybreak an' even 'fore it wus light enuff to see dey wus in de fiel' waitin' to see how to run a furrow. 'long 'bout nine o'clock breakfus' wus sent to de fiel' in a wagon an' all of 'em stopped to eat. at twelve o'clock dey stopped again to eat dinner. after dat dey worked 'till it wus to dark to see. women in dem days could pick five-hundred pounds of cotton a day wid a child in a sack on dere backs." "when de weather wus too bad to work in de fiel' de hands cribed an' shucked corn. if dey had any work of dere own to do dey had to do it at night". according to mr. orford there was always sufficient food on the orford plantation for the slaves. all cooking was done by one cook at the cook house. in front of the cook house were a number of long tables where the slaves ate their meals when they came in from the fields. those children who were too young to work in the fields were also fed at this house but instead of eating from the tables as did the grown-ups they were fed from long troughs much the same as little pigs. each was given a spoon at meal time and then all of the food was dumped into the trough at the same time. the week day diet for the most part consisted of meats and vegetables--"sometimes we even got chicken an' turkey"--says mr. orford. coffee was made by parching meal or corn and then boiling it in water. none of the slaves ever had to steal anything to eat on the orford plantation. all of the clothing worn on this plantation was made there. some of the women who were too old to work in the fields did the spinning and the weaving as well as the sewing of the garments. indigo was used to dye the cloth. the women wore callico dresses and the men wore ansenberg pants and shirts. the children wore a one piece garment not unlike a slightly lengthened dress. this was kept in place by a string tied around their waists. there were at least ten shoemakers on the plantation and they were always kept bust [tr: busy?] making shoes although no slave ever got but one pair of shoes a year. these shoes were made of very hard leather and were called brogans. in the rear of the master's house was located the slave's quarters. each house was made of logs and was of the double type so that two families could be accommodated. the holes and chinks in the walls were daubed with mud to keep the weather out. at one end of the structure was a large fireplace about six feet in width. the chimney was made of dirt. as for furniture mr. orford says: "you could make your own furniture if you wanted to but ol' marster would give you a rope bed an' two or three chairs an' dat wus all. de mattress wus made out of a big bag or a tickin' stuffed wid straw--dat wus all de furniture in any of de houses." "in dem days folks did'nt git sick much like dey do now, but when dey did de fust thing did fer 'em wus to give 'em blue mass. if dey had a cold den dey give 'em blue mass pills. when dey wus very sick de marster sent fer de doctor." "our ol' marster wus'nt like some of de other marsters in de community--he never did do much whuppin of his slaves. one time i hit a white man an' ol' marster said he was goin' to cut my arm off an' dat wus de las' i heard of it. some of de other slaves useter git whuppins fer not workin' an' fer fightin'. my mother got a whuppin once fer not workin'. when dey got so bad ol' marster did'nt bother 'bout whuppin' 'em--he jes' put 'em on de block an' en' sold 'em like he would a chicken or somethin'. slaves also got whuppins when dey wus caught off the plantation wid out a pass--de paddie-rollers whupped you den. i have knowed slaves to run away an' hide in de woods--some of 'em even raised families dere." "none of us wus allowed to learn to read or to write but we could go to church along wid de white folks. when de preacher talked to de slaves he tol' 'em not to steal fum de marster an' de missus 'cause dey would be stealing fum dere selves--he tol' 'em to ask fer what dey wanted an' it would be givven to 'em." when sherman marched through georgia a number of the slaves on the orford plantation joined his army. however, a large number remained on the plantation even after freedom was declared. mr. orford was one of those who remained. while the yankee soldiers were in the vicinity of the orford plantation mr. orford, the owner of the plantation, hid in the woods and had some of the slaves bring his food, etc. to him. mr. orford was thirty-five years of age when he left the plantation and at that time he married a twelve year old girl. since that time he has been the father of twenty-three children, some of whom are dead and some of whom are still alive. ex-slave interview anna parkes, age strong street athens, georgia written by: sarah h. hall federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia anna parkes' bright eyes sparkled as she watched the crowd that thronged the hallway outside the office where she awaited admittance. a trip to the downtown section is a rare event in the life of an year old negress, and, accompanied by her daughter, she was making the most of this opportunity to see the world that lay so far from the door of the little cottage where she lives on strong street. when asked if she liked to talk of her childhood days before the end of the civil war, she eagerly replied: "'deed, i does." she was evidently delighted to have found someone who actually wanted to listen to her, and proudly continued: "dem days sho' wuz sompin' to talk 'bout. i don't never git tired of talkin' 'bout 'em. paw, he wuz olmstead lumpkin, and ma wuz liza lumpkin, and us b'longed to jedge joe henry lumpkin. us lived at de lumpkin home place on prince avenue. i wuz born de same week as miss callie cobb, and whilst i don't know z'ackly what day i wuz born, i kin be purty sho' 'bout how many years ole i is by axin' how ole miss callie is. fust i 'members much 'bout is totin' de key basket 'round 'hind ole miss when she give out de vittals. i never done a gawd's speck of work but dat. i jes' follered 'long atter ole miss wid 'er key basket. "did dey pay us any money? lawsy, lady! what for? us didn't need no money. ole marster and ole miss all time give us plenty good sompin' teat, and clo'es, and dey let us sleep in a good cabin, but us did have money now and den. a heap of times us had nickles and dimes. dey had lots of comp'ny at ole marster's, and us allus act mighty spry waitin' on 'em, so dey would 'member us when dey lef'. effen it wuz money dey gimme, i jes' couldn't wait to run to de sto' and spend it for candy." "what else did you buy with the money?", she was asked. "nuffin' else," was the quick reply. "all a piece of money meant to me dem days, wuz candy, and den mo' candy. i never did git much candy as i wanted when i wuz chillun." here her story took a rambling turn. "you see i didn't have to save up for nuffin'. ole marster and ole miss, dey took keer of us. dey sho' wuz good white folkses, but den dey had to be good white folkses, kaze ole marster, he wuz jedge lumpkin, and de jedge wuz bound to make evvybody do right, and he gwine do right his own self 'fore he try to make udder folkses behave deyselvs. ain't nobody, nowhar, as good to dey negroes as my white folkses wuz." "who taught you to say 'negroes' so distinctly?" she was asked. "ole marster," she promptly answered, "he 'splained dat us wuz not to be 'shamed of our race. he said us warn't no 'niggers'; he said us wuz 'negroes', and he 'spected his negroes to be de best negroes in de whole land. "old marster had a big fine gyarden. his negroes wukked it good, and us wuz sho' proud of it. us lived close in town, and all de negroes on de place wuz yard and house servants. us didn't have no gyardens 'round our cabins, kaze all of us et at de big house kitchen. ole miss had flowers evvywhar 'round de big house, and she wuz all time givin' us some to plant 'round de cabins. "all de cookin' wuz done at de big house kitchen, and hit wuz a sho' 'nough big kitchen. us had two boss cooks, and lots of helpers, and us sho' had plenny of good sompin' teat. dat's de gawd's trufe, and i means it. heap of folkses been tryin' to git me to say us didn't have 'nough teat and dat us never had nuffin' fittin' teat. but ole as i is, i cyan' start tellin' no lies now. i gotter die fo' long, and i sho' wants to be clean in de mouf and no stains or lies on my lips when i dies. our sompin' teat wuz a heap better'n what us got now. us had plenny of evvything right dar in de yard. chickens, ducks, geese, guineas, tukkeys, and de smoke'ouse full of good meat. den de mens, dey wuz all time goin' huntin', and fetchin' in wild tukkeys, an poddiges, and heaps and lots of 'possums and rabbits. us had many fishes as us wanted. de big fine shads, and perch, and trouts; dem wuz de fishes de jedge liked mos'. catfishes won't counted fittin' to set on de jedges table, but us negroes wuz 'lowed to eat all of 'em us wanted. catfishes mus' be mighty skace now kaze i don't know when ever i is seed a good ole river catfish a-flappin' his tail. dey flaps dey tails atter you done kilt 'em, and cleaned 'em, and drap 'em in de hot grease to fry. sometimes dey nigh knock de lid offen de fryin' pan. "ole marster buyed bill finch down de country somewhar', and dey called him 'william' at de big house. he wuz de tailor, and he made clo'es for de young marsters. william wuz right smart, and one of his jobs wuz to lock up all de vittals atter us done et much as us wanted. all of us had plenny, but dey won't nuffin' wasted 'round ole marster's place. "ole miss wuz young and pretty dem days, and ole marster won't no old man den, but us had to call 'em 'ole miss,' and 'ole marster,' kaze dey chilluns wuz called 'young marster' and 'young mistess' f'um de very day dey wuz born." when asked to describe the work assigned to little negroes, she quickly answered: "chilluns didn't do nuffin'. grownup negroes done all de wuk. all chilluns done wuz to frolic and play. i wuz jes' 'lowed ter tote de key basket kaze i wuz all time hangin' 'round de big house, and wanted so bad to stay close to my ma in de kitchen and to be nigh ole miss. "what sort of clo'es did i wear in dem days? why lady, i had good clo'es. atter my little mistesses wore dey clo'es a little, ole miss give 'em to me. ma allus made me wear clean, fresh clo'es, and go dressed up good all de time so i'd be fittin' to carry de key basket for ole miss. some of de udder slave chilluns had homemade shoes, but i allus had good sto'-bought shoes what my young mistess done outgrowed, or what some of de comp'ny gimme. comp'ny what had chilluns 'bout my size, gimme heaps of clo'es and shoes, and some times dey didn't look like dey'd been wore none hardly. "ole marster sho' had lots of negroes 'round his place. deir wuz aunt charlotte, and aunt julie, and de two cooks, and adeline, and mary, and edie, and jimmy. de mens wuz charlie, and floyd, and william, and daniel. i disremembers de res' of 'em. "ole marster never whipped none of his negroes, not dat i ever heared of. he tole 'em what he wanted done, and give 'em plenny of time to do it. dey wuz allus skeert effen dey didn't be smart and do right, dey might git sold to some marster dat would beat 'em, and be mean to 'em. us knowed dey won't many marsters as good to dey slaves as ole marster wuz to us. us would of most kilt ourself wukkin', fo' us would of give him a reason to wanna git rid of us. no ma'am, ole marster ain't never sold no slave, not whilst i kin 'member. us wuz allus skeert dat effen a negro git lazy and triflin' he might git sold. "no negro never runned away f'um our place. us didn't have nuffin' to run f'um, and nowhar to run to. us heared of patterollers but us won't 'fraid none kaze us knowed won't no patteroller gwine tech none of jedge lumpkin's negroes. "us had our own negro church. i b'lieves dey calls it foundry street whar de ole church wuz. us had meetin' evvy sunday. sometimes white preachers, and sometimes negro preachers done de preachin'. us didn't have no orgin or pianny in church den. de preacher hysted de hymns. no ma'am, i cyan' 'member no songs us sung den dat wuz no diffunt f'um de songs now-a-days, 'ceppen' dey got orgin music wid de singin' now. us had c'lections evvy sunday in church den, same as now. ole marster give us a little change for c'lection on sunday mawnin' kaze us didn't have no money of our own, and he knowed how big it made us feel ter drap money in de c'lection plate. us meferdis had our baptizin's right dar in de church, same as us does now. and 'vival meetin's. dey jes' broke out any time. out on de plantations dey jes' had 'vival meetin's in layin'-by times, but here in town us had 'em all durin' de year. ole marster used ter say: 'mo' 'vivals, better negroes.' "evvybody oughter be good and jine de church, but dey sho' oughtn't to jine effen dey still gwine to act like satan. "us chillun would git up long 'fore day chris'mas mawnin'. us used ter hang our stockin's over de fire place, but when chris'mas mawnin' come dey wuz so full, hit would of busted 'em to hang 'em up on a nail, so dey wuz allus layin' on ma's cheer when us waked up. us chillun won't 'lowed to go 'round de big house early on chris'mas mawnin' kaze us mought 'sturb our white folkses' rest, and den dey done already seed dat us got plenny santa claus in our own cabins. us didn't know nuffin' 'bout new years day when i wuz chillun. "when any of his negroes died ole marster wuz mighty extra good. he give plenny of time for a fun'ral sermon in de afternoon. most of da fun'rals wuz in de yard under de trees by de cabins. atter de sermon, us would go 'crost de hill to de negro buyin' ground, not far f'um whar our white folkses wuz buried. "us never bothered none 'bout booker washin'ton, or mister lincum, or none of dem folkses 'way off dar kaze us had our raisin' f'um de lumpkins and dey's de bes' folkses dey is anywhar'. won't no mister lincum or no booker washin'ton gwine to help us like ole marster and us knowed dat good and plenny. "i cyan' 'member much 'bout playin' no special games 'ceppin' 'ole hundud.' us would choose one, and dat one would hide his face agin' a tree whilst he counted to a hundud. den he would hunt for all de others. dey done been hidin' whilst he wuz countin'. us larned to count a-playin' 'ole hundud'. "no ma'am, us never went to no school 'til atter de war. den i went some at night. i wukked in de day time atter freedom come. my eyes bothered me so i didn't go to school much. "yes ma'am, dey took mighty good care of us effen us got sick. ole marster would call in doctor moore or doctor carleton and have us looked atter. de 'omans had extra good care when dey chilluns comed. 'til freedom come, i wuz too little to know much 'bout dat myself, but ma allus said dat negro 'omans and babies wuz looked atter better 'fore freedom come dan dey ever wuz anymo'. "atter de war wuz over, a big passel of yankee mens come to our big house and stayed. dey et and slept dar, and dey b'haved powerful nice and perlite to all our white folkses, and dey ain't bother jedge lumpkin's servants none. but den evvybody allus b'haved 'round jedge lumpkin's place. ain't nobody gwine to be brash 'nough to do no devilment 'round a jedges place. "hit was long atter de war 'fo' i married. i cyan' 'member nuffin' 'bout my weddin' dress. 'pears like to me i been married mos' all of my life. us jes' went to de preacher man's house and got married. us had eight chillun, but dey is all dead now 'ceppin' two; one son wukkin' way off f'um here, and my daughter in athens. "i knows i wuz fixed a heap better fo' de war, than i is now, but i sho' don't want no slav'ry to come back. it would be fine effen evvy negro had a marster like jedge lumpkin, but dey won't all dat sort." anna leaned heavily on her cane as she answered the knock on the front door when we visited her home. "come in," she invited, and led the way through her scrupulously tidy house to the back porch. "de sun feels good," she said, "and it sorter helps my rheumatiz. my rheumatiz been awful bad lately. i loves to set here whar i kin see dat my ole hen and little chickens don't git in no mischief." a small bucket containing chicken food was conveniently at hand, so she could scatter it on the ground to call her chickens away from depredations on the flowers. a little mouse made frequent excursions into the bucket and helped himself to the cracked grains in the chicken food. "don't mind him," she admonished, "he jes' plays 'round my cheer all day, and don't bother nuffin'." "you didn't tell anything about your brothers and sisters when you talked to me before," her visitor remarked. "well, i jes' couldn't 'member all at onct, but atter i got back home and rested up, i sot here and talked ter myself 'bout old times. my brudder charles wuz de coachman what drove ole marster's carriage, and anudder brudder wuz willie, and one wuz floyd. my sisters wuz jane and harriet. 'pears like to me dey wuz more of 'em, but some how i jes' cyan' 'member no more 'bout 'em. my husband wuz grant parkes and he tuk care of de gyardens and yards for de lumpkins. "i had one chile named caline, for ole miss. she died a baby. my daughter fannie done died long time ago, and my daughter liza, she wuks for a granddaughter of ole miss. i means, liza wuks for mister eddie lumpkin's daughter. i done plum clear forgot who mister eddie's daughter married. "i jes' cyan' recollec' whar my boy, floyd, stays. you oughter know, lady, hits de town whar de president lives. yes ma'am, washin'ton, dats de place whar my floyd is. i got one more son, but i done plum forgot his name, and whar he wuz las' time i heared f'um him. i don't know if he's livin' or dead. it sho' is bad to git so old you cyan' tell de names of yo' chilluns straight off widout havin' to stop and study, and den you cyan' allus 'member. "i done been studyin' 'bout da war times, and i 'members dat ole marster wuz mighty troubled 'bout his negroes when he heared a big crowd of yankee sojers wuz comin' to athens. folkses done been sayin' de yankees would pick out de bes' negroes and take 'em 'way wid 'em, and dere wuz a heap of talk 'bout de scandlous way dem yankee sojers been treatin' negro 'omans and gals. 'fore dey got here, ole marster sent mos' of his bes' negroes to augusta to git 'em out of danger f'um de fed'rals. howsome-ever de negroes dat he kept wid' 'im won't bothered none, kaze dem fed'rals 'spected de jedge and didn't do no harm 'round his place. "in augusta, i stayed on greene street wid a white lady named mrs. broome. no ma'am, i nebber done no wuk. i jes' played and frolicked, and had a good time wid mrs. broome's babies. she sho' wuz good to me. ma, she wukked for a negro 'oman named mrs. kemp, and lived in de house wid her. "ole marster sont for us atter de war wuz over, and us wuz mighty proud to git back home. times had done changed when us got back. mos' of ole marster's money wuz gone, and he couldn't take keer of so many negroes, so ma moved over near de gun fact'ry and started takin' in washin'. "de wust bother negroes had dem days wuz findin' a place to live. houses had to be built for 'em, and dey won't no money to build 'em wid. "one night, jes' atter i got in bed, some mens come walkin' right in ma's house widout knockin'. i jerked de kivver up over my head quick, and tried to hide. one of de mens axed ma who she wuz. ma knowed his voice, so she said: 'you knows me mister blank,' (she called him by his sho' 'nuff name) 'i'm liza lumpkin, and you knows i used to b'long to jedge lumpkin.' de udders jes' laughed at him and said: 'boy, she knows you, so you better not say nuffin' else.' den anudder man axed ma how she wuz makin' a livin'. ma knowed his voice too, and she called him by name and tole him us wuz takin' in washin' and livin' all right. dey laughed at him too, and den anudder one axed her sompin' and she called his name when she answered him too. den de leader say, 'boys, us better git out of here. these here hoods and robes ain't doin' a bit of good here. she knows ev'ry one of us and can tell our names.' den dey went out laughin' fit to kill, and dat wuz de onliest time de ku kluxers ever wuz at our house, leastways us s'posed dey wuz ku kluxers. "i don't 'member much 'bout no wuk atter freedom 'ceppin' de wash tub. maw larned me how to wash and iron. she said: 'some day i'll be gone f'um dis world, and you won't know nuffin' 'bout takin' keer of yo'self, lessen you larn right now.' i wuz mighty proud when i could do up a weeks washin' and take it back to my white folkses and git sho' 'nuff money for my wuk. i felt like i wuz a grown 'oman den. it wuz in dis same yard dat ma larned me to wash. at fust ma rented dis place. there wuz another house here den. us saved our washin' money and bought de place, and dis is de last of three houses on dis spot. evvy cent spent on dis place wuz made by takin' in washin' and de most of it wuz made washin' for mister eddie lumpkin's family. "heaps of udder negroes wuz smart like ma, and dey got along all right. dese days de young folkses don't try so hard. things comes lots easier for 'em, and dey got lots better chances dan us had, but dey don't pay no 'tention to nuffin' but spendin' all dey got, evvy day. boys is wuss'en gals. long time ago i done give all i got to my daughter. she takes keer of me. effen de roof leaks, she has it looked atter. she wuks and meks our livin'. i didn't want nobody to show up here atter i die and take nuffin' away f'um her. "i ain' never had no hard times. i allus been treated good and had a good livin'. course de rheumatiz done got me right bad, but i is still able to git about and tend to de house while my gal is off at wuk. i wanted to wash today, but i couldn't find no soap. my gal done hid de soap, kaze she say i'se too old to do my own washin' and she wanter wash my clo'es herse'f." in parting, the old woman said rather apologetically, "i couldn't tell you 'bout no sho' 'nuff hard times. atter de war i wukked hard, but i ain't never had no hard times". [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] "a talk with g.w. pattillo--ex-slave" [hw: age ] submitted by minnie b. ross typed by: j.c. russell - - [date stamp: may ] [tr: in informants list, g.w. pattillio] in the shelter provided by the department of public welfare, lives an old negro, g.w. pattillo, who was born in spaulding county, griffin, ga., in the year . his parents, harriett and jake pattillo, had twelve children, of whom he was the second youngest. their master was mr. t.j. ingram. however, they kept the name of their old master, mr. pattillo. master ingram, as he was affectionately called by his slaves, was considered a "middle class man," who owned acres of land, with one family of slaves, and was more of a truck farmer than a plantation owner. he raised enough cotton to supply the needs of his family and his slaves and enough cattle to furnish food, but his main crops were corn, wheat, potatoes and truck. with a few slaves and a small farm, master ingram was very lenient and kind to his slaves and usually worked with them in the fields. "we had no special time to begin or end the work for the day. if he got tired he would say, 'alright, boys, let's stop and rest,' and sometimes we didn't start working until late in the day." pattillo's mother was cook and general house servant, so well thought of by the ingram family that she managed the house as she saw fit and planned the meals likewise. young pattillo was considered a pet by everyone and hung around the mistress, since she did not have any children of her own. his job was to hand her the scissors and thread her needles. "i was her special pet," said pattillo, "and my youngest brother was the master's special pet." mr. and mrs. ingram never punished the children, nor allowed anyone but their parents to do so. if the boy became unruly, mrs. ingram would call his mother and say, "harriett, i think g.w. needs to be taken down a button hole lower." the master's house, called the "big house," was a two-story frame structure consisting of rooms. although not a mansion, it was fairly comfortable. the home provided for pattillo's family was a three-room frame house furnished comfortably with good home-made furniture. pattillo declared that he had never seen anyone on the ingram plantation punished by the owner, who never allowed the "paterrollers" to punish them either. master ingram placed signs at different points on his plantation which read thus: "paterrollers, fishing and hunting prohibited on this plantation." it soon became known by all that the ingram slaves were not given passes by their owner to go any place, consequently they were known as "old ingram's free niggers." master ingram could not write, but would tell his slaves to inform anyone who wished to know, that they belonged to j.d. ingram. "once," said pattillo, "my brother willis, who was known for his gambling and drinking, left our plantation and no one knew where he had gone. as we sat around a big open fire cracking walnuts, willis came up, jumped off his horse and fell to the ground. directly behind him rode a 'paterroller.' the master jumped up and commanded him to turn around and leave his premises. the 'paterroller' ignored his warning and advanced still further. the master then took his rifle and shot him. he fell to the ground dead and master ingram said to his wife, 'well, lucy, i guess the next time i speak to that scoundrel he will take heed.' the master then saddled his horse and rode into town. very soon a wagon came back and moved the body." the cotton raised was woven into cloth from which their clothing was made. "we had plenty of good clothing and food," pattillo continued. "the smokehouse was never locked and we had free access to the whole house. we never knew the meaning of a key." master ingram was very strict about religion and attending church. it was customary for everyone to attend the o'clock prayer services at his home every night. the bible was read by the mistress, after which the master would conduct prayer. children as well as grownups were expected to attend. on sundays, everybody attended church. separate churches were provided for the negroes, with white and colored preachers conducting the services. white deacons were also the deacons of the colored churches and a colored man was never appointed deacon of a church. only white ministers were priviliged to give the sacrament and do the baptizing. their sermons were of a strictly religious nature. when a preacher was unable to read, someone was appointed to read the text. the preacher would then build his sermon from it. of course, during the conference period, colored as well as white ministers were privileged to make the appointments. the negroes never took up collections but placed their money in an envelope and passed it in. it was their own money, earned with the master's consent, by selling apples, eggs, chickens, etc. concerning marriages, pattillo believes in marriages as they were in the olden days. "ef two people felt they wuz made for each other, they wuz united within themselves when they done git the master's 'greement, then live together as man and wife, an' that was all. now, you got to buy a license and pay the preacher." loss of life among slaves was a calamity and if a doctor earned a reputation for losing his patients, he might as well seek a new community. often his downfall would begin by some such comment as, "dr. brown lost old man ingram's nigger john. he's no good and i don't intend to use him." the value of slaves varied, from $ to $ , , depending on his or her special qualifications. tradesmen such as blacksmiths, shoe makers, carpenters, etc., were seldom sold under $ , . rather than sell a tradesman slave, owners kept them in order to make money by hiring them out to other owners for a set sum per season. however, before the deal was closed the lessee would have to sign a contract which assured the slave's owner that the slave would receive the best of treatment while in possession. pattillo remembers hearing his parents say the north and south had disagreed and abraham lincoln was going to free the slaves. although he never saw a battle fought, there were days when he sat and watched the long line of soldiers passing, miles and miles of them. master ingram did not enlist but remained at home to take care of his family and his possessions. after the war ended, master ingram called his slaves together and told them of their freedom, saying, "mr. lincoln whipped the south and we are going back to the union. you are as free as i am and if you wish to remain here you may. if not, you may go any place you wish. i am not rich but we can work together here for both our families, sharing everything we raise equally." pattillo's family remained there until . some owners kept their slaves in ignorance of their freedom. others were kind enough to offer them homes and help them to get a start. after emancipation, politics began to play a part in the lives of ex-slaves, and many were approached by candidates who wanted to buy their votes. pattillo tells of an old ex-slave owner named greeley living in upson county who bought an ex-slaves vote by giving him as payment a ham, a sack of flour and a place to stay on his plantation. after election, he ordered the ex-slave to get the wagon, load it with his possessions and move away from his plantation. astonished, the old negro asked why. "because," replied old greeley, "if you allow anyone to buy your vote and rob you of your rights as a free citizen, someone could hire you to set my house on fire." pattillo remebers slavery gratefully and says he almost wishes these days were back again. ex-slave interview alec pope, age rockspring street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby federal writers' project athens, ga. edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, ga. april , [date stamp: may ] alec lives with his daughter, ann whitworth. when asked if he liked to talk about his childhood days, he answered: "yes ma'am, but is you one of dem pension ladies?" the negative reply was an evident disappointment to alec, but it did not hinder his narrative: "well, i wuz born on de line of clarke and oglethorpe counties, way down de country. celia and willis pope wuz my ma and pa. lawdy! mist'ess, i don't know whar dey come f'um; 'peers lak pa's fust marster wuz named pope. dat's de onlies' last name i ever ricollec' us havin'. "dere wuz a passel of us chillun. my sisters wuz sallie, phebie ann, nelia, and millie. my brudders wuz anderson, osborn, george, robert, squire, jack, and willis. willis wuz named for pa and us nicknamed 'im tuck. "de slave quarters wuz little log houses scattered here and dar. some of 'em had two rooms on de fust flo' and a loft up 'bove whar de boys most genially slep' and de gals slep' downstairs. i don't 'member nothin' t'all 'bout what us done 'cept scrap lak chilluns will do. "oh! i ain't forgot 'bout dem beds. dey used cords for springs, and de cords run f'um head to foot; den dey wove 'em 'cross de bed 'til dey looked lak checks. wheat straw wuz sewed up in ticks for mattresses. when you rolled 'round on one of dem straw mattresses, de straw crackled and sounded lak rain. no ma'am, i don't know nothin' t'all 'bout my gran'pa and gran'ma. "i wuz de reg'lar water boy, and i plowed some too. 'course dere wuz so many on dat plantation it tuk more'n one boy to tote de water. money? dis nigger couldn't git no money in dem days. "us sho' had plenty somepin' t'eat, sich as meat, and cornbread, and good old wheat bread what wuz made out of seconds. dere wuz lots of peas, corn, cabbage, irish 'tatoes, sweet 'tatoes, and chickens, sometimes. yes ma'am, sometimes. i laks coffee, but us niggers didn't have much coffee. dat wuz for de white folkses at de big house. cookin' wuz done in de fireplace in great big spiders. some of de biggest of de spiders wuz called ovens. dey put coals of fire underneath and more coals on top of de lid. ma baked bread and 'taters in de ashes. in winter she put de dough in a collard leaf so it wouldn't burn. in summer green corn shucks wuz wrapped 'round de dough 'stid of collard leaves. all de fish and 'possums and rabbits us had wuz cotch right dar on old marster's place, 'cause if one of our niggers got cotch offen our place hit wuz jes' too bad. i sho' does love 'possum, and us had lots of 'em, 'cause my brudder used to ketch 'em by de wholesale wid a dog he had, and dat same dog wuz a powerful good rabbit hound too. "us had pretty good clothes most all de year 'round. in summer, shirts, and pants wuz made out of coarse cotton cloth. sometimes de pants wuz dyed gray. winter time us had better clothes made out of yarn and us allus had good sunday clothes. 'course i wuz jes' a plow boy den and now i done forgot lots 'bout how things looked. our shoes wuz jes' common brogans, no diff'unt on sunday, 'ceppin' de nigger boys what wuz shinin' up to de gals cleaned up deir shoes dat day. "our marster wuz mr. mordecai ed'ards. well, he wuz pretty good--not too good. he tried to make you do right, but if you didn't he would give you a good brushin'. miss martha, old marster's old 'oman, warn't good as old marster, but she done all right. dey had a heap of chillun: miss susan, miss mary, miss callie, miss alice, and it 'peers to me lak dere wuz two mo' gals, but i can't 'call 'em now. den dere wuz some boys: marse billy, marse jim, marse john, marse frank, and marse howard. marse frank ed'ards lives on milledge avenue now. "old marster and old mist'ess lived in a great big fine house what looked to me lak one of dese big hotels does now. marse jack ed'ards wuz de fust overseer i can ricollec'. he wuz kin to old marster. marster had two or three mo' overseers at diff'unt times, but i don't ricollec' dey names. dere wuz two car'iage drivers. henry driv de gals 'round and albert wuz old mist'ess' driver. old marster had his own hoss and buggy, and most of de time he driv for hisself, but he allus tuk a little nigger boy namad jordan 'long to help him drive and to hold de hoss. "lawdy! mist'ess, i couldn't rightly say how many acres wuz in dat plantation. i knowed he had two plantations wid fine houses on 'em. he jes' had droves and droves of niggers and when dey got scattered out over de fields, dey looked lak blackbirds dere wuz so many. you see i wuz jes' a plow boy and didn't know nothin' 'bout figgers and countin'. "de overseer got us up 'bout four o'clock in de mornin' to feed de stock. den us et. us allus stopped off by dark. mist'ess dere's a old sayin' dat you had to brush a nigger in dem days to make 'em do right. dey brushed us if us lagged in de field or cut up de cotton. dey could allus find some fault wid us. marster brushed us some time, but de overseer most gen'ally done it. i 'members dey used to make de 'omans pull up deir skirts and brushed 'em wid a horse whup or a hickory; dey done de mens de same way 'cept dey had to take off deir shirts and pull deir pants down. niggers sho' would holler when dey got brushed. "jails! yes ma'am, dey had 'em way down in lexin'ton. you know some niggers gwine steal anyhow, and dey put 'em in dere for dat mostly. i didn't never see nobody sold or in chains. de only chains i ever seed wuz on hosses and plows. "mist'ess, niggers didn't have no time to larn to read in no bible or nothin' lak dat in slav'ry time. us went to church wid de white folkses if us wanted to, but us warn't 'bleeged to go. de white folkses went to church at cherokee corner. dere warn't no special church for niggers 'til long atter de war when dey built one out nigh de big road. "some of de niggers run away to de nawth--some dey got back, some dey didn't. dem patterollers had lots of fun if dey cotch a nigger, so dey could brush 'im to hear 'im holler. de onlies' trouble i ever heard 'bout twixt de whites and blacks wuz when a nigger sassed a white man and de white man shot 'im. h'it served dat nigger right, 'cause he oughta knowed better dan to sass a white man. de trouble ended wid dat shot. "de most niggers ever done for a good time wuz to have little parties wid heaps of fidlin' and dancin'. on sunday nights dey would have prayer meetin's. dem patterollers would come and break our prayer meetin's up and brush us if dey cotch us. "chris'mas wuz somepin' else. us had awful good times den, 'cause de white folkses at de big house give us plenty of goodies for chris'mas week and us had fidlin' and dancin'. us would ring up de gals and run all 'round 'em playin' dem ring-'round-de-rosie games. us had more good times at corn shuckin's, and old marster allus had a little toddy to give us den to make us wuk faster. "oh! no ma'am, i don't 'member nothin' 'bout what us played when i wuz a little chap, and if i ever knowed anything 'bout rawhead and bloody bones and sich lak i done plumb forgot it now. but i do know old marster and old mist'ess sho' wuz powerful good when dey niggers got sick. dey put a messenger boy on a mule and sont 'im for dr. hudson quick, 'cause to lose a nigger wuz losin' a good piece of property. some niggers wore some sort of beads 'round deir necks to keep sickness away and dat's all i calls to mind 'bout dat charm business. "i wuz jes' a plow boy so i didn't take in 'bout de surrender. de only thing i ricollects 'bout it wuz when old marster told my pa and ma us wuz free and didn't belong to him no more. he said he couldn't brush de grown folks no more, but if dey wanted to stay wid 'im dey could, and dat he would brush dey chilluns if dey didn't do right. ma told 'im he warn't gwine brush none of her chilluns no more. "us lived wid old marster 'bout a year, den pa moved up on de big road. buy land? no ma'am, niggers didn't have no money to buy no land wid 'til dey made it. i didn't take in 'bout mr. lincoln, only dat thoo' him us wuz sot free. i heard 'em say mr. davis wuz de president of de south, and 'bout booker washin'ton some of de niggers tuk him in, but i didn't bodder 'bout him. "lawdy! mist'ess, i didn't marry de fust time 'til long atter de war, and now i done been married three times. i had a awful big weddin' de fust time. de white man what lived on de big road not far f'um us said he never seed sich a weddin' in his life. us drunk and et, and danced and cut de buck most all night long. most all my chilluns is dead. i b'lieve my fust wife had or chilluns. i know i had a passel fust and last; and jes' to tell you de trufe, dere jes' ain't no need to stop and try to count de grand chilluns. all three of my wives done daid and i'm lookin' for anudder one to take keer of me now. "why did i jine de church? 'cause i jes' think evvybody oughta jine if dey wanna do right so'se dey can go to heben. i feels lak a diff'unt man since i done jined and i knows de lord has done forgive me for all my sins. "mist'ess ain't you thoo' axin' me questions yit? anyhow i wuz thinkin' you wuz one of dem pension ladies." when he was told that the interview was completed, alec said: "i sho' is glad, 'cause i feels lak takin' a little nap atter i eat dese pecans what i got in my pocket. goodbye mist'ess." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] whitley, driskell - - slavery as witnessed by annie price [date stamp: may ] mrs. annie price was born in spaulding county, georgia october , . although only a mere child when freedom was declared she is able to relate quite a few events in her own life as well as some of the experiences of other slaves who lived in the same vicinity as she. her mother and father abe and caroline were owned by a young married couple named kennon. (when this couple were married abe and caroline had been given as wedding presents by the bride's and the groom's parents). besides her parents there four brothers and five sisters all of whom were younger than she with one exception. the first thing that she remembers of her mother is that of seeing her working in the "marster's" kitchen. mr. kennon was described as being a rather young man who was just getting a start in life. his family consisted of his wife and about five children. he was not a mean individual. the plantation on which he lived was a small one, having been given to him by his father (whose plantation adjoined) in order to give him a start. mr. kennon owned one other slave besides mrs. price and her family while his father owned a large number some of whom he used to lend to the younger mr. kennon. cotton and all kinds of vegetables were raised. there was also some live stock. as mr. kennon owned only a few slaves it was necessary for these few persons to do all of the work. says mrs. price: "my mother had to do everything from cultivating cotton to cooking." the same was true of her father and the other servant. before the break of day each morning they were all called to prepare for the day's work. mrs. price then told how she has seen the men of her plantation and those of the adjoining one going to the fields at this unearthly hour eating their breakfast while sitting astride the back of a mule. after her mother had finished cooking and cleaning the house she was sent to the field to help the men. when it was too dark to see all field hands were permitted to return to their cabins. this same routine was followed each day except sundays when they were permitted to do much as they pleased. when the weather was too bad for field work they shelled corn and did other types of work not requiring too much exposure. holidays were unheard of on the kennon plantation. as a little slave girl the only work that mrs. price ever had to do was to pick up chips and bark for her mother to cook with. the rest of the time was spent in playing with the "marster's" little girls. "the servants on our plantation always had a plenty of clothes," continued mrs. price, "while those on the plantation next to ours (mrs. kennon's father) never had enough, especially in the winter." this clothing was given when it was needed and not at any specified time as was the case on some of the other plantations in that community. all of these articles were made on the plantation and the materials that were mostly used were homespun (which was also woven on the premises) woolen goods, cotton goods and calico. it has been mentioned before that the retinue of servants was small in number and so for this reason all of them had a reasonable amount of those clothes that had been discarded by the master and the mistress. after the leather had been cured it was taken to the tannery where crude shoes called "twenty grands" were made. these shoes often caused the wearer no little amount of discomfort until they were thoroughly broken in. for bedding, homespun sheets were used. the quilts and blankets were made from pieced cotton material along with garments that were unfit for further wear. whenever it was necessary to dye any of these articles a type of dye made by boiling the bark from trees was used. in the same manner that clothing was plentiful so was there always enough food. when mrs. price was asked if the slaves owned by mr. kennon were permitted to cultivate a garden of their own she stated that they did'nt need to do this because of the fact that mr. kennon raised everything that was necessary and they often had more than enough. their week-day diet usually consisted of fried meat, grits, syrup and corn bread for breakfast; vegetables, pot liquor or milk, and corn bread for dinner; and for supper there was milk and bread or fried meat and bread. on sunday they were given a kind of flour commonly known as the "seconds" from which biscuits were made. "sometimes", continued mrs. price, "my mother brought us the left-overs from the master's table and this was usually a meal by itself". in addition to this mr. kennon allowed hunting as well as fishing and so on many days there were fish and roast 'possum. food on the elder mr. kennon plantation was just as scarce as it was plentiful on his son's. when asked how she knew about this mrs. price told how she had seen her father take meat from his master's smoke house and hide it so that he could give it to those slaves who invaribly slipped over at night in search of food. the elder mr. kennon had enough food but he was too mean to see his slaves enjoy themselves by having full stomachs. all cooking on mrs. price's plantation was done by her mother. all of the houses on the kennon plantation were made of logs including that of mr. kennon himself. there were only two visible differences in the dwelling places of the slaves and that of mr. kennon and there were ( ) several rooms instead of the one room allowed the slaves and ( ) weatherboard was used on the inside to keep the weather out while the slaves used mud to serve for this purpose. in these crude one-roomed houses (called stalls) there was a bed made of some rough wood. rope tied from side to side served as the springs for the mattress which was a bag filled with straw and leaves. there were also one or two boxes which were used as chairs. the chimney was made of rocks and mud. all cooking was done here at the fireplace. mrs. price says; "even old marster did'nt have a stove to cook on so you know we did'nt." the only available light was that furnished by the fire. only one family was allowed to a cabin so as to prevent overcrowding. in addition to a good shingle roof each one of these dwellings had a board floor. all floors were of dirt on the plantation belonging to the elder mr. kennon. a doctor was employed to attend to those persons who were sick. however he never got chance to practice on the kennon premises as there was never any serious illness. minor cases of sickness were usually treated by giving the patient a dose of castor oil or several doses of some form of home made medicine which the slaves made themselves from roots that they gathered in the woods. in order to help keep his slaves in good health mr. kennon required them to keep the cabins they occupied and their surroundings clean at all times. mrs. price said that the slaves had very few amusements and as far as she can remember she never saw her parents indulge in any form of play at all. she remembers, however, that on the adjoining plantation the slaves often had frolics where they sang and danced far into the night. these frolics were not held very often but were usually few and far between. as there was no church on the plantation mr. kennon gave them a pass on sundays so that they could attend one of the churches that the town afforded. the sermons they heard were preached by a white preacher and on rare occasions by a colored preacher. whenever the colored pastor preached there were several white persons present to see that [hw: no] doctrine save that laid down by them should be preached. all of the marrying on both plantations [tr: duplicate section removed here] was done by a preacher. it has been said that a little learning is a dangerous thing and this certainly was true as far as the slaves were concerned, according to mrs. price. she says: "if any of us were ever caught with a book we would get a good whipping." because of their great fear of such a whipping none of them ever attempted to learn to read or to write. as a general rule mrs. price and the other nembers of her family were always treated kindly by the kennon family. none of them were ever whipped or mistreated in any way. mrs. price says that she has seen slaves on the adjoining plantation whipped until the blood ran. she describes the sight in the following manner. "the one to be whipped was tied across a log or to a tree and then his shirt was dropped around his waist and he was lashed with a cow hide whip until his back was raw." whippings like these were given when a slave was unruly or disobedient or when he ran away. before a runaway slave could be whipped he had to be caught and the chief way of doing this was to put the blood hounds (known to the slaves as "nigger hounds") on the fugitive's trail. mrs. price once saw a man being taken to his master after he had been caught by the dogs. she says that his skin was cut and torn in any number of places and he looked like one big mass of blood. her father once ran away to escape a whipping.(this was during the civil war), and he was able to elude the dogs as well as his human pursuers. when asked about the final outcome of this escape mrs. price replied that her father remained in hiding until the war was over with and then he was able to show himself without any fear. she has also seen slaves being whipped by a group of white men when her parents said were the "paddie-rollers". it was their duty to whip those slaves who were caught away from their respective plantations without a "pass", she was told. according to mrs. price the jails were built for the "white folks". when a slave did something wrong his master punished him. she does'nt remember anything about the beginning of the civil war neither did she understand its significance until mr. kennon died as a result of the wounds that he received while in action. this impressed itself on her mind indelibly because mr. kennon was the first dead person she had ever seen. the yankee troops did'nt come near their plantation and so they had a plenty of food to satisfy their needs all during the war. even after the war was over there was still a plenty of all the necessities of life. when mrs. kennon informed them that they were free to go or to stay as they pleased, her father, who had just come out of hiding, told mrs. kennon that he did not want to remain on the plantation any longer than it was necessary to get his family together. he said that he wanted to get out to himself so that he could see how it felt to be free. mrs. price says that as young as she was she felt very happy because the yoke of bondage was gone and she knew that she could have a privelege like everybody else. and so she and her family moved away and her father began farming for himself. his was prosperous until his death. after she left the plantation of her birth she lived with her father until she became a grown woman and then she married a mr. price who was also a farmer. mrs. price believes that she has lived to reach such a ripe old age because she has always served god and because she always tried to obey those older than she. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] a few facts of slavery by charlie pye--ex-slave [date stamp: may -- --] the writer was much surprised to learn that the person whom she was about to interview was nine years old when the civil war ended. his youthful appearance at first made her realize that probably he was not an ex-slave after all. very soon she learned differently. another surprise followed the first in that his memory of events during that period was very hazy. the few facts learned are related as follows: mr. charlie pye was born in columbus, ga., and was the ninth child of his parents, tom pye and emmaline highland. tom pye, the father, belonged to volantine pye, owner of a plantation in columbus, ga. known as the lynch and pye plantation. mr. pye's mistress was miss mary ealey, who later married a mr. watts. miss ealey owned a large number of slaves, although she did not own a very large plantation. quite a few of her slaves were hired out to other owners. the workers on the plantation were divided into two or more groups, each group having a different job to do. for instance, there were the plow hands, hoe hands, log cutters, etc. mr. pye's mother was a plow hand and besides this, she often had to cut logs. mr. pye was too young to work and spent most of his time playing around the yards. houses on the ealey plantation were built of pine poles after which the cracks were filled with red mud. most of these houses consisted of one room; however, a few were built with two rooms to accommodate the larger families. the beds, called "bunks" by mr. pye were nailed to the sides of the room. roped bottoms covered with a mattress of burlap and hay served to complete this structure called a bed. benches and a home made table completed the furnishings. there were very few if any real chairs found in the slave homes. the houses and furniture were built by skilled negro carpenters who were hired by the mistress from other slave owners. a kind slave owner would allow a skilled person to hire his own time and keep most of the pay which he earned. plenty of food was raised on the ealey plantation, but the slave families were restricted to the same diet of corn meal, syrup, and fat bacon. children were fed "pot likker", milk and bread from poplar troughs, from which they ate with wooden spoons. grown-ups ate with wooden forks. slaves were not allowed to raise gardens of their own, although mr. pye's uncle was given the privilege of owning a rice patch, which he worked at night. in every slave home was found a wooden loom which was operated by hands and feet, and from which the cloth for their clothing was made. when the work in the fields was finished women were required to come home and spin one cut (thread) at night. those who were not successful in completing this work were punished the next morning. men wore cotton shirts and pants which were dyed different colors with red oak bark, alum and copper. copper produced an "indigo blue color." "i have often watched dye in the process of being made," remarked mr. pye. mr. pye's father was a shoemaker and made all shoes needed on the plantation. the hair was removed from the hides by a process known as tanning. red oak bark was often used for it produced an acid which proved very effective in tanning hides. slaves were given shoes every three months. to see that everyone continued working an overseer rode over the plantation keeping check on the workers. if any person was caught resting he was given a sound whipping. mr. pye related the following incident which happened on the ealey plantation. "a young colored girl stopped to rest for a few minutes and my uncle stopped also and spoke to her. during this conversation the overseer came up and began whipping the girl with a "sapling tree." my uncle became very angry and picked up an axe and hit the overseer in the head, killing him. the mistress was very fond of my uncle and kept him hid until she could "run him." running a slave was the method they used in sending a slave to another state in order that he could escape punishment and be sold again. you were only given this privilege if it so happened that you were cared for by your mistress and master." overseers on the ealey plantation were very cruel and whipped slaves unmercifully. another incident related by mr. pye was as follows: "my mother resented being whipped and would run away to the woods and often remained as long as twelve months at a time. when the strain of staying away from her family became too great, she would return home. no sooner would she arrive than the old overseer would tie her to a peach tree and whip her again. the whipping was done by a "nigger driver," who followed the overseer around with a bull whip; especially for this purpose. the largest man on the plantation was chosen to be the "nigger driver." "every slave had to attend church, although there were no separate churches provided for them. however, they were allowed to occupy the benches which were placed in the rear of the church. to attend church on another plantation, slaves had to get a pass or suffer punishment from the "pader rollers." (patrollers) "we didn't marry on our plantation", remarked mr. pye. after getting the consent of both masters the couple jumped the broom, and that ended the so called ceremony. following the marriage there was no frolic or celebration. "sometimes quilting parties were held in the various cabins on the plantation. everyone would assist in making the winter bed covering for one family one night and the next night for some other family, and so on until everyone had sufficient bed covering. "a doctor was only called when a person had almost reached the last stages of illness. illness was often an excuse to remain away from the field. "blue mass pills", castor oil, etc. were kept for minor aches and pains. when a slave died he was buried as quickly as a box could be nailed together. "i often heard of people refugeeing during the civil war period," remarked mr. pye. "in fact, our mistress refugeed to alabama trying to avoid meeting the yanks, but they came in another direction. on one occasion the yanks came to our plantation, took all the best mules and horses, after which they came to my mother's cabin and made her cook eggs for them. they kept so much noise singing, "i wish i was in dixie" that i could not sleep. after freedom we were kept in ignorance for quite a while but when we learned the truth my mother was glad to move away with us." "immediately after the war ex-slave families worked for one-third and one-fourth of the crops raised on different plantations. years later families were given one-half of the crops raised." mr. pye ended the interview by telling the writer that he married at the age of years and was the father of two children, one of whom is living. he is a baptist, belonging to mount zion church, and has attended church regularly and believes that by leading a clean, useful life he has lengthened his days on this earth. during his lifetime mr. pye followed railroad work. recently, however, he has had to give this up because of his health. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] subject: charlotte raines--oglethorpe co. district: w.p.a. no. research worker: john n. booth date: january , [date stamp: jan ] [date stamp: may ] aunt charlotte raines, well up in the seventies at the time of her death some years ago, was an excellent example of the type of negro developed by the economic system of the old south. when i could first remember, charlotte was supreme ruler of the kitchen of my home. thin to emaciation and stooped almost to the point of having a hump on her back she was yet wiry and active. her gnarled old hands could turn out prodigous amounts of work when she chose to extend herself. her voice was low and musical and she seldom raised it above the ordinary tone of conversation; yet when she spoke other colored people hastened to obey her and even the whites took careful note of what she said. her head was always bound in a snow-white turban. she wore calico or gingham print dresses and white aprons and these garments always appeared to be freshly laundered. charlotte seldom spoke unless spoken to and she would never tell very much about her early life. she had been trained as personal maid to one of her ex-master's daughters. this family, (that of swepson h. cox) was one of the most cultured and refined that lexington, in oglethorpe county, could boast. aunt charlotte never spoke of her life under the old regime but she had supreme contempt for "no count niggers that didn't hav' no white folks". she was thrifty and frugal. having a large family, most of her small earnings was spent on them. however, she early taught her children to scratch for themselves. two of her daughters died after they had each brought several children into the world. charlotte thought they were being neglected by their fathers and proceeded to take them "to raise myse'f". these grand children were the apple of her eye and she did much more for them than she had done for her own children. the old woman had many queer ways. typical of her eccentricities was her iron clad refusal to touch one bite of food in our house. if she wished a dish she was preparing tasted to see that it contained the proper amount of each ingredient she would call some member of the family, usually my grandmother, and ask that he or she sample the food. paradoxically, she had no compunctions about the amount of food she carried home for herself and her family. strange as it may seem, charlotte was an incorrigible rogue. my mother and my grandmother both say that they have seen her pull up her skirts and drop things into a flour sack which she always wore tied round her waist just for this purpose. i myself have seen this sack so full that it would bump against her knee. she did not confine her thefts to food only. she would also take personal belongings. another servant in the household once found one of aunt charlotte's granddaughters using a compact that she had stolen from her young mistress. the servant took the trinket away from the girl and returned it to the owner but nothing was ever said to aunt charlotte although every one knew she had stolen it. one year when the cherry crop was exceptionally heavy, grandmother had charlotte make up a huge batch of cherry preserves in an iron pot. while charlotte was out of the kitchen for a moment she went in to have a look at the preserves and found that about half of them had been taken out. a careful but hurried search located the missing portion hidden in another container behind the stove. grandmother never said a word but simply put the amount that had been taken out back in the pot. charlotte never permitted anyone to take liberties with her except uncle daniel, the "man of all work" and another ex-slave. daniel would josh her about some "beau" or about her over-fondness for her grandchildren. she would take just so much of this and then with a quiet "g'long with you", she would send him on about his business. once when he pressed her a bit too far she hurled a butcher knife at him. charlotte was not a superstitious soul. she did not even believe that the near-by screech of an owl was an omen of death. however, she did have some fearful and wonderful folk remedies. when you got a bee sting charlotte made daniel spit tobacco juice on it. she always gave a piece of fat meat to babies because this would make them healthy all their lives. her favorite remedy was to put a pan of cold water under the bed to stop "night sweats." in her last years failing eye-sight and general ill health forced her to give up her active life. almost a complete shut-in, she had a window cut on the north side of her room so she could "set and see whut went on up at mis' molly's" (her name for my grandmother). she was the perfect hostess and whenever any member of our family went to see how she did during those latter days she always served locust beer and cookies. once when i took her a bunch of violets she gave me an old coin that she had carried on her person for years. mother didn't want me to take it because charlotte's husband had given it to her and she set great store by it. however, the old woman insisted that i be allowed to keep the token arguing it would not be of use to her much longer anyway. she died about a month later and in accordance with her instructions her funeral was conducted like "white folk's buryin'", that is without the night being filled with wailing and minus the usual harangue at the church. even in death charlotte still thought silence golden. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] subject: fanny randolph--ex-slave jefferson, georgia research worker: mrs. mattie b. roberts editor: john n. booth supervisor: miss velma bell district: w.p.a. no. date: march , [date stamp: may ] perhaps the oldest ex-slave living today is found in jefferson, georgia. fanny randolph is a little old wrinkled-faced woman, but at the time of our visit she was very neat in a calico dress and a white apron with a bandanna handkerchief around her head. we saw her at the home of a niece with whom she lives, all of her own family being dead. her room was tidy, and she had a bright log fire burning in the wide old fire place. she readily consented to talk about slavery times. "honey, i doan know how ole i is, but i'se been here er long time and i'se been told by folks whut knows, dat i'se, maybe, mo' dan er hunderd years ole. i 'members back er long time befo' de war. my mammy and daddy wuz bofe slaves. my daddy's name wuz daniel white an' my mammy's name befo' she married wuz sarah moon, she b'longed ter marse bob moon who lived in jackson county over near whar winder is now. he wuz er big landowner an' had lots uv slaves." "when i wuz 'bout nine years ole, marse bob tuk me up ter de "big house" ter wait on ole mistis. i didn't hav' much ter do, jes' had ter he'p 'er dress an' tie 'er shoes an' run eroun' doin' errands fur 'er. yer know, in dem times, de white ladies had niggers ter wait on 'em an' de big niggers done all de hard wuk 'bout de house an' yard." "atter some years my mammy an' daddy bofe died, so i jes' stayed at de "big house" an' wukked on fer marse bob an' ole mistis." "atter i growed up, us niggers on marse bob's plantation had big times at our corn shuckin's an' dances. us 'ud all git tergether at one uv de cabins an us 'ud have er big log fire an' er room ter dance in. den when us had all shucked corn er good while ever nigger would git his gal an' dey would be some niggers over in de corner ter play fer de dance, one wid er fiddle an' one ter beat straws, an' one wid er banjo, an' one ter beat bones, an' when de music 'ud start up (dey gener'ly played 'billy in de low grounds' or 'turkey in de straw') us 'ud git on de flo'. den de nigger whut called de set would say: 'all join hands an' circle to de lef, back to de right, swing corners, swing partners, all run away!' an' de way dem niggers feets would fly!" "bye an' bye de war come on, an' all de men folks had ter go an' fight de yankees, so us wimmen folks an' chillun had er hard time den caze us all had ter look atter de stock an' wuk in de fiel's. den us 'ud hear all 'bout how de yankees wuz goin' aroun' an' skeerin' de wimmen folks mos' ter death goin' in dey houses an' making de folks cook 'em stuff ter eat, den tearin' up an' messin' up dey houses an' den marchin' on off." "den when ole mistis 'ud hear de yankees wuz comin' she'd call us niggers en us 'ud take all de china, silver, and de joolry whut b'longed ter ole miss an' her family an' dig deep holes out b'hind de smoke-house or under de big house, en bury h'it all 'tell de yankees 'ud git by." "dem wuz dark days, but atter er long time de war wuz over an' dey tole us us wuz free, i didn't want ter leave my white folks so i stayed on fer sometime, but atter while de nigger come erlong whut i married. his name wuz tom randolph an' befo' de war he b'longed ter marse joshua randolph, who lived at jefferson, so den us moved ter jefferson. us had thirteen chillun, but dey's all daid now an' my ole man is daid too, so i'se here all by my se'f an' ef h'it warn't fer my two nieces here, who lets me liv' wid 'em i doan know whut i'd do." "i'se allus tried ter do de right thin' an' de good lawd is takin' keer uv me fer his prophet say in de good book, 'i'se been young and now am ole, yet i'se nebber seed de righteous fersaken ner his seed beggin' bread!' so i ain't worryin' 'bout sumpin' ter eat, but i doan want ter stay here much longer onless h'its de good lawds will." asked if she was superstitious, she said: "well when i wuz young, i reckin' i wuz, but now my pore ole mine is jes so tired and h'it doan wuk lak h'it uster, so i never does think much 'bout superstition, but i doan lak ter heer er "squinch owl" holler in de night, fer h'it sho is a sign some uv yore folks is goin' ter die, en doan brin' er ax froo de house onless yer take h'it back de same way yer brung h'it in, fer dat 'ill kill de bad luck." when asked if she believed in ghosts or could "see sights" she said: "well, miss, yer know if yer is borned wid er veil over yer face yer can see sights but i has never seed any ghosts er sight's, i warn't born dat way, but my niece, here has seed ghostes, en she can tell yer 'bout dat." when we were ready to leave we said, "well, aunt fanny, we hope you live for many more years." she replied: "i'se willin' ter go on livin' ez long ez de marster wants me ter, still i'se ready when de summons comes. de good lawd has allus giv' me grace ter liv' by, an' i know he'll giv' me dyin' grace when my time comes." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] alberta minor re-search worker shade richards, ex-slave east solomon street griffin, georgia september , [date stamp: may ] shade richards was born january , on the jimpson neals plantation below zebulon in pike county. his father, alfred richards had been brought from africa and was owned by mr. williams on an adjoining plantation. his mother, easter richards was born in houston county but sold to mr. neal. shade being born on the plantation was mr. neal's property. he was the youngest of children. his real name was "shadrack" and the brother just older than he was named "meshack". sometimes the mothers named the babies but most of the time the masters did. mr. neal did shade's "namin'". shade's father came two or three times a month to see his family on mr. neal's plantation always getting a "pass" from his master for "niggers" didn't dare go off their own plantation without a "pass". before the war shade's grandfather came from africa to buy his son and take him home, but was taken sick and both father and son died. shade's earliest recollections of his mother are that she worked in the fields until "she was thru' bornin' chillun" then she was put in charge of the milk and butter. there were or cows to be milked twice a day and she had to have or other women helpers. mr. neal had several plantations in different localities and his family did not live on this one in pike county but he made regular visits to each one. it had no name, was just called "neal's place." it consisted of thirteen hundred acres. there were always two or three hundred slaves on the place, besides the ones he just bought and sold for "tradin'". he didn't like "little nigger men" and when he happened to find one among his slaves he would turn the dogs on him and let them run him down. the boys were not allowed to work in the fields until they were years old, but they had to wait on the hands, such as carrying water, running back to the shop with tools and for tools, driving wagons of corn, wheat etc. to the mill to be ground and any errands they were considered big enough to do. shade worked in the fields when he became years old. this plantation was large and raised everything--corn, wheat, cotton, "taters", tobacco, fruit, vegetables, rice, sugar cane, horses, mules, goats, sheep, and hogs. they kept all that was needed to feed the slaves then sent the surplus to savannah by the "curz". the stage took passengers, but the "curz" was or wagons that took the farm surplus to savannah, and "fetched back things for de house." mr. neal kept or hounds that had to be cooked for. he was "rich with plenty of money" always good to his slaves and didn't whip them much, but his son, "mr. jimmy, sure was a bad one". sometimes he'd use the cow hide until it made blisters, then hit them with the flat of the hand saw until they broke and next dip the victim into a tub of salty water. it often killed the "nigger" but "mr. jimmy" didn't care. he whipped shade's uncle to death. when the "hog killin' time come" it took nigger men a week to do it. the sides, shoulders, head and jowls were kept to feed the slaves on and the rest was shipped to savannah. mr. neal was good to his slaves and gave them every saturday to "play" and go to the "wrestling school". at xmas they had such a good time, would go from house to house, the boys would fiddle and they'd have a drink of liquor at each house. the liquor was plentiful for they bought it in barrels. the plantations took turn about having "frolics" when they "fiddled and danced" all night. if it wasn't on your own plantation you sure had to have a "pass". when a slave wanted to "jine the church" the preacher asked his master if he was a "good nigger", if the master "spoke up for you", you were "taken in," but if he didn't you weren't. the churches had a pool for the baptist preachers to baptize in and the methodist preacher sprinkled. mr. neal "traded" with dr. by the year and whenever the slaves were hurt or sick he had to come "tend" to them. he gave the families their food by the month, but if it gave out all they had to do was to ask for more and he always gave it to them. they had just as good meals during the week as on sunday, any kind of meat out of the smoke house, chickens, squabs, fresh beef, shoats, sheep, biscuits or cornbread, rice, potatoes, beans, syrup and any garden vegetables. sometimes they went fishing to add to their menu. the single male slaves lived together in the "boy house" and had just as much as others. there were a lot of women who did nothing but sew, making work clothes for the hands. their sunday clothes were bought with the money they made off the little "patches" the master let them work for themselves. mr. jimmy took shade to the war with him. shade had to wait on him as a body servant then tend to the two horses. bullets went through shade's coat and hat many times but "de lord was takin' care" of him and he didn't get hurt. they were in the battle of appomatox and "at the surrenderin'," april , , but the "evidence warn't sworn out until may , so that's when the niggers celebrate emancipation." shade's brother helped lay the r.r. from atlanta to macon so the confederate soldiers and ammunition could move faster. in those days a negro wasn't grown until he was regardless of how large he was. shade was "near 'bout" grown when the war was over but worked for mr. neal four years. his father and mother rented a patch, mule and plow from mr. neal and the family was together. at first they gave the niggers only a tenth of what they raised but they couldn't get along on it and after a "lot of mouthin' about it" they gave them a third. that wasn't enough to live on either so more "mouthin" about it until they gave them a half, "and thats what they still gits today." when the slaves went 'courtin' and the man and woman decided to get married, they went to the man's master for permission then to the woman's master. there was no ceremony if both masters said "alright" they were considered married and it was called "jumpin' the broomstick." signs were "more true" in the olden days than now. god lead his people by dreams then. one night shade dreamed of a certain road he used to walk over often and at the fork he found a lead pencil, then a little farther on he dreamed of a purse with $ . in it. next day he went farther and just like the dream he found the pocketbook with $ . in it. shade now works at the kincaid mill no. , he makes sacks and takes up waste. he thinks he's lived so long because he never eats hot food or takes any medicine. "people takes too much medicine now days" he says and when he feels bad he just smokes his corn cob pipe or takes a chew of tobacco. dora roberts dora roberts was born in and was a slave of joseph maxwell of liberty county. the latter owned a large number of slaves and plantations in both liberty and early counties. during the war "salem" the plantation in liberty county was sold and the owner moved to early county where he owned two plantations known as "nisdell" and "rosedhu". today, at years of age, aunt dora is a fine specimen of the fast disappearing type of ante-bellum negro. her shrewd dark eyes glowing, a brown paper sack perched saucily on her white cottony hair, and puffing contentedly on an old corn cob pipe, the old woman began her recital what happened during plantation days. "dey is powerful much to tell ob de days ob slabry, chile, an' it come to me in pieces. dis story ain't in no rotation 'cause my mind it don't do dat kinda function, but i tell it as it come ta me. de colored folks had dey fun as well as dey trials and tribulations, 'cause dat sat'day nigh dance at de plantation wuz jist de finest ting we wanted in dem days. all de slabes fum de udder plantation dey cum ta our barn an' jine in an' if dey had a gal on dis plantation dey lob, den dat wuz da time dey would court. dey would swing to de band dat made de music. my brother wuz de captain ob de quill band an' dey sure could make you shout an' dance til you quz [tr: wuz?] nigh 'bout exhausted. atta findin' ya gal ta dat dance den you gits passes to come courtin' on sundays. den de most ob dom dey wants git married an' dey must den git de consent fum de massa ceremonies wuz read ober dem and de man git passes fo' de week-end ta syat [tr: stay?] wid his wife. but de slabes dey got togedder an' have dem jump over de broom stick an' have a big celebration an' dance an' make merry 'til morning and it's time fo' work agin. "we worked de fields an' kep' up de plantation 'til freedom. ebry wednesday de massa come visit us an look ober de plantation ta see dat all is well. he talk ta de obersheer an' find out how good de work is. we lub de massa an' work ha'd fo' him. "ah kin 'member dat wednesday night plain as it wuz yesterday. it seems lak de air 'round de quarters an' de big house filled wid excitement; eben de wind seem lak it wuz waitin' fo' som'ting. de dogs an' de pickaninnies dey sleep lazy like 'gainst de big gate waitin' fo' de crack ob dat whip which wuz de signal dat julius wuz bringin' de master down de long dribe under de oaks. chile, us all wuz happy knowin' date de fun would start. "all of a sudden you hear dem chilluns whoop, an' de dogs bark, den de car'age roll up wid a flourish, an' de coachman dressed in de fines' git out an' place de cookie try on de groun'. den dey all gadder in de circle an' fo' dey git dey supply, dey got ta do de pigeon wing. "chile, you ain't neber seen sich flingin' ob de arms an' legs in yo' time. dem pickaninnies dey had de natural born art ob twistin' dey body any way dey wish. dat dere ting dey calls truckin' now an' use to be chimmy, ain't had no time wid de dancin' dem chilluns do. dey claps dey hands and keep de time, while dat old brudder ob mine he blows de quills. massa he would allus bring de big tray ob 'lasses cookies fo' all de chilluns. fast as de tray would empty, massa send ta de barrel fo' more. de niggers do no work dat day, but dey jist celebrate. "atta de war broke out we wuz all ca'yhed up to de plantation in early county to stay 'til atta de war. de day de mancipation wuz read dey wuz sadness an' gladness. de ole massa he call us all togedder an' wid tears in his eyes he say--'you is all free now an' you can go jist whar you please. i hab no more jurisdiction ober you. all who stay will be well cared for.' but de most ob us wanted to come back to de place whar we libed befo'--liberty county. "so he outfitted de wagons wid horses an' mules an' gib us what dey wuz ob privisions on de plantation an' sent us on our way ta de ole plantation in liberty county. dare wuz six horses ta de wagons. 'long de way de wagons broke down 'cause de mules ain't had nothin' ta eat an' most ob dem died. we git in sich a bad fix some ob de people died. when it seem lak we wuz all gwine die, a planter come along de road an' he stopped ta find out what wuz de matter. wan he heard our story an' who our master wuz he git a message to him 'bout us. "it seem lak de good lord musta answered de prayers ob his chillun fo' 'long way down de road we seed our massa comin' an' he brung men an' horses to git us safely ta de ole home. when he got us dare, i neber see him no more 'cause he went back up in early county an' atta i work dere at de plantation a long time den i come ta de city whyah my sister be wid one ob my master's oldest daughters--a mrs. dunwodies[tr: ?? first letter of name not readable], who she wuz nursin' fo'. "an' dat's 'bout all dey is ta tell. when i sits an' rocks here on de porch it all comes back ta me. seems sometimes lak i wuz still dere on de plantation. an' it seem lak it's mos' time fo' de massa ta be comin' ta see how tings are goin'." written by ruth chitty research worker district # rewritten by velma bell ex-slave interview: aunt ferebe rogers baldwin county milledgeville, ga. more than a century lies in the span of memory of "aunt ferebe" rogers. the interviewers found her huddled by the fireside, all alone while her grandaughter worked on a wpa project to make the living for them both. in spite of her years and her frail physique, her memory was usually clear, only occasionally becoming too misty for scenes to stand out plainly. her face lighted with a reminiscent smile when she was asked to "tell us something about old times." "i 'members a whole heap 'bout slav'ey times. law, honey, when freedom come i had five chillen. five chillen and ten cents!" and her crackled laughter was spirited. "dey says i'm a hundred and eight or nine years old, but i don't think i'm quite as old as dat. i knows i'se over a hundred, dough. "i was bred and born on a plantation on brier creek in baldwin county. my ole marster was mr. sam hart. he owned my mother. she had thirteen chillen. i was de oldest, so i tuck devil's fare. "my daddy was a ole-time free nigger. he was a good shoe-maker, and could make as fine shoes and boots as ever you see. but he never would work till he was plumb out o' money--den he had to work. but he quit jes' soon as he made a little money. mr. chat morris (he had a regular shoe shop)--he offered him studdy work makin' boots and shoes for him. was go'n' pay him $ . a year. but he wouldn't take it. was too lazy. de ole-time free niggers had to tell how dey make dey livin', and if dey couldn't give satisfaction 'bout it, dey was put on de block and sold to de highest bidder. most of 'em sold for years for $ . my daddy brought $ . when he was sold for three or four years. "i was on de block twice myself. when de old head died dey was so many slaves for de chillen to draw for, we was put on de block. mr. john baggett bought me den; said i was a good breedin' 'oman. den later, one de young hart marsters bought me back. "all de slaves had diff'unt work to do. my auntie was one de weavers. old miss had two looms goin' all de time. she had a old loom and a new loom. my husband made de new loom for old miss. he was a carpenter and he worked on outside jobs after he'd finished tasks for his marster. he use to make all de boxes dey buried de white folks and de slaves in, on de hart and golden plantations. dey was pretty as you see, too. "i was a fiel' han' myself. i come up twix' de plow handles. i warn't de fastes' one wid a hoe, but i didn't turn my back on nobody plowin'. no, _mam_. "my marster had over a thousand acres o' land. he was good to us. we had plenty to eat, like meat and bread and vegetables. we raised eve'ything on de plantation--wheat, corn, potatoes, peas, hogs, cows, sheep, chickens--jes' eve'ything. "all de clo'es was made on de plantation, too. dey spun de thread from cotton and wool, and dyed it and wove it. we had cutters and dem dat done de sewin'. i still got de fus' dress my husband give me. lemme show it to you." gathering her shawl about her shoulders, and reaching for her stick, she hobbled across the room to an old hand-made chest. "my husband made dis chis' for me." raising the top, she began to search eagerly through the treasured bits of clothing for the "robe-tail muslin" that had been the gift of a long-dead husband. one by one the garments came out--her daughter's dress, two little bonnets all faded and worn ("my babies' bonnets"), her husband's coat. "and dat's my husband's mother's bonnet. it use to be as pretty a black as you ever see. it's faded brown now. it was dyed wid walnut." the chest yielded up old cotton cards, and horns that had been used to call the slaves. finally the "robe-tail muslin" came to light. the soft material, so fragile with age that a touch sufficed to reduce it still further to rags, was made with a full skirt and plain waist, and still showed traces of a yellow color and a sprigged design. "my husband was kinchen rogers. his marster was mr. bill golden, and he live 'bout fo' mile from where i stayed on de hart plantation." "aunt ferebe, how did you meet your husband?" "well, you see, us slaves went to de white folks church a-sunday. marster, he was a prim'tive baptis', and he try to keep his slaves from goin' to other churches. we had baptisin's fust sundays. back in dem days dey baptised in de creek, but at de windin' up o' freedom, dey dug a pool. i went to church sundays, and dat's where i met my husband. i been ma'ied jes' one time. he de daddy o' all my chillen'. (i had fifteen in all.)" "who married you, aunt ferebe. did you have a license?" "who ever heered a nigger havin' a license?" and she rocked with high-pitched laughter. "young marster was fixin' to ma'y us, but he got col' feet, and a nigger by name o' enoch golden ma'ied us. he was what we called a 'double-headed nigger'--he could read and write, and he knowed so much. on his dyin' bed he said he been de death o' many a nigger 'cause he taught so many to read and write. "me and my husband couldn't live together till after freedom 'cause we had diffunt marsters. when freedom come, marster wanted all us niggers to sign up to stay till chris'man. bless, yo' soul, i didn't sign up. i went to my husband! but he signed up to stay wid his marster till chris'man. after dat we worked on shares on de hart plantation; den we farmed fo'-five years wid mr. bill johnson." "aunt ferebe, are these better times, or do you think slavery times were happier?" "well, now, you ax me for de truth, didn't you?--and i'm goin' to tell yo' de truth. i don't tell no lies. yes, mam, dese has been better times to me. i think hit's better to work for yourself and have what you make dan to work for somebody else and don't git nuttin' out it. slav'ey days was mighty hard. my marster was good to us (i mean he didn't beat us much, and he give us plenty plain food) but some slaves suffered awful. my aunt was beat cruel once, and lots de other slaves. when dey got ready to beat yo', dey'd strip you' stark mother naked and dey'd say, 'come here to me, god damn you! come to me clean! walk up to dat tree, and damn you, hug dat tree! den dey tie yo' hands 'round de tree, den tie yo' feets; den dey'd lay de rawhide on you and cut yo' buttocks open. sometimes dey'd rub turpentine and salt in de raw places, and den beat you some mo'. oh, hit was awful! and what could you do? dey had all de 'vantage of you. "i never did git no beatin' like dat, but i got whuppin's--plenty o' 'em. i had plenty o' devilment in me, but i quit all my devilment when i was ma'ied. i use to fight--fight wid anything i could git my han's on. "you had to have passes to go from one plantation to 'nother. some de niggers would slip off sometime and go widout a pass, or maybe marster was busy and dey didn't want to bother him for a pass, so dey go widout one. in eve'y dee-strick dey had 'bout twelve men dey call patterollers. dey ride up and down and aroun' looking for niggers widout passes. if dey ever caught you off yo' plantation wid no pass, dey beat you all over. "yes'm, i 'member a song 'bout-- 'run, nigger, run, de patteroller git you, slip over de fence slick as a eel, white man ketch you by de heel, run, nigger run!'" no amount of coaxing availed to make her sing the whole of the song, or to tell any more of the words. "when slaves run away, dey always put de blood-hounds on de tracks. marster always kep' one hound name' rock. i can hear 'im now when dey was on de track, callin', 'hurrah, rock, hurrah, rock! ketch 'im!' "dey always send rock to fetch 'im down when dey foun' 'im. dey had de dogs trained to keep dey teef out you till dey tole 'em to bring you down. den de dogs 'ud go at yo' th'oat, and dey'd tear you to pieces, too. after a slave was caught, he was brung home and put in chains. "de marsters let de slaves have little patches o' lan' for deyse'ves. de size o' de patch was 'cordin' to de size o' yo' family. we was 'lowed 'bout fo' acres. we made 'bout five hundred pounds o' lint cotton, and sol' it at warrenton. den we used de money to buy stuff for chris'man." "did you have big times at christmas, aunt ferebe?" "chris'man--huh!--chris'man warn't no diffunt from other times. we used to have quiltin' parties, candy pullin's, dances, corn shuckin's, games like thimble and sich like." aunt ferebe refused to sing any of the old songs. "no, mam, i ain't go'n' do dat. i th'oo wid all dat now. yes, mam, i 'members 'em all right, but i ain't go'n' sing 'em. no'm, nor say de words neither. all dat's pas' now. "course dey had doctors in dem days, but we used mostly home-made medicines. i don't believe in doctors much now. we used sage tea, ginger tea, rosemary tea--all good for colds and other ail-ments, too. "we had men and women midwives. dr. cicero gibson was wid me when my fus' baby come. i was twenty-five years old den. my baby chile seventy-five now." "auntie, did you learn to read and write?" "no, _mam_, i'd had my right arm cut off at de elbow if i'd a-done dat. if dey foun' a nigger what could read and write, dey'd cut yo' arm off at de elbow, or sometimes at de shoulder." in answer to a query about ghosts, she said--"no, mam, i ain't seed nuttin' like dat. folks come tellin' me dey see sich and sich a thing. i say hit's de devil dey see. i ain't seed nuttin' yit. no'm, i don't believe in no signs, neither." "do you believe a screeeh owl has anything to do with death?" "yes, mam, 'fo' one my chillen died, squinch owl come to my house ev'ey night and holler. after de chile die he ain't come no mo'. cows mooin' or dogs howlin' after dark means death, too. "no, man, i don't believe in no cunjurs. one cunjur-man come here once. he try his bes' to overcome me, but he couldn't do nuttin' wid me. after dat, he tole my husband he couldn't do nuttin' to me, 'cause i didn't believe in him, and dem cunjur-folks can't hurt you less'n you believes in 'em. he say he could make de sun stan' still, and do wonders, but i knowed dat warn't so, 'cause can't nobody stop de sun 'cep' de man what made hit, and dat's god. i don't believe in no cunjurs. "i don't pay much 'tention to times o' de moon to do things, neither. i plants my garden when i gits ready. but bunch beans does better if you plants 'em on new moon in ap'il. plant butterbeans on full moon in ap'il--potatoes fus' o' march. "when de war broke out de damn yankees come to our place dey done eve'ything dat was bad. dey burn eve'ything dey couldn't use, and dey tuck a heap o' corn. marster had a thousand bushels de purtiest shucked corn, all nice good ears, in de pen at de house. dey tuck all dat. marster had some corn pens on de river, dough, dey didn't find. i jes' can't tell you all dey done. "how come i live so long, you say?--i don't know--jes' de goodness o' de lawd, i reckon. i worked hard all my life, and always tried to do right." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] henry rogers of washington-wilkes by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia [date stamp: may ] henry rogers of washington-wilkes is known by almost every one in the town and county. to the men around town he is "deacon", to his old friends back in hancock county (georgia) where he was born and reared, he is "brit"; to everybody else he is "uncle henry", and he is a friend to all. for forty-one years he has lived in washington-wilkes where he has worked as waiter, as lot man, and as driver for a livery stable when he "driv drummers" around the country anywhere they wanted to go and in all kinds of weather. he is proud that he made his trips safely and was always on time. then when automobiles put the old time livery stables out of business he went to work in a large furniture and undertaking establishment where he had charge of the colored department. finally he decided to accept a job as janitor and at one time was janitor for three banks in town. he is still working as janitor in two buildings, despite his seventy-three years. uncle henry's "book learning" is very limited, but he has a store of knowledge gathered here and there that is surprising. he uses very little dialect except when he is excited or worried. he speaks of his heart as "my time keeper". when he promises anything in the future he says, "please the lord to spare me", and when anyone gets a bit impatient he bids them, "be paciable, be paciable". dismal is one of his favorite words but it is always "dism". when he says "now, i'm tellin' yer financially" or "dat's financial", he means that he is being very frank and what he is saying is absolutely true. regarded highly as the local weather prophet, uncle henry gets up every morning before daybreak and scans the heavens to see what kind of weather is on its way. he guards all these "signs" well and under no consideration will he tell them. they were given to him by someone who has passed on and he keeps them as a sacred trust. if asked, upon making a prediction, "how do you know?" uncle henry shakes his wise old head and with a wave of the hand says, "dat's all right, you jess see now, it's goin' ter be dat way". and it usually is! seventy-three years ago "last gone june" uncle henry was born in the mt. zion community in hancock county (georgia), seven miles from sparta. his mother was molly navery hunt, his father, jim rogers. they belonged to mr. jenkins hunt and his wife "miss rebecca". henry was the third of eight children. he has to say about his early life: "yassum, i wuz born right over there in hancock county, an' stayed there 'til the year when mrs. riley come fer me to hep' her in the hotel here in washington an' i been here ev'ry since. i recollects well living on the hunt plantation. it wuz a big place an' we had fifteen or twenty slaves"--(the "we" was proudly possessive)--"we wuz all as happy passel o' niggers as could be found anywhere. aunt winnie wuz the cook an' the kitchen wuz a big old one out in the yard an' had a fireplace that would 'commodate a whole fence rail, it wuz so big, an' had pot hooks, pots, big old iron ones, an' everything er round to cook on. aunt winnie had a great big wooden tray dat she would fix all us little niggers' meals in an' call us up an' han' us a wooden spoon apiece an' make us all set down 'round the tray an' eat all us wanted three times ev'ry day. in one corner of the kitchen set a loom my mother use to weave on. she would weave way into the night lots of times. "the fust thing i 'members is follerin' my mother er 'round. she wuz the housegirl an' seamstress an' everywhere she went i wuz at her heels. my father wuz the overseer on the hunt place. we never had no hard work to do. my fust work wuz 'tendin' the calves an' shinin' my master's shoes. how i did love to put a sunday shine on his boots an' shoes! he called me his nigger an' wuz goin' ter make a barber out o' me if slavery had er helt on. as it wuz, i shaved him long as he lived. we lived in the quarters over on a high hill 'cross the spring-branch from the white peoples' house. we had comfortable log cabins an' lived over there an' wuz happy. ole uncle alex hunt wuz the bugler an' ev'ry mornin' at : o'clock he blowed the bugle fer us ter git up, 'cept sunday mornin's, us all slept later on sundays. "when i wuz a little boy us played marbles, mumble peg, an' all sich games. the little white an' black boys played together, an' ev'ry time 'ole miss' whipped her boys she whipped me too, but nobody 'cept my mistess ever teched me to punish me. "i recollects one sadday night ole uncle aaron hunt come in an' he must er been drinkin' or sumpin' fer he got ter singin' down in the quarters loud as he could 'go tell marse jesus i done done all i kin do', an' nobody could make him hush singin'. he got into sich er row 'til they had ter go git some o' the white folks ter come down an' quiet him down. dat wuz the only 'sturbance 'mongst the niggers i ever 'members. "i wuz so little when the war come on i don't member but one thing 'bout it an' that wuz when it wuz over with an' our white mens come home all de neighbors, the simpsons, the neals, the allens all living on plantations 'round us had a big dinner over at my white peoples', the hunts, an' it sho wuz a big affair. ev'rybody from them families wuz there an' sich rejoicin' i never saw. i won't forgit that time. "i allus been to church. as a little boy my folks took me to ole mt zion. we went to the white peoples' church 'til the colored folks had one of they own. the white folks had services in mt zion in the mornings an' the niggers in the evenin's." when a colored person died back in the days when uncle henry was coming on, he said they sat up with the dead and had prayers for the living. there was a mr. beman in the community who made coffins, and on the hunt place old uncle aaron hunt helped him. the dead were buried in home-made coffins and the hearse was a one horse wagon. "when i wuz a growin' up" said uncle henry, "i wore a long loose shirt in the summer, an' in the winter plenty of good heavy warm clothes. i had 'nits an' lice' pants an' hickory stripe waists when i wuz a little boy. all these my mother spun an' wove the cloth fer an' my mistess made. when i wuz older i had copperas pants an' shirts." uncle henry has many signs but is reluctant to tell them. finally he was prevailed upon to give several. what he calls his "hant sign" is: "if you runs into hot heat sudden, it is a sho sign hants is somewheres 'round." when a rooster comes up to the door and crows, if he is standing with his head towards the door, somebody is coming, if he is standing with his tail towards the door, it is a sign of death, according to uncle henry. it is good luck for birds to build their nests near a house, and if a male red bird comes around the woodpile chirping, get ready for bad weather for it is on its way. uncle henry is a pretty good doctor too, but he doesn't like to tell his remedies. he did say that life everlasting tea is about as good thing for a cold as can be given and for hurts of any kind there is nothing better than soft rosin, fat meat and a little soot mixed up and bound to the wound. he is excellent with animals and when a mule, dog, pig or anything gets sick his neighbors call him in and he doctors them and usually makes them well. as for conjuring, uncle henry has never known much about it, but he said when he was a little fellow he heard the old folks talk about a mixture of devil's snuff and cotton stalk roots chipped up together and put into a little bag and that hidden under the front steps. this was to make all who came up the steps friendly and peacable even if they should happen to be coming on some other mission. after the war the rogers family moved from the hunts' to the alfriend plantation adjoining. as the alfriends were a branch of the hunt family they considered they were still owned as in slavery by the same "white peoples". they lived there until uncle henry moved to washington-wilkes in . christmas was a great holiday on the plantation. there was no work done and everybody had a good time with plenty of everything good to eat. easter was another time when work was laid aside. a big church service took place sunday and on monday a picnic was attended by all the negroes in the community. there were fourth of july celebrations, log rollings, corn shuckings, house coverings and quilting parties. in all of these except the fourth of july celebration it was a share-the-work idea. uncle henry grew a bit sad when he recalled how "peoples use ter be so good 'bout hep'in' one 'nother, an' now dey don't do nothin' fer nobody lessen' dey pays 'em." he told how, when a neighbor cleared a new ground and needed help, he invited all the men for some distance around and had a big supper prepared. they rolled logs into huge piles and set them afire. when all were piled high and burning brightly, supper was served by the fire light. sometimes the younger ones danced around the burning logs. when there was a big barn full of corn to be shucked the neighbors gladly gathered in, shucked the corn for the owner, who had a fiddler and maybe some one to play the banjo. the corn was shucked to gay old tunes and piled high in another barn. then after a "good hot supper" there was perhaps a dance in the cleared barn. when a neighbor's house needed covering, he got the shingles and called in his neighbors and friends, who came along with their wives. while the men worked atop the house the women were cooking a delicious dinner down in the kitchen. at noon it was served amid much merry making. by sundown the house was finished and the friends went home happy in the memory of a day spent in toil freely given to one who needed it. all those affairs were working ones, but uncle henry told of one that marked the end of toil for a season and that was the fourth of july as celebrated on the hunt and alfriend plantations. he said: "on the evenin' of the third of july all plows, gear, hoes an' all sich farm tools wuz bro't in frum the fields an' put in the big grove in front o' the house where a long table had been built. on the fo'th a barbecue wuz cooked, when dinner wuz ready all the han's got they plows an' tools, the mules wuz bro't up an' gear put on them, an' den ole uncle aaron started up a song 'bout the crops wuz laid by an' res' time had come, an' everybody grabbed a hoe er sumpin', put it on they shoulder an' jined the march 'round an' round the table behind uncle aaron singin' an' marchin', uncle aaron linin' off the song an' ev'ry body follerin' him. it wuz a sight to see all the han's an' mules er goin' 'round the table like that. den when ev'ry body wuz might nigh 'zausted, they stopped an' et a big barbecue dinner. us use ter work hard to git laid by by de fo'th so's we could celebrate. it sho' wuz a happy time on our plantations an' the white peoples enjoyed it as much as us niggers did. "us use ter have good times over there in hancock county", continued uncle henry. ev'rybody wuz so good an' kind ter one 'nother; 't'ain't like that now--no mam, not lak it use ter be. why i 'members onst, when i fust growed up an' wuz farmin' fer myself, i got sick way long up in the spring, an' my crop wuz et up in grass when one evenin' mr. harris--(he wuz overseein' fer mr. treadwell over on the next plantation to the alfriends)--come by. i wuz out in the field tryin' ter scratch 'round as best i could, mr. harris say: 'brit, you in de grass mighty bad.' i say: 'yassir, i is, but i been sick an' couldn't hep' myself, that's how come i so behind.' he say: 'look lak you needs hep'.' 'yassir,' i says, 'but i ain't got nobody to work but me.' dat's all he said. well sir, the nex' mornin' by times over comes mr. harris wid six plows an' eight hoe han's an' they give me a whole day's work an' when they finished that evenin' they want a sprig of grass in my crop; it wuz clean as this floor, an' i'se tellin' yer the truth. dat's the way peoples use ter do, but not no mo'--everybody too selfish now, an' they think ain't nobody got responsibilits (responsibilities) but them." speaking of his early life uncle henry continued: "when i growed up i broke race horses fer white mens an' raced horses too, had rooster fights an' done all them kind o' things, but i 'sought 'ligion an' found it an' frum that day to this i ain't never done them things no mo'. when i jined the church i had a game rooster named 'ranger' that i had won ev'ry fight that i had matched him in. peoples come miles ter see ranger fight; he wuz a warhorse game. after i come to be a member of the church i quit fightin' ranger so mr. sykes come over an' axed me what i would take fer him, i told him he could have him--i warn't goin' to fight wid him any mo'. he took him an' went over three states, winnin' ev'ry fight he entered him in an' come home wid fifteen hundred dollars he made on ranger. he give me fifty dollars, but i never wanted him back. ranger wuz a pet an' i could do anything wid 'im. i'd hold out my arm an' tell him to come up an' he'd fly up on my arm an' crow. he'd get on up on my haid an' crow too. one rainy day 'fore i give him away he got in the lot an' kilt three turkeys an' a gobbler fer my mistess. she got mighty mad an' i sho wuz skeered 'til marse took mine an' ranger's part an' wouldn't let her do nothin' wid us." forty-seven years ago uncle henry married annie tiller of hancock county. they had four children, three of whom are living. about his courtship and marriage he has to say: "i wuz at sunday school one sunday an' saw annie fer the fust time. i went 'round where she wuz an' wuz made 'quainted with her an' right then an' there i said to myself, 'she's my gal'. i started goin' over to see her an' met her folks. i liked her pa an ma an' i would set an' talk with them an' 'pear not to be payin' much 'tention to annie. i took candy an' nice things an' give to the family, not jest to her. i stood in with the ole folks an' 't'warn't long 'fore me an' annie wuz married." uncle henry said he took annie to sparta to his pastor's home for the marriage and the preacher told him he charged three dollars for the ceremony. "but i tole him i warnt goin' to give him but er dollar an' a half 'cause i wuz one of his best payin' members an' he ought not to charge me no more than dat. an' i never paid him no mo' neither, an' dat wuz er plenty." though he is crippled in his "feets" he is hale and hearty and manages to work without missing a day. he is senior steward in his church and things there go about like he says even though he isn't a preacher. all the members seem to look to him for "consulation an' 'couragement". in all his long life he has "never spoke a oath if i knows it, an' i hates cussin'." he speaks of his morning devotions as "havin' prayers wid myself". his blessing at mealtime is the same one he learned in his "white peoples'" home when he was a little boy: "we humbly thank thee, our heavenly father, for what we have before us." uncle henry says: "i loves white peoples an' i'm a-livin' long 'cause in my early days dey cared fer me an' started me off right--they's my bes' frien's." [hw: dist. e.f. driskell / / julia rush, ex-slave years old] [tr: the beginning of each line on the original typewritten pages for this interview is very faint, and some words have been reconstructed from context. questionable entries are followed by [??]; words that could not be deciphered are indicated by [--].] mrs. julia rush was born in on saint simons island, georgia. mrs. rush, her mother, and three sisters were the property of a frenchman named colonel de binien, a very wealthy land owner. mrs. rush does not remember her father as he was sold away from his family when she was a baby. as a child mrs. rush served as playmate to one of the colonel's daughters and so all that she had to do was to play from morning till night. when she grew older she started working in the kitchen in the master's house. later she was sent to the fields where she worked side by side with her mother and three sisters from sunup until sundown. mrs. rush says that she has plowed so much that she believes she can "outplow" any man. instead of the white overseer usually found on plantations the colonel used one of the slaves to act as foreman of the field hands. he was known to the other slaves as the "nigger driver" and it was he who awakened all every morning. it was so dark until torch lights had to be used to see by. those women who had babies took them along to the field in a basket which they placed on their heads. all of the hands were given a certain amount of work to perform each day and if the work was not completed a whipping might be forthcoming. breakfast was sent to the field to the hands and if at dinner time they were not too far away from their cabins they were permitted to go home[??]. at night they prepared their own meals in their individual cabins. all food on the colonel's plantation was issued daily from the corn house. each person was given enough corn to make a sufficient amount of bread for the day when ground. then they went out and dug their potatoes from the colonel's garden. no meat whatsoever was issued. it was up to the slaves to catch fish, oysters, and other sea food for their meat supply. all those who desired to were permitted to raise chickens, watermelons and vegetables. there was no restriction on any as to what must be done with the produce so raised. it could be sold or kept for personal consumption. colonel de binien always saw that his slaves had sufficient clothing. in the summer months the men were given two shirts, two pairs of pants, and two pairs of underwear. all of these clothes were made of cotton and all were sewed on the plantation. no shoes were worn in the summer. the women were given two dresses, two underskirts, and two pairs of underwear. when the winter season approached another issue of clothes was given. at this time shoes were given. they were made of heavy red leather and were known as "brogans". the slave quarters on the plantation were located behind the colonel's cabin[??]. all were made of logs. the chinks in the walls were filled with mud to keep the weather out. the floors were of wood in order to protect the occupants from the dampness. the only furnishings were a crude bed and several benches. all cooking was done at the large fireplace in the rear of the one room. when colonel de binion's [tr: earlier, de binien] wife died he divided his slaves among the children. mrs. rush was given to her former playmate who was at the time married and living in carrollton, georgia. she was very mean and often punished her by beating her on her forearm for the slightest offence. at other times she made her husband whip her (mrs. rush) on her bare back with a cowhide whip. mrs. rush says that her young mistress thought that her husband was being intimate with her and so she constantly beat and mistreated her. on one occasion all of the hair on her head (which was long and straight) was cut from her head by the young mistress. for a while mrs. rush worked in the fields where she plowed and hoed the crops along with the other slaves. later she worked in the master's house where she served as maid and where she helped with the cooking. she was often hired out to the other planters in the vicinity. she says that she liked this because she always received better treatment than she did at her own home. these persons who hired her often gave her clothes as she never received a sufficient amount from her own master. the food was almost the same here as it had been at the other plantation. at the end of each week she and her fellow slaves were given a "little bacon, vegetables, and some corn meal."[hw: ?] this had to last for a certain length of time. if it was all eaten before the time for the next issue that particular slave had to live as best he or she could. in such an emergency the other slaves usually shared with the unfortunate one. there was very little illness on the plantation where mrs. rush lived. practically the only medicine ever used was castor oil and turpentine. some of the slaves went to the woods and gathered roots and herbs from which they made their own tonics and medicines. according to mrs. rush the first of the month was always sale day for slaves and horses. she was sold on one of those days from her master in carrollton to one mr. morris, who lived in newman, ga. mr. morris paid $ . for her. she remained with him for a short while and was later sold to one mr. ray who paid the price of $ . . both of these masters were very kind to her, but she was finally sold back to her former master, mr. archibald burke of carrollton, ga. mrs. rush remembers that none of the slaves were allowed away from their plantation unless they held a pass from their master. once when she was going to town to visit some friends she was accosted by a group of "paddle-rollers" who gave her a sound whipping when she was unable to show a pass from her master. mrs. rush always slept in her masters' houses after leaving colonel de binien. when she was in carrollton her young mistress often made her sleep under the house when she was angry with her. after the war was over with and freedom was declared mr. burke continued to hold mrs. rush. after several unsuccessful attempts she was finally able to escape. she went to another part of the state where she married and started a family of her own. because of the cruel treatment that she received at the hands of some of her owners[??] mrs. rush says that the mere thought of slavery makes her blood boil. then there are those, under whom she served, who treated her with kindness, whom she holds no malice against. as far as mrs. rush knows the war did very little damage to mr. burke. he did not enlist as a soldier. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] [hw: good ghost story on page .] [hw: "revolution drummer" parts very good.] ex-slave interview nancy settles, ex-slave, age wheeler road (richmond county) augusta, georgia by: (mrs.) margaret johnson augusta, georgia [date stamp: may ] nancy settles was born miles from edgefield in south carolina on the plantation of mr. berry cochran. until about five months ago, nancy had been bed-ridden for three years. her speech is slow, and at times it is difficult to understand her, but her mind is fairly clear. her eyes frequently filled with tears, her voice becoming so choked she could not talk. "my marster and missis, my husban' and eight of my chaps done lef me. de lawd mus be keepin' me here fur some reason. dis here chile is all i got lef'." the "chile" referred to was a woman about . "my fust chap was born in slavery. me and my husband lived on diffunt plantashuns till after freedom come. my ma and my pa lived on diffunt places too. my pa uster come evy sadday evenin' to chop wood out uv de wood lot and pile up plenty fur ma till he come agin. on wensday evenin', pa uster come after he been huntin' and bring in possum and coon. he sho could get 'em a plenty. "ma, she chop cotton and plow, and i started choppin' cotton when i wuz twelve years old. when i was a gal i sure wuz into plenty devilment." "what kind of devilment?" "lawdy miss, evy time i heayd a fiddle, my feets jes' got to dance and dancin' is devilment. but i ain't 'lowed to dance nothin' but de six-handed reel. "i uster take my young misses to school ev'y day, but de older misses went to boadin' school and come home ev'y friday an' went back on monday. no ma'am, i never learn to read and write but i kin spell some." "nancy, did you go out at night and were you ever caught by the patrol?" "no, ma'am, i never wuz caught by de patterol; my pa wuz the one i was scart uv." "did you always have enough to eat, and clothes to wear?" "yes ma'am, marster put out a side uv meat and a barrul o' meal and all uv us would go and git our rations fur de week." "suppose some one took more than his share, and the supply ran short." "lawd ma'am, we knowed better'n to do dat kinder thing. eve'ybody, had er garden patch an' had plenty greens and taters and all dat kinder thing. de cloth fur de slave close wuz all made on the place and missis see to mekkin' all de close we wear." "my missis died endurin' of de war, but marster he live a long time. yes, ma'am, we went to church an to camp meetin' too. we set up in de galley, and ef dey too many uv us, we set in de back uv de church. camp meetin' wuz de bes'. before missis died i wuz nussin' my young miss baby, and i ride in de white foke's kerrage to camp meetin' groun' and carry de baby. lawdy, i seen de white folks and de slaves too shoutin' an gittin' 'ligion plenty times." "nancy, were the slaves on your place ever whipped?" "yes'm sometimes when de wouldn' mine, but marster allus whip 'em hissef, he ain't let nobody else lay er finger on his slaves but him. i heayd 'bout slaves been whipped but i tink de wuz whipped mostly cause de marsters _could_ whip 'em." "nancy do you know any ghost stories, or did you ever see a ghost?" "no, ma'am, i ain't never see a ghos' but i heayd de drum!" "what drum did you hear--war drums?" "no, ma'am de drum de little man beats down by rock crick. some say he is a little man whut wears a cap and goes down the crick beating a drum befo' a war. he wuz a revolushun drummer, and cum back to beat the drum befo' de war. but some say you can hear de drum 'most any spring now. go down to the crick and keep quiet and you hear brrr, brrr, bum hum, louder and louder and den it goes away. some say dey hav' seen de little man, but i never seen him, but i heayd de drum, 'fo de war, and ater dat too. there was a white man kilt hisself near our place. he uster play a fiddle, and some time he come back an play. i has heayd him play his fiddle, but i ain't seen him. some fokes say dey is seen him in the wood playin' and walkin' 'bout." "nancy i am glad you are better than you were the last time i came to see you." "yes, ma'am, i is up now. i prayed to god and tell him my trouble and he helped me get about again. this po chile uv mine does what she kin to pay de rent and de welfare gives us a bit to eat but i sho do need er little wood, cause we is back on de rent and my chile jes scrap 'bout to pick up trash wood and things to burn." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave will sheets, age w. broad street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, georgia [date stamp: may ] old will sheets readily complied with the request that he tell of his experiences during slavery days. "no'm i don't mind, its been many a long day since anybody axed me to talk 'bout things dat far back, but i laks to have somebody to talk to 'cause i can't git 'bout no more since i los' both of my footses, and i gits powerful lonesome sometimes. "i was borned in oconee county, not far f'um whar bishop is now. it warn't nothin' but a cornfield, way back in dem times. ma was jane southerland 'fore she married my pa. he was tom sheets. lawsy miss! i don't know whar dey cone f'um. as far as i knows, dey was borned and raised on deir marsters' plantations. dar was seven of us chilluns. i was de oldes'; james, joe, speer, charlie, and ham was my brudders, and my onlies' sister was frances. "you ax me 'bout my gram'ma and gram'pa? i can't tell you nothin' t'all 'bout 'em. i jus' knows i had 'em and dat's all. you see ma was a house gal and de mos' i seed of her was when she come to de cabin at night; den us chilluns was too sleepy to talk. soon as us et, us drapped down on a pallet and went fast asleep. niggers is a sleepyheaded set. "i was a water boy, and was 'spected to tote water f'um de spring to de house, and to de hands in de fiel'. i helped mandy, one of de colored gals, to drive de calves to de pasture and i toted in a little wood and done little easy jobs lak dat. lawsy miss! i never seed no money 'til atter de war. if i had a had any money what could i have done wid it, when i couldn't leave dat place to spend it? "dare ain't much to tell 'bout what little nigger chillun done in slavery days. dem what was big enough had to wuk, and dem what warn't, played, slep' and scrapped. little niggers is bad as game chickens 'bout fightin'. de quarters whar us lived was log cabins chinked wid mud to keep out de rain and wind. chimblies was made out of fiel' rock and red clay. i never seed a cabin wid more dan two rooms in it. "beds warn't fancy dem days lak dey is now; leastwise i didn't see no fancy ones. all de beds was corded; dey had a headboard, but de pieces at de foot and sides was jus' wide enough for holes to run de cords thoo', and den de cords was pegged to hold 'em tight. nigger chillun slep' on pallets on de flo'. "marse jeff southerland was a pore man, but he fed us all us could eat sich as turnips, cabbages, collards, green corn, fat meat, cornbread, 'taters and sometimes chicken. yes ma'am, chicken dinners was sorter special. us didn't have 'em too often. de cookin' was all done at de big house in a open fireplace what had a rack crost it dat could be pulled out to take de pots off de fire. 'fore dey started cookin', a fire was made up ready and waitin'; den de pots of victuals was hung on de rack and swung in de fireplace to bile. baking was done in skillets. us cotched rabbits three and four at a time in box traps sot out in de plum orchard. sometimes us et 'em stewed wid dumplin's and some times dey was jus' plain biled, but us laked 'em bes' of all when dey was fried lak chickens. "oh! dem 'possums! how i wisht i had one right now. my pa used to ketch or of 'em a winter. atter dey married, ma had to stay on wid marse jeff and pa was 'bliged to keep on livin' wid marster marsh sheets. his marster give him a pass so dat he could come and stay wid ma at night atter his wuk was done, and he fetched in de 'possums. dey was baked in de white folkses kitchen wid sweet 'tatoes 'roun' 'em and was barbecued sometimes. us had fishes too what was mighty good eatin'. dere warn't but one gyarden on de plantation. "slave chillun didn't wear nothin' in summer but shirts what looked lak gowns wid long sleeves. gals and boys was dressed in de same way when dey was little chaps. in winter us wore shirts made out of coarse cloth and de pants and little coats was made out of wool. de gals wore wool dresses." he laughed and said: "on sunday us jus' wore de same things. did you say shoes? lawsy miss! i was eight or nine 'fore i had on a pair of shoes. on frosty mornin's when i went to de spring to fetch a bucket of water, you could see my feet tracks in de frost all de way dar and back. "miss carrie, my mist'ess, was good as she knowed how to be. marse and mist'ess had two gals and one boy, miss anna, miss callie, and marster johnny. "marse jeff was a good man; he never whupped and slashed his niggers. no ma'am, dere warn't nobody whupped on marse jeff's place dat i knows 'bout. he didn't have no overseer. dere warn't no need for one 'cause he didn't have so many slaves but what he could do de overseein' his own self. marse jeff jus' had 'bout four mens and four 'oman slaves and him and young marse johnny wukked in de fiel' 'long side of de niggers. dey went to de fiel' by daybreak and come in late at night. "when marse jeff got behind wid his crop, he would hire slaves f'um other white folkses, mostly f'um pa's marster, dat's how pa come to know my ma. "dere was 'bout a hunderd acres in our plantation countin' de woods and pastures. dey had 'bout three or four acres fenced in wid pine poles in a plum orchard. dat's whar dey kep' de calves. "dere was a jail at watkinsville, but marse jeff never had none of his slaves put in no jail. he didn't have so many but what he could make 'em behave. i never seed no slaves sold, but i seed 'em in a wagon passin' by on deir way to de block. marse jeff said dey was takin' 'em a long ways off to sell 'em. dat's why dey was a-ridin'. "miss anna larned ma her a.b.c's. she could read a little, but she never larned to write. "slaves went to de white folkses church if dey went a t'all. i never could sing no tune. i'se lak my ma; she warn't no singer. dat's how come i can't tell you 'bout de songs what dey sung den. i 'members de fus' time i seed anybody die; i was 'bout eight years old, and i was twelve 'fore i ever seed a funeral. no ma'am, us chilluns didn't go to no baptizin's--ma went, but us didn't. "didn't none of marse jeff's niggers run off to no north, but i heared of a nigger what did on de place whar my pa was at. de only thing i knowed what might a made him run to de north was dat niggers thought if dey got dar dey would be in heb'en. dem patterollers was somepin' else. i heared folkses say dey would beat de daylights mos' out of you if dey cotched you widout no pass. us lived on de big road, and i seed 'em passin' mos' anytime. i mos' know dere was plenty trouble twixt de niggers and de white folkses. course i never heared tell of none, but i'm sho' dere was trouble jus' de same," he slyly remarked. "marse jeff wukked dem few niggers so hard dat when dey got to deir cabins at night dey was glad to jus' rest. dey all knocked off f'um wuk sadday at o'clock. de 'omans washed, patched, and cleaned up de cabins, and de mens wukked in dey own cotton patches what marse jeff give 'em. some niggers wouldn't have no cotton patch 'cause dey was too lazy to wuk. but dey was all of 'em right dar sadday nights when de frolickin' and dancin' was gwine on. on sundays dey laid 'round and slep'. some went to church if dey wanted to. marster give 'em a pass to keep patterollers f'um beatin' 'em when dey went to church. "us chilluns was glad to see chris'mas time come 'cause us had plenty to eat den; sich as hogshead, backbones, a heap of cake, and a little candy. us had apples what had been growed on de place and stored away special for chris'mas. marse jeff bought some lallahoe, dat was syrup, and had big old pones of lightbread baked for us to sop it up wid. what us laked best 'bout chris'mas was de good old hunk of cheese dey give us den and de groundpeas. don't you know what groundpeas is? dem's goobers (peanuts). such a good time us did have, a-parchin' and a-eatin' dem groundpeas! if dere was oranges us didn't git none. marse jeff give de grown folkses plenty of liquor and dey got drunk and cut de buck whilst it lasted. new year's day was de time to git back to wuk. "marse jeff was sich a pore man he didn't have no corn shuckin's on his place, but he let his niggers go off to 'em and he went along hisself. dey had a big time a-hollerin' and singin' and shuckin' corn. atter de shuckin' was all done dere was plenty to eat and drink--nothin' short 'bout dem corn shuckin's. "when slaves got sick, dey didn't have no doctor dat i knowed 'bout. miss carrie done de doctorin' herself. snake root tea was good for colds and stomach mis'ries. dey biled rabbit tobacco, pine tops, and mullein together; tuk de tea and mixed it wid 'lasses; and give it to us for diffunt ailments. if dey done dat now, folkses would live longer. ma put asafiddy (asafetida) sacks 'round our necks to keep off sickness. "ma said us was gwine to be free. marse jeff said us warn't, and he didn't tell us no diffunt 'til 'bout chris'mas atter de war was done over wid in april. he told us dat us was free, but he wanted us to stay on wid him, and didn't none of his niggers leave him. dey all wukked de same as dey had before dey was sot free only he paid 'em wages atter de war. "i 'members dem yankees comin' down de big road a-stealin' as dey went 'long. dey swapped deir bags of bones for de white folkses good fat hosses. i never seed so many pore hosses at one time in my life as dey had. dem yankees stole all da meat, chickens, and good bedclothes and burnt down de houses. dey done devilment aplenty as dey went 'long. i 'members marse jeff put one of his colored mens on his hoss wid a coffeepot full of gold and sont him to de woods. atter dem yankees went on he sont for him to fetch back de gold and de fine hoss what he done saved f'um de sojer mens. "i heared tell of dem ku kluxers, but i never seed 'em. lawsy miss! what did niggers have to buy land wid 'til atter dey wukked long enough for to make some money? warn't no schoolin' done 'round whar us lived. i was years old 'fore i ever sot foots in a schoolhouse. de nearest school was at shady grove. "it was a long time atter de war 'fore i married. us didn't have no weddin'; jus' got married. my old 'oman had on a calico dress--i disremembers what color. she looked good to me though. us had chilluns in all; four died. i got grandchillun and one great grandchild. none of 'em has jobs to brag 'bout; one of 'em larned to run a store. "i think mr. lincoln was a great man, 'cause he sot us free. when i thinks back, it warn't no good feelin' to be bound down lak dat. mr. president davis wanted us to stay bound down. no ma'am, i didn't lak dat mr. davis atter i knowed what he stood for. 'course dere is plenty what needs to be bound down hard and fast so dey won't git in no trouble. but for me i trys to behave myself, and i sho' had ruther be free. i guess atter all it's best dat slavery days is over. 'bout dat booker washin'ton man, de niggers what tuk him in said he done lots of good for his race, and i reckon he did. "somepin' 'nother jus' made me jine de church. i wanted to do better'n what i was doin'. de lord says it's best for folkses to be 'ligious. "no ma'am, i don't 'spect to live as long as my ma lived, 'cause dese legs of mine since i done los' both of my footses wid blood pizen atter gangreen sot in, sho' gives me a passel of trouble. but de lord is good to me and no tellin' how long i'se gwine to stay here. miss, you sho' tuk me way back yonder, and i laks to talk 'bout it. yes, ma'am, dat's been a long time back." robert shepherd, age arch street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & robert lives in a small house so old and in such bad repair that a strong wind would no doubt tumble it down. large holes in the roof can be plainly seen from the gateway. the neat yard, filled with old-fashioned flowers, is enclosed by a makeshift fence of rusty wire sagging to the ground in places, and the gate rocks on one hinge. there was some evidence that a porch had extended across the front of the cottage, but it is entirely gone now and large rocks serve as steps at the doorway. knocks and calls at the front of the house were unanswered and finally robert was found working in his garden behind the house. he is a tiny old man, and his large sun hat made him seem smaller than he actually was. he wore a clean but faded blue shirt and shabby gray pants much too large for him. his shoes, bound to his feet with strips of cloth, were so much too large that it was all he could do to shuffle along. he removed his hat and revealed white hair that contrasted with his black face, as he smiled in a friendly way. "good morning, missy! how is you?" was his greeting. despite his advanced age, he keeps his garden in excellent condition. not a blade of grass was to be seen. asked how he managed to keep it worked so efficiently he proudly answered: "well miss, i jus' wuks in it some evvy day dat comes 'cept sundays and, when you keeps right up wid it dat way, it ain't so hard. jus' look 'round you! don't you see i got de bestest beans and squashes, 'round here, and down under dem 'tater vines, i kin tell you, dem roots is jus' full of 'taters. my old marster done larnt me how to gyarden. he allus made us raise lots of gyarden sass such as: beans, peas, roas'in' ears, collards, turnip greens, and ingons (onions). for a fact, dere was jus' 'bout all de kinds of veg'tables us knowed anything 'bout dem days right dar in our marster's big old gyarden. dere was big patches of 'taters, and in dem wheatfields us growed enough to make bread for all de folks on dat dere plantation. us sho' did have plenty of mighty good somepin t'eat. "i would ax you to come in and set down in my house to talk," he said, "but i don't 'spect you could climb up dem dere rocks to my door, and dem's all de steps i got." when robert called to his daughter, who lived next door, and told her to bring out some chairs, she suggested that the interview take place on her porch. "it's shady and cool on my porch," she said, "and pa's done been a-diggin' in his garden so long he's plum tuckered out; he needs to set down and rest." after making her father comfortable, she drew up a bucket of water from the well at the edge of the porch and, after he had indulged in a long drink of the fresh water, he began his story. "i was borned on marster joe echols' plantation in oglethorpe county, 'bout miles from lexin'ton, georgy. mammy was cynthia echols 'fore she married up wid my daddy. he was peyton shepherd. atter pappy and mammy got married, old marse shepherd sold pappy to marse joe echols so as dey could stay together. "marse joe, he had three plantations, but he didn't live on none of 'em. he lived in lexin'ton. he kept a overseer on each one of his plantations and dey had better be good to his niggers, or else marse joe would sho' git 'em 'way from dar. he never 'lowed 'em to wuk us too hard, and in bad or real cold weather us didn't have to do no outside wuk 'cept evvyday chores what had to be done, come rain or shine, lak milkin', tendin' de stock, fetchin' in wood, and things lak dat. he seed dat us had plenty of good somepin t'eat and all de clothes us needed. us was lots better off in dem days dan us is now. "old marster, he had so many niggers dat he never knowed 'em all. one day he was a-ridin' 'long towards one of his plantations and he met one of his slaves, named william. marse joe stopped him and axed him who he was. william said: 'why marster, i'se your nigger. don't you know me?' den marster, he jus' laughed and said: 'well, hurry on home when you gits what you is gwine atter.' he was in a good humor dat way most all de time. i kin see him now a-ridin' dat little hoss of his'n what he called button, and his little fice dog hoppin' 'long on three legs right side of de hoss. no ma'am, dere warn't nothin' de matter wid' dat little dog; walkin' on three legs was jus' his way of gittin' 'round. "marster never let none of de slave chillun on his plantation do no wuk 'til dey got fifteen--dat was soon 'nough, he said. on all of his plantations dere was one old 'oman dat didn't have nothin' else to do but look atter and cook for de nigger chillun whilst dey mammies was at wuk in de fields. aunt viney tuk keer of us. she had a big old horn what she blowed when it was time for us to eat, and us knowed better dan to git so fur off us couldn't hear dat horn, for aunt viney would sho' tear us up. marster had done told her she better fix us plenty t'eat and give it to us on time. dere was a great long trough what went plum 'cross de yard, and dat was whar us et. for dinner us had peas or some other sort of veg'tables, and cornbread. aunt viney crumbled up dat bread in de trough and poured de veg'tables and pot-likker over it. den she blowed de horn and chillun come a-runnin' from evvy which away. if us et it all up, she had to put more victuals in de trough. at nights, she crumbled de cornbread in de trough and poured buttermilk over it. us never had nothin' but cornbread and buttermilk at night. sometimes dat trough would be a sight, 'cause us never stopped to wash our hands, and 'fore us had been eatin' more dan a minute or two what was in de trough would look lak de red mud what had come off of our hands. sometimes aunt viney would fuss at us and make us clean it out. "dere was a big sand bar down on de crick what made a fine place to play, and wadin' in de branches was lots of fun. us frolicked up and down dem woods and had all sorts of good times--anything to keep away from aunt viney 'cause she was sho' to have us fetchin' in wood or sweepin' de yards if us was handy whar she could find us. if us was out of her sight she never bothered 'bout dem yards and things. us was skeered to answer dat horn when us got in marster's 'bacco. he raised lots of 'bacco and rationed it out to mens, but he never 'lowed chillun to have none 'til dey was big enough to wuk in de fields. us found out how to git in his 'bacco house and us kept on gittin' his 'bacco 'fore it was dried out 'til he missed it. den he told aunt viney to blow dat horn and call up all de chillun. i'se gwine to whup evvy one of 'em, he would 'clare. atter us got dere and he seed dat green 'bacco had done made us so sick us couldn't eat, he jus' couldn't beat us. he jus' laughed and said: 'it's good enough for you.' "aunt martha, she done de milkin' and helped aunt nancy cook for de slaves. dey had a big long kitchen up at de big house whar de overseer lived. de slaves what wuked in de field never had to do deir own cookin'. it was all done for 'em in dat big old kitchen. dey cooked some of de victuals in big old washpots and dere was sho' a plenty for all. all de cookin' was done in big fireplaces what had racks made inside to hang pots on and dey had big old ovens for bakin', and thick iron skillets, and long-handled fryin' pans. you jus' can't 'magine how good things was cooked dat way on de open fire. nobody never had no better hams and other meat dan our marster kept in dem big old smokehouses, and his slaves had meat jus' lak white folks did. dem cooks knowed dey had to cook a plenty and have it ready when it was time for de slaves to come in from de fields. miss ellen, she was the overseer's wife, went out in de kitchen and looked over evvything to see that it was all right and den she blowed de bugle. when de slaves heared dat bugle, dey come in a-singin' from de fields. dey was happy 'cause dey knowed miss ellen had a good dinner ready for 'em. "de slave quarters was long rows of log cabins wid chimblies made out of sticks and red mud. dem chimblies was all de time ketchin' fire. dey didn't have no glass windows. for a window, dey jus' cut a openin' in a log and fixed a piece of plank 'cross it so it would slide when dey wanted to open or close it. doors was made out of rough planks, beds was rough home-made frames nailed to de side of de cabins, and mattresses was coarse, home-wove ticks filled wid wheat straw. dey had good home-made kivver. dem beds slept mighty good. "dere warn't many folks sick dem days, 'specially 'mongst de slaves. when one did die, folks would go or miles to de buryin'. marster would say: 'take de mules and wagons and go but, mind you, take good keer of dem mules.' he never seemed to keer if us went--fact was, he said us ought to go. if a slave died on our place, nobody went to de fields 'til atter de buryin'. marster never let nobody be buried 'til dey had been dead hours, and if dey had people from some other place, he waited 'til dey could git dar. he said it warn't right to hurry 'em off into de ground too quick atter dey died. dere warn't no undertakers dem days. de homefolks jus' laid de corpse out on de coolin' board 'til de coffin was made. lordy miss! ain't you never seed one of dem coolin' boards? a coolin' board was made out of a long straight plank raised a little at de head, and had legs fixed to make it set straight. dey wropt 'oman corpses in windin' sheets. uncle squire, de man what done all de wagon wuk and buildin' on our place, made coffins. dey was jus' plain wood boxes what dey painted to make 'em look nice. white preachers conducted de funerals, and most of de time our own marster done it, 'cause he was a preacher hisself. when de funeral was done preached, dey sung _harps from de tomb_, den dey put de coffin in a wagon and driv slow and keerful to de graveyard. de preacher prayed at de grave and de mourners sung, _i'se born to die and lay dis body down_. dey never had no outside box for de coffin to be sot in, but dey put planks on top of de coffin 'fore dey started shovellin' in de dirt. "fourth sundays was our meetin' days, and evvybody went to church. us went to our white folks' church and rid in a wagon 'hind deir car'iage. dere was two baptist preachers--one of 'em was mr. john gibson and de other was mr. patrick butler. marse joe was a methodist preacher hisself, but dey all went to de same church together. de niggers sot in de gallery. when dey had done give de white folks de sacrament, dey called de niggers down from de gallery and give dem sacrament too. church days was sho' 'nough big meetin' days 'cause evvybody went. dey preached three times a day; at eleven in de mornin', at three in de evenin', and den again at night. de biggest meetin' house crowds was when dey had baptizin', and dat was right often. dey dammed up de crick on sadday so as it would be deep enough on sunday, and dey done de baptizin' 'fore dey preached de three o'clock sermon. at dem baptizin's dere was all sorts of shoutin', and dey would sing _roll jordan, roll_, _de livin' waters_, and _lord i'se comin' home_. "when de craps was laid by and most of de hardest wuk of de year done up, den was camp-meetin' time, 'long in de last of july and sometimes in august. dat was when us had de biggest times of all. dey had great big long tables and jus' evvything good t'eat. marster would kill five or six hogs and have 'em carried dar to be barbecued, and he carried his own cooks along. atter de white folks et dey fed de niggers, and dere was allus a plenty for all. marster sho' looked atter all his niggers good at dem times. when de camp-meetin' was over, den come de big baptizin': white folks fust, den niggers. one time dere was a old slave 'oman what got so skeered when dey got her out in de crick dat somebody had to pull her foots out from under her to git her under de water. she got out from dar and testified dat it was de devil a-holdin' her back. "de white ladies had nice silk dresses to wear to church. slave 'omans had new calico dresses what dey wore wid hoopskirts dey made out of grapevines. dey wore poke bonnets wid ruffles on 'em and, if de weather was sort of cool, dey wore shawls. marster allus wore his linen duster. dat was his white coat, made cutaway style wid long tails. de cloth for most all of de clothes was made at home. marse joe raised lots of sheep and de wool was used to make cloth for de winter clothes. us had a great long loom house whar some of de slaves didn't do nothin' but weave cloth. some cyarded bats, some done de spinnin', and dere was more of 'em to do de sewin'. miss ellen, she looked atter all dat, and she cut out most of de clothes. she seed dat us had plenty to wear. sometimes marster would go to de sewin' house, and mist'ess would tell him to git on 'way from dar and look atter his own wuk, dat her and aunt julia could run dat loom house. marster, he jus' laughed den and told us chillun what was hangin' round de door to jus' listen to dem 'omans cackle. oh, but he was a good old boss man. "us had water buckets, called piggens, what was made out of cedar and had handles on de sides. sometimes us sawed off little vinegar kegs and put handles on 'em. us loved to drink out of gourds. dere was lots of gourds raised evvy year. some of 'em was so big dey was used to keep eggs in and for lots of things us uses baskets for now. dem little gourds made fine dippers. "dem cornshuckin's was sho' 'nough big times. when us got all de corn gathered up and put in great long piles, den de gittin' ready started. why dem 'omans cooked for days, and de mens would git de shoats ready to barbecue. marster would send us out to git de slaves from de farms 'round about dar. "de place was all lit up wid light'ood-knot torches and bonfires, and dere was 'citement a-plenty when all de niggers got to singin' and shoutin' as dey made de shucks fly. one of dem songs went somepin lak dis: 'oh! my haid, my pore haid, oh! my pore haid is 'fected.' dere warn't nothin' wrong wid our haids--dat was jus' our way of lettin' our overseer know us wanted some likker. purty soon he would come 'round wid a big horn of whiskey, and dat made de 'pore haid' well, but it warn't long 'fore it got wuss again, and den us got another horn of whiskey. when de corn was all shucked den us et all us could and, let me tell you, dat was some good eatin's. den us danced de rest of de night. "next day when us all felt so tired and bad, marster he would tell us 'bout stayin' up all night, but mist'ess tuk up for us, and dat tickled old marster. he jus' laughed and said: 'will you listen to dat 'oman?' den he would make some of us sing one of dem songs us had done been singin' to dance by. it goes sort of lak dis: 'turn your pardner 'round! steal 'round de corner, 'cause dem johnson gals is hard to beat! jus' glance 'round and have a good time! dem gals is hard to find!' dat's jus' 'bout all i can ricollect of it now. "us had big 'possum hunts, and us sho' cotched a heap of 'em. de gals cooked 'em wid 'taters and dey jus' made your mouth water. i sho' wish i had one now. rabbits was good too. marster didn't 'low no huntin' wid guns, so us jus' took dogs when us went huntin'. rabbits was kilt wid sticks and rocks 'cept when a big snow come. dey was easy to track to dey beds den, and us could jus' reach in and pull 'em out. when us cotch 'nough of 'em, us had big rabbit suppers. "de big war was 'bout over when dem yankees come by our place and jus' went through evvything. dey called all de slaves together and told 'em dey was free and didn't b'long to nobody no more, and said de slaves could take all dey wanted from de smokehouses and barns and de big house, and could go when and whar dey wanted to go. dey tried to hand us out all de meat and hams, but us told 'em us warn't hongry, 'cause marster had allus done give us all us wanted. when dey couldn't make none of us take nothin', dey said it was de strangest thing dey had done ever seed, and dat dat man echols must have sho' been good to his niggers. "when dem yankees had done gone off marster come out to our place. he blowed de bugle to call us all up to de house. he couldn't hardly talk, 'cause somebody had done told him dat dem yankees couldn't talk his niggers into stealin' nothin'. marster said he never knowed 'fore how good us loved him. he told us he had done tried to be good to us and had done de best he could for us and dat he was mighty proud of de way evvy one of us had done 'haved ourselfs. he said dat de war was over now, and us was free and could go anywhar us wanted to, but dat us didn't have to go if us wanted to stay dar. he said he would pay us for our wuk and take keer of us if us stayed or, if us wanted to wuk on shares, he would 'low us to wuk some land dat way. a few of dem niggers drifted off, but most of 'em stayed right dar 'til dey died." a sad note had come into robert's voice and he seemed to be almost overcome by the sorrow aroused by his reminiscences. his daughter was quick to perceive this and interrupted the conversation: "please lady," she said. "pa's too feeble to talk any more today. can't you let him rest now and come back again in a day or two? maybe he will be done 'membered things he couldn't call back today." the front door was open when robert's house was next visited, and a young girl answered the knock. "come in," she said. the little house was as dilapidated in the interior as it was on the outside. bright june sunshine filtered through the many gaps in the roof arousing wonder as to how the old man managed to remain inside this house during heavy rains. the room was scrupulously clean and neat. in it was a very old iron bed, a dresser that was minus its mirror, two chairs, and a table, all very old and dilapidated. the girl laughed when she called attention to a closet that was padlocked. "dat's whar grandpa keeps his rations," she said, and then volunteered the information: "he's gone next door to stay wid ma, whilst i clean up his house. he can't stand no dust, and when i sweeps, i raises a dust." the girl explained a inch square aperture in the door, with a sliding board fastened on the inside by saying: "dat's grandpa's peep-hole. he allus has to see who's dar 'fore he unfastens his door." robert was sitting on the back porch and his daughter was ironing just inside the door. both seemed surprised and happy to see the interviewer and the daughter placed a comfortable chair for her as far as the dimensions of the small porch would permit from the heat of the charcoal bucket and irons. remembering that his earlier recollections had ended with the close of the civil war, robert started telling about the days "atter freedom had done come." "me, i stayed right on dar 'til atter marster died. he was sick a long, long time, and one morning old mist'ess, she called to me. 'robert,' she said, 'you ain't gwine to have no marster long, 'cause he's 'bout gone.' i called all de niggers up to de big house and when dey was all in de yard, mist'ess, she said: 'robert, you been wid us so long, you kin come in and see him 'fore he's gone for good.' when i got in dat room i knowed de lord had done laid his hand on my good old marster, and he was a-goin' to dat home he used to preach to us niggers 'bout, and it 'peared to me lak my heart would jus' bust. when de last breath was done gone, i went back out in de yard and told de other niggers, and dere was sho' cryin' and prayin' 'mongst 'em, 'cause all of 'em loved marster. dat was sho' one big funeral. mist'ess said she wanted all of marster's old slaves to go, 'cause he loved 'em so, and all of us went. some what had done been gone for years come back for marster's funeral. "next day, atter de funeral was over, mist'ess, she said: 'robert, i want you to stay on wid me 'cause you know how he wanted his wuk done.' den mist'ess' daughter and her husband, mr. dickenson, come dar to stay. none of de niggers laked dat mr. dickenson and so most of 'em left and den, 'bout years atter marster died, mist'ess went to 'lanta (atlanta) to stay wid another of her daughters, and she died dar. when mist'ess left, i left too and come on here to athens, and i been here ever since. "dere warn't much town here den, and 'most all 'round dis here place was woods. i wuked 'bout a year for mr. john mccune's fambly on de old pitner place, den i went to wuk for mr. manassas b. mcginty. he was a cyarpenter and built most of de fine houses what was put up here dem days. i got de lumber from him to build my house. dere warn't but two other houses 'round here den. my wife, julie, washed for de white folks and helped 'em do deir housewuk. our chillun used to come bring my dinner. us had dem good old red peas cooked wid side meat in a pot in de fireplace, and ashcake to go wid 'em. dat was eatin's. julie would rake out dem coals and kivver 'em wid ashes, and den she would wrop a pone of cornbread dough in collard or cabbage leaves and put it on dem ashes and rake more ashes over it. you had to dust off de bread 'fore you et it, but ashcake was mighty good, folks what lived off of it didn't git sick lak dey does now a-eatin' dis white flour bread all de time. if us had any peas left from dinner and supper, julie would mash 'em up right soft, make little cakes what she rolled in corn meal, and fry 'em for breakfast. dem sausage cakes made out of left-over peas was mighty fine for breakfast. "when de chillun started out wid my dinner, julie allus made two of 'em go together and hold hands all de way so dey wouldn't git lost. now, little chillun jus' a few years old goes anywhar dey wants to. folks don't look atter dey chillun lak dey ought to, and t'ain't right. den, when night come, chillun went right off to bed. now, dey jus' runs 'round 'most all night, and it sho' is a-ruinin' dis young genrayshun (generation). dey don't take no keer of deirselfs. my own grandchillun is de same way. "i left mr. mcginty and went to wuk for mr. bloomfield in de mill. mr. bill dootson was our boss, and he was sho' a good man. dem was good times. i wuked inside de mill and 'round de yard too, and sometimes dey sont me to ride de boat wid de cotton or sometimes wid cloth, whatever dey was sendin'. dere was two mills den. one was down below de bridge on oconee street, and de old check factory was t'other side of de bridge on broad street. dey used boats to carry de cotton and de cloth from one mill to de other. "missy, can you b'lieve it? i wuked for ¢ a day and us paid for our home here. dey paid us off wid tickets what us tuk to de commissary to git what us needed. dey kept jus' evvything dat anybody could want down dar at de comp'ny store. so us raised our nine chillun, give 'em plenty to eat and wear too and a good roof over deir haids, all on ¢ a day and what julie could make wukin' for de white folks. 'course things warn't high-priced lak dey is now, but de main diff'unce is dat folks didn't have to have so many kinds of things to eat and wear den lak dey does now. dere warn't nigh so many ways to throw money 'way den. "dere warn't so many places to go; jus' church and church spreads, and sundays, folks went buggy ridin'. de young niggers, 'specially dem what was a-sparkin', used to rent buggies and hosses from mr. selig bernstein. he kept a big livery stable den and he had a hoss named buckskin. dat was de hoss what evvybody wanted 'cause he was so gentle and didn't skeer de 'omans and chilluns. mr. bernstein is a-livin' yit, and he is sho' a good man to do business wid. missy, dere was lots of good white folks den. most of dem old ones is done passed on. one of de best of 'em was mr. robert chappell. he done passed on, but whilst he lived he was mighty good to evvybody and de colored folks sho' does miss him. he b'lieved in helpin' 'em and he give 'em several churches and tried his best to git 'em to live right. if mr. robert chappell ain't in heb'en, dere ain't no use for nobody else to try to git dar. his granddaughter married jedge matthews, and folks says she is most as good as her granddaddy was." robert chuckled when he was asked to tell about his wedding. "miss," he said, "i didn't have no sho' 'nough weddin'. me and julie jus' jumped over de broom in front of marster and us was married. dat was all dere was to it. dat was de way most of de slave folks got married dem days. us knowed better dan to ax de gal when us wanted to git married. us jus' told our marster and he done de axin'. den, if it was all right wid de gal, marster called all de other niggers up to de big house to see us jump over de broom. if a slave wanted to git married to somebody on another place, den he told marster and his marster would talk to de gal's marster. whatever dey 'greed on was all right. if neither one of 'em would sell one of de slaves what wanted to git married, den dey let 'em go ahead and jump over de broom, and de man jus' visited his wife on her marster's place, mostly on wednesday and sadday nights. if it was a long piece off, he didn't git dar so often. dey had to have passes den, 'cause de patterollers would git 'em sho' if dey didn't. dat meant a thrashin', and dey didn't miss layin' on de stick, when dey cotch a nigger. "dese days, de boys and gals jus' walks off and don't say nothin' to nobody, not even to dey mammies and daddies. [tr: written in margin: "elopement"] now take dis daughter of mine--callie is her name--she runned away when she was 'bout seventeen. dat day her mammy had done sont her wid de white folks' clothes. she had on brass-toed brogan shoes, a old faded cotton dress dat was plum up to her knees,--dem days, long dresses was stylish--and she wore a old bonnet. she was totin' de clothes to mrs. reese and met up wid dat davenport boy. dey traips'd up to de courthouse, got a license, and was married 'fore me and julie knowed nothin' 'bout it. julie sho' did light out from hyar to go git callie. she brung her back and kept her locked up in de house a long time 'fore she would let her live wid dat nigger. "us had our troubles den, but dey warn't lak de troubles us has now. now, it seems lak dem was mighty good days back when arch street was jus' a path through de woods. julie, she's done been gone a long time, and all of our chillun's daid 'cept three, and two of 'em is done gone up north. jus' me and my callie and de grandchillun is all dat's left here. soon i'se gwine to be 'lowed to go whar julie is and i'se ready any time, 'cause i done been here long 'nough." when the visitor arose to take her departure robert said: "good-bye missy, come back to see me and callie again 'cause us laked your 'pearments (appearance) de fust time you was here. jus' trust in de lord, miss, and he will take keer of you wharever you is." plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave tom singleton, ex-slave, age athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby research worker federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: leila harris editor federal writers' project augusta, georgia [date stamp: apr ] uncle tom lives alone in a one room cabin, about two and one half miles from town, on loop-de-loop road, not far from the brooklyn section of athens. he states that he lives alone because: "i wuz raised right and de niggers dis day and time ain't had no raisin'. i just can't be bothered wid havin' 'em 'round me all de time. dey ain't my sort of folkses." uncle tom says he will be years old on may th of this year, but many believe that he is much older. when asked if he felt like talking about his experiences and observances while he was a slave, he said: "i don't know, missie; i got a pow'ful hurtin' in my chest, and i'm too old to 'member much, but you ax me what you want to know and i'll try to tell you. i wuz born in lumpkin county on marster joe singleton's place. my ma wuz named nancy early, and she belonged to marster joe early what lived in jackson county. my pa's name wuz joe singleton. i don't 'member much 'bout my brothers and sisters. ma and pa had chillun. some of deir boys wuz me and isaac, jeff, moses, and jack; and deir gals wuz: celia, laura, dilsey, patsey, frankie, and elinor. dese wuz de youngest chillun. i don't 'member de fust ones. i don't ricollect nothin' t'all 'bout my grandma and grandpa, cause us wuz too busy to talk in de daytime, and at night us wuz so whupped out from hard wuk us just went off to sleep early and never talked much at no time. all i knows 'bout 'em is dat i heared folkses say my gran'pa wuz years old when he died. folkses don't live dat long now-a-days. "de slave quarters wuz in rows and had two rooms and a shed. dey had beds made out of poles fastened together wid pegs and 'cross 'em wuz laid de slats what dey spread de wheat straw on. us had good kivver 'cause our marster wuz a rich man and he believed in takin' keer of his niggers. some put sheets dat wuz white as snow over de straw. dem sheets wuz biled wid home-made soap what kept 'em white lak dat. udder folkses put quilts over de straw. at de end of de slave quarters wuz de barns and cow sheds, and a little beyond dem wuz de finest pasture you ever seed wid clear water a-bubblin' out of a pretty spring, and runnin' thoo' it. dar's whar dey turned de stock to graze when dey warn't wukkin' 'em." when tom was asked if he ever made any money, a mischievous smile illumined his face. "yes ma'am, you see i plowed durin' de day on old marster's farm. some of de white folks what didn't have many niggers would ax old marster to let us help on dey places. us had to do dat wuk at night. on bright moonshiny nights, i would cut wood, fix fences, and sich lak for 'em. wid de money dey paid me i bought sunday shoes and a sunday coat and sich lak, cause i wuz a nigger what always did lak to look good on sunday. "yes ma'am, us had good clo'es de year 'round. our summer clothes wuz white, white as snow. old marster said dey looked lak linen. in winter us wore heavy yarn what de women made on de looms. one strand wuz wool and one wuz cotton. us wore our brogan shoes evvy day and sunday too. marster wuz a merchant and bought shoes from de tanyard. howsomever, he had a colored man on his place what could make any kind of shoes. "lawdy! missie, us had evvythin' to eat; all kinds of greens, turnips, peas, 'tatoes, meat and chickens. us wuz plumb fools 'bout fried chicken and chicken stew, so marster 'lowed us to raise plenty of chickens, and sometimes at night us niggers would git together and have a hee old time. no ma'am, us didn't have no gyardens. us didn't need none. old marster give us all de vittuls us wanted. missie, you oughta seed dem big old iron spiders what dey cooked in. 'course de white folkses called 'em ovens. de biscuits and blackberry pies dey cooked in spiders, dey wuz somethin' else. oh! don't talk 'bout dem 'possums! makes me hongry just to think 'bout 'em. one night when pa and me went 'possum huntin', i put a 'possum what us cotched in a sack and flung it 'cross my back. atter us started home dat 'possum chewed a hole in de sack and bit me square in de back. i 'member my pa had a little dog." here he stopped talking and called a little black and white dog to him, and said: "he wuz 'bout de size of dis here dog, and pa said he could natchelly jus' make a 'possum de way he always found one so quick when us went huntin'." the old man sighed, and looking out across the field, continued: "atter slav'ry days, niggers turned dey chilluns loose, an' den de 'possums an' rabbits most all left, and dere ain't so many fishes left in de rivers neither." tom could not recall much about his first master: "i wuz four year old when marster dr. joe singleton died. all i 'members 'bout him; he wuz a big man, and i sho' wuz skeered of him. when he cotch us in de branch, he would holler at us and say: 'come out of dar 'fore you git sick.' he didn't 'low us to play in no water, and when, he hollered, us lit a rag. dere wuz 'bout a thousand acres in marse joe's plantation, he owned a gold mine and a copper mine too. old marster owned 'bout niggers in all. he bought an' sold niggers too. when old marster wanted to send news, he put a nigger on a mule an' sont de message. "atter marse joe died, old mist'ess run de farm 'bout six years. mist'ess' daughter, miss mattie, married marster fred lucas, an' old mist'ess sold her share in de plantation den. my pa, my sister, an' me wuz sold on de block at de sheriff's sale. durin' de sale my sister cried all de time, an' pa rubbed his han' over her head an' face, an' he said: 'don't cry, you is gwine live wid young miss mattie.' i didn't cry none, 'cause i didn't care. marse fred bought us, an' tuk us to athens to live, an' old mist'ess went to live wid her chilluns. "marse fred didn't have a very big plantation; jus' 'bout or acres i guess, an' he had 'bout niggers. he didn't have no overseer. my pa wuz de one in charge, an' he tuk his orders from marse fred, den he went out to de farm, whar he seed dat de niggers carried 'em out. pa wuz de carriage driver too. it wuz his delight to drive for marster and mist'ess. "marster and mist'ess had eight chillun: miss mattie, miss mary, miss fannie, miss senie, mr. dave, mr. joe, mr. frank and mr. freddy. dey lived in a big house, weather-boarded over logs, an' de inside wuz ceiled. "marster an' mist'ess sho' wuz good to us niggers. us warn't beat much. de onliest nigger i 'member dey whupped wuz cicero. he wuz a bad boy. my marster never did whup me but onct. mist'ess sont me up town to fetch her a spool of thread. i got to playin' marbles an' 'fore i knowed it, it wuz dinner time. when i got home, mist'ess wuz mad sno' 'nough. marster cotch me an' wore me out, but mist'ess never touched me. i seed niggers in de big jail at watkinsville an' in de calaboose in athens. yes ma'am! i seed plenty of niggers sold on de block in watkinsville. i ricollects de price of one nigger run up to $ , . all de sellin' wuz done by de sheriffs an' de slave marsters. "marster fred lucas sold his place whar he wuz livin' in town to major cook, an' moved to his farm near princeton factory. atter major cook got kilt in de war, marse fred come back to town an' lived in his house again. "no ma'am, dey warn't no schools for niggers in slav'ry time. mist'ess' daughters went to lucy cobb. celia, my sister, wuz deir nurse, an' when all our little missies got grown, celia wuz de house gal. so when our little missies went to school dey come home an' larnt celia how to read an' write. 'bout two years atter freedom, she begun to teach school herself. "us had our own churches in town, an' de white folkses furnished our preachers. once dey baptised in de river below de check factory; white folkses fust, and niggers last. "oh! dem patterrollers! dey wuz rough mens. i heared 'em say dey would beat de stuffin' out of you, if dey cotch you widout no pass. "yes ma'am! dar always wuz a little trouble twixt de white folkses an' niggers; always a little. heaps of de niggers went nawth. i wuz told some white men's livin' in town hyar helped 'em git away. my wife had six of 'er kinfolkses what got clean back to africa, an' dey wrote back here from dar. "us had parties an' dances at night. sometimes mist'ess let celia wear some of de little missies' clo'es, 'cause she wanted her to outshine de other nigger gals. dey give us a week at christmas time, an' christmas day wuz a big day. dey give us most evvythin': a knot of candy as big as my fist, an' heaps of other good things. at corn shuckin's old marster fotched a gallon keg of whiskey to de quarters an' passed it 'round. some just got tipsy an' some got low down drunk. de onliest cotton pickin' us knowed 'bout wuz when us picked in de daytime, an' dey warn't no good time to dat. a nigger can't even sing much wid his head all bent down pickin' cotton. "folkses had fine times at weddin's dem days. dar wuz more vittuls dan us could eat. now dey just han' out a little somethin'. de white folkses had a fine time too. dey let de niggers git married in deir houses. if it wuz bad weather, den de weddin' wuz most genully in de hall, but if it wuz a pretty day, dey married in de yard. "i can't 'member much 'bout de games us played or de songs us sung. a few of de games wuz marbles, football, an' town ball. 'bout dem witches, i don't know nothin'. some of de folkses wore a mole foot 'roun' dey neck to keep bad luck away: some wore a rabbit's foot fer sharpness, an' it sholy did fetch sharpness. i don't know nothin' 'tall 'bout rawhead and bloody bones, but i heared tell he got atter mist'ess' chillun an' made 'em be good. dey wuz pow'ful skeert of 'im. "old marster an' mist'ess looked atter deir niggers mighty well. when dey got sick, de doctor wuz sont for straight away. yes ma'am, dey looked atter 'em mighty well. holly leaves an' holly root biled together wuz good for indigestion, an' blackgum an' blackhaw roots biled together an' strained out an' mixed wid whiskey wuz good for diffunt mis'ries. some of de niggers wore little tar sacks 'roun' dey necks to keep de fever 'way. "yes ma'am.' i wuz in de war 'bout two years, wid young marster joe lucas. i waited on him, cooked for him, an' went on de scout march wid him, for to tote his gun, an' see atter his needs. i wuz a bugger in dem days! "i 'members i wuz standin' on de corner of jackson street when dey said freedom had come. dat sho' wuz a rally day for de niggers. 'bout a thousand in all wuz standin' 'roun' here in athens dat day. yes ma'am, de fust time de yankees come thoo' dey robbed an' stole all dey could find an' went on to monroe. next to come wuz de gyards to take charge of de town, an' dey wuz s'posed to set things to goin' right. "atter de war i stayed on wid marse fred, an' wukked for wages for six years, an' den farmed on halves wid him. some of de niggers went on a buyin' spree, an' dey bought land, hand over fist. some bought eight an' nine hundred acres at a time." when asked to tell about his wedding, a merry twinkle shone in his eyes: "lawdy, missie, dis ole nigger nebber married 'til long atter de war. us sho' did cut up jack. us wuz too old to have any chillun, but us wuz so gay, us went to evvy dance 'til 'bout six years ago. she died den, an' lef' me all by myse'f. "dat mr. abyham lincoln wuz a reg'lar nigger god. us b'lieved dat mr. jeff. davis wuz all right too. booker washin'ton give a speech here onct, an' i wuz dar, but de niggers made sich a fuss over him i couldn't take in what he said." asked what he thinks about slavery, now that it is over, he replied: "i think it is all right. god intended it. de white folks run de injuns out, but dey is comin' back for sho'. god said every nation shall go to deir own land 'fore de end. "i just jined de church right lately. i had cut de buck when i wuz a young chap, and god has promised us two places, heb'en an' hell. i thinks it would be scand'lous for anybody to go to hell, so i 'cided to jine up wid de crowd goin' to heb'en." after the interview, he called to a little negro boy that had wandered into the house: "moses! gimme a drink of water! fotch me a chaw of 'bacco, missie done tuck me up de crick, down de branch, now she's a gwine 'roun'. hurry! boy, do as i say, gimme dat water. nigger chillun, dis day an' time, is too lazy to earn deir bread. i wuz sorry to see you come, missie 'cause my chest wuz a hurtin' so bad, but now i'se sorry to see you go." out of breath, he was silent for a moment, then grinned and said: "i wuz just lookin' at de injun on dis here nickle, you done gimme. he looks so happy! good-bye, missie, hurry an' come back! you helped dis old nigger lots, but my chest sho' do hurt." [hw: dist. ex slave ] mary a. crawford re-search worker charlie tye smith, ex-slave east solomon avenue, griffin, georgia september , [date stamp: may ] charlie tye smith was born in henry county, near locust grove, georgia, on june , (as nearly as he can tell). his mother kept his age for him and had him tell it to her over and over when he was a little boy. the old fellow is well and rather alert, despite his eighty-six years. mr. jim smith, of henry county, was charlie's owner and according to charlie's version, "sho wuz a mighty good marster". mr. smith owned a large plantation, and also "around one hundred and fifty, to two hundred darkies". charlie recalls that the slaves were well treated, seldom "whupped", and never "onmercifully". "ole miss", too, [hw: was] "powerful good" to the darkies, most especially to the "chillun." the old man related the following incident in proof of miss nancy's goodness. about every two weeks "ole miss" would have "ole uncle jim" bake "a whole passel of ginger cakes and tote 'em down to the cabins and jest pitch 'em out by de handfuls to de chillun!" the old man smiled broadly as he concluded the ginger cake story and said, "charlie allus got his share. miss nancy seed to that, kase i wuz one of ole miss's best little darkies". the interviewer inquired as to how so many ginger cakes could have been baked so easily, and he replied that "ole marse" had a big rock-oven down at the spring about like what they boil syrup cane juice in today. the slaves on "marse jim's" place were allowed about four holidays a year, and a week at christmas, to frolic. the amusements were dancing ("the break-down"), banjo playing, and quill blowing. sometimes when the "patarol" was in a good humor, he would take about twenty-five or thirty "niggers" and go fishing at night. this kind of fishing was mostly seining, and usually "they got plenty o' fish". charlie, true to his race, is quite superstitious and on many occasions "went into the cow lot on christmas night and found the cows down on their knees 'a-lowin". he also witnessed the "sun shoutin" on christmas morning and "made sho" to get up jest in time to see the sun as it first "showed itself." here charlie did some very special gesticulating to illustrate. the negroes were required to go to church on sunday. they called it "gwine to meetin'", often leaving at sun up and walking ten or twelve miles to the meeting house, staying all day and late into the night. if "ole marse" happened to be in a good humor on sunday, he would let the darkies use the "waggins" and mules. the little "niggers" never went to meetin' as they were left at home to take care of the house and "nuss" the babies. there were no sunday schools in those days. when the grown folks got back late in the night, they often "had to do some tall knocking and banging to get in the house--'cause the chillun were so dead asleep, and layin' all over the floor". when asked if the slaves wouldn't be awfully tired and sleepy the next morning after they stayed up so late, he replied that they were "sho tired" but they had better turn out at four o'clock when ole marse "blowed the horn!" they [tr: then?] he added with a chuckle, "the field was usually strowed with niggers asleep in the cotton rows when they knocked off for dinner". "no, miss, the marster never give us no money (here he laughed), for we didn't need none. there wasn't nothing to buy, and we had plenty to eat and wear". "yes, mr. jim and miss nancy believed in whuppin' and kep the raw hide hanging by the back door, but none o' mr. jim's niggers evah got beat till dey bled". charlie tye recalls vividly when the yankees passed through and graphically related the following incident. "the yankees passed through and caught "ole marse" jim and made him pull off his boots and run bare-footed through a cane brake with half a bushel of potatoes tied around his neck; then they made him put his boots back on and carried him down to the mill and tied him to the water post. they were getting ready to break his neck when one of master's slaves, "ole peter smith", asked them if they intended to kill "marse jim", and when they said "yes", peter choked up and said, "well, please, suh, let me die wid ole marse! well, dem yankees let ole marse loose and left! yes, missy, dat's de truf 'case i've heered my daddy tell it many's the time!" charlie is not working at all now as he is too old and is supported by the griffin relief association. for forty-five years he served as janitor in the various public schools of griffin. plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave georgia smith, age augusta ave. athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune research worker federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall editor federal writers' project athens, georgia wpa residency no. april , the cold, rainy, and altogether disagreeable weather on the outside was soon forgotten when the interviewer was admitted to the neat little home of aunt georgia smith and found the old woman enjoying the cheerful warmth of her blazing fire. aunt georgia appeared to be quite feeble. she was not only willing, but eager to talk of her experiences, and explained that her slow and rather indistinct articulation is one of the several bad after effects of her recent stroke of paralysis. "my pappy was blackstone smith, and he b'longed to marse jeb smith. my mammy was nancy chappell, owned by mistus peggie chappell. "i stayed wid my mammy on mistus chappell's plantation in oglethorpe county, near old antioch church. w'en i was 'bout five or six years ole my mammy died. den my pappy done come an' got me, an' i was to stay wid 'im on marster smith's place. dey was good to me dar, but i warn't satisfied, an' i cried for old mistus. "i'd jes' go 'roun' snifflin', an' not eatin' nuffin', an' one day w'en us was pickin' peaches, marster smith tole my pappy he better take dat chile back to her old mistus, 'fo' she done git sick fer sho'. "hit was de next day w'en dey ax me did i want to see old mistus an' i jes' cry an' say, 'yassum.' den marster say: 'blackstone, hitch a mule to dat wagon, an' take dat chile right back to her old mistus.' i tell 'em i can walk, but dey made me ride in de wagon, an' i sho' was glad i was goin' back home. "i seed old mistus 'fo' i got dar, an' jumped out of de wagon an' run to 'er. w'en she seed me, she jes' grabbed me, an' i thought she was a laughin', but when i seed dat she was cryin', i tole 'er not to cry, dat i warn't goin' to leave 'er no mo'. "mistus sho' was good to me, but she was good to all 'er niggers, an' dey all loved 'er. us allus had plenny of evvything, she made us wear plenny of good warm clo'es, an' us wo'e flannel petticoats when hit was cole weather. chillun don't wear 'nuff clo'es dese days to keep 'em warm, an nuffin' on deir legs. hits a wonder dey doan' freeze. "i diden' stay at de quarters with de udder niggers. mistus kep' me in de big 'ouse wid 'er, an' i slep' on a cotton mattress on de floor by de side of 'er bed. she had a stick dat she used to punch me wid w'en she wannid somepin' in de night, an' effen i was hard to wake, she sho' could punch wid dat stick. "mistus diden' ever have us niggers whipped 'lessen it jes' had to be done. an' if us chilluns was bad, fussin' an' fightin', mistus would git 'er a stick, but us would jes' run an' hide, an' mistus would forgit all 'bout it in jes' a little w'ile. "marster was dead, an' us had a overseer, but he was good to us jes' lak' mistus was. hit was a big old plantation, wid lots of niggers. w'en de overseer would try to larn de chilluns to plow an' dey diden' want to larn, dey would jes' play 'roun'. sometimes dey snuck off to de udder side of de fiel' an' hunnid for lizards. dey would hold a lizard's head wid a stick, an' spit 'bacco juice in 'is mouf an' turn 'im loose. de 'bacco juice would make de lizard drunk, and he would run 'roun' an' 'roun'. dey would cotch snakes, kill dem an' hang de skins on trees so hit would rain an' dey wouldn't have to wuk in de fiel'. "de quarters was built away f'um de big 'ouse. dey was cabins made of logs an' dey all had dey own gardens whar dey raised all kinds of vegetables an' allus had plenny of hog meat. de cookin' was done on a big fireplace an' in brick ovens. 'taters was baked in de ashes, an' dey sho' was good. "dey had big times huntin' an' fishin' w'en de wuk was over. dey cotch lots of 'possums, an' had big 'possum suppers. de 'possums was roasted with plenny of 'taters, butter an' red pepper. us would eat an' dance most of de night w'en us had a 'possum supper. "de rabbits was so bad in de gardens dat dey tuk white rags an' tied 'em on sticks stuck up in de ground. rabbits woulden' come 'roun' den, cyaze dey was 'fraid of dem white rags flyin' on de sticks. "mistus b'lieved in lookin' atter her niggers w'en dey was sick. she would give 'em medicine at home. candy an' tea, made wid ho'e houn' an' butterfly root tea was good for worms; dewberry wine, lak'wise dewberry root tea was good for de stomach ache; samson snake root an' poplar bark tea was good medicine for coles an' so'e th'oats, an' w'en you was in pain, de red pepper bag would sho' help lots sometimes. if de homemade medicine diden' cyore 'em, den mistus sont for de doctor. "slaves went to de white folkses chu'ch an' sot up in de gallery. dey stayed all day at chu'ch, an' had big dinners on de groun'. dem was sho' 'nough good dinners. us had big times on meetin' days. "our slaves had prayer meetin' twict a week in deir quarters, 'til dey got 'roun' to all de cabins den dey would start over again. dey prayed an' sung all de old songs, and some of 'em as i 'member are: 'roll jordan roll,'--'better mind how you step on de cross,'--'cause you ain' gon 'er be here long,'--'tell de story bye an' bye,'--'all god's chilluns are a gatherin' home,' an' 'we'll understand better bye an' bye.' dey really could sing dem old songs. mistus would let me go to dem cabin prayer meetin's an' i sho' did enjoy 'em. "w'en slaves died dey jes' tuk 'em off an buried 'em. i doan' 'member 'em ever havin' a funeral, 'til way atter freedom done come an' niggers got dey own chu'ches. "i 'member one night dey had a quiltin' in de quarters. de quilt was up in de frame, an' dey was all jes' quiltin' an' singin', 'all god's chilluns are a gatherin' home,' w'en a drunk man wannid to preach, an' he jumped up on de quilt. hit all fell down on de flo', an' dey all got fightin' mad at 'im. dey locked 'im in de smokehouse 'til mornin', but dey diden' nobody tell mistus nuffin' 'bout it. "us chilluns had to pick peas; two baskets full 'fo' dinner an' two 'fo' night, an' dey was big baskets too. i 'member dere was a white widow 'oman what lived near our place, an' she had two boys. mistus let dem boys pick 'em some peas w'en us would be pickin', an' us would run 'em off, cause us diden' lak' po' white trash. but mistus made us let 'em pick all dey wannid. "i was 'bout twelve years old w'en freedom come, an' was big 'nough to wait on mistus good den. i 'member how i used to run to de spring wid a little tin bucket w'en she wannid a fresh drink of water. "mos' of de slaves stayed with mistus atter freedom come, 'cause dey all loved her, an' dey diden' have no place to go. mistus fed 'em jes' lak' she had allus done and paid 'em a little money too. us diden' never have no fussin' an' fightin' on our place, an' de ku klux klan never come 'roun' dar, but de niggers had to have a ticket if dey lef' de place on sunday. dat was so de paddyrollers woulden' whip 'em if dey cotch 'em. "all de niggers on de udder places, called us free niggers long 'fo' freedom come, 'cause we diden' have no whippin' post, an' if any of us jes' had to be whipped, mistus would see dat dey warn't beat bad 'nough to leave no stripes. "my pappy left de old smith plantation, soon atter he got 'is freedom, an' went to augusta, georgia whar he died in jes' 'bout two years. "i waked up one mornin' an' heered mistus makin' a funny fuss. she was tryin' to git up an' pullin' at her gown. i was plum skeert an' i runned atter some of de udder folkses. dey come a runnin' but she never did speak no mo', an' diden' live but jes' a few hours longer. de white folkses made me go to 'er funeral. dere sho' was a big crowd of folkses dar, 'cause evvybody loved mistus; she was so good to evvybody. dey diden' preach long, mos'ly jes' prayed an' sung mistus' favorite songs: 'all god's chillun are a gatherin' home,' and', 'we'll understand bye an' bye.' "i lef' de old place not long atter mistus died, 'cause hit was too lonesome dar an' i missed her so much, i come to town an' jes' wukked for white folkses. i doan' 'member all of 'em. but i cain' wuk no mo' now, an' hit woan' be so long 'til i see my old mistus again, an' den i can still wait on her, an' we woan' have to part no mo'." [hw: dist. ex slave ] ex-slave interview: mary smith spruce street augusta, georgia (richmond county) by: (mrs.) margaret johnson editor fed. writer's proj. augusta, georgia [date stamp: may ] such a hovel, such squalor it would be hard to imagine. only first hand observation could be a reliable witness to such conditions. into a tiny room was squeezed a double and a single bed with a passage-way barely wide enough to walk between the two beds. the door from the small porch could be opened only enough to allow one to enter, as the head on the single bed was against it. a small fire burned in the open fire place. an old man, ragged but respectful, and two old women were sitting in the room, one on a broken chair, the other on an empty nail keg. as we entered the room one of the old women got up, took a badly clipped and handleless teacup from the hearth and offered it to a girl lying in the single bed, in a smother of dirty quilts. mary was a squat figure, her head tied up in a dirty towel, her dress ragged and dirty, and much too small for her abundant figure. she welcomed us telling us the "po chile was bad sick" but she would talk to us. as the door of the lean-to kitchen was open, it offered a breath of outside air, even though polluted with the garbage scattered on the ground, and the odors from chickens, cats and dogs meandering about. mary's round face was unwrinkled, but the wisps of wool showing beneath her "head rag" were grey, and her eyes were rheumy with age. she was entirely toothless and her large tongue rolled ceaselessly in her mouth, chewing nothing. her articulation necessarily was very poor. "i wus seven yeres old when freedum cum. my ma and pa belonged to mr. mcnorrell of burke county. miss sally was a good lady and kind to evebody. my marster was a good man cuz he was a preacher, i never member him whuppin' anybody. i 'members slavry, yes mam, i 'members all the slaves' meals wus cooked in de yard, in big pots hung up on hooks on a iron bar. the fust wurk i ever done wus to push fire wood under dem pots. mostly i stayed home and minded de baby. my ma uster pin a piece of fat back on my dres' before she went to de fiel' and when de baby cry i tek him up and let 'em suck 'em. my brudder you see sittin' in dere, he de baby i uster mine. my pa wuz the blacksmith on the plantashun, and he mek all de plows and tings like dat. my ma tek me to de fiel when i wuz 'bout sever yeres ole and teach me to chop cotton, i don't member what happen when freedom come, tings wuz 'bout de same, fur as we chillun knowed." elizabeth watson m.g. / / melvin smith, ex-slave, years [date stamp: jul ] "yes'm, i show does 'member all 'about my white folks an' th' war 'cause i was twenty-four year ole when th' war was over. i was born in an' that makes me 'bout eighty-seven now, don't it?" old melvin smith sat back in his chair with a smile of satisfaction on his face. he was seated on the narrow porch of his little cabin with the bright sunshine beaming down upon him. but his blind eyes could not notice the glare from the sun. his wife and daughter appeared from around the corner of the house and took their places near him to hear again the story that they had heard many times before. "my white folks lived in beaufort, south ca'lina, an' that's whar i was born," melvin continued. "my old miss, i called her miss mary, took care of me 'till i was eight year old. then she give me back to my ma. you see, it was this a-way. my ma an' pa was sold in beaufort; i don't know whar they come from before that. when i was born miss mary took me in th' big house with her an' thar i stayed, jest like i told you, 'till i was eight. old miss jest wanted me to be in th' room with her an' i slep' on a pallet right near her bed. in the daytime i played in th' yard an' i pick up chips for old miss. then when i got most big enuff to work she give me back to my ma. "then i live in a cabin like the rest of th' niggers. th' quarters was stretched out in a line behind marse jim's house. ever' nigger fam'ly had a house to theyselves. me an' my pa an' ma, they names was nancy an' henry smith, live in a cabin with my sisters. they names was saphronia an' annie. we had beds in them cabins made out of cypress. they looked jest like they do now. ever'body cooked on th' fire place. they had pots an' boilers that hung over th' fire an' we put th' vittles in thar an' they cooked an' we et 'em. 'course we never et so much in th' cabin 'cause ever mornin' th' folks all went to th' field. ma an' pa was field hands an' i worked thar too when i got big enuff. saphronia an' annie, they worked to th' big house. all th' nigger chillun stayed all day with a woman that was hired to take care of them." when asked about the kind of food they ate, melvin replied: "we had enuff for anybody. th' vittles was cooked in great big pots over th' fire jest like they was cookin' for stock. peas in this pot, greens in that one. corn-bread was made up an' put back in th' husks an' cooked in th' ashes. they called that a ash cake. well, when ever'thing was done th' vittles was poured in a trough an' we all et. we had spoons cut out of wood that we et with. thar was a big lake on th' plantation whar we could fish an' they show was good when we had 'em for supper. sometimes we go huntin' an' then we had possum an' squirrel to eat. th' possums was best of all." melvin was asked to tell something about his master's family. "old marster was name jim farrell an' his wife was miss mary. they had three chillun name mary, jim an' martha. they live in a big white house sot off from th' road 'bout two an' a half mile from beaufort. marster was rich i reckon 'cause he had 'bout a sixteen horse farm an' a whole hoodle of niggers. if you measured 'em it would a-been several cowpens full. heap of them niggers worked in marster's house to wait on th' white folks. they had a heap of comp'ny so they had to have a heap of niggers. marster was good to his niggers but he had a overseer that was a mean man. he beat th' niggers so bad that marster showed him th' road an' told him to git. then th' boss an' his son looked after th' hands theyselves 'till they could git another one. that overseer's name was jimmy. "ever' mornin' at four clock th' overseer blowed a conchshell an' all us niggers knowed it was time to git up an' go to work. sometimes he blowed a bugle that'd wake up the nation. ever'body worked from sunup 'till sundown. if we didn't git up when we was s'posed to we got a beatin'. marster'd make 'em beat the part that couldn't be bought." melvin chuckled at his own sly way of saying that the slaves were whipped through their clothes. "in the summertime," he continued, "we wore shirts that come down to here." melvin measured to his ankle. "in the wintertime we wore heavy jeans over them shirts an' brogan shoes. they made shoes on the plantation but mine was store-bought. marster give us all the vittles an' clothes we needed. he was good to ever'body. i 'member all the po' white trash that lived near us. marster all time send 'em meat an' bread an' help 'em with they crop. some of 'em come from goldsboro, north ca'lina to git a crop whar we lived. they was so sorry they couldn't git no crop whar they come frum, so they moved near us. sometimes they even come to see the niggers an' et with us. we went to see them, too, but we had more to eat than them. they was sorry folks." after a pause, melvin asked: "did you ever hear how the niggers was sold? they was put on a stage on the courthouse square an' sold kinder like they was stock. the prettiest one got the biggest bid. they said that they was a market in north ca'lina but i never see'd it. the ones i saw was jest sold like i told you. then they went home with they marsters. if they tried to run away they sont the hounds after them. them dogs would sniff around an' first news you knowed they caught them niggers. marster's niggers run away some but they always come back. they'd hear that they could have a better time up north so they think they try it. but they found out that they wasn't no easy way to live away from marster. he always took 'em back, didn't beat 'em nor nothin'. i run away once myself but i never went nowhere." melvin's long body shook with laughter as he thought of his prank. he shifted in his chair and then began: "i was 'bout sixteen an' i took a notion i was grown. so i got under the house right under marster's dinin' room an' thar i stayed for three months. nobody but the cook knowed whar i was. they was a hole cut in the floor so ever' day she lifted the lid an' give me something to eat. ever' day i sneaked out an' got some water an' walked about a bit but i never let nobody see me. i jest got biggety like chillun does now. when i got ready to come out for good i went 'way round by the barn an' come up so nobody know whar i been. ol' miss was standin' in the yard an' she spy me an' say, 'jim," she always call all us niggers jim 'cause that was marster's name. she say, "jim, whar you been so long?' i say, 'i been to mr. jones's workin' but i don't like the way they treat me. you all treats me better over here so i come back home.' i say, 'you ain't gonna whip me is you, miss?' ol' miss say, 'no, i ain't gonna whip you this time but if you do such a thing again i'm gonna use all the leather on this place on you." so i went on 'bout my business an' they never bothered me." melvin was asked about the church he attended. to this he replied: "the niggers had a church in the bush arbor right thar on the place. preacher sam bell come ever' sunday mornin' at ten clock an' we sot thar an' listened to him 'till 'leven thirty. then we tear home an' eat our dinner an' lie round till four-thirty. we'd go back to church an' stay 'bout hour an' come home for supper. the preacher was the onliest one that could read the bible. when a nigger joined the church he was baptized in the creek near the bush arbor." and in a low tone he began to speak the words of the old song though he became somewhat confused. "lord, remember all thy dying groans, and then remember me. while others fought to win the prize and sailed through bloody sea. "through many dangers, toils an' snares, i have already come. i once was lost but now am found, was blind but now i see." "i've knowed that song for a long time. i been a member of the church for sixty year." when asked about the war, melvin became somewhat excited. he rose feebly to his feet and clasped his walking stick as if it were a gun. "i see'd the yankee soldiers drill right thar in front of our house," he said. "they'd be marchin' 'long this way (melvin stumblingly took a few steps across the porch) an' the cap'n say, 'right' an' they turn back this here way." melvin retraced his steps to illustrate his words. "cap'n say, 'aim' an' they aim." he lifted his stick and aimed. "cap'n say, 'fire' an' they fire. i see'd 'em most ever' day. ol' marster was a cap'n in our army. i hear big guns a-boomin' all a-time an' the sights i did see! streets jest runnin' with blood jest like it was water. here lay a man on this side with his legs shot off; on that thar side they was a man with his arms shot off. some of them never had no head. it was a terrible sight. i wasn't scared 'cause i knowed they wouldn't hurt me. them yankees never bothered nothin' we had. i hear some folks say that they stole they vittles but they never bothered ours 'cause they had plenty of they own. after the war marster called us together an' say, 'you is free an' can go if you want to' an' i left, so that's all i know." a few days later a second visit was made to melvin. this time he was on the inside of his little cabin and was all alone. he came forward, a broad smile on his face, when he heard familiar voices. "i been thinkin' 'bout what i told you an' i b'lieve that's 'bout all i 'member," he said. then he was asked if he remembered any days when the slaves did not have to work. "yes'm," was the reply. "we never worked on christmas or the fourth of july. marster always give us big sacks of fruit an' candy on christmas an' a barbecue the fourth of july. we never worked none new year's day, neither. we jest sot around an' et chicken, fish an' biscuit. durin' the week on wednesday an' thursday night we had dances an' then they was a lot of fiddlin' an' banjo playin'. we was glad to see days when we never had to work 'cause then we could sleep. it seem like the niggers had to git up soon's they lay down. marster was good to us but the overseer was mean. he wan't no po' white trash; he was up-to-date but he like to beat on niggers." when asked if he has been happier since he was freed, he replied: "in a sense the niggers is better off since freedom come. ol' marster was good an' kind but i like to be free to go whar i please. back then we couldn't go nowhar 'less we had a pass. we don't have no overseer to bother us now. it ain't that i didn't love my marster but i jest likes to be free. jest as soon as marster said i didn't b'long to nobody no more i left an' went to tallahassee. mr. charlie pearce come an' wanted some hands to work in orange groves an' fish for him so that's what i done. he took a whole crew. while we was down thar miss carrie standard, a white lady, had a school for the colored folks. 'course, my ol' miss had done taught me to read an' write out of the old blue back webster but i had done forgot how. miss carrie had 'bout fifteen in her class. "i stayed in tallahassee three years an' that's whar i married the first time. i was jest romancin' about an' happened to see ca'line harris so i married her. that was a year after the war. we never had no preacher but after we been goin' together for such a long time folks say we married. we married jest like the colored folks does now. when i left tallahassee i moved to another place in florida, thirteen mile from thomasville, ga. i stay thar 'bout thirty-seven year. my first wife died an' i married another. the second one lived twenty-one year an' i married again. the one what's livin' now is my third one. in she had a baby that was born with two lower teeth. it never lived but a year. in all, i've had twenty-three chillun. they most all lives in florida an' i don't know what they doin' or how many chillun they got. i got four gran'-chillun livin' here." melvin was asked to tell what he knew of the ku klux klan. he answered: "i don't know nothin' 'bout that, i hear somethin' 'bout it but i never b'lieved in it. i b'lieve in h'ants, though. i ain't never see'd one but i'se heard 'em. when you walkin' 'long an' a twig snaps an' you feel like you want to run an' your legs won't move an' your hair feels like it's goin' to rise off your head, that's a ha'nt after you. that sho is the evil sperrit. an' if you ain't good somethin' bad'll happen to you." when asked why he joined the church, he replied: "so many people is tryin' to live on flowery beds of ease that the world is in a gamblin' position an' if it wasn't for the christian part, the world would be destroyed. they ask god for mercy an' he grants it. when they git in trouble they can send a telegram wire an' git relief from on high." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave nancy smith, age about plum street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & nancy smith was in bed when the interviewer called. the aged negress appeared to be quite feeble but, even though she was alone in the house, her head was tied up in a snowy white cloth and the sickroom was neat and clean. the bowl of fresh flowers on her bedside table was no gayer than nancy's cheerful chuckle as she repeated the doctor's instructions that she must stay in bed because of a weak heart. "lawsy chile," she said, "i ain't dead yit." nancy stated that the grandson who lives with her has been preparing breakfast and cleaning the room since she has been bedridden, and that a niece who lives nearby comes in occasionally during the day to look after her. asked if she felt strong enough to talk about the old plantation days, she answered: "i jus' loves to talk 'bout old times, and i spends a lot of dis lonesome time here by myself jus' a-studyin' 'bout dem days. but now listen, chile, and understand dis. i warn't no plantation negro. our white folks was town folks, dey was. my mammy and daddy was julia and jack carlton. dey belonged to old marster, dr. joe carlton, and us lived right here in town in a big white house dat had a upstairs and a downstairs in it. our house stood right whar de courthouse is now. marster had all dat square and his mother, mist'ess bessie carlton, lived on de square de other side of marse joe's. his office was on de corner whar de georgia (georgian) hotel is now, and his hoss stable was right whar da cain's boardin' house is. honey, you jus' ought to have seed marse joe's hoss stable for it sho' was a big one. "no mam, i don't know 'zactly how old i is. i was born 'fore de war, and marse joe kept de records of all of us and evvything, but somehow dem books got lost. folks said i was 'bout de age of marse joe's son, dr. willie. marster had three boys: dr. joe, jr., dr. willie, and dr. jimmie, and dere was one little mist'ess. she was miss julia. us all played 'round in de yard together. "daddy, he was de car'iage driver. he driv marse joe 'round, 'cept when mist'ess wanted to go somewhar. den daddy driv de coach for her, and marse joe let another boy go wid him. "de biggest, bestest fireplace up at de big house was in de kitchen whar mammy done de cookin'. it had a great wide hearth wid four big swingin' racks and four big old pots. two of de ovens was big and two was little. dat was better cookin' 'rangements and fixin's dan most of de other white folks in dis town had den. when dat fire got good and hot and dere was plenty of ashes, den mammy started cookin' ash cakes and 'taters. one of mammy's good ash-roasted 'taters would be awful good right now wid some of dat good old home-made butter to go wid it. marster allus kept jus' barrels and barrels of good old home-made 'lasses sirup, 'cause he said dat was what made slave chilluns grow fast and be strong. folks don't know how to have plenty of good things to eat lak us had den. jus' think of marse joe's big old plantation down nigh de georgia railroad whar he raised our somepin' t'eat: vegetables sich as green corn, 'taters, cabbages, onions, collards, turnip greens, beans, peas--more than i could think up all day--and dere was plenty of wheat, rye, and corn for our bread. "out dar de pastur's was full of cows, hogs and sheep, and dey raised lots of chickens and turkeys on dat farm. dey clipped wool from dem sheep to weave wid de cotton when dey made cloth for our winter clothes. "marster had a overseer to look atter his plantation, but us chillun in town sho'ly did love to be 'lowed to go wid him or whoever went out dar when dey needed somepin' at de big house from de farm. dey needed us to open and shut gates and run errands, and whilest dey was gittin' up what was to be took back to town, us would run 'round seein' evvything us could. "honey, de clothes us wore den warn' t lak what folks has now. little gals jus' wore slips cut all in one piece, and boys didn't wear nothin' but long shirts 'til dey was big enough to wuk in de fields. dat was summertime clothes. in winter, dey give us plenty of warm clothes wid flannel petticoats and brass-toed shoes. grown-up negroes had dresses what was made wid waisties and skirts sewed together. dey had a few gathers in de skirts, but not many. de men wore homespun britches wid galluses to hold 'em up. white folks had lots better clothes. mist'ess' dresses had full, ruffled skirts and, no foolin', her clothes was sho'ly pretty. de white menfolks wore plain britches, but dey had bright colored coats and silk vests dat warn't lak de vests de men wears now. dem vests was more lak fancy coats dat didn't have no sleeves. some folks called 'em 'wescoats.' white chillun never had no special clothes for sunday. "miss julia used to make me sweep de yard wid a little brushbroom and i had to wear a bonnet den to keep dust out of my hair. dat bonnet was ruffled 'round de front and had staves to hold de brim stiff, but in de back it didn't have no ruffle; jus' de bottom of de crown what us called de bonnet tail. dem bonnets looked good enough in front but mighty bob-tailed in de back. "dey used to have big 'tracted meetin's in pierce's chapel nigh foundry street and hancock avenue, and us was allus glad for dem meetin' times to come. through de week dey preached at night, but when sunday come it was all day long and dinner on de ground. pierce's chapel was a old fashioned place, but you forgot all 'bout dat when brother thomas got in de pulpit and preached dem old time sermons 'bout how de devil gwine to git you if you don't repent and be washed in de blood of de lamb. de call to come up to de mourner's bench brought dem negroes jus' rollin' over one another in de 'citement. soon dey got happy and dere was shoutin' all over de place. some of 'em jus' fell out. when de 'tracted meetin' closed and de baptizin' dey come, dat was de happiest time of all. most of de time dere was a big crowd for brother thomas to lead down into de river, and dem negroes riz up out of de water a-singin': _lord, i'm comin' home_, _whar de healin' waters flow_, _roll, jordan roll_, _all god's chillun got wings_, and sich lak. you jus' knowed dey was happy. "no mam, i don't 'member much 'bout folks dyin' in dem days 'cause i never did love to go 'round dead folks. de first corpse i ever seed was marse joe's boy, young marse jimmy. i was skeered to go in dat room 'til i had done seed him so peaceful lak and still in dat pretty white casket. it was a sho' 'nough casket, a mighty nice one; not lak dem old home-made coffins most folks was buried in. hamp thomas, a colored man dat lived right below us, made coffins for white folks and slaves too. some of dem coffins was right nice. dey was made out of pine mostly, and sometimes he painted 'em and put a nice linin' over cotton paddin'. dat made 'em look better dan de rough boxes de porest folks was buried in. mammy said dat when slaves died out on de plantation day wropped de 'omans in windin' sheets and laid 'em on coolin' boards 'til de coffins was made, dey put a suit of homespun clothes on de mens when dey laid 'em out. dey jus' had a prayer when dey buried plantation slaves, but when de crops was laid by, maybe a long time atter de burial, dey would have a white man come preach a fun'ral sermon and de folks would all sing: _harps (hark) from de tomb_ and _callin' god's chillun home_. "dere warn't no patterollers in town, but slaves had to have passes if dey was out atter : o'clock at night or de town marshal would put a fine on 'em if dey couldn't show no pass. "de fust i knowed 'bout de war was when marse joe's brother, marse bennie carlton, left wid de other sojers and pretty soon he got kilt. i was little den, and it was de fust time i had ever seed our mist'ess cry. she jus' walked up and down in de yard a-wringin' her hands and cryin'. 'poor benny's been killed,' she would say over and over. "when dem yankee sojers come, us warn't much skeered 'cause marse joe had done told us all 'bout 'em and said to spect 'em 'fore long. sho' 'nough, one day dey come a-lopin' up in marse joe's yard. dey had dem old blue uniforms on and evvy one of 'em had a tin can and a sack tied to his saddle. marster told us dey kept drinkin' water in dem cans and dey called 'em canteens. de sacks was to carry deir victuals in. dem fellows went all through out big house and stole whatever dey wanted. dey got all of mist'ess' best silver 'cause us didn't have no time to hide it atter us knowed dey was nigh 'round de place. dey tuk all de somepin' t'eat dere was in de big house. when dey had done et all dey wanted and tuk evvything else dey could carry off, dey called us negroes up 'fore deir captain, and he said all of us was free and could go any time and anywhar us wanted to go. dey left, and us never seed 'em in dat yard no more. marse joe said all of us dat wanted to could stay on wid him. none of us had nowhar else to go and 'sides nobody wanted to go nowhar else, so evvy one of marse joe's negroes stayed right on wid him dat next year. us warn't skeered of dem kluxers (ku klux klan) here in town, but dey was right bad out on de plantations. "'bout de time i was old enough to go to school, daddy moved away from marse joe's. us went over to de other side of de river nigh whar de old check mill is. dey had made guns dar durin' de war, and us chillun used to go and look all through dat old mill house. us played 'long de river banks and went swimmin' in de river. dem was de good old days, but us never realized it den. "i never went to school much, 'cause i jus' couldn't seem to larn nothin'. our teachers said i didn't have no talent for book larnin'. school was taught in pierce's chapel by a negro man named randolph, and he sho'ly did make kids toe da mark. you had better know dem lessons or you was gwine to git fanned out and have to stay in atter school. us got out of school evvy day at : o'clock. dat was 'cause us was town chillun. i was glad i didn't live in de country 'cause country schools kept de chillun all day long. "it was sort of funny to be able to walk out and go in town whenever us wanted to widout gittin' marster's consent, but dere warn't nothin' much to go to town for 'less you wanted to buy somepin. a few stores, mostly on broad street, de town hall, and de fire hall was de places us headed for. us did love to hang 'round whar dat fire engine was, 'cause when a fire broke out evvybody went, jus' evvybody. folks would form lines from de nearest cisterns and wells and pass dem buckets of water on from one to another 'til dey got to de man nighest de fire. "soon as i was big enough, i went to wuk for white folks. dey never paid me much in cash money, but things was so much cheaper dan now dat you could take a little cash and buy lots of things. i wukked a long time for a yankee fambly named palmer dat lived on oconee street right below de old michael house, jus' 'fore you go down de hill. dey had two or three chillun and i ain't never gwine to forgit de day dat little miss eunice was runnin' and playin' in de kitchen and fell 'gainst de hot stove. all of us was skeered most to death 'cause it did seem den lak her face was plumb ruint, and for days folks was 'most sho' she was gwine to die. atter a long, long time miss eunice got well and growed up to be a fine school teacher. some of dem scars still shows on her face. "me and sam smith got married when i was . no chile, us didn't waste no money on a big weddin' but i did have a right pretty weddin' dress. it was nice and new and was made out of white silk. my sister was a-cookin' for mrs. white at dat time, and dey had a fine two-room kitchen in de back yard set off from de big house. my sister lived in one of dem rooms and cooked for de whites in de other one. mrs. white let us git married in her nice big kitchen and all de white folks come out from de big house to see brother thomas tie de knot for us. den me and sam built dis very same house whar you is a-settin', and i done been livin' here ever since. "us was livin' right here when dey put on dem fust new streetcars. little bitty mules pulled 'em 'long and sometimes dey had a right hard time draggin' dem big old cars through mud and bad weather. now and den day got too frisky and run away; dat was when dem cars would rock and roll and you wished you could git off and walk. most of de time dem little mules done good and us was jus' crazy 'bout ridin' on de streetcars." when nancy tired of talking she tactfully remarked: "i spects i better git quiet and rest now lak de doctor ordered, but i'm mighty glad you come, and i hopes you'll be back again 'fore long. most folks don't take up no time wid old wore-out negroes. good-bye, missy." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave nellie smith, age w. hancock avenue athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta georgia september , large pecan trees shaded the small, well-kept yard that led to nellie smith's five-room frame house. the front porch of her white cottage was almost obscured by a white cloud of fragrant clematis in full blossom, and the yard was filled with roses and other flowers. a small mulatto woman sat in the porch swing, a walking stick across her lap. her straight, white hair was done in a prim coil low on the neck, and her print dress and white apron were clean and neat. in answer to the visitor's inquiry, she smiled and said: "this is nellie smith. won't you come in out of the hot sun? i just knows you is plumb tuckered out. walkin' around in this hot weather is goin' to make you sick if you don't be mighty careful. "'scuse me for not gittin' up. i can't hardly make it by myself since i fell and got hurt so bad. my arm was broke and it looks lak my old back never will stop hurtin' no more. our doctor says i'll have to stay bandaged up this way two or three weeks longer, but i 'spects that's on account of my age. you know old folks' bones don't knit and heal quick lak young folks' and, jus' let me tell you, i've done been around here a mighty long time. are you comfortable, child? wouldn't you lak to have a glass of water? i'll call my daughter; she's back in the kitchen." nellie rapped heavily on the floor with her walking stick, and a tall, stout, mulatto in a freshly laundered house frock made her appearance. "this is my daughter, amanda," said nellie, and, addressing her off-spring, she continued: "bring this lady a drink of water. she needs it after walkin' 'way out here in this hot sun." ice tinkled in the glass that the smiling amanda offered as she inquired solicitously if there was anything else she could do. amanda soon went back to her work and nellie began her narrative. "lordy, honey, them days when i was a child, is so far back that i don't s'pect i can 'member much 'bout 'em. i does love to talk about them times, but there ain't many folks what keers anything 'bout listening to us old folks these days. if you don't mind we'll go to my room where it'll be more comfortable." amanda appeared again, helped nellie to her room, and placed her in a large chair with pillows to support the broken arm. amanda laughed happily when she noticed her mother's enthusiasm for the opportunity to relate her life story. "mother likes that," she said, "and i'm so glad you asked her to talk about those old times she thinks so much about. i'll be right back in the kitchen ironing; if you want anything, just call me." nellie now began again: "i was born right near where the coordinate college is now; it was the old weir place then. i don't know nothin' 'bout my daddy, but my mother's name was harriet weir, and she was owned by marster jack weir. he had a great big old plantation then and the homeplace is still standin', but it has been improved and changed so much that it don't look lak the same house. as marse jack's sons married off he give each one of 'em a home and two slaves, but he never did sell none of his slaves, and he told them boys they better not never sell none neither. "slaves slept in log cabins what had rock chimblies at the end. the rocks was put together with red clay. all the slaves was fed at the big house kitchen. the fireplace, where they done the cookin', was so big it went 'most across one end of that big old kitchen. it had long swingin' cranes to hang the pots on, and there was so many folks to cook for at one time that often there was five or six pots over the fire at the same time. them pots was large too--not lak the little cookin' vessels we use these days. for the bakin', they had all sizes of ovens. now child, let me tell you, that was good eatin'. folks don't take time enough to cook right now; they are always in too big a hurry to be doin' something else and don't cook things long enough. back in dem days they put the vegetables on to cook early in the mornin' and biled 'em 'til they was good and done. the biggest diffunce i see is that folks didn't git sick and stay sick with stomach troubles then half as much as they does now. when my grandma took a roast out of one of them old ovens it would be brown and juicy, with lots of rich, brown gravy. sweet potatoes baked and browned in the pan with it would taste mighty fine too. with some of her good biscuits, that roast meat, brown gravy, and potatoes, you had food good enough for anybody. i just wish i could taste some more of it one more time before i die. "why, child, two of the best cake-makers i ever knew used them old ovens for bakin' the finest kinds of pound cakes and fruit cakes, and evvybody knows them cakes was the hardest kinds to bake we had in them days. aunt betsey cole was a great cake-baker then. she belonged to the hulls, what lived off down below here somewhere but, when there was to be a big weddin' or some 'specially important dinner in athens, folks 'most always sent for aunt betsey to bake the cakes. aunt laura mccrary was a great cake-maker too; she baked the cake for president taft when he was entertained at mrs. maggie welch's home here. "in them days you didn't have to be runnin' to the store evvy time you wanted to cook a extra good meal; folks raised evvything they needed right there at home. they had all the kinds of vegetables they knowed about then in their own gardens, and there was big fields of corn, rye, and wheat. evvy big plantation raised its own cows for plenty of milk and butter, as well as lots of beef cattle, hogs, goats, and sheep. 'most all of 'em had droves of chickens, geese, and turkeys, and on our place there were lots of peafowls. when it was goin' to rain them old peafowls set up a big holler. i never knew rain to fail after them peafowls started their racket. "all our clothes and shoes was home-made, and i mean by that they growed the cotton, wool, and cattle and made the cloth and leather on the plantation. summer clothes was made of cotton homespun, and cotton and wool was wove together for winter clothin'. marse jack owned a man what he kept there to do nothin' but make shoes. he had another slave to do all the carpenterin' and to make all the coffins for the folks that died on the plantation. that same carpenter made 'most all the beds the white folks and us slaves slept on. them old beds--they called 'em teesters--had cords for springs; nobody never heard of no metal springs them days. they jus' wove them cords criss-cross, from one side to the other and from head to foot. when they stretched and sagged they was tightened up with keys what was made for that purpose. "jus' look at my room," nellie laughed. "i saw you lookin' at my bed. it was made at wood's furniture shop, right here in athens, and i've had it ever since i got married the first time. take a good look at it, for there ain't many lak it left." nellie's pride in her attractively furnished room was evident as she told of many offers she has had for this furniture, but she added: "i want to keep it all here to use myself jus' as long as i live. shucks, i done got plumb off from what i was tellin' you jus' ravin' 'bout my old furniture and things. "my mother died when i was jus' a little girl and she's buried in the old family graveyard on the weir place, but there are several other slaves buried there and i don't know which grave is hers. grandma raised me, and i was jus' gittin' big enough to handle that old peafowl-tail fly brush they used to keep the flies off the table when we were set free. "it wasn't long after the war when the yankees come to athens. folks had to bury or hide evvything they could, for them yankees jus' took anything they could git their hands on, 'specially good food. they would catch up other folks' chickens and take hams from the smokehouses, and they jus' laughed in folks' faces if they said anything 'bout it. they camped in the woods here on hancock avenue, but of course it wasn't settled then lak it is now. i was mighty scared of them yankees and they didn't lak me neither. one of 'em called me a little white-headed devil. "one of my aunts worked for a northern lady that they called mrs. meeker, who lived where the old barrow home is now. evvy summer when she went back up north she would leave my aunt and uncle to take care of her place. it was right close to the yankees' camp, and the soldiers made my aunt cook for them sometimes. i was livin' with her then, and i was so scared of 'em that i stayed right by her. she never had to worry 'bout where i was them days, for i was right by her side as long as the yankees was hangin' 'round athens. my uncle used to say that he had seen them yankees ride to places and shoot down turkeys, then make the folks that owned them turkeys cook and serve 'em. folks used to talk lots 'bout the yankees stoppin' a white 'oman on the street and takin' her earrings right out of her ears to put 'em on a negro 'oman; i never saw that, i jus' heard it. "after the war was over grandpa bought one of the old slave cabins from marse jack and we lived there for a long time; then we moved out to rock spring. i was about eight or nine years old then, and they found out i was a regular tomboy. the woods was all 'round rock spring then, and i did have a big time climbin' them trees. i jus' fairly lived in 'em durin' the daytime, but when dark come i wanted to be as close to grandpa as i could git. "one time, durin' those days at rock spring, i wanted to go to a fourth of july celebration. those celebrations was mighty rough them days and grandpa didn't think that would be a good place for a decent little girl, so he didn't want me to go. i cried and hollered and cut up something awful. grandma told him to give me a good thrashin' but grandpa didn't lak to do that, so he promised me i could go to ride if i wouldn't go to that celebration. that jus' tickled me to death, for i did lak to ride. grandpa had two young mules what was still wild, and when he said i could ride one of 'em grandma tried hard to keep me off of it, for she said that critter would be sure to kill me, but i was so crazy to go that nobody couldn't tell me nothin'. auntie lent me her domino coat to wear for a ridin' habit and i sneaked and slipped a pair of spurs, then grandpa put a saddle on the critter and helped me to git up on him. i used them spurs, and then i really went to ride. that mule showed his heels straight through them woods and way on out in the country. i couldn't stop him, so i jus' kept on kickin' him with them spurs and didn't have sense to know that was what was makin' him run. i thought them spurs was to make him mind me, and all the time i was i lammin' him with the spurs i was hollerin': 'stop! oh, stop!' when i got to where i was too scared to kick him with the spurs or do nothin' 'cept hang on to that saddle, that young mule quit his runnin' and trotted home as nice and peaceable as you please. i never did have no more use for spurs. "grandpa used to send me to phinizy's mill to have corn and wheat ground. it would take all day long, so they let me take a lunch with me, and i always had the best sort of time when i went to mill. uncle isham run the mill then and he would let me think i was helpin' him. then, while he helped me eat my lunch, he would call me his little 'tomboy gal' and would tell me about the things he used to do when he was 'bout my age. "my first schoolin' was in old pierce's chapel that set right spang in the middle of hancock avenue at foundry street. our teacher was a yankee man, and we were mighty surprised to find out that he wasn't very hard on us. we had to do something real bad to git a whippin', but when we talked or was late gittin' to school we had to stand up in the back of the schoolroom and hold up one hand. pierce's chapel was where the colored folks had preachin' then--preachin' on sunday and teachin' on week days, all in the same buildin'. a long time before then it had been the white folks' church, and preacher pierce was the first one to preach there after it was built, so they named it for him. when the white folks built them a new church they gave the old chapel to the colored folks, and, honey, there was some real preachin' done in that old place. me, i was a methodist, but i was baptized just lak the baptists was down there in the oconee river. "me and my first husband was too young to know what we was doin' when we got married, but our folks give us a grand big weddin'. i think my weddin' cake was 'bout the biggest one i ever saw baked in one of them old ovens in the open fireplace. they iced it in white and decorated it with grapes. a shoat was cooked whole and brought to the table with a big red apple in his mouth. you know a shoat ain't nothin' but a young hog that's done got bigger than a little pig. we had chicken and pies and just evvything good that went to make up a fine weddin' supper. "our weddin' took place at night, and i wore a white dress made with a tight-fittin' waist and a long, full skirt that was jus' covered with ruffles. my sleeves was tight at the wrists but puffed at the shoulders, and my long veil of white net was fastened to my head with pretty flowers. i was a mighty dressed up bride. the bridegroom wore a real dark-colored cutaway coat with a white vest. we did have a swell weddin' and supper, but there wasn't no dancin' 'cause we was all good church folks. "we was so young we jus' started out havin' a good time and didn't miss nothin' that meant fun and frolic. we was mighty much in love with each other too. it didn't seem long before we had three children, and then one night he was taken sick all of a sudden and didn't live but a little while. soon as he was taken sick i sent for the doctor, but my husband told me then he was dyin' fast and that he wasn't ready to die. he said: 'nellie, here we is with these three little children and neither one of us had been fit to raise 'em. now i've got to leave you and you will have to raise one of 'em, but the other two will come right on after me.'" for several moments nellie was still and quiet; then she raised her head and said: "honey, it was jus' lak he said it would be. he was gone in jus' a little while and it wasn't two weeks 'fore the two youngest children was gone lak their daddy. i worried lots after my husband and babies was taken. i wanted to be saved to raise my little girl right, and i was too proud to let anybody know how troubled i was or what it was all about, so i kept it to myself. i lost weight, i couldn't sleep, and was jus' dyin' away with sin. i would go to church but that didn't git me no relief. "one day a dear, good white lady sent for me to come to the hotel where she was stayin'. she had been a mighty good friend to me for a long, long time, and i had all the faith in the world in her. she told me that she had a good job for me and wanted me to take it because it would let me keep my little girl with me. she said her best friend's maid had died and this friend of hers needed someone to work for her. 'i want you to go there and work for her,' said the white lady, 'for she will be good to you and your child. i've already talked with her about it.' "i took her advice and went to work for mrs. r.l. bloomfield whose husband operated the old check mill. honey, mrs. bloomfield was one of god's children and one of the best folks i have ever known. right away she told her cook: 'amanda, look after nellie good 'cause she's too thin.' it wasn't long before mrs. bloomfield handed me a note and told me to take it to dr. carlton. when he read it he laughed and said; 'come on nellie, i've got to see what's wrong with you.' i tried to tell him i wasn't sick, but he examined me all over, then called to see mrs. bloomfield and told her that i didn't need nothin' but plenty of rest and to eat enough good food. bless her dear old heart, she done evvything she could for me, but there wasn't no medicine, rest, or food that could help the trouble that was wearin' me down then. "soon they started a revival at our church. one night i wanted to go, but aunt amanda begged me not to, for she said i needed to go to bed and rest; later she said she would go along with me to hear that preachin'. honey, i never will forgit that night. the text of the sermon was: 'come unto me all you weary and heavy laden, and i will give you rest.' when they began callin' the mourners to come up to the mourners' bench something seemed to be jus' a-pullin' me in that direction, but i was too proud to go. i didn't think then i ever could go to no mourners' bench or shout. after a while they started singin' _almost persuaded_, and i couldn't wait; i jus' got up and run to that blessed mourners' bench and i prayed there. honey, i shouted too, for i found the blessed lord that very night and i've kept him right with me ever since. i don't aim to lose him no more. aunt amanda was most nigh happy as i was and, from that night when the burden was lifted from my heart, i begun gittin' better. "i worked on for mrs. bloomfield 'til i got married again, and then i quit work 'cept for nursin' sick folks now and then. i made good money nursin' and kept that up 'til i got too old to work outside my own family. "my second husband was scott smith. we didn't have no big, fancy weddin' for i had done been married and had all the trimmin's one time. we jus' had a nice quiet weddin' with a few close friends and kinfolks invited. i had on a very pretty, plain, white dress. again i was blessed with a good husband. scott fixed up that nice mantelpiece you see in this room for me, and he was mighty handy about the house; he loved to keep things repaired and in order. best of all, he was jus' as good to my little girl as he was to the girl and boy that were born to us later. all three of my children are grown and married now, and they are mighty good to their old mother. one of my daughters lives in new york. "soon after we married, we moved in a big old house called the old white place that was jus' around the corner from here on pope street. people said it was haunted, and we could hear something walkin' up and down the stairs that sounded lak folks. to keep 'em from bein' so scared, i used to try to make the others believe it was jus' our big newfoundland dog, but one night my sister heard it. she got up and found the dog lyin' sound asleep on the front porch, so it was up to me to find out what it was. i walked up the stairs without seein' a thing, but, honey, when i put my foot on that top step such a feelin' come over me as i had never had before in all my life. my body trembled 'til i had to hold tight to the stair-rail to keep from fallin', and i felt the hair risin' up all over my head. while it seemed like hours before i was able to move, it was really only a very few seconds. i went down those stairs in a hurry and, from that night to this day, i have never hunted ghosts no more and i don't aim to do it again, never. "i've been here a long time, honey. when them first street lights was put up and lit, athens was still mostly woods. them old street lights would be funny to you now, but they was great things to us then, even if they wasn't nothin' but little lanterns what burned plain old lamp-oil hung out on posts. the old town hall was standin' then right in the middle of market (washington) street, between lumpkin and pulaski streets. the lowest floor was the jail, and part of the ground floor was the old market place. upstairs was the big hall where they held court, and that was where they had so many fine shows. whenever any white folks had a big speech to make they went to that big old room upstairs in town hall and spoke it to the crowd. "you is too young to remember them first streetcars what was pulled by little bitsy texas mules with bells around their necks. hearing them bells was sweet music to us when they meant we was goin' to git a ride on them streetcars. some folks was too precise to say 'streetcars'; they said 'horsecars', but them horsecars was pulled through the streets by mules, so what's the diffunce? sometimes them little mules would mire up so deep in the mud they would have to be pulled out, and sometimes, when they was feelin' sassy and good, they would jus' up and run away with them streetcars. them little critters could git the worst tangled up in them lines." here nellie laughed heartily. "sometimes they would even try to climb inside the cars. it was lots of fun ridin' them cars, for you never did know what was goin' to happen before you got back home, but i never heard of no real bad streetcar accidents here." nellie now began jumping erratically from one subject to another. "did you notice my pretty flowers and ferns on the front porch?" she asked. "i jus' know you didn't guess what i made them two hangin' baskets out of. them's the helmets that my son and my son-in-law wore when they was fightin' in the world war. i puts my nicest flowers in 'em evvy year as a sort of memorial to the ones that didn't git to fetch their helmets back home. yes mam, i had two stars on my service flag and, while i hated mighty bad that there had to be war, i wanted my family to do their part. "honey, old nellie is gittin' a little tired, but jus' you listen to this: i went to meetin' one night to hear the first 'oman preacher that ever had held a meetin' in this town. she was meanin' to preach at a place out on rock spring street, and there was more folks there than could git inside that little old weather-boarded house. the place was packed and jammed, but me and scott managed to git in. when i saw an old hardshell baptist friend of mine in there, i asked her how come she was at this kind of meetin'. 'curiosity, my child,' she said, 'jus' plain old curiosity.' the 'oman got up to preach and, out of pure devilment, somebody on the outside hollered; 'the house is fallin' down.' now child, i know it ain't right to laugh at preachin's of any sort, but that was one funny scene. evvybody was tryin' to git out at one time; such cryin', prayin', and testifyin' to the lord i ain't never heard before. the crowd jus' went plumb crazy with fright. i was pushed down and trampled over in the rush before scott could git me out; they mighty near killed me." the old woman stopped and laughed until the tears streamed down her face. "you know, honey," she said, when she could control her voice sufficiently to resume her story, "niggers ain't got no sense at all when they gits scared. when they throwed one gal out of a window, she called out: 'thank you, lord,' for the poor thing thought the lord was savin' her from a fallin' buildin'. poor old martha holbrook,"--the sentence was not finished until nellie's almost hysterical giggles had attracted her daughter who came to see if something was wrong--"martha holbrook," nellie repeated, "was climbin' backwards out of a window and her clothes got fastened on a nail. she slipped on down and there she was with her legs kickin' around on the outside and the rest of her muffled up in her clothes. it looked lak her clothes was jus' goin' to peel off over her head. it took the menfolks a long time to git her uncaught and out of that predicament in the window. pretty soon the folks began to come to their senses and they found there wasn't nothin' wrong with the house 'cept that some doors and windows had been torn out by the crowd. they sho did git mad, but nobody seemed to know who started that ruction. my old hardshell baptist friend came up then and said: 'curiosity brought us here, and curiosity like to have killed the cat.'" seeing that nellie was tired, the visitor prepared to leave. "goodbye and god bless you," were the old woman's farewell words. at the front door amanda said: "i haven't heard my mother laugh that way in a long, long time, and i jus' know she is goin' to feel more cheerful after this. thank you for givin' her this pleasure, and i hope you can come back again." ex-slave interview with paul smith, age china street athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens mrs. leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia paul smith's house stands on china street, a narrow rutted alley deriving its name from the large chinaberry tree that stands at one end of the alley. large water oaks furnish ample shade for the tidy yard where an old well, whose bucket hanging from a rickety windlass frame, was supplying water for two negro women, who were leaning over washtubs. as they rubbed the clothes against the washboards, their arms kept time to the chant of _lord i'se comin' home_. paul and two negro men, barefooted and dressed in overalls rolled to their knees, were taking their ease under the largest tree, and two small mulatto children were frolicking about with a kitten. as the visitor approached, the young men leaped to their feet and hastened to offer a chair and paul said: "howdy-do, missy, how is you? won't you have a cheer and rest? i knows you is tired plumb out. dis old sun is too hot for folkses to be walkin' 'round out doors," turning to one of the boys he continued: "son, run and fetch missy some fresh water; dat'll make her feel better. jus' how far is you done walked?" asked paul. then he stopped one of the women from the washing and bade her "run into the house and fetch a fan for missy." paul is a large man, and a fringe of kinky white hair frames his face. his manner is very friendly for, noticing that the visitor was looking with some curiosity at the leather bands that encircled his wrists, the old man grinned. "dem's jus' to make sho' dat i won't have no rheumatiz," he declared. "mind if i cuts me a chaw of 'baccy? i'se jus' plumb lost widout no 'baccy." paul readily agreed to give the story of his life. "i can't git over it, dat you done walked way out here from de courthouse jus' to listen to dis old nigger talk 'bout dem good old days. "mammy belonged to marse jack ellis, and he owned de big old ellis plantation in oglethorpe county whar i was borned. marse jack give mammy to his daughter, young miss matt, and when her and marse nunnally got married up, she tuk my mammy 'long wid her. mistess hah'iet (harriet) smith owned my daddy. him and mammy never did git married. my granddaddy and grandmammy was owned by marse jim stroud of oconee county, and i dug de graves whar bofe of 'em's buried in mars hill graveyard. "all i knows 'bout slavery time is what i heared folkses say, for de war was most over when i was borned, but things hadn't changed much, as i was raised up. "i warn't but 'bout years old when young miss matt tuk my mammy off, and she put me out 'cause she didn't want me. missy, dey was sho good to me. marse jack's wife was mistess lizzie. she done her best to raise me right, and de ways she larnt me is done stayed wid me all dese years; many's de time dey's kept old paul out of trouble. no mam, i ain't never been in no jailhouse in all my days, and i sho ain't aimin' to de nothin' to make 'em put me dar now. "in dem days, when chillun got big enough to eat, dey was kept at de big house, 'cause deir mammies had to wuk off in de fields and old miss wanted all de chillun whar she could see atter 'em. most times dere was a old slave 'oman what didn't have nothin' else to do 'cept take keer of slave chillun and feed 'em. pickaninnies sho had to mind too, 'cause dem old 'omans would evermore lay on de switch. us et out of wooden trays, and for supper us warn't 'lowed nothin' but bread and milk. "long as us was little, us didn't have to wuk at nothin' 'cept little jobs lak pickin' up chips, bringin' in a little wood, and sometimes de biggest boys had to slop de hogs. long 'bout de fust of march, dey tuk de pants 'way from all de boys and give 'em little shirts to wear from den 'til frost. yes mam, dem shirts was all us boys had to wear in summer 'til us was big enough to wuk in de fields. gals jus' wore one piece of clothes in summertime too; dey wore a plain cotton dress. all our clothes, for summer and winter too, was made right dere on dat plantation. dey wove de cloth on de looms; plain cotton for summer, and cotton mixed wid a little wool for winter. dere was a man on de plantation what made all our brogans for winter. marster made sho us had plenty of good warm clothes and shoes to keep us warm when winter come. "folkses raised deir livin', all of it, at home den. dey growed all sorts of gyarden truck sech as corn, peas, beans, sallet, 'taters, collards, ingons, and squashes. dey had big fields of grain. don't forgit dem good old watermillions; niggers couldn't do widout 'em. marster's old smokehouse was plumb full of meat all de time, and he had more cows, hogs, sheep, goats, chickens, turkeys, geese, and de lak, dan i ever larnt how to count. dere warn't no runnin' off to de sto' evvy time dey started cookin' a company meal. "dem home-made cotton gins was mighty slow. us never seed no fast sto'-bought gins dem days. our old gins was turned by a long pole what was pulled around by mules and oxen, and it tuk a long time to git de seeds out of de cotton dat way. i'se seed 'em tie bundles of fodder in front of de critters so dey would go faster tryin' to git to de fodder. dey grez dem gins wid homemade tar. de big sight was dem old home-made cotton presses. when dem old mules went round a time or two pullin' dat heavy weight down, dat cotton was sho pressed. "us chillun sho did lak to see 'em run dat old gin, 'cause 'fore dey ever had a gin marster used to make us pick a shoe-full of cotton seeds out evvy night 'fore us went to bed. now dat don't sound so bad, missy, but did you ever try to pick any seeds out of cotton? "course evvybody cooked on open fireplaces dem days, and dat was whar us picked out dem cotton seeds, 'round dat big old fireplace in de kitchen. all de slaves et together up dar at de big house, and us had some mighty good times in dat old kitchen. slave quarters was jus' little one room log cabins what had chimblies made of sticks and red mud. dem old chimblies was all de time a-ketchin' on fire. de mud was daubed 'twixt de logs to chink up de cracks, and sometimes dey chinked up cracks in de roof wid red mud. dere warn't no glass windows in dem cabins, and dey didn't have but one window of no sort; it was jus' a plain wooden shutter. de cabins was a long ways off from de big house, close by de big old spring whar de wash-place was. dey had long benches for de wash-tubs to set on, a big old oversize washpot, and you mustn't leave out 'bout dat big old battlin' block whar dey beat de dirt out of de clothes. dem niggers would sing, and deir battlin' sticks kept time to de music. you could hear de singin' and de sound of de battlin' sticks from a mighty long ways off. "i ain't never been to school a day in all my life. my time as chillun was all tuk up nussin' mistess' little chillun, and i sho didn't never git nary a lick 'bout dem chillun. mistess said dat a white 'oman got atter her one time 'bout lettin' a little nigger look atter her chillun, and dat 'oman got herself told. i ain't never uneasy 'bout my chillun when paul is wid 'em,' mistess said. when dey started to school, it was my job to see dat dey got dere and when school was out in de evenin', i had to be dere to fetch dem chillun back home safe and sound. school didn't turn out 'til four o'clock den, and it was a right fur piece from dat schoolhouse out to our big house. us had to cross a crick, and when it rained de water would back up and make it mighty bad to git from one side to t'other. marster kept a buggy jus' for us to use gwine back and forth to school. one time atter it had done been rainin' for days, dat crick was so high i was 'fraid to try to take mistess' chillun crost it by myself, so i got a man named blue to do de drivin' so i could look atter de chillun. us pulled up safe on de other side and den dere warn't no way to git him back to his own side. i told him to ride back in de buggy, den tie de lines, and de old mule would come straight back to us by hisself. blue laughed and said dere warn't no mule wid dat much sense, but he soon seed dat i was right, cause dat old mule come right on back jus' lak i said he would. "us chillun had good times back den, yes mam, us sho did. some of our best times was at de old swimmin' hole. de place whar us dammed up de crick for our swimmin' hole was a right smart piece off from de big house. us picked dat place 'cause it had so many big trees to keep de water shady and cool. one sunday, when dere was a big crowd of white and colored chillun havin' a big time splashin' 'round in de water, a white man what lived close by tuk all our clothes and hid 'em way up at his house; den he got up in a tree and hollered lak evvything was atter him. lawsy, miss, us chillun all come out of dat crick skeered plumb stiff and run for our clothes. dey was all gone, but dat never stopped us for long. us lit out straight for dat man's house. he had done beat us gitting dar, and when us come runnin' up widout no clothes on, he laughed fit to kill at us. atter while he told us he skeered us to keep us from stayin' too long in de crick and gittin' drownded, but dat didn't slow us up none 'bout playing in de swimmin' hole. "talkin' 'bout being skeered, dere was one time i was skeered i was plumb ruint. missy, dat was de time i stole somepin' and didn't even know i was stealin'. a boy had come by our place dat day and axed me to go to de shop on a neighbor's place wid him. mistess 'lowed me to go, and atter he had done got what he said he was sont atter, he said dat now us would git us some apples. he was lots bigger dan me, and i jus' s'posed his old marster had done told him he could git some apples out of dat big old orchard. missy, i jus' plumb filled my shirt and pockets wid dem fine apples, and us was havin' de finest sort of time when de overseer cotch us. he let me go, but dat big boy had to wuk seven long months to pay for dat piece of foolishment. i sho didn't never go nowhar else wid dat fellow, 'cause my good old mistess said he would git me in a peck of trouble if i did, and i had done larn't dat our mistess was allus right. "times has sho done changed lots since dem days; chillun warn't 'lowed to run 'round den. when i went off to church on a sunday, i knowed i had to be back home not no later dan four o'clock. now chillun jus' goes all de time, whar-some-ever dey wants to go. dey stays out most all night sometimes, and deir mammies don't never know whar dey is half de time. 'tain't right, missy, folkses don't raise deir chillun right no more; dey don't larn 'em to be 'bejient and don't go wid 'em to church to hear de word of de lawd preached lak dey should ought to. "fore de war, colored folkses went to de same church wid deir white folkses and listened to de white preacher. slaves sot way back in de meetin'-house or up in a gallery, but us could hear dem good old sermons, and dem days dey preached some mighty powerful ones. all my folkses jined de baptist church, and dr. john mell's father, dr. pat mell, baptized evvy one of 'em. course i growed up to be a baptist too lak our own white folkses. "slaves had to wuk hard dem days, but dey had good times too. our white folkses looked atter us and seed dat us had what-some-ever us needed. when talk come 'round 'bout havin' separate churches for slaves, our white folkses give us deir old meetin'-house and built deyselfs a new one, but for a long time atter dat it warn't nothin' to see white folkses visitin' our meetin's, cause dey wanted to help us git started off right. one old white lady--us called her aunty peggy--never did stop comin' to pray and sing and shout wid us 'til she jus' went off to sleep and woke up in de better world. dat sho was one good 'oman. "some of dem slaves never wanted no 'ligion, and dey jus' laughed at us cause us testified and shouted. one day at church a good old 'oman got right 'hind a nigger dat she had done made up her mind she was gwine to see saved 'fore dat meetin' ended. she drug 'im up to de mourner's bench. he 'lowed he never made no prep'ration to come in dis world and dat he didn't mean to make none to leave it. she prayed and prayed, but dat fool nigger jus' laughed right out at her. finally de 'oman got mad. 'laugh if you will,' she told dat man, 'de good lawd is gwine to purge out your sins for sho, and when you gits full of biles and sores you'll be powerful glad to git somebody to pray for you. dat ain't all; de same good lawd is gwine to lick you a thousand lashes for evvy time you is done made fun of dis very meetin'.' missy, would you believe it, it warn't no time 'fore dat man sickened and died right out wid a cancer in his mouf. does you 'member dat old sayin' 'de ways of de lawd is slow but sho?' "corpses was washed good soon atter de folkses died and deir clothes put on 'em, den dey was laid on coolin' boards 'til deir coffins was made up. why missy, didn't you know dey didn't have no sto'-bought coffins dem days? dey made 'em up right dere on de plantation. de corpse was measured and de coffin made to fit it. sometimes dey was lined wid black calico, and sometimes dey painted 'em black on de outside. dere warn't no undytakers den, and dere warn't none of dem vaults to set coffins in neither; dey jus' laid planks crost de top of a coffin 'fore de dirt was piled in de grave. "when dere was a death 'round our neighborhood, evvybody went and paid deir 'spects to de fambly of de dead. folkses set up all night wid de corpse and sung and prayed. dat settin' up was mostly to keep cats offen de corpse. cats sho is bad atter dead folks; i'se heared tell dat dey most et up some corpses what nobody warn't watchin'. when de time come to bury de dead, dey loaded de coffin on to a wagon, and most times de fambly rode to de graveyard in a wagon too, but if it warn't no fur piece off, most of de other folkses walked. dey started singin' when dey left de house and sung right on 'til dat corpse was put in de grave. when de preacher had done said a prayer, dey all sung: _i'se born to die and lay dis body down_. dat was 'bout all dere was to de buryin', but later on dey had de funeral sermon preached in church, maybe six months atter de buryin'. de white folkses had all deir funeral sermons preached at de time of de buryin'. "yes mam, i 'members de fust money i ever wuked for. marster paid me cents a day when i got big enough to wuk, and dat was plumb good wages den. when i got to whar i could pick more'n a hunnerd pounds of cotton in one day he paid me more. i thought i was rich den. dem was good old days when us lived back on de plantation. i 'members dem old folkses what used to live 'round lexin'ton, down in oglethorpe county. "when us warn't out in de fields, us done little jobs 'round de big house, de cabins, barns, and yards. us used to holp de older slaves git out whiteoak splits, and dey larnt us to make cheer bottoms and baskets out of dem splits. de best cheer bottoms what lasted de longest was dem what us made wid red ellum withes. dem old shuck bottoms was fine too; dey plaited dem shucks and wound 'em 'round for cheer bottoms and footsmats. de 'omans made nice hats out of shucks and wheat straw. dey plaited de shucks and put 'em together wid plaits of wheat straw. dey warn't counted much for sunday wear, but dey made fine sun hats. "whilst us was all a-wukin' away at house and yard jobs, de old folkses would tell us 'bout times 'fore us was borned. dey said slave dealers used to come 'round wid a big long line of slaves a-marchin' to whar dere was gwine to be a big slave sale. sometimes dey marched 'em here from as fur as virginny. old folkses said dey had done been fetched to dis country on boats. dem boats was painted red, real bright red, and dey went plumb to africa to git de niggers. when dey got dere, dey got off and left de bright red boats empty for a while. niggers laks red, and dey would git on dem boats to see what dem red things was. when de boats was full of dem foolish niggers, de slave dealers would sail off wid 'em and fetch 'em to dis country to sell 'em to folkses what had plantations. dem slave sales was awful bad in some ways, 'cause sometimes dey sold mammies away from deir babies and famblies got scattered. some of 'em never knowed what 'comed of deir brudders and sisters and daddies and mammies. "i seed dem yankees when dey come, but i was too little to know much about what dey done. old folkses said dey give de athens people smallpox and dat dey died out right and left, jus' lots of 'em. 'fore dey got rid of it, dey had to burn up beds and clothes and a few houses. dey said dey put lake brown and clarence bush out in de swamp to die, but dey got well, come out of dat swamp, and lived here for years and years. "granddaddy told us 'bout how some slaves used to rum off from deir marsters and live in caves and dugouts. he said a man and a 'oman run away and lived for years in one of dem places not no great ways from de slave quarters on his marster's place. atter a long, long time, some little white chillun was playin' in de woods one day and clumb up in some trees. lookin' out from high up in a tree one of 'em seed two little pickaninnies but he couldn't find whar dey went. when he went back home and told 'bout it, evvybody went to huntin' 'em, s'posin' dey was lost chillun. dey traced 'em to a dugout, and dere dey found dem two grown slaves what had done run away years ago, and dey had done had two little chillun born in dat dugout. deir marster come and got 'em and tuk 'em home, but de chillun went plumb blind when dey tried to live out in de sunlight. dey had done lived under ground too long, and it warn't long 'fore bofe of dem chillun was daid. "dem old slavery-time weddin's warn't lak de way folkses does when dey gits married up now; dey never had to buy no license den. when a slave man wanted to git married up wid a gal he axed his marster, and if it was all right wid de marster den him and de gal come up to de big house to jump de broomstick 'fore deir white folkses. de gal jumped one way and de man de other. most times dere was a big dance de night dey got married. "if a slave wanted to git married up wid a gal what didn't live on dat same plantation he told his marster, den his marster went and talked to de gal's marster. if bofe deir marsters 'greed den dey jumped de broomstick; if neither one of de marsters wouldn't sell to de other one, de wife jus' stayed on her marster's place and de husband was 'lowed a pass what let him visit her twict a week on wednesday and sadday nights. if he didn't keep dat pass to show when de patterollers cotch him, dey was more'n apt to beat de skin right off his back. dem patterollers was allus watchin' and dey was awful rough. no mam, dey never did git to beat me up. i out run 'em one time, but i evermore did have to make tracks to keep ahead of 'em. "us didn't know much 'bout folkses bein' kilt 'round whar us stayed. sometimes dere was talk 'bout devilment a long ways off. de mostest troubles us knowed 'bout was on de jim smith plantation. dat sho was a big old place wid a heap of slaves on it. dey says dat fightin' didn't 'mount to nothin'. marse jim smith got to be mighty rich and he lived to be an old man. he died out widout never gittin' married. folkses said a nigger boy dat was his son was willed heaps of dat propity, but folkses beat him out of it and, all of a sudden, he drapped out of sight. some says he was kilt, but i don't know nothin' 'bout dat. "now missy, how come you wants to know 'bout dem frolics us had dem days? most of 'em ended up scandlous, plumb scandlous. at harvest season dere was cornshuckin's, wheat-thrashin's, syrup-cookin's, and logrollin's. all dem frolics come in deir own good time. cornshuckin's was de most fun of 'em all. evvybody come from miles around to dem frolics. soon atter de wuk got started, marster got out his little brown jug, and when it started gwine de rounds de wuk would speed up wid sich singin' as you never heared, and dem niggers was wuking in time wid de music. evvy red ear of corn meant an extra swig of liquor for de nigger what found it. when de wuk was done and dey was ready to go to de tables out in de yard to eat dem big barbecue suppers, dey grabbed up deir marster and tuk him to de big house on deir shoulders. when de supper was et, de liquor was passed some more and dancin' started, and sometimes it lasted all night. folkses sometimes had frolics what dey called fairs; dey lasted two or three days. wid so much dancin', eatin', and liquor drinkin' gwine on for dat long, lots of fightin' took place. it was awful. dey cut on one another wid razors and knives jus' lak dey was cuttin' on wood. i 'spects i was bad as de rest of 'em 'bout dem razor fights, but not whar my good old mist'ess could larn 'bout it. i never did no fightin' 'round de meetin'-house. it was plumb sinful de way some of dem niggers would git in ruckuses right in meetin' and break up de services. "brudder bradberry used to come to our house to hold prayermeetin's, but lawsey, missy, dat man could eat more dan any nigger i ever seed from dat day to dis. when us knowed he was a-comin' mistess let us cook up heaps of stuff, enough to fill dat long old table plumb full, but dat table was allus empty when he left. yes mam, he prayed whilst he was dere, but he et too. dem prayers must'a made him mighty weak. "marster joe campbell, what lived in our settlement, was sho a queer man. he had a good farm and plenty of most evvything. he would plant his craps evvy year and den, missy, he would go plumb crazy evvy blessed year. folkses would jine in and wuk his craps out for him and, come harvest time, dey had to gather 'em in his barns, cause he never paid 'em no mind atter dey was planted. when de wuk was all done for him, marster joe's mind allus come back and he was all right 'til next crap-time. i told my good old marster dat white man warn't no ways crazy; he had plumb good sense, gittin' all dat wuk done whilst he jus' rested. marster was a mighty good man, so he jus' grinned and said 'paul, us mustn't jedge nobody.' "when marster moved here to athens i come right 'long wid 'im. us started us a wuk-shop down on dis same old oconee river, close by whar oconee street is now. dis was mostly jus' woods. dere warn't none of dese new-fangled stock laws den, and folkses jus' fenced in deir gyardens and let de stock run evvywhar. dey marked hogs so evvybody would know his own; some cut notches in de ears, some cut off de tails or marked noses, and some put marks on de hoof part of de foots. mr. barrow owned 'bout acres in woods spread over oconee hill, and de hogs made for dem woods whar dey jus' run wild. cows run out too and got so wild dey would fight when dey didn't want to come home. it warn't no extra sight den to see folkses gwine atter deir cows on mules. chickens run out, and folkses had a time findin' de aigs and knowin' who dem aigs b'longed to. most and gen'ally finders was keepers far as aigs was consarnt but, in spite of all dat, us allus had plenty, and mistess would find somepin' to give folkses dat needed to be holped. "when us come to athens de old georgy railroad hadn't never crost de river to come into town. de depot was on de east side of de river on what dey called depot street. daddy said he holped to build dat fust railroad. it was way back in slavery times. mist'ess hah'iet smith's husband had done died out, and de 'minstrator of de 'state hired out most all of mist'ess' slaves to wuk on de railroad. it was a long time 'fore she could git 'em back home. "missy, did you know dat indians camped at skull shoals, down in greene county, a long time ago? old folkses said dey used to be 'round here too, 'specially at cherokee corners. at dem places, it was a long time 'fore dey stopped plowin' up bones whar indians had done been buried. right down on dis old river, nigh mr. aycock's place, dey says you kin still see caves whar folkses lived when de indians owned dese parts. if high waters ain't washed 'em all away, de skeletons of some of dem folkses what lived dar is still in dem caves. slaves used to hide in dem same caves when dey was runnin' off from deir marsters or tryin' to keep out of de way of de law. dat's how dem caves was found; by white folkses huntin' runaway slaves. "now missy, you don't keer nothin' 'bout my weddin'. to tell de trufe, i never had no weddin'; i had to steal dat gal of mine. i had done axed her mammy for her, but she jus' wouldn't 'gree for me to have mary, so i jus' up and told her i was gwine to steal dat gal. dat old 'oman 'lowed she would see 'bout dat, and she kept mary in her sight day and night, inside de house mos'ly. it looked lak i never was gwine to git a chance to steal my gal, but one day a white boy bought my license for me and i got brudder bill mitchell to go dar wid me whilst mary's ma was asleep. us went inside de house and got married right dar in de room next to whar she was sleepin'. when she waked up dere was hot times 'round dat place for a while, but good old brudder mitchell stayed right dar and holped us through de trouble. mary's done been gone a long time now and i misses her mighty bad, but it won't be long now 'fore de lawd calls me to go whar she is. "i done tried to live right, to keep all de laws, and to pay up my jus' and honest debts, cause mist'ess larnt me dat. i was up in virginny wukin' on de railroad a few years ago. de boss man called me aside one day and said; 'paul, you ain't lak dese other niggers. i kin tell dat white folks raised you.' it sho made me proud to hear him say dat, for i knows dat old miss up yonder kin see dat de little nigger she tuk in and raised is still tryin' to live lak she larnt him to do." when the visitor arose to leave, old paul smiled and said "goodby missy. i'se had a good time bringin' back dem old days. goodby, and god bless you." [hw: dist. ex-slave ] subject: emeline stepney, a daughter of slavery district: w.p.a. no. research worker: joseph e. jaffee editor: john n. booth supervisor: joseph e. jaffee (asst.) [date stamp: may ] emeline stepney, as she came into the office that july day, was a perfect vignette from a past era. over years old, and unable to walk without support, she was still quick witted and her speech, although halting, was full of dry humor. emeline was clad in a homespun dress with high collar and long sleeves with wristbands. on her feet she wore "old ladies' comforts." she was toothless and her hands were gnarled and twisted from rheumatism and hard work. emeline's father, john smith, had come from virginia and belonged to "cap'n tom wilson." her mother, sally, "wuz a georgia borned nigger" who belonged to "mars shelton terry." the two plantations near greensboro, in greene county, were five miles apart and the father came to see his family only on wednesday and saturday nights. the arrangement evidently had no effect in the direction of birth control for emeline was the second of thirteen children. life on the terry place was a fairly pleasant existence. the master was an old bachelor and he had two old maid sisters, miss sarah and miss rebecca. the plantation was in charge of two overseers who were reasonably kind to the negroes. no crops of any kind were sold and consequently the plantation had to be self-sustaining. cotton was spun into clothing in the master's own spinning room and the garments were worn by the master and slaves alike. a small amount of flax was raised each year and from this the master's two sisters made household linens. food crops consisted of corn, wheat (there was a mill on the plantation to grind these into flour and meal), sweet potatoes, and peas. in the smoke house there was always plenty of pork, beef, mutton, and kid. the wool from the sheep was made into blankets and woolen garments. the terry household was not like other menages of the time. there were only one or two house servants, the vast majority being employed in the fields. work began each morning at eight o'clock and was over at sundown. no work was done on saturday, the day being spent in preparation for sunday or in fishing, visiting, or "jes frolickin'". the master frequently let them have dances in the yards on saturday afternoon. to supply the music they beat on tin buckets with sticks. on sunday the negroes were allowed to attend the "white folks' church" where a balcony was reserved for them. some masters required their "people" to go to church; but emeline's master thought it a matter for the individual to decide for himself. emeline was about when her first suitor and future husband began to come to see her. he came from a neighboring farm and had to have a pass to show the "patty rollers" or else he would be whipped. he never stayed at night even after they were married because he was afraid he might be punished. the slaves were never given any spending money. the men were allowed to use tobacco and on rare occasions there was "toddy" for them. emeline declares she never used liquor and ascribes her long life partly to this fact and partly to her belief in god. she believes in signs but interprets them differently [hw: ?] from most of her people. she believes that if a rooster crows he is simply "crowin' to his crowd" or if a cow bellows it is "mos' likely bellowin' fer water." if a person sneezes while eating she regards this as a sign that the person is eating too fast or has a bad cold. she vigorously denies that any of these omens foretells death. some "fool nigger" believe that an itching foot predicts a journey to a strange land; but emeline thinks it means that the foot needs washing. aunt emeline has some remedies which she has found very effective in the treatment of minor ailiments. hoarhound tea and catnip tea are good for colds and fever. yellow root will cure sore throat and a tea made from sheep droppings will make babies teethe easily. "i kin still tas'e dat sassafras juice mammy used to give all de chilluns." she cackled as she was led out the door. [hw: atlanta dist. ex-slave # ] - - whitley sec. ross [hw: amanda styles] on november , amanda styles ex-slave, was interviewed at her residence baker street n.e. styles is about years of age and could give but a few facts concerning her life as a slave. her family belonged to an ordinary class of people neither rich nor poor. her master jack lambert owned a small plantation; and one other slave besides her family which included her mother, father and one sister. the only event during slavery that impressed itself on mrs. styles was the fact that when the yanks came to their farm they carried off her mother and she was never heard of again. concerning superstitions, signs, and other stories pertaining to this mrs. styles related the following signs and events. as far as possible the stories are given in her exact words. "during my day it was going ter by looking in the clouds. some folks could read the signs there. a 'oman that whistled wuz marked to be a bad 'oman. if a black cat crossed your path you sho would turn round and go anudder way. it was bad luck to sit on a bed and when i wuz small i wuz never allowed to sit on the bed." following are stories, related by mrs. styles, which had their origin during slavery and immediately following slavery. "during slavery time there was a family that had a daughter and she married and ebby body said she wuz a witch cause at night dey sed she would turn her skin inside out and go round riding folks horses. der next morning der horses manes would be tied up. now her husband didn't know she was a witch so somebody tole him he could tell by cutting off one of her limbs so one night the wife changed to a cat and the husband cut off her forefinger what had a ring on it. after that der wife would keep her hand hid cause her finger wuz cut off; and she knowed her husband would find out that she wuz the witch. my mother sed her young mistress wuz a witch and she too married but her husband didn't know that she wuz a witch; and she would go round at night riding horses and turning the cows milk into blood. der folks didn't know what ter do instead of milk they had blood. so one day a old lady came there and told em that a witch had been riding the cow, and to cast off the spell, they had to take a horse shoe and put it in the bottom of the churn and then the blood would turn back ter milk and butter. sho nuff they did it and got milk. anudder man had a wife that wuz accused of being a witch so he cut her leg off and it wuz a cats' leg and when his wife came back her leg was missing. they say there wuz a lot of conjuring too and i have heard 'bout a lot of it. my husband told me he went to see a 'oman once dat had scorpions in her body. the conjurer did it by putting the blood of a scorpion in her body and this would breed more scorpions in her. they had to get anudder conjurer to undo the spell. there wuz anudder family that lived near and that had a daughter and when she died they say she had a snake in her body. my husband sed he wuz conjured when he wuz a boy and had ter walk with his arms outstretched he couldn't put em down at all and couldn't even move 'em. one day he met a old man and he sed "son whats der matter wid you?" "i don't know," he sed. "den why don't you put your arms down?" "i can't." so the old man took a bottle out of his pocket and rubbed his arms straight down 'till they got alright. he told me too bout a 'oman fixing her husband. this 'oman saw anudder man she wonted so she had her husband fixed so he would throw his arms up get on his knees and bark just like a dog. so they got some old man that wuz a conjurer to come and cure him. he woulda died if they hadn't got that spell off him. my father told me that a 'oman fixed anudder one cause she married her sweetheart she told her he nebber would do her any good and sho nuff she fixed her so dat she would have a spell ebby time she went to church. one day they sent fer her husband and asked him what wuz the matter with her and he told them that this other 'oman fixed her with conjure. they sent for a conjurer and he came and rubbed some medicine on her body and she got alright. during slavery time the master promised ter whip a nigger and when he came out ter whip him instead he just told him "go on nigger 'bout your business." der nigger had fixed him by spitting as for as he could spit so the master couldn't come any nearer than that spit. i know a nigger that they sed wuz kin ter the devil. he told me that he could go out hind the house and make some noise and the devil would come and dance with him. he sed the devil learned him to play a banjo and if you wanted to do anything the devil could do, go to a cross road walk backwards and curse god. but don't nebber let the devil touch any of your works or anything that belonged to you or you would lose your power. the nearest i ebber came ter believing in conjure wuz when my step mother got sick. she fell out with an 'oman that lived with her daughter cause this 'oman had did something ter her daughter; and so she called her a black kinky head hussy and this 'oman got fightin mad and sed ter her. "nebber mind you'll be nappy and kinky headed too when i git through wid you." my ma's head turned real white and funny right round the edge and her mind got bad and she used to chew tobacco and spit in her hands and rub it in her head; and very soon all her hair fell out. she even quit my father after living with him years saying he had poisoned her. she stayed sick a long time and der doctors nebber could understand her sickness. she died and i will always believe she wuz fixed. after relating the last story my interview with mrs. styles came to an end. i thanked her and left, wondering over the strange stories she had told me. uncle remus: his songs and his sayings by joel chandler harris preface and dedication to the new edition to arthur barbette frost: dear frost: i am expected to supply a preface for this new edition of my first book--to advance from behind the curtain, as it were, and make a fresh bow to the public that has dealt with uncle remus in so gentle and generous a fashion. for this event the lights are to be rekindled, and i am expected to respond in some formal way to an encore that marks the fifteenth anniversary of the book. there have been other editions--how many i do not remember--but this is to be an entirely new one, except as to the matter: new type, new pictures, and new binding. but, as frequently happens on such occasions, i am at a loss for a word. i seem to see before me the smiling faces of thousands of children--some young and fresh, and some wearing the friendly marks of age, but all children at heart--and not an unfriendly face among them. and out of the confusion, and while i am trying hard to speak the right word, i seem to hear a voice lifted above the rest, saying "you have made some of us happy." and so i feel my heart fluttering and my lips trembling, and i have to how silently and him away, and hurry back into the obscurity that fits me best. phantoms! children of dreams! true, my dear frost; but if you could see the thousands of letters that have come to me from far and near, and all fresh from the hearts and hands of children, and from men and women who have not forgotten how to be children, you would not wonder at the dream. and such a dream can do no harm. insubstantial though it may be, i would not at this hour exchange it for all the fame won by my mightier brethren of the pen--whom i most humbly salute. measured by the material developments that have compressed years of experience into the space of a day, thus increasing the possibilities of life, if not its beauty, fifteen years constitute the old age of a book. such a survival might almost be said to be due to a tiny sluice of green sap under the gray bark. where it lies in the matter of this book, or what its source if, indeed, it be really there--is more of a mystery to my middle age than it was to my prime. but it would be no mystery at all if this new edition were to be more popular than the old one. do you know why? because you have taken it under your hand and made it yours. because you have breathed the breath of life into these amiable brethren of wood and field. because, by a stroke here and a touch there, you have conveyed into their quaint antics the illumination of your own inimitable humor, which is as true to our sun and soil as it is to the spirit and essence of the matter set forth. the book was mine, but now you have made it yours, both sap and pith. take it, therefore, my dear frost, and believe me, faithfully yours, joel chandler harris introduction i am advised by my publishers that this book is to be included in their catalogue of humorous publications, and this friendly warning gives me an opportunity to say that however humorous it may be in effect, its intention is perfectly serious; and, even if it were otherwise, it seems to me that a volume written wholly in dialect must have its solemn, not to say melancholy, features. with respect to the folk-lore scenes, my purpose has been to preserve the legends themselves in their original simplicity, and to wed them permanently to the quaint dialect--if, indeed, it can be called a dialect--through the medium of which they have become a part of the domestic history of every southern family; and i have endeavored to give to the whole a genuine flavor of the old plantation. each legend has its variants, but in every instance i have retained that particular version which seemed to me to be the most characteristic, and have given it without embellishment and without exaggeration. the dialect, it will be observed, is wholly different from that of the hon. pompey smash and his literary descendants, and different also from the intolerable misrepresentations of the minstrel stage, but it is at least phonetically genuine. nevertheless, if the language of uncle remus fails to give vivid hints of the really poetic imagination of the negro; if it fails to embody the quaint and homely humor which was his most prominent characteristic; if it does not suggest a certain picturesque sensitiveness--a curious exaltation of mind and temperament not to be defined by words--then i have reproduced the form of the dialect merely, and not the essence, and my attempt may be accounted a failure. at any rate, i trust i have been successful in presenting what must be, at least to a large portion of american readers, a new and by no means unattractive phase of negro character--a phase which may be considered a curiously sympathetic supplement to mrs. stowe's wonderful defense of slavery as it existed in the south. mrs. stowe, let me hasten to say, attacked the possibilities of slavery with all the eloquence of genius; but the same genius painted the portrait of the southern slave-owner, and defended him. a number of the plantation legends originally appeared in the columns of a daily newspaper--the atlanta constitution and in that shape they attracted the attention of various gentlemen who were kind enough to suggest that they would prove to be valuable contributions to myth-literature. it is but fair to say that ethnological considerations formed no part of the undertaking which has resulted in the publication of this volume. professor j. w. powell, of the smithsonian institution, who is engaged in an investigation of the mythology of the north american indians, informs me that some of uncle remus's stories appear in a number of different languages, and in various modified forms, among the indians; and he is of the opinion that they are borrowed by the negroes from the red-men. but this, to say the least, is extremely doubtful, since another investigator (mr. herbert h. smith, author of brazil and the amazons) has met with some of these stories among tribes of south american indians, and one in particular he has traced to india, and as far east as siam. mr. smith has been kind enough to send me the proof-sheets of his chapter on the myths and folk-lore of the amazonian indians, in which he reproduces some of the stories which he gathered while exploring the amazons. in the first of his series, a tortoise falls from a tree upon the head of a jaguar and kills him; in one of uncle remus's stories, the terrapin falls from a shelf in miss meadows's house and stuns the fox, so that the latter fails to catch the rabbit. in the next, a jaguar catches a tortoise by the hind-leg as he is disappearing in his hole; but the tortoise convinces him he is holding a root, and so escapes; uncle remus tells how the fox endeavored to drown the terrapin, but turned him loose because the terrapin declared his tail to be only a stump-root. mr. smith also gives the story of how the tortoise outran the deer, which is identical as to incident with uncle remus's story of how brer tarrypin outran brer rabbit. then there is the story of how the tortoise pretended that he was stronger than the tapir. he tells the latter he can drag him into the sea, but the tapir retorts that he will pull the tortoise into the forest and kill him besides. the tortoise thereupon gets a vine-stem, ties one end around the body of the tapir, and goes to the sea, where he ties the other end to the tail of a whale. he then goes into the wood, midway between them both, and gives the vine a shake as a signal for the pulling to begin. the struggle between the whale and tapir goes on until each thinks the tortoise is the strongest of animals. compare this with the story of the terrapin's contest with the bear, in which miss meadows's bed-cord is used instead of a vine-stem. one of the most characteristic of uncle remus's stories is that in which the rabbit proves to miss meadows and the girls that the fox is his riding-horse. this is almost identical with a story quoted by mr. smith, where the jaguar is about to marry the deer's daughter. the cotia--a species of rodent--is also in love with her, and he tells the deer that he can make a riding-horse of the jaguar. "well," says the deer, "if you can make the jaguar carry you, you shall have my daughter." thereupon the story proceeds pretty much as uncle remus tells it of the fox and rabbit. the cotia finally jumps from the jaguar and takes refuge in a hole, where an owl is set to watch him, but he flings sand in the owl's eyes and escapes. in another story given by mr. smith, the cotia is very thirsty, and, seeing a man coming with a jar on his head, lies down in the road in front of him, and repeats this until the man puts down his jar to go back after all the dead cotias he has seen. this is almost identical with uncle remus's story of how the rabbit robbed the fox of his game. in a story from upper egypt, a fox lies down in the road in front of a man who is carrying fowls to market, and finally succeeds in securing them. this similarity extends to almost every story quoted by mr. smith, and some are so nearly identical as to point unmistakably to a common origin; but when and where? when did the negro or the north american indian ever come in contact with the tribes of south america? upon this point the author of brazil and the amazons, who is engaged in making a critical and comparative study of these myth-stories, writes: "i am not prepared to form a theory about these stories. there can be no doubt that some of them, found among the negroes and the indians, had a common origin. the most natural solution would be to suppose that they originated in africa, and were carried to south america by the negro slaves. they are certainly found among the red negroes; but, unfortunately for the african theory, it is equally certain that they are told by savage indians of the amazons valley, away up on the tapajos, red negro, and tapura. these indians hardly ever see a negro, and their languages are very distinct from the broken portuguese spoken by the slaves. the form of the stories, as recounted in the tupi and mundurucu' languages, seems to show that they were originally formed in those languages or have long been adopted in them. "it is interesting to find a story from upper egypt (that of the fox who pretended to be dead) identical with an amazonian story, and strongly resembling one found by you among the negroes. vambagen, the brazilian historian (now visconde de rio branco), tried to prove a relationship between the ancient egyptians, or other turanian stock, and the tupi indians. his theory rested on rather a slender basis, yet it must be confessed that he had one or two strong points. do the resemblances between old and new world stories point to a similar conclusion? it would be hard to say with the material that we now have. "one thing is certain. the animal stories told by the negroes in our southern states and in brazil were brought by them from africa. whether they originated there, or with the arabs, or egyptians, or with yet more ancient nations, must still be an open question. whether the indians got them from the negroes or from some earlier source is equally uncertain. we have seen enough to know that a very interesting line of investigation has been opened." professor hartt, in his amazonian tortoise myths, quotes a story from the riverside magazine of november, , which will be recognized as a variant of one given by uncle remus. i venture to append it here, with some necessary verbal and phonetic alterations, in order to give the reader an idea of the difference between the dialect of the cotton plantations, as used by uncle remus, and the lingo in vogue on the rice plantations and sea islands of the south atlantic states: "one time b'er deer an' b'er cooter (terrapin) was courtin', and de lady did bin lub b'er deer mo' so dan b'er cooter. she did bin lub b'er cooter, but she lub b'er deer de morest. so de young lady say to b'er deer and b'er cooter bofe dat dey mus' hab a ten-mile race, an de one dat beats, she will go marry him. "so b'er cooter say to b'er deer: 'you has got mo longer legs dan i has, but i will run you. you run ten mile on land, and i will run ten mile on de water!' "so b'er cooter went an' git nine er his fam'ly, an' put one at ebery mile-pos', and he hisse'f, what was to run wid b'er deer, he was right in front of de young lady's do', in de broom-grass. "dat mornin' at nine o'clock, b'er deer he did met b'er cooter at de fus mile-pos', wey dey was to start fum. so he call: 'well, b'er cooter, is you ready? co long!' as he git on to de nex' mile-pos', he say: 'b'er cooter!' b'er cooter say: 'hullo!' b'er deer say: 'you dere?' b'er cooter say: 'yes, b'er deer, i dere too.' "nex' mile-pos' he jump, b'er deer say: 'hullo, b'er cooter!' b'er cooter say: 'hullo, b'er deer! you dere too?' b'er deer say: 'ki! it look like you gwine fer tie me; it look like we gwine fer de gal tie!' "w'en he git to de nine-mile pos' he tought he git dere fus, 'cause he mek two jump; so he holler: 'b'er cooter!' b'er cooter answer: 'you dere too?' b'er deer say: 'it look like you gwine tie me.' b'er cooter say: 'go long, b'er deer. i git dere in due season time,' which he does, and wins de race." the story of the rabbit and the fox, as told by the southern negroes, is artistically dramatic in this: it progresses in an orderly way from a beginning to a well-defined conclusion, and is full of striking episodes that suggest the culmination. it seems to me to be to a certain extent allegorical, albeit such an interpretation may be unreasonable. at least it is a fable thoroughly characteristic of the negro; and it needs no scientific investigation to show why he selects as his hero the weakest and most harmless of all animals, and brings him out victorious in contests with the bear, the wolf, and the fox. it is not virtue that triumphs, but helplessness; it is not malice, but mischievousness. it would be presumptuous in me to offer an opinion as to the origin of these curious myth-stories; but, if ethnologists should discover that they did not originate with the african, the proof to that effect should be accompanied with a good deal of persuasive eloquence. curiously enough, i have found few negroes who will acknowledge to a stranger that they know anything of these legends; and yet to relate one of the stories is the surest road to their confidence and esteem. in this way, and in this way only, i have been enabled to collect and verify the folklore included in this volume. there is an anecdote about the irishman and the rabbit which a number of negroes have told to me with great unction, and which is both funny and characteristic, though i will not undertake to say that it has its origin with the blacks. one day an irishman who had heard people talking about "mares' nests" was going along the big road--it is always the big road in contradistinction to neighborhood paths and by-paths, called in the vernacular "nigh-cuts"--when he came to a pumpkin--patch. the irishman had never seen any of this fruit before, and he at once concluded that he had discovered a veritable mare's nest. making the most of his opportunity, he gathered one of the pumpkins in his arms and went on his way. a pumpkin is an exceedingly awkward thing to carry, and the irishman had not gone far before he made a misstep, and stumbled. the pumpkin fell to the ground, rolled down the hill into a "brush--heap," and, striking against a stump, was broken. the story continues in the dialect: "w'en de punkin roll in de bresh--heap, out jump a rabbit; en soon's de i'shmuns see dat, he take atter de rabbit en holler: 'kworp, colty! kworp, colty!' but de rabbit, he des flew." the point of this is obvious. as to the songs, the reader is warned that it will be found difficult to make them conform to the ordinary rules of versification, nor is it intended that they should so conform. they are written, and are intended to be read, solely with reference to the regular and invariable recurrence of the caesura, as, for instance, the first stanza of the revival hymn: "oh, whar / shill we go / w'en de great / day comes wid de blow / in' er de trumpits / en de bang / in' er de drums / how man / y po' sin / ners'll be kotch'd / out late en fine / no latch ter de gold / en gate /" in other words, the songs depend for their melody and rhythm upon the musical quality of time, and not upon long or short, accented or unaccented syllables. i am persuaded that this fact led mr. sidney lanier, who is thoroughly familiar with the metrical peculiarities of negro songs, into the exhaustive investigation which has resulted in the publication of his scholarly treatise on the science of english verse. the difference between the dialect of the legends and that of the character--sketches, slight as it is, marks the modifications which the speech of the negro has undergone even where education has played in deed, save in the no part reforming it. indeed, save in the remote country districts, the dialect of the legends has nearly disappeared. i am perfectly well aware that the character sketches are without permanent interest, but they are embodied here for the purpose of presenting a phase of negro character wholly distinct from that which i have endeavored to preserve in the legends. only in this shape, and with all the local allusions, would it be possible to adequately represent the shrewd observations, the curious retorts, the homely thrusts, the quaint comments, and the humorous philosophy of the race of which uncle remus is the type. if the reader not familiar with plantation life will imagine that the myth--stories of uncle remus are told night after night to a little boy by an old negro who appears to be venerable enough to have lived during the period which he describes--who has nothing but pleasant memories of the discipline of slavery--and who has all the prejudices of caste and pride of family that were the natural results of the system; if the reader can imagine all this, he will find little difficulty in appreciating and sympathizing with the air of affectionate superiority which uncle remus assumes as he proceeds to unfold the mysteries of plantation lore to a little child who is the product of that practical reconstruction which has been going on to some extent since the war in spite of the politicians. uncle remus describes that reconstruction in his story of the war, and i may as well add here for the benefit of the curious that that story is almost literally true. j. c. h. contents legends of the old plantation i. uncle remus initiates the little boy ii. the wonderful tar-baby story iii. why mr. possum loves peace iv. how mr. rabbit was too sharp for mr. fox v. the story of the deluge, and how it came about vi. mr. rabbit grossly deceives mr. fox vii. mr. fox is again victimized viii. mr. fox is "outdone" by mr. buzzard ix. miss cow falls a victim to mr. rabbit x. mr. terrapin appears upon the scene xi. mr. wolf makes a failure xii. mr. fox tackles old man tarrypin xiii. the awful fate of mr. wolf xiv. mr. fox and the deceitful frogs xv. mr. fox goes a-hunting, but mr. rabbit bags the game xvi. old mr. rabbit, he's a good fisherman xvii. mr. rabbit nibbles up the butter xviii. mr. rabbit finds his match at last xix. the fate of mr. jack sparrow xx. how mr. rabbit saved his meat xxi. mr. rabbit meets his match again xxii. a story about the little rabbits xxiii. mr. rabbit and mr. bear xxiv. mr. bear catches old mr. bull-frog xxv. how mr. rabbit lost his fine bushy tail xxvi. mr. terrapin shows his strength xxvii why mr. possum has no hair on his tail xxviii. the end of mr. bear xxix. mr. fox gets into serious business xxx. how mr. rabbit succeeded in raising a dust. xxxi. a plantation witch xxxii. "jacky-my-lantern" xxxiii. why the negro is black xxxiv. the sad fate of mr. fox plantation proverbs his songs i. revival hymn ii. camp-meeting song iii. corn-shucking song iv. the plough-hands song v. christmas play-song vi. plantation play-song vii. transcriptions: . a plantation chant . a plantation serenade viii. de big bethel church ix. time goes by turns a story of the war his sayings i. jeems rober'son's last illness ii. uncle remus's church experience iii. uncle remus and the savannah darkey iv. turnip salad as a text v. a confession vi. uncle remus with the toothache vii. the phonograph viii. race improvement ix. in the role of a tartar x. a case of measles xi. the emigrants xii. as a murderer xiii. his practical view of things xiv. that deceitful jug xv. the florida watermelon xvi. uncle remus preaches to a convert xvii. as to education xviii. a temperance reformer xix. as a weather prophet xx. the old man's troubles xxi. the fourth of july legends of the old plantation i. uncle remus initiates the little boy one evening recently, the lady whom uncle remus calls "miss sally" missed her little seven-year-old. making search for him through the house and through the yard, she heard the sound of voices in the old man's cabin, and, looking through the window, saw the child sitting by uncle remus. his head rested against the old man's arm, and he was gazing with an expression of the most intense interest into the rough, weather-beaten face, that beamed so kindly upon him. this is what "miss sally" heard: "bimeby, one day, atter brer fox bin doin' all dat he could fer ter ketch brer rabbit, en brer rabbit bein doin' all he could fer ter keep 'im fum it, brer fox say to hisse'f dat he'd put up a game on brer rabbit, en he ain't mo'n got de wuds out'n his mouf twel brer rabbit came a lopin' up de big road, lookin' des ez plump, en ez fat, en ez sassy ez a moggin hoss in a barley-patch. "'hol' on dar, brer rabbit,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'i ain't got time, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, sorter mendin' his licks. "'i wanter have some confab wid you, brer rabbit,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'all right, brer fox, but you better holler fum whar you stan'. i'm monstus full er fleas dis mawnin',' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'i seed brer b'ar yistdiddy, 'sez brer fox, sezee, 'en he sorter rake me over de coals kaze you en me ain't make frens en live naberly, en i tole 'im dat i'd see you.' "den brer rabbit scratch one year wid his off hinefoot sorter jub'usly, en den he ups en sez, sezee: "'all a settin', brer fox. spose'n you drap roun' ter-morrer en take dinner wid me. we ain't got no great doin's at our house, but i speck de ole 'oman en de chilluns kin sorter scramble roun' en git up sump'n fer ter stay yo' stummick.' "'i'm 'gree'ble, brer rabbit,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'den i'll 'pen' on you,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "nex' day, mr. rabbit an' miss rabbit got up soom, 'fo' day, en raided on a gyarden like miss sally's out dar, en got some cabbiges, en some roas'n--years, en some sparrer-grass, en dey fix up a smashin' dinner. bimeby one er de little rabbits, playin' out in de back-yard, come runnin' in hollerin', 'oh, ma! oh, ma! i seed mr. fox a comin'!' en den brer rabbit he tuck de chilluns by der years en make um set down, en den him and miss rabbit sorter dally roun' waitin' for brer fox. en dey keep on waitin' for brer fox. en dey keep on waitin', but no brer fox ain't come. atter 'while brer rabbit goes to de do', easy like, en peep out, en dar, stickin' fum behime de cornder, wuz de tip-een' er brer fox tail. den brer rabbit shot de do' en sot down, en put his paws behime his years en begin fer ter sing: "'de place wharbouts you spill de grease, right dar you er boun' ter slide, an' whar you fin' a bunch er ha'r, you'll sholy fine de hide.' "nex' day, brer fox sont word by mr. mink, en skuze hisse'f kaze he wuz too sick fer ter come, en he ax brer rabbit fer ter come en take dinner wid him, en brer rabbit say he wuz 'gree'ble. "bimeby, w'en de shadders wuz at der shortes', brer rabbit he sorter brush up en sa'nter down ter brer fox's house, en w'en he got dar, he hear somebody groanin', en he look in de do' an dar he see brer fox settin' up in a rockin'-cheer all wrop up wid flannil, en he look mighty weak. brer rabbit look all roun', he did, but he ain't see no dinner. de dish-pan wuz settin' on de table, en close by wuz a kyarvin' knife. "'look like you gwineter have chicken fer dinner, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'yes, brer rabbit, dey er nice, en fresh, en tender, 'sez brer fox, sezee. "den brer rabbit sorter pull his mustarsh, en say: 'you ain't got no calamus root, is you, brer fox? i done got so now dat i can't eat no chicken 'ceppin she's seasoned up wid calamus root.' en wid dat brer rabbit lipt out er de do' and dodge 'mong the bushes, en sot dar watchin' for brer fox; en he ain't watch long, nudder, kaze brer fox flung off de flannil en crope out er de house en got whar he could cloze in on brer rabbit, en bimeby brer rabbit holler out: 'oh, brer fox! i'll des put yo' calamus root out yer on dish yer stump. better come git it while hit's fresh,' and wid dat brer rabbit gallop off home. en brer fox ain't never kotch 'im yit, en w'at's mo', honey, he ain't gwineter." ii. the wonderful tar baby story "didn't the fox never catch the rabbit, uncle remus?" asked the little boy the next evening. "he come mighty nigh it, honey, sho's you born--brer fox did. one day atter brer rabbit fool 'im wid dat calamus root, brer fox went ter wuk en got 'im some tar, en mix it wid some turkentime, en fix up a contrapshun w'at he call a tar-baby, en he tuck dish yer tar-baby en he sot 'er in de big road, en den he lay off in de bushes fer to see what de news wuz gwine ter be. en he didn't hatter wait long, nudder, kaze bimeby here come brer rabbit pacin' down de road--lippity-clippity, clippity-lippity--dez ez sassy ez a jay-bird. brer fox, he lay low. brer rabbit come prancin' 'long twel he spy de tar-baby, en den he fotch up on his behime legs like he wuz 'stonished. de tar baby, she sot dar, she did, en brer fox, he lay low. "'mawnin'!' sez brer rabbit, sezee--'nice wedder dis mawnin',' sezee. "tar-baby ain't sayin' nuthin', en brer fox he lay low. "'how duz yo' sym'tums seem ter segashuate?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "brer fox, he wink his eye slow, en lay low, en de tar-baby, she ain't sayin' nuthin'. "'how you come on, den? is you deaf?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'kaze if you is, i kin holler louder,' sezee. "tar-baby stay still, en brer fox, he lay low. "'you er stuck up, dat's w'at you is,' says brer rabbit, sezee, 'en i'm gwine ter kyore you, dat's w'at i'm a gwine ter do,' sezee. "brer fox, he sorter chuckle in his stummick, he did, but tar- baby ain't sayin' nothin'. "'i'm gwine ter larn you how ter talk ter 'spectubble folks ef hit's de las' ack,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'ef you don't take off dat hat en tell me howdy, i'm gwine ter bus' you wide open,' sezee. "tar-baby stay still, en brer fox, he lay low. "brer rabbit keep on axin' 'im, en de tar-baby, she keep on sayin' nothin', twel present'y brer rabbit draw back wid his fis', he did, en blip he tuck 'er side er de head. right dar's whar he broke his merlasses jug. his fis' stuck, en he can't pull loose. de tar hilt 'im. but tar-baby, she stay still, en brer fox, he lay low. "'ef you don't lemme loose, i'll knock you agin,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, en wid dat he fotch 'er a wipe wid de udder han', en dat stuck. tar-baby, she ain't sayin' nuthin', en brer fox, he lay low. "'tu'n me loose, fo' i kick de natchul stuffin' outen you,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, but de tar-baby, she ain't sayin' nuthin'. she des hilt on, en de brer rabbit lose de use er his feet in de same way. brer fox, he lay low. den brer rabbit squall out dat ef de tar-baby don't tu'n 'im loose he butt 'er cranksided. en den he butted, en his head got stuck. den brer fox, he sa'ntered fort', lookin' dez ez innercent ez wunner yo' mammy's mockin'- birds. "howdy, brer rabbit,' sez brer fox, sezee. 'you look sorter stuck up dis mawnin',' sezee, en den he rolled on de groun', en laft en laft twel he couldn't laff no mo'. 'i speck you'll take dinner wid me dis time, brer rabbit. i done laid in some calamus root, en i ain't gwineter take no skuse,' sez brer fox, sezee." here uncle remus paused, and drew a two-pound yam out of the ashes. "did the fox eat the rabbit?" asked the little boy to whom the story had been told. "dat's all de fur de tale goes," replied the old man. "he mout, an den agin he moutent. some say judge b'ar come 'long en loosed 'im--some say he didn't. i hear miss sally callin'. you better run 'long." iii. why mr. possum loves peace "one night," said uncle remus--taking miss sally's little boy on his knee, and stroking the child's hair thoughtfully and caressingly--"one night brer possum call by fer brer coon, 'cordin' ter 'greement, en atter gobblin' up a dish er fried greens en smokin' a seegyar, dey rambled fort' fer ter see how de ballance er de settlement wuz gittin' long. brer coon, he wuz one er deze yer natchul pacers, en he racked 'long same ez mars john's bay pony, en brer possum he went in a han'-gallup; en dey got over heap er groun, mon. brer possum, he got his belly full er 'simmons, en brer coon, he scoop up a 'bunnunce er frogs en tadpoles. dey amble long, dey did, des ez sociable ez a basket er kittens, twel bimeby dey hear mr. dog talkin' ter hisse'f way off in de woods. "'spozen he runs up on us, brer possum, w'at you gwineter do?' sez brer coon, sezee. brer possum sorter laugh 'round de cornders un his mouf. "'oh, ef he come, brer coon, i'm gwineter stan' by you,' sez brer possum. 'w'at you gwineter do?' sezee. "'who? me?' sez brer coon. 'ef he run up onter me, i lay i give 'im one twis',' sezee." "did the dog come?" asked the little boy. "go 'way, honey!" responded the old man, in an impressive tone. "go way! mr. dog, he come en he come a zoonin'. en he ain't wait fer ter say howdy, nudder. he des sail inter de two un um. de ve'y fus pas he make brer possum fetch a grin fum year ter year, en keel over like he wuz dead. den mr. dog, he sail inter brer coon, en right dar's whar he drap his money purse, kaze brer coon wuz cut out fer dat kinder bizness, en he fa'rly wipe up de face er de yeth wid 'im. you better b'leeve dat w'en mr. dog got a chance to make hisse'f skase he tuck it, en w'at der wuz lef' un him went skaddlin' thoo de woods like hit wuz shot outen a muskit. en brer coon, he sorter lick his cloze inter shape en rack off, en brer possum, he lay dar like he wuz dead, twel bimeby he raise up sorter keerful like, en w'en he fine de coas' cle'r he scramble up en scamper off like sumpin' was atter 'im." here uncle remus paused long enough to pick up a live coal of fire in his fingers, transfer it to the palm of his hand, and thence to his clay pipe, which he had been filling--a proceeding that was viewed by the little boy with undisguised admiration. the old man then proceeded: "nex' time brer possum met brer coon, brer coon 'fuse ter 'spon' ter his howdy, en dis make brer possum feel mighty bad, seein' ez how dey useter make so many 'scurshuns tergedder. "'w'at make you hol' yo' head so high, brer coon?' sez brer possum, sezee. "'i ain't runnin' wid cowerds deze days,' sez brer coon. 'w'en i wants you i'll sen' fer you,' sezee. "den brer possum git mighty mad. "'who's enny cowerd?' sezee. "'you is,' sez brer coon, 'dat's who. i ain't soshatin' wid dem w'at lays down on de groun' en plays dead w'en dar's a free fight gwine on,' sezee. "den brer possum grin en laugh fit to kill hisse'f. "'lor', brer coon, you don't speck i done dat kaze i wuz 'feared, duz you?' sezee. 'w'y i want no mo 'feared dan you is dis minnit. w'at wuz dey fer ter be skeered un?' sezee. 'i know'd you'd git away wid mr. dog ef i didn't, en i des lay dar watchin' you shake him, waitin' fer ter put in w'en de time come,' sezee. "brer coon tu'n up his nose. "'dat's a mighty likely tale,' sezee, 'w'en mr. dog ain't mo'n tech you 'fo' you keel over, en lay dar stiff,' sezee. "'dat's des w'at i wuz gwineter tell you 'bout; sez brer possum, sezee. 'i want no mo' skeer'd dan you is right now, en' i wuz fixin' fer ter give mr. dog a sample er my jaw,' sezee, 'but i'm de most ticklish chap w'at you ever laid eyes on, en no sooner did mr. dog put his nose down yer 'mong my ribs dan i got ter laughin', en i laughed twel i ain't had no use er my lim's,' sezee, 'en it's a mussy unto mr. dog dat i wuz ticklish, kaze a little mo' en i'd e't 'im up,' sezee. 'i don't mine fightin', brer coon, no mo' dan you duz,' sezee, 'but i declar' ter grashus ef i kin stan' ticklin'. git me in a row whar dey ain't no ticklin' 'lowed, en i'm your man, sezee. "en down ter dis day"--continued uncle remus, watching the smoke from his pipe curl upward over the little boy's head--"down ter dis day, brer possum's bound ter s'render w'en you tech him in de short ribs, en he'll laugh ef he knows he's gwineter be smashed fer it." iv. how mr. rabbit was too sharp for mr. fox "uncle remus," said the little boy one evening, when he had found the old man with little or nothing to do, "did the fox kill and eat the rabbit when he caught him with the tar-baby?" "law, honey, ain't i tell you 'bout dat?" replied the old darkey, chuckling slyly. "i 'clar ter grashus i ought er tole you dat, but old man nod wuz ridin' on my eyeleds 'twel a leetle mo'n i'd a dis'member'd my own name, en den on to dat here come yo mammy hollerin' atter you. "w'at i tell you w'en i fus' begin? i tole you brer rabbit wuz a monstus soon creetur; leas'ways dat's w'at i laid out fer ter tell you. well, den, honey, don't you go en make no udder calkalashuns, kaze in dem days brer rabbit en his fambly wuz at de head er de gang w'en enny racket wuz on han', en dar dey stayed. 'fo' you begins fer ter wipe yo' eyes 'bout brer rabbit, you wait en see whar'bouts brer rabbit gwineter fetch up at. but dat's needer yer ner dar. "w'en brer fox fine brer rabbit mixt up wid de tar-baby, he feel mighty good, en he roll on de groun' en laff. bimeby he up'n say, sezee: "'well, i speck i got you dis time, brer rabbit, sezee; 'maybe i ain't, but i speck i is. you been runnin' roun' here sassin' atter me a mighty long time, but i speck you done come ter de een' er de row. you bin cuttin' up yo' capers en bouncin''roun' in dis neighberhood ontwel you come ter b'leeve yo'se'f de boss er de whole gang. en den you er allers somers whar you got no bizness,' sez brer fox, sezee. 'who ax you fer ter come en strike up a 'quaintance wid dish yer tar-baby? en who stuck you up dar whar you iz? nobody in de roun' worl'. you des tuck en jam yo'se'f on dat tar-baby widout waitin' fer enny invite,' sez brer fox, sezee, en dar you is, en dar you'll stay twel i fixes up a bresh-pile and fires her up, kaze i'm gwineter bobby-cue you dis day, sho,' sez brer fox, sezee. "den brer rabbit talk mighty 'umble. "'i don't keer w'at you do wid me, brer fox,' sezee, 'so you don't fling me in dat brier-patch. roas' me, brer fox' sezee, 'but don't fling me in dat brierpatch,' sezee. "'hit's so much trouble fer ter kindle a fier,' sez brer fox, sezee, 'dat i speck i'll hatter hang you,' sezee. "'hang me des ez high as you please, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'but do fer de lord's sake don't fling me in dat brier- patch,' sezee. "'i ain't got no string,' sez brer fox, sezee, 'en now i speck i'll hatter drown you,' sezee. "'drown me des ez deep ez you please, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'but do don't fling me in dat brier-patch,' sezee. "'dey ain't no water nigh,' sez brer fox, sezee, 'en now i speck i'll hatter skin you,' sezee. "'skin me, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'snatch out my eyeballs, t'ar out my years by de roots, en cut off my legs,' sezee, 'but do please, brer fox, don't fling me in dat brier- patch,' sezee. "co'se brer fox wanter hurt brer rabbit bad ez he kin, so he cotch 'im by de behime legs en slung 'im right in de middle er de brier-patch. dar wuz a considerbul flutter whar brer rabbit struck de bushes, en brer fox sorter hang 'roun' fer ter see w'at wuz gwineter happen. bimeby he hear somebody call 'im, en way up de hill he see brer rabbit settin' crosslegged on a chinkapin log koamin' de pitch outen his har wid a chip. den brer fox know dat he bin swop off mighty bad. brer rabbit wuz bleedzed fer ter fling back some er his sass, en he holler out: "'bred en bawn in a brier-patch, brer fox--bred en bawn in a brier-patch!' en wid dat he skip out des ez lively ez a cricket in de embers." v. the story of the deluge and how it came about "one time," said uncle remus--adjusting his spectacles so as to be able to see how to thread a large darning-needle with which he was patching his coat--"one time, way back yander, 'fo' you wuz bomed, honey, en 'fo' mars john er miss sally wuz bomed--way back yander 'fo' enny un us wuz bomed, de animils en de creeturs sorter 'lecshuneer roun' 'mong deyselves, twel at las' dey 'greed fer ter have a 'sembly. in dem days," continued the old man, observing a look of incredulity on the little boy's face, "in dem days creeturs had lots mo' sense dan dey got now; let 'lone dat, dey had sense same like folks. hit was tech en go wid um, too, mon, en w'en dey make up der mines w'at hatter be done, 'twant mo'n menshun'd 'fo, hit wuz done. well, dey 'lected dat dey hatter hol' er 'sembly fer ter sorter straighten out marters en hear de complaints, en w'en de day come dey wuz on han'. de lion, he wuz dar, kase he wuz de king, en he hatter be der. de rhynossyhoss, he wuz dar, en de elephant, he wuz dar, en de cammils, en de cows, en plum' down ter de crawfishes, dey wuz dar. dey wuz all dar. en w'en de lion shuck his mane, en tuck his seat in de big cheer, den de sesshun begun fer ter commence. "what did they do, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "i can't skacely call to mine 'zackly w'at dey did do, but dey spoke speeches, en hollered, en cusst, en flung der langwidge 'roun' des like w'en yo' daddy wuz gwineter run fer de legislater en got lef'. howsomever, dey 'ranged der 'fairs, en splained der bizness. bimeby, w'ile dey wuz 'sputin' 'longer one er nudder, de elephant trompled on one er de crawfishes. co'se w'en dat creetur put his foot down, w'atsumever's under dar wuz boun' fer ter be squshed, en dey wa'n't nuff er dat crawfish lef' fer ter tell dat he'd bin dar. "dis make de udder crawfishes mighty mad, en dey sorter swarmed tergedder en draw'd up a kinder peramble wid some wharfo'es in it, en read her out in de 'sembly. but, bless grashus! sech a racket wuz a gwine on dat nobody ain't hear it, 'ceppin' maybe de mud turkle en de spring lizzud, en dere enfloons wuz pow'ful lackin'. "bimeby, w'iles de nunicorn wuz 'sputin' wid de lion, en w'ile de hyener wuz a laughin' ter hisse'f, de elephant squshed anudder one er de crawfishes, en a little mo'n he'd er ruint de mud turkle. den de crawfishes, w'at dey wuz lef' un um, swarmed tergedder en draw'd up anudder peramble wid sum mo' wharfo'es; but dey might ez well er sung ole dan tucker ter a harrycane. de udder creeturs wuz too busy wid der fussin' fer ter 'spon' unto de crawfishes. so dar dey wuz, de crawfishes, en dey didn't know w'at minnit wuz gwineter be de nex'; en dey kep' on gittin madder en madder en skeerder en skeerder, twel bimeby dey gun de wink ter de mud turkle en de spring lizzud, en den dey bo'd little holes in de groun' en went down outer sight." "who did, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "de crawfishes, honey. dey bo'd inter de groun' en kep' on bo'in twel dey onloost de fountains er de yeth; en de waters squirt out, en riz higher en higher twel de hills wuz kivvered, en de creeturs wuz all drownded; en all bekaze dey let on 'mong deyselves dat dey wuz bigger dan de crawfishes." then the old man blew the ashes from a smoking yam, and proceeded to remove the peeling. "where was the ark, uncle remus?" the little boy inquired, presently. "w'ich ark's dat?" asked the old man, in a tone of well-feigned curiosity. "noah's ark," replied the child. "don't you pester wid ole man noah, honey. i boun' he tuck keer er dat ark. dat's w'at he wuz dar fer, en dat's w'at he done. leas'ways, dat's w'at dey tells me. but don't you bodder longer dat ark, 'ceppin' your mammy fetches it up. dey mout er bin two deloojes, en den agin dey moutent. ef dey wuz enny ark in dish yer w'at de crawfishes brung on, i ain't heern tell un it, en w'en dey ain't no arks 'roun', i ain't got no time fer ter make um en put um in dar. hit's gittin' yo' bedtime, honey." vi. mr. rabbit grossly deceives mr. fox one evening when the little boy, whose nights with uncle remus were as entertaining as those arabian ones of blessed memory, had finished supper and hurried out to sit with his venerable patron, he found the old man in great glee. indeed, uncle remus was talking and laughing to himself at such a rate that the little boy was afraid he had company. the truth is, uncle remus had heard the child coming, and, when the rosy-cheeked chap put his head in at the door, was engaged in a monologue, the burden of which seemed to be-- "ole molly har', w'at you doin' dar, settin' in de cornder smokin' yo' seegyar?" as a matter of course this vague allusion reminded the little boy of the fact that the wicked fox was still in pursuit of the rabbit, and he immediately put his curiosity in the shape of a question. "uncle remus, did the rabbit have to go clean away when he got loose from the tar-baby?" "bless gracious, honey, dat he didn't. who? him? you dunno nuthin' 'tall 'bout brer rabbit ef dat's de way you puttin' 'im down. w'at he gwine 'way fer? he moughter stayed sorter close twel de pitch rub off'n his ha'r, but tweren't menny days 'fo' he wuz lopin' up en down de neighborhood same ez ever, en i dunno ef he weren't mo' sassier dan befo'. "seem like dat de tale 'bout how he got mixt up wid de tar-baby got 'roun' 'mongst de nabers. leas'ways, miss meadows en de gals got win' un' it, en de nex' time brer rabbit paid um a visit miss meadows tackled 'im 'bout it, en de gals sot up a monstus gigglement. brer rabbit, he sot up des ez cool ez a cowcumber, he did, en let em run on. "who was miss meadows, uncle remus?" inquired the little boy. "don't ax me, honey. she wuz in de tale, miss meadows en de gals wuz, en de tale i give you like hi't wer' gun ter me. brer rabbit, he sot dar, he did, sorter lam' like, en den bimeby he cross his legs, he did, and wink his eye slow, en up and say, sezee: "'ladies, brer fox wuz my daddy's ridin'-hoss fer thirty year; maybe mo', but thirty year dat i knows un,' sezee; en den he paid um his 'specks, en tip his beaver, en march off, he did, des ez stiff en ez stuck up ez a fire-stick. "nex' day, brer fox cum a callin', and w'en he gun fer ter laugh 'bout brer rabbit, miss meadows en de gals, dey ups en tells 'im 'bout w'at brer rabbit say. den brer fox grit his tushes sho' nuff, he did, en he look mighty dumpy, but w'en he riz fer ter go he up en say, sezee: "'ladies, i ain't 'sputin' w'at you say, but i'll make brer rabbit chaw up his words en spit um out right yer whar you kin see 'im,' sezee, en wid dat off brer fox put. "en w'en he got in de big road, he shuck de dew off'n his tail, en made a straight shoot fer brer rabbit's house. w'en he got dar, brer rabbit wuz spectin' un 'im, en de do' wuz shet fas'. brer fox knock. nobody ain't ans'er. brer fox knock. nobody ans'er. den he knock agin--blam! blam! den brer rabbit holler out mighty weak: 'is dat you, brer fox? i want you ter run en fetch de doctor. dat bait er pusly w'at i e't dis mawnin' is gittin' 'way wid me. do, please, brer fox, run quick,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'i come atter you, brer rabbit,' sez brer fox, sezee. 'dar's gwineter be a party up at miss meadows's,' sezee. 'all de gals 'll be dere, en i prommus' dat i'd fetch you. de gals, dey 'lowed dat hit wouldn't be no party 'ceppin' i fotch you,' sez brer fox, sezee. "den brer rabbit say he wuz too sick, en brer fox say he wuzzent, en dar dey had it up and down, 'sputin' en contendin'. brer rabbit say he can't walk. brer fox say he tote 'im. brer rabbit say how? brer fox say in his arms. brer rabbit say he drap 'im. brer fox 'low he won't. bimeby brer rabbit say he go ef brer fox tote 'im on his back. brer fox say he would. brer rabbit say he can't ride widout a saddle. brer fox say he git de saddle. brer rabbit say he can't set in saddle less he have bridle fer ter hol' by. brer fox say he git de bridle. brer rabbit say he can't ride widout bline bridle, kaze brer fox be shyin' at stumps long de road, en fling 'im off. brer fox say he git bline bridle. den brer rabbit say he go. den brer fox say he ride brer rabbit mos' up ter miss meadows's, en den he could git down en walk de balance er de way. brer rabbit 'greed, en den brer fox lipt out atter de saddle en de bridle. "co'se brer rabbit know de game dat brer fox wuz fixin' fer ter play, en he 'termin' fer ter outdo 'im, en by de time he koam his ha'r en twis' his mustarsh, en sorter rig up, yer come brer fox, saddle en bridle on, en lookin' ez peart ez a circus pony. he trot up ter de do' en stan' dar pawin' de ground en chompin' de bit same like sho 'nuff hoss, en brer rabbit he mount, he did, en dey amble off. brer fox can't see behime wid de bline bridle on, but bimeby he feel brer rabbit raise one er his foots. "'w'at you doin' now, brer rabbit?' sezee. "'short'nin' de lef stir'p, brer fox,' sezee. "bimeby brer rabbit raise up de udder foot. "'w'at you doin' now, brer rabbit?' sezee. "'pullin' down my pants, brer fox,' sezee. "all de time, bless grashus, honey, brer rabbit wer' puttin' on his spurrers, en w'en dey got close to miss meadows's, whar brer rabbit wuz to git off, en brer fox made a motion fer ter stan' still, brer rabbit slap de spurrers into brer fox flanks, en you better b'leeve he got over groun'. w'en dey got ter de house, miss meadows en all de gals wuz settin' on de peazzer, en stidder stoppin' at de gate, brer rabbit rid on by, he did, en den come gallopin' down de road en up ter de hoss-rack, w'ich he hitch brer fox at, en den he santer inter de house, he did, en shake han's wid de gals, en set dar, smokin' his seegyar same ez a town man. bimeby he draw in a long puff, en den let hit out in a cloud, en squar hisse'f back en holler out, he did: "'ladies, ain't i done tell you brer fox wuz de ridin'-hoss fer our fambly? he sorter losin' his gait now, but i speck i kin fetch 'im all right in a mont' er so,' sezee. "en den brer rabbit sorter grin, he did, en de gals giggle, en miss meadows, she praise up de pony, en dar wuz brer fox hitch fas' ter de rack, en couldn't he'p hisse'f." "is that all, uncle remus?" asked the little boy as the old man paused. "dat ain't all, honey, but 'twon't do fer ter give out too much cloff fer ter cut one pa'r pants," replied the old man sententiously. vii. mr. fox is again victimized when "miss sally's" little boy went to uncle remus the next night to hear the conclusion of the adventure in which the rabbit made a riding-horse of the fox to the great enjoyment and gratification of miss meadows and the girls, he found the old man in a bad humor. "i ain't tellin' no tales ter bad chilluns," said uncle remus curtly. "but, uncle remus, i ain't bad," said the little boy plaintively. "who dat chunkin' dem chickens dis mawnin? who dat knockin' out fokes's eyes wid dat yallerbammer sling des 'fo' dinner? who dat sickin' dat pinter puppy atter my pig? who dat scatterin' my ingun sets? who dat flingin' rocks on top er my house, w'ich a little mo' en one un em would er drap spang on my head?" "well, now, uncle remus, i didn't go to do it. i won't do so any more. please, uncle remus, if you will tell me, i'll run to the house and bring you some tea-cakes." "seein' um's better'n hearin' tell un um, replied the old man, the severity of his countenance relaxing somewhat; but the little boy darted out, and in a few minutes came running back with his pockets full and his hands full. "i lay yo' mammy 'll 'spishun dat de rats' stummicks is widenin' in dis neighborhood w'en she come fer ter count up 'er cakes," said uncle remus, with a chuckle. "deze," he continued, dividing the cakes into two equal parts--"dese i'll tackle now, en dese i'll lay by fer sunday. "lemme see. i mos' dis'member wharbouts brer fox en brer rabbit wuz." "the rabbit rode the fox to miss meadows's, and hitched him to the horse-rack," said the little boy. "w'y co'se he did," said uncle remus. "c'ose he did. well, brer rabbit rid brer fox up, he did, en tied 'im to de rack, en den sot out in de peazzer wid de gals a smokin' er his seegyar wid mo' proudness dan w'at you mos' ever see. dey talk, en dey sing, en dey play on de peanner, de gals did, twel bimeby hit come time fer brer rabbit fer to be gwine, en he tell um all good-by, en strut out to de hoss-rack same's ef he wuz de king er de patter- rollers,* en den he mount brer fox en ride off. "brer fox ain't sayin' nuthin' 'tall. he des rack off, he did, en keep his mouf shet, en brer rabbit know'd der wuz bizness cookin' up fer him, en he feel monstus skittish. brer fox amble on twel he git in de long lane, outer sight er miss meadows's house, en den he tu'n loose, he did. he rip en he ra'r, en he cuss, en he swar; he snort en he cavort." "what was he doing that for, uncle remus?" the little boy inquired. "he wuz tryin' fer ter fling brer rabbit off'n his back, bless yo' soul! but he des might ez well er rastle wid his own shadder. every time he hump hisse'f brer rabbit slap de spurrers in 'im, en dar dey had it, up en down. brer fox fa'rly to' up de groun' he did, en he jump so high en he jump so quick dat he mighty nigh snatch his own tail off. dey kep' on gwine on dis way twel bimeby brer fox lay down en roll over, he did, en dis sorter onsettle brer rabbit, but by de time brer fox got back on his footses agin, brer rabbit wuz gwine thoo de underbresh mo' samer dan a race-hoss. brer fox he lit out atter 'im, he did, en he push brer rabbit so close dat it wuz 'bout all he could do fer ter git in a holler tree. hole too little fer brer fox fer ter git in, en he hatter lay down en res en gedder his mine tergedder. "while he wuz layin' dar, mr. buzzard come floppin' 'long, en seein' brer fox stretch out on de groun', he lit en view de premusses. den mr. buzzard sorter shake his wing, en put his head on one side, en say to hisse'f like, sezee: "'brer fox dead, en i so sorry,' sezee. "'no i ain't dead, nudder,' sez brer fox, sezee. 'i got ole man rabbit pent up in yer,' sezee, 'en i'm a gwine ter git 'im dis time ef it take twel chris'mus,' sezee. "den, atter some mo' palaver, brer fox make a bargain dat mr. buzzard wuz ter watch de hole, en keep brer rabbit dar wiles brer fox went atter his axe. den brer fox, he lope off, he did, en mr. buzzard, he tuck up his stan' at de hole. bimeby, w'en all git still, brer rabbit sorter scramble down close ter de hole, he did, en holler out: "'brer fox! oh! brer fox!' "brer fox done gone, en nobody say nuthin'. den brer rabbit squall out like he wuz mad; sezee: "'you needn't talk less you wanter,' sezee; 'i knows you er dar, en i ain't keerin',' sezee. 'i des wanter tell you dat i wish mighty bad brer tukkey buzzard wuz here,' sezee. "den mr. buzzard try ter talk like brer fox: "'w'at you want wid mr. buzzard?' sezee. "'oh, nuthin' in 'tickler, 'cep' dere's de fattes' gray squir'l in yer dat ever i see,' sezee, 'en ef brer tukkey buzzard wuz 'roun' he'd be mighty glad fer ter git 'im,' sezee. "'how mr. buzzard gwine ter git 'im?' sez de buzzard, sezee. "'well, dar's a little hole roun' on de udder side er de tree,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en ef brer tukkey buzzard wuz here so he could take up his stan' dar,' sezee, 'i'd drive dat squir'l out,' sezee. "'drive 'im out, den,' sez mr. buzzard, sezee, 'en i'll see dat brer tukkey buzzard gits 'im,' sezee. "den brer rabbit kick up a racket, like he wer' drivin' sumpin' out, en mr. buzzard he rush 'roun' fer ter ketch de squir'l, en brer rabbit, he dash out, he did, en he des fly fer home." at this point uncle remus took one of the teacakes, held his head back, opened his mouth, dropped the cake in with a sudden motion, looked at the little boy with an expression of astonishment, and then closed his eyes, and begun to chew, mumbling as an accompaniment the plaintive tune of "don't you grieve atter me." the seance was over; but, before the little boy went into the "big house," uncle remus laid his rough hand tenderly on the child's shoulder, and remarked, in a confidential tone: "honey, you mus' git up soon chris'mus mawnin' en open de do'; kase i'm gwineter bounce in on marse john en miss sally, en holler 'chris'mus gif'' des like i useter endurin' de farmin' days fo' de war, w'en ole miss wuz 'live. i bound' dey don't fergit de ole nigger, nudder. w'en you hear me callin' de pigs, honey, you des hop up en onfassen de do'. i lay i'll give marse john one er dese yer 'sprize parties." * patrols. in the country districts, order was kept on the plantations at night by the knowledge that they were liable to be visited at any moment by the patrols. hence a song current among the negroes, the chorus of which was: "run, nigger, run; patter-roller ketch you-- run, nigger, run; hit's almos' day." viii. mr. fox is "outdone" by mr. buzzard "ef i don't run inter no mistakes," remarked uncle remus, as the little boy came tripping in to see him after supper, "mr. tukkey buzzard wuz gyardin' de holler whar brer rabbit went in at, en w'ich he come out un." the silence of the little boy verified the old man's recollection. "well, mr. buzzard, he feel mighty lonesome, he did, but he done prommust brer fox dat he'd stay, en he 'termin' fer ter sorter hang 'roun' en jine in de joke. en he ain't hatter wait long, nudder, kase bimeby yer come brer fox gallopin' thoo de woods wid his axe on his shoulder. "'how you speck brer rabbit gittin' on, brer buzzard?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'oh, he in dar,' sez brer buzzard, sezee. 'he mighty still, dough. i speck he takin' a nap,' sezee. "'den i'm des in time fer ter wake im up, sez brer fox, sezee. en wid dat he fling off his coat, en spit in his han's, en grab de axe. den he draw back en come down on de tree--pow! en eve'y time he come down wid de axe--pow!--mr. buzzard, he step high, he did, en holler out: "'oh, he in dar, brer fox. he in dar, sho.' "en eve'y time a chip ud fly off, mr. buzzard, he'd jump, en dodge, en hol' his head sideways, he would, en holler: "'he in dar, brer fox. i done heerd 'im. he in dar, sho.' "en brer fox, he lammed away at dat holler tree, he did, like a man maulin' rails, twel bimeby, atter he done got de tree mos' cut thoo, he stop fer ter ketch his bref, en he seed mr. buzzard laughin' behime his back, he did, en right den en dar, widout gwine enny fudder, brer fox, he smelt a rat. but mr. buzzard, he keep on holler'n: "'he in dar, brer fox. he in dar, sho. i done seed 'im.' "den brer fox, he make like he peepin' up de holler, en he say, sezee: "'run yer, brer buzzard, en look ef dis ain't brer rabbit's foot hanging down yer.' "en mr. buzzard, he come steppin' up, he did, same ez ef he wer treddin' on kurkle-burs, en he stick his head in de hole; en no sooner did he done dat dan brer fox grab 'im. mr. buzzard flap his wings, en scramble 'roun' right smartually, he did, but 'twant no use. brer fox had de 'vantage er de grip, he did, en he hilt 'im right down ter de groun'. den mr. buzzard squall out, sezee: "'lemme 'lone, brer fox. tu'n me loose,' sezee; 'brer rabbit 'll git out. you er gittin' close at 'im,' sezee, 'en leb'm mo' licks'll fetch 'im,' sezee. "'i'm nigher ter you, brer buzzard,' sez brer fox, sezee, 'dan i'll be ter brer rabbit dis day,' sezee. 'w'at you fool me fer?' sezee. "'lemme lone, brer fox,' sez mr. buzzard, sezee; my ole 'oman waitin' fer me. brer rabbit in dar,' sezee. "'dar's a bunch er his fur on dat black-be'y bush,' sez brer fox, sezee, 'en dat ain't de way he come,' sezee. "den mr. buzzard up'n tell brer fox how 'twuz, en he 'low'd, mr. buzzard did, dat brer rabbit wuz de lowdownest w'atsizname w'at he ever run up wid. den brer fox say, sezee: "'dat's needer here ner dar, brer buzzard,' sezee. 'i lef' you yer fer ter watch dish yere hole, en i lef' brer rabbit in dar. i comes back en i fines you at de 'ole en brer rabbit ain't in dar,' sezee. 'i'm gwineter make you pay fer't. i done bin tampered wid twel plum' down ter de sap sucker'll set on a log en sassy me. i'm gwineter fling you in a bresh-heap en burn you up,' sezee. "'ef you fling me on der fier, brer fox, i'll fly 'way,' sez mr. buzzard, sezee. "'well, den, i'll settle yo' hash right now,' sez brer fox, sezee, en wid dat he grab mr. buzzard by de tail, he did, en make fer ter dash 'im 'gin de groun', but des 'bout dat time de tail fedders come out, en mr. buzzard sail off like one er dese yer berloons; en ez he riz, he holler back: "'you gimme good start, brer fox,' sezee, en brer fox sot dar en watch 'im fly outer sight." "but what became of the rabbit, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "don't you pester longer brer rabbit, honey, en don't you fret 'bout 'im. you'll year whar he went en how he come out. dish yer col' snap rastles wid my bones, now," continued the old man, putting on his hat and picking up his walking-stick. "hit rastles wid me monstus, en i gotter rack 'roun' en see if i kin run up agin some chris'mus leavin's." ix. miss cow falls a victim to mr. rabbit "uncle remus," said the little boy, "what became of the rabbit after he fooled the buzzard, and got out of the hollow tree?" "who? brer rabbit? bless yo' soul, honey, brer rabbit went skippin' long home, he did, des ez sassy ez a jay-bird at a sparrer's nes'. he went gallopin' 'long, he did, but he feel mighty fired out, en stiff in his jints, en he wuz mighty nigh dead for sumpin fer ter drink, en bimeby, w'en he got mos' home, he spied ole miss cow feedin' roun' in a fiel', he did, en he 'termin' fer ter try his han' wid 'er. brer rabbit know mighty well dat miss cow won't give 'im no milk, kaze she done 'fuse 'im mo'n once, en w'en his ole 'oman wuz sick, at dat. but never mind dat. brer rabbit sorter dance up long side er de fence, he did, en holler out: "'howdy, sis cow,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'w'y, howdy, brer rabbit,' sez miss cow, sez she. "'how you fine yo'se'f deze days, sis cow?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'i'm sorter toler'ble, brer rabbit; how you come on?' sez miss cow, sez she. "'oh, i'm des toler'ble myse'f, sis cow; sorter linger'n' twix' a bauk en a break-down,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'how yo' fokes, brer rabbit?' sez miss cow, sez she. "'dey er des middlin', sis cow; how brer bull gittin' on?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'sorter so-so,' sez miss cow, sez she. "'dey er some mighty nice 'simmons up dis tree, sis cow,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en i'd like mighty well fer ter have some un um,' sezee. "'how you gwineter git um, brer rabbit?' sez she. "'i 'lowed maybe dat i might ax you fer ter butt 'gin de tree, en shake some down, sis cow,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "c'ose miss cow don't wanter diskommerdate brer rabbit, en she march up ter de 'simmon tree, she did, en hit it a rap wid 'er horns--blam! now, den," continued uncle remus, tearing off the comer of a plug of tobacco and cramming it into his mouth--"now, den, dem 'simmons wuz green ez grass, en na'er one never drap. den miss cow butt de tree--blim! na'er 'simmon drap. den miss cow sorter back off little, en run agin de tree--blip! no 'simmons never drap. den miss cow back off little fudder, she did, en hi'st her tail on 'er back, en come agin de tree, kerblam! en she come so fas', en she come so hard, twel one 'er her horns went spang thoo de tree, en dar she wuz. she can't go forerds, en she can't go backerds. dis zackly w'at brer rabbit waitin' fer, en he no sooner seed ole miss cow all fas'en'd up dan he jump up, he did, en cut de pidjin-wing. "'come he'p me out, brer rabbit,' sez miss cow, sez she. "'i can't clime, sis cow,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'but i'll run'n tell brer bull,' sezee; en wid dat brer rabbit put out fer home, en 'twan't long 'fo here he come wid his ole 'oman en all his chilluns, en de las' one er de fambly wuz totin' a pail. de big uns had big pails, en de little uns had little pails. en dey all s'roundid ole miss cow, dey did, en you hear me, honey, dey milk't 'er dry. de ole uns milk't en de young uns milk't, en den w'en dey done got nuff, brer rabbit, he up'n say, sezee: "'i wish you mighty well, sis cow. i 'low'd, bein's how dat you'd hatter sorter camp out all night dat i'd better come en swaje yo' bag,' sezee." "do which, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "go long, honey! swaje 'er bag. w'en cows don't git milk't, der bag swells, en you k'n hear um a moanin' en a beller'n des like dey wuz gittin' hurtid. dat's w'at brer rabbit done. he 'sembled his fambly, he did, en he swaje ole miss cow's bag. "miss cow, she stood dar, she did, en she study en study, en strive fer ter break loose, but de horn done bin jam in de tree so tight dat twuz way 'fo day in de mornin' 'fo' she loose it. anyhow hit wuz endurin' er de night, en atter she git loose she sorter graze 'roun', she did, fer ter jestify 'er stummuck she low'd, ole miss cow did, dat brer rabbit be hoppin' long dat way fer ter see how she gittin' on, en she tuck'n lay er trap fer 'im; en des 'bout sunrise w'at'd ole miss cow do but march up ter de 'simmon tree en stick er horn back in de hole? but, bless yo' soul, honey, w'ile she wuz croppin' de grass she tuck one mou'ful too menny, kaze w'en she hitch on ter de 'simmon tree agin, brer rabbit wuz settin' in de fence cornder a watchin' un 'er. den brer rabbit he say ter hisse'f: "'heyo,' sezee, 'w'at dis yer gwine on now? hol' yo' hosses, sis cow, twel you hear me comin',' sezee. "en den he crope off down de fence, brer rabbit did, en bimeby here he come--lippity-clippity, clippity-lippity--des a sailin' down de big road. "'mornin', sis cow,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'bow you come on dis mornin'?' sezee. "po'ly, brer rabbit, poly,' sez miss cow, sez she. 'i ain't had no res' all night,' sez she. 'i can't pull loose,' sez she, 'but ef you'll come en ketch holt er my tail, brer rabbit,' sez she, 'i reckin may be i kin fetch my horn out,' sez she. den brer rabbit, he come up little closer, but he ain't gittin' too close. "'i speck i'm nigh nuff, sis cow,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'i'm a mighty puny man, en i might git trompled,' sezee. 'you do de pullin', sis cow,' sezee, en i'll do de gruntin,' sezee. "den miss cow, she pull out 'er horn, she did, en tuck atter brer rabbit, en down de big road dey had it, brer rabbit wid his years laid back, en miss cow wid 'er head down en 'er tail curl. brer rabbit kep' on gainin', en bimeby he dart in a brier-patch, en by de time miss cow come long he had his head stickin' out, en his eyes look big ez miss sally's chany sassers. "'heyo, sis cow! whar you gwine?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'howdy, brer big-eyes,' sez miss cow, sez she. 'is you seed brer rabbit go by?' "'he des dis minit pass,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en he look mighty sick,' sezee. "en wid dat, miss cow tuck down de road like de dogs wuz atter er, en brer rabbit, he des lay down dar in de brier-patch en roll en laugh twel his sides hurtid 'im. he bleedzd ter laff. fox atter 'im, buzzard atter 'im, en cow atter 'im, en dey ain't kotch 'im yet." x. mr. terrapin appears upon the scene "miss sally's" little boy again occupying the anxious position of auditor, uncle remus took the shovel and "put de noses er de chunks tergedder," as he expressed it, and then began: "one day, atter sis cow done run pas' 'er own shadder tryin' fer ter ketch 'im. brer rabbit tuck'n 'low dat he wuz gwineter drap in en see miss meadows en de gals, en he got out his piece er lookin'-glass en primp up, he did, en sot out. gwine canterin' long de road, who should brer rabbit run up wid but ole brer tarrypin--de same ole one-en-sixpunce. brer rabbit stop, he did, en rap on de roof er brer tarrypin house." "on the roof of his house, uncle remus?" interrupted the little boy. "co'se honey, brer tarrypin kyar his house wid 'im. rain er shine, hot er col', strike up wid ole brer tarrypin w'en you will en w'ilst you may, en whar you fine 'im, dar you'll fine his shanty. hit's des like i tell you. so den! brer rabbit he rap on de roof er brer tarrypin's house, he did, en ax wuz he in, en brer tarrypin 'low dat he wuz, en den brer rabbit, he ax 'im howdy, en den brer tarrypin he likewise 'spon' howdy, en den brer rabbit he say whar wuz brer tarrypin gwine, en brer tarrypin, he say w'ich he wern't gwine nowhar skasely. den brer rabbit 'low he wuz on his way fer ter see miss meadows en de gals, en he ax brer tarrypin ef he won't jine in en go long, en brer tarrypin 'spon' he don't keer ef he do, en den dey sot out. dey had plenty er time fer confabbin' 'long de way, but bimeby dey got dar, en miss meadows en de gals dey come ter de do', dey did, en ax um in, en in dey went. "w'en dey got in, brer tarrypin wuz so flat-footed dat he wuz too low on de flo', en he wern't high nuff in a cheer, but while dey wuz all scrambling' 'roun' tryin' fer ter git brer tarrypin a cheer, brer rabbit, he pick 'im up en put 'im on de shelf whar de water-bucket sot, en ole brer tarrypin, he lay back up dar, he did, des es proud ez a nigger wid a cook possum. "co'se de talk fell on brer fox, en miss meadows en de gals make a great 'miration 'bout w'at a gaily ridin'-hoss brer fox wuz, en dey make lots er fun, en laugh en giggle same like gals duz deze days. brer rabbit, he sot dar in de cheer smokin' his seegyar, en he sorter cle'r up his th'oat, en say, sezee: "i'd er rid 'im over dis mawnin', ladies,' sezee, but i rid 'im so hard yistiddy dat he went lame in de off fo' leg, en i speck i'll hatter swop 'im off yit,' sezee. "den brer tarrypin, he up'n say, sezee: "'well, ef you gwineter sell 'im, brer rabbit,' sezee, 'sell him some'rs out'n dis naberhood, kase he done bin yer too long now,' sezee. 'no longer'n day 'fo' yistiddy,' sezee, 'brer fox pass me on de road, en whatter you reckin he say?' sezee: "'law, brer tarrypin,' sez miss meadows, sez she, 'you don't mean ter say he cusst?' sez she, en den de gals hilt der fans up 'fo' der faces. "'oh, no, ma'am,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee, 'he didn't cusst, but he holler out--"heyo, stinkin' jim!"' sezee. "'oh, my! you hear dat, gals?' sez miss meadows, sez she; 'brer fox call brer tarrypin stinkin' jim,' sez she, en den miss meadows en de gals make great wonderment how brer fox kin talk dat a way 'bout nice man like brer tarrypin. "but bless grashus, honey! w'ilst all dis gwine on, brer fox wuz stannin' at de back do' wid one year at de cat-hole lissenin'. eave-drappers don't hear no good er deyse'f, en de way brer fox wuz 'bused dat day wuz a caution. "bimeby brer fox stick his head in de do', en holler out: "'good evenin', fokes, i wish you mighty well,' sezee, en wid dat he make a dash for brer rabbit, but miss meadows en de gals dey holler en squall, dey did, en brer tarrypin he got ter scramblin' roun' up dar on de shelf, en off he come, en blip he tuck brer fox on de back er de head. dis sorter stunted brer fox, en w'en he gedder his 'membunce de mos' he seed wuz a pot er greens turnt over in de fireplace, en a broke cheer. brer rabbit wuz gone, en brer tarrypin wuz gone, en miss meadows en de gals wuz gone. "where did the rabbit go, uncle remus?" the little boy asked, after a pause. "bless yo' soul, honey! brer rabbit he skint up de chimbly--dat's w'at turnt de pot er greens over. brer tarrypin, he crope under de bed, he did, en got behime de cloze-chist, en miss meadows en de gals, dey run out in de yard. "brer fox, he sorter look roun' en feel or de back er his head, whar brer tarrypin lit, but he don't see no sine er brer rabbit. but de smoke en de ashes gwine up de chimbly got de best er brer rabbit, en bimeby he sneeze--huckychow! "'aha!' sez brer fox, sezee; 'you er dar, is you?' sezee. 'well, i'm gwineter smoke you out, ef it takes a mont'. you er mine dis time,' sezee. brer rabbit ain't sayin' nuthin'. "'ain't you comin' down?' sez brer fox, sezee. brer rabbit ain't sayin' nuthin'. den brer fox, he went out atter some wood, he did, en w'en he come back he hear brer rabbit laughin'. "'w'at you laughin' at, brer rabbit?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'can't tell you, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'better tell, brer rabbit,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'tain't nuthin' but a box er money somebody done gone en lef' up yer in de chink er de chimbly,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'don't b'leeve you,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'look up en see,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, en w'en brer fox look up, brer rabbit spit his eyes full er terbacker joose, he did, en brer fox, he make a break fer de branch, en brer rabbit he come down en tole de ladies good-by. "'how you git 'im off, brer rabbit?' sez miss meadows, sez she. "'who? me?' sez brer rabbit, sezee; 'w'y i des tuck en tole 'im dat ef he didn't go 'long home en stop playin' his pranks on spectubble fokes, dat i'd take 'im out and th'ash 'im,' sezee." "and what became of the terrapin?" asked the little boy. "oh, well den!" exclaimed the old man, "chilluns can't speck ter know all 'bout eve'ything 'fo' dey git some res'. dem eyelids er yone wanter be propped wid straws dis minnit." xi. mr. wolf makes a failure "i lay yo' ma got comp'ny," said uncle remus, as the little boy entered the old man's door with a huge piece of mince-pie in his hand, 'en ef she ain't got comp'ny, den she done gone en drap de cubberd key som'ers whar you done run up wid it." "well, i saw the pie lying there, uncle remus, and i just thought i'd fetch it out to you." "tooby sho, honey," replied the old man, regarding the child with admiration. "tooby sho, honey; dat changes marters. chris'mus doin's is outer date, en dey ain't got no bizness layin' roun' loose. dish yer pie," uncle remus continued, holding it up and measuring it with an experienced eye, "will gimme strenk fer ter persoo on atter brer fox en brer rabbit en de udder creeturs w'at dey roped in 'long wid um." here the old man paused, and proceeded to demolish the pie--a feat accomplished in a very short time. then he wiped the crumbs from his beard and began: "brer fox feel so bad, en he git so mad 'bout brer rabbit, dat he dunner w'at ter do, en he look mighty down-hearted. bimeby, one day wiles he wuz gwine 'long de road, old brer wolf come up wid 'im. w'en dey done howdyin' en axin' atter one nudder's fambly connexshun, brer wolf, he 'low, he did, dat der wuz sump'n wrong wid brer fox, en brer fox, he 'low'd der wern't, en he went on en laugh en make great terdo kaze brer wolf look like he spishun sump'n. but brer wolf, he got mighty long head, en he sorter broach 'bout brer rabbit's kyar'ns on, kaze de way dat brer rabbit 'ceive brer fox done got ter be de talk er de naberhood. den brer fox en brer wolf dey sorter palavered on, dey did, twel bimeby brer wolf he up'n say dat he done got plan fix fer ter trap brer rabbit. den brer fox say how. den brer wolf up'n tell 'im dat de way fer ter git de drap on brer rabbit wuz ter git 'im in brer fox house. brer fox dun know brer rabbit uv ole, en he know dat sorter game done wo' ter a frazzle, but brer wolf, he talk mighty 'swadin'. "'how you gwine git 'im dar?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'fool 'im dar,' sez brer wolf, sezee. "'who gwine do de foolin'?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'i'll do de foolin',' sez brer wolf, sezee, 'ef you'll do de gamin',' sezee. "'how you gwine do it?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'you run 'long home, en git on de bed, en make like you dead, en don't you say nothin' twel brer rabbit come en put his han's onter you,' sez brer wolf, sezee, 'en ef we don't git 'im fer supper, joe's dead en sal's a widder,' sezee. "dis look like mighty nice game, en brer fox 'greed. so den he amble off home, en brer wolf, he march off ter brer rabbit house. w'en he got dar, hit look like nobody at home, but brer wolf he walk up en knock on de do'--blam! blam! nobody come. den he lam aloose en knock 'gin--blim! blim! "'who dar?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'fr'en',' sez brer wolf. "'too menny fr'en's spiles de dinner,' sez brer rabbit, sezee; 'w'ich un's dis?' sezee. "'i fetch bad news, brer rabbit,' sez brer wolf, sezee. "'bad news is soon tole,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "by dis time brer rabbit done come ter de do', wid his head tied up in a red hankcher. "'brer fox died dis mornin',' sez brer wolf, sezee. "'whar yo' mo'nin' gown, brer wolf?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'gwine atter it now,' sez brer wolf, sezee. 'i des call by fer ter bring de news. i went down ter brer fox house little bit 'go, en dar i foun' 'im stiff,' sezee. "den brer wolf lope off. brer rabbit sot down en scratch his head, he did, en bimeby he say ter hisse'f dat he b'leeve he sorter drap 'roun' by brer fox house fer ter see how de lan' lay. no sooner said'n done. up he jump, en out he went. w'en brer rabbit got close ter brer fox house, all look lonesome. den he went up nigher. nobody stirrin'. den he look in, en dar lay brer fox stretch out on de bed des es big ez life. den brer rabbit make like he talkin' to hisse'f. "'nobody 'roun' fer ter look atter brer fox--not even brer tukkey buzzard ain't come ter de funer'l,' sezee. 'i hope brer fox ain't dead, but i speck he is,' sezee. 'even down ter brer wolf done gone en lef' 'im. hit's de busy season wid me, but i'll set up wid 'im. he seem like he dead, yit he mayn't be,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'w'en a man go ter see dead fokes, dead fokes allers raises up der behime leg en hollers, wahoo!' sezee. "brer fox he stay still. den brer rabbit he talk little louder: "'mighty funny. brer fox look like he dead, yit he don't do like he dead. dead fokes hists der behime leg en hollers wahoo! w'en a man come ter see um, sez brer rabbit, sezee. "sho' nuff, brer fox lif' up his foot en holler wahoo! en brer rabbit he tear out de house like de dogs wuz atter 'im. brer wolf mighty smart, but nex' time you hear fum 'im, honey, he'll be in trouble. you des hol' yo' breff'n wait." xii. mr. fox tackles old man tarrypin "one day," said uncle remus, sharpening his knife on the palm of his hand--"one day brer fox strike up wid brer tarrypin right in de middle er de big road. brer tarrypin done heerd 'im comin', en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he'd sorter keep one eye open; but brer fox wuz monstus perlite, en he open up de confab, he did, like he ain't see brer tarrypin sence de las' freshit. "'heyo, brer tarrypin, whar you bin dis long-come-short?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'lounjun 'roun', brer fox, lounjun 'roun',' sez brer tarrypin. "'you don't look sprucy like you did, brer tarrypin,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'lounjun 'roun' en suffer'n',' sez brer tarrypin, sezee. "den de talk sorter run on like dis: "'w'at ail you, brer tarrypin? yo' eye look mighty red,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'lor', brer fox, you dunner w'at trubble is. you ain't bin lounjun 'roun' en suffer'n',' sez brer tarrypin, sezee. "'bofe eyes red, en you look like you mighty weak, brer tarrypin,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'lor', brer fox, you dunner w'at trubble is,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee. "'w'at ail you now, brer tarrypin?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'tuck a walk de udder day, en man come long en sot de fiel' a-fier. lor', brer fox, you dunner w'at trubble is,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee. "'how you git out de fier, brer tarrypin?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'sot en tuck it, brer fox,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee. 'sot en tuck it, en de smoke sif' in my eye, en de fier scorch my back,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee. "'likewise hit bu'n yo' tail off,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'oh, no, dar's de tail, brer fox,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee, en wid dat he oncurl his tail fum under de shell, en no sooner did he do dat dan brer fox grab it, en holler out: "'oh, yes, brer tarrypin! oh, yes! en so you er de man w'at lam me on de head at miss meadows's is you? you er in wid brer rabbit, is you? well, i'm gwineter out you.' "brer tarrypin beg en beg, but 'twan't no use. brer fox done been fool so much dat he look like he termin' fer ter have brer tarrypin haslett. den brer tarrypin beg brer fox not fer ter drown 'im, but brer fox ain't makin' no prommus, en den he beg brer fox fer ter bu'n' 'im, kase he done useter fier, but brer fox don't say nuthin'. bimeby brer fox drag brer tarrypin off little ways b'low de spring-'ouse, en souze him under de water. den brer tarrypin begin fer ter holler: "'tu'n loose dat stump root en ketch holt er me--tu'n loose dat stump root en ketch holt er me.' "brer fox he holler back: "'i ain't got holt er no stump root, en i is got holt er you.' "brer tarrypin he keep on holler'n: "'ketch holt er me--i'm a drownin'--i'm a drownin'--tu'n loose de stump root en ketch holt er me.' "sho nuff, brer fox tu'n loose de tail, en brer tarrypin, he went down ter de bottom--kerblunkity-blink!" no typographical combination or description could do justice to the guttural sonorousness--the peculiar intonation--which uncle remus imparted to this combination. it was so peculiar, indeed, that the little boy asked: "how did he go to the bottom, uncle remus?" "kerblunkity-blink!" "was he drowned, uncle remus?" "who? ole man tarrypin? is you drowndid w'en yo' ma tucks you in de bed?" "well, no," replied the little boy, dubiously. "ole man tarrypin 'wuz at home i tell you, honey. kerblinkity- blunk!" xiii. the awful fate of mr. wolf uncle remus was half-soling one of his shoes, and his miss sally's little boy had been handling his awls, his hammers, and his knives to such an extent that the old man was compelled to assume a threatening attitude; but peace reigned again, and the little boy perched himself on a chair, watching uncle remus driving in pegs. "folks w'at's allers pesterin' people, en bodderin' 'longer dat w'at ain't der'n, don't never come ter no good een'. dar wuz brer wolf; stidder mindin' un his own bizness, he hatter take en go in pardnerships wid brer fox, en dey want skacely a minnit in de day dat he want atter brer rabbit, en he kep' on en kep' on twel fus' news you knowed he got kotch up wid--en he got kotch up wid monstus bad." "goodness, uncle remus! i thought the wolf let the rabbit alone, after he tried to fool him about the fox being dead." "better lemme tell dish yer my way. bimeby hit'll be yo' bed time, en miss sally'll be a hollerin' atter you, en you'll be a whimplin' roun', en den mars john'll fetch up de re'r wid dat ar strop w'at i made fer im." the child laughed, and playfully shook his fist in the simple, serious face of the venerable old darkey, but said no more. uncle remus waited awhile to be sure there was to be no other demonstration, and then proceeded: "brer rabbit ain't see no peace w'atsumever. he can't leave home 'cep' brer wolf 'ud make a raid en tote off some er de fambly. brer rabbit b'ilt 'im a straw house, en hit wuz tored down; den he made a house out'n pine-tops, en dat went de same way; den he made 'im a bark house, en dat wuz raided on, en eve'y time he los' a house he los' one er his chilluns. las' brer rabbit got mad, he did, en cusst, en den he went off, he did, en got some kyarpinters, en dey b'ilt 'im a plank house wid rock foundashuns. atter dat he could have some peace en quietness. he could go out en pass de time er day 'wid his neighbors, en come back en set by de fier, en smoke his pipe, en read de newspapers same like enny man w'at got a fambly. he made a hole, he did, in de cellar whar de little rabbits could hide out w'en dar wuz much uv a racket in de neighborhood, en de latch er de front do' kotch on de inside. brer wolf, he see how de lan' lay, he did, en he lay low. de little rabbits was mighty skittish, but hit got so dat col' chills ain't run up brer rabbit's back no mo' w'en he heerd brer wolf go gallopin' by. "bimeby, one day w'en brer rabbit wuz fixin' fer ter call on miss coon, he heerd a monstrus fuss en clatter up de big road, en 'mos' 'fo' he could fix his years fer ter lissen, brer wolf run in de do'. de little rabbits dey went inter dere hole in de cellar, dey did, like blowin' out a cannle. brer wolf wuz far'ly kivver'd wid mud, en mighty nigh outer win'. "'oh, do pray save me, brer rabbit!' sez brer wolf, sezee. 'do please, brer rabbit! de dogs is atter me, en dey 'll t'ar me up. don't you year um comin'? oh, do please save me, brer rabbit! hide me some'rs whar de dogs won't git me.' "no quicker sed dan done. "'jump in dat big chist dar, brer wolf,' sez brer rabbit, sezee; 'jump in dar en make yo'se'f at home.' "in jump brer wolf, down come the led, en inter de hasp went de hook, en dar mr. wolf wuz. den brer rabbit went ter de lookin'- glass, he did, en wink at hisse'f, en den he draw'd de rockin'- cheer in front er de fier, he did, en tuck a big chaw terbacker." "tobacco, uncle remus?" asked the little boy, incredulously. "rabbit terbacker, honey. you know dis yer life ev'lastin' w'at miss sally puts 'mong de cloze in de trunk; well, dat's rabbit terbacker. den brer rabbit sot dar long time, he did, turnin' his mine over en wukken his thinkin' masheen. bimeby he got up, en sorter stir 'roun'. den brer wolf open up: "'is de dogs all gone, brer rabbit?' "'seem like i hear one un um smellin' roun' de chimbly-cornder des now.' "den brer rabbit git de kittle en fill it full er water, en put it on de fier. "'w'at you doin' now, brer rabbit?' "'i'm fixin fer ter make you a nice cup er tea, brer wolf.' "den brer rabbit went ter de cubberd en git de gimlet, en commence for ter bo' little holes in de chist-lid. "'w'at you doin' now, brer rabbit?' "'i'm bo'in' little holes so you kin get bref, brer wolf.' "den brer rabbit went out en git some mo' wood, en fling it on de fier. "'w'at you doin' now, brer rabbit?' "'i'm a chunkin' up de fier so you won't git col', brer wolf.' "den brer rabbit went down inter de cellar en fotch out all his chilluns. "'w'at you doin' now, brer rabbit?' "'i'm a tellin' my chilluns w'at a nice man you is, brer wolf.' "en de chilluns, dey had ter put der han's on der moufs fer ter keep fum laffin'. den brer rabbit he got de kittle en commenced fer to po' de hot water on de chist-lid. "'w'at dat i hear, brer rabbit?' "'you hear de win' a blowin', brer wolf.' "den de water begin fer ter sif' thoo. "'w'at dat i feel, brer rabbit?' "'you feels de fleas a bitin', brer wolf.' "'dey er bitin' mighty hard, brer rabbit.' "'tu'n over on de udder side, brer wolf.' "'w'at dat i feel now, brer rabbit?' "'still you feels de fleas, brer wolf.' "'dey er eatin' me up, brer rabbit,' en dem wuz de las words er brer wolf, kase de scaldin' water done de bizness. "den brer rabbit call in his neighbors, he did, en dey hilt a reg'lar juberlee; en ef you go ter brer rabbit's house right now, i dunno but w'at you'll fine brer wolfs hide hangin' in de back- po'ch, en all bekaze he wuz so bizzy wid udder fo'kses doin's." xiv. mr. fox and the deceitful frogs when the little boy ran in to see uncle remus the night after he had told him of the awful fate of brer wolf, the only response to his greeting was: "i-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker!" no explanation could convey an adequate idea of the intonation and pronunciation which uncle remus brought to bear upon this wonderful word. those who can recall to mind the peculiar gurgling, jerking, liquid sound made by pouring water from a large jug, or the sound produced by throwing several stones in rapid succession into a pond of deep water, may be able to form a very faint idea of the sound, but it can not be reproduced in print. the little boy was astonished. "what did you say, uncle remus?" "i-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker! i-doom-er-ker-kum mer-ker!" "what is that?" "dat's tarrypin talk, dat is. bless yo' soul, honey," continued the old man, brightening up, "w'en you git ole ez me--w'en you see w'at i sees, en year w'at i years--de creeturs dat you can't talk wid'll be mighty skase--dey will dat. w'y, der's er old gray rat w'at uses 'bout yer, en time atter time he comes out w'en you all done gone ter bed en sets up dar in de cornder en dozes, en me en him talks by de 'our; en w'at dat old rat dunno ain't down in de spellin' book. des now, w'en you run in and broke me up, i wuz fetchin' into my mine w'at brer tarrypin say ter brer fox w'en he turn 'im loose in de branch." "what did he say, uncle remus?" "dat w'at he said--i-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker! brer tarrypin wuz at de bottom er de pon', en he talk back, he did, in bubbles--i- doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker! brer fox, he ain't sayin' nuthin', but brer bull-frog, settin' on de bank, he hear brer tarrypin, he did, en he holler back: "jug-er-rum-kum-dum! jug-er-rum-kum-dum!' "den brer frog holler out: 'knee-deep! knee-deep!' "den ole brer bull-frog, he holler back: 'don'-you-ber-lieve-'im! don't-you-ber-lieve-'im!' "den de bubbles come up fum brer tarrypin: 'i-doom-er-ker-kum- mer-ker!' "den brer frog sing out: 'wade in! wade in!' "den ole brer bull-frog talk thoo his ho'seness: 'dar-you'll- fine-yo'-brudder! dar-you'll-fine-yo'-brudder!' "sho nuff, brer fox look over de bank, he did, en dar wuz n'er fox lookin' at 'im outer de water. den he retch out fer ter shake han's, en in he went, heels over head, en brer tarrypin bubble out: "'i-doom-er-ker-kum-mer-ker!"' "was the fox drowned, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "he weren't zackly drowndid, honey," replied the old man, with an air of cautious reserve. "he did manage fer ter scramble out, but a little mo' en de mud turkle would er got 'im, en den he'd er bin made hash un worl' widout een'." xv. mr. fox goes a-hunting, but mr. rabbit bags the game "atter brer fox hear 'bout how brer rabbit done brer wolf," said uncle remus, scratching his head with the point of his awl, 'he 'low, he did, dat he better not be so brash, en he sorter let brer rabbit 'lone. dey wuz all time seein' one nudder, en 'bunnunce er times brer fox could er nab brer rabbit, but eve'y time he got de chance, his mine 'ud sorter rezume 'bout brer wolf, en he let brer rabbit 'lone. bimeby dey 'gun ter git kinder familious wid wunner nudder like dey useter, en it got so brer fox'd call on brer rabbit, en dey'd set up en smoke der pipes, dey would, like no ha'sh feelin's 'd ever rested 'twixt um. "las', one day brer fox come 'long all rig out, en ax brer rabbit fer ter go huntin' wid 'im, but brer rabbit, he sorter feel lazy, en he tell brer fox dat he got some udder fish fer ter fry. brer fox feel mighty sorry, he did, but he say he bleeve he try his han' enny how, en off he put. he wuz gone all day, en he had a monstus streak er luck, brer fox did, en he bagged a sight er game. bimeby, to'rds de shank er de evenin', brer rabbit sorter stretch hisse'f, he did, en 'low hit's mos' time fer brer fox fer ter git 'long home. den brer rabbit, he went'n mounted a stump fer ter see ef he could year brer fox comin'. he ain't bin dar long, twel sho' enuff, yer come brer fox thoo de woods, singing like a nigger at a frolic. brer rabbit, he lipt down off'n de stump, he did, en lay down in de road en make like he dead. brer fox he come 'long, he did, en see brer rabbit layin' dar. he tu'n 'im over, he did, en 'zamine 'im, en say, sezee: "'dish yer rabbit dead. he look like he bin dead long time. he dead, but he mighty fat. he de fattes' rabbit w'at i ever see, but he bin dead too long. i feard ter take 'im home,' sezee. "brer rabbit ain't sayin' nuthin'. brer fox, he sorter lick his chops, but he went on en lef' brer rabbit layin' in de road. dreckly he wuz outer sight, brer rabbit, he jump up, he did, en run roun' thoo de woods en git befo brer fox agin. brer fox, he come up, en dar lay brer rabbit, periently col' en stiff. brer fox, he look at brer rabbit, en he sorter study. atter while he onslung his game-bag, en say ter hisse'f, sezee: "'deze yer rabbits gwine ter was'e. i'll des 'bout leave my game yer, en i'll go back'n git dat udder rabbit, en i'll make fokes b'leeve dat i'm ole man hunter fum huntsville,' sezee. "en wid dat he drapt his game en loped back up de road atter de udder rabbit, en w'en he got outer sight, ole brer rabbit, he snatch up brer fox game en put out fer home. nex' time he see brer fox he holler out: "'what you kill de udder day, brer fox?' sezee. "den brer fox, he sorter koam his flank wid his tongue, en holler back: "'i kotch a han'ful er hard sense, brer rabbit,' sezee. "den ole brer rabbit, he laff, he did, en up en 'spon', sezee: 'ef i'd a know'd you wuz atter dat, brer fox, i'd a loant you some er mine,' sezee." xvi. old mr. rabbit, he's a good fisherman "brer rabbit en brer fox wuz like some chilluns w'at i knows un," said uncle remus, regarding the little boy, who had come to hear another story, with an affectation of great solemnity. "bofe un um wuz allers atter wunner nudder, a prankin' en a pesterin' 'roun', but brer rabbit did had some peace, kaze brer fox done got skittish 'bout puttin' de clamps on brer rabbit. "one day, w'en brer rabbit, en brer fox, en brer coon, en brer b'ar, en a whole lot un um wuz clearin' up a new groun' fer ter plant a roas'n'-year patch, de sun gun ter git sorter hot, en brer rabbit he got tired; but he didn't let on, kaze he fear'd de balance un um'd call 'im lazy, en he keep on totin' off trash en pilin' up bresh, twel bimeby he holler out dat he gotter brier in his han', en den he take'n slip off, en hunt fer cool place fer ter res'. atter w'ile he come crosst a well wid a bucket hangin' in it. "'dat look cool,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en cool i speck she is. i'll des 'bout git in dar en take a nap,' en wid dat in he jump, he did, en he ain't no sooner fix hisse'f dan de bucket 'gun ter go down." "wasn't the rabbit scared, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "honey, dey ain't been no wusser skeer'd beas' sence de worl' begin dan dish yer same brer rabbit. he fa'rly had a agur. he know whar he cum fum, but he dunner whar he gwine. dreckly he feel de bucket hit de water, en dar she sot, but brer rabbit he keep mighty still, kaze he dunner w'at minnit gwineter be de nex'. he des lay dar en shuck en shiver. "brer fox allers got one eye on brer rabbit, en w'en he slip off fum de new groun', brer fox he sneak atter 'im. he know brer rabbit wuz atter some projick er nudder, en he tuck'n crope off, he did, en watch 'im. brer fox see brer rabbit come to de well en stop, en den he see 'im jump in de bucket, en den, lo en behol's, he see 'im go down outer sight. brer fox wuz de mos' 'stonish fox dat you ever laid eyes on. he sot off dar in de bushes en study en study, but he don't make no head ner tails ter dis kinder bizness. den he say ter hisse'f, sezee: "'well, ef dis don't bang my times,' sezee, 'den joe's dead en sal's a widder. right down dar in dat well brer rabbit keep his money hid, en ef 'tain't dat den he done gone en 'skiver'd a gole-mine, en ef 'tain't dat, den i'm a gwineter see w'at's in dar,' sezee. "brer fox crope up little nigher, he did, en lissen, but he don't year no fuss, en he keep on gittin' nigher, en yit he don't year nuthin'. bimeby he git up close en peep down, but he don't see nuthin' en he don't year nuthin'. all dis time brer rabbit mighty nigh skeer'd outen his skin, en he fear'd fer ter move kaze de bucket might keel over en spill him out in de water. w'ile he sayin' his pra'rs over like a train er kyars runnin', ole brer fox holler out: "'heyo, brer rabbit! who you wizzitin' down dar?' sezee. "'who? me? oh, i'm des a fishin', brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'i des say ter myse'f dat i'd sorter sprize you all wid a mess er fishes fer dinner, en so here i is, en dar's de fishes. i'm a fishin' fer suckers, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'is dey many un um down dar, brer rabbit?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'lots un um, brer fox; scoze en scoze un um. de water is natchully 'live wid um. come down en he'p me haul um in, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'how i gwineter git down, brer rabbit?' "'jump inter de bucket, brer fox. hit'll fetch you down all safe en soun'.' "brer rabbit talk so happy en talk so sweet dat brer fox he jump in de bucket, he did, en, ez he went down, co'se his weight pull brer rabbit up. w'en dey pass one nudder on de half-way growl', brer rabbit he sing out: "'good-by, brer fox, take keer yo' cloze, fer dis is de way de worl' goes; some goes up en some goes down, you'll git ter de bottom all safe en soun'.' * "w'en brer rabbit got out, he gallop off en tole de fokes w'at de well blong ter dat brer fox wuz down in dar muddyin' up de drinkin' water, en den he gallop back ter de well, en holler down ter brer fox: "'ye come a man wid a great big gun--w'en he haul you up, you jump en run."' "what then, uncle remus?" asked the little boy, as the old man paused. "in des 'bout half 'n hour, honey, bofe un um wuz back in de new groun' wukkin' des like dey never heer'd er no well, ceppin' dat eve'y now'n den brer rabbit'd bust out in er laff, en old brer fox, he'd git a spell er de dry grins." * as a northern friend suggests that this story may be somewhat obscure, it may be as well to state that the well is supposed to be supplied with a rope over a wheel, or pulley, with a bucket at each end. xvii. mr. rabbit nibbles up the butter '"de animils en de creeturs," said uncle remus, shaking his coffee around in the bottom of his tin-cup, in order to gather up all the sugar, 'dey kep' on gittin' mo' en mo' familious wid wunner nudder, twel bimeby, 'twan't long 'fo' brer rabbit, en brer fox, en brer possum got ter sorter bunchin' der perwishuns tergedder in de same shanty. atter w'ile de roof sorter 'gun ter leak, en one day brer rabbit, en brer fox, en brer possum, 'semble fer ter see ef dey can't kinder patch her up. dey had a big day's work in front un um, en dey fotch der dinner wid um. dey lump de vittles up in one pile, en de butter w'at brer fox brung, dey goes en puts in de spring-'ouse fer ter keep cool, en den dey went ter wuk, en 'twan't long 'fo' brer rabbit's stummuck 'gun ter sorter growl en pester 'im. dat butter er brer fox sot heavy on his mine, en his mouf water eve'y time he 'member 'bout it. present'y he say ter hisse'f dat he bleedzd ter have a nip at dat butter, en den he lay his plans, he did. fus' news you know, w'ile dey wuz all wukkin' long, brer rabbit raise his head quick en fling his years forerd en holler out: "'here i is. w'at you want wid me?' en off he put like sump'n wuz atter 'im. "he sallied 'roun', ole brer rabbit did, en atter he make sho dat nobody ain't foller'n un 'im, inter de spring-'ouse he bounces, en dar he stays twel he git a bait er butter. den he santer on back en go to wuk. "'whar you bin?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'i hear my chilluns callin' me,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en i hatter go see w'at dey want. my ole 'oman done gone en tuck mighty sick,' sezee. "dey wuk on twel bimeby de butter tas'e so good dat ole brer rabbit want some mo'. den he raise up his head, he did, en holler out: "'heyo! hol' on! i'm a comin'!' en off he put. "dis time he stay right smart w'ile, en w'en he git back brer fox ax him whar he bin. "'i been ter see my ole 'oman, en she's a sinkin',' sezee. "dreckly brer rabbit hear um callin' 'im ag'in en off he goes, en dis time, bless yo' soul, he gits de butter out so clean dat he kin see hisse'f in de bottom er de bucket. he scrape it clean en lick it dry, en den he go back ter wuk lookin' mo' samer dan a nigger w'at de patter-rollers bin had holt un. "'how's yo' ole 'oman dis time?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'i'm oblije ter you, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'but i'm fear'd she's done gone by now,' en dat sorter make brer fox en brer possum feel in mo'nin' wid brer rabbit. "bimeby, w'en dinner-time come, dey all got out der vittles, but brer rabbit keep on lookin' lonesome, en brer fox en brer possum dey sorter rustle roun' fer ter see ef dey can't make brer rabbit feel sorter splimmy." "what is that, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "sorter splimmy-splammy, honey--sorter like he in a crowd--sorter like his ole 'oman ain't dead ez she mout be. you know how fokes duz w'en dey gits whar people's a moanin'." the little boy didn't know, fortunately for him, and uncle remus went on: "brer fox en brer possum rustle roun', dey did, gittin out de vittles, en bimeby brer fox, he say, sezee: "'brer possum, you run down ter de spring en fetch de butter, en i'll sail 'roun' yer en set de table,' sezee. "brer possum, he lope off atter de butter, en dreckly here he come lopin' back wid his years a trimblin' en his tongue a hangin' out. brer fox, he holler out: "'w'at de matter now, brer possum?' sezee. "'you all better run yer, fokes,' sez brer possum, sezee. 'de las' drap er dat butter done gone!' "'whar she gone?' sez brer fox, sezee. "'look like she dry up,' sez brer possum, sezee. "den brer rabbit, he look sorter sollum, he did, en he up'n say, sezee. "'i speck dat butter melt in somebody mouf,' sezee. den dey went down ter de spring wid brer possum, en sho nuff de butter done gone. w'iles dey wuz sputin' over de wunderment, brer rabbit say he see tracks all 'roun' dar, en he p'int out dat ef dey'll all go ter sleep, he kin ketch de chap w'at stole de butter. den dey all lie down en brer fox en brer possum dey soon drapt off ter sleep, but brer rabbit he stay 'wake, en w'en de time come he raise up easy en smear brer possum mouf wid de butter on his paws, en den he run off en nibble up de bes' er de dinner w'at dey lef' layin' out, en den he come back en wake up brer fox, en show 'im de butter on brer possum mouf. den dey wake up brer possum, en tell 'im 'bout it, but c'ose brer possum 'ny it ter de las'. brer fox, dough, he's a kinder lawyer, en he argafy dis way--dat brer possum wuz de fus one at de butter, en de fus one fer ter miss it, en mo'n dat, dar hang de signs on his mouf. brer possum see dat dey got 'im jammed up in a cornder, en den he up en say dat de way fer ter ketch de man w'at stole de butter is ter b'il' a big bresh-heap en set her afier, en all han's try ter jump over, en de one w'at fall in, den he de chap w'at stole de butter. brer rabbit en brer fox dey is bofe 'gree, dey did, en dey whirl in en b'il' de breshheap, en dey b'il' her high en dey b'il' her wide, en den dey totch her off. w'en she got ter blazin' up good, brer rabbit, he tuck de fus turn. he sorter step back, en look 'roun' en giggle, en over he went mo' samer dan a bird flyin'. den come brer fox. he got back little fudder, en spit on his han's, en lit out en made de jump, en he come so nigh gittin' in dat de een' er his tail kotch afier. ain't you never see no fox, honey?" inquired uncle remus, in a tone that implied both conciliation and information. the little boy thought probably he had, but he wouldn't commit himself. "well, den," continued the old man, "nex' time you see one un um, you look right close en see ef de een' er his tail ain't w'ite. hit's des like i tell you. dey b'ars de skyar er dat bresh-heap down ter dis day. dey er marked--dat's w'at dey is--dey er marked." "and what about brother possum?" asked the little boy. "ole brer possum, he tuck a runnin' start, he did, en he come lumberin' 'long, en he lit--kerblam!--right in de middle er de fier, en dat wuz de las' er ole brer possum." "but, uncle remus, brother possum didn't steal the butter after all," said the little boy, who was not at all satisfied with such summary injustice. "dat w'at make i say w'at i duz, honey. in dis worl', lots er fokes is gotter suffer fer udder fokes sins. look like hit's mighty wrong; but hit's des dat away. tribbalashun seem like she's a waitin' roun' de cornder fer ter ketch one en all un us, honey." xviii. mr. rabbit finds his match at last "hit look like ter me dat i let on de udder night dat in dem days w'en de creeturs wuz santer'n 'roun' same like fokes, none un um wuz brash nuff fer ter ketch up wid brer rabbit," remarked uncle remus, reflectively. "yes," replied the little boy, "that's what you said." "well, den," continued the old man with unction, "dar's whar my 'membunce gin out, kaze brer rabbit did git kotched up wid, en hit cool 'im off like po'in' spring water on one er deze yer biggity fices." "how was that, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "one day w'en brer rabbit wuz gwine lippity-clippitin' down de road, he meet up wid ole brer tarrypin, en atter dey pass de time er day wid wunner nudder, brer rabbit, he 'low dat he wuz much 'blije ter brer tarrypin fer de han' he tuck in de rumpus dat day down at miss meadows's." "when he dropped off of the water-shelf on the fox's head," suggested the little boy. "dat's de same time, honey. den brer tarrypin 'low dat brer fox run mighty fas' dat day, but dat ef he'd er bin atter 'im stidder brer rabbit, he'd er kotch 'im. brer rabbit say he could er kotch 'im hisse'f but he didn't keer 'bout leavin' de ladies. dey keep on talkin', dey did, twel bimeby dey gotter 'sputin' 'bout w'ich wuz de swif'es'. brer rabbit, he say he kin outrun brer tarrypin, en brer tarrypin, he des vow dat he kin outrun brer rabbit. up en down dey had it, twel fus news you know brer tarrypin say he got a fifty-dollar bill in de chink er de chimbly at home, en dat bill done tole 'im dat he could beat brer rabbit in a fa'r race. den brer rabbit say he got a fifty-dollar bill w'at say dat he kin leave brer tarrypin so fur behime, dat he could sow barley ez he went long en hit 'ud be ripe nuff fer ter cut by de time brer tarrypin pass dat way. "enny how dey make de bet en put up de money, en old brer tukkey buzzard, he wuz summonzd fer ter be de jedge, en de stakeholder; en 'twan't long 'fo' all de 'rangements wuz made. de race wuz a five-mile heat, en de groun' wuz medjud off, en at de een' er eve'y mile a pos' wuz stuck up. brer rabbit wuz ter run down de big road, en brer tarrypin, he say he'd gallup thoo de woods. fokes tole 'im he could git long faster in de road, but ole brer tarrypin, he know w'at he doin'. miss meadows en de gals en mos' all de nabers got win' er de fun, en wen de day wuz sot dey 'termin' fer ter be on han'. brer rabbit he train hisse'f eve'y day, en he skip over de groun' des ez gayly ez a june cricket. ole brer tarrypin, he lay low in de swamp. he had a wife en th'ee chilluns, old brer tarrypin did, en dey wuz all de ve'y spit en image er de ole man. ennybody w'at know one fum de udder gotter take a spy-glass, en den dey er li'ble fer ter git fooled. "dat's de way marters stan' twel de day er de race, en on dat day, ole brer tarrypin, en his ole 'oman, en his th'ee chilluns, dey got up 'fo' sun-up, en went ter de place. de ole 'oman, she tuck 'er stan' nigh de fus' mile-pos', she did, en de chilluns nigh de udders, up ter de las', en dar old brer tarrypin, he tuck his stan'. bimeby, here come de fokes: jedge buzzard, he come, en miss meadows en de gals, dey come, en den yer come brer rabbit wid ribbons tied 'roun' his neck en streamin' fum his years. de fokes all went ter de udder een' er de track fer ter see how dey come out. w'en de time come jedge buzzard strut 'roun' en pull out his watch, en holler out: "'gents, is you ready?' "brer rabbit, he say 'yes,' en old miss tarrypin holler 'go' fum de aidge er de woods. brer rabbit, he lit out on de race, en old miss tarrypin, she put out for home. jedge buzzard, he riz en skimmed long fer ter see dat de race wuz runned fa'r. w'en brer rabbit got ter de fus' mile-pos' wunner de tarrypin chilluns crawl out de woods, he did, en make fer de place. brer rabbit, he holler out: "'whar is you, brer tarrypin?' "'yer i come a bulgin',' sez de tarrypin, sezee. "brer rabbit so glad he's ahead dat he put out harder dan ever, en de tarrypin, he make fer home. w'en he come ter de nex' pos', nudder tarrypin crawl out er de woods. "'whar is you, brer tarrypin?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'yer i come a bilin',' sez de tarrypin, sezee. "brer rabbit, he lit out, he did, en come ter nex' pos', en dar wuz de tarrypin. den he come ter nex', en dar wuz de tarrypin. den he had one mo' mile fer ter run, en he feel like he gittin' bellust. bimeby, ole brer tarrypin look way off down de road en he see jedge buzzard sailin' long en he know hit's time fer 'im fer ter be up. so he scramble outen de woods, en roll 'cross de ditch, en shuffle thoo de crowd er folks en git ter de mile-pos' en crawl behime it. bimeby, fus' news you know, yer come brer rabbit. he look 'roun' en he don't see brer tarrypin, en den he squall out: "'gimme de money, brer buzzard, gimme de money!' "den miss meadows en de gals, dey holler and laff fit ter kill deyse'f, en ole brer tarrypin, he raise up fum behime de pos' en sez, sezee: "'ef you'll gimme time fer ter ketch my breff, gents en ladies, one en all, i speck i'll finger dat money myse'f,' sezee, en sho nuff, brer tarrypin tie de pu's 'roun' his neck en skaddle* off home." "but, uncle remus," said the little boy, dolefully, "that was cheating." "co'se, honey. de creeturs 'gun ter cheat, en den fokes tuck it up, en hit keep on spreadin'. hit mighty ketchin', en you mine yo' eye, honey, dat somebody don't cheat you 'fo' yo' ha'r git gray ez de ole nigger's." * it may he interesting to note here that in all probability the word "skedaddle," about which there was some controversy during the war, came from the virginia negro's use of "skaddle," which is a corruption of "scatter." the matter, however, is hardly worth referring to. xix. the fate of mr. jack sparrow "you'll tromple on dat bark twel hit won't be fitten fer ter fling 'way, let 'lone make hoss-collars out'n," said uncle remus, as the little boy came running into his cabin out of the rain. all over the floor long strips of "wahoo" bark were spread, and these the old man was weaving into horse-collars. "i'll sit down, uncle remus," said the little boy. "well, den, you better, honey," responded the old man, "kaze i 'spizes fer ter have my wahoo trompled on. ef 'twuz shucks, now, hit mout be diffunt, but i'm a gittin' too ole fer ter be projickin' 'longer shuck collars." for a few minutes the old man went on with his work, but with a solemn air altogether unusual. once or twice he sighed deeply, and the sighs ended in a prolonged groan, that seemed to the little boy to be the result of the most unspeakable mental agony. he knew by experience that he had done something which failed to meet the approval of uncle remus, and he tried to remember what it was, so as to frame an excuse; but his memory failed him. he could think of nothing he had done calculated to stir uncle remus's grief. he was not exactly seized with remorse, but he was very uneasy. presently uncle remus looked at him in a sad and hopeless way and asked: "w'at dat long rigmarole you bin tellin' miss sally 'bout yo' little brer dis mawnin?" "which, uncle remus?" asked the little boy, blushing guiltily. "dat des w'at i'm a axin' un you now. i hear miss sally say she's a gwineter stripe his jacket, en den i knowed you bin tellin' on 'im." "well, uncle remus, he was pulling up your onions, and then he went and flung a rock at me, said the child, plaintively. "lemme tell you dis," said the old man, laying down the section of horse-collar he had been plaiting, and looking hard at the little boy--"lemme tell you dis der ain't no way fer ter make tattlers en tailb'arers turn out good. no, dey ain't. i bin mixin' up wid fokes now gwine on eighty year, en i ain't seed no tattler come ter no good een'. dat i ain't. en ef ole man m'thoozlum wuz livin' clean twel yit, he'd up'n tell you de same. sho ez you er settin' dar. you 'member w'at 'come er de bird w'at went tattlin' 'roun' 'bout brer rabbit?" the little boy didn't remember, but he was very anxious to know, and he also wanted to know what kind of a bird it was that so disgraced itself. "hit wuz wunner dese yer uppity little jack sparrers, i speck," said the old man; "dey wuz allers bodder'n' longer udder fokes's bizness, en dey keeps at it down ter dis day--peckin' yer, en pickin' dar, en scratchin' out yander. one day, atter he bin fool by ole brer tarrypin, brer rabbit wuz settin' down in de woods studyin' how he wuz gwineter git even. he feel mighty lonesome, en he feel mighty mad, brer rabbit did. tain't put down in de tale, but i speck he cusst en r'ar'd 'roun' considerbul. leas'ways, he wuz settin' out dar by hisse'f, en dar he sot, en study en study, twel bimeby he jump up en holler out: "'well, dog-gone my cats ef i can't gallop 'roun' ole brer fox, en i'm gwineter do it. i'll show miss meadows en de gals dat i'm de boss er brer fox,' sezee. "jack sparrer up in de tree, he hear brer rabbit, he did, en he sing out: "'i'm gwine tell brer fox! i'm gwine tell brer fox! chick-a-biddy-win'-a-blowin'-acuns-fallin'! i'm gwine tell brer fox!"' uncle remus accompanied the speech of the bird with a peculiar whistling sound in his throat, that was a marvelous imitation of a sparrow's chirp, and the little boy clapped his hands with delight, and insisted on a repetition. "dis kinder tarrify brer rabbit, en he skasely know w'at he gwine do; but bimeby he study ter hisse'f dat de man w'at see brer fox fus wuz boun' ter have de inturn, en den he go hoppin' off to'rds home. he didn't got fur w'en who should he meet but brer fox, en den brer rabbit, he open up: "'w'at dis twix' you en me, brer fox?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'i hear tell you gwine ter sen' me ter 'struckshun, en nab my fambly, en 'stroy my shanty,' sezee. "'den brer fox he git mighty mad. 'who bin tellin' you all dis?' sezee. "brer rabbit make like he didn't want ter tell, but brer fox he 'sist en 'sist, twel at las' brer rabbit he up en tell brer fox dat he hear jack sparrer say all dis. "'co'se,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'w'en brer jack sparrer tell me dat i flew up, i did, en i use some langwidge w'ich i'm mighty glad dey weren't no ladies 'round' nowhars so dey could hear me go on, sezee. "brer fox he sorter gap, he did, en say he speck he better be sa'nter'n on. but, bless yo' soul, honey, brer fox ain't sa'nter fur, 'fo' jack sparrer flipp down on a 'simmon-bush by de side er de road, en holler out: "'brer fox! oh, brer fox!--brer fox!' "brer fox he des sorter canter long, he did, en make like he don't hear 'im. den jack sparrer up'n sing out agin: "'brer fox! oh, brer fox! hol' on, brer fox! i got some news fer you. wait brer fox! hit'll 'stonish you.' "brer fox he make like he don't see jack sparrer, ner needer do he hear 'im, but bimeby he lay down by de road, en sorter stretch hisse'f like he fixin' fer ter nap. de tattlin' jack sparrer he flew'd 'long, en keep on callin' brer fox, but brer fox, he ain't sayin' nuthin'. den little jack sparrer, he hop down on de groun' en flutter 'roun' 'mongst de trash. dis sorter 'track brer fox 'tenshun, en he look at de tattlin' bird, en de bird he keep on callin': "'i got sump'n fer ter tell you, brer fox.' "'git on my tail, little jack sparrer,' sez brer fox, sezee, 'kaze i'm de'f in one year, en i can't hear out'n de udder. git on my tail,' sezee. "den de little bird he up'n hop on brer fox's tail. "'git on my back, little jack sparrer, kaze i'm de'f in one year en i can't hear out'n de udder.' "den de little bird hop on his back. "'hop on my head, little jack sparrer, kaze i'm de'f in bofe years.' "up hop de little bird. "'hop on my toof, little jack sparrer, kaze i'm de'f in one year en i can't hear out'n de udder.' "de tattlin' little bird hop on brer fox's toof, en den--" here uncle remus paused, opened wide his mouth and closed it again in a way that told the whole story. * "did the fox eat the bird all--all up?" asked the little boy. "jedge b'ar come long nex' day," replied uncle remus, "en he fine some fedders, en fum dat word went roun' dat ole man squinch owl done kotch nudder watzizname." * an atlanta friend heard this story in florida, but an alligator was substituted for the fox, and a little boy for the rabbit. there is another version in which the impertinent gosling goes to tell the fox something her mother has said, and is caught; and there may be other versions. i have adhered to the middle georgia version, which is characteristic enough. it may be well to state that there are different versions of all the stories--the shrewd narrators of the mythology of the old plantation adapting themselves with ready tact to the years, tastes, and expectations of their juvenile audiences. xx. how mr. rabbit saved his meat "one time," said uncle remus, whetting his knife slowly and thoughtfully on the palm of his hand, and gazing reflectively in the fire--"one time brer wolf--" "why, uncle remus!" the little boy broke in, "i thought you said the rabbit scalded the wolf to death a long time ago." the old man was fairly caught and he knew it; but this made little difference to him. a frown gathered on his usually serene brow as he turned his gaze upon the child--a frown in which both scorn and indignation were visible. then all at once he seemed to regain control of himself. the frown was chased away by a look of christian resignation. "dar now! w'at i tell you?" he exclaimed as if addressing a witness concealed under the bed. "ain't i done tole you so? bless grashus! ef chilluns ain't gittin' so dey knows mo'n ole fokes, en dey'll 'spute longer you en 'spute longer you, ceppin' der ma call um, w'ich i speck 'twon't be long 'fo' she will, en den ill set yere by de chimbly-cornder en git some peace er mine. w'en ole miss wuz livin'," continued the old man, still addressing some imaginary person, 'hit 'uz mo'n enny her chilluns 'ud dast ter do ter come 'sputin' longer me, en mars john'll tell you de same enny day you ax 'im." "well, uncle remus, you know you said the rabbit poured hot water on the wolf and killed him," said the little boy. the old man pretended not to hear. he was engaged in searching among some scraps of leather under his chair, and kept on talking to the imaginary person. finally, he found and drew forth a nicely plaited whip-thong with a red snapper all waxed and knotted. "i wuz fixin' up a w'ip fer a little chap," he continued, with a sigh, "but, bless grashus! 'fo' i kin git 'er done de little chap done grow'd up twel he know mo'n i duz." the child's eyes filled with tears and his lips began to quiver, but he said nothing; whereupon uncle remus immediately melted. "i 'clar' to goodness," he said, reaching out and taking the little boy tenderly by the hand, "ef you ain't de ve'y spit en image er ole miss w'en i brung 'er de las' news er de war. hit's des like skeerin' up a ghos' w'at you ain't fear'd un." then there was a pause, the old man patting the little child's hand caressingly. "you ain't mad, is you, honey?" uncle remus asked finally, "kaze ef you is, i'm gwine out yere en butt my head 'gin de do' jam'." but the little boy wasn't mad. uncle remus had conquered him and he had conquered uncle remus in pretty much the same way before. but it was some time before uncle remus would go on with the story. he had to be coaxed. at last, however, he settled himself back in the chair and began: "co'se, honey, hit mout er bin ole brer wolf, er hit mout er bin er n'er brer wolf; it mout er bin 'fo' he got kotch up wid, er it mout er bin atterwards. ez de tale wer gun to me des dat away i gin it unter you. one time brer wolf wuz comm' long home fum a fishin' frolic. he s'anter long de road, he did, wid his string er fish 'cross his shoulder, w'en fus' news you know ole miss pa'tridge, she hop outer de bushes en flutter long right at brer wolf nose. brer wolf he say ter hisse'f dat ole miss pa'tridge tryin' fer ter toll 'im 'way fum her nes', en wid dat he lay his fish down en put out inter de bushes whar ole miss pa'tridge come fum, en 'bout dat time brer rabbit, he happen long. dar wuz de fishes, en dar wuz brer rabbit, en w'en dat de case w'at you speck a sorter innerpen'ent man like brer rabbit gwine do? i kin tell you dis, dat dem fishes ain't stay whar brer wolf put um at, en w'en brer wolf come back dey wuz gone. "brer wolf, he sot down en scratch his head, he did, en study en study, en den hit sorter rush inter his mine dat brer rabbit bin 'long dar, en den brer wolf, he put out fer brer rabbit house, en w'en he git dar he hail 'im. brer rabbit, he dunno nuthin' tall 'bout no fishes. brer wolf he up'n say he bleedzd ter bleeve brer rabbit got dem fishes. brer rabbit 'ny it up en down, but brer wolf stan' to it dat brer rabbit got dem fishes. brer rabbit, he say dat if brer wolf b'leeve he got de fishes, den he give brer wolf lief fer ter kill de bes' cow he got. brer wolf, he tuck brer rabbit at his word, en go off ter de pastur' en drive up de cattle en kill brer rabbit bes' cow. "brer rabbit, he hate mighty bad fer ter lose his cow, but he lay his plans, en he tell his chilluns dat he gwineter have dat beef yit. brer wolf, he bin tuck up by de patter-rollers 'fo' now, en he mighty skeer'd un um, en fus news you know, yer come brer rabbit hollerin' en tellin' brer wolf dat de patter-rollers comin'. "'you run en hide, brer wolf,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en i'll stay yer en take keer er de cow twel you gits back,' sezee. "soon's brer wolf hear talk er de patter-rollers, he scramble off inter de underbrush like he bin shot out'n a gun. en he wa'n't mo'n gone 'fo' brer rabbit, he whirl in en skunt de cow en salt de hide down, en den he tuck'n cut up de kyarkiss en stow it 'way in de smoke-'ouse, en den he tuck'n stick de een' er de cow-tail in de groun'. atter he gone en done all dis, den brer rabbit he squall out fer brer wolf: "'run yer, brer wolf! run yer! yo' cow gwine in de groun'! run yer!' "w'en ole brer wolf got dar, w'ich he come er scootin', dar wuz brer rabbit hol'in' on ter de cow-tail, fer ter keep it fum gwine in de groun'. brer wolf, he kotch holt, en dey 'gin a pull er two en up come de tail. den brer rabbit, he wink his off eye en say, sezee: "'dar! de tail done pull out en de cow gone,' sezee. but brer wolf he wern't de man fer ter give it up dat away, en he got 'im a spade, en a pick-axe, en a shovel, en he dig en dig fer dat cow twel diggin' wuz pas' all endu'unce, en ole brer rabbit he sot up dar in his front po'ch en smoke his seegyar. eve'y time ole brer wolf stuck de pick-axe in de clay, brer rabbit, he giggle ter his chilluns: "'he diggy, diggy, diggy, but no meat dar! he diggy, diggy, diggy, but no meat dar!' "kase all de time de cow wuz layin' pile up in his smoke-'ouse, en him en his chilluns wuz eatin' fried beef an inguns eve'y time dey mouf water. "now den, honey, you take dis yer w'ip," continued the old man, twining the leather thong around the little boy's neck, "en scamper up ter de big 'ouse en tell miss sally fer ter gin you some un it de nex' time she fine yo' tracks in de sugar-bar'l." xxi. mr. rabbit meets his match again "dere wuz nudder man dat sorter play it sharp on brer rabbit," said uncle remus, as, by some mysterious process, he twisted a hog's bristle into the end of a piece of thread--an operation which the little boy watched with great interest. "in dem days," continued the old man, "de creeturs kyar'd on marters same ez fokes. dey went inter fahmin', en i speck ef de troof wuz ter come out, dey kep' sto', en had der camp-meetin' times en der bobbycues w'en de wedder wuz 'greeble." uncle remus evidently thought that the little boy wouldn't like to hear of any further discomfiture of brer rabbit, who had come to be a sort of hero, and he was not mistaken. "i thought the terrapin was the only one that fooled the rabbit," said the little boy, dismally. "hit's des like i tell you, honey. dey ain't no smart man, 'cep' w'at dey's a smarter. ef ole brer rabbit hadn't er got kotch up wid, de nabers 'ud er took 'im for a ha'nt, en in dem times dey bu'nt witches 'fo' you could squinch yo' eyeballs. dey did dat." "who fooled the rabbit this time?" the little boy asked. when uncle remus had the bristle "sot" in the thread, he proceeded with the story: "one time brer rabbit en ole brer buzzard 'cluded dey'd sorter go shares, en crap tergedder. hit wuz a mighty good year, en de truck tu'n out monstus well, but bimeby, w'en de time come fer dividjun, hit come ter light dat ole brer buzzard ain't got nuthin'. de crap wuz all gone, en dey want nuthin' dar fer ter show fer it. brer rabbit, he make like he in a wuss fix'n brer buzzard, en he mope 'roun', he did, like he fear'd dey gwineter sell 'im out. "brer buzzard, he ain't sayin' nuthin', but he keep up a monstus thinkin', en one day he come 'long en holler en tell brer rabbit dat he done fine rich gol'-mine des 'cross de river. "'you come en go longer me, brer rabbit,' sez brer tukkey buzzard, sezee. 'ill scratch en you kin grabble, en 'tween de two un us we'll make short wuk er dat gol'-mine,' sezee. "brer rabbit, he wuz high up fer de job, but he study en study, he did, how he gwineter git 'cross de water, kaze ev'y time he git his foot wet all de fambly kotch col'. den he up'n ax brer buzzard how he gwine do, en brer buzzard he up'n say dat he kyar brer rabbit 'cross, en wid dat ole brer buzzard, he squot down, he did, en spread his wings, en brer rabbit, he mounted, en up dey riz." there was a pause. "what did the buzzard do then?" asked the little boy. "dey riz," continued uncle remus, "en w'en dey lit, dey lit in de top er de highest sorter pine, en de pine w'at dey lit in wuz growin' on er ilun, en de ilun wuz in de middle er de river, wid de deep water runnin' all 'roun'. dey ain't mo'n lit 'fo' brer rabbit, he know w'ich way de win' 'uz blowin', en by de time ole brer buzzard got hisse'f balance on a lim', brer rabbit, he up'n say, sezee: "'w'iles we er res'n here, brer buzzard, en bein's you bin so good, i got sump'n fer ter tell you,' sezee. 'i got a gol'-mine er my own, one w'at i make myse'f, en i speck we better go back ter mine 'fo' we bodder 'longer yone,' sezee. "den ole brer buzzard, he laff, he did, twel he shake, en brer rabbit, he sing out: "'hol' on, brer buzzard! don't flop yo' wings w'en you laff, kaze den if you duz, sump'n 'ill drap fum up yer, en my gol'-mine won't do you no good, en needer will yone do me no good.' "but 'fo' dey got down fum dar, brer rabbit done tole all 'bout de crap, en he hatter prommus fer ter 'vide fa'r en squar. so brer buzzard, he kyar 'im back, en brer rabbit he walk weak in de knees a mont' atterwuds." xxii. a story about the little rabbits "fin' um whar you will en w'en you may," remarked uncle remus with emphasis, "good chilluns allers gits tuck keer on. dar wuz brer rabbit's chilluns; dey minded der daddy en mammy fum day's een' ter day's een'. w'en ole man rabbit say scoot,' dey scooted, en w'en ole miss rabbit say 'scat,' dey scatted. dey did dat. en dey kep der cloze clean, en dey ain't had no smut on der nose nudder." involuntarily the hand of the little boy went up to his face, and he scrubbed the end of his nose with his coat-sleeve. "dey wuz good chilluns," continued the old man, heartily, "en ef dey hadn't er bin, der wuz one time w'en dey wouldn't er bin no little rabbits--na'er one. dat's w'at." "what time was that, uncle remus?" the little boy asked. "de time w'en brer fox drapt in at brer rabbit house, en didn't foun' nobody dar ceppin' de little rabbits. ole brer rabbit, he wuz off some'rs raiding on a collard patch, en ole miss rabbit she wuz tendin' on a quiltin' in de naberhood, en wiles de little rabbits wuz playin' hidin'-switch, in drapt brer fox. de little rabbits wuz so fat dat dey fa'rly make his mouf water, but he 'member 'bout brer wolf, en he skeer'd fer ter gobble urn up ceppin' he got some skuse. de little rabbits, dey mighty skittish, en dey sorter huddle deyse'f up tergedder en watch brer fox motions. brer fox, he sot dar en study w'at sorter skuse he gwineter make up. bimeby he see a great big stalk er sugar-cane stan'in' up in de cornder, en he cle'r up his th'oat en talk biggity: "'yer! you young rabs dar, sail 'roun' yer en broke me a piece er dat sweetnin'-tree,' sezee, en den he koff. "de little rabbits, dey got out de sugar-cane, dey did, en dey rastle wid it, en sweat over it, but twan't no use. dey couldn't broke it. brer fox, he make like he ain't watchin', but he keep on holler'n: "'hurry up dar, rabs! i'm a waitin' on you.' "en de little rabbits, dey hustle 'roun' en rastle wid it, but they couldn't broke it. bimeby dey hear little bird singin' on top er de house, en de song w'at de little bird sing wuz dish yer. "'take yo' toofies en gnyaw it, take yo' toofies en saw it, saw it en yoke it, en den you kin broke it.' "den de little rabbits, dey git mighty glad, en dey gnyawed de cane mos' 'fo' 'ole brer fox could git his legs oncrosst, en w'en dey kyard 'im de cane, brer fox, he sot dar en study how he gwineter make some mo' skuse fer nabbin' un um, en bimeby he git up en git down de sifter w'at wuz hangin' on de wall, en holler out: "'come yer, rabs! take dish yer sifter, en run down't de spring en fetch me some fresh water.' "de little rabbits, dey run down't de spring, en try ter dip up de water wid de sifter, but co'se hit all run out, en hit keep on runnin' out, twel bimeby de little rabbits sot down en 'gun ter cry. den de little bird settin' up in de tree he begin fer ter sing, en dish yer's de song w'at he sing: "'sifter hol' water same ez a tray, ef you fill it wid moss en dob it wid clay; de fox git madder de longer you stay-- fill it wid moss en dob it wid clay.' "up dey jump, de little rabbits did, en dey fix de sifter so 'twon't leak, en den dey kyar de water ter ole brer fox. den brer fox he git mighty mad, en p'int out a great big stick er wood, en tell de little rabbits fer ter put dat on de fier. de little chaps dey got 'roun' de wood, dey did, en dey lif' at it so hard twel dey could see der own sins, but de wood ain't budge. den dey hear de little bird singin', en dish yer's de song w'at he sing: "'spit in yo' han's en tug it en toll it, en git behime it, en push it, en pole it; spit in yo' han's en r'ar back en roll it.' "en des 'bout de time dey got de wood on de fier, der daddy, he come skippin' in, en de little bird, he flew'd away. brer fox, he seed his game wuz up, en 'twan't long 'fo' he make his skuse en start fer ter go. "'you better stay en take a snack wid me, brer fox,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'sence brer wolf done quite comin' en settin' up wid me, i gittin' so i feels right lonesome dese long nights,' sezee. "but brer fox, he button up his coat-collar tight en des put out fer home. en dat w'at you better do, honey, kaze i see miss sally's shadder sailin' backerds en forerds 'fo' de winder, en de fus' news you know she'll be spectin' un you." xxiii. mr. rabbit and mr. bear "dar wuz one season" said uncle remus, pulling thoughtfully at his whiskers, "w'en brer fox say to hisse'f dat he speck he better whirl in en plant a goober-patch, en in dem days, mon, hit wuz tech en go. de wud wern't mo'n out'n his mouf 'fo' de groun' 'uz brok'd up en de goobers 'uz planted. ole brer rabbit, he sot off en watch de motions, he did, en he sorter shet one eye en sing to his chilluns: "'ti-yi! tungalee! i eat um pea, i pick um pea. hit grow in de groun', hit grow so free; ti-yi! dem goober pea.' "sho' 'nuff w'en de goobers 'gun ter ripen up, eve'y time brer fox go down ter his patch, he fine whar somebody bin grabblin' 'mongst de vines, en he git mighty mad. he sorter speck who de somebody is, but ole brer rabbit he cover his tracks so cute dat brer fox dunner how ter ketch 'im. bimeby, one day brer fox take a walk all roun' de groun'-pea patch, en 'twan't long 'fo' he fine a crack in de fence whar de rail done bin rub right smoove, en right dar he sot 'im a trap. he tuck'n ben' down a hick'ry saplin', growin' in de fence-cornder, en tie one een' un a plow- line on de top, en in de udder een' he fix a loop-knot, en dat he fasten wid a trigger right in de crack. nex' mawnin' w'en ole brer rabbit come slippin' 'long en crope thoo de crack, de loop-knot kotch 'im behime de fo'legs, en de saplin' flew'd up, en dar he wuz 'twix' de heavens en de yeth. dar he swung, en he fear'd he gwineter fall, en he fear'd he wer'n't gwineter fall. w'ile he wuz a fixin' up a tale fer brer fox, he hear a lumberin' down de road, en present'y yer cum ole brer b'ar amblin' 'long fum whar he bin takin' a bee-tree. brer rabbit, he hail 'im: "'howdy, brer b'ar!' "brer b'ar, he look 'roun en bimeby he see brer rabbit swingin' fum de saplin', en he holler out: "'heyo, brer rabbit! how you come on dis mawnin'?' "'much oblije, i'm middlin', brer b'ar,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "den brer b'ar, he ax brer rabbit w'at he doin' up dar in de elements, en brer rabbit, he up'n say he makin' dollar minnit. brer b'ar, he say how. brer rabbit say he keepin' crows out'n brer fox's groun' pea patch, en den he ax brer b'ar ef he don't wanter make dollar minnit, kaze he got big fambly er chilluns fer to take keer un, en den he make sech nice skeercrow. brer b'ar 'low dat he take de job, en den brer rabbit show 'im how ter ben' down de saplin', en 'twan't long 'fo' brer b'ar wuz swingin' up dar in brer rabbit's place. den brer rabbit, he put out fer brer fox house, en w'en he got dar he sing out: "'brer fox! oh, brer fox! come out yer, brer fox, en i'll show you de man w'at bin stealin' yo' goobers.' "brer fox, he grab up his walkin'-stick, en bofe un um went runnin' back down ter der goober-patch, en w'en dey got dar, sho 'nuff, dar wuz ole brer b'ar. "'oh, yes! you er kotch, is you?' sez brer fox, en 'fo' brer b'ar could 'splain, brer rabbit he jump up en down, en holler out: "'hit 'im in de mouf, brer fox; hit 'im in do mouf'; en brer fox, he draw back wid de walkin' cane, en blip he tuck 'im, en eve'y time brer b'ar'd try ter 'splain, brer fox'd shower down on him. "w'iles all dis 'uz gwine on, brer rabbit, he slip off en git in a mud-hole en des lef' his eyes stickin' out, kaze he know'd dat brer b'ar'd be a comin' atter 'im. sho 'nuff, bimeby here come brer b'ar down de road, en w'en he git ter de mud-hole, he say: "'howdy, brer frog; is you seed brer rabbit go by yer?' "'he des gone by,' sez brer rabbit, en ole man b'ar tuck off down de road like a skeer'd mule, en brer rabbit, he come out en dry hisse'f in de sun, en go home ter his fambly same ez enny udder man. "the bear didn't catch the rabbit, then?" inquired the little boy, sleepily. "jump up fum dar, honey!" exclaimed uncle remus, by way of reply. "i ain't got no time fer ter be settin' yer proppin' yo' eyeleds open." xxiv. mr. bear catches old mr. bull-frog "well, uncle remus," said the little boy, counting to see if he hadn't lost a marble somewhere, "the bear didn't catch the rabbit after all, did he?" "now you talkin', honey," replied the old man, his earnest face breaking up into little eddies of smiles--"now you talkin' sho. 'tain't bin proned inter no brer b'ar fer ter kotch brer rabbit. hit sorter like settin' a mule fer ter trap a hummin'-bird. but brer b'ar, he tuck'n got hisse'f inter some mo' trubble, w'ich it look like it mighty easy. ef folks could make der livin' longer gittin' inter trubble," continued the old man, looking curiously at the little boy, "ole miss favers wouldn't be bodder'n yo' ma fer ter borry a cup full er sugar eve'y now en den; en it look like ter me dat i knows a nigger dat wouldn't be squattin' 'roun' yer makin' dese yer fish-baskits." "how did the bear get into more trouble, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "natchul, honey. brer b'ar, he tuck a notion dat ole brer bull-frog wuz de man w'at fool 'im, en he say dat he'd come up wid 'im ef 'twuz a year atterwuds. but 'twan't no year, an 'twan't no mont', en mo'n dat, hit wa'n't skasely a week, w'en bimeby one day brer b'ar wuz gwine home fum de takin' un a bee-tree, en lo en behol's, who should he see but ole brer bull-frog settin' out on de aidge er de mud-muddle fas' 'sleep! brer b'ar drap his axe, he did, en crope up, en retch out wid his paw, en scoop ole brer bull-frog in des dis away." here the old man used his hand ladle-fashion, by way of illustration. "he scoop 'im in, en dar he wuz. w'en brer b'ar got his clampers on 'im good, he sot down en talk at 'im. "'howdy, brer bull-frog, howdy! en how yo fambly? i hope dey er well, brer bull-frog, kaze dis day you got some bizness wid me w'at'll las' you a mighty long time.' "brer bull-frog, he dunner w'at ter say. he dunner w'at's up, en he don't say nuthin'. ole brer b'ar he keep runnin' on: "'you er de man w'at tuck en fool me 'bout brer rabbit t'er day. you had yo' fun, brer bull-frog, en now i'll git mine.' "den brer bull-frog, he gin ter git skeer'd, he did, en he up'n say: "'w'at i bin doin', brer b'ar? how i bin foolin' you?' "den brer b'ar laff, en make like he dunno, but he keep on talkin'. "'oh, no, brer bull-frog! you ain't de man w'at stick yo' head up out'n de water en tell me brer rabbit done gone on by. oh, no! you ain't de man. i boun' you ain't. 'bout dat time, you wuz at home with yo' fambly, whar you allers is. i dunner whar you wuz, but i knows whar you is, brer bull-frog, en hit's you en me fer it. atter de sun goes down dis day you don't fool no mo' folks gwine 'long dis road.' "co'se, brer bull-frog dunner w'at brer b'ar drivin' at, but he know sump'n hatter be done, en dat mighty soon, kaze brer b'ar 'gun to snap his jaws tergedder en foam at de mouf, en brer bull-frog holler out: "'oh, pray, brer b'ar! lemme off dis time, en i won't never do so no mo'. oh, pray, brer b'ar! do lemme off dis time, en i'll show you de fattes' bee-tree in de woods.' "ole brer b'ar, he chomp his toofies en foam at de mouf. brer bull-frog he des up'n squall: "'oh, pray, brer b'ar! i won't never do so no mo'! oh, pray, brer b'ar! lemme off dis time!' "but ole brer b'ar say he gwineter make way wid 'im, en den he sot en study, ole brer b'ar did, how he gwineter squench brer bull-frog. he know he can't drown 'im, en he ain't got no fier fer ter bu'n 'im, en he git mighty pestered. bimeby ole brer bull-frog, he sorter stop his cryin' en his boo-hooin', en he up'n say: "'ef you gwineter kill me, brer b'ar, kyar me ter dat big flat rock out dar on de aidge er de mill-pon', whar i kin see my fambly, en atter i see um, den you kin take you axe en sqush me.' "dis look so fa'r and squar' dat brer b'ar he 'gree, en he take ole brer bull-frog by wunner his behime legs, en sling his axe on his shoulder, en off he put fer de big flat rock. when he git dar he lay brer bullfrog down on de rock, en brer bull-frog make like he lookin' 'roun' fer his folks. den brer b'ar, he draw long breff en pick up his axe. den he spit in his han's en draw back en come down on de rock--pow!" "'did he kill the frog, uncle remus?" asked the little boy, as the old man paused to scoop up a thimbleful of glowing embers in his pipe. "'deed, en dat he didn't, honey. 'twix' de time w'en brer b'ar raise up wid his axe en w'en he come down wid it, ole brer bull-frog he lipt up en dove down in de mill-pon', kerblink- kerblunk! en w'en he riz way out in de pon' he riz a singin', en dish yer's de song w'at he sing: "'ingle-go-jang, my joy, my joy- ingle-go-jang, my joy! i'm right at home, my joy, my joy- ingle-go-jang, my joy!'" "that's a mighty funny song," said the little boy. "funny now, i speck," said the old man, "but 'tweren't funny in dem days, en 'twouldn't be funny now ef folks know'd much 'bout de bull-frog langwidge ez dey useter. dat's w'at." xxv. how mr. rabbit lost his fine bushy tail "one time," said uncle remus, sighing heavily and settling himself back in his seat with an air of melancholy resignation-- "one time brer rabbit wuz gwine 'long down de road shakin' his big bushy tail, en feelin' des ez scrumpshus ez a bee-martin wid a fresh bug." here the old man paused and glanced at the little boy, but it was evident that the youngster had become so accustomed to the marvelous developments of uncle remus's stories, that the extraordinary statement made no unusual impression upon him. therefore the old man began again, and this time in a louder and more insinuating tone: "one time ole man rabbit, he wuz gwine 'long down de road shakin' his long, bushy tail, en feelin' mighty biggity." this was effective. "great goodness, uncle remus!" exclaimed the little boy in open-eyed wonder, "everybody knows that rabbits haven't got long, bushy tails." the old man shifted his position in his chair and allowed his venerable head to drop forward until his whole appearance was suggestive of the deepest dejection; and this was intensified by a groan that seemed to be the result of great mental agony. finally he spoke, but not as addressing himself to the little boy. "i notices dat dem fokes w'at makes a great 'miration 'bout w'at dey knows is des de fokes w'ich you can't put no 'pennunce in w'en de 'cashun come up. yer one un um now, en he done come en excuse me er 'lowin dat rabbits is got long, bushy tails, w'ich goodness knows ef i'd a dremp' it, i'd a whirl in en on-dremp it." "well, but uncle remus, you said rabbits had long, bushy tails," replied the little boy. "now you know you did." "ef i ain't fergit it off'n my mine, i say dat ole brer rabbit wuz gwine down de big road shakin' his long, bushy tail. dat w'at i say, en dat i stan's by." the little boy looked puzzled, but he didn't say anything. after a while the old man continued: "now, den, ef dat's 'greed ter, i'm gwine on, en ef tain't 'greed ter, den i'm gwineter pick up my cane en look atter my own intrust. i got wuk lyin''roun' yer dat's des natchully gittin' moldy." the little boy still remained quiet, and uncle remus proceeded: "one day brer rabbit wuz gwine down de road shakin' his long, bushy tail, w'en who should he strike up wid but ole brer fox gwine amblin' long wid a big string er fish! w'en dey pass de time er day wid wunner nudder, brer rabbit, he open up de confab, he did, en he ax brer fox whar he git dat nice string er fish, en brer fox, he up'n 'spon' dat he kotch um, en brer rabbit, he say whar'bouts, en brer fox, he say down at de babtizin' creek, en brer rabbit he ax how, kaze in dem days dey wuz monstus fon' er minners, en brer fox, he sot down on a log, he did, en he up'n tell brer rabbit dat all he gotter do fer ter git er big mess er minners is ter go ter de creek atter sundown, en drap his tail in de water en set dar twel day-light, en den draw up a whole armful er fishes, en dem w'at he don't want, he kin fling back. "right dar's whar brer rabbit drap his watermillion, kaze he tuck'n sot out dat night en went a fishin'. de wedder wuz sorter col', en brer rabbit, he got 'im a bottle er dram en put out fer de creek, en w'en he git dar he pick out a good place, en he sorter squot down, he did, en let his tail hang in de water. he sot dar, en he sot dar, en he drunk his dram, en he think he gwineter freeze, but bimeby day come, en dar he wuz. he make a pull, en he feel like he comin' in two, en he fetch nudder jerk, en lo en beholes, whar wuz his tail?" there was a long pause. "did it come off, uncle remus?" asked the little boy, presently. "she did dat!" replied the old man with unction. "she did dat, and dat w'at make all deze yer bob-tail rabbits w'at you see hoppin' en skaddlin' thoo de woods." "are they all that way just because the old rabbit lost his tail in the creek?" asked the little boy. "dat's it, honey," replied the old man. "dat's w'at dey tells me. look like dey er bleedzd ter take atter der pa." xxvi. mr. terrapin shows his strength "brer tarrypin wuz de out'nes' man," said uncle remus, rubbing his hands together contemplatively, and chuckling to himself in a very significant manner; "he wuz de out'nes' man er de whole gang. he wuz dat." the little boy sat perfectly quiet, betraying no impatience when uncle remus paused to hunt, first in one pocket and then in another, for enough crumbs of tobacco to replenish his pipe. presently the old man proceeded: "one night miss meadows en de gals dey gun a candy-pullin', en so many er de nabers come in 'sponse ter de invite dat dey hatter put de 'lasses in de wash pot en b'il' de fier in de yard. brer b'ar, he holp* miss meadows bring de wood, brer fox, he men' de fier, brer wolf, he kep' de dogs off, brer rabbit, he grease de bottom er de plates fer ter keep de candy fum stickin', en brer tarrypin, he klum up in a cheer, en say he'd watch en see dat de 'lasses didn't bile over. dey wuz all dere, en dey wern't cuttin' up no didos, nudder, kaze miss meadows, she done put her foot down, she did, en say dat w'en dey come ter her place dey hatter hang up a flag er truce at de front gate en 'bide by it. "well, den, w'iles dey wuz all a settin' dar en de 'lasses wuz a bilin' en a blubberin', dey got ter runnin' on talkin' mighty biggity. brer rabbit, he say he de swiffes'; but brer tarrypin, he rock long in de cheer en watch de 'lasses. brer fox, he say he de sharpes', but brer tarrypin he rock long. brer wolf, he say he de mos' suvvigus, but brer tarrypin, he rock en he rock long. brer b'ar, he say he de mos' stronges', but brer tarrypin he rock, en he keep on rockin'. bimeby he sorter shet one eye, en say, sezee: "'hit look like 'periently dat de ole hardshell ain't nowhars 'longside er dis crowd, yit yer i is, en i'm de same man w'at show brer rabbit dat he ain't de swiffes'; en i'm de same man w'at kin show brer b'ar dat he ain't de stronges',' sezee. "den dey all laff en holler, kaze it look like brer b'ar mo' stronger dan a steer. bimeby, miss meadows, she up'n ax, she did, how he gwine do it. "'gimme a good strong rope,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee, 'en lemme git in er puddle er water, en den let brer b'ar see ef he kin pull me out,' sezee. "den dey all laff 'gin, en brer b'ar, he ups en sez, sezee: 'we ain't got no rope,' sezee. "'no,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee, 'en needer is you got de strenk,' sezee, en den brer tarrypin, he rock en rock long, en watch de 'lasses a bilin' en a blubberin'. "atter w'ile miss meadows, she up en say, she did, dat she'd take'n loan de young men her bed-cord, en w'iles de candy wuz a coolin' in de plates, dey could all go ter de branch en see brer tarrypin kyar out his projick. brer tarrypin," continued uncle remus, in a tone at once confidential and argumentative, "weren't much bigger'n de pa'm er my han', en it look mighty funny fer ter year 'im braggin' 'bout how he kin out-pull brer b'ar. but dey got de bed-cord atter w'ile, en den dey all put out ter de branch. w'en brer tarrypin fine de place he wanter, he tuck one een er de bed-cord, en gun de yuther een' to brer b'ar. "'now den, ladies en gents,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee, 'you all go wid brer b'ar up dar in de woods en i'll stay yer, en w'en you year me holler, den's de time fer brer b'ar fer ter see ef he kin haul in de slack er de rope. you all take keer er dat ar een',' sezee, 'en i'll take keer er dish yer een',' sezee. "den dey all put out en lef' brer tarrypin at de branch, en w'en dey got good en gone, he dove down inter de water, he did, en tie de bed-cord hard en fas' ter wunner deze yer big clay-roots, en den he riz up en gin a whoop. "brer b'ar he wrop de bed-cord roun' his han,' en wink at de gals, en wid dat he gin a big juk, but brer tarrypin ain't budge. den he take bof han's en gin a big pull, but, all de same, brer tarrypin ain't budge. den he tu'n 'roun', he did, en put de rope cross his shoulders en try ter walk off wid brer tarrypin, but brer tarrypin look like he don't feel like walkin'. den brer wolf he put in en holp brer b'ar pull, but des like he didn't, en den dey all holp 'im, en, bless grashus! w'iles dey wuz all a pullin', brer tarrypin, he holler, en ax um w'y dey don't take up de slack. "den w'en brer tarrypin feel um quit pullin', he dove down, he did, en ontie de rope, en by de time dey got ter de branch, brer tarrypin, he wuz settin' in de aidge er de water des ez natchul ez de nex' un, en he up'n say, sezee: "'dat las' pull er yone wuz a mighty stiff un, en a leetle mo'n you'd er had me,' sezee. 'you er monstus stout, brer b'ar,' sezee, 'en you pulls like a yoke er steers, but i sorter had de purchis on you,' sezee. "den brer b'ar, bein's his mouf 'gun ter water atter de sweetnin,' he up'n say he speck de candy's ripe, en off dey put atter it!" "it's a wonder," said the little boy, after a while, "that the rope didn't break." "break who?" exclaimed uncle remus, with a touch of indignation in his tone--"break who? in dem days, miss meadows's bed-cord would a hilt a mule." this put an end to whatever doubts the child might have entertained. * help; helped. xxvii. why mr. possum has no hair on his tail "hit look like ter me," said uncle remus, frowning, as the little boy came hopping and skipping into the old man's cabin, "dat i see a young un 'bout yo' size playin' en makin' free wid dem ar chilluns er ole miss favers's yistiddy, en w'en i seed dat, i drap my axe, en i come in yer en sot flat down right whar you er settin' now, en i say ter myse'f dat it's 'bout time fer ole remus fer ter hang up en quit. dat's des zackly w'at i say." "well, uncle remus, they called me," said the little boy, in a penitent tone. 'they come and called me, and said they had a pistol and some powder over there." "dar now!" exclaimed the old man, indignantly. "dar now! w'at i bin sayin'? hit's des a born blessin' dat you wa'n't brung home on a litter wid bofe eyeballs hangin' out en one year clean gone; dat's w'at 'tis. hit's des a born blessin'. hit hope me up might'ly de udder day w'en i hear miss sally layin' down de law 'bout you en dem favers chillun, yit, lo en behol's, de fus news i knows yer you is han'-in-glove wid um. hit's nuff fer ter fetch ole miss right up out'n dat berryin'-groun' fum down dar in putmon county, en w'at yo' gran'ma wouldn't er stood me en yo' ma ain't gwineter stan' nudder, en de nex time i hear 'bout sech a come off ez dis, right den en dar i'm boun' ter lay de case 'fo' miss sally. dem favers's wa'n't no 'count 'fo' de war, en dey wa'n't no 'count endurin' er de war, en dey ain't no 'count atterwards, en w'iles my head's hot you ain't gwineter go mixin' up yo'se'f wid de riff-raff er creashun." the little boy made no further attempt to justify his conduct. he was a very wise little boy, and he knew that, in uncle remus's eyes, he had been guilty of a flagrant violation of the family code. therefore, instead of attempting to justify himself, he pleaded guilty, and promised that he would never do so any more. after this there was a long period of silence, broken only by the vigorous style in which uncle remus puffed away at his pipe. this was the invariable result. whenever the old man had occasion to reprimand the little boy--and the occasions were frequent--he would relapse into a dignified but stubborn silence. presently the youngster drew forth from his pocket a long piece of candle. the sharp eyes of the old man saw it at once. "don't you come a tellin' me dat miss sally gun you dat," he exclaimed, "kaze she didn't. en i lay you hatter be monstus sly 'fo' you gotter chance fer ter snatch up dat piece er cannle." "well, uncle remus," the little boy explained, "it was lying there all by itself, and i just thought i'd fetch it out to you. "dat's so, honey," said uncle remus, greatly mollified; "dat's so, kaze by now some er dem yuther niggers 'ud er done had her lit up. dey er mighty biggity, dem house niggers is, but i notices dat dey don't let nuthin' pass. dey goes 'long wid der han's en der mouf open, en w'at one don't ketch de tother one do." there was another pause, and finally the little boy said: "uncle remus, you know you promised to-day to tell me why the 'possum has no hair on his tail." "law, honey! ain't you done gone en fergot dat off'n yo' mine yit? hit look like ter me," continued the old man, leisurely refilling his pipe, "dat she sorter run like dis: one time ole brer possum, he git so hungry, he did, dat he bleedzd fer ter have a mess er 'simmons. he monstus lazy man, old brer possum wuz, but bimeby his stummick 'gun ter growl en holler at 'im so dat he des hatter rack 'roun' en hunt up sump'n; en w'iles he wuz rackin' 'roun', who sh'd he run up wid but brer rabbit, en dey wuz hail-fellers, kaze brer possum, he ain't bin bodder'n brer rabbit like dem yuther creeturs. dey sot down by de side er de big road, en dar dey jabber en confab 'mong wunner nudder, twel bimeby old brer possum, he take 'n tell brer rabbit dat he mos' pe'sh out, en brer rabbit, he lip up in de a'r, he did, en smack his han's tergedder, en say dat he know right whar brer possum kin git a bait er 'simmons. den brer possum, he say whar, en brer rabbit, he say w'ich 'twuz over at brer b'ar's 'simmon orchard." "did the bear have a 'simmon orchard, uncle remus?" the little boy asked. "co'se, honey, kaze in dem days brer b'ar wuz a bee-hunter. he make his livin' findin' bee trees, en de way he fine um he plant 'im some 'simmon-trees, w'ich de bees dey'd come ter suck de 'simmons en den ole brer b'ar he'd watch um whar dey'd go, en den he'd be mighty ap' fer ter come up wid um. no matter 'bout dat, de 'simmon patch 'uz dar des like i tell you, en ole brer possum mouf 'gun ter water soon's he year talk un um, en mos' 'fo' brer rabbit done tellin' 'im de news, brer possum, he put out, he did, en 'twa'n't long 'fo' he wuz perch up in de highes' tree in brer b'ar 'simmon patch. but brer rabbit, he done 'termin' fer ter see some fun, en w'iles all dis 'uz gwine on, he run 'roun' ter brer b'ar house, en holler en tell 'im w'ich dey wuz somebody 'stroyin' un his 'simmons, en brer b'ar, he hustle off fer ter ketch 'im. "eve'y now en den brer possum think he year brer b'ar comin', but he keep on sayin', sezee: "'i'll des git one 'simmon mo' en den i'll go; one 'simmon mo' en den i'll go.' "las' he year brer b'ar comm' sho nuff, but 'twuz de same ole chune--'one 'simmon mo' en den i'll go'--en des 'bout dat time brer b'ar busted inter de patch, en gin de tree a shake, en brer possum, he drapt out longer de yuther ripe 'simmons, but time he totch de groun' he got his foots tergedder, en he lit out fer de fence same ez a race-hoss, en 'cross dat patch him en brer b'ar had it, en brer b'ar gain' eve'y jump, twel time brer possum make de fence brer b'ar grab 'im by de tail, en brer possum, he went out 'tween de rails en gin a powerful juk en pull his tail out 'twix brer b'ar tushes; en, lo en behol's, brer b'ar hol' so tight en brer possum pull so hard dat all de ha'r come off in brer b'ar's mouf, w'ich, ef brer rabbit hadn't er happen up wid a go'd er water, brer b'ar 'der got strankle. "fum dat day ter dis," said uncle remus, knocking the ashes carefully out of his pipe, "brer possum ain't had no ha'r on his tail, en needer do his chilluns." xxviii. the end of mr. bear the next time the little boy sought uncle remus out, he found the old man unusually cheerful and good-humoured. his rheumatism had ceased to trouble him, and he was even disposed to be boisterous. he was singing when the little boy got near the cabin, and the child paused on the outside to listen to the vigorous but mellow voice of the old man, as it rose and fell with the burden of the curiously plaintive song--a senseless affair so far as the words were concerned, but sung to a melody almost thrilling in its sweetness: "han' me down my walkin'-cane (hey my lily! go down de road!), yo' true lover gone down de lane (hey my lily! go down de road!)." the quick ear of uncle remus, however, had detected the presence of the little boy, and he allowed his song to run into a recitation of nonsense, of which the following, if it be rapidly spoken, will give a faint idea: "ole m'er jackson, fines' confraction, fell down sta'rs fer to git satisfaction; big bill fray, he rule de day, eve'ything he call fer come one, two by three. gwine 'long one day, met johnny huby, ax him grine nine yards er steel fer me, tole me w'ich he couldn't; den i hist 'im over hickerson dickerson's barn-doors; knock 'im ninety-nine miles under water, w'en he rise, he rise in pike straddle un a hanspike, en i lef' 'im dar smokin' er de hornpipe, juba reda seda breda. aunt kate at de gate; i want to eat, she fry de meat en gimme skin, w'ich i fling it back agin. juba!" all this, rattled off at a rapid rate and with apparent seriousness, was calculated to puzzle the little boy, and he slipped into his accustomed seat with an expression of awed bewilderment upon his face. "hit's all des dat away, honey," continued the old man, with the air of one who had just given an important piece of information. "en w'en you bin cas'n shadders long ez de ole nigger, den you'll fine out who's w'ich, en w'ich's who." the little boy made no response. he was in thorough sympathy with all the whims and humors of the old man, and his capacity for enjoying them was large enough to include even those he could not understand. uncle remus was finishing an axe-handle, and upon these occasions it was his custom to allow the child to hold one end while he applied sand-paper to the other. these relations were pretty soon established, to the mutual satisfaction of the parties most interested, and the old man continued his remarks, but this time not at random: "w'en i see deze yer swell-head folks like dat 'oman w'at come en tell yo' ma 'bout you chunkin' at her chilluns, w'ich yo' ma make mars john strop you, hit make my mine run back to ole brer b'ar. ole brer b'ar, he got de swell-headedness hisse'f, en ef der wuz enny swinkin', hit swunk too late fer ter he'p ole brer b'ar. leas'ways dat's w'at dey tells me, en i ain't never yearn it 'sputed." "was the bear's head sure enough swelled, uncle remus?" "now you talkin', honey!" exclaimed the old man. "goodness! what made it swell?" this was uncle remus's cue. applying the sand-paper to the axe-helve with gentle vigor, he began. "one time when brer rabbit wuz gwine lopin' home fum a frolic w'at dey bin havin' up at miss meadows's, who should he happin up wid but ole brer b'ar. co'se, atter w'at done pass 'twix um dey wa'n't no good feelin's 'tween brer rabbit en ole brer b'ar, but brer rabbit, he wanter save his manners, en so he holler out: "'heyo, brer b'ar! how you come on? i ain't seed you in a coon's age. how all down at yo' house? how miss brune en miss brindle?" "who was that, uncle remus?" the little boy interrupted. "miss brune en miss brindle? miss brune wuz brer b'ar's ole 'oman, en miss brindle wuz his gal. dat w'at dey call um in dem days. so den brer rabbit, he ax him howdy, he did, en brer b'ar, he 'spon' dat he wuz mighty po'ly, en dey amble 'long, dey did, sorter familious like, but brer rabbit, he keep one eye on brer b'ar, en brer b'ar, he study how he gwine nab brer rabbit. las' brer rabbit, he up'n say, sezee: "'brer b'ar, i speck i got some bizness cut out fer you,' sezee. "'what dat, brer rabbit?' sez brer b'ar, sezee. "'w'iles i wuz cleanin' up my new-groun' day 'fo' yistiddy,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'i come 'cross wunner deze yer ole time bee- trees. hit start holler at de bottom, en stay holler plum der de top, en de honey's des natchully oozin' out, en ef you'll drap yo' 'gagements en go longer me,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'you'll git a bait dat'll las' you en yo' fambly twel de middle er nex' mont',' sezee. "brer b'ar say he much oblije en he bleeve he'll go long, en wid dat dey put out fer brer rabbit's new-groun', w'ich 'twa'n't so mighty fur. leas'ways, dey got dar atter w'ile. ole brer b'ar, he 'low dat he kin smell de honey. brer rabbit, he 'low dat he kin see de honey-koam. brer b'ar, he 'low dat he can hear de bees a zoonin'. dey stan' 'roun' en talk biggity, dey did, twel bimeby brer rabbit, he up'n say, sezee: "'you do de clim'in', brer b'ar, en i'll do de rushin' 'roun'; you clim' up ter de hole, en i'll take dis yer pine pole en shove de honey up whar you kin git 'er,' sezee. "ole brer b'ar, he spit on his han's en skint up de tree, en jam his head in de hole, en sho nuff, brer rabbit, he grab de pine pole, en de way he stir up dem bees wuz sinful--dat's w'at it wuz. hit wuz sinful. en de bees dey swawm'd on brer b'ar's head, twel 'fo' he could take it out'n de hole hit wuz done swell up bigger dan dat dinner-pot, en dar he swung, en ole brer rabbit, he dance 'roun' en sing: "tree stan' high, but honey mighty sweet-- watch dem bees wid stingers on der feet.' "but dar ole brer b'ar hung, en ef his head ain't swunk, i speck he hangin' dar yit--dat w'at i speck." xxix. mr. fox gets into serious business "hit turn out one time," said uncle remus, grinding some crumbs of tobacco between the palms of his hands, preparatory to enjoying his usual smoke after supper--"hit turn out one time dat brer rabbit make so free wid de man's collard-patch dat de man he tuck'n sot a trap fer ole brer rabbit." "which man was that, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "des a man, honey. dat's all. dat's all i knows--des wunner dese yer mans w'at you see trollopin 'roun' eve'y day. nobody ain't never year w'at his name is, en ef dey did dey kep' de news mighty close fum me. ef dish yer man is bleedzd fer ter have a name, den i'm done, kaze you'll hatter go fudder dan me. ef you bleedzd ter know mo' dan w'at i duz, den you'll hatter hunt up some er deze yer niggers w'at's sprung up sence i commence fer ter shed my ha'r." "well, i just thought, uncle remus," said the little boy, in a tone remarkable for self-depreciation, "that the man had a name." "tooby sho," replied the old man, with unction, puffing away at his pipe. "co'se. dat w'at make i say w'at i duz. dish yer man mout a had a name, en den ag'in he moutn't. he mont er bin name slip-shot sam, en he mouter bin name ole one-eye riley, w'ich ef 'twuz hit ain't bin handed roun' ter me. but dish yer man, he in de tale, en w'at we gwine do wid 'im? dat's de p'int, kase w'en i git ter huntin' 'roun' 'mong my 'membunce atter dish yer mister w'atyoumaycollum's name, she ain't dar. now den, le's des call 'im mr. man en let 'im go at dat." the silence of the little boy gave consent. "one time," said uncle remus, carefully taking up the thread of the story where it had been dropped, "hit turn out dat brer rabbit bin makin' so free wid mr. man's greens en truck dat mr. man, he tuck'n sot a trap for brer rabbit, en brer rabbit he so greedy dat he tuck'n walk right spang in it, 'fo' he know hisse'f. well, 'twa'n't long 'fo' yer come mr. man, broozin' 'roun', en he ain't no sooner see ole brer rabbit dan he smack his han's tergedder en holler out: "'you er nice feller, you is! yer you bin gobblin' up my green truck, en now you tryin' ter tote off my trap. you er mighty nice chap--dat's w'at you is! but now dat i got you, i'll des 'bout settle wid you fer de ole en de new.' "en wid dat, mr. man, he go off, he did, down in de bushes atter han'ful er switches. ole brer rabbit, he ain't sayin' nuthin', but he feelin' mighty lonesome, en he sot dar lookin' like eve'y minnit wuz gwineter be de nex'. en w'iles mr. man wuz off prepa'r'n his bresh-broom, who should come p'radin' long but brer fox. brer fox make a great 'miration, he did, 'bout de fix w'at he fin' brer rabbit in, but brer rabbit he make like he fit ter kill hisse'f laffin', en he up'n tell brer fox, he did, dat miss meadows's fokes want 'im ter go down ter der house in 'tennunce on a weddin', en he 'low w'ich he couldn't, en dey 'low how he could, en den bimeby dey take'n tie 'im dar w'iles dey go atter de preacher, so he be dar' w'en dey come back. en mo'n dat, brer rabbit up'n tell brer fox dat his chillun's mighty low wid de fever, en he bleedzd ter go atter some pills fer'm, en he ax brer fox fer ter take his place en go down ter miss meadows's en have nice time wid de gals. brer fox, he in fer dem kinder pranks, en 'twa'n't no time 'fo' brer rabbit had ole brer fox harness up dar in his place, en den he make like he got ter make 'as'e en git de pills fer dem sick chilluns. brer rabbit wa'n't mo'n out er sight 'fo' yer come mr. man wid a han'ful er hick'ries, but w'en he see brer fox tied up dar, he look like he 'stonished. "'heyo!' sez mr. man, sezee, 'you done change color, en you done got bigger, en yo' tail done grow out. w'at kin' er w'atzyname is you, ennyhow?' sezee. "brer fox, he stay still, en mr. man, he talk on: "'hit's mighty big luck,' sezee, 'ef w'en i ketch de chap w'at nibble my greens, likewise i ketch de feller w'at gnyaw my goose,' sezee, en wid dat he let inter brer fox wid de hick'ries, en de way he play rap-jacket wuz a caution ter de naberhood. brer fox, he juk en he jump, en he squeal en he squall, but mr. man, he shower down on 'im, he did, like fightin' a red was'nes'." the little boy laughed, and uncle remus supplemented this indorsement of his descriptive powers with a most infectious chuckle. "'bimeby," continued the old man, "de switches, dey got frazzle out, en mr. man, he put out atter mo', en w'en he done got fa'rly outer yearin', brer rabbit, he show'd up, he did, kaze he des bin hidin' out in de bushes lis'nin' at de racket, en he 'low hit mighty funny dat miss meadows ain't come 'long, kaze he done bin down ter de doctor house, en dat's fudder dan de preacher, yit. brer rabbit make like he hurr'in' on home, but brer fox, he open up, he did, en he say: "'i thank you fer ter tu'n me loose, brer rabbit, en i'll be 'blije,' sezee, ''caze you done tie me up so tight dat it make my head swim, en i don't speck i'd las' fer ter git ter miss meadows's,' sezee. "brer rabbit, he sot down sorter keerless like, en begin fer ter scratch one year like a man studyin' 'bout sump'n. "'dat's so, brer fox,' sezee, 'you duz look sorter stove up. look like sump'n bin onkoamin' yo' ha'rs,' sezee. "brer fox ain't sayin' nothin', but brer rabbit, he keep on talkin': "'dey ain't no bad feelin's 'twix' us, is dey, brer fox? kaze ef dey is, i ain't got no time fer ter be tarryin' 'roun' yer.' "brer fox say w'ich he don't have no onfrennelness, en wid dat brer rabbit cut brer fox loose des in time fer ter hear mr. man w'isserlin up his dogs, en one went one way en de udder went nudder." xxx. how mr. rabbit succeeded in raising a dust "in dem times," said uncle remus, gazing admiringly at himself in a fragment of looking-glass, "brer rabbit, en brer fox, en brer coon, en dem yuther creeturs go co'tin' en sparklin' 'roun' de naberhood mo' samer dan folks. 'twan't no 'lemme a hoss,' ner 'fetch me my buggy,' but dey des up'n lit out en tote deyse'f. dar's ole brer fox, he des wheel 'roun' en fetch his flank one swipe wid 'is tongue en he'd be koam up; en brer rabbit, he des spit on his han' en twis' it 'roun' 'mongst de roots er his years en his ha'r'd be roach. dey wuz dat flirtashus," continued the old man, closing one eye at his image in the glass, "dat miss meadows en de gals don't se no peace fum one week een' ter de udder. chuseday wuz same as sunday, en friday wuz same as chuseday, en hit come down ter dat pass dat w'en miss meadows 'ud have chicken-fixin's fer dinner, in 'ud drap brer fox en brer possum, en w'en she'd have fried greens in 'ud pop ole brer rabbit, twel las' miss meadows, she tuck'n tell de gals dat she be dad-blame ef she gwineter keep no tavvum. so dey fix it up 'mong deyse'f, miss meadows en de gals did, dat de nex' time de gents call dey'd gin um a game. de gents, dey wuz a co'tin, but miss meadows, she don't wanter marry none un um, en needer duz de gals, en likewise dey don't wanter have um pester'n 'roun.' las', one chuseday, miss meadows, she tole um dat ef dey come down ter her house de nex' sat'day evenin', de whole caboodle on um 'ud go down de road a piece, whar der wuz a big flint rock, en de man w'at could take a sludge-hammer en knock de dus' out'n dat rock, he wuz de man w'at 'ud git de pick er de gals. dey all say dey gwine do it, but ole brer rabbit, he crope off whar der wuz a cool place under some jimson weeds, en dar he sot wukkin his mind how he gwineter git dus' out'n dat rock. bimeby, w'ile he wuz a settin' dar, up he jump en crack his heels tergedder en sing out: "'make a bow ter de buzzard en den ter de crow, takes a limber-toe gemmun fer ter jump jim crow,' "en wid dat he put out for brer coon house en borrer his slippers. w'en sat'day evenin' come, dey wuz all dere. miss meadows en de gals, dey wuz dere; en brer coon, en brer fox, en brer possum, en brer tarrypin, dey wuz dere." "where was the rabbit?" the little boy asked. "you kin put yo' 'pennunce in ole brer rabbit," the old man replied, with a chuckle. "he wuz dere, but he shuffle up kinder late, kaze w'en miss meadows en de balance on um done gone down ter de place, brer rabbit, he crope 'roun' ter de ash-hopper, en fill brer coon's slippers full er ashes, en den he tuck'n put um on en march off. he got dar atter 'w'ile, en soon's miss meadows en de gals seed 'im, dey up'n giggle, en make a great 'miration kaze brer rabbit got on slippers. brer fox, he so smart, he holler out, he did, en say he lay brer rabbit got de groun'-eatch, but brer rabbit, he sorter shet one eye, he did, en say, sezee: "'i bin so useter ridin' hoss-back, ez deze ladies knows, dat i'm gittin' sorter tender-footed;' en dey don't hear much mo' fum brer fox dat day, kaze he 'member how brer rabbit done bin en rid him; en hit 'uz des 'bout much ez miss meadows en de gals could do fer ter keep der snickers fum gittin' up a 'sturbance 'mong de congregashun. but, never mine dat, old brer rabbit, he wuz dar, en he so brash dat leetle mo' en he'd er grab up de sludge-hammer en er open up de racket 'fo' ennybody gun de word; but brer fox, he shove brer rabbit out'n de way en pick up de sludge hisse'f. now den," continued the old man, with pretty much the air of one who had been the master of similar ceremonies, "de progance wuz dish yer: eve'y gent wer ter have th'ee licks at de rock, en de gent w'at fetch de dus' he were de one w'at gwineter take de pick er de gals. ole brer fox, he grab de sludge-hammer, he did, en he come down on de rock--blim! no dus' ain't come. den he draw back en down he come ag'in--blam! no dus' ain't come. den he spit in his han's, en give 'er a big swing en down she come--kerblap! en yit no dus' ain't flew'd. "den brer possum he make triul, en brer coon, en all de balance un um 'cep' brer tarrypin, en he 'low dat he got a crick in his neck. den brer rabbit, he grab holt er de sludge, en he lipt up in de a'r en come down on de rock all at de same time--pow!--en de ashes, dey flew'd up so, dey did, dat brer fox, he tuck'n had a sneezin' spell, en miss meadows en de gals dey up'n koff. th'ee times brer rabbit jump up en crack his heels tergedder en come down wid de sludge-hammer--ker-blam!--en eve'y time he jump up, he holler out: "'stan' fudder, ladies! yer come de dus'!' en sho nuff, de dus' come. "leas'ways," continued uncle remus, "brer rabbit got one er de gals, en dey had a weddin' en a big infa'r." "which of the girls did the rabbit marry?" asked the little boy, dubiously. "i did year tell un 'er name," replied the old man, with a great affectation of interest, "but look like i done gone en fergit it out'n my mine. ef i don't disremember," he continued, "hit wuz miss molly cottontail, en i speck we better let it go at dat." xxxi. a plantation witch the next time the little boy got permission to call upon uncle remus, the old man was sitting in his door, with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands, and he appeared to be in great trouble. "what's the matter, uncle remus?" the youngster asked. "nuff de matter, honey--mo' dan dey's enny kyo' fer. ef dey ain't some quare gwines on 'roun' dis place i ain't name remus." the serious tone of the old man caused the little boy to open his eyes. the moon, just at its full, cast long, vague, wavering shadows in front of the cabin. a colony of tree-frogs somewhere in the distance were treating their neighbors to a serenade, but to the little boy it sounded like a chorus of lost and long- forgotten whistlers. the sound was wherever the imagination chose to locate it--to the right, to the left, in the air, on the ground, far away or near at hand, but always dim and always indistinct. something in uncle remus's tone exactly fitted all these surroundings, and the child nestled closer to the old man. "yasser," continued uncle remus, with an ominous sigh and mysterious shake of the head, "ef dey ain't some quare gwines on in dish yer naberhood, den i'm de ball-headest creetur 'twix' dis en nex' jinawerry wuz a year 'go, w'ich i knows i ain't. dat's what." "what is it, uncle remus?" "i know mars john bin drivin' cholly sorter hard ter-day, en i say ter myse'f dat i'd drap 'round 'bout dus' en fling nudder year er corn in de troff en kinder gin 'im a techin' up wid de kurrier-koam; en bless grashus! i ain't bin in de lot mo'n a minnit 'fo' i seed sump'n wuz wrong wid de hoss, and sho' nuff dar wuz his mane full er witch-stirrups." "full of what, uncle remus?" "full er witch-stirrups, honey. ain't you seed no witch-stirrups? well, w'en you see two stran' er ha'r tied tergedder in a hoss's mane, dar you see a witch-stirrup, en, mo'n dat, dat hoss done bin rid by um." "do you reckon they have been riding charley?" inquired the little boy. "co'se, honey. tooby sho dey is. w'at else dey bin doin'?" "did you ever see a witch, uncle remus?" "dat ain't needer yer ner dar. w'en i see coon track in de branch, i know de coon bin 'long dar." the argument seemed unanswerable, and the little boy asked, in a confidential tone: "uncle remus, what are witches like?" "dey comes diffunt," responded the cautious old darkey. "dey comes en dey cunjus fokes. squinch-owl holler eve'y time he see a witch, en w'en you hear de dog howlin' in de middle er de night, one un um's mighty ap' ter be prowlin' 'roun'. cunjun fokes kin tell a witch de minnit dey lays der eyes on it, but dem w'at ain't cunjun, hit's mighty hard ter tell w'en dey see one, kaze dey might come in de 'pearunce un a cow en all kinder creeturs. i ain't bin useter no cunjun myse'f, but i bin livin' long nuff fer ter know w'en you meets up wid a big black cat in de middle er de road, wid yaller eyeballs, dar's yo' witch fresh fum de ole boy. en, fuddermo', i know dat 'tain't proned inter no dogs fer ter ketch de rabbit w'at use in a berryin'-groun'. dey er de mos' ongodlies' creeturs w'at you ever laid eyes on," continued uncle remus, with unction. "down dar in putmon county yo' unk jeems, he make like he gwineter ketch wunner dem dar graveyard rabbits. sho nuff, out he goes, en de dogs ain't no mo'n got ter de place fo' up jump de old rabbit right 'mong um, en atter runnin''roun' a time or two, she skip right up ter mars jeems, en mars jeems, he des put de gun-bar'l right on 'er en lammed aloose. hit tored up de groun' all 'roun', en de dogs, dey rush up, but dey wa'n't no rabbit dar; but bimeby mars jeems, he seed de dogs tuckin' der tails 'tween der legs, en he look up, en dar wuz de rabbit caperin' 'roun' on a toom stone, en wid dat mars jeems say he sorter feel like de time done come w'en yo' gran'ma was 'specktin' un him home, en he call off de dogs en put out. but dem wuz ha'nts. witches is deze yer kinder fokes w'at kin drap der body en change inter a cat en a wolf en all kinder creeturs." "papa says there ain't any witches," the little boy interrupted. "mars john ain't live long ez i is," said uncle remus, by way of comment. "he ain't bin broozin' roun' all hours er de night en day. i know'd a nigger w'ich his brer wuz a witch, kaze he up'n tole me how he tuck'n kyo'd 'im; en he kyo'd 'im good, mon." "how was that?" inquired the little boy. "hit seem like," continued uncle remus, "dat witch fokes is got a slit in de back er de neck, en w'en dey wanter change derse'f, dey des pull de hide over der head same ez if 'twuz a shut, en dar dey is." "do they get out of their skins?" asked the little boy, in an awed tone. "tooby sho, honey. you see yo' pa pull his shut off? well, dat des 'zackly de way dey duz. but dish yere nigger w'at i'm tellin' you 'bout, he kyo'd his brer de ve'y fus pass he made at him. hit got so dat fokes in de settlement didn't have no peace. de chilluns 'ud wake up in de mawnins wid der ha'r tangle up, en wid scratches on um like dey bin thoo a brier-patch, twel bimeby one day de nigger he 'low dat he'd set up dat night en keep one eye on his brer; en sho' nuff dat night, des ez de chickens wuz crowin' fer twelve, up jump de brer and pull off his skin en sail out'n de house in de shape un a bat, en w'at duz de nigger do but grab up de hide, and turn it wrong-sudout'ards en sprinkle it wid salt. den he lay down en watch fer ter see w'at de news wuz gwineter be. des 'fo' day yer come a big black cat in de do', en de nigger git up, he did, en druv her away. bimeby, yer come a big black dog snuffin' roun', en de nigger up wid a chunk en lammed 'im side er de head. den a squinch-owl lit on de koam er de house, en de nigger jam de shovel in de fier en make 'im flew away. las', yer come a great big black wolf wid his eyes shinin' like fier coals, en he grab de hide and rush out. 'twa'n't long 'fo' de nigger year his brer holler'n en squallin', en he tuck a light, he did, en went out, en dar wuz his brer des a waller'n on de groun' en squirmin' 'roun', kaze de salt on de skin wuz stingin' wuss'n ef he had his britches lineded wid yallerjackets. by nex' mawnin' he got so he could sorter shuffle long, but he gun up cunjun, en ef dere wuz enny mo' witches in dat settlement dey kep' mighty close, en dat nigger he ain't skunt hisse'f no mo' not endurin' er my 'membunce." the result of this was that uncle remus had to take the little boy by the hand and go with him to the "big house," which the old man was not loath to do; and, when the child went to bed, he lay awake a long time expecting an unseemly visitation from some mysterious source. it soothed him, however, to hear the strong, musical voice of his sable patron, not very far away, tenderly contending with a lusty tune; and to this accompaniment the little boy dropped asleep: "hit's eighteen hunder'd, forty-en-eight, christ done made dat crooked way straight-- en i don't wanter stay here no longer; hit's eighteen hunder'd, forty-en-nine, christ done turn dat water inter wine-- en i don't wanter stay here no longer." xxxii. "jacky-my-lantern" * upon his next visit to uncle remus, the little boy was exceedingly anxious to know more about witches, but the old man prudently refrained from exciting the youngster's imagination any further in that direction. uncle remus had a board across his lap, and, armed with a mallet and a shoe-knife, was engaged in making shoe-pegs. "w'iles i wuz crossin' de branch des now," he said, endeavoring to change the subject, "i come up wid a jacky-my-lantern, en she wuz bu'nin' wuss'n a bunch er lightnin'-bugs, mon. i know'd she wuz a fixin' fer ter lead me inter dat quogmire down in de swamp, en i steer'd cle'r an' er. yasser. i did dat. you ain't never seed no jacky-my-lanterns, is you, honey?" the little boy never had, but he had heard of them, and he wanted to know what they were, and thereupon uncle remus proceeded to tell him. "one time," said the old darkey, transferring his spectacles from his nose to the top of his head and leaning his elbows upon his peg-board, "dere wuz a blacksmif man, en dish yer blacksmif man, he tuck'n stuck closer by his dram dan he did by his bellus. monday mawnin' he'd git on a spree, en all dat week he'd be on a spree, en de nex' monday mawnin' he'd take a fresh start. bimeby, one day, atter de blacksmif bin spreein''roun' en cussin' might'ly, he hear a sorter rustlin' fuss at de do', en in walk de bad man." "who, uncle remus?" the little boy asked. "de bad man, honey; de ole boy hisse'f right fresh from de ridjun w'at you year miss sally readin' 'bout. he done hide his hawns, en his tail, en his hoof, en he come dress up like w'ite fokes. he tuck off his hat en he bow, en den he tell de blacksmif who he is, en dat he done come atter 'im. den de black-smif, he gun ter cry en beg, en he beg so hard en he cry so loud dat de bad man say he make a trade wid 'im. at de een' er one year de sperit er de blacksmif wuz to be his'n en endurin' er dat time de blacksmif mus' put in his hottes' licks in de intruss er de bad man, en den he put a spell on de cheer de blacksmif was settin' in, en on his sludge-hammer. de man w'at sot in de cheer couldn't git up less'n de blacksmif let 'im, en de man w'at pick up de sludge 'ud hatter keep on knockin' wid it twel de blacksmif say quit; en den he gun 'im money plenty, en off he put. "de blacksmif, he sail in fer ter have his fun, en he have so much dat he done clean forgot 'bout his contrack, but bimeby, one day he look down de road, en dar he see de bad man comin', en den he know'd de year wuz out. w'en de bad man got in de do', de blacksmif wuz poundin' 'way at a hoss-shoe, but he wa'n't so bizzy dat he didn't ax 'im in. de bad man sorter do like he ain't got no time fer ter tarry, but de blacksmif say he got some little jobs dat he bleedzd ter finish up, en den he ax de bad man fer ter set down a minnit; en de bad man, he tuck'n sot down, en he sot in dat cheer w'at he done conju'd en, co'se, dar he wuz. den de blacksmif, he 'gun ter poke fun at de bad man, en he ax him don't he want a dram, en won't he hitch his cheer up little nigher de fier, en de bad man, he beg en he beg, but 'twan't doin' no good, kase de blacksmif 'low dat he gwineter keep 'im dar twel he prommus dat he let 'im off one year mo', en, sho nuff, de bad man prommus dat ef de black-smif let 'im up he give 'im a n'er showin'. so den de blacksmif gun de wud, en de bad man sa'nter off down de big road, settin' traps en layin' his progance fer ter ketch mo' sinners. "de nex' year hit pass same like t'er one. at de 'p'inted time yer come de ole boy atter de blacksmif, but still de blacksmif had some jobs dat he bleedzd ter finish up, en he ax de bad man fer ter take holt er de sludge en he he'p 'im out; en de bad man, he 'low dat r'er'n be disperlite, he don't keer ef he do hit 'er a biff er two; en wid dat he grab up de sludge, en dar he wuz 'gin, kase he done conju'd de sludge so dat whosomedever tuck 'er up can't put 'er down less'n de blacksmif say de wud. dey perlaver'd dar, dey did, twel bimeby de bad man he up'n let 'im off n'er year. "well, den, dat year pass same ez t'er one. mont' in en mont' out dat man wuz rollin' in dram, en bimeby yer come de bad man. de blacksmif cry en he holler, en he rip 'roun' en t'ar his ha'r, but hit des like he didn't, kase de bad man grab 'im up en cram 'im in a bag en tote 'im off. w'iles dey wuz gwine 'long dey come up wid a passel er fokes w'at wuz havin' wanner deze yer fote er july bobbycues, en de ole boy, he 'low dat maybe he kin git some mo' game, en w'at do he do but jine in wid um. he lines in en he talk politics same like t'er fokes, twel bimeby dinnertime come 'roun', en dey ax 'im up, w'ich 'greed wid his stummuck, en he pozzit his bag underneed de table 'longside de udder bags w'at de hongry fokes'd brung. "no sooner did de blacksmif git back on de groun' dan he 'gun ter wuk his way outer de bag. he crope out, he did, en den he tuck'n change de bag. he tuck'n tuck a n'er bag en lay it down whar dish yer bag wuz, en den he crope outer de crowd en lay low in de underbresh. "las', w'en de time come fer ter go, de ole boy up wid his bag en slung her on his shoulder, en off he put fer de bad place. w'en he got dar he tuck'n drap de bag off'n his back en call up de imps, en dey des come a squallin' en a caperin', w'ich i speck dey mus' a bin hongry. leas'ways dey des swawm'd 'roun', hollerin' out: "'daddy, w'at you brung--daddy, w'at you brung?' "so den dey open de bag, en lo en behol's, out jump a big bull- dog, en de way he shuck dem little imps wuz a caution, en he kep' on gnyawin' un um twel de ole boy open de gate en t'un 'im out." "and what became of the blacksmith?" the little boy asked, as uncle remus paused to snuff the candle with his fingers. "i'm drivin' on 'roun', honey. atter 'long time, de blacksmif he tuck'n die, en w'en he go ter de good place de man at de gate dunner who he is, en he can't squeeze in. den he go down ter de bad place, en knock. de ole boy, he look out, he did, en he know'd de blacksmif de minnit he laid eyes on 'im; but he shake his head en say, sezee: "'you'll hatter skuze me, brer blacksmif, kase i dun had 'speunce 'longer you. you'll hatter go some'rs else ef you wanter raise enny racket,' sezee, en wid dat he shet do do'. "en dey do say," continued uncle remus, with unction, "dat sense dat day de blacksmif bin sorter huv'rin' 'roun' 'twix' de heavens en de ye'th, en dark nights he shine out so fokes call 'im jacky-my-lantern. dat's w'at dey tells me. hit may be wrong er't maybe right, but dat's w'at i years." * this story is popular on the coast and among the rice- plantations, and, since the publication of some of the animal-myths in the newspapers, i have received a version of it from a planter in southwest georgia; but it seems to me to be an intruder among the genuine myth-stories of the negroes. it is a trifle too elaborate. nevertheless, it is told upon the plantations with great gusto, and there are several versions in circulation. xxxiii. why the negro is black one night, while the little boy was watching uncle remus twisting and waxing some shoe-thread, he made what appeared to him to be a very curious discovery. he discovered that the palms of the old man's hands were as white as his own, and the fact was such a source of wonder that he at last made it the subject of remark. the response of uncle remus led to the earnest recital of a piece of unwritten history that must prove interesting to ethnologists. "tooby sho de pa'm er my han's w'ite, honey," he quietly remarked, "en, w'en it come ter dat, dey wuz a time w'en all de w'ite folks 'uz black--blacker dan me, kaze i done bin yer so long dat i bin sorter bleach out." the little boy laughed. he thought uncle remus was making him the victim of one of his jokes; but the youngster was never more mistaken. the old man was serious. nevertheless, he failed to rebuke the ill-timed mirth of the child, appearing to be altogether engrossed in his work. after a while, he resumed: "yasser. fokes dunner w'at bin yit, let 'lone w'at gwinter be. niggers is niggers now, but de time wuz w'en we 'uz all niggers tergedder." "when was that, uncle remus?" "way back yander. in dem times we 'uz all un us black; we 'uz all niggers tergedder, en 'cordin' ter all de 'counts w'at i years fokes 'uz gittin' 'long 'bout ez well in dem days ez dey is now. but atter 'w'ile de news come dat dere wuz a pon' er water some'rs in de naberhood, w'ich ef dey'd git inter dey'd be wash off nice en w'ite, en den one un um, he fine de place en make er splunge inter de pon', en come out w'ite ez a town gal. en den, bless grashus! w'en de fokes seed it, dey make a break fer de pon', en dem w'at wuz de soopless, dey got in fus' en dey come out w'ite; en dem w'at wuz de nex' soopless, dey got in nex', en dey come out merlatters; en dey wuz sech a crowd un um dat dey mighty nigh use de water up, w'ich w'en dem yuthers come long, de morest dey could do wuz ter paddle about wid der foots en dabble in it wid der han's. dem wuz de niggers, en down ter dis day dey ain't no w'ite 'bout a nigger 'ceppin de pa'ms er der han's en de soles er der foot." the little boy seemed to be very much interested in this new account of the origin of races, and he made some further inquiries, which elicited from uncle remus the following additional particulars: "de injun en de chinee got ter be 'counted 'long er de merlatter. i ain't seed no chinee dat i knows un, but dey tells me dey er sorter 'twix' a brown en a brindle. dey er all merlatters." "but mamma says the chinese have straight hair," the little boy suggested. "co'se, honey," the old man unhesitatingly responded, "dem w'at git ter de pon' time nuff fer ter git der head in de water, de water hit onkink der ha'r. hit bleedzd ter be dat away." xxxiv. the sad fate of mr. fox "now, den," said uncle remus, with unusual gravity, as soon as the little boy, by taking his seat, announced that he was ready for the evening's entertainment to begin; "now, den, dish yer tale w'at i'm agwine ter gin you is de las' row er stumps, sho. dish yer's whar ole brer fox los' his breff, en he ain't fine it no mo' down ter dis day." "did he kill himself, uncle remus?" the little boy asked, with a curious air of concern. "hol' on dar, honey!" the old man exclaimed, with a great affectation of alarm; "hol' on dar! wait! gimme room! i don't wanter tell you no story, en ef you keep shovin' me forrerd, i mout git some er de facks mix up 'mong deyse'f. you gotter gimme room en you gotter gimme time." the little boy had no other premature questions to ask, and, after a pause, uncle remus resumed: "well, den, one day brer rabbit go ter brer fox house, he did, en he put up mighty po' mouf. he say his ole 'oman sick, en his chilluns col', en de fier done gone out. brer fox, he feel bad 'bout dis, en he tuck'n s'ply brer rabbit widder chunk er fier. brer rabbit see brer fox cookin' some nice beef, en his mouf gun ter water, but he take de fier, he did, en he put out to'rds home; but present'y yer he come back, en he say de fier done gone out. brer fox 'low dat he want er invite to dinner, but he don't say nuthin', en bimeby brer rabbit he up'n say, sezee: "'brer fox, whar you git so much nice beef?' sezee, en den brer fox he up'n 'spon', sezee: "'you come ter my house termorrer ef yo' fokes ain't too sick, en i kin show you whar you kin git plenty beef mo' nicer dan dish yer,' sezee. "well, sho nuff, de nex' day fotch brer rabbit, en brer fox say, sezee: "'der's a man down yander by miss meadows's w'at got heap er fine cattle, en he gotter cow name bookay,' sezee, 'en you des go en say bookay, en she'll open her mouf, en you kin jump in en git des as much meat ez you kin tote,' sez brer fox, sezee. "'well, i'll go 'long,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en you kin jump fus' en den i'll come follerin' atter,' sezee. "wid dat dey put out, en dey went promernadin' 'roun' 'mong de cattle, dey did, twel bimeby dey struck up wid de one dey wuz atter. brer fox, he up, he did, en holler bookay, en de cow flung 'er mouf wide open. sho nuff, in dey jump, en w'en dey got dar, brer fox, he say, sezee: "'you kin cut mos' ennywheres, brer rabbit, but don't cut 'roun' de haslett,' sezee. "'den brer rabbit, he holler back, he did: i'm a gitten me out a roas'n-piece,' sezee. "'roas'n, er bakin', er fryin',' sez brer fox, sezee, 'don't git too nigh de haslett,' sezee. "dey cut en dey kyarved, en dey kyarved en dey cut, en w'iles dey wuz cuttin' en kyarvin', en slashin' 'way, brer rabbit, he tuck'n hacked inter de haslett, en wid dat down fell de cow dead. "'now, den,' sez brer fox, 'we er gone, sho,' sezee. "'w'at we gwine do?' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'i'll git in de maul,' sez brer fox, 'en you'll jump in de gall,' sezee. "nex' mawnin' yer cum de man w'at de cow b'long ter, and he ax who kill bookay. nobody don't say nuthin'. den de man say he'll cut 'er open en see, en den he whirl in, en twan't no time 'fo' he had 'er intruls spread out. brer rabbit, he crope out'n de gall, en say, sezee: "'mister man! oh, mister man! i'll tell you who kill yo' cow. you look in de maul, en dar you'll fine 'im,' sezee. "wid dat de man tuck a stick and lam down on de maul so hard dat he kill brer fox stone-dead. w'en brer rabbit see brer fox wuz laid out fer good, he make like he mighty sorry, en he up'n ax de man fer brer fox head. man say he ain't keerin', en den brer rabbit tuck'n brung it ter brer fox house. dar he see ole miss fox, en he tell 'er dat he done fotch her some nice beef w'at 'er ole man sont 'er, but she ain't gotter look at it twel she go ter eat it. "brer fox son wuz name tobe, en brer rabbit tell tobe fer ter keep still w'iles his mammy cook de nice beef w'at his daddy sont 'im. tobe he wuz mighty hongry, en he look in de pot he did w'iles de cookin' wuz gwine on, en dar he see his daddy head, en wid dat he sot up a howl en tole his mammy. miss fox, she git mighty mad w'en she fine she cookin' her ole man head, en she call up de dogs, she did, en sickt em on brer rabbit; en ole miss fox en tobe en de dogs, dey push brer rabbit so close dat he hatter take a holler tree. miss fox, she tell tobe fer ter stay dar en mine brer rabbit, w'ile she goes en git de ax, en w'en she gone, brer rabbit, he tole tobe ef he go ter de branch en git 'im a drink er water dat he'll gin 'im a dollar. tobe, he put out, he did, en bring some water in his hat, but by de time he got back brer rabbit done out en gone. ole miss fox, she cut and cut twel down come de tree, but no brer rabbit dar. den she lay de blame on tobe, en she say she gwineter lash 'im, en tobe, he put out en run, de ole 'oman atter 'im. bimeby, he come up wid brer rabbit, en sot down fer to tell 'im how 'twuz, en w'iles dey wuz a settin' dar, yer come ole miss fox a slippin' up en grab um bofe. den she tell um w'at she gwine do. brer rabbit she gwineter kill, en tobe she gwineter lam ef its de las' ack. den brer rabbit sez, sezee: "'ef you please, ma'am, miss fox, lay me on de grinestone en groun off my nose so i can't smell no mo' w'en i'm dead.' "miss fox, she tuck dis ter be a good idee, en she fotch bofe un um ter de grinestone, en set um up on it so dat she could groun' off brer rabbit nose. den brer rabbit, he up'n say, sezee: "'ef you please, ma'am, miss fox, tobe he kin turn de handle w'iles you goes atter some water fer ter wet de grinestone,' sezee. "co'se, soon'z brer rabbit see miss fox go atter de water, he jump down en put out, en dis time he git clean away." "and was that the last of the rabbit, too, uncle remus?" the little boy asked, with something like a sigh. "don't push me too close, honey," responded the old man; "don't shove me up in no cornder. i don't wanter tell you no stories. some say dat brer rabbit's ole 'oman died fum eatin' some pizen- weed, en dat brer rabbit married ole miss fox, en some say not. some tells one tale en some tells nudder; some say dat fum dat time forrerd de rabbits en de foxes make fren's en stay so; some say dey kep on quollin'. hit look like it mixt. let dem tell you w'at knows. dat w'at i years you gits it straight like i yeard it." there was a long pause, which was finally broken by the old man: "hit's 'gin de rules fer you ter be noddin' yer, honey. bimeby you'll drap off en i'll hatter tote you up ter de big 'ouse. i hear dat baby cryin', en bimeby miss sally'll fly up en be a holler'n atter you" "oh, i wasn't asleep," the little boy replied. "i was just thinking." "well, dat's diffunt," said the old man. "ef you'll clime up on my back," he continued, speaking softly, "i speck i ain't too ole fer ter be yo' hoss fum yer ter de house. many en many's de time dat i toted yo' unk jeems dat away, en mars jeems wuz heavier sot dan w'at you is." plantation proverbs big 'possum clime little tree. dem w'at eats kin say grace. ole man know-all died las' year. better de gravy dan no grease 'tall. dram ain't good twel you git it. lazy fokes' stummucks don't git tired. rheumatiz don't he'p at de log-rollin'. mole don't see w'at his naber doin'. save de pacin' mar' fer sunday. don't rain eve'y time de pig squeal. crow en corn can't grow in de same fiel'. tattlin' 'oman can't make de bread rise. rails split 'fo' bre'kfus'll season de dinner. dem w'at knows too much sleeps under de ash-hopper. ef you wanter see yo' own sins, clean up a new groun'. hog dunner w'ich part un 'im'll season de turnip salad. hit's a blessin' de w'ite sow don't shake de plum-tree. winter grape sour, whedder you kin reach 'im or not. mighty po' bee dat don't make mo' honey dan he want. kwishins on mule's foots done gone out er fashun. pigs dunno w'at a pen's fer. possum's tail good as a paw. dogs don't bite at de front gate. colt in de barley-patch kick high. jay-bird don't rob his own nes'. pullet can't roost too high for de owl. meat fried 'fo' day won't las' twel night. stump water won't kyo' de gripes. de howlin' dog know w'at he sees. blin' hoss don't fall w'en he follers de bit. hongry nigger won't w'ar his maul out. don't fling away de empty wallet. black-snake know de way ter de hin nes'. looks won't do ter split rails wid. settin' hens don't hanker arter fresh aigs. tater-vine growin' w'ile you sleep. hit take two birds fer to make a nes'. ef you bleedzd ter eat dirt, eat clean dirt. tarrypin walk fast 'nuff fer to go visitin'. empty smoke-house makes de pullet holler. w'en coon take water he fixin' fer ter fight. corn makes mo' at de mill dan it does in de crib. good luck say: "op'n yo' mouf en shet yo' eyes." nigger dat gets hurt wukkin oughter show de skyars. fiddlin' nigger say hit's long ways ter de dance. rooster makes mo' racket dan de hin w'at lay de aig. meller mush-million hollers at you fum over de fence. nigger wid a pocket-hankcher better be looked atter. rain-crow don't sing no chune, but you k'n 'pen' on 'im. one-eyed mule can't be handled on de bline side. moon may shine, but a lightered knot's mighty handy. licker talks mighty loud w'en it git loose fum de jug. de proudness un a man don't count w'en his head's cold. hongry rooster don't cackle w'en he fine a wum. some niggers mighty smart, but dey can't drive de pidgins ter roos'. you may know de way, but better keep yo' eyes on de seven stairs. all de buzzards in de settlement 'll come to de gray mule's funer'l. you k'n hide de fier, but w'at you gwine do wid de smoke? termorrow may be de carridge-driver's day for ploughin'. hit's a mighty deaf nigger dat don't year de dinner-ho'n. hit takes a bee fer ter git de sweetness out'n de hoar-houn' blossom. ha'nts don't bodder longer hones' folks, but you better go 'roun' de grave-yard. de pig dat runs off wid de year er corn gits little mo' dan de cob. sleepin' in de fence-cornder don't fetch chrismus in de kitchen. de spring-house may freeze, but de niggers 'll keep de shuck-pen warm. 'twix' de bug en de bee-martin 'tain't hard ter tell w'ich gwineter git kotch. don't 'sput wid de squinch-owl. jam de shovel in de fier. you'd see mo' er de mink ef he know'd whar de yard dog sleeps. troubles is seasonin'. 'simmons ain't good twel dey 'er fros'-bit. watch out w'en you'er gittin all you want. fattenin' hogs ain't in luck. his songs i. revival hymn oh, whar shill we go w'en de great day comes, wid de blowin' er de trumpits en de bangin' er de drums? how many po' sinners'll be kotched out late en fin' no latch ter de golden gate? no use fer ter wait twel termorrer! de sun mus'n't set on yo' sorrer, sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier- oh, lord! fetch de mo'ners up higher! w'en de nashuns er de earf is a stan'in all aroun, who's a gwineter be choosen fer ter w'ar de glory-crown? who's a gwine fer ter stan' stiff-kneed en bol'. en answer to der name at de callin' er de roll? you better come now ef you comin'-- ole satun is loose en a bummin'-- de wheels er distruckshun is a hummin'-- oh, come long, sinner, ef you comin'! de song er salvashun is a mighty sweet song, en de pairidise win' blow fur en blow strong, en aberham's bosom, hit's saft en hit's wide, en right dar's de place whar de sinners oughter hide! oh, you nee'nter be a stoppin' en a lookin'; ef you fool wid ole satun you'll git took in; you'll hang on de aidge en get shook in, ef you keep on a stoppin' en a lookin'. de time is right now, en dish yer's de place-- let de sun er salvashun shine squar' in yo' face; fight de battles er de lord, fight soon en fight late, en you'll allers fine a latch ter de golden gate. no use fer ter wait twel termorrer, de sun musn't set on yo' sorrer-- sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier, ax de lord fer ter fetch you up higher! ii. camp-meeting song * oh, de worril is roun' en de worril is wide-- lord! 'member deze chillun in de mornin'-- hit's a mighty long ways up de mountain side, en dey ain't no place fer dem sinners fer ter hide, en dey ain't no place whar sin kin abide, w'en de lord shill come in de mornin'! look up en look aroun', fling yo' burden on de groun', hit's a gittin' mighty close on ter mornin'! smoove away sin's frown-- retch up en git de crown, w'at de lord will fetch in de mornin'! de han' er ridem'shun, hit's hilt out ter you-- lord! 'member dem sinners in de mornin'! hit's a mighty pashent han', but de days is but few, w'en satun, he'll come a demandin' un his due, en de stiff-neck sinners 'll be smotin' all fru- oh, you better git ready for de mornin'! look up en set yo' face to'ds de green hills of grace 'fo' de sun rises up in de mornin'-- oh, you better change yo' base, hits yo' soul's las' race for de glory dat's a comin' in de mornin'! de farmer gits ready w'en de lan's all plowed for ter sow dem seeds in de mornin' de sperrit may be puny en de flesh may be proud, but you better cut loose fum de scoffin' crowd, en jine dose christuns w'at's a cryin' out loud fer de lord fer ter come in de mornin'! shout loud en shout long, let de eckoes ans'er strong, w'en de sun rises up in de mornin'! oh, you allers will be wrong twel you choose ter belong ter de marster w'at's a comin' in de mornin'! *in the days of slavery, the religious services held by the negroes who accompanied their owners to the camp-meetings were marvels of earnestness and devotion. iii. corn-shucking song oh, de fus' news you know de day'll be a breakin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango! * ) an' de fier be a burnin' en' de ash-cake a bakin', (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) an' de ho'n 'll be a hollerin' en de boss 'll be a wakin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) better git up, nigger, en give yo'se'f a shakin'-- (hi o, miss sindy ann!) oh, honey! w'en you see dem ripe stars a fallin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) oh, honey! w'en you year de rain-crow a callin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) oh, honey! w'en you year dat red calf a bawlin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) den de day time's a creepin' en a crawlin'-- (hi o, miss sindy ann!) for de los' ell en yard * is a huntin' for de mornin', (hi o! git long! go 'way!) en she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in-- (oh, go 'way, sindy ann!) oh, honey! w'en you year dat tin horn a tootin' (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) oh, honey, w'en you year de squinch owl a hootin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) oh, honey! w'en you year dem little pigs a rootin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) right den she's a comin' a skippin' en a scootin'-- (hi o, miss sindy ann!) oh, honey, w'en you year dat roan mule whicker-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) w'en you see mister moon turnin' pale en gittin' sicker-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) den hit's time for ter handle dat corn a little quicker-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) ef you wanter git a smell er old marster's jug er licker-- (hi o, miss sindy ann!) for de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin' (hi o! git long! go 'way!) en she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in-- (oh, go 'way, sindy ann!) you niggers 'cross dar! you better stop your dancin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) no use for ter come a flingin' un yo' "sha'n'ts" in-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) no use for ter come a flingin' un yo' "can't's" in-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) kaze dey ain't no time for yo' pattin' nor yo' prancin'! (hi o, miss sindy ann!) mr. rabbit see de fox, en he sass um en jaws um-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) mr. fox ketch de rabbit, en he scratch um en he claws um-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) en he tar off de hide, en he chaws um en he gnyaws um-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) same like gal chawin' sweet gum en rozzum-- (hi o, miss sindy ann!) for de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin' (hi o! git 'long! go 'way!) en she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in-- (oh, go 'way, sindy ann!) oh, work on, boys! give doze shucks a mighty wringin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) 'fo' de boss come aroun' a dangin' en a dingin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) git up en move aroun'! set dem big han's ter swingin'-- (hey o! hi o! up'n down de bango!) git up'n shout loud! let de w'ite folks year you singin'! (hi o, miss sindy ann!) for de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin' (hi o! git long! go 'way!) en she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in. (oh, go 'way sindy ann!) * so far as i know, "bango" is a meaningless term, introduced on account of its sonorous ruggedness. * the sword and belt in the constellation of orion. iv. the plough-hands' song (jasper county-- .) nigger mighty happy w'en he layin' by co'n-- dat sun's a slantin'; nigger mighty happy w'en he year de dinner-ho'n-- dat sun's a slantin'; en he mo' happy still w'en de night draws on-- dat sun's a slantin'; dat sun's a slantin' des ez sho's you bo'n! en it's rise up, primus! fetch anudder yell: dat ole dun cow's des a shakin' up 'er bell, en de frogs chunin' up 'fo' de jew done fell: good-night, mr. killdee! i wish you mighty well! --mr. killdee! i wish you mighty well! --i wish you mighty well! do co'n 'll be ready 'g'inst dumplin' day-- dat sun's a slantin'; but nigger gotter watch, en stick, en stay-- dat sun's a slantin'; same ez de bee-martin watchin' un de jay-- dat sun's a slantin'; dat sun's a slantin' en a slippin' away! den it's rise up, primus! en gin it turn strong; de cow's gwine home wid der ding-dang-dong-- sling in anudder tetch er de ole-time song: good-night, mr. whipperwill! don't stay long! --mr. whipperwill! don't stay long! --don't stay long! v. christmas play-song (myrick place, putnam county .) hi my rinktum! black gal sweet, same like goodies w'at de w'ite folks eat; ho my riley! don't you take'n tell 'er name, en den ef sumpin' happen you won't ketch de blame; hi my rinktum! better take'n hide yo' plum; joree don't holler eve'y time he fine a wum. den it's hi my rinktum! don't git no udder man; en it's ho my riley! fetch out miss dilsey ann! ho my riley! yaller gal fine; she may be yone but she oughter be mine! hi my rinktum! lemme git by, en see w'at she mean by de cut er dat eye! ho my riley! better shet dat do'-- de w'ite folks 'll bleeve we er t'arin up de flo'. den it's ho my riley! come a siftin' up ter me! en it's hi my rinktum! dis de way ter twis' yo' knee! hi my rinktum! ain't de eas' gittin' red? de squinch owl shiver like he wanter go ter bed; ho my riley! but de gals en de boys, des now gittin' so dey kin sorter make a noise. hi my rinktum! let de yaller gal lone; niggers don't hanker arter sody in de pone. den it's hi my rinktum! better try anudder plan; an' it's ho my riley! trot out miss dilsey ann! ho my riley! in de happy chris'mus time de niggers shake der cloze a huntin' for a dime. hi my rinktum! en den dey shake der feet, en greaze derse'f wid de good ham meat. ho my riley! dey eat en dey cram, en bimeby ole miss 'll be a sendin' out de dram. den it's ho my riley! you hear dat, sam! en it's hi my rinktum! be a sendin' out de dram! vi. plantation play-song (putnam county-- .) hit's a gittin' mighty late, w'en de guinny-hins squall, en you better dance now, ef you gwineter dance a tall, fer by dis time termorrer night you can't hardly crawl, kaze you'll hatter take de hoe ag'in en likewise de maul-- don't you hear dat bay colt a kickin' in his stall? stop yo' humpin' up yo' sho'lders do! dat'll never do! hop light, ladies, oh, miss loo! hit takes a heap er scrougin' for ter git you thoo-- hop light, ladies, oh, miss loo! ef you niggers don't watch, you'll sing anudder chune, fer de sun'll rise'n ketch you ef you don't be mighty soon; en de stars is gittin' paler, en de ole gray coon is a settin' in de grape-vine a watchin' fer de moon. w'en a feller comes a knockin' des holler--oh, shoo! hop light, ladies, oh, miss loo! oh, swing dat yaller gal! do, boys, do! hop light, ladies, oh, miss loo! oh, tu'n me loose! lemme 'lone! go way, now! w'at you speck i come a dancin' fer ef i dunno how? deze de ve'y kinder footses w'at kicks up a row; can't you jump inter de middle en make yo' gal a bow? look at dat merlatter man a follerin' up sue; hop light, ladies, oh, miss loo! de boys ain't a gwine w'en you cry boo hoo-- hop light, ladies, oh, miss loo! vii. transcriptions * . a plantation chant hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-fo', christ done open dat he'v'mly do'-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer; hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-five, christ done made dat dead man alive-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer. you ax me ter run home, little childun-- run home, dat sun done roll-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer. hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-six, christ is got us a place done fix-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer; hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-sev'm christ done sot a table in hev'm an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer. you ax me ter run home, little childun-- run home, dat sun done roll-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer. hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-eight, christ done make dat crooked way straight-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer; hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-nine, christ done tu'n dat water inter wine-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer. you ax me ter run home, little childun-- run home, dat sun done roll-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer. hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-ten, christ is de mo'ner's onliest fr'en'-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer; hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-lev'm, christ 'll be at de do' w'en we all git ter hev'm-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer. you ax me ter run home, little childun-- run home, dat sun done roll-- an' i don't wanter stay yer no longer. * if these are adaptations from songs the negroes have caught from the whites, their origin is very remote. i have transcribed them literally, and i regard them as in the highest degree characteristic. .a plantation serenade de ole bee make de honey-comb, de young bee make de honey, de niggers make de cotton en co'n, en de w'ite folks gits de money. de raccoon he's a cu'us man, he never walk twel dark, en nuthin' never 'sturbs his mine, twel he hear ole bringer bark. de raccoon totes a bushy tail, de 'possum totes no ha'r, mr. rabbit, he come skippin' by, he ain't got none ter spar'. monday mornin' break er day, w'ite folks got me gwine, but sat'dy night, w'en de sun goes down, dat yaller gal's in my mine. fifteen poun' er meat a week, w'isky for ter sell, oh, how can a young man stay at home, dem gals dey look so well? met a 'possum in de road-- bre' 'possum, whar you gwine? i thank my stars, i bless my life, i'm a huntin' for de muscadine. viii. the big bethel church de big bethel chu'ch! de big bethel chu'ch! done put ole satun behine um; ef a sinner git loose fum enny udder chu'ch, de big bethel chu'ch will fine um! hit's good ter be dere, en it's sweet ter be dere, wid de sisterin' all aroun' you-- a shakin' dem shackles er mussy en' love wharwid de lord is boun' you. hit's sweet ter be dere en lissen ter de hymns, en hear dem mo'ners a shoutin'-- dey done reach de place whar der ain't no room fer enny mo' weepin' en doubtin'. hit's good ter be dere w'en de sinners all jine wid de brudderin in dere singin', en it look like gaberl gwine ter rack up en blow en set dem heav'm bells ter ringin'! oh, de big bethel chu'ch! de big bethel chu'ch, done put ole satun behine am; ef a sinner git loose fum enny udder chu'ch de big bethel chu'ch will fine um! ix. time goes by turns dar's a pow'ful rassle 'twix de good en de bad, en de bad's got de all--under holt; en w'en de wuss come, she come i'on-clad, en you hatter hol' yo' bref for de jolt. but des todes de las' good gits de knee-lock, en dey draps ter de groun'--ker flop! good had de inturn, en he stan' like a rock, en he bleedzd for ter be on top. de dry wedder breaks wid a big thunder-clap, for dey ain't no drout' w'at kin las', but de seasons w'at whoops up de cotton crap, likewise dey freshens up de grass. de rain fall so saf' in de long dark night, twel you hatter hol' yo' han' for a sign, but de drizzle w'at sets de tater-slips right is de makin' er de may-pop vine. in de mellerest groun' de clay root 'll ketch en hol' ter de tongue er de plow, en a pine-pole gate at de gyardin-patch never 'll keep out de ole brindle cow. one en all on us knows who's a pullin' at de bits like de lead-mule dat g'ides by de rein, en yit, somehow or nudder, de bestest un us gits mighty sick er de tuggin' at de chain. hump yo'se'f ter de load en fergit de distress, en dem w'at stan's by ter scoff, for de harder de pullin', de longer de res', en de bigger de feed in de troff. a story of the war when miss theodosia huntingdon, of burlington, vermont, concluded to come south in , she was moved by three considerations. in the first place, her brother, john huntingdon, had become a citizen of georgia--having astonished his acquaintances by marrying a young lady, the male members of whose family had achieved considerable distinction in the confederate army; in the second place, she was anxious to explore a region which she almost unconsciously pictured to herself as remote and semi- barbarous; and, in the third place, her friends had persuaded her that to some extent she was an invalid. it was in vain that she argued with herself as to the propriety of undertaking the journey alone and unprotected, and she finally put an end to inward and outward doubts by informing herself and her friends, including john huntingdon, her brother, who was practicing law in atlanta, that she had decided to visit the south. when, therefore, on the th of october, --the date is duly recorded in one of miss theodosia's letters--she alighted from the cars in atlanta, in the midst of a great crowd, she fully expected to find her brother waiting to receive her. the bells of several locomotives were ringing, a number of trains were moving in and out, and the porters and baggage-men were screaming and bawling to such an extent that for several moments miss huntingdon was considerably confused; so much so that she paused in the hope that her brother would suddenly appear and rescue her from the smoke, and dust, and din. at that moment some one touched her on the arm, and she heard a strong, half-confident, half-apologetic voice exclaim: "ain't dish yer miss doshy?" turning, miss theodosia saw at her side a tall, gray-haired negro. elaborating the incident afterward to her friends, she was pleased to say that the appearance of the old man was somewhat picturesque. he stood towering above her, his hat in one hand, a carriage-whip in the other, and an expectant smile lighting up his rugged face. she remembered a name her brother had often used in his letters, and, with a woman's tact, she held out her hand, and said: "is this uncle remus?" "law, miss doshy! how you know de ole nigger? i know'd you by de faver; but how you know me?" and then, without waiting for a reply: "miss sally, she sick in bed, en mars john, he bleedzd ter go in de country, en dey tuck'n sont me. i know'd you de minnit i laid eyes on you. time i seed you, i say ter myse'f, 'i lay dar's miss doshy,' en, sho nuff, dar you wuz. you ain't gun up yo' checks, is you? kaze i'll git de trunk sont up by de 'spress waggin." the next moment uncle remus was elbowing his way unceremoniously through the crowd, and in a very short time, seated in the carriage driven by the old man, miss huntingdon was whirling through the streets of atlanta in the direction of her brother's home. she took advantage of the opportunity to study the old negro's face closely, her natural curiosity considerably sharpened by a knowledge of the fact that uncle remus had played an important part in her brother's history. the result of her observation must have been satisfactory, for presently she laughed, and said: "uncle remus, you haven't told me how you knew me in that great crowd." the old man chuckled, and gave the horses a gentle rap with the whip. "who? me! i know'd you by de faver. dat boy er mars john's is de ve'y spit en immij un you. i'd a know'd you in new 'leens, let lone down dar in de kyar-shed." this was miss theodosia's introduction to uncle remus. one sunday afternoon, a few weeks after her arrival, the family were assembled in the piazza enjoying the mild weather. mr. huntingdon was reading a newspaper; his wife was crooning softly as she rocked the baby to sleep; and the little boy was endeavoring to show his aunt dosia the outlines of kennesaw mountain through the purple haze that hung like a wonderfully fashioned curtain in the sky and almost obliterated the horizon. while they were thus engaged, uncle remus came around the corner of the house, talking to himself. "dey er too lazy ter wuk," he was saying, "en dey specks hones' fokes fer ter stan' up en s'port um. i'm gwine down ter putmon county whar mars jeems is--dat's w'at i'm agwine ter do." "what's the matter now, uncle remus?" inquired mr. huntingdon, folding up his newspaper. "nuthin' 'tall, mars john, 'ceppin deze yer sunshine niggers. dey begs my terbacker, en borrys my tools, en steals my vittles, en hit's done come ter dat pass dat i gotter pack up en go. i'm agwine down ter putmon, dat's w'at." uncle remus was accustomed to make this threat several times a day, but upon this occasion it seemed to remind mr. huntingdon of something. "very well," he said, "i'll come around and help you pack up, but before you go i want you to tell sister here how you went to war and fought for the union.--remus was a famous warrior," he continued, turning to miss theodosia; "he volunteered for one day, and commanded an army of one. you know the story, but you have never heard remus's version." uncle remus shuffled around in an awkward, embarrassed way, scratched his head, and looked uncomfortable. "miss doshy ain't got no time fer ter set dar an' year de ole nigger run on." "oh, yes, i have, uncle remus!" exclaimed the young lady; "plenty of time." the upshot of it was that, after many ridiculous protests, uncle remus sat down on the steps, and proceeded to tell his story of the war. miss theodosia listened with great interest, but throughout it all she observed--and she was painfully conscious of the fact, as she afterward admitted--that uncle remus spoke from the standpoint of a southerner, and with the air of one who expected his hearers to thoroughly sympathize with him. "co'se," said uncle remus, addressing himself to miss theodosia, "you ain't bin to putmon, en you dunner whar de brad slaughter place en harmony grove is, but mars john en miss sally, dey bin dar a time er two, en dey knows how de lan' lays. well, den, it 'uz right long in dere whar mars jeems lived, en whar he live now. when de war come long he wuz livin' dere longer ole miss en miss sally. ole miss 'uz his ma, en miss sally dar 'uz his sister. de war come des like i tell you, en marters sorter rock along same like dey allers did. hit didn't strike me dat dey wuz enny war gwine on, en ef i hadn't sorter miss de nabers, en seed fokes gwine outer de way fer ter ax de news, i'd a 'lowed ter myse'f dat de war wuz 'way off 'mong some yuther country. but all dis time de fuss wuz gwine on, en mars jeems, he wuz des eatchin' fer ter put in. ole miss en miss sally, dey tuck on so he didn't git off de fus' year, but bimeby news come down dat times wuz gittin' putty hot, en mars jeems he got up, he did, en say he gotter go, en go he did. he got a overseer fer ter look atter de place, en he went en jined de army. en he 'uz a fighter, too, mon, mars jeems wuz. many's en many's de time," continued the old man, reflectively, "dat i hatter take'n bresh dat boy on a counter his 'buzin' en beatin' dem yuther boys. he went off dar fer ter fight, en he fit. ole miss useter call me up sunday en read w'at de papers say 'bout mars jeems, en it ho'p 'er up might'ly. i kin see 'er des like it 'uz yistiddy. "'remus,' sez she, 'dish yer's w'at de papers say 'bout my baby,' en den she'd read out twel she couldn't read fer cryin'. hit went on dis way year in en year out, en dem wuz lonesome times, sho's you bawn, miss doshy--lonesome times, sho. hit got hotter en hotter in de war, en lonesomer en mo' lonesomer at home, en bimeby 'long come de conscrip' man, en he des everlas'nly scoop up mars jeems's overseer. w'en dis come 'bout, ole miss, she sont atter me en say, sez she: "'remus, i ain't got nobody fer ter look arter de place but you,' sez she, en den i up'n say, sez i: "'mistiss, you kin des 'pen' on de ole nigger.' "i wuz ole den, miss doshy--let lone w'at i is now; en you better b'leeve i bossed dem han's. i had dem niggers up en in de fiel' long 'fo' day, en de way dey did wuk wuz a caution. ef dey didn't earn der vittles dat season den i ain't name remus. but dey wuz tuk keer un. dey had plenty er cloze en plenty er grub, en dey wuz de fattes' niggers in de settlement. "bimeby one day, ole miss, she call me up en say de yankees done gone en tuck atlanty--dish yer ve'y town; den present'y i year dey wuz a marchin' on down todes putmon, en, lo en behol's! one day, de fus news i know'd, mars jeems he rid up wid a whole gang er men. he des stop long nuff fer ter change hosses en snatch a mouffle er sump'n ter eat, but 'fo' he rid off, he call me up en say, sez he: "'daddy'--all ole miss's chilluns call me daddy--'daddy,' he say, ''pears like dere's gwineter be mighty rough times 'roun' yer. de yankees, dey er done got ter madison en mounticellar, en 'twon't be many days 'fo' dey er down yer. 'tain't likely dey'll pester mother ner sister; but, daddy, ef de wus come ter de wus, i speck you ter take keer un um,' sezee. "den i say, sez i: 'how long you bin knowin' me, mars jeems?' sez i. "'sence i wuz a baby,' sezee. "'well, den, mars jeems,' sez i, 'you know'd 'twa'nt no use fer ter ax me ter take keer ole miss en miss sally.' "den he tuck'n squoze my han' en jump on de filly i bin savin' fer 'im, en rid off. one time he tu'n roun' en look like he wanter say sump'n', but he des waf' his han'--so--en gallop on. i know'd den dat trouble wuz brewin'. nigger dat knows he's gwineter git thumped kin sorter fix hisse'f, en i tuck'n fix up like de war wuz gwineter come right in at de front gate. i tuck'n got all de cattle en hosses tergedder en driv' um ter de fo'-mile place, en i tuck all de corn en fodder en w'eat, en put um in a crib out dar in de woods; en i bilt me a pen in de swamp, en dar i put de hogs. den, w'en i fix all dis, i put on my sunday cloze en groun' my axe. two whole days i groun' dat axe. de grinestone wuz in sight er de gate en close ter de big 'ouse, en dar i tuck my stan'. "bimeby one day, yer come de yankees. two un um come fus, en den de whole face er de yeath swawm'd wid um. de fus glimpse i kotch un um, i tuck my axe en march inter ole miss settin'-room. she done had de sidebo'd move in dar, en i wish i may drap ef 'twuzn't fa'rly blazin' wid silver--silver cups en silver sassers, silver plates en silver dishes, silver mugs en silver pitchers. look like ter me dey wuz fixin' fer a weddin'. dar sot ole miss des ez prim en ez proud ez ef she own de whole county. dis kinder ho'p me up, kaze i done seed ole miss look dat away once befo' w'en de overseer struck me in de face wid a w'ip. i sot down by de fier wid my axe tween my knees. dar we sot w'iles de yankees ransack de place. miss sally, dar, she got sorter restless, but ole miss didn't skasely bat 'er eyes. bimeby, we hear steps on de peazzer, en yer come a couple er young fellers wid strops on der shoulders, en der sodes a draggin' on de flo', en der spurrers a rattlin'. i won't say i wuz skeer'd," said uncle remus, as though endeavoring to recall something he failed to remember, "i won't say i wuz skeer'd, kaze i wuzzent; but i wuz took'n wid a mighty funny feelin' in de naberhood er de gizzard. dey wuz mighty perlite, dem young chaps wuz; but ole miss, she never tu'n 'er head, en miss sally, she look straight at de fier. bimeby one un um see me, en he say, sezee: "'hello, ole man, w'at you doin' in yer?' sezee. "'well, boss,' sez i, 'i bin cuttin' some wood fer ole miss, en i des stop fer ter worn my han's a little,' sez i. "'hit is col', dat's a fack,' sezee. "wid dat i got up en tuck my stan' behime ole miss en miss sally, en de man w'at speak, he went up en worn his han's. fus thing you know, he raise up sudden, en say, sezee: "'w'at dat on yo' axe?' "'dat's de fier shinin' on it,' sez i. "'hit look like blood,' sezee, en den he laft. "but, bless yo' soul, dat man wouldn't never laft dat day ef he'd know'd de wukkins er remus's mine. but dey didn't bodder nobody ner tech nuthin', en bimeby dey put out. well, de yankees, dey kep' passin' all de mawnin' en it look like ter me dey wuz a string un um ten mile long. den dey commence gittin' thinner en thinner, en den atter w'ile we hear skummishin' in de naberhood er armer's fe'y, en ole miss 'low how dat wuz wheeler's men makin' persoot. mars jeems wuz wid dem wheeler fellers, en i know'd ef dey wuz dat close i wa'n't doin' no good settin' 'roun' de house toas'n my shins at de fier, so i des tuck mars jeems's rifle fum behime de do' en put out ter look atter my stock. "seem like i ain't never see no raw day like dat, needer befo' ner sence. dey wa'n't no rain, but de wet des sifted down; mighty raw day. de leaves on de groun' 'uz so wet dey don't make no fuss, en i got in de woods, en w'enever i year de yankees gwine by, i des stop in my tracks en let un pass. i wuz stan'in' dat away in de aidge er de woods lookin' out cross a clearin', w'en-- piff!--out come a little bunch er blue smoke fum de top er wunner dem big lonesome-lookin' pines, en den--pow! "sez i ter myse'f, sez i: 'honey, you er right on my route, en i'll des see w'at kinder bird you got roostin' in you,' en w'iles i wuz a lookin' out bus' de smoke--piff! en den--bang! wid dat i des drapt back inter de woods, en sorter skeerted 'roun' so's ter git de tree 'twixt' me en de road. i slid up putty close, en wadder you speck i see? des ez sho's you er settin' dar lissenin' dey wuz a live yankee up dar in dat tree, en he wuz a loadin' en a shootin' at de boys des ez cool es a cowcumber in de jew, en he had his hoss hitch out in de bushes, kaze i year de creetur tromplin' 'roun'. he had a spy-glass up dar, en w'iles i wuz a watchin' un 'im, he raise 'er up en look thoo 'er, en den he lay 'er down en fix his gun fer ter shoot. "i had good eyes in dem days, ef i ain't got um now, en way up de big road i see mars jeems a comm'. hit wuz too fur fer ter see his face, but i know'd 'im by de filly w'at i raise fer 'im, en she wuz a prancin' like a school-gal. i know'd dat man wuz gwineter shoot mars jeems ef he could, en dat wuz mo'n i could stan'. many's en many's de time dat i nuss dat boy, en hilt 'im in dese arms, en toted 'im on dis back, en w'en i see dat yankee lay dat gun 'cross a lim' en take aim at mars jeems i up wid my ole rifle, en shet my eyes en let de man have all she had." "do you mean to say," exclaimed miss theodosia, indignantly, "that you shot the union soldier, when you knew he was fighting for your freedom?" "co'se, i know all about dat," responded uncle remus, "en it sorter made col' chills run up my back; but w'en i see dat man take aim, en mars jeems gwine home ter ole miss en miss sally, i des disremembered all 'bout freedom en lammed aloose. en den atter dat, me en miss sally tuck en nuss de man right straight along. he los' one arm in dat tree bizness, but me en miss sally we nuss 'im en we nuss 'im twel he done got well. des 'bout dat time i quit nuss'n 'im, but miss sally she kep' on. she kep' on," continued uncle remus, pointing to mr. huntingdon, "en now dar he is." "but you cost him an arm," exclaimed miss theodosia. "i gin 'im dem," said uncle remus, pointing to mrs. huntingdon, "en i gin 'im deze"--holding up his own brawny arms. "en ef dem ain't nuff fer enny man den i done los' de way." his sayings i. jeems rober'son's last illness a jonesboro negro, while waiting for the train to go out, met up with uncle remus. after the usual "time of day" had been passed between the two, the former inquired about an acquaintance. "how's jeems rober'son?" he asked. "ain't you year 'bout jim?" asked uncle remus. "dat i ain't," responded the other; "i ain't hear talk er jem sence he cut loose fum de chain-gang. dat w'at make i ax. he ain't down wid de biliousness, is he?" "not dat i knows un," responded uncle remus, gravely. "he ain't sick, an' he ain't bin sick. he des tuck'n say he wuz gwineter ride dat ar roan mule er mars john's de udder sunday, an' de mule, she up'n do like she got nudder ingagement. i done bin fool wid dat mule befo', an' i tuck'n tole jim dat he better not git tangle up wid 'er; but jim, he up'n 'low dat he wuz a hoss- doctor, an' wid dat he ax me fer a chaw terbacker, en den he got de bridle, en tuck'n kotch de mule en got on her--well," continued uncle remus, looking uneasily around, "i speck you better go git yo' ticket. dey tells me dish yer train goes a callyhootin'." "hol' on dar, uncle remus; you ain't tell me 'bout jim," exclaimed the jonesboro negro. "i done tell you all i knows, chile. jim, he tuck'n light on de mule, an' de mule she up'n hump 'erse'f, an den dey wuz a skuffle, an' w'en de dus' blow 'way, dar lay de nigger on de groun', an' de mule she stood eatin' at de troff wid wunner jim's gallusses wrop 'roun' her behime-leg. den atterwuds, de ker'ner, he come 'roun', an' he tuck'n gin it out dat jim died sorter accidental like. hit's des like i tell you: de nigger wern't sick a minnit. so long! bimeby you won't ketch yo' train. i got ter be knockin' long." ii. uncle remus's church experience the deacon of a colored church met uncle remus recently, and, after some uninteresting remarks about the weather, asked: "how dis you don't come down ter chu'ch no mo', brer remus? we er bin er havin' some mighty 'freshen' times lately." "hit's bin a long time sence i bin down dar, brer rastus, an' hit'll be longer. i done got my dose." "you ain't done gone an' unjined, is you, brer remus?" "not zackly, brer rastus. i des tuck'n draw'd out. de members 'uz a blame sight too mutuel fer ter suit my doctrines." "how wuz dat, brer remus?" "well, i tell you, brer rastus. w'en i went ter dat chu'ch, i went des ez umbill ez de nex' one. i went dar fer ter sing, an' fer ter pray, an' fer ter wushup, an' i mos' giner'lly allers had a stray shin-plarster w'ich de ole 'oman say she want sont out dar ter dem cullud fokes 'cross de water. hit went on dis way twel bimeby, one day, de fus news i know'd der was a row got up in de amen cornder. brer dick, he 'nounced dat dey wern't nuff money in de box; an' brer sim said if dey wern't he speck brer dick know'd whar it disappeared ter; an' den brer dick 'low'd dat he won't stan' no 'probusness, an' wid dat he haul off an' tuck brer sim under de jaw--ker blap!--an' den dey clinched an' drapped on de flo' an' fout under de benches an' 'mong de wimmen. "'bout dat time sis tempy, she lipt up in de a'r, an' sing out dat she done gone an tromple on de ole boy, an' she kep' on lippin' up an' slingin' out 'er han's twel bimeby--blip!--she tuck sis becky in de mouf, an' den sis becky riz an' fetch a grab at sis tempy, an' i 'clar' ter grashus ef didn't 'pear ter me like she got a poun' er wool. atter dat de revivin' sorter het up like. bofe un um had kin 'mong de mo'ners, an' ef you ever see skufflin' an' scramblin' hit wuz den an' dar. brer jeems henry, he mounted brer plato an' rid 'im over de railin', an' den de preacher he start down fum de pulpit, an' des ez he wuz skippin' onter de platform a hym'-book kotch 'im in de bur er de year, an i be bless ef it didn't soun' like a bung-shell'd busted. des den, brer jesse, he riz up in his seat, sorter keerless like, an' went down inter his britches atter his razer, an' right den i know'd sho' nuff trubble wuz begun. sis dilsey, she seed it herse'f, an' she tuck'n let off wunner dem hallyluyah hollers, an' den i disremember w'at come ter pass. "i'm gittin' sorter ole, brer rastus, an' it seem like de dus' sorter shet out de pannyrammer. fuddermo', my lim's got ter akin, mo' speshully w'en i year brer sim an' brer dick a snortin' and a skufflin' under de benches like ez dey wuz sorter makin' der way ter my pew. so i kinder hump myse'f an' scramble out, and de fus man w'at i seed was a pleeceman, an' he had a nigger 'rested, an' de fergiven name er dat nigger wuz remus." "he didn't 'res' you, did he, brer remus?" "hit's des like i tell you, brer rastus, an' i hatter git mars john fer to go inter my bon's fer me. hit ain't no use fer ter sing out chu'ch ter me, brer rastus. i done bin an' got my dose. w'en i goes ter war, i wanter know w'at i'm a doin'. i don't wanter git hemmed up 'mong no wimmen and preachers. i wants elbow-room, an i'm bleedzd ter have it. des gimme elbow-room." "but, brer remus, you ain't--" "i mout drap in, brer rastus, an' den ag'in i moutn't, but w'en you duz see me santer in de do', wid my specs on, you k'n des say to de congergashun, sorter familious like, 'yer come ole man remus wid his hoss-pistol, an' ef dar's much uv a skuffle 'roun' yer dis evenin' you er gwineter year fum 'im.' dat's me, an' dat's what you kin tell um. so long! member me to sis abby." iii. uncle remus and the savannah darkey the notable difference existing between the negroes in the interior of the cotton states and those on the seaboard--a difference that extends to habits and opinions as well as to dialect--has given rise to certain ineradicable prejudices which are quick to display themselves whenever an opportunity offers. these prejudices were forcibly, as well as ludicrously, illustrated in atlanta recently. a gentleman from savannah had been spending the summer in the mountains of north georgia, and found it convenient to take along a body-servant. this body- servant was a very fine specimen of the average coast negro-- sleek, well-conditioned, and consequential--disposed to regard with undisguised contempt everything and everybody not indigenous to the rice-growing region--and he paraded around the streets with quite a curious and critical air. espying uncle remus languidly sunning himself on a corner, the savannah darkey approached. "mornin', sah." "i'm sorter up an' about," responded uncle remus, carelessly and calmly. "how is you stannin' it?" "tanky you, my helt' mos' so-so. he mo' hot dun in de mountain. seem so lak man mus' git need* de shade. i enty fer see no rice-bud in dis pa'ts." "in dis w'ich?" inquired uncle with a sudden affectation of interest. "in dis pa'ts. in dis country. da plenty in sawanny." "plenty whar?" "da plenty in sawanny. i enty fer see no crab an' no oscher; en swimp, he no stay 'roun'. i lak some rice-bud now." "you er talkin' 'bout deze yer sparrers, w'ich dey er all head, en 'lev'm un makes one mouffle,* i speck," suggested uncle remus. "well, dey er yer," he continued, "but dis ain't no climate whar de rice-birds flies inter yo' pockets en gits out de money an' makes de change derse'f; an' de isters don't shuck off der shells en run over you on de street, an' no mo' duz de s'imp hull derse'f an' drap in yo' mouf. but dey er yer, dough. de scads 'll fetch um." "him po' country fer true," commented the savannah negro; "he no like sawanny. down da, we set need de shade an' eaty de rice-bud, an' de crab, an' de swimp tree time de day; an' de buckra man drinky him wine, an' smoky him seegyar all troo de night. plenty fer eat an' not much fer wuk." "hit's mighty nice, i speck," responded uncle remus, gravely. "de nigger dat ain't hope up 'longer high feedin' ain't got no grip. but up yer whar fokes is gotter scramble 'roun' an' make der own livin', de vittles w'at's kumerlated widout enny sweatin' mos' allers gener'ly b'longs ter some yuther man by rights. one hoe- cake an' a rasher er middlin' meat las's me fum sunday ter sunday, an' i'm in a mighty big streak er luck w'en i gits dat." the savannah negro here gave utterance to a loud, contemptuous laugh, and began to fumble somewhat ostentatiously with a big brass watch-chain. "but i speck i struck up wid a payin' job las' chuseday," continued uncle remus, in a hopeful tone. "wey you gwan do?" "oh, i'm a waitin' on a culled gemmun fum savannah--wunner deze yer high livers you bin tellin' 'bout." "how dat?" "i loant 'im two dollars," responded uncle remus, grimly, "an' i'm a waitin' on 'im fer de money. hit's wunner deze yer jobs w'at las's a long time." the savannah negro went off after his rice-birds, while uncle remus leaned up against the wall and laughed until he was in imminent danger of falling down from sheer exhaustion. * underneath. * mouthful. turnip salad as a text as uncle remus was going down the street recently he was accosted by several acquaintances. "heyo!" said one, "here comes uncle remus. he look like he gwine fer ter set up a bo'din-house." several others bantered the old man, but he appeared to be in a good humor. he was carrying a huge basket of vegetables. "how many er you boys," said he, as he put his basket down, "is done a han's turn dis day? en yit de week's done commence. i year talk er niggers dat's got money in de bank, but i lay hit ain't none er you fellers. whar you speck you gwineter git yo' dinner, en how you speck you gwineter git 'long?" "oh, we sorter knocks 'roun' an' picks up a livin'," responded one. "dat's w'at make i say w'at i duz," said uncle remus. "fokes go 'bout in de day-time an' makes a livin', an' you come 'long w'en dey er res'in' der bones an' picks it up. i ain't no han' at figgers, but i lay i k'n count up right yer in de san' en number up how menny days hit'll be 'fo' you 'er cuppled on ter de chain- gang." "de ole man's holler'n now sho'," said one of the listeners, gazing with admiration on the venerable old darkey. "i ain't takin' no chances 'bout vittles. hit's proned inter me fum de fus dat i got ter eat, en i knows dat i got fer ter grub for w'at i gits. hit's agin de mor'l law fer niggers fer ter eat w'en dey don't wuk, an' w'en you see um 'pariently fattenin' on a'r, you k'n des bet dat ruinashun's gwine on some'rs. i got mustard, en poke salid, en lam's quarter in dat baskit, en me en my ole 'oman gwineter sample it. ef enny you boys git a invite you come, but ef you don't you better stay 'way. i gotter muskit out dar w'at's used ter persidin' 'roun' whar dey's a cripple nigger. don't you fergit dat off'n yo' mine." v. a confession "w'at's dis yer i see, great big niggers gwine 'lopin' 'roun' town wid cakes 'n pies fer ter sell?" asked uncle remus recently, in his most scornful tone. "that's what they are doing," responded a young man; "that's the way they make a living." "dat w'at make i say w'at i duz--dat w'at keep me grum'lin' w'en i goes in cullud fokes s'ciety. some niggers ain't gwine ter wuk nohow, an' hit's flingin' way time fer ter set enny chain-gang traps fer ter ketch um." "well, now, here!" exclaimed the young man, in a dramatic tone, "what are you giving us now? isn't it just as honest and just as regular to sell pies as it is to do any other kind of work?" "'tain't dat, boss:' said the old man, seeing that he was about to be cornered; 'tain't dat. hit's de nas'ness un it w'at gits me." "oh, get out!" "dat's me, boss, up an' down. ef dere's ruinashun ennywhar in de known wurril, she goes in de comp'ny uv a hongry nigger w'at's a totin' pies 'roun.' sometimes w'en i git kotch wid emptiness in de pit er de stummuck, an' git ter fairly honin' arter sumpin' w'at got substance in it, den hit look like unto me dat i kin stan' flat-footed an' make more cle'r money eatin' pies dan i could if i wuz ter sell de las' one 'twixt dis an' chris'mus. an' de nigger w'at k'n trapes 'round wid pies and not git in no alley-way an' sample um, den i'm bleedzd ter say dat nigger out- niggers me an' my fambly. so dar now!" vi. uncle remus with the toothache when uncle remus put in an appearance one morning recently, his friends knew he had been in trouble. he had a red cotton handkerchief tied under his chin, and the genial humor that usually makes his aged face its dwelling-place had given way to an expression of grim melancholy. the young men about the office were inclined to chaff him, but his look of sullen resignation remained unchanged. "what revival did you attend last night?" inquired one. "what was the color of the mule that did the hammering?" asked another. "i always told the old man that a suburban chicken coop would fall on him," remarked some one. "a strange pig has been squealing in his ear," suggested some one else. but uncle remus remained impassive. he seemed to have lost all interest in what was going on around him, and he sighed heavily as he seated himself on the edge of the trash-box in front of the office. finally some one asked, in a sympathetic tone: "what is the matter, old man? you look like you'd been through the mill." "now you 'er knockin'. i ain't bin thoo de mill sence day 'fo' yistiddy, den dey ain't no mills in de lan'. ef wunner deze yer scurshun trains had runned over me i couldn't er bin wuss off. i bin trompin' 'roun' in de lowgroun's now gwine on seventy-fi' year, but i ain't see no sich times ez dat w'at i done spe'unst now. boss, is enny er you all ever rastled wid de toofache?" "oh, hundreds of times! the toothache isn't anything." "den you des played 'roun' de aidges. you ain't had de kine w'at kotch me on de underjaw. you mout a had a gum-bile, but you ain't bin boddered wid de toofache. i wuz settin' up talkin' wid my ole 'oman, kinder puzzlin' 'roun' fer ter see whar de nex' meal's vittles wuz a gwineter cum fum, an' i feel a little ache sorter crawlin' 'long on my jaw-bone, kinder feelin' his way. but de ache don't stay long. he sorter hankered 'roun' like, en den crope back whar he come fum. bimeby i feel 'im comin' agin, an' dis time hit look like he come up closer--kinder skummishin' 'roun' fer ter see how de lan' lay. den he went off. present'y i feel 'im comin', an' dis time hit look like he kyar'd de news unto mary, fer hit feel like der wuz anudder wun wid 'im. dey crep' up an' crep' 'roun', an, den dey crope off. bimeby dey come back, an' dis time dey come like dey wuzzent 'fear'd er de s'roundin's, fer dey trot right up unto de toof, sorter 'zamine it like, an' den trot all roun' it, like deze yer circuous hosses. i sot dar mighty ca'm, but i 'spected dat sump'n' wuz gwine ter happ'n." "and it happened, did it?" asked some one in the group surrounding the old man. "boss, don't you fergit it," responded uncle remus, fervidly. "w'en dem aches gallop back dey galloped fer ter stay, an' dey wuz so mixed up dat i couldn't tell one fum de udder. all night long dey racked an' dey galloped, an' w'en dey got tired er rackin' an' gallopin', dey all close in on de ole toof an' thumped it an' gouged at it twel it 'peared unto me dat dey had got de jaw-bone loosened up, an' wuz tryin' fer ter fetch it up thoo de top er my head an' out at der back er my neck. an' dey got wuss nex' day. mars john, he seed i wuz 'stracted, an' he tole me fer ter go roun' yere an' git sump'n' put on it, an' de drug man he 'lowed dat i better have 'er draw'd, an' his wuds wuzzent more'n col' 'fo' wunner deze yer watchyoumaycollums-- wunner deze dentis' mens--had retched fer it wid a pa'r er tongs w'at don't tu'n loose w'en dey ketches a holt. leas'ways dey didn't wid me. you oughter seed dat toof, boss. hit wuz wunner deze yer fo'-prong fellers. ef she'd a grow'd wrong eend out'ard, i'd a bin a bad nigger long arter i jin'd de chu'ch. you year'd my ho'n!" vii. the phonograph "unc remus," asked a tall, awkward-looking negro, who was one of a crowd surrounding the old man, "w'at's dish 'ere w'at dey calls de fonygraf--dish yer inst'ument w'at kin holler 'roun' like little chillun in de back yard?" "i ain't seed um," said uncle remus, feeling in his pocket for a fresh chew of tobacco. "i ain't seed um, but i year talk un um. miss sally wuz a readin' in de papers las' chuseday, an' she say dat's it's a mighty big watchyoumaycollum." "a mighty big w'ich?" asked one of the crowd. "a mighty big w'atsizname," answered uncle remus, cautiously. "i wuzzent up dar close to whar miss sarah wuz a readin', but i kinder geddered in dat it wuz one er deze 'ere w'atzisnames w'at you hollers inter one year an it comes out er de udder. hit's mighty funny unter me how dese fokes kin go an' prognosticate der eckoes inter one er deze yer i'on boxes, an' dar hit'll stay on twel de man comes long an' tu'ns de handle an' let's de fuss come pilin' out. bimeby dey'll git ter makin' sho' nuff fokes, an' den dere'll be a racket 'roun' here. dey tells me dat it goes off like one er deze yer torpedoes." "you year dat, don't you?" said one or two of the younger negroes. "dat's w'at dey tells me," continued uncle remus. "dat's w'at dey sez. hit's one er deze yer kinder w'atzisnames w'at sasses back w'en you hollers at it." "w'at dey fix um fer, den?" asked one of the practical negroes. "dat's w'at i wanter know," said uncle remus, contemplatively. "but dat's w'at miss sally wuz a readin' in de paper. all you gotter do is ter holler at de box, an' dar's yo' remarks. dey goes in, an' dar dey er tooken and dar dey hangs on twel you shakes de box, an' den dey draps out des ez fresh ez deze yer fishes w'at you git fum savannah, an' you ain't got time fer ter look at dere gills, nudder." viii. race improvement "dere's a kind er limberness 'bout niggers dese days dat's mighty cu'us," remarked uncle remus yesterday, as he deposited a pitcher of fresh water upon the exchange table. "i notisses it in de alley-ways an on de street-cornders. dey er rackin' up, mon, deze yer cullud fokes is." "what are you trying to give us now?" inquired one of the young men, in a bilious tone. "the old man's mind is wandering," said the society editor, smoothing the wrinkles out of his lavender kids. uncle remus laughed. i speck i is a gittin' mo frailer dan i wuz 'fo' de fahmin days wuz over, but i sees wid my eyes an' i years wid my year, same ez enny er dese yer young bucks w'at goes a gallopin' roun' huntin' up devilment, an' w'en i sees de limberness er dese yer cullud people, an' w'en i sees how dey er dancin' up, den i gits sorter hopeful. dey er kinder ketchin' up wid me." "how is that?" "oh, dey er movin'," responded uncle remus. "dey er sorter comin' 'roun'. dey er gittin' so dey bleeve dat dey ain't no better dan de w'ite fokes. w'en freedom come out de niggers sorter got dere humps up, an' dey staid dat way, twel bimeby dey begun fer ter git hongry, an' den dey begun fer ter drap inter line right smartually; an' now," continued the old man, emphatically, "dey er des ez palaverous ez dey wuz befo' de war. dey er gittin' on solid groun', mon." "you think they are improving, then?" "you er chawin' guv'nment now, boss. you slap de law onter a nigger a time er two, an' larn 'im dat he's got fer to look after his own rashuns an' keep out'n udder fokes's chick'n-coops, an' sorter coax 'im inter de idee dat he's got ter feed 'is own chilluns, an' i be blessed ef you ain't got 'im on risin' groun'. an', mo'n dat, w'en he gits holt er de fack dat a nigger k'n have yaller fever same ez w'ite folks, you done got 'im on de mo'ners' bench, an' den ef you come down strong on de p'int dat he oughter stan' fas' by de fokes w'at hope him w'en he wuz in trouble de job's done. w'en you does dat, ef you ain't got yo' han's on a new-made nigger, den my name ain't remus, an' ef dat name's bin changed i ain't seen her abbertized." ix. in the role of a tartar a charleston negro who was in atlanta on the fourth of july made a mistake. he saw uncle remus edging his way through the crowd, and thought he knew him. "howdy, daddy ben?" the stranger exclaimed. "i tink i nubber see you no mo'. wey you gwan? he hot fer true, ain't he?" "daddy who?" asked uncle remus, straightening himself up with dignity. "w'ich?" "i know you in char'son, an' den in sewanny. i spec i dun grow away from 'membrance." "you knowed me in charlstun, and den in savanny?" "he been long time, ain't he, daddy ben?" "dat's w'at's a pesterin' un me. how much you reckon you know'd me?" "he good while pas'; when i wer' pickaninny. he long time ago. wey you gwan, daddy ben?" "w'at does you season your recollection wid fer ter make it hol' on so?" inquired the old man. "i dunno. he stick hese'f. i see you comin' 'long 'n i say 'dey daddy ben.' i tink i see you no mo', an' i shaky you by de han'. wey you gwan? dey no place yer wey we git wine?" uncle remus stared at the strange darkey curiously for a moment, and then he seized him by the arm. "come yer, son, whar dey ain't no folks an' lemme drap some jawjy 'intment in dem years er yone. you er mighty fur ways fum home, an' you wanter be a lookin' out fer yo'se'f. fus and fo'mus, you er thumpin' de wrong watermillion. you er w'isslin' up de wrong chube. i ain't tromped roun' de country much. i ain't bin to charlstun an' needer is i tuck in savanny; but you couldn't rig up no game on me dat i wouldn't tumble on to it de minit i laid my eyeballs on you. w'en hit come to dat i'm ole man tumbler, fum tumblersville--i is dat. hit takes one er deze yer full-blooded w'ite men fur ter trap my jedgment. but w'en a nigger comes a jabberin' 'roun' like he got a mouf full er rice straw, he ain't got no mo' chance long side er me dan a sick sparrer wid a squinch-owl. you gutter travel wid a circus 'fo' you gits away wid me. you better go long an' git yo' kyarpet-sack and skip de town. you er de freshest nigger w'at i seen yit." the charleston negro passed on just as a police-man' came up. "boss, you see dat smart ellick?" "yes, what's the matter with him?" "he's one er deze yer scurshun niggers from charlstun. i seed you a-stannin' over agin de cornder yander, an' ef dat nigger'd a draw'd his monty kyards on me, i wuz a gwineter holler fer you. would you er come, boss?" "why, certainly, uncle remus." "dat's w'at i 'low'd. little more'n he'd a bin aboard er de wrong waggin. dat's w'at he'd a bin." x. a case of measles "you've been looking like you were rather under the weather for the past week or two, uncle remus," said a gentleman to the old man. "you'd be sorter puny, too, boss, if you'd er bin whar i bin." "where have you been?" "pear ter me like eve'ybody done year 'bout dat. dey ain't no ole nigger my age an' size dat's had no rattliner time dan i is." "a kind of picnic?" "go long, boss! w'at you speck i be doin' sailin' 'roun' ter dese yer cullud picnics? much mo' an' i wouldn't make bread by wukkin' fer't, let 'lone follerin' up a passel er boys an' gals all over keration. boss, ain't you year 'bout it, sho' 'nuff?" "i haven't, really. what was the matter?" "i got strucken wid a sickness, an' she hit de ole nigger a joe- darter 'fo' she tu'n 'im loose." "what kind of sickness?" "hit look sorter cu'ous, boss, but ole an' steddy ez i is, i tuck'n kotch de meezles." "oh, get out! you are trying to get up a sensation." "hit's a natal fack, boss, i declar' ter grashus ef 'tain't. dey sorter come on wid a col', like--leas'ways dat's how i commence fer ter suffer, an' den er koff got straddle er de col'--one dese yer koffs w'at look like hit goes ter de foundash'n. i kep' on linger'n' 'roun' sorter keepin' one eye on the rheumatiz an' de udder on de distemper, twel, bimeby, i begin fer ter feel de trestle-wuk give way, an' den i des know'd dat i wuz gwineter gitter racket. i slipt inter bed one chuseday night, an' i never slip out no mo' fer mighty nigh er mont'. "nex' mornin' de meezles 'd done kivered me, an' den ef i didn't git dosted by de ole 'oman i'm a chinee. she gimme back rashuns er sassafac tea. i des natchully hankered an' got hongry atter water, an ev'y time i sing out fer water i got b'ilin' hot sassafac tea. hit got so dat w'en i wake up in de mornin' de ole 'oman 'd des come long wid a kittle er tea an' fill me up. dey tells me 'roun' town dat chilluns don't git hurted wid de meezles, w'ich ef dey don't i wanter be a baby de nex' time dey hits dis place. all dis yer meezles bizness is bran'-new ter me. in ole times, 'fo' de wah, i ain't heer tell er no seventy-fi'- year-ole nigger grapplin' wid no meezles. dey ain't ketchin' no mo', is dey, boss?" "oh, no--i suppose not." "'kase ef dey is, you k'n des put my name down wid de migrashun niggers." xi. the emigrants when uncle remus went down to the passenger depot one morning recently, the first sight that caught his eye was an old negro man, a woman, and two children sitting in the shade near the door of the baggage-room. one of the children was very young, and the quartet was altogether ragged and forlorn-looking. the sympathies of uncle remus were immediately aroused. he approached the group by forced marches, and finally unburdened his curiosity. "whar is you m'anderin' unter, pard?" the old negro, who seemed to be rather suspicious, looked at uncle remus coolly, and appeared to be considering whether he should make any reply. finally, however, he stretched himself and said: "we er gwine down in de naberhoods er tallypoosy, an we ain't makin' no fuss 'bout it, nudder." "i disremember," said uncle remus, thoughtfully, "whar tallypoosy is." "oh, hit's out yan," replied the old man, motioning his head as if it was just beyond the iron gates of the depot. "hit's down in alabam. when we git dar, maybe well go on twel we gits ter massasip." "is you got enny folks out dar?" inquired uncle remus. "none dat i knows un." "an' you er takin' dis 'oman an' deze chillun out dar whar dey dunno nobody? whar's yo' perwisions?" eying a chest with a rope around it. "dem's our bedcloze," the old negro explained, noticing the glance of uncle remus. "all de vittles what we got we e't 'fo' we started." "an' you speck ter retch dar safe an soun'? whar's yo' ticket?" "ain't got none. de man say ez how dey'd pass us thoo. i gin a man a fi'-dollar bill 'fo' i lef' jonesboro, an' he sed dat settled it." "lemme tell you dis," said uncle remus, straightening up indignantly: "you go an' rob somebody an' git on de chain-gang, an' let de 'oman scratch 'roun' yer an' make 'er livin'; but don't you git on dem kyars--don't you do it. yo' bes' holt is de chain-gang. you kin make yo' livin' dar w'en you can't make it no whars else. but don't you git on dem kyars. ef you do, you er gone nigger. ef you ain't got no money fer ter walk back wid, you better des b'il' yo' nes' right here. i'm a-talkin' wid de bark on. i done seed deze yer arkinsaw emmygrants come lopin' back, an' some un 'em didn't have rags nuff on 'em fer ter hide dere nakidness. you leave dat box right whar she is, an, let de 'oman take wun young un an you take de udder wun, an' den you git in de middle er de big road an' pull out fer de place whar you come fum. i'm preachin' now." those who watched say the quartet didn't take the cars. xii. as a murderer uncle remus met a police officer recently. "you ain't hear talk er no dead nigger nowhar dis mawnin', is you, boss?" asked the old man earnestly. "no," replied the policeman, reflectively. "no, i believe not. have you heard of any?" "'pears unter me dat i come mighty nigh gittin' some news bout dat size, an' dat's w'at i'm a huntin' fer. bekaze ef dey er foun' a stray nigger layin' 'roun' loose, wid 'is bref gone, den i wanter go home an' git my brekfus' an' put on some clean cloze, an' 'liver myse'f up ter wunner deze yer jestesses er de peace, an git a fa'r trial." "why, have you killed anybody?" "dat's w'at's i'm a 'quirin' inter now, but i wouldn't be sustonished ef i ain't laid a nigger out some'rs on de subbubs. hit's done got so it's agin de law fer ter bus' loose an' kill a nigger, ain't it, boss?" "well, i should say so. you don't mean to tell me that you have killed a colored man, do you?" "i speck i is, boss. i speck i done gone an' done it dis time, sho.' hit's bin sorter growin' on me, an' it come ter a head dis mawnin', 'less my name ain't remus, an' dat's w'at dey bin er callin' me sence i wuz ole er 'nuff fer ter scratch myse'f wid my lef' han'." "well, if you've killed a man, you'll have some fun, sure enough. how was it?" "hit wuz dis way, boss: i wuz layin' in my bed dis mawnin' sorter ruminatin' 'roun', when de fus news i know'd i year a fus' 'mong de chickens, an' den my brissels riz. i done had lots er trubble wid dem chickens, an' w'en i years wun un um squall my ve'y shoes comes ontied. so i des sorter riz up an' retch fer my ole muskit, and den i crope out er de back do', an' w'atter you reckin i seed?" "i couldn't say." "i seed de biggest, blackest nigger dat you ever laid eyes on. he shined like de paint on 'im was fresh. he hed done grabbed fo' er my forwardes' pullets. i crope up nigh de do', an' hollered an' axed 'im how he wuz a gittin' on, an' den he broke, an' ez he broke i jammed de gun in de small er his back and banged aloose. he let a yell like forty yaller cats a courtin', an' den he broke. you ain't seed no nigger hump hisse'f like dat nigger. he tore down de well shelter and fo' pannils er fence, an' de groun' look like wunner deze yer harrycanes had lit dar and fanned up de yeath." "why, i thought you killed him?" "he bleedzed ter be dead, boss. ain't i put de gun right on 'im? seem like i feel 'im give way w'en she went off." "was the gun loaded?" "dat's w'at my ole 'oman say. she had de powder in dar, sho', but i disremember wedder i put de buckshot in, er wedder i lef' um out. leas'ways, i'm gwineter call on wunner deze yer jestesses. so long, boss." xiii. his practical view of things "brer remus, is you heern tell er deze doin's out yer in de udder eend er town?" asked a colored deacon of the church the other day. "w'at doin's is dat, brer ab?" "deze yer signs an' wunders whar dat cullud lady died day 'fo' yistiddy. mighty quare goin's on out dar, brer remus, sho's you bawn." "sperrits?" inquired uncle remus, sententiously. "wuss'n dat, brer remus. some say dat jedgment day ain't fur off, an' de folks is flockin' 'roun' de house a hollerin' an' a- shoutin' des like dey wuz in er revival. in de winder glass dar you kin see de flags a flyin', an' jacob's lather is dar, an' dar's writin' on de pane w'at no man can't read--leas'wise dey ain't none read it yit." "w'at kinder racket is dis you er givin' un me now, brer ab?" "i done bin dar, brer remus; i done seed um wid bofe my eyes. cullud lady what wuz intranced done woke up an' say dey ain't much time fer ter tarry. she say she meet er angel in de road, an' he p'inted straight fer de mornin' star, an' tell her fer ter prepar'. hit look mighty cu'us, brer remus." "cum down ter dat, brer ab," said uncle remus, wiping his spectacles carefully, and readjusting them--"cum down ter dat, an' dey ain't nuthin' dat ain't cu'us. i ain't no spishus nigger myse'f, but i 'spizes fer ter year dogs a howlin' an' squinch- owls havin' de agur out in de woods, an' w'en a bull goes a bellerin' by de house den my bones git col' an' my flesh commences fer ter creep; but w'en it comes ter deze yer sines in de a'r an' deze yer sperrits in de woods, den i'm out--den i'm done. i is, fer a fack. i bin livin' yer more'n seventy year, an' i year talk er niggers seein' ghos'es all times er night an' all times er day, but i ain't never seed none yit; an' deze yer flags an' jacob's lathers, i ain't seed dem, nudder." "dey er dar, brer remus." "hit's des like i tell you, brer ab. i ain't 'sputin' 'bout it, but i ain't seed um, an' i don't take no chances deze days on dat w'at i don't see, an' dat w'at i sees i got ter 'zamine mighty close. lemme tell you dis, brer ab: don't you let deze sines onsettle you. w'en old man gabrile toot his ho'n, he ain't gwineter hang no sine out in de winder-panes, an when ole fadder jacob lets down dat lather er his'n you'll be mighty ap' fer ter hear de racket. an' don't you bodder wid jedgment-day. jedgment- day is lierbul fer ter take keer un itse'f." "dat's so, brer remus." "hit's bleedzed ter be so, brer ab. hit don't bodder me. hit's done got so now dat w'en i gotter pone er bread, an' a rasher er bacon, an' nuff grease fer ter make gravy, i ain't keerin' much w'edder fokes sees ghos'es er no." xiv. that deceitful jug uncle remus was in good humor one evening recently when he dropped casually into the editorial room of "the constitution," as has been his custom for the past year or two. he had a bag slung across his shoulder, and in the bag was a jug. the presence of this humble but useful vessel in uncle remus's bag was made the occasion for several suggestive jokes at his expense by the members of the staff, but the old man's good humor was proof against all insinuations. "dat ar jug's bin ter wah, mon. hit's wunner deze yer ole timers. i got dat jug down dar in putmon county w'en mars 'lisha ferryman wuz a young man, an' now he's done growed up, an' got ole an' died, an' his chilluns is growed up an' dey kin count dere gran'chilluns, an' yit dar's dat jug des ez lively an' ez lierbul fer ter kick up devilment ez w'at she wuz w'en she come fum de foundry." "that's the trouble," said one of the young men. "that's the reason we'd like to know what's in it now. "now you er gittin' on ma'shy groun'," replied uncle remus. "dat's de p'int. dat's w'at make me say w'at i duz. i bin knowin' dat jug now gwine on sixty-fi' year, an' de jug w'at's more seetful dan dat jug ain't on de topside er de worrul. dar she sets," continued the old man, gazing at it reflectively, "dar she sets dez ez natchul ez er ambertype, an' yit whar's de man w'at kin tell w'at kinder confab she's a gwineter carry on w'en dat corn-cob is snatched outen 'er mouf? dat jug is mighty seetful, mon." "well, it don't deceive any of us up here," remarked the agricultural editor, dryly. "we've seen jugs before." "i boun' you is, boss; i boun' you is. but you ain't seed no seetful jug like dat. dar she sets a bellyin' out an' lookin' mighty fat an' full, an' yit she'd set dar a bellyin' out ef dere wuzzent nuthin' but win' under dat stopper. you knows dat she ain't got no aigs in her, ner no bacon, ner no grits, ner no termartusses, ner no shellotes, an' dat's 'bout all you duz know. dog my cats ef de seetfulness er dat jug don't git away wid me," continued uncle remus, with a chuckle. "i wuz comm' 'cross de bridge des now, an' brer john henry seed me wid de bag slung onter my back, an' de jug in it, an' he ups an' sez, sezee: "'heyo, brer remus, ain't it gittin' late for watermillions?' "hit wuz de seetfulness er dat jug. if brer john henry know'd de color er dat watermillion, i speck he'd snatch me up 'fo' de confunce. i 'clar' ter grashus ef dat jug ain't a caution!" "i suppose it's full of molasses now," remarked one of the young men, sarcastically. "hear dat!" exclaimed uncle remus, triumphantly "hear dat! w'at i tell you? i sed dat jug wuz seetful, an' i sticks to it. i bin knowin' dat--" "what has it got in it?" broke in some one; "molasses, kerosene, or train-oil?" "well, i lay she's loaded, boss. i ain't shuk her up sence i drapt in, but i lay she's loaded." "yes," said the agricultural editor, "and it's the meanest bug- juice in town--regular sorghum skimmings." "dat's needer yer ner dar," responded uncle remus. "po' fokes better be fixin' up for chris'mus now w'ile rashuns is cheap. dat's me. w'en i year miss sally gwine 'bout de house w'isslin' 'w'en i k'n read my titles cle'r--an' w'en i see de martins swawmin' atter sundown--an' w'en i year de peckerwoods confabbin' togedder dese moonshiny nights in my een er town--en i knows de hot wedder's a breakin' up, an' i know it's 'bout time fer po' fokes fer ter be rastlin' 'roun' and huntin' up dere rashuns. dat's me, up an down." "well, we are satisfied. better go and hire a hall," remarked the sporting editor, with a yawn. "if you are engaged in a talking match you have won the money. blanket him somebody, and take him to the stable." "an' w'at's mo'," continued the old man, scorning to notice the insinuation, "dough i year miss sally w'isslin', an' de peckerwoods a chatterin', i ain't seein' none er deze yer loafin' niggers fixin' up fer ter 'migrate. dey kin holler kansas all 'roun' de naberhood, but ceppin' a man come 'long an' spell it wid greenbacks, he don't ketch none er deze yer town niggers. you year me, dey ain't gwine." "stand him up on the table," said the sporting editor; "give him room." "better go down yer ter de calaboose, an' git some news fer ter print," said uncle remus, with a touch of irony in his tone. "some new nigger mighter broke inter jail." "you say the darkeys are not going to emigrate this year?" inquired the agricultural editor, who is interested in these things. "shoo! dat dey ain't! i done seed an' i knows." "well, how do you know?" "how you tell w'en crow gwineter light? niggers bin prom'nadin' by my house all dis summer, holdin' dere heads high up an' de w'ites er dere eyeballs shinin' in de sun. dey wuz too bigitty fer ter look over de gyardin' palm's. 'long 'bout den de wedder wuz fetchin' de nat'al sperrits er turkentime outen de pine-trees an' de groun' wuz fa'rly smokin' wid de hotness. now that it's gittin' sorter airish in de mornin's, dey don't 'pear like de same niggers. dey done got so dey'll look over in de yard, an' nex' news you know dey'll be tryin' fer ter scrape up 'quaintence wid de dog. w'en dey passes now dey looks at de chicken-coop an' at der tater-patch. w'en you see niggers gittin' dat familious, you kin 'pen' on dere campin' wid you de ballunce er de season. day 'fo' yistiddy i kotch one un um lookin' over de fence at my shoats, an' i sez, sez i: "'duz you wanter purchis dem hogs?' "'oh, no,' sezee, 'i wuz des lookin' at dere p'ints.' "'well, dey ain't p'intin' yo' way, sez i, 'an', fuddermo', ef you don't bodder longer dem hogs dey ain't gwineter clime outer dat pen an' 'tack you, nudder,'" sez i. "an' i boun'," continued uncle remus, driving the corn-cob stopper a little tighter in his deceitful jug and gathering up his bag--"an' i boun' dat my ole muskit 'll go off 'tween me an' dat same nigger yit, an' he'll be at de bad een', an' dis seetful jug'll 'fuse ter go ter de funer'l." xv. the florida watermelon "look yer, boy," said uncle remus yesterday, stopping near the railroad crossing on whitehall street, and gazing ferociously at a small colored youth; "look yer, boy, ill lay you out flat ef you come flingin' yo' watermillion rimes under my foot--you watch ef i don't. you k'n play yo' pranks on deze yer w'ite fokes, but w'en you come a cuttin' up yo' capers roun me you 'll lan' right in de middle uv er spell er sickness--now you mine w'at i tell you. an' i ain't gwine fer ter put up wid none er yo' sassness nudder--let 'lone flingin' watermillion rimes whar i kin git mixt up wid um. i done had nuff watermillions yistiddy an' de day befo'." "how was that, uncle remus?" asked a gentleman standing near. "hit wuz sorter like dis, boss. las' chuseday, mars john he fotch home two er deze yer flurridy watermillions, an him an' miss sally sot down fer ter eat um. mars john an' miss sally ain't got nuthin' dat's too good fer me, an' de fus news i know'd miss sally wuz a hollerin' fer remus. i done smelt de watermillion on de a'r, an' i ain't got no better sense dan fer ter go w'en i years w'ite fokes a-hollerin'--i larnt dat w'en i wa'n't so high. leas'ways i galloped up ter de back po'ch, an' dar sot de watermillions dez ez natchul ez ef dey'd er bin raised on de ole spivey place in putmon county. den miss sally, she cut me off er slishe--wunner deze yer ongodly slishes, big ez yo' hat, an' i sot down on de steps an' wrop myse'f roun' de whole blessid chunk, 'cep'in' de rime." uncle remus paused and laid his hand upon his stomach as if feeling for something. "well, old man, what then?" "dat's w'at i'm a gittin' at, boss," said uncle remus, smiling a feeble smile. "i santered roun' 'bout er half nour, an den i begin fer ter feel sorter squeemish--sorter like i done bin an, swoller'd 'bout fo' poun's off'n de ruff een' uv er scantlin'. look like ter me dat i wuz gwineter be sick, an' den hit look like i wuzzent. bimeby a little pain showed 'is head an' sorter m'andered roun' like he wuz a lookin' fer a good place fer ter ketch holt, an' den a great big pain jump up an' take atter de little one an' chase 'im 'roun' an' 'roun,' an' he mus' er kotch 'im, kaze bimeby de big pain retch down an' grab dis yer lef' leg--so--an' haul 'im up, an' den he retch down an grab de udder one an' pull him up, an' den de wah begun, sho nuff. fer mighty nigh fo' hours dey kep' up dat racket, an' des ez soon ez a little pain 'ud jump up de big un 'ud light onter it an' gobble it up, an' den de big un 'ud go sailin' roun' huntin' fer mo'. some fokes is mighty cu'us, dough. nex' mornin' i hear miss sally a laughin', an' singin' an' a w'isslin' des like dey want no watermillions raise in flurridy. but somebody better pen dis yer nigger boy up w'en i'm on de town--i kin tell you dat." xvi. uncle remus preaches to a convert "dey tells me you done jine de chu'ch," said uncle remus to pegleg charley. "yes, sir," responded charley, gravely, "dat's so." "well, i'm mighty glad er dat," remarked uncle remus, with unction. "it's 'bout time dat i wuz spectin' fer ter hear un you in de chain-gang, an', stidder dat, hit's de chu'ch. well, dey ain't no tellin' deze days whar a nigger's gwineter lan'." "yes," responded charley, straightening himself up and speaking in a dignified tone, "yes, i'm fixin' to do better. i'm preparin' fer to shake worldliness. i'm done quit so'shatin' wid deze w'ite town boys. dey've been a goin' back on me too rapidly here lately, an' now i'm a goin' back on dem." "well, ef you done had de speunce un it, i'm mighty glad. ef you got 'lijjun, you better hol' on to it 'twel de las' day in de mornin'. hit's mighty good fer ter kyar' 'roun' wid you in de day time an' likewise in de night time. hit'll pay you mo' dan politics, an' ef you stan's up like you oughter, hit'll las' longer dan a bone-fellum. but you wanter have one er deze yer ole-time grips, an' you des gotter shet yo' eyes an' swing on like wunner deze yer bull-tarrier dogs." "oh, i'm goin' to stick, uncle remus. you kin put your money on dat. deze town boys can't play no more uv dere games on me. i'm fixed. can't you lend me a dime, uncle remus, to buy me a pie? i'm dat hongry dat my stomach is gittin' ready to go in mo'nin." uncle remus eyed charley curiously a moment, while the latter looked quietly at his timber toe. finally, the old man sighed and spoke: "how long is you bin in de chu'ch, son?" "mighty near a week," replied charley. "well, lemme tell you dis, now, 'fo' you go enny fudder. you ain't bin in dar long nuff fer ter go 'roun' takin' up conterbutions. wait ontwell you gits sorter seasoned like, an' den i'll hunt 'roun' in my cloze an' see ef i can't run out a thrip er two fer you. but don't you levy taxes too early." charley laughed, and said he would let the old man off if he would treat to a watermelon. xvii. as to education as uncle remus came up whitehall street recently, he met a little colored boy carrying a slate and a number of books. some words passed between them, but their exact purport will probably never be known. they were unpleasant, for the attention of a wandering policeman was called to the matter by hearing the old man bawl out: "don't you come foolin' longer me, nigger. you er flippin' yo' sass at de wrong color. you k'n go roun' yer an' sass deze w'ite people, an' maybe dey'll stan' it, but w'en you come a-slingin' yo' jaw at a man w'at wuz gray w'en de fahmin' days gin out, you better go an' git yo' hide greased." "what's the matter, old man?" asked a sympathizing policeman. "nothin', boss, 'ceppin i ain't gwineter hav' no nigger chillun a hoopin' an' a hollerin' at me w'en i'm gwine long de streets." "oh, well, school-children--you know how they are. "dat's w'at make i say w'at i duz. dey better be home pickin' up chips. w'at a nigger gwineter larn outen books? i kin take a bar'l stave an' fling mo' sense inter a nigger in one minnit dan all de schoolhouses betwixt dis en de state er midgigin. don't talk, honey! wid one bar'l stave i kin fa'rly lif' de vail er ignunce." "then you don't believe in education?" "hit's de ruinashun er dis country. look at my gal. de ole 'oman sont 'er ter school las' year, an' now we dassent hardly ax 'er fer ter kyar de washin' home. she done got beyant 'er bizness. i ain't larnt nuthin' in books, 'en yit i kin count all de money i gits. no use talkin', boss. put a spellin'-book in a nigger's han's, en right den en dar' you loozes a plow-hand. i done had de speunce un it." xviii. a temperance reformer "yer come uncle remus," said a well-dressed negro, who was standing on the sidewalk near james's bank recently, talking to a crowd of barbers. "yer come uncle remus. i boun' he'll sign it." "you'll fling yo' money away ef you bet on it," responded uncle remus. "i ain't turnin' nothin' loose on chu'ch 'scriptions. i wants money right now fer ter git a pint er meal." 'tain't dat." "an' i ain't heppin fer ter berry nobody. much's i kin do ter keep de bref in my own body." "'tain't dat, nudder." "an' i ain't puttin' my han' ter no reckommends. i'm fear'd fer ter say a perlite wud 'bout myself, an' i des know i ain't gwine 'roun' flatter'n up deze udder niggers." "an' 'tain't dat," responded the darkey, who held a paper in his hand. "we er gittin' up a good tempeler's lodge, an' we like ter git yo' name." "eh-eh, honey! i done see too much er dis nigger tempunce. dey stan' up mighty squar' ontwell dere dues commence ter cramp um, an' dey don't stan' de racket wuf a durn. no longer'n yistiddy i seed one er de head men er one er dese tempeler's s'cieties totin' water fer a bar-room. he had de water in a bucket, but dey ain't no tellin' how much red licker he wuz a totin'. g'long, chile--jine yo' s'ciety an' be good ter yo'se'f. i'm a gittin' too ole. gimme th'ee er fo' drams endurin' er de day, an' i'm mighty nigh ez good a tempunce man ez de next un. i got ter scuffle fer sump'n t'eat." xix. as a weather prophet uncle remus was enlightening a crowd of negroes at the car-shed yesterday. "dar ain't nuthin'," said the old man, shaking his head pensively, "dat ain't got no change wrote on it. dar ain't nothin dat ain't spotted befo' hit begins fer ter commence. we all speunces dat p'overdence w'at lifts us up fum one place an' sets us down in de udder. hit's continerly a movin' an a movin'." "dat's so!" "you er talkin' now!" came from several of his hearers. "i year miss sally readin' dis mawnin," continued the old man, "dat a man wuz comin' down yer fer ter take keer er de wedder-- wunner deze yer buro mens w'at goes 'roun' a puttin' up an' pullin' down." "w'at he gwine do 'roun' yer?" asked one. "he's a gwineter regelate de wedder," replied uncle remus, sententiously. "he's a gwineter fix hit up so dat dere won't be so much worriment 'mong de w'ite fokes 'bout de kinder wedder w'at falls to dere lot." "he gwine dish em up," suggested one of the older ones, "like man dish out sugar. "no," answered uncle remus, mopping his benign features with a very large and very red bandana. "he's a gwineter fix um better'n dat. he's a gwineter fix um up so you kin have any kinder wedder w'at you want widout totin' her home." "how's dat?" asked some one. "hit's dis way," said the old man, thoughtfully. "in co'se you knows w'at kinder wedder you wants. well, den, w'en de man comes long, w'ich miss sally say he will, you des gotter go up dar, pick out yo' wedder an' dere'll be a clock sot fer ter suit yo' case, an' w'en you git home, dere'll be yo' wedder a settin' out in de yard waitin' fer you. i wish he wuz yer now," the old man continued. "i'd take a pa'r er frosts in mine, ef i kotched cold fer it. dat's me!" there were various exclamations of assent, and the old man went on his way singing, "don't you grieve atter me." xx. the old man's troubles "what makes you look so lonesome, brer remus?" asked a well- dressed negro, as the old man came shuffling down the street by james's corner yesterday. "you er mighty right, i'm lonesome, brer john henry. w'en a ole nigger like me is gotter paddle de canoe an' do de fishin' at de same time, an' w'en you bleedzd ter ketch de fish an' dassent turn de paddle loose fer ter bait de hook, den i tell you, brer john, you er right whar de mink had de goslin'. mars john and miss sally, dey done bin gone down unto putmon county fer ter see der kinfolks mighty nigh fo' days, an' you better bleeve i done bin had ter scratch 'roun' mighty lively fer ter make de rashuns run out even. "i wuz at yo' house las' night, brer remus," remarked brer john henry, "but i couldn't roust you outer bed." "hit was de unseasonableness er de hour, i speck," said uncle remus, dryly. "'pears unto me dat you all chu'ch deacons settin' up mighty late deze col' nights. you'll be slippin' round arter hours some time er nudder, an you'll slip bodaciously inter de calaboose. you mine w'at i tell you." "it's mighty col' wedder," said brer john henry, evidently wishing to change the subject. "col'!" exclaimed uncle remus; "hit got pas' col' on der quarter stretch. you oughter come to my house night 'fo' las'. den you'd a foun' me 'live an' kickin'." "how's dat?" "well, i tell you, brer john henry, de col' wuz so col', an' de kiver wuz so light, dat i thunk i'd make a raid on mars john's shingle pile, an' out i goes an totes in a whole armful. den i gits under de kiver an' tells my ole 'oman fer ter lay 'em onto me like she was roofin' a house. bimeby she crawls in, an' de shingles w'at she put on her side fer ter kiver wid, dey all drap off on de flo'. den up i gits an' piles 'em on agin, an' w'en i gits in bed my shingles draps off, an' dat's de way it wuz de whole blessid night. fus' it wuz me up an' den de ole 'oman, an' it kep' us pow'ful warm, too, dat kinder exercise. oh, you oughter drapt roun' 'bout dat time, brer john henry. you'd a year'd sho' nuff cussin'!" "you don't tell me, brer remus!" "my ole 'oman say de ole boy wouldn't a foun' a riper nigger, ef he wer' ter scour de country fum ferginny ter de alabam'" xxi. the fourth of july uncle remus made his appearance recently with his right arm in a sling and his head bandaged to that extent that it looked like the stick made to accompany the centennial bass-drum. the old man evidently expected an attack all around, for he was unusually quiet, and fumbled in his pockets in an embarrassed manner. he was not mistaken. the agricultural editor was the first to open fire: "well, you old villain! what have you been up to now?" "it is really singular," remarked a commencement orator, "that not even an ordinary holiday--a holiday, it seems to me, that ought to arouse all the latent instincts of patriotism in the bosom of american citizens--can occur without embroiling some of our most valuable citizens. it is really singular to me that such a day should be devoted by a certain class of our population to broils and fisticuffs." this final moral sentiment, which was altogether an impromptu utterance, and which was delivered with the air of one who addresses a vast but invisible audience of young ladies in white dresses and blue sashes, seemed to add to the embarrassment of uncle remus, and at the same time to make an explanation necessary. "dey ain't none er you young w'ite men never had no 'casion fer ter strike up wid one er deze mobile niggers?" asked uncle remus. "'kaze ef you iz, den you knows wharbouts de devilment come in. show me a mobile nigger," continued the old man, an i'll show you a nigger dat's marked for de chain-gang. hit may be de fote er de fif' er july, er hit may be de twelf' er jinawerry, but w'en a mobile nigger gits in my naberhood right den an' dar trubble sails in an' 'gages bode fer de season. i speck i'm ez fon' er deze nunited states ez de nex' man w'at knows dat de buro is busted up; but long ez remus kin stan' on his hin' legs no mobile nigger can't flip inter dis town longer no wes' p'int 'schushun an' boss 'roun' 'mong de cullud fokes. dat's me, up an' down, an' i boun' dere's a nigger some'rs on de road dis blessid day dat's got dis put away in his 'membunce." "how did he happen to get you down and maul you in this startling manner?" asked the commencement orator, with a tone of exaggerated sympathy in his voice. "maul who?" exclaimed uncle remus, indignantly. "maul who? boss, de nigger dat mauled me ain't bo'nded yit, an' dey er got ter have anudder war 'fo one is bo'nded." "well, what was the trouble?" "hit wuz sorter dis way, boss. i wuz stannin' down dere by mars john jeems's bank, chattin' wid sis tempy, w'ich i ain't seed 'er befo' now gwine on seven year, an' watchin' de folks trompin' by, w'en one er deze yer slick-lookin' niggers, wid a bee-gum hat an' a brass watch ez big ez de head uv a beerbar'l, come long an' bresh up agin me--so. dere wuz two un um, an' dey went long gigglin' an' laffin' like a nes'ful er yaller-hammers. bimeby dey come long agin an' de smart ellick brush up by me once mo'. den i say to myse'f, 'i lay i fetch you ef you gimme anudder invite.' an', sho' 'nuff, yer he come agin, an' dis time he rub a piece er watermillion rime under my lef' year." "what did you do?" "me? i'm a mighty long-sufferin' nigger, but he hadn't no mo'n totch me 'fo' i flung dese yer bones in his face." here uncle remus held up his damaged hand triumphantly. "i sorter sprained my han', boss, but dog my cats if i don't bleeve i spattered de nigger's eyeballs on de groun', and w'en he riz his count'nence look fresh like beef-haslett. i look mighty spindlin' an' puny now, don't i, boss?" inquired the old man, with great apparent earnestness. "rather." "well, you des oughter see me git my affikin up. dey useter call me er bad nigger long 'fo' de war, an hit looks like ter me dat i gits wuss an' wuss. brer john henry say dat i oughter subdue my rashfulness, an' i don't 'spute it, but tu'n a mobile nigger loose in dis town, fote er july or no fote er july, an', me er him, one is got ter lan' in jail. hit's proned inter me." none biographical memorials of james oglethorpe, founder of the colony of georgia, in north america. by thaddeus mason harris, d.d. member of the american academy of arts and sciences; of the archaeological society at athens, greece; of the massachusetts historical society; the new york historical society; the american antiquarian society; and corresponding member of the georgia historical society. mdcccxli. to the president, the vice presidents, the officers and members of the georgia historical society, this work is respectfully dedicated. to i.k. tefft, esq., william b. stevens, m.d., and a.a. smets, esq., _of savannah_; with a lively sense of the interest which they have taken in the publication of this work, this page is inscribed by their obliged and grateful friend, thaddeus mason harris. "thy great example will in glory shine, a favorite theme with poet and divine; posterity thy merits shall proclaim, and add new honor to thy deathless fame." _on his return from georgia_, . [illustration: gen. james oglethorpe. _this sketch was taken in february preceding his decease when he was reading without spectacles at the sale of the library of dr. s. johnson. preface having visited the south for the benefit of my health, i arrived at savannah, in georgia, on the th of february, ; and, indulging the common inquisitiveness of a stranger about the place, was informed that just one hundred and one years had elapsed since the first settlers were landed there, and the city laid out. replies to other inquiries, and especially a perusal of mccall's history of the state, excited a lively interest in the character of general oglethorpe, who was the founder of the colony, and in the measures which he pursued for its advancement, defence, and prosperity. i was, however, surprised to learn that no biography had been published of the man who projected an undertaking of such magnitude and importance; engaged in it on principles the most benevolent and disinterested; persevered till its accomplishment, under circumstances exceedingly arduous, and often discouraging; and lived to see "a few become a thousand," and a weak one "the flourishing part of a strong nation." so extraordinary did dr. johnson consider the adventures, enterprise, and exploits of this remarkable man, that "he urged him to give the world his life." he said, "i know of no man whose life would be more interesting. if i were furnished with materials, i would be very glad to write it." this was a flattering offer. the very suggestion implied that the great and worthy deeds, which oglethorpe had performed, ought to be recorded for the instruction, the grateful acknowledgment, and just commendation of contemporaries; and their memorial transmitted with honor to posterity. "the general seemed unwilling to enter upon it then;" but, upon a subsequent occasion, communicated to boswell a number of particulars, which were committed to writing; but that gentleman "not having been sufficiently diligent in obtaining more from him," death closed the opportunity of procuring all the requisite information. there was a memoir drawn up soon after his decease, which has been attributed to capel lofft, esq., and published in the european magazine. this was afterwards adopted by major mccall; and, in an abridged form, appended to the first volume of his history of georgia. it is preserved, also, as a note, in the second volume of nichols's literary anecdotes of the eighteenth century, with some references and additional information. but it is too brief and meagre to do justice to the memory of one of whom it has been said, "his life was full of variety, adventure, and achievement. his ruling passions were, the love of glory, of his country, and of mankind; and these were so blended together in his mind that they formed but one principle of action. he was a hero, a statesman, an orator; the patron of letters, the chosen friend of men of genius, and the theme of praise for great poets."[ ] the writer of this elegant encomium, adds this remark: "an authentic and tolerably minute life of oglethorpe is a desideratum." such a desideratum i have endeavored to supply. this, however, has been a very difficult undertaking; the materials for composing it, excepting what relates to the settlement of georgia, were to be sought after in the periodicals of the day, or discovered by references to him in the writings or memoirs of his contemporaries. i have searched all the sources of information to which i could have access, with the aim to collect what had been scattered; to point out what had been overlooked; and, from the oblivion into which they had fallen, to rescue the notices of some striking incidents and occurrences in the life of oglethorpe, in order to give consistency and completeness to a narrative of the little that had been preserved and was generally known. [footnote : gulian veerplanck, esq. _anniversary discourse before the new york historical society_, december , , page .] to use the words of one who had experience in a similar undertaking: "the biographer of our day is too often perplexed in the toil of his researches after adequate information for composing the history of men who were an honor to their age, and of whom posterity is anxious to know whatever may be added to increase the need of that veneration, which, from deficient knowledge, they can but imperfectly bestow." my collected notices i have arranged so as to form a continuous narrative, though with some wide interruptions. the statements of the most important transactions have generally been made in the terms of original documents, or the publications of the day; as i deemed it more just and proper so to do, than to give them my own coloring. and i must apprize the reader, that instead of aiming to express the recital in the fluency of rhetorical diction, or of aspiring to decorate my style of composition with studied embellishments, my purpose has simply and uniformly been to relate facts in the most plain and artless manner; and i trust that my description of _scenes_ and _occurrences_ will be admitted to be natural and free from affectation; and my inferences, to be pertinent, impartial, and illustrative. i hope, too, that it will not be thought that the detail of _circumstances_ is needlessly particular, and the relation of _incidents_ too minute. for, these, though seemingly inconsiderable, are not unimportant; and, though among the minor operations of active life, serve to indicate the state of existing opinions and prevailing motives, and to exhibit the real aspect of the times. they also have, more or less, relation to forth-coming events. they are foot-prints in the onward march to "enterprises of great pith and moment;" and hence should be carefully traced and inspected. though my authorities are duly noted, i have not been so particular as to distinguish every passage which i had transcribed by marks of quotation; and, therefore, being willing that this work should be considered as mainly a compilation, with unassuming pretensions, entitle it biographical memorials. after the lapse of more than a century since oglethorpe entered on the stage of action, it cannot be expected that the varied incidents of so busy, eventful, and long protracted a life as was his, can be brought out and fully described; or that the prominent personal qualities of so singular a character can be delineated, for the first time, with vivid exactness and just expression. not having presumed to do this, i have attempted nothing more than a general outline or profile. such as i have been able to make the work, i present it to the public. whatever may be the reception which it may meet, i shall never think the moments misspent, which were devoted to the purpose of reviving the memory of oglethorpe, and of perpetuating his fame by a more full recital of his deeds than had been heretofore made. boston, _july th_, . * * * * * since the preceding preface was written, the reverend charles wallace howard, who had been commissioned by the legislature of georgia to procure from the public offices in london, a copy of the records of the trustees for the settlement of the province, and of other colonial documents, has returned, having successfully accomplished the object of his mission. it may be thought that these are of such importance that all which i have done must be defective indeed, unless i avail myself of them; and so, perhaps, it may prove. but my advanced old age, my feeble state of health, and other circumstances, prevent my doing so. i console myself, however, with the consideration that as they consist of particulars relative to the settlement and early support of georgia, to which oglethorpe devoted not quite eleven years of a life extended to nearly a hundred, they would only contribute to render more distinct the bright and glorious meridian of his protracted day,--while i aimed to exhibit its morning promise and its evening lustre;--endeavoring to give some account of what he was and did forty-four years before he commenced "the great emprise," and where he was and how occupied forty-two years after its accomplishment. moreover, the official records contain, principally, a detail of the plans and measures which were adopted and pursued by the trustees in london, or comprise the statement of public grants of money, and military stores and forces;--and these belong to history, and not to biography. the letters of oglethorpe, besure, would be exceedingly interesting; but i presume that much of what they refer to may be collected from pamphlets and periodicals of the day, where he is spoken of as he would not feel free to speak of himself. as from these i have collected the most material particulars, i cannot think that my actual deficiencies in the history of that eventful period can be very considerable or important. from a correspondence with i.k. tefft, esq. and william b. stevens, m.d., of savannah, i have obtained the clearer statement of some important facts and occurrences, which is respectfully noticed where introduced, and for which i render my grateful acknowledgments. the latter gentleman has also obligingly favored me with an article on the culture of silk in georgia, which graces my appendix. i have done the best i could with scanty store; let abler man, with ample means, do more; yet not deficiencies of mine decry, nor make my gatherings his own lack supply. may _ st_, . the date, at the close of the first preface, indicates that the publication of this work had been suspended.--a subsequent epistolary correspondence, in reference to it, with friends at savannah, excited promptings, which were succeeded by a list of nearly two hundred subscribers for the volume in print;--a list that included the names of the most respectable gentlemen of the city, among whom were those that held distinguished stations and filled important offices in public life. for this flattering encouragement and honorary patronage, the most grateful acknowledgments are rendered. * * * * * the name of the capital of south carolina was originally written charles-town and charles' town. at the time of the early settlement of georgia it had become blended in the compound word charlestown, which, being found in the documents referred to or quoted in this work, is retained here, though of later years it is spelt charleston. in the following pages variations occur in the names of persons and places, principally in the extracts from german publications. this lack of uniformity in some instances, as also a few verbal errors in others, was not detected till the sheets had passed the press. "acres circumfert centum licet argus ocellos, non tamen errantes cernat ubique typos." contents the chapters, into which this work is divided, are with reference to somewhat distinct portions of the history; and may be likened to a suit of apartments in a capacious house; some large and some small, variously furnished, and with different prospects abroad; but yet adjoining each other, and, if but fitly framed together, adapted to a duly constructed edifice. chapter i. parentage of oglethorpe--birth--christian name--education--military profession and promotion--in the suite of the earl of peterborough--service under prince eugene of savoy--elected member of parliament--visits a gentleman in prison--moves in the house of commons for a redress of the rigors of prison discipline--appointed on the committee--extracts from his speeches in parliament, chapter ii. oglethorpe appointed first a director, and then deputy governor of the royal african company--takes a compassionate interest in the situation of an african kidnapped, sold as a slave, and carried to annapolis, in maryland, a province in north america, who proves to have been an iman, or assistant priest, of futa, and was named job solomon--causes him to be redeemed, and sent to england, where he becomes serviceable to sir hans sloane for his knowledge of arabic; attracts also the notice of persons of rank and distinction, and is sent back to africa, chapter iii. project for settling the south-eastern frontier of carolina--a charter granted for it, by the name of georgia--trustees appointed, who arrange a plan of settlement--they receive a grant of money from parliament, and from subscriptions and contributions--oglethorpe takes a lively interest in it--states the object, and suggests motives for emigration--a vessel hired to convey the emigrants--oglethorpe offers to accompany the intended colonists--his disinterested devotedness to the benevolent and patriotic enterprise, chapter iv. the emigrants embark--arrive at charlestown, south carolina--oglethorpe visits governor johnson--proceeds up the savannah river--place of settlement fixed upon--town laid out--labors superintended, and assisted by colonel bull--treaty with tomo chichi--progress of settlement--oglethorpe makes a visit to governor johnson, presents himself before the house of assembly, and makes an address of grateful acknowledgment of favors received--returns to savannah--holds a treaty with the lower creeks--goes to horse-quarter on the ogechee--fort argyle built--savannah laid out in wards, and court of records instituted, chapter v. oglethorpe intended to visited boston, in new england--governor belcher's letter to him--provincial assembly appoint a committee to receive him--sets out on an exploratory excursion--names an island, jekyl--visits fort argyle--returns to savannah--saltzburgh emigrants, conducted by baron von reck, come to settle in georgia--oglethorpe assists them in selecting a place--they call it ebenezer--he then goes up the river to palachicolas--returns--goes to charlestown, with torno chichi and other indians, in order to take passage to england, chapter vi. oglethorpe arrives in england with his indian escort--is welcomed by the trustees--apartments are provided for the indians--they are introduced to the king and royal family--one of their number dies of the small pox--visit the archbishop of canterbury, and eton college--shown the public buildings and institutions in london--embark for georgia--their arrival, chapter vii. oglethorpe remains in england--trustees make regulations--oglethorpe, desirous of providing for the conversion of the indians, applies to bishop wilson to prepare a book of religious instruction for them--trustees seek for missionaries--engage john and charles wesley, chapter viii. trustees make a new selection of settlers--their proposals successful in scotland--embarkation of highlanders for georgia--indian hieroglyphic letter sent to the trustees--further emigration of saltzburgers--great embarkation of colonists, attended by oglethorpe and the missionaries--employment and religious exercises on board during the voyage--arrival--beacon on the island of tybee--the people go on shore at peeper's island--oglethorpe goes to savannah with the missionaries--sends provisions and refreshments to the emigrants--moore's account of the public garden--tomo chichi welcomes his friend--saltzburgers make application for a removal from ebenezer--oglethorpe sends pioneers to lay out a road to darien, chapter ix. special destination of the last emigrants--oglethorpe makes arrangements for their transportation to the island of st. simons--follows with charles wesley--arrives and lays out a town to be called frederica--visits the highlanders at darien--returns and superintends the building of a fort--all the people arrive--barracks for the soldiers put up, and a battery erected--visited by tomo chichi, and indians, who make a cession of the islands--reconnoitres the islands and gives names to them--commissioners from st. augustine--apparently amicable overtures--oglethorpe goes to savannah to hold a conference with a committee from south carolina respecting trade with the indians--insolent demand of the spaniards--oglethorpe embarks for england, chapter x. delegation of the missionaries--john wesley stationed at savannah--has a conference with tomo chichi--his preaching deemed personal in its applications--he becomes unpopular--meets with persecution--leaves the province and returns to england--charles wesley attends oglethorpe to frederica--finds himself unpleasantly situated--furnished with despatches for the trustees, he sets out for charlestown, and thence takes passage for england--by stress of weather the vessel driven off its course--puts in at boston, new england--his reception there--sails thence for england--after a perilous voyage, arrives--benjamin ingham also at frederica--goes to savannah to apprize john wesley of the sickness of his brother--resides among the creeks in order to learn their language--returns to england--charles delamotte at savannah--keeps a school--is much respected--george whitefield comes to savannah--his reception--visits tomo chichi, who was sick--ministerial labors--visits the saltzburgers--pleased with their provision for orphan children--visits frederica and the adjacent settlements--returns to england--makes a second voyage to georgia, and takes efficient measures for the erection of an orphan house, chapter xi. oglethorpe arrives in england--trustees petition the king for military aid to the new colony--a regiment granted--oglethorpe appointed commander in chief of south carolina and georgia--part of the regiment sent out--oglethorpe embarks for georgia the third time--remainder of the regiment arrive--and two companies from gibraltar--prospect of war with spain--military preparations at st. augustine--oglethorpe makes arrangements for defence--treason in the camp--mutiny, and personal assault on the general, chapter xii. oglethorpe visits savannah--troubles there--causton, the store-keeper, displaced--oglethorpe holds a conference with a deputation of indians--town-meeting called, and endeavors used to quiet discontents--goes back to frederica, but obliged to renew his visit to savannah, chapter xiii. oglethorpe goes to charlestown, south carolina, to open his commission--comes back to savannah--gives encouragement to the planters--returns to frederica--excursion to coweta--forms a treaty with the upper creeks--receives at augusta a delegation of the chickasaws and cherokees, who complain of having been poisoned by the traders--on his return to savannah is informed of spanish aggressions, and is authorized to make reprisals, chapter xiv. oglethorpe addresses a letter to lieutenant-governor bull, suggesting an expedition against st. augustine--follows this, by application in person--promised assistance, and cooperation--returns to frederica--collects his forces--passes over to florida--takes several spanish forts--is joined by the carolinian troops--the enemy receive supplies--oglethorpe changes the siege into a blockade--takes possession of anastasia island--colonel palmer and his men surprised and cut to pieces--spanish cruelties--english fleet quit the station--siege raised, and oglethorpe returns to frederica, chapter xv. oglethorpe pays particular attention to internal improvements--meets with many annoyances--the creeks, under toonahowi, make an incursion into florida--the spanish form a design upon georgia--some of their fleet appear on the coast--oglethorpe prepares for defence--applies to south carolina for assistance--spaniards attack fort william--dangerous situation of oglethorpe--spanish fleet enter the harbor and land on st. simons--in three successive engagements they are defeated--a successful stratagem--enemy defeated at bloody marsh--retire and attack fort william, which is bravely defended by ensign stewart--spanish forces, repulsed in all their assaults, abandon the invasion in dismay, and return to st. augustine and to cuba, chapter xvi. oglethorpe, informed that the spaniards were making preparations for a renewal of hostilities, takes measures to repel them--meets with an alarming accident--lands on the florida side of st. john's--proceeds towards st. augustine--the spanish do not venture out to attack him--returns to the islands--sees that the forts are repaired--takes passage to england to attend a court martial on an insidious charge against him by lieutenant cook--is honorably acquitted, and cook is dismissed from the service, chapter xvii. oglethorpe's residence in england--marriage--military appointments--a major general under the duke of cumberland for the suppression of the rebellion in --arraigned at a court martial and acquitted--domestic and social life, and character--death, obituary notice of mrs. elizabeth oglethorpe, with extracts from her will, account of carolina and georgia by oglethorpe, appendix. i. family of oglethorpe, ii. discussion respecting the birth-day of the subject of these memorials, iii. notices of the earl of peterborough, and of dean berkeley, iv. reference to the debates in parliament in which oglethorpe took a part, v. prison-visiting committee, vi. release of insolvent debtors, vii. sir thomas lombe's mill for winding silk, viii. case of captain porteous, ix. trustees for settling georgia, x. oglethorpe's disinterestedness in the undertaking, xi. advertisement of governor johnson of south carolina, and letter of the governor and council to oglethorpe, xii. account of the creeks, xiii. account of the indians in georgia by oglethorpe, xiv. memoir of the duke of argyle, xv. saltzburgers, xvi. arrival of these persecuted german protestants in georgia, xvii. settlement of moravians, xviii. scout-boat and channels, xix. uchee indians, xx. a mutiny in the camp, and attempt at assassination, xxi. memoir of tomo-chichi, xxii. general oglethorpe's manifesto, xxiii. fate of colonel palmer, xxiv. account of the siege of st. augustine, xxv. spanish invasion, xxvi. order for a thanksgiving, xxvii. list of spanish forces employed in the invasion of georgia, and of oglethorpe's to resist them, xxviii. history of the silk culture in georgia, written by w.b. stevens, m.d., of savannah, index, chapter i. parentage of oglethorpe--birth--education--christian name--education--military profession and promotion--in the suite of the earl of peterborough--service under prince eugene of savoy--elected member of parliament--visits a gentleman in prison--moves in the house of commons for a redress of the rigors of prison discipline--appointed on the committee--extracts from his speeches in parliament. james oglethorpe, founder of the colony of georgia in north america,--a distinguished philanthropist, general, and statesman,--was the son of sir theophilus oglethorpe, of godalming, in the county of surrey, great britain, by eleanor, his wife, daughter of richard wall, esq. of rogane, in ireland.[ ] there has been, hitherto, great uncertainty with respect to the year, the month, and the day of his nativity; i have, however, what i deem good authority for deciding it to have been the twenty-first day of december, one thousand six hundred and eighty-eight.[ ] [footnote : for some account of the family, see appendix i.] [footnote : appendix ii.] it is asserted in thoresby's history of leeds, page , that "he had two christian names, james-edward, supposed to have been bestowed upon him in compliment to the pretender;" and he is so named on his sepulchral monument. but, as he always used but one; as he was enregistered on entering college at oxford, simply james; and, as the double name is not inserted in any public act, commission, document, printed history, or mention of him in his life time, that i have ever met with, i have not thought proper to adopt it. when sixteen years of age, on the th of july, , he was admitted a member of corpus christi college, oxford,[ ] where his brother lewis received his education. it seems, however, that, after the example of that brother, as also of his brother theophilus, he early relinquished a literary, for a military profession; and aspired to make his way in the world, "tam marte quam minerva." [footnote : the record of his _admittatur_, in the university register, is,--" , jul. , term. s. trin. jacobus oglethorpe, e c.c.c. . theoph. f. sti. jacobi, lond. equ. aur. filius natu minor." that is, "_in trinity term, july , _, james oglethorpe, _aged_ , _youngest son of_ theophilus oglethorpe, _of st. james's, london, was admitted into corpus christi college_."] his first commission was that of ensign; and it is dated in ; and he bore that rank in the army when peace was proclaimed in [ ]. in the same year he is known to have been in the suite of the earl of peterborough[ ], ambassador from the court of great britain to the king of sicily and to the other italian states; whither he was fellow traveller with the rev. dr. george berkeley, his lordship's chaplain[ ]. highly honorable was such a mark of favor from his lordship; and peculiarly pleasant and instructive, also, must have been such companionship with the amiable and excellent clergyman; and it afforded opportunity of concerting plans of usefulness, of beneficence, and of philanthropy, the object and tendency of which were apparent in the after life of each[ ]. [footnote : biographical memoir in the european magazine, vol. viii. p. .] [footnote : nichols, in the _literary anecdotes of the xviiith century_, vol. ii. p. , says, "he was aid-de-camp;" but as that was the title of a _military_ rank, rather than of an attendant on a _diplomatic_ ambassador, i have substituted another term, which however may embrace it, if it be really proper.] [footnote : dr. berkeley, in a letter to thomas prior, esq., dated turin, january , , n.s. says that he travelled from lyons "in company with col. du hamel and mr. oglethorpe, adjutant general of the queen's forces; who were sent with a letter from my lord to the king's mother, at turin." _works of george berkeley, d.d., with an account of his life_. dublin. . vols. to. vol. i--p. xxx] [footnote : appendix iii.] in he was captain lieutenant in the first troop of the queen's guards. by his fine figure, his soldierly deportment and personal bravery, he attracted the notice of the duke of marlborough; whose confidence and patronage he seems long to have enjoyed, and by whom, and through the influence of the duke of argyle, he was so recommended to prince eugene, that he received him into his service, first as his secretary, and afterwards aid-de-camp. thus near the person of this celebrated general, full of ardor, and animated with heroic courage, an opportunity was offered him in the warlike expedition against the turks in which the prince was engaged, to gather those laurels in what the world calls "the field of glory," to which he aspired; and, in several successive campaigns, he exhibited applauded proofs of chivalric gallantry and personal bravery. by his attentive observation of the discipline, manner of battle array, onset of the forces, and the instruction given him in military tactics, he acquired that knowledge of the art of war, for which he afterwards became so distinguished. at the battle of peterwaradin, one of the strongest frontier places that austria had against the turks, oglethorpe, though present, was not perhaps actively engaged. it was fought on the th of august, . the army of the turks consisted of , men, of which , were janisaries, and , saphis, or troopers, the rest were tartars, walachians, and the troops of asia and egypt. the army of the imperialists, under his serene highness, prince eugene, consisted of but little more than half that number. the onset began at seven in the morning, and by twelve eugene was writing to the emperor an account of the victory in the tent of the grand vizier[ ]. [footnote : _military history of prince eugene, of savoy_, (a superb work in two folio volumes, with elegant plates; compiled by campbell.) lond. . vol. ii. p. . from this, and from "_the life and military actions of eugene_," lond. , mo, the account of the battles is taken.] after a sharp contest of about four hours, the grand vizier hali, seeing the battle go against him, put himself at the head of his guard of horse, pushed through a defile, and made a very brisk charge; but his men could not sustain the contest; and he, having received two wounds, was carried off the field to carlowitz, where he died the next day. the aga of the janisaries and mahomet bassa were also slain. the whole loss of the turks in this action amounted to about , ; and of the imperialists, , common soldiers, and officers. there was found in the camp pieces of cannon, and a prodigious quantity of powder, bullets, bombs, grenades, and various military equipments and stores; and the booty in other articles was great and rich beyond computation. the imperial army passed the danube on the th of august, "in order to avoid the infection of the dead bodies." the same day a council of war was held, in which the siege of temeswaer was proposed and resolved on. this is a town of hungary, upon the river temes, whence it has its name. it lies five miles from lippa, towards the borders of transylvania, and about ten from belgrade. the turks took it from the transylvanians in , and fortified it to a degree that they deemed it impregnable. after several severe conflicts, and a most desperate resistance, it capitulated on the th of october, , and the turks entirely evacuated the place on the th. thus the capital of a region of the same name, was restored to its lawful prince after having been in the hands of the turks years. "the success of this victorious campaign filled not only germany, but all europe with joy." on this occasion, oglethorpe acted as aid-de-camp; and his active service in attendance upon prince eugene; his prompt attention to the orders dictated to him, or transmitted by him; his alertness and fidelity in communicating them; and his fearless exposure to imminent peril in passing from one division of the army to another, gained him commendatory acknowledgments and the increased favor of his serene highness. notwithstanding these signal victories gained over them, the turks were determined to continue the contest; and the next year the grand signior held a great divan at constantinople to take measures for its most vigorous prosecution. these purposes being put in train, prince eugene undertook the siege of belgrade, their chief strong hold. "the turks advanced to its relief, and besieged him in his camp. his danger was imminent; but military skill and disciplined valor triumphed over numbers and savage ferocity. he sallied out of his intrenchments, and, falling suddenly upon the enemy, routed them with great slaughter, and took their cannon, baggage, and everything belonging to their camp. belgrade surrendered immediately after."[ ] on the th of august, ( ) the capitulation was signed; and immediately afterwards the imperialists took possession of a gate, and the out-works; on the th te deum was solemnly performed in the tent of the grand vizier, which had become occupied by eugene, and on the d the place was evacuated. the imperialists found prodigious riches in the camp of which they had become possessed; "for the sultan had emptied his coffers to supply this army, which was by far the most numerous of any set on foot since the famous siege of vienna."[ ] [footnote : russell's _modern europe_, vol. v. p. .] [footnote : campbell's _military history of eugene_, vol. ii. p. .] "such was the conclusion of the siege of belgrade; a place of the last importance to the imperialists and to the turks; the bridle of all the adjoining country; the glorious trophy of the valor and conduct of his serene highness, prince eugene; and the bulwark, not of germany only, but of all christendom on this side." "oglethorpe was in active command at the siege and battle of belgrade, on the south shore of the danube, in ; where he acquired a high and deserved reputation."[ ] [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_ for , p. .] in the postscript of a letter from alexander pope, dated september th, , to edward blount, esq., is this remark: "i hope you will take part in the rejoicing for the victory of prince eugene over the turks, &c." to which dr. warton subjoins this note; "at which general oglethorpe was present, and of which i have heard him give a lively description." the peace which took place in the following year between the emperor and the sultan, left oglethorpe without any active employment; and he quitted, doubtless with reluctance, the staff of his friend and patron, prince eugene, with whom he had so honorably served; and returned to england. he was offered preferment in the german service; but it was, probably, a sufficient reason with him for declining the proffer, that "the profession of a soldier in time of peace affords but few opportunities of promotion, and none of distinction." in the year , succeeding his brother lewis in the inheritance of the estate at godalming, his weight of character and family influence secured to him a seat in parliament, as burgess, for haslemere; and he continued to represent that borough, by successive elections, and through various changes of administration, for thirty-two years; and, "during this long period, he distinguished himself by several able speeches; and, in the laws for the benefit of trade, &c. many regulations were proposed and promoted by him." in this august assembly, he was neither a dumb show, nor an automaton; nor the tool of party; but independent, intelligent, and energetic, delivered his opinions freely, spoke often, and always to the purpose.[ ] [footnote : see appendix iv.] his first recorded speech was on the th of april, , against the banishment of dr. francis atterbury, the bishop of rochester, which he deemed injudicious and needlessly rigorous.[ ] [footnote : history and proceedings of the house of commons, lond. , vol. vi. p. .] a few years after, his feelings of humanity were powerfully touched on finding a gentleman, whom he went to visit in the fleet prison, loaded with irons, and otherwise cruelly used.[ ] shocked by the scenes he witnessed, he determined to expose such injustice; and, if possible, to prevent such abuse of power. with this view, he brought forward a motion in the house of commons, "_that an inquiry should be instituted into the state of the gaols in the metropolis_." this met with such attention, that in february, , the house of commons assigned the subject to a committee, of which he was chosen chairman.[ ] the investigation led to the discovery of many corrupt practices, and much oppressive treatment of the prisoners; and was followed by the enactment of measures for the correction of such shameful mismanagement and inhuman neglect in some cases, and for the prevention of severity of infliction in others.[ ] [footnote : sir william rich, baronet.] [footnote : appendix iv.] [footnote : appendix v.] a writer, whose opinion was founded on the best means of knowledge, has declared that "the effects of this interposition have been felt ever since by the unhappy prisoners."[ ] [footnote : gentleman's magazine for , page .] oglethorpe thus became the precursor of howard, the philanthropist, in the cause of humanity, as it regards the amelioration of prison discipline in general, especially the rigors of close confinement for debt or petty offences, and that among felons and convicts. the impression then made on his mind and heart, led him, afterwards, to other and more extensive and efficacious measures for the relief of poor debtors from the extortions and oppressions to which they were subjected by gaolers, and from the humiliation and distress in which they were often involved without any fault of their own, or by some conduct which deserved pity rather than punishment. at the opening of the session of parliament on the th of january, , the king's speech was the subject of debate in the house of commons. a motion was made for an address of thanks, in which they should declare their entire approbation of his majesty's conduct, express their confidence in the wisdom of his counsels, and announce their readiness to grant the necessary supplies. there were some who opposed the motion. they did not argue against a general vote of thanks, but intimated the impropriety, and, indeed, ill tendency of expressions which implied an unquestioning approbation of the measures of the ministry. in referring to this, smollet[ ] says, "mr. oglethorpe, a gentleman of unblemished character, brave, generous, and humane, affirmed that many other things related more immediately to the honor and interest of the nation, than did the guarantee of the pragmatic sanction. he said that he wished to have heard that the new works at dunkirk had been entirely razed and destroyed; that the nation had received full and complete satisfaction for the depradation committed by the natives of spain; that more care was taken in the disciplining of the militia, on whose valor the nation must chiefly depend in case of an invasion; and that some regard had been shown to the oppressed protestants in germany. he expressed his satisfaction, however, to find that the english were not so closely united to france as formerly, for he had generally observed that when two dogs were in a leash together, the stronger generally ran away with the weaker; and this, he feared, had been the case between france and great britain." [footnote : history of england, book ii. chap. iv. section xxx.] the motion, however, was carried, and the address presented. possessing a vein of wit, oglethorpe was apt to introduce piquant illustrations and comparisons into his narratives, and sometimes with the view of their giving force to his statements; but, though they might serve to enliven conversation, they were not dignified enough for a speech in so august an assembly as that he was now addressing. they are, however, atoned for, on this occasion, by the grave tenor of his preceding remarks, which were the dictates of good sense, the suggestions of sound policy, and, especially, by the reference to the distressed situation of the persecuted german protestants which was evincive of a compassionate consideration, truly honorable to him as a man and a christian. and we shall find, that, in behalf of these, he afterwards exerted a personal and availing influence. in he made a spirited and patriotic effort in parliament to restore a constitutional militia; and to abolish arbitrary impressment for the sea-service; and, on this subject, he published a pamphlet entitled "the sailor's advocate," for which mr. sharpe obliged him with a sarcastic preface. in the debate on the bill for encouraging the trade of the british sugar colonies, oglethorpe took an active part, and manifested those liberal and patriotic views, and that regard for the colonial settlements in north america, which, afterwards, became with him a decided principle. "in all cases," said he, "that come before this house, where there seems a clashing of interests, we ought to have no exclusive regard to the particular interest of any one country or set of people, but to the good of the whole. our colonies are a part of our dominions. the people in them are our own people; and we ought to show an equal respect to all. if it should appear that our plantations upon the continent of america are against that which is desired by the sugar colonies, we are to presume that the granting thereof will be a prejudice to the trade or particular interests of our continental settlements. and, surely, the danger of hurting so considerable a part of our dominions,--a part which reaches from the th to the th degree of north latitude,--will, at least, incline us to be extremely cautious in what we are going about. if, therefore, it shall appear that the relieving our sugar colonies will do more harm to the _other_ parts of our dominions, than it can do good to _them_, we must refuse it, and think of some other method of putting them upon an equal footing with their rivals in any part of trade. "our sugar colonies are of great consequence to us; but our other colonies in that part of the world ought also to be considered. from them we have, likewise, yearly, large quantities of goods. we ought not to raise one colony upon the destruction of another. much less ought we to grant a favor to any particular set of people which may prove to be against the public good of the nation in general." to these, and other matters of general moment, oglethorpe devoted his time, his talents, and his influence while in parliament. he earnestly supported the cause of silk manufacture, which had then begun to spread in england by means of the improvement introduced by sir thomas lombe, in the invention of his large engines, which are described as being of "a most curious and intricate structure,"[ ] but which in our own day, when mechanical ingenuity has reached a high degree of excellence, and machinery seems itself almost an intelligent principle, would, probably, be regarded as merely "curious and intricate," without possessing any practical value.[ ] [footnote : the th of the excellent _essays_ by the rev. jared eliot, _on field husbandry, &_ c., , is devoted principally to recommendations of the culture of mulberry trees for the raising of silk-worms. in page , is a reference to sir thomas lombe, "that eminent throwster, who erected the great engine in derbyshire; a wonderful structure, consisting of twenty-nine thousand five hundred and eighty-six wheels, all set a going and continued in motion by one single water-wheel, for working silk with expedition and success." see also appendix vii.] [footnote : manuscript lecture of j. willard, esq.] a corporation was formed in london, in , with the professed intention of lending money to the poor on small pledges, and to persons of better rank, upon an answerable security, for setting them up, or assisting them in business. its capital was then limited to £ , , but in increased to £ , , and a charter granted to the corporation, by act of parliament. but in october , two of the chief officers, george robinson, esq., member for marlow, the cashier, and john thompson, the warehouse keeper, disappeared on the same day. this gave the proprietors great alarm; and an inspection of affairs led to the discovery that for a capital of about £ , , no equivalent was found to the value of £ , ; the remainder having been disposed of by ways and means of which no one could give an account. in consequence of this defalcation, a petition of the proprietors was presented to the parliament alleging that some who had been guilty of these frauds had transported themselves to parts beyond the seas, and carried with them some of the books and effects of the corporation; and that there was great reason to believe that such an immense sum of money could not have been embezzled without the connivance and participation of others who remained in the kingdom; but that the petitioners were unable to come at the knowledge of their combinations or to bring them to justice, unless aided by the power and authority of that house; and therefore prayed that it might be afforded. on the reading of the petition, mr. oglethorpe rose and spoke as follows: "sir, i am persuaded that this petition will be received in a manner befitting the unhappy case of the sufferers and the justice of this house. i can hardly suspect that any gentleman that has the honor of being a member of this house will hesitate in giving all the relief which we can to the number of unfortunate persons, who have been so much injured. yet, because i have heard it whispered out of doors, that we ought not to receive this petition upon account, as is pretended, that the common seal is not affixed to it, i deem it necessary to take some notice of that objection, in case it should be started here. sir, i must say that if there be any irregularity as to the affixing the seal of the company to this petition, it is, in my opinion, so far from being an objection to our receiving the petition, that it is a very strong reason for it. if there be any fault in form, it is the fault of those who had the keeping of the common seal; and, as they may, perhaps, be of those against whom the complaints are made, and who may, upon inquiry, be found more or less amenable for the wrong, we are, therefore, to suspect that the withholding the seal may be with a view of preventing the truth's being brought to light; at any rate, we ought to discountenance and defeat such indirect practices with regard to the use of a common seal. "for my own part, sir, i have been always for encouraging the design upon which this corporation was at first established; and looked upon it as a provident act of charity to let necessitous persons have the opportunity of borrowing money upon easier terms than they could have it elsewhere. money, like other things, is but a commodity, and in the way of dealing, the use of it is looked upon to be worth as much as people can get for it. if this corporation let persons in limited circumstances have the use of money at a cheaper rate than individuals, brokers, or money lenders, would be willing to do, it was certainly a beneficent act. if they had demanded more than was elsewhere given, they would not have had applicants, and the design would not have proved good and useful; but the utility of it was most evident; and the better the design, and the more excellent the benefit, the more those persons deserve to be punished, who by their frauds have curtailed, if not now wholly cut off, these sources of furnishing assistance to the industrious and enterprising, and disappointed the public of reaping the benefit which might have accrued by an honest and faithful execution of so good an undertaking."[ ] [footnote : history and proceedings of the house of commons, vol. vii. p. .] another subject in the parliamentary discussions of oglethorpe which i shall mention, is his defence of the magistracy and town-guard of the city of edinburgh against an arraignment in the house of lords, for what was deemed the neglect of prompt and energetic measures for suppressing the riotous seizure and murder of captain porteous by an exasperated mob. the circumstances were these. after the execution in the grass-market, on the th of april, , of one andrew wilson, a robber, the town-guard, which had been ordered out on the occasion, was insulted by rude and threatening speeches, and pelted with stones, by the mob. john porteous, the captain, so resented the annoyance, that he commanded his men to fire over their heads, to intimidate them; and then, as their opposition became violent, he directed the guard to fire among them; whereby six persons were killed, and eleven severely wounded. for this he was prosecuted at the expense of the city, and condemned to die. but, a short reprieve having been obtained, the mob, determined to defeat it, assembled in the night preceding the seventh day of september, whereon he was to have been executed pursuant to the sentence, and, in a very riotous manner, seized and disarmed the city-guard, and possessed themselves of the town-gates, to prevent the admission of troops quartered in the suburbs. they then rushed to the tolbooth prison; the doors of which not yielding to the force of their hammers, they consumed by fire, and then brought forth porteous by violence, and hung him on a dyer's post, or frame, in the grass-market, nigh the spot where the unfortunate people were killed. the magistrates, attended with several of the burgesses, attempted to quell the riot and disperse the mob, but were pelted with stones, and threatened to be fired upon if they did not retire. this insult of the sovereign authority was too flagrant to be overlooked. proclamations, with rewards of two hundred pounds sterling, were issued for apprehending the rioters, and, when the parliament met, vigorous measures were taken in the affair. the lord provost was ordered up to london in custody; the magistrates summoned to answer the indictment, and a bill was introduced into the house of commons "to disable alexander wilson, esq., the principal magistrate during the riots, from ever after holding any office of magistracy in edinburgh or great britain; to subject him to imprisonment for a year; to abolish the town guard, and to take away the gates of the nether bowport of the city." oglethorpe objected to the first reading of the bill, and it encountered his vigorous opposition. he engaged in a warm defence of the magistrates, and of the guard, declaring that there was no dereliction of duty on the part of the magistrates and of the guard, but they were overpowered by numbers, and thrown into actual jeopardy by the desperation of the mob. hence the penalties of the bill would be the punishment of misfortune, not of crime. in consequence of the stand which he thus took, and the interest made by others in the house of commons, the bill was altered in its most essential circumstances, and, instead of the rigorous inflictions, "mercy rejoiced against judgment," and the city was fined the sum of two thousand pounds, to be applied to the relief and support of the widow of porteous.[ ] [footnote : see appendix viii.] a petition was made to parliament "to extend the benefit of a late _act for naturalizing foreigners in north america_, to the moravian brethren and other foreign protestants who made a scruple of taking an oath, or performing military service." general oglethorpe, in the spring of , presented the petition to the house of commons, with an ample speech, and was supported by many members. the opinion of the board of trade was required on this head. the proprietor of pennsylvania promoted the affair among the members of parliament, and especially with the secretary of state, the duke of newcastle, by his good testimonies of the brethren in pennsylvania. the matter of the bill was properly discussed, formed into an act, and, having passed, with the greatest satisfaction, through both houses, received in june, , the royal assent.[ ] [footnote : cranz's history of the united brethren, translated by la trobe, lond. , p. .] on the th of february, , another petition in behalf of the moravians was presented to the house of commons; and was supported by a long and highly impressive speech by oglethorpe concerning the origin of their church, their constitution, their pious and benevolent labors, and particularly, what he was most apprized of, their peaceable and useful settlements in america. on the th of april, the engrossed bill was read the third time in the house, was passed, _nemine contradicente_, and ordered to be carried to the house of lords. on the st of april, the bill was carried by sixteen members of the house of commons to the house of lords; and, after a short address by oglethorpe, their leader, to lord chancellor hardwicke, was accepted with great solemnity, and laid on the table. after due consideration, the act was passed, and on the th of june the royal assent was given to it. chapter ii. oglethorpe appointed first a director, and then deputy governor of the royal african company--takes a compassionate interest in the situation of an african kidnapped, sold as a slave, and carried to annapolis, in maryland, a province in north america--but proves to have been an iman, or assistant priest, of futa, and was named job solomon--causes him to be redeemed, and sent to england, where he becomes serviceable to sir hans sloane for his knowledge of arabic; attracts also the notice of persons of rank and distinction, and is sent back to africa. in january, , oglethorpe was chosen a director of the royal african company, and the next year deputy governor. this situation brought to his knowledge the circumstances of an african slave, whose story is so interesting, that a few pages may be allowed for its recital. a negro, called job, was purchased on the coast of africa by captain pyke, commander of a vessel belonging to mr. hunt, a rich merchant of liverpool, and carried to annapolis, maryland, where, with others, he was delivered to michael denton, the factor of hunt, who sold him to mr. tolsey. he was at first employed in the cultivation of tobacco; but his humane master perceiving that he could not bear the fatigue, rendered his situation more tolerable by charging him with the care of his cattle. while in this employment, he used to retire, at stated times, to the recesses of a wood, to pray. he was seen there by a white boy, who amused himself with interrupting him, and often with wantonly insulting him by throwing dust in his eyes. this greatly added to job's melancholy, which was increased by his having no means of making known the annoyance and abuse to which he was subjected, so that he grew desperate, and made his escape. he travelled through the woods till he came to the county of kent, on delaware bay, in maryland, where, having no pass, and not being able to give any account of himself, he was taken up as a fugitive slave, and put into prison. while there, his behavior attracted more than common notice. besides a stateliness of bearing, and an air of self-importance, which shew that he could be no ordinary person, he was observed to use prostrations at regular periods of the day, and to repeat sentences with great solemnity and earnestness. curiosity attracted to the prison certain english merchants, among whom mr. thomas bluet was the most inquisitive. he was able, from an old negro, who was a foulah,[ ] and understood the language of job, to obtain some information respecting his former condition and character. these particulars were communicated to his master tolsey, who had been apprized of his capture, and come to reclaim him. in consideration, therefore, of what he had been, he not only forebore inflicting punishment on him for desertion, but treated him with great indulgence. having ascertained that job had in his possession certain slips of a kind of paper, on which he wrote strange characters, he furnished him with some sheets of paper, and signified a wish that he should use it. job profited of his kindness, to write a letter to his father. this was committed to denton, to entrust to his captain on the first voyage which he should make to africa; but he having sailed for england, it was sent enclosed to mr. hunt, at london. when it arrived there, captain pyke was on his voyage to africa. here, however, it was shewn to the governor of the royal african company, and thus it "fell into the hands," says my author, "of the celebrated oglethorpe,[ ] who sent it to the university of oxford to be translated, as it was discovered to be written in arabic." the information which it imparted of the disastrous fate of the writer, so awakened his compassion, that he engaged mr. hunt, by an obligation to refund all expenses, to have job redeemed, and brought to england. this was immediately attended to, and he was sent in the william, commanded by captain wright, and in the same vessel was mr. bluet, who became so attached to him, that, on their landing, he went with him to london, where they arrived in april, . as he did not find oglethorpe, who had gone to georgia, bluet took him to his own house at cheshunt, in hertfordshire. there job recommended himself by his manly and courteous behavior; and applied himself so diligently to learn the english language, that he was soon able to speak, and even write it with correctness. [footnote : in the relation which i follow this appellation is written _pholey_.] [footnote : bluet.] in the mean time a letter was sent in his behalf by oglethorpe to the african company, requesting them to take up his obligation to mr. hunt, and to pay the expenses of his voyage and accommodation after his arrival; and to answer the bills of mr. bluet for his keeping and instruction, till he himself should return. this was readily done, and his emancipation effected for forty pounds; and twenty pounds, bond and charges, were raised by subscription. job's knowledge of arabic rendered him serviceable to sir hans sloane, who often employed him in translating arabic manuscripts, and inscriptions upon medals. to bring him into due notice, sir hans had him dressed in the costume of his country, and presented to the king and royal family; by whom he was graciously received; and her majesty gave him a beautiful gold watch. the same day he dined with the duke of montague; who afterwards took him to his country seat, where he was shewn, and taught the use of, the tools employed in agriculture and gardening. the same nobleman procured for him a great number of these implements, which were put into cases, and carried aboard the vessel in which he was to return to his native country. he received various other presents from many persons; some of these, according to mr. moore, were their royal highnesses, the earl of pembroke, several ladies of distinction, mr. holden, and members of the royal african company. in the reference to him in nichols's _literary anecdotes_, vi. p. , it is said "he returned home loaded with presents to the amount of five hundred pounds." after having passed fourteen months in england, he embarked, in the month of july, , on board a vessel belonging to the royal african company, which was bound for the river gambia, and carried out thomas moore to accomplish some business at a factory of the company's at joar, to whose particular care job was committed. while in england, his friend bluet, collected from job the history of his life, which he published,[ ] and from which some of the preceding, and several of the following particulars are extracted. [footnote : _memoirs of the life of job, the son of solomon, the high priest of bimda, in africa_. by thomas bluet. london, ; vo., dedicated to the duke of montague.] the name of this extraordinary man was ayoub ibn soliman ibrahim, that is, job the son of solomon the son of abraham. his nation was that of the jalofs; his tribe, or cast, the pholey, or foulah; and his native place bunda, a city of galumbo, in the kingdom of futa, in central africa, opposite tombuto.[ ] [footnote : the affix to his name is sometimes spelt jalla, jalof, and dgialla. these indicate the name of the tribe, or nation, to which he belonged; which was that of the jalofs, on the river sanaga, and along the gambia.] ibrahim, the grandfather of job, was the founder of the city of bunda, during the reign of abubeker, then king of futa; who gave him the proprietorship and government of it, with the title of alfa or high priest. after his death, the dignity, which was hereditary in the family, passed to the father of job. on the decease of abubeker, his brother, the prince of jelazi, succeeded to the royalty; he, being already the father of a son, entrusted him to the care of soliman, the father of job, to have him taught the arabic language, and the alcoran. job became, in this way, the fellow student and companion of this young prince. jelazi lived but a short time, and was succeeded by his son. when job had attained the age of fifteen, he assisted his father in the capacity of iman, or inferior priest, and soon after married the daughter of the alfa of tombuto: by her he had three sons, abdallah, ibrahim, and sambo. two years before his captivity he took a second wife, the daughter of the alfa of tomga; by whom he had a daughter named fatima. his two wives and his four children were alive when he left bunda. in the month of february, , the father of job, having learnt that an english vessel had arrived in the gambia, sent his son thither, attended by two domestics, to procure some european commodities; but charged him not to cross the river, because the inhabitants of the opposite bank were mandingoes, enemies of the kingdom of futa. job, coming to no agreement with captain pyke, the commander of the english vessel, sent back his two domestics to bunda, to render an account of his affairs to his father, and to inform him that his curiosity induced him to travel further. with this view he made a contract with a negro merchant, named loumein-yoa, who understood the language of the mandingoes, to serve him as an interpreter and guide on a pacific expedition and overture. having passed the river gambia, when the heat compelled him to avail himself of the cooling shade of the forest, he suspended his arms upon a tree, to rest himself. they consisted of a sabre, with a handle of gold; a dagger in a sheath, with a hilt of the same metal, and a rich quiver filled with arrows, of which king sambo, the son of jelazi, had made him a present. "his evil destiny willed"[ ] that a troop of mandingoes, accustomed to pillage, should pass that way, who, discovering him unarmed, seized him, shaved his head and chin; and, on the th of february, sold him, with his interpreter, to captain pyke; and, on the first of march, they were put on board the vessel. pyke, however, learning from job that he was the same person who had attempted to trade with him some days before, and that he was a slave only by having been kidnapped, gave him leave to ransom himself and his companion. accordingly, job immediately sent to a friend of his father, who dwelt at joar, where the vessel then lay, to beseech him to send news of his captivity. but the distance being fifteen days journey, the captain, after waiting some time, found it necessary to set sail, and the unfortunate job was carried off, and sold, as has been already mentioned. [footnote : this is the explanation of job, who being a mahometan, was a fatalist in his belief.] he is described as being a fine figure, five feet ten inches in height; of a pleasing but grave countenance, and having strait black hair.[ ] his natural qualities were excellent. he was possessed of a solid judgment, a ready and wonderfully retentive memory, an ardent love for truth, and a sweet disposition, mild, affectionate, and grateful. his religion was mahometanism; but he rejected the idea of a sensual paradise, and several other traditions that are held among the turks. the foundation of his principles was the unity of god; whose name he never pronounced without some particular indication of respect. "the ideas which he held of the supreme being and of a future state, appeared very reasonable to the english; but he was so firm in the persuasion of the divine unity, that it was impossible to get him to reason calmly upon the doctrine of the trinity. a new testament in arabic had been given him. he read it; and, giving his ideas, respectfully, concerning it, began by declaring that having examined it carefully, he could not find a word from which he could conclude that there were three gods."[ ] [footnote : there is a scarce octavo portrait of him, head and shoulders only, etched by the celebrated painter, mr. hoare, of bath, in , as appears by a manuscript note on the impression of it in mr. bindley's possession. under the print is engraved, "_job, son of solliman dgialla, high priest of bonda, in the country of foota, africa_."] [footnote : "il etoit si ferme dans la persuasion de l'unité divine, qu'il fut impossible de le faire raisouner paisiblement sur la trinité. on lui avoit donué un nouveau testament daus sa langue, il le lut, et s'expliquant, avec respect, sur ce livre, il commence par déclarer que l'ayant examiné fort soigneusement, il n'y avoit pas trouvé un mot d'ou l'on fuit conclure qu'il y eut trois dieux." _histoire générale des voyages, par l'abbé_ a.f. prévost. to. paris. . tom. iii. p. .] job landed at fort english on the th of august, . he was recommended particularly by the directors of the royal african company to the governor and factors. they treated him with much respect and civility. the hope of finding one of his countrymen at joar, induced him to set out on the d in the shallop with mr. moore, who was going to take the direction of the factory there. on the th at evening they arrived at the creek of damasensa. whilst job was seated under a tree with the english, he saw seven or eight negroes pass of the nation that had made him a slave, thirty miles from that place. though he was of a mild disposition, he could hardly refrain from attacking them with his sabre and pistols; but moore made him give up all thought of this, by representing to him the imprudence and danger of such a measure. they called the negroes to them, to ask them various questions, and to inquire particularly what had become of the king, their master. they answered that he had lost his life by the discharge of a pistol, which he ordinarily carried suspended to his neck, and which, going off by accident, had killed him on the spot. as this pistol was supposed to have been one of the articles which he had received of captain pyke as the price of job, the now redeemed captive, deeply affected by the circumstance, turning to his conductors, said, "you see that heaven has made the very arms for which i was sold, serve as the punishment of the inexorable wretch who made my freedom their procurement! and yet i ought to be thankful for the lot into which i was cast, because if i had not been made a captive, i should not have seen such a country as england; nor known the language; nor have the many useful and precious things that i possess; nor become acquainted with men so generous as i have met with, not only to redeem me from bondage, but to shew me great kindness, and send me back so much more capable of being useful." indeed, he did not cease to praise highly the english in conversing with the africans, and endeavored to reclaim those poor creatures from the prejudice they had that the slaves were eaten, or killed for some other purpose, because no one was known to have returned. having met with a foulah, with whom he had been formerly acquainted, he engaged him to notify his family of his return; but four months elapsed before he received any intelligence from bunda. on the th of january, , the messenger came back, bearing the sad tidings that his father had died; with the consolation, however, of learning, just before his death, of the ransom of his son, and of the favor which he had received in england. one of the wives of job had married again in his absence; and the second husband had fled on being informed of the arrival of the first. during the last three years, the war had made such ravages in the country of bunda, that no cattle remained there. job was deeply affected with the death of his father, the misfortunes of his country, and the situation of his family. he protested, however, that he pardoned his wife, and the man who had espoused her. "they had reason," he said, "to suppose me lost to them forever, because i had gone to a country from which no foulah had ever returned." when moore, from whose narrative these particulars are extracted, left africa, he was charged with letters from job, who remained at joar, to oglethorpe, bluet, the duke of montague, his principal benefactors, and to the royal african company.[ ] [footnote : _travels into the inland parts of africa; containing a description of several nations for the space of miles upon the river gambia; with a particular account of_ job ben solomon, _a pholey, who was in england in , and known by the name of "the african prince." by_ francis moore. london, .] "on thursday, november th, , sir hans sloane communicated to the royal society a letter which a gentleman had received from job, the african, _whom_ mr. oglethorpe _released from slavery_, and the african company sent home to his own country, in one of their ships, about twelve months ago. in this letter he very gratefully acknowledges the favor he received in england; and, in answer to some things desired of him when here, says that he has been in the country where the tree producing the _gum-arabic_ grows, and can assist the english in that trade. he further says, that he has been up in the country, as far as the mountains from whence the _gold-dust_ is wafted down; and that if the english would build flat-bottomed boats to go up the river, and send persons well skilled in separating the gold from the ore, they might gain vastly more than at present they do by the dust trade; and that he should be always ready and willing to use the utmost of his power, (which is very considerable in that country,) to encourage and support them therein."[ ] [footnote : _political state of great britain_, vol. liii. p. .] mr. nichols, who has inserted his name among the members of _the gentleman's society at spalding_, adds, "died ."[ ] [footnote : _literary anecdotes_, vol. vi. p. .] chapter iii. project for settling the south-western frontier of carolina--a charter granted for it, by the name of georgia--trustees appointed, who arrange a plan of settlement--they receive a grant of money from parliament, and from subscriptions and contributions--oglethorpe takes a lively interest in it--states the object, and suggests motives for emigration--a vessel hired to convey the emigrants--oglethorpe offers to accompany the intended colonists--his disinterested devotedness to the benevolent and patriotic enterprise. the project, which had been for some time in contemplation, of settling the south-eastern frontier of carolina, between the rivers savannah and alatamaha,[ ] suggested to oglethorpe that it could be effected by procuring the liberation of insolvent debtors, and uniting with them such other persons in reduced circumstances as might be collected elsewhere, and inducing them to emigrate thither and form a settlement. [footnote : see _a discourse concerning the designed establishment of a new colony to the south of carolina, by sir_ robert montgomery, _baronet. london_, .] as such a project and design required for its furtherance more means than an individual could furnish, and more managing and directing power than, unaided, he himself could exert, oglethorpe sought the coöperation of wealthy and influential persons in the beneficent enterprise. concurring with his views, twenty-one associates petitioned the throne for an act of incorporation, and obtained letters-patent, bearing date the th of june, ; the preamble of which recited, among other things, that "many of his majesty's poor subjects were, through misfortunes and want of employment, reduced to great necessities, and would be glad to be settled in any of his provinces of america, where, by cultivating the waste and desolate lands, they might not only gain a comfortable subsistence, but also strengthen the colonies, and increase the trade, navigation, and wealth of his majesty's realms." and then added, that, for the considerations aforesaid, the king did constitute and appoint certain persons, whose names are given, "trustees for settling and establishing the colony of georgia in america," the intended new province being so called in honor of the king, who encouraged readily the benevolent project, and contributed largely to its furtherance. at the desire of these gentlemen, there were inserted clauses in the charter, restraining them and their successors from receiving any salary, fee, perquisite, or profit, whatsoever, by or from this undertaking; and also from receiving any grant of lands within the said district to themselves, or in trust for them.[ ] [footnote : appendix, no. ix.] "no colony," says southey, "was ever established upon principles more honorable to its projectors. the conduct of the trustees did not discredit their profession. they looked for no emolument to themselves or their representatives after them."[ ] [footnote : southey's life of wesley, vol. i. p. .] in pursuance of the requisitions of the charter, the trustees held a meeting in london, about the middle of july, for the choice of officers, and the drawing up of rules for the transaction of business. they adopted a seal for the authentication of such official papers as they should issue. it was formed with two faces; one for legislative acts, deeds, and commissions, and the other, "the common seal," as it was called, to be affixed to grants, orders, certificates, &c. the device on the one was two figures resting upon urns, representing the rivers savannah and alatamaha, the north-eastern and south-western boundaries of the province, between which the genius of the colony was seated, with a cap of liberty on her head, a spear in one hand, and a cornucopia in the other, with the inscription colonia georgia aug: on the other face was a representation of silk-worms; some beginning, and others completing their labors, which were characterized by the motto, non sibi sed aliis. this inscription announced the beneficent disposition and disinterested motives of the trustees; while the device was an allusion to a special object which they had in view,--the production of silk. they had learned that the climate of the region was particularly favorable to the breeding of the worms, and that the mulberry-tree was indigenous there. they conceived that the attention requisite, during the few weeks of the feeding of the worms, might be paid by the women and children, the old and infirm, without taking off the active men from their employment, or calling in the laborers from their work. for encouragement and assistance in the undertaking, they were willing to engage persons from italy, acquainted with the method of feeding the worms and winding the thread from the cocoons, to go over with the settlers, and instruct them in the whole process. and they intended to recommend it strongly to the emigrants to use their utmost skill and diligence in the culture of mulberry trees, and the prompt attention to the purpose to which their leaves were to be applied; so that, in due time the nation might receive such remittances of raw silk as would evince that their liberality towards effecting the settlement was well applied, and available in produce of an article of importation of so valuable a nature, and in great demand. the trustees were excited to this project by oglethorpe, who had been deeply engaged in ascertaining the value of wrought silk as an article of commerce, and also of the raw silk for domestic manufacture, at the time when mr. john lombe's invention for winding and reeling had been brought before parliament. and now he considered that it would be an exceedingly desirable project to introduce the raising of the commodity in the projected new settlement, and thus diminish to the nation the large sums annually expended in the importation. this is one of those prospective measures for the advancement of the colony, which were nearly a century before the age.[ ] others will hereafter be mentioned alike entitled to wonder and admiration. [footnote : see in the appendix to this volume, a brief history of the culture of silk in georgia.] in order to fulfil the intent and promote the purposes of their incorporation, the trustees gave public notice that they were ready to receive applications from such as were disposed to emigrate. they also appointed a committee to visit the prisons, and make a list of insolvent debtors for whom a discharge from the demands of their creditors could be obtained, and to ascertain what compromise might be effected for their release;[ ] as also to inquire into the circumstances and character of applicants. to render these more willing to emigrate, it became necessary to hold out encouragement and to offer outfits. to defray these and meet subsequent expenses in carrying the enterprize into effect, they first set the example of contribution themselves, and then undertook to solicit benefactions from others. several individuals subscribed liberally; collections were made throughout the kingdom; the directors of the bank of england volunteered a handsome contribution; and the parliament gave ten thousand pounds. [footnote : "that thou mayest say to the prisoners, go forth! to them that are in darkness, show yourselves! they shall feed in the ways. they shall no longer hunger or thirst; for he that hath mercy on them shall lead them, even by the springs of water shall he guide them, with those that come from far."--isaiah xlix. , .] having thus acquired a fund to be laid out in clothing, arming, sending over, and supporting the emigrants, and for supplying them with necessary implements to commence and carry on the settlement, the following statement was published: "there are many poor, unfortunate persons in this country, who would willingly labor for their bread, if they could find employment and get bread for laboring. such persons may be provided for by being sent to a country where there are vast tracts of fertile land lying uninhabited and uncultivated. they will be taken care of on their passage; they will get lands on which to employ their industry; they will be furnished with sufficient tools for setting their industry to work; and they will be provided with a certain support, till the fruits of their industry can come in to supply their wants; and all this without subjecting themselves to any master, or submitting to any slavery. the fruits of every man's own industry are to be his own. every man who transports himself thither is to enjoy all the privileges of a free-born subject."[ ] [footnote : _political state of great britain, for august_, , vol. xliv. p. .] oglethorpe himself stated the object, the motive, and the inducements of such an emigration in the following terms. "they who can make life tolerable here, are willing to stay at home, as it is indeed best for the kingdom that they should. but they who are oppressed with poverty and misfortunes, are unable to be at the charges of removing from their miseries, and these are the persons intended to be relieved. and let us cast our eyes on the multitude of unfortunate individuals in the kingdom, of reputable families, and of liberal, or at least easy education, some undone by guardians, some by lawsuits, some by accidents in commerce, some by stocks and bubbles, and some by suretyship; but all agree in this one circumstance, that they must either be burdensome to their relations, or betake themselves to little shifts for sustenance, which, it is ten to one do not answer their purposes, and to which a well-educated person descends with the utmost constraint. what various misfortunes may reduce the rich, the industrious, to danger of a prison,--to a moral certainty of starving!--these are the persons that may relieve themselves, and strengthen georgia by resorting thither, and great britain by their departure. "with a view to the relief of people in the condition i have described, his majesty has, this present year, incorporated a considerable number of persons of quality and distinction, and invested a large tract of south carolina in them, by the name of georgia, in trust, to be distributed among the necessitous. those trustees not only give land to the unhappy, who go thither, but are also empowered to receive the voluntary contributions of charitable persons to enable them to furnish the poor adventurers with all necessaries for the expense of the voyage, occupying the land, and supporting them, until they find themselves settled. so that now the unfortunate will not be obliged to bind themselves to a long service to pay for their passage, for they may be carried _gratis_ into a land of liberty and plenty, where they will immediately find themselves in possession of a competent estate, in a happier climate than they knew before,--and they are unfortunate indeed if they cannot forget their sorrows."[ ] [footnote : _new and accurate account of the provinces of south carolina and georgia_. london. . p. -- .] when the trustees had got a list of a sufficient number of persons disposed to emigrate, they resolved to send them over. a vessel was hired to convey the emigrants, fitted up for their accommodation, and supplied with stores, not only for the voyage, but for their support after their arrival. the trustees also furnished tools for building, implements for husbandry, domestic utensils, and various other articles; and james oglethorpe, esq., one of the trustees, and the most zealous and active promoter of the enterprise, having signified his readiness to go with the emigrants, and in the same ship, in order to see that they were well treated, and to take care of them after their landing, was clothed with power to exercise the functions of governor of the colony.[ ] [footnote : _account, shewing the progress of the colony of georgia from its first settlement; published by order of the honorable trustees, by benjamin martin, secretary_. london. .] he was prompted to engage in this undertaking by the spirit of enterprise and an enlarged philanthropy and patriotism. while the benevolent purpose called into exercise his noblest feelings, he considered that the settlement of a new colony, in a pleasant region, would not only raise the character and highly improve the condition of those by whom it was constituted, but contribute to the interests of the british empire. in all this he was actuated by motives wholly disinterested; for he freely devoted his time, his exertions, and his influence to the enterprise; and not only bore his own expenses, but contributed largely to the means and assistance of others.[ ] [footnote : see appendix, no. x.] the abbe raynal, in his _philosophical and political history of the british settlements in america_,[ ] states as the _cause_ of oglethorpe's undertaking, what, when rightly understood, was but a _consequence_ of it. he says, "a rich and humane citizen, at his death, left the whole of his estate to set at liberty such insolvent debtors as were detained in prison by their creditors. prudential reasons of policy concurred in the performance of this will, dictated by humanity; and the government gave orders that such unhappy prisoners as were released should be transported into georgia. the parliament added nine thousand eight hundred and forty-three pounds fifteen shillings, to the estate left by the will of the citizen. a voluntary subscription produced a much more considerable sum. general oglethorpe, a man who had distinguished himself by his taste for great designs, by his zeal for his country, and his passion for glory, was fixed upon to direct these public finances, and to carry into execution so excellent a project." [footnote : book ii. chap. iv. see also his _history of the settlements and trade of the east and west indies, by europeans_, book xviii. vol. vii. page , of the english translation. lond. .] mr. warden, adopted this account, but varied a little from it; for he says, "it happened that oglethorpe was named executor for the disposal of a legacy left by a wealthy englishman for the deliverance of insolvent debtors, detained in prison; and this donation, with others, procured from generous individuals, and ten thousand pounds sterling advanced by the government, was employed for the establishment of a colony, where this unfortunate class of men might find an asylum."[ ] [footnote : _statistical, political, and historical account of the united states of america_. vol. ii. p. .] mr. graham has also followed this statement, and given the testator the credit of projecting the release of prisoners for debt; a project which originated solely with oglethorpe.[ ] [footnote : _history of america_. vol. iii p. .] i have sought in vain for early vouchers of this statement, and feel assured that the project did not grow out of a bequest either of a "whole estate," or a "legacy" of any amount, left by "a rich citizen," or "a wealthy subject" of great britain. the story, like most others, becoming amplified by repetition, arose from the fact that edward adderly, esq. had given, in his will, the sum of one hundred pounds in aid of the settlement of georgia; but that was _two years after the settlement had commenced_; and it was not to oglethorpe individually to manage, but to the trustees to appropriate. among my authorities are the publications of the day, when facts and circumstances are mentioned as taking place, and may, therefore, be relied on. i dwell on them more particularly, and lay on them greater stress, because all the early narratives speak of oglethorpe as the projector of the undertaking, the leader of the emigrants, the founder of the colony. the publisher of "an account of the first planting of the colony of georgia,"[ ] speaking of his engagedness in this noble cause, says, "this was an instance of generosity and public spirit, and an enterprise of fatigue as well as of danger, which few ages or nations can boast." [footnote : _account of the first planting of the colony of georgia; published from the records of the trustees; by_ benjamin martin, _their secretary_. lond. , p. .] ambition and enterprise were strong traits in his character; and what he devised, his firmness of constitution, vigor of health, force of principle, and untiring perseverance, enabled him to pursue to its accomplishment. chapter iv. the emigrants embark--arrive at charlestown, south carolina--oglethorpe visits governor johnson--proceeds up the savannah river--place of settlement fixed upon--town laid out--labors superintended, and assisted by colonel bull--treaty with tomo chichi--progress of settlement--oglethorpe makes a visit to governor johnson, and presents himself before the house of assembly, and makes an address of grateful acknowledgment of favors received--returns to savannah--holds a treaty with the lower creeks--goes to head-quarters on the ogechee--fort argyle built--savannah laid out in wards, and court of records instituted. on the th of november, , the intended emigrants embarked, accompanied by the reverend henry herbert, d.d., a clergyman of the church of england, as chaplain, and mr. amatis, from piedmont, who was engaged to instruct them in raising silk-worms, and the art of winding silk. the, following "account of their setting forth," is taken from a contemporary publication. "the ann galley, of about two hundred tons, is on the point of sailing from depford, for the new colony of georgia, with thirty-five families, consisting of carpenters, brick-layers, farmers, &c., who take all proper instruments for their employment on their arrival. the men are learning military discipline of the guards; and are furnished with muskets, bayonets, and swords, to defend the colony in case of an attack from the indians. the vessel has on board ten tons of alderman parsons's best beer, and will take in at madeira five tons of wine for the service of the colony. many of the trustees were on board for the purpose of ascertaining whether they were suitably accommodated and provided for; and to take leave of the worthy gentleman of their own body, who goes with them to take care of them, and to direct in laying out their lands, and forming a town."[ ] [footnote : gentleman's magazine for , p. .] in pursuance of the benevolent design of the trustees, oglethorpe engaged in this expedition entirely at his own expense; furnished his own cabin-fare, on board; and was constantly attentive, during the whole voyage, to the situation and comfort of the passengers. on the th of january, , the ship dropt anchor outside of the bar, at the port of charlestown, south carolina. excepting that two infirm children died on the passage, all that went on board had been well, and arrived in good health.[ ] [footnote : the following details are taken from what appears to be information sent to the trustees in london, and by them published in that popular journal entitled "_the political state of great britain_," vol. xlvi. page , collated with _the history of the rise, progress, and present state of the colony of georgia_, in harris's collection of voyages, ii. .] oglethorpe, with his suite, went on shore to wait on the governor of the province, his excellency robert johnson. he was received in the kindest manner, and treated by him and the council with every mark of civility and respect. sensible of the great advantage that must accrue to carolina from this new colony, the governor afforded all the assistance in his power to forward the settlement; and immediately sent an order to mr. middleton, the king's pilot, to conduct the ship into port royal, and to furnish small craft to convey the colonists thence to the river savannah. in about ten hours they proceeded with this naval escort. on the th mr. oglethorpe went ashore on tench's island, where he left eight men, with directions to prepare huts for the people who would disembark, and tarry there till he could make farther arrangements. he proceeded thence to beaufort, a frontier town of south carolina, situated on port royal island, at the mouth of the coosawatchie river, having an excellent harbor. early the next morning he went ashore, and was saluted by a discharge of the artillery. the colonists, arriving on the th, were cheerfully received and assisted by lieutenant watts, ensign farrington, and other officers of the king's independent company on that station; and were waited upon and welcomed by mr. delabarr and gentlemen of the neighborhood.[ ] [footnote : "_brief account of the progress of the first colony sent to georgia_,"--inserted in the th volume, p. , of the "_political state of great britain_;" and it makes the second tract in force's collection.] while the sea-worn emigrants rested and refreshed themselves, the indefatigable oglethorpe, accompanied by colonel william bull, a man of knowledge and experience, went up the river to explore the country. having found a pleasant spot of ground near to yamacraw, they fixed upon the place as the most convenient and healthy situation for the settlers, and there marked out a town, which, from the indian name of the river that ran past it, they called savannah. on the th he returned, and with the emigrants celebrated the following sunday as a day of thanksgiving for their safe arrival. a sermon was preached by the reverend mr. jones,[ ] by exchange of services with doctor herbert, who officiated at beaufort. there was a great resort of gentlemen and their families, from the neighborhood, to welcome the new-comers, and unite with them in the gladness of the occasion. [footnote : rev lewis jones. see some account of him in dalcho's _history of the protestant episcopal church in south carolina_, p. .] on the st they arrived at the place selected for their settlement, the description of which by oglethorpe himself, in a letter to the trustees, dated the th of february, , cannot fail to give both interesting information and much pleasure to the reader. after referring to a former letter, and giving a brief notice of their arrival at beaufort, and his selection of a site, a few miles higher up the river, for laying out a town, he adds, "the river here forms a half-moon, along side of which the banks are about forty feet high, and on the top is a flat, which they call 'a bluff.' the plain high ground extends into the country about five or six miles; and, along the river side, about a mile. ships that draw twelve feet of water can ride within ten yards of the bank. upon the river side, in the centre of this plain, i have laid out the town, opposite to which is an island of very rich pasturage, which i think should be kept for the cattle of the trustees. the river is pretty wide, the water fresh, and from the key of the town you see its whole course to the sea, with the island of tybee, which is at its mouth. for about six miles up into the country, the landscape is very agreeable, the stream being wide, and bordered with high woods on both sides. "the whole people arrived here on the first of february. at night their tents were got up. until the tenth they were taken up with unloading and making a crane, which i then could not finish, and so took off the hands, and set some to the fortification, and began to fell the woods. "i have marked out the town and common; half of the former is already cleared; and the first house was begun yesterday in the afternoon. "i have taken ten of the independent company to work for us, for which i make them an allowance. "i send you a copy of the resolution of the assembly of carolina, and the governor and council's letter to me.[ ] [footnote : appendix, no. x.] "mr. whitaker has given us one hundred head of cattle. colonel bull, mr. barlow, mr. st. julian, and mr. woodward are come up to assist us, with some of their servants. "i am so taken up in looking after a hundred necessary things, that i write now short, but shall give you a more particular account hereafter. "a little indian nation, the only one within fifty miles, is not only in amity, but desirous to be subjects to his majesty king george, to have lands given them among us. their chief, and his beloved man, who is the second in the nation, desire to be instructed in the christian religion."[ ] [footnote : "the _beloved man_ is a person of much consequence. he maintains and exercises great influence in the state, particularly in military affairs, their senate, or council, never determining an expedition or treaty without his consent and assistance." boudinot, _star in the east_, p. .] realizing how important it was to obtain the consent of the natural proprietors of the region, to the settlement of his colony here, and how desirable to be on good terms with those in the vicinity, he sought for an interview with tomo chichi, the mico, or chief of a small tribe who resided at a place called yamacraw, three miles up the river. most fortunately and opportunely, he met with an indian woman who had married a carolinian trader by the name of musgrove; and who understood and could speak the english language; and he availed himself of her assistance as an interpreter.[ ] the conference ended in a compact and treaty, favorable to the new comers. from this venerable chieftain he afterwards learned, that, besides that immediate district, the territory was claimed and partly occupied by the tribes of the upper and lower creeks, whose formidable power, no less than their distinct pretensions, rendered it important that their consent should also be obtained. accordingly, to gain their favor and sanction, he engaged tomo chichi to despatch an invitation to their chiefs, to hold a conference with him at savannah. [footnote : oglethorpe afterwards allowed her an annual stipend for her services, finding that she had great influence with the indians.--some years afterwards she married the reverend mr. bosomworth; and then she put on airs, and united with him in a vexatious claim for a large tract of land. _see_ mccall, vol. i. p. . bosomworth had been a chaplain in the regiment of the general; had received many favors from him personally; and a salary from the _society for propagating the gospel in foreign parts_.] a letter from oglethorpe, dated savannah march th, - , gives the following additional information. "this province is much larger than we thought, being one hundred and twenty miles from this river to the alatamaha. this river has a very long course, and a great trade is carried on by it to the indians, there having above twelve trading boats passed since i have been here. "there are in georgia, on this side the mountains, three considerable nations of indians; one called the _lower creeks_, consisting of nine towns, or rather cantons, making about one thousand men able to bear arms. one of these is within a short distance from us, and has concluded a peace with us, giving up their right to all this part of the country; and i have marked out the lands which they have reserved to themselves. the king comes constantly to church, and is desirous to be instructed in the christian religion; and has given me his nephew, a boy, who is his next heir, to educate. "the two other nations are the uchees and the _upper creeks_; the first consisting of two hundred, the latter of eleven hundred men. we agree so well with the indians, that the creeks and uchees have referred to me a difference to determine, which otherwise would have occasioned a war. "our people still lie in tents, there being only two clapboard houses built, and three sawed houses framed. our crane, our battery of cannon, and magazine are finished. this is all that we have been able to do, by reason of the smallness of our number, of which many have been sick, and others unused to labor; though, i thank god, they are now pretty well, and we have not lost one since our arrival here."[ ] [footnote : _political taste of great britain_, vol. xlv. p. .] the following extract from a letter dated charlestown, d march, - , and printed in the south carolina gazette, describes, in honorable terms, the attention which the leader of this enterprise devoted to its furtherance.[ ] [footnote : see also "_account showing the progress of the colony of georgia from its first establishment_." lond. . the _appendix_, no. contains the letter, with this notice--"written by a gentleman of charlestown, who, with some others, went thither, [i.e. to savannah] out of curiosity."] "mr. oglethorpe is indefatigable, and takes a great deal of pains. his fare is but indifferent, having little else at present but salt provisions. he is extremely well beloved by all the people. the general title they give him is _father_. if any of them are sick, he immediately visits them, and takes a great deal of care of them. if any difference arises, he is the person that decides it. two happened while i was there, and in my presence; and all the parties went away, to outward appearance, satisfied and contented with his determination. he keeps a strict discipline. i never saw one of his people drunk, nor heard one of them swear, all the time i was there. he does not allow them rum; but in lieu gives them english beer. it is surprizing to see how cheerful the men go to work, considering they have not been bred to it. there are no idlers there. even the boys and girls do their part. there are four houses already up, but none finished; and he hopes, when he has got more sawyers, which i suppose he will have in a short time, to finish two houses a week. he has ploughed up some land; part of which he has sowed with wheat, which has come up, and looks promising. he has two or three gardens, which he has sowed with divers sorts of seed, and planted thyme, sage, pot-herbs, leeks, skellions, celery, liquorice, &c., and several trees. he was palisading the town and inclosing some part of the common; which i suppose may be finished in about a fortnight's time. in short, he has done a vast deal of work for the time; and i think his name justly deserves to be immortalized." "colonel bull, who had been sent by governor johnson to assist in laying out the town, and to describe to the people the manner of felling the trees, and of clearing, breaking up, and cultivating the ground, was a very efficient helper. he brought with him four of his negroes, who were sawyers, to help the workmen; and also provisions for them; being resolved not to put the trustees to any expense; but to bestow his aid in the most free and useful manner. others from carolina, also, sent laborers, who, being accustomed to preparing a plantation for settlement, were very expert, and of essential service." thus generously assisted, the new settlers were enabled to cut down a great number of trees[ ]; to clear the land, to construct comfortable houses[ ], to make enclosures of yards and gardens, to build a guard-house and fortification, and to effect other means of accommodation and defence. [footnote : four beautiful pine-trees were left upon the plain, under which general oglethorpe encamped.] [footnote : these were all of the same size; by feet. the town-lots consisted of one quarter of an acre; but they had other lots, at a small distance out of town, consisting of five acres, designed for plantations.] a public garden was laid out, which was designed as a nursery, in order to supply the people with white mulberry trees, vines, oranges, olives, and various necessary plants, for their several plantations; and a gardener was appointed for the care of it, to be paid by the trustees. things being put in a good train, and the proper station and employment of every man assigned him, oglethorpe went to charlestown on a visit to governor johnson and the council. his object was to make a more intimate acquaintance with them, gratefully to acknowledge the succors for the new comers which had been so generously bestowed; and to consult measures for their mutual intercourse. on saturday, june th, presenting himself before the governor and house of assembly, he thus addressed them. "i should think myself very much wanting in justice and gratitude, if i should neglect thanking your excellency, you gentlemen of the council, and you gentlemen of the assembly, for the assistance which you have given to the colony of georgia. i have long wished for an opportunity of expressing my sense of the universal zeal which the inhabitants of this province have shewn for assisting that colony; and could not think of any better opportunity than now, when the whole province is virtually present in its general assembly. i am, therefore, gentlemen, to thank you for the handsome assistance given by private persons, as well as by the public. i am to thank you, not only in the name of the trustees, and the little colony now in georgia, but in behalf of all the distressed people of britain and persecuted protestants of europe, to whom a place of refuge will be secured by this first attempt. "your charitable and generous proceeding, besides the self-satisfaction which always attends such actions, will be of the greatest advantage to this province. you, gentlemen, are the best judges of this; since most of you have been personal witnesses of the dangerous blows which this country has escaped from french, spanish, and indian arms. many of you know this by experience, having signalized yourselves personally, either when this province by its own strength, and unassisted by any thing but the courage of its inhabitants and the providence of god, repulsed the formidable invasions of the french; or when it defeated the whole body of the southern indians, who were armed against it, and was invaded by the spaniards, who assisted them. you, gentlemen, know that there was a time when every day brought fresh advices of murders, ravages, and burnings; when no profession or calling was exempted from arms; when every inhabitant of the province was obliged to leave wife, family, and useful occupations, and undergo the fatigues of war, for the necessary defence of the country; and all their endeavors scarcely sufficient to guard the western and southern frontiers against the indians. "it would be needless for me to tell you, who are much better judges, how the increasing settlement of a new colony upon the southern frontiers, will prevent the like danger for the future. nor need i tell you how every plantation will increase in value, by the safety of the province being increased; since the lands to the southward already sell for above double what they did before the new colony arrived. nor need i mention the great lessening of the burden of the people by increasing the income of the tax from the many thousand acres of land either taken or taking up on the prospect of future security. "the assistance which the assembly have given, though not quite equal to the occasion, is very large with respect to the present circumstances of the province; and, as such, shows you to be kind benefactors to your new-come countrymen, whose settlements you support; and dutiful subjects to his majesty, whose revenues and dominions you by this means increase and strengthen. "as i shall soon return to europe, i must recommend the infant colony to your further protection; being assured, both from your generosity and wisdom, that you will, in case of any danger or necessity, give it the utmost support and assistance." to the insertion of this speech in the _political state of great britain_, october, , page , it is added, "on the sunday evening following he set out again for georgia; so that we may perceive that there is no endeavor wanting in him to establish and make that settlement a flourishing colony; but his conduct in this whole affair is by much the more extraordinary, and the more to be applauded, because, by the nature of the settlement, he cannot so much as expect any private or particular benefit; he cannot possibly have any other reward but that which is the certain, the eternal reward of good actions, a consciousness of having done a service to his country, and to mankind." favored by their industry, and the smiles of a propitious providence in that delightful region, "the wilderness and the solitary place was glad for them; and the desert rejoiced and blossomed as a rose."[ ] "they planted vineyards, and made themselves gardens, and set out in them trees of all kinds of fruits."[ ] [footnote : isaiah, xxxv. .] [footnote : ecclesiastes, ii. .] in aid and encouragement of the settlement, the trustees received a letter from thomas penn, proprietor of pennsylvania, dated philadelphia, march th, - , approving very highly of the undertaking, promising to contribute all the assistance in his power, and acquainting them that he had for himself subscribed one hundred pounds sterling, and that he was collecting what sums of money he could get from others, to be sent them, in order to be employed for the purposes of their charter[ ]. [footnote : _political state of great britain_, for june, , vol. xlv. p. .] it has been already observed that "oglethorpe endeavored very early to secure the favor of the indians, who, by ranging through the woods, would be capable of giving constant intelligence to prevent any surprise upon the people, and would be a good out-guard for the inland parts of the colony; as also to obtain of them grants of territory, and privilege of undisturbed occupancy and improvement[ ]." he was pleased, therefore, on his return from charlestown, to find the chiefs of the lower creeks in waiting; the purpose of whose visit, as made known by mr. wiggan[ ] and mr. john musgrove, who acted as interpreters, was to treat on an alliance with the colony. [footnote : _account, showing the progress of the colony of georgia, from its first establishment_. lond. , p. .] [footnote : william wiggan, who accompanied sir alexander cuming in the beginning of the year , on his journey to the cherokees, is, in the narrative of that expedition, called not merely "the interpreter," but "the complete linguist."] these creeks consisted of eight tribes, united in a kind of political confederacy; all speaking the same language, but being under separate jurisdictions. their deputation was composed of their micoes, or chiefs, and leading warriors, about fifty in number.[ ] [footnote : "besides a king, every indian town has a head warrior, who is in great esteem among them, and whose authority seems to be greater than their kings; because the king is looked upon as little else than a civil magistrate, except it so happens that he is at the same time a head warrior." _narrative of a journey among the indians in the northwest parts of south carolina_, , by sir alexander cuming. see, also, appendix, no. xii.] the general received them with courtesy, and then invited them to "a talk," in one of the new houses. he informed them that the english, by coming to settle there, did not pretend to dispossess, nor think to annoy the natives; but above all things desired to live on good terms with them, and hoped, through their representatives, now present, to obtain from them a cession of that part of the region on which he had entered, and to form and confirm a treaty of friendship and trade. when he had explained his views with respect to the settlers, and their designs in making the location, ouechachumpa, a very tall old man, in the name of the rest, informed the british adventurers what was the extent of the country claimed by their tribes. he acknowledged the superiority of the white men to the red; and said that he was persuaded that the great spirit who dwelt above and all around, (whose immensity he endeavored to express by throwing abroad his hands, and prolonging his articulations as he spoke,) had sent the english thither for the good of the natives; and, therefore, they were welcome to all the land which the creeks did not use themselves. he confirmed his speech by laying before oglethorpe eight buckskins, one for each of the creeks; the best things, he said, that they had to bestow. he thanked them for their kindness to tomo chichi, who, it seems, had been banished with some of his adherents, from his own nation; but for his valor and wisdom had been chosen mico by the yamacraws, an emigrating branch of the same stock. the declarations of the speaker were confirmed by short speeches of the others; when tomo chichi, attended by some of his friends, came in, and, making a low obeisance, said, "when these white men came, i feared that they would drive us away, for we were weak; but they promised not to molest us. we wanted corn and other things, and they have given us supplies; and now, of our small means, we make them presents in return. here is a buffalo skin, adorned with the head and feathers of an eagle. the eagle signifies speed, and the buffalo strength. the english are swift as the eagle, and strong as the buffalo. like the eagle they flew hither over great waters; and like the buffalo nothing can withstand them. but the feathers of the eagle are soft, and signify kindness; and the skin of the buffalo is covering, and signifies protection. let these, then, remind them to be kind, and protect us." the alliance was soon made. the treaty contained stipulations on the part of the english, concerning trade; reparation of injuries, should any be committed; and punishment for impositions, should any be practised upon them; and, on the part of the indians, a free and formal cession of that part of the region which was not used by the yamacraws, nor wanted by the creeks. by this cession they made a grant to the trustees of the lands upon savannah river as far as the river ogechee, and all the lands along the sea-coast between savannah and alatamaha rivers, extending west as high as the tide flows, and including all the islands; the indians reserving to themselves the islands of ossabaw, sapeloe, and st. catherines, for the purposes of hunting, bathing and fishing; as also the tract of land lying between pipe-maker's bluff and pallachucola creek, above yamacraw bluff, which they retained as an encampment when they should come to visit their beloved friends in that vicinity. this special reservation of some islands had been made by them in their treaty with governor nicholson, in . oglethorpe then presented to each of the eight chiefs a laced coat and hat, and a shirt; to each of the eight war-captains, a gun, with powder, flint, bullets and shot; to the beloved men a duffle mantle of coarse cloth;--and distributed some smaller presents among their attendants. upon this they took their leave of him, highly satisfied with the treatment which they had met.[ ] [footnote : this treaty was sent to england, and was confirmed by the trustees on the th of october, . for a copy of it, see mccall, _history of georgia_, appendix to vol. i. p. . the _history of georgia_, by major mccall has great merit. it was written by the worthy author under circumstances of bodily suffering, submitted to, indeed with meekness, borne with heroic fortitude, and endured with unfailing patience. it is wonderful that he succeeded so well in the accomplishment of his work, considering the scanty materials which he could procure; for he says, that, "without map or compass, he entered an unexplored forest, destitute of any other guide than a few ragged pamphlets, defaced newspapers, and scraps of manuscripts."] having taken much pains to become acquainted with the character of the natives, he furnished a very intelligent traveller, by whom he was visited, with an interesting account of their manners and customs; who annexed it to the published volume of his travels.[ ] [footnote : as this is an extremely rare book, i give the title from a copy in the library of harvard college. "_a new voyage to georgia, by a young gentleman: giving an account of his travels in south carolina, and part of north carolina. to which is added a curious account of the indians by an honorable person; and a poem to james oglethorpe, esq., on his arrival from georgia_." london, . mo. the author of the "_history of georgia_," contained in the th volume of the "_universal history_," page , quotes passages from this "account of the indians," and ascribes it to oglethorpe.--mr. salmon in the d vol. of his _modern history_, p. , giving an account of _the present state of georgia_, introduces a quotation from what he calls "mr. oglethorpe's account of the religion and government of the creeks," in the following words: "mr. oglethorpe, speaking of the religion and government of the creek nation, in 'a letter from georgia to a person of honor in london,' says 'there seems to be a way opened to our colony towards the conversion of the indians,' &c. this is decisive in fixing the author; for mr. salmon knew the general personally; and, on publishing another edition of his elaborate work, obtained from him, a very interesting '_continuation of the present state of georgia_.'" the letter is copied into the _gentleman's magazine_, vol. iii. p. and . see also appendix, no. xiii.] on the th of june he went to the horse-quarter, which lies six miles up the river ogechee, and there took with him captain mcpherson, with a detachment of his rangers, on an excursion into the interior. after a march of forty miles westward, he chose a post, commanding the passages by which the indians used to invade carolina in the late wars. here, upon an eminence which commands all the country round, he directed that a fortification should be built, to be called "fort argyle," in memory of his honored patron john duke of argyle.[ ] it is on the west bank of the ogechee river. its design was to protect the settlers from invasions by the spaniards. captain mcpherson and his troop were to be quartered there, and ten families from savannah to be removed, as cultivators, to its immediate vicinity. [footnote : see appendix, no. xiv.] on the th of july, at day break, the inhabitants of savannah were assembled on the strand for the purpose of designating the wards of the town, and assigning the lots. in a devotional service, they united in thanksgiving to god, that the lines had fallen to them in a pleasant place, and that they were about to have a goodly heritage. the wards and tithings were then named; each ward consisting of four tithings, and each tithing of ten houses; and a house lot was given to each freeholder. there being in derby ward but twenty one houses built; and the other nineteen having no house erected on them, mr. milledge and mr. goddard, the two chief carpenters, offered, in the name of themselves and seventeen of their helpers, to take the unbuilt on lots, and give the built ones to those who were less able to help themselves. the people then partook of a plentiful dinner, which their generous governor had provided.[ ] [footnote : an account of this transaction in the _south carolina gazette_, under the date of august th, closes with this remark; "some of the people having privately drunk too freely of rum, are dead; and that liquor, which was always discountenanced there, is now absolutely prohibited."] in the afternoon the grant of a court of record was read, and the officers were appointed. the session of the magistrates was then held, a jury impanneled, and a case tried. these were necessary regulations for establishing a due regard to order, discipline, and government. and yet, with all the influence which their honored leader could give to sanction the measures and support the authority, there was much to be done to render the administration effective. the settlers had no common bond of attachment or accordance; of course, it was very difficult to dispose them to the reciprocal offices of a social state, much more so to the still higher obligations of a civil compact. together with these aims of those who were put into places of authority, they were obliged daily to use their endeavors to bring the restive and quarrelsome into proper subordination; to keep the sluggish and lazy diligently employed, and to teach the thriftless to be economical and prudent. "tantae molis erat disjunctis condere gentem!" chapter v. oglethorpe intended to visit boston, in new england--governor belcher's letter to him--provincial assembly appoint a committee to receive him--sets out on an exploratory excursion--names an island, jekyl--visits fort argyle--returns to savannah--saltzburgh emigrants, conducted by baron von reck, come to settle in georgia--oglethorpe assists them in selecting a place--they call it ebenezer--he then goes up the river to palacholas--returns--goes to charlestown, with tomo chichi and other indians, in order to take passage to england. oglethorpe intended to have made the tour of the colonies; particularly to have visited boston, in massachusetts. apprized of this intention, governor belcher addressed to him the following letter[ ]. [footnote : copied from the letter-book of governor belcher, in the cabinet of the massachusetts historical society.] boston, new england, may d, . honored sir, it is with great pleasure that i congratulate you on your safe arrival in america; and i have a still greater in the advantages which these parts of his majesty's dominions will reap from your noble and generous pursuits of good to mankind in the settlement of georgia. may god almighty attend you with his blessing, and crown your toils with success. several of my friends, sir, from london, acquaint me with your intentions to pass by land from south carolina, through the king's territories as far as this place; where i shall be very proud of shewing you the just esteem which i have for you; and shall depend that you will please to accept such quarters as my habitation affords during your stay in this government. when you get to philadelphia or new york, i shall be glad of the favor of a line from you, to know how and when you make your route hither. i am, with great respect, sir, your most obedient, and most humble servant, jonathan belcher. at the next assembly of the province, the governor, in a special message, apprized them of the expectation which he had of a visit from the general; and in the house of representatives "it was ordered that a committee should be raised to prepare for the reception of james oglethorpe, esq., who may be expected in boston this summer; that so the government may express their grateful sense of his good services to the public interest of the province." june st, , the following motion was agreed on:-- "whereas james oglethorpe, esq., a member of parliament, and now at georgia, near south carolina, hath at several times appeared in favor of new england; and, in a particular manner done many good offices for this province, of which this court hath been advised by mr. agent wilkes, and that he intends, in a short time, to return to great britain, by the way of boston:-- "_voted_, that mr. speaker, mr. cooke, major brattle, mr. thacher, mr. welles, mr. cushing, mr. hall, mr. webb, and major bowles, be a committee, from this house, to congratulate that honorable gentleman upon his arrival at boston; and, in their name and behalf, acquaint him that the assembly are well knowing of the many good offices he hath done this province, in that, when the interest, trade, and business thereof have been under the consideration of the british parliament, he hath, in a distinguishing manner, consulted measures to perpetuate the peace and lasting happiness of this government. and, as his worthy and generous actions justly deserve a most grateful and public acknowledgment, to assure him that this country will retain a lasting remembrance of his great benefactions; and that a recognition of the favors which they have so frequently received from him, is the least that the house can offer; while they earnestly desire the continuance of his good will towards this province." his excellency then made the following speech: "gentlemen of the council and house of representatives, "i am glad to see the respect which you have expressed in your vote to the honorable mr. oglethorpe, a member of that wise and august body, the parliament of great britain; but, as there is no money in the treasury to defray the charge of the reception and entertainment of that honorable gentleman, i have taken early care to invite him to my house, when he may come into this province, and i shall endeavor to entertain him in such a manner as may express the great esteem which i have of his attachment to his majesty and to his royal house, and of his regard to this province, as well as of his great merit. and this i will do at my own charge, till the treasury may be supplied. and for these reasons i have not made your vote an order of this court." the editor of the publication, entitled "_the political state of great britain_," makes the following remarks upon these doings of the legislature of massachusetts:[ ] [footnote : vol. xlviii. p. .] "this expression of gratitude towards mr. oglethorpe shows that the gentlemen who are members of the house of representatives in that colony, are men of good sense as well as lovers of their country; and there is certainly no greater incitement to generous and public spirited actions than that of public acknowledgment and praise." circumstances, however, prevented his making a visit, so earnestly expected, and which would have been so mutually gratifying. on wednesday, january , , oglethorpe set out on an exploratory excursion, to view the southern frontiers, in a row-boat commanded by captain ferguson, attended by fourteen companions and two indians; followed by a yawl loaded with ammunition and provisions. they took "the inland passages." thus are named the passes between the belt of "sea-islands" and the main land. for the distance of seven miles from the ocean along the whole coast, there is a margin of islands and marshes, intersected by rivers, creeks, and inlets, communicating with each other, and forming a complete inland navigation for vessels of one hundred tons. having reached the north-west coast of the islands of ossabaw, st. catherine, and sapelo, they passed the entrances of vernon river, of the ogechee, and of the northern branches of the alatamaha; and, on the th landed on the first albany bluff of st. simons, where they lay dry under the shelter of a large live oak tree, though it rained hard. the next day they proceeded to the sea point of st. simons, in order to take an observation of the latitude. they afterwards discovered an island, of which the general asked the name, and, finding that it had none, he called it jekyl, in honor of sir joseph jekyl, his respected and particular friend[ ]. they reconnoitred various other places, and the mouths of rivers; and, on their return went up the ogechee to fort argyle, where they lay in a house and upon beds, "for the first time since they left thunderbolt[ ]." [footnote : this eminent man, who was the son of a clergyman in northamptonshire, great britain, became known as an able lawyer, and an eloquent statesman. as the friend of the whigs, he was one of the managers of sacheverell's trial; and, after maintaining his principles and popularity undiminished, he was made, in the reign of george i., master of the rolls and privy counsellor, and was also knighted. he died in , aged .] [footnote : this startling appellation was early given to a little settlement in the neighborhood of savannah, in reference to an awful explosion there, the effects of which were said to be perceivable in the sulphuric smell and taste of a spring of water. "adhuc tenet nomen, indelibile!"] the fortifications there, by the unwearied diligence of captain mcpherson, were finished, and very defensible; being well flanked, and having several pieces of cannon.[ ] [footnote : _letter from a gentleman of savannah to his friend at charlestown, s.c._, inserted in _the new england weekly journal_, may , .] by this excursion he ascertained how expedient it was to have an outpost, with a well-manned fort on the island of st. simons; and how desirable to form a settlement and military station near the mouth of the alatamaha, for the protection and defence of the colony.[ ] [footnote : "at the west side of the island is a high bluff, compared with the marshes in its front; and here frederica was afterwards built. the shore is washed by a fine river, which communicates with the alatamaha, and enters the ocean through jekyl sound, at the south end of the island. it forms a bay which is navigable for vessels of large burden." mccall, i. .] a strong sense of indignation had been expressed in england at the persecution of the protestants at saltzburg, in bavaria, who had been banished by an episcopal edict from their homes on account of their religion, and, in the midst of winter, driven from the region to seek a place of refuge[ ]. oglethorpe had shared largely in the general sympathy; and, in a speech in the house of commons, had declared his regret that no provision had been made for their relief in the late treaty. he proposed to the trustees for settling the colony of georgia, that an asylum should be there opened for these exiles. the proposition met with ready concurrence. a letter was addressed to their elder, the venerable samuel urlsperger, to inquire whether a body of them would be disposed to join the new settlers, if measures were taken for their transportation. a favorable answer was received. an english vessel was sent to convey them from rotterdam to dover; and thence they embarked on the th of january, , on board the ship purrysburgh, captain frey, under the more immediate care and conduct of the baron philip george frederick von reck, together with their reverend pastors, john martin bolzius and israel christian gronau. after many difficulties and dangers, they arrived at charlestown, south carolina, on the th of march[ ]. oglethorpe, who happened to be there, as they piously considered, "providentially," bid them a cheering welcome. he had their ship supplied with provisions; and sent the sea-sick pilgrims, what is so grateful and refreshing after a voyage, many baskets of cabbages, turnips, radishes, lettuce, and other vegetables, "of which the gardens were full." he introduced the baron and the ministers to the governor, who received them with much civility, and with whom they dined. [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, , p. , and appendix, no. xv.] [footnote : see appendix, no. xvi.] the general sent one of his men to their ship, as a pilot, as also to announce their arrival, and bespeak the attention of the magistrates at savannah; and, on the th they set sail for the desired region of peace. they entered the river on the th, which was _reminiscere-sunday_; and "they called to remembrance the former days, in which, after they were illuminated," (and because they were so,) "they endured a great fight of afflictions, partly while they were made a gazing-stock in their dispersions, and partly while they became companions of them that were so. but they took unresistingly the spoiling of their goods, trusting to those who had compassion on their sufferings."[ ] "and they remembered the kindnesses of oglethorpe." [footnote : hebrews, x. - .] in the journal of their pastor,[ ] it is stated, "while we lay off the banks of our dear georgia, in a very lovely calm, and heard the birds singing sweetly, all was cheerful on board. it was really edifying to us that we came to the borders of 'the promised land,' _this_ day, when, as we are taught in its lesson from the gospel, that jesus came to the borders by the sea-coast, after he had endured persecution and rejection by his countrymen." [footnote : urlspurger, i. p. .] on the th the ship got upon the sand; but was floated off by the tide on the th, and as they passed up the river, they were delighted with the pleasant prospect on both sides. the balmy odors of the pine trees, wafted by the land-breeze, seemed like incense mingling with their orisons, and the carols of the birds were in accordance with their matin-hymn of praise. this second reference to the minstrelsy of the grove, will not be wondered at by those who have visited that region in the spring of the year. the various notes of the feathered choristers are enchanting, even now, when the din of population has frightened them into coverts. but then, free and fearless, the strains were lively and joyful, and the chorus full. as the vessel was moored near the landing-place, the inhabitants flocked down to the bank, and raised a cheering shout, which was responded with much gladness by the passengers on deck. some of them were soon taken off in a boat, and led round to the town, part through the wood, and part through the newly laid out garden of the trustees. meanwhile "a right good feast" was prepared for them, and they were regaled with "very fine wholesome english beer." and, as otherwise much love and friendliness were shewn them by the inhabitants, and as the beautiful situation round about pleased them, they were in fine spirits, and their joy was consecrated by praise to god. the pastors gronau and bolzius, with the commissary von reck, and dr. zweitzer were lodged in the house of the reverend mr. quincy[ ], whom they had met at charlestown, on his return from a visit which he had been paying to his parents in boston, massachusetts, when he obligingly offered them the accommodation. for the emigrants barracks and tents were provided till the return of the general from charlestown, whither he had gone to take passage for england, "but out of good will to the saltzburgers, he put off his voyage for some days, and was resolved to see them settled before he went[ ]." he had promised them that they should have liberty to choose such part of the country as they thought most convenient, fertile and pleasant; and that he would go out with some of their elders, and select a place to their liking. they desired one at a distance from the sea, on gently rising ground, with intervening vales, near springs of water, and on the border of a small river, or clear brook; such being the nature of the region where they were born. to fulfil this engagement, immediately after his return, attended with paul jenys, esq., speaker of the house of assembly of south carolina, and some other gentlemen, he set out on the th of march, with baron von reck, the commissary, mr. gronau, one of the ministers, mr. zweitzer their doctor, and one of the elders, taking some indians as guides, to explore the part of the country which answered to the description of the saltzburgers. they went up the river in boats as far as mr. musgrove's cow-pens, where horses were got ready; and, after a ride of about fifteen miles, westward, through the woods, they arrived at the banks of a river, eighty feet wide, and twelve deep, with high banks. the adjacent country was hilly, with valleys of cane-land, intersected with little brooks, and bordered with springs of water. the saltzburgers were extremely pleased with the place, and adopted it they then kneeled down by the river side, and devoutly thanked god for bringing them out of their persecutions, safe through so many dangers, into a land of rest; in memorial of which, they desired that the place might be called ebenezer--"hitherto the lord hath helped us!" with the bible in their hands, they then marched up to a site which was judged most proper to build upon; sung an hymn, and the pastor pronounced a benediction. [footnote : the rev. samuel quincy, a native of boston, massachusetts, having been educated in england, and received priest's orders on the th of october, , by dr. waugh, bishop of carlisle, was, in sent, by _the society for propagating the gospel in foreign parts_, as a missionary to georgia.] [footnote : extract from a manuscript of von reck's journal, furnished me by j.k. tefft, esq. of savannah.] having thus assigned to the exiles, "a local habitation and a name," they all went to abercorn, a village lately built, about the distance of six miles. thence the commissary and his companions returned to savannah, and oglethorpe, with the speaker, went to purrysburgh on the th in order to row up the river to the palachocolas indians, but the floods from the cherokee mountains had so swelled the freshes, as to make that passage too tedious. they, therefore, went back to abercorn, and thence to the designed settlement of the saltzburgers, where oglethorpe, parting with his honorable friend, crossed the river with the indians, and renewed his excursion to palachocolas. there he found a fort erected at the lowest passage of the river, and forty-five miles from savannah. returning from this visit, as he entered ebenezer he found eight of the most able-bodied men at work, with their minister gronau, in constructing booths and tents against the arrival of the families. in furtherance of their labors, he laid out the town, and directed the carpenters, who had arrived also in obedience to his orders, to assist in building six houses. these attentions to the accommodation of the poor protestants were gratefully acknowledged, and are recorded in the journal of the reverend mr. bolzius, with a respectful tribute to the religious character of oglethorpe, of which the following is a translation;[ ] "so far as we can conclude from a short acquaintance with him, he is a man who has a great reverence for god, and his holy word and ordinances; a cordial love for the servants and children of god; and who wishes to see the name of christ glorified in all places. so blest have been his undertakings and his presence in this land, that more has been accomplished by him in one year than others would have effected in many. and since the people here have had such good cause to appreciate his right fatherly disposition, his indefatigable toil for their welfare, and his illustrious qualities, they feel that his departure would be a real loss to them. for us he hath cared with a most provident solicitude. we unite in prayers for him, that god would guide him to his home, make his voyage safe and prosperous, and enrich him with many blessings!" [footnote : urlspurger, i. p. .] [illustration] in journeys often and labors more abundant, he returned to savannah; and set out from thence on the d of march, with the speaker, to charlestown, where he arrived on the th with a retinue of indian chiefs, whom he had persuaded to accompany him to england. he had rightly judged that it would be an advantage to the colony to let some of the natives have a sight of england, as it would give them a high idea of that kingdom. he had gained the consent of tomo chichi and scenawki his wife and toonahowi his nephew; of hillispilli, the war chief; apakowtski, stimalchi, sintouchi, and hinguithi, five chiefs of the creek nation; and of umphichi, a chief from palachocolas; with their interpreter. they embarked in the aldborough man of war on tuesday, the th of may, . chapter vi. oglethorpe arrives in england with his indian escort--is welcomed by the trustees--apartments are provided for the indians--they are introduced to the king and royal family--one of their number dies of the small pox--visit the archbishop of canterbury, and eton college--shown the public buildings and institutions in london--embark for georgia--their arrival. the aldborough arrived at st. helen's, in the isle of wight, on the th of june, , bringing the founder of the new colony, with the most gratifying accounts of his labors and success. he had "laid the foundation of many generations." he had made "the desolate wilderness a pleasant portion;" and, for its wildlings, had substituted offsets which should become "plants of renown." and he had brought with him some chiefs of the indian tribes, to testify their accordance with the new settlement, and to repeat the expression of their desire to receive instruction in the language and religion of the settlers. when a roman general returned a conqueror, he entered the imperial city with a triumphal procession, in martial pomp and pageantry, dragging at his car the kings and captains he had vanquished. but here was a return from a successful campaign, not bringing captives taken in battle, but an escort of unconquered chieftains, themselves sharers in the ovation of benevolence and the triumph of philanthropy. oglethorpe immediately addressed a letter to sir john phillips, baronet, notifying him of his return, and giving him the pleasing intelligence of the safe arrival of the baron von reck, and the saltzburgers, whom he called "a very sensible, active, laborious, and pious people." he mentioned their location as selected to their liking; and said that he left them busily employed in completing its settlement. he added, "an indian chief, named tomo chichi, the mico, or king of yamacraw, a man of an excellent understanding, is so desirous of having the young people taught the english language and religion, that, notwithstanding his advanced age, he has come over hither with me to obtain means, and assistant teachers. he has brought with him a young man whom he calls his nephew and next heir; and who has already learned the lord's prayer in the english and indian language." "i shall leave the indians at my estate, till i go to the city, where i shall have the happiness to wait upon you, and to relate all things to you more fully; over which you will rejoice and wonder[ ]." [footnote : not having met with an english copy of the letter, i have given a version from the german in "_ausfürliche nachrichten von der salzburgischen en america, von_ samuel urlspurgher". halle, . to.] having repaired to his house in old palace-yard, westminster, he notified the trustees of his arrival. some of the gentlemen immediately called on him, and escorted him to the georgia office, where he received their congratulations, with "expressions of their great satisfaction in the eminent services which he had performed in behalf of their new settlement."[ ] [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, june, , p. .] on the evening of the st they gave a grand entertainment in honor of so distinguished an associate; and heard from him, with admiration, the narrative of his achievements.[ ] [footnote : _london magazine_, june, .] on a special meeting they "voted their unanimous thanks to him for the ability, zeal, activity, and perseverance with which he had conducted the affairs of the settlement, and assured him that they should ever hold his services in grateful remembrance." a publication of the day thus announces his arrival;[ ] "on the th of last month, james oglethorpe, esq., member of parliament for haslemere, in surrey, and of the trustees for establishing the colony of georgia, arrived in the aldborough man of war, at st. helen's, on his return from that colony; he having had so much generosity and public spirit as to go along with the first number of persons that were sent out for its establishment, where he has been ever since; being resolved to be a sharer with them in all the fatigues and dangers that might happen, either from the inclemency of a new climate, or from any of the accidents that usually attend the settlement of a new colony; and not to leave them till he saw them in a condition, not only to provide their own subsistence, but to defend themselves against any enemy that might probably attack them; all which fatigues and dangers he exposed himself to, and has undergone at his own charge, and without the least view of any private advantage or satisfaction, but that which every good man must feel in contributing to the relief of the distressed, and the public good of his country. this is such an action as the roman historians, in the times of their greatest virtue, would have been proud of recording; and such an one as ought not to escape the notice of any man who pretends to give an account of the transactions of this kingdom." [footnote : political state of great britain, vol. xviii. p. .] his return was congratulated in some very complimentary verses; as was also the arrival of tomo chichi[ ]; and the head of oglethorpe was proposed by mr. urban for a prize medal[ ], to commemorate his benevolence and patriotism. [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, vol. iv. p. .] [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, vol. v. . "the die was broken after a few were struck off." see editorial note in _gentleman's magazine_ for july, , p. . i have procured an engraving, of the size of the original.] comfortable apartments were provided for the indians in the georgia office; and, when they were suitably dressed, and had curiously painted their faces, according to their custom, sir clement cotterell was sent, on the st of august, to the georgia office, whence he took them all, except one who was sick with the small pox, and had them conveyed, in three of the king's coaches, drawn by six horses, to the palace at kensington. they were received at the door by the body guards, and then, by the duke of grafton, lord chamberlain, presented to his majesty, whom tomo chichi addressed in the following characteristic terms. "great king; this day i see the majesty of your person, the greatness of your house, and the number of your people. i am come in my old days; so i cannot expect to obtain any advantage to myself; but i come for the good of the creeks, that they may be informed about the english, and be instructed in your language and religion. i present to you, in their name, the feathers of an eagle, which is the swiftest of birds, and flieth around our nations. these feathers are emblems of peace in our land, and have been carried from town to town, to witness it. we have brought them to you, to be a token and pledge of peace, on our part, to be kept on yours. "o great king! whatsoever you shall say to me, i will faithfully tell to all the chiefs of the creek nation." to this the king replied,--"i am glad of this opportunity of assuring you of my regard for the people from whom you came; and i am extremely well pleased with the assurance which you have brought me from them. i accept, very gratefully, this present, as an indication of their good dispositions towards me and my people; and shall always be ready to show them marks of favor, and purposes to promote their welfare." they were then introduced to her majesty, who was seated on a throne in the great gallery, attended by ladies of the court and nobility. the aged mico thus addressed her: "i am glad to see you this day, and to have the opportunity of beholding the mother of this great nation. as our people are now joined with yours, we hope that you will be a common mother, and a protectress of us and our children." to this her majesty returned a courteous answer. after this they were introduced to his royal highness the prince of wales, the duke of cumberland, the princess of orange, the princesses amelia, caroline, mary, and louisa; and then were conducted back to their lodgings. on the d of august they were greatly afflicted by the decease of one of their companions by the small pox, notwithstanding the best medical attendance; but it occasioned no bad consequences, as his associates were with him, and saw that much better care was taken of him than could have been at home. he was interred, after the manner of their country, in st. john's burial ground, westminster. the corpse, sewed up in two blankets, with a deal-board under and another over, and tied down with a cord, was carried to the grave on a bier. there were present only tomo chichi, three of the chiefs, the upper church-warden, and the grave-digger. when the body was laid in the earth, the clothes of the deceased were thrown in; after this, a quantity of glass beads and some pieces of silver; the custom of these indians being to bury such effects of the deceased with him. as all methods made to console them were disregarded, oglethorpe took them out to his estate, that in the country retirement they might have a better opportunity to bewail the dead according to their custom, and that the change of the place might serve to abate their sorrow. on the th of august, the aged and venerable archbishop of canterbury[ ] had them taken in his boat to putney, where they were received and entertained in a very agreeable manner. on taking leave, tomo chichi intimated his inability, from want of a knowledge of the english language, to express suitably the acknowledgments of himself and his companions of the kind notice taken of them. [footnote : rev. william wake, d.d.] the following day they visited his grace at lambeth, and endeavored to make known to him how deeply affected they were with the ignorance in religion in which they and their people were involved; and how much they not only needed, but desired instruction. in their conference with dr. lynch, the son-in-law of the archbishop, the mico was more explicit, and requested that some person might be sent to teach them; more particularly their youth. on the next day they went to eton college, and were received by the rev. dr. george, dr. berriman, and the rest of the fellows present. on closing their visit to the school-room, tomo chichi begged that the lads might have a holiday when the doctor thought proper; which caused a general huzza. they were then shewn the several apartments of the college, and took a respectful leave. afterwards they went to windsor, where they were graciously received; and thence to st. george's chapel, where the prebends present named dr. maynard to compliment the mico from the dean and chapter. the following day they went to hampton court; saw the royal apartments; and walked in the gardens, where a great concourse of people had assembled to see them. after these more distinguishing attentions, they were shewn the tower, the public buildings, greenwich hospital, and all the great and interesting spectacles in london; and nothing was neglected that might serve to awaken and gratify their curiosity, and to impress them with the grandeur and power of the british nation. after having staid four months, they were taken to gravesend in one of his majesty's carriages, whence they embarked aboard the transport ship, the prince of wales, george dunbar, captain, on the return voyage to savannah, where they arrived on the th of december, . captain dunbar, in a letter to the trustees, announcing his remarkably quick and prosperous passage across the atlantic, wrote thus: "we arrived here all cheerful and in good health. the indians behaved with their accustomed modesty; as did also, the saltzburgers, who are a sober and pious people, and gave much less trouble than i expected; nor do i think any of them were dissatisfied while on board." in conclusion, he added, "tomo chichi, toonahowi, hillispilli, and umpichi were so kind as to come on board on the morning of our intended departure to see me. they have a very grateful remembrance of the many civilities which they received in england, and desire me to inform your honors that santechi has gone to the upper and middle creeks, who are at present extremely well disposed to the british interest, and their deputies are expected down in two months."[ ] [footnote : _london magazine_ for march, , p. . see also the whole letter, in the _political state of great britain_, april, , p. .] chapter vii. oglethorpe remains in england--trustees make regulations--oglethorpe, desirous of providing for the conversion of the indians, applies to bishop wilson to prepare a book of religious instruction for them--trustees seek for missionaries--engage john and charles wesley. oglethorpe remained in england to attend to his duties as a member of parliament, and to suggest to the trustees measures for the furtherance of the settlement of georgia. in consequence of the information which he could give from his personal observation, and that which he had received from others, respecting the state of the colony, and what would be expedient for its advancement in good order and prosperity, the trustees prepared a regulation, which was enacted by the government into a law, "for maintaining peace with the indians." this included the provisions and immunities of the act of the general assembly of south carolina in ; and, of course, was accordant with the relations and mutual interests of both provinces. there was, also, passed a law for a like salutary purpose for preventing trouble with the indians, as well as preserving the health and morals of the people already settled or that might be settled in their new colony, from the pernicious effects of spirituous liquors, entitled "an act to prevent the importation and use of rum and brandies into the province of georgia, or any kind of ardent spirits or strong waters whatsoever." a writer of the day makes this remark, "at the same time the trustees endeavored to supply the stores with strong beer from england, molasses for brewing beer, and with madeira wines; which the people might purchase at reasonable rates, which would be _more refreshing and wholesome for them_."[ ] [footnote : _account, showing the progress of the colony of georgia in america, from its first establishment: published by order of the trustees_. lond. ; page , under the year .] an unchecked indulgence in ardent spirits has ever been followed by lamentable effects. it demoralizes the conduct, destroys health, prevents usefulness, and ruins reputation. it breaks up domestic peace, wastes property, leads to impoverished circumstances, and entails wretchedness upon the members of the family of which the head was the victim. the prohibition, therefore, if it led to the disuse of the dangerous potation, would have been the present removal, and prevented the subsequent extension, of one of the greatest evils which has corrupted the social condition. to these prudent and salutary regulations followed a statute entitled "an act for rendering the province of georgia more defencible, by prohibiting the importation of black slaves, or negroes, into the same." for this enactment, besides the consideration stated in the title, the following reasons are assigned: . on account of the cost of purchase, which, the settlers themselves being too poor to defray, must be met by the trustees; on whom it would be a tax greater than they had funds to pay, or believed that they could obtain. . because of the additional expense of their after maintenance, which must be provided, in addition to that already incurred for the support of those by whom they were to be employed. and . because the trustees were desirous that the settlers should acquire the habits of labor and industry, of economy and thrift, by personal application.[ ] [footnote : see their reasons at large in the publication entitled _impartial inquiry into the state and utility of the province of georgia_, lond. ; or in _collections of the georgia historical society_, vol. i. pages - , and mccall's _history_, vol. i. p. , &c.] it is remarked by mr. burke, that "these regulations, though well intended, and indeed meant to bring about very excellent purposes, yet might at first, as it did afterwards, appear, that they were made without sufficiently consulting the nature of the country, or the disposition of the people which they regarded."[ ] [footnote : _european settlements in america_, vol. ii. p. .] governor belcher, of massachusetts, in a letter to lord egmont, observes, "i have read mr. oglethorpe's state of the new colony of georgia once and again; and by its harbors, rivers, soil and productions, do not doubt that it must in time make a fine addition to the british empire in america; and i still insist upon it that the prohibitory regulations of the trustees are essential to its healthy and prosperous condition; and the alteration of the constitution to the advantage of females must give great encouragement to first undertakers or settlers, as your lordship observes."[ ] [footnote : letter book, in the archives of the massachusetts historical society, vol. v. p. .] the visit of the indians was made subservient to the favorite purpose of oglethorpe, by rousing attention to the improvement of the race in knowledge and religion. at their earliest interviews with him, they had expressed a wish that their children might be taught to speak and read the english language, and they themselves instructed in the principles of christianity. from their intercourse with the carolinians for many years, they had been made sensible of the superiority which such attainments conferred, even where that intercourse had been, as it mostly was, with the traders; but no missionary had been sent, as in our times, to form them to civilization, and "teach them which be the first principles of the oracles of god." oglethorpe felt extremely desirous of obtaining for them these advantages; and expressed to the trustees his belief that they would readily avail themselves of an opportunity for their attainment. in furtherance of this most important object, he applied to the reverend dr. wilson, bishop of sodor and man, to prepare a manual of instruction for them. the good bishop complied with his request with great readiness; and the work was printed at the expense of "the society for propagating the gospel in foreign parts." the volume was dedicated to the trustees; and, in the preface, the author states that it "was undertaken in consequence of a short but entertaining conversation, which he, and some others, had with the honorable and worthy general oglethorpe, concerning the condition, temper, and genius of the indians in the neighborhood of georgia, and those parts of america; who, as he assured us, are a tractable people, and more capable of being civilized and of receiving the truths of religion than we are generally made to believe, if some hindrances were removed, and proper measures taken to awaken in them a sense of their true interest, and of their unhappy condition, while they continue in their present state." "and, indeed, that most worthy gentleman's great and generous concern for both the present and future interest of these nations, and his earnest desire and endeavors, so well known, to civilize them first, and make them more capable of instruction in the ways of religion and civil government, and his hearty wishes that something might be done to forward such good purposes, prevailed with the author, however indifferently qualified for such a work, to set about the following essay for propagating the gospel amongst the indians and negroes."[ ] [footnote : the title of the book is, "_the knowledge and practice of christianity made easy to the meanest capacity; or, an essay towards an instruction for the indians_." london, . mo. a tenth edition was printed in ; and a translation in french, at geneva, in .] on receiving a copy of this work, when it was printed, five years afterwards, from the reverend dr. thomas wilson, son of the bishop, oglethorpe addressed to him the following letter:[ ] [footnote : not finding an english copy i have translated this from the french version.] frederica, in georgia, april , . sir, i have received, with not less pleasure than profit, the book sent to me by you, which was composed by your father. this work breathes so strongly the spirit of primitive piety; its style is so clear and simple; its plan is so easy for minds even the most limited, and at the same time so well adapted to make them understand the most profound mysteries, that it is a true representation of the religion in which it instructs its reader. had our methodists, instead of their lofty imaginations, been taught enough of the language of the indians to be able to translate this book; or had _they_ been sufficiently instructed to permit them to read it with advantage, i doubt not that we should immediately see surprising results from it; but god will accomplish his good work by the means which he will judge proper to employ. i have written to mr. varelst to buy, to the amount of five pounds sterling, copies of your father's work, and to send them to me. "have the kindness to commend me to the prayers of a divine so worthy and pious; and be assured that i am, "your affectionate friend, and very humble and obedient servant, "james oglethorpe." the trustees were now desirous of obtaining proper persons to go to georgia to teach, and endeavor to convert, the indians; and to officiate as chaplains to the colonists at savannah, and at the new town about to be built on the island of st. simons. they fixed their eyes upon mr. john wesley and some of his associates, as very proper for such a mission. the amiable and excellent dr. john burton,[ ] one of the board, who was well acquainted with wesley, having learned that he was in london, went thither himself, in order to accompany him to oglethorpe, with whom, indeed, he was already acquainted by family attentions as well as public fame. the matter was proposed to wesley, and strongly urged by such arguments as they thought most likely to dispose his mind to accept the proposal.[ ] several influential friends concurred in advising him to go; and, as even his mother encouraged it, he yielded his compliance. his brother charles agreed to accompany him, as did benjamin ingham, a member of their association at oxford, and charles delamotte, son of a merchant in london. [footnote : when the settling of georgia was in agitation, in , dr. burton was solicited by the excellent dr. bray, and other episcopal clergymen,[a] to give his assistance in promoting that undertaking. accordingly he preached a sermon in its recommendation before the society for conducting it; and his discourse was afterwards published, with an appendix concerning the state of the colony. bentham, _de vita et moribus johannis burtoni_. vo. london, , page .] [footnote a: rev. dr. hales, dr. berriman, and others.] [footnote : _life of the rev_. john wesley _and of the rev_. charles wesley, his brother, by the rev. henry moore. vo. lond. . vol. vol. i. p. . this interview was on the th of april, .] in consequence of this engagement of the wesleys, the general deemed it highly proper to visit their venerable and excellent parents at epworth, not only to confirm their consent, but to communicate to them such information as should interest them strongly in every measure which aimed at the instruction, civilization, and christianizing of the natives of georgia, from whom he and the new settlers had met so kind a reception. a reference to this, gives me the opportunity of introducing a letter from that aged minister, the reverend samuel wesley, written rather more than a year before, in which he mentions the progress which he had made in a work that he was about to publish, and acknowledges the obligations which he was under to the general for kindnesses shown to himself and sons.[ ] [footnote : this letter is not in the "_memoirs of the wesley family_," published by dr. adam clarke in ; having been recently discovered.] epworth, july , . honored sir, may i be admitted, while such crowds of our nobility and gentry are pouring in their congratulations, to press with my poor mite of thanks into the presence of one who so well deserves the title of universal benefactor of mankind. it is not only your valuable favors on many accounts to my son, late of westminster, and myself, when i was not a little pressed in the world, nor your more extensive charity to the poor prisoners; it is not these only that so much demand my warmest acknowledgments, as your disinterested and immovable attachment to your country, and your raising a new colony, or rather a little world of your own in the midst of wild woods and uncultivated deserts, where men may live free and happy, if they are not hindered by their own stupidity and folly, in spite of the unkindness of their brother mortals. i owe you, sir, besides this, some account of my little affairs since the beginning of your expedition. notwithstanding my own and my son's violent illness, which held me half a year, and him above twelve months, i have made a shift to get more than three parts in four of my _dissertations on job_ printed off, and both the paper, printing, and maps, hitherto, paid for. my son john at oxford, now that his elder brother has gone to tiverton, takes care of the remainder of the impression at london, and i have an ingenious artist here with me in my house at epworth who is graving and working off the remaining maps and figures for me; so that i hope, if the printer does not hinder me, i shall have the whole ready by next spring, and, by god's leave, i shall be in london myself to deliver the books perfect. i print five hundred copies, as in my proposals; whereof i have about three hundred already subscribed for; and, among my subscribers, fifteen or sixteen english bishops, with some of ireland. "if you will please herewith to accept the tender of my most sincere respect and gratitude, you will thereby confer one further obligation, honored sir, on "your most obedient and humble servant, "samuel wesley." "to james oglethorpe, esq." it appears, from a list of subscriptions annexed to mr. wesley's _dissertations on the book of job_, that general oglethorpe took _seven_ copies of the work on large paper, which would amount to at least twenty pounds. the elder son of the rector, also, paid a tribute of respect to the general; and this in harmonious and polished verses; in which, however, he indulged, too freely, the poetic license in highly wrought description of the settlement of georgia, and of the climate and productions of the region.[ ] [footnote : georgia, _a poem_; tomo chichi, _an ode; and a copy of verses on_ mr. oglethorpe's _second voyage to georgia_. these were beautifully printed, in a large type, on nineteen folio pages. they were ascribed to samuel wesley, as their author, in the tract entitled "_true and historical narrative of the colony of georgia," by p. telfair and others_. charlestown, s.c. , page xi. of the preface.] as our narrative is brought near to the period when the general is about to return thither, it may be pertinent to introduce a short extract, in which the poet addresses the new settlers, eagerly expecting his arrival. "see once again, see on your shores descend your generous leader, your unwearied friend! no storm or chance his vessel thither drives, no! to secure and bless you, he arrives. to heaven the praise,--and thanks to him repay, and let remotest times respect the day. he comes, whose life, while absent from your view, was one continued ministry for you; for you he laid out all his pains and art, won every will, and softened every heart. with what paternal joy shall he relate how views the mother isle your little state; how aids the senate, how the nation loves, how george protects, and caroline approves!-- a thousand pleasures crowd into his breast, but one, one mighty thought absorbs the rest, 'and give me, heaven, to see, (the patriot cries), another britain in the desert rise!'" chapter viii. trustees make a new selection of settlers--their proposals successful in scotland--embarkation of highlanders for georgia--indian hieroglyphic letter sent to the trustees--further emigration of saltzburgers--great embarkation of colonists, attended by oglethorpe and the missionaries--employment and religious exercises on board during the voyage--arrival--beacon on the island of tybee--the people go on shore at peeper's island--oglethorpe goes to savannah with the missionaries--sends provisions and refreshments to the emigrants--moore's account of the public garden--tomo chichi welcomes his friend--saltzburgers make application for a removal from ebenezer--oglethorpe sends pioneers to lay out a road to darien. "some of the first settlers had proved as idle and useless members of society in america, as they had been in great britain;" and, as their external wants had been supplied from the common store, they felt no stimulus to industry or frugality. the trustees, finding that the conduct of these drones and loungers tended rather to impede than promote their benevolent intentions, began to look round for a better stock of settlers; a hardy race, with good habits; such as were accustomed to laborious occupation and agricultural pursuits. that all persons who should be disposed to go to georgia, might be fully apprized of the several conditions which they were to perform, and of what was expected, and, indeed, would be required of them, in return for the assistance and support that would be afforded them, a statement was made, and rules and regulations were drawn up, printed and circulated; in which the trustees indicated the qualifications of such as offered themselves, with the expectation of being engaged.[ ] they examined, at their office, such persons as applied for the benefit of the charity; and, out of these selected those who had the best characters, and were the truest and most deserving objects of compassion.[ ] they very explicitly and frankly acquainted the applicants with the inconveniences to which they would be subjected, and the hardships which they must expect to endure. they told them that on their arrival they would be under the necessity of living in slight hovels, till they could form materials for the construction of houses; that they must use great provident foresight to acquire comfortable subsistence, for their wants were to be supplied only till their industry brought in returns. they remarked to them that they, indeed, gave them lands, and furnished them rations for a year, but these lands were to be cleared up and tilled, in order to yield crops; that they must eat salt meat, and drink only beer or water. they reminded them, with solemn caution, that the sicknesses, to which a change of climate would expose them, were most dangerous to those who drank distilled liquors; so that temperance, which was every where commendable and salutary, would be absolutely necessary to preserve health. finally, they were plainly told that if they were distrustful, or reluctant at putting forth their strenuous exertions, they must not engage in the undertaking. [footnote : _account, shewing the progress of the colony of georgia_. lond. . appendix to the volume, no. and .] [footnote : moore's _voyage_, page .] several were disheartened; but their place was soon filled up by others, who thought these difficulties not very great; and that, whatever they might be, they could encounter them; and that they could submit to temporary inconveniences, and persevere in efforts, stimulated by the proffered encouragement and aid. in scotland the proposals of the trustees met with such success that, at inverness and its vicinity, one hundred and thirty highlanders were enrolled for emigration. these, with fifty women and children, were transported to georgia, where they arrived in the month of january, ; and with them came several private grantees, with their servants. the scots were destined to settle on the frontiers, for the protection and defence of the province. after tarrying a few days at savannah, they conveyed themselves in periaguas, to the southward; and, ascending the alatamaha river about sixteen miles from st. simons, pitched upon a place for a residence, where they soon raised a little fort, in which they mounted four pieces of cannon. they, also, built a guard-house, a store, and a chapel, for they brought a pastor with them; and soon put up several huts for temporary accommodation, till they could prepare and erect commodious dwellings. the location, at their desire, was called "darien;" which name the district still bears, and the town they called "new inverness," a name no longer retained.[ ] [footnote : in the early publications this is written with the article--"the darien."] while oglethorpe was in england, what was intended for a letter was sent over to the trustees. it was composed by a chief of the cherokees, drawn and curiously marked in red and black figures on the skin of a young buffalo, neatly dressed. a translation into english had been made from the indian interpretation, when first delivered, in the presence of above fifty of their chiefs, and of the principal inhabitants of savannah. it contained the grateful acknowledgment of the indians of the honors and civilities shown to tomo chichi and his companions; their admiration of the grandeur of the british court and kingdom; and declared their strong attachment to general oglethorpe. this hieroglyphic painting was set in a frame, and hung up in the georgia office in westminster.[ ] [footnote : _american gazetteer_. lond. . mo. vol. ii., article "georgia."] to provide for the raising of silk-worms and winding the thread from the cocoons, was an early purpose of the trustees. liberal encouragement was given by the government and the board of trade to the importation of all that could be produced. samples had been sent to england which gave promise of success. in the beginning of may, this year, the trustees and sir thomas lombe, waited on the queen with a specimen, who was highly gratified with learning that a british colony had produced such silk, and desired that the fabric into which it should be wrought might be shewn her. accordingly, on the st of october, these gentlemen, with mr. booth, the weaver, again waited on her majesty with a piece of the manufactured silk; and she expressed great admiration of the beauty and fineness of the silk, and the richness of the pattern; and, as a further testimony of her satisfaction both with the produce and the manufacture, she ordered a suit to be made up immediately for her own wear, in which she appeared on her birth-day.[ ] to this, a poet of the time, in a description of the products of georgia, thus alludes-- [footnote : _political state of europe_, vol. l. p. , and .] "the merchant hence the unwrought silk imports, to which we owe the attire of queens and courts."[ ] [footnote : _new voyage to georgia_, p. .] a large number of intended emigrants having been enrolled, oglethorpe had been most busily engaged for several months in making preparations for their embarkation. various tools were to be collected, suits and changes of raiment prepared, articles of maintenance selected and packed for the public store at savannah, and accommodations and provisions got ready for the voyage. the indefatigable leader of the expedition gave his personal attendance and directions, and saw that every thing was in the train of accomplishment, aided by the services and supervision of mr. francis moore, whom the trustees had appointed keeper of the stores. oglethorpe had become acquainted with this gentleman as factor to the royal african society, and as having had the charge of job jalla ben solomon, the african prince, whom the company sent back to africa. there were two ships freighted, the symond, of two hundred and twenty tons, captain joseph cornish, master; and the london merchant, of about the same burden, captain john thomas, master; and one of his majesty's sloops, under the command of captain james gascoigne, was ordered to assist the colony, and carry over the general, who intended to inspect the settlement; but he chose to go in one of the ships, though crowded with the emigrants, "that he might be able to take care of the people on the passage." "the whole embarkation amounted to two hundred and twenty people on the trust's account, besides mr. oglethorpe and the gentlemen with him, and his servants, whose passage he himself paid."[ ] [footnote : _voyage to georgia, begun in the year _; by francis moore, vo. london, , page . the author accompanied general oglethorpe on what is called "the great embarkation," as _keeper of the stores_. the first date in the book is " th of october, ," and the last, " d of june, ." he resided at st. simons, and was "recorder at frederica." by an advertisement, at the end of this volume, we learn that he made another voyage to georgia in , where he continued till , when he returned to england. during his residence, he kept a journal, "in which is _an account of the siege of st. augustine, in , and of the spanish invasion, in_ ." he adds, "i think myself obliged to acquaint the public that if i find the foregoing well received, i shall, without delay, publish my other journal, as, also, a continuance of this, containing the treaty with the governor of augustine; and the regulation of several matters, relating to the indian nations." that the journal was not published is greatly to be regretted.] among the adventurers in this embarkation, lured by the accounts which had been published in england, of the delightful region of georgia, were sir francis bathurst, his son, three daughters, and servants; as also several relatives of the planters already settled there.[ ] [footnote : salmon's _modern history_, vol. iii. p. .] i copy from _boyer's political state of great britain_,[ ] the following particulars. "on the th of october, , embarked on board the london merchant, captain thomas, commander, fifty-six men, women, and children, saltzburgers, and some other persecuted protestants from germany, with mr. von reck, who conducted from the same parts a former transport in , and captain hermsdorf, going to settle with their countrymen in georgia. the charge of their subsistence in their long journey from ratisbon and augsburg to rotterdam, and from thence to london, and their expense at london till they went on board, was defrayed by _the society for the propagation of the gospel in foreign parts_, out of the collections committed to them for that purpose." of this society oglethorpe was a member. the charge of their voyage to georgia, with their maintenance there for one year, and for the arms, utensils, and other necessary articles and provisions which they took from hence with them, was defrayed by the honorable trustees for establishing the colony. [footnote : vol. l. page .] "the next day james oglethorpe, esq., set out by land for gravesend, and the reverend mr. john wesley, fellow of lincoln college, oxford, and the reverend mr. charles wesley, student of christ's church college, and the reverend mr. ingham, of queen's, went thither by water, in order to embark on board the symond, captain cornish, commander; on board of which ship went likewise a great number of poor english families, at the expense of the trustees; and soon after these, two ships sailed together in company for georgia. one of the above named clergymen is to settle at the new town of savannah, in that colony; and the other two intend, (after some stay at savannah, to learn the indian language,) to devote themselves to preaching the gospel of our saviour jesus christ to the indian nations bordering upon that colony; which might certainly be done with great effect, if men would but content themselves with inculcating and enforcing the rational and plain doctrines taught by christ himself, without pretending to explain what have since been called _the mysteries_ of the christian religion, which serve only to divide christians among themselves, and have very much prevented the conversion of heathens in all countries, and in all ages." as the periodical publication, from which this paragraph is extracted, was the channel through which official information respecting the settlement and affairs of georgia was communicated, the suggestion with which it is closed is to be understood as the opinion of the trustees. and when we recollect the character of those who composed the board, it may be considered as the dictate of sound judgment, and worthy of heedful observance. the attention of oglethorpe to the persons and condition of the emigrants, was assiduous, considerate, and kind. "he had laid in a large quantity of live stock and various refreshments, though he himself seldom eat any but ship's provisions. not only the gentlemen, his friends, sat at his table, but he invited, through the whole of the passage, the missionaries and the captain of the ship, who, together made twelve in number."[ ] [footnote : moore's _voyage_, p. ii.] they had prayers twice a day. the missionaries expounded the scriptures, catechized the children, and administered the sacrament on sundays; but, though the crew consisted of episcopalians, methodists, german lutherans, and moravians, "oglethorpe showed no discountenance to any for being of different persuasions of religion." "when occasion offered, he called together those who designed to be freeholders, and instructed them in what manner to behave themselves, and acquainted them with the nature of the country, and how to settle it advantageously. he constantly visited the sick, and let them have fowls for broth, and any refreshments of his own; and administered medicine, personally, where it was proper. whenever the weather was calm enough to permit it, he went on board the london merchant, with which company was kept all the way, to see that the like care was taken of the people there."[ ] [footnote : moore, p. .] the journal of wesley gives many details of the voyage; but, as they relate principally to the manner in which he and his brother and two friends spent their time, i pass them over, but quote the following anecdote from one of his biographers.[ ] "mr. wesley hearing an unusual noise in the cabin of general oglethorpe, stepped in to inquire the cause of it. on which the general thus addressed him: 'mr. wesley you must excuse me. i have met with a provocation too much for a man to bear. you know that the only wine i drink is cyprus wine, as it agrees with me the best of any. i therefore provided myself with several dozens of it, and this villain grimaldi' (his foreign servant, who stood trembling with fear,) 'has drunk up the whole of it. but i will be revenged on him. i have ordered him to be tied hand and foot, and carried to the man of war that sails with us. the rascal should have taken care not to have served me so, for i never forgive.'--'then i hope, sir,' (said wesley, looking calmly at him) 'you never sin.' the general was confounded at the reproof; and, putting his hand into his pocket, took out a bunch of keys, which he threw at grimaldi, saying, 'there, take my keys, and behave better for the future!'" [footnote : rev. henry moore, vol. ii. p. .] while this was a happy verification of the remark of the wise man, that "a soft answer turneth away wrath," it is a pleasing indication of the yielding placability of him to whom it was addressed.--"the discretion of a man deferreth his anger, and it is his glory to pass over a transgression." the ships, which bore this large accession to the colony, passed the bar of the tybee on the afternoon of thursday, february th, , and came to anchor. this island is at the mouth of the savannah river; is five miles long, and three broad; and is the most easterly land in the state. oglethorpe went immediately on shore, to see what had been done towards raising the beacon on the island, for the construction of which he had given orders. "it was to be an octagon building of squared timber; its dimensions twenty-five feet wide at the bottom, and ten at the top; and its height ninety feet, with a flag-staff on the top thirty feet high. when completed, it would be of great service to all shipping, not only the vessels bound to this port, but also to carolina; for the land of the coast, for some hundred miles, is so alike, being low and woody, that a distinguishing mark is of great consequence."[ ] [footnote : moore's _voyage_, p. .] they had experienced a tempestuous voyage, and had a very rough passage; but now the weather was fine; the land breezes refreshed them as the ships lay quietly moored; and they hailed with delight the land of promise, the borders of which stretched before them; where, says wesley, "the groves of pines along the shores made an agreeable prospect, showing, as it were, the verdure and bloom of spring in the depth of winter." a night of peaceful slumber passed; and, about eight o'clock on friday morning, they went ashore on a small uninhabited island,[ ] where oglethorpe led them to a rising ground, and they all knelt and returned thanks to god for their safe arrival. leaving the people, as there was a fine spring, and a pond of pure water, to wash their clothes, and refresh themselves, he went himself, attended by his suite, in a boat to savannah, where he was received, under the discharge of all their cannon, by the freeholders in arms, with the constables and tithing men at their head. he introduced to them the clergymen and gentlemen by whom he was accompanied; and congratulated the colonists on the religious advantages which they were about to derive from these pious missionaries: and here they passed the sunday. just three years had elapsed since the settlement commenced, and the celebration of the anniversary on the opening week was rendered more observable and gladdening by the return of the founder to share and grace the festivities of the occasion. but, amidst all the greetings and inquiries of the throng around him, he was not unmindful of the new comers. he made it his earliest care, as soon as the articles could be got ready, to send a boat with provisions and refreshments for the people on board the ships and at the island; and soon after made them a visit himself, and carried with him a still further supply of beef, pork, venison and wild turkeys, together with soft bread, beer, turnips, and garden greens. this was not only peculiarly relishing, after the salted sea-fare rations, but gratifying and encouraging, from the evidence it gave that a settlement, begun only three years ago, by a people in circumstances like theirs, could produce such plenty. and, while these attentions evinced the thoughtful regard of their conductor to their comfort and welfare, they increased their sense of obligation, awakened their gratitude, and strengthened their reliance. [footnote : peeper island.] as oglethorpe went round and visited the families in their dwellings, he was gratified with perceiving what improvements had been made in the town, and its vicinity; that about two hundred houses had been built, trees set out on the sides of the streets and public squares; and a large garden laid out, and now under cultivation. this had engaged his early attention, and was a favorite project, as of general interest and utility. it was situated at the east of the town, on the sloping bank, and included the alluvial champaign below. it was laid out with regularity and taste; and intended, primarily, to supply the settlers with legumes, culinary roots, radishes and salads, till they could prepare homestead-plats for raising them. the principal purpose, however, was for a nursery of white mulberry trees for the raising of silk worms; and from which the people could be supplied with young trees, that all the families might be more or less engaged in this reference to the filature. there was, also, a nursery coming on, of apple, pear, peach, and plum trees, for transplantation. on the borders of the walks were orange, olive, and fig-trees, pomegranates, and vines. in the more sunny part there was a collection of tropical plants, by way of experiment, such as coffee, cacoa, cotton, &c. together with some medicinal plants, procured by dr. william houston in the west indies, whither he had been sent by sir hans sloane to collect them for georgia. the expenses of this mission had been provided by a subscription headed by sir hans, to which his grace the duke of richmond, the earl of derby, the lord peters, and the apothecaries company, liberally contributed. the doctor having died at jamaica, the celebrated botanist, philip miller was now his successor.[ ] [footnote : "sir hans sloane," says dr. pulteny, "was zealous in promoting the colony of georgia." _historical and biographical sketch of the progress of botany in england_, vol. ii. p. . see a particular description of the garden, in moore's _voyage to georgia_, p. .] all hands were now set to work, some to preparing houses, barracks, and lodgments for the new comers; some to unlade the vessels and store the cargo, and some to extend the wharf. the general, also, made a contract with persons for laying out and clearing the roads, and for making fortifications at the south. by none, perhaps, was his return more cordially welcomed than by tomo chichi and toonahowi. they brought with them two indian runners, who had waited two months to give notice to the lower and upper creeks, of his arrival. he received, also, the visit of a deputation from purrysburgh, consisting of the honorable hector berenger de beaufain and m. tisley dechillon, a patrician of berne, with several other swiss gentlemen, to congratulate his return, and acquaint him with the condition of their settlement. the united brethren, or moravians, as they were more usually called, who attended the other exiled protestants, began immediately their settlement near to savannah. as soon as their personal accommodation could be effected, they sought the acquaintance of tomo chichi, and his little tribe; ingratiated themselves with these their neighbors, and, "with money advanced by general oglethorpe,"[ ] built a school-house for the children. "this school was called irene, and lay not far from the indian village."[ ] [footnote : carpzovius, _examination of the religion of the united brethren_, p. . see appendix, no. xvii.] [footnote : cranz's _history of the united brethren_, p. . it was opened on the th of september.] the baron von reck, who had been to ebenezer, returned on the th of february, accompanied with the pastors bolzius and gronau, with the petition of the people for liberty to remove, from the fords where they were, to a place ten miles to the east of their settlement, called "red-bluff," at the mouth of the river, where it enters the savannah; and that those of their community who had just arrived, instead of being destined to the southward, might be united with them and enjoy the benefit of their religious instructers and guides. before giving a decisive answer, oglethorpe deemed it proper to examine their situation, and confer with the residents; and, not to keep them in suspense, especially as it was necessary to take immediate measures for the accommodation of the new comers, agreed to accompany the applicants on their return. accordingly, he set out early on the appointed day, in the scout-boat, to the residence of sir francis bathurst, six miles above savannah; and thence took horse, and passed by the saw-mill set up by mr. walter augustine, and, continuing his ride through the woods, arrived that night at ebenezer. on reconnoitring the place the next day, he found that the saltzburgers had constructed a bridge over the river, ten feet wide and eighty feet long; that four good framed houses had been erected at the charge of the trustees, one for each minister, one for a schoolmaster, and one for a public store; and that a chapel, a guard-house, and a number of split-board houses had been built by the people. all these, however, they were resolved to forsake, and form a new settlement on the borders of the savannah river. their chief objection to remaining was, that the land was not good, and that the corn-harvest had failed; yet they acknowledged that they had a fine crop of peas, and many garden vegetables; that their cattle thrived exceedingly, that they had plenty of milk, and fine poultry and eggs. he endeavored to dissuade them from moving; but, finding their dissatisfaction with their present situation to be so decided, he yielded to their importunity; ordered a town to be laid out; and gave his unhesitating consent that the new comers should be incorporated with them. he then set out for the swiss settlement, where he arrived in the evening. he was received with the greatest demonstrations of joy, and took lodgings at the house of colonel purry,[ ] who had provided a handsome entertainment for him. [footnote : john peter purry, formerly of neufchatel.] the chief purpose of his visit to this place was to engage a conveyance for the honorable charles dempsey to st. augustine. this gentleman had come over with him in the symond, having been commissioned by the spanish minister in london to confer with the governor of florida on the subject of the boundary between that country and georgia, and to effect some provisional treaty with general oglethorpe.[ ] a contract was made with major richard to conduct this gentleman in a six-oared boat, being the best to be obtained, to his destination; and to be the bearer of a letter from the general, expressing his wish to remove all misunderstanding and jealousy. [footnote : in the _impartial inquiry_, &c. p. , is a deposition which thus begins--"charles dempsey, of the parish of st. paul, covent garden, in the county of middlesex, esquire, aged fifty-four years and upwards, maketh that in the year one thousand seven hundred and thirty-five, this deponent went with the honorable james oglethorpe, esq. to georgia, in america, and was sent from thence by the said oglethorpe to st. augustine with letters to the governor there; that this deponent continued going to and from thence until november, one thousand seven hundred and thirty-six," &c.] on his return to savannah he sent forward captain hugh mackay, jr. with a company of rangers, to travel by land to darien, in order to make observations on the intervening country, to compute the distance, and to judge of the practicability of a passable road; and tomo chichi furnished them with indian guides. the next day he attended a military review; after which, he addressed the assembled people in an animated speech, in which his congratulations, counsels, and good wishes were most affectionately expressed. and he reminded them that, though it was yet "a day of small things," experience must have strengthened the inducements to industry and economy, by shewing them that, where they had been regarded, the result had been not only competence, but thrift. he then took leave of them, and went down to the ships at tybee. chapter ix. special destination of the last emigrants--oglethorpe makes arrangements for their transportation to the island of st. simons--follows with charles wesley--arrives and lays out a town to be called frederica--visits the highlanders at darien--returns and superintends the building of a fort--all the people arrive--barracks for the soldiers put up, and a battery erected--visited by tomo chichi, and indians, who make a cession of the islands--reconnoitres the islands and gives names to them--commissioners from st. augustine--apparently amicable overtures--oglethorpe goes to savannah to hold a conference with a committee from south carolina respecting trade with the indians--insolent demand of the spaniards--oglethorpe embarks for england. as the destination of the large number of intended settlers, which had now arrived was "for the purpose of laying out a county and building a new town near the southern frontier of georgia," and the people were waiting to be conducted by the general to "the place of habitation," he was very active in making arrangements for their transportation, and, on the evening of the th of february, , set out in the scout-boat,[ ] through the inward channels, to meet, at jekyl sound, a sloop that he had chartered to take on some of the more efficient men as pioneers, and to make some preparation for the reception of the emigrants.[ ] he took with him charles wesley, who was to be his secretary as well as chaplain; mr. ingham having gone by a previous opportunity; and left john wesley and delamotte at savannah.[ ] [footnote : appendix, no. xviii.] [footnote : "the trustees for establishing the colony of georgia in america, ordered a new town to be built in that colony, and an embarkation to be made for that purpose."] [footnote : many of the particulars in this chapter are taken from the journal of thomas moore, who was present. as that work is extremely rare, i adopted its information more verbally than i should have done had i anticipated that it was so soon to be republished in the _collections of the georgia historical society_.] as oglethorpe was in haste, the men rowed night and day, and had no other rest than what they got when the wind favored their course; and "they vied with each other who should be forwardest to please the general, who, indeed, lightened their sense of fatigue by giving them refreshments, which he rather spared from himself than let them want."[ ] [footnote : moore, p. .] on the morning of the th they arrived at st. simons, an island near the north mouth of the alatamaha river, fifteen miles in length, and from two to four in breadth. here the working men and carpenters who came in the sloop and long boats, disembarked, and were immediately set to work. oglethorpe not only directed and superintended, but actually assisted in the labors. they soon got up a house and thatched it with palmetto leaves; dug a cellar, and throwing up the earth on each side, by way of bank, raised over it a store house; and then marked out a fort. they next constructed several booths, each of which was between twenty and forty feet long, and twenty feet wide. these were for the reception and temporary shelter of the colonists. after this, the general paid a visit to the highlanders, at their settlement called "the darien," a distance of sixteen miles on the northern branch of the alatamaha. he found them under arms, in their uniform of plaid, equipped with broad swords, targets, and muskets; in which they made a fine appearance. in compliment to them, he was that morning, and all the time that he was with them, dressed in their costume. they had provided him a fine soft bed, with holland sheets, and plaid curtains; but he chose to lie upon the ground, and in the open air, wrapt in his cloak, as did two other gentlemen; and afterwards his example was followed by the rest of his attendants. this condescending and accommodating disposition not only conciliated the regards of the settlers, but encouraged them both by example and aid in going through their arduous labors, and in submitting to the exigences of their situation. happily his constitution was framed to a singular temperament, which enabled him to require but very little sleep; and he was capable of enduring long and frequent fasting, when imposed upon him either by necessity or business, without any observable prejudice to his health, or any other inconvenience. a gentleman, who was one of the party, in a letter, dated th of february, , declares, "what surprizes me, beyond expression, is his abstemiousness and hard living. though even dainties are plentiful, he makes the least use of them; and such is his hardiness, that he goes through the woods wet or dry, as well as any indian. moreover, his humanity so gains upon all here, that i have not words to express their regard and esteem for him." he further adds, "they have a minister here, mr. mcleod, a very good man, who is very useful in instructing the people in religious matters, and will intermeddle with no other affairs."[ ] how commendably prudent, as well as altogether proper, was this avoidance of secular topics and party discussions in preaching; and how conducive to social accordance and peace, as well as spiritual edification, was soon apparent in the lamentable effects of a different use of the ministerial function in the other settlements. [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, , p. .] having remained a few days with his favorite highland corps, he returned to st. simons, where he found tomo chichi, toonahowi, and a party of indians consisting of about forty men, "all chosen warriors and good hunters;" who had come down to show him what islands they claimed as having belonged to their nation, but which had been ceded to him by treaty, and to which they would now give him the formal possession. to accomplish this, the general fitted out an expedition, to take them with him in the two ten-oared boats, with major horton, mr. tanner, and some other gentlemen as his escort; and a sufficient number of able hands both as boat-men and soldiers, and to man the periagua,[ ] with highlanders under the command of captain hugh mackay. he the more readily engaged in this excursion from an impatient desire to gain intelligence of major richard, and the deputation to st. augustine. [footnote : the periagua is a long flat-bottomed boat, carrying from twenty to thirty-five tons. it is constructed with a forecastle and a cabin; but the rest is open, and there is no deck. it has two masts, which the sailors can strike, and sails like those of schooners. it is rowed, generally, with two oars only.] they set out on the th of march. on the first day they visited an island in the mouth of the alatamaha, sixteen miles long, and from one to five broad; opposite the entrance of the great latilla river. by the indians it was called wissoe, _sassafras_; but the spaniards had named it _san pedro_. toonahowi, pulling out a watch that had been given him by his royal highness the duke of cumberland, desired that it should bear his name; saying, "he gave me this watch, that we might know how time went; and we will remember _him_ while time goes; and this place must have his name, that others may be reminded of him." the general left captain mackay and the highlanders here, with directions to build a fort on the high ground, commanding the passes of the river; which, at their desire, should be called st. andrews. on the south-east part of this island another strong fort was afterwards built, called fort william, which commanded amelia sound, and the inland passage from st. augustine. on their excursion, the next day, they passed the clogothea, an arm of the alatamaha, and went ashore on a delightful island, about thirteen miles long, and two broad, with orange trees, myrtles and vines growing on it. the wild-grape vines here, as on the borders of the savannah, grow to the very top of the trees, and hang from limb to limb in festoons, as if trimmed and twined by art.[ ] the name of this island, _santa maria_, they changed to amelia, in honor of her royal highness. [footnote : journal of the rev. mr. bolzius, who, it seems, was one of the party. see urlspurger, i. .] on the third day they came to an island which had borne the name of _san juan_; but claiming it as belonging to his majesty, and the southernmost part of his provinces on the sea-coast of north america, they named it george's. as they approached the spanish _look-out, [haser centinela]_ which is posted on the florida side of the st. john's river, the indians shewed their desire of making an assault upon it, as "some of them were related to those that had been killed, the winter before, by a detachment from st. augustine; and one of them, poyeechy by name, had been wounded by the spaniards." the general, though with much difficulty, persuaded them to forbear; and prevailed upon them to return to what is called "the palmetto ground," near to amelia island, in one of the scout-boats, under the care of major horton. when they had got entirely out of sight, he purposed to cross over and inquire of the spanish guard what had become of his boat and the commissioner to the governor of florida.[ ] [footnote : the district, as far as st. john's, was taken from the spaniards in queen anne's time; and at the time of the peace of utrecht it was in the possession of the english allied indians. now, since by this treaty all lands in america were declared to belong to their then present owners, and the said indians still occupy it, and having acknowledged themselves subjects to the king of great britain, by cession, the territory became his.] on going ashore they found no men at the look-out, and therefore went down to the lower one, which was also deserted. they then set out on their return, and passing between the st. george and talbot island came to the rendezvous at the palmetto ground. there they met mr. horton in the scout-boat, and some boats of indians; but tomo chichi, with two boats, was gone. here mr. moore, whom i follow, narrates a serio-comic adventure, which, though it may be, to some of my readers, a twice-told tale, will bear repeating. "about four hours in the night, their sentry challenged a boat, and umpichi, one of those that had been in england, answered, and at the same time leaped on shore with four others, and ran up to the fires where mr. oglethorpe then was. they seemed in such a rage as is hardly to be described. their eyes glowed, as it were with fire. some of them foamed at the mouth, and moved with such bounds that they seemed rather possessed. "mr. oglethorpe asked umpichi what the matter was. he said 'tomo chichi has seen enemies, and has sent us to tell it, and to help you.' being asked why the mico did not come back himself, he said, 'he is an old warrior, and will not come away from his enemies, who hunt upon our lands, till he has seen them so near as to count them. he saw their fire, and therefore sent to take care of you, who are his friends. he will make a warrior of toonahowi, and, before daylight, will be revenged for his men whom they killed whilst he was gone to england. but _we_ shall have no honor, for we shall not be there.' the rest of the indians seemed to catch the raging fits, at not being present. mr. oglethorpe asked if he thought there were many. he said 'yes! he thought the enemies were a great many, for they had a great fire upon a high ground, and the indians never make large fires, but when they are so strong as to despise all resistance.' "mr. oglethorpe immediately ordered all his people on board, and they rowed very briskly to where tomo chichi was; being about four miles distant. "they found him, with his indians, with hardly any fire, only a few sparks behind a bush, to prevent discovery; who told them that they had been to see the fire, and had discovered seven or eight white men, but the indians, they believed, had encamped further in the woods, for they had not seen them; but tomo chichi was going out again to look for the indians, whom, as soon as he discovered, he intended to give the signal to attack both the parties at once; one half creeping near, and taking each their aim at those whom they saw most awake; and, as soon as they had fired, to run in with their hatchets, and at the same time those who had not fired to run in with their loaded arms; that if they knew once where the indians were, they would be sure of killing all the white men, since they, being round the fire, were easily seen, and the same fire hindered them from seeing others. "mr. oglethorpe tried to dissuade them from that attempt, but with great difficulty could obtain of them to delay a little time; they thinking it argued cowardice. at last they got up and resolved to go in spite of all his endeavors; on which he told them, 'you certainly go to kill them in the night, because you are afraid of seeing them by day. now, i do not fear them. stay till day, and i will go with you, and see who they are.' "tomo chichi sighed, and sat down, and said, 'we do not fear them by day; but if we do not kill them by night, they will kill you to-morrow.' so they stayed. "by daybreak mr. oglethorpe and the mico went down with their men, and came to the fire, which they thought had been made by enemies, which was less than a mile from where the mico had passed the night. they saw a boat there, with a white flag flying, and the men proved to be major richard, and his attendants, returned from augustine. "the indians then seemed ashamed of their rage, which inspired them to kill men before they knew who they were." the meeting, under these circumstances, was doubly joyous. after mutual congratulations, he was informed by major richard that "he was cast away before he could get to st. augustine; that part of the baggage was lost; but the boat and men saved. that, having scrambled through the breakers, and walked some leagues through the sands, they were met by don pedro lamberto, a captain of the horse, and by him conducted to the governor, who received them with great civility; and that the reason of his long stay was to get the boat repaired." he brought letters from don francisco del morale sanchez, captain general of florida, and governor of st. augustine. these commenced with compliments, thanking him for the letters brought by charles dempsey, esq. and major richard; which, however, were followed by complaints that the creek indians had assaulted and driven away the spanish settlers on the borders of the st. mattheo,[ ] and intimations of displeasure at the threatening appearance of the forts which he was erecting, and forces which manned them. major richard said that the governor expected an answer in three weeks, and desired him to bring it. he added, that despatches had been sent to the havana to apprize the government of the arrival of the new settlers, and of the position which they had taken. [footnote : the st. john's.] "the same day they returned toward st. andrew's; but not having depth of water enough through the narrows of amelia, the scout-boats were obliged to halt there; but the indians advanced to the south end of cumberland, where they hunted, and carried venison to st. andrews." by the directions and encouragements of the general, the works at st. simons were carried on with such expedition, that, by the middle of april, the fort, which was a regular work of tabby, a composition of oyster shells and lime, was finished; and thirty-seven palmetto houses were put up, in which all the people might be sheltered till they could build better. about the centre of the west end of the island, a town was laid out, which he called frederica, with wide streets, crossing each other at right angles. these were afterwards skirted with rows of orange trees. the ground being properly divided, "the people, who had now all arrived, having been brought in a little fleet of periaguas, were put in possession of their respective lots, on the th of april, in order that each man might begin to build and improve for himself. but the houses that had been built, and the fields that had been tilled and sown, were, as yet, to be in common for the public benefit." at the south end of the island he caused to be erected a strong battery, called fort st. simons, commanding the entrance to jekyl sound; and a camp of barracks and some huts. [illustration: map of the coast, sea-islands and early settlements of georgia.] in point of situation, a better place for a town, a fortress, and a harbor, could hardly be wished in that part of the country; lying, as it does, at the mouth of a very fine river. the surface of the island was covered with oak and hickory trees, intermixed with meadows and old indian fields; the soil was rich and fertile, and in all places, where they tried, they found fresh water within nine feet of the surface.[ ] [footnote : see "_history of the rise, progress, and present state of the colony of georgia_," in harris's _collection of voyages and travels_, vol. ii. p. , d ed. lond. . the best history, up to the date of publication, extant.] on the th, oglethorpe and his men, and major richard and his attendants, got back to frederica. on the next day the indians arrived, the purpose of whose intended visit had been announced by tomo chichi. having encamped by themselves near the town, they prepared for a dance; to which oglethorpe went with all his people. "they made a ring, in the middle of which four sat down, having little drums, made of kettles, covered with deer skins, upon which they beat, and sung. round these the others danced, being naked to their waists, and having round their middle many trinkets tied with skins; and some had the tails of beasts hanging down behind them. they had painted their faces and bodies; and their hair was stuck with feathers. in one hand they had a rattle, in the other the feathers of an eagle made up like the caduceus of mercury; they shook there plumes and the rattle, and danced round the ring with high bounds and antic postures, looking much like the figures of the satyrs. "they showed great activity, and kept just time in their motions; and at certain times answered, by way of chorus, to those that sat in the middle of the ring. they stopt; and then one of the chief warriors stood out, who sang what wars he had been in, and described by motions as well as by words, which way he had vanquished the enemies of his country. when he had done, all the rest gave a shout of approbation, as knowing what he said to be true."[ ] [footnote : moore.] the indian mico then explained the object of their embassy in a long speech. after this, an alliance was concluded, and presents exchanged; which consisted, on the part of the indians, of dressed skins; and, on that of oglethorpe, of guns, red and blue cloth, powder, bullets, knives, and small whetstones; and, among the women he distributed linen and woolen garments, ear-rings, chains, beads, &c. this business being despatched, the general called the freemen together, and communicated to them the contents of the letters which he had received from the governor of st. augustine; and this he did to prevent the ill impression that vague conjecture and idle reports might occasion, and then, in compliance with the requisition of the governor of st. augustine that hostile intrusion on the spanish settlements might be prevented, he immediately fitted out a periagua and the marine boat, with men and provisions for three months; together with arms, ammunition, and tools, to sail to the southward, and cruise along the english side of the st. john's, in order to detect and prevent any lawless persons from sheltering themselves there, and thence molesting his catholic majesty's subjects, and to restrain the indians. this expedition was conducted by captain hermsdorff, who was to leave major richard and mr. horton his attendant, at some place on the florida shore, whence they could proceed to st. augustine to wait on the governor with the despatches. the purport of these was to acquaint him, that, "being greatly desirous to remove all occasions of uneasiness upon the frequent complaints by his excellency of hostile incursions upon the spanish dominions, armed boats had been sent to patrol the opposite borders of the river, and prevent all passing over by indians or marauders. the gentlemen were also directed to render him the thanks of general oglethorpe for his civilities, and to express his inclination for maintaining a good harmony between the subjects of both crowns."[ ] [footnote : moore's _voyage_, p. .] on the d of may, , a respectable deputation of the uchee indians, from the neighborhood of ebenezer, waited upon the general at st. simons. they had painted themselves with various colors, and were dressed in their richest costume. being introduced to him in the large apartment of the magazine store, the indian king made a long speech; after which an alliance was entered into, and pledge presents interchanged.[ ] this treaty was a very important one, because the uchees claimed the country above augusta to the border of the creeks, and a portion below adjoining the yamacraws; because they were an independent tribe, having no alliance with the others; and because they had been a little dissatisfied with the saltzburgers at ebenezer. [footnote : urlspurger, i. , and appendix no. xix.] on the first of june intelligence was received that major richard and mr. horton, instead of being received as commissioned delegates, had been arrested and made prisoners at st. augustine. not explaining to the satisfaction of the governor and his council the situation of the forts and the design of the military force that was stationed in them, they were detained in custody, till don ignatio rosso, lieutenant colonel of the garrison, with a detachment of men had made personal investigations; who, after an absence of five days, returned and reported that the islands were all fortified, and appeared to be filled with men; and that the shores were protected by armed boats. a council of war was then held, and it was resolved to send back major richard and mr. horton, and their suit, and with them an embassy, consisting of charles dempsey, esq., don pedro lamberto, captain of the horse, and don manuel d'arcy, adjutant of the garrison, with intimations that this formidable array was unnecessary. by private information, however, oglethorpe was led to infer that, notwithstanding the fair professions that had been made by the spaniards, there were evidently measures concerted to increase their forces, to procure guns and ammunition, and to arm the florida indians.[ ] [footnote : moore's _voyage_, p. .] in consequence of these and other indications that the spaniards were commencing preparations for dislodging the english settlers, the general took all possible precautionary measures for repelling them. the fort and works on st. simons were completed in the best manner, and a battery was erected on the east point of the island, which projects into the ocean. this commanded the entrance of jekyl sound in such manner that all ships that come in at this north entry must pass within shot of the point, the channel lying directly under it. st. andrew's fort, on cumberland island, with its munition of ordnance and garrison of well-disciplined soldiers, was much relied upon as a mean of defence; and even the outpost at st. george's, on the north side and near the mouth of st. john's river, was deemed of no inconsiderable importance as a check, at least, upon any attempted invasion by the spaniards, and as serving to prevent their going through the inner passages. in the month of july the general visited savannah, to attend to affairs there, and to hold a conference with a committee of the general assembly of south carolina respecting the indian trade, which they charged him with aiming to monopolize, to the disallowance of their traders. it may be necessary here to state, that, as the boundaries of georgia separated the indians on the west side of the savannah river from the confines of south carolina, they must be admitted as in affinity with the new colony. at any rate, oglethorpe deemed it so expedient to obtain their consent to the settlement of his people, and their good will was so essential to a secure and peaceful residence, that his earliest care had been to make treaties of alliance with them. that these treaties should include agreements for mutual intercourse and trade, seemed to be, not only a prudential, but an indispensable provision; particularly as tomo chichi and the micos of the creeks, who went with him to england, had requested that some stipulations might be made relative to the quantity, quality, and prices of goods, and to the accuracy of weights and measures, in what was offered for the purchase of their buffalo hides, and deer-skins and peltry.[ ] whereupon the trustees proposed certain regulations of trade, designed to prevent in future those impositions of which the indians complained. to carry these into effect, it was thought right that none should be permitted to trade with the indians but such as had a license, and would agree to conduct the traffic upon fair and equitable principles. the carolina traders, not being disposed to apply for a permit, nor to subject themselves to such stipulations and restrictions, were disallowed by the georgia commissary, who held a trading house among the creeks.[ ] this was resented by them, and their complaints to the provincial assembly led to the appointment of the committee just referred to, and whose conference with oglethorpe was held at savannah on the d of august, .[ ] in their printed report they lay down these fundamental principles. "the cherokee, creek, chickasaw, and catawba indians, at the time of the discovery of this part of america, were the inhabitants of the lands which they now possess, and have ever since been deemed and esteemed the friends and allies of his majesty's english subjects in this part of the continent. they have been treated with as allies, but not as subjects of the crown of great britain; they have maintained their own possessions, and preserved their independency; nor does it appear that they have by conquest lost, nor by cession, compact, or otherwise, yielded up or parted with, those rights to which, by the laws of nature and nations, they were and are entitled." [footnote : mccall, vol. i. p. .] [footnote : capt. frederick mckay, in a letter to thomas broughton, esq., lieutenant governor of south carolina, dated july , , written to justify his conduct as indian commissary, in turning out four traders who would not conform to the rules stipulated in the licenses, has the following remarks on the difficulties which he had to encounter: "it was impracticable to get the traders to observe their instructions, while some did undersell the others; some used light, others heavy weights; some bribed the indians to lay out their skins with them, others told the indians that their neighboring traders had heavy weights, and stole their skins from them, but that they themselves had light weights, and that their goods were better."] [footnote : "_report of the committee appointed to examine into the proceedings of the people of georgia, with respect to the province of south carolina, and the disputes subsisting between the two colonies_." to. charlestown, , p. . this tract was printed by lewis timothy. there was no printer in carolina before , and this appears to have been one of the earliest productions of the charlestown press, in the form of a book. rich's _bibliotheca americana nova_, p. .] "the committee cannot conceive that a charter from the crown of great britain can give the grantees a right or power over a people, who, to our knowledge, have never owned any allegiance, or acknowledged the sovereignty of the crown of great britain, or any prince in europe; but have indiscriminately visited and traded with the french, spaniards, and english, as they judged it most for their advantage; and it is as difficult to understand how the laws of great britain, or of any colony in america, can take place, or be put in execution in a country where the people never accepted of, nor submitted to, such laws; but have always maintained their freedom, and have adhered to their own customs and manners without variation or change." hence the committee inferred that the regulations which were passed by the trustees, could not be binding upon the indians, nor serve to effect any exclusive trade with them. oglethorpe acknowledged this independency of the indians; and asserted that, in perfect consistency with it, they had entered into a treaty of alliance with the colony of georgia; and, having themselves indicated certain terms and principles of traffic, these were adopted and enjoined by the trustees; and this was done, not to claim authority over the indians, nor to control their conduct, but to indicate what was required of those who should go among them as traders. in answer to the allegations that the carolina traders had been excluded, he declared that, in granting licenses to trade with the indians, he refused none of the carolina traders who conformed to the act, and gave them the same instructions as had been given by the province of carolina.[ ] he also declared that he had given, and should always continue to give, such instructions to the georgia traders, as had formerly been given by the province of south carolina to theirs; and in case any new instructions given by the province of south carolina to their traders shall be imparted, and appear to him for the benefit of the two provinces, he would add them to the instructions of the georgia traders; and, finally, that, pursuant to the desire of the committee, he would give directions to all his officers and traders among the indians, in their talk and discourses to make no distinction between the two provinces, but to speak in the name and behalf of his majesty's subjects[ ]. [footnote : "to protect the natives against insults, and establish a fair trade and friendly intercourse with them, were regulations which humanity required, and sound policy dictated. but the rapacious spirit of individuals could be curbed by no authority. many advantages were taken of the ignorance of indians in the way of traffic." ramsay's _history of south carolina_, vol. i. p. . for other particulars stated by him, respecting the trade with the indians, see p. , .] [footnote : _report of the committee_, &c., p. , .] it seems, however, that the committee were not satisfied; primarily because licenses were required, and especially that they must come through the hands of the governor of georgia. in a few days after this conference oglethorpe returned to frederica. on the latter part of september he renewed the commission of the honorable charles dempsey, impowering him to state to the governor of st. augustine terms for a conventional adjustment of the misunderstanding between the two provinces. this he eventually effected, and a treaty was concluded on the th of october following, much more conciliatory, on the part of the spaniards, than he had expected. this, however, proved ineffectual, and the pleasing anticipations of restored harmony which it seemed to authorize, were shortly frustrated by a message from the governor of st. augustine to acquaint him that a spanish minister had arrived from cuba, charged with a communication which he desired an opportunity of delivering in person. at a conference which ensued, the commissioner peremptorily required that oglethorpe and his people should immediately evacuate all the territory to the southward of st. helena's sound, as that belonged to the king of spain, who was determined to vindicate his right to it. he refused to listen to any argument in support of the english claim, or to admit the validity of the treaty which had lately been signed, declaring that it had erred in the concessions which had been made. he then unceremoniously departed, with a repetition of his demand, accompanied with menaces. perceiving that the most vigorous measures, and a stronger defensive force than the province could supply, would be necessary to overawe the hostile purposes displayed by spain, or repel them if put in execution, oglethorpe resolved to represent the state of affairs to the british ministers, and straightway embarking, set sail for england.[ ] he arrived at the close of the year; and, presenting himself before the board of trustees, "received an unanimous vote of thanks, as he had made this second, as well as his first expedition to georgia, entirely at his own expense."[ ] [footnote : hewatt, ii. , and graham, iii. , _totidem verbis_.] [footnote : _london magazine_, october, , p. .] chapter x. delegation of the missionaries--john wesley stationed at savannah--has a conference with tomo chichi--his preaching deemed personal in its applications--he becomes unpopular--meets with persecution--leaves the province and returns to england--charles wesley attends oglethorpe to frederica--finds himself unpleasantly situated--furnished with despatches for the trustees, he sets out for charlestown, and thence takes passage for england--by stress of weather the vessel driven off its course--puts in at boston, new england--his reception there--sails thence for england--after a perilous voyage arrives--benjamin ingham also at frederica--goes to savannah to apprize john wesley of the sickness of his brother--resides among the creeks in order to learn their language--returns to england--charles delamotte at savannah--keeps a school--is much respected--george whitefield comes to savannah--his reception--visits tomo chichi, who was sick--ministerial labors--visits the saltzburgers--pleased with their provision for orphan children--visits frederica and the adjacent settlements--returns to england--makes a second voyage to georgia, and takes efficient measures for the erection of an orphan house. in order to show circumstantially the progress of colonization, by following oglethorpe with his new and large accession of emigrants and military forces to their destined places of settlement on the borders of the alatamaha and the southern islands, all mention of the reception and treatment of the wesleys, whom he had brought over as religious missionaries, has been deferred. the relation is introduced now, as a kind of episode. the delegation of these pious evangelists was encouraged by flattering suggestions, and acceded to with the most raised expectations; and its objects were pursued by them with untiring zeal and unsparing self-devotedness, through continual hindrances. the opposition which they met was encountered with "all long-suffering and patience;" but their best efforts were unavailing; "and their mission closed, too speedily, in saddened disappointment." i. john wesley, though stationed at savannah, did not consider himself so much a minister to the inhabitants as a missionary to the indians. whenever he mentioned his uneasiness at being obstructed in his main design, he was answered "you cannot leave savannah without a minister." to this he rejoined, "my plain answer is, i know not that i am under any obligations to the contrary. i never promised to stay here one month. i openly declared, both before, and ever since my coming hither, that i neither would nor could take charge of the english any longer than till i could go among the indians." it was rejoined, "but did not the trustees of georgia appoint you to be minister at savannah?" he replied, "they did; but it was done without either my desire or knowledge. therefore i cannot conceive that that appointment could lay me under any obligation of continuing here longer than till a door is opened to the heathen; and this i expressly declared at the time i consented to accept that appointment[ ]." [footnote : _life of rev_. john wesley, a.m., _in which is included the life of his brother_ charles wesley, a.m. _by rev_. henry moore. _lond_. , vols. vo. vol. i. p. .] oglethorpe had been so impressed with what he had seen of the natives, that he had written home that "a door seemed opened for the conversion of the indians." these favorable expectations were greatly increased by the visit to england of tomo chichi and his train. they seemed to be fully authorized by the declarations which were made by them to the archbishop of canterbury, and other clergy; and they appeared to be put in a train of accomplishment by the interest taken for facilitating that purpose by the manual of instruction for the indians which was preparing by bishop wilson. but when tomo chichi came to welcome the governor on his arrival, and was introduced to the intended teacher, it appeared that unforeseen obstacles had arisen. "i am glad you are come," said the mico, addressing him through the female interpreter. "when i was in england i desired that some would speak the great word to me; and our people then desired to hear it; but now we are all in confusion. the french on one side, and the spanish on the other, and the traders in the midst, have caused us much perplexity; and made our people unwilling. their ears are shut. their tongues are divided, and some say one thing, and some another. but i will call together our chiefs, and speak to the wise men of our nation, and i hope they will hear. but we would not be, made christians as the spaniards make christians. we would be taught; and then, when we understand all clearly, be baptized."[ ] there was good sense in this remark. they would be informed of the evidences of the truth of christianity, and have its principles and doctrines explained to them, and its precepts, tendency, and design illustrated; and hence be enabled to adopt it from conviction. this they would do, when they were made to understand how it was a divine revelation, and saw its effects in the life of its professors. but the reply of wesley was not simple enough to be comprehended by him. it was this; "there is but one,--he that sitteth in the heaven,--who is able to teach man wisdom. though we are come so far, we know not whether he will please to teach you by us, or no. if he teaches you, you will learn wisdom; but we can do nothing." all the inference which the poor indian could draw from this was, that he who had come as a religious teacher disclaimed his own abilities, and referred to a divine instructer, of whom the mico could know nothing as yet, by whom alone the converting knowledge was to be communicated. [footnote : account of the settlement of the saltzburg emigrants at ebenezer, in georgia. by philip george frederic von reck. hamburgh, . mo, p. .] moreover, he had been an observer of the disposition and conduct of those who called themselves christians; and, at another interview with wesley, when urged to listen to the doctrines of christianity, and become a convert, he keenly replied, "why these are christians at savannah! those are christians at frederica!" nor was it without good reason that he exclaimed, "christians drunk! christians beat men! christians tell lies! me no christian." scenawki, however, had more courtesy. she presented the missionaries with two large jars of honey, and one of milk; and invited them to come up to yamacraw, and teach the children, saying, the honey represented the inclination of the people there, and the milk the need of their children. what a beautiful illustration of the mode of teaching practised by the apostle! "i have fed you with milk, and not with meat;" adapting the instruction to the capacity of those to whom it was imparted, and "as they were able to receive it," could properly digest it, "and be nourished thereby." other conferences effected little; and as mrs. musgrove did not reside at yamacraw, and could not often assist him as an interpreter; and, perhaps, could not readily make perspicuous in the indian dialect what was somewhat more mystical than even his english hearers could comprehend, his cherished purposes for the conversion of the indians seemed to be thwarted. besides, the condition of the people at savannah was such as to require clerical services, and he gave himself wholly to them. for some time his labors as a preacher promised to be successful; "and all would have been well," says southey, "could he but have remembered the advice of dr. burton." this was contained in a letter addressed to him a few days before embarking for georgia. among other things, this excellent friend suggested to him that, under the influence of mr. oglethorpe, giving weight to his endeavors, much may be effected in the present undertaking; and goes on to remark; "with regard to your behavior and manner of address, these must be determined according to the different circumstances of persons, &c.; but you will always, in the use of means, consider the great end; and, therefore, your applications will of course vary. you will keep in view the pattern of the gospel preacher, st. paul, who 'became all things to all men, that he might save some.' here is a nice trial of christian prudence. accordingly, in every case you will distinguish between what is indispensable, and what is variable; between what is divine, and what is of human authority. i mention this, because men are apt to deceive themselves in such cases; and we see the traditions and ordinances of men frequently insisted on with more rigor than the commandments of god, to which they are subordinate. singularities of less importance, are often espoused with more zeal than the weighty matters of god's law. as in all points we love ourselves, so, especially, in our hypotheses. where a man has, as it were, a property in a notion, he is most industrious to improve it, and that in proportion to the labor of thought he has bestowed upon it; and, as its value rises in imagination, he is, in proportion, unwilling to give it up, and dwells upon it more pertinaciously than upon considerations of general necessity and use. this is a flattering mistake, against which we should guard ourselves." unmindful of such counsel, the eagerness of wesley to effect reformation was pressed too precipitately and carried too far. his sermons had such direct reference, not only to the state of affairs, but the conduct of individuals, that they were shrunk from as personal allusions. his zeal was excessive, and his practice exclusive.[ ] [footnote : mr. southey has this remark--"he was accused of making his sermons so many satires upon particular persons; and for this cause his auditors fell off; for though one might have been very well pleased to hear others preached at, no person liked the chance of being made the mark himself."--moreover, "following the rubric, in opposition to the practice of the english church, he insisted upon baptizing children by immersion, and refused to baptize them if the parents did not consent to this rude and perilous method. some persons he would not receive as sponsors, because they were not communicants; and when one of the most pious men in the colony earnestly desired to be admitted to the communion, he refused to admit him because he was a dissenter, unless he would be rebaptized. and he would not read the burial service over another for the same reason, or one founded on the same principle." _life of_ wesley, _by_ robert southey, _new york edition_, . vol. i. p. .--instances of personal reference in preaching, and of its alienating effects, are mentioned by mr. stevens, in his journal, vol. i. pp. , , and elsewhere.] for these and other reasons, and in some respects most unreasonably, the people at savannah became prejudiced against him, and so disaffected that "he perceived that his preaching was not likely to be attended with beneficial influence. hence, having in vain sought an accommodation with his opponents, without in the least relaxing from the enforcement of his principles, and disappointed in the prime object of his mission, that of preaching to the indians, he resolved to quit the colony, and return to his native land[ ]." [footnote : _memoir of the rev_. john wesley, prefixed to a volume of his sermons, by samuel drew, page xvi.] another circumstance brought the whole scene of his trials to a catastrophe. sophia hopkins, the niece of mrs. causton, wife of thomas causton, esq., chief magistrate of the place, had been a pupil to him to learn french, was a professed convert to his ministry, and become a member of the church. her beauty, accomplishments, and manners, were fascinating; and she appears, by some coquettish advances, to have won his affections. delamotte, however, doubting the sincerity of her pretensions to piety, cautioned his friend wesley against cherishing a fond attachment. the moravian elders, also, advised him not to think of a matrimonial connection. in consequence of this, his conduct towards her became reserved and distant; very naturally, to her mortification; though her own affections had been preëngaged, for she soon after married a mr. williamson. but a hostile feeling had been excited against him by her friends, for the manifestation of which an opportunity was afforded about five months after her marriage. wesley having discovered in her conduct several things which he thought blameworthy, with his wonted ingenuousness, frankly mentioned them to her; intimating that they were not becoming a participant of the lord's supper. she, in return, became angry. for reasons, therefore, which he stated to her in a letter, he cautioned her not to come to the ordinance till she could do it in a reconciled temper. the storm now broke forth upon him. a complaint was entered to the magistrates; an indictment filed, and a warrant issued, by which he was brought before the recorder, on the charges of mr. williamson,-- st, that he had defamed his wife; and, dly, that he had causelessly repelled her from the holy communion. wesley denied the first charge; and the second, being wholly ecclesiastical, he would not acknowledge the authority of the magistrate to decide upon it. he was, however, told that he must appear before the next court, to be holden at savannah, august term, . in the mean time pains were taken by mr. causton to pack and influence the jury. there were debates and rude management in the court. no pleas of defence were admitted. the evidence was discordant. twelve of the grand jurors drew up a protest against the proceedings. the magistrates, themselves, after repeated adjournments, could come to no decision; and justice was not likely to be awarded. wearied with this litigious prosecution, wesley applied to his own case the direction given by our lord to his apostles, "if they persecute thee in one place, flee unto another;" and, shaking off the dust of his feet as a witness against them, he fled to charlestown, south carolina; whence, on thursday, the d of december, , he embarked for england. after a pleasant passage, he landed at deal, february, , as he remarks, "on the anniversary festival in georgia, for mr. oglethorpe's landing there." as he entered the channel, on his return, mr. whitefield sailed through it, on a mission; not to be his coadjutor, as he expected, but, as it proved, his successor. ii. the situation of charles wesley was annoyed by like discomfitures, and followed by still greater disappointment. he had received the most flattering accounts of georgia from the conversation of oglethorpe, with whom he had been for some time acquainted; and from the little book which this gentleman had published. implicitly confiding in the high wrought descriptions which had been given him, and indulging anticipations of a colonization of more than utopian excellence, he attended his brother to georgia, and attached himself to oglethorpe, whose warm professions had won him to his service both as secretary and chaplain. his destination was to the new settlement at frederica; and there he arrived, with his patron, on the th of march, . the first person who saluted him, as he stept on shore, was ingham, his intimate, confidential, and highly valued friend; who had preceded him thither. the meeting was truly pleasant; but what he learned from him of the state of affairs there, and of "the treatment which he had met for vindicating the sanctity of the lord's day," was a saddening indication of the reverse which his cherished anticipations were soon to meet. he was apprised by it, however, of the necessity of taking measures for procuring a more sober observance of the sabbath in future. accordingly, as he had been announced to the settlers as their religious instructer and guide, he spent the remainder of the week in visits to their families, and in seeking that personal acquaintance with them, without which, he well knew that general instruction would be of little use; but, he observes, "with what trembling should i call this flock mine!" in the evening he read prayers, in the open air; at which oglethorpe was present. he observed that the lesson seemed remarkably adapted to his situation, and that he felt the power of it; particularly of the passage, "continue instant in prayer, and watch in the same with thanksgiving; withal praying also for us, that god would open a door of utterance, to speak the mystery of christ, that i may make it manifest as i ought to speak."[ ] [footnote : colossians, iv. ] in the public discharge of his duties as a clergyman, he was solemn and fervent; and his preaching evinced "how forcible are right words." but in his daily intercourse with this heterogeneous population, he was not always aware that clerical intimacy should never descend to familiarity. he overheard rude speeches and gossipping tattle; and was made acquainted with some domestic bickerings and feuds; and kindly, though not always discretely, endeavored to check them; but his mediation was repelled as uncalled-for interference.[ ] to use the words of his biographer, "he attempted the doubly difficult task of reforming the gross improprieties, and reconciling some of the petty jealousies and quarrels with each other; in which he effected little else than making them unite in opposing him, and caballing to get rid of him in any way."[ ] hence complaints were made to oglethorpe, who, instead of discountenancing them decidedly, and vindicating, or at least upholding him whom he had brought over, and placed in an office where he ought to have demanded for him a treatment of deference and respect, himself listened too readily to complaints and invectives, and suffered them to prejudice him against the truly amiable, ingenuous, and kind-hearted minister. instead of putting candid constructions on well-meant purposes, of cautioning his inexperience, or giving friendly advice, he treated him with coldness and neglect.[ ] the only apology for this is that suggested by southey.[ ] "the governor, who had causes enough to disquiet him, arising from the precarious state of the colony, was teased and soured by the complaints which were perpetually brought against the two brothers, and soon began to wish that he had brought with him men of more practicable tempers." in some hours of calmer reflection, however, he felt the compunctious visitings of conscience, and convinced of the injustice which he had done to mr. wesley, "in the most solemn manner he professed to him his regret for his unkind usage; and, to express his sincerity, embraced and kissed him with the most cordial affection." realizing, however, that the situation of this aggrieved and disheartened man was such that his usefulness here was at an end, and finding it necessary to make a special communication to the trustees, relative to the internal distractions among the first settlers; to the board of trade on the subject of exports and commercial relations; and to the government, respecting the exposed situation of the colony, he commissioned him to carry the despatches. [footnote : "he that passeth by and meddleth with strife belonging not to him, is like one that taketh a dog by the ears." _proverbs_, xxvi. . he who inconsiderately engages in other men's quarrels, whom he lights upon by chance, and in which he is not concerned, will assuredly suffer by his interference.] [footnote : southey's _life of the wesleys_, vol. i. p. .] [footnote : in the life of wesley by moore, is an affecting detail of particulars, taken from the unpublished journal of charles wesley, vol. i. p. - .] [footnote : _life of wesley_, vol. i. p. .] on the th of july, , he set out for charlestown, to take passage to england; and, on the th of august, went on board the london galley. but the passengers and sailors soon found that the captain, while on shore, had neglected every thing to which he ought to have attended. the vessel was too leaky to bear the voyage; and the captain drinking nothing scarcely but gin, had never troubled his head about taking in water; so that they were soon reduced to short allowance, which, in that sultry clime and season of the year, was a distressing predicament. meeting, too, with violent squalls of wind, they were driven off their course. the leak became alarming, and their troubles increased so fast upon them, that they were obliged to steer for boston in new england; where they arrived, with much difficulty and danger, on the d of september. wesley was soon known at boston; and met a hospitable reception among the ministers, both of the town and neighborhood. in a letter to his brother, he thus describes the attentions that were paid to him. "i am wearied with this hospitable people; they so teaze me with their civilities. they do not suffer me to be alone. the clergy, who come from the country on a visit, drag me with them when they return[ ]. i am constrained to take a view of this new england, more pleasant even than the old. and, compared with the region in which i last resided, i cannot help exclaiming, o happy country that breeds neither flies, nor crocodiles, nor prevaricators!"[ ] [footnote : referring to the weekly assembling of the clergy from the neighboring towns to attend the thursday lecture.] [footnote : having found that letters to his brother were intercepted and read, before they were delivered, he wrote sometimes in latin, and even passages in greek. this, dated boston, october th, , was in latin, and i give the extract here, of which the text is a translation. "tsedet me populi hujuser, ita me urbanitate sua divexant et persequuntur. non patientur me esse solum. e rure veninnt clerici; me revertentes in rare trahant. cogor henc anglicum contemplari, etiam antiquâ amoeniorem; et nequeo non exclamare, o fortinata regio, nec muscas aleus, nec crocodilos, nec delatores!" [when mr. c. wesley was at frederica, the _sand-flies_ were one night so exceedingly troublesome, that he was obliged to rise at one o'clock, and smoke them out of his hut. he tells us that the whole town was employed in the same way. by _crocodile_ he means the species called _alligator_. when at savannah, he and mr. delamotte used to bathe in the river between four and five o'clock in the morning, before the alligators were stirring, but they heard them snoring all round them. one morning mr. delamotte was in great danger; an alligator rose just behind him, and pursued him to the land, whither he escaped with difficulty.]] the repairs of the vessel detained him here till the th of october, when they sailed. they had a most perilous passage, and encountered violent storms; but on the third of december arrived opposite deal; and the passengers went safe on shore. iii. ingham had his station assigned him at frederica; and there his prudence preserved him from the vexations with which his cherished companion was annoyed. in behalf of that persecuted and dispirited friend, he went to savannah, to inform john wesley of the opposition of the people to his brother. he tarried there to supply john's place during his absence on the visit of sympathy and counsel, of mediation or rescue. returning to frederica, he remained there till the th of may, when he accompanied charles to savannah, whither he went to receive the indian traders on their coming down to take out their licenses. he accompanied them to the upper creeks; among whom he resided several months, and employed himself in making a vocabulary of their language, and composing a grammar.[ ] [footnote : southey, i. , note; mention is also made of him in cranz's _history of the united brethren_, p. .] on the th of february, , it was agreed that he should go to england, and "endeavor to bring over, if it should please god, some of their friends to strengthen their hands in his work."[ ] by him john wesley wrote to oglethorpe, who had sailed for england, and to dr. brady's associates, who had sent a library to savannah. [footnote : moore's _lives of the wesleys_, i. .] ingham is mentioned by whitefield, in terms of high regard, as fellow-laborer with the wesleys, and "an israelite indeed." iv. delamotte remained, from the first, with john wesley at savannah. he kept a school, in which he taught between thirty and forty children to read, write, and cast accounts. "before public worship on the afternoon of the lord's day, he catechized the lower class, and endeavored to fix some things of what was said by the minister in their understandings as well as their memories. in the morning he instructed the larger children."[ ] [footnote : here is a prototype of the modern sunday-schools.] he returned to england in the whitaker, captain whiting; the ship that brought out mr. whitefield, june d, . "the good people lamented the loss of him, and great reason had they to do so; and went to the waterside to take a last farewell." v. george whitefield was the intimate friend of the wesleys and of ingham; and he states, in his journal, that when they were in georgia he received letters from them; and that their description of the moral condition of the colony affected his heart powerfully, and excited a strong desire to join them, to assist them in the work in which they were occupied, and become "a partaker with them in the afflictions of the gospel." such an undertaking was suited to his energetic and enterprizing character; and therefore engaged much of his attention. on the return of charles wesley to england, he learned more of the situation of the colonists, and of their great need of religious instruction; and when ingham came with special reference to procuring assistance, he expressed his readiness to go on the mission. in the letter which he received by him from john wesley was this direct reference, "only delamotte is with me, till god shall stir up the heart of some of his servants, who, putting their lives in his hands, shall come over and help us, where the harvest is so great and the laborers are so few. what if thou art the man, mr. whitefield? do you ask me what you shall have? food to eat and raiment to put on; a house to lay your head in, such as your lord had not; and a crown of glory that fadeth not away!" this, and another letter, strengthened the desire, which soon ripened into a purpose, for which all circumstances seemed favorable. charles, too, became more explicit, and rather urged his going[ ]. [footnote : he addressed a poem to him in which are these verses: "servant of god! the summons hear. thy master calls! arise! obey! the tokens of his will appear, his providence points out the way. "champion of god! thy lord proclaim, jesus alone resolve to know. tread down thy foes in jesus' name, and conquering and to conquer go!"] he accordingly went up to london to tender his services to oglethorpe and the trustees; by whom he was accepted; and he left london on the latter part of december, , in the d year of his age, to take passage in the whitaker, captain whiting, master, on a voyage to georgia. it was, however, the end of january before the vessel was fairly on its way, in consequence of contrary winds. they sailed from the downs a few hours only before the vessel, which brought wesley back, cast anchor there. he was attended on his passage by the honorable james habersham and his brother. they landed, after rather a circuitous and long passage, on the th of may, . delamotte, whom wesley had left schoolmaster at savannah, received him at the parsonage house, which he found much better than he expected. having met with some of his predecessor's converts there, he read prayers on the morrow, and expounded, in the court-house, and waited on the magistrates; but, being taken ill of a fever and ague, he was confined to the house for a week. being informed that tomo chichi was sick, nigh unto death, as soon as he could venture abroad he made him a visit. the mico lay on a blanket, thin and meagre. scenawki, his wife, sat by, fanning him with feathers. there was none who could speak english, so that mr. whitefield could only shake hands with him and leave him. a few days after he went again, and finding toonahowi there, who could speak english, "i desired him," says whitefield, "to ask his uncle whether he thought he should die;" who answered, "i cannot tell." i then asked, where he thought he should go, after death? he replied "to heaven." but alas! a further questioning led the solemn visiter to an unfavorable opinion of his preparedness for such a state of purity. when whitefield had recovered so as to commence his labors, he remarked that every part bore the aspect of an infant colony; that, besides preaching twice a day, and four times on the lord's day, he visited from house to house, and was in general cordially received, and always respectfully; "but from time to time found that _caelum non animum mutant, qui trans mare currunt_. 'those who cross the seas, change their climate, but not their disposition.'" though lowered in their circumstances, a sense of what they formerly were in their native country remained. it was plainly to be seen that coming over was not so much a matter of choice as of restraint; choosing rather to be poor in an unknown country abroad, than to live among those who knew them in more affluent circumstances at home.[ ] [footnote : gillies' _memoirs of whitefield_, p. .] the state of the children affected him deeply. the idea of an orphan-house in georgia had been suggested to him by charles wesley, before he himself had any thought of going abroad; and now that he saw the condition of the colonists, he said, "nothing but an orphan-house can effect the education of the children." from this moment he set his heart upon founding one, as soon as he could raise funds. in the meantime, he did what he could. he opened a school at highgate and hampstead, and one for girls at savannah. he then visited the saltzburgers' orphan-house at ebenezer; and, if any thing was wanting to perfect his own design, or to inflame his zeal, he found it there. the saltzburgers themselves were exiles for conscience' sake, and eminent for piety and industry. their ministers, gronau and bolzius, were truly evangelical. their asylum, which they had been enabled to found by english benevolence for widows and orphans, was flourishing. whitefield was so delighted with the order and harmony of ebenezer that he gave a share of his own "poor's store" to bolzius for his orphans. then came the scene which completed his purpose. bolzius called all the children before him, and catechized them, and exhorted them to give god thanks for his good providence towards them. then prayed with them, and made them pray after him. then sung a psalm. afterwards, says whitefield "the little lambs came and shook me by the hand, one by one, and so we parted." from this moment whitefield made his purpose his fate.[ ] [footnote : phillips' _life and times of whitefield_, p. .] as opportunity offered he visited frederica, and the adjacent settlements; and says that he often admired that, considering the circumstances and disposition of the first settlers, so much was really done. he remarks that "the first settlers were chiefly broken and decayed tradesmen from london and other parts of england; and several scotch adventurers, (highlanders) who had a worthy minister named macleod; a few moravians, and the saltzburgers, who were by far the most industrious of the whole;" and he adds, that he would cheerfully have remained with them, had he not felt obliged to return to england to receive priest's orders, and make a beginning towards laying a foundation of the orphan-house, which he saw was much wanted. in august he settled a schoolmaster, leaving mr. habersham at savannah; and, parting affectionately with his flock, he went to charlestown, south carolina, and, on the th of september, went aboard the mary, captain coe, for england, where he arrived in the latter part of november, . the trustees for the colony received him cordially; were pleased to express their satisfaction at the accounts which had been sent them of his conduct and services during his stay in the colony; and having been requested by letters sent, unknown to him, from the magistrates and inhabitants, they most willingly presented to him the living of savannah, (though he insisted upon having no salary), and as readily granted him five hundred acres of land, whereon to erect an orphan-house, and make a garden and plantations; to collect money for which, together with taking priest's orders, were the chief motives of his returning to england so soon[ ]. [footnote : gillies, p. .] without extending the account of this zealous, eloquent, and popular preacher any further, suffice it to say that he was greatly successful in the object of his visit, and his appeals to public charity in behalf of the orphan-house; that he returned to georgia, and on march th, , laid the foundation of that edifice; and, both in america and in england, continued his measures for its establishment, till he saw it completed. chapter xi oglethorpe arrives in england--trustees petition the king for military aid to the new colony--a regiment granted--oglethorpe appointed commander in chief of south carolina and georgia--part of the regiment sent out--oglethorpe embarks for georgia the third time--remainder of the regiment arrive--and two companies from gibraltar--prospect of war with spain--military preparations at st. augustine--oglethorpe makes arrangements for defence--treason in the camp--mutiny, and personal assault on the general. "at a meeting of the trustees of georgia, wednesday, january th, , mr. oglethorpe, newly returned hither, had the unanimous thanks of the board. he informed them that savannah had greatly increased in building, and that three other towns had been founded within a year; namely, augusta, darien, and frederica; that a new town, called ebenezer, had been laid out for the saltzburgers; and that there were several villages settled by gentlemen at their own expense. he gave them the pleasing intelligence that the remoter creek nation acknowledged his majesty's authority, and traded with the new settlers; and that the spanish governor-general and council of war of florida had signed a treaty with the colony."[ ] he added, however, that notwithstanding these seeming auspicious circumstances, the people on the frontiers were in constant apprehensions of an invasion, and that he had strong suspicions that the treaty would not be regarded; that the spanish government at cuba was wholly opposed to it; and that the indignant demand of the commissioner from havana, and the threat which followed, implied an infraction, and would lead to consequences against which it was necessary to provide. [footnote : extract from the record of the trustees, published in the _gentleman's magazine_, for , vol. xii. p. .] upon this communication some able remarks were made in the london post. they were introduced by a statement of the benefits likely to accrue to the english nation from settling the colony of georgia; and go on to mention that the colony was in the most thriving condition in consequence of royal patronage and parliamentary aid, seconded by the generosity of contributors, "whose laudable zeal will eternize their names in the british annals; and, carried into effect under the conduct of a gentleman, whose judgment, courage, and indefatigable diligence in the service of his country, have shewn him every way equal to so great and valuable a design. in the furtherance of this noble enterprise, that public spirited and magnanimous man has acted like a vigilant and faithful guardian, at the expense of his repose, and to the utmost hazard of his life. and now, the jealousy of the spanish is excited, and we are told that that court has the modesty to demand from england that he shall not he any longer employed. if this be the fact, as there is no doubt it is, we have a most undeniable proof that the spaniards dread the abilities of mr. oglethorpe. it is, of course, a glorious testimony to his merit, and a certificate of his patriotism, that ought to endear him to every honest briton."[ ] [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, vol. vii. p. . see, also, _history of the british provinces_, to. p. .] reference is here made to the memorial of don thomas geraldino, the spanish ambassador at the british court, in which, among other demands, he insisted that no troops should be sent over to georgia, and particularly remonstrated against the return of oglethorpe. about the same time intelligence reached england that the spaniards at st. augustine had ordered the english merchants to depart, and were setting up barracks for troops that were daily expected; that an embarkation was preparing at havana, in which two thousand five hundred soldiers were to be shipped in three large men-of-war, and eight transports; and that great quantities of provisions had been laid in for them. upon this, and other hostile indications, of which the trustees were apprised, they petitioned his majesty that a regiment might be raised for the defence and protection of the colony. this was granted. oglethorpe was appointed general and commander-in-chief of his majesty's forces in carolina and georgia; and commissioned to raise a regiment for the service and defence of those two colonies, to consist of six companies of one hundred men each, exclusive of non-commissioned officers and drums; to which a company of grenadiers was afterwards added. "this regiment he raised in a very short time, as he disdained to make a market of the service of his country, by selling commissions, but got such officers appointed as were gentlemen of family and character in their respective counties; and, as he was sensible what an advantage it was to the troops of any nation to have in every company a certain number of such soldiers as had been bred up in the character of gentlemen, he engaged about twenty young gentlemen of no fortune, to serve as cadets in his regiment, all of whom he afterwards advanced by degrees to be officers, as vacancies happened; and was so far from taking any money for the favor, that to some of them, he gave, upon their advancement, what was necessary to pay the fees of their commissions, and to provide themselves for appearing as officers."[ ] [footnote : _london magazine_, for , p. .] "he carried with him, also," says a writer of that day, "forty supernumeraries, at his own expense; a circumstance very extraordinary in our armies, especially in our plantations." with a view to create in the troops a personal interest in the colony which they had enlisted to defend, and to induce them eventually to become actual settlers, every man was allowed to take with him a wife; for the support of whom some additional pay and rations, were offered.[ ] in reference to this, governor belcher, of massachusetts, in writing to lord egmont, respecting the settlement of georgia, has these remarks; "plantations labor with great difficulties; and must expect to creep before they can go. i see great numbers of people who would be welcome in that settlement; and have, therefore, the honor to think, with mr. oglethorpe, that the soldiers sent thither should all be married men[ ]." [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, vol. viii. p. .] [footnote : manuscript letter book of governor belcher, in the archives of the massachusetts historical society.] early in the spring of , some part of the regiment, under the command of lieutenant colonel cochran, embarked for georgia, and arrived at charlestown, south carolina, on the d of may. they immediately proceeded to their destined rendezvous by land; as the general had taken care, on his former expedition, to have the rout surveyed, and a road laid out and made passable from port royal to darien, or rather frederica itself; and there were a sufficient number of boats provided for passing the rivers. as soon as oglethorpe obtained the proper stores of arms, ammunition, military equipments, and provisions, he embarked for georgia, the third time, with six hundred men, women, and children, including the complement of the new raised regiment, on the th of july, in the hector and blandford, men-of-war; accompanied by five transports. they arrived at st. simons on the th of september, where their landing at the soldier's fort, was announced by a discharge of artillery, and cheered by the garrison. the general encamped near the fort, and staid till the st, to forward the disembarkation, and give out necessary orders.[ ] [footnote : _letter from frederica, in georgia_, dated october th, , in the _gentleman's magazine_, for january, , p. .] he then went to frederica, and was saluted by fifteen pieces of cannon at the fort. the magistrates and townsmen waited on him in a body, to congratulate him on his return. on the th the inhabitants of the town went out with the general, and cut a road through the woods down to the soldiers-fort, in a strait line; so that there is an open communication between them. this work was performed in three days, though it is a distance of three miles. several indians came to greet the general. they hunted in the vicinity, and brought venison every day to the camp. they reported that the chiefs from every town of the upper and lower creek nation would set out to visit him as soon as they received notice of his return. the arrival of the regiment, so complete and in so good order, was a great relief to the people of frederica, as they had been often, during the summer, apprehensive of an attack by the spaniards, who had sent large reinforcements of troops to st. augustine, and were understood to be providing a formidable embarkation at the havana, notwithstanding the treaty which had been so lately concluded with oglethorpe. nay, the floridians had actually attacked one of the creek towns that was next to them; but, though the assault was made by surprise, they were repulsed with loss; and then they pretended that it was done by their indians, without their orders. under circumstances of so much jeopardy, the people were so often diverted from their daily labor, that their culture and husbandry had been greatly neglected; and there was the appearance of such a scarcity, that many would be reduced to actual want before the next crop could be got in. but, in consequence of the measures now taking for their security, and of some supplies which were brought, in addition to the military stores, and of more that would be sent for, the anxiety was removed, and they resumed their labors. "the utmost care was taken by the general, that in all the frontier places the fortifications should be put in the best state of defence; and he distributed the forces in the properest manner for the protection and defence of the colony; assigning different corps for different services; some stationary at their respective forts; some on the alert, for ranging the woods; others, light-armed, for sudden expeditions. he likewise provided vessels, and boats for scouring the sea-coast, and for giving intelligence of the approach of any armed vessels. he went from one military station to another, superintending and actually assisting every operation; and endured hardness as a good soldier, by lying in tents, though all the officers and soldiers had houses and huts where they could have fires when they desired; and indeed they often had need, for the weather was severe. in all which services, it was declared that he gave at the same time his orders and his example; there being nothing which he did not, that he directed others to do; so that, if he was the first man in the colony, his preeminence was founded upon old homer's maxims, 'he was the most fatigued, the first in danger, distinguished by his cares and his labors, and not by any exterior marks of grandeur, more easily dispensed with, since they were certainly useless.'"[ ] [footnote : harris's _voyages_, ii. p. .] but there was treachery lurking in the camp, which, though for some time suspected, had been so vigilantly watched and guarded against, that the conspirators found no opportunity for carrying into effect their insidious purpose. it seems that among the troops lately sent over, there was one soldier who had been in the spanish service, and two others who were roman catholics and disclaimed allegiance to the british government, who had enlisted as spies, and been bribed to excite a mutiny in the corps, or persuade those among whom they were stationed to desert the service.[ ] [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, vol. ix. , p. .] their attempts, however, to gain over accomplices, were unavailing; for those with whom they tampered had the fealty to reject their overtures, and the honesty to make a discovery of their insidious machinations. upon this the traitors were seized, convicted, and, on the beginning of october, , sentenced to be whipt and drummed out of the regiment.[ ] [footnote : appendix, no. xx.] hardly had this secret plot been defeated, when an affray took place at fort st. andrews, in which an attempt was made to assassinate the general, who was there on a visit. some of the soldiers who came from gibraltar had been granted six months provisions from the king's stores, in addition to their pay. when these rations were expended, about the middle of november, one of the murmurers had the presumption to go up to the general, who was standing at the door with captain mackay, and demanded of him a continuance of the supply. to this unceremonious and disrespectful requisition the general replied, that the terms of their enlistment had been complied with; that their pay was going on; that they had no special favor to expect, and certainly were not in the way to obtain any by such a rude manner of application. as the fellow became outrageously insolent, the captain drew his sword, which the desperado snatched out of his hand, broke in two pieces, threw the hilt at him, and made off for the barrack, where, taking his gun, which was loaded, and crying out "one and all!" five others, with their guns, rushed out, and, at the distance of about ten yards, the ringleader shot at the general. the ball whizzed above his shoulder, and the powder burnt his face and scorched his clothes. another flashed his piece twice, but the gun did not go off. the general and captain were immediately surrounded by protectors; and the culprits were apprehended, tried at a court-martial, and, on the first week in october, received sentence of death. the letter which gives a circumstantial account of this affair, written from frederica, and dated december th, adds, "some of the officers are not very easy, and perhaps will not be till the mutineers are punished, _in terrorem_; which has been delayed by the general's forbearance[ ]." i quote, with pleasure, this testimony to his lenity, given by one who must have intimately known all the aggravating circumstances, because some accounts state that he took summary vengeance. [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, vol. ix. p. .] by the defeat of insidious plottings to induce the desertion of the frontier garrison, and the suppression of the insurgent mutiny, the spirit of insubordination was entirely quelled; and the people of the colony were relieved from their apprehensions of an attack from the spaniards, "as they had oglethorpe among them, in whom they and the indians had great confidence." chapter xii. oglethorpe visits savannah--troubles there--causton, the store-keeper, displaced--oglethorpe holds a conference with a deputation of indians--town-meeting called, and endeavors used to quiet discontents--goes back to frederica, but obliged to renew his visit to savannah. on the th of october, , oglethorpe set out from frederica in an open boat, with two others attending it; and, after rowing two days and two nights, arrived at savannah. "he was received, at the water-side, by the magistrates, and saluted by the cannon from the fort, and by the militia under arms; and the people spent the night in rejoicing, making bonfires,"[ ] &c. but, notwithstanding this show of public joy, he had soon to learn particulars of the situation of the inhabitants, that rendered his visit unpleasant to himself, and not very welcome to some of those to whom it was made. those who were duly sensible of his disinterested devotedness to the advancement and welfare of the settlement, were actuated, on this occasion, by a principle of real regard and gratitude; those who were apprehensive that their conduct in his absence might be investigated and disapproved, joined in the acclaim, that they might conciliate his favor; and those who had been discontented grumblers, did not care openly to exhibit indications of dissatisfaction. [footnote : letter, dated savannah, in georgia, october , ; published in the _gentleman's magazine_, for january, , p. .] on the day after his arrival he received information that the grand jury of savannah had prepared a representation, "stating their grievances, hardships, and necessities," and complaining of the conduct of mr. thomas causton, the first magistrate of the town, and keeper of the public store[ ]. they alleged that he had expended much larger sums than the trustees authorized, and thus brought the colony in debt; that he had assumed powers not delegated to him, and had been partial and arbitrary in many of the measures which he had pursued[ ]. [footnote : this is inserted in the _narrative of the colony of georgia_, by p. tailfer, m.d., hugh williamson, m.a., and d. douglas. charlestown, s.c. . it was signed september th, .] [footnote : letter last quoted, and stephens's journal, vol. i. p. .] upon an investigation of these allegations, oglethorpe, as governor-general of the colony, deemed it expedient to displace him; to issue an order that the books, papers, and accounts, belonging to the stores, should be delivered to thomas jones, esq., who had come over with the transports with the appointment of advocate of the regiment; and that security should be given by causton, to answer the charges against him, by an assignment of his estate at oakstead, and his improvements elsewhere. the office thus rendered vacant was supplied by the appointment of colonel william stephens, who had been sent over with the commission of secretary for the affairs of the trustees in the province.[ ] [footnote : this worthy gentleman wrote a journal, which commences on his arrival at charlestown, in the mary-ann, captain shubrick, october , , and comes down to october , . it gives a minute account of every thing which occurred; and bears throughout the marks of correctness, of ingenuousness, and frankness in the narrative of transactions and events; and of integrity, strict justice, and unflinching fidelity in the discharge of his very responsible office. as exhibiting "the form and pressure of the times," it is of essential importance to the historian of georgia; and, happily, it was printed, making three octavo volumes. but the work is exceedingly rare, especially the third volume. a complete set is among the ebeling books in harvard college library. he had been at savannah before, for in p. , is this remark; "all which was evident to myself, as well from what i observed, _when here formerly_, as more especially now, since my arrival." and again, p. , mentioning mr. fallowfield, "a constable, whose temper i was better acquainted with, _having lodged at his house during my former abode here_." after the departure of general oglethorpe, he was president of the council, and acting governor from july , , to april , , when he was succeeded by henry parker, esq.] the great mismanagement of the trust-funds which had been sent for the support of the colony, rendered it also necessary to retrench the ordinary issues, "that something might remain for the necessary support of life among the industrious part of the community, who were not to be blamed." on the th, tomo chichi came to wait upon the general. he had been very ill; but the good old man was so rejoiced at the return of his respected friend, that he said it made him moult like the eagle.[ ] he informed him that several indian chiefs were at yamacraw to pay their respects to him, and to assure him of their fidelity. [footnote : appendix, no. xxi.] this embassy consisted of the micos or chiefs of the ocmulgees, the chehaws, the ouchasees, and the parachacholas, with thirty of their warriors, and fifty-two attendants. as they walked up the hill, they were saluted by a battery of cannon, and then conducted to the town-hall by a corps of militia, where the general received them. they told him that the spaniards had decoyed them to st. augustine, on pretence that he was there; but they found that they were imposed upon, and therefore turned back with displeasure, though they were offered great presents to induce them to fall out with the english. these single-hearted foresters had now come to remove from the mind of their pledged friend all apprehension of their alienation, and to assure him that their warriors shall attend his call. they closed their conference with a pressing invitation to him to come up to their towns in the course of the summer; and, with his promise to do so, they took a respectful leave. on the th the general called the inhabitants to assemble at the town-hall, and "there made a pathetic speech to them;"[ ] which he began by thanking them for the measures which they had pursued for mutual help and the common good. he apprized them of the great exertions made by the trustees to support, protect, and defend the colony; but that their being obliged to maintain the garrisons, and lay in various stores till the arrival of the troops, and the dear price of provisions the last year, occasioned such an increased demand upon them, that they would not be able to continue further allowance, nor assume further responsibilities, unless a supply should be granted by parliament. this state of embarrassment he greatly regretted, inasmuch as those whom he addressed were suffering by the failure of their crops. he told them that, with surprise and great grief, he found that there was more due from the public store than there were goods and articles in it to pay; but that he had given orders that all persons should be paid as far as these effects would go. he said that he was fully aware of the privations already felt, and of the greater to which they were exposed; and, therefore, informed those who, on this account, or for any reason, supposed that they could better their condition by going out of the province, that they had his full consent to do so. at the same time he requested such to come to his quarters, and acquaint him with their grievances, their wishes, and their purposes, and he would give them his best advice, and all the aid in his power. how many, or how far any, availed themselves of this overture, is not known; but the writer who has given an account of this address, adds, "it is remarkable that not one man chose to leave the province, though they very well knew that they must endure great hardships before the next crop should come in, for there was very little money stirring, and very few had provisions sufficient to keep them till next year. however, they all seemed resolved rather to stay, than to leave the country now in its distress[ ]." [footnote : stephens's _journal_, i. p. .] [footnote : letter from savannah, october , .] to lessen the demands upon the trustees, oglethorpe made retrenchments in the public expenditures. he disbanded the troop of rangers, who guarded the country on the land side, though they offered to serve without pay; but he deemed it improper that they should be on service without remuneration. the garrisons were relieved by the regiments; so that that expense ceased. he aimed to reconcile the disaffected, by his good offices; and to gain their affections by unexpected and unmerited liberalities. with very timely largesses he assisted the orphans, the widows, and the sick; and contributed towards the relief of the most destitute; but, adds the writer of the letter above quoted, "we are apprehensive such contributions cannot last long, unless assisted from england, for the expenses are too great for any single man to bear." the general pursued, with anxious scrutiny, his investigation into the management of business, and found the charges and accounts to be very perplexed, and the result evincing mismanagement and unfaithfulness. "he settled the officers, civil and military, among whom changes had taken place; filled vacancies; and took the most judicious measures that the whole municipal establishment should be properly organized. then, calling them all to his lodgings, he gave it in charge that they should do their duties with care and vigilance. he exhorted them to use their best endeavors to preserve peace; especially at this time, when ill-disposed persons, taking advantage of people's uneasiness at those inevitable pressures under which they labored, and must necessarily for some time be subjected to, might craftily incite them to insurrection. withal, he recommended earnestly to them to preserve unanimity among themselves, which would strengthen and support a due authority, and restrain the licentious into due obedience."[ ] [footnote : stephens's _journal_, i. .] on wednesday morning, october th, oglethorpe set out for the south, leaving, as col. stephens remarks, "a gloomy prospect of what might ensue; and many sorrowful countenances were visible under the apprehensions of future want; which deplorable state the colony has fallen into, through such means as few or none of the settlers had any imagination of, till the trustees, in their late letters, awakened them out of their dream; and the general, when he came, laid the whole open, and apprized them that they were but little removed from a downright bankruptcy. now was a time when it would be fully apparent, who were the most valuable among them, by showing a hearty endeavor to contribute, what in them lay, to appease the rising discontents, and wait with patience to see better things, which were not yet to be despaired of."[ ] [footnote : stephens's _journal_, i. .] it appears that mr. causton discovered not only reluctance and perversity in explaining and authenticating his accounts; but, by disingenuous insinuations reflected on the conduct of oglethorpe, "as if he very well knew that extraordinary occasions had created these great exceedings, which the trustees approving of, he [causton] was given up to be driven to utter ruin."[ ] mr. jones deemed it necessary to write to the general to inform him of the reflections which had thus been cast upon his honor, and of the impediments which he himself met in the business assigned to him. upon the receipt of this letter, oglethorpe set out on a return to savannah, where he arrived early in the morning of saturday, november th, and, as the bell was ringing for attendance on prayers, he went and joined the orisons of the congregation. this was more grateful to his feelings than the military salute and parade of the preceding visit; and the devotional exercises in which he engaged soothed his vexed spirit, and the petition for pardon of offences against god produced a livelier disposition in his heart of lenity and forgiveness towards those who had offended against him. in the course of the day, he looked again into the concerns of the store, and despatched some other affairs of consequence. in the evening he sent for mr. causton, when, "in a very mild manner, and gentler terms than could be expected, upon such a provocation, he reprehended him for the freedom he had taken with his name, and advised him to use no delays or shifts in making up his accounts." [footnote : ibid. p. .] on sunday he attended public worship; and after that took boat, and went back to the south. in both these visits to savannah, oglethorpe discovered among the inhabitants indications of the prevalence of not only a dissatisfied, but of a factious spirit; more to be lamented than a failing harvest, or a stinted market. it was extremely mortifying to him to perceive that his greatest exertions and most assiduous services were underrated; his devotedness to their welfare unacknowledged; and his sacrifices and exposures that he might establish them in security and peace, were not merely depreciated, but miscalled and dishonored. while he was zealously engaged in strengthening the colony, by locating large accessions of brave and industrious settlers on the frontiers, and erecting forts, and supplying them with troops and ammunition, the people who were "sitting under their own vines and fig-trees, with none to molest or make them afraid," and who had been best and longest provided for, were insensible to the hardships and dangers to which others were exposed; and, cavilling at the circumstances in which they were placed, complained as if he must be personally accountable for certain restrictions in the plan of settlement, and subsequent financial and commercial affairs, to which the trustees had deemed it proper to subject them; restrictions which might have been submitted to by them with as good a grace as they were by the saltzburgers at ebenezer and the scots at darien, "who murmured not, neither were unthankful." in fact, it was very apparent, that by their indolence and improvidence these dissatisfied ones had brought upon themselves the chief of the evils which they suffered. their allegations, therefore, were unreasonable, and the disposition which dictated them criminally ungrateful. but oglethorpe, instead of reproaching the discontented for their ingratitude, and the murmurers for their unkind imputations, stifled his own justifiable feelings of displeasure, in the hope that such forbearance would refute the injustice of theirs. well might the poet exclaim: "what magnanimity!--may ne'er again unkind returns thy generous ardor chill, nor causeless censure give thy bosom pain, nor thankless hearts reward thy good with ill! "but honoring gratitude its column raise, to bear inscriptions of deserved praise; and when through age the record is obscure, a nobler let posterity procure." chapter xiii. oglethorpe goes to charlestown, south carolina, to open his commission--comes back to savannah--gives encouragement to the planters--returns to frederica--excursion to coweta--forms a treaty with the upper creeks--receives at augusta a delegation of the chickasaws and cherokees, who complain of having been poisoned by the traders--on his return to savannah is informed of spanish aggressions, and is authorized to make reprisals. as oglethorpe was appointed general and commander in chief of the military forces in south carolina, as well as georgia, he deemed it proper to pay a visit to charlestown, in order to have this assigned rank duly notified to the governor and people of the province. he, therefore, set out for that metropolis on the th of march, ; arrived on the th, and, on the d of april, had his commission opened and read in the assembly. in reference to the exercise of the authority which it conferred, some regulations in the military establishment were adopted. on the th he returned to savannah. to encourage the industry of the planters, he proposed to those who would persevere in doing what they could in the culture of their lands, "a bounty of two shillings per bushel for all indian corn, and one shilling per bushel for all potatoes, which they should raise over and above what the produce could be sold for after the next harvest[ ]." [footnote : stephens, i. .] on the th he went to frederica; but was obliged, in the summer, to renew his visit to savannah; and, on the evening of the th of july, was received, under a discharge of cannon, by about forty of the freeholders under arms, which, he was pleased to say, was more than he expected. "his stay, being very likely to be short, many successively sought audience of him, whose affairs he despatched with his usual promptness." "on the th he set off on his indian expedition to coweta: he proceeded up the river, in his cutter, with lieutenant dunbar, ensign leman, and mr. eyre, a cadet, besides attendants and servants. at the uchee town, twenty-five miles above ebenezer, he quitted water-conveyance, having appointed several of the indian traders to wait his coming there, with a number of horses, as well for sumpter as riding, and also some rangers to assist." on this journey, computed to be over three hundred miles, both he and his attendants met with many and great hardships and fatigue. they were obliged to traverse a continuous wilderness, where there was no road, and seldom any visible track; and their indian guides led them often, unavoidably, through tangled thickets, and deep and broken ravines, and across swamps, or bogs, where the horses mired and plunged to the great danger of the riders. they had to pass large rivers on rafts, and cause the horses to wade and swim; and to ford others. during most of the way their resolute leader was under the necessity of sleeping in the open air, wrapped in his cloak or a blanket, and with his portmanteau for a pillow; or, if the night-weather was uncomfortable, or rainy, a covert was constructed of cypress boughs, spread over poles. for two hundred miles there was not a hut to be met with; nor a human face to be seen, unless by accident that of some indian hunter traversing the woods. at length they arrived at coweta, one of the principal towns of the muscoghe, or creek indians, where the chiefs of all the tribes were assembled, on the th of august. "thus did this worthy man, to protect the settlement, which with so much pecuniary expense and devotedness of time, he had planted, now expose himself to the hazards and toils of a comfortless expedition, that would have proved unsurmountable to one of a less enterprising spirit and steady resolutions." oglethorpe, and his suite, were received with great cordiality; and, after the necessary introduction to individuals, and a little refreshment and rest, a grand convention was formed. the assembly was arranged in due order, with the solemn introductory ceremonies prescribed for such occasions. a libation of the _foskey_,[ ] or black-drink, followed; of which oglethorpe was invited to partake with "the beloved men," and of which the chiefs and warriors quaffed more copious draughts. speeches and discussions followed; terms of intercourse and stipulations of trade were agreed upon; and, after smoking the calumet, they unitedly declared that they remained firm in their pledged fealty to the king of great britain, and would adhere to all the engagements of amity and commerce heretofore entered into with oglethorpe as the representative of the trustees. they then renewed the former grants, in terms more explicit and full, confirming the session of territory on the sea-coast, with the islands, and now extending the southern boundary to the river matteo, or st. john's. and oglethorpe, on his part, covenanted that the english should not encroach upon, nor take up, other lands, nor intrude upon any reserved privileges of the creeks; but would cause their rights to be respected, and the trade with them to be conducted upon fair and honorable principles. this important treaty was concluded on the st of august, . [footnote : this is a decoction of the leaves of the yaupon, _prinus glaber_, and is of an exciting, and if taken freely, an intoxicating effect. it is prepared with much formality, and is considered as a sacred beverage, used only by the chiefs, the war captains, and priests ("beloved men") on special occasions, particularly on going to war and making treaties. for an account of its preparation and use, see lawson's _carolina_, p. ; bernard roman's _natural history of florida_, p. ; adair's _history of the american indians_, p. ; catesby's _natural history of carolina_, ii. ; and barton's _elements of botany_, part ii. p. .] oglethorpe ingratiated himself highly with the creeks on this occasion, by his having undertaken so long and difficult a journey to become acquainted with them, and secure their favor; trusting himself with so few attendants in a fearless reliance on their good faith; by the readiness with which he accommodated himself to their mode of living; and the magnanimity of his deportment while among them. the chief business being finished to mutual satisfaction, the general, with his attendants, set out on their return; and, after enduring the like hardships, exposures, and fatigue, arrived, on the th of september, at fort augusta, an outpost on the savannah, where he had placed a garrison on his first expedition to georgia; and under the protection of which, a little settlement was now formed, inhabited mostly by indian traders. there he was waited on by the chiefs of the chickasaws, and the chiefs of the cherokees;[ ] the last of whom came with a heavy complaint that his people had been poisoned by the rum which had been brought to them by the traders. at this they expressed high resentment, and even threatened revenge. as this was an affair of quite an alarming nature, the general made strict inquiry into it; and ascertained that some unlicensed traders had, the preceding summer, carried up the small pox, which is fatal to the indians; and that several of their warriors, as well as others, had fallen victims to the distemper. it was with some difficulty that he convinced the indians that this was the real cause of the calamity. at the same time he assured them that such were the precautions and strict examination used, before any applicant for leave to trade could obtain it, that they need not apprehend any danger from such as came to them with a license. with this explanation and assurance they went away satisfied. [footnote : by some early writers of carolina these chiefs are called "caciques." whether this be the same as mico, i know not; but the title, though often used so, does not seem to be appropriate. where justly applied, it is the title of the legislative chief, in distinction from the war chief.] on the th of september, while yet at this place, an express arrived from savannah to acquaint him that a sloop from rhode island had brought the intelligence, that the governor of that colony had, by orders from great britain, issued commissions for fitting out privateers against the spaniards. this was not a little surprising to him. he could not conceive how a distant colony should have any such orders, before they were sent to him who was most in danger of being attacked, in case of any rupture with spain. however, he deemed it expedient to hasten his return, in order to obtain more direct information. on the d he reached savannah, where he received and published his majesty's orders for reprisals. in consequence of these, a stout privateer of fourteen guns, was immediately fitted out by captain davies, who had suffered by having had a ship and cargo, to the value of forty thousand pieces of eight, captured and most unjustly condemned by the spaniards; and, therefore, felt that he had a right to avail himself of the present opportunity for obtaining redress.[ ] [footnote : _london magazine, for_ , page .] for several years, the british trade to america, particularly that to the west indies, had suffered great interruption and annoyance from the spanish _guarda-costas_, which, under various pretences, seized the merchant ships, and carried them into their ports, where they were confiscated. this piratical practice had increased to such a degree that scarcely any vessels were safe in those seas; for the spaniards pretended that wherever they found logwood, cocoa, or pieces of eight on board, the capture was legal. now, the first two of those commodities were the growth and produce of the english islands, and the last was the current specie of all that part of the world; so that there was hardly a ship homeward bound but had one or other of these on hoard. these depredations were also aggravated by circumstances of great inhumanity and cruelty; the sailors being confined in loathsome prisons, at the havana, and at cadiz; or forced to work with irons on their legs; with no sustenance but salt fish, almost putrid, and beds full of vermin, so that many died of their hard captivity[ ]. [footnote : _history of the colonies planted by the english on the continent of north america_, by john marshall. vo. philadelphia, . chap. x.] the increasing complaints of the merchants, and the loud clamors of the nation, at length forced the british minister to abandon his pacific system; and war was declared against spain on the d of october, . a squadron, commanded by admiral vernon was detached for the west indies, with instructions to act upon the defensive; and general oglethorpe was ordered to annoy the settlements in florida.[ ] [footnote : _historical review of the transactions of europe, from the commencement of the war with spain, in_ , _to the insurrection in scotland, in_ , by samuel boyse. vo.. dublin, . vol. i. p. .] it now became necessary for oglethorpe to take the most prompt and effective measures for the protection of the colony; and, as his settlement had, from the beginning, been opposed by the spaniards at st. augustine, and would now have to encounter their resentful assaults, he must put into requisition all his military force, and see to their adequate equipment. he immediately took measures for raising a troop of thirty rangers, to prevent the spanish horse and indians at st. augustine from making incursions into the province; and likewise to intercept the runaway negroes of carolina, on their way through the country to join the spaniards. at the same time he summoned four hundred creeks, and six hundred cherokee indians to march down to the southern borders. he then viewed the arms of the militia, to ascertain that they were all in good order, and gave directions that powder, balls, and flints, should be issued out of the magazine, for supplying each member with a proper quantity. but aware that all this would be too inconsiderable for effectual resistance, he perceived it to be expedient to seek the protection of the west india fleet, and to apply to the assembly of south carolina for coöperation in a cause, in the event of which their own safety was involved. accordingly he immediately sent up to charlestown to desire assistance, and to consult measures with the commanders of the men of war then on the station, in order immediately to block up st. augustine before the spaniards could receive supplies and reinforcements from cuba; which, if properly executed, the place would, in all probability, be soon reduced.[ ] this application was laid before the general assembly, and, on the th of november, a committee was appointed to take the same into consideration. their report was discussed in both houses of assembly; but no decision was obtained. [footnote : see his letter in the _history of the rise and progress of georgia_, harris's _voyages_, ii. p. , dated st of september, .] having taken these preparatory measures, he returned to frederica to make all the arrangements which the exigences of the case required, in the equipment of his own forces, and by calling upon his indian allies; waiting, with impatience, however, the result of his application to the sister colony. towards the middle of november a party of spaniards landed in the night time upon amelia island, and skulked in the thicket till morning, when two highlanders, unarmed, went into the woods for fuel; upon whom the spaniards fired, first five and then ten shot; which was heard by francis brooks, who commanded the scout-boat upon the coast. he immediately made a signal to the fort, which was then garrisoned by a detachment of general oglethorpe's regiment. upon this a party instantly went out, but they arrived too late, for they found their comrades dead, and that the assassins had taken to their boat, and put out to sea. the bodies of the soldiers were not only rent with shot, but most barbarously mangled and hacked. the periodical publication from which this account is taken, has the following remarks:[ ] "whence it was apparent that the spaniards had first, out of cowardice, shot them, and then, out of cruelty, cut and slashed them with their swords. if they had not been most scandalous poltroons, they would have taken the two unarmed men prisoners, without making any noise; and then they might have lurked in the wood till they had found an opportunity of getting a better booty, or at least of making more prisoners. and, if they had not been most barbarously cruel, they would have been satisfied with simply killing these unresisting men, (which might have been without such a volley of shot,) and not have so mangled their bodies after they were slain. from such cowardly and cruel foes no mercy can be expected; and every one sent against them must despair if he finds himself in danger of being overpowered, and wrought up to desperation and revenge when he finds himself any thing near upon an equal footing." [footnote : _annals of europe_, for , p. .] upon being informed of this outrage, oglethorpe fitted out and manned a gun boat, and pursued them by water and land, above a hundred miles; but they escaped. by way of reprisal, however, he passed the st. john's into florida; drove in the guards of spanish horse that were posted on that river; and advanced as far as a place called the canallas; at the same time sending captain dunbar with a party to find out the situation and force of the fort at picolata, near the river, upon what were then called "the lakes of florida," eighty miles from the mouth of the river. they attacked the garrison, but were repulsed, having no artillery. they accomplished, however, the intentions of oglethorpe, as they reconnoitred both that place and another fort called st. francis. in january he returned to frederica, where he met with captain warren,[ ] who had lately arrived with the squirrel man of war. when their consultation was concluded, captain warren went and cruised off the bay of st. augustine, while oglethorpe, with a detachment of troops on board of the boats, and some artillery, went up the lakes of florida, rowing by day, and sailing by night, so that he attacked the two forts picolata and st. francis, took both the same day, and made the soldiers in the garrisons prisoners of war. [footnote : afterwards sir peter warren, an excellent naval officer.] captain hugh mackay, in a letter to colonel cecil, dated frederica, th of january, , says, "the general escaped very narrowly being killed by a cannon ball at fort st. francis, or, as the spaniards called it, 'san francisco de papa.'" chapter xiv. oglethorpe addresses a letter to lieutenant-governor bull, suggesting an expedition against st. angustine--follows this, by application in person--promised assistance, and coöperation--returns to frederica--collects his forces--passes over to florida--takes several spanish forts--is joined by the carolinean troops--the enemy receive supplies--oglethorpe changes the siege into a blockade--takes possession of anastasia island--colonel palmer and his men surprised and cut to pieces--spanish cruelties--english fleet quit the station--siege raised, and oglethorpe returns to frederica. by the information which oglethorpe was able to obtain from the prisoners, which confirmed the accounts received from other sources, he learned that the garrison at st. augustine was in want of provisions; and that, the half-galleys having been sent to the havana for troops and supplies, the river and sea-board were destitute of defence. such being the case, he conceived that a fitting opportunity now offered for the reduction of the place, taking the enemy by surprise, before the reinforcements arrived; and thereby dispossessing the spaniards of florida. he, therefore, sent an express to lieutenant-governor bull, urging an immediate compliance with his application for assistance. the consideration was accordingly renewed in the assembly on the th of february. at length oglethorpe, impatient of delays occasioned by their continued demurring about the feasibility of the project, presented himself before them, that they might be made acquainted more fully with his intentions, and with every thing relative to their being carried into execution. after many conferences, a scheme of action was agreed upon, and an act of assembly passed, april th, , for the raising of a regiment of four hundred men, to be commanded by colonel vanderdussen; a troop of rangers;[ ] presents for the indians; and supply of provisions for three months.[ ] they also furnished a large schooner, with ten carriage and sixteen swivel guns, in which they put fifty men under the command of captain tyrrell. [footnote : as the rangers could not be procured, the assembly afterwards voted an addition of two hundred men.] [footnote : the term of service, and, of course, the amount of supply, were afterwards extended to four months.] with this encouragement, and the promise of coöperation by commodore vincent price, who commanded the small fleet on that station, the place of rendezvous was appointed at the mouth of st. john's river. the general then published his manifesto,[ ] and immediately hastened back to georgia to prepare his forces for the expedition. [footnote : appendix, no. xxii.] on the beginning of april he went to the uchee town to engage runners to his indian allies to inform them of his intended assault of st. augustine; to bespeak their assistance, and request their chiefs and warriors to join his forces at frederica, whither he immediately repaired. there he completed the equipment of his forces; selected the field-pieces and their carriages, balls and powder; and attended to the military accoutrements, stores and provisions. on the th of may he passed over to florida with four hundred selected men of his regiment, and a considerable party of indians, headed by molochi, son of prim the late chief of the creeks; raven, war-chief of the cherokees; and toonahowi, nephew of tomo chichi. on the evening of the th, part of the carolina forces arrived. [illustration] as the first thing to be done was to take the forts that kept open the communication of the spaniards with the country, and thus cut off their supplies, the general, impatient of losing time, invested the small fort called francis de pupa, seventeen miles north of st. augustine, commanded by a sergeant and twelve men, who surrendered without a contest. thence he proceeded to fort diego, situated on the plains, twenty-five miles from st. augustine, defended by eleven guns, and fifty regulars, besides indians and negroes. in his sortie upon this, he made use of a little stratagem, as well as force; which was by appointing three or four drums to beat, at the same time, in different places in the woods, and a few men now and then to appear suddenly, and withdraw out of sight again. at this, the enemy in the fort were so confounded, with the apprehension that they were surrounded by a great number of troops, that they made only a feint of opposition; and, being summoned to surrender, did so, on condition of being treated as prisoners of war, and, (what they principally insisted on) not to be delivered into the hands of the indians, from whom they were conscious that they had incurred the most condign reprisals for former aggressions.[ ] the other articles were that they should deliver up the guns and stores, which consisted of nine swivel and two carriage guns, with the powder and shot, &c.; that they should have liberty to keep their baggage; that seignior diego spinosa, to whom the fort belonged, it having been built at his expense, and on his land, should hold his plantation and slaves, and such other effects as were not already plundered in the field; and, finally, that no deserters or runaways from charlestown should have the benefit of this capitulation. here he left a garrison of sixty men, under the command of lieutenant dunbar, to secure the retreat of the army, in case of accidents, and to preserve a safe communication with the settlements in georgia. he then returned to the place of rendezvous, where he was joined on the th of may by captain m'intosh, with a company of highlanders, and colonel vanderdussen, with the rest of the carolina troops, but without any horse, pioneers, or negroes. [footnote : stephens, ii. .] by this time six spanish half-galleys, with a number of long brass nine pounders, manned with two hundred regulars, and attended by two sloops loaded with ammunition and provisions, had entered the harbor of st. augustine, so that the forces in the town and castle were very nearly equal in numbers to the land forces brought against them, and their artillery much superior. notwithstanding all the reinforcement which oglethorpe had received, it was judged impracticable to take the place by assault from the land side, unless an attack could be made at the same time by the boats of the men of war, and other small craft, on the sea side, on which the town had no intrenchments; and to begin a regular siege on the land side was impossible, as he had neither force enough for investing the place, nor any pioneers for breaking the ground, and carrying on the approaches. for this reason it was concerted between him and the sea commanders, that as soon as they arrived off the bar of the north channel, he should march up with his whole force, consisting of about two thousand men, to st. augustine, and give notice by a signal agreed on, that he was ready to begin the attack by land; which should be answered by a counter signal from the fleet of their readiness to attack it by sea. accordingly the general marched, and arrived near the intrenchments of st. augustine, june th, at night, having in his way taken fort moosa, about three miles from st. augustine, which the garrison had abandoned upon his approach. he ordered the gates of the fort to be burnt, and three breaches to be made in the walls. as soon as it was proper to begin the attack, he made the signal agreed on, but had no countersign from the men of war. this was to his utter surprise and disappointment. the reason which was afterwards assigned, was, that the fleet had ascertained that their promised cooperation had been rendered impracticable; as the galleys had been drawn up abreast in the channel between the castle and the island, so that any boats which they should send in must have been exposed to the cannon and musketry of the galleys, as well as the batteries of the castle; and, as no ships of force could get in to protect them, they must have been defeated, if not wholly destroyed; and that it was impossible to make an attack by sea, while the galleys were in that position. it being presumptuous to make an attack without the aid of the fleet, the general was under the necessity of marching back to fort diego, where he had left all his provisions, camp furniture, and tools; because he had neither horses nor carriages for taking them along with him by land, nor had then any place for landing them near st. augustine, had he sent them by water.[ ] [footnote : _london magazine_, vol. xxvii. p. .] disappointed in the project of taking the place by storm, he changed his plan of operations, and resolved, with the assistance of the ships of war, which were lying at anchor off the bar, to turn the siege into a blockade, and to shut up every channel by which provisions could be conveyed to the garrison. for this purpose, he stationed colonel palmer, with his company, at fort moosa, to scour the woods, and intercept all supplies from the country, and "enjoined it upon him, for greater safety, to encamp every night in a different place, and, by all means to avoid coming into action." he also charged him, if he should perceive any superior party sallying forth from st. augustine, to make a quick retreat towards fort diego, where it was certain the enemy would not follow him, for fear of having their retreat cut off by a detachment from the army. he sent colonel vanderdussen, with his regiment, to take possession of point quartell, at a creek which makes the mouth of the harbor opposite anastasia; and this he did "because they would be safe there, being divided from st. augustine, and covered from any sally that would be made by the garrison."[ ] [footnote : _history of the british settlements in north america_. lond. , to, page .] as there was a battery on anastasia, which defended the entry to st. augustine, the commodore suggested that, if a body of troops should be sent to land upon that island, under favor of the men of war, and dispossess it, he would then send the small vessels into the harbor, which was too shallow to admit the ships. upon this, the general marched to the coast, and embarked in the boats of the men of war, with a party of two hundred men, and most of the indians. captain warren, with two hundred seamen, attached themselves to this expedition. perceiving that the spaniards were advantageously posted behind the sand-hills, covered by the battery upon the island, and the fire from the half-galleys which lay in shoal water where the men of war could not come, he ordered the heavy boats to remain and seem as though they intended to land near them, while he, with captain warren and the pinnaces, rowed, with all the speed they could, to the southward about two miles. the spaniards behind the sand-hills strove to prevent their landing, but before they could come up in any order, the boats had got so near to the shore that the general and captain warren, with the seamen and indians, leaped into the water breast high, landed, and took possession of the sand-hills. the spaniards retreated in the utmost confusion to the battery; but were pursued so vigorously, that they were driven into the water, and took shelter in the half-galleys.[ ] [footnote : _london magazine_, vol. xxvii. p. .] all hands were now set to work to erect the batteries, whence a cannonade was made upon the town. this, however, was to little effect; partly from the distance, and partly from the condition of some of the field pieces which were employed. the enemy returned a brisk fire from the castle and from the half-galleys in the harbor. the latter, chiefly annoying the camp, it was agreed to attack them; but though commodore price had proposed that measure to colonel vanderdussen first, he altered his opinion and would not consent to it. "thirty-six pieces of cannon, together with planks for batteries, and all other necessaries, with four hundred pioneers were to have come from carolina; but only twelve pieces of cannon arrived. of course, for want of planks for batteries, they were obliged to fire upon the ground, the consequence of which was, that their carriages were soon broken, and could not be repaired."[ ] [footnote : _history of british settlements in north america_, p. .] the spaniards, on the other hand, had surprised and cut to pieces the detachment under colonel palmer. of this disastrous event, the particulars are given by one who could say,--"quos ego miserrimus vidi, et quorum pars magna fui." [which i had the misfortune to see, and greatly to share.] i refer to a letter from ensign hugh mackay to his brother in scotland, dated at fort st. andrews, on cumberland island, august th, . after some introductory remarks, he gives the following account of the action: "on the th of june the general sent out a flying party of militia, indians, and thirteen soldiers, in all making one hundred and thirty-seven men, under the command of colonel palmer, a carolina gentleman, an old indian warrior, of great personal resolution, but little conduct. under him i commanded the party, and had orders to march from st. diego, the head-quarters, to moosa, three miles from st. augustine, a small fort which the spaniards had held, but was demolished a few days before; there to show ourselves to the spaniards, and thereafter to keep moving from one place to another to divert their attention, while the general took another route, and intended to come to moosa in five days. the orders were just, and might with safety be executed, had a regular officer commanded; but poor colonel palmer, whose misfortune it was to have a very mean opinion of his enemies, would by no means be prevailed upon to leave the old fort, but staid there, thinking the spaniards durst not attack him. he was mistaken, as will appear presently. "upon the th day of june, about four in the morning, we were attacked by a detachment of five hundred, from the garrison of st. augustine, composed of spaniards, negroes, and indians, besides a party of horse to line the paths, that none of us might escape. apprehending that this would happen, i obtained leave of colonel palmer, and therefore ordered our drum to beat to arms at three o'clock every morning, and to have our men in readiness till it was clear day. thus it was upon the fatal th of june, as i have said, when the spaniards attacked us with a very smart fire from their small arms; in which colonel palmer fell the first. we returned the fire with the greatest briskness that can be imagined; and so the firing continued for some time; but, unluckily, we were penned up in a demolished fort; there was no room to extend. the spaniards endeavored to get in at the ruinous gate; and our party defended the same with the utmost bravery. here was a terrible slaughter on both sides; but the spaniards, who were five times our number, got at last, by dint of strength, the better; which, when i saw, that some prisoners were made, i ordered as many of my party then as were alive to draw off. we had great difficulty to get clear, for the spaniards surrounded the fort on all sides. however, by the assistance of god, we got our way made good; drew up in sight of the enemy, and retired, without being pursued, till we were in safety. i had no more than twenty-five men, and some of them very ill wounded, of which number i was, for i received three wounds at the fort gate, but they were slight ones. several of the poor highlanders, who were in the engagement, and fought like lions, lost their lives,--some of them your acquaintance. "i commanded, next colonel palmer, as captain of the horse, on the militia establishment. my lieutenant was killed. my cornet and quartermaster were made prisoners of war, with four more of the highlanders. charles mackay, nephew to captain hugh mackay, who was ensign of militia, received five wounds in the action, and lost one of his fingers; and, thereafter, rather than fall into the hands of the spaniards, ventured to swim an inlet of the sea, about a mile broad, and had the good fortune to get to the side he intended, and so to the general's camp. "as the indians fled several different ways, no more account is yet heard of them, only that some of them were killed in the action, and others wounded and taken prisoners. i believe there were sixty killed, and twenty taken prisoners of our whole party. to some of our creek indians who were taken by the enemy, leave was given (to curry favor with their nation) to return home. they told me that we killed a great number of the spaniards at moosa, and that they were dying by fives and sixes a day after getting into the town; so miserably were they cut by our broad swords; yet by their great numbers they got the day; but were sadly mauled, otherwise they would have pursued me." the fate of colonel palmer was the more affecting, from the consideration that he had raised one hundred and fifty good men, who had come with him as volunteers; that he was in a fort in which a breach had been made, and of course was no adequate protection; and that he was beyond the reach of any assistance. it has, indeed, been said that he was not enough mindful of the directions that had been given him, and presumptuously exposed himself to danger.[ ] [footnote : appendix, no. xxiii.] mr. stephens remarks that "the most bloody part of all fell to the unhappy share of our good people of darien, who, almost to a man engaged, under the command of their leader, john moore mcintosh; a worthy man, careful director among his people at home, and who now showed himself as valiant in the field of battle; where, calling on his countrymen and soldiers to follow his example, they made such havoc with their broadswords, as the spaniards cannot easily forget."[ ] this brave champion was taken prisoner, and suffered severe and cruel treatment.[ ] [footnote : _journal_, ii. .] [footnote : he was sent to old spain, where he remained a prisoner, at madrid, for several months; and was finally exchanged, and returned home to darien.] the principal commander of the spaniards fell at the first onset. the spanish took several prisoners; basely insulted the bodies of the dead; and would have inflicted vengeful cruelties on their captives, one of whom was an indian named nicholausa, whom they delivered over to the yamasees to burn, but general oglethorpe sent a drum with a message to the governor from the indian chief of the cherokees, acquainting him that if he permitted nicholausa to be burnt, a spanish horseman who had been taken prisoner should suffer the same fate. he also mentioned that, as the governor was a gentleman and a man of honor, he was persuaded that he would put an end to the barbarous usage of that country; and expected from the humanity of a spanish cavalier that he would prohibit insults to the bodies of the dead, and indignities to the prisoners; and he rather wished it, as he should be forced, against his inclination, to resort to retaliation, which his excellency must know that he was very able to make, since his prisoners greatly exceeded those made by the spaniards. upon this the governor submitted to the rescue of nicholausa from the fate to which he had been destined. it was, also, agreed that the indians, on both sides, should be treated as prisoners of war; so that an end was put to their barbarous custom of burning the unhappy wretches who fell into their hands. oglethorpe continued bombarding the castle and town until the regular troops came over from the land side, and the carolina militia were removed from point quartel to anastasia. he then summoned the governor to surrender, but received an indignant refusal. soon after some sloops, with a reinforcement of men, and a further supply of military stores and provisions from havana, found means to enter the harbor through the narrow channel of the matanzas. upon this, all prospect of starving the enemy was lost; and there remained only the chance of a forcible assault and battery. as the dernier resort, it was agreed, on the d of june, that captain warren, with the boats from the men of war, the two sloops hired by general oglethorpe, and the carolina vessels, with their militia, should attack the half-galleys; and, at a given signal, the general should attack the trenches. this was a desperate measure; for the whole of the troops belonging to the besiegers, including even the seamen, were much inferior in number to the garrison. the town was also covered on one side by a castle, with four bastions, and fifty pieces of cannon; from whence was run an intrenchment, flanked with several salient angles to fort coovo, on the river sebastian. this intrenchment consisted of the neck of land from the river anastasia to that of st. sebastian, and entirely covered the town from the island. upon this the general drew in all the strength that he possibly could, and sent for the garrison that he had left at diego. being joined by them and by the creek indians, and having made a sufficient number of fascines and short ladders, provided all other necessaries for attacking the intrenchments, and brought up thirty-six cohorns, he received notice that the commodore had resolved to forego the attack; declaring, that, as the season of hurricanes was approaching, he judged it imprudent to hazard his majesty's ships any longer on the coast.[ ] [footnote : appendix, no. xxiv.] on the departure of the fleet, the place was no longer blockaded on the sea side; of course the army began to despair of forcing the place to surrender. the provincials, under colonel vanderdussen, enfeebled by the heat of the climate, dispirited by fruitless efforts, and visited by sickness, marched away in large bodies.[ ] the general himself, laboring under a fever, and finding his men as well as himself worn out by fatigue, and rendered unfit for action, reluctantly abandoned the enterprise. on the fourth of july everything which he had on the island was reëmbarked, the troops transported to the continent, and the whole army began their march for georgia; the carolina regiment first, and the general with his troops in the rear. on this occasion a very notable answer of the indian chief is reported; for, being asked by some of the garrison to march off with them, "no!" said he, "i will not stir a foot till i see every man belonging to me marched off before me; for i have always been the first in advancing towards an enemy, and the last in retreating."[ ] [footnote : dr. ramsay, the historian of south carolina, with his usual frankness and impartiality, closes his narrative of this siege with the following remark. "on the th of august the carolina regiment had reached charlestown. though not one of them had been killed by the enemy, their number was reduced, fourteen, by disease and accidents."] [footnote : _london magazine_, vol. xxvii. p. .] "thus ended the expedition against st. augustine, to the great disappointment of both georgia and carolina. many reflections were afterwards thrown out against general oglethorpe for his conduct during the whole enterprise. he, on the other hand, declared that he had no confidence in the provincials, for that they refused to obey his orders, and abandoned the camp, and returned home in large numbers, and that the assistance from the fleet failed him in the utmost emergency. to which we may add, the place was so strongly fortified both by nature and art, that probably the attempt must have failed though it had been conducted by the ablest officer, and executed by the best disciplined troops."[ ] [footnote : harris's voyage, ii. .] the difficulties which opposed his success, showed the courage that could meet, and the zeal that strove to surmount them; and, while we lament the failure, we perceive that it was owing to untoward circumstances which he could not have foreseen; and disappointments from a quarter whence he most confidently expected and depended upon continued cooperation and ultimate accomplishment. referring to this, in a speech in the british house of peers, the duke of argyle made these remarks: "one man there is, my lords, whose natural generosity, contempt of danger, and regard for the public, prompted him to obviate the designs of the spaniards, and to attack them in their own territories; a man, whom by long acquaintance i can confidently affirm to have been equal to his undertaking, and to have learned the art of war by a regular education, who yet miscarried in the design only for want of supplies necessary to a possibility of success."[ ] [footnote : "laudari viris laudatis"--to be praised by men themselves renowned, is certainly the most valuable species of commendation.] a writer, who had good authority for his opinion, declares, that," though this expedition was not attended with the success some expected from it, the taking the fortress of st. augustine, it was, nevertheless, of no little consequence, inasmuch as it kept the spaniards for a long time on the defensive, and the war at a distance; so that the inhabitants of carolina felt none of its effects as a colony, excepting the loss suffered by their privateers, till the spaniards executed their long projected invasion in , in which they employed their whole strength, and from which they expected to have changed the whole face of the continent of north america; and, even then, the people of carolina suffered only by their fears."[ ] [footnote : harris's voyages, vol. ii. page .] in a letter to lord egmont, by governor belcher, dated boston, may th, , is this remark; "i was heartily sorry for the miscarriage of general oglethorpe's attempt on augustine, in which i could not learn where the mistake was, or to what it was owing, unless to a wrong judgment of the strength of the place, to which the force that attacked it, they say, was by no means equal. i wish that a part of admiral vernon's fleet and general wentworth's forces may give it a visit, before the spaniards sue for peace. it seems to me absolutely necessary for the quieting of the english possessions of carolina and georgia, that we should reduce augustine to the obedience of the british crown, and keep it, as gibraltar and mahon."[ ] [footnote : letter-book of his excellency jonathan belcher, in the archives of the massachusetts historical society, vol. v. p. .] chapter xv. oglethorpe pays particular attention to internal improvements--meets with many annoyances--the creeks, under toonahowi, make an incursion into florida--the spanish form a design upon georgia--some of their fleet appear on the coast--oglethorpe prepares for defence--applies to south carolina for assistance--spaniards attack fort william--dangerous situation of oglethorpe--spanish fleet enter the harbor and land on st. simons--in three successive engagements they are defeated--a successful stratagem--enemy defeated at bloody marsh-- retire and attack fort william, which is bravely defended by ensign stewart--spanish forces, repulsed in all their assaults, abandon the invasion in dismay, and return to st. augustine and to cuba. of the year but few memorials are to be found. oglethorpe resided principally at frederica; but occasionally visited savannah; and, every where, and at all times, actively exerted his powers of persuasion, his personal influence, or his delegated authority to reconcile the jarring contests and restore the social accordance and peace of the community, while with vigilance and precaution he concerted measures to guard the colony against the threatening purposes of the spaniards. in reference to his peculiar trials and vexatious annoyances, are the following remarks, copied from a letter of a gentleman at savannah, deeply read in the early history of the colony.[ ] [footnote : william b. stevens, m.d., _letter, october_ , .] "the difficulties with which general oglethorpe had to contend, were peculiarly onerous and perplexing, not only with the spanish foes,--with the restless indians,--with the clamorous settlement,--with discontented troops,--with meagre supplies,--with the defection of carolina,--with the protest of his bills, and with the refusal of a just naval protection;--but the officers of his regiment were at enmity with him and with each other, and crimination and recrimination followed, disturbing the peace, and weakening the efficiency of the military corps. at a court martial, held in the early part of january, , composed of thirteen officers, they, in their letter, dated th of january, to the general speak thus--' d. that we have observed a great spirit of mutiny among the soldiers, particularly those of lieutenant colonel cochran's company,' and ' d. that by evidence given in court, it appears to us that lieutenant colonel james cochran was in the knowledge of, and concealed a mutiny.' the wonder is, that, with such opposing influences, and such discordant materials, he effected _any thing_. that he achieved _so much_, under such adverse circumstances, proves him to have been a firm, bold, intrepid, and sagacious man; to have possessed the most eminent military qualifications, and those sterling virtues which mock at the petty malice of the envious, and triumph over the machinations of malignity." he was, also, fully aware that, as the spanish of florida and cuba entertained no good will towards him, they would seek an opportunity to retaliate his "assault and battery," which, though it had proved on his part a failure, had been to them a grievous annoyance. he, therefore, kept scout-boats continually on the look out, to give notice of the approach to the coast of any armed vessel. on the th of august advice was conveyed to him that a large ship had come to anchor off the bar. he immediately sent out the boat to ascertain what it was; and it was perceived to be manned with spaniards, with evidently hostile purpose. whereupon he went on board the guard sloop to go in search of her; took, also, the sloop falcon, which was in the service of the province; and hired the schooner norfolk, captain davis, to join the expedition. these vessels were manned by a detachment of his regiment under the following officers: viz.: major alexander heron, captain desbrisay, lieutenant mackay, lieutenant tamser, ensign hogan, ensign sterling, and ensigns wemyss and howarth, and adjutant maxwell; thomas eyre, surgeon and mate; six sergeants, six corporals, five drummers, and one hundred and twenty-five privates. before they could get down to the bar, a sudden squall of wind and storm of thunder and rain came on; and when it cleared up the vessel was out of sight. unwilling, however, to lose the object of this equipment, on the next day he sailed directly towards st. augustine in pursuit of the ship. on the th the falcon sloop, being disabled, was sent back, with seventeen men of the regiment; and the general proceeded with the guard sloop and schooner. on the st, by day-break, they discovered a ship and a sloop at anchor, about four or five leagues distant; and, it being a dead calm, they rowed, till they came up to them, about noon, when they found one to be the black spanish privateer sloop, commanded by a french officer, captain destrade, who had made several prizes to the northward; and the other to be a three-mast ship; both lying at anchor outside of the bar of st. augustine. the general issued orders to board them, when the wind freshing up, and the english bearing down upon them, they began firing with great and small arms, and the english returning the fire, they immediately left their anchors, and run over the bar. the sloop and schooner pursuing them; and, though they engaged them for an hour and a quarter, they could not get on board. the spanish vessels then run up towards the town; and as they were hulled, and seemed disabled, six half-galleys came down, and kept firing nine-pounders, but, by reason of the distance, the shot did not reach the sloop or schooner. that night the general came to anchor within sight of the castle of st. augustine, and the next day sailed for the matanzas; but, finding no vessel there, cruised off the bar of st. augustine, and nothing coming out, the whole coast being thus alarmed, he returned to frederica. there were three ships, and one two-mast vessel lying within the harbor at the time that the english engaged the sloop and ship.[ ] [footnote : _annals of europe_, page .] this summer one of the georgia boats off tybee saved a three-mast vessel which the spaniards had abandoned, leaving eighteen englishmen on board, after having barbarously scuttled her, and choked the pumps, that the men might sink with the ship; but the boat's men, getting on board in good time, saved the men and the ship. it seems that the creeks, in retaliation of some predatory and murderous outrages of the florida outposts, made a descent upon them in return. this is referred to in the following extract from a letter of general oglethorpe to the duke of newcastle, dated frederica, th of december, . my lord, "toonahowi, the indian who had the honor of your grace's protection in england, with a party of creek indians, returned hither from making an incursion up to the walls of augustine; near which they took don romualdo ruiz del moral, lieutenant of spanish horse, and nephew to the late governor, and delivered him to me. "the governor of augustine has sent the enclosed letter to me by some english prisoners; and, the prisoners there, the enclosed petition. on which i fitted out the vessels, and am going myself, with a detachment of the regiment, off the bar of augustine, to demand the prisoners, and restrain the privateers." in the early part of the year , the spaniards formed a design upon georgia, on which, from the time of its settlement, they had looked with a jealous eye.[ ] for this end, in may, they fitted out an armament at havanna, consisting of fifty-six sail, and seven or eight thousand men; but the fleet, being dispersed by a storm, did not all arrive at st. augustine, the place of their destination. don manuel de monteano, governor of that fortress, and of the town and region it protected, had the command of the expedition. [footnote : appendix, no. xxv.] about the end of may, or beginning of june, the schooner, which had been sent out on a cruise by general oglethorpe, returned with the information that there were two spanish men of war, with twenty guns each, besides two very large privateers, and a great number of small vessels, full of troops, lying at anchor off the bar of st. augustine. this intelligence was soon after confirmed by captain haymer, of the flamborough man of war, who had fallen in with part of the spanish fleet on the coast of florida, and drove some vessels on shore. having been apprized of this, the general, apprehending that the spaniards had in view some formidable expedition against georgia or carolina, or perhaps both, wrote to the commander of his majesty's ships, in the harbor of charlestown, urging him to come to his assistance. lieutenant maxwell, the bearer, arrived and delivered the letter on the th of june. directly afterwards he sent lieutenant mackay to governor glenn, of south carolina, requesting his military aid with all expedition; and this despatch reached him on the th. he then laid an embargo upon all the shipping in georgia; and sent messages to his faithful indian allies, who gathered to his assistance with all readiness. and now the design of the spaniards was manifest. on the st of june the fleet appeared on the coast; and nine sail of vessels made an attempt on amelia island, but were so warmly received by the cannon from fort william, and the guard-schooner of fourteen guns and ninety men, commanded by captain dunbar, that they sheered off. when the general was informed of this attack, he resolved to support the fortifications on cumberland island; and set out with a detachment of the regiment in three boats; but was obliged to make his way through fourteen sail of vessels. this was very venturesome, and, indeed, was considered as presumptuously hazardous. for, had a shot from one of the galleys struck the boat in which he was, so as to disable or sink it, or had he been overtaken by a gun-boat from the enemy, the colonial forces would have become the weakly resisting victims of spanish exasperated revenge. but by keeping to the leeward, and thus taking advantage of the smoke, he escaped the firing and arrived in safety. after having withdrawn the command from st. andrews, and removed the stores and artillery that were there, and reinforced fort william,[ ] where he left one of the boats, he returned to st. simons. [footnote : these two forts were on cumberland island.] he now sent another express to the governor of south carolina, by mr. malryne, informing him of his situation, and urging the necessity of a reinforcement. this application was not promptly complied with, in consequence of an unfortunate prejudice arising from the failure of his attempt upon st. augustine. but as georgia had been a great barrier against the spaniards, whose conquest of it would be hazardous to the peace and prosperity of south carolina, "it was thought expedient to fit out some vessels to cruise down the coast, and see what could be done for its relief."[ ] [footnote : williams's _history of florida_, p. .] in the perilous emergency to which he was reduced, oglethorpe took, for the king's service, the merchant ship of twenty guns, called the _success_,--a name of auspicious omen,--commanded by captain thompson, and manned it from the small vessels which were of no force. he also called in the highland company from darien, commanded by captain mcintosh; the company of rangers; and captain carr's company of marines. on the th of june the spanish fleet appeared off the bar below st. simons; but from their precaution for taking the soundings and ascertaining the channel, was delayed coming in, or landing any of the troops, for several days; in which time "the general raised another troop of rangers; and, by rewarding those who did extraordinary duty, and offering advancement to such as should signalize themselves on this occasion, he kept up the spirits of the people, and increased the number of enlistments."[ ] he was placed, indeed, in a most critical situation; but he bore himself with great presence of mind, and summoned to the emergency a resolution which difficulties could not shake, and brought into exercise energies which gathered vigor from hindrance, and rendered him insensible to fatigue, and unappalled by danger. this self-collected and firm state of mind, made apparent in his deportment and measures, produced a corresponding intrepidity in all around him; inspired them with confidence in their leader; and roused the determined purpose with united efforts to repel their invaders. [footnote : the passages distinguished by inverted commas, without direct marginal reference, are from the official account.] at this critical juncture, his own services were multiplied and arduous; for lieutenant colonel cook, who was engineer, having gone to charlestown, on his way to london,[ ] the general was obliged to execute that office himself, sometimes on ship-board, and sometimes at the batteries. he therefore found himself under the necessity of assigning the command to some one on station, during his occasional absences; and accordingly appointed major alexander heron; raising him to the rank of lieutenant colonel. [footnote : we shall see, in the sequel, that the absence of this officer, whatever its pretence, was with treacherous purpose, as may be surmised by the following extract from a letter to the duke of newcastle, dated th of july, ; where, mentioning the despatches sent to governor glen, earnestly requesting some military aid, the general informs his grace that "lieutenant colonel cook, who was engineer, and was then at charlestown, hastened away to england; and his son-in-law, ensign erye, sub-engineer, was also in charlestown, and did not arrive here till the action was over; so, for want of help, i was obliged to do the duty of an engineer."] on monday, the th of july, with a leading gale and the flood of tide, a spanish fleet of thirty-six sail, consisting of three ships of twenty guns, two large snows, three schooners, four sloops, and the rest half-galleys, with landsmen on board, entered the harbor; and, after exchanging a brisk fire with the fort, for four hours, passed all the batteries and shipping, proceeded up the river. the same evening the forces were landed upon the island, a little below gascoigne's plantation. a red flag was hoisted on the mizzen-top of the admiral's ship, and a battery was erected on the shore, in which were planted twenty eighteen-pounders. on this, the general, having done all he could to annoy the enemy, and prevent their landing, and finding that the fort at st. simons had become indefensible, held a council of war at the head of his regiment; and it was the opinion of the whole that the fort should be dismantled, the guns spiked up, the cohorns burst, and that the troops there stationed should immediately repair to frederica, for its defence. he accordingly gave orders for them to march, and sent for all the troops that were on board the vessels to come on shore. as his only measures must be on the defensive, "he sent scouting parties in every direction to watch the motions of the enemy; while the main body were employed in working at the fortifications, making them as strong as circumstances would admit."[ ] [footnote : mccall, i. .] the creek indians brought in five spanish prisoners, from whom was obtained information that don manuel de monteano, the governor of st. augustine, commanded in chief; that adjutant general antonio de rodondo, chief engineer, and two brigades, came with the forces from cuba; and that their whole number amounted to about five thousand men. detachments of the spaniards made several attempts to pierce through the woods, with a view to attack the fort; but were repulsed by lurking indians. the only access to the town was what had been cut through a dense oak wood, and then led on the skirt of the forest along the border of the eastern marsh that bounded the island eastward. this was a defile so narrow, that the enemy could take no cannon with them, nor baggage, and could only proceed two abreast. moreover, the spanish battalions met with such obstruction from the deep morasses on one side, and the dark and tangled thickets on the other, and such opposition from the indians and ambushed highlanders, that every effort failed, with considerable loss. on the morning of the th of july, captain noble jones, with a small detachment of regulars and indians, being on a scouting party, fell in with a number of spaniards, who had been sent to reconnoitre the route, and see if the way was clear, surprised and made prisoners of them. from these, information was received that the main army was on the march. this intelligence was immediately communicated, by an indian runner, to the general, who detached captain dunbar with a company of grenadiers, to join the regulars; with orders to harass the enemy on their way. perceiving that the most vigorous resistance was called for, with his usual promptitude he took with him the highland company, then under arms, and the indians, and ordered four platoons of the regiment to follow. they came up with the vanguard of the enemy about two miles from the town, as they entered the savannah, and attacked them so briskly that they were soon defeated, and most of their party, which consisted of one hundred and twenty of their best woodsmen and forty florida indians were killed or taken prisoners. the general took two prisoners with his own hands; and lieutenant scroggs, of the rangers, took captain sebastian sachio, who commanded the party. during the action toonahowi, the nephew of tomo chichi, who had command of one hundred indians, was shot through the right arm by captain mageleto, which, so far from dismaying the young warrior, only fired his revenge. he ran up to the captain, drew his pistol with his left hand, shot him through the head, and, leaving him dead on the spot, returned to his company.[ ] [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, xii. .] the general pursued the fugitives more than a mile, and then halted on an advantageous piece of ground, for the rest of the troops to come up, when he posted them, with the highlanders, in a wood fronting the road through the plain by which the main body of the spaniards, who were advancing, must necessarily pass. after which he returned, with all speed, to frederica, and ordered the rangers and boat-men to make ready, and all to use their utmost endeavors to resist the invaders. during his temporary absence on this pressing emergency, captain antonio barba, and two other captains with one hundred grenadiers, and two hundred foot, besides indians and negroes, advanced from the spanish camp into the savannah with drums and huzzas, and halted within an hundred paces of the position where the troops left by oglethorpe lay in ambuscade. they immediately stacked their arms, made fires, and were preparing their kettles for cooking, when a horse observed some of the concealed party, and, frightened at the uniform of the regulars, began to snort. this gave the alarm. the spaniards ran to their arms, but were shot down in great numbers by their invisible assailants; and, after repeated attempts to form, in which some of their principal officers fell, they decamped with the utmost precipitation, leaving the camp equipage on the field. so complete was the surprise, that many fled without their arms; others, in a rapid retreat, discharged their muskets over their shoulders at their pursuers; and many were killed by the loaded muskets that had been left on the ground. generally the spaniards fired so much at random, that the trees were pruned by the balls from their muskets.[ ] [footnote : mccall's _history_, i. .] the general, returning with all expedition, heard the report of the musketry, and rode towards it; and, near two miles from the place of action, met some platoons, who, in the heat of the fight, the air being so darkened by the smoke that they could not see where to direct their fire, and a heavy shower of rain falling, had retired in disorder. he ordered them to rally and follow him, apprehending that immediate relief might be wanting. he arrived just as the battle ceased; and found that lieutenant sutherland, with his platoon, and lieutenant charles mackay, had entirely defeated the enemy. in this action don antonio de barba, their leader, was made a prisoner, but mortally wounded. "in both actions, the spaniards lost four captains, one lieutenant, two sergeants, two drummers, and more than an hundred and fifty privates. one captain, one corporal, and twenty men were taken prisoners. the rest fled to the woods, where many of them were killed by the indians, who brought in their scalps."[ ] [footnote : from the great slaughter, the scene of this action has ever since been called "the bloody marsh."] captain demerey and ensign gibbon being arrived, with the men they had rallied, lieutenant cadogan with the advanced party of the regiment, and soon after the whole regiment, indians and rangers, the general marched down to a causeway over a marsh, very near the spanish camp, over which all were obliged now to pass; and thereby stopped those who had been dispersed in the fight, from getting back to the spanish camp. having passed the night there, the indian scouts in the morning got so near the spanish place of encampment, as to ascertain that they had all retired into the ruins of the fort, and were making intrenchments under shelter of the cannon of the ships. not deeming it prudent to attack them while thus defended, he marched back to frederica, to refresh the soldiers; and sent out parties of indians and rangers to harass the enemy. he now, at a general staff, appointed lieutenant hugh mackay and lieutenant maxwell, aids de camp, and lieutenant sutherland, brigade major. while signal instances of heroism were thus honored, he warned the troops of the necessity of union and vigilance, of prompt attention to orders, and of maintaining an unflinching firmness in every emergency; for in these, under god, depended their safety. although he thus encouraged others, he was himself filled with perplexity. he began to despair of any help from carolina. his provisions were bad and scarce, and, while the enemy commanded the river and the harbor, no supplies could be expected. of all this, however, he gave no intimation, but, firm and self-possessed, submitted to the same fare with the meanest soldier, exposed himself to as great fatigue, and often underwent greater privations. at the same time his fixed resolution and irrepressible zeal in the defence and protection of his people, nerved him to further and even greater exertions. on the th the great galley and two small ones, approached within gun-shot of the town; but they were repulsed by guns and bombs from the fort, and the general followed them in his cutter, with attendant boats, well manned, till he got under the cannon of their ships, which lay in the sound. this naval approach, as appeared afterwards, was in consequence of a concerted plot. it seems that, at the commencement of the siege of st. augustine, a spanish officer quitted one of the outer forts and surrendered himself to oglethorpe, who detained him prisoner of war. he was readily communicative, and gave what was supposed important information. after the close of the war, he might have been exchanged; but he chose to remain, pretending that the spaniards looked upon him as a traitor. he, at length, so artfully insinuated himself into favor with the magnanimous oglethorpe, that he was treated with great courtesy. on this invasion he begged permission to retire into the northern colonies of the english, saying that he apprehended that if he should fall into the hands of the spaniards, they would deal rigorously with him. the general, not being aware of any treacherous design, gave him a canoe to go up the river till he was out of danger; whence he might proceed by land to some back settlement. some days past and he came back to frederica, pretending that he could not make his way through, nor by, the fleet without being discovered and captured. most fortunately, some days after his return, an english prisoner, who had escaped from one of the ships of war, acquainted the general with the treachery of this officer, assuring him that he had been aboard at such a time, and talked over his insidious project of setting fire to the arsenal which contained all the powder and military stores, and that its explosion should be the signal to the spanish galleys to approach, and, in the confusion of the occasion, make an assault upon the fort. this disclosure confirmed suspicions which had been excited by some of his management since his return; and he was put under guard. in consequence of this precaution, the concerted signal could not be given; and the ruinous project was most happily defeated.[ ] [footnote : urlspurger, iv. p. .] july th, two english prisoners who had effected an escape, one from the fleet, and one from the camp, informed the general that the spaniards, not having anticipated such vigorous resistance, had become restless and dispirited, especially since they had ascertained by their roll how great was their loss of men; and that the state of the wounded was distressing. they added that these discomfitures were increased by the want of water on board the ships, which was so great that the troops were put upon half allowance, which, in this hot weather was a grievous deprivation, and that several, from the effect of the climate, were sick and unfit for service. they apprized him, also, that they had holden a council of war, in which there were great divisions, insomuch that the troops of cuba separated from those of augustine, and encamped at a distance near the woods. this latter circumstance suggested the idea of attacking them while divided; and his perfect knowledge of the woods favored the project of surprising one of their encampments. in furtherance of this design, he drew out three hundred regular troops, the highland company, the rangers, and indians, and marched in the night, unobserved within a mile and a half of the spanish camp. there his troops halted, and he advanced at the head of a select corps to reconnoitre the enemy. while he was using the utmost circumspection to obtain the necessary information without being discovered, an occurrence of the most villanous nature, disconcerted the project. as the particulars of this have been variously narrated, i am happy in being enabled to give the general's own account of the affair.[ ] in his official despatch to the duke of newcastle, dated at frederica, in georgia, th of july, , he says,--"a frenchman who, without my knowledge was come down among the volunteers, fired his gun, and deserted. our indians in vain pursued, but could not take him. upon this, concluding that we should be discovered, i divided the drums into different parts, and they beat the grenadier's march for about half an hour; then ceased, and we marched back in silence. the next day i prevailed with a prisoner, and gave him a sum of money to carry a letter privately, and deliver it to that frenchman who had deserted. this letter was written in french, as if from a friend of his, telling him he had received the money; that he should try to make the spaniards believe the english were weak; that he should undertake to pilot up their boats and galleys, and then bring them under the woods, where he knew the hidden batteries were; that if he could bring that about he should have double the reward he had already received; and that the french deserters should have all that had been promised to them. the spanish prisoner got into their camp, and was immediately carried before the general, don manuel de monteano. he was asked how he escaped, and whether he had any letters; but denying he had any, was strictly searched, and the letter found, and he, upon being pardoned, confessed that he had received money to deliver it to the frenchman, (for the letter was not directed.) the frenchman denied his knowing any thing of the contents of the letter, or having received any money, or correspondence with me. notwithstanding which, a council of war was held, and they decreed the frenchman to be a double spy; but general monteano would not suffer him to be executed, having been employed by him. however they embarked all their troops with such precipitation that they left behind their cannon, &c., and those dead of their wounds, unburied." [footnote : transcribed from the georgia historical documents, by my excellent friend t.k. tefft, esq., of savannah. the particulars of this singularly interesting _ruse de guerre_ are detailed in all the accounts of the spanish invasion; and in each with some variation, and in all rather more circumstantially than the above. see _gentleman's magazine_ for , p. ; _london magazine_ for , p. ; hewatt's _history of south carolina_, vol. ii. p. ; mccall's _history of georgia_, i. p. ; ramsay's _history of the united states_, i. , and marshall's _history of the colonies_, p. .] the spanish general now deemed it expedient to relinquish a plan of conquest attended with so many difficulties, and the further prosecution of which would put to hazard the loss of both army and fleet, and perhaps of the whole province of florida. "on the th of july the spaniards burned all the works and houses on the south end of st. simons and jekyl islands. "on the th the large vessels, with the cuba forces on board, stood out to sea; and the governor and troops from st. augustine embarked in the galleys and small vessels, and took the inland passage, and encamped on the north end of cumberland island, at fort st. andrews. "the next day the general pursued the enemy, and, landing where they had encamped, sent an express in the night to ensign alexander stewart, who commanded at fort william, directing him, in case of an attack, to defend the place to the last extremity; and that he would reinforce him early the next day. at day-light twenty-eight sail of the spanish line appeared off fort william, fourteen of which came into the harbor, and demanded a surrender of the garrison. stewart replied that it should not be surrendered, and could not be taken. they attacked the works from their galleys and other vessels, and attempted to land; but were repulsed by a party of rangers, who had arrived by a forced march down the island. stewart, with only sixty men, defended the fort with such bravery, that, after an assault of three hours, the enemy discovering the approach of oglethorpe, put to sea, with considerable loss. two galleys were disabled and abandoned; and the governor of st. augustine proceeded with his troops by the inward passage. ensign stewart was rewarded, by promotion, for the bravery of his defence."[ ] [footnote : mccall, vol. i. p. .] "on the th, general oglethorpe sent his boats and rangers as far as the river st. john. they returned the next day with the information that the enemy were quite gone." a few days after, the armed ships from south carolina came to st. simons; but the need of them was then over; and even of the british men of war upon the american station, though they had a month's notice, none appeared upon the coast of georgia until after the spanish troops were all embarked, and their fleet was upon its return to havana and to st. augustine. in the account of the spanish invasion, by the saltzburg preachers at ebenezer, are these very just reflections: "cheering was the intelligence that the spaniards, with all their ships of war and numerous military force, had raised the siege in shame and disgrace, and retired to augustine! doubtless they feared lest english ships of war should approach and draw them into a naval combat, for which they could have no desire. nay, they feared, no doubt, that their own augustine would suffer from it." devoutly acknowledging the protecting and favoring providence of god in this wonderful deliverance from a most formidable invading foe, general oglethorpe appointed a day of thanksgiving to be observed by the inhabitants of the colony.[ ] [footnote : appendix, no. xxvi.] thus was the province of georgia delivered, when brought to the very brink of destruction by a formidable enemy. don manuel de monteano had been fifteen days on the small island of st. simons, without gaining the least advantage over a handful of men; and, in the several skirmishes, had lost a considerable number of his best troops, while oglethorpe's loss was very inconsiderable.[ ] [footnote : mccall, i. .] the writer of a letter from charlestown, south carolina, has this remark; "that nearly five thousand men, under the command of so good an officer as the governor of st. augustine, should fly before six or seven hundred men, and about one hundred indians, is matter of astonishment to all."[ ] [footnote : gentleman's magazine for , p. . see also appendix, no. xxvii. for an account of the forces.] the rev. mr. whitefield, in a letter to a noble lord, says, "the deliverance of georgia from the spaniards, one of my friends writes me, is such as cannot be paralleled but by some instances out of the old testament. i find that the spaniards had cast lots, and determined to give no quarter. they intended to have attacked carolina, but, wanting water, they put into georgia, and so would take that colony on their way. but the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. providence ruleth all things. they were wonderfully repelled and sent away before our ships were seen."[ ] "a little band chased a thousand; and a small one overcome a large people." [footnote : _letters_, v.i. let. cccclxxxix. p. .] the writer of the _history of the rise, progress, and settlement of the colony of georgia_, so often quoted in this chapter, closes his account of this invasion with the following remark: "instead of raising and heightening their success, to do honor to the general's character; we ought rather to lessen or diminish some of the circumstances, to render it, in such an age as this, more credible. but we have taken no liberties at all. the facts are represented, step by step, as they happened; and the reader left to make his own inferences, estimate, and opinion."[ ] [footnote : harris's _voyages_, ii. .] the governors of new york, new jersey, pennsylvania, maryland, virginia and north carolina, addressed letters to oglethorpe, "congratulating him upon the important services rendered to the colonies; and assuring him of the interest which they felt in the honor he had acquired by his indefatigable exertions, constant exposure, extraordinary courage, and unequalled military conduct; and offering their humble thanks to the supreme governor of nations for placing the fate of the southern colonies under the direction of a general so well qualified for the important trust."[ ] [footnote : for some of the letters see the work last quoted.] chapter xvi. oglethorpe, informed that the spaniards were making preparations for a renewal of hostilities, takes measures to repel them--meets with an alarming accident--lands on the florida side of st. john's--proceeds towards st. augustine--the spanish do not venture out to attack him--returns to the islands--sees that the forts are repaired--takes passage to england to attend a court martial on an insidious charge against him by lieutenant cook--is honorably acquitted, and cook is dismissed from the service. in the beginning of the year , general oglethorpe, having had information that the spaniards of st. augustine were making preparations for another invasion of georgia,[ ] took measures to repel it; and set out, at the head of a force consisting of a company of grenadiers, a detachment of his own regiment, the highlanders, and the georgia rangers, and a numerous collection of indians. [footnote : "they were so apprehensive of this at south carolina, that the fortifications of charlestown were repaired and augmented." boyse's _historical review_, vol. i. p. .] he came very near being killed in his shallop, while sailing to reconnoitre st. augustine; but providence averted the fatality of the blow which he received. one of his cannon burst, and a piece of a sail-yard struck the head of the general, and so wounded him that the blood gushed from his ears and nose. the injury, happily, was not so great but that he soon collected himself, and cheered up his alarmed attendants.[ ] [footnote : urlspurger, iv. .] on the th of march he landed on the florida side of st. john's river, and attacked a much more numerous party of the spanish troops than that under his command, quartered at fort diego, forty of whom were killed in the engagement and pursuit, and the rest made their escape into the castle. after this he proceeded to the neighborhood of st. augustine; and, having placed the greatest part of his troops in ambuscade, marched with the rest almost to the walls of the fortress, in hopes that the spaniards, upon seeing so small a party, would have sallied out to have engaged it, in which case he was resolved to have made a retreating fight, in order to draw the enemy into the ambush which he had prepared for them. but, it seems, that by accident they discovered the concealment of the troops, and deemed it prudent to remain in their stronghold. this stratagem having been frustrated, oglethorpe, perceiving that an assault would be unavailing, marched back to the river, where he continued for some time, expecting that the enemy would come out, and endeavor to drive him from their territory, but, as they made not the attempt, and as the affairs of the colony as well as his own, required his presence in england, he returned, to make arrangements for going thither. having seen that the fortifications on st. simons and the other islands were repaired and greatly improved, oglethorpe took passage on the d of july, , in the guard-ship commanded by captain thompson, having with him colonel heron, mr. eyre, sub-engineer, and several others belonging to the regiment, and arrived in london on the th of september, where his personal presence was required to meet and answer an impeachment lodged against him in the war-office by lieutenant colonel william cook. as soon as oglethorpe arrived, he insisted that the allegations should be examined by a board of general officers; but, as cook gave in a list of several persons in georgia and some in south carolina, who, he said, were material witnesses, no investigation could be had till they should be heard. in consequence of this, and other delays, the court martial was not opened till the th of june, . it continued two days in session; when, after a strict scrutiny into the complaint, article by article of the nineteen specific charges, the board were of opinion that "the whole and every article thereof was groundless, false, and malicious." on the presentation of the report to his majesty he was pleased to order that the said lieutenant colonel cook should be dismissed the service. this indictment by one who had been treated with great kindness, and who owed his preferment to the rank of lieutenant colonel to the particular favor of the general, was not only ungrateful, but insidious and base. the faithful annalist of america, the reverend doctor holmes, closes his reference to this transaction with this just and honorable reflection: "by the decision of this board, the character of this able general now appeared in resplendent light; and his contemporaries acknowledged, what impartial history must record, that to him carolina was indebted for her safety and repose, as well as georgia for existence and protection."[ ] [footnote : _american annals_, ii. .] and here closes the history of the settlement of georgia; in a great degree the project and the furtherance of one man, who must be allowed to possess the foremost rank among those, who, by well-concerted plans, and judicious and persevering measures for their accomplishment, have high claims on public gratitude, as warm and devoted patriots, and enlightened philanthropists. embracing in one comprehensive view the effectual relief of the reduced or neglected, the planting of a colony, and the promotion of its progressive improvement and welfare, it is the appropriate praise of the founder of georgia, that, with a sagacity and foresight which are never sufficiently to be admired, a zeal and fortitude never exceeded, and a devotedness to the object which never relaxed, he commenced and carried on the arduous enterprise. in "an account, showing the progress of the colony of georgia in america from its first establishment; published by order of the honorable, the trustees," london, , is the following eulogy of oglethorpe, made by those who best knew how truly it was deserved. "a gentleman who may be justly termed the romulus, father and founder of georgia; a gentleman who, without any view but that of enlarging his majesty's dominions, propagating the protestant religion, promoting the trade of his country, and providing for the wants and necessities of indigent christians, has voluntarily banished himself from the pleasures of a court, and exposed himself repeatedly to the dangers of the vast atlantic ocean in several perilous and tedious voyages; instead of allowing himself the satisfaction which a plentiful fortune, powerful friends, and great merit entitle him to in england, has inured himself to the greatest hardships that any the meanest inhabitant of this new colony could be exposed to; his diet has been mouldy bread, or boiled rice instead of bread, salt beef, pork, &c., his drink has been water; and his bed the damp earth, without any other covering than the canopy of heaven to shelter him: and all this to set an example to this new colony how they might bear with such hardships in their new settlement." a recent publication bestows also a tribute of commendation, in the following terms: "as governor of the new colony, he was exposed to numberless difficulties and vexations; but persevered with great ardor in the scheme, and expended large sums out of his private fortune with a view to ensure its success."[ ] [footnote : georgian aera; or _memoirs of the most eminent persons who have flourished in great britain from the accession of george i. to the death of george iv_. lond. . vol. vol. ii. p. .] i give, also, an extract from "lines to general oglethorpe, on the settlement of georgia," published in the _south carolina gazette, june_, . "the fame of tyrants should, if justice swayed, be bowled through deserts their ambition made; but oglethorpe has gained a well-earned praise, who made the heirs of want, the lords of ease: the gloomy wood to plenteous harvests changed, and founded cities where the wild beasts ranged. then may the great reward assigned by fate crown his own wish to see the work complete!" chapter xvii. oglethorpe's residence in england--marriage--military appointments--a major general under the duke of cumberland for the suppression of the rebellion in --arraigned at a court martial and acquitted--domestic and social life, and character--death. having accomplished the great design of settling the colony of georgia, watched over its nascent feebleness, cherished its growth, defended it from invasion, vindicated its rights, and advanced its interests and welfare, oglethorpe resigned the superintendence and government into other hands, and retired to his country seat at godalming, "to rest under the shade of his own laurels." in march, , he was appointed one of the officers under field marshal, the earl of stair, to oppose the expected invasion from france. having been so happy as to form a tender attachment to an amiable lady, which was reciprocated, he married, on the th of september, , elizabeth, the only daughter of sir nathan wright, baronet, of cranham hall, essex.[ ] [footnote : on this occasion some congratulatory verses were written by the rev. moses brown, and printed in the gentleman's magazine, vol. xiv. p. .] his chief residence was at his country seat; but he spent his winters in the venerable family mansion in st. james, westminster, london, to attend his duties as member of parliament and enjoy the society of men of the first respectability for rank, talents, and literature. on the th of march, , he was promoted to the rank of major general; and the rebellion breaking out in that year, he was placed at the head of four companies of cavalry, one of which bore the title of "georgia rangers."[ ] they had been raised at the expense of some loyal individuals, to act against the insurgents; "and," (says an historian who had the best authority for the declaration,)[ ] "they did very signal service to their country." their uniform was blue, faced with red; and they wore green cockades. they did not encamp with the foot, but were quartered in the towns. [footnote : marshal wade, the commander in chief, had under him the following officers, viz.: lieutenant generals lord tyrawly, and wentworth; the major generals howard, huske, and oglethorpe; and the brigadier generals mordaunt and chemondelly.] [footnote : see _impartial history of the rebellion in , from authentic memoirs, particularly the journal of a general officer; and other original papers; with the characters of the persons principally concerned_. by samuel boyse. vo. dublin. . p. .] as this expedition was commenced late in the fall, the king's troops were retarded in their operations by the rigor of the season, their late forced marches, and a most uncomfortable diarrhoea, which prevailed among the soldiers; but good quarters, proper refreshments, and the extraordinary care of their officers, relieved these difficulties, and put the army into so good a condition as enabled them to go through the campaign with fewer inconveniences and much less loss than could reasonably be expected, considering the great hardships and excessive fatigues to which they were exposed. as soon as marshal wade had intelligence at newcastle of the route which the rebels had taken, he resolved, notwithstanding the severity of the season, to march thence to the relief of carlisle. accordingly, on the th of november, the army began to move for that purpose. his excellency intended to have begun his march as soon as it was light; but, moving from the left, the troops which had the van, delayed their motions several hours, to the great prejudice of the expedition; for the weather being extremely cold, and the travelling impeded by a deep snow, or made rough by frozen ground, the troops suffered very much. the major generals howard and oglethorpe, and the brigadiers, cholmondley and mordaunt, marched on foot at the head of the infantry to encourage the soldiers. it was eight at night and very dark before the front line got into the camp at ovington; and though the soldiers resolutely pressed forward, yet, the roads being terribly broken and full of ice, it was foreseen that many of the last column might drop, through excessive fatigue; and therefore the major generals huske and oglethorpe sent out countrymen with lights and carts to assist the rear guard, and bring up the tired men. in this service they were employed till near nine the next morning. on the th the marshal continued his march to hexham, where he arrived, with the first line, about four in the afternoon, but the rear of the army did not come up till near midnight. having received intelligence that carlisle had surrendered, he resolved to march back to newcastle; but, the weather continuing bad, and the roads become in a manner impassable, he did not arrive there with his army till the th; and, even then, the forces under his command were so exhausted by fatigue, and lamed by travelling, that, if it had not been for the great care taken of them by the people of newcastle, they must have been, not only disheartened, but disqualified for service. in the meantime the duke of cumberland's army was forming in staffordshire; for, upon the approach of the rebels, it was resolved that his royal highness should be sent down to command the forces in that part of the kingdom; and he arrived at litchfield on the th of november. towards the latter end of the month, the army, under the command of marshal wade, began to move; the cavalry having reached darlington and richmond by the th. on the th the infantry was at persbridge, whence he proposed to march to wetherby, and there canton the whole army in the adjacent villages; looking upon this as the most convenient station either for distressing the enemy, should they attempt to retire, or for cooperating with the forces of his royal highness, as occasion should render necessary. on the th of december the marshal held a council of war, at ferry-bridge, to consider of the most effectual means for cutting off the highlanders on their retreat; and, in this council it was resolved to march directly to wakefield and halifax into lancashire, as the most likely way of intercepting the rebels. having arrived at wakefield on the th, and having advice that the main body of the rebels was at manchester, and their van-guard moving from thence towards preston, and finding that it was now impossible to come up with them, he judged it unnecessary to fatigue the forces by hard marches, and, therefore, detaching major general oglethorpe, on the th, with the cavalry under his command, he began the march, with the rest of the forces to newcastle. on the th a great body of the horse and dragoons under oglethorpe arrived at preston, having marched a hundred miles in three days over roads naturally bad, and at that time almost impassable with snow and ice; "which," says the historian, "was a noble testimony of zeal and spirit, especially in the new raised forces." his royal highness immediately gave his orders for continuing the pursuit of the rebels, with the utmost diligence. accordingly oglethorpe advanced towards lancaster; which place the duke reached on the th. oglethorpe, continuing his pursuit at the heels of the rebels, arrived on the th in front of a village called shap, where their rear was supposed to be, just before night-fall, in very bad weather. here he held a consultation with his officers, in which it was decided that the lateness of the hour, and the exhaustion of the troops, rendered it inexpedient to make the attack that night. he, therefore, entered the neighboring village to obtain forage, and to refresh. meanwhile the duke pressed on; and, next morning, when he came to shap, found that it had been abandoned by the rebels; but was surprised at seeing on his right, towards the rear, an unexpected body of troops. it turned out to be oglethorpe's corps, which, from being the van-guard of the army, had thus unaccountably become the rear. vexed at the disappointing occurrence, he caused oglethorpe to be arraigned before a court martial, for having "lingered on the road." his trial came on at the horse-guards on the th of september, and ended the th of october, ; when "he was honorably acquitted, and his majesty was graciously pleased to confirm the sentence."[ ] [footnote : see _london gazette_ for october th, ; and the _memoir_ in _european magazine_ for . croker, in a note to his edition of boswell's _life of johnson_, vol. i. page , says that "though acquitted, he was never again employed. it is by no means surprising that this neglect should have mortified a man of oglethorpe's sensibility; and it is to be inferred, from mr. boswell's expressions, that, late in life, he had in vain solicited for 'some mark of distinction, 'to heal his wounded feelings." the last intimations are confuted by the advancements in military rank stated in the following pages of these memorials. the "mark of distinction," deserved, perhaps expected, but certainly not "solicited," might be that of _knight_, a title worn by his father, as also by the father of his wife.] as a still higher proof that he stood high in public estimation, on the th of september, , he was made brigadier general in the british army. on the establishment of the british herring fishery, in , he took a very considerable part, and became one of the council; in which situation, on the th of october he delivered to the prince of wales the charter of incorporation in a speech which was printed in the public journals. in he was candidate for the borough of haslemere, which he had represented in former parliaments; but on the close of the poll, the numbers were found to be for j. moore molyneaux, ; philip carteret webb, ; peter burrel, ; and oglethorpe only . on february d, , he was raised to the rank of general of all his majesty's forces; and for many years before his death was the oldest general officer on the staff.[ ] [footnote : in the _army list, issued from the war office_, th july, , and in stockdale's _calendar for the year_ , (the year of oglethorpe's death,) both of which are now before me, his name is _first on the list_.] here, perhaps, is the proper place to introduce an anecdote given by major mccall, in his _history of georgia_, vol. i. p. , too striking to be omitted. "at the commencement of the american revolution, being the senior officer of sir william howe, he had the prior offer of the command of the forces appointed to subdue the rebels. he professed his readiness to accept the appointment, 'if the ministry would authorize him to assure the colonies that justice should be done them.' his proposal appeared to be the result of humanity and equity. he declared that 'he knew the americans well; that they never would be subdued by arms; but that obedience would be secured by doing them justice.' a man with these views was not a fit instrument for the british government, and therefore, agreeably to his own request, he was permitted to remain at home." mccall refers to "the annual register," for his authority; but, after careful searching, i do not find the statement. the intermediate comments, and the last sentence, are undoubtedly the major's. the anecdote is also related in ramsay's _history of the united states_, vol. iii. p. . i much doubt, however, that an official offer was made to him, as he was too old to engage in such a service; and deem the statement not sufficiently authenticated to be relied on. he continued to reside, principally, at cranham hall, in essex, a fine country seat of which he became possessed by his marriage with the heiress of sir nathan wright. in this beautiful retreat, favored with the enjoyment of uninterrupted health, the possession of worldly competence, and the heart-cheering comforts of connubial life, he looked back upon the chequered scene of his former services with lively gratitude that he had escaped so many dangers, and been an honored instrument of effecting so much good; and the present happy condition of his lot was heightened by its contrast with past hardships, fatigues, and perils. he passed his winters in london, where he enjoyed the acquaintance and even intimacy of some of the most honorable and distinguished characters of the day. "a gentleman and a soldier, he united the virtue of chivalrous honor and magnanimity with the acquirements of learning and that love of polite literature which associated him with the first scholars of the age." one who knew him intimately has said, "this extraordinary person was as remarkable for his learning and taste, as for his other eminent qualities; and no man was more prompt, active, and generous in encouraging merit."[ ] [footnote : boswell, in the _of johnson_, vol. i. p. , of croker's edition.] to the celebrated dr. johnson he was respectfully attached; and was fond of having him often as a guest. boswell has detailed some pleasing particulars of these interviews; and, after relating one, adds in a note the following remarks: "let me here pay a tribute of gratitude to the memory of that excellent person, my intimacy with whom was the more valuable to me, because my first acquaintance with him was unexpected and unsolicited. soon after the publication of my 'account of corsica,' he did me the honor to call on me, and approaching me with a frank, courteous air, said, 'sir, my name is oglethorpe, and i wish to become acquainted with you.' i was not a little flattered to be thus addressed by an eminent man, of whom i had read in pope from my early years, "or, driven by strong benevolence of soul, will fly like oglethorpe from pole to pole." "i was fortunate enough to be found worthy of his good opinion, insomuch that i was not only invited to make one of the many respectable companies whom he entertained at his table, but had a cover at his hospitable board every day when i happened to be disengaged; and in his society i never failed to enjoy learned and animated conversation, seasoned with genuine sentiments of virtue and religion."[ ] [footnote : vol. iii. p. .] dr. warton, referring to oglethorpe, says, "i had the pleasure of knowing him well;" and, in a note upon the couplet quoted from pope, says, "here are lines that will justly confer immortality on a man who well deserved so magnificent an eulogium. he was, at once, a great hero, and a great legislator. the vigor of his mind and body have seldom been equalled. the vivacity of his genius continued to great old age. the variety of his adventures, and the very different scenes in which he had been engaged, made me regret that his life has never been written. dr. johnson once offered to do it, if the general would furnish him the materials. johnson had a great regard for him, for he was one of the first persons that highly, in all companies, praised his 'london.' his first campaign was made under prince eugene against the turks, and that great general always spoke of oglethorpe in the highest terms. but his settlement of the colony of georgia gave a greater lustre to his character than even his military exploits." with goldsmith, too, he was intimate. in the lately published biography of this poet by prior,[ ] referring to the occasional relief contributed to him in his exigences, it is added, "goldsmith was content, likewise, to be made the channel of conveyance for the bounty of others, as we find by a letter of general oglethorpe, a distinguished and amiable man, at whose table he met with good society, and spent many agreeable hours, and who now, at an advanced period of life, displayed the same love for the good of mankind, in a private way, that he had exerted on a more extended scale." with the letter he sent five pounds, to be distributed in aid of a charitable institution, in whose behalf goldsmith seems to have taken an active interest; and the letter concluded with this kindly expressed invitation; "if a farm, and a mere country scene will be a little refreshment from the smoke of london, we shall be glad of the happiness of seeing you at cranham hall." [footnote : vol. ii. p. .] it is asserted that "his private benevolence was great. the families of his tenants and dependants were sure of his assistance whilst they deserved it; and he has frequently supported a tenant, whose situation was doubtful, not merely forbearing to ask for rent, but lending him money to go on with his farm."[ ] [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_ for july, , p. .] of his public liberality, repeated mention has been made in the course of this work, more particularly in the settlement of georgia; in the furtherance of which he not only bore his own expenses, but procured various outfits. he also contributed pecuniary assistance and conferred favors to encourage exertion, or reward well doing. no one excelled him in those smaller attentions to the interests and gratification of his friends and acquaintance; which, though they do not of themselves constitute a great character, are, certainly, very pleasing recommendations of it. it is not denied that he had his imperfections and errors; and some, for which the plea of human frailty alone may not be a sufficient excuse. he was rather passionate in his temper, impatient of contradiction, and quick in his resentments; but, upon any ingenuous concession, was placable and ready to admit an apology. to the humble offender he was reconcilable, and to the submissive, magnanimous. in the heyday of life, a soldierly pride, or military point of honor, sometimes betrayed him into indiscretions or involved him in rencounters, to which, as he became more mature in age and in judgment, a dignified sense of true greatness rendered him superior. some instances of rashness have been noted by walpole with unsparing vituperation;[ ] and some self-complacent or boasting sallies, have been pointed at by croker with a sarcastic sneer. but, admitting that these were far from being venial faults, yet it would be very uncharitable now to recall them from the forgetfulness and forgiveness in which they have long been passed over; especially as they were fully redeemed by noble qualities and beneficent deeds. surely, he who was celebrated by pope and thompson, honored by the reverend dr. burton, vindicated and praised in parliament by the excellent duke of argyle, and favored by the regards of dr. johnson, "the english moralist,"[ ] must have had a large prevalence of what, in the opinion of the best judges, is estimable in disposition and conduct, and irreproachable in character! [footnote : "all the stories of horace walpole are to be received with great caution; but his reminiscences, above all, written in his dotage, teem with the grossest inaccuracies and incredible assertions." lord mahon's _history of england_. lond. . vol. ii. p. , _note_.] [footnote : this honored friend he outlived; and, while attending the sale of his library, february th, , the fine characteristic portrait of him was taken by s. ireland, an engraving of which makes the frontispiece of this volume.] he had a pleasing talent at narrative, and when animated by the cheering attention of his friends, he would give full scope to it. anecdotes of times past, incidents and scenes of his eventful life, and occurrences which had passed under his observation, when detailed by him at length, and set off with his amusing episodical remarks and illustrations, made him a most entertaining chronicler. these were sometimes enlivened with a sportive humor that gave a charm to the social hour, and contributed to the amusement of his guests and friends. if in his extreme old age he indulged in egotisms or loquacity, still his observations were those of one who had seen and read much, and was willing to communicate his acquired knowledge and the results of his observation and experience; and few who attended to him, did so without receiving information and entertainment. even his old stories of his own acting, served to confirm what he said, and he made them better in the telling; so that he was rarely troublesome with the same tale told again, for he gave it an air of freshness. polite in his address and graceful in his manners, the gallant veteran was a favorite visiter in the parties of accomplished ladies that occasionally met at the house of mrs. montague, mrs. garrick, mrs. boscawen, and mrs. carter.--hannah more, in a letter to her sister, in , says, "i have got a new admirer; it is the famous general oglethorpe, perhaps the most remarkable man of his time. he was foster-brother to the pretender; and is much above ninety years old; the finest figure you ever saw. he perfectly realizes all my ideas of nestor. his literature is great; his knowledge of the world extensive; and his faculties as bright as ever. he is one of the three persons still living who were mentioned by pope; lord mansfield and lord marchmont are the other two. he was the intimate friend of southern, the tragic poet, and all the wits of that time. he is, perhaps, the oldest man of a _gentleman_ living. i went to see him the other day, and he would have entertained me by repeating passages from sir eldred. he is quite a preux chevalier, heroic, romantic, and full of the old gallantry."[ ] in another letter, she mentions being in company with the general at mrs. vesey's, where the dutchess of portland and mrs. delany were present, and where "mr. burke talked a great deal of politics with general oglethorpe. he told him, with great truth, that he looked upon him as a more extraordinary person than any he had ever read of, for he had founded the province of georgia; had absolutely called it into existence, and had lived to see it severed from the empire which created it, and become an independent state."[ ] [footnote : _life and letters_, vol. i. p. .] [footnote : ibid. .] the late president, john adams, saw oglethorpe in , a short time before his decease. within a day or two after his arrival in london, as ambassador from the united states, had been announced in the public prints, the general called upon him; as was very polite and complimentary. "he had come to pay his respects to the first american ambassador and his family, whom he was glad to see in england; expressed a great esteem and regard for america; much regret at the misunderstanding between the two countries; and felt very happy to have lived to see the termination of it."[ ] there was something peculiarly interesting in this interview. he who had planted georgia, and provided for it during the earliest stages of its _dependent condition as a colony_, held converse with him who had come to a royal court, the representative of its national independence! [footnote : see a letter from president adams to dr. holmes. _annals_, vol. ii. p. .] a writer in the year , and within the month on which the charter for georgia was issued, made the following remarks: "if the trustees give liberty of religion, establish the people free, fix an agrarian law, and go upon the glorious maxims of liberty and virtue, their province, _in the age of a man_, by being the asylum of the unfortunate, will become more and more advantageous to britain than the conquest of a kingdom."[ ] the suggestion here made was seasonable and judicious; and the prospective intimation was a prophecy, accomplished in a sense not imagined, and surely not anticipated by the writer. the province did become, whilst its founder was yet living, and therefore "in the age of a man," a highly advantageous acquisition to great britain in a commercial relation; and, though dismembered from the empire, an important independent state. [footnote : _london magazine_ for , p. .] this remarkable man, abstemious in his mode of living, regular in his habits, and using much exercise, enjoyed good health to extreme old age; and such was his activity, that he could outwalk persons more than half a century younger. at that period of advanced life, when the weight of years usually bears down the elasticity of the mind, he retained all that spring of intellect which had characterized the promptitude of earlier days; his bodily senses seemed but little impaired; and his eye-sight served him to the last. he died at his seat at cranham, of a violent fever, th of june, . "and dropt like autumn fruit, which, ripening long, was wondered at because it fell no sooner."[ ] [footnote : the library of general oglethorpe was sold by calderwood in . it comprised standard works of ancient and modern history, of the drama, poetry, and polite literature.] concluding remarks. the preceding pages have given details of some principal actions and exploits of a very remarkable man; whose projects, dictated by benevolence and inspired by philanthropy, were all prospective. their first, and, apparently, principal object, was to provide relief for the indigent, and an asylum for the oppressed. their second, to unite the pensioners on the liberally contributed bounty, in a social compact for mutual assistance, and a ready cooperation for the general good. but even this, beneficent as it was, fell short of his aim. he considered himself to be engaged in forming a colony, destined to extend and flourish under the salutary principles of order and justice, and the sustaining sanctions of civil law, and a form of government, which his breast swelled with the patriotic hope, would be well constituted and wisely administered. this very statement of the origin of these political institutions, bears on it the indications of their perpetuity, especially as the _freedom_ obtained for the first emigrants from rigorous exaction in their native country, was remembered and cherished in that which they settled, till it formed the constituents of civil liberty, which at length "threw off every yoke," for the attainment of national independence. hence, his agency, services and expenditures in settling the province of georgia, his disinterested devotedness to its establishment and progressive welfare, and his bravery and personal exposure in its defence, enrolled among the important achievements of his long and eventful life, constitute the most splendid trophy to his fame, and will ensure to his name a memory as lasting as that of america itself. on a mural tablet of white marble, in the chancel of cranham church, is the following inscription, drawn up by capel lofft, esq. near this place lie the remains of james edward oglethorpe, esq. who served under prince eugene, and in was captain lieutenant in the first troop of the queen's guards. in he was appointed colonel of a regiment to be raised for georgia. in he was appointed major general; in lieutenant general; and in , general of his majesty's forces. in his civil station, he was very early conspicuous. he was chosen member of parliament for haslemere in surry in , and continued to represent it till . in the committee of parliament, for inquiring into the state of the gaols, formed th of february, , and of which he was chairman, the active and persevering zeal of his benevolence found a truly suitable employment, by visiting, with his colleagues of that generous body, the dark and pestilential dungeons of the prisons which at that time dishonored the metropolis; detecting the most enormous oppressions; obtaining exemplary punishment on those who had been guilty of such outrage against humanity and justice; and redressing multitudes from extreme misery to light and freedom. of these, about seven hundred, rendered, by long confinement for debt, strangers and helpless in the country of their birth, and desirous of seeking an asylum in the wilds of america, were by him conducted thither in . he willingly encountered in their behalf a variety of fatigue and danger, and thus became the founder of the colony of georgia; a colony which afterwards set the noble example of prohibiting the importation of slaves this new establishment he strenuously and successfully defended against a powerful attack of the spaniards. in the year in which he quitted england to found this settlement, he nobly strove to secure our true national defence by sea and land, --a free navy-- without impressing a constitutional militia. but his social affections were more enlarged than even the term patriotism can express; he was the friend of the oppressed negro,-- no part of the globe was too remote,-- no interest too unconnected,-- or too much opposed to his own, to prevent the immediate succor of suffering humanity. for such qualities he received, from the ever memorable john, duke of argyle, a full testimony, in the british senate, to his military character, his natural generosity, his contempt of danger, and regard for the public. a similar encomium is perpetuated in a foreign language;[ ] and, by one of our most celebrated poets, his remembrance is transmitted to posterity in lines justly expressive of the purity, the ardor, and the extent of his benevolence. he lived till the st of july, ; a venerable instance to what a duration a life of temperance and virtuous labor is capable of being protracted. his widow, elizabeth, daughter of sir nathan wright of cranham hall, bart. and only sister and heiress of sir samuel wright, bart. of the same place, surviving, with regret, but with due submission to divine providence, an affectionate husband, after an union of more than forty years, hath inscribed to his memory these faint traces of his excellent character. "religion watches o'er his urn, and all the virtues bending mourn; humanity, with languid eye, melting for others' misery; prudence, whose hands a measure hold, and temperance, with a chain of gold; fidelity's triumphant vest, and fortitude in armor drest; wisdom's grey locks, and freedom, join the moral train to bless his shrine, and pensive all, around his ashes holy, their last sad honors pay in order melancholy."[ ] [footnote : referring to the encomium of the abbe raynal, in his _histoire philosophique et politique_.] [footnote : these last verses were added by the old friend of the general, the rev. moses browne.] obituary notice of mrs. elizabeth oglethorpe, with extracts from her will. obituary notice copied from the gentleman's magazine for , page october th, , died, at her seat, cranham hall, co. essex,[ ] aged , mrs. elizabeth oglethorpe, widow of the late general oglethorpe. she was daughter of sir nathan wright, bart., (nephew to the lord keeper,) by abigail, his fourth wife, who survived and married mr. tryst. sir nathan, by his first wife, (anne meyrick) had two sons; nathan, who succeeded him in title, and who married a daughter of sir francis lawley, and died in april, ; and john, who died without issue. by his second wife, (elizabeth brage) he had a son, benjamin, who died before him. by his third wife, (elizabeth bowater) he had no issue. by the fourth he had a son, samuel, and mrs. oglethorpe. sir nathan, the son, had one son and two daughters; and the son dying without issue, his half-brother, samuel, succeeded to the title and part of the estate. he dying a bachelor, mrs. oglethorpe became his heir, and has died without leaving any child. september , , she married the late general oglethorpe, who died july , ;[ ] and to her magnanimity and prudence, on an occasion of much difficulty, it was owing that the evening of their lives was tranquil and pleasant, after a stormy noon. very many and continual were her acts of benevolence and charity; but, as she would herself have been hurt by any display of them in her lifetime, we will say no more. not to have mentioned them at all would have been unjust to her memory, and not less so to the world, in which such an example may operate as an incitement to others to go and do likewise. [footnote : this old mansion, situated on a pleasant rising ground, was built about the end of the reign of james i. in the hall is a very fine whole-length picture of mr. _nathan wright_, a considerable spanish merchant in the beginning of charles the first's time, who resided long in that country, by antonio arias, an eminent painter of madrid; and the more curious, as perhaps there is not another picture of that able master in england. _gentleman's magazine_, lv. .] [footnote : the date for the time of the death of general oglethorpe, which is given on the th page of this volume, was taken from the public gazettes. as it took place late in the night, it might be rather uncertain as to its being the close of one day or the beginning of another. but the above, corroborated by the testimony of the monumental inscription, must be correct. i regret, however, that i did not perceive it sooner. t.m.h.] by her will, which is very long, and dated may , , and has four codicils, the last dated september , , she leaves her estate at westbrook, in godalming, co. surrey, bequeathed to her by the general, to his great nephew, eugene, marquis of bellegarde, in france, then in the dutch service, but born in england, and his heirs, with all her plate, jewels, &c.; to her nephews, john and charles apreece, and their sister dorothy, wife of ---- cole, an annuity of £ amongst them, and the survivor for life; and if either john or charles succeed to the baronet's title, the annuity to go over to the other; but if their sister survive, she to have only £ per annum; also four annuities, of £ each, to four of her female friends or neighbors. all these annuities are charged on the cranham estate, which she gives in trust to sir george allanson wynne, bart., and mr. granville sharpe, for the use of her nephew, sir thomas apreece, of washingley, co. huntingdon, for life, remainder in tail to his issue male or female, remainder to his brothers john and charles, and sister dorothy, successively, remainder to her own right heirs. the manor of canewdon hall, essex, to be sold to pay legacies, viz.: £ to sir g.a. wynne; £ to the princess of rohan, related to her late husband; £ to the princess de ligne, her late husband's niece; £ to samuel crawley, esq., of theobalds, co. herts; £ among the miss dawes's, of coventry; £ to james fitter, esq., of westminster; £ to the marquis of bellegarde. the manor of fairstead hall, co. essex, to granville sharpe, for life, paying £ per annum to his friend mr. marriott, relict of general marriott, of godalming, and to settle the said estate to charitable uses after his death, at his discretion. to edward lloyd and sarah his wife, her servants, £ ; and £ each, to other servants. by a codicil: to maria anne stephenson £ stock out of any of her property in the funds; to miss lewis, who lives with mrs. fowle, in red-lion square, and to miss billinghurst, of godalming, £ each; to the poor of cranham, fairstead, canewdon, and godalming, £ each; her turn of patronage to the united livings of st. mary somerset and st. mary mounthaw, in london, to the rev. mr. herringham, of south weald. by another codicil, £ more to the marquis of bellegarde; £ to count bethisy; £ to granville sharpe. by another, revokes the legacies to the princess de ligne and count bethisy, and gives them to the two younger daughters of the marquis of bellegarde, at the age of , or marriage. as the marquis resides in france, and it may be inconvenient to him to keep the estate, she gives the manors of westbrook and brimscombe, and westbrook-place in godalming, in trust to g. sharpe, and william gill, esqrs., and their heirs, to be sold, and the money paid to the marquis. her executors are mr. granville sharpe, and mrs. sarah dickinson, of tottenham; the latter residuary legatee. at the foot of the monument erected to the memory of general oglethorpe, was added the following inscription: "his disconsolate widow died october , , in her th year, and is buried with him, in the vault in the centre of this chancel. her fortitude of mind and extensive charity deserve to be remembered, though her own modesty would desire them to be forgotten." oglethorpe's account of carolina and georgia. this article is extracted from salmon's _modern history_, vol. iii. page , th edition; where it is introduced in these words: "the following pages are an answer from general oglethorpe to some inquiries made by the author, concerning the state of carolina and georgia." account of carolina and georgia. carolina is part of that territory which was originally discovered by sir sebastian cabot. the english now possess the sea-coast from the river st. john's, in degrees, minutes north latitude. westward the king's charter declares it to be bounded by the pacific ocean. carolina is divided into north carolina, south carolina, and georgia; the latter is a province which his majesty has taken out of carolina, and is the southern and western frontier of that province, lying between it and the french, spaniards, and indians. the part of carolina that is settled, is for the most part a flat country. all, near the sea, is a range of islands, which breaks the fury of the ocean. within is generally low land for twenty or twenty-five miles, where the country begins to rise in gentle swellings. at seventy or eighty miles from the sea, the hills grow higher, till they terminate in mountains. the coast of georgia is also defended from the rage of the sea by a range of islands. those islands are divided from the main by canals of salt water, navigable for the largest boats, and even for small sloops. the lofty woods growing on each side of the canals, make very pleasant landscapes. the land, at about seven or eight miles from the sea, is tolerably high; and the further you go westward, the more it rises, till at about one hundred and fifty miles distance from the sea, to the west, the cherokee or appallachean mountains begin, which are so high that the snow lies upon them all the year. this ridge of mountains runs in a line from north to south, on the back of the english colonies of carolina and virginia; beginning at the great lakes of canada, and extending south, it ends in the province of georgia at about two hundred miles from the bay of appallachee, which is part of the gulf of mexico. there is a plain country from the foot of these mountains to that sea. the face of the country is mostly covered with woods. the banks of the rivers are in some places low, and form a kind of natural meadows, where the floods prevent trees from growing. in other places, in the hollows, between the hillocks, the brooks and streams, being stopt by falls of trees, or other obstructions, the water is penned back. these places are often covered with canes and thickets and are called, in the corrupted american dialect, swamps. the sides of the hills are generally covered with oaks and hickory, or wild walnuts, cedar, sassafras, and the famous laurel tulip, which is esteemed one of the most beautiful trees in the world. the flat tops of the hillocks are all covered with groves of pine trees, with plenty of grass growing under them, and so free from underwood that you may gallop a horse for forty or fifty miles an end. in the low grounds and islands in the river there are cypress, bay-trees, poplar, plane, frankincense or gum-trees, and aquatic shrubs. all part of the province are well watered; and, in digging a moderate depth, you never miss of a fine spring. what we call the atlantic ocean, washes the east and southeast coast of these provinces. the gulf stream of florida sets in with a tide in the ocean to the east of the province; and it is very remarkable that the banks and soundings of the coast extend twenty or twenty-five miles to the east of the coast. the tides upon this coast flow generally seven feet. the soundings are sand or ooze, and some oyster banks, but no rocks. the coast appears low from the sea, and covered with woods. cape fear is a point which runs with dreadful shoals far into the sea, from the mouth of clarendon river in north carolina. sullivan's island and the coffin land are the marks of the entry into charlestown harbor. hilton head, upon french's island, shows the entry into port royal; and the point of tybee island makes the entry of the savannah river. upon that point the trustees for georgia have erected a noble signal or light-house, ninety feet high, and twenty-five feet wide. it is an octagon, and upon the top there is a flag-staff thirty feet high. the province of georgia is watered by three great rivers, which rise in the mountains, namely, the alatamaha, the ogechee, and the savannah; the last of which is navigable six hundred miles for canoes, and three hundred miles for boats. the british dominions are divided from the spanish florida by a noble river called st. john's. these rivers fall into the atlantic ocean; but there are, besides these, the flint and the cahooche, which pass through part of carolina or georgia, and fall into the gulf of appellachee or mexico. all carolina is divided into three parts: . north carolina, which is divided from south carolina by clarendon river, and of late by a line marked out by order of the council: . south carolina, which, on the south is divided from . georgia by the river savannah. carolina is divided into several counties; but in georgia there is but one yet erected, namely, the county of savannah. it is bounded, on the one side, by the river savannah, on the other by the sea, on the third by the river ogechee, on the fourth by the river ebenezer, and a line drawn from the river ebenezer to the ogechee. in this county are the rivers vernon, little ogechee, and westbrook. there is the town of savannah, where there is a seat of judicature, consisting of three bailiffs and a recorder. it is situated upon the banks of the river of the same name. it consists of about two hundred houses, and lies upon a plain of about a mile wide; the bank steep to the river forty-five feet perpendicularly high. the streets are laid out regular. there are near savannah, in the same county, the villages of hampstead, highgate, skidoway, and thunderbolt; the latter of which is a translation of a name; their fables say that a thunderbolt fell, and a spring thereupon arose in that place, which still smells of the bolt. this spring is impregnated with a mixture of sulphur and iron, and from the smell, probably, the story arose. in the same county is joseph's town and the town ebenezer; both upon the river savannah; and the villages of abercorn and westbrook. there are saw mills erecting on the river ebenezer; and the fort argyle, lies upon the pass of this county over the ogechee. in the southern divisions of the province lies the town of frederica, with its district, where there is a court with three bailiffs and a recorder. it lies on one side of the branches of the alatamaha. there is, also, the town of darien, upon the same river, and several forts upon the proper passes, some of four bastions, some are only redoubts. besides which there are villages in different parts of georgia. at savannah there is a public store house, built of large square timbers. there is also a handsome court house, guard house, and work house. the church is not yet begun; but materials are collecting, and it is designed to be a handsome edifice. the private houses are generally sawed timber, framed, and covered with shingles. many of them are painted, and most have chimneys of brick. at frederica some of the houses are built of brick; the others in the province are mostly wood. they are not got into luxury yet in their furniture; having only what is plain and needful. the winter being mild, there are yet but few houses with glass windows. the indians are a manly, well-shaped race. the men tall, the women little. they, as the ancient grecians did, anoint with oil, and expose themselves to the sun, which occasions their skins to be brown of color. the men paint themselves of various colors, red, blue, yellow, and black. the men wear generally a girdle, with a piece of cloth drawn through their legs and turned over the girdle both before and behind, so as to hide their nakedness. the women wear a kind of petticoat to the knees. both men and women in the winter wear mantles, something less than two yards square, which they wrap round their bodies, as the romans did their toga, generally keeping their arms bare; they are sometimes of woolen, bought of the english; sometimes of furs, which they dress themselves. they wear a kind of pumps, which they call moccasons, made of deer-skin, which they dress for that purpose. they are a generous, good-natured people; very humane to strangers; patient of want and pain; slow to anger, and not easily provoked, but, when they are thoroughly incensed, they are implacable; very quick of apprehension and gay of temper. their public conferences show them to be men of genius, and they have a natural eloquence, they never having had the use of letters. they love eating, and the english have taught many of them to drink strong liquors, which, when they do, they are miserable sights. they have no manufactures but what each family makes for its own use; they seem to despise working for hire, and spend their time chiefly in hunting and war; but plant corn enough for the support of their families and the strangers that come to visit them. their food, instead of bread, is flour of indian corn boiled, and seasoned like hasty-pudding, and this called hommony. they also boil venison, and make broth; they also roast, or rather broil their meat. the flesh they feed on is buffalo, deer, wild turkeys and other game; so that hunting is necessary to provide flesh; and planting for corn. the land[ ] belongs to the women, and the corn that grows upon it; but meat must be got by the men, because it is they only that hunt: this makes marriage necessary, that the women may furnish corn, and the men meat. they have also fruit-trees in their gardens, namely, peaches, nectarines, and locust, melons, and water-melons, potatoes, pumpkins, onions, &c. in plenty; and many kinds of wild fruits, and nuts, as persimons, grapes, chinquepins, and hickory nuts, of which they make oil. the bees make their combs in the hollow trees, and the indians find plenty of honey there, which they use instead of sugar. they make, what supplies the place of salt, of wood ashes; use for seasoning, long-pepper, which grows in their gardens; and bay-leaves supply their want of spice. their exercises are a kind of ball-playing, hunting, and running; and they are very fond of dancing. their music is a kind of drum, as also hollow cocoa-nut shells. they have a square in the middle of their towns, in which the warriors sit, converse, and smoke together; but in rainy weather they meet in the king's house. they are a very healthy people, and have hardly any diseases, except those occasioned by the drinking of rum, and the small pox. those who do not drink rum are exceedingly long-lived. old brim emperor of the creeks, who died but a few years ago, lived to one hundred and thirty years; and he was neither blind nor bed-rid, till some months before his death. they have sometimes pleurisies and fevers, but no chronical distempers. they know of several herbs that have great virtues in physic, particularly for the cure of venomous bites and wounds. [footnote : that is _the homestead_.] the native animals are, first the urus or zoras described by caesar, which the english very ignorantly and erroneously call the buffalo. they have deer, of several kinds, and plenty of roe-bucks and rabbits. there are bears and wolves, which are small and timorous; and a brown wild-cat, without spots, which is very improperly called a tiger; otter, beavers, foxes, and a species of badger which is called raccoon. there is great abundance of wild fowls, namely, wild-turkey, partridges, doves of various kinds, wild-geese, ducks, teals, cranes, herons of many kinds not known in europe. there are great varieties of eagles and hawks, and great numbers of small birds, particularly the rice-bird, which is very like the ortolan. there are rattlesnakes, but not near so frequent as is generally reported. there are several species of snakes, some of which are not venomous. there are crocodiles, porpoises, sturgeon, mullet, cat-fish, bass, drum, devil-fish; and many species of fresh-water fish that we have not in europe; and oysters upon the sea-islands in great abundance. what is most troublesome, there, are flies and gnats, which are very numerous near the rivers; but, as the country is cleared, they disperse and go away. the vegetables are innumerable; for all that grow in europe, grow there; and many that cannot stand in our winters thrive there. appendix. this portion of the work contains additional notes, original documents, and notices of some of the distinguished friends of oglethorpe. appendix no. i family of oglethorpe. the following genealogical memoranda are taken principally, from a note in nichols's _literary anecdotes of the eighteenth century_, vol. ii. p. , on his having given the title of a book ascribed to the subject of the foregoing memoir "this truly respectable gentleman was the descendant of a family very anciently situated at oglethorpe, in the parish of bramham, in the west riding of the county of york; one of whom was actually reeve of the county (an office nearly the same with that of the present high-sheriff) at the time of the norman conquest. the ancient seat of oglethorpe continued in the family till the civil wars, when it was lost for their loyalty; and several of the same name died at once in the bed of honor in the defence of monarchy, in a battle near oxford. "william oglethorpe, (son of william) was born in . he married susanna, daughter of sir william sutton, knight and sister to lord lexington. he died in november, leaving two children, sulton, born , and dorothy (who afterwards married the marquis of byron, a french nobleman,) born . "sutton oglethorpe, being fined £ , by the parliament, his estates at oglethorpe, and elsewhere, were sequestered, and afterwards given to general fairfax, who sold them to robert benson of bramham, father of lord bingley of that name. sutton oglethorpe had two sons, sutton, and sir theophilus. sutton was stud-master to king charles ii.; and had three sons, namely, sutton, page to king charles ii.; john, cornet of the guards; and joseph, who died in india. "sir theophilus was born in ; and was bred to arms. he fought, under the duke of monmouth, in the affair at bothwell bridge, where a tumultary insurrection of the scots was suppressed, june , . he commanded a party of horse at sedgmoor fight, where the duke was defeated, july , ; and was lieutenant colonel to the duke of york's troop of his majesty's horse-guards, and commissioner for executing the office of master of the horse to king charles ii. he was afterwards first equerry and major general of the army of king james ii.; and suffered banishment with his royal master." after his return to his native country he purchased a seat in the county of surrey, called "the westbrook place," near adjoining the town of godalming; a beautiful situation, in a fine country. it stands on the slope of a hill, at the foot of which are meadows watered by the river wey. it commands the view of several hills, running in different directions; their sides laid out in corn fields, interspersed with hanging woods. behind it is a small park, well wooded; and one side is a capacious garden fronting the south-east. sir theophilus was for several years a member of parliament for haslemere, a small borough in the south-west angle of the county of surrey. this place was, afterwards, in the reigns of anne, george i., and george ii., successively represented by his three sons, lewis, theophilus, and james. he died april , , as appears by a pedigree in the collection of the late j.c. brooke, esq., though the following inscription in the parish church of st. james, westminster, where he was buried, has a year earlier.--"hie jacet theophilus oglethorpe, eques auratus, ab atavo vice-comite eborum, normanno victore, ducens originem. cujus armis ad pontem bothwelliensem, succubuit scotus: necnon sedgmoriensi palude fusi rebellos. qui, per varies casus et rerum discrimina, magnanimum erga principem et patriam fidem, sed non temerè, sustinuit. obiit londini anno , aetat. ." sir theophilus married eleanora wall, of a respectable family in ireland, by whom he had four sons and five daughters; namely, lewis, theophilus, sutton, and james; eleanora, henrietta, mary, and frances-charlotte. i. lewis, born february, - ; admitted into corpus christi college, in the university of oxford, march , - . he was equerry to queen anne, and afterwards aid-de-camp to the duke of marlborough; and, in , member of parliament for haslemere. having been mortally wounded in the battle of schellenburgh, on the th october, , he died on the th. the following inscription to his memory is placed below that of sir theophilus. "hujus claudit latus ludovicus oglethorpe, tam paternae virtutis, quam fortunae, haeres; qui, proelio schellenbergensi victoria hockstatensis preludio tempestivum suis inclinantibus ferens auxilium vulnere honestissima accepit, et praeclarae spe indolis frustrata.--ob. xxii aetatis, anno dom. . "charissimo utriusque marmor hoc, amantissima conjux et mater possuit, domina eleonora oglethorpe." ii. theophilus, born . he was aid-de-camp to the duke of ormond; and member of parliament for haslemere in and . the time of his death is not recorded. he must have died young. iii. eleonora, born ; married the marquis de mezieres on the th of march, - , and deceased june , , aged . the son of this lady was heir to the estate of general oglethorpe. he is mentioned, in the correspondence of mr. jefferson, as highly meritorious and popular in france, ( .) iv. ann [mentioned in shaftoe's narrative.] v. sutton, born ; and died in november, . vi. henrietta, [of whom we have no account.] vii. james, [see the next article.] viii. frances-charlotte ... married the marquis de bellegarde, a savoyard.[ ] to a son of this union is a letter of general washington, dated january , , in the th volume of sparks's _writings of washington_, p. . [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, vol. lvii. p. .] ix. mary, who died single. the arms of the family are thus described: "argent, a chevron, between three boar's heads, erased, sable armed, or, lingued proper." crest. "a boar's head, as before, holding an oaken branch, vert, fructed or." ii discussion respecting the birth-day of oglethorpe. there are great difficulties in ascertaining the age of oglethorpe. the newspapers, soon after his decease, in . and the _gentleman's_ and _london magazine_, contain several articles about it. while these inquiries, investigations, and statements were going the round of all the periodicals of the day, it is unaccountably strange that the family did not produce the desired rectification, and yet more surprising that in the inscription on the monument erected to his memory by his widow, and which was drawn up by her request, she should not have furnished the writer with the date of his birth, and the years of age to which he had arrived. the _london gazette_, first announcing his death, stated it _one hundred and four years_. the _westminster magazine_ for july , (a periodical published in the very neighborhood of the old family mansion,) in the monthly notice of deaths, has "june th, general oglethorpe, aged . he was the oldest general in england." and i have a fine engraved portrait of him taken in february preceding his decease, or which is inscribed "he died th of june, , aged ." a writer in the _gentleman's magazine_ for september, p. , who was one of the first emigrants to georgia, and personally and intimately acquainted with the general, declares that "he lived to be _near a hundred years old_, but was not _one hundred and two_, as has been asserted." in the biographical memoir of him in the th volume of the _european magazine_; in nichols's _anecdotes of literature_ and in mccall's _history of georgia_, his birth is said to have been in ; and yet it is asserted by the best authorities, that he bore the military rank of ensign in , when, according to their date of his nativity, he could have been but _twelve years of age_; and this before his entering college at oxford. again, some make him captain lieutenant in the first troop of the queen's guards in ; the same year that others put him to college. according to such statements, he must on both these military advancements, have been of an age quite too juvenile for military service, and more so for military rank. and yet, to account for his obtaining such early, and, indeed, immature promotion, the writers suggest that "he withdrew precipitately from the sphere of his education." but i see no reason for supposing that he left the university before he had completed the usual term of residence for obtaining a degree; though he did not obtain that of _master of arts_ till the st of july, .[ ] [footnote : see _catalogue of oxford graduates_.] prior, in _the life of goldsmith_, page , expressly says that oglethorpe, "_after being educated at oxford_, served under prince eugene against the turks."[ ] [footnote : about this time he presented a manuscript french paraphrase of the bible, in two folio volumes, finely illuminated, to the library of corpus christi college in oxford. "the gift of james oglethorpe, esq., member of parliament." gutch's _appendix to wood's history and antiquities of the colleges and halls in the university of oxford_.] again, croker has a long note upon a passage in boswell's _life of johnson_, ii. p. , to invalidate a narative of oglethorpe's respecting a writing of colonel sir thomas prendergast, who was killed at the battle of malplaquet, on the st of august, , which thus concludes: "at the battle of malplaquet, oglethorpe was _only eleven years old_. is it likely that oglethorpe, at the age of _eleven years_, was present at pope's interview with colonel cecil? and, even if he were, what credit is to be given to the recollections, after the lapse of sixty-three years, of what a boy of _eleven_ heard?"[ ] [footnote : croker means that the time when oglethorpe told the story to dr. johnson was _sixty-three_ years after the battle of malplaquet, when the event referred to took place.] in reply to this, i would observe, that it is not even probable, as this statement would imply, that the interview of pope with colonel cecil was directly after the battle. there might have been intervening years. moreover, croker goes upon the presumption that the birth of oglethorpe was in . now, to assign his birth to that year would make him only _eighty-seven years_ old when he died; but dr. lettsom, in "a letter on prisons," in the _gentleman's magazine_, vol. lxxi. p. , has this remark: "i spent an evening, which agreeably continued till two o'clock in the morning, with the late general oglethorpe, when this veteran was in the _ninety-sixth_ year of his age; who told me, that he planted georgia chiefly from prisons." and hannah more writes of being in company with him when he was _much above ninety years_ of age. he was, therefore, born before . and, finally, the record of his admission into corpus christi college, at oxford, decides the matter beyond all controversy; and, by certifying his age to be _sixteen_, proves that he was born in _sixteen hundred and eighty-eight_. for the _month_ and _day_, i receive the testimony of william stephens, esq., secretary for the affairs of the trustees in georgia, in the first volume of his journal. on thursday, december, st, [ ,] he makes this record. "another heavy rain of all last night, and this whole day's continuance; which, whatever impediments it might occasion to our other affairs, was no hindrance to our celebration of _the general's birth-day_, as had been always the custom hitherto; and in the very same manner as we did last year, under the discharge of cannon, &c." and mccall, who has named _december_ st, says, "i am indebted to the encyclopedia perthensis, and to the journal of a private gentleman in georgia, where his birth-day was celebrated, for the date which i have inserted."[ ] [footnote : _history of georgia_, vol. i. p. .] this assignment will tally with the other dates and their attendant circumstances; allow time, with becoming propriety, for finishing his education at the university; and show that he was not so precocious a soldier as has been represented, but that, instead of the _juvenile_ age of _eleven_, he entered the army at the _manly_ age of _twenty-one_. _memorandum_. this attempt to ascertain the exact age of oglethorpe, was written in . i have, since then, received the following letter, dated london, october d, . my dear sir. in compliance with your request, i. have been, this morning, to the vestry of st. james, westminster, where i examined the record of oglethorpe's baptism, of which the following is an exact copy in substance and form. bapt. | june . | james oglethorpe of sir theophilus and | his lady elinor, b. . i certify that the above is a true extract from the register book of baptisms belonging to the parish of st. james, westminster. j.g. gifford, _preacher and assistant_. hence it appears that oglethorpe was born on _the first_ of june, , and baptized on the _second_. i was assured by mr. gifford that this is the true meaning of the record; and i observed in the register book that other names were recorded in like manner. there were several other baptisms the same day, with different days of birth. most truly your friend and obedient servant, jared sparks. this will be deemed decisive; though to me not entirely satisfactory. i think i see cause for questioning the "b. ." not their _import_, but their _correctness_: occasioned either for family reasons, or that the date given at the font either was not distinctly heard by the officiating clergyman, or misremembered at the time when the entry was made in the book. besides, there would seem no occasion for the presentation so immediately after the birth; for, according to custom, it is very unusual before _the eighth day_. on the other hand, from the statement of nichols, vol. ii. p. , that of the children of sir theophilus, "the five eldest were born at st. james london," we may infer that james, who was the _sixth_ in the order of births in the family, was born at godalming. this is proved, also, by shaftoe's narrative, which mentions the going down of the mother to london, in consequence of the sickness and death of one of the nurslings. now, though the main statement of that document may not be true, such an incidental circumstance as this, which has no direct bearing on "the vexed question," may be admitted. if, therefore, born at godalming, he could not be taken to london, for baptism, _on the day after his birth_. and, admitting that his nativity was on the st of december, the season of the year alone would be sufficient reason for deferring the public ceremony till after the inclement weather, and the opportunity favored for having it in the parish church, where all the other children had been baptized. after all, the fact that on the _ninth_ of july, _seventeen hundred and four_, he was _sixteen years_ old, as is testified on the record of his admission into college, is incompatible with the date of june st, , for the day of his birth, but consistent with that of december st, . to adjust all these discrepancies respecting the time of his birth, and others of the time of his death, one needs the ingenuity of the benedictins of st. maur, who published a to volume with this title: "_l'art de verifier les dates des faits historiques_." iii. charles mordaunt, _earl of peterborough_. this great man died on his passage to lisbon, th of october, , aged . to bravery and heroism, he added a penetrating genius and a mind highly polished and well instructed in ancient and modern literature, as his _familiar epistles_, preserved among those of his friend pope, fully evince. of rev. george berkeley, d.d., the celebrated dean of derry, and afterwards bishop of cloyne, i give the following particulars. his learning and virtues, his lively and agreeable conversation, introduced him to the acquaintance, and procured him the esteem and friendship of many great and learned men, and among others the earl of peterborough, who made him his chaplain, and took him as a companion on a tour of europe in - . soon after his return, the dean published a proposal for the better supplying of the churches in the american plantations with clergymen, and for instructing and converting the savages to christianity, by erecting a college in bermuda. the first branch of this design appeared to him in the light of importance; but his principal view was to train up a competent number of young indians, in succession, to be employed as missionaries among the various tribes of indians. it appeared to be a matter of very material consequence, that persons should be employed in this service who were acquainted with the language necessary to be used; and he had also a strong persuasion that such missionaries as he proposed would be much better received by the savages than those of european extraction. these indian lads were to be obtained from the different tribes in the fairest manner, and to be fed, clothed and instructed at the expense of the institution. the scheme, for some time, met with all the encouragement that was due to so benevolent a proposal. the king granted a charter; and the parliament voted a very considerable sum to be obtained from the sale of lands in st. christophers. such a prospect of success in the favorite object of his heart, drew from berkeley some beautiful verses, "in which," a writer of the day remarks, "another age, perhaps, will acknowledge the old conjunction of the _prophetic_ character with that of the _poetic_, to have again taken place." in consequence of this encouragement, he resigned his rich deanry; and in execution of his noble design, embarked in the latter part of autumn, ; his lady and her sister accompanying him; and arrived at newport, in rhode island, in february following. this situation he pitched upon with a view of settling a correspondence there for supplying his college. he purchased a country-seat and farm in the neighborhood, where he resided about two years and a half. his residence in this country had some influence on the progress of literature, particularly in rhode island and connecticut. the presence and conversation of a man so illustrious for talents, learning, virtue, and social attractions, could not fail of giving a spring to the literary diligence and ambition of many who enjoyed his acquaintance. finding, at length, that the promised aid of the ministry towards his college would fail him, he embarked at boston in september , on his return to england. at his departure he distributed the books which he had brought with him, among the clergy of rhode island. he sent, as a gift to yale college, a deed of his farm; and afterwards made a present to its library of about a thousand volumes. immediately after his arrival in london, he returned all the private subscriptions that had been advanced for the support of his undertaking. the fund, which had been calculated upon for his college, had been chiefly appropriated as a marriage portion of the princess ann, on her nuptials with the prince of orange. there remained, however, £ , , which general oglethorpe had interest enough in parliament to obtain for the purpose of carrying over and settling foreign and other protestants in his new colony of georgia in america;[ ] "having first paid dean berkeley the compliment of asking his consent to the application for the money, before he moved for it in parliament." [footnote : see _journal of the house of commons_, may , .] he passed the latter part of his life at oxford; and deceased january th, , aged . the character of this worthy prelate was expressed in few words by bishop atterbury, who, having heard much of him, wished to see him. accordingly, he was one day introduced to him by the earl of berkeley. after some time, mr. berkeley quitted the room; on which the earl said to the bishop, "does my cousin answer your lordship's expectations?" the bishop, lifting up his hands in astonishment, replied, "so much understanding, so much knowledge, so much innocence, and such humility, i did not think had been the portion of any but angels, till i saw this gentleman." mr. pope sums up bishop berkeley's character in one line. after mentioning some particular virtues that distinguished other prelates, he ascribes "to berkeley every virtue under heaven." i close these memoirs of the early companion, and congenial and lasting friend of oglethorpe, with the verses referred to, written by him. "on the prospect of arts and sciences in america." the muse, disgusted at an age and time, barren of every glorious theme, in distant lands now waits a better clime, producing subjects worthy fame. in happy climes, where from the genial sun and virgin earth such scenes ensue, the force of art by nature seems outdone, and fancied beauties by the true: in happy climes, the seat of innocence, where nature guides and virtue rules; where men shall not impose, for truth and sense, the pedantry of courts and schools: there shall be seen another golden age, the rise of empire and of arts; the good and great inspiring epic page, the wisest heads and noblest hearts. not such as europe breeds in her decay, such as she bred when fresh and young, when heavenly flame did animate her clay, by future ages shall be sung. westward the course of empire takes its way,-- the four first acts already past, a fifth shall close the drama with the day,-- time's noblest offspring is the last. iv. reference to debates in the british house of commons in which oglethorpe took a part. [_see history and proceedings of the house of commons_.] against the banishment of francis atterbury, bishop of rochester. april , . on ecclesiastical benefices. on the preference of a militia to a standing army. plea in behalf of the persecuted protestants in germany january, - . on the bill for the better securing and encouraging the trade of the sugar colonies. january , . on the petition of sir thomas lombe relating to his silk winding machine. on the petition from the proprietors of the charitable corporation, complaining of the mismanagement of their directors &c. february, . on a second reading of the sugar colony bill. on the motion for an address of thanks in answer to the king's speech. january , . [his speech fills more than three pages.] on the motion in the grand committee on the supply for granting thirty thousand men for the sea service for the year . february th, - . [this speech fills six pages and a half.] against committing the bill for limiting the number of officers in the house of commons. on sir j. barnard's motion for taking off such taxes as are burdensome to the poor and the manufacturers. against the act for disabling alexander wilson, esq., from the holding office, &c. on the petition, in , of the united brethren to have the _act for naturalizing foreigners in north america_, extended to them and other settlers who made a scruple of performing military service. on another petition of the united brethren presented th of february, . [all the speeches in both houses of parliament on each of these petitions, were printed in the _universal magazine_ for the months of april and may, .] he spoke on other occasions, to have indicated which would have required more research than i could spare. v. prison-visiting committee. this committee consisted of the following gentlemen: james oglethorpe, esquire, chairman, the right honorable the lord finch, the right honorable lord percival, sir robert sutton, knight of the bath, sir robert clifton, knight of the bath, sir abraham elton, baronet, sir gregory page, baronet, sir edmund knatchbull, baronet, vultus cornwall, esquire, general wade, humphry parsons, esquire, captain vernon, robert byng, esquire, judge advocate hughes. on thursday, the th of february, they went to the fleet prison to examine into the state of that gaol, in order for the relief of the insolvent debtors, &c., when the irons were ordered to be taken off sir william rich, baronet. the next day, the same committee went a second time to the fleet prison, where, upon complaint made to them that sir william rich was again put in irons, they made report thereof to the house of commons, who thereupon ordered mr. bambridge, the warden of the fleet, to be taken into the custody of their sergeant at arms. report of the committee "on thursday, the th of march, mr. oglethorpe from the committee appointed to inquire into the state of the gaols of this kingdom, made a report of some progress they had made, with the resolutions of the committee thereupon, and he read the report in his place, and afterwards delivered the same (with two appendixes) in at the table, where the report was read, and the resolutions of the committee being severally read a second time, were agreed to by the house, in substance as follows, viz.: "resolved, _nemine contradicente_, that thomas bambridge, the acting warden of the prison at the fleet, hath wilfully permitted several debtors to the crown in great sums of money, as well as debtors to divers of his majesty's subjects to escape; hath been guilty of the most notorious breaches of his trust; great extortions, and the highest crimes and misdemeanors in the execution of his said office; and hath arbitrarily and unlawfully loaded with irons, put into dungeons, and destroyed prisoners for debt under his charge, treating them in the most barbarous and cruel manner, in high violation and contempt of the laws of this kingdom: "resolved, _nemine contradicente_, that john higgins, esq., late warden of the prison of the fleet, did during the time of his wardenship, wilfully permit many in his custody to escape, and was notoriously guilty of great breaches of his trust, extortions, cruelties, and many other high crimes and misdemeanors, &c., &c. "and that james barnes, william pindar, john everett, and thomas king were agents of, and accomplices with the said thomas bambridge in the commission of his said crimes. "at the same time, upon a motion made by mr. oglethorpe, by direction of the committee, it was unanimously resolved to address his majesty that he would be graciously pleased to direct his attorney general forthwith to prosecute, in the most effectual manner, the said thomas bambridge, john higgins, james barnes, william pindar, john everett, and thomas king for their said crimes. "it was also ordered that the said bambridge, higgins, barnes, pindar, everett, and king be committed close prisoners in his majesty's gaol of newgate. "then, upon mr. oglethorpe's motions, two bills were ordered to be brought in, one to disable thomas bambridge from holding or executing the office of warden of the prison of the fleet, or to have or exercise any authority relating therein. the other, for better regulating the prison of the fleet, and for more effectually preventing and punishing arbitrary and illegal practices of the warden of the said prison. "in the last place the commons ordered the report from the committee relating to the fleet prison to be printed." [n.b. the substance of this report is given in boyer's _political state of europe_, vol. xxxvii. p. - .] the labors of oglethorpe and his associates to correct prison abuses, were warmly acknowledged by their country, and were the grateful theme of the poet. they were alluded to by thomson in the following strain: "and here can i forget the generous hand who, touched with human woe, redressive searched into the horrors of the gloomy jail? where misery moans unpitied and unheard, where sickness pines, where thirst and hunger burn, and poor misfortune feels the lash of vice? * * * * * "ye sons of mercy! yet resume the search, drag forth the legal monsters into light; wrench from their hands oppression's iron rod and bid the cruel feel the pains they give!" [_winter_, l. - .] "the wretched condition of confined debtors, and the extortions and oppressions to which they were subjected by gaolers, thus came to be known to persons in high stations, and this excited the compassion of several gentlemen to think of some method of relieving the poor from that distress in which they were often involved without any fault of their own, but by some conduct which deserved pity rather than punishment." vi. release to insolvent debtors, from prison. in a very excellent publication entitled "_reasons for establishing the colony of_ georgia, _with regard to the trade of great britain, the increase of our people, and the employment and support it will afford to great numbers of our own poor, as well as foreign protestants_," by benjamin martin, esq. _lond_. ; are some remarks in reference to the release of insolvent debtors from gaol, which i deem it proper to extract and annex here; and the rather, because the work is exceedingly rare. after describing the deplorable condition of those who are in reduced circumstances, and need assistance and would be glad of employment, the writer refers to the situation of those who are thrown into prison for debt, and judges that the number may be estimated at _four thousand every year_; and that above one third part of the debts is never recovered hereby; and then adds, "if half of these, or only five hundred of them, were to be sent to georgia every year to be incorporated with those foreign protestants who are expelled their own country for religion, what great improvements might not be expected in our trade, when those, as well as the foreigners, would be so many new subjects gained by england? for, while they are in prison, they are absolutely lost,--the public loses their labor, and their knowledge. if they take the benefit of the act of parliament that allows them liberty on the delivery of their all to their creditors, they come destitute into the world again. as they have no money and little credit, they find it almost impossible to, get into business, especially when our trades are overstocked. they, therefore, by contracting new debts, must return again into prison, or, how honest soever their dispositions may be, by idleness and necessity will be forced into bad courses, such as begging, cheating, or robbing. these, then, likewise, are useless to the state; not only so, but dangerous. but these (it will be said) may be serviceable by their labor in the country. to force them to it, i am afraid, is impracticable; to suppose they will voluntarily do it, i am sure is unlikely. the colony of georgia will be a proper asylum for these. this will make the act of parliament of more effect. here they will have the best motive for industry; a possession of their own, and no possibility of subsisting without it. "i have heard it said that our prisons are the properest places for those that are thrown into them, by keeping them from being hurtful to others. surely this way of thinking is something too severe. are these people, with their liberty to lose our compassion? are they to be shut up from our eyes, and excluded also from our hearts? many of very honest dispositions fall into decay, nay, perhaps, because they are so, because they cannot allow themselves that latitude which others take to be successful. the ways that lead to a man's ruin are various. some are undone by overtrading, others by want of trade; many by being responsible for others. do all these deserve such hardship? if a man sees a friend, a brother, a father going to a prison, where felons are to be his society, want and sickness his sure attendants, and death, in all likelihood his only, but _quick_ relief; if he stretches out his hand to save him from immediate slavery and ruin, he runs the risk of his own liberty, and at last loses it; is there any one who will say, this man is not an object of compassion? not so, but of esteem, and worth preserving for his virtue. but supposing that idleness and intemperance are the usual cause of his ruin. are these crimes adequate to such a punishment as confinement for life? but even yet granting that these unhappy people deserve no indulgence, it is certainly imprudent in any state to lose the benefit of the labor of so many thousands. "but the public loss, by throwing men into prison, is not confined to them only. they have many of them wives and children. these are, also, involved in their ruin. being destitute of a support, they must perish, or else become a burden on their parishes by an inability to work, or a nuisance by their thefts. these, too, are useless to society. "in short, all those who can work yet are supported in idleness by any mistaken charity, or are subsisted by their parishes, which are at this time, through all england overburdened by indolent and lazy poor, who claim and are designed only for impotent poor;--all those who add nothing by their labor to the welfare of the state, are useless, burdensome, or dangerous to it. what is to be done with these necessitous? nobody, i suppose, thinks that they should continue useless. it will be then an act of charity to these, and of merit to the public, for any one to propose, forward, and perfect a better expedient for making them useful. if he cannot, it is surely just to acquiesce, till a better be found, in the present design of settling them in georgia." p. - . vii. sir thomas lombe's mill for winding silk "in , a silk-throwing mill was erected at derby, and from that time to the beginning of the present century, various improvements were introduced. "the following account of the first silk mill erected in england will be interesting. at the commencement of the last century, a person of the name of crochet erected a small mill near the present works, with the intention of introducing the italian method of spinning into this country. about , a similar plan was in the contemplation of a mechanic and draughtsman named john lombe, who travelled into italy to procure drawings and models of the machines necessary for the undertaking. after remaining some time in that country, and gaining as much information as the jealousy and precautions of the merchants of italy would allow, he returned with two natives, accustomed to the manufacture, into this country, and fixed upon derby as a proper place to establish his works. he agreed with the corporation for an island, or rather swamp, in the river, feet long and feet wide, at the rent of about £ yearly. here he established his silk mills, and in procured a patent to enable him to secure the profits for fourteen years. but lombe did not live much longer; for the italians, exasperated at the injury done to their trade by its introduction into england, sent an artful woman over, who associated with the parties in the character of a friend, and, having gained over one of the natives who had originally accompanied mr. lombe, administered a poison to him, of which, it is said, he ultimately died. his death, however, did not prove fatal to his scheme; for his brother, and afterwards his cousin, carried on the business with energy, and employed more than three hundred persons. a little before the expiration of the patent, sir thomas lombe petitioned for a renewal of it; but this was refused, and instead of it, £ , was granted him, on condition that he should allow a complete model of the works to be taken; this was accordingly done, and afterwards deposited in the town for public inspection. "this extensive mill stands upon a huge pile of oak, double planked and covered with stone-work, on which are turned thirteen stone arches, which sustain the walls. "the spinning mills are eight in number, and give motion to upwards of , reel bobbins, and nearly star wheels belonging to the reels. each of the four twist mills contains four rounds of spindles, about of which are connected with each mill, as well as the numerous reels, bobbins, star wheels, &c. the whole of this elaborate machine, though distributed through so many apartments, is put in motion by a single water-wheel twenty-three feet in diameter, situated on the west side of the building." [_treatise on the manufactures and machinery of great britain_, by p. barlow, esq., f.r.s., &c., in the _encyclopedia metropol_. part vi. "mixed sciences."] "sir thomas lombe, alderman of bassishaw ward, died, at his house in old jury, london, on the third of january , aged . a gentleman of great integrity and honor. he was the senior alderman, next the chair. worth £ , sterling." viii. case of captain porteous. there is an account of the riot, and of all the particulars attending the murder of captain porteous, at the close of the th volume of the _history of the proceedings of the house of commons_, from page to ; and a concise narrative in the _history of england_, by lord mahon, vol. ii. p. - . he introduces it by the following remarks: "some years back, the real events might have excited interest; but the wand of an enchanter is now waved over us. we feel the spell of the greatest writer that the world has seen in one department, or scotland produced in any. how dull and lifeless will not the true facts appear when no longer embellished by the touching sorrows of effie, or the heroic virtue of jeanie deans!" he refers, in a note, to chapter vi. of _the heart of mid lothian_, by sir walter scott, and to "his excellent narrative" in the d series of the _tales of a grandfather_, from p. to , the end of the volume. see also the able speech of mr. lindsay, in the _parliamentary history_, p. . it is worthy of remark that the bill was carried in committee by the least possible majority. one hundred and thirty-one members voted for reporting the bill as amended; the same number voted against it. and, though it is customary for the chairman to give his vote on the side of mercy, he voted in favor of the bill. it is further remarkable, that two scots members, the solicitor general, and mr. erskine of grange, were then attending an appeal in the house of lords, and were refused leave of absence in order to be at this discussion, otherwise the bill would have been entirely lost. ix. about the end of the month of august, , sir gilbert heathcote acquainted the court of directors of the bank of england, that his majesty had granted a charter for establishing a regular colony in georgia; that the fund was to arise from charitable contributions which he recommended to them, shewing the great charity of the undertaking and the future benefit arising to england, by strengthening all the american colonies, by increasing the trade and navigation of the kingdom, and by raising of raw silk, for which upwards of £ , a year was paid to piedmont, and thereby giving employment to thousands of tradesmen and working people. then sir gilbert gave a handsome benefaction to the design, and his example was followed by the directors then present, and a great many others belonging to that opulent society; and james vernon, robert hucks, and george heathcote, esquires, paid into the bank (the treasury for this use) £ each for the charity, which was conducted by the following gentlemen as trustees: anthony earl of shaftesbury, francis eyles, esq. john lord viscount purceval, john laroche, esq. john lord viscount tyrconnel, james vernon, esq. james lord viscount limerick, stephen hales, a.m. george lord carpenter, richard chandler, esq. edward digby, esq. thomas frederick, esq. james oglethorpe, esq. henry l'apostre, esq. george heathcote, esq. william heathcote, esq. thomas towers, esq. john white, esq. robert moore, esq. robert kendal, esq. robert hucks, esq. richard bundy, d.d. william sloper, esq. collections were made all over england, and large sums raised, and the parliament gave £ , , which enabled the trustees to entertain many poor people that offered, and to make provision for their transportation and maintenance till they could provide for themselves. [oldmixon, i. p. . "those who direct this charity have, by their own choice, in the most open and disinterested manner, made it impossible for any one among them to receive any advantage from it, besides the consciousness of making others happy. voluntary and unpaid directors carry on their designs with honor and success. such an association of men of leisure and fortune to do good, is the glory and praise of our country."] [_sermon before the trustees for establishing the colony of georgia_, by thomas rundle, d.d., _bishop of londonderry, ireland_. lond. , page .] x. oglethorpe's disinterestedness in the undertaking. as oglethorpe's going along with this new colony proceeded merely from his public spirit, and from a disinterested and generous view of contributing all that was in his power, towards the benefit of his country, and the relief of his distressed countrymen, it met with just and deserved applause. in one of the public prints of the day the following encomium was inserted. "whether it is owing to an affectation of being thought conversant with the ancients, or the narrowness of our minds, i know not, but we often pass over those actions in our contemporaries which would strike us with admiration in a greek or a roman. their histories perhaps cannot produce a greater instance of public spirit than what appeared in an evening paper of saturday, the th instant, that 'james oglethorpe, esq., one of the trustees for establishing the colony of georgia, is gone over with the first embarkation at his own expense.' to see a gentleman of his rank and fortune visiting a distant and uncultivated land, with no other society but the miserable whom he goes to assist; exposing himself freely to the same hardships to which they are subjected, in the prime of life, instead of pursuing his pleasures or ambition; on an improved and well concerted plan, from which his country must reap the profits; at his own expense, and without a view, or even a possibility of receiving any private advantage from it; this too, after having done and expended for it what many generous men would think sufficient to have done;--to see this, i say, must give every one who has approved and contributed to the undertaking, the highest satisfaction; must convince the world of the disinterested zeal with which the settlement is to be made, and entitle him to the truest honor he can gain, the perpetual love and applause of mankind. "with how just an esteem do we look back on sir walter raleigh for the expeditions which he made so beneficial to his country! and shall we refuse the same justice to the living which we pay to the dead, when by it we can raise a proper emulation in men of capacity, and divert them from those idle or selfish pursuits in which they are too generally engaged? how amiable is humanity when accompanied with so much industry! what an honor is such a man! how happy must he be! the benevolent man, says epicurus, is like a river, which, if it had a rational soul, must have the highest delight to see so many corn fields and pastures flourish and smile, as it were, with plenty and verdure, and all by the overflowing of its bounty and diffusion of its streams upon them. "i should not have written so much of this gentleman, had he been present to read it. i hope to see every man as warm in praising him as i am, and as hearty to encourage the design he is promoting as i really think it deserves; a design that sets charity on a right foot, by relieving the indigent and unfortunate, and making them useful at the same time."[ ] [footnote : transcribed into the _political state of great britain_, for february, , vol. xlv. p. .] xi. on the th of january, - , the governor of south carolina published in their gazette the following advertisement. whereas i have lately received a power from the trustees for establishing a colony in that part of carolina between the rivers alatamaha and savannah, now granted by his majesty's charter to the said trustees, by the name of the province of georgia, authorizing me to take and receive all such voluntary contributions as any of his majesty's good subjects of this province shall voluntarily contribute towards so good and charitable a work, as the relieving poor and insolvent debtors, and settling, establishing, and assisting any poor protestants of what nation soever, as shall be willing to settle in the said colony; and whereas the said intended settlement will, in all human appearance, be a great strengthening and security to this province, as well as a charitable and pious work, and worthy to be encouraged and promoted by all pious and good christians; i have, therefore, thought fit to publish and make known to all such pious and well disposed persons as are willing to promote so good a work, that i have ordered and directed mr. jesse badenhop to receive all such subscriptions or sums of money as shall be by them subscribed or paid in for the uses and purposes aforesaid; which sums of money (be they great or small,) i promise them shall be faithfully remitted to the trustees by the aforesaid charter appointed, together with the names of the subscribers, which will by them be published every year; or, (if they desire their names to be kept secret) the names of the persons by whom they make the said subscriptions. the piety and charity of so good an undertaking, i hope will be a sufficient inducement to every person to contribute something to a work so acceptable to god, as well as so advantageous to this province. r. johnson. _a copy of the letter of the governor and council of south carolina, to mr. oglethorpe_. sir--we cannot omit the first opportunity of congratulating you on your safe arrival in this province, wishing you all imaginable success in your charitable and generous undertaking; in which we beg leave to assure you that any assistance we can give shall not be wanting in the promotion of the same. the general assembly having come to the resolutions inclosed, we hope you will accept it as an instance of our sincere intentions to forward so good a work; and of our attachment to a person who has at all times so generously used his endeavors to relieve the poor, and deliver them out of their distress; in which you have hitherto been so successful, that we are persuaded this undertaking cannot fail under your prudent conduct, which we most heartily wish for. the rangers and scout-boats are ordered to attend you as soon as possible. colonel bull, a gentleman of this board, and who we esteem most capable to assist you in the settling of your new colony, is desired to deliver you this, and to accompany you, and render you the best services he is capable of; and is one whose integrity you may very much depend on. we are, with the greatest respect and esteem, sir, your most obedient humble servants. robert johnson, thomas broughton, al. middleton, a. skeene, fra. younge, james kinlock, john fenwicke, thomas waring, j. hammerton. _council chamber_, january, . _copy of the assembly's resolutions_. the committee of his majesty's honorable council appointed to confer with a committee of the lower house on his excellency's message relating to the arrival of the honorable james oglethorpe, esq., report-- that agreeable to his majesty's instructions to his excellency, sent down together with the said message, we are unanimously of opinion that all due countenance and encouragement ought to be given to the settling of the colony of georgia. and for that end your committee apprehend it necessary that his excellency be desired to give orders and directions that captain mcpherson, together with fifteen of the rangers, do forthwith repair to the new settlement of georgia, to cover and protect mr. oglethorpe, and those under his care, from any insult that may be offered them by the indians, and that they continue and abide there till the new settlers have enforted themselves, and for such further time as his excellency may think necessary. that the lieutenant and four men of the apalachicola garrison be ordered to march to the fort on cambahee, to join those of the rangers that remain; and that the commissary be ordered to find them with provision as usual. that his excellency will please to give directions that the scout-boat at port royal do attend the new settlers as often as his excellency shall see occasion. that a present be given mr. oglethorpe for the new settlers of georgia forthwith, of an hundred head of breeding cattle and five bulls, as also twenty breeding sows and four boars, with twenty barrels of good and merchantable rice; the whole to be delivered at the charge of the public, at such place in georgia as mr. oglethorpe shall appoint. that periauguas be provided at the charge of the public to attend mr. oglethorpe at port royal, in order to carry the new settlers, arrived in the ship anne, to georgia, with their effects, and the artillery and ammunition now on board. that colonel bull be desired to go to georgia with the honorable james oglethorpe, esq., to aid him with his best advice and assistance in settling the place. _extract of a letter from his excellency robert johnson, esq., governor of south carolina, to benjamin martyn, esq., secretary to the trustees, &c_. charlestown, feb. , . sir--i have received the favor of yours, dated the th of october, and the duplicate of the th. i beg you will assure the honorable trustees of my humble respects, and that i will attach myself to render them and their laudable undertaking all the service in my power. mr. oglethorpe arrived here with his people in good health the th of january. i ordered him a pilot, and in ten hours he proceeded to port royal, where he arrived safe the th, and i understand from thence, that, after refreshing his people a little in our barracks, he, with all expedition, proceeded to yamacraw, upon savannah river, about twelve miles from the sea, where he designs to fix those he has brought with him. i do assure you, that upon the first news i had of this embarkation, i was not wanting in giving the necessary orders for their reception; and, being assisted at port royal, (although they were here almost as soon as we heard of their design of coming,) not knowing whether mr. oglethorpe designed directly there, or would touch here. i am informed he is mighty well satisfied with his reception there, and likes the country; and that he says things succeed beyond his expectation; but i have not yet received a letter from him since his being at port royal. our general assembly meeting three days after his departure, i moved to them their assisting this generous undertaking. both houses immediately came to the following resolution; that mr. oglethorpe should be furnished at the public expense, with one hundred and four breeding cattle, twenty-five hogs, and twenty barrels of good rice; that boats should also be provided at the public charge to transport the people, provisions and goods, from port royal to the place where he designed to settle; that the scout-boats, and fifteen of our rangers, (who are horsemen, and always kept in pay to discover the motions of the indians,) should attend to mr. oglethorpe, and obey his commands, in order to protect the new settlers from any insults, which i think there is no danger of; and i have given the necessary advice and instructions to our out garrisons, and the indians in friendship with us, that they may befriend and assist them. i have likewise prevailed on colonel bull, a member of the council, and a gentleman of great probity and experience in the affairs of this province, the nature of land, and the method of settling, and who is well acquainted with the manner of the indians, to attend mr. oglethorpe to georgia with our compliments, and to offer him advice and assistance; and, had not our assembly been sitting, i would have gone myself. i received the trustees commission; for the honor of which i beg you will thank them. i heartily wish all imaginable success to this good work; and am, sir, your most humble servant, robert johnson. p.s. since writing the above, i have had the pleasure of hearing from mr. oglethorpe, who gives me an account that his undertaking goes on very successfully. xii. creeks, so called by the english, because their country lies chiefly among rivers, which the american english call "creeks;" but the real name is musogees. their language is the softest and most copious of all the indians, and is looked upon to be the radical language; for they can make themselves understood by almost all the other indians on the continent. they are divided into three people, upper, lower, and middle creeks. the two former governed by their respective chiefs, whom they honor with a royal denomination; yet they are, in the most material part of their government, subordinate to the chief of the latter, who bears an imperial title. their country lies between spanish florida and the cherokee mountains, and from the atlantic ocean to the gulf of mexico. they are a tall, well-limbed people, very brave in war, and as much respected in the south, as the iroquois are in the north part of america. [_history of the british settlements in north america_, lond. , to, p. . adair, . barton's views, &c., introduction xliv. and appendix .] xiii. account of the indians in georgia, being part of a letter from oglethorpe, dated th june, . there seems to be a door opened to our colony towards the conversion of the indians. i have had many conversations with their chief men, the whole tenor of which shews that there is nothing wanting to their conversion but one who understands their language well, to explain to them the _mysteries_ of religion; for, as to the _moral_ part of christianity, they understand it, and do assent to it. they abhor _adultery_, and do not approve of _a plurality of wives_. _theft_ is a thing not known among the creek indians; though frequent, and even honorable among the uchees. _murder_ they look on as a most abominable crime: but do not esteem the killing of an _enemy_, or one that has injured them, murder. the passion of _revenge_, which they call _honor_, and _drunkenness_, which they learn from our traders, seem to be the two greatest obstacles to their being truly christians: but, upon both these points they hear reason; and with respect to drinking _rum_, i have weaned those near me a good deal from it. as for _revenge_, they say, as they have no executive power of justice amongst them, they are forced to kill the man who has injured them, in order to prevent others doing the like; but they do not think any injury, except _adultery_, or _murder_, deserves revenge. they hold that if a man commits adultery, the injured husband is obliged to have revenge, by cutting off the ears of the adulterer, which, if he is too strong or sturdy to submit to, then the injured husband kills him the first opportunity he has to do it with safety. in cases of murder, the next in blood is obliged to kill the murderer, or else he is looked on as infamous in the nation where he lives; and the weakness of the executive power is such, that there is no other way of punishment but by the revenger of blood, as the scripture calls it; for there is no coercive power in any of their nations; their kings can do no more than to persuade. all the power they have is no more than to call their old men and captains together, and to propound to them the measures they think proper; and, after they have done speaking, all the others have liberty to give their opinions also; and they reason together with great temper and modesty, till they have brought each other into some unanimous resolution. then they call in the young men, and recommend to them the putting in execution the resolution, with their strongest and most lively eloquence. and, indeed, they seem to me, both in action and expression, to be thorough masters of true eloquence. in speaking to their young men, they generally address the passions. in speaking to the old men, they apply to reason only. [he then states the interview with the creeks, and gives the first set speech of tomo chichi, which has been quoted.] one of the indians of the cherokee nation, being come down, the governor told him that "he need fear nothing, but might speak freely," answered smartly, "i always speak freely, what should i fear? i am now among friends, and i never feared even among my enemies." another instance of their short manner of speaking was when i ordered one of the carolina boatmen, who was drunk and had beaten an indian, to be tied to a gun till he was sober, in order to be whipped. tomo chichi came to me to beg me to pardon him, which i refused to do unless the indian who had been beaten should also desire the pardon for him. tomo chichi desired him to do so, but he insisted upon satisfaction. tomo chichi said, "o fonseka," (for that was his name,) "this englishman, being drunk, has beat you; if he is whipped for so doing, the englishmen will expect that, if an indian should insult them when drunk, the indian should be whipped for it. when you are drunk, you are quarrelsome, and you know you love to be drunk, but you don't love to be whipped." fonseka was convinced, and begged me to pardon the man; which, as soon as i granted, tomo chichi and fonseka ran and untied him, which i perceived was done to show that he owed his safety to their intercession. xiv. duke of argyle a patron of oglethorpe. "from his boyhood oglethorpe uniformly enjoyed the friendship and confidence of his gallant and eloquent countryman, john duke of argyle; who, in an animated speech in parliament, bore splendid testimony to his military talents, his natural generosity, his contempt of danger, and his devotion to the public weal."[ ] [footnote : verplank's _discourse before the new york historical society_, p. .] this favorable opinion, acquired in military campaigns, where his soldierly accomplishments and personal bravery had attracted the notice and won the admiration of the commanding officers, was preserved in after scenes, and confirmed by the principles which they both maintained, and the measures they alike pursued in parliament. the duke also early devoted himself to a military life, and served under the great marlborough. he distinguished himself at the battles of ramilies, of oudenarde, and malplaquet, and assisted at the siege of lisle and of ghent. such services were honorably rewarded by the king, who made him knight of the garter in , and the following year sent him ambassador to charles iii. of spain, with the command of the english forces in that kingdom. his support of the union with scotland, rendered him for awhile unpopular with his countrymen, but his merits were acknowledged by all parties. george i. on his accession, restored him to the command of scotland, of which he had before been capriciously deprived; and, in , he bravely attacked lord mar's army at dumblane, and obliged the pretender to retire from the kingdom. in he was made duke of greenwich. he died in , and was buried in westminster abbey, where a handsome monument records his virtues. the following couplet by pope immortalizes his fame. "argyle, the state's whole thunder born to wield, and shake alike the senate and the field." he had the honor, also, to be celebrated in very high terms by thomson; --"full on thee, argyle, her hope, her stay, her darling and her boast, from her first patriots and her heroes sprung, thy fond imploring country turns her eye; in thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees her every virtue, every grace, combined, her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn, her pride of honor, and her courage tried, calm and intrepid, in the very throat of sulphurous war, on tenier's dreadful field. nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow; for, powerful as thy sword, from thy rich tongue persuasion flows, and wins the high debate; while, mix'd in thee, combine the charm of youth, the force of manhood, and the depth of age." [_autumn_, . - .] xv. historical references to the settlement of the saltzburgers in georgia. _nachricht von dem establishment derer salzburgischen emigranten zu ebenezer, en der provinz georgien in nord-america_, &c. von p.g.f. von reck. halle . from this, and a subsequent journal of the same author, was published a very interesting little work, by the direction of _the society for promoting christian knowledge_, entitled "_an extract of the journals of mr. commissary_ von reck, _who conducted the first transport of saltzburgers to georgia; and of the reverend mr_. bolzius, _one of their ministers_." london, . mo. a circumstantial account of the settlement and of the affairs of these emigrants is given in a work which bears this title, "_ausfürliche nacrichten von den salzburgischen emigranten, die sich in america niedergelassen haben, worinnen die riesediaria des konige. grossbritannischen commissarii und der beyden salzburgischen prediger, wie auch eine beschreibung von georgien enthalten. heraus gegeben von_ samuel urlsperger." _halle_, - . this journal of the proceedings of the saltzburg emigrants, who formed the settlement of ebenezer in georgia, was continued from year to year, from to ; in several parts, which, bound up, make five thick quarto volumes. in professor ebeling's copy, now in the library of harvard college, is the continuation, in _manuscript_, [perhaps the original,] and which was never printed, by john martin bolzius, dated january, . there is, also, a separate work, entitled _americanisches ackerwerck gottes, von_ samuel urlsperger. augs. - . to. vol. a most interesting account of the persecution is to be found in two thin quarto volumes by j.m. teubener, entitled _historie derer emigranten oder vertriebenen lutheraner aus dem ertz-bissthum saltzburg_. vols. to. _leipz_. . "about twenty-five thousand persons, a tenth part of the population, migrated on this occasion. their property was sold for them, under the king of prussia's protection; some injustice, and considerable loss must needs have been suffered by such a sale, and the chancellor, by whom this strong measure was carried into effect, is accused of having enriched himself by the transaction. seventeen thousand of the emigrants settled in the prussian states. their march will long be remembered in germany. the catholic magistrates at augsburgh shut the gates against them, but the protestants in the city prevailed, and lodged them in their houses. the count of stolberg warnegerode gave a dinner to about nine hundred in his palace; they were also liberally entertained and relieved by the duke of brunswick. at leipsic the clergy met them at the gates, and entered with them in procession, singing one of luther's hymns; the magistrates quartered them upon the inhabitants, and a collection was made for them in the church, several merchants subscribing liberally. the university of wittenberg went out to meet them, with the rector at their head, and collections were made from house to house. 'we thought it an honor,' says one of the professors, 'to receive our poor guests in that city where luther first preached the doctrines for which they were obliged to abandon their native homes.' these demonstrations of the popular feeling render it more than probable that if a religious war had then been allowed to begin in saltzburg, it would have spread throughout all germany. "thirty-three thousand pounds were raised in london for the relief of the saltzburgers. many of them settled in georgia,--colonists of the best description. they called their settlement ebenezer. whitfield, in , was wonderfully pleased with their order and industry. 'their lands,' he says, 'are improved surprisingly for the time they have been there, and i believe they have far the best crop of any in the colony. they are blest with two such pious ministers as i have not often seen. they have no courts of judicature, but all little differences are immediately and implicitly decided by their ministers, whom they look upon and love as their fathers. they have likewise an orphan house, in which are seventeen children and one widow, and i was much delighted to see the regularity wherewith it is managed.'" southey's _life of wesley_, vol. i. p. , note. xvi. with reference to these persecuted exiles, are the following lines of thomson. "lo! swarming southward on rejoicing suns new colonies extend'. the calm retreat of undeserved distress, the better home of those whom bigots chase from foreign lands; such as of late an oglethorpe has formed, and crowding round, the pleased savannah sees." [liberty, _part v_.] i give, also, an extract from the _london journal_ of the day. "as the trustees for settling georgia are giving all proper encouragement for the saltzburg emigrants to go over and settle there, some of the managers for those poor people have sent over to the trustees from holland, a curious medal or device, enchased on silver, representing the emigration of the poor saltzburgers from their native country, which opens like a box, and in the inside contains a map of their country, divided into seventeen districts, with seventeen little pieces of historical painting, representing the seventeen persecutions of the primitive christians; the whole being folded up in a very small compass, and is a most ingenious piece of workmanship." xvii. settlement of the moravians in georgia. "in consequence of the oppression which they suffered in bohemia, the united brethren, or, as they are more commonly called, the moravians, resolved to emigrate to the new colony of georgia in america, whither the saltzburgers had recently gone. with this purpose they applied to count zinzendorf, their spiritual guide, for his concurrence and assistance. accordingly, he made interest with the trustees on their behalf, which, being favorably received, and a free passage offered, a small company of them set out from herrnfurt in november, . they proceeded to london, where they found mr. spangenberg, who had nearly concluded every thing relative to their embarkation, with the trustees, and to their accommodation and settlement, with general oglethorpe. a number of saltzburgers were also about to emigrate; and three zealous ministers of the church of england, mr. john wesley, together with his brother charles, and mr. benjamin ingham, went with them in the same ship. "they arrived at savannah in the spring of ; and, in the following summer received a considerable increase of brethren, conducted by david nitchmann, senior. "the saltzburgers went further up the river, and selected a place of settlement, which they called ebenezer, but the brethren began immediately their settlement near to savannah; and god so blessed their industry, that they were not only soon in a capacity of maintaining themselves, but, also, of being serviceable to their neighbors. having had assistance in the erection of a school-house for the children of the indians, tomo tschatschi, their king, came to see it, and was glad that they might have a place where, as he expressed it, _they could hear the good word_. consequently the colony of the brethren presented a fair prospect, both with respect to the settlement itself, and the instruction and conversion of the heathen. but, being among the rest summoned to take up arms in defence of the country, and to march against the spaniards, they refused it, as being no freeholders, and, of consequence, not obliged to it according to the laws of the colony; nay, before coming over, they had expressly stated that they were not willing to perform any military service. count zinzendorf, on his visit to london, in january, , took occasion to become acquainted with general oglethorpe and the trustees of georgia, with whom he entered into a conference relative to the situation of the moravian brethren there. he remonstrated against their being called on to enlist as soldiers; and the trustees readily exempted them from such a liability. but as this exemption embittered the minds of the people against them, some of the brethren in left all their flourishing plantations, having repaid all the money which had been advanced towards their passage and settlement, and went to pennsylvania. the rest were left undisturbed for awhile; but in , when the troubles of war broke out afresh, being again molested on account of military service, they followed their brethren in the spring of , and afterwards began the colonies of bethlehem and nazareth." cranz's _history of the united brethren_, p. , and . xviii. scout-boat. . this was a strong built ten-oared boat, bearing three swivel guns, kept for exploring the river passages, visiting the islands, and for preventing the incursions of enemies, and repelling the predatory attempts of runaway slaves who sometimes lurked round and infested the coast. the crew was composed of bold and hardy south carolinians, who lie out in the woods or in the open boat, for months together. most of them are good hunters and fishers; and by killing deer and other game, subsist themselves, when the packed stores fail. . "_channels_," as they are called, are water courses between the main-land and the islands; in some places above a mile wide, in others, not above two hundred yards. these sometimes open into what are called "_sounds_," which are gulfs of the sea, that extend into the land and entrances of rivers. xix. the uchee indians had a village not far from ebenezer, at the time of the settlement of georgia; but their principal town was at _chota_, on the western branch of the _chattahoochee_, or, as it was more properly spelt, _chota-uchee_ river. how long they had resided there we do not know. as their language is a dialect of the shawanees, it has been supposed that they were descendants from that tribe. a jealousy existed between them and the muscogees; but they were in amity with the creeks, though they would not mix with them. how numerous they were at the time of their treaty with oglethorpe, cannot now be ascertained. in they lived on a beautiful plain of great extent, in a compact village. they had houses made of timbers framed together, lathed and plastered over with a kind of red clay, which gave them the appearance of having been built of brick. at that time they numbered , of whom were warriors. for many years they have not joined the creeks in any of their games or dances; and have only been kept from open hostility with other tribes, by the influence of the white people. [for this note i am indebted to my friend samuel g. drake; whose _biography and history of the indians of north america_ comprises much that can be known of the aborigines.] xx. of the mutiny in the camp, and attempt at assassination. from the journal of william stephens, esq. (vol. ii. pp. , , , , , and ; and vol. iii. , , , and ,) i collect the following particulars. one of the persons implicated in the insidious plot, was william shannon, a roman catholic. "he was one of the new listed men in england, which the general brought over with him. by his seditious behavior he merited to be shot or hanged at spithead before they left it, and afterwards, for the like practices at st. simons. upon searching him there, he was found to have belonged to berwick's regiment, and had a furlough from it in his pocket." instead of suffering death for his treasonable conduct, in the last instance, he was whipped and drummed out of the regiment. "hence he rambled up among the indian nations, with an intent to make his way to some of the french settlements; but being discovered by the general when he made his progress to those parts, in the year , and it being ascertained that he had been endeavoring to persuade the indians into the interest of the french, he fled, but was afterwards taken and sent down to savannah, and committed to prison there as a dangerous fellow." on the th of august, , he and a spaniard, named joseph anthony mazzique, who professed to be a travelling doctor, but had been imprisoned upon strong presumption of being a spy, broke out of prison and fled. on the th of september, they murdered two persons at fort argyle, and rifled the fort. they were taken on the beginning of october at the uchee town, and brought back to savannah, tried and found guilty, condemned and executed on the th of november, having previously confessed their crime. since my account of _the traitorous plot_ was written, as also of the _attempt at assassination_, i have received from my friend dr. w.b. stevens, of savannah, the following extracts from letters of general oglethorpe. as they state some particulars explanatory and supplementary of the narrative which i had given, i place them here. and this i do the rather because dr. hewatt, (vol. ii. p. ,) as also major mccall, (vol. i. p. ,) in the same words, and some others, incorporate the _treachery_ at st. simons, and the _assault_ at st. andrews into a connected narrative, as one occurrence; whereas it is very evident that the circumstances detailed were distinct; one originating among the troops which sailed in the hector and blandford, in july , from england, and the other in the two companies drawn from the garrison at gibraltar, which came in the whittaker in the preceding month of may. in reference to the first, general oglethorpe thus wrote in a letter to the trustees, dated, "on board the blandford at plymouth, july d, ." "we have discovered that one of our soldiers has been in the spanish service, and that he hath stroved to seduce several men to desert with him to them, on their arrival in georgia. he designed also to murder the officers, or such persons as could have money, and carry off the plunder. two of the gang have confessed, and accused him; but we cannot discover the rest. the fellow has plenty of money, and he said he was to have sixty or a hundred crowns, according to the number of men he carried. he is yet very obstinate, refusing to give any account of his correspondents. we shall not try him till we come to georgia, because we hope we shall make more discoveries." "they left plymouth on the th of july, and arrived about the th of september, at frederica." on the th of october, , occurs the following passage in a letter from frederica, to his grace the duke of newcastle. "we have discovered some men who listed themselves as spies. we took upon one of them his furlough from berwick's regiment in the irish troops. they strove to persuade some of our men to betray a post to the spaniards; who, instead of complying, discovered their intentions. i have ordered a general court martial, for the trying of them, who have not yet made their report. one of them owns himself a roman catholic, and denies the king having any authority over him." "i conceive," says dr. stevens, "that these two letters refer to one and the same thing, viz.: that there were _spies_, which came over with the troops who arrived in september; that they designed to betray the english posts; that they were to murder the officers; and defeat the object for which the regiment was sent to georgia. but this plot was crushed by the fact of its being discovered, the ring-leaders seized, and a court martial ordered." writing again to the duke of newcastle from frederica, november , , oglethorpe says,--"those soldiers who came from gibraltar, have mutinied. the king gave them provisions and pay at gibraltar. he gave them but six months provision here; after which they were to live upon their pay. on the expiration of their provisions, they demanded a continuance of them, and not being able to comply with their demands, they took to arms. one of them fired upon me. after a short skirmish we got the better of them. one of the officers was slightly, and one of the mutineers dangerously wounded, and five are secured prisoners, to be tried by a court martial. we have strong reason to suspect that our neighbors have tampered with these men. many of them speak spanish, and some of their boats,[ ] under various pretences, came up hither before my arrival." [footnote : he refers here to boats from st. augustine.] upon this dr. stevens remarks--"in this case the cause of mutiny had no reference to the spaniards. while in gibraltar the troops had received provisions in addition to their pay. these were continued six months after their arrival in america; but when these were withdrawn, and nothing but their bare pay left, they became dissatisfied; demanded additional supplies; and, on refusal by general oglethorpe, took to their arms. here was a simple cause _originating among themselves_; in the other affair, the soldiers who created the difficulty were acting as _agents of a foreign power_; the bribed and acknowledged traitors to their own country. in the one case it was the sudden outbreaking of discontent, owing to the retrenchment of their wages; in the other, it was a premeditated and well-concerted plan, framed by spanish emissaries on the other side of the water, to be executed on this." referring to the remark of general oglethorpe at the close of the last letter, as also to some suggestions in the letter of mine, to which the foregoing was the reply, dr. stevens adds--"that the spaniards tampered with the english, and endeavored to seduce them from their allegiance, is not to be doubted; because it was of the utmost importance to them to create divisions in the regiment; but the one to whom hewatt refers, as having been 'in the spanish service, and had so much of a roman catholic spirit,' is doubtless the same spoken of by oglethorpe in july, upon whom a court martial sat in september; and who could not, therefore, have been connected with the mutiny at fort st. andrews, in november." xxi. further particulars of tomo chichi. in the preceding pages are several references to tomo chichi, which show how strongly he became attached to oglethorpe; how liberal he was in the grant of territory; how considerate in furnishing to the new settlers venison, wild turkeys, and other articles, as opportunity offered, and the occasion made particularly acceptable; how serviceable he was in procuring such interviews with the chiefs of the upper and lower creeks as led to amicable treaties; and how ready to assist, not only with his own little tribe, but by his influence with others, in the contests with the spaniards. some other notices of him, which bring out his excellent character more prominently, but could not be inserted in the body of this work, i have deemed to be sufficiently interesting to be inserted here. "there were no indians near the georgians, before the arrival of oglethorpe, except tomo chichi, and a small tribe of about thirty or forty men who accompanied him. they were partly lower creeks, and partly yamasees, who had disobliged their countrymen, and, for fear of falling sacrifices to their resentment, had wandered in the woods till about the year , when they begged leave of the government of carolina to sit down at yamacraw, on the south side of savannah river."[ ] [footnote : report of the committee of the south carolina assembly, on the indian trade, to, , p. .] "tomo chichi had in his youth been a great warrior. he had an excellent judgment, and a very ready wit, which showed itself in his answers upon all occasions. he was very generous in giving away all the rich presents he received, remaining himself in a willing poverty, being more pleased in giving to others, than possessing himself; and he was very mild and good natured."[ ] [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, , vol. x. p. .] "while oglethorpe was at charlestown, in june , an indian shot himself in the vicinity. his uncle, (who was a war-king,) and his friends, finding him dead, and fancying that he had been murdered by the english, declared that they would be revenged on them. tomo chichi, being informed of the uproar, came to the place and strove to quiet the indians, saying that he was persuaded it could not be the english who had killed him; and therefore desired that they would inquire better into the matter. but the uncle, continuing in a great rage, tomo chichi bared his breast and said to him, 'if you will kill any body, kill me; for i am an englishman.' so he pacified them; and, upon the thorough examination of the matter, it was found that for some days he had been in despair, and desired several different indians to shoot him; and an indian boy saw him kill himself in the following manner; he put the muzzle of his gun under his chin, and with his great toe pushed the trigger."[ ] [footnote : _new england weekly journal for august_ , .] the visit of tomo chichi to england was greeted in some beautiful poetry, of which the following stanza is an extract: "what stranger this? and from what region far? this wonderous form, majestic to behold? unclothed, yet armed offensive for the war, in hoary age, and wise experience old? his limbs inured to hardiness and toil, his strong large limbs, what mighty sinews brace! whilst truth sincere and artless virtue smile in the expressive features of his face. his bold, free aspect speaks the inward mind, awed by no slavish fear, by no vile passion blind." major mccall, after giving an account of the visit of the indians to england, makes this declaration: "tomo chichi acknowledged that the governor of the world, or _great spirit_, had given the english great wisdom, power, and riches, so that they wanted nothing. he had given the indians great extent of territories, yet they wanted every thing. therefore he exerted his influence in prevailing on the creeks to resign such lands to the english as were of no use to themselves, and to allow them to settle amongst them; that they might be supplied with useful articles for cultivation, and necessaries of life. he told them that the english were a generous nation, and would trade with them on the most honorable and advantageous terms; that they were brethren and friends, and would protect them against danger, and go with them to war against their enemies." vol. i. p. . mr. wesley, in his journal, writes july st, : "the indians had an audience, and another on saturday, when chicali, their head man, dined with mr. oglethorpe. after dinner i asked the grey-headed old man, 'what he thought he was made for?' he said, 'he that is above knows what he made us for. we know nothing. we are in the dark. but white men know much. and yet white men build great houses, as if they were to live forever. in a little time white men will be dust as well as i.' i told him, 'if red men will learn the good book, they may know as much as white men. but neither we nor you can know that book, unless we are taught by him that is above; and he will not teach you unless you avoid what you already know is not good.' he answered, 'i believe that; he will not teach us while our hearts are not white [pure]; and our men do what they know is not good. therefore he that is above does not send us the good book.'" about tomo chichi, the following is given in spence's _anecdotes_, p. . (ed. lond. .) "when general oglethorpe was conversing with a sensible old native of georgia about prayer, the latter said that 'they never prayed to god, but left it to him to do what he thought to be best for them; that the asking for any particular blessing, looked to him like directing god; and if so, must be a very wicked thing. that, for his part, he thought every thing that happened in the world was as it should be; that god, of himself, would do for every one what was consistent with the good of the whole; and that our duty to him was to be content with whatever happened in general, and thankful for all the good that happened to us in particular.'" the speech of tomo chichi, on presenting _the feather of an eagle_ to oglethorpe, is very expressive in his own laconic explication. by a little paraphrase it may be understood to import: "the eagle has a sharp beak for his enemies, but down on his breast for his friend. he has strong wings, for he is aspiring; but they give shelter to feeble ones, for he is naturally propitious." "tomo chichi died on the th of october, , at his own town, four miles from savannah, of a lingering illness, being aged about . he was sensible to the last minutes; and when he was persuaded his death was near, he showed the greatest magnanimity and sedateness, and exhorted his people never to forget the favors he had received from the king when in england, but to persevere in their friendship with the english. he expressed the greatest tenderness for general oglethorpe, and seemed to have no concern at dying, but its being at a time when his life might be useful against the spaniards. he desired that his body might be buried among the english, in the town of savannah, since it was he that had prevailed with the creek indians to give the land, and had assisted in the founding of the town. the corpse was brought down by water. the general, attended by the magistrates and people of the town, met it upon the water's edge. the corpse was carried into the percival square. the pall was supported by the general, colonel stephens, colonel montaigute, mr. carteret, mr. lemon, and mr. maxwell. it was followed by the indians, and magistrates, and people of the town. there was the respect paid of firing minute guns from the battery all the time of the procession; and funeral firing by the militia, who were under arms. the general has ordered a pyramid of stone which is dug in this neighborhood, to be erected over the grave, which being in the centre of the town, will be a great ornament to it, as well as testimony of gratitude."[ ] [footnote : _gentleman's magazine_, , vol. x. p. , and _london magazine_, , vol. lvii. p. . the account of the death and funeral of tomo chichi, much like the above, is given in the journal of w. stephens, who was present. vol. ii. p. .] as a frontispiece to one of the volumes of urlsperger's _journal of the saltzburg emigrants_, is an engraving of _tomo chichi and toonahowi_, which bears the inscription, "tomo chichi, _mico_, and toonahowi, the son of his brother, the mice, or king of etichitas; engraved in augsburg after the london original, by john jacob kleinshmidt." in , a dramatic entertainment in three acts, entitled timbo chiqui, was published by john cleland. [nichols's _literary anecdotes_, vol. ii. p. .] toonahowi was killed, valiantly fighting for the english against the yamasee indians, at lake di pupa, in . xxii. manifesto by general oglethorpe. _charlestown, april_ , . whereas upon mature deliberation it is resolved to defend these provinces by invading the province of florida, and attacking st. augustine, in order to remove the enemy that from thence may molest his majesty's subjects in america, which enemy both have and do continue to foment and countenance the slaves to rebellion, burning houses, murders, and other cruelties, of which the circumstances of the late massacre in this province is too sad a proof; and whereas the general assembly of this province hath ordered forces to be raised, so that an army composed of various troops and indians are to assist in invading the spanish dominions of florida; i, therefore, to prevent any disorders that may arise in the said army by virtue of powers received from his majesty authorizing and empowering me, (for the better government of the forces during their continuance under my command,) to prepare and publish such rules and ordinances as are fit to be observed by all officers and soldiers: in regard, therefore, to the regiment of foot raised in south carolina, i do constitute and appoint that alexander vanderdussen, esq., colonel of the said regiment, paid by the government of south carolina, shall hold regimental courts martial for the trials of such offences as shall be committed by the officers and soldiers of that regiment; and that the said court martial shall consist of the officers of that regiment only; and that the colonel of the said regiment shall sit as president of the said regimental courts martial, and make a report to me, and that according to the judgment of the said courts i shall cause sentence to be pronounced, in case i approve of the same, or otherwise suspend the same as i shall see cause. and i do further declare that this authority shall continue for the space of four months from the commencement of the said expedition, and no longer; and that after the expiration of the said four months, or other sooner determination of the said expedition, every officer and soldier, whether volunteers from, or in the pay of the government of carolina, shall have free liberty to depart and return to their habitations, and that a free pass (if by them required,) shall be respectively granted unto them, against being impressed, impeded, enlisted, or detained, by any authority, civil or military, whatsoever, that may be exercised by or derived from me. and i do further declare that if the officers of his majesty's ships of war shall land men to assist the land forces, one full moiety of all the plunder that shall be taken in such service, shall go to the officers and men in his majesty's said sea-service, whose ships are assisting in the said expedition; and that all plunder taken and accruing to the officers and men in the land service shall be divided among the officers and men of the land service, in the same manner and proportion as prizes are distributed among the officers and men in his majesty's sea-service, according to the laws and rules of his majesty's navy. and i do further declare that whatever share of plunder shall come to me as general and commander of the said forces, i will apply the same totally towards the relief of such men as may happen to be maimed or wounded in the said expedition, and towards assisting the widows and children of any of the said forces that may happen to be killed in the said service; and for the rewarding of such as shall perform any distinguished brave action. no indian enemy is to be taken as a slave, for all spanish and indian prisoners do belong to his majesty, and are to be treated as prisoners, and not as slaves. james oglethorpe. xxiii. colonel palmer. "as no final agreement with respect to the limits of the two provinces had been concluded, the indians in alliance with spain continued to harass the british settlements. scalping parties of the yamasees frequently penetrated into carolina; killed white men, and carried off every negro they could find. though the owners of slaves had been allowed from the spanish government a compensation in money for their losses, yet few of them ever received it. at length colonel palmer resolved to make reprisals upon the plunderers. for this purpose he gathered together a party of militia and friendly indians, consisting of about three hundred men, and entered florida with a resolution of spreading desolation throughout the province. he carried his arms as far as the gates of st. augustine, and compelled the inhabitants to take refuge in their castle. scarce a house or hut in the colony escaped the flames. he destroyed their provisions in the fields; drove off their hogs, cattle, and horses; and left the floridians little property, except what was protected by the guns of their fort. by this expedition he demonstrated to the spaniards their weakness; and that the carolinians, whenever they pleased, could prevent the cultivation and settlement of their province so as to render the improvement of it impracticable on any other than peaceable terms with their neighbors."[ ] [footnote : hewatt's _history of south carolina_, vol. i. p. , and dr. ramsay's _history of south carolina_, vol. i. p. ; where it is quoted, word for word, without acknowledgment.] xxiv. an account of the siege of st. augustine, in a letter from on board the hector. "may th, [ ] we arrived near st. augustine. june st we were joined by the flamborough, captain pearse; the phoenix, captain fanshaw; the tartar, captain townshend; and the squirrel, capt. warren, of twenty guns each; besides the spence sloop, captain laws, and the wolf, captain dandridge. on the d colonel vanderdussen, with three hundred carolina soldiers, appeared to the north of the town. on the th general oglethorpe came by sea with three hundred soldiers and three hundred indians from georgia: on the which they were carried on shore in the men-of-war's boats, under the cover of the small ships' guns. they landed on the island eustatia, without opposition, and took the look-out. the th captain warren, in a schooner and other armed sloops and pettiauguas anchored in their harbor, just out of cannon shot, until the th, when the sailors were employed in landing ordnance and other stores, within reach of the enemy's cannon. on which occasion they discovered a surprising spirit and intrepidity. the same night two batteries were raised; but too far off. the th the general summoned the governor to surrender; who sent word he should be glad to shake hands with him in his castle. this haughty answer was occasioned by a dear-bought victory which five hundred spaniards had obtained over eighty highlanders, fifty of whom were slain; but died like heroes, killing thrice their number. the th, bad weather, obliged the men-of-war to put to sea, out of which but one man had been killed. hereupon the siege was raised." _letter from general oglethorpe to rev. j.m. bolzius_. reverend sir, though god has not been pleased to prosper us with the success of taking st. augustine, yet we are to thank him for the safe return of the greatest part of our men, and that the pride of our enemy has been curbed. those men who came from ebenezer, and that were in the carolina regiment, i have ordered to be sent up to you again. i recommend myself to your prayers, and am, reverend sir, your most obedient humble servant, james oglethorpe. _frederica_, _august_, . _from the gentleman's magazine, for november_, . a letter in the daily post of the th, dated from charlestown, south carolina, having laid the ill success at fort st. augustine on the ill conduct of ----, some particulars of which are: st, that the cattle taken at a cow-pen of one diego, twenty-five miles from the town, may , were not distributed to the soldiery; d, that the people might have entered the town without opposition, but were not suffered; d, that the men were needlessly harassed; th, that colonel palmer, who was sent to negro fort, two miles from the town, with one hundred and thirty-three men to alarm the spaniards was not supported by ----, who staid six or seven miles off; th, that colonel palmer being attacked by five hundred spaniards, shot three of them after they had entered the fort; th, that captain warren was the life and spirit of the cause; th, that the volunteers, seeing no prospect of succeeding under such mad conduct, as they called it, daily went off,--the following answer was published. "upon seeing a letter misrepresenting, in the most false and malicious manner, the late expedition against st. augustine; aiming thereby to defame the character of a gentleman, whose unwearied endeavors for the public service, have greatly impaired his health; and as i, who am a captain in general oglethorpe's regiment, was present, and acted upon that occasion as brigadier major, and must know the whole transactions, i think it my duty to take notice of it. "as to the cow-pen it speaks of, it is a square fort, with four carriage guns and four swivel guns, and had a garrison in it of forty-seven soldiers of the regular troops, and seven negroes, who were all made prisoners of war. the cattle found there, and in parts adjacent, were distributed to the king's troops and the carolina regiment. "in respect to the carolina people being ready to enter the town of augustine without opposition; it is entirely false, and without the least foundation. "in regard to colonel palmer's misfortune, who was killed in the first fire from the spaniards; he brought it upon himself by disobeying the orders he received, which positively enjoined his keeping in the woods, and avoiding action, and by acting contrary to the advice of the officers under his command, some of whom were present when he received his orders, and lodging himself in the negro fort moosa, where they were surrounded and defeated; the gates of which fort, and the house within it, the general had before burnt. "with respect to the carolina volunteers; that they did go away is certain, without leave given, or asked, and their captain with them. a captain of the carolina regiment also left his command in the guard of the trenches, without being relieved, or asking any leave, and went with them. after such behavior, what credit can be given to such men, though termed persons of note? "as to captain warren, whose name is mentioned to endeavor to throw an odium elsewhere; i am convinced by the personal acquaintance i have with him, that he will upon all occasions, do his duty in the service of his king and country; as also captain law and captain townshend, that were ashore with him. "the morning after we landed upon the island of anastatia, i stood by while captain warren read to general oglethorpe a letter to captain pearse, then commodore, acquainting him of our landing without any loss, and the spaniards withdrawing from that island, on which captain warren said, all that was now necessary to secure the reduction of the place, was the taking of the spanish galleys, which undertaking he would himself head with the king's boats under the cannon of the fort, if he would give him leave. several councils of war were held on board his majesty's ships by the sea captains, but captain warren's proposition was not undertaken. "lest malicious people should suggest that i might be sent to england by general oglethorpe on this occasion, i solemnly declare, that i came at my own desire by his leave, and had no instructions from him, directly or indirectly, concerning this affair; but my regard to truth, and abhorrence of all false and malicious reports whatsoever, have induced me to publish this, to which i set my name. hugh mackley." _johnson's court, charing cross, nov_. , . xxv. spanish invasion. for details of the spanish invasion in , i refer to the _gentleman's magazine_, vol. xii. pages , , , and ; and would here remark that patrick sutherland, lieutenant of general oglethorpe's regiment, was sent express to england to give an account of the war, and was furnished with a minute journal of the occurrences; but, being taken by a spanish privateer, he threw his papers into the sea. a circumstantial relation, however, having been sent by another conveyance to the trustees, was attested and confirmed by lieutenant sutherland on his arrival in london; and was published in the _london gazette_ of december th, and thence transferred into the _gentleman's magazine_, for , p. , and was afterwards repeated in the _london magazine_ for , p. . there is also in harris's _collection of voyages_, vol. ii. p. - , a very particular account of the spanish invasion, which is introduced by the following remarks: "as to the manner in which they executed it at last; and the amazing disappointment they met with, notwithstanding the vast force they employed, and the smallness of that by which they were assisted, we had so full, so clear, and so authentic an account published by authority, that i know of no method more fit to convey an idea of it, or less liable to any exceptions than transcribing it." of this i have freely availed myself, and have distinguished the direct quotations by inverted commas, but without repeating the references in marginal notes. this account is concluded with the following remarks: "i must observe, before i conclude this chapter, that if there be any thing in it which ought in a particular manner to claim the attention of the public, it is, in a great measure, due to the lights afforded by the honorable james oglethorpe, from whom, if the author has caught any part of that generous spirit which inclines a man to bend all his thoughts and turn all his labors to the service of his country, it is but just that he should acknowledge it; and this he is the more ready to do, because, if there be any merit in his performance, capable of making it known to and esteemed by posterity, he would willingly consecrate it as a mark of his esteem and gratitude for the many informations he has received, and the right turn that has been given to his inquiries, by that knowing and worthy person, who is equally happy in rendering the greatest personal services himself to the community, and in infusing the like disposition in others, both by his example and conversation." some extracts are also inserted in my narrative from _an account of the invasion of georgia, taken from the diary of the preachers at ebenezer_. [urlsperger, vol. iv. p. .] this is principally derived from intelligence by despatches to savannah, and contains three letters from oglethorpe. just as my manuscript was going to the press, i was favored by my obliging friend, dr. stevens, of savannah, with a copy of general oglethorpe's despatch to the duke of newcastle; in season, however, to profit by it. xxvi. copy of an order for a thanksgiving to be held to the praise of god, that he has put an end to the spanish invasion.[ ] [footnote : from the german translation of the reverend mr. bolzius.] almighty god has at all times displayed his power and mercy in the wonderful and gracious delivery of his church; and in the protection of pious and godly rulers and people, who have acknowledged and served him, against the ungodly conspiracies and violent practices of all their enemies. he has by the interposition of his providence rescued us from the assaults of the spaniards. they came out against us with fourteen sail of light galleys, into cumberland sound, but fear came upon them, and they fled at his rebuke. again they came with a mighty fleet of thirty-six ships and vessels, into jekyl sound, and after a sharp contest became masters of the fort, since we had but four vessels to oppose their whole force; but he was there the shield of our people; for, in the unequal conflict in which we held out bravely for four hours, not one of our men was killed, although many of theirs were, and five by a single shot. they landed with four thousand five hundred men upon this island, according to the account of the prisoners we took, yea even of the englishmen who escaped from them. the first party marched through the woods towards this town, (frederica) when, before a small number of our people, they were dispersed, and fled. another party which supported that, fought also, but was discomfited. we may say surely the hand of god was raised for our defence, for in the two skirmishes more than five hundred fled before fifty; though the enemy fought vigorously a long time, and, especially, fired their grenades with great spirit; but their shooting did little hurt, so that not one of us was killed; but they were thrown into great confusion, and pursued with so great loss, that according to the account of the spaniards since made prisoners, more than two hundred returned not to their camp again. they advanced with their galleys against our fortress, but were disappointed and withdrew without discharging a shot. after this, fear came upon them, and they fled, leaving behind them some cannon, and many other things which they had taken on shore. next, with twenty-eight sail they attacked fort william, in which there were only fifty men, and after a contest of three hours, they desisted, and left the province. and so wonderfully were we protected and preserved, that in this great and formidable conflict but few of our men were taken, and but three killed. truly the lord hath done great things for us, by rescuing us from the power of a numerous foe, who boasted that they would conquer and dispossess us. not our strength or might hath saved us; our salvation is of the lord. therefore it is highly becoming us to render thanks to god our deliverer. for this purpose, and in regard to these considerations, i hereby appoint that the twenty-fifth day of this month should be held as a day of public thanksgiving to almighty god for his great deliverance, and the end that is put to this spanish invasion. and i enjoin that every one observe this festival in a christian and godly manner; abstaining from intemperance and excess, and from all extravagant signs of rejoicing. given under my own hand and seal this twenty-first day of july, at frederica in georgia, in the year of our lord one thousand seven hundred and forty-two. james oglethorpe. [under the date of september, the rev. mr. bolzius makes this entry in his diary--"mr. jones told me lately, that the people and soldiers at frederica, on the day when the thanksgiving was held, observed such a stillness and good order as he had never seen there. there was also a very pertinent and devout ascription of praise read, which he (and mr. jones is a good judge of edifying things,) pronounce to be very excellent; and, moreover, he maintained that it must have been prepared and composed by general oglethorpe himself, for there was neither preacher nor school-master at frederica at that time."[ ]] [footnote : urlsperger, iv. p. .] xxvii. a list of the spanish forces employed in the invasion of georgia, under the command of don manuel de monteano. one regiment of dismounted dragoons, havana regiment, havana militia, regiment of artillery, florida militia, batalion of mulattoes, black regiment, indians, marines, seamen, ---- total general oglethorpe's command consisted of, his regiment, company of rangers, highlanders, armed militia, indians, ---- total ensign stewart's command at fort william, on the south end of cumberland island, consisted of sixty men. fort william was about fifty miles south-west from frederica. xxviii. a brief history of the silk culture in georgia, by william b. stevens, m.d. one of the principal designs which influenced the settlement of georgia, was the hope of thereby creating a silk-growing province, where that material for which england had so long been indebted to france, italy and china, could be produced in this colonial dependency. as early as , the subject engaged the attention of the adventurers to virginia, and in a pamphlet, called "nova brittannia offering most excellent fruites by planting in virginia," published that year, the writer says "there are silkeworms, and plenty of mulberie-trees, whereby ladies, gentlewomen and little children (being set in the way to do it) may bee all imploied with pleasure, making silke comparable to that of persia, turkey, or any other." in , mr. samuel hartlib published a work entitled "virginia discovery of silk wormes, with their benefits," in which he endeavored to show that the raising of silk was a thing very practicable in virginia, and even asserted that as a staple, it might be made superior to tobacco, in which opinion he was confirmed by the judgment of several others. that they made some advances in this culture, is evident from the fact that the coronation robe of charles ii., in , was made of silk reeled in that colony, and even so late as , three hundred pounds of the raw material were exported from virginia. tobacco, however, soon assumed and maintained the ascendancy, to the exclusion of this more useful and beautiful produce. in , sir nathaniel johnson introduced the silk culture into south carolina, but the astonishing success which rewarded the casual introduction of rice into the plantation about eight years before, precluded a just interest in the undertaking, and as a public and recognized commodity it soon came to naught, though several persons, more for amusement than profit, still gave their attention to it; and as late as , mrs. pinckney, the same lady to whom the province was indebted for the first cultivation of indigo ten years before, reeled sufficient silk in the vicinity of charleston to make three dresses, one of which was presented to the princess dowager of wales, another to lord chesterfield, and the third, says ramsay, who narrates the circumstance, "is now ( ) in charleston in the possession of her daughter, mrs. horrey, and is remarkable for its beauty, firmness and strength." but notwithstanding these failures and the known difficulty of introducing a new branch of agriculture into a country, as was evidenced by the compulsion which was necessary by henry iv. to introduce it into france, against the united voices of the merchants-traders, and even in opposition to the duke of sully, and also the indifference manifested in england, notwithstanding the able proclamation of king james on the subject, commanding its cultivation; the trustees for the settlement of georgia determined to make one more effort, which, if successful, would enrich both the province and the mother country. the views which they entertained, however, of making georgia supplant every silk-growing country, were extravagant and erroneous; they expected, in fact, to supply all europe, and to produce an article of equal strength, beauty and value, with any made on the continent. the piedmontese, thought they, who pay half of their silk for the rent of the mulberry trees and the eggs of the worm, or the peasants of france, burdened with political difficulty and stinted for conveniences, could not cope with the settlers of georgia, where the mulberry (morus alba) trees would grow in the greatest luxuriance, where timber for their fabrics was no expense, where room was abundant and the reward sure. by this transfer, in addition to a direct saving to england of over , _l_. which she paid for this article to foreign countries, twenty thousand people were to find employment in rearing it in georgia, and as many more at home in preparing it for market. among the first emigrants who sailed with oglethorpe from england in november , was mr. amatis, from piedmont, who was engaged by the trustees to introduce the art of silk-winding into the colony, and who for that purpose brought with him several italians and some adequate machinery. white mulberry trees were planted in a portion of land on the eastern border of the city, called the trustees' garden; eggs were hatched, and silk spun "as fine as any from france or italy." they soon, however, came to a mutual rupture, and the whole process was for a time suspended by the treachery of those employed, who broke the machinery, spoiled the seed, destroyed the trees, and then escaped to carolina. sufficient, however, had been wrought to test its value, and they were not discouraged by this inauspicious commencement. the trustees still adhered to their design, and the more effectually to advance it, required of every settler that there should be on his grant, ten mulberry trees to each acre. mr. camuse and his wife, both italians, were now entrusted with this business, in which they were continued six years; the two first at a salary of _l_. per annum, and the four last at _l_. besides the rent of a dwelling house and garden. in june , general oglethorpe carried eight pounds of raw silk, the first produced in georgia, to england, which was followed by a small trunk full of the same article, on the d of april, , and after being made into orgazine, by the engine of sir thomas lombe, at derby, who said that it "proved exceedingly good through all the operations," was sent up to london on the th of august, , when the trustees, together with sir thomas lombe, waited on her majesty queen caroline and exhibited to her the elegant specimen of georgia silk. the queen selected a portion of this parcel to be wove into a pattern, and being again waited on by these gentlemen and mr. booth, the silk weaver, on the st of september, she expressed "a great satisfaction for the beauty and fineness of the silk, the richness of the pattern, and at seeing so early a product from that colony;" and to express her pleasure at such a favorable result, a complete court-dress was made from it, and on his majesty's next birth-day, she appeared at the levee in a full robe of georgia silk. on the return of oglethorpe, in , he renewed his endeavors to bring it into active operation. for the purpose of obtaining a sufficient quantity of seed, he allowed no silk to be reeled that year, but let the worms deposit their eggs. he required, also, that the italian women should teach a number of the colonists, and thus render general the knowledge they could impart. the saltzburgers at ebenezer were the most forward to adopt his views, and in march , , rev. mr. bolzius gave one tree to each inhabitant as a present from oglethorpe, and two of his congregation were instructed in the art of reeling, by mrs. camuse. but though oglethorpe gave mr. bolzius trees, silk worms, and a book of instructions, yet he confesses that he felt no interest in the business, nor inclination to pursue it. in july, , mr. samuel augspourger carried over a parcel of raw silk which he received from mr. jones, the trustees' store-keeper in savannah, and which was declared by eminent judges to be "equal to any italian silk, and worth full twenty shillings per pound." on may , , mr. bolzius in his journal states that twenty girls, during the last two months, succeeded in making seventeen pounds of cocoons which were sold on friday last at savannah for _l_. _s_. during this year, general oglethorpe advanced to bolzius _l_. for procuring trees, for which sum he obtained twelve hundred, and distributed twenty-two to each family in his parish. on may , , fourteen pounds and fourteen ounces were sold, which brought _l_. _s_. _d_. nearly half of the silkworms died at savannah, owing, as was then supposed, either to poisoned dew or warm weather. december , , general oglethorpe sent five hundred trees to ebenezer, with the promise of more if required. the indifference of the good mr. bolzius had by this time passed away, and he was now a zealous advocate for its extension. a machine was erected near his house, and two women succeeded very well, by which the people were stimulated to renewed exertions, and a public filature was contemplated. the enterprise of these germans, seemed to excite the envious disposition of mrs. camuse, with whom had been placed two women from ebenezer; but the conduct of mrs. c. in withholding information, rendered their acquirement inadequate, and mr. bolzius withdrew them from her charge. the first parcel of silk made, was sent to the trustees, who expressed themselves pleased with its quality. in , the weight of cocoons was two hundred and fifty-three pounds, and of spun silk sixteen and three-quarters. in , the weight of cocoons was three hundred and forty-four pounds, and of spun silk eighteen pounds. early in this year a machine for winding, and coppers for baking, together with appropriate treatises on the art, were sent over by the trustees, but the people were indifferent and apathetic. the germans, however, were as active as formerly, and mr. bolzius, in a letter to von munch, dated may , , says, that "the people last winter planted more mulberry trees than for thirteen years before," for which he promised them a bounty of one shilling for every tree which yielded one hundred pounds of leaves. the silk balls raised at this place this year, were over four hundred pounds, three hundred and sixty-six pounds of which sold for _l_. _s_. - / _d_. the amount raised in the whole colony, was eight hundred and forty-seven pounds of cocoons, and sixty-two pounds of spun silk. in , the saltzburgers reared four hundred and sixty-four pounds, but their small trees were destroyed, and some of the larger ones injured, by the late frost. they this year succeeded admirably in spinning twenty-four pounds of raw silk, the want of a chimney and proper basins, which had impeded them before, in their rude building, having been remedied. the president, writing to secretary martyn, december , , says, "the fundamental cause of its stagnation, is the unaccountable backwardness of some of our dames and damsels to employ themselves in attending to the worms during the time of feeding, which i have frequently taken notice of, and it cannot be imputed to the want of leaves." during the same period only thirty-four pounds of spun silk were raised by the trustees' agent in savannah. mr. bolzius, under date of february th, , thus writes: "the weather being now warm and pleasant, the mulberry trees have put forth their young leaves, and our people are now turning their minds towards making of silk," and then, after expressing his surprise, that so few were disposed to this culture, adds, "one reason for this reluctance, is ascribed to the circumstance that, by ordinary labor, about two shillings might be obtained per day, whereas scarcely a shilling could be earned in the same time, by the silk concern." seven hundred and sixty-two pounds of cocoons were raised, and fifty pounds thirteen ounces spun silk, and there were two machines erected in mr. bolzius's yard which drew off twenty-four ounces per day. on the th september, , the trustees promised _l_. to every woman, who shall make herself mistress of the art of winding, in one year. and they also gave rev. mr. bolzius permission to erect ten sheds, with clay furnaces, at an expense of not more than _l_. each, and ten machines for reeling, at thirty shillings each, which he says could be made better than those at savannah for _l_.; they also sent them ten basins, and the good germans felt the impulse of this substantial encouragement. in , though the people in other parts of the colony mostly relinquished the silk culture, the inhabitants of ebenezer continued vigorously employed and interested in it. on the d of june they received ten kettles from the trustees, one of which, and a reeling machine, were given to each mistress in the art of spinning, and two of the best artisans received _l_. for giving instruction to fourteen young women, to each of whom was bestowed _l_. for attention and industry. over a thousand pounds of cocoons were raised at ebenezer, and seventy-four pounds two ounces raw silk made, producing (the price being then thirty shillings) over _l_. sterling. as illustrative of the luxuriant growth of the mulberry, it may be interesting to state, that two trees in front of the parsonage, ten years old, measured three feet eight inches in circumference. in december of this year, eight more copper basins were received, and public confidence in the success of the undertaking seemed revived, notwithstanding mr. camuse and family had left the province, and settled at purysburgh, in south carolina. on the th december, , mr. pickering robinson, who, together with mr. james habersham, had been appointed the preceding august a commissioner to promote more effectually the culture of silk, arrived in savannah. mr. robinson had been sent to france, at the expense of the trustees, to study the management of filatures and the necessary processes for preparing the article for market, and thus, though no operative, was qualified to take the directorship of so important a branch of industry. his salary was _l_. per annum; _l_. for a clerk, and a tract of land was also granted him, which, in , sold for _l_. mr. robinson brought with him a large quantity of silkworm seed, but all failed, save about half an ounce; the commissioners determined at once to erect a filature, which should be a normal school to the whole province, and it was their opinion that it would be "a sufficient nursery to supply, in three or four years, as many reelers as will be wanted, when we make no doubt of many private filatures being erected, which can only make their culture a general staple." the dimensions were thirty-six feet by twenty, rough boarded, with a loft or upper story, for the spreading out of the green cocoons. it was commenced on the th of march, . on the st of april, the basins were put up, and on the th of may the reeling began. to encourage the colonists, the trustees proposed to purchase all the balls, and wind them at their own expense, and paid from _s_. _d_. to _s_. _d_. per pound for green cocoons. the commissioners separated the cocoons into three sorts: st, perfect cones; d, the spongy and fuzzy; and d, the spotted, stained, and dupions. this arrangement, however, gave great offence to some of the residents in savannah and purysburgh, and messrs. robinson and habersham requested the vice president and assistants to determine the respective prices and publicly announce the same, which they did on the th april, by a proclamation, wherein by way of bounty, they promised to pay for cocoons delivered at their store in savannah, the following sums, namely, for cocoons made by one worm, hard, weighty and good substance, _s_. per pound; for the weaker quality, pointed, spotted, or bruised, _s_. _d_.; for dupions (those made by two worms), _d_.; for raw silk, from st quality cocoons _s_. per pound; for that made from d quality, _s_.; the product of the double cones, _s_. per pound; and they also offered, if delivered at the filature, for best cocoons, _s_. _d_.; for middling _s_. _d_.; and for inferior _s_. _d_., a series of prices truly astonishing, when we reflect that the real merchantable worth of a pound of cocoons is scarcely ever _d_. experiments were made at the filature to ascertain the relative quantity of each of these qualities, in a given weight of cocoons, and the results were, that in fifty pounds of green cocoons, there were twenty-seven pounds of the first sort, ten pounds four ounces of the second, and twelve pounds twelve ounces of the third. after curing or baking, these fifty pounds weighed only forty-six pounds five ounces, showing a loss in ponderosity of nearly eight per cent. beside the arrangement above specified, the cocoons were still further divided for the purpose of reeling into white and yellow, and these again, subdivided into five each, namely, st, hard and weighty; d, little woolly and weaker; d, very woolly and soft; th, spotted and much bruised; th, double worms. mr. camuse, son, and daughter, who, it appears, gave the commissioners no little trouble by their perverse conduct, returned to savannah and were engaged to labor at the filature, at three shillings per day, at which mr. habersham exclaims, "monstrous wages!" the reelers now advanced with much proficiency, and five of them, on the th of may, wound off eleven pounds of cocoons each. the proportion of raw silk to the cocoons, appeared, on a variety of trials, to be nearly in this ratio:-- oz. th may, , lbs. cocoons, st quality, produced - / . th " " " " " " - per thread - / . th " " " " " " produced - / . th " " " " d " " . th " " " " " " " . d " " " " st " " - / . " " " " " d " " - / . the whole amount of cocoons raised in the province, was six thousand three hundred and one pounds, of which two thousand pounds came from ebenezer, and four thousand pounds were made at whitefield's orphan-house. two hundred and sixty-nine pounds and one ounce of raw silk, and one hundred and sixty-one pounds of filogee, were prepared, notwithstanding over three hundred and eighty pounds were lost by vermin, fire and mould. the expense of the culture was large this year, owing to the erection of the filature, &c., which swelled the sum to _l_. _s_. - / _d_. sterling. the private journals of that day kept at savannah and ebenezer, acquaint us, in some measure, with the arduous nature of the commissioners' labors, and the difficulties they encountered from the want of funds, the intractableness of laborers, the novelty of the attempt, the imperfections of machinery, and the bitter opposition of those who should have sustained and encouraged them. the public duties of mr. habersham prevented his constant attention to this business; but the whole time of mr. robinson was devoted to the filature, directing the sorters, aiding the novices, advising the reelers, and in every way exerting himself to obtain success. his engagement with the trustees expired on the th of august, , but finding that his intended departure depressed the friends of the culture, he was solicited by the local government to remain another year, and, generously sacrificing private to public interests, he complied with their request. mr. habersham thus speaks of mr. robinson. "i think him the most prudent as well as the most capable person i ever knew, to undertake such a work, and if he could be continued here, i doubt not but that he would turn out a number of well instructed reelers, who would be able to conduct filatures at ebenezer, augusta, and other parts of the province." so great was the confidence which the trustees had in him, that he was appointed an assistant in the government at savannah; an honor which he declined, and in the same letter stated, "if due encouragement be not given to the culture of raw silk, for the term of at least fourteen years, i positively cannot think of settling in america." these gentlemen recommended the building of a house, sixty feet by twenty-six, as a cocoonry, great loss having been experienced for the want of such a structure. in , mr. robinson returned to england, and his place was partially supplied by joseph ottolenghe, a native of piedmont, and a proficient in his art, who came to georgia on the th of july, , and took charge of the filature in april, . in a letter to lee martyn, dated september , , mr. ottolenghe says, that "there were fewer cocoons raised this year, as the worms mostly hatched before the trees leaved," and that "the people were willing to continue the business." one hundred and ninety-seven pounds of raw silk were made this year, and three hundred and seventy-six pounds in , besides twenty-four pounds of filosele. the people of augusta became interested in this manufacture, and entered with considerable spirit into the undertaking, promising to send hands to savannah, yearly, to learn the art of reeling: their enthusiasm, however, soon evaporated. on the th of march, , a certificate, signed by thirty-nine eminent silk-throwsters and weavers, was given to the "commissioners for trade and plantations," stating that after examining three hundred pounds of raw silk, imported from georgia, "we do sincerely declare that the nature and texture is truly good, the color beautiful, the thread as even and as clear as the best piedmont (called wire silk) of the size, and much clearer and even than the usual italian silks;" and furthermore, "it could be worked with less waste than china silk, and has all the properties of good silk well adapted to the weaver's art in most branches." in , five thousand four hundred and eighty-eight pounds of cocoons were raised, and four hundred and thirty-eight pounds of raw silk spun. the good effects of the filature were now happily evident in the increased interest of the planters in the subject, who sent both their daughters and young negroes to acquire the art of reeling. in , three thousand seven hundred and eighty-three pounds and one ounce of cocoons were received at the filature, and two hundred and sixty-eight pounds of raw silk reeled. the liberal policy of the commissioners, who had no private ends to answer, caused them to recommend the establishment of additional filatures, and in their letter to the trustees, june th, , they advise the erection of one at ebenezer, and another contiguous to savannah, but mr. ottolenghe opposed this course and arrogated to the one in savannah the entire monopoly of the culture. jealousy appears to have been very conspicuous in mr. ottolenghe's character, and his opposition to the saltzburgers and depreciation of their efforts, arose from this suspicious trait. he aimed to render himself solely necessary, and aspersed everything which seemed to militate with his fancied superiority. this appears not only from letters of governors reynold and ellis, but from his own correspondence, where this caution and fear of rivalry is plainly discernible. his course gave offence to the ebenezer people, who had already erected a filature in their village; who had been at great sacrifice to send their wives and daughters to learn the art of reeling in savannah, and who had hoped to carry on the manufacture under their own supervision and for their own benefit. mr. ottolenghe, however, overruled their views and required all cocoons to be delivered at savannah and to be reeled there. each basin at the filature had two apprentices, besides others who were employed in sorting the balls, &c., and the various operations connected with the trade, employed nearly forty persons. in , over five thousand pounds of cocoons were received at savannah, and three hundred and sixty pounds of raw silk spun, which, says governor ellis, would have been more, if the eggs had not failed; and in a letter, dated th of march, , he says "the raising of silk seems to be no longer a matter of curiosity, it employs many poor people, and is approaching towards a staple." seven thousand and forty pounds of cocoons were deposited in the filature in , but while the friends of this business were rejoicing in the assured success of their experiment they were saddened by the destruction of the filature, which took fire on the th of july, and was totally consumed. the wound silk, which had not yet been shipped, amounting to three hundred and fifty pounds, was saved, but several thousand weight of silk balls, together with much of the reeling apparatus, were destroyed. another and more capacious building was immediately erected and was ready for use the ensuing season. in , ten thousand one hundred and thirty-six pounds of cocoons were raised in georgia, four thousand pounds of which were from ebenezer, and the proceeds of their culture alone, for the season, reached _l_. sterling. the opinion of those engaged in the culture, as expressed to dr. jared elliot, was, "that it was more profitable than any other ordinary business." the cocoons delivered at the filature in , weighed seven thousand nine hundred and eighty-three pounds, and there were spun eight hundred and thirty-nine pounds. mr. ottolenghe was now honored with the full appointment of "superintendant of the silk culture in georgia," with a salary appropriate to his station. five thousand three hundred and seven pounds of cocoons, and three hundred and thirty-two pounds of raw silk were produced in . governor wright, under date th of july, says, "the greatest appearance that ever they had here was destroyed in two nights' time, by excessive hard and unseasonable frosts, and there is likewise a degeneracy in the seed, as mr. ottolenghe tells me." these frosts occurred on the th and th of april. parliament, this year, made a grant of _l_. towards defraying the expenditure for the silk culture, and it was annually renewed until about . by means of this gratuity, mr. ottolenghe was enabled to give a high price to the rearers of cocoons, and thus sustain the encouragement so judiciously commenced. in , fifteen thousand one hundred and one pounds of cocoons were delivered at the filature, and one thousand and forty-eight pounds of raw silk reeled, which mr. o. declared to be the finest and best silk ever produced in georgia. the year showed an increase of cocoons but a decrease of silk, there being fifteen thousand four hundred and eighty-six pounds of the former, and only nine hundred and fifty-three pounds of the latter. the occasion of this disparity was a season of cold, rainy weather, towards the close of april, by which the later cocoons were injured and rendered almost useless. there were delivered at the filature, in , fifteen thousand two hundred and twelve pounds of cocoons, notwithstanding the season was so unfavorable, that governor wright mentions the case of one man who expected to make from five to seven hundred pounds, who only succeeded in raising one hundred pounds of cocoons. eight thousand six hundred and ninety-five pounds were sent by the saltzburgers, and the whole amount yielded eight hundred and ninety-eight pounds of raw silk. in addition to the grant of parliament, a society, instituted in london, for the encouragement of arts, manufactures and commerce, offered certain premiums for the advantage of the british american dominions, among which were: "for every pound of cocoons produced in the province of georgia and south carolina, in the year , of a hardy, weighty and good substance, wherein only one worm has spun, _d_.; for every pound of cocoons produced in the same year, of a weaker, lighter, spotted or bruised quality, _d_.; for dupions, _d_." these premiums were to be paid under the direction of mr. o., with proper vouchers that the same were raised in either of the provinces specified. it was agitated in , to reduce the price of cocoons from _s_. to _s_. _d_. per pound, a measure which produced much dissatisfaction and as a consequence there was a considerable falling off in the amount of balls and silk, only twelve thousand five hundred and fourteen pounds of the former, and seven hundred and twelve pounds of the latter, together with seven hundred and twenty pounds of filosele being produced. to prevent the depression consequent on this reduction, governor wright suggested, that instead of so much per pound, as formerly, that the ten largest quantities should receive the highest, _l_., the next greatest parcel _l_., and so on, gradually decreasing with the decrease in weight, until you reached the lowest quantity, to which _l_. would be awarded; thus, while the expense would be greatly lessened to the trustees, the stimulus of reward would be sufficiently sustained. this advice was not adopted, though owing to the urgent remonstrances of those best acquainted with the business, the reduction in the bounty was only _d_. instead of _s_. _d_. on the th april, , the following order was published in the "georgia gazette:" "notice is hereby given to all whom it may concern, that, by direction of the right honorable the lords commissioners of trade and plantations, the price usually paid for cocoons is now reduced, and that no more than _s_. _d_. per pound will be paid for cocoons raised in this province, and delivered at the public filature this season. "by order of his excellency the governor. "geo. baillie, _commissary_" this bounty was still further reduced in , when by order of the board of trade, only _s_. _d_. was paid per pound. the dependence of this culture on the weather, was signally instanced this year, from the fact that though many who had hitherto raised cocoons, abandoned it at the reduction of the bounty, yet such a large crop had never been produced before; over twenty thousand three hundred and eighty pounds of cocoons being delivered at the filature, which, however, only produced one thousand eighty-nine pounds of raw silk, and eight hundred and fifty pounds of filosele. this amount of reeled silk was not at all proportionate to the weight of the cones, resulting, as mr. ottolenghe said in a letter to governor wright, october , , "to the badness of the seed, and consequent inferiority of the worms." in , the cocoons weighed only seven thousand nine hundred and eighty-three pounds, and yet eight hundred and thirty-nine pounds of raw silk were spun; at which rate, the product this year should have been about two thousand pounds. on the th of june, henry kennan made proposals to the board of trade, for carrying on the filature; but they were of a nature not at all advantageous to the culture, and governor wright, in his reply, on the st of october, disapproved of the plan, and exposed the fallacy of his scheme, which was in consequence abandoned. in , ten thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight pounds of balls were raised, and six hundred and seventy-one pounds nine ounces of raw silk spun; the decrease of cocoons being caused, first, by withdrawing of the purysburgh cocoons, which last year amounted to five thousand five hundred and fifty-one pounds; and second, by the reduction of bounty, so that while last year the cocoons were delivered in by two hundred and sixty-four different persons, only one hundred and sixty individuals were this year devoted to the culture. the silk, however, was of a better quality, and sustained its high reputation in the london market. in , another plan was proposed, by mr. delamar, "in order the more effectually to establish the growth of raw silk in america." his proposal was, to pay a bounty of _s_. per pound on every pound of good, clear raw silk imported from any of his majesty's dominions in america, to be paid on the price such silk might sell for at public sale in london; at the expiration of ten years, ten per cent. bounty was to be allowed; the ensuing five years at five per cent., after which time the bounty was to cease. this was the general feature of his plan; it was not, however, adopted, though in many respects its provisions were highly judicious and appropriate. but this branch of industry and commerce was fast waning before the increasing culture of more sure and lucrative products, and only one hundred and thirty-seven different persons brought cocoons to the filature this year. governor wright, in his official letter to the earl of hillsborough, july , , says, "i am persuaded that few, or none but the very poorer sort of people, will continue to go upon that article. several substantial persons, who did mean to make it an object when the price was higher, have, to my knowledge, given it over. the reason, my lord, is evident; for people who have their fortune to raise or make, will always turn themselves in such a way, and to the raising and making of such commodities, as they think will answer best; and it is very clear to me, that those who have negroes, may employ themselves and negroes to better advantage, &c., than by raising cocoons at _s_. _d_. per pound, although that is, as i have said, , , or _d_. more than they are intrinsically worth." cluny, in his "american traveller," printed in london, , says, "the climate of georgia has been found to agree in every respect with the silk worm." experience, however, proved that the climate was not sufficiently equable to secure permanent and continued success. governor wright, in the letter quoted above, says, "the variable and uncertain weather in spring, makes it precarious," and facts amply confirm this statement. only five hundred and forty-one pounds of raw silk were made this year, a smaller amount, with one exception, than had been produced for ten years. in , the quantity was still more decreased, both from the reluctance of the people to raise worms, and the unfavorable weather in spring. governor wright, on the th of june, , says, "we had a most extraordinary prospect, till the middle of april, when i thought every thing safe, yet we had very cold rains on the th and th, which were succeeded by hard black frost on the th and th, and destroyed a great part of the worms, and will reduce the silk very much." the silk business was now on the irretrievable decline, though it still maintained a nominal existence, and received the encouragement of parliament. the special bounty which had hitherto been paid on cocoons, over and above their merchantable value, was suspended, and by a statute of geo. iii., c. , a premium of twenty-five per cent. from the st of january, , to the st of january, ,--of twenty per cent, from the st of january, , to the st of january, ,--and of fifteen per cent. from the st of january, , to the st of january , on the ad valorem value of all silk produced in america and imported into great britain in vessels regularly navigated by law, was substituted in its place. the inhabitants of ebenezer resumed the culture, which with them had long been dormant, and its revival at that time was principally owing to the influence of a very worthy man and magistrate, mr. wertsch, who, sanguine himself of ultimate success, had imparted to the germans a portion of his own enthusiasm. in , they shipped two hundred and ninety-one pounds of raw silk, the result of their own industry, and as the filature at savannah was discontinued in , the earl of hillsborough, ever anxious to advance the produce, warmly commended the zeal of the saltzburgers, and directed president habersham to distribute "the basins and reels that were left in the public filature, to such persons as mr. wertsch shall recommend to be proper objects of that bounty;" and in the same letter he promised that he would endeavor to procure for them, this year, "a small sum from parliament, to be laid out in purchase of utensils for the assistance of the poor sort of people in your province." this promise he redeemed. so popular had the silk business become at ebenezer, that mr. habersham, in a letter dated the th of march, , says, "some persons in almost every family there, understand its process from the beginning to the end." in , the germans sent four hundred and thirty-eight pounds of raw silk to england, and in , four hundred and eighty-five pounds, all of their own raising. they made their own reels, which were so much esteemed that one was sent to england as a model, and another taken to the east indies by pickering robinson. the operations at savannah were now totally discontinued, though mr. ottolenghe still styled himself "superintendent of the silk culture in georgia," and in consideration of his long and faithful service in that office, received an annuity of _l_. in a message of sir james wright, to the commons house of assembly, th of january, , he says, "the filature buildings seem to be going to decay and ruin; may it not, therefore, be expedient to consider what other service or use they may be put to?" and the assembly answered, "we shall not fail to consider how it may be expedient to apply the filature to some public use;" and henceforth it was used as an assembly or ball-room, a place where societies held their meetings, and where divine service was occasionally conducted: more recently, it was converted into a dwelling-house, and was thus appropriated at the time of its destruction by fire, on the afternoon of march , . thus ended the grand project for raising silk in the province of georgia; for though some few individuals, together with the people of ebenezer, continued to raise small quantities, yet, as a branch of general culture, it has never been resuscitated. the last parcel brought to savannah was in , when over two hundred pounds were purchased for exportation, at from _s_. to _s_. per pound. on reviewing the causes which led to the suspension of this business, after so many exertions and such vast expense, which, it must be remembered, the profits of the culture never reimbursed, we find, first, the unfriendliness of the climate, which, notwithstanding its boasted excellence, interfered materially with its success. governor wright, frequently speaks of its deleterious influence, and the fluctuations in the various seasons, evidenced, to demonstration, that the interior was better adapted to the agricultural part of the business, than the exposed and variable sea-board. mr. habersham, in a letter to the earl of hillsborough, dated "savannah, th of april, ," thus expresses himself on this point. "upwards of twenty years ago, if my memory does not fail me, samuel lloyd, esq., of london, who was one of the late trustees for establishing this colony, and was fourteen years in italy, and very largely concerned in the silk business, wrote to me, that the best silk was produced at a distance from the sea-coast, owing, i suppose, to the richness of the soil, which made the mulberry leaf more glutinous, nutritive and healthy to the silk-worm; also, to their not being obnoxious to musquetoes and sand-flies, and probably, likewise, to the weather being more equal and less liable to sudden transition from heat to cold: and on a conversation this day with mr. barnard, of augusta, he assures me, that from two years experience in raising cocoons there, he lost none from sickness, which frequently destroys two-thirds of the worms here;" and he further says, that mr. ottolenghe told him that the silk reeled from the augusta cocoons "made the strongest and most wiry thread of any raised in these parts." second, the expensiveness of living, and the dearness of labor, which was as high as _s_. _d_. to _s_. per day, whereas _d_. or _d_. was the usual price paid the peasant in silk-growing countries. governor wright, in a letter to the earl of hillsborough, frankly told him that, "till these provinces become more populous, and labor cheaper, i apprehend, silk will not be a commodity, or an article, of any considerable amount." third, the great reduction of the bounty, which, being the stimulus to exertion, ceased to operate as an incentive, when from _s_. _d_. it fell to _s_. _d_., and finally to a mere premium on the general quantity imported. the poor could not subsist on these prices, and the rich could employ their lands to much better advantage than in cultivating an article which would not repay the expenses of labor: and lastly, the increasing attention, bestowed on rice and cotton, sealed the fate of the silk culture, and the planters soon learned to consider the latter of no importance in comparison, with the large and lucrative crops yielded by these more staple commodities. other reasons might be mentioned, but these sufficiently account for its decline there, and its total neglect even to the present day. during the morus multicaulis epidemic, which spread over our country in , savannah, it is true, did not escape, and for a time the fever raged, with much violence, but the febrile action soon subsided, leaving no permanent benefit and only a few fields of waving foliage, as a deciduous memento of this frenzied excitement. that silk can be produced in georgia equal to any in the world, does not admit of a doubt, but whether it will ever be resumed, and when, is among the unknown events of the future. proofreading team. with thanks to the ryan memorial library of the st. charles borromeo seminary. _in the press, by the same author, complete in one volume_, an english tragedy: a play, in five acts. mary stuart. translated from schiller. a play, in five acts. mlle. de bellisle. translated from dumas. a play, in five acts. journal of a residence on a georgian plantation - . by frances anne kemble. * * * * * slavery the chief corner stone. 'this stone (slavery), which was rejected by the first builders, is become the chief stone of the corner in our new edifice.'--_speech of_ alexander h. stephens _vice-president of the confederate states; delivered march , ._ * * * * * to elizabeth dwight sedgwick this journal, originally kept for her, is most affectionately dedicated. preface. the following diary was kept in the winter and spring of - , on an estate consisting of rice and cotton plantations, in the islands at the entrance of the altamaha, on the coast of georgia. the slaves in whom i then had an unfortunate interest were sold some years ago. the islands themselves are at present in the power of the northern troops. the record contained in the following pages is a picture of conditions of human existence which i hope and believe have passed away. london: _january , ._ journal. philadelphia: december . my dear e----. i return you mr. ----'s letter. i do not think it answers any of the questions debated in our last conversation at all satisfactorily: the _right_ one man has to enslave another, he has not the hardihood to assert; but in the reasons he adduces to defend that act of injustice, the contradictory statements he makes appear to me to refute each other. he says, that to the continental european protesting against the abstract iniquity of slavery, his answer would be, 'the slaves are infinitely better off than half the continental peasantry.' to the englishman, 'they are happy compared with the miserable irish.' but supposing that this answered the question of original injustice, which it does not, it is not a true reply. though the negroes are fed, clothed, and housed, and though the irish peasant is starved, naked, and roofless, the bare name of freeman--the lordship over his own person, the power to choose and will--are blessings beyond food, raiment, or shelter; possessing which, the want of every comfort of life is yet more tolerable than their fullest enjoyment without them. ask the thousands of ragged destitutes who yearly land upon these shores to seek the means of existence--ask the friendless, penniless foreign emigrant, if he will give up his present misery, his future uncertainty, his doubtful and difficult struggle for life, at once, for the secure, and as it is called, fortunate dependance of the slave: the indignation with which he would spurn the offer will prove that he possesses one good beyond all others, and that his birthright as a man is more precious to him yet than the mess of pottage for which he is told to exchange it because he is starving. of course the reverse alternative cannot be offered to the slaves, for at the very word the riches of those who own them would make themselves wings and flee away. but i do not admit the comparison between your slaves and even the lowest class of european free labourers, for the former are _allowed_ the exercise of no faculties but those which they enjoy in common with the brutes that perish. the just comparison is between the slaves and the useful animals to whose level your laws reduce them; and i will acknowledge that the slaves of a kind owner may be as well cared for, and as happy, as the dogs and horses of a merciful master; but the latter condition--i.e. that of happiness--must again depend upon the complete perfection of their moral and mental degradation. mr. ----, in his letter, maintains that they _are_ an inferior race, and, compared with the whites, '_animals_, incapable of mental culture and moral improvement:' to this i can only reply, that if they are incapable of profiting by instruction, i do not see the necessity for laws inflicting heavy penalties on those who offer it to them. if they really are brutish, witless, dull, and devoid of capacity for progress, where lies the _danger_ which is constantly insisted upon of offering them that of which they are incapable. we have no laws forbidding us to teach our dogs and horses as much as they can comprehend; nobody is fined or imprisoned for reasoning upon knowledge, and liberty, to the beasts of the field, for they are incapable of such truths. but these themes are forbidden to slaves, not because they cannot, but because they can and would seize on them with avidity--receive them gladly, comprehend them quickly; and the masters' power over them would be annihilated at once and for ever. but i have more frequently heard, not that they were incapable of receiving instruction, but something much nearer the truth--that knowledge only makes them miserable: the moment they are in any degree enlightened, they become unhappy. in the letter i return to you mr. ---- says that the very slightest amount of education, merely teaching them to read, 'impairs their value as slaves, for it instantly destroys their contentedness, and since you do not contemplate changing their condition, it is surely doing them an ill service to destroy their acquiescence in it;' but this is a very different ground of argument from the other. the discontent they evince upon the mere dawn of an advance in intelligence proves not only that they can acquire but combine ideas, a process to which it is very difficult to assign a limit; and there indeed the whole question lies, and there and nowhere else the shoe really pinches. a slave is ignorant; he eats, drinks, sleeps, labours, and is happy. he learns to read; he feels, thinks, reflects, and becomes miserable. he discovers himself to be one of a debased and degraded race, deprived of the elementary rights which god has granted to all men alike; every action is controlled, every word noted; he may not stir beyond his appointed bounds, to the right hand or to the left, at his own will, but at the will of another he may be sent miles and miles of weary journeying--tethered, yoked, collared, and fettered--away from whatever he may know as home, severed from all those ties of blood and affection which he alone of all human, of all living creatures on the face of the earth may neither enjoy in peace nor defend when they are outraged. if he is well treated, if his master be tolerably humane or even understand his own interest tolerably, this is probably _all_ he may have to endure: it is only to the consciousness of these evils that knowledge and reflection awaken him. but how is it if his master be severe, harsh, cruel--or even only careless--leaving his creatures to the delegated dominion of some overseer, or agent, whose love of power, or other evil dispositions, are checked by no considerations of personal interest? imagination shrinks from the possible result of such a state of things; nor must you, or mr. ----, tell me that the horrors thus suggested exist only in imagination. the southern newspapers, with their advertisements of negro sales and personal descriptions of fugitive slaves, supply details of misery that it would be difficult for imagination to exceed. scorn, derision, insult, menace--the handcuff, the lash--the tearing away of children from parents, of husbands from wives--the weary trudging in droves along the common highways, the labour of body, the despair of mind, the sickness of heart--these are the realities which belong to the system, and form the rule, rather than the exception, in the slave's experience. and this system exists here in this country of your's, which boasts itself the asylum of the oppressed, the home of freedom, the one place in all the world where all men may find enfranchisement from all thraldoms of mind, soul, or body--the land elect of liberty. mr. ---- lays great stress, as a proof of the natural inferiority of the blacks, on the little comparative progress they have made in those states where they enjoy their freedom, and the fact that, whatever quickness of parts they may exhibit while very young, on attaining maturity they invariably sink again into inferiority, or at least mediocrity, and indolence. but surely there are other causes to account for this besides natural deficiency, which must, i think, be obvious to any unprejudiced person observing the condition of the free blacks in your northern communities. if, in the early portion of their life, they escape the contempt and derision of their white associates--if the blessed unconsciousness and ignorance of childhood keeps them for a few years unaware of the conventional proscription under which their whole race is placed (and it is difficult to walk your streets, and mark the tone of insolent superiority assumed by even the gutter-urchins over their dusky cotemporaries, and imagine this possible)--as soon as they acquire the first rudiments of knowledge, as soon as they begin to grow up and pass from infancy to youth, as soon as they cast the first observing glance upon the world by which they are surrounded, and the society of which, they are members, they must become conscious that they are marked as the hebrew lepers of old, and are condemned to sit, like those unfortunates, without the gates of every human and social sympathy. from their own sable colour, a pall falls over the whole of god's universe to them, and they find themselves stamped with a badge of infamy of nature's own devising, at sight of which all natural kindliness of man to man seems to recoil from them. they are not slaves indeed, but they are pariahs; debarred from all fellowship save with their own despised race--scorned by the lowest white ruffian in your streets, not tolerated as companions even by the foreign menials in your kitchen. they are free certainly, but they are also degraded, rejected, the offscum and the offscouring of the very dregs of your society; they are free from the chain, the whip, the enforced task and unpaid toil of slavery; but they are not the less under a ban. their kinship with slaves for ever bars them from a full share of the freeman's inheritance of equal rights, and equal consideration and respect. all hands are extended to thrust them out, all fingers point at their dusky skin, all tongues--the most vulgar, as well as the self-styled most refined--have learnt to turn the very name of their race into an insult and a reproach. how, in the name of all that is natural, probable, possible, should the spirit and energy of any human creature support itself under such an accumulation of injustice and obloquy? where shall any mass of men be found with power of character and mind sufficient to bear up against such a weight of prejudice? why, if one individual rarely gifted by heaven were to raise himself out of such a slough of despond, he would be a miracle; and what would be his reward? would he be admitted to an equal share in your political rights?--would he ever be allowed to cross the threshold of your doors?--would any of you give your daughter to his son, or your son to his daughter?--would you, in any one particular, admit him to the footing of equality which any man with a white skin would claim, whose ability and worth had so raised him from the lower degrees of the social scale. you would turn from such propositions with abhorrence, and the servants in your kitchen and stable--the ignorant and boorish refuse of foreign populations, in whose countries no such prejudice exists, imbibing it with the very air they breathe here--would shrink from eating at the same table with such a man, or holding out the hand of common fellowship to him. under the species of social proscription in which the blacks in your northern cities exist, if they preserved energy of mind, enterprise of spirit, or any of the best attributes and powers of free men, they would prove themselves, instead of the lowest and least of human races, the highest and first, not only of all that do exist, but of all that ever have existed; for they alone would seek and cultivate knowledge, goodness, truth, science, art, refinement, and all improvement, purely for the sake of their own excellence, and without one of those incentives of honour, power, and fortune, which are found to be the chief, too often the only, inducements which lead white men to the pursuit of the same objects. you know very well dear e----, that in speaking of the free blacks of the north i here state nothing but what is true and of daily experience. only last week i heard, in this very town of philadelphia, of a family of strict probity and honour, highly principled, intelligent, well-educated, and accomplished, and (to speak the world's language) respectable in every way--i.e. _rich_. upon an english lady's stating it to be her intention to visit these persons when she came to philadelphia, she was told that if she did nobody else would visit _her_; and she probably would excite a malevolent feeling, which might find vent in some violent demonstration against this family. all that i have now said of course bears only upon the condition of the free coloured population of the north, with which i am familiar enough to speak confidently of it. as for the slaves, and their capacity for progress, i can say nothing, for i have never been among them to judge what faculties their unhappy social position leaves to them unimpaired. but it seems to me, that no experiment on a sufficiently large scale can have been tried for a sufficient length of time to determine the question of their incurable inferiority. physiologists say that three successive generations appear to be necessary to produce an effectual change of constitution (bodily and mental), be it for health or disease. there are positive physical defects which produce positive mental ones; the diseases of the muscular and nervous systems descend from father to son. upon the agency of one corporal power how much that is not corporal depends; from generation to generation internal disease and external deformity, vices, virtues, talents, and deficiencies are transmitted, and by the action of the same law it must be long indeed before the offspring of slaves--creatures begotten of a race debased and degraded to the lowest degree, themselves born in slavery, and whose progenitors have eaten the bread and drawn the breath of slavery for years--can be measured, with any show of justice, by even the least favoured descendants of european nations, whose qualities have been for centuries developing themselves under the beneficent influence of freedom, and the progress it inspires. i am rather surprised at the outbreak of violent disgust which mr. ---- indulges in on the subject of amalgamation; as that formed no part of our discussion, and seems to me a curious subject for abstract argument. i should think the intermarrying between blacks and whites a matter to be as little insisted upon if repugnant, as prevented if agreeable to the majority of the two races. at the same time, i cannot help being astonished at the furious and ungoverned execration which all reference to the possibility of a fusion of the races draws down upon those who suggest it; because nobody pretends to deny that, throughout the south, a large proportion of the population is the offspring of white men and coloured women. in new orleans, a class of unhappy females exists whose mingled blood does not prevent their being remarkable for their beauty, and with whom no man, no _gentleman_, in that city shrinks from associating; and while the slaveowners of the southern states insist vehemently upon the mental and physical inferiority of the blacks, they are benevolently doing their best, in one way at least, to raise and improve the degraded race, and the bastard population which forms so ominous an element in the social safety of their cities certainly exhibit in their forms and features the benefit they derive from their white progenitors. it is hard to conceive that some mental improvement does not accompany this physical change. already the finer forms of the european races are cast in these dusky moulds: the outward configuration can hardly thus improve without corresponding progress in the inward capacities. the white man's blood and bones have begotten this bronze race, and bequeathed to it in some degree qualities, tendencies, capabilities, such as are the inheritance of the highest order of human animals. mr. ---- (and many others) speaks as if there were a natural repugnance in all whites to any alliance with the black race; and yet it is notorious, that almost every southern planter has a family more or less numerous of illegitimate coloured children. most certainly, few people would like to assert that such connections are formed because it is the _interest_ of these planters to increase the number of their human property, and that they add to their revenue by the closest intimacy with creatures that they loathe, in order to reckon among their wealth the children of their body. surely that is a monstrous and unnatural supposition, and utterly unworthy of belief. that such connections exist commonly, is a sufficient proof that they are not abhorrent to nature; but it seems, indeed, as if marriage (and not concubinage) was the horrible enormity which cannot be tolerated, and against which, moreover, it has been deemed expedient to enact laws. now it appears very evident that there is no law in the white man's nature which prevents him from making a coloured woman the mother of his children, but there _is_ a law on his statute books forbidding him to make her his wife; and if we are to admit the theory that the mixing of the races is a monstrosity, it seems almost as curious that laws should be enacted to prevent men marrying women towards whom they have an invincible natural repugnance, as that education should by law be prohibited to creatures incapable of receiving it. as for the exhortation with which mr. ---- closes his letter, that i will not 'go down to my husband's plantation prejudiced against what i am to find there,' i know not well how to answer it. assuredly i _am_ going prejudiced against slavery, for i am an englishwoman, in whom the absence of such a prejudice would be disgraceful. nevertheless, i go prepared to find many mitigations in the practice to the general injustice and cruelty of the system--much kindness on the part of the masters, much content on that of the slaves; and i feel very sure that you may rely upon the carefulness of my observation, and the accuracy of my report, of every detail of the working of the thing that comes under my notice; and certainly, on the plantation to which i am going, it will be more likely that i should some things extenuate, than set down aught in malice. yours ever faithfully. * * * * * darien, georgia. dear e----. minuteness of detail, and fidelity in the account of my daily doings, will hardly, i fear, render my letters very interesting to you now; but cut off as i am here from all the usual resources and amusements of civilised existence, i shall find but little to communicate to you that is not furnished by my observations on the novel appearance of external nature, and the moral and physical condition of mr. ----'s people. the latter subject is, i know, one sufficiently interesting in itself to you, and i shall not scruple to impart all the reflections which may occur to me relative to their state during my stay here, where enquiry into their mode of existence will form my chief occupation, and, necessarily also, the staple commodity of my letters. i purpose, while i reside here, keeping a sort of journal, such as monk lewis wrote during his visit to his west india plantations. i wish i had any prospect of rendering my diary as interesting and amusing to you as his was to me. in taking my first walk on the island, i directed my steps towards the rice mill, a large building on the banks of the river, within a few yards of the house we occupy. is it not rather curious that miss martineau should have mentioned the erection of a steam mill for threshing rice somewhere in the vicinity of charleston as a singular novelty, likely to form an era in southern agriculture, and to produce the most desirable changes in the system of labour by which it is carried on? now, on this estate alone, there are three threshing mills--one worked by steam, one by the tide, and one by horses; there are two private steam mills on plantations adjacent to ours, and a public one at savannah, where the planters who have none on their own estates are in the habit of sending their rice to be threshed at a certain percentage; these have all been in operation for some years, and i therefore am at a loss to understand what made her hail the erection of the one at charleston as likely to produce such immediate and happy results. by the bye--of the misstatements, or rather mistakes, for they are such, in her books, with regard to certain facts--her only disadvantage in acquiring information was not by any means that natural infirmity on which the periodical press, both here and in england, has commented with so much brutality. she had the misfortune to possess, too, that unsuspecting reliance upon the truth of others which they are apt to feel who themselves hold truth most sacred: and this was a sore disadvantage to her in a country where i have heard it myself repeatedly asserted--and, what is more, much gloried in--that she was purposely misled by the persons to whom she addressed her enquiries, who did not scruple to disgrace themselves by imposing in the grossest manner upon her credulity and anxiety to obtain information. it is a knowledge of this very shameful proceeding, which has made me most especially anxious to avoid _fact hunting_. i might fill my letters to you with accounts received from others, but as i am aware of the risk which i run in so doing, i shall furnish you with no details but those which come under my own immediate observation. to return to the rice mill: it is worked by a steam-engine of thirty horse power, and besides threshing great part of our own rice, is kept constantly employed by the neighbouring planters, who send their grain to it in preference to the more distant mill at savannah, paying, of course, the same percentage, which makes it a very profitable addition to the estate. immediately opposite to this building is a small shed, which they call the cook's shop, and where the daily allowance of rice and corn grits of the people is boiled and distributed to them by an old woman, whose special business this is. there are four settlements or villages (or, as the negroes call them, camps) on the island, consisting of from ten to twenty houses, and to each settlement is annexed a cook's shop with capacious cauldrons, and the oldest wife of the settlement for officiating priestess. pursuing my walk along the river's bank, upon an artificial dyke, sufficiently high and broad to protect the fields from inundation by the ordinary rising of the tide--for the whole island is below high water mark--i passed the blacksmith's and cooper's shops. at the first all the common iron implements of husbandry or household use for the estate are made, and at the latter all the rice barrels necessary for the crop, besides tubs and buckets large and small for the use of the people, and cedar tubs of noble dimensions and exceedingly neat workmanship, for our own household purposes. the fragrance of these when they are first made, as well as their ample size, renders them preferable as dressing-room furniture, in my opinion, to all the china foot-tubs that ever came out of staffordshire. after this i got out of the vicinity of the settlement, and pursued my way along a narrow dyke--the river on one hand, and on the other a slimy, poisonous-looking swamp, all rattling with sedges of enormous height, in which one might lose one's way as effectually as in a forest of oaks. beyond this, the low rice-fields, all clothed in their rugged stubble, divided by dykes into monotonous squares, a species of prospect by no means beautiful to the mere lover of the picturesque. the only thing that i met with to attract my attention was a most beautiful species of ivy, the leaf longer and more graceful than that of the common english creeper, glittering with the highest varnish, delicately veined, and of a rich brown green, growing in profuse garlands from branch to branch of some stunted evergreen bushes which border the dyke, and which the people call salt-water bush. my walks are rather circumscribed, inasmuch as the dykes are the only promenades. on all sides of these lie either the marshy rice-fields, the brimming river, or the swampy patches of yet unreclaimed forest, where the huge cypress trees and exquisite evergreen undergrowth spring up from a stagnant sweltering pool, that effectually forbids the foot of the explorer. as i skirted one of these thickets to-day, i stood still to admire the beauty of the shrubbery. every shade of green, every variety of form, every degree of varnish, and all in full leaf and beauty in the very depth of winter. the stunted dark-coloured oak; the magnolia bay (like our own culinary and fragrant bay), which grows to a very great size; the wild myrtle, a beautiful and profuse shrub, rising to a height of six, eight, and ten feet, and branching on all sides in luxuriant tufted fullness; most beautiful of all, that pride of the south, the magnolia grandiflora, whose lustrous dark green perfect foliage would alone render it an object of admiration, without the queenly blossom whose colour, size, and perfume are unrivalled in the whole vegetable kingdom. this last magnificent creature grows to the size of a forest tree in these swamps, but seldom adorns a high or dry soil, or suffers itself to be successfully transplanted. under all these the spiked palmetto forms an impenetrable covert, and from glittering graceful branch to branch hang garlands of evergreen creepers, on which the mocking-birds are swinging and singing even now; while i, bethinking me of the pinching cold that is at this hour tyrannising over your region, look round on this strange scene--on these green woods, this unfettered river, and sunny sky--and feel very much like one in another planet from yourself. the profusion of birds here is one thing that strikes me as curious, coming from the vicinity of philadelphia, where even the robin redbreast, held sacred by the humanity of all other christian people, is not safe from the _gunning_ prowess of the unlicensed sportsmen of your free country. the negroes (of course) are not allowed the use of firearms, and their very simply constructed traps do not do much havoc among the feathered hordes that haunt their rice-fields. their case is rather a hard one, as partridges, snipes, and the most delicious wild ducks abound here, and their allowance of rice and indian meal would not be the worse for such additions. no day passes that i do not, in the course of my walk, put up a number of the land birds, and startle from among the gigantic sedges the long-necked water-fowl by dozens. it arouses the killing propensity in me most dreadfully, and i really entertain serious thoughts of learning to use a gun, for the mere pleasure of destroying these pretty birds as they whirr from their secret coverts close beside my path. how strong an instinct of animal _humanity_ this is, and how strange if one be more strange than another. reflection rebukes it almost instantaneously, and yet for the life of me i cannot help wishing i had a fowling-piece whenever i put up a covey of these creatures; though i suppose, if one were brought bleeding and maimed to me, i should begin to cry, and be very pathetic, after the fashion of jacques. however, one must live, you know; and here our living consists very mainly of wild ducks, wild geese, wild turkeys, and venison. nor, perhaps, can one imagine the universal doom overtaking a creature with less misery than in the case of the bird who, in the very moment of his triumphant soaring, is brought dead to the ground. i should like to bargain for such a finis myself, amazingly, i know; and have always thought that the death i should prefer would be to break my neck off the back of my horse at a full gallop on a fine day. of course a bad shot should be hung--a man who shatters his birds' wings and legs; if i undertook the trade, i would learn of some southern duellist, and always shoot my bird through the head or heart--as an expert murderer knows how. besides these birds of which we make our prey, there are others that prey upon their own fraternity. hawks of every sort and size wheel their steady rounds above the rice-fields; and the great turkey buzzards--those most unsightly carrion birds--spread their broad black wings, and soar over the river like so many mock eagles. i do not know that i ever saw any winged creature of so forbidding an aspect as these same turkey buzzards; their heavy flight, their awkward gait, their bald-looking head and neck, and their devotion to every species of foul and detestable food, render them almost abhorrent to me. they abound in the south, and in charleston are held in especial veneration for their scavenger-like propensities, killing one of them being, i believe, a fineable offence by the city police regulations. among the brobdignagian sedges that in some parts of the island fringe the altamaha, the nightshade (apparently the same as the european creeper) weaves a perfect matting of its poisonous garlands, and my remembrance of its prevalence in the woods and hedges of england did not reconcile me to its appearance here. how much of this is mere association i cannot tell; but whether the wild duck makes its nest under its green arches, or the alligators and snakes of the altamaha have their secret bowers there, it is an evil-looking weed, and i shall have every leaf of it cleared away. i must inform you of a curious conversation which took place between my little girl and the woman who performs for us the offices of chambermaid here--of course one of mr. ----'s slaves. what suggested it to the child, or whence indeed she gathered her information, i know not; but children are made of eyes and ears, and nothing, however minute, escapes their microscopic observation. she suddenly began addressing this woman. 'mary, some persons are free and some are not (the woman made no reply). i am a free person (of a little more than three years old). i say, i am a free person, mary--do you know that?' 'yes, missis.' 'some persons are free and some are not--do you know that, mary?' 'yes, missis, _here_,' was the reply; 'i know it is so here, in this world.' here my child's white nurse, my dear margery, who had hitherto been silent, interfered, saying, 'oh, then you think it will not always be so?' 'me hope not, missis.' i am afraid, e----, this woman actually imagines that there will be no slaves in heaven; isn't that preposterous now? when by the account of most of the southerners slavery itself must be heaven, or something uncommonly like it. oh, if you could imagine how this title 'missis,' addressed to me and to my children, shocks all my feelings! several times i have exclaimed, 'for god's sake do not call me that!' and only been awakened, by the stupid amazement of the poor creatures i was addressing, to the perfect uselessness of my thus expostulating with them; once or twice indeed i have done more--i have explained to them, and they appeared to comprehend me well, that i had no ownership over them, for that i held such ownership sinful, and that, though i was the wife of the man who pretends to own them, i was in truth no more their mistress than they were mine. some of them i know understood me, more of them did not. our servants--those who have been selected to wait upon us in the house--consist of a man, who is quite a tolerable cook (i believe this is a natural gift with them, as with frenchmen); a dairywoman, who churns for us; a laundrywoman; her daughter, our housemaid, the aforesaid mary; and two young lads of from fifteen to twenty, who wait upon us in the capacity of footmen. as, however, the latter are perfectly filthy in their persons and clothes--their faces, hands, and naked feet being literally encrusted with dirt--their attendance at our meals is not, as you may suppose, particularly agreeable to me, and i dispense with it as often as possible. mary, too, is so intolerably offensive in her person that it is impossible to endure her proximity, and the consequence is that, amongst mr. ----'s slaves, i wait upon myself more than i have ever done in my life before. about this same personal offensiveness, the southerners you know insist that it is inherent with the race, and it is one of their most cogent reasons for keeping them as slaves. but as this very disagreeable peculiarity does not prevent southern women from hanging their infants at the breasts of negresses, nor almost every planter's wife and daughter from having one or more little pet blacks sleeping like puppy dogs in their very bedchamber, nor almost every planter from admitting one or several of his female slaves to the still closer intimacy of his bed--it seems to me that this objection to doing them right is not very valid. i cannot imagine that they would smell much worse if they were free, or come in much closer contact with the delicate organs of their white, fellow countrymen; indeed, inasmuch as good deeds are spoken of as having a sweet savour before god, it might be supposed that the freeing of the blacks might prove rather an odoriferous process than the contrary. however this may be, i must tell you that this potent reason for enslaving a whole race of people is no more potent with me than most of the others adduced to support the system, inasmuch as, from observation and some experience, i am strongly inclined to believe that peculiar ignorance of the laws of health and the habits of decent cleanliness are the real and only causes of this disagreeable characteristic of the race--thorough ablutions and change of linen, when tried, having been perfectly successful in removing all such objections; and if ever you have come into anything like neighbourly proximity with a low irishman or woman, i think you will allow that the same causes produce very nearly the same effects. the stench in an irish, scotch, italian, or french hovel are quite as intolerable as any i ever found in our negro houses, and the filth and vermin which abound about the clothes and persons of the lower peasantry of any of those countries as abominable as the same conditions in the black population of the united states. a total absence of self-respect begets these hateful physical results, and in proportion as moral influences are remote, physical evils will abound. well-being, freedom, and industry induce self-respect, self-respect induces cleanliness and personal attention, so that slavery is answerable for all the evils that exhibit themselves where it exists--from lying, thieving, and adultery, to dirty houses, ragged clothes, and foul smells. but to return to our ganymedes. one of them--the eldest son of our laundrywoman, and mary's brother, a boy of the name of aleck (alexander)--is uncommonly bright and intelligent; he performs all the offices of a well-instructed waiter with great efficiency, and anywhere out of slave land would be able to earn fourteen or fifteen dollars a month for himself; he is remarkably good tempered and well disposed. the other poor boy is so stupid that he appears sullen from absolute darkness of intellect; instead of being a little lower than the angels, he is scarcely a little higher than the brutes, and to this condition are reduced the majority of his kind by the institutions under which they live. i should tell you that aleck's parents and kindred have always been about the house of the overseer, and in daily habits of intercourse with him and his wife; and wherever this is the case the effect of involuntary education is evident in the improved intelligence of the degraded race. in a conversation which mr. ---- had this evening with mr. o----, the overseer, the latter mentioned that two of our carpenters had in their leisure time made a boat, which they had disposed of to some neighbouring planter for sixty dollars. now, e----, i have no intention of telling you a one-sided story, or concealing from you what are cited as the advantages which these poor people possess; you, who know that no indulgence is worth simple justice, either to him who gives or him who receives, will not thence conclude that their situation thus mitigated is, therefore, what it should be. on this matter of the sixty dollars earned by mr. ----'s two men much stress was laid by him and his overseer. i look at it thus: if these men were industrious enough out of their scanty leisure to earn sixty dollars, how much more of remuneration, of comfort, of improvement might they not have achieved were the price of their daily labour duly paid them, instead of being unjustly withheld to support an idle young man and his idle family--i.e. myself and my children. and here it may be well to inform you that the slaves on this plantation are divided into field hands and mechanics or artisans. the former, the great majority, are the more stupid and brutish of the tribe; the others, who are regularly taught their trades, are not only exceedingly expert at them, but exhibit a greater general activity of intellect, which must necessarily result from even a partial degree of cultivation. there are here a gang (for that is the honourable term) of coopers, of blacksmiths, of bricklayers, of carpenters--all well acquainted with their peculiar trades. the latter constructed the wash-hand stands, clothes presses, sofas, tables, &c, with which our house is furnished, and they are very neat pieces of workmanship--neither veneered or polished indeed, nor of very costly materials, but of the white pine wood planed as smooth as marble--a species of furniture not very luxurious perhaps, but all the better adapted therefore to the house itself, which is certainly rather more devoid of the conveniences and adornments of modern existence than anything i ever took up my abode in before. it consists of three small rooms, and three still smaller, which would be more appropriately designated as closets, a wooden recess by way of pantry, and a kitchen detached from the dwelling--a mere wooden outhouse, with no floor but the bare earth, and for furniture a congregation of filthy negroes, who lounge in and out of it like hungry hounds at all hours of the day and night, picking up such scraps of food as they can find about, which they discuss squatting down upon their hams, in which interesting position and occupation i generally find a number of them whenever i have sufficient hardihood to venture within those precincts, the sight of which and its tenants is enough to slacken the appetite of the hungriest hunter that ever lost all nice regards in the mere animal desire for food. of our three apartments, one is our sitting, eating, and _living_ room, and is sixteen feet by fifteen. the walls are plastered indeed, but neither painted nor papered; it is divided from our bed-room (a similarly elegant and comfortable chamber) by a dingy wooden partition covered all over with hooks, pegs, and nails, to which hats, caps, keys, &c. &c., are suspended in graceful irregularity. the doors open by wooden latches, raised by means of small bits of packthread--i imagine, the same primitive order of fastening celebrated in the touching chronicle of red riding hood; how they shut i will not pretend to describe, as the shutting of a door is a process of extremely rare occurrence throughout the whole southern country. the third room, a chamber with sloping ceiling, immediately over our sitting-room and under the roof, is appropriated to the nurse and my two babies. of the closets, one is mr. ---- the overseer's bed-room, the other his office or place of business; and the third, adjoining our bed-room, and opening immediately out of doors, is mr. ----'s dressing room and cabinet d'affaires, where he gives audiences to the negroes, redresses grievances, distributes red woollen caps (a singular gratification to a slave), shaves himself, and performs the other offices of his toilet. such being our abode, i think you will allow there is little danger of my being dazzled by the luxurious splendours of a southern slave residence. our sole mode of summoning our attendants is by a packthread bell-rope suspended in the sitting-room. from the bed-rooms we have to raise the windows and our voices, and bring them by power of lungs, or help ourselves--which, i thank god, was never yet a hardship to me. i mentioned to you just now that two of the carpenters had made a boat in their leisure time. i must explain this to you, and this will involve the mention of another of miss martineau's mistakes with regard to slave labour, at least in many parts of the southern states. she mentions that on one estate of which she knew, the proprietor had made the experiment, and very successfully, of appointing to each of his slaves a certain task to be performed in the day, which once accomplished, no matter how early, the rest of the four and twenty hours were allowed to the labourer to employ as he pleased. she mentions this as a single experiment, and rejoices over it as a decided amelioration in the condition of the slave, and one deserving of general adoption. but in the part of georgia where this estate is situated, the custom of task labour is universal, and it prevails, i believe, throughout georgia, south carolina, and parts of north carolina; in other parts of the latter state, however--as i was informed by our overseer, who is a native of that state--the estates are small, rather deserving the name of farms, and the labourers are much upon the same footing as the labouring men at the north, working from sunrise to sunset in the fields with the farmer and his sons, and coming in with them to their meals, which they take immediately after the rest of the family. in louisiana and the new south-western slave states, i believe, task labour does not prevail; but it is in those that the condition of the poor human cattle is most deplorable, as you know it was there that the humane calculation was not only made, but openly and unhesitatingly avowed, that the planters found it upon the whole their most profitable plan to work off (kill with labour) their whole number of slaves about once in seven years, and renew the whole stock. by the bye, the jewish institution of slavery is much insisted upon by the southern upholders of the system; perhaps this is their notion of the jewish jubilee, when the slaves were by moses' strict enactment to be all set free. well, this task system is pursued on this estate; and thus it is that the two carpenters were enabled to make the boat they sold for sixty dollars. these tasks, of course, profess to be graduated according to the sex, age, and strength of the labourer; but in many instances this is not the case, as i think you will agree when i tell you that on mr. ----'s first visit to his estates he found that the men and the women who laboured in the fields had the same task to perform. this was a noble admission of female equality, was it not?--and thus it had been on the estate for many years past. mr. ----, of course, altered the distribution of the work, diminishing the quantity done by the women. i had a most ludicrous visit this morning from the midwife of the estate--rather an important personage both to master and slave, as to her unassisted skill and science the ushering of all the young negroes into their existence of bondage is entrusted. i heard a great deal of conversation in the dressing-room adjoining mine, while performing my own toilet, and presently mr. ---- opened my room-door, ushering in a dirty fat good-humoured looking old negress, saying, 'the midwife, rose, wants to make your acquaintance.' 'oh massa!' shrieked out the old creature in a paroxysm of admiration, 'where you get this lilly alablaster baby!' for a moment i looked round to see if she was speaking of my baby; but no, my dear, this superlative apostrophe was elicited by the fairness of _my skin_--so much for degrees of comparison. now, i suppose that if i chose to walk arm in arm with the dingiest mulatto through the streets of philadelphia, nobody could possibly tell by my complexion that i was not his sister, so that the mere quality of mistress must have had a most miraculous effect upon my skin in the eyes of poor rose. but this species of outrageous flattery is as usual with these people as with the low irish, and arises from the ignorant desire, common to both the races, of propitiating at all costs the fellow-creature who is to them as a providence--or rather, i should say, a fate--for 't is a heathen and no christian relationship. soon after this visit, i was summoned into the wooden porch or piazza of the house, to see a poor woman who desired to speak to me. this was none other than the tall emaciated-looking negress who, on the day of our arrival, had embraced me and my nurse with such irresistible zeal. she appeared very ill to-day, and presently unfolded to me a most distressing history of bodily afflictions. she was the mother of a very large family, and complained to me that, what with child-bearing and hard field labour, her back was almost broken in two. with an almost savage vehemence of gesticulation she suddenly tore up her scanty clothing, and exhibited a spectacle with which i was inconceivably shocked and sickened. the facts, without any of her corroborating statements, bore tolerable witness to the hardships of her existence. i promised to attend to her ailments and give her proper remedies; but these are natural results, inevitable and irremediable ones, of improper treatment of the female frame--and though there may be alleviation, there cannot be any cure when once the beautiful and wonderful structure has been thus made the victim of ignorance, folly, and wickedness. after the departure of this poor woman, i walked down the settlement towards the infirmary or hospital, calling in at one or two of the houses along the row. these cabins consist of one room about twelve feet by fifteen, with a couple of closets smaller and closer than the state-rooms of a ship, divided off from the main room and each other by rough wooden partitions in which the inhabitants sleep. they have almost all of them a rude bedstead, with the grey moss of the forests for mattress, and filthy, pestilential-looking blankets, for covering. two families (sometimes eight and ten in number) reside in one of these huts, which are mere wooden frames pinned, as it were, to the earth by a brick chimney outside, whose enormous aperture within pours down a flood of air, but little counteracted by the miserable spark of fire, which hardly sends an attenuated thread of lingering smoke up its huge throat. a wide ditch runs immediately at the back of these dwellings, which is filled and emptied daily by the tide. attached to each hovel is a small scrap of ground for a garden, which, however, is for the most part untended and uncultivated. such of these dwellings as i visited to-day were filthy and wretched in the extreme, and exhibited that most deplorable consequence of ignorance and an abject condition, the inability of the inhabitants to secure and improve even such pitiful comfort as might yet be achieved by them. instead of the order, neatness, and ingenuity which might convert even these miserable hovels into tolerable residences, there was the careless, reckless, filthy indolence which even the brutes do not exhibit in their lairs and nests, and which seemed incapable of applying to the uses of existence the few miserable means of comfort yet within their reach. firewood and shavings lay littered about the floors, while the half-naked children were cowering round two or three smouldering cinders. the moss with which the chinks and crannies of their ill-protecting dwellings might have been stuffed, was trailing in dirt and dust about the ground, while the back-door of the huts, opening upon a most unsightly ditch, was left wide open for the fowls and ducks, which they are allowed to raise, to travel in and out, increasing the filth of the cabin, by what they brought and left in every direction. in the midst of the floor, or squatting round the cold hearth, would be four or five little children from four to ten years old, the latter all with babies in their arms, the care of the infants being taken from the mothers (who are driven a-field as soon as they recover from child labour), and devolved upon these poor little nurses, as they are called, whose business it is to watch the infant, and carry it to its mother whenever it may require nourishment. to these hardly human little beings, i addressed my remonstrances about the filth, cold, and unnecessary wretchedness of their room, bidding the elder boys and girls kindle up the fire, sweep the floor, and expel the poultry. for a long time my very words seemed unintelligible to them, till when i began to sweep and make up the fire, &c., they first fell to laughing, and then imitating me. the encrustations of dirt on their hands, feet, and faces, were my next object of attack, and the stupid negro practice (by the bye, but a short time since nearly universal in enlightened europe), of keeping the babies with their feet bare, and their heads, already well capped by nature with their woolly hair, wrapped in half-a-dozen hot filthy coverings. thus i travelled down the 'street,' in every dwelling endeavouring to awaken a new perception, that of cleanliness, sighing, as i went, over the futility of my own exertions, for how can slaves be improved? nathless, thought i, let what can be done; for it may be, that, the two being incompatible, improvement may yet expel slavery--and so it might, and surely would, if, instead of beginning at the end, i could but begin at the beginning of my task. if the mind and soul were awakened, instead of mere physical good attempted, the physical good would result, and the great curse vanish away; but my hands are tied fast, and this corner of the work is all that i may do. yet it cannot be but, from my words and actions, some revelations should reach these poor people; and going in and out amongst them perpetually, i shall teach, and they learn involuntarily a thousand things of deepest import. they must learn, and who can tell the fruit of that knowledge alone, that there are beings in the world, even with skins of a different colour from their own, who have sympathy for their misfortunes, love for their virtues, and respect for their common nature--but oh! my heart is full almost to bursting, as i walk among these most poor creatures. the infirmary is a large two-story building, terminating the broad orange-planted space between the two rows of houses which form the first settlement; it is built of white washed wood, and contains four large-sized rooms. but how shall i describe to you the spectacle which was presented to me, on my entering the first of these? but half the casements, of which there were six, were glazed, and these were obscured with dirt, almost as much as the other windowless ones were darkened by the dingy shutters, which the shivering inmates had fastened to, in order to protect themselves from the cold. in the enormous chimney glimmered the powerless embers of a few sticks of wood, round which, however, as many of the sick women as could approach, were cowering; some on wooden settles, most of them on the ground, excluding those who were too ill to rise; and these last poor wretches lay prostrate on the floor, without bed, mattress, or pillow, buried in tattered and filthy blankets, which, huddled round them as they lay strewed about, left hardly space to move upon the floor. and here, in their hour of sickness and suffering, lay those whose health and strength are spent in unrequited labour for us--those who, perhaps even yesterday, were being urged onto their unpaid task--those whose husbands, fathers, brothers and sons, were even at that hour sweating over the earth, whose produce was to buy for us all the luxuries which health can revel in, all the comforts which can alleviate sickness. i stood in the midst of them, perfectly unable to speak, the tears pouring from my eyes at this sad spectacle of their misery, myself and my emotion alike strange and incomprehensible to them. here lay women expecting every hour the terrors and agonies of child-birth, others who had just brought their doomed offspring into the world, others who were groaning over the anguish and bitter disappointment of miscarriages--here lay some burning with fever, others chilled with cold and aching with rheumatism, upon the hard cold ground, the draughts and dampness of the atmosphere increasing their sufferings, and dirt, noise, and stench, and every aggravation of which sickness is capable, combined in their condition--here they lay like brute beasts, absorbed in physical suffering; unvisited by any of those divine influences which may ennoble the dispensations of pain and illness, forsaken, as it seemed to me, of all good; and yet, o god, thou surely hadst not forsaken them! now, pray take notice, that this is the hospital of an estate, where the owners are supposed to be humane, the overseer efficient and kind, and the negroes, remarkably well cared for and comfortable. as soon as i recovered from my dismay, i addressed old rose, the midwife, who had charge of this room, bidding her open the shutters of such windows as were glazed, and let in the light. i next proceeded to make up the fire, but upon my lifting a log for that purpose, there was one universal outcry of horror, and old rose, attempting to snatch it from me, exclaimed, 'let alone, missis--let be--what for you lift wood--you have nigger enough, missis, to do it!' i hereupon had to explain to them my view of the purposes for which hands and arms were appended to our bodies, and forthwith began making rose tidy up the miserable apartment, removing all the filth and rubbish from the floor that could be removed, folding up in piles the blankets of the patients who were not using them, and placing, in rather more sheltered and comfortable positions, those who were unable to rise. it was all that i could do, and having enforced upon them all my earnest desire that they should keep their room swept, and as tidy as possible, i passed on to the other room on the ground floor, and to the two above, one of which is appropriated to the use of the men who are ill. they were all in the same deplorable condition, the upper rooms being rather the more miserable, inasmuch as none of the windows were glazed at all, and they had, therefore, only the alternative of utter darkness, or killing draughts of air, from the unsheltered casements. in all, filth, disorder and misery abounded; the floor was the only bed, and scanty begrimed rags of blankets the only covering. i left this refuge for mr. ----'s sick dependants, with my clothes covered with dust, and full of vermin, and with a heart heavy enough, as you will well believe. my morning's work had fatigued me not a little, and i was glad to return to the house, where i gave vent to my indignation and regret at the scene i had just witnessed, to mr. ---- and his overseer, who, here, is a member of our family. the latter told me that the condition of the hospital had appeared to him, from his first entering upon his situation (only within the last year), to require a reform, and that he had proposed it to the former manager, mr. k----, and mr. ----'s brother, who is part proprietor of the estate, but receiving no encouragement from them, had supposed that it was a matter of indifference to the owners, and had left it in the condition in which he had found it, in which condition it has been for the last nineteen years and upwards. this new overseer of ours has lived fourteen years with an old scotch gentleman, who owns an estate adjoining mr. ----'s, on the island of st. simons, upon which estate, from everything i can gather, and from what i know of the proprietor's character, the slaves are probably treated with as much humanity as is consistent with slavery at all, and where the management and comfort of the hospital, in particular, had been most carefully and judiciously attended to. with regard to the indifference of our former manager upon the subject of the accommodation for the sick, he was an excellent overseer, _videlicet_, the estate returned a full income under his management, and such men have nothing to do with sick slaves--they are tools, to be mended only if they can be made available again,--if not, to be flung by as useless, without further expense of money, time, or trouble. i am learning to row here, for, circumscribed as my walks necessarily are, impossible as it is to resort to my favourite exercise on horseback upon these narrow dykes, i must do something to prevent my blood from stagnating; and this broad brimming river, and the beautiful light canoes which lie moored, at the steps, are very inviting persuaders to this species of exercise. my first attempt was confined to pulling an oar across the stream, for which i rejoiced in sundry aches and pains altogether novel, letting alone a delightful row of blisters on each of my hands. i forgot to tell you that in the hospital were several sick babies, whose mothers were permitted to suspend their field labour, in order to nurse them. upon addressing some remonstrances to one of these, who, besides having a sick child, was ill herself, about the horribly dirty condition of her baby, she assured me that it was impossible for them to keep their children clean, that they went out to work at daybreak, and did not get their tasks done till evening, and that then they were too tired and worn out to do anything but throw themselves down and sleep. this statement of hers i mentioned on my return from the hospital, and the overseer appeared extremely annoyed by it, and assured me repeatedly that it was not true. in the evening mr. ----, who had been over to darien, mentioned that one of the storekeepers there had told him that, in the course of a few years, he had paid the negroes of this estate several thousand dollars for moss, which is a very profitable article of traffic with them--they collect it from the trees, dry and pick it, and then sell it to the people in darien for mattresses, sofas, and all sorts of stuffing purposes,--which, in my opinion, it answers better than any other material whatever that i am acquainted with, being as light as horse hair, as springy and elastic, and a great deal less harsh and rigid. it is now bed-time, dear e----, and i doubt not it has been sleepy time with you over this letter, long ere you came thus far. there is a preliminary to my repose, however, in this agreeable residence, which i rather dread, namely, the hunting for, or discovering without hunting, in fine relief upon the white-washed walls of my bed-room, a most hideous and detestable species of _reptile_, called centipedes, which come out of the cracks and crevices of the walls, and fill my very heart with dismay. they are from an inch to two inches long, and appear to have not a hundred, but a thousand legs. i cannot ascertain very certainly from the negroes whether they sting or not, but they look exceedingly as if they might, and i visit my babies every night, in fear and tremblings lest i should find one or more of these hateful creatures mounting guard over them. good night; you are well to be free from centipedes--better to be free from slaves. * * * * * dear e----. this morning i paid my second visit to the infirmary, and found there had been some faint attempt at sweeping and cleaning, in compliance with my entreaties. the poor woman harriet, however, whose statement, with regard to the impossibility of their attending properly to their children, had been so vehemently denied by the overseer, was crying bitterly. i asked her what ailed her, when, more by signs and dumb show than words, she and old rose informed me that mr. o---- had flogged her that morning, for having told me that the women had not time to keep their children clean. it is part of the regular duty of every overseer to visit the infirmary at least once a day, which he generally does in the morning, and mr. o----'s visit had preceded mine but a short time only, or i might have been edified by seeing a man horsewhip a woman. i again and again made her repeat her story, and she again and again affirmed that she had been flogged for what she told me, none of the whole company in the room denying it, or contradicting her. i left the room, because i was so disgusted and indignant, that i could hardly restrain my feelings, and to express them could have produced no single good result. in the next ward, stretched upon the ground, apparently either asleep or so overcome with sickness as to be incapable of moving, lay an immense woman,--her stature, as she cumbered the earth, must have been, i should think, five feet seven or eight, and her bulk enormous. she was wrapped in filthy rags, and lay with her face on the floor. as i approached, and stooped to see what ailed her, she suddenly threw out her arms, and, seized with violent convulsions, rolled over and over upon the floor, beating her head violently upon the ground, and throwing her enormous limbs about in a horrible manner. immediately upon the occurrence of this fit, four or five women threw themselves literally upon her, and held her down by main force; they even proceeded to bind her legs and arms together, to prevent her dashing herself about; but this violent coercion and tight bandaging seemed to me, in my profound ignorance, more likely to increase her illness, by impeding her breathing, and the circulation of her blood, and i bade them desist, and unfasten all the strings and ligatures, not only that they had put round her limbs, but which, by tightening her clothes round her body, caused any obstruction. how much i wished that, instead of music and dancing and such stuff, i had learned something of sickness and health, of the conditions and liabilities of the human body, that i might have known how to assist this poor creature, and to direct her ignorant and helpless nurses! the fit presently subsided, and was succeeded by the most deplorable prostration and weakness of nerves, the tears streaming down the poor woman's cheeks in showers, without, however, her uttering a single word, though she moaned incessantly. after bathing her forehead, hands, and chest with vinegar, we raised her up, and i sent to the house for a chair with a back (there was no such thing in the hospital,) and we contrived to place her in it. i have seldom seen finer women than this poor creature and her younger sister, an immense strapping lass, called chloe--tall, straight, and extremely well made--who was assisting her sister, and whom i had remarked, for the extreme delight and merriment which my cleansing propensities seemed to give her, on my last visit to the hospital. she was here taking care of a sick baby, and helping to nurse her sister molly, who, it seems, is subject to those fits, about which i spoke to our physician here--an intelligent man, residing in darien, who visits the estate whenever medical assistance is required. he seemed to attribute them to nervous disorder, brought on by frequent child bearing. this woman is young, i suppose at the outside not thirty, and her sister informed me that she had had ten children--ten children, e----! fits and hard labour in the fields, unpaid labour, labour exacted with stripes--how do you fancy that? i wonder if my mere narration can make your blood boil, as the facts did mine? among the patients in this room was a young girl, apparently from fourteen to fifteen, whose hands and feet were literally rotting away piecemeal, from the effect of a horrible disease, to which the negroes are subject here, and i believe in the west indies, and when it attacks the joints of the toes and fingers, the pieces absolutely decay and come off, leaving the limb a maimed and horrible stump! i believe no cure is known for this disgusting malady, which seems confined to these poor creatures. another disease, of which they complained much, and which, of course, i was utterly incapable of accounting for, was a species of lock-jaw, to which their babies very frequently fall victims, in the first or second week after their birth, refusing the breast, and the mouth gradually losing the power of opening itself. the horrible diseased state of head, common among their babies, is a mere result of filth and confinement, and therefore, though i never anywhere saw such distressing and disgusting objects as some of these poor little woolly skulls presented, the cause was sufficiently obvious. pleurisy, or a tendency to it, seems very common among them; also peri-pneumonia, or inflammation of the lungs, which is terribly prevalent, and generally fatal. rheumatism is almost universal; and as it proceeds from exposure, and want of knowledge and care, attacks indiscriminately the young and old. a great number of the women are victims to falling of the womb and weakness in the spine; but these are necessary results of their laborious existence, and do not belong either to climate or constitution. i have ingeniously contrived to introduce bribery, corruption, and pauperism, all in a breath, upon this island, which, until my advent, was as innocent of these pollutions, i suppose, as prospero's isle of refuge. wishing, however, to appeal to some perception, perhaps a little less dim in their minds than the abstract loveliness of cleanliness, i have proclaimed to all the little baby nurses, that i will give a cent to every little boy or girl whose baby's face shall be clean, and one to every individual with clean face and hands of their own. my appeal was fully comprehended by the majority, it seems, for this morning i was surrounded, as soon as i came out, by a swarm of children carrying their little charges on their backs and in their arms, the shining, and, in many instances, wet faces and hands of the latter, bearing ample testimony to the ablutions which had been inflicted upon them. how they will curse me and the copper cause of all their woes, in their baby bosoms! do you know that little as grown negroes are admirable for their personal beauty (in my opinion, at least), the black babies of a year or two old are very pretty; they have for the most part beautiful eyes and eyelashes, the pearly perfect teeth, which they retain after their other juvenile graces have left them; their skins are all (i mean of blacks generally) infinitely finer and softer than the skins of white people. perhaps you are not aware that among the white race the _finest grained_ skins generally belong to persons of dark complexion. this, as a characteristic of the black race, i think might be accepted as some compensation for the coarse woolly hair. the nose and mouth, which are so peculiarly displeasing in their conformation in the face of a negro man or woman, being the features least developed in a baby's countenance, do not at first present the ugliness which they assume as they become more marked; and when the very unusual operation of washing has been performed, the blood shines through the fine texture of the skin, giving life and richness to the dingy colour, and displaying a species of beauty which i think scarcely any body who observed it would fail to acknowledge. i have seen many babies on this plantation, who were quite as pretty as white children, and this very day stooped to kiss a little sleeping creature, that lay on its mother's knees in the infirmary--as beautiful a specimen of a sleeping infant as i ever saw. the caress excited the irrepressible delight of all the women present--poor creatures! who seemed to forget that i was a woman, and had children myself, and bore a woman's and a mother's heart towards them and theirs; but, indeed, the honourable mr. slumkey could not have achieved more popularity by his performances in that line than i, by this exhibition of feeling; and had the question been my election, i am very sure nobody else would have had a chance of a vote through the island. but wisely is it said, that use is second nature; and the contempt and neglect to which these poor people are used, make the commonest expression of human sympathy appear a boon and gracious condescension. while i am speaking of the negro countenance, there is another beauty which is not at all unfrequent among those i see here--a finely shaped oval face--and those who know (as all painters and sculptors, all who understand beauty do) how much expression there is in the outline of the head, and how very rare it is to see a well-formed face, will be apt to consider this a higher matter than any colouring of which, indeed, the red and white one so often admired is by no means the most rich, picturesque, or expressive. at first the dark colour confounded all features to my eye, and i could hardly tell one face from another. becoming, however, accustomed to the complexion, i now perceive all the variety among these black countenances that there is among our own race, and as much difference in features and in expression as among the same number of whites. there is another peculiarity which i have remarked among the women here--very considerable beauty in the make of the hands; their feet are very generally ill made, which must be a natural, and not an acquired defect, as they seldom injure their feet by wearing shoes. the figures of some of the women are handsome, and their carriage, from the absence of any confining or tightening clothing, and the habit they have of balancing great weights on their heads, erect and good. at the upper end of the row of houses, and nearest to our overseer's residence, is the hut of the head driver. let me explain, by the way, his office. the negroes, as i before told you, are divided into troops or gangs, as they are called; at the head of each gang is a driver, who stands over them, whip in hand, while they perform their daily task, who renders an account of each individual slave and his work every evening to the overseer, and receives from him directions for their next day's tasks. each driver is allowed to inflict a dozen lashes upon any refractory slave in the field, and at the time of the offence; they may not, however, extend the chastisement, and if it is found ineffectual, their remedy lies in reporting the unmanageable individual either to the head driver or the overseer; the former of whom has power to inflict three dozen lashes at his own discretion, and the latter as many as he himself sees fit, within the number of fifty; which limit, however, i must tell you, is an arbitrary one on this plantation, appointed by the founder of the estate, major ----, mr. ----'s grandfather, many of whose regulations, indeed i believe most of them, are still observed in the government of the plantation. limits of this sort, however, to the power of either driver, head driver, or overseer, may or may not exist elsewhere; they are, to a certain degree, a check upon the power of these individuals; but in the absence of the master, the overseer may confine himself within the limit or not, as he chooses--and as for the master himself, where is his limit? he may, if he likes, flog a slave to death, for the laws which pretend that he may not are a mere pretence--inasmuch as the testimony of a black is never taken against a white; and upon this plantation of ours, and a thousand more, the overseer is the _only_ white man, so whence should come the testimony to any crime of his? with regard to the oft-repeated statement, that it is not the owner's interest to destroy his human property, it answers nothing--the instances in which men, to gratify the immediate impulse of passion, sacrifice not only their eternal, but their evident, palpable, positive worldly interest, are infinite. nothing is commoner than for a man under the transient influence of anger to disregard his worldly advantage; and the black slave, whose preservation is indeed supposed to be his owner's interest, may be, will be, and is occasionally sacrificed to the blind impulse of passion. to return to our head driver, or, as he is familiarly called, head man, frank--he is second in authority only to the overseer, and exercises rule alike over the drivers and the gangs, in the absence of the sovereign white man from the estate, which happens whenever mr. o---- visits the other two plantations at woodville and st. simons. he is sole master and governor of the island, appoints the work, pronounces punishments, gives permission to the men to leave the island (without it they never may do so), and exercises all functions of undisputed mastery over his fellow slaves, for you will observe that all this while he is just as much a slave as any of the rest. trustworthy, upright, intelligent, he may be flogged to-morrow if mr. o---- or mr. ---- so please it, and sold the next day like a cart horse, at the will of the latter. besides his various other responsibilities, he has the key of all the stores, and gives out the people's rations weekly; nor is it only the people's provisions that are put under his charge--meat, which is only given out to them occasionally, and provisions for the use of the family are also entrusted to his care. thus you see, among these _inferior_ creatures, their own masters yet look to find, surviving all their best efforts to destroy them--good sense, honesty, self-denial, and all the qualities, mental and moral, that make one man worthy to be trusted by another. from the imperceptible, but inevitable effect of the sympathies and influences of human creatures towards and over each other, frank's intelligence has become uncommonly developed by intimate communion in the discharge of his duty with the former overseer, a very intelligent man, who has only just left the estate, after managing it for nineteen years; the effect of this intercourse, and of the trust and responsibility laid upon the man, are that he is clear-headed, well judging, active, intelligent, extremely well mannered, and, being respected, he respects himself. he is as ignorant as the rest of the slaves; but he is always clean and tidy in his person, with a courteousness of demeanour far removed from servility, and exhibits a strong instance of the intolerable and wicked injustice of the system under which he lives, having advanced thus far towards improvement, in spite of all the bars it puts to progress; and here being arrested, not by want of energy, want of sense, or any want of his own, but by being held as another man's property, who can only thus hold him by forbidding him further improvement. when i see that man, who keeps himself a good deal aloof from the rest, in his leisure hours looking, with a countenance of deep thought, as i did to-day, over the broad river, which is to him as a prison wall, to the fields and forest beyond, not one inch or branch of which his utmost industry can conquer as his own, or acquire and leave an independent heritage to his children, i marvel what the thoughts of such a man may be. i was in his house to-day, and the same superiority in cleanliness, comfort, and propriety exhibited itself in his dwelling, as in his own personal appearance, and that of his wife--a most active, trustworthy, excellent woman, daughter of the oldest, and probably most highly respected of all mr. ----'s slaves. to the excellent conduct of this woman, and indeed every member of her family, both the present and the last overseer bear unqualified testimony. as i was returning towards the house, after my long morning's lounge, a man rushed out of the blacksmith's shop, and catching me by the skirt of my gown, poured forth a torrent of self-gratulations on having at length found the 'right missis.' they have no idea, of course, of a white person performing any of the offices of a servant, and as throughout the whole southern country the owner's children are nursed and tended, and sometimes _suckled_ by their slaves (i wonder how this inferior milk agrees with the lordly _white_ babies?) the appearance of m---- with my two children had immediately suggested the idea that she must be the missis. many of the poor negroes flocked to her, paying their profound homage under this impression; and when she explained to them that she was not their owner's wife, the confusion in their minds seemed very great--heaven only knows whether they did not conclude that they had two mistresses, and mr. ---- two wives; for the privileged race must seem, in their eyes, to have such absolute masterdom on earth, that perhaps they thought polygamy might be one of the sovereign white men's numerous indulgences. the ecstacy of the blacksmith on discovering the 'right missis' at last was very funny, and was expressed with such extraordinary grimaces, contortions, and gesticulations, that i thought i should have died of laughing at this rapturous identification of my most melancholy relation to the poor fellow. having at length extricated myself from the group which forms round me whenever i stop but for a few minutes, i pursued my voyage of discovery by peeping into the kitchen garden. i dared do no more; the aspect of the place would have rejoiced the very soul of solomon's sluggard of old--a few cabbages and weeds innumerable filled the neglected looking enclosure, and i ventured no further than the entrance into its most uninviting precincts. you are to understand that upon this swamp island of ours we have quite a large stock of cattle, cows, sheep, pigs, and poultry in the most enormous and inconvenient abundance. the cows are pretty miserably off for pasture, the banks and pathways of the dykes being their only grazing ground, which the sheep perambulate also, in earnest search of a nibble of fresh herbage; both the cows and sheep are fed with rice flour in great abundance, and are pretty often carried down for change of air and more sufficient grazing to hampton, mr. ----'s estate, on the island of st. simons, fifteen miles from this place, further down the river--or rather, indeed, i should say in the sea, for 'tis salt water all round, and one end of the island has a noble beach open to the vast atlantic. the pigs thrive admirably here, and attain very great perfection of size and flavour; the rice flour, upon which they are chiefly fed, tending to make them very delicate. as for the poultry, it being one of the few privileges of the poor blacks to raise as many as they can, their abundance is literally a nuisance--ducks, fowls, pigeons, turkeys (the two latter species, by the bye, are exclusively the master's property), cluck, scream, gabble, gobble, crow, cackle, fight, fly, and flutter in all directions, and to their immense concourse, and the perfect freedom with which they intrude themselves even into the piazza of the house, the pantry, and kitchen, i partly attribute the swarms of fleas, and other still less agreeable vermin, with which we are most horribly pestered. my walk lay to-day along the bank of a canal, which has been dug through nearly the whole length of the island, to render more direct and easy the transportation of the rice from one end of the estate to another, or from the various distant fields to the principal mill at settlement no. . it is of considerable width and depth, and opens by various locks into the river. it has, unfortunately, no trees on its banks, but a good footpath renders it, in spite of that deficiency, about the best walk on the island. i passed again to-day one of those beautiful evergreen thickets, which i described to you in my last letter; it is called a reserve, and is kept uncleared and uncultivated in its natural swampy condition, to allow of the people's procuring their firewood from it. i cannot get accustomed, so as to be indifferent to this exquisite natural ornamental growth, and think, as i contemplate the various and beautiful foliage of these watery woods, how many of our finest english parks and gardens owe their chiefest adornments to plantations of these shrubs, procured at immense cost, reared with infinite pains and care, which are here basking in the winter's sunshine, waiting to be cut down for firewood! these little groves are peopled with wild pigeons and birds, which they designate here as blackbirds. these sometimes rise from the rice fields with a whirr of multitudinous wings, that is almost startling, and positively overshadow the ground beneath like a cloud. i had a conversation that interested me a good deal, during my walk to-day, with my peculiar slave jack. this lad, whom mr. ---- has appointed to attend me in my roamings about the island, and rowing expeditions on the river, is the son of the last head driver, a man of very extraordinary intelligence and faithfulness--such, at least, is the account given of him by his employers (in the burial-ground of the negroes is a stone dedicated to his memory, a mark of distinction accorded by his masters, which his son never failed to point out to me, when we passed that way). jack appears to inherit his quickness of apprehension; his questions, like those of an intelligent child, are absolutely inexhaustible; his curiosity about all things beyond this island, the prison-house of his existence, is perfectly intense; his countenance is very pleasing, mild, and not otherwise than thoughtful; he is, in common with the rest of them, a stupendous flatterer, and, like the rest of them, also seems devoid of physical and moral courage. to-day, in the midst of his torrent of enquiries about places and things, i suddenly asked him if he would like to be free. a gleam of light absolutely shot over his whole countenance, like the vivid and instantaneous lightning--he stammered, hesitated, became excessively confused, and at length replied--'free, missis? what for me wish to be free? oh! no, missis, me no wish to be free, if massa only let we keep pig.' the fear of offending, by uttering that forbidden wish--the dread of admitting, by its expression, the slightest discontent with his present situation--the desire to conciliate my favour, even at the expense of strangling the intense natural longing that absolutely glowed in his every feature--it was a sad spectacle, and i repented my question. as for the pitiful request which he reiterated several times adding, 'no, missis, me no want to be free--me work till me die for missis and massa,' with increased emphasis; it amounted only to this, that the negroes once were, but no longer are, permitted to keep pigs. the increase of filth and foul smells, consequent upon their being raised, is, of course, very great; and, moreover, mr. ---- told me, when i preferred poor jack's request to him, that their allowance was no more than would suffice their own necessity, and that they had not the means of feeding the animals. with a little good management they might very easily obtain them, however; their little 'kail-yard' alone would suffice to it, and the pork and bacon would prove a most welcome addition to their farinaceous diet. you perceive at once (or if you could have seen the boy's face, you would have perceived at once), that his situation was no mystery to him, that his value to mr. ----, and, as he supposed, to me, was perfectly well known to him, and that he comprehended immediately that his expressing even the desire to be free, might be construed by me into an offence, and sought by eager protestations of his delighted acquiescence in slavery, to conceal his soul's natural yearning, lest i should resent it. 't was a sad passage between us, and sent me home full of the most painful thoughts. i told mr. ----, with much indignation, of poor harriet's flogging, and represented that if the people were to be chastised for anything they said to me, i must leave the place, as i could not but hear their complaints, and endeavour, by all my miserable limited means, to better their condition while i was here. he said he would ask mr. o---- about it, assuring me, at the same time, that it was impossible to believe a single word any of these people said. at dinner, accordingly, the enquiry was made as to the cause of her punishment, and mr. o---- then said it was not at all for what she had told me, that he had flogged her, but for having answered him impertinently, that he had ordered her into the field, whereupon she had said she was ill and could not work, that he retorted he knew better, and bade her get up and go to work; she replied, 'very well, i'll go, but i shall just come back again!' meaning, that when in the field, she would be unable to work, and obliged, to return to the hospital. 'for this reply,' mr. o---- said, 'i gave her a good lashing; it was her business to have gone into the field without answering me, and then we should have soon seen whether she could work or not; i gave it to chloe too, for some such impudence.' i give you the words of the conversation, which was prolonged to a great length, the overseer complaining of sham sicknesses of the slaves, and detailing the most disgusting struggle which is going on the whole time, on the one hand to inflict, and on the other, to evade oppression and injustice. with this sauce i ate my dinner, and truly it tasted bitter. towards sunset i went on the river to take my rowing lesson. a darling little canoe which carries two oars and a steersman, and rejoices in the appropriate title of the 'dolphin,' is my especial vessel; and with jack's help and instructions, i contrived this evening to row upwards of half a mile, coasting the reed-crowned edge of the island to another very large rice mill, the enormous wheel of which is turned by the tide. a small bank of mud and sand covered with reedy coarse grass divides the river into two arms on this side of the island; the deep channel is on the outside of this bank, and as we rowed home this evening, the tide having fallen, we scraped sand almost the whole way. mr. ----'s domain, it seems to me, will presently fill up this shallow stream, and join itself to the above-mentioned mud-bank. the whole course of this most noble river is full of shoals, banks, mud, and sand-bars, and the navigation, which is difficult to those who know it well, is utterly baffling to the inexperienced. the fact is, that the two elements are so fused hereabouts, that there are hardly such things as earth or water proper; that which styles itself the former, is a fat, muddy, slimy sponge, that, floating half under the turbid river, looks yet saturated with the thick waves which every now and then reclaim their late dominion, and cover it almost entirely; the water, again, cloudy and yellow, like pea-soup, seems but a solution of such islands, rolling turbid and thick with alluvium, which it both gathers and deposits as it sweeps along with a swollen, smooth rapidity, that almost deceives the eye. amphibious creatures, alligators, serpents, and wild fowl, haunt these yet but half-formed regions, where land and water are of the consistency of hasty-pudding--the one seeming too unstable to walk on, the other almost too thick to float in. but then, the sky, if no human chisel ever yet cut breath, neither did any human pen ever write light; if it did, mine should spread out before you the unspeakable glories of these southern heavens, the saffron brightness of morning, the blue intense brilliancy of noon, the golden splendour and the rosy softness of sunset. italy and claude lorraine may go hang themselves together! heaven itself does not seem brighter or more beautiful to the imagination, than these surpassing pageants of fiery rays, and piled-up beds of orange, golden clouds, with edges too bright to look on, scattered wreaths of faintest rosy bloom, amber streaks and pale green lakes between, and amid sky all mingled blue and rose tints, a spectacle to make one fall over the boat's side, with one's head broken off, with looking adoringly upwards, but which, on paper, means nothing. at six o'clock our little canoe grazed the steps at the landing. these were covered with young women, and boys, and girls, drawing water for their various household purposes. a very small cedar pail--a piggin, as they termed it--serves to scoop up the river water, and having, by this means, filled a large bucket, they transfer this to their heads, and thus laden, march home with the purifying element--what to do with it, i cannot imagine, for evidence of its ever having been introduced into their dwellings, i saw none. as i ascended the stairs, they surrounded me with shrieks and yells of joy, uttering exclamations of delight and amazement at my rowing. considering that they dig, delve, carry burthens, and perform many more athletic exercises than pulling a light oar, i was rather amused at this; but it was the singular fact of seeing a white woman stretch her sinews in any toilsome exercise which astounded them, accustomed as they are to see both men and women of the privileged skin eschew the slightest shadow of labour, as a thing not only painful but degrading. they will learn another lesson from me, however, whose idea of heaven was pronounced by a friend of mine, to whom i once communicated it, to be 'devilish hard work'! it was only just six o'clock, and these women had all done their tasks. i exhorted them to go home and wash their children, and clean their houses and themselves, which they professed themselves ready to do, but said they had no soap. then began a chorus of mingled requests for soap, for summer clothing, and a variety of things, which, if 'missis only give we, we be so clean for ever!' this request for summer clothing, by the by, i think a very reasonable one. the allowance of clothes made yearly to each slave by the present regulations of the estate, is a certain number of yards of flannel, and as much more of what they call plains--an extremely stout, thick, heavy woollen cloth, of a dark grey or blue colour, which resembles the species of carpet we call drugget. this, and two pair of shoes, is the regular ration of clothing; but these plains would be intolerable to any but negroes, even in winter, in this climate, and are intolerable to them in the summer. a far better arrangement, in my opinion, would be to increase their allowance of flannel and under clothing, and give them dark chintzes instead of these thick carpets, which are very often the only covering they wear at all. i did not impart all this to my petitioners, but disengaging myself from them, for they held my hands and clothes, i conjured them to offer us some encouragement to better their condition, by bettering it as much as they could themselves,--enforced the virtue of washing themselves and all belonging to them, and at length made good my retreat. as there is no particular reason why such a letter as this should ever come to an end, i had better spare you for the present. you shall have a faithful journal, i promise you, henceforward, as hitherto, from your's ever. * * * * * dear e----. we had a species of fish this morning for our breakfast, which deserves more glory than i can bestow upon it. had i been the ingenious man who wrote a poem upon fish, the white mullet of the altamaha should have been at least my heroine's cousin. 'tis the heavenliest creature that goes upon fins. i took a long walk this morning to settlement no. , the third village on the island. my way lay along the side of the canal, beyond which, and only divided from it by a raised narrow causeway, rolled the brimming river with its girdle of glittering evergreens, while on my other hand a deep trench marked the line of the rice fields. it really seemed as if the increase of merely a shower of rain might join all these waters together, and lay the island under its original covering again. i visited the people and houses here. i found nothing in any respect different from what i have described to you at settlement no. . during the course of my walk, i startled from its repose in one of the rice-fields, a huge blue heron. you must have seen, as i often have, these creatures stuffed in museums; but 't is another matter, and far more curious, to meet them stalking on their stilts of legs over a rice-field, and then on your near approach, see them spread their wide heavy wings, and throw themselves upon the air, with their long shanks flying after them in a most grotesque and laughable manner. they fly as if they did not know how to do it very well; but standing still, their height (between four and five feet) and peculiar colour, a dusky, greyish blue, with black about the head, render their appearance very beautiful and striking. in the afternoon, i and jack rowed ourselves over to darien. it is saturday--the day of the week on which the slaves from the island are permitted to come over to the town, to purchase such things as they may require and can afford, and to dispose, to the best advantage, of their poultry, moss, and eggs. i met many of them paddling themselves singly in their slight canoes, scooped out of the trunk of a tree, and parties of three and four rowing boats of their own building, laden with their purchases, singing, laughing, talking, and apparently enjoying their holiday to the utmost. they all hailed me with shouts of delight, as i pulled past them, and many were the injunctions bawled after jack, to 'mind and take good care of missis!' we returned home through the glory of a sunset all amber-coloured and rosy, and found that one of the slaves, a young lad for whom mr. ---- has a particular regard, was dangerously ill. dr. h---- was sent for; and there is every probability that he, mr. ----and mr. o---- will be up all night with the poor fellow. i shall write more to-morrow. to-day being sunday, dear e----, a large boat full of mr. ----'s people from hampton came up, to go to church at darien, and to pay their respects to their master, and see their new 'missis.' the same scene was acted over again that occurred on our first arrival. a crowd clustered round the house door, to whom i and my babies were produced, and with every individual of whom we had to shake hands some half-a-dozen times. they brought us up presents of eggs (their only wealth), beseeching us to take them, and one young lad, the son of head-man frank, had a beautiful pair of chickens, which he offered most earnestly to s----. we took one of them, not to mortify the poor fellow, and a green ribbon being tied round its leg, it became a sacred fowl, 'little missis's chicken.' by the by, this young man had so light a complexion, and such regular straight features, that, had i seen him anywhere else, i should have taken him for a southern european, or, perhaps, in favour of his tatters, a gipsy; but certainly it never would have occurred to me that he was the son of negro parents. i observed this to mr. ----, who merely replied, 'he is the son of head-man frank and his wife betty, and they are both black enough, as you see.' the expressions of devotion and delight of these poor people are the most fervent you can imagine. one of them, speaking to me of mr. ----, and saying that they had heard that he had not been well, added, 'oh! we hear so, missis, and we not know what to do. oh! missis, massa sick, all him people _broken_!' dr. h---- came again to-day to see the poor sick boy, who is doing much better, and bidding fair to recover. he entertained me with an account of the darien society, its aristocracies and democracies, its little grandeurs and smaller pettinesses, its circles higher and lower, its social jealousies, fine invisible lines of demarcation, imperceptible shades of different respectability, and delicate divisions of genteel, genteeler, genteelest. 'for me,' added the worthy doctor, 'i cannot well enter into the spirit of these nice distinctions; it suits neither my taste nor my interest, and my house is, perhaps, the only one in darien, where you would find all these opposite and contending elements combined.' the doctor is connected with the aristocracy of the place, and, like a wise man, remembers, notwithstanding, that those who are not, are quite as liable to be ill, and call in medical assistance, as those who are. he is a shrewd, intelligent man, with an excellent knowledge of his profession, much kindness of heart, and apparent cheerful good temper. i have already severely tried the latter, by the unequivocal expression of my opinions on the subject of slavery, and, though i perceived that it required all his self-command to listen with anything like patience to my highly incendiary and inflammatory doctrines, he yet did so, and though he was, i have no doubt, perfectly horror-stricken at the discovery, lost nothing of his courtesy or good-humour. by the by, i must tell you, that at an early period of the conversation, upon my saying, 'i put all other considerations out of the question, and first propose to you the injustice of the system alone,' 'oh!' replied my friend, the doctor, 'if you put it upon that ground, you _stump_ the question at once; i have nothing to say to that whatever, but,' and then followed the usual train of pleadings--happiness, tenderness, care, indulgence, &c., &c., &c.--all the substitutes that may or may not be put in the place of _justice_, and which these slaveholders attempt to persuade others, and perhaps themselves, effectually supply its want. after church hours the people came back from darien. they are only permitted to go to darien to church once a month. on the intermediate sundays they assemble in the house of london, mr. ----'s head cooper, an excellent and pious man, who, heaven alone knows how, has obtained some little knowledge of reading, and who reads prayers and the bible to his fellow slaves, and addresses them with extemporaneous exhortations. i have the greatest desire to attend one of these religious meetings, but fear to put the people under any, the slightest restraint. however, i shall see, by and by, how they feel about it themselves. you have heard, of course, many and contradictory statements as to the degree of religious instruction afforded to the negroes of the south, and their opportunities of worship, &c. until the late abolition movement, the spiritual interests of the slaves were about as little regarded as their physical necessities. the outcry which has been raised with threefold force within the last few years against the whole system, has induced its upholders and defenders to adopt, as measures of personal extenuation, some appearance of religious instruction (such as it is), and some pretence at physical indulgences (such as they are), bestowed apparently voluntarily upon their dependants. at darien, a church is appropriated to the especial use of the slaves, who are almost all of them baptists here; and a gentleman officiates in it (of course white), who, i understand, is very zealous in the cause of their spiritual well-being. he, like most southern men, clergy or others, jump the present life in their charities to the slaves, and go on to furnish them with all requisite conveniences for the next. there were a short time ago two free black preachers in this neighbourhood, but they have lately been ejected from the place. i could not clearly learn, but one may possibly imagine, upon what grounds. i do not think that a residence on a slave plantation is likely to be peculiarly advantageous to a child like my eldest. i was observing her to-day among her swarthy worshippers, for they follow her as such, and saw, with dismay, the universal eagerness with which they sprang to obey her little gestures of command. she said something about a swing, and in less than five minutes head-man frank had erected it for her, and a dozen young slaves were ready to swing little 'missis.' ----, think of learning to rule despotically your fellow creatures before the first lesson of self-government has been well spelt over! it makes me tremble; but i shall find a remedy, or remove myself and the child from this misery and ruin. you cannot conceive anything more grotesque than the sunday trim of the poor people; their ideality, as mr. combe would say, being, i should think, twice as big as any rational bump in their head. their sabbath toilet really presents the most ludicrous combination of incongruities that you can conceive--frills, flounces, ribbands, combs stuck in their woolly heads, as if they held up any portion of the stiff and ungovernable hair, filthy finery, every colour in the rainbow, and the deepest possible shades blended in fierce companionship round one dusky visage, head handkerchiefs, that put one's very eyes out from a mile off, chintzes with sprawling patterns, that might be seen if the clouds were printed with them--beads, bugles, flaring sashes, and above all, little fanciful aprons, which finish these incongruous toilets with a sort of airy grace, which i assure you is perfectly indescribable. one young man, the eldest son and heir of our washerwoman hannah, came to pay his respects to me in a magnificent black satin waistcoat, shirt gills which absolutely engulphed his black visage, and neither shoes nor stockings on his feet. among our visitors from st. simons to-day was hannah's mother (it seems to me that there is not a girl of sixteen on the plantations but has children, nor a woman of thirty but has grandchildren). old house molly, as she is called, from the circumstance of her having been one of the slaves employed in domestic offices during major ----'s residence on the island, is one of the oldest and most respected slaves on the estate, and was introduced to me by mr. ---- with especial marks of attention and regard; she absolutely embraced him, and seemed unable sufficiently to express her ecstacy at seeing him again. her dress, like that of her daughter, and all the servants who have at any time been employed about the family, bore witness to a far more improved taste than the half savage adornment of the other poor blacks, and upon my observing to her how agreeable her neat and cleanly appearance was to me, she replied, that her old master (major ----) was extremely particular in this respect, and that in his time all the house servants were obliged to be very nice and careful about their persons. she named to me all her children, an immense tribe; and, by the by, e----, it has occurred to me that whereas the increase of this ill-fated race is frequently adduced as a proof of their good treatment and well being, it really and truly is no such thing, and springs from quite other causes than the peace and plenty which a rapidly increasing population are supposed to indicate. if you will reflect for a moment upon the overgrown families of the half-starved irish peasantry and english manufacturers, you will agree with me that these prolific shoots by no means necessarily spring from a rich or healthy soil. peace and plenty are certainly causes of human increase, and so is recklessness; and this, i take it, is the impulse in the instance of the english manufacturer, the irish peasant, and the negro slave. indeed here it is more than recklessness, for there are certain indirect premiums held out to obey the early commandment of replenishing the earth, which do not fail to have their full effect. in the first place, none of the cares, those noble cares, that holy thoughtfulness which lifts the human above the brute parent, are ever incurred here by either father or mother. the relation indeed resembles, as far as circumstances can possibly make it do so, the short-lived connection between the animal and its young. the father, having neither authority, power, responsibility, or charge in his children, is of course, as among brutes, the least attached to his offspring; the mother, by the natural law which renders the infant dependent on her for its first year's nourishment, is more so; but as neither of them is bound to educate or to support their children, all the unspeakable tenderness and solemnity, all the rational, and all the spiritual grace and glory of the connection is lost, and it becomes mere breeding, bearing, suckling, and there an end. but it is not only the absence of the conditions which god has affixed to the relation, which tends to encourage the reckless increase of the race; they enjoy, by means of numerous children, certain positive advantages. in the first place, every woman who is pregnant, as soon as she chooses to make the fact known to the overseer, is relieved of a certain portion of her work in the field, which lightening of labour continues, of course, as long as she is so burthened. on the birth of a child certain additions of clothing and an additional weekly ration are bestowed on the family; and these matters, small as they may seem, act as powerful inducements to creatures who have none of the restraining influences actuating them which belong to the parental relation among all other people, whether civilised or savage. moreover, they have all of them a most distinct and perfect knowledge of their value to their owners as property; and a woman thinks, and not much amiss, that the more frequently she adds to the number of her master's live stock by bringing new slaves into the world, the more claims she will have upon his consideration and goodwill. this was perfectly evident to me from the meritorious air with which the women always made haste to inform me of the number of children they had borne, and the frequent occasions on which the older slaves would direct my attention to their children, exclaiming, 'look, missis! little niggers for you and massa, plenty little niggers for you and little missis!' a very agreeable apostrophe to me indeed, as you will believe. i have let this letter lie for a day or two, dear, e---- from press of more immediate avocations. i have nothing very particular to add to it. on monday evening i rowed over to darien with mr. ---- to fetch over the doctor, who was coming to visit some of our people. as i sat waiting in the boat for the return of the gentlemen, the sun went down, or rather seemed to dissolve bodily into the glowing clouds, which appeared but a fusion of the great orb of light; the stars twinkled out in the rose-coloured sky, and the evening air, as it fanned the earth to sleep, was as soft as a summer's evening breeze in the north. a sort of dreamy stillness seemed creeping over the world and into my spirit, as the canoe just tilted against the steps that led to the wharf, raised by the scarce perceptible heaving of the water. a melancholy, monotonous boat-horn sounded from a distance up the stream, and presently, floating slowly down with the current, huge, shapeless, black relieved against the sky, came one of those rough barges piled with cotton, called, hereabouts, ocone boxes. the vessel itself is really nothing but a monstrous square box, made of rough planks, put together in the roughest manner possible to attain the necessary object of keeping the cotton dry. upon this great tray are piled the swollen apoplectic looking cotton bags, to the height of ten, twelve, and fourteen feet. this huge water-waggon floats lazily down the river, from the upper country to darien. they are flat bottomed, and, of course, draw little water. the stream from whence they are named is an up country river, which, by its junction with the ocmulgee, forms the altamaha. here at least, you perceive the indian names remain, and long may they do so, for they seem to me to become the very character of the streams and mountains they indicate, and are indeed significant to the learned in savage tongues, which is more than can be said of such titles as jones's creek, onion creek, &c. these ocone boxes are broken up at darien, where the cotton is shipped either for the savannah, charleston or liverpool markets, and the timber, of which they are constructed, sold. we rowed the doctor over to see some of his patients on the island, and before his departure a most animated discussion took place upon the subject of the president of the united states, his talents, qualifications, opinions, above all, his views with regard to the slave system. mr. ----, who you know is no abolitionist, and is a very devoted van buren man, maintained with great warmth the president's straight-forwardness, and his evident and expressed intention of protecting the rights of the south. the doctor, on the other hand, quoted a certain speech of the president's, upon the question of abolishing slavery in the district of columbia, which his fears interpreted into a mere evasion of the matter, and an indication that, at some future period, he (mr. van buren), might take a different view of the subject. i confess, for my own part, that if the doctor quoted the speech right, and if the president is not an honest man, and if i were a southern slave holder, i should not feel altogether secure of mr. van buren's present opinions or future conduct upon this subject. these three _ifs_, however, are material points of consideration. our friend the doctor inclined vehemently to mr. clay, as one on whom the slave holders could depend. georgia, however, as a state, is perhaps the most democratic in the union; though here, as well as in other places, that you and i know of, a certain class, calling themselves the first, and honestly believing themselves the best, set their faces against the modern fashioned republicanism, professing, and, i have no doubt, with great sincerity, that their ideas of democracy are altogether of a different kind. i went again to-day to the infirmary, and was happy to perceive that there really was an evident desire to conform to my instructions, and keep the place in a better condition than formerly. among the sick i found a poor woman suffering dreadfully from the ear-ache. she had done nothing to alleviate her pain but apply some leaves, of what tree or plant i could not ascertain, and tie up her head in a variety of dirty cloths, till it was as large as her whole body. i removed all these, and found one side of her face and neck very much swollen, but so begrimed with filth that it was really no very agreeable task to examine it. the first process, of course, was washing, which, however, appeared to her so very unusual an operation, that i had to perform it for her myself. sweet oil and laudanum, and raw cotton, being then applied to her ear and neck, she professed herself much relieved, but i believe in my heart that the warm water sponging had done her more good than anything else. i was sorry not to ascertain what leaves she had applied to her ear. these simple remedies resorted to by savages, and people as ignorant, are generally approved by experience, and sometimes condescendingly adopted by science. i remember once, when mr. ---- was suffering from a severe attack of inflammatory rheumatism, doctor c---- desired him to bind round his knee the leaves of the tulip-tree--poplar, i believe you call it--saying that he had learnt that remedy from the negroes in virginia, and found it a most effectual one. my next agreeable office in the infirmary this morning was superintending the washing of two little babies, whose mothers were nursing them with quite as much ignorance as zeal. having ordered a large tub of water, i desired rose to undress the little creatures and give them a warm bath; the mothers looked on in unutterable dismay, and one of them, just as her child was going to be put into the tub, threw into it all the clothes she had just taken off it, as she said, to break the unusual shock of the warm water. i immediately rescued them, not but what they were quite as much in want of washing as the baby, but it appeared, upon enquiry, that the woman had none others to dress the child in, when it should have taken its bath; they were immediately wrung and hung by the fire to dry, and the poor little patients having undergone this novel operation were taken out and given to their mothers. anything, however, much more helpless and inefficient than these poor ignorant creatures you cannot conceive; they actually seemed incapable of drying or dressing their own babies, and i had to finish their toilet myself. as it is only a very few years since the most absurd and disgusting customs have become exploded among ourselves, you will not, of course, wonder that these poor people pin up the lower part of their infants, bodies, legs and all, in red flannel as soon as they are born, and keep them in the selfsame envelope till it literally falls off. in the next room i found a woman lying on the floor in a fit of epilepsy, barking most violently. she seemed to excite no particular attention or compassion; the women said she was subject to these fits, and took little or no notice of her, as she lay barking like some enraged animal on the ground. again i stood in profound ignorance, sickening with the sight of suffering, which i knew not how to alleviate, and which seemed to excite no commiseration, merely from the sad fact of its frequent occurrence. returning to the house, i passed up the 'street.' it was between eleven o'clock and noon, and the people were taking their first meal in the day. by the by, e----, how do you think berkshire county farmers would relish labouring hard all day upon _two meals_ of indian corn or hominy? such is the regulation on this plantation, however, and i beg you to bear in mind that the negroes on mr. ----'s estate, are generally considered well off. they go to the fields at daybreak, carrying with them their allowance of food for the day, which towards noon, _and not till then_, they eat, cooking it over a fire, which they kindle as best they can, where they are working. their second meal in the day is at night, after their labour is over, having worked, at the _very least_, six hours without intermission of rest or refreshment since their noon-day meal (properly so called, for 'tis meal, and nothing else). those that i passed to-day, sitting on their doorsteps, or on the ground round them eating, were the people employed at the mill and threshing-floor. as these are near to the settlement, they had time to get their food from the cook-shop. chairs, tables, plates, knives, forks, they had none; they sat, as i before said, on the earth or doorsteps, and ate either out of their little cedar tubs, or an iron pot, some few with broken iron spoons, more with pieces of wood, and all the children with their fingers. a more complete sample of savage feeding, i never beheld. at one of the doors i saw three young girls standing, who might be between sixteen and seventeen years old; they had evidently done eatings and were rudely playing and romping with each other, laughing and shouting like wild things. i went into the house, and such another spectacle of filthy disorder i never beheld. i then addressed the girls most solemnly, showing them that they were wasting in idle riot the time in which they might be rendering their abode decent, and told them that it was a shame for any woman to live in so dirty a place, and so beastly a condition. they said they had seen buckree (white) women's houses just as dirty, and they could not be expected to be cleaner than white women. i then told them that the only difference between themselves and buckree women was, that the latter were generally better informed, and, for that reason alone, it was more disgraceful to them to be disorderly and dirty. they seemed to listen to me attentively, and one of them exclaimed, with great satisfaction, that they saw i made no difference between them and white girls, and that they never had been so treated before. i do not know anything which strikes me as a more melancholy illustration of the degradation of these people, than the animal nature of their recreations in their short seasons of respite from labour. you see them, boys and girls, from the youngest age to seventeen and eighteen, rolling, tumbling, kicking, and wallowing in the dust, regardless alike of decency, and incapable of any more rational amusement; or, lolling, with half-closed eyes, like so many cats and dogs, against a wall, or upon a bank in the sun, dozing away their short leisure hour, until called to resume their labours in the field or the mill. after this description of the meals of our labourers, you will, perhaps, be curious to know how it fares with our house servants in this respect. precisely in the same manner, as far as regards allowance, with the exception of what is left from our table, but, if possible, with even less comfort, in one respect, inasmuch as no time whatever is set apart for their meals, which they snatch at any hour, and in any way that they can--generally, however, standing, or squatting on their hams round the kitchen fire. they have no sleeping-rooms in the house, but when their work is over, retire, like the rest, to their hovels, the discomfort of which has to them all the addition of comparison with our mode of living. now, in all establishments whatever, of course some disparity exists between the comforts of the drawing-room and best bed-rooms, and the servant's hall and attics, but here it is no longer a matter of degree. the young woman who performs the office of lady's-maid, and the lads who wait upon us at table, have neither table to feed at nor chair to sit down upon themselves. the boys sleep at night on the hearth by the kitchen fire, and the women upon a rough board bedstead, strewed with a little tree moss. all this shows how very torpid the sense of justice is apt to lie in the breasts of those who have it not awakened by the peremptory demands of others. in the north we could not hope to keep the worst and poorest servant for a single day in the wretched discomfort in which our negro servants are forced habitually to live. i received a visit this morning from some of the darien people. among them was a most interesting young person, from whose acquaintance, if i have any opportunity of cultivating it, i promise myself much pleasure. the ladies that i have seen since i crossed the southern line, have all seemed to me extremely sickly in their appearance--delicate in the refined term, but unfortunately sickly in the truer one. they are languid in their deportment and speech, and seem to give themselves up, without an effort to counteract it, to the enervating effect of their warm climate. it is undoubtedly a most relaxing and unhealthy one, and therefore requires the more imperatively to be met by energetic and invigorating habits both of body and mind. of these, however, the southern ladies appear to have, at present, no very positive idea. doctor ---- told us to-day of a comical application which his negro man had made to him for the coat he was then wearing. i forget whether the fellow wanted the loan, or the absolute gift of it, but his argument was (it might have been an irishman's) that he knew his master intended to give it to him by and by, and that he thought he might as well let him have it at once, as keep him waiting any longer for it. this story the doctor related with great glee, and it furnishes a very good sample of what the southerners are fond of exhibiting, the degree of licence to which they capriciously permit their favourite slaves occasionally to carry their familiarity. they seem to consider it as an undeniable proof of the general kindness with which their dependents are treated. it is as good a proof of it as the maudlin tenderness of a fine lady to her lap-dog is of her humane treatment of animals in general. servants whose claims to respect are properly understood by themselves and their employers, are not made pets, playthings, jesters, or companions of, and it is only the degradation of the many that admits of this favouritism to the few--a system of favouritism which, as it is perfectly consistent with the profoundest contempt and injustice, degrades the object of it quite as much, though it oppresses him less, than the cruelty practised upon his fellows. i had several of these favourite slaves presented to me, and one or two little negro children, who their owners assured me were quite pets. the only real service which this arbitrary goodwill did to the objects of it was quite involuntary and unconscious on the part of their kind masters--i mean the inevitable improvement in intelligence, which resulted to them from being more constantly admitted to the intercourse of the favoured white race. i must not forget to tell you of a magnificent bald-headed eagle which mr. ---- called me to look at early this morning. i had never before seen alive one of these national types of yours, and stood entranced as the noble creature swept, like a black cloud, over the river, his bald white head bent forward and shining in the sun, and his fierce eyes and beak directed towards one of the beautiful wild ducks on the water, which he had evidently marked for his prey. the poor little duck, who was not ambitious of such a glorification, dived, and the eagle hovered above the spot. after a short interval, its victim rose to the surface several yards nearer shore. the great king of birds stooped nearer, and again the watery shield was interposed. this went on until the poor water-fowl, driven by excess of fear into unwonted boldness, rose, after repeatedly diving, within a short distance of where we stood. the eagle, who, i presume, had read how we were to have dominion over the fowls of the air (bald-headed eagles included), hovered sulkily awhile over the river, and then sailing slowly towards the woods on the opposite shore, alighted and furled his great wings on a huge cypress limb, that stretched itself out against the blue sky, like the arm of a giant, for the giant bird to perch upon. i am amusing myself by attempting to beautify, in some sort, this residence of ours. immediately at the back of it runs a ditch, about three feet wide, which empties and fills twice a day with the tide. this lies like a moat on two sides of the house. the opposite bank is a steep dyke, with a footpath along the top. one or two willows droop over this very interesting ditch, and i thought i would add to their company some magnolias and myrtles, and so make a little evergreen plantation round the house. i went to the swamp reserves i have before mentioned to you, and chose some beautiful bushes--among others, a very fine young pine, at which our overseer and all the negroes expressed much contemptuous surprise; for though the tree is beautiful, it is also common, and with them, as with wiser folk 'tis 'nothing pleases but rare accidents.' in spite of their disparaging remarks, however, i persisted in having my pine tree planted; and i assure you it formed a very pleasing variety among the broad smooth leaved evergreens about it. while forming my plantation i had a brand thrown into a bed of tall yellow sedges which screen the brimming waters of the noble river from our parlour window, and which i therefore wished removed. the small sample of a southern conflagration which ensued was very picturesque, the flames devouring the light growth, absolutely licking it off the ground, while the curling smoke drew off in misty wreaths across the river. the heat was intense, and i thought how exceedingly and unpleasantly warm one must feel in the midst of such a forest burning, as cooper describes. having worked my appointed task in the garden, i rowed over to darien and back, the rosy sunset changing meantime to starry evening, as beautiful as the first the sky ever was arrayed in. i saw an advertisement this morning in the paper, which occasioned me much thought. mr. j---- c---- and a mr. n----, two planters of this neighbourhood, have contracted to dig a canal, called the brunswick canal, and not having hands enough for the work, advertise at the same time for negroes on hires and for irish labourers. now the irishmen are to have twenty dollars a month wages, and to be 'found' (to use the technical phrase,) which finding means abundant food, and the best accommodations which can be procured for them. the negroes are hired from their masters, who will be paid of course as high a price as they can obtain for them--probably a very high one, as the demand for them is urgent--they, in the meantime, receiving no wages, and nothing more than the miserable negro fare of rice and corn grits. of course the irishmen and these slaves are not allowed to work together, but are kept at separate stations on the canal. this is every way politic, for the low irish seem to have the same sort of hatred of negroes which sects, differing but little in their tenets, have for each other. the fact is, that a condition in their own country nearly similar, has made the poor irish almost as degraded a class of beings as the negroes are here, and their insolence towards them, and hatred of them, are precisely in proportion to the resemblance between them. this hiring out of negroes is a horrid aggravation of the miseries of their condition, for, if on the plantations, and under the masters to whom they belong, their labour is severe, and their food inadequate, think what it must be when they are hired out for a stipulated sum to a temporary employer, who has not even the interest which it is pretended an owner may feel in the welfare of his slaves, but whose chief aim it must necessarily be to get as much out of them, and expend as little on them, as possible. ponder this new form of iniquity, and believe me ever your most sincerely attached. * * * * * dearest e----. after finishing my last letter to you, i went out into the clear starlight to breathe the delicious mildness of the air, and was surprised to hear rising from one of the houses of the settlement a hymn sung apparently by a number of voices. the next morning i enquired the meaning of this, and was informed that those negroes on the plantation who were members of the church, were holding a prayer-meeting. there is an immensely strong devotional feeling among these poor people. the worst of it is, that it is zeal without understanding, and profits them but little; yet light is light, even that poor portion that may stream through a key-hole, and i welcome this most ignorant profession of religion in mr. ----'s dependents, as the herald of better and brighter things for them. some of the planters are entirely inimical to any such proceedings, and neither allow their negroes to attend worship, or to congregate together for religious purposes, and truly i think they are wise in their own generation. on other plantations, again, the same rigid discipline is not observed; and some planters and overseers go even farther than toleration; and encourage these devotional exercises and professions of religion, having actually discovered that a man may become more faithful and trustworthy even as a slave, who acknowledges the higher influences of christianity, no matter in how small a degree. slave-holding clergymen, and certain piously inclined planters, undertake, accordingly, to enlighten these poor creatures upon these matters, with a safe understanding, however, of what truth is to be given to them, and what is not; how much they may learn to become better slaves, and how much they may not learn, lest they cease to be slaves at all. the process is a very ticklish one, and but for the northern public opinion, which is now pressing the slaveholders close, i dare say would not be attempted at all. as it is, they are putting their own throats and their own souls in jeopardy by this very endeavour to serve god and mammon. the light that they are letting in between their fingers will presently strike them blind, and the mighty flood of truth which they are straining through a sieve to the thirsty lips of their slaves, sweep them away like straws from their cautious moorings, and overwhelm them in its great deeps, to the waters of which man may in nowise say, thus far shall ye come and no farther. the community i now speak of, the white population of darien, should be a religious one, to judge by the number of churches it maintains. however, we know the old proverb, and, at that rate, it may not be so godly after all. mr. ---- and his brother have been called upon at various times to subscribe to them all; and i saw this morning a most fervent appeal, extremely ill-spelled, from a gentleman living in the neighbourhood of the town, and whose slaves are notoriously ill-treated; reminding mr. ---- of the precious souls of his human cattle, and requesting a further donation for the baptist church, of which most of the people here are members. now this man is known to be a hard master; his negro houses are sheds, not fit to stable beasts in, his slaves are ragged, half-naked and miserable--yet he is urgent for their religious comforts, and writes to mr. ---- about 'their souls, their precious souls.' he was over here a few days ago, and pressed me very much to attend his church. i told him i would not go to a church where the people who worked for us were parted off from us, as if they had the pest, and we should catch it of them. i asked him, for i was curious to know, how they managed to administer the sacrament to a mixed congregation? he replied, oh! very easily; that the white portion of the assembly received it first, and the blacks afterwards. 'a new commandment i give unto you, that ye love one another, even as i have loved you.' oh, what a shocking mockery! however, they show their faith at all events, in the declaration that god is no respecter of persons, since they do not pretend to exclude from his table those whom they most certainly would not admit to their own. i have as usual allowed this letter to lie by, dear e----, not in the hope of the occurrence of any event--for that is hopeless--but until my daily avocations allowed me leisure to resume it, and afforded me, at the same time, matter wherewith to do so. i really never was so busy in all my life, as i am here. i sit at the receipt of custom (involuntarily enough) from morning till night--no time, no place, affords me a respite from my innumerable petitioners, and whether i be asleep or awake, reading, eating, or walking; in the kitchen, my bed-room, or the parlour, they flock in with urgent entreaties, and pitiful stories, and my conscience forbids my ever postponing their business for any other matter; for, with shame and grief of heart i say it, by their unpaid labour i live--their nakedness clothes me, and their heavy toil maintains me in luxurious idleness. surely the least i can do is to hear these, my most injured benefactors; and, indeed, so intense in me is the sense of the injury they receive from me and mine, that i should scarce dare refuse them the very clothes from my back, or food from my plate, if they asked me for it. in taking my daily walk round the banks yesterday, i found that i was walking over violet roots. the season is too little advanced for them to be in bloom, and i could not find out whether they were the fragrant violet or not. mr. ---- has been much gratified to-day by the arrival of mr. k----, who, with his father, for nineteen years was the sole manager of these estates, and discharged his laborious task with great ability and fidelity towards his employers. how far he understood his duties to the slaves, or whether indeed an overseer can, in the nature of things, acknowledge any duty to them, is another question. he is a remarkable man and is much respected for his integrity and honourable dealing by everybody here. his activity and energy are wonderful, and the mere fact of his having charge of for nineteen years, and personally governing, without any assistance whatever, seven hundred people scattered over three large tracts of land, at a considerable distance from each other, certainly bespeaks efficiency and energy of a very uncommon order. the character i had heard of him from mr. ---- had excited a great deal of interest in me, and i was very glad of this opportunity of seeing a man who, for so many years, had been sovereign over the poor people here. i met him walking on the banks with mr. ----, as i returned from my own ramble, during which nothing occurred or appeared to interest me--except, by the by, my unexpectedly coming quite close to one of those magnificent scarlet birds which abound here, and which dart across your path, like a winged flame. nothing can surpass the beauty of their plumage, and their voice is excellently melodious--they are lovely. my companions, when i do not request the attendance of my friend jack, are a couple of little terriers, who are endowed to perfection with the ugliness and the intelligence of their race--they are of infinite service on the plantation, as, owing to the immense quantity of grain, and chaff, and such matters, rats and mice abound in the mills and storehouses. i crossed the threshing floor to-day--a very large square, perfectly level, raised by artificial means, about half a foot from the ground, and covered equally all over, so as to lie quite smooth, with some preparation of tar. it lies immediately between the house and the steam mill, and on it much of the negroes' work is done--the first threshing is given to the rice, and other labours are carried on. as i walked across it to-day, passing through the busy groups, chiefly of women, that covered it, i came opposite to one of the drivers, who held in his hand his whip, the odious insignia of his office. i took it from him; it was a short stick of moderate size, with a thick square leather thong attached to it. as i held it in my hand, i did not utter a word; but i conclude, as is often the case, my face spoke what my tongue did not, for the driver said, 'oh! missis, me use it for measure--me seldom strike nigger with it.' for one moment i thought i must carry the hateful implement into the house with me. an instant's reflection, however, served to show me how useless such a proceeding would be. the people are not mine, nor their drivers, nor their whips. i should but have impeded, for a few hours, the man's customary office, and a new scourge would have been easily provided, and i should have done nothing, perhaps worse than nothing. after dinner i had a most interesting conversation with mr. k----. among other subjects, he gave me a lively and curious description of the yeomanry of georgia--more properly termed pine-landers. have you visions now of well-to-do farmers with comfortable homesteads, decent habits, industrious, intelligent, cheerful, and thrifty? such, however, is not the yeomanry of georgia. labour being here the especial portion of slaves, it is thenceforth degraded, and considered unworthy of all but slaves. no white man, therefore, of any class puts hand to work of any kind soever. this is an exceedingly dignified way of proving their gentility, for the lazy planters who prefer an idle life of semi-starvation and barbarism to the degradation of doing anything themselves; but the effect on the poorer whites of the country is terrible. i speak now of the scattered white population, who, too poor to possess land or slaves, and having no means of living in the towns, squat (most appropriately is it so termed) either on other men's land or government districts--always here swamp or pine barren--and claim masterdom over the place they invade, till ejected by the rightful proprietors. these wretched creatures will not, for they are whites (and labour belongs to blacks and slaves alone here), labour for their own subsistence. they are hardly protected from the weather by the rude shelters they frame for themselves in the midst of these dreary woods. their food is chiefly supplied by shooting the wild fowl and venison, and stealing from the cultivated patches of the plantations nearest at hand. their clothes hang about them in filthy tatters, and the combined squalor and fierceness of their appearance is really frightful. this population is the direct growth of slavery. the planters are loud in their execrations of these miserable vagabonds; yet they do not see that, so long as labour is considered the disgraceful portion of slaves, these free men will hold it nobler to starve or steal than till the earth with none but the despised blacks for fellow-labourers. the blacks themselves--such is the infinite power of custom--acquiesce in this notion, and, as i have told you, consider it the lowest degradation in a white to use any exertion. i wonder, considering the burthens they have seen me lift, the digging, the planting, the rowing, and the walking i do, that they do not utterly contemn me, and indeed they seem lost in amazement at it. talking of these pine-landers--gypsies, without any of the romantic associations that belong to the latter people--led us to the origin of such a population, slavery; and you may be sure i listened with infinite interest to the opinions of a man of uncommon shrewdness and sagacity, who was born in the very bosom of it, and has passed his whole life among slaves. if any one is competent to judge of its effects, such a man is the one; and this was his verdict, 'i hate slavery with all my heart; i consider it an absolute curse wherever it exists. it will keep those states where it does exist fifty years behind the others in improvement and prosperity.' further on in the conversation, he made this most remarkable observation, 'as for its being an irremediable evil--a thing not to be helped or got rid of--that's all nonsense; for as soon as people become convinced that it is their interest to get rid of it, they will soon find the means to do so, depend upon it.' and undoubtedly this is true. this is not an age, nor yours a country, where a large mass of people will long endure what they perceive to be injurious to their fortunes and advancement. blind as people often are to their highest and truest interests, your country folk have generally shown remarkable acuteness in finding out where their worldly progress suffered let or hindrance, and have removed it with laudable alacrity. now, the fact is not at all as we at the north are sometimes told, that the southern slaveholders deprecate the evils of slavery quite as much as we do; that they see all its miseries; that, moreover, they are most anxious to get rid of the whole thing, but want the means to do so, and submit most unwillingly to a necessity from which they cannot extricate themselves. all this i thought might be true, before i went to the south, and often has the charitable supposition checked the condemnation which was indignantly rising to my lips against these murderers of their brethren's peace. a little reflection, however, even without personal observation, might have convinced me that this could not be the case. if the majority of southerners were satisfied that slavery was contrary to their worldly fortunes, slavery would be at an end from that very moment; but the fact is--and i have it not only from observation of my own, but from the distinct statement of some of the most intelligent southern men that i have conversed with--the only obstacle to immediate abolition throughout the south is the immense value of the human property, and, to use the words of a very distinguished carolinian, who thus ended a long discussion we had on the subject, 'i'll tell you why abolition is impossible: because every healthy negro can fetch a thousand dollars in the charleston market at this moment.' and this opinion, you see, tallies perfectly with the testimony of mr. k----. he went on to speak of several of the slaves on this estate, as persons quite remarkable for their fidelity and intelligence, instancing old molly, ned the engineer, who has the superintendence of the steam-engine in the rice-mill, and head-man frank, of whom indeed, he wound up the eulogium by saying, he had quite the principles of a white man--which i thought most equivocal praise, but he did not intend it as such. as i was complaining to mr. ---- of the terribly neglected condition of the dykes, which are in some parts so overgrown with gigantic briars that 'tis really impossible to walk over them, and the trench on one hand, and river on the other, afford one extremely disagreeable alternatives. mr. k---- cautioned me to be particularly on my guard not to step on the thorns of the orange tree. these, indeed, are formidable spikes, and he assured me, were peculiarly poisonous to the flesh. some of the most painful and tedious wounds he had ever seen, he said, were incurred by the negroes running these large green thorns into their feet. this led him to speak of the glory and beauty of the orange trees on the island, before a certain uncommonly severe winter, a few years ago, destroyed them all. for five miles round the banks grew a double row of noble orange trees, as large as our orchard apple trees, covered with golden fruit, and silver flowers. it must have been a most magnificent spectacle, and captain f----, too, told me, in speaking of it, that he had brought basil hall here in the season of the trees blossoming, and he had said it was as well worth crossing the atlantic to see that, as to see the niagara. of all these noble trees nothing now remains but the roots, which bear witness to their size, and some young sprouts shooting up, affording some hope that, in the course of years, the island may wear its bridal garland again. one huge stump close to the door is all that remains of an enormous tree that overtopped the house, from the upper windows of which oranges have been gathered from off its branches, and which, one year, bore the incredible number of , oranges. mr. k---- assured me of this as a positive fact, of which he had at the time made the entry in his journal, considering such a crop from a single tree well worthy of record. mr. ---- was called out this evening to listen to a complaint of over work, from a gang of pregnant women. i did not stay to listen to the details of their petition, for i am unable to command myself on such occasions, and mr. ---- seemed positively degraded in my eyes, as he stood enforcing upon these women the necessity of their fulfilling their appointed tasks. how honorable he would have appeared to me begrimed with the sweat and soil of the coarsest manual labour, to what he then seemed, setting forth to these wretched, ignorant women, as a duty, their unpaid exacted labour! i turned away in bitter disgust. i hope this sojourn among mr. ----'s slaves may not lessen my respect for him, but i fear it; for the details of slave holding are so unmanly, letting alone every other consideration, that i know not how anyone, with the spirit of a man, can condescend to them. i have been out again on the river, rowing. i find nothing new. swamps crowned with perfect evergreens are the only land (that's irish!) about here, and, of course, turn which way i will, the natural features of river and shore are the same. i do not weary of these most exquisite watery woods, but you will of my mention of them, i fear. adieu. * * * * * dearest e----. since i last wrote to you i have been actually engaged in receiving and returning visits; for even to this _ultima thule_ of all civilisation do these polite usages extend. i have been called upon by several families residing in and about darien, and rowed over in due form to acknowledge the honour. how shall i describe darien to you? the abomination of desolation is but a poor type of its forlorn appearance, as, half buried in sand, its straggling, tumble-down wooden houses peer over the muddy bank of the thick slimy river. the whole town lies in a bed of sand--side walks, or mid walks, there be none distinct from each other; at every step i took my feet were ankle deep in the soil, and i had cause to rejoice that i was booted for the occasion. our worthy doctor, whose lady i was going to visit, did nothing but regret that i had not allowed him to provide me a carriage, though the distance between his house and the landing is not a quarter of a mile. the magnitude of the exertion seemed to fill him with amazement, and he over and over again repeated how impossible it would be to prevail on any of the ladies there to take such a walk. the houses seemed scattered about here and there, apparently without any design, and looked, for the most part, either unfinished or ruinous. one feature of the scene alone recalled the villages of new england--the magnificent oaks, which seemed to add to the meanness and insignificance of the human dwellings they overshadowed by their enormous size and grotesque forms. they reminded me of the elms of newhaven and stockbridge. they are quite as large, and more picturesque, from their sombre foliage and the infinite variety of their forms--a beauty wanting in the new england elm, which invariably rises and spreads in a way which, though the most graceful in the world, at length palls on the capricious human eye, which seeks, above all other beauties, variety. our doctor's wife is a new england woman; how can she live here? she had the fair eyes and hair and fresh complexion of your part of the country, and its dearly beloved snuffle, which seemed actually dearly beloved when i heard it down here. she gave me some violets and narcissus, already blossoming profusely--in january--and expressed, like her husband, a thousand regrets at my having walked so far. a transaction of the most amusing nature occurred to-day with regard to the resources of the darien bank, and the mode of carrying on business in that liberal and enlightened institution, the funds of which i should think quite incalculable--impalpable, certainly, they appeared by our experience this morning. the river, as we came home, was covered with ocone boxes. it is well for them they are so shallow-bottomed, for we rasped sand all the way home through the cut, and in the shallows of the river. i have been over the rice-mill, under the guidance of the overseer and head-man frank, and have been made acquainted with the whole process of threshing the rice, which is extremely curious; and here i may again mention another statement of miss martineau's, which i am told is, and i should suppose from what i see here must be, a mistake. she states that the chaff of the husks of the rice is used as a manure for the fields; whereas the people have to-day assured me that it is of so hard, stony, and untractable a nature, as to be literally good for nothing. here i know it is thrown away by cart-loads into the river, where its only use appears to be to act like ground bait, and attract a vast quantity of small fish to its vicinity. the number of hands employed in this threshing-mill is very considerable, and the whole establishment, comprising the fires and boilers and machinery of a powerful steam engine, are all under negro superintendence and direction. after this survey, i occupied myself with my infant plantation of evergreens round the dyke, in the midst of which interesting pursuit i was interrupted by a visit from mr. b----, a neighbouring planter, who came to transact some business with mr. ---- about rice which he had sent to our mill to have threshed, and the price to be paid for such threshing. the negroes have presented a petition to-day that they may be allowed to have a ball in honour of our arrival, which demand has been acceded to, and furious preparations are being set on foot. on visiting the infirmary to-day, i was extremely pleased with the increased cleanliness and order observable in all the rooms. two little filthy children, however, seemed to be still under the _ancien régime_ of non-ablution; but upon my saying to the old nurse molly, in whose ward they were, 'why, molly, i don't believe you have bathed those children to-day,' she answered, with infinite dignity, 'missis no b'lieve me wash um piccaninny! and yet she tress me wid all um niggar when 'em sick.' the injured innocence and lofty conscious integrity of this speech silenced and abashed me; and yet i can't help it, but i don't believe to this present hour that those children had had any experience of water, at least not washing water, since they first came into the world. i rowed over to darien again, to make some purchases, yesterday; and enquiring the price of various articles, could not but wonder to find them at least three times as dear as in your northern villages. the profits of these southern shopkeepers (who, for the most part, are thoroughbred yankees, with the true yankee propensity to trade, no matter on how dirty a counter, or in what manner of wares) are enormous. the prices they ask for everything, from coloured calicoes for negro dresses to pianofortes (one of which, for curiosity sake, i enquired the value of), are fabulous, and such as none but the laziest and most reckless people in the world would consent to afford. on our return we found the water in the cut so extremely low that we were obliged to push the boat through it, and did not accomplish it without difficulty. the banks of this canal, when they are thus laid bare, present a singular appearance enough,--two walls of solid mud, through which matted, twisted, twined, and tangled, like the natural veins of wood, runs an everlasting net of indestructible roots, the thousand toes of huge cypress feet. the trees have been cut down long ago from the soil, but these fangs remain in the earth without decaying for an incredible space of time. this long endurance of immersion is one of the valuable properties of these cypress roots; but though excellent binding stuff for the sides of a canal, they must be pernicious growth in any land used for cultivation that requires deep tillage. on entering the altamaha, we found the tide so low that we were much obstructed by the sand banks, which, but for their constant shifting, would presently take entire possession of this noble stream, and render it utterly impassable from shore to shore, as it already is in several parts of the channel at certain seasons of the tide. on landing, i was seized hold of by a hideous old negress, named sinda, who had come to pay me a visit, and of whom mr. ---- told me a strange anecdote. she passed at one time for a prophetess among her fellow slaves on the plantation, and had acquired such an ascendancy over them that, having given out, after the fashion of mr. miller, that the world was to come to an end at a certain time, and that not a very remote one, the belief in her assertion took such possession of the people on the estate, that they refused to work; and the rice and cotton fields were threatened with an indefinite fallow, in consequence of this strike on the part of the cultivators. mr. k----, who was then overseer of the property, perceived the impossibility of arguing, remonstrating, or even flogging this solemn panic out of the minds of the slaves. the great final emancipation which they believed at hand had stripped even the lash of its prevailing authority, and the terrors of an overseer for once were as nothing, in the terrible expectation of the advent of the universal judge of men. they were utterly impracticable--so, like a very shrewd man as he was, he acquiesced in their determination not to work; but he expressed to them his belief that sinda was mistaken, and he warned her that if, at the appointed time, it proved so, she would be severely punished. i do not know whether he confided to the slaves what he thought likely to be the result if she was in the right; but poor sinda was in the wrong. her day of judgement came indeed, and a severe one it proved, for mr. k---- had her tremendously flogged, and her end of things ended much like mr. miller's; but whereas he escaped unhanged, in spite of his atrocious practices upon the fanaticism and credulity of his country people, the spirit of false prophecy was mercilessly scourged out of her, and the faith of her people of course reverted from her to the omnipotent lash again. think what a dream that must have been while it lasted, for those infinitely oppressed people,--freedom without entering it by the grim gate of death, brought down to them at once by the second coming of christ, whose first advent has left them yet so far from it! farewell; it makes me giddy to think of having been a slave while that delusion lasted, and after it vanished. * * * * * dearest e----. i received early this morning a visit from a young negro, called morris, who came to request permission to be baptised. the master's leave is necessary for this ceremony of acceptance into the bosom of the christian church; so all that can be said is, that it is to be hoped the rite itself may _not_ be indispensable for salvation, as if mr. ---- had thought proper to refuse morris' petition, he must infallibly have been lost, in spite of his own best wishes to the contrary. i could not, in discoursing with him, perceive that he had any very distinct ideas of the advantages he expected to derive from the ceremony; but perhaps they appeared all the greater for being a little vague. i have seldom seen a more pleasing appearance than that of this young man; his figure was tall and straight, and his face, which was of a perfect oval, rejoiced in the grace, very unusual among his people, of a fine high forehead, and the much more frequent one of a remarkably gentle and sweet expression. he was, however, jet black, and certainly did not owe these personal advantages to any mixture in his blood. there is a certain african tribe from which the west indian slave market is chiefly recruited, who have these same characteristic features, and do not at all present the ignoble and ugly negro type, so much more commonly seen here. they are a tall, powerful people, with remarkably fine figures, regular features, and a singularly warlike and fierce disposition, in which respect they also differ from the race of negroes existing on the american plantations. i do not think morris, however, could have belonged to this tribe, though perhaps othello did, which would at once settle the difficulties of those commentators who, abiding by iago's very disagreeable suggestions as to his purely african appearance, are painfully compelled to forego the mitigation of supposing him a moor and not a negro. did i ever tell you of my dining in boston, at the h----'s, on my first visit to that city, and sitting by mr. john quincy adams, who, talking to me about desdemona, assured me, with a most serious expression of sincere disgust, that he considered all her misfortunes as a very just judgement upon her for having married a 'nigger?' i think if some ingenious american actor of the present day, bent upon realising shakespeare's finest conceptions, with all the advantages of modern enlightenment, could contrive to slip in that opprobrious title, with a true south-carolinian anti-abolitionist expression, it might really be made quite a point for iago, as, for instance, in his first soliloquy--'i hate the nigger,' given in proper charleston or savannah fashion, i am sure would tell far better than 'i hate the moor.' only think, e----, what a very new order of interest the whole tragedy might receive, acted throughout from this standpoint, as the germans call it in this country, and called 'amalgamation, or the black bridal.' on their return from their walk this afternoon, the children brought home some pieces of sugar-cane, of which a small quantity grows on the island. when i am most inclined to deplore the condition of the poor slaves on these cotton and rice plantations, the far more intolerable existence and harder labour of those employed on the sugar estates occurs to me, sometimes producing the effect of a lower circle in dante's 'hell of horrors,' opening beneath the one where he seems to have reached the climax of infernal punishment. you may have seen this vegetable, and must, at any rate, i should think, be familiar with it by description. it is a long green reed, like the stalk of the maize, or indian corn, only it shoots up to a much more considerable height, and has a consistent pith, which, together with the rind itself, is extremely sweet. the principal peculiarity of this growth, as perhaps you know, is that they are laid horizontally in the earth when they are planted for propagation, and from each of the notches or joints of the recumbent cane a young shoot is produced at the germinating season. a very curious and interesting circumstance to me just now in the neighbourhood is the projection of a canal, to be called the brunswick canal, which, by cutting through the lower part of the mainland, towards the southern extremity of great st. simon's island, is contemplated as a probable and powerful means of improving the prosperity of the town of brunswick, by bringing it into immediate communication with the atlantic. the scheme, which i think i have mentioned to you before, is, i believe, chiefly patronised by your states' folk--yankee enterprise and funds being very essential elements, it appears to me, in all southern projects and achievements. this speculation, however, from all i hear of the difficulties of the undertaking, from the nature of the soil, and the impossibility almost of obtaining efficient labour, is not very likely to arrive at any very satisfactory result; and, indeed, i find it hard to conceive how this part of georgia can possibly produce a town which can be worth the digging of a canal, even to yankee speculators. there is one feature of the undertaking, however, which more than all the others excites my admiration, namely, that irish labourers have been advertised for to work upon the canal, and the terms offered them are twenty dollars a month per man and their board. now these men will have for fellow labourers negroes who not only will receive nothing at all for their work, but who will be hired by the contractors and directors of the works from their masters, to whom they will hand over the price of their slaves' labour; while it will be the interest of the person hiring them not only to get as much work as possible out of them, but also to provide them as economically with food, combining the two praiseworthy endeavours exactly in such judicious proportions as not to let them neutralize each other. you will observe that this case of a master hiring out his slaves to another employer, from whom he receives their rightful wages, is a form of slavery which, though extremely common, is very seldom adverted to in those arguments for the system which are chiefly founded upon the master's presumed regard for his human property. people who have ever let a favourite house to the temporary occupation of strangers, can form a tolerable idea of the difference between one's own regard and care of one's goods and chattels and that of the most conscientious tenant; and whereas i have not yet observed that ownership is a very effectual protection to the slaves against ill usage and neglect, i am quite prepared to admit that it is a vastly better one than the temporary interest which a lessee can feel in the live stock he hires, out of whom it is his manifest interest to get as much, and into whom to put as little, as possible. yet thousands of slaves throughout the southern states are thus handed over by the masters who own them to masters who do not; and it does not require much demonstration to prove that their estate is not always the more gracious. now you must not suppose that these same irish free labourers and negro slaves will be permitted to work together at this brunswick canal. they say that this would be utterly impossible; for why?--there would be tumults, and risings, and broken heads, and bloody bones, and all the natural results of irish intercommunion with their fellow creatures, no doubt--perhaps even a little more riot and violence than merely comports with their usual habits of milesian good fellowship; for, say the masters, the irish hate the negroes more even than the americans do, and there would be no bound to their murderous animosity if they were brought in contact with them on the same portion of the works of the brunswick canal. doubtless there is some truth in this--the irish labourers who might come hither, would be apt enough, according to a universal moral law, to visit upon others the injuries they had received from others. they have been oppressed enough themselves, to be oppressive whenever they have a chance; and the despised and degraded condition of the blacks, presenting to them a very ugly resemblance of their own home, circumstances naturally excite in them the exercise of the disgust and contempt of which they themselves are very habitually the objects; and that such circular distribution of wrongs may not only be pleasant, but have something like the air of retributive right to very ignorant folks, is not much to be wondered at. certain is the fact, however, that the worst of all tyrants is the one who has been a slave; and for that matter (and i wonder if the southern slaveholders hear it with the same ear that i do, and ponder it with the same mind?) the command of one slave to another is altogether the most uncompromising utterance of insolent truculent despotism that it ever fell to my lot to witness or listen to. 'you nigger--i say, you black nigger,--you no hear me call you--what for you no run quick?' all this, dear e----, is certainly reasonably in favour of division of labour on the brunswick canal; but the irish are not only quarrelers, and rioters, and fighters, and drinkers, and despisers of niggers--they are a passionate, impulsive, warm-hearted, generous people, much given to powerful indignations, which break out suddenly when they are not compelled to smoulder sullenly--pestilent sympathisers too, and with a sufficient dose of american atmospheric air in their lungs, properly mixed with a right proportion of ardent spirits, there is no saying but what they might actually take to sympathy with the slaves, and i leave you to judge of the possible consequences. you perceive, i am sure, that they can by no means be allowed to work together on the brunswick canal. i have been taking my daily walk round the island, and visited the sugar mill and the threshing mill again. mr. ---- has received another letter from parson s---- upon the subject of more church building in darien. it seems that there has been a very general panic in this part of the slave states lately, occasioned by some injudicious missionary preaching, which was pronounced to be of a decidedly abolitionist tendency. the offensive preachers, after sowing, god only knows what seed in this tremendous soil, where one grain of knowledge may spring up a gigantic upas tree to the prosperity of its most unfortunate possessors, were summarily and ignominiously expulsed; and now some short sighted, uncomfortable christians in these parts, among others this said parson s----, are possessed with the notion that something had better be done to supply the want created by the cessation of these dangerous exhortations, to which the negroes have listened, it seems, with complacency. parson s---- seems to think that, having driven out two preachers, it might be well to build one church where, at any rate, the negroes might be exhorted in a safe and salutary manner, 'qui ne leur donnerait point d'idées,' as the french would say. upon my word, e----, i used to pity the slaves, and i do pity them with all my soul; but oh dear! oh dear! their case is a bed of roses to that of their owners, and i would go to the slave block in charleston to-morrow cheerfully to be purchased, if my only option was to go thither as a purchaser. i was looking over this morning, with a most indescribable mixture of feelings, a pamphlet published in the south upon the subject of the religious instruction of the slaves; and the difficulty of the task undertaken by these reconcilers of god and mammon really seems to me nothing short of piteous. 'we must give our involuntary servants,' (they seldom call them slaves, for it is an ugly word in an american mouth, you know,) 'christian enlightenment,' say they; and where shall they begin? 'whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye also unto them?' no--but, 'servants, obey your masters;' and there, i think, they naturally come to a full stop. this pamphlet forcibly suggested to me the necessity for a slave church catechism, and also, indeed, if it were possible, a slave bible. if these heaven-blinded negro enlighteners persist in their pernicious plan of making christians of their cattle, something of the sort must be done, or they will infallibly cut their own throats with this two-edged sword of truth, to which they should in no wise have laid their hand, and would not, doubtless, but that it is now thrust at them so threateningly that they have no choice. again and again, how much i do pity them! i have been walking to another cluster of negro huts, known as number two, and here we took a boat and rowed across the broad brimming altamaha to a place called woodville, on a part of the estate named hammersmith, though why that very thriving suburb of the great city of london should have been selected as the name of the lonely plank house in the midst of the pine woods which here enjoys that title i cannot conceive, unless it was suggested by the contrast. this settlement is on the mainland, and consists apparently merely of this house, (to which the overseer retires when the poisonous malaria of the rice plantations compels him to withdraw from it,) and a few deplorably miserable hovels, which appeared to me to be chiefly occupied by the most decrepid and infirm samples of humanity it was ever my melancholy lot to behold. the air of this pine barren is salubrious compared with that of the rice islands, and here some of the oldest slaves who will not die yet, and cannot work any more, are sent, to go, as it were, out of the way. remote recollections of former dealings with civilised human beings, in the shape of masters and overseers, seemed to me to be the only idea not purely idiotic in the minds of the poor old tottering creatures that gathered to stare with dim and blear eyes at me and my children. there were two very aged women, who had seen different, and to their faded recollections better, times, who spoke to me of mr. ----'s grandfather, and of the early days of the plantation, when they were young and strong, and worked as their children and grandchildren were now working, neither for love nor yet for money. one of these old crones, a hideous, withered, wrinkled piece of womanhood, said that she had worked as long as her strength had lasted, and that then she had still been worth her keep, for, said she, 'missus, tho' we no able to work, we make little niggers for massa.' her joy at seeing her present owner was unbounded, and she kept clapping her horny hands together and exclaiming, 'while there is life there is hope; we seen massa before we die.' these demonstrations of regard were followed up by piteous complaints of hunger and rheumatism, and their usual requests for pittances of food and clothing, to which we responded by promises of additions in both kinds; and i was extricating myself as well as i could from my petitioners, with the assurance that i would come by-and-bye and visit them again, when i felt my dress suddenly feebly jerked, and a shrill cracked voice on the other side of me exclaimed, 'missus, no go yet--no go away yet; you no see me, missus, when you come by-and-bye; but,' added the voice in a sort of wail, which seemed to me as if the thought was full of misery, 'you see many, many of my offspring.' these melancholy words, particularly the rather unusual one at the end of the address, struck me very much. they were uttered by a creature which _was_ a woman, but looked like a crooked ill-built figure set up in a field to scare crows, with a face infinitely more like a mere animal's than any human countenance i ever beheld, and with that peculiar wild restless look of indefinite and, at the same time, intense sadness that is so remarkable in the countenance of some monkeys. it was almost with an effort that i commanded myself so as not to withdraw my dress from the yellow crumpled filthy claws that griped it, and it was not at last without the authoritative voice of the overseer that the poor creature released her hold of me. we returned home certainly in the very strangest vehicle that ever civilised gentlewoman travelled in--a huge sort of cart, made only of some loose boards, on which i lay supporting myself against one of the four posts which indicated the sides of my carriage; six horned creatures, cows or bulls, drew this singular equipage, and a yelping, howling, screaming, leaping company of half-naked negroes ran all round them, goading them with sharp sticks, frantically seizing hold of their tails, and inciting them by every conceivable and inconceivable encouragement to quick motion: thus, like one of the ancient merovingian monarchs, i was dragged through the deep sand from the settlement back to the river, where we reembarked for the island. as we crossed the broad flood, whose turbid waters always look swollen as if by a series of freshets, a flight of birds sprang from the low swamp we were approaching, and literally, as it rose in the air, cast a shadow like that of a cloud, which might be said, with but little exaggeration, to darken the sun for a few seconds. how well i remember my poor aunt whitelock describing such phenomena as of frequent occurrence in america, and the scornful incredulity with which we heard without accepting these legends of her western experience! how little i then thought that i should have to cry peccavi to her memory from the bottom of such ruts, and under the shadow of such flights of winged creatures as she used to describe from the muddy ways of pennsylvania and the muddy waters of georgia! the vegetation is already in an active state of demonstration, sprouting into lovely pale green and vivid red-brown buds and leaflets, though 'tis yet early in january. after our return home we had a visit from mr. c----, one of our neighbours, an intelligent and humane man, to whose account of the qualities and characteristics of the slaves, as he had observed and experienced them, i listened with great interest. the brunswick canal was again the subject of conversation, and again the impossibility of allowing the negroes and irish to work in proximity was stated, and admitted as an indisputable fact. it strikes me with amazement to hear the hopeless doom of incapacity for progress pronounced upon these wretched slaves, when in my own country the very same order of language is perpetually applied to these very irish, here spoken of as a sort of race of demigods, by negro comparison. and it is most true that in ireland nothing can be more savage, brutish, filthy, idle, and incorrigibly and hopelessly helpless and incapable, than the irish appear; and yet, transplanted to your northern states, freed from the evil influences which surround them at home, they and their children become industrious, thrifty, willing to learn, able to improve, and forming, in the course of two generations, a most valuable accession to your labouring population. how is it that it never occurs to these emphatical denouncers of the whole negro race that the irish at home are esteemed much as they esteem their slaves, and that the sentence pronounced against their whole country by one of the greatest men of our age, an irishman, was precisely, that nothing could save, redeem, or regenerate ireland unless, as a preparatory measure, the island were submerged and all its inhabitants drowned off? i have had several women at the house to-day asking for advice and help for their sick children: they all came from no. , as they call it, that is, the settlement or cluster of negro huts nearest to the main one, where we may be said to reside. in the afternoon i went thither, and found a great many of the little children ailing; there had been an unusual mortality among them at this particular settlement this winter. in one miserable hut i heard that the baby was just dead; it was one of thirteen, many of whom had been, like itself, mercifully removed from the life of degradation and misery to which their birth appointed them: and whether it was the frequent repetition of similar losses, or an instinctive consciousness that death was indeed better than life for such children as theirs, i know not, but the father and mother, and old rose, the nurse, who was their little baby's grandmother, all seemed apathetic, and apparently indifferent to the event. the mother merely repeated over and over again, 'i've lost a many, they all goes so;' and the father, without word or comment, went out to his enforced labour. as i left the cabin, rejoicing for them at the deliverance out of slavery of their poor child, i found myself suddenly surrounded by a swarm of young ragamuffins in every stage of partial nudity, clamouring from out of their filthy remnants of rags for donations of scarlet ribbon for the ball, which was to take place that evening. the melancholy scene i had just witnessed, and the still sadder reflection it had given rise to, had quite driven all thoughts of the approaching festivity from my mind; but the sudden demand for these graceful luxuries by mr. ----'s half-naked dependants reminded me of the grotesque mask which life wears on one of its mysterious faces; and with as much sympathy for rejoicing as my late sympathy for sorrow had left me capable of, i procured the desired ornaments. i have considerable fellow-feeling for the passion for all shades of red, which prevails among these dusky fellow-creatures of mine--a savage propensity for that same colour in all its modifications being a tendency of my own. at our own settlement (no. ) i found everything in a high fever of preparation for the ball. a huge boat had just arrived from the cotton plantation at st. simons, laden with the youth and beauty of that portion of the estate who had been invited to join the party; and the greetings among the arrivers and welcomers, and the heaven-defying combinations of colour in the gala attire of both, surpass all my powers of description. the ball, to which of course we went, took place in one of the rooms of the infirmary. as the room had, fortunately, but few occupants, they were removed to another apartment, and, without any very tender consideration for their not very remote, though invisible, sufferings, the dancing commenced, and was continued. oh, my dear e----! i have seen jim crow--the veritable james: all the contortions, and springs, and flings, and kicks, and capers you have been beguiled into accepting as indicative of him are spurious, faint, feeble, impotent--in a word, pale northern reproductions of that ineffable black conception. it is impossible for words to describe the things these people did with their bodies, and, above all, with their faces, the whites of their eyes, and the whites of their teeth, and certain outlines which either naturally and by the grace of heaven, or by the practice of some peculiar artistic dexterity, they bring into prominent and most ludicrous display. the languishing elegance of some, the painstaking laboriousness of others, above all, the feats of a certain enthusiastic banjo-player, who seemed to me to thump his instrument with every part of his body at once, at last so utterly overcame any attempt at decorous gravity on my part that i was obliged to secede; and, considering what the atmosphere was that we inhaled during the exhibition, it is only wonderful to me that we were not made ill by the double effort not to laugh, and, if possible, not to breathe. * * * * * monday, th. my dearest e----. a rather longer interval than usual has elapsed since i last wrote to you, but i must beg you to excuse it. i have had more than a usual amount of small daily occupations to fill my time; and, as a mere enumeration of these would not be very interesting to you, i will tell you a story which has just formed an admirable illustration for my observation of all the miseries of which this accursed system of slavery is the cause, even under the best and most humane administration of its laws and usages. pray note it, my dear friend, for you will find, in the absence of all voluntary or even conscious cruelty on the part of the master, the best possible comment on a state of things which, without the slightest desire to injure and oppress, produces such intolerable results of injury and oppression. we have, as a sort of under nursemaid and assistant of my dear m----, whose white complexion, as i wrote you, occasioned such indignation to my southern fellow-travellers, and such extreme perplexity to the poor slaves on our arrival here, a much more orthodox servant for these parts, a young woman named psyche, but commonly called sack, not a very graceful abbreviation of the divine heathen appellation: she cannot be much over twenty, has a very pretty figure, a graceful gentle deportment, and a face which, but for its colour (she is a dingy mulatto), would be pretty, and is extremely pleasing, from the perfect sweetness of its expression; she is always serious, not to say sad and silent, and has altogether an air of melancholy and timidity, that has frequently struck me very much, and would have made me think some special anxiety or sorrow must occasion it, but that god knows the whole condition of these wretched people naturally produces such a deportment, and there is no necessity to seek for special or peculiar causes to account for it. just in proportion as i have found the slaves on this plantation intelligent and advanced beyond the general brutish level of the majority, i have observed this pathetic expression of countenance in them, a mixture of sadness and fear, the involuntary exhibition of the two feelings, which i suppose must be the predominant experience of their whole lives, regret and apprehension, not the less heavy, either of them, for being, in some degree, vague and indefinite--a sense of incalculable past loss and injury, and a dread of incalculable future loss and injury. i have never questioned psyche as to her sadness, because, in the first place, as i tell you, it appears to me most natural, and is observable in all the slaves, whose superior natural or acquired intelligence allows of their filling situations of trust or service about the house and family; and, though i cannot and will not refuse to hear any and every tale of suffering which these unfortunates bring to me, i am anxious to spare both myself and them the pain of vain appeals to me for redress and help, which, alas! it is too often utterly out of my power to give them. it is useless, and indeed worse than useless, that they should see my impotent indignation and unavailing pity, and hear expressions of compassion for them, and horror at their condition, which might only prove incentives to a hopeless resistance on their part to a system, under the hideous weight of whose oppression any individual or partial revolt must be annihilated and ground into the dust. therefore, as i tell you, i asked psyche no questions, but, to my great astonishment, the other day m---- asked me if i knew to whom psyche belonged, as the poor woman had enquired of her with much hesitation and anguish if she could tell her who owned her and her children. she has two nice little children under six years old, whom she keeps as clean and tidy, and who are sad and as silent, as herself. my astonishment at this question was, as you will readily believe, not small, and i forthwith sought out psyche for an explanation. she was thrown into extreme perturbation at finding that her question had been referred to me, and it was some time before i could sufficiently reassure her to be able to comprehend, in the midst of her reiterated entreaties for pardon, and hopes that she had not offended me, that she did not know herself who owned her. she was, at one time, the property of mr. k----, the former overseer, of whom i have already spoken to you, and who has just been paying mr. ---- a visit. he, like several of his predecessors in the management, has contrived to make a fortune upon it (though it yearly decreases in value to the owners, but this is the inevitable course of things in the southern states), and has purchased a plantation of his own in alabama, i believe, or one of the south-western states. whether she still belonged to mr. k---- or not she did not know, and entreated me if she did to endeavour to persuade mr. ---- to buy her. now, you must know that this poor woman is the wife of one of mr. b----'s slaves, a fine, intelligent, active, excellent young man, whose whole family are among some of the very best specimens of character and capacity on the estate. i was so astonished at the (to me) extraordinary state of things revealed by poor sack's petition, that i could only tell her that i had supposed all the negroes on the plantation were mr. ----'s property, but that i would certainly enquire, and find out for her if i could to whom she belonged, and if i could, endeavour to get mr. ---- to purchase her, if she really was not his. now, e----, just conceive for one moment the state of mind of this woman, believing herself to belong to a man who, in a few days, was going down to one of those abhorred and dreaded south-western states, and who would then compel her, with her poor little children, to leave her husband and the only home she had ever known, and all the ties of affection, relationship, and association of her former life, to follow him thither, in all human probability never again to behold any living creature that she had seen before; and this was so completely a matter of course that it was not even thought necessary to apprise her positively of the fact, and the only thing that interposed between her and this most miserable fate was the faint hope that mr. ---- _might have_ purchased her and her children. but if he had, if this great deliverance had been vouchsafed to her, the knowledge of it was not thought necessary; and with this deadly dread at her heart she was living day after day, waiting upon me and seeing me, with my husband beside me, and my children in my arms in blessed security, safe from all separation but the one reserved in god's great providence for all his creatures. do you think i wondered any more at the woe-begone expression of her countenance, or do you think it was easy for me to restrain within prudent and proper limits the expression of my feelings at such a state of things? and she had gone on from day to day enduring this agony, till i suppose its own intolerable pressure and m----'s sweet countenance and gentle sympathising voice and manner had constrained her to lay down this great burden of sorrow at our feet. i did not see mr. ---- until the evening; but in the meantime, meeting mr. o----, the overseer, with whom, as i believe i have already told you, we are living here, i asked him about psyche, and who was her proprietor, when to my infinite surprise he told me that _he_ had bought her and her children from mr. k----, who had offered them to him, saying that they would be rather troublesome to him than otherwise down where he was going; 'and so,' said mr. o----, 'as i had no objection to investing a little money that way, i bought them.' with a heart much lightened i flew to tell poor psyche the news, so that at any rate she might be relieved from the dread of any immediate separation from her husband. you can imagine better than i can tell you what her sensations were; but she still renewed her prayer that i would, if possible, induce mr. ---- to purchase her, and i promised to do so. early the next morning, while i was still dressing, i was suddenly startled by hearing voices in loud tones in mr. ----'s dressing-room, which adjoins my bed-room, and the noise increasing until there was an absolute cry of despair uttered by some man. i could restrain myself no longer, but opened the door of communication, and saw joe, the young man, poor psyche's husband, raving almost in a state of frenzy, and in a voice broken with sobs and almost inarticulate with passion, reiterating his determination never to leave this plantation, never to go to alabama, never to leave his old father and mother, his poor wife and children, and dashing his hat, which he was wringing like a cloth in his hands, upon the ground, he declared he would kill himself if he was compelled to follow mr. k----. i glanced from the poor wretch to mr. ----, who was standing, leaning against a table with his arms folded, occasionally uttering a few words of counsel to his slave to be quiet and not fret, and not make a fuss about what there was no help for. i retreated immediately from the horrid scene, breathless with surprise and dismay, and stood for some time in my own room, with my heart and temples throbbing to such a degree that i could hardly support myself. as soon as i recovered myself i again sought mr. o----, and enquired of him if he knew the cause of poor joe's distress. he then told me that mr. ----, who is highly pleased with mr. k----'s past administration of his property, wished, on his departure for his newly-acquired slave plantation, to give him some token of his satisfaction, and _had made him a present_ of the man joe, who had just received the intelligence that he was to go down to alabama with his new owner the next day, leaving father, mother, wife, and children behind. you will not wonder that the man required a little judicious soothing under such circumstances, and you will also, i hope, admire the humanity of the sale of his wife and children by the owner who was going to take him to alabama, because _they_ would be incumbrances rather than otherwise down there. if mr. k---- did not do this after he knew that the man was his, then mr. ---- gave him to be carried down to the south after his wife and children were sold to remain in georgia. i do not know which was the real transaction, for i have not had the heart to ask; but you will easily imagine which of the two cases i prefer believing. when i saw mr. ---- after this most wretched story became known to me in all its details, i appealed to him for his own soul's sake not to commit so great a cruelty. poor joe's agony while remonstrating with his master was hardly greater than mine while arguing with him upon this bitter piece of inhumanity--how i cried, and how i adjured, and how all my sense of justice and of mercy and of pity for the poor wretch, and of wretchedness at finding myself implicated in such a state of things, broke in torrents of words from my lips and tears from my eyes! god knows such a sorrow at seeing anyone i belonged to commit such an act was indeed a new and terrible experience to me, and it seemed to me that i was imploring mr. ---- to save himself, more than to spare these wretches. he gave me no answer whatever, and i have since thought that the intemperate vehemence of my entreaties and expostulations perhaps deserved that he should leave me as he did without one single word of reply; and miserable enough i remained. towards evening, as i was sitting alone, my children having gone to bed, mr. o---- came into the room. i had but one subject in my mind; i had not been able to eat for it. i could hardly sit still for the nervous distress which every thought of these poor people filled me with. as he sat down looking over some accounts, i said to him, 'have you seen joe this afternoon, mr. o----?' (i give you our conversation as it took place.) 'yes, ma'am; he is a great deal happier than he was this morning.' 'why, how is that?' asked i eagerly. 'oh, he is not going to alabama. mr. k---- heard that he had kicked up a fuss about it (being in despair at being torn from one's wife and children is called _kicking up a fuss_; this is a sample of overseer appreciation of human feelings), and said that if the fellow wasn't willing to go with him, he did not wish to be bothered with any niggers down there who were to be troublesome, so he might stay behind.' 'and does psyche know this?' 'yes, ma'am, i suppose so.' i drew a long breath; and whereas my needle had stumbled through the stuff i was sewing for an hour before, as if my fingers could not guide it, the regularity and rapidity of its evolutions were now quite edifying. the man was for the present safe, and i remained silently pondering his deliverance and the whole proceeding, and the conduct of everyone engaged in it, and above all mr. ----'s share in the transaction, and i think for the first time almost a sense of horrible personal responsibility and implication took hold of my mind, and i felt the weight of an unimagined guilt upon my conscience; and yet god knows this feeling of self-condemnation is very gratuitous on my part, since when i married mr. ---- i knew nothing of these dreadful possessions of his, and even if i had, i should have been much puzzled to have formed any idea of the state of things in which i now find myself plunged, together with those whose well-doing is as vital to me almost as my own. with these agreeable reflections i went to bed. mr. ---- said not a word to me upon the subject of these poor people all the next day, and in the meantime i became very impatient of this reserve on his part, because i was dying to prefer my request that he would purchase psyche and her children, and so prevent any future separation between her and her husband, as i supposed he would not again attempt to make a present of joe, at least to anyone who did not wish to be _bothered_ with his wife and children. in the evening i was again with mr. o---- alone in the strange bare wooden-walled sort of shanty which is our sitting-room, and revolving in my mind the means of rescuing psyche from her miserable suspense, a long chain of all my possessions, in the shape of bracelets, necklaces, brooches, ear-rings, &c., wound in glittering procession through my brain, with many hypothetical calculations of the value of each separate ornament, and the very doubtful probability of the amount of the whole being equal to the price of this poor creature and her children; and then the great power and privilege i had foregone of earning money by my own labour occurred to me; and i think, for the first time in my life, my past profession assumed an aspect that arrested my thoughts most seriously. for the last four years of my life that preceded my marriage, i literally coined money; and never until this moment, i think, did i reflect on the great means of good, to myself and others, that i so gladly agreed to give up for ever, for a maintenance by the unpaid labour of slaves--people toiling not only unpaid, but under the bitter conditions the bare contemplation of which was then wringing my heart. you will not wonder that, when in the midst of such cogitations i suddenly accosted mr. o----, it was to this effect. 'mr. o----, i have a particular favour to beg of you. promise me that you will never sell psyche and her children without first letting me know of your intention to do so, and giving me the option of buying them.' mr. o---- is a remarkably deliberate man, and squints, so that, when he has taken a little time in directing his eyes to you, you are still unpleasantly unaware of any result in which you are concerned; he laid down a book he was reading, and directed his head and one of his eyes towards me and answered, 'dear me, ma'am, i am very sorry--i have sold them.' my work fell down on the ground, and my mouth opened wide, but i could utter no sound, i was so dismayed and surprised; and he deliberately proceeded: 'i didn't know, ma'am, you see, at all, that you entertained any idea of making an investment of that nature; for i'm sure, if i had, i would willingly have sold the woman to you; but i sold her and her children this morning to mr. ----.' my dear e----, though ---- had resented my unmeasured upbraidings, you see they had not been without some good effect, and though he had, perhaps justly, punished my violent outbreak of indignation about the miserable scene i witnessed by not telling me of his humane purpose, he had bought these poor creatures, and so, i trust, secured them from any such misery in future. i jumped up and left mr. o---- still speaking, and ran to find mr. ----, to thank him for what he had done, and with that will now bid you good bye. think, e----, how it fares with slaves on plantations where there is no crazy englishwoman to weep and entreat and implore and upbraid for them, and no master willing to listen to such appeals. dear e----. there is one privilege which i enjoy here which i think few cockneyesses have ever had experience of, that of hearing my own extemporaneous praises chaunted bard-fashion by our negroes, in rhymes as rude and to measures as simple as ever any illustrious female of the days of king brian boroihme listened to. rowing yesterday evening through a beautiful sunset into a more beautiful moonrise, my two sable boatmen entertained themselves and me with alternate strophe and anti-strophe of poetical description of my personal attractions, in which my 'wire waist' recurred repeatedly, to my intense amusement. this is a charm for the possession of which m---- (my white nursemaid) is also invariably celebrated; and i suppose that the fine round natural proportions of the uncompressed waists of the sable beauties of these regions appear less symmetrical to eyes accustomed to them than our stay-cased figures, since 'nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.' occasionally i am celebrated in these rowing chants as 'massa's darling,' and s---- comes in for endless glorification on account of the brilliant beauty of her complexion; the other day, however, our poets made a diversion from the personal to the moral qualities of their small mistress, and after the usual tribute to her roses and lilies came the following rather significant couplet:-- little missis sally, that's a ruling lady. at which all the white teeth simultaneously lightened from the black visages, while the subject of this equivocal commendation sat with infantine solemnity (the profoundest, i think, that the human countenance is capable of), surveying her sable dependants with imperturbable gravity. yesterday morning i amused myself with an exercise of a talent i once possessed, but have so neglected that my performance might almost be called an experiment. i cut out a dress for one of the women. my education in france--where, in some important respects, i think girls are better trained than with us--had sent me home to england, at sixteen, an adept in the female mystery of needlework. not only owing to the saturday's discipline of clothes mending by all the classes--while l'abbé millot's history (of blessed, boring memory) was being read aloud, to prevent 'vain babblings,' and ensure wholesome mental occupation the while--was i an expert patcher and mender, darner and piecer (darning and marking were my specialities), but the white cotton embroidery of which every french woman has always a piece under her hand _pour les momens perdus_, which are thus anything but _perdus_, was as familiar to us as to the irish cottagers of the present day, and cutting out and making my dresses was among the more advanced branches of _the_ female accomplishment to which i attained.[ ] the luxury of a lady's maid of my own, indulged in ever since the days of my 'coming out,' has naturally enough caused my right hand to forget its cunning, and regret and shame at having lost any useful lore in my life made me accede, for my own sake, to the request of one of our multitudinous dianas and innumerable chloes to cut out dresses for each of them, especially as they (wonderful to relate) declared themselves able to stitch them if i would do the cutting. since i have been on the plantation i have already spent considerable time in what the french call 'confectioning' baby bundles, i.e. the rough and very simple tiny habiliments of coarse cotton and scarlet flannel which form a baby's layette here, and of which i have run up some scores; but my present task was far more difficult. chloe was an ordinary mortal negress enough, but diana might have been the huntress of the woods herself, done into the african type. tall, large, straight, well-made, profoundly serious, she stood like a bronze statue, while i, mounted on a stool, (the only way in which i could attain to the noble shoulders and bust of my lay figure), pinned and measured, and cut and shaped, under the superintendence of m----, and had the satisfaction of seeing the fine proportions of my black goddess quite becomingly clothed in a high tight fitting body of the gayest chintz, which she really contrived to put together quite creditably. [footnote : some of our great english ladies are, i know, exquisite needlewomen; but i do not think, in spite of these exceptional examples, that young english ladies of the higher classes are much skilled in this respect at the present day; and as for the democratic daughters of america, who for many reasons might be supposed likely to be well up in such housewifely lore, they are for the most part so ignorant of it that i have heard the most eloquent preacher of the city of new york advert to their incapacity in this respect, as an impediment to their assistance of the poor; and ascribe to the fact that the daughters of his own parishioners did not know how to sew, the impossibility of their giving the most valuable species of help to the women of the needier classes, whose condition could hardly be more effectually improved than by acquiring such useful knowledge. i have known young american school girls, duly instructed in the nature of the parallaxes of the stars, but, as a rule, they do not know how to darn their stockings. les dames du sacré coeur do better for their high-born and well-bred pupils than this.] i was so elated with my own part of this performance that i then and there determined to put into execution a plan i had long formed of endowing the little boat in which i take what the french call my walks on the water, with cushions for the back and seat of the benches usually occupied by myself and mr. ----; so putting on my large straw hat, and plucking up a paper of pins, scissors, and my brown holland, i walked to the steps, and jumping into the little canoe, began piecing, and measuring, and cutting the cushions, which were to be stuffed with the tree moss by some of the people who understand making a rough kind of mattress. my inanimate subject, however, proved far more troublesome to fit than my living lay figure, for the little cockle-shell ducked, and dived, and rocked, and tipped, and curtseyed, and tilted, as i knelt first on one side and then on the other fitting her, till i was almost in despair; however, i got a sort of pattern at last, and by dint of some pertinacious efforts--which, in their incompleteness, did not escape some sarcastic remarks from mr. ---- on the capabilities of 'women of genius' applied to common-place objects--the matter was accomplished, and the little dolphin rejoiced in very tidy back and seat cushions, covered with brown holland, and bound with green serge. my ambition then began to contemplate an awning, but the boat being of the nature of a canoe--though not a real one, inasmuch as it is not made of a single log--does not admit of supports for such an edifice. i had rather a fright the other day in that same small craft, into which i had taken s----, with the intention of paddling myself a little way down the river and back. i used to row tolerably well, and was very fond of it, and frequently here take an oar, when the men are rowing me in the long boat, as some sort of equivalent for my riding, of which, of course, i am entirely deprived on this little dykeland of ours; but paddling is a perfectly different process, and one that i was very anxious to achieve. my first strokes answered the purpose of sending the boat off from shore, and for a few minutes i got on pretty well; but presently i got tired of shifting the paddle from side to side, a manoeuvre which i accomplished very clumsily and slowly, and yet, with all my precautions, not without making the boat tip perilously. the immense breadth and volume of the river suddenly seized my eyes and imagination as it were, and i began to fancy that if i got into the middle of the stream i should not be able to paddle myself back against it--which, indeed, might very well have proved the case. then i became nervous, and paddled all on one side, by which means, of course, i only turned the boat round. s---- began to fidget about, getting up from where i had placed her, and terrifying me with her unsteady motions and the rocking of the canoe. i was now very much frightened, and saw that i _must_ get back to shore before i became more helpless than i was beginning to feel; so laying s---- down in the bottom of the boat as a preliminary precaution, i said to her with infinite emphasis, 'now lie still there, and don't stir, or you'll be drowned,' to which, with her clear grey eyes fixed on me, and no sign whatever of emotion, she replied deliberately, 'i shall lie still here, and won't stir, for i should not like to be drowned,' which, for an atom not four years old, was rather philosophical. then i looked about me, and of course having drifted, set steadily to work and paddled home, with my heart in my mouth almost till we grazed the steps, and i got my precious freight safe on shore again, since which i have taken no more paddling lessons without my slave and master, jack. we have had a death among the people since i last wrote to you. a very valuable slave called shadrach was seized with a disease which is frequent, and very apt to be fatal here--peri-pneumonia; and in spite of all that could be done to save him, sank rapidly, and died after an acute illness of only three days. the doctor came repeatedly from darien, and the last night of the poor fellow's life ---- himself watched with him. i suppose the general low diet of the negroes must produce some want of stamina in them; certainly, either from natural constitution or the effect of their habits of existence, or both, it is astonishing how much less power of resistance to disease they seem to possess than we do. if they are ill, the vital energy seems to sink immediately. this rice cultivation, too, although it does not affect them as it would whites--to whom, indeed, residence on the rice plantation after a certain season is impossible--is still, to a certain degree, deleterious even to the negroes. the proportion of sick is always greater here than on the cotton plantation, and the invalids of this place are not unfrequently sent down to st. simon's to recover their strength, under the more favourable influences of the sea air and dry sandy soil of hampton point. yesterday afternoon the tepid warmth of the air and glassy stillness of the river seemed to me highly suggestive of fishing, and i determined, not having yet discovered what i could catch with what in these unknown waters, to try a little innocent paste bait--a mystery his initiation into which caused jack much wonderment. the only hooks i had with me, however, had been bought in darien--made, i should think, at the north expressly for this market; and so villanously bad were they that, after trying them and my patience a reasonable time, i gave up the attempt and took a lesson in paddling instead. amongst other items jack told me of his own fishing experience was, that he had more than once caught those most excellent creatures altamaha shad by the fish themselves leaping out of the water and _landing_, as jack expressed it, to escape from the porpoises, which come in large schools up the river to a considerable distance, occasioning, evidently, much emotion in the bosoms of the legitimate inhabitants of these muddy waters. coasting the island on our return home we found a trap, which the last time we examined it was tenanted by a creature called a mink, now occupied by an otter. the poor beast did not seem pleased with his predicament; but the trap had been set by one of the drivers, and, of course, jack would not have meddled with it except upon my express order, which, in spite of some pangs of pity for the otter, i did not like to give him, as in the extremely few resources of either profit or pleasure possessed by the slaves i could not tell at all what might be the value of an otter to his captor. yesterday evening the burial of the poor man shadrach took place. i had been applied to for a sufficient quantity of cotton cloth to make a winding-sheet for him, and just as the twilight was thickening into darkness i went with mr. ---- to the cottage of one of the slaves whom i may have mentioned to you before--a cooper of the name of london, the head of the religious party of the inhabitants of the island, a methodist preacher of no small intelligence and influence among the people--who was to perform the burial service. the coffin was laid on trestles in front of the cooper's cottage, and a large assemblage of the people had gathered round, many of the men carrying pine-wood torches, the fitful glare of which glanced over the strange assembly, where every pair of large white-rimmed eyes turned upon ---- and myself; we two poor creatures on this more solemn occasion, as well as on every other when these people encounter us, being the objects of admiration and wonderment, on which their gaze is immovably riveted. presently the whole congregation uplifted their voices in a hymn, the first high wailing notes of which--sung all in unison, in the midst of these unwonted surroundings--sent a thrill through all my nerves. when the chant ceased, cooper london began a prayer, and all the people knelt down in the sand, as i did also. mr. ---- alone remained standing in the presence of the dead man, and of the living god to whom his slaves were now appealing. i cannot tell you how profoundly the whole ceremony, if such it could be called, affected me, and there was nothing in the simple and pathetic supplication of the poor black artisan to check or interfere with the solemn influences of the whole scene. it was a sort of conventional methodist prayer, and probably quite as conventional as all the rest was the closing invocation of god's blessing upon their master, their mistress, and our children; but this fairly overcame my composure, and i began to cry very bitterly; for these same individuals, whose implication in the state of things in the midst of which we are living, seemed to me as legitimate a cause for tears as for prayers. when the prayer was concluded we all rose, and the coffin being taken up, proceeded to the people's burial-ground, when london read aloud portions of the funeral service from the prayer-book--i presume the american episcopal version of our church service, for what he read appeared to be merely a selection from what was perfectly familiar to me; but whether he himself extracted what he uttered i did not enquire. indeed i was too much absorbed in the whole scene, and the many mingled emotions it excited of awe and pity, and an indescribable sensation of wonder at finding myself on this slave soil, surrounded by my slaves, among whom again i knelt while the words proclaiming to the living and the dead the everlasting covenant of freedom, 'i am the resurrection and the life,' sounded over the prostrate throng, and mingled with the heavy flowing of the vast river sweeping, not far from where we stood, through the darkness by which we were now encompassed (beyond the immediate circle of our torch-bearers). there was something painful to me in ----'s standing while we all knelt on the earth, for though in any church in philadelphia he would have stood during the praying of any minister, here i wished he would have knelt, to have given his slaves some token of his belief that--at least in the sight of that master to whom we were addressing our worship--all men are equal. the service ended with a short address from london upon the subject of lazarus, and the confirmation which the story of his resurrection afforded our hopes. the words were simple and rustic, and of course uttered in the peculiar sort of jargon which is the habitual negro speech; but there was nothing in the slightest degree incongruous or grotesque in the matter or manner, and the exhortations not to steal, or lie, or neglect to work well for massa, with which the glorious hope of immortality was blended in the poor slave preacher's closing address, was a moral adaptation, as wholesome as it was touching, of the great christian theory to the capacities and consciences of his hearers. when the coffin was lowered the grave was found to be partially filled with water--naturally enough, for the whole island is a mere swamp, off which the altamaha is only kept from sweeping by the high dykes all round it. this seemed to shock and distress the people, and for the first time during the whole ceremony there were sounds of crying and exclamations of grief heard among them. their chief expression of sorrow, however, when mr. ---- and myself bade them good night at the conclusion of the service, was on account of my crying, which appeared to affect them very much, many of them mingling with their 'farewell, good night, massa and missis,' affectionate exclamations of 'god bless you, missis; don't cry!' 'lor, missis, don't you cry so!' mr. ---- declined the assistance of any of the torch-bearers home, and bade them all go quietly to their quarters; and as soon as they had dispersed, and we had got beyond the fitful and unequal glaring of the torches, we found the shining of the stars in the deep blue lovely night sky quite sufficient to light our way along the dykes. i could not speak to ----, but continued to cry as we walked silently home; and whatever his cogitations were, they did not take the unusual form with him of wordy demonstration, and so we returned from one of the most striking religious ceremonies at which i ever assisted. arrived at the door of the house we perceived that we had been followed the whole way by the naked noiseless feet of a poor half-witted creature, a female idiot, whose mental incapacity, of course, in no respect unfits her for the life of toil, little more intellectual than that of any beast of burthen, which is her allotted portion here. some small gratification was given to her, and she departed gibbering and muttering in high glee. think, e----, of that man london--who, in spite of all the bitter barriers in his way, has learnt to read, has read his bible, teaches it to his unfortunate fellows, and is used by his owner and his owner's agents, for all these causes, as an effectual influence for good over the slaves of whom he is himself the despised and injured companion. like them, subject to the driver's lash; like them, the helpless creature of his master's despotic will, without a right or a hope in this dreary world. but though the light he has attained must show him the terrible aspects of his fate hidden by blessed ignorance from his companions, it reveals to him also other rights, and other hopes--another world, another life--towards which he leads, according to the grace vouchsafed him, his poor fellow-slaves. how can we keep this man in such a condition? how is such a cruel sin of injustice to be answered? mr. ----, of course, sees and feels none of this as i do, and i should think must regret that he ever brought me here, to have my abhorrence of the theory of slavery deepened, and strengthened every hour of my life, by what i see of its practice. this morning i went over to darien upon the very female errands of returning visits and shopping. in one respect (assuredly in none other) our life here resembles existence in venice; we can never leave home for any purpose or in any direction but by boat--not, indeed, by gondola, but the sharp cut, well made, light craft in which we take our walks on the water is a very agreeable species of conveyance. one of my visits this morning was to a certain miss ----, whose rather grandiloquent name and very striking style of beauty exceedingly well became the daughter of an ex-governor of georgia. as for the residence of this princess, it was like all the planters' residences that i have seen, and such as a well-to-do english farmer would certainly not inhabit. occasional marks of former elegance or splendour survive sometimes in the size of the rooms, sometimes in a little carved wood-work about the mantelpieces or wainscoatings of these mansions; but all things have a castle rackrent air of neglect, and dreary careless untidiness, with which the dirty bare-footed negro servants are in excellent keeping. occasionally a huge pair of dazzling shirt gills, out of which a black visage grins as out of some vast white paper cornet, adorns the sable footman of the establishment, but unfortunately without at all necessarily indicating any downward prolongation of the garment; and the perfect tulip bed of a head handkerchief with which the female attendants of these 'great families' love to bedizen themselves, frequently stands them instead of every other most indispensable article of female attire. as for my shopping, the goods or rather 'bads,' at which i used to grumble, in your village emporium at lenox, are what may be termed 'first rate,' both in excellence and elegance, compared with the vile products of every sort which we wretched southerners are expected to accept as the conveniences of life in exchange for current coin of the realm. i regret to say, moreover, that all these infamous articles are yankee made--expressly for this market, where every species of _thing_ (to use the most general term i can think of), from list shoes to pianofortes, is procured from the north--almost always new england, utterly worthless of its kind, and dearer than the most perfect specimens of the same articles would be anywhere else. the incredible variety and ludicrous combinations of goods to be met with in one of these southern shops beats the stock of your village omnium-gatherum hollow to be sure, one class of articles, and that probably the most in demand here, is not sold over any counter in massachussetts--cow-hides, and man-traps, of which a large assortment enters necessarily into the furniture of every southern shop. in passing to-day along the deep sand road, calling itself the street of darien, my notice was attracted by an extremely handsome and intelligent-looking poodle, standing by a little wizen-looking knife-grinder, whose features were evidently european, though he was nearly as black as a negro who, strange to say, was discoursing with him in very tolerable french. the impulse of curiosity led me to accost the man at the grindstone, when his companion immediately made off. the itinerant artisan was from aix in provence; think of wandering thence to darien in georgia! i asked him about the negro who was talking to him; he said he knew nothing of him, but that he was a slave belonging to somebody in the town. and upon my expressing surprise at his having left his own beautiful and pleasant country for this dreary distant region, he answered, with a shrug and a smile, 'oui, madame, c'est vrai; c'est un joli pays, mais dans ce pays-là, quand un homme n'a rien, c'est rien pour toujours.' a property which many no doubt have come hither, like the little french knife-grinder, to increase, without succeeding in the struggle much better than he appeared to have done. * * * * * dear e----, having made a fresh and, as i thought, more promising purchase of fishing-tackle, jack and i betook ourselves to the river, and succeeded in securing some immense cat-fish, of which, to tell you the truth, i am most horribly afraid when i have caught them. the dexterity necessary for taking them off the hook so as to avoid the spikes on their backs, and the spikes on each side of their gills, the former having to be pressed down, and the two others pressed up, before you can get any purchase on the slimy beast (for it is smooth skinned and without scales, to add to the difficulty)--these conditions, i say, make the catching of cat-fish questionable sport. then too, they hiss, and spit, and swear at one, and are altogether devilish in their aspect and demeanour; nor are they good for food, except, as jack with much humility said this morning, for coloured folks--'good for coloured folks, missis; me 'spect not good enough for white people.' that 'spect, meaning _ex_pect, has sometimes a possible meaning of _sus_pect, which would give the sentence in which it occurs a very humorous turn, and i always take the benefit of that interpretation. after exhausting the charms of our occupation, finding that cat-fish were likely to be our principal haul, i left the river and went my rounds to the hospitals. on my way i encountered two batches of small black fry, hannah's children and poor psyche's children, looking really as neat and tidy as children of the bettermost class of artisans among ourselves. these people are so quick and so imitative that it would be the easiest thing in the world to improve their physical condition by appealing to their emulative propensities. their passion for what is _genteel_ might be used most advantageously in the same direction; and indeed, i think it would be difficult to find people who offered such a fair purchase by so many of their characteristics to the hand of the reformer. returning from the hospital i was accosted by poor old teresa, the wretched negress who had complained to me so grievously of her back being broken by hard work and child-bearing. she was in a dreadful state of excitement, which she partly presently communicated to me, because she said mr. o---- had ordered her to be flogged for having complained to me as she did. it seems to me that i have come down here to be tortured, for this punishing these wretched creatures for crying out to me for help is really converting me into a source of increased misery to them. it is almost more than i can endure to hear these horrid stories of lashings inflicted because i have been invoked; and though i dare say mr. ----, thanks to my passionate appeals to him, gives me little credit for prudence or self-command, i have some, and i exercise it too when i listen to such tales as these with my teeth set fast and my lips closed. whatever i may do to the master, i hold my tongue to the slaves, and i wonder how i do it. in the afternoon i rowed with mr. ---- to another island in the broad waters of the altamaha, called tunno's island, to return the visit of a certain dr. t----, the proprietor of the island, named after him, as our rice swamp is after major ----. i here saw growing in the open air the most beautiful gardinias i ever beheld; the branches were as high and as thick as the largest clumps of kalmia, that grow in your woods, but whereas the tough, stringy, fibrous branches of these gives them a straggling appearance, these magnificent masses of dark shiny glossy green leaves were quite compact; and i cannot conceive anything lovelier or more delightful than they would be starred all over with their thick-leaved cream-white odoriferous blossoms. in the course of our visit a discussion arose as to the credibility of any negro assertion, though, indeed, that could hardly be called a discussion that was simply a chorus of assenting opinions. no negro was to be believed on any occasion or any subject. no doubt they are habitual liars, for they are slaves, but there are some thrice honourable exceptions who, being slaves, are yet not liars; and certainly the vice results much more from the circumstances in which they are placed than from any natural tendency to untruth in their case. the truth is that they are always considered as false and deceitful, and it is very seldom that any special investigation of the facts of any particular case is resorted to in their behalf. they are always prejudged on their supposed general characteristics, and never judged after the fact on the merit of any special instance. a question which was discussed in the real sense of the term, was that of ploughing the land instead of having it turned with the spade or hoe. i listened to this with great interest, for jack and i had had some talk upon this subject, which began in his ardently expressed wish that massa would allow his land to be ploughed, and his despairing conclusion that he never would, ''cause horses more costly to keep than coloured folks,' and ploughing, therefore, dearer than hoeing or digging. i had ventured to suggest to mr. ----- the possibility of ploughing some of the fields on the island, and his reply was that the whole land was too moist and too much interrupted with the huge masses of the cypress yam roots, which would turn the share of any plough. yet there is land belonging to our neighbour mr. g----, on the other side of the river, where the conditions of the soil must be precisely the same, and yet which is being ploughed before our faces. on mr. ----'s adjacent plantation the plough is also used extensively and successfully. on my return to our own island i visited another of the hospitals, and the settlements to which it belonged. the condition of these places and of their inhabitants is, of course, the same all over the plantation, and if i were to describe them i should but weary you with a repetition of identical phenomena: filthy, wretched, almost naked, always bare-legged and bare-footed children; negligent, ignorant, wretched mothers, whose apparent indifference to the plight of their offspring, and utter incapacity to alter it, are the inevitable result of their slavery. it is hopeless to attempt to reform their habits or improve their condition while the women are condemned to field labour; nor is it possible to overestimate the bad moral effect of the system as regards the women entailing this enforced separation from their children and neglect of all the cares and duties of mother, nurse, and even house-wife, which are all merged in the mere physical toil of a human hoeing machine. it seems to me too--but upon this point i cannot, of course, judge as well as the persons accustomed to and acquainted with the physical capacities of their slaves--that the labour is not judiciously distributed in many cases; at least, not as far as the women are concerned. it is true that every able-bodied woman is made the most of in being driven a-field as long as under all and any circumstances she is able to wield a hoe; but on the other hand, stout, hale, hearty girls and boys, of from eight to twelve and older, are allowed to lounge about filthy and idle, with no pretence of an occupation but what they call 'tend baby,' i.e. see to the life and limbs of the little slave infants, to whose mothers, working in distant fields, they carry them during the day to be suckled, and for the rest of the time leave them to crawl and kick in the filthy cabins or on the broiling sand which surrounds them, in which industry, excellent enough for the poor babies, these big lazy youths and lasses emulate them. again, i find many women who have borne from five to ten children rated as workers, precisely as young women in the prime of their strength who have had none; this seems a cruel carelessness. to be sure, while the women are pregnant their task is diminished, and this is one of the many indirect inducements held out to reckless propagation, which has a sort of premium offered to it in the consideration of less work and more food, counterbalanced by none of the sacred responsibilities which hallow and ennoble the relation of parent and child; in short, as their lives are for the most part those of mere animals, their increase is literally mere animal breeding, to which every encouragement is given, for it adds to the master's live stock, and the value of his estate. * * * * * dear e----. to-day, i have the pleasure of announcing to you a variety of improvements about to be made in the infirmary of the island. there is to be a third story--a mere loft indeed--added to the buildings, but by affording more room for the least distressing cases of sickness to be drafted off into, it will leave the ground-floor and room above it comparatively free for the most miserable of these unfortunates. to my unspeakable satisfaction these destitute apartments are to be furnished with bedsteads, mattresses, pillows, and blankets; and i feel a little comforted for the many heart-aches my life here inflicts upon me: at least some of my twinges will have wrought this poor alleviation of their wretchedness for the slaves, when prostrated by disease or pain. i had hardly time to return from the hospital home this morning before one of the most tremendous storms i ever saw burst over the island. your northern hills, with their solemn pine woods, and fresh streams and lakes, telling of a cold rather than a warm climate, always seem to me as if undergoing some strange and unnatural visitation, when one of your heavy summer thunder-storms bursts over them. snow and frost, hail and, above all, wind, trailing rain clouds and brilliant northern lights, are your appropriate sky phenomena; here, thunder and lightning seem as if they might have been invented. even in winter (remember, we are now in february) they appear neither astonishing nor unseasonable, and i should think in summer (but heaven defend me from ever making good my supposition) lightning must be as familiar to these sweltering lands and slimy waters as sunlight itself. the afternoon cleared off most beautifully, and jack and i went out on the river to catch what might be caught. jack's joyful excitement was extreme at my announcing to him the fact that mr. ---- had consented to try ploughing on some of the driest portions of the island instead of the slow and laborious process of hoeing the fields; this is a disinterested exultation on his part, for at any rate as long as i am here, he will certainly be nothing but 'my boy jack,' and i should think after my departure will never be degraded to the rank of a field-hand or common labourer. indeed the delicacy of his health, to which his slight slender figure and languid face bear witness, and which was one reason of his appointment to the eminence of being 'my slave,' would, i should think, prevent the poor fellow's ever being a very robust or useful working animal. on my return from the river i had a long and painful conversation with mr. ---- upon the subject of the flogging which had been inflicted on the wretched teresa. these discussions are terrible: they throw me into perfect agonies of distress for the slaves, whose position is utterly hopeless; for myself, whose intervention in their behalf sometimes seems to me worse than useless; for mr. ----, whose share in this horrible system fills me by turns with indignation and pity. but, after all, what can he do? how can he help it all? moreover, born and bred in america, how should he care or wish to help it? and of course he does not; and i am in despair that he does not: et voilà, it is a happy and hopeful plight for us both. he maintained that there had been neither hardship nor injustice in the case of teresa's flogging; and that, moreover, she had not been flogged at all for complaining to me, but simply because her allotted task was not done at the appointed time. of course this was the result of her having come to appeal to me, instead of going to her labour; and as she knew perfectly well the penalty she was incurring, he maintained that there was neither hardship nor injustice in the case; the whole thing was a regularly established law, with which all the slaves were perfectly well acquainted; and this case was no exception whatever. the circumstance of my being on the island could not of course be allowed to overthrow the whole system of discipline established to secure the labour and obedience of the slaves; and if they chose to try experiments as to that fact, they and i must take the consequences. at the end of the day, the driver of the gang to which teresa belongs reported her work not done, and mr. o---- ordered him to give her the usual number of stripes; which order the driver of course obeyed, without knowing how teresa had employed her time instead of hoeing. but mr. o---- knew well enough, for the wretched woman told me that she had herself told him she should appeal to me about her weakness and suffering and inability to do the work exacted from her. he did not, however, think proper to exceed in her punishment the usual number of stripes allotted to the non-performance of the appointed daily task, and mr. ---- pronounced the whole transaction perfectly satisfactory and _en règle_. the common drivers are limited in their powers of chastisement, not being allowed to administer more than a certain number of lashes to their fellow slaves. head man frank, as he is called, has alone the privilege of exceeding this limit; and the overseer's latitude of infliction is only curtailed by the necessity of avoiding injury to life or limb. the master's irresponsible power has no such bound. when i was thus silenced on the particular case under discussion, i resorted in my distress and indignation to the abstract question, as i never can refrain from doing; and to mr. ----'s assertion of the justice of poor teresa's punishment, i retorted the manifest injustice of unpaid and enforced labour; the brutal inhumanity of allowing a man to strip and lash a woman, the mother of ten children; to exact from her toil which was to maintain in luxury two idle young men, the owners of the plantation. i said i thought female labour of the sort exacted from these slaves, and corporal chastisement such as they endure, must be abhorrent to any manly or humane man. mr. ---- said he thought it was _disagreeable_, and left me to my reflections with that concession. my letter has been interrupted for the last three days; by nothing special, however. my occupations and interests here of course know no change; but mr. ---- has been anxious for a little while past that we should go down to st. simon's, the cotton plantation. we shall suffer less from the heat, which i am beginning to find oppressive on this swamp island; and he himself wished to visit that part of his property, whither he had not yet been since our arrival in georgia. so the day before yesterday he departed to make the necessary arrangements for our removal thither; and my time in the meanwhile has been taken up in fitting him out for his departure. in the morning jack and i took our usual paddle, and having the tackle on board, tried fishing. i was absorbed in many sad and serious considerations, and wonderful to relate (for you know ---- how keen an angler i am), had lost all consciousness of my occupation, until after i know not how long a time elapsing without the shadow of a nibble, i was recalled to a most ludicrous perception of my ill-success by jack's sudden observation, 'missis, fishing berry good fun when um fish bite.' this settled the fishing for that morning, and i let jack paddle me down the broad turbid stream, endeavouring to answer in the most comprehensible manner to his keen but utterly undeveloped intellects the innumerable questions with which he plied me about philadelphia, about england, about the atlantic, &c. he dilated much upon the charms of st. simon's, to which he appeared very glad that we were going; and among other items of description mentioned, what i was very glad to hear, that it was a beautiful place for riding, and that i should be able to indulge to my heart's content in my favourite exercise, from which i have, of course, been utterly debarred in this small dykeland of ours. he insinuated more than once his hope and desire that he might be allowed to accompany me, but as i knew nothing at all about his capacity for equestrian exercises, or any of the arrangements that might or might not interfere with such a plan, i was discreetly silent, and took no notice of his most comically turned hints on the subject. in our row we started a quantity of wild duck, and he told me that there was a great deal of game at st. simon's, but that the people did not contrive to catch much, though they laid traps constantly for it. of course their possessing firearms is quite out of the question; but this abundance of what must be to them such especially desirable prey, makes the fact a great hardship. i almost wonder they don't learn to shoot like savages with bows and arrows, but these would be weapons, and equally forbidden them. in the afternoon i saw mr. ---- off for st. simon's; it is fifteen miles lower down the river, and a large island at the very mouth of the altamaha. the boat he went in was a large, broad, rather heavy, though well-built craft, by no means as swift or elegant as the narrow eight-oared long boat in which he generally takes his walks on the water, but well adapted for the traffic between the two plantations, where it serves the purpose of a sort of omnibus or stage-coach for the transfer of the people from one to the other, and of a baggage waggon or cart for the conveyance of all sorts of household goods, chattels, and necessaries. mr. ---- sat in the middle of a perfect chaos of such freight; and as the boat pushed off, and the steersman took her into the stream, the men at the oars set up a chorus, which they continued to chaunt in unison with each other, and in time with their stroke, till the voices and oars were heard no more from the distance. i believe i have mentioned to you before the peculiar characteristics of this veritable negro minstrelsy--how they all sing in unison, having never, it appears, attempted or heard anything like part-singing. their voices seem oftener tenor than any other quality, and the tune and time they keep something quite wonderful; such truth of intonation and accent would make almost any music agreeable. that which i have heard these people sing is often plaintive and pretty, but almost always has some resemblance to tunes with which they must have become acquainted through the instrumentality of white men; their overseers or masters whistling scotch or irish airs, of which they have produced by ear these _rifacciamenti_. the note for note reproduction of 'ah! vous dirai-je, maman?' in one of the most popular of the so-called negro melodies with which all america and england are familiar, is an example of this very transparent plagiarism; and the tune with which mr. ----'s rowers started him down the altamaha, as i stood at the steps to see him off, was a very distinct descendant of 'coming through the rye.' the words, however, were astonishingly primitive, especially the first line, which, when it burst from their eight throats in high unison, sent me into fits of laughter. jenny shake her toe at me, jenny gone away; jenny shake her toe at me, jenny gone away. hurrah! miss susy, oh! jenny gone away; hurrah! miss susy, oh! jenny gone away. what the obnoxious jenny meant by shaking her toe, whether defiance or mere departure, i never could ascertain, but her going away was an unmistakable subject of satisfaction; and the pause made on the last 'oh!' before the final announcement of her departure, had really a good deal of dramatic and musical effect. except the extemporaneous chaunts in our honour, of which i have written to you before, i have never heard the negroes on mr. ----'s plantation sing any words that could be said to have any sense. to one, an extremely pretty, plaintive, and original air, there was but one line, which was repeated with a sort of wailing chorus-- oh! my massa told me, there's no grass in georgia. upon enquiring the meaning of which, i was told it was supposed to be the lamentation of a slave from one of the more northerly states, virginia or carolina, where the labour of hoeing the weeds, or grass as they call it, is not nearly so severe as here, in the rice and cotton lands of georgia. another very pretty and pathetic tune began with words that seemed to promise something sentimental-- fare you well, and good-bye, oh, oh! i'm goin' away to leave you, oh, oh! but immediately went off into nonsense verses about gentlemen in the parlour drinking wine and cordial, and ladies in the drawing-room drinking tea and coffee, &c. i have heard that many of the masters and overseers on these plantations prohibit melancholy tunes or words, and encourage nothing but cheerful music and senseless words, deprecating the effect of sadder strains upon the slaves, whose peculiar musical sensibility might be expected to make them especially excitable by any songs of a plaintive character, and having any reference to their particular hardships. if it is true, i think it a judicious precaution enough--these poor slaves are just the sort of people over whom a popular musical appeal to their feelings and passions would have an immense power. in the evening, mr. ----'s departure left me to the pleasures of an uninterrupted _tête-à-tête_ with his crosseyed overseer, and i endeavoured, as i generally do, to atone by my conversibleness and civility for the additional trouble which, no doubt, all my outlandish ways and notions are causing the worthy man. so suggestive (to use the new-fangled jargon about books) a woman as myself is, i suspect, an intolerable nuisance in these parts; and poor mr. o---- cannot very well desire mr. ---- to send me away, however much he may wish that he would; so that figuratively, as well as literally, i fear the worthy master _me voit d'un mauvais oeil_, as the french say. i asked him several questions about some of the slaves who had managed to learn to read, and by what means they had been able to do so. as teaching them is strictly prohibited by the laws, they who instructed them, and such of them as acquired the knowledge, must have been not a little determined and persevering. this was my view of the case, of course, and of course it was not the overseer's. i asked him if many of mr. ----'s slaves could read. he said 'no; very few, he was happy to say, but those few were just so many too many.' 'why, had he observed any insubordination in those who did?' and i reminded him of cooper london, the methodist preacher, whose performance of the burial service had struck me so much some time ago--to whose exemplary conduct and character there is but one concurrent testimony all over the plantation. no; he had no special complaint to bring against the lettered members of his subject community, but he spoke by anticipation. every step they take towards intelligence and enlightenment lessens the probability of their acquiescing in their condition. their condition is not to be changed--ergo, they had better not learn to read; a very succinct and satisfactory argument as far as it goes, no doubt, and one to which i had not a word to reply, at any rate, to mr. o----, as i did not feel called upon to discuss the abstract justice or equity of the matter with him; indeed he, to a certain degree, gave up that part of the position, starting with 'i don't say whether it's right or wrong;' and in all conversations that i have had with the southerners upon these subjects, whether out of civility to what may be supposed to be an englishwoman's prejudices, or a forlorn respect to their own convictions, the question of the fundamental wrong of slavery is generally admitted, or at any rate certainly never denied. that part of the subject is summarily dismissed, and all its other aspects vindicated, excused, and even lauded, with untiring eloquence. of course, of the abstract question i could judge before i came here, but i confess i had not the remotest idea how absolutely my observation of every detail of the system, as a practical iniquity, would go to confirm my opinion of its abomination. mr. o---- went on to condemn and utterly denounce all the preaching and teaching and moral instruction upon religious subjects, which people in the south, pressed upon by northern opinion, are endeavouring to give their slaves. the kinder and the more cowardly masters are anxious to evade the charge of keeping their negroes in brutish ignorance, and so they crumble what they suppose and hope may prove a little harmless, religious enlightenment, which, mixed up with much religious authority on the subject of submission and fidelity to masters, they trust their slaves may swallow without its doing them any harm--i.e., that they may be better christians and better slaves--and so, indeed, no doubt they are; but it is a very dangerous experiment, and from mr. o----'s point of view i quite agree with him. the letting out of water, or the letting in of light, in infinitesimal quantities, is not always easy. the half-wicked of the earth are the leaks through which wickedness is eventually swamped; compromises forerun absolute surrender in most matters, and fools and cowards are, in such cases, the instruments of providence for their own defeat. mr. o---- stated unequivocally his opinion that free labour would be more profitable on the plantations than the work of slaves, which, being compulsory, was of the worst possible quality and the smallest possible quantity; then the charge of them before and after they are able to work is onerous, the cost of feeding and clothing them very considerable, and upon the whole he, a southern overseer, pronounced himself decidedly in favour of free labour, upon grounds of expediency. having at the beginning of our conversation declined discussing the moral aspect of slavery, evidently not thinking that position tenable, i thought i had every right to consider mr. ----'s slave-driver a decided abolitionist. i had been anxious to enlist his sympathies on behalf of my extreme desire, to have some sort of garden, but did not succeed in inspiring him with my enthusiasm on the subject; he said there was but one garden that he knew of in the whole neighbourhood of darien, and that was our neighbour, old mr. c----'s, a scotchman on st. simon's. i remembered the splendid gardinias on tunno's island, and referred to them as a proof of the material for ornamental gardening. he laughed, and said rice and cotton crops were the ornamental gardening principally admired by the planters, and that, to the best of his belief, there was not another decent kitchen or flower garden in the state, but the one he had mentioned. the next day after this conversation, i walked with my horticultural zeal much damped, and wandered along the dyke by the broad river, looking at some pretty peach trees in blossom, and thinking what a curse of utter stagnation this slavery produces, and how intolerable to me a life passed within its stifling influence would be. think of peach trees in blossom in the middle of february! it does seem cruel, with such a sun and soil, to be told that a garden is worth nobody's while here; however, mr. o---- said that he believed the wife of the former overseer had made a 'sort of a garden' at st. simon's. we shall see 'what sort' it turns out to be. while i was standing on the dyke, ruminating above the river, i saw a beautiful white bird of the crane species alight not far from me. i do not think a little knowledge of natural history would diminish the surprise and admiration with which i regard the, to me, unwonted specimens of animal existence that i encounter every day, and of which i do not even know the names. ignorance is an odious thing. the birds here are especially beautiful, i think. i saw one the other day, of what species of course i do not know, of a warm and rich brown, with a scarlet hood and crest--a lovely creature, about the size of your northern robin, but more elegantly shaped. this morning, instead of my usual visit to the infirmary, i went to look at the work and workers in the threshing mill--all was going on actively and orderly under the superintendence of head-man frank, with whom, and a very sagacious clever fellow, who manages the steam power of the mill, and is honourably distinguished as engineer ned, i had a small chat. there is one among various drawbacks to the comfort and pleasure of our intercourse with these coloured 'men and brethren,' at least in their slave condition, which certainly exercises my fortitude not a little,--the swarms of fleas that cohabit with these sable dependants of ours are--well--incredible; moreover they are by no means the only or most objectionable companions one borrows from them, and i never go to the infirmary, where i not unfrequently am requested to look at very dirty limbs and bodies in very dirty draperies, without coming away with a strong inclination to throw myself into the water, and my clothes into the fire, which last would be expensive. i do not suppose that these hateful consequences of dirt and disorder are worse here than among the poor and neglected human creatures who swarm in the lower parts of european cities; but my call to visit them has never been such as that which constrains me to go daily among these poor people, and although on one or two occasions i have penetrated into fearfully foul and filthy abodes of misery in london, i have never rendered the same personal services to their inhabitants that i do to mr. ----'s slaves, and so have not incurred the same amount of entomological inconvenience. after leaving the mill, i prolonged my walk, and came, for the first time, upon one of the 'gangs,' as they are called, in full field work. upon my appearance and approach there was a momentary suspension of labour, and the usual chorus of screams and ejaculations of welcome, affection, and infinite desires for infinite small indulgences. i was afraid to stop their work, not feeling at all sure that urging a conversation with me would be accepted as any excuse for an uncompleted task, or avert the fatal infliction of the usual award of stripes; so i hurried off and left them to their hoeing. on my way home i was encountered by london, our methodist preacher, who accosted me with a request for a prayer-book and bible, and expressed his regret at hearing that we were so soon going to st. simon's. i promised him his holy books, and asked him how he had learned to read, but found it impossible to get him to tell me. i wonder if he thought he should be putting his teacher, whoever he was, in danger of the penalty of the law against instructing the slaves, if he told me who he was; it was impossible to make him do so, so that, besides his other good qualities, he appears to have that most unusual one of all in an uneducated person--discretion. he certainly is a most remarkable man. after parting with him, i was assailed by a small gang of children, clamouring for the indulgence of some meat, which they besought me to give them. animal food is only allowed to certain of the harder working men, hedgers and ditchers, and to them only occasionally, and in very moderate rations. my small cannibals clamoured round me for flesh, as if i had had a butcher's cart in my pocket, till i began to laugh and then to run, and away they came, like a pack of little black wolves, at my heels, shrieking, 'missis, you gib me piece meat, missis, you gib me meat,' till i got home. at the door i found another petitioner, a young woman named maria, who brought a fine child in her arms, and demanded a present of a piece of flannel. upon my asking her who her husband was, she replied, without much hesitation, that she did not possess any such appendage. i gave another look at her bonny baby, and went into the house to get the flannel for her. i afterwards heard from mr. ---- that she and two other girls of her age, about seventeen, were the only instances on the island of women with illegitimate children. after i had been in the house a little while, i was summoned out again to receive the petition of certain poor women in the family-way to have their work lightened. i was, of course, obliged to tell them that i could not interfere in the matter, that their master was away, and that, when he came back, they must present their request to him: they said they had already begged 'massa,' and he had refused, and they thought, perhaps, if 'missis' begged 'massa' for them, he would lighten their task. poor 'missis,' poor 'massa,' poor woman, that i am to have such prayers addressed to me! i had to tell them, that if they had already spoken to their master, i was afraid my doing so would be of no use, but that when he came back i would try; so, choking with crying, i turned away from them, and re-entered the house, to the chorus of 'oh, thank you, missis! god bless you, missis!' e----, i think an improvement might be made upon that caricature published a short time ago, called the 'chivalry of the south.' i think an elegant young carolinian, or georgian gentleman, whip in hand, driving a gang of 'lusty women,' as they are called here, would be a pretty version of the 'chivalry of the south'--a little coarse, i am afraid you will say. oh! quite horribly coarse, but then so true--a great matter in works of art, which, now-a-days, appear to be thought excellent only in proportion to their lack of ideal elevation. that would be a subject, and a treatment of it, which could not be accused of imaginative exaggeration, at any rate. in the evening i mentioned the petitions of these poor women to mr. o----, thinking that perhaps he had the power to lessen their tasks. he seemed evidently annoyed at their having appealed to me; said that their work was not a bit too much for them, and that constantly they were _shamming_ themselves in the family-way, in order to obtain a diminution of their labour. poor creatures! i suppose some of them do; but again, it must be a hard matter for those who do not, not to obtain the mitigation of their toil which their condition requires; for their assertion and their evidence are never received--they can't be believed, even if they were upon oath, say their white taskmasters; why? because they have never been taught the obligations of an oath, to whom made, or wherefore binding; and they are punished both directly and indirectly for their moral ignorance, as if it were a natural and incorrigible element of their character, instead of the inevitable result of their miserable position. the oath of any and every scoundrelly fellow with a white skin is received, but not that of such a man as frank, ned, old jacob, or cooper london. * * * * * dearest e----. i think it right to begin this letter with an account of a most prosperous fishing expedition jack and i achieved the other morning. it is true we still occasionally drew up huge cat-fish, with their detestable beards and spikes, but we also captivated some magnificent perch, and the altamaha perch are worth one's while both to catch and to eat. on a visit i had to make on the mainland, the same day, i saw a tiny strip of garden ground, rescued from the sandy road, called the street, perfectly filled with hyacinths, double jonquils, and snowdrops, a charming nosegay for february . after leaving the boat on my return home, i encountered a curious creature walking all sideways, a small cross between a lobster and a crab. one of the negroes to whom i applied for its denomination informed me that it was a land crab, with which general description of this very peculiar multipede you must be satisfied, for i can tell you no more. i went a little further, as the nursery rhyme says, and met with a snake, and not being able to determine, at ignorant first sight, whether it was a malignant serpent or not, i ingloriously took to my heels, and came home on the full run. it is the first of these exceedingly displeasing animals i have encountered here; but jack, for my consolation, tells me that they abound on st. simon's, whither we are going--'rattlesnakes, and all kinds,' says he, with an affluence of promise in his tone that is quite agreeable. rattlesnakes will be quite enough of a treat, without the vague horrors that may be comprised in the additional 'all kinds.' jack's account of the game on st. simon's is really quite tantalising to me, who cannot carry a gun any more than if i were a slave. he says that partridges, woodcocks, snipe, and wild duck abound, so that, at any rate, our table ought to be well supplied. his account of the bears that are still to be found in the woods of the mainland, is not so pleasant, though he says they do no harm to the people, if they are not meddled with, but that they steal the corn from the fields when it is ripe, and actually swim the river to commit their depredations on the islands. it seems difficult to believe this, looking at this wide and heavy stream--though, to be sure, i did once see a young horse swim across the st. lawrence, between montreal and quebec; a feat of natation which much enlarged my belief in what quadrupeds may accomplish when they have no choice between swimming and sinking. you cannot imagine how great a triumph the virtue next to godliness is making under my auspices and a judicious system of small bribery. i can hardly stir now without being assailed with cries of 'missis, missis me mind chile, me bery clean,' or the additional gratifying fact, 'and chile too, him bery clean.' this virtue, however, if painful to the practisers, as no doubt it is, is expensive, too, to me, and i shall have to try some moral influence equivalent in value to a cent current coin of the realm. what a poor chance, indeed, the poor abstract idea runs! however, it is really a comfort to see the poor little woolly heads, now in most instances stripped of their additional filthy artificial envelopes. in my afternoon's row to-day i passed a huge dead alligator, lying half in and half out of the muddy slime of the river bank--a most hideous object it was, and i was glad to turn my eyes to the beautiful surface of the mid stream, all burnished with sunset glories, and broken with the vivacious gambols of a school of porpoises. it is curious, i think, that these creatures should come fifteen miles from the sea to enliven the waters round our little rice swamp. while rowing this evening, i was led by my conversation with jack to some of those reflections with which my mind is naturally incessantly filled here, but which i am obliged to be very careful not to give any utterance to. the testimony of no negro is received in a southern court of law, and the reason commonly adduced for this is, that the state of ignorance in which the negroes are necessarily kept, renders them incapable of comprehending the obligations of an oath, and yet with an inconsistency which might be said to border on effrontery, these same people are admitted to the most holy sacrament of the church, and are certainly thereby supposed to be capable of assuming the highest christian obligations, and the entire fulfilment of god's commandments--including, of course, the duty of speaking the truth at all times. as we were proceeding down the river, we met the flat, as it is called, a huge sort of clumsy boat, more like a raft than any other species of craft, coming up from st. simon's with its usual swarthy freight of mr. ----'s dependants from that place. i made jack turn our canoe, because the universal outcries and exclamations very distinctly intimated that i should be expected to be at home to receive the homage of this cargo of 'massa's people.' no sooner, indeed, had i disembarked and reached the house, than a dark cloud of black life filled the piazza and swarmed up the steps, and i had to shake hands, like a popular president, till my arm ached at the shoulder-joint. when this tribe had dispersed itself, a very old woman with a remarkably intelligent, nice-looking young girl, came forward and claimed my attention. the old woman, who must, i think, by her appearance, have been near seventy, had been one of the house servants on st. simon's island in major ----'s time, and retained a certain dignified courtesy and respectfulness of manner which is by no means an uncommon attribute of the better class of slaves, whose intercourse with their masters, while tending to expand their intelligence, cultivates, at the same time, the natural turn for good manners which is, i think, a distinctive peculiarity of negroes, if not in the kingdom of dahomey, certainly in the united states of america. if it can be for a moment attributed to the beneficent influence of slavery on their natures (and i think slaveowners are quite likely to imagine so), it is curious enough that there is hardly any alloy whatever of cringing servility, or even humility, in the good manners of the blacks, but a rather courtly and affable condescension which, combined with their affection for, and misapplication of, long words, produces an exceedingly comical effect. old-house molly, after congratulating herself, with many thanks to heaven, for having spared her to see 'massa's' wife and children, drew forward her young companion, and informed me she was one of her numerous grandchildren. the damsel, ycleped louisa, made rather a shame-faced obeisance, and her old grandmother went on to inform me that she had only lately been forgiven by the overseer for an attempt to run away from the plantation. i enquired the cause of her desire to do so--a 'thrashing' she had got for an unfinished task--'but lor, missis,' explained the old woman, 'taint no use--what use nigger run away?--de swamp all round; dey get in dar, an dey starve to def, or de snakes eat em up--massa's nigger, dey don't neber run away;' and if the good lady's account of their prospects in doing so is correct (which, substituting biting for eating, on the part of the snakes, it undoubtedly is), one does not see exactly what particular merit the institution of slavery as practised on mr. ----'s plantation derives from the fact that his 'nigger don't neber run away.' after dismissing molly and her grand-daughter, i was about to re-enter the house, when i was stopped by betty, head-man frank's wife, who came with a petition that she might be baptised. as usual with all requests involving anything more than an immediate physical indulgence, i promised to refer the matter to mr. ----, but expressed some surprise that betty, now by no means a young woman, should have postponed a ceremony which the religious among the slaves are apt to attach much importance to. she told me she had more than once applied for this permission to massa k---- (the former overseer), but had never been able to obtain it, but that now she thought she would ask 'de missis.'[ ] [footnote : of this woman's life on the plantation, i subsequently learned the following circumstances:--she was the wife of head-man frank, the most intelligent and trustworthy of mr. ----'s slaves; the head driver--second in command to the overseer, and indeed second to none during the pestilential season, when the rice swamps cannot with impunity be inhabited by any white man, and when, therefore, the whole force employed in its cultivation on the island remains entirely under his authority and control. his wife--a tidy, trim, intelligent woman, with a pretty figure, but a decidedly negro face--was taken from him by the overseer left in charge of the plantation by the messrs. ----, the all-efficient and all-satisfactory mr. k----, and she had a son by him, whose straight features and diluted colour, no less than his troublesome, discontented and insubmissive disposition, bear witness to his yankee descent. i do not know how long mr. k----'s occupation of frank's wife continued, or how the latter endured the wrong done to him. when i visited the island, betty was again living with her husband--a grave, sad, thoughtful-looking man, whose admirable moral and mental qualities were extolled to me by no worse a judge of such matters than mr. k---- himself, during the few days he spent with mr. ----, while we were on the plantation. this outrage upon this man's rights was perfectly notorious among all the slaves; and his hopeful offspring, renty, alluding very unmistakably to his superior birth on one occasion when he applied for permission to have a gun, observed that, though the people in general on the plantation were not allowed firearms, he thought he might, _on account of his colour_, and added that he thought mr. k---- might have left him his. this precious sample of the mode in which the vices of the whites procure the intellectual progress of the blacks to their own endangerment, was, as you will easily believe, a significant chapter to me in the black history of oppression which is laid before my eyes in this place.] yesterday afternoon i received a visit from the wife of our neighbour dr. t----. as usual, she exclaimed at my good fortune in having a white woman with my children when she saw m----, and, as usual, went on to expatiate on the utter impossibility of finding a trustworthy nurse anywhere in the south, to whom your children could be safely confided for a day or even an hour; as usual too, the causes of this unworthiness or incapacity for a confidential servant's occupation were ignored, and the fact laid to the natural defects of the negro race. i am sick and weary of this cruel and ignorant folly. this afternoon i went out to refresh myself with a row on the broad altamaha and the conversation of my slave jack, which is, i assure you, by no means devoid of interest of various kinds, pathetic and humorous. i do not know that jack's scientific information is the most valuable in the world, and i sometimes marvel with perhaps unjust incredulity at the facts in natural history which he imparts to me; for instance, to-day he told me as we rowed past certain mud islands, very like children's mud puddings on a rather larger scale than usual, that they were inaccessible, and that it would be quite impossible to land on one of them even for the shortest time. not understanding why people who did not mind being up to their knees in mud should not land there if they pleased, i demurred to his assertion, when he followed it up by assuring me that there were what he called sand-sinks under the mud, and that whatever was placed on the surface would not only sink through the mud, but also into a mysterious quicksand of unknown depth and extent below it. this may be true, but sounds very strange, although i remember that the frequent occurrence of large patches of quicksand was found to be one of the principal impediments in the way of the canal speculators at brunswick. i did not, however, hear that these sinks, as jack called them, were found below a thick stratum of heavy mud. in remonstrating with him upon the want of decent cleanliness generally among the people, and citing to him one among the many evils resulting from it, the intolerable quantity of fleas in all the houses, he met me full with another fact in natural history which, if it be fact and not fiction, certainly gave him the best of the argument: he declared, with the utmost vehemence, that the sand of the pine woods on the mainland across the river literally swarmed with fleas--that in the uninhabited places the sand itself was full of them, and that so far from being a result of human habitation, they were found in less numbers round the negro huts on the mainland than in the lonely woods around them. the ploughing is at length fairly inaugurated, and there is a regular jubilee among the negroes thereat. after discoursing fluently on the improvements likely to result from the measure, jack wound up by saying he had been afraid it would not be tried on account of the greater scarcity, and consequently greater value, of horses over men in these parts--a modest and slave-like conclusion. * * * * * dearest e----. i walked up to-day, _february th_, to see that land of promise the ploughed field: it did not look to me anything like as heavy soil as the cold wet sour stiff clay i have seen turned up in some of the swampy fields round lenox; and as for the cypress roots which were urged as so serious an impediment, they are not much more frequent, and certainly not as resisting, as the granite knees and elbows that stick out through the scanty covering of the said clay, which mother earth allows herself as sole garment for her old bones in many a berkshire patch of corn. after my survey, as i walked home, i came upon a gang of lusty women, as the phrase is here for women in the family-way; they were engaged in burning stubble, and i was nearly choked while receiving the multitudinous complaints and compliments with which they overwhelmed me. after leaving them, i wandered along the river side on the dyke homeward, rejoicing in the buds and green things putting forth their tender shoots on every spray, in the early bees and even the less amiable wasps busy in the sunshine with flowers--(weeds i suppose they should be called), already opening their sweet temptations to them, and giving the earth a spring aspect, such as it does not wear with you in massachusetts till late in may. in the afternoon i took my accustomed row: there had been a tremendous ebb tide, the consequence of which was to lay bare portions of the banks which i had not seen before. the cypress roots form a most extraordinary mass of intertwined wood-work, so closely matted and joined together, that the separate roots, in spite of their individual peculiarities, appeared only like divisions of a continuous body; they presented the appearance in several places of jagged pieces of splintered rock, with their huge teeth pointing downward into the water. their decay is so slow that the protection they afford the soft spongy banks against the action of the water, is likely to be prolonged until the gathering and deposit of successive layers of alluvium will remove them from the margin of which they are now most useful supports. on my return home, i was met by a child (as she seemed to me) carrying a baby, in whose behalf she begged me for some clothes. on making some enquiry, i was amazed to find that the child was her own: she said she was married and fourteen years old, she looked much younger even than that, poor creature. her mother, who came up while i was talking to her, said she did not herself know the girl's age;--how horridly brutish it all did seem, to be sure. the spring is already here with her hands full of flowers. i do not know who planted some straggling pyrus japonica near the house, but it is blessing my eyes with a hundred little flame-like buds, which will presently burst into a blaze; there are clumps of narcissus roots sending up sheaves of ivory blossoms, and i actually found a monthly rose in bloom on the sunny side of one of the dykes; what a delight they are in the slovenly desolation of this abode of mine! what a garden one might have on the banks of these dykes, with the least amount of trouble and care! in the afternoon i rowed over to darien, and there procuring the most miserable vehicle calling itself a carriage that i had ever seen (the dirtiest and shabbiest london hackney-coach were a chariot of splendour and ease to it), we drove some distance into the sandy wilderness that surrounds the little town, to pay a visit to some of the resident gentry who had called upon us. the road was a deep wearisome sandy track, stretching wearisomely into the wearisome pine forest--a species of wilderness more oppressive a thousand times to the senses and imagination than any extent of monotonous prairie, barren steppe, or boundless desert can be; for the horizon there at least invites and detains the eye, suggesting beyond its limit possible change; the lights and shadows and enchanting colours of the sky afford some variety in their movement and change, and the reflections of their tints; while in this hideous and apparently boundless pine barren, you are deprived alike of horizon before you and heaven above you: nor sun nor star appears through the thick covert, which, in the shabby dinginess of its dark blue-green expanse, looks like a gigantic cotton umbrella stretched immeasurably over you. it is true that over that sandy soil a dark green cotton umbrella is a very welcome protection from the sun, and when the wind makes music in the tall pine-tops and refreshment in the air beneath them. the comparison may seem ungrateful enough: to-day, however, there was neither sound above nor motion below, and the heat was perfectly stifling, as we ploughed our way through the resinous-smelling sand solitudes. from time to time a thicket of exquisite evergreen shrubs broke the monotonous lines of the countless pine shafts rising round us, and still more welcome were the golden garlands of the exquisite wild jasmine, hanging, drooping, trailing, clinging, climbing through the dreary forest, joining to the warm aromatic smell of the fir trees a delicious fragrance as of acres of heliotrope in bloom. i wonder if this delightful creature is very difficult of cultivation out of its natural region; i never remember to have seen it, at least not in blossom, in any collection of plants in the northern states or in europe, where it certainly deserves an honourable place for its grace, beauty, and fragrance. on our drive we passed occasionally a tattered man or woman, whose yellow mud complexion, straight features, and singularly sinister countenance bespoke an entirely different race from the negro population in the midst of which they lived. these are the so-called pine-landers of georgia, i suppose the most degraded race of human beings claiming an anglo-saxon origin that can be found on the face of the earth,--filthy, lazy, ignorant, brutal, proud, penniless savages, without one of the nobler attributes which have been found occasionally allied to the vices of savage nature. they own no slaves, for they are almost without exception abjectly poor; they will not work, for that, as they conceive, would reduce them to an equality with the abhorred negroes; they squat, and steal, and starve, on the outskirts of this lowest of all civilised societies, and their countenances bear witness to the squalor of their condition and the utter degradation of their natures. to the crime of slavery, though they have no profitable part or lot in it, they are fiercely accessory, because it is the barrier that divides the black and white races, at the foot of which they lie wallowing in unspeakable degradation, but immensely proud of the base freedom which still separates them from the lash-driven tillers of the soil.[ ] [footnote : of such is the white family so wonderfully described in mrs. stowe's 'dred'--whose only slave brings up the orphaned children of his masters with such exquisitely grotesque and pathetic tenderness. from such the conscription which has fed the southern army in the deplorable civil conflict now raging in america has drawn its rank and file. better 'food for powder' the world could scarcely supply. fierce and idle, with hardly one of the necessities or amenities that belong to civilised existence, they are hardy endurers of hardship, and reckless to a savage degree of the value of life, whether their own or others. the soldier's pay, received or promised, exceeds in amount per month anything they ever earned before per year, and the war they wage is one that enlists all their proud and ferocious instincts. it is against the yankees--the northern sons of free soil, free toil and intelligence, the hated abolitionists whose success would sweep away slavery and reduce the southern white men to work--no wonder they are ready to fight to the death against this detestable alternative, especially as they look to victory as the certain promotion of the refuse of the 'poor white' population of the south, of which they are one and all members, to the coveted dignity of slaveholders.] the house at which our call was paid was set down in the midst of the pine barren with half-obliterated roads and paths round it, suggesting that it might be visited and was inhabited. it was large and not unhandsome, though curiously dilapidated considering that people were actually living in it; certain remnants of carving on the cornices and paint on the panels bore witness to some former stage of existence less neglected and deteriorated than the present. the old lady mistress of this most forlorn abode amiably enquired if so much exercise did not fatigue me; at first i thought she imagined i must have walked through the pine forest all the way from darien, but she explained that she considered the drive quite an effort; and it is by no means uncommon to hear people in america talk of being dragged over bad roads in uneasy carriages as exercise, showing how very little they know the meaning of the word, and how completely they identify it with the idea of mere painful fatigue, instead of pleasurable exertion. returning home, my reflections ran much on the possible future destiny of these vast tracts of sandy soil. it seems to me that the ground capable of supporting the evergreen growth, the luxuriant gardenia bushes, the bay myrtle, the beautiful magnolia grandiflora, and the powerful and gnarled live oaks, that find their sustenance in this earth and under this same sky as the fir trees, must be convertible into a prosperous habitation for other valuable vegetable growth that would add immensely to the wealth of the southern states. the orange thrives and bears profusely along this part of the sea-board of georgia; and i cannot conceive that the olive, the mulberry, and the vine might not be acclimated and successfully and profitably cultivated throughout the whole of this region, the swampy lower lands alone remaining as rice plantations. the produce of these already exceeds in value that of the once gold-growing cotton-fields, and i cannot help believing that silk and wine and oil may, and will, hereafter, become, with the present solitary cotton crop, joint possessors of all this now but half-reclaimed wilderness. the soil all round sorrento is very nearly as light and dry and sandy as this, and vineyards and olive orchards and cocooneries are part of the agricultural wealth there. our neighbour mr. c---- has successfully cultivated the date-palm in his garden on the edge of the sea, at st. simon's, and certainly the ilex, orange, and myrtle abounding here suggest natural affinities between the italian soil and climate and this. i must tell you something funny which occurred yesterday at dinner, which will give you some idea of the strange mode in which we live. we have now not unfrequently had mutton at table, the flavour of which is quite excellent, as indeed it well may be, for it is raised under all the conditions of the famous _pré salé_ that the french gourmands especially prize, and which are reproduced on our side of the channel in the peculiar qualities of our best south down. the mutton we have here grazes on the short sweet grass at st. simon's within sea-salt influence, and is some of the very best i have ever tasted, but it is invariably brought to table in lumps or chunks of no particular shape or size, and in which it is utterly impossible to recognise any part of the quadruped creature sheep with which my eyes have hitherto become acquainted. eat it, one may and does thankfully; name it, one could not by any possibility. having submitted to this for some time, i at length enquired why a decent usual christian joint of mutton--leg, shoulder, or saddle--was never brought to table: the reply was that the _carpenter_ always cut up the meat, and that he did not know how to do it otherwise than by dividing it into so many thick square pieces, and proceeding to chop it up on that principle; and the consequence of this is that _four lumps_ or _chunks_ are all that a whole sheep ever furnishes to our table by this artistic and economical process. this morning i have been to the hospital to see a poor woman who has just enriched mr. ---- by _borning_ him another slave. the poor little piccaninny, as they called it, was not one bit uglier than white babies under similarly novel circumstances, except in one particular, that it had a head of hair like a trunk, in spite of which i had all the pains in the world in persuading its mother not to put a cap upon it. i bribed her finally, by the promise of a pair of socks instead, with which i undertook to endow her child, and, moreover, actually prevailed upon her to forego the usual swaddling and swathing process, and let her poor baby be dressed at its first entrance into life as i assured her both mine had been. on leaving the hospital i visited the huts all along the street, confiscating sundry refractory baby caps among shrieks and outcries, partly of laughter and partly of real ignorant alarm for the consequence. i think if this infatuation for hot head-dresses continues, i shall make shaving the children's heads the only condition upon which they shall be allowed to wear caps. on sunday morning i went over to darien to church. our people's church was closed, the minister having gone to officiate elsewhere. with laudable liberality i walked into the opposite church of a different, not to say opposite sect: here i heard a sermon, the opening of which will, probably, edify you as it did me, viz., that if a man was _just in all his dealings_ he was apt to think he did all that could be required of him,--and no wide mistake either one might suppose. but is it not wonderful how such words can be spoken here, with the most absolute unconsciousness of their tremendous bearing upon the existence of every slaveholder who hears them? certainly the use that is second nature has made the awful injustice in the daily practice of which these people live, a thing of which they are as little aware as you or i of the atmospheric air that we inhale each time we breathe. the bulk of the congregation in this church was white. the negroes are, of course, not allowed to mix with their masters in the house of god, and there is no special place set apart for them. occasionally one or two are to be seen in the corners of the singing gallery, but any more open pollution by them of their owners' church could not be tolerated. mr. ----'s people have petitioned very vehemently that he would build a church for them on the island. i doubt, however, his allowing them such a luxury as a place of worship all to themselves. such a privilege might not be well thought of by the neighbouring planters; indeed, it is almost what one might call a whity-brown idea, dangerous, demoralising, inflammatory, incendiary. i should not wonder if i should be suspected of being the chief corner-stone of it, and yet i am not: it is an old hope and entreaty of these poor people, which am afraid they are not destined to see fulfilled. * * * * * dearest e----. passing the rice-mill this morning in my walk, i went in to look at the machinery, the large steam mortars which shell the rice, and which work under the intelligent and reliable supervision of engineer ned. i was much surprised, in the course of conversation with him this morning, to find how much older a man he was than he appeared. indeed his youthful appearance had hitherto puzzled me much in accounting for his very superior intelligence and the important duties confided to him. he is, however, a man upwards of forty years old, although he looks ten years younger. he attributed his own uncommonly youthful appearance to the fact of his never having done what he called field work, or been exposed, as the common gang negroes are, to the hardships of their all but brutish existence. he said his former master had brought him up very kindly, and he had learnt to tend the engines, and had never been put to any other work, but he said this was not the case with his poor wife. he wished she was as well off as he was, but she had to work in the rice-fields and was 'most broke in two' with labour and exposure and hard work while with child, and hard work just directly after child-bearing; he said she could hardly crawl, and he urged me very much to speak a kind word for her to massa. she was almost all the time in hospital, and he thought she could not live long. now, e----, here is another instance of the horrible injustice of this system of slavery. in my country or in yours, a man endowed with sufficient knowledge and capacity to be an engineer would, of course, be in the receipt of considerable wages; his wife would, together with himself, reap the advantages of his ability, and share the well-being his labour earned; he would be able to procure for her comfort in sickness or in health, and beyond the necessary household work, which the wives of most artisans are inured to, she would have no labour to encounter; in case of sickness even these would be alleviated by the assistance of some stout girl of all work, or kindly neighbour, and the tidy parlour or snug bed-room would be her retreat if unequal to the daily duties of her own kitchen. think of such a lot compared with that of the head engineer of mr. ----'s plantation, whose sole wages are his coarse food and raiment and miserable hovel, and whose wife, covered with one filthy garment of ragged texture and dingy colour, bare-footed and bare-headed, is daily driven a-field to labour with aching pain-racked joints, under the lash of a driver, or lies languishing on the earthen floor of the dismal plantation hospital in a condition of utter physical destitution and degradation such as the most miserable dwelling of the poorest inhabitant of your free northern villages never beheld the like of. think of the rows of tidy tiny houses in the long suburbs of boston and philadelphia, inhabited by artisans of just the same grade as this poor ned, with their white doors and steps, their hydrants of inexhaustible fresh flowing water, the innumerable appliances for decent comfort of their cheerful rooms, the gay wardrobe of the wife, her cotton prints for daily use, her silk for sunday church-going; the careful comfort of the children's clothing, the books and newspapers in the little parlour, the daily district school, the weekly parish church: imagine if you can--but you are happy that you cannot--the contrast between such an existence and that of the best mechanic on a southern plantation. did you ever read (but i am sure you never did, and no more did i), an epic poem on fresh-water fish? well, such a one was once written, i have forgotten by whom, but assuredly the heroine of it ought to have been the altamaha shad--a delicate creature, so superior to the animal you northerners devour with greedy thankfulness when the spring sends back their finny drove to your colder waters, that one would not suppose these were of the same family, instead of being, as they really are, precisely the same fish. certainly the mud of the altamaha must have some most peculiar virtues; and, by the by, i have never anywhere tasted such delicious tea as that which we make with this same turbid stream, the water of which duly filtered, of course, has some peculiar softness which affects the tea (and it is the same we always use) in a most curious and agreeable manner. on my return to the house i found a terrible disturbance in consequence of the disappearance from under cook john's safe keeping, of a ham mr. ----- had committed to his charge. there was no doubt whatever that the unfortunate culinary slave had made away in some inscrutable manner with the joint intended for our table: the very lies he told about it were so curiously shallow, child-like, and transparent, that while they confirmed the fact of his theft quite as much if not more than an absolute confession would have done, they provoked at once my pity and my irrepressible mirth to a most painful degree. mr. ---- was in a state of towering anger and indignation, and besides a flogging sentenced the unhappy cook to degradation from his high and dignified position (and, alas! all its sweets of comparatively easy labour and good living from the remains of our table) to the hard toil, coarse scanty fare, and despised position of a common field hand. i suppose some punishment was inevitably necessary in such a plain case of deliberate theft as this, but, nevertheless, my whole soul revolts at the injustice of visiting upon these poor wretches a moral darkness which all possible means are taken to increase and perpetuate. in speaking of this and the whole circumstance of john's trespass to mr. ---- in the evening, i observed that the ignorance of these poor people ought to screen them from punishment. he replied, that they knew well enough what was right and wrong. i asked how they could be expected to know it? he replied, by the means of cooper london, and the religious instruction he gave them. so that, after all, the appeal is to be made against themselves to that moral and religious instruction which is withheld from them, and which, if they obtain it at all, is the result of their own unaided and unencouraged exertion. the more i hear, and see, and learn, and ponder the whole of this system of slavery, the more impossible i find it to conceive how its practisers and upholders are to justify their deeds before the tribunal of their own conscience or god's law. it is too dreadful to have those whom we love accomplices to this wickedness; it is too intolerable to find myself an involuntary accomplice to it. i had a conversation the next morning with abraham, cook john's brother, upon the subject of his brother's theft; and only think of the _slave_ saying that 'this action had brought disgrace upon the family.' does not that sound very like the very best sort of free pride, the pride of character, the honourable pride of honesty, integrity, and fidelity? but this was not all, for this same abraham, a clever carpenter and much valued _hand_ on the estate, went on, in answer to my questions, to tell me such a story that i declare to you i felt as if i could have howled with helpless indignation and grief when he departed and went to resume his work. his grandfather had been an old slave in darien, extremely clever as a carpenter, and so highly valued for his skill and good character that his master allowed him to purchase his liberty by money which he earned by working for himself at odd times, when his task work was over. i asked abraham what sum his grandfather paid for his freedom: he said he did not know, but he supposed a large one, because of his being a 'skilled carpenter,' and so a peculiarly valuable chattel. i presume, from what i remember major m---- and dr. h---- saying on the subject of the market value of negroes in charleston and savannah, that such a man in the prime of life would have been worth from , to , dollars. however, whatever the man paid for his ransom, by his grandson's account, fourteen years after he became free, when he died, he had again amassed money to the amount of dollars, which he left among his wife and children, the former being a slave on major ----'s estate, where the latter remained by virtue of that fact slaves also. so this man not only bought his own freedom at a cost of _at least_ , dollars, but left a little fortune of more at his death: and then we are told of the universal idleness, thriftlessness, incorrigible sloth, and brutish incapacity of this inferior race of creatures, whose only fitting and heaven-appointed condition is that of beasts of burthen to the whites. i do not believe the whole low white population of the state of georgia could furnish such an instance of energy, industry, and thrift, as the amassing of this laborious little fortune by this poor slave, who left, nevertheless, his children and grandchildren to the lot from which he had so heroically ransomed himself: and yet the white men with whom i live and talk tell me, day after day, that there is neither cruelty nor injustice in this accursed system. about half-past five i went to walk on the dykes, and met a gang of the field-hands going to the tide-mill, as the water served them for working then. i believe i have told you that besides the great steam mill there is this, which is dependent on the rise and fall of the tide in the river, and where the people are therefore obliged to work by day or night at whatever time the water serves to impel the wheel. they greeted me with their usual profusion of exclamations, petitions, and benedictions, and i parted from them to come and oversee my slave jack, for whom i had bought a spade, and to whom i had entrusted the task of turning up some ground for me, in which i wanted to establish some of the narcissus and other flowers i had remarked about the ground and the house. jack, however, was a worse digger than adam could have been when first he turned his hand to it, after his expulsion from paradise. i think i could have managed a spade with infinitely more efficiency, or rather less incapacity, than he displayed. upon my expressing my amazement at his performance, he said the people here never used spades, but performed all their agricultural operations with the hoe. their soil must be very light and their agriculture very superficial, i should think. however, i was obliged to terminate jack's spooning process and abandon, for the present, my hopes of a flower-bed created by his industry, being called into the house to receive the return visit of old mrs. s----. as usual, the appearance, health, vigour, and good management of the children were the theme of wondering admiration; as usual, my possession of a white nurse the theme of envious congratulation; as usual, i had to hear the habitual senseless complaints of the inefficiency of coloured nurses. if you are half as tired of the sameness and stupidity of the conversation of my southern female neighbours as i am, i pity you; but not as much as i pity them for the stupid sameness of their most vapid existence, which would deaden any amount of intelligence, obliterate any amount of instruction, and render torpid and stagnant any amount of natural energy and vivacity. i would rather die--rather a thousand times--than live the lives of these georgia planters' wives and daughters. mrs. s---- had brought me some of the delicious wild jasmine that festoons her dreary pine-wood drive, and most grateful i was for the presence of the sweet wild nosegay in my highly unornamental residence. when my visitors had left me, i took the refreshment of a row over to darien; and as we had the tide against us coming back, the process was not so refreshing for the rowers. the evening was so extremely beautiful, and the rising of the moon so exquisite, that instead of retreating to the house when i reached the island, i got into the dolphin, my special canoe, and made jack paddle me down the great river to meet the lily, which was coming back from st. simon's with mr. ---- who has been preparing all things for our advent thither. my letter has been interrupted, dear e----, by the breaking up of our residence on the rice plantation, and our arrival at st. simon's, whence i now address you. we came down yesterday afternoon, and i was thankful enough of the fifteen miles' row to rest in, from the labour of leave-taking, with which the whole morning was taken up, and which, combined with packing and preparing all our own personalities and those of the children, was no sinecure. at every moment one or other of the poor people rushed in upon me to bid me good-bye; many of their farewells were grotesque enough, some were pathetic, and all of them made me very sad. poor people! how little i have done, how little i can do for them. i had a long talk with that interesting and excellent man, cooper london, who made an earnest petition that i would send him from the north a lot of bibles and prayer books; certainly the science of reading must be much more common among the negroes than i supposed, or london must look to a marvellously increased spread of the same hereafter. there is, however, considerable reticence upon this point, or else the poor slaves must consider the mere possession of the holy books as good for salvation and as effectual for spiritual assistance to those who cannot as to those who can comprehend them. since the news of our departure has spread, i have had repeated eager entreaties for presents of bibles and prayer books, and to my demurrer of 'but you can't read; can you?' have generally received for answer a reluctant acknowledgement of ignorance, which, however, did not always convince me of the fact. in my farewell conversation with london i found it impossible to get him to tell me how he had learned to read: the penalties for teaching them are very severe, heavy fines, increasing in amount for the first and second offence, and imprisonment for the third.[ ] such a man as london is certainly aware that to teach the slaves to read is an illegal act, and he may have been unwilling to betray whoever had been his preceptor even to my knowledge; at any rate, i got no answers from him but 'well, missis, me learn; well, missis, me try,' and finally, 'well, missis, me 'spose heaven help me;' to which i could only reply, that i knew heaven was helpful, but very hardly to the tune of teaching folks their letters. i got no satisfaction. old jacob, the father of abraham, cook john, and poor psyche's husband, took a most solemn and sad leave of me, saying he did not expect ever to see me again. i could not exactly tell why, because, though he is aged and infirm, the fifteen miles between the rice plantation and st. simon's do not appear so insuperable a barrier between the inhabitants of the two places, which i represented to him as a suggestion of consolation. [footnote : these laws have been greatly increased in stringency and severity since these letters were written, and _death_ has not been reckoned too heavy a penalty for those who should venture to offer these unfortunate people the fruit of that forbidden tree of knowledge, their access to which has appeared to their owners the crowning danger of their own precarious existence among their terrible dependents.] i have worked my fingers nearly off with making, for the last day or two, innumerable rolls of coarse little baby clothes, layettes for the use of small new-born slaves; m---- diligently cutting and shaping, and i as diligently stitching. we leave a good supply for the hospitals, and for the individual clients besides who have besieged me ever since my departure became imminent. our voyage from the rice to the cotton plantation was performed in the lily, which looked like a soldier's baggage wagon and an emigrant transport combined. our crew consisted of eight men. forward in the bow were miscellaneous live stock, pots, pans, household furniture, kitchen utensils, and an indescribable variety of heterogeneous necessaries. enthroned upon beds, bedding, tables, and other chattels, sat that poor pretty chattel psyche, with her small chattel children. midships sat the two tiny free women, and myself, and in the stern mr. ---- steering. and 'all in the blue unclouded weather' we rowed down the huge stream, the men keeping time and tune to their oars with extemporaneous chaunts of adieu to the rice island and its denizens. among other poetical and musical comments on our departure recurred the assertion, as a sort of burthen, that we were 'parted in body, but not in mind,' from those we left behind. having relieved one set of sentiments by this reflection, they very wisely betook themselves to the consideration of the blessings that remained to them, and performed a spirited chaunt in honour of psyche and our bouncing black housemaid, mary. at the end of a fifteen miles' row we entered one among a perfect labyrinth of arms or branches, into which the broad river ravels like a fringe as it reaches the sea, a dismal navigation along a dismal tract, called 'five pound,' through a narrow cut or channel of water divided from the main stream. the conch was sounded, as at our arrival at the rice island, and we made our descent on the famous long staple cotton island of st. simon's, where we presently took up our abode in what had all the appearance of an old half-decayed rattling farm-house. this morning, sunday, i peeped round its immediate neighbourhood, and saw, to my inexpressible delight, within hail, some noble-looking evergreen oaks, and close to the house itself a tiny would-be garden, a plot of ground with one or two peach-trees in full blossom, tufts of silver narcissus and jonquils, a quantity of violets and an exquisite myrtle bush; wherefore i said my prayers with especial gratitude. * * * * * dearest e----. the fame of my peculiar requisitions has, i find, preceded me here, for the babies that have been presented to my admiring notice have all been without caps; also, however, without socks to their opposite little wretched extremities, but that does not signify quite so much. the people, too, that i saw yesterday were remarkably clean and tidy; to be sure, it was sunday. the whole day, till quite late in the afternoon, the house was surrounded by a crowd of our poor dependents, waiting to catch a glimpse of mr. ----, myself, or the children; and until, from sheer weariness, i was obliged to shut the doors, an incessant stream poured in and out, whose various modes of salutation, greeting, and welcome were more grotesque and pathetic at the same time than anything you can imagine. in the afternoon i walked with ---- to see a new house in process of erection, which, when it is finished, is to be the overseer's abode and our residence during any future visits we may pay to the estate. i was horrified at the dismal site selected, and the hideous house erected on it. it is true that the central position is the principal consideration in the overseer's location, but both position and building seemed to me to witness to an inveterate love of ugliness, or at any rate a deadness to every desire of beauty, nothing short of horrible; and for my own part, i think it is intolerable to have to leave the point where the waters meet, and where a few fine picturesque old trees are scattered about, to come to this place even for the very short time i am ever likely to spend here. in every direction our view, as we returned, was bounded by thickets of the most beautiful and various evergreen growth, which beckoned my inexperience most irresistibly. ---- said, to my unutterable horror, that they were perfectly infested with rattlesnakes, and i must on no account go 'beating about the bush' in these latitudes, as the game i should be likely to start would be anything but agreeable to me. we saw quantities of wild plum-trees all silvery with blossoms, and in lovely companionship and contrast with them a beautiful shrub covered with delicate pink bloom like flowering peach-trees. after that life in the rice-swamp, where the altamaha kept looking over the dyke at me all the time as i sat in the house writing or working, it is pleasant to be on _terra firma_ again, and to know that the river is at the conventional, not to say natural, depth below its banks, and under my feet instead of over my head. the two plantations are of diametrically opposite dispositions--that is all swamp, and this all sand; or to speak more accurately, that is all swamp, and all of this that is not swamp, is sand. on our way home we met a most extraordinary creature of the negro kind, who, coming towards us, halted, and caused us to halt straight in the middle of the path, when bending himself down till his hands almost touched the ground, he exclaimed to mr. ----, 'massa ----, your most obedient;' and then, with a kick and a flourish altogether indescribable, he drew to the side of the path to let us pass, which we did perfectly shouting with laughter, which broke out again every time we looked at each other and stopped to take breath--so sudden, grotesque, uncouth, and yet dexterous a gambado never came into the brain or out of the limbs of anything but a 'niggar.' i observed, among the numerous groups that we passed or met, a much larger proportion of mulattoes than at the rice-island; upon asking mr. ---- why this was so, he said that there no white person could land without his or the overseer's permission, whereas on st. simon's, which is a large island containing several plantations belonging to different owners, of course the number of whites, both residing on and visiting the place, was much greater, and the opportunity for intercourse between the blacks and whites much more frequent. while we were still on this subject, a horrid-looking filthy woman met us with a little child in her arms, a very light mulatto, whose extraordinary resemblance to driver bran (one of the officials, who had been duly presented to me on my arrival, and who was himself a mulatto) struck me directly. i pointed it out to mr. ----, who merely answered, 'very likely his child.' 'and,' said i, 'did you never remark that driver bran is the exact image of mr. k----?' 'very likely his brother,' was the reply: all which rather unpleasant state of relationships seemed accepted as such a complete matter of course, that i felt rather uncomfortable, and said no more about who was like who, but came to certain conclusions in my own mind as to a young lad who had been among our morning visitors, and whose extremely light colour and straight handsome features and striking resemblance to mr. k----, had suggested suspicions of a rather unpleasant nature to me, and whose sole-acknowledged parent was a very black negress of the name of minda. i have no doubt at all, now, that he is another son of mr. k----, mr. ----'s paragon overseer. as we drew near the house again we were gradually joined by such a numerous escort of mr. ----'s slaves that it was almost with difficulty we could walk along the path. they buzzed, and hummed, and swarmed round us like flies, and the heat and dust consequent upon this friendly companionship were a most unpleasant addition to the labour of walking in the sandy soil through which we were ploughing. i was not sorry when we entered the house and left our bodyguard outside. in the evening i looked over the plan of the delightful residence i had visited in the morning, and could not help suggesting to mr. ---- the advantage to be gained in point of picturesqueness by merely turning the house round. it is but a wooden frame one after all, and your folks 'down east' would think no more of inviting it to face about than if it was built of cards; but the fact is, here nothing signifies except the cotton crop, and whether one's nose is in a swamp and one's eyes in a sand-heap, is of no consequence whatever either to oneself (if oneself was not i) or anyone else. i find here an immense proportion of old people; the work and the climate of the rice plantation require the strongest of the able-bodied men and women of the estate. the cotton crop is no longer by any means as paramount in value as it used to be, and the climate, soil, and labour of st. simon's are better adapted to old, young, and feeble cultivators, than the swamp fields of the rice-island. i wonder if i ever told you of the enormous decrease in value of this same famous sea-island long staple cotton. when major ----, mr. ----'s grandfather, first sent the produce of this plantation where we now are to england, it was of so fine a quality that it used to be quoted by itself in the liverpool cotton market, and was then worth half a guinea a pound; it is now not worth a shilling a pound. this was told me by the gentleman in liverpool who has been factor for this estate for thirty years. such a decrease as this in the value of one's crop and the steady increase at the same time of a slave population, now numbering between and bodies to clothe and house,--mouths to feed, while the land is being exhausted by the careless and wasteful nature of the agriculture itself, suggests a pretty serious prospect of declining prosperity; and, indeed, unless these georgia cotton planters can command more land or lay abundant capital (which they have not, being almost all of them over head and ears in debt) upon that which has already spent its virgin vigour, it is a very obvious thing that they must all very soon be eaten up by their own property. the rice plantations are a great thing to fall back upon under these circumstances, and the rice crop is now quite as valuable, if not more so, than the cotton one on mr. ----'s estates, once so famous and prosperous through the latter. i find any number of all but superannuated men and women here, whose tales of the former grandeur of the estate and family are like things one reads of in novels. one old woman who crawled to see me, and could hardly lift her poor bowed head high enough to look in my face, had been in major ----'s establishment in philadelphia, and told with infinite pride of having waited upon his daughters and grand-daughters, mr. ----'s sisters. yet here she is, flung by like an old rag, crippled with age and disease, living, or rather dying by slow degrees in a miserable hovel, such as no decent household servant would at the north, i suppose, ever set their foot in. the poor old creature complained bitterly to me of all her ailments and all her wants. i can do little, alas! for either. i had a visit from another tottering old crone called dorcas, who all but went on her knees as she wrung and kissed my hands; with her came my friend molly, the grandmother of the poor runaway girl, louisa, whose story i wrote you some little time ago. i had to hear it all over again, it being the newest event evidently in molly's life; and it ended as before with the highly reasonable proposition: 'me say, missis, what for massa's niggar run away? snake eat em up, or dey starve to def in a swamp. massa's niggars dey don't nebbar run away.' if i was 'massa's niggars,' i 'spose' i shouldn't run away either, with only those alternatives, but when i look at these wretches and at the sea that rolls round this island, and think how near the english west indies and freedom are, it gives me a pretty severe twinge at the heart. * * * * * dearest e----. i am afraid my letters must be becoming very wearisome to you, for if, as the copy-book runs, 'variety is charming,' they certainly cannot be so, unless monotony is also charming, a thing not impossible to some minds, but of which the copy-book makes no mention. but what will you? as the french say; my days are no more different from one another than peas in a dish, or sands on the shore: 'tis a pleasant enough life to live, for one who, like myself, has a passion for dulness, but it affords small matter for epistolary correspondence. i suppose it is the surfeit of excitement that i had in my youth that has made a life of quiet monotony so extremely agreeable to me; it is like stillness after loud noise, twilight after glare, rest after labour. there is enough strangeness too in everything that surrounds me here to interest and excite me agreeably and sufficiently, and i should like the wild savage loneliness of the far away existence extremely, if it were not for the one small item of 'the slavery.' i had a curious visit this morning from half a dozen of the women, among whom were driver morris's wife and venus (a hideous old goddess she was, to be sure), driver bran's mother. they came especially to see the children, who are always eagerly asked for, and hugely admired by their sooty dependents. these poor women went into ecstasies over the little white piccaninnies, and were loud and profuse in their expressions of gratitude to massa ---- for getting married and having children, a matter of thankfulness which, though it always makes me laugh very much, is a most serious one to them; for the continuance of the family keeps the estate and slaves from the hammer, and the poor wretches, besides seeing in every new child born to their owners a security against their own banishment from the only home they know, and separation from all ties of kindred and habit, and dispersion to distant plantations, not unnaturally look for a milder rule from masters who are the children of their fathers' masters. the relation of owner and slave may be expected to lose some of its harsher features, and, no doubt, in some instances, does so, when it is on each side the inheritance of successive generations. and so ----'s slaves laud, and applaud, and thank, and bless him for having married, and endowed their children with two little future mistresses. one of these women, a diana by name, went down on her knees and uttered in a loud voice a sort of extemporaneous prayer of thanksgiving at our advent, in which the sacred and the profane were most ludicrously mingled; her 'tanks to de good lord god almighty that missus had come, what give de poor niggar sugar and flannel,' and dat 'massa ----, him hab brought de missis and de two little misses down among de people,' were really too grotesque; and yet certainly more sincere acts of thanksgiving are not often uttered among the solemn and decorous ones that are offered up to heaven for 'benefits received.' i find the people here much more inclined to talk than those on the rice-island; they have less to do and more leisure, and bestow it very liberally on me; moreover, the poor old women, of whom there are so many turned out to grass here, and of whom i have spoken to you before, though they are past work, are by no means past gossip, and the stories they have to tell of the former government of the estate under old massa k---- are certainly pretty tremendous illustrations of the merits of slavery as a moral institution. this man, the father of the late owner, mr. r---- k----, was major ----'s agent in the management of this property; and a more cruel and unscrupulous one as regards the slaves themselves, whatever he may have been in his dealings with the master, i should think it would be difficult to find, even among the cruel and unscrupulous class to which he belonged. in a conversation with old 'house molly,' as she is called, to distinguish her from all other mollies on the estate, she having had the honour of being a servant in major ----'s house for many years, i asked her if the relation between men and women who are what they call married, i.e., who have agreed to live together as man and wife (the only species of marriage formerly allowed on the estate, i believe now london may read the marriage service to them), was considered binding by the people themselves and by the overseer. she said 'not much, formerly,' and that the people couldn't be expected to have much regard to such an engagement, utterly ignored as it was by mr. k----, whose invariable rule, if he heard of any disagreement between a man and woman calling themselves married, was immediately to bestow them in 'marriage' on other parties, whether they chose it or not, by which summary process the slightest 'incompatibility of temper' received the relief of a divorce more rapid and easy than even germany could afford, and the estate lost nothing by any prolongation of celibacy on either side. of course, the misery consequent upon such arbitrary destruction of voluntary and imposition of involuntary ties was nothing to mr. k----. i was very sorry to hear to-day, that mr. o----, the overseer at the rice-island, of whom i have made mention to you more than once in my letters, had had one of the men flogged very severely for getting his wife baptised. i was quite unable, from the account i received, to understand what his objection had been to the poor man's desire to make his wife at least a formal christian; but it does seem dreadful that such an act should be so visited. i almost wish i was back again at the rice-island; for though this is every way the pleasanter residence, i hear so much more that is intolerable of the treatment of the slaves from those i find here, that my life is really made wretched by it. there is not a single natural right that is not taken away from these unfortunate people, and the worst of all is, that their condition does not appear to me, upon further observation of it, to be susceptible of even partial alleviation as long as the fundamental evil, the slavery itself, remains. my letter was interrupted as usual by clamours for my presence at the door, and petitions for sugar, rice, and baby clothes, from a group of women who had done their tasks at three o'clock in the afternoon, and had come to say, 'ha do missis?' (how do you do?), and beg something on their way to their huts. observing one among them whose hand was badly maimed, one finger being reduced to a mere stump, she told me it was in consequence of the bite of a rattlesnake, which had attacked and bitten her child, and then struck her as she endeavoured to kill it; her little boy had died, but one of the drivers cut off her finger, and so she had escaped with the loss of that member only. it is yet too early in the season for me to make acquaintance with these delightful animals; but the accounts the negroes give of their abundance is full of agreeable promise for the future. it seems singular, considering how very common they are, that there are not more frequent instances of the slaves being bitten by them; to be sure, they seem to me to have a holy horror of ever setting their feet near either tree or bush, or anywhere but on the open road, and the fields where they labour; and of course the snakes are not so frequent in open and frequented places, as in their proper coverts. the red indians are said to use successfully some vegetable cure for the bite, i believe the leaves of the slippery ash or elm; the only infallible remedy, however, is suction, but of this the ignorant negroes are so afraid, that they never can be induced to have recourse to it, being of course immovably persuaded that the poison which is so fatal to the blood, must be equally so to the stomach. they tell me that the cattle wandering into the brakes and bushes are often bitten to death by these deadly creatures; the pigs, whose fat it seems does not accept the venom into its tissues with the same effect, escape unhurt for the most part--so much for the anti-venomous virtue of adipose matter--a consolatory consideration for such of us as are inclined to take on flesh more than we think graceful. _monday morning, th._--this letter has been long on the stocks, dear e----. i have been busy all day, and tired, and lazy in the evening latterly, and, moreover, feel as if such very dull matter was hardly worth sending all the way off to where you are happy to be. however, that is nonsense; i know well enough that you are glad to hear from me, be it what it will, and so i resume my chronicle. some of my evenings have been spent in reading mr. clay's anti-abolition speech, and making notes on it, which i will show you when we meet. what a cruel pity and what a cruel shame it is that such a man should either know no better or do no better for his country than he is doing now! yesterday i for the first time bethought me of the riding privileges of which jack used to make such magnificent mention when he was fishing with me at the rice-island; and desiring to visit the remoter parts of the plantation and the other end of the island, i enquired into the resources of the stable. i was told i could have a mare with foal; but i declined adding my weight to what the poor beast already carried, and my only choice then was between one who had just foaled, or a fine stallion used as a plough horse on the plantation. i determined for the latter, and shall probably be handsomely shaken whenever i take my rides abroad. _tuesday, the th._--my dearest e----. i write to you to-day in great depression and distress. i have had a most painful conversation with mr. ----, who has declined receiving any of the people's petitions through me. whether he is wearied with the number of these prayers and supplications which he would escape but for me, as they probably would not venture to come so incessantly to him, and i of course feel bound to bring every one confided to me to him; or whether he has been annoyed at the number of pitiful and horrible stories of misery and oppression under the former rule of mr. k----, which have come to my knowledge since i have been here, and the grief and indignation caused, but which cannot by any means always be done away with, though their expression may be silenced by his angry exclamations of 'why do you listen to such stuff?' or 'why do you believe such trash; don't you know the niggers are all d----d liars?' &c. i do not know; but he desired me this morning to bring him no more complaints or requests of any sort, as the people had hitherto had no such advocate, and had done very well without, and i was only kept in an incessant state of excitement with all the falsehoods they 'found they could make me believe.' how well they have done without my advocacy, the conditions which i see with my own eyes even more than their pitiful petitions demonstrate; it is indeed true, that the sufferings of those who come to me for redress, and still more the injustice done to the great majority who cannot, have filled my heart with bitterness and indignation that have overflowed my lips, till, i suppose, ---- is weary of hearing what he has never heard before, the voice of passionate expostulation, and importunate pleading against wrongs that he will not even acknowledge, and for creatures whose common humanity with his own i half think he does not believe;--but i must return to the north, for my condition would be almost worse than theirs--condemned to hear and see so much wretchedness, not only without the means of alleviating it, but without permission even to represent it for alleviation--this is no place for me, since i was not born among slaves, and cannot bear to live among them. perhaps after all what he says is true: when i am gone they will fall back into the desperate uncomplaining habit of suffering, from which my coming among them, willing to hear and ready to help, has tempted them; he says that bringing their complaints to me, and the sight of my credulous commiseration, only tend to make them discontented and idle, and brings renewed chastisement upon them; and that so, instead of really befriending them, i am only preparing more suffering for them whenever i leave the place, and they can no more cry to me for help. and so i see nothing for it but to go and leave them to their fate; perhaps, too, he is afraid of the mere contagion of freedom which breathes from the very existence of those who are free; my way of speaking to the people, of treating them, of living with them, the appeals i make to their sense of truth, of duty, of self-respect, the infinite compassion and the human consideration i feel for them,--all this of course makes my intercourse with them dangerously suggestive of relations far different from anything they have ever known, and as mr. o---- once almost hinted to me, my existence among slaves was an element of danger to the 'institution.' if i should go away, the human sympathy that i have felt for them will certainly never come near them again. i was too unhappy to write any more, my dear friend, and you have been spared the rest of my paroxysm, which hereabouts culminated in the blessed refuge of abundant tears. god will provide. he has not forgotten, nor will he forsake these his poor children; and if i may no longer minister to them, they yet are in his hand, who cares for them more and better than i can. towards the afternoon yesterday, i rowed up the river to the rice-island, by way of refreshment to my spirits, and came back to-day, wednesday the th, through rather a severe storm. before going to bed last night i finished mr. clay's speech, and ground my teeth over it. before starting this morning i received from head-man frank a lesson on the various qualities of the various sorts of rice, and should be (at any rate till i forget all he told me, which i 'feel in my bones' will be soon) a competent judge and expert saleswoman. the dead white speck, which shows itself sometimes in rice as it does in teeth, is in the former, as in the latter, a sign of decay; the finest quality of rice is what may be called flinty, clear and unclouded, and a pretty clean sparkling-looking thing it is. i will tell you something curious and pleasant about my row back. the wind was so high and the river so rough when i left the rice-island, that just as i was about to get into the boat i thought it might not be amiss to carry my life-preserver with me, and ran back to the house to fetch it. having taken that much care for my life, i jumped into the boat, and we pushed off. the fifteen miles' row with a furious wind, and part of the time the tide against us, and the huge broad turbid river broken into a foaming sea of angry waves, was a pretty severe task for the men. they pulled with a will, however, but i had to forego the usual accompaniment of their voices, for the labour was tremendous, especially towards the end of our voyage, where, of course, the nearness of the sea increased the roughness of the water terribly. the men were in great spirits, however (there were eight of them rowing, and one behind was steering); one of them said something which elicited an exclamation of general assent, and i asked what it was; the steerer said they were pleased because there was not another planter's lady in all georgia who would have gone through the storm all alone with them in a boat; i.e. without the protecting presence of a white man. 'why,' said i, 'my good fellows, if the boat capsized, or anything happened, i am sure i should have nine chances for my life instead of one;' at this there was one shout of 'so you would, missis! true for dat, missis,' and in great mutual good-humour we reached the landing at hampton point. as i walked home i pondered over this compliment of mr. ----'s slaves to me, and did not feel quite sure that the very absence of the fear which haunts the southern women in their intercourse with these people and prevents them from trusting themselves ever with them out of reach of white companionship and supervision was not one of the circumstances which makes my intercourse with them unsafe and undesirable. the idea of apprehending any mischief from them never yet crossed my brain; and in the perfect confidence with which i go amongst them, they must perceive a curious difference between me and my lady neighbours in these parts; all have expressed unbounded astonishment at my doing so. the spring is fast coming on; and we shall, i suppose, soon leave georgia. how new and sad a chapter of my life this winter here has been! * * * * * dear e----. i cannot give way to the bitter impatience i feel at my present position, and come back to the north without leaving my babies; and though i suppose their stay will not in any case be much prolonged in these regions of swamp and slavery, i must, for their sakes, remain where they are, and learn this dreary lesson of human suffering to the end. the record, it seems to me, must be utterly wearisome to you, as the instances themselves i suppose in a given time (thanks to that dreadful reconciler to all that is evil--habit) would become to me. this morning i had a visit from two of the women, charlotte and judy, who came to me for help and advice for a complaint, which it really seems to me every other woman on the estate is cursed with, and which is a direct result of the conditions of their existence; the practice of sending women to labour in the fields in the third week after their confinement is a specific for causing this infirmity, and i know no specific for curing it under these circumstances. as soon as these poor things had departed with such comfort as i could give them, and the bandages they especially begged for, three other sable graces introduced themselves, edie, louisa, and diana; the former told me she had had a family of seven children, but had lost them all through 'ill luck,' as she denominated the ignorance and ill treatment which were answerable for the loss of these, as of so many other poor little creatures their fellows. having dismissed her and diana with the sugar and rice they came to beg, i detained louisa, whom i had never seen but in the presence of her old grandmother, whose version of the poor child's escape to, and hiding in the woods, i had a desire to compare with the heroine's own story. she told it very simply, and it was most pathetic. she had not finished her task one day, when she said she felt ill, and unable to do so, and had been severely flogged by driver bran, in whose 'gang' she then was. the next day, in spite of this encouragement to labour, she had again been unable to complete her appointed work; and bran having told her that he'd tie her up and flog her if she did not get it done, she had left the field and run into the swamp. 'tie you up, louisa!' said i, 'what is that?' she then described to me that they were fastened up by their wrists to a beam or a branch of a tree, their feet barely touching the ground, so as to allow them no purchase for resistance or evasion of the lash, their clothes turned over their heads, and their backs scored with a leather thong, either by the driver himself, or if he pleases to inflict their punishment by deputy, any of the men he may choose to summon to the office; it might be father, brother, husband, or lover, if the overseer so ordered it. i turned sick, and my blood curdled listening to these details from the slender young slip of a lassie, with her poor piteous face and murmuring pleading voice. 'oh,' said i, 'louisa; but the rattlesnakes, the dreadful rattlesnakes in the swamps; were you not afraid of those horrible creatures?' 'oh, missis,' said the poor child, 'me no tink of dem, me forget all 'bout dem for de fretting.' 'why did you come home at last?' 'oh, missis, me starve with hunger, me most dead with hunger before me come back.' 'and were you flogged, louisa?' said i, with a shudder at what the answer might be. 'no, missis, me go to hospital; me almost dead and sick so long, 'spec driver bran him forgot 'bout de flogging.' i am getting perfectly savage over all these doings, e----, and really think i should consider my own throat and those of my children well cut, if some night the people were to take it into their heads to clear off scores in that fashion. the calibanish wonderment of all my visitors at the exceedingly coarse and simple furniture and rustic means of comfort of my abode is very droll. i have never inhabited any apartment so perfectly devoid of what we should consider the common decencies of life; but to them my rude chintz-covered sofa and common pine-wood table, with its green baize cloth, seem the adornings of a palace; and often in the evening, when my bairns are asleep, and m---- up-stairs keeping watch over them, and i sit writing this daily history for your edification,--the door of the great barn-like room is opened stealthily, and one after another, men and women come trooping silently in, their naked feet falling all but inaudibly on the bare boards as they betake themselves to the hearth, where they squat down on their hams in a circle,--the bright blaze from the huge pine logs, which is the only light of this half of the room, shining on their sooty limbs and faces, and making them look like a ring of ebony idols surrounding my domestic hearth. i have had as many as fourteen at a time squatting silently there for nearly half an hour, watching me writing at the other end of the room. the candles on my table give only light enough for my own occupation, the fire light illuminates the rest of the apartment; and you cannot imagine anything stranger than the effect of all these glassy whites of eyes and grinning white teeth turned towards me, and shining in the flickering light. i very often take no notice of them at all, and they seem perfectly absorbed in contemplating me. my evening dress probably excites their wonder and admiration no less than my rapid and continuous writing, for which they have sometimes expressed compassion, as if they thought it must be more laborious than hoeing; sometimes at the end of my day's journal i look up and say suddenly, 'well, what do you want?' when each black figure springs up at once, as if moved by machinery, they all answer, 'me come say ha do (how d'ye do), missis;' and then they troop out as noiselessly as they entered, like a procession of sable dreams, and i go off in search, if possible, of whiter ones. two days ago i had a visit of great interest to me from several lads from twelve to sixteen years old, who had come to beg me to give them work. to make you understand this you must know, that wishing very much to cut some walks and drives through the very picturesque patches of woodland not far from the house, i announced, through jack, my desire to give employment in the wood-cutting line, to as many lads as chose, when their unpaid task was done, to come and do some work for me, for which i engaged to pay them. at the risk of producing a most dangerous process of reflection and calculation in their brains, i have persisted in paying what i considered wages to every slave that has been my servant; and these my labourers must, of course, be free to work or no, as they like, and if they work for me must be paid by me. the proposition met with unmingled approbation from my 'gang;' but i think it might be considered dangerously suggestive of the rightful relation between work and wages; in short, very involuntarily no doubt, but, nevertheless, very effectually i am disseminating ideas among mr. ----'s dependents, the like of which have certainly never before visited their wool-thatched brains. _friday, march ._--last night after writing so much to you i felt weary, and went out into the air to refresh my spirit. the scene just beyond the house was beautiful, the moonlight slept on the broad river which here is almost the sea, and on the masses of foliage of the great southern oaks; the golden stars of german poetry shone in the purple curtains of the night, and the measured rush of the atlantic unfurling its huge skirts upon the white sands of the beach (the sweetest and most awful lullaby in nature) resounded through the silent air. i have not felt well, and have been much depressed for some days past. i think i should die if i had to live here. this morning, in order not to die yet, i thought i had better take a ride, and accordingly mounted the horse which i told you was one of the equestrian alternatives offered me here; but no sooner did he feel my weight, which, after all, is mere levity and frivolity to him, than he thought proper to rebel, and find the grasshopper a burthen, and rear and otherwise demonstrate his disgust. i have not ridden for a long time now, but montreal's opposition very presently aroused the amazon which is both natural and acquired in me, and i made him comprehend that, though i object to slaves, i expect obedient servants; which views of mine being imparted by a due administration of both spur and whip, attended with a judicious combination of coaxing pats on his great crested neck, and endearing commendations of his beauty, produced the desired effect. montreal accepted me as inevitable, and carried me very wisely and well up the island to another of the slave settlements on the plantation, called jones's creek. on my way i passed some magnificent evergreen oaks,[ ] and some thickets of exquisite evergreen shrubs, and one or two beautiful sites for a residence, which made me gnash my teeth when i thought of the one we have chosen. to be sure, these charming spots, instead of being conveniently in the middle of the plantation, are at an out of the way end of it, and so hardly eligible for the one quality desired for the overseer's abode, viz. being central. [footnote : the only ilex trees which i have seen comparable in size and beauty with those of the sea-board of georgia are some to be found in the roman campagna, at passerano, lunghegna, castel fusano, and other of its great princely farms, but especially in the magnificent woody wilderness of valerano.] all the slaves' huts on st. simon's are far less solid, comfortable, and habitable than those at the rice-island. i do not know whether the labourer's habitation bespeaks the alteration in the present relative importance of the crops, but certainly the cultivators of the once far-famed long staple sea-island cotton of st. simon's are far more miserably housed than the rice-raisers of the other plantation. these ruinous shielings, that hardly keep out wind or weather, are deplorable homes for young or aged people, and poor shelters for the hardworking men and women who cultivate the fields in which they stand. riding home i passed some beautiful woodland with charming pink and white blossoming peach and plum-trees, which seemed to belong to some orchard that had been attempted, and afterwards delivered over to wildness. on enquiry i found that no fruit worth eating was ever gathered from them. what a pity it seems! for in this warm delicious winter climate any and every species of fruit might be cultivated with little pains and to great perfection. as i was cantering along the side of one of the cotton fields i suddenly heard some inarticulate vehement cries, and saw what seemed to be a heap of black limbs tumbling and leaping towards me, renewing the screams at intervals as it approached. i stopped my horse, and the black ball bounded almost into the road before me, and suddenly straightening itself up into a haggard hag of a half-naked negress, exclaimed, with panting eager breathlessness, 'oh missis, missis! you no hear me cry, you no hear me call. oh missis! me call, me cry, and me run; make me a gown like dat. do, for massy's sake, only make me a gown like dat.' this modest request for a riding habit in which to hoe the cotton fields served for an introduction to sundry other petitions for rice and sugar and flannel, all which i promised the petitioner, but not the 'gown like dat;' whereupon i rode off, and she flung herself down in the middle of the road to get her wind and rest. the passion for dress is curiously strong in these people, and seems as though it might be made an instrument in converting them, outwardly at any rate, to something like civilisation; for though their own native taste is decidedly both barbarous and ludicrous, it is astonishing how very soon they mitigate it in imitation of their white models. the fine figures of the mulatto women in charleston and savannah are frequently as elegantly and tastefully dressed as those of any of their female superiors; and here on st. simon's, owing, i suppose, to the influence of the resident lady proprietors of the various plantations, and the propensity to imitation in their black dependents, the people that i see all seem to me much tidier, cleaner, and less fantastically dressed than those on the rice plantation, where no such influences reach them. on my return from my ride i had a visit from captain f----, the manager of a neighbouring plantation, with whom i had a long conversation about the present and past condition of the estate, the species of feudal magnificence in which its original owner, major ----, lived, the iron rule of old overseer k---- which succeeded to it, and the subsequent sovereignty of his son, mr. r---- k----, the man for whom mr. ---- entertains such a cordial esteem, and of whom every account i receive from the negroes seems to me to indicate a merciless sternness of disposition that may be a virtue in a slave-driver, but is hardly a christian grace. captain f---- was one of our earliest visitors at the rice plantation on our arrival, and i think i told you of his mentioning, in speaking to me of the orange trees which formerly grew all round the dykes there, that he had taken basil hall there once in their blossoming season, and that he had said the sight was as well worth crossing the atlantic for as niagara. to-day he referred to that again. he has resided for a great many years on a plantation here, and is connected with our neighbour, old mr. c----, whose daughter, i believe, he married. he interested me extremely by his description of the house major ---- had many years ago on a part of the island called st. clair. as far as i can understand there must have been an indefinite number of 'masters'' residences on this estate in the old major's time; for what with the one we are building, and the ruined remains of those not quite improved off the face of the earth, and the tradition of those that have ceased to exist, even as ruins, i make out no fewer than seven. how gladly would i exchange all that remain and all that do not, for the smallest tenement in your blessed yankee mountain village! captain f---- told me that at st. clair general oglethorpe, the good and brave english governor of the state of georgia in its colonial days, had his residence, and that among the magnificent live oaks which surround the site of the former settlement, there was one especially venerable and picturesque, which in his recollection always went by the name of general oglethorpe's oak. if you remember the history of the colony under his benevolent rule, you must recollect how absolutely he and his friend and counsellor, wesley, opposed the introduction of slavery in the colony. how wrathfully the old soldier's spirit ought to haunt these cotton fields and rice swamps of his old domain, with their population of wretched slaves! i will ride to st. clair and see his oak; if i should see him, he cannot have much to say to me on the subject that i should not cry amen to. _saturday, march ._--i have made a gain, no doubt, in one respect in coming here, dear e----, for, not being afraid of a rearing stallion, i can ride; but, on the other hand, my aquatic diversions are all likely, i fear, to be much curtailed. well may you, or any other northern abolitionist, consider this a heaven-forsaken region,--why? i cannot even get worms to fish with, and was solemnly assured by jack this morning that the whole 'point,' i.e. neighbourhood of the house, had been searched in vain for these useful and agreeable animals. i must take to some more sportsman-like species of bait; but in my total ignorance of even the kind of fish that inhabit these waters, it is difficult for me to adapt my temptations to their taste. yesterday evening i had a visit that made me very sorrowful--if anything connected with these poor people can be called more especially sorrowful than their whole condition; but mr. ----'s declaration that he will receive no more statements of grievances or petitions for redress through me, makes me as desirous now of shunning the vain appeals of these unfortunates as i used to be of receiving and listening to them. the imploring cry, 'oh missis!' that greets me whichever way i turn, makes me long to stop my ears now; for what can i say or do any more for them? the poor little favours--the rice, the sugar, the flannel--that they beg for with such eagerness, and receive with such exuberant gratitude, i can, it is true, supply, and words and looks of pity and counsel of patience and such instruction in womanly habits of decency and cleanliness, as may enable them to better, in some degree, their own hard lot; but to the entreaty, 'oh missis, you speak to massa for us! oh missis, you beg massa for us! oh missis, you tell massa for we, he sure do as you say!'--i cannot now answer as formerly, and i turn away choking and with eyes full of tears from the poor creatures, not even daring to promise any more the faithful transmission of their prayers. the women who visited me yesterday evening were all in the family-way, and came to entreat of me to have the sentence (what else can i call it?) modified, which condemns them to resume their labour of hoeing in the fields three weeks after their confinement. they knew, of course, that i cannot interfere with their appointed labour, and therefore their sole entreaty was that i would use my influence with mr. ---- to obtain for them a month's respite from labour in the field after child-bearing. their principal spokeswoman, a woman with a bright sweet face, called mary, and a very sweet voice, which is by no means an uncommon excellence among them, appealed to my own experience; and while she spoke of my babies, and my carefully tended, delicately nursed, and tenderly watched confinement and convalescence, and implored me to have a kind of labour given to them less exhausting during the month after their confinement, i held the table before me so hard in order not to cry that i think my fingers ought to have left a mark on it. at length i told them that mr. ---- had forbidden me to bring him any more complaints from them, for that he thought the ease with which i received and believed their stories only tended to make them discontented, and that, therefore, i feared i could not promise to take their petitions to him; but that he would be coming down to 'the point' soon, and that they had better come then some time when i was with him, and say what they had just been saying to me: and with this, and various small bounties, i was forced, with a heavy heart, to dismiss them, and when they were gone, with many exclamations of, 'oh yes, missis, you will, you will speak to massa for we; god bless you, missis, we sure you will!' i had my cry out for them, for myself, for us. all these women had had large families, and _all_ of them had lost half their children, and several of them had lost more. how i do ponder upon the strange fate which has brought me here, from so far away, from surroundings so curiously different--how my own people in that blessed england of my birth would marvel if they could suddenly have a vision of me as i sit here, and how sorry some of them would be for me! i am helped to bear all that is so very painful to me here by my constant enjoyment of the strange wild scenery in the midst of which i live, and which my resumption of my equestrian habits gives me almost daily opportunity of observing. i rode to-day to some new cleared and ploughed ground that was being prepared for the precious cotton crop. i crossed a salt marsh upon a raised causeway that was perfectly alive with land-crabs, whose desperately active endeavours to avoid my horse's hoofs were so ludicrous that i literally laughed alone and aloud at them. the sides of this road across the swamp were covered with a thick and close embroidery of creeping moss or rather lichens of the most vivid green and red: the latter made my horse's path look as if it was edged with an exquisite pattern of coral; it was like a thing in a fairy tale, and delighted me extremely. i suppose, e----, one secret of my being able to suffer as acutely as i do without being made either ill or absolutely miserable, is the childish excitability of my temperament, and the sort of ecstacy which any beautiful thing gives me. no day, almost no hour, passes without some enjoyment of the sort this coral-bordered road gave me, which not only charms my senses completely at the time, but returns again and again before my memory, delighting my fancy, and stimulating my imagination. i sometimes despise myself for what seems to me an inconceivable rapidity of emotion, that almost makes me doubt whether anyone who feels so many things can really be said to feel anything; but i generally recover from this perplexity, by remembering whither invariably every impression of beauty leads my thoughts, and console myself for my contemptible facility of impression by the reflection that it is, upon the whole, a merciful system of compensation by which my whole nature, tortured as it was last night, can be absorbed this morning, in a perfectly pleasurable contemplation of the capers of crabs and the colour of mosses as if nothing else existed in creation. one thing, however, i think, is equally certain, and that is, that i need never expect much sympathy; and perhaps this special endowment will make me, to some degree, independent of it; but i have no doubt that to follow me through half a day with any species of lively participation in my feelings would be a severe breathless moral calisthenic to most of my friends,--what shakspeare calls 'sweating labour.' as far as i have hitherto had opportunities of observing, children and maniacs are the only creatures who would be capable of sufficiently rapid transitions of thought and feeling to keep pace with me. and so i rode through the crabs and the coral. there is one thing, however, i beg to commend to your serious consideration as a trainer of youth, and that is, the expediency of cultivating in all the young minds you educate an equal love of the good, the beautiful, and the absurd (not an easy task, for the latter is apt in its developement to interfere a little with the two others): doing this, you command all the resources of existence. the love of the good and beautiful of course you are prepared to cultivate--that goes without saying, as the french say; the love of the ludicrous will not appear to you as important, and yet you will be wrong to undervalue it. in the first place, i might tell you that it was almost like cherishing the love of one's fellow-creatures--at which no doubt you shake your head reprovingly; but, leaving aside the enormous provision for the exercise of this natural faculty which we offer to each other, why should crabs scuttle from under my horse's feet in such a way as to make me laugh again every time i think of it, if there is not an inherent propriety in laughter, as the only emotion which certain objects challenge--an emotion wholesome for the soul and body of man? after all, _why_ are we contrived to laugh at all, if laughter is not essentially befitting and beneficial? and most people's lives are too lead-coloured to afford to lose one sparkle on them, even the smallest twinkle of light gathered from a flash of nonsense. hereafter point out for the 'appreciative' study of your pupils all that is absurd in themselves, others, and the universe in general; 't is an element largely provided, of course, to meet a corresponding and grateful capacity for its enjoyment. after my crab and coral causeway i came to the most exquisite thickets of evergreen shrubbery you can imagine. if i wanted to paint paradise i would copy this undergrowth, passing through which i went on to the settlement at st. annie's, traversing another swamp on another raised causeway. the thickets through which i next rode were perfectly draped with the beautiful wild jasmine of these woods. of all the parasitical plants i ever saw, i do think it is the most exquisite in form and colour, and its perfume is like the most delicate heliotrope. i stopped for some time before a thicket of glittering evergreens, over which hung, in every direction, streaming garlands of these fragrant golden cups, fit for oberon's banqueting service. these beautiful shrubberies were resounding with the songs of mocking birds. i sat there on my horse in a sort of dream of enchantment, looking, listening, and inhaling the delicious atmosphere of those flowers; and suddenly my eyes opened, as if i had been asleep, on some bright red bunches of spring leaves on one of the winter-stripped trees, and i as suddenly thought of the cold northern skies and earth, where the winter was still inflexibly tyrannising over you all, and, in spite of the loveliness of all that was present, and the harshness of all that i seemed to see at that moment, no first tokens of the spring's return were ever more welcome to me than those bright leaves that reminded me how soon i should leave this scene of material beauty and moral degradation, where the beauty itself is of an appropriate character to the human existence it surrounds: above all, loveliness, brightness, and fragrance; but below! it gives one a sort of melusina feeling of horror--all swamp and poisonous stagnation, which the heat will presently make alive with venomous reptiles. i rode on, and the next object that attracted my attention was a very startling and by no means agreeable one--an enormous cypress tree which had been burnt stood charred and blackened, and leaning towards the road so as to threaten a speedy fall across it, and on one of the limbs of this great charcoal giant hung a dead rattlesnake. if i tell you that it looked to me at least six feet long you will say you only wonder i did not say twelve; it was a hideous-looking creature, and some negroes i met soon after told me they had found it in the swamp, and hung it dead on the burning tree. certainly the two together made a dreadful trophy, and a curious contrast to the lovely bowers of bloom i had just been contemplating with such delight. this settlement at st. annie's is the remotest on the whole plantation, and i found there the wretchedest huts, and most miserably squalid, filthy and forlorn creatures i had yet seen here--certainly the condition of the slaves on this estate is infinitely more neglected and deplorable than that on the rice plantation. perhaps it may be that the extremely unhealthy nature of the rice cultivation makes it absolutely necessary that the physical condition of the labourers should be maintained at its best to enable them to abide it; and yet it seems to me that even the process of soaking the rice can hardly create a more dangerous miasma than the poor creatures must inhale who live in the midst of these sweltering swamps, half sea, half river slime. perhaps it has something to do with the fact that the climate on st. simon's is generally considered peculiarly mild and favourable, and so less protection of clothes and shelter is thought necessary here for the poor residents; perhaps, too, it may be because the cotton crop is now, i believe, hardly as valuable as the rice crop, and the plantation here, which was once the chief source of its owner's wealth, is becoming a secondary one, and so not worth so much care or expense in repairing and constructing negro huts and feeding and clothing the slaves. more pitiable objects than some of those i saw at the st. annie's settlement to-day i hope never to see: there was an old crone called hannah, a sister, as well as i could understand what she said, of old house molly, whose face and figure seamed with wrinkles and bowed and twisted with age and infirmity really hardly retained the semblance of those of a human creature, and as she crawled to me almost half her naked body was exposed through the miserable tatters that she held on with one hand, while the other eagerly clutched my hand, and her poor blear eyes wandered all over me as if she was bewildered by the strange aspect of any human being but those whose sight was familiar to her. one or two forlorn creatures like herself, too old or too infirm to be compelled to work, and the half-starved and more than half-naked children apparently left here under their charge, were the only inmates i found in these wretched hovels. i came home without stopping to look at anything, for i had no heart any longer for what had so charmed me on my way to this place. galloping along the road after leaving the marshes, i scared an ox who was feeding leisurely, and to my great dismay saw the foolish beast betake himself with lumbering speed into the 'bush:' the slaves will have to hunt after him, and perhaps will discover more rattlesnakes six or twelve feet long. after reaching home i went to the house of the overseer to see his wife, a tidy, decent, kind-hearted, little woman, who seems to me to do her duty by the poor people she lives among, as well as her limited intelligence and still more limited freedom allow. the house her husband lives in is the former residence of major ----, which was the great mansion of the estate. it is now in a most ruinous and tottering condition, and they inhabit but a few rooms in it; the others are gradually mouldering to pieces, and the whole edifice will, i should think, hardly stand long enough to be carried away by the river, which in its yearly inroads on the bank on which it stands has already approached within a perilous proximity to the old dilapidated planter's palace. old molly, of whom i have often before spoken to you, who lived here in the days of the prosperity and grandeur of 'hampton,' still clings to the relics of her old master's former magnificence and with a pride worthy of old caleb of ravenswood showed me through the dismantled decaying rooms and over the remains of the dairy, displaying a capacious fish-box or well, where, in the good old days, the master's supply was kept in fresh salt water till required for table. her prideful lamentations over the departure of all this quondam glory were ludicrous and pathetic; but while listening with some amusement to the jumble of grotesque descriptions through which her impression of the immeasurable grandeur and nobility of the house she served was the predominant feature, i could not help contrasting the present state of the estate with that which she described, and wondering why it should have become, as it undoubtedly must have done, so infinitely less productive a property than in the old major's time. before closing this letter, i have a mind to transcribe to you the entries for to-day recorded in a sort of daybook, where i put down very succinctly the number of people who visit me, their petitions and ailments, and also such special particulars concerning them as seem to me worth recording. you will see how miserable the physical condition of many of these poor creatures is; and their physical condition, it is insisted by those who uphold this evil system, is the only part of it which is prosperous, happy, and compares well with that of northern labourers. judge from the details i now send you; and never forget, while reading them, that the people on this plantation are well off, and consider themselves well off, in comparison with the slaves on some of the neighbouring estates. _fanny_ has had six children, all dead but one. she came to beg to have her work in the field lightened. _nanny_ has had three children, two of them are dead; she came to implore that the rule of sending them into the field three weeks after their confinement might be altered. _leah_, caesar's wife, has had six children, three are dead. _sophy_, lewis' wife, came to beg for some old linen; she is suffering fearfully, has had ten children, five of them are dead. the principal favour she asked was a piece of meat, which i gave her. _sally_, scipio's wife, has had two miscarriages and three children born, one of whom is dead. she came complaining of incessant pain and weakness in her back. this woman was a mulatto daughter of a slave called sophy, by a white man of the name of walker, who visited the plantation. _charlotte_, renty's wife, had had two miscarriages, and was with child again. she was almost crippled with rheumatism, and showed me a pair of poor swollen knees that made my heart ache. i have promised her a pair of flannel trowsers, which i must forthwith set about making. _sarah_, stephen's wife,--this woman's case and history were, alike, deplorable, she had had four miscarriages, had brought seven children into the world, five of whom were dead, and was again with child. she complained of dreadful pains in the back, and an internal tumour which swells with the exertion of working in the fields; probably, i think, she is ruptured. she told me she had once been mad and ran into the woods, where she contrived to elude discovery for some time, but was at last tracked and brought back, when she was tied up by the arms and heavy logs fastened to her feet, and was severely flogged. after this she contrived to escape again, and lived for some time skulking in the woods, and she supposes mad, for when she was taken again she was entirely naked. she subsequently recovered from this derangement, and seems now just like all the other poor creatures who come to me for help and pity. i suppose her constant child-bearing and hard labour in the fields at the same time may have produced the temporary insanity. _sukey_, bush's wife, only came to pay her respects. she had had four miscarriages, had brought eleven children into the world, five of whom are dead. _molly_, quambo's wife, also only came to see me; hers was the best account i have yet received; she had had nine children, and six of them were still alive. this is only the entry for to-day, in my diary, of the people's complaints and visits. can you conceive a more wretched picture than that which it exhibits of the conditions under which these women live? their cases are in no respect singular, and though they come with pitiful entreaties that i will help them with some alleviation of their pressing physical distresses, it seems to me marvellous with what desperate patience (i write it advisedly, patience of utter despair) they endure their sorrow-laden existence. even the poor wretch who told that miserable story of insanity and lonely hiding in the swamps and scourging when she was found, and of her renewed madness and flight, did so in a sort of low, plaintive, monotonous murmur of misery, as if such sufferings were all 'in the day's work.' i ask these questions about their children because i think the number they bear as compared with the number they rear a fair gauge of the effect of the system on their own health and that of their offspring. there was hardly one of these women, as you will see by the details i have noted of their ailments, who might not have been a candidate for a bed in an hospital, and they had come to me after working all day in the fields. * * * * * dearest e----. when i told you in my last letter of the encroachments which the waters of the altamaha are daily making on the bank at hampton point and immediately in front of the imposing-looking old dwelling of the former master, i had no idea how rapid this crumbling process has been of late years; but to-day, standing there with mrs. g----, whom i had gone to consult about the assistance we might render to some of the poor creatures whose cases i sent you in my last letter, she told me that within the memory of many of the slaves now living on the plantation, a grove of orange trees had spread its fragrance and beauty between the house and the river. not a vestige remains of them. the earth that bore them was gradually undermined, slipped, and sank down into the devouring flood, and when she saw the astonished incredulity of my look she led me to the ragged and broken bank, and there, immediately below it and just covered by the turbid waters of the in-rushing tide, were the heads of the poor drowned orange trees, swaying like black twigs in the briny flood which had not yet dislodged all of them from their hold upon the soil which had gone down beneath the water wearing its garland of bridal blossom. as i looked at those trees a wild wish rose in my heart that the river and the sea would swallow up and melt in their salt waves the whole of this accursed property of ours. i am afraid the horror of slavery with which i came down to the south, the general theoretic abhorrence of an englishwoman for it, has gained, through the intensity it has acquired, a morbid character of mere desire to be delivered from my own share in it. i think so much of these wretches that i see, that i can hardly remember any others, and my zeal for the general emancipation of the slave, has almost narrowed itself to this most painful desire that i and mine were freed from the responsibility of our share in this huge misery,--and so i thought:--'beat, beat, the crumbling banks and sliding shores, wild waves of the atlantic and the altamaha! sweep down and carry hence this evil earth and these homes of tyranny, and roll above the soil of slavery, and wash my soul and the souls of those i love clean from the blood of our kind!' but i have no idea that mr. ---- and his brother would cry amen to any such prayer. sometimes, as i stand and listen to the roll of the great ocean surges on the further side of little st. simon's island, a small green screen of tangled wilderness that interposes between this point and the atlantic, i think how near our west indian islands and freedom are to these unfortunate people, many of whom are expert and hardy boatmen, as far as the mere mechanical management of a boat goes; but unless providence were compass and steersman too it avails nothing that they should know how near their freedom might be found, nor have i any right to tell them if they could find it, for the slaves are not mine, they are mr. ----'s. the mulatto woman, sally, accosted me again to-day, and begged that she might be put to some other than field labour. supposing she felt herself unequal to it, i asked her some questions, but the principal reason she urged for her promotion to some less laborious kind of work was, that hoeing in the field was so hard to her on '_account of her colour_,' and she therefore petitions to be allowed to learn a trade. i was much puzzled at this reason for her petition, but was presently made to understand that being a mulatto, she considered field labour a degradation; her white bastardy appearing to her a title to consideration in my eyes. the degradation of these people is very complete, for they have accepted the contempt of their masters to that degree that they profess, and really seem to feel it for themselves, and the faintest admixture of white blood in their black veins appears at once, by common consent of their own race, to raise them in the scale of humanity. i had not much sympathy for this petition. the woman's father had been a white man who was employed for some purpose on the estate. in speaking upon this subject to mrs. g----, she said that, as far as her observation went, the lower class of white men in the south lived with coloured women precisely as they would at the north with women of their own race; the outcry that one hears against amalgamation appears therefore to be something educated and acquired, rather than intuitive. i cannot perceive in observing my children, that they exhibit the slightest repugnance or dislike to these swarthy dependents of theirs, which they surely would do if, as is so often pretended, there is an inherent, irreconcilable repulsion on the part of the white towards the negro race. all the southern children that i have seen seem to have a special fondness for these good-natured childish human beings, whose mental condition is kin in its simplicity and proneness to impulsive emotion to their own, and i can detect in them no trace of the abhorrence and contempt for their dusky skins which all questions of treating them with common justice is so apt to elicit from american men and women. to-day, for the first time since i left the rice island, i went out fishing, but had no manner of luck. jack rowed me up jones's creek, a small stream which separates st. simon's from the main, on the opposite side from the great waters of the altamaha. the day was very warm. it is becoming almost too hot to remain here much longer, at least for me, who dread and suffer from heat so much. the whole summer, however, is passed by many members of the georgia families on their estates by the sea. when the heat is intense, the breeze from the ocean and the salt air, i suppose, prevent it from being intolerable or hurtful. our neighbour mr. c---- and his family reside entirely, the year round, on their plantations here without apparently suffering in their health from the effects of the climate. i suppose it is the intermediate region between the sea-board and the mountains that becomes so pestilential when once the warm weather sets in. i remember the belgian minister, m. de ----, telling me that the mountain country of georgia was as beautiful as paradise, and that the climate, as far as his experience went, was perfectly delicious. he was, however, only there on an exploring expedition, and, of course, took the most favourable season of the year for the purpose. i have had several women with me this afternoon more or less disabled by chronic rheumatism. certainly, either their labour or the exposure it entails must be very severe, for this climate is the last that ought to engender rheumatism. this evening i had a visit from a bright young woman, calling herself minda, who came to beg for a little rice or sugar. i enquired from which of the settlements she had come down, and found that she has to walk three miles every day to and from her work. she made no complaint whatever of this, and seemed to think her laborious tramp down to the point after her day of labour on the field well-rewarded by the pittance of rice and sugar she obtained. perhaps she consoled herself for the exertion by the reflection which occurred to me while talking to her, that many women who have borne children, and many women with child, go the same distance to and from their task ground--that seems dreadful! i have let my letter lie from a stress of small interruptions. yesterday, sunday rd, old auber, a stooping, halting hag, came to beg for flannel and rice. as usual, of course, i asked various questions concerning her condition, family, &c.; she told me she had never been married, but had had five children, two of whom were dead. she complained of flooding, of intolerable back-ache, and said that with all these ailments, she considered herself quite recovered, having suffered horribly from an abscess in her neck, which was now nearly well. i was surprised to hear of her other complaints, for she seemed to me like quite an old woman; but constant child-bearing, and the life of labour, exposure, and privation which they lead, ages these poor creatures prematurely. dear e----, how i do defy you to guess the novel accomplishment i have developed within the last two days; what do you say to my turning butcher's boy, and cutting up the carcase of a sheep for the instruction of our butcher and cook, and benefit of our table? you know, i have often written you word, that we have mutton here--thanks to the short salt grass on which it feeds--that compares with the best south down or _pré salé_; but such is the barbarous ignorance of the cook, or rather the butcher who furnishes our kitchen supplies, that i defy the most expert anatomist to pronounce on any piece (joints they cannot be called) of mutton brought to our table to what part of the animal sheep it originally belonged. i have often complained bitterly of this, and in vain implored abraham the cook to send me some dish of mutton to which i might with safety apply the familiar name of leg, shoulder, or haunch. these remonstrances and expostulations have produced no result whatever, however, but an increase of eccentricity in the _chunks_ of sheeps' flesh placed upon the table; the squares, diamonds, cubes, and rhomboids of mutton have been more ludicrously and hopelessly unlike anything we see in a christian butcher's shop, with every fresh endeavour abraham has made to find out 'zackly wot de missis do want;' so the day before yesterday, while i was painfully dragging s---- through the early intellectual science of the alphabet and first reading lesson, abraham appeared at the door of the room brandishing a very long thin knife, and with many bows, grins, and apologies for disturbing me, begged that i would go and cut up a sheep for him. my first impulse of course was to decline the very unusual task offered me with mingled horror and amusement. abraham, however, insisted and besought, extolled the fineness of his sheep, declared his misery at being unable to cut it as i wished, and his readiness to conform for the future to whatever _patterns_ of mutton 'de missis would only please to give him.' upon reflection i thought i might very well contrive to indicate upon the sheep the size and form of the different joints of civilised mutton, and so for the future save much waste of good meat; and moreover the lesson once taught would not require to be repeated, and i have ever held it expedient to accept every opportunity of learning to do anything, no matter how unusual, which presented itself to be done; and so i followed abraham to the kitchen, when, with a towel closely pinned over my silk dress, and knife in hand, i stood for a minute or two meditating profoundly before the rather unsightly object which abraham had pronounced 'de beautifullest sheep de missis eber saw.' the sight and smell of raw meat are especially odious to me, and i have often thought that if i had had to be my own cook, i should inevitably become a vegetarian, probably, indeed, return entirely to my green and salad days. nathless, i screwed my courage to the sticking point, and slowly and delicately traced out with the point of my long carving-knife two shoulders, two legs, a saddle, and a neck of mutton; not probably in the most thoroughly artistic and butcherly style, but as nearly as my memory and the unassisted light of nature would enable me; and having instructed abraham in the various boundaries, sizes, shapes and names of the several joints, i returned to s---- and her belles-lettres, rather elated upon the whole at the creditable mode in which i flattered myself i had accomplished my unusual task, and the hope of once more seeing roast mutton of my acquaintance. i will confess to you, dear e----, that the _neck_ was not a satisfactory part of the performance, and i have spent some thoughts since in trying to adjust in my own mind its proper shape and proportions. as an accompaniment to 'de beautifullest mutton de missis ever see,' we have just received from my neighbour mr. c---- the most magnificent supply of fresh vegetables, green peas, salad, &c. he has a garden and a scotchman's real love for horticulture, and i profit by them in this very agreeable manner. i have been interrupted by several visits, my dear e----, among other, one from a poor creature called judy, whose sad story and condition affected me most painfully. she had been married, she said, some years ago to one of the men called temba, who however now has another wife, having left her because she went mad. while out of her mind she escaped into the jungle, and contrived to secrete herself there for some time, but was finally tracked and caught, and brought back and punished by being made to sit, day after day, for hours in the stocks--a severe punishment for a man, but for a woman perfectly barbarous. she complained of chronic rheumatism, and other terrible ailments, and said she suffered such intolerable pain while labouring in the fields, that she had come to entreat me to have her work lightened. she could hardly crawl, and cried bitterly all the time she spoke to me. she told me a miserable story of her former experience on the plantation under mr. k----'s overseership. it seems that jem valiant (an extremely difficult subject, a mulatto lad, whose valour is sufficiently accounted for now by the influence of the mutinous white blood) was her firstborn, the son of mr. k----, who forced her, flogged her severely for having resisted him, and then sent her off, as a further punishment, to five pound--a horrible swamp in a remote corner of the estate, to which the slaves are sometimes banished for such offences as are not sufficiently atoned for by the lash. the dismal loneliness of the place to these poor people, who are as dependent as children upon companionship and sympathy, makes this solitary exile a much-dreaded infliction; and this poor creature said, that bad as the flogging was, she would sooner have taken that again than the dreadful lonely days and nights she spent on the penal swamp of five pound. i make no comment on these terrible stories, my dear friend, and tell them to you as nearly as possible in the perfectly plain unvarnished manner in which they are told to me. i do not wish to add to, or perhaps i ought to say take away from, the effect of such narrations by amplifying the simple horror and misery of their bare details. * * * * * my dearest e----. i have had an uninterrupted stream of women and children flowing in the whole morning to say, 'ha de missis!' among others, a poor woman called mile, who could hardly stand for pain and swelling in her limbs; she had had fifteen children and two miscarriages, nine of her children had died; for the last three years she had become almost a cripple with chronic rheumatism, yet she is driven every day to work in the field. she held my hands and stroked them in the most appealing way, while she exclaimed, 'oh my missis! my missis! me neber sleep till day for de pain,' and with the day her labour must again be resumed. i gave her flannel and sal volatile to rub her poor swelled limbs with; rest i could not give her--rest from her labour and her pain--this mother of fifteen children. another of my visitors had a still more dismal story to tell; her name was die; she had had sixteen children, fourteen of whom were dead; she had had four miscarriages, one had been caused by falling down with a very heavy burthen on her head, and one from having her arms strained up to be lashed. i asked her what she meant by having her arms tied up; she said their hands were first tied together, sometimes by the wrists, and sometimes, which was worse, by the thumbs, and they were then drawn up to a tree or post, so as almost to swing them off the ground, and then their clothes rolled round their waist, and a man with a cow-hide stands and stripes them. i give you the woman's words; she did not speak of this as of anything strange, unusual or especially horrid and abominable; and when i said, 'did they do that to you when you were with child?' she simply replied, 'yes, missis.' and to all this i listen--i, an english woman, the wife of the man who owns these wretches, and i cannot say, 'that thing shall not be done again; that cruel shame and villany shall never be known here again.' i gave the woman meat and flannel, which were what she came to ask for, and remained choking with indignation and grief long after they had all left me to my most bitter thoughts. i went out to try and walk off some of the weight of horror and depression which i am beginning to feel daily more and more, surrounded by all this misery and degradation that i can neither help nor hinder. the blessed spring is coming very fast, the air is full of delicious wild wood fragrances, and the wonderful songs of southern birds; the wood paths are as tempting as paths into paradise, but jack is in such deadly terror about the snakes, which are now beginning to glide about with a freedom and frequency certainly not pleasing, that he will not follow me off the open road, and twice to-day scared me back from charming wood paths i ventured to explore with his exclamations of terrified warning. i gathered some exquisite pink blossoms, of a sort of waxen texture, off a small shrub which was strange to me, and for which jack's only name was dye-bush; but i could not ascertain from him whether any dyeing substance was found in its leaves, bark, or blossoms. i returned home along the river side, stopping to admire a line of noble live oaks beginning, alas! to be smothered with the treacherous white moss under whose pale trailing masses their verdure gradually succumbs, leaving them, like huge hoary ghosts, perfect mountains of parasitical vegetation, which, strangely enough, appears only to hang upon and swing from their boughs without adhering to them. the mixture of these streams of grey-white filaments with the dark foliage is extremely beautiful as long as the leaves of the tree survive in sufficient masses to produce the rich contrast of colour; but when the moss has literally conquered the whole tree, and after stripping its huge limbs bare, clothed them with its own wan masses, they always looked to me like so many gigantic druid ghosts, with flowing robes and beards, and locks all of one ghastly grey, and i would not have broken a twig off them for the world, lest a sad voice, like that which reproached dante, should have moaned out of it to me, non hai tu spirto di pietade alcuno? a beautiful mass of various woodland skirted the edge of the stream, and mingled in its foliage every shade of green, from the pale stiff spikes and fans of the dwarf palmetto to the dark canopy of the magnificent ilex--bowers and brakes of the loveliest wildness, where one dare not tread three steps for fear--what a tantalisation! it is like some wicked enchantment. * * * * * dearest e----. i have found growing along the edge of the dreary enclosure where the slaves are buried such a lovely wild flower; it is a little like the euphrasia or eye-bright of the english meadows; but grows quite close to the turf, almost into it, and consists of clusters of tiny white flowers that look as if they were made of the finest porcelain; i took up a root of it yesterday, with a sort of vague idea that i could transplant it to the north--though i cannot say that i should care to transplant anything thither that could renew to me the associations of this place--not even the delicious wild flowers, if i could. the woods here are full of wild plum-trees, the delicate white blossoms of which twinkle among the evergreen copses, and besides illuminating them with a faint starlight, suggest to my mind a possible liqueur like kirsch, which i should think could quite as well be extracted from wild plums as wild cherries, and the trees are so numerous that there ought to be quite a harvest from them. you may, and, doubtless, have seen palmetto plants in northern green and hot houses, but you never saw palmetto roots; and what curious things they are! huge, hard, yellowish-brown stems, as thick as my arm, or thicker, extending and ramifying under the ground in masses that seem hardly justified or accounted for by the elegant, light, spiky fans of dusky green foliage with which they fill the under part of the woods here. they look very tropical and picturesque, but both in shape and colour suggest something metallic rather than vegetable, the bronze green hue and lance-like form of their foliage has an arid hard character that makes one think they could be manufactured quite as well as cultivated. at first i was extremely delighted with the novelty of their appearance; but now i feel thirsty when i look at them, and the same with their kinsfolk the yuccas and their intimate friends, if not relations, the prickly pears, with all of which once strange growth i have grown, contemptuously familiar now. did it ever occur to you what a strange affinity there is between the texture and colour of the wild vegetables of these sandy southern soils, and the texture and colour of shells? the prickly pear, and especially the round little cactus plants all covered with hairy spikes, are curiously suggestive of a family of round spiked shells, with which you, as well as myself, are, doubtless, familiar; and though the splendid flame colour of some cactus blossoms never suggests any nature but that of flowers, i have seen some of a peculiar shade of yellow pink, that resembles the mingled tint on the inside of some elaborately coloured shell, and the pale white and rose flowers of another kind have the colouring and almost texture of shell, much rather than of any vegetable substance. to-day i walked out without jack, and in spite of the terror of snakes with which he has contrived slightly to inoculate me, i did make a short exploring journey into the woods. i wished to avoid a ploughed field, to the edge of which my wanderings had brought me; but my dash into the woodland, though unpunished by an encounter with snakes, brought me only into a marsh as full of land-crabs as an ant-hill is of ants, and from which i had to retreat ingloriously, finding my way home at last by the beach. i have had, as usual, a tribe of visitors and petitioners ever since i came home. i will give you an account of those cases which had anything beyond the average of interest in their details. one poor woman, named molly, came to beg that i would, if possible, get an extension of their exemption from work after child-bearing. the close of her argument was concise and forcible. 'missis, we hab um piccaninny--tree weeks in de ospital, and den right out upon the hoe again--_can we strong_ dat way, missis? no!' and truly i do not see that they can. this poor creature had had eight children and two miscarriages. all her children were dead but one. another of my visitors was a divinely named but not otherwise divine venus; it is a favourite name among these sable folk, but, of course, must have been given originally in derision. the aphrodite in question was a dirt-coloured (convenient colour i should say for these parts) mulatto. i could not understand how she came on this property, for she was the daughter of a black woman and the overseer of an estate to which her mother formerly belonged, and from which i suppose she was sold, exchanged, or given, as the case may be, to the owners of this plantation. she was terribly crippled with rheumatism, and came to beg for some flannel. she had had eleven children, five of whom had died, and two miscarriages. as she took her departure the vacant space she left on the other side of my writing table was immediately filled by another black figure with a bowed back and piteous face, one of the thousand 'mollies' on the estate, where the bewildering redundancy of their name is avoided by adding that of their husband; so when the question, 'well, who are you?' was answered with the usual genuflexion, and 'i'se molly, missis!' i, of course, went on with 'whose molly?' and she went on to refer herself to the ownership (under mr. ---- and heaven) of one tony, but proceeded to say that he was not her _real_ husband. this appeal to an element of reality in the universally accepted fiction which passes here by the title of marriage surprised me; and on asking her what she meant, she replied that her real husband had been sold from the estate for repeated attempts to run away; he had made his escape several times, and skulked starving in the woods and morasses, but had always been tracked and brought back, and flogged almost to death, and finally sold as an incorrigible runaway. what a spirit of indomitable energy the wretched man must have had to have tried so often that hideously hopeless attempt to fly! i do not write you the poor woman's jargon, which was ludicrous; for i cannot write you the sighs, and tears, and piteous looks, and gestures, that made it pathetic; of course she did not know whither or to whom her _real_ husband had been sold; but in the meantime mr. k----, that merciful providence of the estate, had provided her with the above-named tony, by whom she had had nine children, six of whom were dead; she, too, had miscarried twice. she came to ask me for some flannel for her legs, which are all swollen with constant rheumatism, and to beg me to give her something to cure some bad sores and ulcers, which seemed to me dreadful enough in their present condition, but which she said break out afresh and are twice as bad every summer. i have let my letter lie since the day before yesterday, dear e----, having had no leisure to finish it. yesterday morning i rode out to st. clair's, where there used formerly to be another negro settlement and another house of major ----'s. i had been persuaded to try one of the mares i had formerly told you of, and to be sure a more 'curst' quadruped, and one more worthy of a petruchio for a rider i did never back. her temper was furious, her gait intolerable, her mouth, the most obdurate that ever tugged against bit and bridle. it is not wise anywhere--here it is less wise than anywhere else in the world--to say 'jamais de cette eau je ne boirai;' but i _think_ i will never ride that delightful creature miss kate again. i wrote you of my having been to a part of the estate called st. clair's, where there was formerly another residence of major ----'s; nothing remains now of it but a ruined chimney of some of the offices, which is standing yet in the middle of what has become a perfect wilderness. at the best of times, with a large house, numerous household, and paths, and drives of approach, and the usual external conditions of civilisation about it, a residence here would have been the loneliest that can well be imagined; now it is the shaggiest desert of beautiful wood that i ever saw. the magnificent old oaks stand round the place in silent solemn grandeur; and among them i had no difficulty in recognising, by the description captain f---- had given me of it, the crumbling shattered relic of a tree called oglethorpe's oak. that worthy valiant old governor had a residence here himself in the early days of the colony; when, under the influence of wesley, he vainly made such strenuous efforts to keep aloof from his infant province the sore curse of slavery. i rode almost the whole way through a grove of perfect evergreen. i had with me one of the men of the name of hector, who has a good deal to do with the horses, and so had volunteered to accompany me, being one of the few negroes on the estate who can sit a horse. in the course of our conversation, hector divulged certain opinions relative to the comparative gentility of driving in a carriage, and the vulgarity of walking; which sent me into fits of laughing; at which he grinned sympathetically, and opened his eyes very wide, but certainly without attaining the least insight into what must have appeared to him my very unaccountable and unreasonable merriment. among various details of the condition of the people on the several estates in the island, he told me that a great number of the men on all the different plantations had _wives_ on the neighbouring estates, as well as on that to which they properly belonged. 'oh, but,' said i, 'hector, you know that cannot be, a man has but one lawful wife.' hector knew this, he said, and yet seemed puzzled himself, and rather puzzled me to account for the fact, that this extensive practice of bigamy was perfectly well known to the masters and overseers, and never in any way found fault with, or interfered with. perhaps this promiscuous mode of keeping up the slave population finds favour with the owners of creatures who are valued in the market at so much per head. this was a solution which occurred to me, but which i left my trojan hero to discover, by dint of the profound pondering into which he fell. not far from the house as i was cantering home, i met s----, and took her up on the saddle before me, an operation which seemed to please her better than the vicious horse i was riding, whose various demonstrations of dislike to the arrangement afforded my small equestrian extreme delight and triumph. my whole afternoon was spent in shifting my bed and bed-room furniture from a room on the ground-floor to one above; in the course of which operation, a brisk discussion took place between m---- and my boy jack, who was nailing on the vallence of the bed; and whom i suddenly heard exclaim in answer to something she had said--'well den, i do tink so; and dat's the speech of a man, whether um bond or free.' a very trifling incident, and insignificant speech; and yet it came back to my ears very often afterward--'the speech of a _man_, whether bond or free.' they might be made conscious--some of them are evidently conscious--of an inherent element of manhood superior to the bitter accident of slavery; and to which, even in their degraded condition, they might be made to refer that vital self-respect which can survive all external pressure of mere circumstance, and give their souls to that service of god, which is perfect freedom, in spite of the ignoble and cruel bondage of their bodies. my new apartment is what i should call decidedly airy; the window, unless when styled by courtesy, shut, which means admitting of draught enough to blow a candle out, must be wide open, being incapable of any intermediate condition; the latch of the door, to speak the literal truth, does shut; but it is the only part of it that does; that is, the latch and the hinges; everywhere else its configuration is traced by a distinct line of light and air. if what old dr. physic used to say be true, that a draught which will not blow out a candle will blow out a man's life, (a spanish proverb originally i believe) my life is threatened with extinction in almost every part of this new room of mine, wherein, moreover, i now discover to my dismay, having transported every other article of bed-room furniture to it, it is impossible to introduce the wardrobe for my clothes. well, our stay here is drawing to a close, and therefore these small items of discomfort cannot afflict me much longer. among my visitors to-day was a poor woman named oney, who told me her husband had gone away from her now for four years; it seems he was the property of mr. k----, and when that gentleman went to slave-driving on his own account, and ceased to be the overseer of this estate, he carried her better half, who was his chattel, away with him, and she never expects to see him again. after her departure i had a most curious visitor, a young lad of the name of renty, whose very decidedly mulatto tinge accounted, i suppose, for the peculiar disinvoltura of his carriage and manner; he was evidently in his own opinion a very superior creature; and yet, as his conversation with me testified, he was conscious of some flaw in the honour of his 'yellow' complexion. 'who is your mother, renty?' said i (i give you our exact dialogue); 'betty, head-man frank's wife.' i was rather dismayed at the promptness of this reply, and hesitated a little at my next question, 'who is your father?' my sprightly young friend, however, answered, without an instant's pause, 'mr. k----.' here i came to a halt, and, willing to suggest some doubt to the lad, because for many peculiar reasons this statement seemed to me shocking, i said, 'what, old mr. k----?' 'no, massa r----.' 'did your mother tell you so?' 'no, missis, me ashamed to ask her; mr. c----'s children told me so, and i 'spect they know it.' renty, you see, did not take falconbridge's view of such matters; and as i was by no means sorry to find that he considered his relation to mr. k---- a disgrace to his mother, which is an advance in moral perception not often met with here, i said no more upon the subject. _tuesday, march ._--this morning, old house molly, coming from mr. g----'s upon some errand to me, i asked her if renty's statement was true; she confirmed the whole story, and, moreover, added that this connection took place after betty was married to head-man frank. now, he, you know, e----, is the chief man at the rice island, second in authority to mr. o----, and indeed, for a considerable part of the year, absolute master and guardian during the night, of all the people and property at the rice plantation, for, after the early spring, the white overseer himself is obliged to betake himself to the mainland to sleep, out of the influence of the deadly malaria of the rice swamp, and frank remains sole sovereign of the island, from sunset to sunrise, in short, during the whole period of his absence. mr. ---- bestowed the highest commendations upon his fidelity and intelligence, and, during the visit mr. r---- k---- paid us at the island, he was emphatic in his praise of both frank and his wife, the latter having, as he declared, by way of climax to his eulogies, quite the principles of a white woman. perhaps she imbibed them from his excellent influence over her. frank is a serious, sad, sober-looking, very intelligent man; i should think he would not relish having his wife borrowed from him even by the white gentleman, who admired her principles so much; and it is quite clear from poor renty's speech about his mother, that by some of these people (and if by any, then very certainly by frank), the disgrace of such an injury is felt and appreciated much after the fashion of white men. this old woman molly is a wonderfully intelligent, active, energetic creature, though considerably over seventy years old; she was talking to me about her former master, major ----, and what she was pleased to call the _revelation_ war (i.e. revolution war), during which that gentleman, having embraced the side of the rebellious colonies in their struggle against england, was by no means on a bed of roses. he bore king george's commission, and was a major in the british army, but having married a great carolina heiress, and become proprietor of these plantations, sided with the country of his adoption, and not that of his birth, in the war between them, and was a special object of animosity on that account to the english officers who attacked the sea-board of georgia, and sent troops on shore and up the altamaha, to fetch off the negroes, or incite them to rise against their owners. 'de british,' said molly 'make old massa run about bery much in de great revelation war.' he ran effectually, however, and contrived to save both his life and property from the invader. molly's account was full of interest, in spite of the grotesque lingo in which it was delivered, and which once or twice nearly sent me into convulsions of laughing, whereupon she apologized with great gravity for her mispronunciation, modestly suggesting that _white words_ were impossible to the organs of speech of black folks. it is curious how universally any theory, no matter how absurd, is accepted by these people, for anything in which the contemptuous supremacy of the dominant race is admitted, and their acquiescence in the theory of their own incorrigible baseness is so complete, that this, more than any other circumstance in their condition, makes me doubtful of their rising from it. in order to set poor dear old molly's notions straight with regard to the negro incapacity for speaking plain the noble white words, i called s---- to me and set her talking; and having pointed out to molly how very imperfect her mode of pronouncing many words was, convinced the worthy old negress that want of training, and not any absolute original impotence, was the reason why she disfigured the _white words_, for which she had such a profound respect. in this matter, as in every other, the slaves pay back to their masters the evil of their own dealings with usury, though unintentionally. no culture, however slight, simple, or elementary, is permitted to these poor creatures, and the utterance of many of them is more like what prospero describes caliban's to have been, than the speech of men and women in a christian and civilised land: the children of their owners, brought up among them, acquire their negro mode of talking;--slavish speech surely it is--and it is distinctly perceptible in the utterances of all southerners, particularly of the women, whose avocations, taking them less from home, are less favourable to their throwing off this ignoble trick of pronunciation, than the more varied occupation, and the more extended and promiscuous business relations of men. the yankee twang of the regular down easter is not more easily detected by any ear, nice in enunciation and accent, than the thick negro speech of the southerners: neither is lovely or melodious; but though the puritan snuffle is the harsher of the two, the slave _slobber_ of the language is the more ignoble, in spite of the softer voices of the pretty southern women who utter it. i rode out to-day upon miss kate again, with jack for my esquire. i made various vain attempts to ride through the woods, following the cattle tracks; they turned round and round into each other, or led out into the sandy pine barren, the eternal frame in which all nature is set here, the inevitable limit to the prospect, turn landward which way you will. the wood paths which i followed between evergreen thickets, though little satisfactory in their ultimate result, were really more beautiful than the most perfect arrangement of artificial planting that i ever saw in an english park; and i thought if i could transplant the region which i was riding through bodily into the midst of some great nobleman's possessions on the other side of the water, how beautiful an accession it would be thought to them. i was particularly struck with the elegant growth of a profuse wild shrub i passed several times to-day, the leaves of which were pale green underneath, and a deep red, varnished brown above. i must give you an idea of the sort of service one is liable to obtain from one's most intelligent and civilised servants hereabouts, and the consequent comfort and luxury of one's daily existence. yesterday, aleck, the youth who fulfils the duties of what you call a waiter, and we in england a footman, gave me a salad for dinner, mixed with so large a portion of the soil in which it had grown, that i requested him to-day to be kind enough to wash the lettuce before he brought it to table. m---- later in the day told me that he had applied to her very urgently for soap and a brush 'as missis wished de lettuce scrubbed,' a fate from which my second salad was saved by her refusal of these desired articles, and further instructions upon the subject. * * * * * dearest e----. i have been long promising poor old house molly to visit her in her own cabin, and so the day before yesterday i walked round the settlement to her dwelling; and a most wretched hovel i found it. she has often told me of the special directions left by her old master for the comfort and well-being of her old age; and certainly his charge has been but little heeded by his heirs, for the poor faithful old slave is most miserably off in her infirm years. she made no complaint, however, but seemed overjoyed at my coming to see her. she took me to the hut of her brother, old jacob, where the same wretched absence of every decency and every comfort prevailed; but neither of them seemed to think the condition that appeared so wretched to me one of peculiar hardship--though molly's former residence in her master's house might reasonably have made her discontented with the lot of absolute privation to which she was now turned over--but, for the moment, my visit seemed to compensate for all sublunary sorrows, and she and poor old jacob kept up a duet of rejoicing at my advent, and that i had brought 'de little missis among um people afore they die.' leaving them, i went on to the house of jacob's daughter hannah, with whom psyche, the heroine of the rice island story, and wife of his son joe, lives. i found their cabin as tidy and comfortable as it could be made, and their children, as usual, neat and clean; they are capital women, both of them, with an innate love of cleanliness and order most uncommon among these people. on my way home, i overtook two of my daily suppliants, who were going to the house in search of me, and meat, flannel, rice, and sugar, as the case might be; they were both old and infirm-looking women, and one of them, called scylla, was extremely lame, which she accounted for by an accident she had met with while carrying a heavy weight of rice on her head; she had fallen on a sharp stake, or snag, as she called it, and had never recovered the injury she had received. she complained also of falling of the womb. her companion (who was not charybdis however, but phoebe) was a cheery soul who complained of nothing, but begged for flannel. i asked her about her family and children; she had no children left, nothing but grandchildren; she had had nine children, and seven of them died quite young; the only two who grew up left her to join the british when they invaded georgia in the last war, and their children, whom they left behind, were all her family now. in the afternoon, i made my first visit to the hospital of the estate, and found it, as indeed i find everything else here, in a far worse state even than the wretched establishments on the rice island, dignified by that name; so miserable a place for the purpose to which it was dedicated i could not have imagined on a property belonging to christian owners. the floor (which was not boarded, but merely the damp hard earth itself,) was strewn with wretched women, who, but for their moans of pain and uneasy restless motions, might very well have each been taken for a mere heap of filthy rags; the chimney refusing passage to the smoke from the pine wood fire, it puffed out in clouds through the room, where it circled and hung, only gradually oozing away through the windows, which were so far well adapted to the purpose that there was not a single whole pane of glass in them. my eyes, unaccustomed to the turbid atmosphere, smarted and watered, and refused to distinguish at first the different dismal forms, from which cries and wails assailed me in every corner of the place. by degrees i was able to endure for a few minutes what they were condemned to live their hours and days of suffering and sickness through; and, having given what comfort kind words and promises of help in more substantial forms could convey, i went on to what seemed a yet more wretched abode of wretchedness. this was a room where there was no fire because there was no chimney, and where the holes made for windows had no panes or glasses in them. the shutters being closed, the place was so dark that, on first entering it, i was afraid to stir lest i should fall over some of the deplorable creatures extended upon the floor. as soon as they perceived me, one cry of 'oh missis!' rang through the darkness; and it really seemed to me as if i was never to exhaust the pity and amazement and disgust which this receptacle of suffering humanity was to excite in me. the poor dingy supplicating sleepers upraised themselves as i cautiously advanced among them; those who could not rear their bodies from the earth held up piteous beseeching hands, and as i passed from one to the other, i felt more than one imploring clasp laid upon my dress to solicit my attention to some new form of misery. one poor woman, called tressa, who was unable to speak above a whisper from utter weakness and exhaustion, told me she had had nine children, was suffering from incessant flooding, and felt 'as if her back would split open.' there she lay, a mass of filthy tatters, without so much as a blanket under or over her, on the bare earth in this chilly darkness. i promised them help and comfort, beds and blankets, and light and fire--that is, i promised to ask mr. ---- for all this for them; and, in the very act of doing so, i remembered with a sudden pang of anguish, that i was to urge no more petitions for his slaves to their master. i groped my way out, and emerging on the piazza, all the choking tears and sobs i had controlled broke forth, and i leaned there crying over the lot of these unfortunates, till i heard a feeble voice of 'missis, you no cry; missis, what for you cry?' and looking up, saw that i had not yet done with this intolerable infliction. a poor crippled old man, lying in the corner of the piazza, unable even to crawl towards me, had uttered this word of consolation, and by his side (apparently too idiotic, as he was too impotent, to move,) sat a young woman, the expression of whose face was the most suffering and at the same time the most horribly repulsive i ever saw. i found she was, as i supposed, half-witted; and on coming nearer to enquire into her ailments and what i could do for her, found her suffering from that horrible disease--i believe some form of scrofula--to which the negroes are subject, which attacks and eats away the joints of their hands and fingers--a more hideous and loathsome object i never beheld; her name was patty, and she was grand-daughter to the old crippled creature by whose side she was squatting. i wandered home, stumbling with crying as i went, and feeling so utterly miserable that i really hardly saw where i was going, for i as nearly as possible fell over a great heap of oyster shells left in the middle of the path. this is a horrid nuisance, which results from an indulgence which the people here have and value highly; the waters round the island are prolific in shell fish, oysters, and the most magnificent prawns i ever saw. the former are a considerable article of the people's diet, and the shells are allowed to accumulate, as they are used in the composition of which their huts are built, and which is a sort of combination of mud and broken oyster shells, which forms an agglomeration of a kind very solid and durable for such building purposes. but instead of being all carried to some specified place out of the way, these great heaps of oyster shells are allowed to be piled up anywhere and everywhere, forming the most unsightly obstructions in every direction. of course, the cultivation of order for the sake of its own seemliness and beauty is not likely to be an element of slave existence; and as masters have been scarce on this plantation for many years now, a mere unsightliness is not a matter likely to trouble anybody much; but after my imminent overthrow by one of these disorderly heaps of refuse, i think i may make bold to request that the paths along which i am likely to take my daily walks may be kept free from them. on my arrival at home--at the house--i cannot call any place here my home!--i found renty waiting to exhibit to me an extremely neatly made leather pouch, which he has made by my order, of fitting size and dimensions, to receive jack's hatchet and saw. jack and i have set up a sort of sir walter and tom purdie companionship of clearing and cutting paths through the woods nearest to the house; thinning the overhanging branches, clearing the small evergreen thickets which here and there close over and across the grassy track. to me this occupation was especially delightful until quite lately, since the weather began to be rather warmer and the snakes to slide about. jack has contrived to inoculate me with some portion of his terror of them; but i have still a daily hankering after the lovely green wood walks; perhaps when once i have seen a live rattlesnake my enthusiasm for them will be modified to the degree that his is. * * * * * dear e----. this letter has remained unfinished, and my journal interrupted for more than a week. mr. ---- has been quite unwell, and i have been travelling to and fro daily between hampton and the rice island in the long boat to visit him; for the last three days i have remained at the latter place, and only returned here this morning early. my daily voyages up and down the river have introduced me to a great variety of new musical performances of our boatmen, who invariably, when the rowing is not too hard, moving up or down with the tide, accompany the stroke of their oars with the sound of their voices. i told you formerly that i thought i could trace distinctly some popular national melody with which i was familiar in almost all their songs; but i have been quite at a loss to discover any such foundation for many that i have heard lately, and which have appeared to me extraordinarily wild and unaccountable. the way in which the chorus strikes in with the burthen, between each phrase of the melody chanted by a single voice, is very curious and effective, especially with the rhythm of the rowlocks for accompaniment. the high voices all in unison, and the admirable time and true accent with which their responses are made, always make me wish that some great musical composer could hear these semi-savage performances. with a very little skilful adaptation and instrumentation, i think one or two barbaric chants and choruses might be evoked from them that would make the fortune of an opera. the only exception that i have met with, yet among our boat voices to the high tenor which they seem all to possess is in the person of an individual named isaac, a basso profondo of the deepest dye, who nevertheless never attempts to produce with his different register any different effects in the chorus by venturing a second, but sings like the rest in unison, perfect unison, of both time and tune. by-the-by, this individual _does_ speak, and therefore i presume he is not an ape, ourang-outang, chimpanzee, or gorilla; but i could not, i confess, have conceived it possible that the presence of articulate sounds, and the absence of an articulate tail, should make, externally at least, so completely the only appreciable difference between a man and a monkey, as they appear to do in this individual 'black brother.' such stupendous long thin hands, and long flat feet, i did never see off a large quadruped of the ape species. but, as i said before, isaac _speaks_, and i am much comforted thereby. you cannot think (to return to the songs of my boatmen) how strange some of their words are: in one, they repeatedly chanted the 'sentiment' that 'god made man, and man makes'--what do you think?--'money!' is not that a peculiar poetical proposition? another ditty to which they frequently treat me they call caesar's song; it is an extremely spirited war-song, beginning 'the trumpets blow, the bugles sound--oh, stand your ground!' it has puzzled me not a little to determine in my own mind whether this title of caesar's song has any reference to the great julius, and if so what may be the negro notion of him, and whence and how derived. one of their songs displeased me not a little, for it embodied the opinion that 'twenty-six black girls not make mulatto yellow girl;' and as i told them i did not like it, they have omitted it since. this desperate tendency to despise and undervalue their own race and colour, which is one of the very worst results of their abject condition, is intolerable to me. while rowing up and down the broad waters of the altamaha to the music of these curious chants, i have been reading mr. moore's speech about the abolition of slavery in the district of columbia; and i confess i think his the only defensible position yet taken, and the only consistent argument yet used in any of the speeches i have hitherto seen upon the subject. i have now settled down at hampton again; mr. ---- is quite recovered, and is coming down here in a day or two for change of air; it is getting too late for him to stay on the rice plantation even in the day, i think. you cannot imagine anything so exquisite as the perfect curtains of yellow jasmine with which this whole island is draped; and as the boat comes sweeping down towards the point, the fragrance from the thickets hung with their golden garlands greets one before one can distinguish them; it is really enchanting. i have now to tell you of my hallowing last sunday by gathering a congregation of the people into my big sitting-room, and reading prayers to them. i had been wishing very much to do this for some time past, and obtained mr. ----'s leave while i was with him at the rice island, and it was a great pleasure to me. some of the people are allowed to go up to darien once a month to church; but, with that exception, they have no religious service on sunday whatever for them. there is a church on the island of st. simon, but they are forbidden to frequent it, as it leads them off their own through neighbouring plantations, and gives opportunities for meetings between the negroes of the different estates, and very likely was made the occasion of abuses and objectionable practices of various kinds; at any rate, mr. k---- forbade the hampton slaves resorting to the st. simon's church; and so, for three sundays in the month they are utterly without christian worship or teaching, or any religious observance of god's day whatever. i was very anxious that it should not be thought that i _ordered_ any of the people to come to prayers, as i particularly desired to see if they themselves felt the want of any sabbath service, and would of their own accord join in any such ceremony; i therefore merely told the house servants that if they would come to the sitting-room at eleven o'clock, i would read prayers to them, and that they might tell any of their friends or any of the people that i should be very glad to see them if they liked to come. accordingly, most of those who live at the point, i.e. in the immediate neighbourhood of the house, came, and it was encouraging to see the very decided efforts at cleanliness and decorum of attire which they had all made. i was very much affected and impressed myself by what i was doing, and i suppose must have communicated some of my own feeling to those who heard me. it is an extremely solemn thing to me to read the scriptures aloud to any one, and there was something in my relation to the poor people by whom i was surrounded that touched me so deeply while thus attempting to share with them the best of my possessions, that i found it difficult to command my voice, and had to stop several times in order to do so. when i had done, they all with one accord uttered the simple words, 'we thank you, missis,' and instead of overwhelming me as usual with petitions and complaints, they rose silently and quietly, in a manner that would have become the most orderly of christian congregations accustomed to all the impressive decorum of civilised church privileges. poor people! they are said to have what a very irreligious young english clergyman once informed me i had--a '_turn_ for religion.' they seem to me to have a 'turn' for instinctive good manners too; and certainly their mode of withdrawing from my room after our prayers bespoke either a strong feeling of their own or a keen appreciation of mine. i have resumed my explorations in the woods with renewed enthusiasm, for during my week's absence they have become more lovely and enticing than ever: unluckily, however, jack seems to think that fresh rattlesnakes have budded together with the tender spring foliage, and i see that i shall either have to give up my wood walks and rides, or go without a guide. lovely blossoms are springing up everywhere, weeds, of course, wild things, impertinently so called. nothing is cultivated here but cotton; but in some of the cotton fields, beautiful creatures are peeping into blossom, which i suppose will all be duly hoed off the surface of the soil in proper season: meantime i rejoice in them, and in the splendid magnificent thistles, which would be in flower-gardens in other parts of the world, and in the wonderful, strange, beautiful butterflies that seem to me almost as big as birds, that go zig-zagging in the sun. i saw yesterday a lovely monster, who thought proper, for my greater delectation, to alight on a thistle i was admiring, and as the flower was purple, and he was all black velvet, fringed with gold, i was exceedingly pleased with his good inspiration. this morning i drove up to the settlement at st. annie's, having various bundles of benefaction to carry in the only equipage my estate here affords,--an exceedingly small, rough, and uncomfortable cart, called the sick house waggon, inasmuch as it is used to convey to the hospital such of the poor people as are too ill to walk there. its tender mercies must be terrible indeed for the sick, for i who am sound could very hardly abide them; however, i suppose montreal's pace is moderated for them: to-day he went rollicking along with us behind him, shaking his fine head and mane, as if he thought the more we were jolted the better we should like it. we found, on trying to go on to cartwright's point, that the state of the tide would not admit of our getting thither, and so had to return, leaving it unvisited. it seems to me strange that where the labour of so many hands might be commanded, piers, and wharves, and causeways, are not thrown out (wooden ones, of course, i mean), wherever the common traffic to or from different parts of the plantation is thus impeded by the daily rise and fall of the river; the trouble and expense would be nothing, and the gain in convenience very considerable. however, perhaps the nature of the tides, and of the banks and shores themselves, may not be propitious for such constructions, and i rather incline upon reflection to think this may be so, because to go from hampton to our neighbour mr. c----'s plantation, it is necessary to consult the tide in order to land conveniently. driving home to-day by jones' creek, we saw an immovable row of white cranes, all standing with imperturbable gravity upon one leg. i thought of boccaccio's cook, and had a mind to say, ha! at them to try if they had two. i have been over to mr. c----, and was very much pleased with my visit, but will tell you of it in my next. * * * * * dear e----. i promised to tell you of my visit to my neighbour mr. c----, which pleased and interested me very much. he is an old glasgow man, who has been settled here many years. it is curious how many of the people round this neighbourhood have scotch names; it seems strange to find them thus gathered in the vicinity of a new darien; but those in our immediate neighbourhood seem to have found it a far less fatal region than their countrymen did its namesake of the isthmus. mr. c----'s house is a roomy, comfortable, handsomely laid out mansion, to which he received me with very cordial kindness, and where i spent part of a very pleasant morning, talking with him, hearing all he could tell me of the former history of mr. ----'s plantation. his description of its former master, old major ----, and of his agent and overseer mr. k----, and of that gentleman's worthy son and successor the late overseer, interested me very much; of the two latter functionaries his account was terrible, and much what i had supposed any impartial account of them would be; because, let the propensity to lying of the poor wretched slaves be what it will, they could not invent, with a common consent, the things that they one and all tell me with reference to the manner in which they have been treated by the man who has just left the estate, and his father, who for the last nineteen years have been sole sovereigns of their bodies and souls. the crops have satisfied the demands of the owners, who, living in philadelphia, have been perfectly contented to receive a large income from their estate without apparently caring how it was earned. the stories that the poor people tell me of the cruel tyranny under which they have lived are not complaints, for they are of things past and gone, and very often, horridly as they shock and affect me, they themselves seem hardly more than half conscious of the misery their condition exhibits to me, and they speak of things which i shudder to hear of, almost as if they had been matters of course with them. old mr. c---- spoke with extreme kindness of his own people, and had evidently bestowed much humane and benevolent pains upon endeavours to better their condition. i asked him if he did not think the soil and climate of this part of georgia admirably suited to the cultivation of the mulberry and the rearing of the silk-worm; for it has appeared to me that hereafter, silk may be made one of the most profitable products of this whole region: he said that that had long been his opinion, and he had at one time had it much at heart to try the experiment, and had proposed to major ---- to join him in it, on a scale large enough to test it satisfactorily; but he said mr. k---- opposed the scheme so persistently that of course it was impossible to carry it out, as his agency and cooperation were indispensable; and that in like manner he had suggested sowing turnip crops, and planting peach trees for the benefit and use of the people on the hampton estate, experiments which he had tried with excellent success on his own; but all these plans for the amelioration and progress of the people's physical condition had been obstructed and finally put entirely aside by old mr. k---- and his son, who, as mr. c---- said, appeared to give satisfaction to their employers, so it was not his business to find fault with them; he said, however, that the whole condition and treatment of the slaves had changed from the time of major ----'s death, and that he thought it providential for the poor people that mr. k---- should have left the estate, and the young gentleman, the present owner, come down to look after the people. he showed me his garden, from whence come the beautiful vegetables he had more than once supplied me with; in the midst of it was a very fine and flourishing date palm tree, which he said bore its fruit as prosperously here as it would in asia. after the garden, we visited a charming nicely-kept poultry yard, and i returned home much delighted with my visit and the kind good humour of my host. in the afternoon, i sat as usual at the receipt of custom, hearing of aches and pains, till i ached myself sympathetically from head to foot. yesterday morning, dear e----, i went on horseback to st. annie's, exploring on my way some beautiful woods, and in the afternoon i returned thither in a wood waggon with jack to drive and a mule to draw me, montreal being quite beyond his management; and then and there, the hatchet and saw being in company, i compelled my slave jack, all the rattlesnakes in creation to the contrary notwithstanding, to cut and clear a way for my chariot through the charming copse. my letter has been lying unfinished for the last three days. i have been extraordinarily busy, having emancipated myself from the trammels of jack and all his terror, and as i fear no serpents on horseback, have been daily riding through new patches of woodland without any guide, taking my chance of what i might come to in the shape of impediments. last tuesday, i rode through a whole wood, of burned and charred trees, cypresses and oaks, that looked as if they had been each of them blasted by a special thunderbolt, and whole thickets of young trees and shrubs perfectly black and brittle from the effect of fire, i suppose the result of some carelessness of the slaves. as this charcoal woodland extended for some distance, i turned out of it, and round the main road through the plantation, as i could not ride through the blackened boughs and branches without getting begrimed. it had a strange wild desolate effect, not without a certain gloomy picturesqueness. in the afternoon, i made israel drive me through jack's new-made path to break it down and open it still more, and montreal's powerful trampling did good service to that effect, though he did not seem to relish the narrow wood road with its grass path by any means as much as the open way of what may be called the high road. after this operation, i went on to visit the people at the busson hill settlement. i here found, among other noteworthy individuals, a female named judy, whose two children belong to an individual called (not punch) but joe, who has another wife, called mary, at the rice island. in one of the huts i went to leave some flannel and rice and sugar for a poor old creature called nancy, to whom i had promised such indulgences: she is exceedingly infirm and miserable, suffering from sore limbs and an ulcerated leg so cruelly that she can hardly find rest in any position from the constant pain she endures, and is quite unable to lie on her hard bed at night. as i bent over her to-day, trying to prop her into some posture where she might find some ease, she took hold of my hand, and with the tears streaming over her face, said, 'i have worked every day through dew and damp, and sand and heat, and done good work; but oh, missis, me old and broken now, no tongue can tell how much i suffer.' in spite of their curious thick utterance and comical jargon, these people sometimes use wonderfully striking and pathetic forms of speech. in the next cabin, which consisted of an enclosure, called by courtesy a room, certainly not ten feet square, and owned by a woman called dice--that is, not owned, of course, but inhabited by her--three grown up human beings and eight children stow themselves by day and night, which may be called close packing, i think. i presume that they must take turns to be inside and outside the house, but they did not make any complaint about it, though i should think the aspect of my countenance, as i surveyed their abode and heard their numbers, might have given them a hint to that effect; but i really do find these poor creatures patient of so much misery, that it inclines me the more to heed as well as hear their petitions and complaints, when they bring them to me. after my return home, i had my usual evening reception, and, among other pleasant incidents of plantation life, heard the following agreeable anecdote from a woman named sophy, who came to beg for some rice. in asking her about her husband and children, she said she had never had any husband, that she had had two children by a white man of the name of walker, who was employed at the mill on the rice island; she was in the hospital after the birth of the second child she bore this man, and at the same time two women, judy and sylla, of whose children mr. k---- was the father, were recovering from their confinements. it was not a month since any of them had been delivered, when mrs. k---- came to the hospital, had them all three severely flogged, a process which _she_ personally superintended, and then sent them to five pound--the swamp botany bay of the plantation, of which i have told you--with further orders to the drivers to flog them every day for a week. now, e----, if i make you sick with these disgusting stories, i cannot help it--they are the life itself here; hitherto i have thought these details intolerable enough, but this apparition of a female fiend in the middle of this hell i confess adds an element of cruelty which seems to me to surpass all the rest. jealousy is not an uncommon quality in the feminine temperament; and just conceive the fate of these unfortunate women between the passions of their masters and mistresses, each alike armed with power to oppress and torture them. sophy went on to say that isaac was her son by driver morris, who had forced her while she was in her miserable exile at five pound. almost beyond my patience with this string of detestable details, i exclaimed--foolishly enough, heaven knows--'ah, but don't you know, did nobody ever tell or teach any of you, that it is a sin to live with men who are not your husbands?' alas, e----, what could the poor creature answer but what she did, seizing me at the same time vehemently by the wrist: 'oh yes, missis, we know--we know all about dat well enough; but we do anything to get our poor flesh some rest from de whip; when he made me follow him into de bush, what use me tell him no? he have strength to make me.' i have written down the woman's words; i wish i could write down the voice and look of abject misery with which they were spoken. now, you will observe that the story was not told to me as a complaint; it was a thing long past and over, of which she only spoke in the natural course of accounting for her children to me. i make no comment; what need, or can i add, to such stories? but how is such a state of things to endure?--and again, how is it to end? while i was pondering, as it seemed to me, at the very bottom of the slough of despond, on this miserable creature's story, another woman came in (tema), carrying in her arms a child the image of the mulatto bran; she came to beg for flannel. i asked her who was her husband. she said she was not married. her child is the child of bricklayer temple, who has a wife at the rice island. by this time, what do you think of the moralities, as well as the amenities, of slave life? these are the conditions which can only be known to one who lives among them; flagrant acts of cruelty may be rare, but this ineffable state of utter degradation, this really _beastly_ existence, is the normal condition of these men and women, and of that no one seems to take heed, nor have i ever heard it described so as to form any adequate conception of it, till i found myself plunged into it;--where and how is one to begin the cleansing of this horrid pestilential immondezzio of an existence? it is wednesday, the th of march; we cannot stay here much longer; i wonder if i shall come back again! and whether, when i do, i shall find the trace of one idea of a better life left in these poor people's minds by my sojourn among them. one of my industries this morning has been cutting out another dress for one of our women, who had heard of my tailoring prowess at the rice island. the material, as usual, was a miserable cotton, many-coloured like the scarf of iris. while shaping it for my client, i ventured to suggest the idea of the possibility of a change of the nethermost as well as the uppermost garment. this, i imagine, is a conception that has never dawned upon the female slave mind on this plantation. they receive twice a year a certain supply of clothing, and wear them (as i have heard some nasty fine ladies do their stays, for fear they should get out of shape), without washing, till they receive the next suit. under these circumstances i think it is unphilosophical, to say the least of it, to speak of the negroes as a race whose unfragrance is heaven-ordained, and the result of special organisation. i must tell you that i have been delighted, surprised, and the very least perplexed, by the sudden petition on the part of our young waiter, aleck, that i will teach him to read. he is a very intelligent lad of about sixteen, and preferred his request with an urgent humility that was very touching. i told him i would think about it. i mean to do it. i will do it,--and yet, it is simply breaking the laws of the government under which i am living. unrighteous laws are made to be broken,--_perhaps_,--but then, you see, i am a woman, and mr. ---- stands between me and the penalty. if i were a man, i would do that and many a thing besides, and doubtless should be shot some fine day from behind a tree by some good neighbour, who would do the community a service by quietly getting rid of a mischievous incendiary; and i promise you in such a case no questions would be asked, and my lessons would come to a speedy and silent end; but teaching slaves to read is a fineable offence, and i am _feme couverte_, and my fines must be paid by my legal owner, and the first offence of the sort is heavily fined, and the second more heavily fined, and for the third, one is sent to prison. what a pity it is i can't begin with aleck's third lesson, because going to prison can't be done by proxy, and that penalty would light upon the right shoulders! i certainly intend to teach aleck to read. i certainly won't tell mr. ---- anything about it. i'll leave him to find it out, as slaves, and servants and children, and all oppressed, and ignorant, and uneducated and unprincipled people do; then, if he forbids me i can stop--perhaps before then the lad may have learnt his letters. i begin to perceive one most admirable circumstance in this slavery: you are absolute on your own plantation. no slaves' testimony avails against you, and no white testimony exists but such as you choose to admit. some owners have a fancy for maiming their slaves, some brand them, some pull out their teeth, some shoot them a little here and there (all details gathered from advertisements of runaway slaves in southern papers); now they do all this on their plantations, where nobody comes to see, and i'll teach aleck to read, for nobody is here to see, at least nobody whose seeing i mind; and i'll teach every other creature that wants to learn. i haven't much more than a week to remain in this blessed purgatory, in that last week perhaps i may teach the boy enough to go on alone when i am gone. _thursday, st._--i took a long ride to-day all through some new woods and fields, and finally came upon a large space sown with corn for the people. here i was accosted by such a shape as i never beheld in the worst of my dreams; it looked at first, as it came screaming towards me, like a live specimen of the arms of the isle of man, which, as you may or may not know, are three legs joined together, and kicking in different directions. this uncouth device is not an invention of the manxmen, for it is found on some very ancient coins,--greek, i believe; but at any rate it is now the device of our subject island of man, and, like that set in motion, and nothing else, was the object that approached me, only it had a head where the three legs were joined, and a voice came out of the head to this effect, 'oh missis, you hab to take me out of dis here bird field, me no able to run after birds, and ebery night me lick because me no run after dem.' when this apparition reached me and stood as still as it could, i perceived it consisted of a boy who said his name was 'jack de bird driver.' i suppose some vague idea of the fitness of things had induced them to send this living scarecrow into the cornfield, and if he had been set up in the midst of it, nobody, i am sure, would have imagined he was anything else; but it seems he was expected to run after the feathered fowl who alighted on the grain field, and i do not wonder that he did not fulfil this expectation. his feet, legs, and knees were all maimed and distorted, his legs were nowhere thicker than my wrist, his feet were a yard apart from each other, and his knees swollen and knocking together. what a creature to ran after birds! he implored me to give him some meat, and have him sent back to little st. simon's island, from which he came, and where he said his poor limbs were stronger and better. riding home, i passed some sassafras trees, which are putting forth deliciously fragrant tassels of small leaves and blossoms, and other exquisite flowering shrubs, which are new to me, and enchant me perhaps all the more for their strangeness. before reaching the house, i was stopped by one of our multitudinous jennies, with a request for some meat, and that i would help her with some clothes for ben and daphne, of whom she had the sole charge; these are two extremely pretty and interesting-looking mulatto children, whose resemblance to mr. k---- had induced me to ask mr. ----, when first i saw them, if he did not think they must be his children? he said they were certainly like him, but mr. k---- did not acknowledge the relationship. i asked jenny who their mother was. 'minda.' 'who their father?' 'mr. k----.' 'what! old mr. k----?' 'no, mr. r. k----.' 'who told you so?' 'minda, who ought to know.' 'mr. k---- denies it.' 'that's because he never has looked upon them, nor done a thing for them.' 'well, but he acknowledged renty as his son, why should he deny these?' 'because old master was here then, when renty was born, and he made betty tell all about it, and mr. k---- had to own it; but nobody knows anything about this, and so he denies it'--with which information i rode home. i always give you an exact report of any conversation i may have with any of the people, and you see from this that the people on the plantation themselves are much of my worthy neighbour mr. c----'s mind, that the death of major ---- was a great misfortune for the slaves on his estate. i went to the hospital this afternoon, to see if the condition of the poor people was at all improved since i had been last there; but nothing had been done. i suppose mr. g---- is waiting for mr. ---- to come down in order to speak to him about it. i found some miserable new cases of women disabled by hard work. one poor thing, called priscilla, had come out of the fields to-day scarcely able to crawl; she has been losing blood for a whole fortnight without intermission, and, until to-day, was labouring in the fields. leah, another new face since i visited the hospital last, is lying quite helpless from exhaustion; she is advanced in her pregnancy, and doing task work in the fields at the same time. what piteous existences to be sure! i do wonder, as i walk among them, well fed, well clothed, young, strong, idle, doing nothing but ride and drive about all day, a woman, a creature like themselves, who have borne children too, what sort of feeling they have towards me. i wonder it is not one of murderous hate--that they should lie here almost dying with unrepaid labour for me. i stand and look at them, and these thoughts work in my mind and heart, till i feel as if i must tell them how dreadful and how monstrous it seems to me myself, and how bitterly ashamed and grieved i feel for it all. to-day i rode in the morning round poor cripple jack's bird field again, through the sweet spicy-smelling pine land, and home by my new road cut through jones's wood, of which i am as proud as if i had made instead of found it--the grass, flowering shrubs, and all. in the afternoon, i drove in the wood wagon back to jones's, and visited busson hill on the way, with performances of certain promises of flannel, quarters of dollars, &c. &c. at jones's, the women to-day had all done their work at a quarter past three, and had swept their huts out very scrupulously for my reception. their dwellings are shockingly dilapidated and over-crammed--poor creatures!--and it seems hard that, while exhorting them to spend labour in cleaning and making them tidy, i cannot promise them that they shall be repaired and made habitable for them. in driving home through my new wood cut, jack gave me a terrible account of a flogging that a negro called glasgow had received yesterday. he seemed awfully impressed with it; so i suppose it must have been an unusually severe punishment; but he either would not or could not tell me what the man had done. on my return to the house, i found mr. ---- had come down from the rice plantation, whereat i was much delighted on all accounts. i am sure it is getting much too late for him to remain in that pestilential swampy atmosphere; besides i want him to see my improvements in the new wood paths, and i want him to come and hear all these poor people's complaints and petitions himself. they have been flocking in to see him ever since it was known he had arrived. i met coming on that errand dandy, the husband of the woman for whom i cut out the gown the other day; and asking him how it had answered, he gave a piteous account of its tearing all to pieces the first time she put it on; it had appeared to me perfectly rotten and good for nothing, and, upon questioning him as to where he bought it and what he paid for it, i had to hear a sad account of hardship and injustice. i have told you that the people collect moss from the trees and sell it to the shopkeepers in darien for the purpose of stuffing furniture; they also raise poultry, and are allowed to dispose of the eggs in the same way. it seems that poor dandy had taken the miserable material edie's gown was made of as payment for a quantity of moss and eggs furnished by him at various times to one of the darien storekeepers, who refused him payment in any other shape, and the poor fellow had no redress; and this, he tells me, is a frequent experience with all the slaves both here and at the rice island. of course, the rascally shopkeepers can cheat these poor wretches to any extent they please with perfect impunity. mr. ---- told me of a visit renty paid him, which was not a little curious in some of its particulars. you know none of the slaves are allowed the use of fire arms; but renty put up a petition to be allowed mr. k----'s gun, which it seems that gentleman left behind him. mr. ---- refused this petition, saying at the same time to the lad that he knew very well that none of the people were allowed guns. renty expostulated on the score of his _white blood_, and finding his master uninfluenced by that consideration, departed with some severe reflections on mr. k----, his father, for not having left him his gun as a keepsake, in token of (paternal) affection, when he left the plantation. it is quite late, and i am very tired, though i have not done much more than usual to-day, but the weather is beginning to be oppressive to me, who hate heat; but i find the people, and especially the sick in the hospital, speak of it as cold. i will tell you hereafter of a most comical account mr. ---- has given me of the prolonged and still protracted pseudo-pregnancy of a woman called markie, who for many more months than are generally required for the process of continuing the human species, pretended to be what the germans pathetically and poetically call 'in good hope,' and continued to reap increased rations as the reward of her expectation, till she finally had to disappoint the estate and receive a flogging. he told me too, what interested me very much, of a conspiracy among mr. c----'s slaves some years ago. i cannot tell you about it now; i will some other time. it is wonderful to me that such attempts are not being made the whole time among these people to regain their liberty; probably because many are made ineffectually, and never known beyond the limits of the plantation where they take place. * * * * * dear e----. we have been having something like northern march weather--blinding sun, blinding wind, and blinding dust, through all which, the day before yesterday, mr. ---- and i rode together round most of the fields, and over the greater part of the plantation. it was a detestable process, the more so that he rode montreal and i miss kate, and we had no small difficulty in managing them both. in the afternoon we had an equally detestable drive through the new wood paths to st. annie's, and having accomplished all my errands among the people there, we crossed over certain sounds, and seas, and separating waters, to pay a neighbourly visit to the wife of one of our adjacent planters. how impossible it would be for you to conceive, even if i could describe, the careless desolation which pervaded the whole place; the shaggy unkempt grounds we passed through to approach the house; the ruinous, rackrent, tumble-down house itself, the untidy, slatternly all but beggarly appearance of the mistress of the mansion herself. the smallest yankee farmer has a tidier estate, a tidier house, and a tidier wife than this member of the proud southern chivalry, who, however, inasmuch as he has slaves, is undoubtedly a much greater personage in his own estimation than those capital fellows w---- and b----, who walk in glory and in joy behind their ploughs upon your mountain sides. the brunswick canal project was descanted upon, and pronounced, without a shadow of dissent, a scheme the impracticability of which all but convicted its projectors of insanity. certainly, if, as i hear the monied men of boston have gone largely into this speculation, their habitual sagacity must have been seriously at fault; for here on the spot nobody mentions the project but as a subject of utter derision. while the men discussed about this matter, mrs. b---- favoured me with the congratulations i have heard so many times on the subject of my having a white nursery maid for my children. of course, she went into the old subject of the utter incompetency of negro women to discharge such an office faithfully; but in spite of her multiplied examples of their utter inefficiency, i believe the discussion ended by simply our both agreeing that ignorant negro girls of twelve years old are not as capable or trustworthy as well-trained white women of thirty. returning home our route was changed, and quash the boatman took us all the way round by water to hampton. i should have told you that our exit was as wild as our entrance to this estate and was made through a broken wooden fence, which we had to climb partly over and partly under, with some risk and some obloquy, in spite of our dexterity, as i tore my dress, and very nearly fell flat on my face in the process. our row home was perfectly enchanting; for though the morning's wind and (i suppose) the state of the tide had roughened the waters of the great river, and our passage was not as smooth as it might have been, the wind had died away, the evening air was deliciously still, and mild, and soft. a young slip of a moon glimmered just above the horizon, and 'the stars climbed up the sapphire steps of heaven,' while we made our way over the rolling, rushing, foaming waves, and saw to right and left the marsh fires burning in the swampy meadows, adding another coloured light in the landscape to the amber-tinted lower sky and the violet arch above, and giving wild picturesqueness to the whole scene by throwing long flickering rays of flame upon the distant waters. _sunday, the th._--i read service again to-day to the people. you cannot conceive anything more impressive than the silent devotion of their whole demeanour while it lasted, nor more touching than the profound thanks with which they rewarded me when it was over, and they took their leave; and to-day they again left me with the utmost decorum of deportment, and without pressing a single petition or complaint, such as they ordinarily thrust upon me on all other occasions, which seems to me an instinctive feeling of religious respect for the day and the business they have come upon, which does them infinite credit. in the afternoon i took a long walk with the chicks in the woods; long at least for the little legs of s---- and m----, who carried baby. we came home by the shore, and i stopped to look at a jutting point, just below which a small sort of bay would have afforded the most capital position for a bathing house. if we stayed here late in the season, such a refreshment would become almost a necessary of life, and anywhere along the bank just where i stopped to examine it to-day, an establishment for that purpose might be prosperously founded. i am amused, but by no means pleased, at an entirely new mode of pronouncing which s---- has adopted. apparently the negro jargon has commended itself as euphonious to her infantile ears, and she is now treating me to the most ludicrous and accurate imitations of it every time she opens her mouth. of course i shall not allow this, comical as it is, to become a habit. this is the way the southern ladies acquire the thick and inelegant pronunciation which distinguishes their utterances from the northern snuffle; and i have no desire that s---- should adorn her mother tongue with either peculiarity. it is a curious and sad enough thing to observe, as i have frequent opportunities of doing, the unbounded insolence and tyranny (of manner, of course it can go no farther), of the slaves towards each other. 'hi! you boy!' and 'hi! you girl!' shouted in an imperious scream, is the civillest mode of apostrophising those at a distance from them; more frequently it is 'you niggar, you hear? hi! you niggar!' and i assure you no contemptuous white intonation ever equalled the _prepotenza_ of the despotic insolence of this address of these poor wretches to each other. i have left my letter lying for a couple of days, dear e----. i have been busy and tired; my walking and riding is becoming rather more laborious to me, for, though nobody here appears to do so, i am beginning to feel the relaxing influence of the spring. the day before yesterday i took a disagreeable ride, all through swampy fields and charred blackened thickets, to discover nothing either picturesque or beautiful; the woods in one part of the plantation have been on fire for three days, and a whole tract of exquisite evergreens has been burnt down to the ground. in the afternoon i drove in the wood wagon to visit the people at st. annie's. there had been rain these last two nights, and their wretched hovels do not keep out the weather; they are really miserable abodes for human beings. i think pigs who were at all particular might object to some of them. there is a woman at this settlement called sophy, the wife of a driver, morris, who is so pretty that i often wonder if it is only by contrast that i admire her so much, or if her gentle, sweet, refined face, in spite of its dusky colour, would not approve itself anywhere to any one with an eye for beauty. her manner and voice too are peculiarly soft and gentle; but, indeed, the voices of all these poor people, men as well as women, are much pleasanter and more melodious than the voices of white people in general. most of the wretched hovels had been swept and tidied out in expectation of my visit, and many were the consequent petitions for rations of meat, flannel, osnaburgs, etc. promising all which, in due proportion to the cleanliness of each separate dwelling, i came away. on my way home i called for a moment at jones' settlement to leave money and presents promised to the people there, for similar improvement in the condition of their huts. i had not time to stay and distribute my benefactions myself; and so appointed a particularly bright intelligent looking woman, called jenny, pay-mistress in my stead; and her deputed authority was received with the utmost cheerfulness by them all. i have been having a long talk with mr. ---- about ben and daphne, those two young mulatto children of mr. k----'s, whom i mentioned to you lately. poor pretty children! they have refined and sensitive faces as well as straight regular features; and the expression of the girl's countenance, as well as the sound of her voice, and the sad humility of her deportment, are indescribably touching. mr. b---- expressed the strongest interest in and pity for them, _because of their colour_: it seems unjust almost to the rest of their fellow unfortunates that this should be so, and yet it is almost impossible to resist the impression of the unfitness of these two forlorn young creatures, for the life of coarse labour and dreadful degradation to which they are destined. in any of the southern cities the girl would be pretty sure to be reserved for a worse fate; but even here, death seems to me a thousand times preferable to the life that is before her. in the afternoon i rode with mr. ---- to look at the fire in the woods. we did not approach it, but stood where the great volumes of smoke could be seen rising steadily above the pines, as they have now continued to do for upwards of a week; the destruction of the pine timber must be something enormous. we then went to visit dr. and mrs. g----, and wound up these exercises of civilized life by a call on dear old mr. c----, whose nursery and kitchen garden are a real refreshment to my spirits. how completely the national character of the worthy canny old scot is stamped on the care and thrift visible in his whole property, the judicious successful culture of which has improved and adorned his dwelling in this remote corner of the earth! the comparison, or rather contrast, between himself and his quondam neighbour major ----, is curious enough to contemplate. the scotch tendency of the one to turn everything to good account, the irish propensity of the other to leave everything to ruin, to disorder, and neglect; the careful economy and prudent management of the mercantile man, the reckless profusion, and careless extravagance of the soldier. the one made a splendid fortune and spent it in philadelphia, where he built one of the finest houses that existed there, in the old-fashioned days, when fine old family mansions were still to be seen breaking the monotonous uniformity of the quaker city. the other has resided here on his estate ameliorating the condition of his slaves and his property, a benefactor to the people and the soil alike--a useful and a good existence, an obscure and tranquil one. last wednesday we drove to hamilton--by far the finest estate on st. simon's island. the gentleman to whom it belongs lives, i believe, habitually in paris; but captain f---- resides on it, and, i suppose, is the real overseer of the plantation. all the way along the road (we traversed nearly the whole length of the island) we found great tracts of wood, all burnt or burning; the destruction had spread in every direction, and against the sky we saw the slow rising of the smoky clouds that showed the pine forest to be on fire still. what an immense quantity of property such a fire must destroy! the negro huts on several of the plantations that we passed through were the most miserable human habitations i ever beheld. the wretched hovels at st. annie's, on the hampton estate, that had seemed to me the _ne plus ultra_ of misery, were really palaces to some of the dirty, desolate, dilapidated dog kennels which we passed to-day, and out of which the negroes poured like black ants at our approach, and stood to gaze at us as we drove by. the planters' residences we passed were only three. it makes one ponder seriously when one thinks of the mere handful of white people on this island. in the midst of this large population of slaves, how absolutely helpless they would be if the blacks were to become restive! they could be destroyed to a man before human help could reach them from the main, or the tidings even of what was going on be carried across the surrounding waters. as we approached the southern end of the island, we began to discover the line of the white sea sands beyond the bushes and fields,--and presently, above the sparkling, dazzling line of snowy white,--for the sands were as white as our english chalk cliffs,--stretched the deep blue sea line of the great atlantic ocean. we found that there had been a most terrible fire in the hamilton woods--more extensive than that on our own plantation. it seems as if the whole island had been burning at different points for more than a week. what a cruel pity and shame it does seem to have these beautiful masses of wood so destroyed! i suppose it is impossible to prevent it. the 'field hands' make fires to cook their mid-day food wherever they happen to be working; and sometimes through their careless neglect, but sometimes too undoubtedly on purpose, the woods are set fire to by these means. one benefit they consider that they derive from the process is the destruction of the dreaded rattlesnakes that infest the woodland all over the island; but really the funeral pyre of these hateful reptiles is too costly at this price. hamilton struck me very much,--i mean the whole appearance of the place; the situation of the house, the noble water prospect it commanded, the magnificent old oaks near it, a luxuriant vine trellis, and a splendid hedge of yucca gloriosa, were all objects of great delight to me. the latter was most curious to me, who had never seen any but single specimens of the plant, and not many of these. i think our green house at the north boasts but two; but here they were growing close together, and in such a manner as to form a compact and impenetrable hedge, their spiky leaves striking out on all sides like _chevaux de frise_, and the tall slender stems that bear those delicate ivory-coloured bells of blossoms, springing up against the sky in a regular row. i wish i could see that hedge in blossom. it must be wonderfully strange and lovely, and must look by moonlight like a whole range of fairy chinese pagodas carved in ivory. at dinner we had some delicious green peas, so much in advance of you are we down here with the seasons. don't you think one might accept the rattlesnakes, or perhaps indeed the slavery, for the sake of the green peas? 'tis a world of compensations--a life of compromises, you know; and one should learn to set one thing against another if one means to thrive and fare well, i.e. eat green peas on the twenty-eighth of march. after dinner i walked up and down before the house for a long while with mrs. f----, and had a most interesting conversation with her about the negroes and all the details of their condition. she is a kind-hearted, intelligent woman; but though she seemed to me to acquiesce, as a matter of inevitable necessity, in the social system in the midst of which she was born and lives, she did not appear to me, by several things she said, to be by any means in love with it. she gave me a very sad character of mr. k----, confirming by her general description of him the impression produced by all the details i have received from our own people. as for any care for the moral or religious training of the slaves, that, she said, was a matter that never troubled his thoughts; indeed, his only notion upon the subject of religion, she said, was, that it was something _not bad_ for white women and children. we drove home by moonlight; and as we came towards the woods in the middle of the island, the fire-flies glittered out from the dusky thickets as if some magical golden veil was every now and then shaken out into the darkness. the air was enchantingly mild and soft, and the whole way through the silvery night delightful. my dear friend, i have at length made acquaintance with a live rattlesnake. old scylla had the pleasure of discovering it while hunting for some wood to burn. israel captured it, and brought it to the house for my edification. i thought it an evil-looking beast, and could not help feeling rather nervous while contemplating it, though the poor thing had a noose round its neck and could by no manner of means have extricated itself. the flat head, and vivid vicious eye, and darting tongue, were none of them lovely to behold; but the sort of threatening whirr produced by its rattle, together with the deepening and fading of the marks on its skin, either with its respiration or the emotions of fear and anger it was enduring, were peculiarly dreadful and fascinating. it was quite a young one, having only two or three rattles in its tail. these, as you probably know, increase in number by one annually; so that you can always tell the age of the amiable serpent you are examining--if it will let you count the number of joints of its rattle. captain f---- gave me the rattle of one which had as many as twelve joints. he said it had belonged to a very large snake which had crawled from under a fallen tree trunk on which his children were playing. after exhibiting his interesting captive, israel killed, stuffed, and presented it to me for preservation as a trophy, and made me extremely happy by informing me that there was a nest of them where this one was found. i think with terror of s---- running about with her little socks not reaching half-way up her legs, and her little frocks not reaching half-way down them. however, we shall probably not make acquaintance with many more of these natives of georgia, as we are to return as soon as possible now to the north. we shall soon be free again. this morning i rode to the burnt district, and attempted to go through it at st. clair's, but unsuccessfully: it was impossible to penetrate through the charred and blackened thickets. in the afternoon i walked round the point, and visited the houses of the people who are our nearest neighbours. i found poor edie in sad tribulation at the prospect of resuming her field labour. it is really shameful treatment of a woman just after child labour. she was confined exactly three weeks ago to-day, and she tells me she is ordered out to field work on monday. she seems to dread the approaching hardships of her task-labour extremely. her baby was born dead, she thinks in consequence of a fall she had while carrying a heavy weight of water. she is suffering great pain in one of her legs and sides, and seems to me in a condition utterly unfit for any work, much less hoeing in the fields; but i dare not interfere to prevent this cruelty. she says she has already had to go out to work three weeks after her confinement with each of her other children, and does not complain of it as anything special in her case. she says that is now the invariable rule of the whole plantation, though it used not to be so formerly. i have let my letter lie since i wrote the above, dear e----; but as mine is a story without beginning, middle, or end, it matters extremely little where i leave it off or where i take it up; and if you have not, between my wood rides and sick slaves, come to falstaff's conclusion that i have 'damnable iteration,' you are patient of sameness. but the days are like each other; and the rides and the people, and, alas! their conditions, do not vary. to-day, however, my visit to the infirmary was marked by an event which has not occurred before--the death of one of the poor slaves while i was there. i found on entering the first ward,--to use a most inapplicable term for the dark, filthy, forlorn room i have so christened,--an old negro called friday lying on the ground. i asked what ailed him, and was told he was dying. i approached him, and perceived, from the glazed eyes and the feeble rattling breath, that he was at the point of expiring. his tattered shirt and trousers barely covered his poor body; his appearance was that of utter exhaustion from age and feebleness; he had nothing under him but a mere handful of straw that did not cover the earth he was stretched on; and under his head, by way of pillow for his dying agony, two or three rough sticks just raising his skull a few inches from the ground. the flies were all gathering around his mouth, and not a creature was near him. there he lay,--the worn-out slave, whose life had been spent in unrequited labour for me and mine,--without one physical alleviation, one christian solace, one human sympathy, to cheer him in his extremity,--panting out the last breath of his wretched existence, like some forsaken, over-worked, wearied-out beast of burthen, rotting where it falls! i bent over the poor awful human creature in the supreme hour of his mortality; and while my eyes, blinded with tears of unavailing pity and horror, were fixed upon him, there was a sudden quivering of the eyelids and falling of the jaw,--and he was free. i stood up, and remained long lost in the imagination of the change that creature had undergone, and in the tremendous overwhelming consciousness of the deliverance god had granted the soul whose cast-off vesture of decay lay at my feet. how i rejoiced for him--and how, as i turned to the wretches who were calling to me from the inner room, whence they could see me as i stood contemplating the piteous object, i wished they all were gone away with him, the delivered, the freed by death from bitter bitter bondage. in the next room, i found a miserable, decrepid, old negress, called charity, lying sick, and i should think near too to die; but she did not think her work was over, much as she looked unfit for further work on earth; but with feeble voice and beseeching hands implored me to have her work lightened when she was sent back to it from the hospital. she is one of the oldest slaves on the plantation, and has to walk to her field labour, and back again at night, a distance of nearly four miles. there were an unusual number of sick women in the room to-day; among them quite a young girl, daughter of boatman quash's, with a sick baby, who has a father, though she has no husband. poor thing! she looks like a mere child herself. i returned home so very sad and heart-sick that i could not rouse myself to the effort of going up to st. annie's with the presents i had promised the people there. i sent m---- up in the wood wagon with them, and remained in the house with my thoughts, which were none of the merriest. * * * * * dearest e----. on friday, i rode to where the rattlesnake was found, and where i was informed by the negroes there was a _nest_ of them--a pleasing domestic picture of home and infancy that word suggests, not altogether appropriate to rattlesnakes, i think. on horseback i felt bold to accomplish this adventure, which i certainly should not have attempted on foot; however, i could discover no sign of either snake or nest--(perhaps it is of the nature of a mare's nest, and undiscoverable); but, having done my duty by myself in endeavouring to find it, i rode off and coasted the estate by the side of the marsh, till i came to the causeway. there i found a new cleared field, and stopped to admire the beautiful appearance of the stumps of the trees scattered all about it, and wreathed and garlanded with the most profuse and fantastic growth of various plants--wild roses being among the most abundant. what a lovely aspect one side of nature presents here, and how hideous is the other! in the afternoon, i drove to pay a visit to old mrs. a----, the lady proprietress whose estate immediately adjoins ours. on my way thither, i passed a woman called margaret walking rapidly and powerfully along the road. she was returning home from the field, having done her task at three o'clock; and told me, with a merry beaming black face, that she was going 'to clean up de house, to please de missis.' on driving through my neighbour's grounds, i was disgusted more than i can express with the miserable negro huts of her people; they were not fit to shelter cattle--they were not fit to shelter anything, for they were literally in holes, and, as we used to say of our stockings at school, too bad to darn. to be sure, i will say, in excuse for their old mistress, her own habitation was but a very few degrees less ruinous and disgusting. what would one of your yankee farmers say to such abodes? when i think of the white houses, the green blinds, and the flower plots, of the villages in new england, and look at these dwellings of lazy filth and inert degradation, it does seem amazing to think that physical and moral conditions so widely opposite should be found among people occupying a similar place in the social scale of the same country. the northern farmer, however, thinks it no shame to work, the southern planter does; and there begins and ends the difference. industry, man's crown of honour elsewhere, is here his badge of utter degradation; and so comes all by which i am here surrounded--pride, profligacy, idleness, cruelty, cowardice, ignorance, squalor, dirt, and ineffable abasement. when i returned home, i found that mrs. f---- had sent me some magnificent prawns. i think of having them served singly, and divided as one does a lobster--their size really suggests no less respect. _saturday, st._--i rode all through the burnt district and the bush to mrs. w----'s field, in making my way out of which i was very nearly swamped, and, but for the valuable assistance of a certain sable scipio who came up and extricated me, i might be floundering hopelessly there still. he got me out of my slough of despond, and put me in the way to a charming wood ride which runs between mrs. w----'s and colonel h----'s grounds. while going along this delightful boundary of these two neighbouring estates, my mind not unnaturally dwelt upon the terms of deadly feud in which the two families owning them are living with each other. a horrible quarrel has occurred quite lately upon the subject of the ownership of this very ground i was skirting, between dr. h---- and young mr. w----; they have challenged each other, and what i am going to tell you is a good sample of the sort of spirit which grows up among slaveholders. so read it, for it is curious to people who have not lived habitually among savages. the terms of the challenge that has passed between them have appeared like a sort of advertisement in the local paper, and are to the effect that they are to fight at a certain distance with certain weapons--firearms, of course; that there is to be on the person of each a white paper, or mark, immediately over the region of the heart, as a point for direct aim; and whoever kills the other is to have the privilege of _cutting off his head, and sticking it up on a pole on the piece of land which was the origin of the debate_; so that, some fine day, i might have come hither as i did to-day and found myself riding under the shadow of the gory locks of dr. h---- or mr. w----, my peaceful and pleasant neighbours. i came home through our own pine woods, which are actually a wilderness of black desolation. the scorched and charred tree trunks are still smoking and smouldering; the ground is a sort of charcoal pavement, and the fire is still burning on all sides, for the smoke was rapidly rising in several directions on each hand of the path i pursued. across this dismal scene of strange destruction, bright blue and red birds, like living jewels, darted in the brilliant sunshine. i wonder if the fire has killed and scared away many of these beautiful creatures. in the afternoon i took jack with me to clear some more of the wood paths; but the weather is what i call hot, and what the people here think warm, and the air was literally thick with little black points of insects, which they call sand flies, and which settle upon one's head and face literally like a black net; you hardly see them or feel them at the time, but the irritation occasioned by them is intolerable, and i had to relinquish my work and fly before this winged plague as fast as i could from my new acquaintance the rattlesnakes. jack informed me, in the course of our expedition, that the woods on the island were sometimes burnt away in order to leave the ground in grass for fodder for the cattle, and that the very beautiful ones he and i had been clearing paths through were not unlikely to be so doomed, which strikes me as a horrible idea. in the evening, poor edie came up to the house to see me, with an old negress called sackey, who has been one of the chief nurses on the island for many years. i suppose she has made some application to mr. g---- for a respite for edie, on finding how terribly unfit she is for work; or perhaps mr. ----, to whom i represented her case, may have ordered her reprieve; but she came with much gratitude to me (who have, as far as i know, had nothing to do with it), to tell me that she is not able to be sent into the field for another week. old sackey fully confirmed edie's account of the terrible hardships the women underwent in being thus driven to labour before they had recovered from child-bearing. she said that old major ---- allowed the women at the rice island five weeks, and those here four weeks, to recover from a confinement, and then never permitted them for some time after they resumed their work to labour in the fields before sunrise or after sunset; but mr. k---- had altered that arrangement, allowing the women at the rice island only four weeks, and those here only three weeks, for their recovery; 'and then, missis,' continued the old woman, 'out into the field again, through dew and dry, as if nothing had happened; that is why, missis, so many of the women have falling of the womb, and weakness in the back; and if he had continued on the estate, he would have utterly destroyed all the breeding women.' sometimes, after sending them back into the field, at the expiration of their three weeks, they would work for a day or two, she said, and then fall down in the field with exhaustion, and be brought to the hospital almost at the point of death. yesterday, sunday, i had my last service at home with these poor people; nearly thirty of them came, all clean, neat, and decent, in their dress and appearance. s---- had begged very hard to join the congregation, and upon the most solemn promise of remaining still she was admitted; but in spite of the perfect honour with which she kept her promise, her presence disturbed my thoughts not a little, and added much to the poignancy of the feeling with which i saw her father's poor slaves gathered round me. the child's exquisite complexion, large grey eyes, and solemn and at the same time eager countenance, was such a wonderful piece of contrast to their sable faces, so many of them so uncouth in their outlines and proportions, and yet all of them so pathetic, and some so sublime in their expression of patient suffering and religious fervour; their eyes never wandered from me and my child, who sat close by my knee, their little mistress, their future providence, my poor baby! dear e----, bless god that you have never reared a child with such an awful expectation: and at the end of the prayers, the tears were streaming over their faces, and one chorus of blessings rose round me and the child--farewell blessings, and prayers that we would return; and thanks so fervent in their incoherency, it was more than i could bear, and i begged them to go away and leave me to recover myself. and then i remained with s----, and for quite a long while even her restless spirit was still in wondering amazement at my bitter crying. i am to go next sunday to the church on the island, where there is to be service; and so this is my last sunday with the people. when i had recovered from the emotion of this scene, i walked out with s---- a little way, but meeting m---- and the baby, she turned home with them, and i pursued my walk alone up the road, and home by the shore. they are threatening to burn down all my woods to make grass land for the cattle, and i have terrified them by telling them that i will never come back if they destroy the woods. i went and paid a visit to mrs. g----; poor little, well-meaning, helpless woman! what can she do for these poor people, where i who am supposed to own them can do nothing? and yet how much may be done, is done, by the brain and heart of one human being in contact with another! we are answerable for incalculable opportunities of good and evil in our daily intercourse with every soul with whom we have to deal; every meeting, every parting, every chance greeting, and every appointed encounter, are occasions open to us for which we are to account. to our children, our servants, our friends, our acquaintances,--to each and all every day, and all day long, we are distributing that which is best or worst in existence,--influence: with every word, with every look, with every gesture, something is given or withheld of great importance it may be to the receiver, of inestimable importance to the giver. certainly the laws and enacted statutes on which this detestable system is built up are potent enough; the social prejudice that buttresses it is almost more potent still; and yet a few hearts and brains well bent to do the work, would bring within this almost impenetrable dungeon of ignorance, misery, and degradation, in which so many millions of human souls lie buried, that freedom of god which would presently conquer for them their earthly liberty. with some such thoughts i commended the slaves on the plantation to the little overseer's wife; i did not tell my thoughts to her, they would have scared the poor little woman half out of her senses. to begin with, her bread, her husband's occupation, has its root in slavery; it would be difficult for her to think as i do of it. i am afraid her care, even of the bodily habits and sicknesses of the people left in mrs. g----'s charge, will not be worth much, for nobody treats others better than they do themselves; and she is certainly doing her best to injure herself and her own poor baby, who is two and a-half years old, and whom she is still suckling. this is, i think, the worst case of this extraordinary delusion so prevalent among your women that i have ever met with yet; but they all nurse their children much longer than is good for either baby or mother. the summer heat, particularly when a young baby is cutting teeth, is, i know, considered by young american mothers an exceedingly critical time, and therefore i always hear of babies being nursed till after the second summer; so that a child born in january would be suckled till it was eighteen or nineteen months old, in order that it might not be weaned till its second summer was over. i am sure that nothing can be worse than this system, and i attribute much of the wretched ill health of young american mothers to over nursing; and of course a process that destroys their health and vigour completely must affect most unfavourably the child they are suckling. it is a grievous mistake. i remember my charming friend f---- d---- telling me that she had nursed her first child till her second was born--a miraculous statement, which i can only believe because she told it me herself. whenever anything seems absolutely impossible, the word of a true person is the only proof of it worth anything. * * * * * dear e----. i have been riding into the swamp behind the new house; i had a mind to survey the ground all round it before going away, to see what capabilities it afforded for the founding of a garden, but i confess it looked very unpromising. trying to return by another way, i came to a morass, which, after contemplating, and making my horse try for a few paces, i thought it expedient not to attempt. a woman called charlotte, who was working in the field, seeing my dilemma and the inglorious retreat i was about to make, shouted to me at the top of her voice, 'you no turn back, missis! if you want to go through, send, missis, send! you hab slave enough, nigger enough, let 'em come, let 'em fetch planks, and make de bridge; what you say dey must do,--send, missis, send, missis!' it seemed to me, from the lady's imperative tone in my behalf, that if she had been in my place, she would presently have had a corduroy road through the swamp of prostrate 'niggers,' as she called her family in ham, and ridden over the same dry-hoofed; and to be sure, if i pleased, so might i, for, as she very truly said, 'what you say, missis, they must do.' instead of summoning her sooty tribe, however, i backed my horse out of the swamp, and betook myself to another pretty woodpath, which only wants widening to be quite charming. at the end of this, however, i found swamp the second, and out of this having been helped by a grinning facetious personage, most appropriately named pun, i returned home in dudgeon, in spite of what dear miss m---- calls the 'moral suitability' of finding a foul bog at the end of every charming wood path or forest ride in this region. in the afternoon, i drove to busson hill, to visit the people there. i found that both the men and women had done their work at half-past three. saw jema with her child, that ridiculous image of driver bran, in her arms, in spite of whose whitey brown skin she still maintains that its father is a man as black as herself--and she (to use a most extraordinary comparison i heard of a negro girl making with regard to her mother) is as black as 'de hinges of hell.' query: did she really mean hinges--or angels? the angels of hell is a polite and pretty paraphrase for devils, certainly. in complimenting a woman, called joan, upon the tidy condition of her house, she answered, with that cruel humility that is so bad an element in their character, 'missis no 'spect to find coloured folks' house clean as white folks.' the mode in which they have learned to accept the idea of their own degradation and unalterable inferiority, is the most serious impediment that i see in the way of their progress, since assuredly, 'self-love is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.' in the same way yesterday, abraham the cook, in speaking of his brother's theft at the rice island, said 'it was a shame even for a coloured man to do such things.' i labour hard, whenever any such observation is made, to explain to them that the question is one of moral and mental culture,--not the colour of an integument,--and assure them, much to my own comfort, whatever it may be to theirs, that white people are as dirty and as dishonest as coloured folks, when they have suffered the same lack of decent training. if i could but find one of these women, on whose mind the idea had dawned that she was neither more nor less than my equal, i think i should embrace her in an ecstacy of hopefulness. in the evening, while i was inditing my journal for your edification, jema made her appearance with her bran-brown baby, having walked all the way down from busson hill to claim a little sugar i had promised her. she had made her child perfectly clean, and it looked quite pretty. when i asked her what i should give her the sugar in, she snatched her filthy handkerchief off her head; but i declined this sugar basin, and gave it to her in some paper. hannah came on the same errand. after all, dear e----, we shall not leave georgia so soon as i expected; we cannot get off for at least another week. you know, our movements are apt to be both tardy and uncertain. i am getting sick in spirit of my stay here; but i think the spring heat is beginning to affect me miserably, and i long for a cooler atmosphere. here, on st. simon's, the climate is perfectly healthy, and our neighbours, many of them, never stir from their plantations within reach of the purifying sea influence. but a land that grows magnolias is not fit for me--i was going to say magnolias and rattlesnakes; but i remember k----'s adventure with her friend the rattlesnake of monument mountain, and the wild wood-covered hill half-way between lenox and stockbridge, which your berkshire farmers have christened rattlesnake mountain. these agreeable serpents seem, like the lovely little humming birds which are found in your northernmost as well as southernmost states, to have an accommodating disposition with regard to climate. not only is the vicinity of the sea an element of salubrity here; but the great masses of pine wood growing in every direction indicate lightness of soil and purity of air. wherever these fragrant, dry, aromatic fir forests extend, there can be no inherent malaria, i should think, in either atmosphere or soil. the beauty and profusion of the weeds and wild flowers in the fields now is something, too, enchanting. i wish i could spread one of these enamelled tracts on the side of one of your snow-covered hills now--for i daresay they are snow-covered yet. i must give you an account of aleck's first reading lesson, which took place at the same time that i gave s---- hers this morning. it was the first time he had had leisure to come, and it went off most successfully. he seems to me by no means stupid. i am very sorry he did not ask me to do this before; however, if he can master his alphabet before i go, he may, if chance favour him with the occasional sight of a book, help himself on by degrees. perhaps he will have the good inspiration to apply to cooper london for assistance; i am much mistaken if that worthy does not contrive that heaven shall help aleck, as it formerly did him--in the matter of reading. i rode with jack afterwards, showing him where i wish paths to be cut and brushwood removed. i passed the new house, and again circumvented it meditatingly to discover its available points of possible future comeliness, but remained as convinced as ever that there are absolutely none. within the last two days, a perfect border of the dark blue virginicum has burst into blossom on each side of the road, fringing it with purple as far as one can look along it; it is lovely. i must tell you of something which has delighted me greatly. i told jack yesterday, that if any of the boys liked, when they had done their tasks, to come and clear the paths that i want widened and trimmed, i would pay them a certain small sum per hour for their labour; and behold, three boys have come, having done their tasks early in the afternoon, to apply for _work_ and _wages_: so much for a suggestion not barely twenty-four hours old, and so much for a prospect of compensation! in the evenings i attempted to walk out when the air was cool, but had to run precipitately back into the house to escape from the clouds of sand-flies that had settled on my neck and arms. the weather has suddenly become intensely hot; at least, that is what it appears to me. after i had come in i had a visit from venus and her daughter, a young girl of ten years old, for whom she begged a larger allowance of food as, she said, what she received for her was totally inadequate to the girl's proper nourishment. i was amazed, upon enquiry, to find that three quarts of grits a week--that is not a pint a day--was considered a sufficient supply for children of her age. the mother said her child was half-famished on it, and it seemed to me terribly little. my little workmen have brought me in from the woods three darling little rabbits which they have contrived to catch. they seemed to me slightly different from our english bunnies; and captain f----, who called to-day, gave me a long account of how they differed from the same animal in the northern states. i did not like to mortify my small workmen by refusing their present; but the poor little things must be left to run wild again, for we have no conveniences for pets here, besides we are just weighing anchor ourselves. i hope these poor little fluffy things will not meet any rattlesnakes on their way back to the woods. i had a visit for flannel from one of our dianas to-day,--who had done her task in the middle of the day, yet came to receive her flannel,--the most horribly dirty human creature i ever beheld, unless indeed her child, whom she brought with her, may have been half a degree dirtier. the other day, psyche (you remember the pretty under nurse, the poor thing whose story i wrote you from the rice plantation) asked me if her mother and brothers might be allowed to come and see her when we are gone away. i asked her some questions about them, and she told me that one of her brothers, who belonged to mr. k----, was hired by that gentleman to a mr. g---- of darien, and that, upon the latter desiring to purchase him, mr. k---- had sold the man without apprising him or any one member of his family that he had done so--a humane proceeding that makes one's blood boil when one hears of it. he had owned the man ever since he was a boy. psyche urged me very much to obtain an order permitting her to see her mother and brothers. i will try and obtain it for her, but there seems generally a great objection to the visits of slaves from neighbouring plantations, and, i have no doubt, not without sufficient reason. the more i see of this frightful and perilous social system, the more i feel that those who live in the midst of it must make their whole existence one constant precaution against danger of some sort or other. i have given aleck a second reading lesson with s----, who takes an extreme interest in his newly acquired alphabetical lore. he is a very quick and attentive scholar, and i should think a very short time would suffice to teach him to read; but, alas! i have not even that short time. when i had done with my class, i rode off with jack, who has become quite an expert horseman, and rejoices in being lifted out of the immediate region of snakes by the length of his horse's legs. i cantered through the new wood paths, and took a good sloping gallop through the pine land to st. annie's. the fire is actually still burning in the woods. i came home quite tired with the heat, though my ride was not a long one. just as i had taken off my habit and was preparing to start off with m----and the chicks for jones's, in the wood wagon, old dorcas, one of the most decrepid, rheumatic, and miserable old negresses from the further end of the plantation, called in to beg for some sugar. she had walked the whole way from her own settlement, and seemed absolutely exhausted then, and yet she had to walk all the way back. it was not otherwise than slightly meritorious in me, my dear e----, to take her up in the wagon and endure her abominable dirt and foulness in the closest proximity, rather than let her drag her poor old limbs all that way back; but i was glad when we gained her abode and lost her company. i am mightily reminded occasionally in these parts of trinculo's soliloquy over caliban. the people at jones's had done their work at half-past three. most of the houses were tidy and clean, so were many of the babies. on visiting the cabin of an exceedingly decent woman called peggy, i found her, to my surprise, possessed of a fine large bible. she told me her husband, carpenter john, can read, and that she means to make him teach her. the fame of aleck's literature has evidently reached jones's, and they are not afraid to tell me that they can read or wish to learn to do so. this poor woman's health is miserable; i never saw a more weakly sickly looking creature. she says she has been broken down ever since the birth of her last child. i asked her how soon after her confinement she went out into the field to work again. she answered very quietly, but with a deep sigh: 'three weeks, missis; de usual time.' as i was going away, a man named martin came up, and with great vehemence besought me to give him a prayer-book. in the evening, he came down to fetch it, and to show me that he can read. i was very much pleased to see that they had taken my hint about nailing wooden slats across the windows of their poor huts, to prevent the constant ingress of the poultry. this in itself will produce an immense difference in the cleanliness and comfort of their wretched abodes. in one of the huts i found a broken looking-glass; it was the only piece of furniture of the sort that i had yet seen among them. the woman who owned it was, i am sorry to say, peculiarly untidy and dirty, and so were her children: so that i felt rather inclined to scoff at the piece of civilized vanity, which i should otherwise have greeted as a promising sign. i drove home, late in the afternoon, through the sweet-smelling woods, that are beginning to hum with the voice of thousands of insects. my troop of volunteer workmen is increased to five; five lads working for my wages after they have done their task work; and this evening, to my no small amazement, driver bran came down to join them for an hour, after working all day at five pound, which certainly shows zeal and energy. dear e----, i have been riding through the woods all the morning with jack, giving him directions about the clearings, which i have some faint hope may be allowed to continue after my departure. i went on an exploring expedition round some distant fields, and then home through the st. annie's woods. they have almost stripped the trees and thickets along the swamp road since i first came here. i wonder what it is for: not fuel surely, nor to make grass land of, or otherwise cultivate the swamp. i do deplore these pitiless clearings; and as to this once pretty road, it looks 'forlorn,' as a worthy pennsylvania farmer's wife once said to me of a pretty hill-side from which her husband had ruthlessly felled a beautiful grove of trees. i had another snake encounter in my ride this morning. just as i had walked my horse through the swamp, and while contemplating ruefully its naked aspect, a huge black snake wriggled rapidly across the path, and i pulled my reins tight and opened my mouth wide with horror. these hideous-looking creatures are, i believe, not poisonous, but they grow to a monstrous size, and have tremendous _constrictive_ power. i have heard stories that sound like the nightmare, of their fighting desperately with those deadly creatures, rattlesnakes. i cannot conceive, if the black snakes are not poisonous, what chance they have against such antagonists, let their squeezing powers be what they will. how horrid it did look, _slithering_ over the road! perhaps the swamp has been cleared on account of its harbouring these dreadful worms. i rode home very fast, in spite of the exquisite fragrance of the wild cherry blossoms, the carpets and curtains of wild flowers, among which a sort of glorified dandelion glowed conspicuously; dandelions such as i should think grew in the garden of eden, if there were any at all there. i passed the finest magnolia that i have yet seen; it was magnificent, and i suppose had been spared for its beauty, for it grew in the very middle of a cotton field; it was as large as a fine forest tree, and its huge glittering leaves shone like plates of metal in the sun; what a spectacle that tree must be in blossom, and i should think its perfume must be smelt from one end of the plantation to the other. what a glorious creature! which do you think ought to weigh most in the scale, the delight of such a vegetable, or the disgust of the black animal i had just met a few minutes before? would you take the one with the other? neither would i. i have spent the whole afternoon at home; my 'gang' is busily at work again. sawney, one of them, came to join it nearly at sun-down, not having got through his day's task before. in watching and listening to these lads, i was constantly struck with the insolent tyranny of their demeanour towards each other. this is almost a universal characteristic of the manner of the negroes among themselves. they are diabolically cruel to animals too, and they seem to me as a rule hardly to know the difference between truth and falsehood. these detestable qualities, which i constantly hear attributed to them as innate and inherent in their race, appear to me the direct result of their condition. the individual exceptions among them are, i think, quite as many as would be found under similar circumstances, among the same number of white people. in considering the whole condition of the people on this plantation, it appears to me that the principal hardships fall to the lot of the women; that is, the principal physical hardships. the very young members of the community are of course idle and neglected; the very very old, idle and neglected too; the middle-aged men do not appear to me over-worked, and lead a mere animal existence, in itself not peculiarly cruel or distressing, but involving a constant element of fear and uncertainty, and the trifling evils of unrequited labour, ignorance the most profound, (to which they are condemned by law); and the unutterable injustice which precludes them from all the merits and all the benefits of voluntary exertion, and the progress that results from it. if they are absolutely unconscious of these evils, then they are not very ill-off brutes, always barring the chance of being given or sold away from their mates or their young--processes which even brutes do not always relish. i am very much struck with the vein of melancholy, which assumes almost a poetical tone in some of the things they say. did i tell you of that poor old decrepid creature dorcas, who came to beg some sugar of me the other day? saying as she took up my watch from the table and looked at it, 'ah? i need not look at this, i have almost done with time!' was not that striking from such a poor old ignorant crone? * * * * * dear e----. this is the fourth day that i have had a 'gang' of lads working in the woods for me after their task hours, for pay; you cannot think how zealous and energetic they are; i daresay the novelty of the process pleases them almost as much as the money they earn. i must say they quite deserve their small wages. last night i received a present from mrs. f---- of a drum fish, which animal i had never beheld before, and which seemed to me first cousin to the great leviathan. it is to be eaten, and is certainly the biggest fish food i ever saw; however, everything is in proportion, and the prawns that came with it are upon a similarly extensive scale; this magnificent piscatorial bounty was accompanied by a profusion of hamilton green peas, really a munificent supply. i went out early after breakfast with jack hunting for new paths; we rode all along the road by jones's creek, and most beautiful it was. we skirted the plantation burial ground, and a dismal place it looked; the cattle trampling over it in every direction--except where mr. k---- had had an enclosure put up round the graves of two white men who had worked on the estate. they were strangers, and of course utterly indifferent to the people here; but by virtue of their white skins, their resting-place was protected from the hoofs of the cattle, while the parents and children, wives, husbands, brothers and sisters, of the poor slaves, sleeping beside them, might see the graves of those they loved trampled upon and browsed over, desecrated and defiled, from morning till night. there is something intolerably cruel in this disdainful denial of a common humanity pursuing these wretches even when they are hid beneath the earth. the day was exquisitely beautiful, and i explored a new wood path, and found it all strewed with a lovely wild flower not much unlike a primrose. i spent the afternoon at home. i dread going out twice a-day now, on account of the heat and the sand flies. while i was sitting by the window, abraham, our cook, went by with some most revolting looking 'raw material' (part i think of the interior of the monstrous drum fish of which i have told you). i asked him with considerable disgust what he was going to do with it, he replied, 'oh! we coloured people eat it, missis;' said i, 'why do you say we coloured people?' 'because, missis, white people won't touch what we too glad of.' 'that,' said i, 'is because you are poor, and do not often have meat to eat, not because you are coloured, abraham; rich white folks will not touch what poor white folks are too glad of; it has nothing in the world to do with colour, and if there were white people here worse off than you (amazing and inconceivable suggestion, i fear), they would be glad to eat what you perhaps would not touch.' profound pause of meditation on the part of abraham, wound up by a considerate 'well, missis, i suppose so.' after which he departed with the horrid looking offal. to-day--saturday--i took another ride of discovery round the fields by jones's. i think i shall soon be able to survey this estate, i have ridden so carefully over it in every direction; but my rides are drawing to a close and even were i to remain here this must be the case unless i got up and rode under the stars in the cool of the night. this afternoon i was obliged to drive up to st. annie's: i had promised the people several times that i would do so. i went after dinner and as late as i could, and found very considerable improvement in the whole condition of the place; the houses had all been swept, and some of them actually scoured. the children were all quite tolerably clean; they had put slats across all their windows, and little chicken gates to the doors to keep out the poultry. there was a poor woman lying in one of the cabins in a wretched condition. she begged for a bandage, but i do not see of what great use that can be to her, as long as she has to hoe in the fields so many hours a day, which i cannot prevent. returning home, israel undertook to pilot me across the cotton fields into the pine land; and a more excruciating process than being dragged over that very uneven surface in that wood wagon without springs i did never endure, mitigated and soothed though it was by the literally fascinating account my charioteer gave me of the rattlesnakes with which the place we drove through becomes infested as the heat increases. i cannot say that his description of them, though more demonstrative as far as regarded his own horror of them, was really worse than that which mr. g---- was giving me of them yesterday. he said they were very numerous, and were found in every direction all over the plantation, but that they did not become really vicious until quite late in the summer; until then, it appears that they generally endeavour to make off if one meets them, but during the intense heats of the latter part of july and august they never think of escaping, but at any sight or sound which they may consider inimical, they instantly coil themselves for a spring. the most intolerable proceeding on their part, however, that he described, was their getting up into the trees, and either coiling themselves in or depending from the branches. there is something too revolting in the idea of serpents looking down upon one from the shade of the trees to which one may betake oneself for shelter in the dreadful heat of the southern midsummer; decidedly i do not think the dog-days would be pleasant here. the mocassin snake, which is nearly as deadly as the rattlesnake, abounds all over the island. in the evening, i had a visit from mr. c---- and mr. b----, who officiates to-morrow at our small island church. the conversation i had with these gentlemen was sad enough. they seem good and kind and amiable men, and i have no doubt are conscientious in their capacity of slaveholders; but to one who has lived outside this dreadful atmosphere, the whole tone of their discourse has a morally muffled sound, which one must hear to be able to conceive. mr. b---- told me that the people on this plantation not going to church was the result of a positive order from mr. k----, who had peremptorily forbidden their doing so, and of course to have infringed that order would have been to incur severe corporal chastisement. bishop b----, it seems, had advised that there should be periodical preaching on the plantations, which, said mr. b----, would have obviated any necessity for the people of different estates congregating at any given point at stated times, which might perhaps be objectionable, and at the same time would meet the reproach which was now beginning to be directed towards the southern planters as a class, of neglecting the eternal interest of their dependents. but mr. k---- had equally objected to this. he seems to have held religious teaching a mighty dangerous thing--and how right he was! i have met with conventional cowardice of various shades and shapes in various societies that i have lived in; but anything like the pervading timidity of tone which i find here on all subjects, but above all on that of the condition of the slaves, i have never dreamed of. truly slavery begets slavery, and the perpetual state of suspicion and apprehension of the slaveholders is a very handsome offset, to say the least of it, against the fetters and the lash of the slaves. poor people, one and all, but especially poor oppressors of the oppressed! the attitude of these men is really pitiable; they profess (perhaps some of them strive to do so indeed) to consult the best interests of their slaves, and yet shrink back terrified from the approach of the slightest intellectual or moral improvement which might modify their degraded and miserable existence. i do pity these deplorable servants of two masters more than any human beings i have ever seen--more than their own slaves a thousand times! to-day is sunday, and i have been to the little church on the island. it is the second time since i came down to the south that i have been to a place of worship. a curious little incident prefaced my going thither this morning. i had desired israel to get my horse ready and himself to accompany me, as i meant to ride to church; and you cannot imagine anything droller than his horror and dismay when he at length comprehended that my purpose was to attend divine service in my riding habit. i asked him what was the trouble, for though i saw something was creating a dreadful convulsion in his mind, i had no idea what it was till he told me, adding, that he had never seen such a thing on st. simon's in his life--as who should say, such a thing was never seen in hyde park or the tuileries before. you may imagine my amusement, but presently i was destined to shock something much more serious than poor israel's sense of _les convénances et bienséances_, and it was not without something of an effort that i made up my mind to do so. i was standing at the open window speaking to him about the horses, and telling him to get ready to ride with me, when george, another of the men, went by with a shade or visor to his cap exactly the shape of the one i left behind at the north, and for want of which i have been suffering severely from the intense heat and glare of the sun for the last week. i asked him to hand me his cap, saying, 'i want to take the pattern of that shade.' israel exclaimed, 'oh missis, not to-day; let him leave the cap with you to-morrow, but don't cut pattern on de sabbath day!' it seemed to me a much more serious matter to offend this scruple than the prejudice with regard to praying in a riding habit; still it had to be done. 'do you think it wrong, israel,' said i, 'to work on sunday?' 'yes, missis, parson tell we so.' 'then, israel, be sure you never do it. did your parson never tell you that your conscience was for yourself and not for your neighbours, israel?' 'oh yes, missis, he tell we that too.' 'then mind that too, israel.' the shade was cut out and stitched upon my cap, and protected my eyes from the fierce glare of the sun and sand as i rode to church. on our way, we came to a field where the young corn was coming up. the children were in the field--little living scarecrows--watching it, of course, as on a weekday, to keep off the birds. i made israel observe this, who replied, 'oh missis, if de people's corn left one whole day not watched, not one blade of it remain to-morrow; it must be watched, missis.' 'what, on the sabbath day, israel?' 'yes, missis, or else we lose it all.' i was not sorry to avail myself of this illustration of the nature of works of necessity, and proceeded to enlighten israel with regard to what i conceive to be the genuine observance of the sabbath. you cannot imagine anything wilder or more beautiful than the situation of the little rustic temple in the woods where i went to worship to-day, with the magnificent live oaks standing round it and its picturesque burial ground. the disgracefully neglected state of the latter, its broken and ruinous enclosure, and its shaggy weed-grown graves, tell a strange story of the residents of this island, who are content to leave the resting-place of their dead in so shocking a condition. in the tiny little chamber of a church, the grand old litany of the episcopal church of england was not a little shorn of its ceremonial stateliness; clerk there was none, nor choir, nor organ, and the clergyman did duty for all, giving out the hymn and then singing it himself, followed as best might be by the uncertain voices of his very small congregation, the smallest i think i ever saw gathered in a christian place of worship, even counting a few of the negroes who had ventured to place themselves standing at the back of the church--an infringement on their part upon the privileges of their betters--as mr. b---- generally preaches a second sermon to them after the _white_ service, to which as a rule they are not admitted. on leaving the church, i could not but smile at the quaint and original costumes with which israel had so much dreaded a comparison for my irreproachable london riding habit. however, the strangeness of it was what inspired him with terror; but, at that rate, i am afraid a paris gown and bonnet might have been in equal danger of shocking his prejudices. there was quite as little affinity with the one as the other in the curious specimens of the 'art of dressing' that gradually distributed themselves among the two or three indescribable machines (to use the appropriate scotch title) drawn up under the beautiful oak trees, on which they departed in various directions to the several plantations on the island. i mounted my horse, and resumed my ride and my conversation with israel. he told me that mr. k----'s great objection to the people going to church was their meeting with the slaves from the other plantations; and one reason, he added, that he did not wish them to do that was, that they trafficked and bartered away the cooper's wares, tubs, piggins, &c., made on the estate. i think, however, from everything i hear of that gentleman, that the mere fact of the hampton people coming in contact with the slaves of other plantations would be a thing he would have deprecated. as a severe disciplinarian, he was probably right. in the course of our talk, a reference i made to the bible, and israel's answer that he could not read, made me ask him why his father had never taught any of his sons to read; old jacob, i know, can read. what followed i shall never forget. he began by giving all sorts of childish unmeaning excuses and reasons for never having tried to learn--became confused and quite incoherent,--and then, suddenly stopping, and pulling up his horse, said, with a look and manner that went to my very heart; 'missis, what for me learn to read? me have no prospect!' i rode on without venturing to speak to him again for a little while. when i had recovered from that remark of his, i explained to him that, though indeed 'without prospect' in some respects, yet reading might avail him much to better his condition, moral, mental, and physical. he listened very attentively, and was silent for a minute; after which he said:--'all you say very true, missis, and me sorry now me let de time pass; but you know what de white man dat goberns de estate him seem to like and favour, dat de people find out bery soon and do it; now, massa k----, him neber favour our reading, him not like it; likely as not he lick you if he find you reading, or if you wish to teach your children, him always say, "pooh, teach 'em to read--teach 'em to work." according to dat, we neber paid much attention to it, but now it will be different; it was different in former times. de old folks of my father and mother's time could read more than we can, and i expect de people will dare to give some thought to it again now.' there's a precious sample of what one man's influence may do in his own sphere, dear e----! this man israel is a remarkably fine fellow in every way, with a frank, open, and most intelligent countenance, which rises before me with its look of quiet sadness whenever i think of those words (and they haunt me), 'i have no prospect.' on my arrival at home, i found that a number of the people, not knowing i had gone to church, had come up to the house, hoping that i would read prayers to them, and had not gone back to their homes, but waited to see me. i could not bear to disappoint them, for many of them had come from the farthest settlements on the estate; and so, though my hot ride had tired me a good deal, and my talk with israel troubled me profoundly, i took off my habit, and had them all in, and read the afternoon service to them. when it was over, two of the women--venus and trussa--asked if they might be permitted to go to the nursery and see the children. their account of the former condition of the estate was a corroboration of israel's. they said that the older slaves on the plantation had been far better off than the younger ones of the present day; that major ---- was considerate and humane to his people; and that the women were especially carefully treated. but they said mr. k---- had ruined all the young women with working them too soon after their confinements; and as for the elder ones, he would kick them, curse them, turn their clothes over their heads, flog them unmercifully himself, and abuse them shamefully, no matter what condition they were in. they both ended with fervent thanks to god that he had left the estate, and rejoicing that we had come, and, above all, that we 'had made young missis for them.' venus went down on her knees, exclaiming, 'oh, missis, i glad now; and when i am dead, i glad in my grave that you come to us and bring us little missis.' * * * * * dear e----. i still go on exploring, or rather surveying, the estate, the aspect of which is changing every day with the unfolding of the leaves and the wonderful profusion of wild flowers. the cleared ground all round the new building is one sheet of blooming blue of various tints; it is perfectly exquisite. but in the midst of my delight at these new blossoms, i am most sorrowfully bidding adieu to that paragon of parasites, the yellow jasmine; i think i must have gathered the very last blossoms of it to-day. nothing can be more lovely, nothing so exquisitely fragrant. i was surprised to recognise by their foliage, to-day, some fine mulberry trees, by jones's creek; perhaps they are the remains of the silk-worm experiment that mr. c---- persuaded major ---- to try so ineffectually. while i was looking at some wild plum and cherry trees that were already swarming with blight in the shape of multitudinous caterpillars' nests, an ingenuous darkie, by name cudgie, asked me if i could explain to him why the trees blossomed out so fair, and then all 'went off into a kind of dying.' having directed his vision and attention to the horrid white glistening webs, all lined with their brood of black devourers, i left him to draw his own conclusions. the afternoon was rainy, in spite of which i drove to busson hill, and had a talk with bran about the vile caterpillar blights on the wild plum trees, and asked him if it would not be possible to get some sweet grafts from mr. c---- for some of the wild fruit trees, of which there are such quantities. perhaps, however, they are not worth grafting. bran promised me that the people should not be allowed to encumber the paths and the front of their houses with unsightly and untidy heaps of oyster shells. he promised all sorts of things. i wonder how soon after i am gone they will all return into the condition of brutal filth and disorder in which i found them. the men and women had done their work here by half-past three. the chief labour in the cotton fields, however, is both earlier and later in the season. at present they have little to do but let the crop grow. in the evening i had a visit from the son of a very remarkable man, who had been one of the chief drivers on the estate in major ----'s time, and his son brought me a silver cup which major ---- had given his father as a testimonial of approbation, with an inscription on it recording his fidelity and trustworthiness at the time of the invasion of the coast of georgia by the english troops. was not that a curious reward for a slave who was supposed not to be able to read his own praises? and yet, from the honourable pride with which his son regarded this relic, i am sure the master did well so to reward his servant, though it seemed hard that the son of such a man should be a slave. maurice himself came with his father's precious silver cup in his hand, to beg for a small pittance of sugar, and for a prayer-book, and also to know if the privilege of a milch cow for the support of his family, which was among the favours major ---- allowed his father, might not be continued to him. he told me he had ten children 'working for massa,' and i promised to mention his petition to mr. ----. on sunday last, i rode round the woods near st. annie's and met with a monstrous snake, which jack called a chicken snake; but whether because it particularly affected poultry as its diet, or for what other reason, he could not tell me. nearer home, i encountered another gliding creature, that stopped a moment just in front of my horse's feet, as if it was too much afraid of being trampled upon to get out of the way; it was the only snake animal i ever saw that i did not think hideous. it was of a perfectly pure apple green colour, with a delicate line of black like a collar round its throat; it really was an exquisite worm, and jack said it was harmless. i did not, however, think it expedient to bring it home in my bosom, though if ever i have a pet snake, it shall be such an one. in the afternoon, i drove to jones's with several supplies of flannel for the rheumatic women and old men. we have ridden over to hamilton again, to pay another visit to the f----s, and on our way passed an enormous rattlesnake, hanging dead on the bough of a tree. dead as it was, it turned me perfectly sick with horror, and i wished very much to come back to the north immediately, where these are not the sort of blackberries that grow on every bush. the evening air now, after the heat of the day, is exquisitely mild, and the nights dry and wholesome, the whole atmosphere indescribably fragrant with the perfume of flowers; and as i stood, before going to bed last night, watching the slow revolving light on sapelo island, that warns the ships from the dangerous bar at the river's mouth, and heard the measured pulse of the great atlantic waters on the beach, i thought no more of rattlesnakes--no more, for one short while, of slavery. how still, and sweet, and solemn, it was! we have been paying more friendly and neighbourly visits, or rather returning them; and the recipients of these civilised courtesies on our last calling expedition were the family one member of which was a party concerned in that barbarous challenge i wrote you word about. hitherto that very brutal and bloodthirsty cartel appears to have had no result. you must not on that account imagine that it will have none. at the north, were it possible for a duel intended to be conducted on such savage terms to be matter of notoriety, the very horror of the thing would create a feeling of grotesqueness, and the antagonists in such a proposed encounter would simply incur an immense amount of ridicule and obloquy. but here nobody is astonished and nobody ashamed of such preliminaries to a mortal combat between two gentlemen, who propose firing at marks over each other's hearts, and cutting off each other's heads; and though this agreeable party of pleasure has not come off yet, there seems to be no reason why it should not at the first convenient season. reflecting upon all which, i rode not without trepidation through colonel h----'s grounds, and up to his house. mr. w----'s head was not stuck upon a pole anywhere within sight, however, and as soon as i became pretty sure of this, i began to look about me, and saw instead a trellis tapestried with the most beautiful roses i ever beheld, another of these exquisite southern flowers--the cherokee rose. the blossom is very large, composed of four or five pure white petals, as white and as large as those of the finest camellia with a bright golden eye for a focus; the buds and leaves are long and elegantly slender, like those of some tea roses, and the green of the foliage is dark and at the same time vivid and lustrous; it grew in masses so as to form almost a hedge, all starred with these wonderful white blossoms, which, unfortunately, have no perfume. we rode home through the pine land to jones's, looked at the new house which is coming on hideously, saw two beautiful kinds of trumpet honeysuckle already lighting up the woods in every direction with gleams of scarlet, and when we reached home found a splendid donation of vegetables, flowers, and mutton from our kind neighbour mrs. f----, who is a perfect lady bountiful to us. this same mutton, however--my heart bleeds to say it--disappeared the day after it was sent to us. abraham the cook declares that he locked the door of the safe upon it, which i think may be true, but i also think he unlocked it again. i am sorry; but, after all, it is very natural these people should steal a little of our meat from us occasionally, who steal almost all their bread from them habitually. i rode yesterday to st. annie's with mr. ----. we found a whole tract of marsh had been set on fire by the facetious negro called pun, who had helped me out of it some time ago. as he was set to work in it, perhaps it was with a view of making it less damp; at any rate, it was crackling, blazing, and smoking cheerily, and i should think would be insupportable for the snakes. while stopping to look at the conflagration, mr. ---- was accosted by a three parts naked and one part tattered little she slave--black as ebony, where her skin was discoverable through its perfect incrustation of dirt--with a thick mat of frizzly wool upon her skull, which made the sole request she preferred to him irresistibly ludicrous:--'massa, massa, you please to buy me a comb to tick in my head?' mr. ---- promised her this necessary of life, and i promised myself to give her the luxury of one whole garment. mrs. ---- has sent me the best possible consolation for the lost mutton, some lovely flowers, and these will not be stolen. * * * * * _saturday, the th._--dear e----, i rode to-day through all my woodpaths for the last time with jack, and i think i should have felt quite melancholy at taking leave of them and him, but for the apparition of a large black snake, which filled me with disgust and nipped my other sentiments in the bud. not a day passes now that i do not encounter one or more of these hateful reptiles; it is curious how much more odious they are to me than the alligators that haunt the mud banks of the river round the rice plantation. it is true that there is something very dreadful in the thick shapeless mass, uniform in colour almost to the black slime on which it lies basking, and which you hardly detect till it begins to move. but even those ungainly crocodiles never sickened me as those rapid, lithe, and sinuous serpents do. did i ever tell you that the people at the rice plantation caught a young alligator and brought it to the house, and it was kept for some time in a tub of water? it was an ill-tempered little monster; it used to set up its back like a cat when it was angry, and open its long jaws in a most vicious manner. after looking at my new path in the pine land, i crossed pike bluff, and breaking my way all through the burnt district, returned home by jones's. in the afternoon, we paid a long visit to mr. c----. it is extremely interesting to me to talk with him about the negroes; he has spent so much of his life among them, has managed them so humanely, and apparently so successfully, that his experience is worthy of all attention. and yet it seems to me that it is impossible, or rather, perhaps, for those very reasons it is impossible, for him ever to contemplate them in any condition but that of slavery. he thinks them very like the irish, and instanced their subserviency, their flattering, their lying, and pilfering, as traits common to the character of both peoples. but i cannot persuade myself that in both cases, and certainly in that of the negroes, these qualities are not in great measure the result of their condition. he says that he considers the extremely low diet of the negroes one reason for the absence of crimes of a savage nature among them; most of them do not touch meat the year round. but in this respect they certainly do not resemble the irish, who contrive upon about as low a national diet as civilisation is acquainted with, to commit the bloodiest and most frequent outrages with which civilisation has to deal. his statement that it is impossible to bribe the negroes to work on their own account with any steadiness may be generally true, but admits of quite exceptions enough to throw doubt upon its being natural supineness in the race rather than the inevitable consequence of denying them the entire right to labour for their own profit. their laziness seems to me the necessary result of their primary wants being supplied, and all progress denied them. of course, if the natural spur to exertion, necessity, is removed, you do away with the will to work of a vast proportion of all who do work in the world. it is the law of progress that a man's necessities grow with his exertions to satisfy them, and labour and improvement thus continually act and react upon each other to raise the scale of desire and achievement; and i do not believe that, in the majority of instances among any people on the face of the earth, the will to labour for small indulgences would survive the loss of freedom and the security of food enough to exist upon. mr. ---- said that he had offered a bribe of twenty dollars apiece, and the use of a pair of oxen, for the clearing of a certain piece of land, to the men on his estate, and found the offer quite ineffectual to procure the desired result; the land was subsequently cleared as usual task work under the lash. now, certainly, we have among mr. ----'s people instances of men who have made very considerable sums of money by boat-building in their leisure hours, and the instances of almost life-long persevering stringent labour by which slaves have at length purchased their own freedom and that of their wives and children, are on record in numbers sufficient to prove that they are capable of severe sustained effort of the most patient and heroic kind for that great object, liberty. for my own part, i know no people who doat upon labour for its own sake; and it seems to me quite natural to any absolutely ignorant and nearly brutish man, if you say to him, 'no effort of your own can make you free, but no absence of effort shall starve you,' to decline to work for anything less than mastery over his whole life, and to take up with his mess of porridge as the alternative. one thing that mr. ---- said seemed to me to prove rather too much. he declared that his son, objecting to the folks on his plantation going about bare-headed, had at one time offered a reward of a dollar to those who should habitually wear hats without being able to induce them to do so, which he attributed to sheer careless indolence; but i think it was merely the force of the habit of going uncovered rather than absolute laziness. the universal testimony of all present at this conversation was in favour of the sweetness of temper and natural gentleness of disposition of the negroes; but these characteristics they seemed to think less inherent than the result of diet and the other lowering influences of their condition; and it must not be forgotten that on the estate of this wise and kind master a formidable conspiracy was organised among his slaves. we rowed home through a world of stars, the stedfast ones set in the still blue sky, and the flashing swathes of phosphoric light turned up by our oars and keel in the smooth blue water. it was lovely. * * * * * _sunday, th._--my dear e----. that horrid tragedy with which we have been threatened, and of which i was writing to you almost jestingly a few days ago, has been accomplished, and apparently without exciting anything but the most passing and superficial sensation in this community. the duel between dr. h---- and mr. w---- did not take place, but an accidental encounter in the hotel at brunswick did, and the former shot the latter dead on the spot. he has been brought home and buried here by the little church close to his mother's plantation; and the murderer, if he is even prosecuted, runs no risk of finding a jury in the whole length and breadth of georgia who could convict him of anything. it is horrible. i drove to church to-day in the wood wagon, with jack and aleck, hector being our charioteer, in a gilt guard-chain and pair of slippers to match as the sabbatic part of his attire. the love of dirty finery is not a trait of the irish in ireland, but i think it crops out strongly when they come out here; and the proportion of their high wages put upon their backs by the young irish maid-servants in the north, indicates a strong addiction to the female passion for dress. here the tendency seems to exist in men and women alike; but i think all savage men rejoice, even more than their women, in personal ornamentation. the negroes certainly show the same strong predilection for finery with their womenkind. i stopped before going into church to look at the new grave that has taken its place among the defaced stones, all overgrown with briers, that lie round it. poor young w----! poor widowed mother, of whom he was the only son! what a savage horror! and no one seems to think anything of it, more than of a matter of course. my devotions were anything but satisfactory or refreshing to me. my mind was dwelling incessantly upon the new grave under the great oaks outside, and the miserable mother in her home. the air of the church was perfectly thick with sand-flies; and the disgraceful carelessness of the congregation in responding and singing the hymns, and their entire neglect of the prayer-book regulations for kneeling, disturbed and displeased me even more than the last time i was at church; but i think that was because of the total absence of excitement or feeling among the whole population of st. simon's upon the subject of the bloody outrage with which my mind was full, which has given me a sensation of horror towards the whole community. just imagine--only it is impossible to imagine--such a thing taking place in a new england village; the dismay, the grief, the shame, the indignation, that would fill the hearts of the whole population. i thought we should surely have some reference to the event from the pulpit, some lesson of christian command over furious passions. nothing--nobody looked or spoke as if anything unusual had occurred; and i left the church, rejoicing to think that i was going away from such a dreadful state of society. mr. b---- remained to preach a second sermon to the negroes--the duty of submission to masters who intermurder each other. i had service at home in the afternoon, and my congregation was much more crowded than usual; for i believe there is no doubt at last that we shall leave georgia this week. having given way so much before when i thought i was praying with these poor people for the last time, i suppose i had, so to speak, expended my emotion; and i was much more composed and quiet than when i took leave of them before. but, to tell you the truth, this dreadful act of slaughter done in our neighbourhood by one man of our acquaintance upon another, impresses me to such a degree that i can hardly turn my mind from it, and mrs. w---- and her poor young murdered son have taken almost complete possession of my thoughts. after prayers i gave my poor people a parting admonition, and many charges to remember me and all i had tried to teach them during my stay. they promised with one voice to mind and do all that 'missis tell we;' and with many a parting benediction, and entreaties to me to return, they went their way. i think i have done what i could for them--i think i have done as well as i could by them; but when the time comes for ending any human relation, who can be without their misgivings? who can be bold to say, i could have done no more, i could have done no better? in the afternoon i walked out, and passed many of the people, who are now beginning, whenever they see me, to say, 'good bye, missis!' which is rather trying. many of them were clean and tidy, and decent in their appearance to a degree that certainly bore strong witness to the temporary efficacy of my influence in this respect. there is, however, of course much individual difference even with reference to this, and some take much more kindly and readily to cleanliness, no doubt to godliness too, than some others. i met abraham, and thought that, in a quiet tête-à-tête, and with the pathetic consideration of my near departure to assist me, i could get him to confess the truth about the disappearance of the mutton; but he persisted in the legend of its departure through the locked door; and as i was only heaping sins on his soul with every lie i caused him to add to the previous ones, i desisted from my enquiries. dirt and lying are the natural tendencies of humanity, which are especially fostered by slavery. slaves may be infinitely wrong, and yet it is very hard to blame them. i returned home, finding the heat quite oppressive. late in the evening, when the sun had gone down a long time, i thought i would try and breathe the fresh sea air, but the atmosphere was thick with sand-flies, which drove me in at last from standing listening to the roar of the atlantic on little st. simon's island, the wooded belt that fends off the ocean surges from the north side of great st. simon's. it is a wild little sand-heap, covered with thick forest growth, and belongs to mr. ----. i have long had a great desire to visit it. i hope yet to be able to do so before our departure. i have just finished reading, with the utmost interest and admiration, j---- c----'s narrative of his escape from the wreck of the poolaski: what a brave, and gallant, and unselfish soul he must be! you never read anything more thrilling, in spite of the perfect modesty of this account of his. if i can obtain his permission, and squeeze out the time, i will surely copy it for you. the quiet unassuming character of his usual manners and deportment adds greatly to his prestige as a hero. what a fine thing it must be to be such a man! * * * * * dear e----. we shall leave this place next thursday or friday, and there will be an end to this record; meantime i am fulfilling all sorts of last duties, and especially those of taking leave of my neighbours, by whom the neglect of a farewell visit would be taken much amiss. on sunday, i rode to a place called frederica to call on a mrs. a----, who came to see me some time ago. i rode straight through the island by the main road that leads to the little church. how can i describe to you the exquisite spring beauty that is now adorning these woods, the variety of the fresh new-born foliage, the fragrance of the sweet wild perfumes that fill the air? honeysuckles twine round every tree; the ground is covered with a low white-blossomed shrub more fragrant than lilies of the valley. the accacuas are swinging their silver censers under the green roof of these wood temples; every stump is like a classical altar to the sylvan gods, garlanded with flowers; every post, or stick, or slight stem, like a bacchante's thyrsus, twined with wreaths of ivy and wild vine, waving in the tepid wind. beautiful butterflies flicker like flying flowers among the bushes, and gorgeous birds, like winged jewels, dart from the boughs,--and--and--a huge ground snake slid like a dark ribbon, across the path while i was stopping to enjoy all this deliciousness, and so i became less enthusiastic, and cantered on past the little deserted churchyard, with the new-made grave beneath its grove of noble oaks, and a little farther on reached mrs. a----'s cottage, half hidden in the midst of ruins and roses. this frederica is a very strange place; it was once a town, _the_ town, the metropolis of the island. the english, when they landed on the coast of georgia in the war, destroyed this tiny place, and it has never been built up again. mrs. a----'s, and one other house, are the only dwellings that remain in this curious wilderness of dismantled crumbling grey walls compassionately cloaked with a thousand profuse and graceful creepers. these are the only ruins properly so called, except those of fort putnam, that i have ever seen in this land of contemptuous youth. i hailed these picturesque groups and masses with the feelings of a european, to whom ruins are like a sort of relations. in my country, ruins are like a minor chord in music, here they are like a discord; they are not the relics of time, but the results of violence; they recall no valuable memories of a remote past, and are mere encumbrances to the busy present. evidently they are out of place in america, except on st. simon's island, between this savage selvage of civilisation and the great atlantic deep. these heaps of rubbish and roses would have made the fortune of a sketcher; but i imagine the snakes have it all to themselves here, and are undisturbed by camp stools, white umbrellas, and ejaculatory young ladies. i sat for a long time with mrs. a----, and a friend of hers staying with her, a mrs. a----, lately from florida. the latter seemed to me a remarkable woman; her conversation was extremely interesting. she had been stopping at brunswick, at the hotel where dr. h---- murdered young w----, and said that the mingled ferocity and blackguardism of the men who frequented the house had induced her to cut short her stay there, and come on to her friend mrs. a----'s. we spoke of that terrible crime which had occurred only the day after she left brunswick, and both ladies agreed that there was not the slightest chance of dr. h----'s being punished in any way for the murder he had committed; that shooting down a man who had offended you was part of the morals and manners of the southern gentry, and that the circumstance was one of quite too frequent occurrence to cause any sensation, even in the small community where it obliterated one of the principal members of the society. if the accounts given by these ladies of the character of the planters in this part of the south may be believed, they must be as idle, arrogant, ignorant, dissolute, and ferocious as that mediaeval chivalry to which they are fond of comparing themselves; and these are southern women, and should know the people among whom they live. we had a long discussion on the subject of slavery, and they took as usual the old ground of justifying the system, _where_ it was administered with kindness and indulgence. it is not surprising that women should regard the question from this point of view; they are very seldom _just_, and are generally treated with more indulgence than justice by men. they were very patient of my strong expressions of reprobation of the whole system, and mrs. a----, bidding me good-bye, said that, for aught she could tell, i might be right, and might have been led down here by providence to be the means of some great change in the condition of the poor coloured people. i rode home pondering on the strange fate that has brought me to this place so far from where i was born, this existence so different in all its elements from that of my early years and former associations. if i believed mrs. a----'s parting words, i might perhaps verify them; perhaps i may yet verify although i do not believe them. on my return home, i found a most enchanting bundle of flowers, sent to me by mrs. g----; pomegranate blossoms, roses, honeysuckle, everything that blooms two months later with us in pennsylvania. i told you i had a great desire to visit little st. simon's, and the day before yesterday i determined to make an exploring expedition thither. i took m---- and the children, little imagining what manner of day's work was before me. six men rowed us in the 'lily,' and israel brought the wood wagon after us in a flat. our navigation was a very intricate one, all through sea swamps and marshes, mud-banks and sand-banks, with great white shells and bleaching bones stuck upon sticks to mark the channel. we landed on this forest in the sea by quash's house, the only human residence on the island. it was larger and better, and more substantial than the negro huts in general, and he seemed proud and pleased to do the honours to us. thence we set off, by my desire, in the wagon through the woods to the beach; road there was none, save the rough clearing that the men cut with their axes before us as we went slowly on. presently, we came to a deep dry ditch, over which there was no visible means of proceeding. israel told me if we would sit still he would undertake to drive the wagon into and out of it; and so, indeed, he did, but how he did it is more than i can explain to you now, or could explain to myself then. a less powerful creature than montreal could never have dragged us through; and when we presently came to a second rather worse edition of the same, i insisted upon getting out and crossing it on foot. i walked half a mile while the wagon was dragged up and down the deep gulley, and lifted bodily over some huge trunks of fallen trees. the wood through which we now drove was all on fire, smoking, flaming, crackling, and burning round us. the sun glared upon us from the cloudless sky, and the air was one cloud of sand-flies and mosquitoes. i covered both my children's faces with veils and handkerchiefs, and repented not a little in my own breast of the rashness of my undertaking. the back of israel's coat was covered so thick with mosquitoes that one could hardly see the cloth; and i felt as if we should be stifled, if our way lay much longer through this terrible wood. presently we came to another impassable place, and again got out of the wagon, leaving israel to manage it as best he could. i walked with the baby in my arms a quarter of a mile, and then was so overcome with the heat that i sat down in the burning wood, on the floor of ashes, till the wagon came up again. i put the children and m---- into it, and continued to walk till we came to a ditch in a tract of salt marsh, over which israel drove triumphantly, and i partly jumped and was partly hauled over, having declined the entreaties of several of the men to let them lie down and make a bridge with their bodies for me to walk over. at length we reached the skirt of that tremendous wood, to my unspeakable relief, and came upon the white sand hillocks of the beach. the trees were all strained crooked, from the constant influence of the sea-blast. the coast was a fearful-looking stretch of dismal, trackless sand, and the ocean lay boundless and awful beyond the wild and desolate beach, from which we were now only divided by a patch of low coarse-looking bush, growing as thick and tangled as heather, and so stiff and compact that it was hardly possible to drive through it. yet in spite of this several lads who had joined our train rushed off into it in search of rabbits, though israel called repeatedly to them, warning them of the danger of rattlesnakes. we drove at last down to the smooth sea sand; and here, outstripping our guides, was barred farther progress by a deep gully, down which it was impossible to take the wagon. israel, not knowing the beach well, was afraid to drive round the mouth of it; and so it was determined that from this point we should walk home under his guidance. i sat in the wagon while he constructed a rough foot-bridge of bits of wood and broken planks for us, over the narrow chasm, and he then took montreal out of the wagon and tied him behind it, leaving him for the other men to take charge of when they should arrive at this point. and so, having mightily desired to see the coast of little st. simon's island, i did see it thoroughly; for i walked a mile and a half round it, over beds of sharp shells, through swamps half knee deep, poor little s---- stumping along with dogged heroism, and israel carrying the baby, except at one deep _mal passo_, when i took the baby and he carried s----; and so, through the wood round quash's house, where we arrived almost fainting with fatigue and heat, and where we rested but a short time; for we had to start almost immediately to save the tide home. i called at mr. c----'s on my way back, to return him his son's manuscript, which i had in the boat for that purpose. i sent jack, who had come to meet me with the horses, home, being too tired to attempt riding; and, covered with mud literally up to my knees i was obliged to lie down ignominiously all the afternoon to rest. and now i will give you a curious illustration of the utter subserviency of slaves. it seems that by taking the tide in proper season, and going by boat, all that horrible wood journey might have been avoided, and we could have reached the beach, with perfect ease in half the time; but because, being of course absolutely ignorant of this, i had expressed a desire to go through the wood, not a syllable of remonstrance was uttered by any one; and the men not only underwent the labour of cutting a path for the wagon and dragging it through and over all the impediments we encountered, but allowed me and the children to traverse that burning wood, rather than tell me that by waiting and taking another way i could get to the sea. when i expressed my astonishment at their not having remonstrated against my order, and explained how i could best achieve the purpose i had in view, the sole answer i got even from israel was, 'missis say so, so me do; missis say me go through the wood, me no tell missis go another way.' you see, my dear e----, one had need bethink oneself what orders one gives, when one has the misfortune to be despotic. how sorry i am that i have been obliged to return that narrative of mr. c----'s without asking permission to copy it, which i did not do because i should not have been able to find the time to do it! we go away the day after to-morrow. all the main incidents of the disaster the newspapers have made you familiar with--the sudden and appalling loss of that fine vessel laden with the very flower of the south. there seems hardly to be a family in georgia and south carolina that had not some of its members on board that ill-fated ship. you know it was a sort of party of pleasure more than anything else; the usual annual trip to the north for change of air and scene, for the gaieties of newport and saratoga, that all the wealthy southern people invariably take every summer. the weather had been calm and lovely; and dancing, talking, and laughing, as if they were in their own drawing-rooms, they had passed the time away till they all separated for the night. at the first sound of the exploding boiler, mr. c---- jumped up, and in his shirt and trousers ran on deck. the scene was one of horrible confusion; women screaming, men swearing, the deck strewn with broken fragments of all descriptions, the vessel leaning frightfully to one side, and everybody running hither and thither in the darkness in horror and dismay. he had left georgia with mrs. f---- and mrs. n----, the two children, and one of the female servants of these ladies under his charge. he went immediately to the door of the ladies' cabin and called mrs. f----; they were all there half-dressed; he bade them dress as quickly as possible and be ready to follow and obey him. he returned almost instantly, and led them to the side of the vessel, where, into the boats, that had already been lowered, desperate men and women were beginning to swarm, throwing themselves out of the sinking ship. he bade mrs. f---- jump down into one of these boats which was only in the possession of two sailors; she instantly obeyed him, and he threw her little boy to the men after her. he then ordered mrs. n----, with the negro woman, to throw themselves off the vessel into the boat, and, with mrs. n----'s baby in his arms, sprang after them. his foot touched the gunwale of the boat, and he fell into the water; but recovering himself instantly, he clambered into the boat, which he then peremptorily ordered the men to set adrift, in spite of the shrieks, and cries, and commands, and entreaties of the frantic crowds who were endeavouring to get into it. the men obeyed him, and rowing while he steered, they presently fell astern of the ship, in the midst of the darkness and tumult and terror. another boat laden with people was near them. for some time they saw the heartrending spectacle of the sinking vessel, and the sea strewn with mattresses, seats, planks, &c, to which people were clinging, floating, and shrieking for succour, in the dark water all round them. but they gradually pulled further and further out of the horrible chaos of despair, and, with the other boat still consorting with them, rowed on. they watched from a distance the piteous sight of the ill-fated steamer settling down, the gay girdle of light that marked the line of her beautiful saloons and cabins gradually sinking nearer and nearer to the blackness, in which they were presently extinguished; and the ship, with all its precious human freight engulfed--all but the handful left in those two open boats, to brave the dangers of that terrible coast! they were somewhere off the north carolina shore, which, when the daylight dawned, they could distinctly see, with its ominous line of breakers and inhospitable perilous coast. the men had continued rowing all night, and as the summer sun rose flaming over their heads, the task of pulling the boat became dreadfully severe; still they followed the coast, mr. c---- looking out for any opening, creek, or small inlet, that might give them a chance of landing in safety. the other boat rowed on at some little distance from them. all the morning, and through the tremendous heat of the middle day, they toiled on without a mouthful of food--without a drop of water. at length, towards the afternoon, the men at the oars said they were utterly exhausted and could row no longer, and that mr. c---- must steer the boat ashore. with wonderful power of command, he prevailed on them to continue their afflicting labour. the terrible blazing sun pouring on all their unsheltered heads had almost annihilated them; but still there lay between them and the land those fearful foaming ridges, and the women and children, if not the men themselves, seemed doomed to inevitable death in the attempt to surmount them. suddenly they perceived that the boat that had kept them company was about to adventure itself in the perilous experiment of landing. mr. c---- kept his boat's head steady, the men rested on their oars, and watched the result of the fearful risk they were themselves about to run. they saw the boat enter the breakers--they saw her whirled round and capsized, and then they watched, slowly emerging and dragging themselves out of the foaming sea, _some_, and only some, of the people that they knew the boat contained. mr. c----, fortified with this terrible illustration of the peril that awaited them, again besought them to row yet for a little while further along the coast, in search of some possible place to take the boat safely to the beach, promising at sunset to give up the search; and again the poor men resumed their toil, but the line of leaping breakers stretched along the coast as far as eye could see, and at length the men declared they could labour no longer, and insisted that mr. c---- should steer them to shore. he then said that he would do so, but they must take some rest before encountering the peril which awaited them, and for which they might require whatever remaining strength they could command. he made the men leave the oars and lie down to sleep for a short time, and then, giving the helm to one of them, did the same himself. when they were thus a little refreshed with this short rest, he prepared to take the boat into the breakers. he laid mrs. n----'s baby on her breast, and wrapped a shawl round and round her body so as to secure the child to it, and said, in the event of the boat capsizing, he would endeavour to save her and her child. mrs. f---- and her boy he gave in charge to one of the sailors, and the coloured woman who was with her to the other; and they promised solemnly, in case of misadventure to the boat, to do their best to save these helpless creatures; and so they turned, as the sun was going down, the bows of the boat to the terrible shore. they rose two of the breakers safely, but then the oar of one of the men was struck from his hand, and in an instant the boat whirled round and turned over. mr. c---- instantly struck out to seize mrs. n----, but she had sunk, and though he dived twice he could not see her; at last, he felt her hair floating loose with his foot, and seizing hold of it, grasped her securely and swam with her to shore. while in the act of doing so, he saw the man who had promised to save the coloured woman making alone for the beach; and even then, in that extremity, he had power of command enough left to drive the fellow back to seek her, which he did, and brought her safe to land. the other man kept his word of taking care of mrs. f----, and the latter never released her grasp of her child's wrist, which bore the mark of her agony for weeks after their escape. they reached the sands, and mrs. n----'s shawl having been unwound, her child was found laughing on her bosom. but hardly had they had time to thank god for their deliverance when mr. c---- fell fainting on the beach; and mrs. f----, who told me this, said that for one dreadful moment they thought that the preserver of all their lives had lost his own in the terrible exertion and anxiety that he had undergone. he revived, however, and crawling a little further up the beach, they burrowed for warmth and shelter as well as they could in the sand, and lay there till the next morning, when they sought and found succour. you cannot imagine, my dear e----, how strikingly throughout this whole narrative the extraordinary power of mr. c----'s character makes itself felt,--the immediate obedience that he obtained from women whose terror might have made them unmanageable, and men whose selfishness might have defied his control; the wise though painful firmness, which enabled him to order the boat away from the side of the perishing vessel, in spite of the pity that he felt for the many, in attempting to succour whom he could only have jeopardized the few whom he was bound to save; the wonderful influence he exercised over the poor oarsmen, whose long protracted labour postponed to the last possible moment the terrible risk of their landing. the firmness, courage, humanity, wisdom, and presence of mind, of all his preparations for their final tremendous risk, and the authority which he was able to exercise while struggling in the foaming water for his own life and that of the woman and child he was saving, over the man who was proving false to a similar sacred charge,--all these admirable traits are most miserably transmitted to you by my imperfect account; and when i assure you that his own narrative, full as it necessarily was of the details of his own heroism, was as simple, modest, and unpretending, as it was interesting and touching, i am sure you will agree with me that he must be a very rare man. when i spoke with enthusiasm to his old father of his son's noble conduct, and asked him if he was not proud of it, his sole reply was,--'i am glad, madam, my son was not selfish.' now, e----, i have often spoken with you and written to you of the disastrous effect of slavery upon the character of the white men implicated in it; many, among themselves, feel and acknowledge it to the fullest extent, and no one more than myself can deplore that any human being i love should be subjected to such baneful influences; but the devil must have his due, and men brought up in habits of peremptory command over their fellow men, and under the constant apprehension of danger, and awful necessity of immediate readiness to meet it, acquire qualities precious to themselves and others in hours of supreme peril such as this man passed through, saving by their exercise himself and all committed to his charge. i know that the southern men are apt to deny the fact that they do live under an habitual sense of danger; but a slave population, coerced into obedience, though unarmed and half fed, _is_ a threatening source of constant insecurity, and every southern _woman_ to whom i have spoken on the subject, has admitted to me that they live in terror of their slaves. happy are such of them as have protectors like j---- c----. such men will best avoid and best encounter the perils that may assail them from the abject subject, human element, in the control of which their noble faculties are sadly and unworthily employed. _wednesday, th april._--i rode to-day after breakfast, to mrs. d----'s, another of my neighbours, who lives full twelve miles off. during the last two miles of my expedition, i had the white sand hillocks and blue line of the atlantic in view. the house at which i called was a tumble-down barrack of a dwelling in the woods, with a sort of poverty-stricken pretentious air about it, like sundry 'proud planters' dwellings that i have seen. i was received by the sons as well as the lady of the house, and could not but admire the lordly rather than manly indifference, with which these young gentlemen, in gay guard chains and fine attire, played the gallants to me, while filthy, bare-footed half naked negro women brought in refreshments, and stood all the while fanning the cake, and sweetmeats, and their young masters, as if they had been all the same sort of stuff. i felt ashamed for the lads. the conversation turned upon dr. h----'s trial; for there has been a trial as a matter of form, and an acquittal as a matter of course; and the gentlemen said, upon my expressing some surprise at the latter event, that there could not be found in all georgia a jury who would convict him, which says but little for the moral sense of 'all georgia.' from this most painful subject we fell into the brunswick canal, and thereafter i took my leave and rode home. i met my babies in the wood-wagon, and took s---- up before me, and gave her a good gallop home. having reached the house with the appetite of a twenty-four miles' ride, i found no preparation for dinner, and not so much as a boiled potato to eat, and the sole reply to my famished and disconsolate exclamations was--'being that you order none, missis, i not know.' i had forgotten to order my dinner, and my _slaves_, unauthorised, had not ventured to prepare any. wouldn't a yankee have said, 'wal now, you went off so uncommon quick, i kinder guessed you forgot all about dinner,' and have had it all ready for me? but my slaves durst not, and so i fasted till some tea could be got for me. * * * * * this was the last letter i wrote from the plantation, and i never returned there, nor ever saw again any of the poor people among whom i lived during this winter, but jack, once, under sad circumstances. the poor lad's health failed so completely, that his owners humanely brought him to the north, to try what benefit he might derive from the change; but this was before the passing of the fugitive slave bill, when touching the soil of the northern states, a slave became free; and such was the apprehension felt lest jack should be enlightened as to this fact by some philanthropic abolitionist, that he was kept shut up in a high upper room of a large empty house, where even i was not allowed to visit him. i heard at length of his being in philadelphia; and upon my distinct statement that i considered freeing their slaves the business of the messrs. ---- themselves, and not mine, i was at length permitted to see him. poor fellow! coming to the north did not prove to him the delight his eager desire had so often anticipated from it; nor under such circumstances is it perhaps much to be wondered at that he benefited but little by the change,--he died not long after. i once heard a conversation between mr. o---- and mr. k----, the two overseers of the plantation on which i was living, upon the question of taking slaves, servants, necessary attendants, into the northern states; mr. o---- urged the danger of their being 'got hold of,' i.e., set free by the abolitionists, to which mr. k---- very pertinently replied, 'oh, stuff and nonsense, i take care when my wife goes north with the children, to send lucy with her; _her children are down here, and i defy all the abolitionists in creation to get her to stay north_.' mr. k---- was an extremely wise man. appendix i wrote the following letter after reading several leading articles in the _times_ newspaper, at the time of the great sensation occasioned by mrs. beecher stowe's novel of 'uncle tom's cabin,' and after the anti-slavery protest which that book induced the women of england to address to those of america, on the subject of the condition of the slaves in the southern states. my dear e----. i have read the articles in the _times_ to which you refer, on the subject of the inaccuracy of mrs. beecher stowe's book as a picture of slavery in america, and have ascertained who they were written by. having done so, i do not think it worth while to send my letter for insertion, because, as that is the tone deliberately taken upon the subject by that paper, my counter statement would not, i imagine, be admitted into its columns. i enclose it to you, as i should like you to see how far from true, according to my experience, the statements of the '_times'_ correspondent' are. it is impossible of course to know why it erects itself into an advocate for slavery; and the most charitable conjecture i can form upon the subject is, that the stafford house demonstration may have been thought likely to wound the sensitive national views of america upon this subject; and the statement put forward by the _times_, contradicting mrs. stowe's picture, may be intended to soothe their irritation at the philanthropic zeal of our lady abolitionists. believe me, dear e----, yours always truly, f.a.k. * * * * * _letter to the editor of the_ 'times.' sir,--as it is not to be supposed that you consciously afford the support of your great influence to misstatements, i request your attention to some remarks i wish to make on an article on a book called 'uncle tom's cabin as it is,' contained in your paper of the th. in treating mrs. harriet beecher stowe's work as an exaggerated picture of the evils of slavery, i beg to assure you that you do her serious injustice:--of the merits of her book as a work of art, i have no desire to speak,--to its power as a most interesting and pathetic story, all england and america can bear witness,--but of its truth and moderation as a representation of the slave system in the united states, i can testify with the experience of an eye witness, having been a resident in the southern states, and had opportunities of observation such as no one who has not lived on a slave estate can have. it is very true that in reviving the altogether exploded fashion of making the hero of her novel 'the perfect monster that the world ne'er saw,' mrs. stowe has laid herself open to fair criticism, and must expect to meet with it from the very opposite taste of the present day; but the ideal excellence of her principal character is no argument at all against the general accuracy of her statements with regard to the evils of slavery;--everything else in her book is not only possible, but probable, and not only probable, but a very faithful representation of the existing facts:--faithful, and not, as you accuse it of being, exaggerated; for, with the exception of the horrible catastrophe, the flogging to death of poor tom, she has pourtrayed none of the most revolting instances of crime produced by the slave system--with which she might have darkened her picture, without detracting from its perfect truth. even with respect to the incident of tom's death, it must not be said that if such an event is possible, it is hardly probable; for this is unfortunately not true. it is not true that the value of the slave as property infallibly protects his life from the passions of his master. it is no new thing for a man's passions to blind him to his most obvious and immediate temporal interests, as well as to his higher and everlasting ones,--in various parts of the world and stages of civilisation, various human passions assume successive prominence, and become developed, to the partial exclusion or deadening of others. in savage existence, and those states of civilisation least removed from it, the animal passions predominate. in highly cultivated modern society, where the complicated machinery of human existence is at once a perpetually renewed cause and effect of certain legal and moral restraints, which, in the shape of government and public opinion, protect the congregated lives and interests of men from the worst outrages of open violence, the natural selfishness of mankind assumes a different development; and the love of power, of pleasure, or of pelf, exhibits different phenomena from those elicited from a savage under the influence of the same passions. the channel in which the energy and activity of modern society inclines more and more to pour itself, is the peaceful one of the pursuit of gain. this is preeminently the case with the two great commercial nations of the earth, england and america;--and in either england or the northern states of america, the prudential and practical views of life prevail so far, that instances of men sacrificing their money interests at the instigation of rage, revenge, and hatred, will certainly not abound. but the southern slaveholders are a very different race of men from either manchester manufacturers or massachusetts merchants; they are a remnant of barbarism and feudalism, maintaining itself with infinite difficulty and danger by the side of the latest and most powerful developement of commercial civilisation. the inhabitants of baltimore, richmond, charleston, savannah, and new orleans, whose estates lie like the suburban retreats of our city magnates in the near neighbourhood of their respective cities, are not now the people i refer to. they are softened and enlightened by many influences,--the action of city life itself, where human sympathy, and human respect, stimulated by neighbourhood, produce salutary social restraint, as well as less salutary social cowardice. they travel to the northern states, and to europe; and europe and the northern states travel to them; and in spite of themselves, their peculiar conditions receive modifications from foreign intercourse. the influence, too, of commercial enterprise, which, in these latter days, is becoming the agent of civilisation all over the earth, affects even the uncommercial residents of the southern cities, and however cordially they may dislike or despise the mercantile tendencies of atlantic americans, or transatlantic englishmen, their frequent contact with them breaks down some of the barriers of difference between them, and humanises the slaveholder of the great cities into some relation with the spirit of his own times and country. but these men are but a most inconsiderable portion of the slaveholding population of the south,--a nation, for as such they should be spoken of, of men whose organisation and temperament is that of the southern european; living under the influence of a climate at once enervating and exciting; scattered over trackless wildernesses of arid sand and pestilential swamp; entrenched within their own boundaries; surrounded by creatures absolutely subject to their despotic will; delivered over by hard necessity to the lowest excitements of drinking, gambling, and debauchery for sole recreation; independent of all opinion; ignorant of all progress; isolated from all society--it is impossible to conceive a more savage existence within the pale of any modern civilisation. the south carolinan gentry have been fond of styling themselves the chivalry of the south, and perhaps might not badly represent, in their relations with their dependents, the nobility of france before the purifying hurricane of the revolution swept the rights of the suzerain and the wrongs of the serf together into one bloody abyss. the planters of the interior of the southern and south-western states, with their furious feuds and slaughterous combats, their stabbings and pistolings, their gross sensuality, brutal ignorance, and despotic cruelty, resemble the chivalry of france before the horrors of the jacquerie admonished them that there was a limit even to the endurance of slaves. with such men as these, human life, even when it can be bought or sold in the market for so many dollars, is but little protected by considerations of interest from the effects of any violent passion. there is yet, however, another aspect of the question, which is, that it is sometimes clearly _not_ the interest of the owner to prolong the life of his slaves; as in the case of inferior or superannuated labourers, or the very notorious instance in which some of the owners of sugar plantations stated that they found it better worth their while to _work off_ (i.e. kill with labour) a certain proportion, of their force, and replace them by new hands every seven years, than work them less severely and maintain them in diminished efficiency for an indefinite length of time. here you will observe a precise estimate of the planter's material interest led to a result which you argue passion itself can never be so blind as to adopt. this was a deliberate economical calculation, openly avowed some years ago by a number of sugar planters in louisiana. if, instead of accusing mrs. stowe of exaggeration, you had brought the same charge against the author of the 'white slave,' i should not have been surprised; for his book presents some of the most revolting instances of atrocity and crime that the miserable abuse of irresponsible power is capable of producing, and it is by no means written in the spirit of universal humanity which pervades mrs. stowe's volumes: but it is not liable to the charge of exaggeration, any more than her less disgusting delineation. the scenes described in the 'white slave' _do_ occur in the slave states of north america; and in two of the most appalling incidents of the book--the burning alive of the captured runaway, and the hanging without trial of the vicksburg gamblers--the author of the 'white slave' has very simply related positive facts of notorious occurrence. to which he might have added, had he seen fit to do so, the instance of a slave who perished in the sea swamps, where he was left bound and naked, a prey to the torture inflicted upon him by the venomous mosquito swarms. my purpose, however, in addressing you was not to enter into a disquisition on either of these publications; but i am not sorry to take this opportunity of bearing witness to the truth of mrs. stowe's admirable book, and i have seen what few englishmen can see--the working of the system in the midst of it. in reply to your 'dispassionate observer,' who went to the south professedly with the purpose of seeing and judging of the state of things for himself, let me tell you that, little as he may be disposed to believe it, his testimony is worth less than nothing; for it is morally impossible for any englishman going into the southern states, except as a _resident_, to know anything whatever of the real condition of the slave population. this was the case some years ago, as i experienced, and it is now likely to be more the case than ever; for the institution is not _yet_ approved divine to the perceptions of englishmen, and the southerners are as anxious to hide its uglier features from any note-making observer from this side the water, as to present to his admiration and approval such as can by any possibility be made to wear the most distant approach to comeliness. the gentry of the southern states are preeminent in their own country for that species of manner which, contrasted with the breeding of the northerners, would be emphatically pronounced 'good' by englishmen. born to inhabit landed property, they are not inevitably made clerks and counting-house men of, but inherit with their estates some of the invariable characteristics of an aristocracy. the shop is not their element; and the eager spirit of speculation and the sordid spirit of gain do not infect their whole existence, even to their very demeanour and appearance, as they too manifestly do those of a large proportion of the inhabitants of the northern states. good manners have an undue value for englishmen, generally speaking; and whatever departs from their peculiar standard of breeding is apt to prejudice them, as whatever approaches it prepossesses them, far more than is reasonable. the southerners are infinitely better bred men, according to english notions, than the men of the northern states. the habit of command gives them a certain self-possession, the enjoyment of leisure a certain ease. their temperament is impulsive and enthusiastic, and their manners have the grace and spirit which seldom belong to the deportment of a northern people; but upon more familiar acquaintance, the vices of the social system to which they belong will be found to have infected them with their own peculiar taint; and haughty overbearing irritability, effeminate indolence, reckless extravagance, and a union of profligacy and cruelty, which is the immediate result of their irresponsible power over their dependents, are some of the less pleasing traits which acquaintance developes in a southern character. in spite of all this, there is no manner of doubt that the 'candid english observer' will, for the season of his sojourning among them, greatly prefer their intercourse to that of their northern brethren. moreover, without in the least suspecting it, he will be bribed insidiously and incessantly by the extreme desire and endeavour to please and prepossess him which the whole white population of the slave states will exhibit--as long as he goes only as a 'candid observer,' with a mind not _yet_ made up upon the subject of slavery, and open to conviction as to its virtues. every conciliating demonstration of courtesy and hospitable kindness will be extended to him, and, as i said before, if his observation is permitted (and it may even appear to be courted), it will be to a fairly bound purified edition of the black book of slavery, in which, though the inherent viciousness of the whole story cannot be suppressed, the coarser and more offensive passages will be carefully expunged. and now, permit me to observe, that the remarks of your traveller must derive much of their value from the scene of his enquiry. in maryland, kentucky, and virginia, the outward aspect of slavery has ceased to wear its most deplorable features. the remaining vitality of the system no longer resides in the interests, but in the pride and prejudices of the planters. their soil and climate are alike favourable to the labours of a white peasantry: the slave cultivation has had time to prove itself there the destructive pest which, in time, it will prove itself wherever it prevails. the vast estates and large fortunes that once maintained, and were maintained by, the serfdom of hundreds of negroes, have dwindled in size and sunk in value, till the slaves have become so heavy a burthen on the resources of the exhausted soil and impoverished owners of it, that they are made themselves objects of traffic in order to ward off the ruin that their increase would otherwise entail. thus, the plantations of the northern slave states now present to the traveller very few of the darker and more oppressive peculiarities of the system; and, provided he does not stray too near the precincts where the negroes are sold, or come across gangs of them on their way to georgia, louisiana, or alabama, he may, if he is a very superficial observer, conclude that the most prosperous slavery is not much worse than the most miserable freedom. but of what value will be such conclusions applied to those numerous plantations where no white man ever sets foot without the express permission of the owner? not estates lying close to baltimore and charleston, or even lesington or savannah, but remote and savage wildernesses like legree's estate in 'uncle tom,' like all the plantations in the interior of tennessee and alabama, like the cotton-fields and rice-swamps of the great muddy rivers of lousiana and georgia, like the dreary pine barrens and endless woody wastes of north carolina. these, especially the islands, are like so many fortresses, approachable for 'observers' only at the owners' will. on most of the rice plantations in these pestilential regions, no white man can pass the night at certain seasons of the year without running the risk of his life; and during the day, the master and overseer are as much alone and irresponsible in their dominion over their black cattle, as robinson crusoe was over his small family of animals on his desert habitation. who, on such estates as these, shall witness to any act of tyranny or barbarity, however atrocious? no black man's testimony is allowed against a white, and who on the dismal swampy rice-grounds of the savannah, or the sugar-brakes of the mississippi and its tributaries, or the up country cotton lands of the ocamulgee, shall go to perform the task of candid observation and benevolent enquiry? i passed some time on two such estates--plantations where the negroes esteemed themselves well off, and, compared with the slaves on several of the neighbouring properties, might very well consider themselves so; and i will, with your permission, contrast some of the items of my observation with those of the traveller whose report you find so satisfactory on the subject of the 'consolations' of slavery. and first, for the attachment which he affirms to subsist between the slave and master. i do not deny that certain manifestations on the part of the slave may suggest the idea of such a feeling; but whether upon better examination it will be found to deserve the name, i very much doubt. in the first place, on some of the great southern estates, the owners are habitual absentees, utterly unknown to their serfs, and enjoying the proceeds of their labour in residences as remote as possible from the sands and swamps where their rice and cotton grow, and their slaves bow themselves under the eye of the white overseer, and the lash of the black driver. some of these sybarites prefer living in paris, that paradise of american republicans, some in the capitals of the middle states of the union, philadelphia or new york. the air of new england has a keen edge of liberty, which suits few southern constitutions; and unkindly as abolition has found its native soil and native skies, that is its birthplace, and there it flourishes, in spite of all attempts to root it out and trample it down, and within any atmosphere poisoned by its influence no slaveholder can willingly draw breath. some travel in europe, and few, whose means permit the contrary, ever pass the entire year on their plantations. great intervals of many years pass, and no master ever visits some of these properties: what species of attachment do you think the slave entertains for him? in other cases, the visits made will be of a few days in one of the winter months; the estate and its cultivators remaining for the rest of the year under the absolute control of the overseer, who, provided he contrives to get a good crop of rice or cotton into the market for his employers, is left to the arbitrary exercise of a will seldom uninfluenced for evil, by the combined effects of the grossest ignorance and habitual intemperance. the temptation to the latter vice is almost irresistible to a white man in such a climate, and leading an existence of brutal isolation, among a parcel of human beings as like brutes as they can be made. but the owner who at these distant intervals of months or years revisits his estates, is looked upon as a returning providence by the poor negroes. they have no experience of his character to destroy their hopes in his goodness, and all possible and impossible ameliorations of their condition are anticipated from his advent, less work, more food, fewer stripes, and some of that consideration which the slave hopes may spring from his positive money value to his owner,--a fallacious dependence, as i have already attempted to show, but one which, if it has not always predominating weight with the master, never can have any with the overseer, who has not even the feeling of regard for his own property to mitigate his absolutism over the slaves of another man. there is a very powerful cause which makes the prosperity and well-being (as far as life is concerned) of most masters a subject of solicitude with their slaves. the only stability of their condition, such as it is, hangs upon it. if the owner of a plantation dies, his estates may fall into the market, and his slaves be sold at public auction the next day; and whether this promises a better, or threatens a worse condition, the slaves cannot know, and no human being cares. one thing it inevitably brings, the uprooting of all old associations; the disruption of all the ties of fellowship in misery; the tearing asunder of all relations of blood and affection; the sale into separate and far distant districts of fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, and children. if the estate does not lie in the extreme south, there is the vague dread of being driven thither from virginia to georgia, from carolina to alabama, or louisiana, a change which, for reasons i have shown above, implies the passing from a higher into a lower circle of the infernal pit of slavery. i once heard a slave on the plantation of an absentee express the most lively distress at hearing that his master was ill. before, however, i had recovered from my surprise at this warm 'attachment' to a distant and all but unknown proprietor, the man added, 'massa die, what become of all him people?' on my arrival on the plantation where i resided, i was hailed with the most extravagant demonstrations of delight, and all but lifted off my feet in the arms of people who had never seen me before; but who, knowing me to be connected with their owners, expected from me some of the multitudinous benefits which they always hope to derive from masters. these, until they come to reside among them, are always believed to be sources of beneficence and fountains of redress by the poor people, who have known no rule but the delegated tyranny of the overseer. in these expectations, however, they very soon find themselves cruelly mistaken. of course, if the absentee planter has received a satisfactory income from his estate, he is inclined to be satisfied with the manager of it, and as subordination to the only white man among hundreds of blacks must be maintained at any and every cost, the overseer is justified and upheld in his whole administration. if the wretched slave ever dared to prefer a complaint of ill-usage the most atrocious, the law which refuses the testimony of a black against a white is not only the law of the land, but of every man's private dealings; and lying being one of the natural results of slavery, and a tendency to shirk compelled and unrequited labour another, the overseer stands on excellent vantage-ground, when he refers to these undoubted characteristics of the system, if called upon to rebut any charge of cruelty or injustice. but pray consider for a moment the probability of any such charge being preferred by a poor creature, who has been for years left to the absolute disposal of this man, and who knows very well that in a few days, or months at furthest, the master will again depart, leaving him again for months, perhaps for years, utterly at the mercy of the man against whom he has dared to prefer a complaint. on the estates which i visited, the owners had been habitually absent, and the 'attachment' of slaves to such masters as these, you will allow, can hardly come under the denomination of a strong personal feeling. your authority next states that the infirm and superannuated slaves no longer capable of ministering to their masters' luxuries, on the estate that he visited, were ending their lives among all the comforts of home, with kindred and friends around them, in a condition which he contrasts, at least by implication, very favourably with the workhouse, the last refuge provided by the social humanity of england--for the pauper labourer when he has reached that term when 'unregarded age is in corners thrown.' on the plantation where i lived the infirmary was a large room, the walls of which were simply mud and lathes--the floor, the soil itself, damp with perpetual drippings from the holes in the roof, and the open space which served for a window was protected only by a broken shutter, which, in order to exclude the cold, was drawn so near as almost to exclude the light at the same time. upon this earthen floor, with nothing but its hard damp surface beneath him, no covering but a tattered shirt and trowsers, and a few sticks under his head for a pillow, lay an old man of upwards of seventy, dying. when i first looked at him i thought by the glazed stare of his eyes, and the flies that had gathered round his half open mouth, that he was dead: but on stooping nearer, i perceived that the last faint struggle of life was still going on, but even while i bent over him it ceased; and so, like a worn-out hound, with no creature to comfort or relieve his last agony, with neither christian solace or human succour near him, with neither wife, nor child, nor even friendly fellow being to lift his head from the knotty sticks on which he had rested it, or drive away the insects that buzzed round his lips and nostrils like those of a fallen beast, died this poor old slave, whose life had been exhausted in unrequited labour, the fruits of which had gone to pamper the pride and feed the luxury of those who knew and cared neither for his life or death, and to whom, if they had heard of the latter, it would have been a matter of absolute though small gain, the saving of a daily pittance of meal, which served to prolong a life no longer available to them. i proceed to the next item in your observer's record. all children below the age of twelve were unemployed, he says, on the estate he visited: this is perhaps a questionable benefit, when, no process of mental cultivation being permitted, the only employment for the leisure thus allowed is that of rolling, like dogs or cats, in the sand and the sun. on all the plantations i visited, and on those where i resided, the infants in arms were committed to the care of these juvenile slaves, who were denominated nurses, and whose sole employment was what they call to 'mind baby.' the poor little negro sucklings were cared for (i leave to your own judgement how efficiently or how tenderly) by these half-savage slips of slavery--carried by them to the fields where their mothers were working under the lash, to receive their needful nourishment, and then carried back again to the 'settlement,' or collection of negro huts, where they wallowed unheeded in utter filth and neglect until the time again returned for their being carried to their mother's breast. such was the employment of the children of eight or nine years old, and the only supervision exercised over either babies or 'baby minders' was that of the old woman left in charge of the infirmary, where she made her abode all day long and bestowed such samples of her care and skill upon its inmates as i shall have occasion to mention presently. the practice of thus driving the mothers a-field, even while their infants were still dependent upon them for their daily nourishment, is one of which the evil as well as the cruelty is abundantly apparent without comment. the next note of admiration elicited from your 'impartial observer' is bestowed upon the fact that the domestic servants (i.e. house slaves) on the plantation he visited were _allowed_ to live away from the owner's residence, and to marry. but i never was on a southern plantation, and i never heard of one, where any of the slaves were allowed to sleep under the same roof with their owner. with the exception of the women to whose care the children of the planter, if he had any, might be confided, and perhaps a little boy or girl slave, kept as a sort of pet animal and allowed to pass the night on the floor of the sleeping apartment of some member of the family, the residence of _any_ slaves belonging to a plantation night and day in their master's house, like northern or european servants, is a thing i believe unknown throughout the southern states. of course i except the cities, and speak only of the estates, where the house servants are neither better housed or accommodated than the field-hands. their intolerably dirty habits and offensive persons would indeed render it a severe trial to any family accustomed to habits of decent cleanliness; and, moreover, considerations of safety, and that cautious vigilance which is a hard necessity of the planter's existence, in spite of the supposed attachment of his slaves, would never permit the near proximity, during the unprotected hours of the night, of those whose intimacy with the daily habits and knowledge of the nightly securities resorted to might prove terrible auxiliaries to any attack from without. the city guards, patrols, and night-watches, together with their stringent rules about negroes being abroad after night, and their well fortified lock-up houses for all detected without a pass, afford some security against these attached dependents; but on remote plantations, where the owner and his family and perhaps a white overseer are alone, surrounded by slaves and separated from all succour against them, they do not sleep under the white man's roof, and, for politic reasons, pass the night away from their master's abode. the house servants have no other or better allowance of food than the field labourers, but have the advantage of eking it out by what is left from the master's table,--if possible, with even less comfort in one respect, inasmuch as no time whatever is set apart for their meals, which they snatch at any hour and in any way that they can--generally, however, standing or squatting on their hams round the kitchen fire; the kitchen being a mere outhouse or barn with a fire in it. on the estate where i lived, as i have mentioned, they had no sleeping-rooms in the house; but when their work was over, they retired like the rest to their hovels, the discomfort of which had to them all the additional disadvantage of comparison with their owner's mode of living. in all establishments whatever, of course some disparity exists between the accommodation of the drawing-rooms and best bed-rooms and the servants' kitchen and attics; but on a plantation it is no longer a matter of degree. the young women who performed the offices of waiting and housemaids, and the lads who attended upon the service of their master's table where i lived, had neither table to feed at nor chair to sit down upon themselves; the 'boys' lay all night on the hearth by the kitchen fire, and the women upon the usual slave's bed--a frame of rough boards, strewed with a little moss off the trees, with the addition perhaps of a tattered and filthy blanket. as for the so-called privilege of marrying--surely it is gross mockery to apply such a word to a bond which may be holy in god's sight, but which did not prevent the owner of a plantation where my observations were made from selling and buying men and their so-called wives and children into divided bondage, nor the white overseer from compelling the wife of one of the most excellent and exemplary of his master's slaves to live with him--nor the white wife of another overseer, in her husband's temporary absence from the estate, from barbarously flogging three _married_ slaves within a month of their confinement, their condition being the result of the profligacy of the said overseer, and probably compelled by the very same lash by which it was punished. this is a very disgusting picture of married life on slave estates: but i have undertaken to reply to the statements of your informant, and i regret to be obliged to record the facts by which alone i can do so. 'work,' continues your authority, 'began at six in the morning, at nine an hour's rest was allowed for breakfast, and by two or three o'clock the day's work was done.' certainly this was a pattern plantation, and i can only lament that my experience lay amid such far less favourable circumstances. the negroes among whom i lived went to the fields at daybreak, carrying with them their allowance of food, which toward noon, and not till then, they ate, cooking it over a fire which they kindled as best they could where they were working; their _second_ meal in the day was at night after their labour was over, having worked at the _very least_ six hours without rest or refreshment, since their noon-day meal--properly so called, indeed, for it was meal and nothing else, or a preparation something thicker than porridge, which they call hominy. perhaps the candid observer, whose report of the estate he visited appeared to you so consolatory, would think that this diet contrasted favourably with that of potato and butter-milk fed irish labourers. but a more just comparison surely would be with the mode of living of the labouring population of the united states, the peasantry of ohio, pennsylvania, and massachusetts, or indeed with the condition of those very potato and butter-milk fed irishmen when they have exchanged their native soil for the fields of the northern and north-western states, and when, as one of them once was heard to say, it was no use writing home that he got meat three times a-day, for nobody in ireland would believe it. the next item in the list of commendation is the hospital, which your informant also visited, and of which he gives the following account--'it consisted of three separate wards, all clean and well ventilated: one was for lying-in women, who were invariably allowed a month's rest after their confinement.' permit me to place beside this picture that of a southern infirmary, such as i saw it, and taken on the spot. in the first room that i entered i found only half of the windows, of which there were six, glazed; these were almost as much obscured with dirt as the other windowless ones were darkened by the dingy shutters which the shivering inmates had closed in order to protect themselves from the cold. in the enormous chimney glimmered the powerless embers of a few chips of wood, round which as many of the sick women as had strength to approach were cowering, some on wooden settles (there was not such a thing as a chair with a back in the whole establishment), most of them on the ground, excluding those who were too ill to rise--and these poor wretches lay prostrate on the earth, without bedstead, bed, mattress, or pillow, with no covering but the clothes they had on and some filthy rags of blanket in which they endeavoured to wrap themselves as they lay literally strewing the floor, so that there was hardly room to pass between them. here in their hour of sickness and suffering lay those whose health and strength had given way under unrequited labour--some of them, no later than the previous day, had been urged with the lash to their accustomed tasks--and their husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons were even at that hour sweating over the earth whose increase was to procure for others all the luxuries which health can enjoy, all the comforts which can alleviate sickness. here lay women expecting every hour the terror and agonies of child-birth, others who had just brought their doomed offspring into the world, others who were groaning over the anguish and bitter disappointment of miscarriages--here lay some burning with fever, others chilled with cold and aching with rheumatism, upon the hard cold ground, the draughts and damp of the atmosphere increasing their sufferings, and dirt, noise, stench, and every aggravation of which sickness is capable combined in their condition. there had been among them one or two cases of prolonged and terribly hard labour; and the method adopted by the ignorant old negress, who was the sole matron, midwife, nurse, physician, surgeon, and servant of the infirmary, to assist them in their extremity, was to tie a cloth tight round the throats of the agonised women, and by drawing it till she almost suffocated them she produced violent and spasmodic struggles, which she assured me she thought materially assisted the progress of the labour. this was one of the southern infirmaries with which i was acquainted; and i beg to conclude this chapter of contrasts to your informant's consolatory views of slavery, by assuring you once more very emphatically that they have been one and all drawn from estates where the slaves esteemed themselves well treated, were reputed generally to be so, and undoubtedly, as far as my observation went, were so, compared with those on several of the adjoining plantations. with regard to the statement respecting the sums of money earned by industrious negroes, there is no doubt that it is perfectly correct. i knew of some slaves on a plantation in the extreme south who had received, at various times, large sums of money from a shopkeeper in the small town near their estate, for the grey moss or lichen collected from the evergreen oaks of carolina and georgia, upon which it hangs in vast masses, and after some cleaning process becomes an excellent substitute for horse-hair, for bed, chair, and sofa-stuffing. on another estate, some of the slaves were expert boat makers, and had been allowed by their masters to retain the price (no inconsiderable one) for some that they had found time to manufacture after their day's labour was accomplished. these were undoubtedly privileges, but i confess it appears to me that the juster view of the matter would be this--if these men were industrious enough out of their scanty leisure to earn these sums of money, which a mere exercise of arbitrary will on the part of the master allowed them to keep, how much more of remuneration, of comfort, of improvement, physical and mental, might they not have achieved, had the due price of their daily labour merely been paid to them? it seems to me that this is the mode of putting the case to englishmen, and all who have not agreed to consider uncertain favour an equivalent for common justice in the dealings of man with man. as the slaves are well known to toil for years sometimes to amass the means of rescuing themselves from bondage, the fact of their being able and sometimes allowed to earn considerable sums of money is notorious. but now that i have answered one by one the instances you have produced, with others--i am sure as accurate and i believe as common--of an entirely opposite description, permit me to ask you what this sort of testimony amounts to. i allow you full credit for yours, allow me full credit for mine, and the result is very simply a nullification of the one by the other statement, and a proof that there is as much good as evil in the details of slavery; but now, be pleased to throw into the scale this consideration, that the principle of the whole is unmitigated abominable evil, as by your own acknowledgement you hold it to be, and add, moreover, that the principle being invariably bad beyond the power of the best man acting under it to alter its execrable injustice, the goodness of the detail is a matter absolutely dependent upon the will of each individual slaveholder, so that though the best cannot make the system in the smallest particular better, the bad can make every practical detail of it as atrocious as the principle itself; and then tell me upon what ground you palliate a monstrous iniquity, which is the rule, because of the accidental exceptions which go to prove it. moreover, if, as you have asserted, good preponderates over evil in the practice, though not in the theory of slavery, or it would not maintain its existence, why do you uphold to us, with so much complacency, the hope that it is surely if not rapidly approaching its abolishment? why is the preponderating good, which has, as you say, proved sufficient to uphold the institution hitherto, to become (in spite of the spread of civilisation and national progress, and the gradual improvement of the slaves themselves) inadequate to its perpetuation henceforward? or why, if good really has prevailed in it, do you rejoice that it is speedily to pass away? you say the emancipation of the slaves is inevitable, and that through progressive culture the negro of the southern states daily approaches more nearly to the recovery of the rights of which he has been robbed. but whence do you draw this happy augury, except from the hope, which all christian souls must cherish, that god will not permit much longer so great a wickedness to darken the face of the earth? surely the increased stringency of the southern slave-laws, the more than ever vigilant precautions against all attempts to enlighten or educate the negroes, the severer restrictions on manumission, the thrusting forth out of certain states of all free persons of colour, the atrocious fugitive slave bill, one of the latest achievements of congress, and the piratical attempts upon cuba, avowedly on the part of all southerners, abetting or justifying it because it will add slave-territory and , slaves to their possessions;--surely these do not seem indications of the better state of things you anticipate, except, indeed, as the straining of the chain beyond all endurable tightness significantly suggests the probability of its giving way. i do not believe the planters have any disposition to put an end to slavery, nor is it perhaps much to be wondered at that they have not. to do so is, in the opinion of the majority of them, to run the risk of losing their property, perhaps their lives, for a benefit which they profess to think doubtful to the slaves themselves. how far they are right in anticipating ruin from the manumission of their slaves i think questionable, but that they do so is certain, and self-impoverishment for the sake of abstract principle is not a thing to be reasonably expected from any large mass of men. but, besides the natural fact that the slaveholders wish to retain their property, emancipation is, in their view of it, not only a risk of enormous pecuniary loss, and of their entire social status, but involves elements of personal danger, and above all, disgust to inveterate prejudices, which they will assuredly never encounter. the question is not alone one of foregoing great wealth, or the mere means of subsistence (in either case almost equally hard); it is not alone the unbinding the hands of those who have many a bloody debt of hatred and revenge to settle; it is not alone the consenting suddenly to see by their side, upon a footing of free social equality, creatures towards whom their predominant feeling is one of mingled terror and abhorrence, and who, during the whole of their national existence, have been, as the earth, trampled beneath their feet, yet ever threatening to gape and swallow them alive. it is not all this alone which makes it unlikely that the southern planter should desire to free his slaves: freedom in america is not merely a personal right, it involves a political privilege. freemen there are legislators. the rulers of the land are the majority of the people, and in many parts of the southern states the black free citizens would become, if not at once, yet in process of time, inevitably voters, landholders, delegates to state legislatures, members of assembly--who knows?--senators, judges, aspirants to the presidency of the united states. you must be an american, or have lived long among them, to conceive the shout of derisive execration with which such an idea would be hailed from one end of the land to the other. that the emancipation of the negroes need not necessarily put them in possession of the franchise is of course obvious, but as a general consequence the one would follow from the other; and at present certainly the slaveholders are no more ready to grant the political privilege than the natural right of freedom. under these circumstances, though the utmost commiseration is naturally excited by the slaves, i agree with you that some forbearance is due to the masters. it is difficult to conceive a more awful position than theirs: fettered by laws which impede every movement towards right and justice, and utterly without the desire to repeal them--dogged by the apprehension of nameless retributions--bound beneath a burthen of responsibility for which, whether they acknowledge it or not, they are held accountable by god and men--goaded by the keen consciousness of the growing reprobation of all civilised christian communities, their existence presents the miserable moral counterpart of the physical condition of their slaves; and it is one compared with which that of the wretchedest slave is, in my judgement, worthy of envy. * * * * * _letter to c.g., esq._ before entering upon my answer to your questions, let me state that i have no claim to be ranked as an abolitionist in the american acceptation of the word, for i have hitherto held the emancipation of the slaves to be exclusively the business and duty of their owners, whose highest moral interest i thought it was to rid themselves of such a responsibility, in spite of the manifold worldly interests almost inextricably bound up with it. this has been my feeling hitherto with regard to the views of the abolitionists, which i now, however, heartily embrace, inasmuch as i think that from the moment the united states government assumed an attitude of coercion and supremacy towards the southern states, it was bound with its fleets and armies to introduce its polity with respect to slavery, and wherever it planted the standard of the union to proclaim the universal freedom which is the recognised law of the northern united states. that they have not done so has been partly owing to a superstitious, but honourable veneration for the letter of their great charter, the constitution, and still more to the hope they have never ceased to entertain of bringing back the south to its allegiance under the former conditions of the union, an event which will be rendered impossible by any attempt to interfere with the existence of slavery. the north, with the exception of an inconsiderable minority of its inhabitants, has never been at all desirous of the emancipation of the slaves. the democratic party which has ruled the united states for many years past has always been friendly to the slaveholders, who have, with few exceptions, been all members of it (for by a strange perversion both of words and ideas, some of the most democratic states in the union are southern slave states, and in the part of georgia where the slave population is denser than in any other part of the south, a county exists bearing the satirical title of _liberty county_). and the support of the south has been given to the northern democratic politicians, upon the distinct understanding that their 'domestic institution' was to be guaranteed to them. the condition of the free blacks in the northern states has of course been affected most unfavourably by the slavery of their race throughout the other half of the union, and indeed it would have been a difficult matter for northern citizens to maintain towards the blacks an attitude of social and political equality as far as the borders of delaware, while immediately beyond they were pledged to consider them as the 'chattels' of their owners, animals no more noble or human than the cattle in their masters' fields. how could peace have been maintained if the southern slaveholders had been compelled to endure the sight of negroes rising to wealth and eminence in the northern cities, or entering as fellow-members with themselves the halls of that legislature to which all free-born citizens are eligible? they would very certainly have declined with fierce scorn, not the fellowship of the blacks alone, but of those white men who admitted the despised race of their serfs to a footing of such impartial equality. it therefore was the instinctive, and became the deliberate policy of the northern people, once pledged to maintain slavery in the south, to make their task easy by degrading the blacks in the northern states to a condition contrasting as little as possible with that of the southern slaves. the northern politicians struck hands with the southern slaveholders, and the great majority of the most enlightened citizens of the northern states, absorbed in the pursuit of wealth and the extension and consolidation of their admirable and wonderful national prosperity, abandoned the government of their noble country and the preservation of its nobler institutions to the slaveholding aristocracy of the south--to a mob of politicians by trade, the vilest and most venal class of men that ever disgraced and endangered a country--to foreign emigrants, whose brutish ignorance did not prevent the democratic party from seizing upon them as voters, and bestowing on the irish and german boors just landed on their shores the same political privileges as those possessed and intelligently exercised by the farmers and mechanics of new england, the most enlightened men of their class to be found in the world. the gradual encroachment of the southern politicians upon the liberties of the north, by their unrelaxing influence in congress and over successive cabinets and presidents, was not without its effect in stimulating some resistance on the part of northern statesmen of sufficient intelligence to perceive the inevitable results towards which this preponderance in the national counsels was steadily tending; and i need not remind you of the rapidity and force with which general jackson quelled an incipient rebellion in south carolina, when mr. calhoun made the tariff question the pretext for a threatened secession in , of the life-long opposition to southern pretensions by john quincy adams, of the endeavour of mr. clay to stem the growing evil by the conditions of the missouri compromise, and all the occasional attempts of individuals of more conscientious convictions than their fellow-citizens on the subject of the sin of slavery, from dr. channing's eloquent protest on the annexation of texas, to mr. charles sumner's philippic against mr. brooks of south carolina. the disorganisation of the democratic party, after a cohesion of so many years, at length changed the aspect of affairs; and the north appeared to be about to arouse itself from its apathetic consent to southern domination. the republican party, headed by colonel fremont, who was known to be an anti-slavery man, nearly carried the presidential election six years ago, and then every preparation had been made in the south for the process of secession, which was only averted by the election of mr. buchanan, a pro-slavery southern sympathiser, though born in pennsylvania. under his presidency, the southern statesmen, resuming their attitude of apparent friendliness with the north, kept in abeyance, maturing and perfecting by every treasonable practice, for which their preponderating share in the cabinet afforded them fatal facilities, the plan of the violent disruption of the union, upon which they had determined whenever the republican party should have acquired sufficient strength, to elect a president with northern views. before, however, this event occurred, the war in kansas rang a prophetic peal of warning through the land; and the struggle there begun between new england emigrants bent on founding a free state, and missouri border ruffians determined to make the new territory a slaveholding addition to the south, might have roused the whole north and west to the imminence of the peril, by which the safety of the union was threatened. but neither the struggle in kansas, nor the strange and piteous episode which grew out of it, of john brown's attempt to excite an insurrection in virginia, and his execution by the government of that state, did more than startle the north with a nine days' wonder out of its apathetic indifference. the republican party, it is true, gained adherents, and acquired strength by degrees; and mr. buchanan's term of office approaching its expiration, it became apparent that the democratic party was about to lose its supremacy, and the slaveholders their dominion; and no sooner was this evident than the latter threw off the mask, and renounced their allegiance to the union. in a day--in an hour almost--those stood face to face as mortal enemies who were citizens of the same country, subjects of the same government, children of the same soil; and the north, incredulous and amazed, found itself suddenly summoned to retrieve its lost power and influence, and assert the dignity of the insulted union against the rebellious attempt of the south to overthrow it. but it was late for them to take that task in hand. for years the conduct of the government of the united states had been becoming a more desperate and degraded _jobbery_, one from which day by day the northern gentlemen of intelligence, influence, and education withdrew themselves in greater disgust, devoting their energies to schemes of mere personal advantage, and leaving the commonweal with selfish and contemptuous indifference to the guidance of any hands less nice and less busy than their own. nor would the southern planters--a prouder and more aristocratic race than the northern merchants--have relished the companionship of their fellow-politicians more than the latter, but _their_ personal interests were at stake, and immediately concerned in their maintaining their predominant influence over the government; and while the boston men wrote and talked transcendentalism, and became the most accomplished of _aestetische_ cotton spinners and railroad speculators, and made the shoes and cow-hides of the southerners, the latter made their laws; (i believe new jersey is really the great cow-hide factory); and the new york men, owners of the fastest horses and finest houses in the land, having made a sort of brummagem paris of their city, were the bankers and brokers of the southerners, while the latter were their legislators. the grip the slaveholders had fastened on the helm of the state had been tightening for nearly half a century, till the government of the nation had become literally theirs, and the idea of their relinquishing it was one which the north did not contemplate, and they would not tolerate. if i have said nothing of the grievances which the south has alleged against the north--its tariff, made chiefly in the interest of the north-eastern manufacturing states, or its inconsiderable but enthusiastic massachusetts and pennsylvania abolition party--it is because i do not believe these causes of complaint would have had the same effect upon any but a community of slaveholders, men made impatient (by the life-long habit of despotism), not only of all control, but of any opposition. thirty years ago andrew jackson--a man of keen sagacity as well as determined energy--wrote of them that they were bent upon destroying the union, and that, whatever was the pretext of their discontent, that was their aim and purpose. 'to-day,' he wrote, 'it is the tariff, by and by it will be slavery.' the event has proved how true a prophet he was. my own conviction is that the national character produced and fostered by slaveholding is incompatible with free institutions, and that the southern aristocracy, thanks to the pernicious influences by which they are surrounded, are unfit to be members of a christian republic. it is slavery that has made the southerners rebels to their government, traitors to their country, and the originators of the bloodiest civil war that ever disgraced humanity and civilisation. it is for their sinful complicity in slavery, and their shameful abandonment of all their duties as citizens, that the northerners are paying in the blood of their men, the tears of their women, and the treasure which they have till now held more precious than their birthright. they must now not merely impose a wise restriction upon slavery, they must be prepared to extinguish it. they neglected and despised the task of moderating its conditions and checking its growth; they must now suddenly, in the midst of unparalleled difficulties and dangers, be ready to deal summarily with its entire existence. they have loved the pursuit of personal prosperity and pleasure more than their country; and now they must spend life and living to reconquer their great inheritance, and win back at the sword's point what heaven had forbidden them to lose. nor are we, here in england, without part in this tremendous sin and sorrow; we have persisted in feeding our looms, and the huge wealth they coin, with the produce of slavery. in vain our vast indian territory has solicited the advantage of becoming our free cotton plantation; neither our manufacturers nor our government would venture, would wait, would spend or lose, for that purpose; the slave-grown harvest was ready, was abundant, was cheap--and now the thousand arms of our great national industry are folded in deplorable inactivity; the countless hands that wrought from morn till night the wealth that was a world's wonder are stretched unwillingly to beg their bread; and england has never seen a sadder sight than the enforced idleness of her poor operatives, or a nobler one than their patient and heroic endurance. and now you ask me what plan, what scheme, what project the government of the united states has formed for the safe and successful emancipation of four millions of slaves, in the midst of a country distracted with all the horrors of war, and the male population of which is engaged in military service at a distance from their homes? most assuredly none. precipitated headlong from a state of apparent profound security and prosperity into a series of calamitous events which have brought the country to the verge of ruin, neither the nation or its governors have had leisure to prepare themselves for any of the disastrous circumstances they have had to encounter, least of all for the momentous change which the president's proclamation announces as imminent: a measure of supreme importance, not deliberately adopted as the result of philanthropic conviction or far-sighted policy, but (if not a mere feint of party politics) the last effort of the incensed spirit of endurance in the north--a punishment threatened against rebels, whom they cannot otherwise subdue, and which a year ago half the northern population would have condemned upon principle, and more than half revolted from on instinct. the country being in a state of war necessarily complicates everything, and renders the most plausible suggestions for the settlement of the question of emancipation futile: because from first to last now it will be one tremendous chapter of accidents, instead of a carefully considered and wisely prepared measure of government. but supposing the war to have ceased, either by the success of the northern arms or by the consent of both belligerents, the question of manumission in the southern states when reduced to the condition of territories or restored to the sway of their own elected governors and legislatures, though difficult, is by no means one of insuperable difficulty; and i do not believe that a great nation of englishmen, having once the will to rid itself of a danger and a disgrace, will fail to find a way. the thing, therefore, most to be desired now is, that americans may unanimously embrace the purpose of emancipation, and, though they have been reluctantly driven by the irresistible force of circumstances to contemplate the measure, may henceforward never avert their eyes from it till it is accomplished. when i was in the south many years ago i conversed frequently with two highly intelligent men, both of whom agreed in saying that the immense value of the slaves as property was the only real obstacle to their manumission, and that whenever the southerners became convinced that it was their interest to free them they would very soon find the means to do it. in some respects the conditions are more favourable than those we had to encounter in freeing our west india slaves. though the soil and climate of the southern states are fertile and favourable, they are not tropical, and there is no profuse natural growth of fruits or vegetables to render subsistence possible without labour; the winter temperature is like that of the roman states; and even as far south as georgia and the borders of florida, frosts severe enough to kill the orange trees are sometimes experienced. the inhabitants of the southern states, throughout by far the largest portion of their extent, must labour to live, and will undoubtedly obey the beneficent law of necessity whenever they are made to feel that their existence depends upon their own exertions. the plan of a gradual emancipation, preceded by a limited apprenticeship of the negroes to white masters, is of course often suggested as less dangerous than their entire and immediate enfranchisement. but when years ago i lived on a southern plantation, and had opportunities of observing the miserable results of the system on everything connected with it--the souls, minds, bodies, and estates of both races of men, and the very soil on which they existed together--i came to the conclusion that immediate and entire emancipation was not only an act of imperative right, but would be the safest and most profitable course for the interests of both parties. the gradual and inevitable process of ruin which exhibits itself in the long run on every property involving slavery, naturally suggests some element of decay inherent in the system; the reckless habits of extravagance and prodigality in the masters, the ruinous wastefulness and ignorant incapacity of the slaves, the deterioration of the land under the exhausting and thriftless cultivation to which it is subjected, made it evident to me that there were but two means of maintaining a prosperous ownership in southern plantations: either the possession of considerable capital wherewith to recruit the gradual waste of the energies of the soil, and supply by all the improved and costly methods of modern agriculture the means of profitable cultivation (a process demanding, as english farmers know, an enormous and incessant outlay of both money and skill), or an unlimited command of fresh soil, to which the slaves might be transferred as soon as that already under culture exhibited signs of exhaustion. now the southerners are for the most part men whose only wealth is in their land and labourers--a large force of slaves is their most profitable investment. the great capitalists and monied men of the country are northern men; the planters are men of large estates but restricted means--many of them are deeply involved in debt, and there are very few who do not depend from year to year for their subsistence on the harvest of their fields and the chances of the cotton and rice crops of each season. this makes it of vital importance to them to command an unrestricted extent of territory. the man who can move a 'gang' of able-bodied negroes to a tract of virgin soil is sure of an immense return of wealth; as sure as that he who is circumscribed in this respect, and limited to the cultivation of certain lands with cotton or tobacco by slaves, will in the course of a few years see his estate gradually exhausted and unproductive, refusing its increase, while its black population propagating and multiplying will compel him eventually, under penalty of starvation, to make _them_ his crop, and substitute, as the virginians have been constrained to do, a traffic in human cattle for the cultivation of vegetable harvests. the steady decrease of the value of the cotton crop, even on the famous sea island plantations of georgia, often suggested to me the inevitable ruin of the owners within a certain calculable space of time, as the land became worn out, and the negroes continued to increase in number; and had the estate on which i lived been mine, and the laws of georgia not made such an experiment impossible, i would have emancipated the slaves on it immediately, and turned them into a free tenantry, as the first means of saving my property from impending destruction. i would have paid them wages, and they should have paid me rent. i would have relinquished the charge of feeding and clothing them, and the burthen of their old, young, and infirm; in short, i would have put them at once upon the footing of free hired labourers. of course such a process would have involved temporary loss, and for a year or two the income of the estate would, i dare say, have suffered considerably; but, in all such diversions of labour or capital from old into new channels and modes of operation, there must be an immediate sacrifice of present to future profit, and i do not doubt that the estate would have recovered from the momentary necessary interruption of its productiveness, to resume it with an upward instead of a downward tendency, and a vigorous impulse towards progress and improvement substituted for the present slow but sure drifting to stagnation and decay. as i have told you, the land affords no spontaneous produce which will sustain life without labour. the negroes therefore must work to eat; they are used to the soil and climate, and accustomed to the agriculture, and there is no reason at all to apprehend--as has been suggested--that a race of people singularly attached to the place of their birth and residence would abandon in any large numbers their own country, just as the conditions of their existence in it were made more favourable, to try the unknown and (to absolute ignorance) forbidding risks of emigration to the sterner climate and harder soil of the northern states. of course, in freeing the slaves, it would be necessary to contemplate the possibility of their becoming eventual proprietors of the soil to some extent themselves. there is as little doubt that many of them would soon acquire the means of doing so (men who amass, during hours of daily extra labour, through years of unpaid toil, the means of buying themselves from their masters, would soon justify their freedom by the intelligent improvement of their condition), as that many of the present landholders would be ready and glad to alienate their impoverished estates by parcels, and sell the land which has become comparatively unprofitable to them, to its enfranchised cultivators. this, the future ownership of land by negroes, as well as their admission to those rights of citizenship which everywhere in america such ownership involves, would necessarily be future subjects of legislation; and either or both privileges might be withheld temporarily, indefinitely, or permanently, as might seem expedient, and the progress in civilisation which might justify such an extension of rights. these, and any other modifications of the state of the black population in the south, would require great wisdom to deal with, but their immediate transformation from bondsmen to free might, i think, be accomplished with little danger or difficulty, and with certain increase of prosperity to the southern states. on the other hand, it is not impossible that, left to the unimpeded action of the natural laws that govern the existence of various races, the black population, no longer directly preserved and propagated for the purposes of slavery, might gradually decrease and dwindle, as it does at the north--where, besides the unfavourable influence of a cold climate on a race originally african, it suffers from its admixture with the whites, and the amalgamation of the two races, as far as it goes, tends evidently to the destruction of the weaker. the northern mulattoes are an unhealthy feeble population, and it might yet appear that even under the more favourable influence of a southern climate, whenever the direct stimulus afforded by slavery to the increase of the negroes was removed, their gradual extinction or absorption by the predominant white race would follow in the course of time. but the daily course of events appears to be rendering more and more unlikely the immediate effectual enfranchisement of the slaves: the president's proclamation will reach with but little efficacy beyond the mere borders of the southern states. the war is assuming an aspect of indefinite duration; and it is difficult to conceive what will be the condition of the blacks, freed _de jure_ but by no means _de facto_, in the vast interior regions of the southern states, as long as the struggle raging all round their confines does not penetrate within them. each of the combatants is far too busily absorbed in the furious strife to afford thought, leisure, or means, either effectually to free the slaves or effectually to replace them in bondage; and in the meantime their condition is the worst possible for the future success of either operation. if the north succeeds in subjugating the south, its earliest business will be to make the freedom of the slaves real as well as nominal, and as little injurious to themselves as possible. if, on the other hand, the south makes good its pretensions to a separate national existence, no sooner will the disseverment of the union be an established fact than the slaveholders will have to consolidate once more the system of their 'peculiar institution,' to reconstruct the prison which has half crumbled to the ground, and rivet afresh the chains which have been all but struck off. this will be difficult: the determination of the north to restrict the area of slavery by forbidding its ingress into future territories and states has been considered by the slaveholders a wrong, and a danger justifying a bloody civil war; inasmuch as, if under those circumstances they did not abolish slavery themselves in a given number of years, it would infallibly abolish them by the increase of the negro population, hemmed with them into a restricted space by this _cordon sanitaire_ drawn round them. but, bad as this prospect has seemed to slaveholders (determined to continue such), and justifying--as it may be conceded that it does from their point of view--not a ferocious civil war, but a peaceable separation from states whose interests were declared absolutely irreconcileable with theirs, the position in which they will find themselves if the contest terminates in favour of secession will be undoubtedly more difficult and terrible than the one the mere anticipation of which has driven them to the dire resort of civil war. all round the southern coast, and all along the course of the great mississippi, and all across the northern frontier of the slave states, the negroes have already thrown off the trammels of slavery. whatever their condition may be--and doubtless in many respects it is miserable enough--they are to all intents and purposes free. vast numbers of them have joined the northern invading armies, and considerable bodies of them have become organised as soldiers and labourers, under the supervision of northern officers and employers; most of them have learned the use of arms, and possess them; all of them have exchanged the insufficient slave diet of grits and rice for the abundant supplies of animal food, which the poorest labourer in that favoured land of cheap provisions and high wages indulges in to an extent unknown in any other country. none of these slaves of yesterday will be the same slaves to-morrow. little essential difference as may yet have been effected by the president's proclamation in the interior of the south in the condition of the blacks, it is undoubtedly known to them, and they are waiting in ominous suspense its accomplishment or defeat by the fortune of the war; they are watching the issue of the contest of which they well know themselves to be the theme, and at its conclusion, end how it will, they must be emancipated or exterminated. with the north not only not friendly to slavery, but henceforward bitterly hostile to slaveholders, and no more to be reckoned upon as heretofore, it might have been infallibly by the southern white population in any difficulty with the blacks (a fact of which the negroes will be as well aware as their former masters)--with an invisible boundary stretching from ocean to ocean, over which they may fly without fear of a master's claim following them a single inch--with the hope and expectation of liberty suddenly snatched from them at the moment it seemed within their grasp--with the door of their dungeon once more barred between them and the light into which they were in the act of emerging--is it to be conceived, that these four millions of people, many thousands of whom are already free and armed, will submit without a struggle to be again thrust down into the hell of slavery? hitherto there has been no insurrection among the negroes, and observers friendly and inimical to them have alike drawn from that fact conclusions unfavourable to their appreciation of the freedom apparently within their grasp; but they are waiting to see what the north will really achieve for them. the liberty offered them is hitherto anomalous, and uncertain enough in its conditions; they probably trust it as little as they know it: but slavery they _do_ know--and when once they find themselves again delivered over to _that_ experience, there will not be one insurrection in the south; there will be an insurrection in every state, in every county, on every plantation--a struggle as fierce as it will be futile--a hopeless effort of hopeless men, which will baptise in blood the new american nation, and inaugurate its birth among the civilised societies of the earth, not by the manumission but the massacre of every slave within its borders. perhaps, however, mr. jefferson davis means to free the negroes. whenever that consummation is attained, the root of bitterness will have perished from the land; and when a few years shall have passed blunting the hatred which has been excited by this fratricidal strife, the americans of both the northern and southern states will perceive that the selfish policy of other nations would not have so rejoiced over their division, had it not seemed, to those who loved them not, the proof of past failure and the prophecy of future weakness. admonished by its terrible experiences, i believe the nation will reunite itself under one government, remodel its constitution, and again address itself to fulfill its glorious destiny. i believe that the country sprung from ours--of all our just subjects of national pride the greatest--will resume its career of prosperity and power, and become the noblest as well as the mightiest that has existed among the nations of the earth. proofreaders. produced from images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington volume iv georgia narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of georgia informants adams, rachel allen, uncle wash [tr: originally listed as rev. w.b. (uncle wash)] allen, rev. w.b. [tr: different informant] atkinson, jack austin, hannah avery, celestia [tr: also appended is interview with emmaline heard that is repeated in part of the georgia narratives] baker, georgia battle, alice battle, jasper binns, arrie bland, henry body, rias bolton, james bostwick, alec boudry, nancy bradley, alice, and colquitt, kizzie [tr: interviews filed together though not connected] briscoe, della brooks, george brown, easter brown, julia (aunt sally) bunch, julia butler, marshal byrd, sarah calloway, mariah castle, susan claibourn, ellen clay, berry cody, pierce cofer, willis colbert, mary cole, john cole, julia colquitt, martha davis, minnie davis, mose derricotte, ike dillard, benny eason, george elder, callie everette, martha favor, lewis [tr: also referred to as favors] ferguson, mary fryer, carrie nancy furr, anderson illustrations marshal butler [tr: not listed in original index] john cole [tr: the interview headers presented here contain all information included in the original, but may have been rearranged for readability. also, some ages and addresses have been drawn from blocks of information on subsequent interview pages. names in brackets were drawn from text of interviews.] [tr: some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added to interview headers in brackets. where part of date could not be determined -- has been substituted. these dates do not appear to represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews were received or perhaps transcription dates.] plantation life rachel adams, age odd street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia rachel adams' two-room, frame house is perched on the side of a steep hill where peach trees and bamboo form dense shade. stalks of corn at the rear of the dwelling reach almost to the roof ridge and a portion of the front yard is enclosed for a chicken yard. stepping gingerly around the amazing number of nondescript articles scattered about the small veranda, the visitor rapped several times on the front door, but received no response. a neighbor said the old woman might be found at her son's store, but she was finally located at the home of a daughter. rachel came to the front door with a sandwich of hoecake and cheese in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "dis here's rachel adams," she declared. "have a seat on de porch." rachel is tall, thin, very black, and wears glasses. her faded pink outing wrapper was partly covered by an apron made of a heavy meal sack. tennis shoes, worn without hose, and a man's black hat completed her outfit. rachel began her story by saying: "miss, dats been sich a long time back dat i has most forgot how things went. anyhow i was borned in putman county 'bout two miles from eatonton, georgia. my ma and pa was 'melia and iaaac little and, far as i knows, dey was borned and bred in dat same county. pa, he was sold away from ma when i was still a baby. ma's job was to weave all de cloth for de white folks. i have wore many a dress made out of de homespun what she wove. dere was of us chillun, and i can't 'member de names of but two of 'em now--dey was john and sarah. john was ma's onliest son; all de rest of de other of us was gals. "us lived in mud-daubed log cabins what had old stack chimblies made out of sticks and mud. our old home-made beds didn't have no slats or metal springs neither. dey used stout cords for springs. de cloth what dey made the ticks of dem old hay mattresses and pillows out of was so coarse dat it scratched us little chillun most to death, it seemed lak to us dem days. i kin still feel dem old hay mattresses under me now. evvy time i moved at night it sounded lak de wind blowin' through dem peach trees and bamboos 'round de front of de house whar i lives now. "grandma anna was years old when she died. she had done wore herself out in slavery time. grandpa, he was sold off somewhar. both of 'em was field hands. "potlicker and cornbread was fed to us chillun, out of big old wooden bowls. two or three chillun et out of de same bowl. grown folks had meat, greens, syrup, cornbread, 'taters and de lak. 'possums! i should say so. dey cotch plenty of 'em and atter dey was kilt ma would scald 'em and rub 'em in hot ashes and dat clean't 'em jus' as pretty and white. oo-o-o but dey was good. lord, yessum! dey used to go fishin' and rabbit huntin' too. us jus' fotched in game galore den, for it was de style dem days. dere warn't no market meat in slavery days. seemed lak to me in dem days dat ash-roasted 'taters and groundpeas was de best somepin t'eat what anybody could want. 'course dey had a gyarden, and it had somepin of jus' about evvything what us knowed anything 'bout in de way of gyarden sass growin' in it. all de cookin' was done in dem big old open fireplaces what was fixed up special for de pots and ovens. ashcake was most as good as 'taters cooked in de ashes, but not quite. "summertime, us jus' wore homespun dresses made lak de slips dey use for underwear now. de coats what us wore over our wool dresses in winter was knowed as 'sacques' den, 'cause dey was so loose fittin'. dey was heavy and had wool in 'em too. marse lewis, he had a plenty of sheep, 'cause dey was bound to have lots of warm winter clothes, and den too, dey lakked mutton to eat. oh! dem old brogan shoes was coarse and rough. when marse lewis had a cow kilt dey put de hide in de tannin' vat. when de hides was ready, uncle ben made up de shoes, and sometimes dey let uncle jasper holp him if dere was many to be made all at one time. us wore de same sort of clothes on sunday as evvyday, only dey had to be clean and fresh when dey was put on sunday mornin'. "marse lewis little and his wife, miss sallie, owned us, and old miss, she died long 'fore de surrender. marse lewis, he was right good to all his slaves; but dat overseer, he would beat us down in a minute if us didn't do to suit him. when dey give slaves tasks to do and dey warn't done in a certain time, dat old overseer would whup 'em 'bout dat. marster never had to take none of his niggers to court or put 'em in jails neither; him and de overseer sot 'em right. long as miss sallie lived de carriage driver driv her and marse lewis around lots, but atter she died dere warn't so much use of de carriage. he jus' driv for marse lewis and piddled 'round de yard den. "some slaves larnt to read and write. if dey went to meetin' dey had to go wid deir white folks 'cause dey didn't have no sep'rate churches for de niggers 'til atter de war. on our marster's place, slaves didn't go off to meetin' a t'all. dey jus' went 'round to one another's houses and sung songs. some of 'em read de bible by heart. once i heared a man preach what didn't know how to read one word in de bible, and he didn't even have no bible yit. "de fust baptizin' i ever seed was atter i was nigh 'bout grown. if a slave from our place ever jined up wid a church 'fore de war was over, i never heared tell nothin' 'bout it. "lordy, miss! i didn't know nothin' 'bout what a funeral was dem days. if a nigger died dis mornin', dey sho' didn't waste no time a-puttin' him right on down in de ground dat same day. dem coffins never had no shape to 'em; dey was jus' squar-aidged pine boxes. now warn't dat turrible? "slaves never went nowhar widout dem patterollers beatin' 'em up if dey didn't have no pass. "dere was hunderds of acres in dat dere plantation. marse lewis had a heap of slaves. de overseer, he had a bugle what he blowed to wake up de slaves. he blowed it long 'fore day so dat dey could eat breakfast and be out dere in de fields waitin' for de sun to rise so dey could see how to wuk, and dey stayed out dar and wukked 'til black dark. when a rainy spell come and de grass got to growin' fast, dey wukked dem slaves at night, even when de moon warn't shinin'. on dem dark nights one set of slaves helt lanterns for de others to see how to chop de weeds out of de cotton and corn. wuk was sho' tight dem days. evvy slave had a task to do atter dey got back to dem cabins at night. dey each one hed to spin deir stint same as de 'omans, evvy night. "young and old washed deir clothes sadday nights. dey hardly knowed what sunday was. dey didn't have but one day in de christmas, and de only diff'unce dey seed dat day was dat dey give 'em some biscuits on christmas day. new year's day was rail-splittin' day. dey was told how many rails was to be cut, and dem niggers better split dat many or somebody was gwine to git beat up. "i don't 'member much 'bout what us played, 'cept de way us run 'round in a ring. us chillun was allus skeered to play in de thicket nigh de house 'cause raw head and bloody bones lived der. dey used to skeer us out 'bout red 'taters. dey was fine 'taters, red on de outside and pretty and white on de inside, but white folks called 'em 'nigger-killers.' dat was one of deir tricks to keep us from stealin' dem 'taters. dere wern't nothin' wrong wid dem 'taters; dey was jus' as good and healthy as any other 'taters. aunt lucy, she was de cook, and she told me dat slaves was skeered of dem 'nigger-killer' 'taters and never bothered 'em much den lak dey does de yam patches dese days. i used to think i seed ha'nts at night, but it allus turned out to be somebody dat was tryin' to skeer me. "'bout de most fun slaves had was at dem cornshuckin's. de general would git high on top of de corn pile and whoop and holler down leadin' dat cornshuckin' song 'til all de corn was done shucked. den come de big eats, de likker, and de dancin'. cotton pickin's was big fun too, and when dey got through pickin' de cotton dey et and drunk and danced 'til dey couldn't dance no more. "miss, white folks jus' had to be good to sick slaves, 'cause slaves was property. for old marster to lose a slave, was losin' money. dere warn't so many doctors dem days and home-made medicines was all de go. oil and turpentine, camphor, assfiddy (asafetida), cherry bark, sweetgum bark; all dem things was used to make teas for grown folks to take for deir ailments. red oak bark tea was give to chillun for stomach mis'ries. "all i can ricollect 'bout de comin' of freedom was old marster tellin' us dat us was free as jack-rabbits and dat from den on niggers would have to git deir own somepin t'eat. it warn't long atter dat when dem yankees, wid pretty blue clothes on come through our place and dey stole most evvything our marster had. dey kilt his chickens, hogs, and cows and tuk his hosses off and sold 'em. dat didn't look right, did it? "my aunt give us a big weddin' feast when i married tom adams, and she sho' did pile up dat table wid heaps of good eatments. my weddin' dress was blue, trimmed in white. us had six chillun, nine grandchillun, and great-grandchillun. one of my grandchillun is done been blind since he was three weeks old. i sont him off to de blind school and now he kin git around 'most as good as i kin. he has made his home wid me ever since his mammy died. "'cordin' to my way of thinkin', abraham lincoln done a good thing when he sot us free. jeff davis, he was all right too, 'cause if him and lincoln hadn't got to fightin' us would have been slaves to dis very day. it's mighty good to do jus' as you please, and bread and water is heaps better dan dat somepin t'eat us had to slave for. "i jined up wid de church 'cause i wanted to go to heben when i dies, and if folks lives right dey sho' is gwine to have a good restin' place in de next world. yes mam, i sho b'lieves in 'ligion, dat i does. now, miss, if you ain't got nothin' else to ax me, i'se gwine home and give dat blind boy his somepin t'eat." [hw: dist. ex-slv. # ] washington allen, ex-slave born: december --, place of birth: "some where" in south carolina present residence: -fifth avenue, columbus, georgia interviewed: december , [may ] [tr: original index refers to "allen, rev. w.b. (uncle wash)"; however, this informant is different from the next informant, rev. w.b. allen.] the story of "uncle wash", as he is familiarly known, is condensed as follows: he was born on the plantation of a mr. washington allen of south carolina, for whom he was named. this mr. allen had several sons and daughters, and of these, one son--george allen--who, during the 's left his south carolina home and settled near lafayette, alabama. about , mr. washington allen died and the next year, when "wash" was "a five-year old shaver", the allen estate in south carolina was divided--all except the allen negro slaves. these, at the instance and insistence of mr. george allen, were taken to lafayette, alabama, to be sold. all were put on the block and auctioned off, mr. george allen buying every negro, so that not a single slave family was divided up. "uncle wash" does not remember what he "fetched at de sale", but he does distinctly remember that as he stepped up on the block to be sold, the auctioneer ran his hand "over my head and said: genilmens, dis boy is as fine as split silk". then when mr. george allen had bought all the allen slaves, it dawned upon them, and they appreciated, why he had insisted on their being sold in alabama, rather than in south carolina. before he was six years of age, little "wash" lost his mother and, from then until freedom, he was personally cared for and looked after by mrs. george allen; and the old man wept every time he mentioned her name. during the ' 's, "uncle wash's" father drove a mail and passenger stage between cusseta and lafayette, alabama--and, finally died and was buried at lafayette by the side of his wife. "uncle wash" "drifted over" to columbus about fifty years ago and is now living with his two surviving children. he has been married four times, all his wives dying "nachul" deaths. he has also "buried four chillun". he was taught to read and write by the sons and daughters of mr. george allen, and attended church where a one-eyed white preacher--named mr. terrentine--preached to the slaves each sunday "evenin'" (afternoon). the salary of this preacher was paid by mr. george allen. when asked what this preacher usually preached about, "uncle wash" answered: "he was a one-eyed man an' couldn' see good; so, he mout a'made some mistakes, but he sho tole us plenty 'bout hell fire 'n brimstone." "uncle wash" is a literal worshipper of the memory of his "old time white fokes." j.r. jones rev. w.b. allen, ex-slave -second ave columbus, georgia (june , ) [jul ] [tr: original index refers to "allen, rev. w.b. (uncle wash)"; however, this informant is different from the previous informant, washington allen, interviewed on dec. , . the previous interview for rev. allen that is mentioned below is not found in this volume.] in a second interview, the submission of which was voluntarily sought by himself, this very interesting specimen of a rapidly vanishing type expressed a desire to amend his previous interview (of may , ) to incorporate the following facts: "for a number of years before freedom, my father bought his time from his master and traveled about over russell county (alabama) as a journeyman blacksmith, doing work for various planters and making good money--as money went in those days--on the side. at the close of the war, however, though he had a trunk full of confederate money, all of his good money was gone. father could neither read nor write, but had a good head for figures and was very pious. his life had a wonderful influence upon me, though i was originally worldly--that is, i drank and cussed, but haven't touched a drop of spirits in forty years and quit cussing before i entered the ministry in . i learned to pray when very young and kept it up even in my unsaved days. my white master's folks knew me to be a praying boy, and asked me--in --when the south was about whipped and general wilson was headed our way--to pray to god to hold the yankees back. of course, i didn't have any love for any yankees--and haven't now, for that matter--but i told my white folks straight-from-the-shoulder that i _could not_ pray along those lines. i told them flat-footedly that, while i loved them and would do any reasonable praying for them, i could not pray against my conscience: that i not only wanted to be free, but that i wanted to see all the negroes freed! i then told them that god was using the yankees to scourge the slave-holders just as he had, centuries before, used heathens and outcasts to chastise his chosen people--the children of israel." (here it is to be noted that, for a slave boy of between approximately and years of age, remarkable familiarity with the old testament was displayed.) the parson then entered into a mild tirade against yankees, saying: "the only time the northern people ever helped the nigger was when they freed him. they are not friends of the negro and many a time, from my pulpit, have i warned niggers about going north. no, sir, the colored man doesn't belong in the north---has no business up there, and you may tell the world that the reverend w.b. allen makes no bones about saying that! he also says that, if it wasn't for the influence of the white race in the south, the negro race would revert to savagery within a year! why, if they knew for dead certain that there was not a policeman or officer of the law in columbus tonight, the good lord only knows what they'd do tonight"! when the good parson had delivered himself as quoted, he was asked a few questions, the answers to which--as shall follow--disclose their nature. "the lowest down whites of slavery days were the average overseers. a few were gentlemen, one must admit, but the regular run of them were trash--commoner than the 'poor white trash'--and, if possible, their children were worse than their daddies. the name, 'overseer', was a synonym for 'slave driver', 'cruelty', 'brutishness'. no, sir, a nigger may be humble and refuse to talk outside of his race--because he's afraid to, but you can't fool him about a white man! and you couldn't fool him when he was a slave! he knows a white man for what he is, and he knew him the same way in slavery times." concerning the punishment of slaves, the reverend said: "i never heard or knew of a slave being tried in court for any thing. i never knew of a slave being guilty of any crime more serious than taking something or violating plantation rules. and the only punishment that i ever heard or knew of being administered slaves was whipping. i have personally known a few slaves that were beaten to death for one or more of the following offenses: leaving home without a pass, talking back to--'sassing'--a white person, hitting another negro, fussing, fighting, and rukkussing in the quarters, lying, loitering on their work, taking things--the whites called it stealing. plantation rules forbade a slave to: own a firearm, leave home without a pass, sell or buy anything without his master's consent, marry without his owner's consent, have a light in his cabin after a certain hour at night, attend any secret meeting, harbor or [hw: in] any manner assist a runaway slave, abuse a farm animal, mistreat a member of his family, and do a great many other things." when asked if he had ever heard slaves plot an insurrection, the parson answered in the negative. when asked if he had personal knowledge of an instance of a slave offering resistance to corporal punishment, the reverend shook his head, but said: "sometimes a stripped nigger would say some hard things to the white man with the strap in his hand, though he knew that he (the negro) would pay for it dearly, for when a slave showed spirit that way the master or overseer laid the lash on all the harder." when asked how the women took their whippings, he said: "they usually screamed and prayed, though a few never made a sound." the parson has had two wives and five children. both wives and three of his children are dead. he is also now superannuated, but occasionally does a "little preaching", having only recently been down to montezuma, georgia, on a special call to deliver a message to the methodist flock there. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] henrietta carlisle jack atkinson--ex-slave rt. d griffin, georgia interviewed august , [may ] "onct a man, twice a child," quoted jack atkinson, grey haired darkey, when being interviewed, "and i done started in my second childhood. i useter be active as a cat, but i ain't, no mo." jack acquired his surname from his white master, a mr. atkinson, who owned this negro family prior to the war between the states. he was a little boy during the war but remembers "refugeeing" to griffin from butts county, georgia, with the atkinsons when sherman passed by their home on his march to the sea. jack's father, tom, the body-servant of mr. atkinson, "tuck care of him" [hw: during] the four years they were away at war. "many's the time i done heard my daddy tell 'bout biting his hands he wuz so hongry, and him and marster drinking water outer the ruts of the road, they wuz so thirsty, during the war." "boss man (mr. atkinson), wuz as fine a man as ever broke bread", according to jack. when asked how he got married he stated that he "broke off a love vine and throwed it over the fence and if it growed" he would get married. the vine "just growed and growed" and it wasn't long before he and lucy married. "a hootin' owl is a sho sign of rain, and a screech owl means a death, for a fact." "a tree frog's holler is a true sign of rain." jack maintains that he has received "a second blessing from the lord" and "no conjurer can bother him." whitley - - [hw: dis # unedited] minnie b. ross ex town slave hannah austin [hw: about - ] [apr ] when the writer was presented to mrs. hannah austin she was immediately impressed with her alert youthful appearance. mrs. austin is well preserved for her age and speaks clearly and with much intelligence. the interview was a brief but interesting one. this was due partly to the fact that mrs. austin was a small child when the civil war ended and too because her family was classed as "town slaves" so classed because of their superior intelligence. mrs. austin was a child of ten or twelve years when the war ended. she doesn't know her exact age but estimated it to be between seventy and seventy five years. she was born the oldest child of liza and george hall. their master mr. frank hall was very kind to them and considerate in his treatment of them. briefly mrs. austin gave the following account of slavery as she knew it. "my family lived in a two room well built house which had many windows and a nice large porch. our master, mr. hall was a merchant and operated a clothing store. because mr. hall lived in town he did not need but a few slaves. my family which included my mother, father, sister, and myself were his only servants. originally mr. hall did not own any slaves, however after marrying mrs. hall we were given to her by her father as a part of her inheritance. my mother nursed mrs. hall from a baby, consequently the hall family was very fond of her and often made the statement that they would not part with her for anything in the world, besides working as the cook for the hall family my mother was also a fine seamstress and made clothing for the master's family and for our family. we were allowed an ample amount of good clothing which mr. hall selected from the stock in his store. my father worked as a porter in the store and did other jobs around the house. i did not have to work and spent most of my time playing with the hall children. we were considered the better class of slaves and did not know the meaning of a hard time. other slave owners whipped their slaves severely and often, but i have never known our master to whip any one of my family. if any one in the family became ill the family doctor was called in as often as he was needed. we did not have churches of our own but were allowed to attend the white churches in the afternoon. the white families attended in the forenoon. we seldom heard a true religious sermon; but were constantly preached the doctrine of obedience to our masters and mistresses. we were required to attend church every sunday. marriages were conducted in much the same manner as they are today. after the usual courtship a minister was called in by the master and the marriage ceremony would then take place. in my opinion people of today are more lax in their attitude toward marriage than they were in those days. following the marriage of a slave couple a celebration would take place often the master and his family would take part in the celebration. i remember hearing my mother and father discuss the war; but was too young to know just the effect the war would have on the slave. one day i remember mr. hall coming to my mother telling her we were free. his exact words were quote--"liza you don't belong to me any longer you belong to yourself. if you are hired now i will have to pay you. i do not want you to leave as you have a home here as long as you live." i watched my mother to see the effect his words would have on her and i saw her eyes fill with tears. mr. hall's eyes filled with tears also. soon after this incident a yankee army appeared in our village one day. they practically destroyed mr. hall's store by throwing all clothes and other merchandise into the streets. seeing my sister and i they turned to us saying, "little negroes you are free there are no more masters and mistresses, here help yourselves to these clothes take them home with you." not knowing any better we carried stockings, socks, dresses, underwear and many other pieces home. after this they opened the smoke house door and told us to go in and take all of the meat we wanted. on another occasion the mistress called me asking that i come in the yard to play with the children". here mrs. austin began to laugh and remarked "i did not go but politely told her i was free and didn't belong to any one but my mama and papa. as i spoke these words my mistress began to cry. my mother and father continued to live with the halls even after freedom and until their deaths. although not impoverished most of the hall's fortune was wiped out with the war". mrs. austin married at the age of years; and was the mother of four children, all of whom are dead. she was very ambitious and was determined to get an education if such was possible. after the war northern white people came south and set up schools for the education of negroes. she remembers the organization of the old storrs school from which one of the present negroes colleges originated. mrs. austin proudly spoke of her old blue back speller, which she still possesses; and of the days when she attended storrs school. as the writer made ready to depart mrs. austin smilingly informed her that she had told her all that she knew about slavery; and every word spoken was the truth. [hw: dist. ex slave # ross] "a few facts of slavery" as told by celestia avery--ex-slave [may ] mrs. celestia avery is a small mulatto woman about ft. in height. she has a remarkably clear memory in view of the fact that she is about years of age. before the interview began she reminded the writer that the facts to be related were either told to her by her grandmother, sylvia heard, or were facts which she remembered herself. mrs. avery was born years ago in troupe county, lagrange, ga. the eighth oldest child of lenora and silas heard. there were other children beside herself. she and her family were owned by mr. & mrs. peter heard. in those days the slaves carried the surname of their master; this accounted for all slaves having the same name whether they were kin or not. the owner mr. heard had a plantation of about acres and was considered wealthy by all who knew him. mrs. avery was unable to give the exact number of slaves on the plantation, but knew he owned a large number. cotton, corn, peas, potatoes, (etc.) were the main crops raised. the homes provided for the slaves were two room log cabins which had one door and one window. these homes were not built in a group together but were more or less scattered over the plantation. slave homes were very simple and only contained a home made table, chair and bed which were made of the same type of wood and could easily be cleaned by scouring with sand every saturday. the beds were bottomed with rope which was run backward and forward from one rail to the other. on this framework was placed a mattress of wheat straw. each spring the mattresses were emptied and refilled with fresh wheat straw. slaves were required to prepare their own meals three times a day. this was done in a big open fire place which was filled with hot coals. the master did not give them much of a variety of food, but allowed each family to raise their own vegetables. each family was given a hand out of bacon and meal on saturdays and through the week corn ash cakes and meat; which had been broiled on the hot coals was the usual diet found in each home. the diet did not vary even at christmas only a little fruit was added. each family was provided with a loom and in mrs. avery's family, her grandmother, sylvia heard, did most of the carding and spinning of the thread into cloth. the most common cloth for women clothes was homespun, and calico. this same cloth was dyed and used to make men shirts and pants. dye was prepared by taking a berry known as the shumake berry and boiling them with walnut peelings. spring and fall were the seasons for masters to give shoes and clothing to their slaves. both men and women wore brogan shoes, the only difference being the piece in the side of the womens. one woman was required to do the work around the house there was also one slave man required to work around the house doing odd jobs. other than these two every one else was required to do the heavy work in the fields. work began at "sun up" and lasted until "sun down". in the middle of the day the big bell was rung to summon the workers from the field, for their mid-day lunch. after work hours slaves were then free to do work around their own cabins, such as sewing, cooking (etc.) "once a week mr. heard allowed his slaves to have a frolic and folks would get broke down from so much dancing" mrs. avery remarked. the music was furnished with fiddles. when asked how the slaves came to own fiddles she replied, "they bought them with money they earned selling chickens." at night slaves would steal off from the heard plantation, go to lagrange, ga. and sell chickens which they had raised. of course the masters always required half of every thing raised by each slave and it was not permissible for any slave to sell anything. another form of entertainment was the quilting party. every one would go together to different person's home on each separate night of the week and finish that person's quilts. each night this was repeated until every one had a sufficient amount of covering for the winter. any slave from another plantation, desiring to attend these frolics, could do so after securing a pass from their master. mrs. avery related the occasion when her uncle william was caught off the heard plantation without a pass, and was whipped almost to death by the "pader rollers." he stole off to the depths of the woods here he built a cave large enough to live in. a few nights later he came back to the plantation unobserved and carried his wife and two children back to this cave where they lived until after freedom. when found years later his wife had given birth to two children. no one was ever able to find his hiding place and if he saw any one in the woods he would run like a lion. mr. heard was a very mean master and was not liked by any one of his slaves. secretly each one hated him. he whipped unmercifully and in most cases unnecessarily. however, he sometimes found it hard to subdue some slaves who happened to have very high tempers. in the event this was the case he would set a pack of hounds on him. mrs. avery related to the writer the story told to her of mr. heard's cruelty by her grandmother. the facts were as follows: "every morning my grandmother would pray, and old man heard despised to hear any one pray saying they were only doing so that they might become free niggers. just as sure as the sun would rise, she would get a whipping; but this did not stop her prayers every morning before day. this particular time grandmother sylvia was in "family way" and that morning she began to pray as usual. the master heard her and became so angry he came to her cabin seized and pulled her clothes from her body and tied her to a young sapling. he whipped her so brutally that her body was raw all over. when darkness fell her husband cut her down from the tree, during the day he was afraid to go near her. rather than go back to the cabin she crawled on her knees to the woods and her husband brought grease for her to grease her raw body. for two weeks the master hunted but could not find her; however, when he finally did, she had given birth to twins. the only thing that saved her was the fact that she was a mid-wife and always carried a small pin knife which she used to cut the navel cord of the babies. after doing this she tore her petticoat into two pieces and wrapped each baby. grandmother sylvia lived to get years old. not only was mr. henderson cruel but it seemed that every one he hired in the capacity of overseer was just as cruel. for instance, mrs. henderson's grandmother sylvia, was told to take her clothes off when she reached the end of a row. she was to be whipped because she had not completed the required amount of hoeing for the day. grandmother continued hoeing until she came to a fence; as the overseer reached out to grab her she snatched a fence railing and broke it across his arms. on another occasion grandmother sylvia ran all the way to town to tell the master that an overseer was beating her husband to death. the master immediately jumped on his horse and started for home; and reaching the plantation he ordered the overseer to stop whipping the old man. mrs. avery received one whipping, with a hair brush, for disobedience; this was given to her by the mistress. slaves were given separate churches, but the minister, who conducted the services, was white. very seldom did the text vary from the usual one of obedience to the master and mistress, and the necessity for good behavior. every one was required to attend church, however, the only self expression they could indulge in without conflict with the master was that of singing. any one heard praying was given a good whipping; for most masters thought their prayers no good since freedom was the uppermost thought in every one's head. on the heard plantation as on a number of others, marriages were made by the masters of the parties concerned. marriage licenses were unheard of. if both masters mutually consented, the marriage ceremony was considered over with. after that the husband was given a pass to visit his wife once a week. in the event children were born the naming of them was left entirely to the master. parents were not allowed to name them. health of slaves was very important to every slave owner for loss of life meant loss of money to them. consequently they would call in their family doctor, if a slave became seriously ill. in minor cases of illness home remedies were used. "in fact," mrs. avery smilingly remarked, "we used every thing for medicine that grew in the ground." one particular home remedy was known as "cow foot oil" which was made by boiling cow's feet in water. other medicines used were hoarhound tea, catnip tea, and castor oil. very often medicines and doctors failed to save life; and whenever a slave died he was buried the same day. mrs. avery remarked, "if he died before dinner the funeral and burial usually took place immediately after dinner." although a very young child, mrs. avery remembers the frantic attempt slave owners made to hide their money when the war broke out. the following is a story related concerning the heard family. "mr. heard, our master, went to the swamp, dug a hole, and hid his money, then he and his wife left for town on their horses. my oldest brother, percy, saw their hiding place; and when the yanks came looking for the money, he carried them straight to the swamps and showed than where the money was hidden." although the yeard [tr: typo "heard"] farm was in the country the highway was very near and mrs. avery told of the long army of soldiers marching to la grange singing the following song: "rally around the flag boys, rally around the flag, joy, joy, for freedom." when the war ended mr. heard visited every slave home and broke the news to each family that they were free people and if they so desired could remain on his plantation. mrs. avery's family moved away, in fact most slave families did, for old man heard had been such a cruel master everyone was anxious to get away from him. however, one year later he sold his plantation to mr george traylor and some of the families moved back, mrs. avery's family included. mrs. avery married at the age of ; and was the mother of children, three of whom are still living. although she has had quite a bit of illness during her life, at present she is quite well and active in spite of her old age. she assured the writer that the story of slavery, which she had given her, was a true one and sincerely hoped it would do some good in this world. folklore (negro) minnie b. ross [mrs. celestia avery] in a small house at phoenix alley, n.e. lives a little old woman about ft. in. in height, who is an ex-slave. she greeted the writer with a bright smile and bade her enter and have a seat by the small fire in the poorly lighted room. the writer vividly recalled the interview she gave on slavery previously and wondered if any facts concerning superstitions, conjure, signs, etc. could be obtained from her. after a short conversation pertaining to everyday occurrences, the subject of superstition was broached to mrs. avery. the idea amused her and she gave the writer the following facts: as far as possible the stories are given in her exact words. the interview required two days, november and december , . "when you see a dog lay on his stomach and slide it is a true sign of death. this is sho true cause it happened to me. years ago when i lived on pine street i was sitting on my steps playing with my nine-months old baby. a friend uv mine came by and sat down; and as we set there a dog that followed her began to slide on his stomach. it scared me; and i said to her, did you see that dog? yes, i sho did. that night my baby died and it wuzn't sick at all that day. that's the truth and a sho sign of death. anudder sign of death is ter dream of a new-born baby. one night not so long ago i dreamt about a new-born baby and you know i went ter the door and called miss mary next door and told her i dreamed about a new-born baby, and she said, oh! that's a sho sign of death. the same week that gal's baby over there died. it didn't surprise me when i heard it cause i knowed somebody round here wuz go die." she continued: "listen, child! if ebber you clean your bed, don't you never sweep off your springs with a broom. always wipe 'em with a rag, or use a brush. jest as sho as you do you see or experience death around you. i took my bed down and swept off my springs, and i jest happened to tell old mrs. smith; and she jumped up and said, 'child, you ought not done that cause it's a sign of death.' sho nuff the same night i lost another child that wuz eight years old. the child had heart trouble, i think." mrs. avery believes in luck to a certain extent. the following are examples of how you may obtain luck: "i believe you can change your luck by throwing a teaspoonful of sulphur in the fire at zackly o'clock in the day. i know last week i was sitting here without a bit of fire, but i wuzn't thinking bout doing that till a 'oman came by and told me ter scrape up a stick fire and put a spoonful of sulphur on it; and sho nuff in a hour's time a coal man came by and gave me a tub uv coal. long time ago i used ter work fer some white women and every day at o'clock i wuz told ter put a teaspoonful of sulphur in the fire." "another thing, i sho ain't going ter let a 'oman come in my house on monday morning unless a man done come in there fust. no, surree, if it seem lak one ain't coming soon, i'll call one of the boy chilluns, jest so it is a male. the reason fer this is cause women is bad luck." the following are a few of the luck charms as described by mrs. avery: "black cat bone is taken from a cat. first, the cat is killed and boiled, after which the meat is scraped from the bones. the bones are then taken to the creek and thrown in. the bone that goes up stream is the lucky bone and is the one that should be kept." "there is a boy in this neighborhood that sells liquor and i know they done locked him up ten or twelve times but he always git out. they say he carries a black cat bone," related mrs. avery. "the devil's shoe string looks jest like a fern with a lot of roots. my mother used to grow them in the corner of our garden. they are lucky. "majres (?) are always carried tied in the corner of a handkerchief. i don't know how they make 'em. "i bought a lucky stick from a man onct. it looked jest lak a candle, only it wuz small; but he did have some sticks as large as candles and he called them lucky sticks, too, but you had to burn them all night in your room. he also had some that looked jest lak buttons, small and round." the following are two stories of conjure told by mrs. avery: "i knowed a man onct long ago and he stayed sick all der time. he had the headache from morning till night. one day he went to a old man that wuz called a conjurer; this old man told him that somebody had stole the sweat-band out of his cap and less he got it back, something terrible would happen. they say this man had been going with a 'oman and she had stole his sweat-band. well, he never did get it, so he died. "i had a cousin named alec heard, and he had a wife named anna heard. anna stayed sick all der time almost; fer two years she complained. one day a old conjurer came to der house and told alec that anna wuz poisoned, but if he would give him $ . he would come back sunday morning and find the conjure. alec wuz wise, so he bored a hole in the kitchen floor so that he could jest peep through there to der back steps. sho nuff sunday morning the nigger come back and as alec watched him he dug down in the gound a piece, then he took a ground puppy, threw it in the hole and covered it up. all right, he started digging again and all at onct he jumped up and cried: 'here 'tis! i got it.' 'got what?' alec said, running to the door with a piece of board. 'i got the ground puppy dat wuz buried fer her.' alec wuz so mad he jumped on that man and beat him most to death. they say he did that all the time and kept a lot of ground puppies fer that purpose." continuing, she explained that a ground puppy was a worm with two small horns. they are dug up out of the ground, and there is a belief that you will die if one barks at you. mrs. avery related two ways in which you can keep from being conjured by anyone. "one thing i do every morning is ter sprinkle chamber-lye [hw: (urine)] with salt and then throw it all around my door. they sho can't fix you if you do this. anudder thing, if you wear a silver dime around your leg they can't fix you. the 'oman live next door says she done wore two silver dimes around her leg for years." next is a story of the jack o'lantern. "onct when i wuz a little girl a lot of us chillun used to slip off and take walnuts from a old man. we picked a rainy night so nobody would see us, but do you know it looked like a thousand jack ma' lanterns got in behind us. they wuz all around us. i never will ferget my brother telling me ter get out in the path and turn my pocket wrong side out. i told him i didn't have no pocket but the one in my apron; he said, 'well, turn that one wrong side out.' sho nuff we did and they scattered then." closing the interview, mrs. avery remarked: "that's bout all i know; but come back some time and maybe i'll think of something else." mrs. emmaline heard [tr: this interview, which was attached to the interview with mrs. celestia avery, is also included in the second volume of the georgia narratives.] on december and , , mrs. emmaline heard was interviewed at her home, cain street. the writer had visited mrs. heard previously, and it was at her own request that another visit was made. this visit was supposed to be one to obtain information and stories on the practice of conjure. on two previous occasions mrs. heard's stories had proved very interesting, and i knew as i sat there waiting for her to begin that she had something very good to tell me. she began: "chile, this story wuz told ter me by my father and i know he sho wouldn't lie. every word of it is the trufe; fact, everything i ebber told you wuz the trufe. now, my pa had a brother, old uncle martin, and his wife wuz name julianne. aunt julianne used ter have spells and fight and kick all the time. they had doctor after doctor but none did her any good. somebody told uncle martin to go ter a old conjurer and let the doctors go cause they wan't doing nothing fer her anyway. sho nuff he got one ter come see her and give her some medicine. this old man said she had bugs in her head, and after giving her the medicine he started rubbing her head. while he rubbed her head he said: 'dar's a bug in her head; it looks jest like a big black roach. now, he's coming out of her head through her ear; whatever you do, don't let him get away cause i want him. whatever you do, catch him; he's going ter run, but when he hits the pillow, grab 'em. i'm go take him and turn it back on the one who is trying ter send you ter the grave.' sho nuff that bug drap out her ear and flew; she hollered, and old uncle martin ran in the room, snatched the bed clothes off but they never did find him. aunt julianne never did get better and soon she died. the conjurer said if they had a caught the bug she would a lived." the next story is a true story. the facts as told by mrs. heard were also witnessed by her; as it deals with the conjuring of one of her sons. it is related in her exact words as nearly as possible. "i got a son named albert heard. he is living and well; but chile, there wuz a time when he wuz almost ter his grave. i wuz living in town then, and albert and his wife wuz living in the country with their two chillun. well, albert got down sick and he would go ter doctors, and go ter doctors, but they didn't do him any good. i wuz worried ter death cause i had ter run backards and for'ards and it wuz a strain on me. he wuz suffering with a knot on his right side and he couldn't even fasten his shoes cause it pained him so, and it wuz so bad he couldn't even button up his pants. a 'oman teached school out there by the name of mrs. yancy; she's dead now but she lived right here on randolph street years ago. well, one day when i wuz leaving albert's house i met her on the way from her school. 'good evening, mrs. heard,' she says. 'how is mr. albert?' i don't hardly know, i says, cause he don't get no better. she looked at me kinda funny and said, don't you believe he's hurt?' yes mam, i said, i sho do. 'well,' says she, 'i been wanting to say something to you concerning this but i didn't know how you would take it. if i tell you somewhere ter go will you go, and tell them i sent you?' yes mam, i will do anything if albert can get better. 'all right then', she says. 'catch the federal prison car and get off at butler st.' in them days that car came down forrest ave. 'when you get to butler st.', she says, 'walk up to clifton st. and go to such and such a number. knock on the door and a 'oman by the name of mrs. hirshpath will come ter the door. fore she let you in she go ask who sent you there; when you tell 'er, she'll let you in. now lemme tell you she keeps two quarts of whisky all the time and you have ter drink a little with her; sides that she cusses nearly every word she speaks; but don't let that scare you; she will sho get your son up if it kin be done.' sho nuff that old 'oman did jest lak mrs. yancy said she would do. she had a harsh voice and she spoke right snappy. when she let me in she said, sit down. you lak whisky?' i said, well, i take a little dram sometimes. 'well, here take some of this', she said. i poured a little bit and drank it kinda lak i wuz afraid. she cursed and said 'i ain't go conjure you. drink it.' she got the cards and told me to cut 'em, so i did. looking at the cards, she said: 'you lak ter wait too long; they got him marching to the cemetery. the poor thing! i'll fix those devils. (a profane word was used instead of devils). he got a knot on his side, ain't he?' yes, mam, i said. that 'oman told me everything that was wrong with albert and zackly how he acted. all at once she said; 'if them d----d things had hatched in him it would a been too late. if you do zackly lak i tell you i'll get him up from there.' i sho will, i told her. 'well, there's a stable sets east of his house. his house got three rooms and a path go straight to the stable. i see it there where he hangs his harness. yes, i see it all, the devils! have you got any money?' yes, mam, a little, i said. 'all right then,' she said. 'go to the drug store and get ¢ worth of blue stone; ¢ wheat bran; and go ter a fish market and ask 'em ter give you a little fish brine; then go in the woods and get some poke-root berries. now, there's two kinds of poke-root berries, the red skin and the white skin berry. put all this in a pot, mix with it the guts from a green gourd and parts of red pepper. make a poultice and put to his side on that knot. now, listen, your son will be afraid and think you are trying ter do something ter him but be gentle and persuade him that its fer his good.' child, he sho did act funny when i told him i wanted to treat his side. i had ter tell him i wuz carrying out doctors orders so he could get well. he reared and fussed and said he didn't want that mess on him. i told him the doctor says you do very well till you go ter the horse lot then you go blind and you can't see. he looked at me. 'sho nuff, ma, he said, 'that sho is the trufe. i have ter always call one of the chillun when i go there cause i can't see how ter get back ter the house.' well, that convinced him and he let me fix the medicine for him. i put him ter bed and made the poultice, then i put it ter his side. now this 'oman said no one wuz ter take it off the next morning but me. i wuz suppose ter fix three, one each night, and after taking each one off ter bury it lak dead folks is buried, east and west, and ter make a real grave out of each one. well, when i told him not ter move it the next morning, but let me move it, he got funny again and wanted to know why. do you know i had ter play lak i could move it without messing up my bed clothes and if he moved it he might waste it all. finally he said he would call me the next morning. sho nuff, the next morning he called me, ma! ma! come take it off. i went in the room and he wuz smiling. i slept all night long he said, and i feel so much better. i'm so glad, i said, and do you know he could reach down and fasten up his shoe and it had been a long time since he could do that. later that day i slipped out and made my first grave under the fig bush in the garden. i even put up head boards, too. that night albert said, 'mama, fix another one. i feel so much better.' i sho will, i said. thank god you're better; so fer three nights i fixed poultices and put ter his side and each morning he would tell me how much better he felt. then the last morning i wuz fixing breakfast and he sat in the next room. after while albert jumped up and hollered, ma! ma!' what is it,' i said. 'mama, that knot is gone. it dropped down in my pants.' what! i cried. where is it? chile, we looked but we didn't find anything, but the knot had sho gone. der 'oman had told me ter come back when the knot moved and she would tell me what else ter do. that same day i went ter see her and when i told her she just shouted, 'i fixed 'em, the devils! now, says she, do you [tr: know?] where you can get a few leaves off a yellow peachtree. it must be a yellow peach tree, though. yes, mam, i says to her. i have a yellow peachtree right there in my yard. well, she says, get a handful of leaves, then take a knife and scrape the bark up, then make a tea and give him so it will heal up the poison from that knot in his side, also mix a few jimson weeds with it. i come home and told him i wanted ter give him a tea. he got scared and said, what fer, ma? i had ter tell him i wuz still carrying out the doctor's orders. well, he let me give him the tea and that boy got well. i went back to mrs. hirshpath and told her my son was well and i wanted to pay her. go on, she said, keep the dollar and send your chillun ter school. this sho happened ter me and i know people kin fix you. yes sir." the next story was told to mrs. heard by mrs. hirshpath, the woman who cured her son. i used to go see that 'oman quite a bit and even sent some of my friends ter her. one day while i wuz there she told me about this piece of work she did. "there was a young man and his wife and they worked fer some white folks. they had jest married and wuz trying ter save some money ter buy a home with. all at onct the young man went blind and it almost run him and his wife crazy cause they didn't know what in the world ter do. well, somebody told him and her about mrs. hirshpath, so they went ter see her. one day, says mrs. hirshpath, a big fine carriage drew up in front of her door and the coachman helped him to her door. she asked him who sent him and he told her. she only charged ¢ for giving advice and after you wuz cured it wuz up ter you to give her what you wanted to. well, this man gave her ¢ and she talked ter him. she says, boy, you go home and don't you put that cap on no more. what cap? he says. that cap you wears ter clean up the stables with, cause somebody done dressed that cap fer you, and every time you perspire and it run down ter your eyes it makes you blind. you jest get that cap and bring it ter me. i'll fix 'em; they's trying ter make you blind, but i go let you see. the boy was overjoyed, and sho nuff he went back and brought her that cap, and it wuzn't long fore he could see good as you and me. he brought that 'oman $ , but she wouldn't take but $ and give the other $ back ter him. "what i done told you is the trufe, every word of it; i know some other things that happened but you come back anudder day fer that." plantation life georgia baker, age meigs street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth dist. supvr. federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. august , georgia's address proved to be the home of her daughter, ida baker. the clean-swept walks of the small yard were brightened by borders of gay colored zinnias and marigolds in front of the drab looking two-story, frame house. "come in," answered ida, in response to a knock at the front door. "yessum, mammy's here. go right in dat dere room and you'll find her." standing by the fireplace of the next room was a thin, very black woman engaged in lighting her pipe. a green checked gingham apron partially covered her faded blue frock over which she wore a black shirtwaist fastened together with "safety first" pins. a white cloth, tied turban fashion about her head, and gray cotton hose worn with black and white slippers that were run down at the heels, completed her costume. "good mornin'. yessum, dis here's georgia," was her greeting. "let's go in dar whar ida is so us can set down. i don't know what you come for, but i guess i'll soon find out." georgia was eager to talk but her articulation had been impaired by a paralytic stroke and at times it was difficult to understand her jumble of words. after observance of the amenities; comments on the weather, health and such subjects, she began: "whar was i born? why i was born on de plantation of a great man. it was marse alec stephens' plantation 'bout a mile and a half from crawfordville, in taliaferro county. mary and grandison tilly was my ma and pa. ma was cook up at de big house and she died when i was jus' a little gal. pa was a field hand, and he belonged to marse britt tilly. "dere was four of us chillun: me, and mary, and frances, and mack," she counted on the fingers of one hand. "marse alec let marse jim johnson have mack for his bodyguard. frances, she wuked in de field, and mary was de baby--she was too little to wuk. me, i was years old when de war was over. i swept yards, toted water to de field, and played 'round de house and yard wid de rest of de chillun. "de long, log houses what us lived in was called "shotgun" houses 'cause dey had three rooms, one behind de other in a row lak de barrel of a shotgun. all de chillun slept in one end room and de grown folkses slept in de other end room. de kitchen whar us cooked and et was de middle room. beds was made out of pine poles put together wid cords. dem wheat-straw mattresses was for grown folkses mostly 'cause nigh all de chillun slept on pallets. how-some-ever, dere was some few slave chillun what had beds to sleep on. pillows! dem days us never knowed what pillows was. gals slept on one side of de room and boys on de other in de chilluns room. uncle jim, he was de bed-maker, and he made up a heap of little beds lak what dey calls cots now. "becky and stafford stephens was my grandma and grandpa. marse alec bought 'em in old virginny. i don't know what my grandma done 'cause she died 'fore i was borned, but i 'members grandpa stafford well enough. i can see him now. he was a old man what slept on a trundle bed in the kitchen, and all he done was to set by de fire all day wid a switch in his hand and tend de chillun whilst dere mammies was at wuk. chillun minded better dem days dan dey does now. grandpa stafford never had to holler at 'em but one time. dey knowed dey would git de switch next if dey didn't behave. "now dere you is axin' 'bout dat somepin' t'eat us had dem days! ida, ain't dere a piece of watermelon in de ice box?" georgia lifted the lid of a small ice box, got out a piece of melon, and began to smack her thick lips as she devoured it with an air of ineffable satisfaction. when she had tilted the rind to swallow the last drop of pink juice, she indicated that she was fortified and ready to exercise her now well lubricated throat, by resuming her story: "oh, yessum! marse alec, had plenty for his slaves to eat. dere was meat, bread, collard greens, snap beans, 'taters, peas, all sorts of dried fruit, and just lots of milk and butter. marse alec had cows and dat's whar i learned to love milk so good. de same uncle jim what made our beds made our wooden bowls what dey kept filled wid bread and milk for de chillun all day. you might want to call dat place whar marse alec had our veg'tables raised a gyarden, but it looked more lak a big field to me, it was so big. you jus' ought to have seed dat dere fireplace whar dey cooked all us had to eat. it was one sho 'nough big somepin, all full of pots, skillets, and ovens. dey warn't never 'lowed to git full of smut neither. dey had to be cleant and shined up atter evvy meal, and dey sho was pretty hangin' dar in dat big old fireplace. "george and mack was de hunters. when dey went huntin' dey brought back jus' evvything: possums, rabbits, coons, squirrels, birds, and wild turkeys. yessum, wild turkeys is some sort of birds i reckon, but when us talked about birds to eat us meant part'idges. some folkses calls 'em quails. de fishes us had in summertime was a sight to see. us sho et good dem days. now us jus' eats what-some-ever us can git. "summertime us jus' wore what us wanted to. dresses was made wid full skirts gathered on to tight fittin' waisties. winter clothes was good and warm; dresses made of yarn cloth made up jus' lak dem summertime clothes, and petticoats and draw's made out of osnaburg. chillun what was big enough done de spinnin' and aunt betsey and aunt tinny, dey wove most evvy night 'til dey rung de bell at : o'clock for us to go to bed. us made bolts and bolts of cloth evvy year. "us went bar'foots in summer, but bless your sweet life us had good shoes in winter and wore good stockin's too. it tuk three shoemakers for our plantation. dey was uncle isom, uncle jim, and uncle stafford. dey made up hole-stock shoes for de 'omans and gals and brass-toed brogans for de mens and boys. "us had pretty white dresses for sunday. marse alec wanted evvybody on his place dressed up dat day. he sont his houseboy, uncle harris, down to de cabins evvy sunday mornin' to tell evvy slave to clean hisself up. dey warn't never give no chance to forgit. dere was a big old room sot aside for a wash-room. folkses laughs at me now 'cause i ain't never stopped takin' a bath evvy sunday mornin'. "marse lordnorth stephens was de boss on marse alec's plantation. course marse alec owned us and he was our sho 'nough marster. neither one of 'em ever married. marse lordnorth was a good man, but he didn't have no use for 'omans--he was a sissy. dere warn't no marster no whar no better dan our marse alec stephens, but he never stayed home enough to tend to things hisself much 'cause he was all de time too busy on de outside. he was de president or somepin of our side durin' de war. "uncle pierce went wid marse alec evvy whar he went. his dog, rio, had more sense dan most folkses. marse alec, he was all de time havin' big mens visit him up at de big house. one time, out in de yard, him and one of dem 'portant mens got in a argyment 'bout somepin. us chillun snuck up close to hear what dey was makin' such a rukus 'bout. i heared marse alec say: 'i got more sense in my big toe dan you is got in your whole body.' and he was right--he did have more sense dan most folkses. ain't i been a-tellin' you he was de president or somepin lak dat, dem days? "ma, she was marse alec's cook and looked atter de house. atter she died marse lordnorth got mrs. mary berry from habersham county to keep house at de big house, but aunt 'liza, she done de cookin' atter miss mary got dar. us little niggers sho' did love miss mary. us called her "mammy mary" sometimes. miss mary had three sons and one of 'em was named jeff davis. i 'members when dey come and got him and tuk him off to war. marse lordnorth built a four-room house on de plantation for miss mary and her boys. evvybody loved our miss mary, 'cause she was so good and sweet, and dere warn't nothin' us wouldn't have done for her. "no lord! marse lordnorth never needed no overseer or no carriage driver neither. uncle jim was de head man wat got de niggers up evvy mornin' and started 'em off to wuk right. de big house sho was a pretty place, a-settin' up on a high hill. de squirrels was so tame dar dey jus' played all 'round de yard. marse alec's dog is buried in dat yard. "no mam, i never knowed how many acres dere was in de plantation us lived on, and marse alec had other places too. he had land scattered evvywhar. lord, dere was a heap of niggers on dat place, and all of us was kin to one another. grandma becky and grandpa stafford was de fust slaves marse alec ever had, and dey sho had a passel of chillun. one thing sho marse lordnorth wouldn't keep no bright colored nigger on dat plantation if he could help it. aunt mary was a bright colored nigger and dey said dat marse john, marse lordnorth's brother, was her pa, but anyhow marse lordnorth never had no use for her 'cause she was a bright colored nigger. "marse lordnorth never had no certain early time for his slaves to git up nor no special late time for 'em to quit wuk. de hours dey wuked was 'cordin' to how much wuk was ahead to be done. folks in crawfordville called us 'stephens' free niggers.' "us minded marse lordnorth--us had to do dat--but he let us do pretty much as us pleased. us never had no sorry piece of a marster. he was a good man and he made a sho 'nough good marster. i never seed no nigger git a beatin', and what's more i never heared of nothin' lak dat on our place. dere was a jail in crawfordville, but none of us niggers on marse alec's place warn't never put in it. "no lord! none of us niggers never knowed nothin' 'bout readin' and writin'. dere warn't no school for niggers den, and i ain't never been to school a day in my life. niggers was more skeered of newspapers dan dey is of snakes now, and us never knowed what a bible was dem days. "niggers never had no churches of deir own den. dey went to de white folkses' churches and sot in de gallery. one sunday when me and my sister frances went to church i found ¢ in confederate money and showed it to her. she tuk it away from me. dat's de onliest money i seed durin' slavery time. course you knows dey throwed confederate money away for trash atter de war was over. den us young chaps used to play wid it. "i never went to no baptizin's nor no funerals neither den. funerals warn't de style. when a nigger died dem days, dey jus' put his body in a box and buried it. i 'members very well when aunt sallie and aunt catherine died, but i was little den, and i didn't take it in what dey done bout buryin' 'em. "none of marse alec's slaves never run away to de north, 'cause he was so good to 'em dey never wanted to leave him. de onliest nigger what left marse alec's place was uncle dave, and he wouldn't have left 'cept he got in trouble wid a white 'oman. you needn't ax me her name 'cause i ain't gwine to tell it, but i knows it well as i does my own name. anyhow marse alec give uncle dave some money and told him to leave, and nobody never seed him no more atter dat. "oh yessum! us heared 'bout 'em, but none of us never seed no patterollers on marse alec's plantation. he never 'lowed 'em on his land, and he let 'em know dat he kept his slaves supplied wid passes whenever dey wanted to go places so as dey could come and go when dey got good and ready. thursday and sadday nights was de main nights dey went off. uncle stafford's wife was miss mary stephen's cook, uncle jim's wife lived on de finley place, and uncle isom's belonged to de hollises, so dey had regular passes all de time and no patterollers never bothered 'em none. "whenever marse alec or marse lordnorth wanted to send a message dey jus' put george or mack on a horse and sont 'em on but one thing sho, dere warn't no slave knowed what was in dem letters. "marse alec sho had plenty of mules. some of 'em was named: pete, clay, rollin, jack, and sal. sal was allen's slow mule, and he set a heap of store by her. dere was a heap more mules on dat place, but i can't call back dere names right now. "most times when slaves went to deir quarters at night, mens rested, but sometimes dey holped de 'omans cyard de cotton and wool. young folkses frolicked, sung songs, and visited from cabin to cabin. when dey got behind wid de field wuk, sometimes slaves wuked atter dinner saddays, but dat warn't often. but, oh, dem sadday nights! dat was when slaves got together and danced. george, he blowed de quills, and he sho could blow grand dance music on 'em. dem niggers would jus' dance down. dere warn't no foolishment 'lowed atter : o'clock no night. sundays dey went to church and visited 'round, but folks didn't spend as much time gaddin' 'bout lak dey does now days. "christmas day! oh, what a time us niggers did have dat day! marse lordnorth and marse alec give us evvything you could name to eat: cake of all kinds, fresh meat, lightbread, turkeys, chickens, ducks, geese, and all kinds of wild game. dere was allus plenty of pecans, apples, and dried peaches too at christmas. marse alec had some trees what had fruit dat looked lak bananas on 'em, but i done forgot what was de name of dem trees. marse alec would call de grown folkses to de big house early in de mornin' and pass 'round a big pewter pitcher full of whiskey, den he would put a little whiskey in dat same pitcher and fill it wid sweetened water and give dat to us chillun. us called dat 'toddy' or 'dram'. marse alex allus had plenty of good whiskey, 'cause uncle willis made it up for him and it was made jus' right. de night atter christmas day us pulled syrup candy, drunk more liquor, and danced. us had a big time for a whole week and den on new year's day us done a little wuk jus' to start de year right and us feasted dat day on fresh meat, plenty of cake, and whiskey. dere was allus a big pile of ash-roasted 'taters on hand to go wid dat good old baked meat. us allus tried to raise enough 'taters to last all through de winter 'cause niggers sho does love dem sweet 'taters. no mam, us never knowed nothin' 'bout santa claus 'til atter de war. "no mam, dere warn't no special cornshuckin's and cotton pickin's on marse alec's place, but of course dey did quilt in de winter 'cause dere had to be lots of quiltin' done for all dem slaves to have plenty of warm kivver, and you knows, lady, 'omens can quilt better if dey gits a passel of 'em together to do it. marse alec and marse lordnorth never 'lowed dere slaves to mix up wid other folkses business much. "oh lord! us never played no games in slavery times, 'cept jus' to run around in a ring and pat our hands. i never sung no songs 'cause i warn't no singer, and don't talk 'bout no raw head and bloody bones or nothin' lak dat. dey used to skeer us chillun so bad 'bout dem sort of things dat us used to lay in bed at night a-shakin' lak us was havin' chills. i've seed plenty of ha'nts right here in athens. not long atter i had left crawfordville and moved to athens, i had been in bed jus' a little while one night, and was jus' dozin' off to sleep when i woke up and sot right spang up in bed. i seed a white man, dressed in white, standin' before me. i sho didn't say nothin' to him for i was too skeered. de very last time i went to a dance, somepin got atter me and skeered me so my hair riz up 'til i couldn't git my hat on my haid, and dat cyored me of gwine to dances. i ain't never been to no more sich doin's. "old marster was powerful good to his niggers when dey got sick. he had 'em seed atter soon as it was 'ported to him dat dey was ailin'. yessum, dere warn't nothin' short 'bout our good marsters, 'deed dere warn't! grandpa stafford had a sore laig and marse lordnorth looked atter him and had uncle jim dress dat pore old sore laig evvy day. slaves didn't git sick as often as niggers does now days. mammy mary had all sorts of teas made up for us, 'cordin' to whatever ailment us had. boneset tea was for colds. de fust thing dey allus done for sore throat was give us tea made of red oak bark wid alum. scurvy grass tea cleant us out in the springtime, and dey made us wear little sacks of assfiddy (asafetida) 'round our necks to keep off lots of sorts of miseries. some folkses hung de left hind foot of a mole on a string 'round deir babies necks to make 'em teethe easier. i never done nothin' lak dat to my babies 'cause i never believed in no such foolishment. some babies is jus' natchelly gwine to teethe easier dan others anyhow. "i 'members jus' as good as if it was yesterday what mammy mary said when she told us de fust news of freedom. 'you all is free now,' she said. 'you don't none of you belong to mister lordnorth nor mister alec no more, but i does hope you will all stay on wid 'em, 'cause dey will allus be jus' as good to you as dey has done been in de past.' me, i warn't even studyin' nothin' 'bout leavin' marse alec, but sarah ann and aunt mary, dey threwed down deir hoes and jus' whooped and hollered 'cause dey was so glad. when dem yankees come to our place mammy mary axed 'em if dey warn't tired of war. 'what does you know 'bout no war?' dey axed her right back. 'no, us won't never git tired of doin' good.' "i stayed on wid my two good marsters 'til most years atter de war, and den went to wuk for marse tye elder in crawfordville. atter dat i wuked for miss puss king, and when she left crawfordville i come on here to athens and wuked for miss tildy upson on prince avenue. den i went to atlanta to wuk for miss ruth evage (probably elliott). miss ruth was a niece of abraham lincoln's. her father was president lincoln's brother and he was a methodist preacher what lived in mailpack, new york. i went evvywhar wid miss ruth. when me and miss ruth was in philadelphia, i got sick and she sont me home to athens and i done been here wid my daughter ever since. "lawdy, miss! i ain't never been married, but i did live wid major baker years and us had five chillun. dey is all daid but two. niggers didn't pay so much 'tention to gittin' married dem days as dey does now. i stays here wid my gal, ida baker. my son lives in cleveland, ohio. my fust child was borned when i warn't but years old. de war ended in april and she was borned in november of dat year. now, miss! i ain't never told but one white 'oman who her pa was, so you needn't start axin' me nothin' 'bout dat. she had done been walkin' evvywhar 'fore she died when she was jus' months old and i'm a-tellin' you de truth when i say she had more sense dan a heap of white chillun has when dey is lots older dan she was. whilst i was off in new york wid miss ruth, major, he up and got married. i reckon he's daid by now. i don't keer nohow, atter de way he done me. i made a good livin' for major 'til he married again. i seed de 'oman he married once. "yes mam," there was strong emphasis in this reply. "i sho would ruther have slavery days back if i could have my same good marsters 'cause i never had no hard times den lak i went through atter dey give us freedom. i ain't never got over not bein' able to see marse alec no more. i was livin' at marse tye elder's when de gate fell on marse alec, and he was crippled and lamed up from dat time on 'til he died. he got to be governor of georgia whilst he was crippled. when he got hurt by dat gate, smallpox was evvywhar and dey wouldn't let me go to see 'bout him. dat most killed me 'cause i did want to go see if dere was somepin' i could do for him. "lordy mussy, miss! i had a time jinin' up wid de church. i was in mailpack, new york, wid miss ruth when i had de urge to jine up. i told miss ruth 'bout it and she said: 'dere ain't no baptist church in miles of here.' 'lord, have mussy!' i said. 'miss ruth, what i gwine do? dese is all methodist churches up here and i jus' can't jine up wid no methodists.' 'yes you can,' she snapped at me, 'cause my own pa's a-holdin a 'vival in dis very town and de methodist church is de best anyhow.' well, i went on and jined de reverend lincoln's methodist church, but i never felt right 'bout it. den us went to philadelphia and soon as i could find a baptist church dar, i jined up wid it. northern churches ain't lak our southern churches 'cause de black and white folkses all belong to de same church dar and goes to church together. on dat account i still didn't feel lak i had jined de church. bless your sweet life, honey, when i come back to de south, i was quick as i could be to jine up wid a good old southern baptist church. i sho didn't mean to live outdoors, 'specially atter i dies." georgia's eyes sparkled and her flow of speech was smooth as she told of her religious experiences. when that subject was exhausted her eyes dimmed again and her speech became less articulate. georgia's reeking pipe had been laid aside for the watermelon and not long after that was consumed the restless black fingers sought occupation sewing gay pieces for a quilt. "miss, i warn't born to be lazy, i warn't raised dat way, and i sho ain't skeered to die. "good-bye, honey," said georgia, as the interviewer arose and made her way toward the street. "hurry back and don't forgit to fetch me dat purty pink dress you is a-wearin'. i don't lak white dresses and i ain't never gwine to wear a black one nohow." [tr: return visit] georgia was on the back porch washing her face and hands and quarrelling with ida for not having her breakfast ready at nine-thirty when the interviewer arrived for a re-visit. "come in," georgia invited, "and have a cheer. but, miss i done told you all i knows 'bout marse alec and dem deys when i lived on his plantation. you know chillun den warn't 'lowed to hang 'round de grown folks whar dey could hear things what was talked about." about this time ida came down from a second-floor kitchen with her mother's breakfast. she was grumbling a little louder on each step of the rickety stairway. "lord, have mussy! ma is still a-talkin' 'bout dat old slavery stuff, and it ain't nothin' nohow." after ida's eyes had rested on the yellow crepe frock just presented georgia in appreciation of the three hours she had given for the first interview, she became reconciled for the story to be resumed, and even offered her assistance in rousing the recollections of her parent. "did i tell you" georgia began, "dat de man what looked atter marse alec's business was his fust cousin? he was de marse lordnorth i'se all time talkin' 'bout, and marse john was marse lordnorth's brother. dere warn't no cook or house gal up at de big house but ma 'til atter she died, and den when miss mary berry tuk charge of de house dey made uncle harry and his wife, aunt 'liza, house boy and cook. "marse alec growed all his corn on his googer crick plantation. he planned for evvything us needed and dere warn't but mighty little dat he didn't have raised to take keer of our needs. lordy, didn't i tell you what sort of shoes, holestock shoes is? dem was de shoes de 'omans wore and dey had extra pieces on de sides so us wouldn't knock holes in 'em too quick. "de fust time i ever seed marse alec to know who he was, i warn't more'n years old. uncle stafford had went fishin' and cotched de nicest mess of fish you ever seed. he cleant 'em and put 'em in a pan of water, and told me to take 'em up to de big house to marse alec. i was skeered when i went in de big house yard and axed, what looked lak a little boy, whar marse alec was, and i was wuss skeered when he said: 'dis is marse alec you is talkin' to. what you want?' i tole him uncle stafford sont him de fishes and he told me: 'take 'em to de kitchen and tell 'liza to cook 'em for me.' i sho ain't never gwine to forgit dat. "one day dey sont me wid a bucket of water to de field, and i had to go through de peach orchard. i et so many peaches, i was 'most daid when i got back to de house. dey had to drench me down wid sweet milk, and from dat day to dis i ain't never laked peaches. from den on marse alec called me de 'peach gal.' "marse alec warn't home much of de time, but when he was dar he used to walk down to de cabins and laugh and talk to his niggers. he used to sing a song for de slave chillun dat run somepin lak dis: 'walk light ladies de cake's all dough, you needn't mind de weather, if de wind don't blow.'" georgia giggled when she came to the end of the stanza. "us didn't know when he was a-singin' dat tune to us chillun dat when us growed up us would be cake walkin' to de same song. "on sundays, whenever marse alec was home, he done lots of readin' out of a great big old book. i didn't know what it was, but he was pow'ful busy wid it. he never had no parties or dancin' dat i knows 'bout, but he was all time havin' dem big 'portant mens at his house talkin' 'bout de business what tuk him off from home so much. i used to see lawyer coombs dere heaps of times. he was a big, fine lookin' man. another big lawyer was all time comin' dar too, but i done lost his name. marse alec had so awful much sense in his haid dat folkses said it stunted his growin'. anyhow, long as he lived he warn't no bigger dan a boy. "when uncle harry's and aunt 'liza's daughter what was named 'liza, got married he was in washin'ton or some place lak dat. he writ word to marse linton, his half-brother, to pervide a weddin' for her. i knows 'bout dat 'cause i et some of dat barbecue. dat's all i 'members 'bout her weddin'. i done forgot de name of de bridegroom. he lived on some other plantation. aunt 'liza had two gals and one boy. he was named allen. "whilst marse alec was president or somepin, he got sick and had to come back home, and it wern't long atter dat 'fore de surrender. allen was 'pinted to watch for de blue coats. when dey come to take marse alec off, dey was all over the place wid deir guns. us niggers hollered and cried and tuk on pow'ful 'cause us sho thought dey was gwine to kill him on account of his bein' such a high up man on de side what dey was fightin'. all de niggers followed 'em to de depot when dey tuk marse alec and uncle pierce away. dey kept marse alec in prison off somewhar a long time but dey sont pierce back home 'fore long. "i seed jeff davis when dey brung him through crawfordville on de train. dey had him all fastened up wid chains. dey told me dat a nigger 'oman put pizen in jeff davis' somepin t'eat and dat was what kilt him. one thing sho, our marse alec warn't pizened by nobody. he was comin' from de field one day when a big old heavy gate fell down on him, and even if he did live a long time atterwards dat was what was de cause of his death. "i seed uncle pierce 'fore he died and us sot and talked and cried 'bout marse alec. yessum, us sho did have de best marster in de world. if ever a man went to heaven, marse alec did. i sho does wish our good old marster was livin' now. now, miss, i done told you all i can ricollec' 'bout dem days. i thanks you a lot for dat purty yaller dress, and i hopes you comes back to see me again sometime." alice battle, ex-slave hawkinsville, georgia (interviewed by elizabeth watson-- ) [jul , ] during the 's, emanuel caldwell--born in north carolina, and neal anne caldwell--born in south carolina, were brought to macon by "speculators" and sold to mr. ed marshal of bibb county. some time thereafter, this couple married on mr. marshal's plantation, and their second child, born about , was alice battle. from her birth until freedom, alice was a chattel of this mr. marshal, whom she refers to as a humane man, though inclined to use the whip when occasion demanded. followed to its conclusion, alice's life history is void of thrills and simply an average ex-slave's story. as a slave, she was well fed, well clothed, and well treated, as were her brother and sister slaves. her mother was a weaver, her father--a field hand, and she did both housework and plantation labor. alice saw the yankee pass her ex-master's home with their famous prisoner, jeff davis, after his capture, in ' . the yankee band, says she, was playing "we'll hang jeff davis on a sour apple tree". some of the soldiers "took time out" to rob the marshal smokehouse. the whites and negroes were all badly frightened, but the "damyankees didn't harm nobody". after freedom, alice remained with the marshals until christmas, when she moved away. later, she and her family moved back to the marshal plantation for a few years. a few years still later, alice married a battle "nigger". since the early ' 's, alice has "drifted around" quite a bit. she and her husband are now too old and feeble to work. they live with one of their sons, and are objects of charity. plantation life jasper battle, age berry st., athens, ga. written by: grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & the shade of the large water oaks in jasper's yard was a welcome sight when the interviewer completed the long walk to the old negro's place in the sweltering heat of a sunny july afternoon. the old house appeared to be in good condition and the yard was clean and tidy. jasper's wife, lula, came around the side of the house in answer to the call for jasper. a large checked apron almost covered her blue dress and a clean white headcloth concealed her hair. despite her advanced age, she seemed to be quite spry. "jus' come back here whar i'se a-doin' de white folks' washin'," she said. "jasper's done been powerful sick and i can't leave him by hisself none. i brung him out here in de shade so i could watch him and 'tend to him whilst i wuks. jasper stepped on a old plank what had two rusty nails in it, and both of 'em went up in his foot a fur ways. i done driv dem nails plumb up to dey haids in de north side of a tree and put jimpson weed poultices on jasper's foot, but it's still powerful bad off." by this time we had arrived within sight and earshot of the old rocking chair where jasper sat with his foot propped high in another chair. his chair had long ago been deprived of its rockers. the injured member appeared to be swollen and was covered with several layers of the jimpson weed leaves. the old man's thin form was clothed in a faded blue shirt and old gray cotton trousers. his clothes were clean and his white hair was in marked contrast to his shining but wrinkled black face. he smiled when lula explained the nature of the proposed interview. "'scuse me, missy," he apologized, "for not gittin' up, 'cause i jus' can't use dis old foot much, but you jus' have a seat here in de shade and rest yourself." lula now excused herself, saying: "i jus' got to hurry and git de white folks' clothes washed and dried 'fore it rains," and she resumed her work in the shade of another huge tree where a fire was burning brightly under her washpot and a row of sud-filled tubs occupied a long bench. "lula, she has to wuk all de time," jasper explained, "and she don't never have time to listen to me talk. i'se powerful glad somebody is willin' to stop long enough to pay some heed whilst i talks 'bout somepin. dem days 'fore de war was good old days, 'specially for de colored folks. i know, 'cause my mammy done told me so. you see i was mighty little and young when de war was over, but i heared de old folks do lots of talkin' 'bout dem times whilst i was a-growin' up, and den too, i stayed right dar on dat same place 'til i was 'bout grown. it was marse henry jones' plantation 'way off down in taliaferro county, nigh crawfordville, georgy. mammy b'longed to marse henry. she was harriet jones. daddy was simon battle and his owner was marse billie battle. de battle's plantation was off down dar nigh de jones' place. when my mammy and daddy got married marse henry wouldn't sell mammy, and marse billie wouldn't sell daddy, so dey didn't git to see one another but twice a week--dat was on wednesday and sadday nights--'til atter de war was done over. i kin still 'member daddy comin' over to marse henry's plantation to see us. "marse henry kept a lot of slaves to wuk his big old plantation whar he growed jus' evvything us needed to eat and wear 'cept sugar and coffee and de brass toes for our home-made, brogan shoes. dere allus was a-plenty t'eat and wear on dat place. "slave quarters was log cabins built in long rows. some had chimblies in de middle, twixt two rooms, but de most of 'em was jus' one-room cabins wid a stick and mud chimbly at de end. dem chimblies was awful bad 'bout ketchin' on fire. didn't nobody have no glass windows. dey jus' had plain plank shutters for blinds and de doors was made de same way, out of rough planks. all de beds was home-made and de best of 'em was corded. dey made holes in de sides and foots and haidpieces, and run heavy home-made cords in dem holes. dey wove 'em crossways in and out of dem holes from one side to another 'til dey had 'em ready to lay de mattress mat on. i'se helped to pull dem cords tight many a time. our mattress ticks was made of homespun cloth and was stuffed wid wheat straw. 'fore de mattress tick was put on de bed a stiff mat wove out of white oak splits was laid on top of de cords to pertect de mattress and make it lay smooth. us was 'lowed to pick up all de old dirty cotton 'round de place to make our pillows out of. "jus' a few of de slave famblies was 'lowed to do deir own cookin' 'cause marster kept cooks up at de big house what never had nothin' else to do but cook for de white folks and slaves. de big old fireplace in dat kitchen at de big house was more dan eight feet wide and you could pile whole sticks of cord-wood on it. it had racks acrost to hang de pots on and big ovens and little ovens and big, thick, iron fryin' pans wid long handles and hefty iron lids. dey could cook for a hunderd people at one time in dat big old kitchen easy. at one time dere was tables acrost one end of de kitchen for de slaves t'eat at, and de slave chillun et dar too. "marster was mighty good to slave chillun. he never sont us out to wuk in de fields 'til us was 'most growed-up, say or years old. a nigger or years old dem days was big as a white child or years old. why miss, niggers growed so fast, dat most of de nigger nurses warn't no older dan de white chillun dey tuk keer of. marster said he warn't gwine to send no babies to de fields. when slave chillun got to be 'bout or years old dey started 'em to fetchin' in wood and water, cleanin' de yards, and drivin' up de cows at night. de bigges' boys was 'lowed to measure out and fix de stock feed, but de most of us chillun jus' played in de cricks and woods all de time. sometimes us played injuns and made so much fuss dat old aunt nancy would come out to de woods to see what was wrong, and den when she found us was jus' a-havin' fun, she stropped us good for skeerin' her. "mammy's job was to make all de cloth. dat was what she done all de time; jus' wove cloth. some of de others cyarded de bats and spun thread, but mammy, she jus' wove on so reg'lar dat she made enough cloth for clothes for all dem slaves on de plantation and, it's a fact, us did have plenty of clothes. all de nigger babies wore dresses made jus' alak for boys and gals. i was sho'ly mighty glad when dey 'lowed me to git rid of dem dresses and wear shirts. i was 'bout years old den, but dat boys' shirt made me feel powerful mannish. slave gals wore homespun cotton dresses, and dey had plenty of dem dresses, so as dey could keep nice and clean all de time. dey knitted all de socks and stockin's for winter. dem gals wore shawls, and dere poke bonnets had ruffles 'round 'em. all de shoes was home-made too. marster kept one man on de plantation what didn't do nothin' but make shoes. lordy, missy! what would gals say now if dey had to wear dem kind of clothes? dey would raise de roof plumb offen de house. but jus' let me tell you, a purty young gal dressed in dem sort of clothes would look mighty sweet to me right now. "us never could eat all de meat in marster's big old smokehouse. sometimes he tuk hams to de store and traded 'em for sugar and coffee. plenty of 'bacco was raised on dat plantation for all de white folks and de growed-up niggers. slave chillun warn't sposen to have none, so us had to swipe what 'bacco us got. if our mammies found out 'bout us gittin' 'bacco, dey stropped us 'til de skin was most off our backs, but sometimes us got away wid a little. if us seed any of de old folks was watchin' us, us slipped de 'bacco from one to another of us whilst dey s'arched us, and it went mighty bad on us if dey found it. "slaves went to de white folks' church and listened to de white preachers. dere warn't no colored preacher 'lowed to preach in dem churches den. dey preached to de white folks fust and den dey let de colored folks come inside and hear some preachin' atter dey was through wid de white folks. but on de big 'vival meetin' days dey 'lowed de niggers to come in and set in de gallery and listen at de same time dey preached to de white folks. when de sermon was over dey had a big dinner spread out on de grounds and dey had jus' evvything good t'eat lak chickens, barbecued hogs and lambs, pies, and lots of watermelons. us kept de watermelons in de crick 'til dey was ready to cut 'em. a white gentleman, what dey called mr. kilpatrick, done most of de preachin'. he was from de white plains neighborhood. he sho' did try mighty hard to git evvybody to 'bey de good lord and keep his commandments. "mr. kilpatrick preached all de funerals too. it 'pears lak a heap more folks is a-dyin' out dese days dan died den, and folks was a heap better den to folks in trouble. dey would go miles and miles den when dey didn't have no auto'biles, to help folks what was in trouble. now, dey won't go next door when dere's death in de house. den, when anybody died de fust thing dey done was to shroud 'em and lay 'em out on de coolin' board 'til old marster's cyarpenter could git de coffin made up. dere warn't no embalmers dem days and us had to bury folks de next day atter dey died. de coffins was jus' de same for white folks and deir slaves. on evvy plantation dere was a piece of ground fenced in for a graveyard whar dey buried white folks and slaves too. my old daddy is buried down yonder on marse henry's plantation right now. "when a slave wanted to git married up wid a gal, he didn't ax de gal, but he went and told marster 'bout it. marster would talk to de gal and if she was willin', den marster would tell all de other niggers us was a-goin' to have a weddin'. dey would all come up to de big house and marster would tell de couple to jine hands and jump backwards over a broomstick, and den he pernounced 'em man and wife. dey didn't have to have no licenses or nothin' lak dey does now. if a man married up wid somebody on another place, he had to git a pass from his marster, so as he could go see his wife evvy wednesday and sadday nights. when de patterollers cotched slaves out widout no passes, dey evermore did beat 'em up. leastways dat's what mammy told me. "durin' de big war all de white folkses was off a-fightin' 'cept dem what was too old to fight or what was too bad crippled and 'flicted. dey stayed home and looked atter de 'omans and chillun. somebody sont mist'ess word dat dem yankees was on de way to our plantation and she hid evvything she could, den had de hogs and hosses driv off to de swamps and hid. mammy was crazy 'bout a pet pig what marster had done give her, so mist'ess told her to go on down to dat swamp quick, and hide dat little pig. jus' as she was a-runnin' back in de yard, dem yankees rid in and she seed 'em a-laughin' fit to kill. she looked 'round to see what dey was tickled 'bout and dere followin' her lak a baby was dat pig. dem yankees was perlite lak, and dey never bothered nothin' on our place, but dey jus' plumb ruint evvything on some of de plantations right close to our'n. dey tuk nigh evvything some of our neighbors had t'eat, most all deir good hosses, and anything else dey wanted. us never did know why dey never bothered our white folkses' things. "when dey give us our freedom us went right on over to marse billie battle's place and stayed dar wid daddy 'bout a year; den daddy come wid us back to marse henry's, and dar us stayed 'til old marster died. long as he lived atter de war, he wukked most of his help on sheers, and seed dat us was tuk keer of jus' lak he had done when us all b'longed to him. us never went to school much 'cause mammy said white folks didn't lak for niggers to have no larnin', but atter de war was done over our old mist'ess let colored chillun have some lessons in a little cabin what was built in de back yard for de white chillun to go to school in. "atter dey buried our old marster, us moved down to hancock county and farmed dar, 'cause dat was all us knowed how to do. us got together and raised money to buy ground enough for a churchyard and a graveyard for colored folks. dat graveyard filled up so fast dat dey had to buy more land several times. us holped 'em build de fust colored church in hancock county. "school for colored chillun was held den in our church house. our teacher was a white man, mr. tom andrews, and he was a mighty good teacher, but lordy, how strick he was! dese here chillun don't know nothin' 'bout school. us went early in de mornin', tuk our dinner in a bucket, and never left 'til four o'clock, and sometimes dat was 'most nigh sundown. all day us studied dat blue back speller, and dat white teacher of ours sho' tuk de skin offen our backs if us didn't mind him. dere warn't no fussin' and fightin' and foolin' 'round on de way home, 'cause dat white teacher 'lowed he had control of us 'til us got to our mammies' doors and if us didn't git for home in a hurry, it was jus' too bad for us when he tuk it out on us next day wid dat long hick'ry switch. "things is sho' diffunt now. folks ain't good now as dey was den, but dere is gwine to be a change. i may not be here to see it, but it's a-comin' 'cause de good lord is done 'sied (prophesied) it, and it's got to be. god's sayin' is comin' to pass jus' as sho' as us is livin' and settin' in de shade of dis here tree. "lordy, miss! how come you axes 'bout colored folks'es weddin's? i was a-courtin' a little -year old gal named lovie williams, but her mammy runned me off and said she warn't gwine to let lovie git married up wid nobody 'til she got big enough. i jus' bought dem licenses and watched for my chanct and den i stole dat gal right from under her mammy's eyes. my mammy knowed all 'bout it and holped us git away. us didn't have no time for no weddin'. de best us could do was jus' to git ourselfs married up. lovie's mammy raised de old ned, but us didn't keer den, 'cause it was too late for her to do nothin' to part us. lovie was one of the bestest gals what ever lived. us raised chillun and i never had one speck of trouble wid her. lovie's done been daid years now." his voice trembled as he talked about his first wife, and lula almost stopped her work to listen. this kind of talk did not please her and her expression grew stern. "you done talked a-plenty," she told him. "you ain't strong 'nough to do no more talkin'," but jasper was not willing to be silenced. "i reckon i knows when i'se tired. i ain't gwine to hush 'til i gits good and ready," was his protest. "yes missy," he continued. "all our chillun is done daid now 'cept four and dey is 'way off up north. ain't nobody left here 'cept me and lula. lula is pow'ful good to me. i done got too old to wuk, and can't do nothin' nohow wid dis old foot so bad off. i'se ready and even anxious to go when de good lord calls for old jasper to come to de heav'nly home. "i ain't heared nothin' from my only brother in over years. i 'spose he still lives in crawfordville. missy, i wishes i could go back down to crawfordville one more time. i kin jus' see our old homeplace on de plantation down dar now. lula a-washin' here, makes me study 'bout de old washplace on marse henry's plantation. dere was a long bench full of old wood tubs, and a great big iron pot for bilin' de clothes, and de batten block and stick. chillun beat de clothes wid de batten stick and kept up de fire 'round de pot whilst de 'omans leaned over de tubs washin' and a-singin' dem old songs. you could hear 'em 'most a mile away. now and den one of de 'omans would stop singin' long enough to yell at de chillun to 'git more wood on dat fire 'fore i lash de skin offen your back.' "oh missy, dem was good old days. us would be lucky to have 'em back again, 'specially when harvest time comes 'round. you could hear niggers a-singin' in de fields 'cause dey didn't have no worries lak dey got now. when us got de corn up from de fields, niggers come from far and nigh to marster's cornshuckin'. dat cornshuckin' wuk was easy wid evvybody singin' and havin' a good time together whilst dey made dem shucks fly. de cornshuckin' captain led all de singin' and he set right up on top of de highes' pile of corn. de chillun was kept busy a-passin' de liquor jug 'round. atter it started gittin' dark, marster had big bonfires built up and plenty of torches set 'round so as dere would be plenty of light. atter dey et all dey wanted of dem good things what had done been cooked up for de big supper, den de wrastlin' matches started, and marster allus give prizes to de best wrastlers. dere warn't no fussin' and fightin' 'lowed on our place, and dem wrastlin' matches was all in good humor and was kept orderly. marster wanted evvybody to be friends on our plantation and to stay dat way, for says he: 'de blessed saviour done said for us to love our neighbor as ourselfs, and to give and what us gives is gwine to come back to us.' missy, de good lord's word is always right." the interviewer was preparing to leave when one of jasper's old friends approached the sheltering tree in the yard, where the interview was drawing to a close. "brudder paul," said jasper, "i wisht you had come sooner 'cause missy, here, and me is done had de bestes' time a-goin' back over dem old times when folks loved one another better dan dey does now. good-bye missy, you done been mighty kind and patient wid old jasper. come back again some time." [hw: dist. -- ex-slv. # ] arrie binns of washington-wilkes by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia [may ] arrie binns lives in baltimore, a negro suburb of washington-wilkes, in a little old tumbled down kind of a cottage that used to be one of the neatest and best houses of the settlement and where she has lived for the past sixty-odd years. in the yard of her home is one of the most beautiful holly trees to be found anywhere. she set it there herself over fifty years ago. she recalled how her friends predicted bad luck would befall her because she "sot out er holly", but not being in the least bit superstitious she paid them "no mind" and has enjoyed her beautiful tree all these years. many lovely oaks are around her house; she set them there long ago when she was young and with her husband moved into their new home and wanted to make it as attractive as possible. she is all alone now. her husband died some years ago and three of her four children have passed on. her "preacher son" who was her delight, died not very long ago. all this sorrow has left aunt arrie old and sad; her face is no longer lighted by the smile it used to know. she is a tiny little scrap of a woman with the softest voice and is as neat as can be. she wears an oldfashioned apron all the time and in cool weather there is always a little black cape around her frail shoulders and held together with a plain old gold "breastpin". she was born in lincoln county (georgia), her mother was emeline sybert and her father jordan sybert. they belonged to mr. jones sybert and his wife "miss peggy". after freedom they changed their surname to gullatt as they liked that better. arrie was among the oldest of nine children. the night she was born the stork brought a little baby girl to the home of a white family just across the creek from the syberts. the little white girl was named arine so "miss peggy" named the little new black baby girl arrie, and that is how it happened she was given such an odd name. arrie said she was " or years old when the war broke ( ), i wuz big enough to be lookin' at boys an' dey lookin' at me." she remembers the days of war, how when the battle of atlanta was raging they heard the distant rumble of cannon, and how "upsot" they all were. her master died of "the consumption" during the war. she recalls how hard it was after his death. the syberts had no children and there was no one to turn to after his death. arrie tells of her master's illness, how she was the housemaid and was called upon to fan him and how she would get so tired and sleepy she would nod a little, the fan dropping from hands into his face. he would take it up and "crack my haid with the handle to wake me up. i wuz allus so sorry when i done that, but i jest had ter nod." she told about how bad the overseers were and the trouble they gave until finally "old miss turned off ther one she had an' put my pa in his place to manage things and look after the work." arrie was never punished, (not any more than having her head cracked by her master when she nodded while fanning him.) "no mam, not none of our niggers wuz whipped. why i recollect once, my brother wuz out without a pass an' de patter rollers kotch him and brung him to old miss and said he'd have ter be whipped, old miss got so mad she didn't know what ter do, she said nobody wuz a goin' ter whip her niggers, but the patter roller men 'sisted so she said after er while, 'well, but i'm goin' ter stan' right here an' when i say stop, yer got ter stop', an' they 'greed to dat, an' the third time dey hit him she raised her han' an' said 'stop' an' dey had ter let my brother go. my miss wuz a big 'oman, she'd weigh nigh on ter three hundred pound, i 'spect." after her master's death arrie had to go into the field to work. she recalled with a little chuckle, the old cream horse, "toby" she use to plow. she loved toby, she said, and they did good work. when not plowing she said she "picked er round in the fields" doing whatever she could. she and the other slaves were not required to do very hard work. her mother was a field hand, but in the evenings she spun and wove down in their cabin. aunt arrie added "an' i did love to hear that old spinnin' wheel. it made a low kind of a whirring sound that made me sleepy." she said her mother, with all the other negro women on the place, had "a task of spinnin' a spool at night", and they spun and wove on rainy days too. "ma made our clothes an' we had pretty dresses too. she dyed some blue and brown striped. we growed the indigo she used fer the blue, right dar on the plantation, and she used bark and leaves to make the tan and brown colors." aunt arrie said the doctor was always called in when they were sick, "but we never sont fer him lesse'n somebody wuz real sick. de old folks doctored us jest fer little ailments. dey give us lye tea fer colds. (this was made by taking a few clean ashes from the fire place, putting them in a little thin bag and pouring boiling water over them and let set for a few minutes. this had to be given very weak or else it would be harmful, aunt arrie explained.) garlic and whiskey, and den, dar ain't nothin' better fer the pneumony dan splinter tea. i've cured bad cases with it." (that is made by pouring boiling water over lightwood splinters.) aunt arrie told of their life on the plantation and it was not unlike that of other slaves who had good masters who looked after them. they had plenty to eat and to wear. their food was given them and they cooked and ate their meals in the cabins in family groups. santa claus always found his way to the quarters and brought them stick candy and other things to eat. she said for their christmas dinner there was always a big fat hen and a hog head. in slavery days the negroes had quiltings, dances, picnics and everybody had a good time, aunt arrie said, "an' i kin dance yit when i hears a fiddle." they had their work to do in the week days, but when sundays came there was no work, everybody rested and on "preachin' days" went to church. her father took them all to old rehoboth, the neighborhood white church, and they worshiped together, white and black, the negroes in the gallery. that was back in the days when there was "no lookin' neither to the right nor to the left" when in church; no matter what happened, no one could even half way smile. this all was much harder than having to listen to the long tiresome sermons of those days, arrie thinks, specially when she recalled on one occasion "when mr. sutton wuz a preachin' a old goat [hw: got] up under the church an' every time mr. sutton would say something out real loud that old goat would go 'bah-a-a bah ba-a-a' an' we couldn't laugh a bit. i most busted, i wanted ter laugh so bad." "yassum, in dem days" continued aunt arrie, "all us colored folks went to the white folks church kase us didn't have no churches of our own and day want no colored preachers den, but some what wuz called "chairbacks". the chairback fellows went er round preachin' an' singin' in the cabins down in the quarters and dey use ter have the bes' meetin's, folks would be converted an' change dey way. de hymns dey sung de most wuz "amazin' grace" an' "am i born ter die?" i 'members de meetin's us use ter have down in our cabin an' how everybody would pray an' sing." "dey ain't nothin' lak it use ter be," sighed aunt arrie, "now when i first could recollect, when a nigger died they sot up with de corpse all night and de next day had de funeral an' when dey started to the burial ground with the body every body in the whole procession would sing hymns. i've heard 'em 'nough times clear 'cross the fields, singin' and moanin' as they went. dem days of real feelin' an' keerin' is gone." when freedom came there were sad times on the sybert plantation, arrie said. "old miss cried and cried, and all us cried too. old miss said 'you'al jest goin' off to perish.' aunt jennie, one of the oldest women slaves stayed on with her and took keer of her, but all us stayed on a while. us didn't know whar to go an' what ter do, an' den come dr. peters and mr. allen frum arkansas to git han's to go out dar an' work fer dem. my pa took his family and we stayed two years. it took us might nigh ar whole week to git dar, we went part way on de train and den rid de steam boat up de mississippi river ter de landin'. we worked in the cotton field out dar and done all kinds er work on de farm, but us didn't like an' dr. peters an' mr. allen give my pa money fer us ter come home on. 'fore we could git started my oldest brother wanted to come home so bad he jest pitched out and walked all de way frum arkansas to our old home in georgy. we come back by memphis and den come on home on de train. when we wuz out dar i went to school an' got as far as 'baker'. dat's de only schoolin' i ever had." aunt arrie told about her courtship and marriage, she remembers all about it and grew rather sentimental and sad while she talked. she said that franklin binns was going with her before she went to live in arkansas and when she came home he picked up the courtship where he had left off when she went away. he would ride miles on horseback to see her. he brought her candy and nice things to eat, but she still wouldn't "give him no satisfaction 'bout whether she keered fer him er not." she said other men wanted to come to see her, but she paid them not one bit of attention. "no mam, i wouldn't 'cept of them, i never did go with in an' everybody, i don't do dat yit." she said one day franklin was to see her and said "less us marry, i think 'nough of you to marry." she said she wouldn't tell him nothin' so he went to see her parents and they agreed, so she married him sometime later. they were married by a white minister, mr. joe carter. aunt arrie leads a lonely life now. she grieves for her loved ones more than negroes usually do. she doesn't get about much, but "i does go over to see sis lou (a neighbor) every now an' den fer consolation." she says she is living on borrowed time because she has always taken care of herself and worked and been honest. she said that now she is almost at the close of her life waiting day by day for the call to come, she is glad she knew slavery, glad she was reared by good white people who taught her the right way to live, and she added: "mistess, i'se so glad i allus worked hard an' been honest--hit has sho paid me time an' time agin." [hw: dist. exslv. # driskell] henry bland--ex-slave [may -- --] henry bland is one of the few living ex-slaves who was born on a plantation near edenton, ga., in . his parents were martha and sam coxton. in this family group were three other children, two girls and one boy, who was the oldest. when questioned regarding the birthplace and the movements of his parents, mr. bland stated that his father was born in hancock county, ga. his mother along with her mother was brought to georgia by the speculator with a drove of other slaves. the first thing that he remembers of his parents is when he was quite small and was allowed to remain in the master's kitchen in the "big house" where his mother was cook. mr. coxton, who was the owner of mr. bland and his family, was described as being very rich and influential man in the community where he lived. says mr. bland, "his only fault was that of drinking too much of the whisky that he distilled on the plantation." unlike some of the other slave owners in that section, mr. coxton was very kind to his slaves. his plantation was a large one and on it was raised cotton, corn, cane[tr:?], vegetables, and live stock. more cotton was grown than anything else. from the time he was year and months of age until he was years old he lived in the "big house" with his mother. at night he slept on the floor there. in spite of this, his and his mother's treatment was considerably better than that received by those slaves who worked in the fields. while their food consisted of the same things as did that of the field slaves, sometimes choice morsels came back to the kitchen from the master's table. he says that his mother's clothes were of better quality than the other slave women (those who were not employed in the house). as a child his first job was to cut wood for the stove, pick up chips, and to drive the cows to and from the pasture. when years old he was sent to the field as a plow boy. here he worked with a large number of other slaves (he does not know the exact number) who were divided into two groups, the plow group and the hoe group. his father happened to be the foreman of the hoe gang. his brothers and sisters also worked here in the fields being required to hoe as well as plow. when picking time came, everyone was required to pick. the usual amount of cotton each person was required to pick was lbs. per day. however, when this amount was not picked by some they were not punished by the overseer, as was the case on neighboring plantations, because mr. coxton realized that some could do more work than others. mr. coxton often told his overseer that he had not been hired to whip the slaves, but to teach them how to work. says mr. bland: "our working hours were the same as on any other plantation. we had to get up every morning before sun-up and when it was good and light we were in the field. a bugle was blown to wake us." all the slaves stayed in the field until dark. after leaving the field they were never required to do any work but could spend their time as they saw fit to. no work was required on saturday or sunday with the exception that the stock had to be cared for. besides those days when no work was required, there was the th of july and christmas on which the slaves were permitted to do as they pleased. these two latter dates were usually spent in true holiday spirit as the master usually gave a big feast in the form of a barbecue and allowed them to invite their friends. when darkness came they sang and danced and this was what they called a "frolic." as a general rule this same thing was permitted after the crops had been gathered. music for these occasions was furnished by violin, banjo and a clapping of hands. mr. bland says that he used to help furnish this music as mr. coxton had bought him a violin. on the coxton plantation all slaves always had a sufficient amount of clothing. these clothes which were issued when needed and not at any certain time included articles for sunday wear as well as articles for work. those servants who worked in the "big house" wore practically the same clothes as the master and his wife with the possible exception that it met the qualification of being second-handed. an issue of work clothing included a heavy pair of work shoes called brogans, homespun shirts and a pair of jeans pants. a pair of knitted socks was also included the women wore homespun dresses for their working clothes. for sunday wear the men were given white cotton shirts and the women white cotton dresses. all clothing was made on the plantation by those women who were too old for field work. in the same manner that clothing was sufficient, so was food plentiful. at the end of each week each family was given lbs. of meat, peck of meal, and some syrup. each person in a family was allowed to raise a garden and so they had vegetables whenever they wished to. in addition to this they were allowed to raise chickens, to hunt and to fish. however, none of the food that was secured in any of the ways mentioned above could be sold. when anyone wished to hunt, mr. coxton supplied the gun and the shot. although the slaves cooked for themselves, their breakfast and dinner were usually sent to them in the fields after it had been prepared in the cook house. the reason for this was that they had to get up too soon in the morning, and at noon too much time would be lost if they were permitted to go to their cabins for lunch. the children who were too young to work in the field were cared for by some old slave who likewise was unable to do field work. the children were usually fed pot liquor, corn bread, milk, syrup, and vegetables. each one had his individual cup to eat from. the food on sunday was usually no different from that of any other day of the week. however, mr. bland says that they never had to break in the smokehouse because of hunger. when asked to describe the living quarters of the slaves on his plantation he looked around his room and muttered: "dey wuz a lot better than dis one." some of the cabins were made of logs and some of weatherboards. the chinks in the walls were sealed with mud. in some instances boards were used on the inside to keep the weather out. there were usually two windows, shutters being used in the place of window panes. the chimney and fireplace were made of mud and stones. all cooking was done at the fireplace as none of them were provided with stoves. iron cooking utensils were used. to boil food a pot was hung over the fire by means of a hook. the remaining furniture was a bench which served as a chair, and a crude bed. rope running from side to side served as bed springs. the mattress was made of straw or hay. for lighting purposes, pine knots and candles were used. the slaves on the coxton plantation were also fortunate in that all cabins had good floors. all cabins and their furnishings were built by the slaves who learned the use of hammer and saw from white artisans whom mr. coxton employed from time to time. mr. bland remarked that his father was a blacksmith, having learned the trade in this manner. a doctor was employed regularly by mr. coxton to minister to the needs of the slaves in time of illness. "we also had our own medicine," says mr. bland. at different times excursions were made to the woods where "yarbs" (herbs) were gathered. various kinds of teas and medicines were made by boiling these roots in water. the usual causes of illness on this plantation were colds, fevers, and constipation. castor oil and salts were also used to a great extent. if an individual was too ill to work an older slave had to nurse this person. no effort was made by mr. coxton to teach his slaves anything except manual training. a slave who could use his hands at skilled work was more valuable than the ordinary field hand. if, however, a slave secured a book, mr. coxton would help him learn to read it. above all, religious training was not denied. as a matter of fact, mr. coxton required each one of his servants to dress in his sunday clothes and to go to church every sunday. services for all were held at the white church--the slaves sitting on one side and the masters on the other. all preaching was done by a white pastor. no promiscuous relationships were allowed. if a man wanted to marry he merely pointed out the woman of his choice to the master. he in turn called her and told her that such and such an individual wished her for a wife. if she agreed they were pronounced man and wife and were permitted to live together. the slaves on his plantation were great believers in roots and their values in the use of conjuring people. mr. bland doesn't remember ever seeing anyone sold by mr. coxton, but he heard that on other nearby plantations slaves were placed on an auction block and sold like cattle. none of the slaves were ever whipped or beaten by mr. coxton or by anyone else. if a rule was broken the offender was called before mr. coxton where he was talked to. in some cases a whipping was promised and that ended the matter. the "paddie rollers" whipped the slaves from other plantations when they were caught off of their premises without a "pass" but this was never the case when a slave belonging to mr. coxton broke this rule. mr. bland remembers that once he and some of his fellow slaves were away from home without a pass when they were seen by the "paddie rollers" who started after them. when they were recognized as belonging to mr. coxton one of them (paddie rollers) said: "don't bother them; that's them d---- 'free niggers'." the paddie rollers were not allowed to come on the coxton plantation to whip his slaves or any other owner's slaves who happened to be visiting at the time. mr. coxton required that they all be on the plantation by nightfall. (the above seems to be rather conclusive proof of mr. coxton's influence in the community.) [tr: parentheses added by hand.] whenever a slave committed a crime against the state, his master usually had to pay for the damage done or pay the slave's fine. it was then up to him to see that the offender was punished. mr. coxton once saw him (mr. bland) beat another slave (who was a guest at a frolic) when this visitor attempted to draw a pistol on him. mr. bland was upheld in his action and told by mr. coxton that he had better always fight back when anyone struck him, whether the person was white or black. further, if he (mr. coxton) heard of his not fighting back a whipping would be in store for him. mr. coxton was different from some of the slave owners in that he gave the head of each family spending money at christmas time--the amount varying with the size of the family. "when the civil war was begun the master seemed to be worried all the time" states mr. bland. "he was afraid that we would be freed and then he would have to hire us to do his work." when asked to describe his feelings about the war and the possibility of his being freed, mr. bland said that he had no particular feeling of gladness at all. the outcome of the war did not interest him at all because mr. coxton was such a good master he didn't care whether he was freed or not. his fellow slaves felt the same way. when sherman and the yankees were marching through they took all of the live stock but bothered nothing else. the buildings on the adjoining plantation were all burned. a small skirmish took place about miles away from mr. coxton's plantation when the yankees and confederates met. mr. coxton's two sons took part in the war. mr. bland was taken by sherman's army to savannah and then to macon. he says that he saw president jeff davis give up his sword to general sherman in surrender. after the war mr. coxton was still well off in spite of the fact that he had lost quite a bit of money as a result of the war. he saved a great deal of his cash by burying it when sherman came through. the cattle might have been saved if he (mr. bland) could have driven them into the woods before he was seen by some of the soldiers. at the close of the war mr. coxton informed all the slaves that they were free to go where they wished, but they all refused to leave. most of them died on the plantation. mr. bland says that when he became of age his former master gave him a wagon, two mules, a horse and buggy and ten pigs. mr. bland thinks that old age is a characteristic in his family. his grandmother lived to be years old and his mother years old. although in his 's, mr. bland is an almost perfect picture of health. he thinks that he will live to become at least years old because he is going to continue to live as sane a life as he has in the past. j.r. jones rias body, ex-slave. place of birth: harris county, near waverly hall, georgia date of birth: april , present residence: - th street, columbus, georgia interviewed: july , [jul , ] rias body was born the slave property of mr. ben body, a harris county planter. he states that he was about fifteen years old when the civil war started and, many years ago, his old time white folks told him that april , , was the date of his birth. the "patarolers," according to "uncle" rias, were always quite active in ante-bellum days. the regular patrol consisted of six men who rode nightly, different planters and overseers taking turns about to do patrol duty in each militia district in the county. all slaves were required to procure passes from their owners or their plantation overseers before they could go visiting or leave their home premises. if the "patarolers" caught a "nigger" without a pass, they whipped him and sent him home. sometimes, however, if the "nigger" didn't run and told a straight story, he was let off with a lecture and a warning. slave children, though early taught to make themselves useful, had lots of time for playing and frolicking with the white children. rias was a great hand to go seining with a certain clique of white boys, who always gave him a generous or better than equal share of the fish caught. at christmas, every slave on the body plantation received a present. the negro children received candy, raisins and "nigger-toes", balls, marbles, etc. as for food, the slaves had, with the exception of "fancy trimmins", about the same food that the whites ate. no darky in harris county that he ever heard of ever went hungry or suffered for clothes until after freedom. every saturday was a wash day. the clothes and bed linen of all whites and blacks went into wash every saturday. and "niggers", whether they liked it or not, had to "scrub" themselves every saturday night. the usual laundry and toilet soap was a homemade lye product, some of it a soft-solid, and some as liquid as water. the latter was stored in jugs and demijohns. either would "fetch the dirt, or take the hide off"; in short, when applied "with rag and water, something had to come". many of the body slaves had wives and husbands living on other plantations and belonging to other planters. as a courtesy to the principals of such matrimonial alliances, their owners furnished the men passes permitting them to visit their wives once or twice a week. children born to such unions were the property of the wife's owner; the father's owner had no claim to them whatsoever. "uncle" rias used to frequently come to columbus with his master before the war, where he often saw "niggers oxioned off" at the old slave mart which was located at what is now broadway. negroes to be offered for sale were driven to columbus in droves--like cattle--by "nawthon speckulatahs". and prospective buyers would visit the "block" accompanied by doctors, who would feel of, thump, and examine the "nigger" to see if sound. a young or middle-aged negro man, specially or even well trained in some trade or out-of-the-ordinary line of work, often sold for from $ . to $ . in gold. women and "runty nigger men" commanded a price of from $ . up, each. a good "breedin oman", though, says "uncle" rias, would sometimes sell for as high as $ . . rias body had twelve brothers, eight of whom were "big buck niggers," and older than himself. the planters and "patarolers" accorded these "big niggers" unusual privileges--to the end that he estimates that they "wuz de daddies uv least a hunnert head o' chillun in harris county before de war broke out." some of these children were "scattered" over a wide area. sin, according to rias body, who voices the sentiment of the great majority of aged negroes, is that, or everything, which one does and says "not in the name of the master". the holy command, "whatever ye do, do it in my name," is subjected to some very unorthodox interpretations by many members of the colored race. indeed, by their peculiar interpretation of this command, it is established that "two clean sheets can't smut", which means that a devout man and woman may indulge in the primal passion without committing sin. the old man rather boasts of the fact that he received a number of whippings when a slave: says he now knows that he deserved them, "an thout 'em", he would have no doubt "been hung 'fore he wuz thutty years ole." among the very old slaves whom he knew as a boy were quite a few whom the negroes looked up to, respected, and feared as witches, wizzards, and magic-workers. these either brought their "learnin" with them from africa or absorbed it from their immediate african forebears. mentally, these people wern't brilliant, but highly sensitized, and rias gave "all sich" as wide a berth as opportunity permitted him, though he knows "dat dey had secret doins an carrying-ons". in truth, had the southern whites not curbed the mumbo-jumboism of his people, he is of the opinion that it would not now be safe to step "out his doe at night". incidentally, rias body is more fond of rabbit than any other meat "in de wurrul", and says that he could--if he were able to get them--eat three rabbits a day, days in the year, and two for breakfast on christmas morning. he also states that pork, though killed in the hottest of july weather, will not spoil if it is packed down in shucked corn-on-the-cob. this he learned in slavery days when, as a "run-away", he "knocked a shoat in the head" one summer and tried it--proving it. ex-slave interview james bolton athens, georgia written by: mrs. sarah h. hall federal writers' project residency athens, georgia edited by: miss maude barragan residency augusta, georgia "it never was the same on our plantation atter we done laid mistess away," said james bolton, year old mulatto ex-slave. "i ain't never forget when mistess died--she had been so good to every nigger on our plantation. when we got sick, mistess allus had us tended to. the niggers on our plantation all walked to church to hear her funeral sermon and then walked to the graveyard to the buryin'." james, shrivelled and wrinkled, with his bright eyes taking in everything on one of his rare visits to town, seemed glad of the chance to talk about slavery days. he spoke of his owner as "my employer" and hastily corrected himself by saying, "i means, my marster." "my employer, i means my marster, and my mistess, they was sho' all right white folkses," he continued. "they lived in the big 'ouse. hit was all painted brown. i heard tell they was more'n acres in our plantation and lots of folkses lived on it. the biggest portion was woods. my paw, he was name whitfield bolton and liza bolton was my maw. charlie, edmund, thomas and john bolton was my brothers and i had one sister, she was rosa. we belonged to marse whitfield bolton and we lived on his plantation in oglethorpe county near lexington, not far from the wilkes county line. "we stayed in a one room log cabin with a dirt floor. a frame made outen pine poles was fastened to the wall to hold up the mattresses. our mattresses was made outen cotton bagging stuffed with wheat straw. our kivers was quilts made outen old clothes. slave 'omens too old to work in the fields made the quilts. "maw, she went up to the big house onc't a week to git the 'lowance or vittles. they 'lowanced us a week's rations at a time. hit were generally hog meat, corn meal and sometimes a little flour. maw, she done our cookin' on the coals in the fireplace at our cabin. we had plenty of 'possums and rabbits and fishes and sometimes we had wild tukkeys and partidges. slaves warn't spozen to go huntin' at night and everybody know you can't ketch no 'possums 'ceppin' at night! jus' the same, we had plenty 'possums and nobody ax how we cotch 'em!" james laughed and nodded. "now, 'bout them rabbits! slaves warn't 'lowed to have no guns and no dogs of they own. all the dogs on our plantation belonged to my employer--i means, to my marster, and he 'lowed us to use his dogs to run down the rabbits. nigger mens and boys 'ud go in crowds, sometimes as many as twelve at one time, and a rabbit ain't got no chance 'ginst a lot of niggers and dogs when they light out for to run 'im down! "what wild critters we wanted to eat and couldn't run down, we was right smart 'bout ketchin' in traps. we cotch lots of wild tukkeys and partidges in traps and nets. long crick runned through our plantation and the river warn't no fur piece off. we sho' did ketch the fishes, mostly cats, and perch and heaps and heaps of suckers. we cotch our fishes mos'n generally with hook and line, but the carpenters on our plantation knowed how to make basket traps that sho' nuff did lay in the fishes! god only knows how long it's been since this old nigger pulled a big shad out of the river. ain't no shads been cotch in the river round here in so long i disremembers when! "we didn' have no gardens of our own round our cabins. my employer--i means, my marster--had one big gyarden for our whole plantation and all his niggers had to work in it whensomever he wanted 'em to, then he give 'em all plenty good gyarden sass for theyselfs. they was collards and cabbage and turnips and beets and english peas and beans and onions, and they was allus some garlic for ailments. garlic was mostly to cure wums (worms). they roasted the garlic in the hot ashes and squez the juice outen it and made the chilluns take it. sometimes they made poultices outen garlic for the pneumony. "we saved a heap of bark from wild cherry and poplar and black haw and slippery ellum trees and we dried out mullein leaves. they was all mixed and brewed to make bitters. whensomever a nigger got sick, them bitters was good for--well ma'am, they was good for what ailed 'em! we tuk 'em for rheumatiz, for fever, and for the misery in the stummick and for most all sorts of sickness. red oak bark tea was good for sore throat. "i never seed no store bought clothes twel long atter freedom done come! one slave 'oman done all the weavin' in a separate room called the 'loom house.' the cloth was dyed with home-made coloring. they used indigo for blue, red oak bark for brown, green husks offen warnicks (walnuts) for black, and sumacs for red and they'd mix these colors to make other colors. other slave 'omans larned to sew and they made all the clothes. endurin' the summertime we jus' wore shirts and pants made outen plain cotton cloth. they wove wool in with the cotton to make the cloth for our winter clothes. the wool was raised right thar on our plantation. we had our own shoemaker man--he was a slave named buck bolton and he made all the shoes the niggers on our plantation wore. "i waren't nothin' but chillun when freedom come. in slavery-time chilluns waren't 'lowed to do no wuk kazen the marsters wanted they niggers to grow up big and strong and didn' want 'em stunted none. tha's howcome i didn' git no mo' beatin's than i did! my employer--i means, my marster, never did give me but one lickin'. he had done told me to watch the cows and keep 'em in the pastur'. i cotch lots of grasshoppers and started fishin' in the crick runnin' through the pastur' and fust thing i knowed, the overseer was roundin' up all the other niggers to git the cows outen the cornfields! i knowed then my time had done come!" james was enjoying the spotlight now, and his audience did not have to prompt him. plantation recollections crowded together in his old mind. "we had one overseer at a time," he said, "and he allus lived at the big 'ouse. the overseers warn't quality white folkses like our marster and mistess but we never heard nuffin' 'bout no poor white trash in them days, and effen we had heard sumpin' like that we'd have knowed better'n to let marster hear us make such talk! marster made us call his overseer 'mister.' we had one overseer named mr. andrew smith and another time we had a overseer named mr. pope short. overseers was jus' there on the business of gettin' the work done--they seed atter everybody doin' his wuk 'cordin' to order. "my employer--i means, my marster, never 'lowed no overseer to whup none of his niggers! marster done all the whuppin' on our plantation hisself. he never did make no big bruises and he never drawed no blood, but he sho' could burn 'em up with that lash! niggers on our plantation was whupped for laziness mostly. next to that, whuppings was for stealin' eggs and chickens. they fed us good and plenty but a nigger is jus' bound to pick up chickens and eggs effen he kin, no matter how much he done eat! he jus' can't help it. effen a nigger ain't busy he gwine to git into mischief! "now and then slaves 'ud run away and go in the woods and dig dens and live in 'em. sometimes they runned away on 'count of cruel treatment, but most of the time they runned away kazen they jus' didn't want to wuk, and wanted to laze around for a spell. the marsters allus put the dogs atter 'em and git 'em back. they had black and brown dogs called 'nigger hounds' what waren't used for nothin' but to track down niggers. "they waren't no such place as a jail whar we was. effen a nigger done sumpin' disorderly they jus' natcherly tuk a lash to 'im. i ain't never seed no nigger in chains twel long atter freedom done come when i seed 'em on the chain gangs. "the overseer woke us up at sunrise--leas'n they called it sunrise! we would finish our vittles and be in the fields ready for wuk befo' we seed any sun! we laid off wuk at sunset and they didn't drive us hard. leas'wise, they didn' on our plantation. i done heard they was moughty hard on 'em on other plantations. my marster never did 'low his niggers to wuk atter sundown. my employer, i means my marster, didn't have no bell. he had 'em blow bugles to wake up his hands and to call 'em from the fields. sometimes the overseer blowed it. mistess done larned the cook to count the clock, but none of the rest of our niggers could count the clock. "i never knowed marster to sell but one slave and he jus' had bought her from the market at new orleans. she say it lonesome off on the plantation and axed marster for to sell her to folkses livin' in town. atter he done sold her, every time he got to town she beg 'im to buy her back! but he didn' pay her no more 'tention. when they had sales of slaves on the plantations they let everybody know what time the sale gwine to be. when the crowd git togedder they put the niggers on the block and sell 'em. leas'wise, they call it 'puttin' on the block'--they jus' fotch 'em out and show 'em and sell 'em. "they waren't no church for niggers on our plantation and we went to white folkses church and listened to the white preachers. we set behind a partition. sometimes on a plantation a nigger claim he done been called to preach and effen he kin git his marster's cawn-sent he kin preach round under trees and in cabins when t'aint wuk time. these nigger preachers in slavery time was called 'chairbackers.' they waren't no chairbackers 'lowed to baptize none of marster's niggers. white preachers done our baptizin' in long crick. when we went to be baptized they allus sang, 'amazing grace! how sweet the sound!'" the old negro's quavery voice rose in the familiar song. for a moment he sat thinking of those long-ago sundays. his eyes brightened again, and he went on: "we never done no wuk on sundays on our plantation. the church was 'bout nine miles from the plantation and we all walked there. anybody too old and feeble to walk the nine miles jus' stayed home, kazen marster didn't 'low his mules used none on sunday. all along the way niggers from other plantations 'ud jine us and sometimes befo' we git to the church house they'd be forty or fifty slaves comin' along the road in a crowd! preaching generally lasted twel bout three o'clock. in summertime we had dinner on the ground at the church. howsomever we didn' have no barbecue like they does now. everybody cooked enough on sadday and fotched it in baskets. "i was thirty years old when i jined the church. nobody ought to jine no church twels't he is truly borned of god, and effen he is truly borned of god he gwine know it. effen you want a restin' place atter you leaves this old world you ought to git ready for it now! "when folkses on our plantation died marster allus let many of us as wanted to go, lay offen wuk twel atter the buryin'. sometimes it were two or three months atter the buryin' befo' the funeral sermon was preached. right now i can't rekelleck no song we sung at funerals cep'n 'hark from the tombs a doleful sound.'" the reedy old voice carried the funeral hymn for a few minutes and then trailed off. james was thinking back into the past again. "spring plowin' and hoein' times we wukked all day saddays, but mos'en generally we laid off wuk at twelve o'clock sadday. that was dinnertime. sadday nights we played and danced. sometimes in the cabins, sometimes in the yards. effen we didn' have a big stack of fat kindling wood lit up to dance by, sometimes the mens and 'omans would carry torches of kindling wood whils't they danced and it sho' was a sight to see! we danced the 'turkey trot' and 'buzzard lope', and how we did love to dance the 'mary jane!' we would git in a ring and when the music started we would begin wukkin' our footses while we sang 'you steal my true love and i steal your'n!' "atter supper we used to gether round and knock tin buckets and pans, we beat 'em like drums. some used they fingers and some used sticks for to make the drum sounds and somebody allus blowed on quills. quills was a row of whistles made outen reeds, or sometimes they made 'em outen bark. every whistle in the row was a different tone and you could play any kind of tune you wants effen you had a good row of quills. they sho' did sound sweet! "'bout the most fun we had was at corn shuckin's whar they put the corn in long piles and called in the folkses from the plantations nigh round to shuck it. sometimes four or five hunnert head of niggers 'ud be shuckin' corn at one time. when the corn all done been shucked they'd drink the likker the marsters give 'em and then frolic and dance from sundown to sunup. we started shuckin' corn 'bout dinnertime and tried to finish by sundown so we could have the whole night for frolic. some years we 'ud go to ten or twelve corn shuckin's in one year! "we would sing and pray easter sunday and on easter monday we frolicked and danced all day long! christmas we allus had plenty good sumpin' to eat and we all got togedder and had lots of fun. we runned up to the big 'ouse early christmas mornin' and holler out: 'mornin', christmas gif'!' then they'd give us plenty of sandy claus and we would go back to our cabins to have fun twel new year's day. we knowed christmas was over and gone when new year's day come, kazen we got back to wuk that day atter frolickin' all christmas week. "we didn' know nuttin' 'bout games to play. we played with the white folkses chilluns and watched atter 'em but most of the time we played in the crick what runned through the pastur'. nigger chilluns was allus skeered to go in the woods atter dark. folkses done told us raw-head-and-bloody bones lived in the woods and git little chilluns and eat 'em up effen they got out in the woods atter dark! "'rockabye baby in the tree trops' was the onliest song i heard my maw sing to git her babies to sleep. slave folkses sung most all the time but we didn' think of what we sang much. we jus' got happy and started singin'. sometimes we 'ud sing effen we felt sad and lowdown, but soon as we could, we 'ud go off whar we could go to sleep and forgit all 'bout trouble!" james nodded his gray head with a wise look in his bright eyes. "when you hear a nigger singin' sad songs hit's jus' kazen he can't stop what he is doin' long enough to go to sleep!" the laughter that greeted this sally brought an answering grin to the wrinkled old face. asked about marriage customs, james said: "folkses didn' make no big to-do over weddings like they do now. when slaves got married they jus' laid down the broom on the floor and the couple jined hands and jumped back-uds over the broomstick. i done seed 'em married that way many a time. sometimes my marster would fetch mistess down to the slave quarters to see a weddin'. effen the slaves gittin' married was house servants, sometimes they married on the back porch or in the back yard at the big 'ouse but plantation niggers what was field hands married in they own cabins. the bride and groom jus' wore plain clothes kazen they didn' have no more. "when the young marsters and mistesses at the big houses got married they 'lowed the slaves to gadder on the porch and peep through the windows at the weddin'. mos'en generally they 'ud give the young couple a slave or two to take with them to they new home. my marster's chilluns was too young to git married befo' the war was over. they was seven of them chilluns; four of 'em was gals. "what sort of tales did they tell 'mongs't the slaves 'bout the norf befo' the war? to tell the troof, they didn't talk much like they does now 'bout them sort of things. none of our niggers ever runned away and we didn' know nuthin' 'bout no norf twel long atter freedom come. we visited round each other's cabins at night. i did hear tell 'bout the patterollers. folkses said effen they cotched niggers out at night they 'ud give 'em 'what paddy give the drum'. "jus' befo' freedom comed 'bout yankee sojers come through our plantation and told us that the bull-whups and cow-hides was all dead and buried. them sojers jus' passed on in a hurry and didn' stop for a meal or vittles or nuffin'. we didn't talk much 'bout mr. abbieham lincum endurin' slavery time kazen we was skeered of him atter the war got started. i don't know nothin' 'bout mr. jef'son davis, i don't remember ever hearin' 'bout him. i is heard about mr. booker washin'ton and they do say he runned a moughty good school for niggers. "one mornin' marster blowed the bugle his own self and called us all up to the big 'ouse yard. he told us: 'you all jus' as free as i is. you are free from under the taskmarster but you ain't free from labor. you gotter labor and wuk hard effen you aims to live and eet and have clothes to wear. you kin stay here and wuk for me, or you kin go wharsomever you please.' he said he 'ud pay us what was right, and lady, hit's the troof, they didn't nary a nigger on our plantation leave our marster then! i wukked on with marster for years atter the war!" james had no fear of the ku klux. "right soon atter the war we saw plenty of ku kluxers but they never bothered nobody on our plantation. they allus seemed to be havin' heaps of fun. 'course, they did have to straighten out some of them brash young nigger bucks on some of the other farms round about. mos' of the niggers the ku kluxers got atter was'n on no farm, but was jus' roamin' 'round talkin' too much and makin' trouble. they had to take 'em in hand two or three times befo' some of them fool free niggers could be larned to behave theyselfs! but them ku kluxers kept on atter 'em twels't they larned they jus got to be good effen they 'spects to stay round here. "hit was about years atter the war befo' many niggers 'gun to own they own lan'. they didn' know nothin' 'bout tendin' to money business when the war done ended and it take 'em a long time to larn how to buy and sell and take care of what they makes." james shook his head sadly. "ma'am, heaps of niggers ain't never larned nothin' 'bout them things yit! "a long time atter the war i married lizy yerby. i didn' give liza no chanc't for to dress up. jus' went and tuk her right outer the white folkses' kitchen and married her at the church in her workin' clothes. we had chilluns but they ain't but two of 'em livin' now. mos' of our chilluns died babies. endurin' slavery mistess tuk care of all the nigger babies borned on our plantations and looked atter they mammies too, but atter freedom come heap of nigger babies died out." james said he had two wives, both widows. "i married my second wife years ago. to tell the troof, i don't rightly know how many grandchilluns i got, kazen i ain't seed some of 'em for thirty years. my chilluns is off fum here and i wouldn' know to save my life whar they is or what they does. my sister and brothers they is done dead out what ain't gone off, i don't know for sho' whar none of 'em is now." a sigh punctuated james' monologue, and his old face was shadowed by a look of fear. "now i gwine tell you the troof. now that it's all over i don't find life so good in my old age, as it was in slavery time when i was chillun down on marster's plantation. then i didn' have to worry 'bout whar my clothes and my somepin' to eat was comin' from or whar i was gwine to sleep. marster tuk keer of all that. now i ain't able for to wuk and make a livin' and hit's sho' moughty hard on this old nigger." alec bostwick ex-slave--age [tr: preceding page that would usually contain information regarding the interview was marked 'placeholder'.] all of uncle alec bostwick's people are dead and he lives in his tiny home with a young negress named emma vergal. it was a beautiful april morning when his visitor arrived and while he was cordial enough he seemed very reluctant about talking. however, as one question followed another his interest gradually overcame his hesitancy and he began to unfold his life's story. "i wuz born in morgan county, an' i warn't mo' dan four year old when de war ended so i don't ricollect nothin' 'bout slav'ry days. i don't know much 'bout my ma, but her name was martha an' pa's name was jordan bostwick, i don't know whar dey come from. when i knowed nothin' i wuz dar on de plantation. i had three brothers; george, john an' reeje, an' dey's all dead. i dis'members my sister's name. dar warn't but one gal an' she died when she wuz little. "ain't much to tell 'bout what wuz done in de quarters. slaves wuz gyarded all de time jus' lak niggers on de chain gang now. de overseer always sot by wid a gun. "'bout de beds, nigger boys didn't pay no 'tention to sich as dat 'cause all dey keered 'bout wuz a place to sleep but 'peers lak to me dey wuz corded beds, made wid four high posties, put together wid iron pegs, an' holes what you run de cords thoo', bored in de sides. de cords wuz made out of b'ar grass woun' tight together. dey put straw an' old quilts on 'em, an' called 'em beds. "gran'pa berry wuz too old to wuk in de field so he stayed 'roun' de house an' piddled. he cut up wood, tended to de gyarden an' yard, an' bottomed chairs. gran'ma liza done de cookin' an' nussed de white folkses chilluns. "i wukked in de field 'long side da rest of de niggers, totin' water an' sich lak, wid de overseer dar all de time wid dat gun. "what you talkin' 'bout miss? us didn't have no money. sho' us didn't. dey had to feed us an' plenty of it, 'cause us couldn't wuk if dey didn't feed us good. "us et cornbread, sweet 'tatoes, peas, home-made syrup an' sich lak. de meat wuz fried sometimes, but mos' of de time it wuz biled wid de greens. all de somethin' t'eat wuz cooked in de fireplace. dey didn't know what stoves wuz in dem days. yes ma'am, us went 'possum huntin' at night, an' us had plenty 'possums too. dey put sweet 'tatoes an' fat meat roun' 'em, an' baked 'em in a oven what had eyes on each side of it to put hooks in to take it off de fire wid. "no ma'am, us didn't go fishin', or rabbit huntin' nuther. us had to wuk an' warn't no nigger 'lowed to do no frolickin' lak dat in daytime. de white folkses done all de fishin' an' daytime huntin'. i don't 'member lakin' no sartin' somethin'. i wuz jus' too glad to git anythin'. slaves didn't have no gyardens of dey own. old marster had one big gyarden what all de slaves et out of. "tell you 'bout our clo'es: us wore home-made clo'es, pants an' shirts made out of cotton in summer an' in de winter dey give us mo' home-made clo'es only dey wuz made of wool. all de clawf wuz made on de loom right dar on de plantation. us wore de same things on sunday what us did in de week, no diffunt. our shoes wuz jus' common brogans what dey made at home. i ain't seed no socks 'til long atter de war. co'se some folkses mought a had 'em, but us didn't have none. "marster berry bostwick an' mist'ess mary bostwick, had a passel of chillun, i don't 'member none 'cept young marse john. de others drifted off an' didn't come back, but young marse john stayed on wid old marster an' old mist'ess 'til dey died. old marster, he warn't good. truth is de light, an' he wuz one mean white man. old mist'ess wuz heaps better dan him. dar wuz 'bout mens an' 'omans. i couldn't keep up wid de chilluns. dere wuz too many for me. "marster an' mist'ess lived in a big fine house, but de slave quarters wuz made of logs, 'bout de size of box cyars wid two rooms. "'bout dat overseer he wuz a mean man, if one ever lived. he got de slaves up wid a gun at five o'clock an' wukked 'em 'til way atter sundown, standin' right over 'em wid a gun all de time. if a nigger lagged or tuk his eyes off his wuk, right den an' dar he would make him strip down his clo'es to his waist, an' he whup him wid a cat-o-nine tails. evvy lick dey struck him meant he wuz hit nine times, an' it fotch da red evvy time it struck. "oh! yes ma'am, dey had a cyar'iage driver, he didn't do much 'cept look attar de hawses an' drive de white folkses 'roun'. "i done tole you 'bout dat overseer; all he done wuz sot 'roun' all day wid a gun an' make de niggers wuk. but i'se gwine tell you de trufe, he sho' wuz poor white trash wid a house full of snotty-nose chilluns. old marster tole him he wuz jus' lak a rabbit, he had so many chillun. i means dis; if dem days comes back i hope de good lord takes me fus'. "dey had a house whar dey put de niggers, what wuz called de gyard house, an' us didn't know nothin' 'bout no jail dat day an' time. i seed 'em drive de niggers by old marster's place in droves takin' 'em to watkinsville. morgan county, whar us lived, touched oconee an' dat wuz the nighes' town. one day i went wid old marster to watkinsville an' i seed 'em sell niggers on de block. i warn't sold. when i knowed nothin' i wuz right whar i wuz at. "no ma'am, dey warn't no schools for de niggers in dem days. if a nigger wuz seed wid a paper, de white folks would pretty nigh knock his head off him. "us didn't have no church in de country for niggers, an' dey went to church wid deir white folkses, if dey went a tall. de white folks sot in front, an' de niggers sot in de back. all de time dat overseer wuz right dar wid his gun. when dey baptized de niggers dey tuk 'em down to de river and plunged 'em in, while dem what had done been baptized sang: "dar's a love feast in heb'en today." "yes ma'am, de white folkses had deir cemetery, an' dey had one for de slaves. when dere wuz a funeral 'mong de niggers us sung: 'dark was de night and cold was de groun' whar my marster was laid de drops of sweat lak blood run down in agony he prayed.' "dem coffins sho' wuz mournful lookin' things, made out of pine boa'ds an' painted wid lampblack; dey wuz black as de night. dey wuz big at de head an' little at de foot, sort a lak airplanes is. de inside wuz lined wid white clawf, what dey spun on de plantation. "de patterollers wuz right on dey job. slaves use' to frame up on 'em if dey knowed whar dey wuz hidin', 'waitin' to cotch a nigger. dey would git hot ashes an' dash over 'em, an' dem patterollers dey sho' would run, but de slaves would git worse dan dat, if dey was cotched. "miss, in slav'ry time when niggers come from de fields at night dey warn't no frolickin'. dey jus' went to sleep. de mens wukked all day sadday, but de 'omans knocked off at twelve o'clock to wash an' sich lak. "christmas times dey give us a week off an' brung us a little candy an' stuff 'roun'. not much, not much. on new year's day us had to git back on de job. "chilluns what wuz big enough to wuk didn't have time in week days to play no games on marse bostwick's place. on sunday us played wid marbles made out of clay, but dat's all. i heered my ma sing a little song to de baby what soun' lak dis: 'hush little baby don't you cry you'll be an angel bye-an'-bye.' "yes ma'am, dere wuz one thing dey wuz good 'bout. when de niggers got sick dey sont for de doctor. i heered 'em say dey biled jimson weeds an' made tea for colds, an' rhubarb tea wuz to cure worms in chillun. i wuz too young to be bothered 'bout witches an' charms, rawhead an' bloody bones an' sich. i didn't take it in. "when de yankees come thoo' an' 'lowed us wuz free, us thought dey wuz jus' dem patterollers, an' us made for de woods. dey tole us to come out, dat us wuz free niggers. marster berry said: 'you dam niggers am free. you don't b'long to me no more.' "us married long time atter de war, an' us had a little feast: cake, wine, fried chicken, an' ham, an' danced 'til 'mos' daybreak. i 'members how good she looked wid dat pretty dove colored dress, all trimmed wid lace. us didn't have no chillun. she wuz lak a tree what's sposen to bear fruit an' don't. she died 'bout thirteen years ago. "when de ku kluxers come thoo', us chillun thought de devil wuz atter us for sho'. i wuz sich a young chap i didn't take in what dey said 'bout mr. abyham lincoln, an' mr. jeff davis. us would a been slaves 'til yit, if mr. lincoln hadn't sot us free. dey wuz bofe of 'em, good mens. i sho' had ruther be free. who wants a gun over 'em lak a prisoner? a pusson is better off dead. "i jined de church 'cause dis is a bad place at de bes' an' dere's so many mean folkses, what's out to seem good an' ain't. an' if you serve god in de right way, i'se sho' when you die he'll give you a place to rest for evermore. an' 'cordin' to my notion dat's de way evvybody oughta live." in conclusion, alec said: "i don't want to talk no more. i'se disappointed, i thought sho' you wuz one of dem pension ladies what come for to fetch me some money. i sho' wish dey would come. good-bye miss." then he hobbled into the house. barragan-harris [tr: miss maude barragan (interviewer), mrs. leila harris (editor)] nancy boudry, thomson, georgia "if i ain't a hunnard," said nancy, nodding her white-turbaned head, "i sho' is close to it, 'cause i got a grandson years old." nancy's silky white hair showed long and wavy under her headband. her gingham dress was clean, and her wrinkled skin was a reddish-yellow color, showing a large proportion of indian and white blood. har eyes ware a faded blue. "i speck i is mos' white," acknowledged nancy, "but i ain't never knowed who my father was. my mother was a dark color." the cottage faced the pine grove behind an old church. pink ramblers grew everywhere, and the sandy yard was neatly kept. nancy's paralyzed granddaughter-in-law hovered in the doorway, her long smooth braids hanging over indian-brown shoulders, a loose wrapper of dark blue denim flowing around her tall unsteady figure. she was eager to taka part in the conversation but hampered by a thick tongue induced, as nancy put it, "by a bad sore throat she ain't got over." nancy's recollections of plantation days were colored to a somber hue by overwork, childbearing, poor food and long working hours. "master was a hard taskmaster," said nancy. "my husband didn't live on de same plantation where i was, de jerrell places in columbia county. he never did have nuthin' to give me 'cause he never got nuthin'. he had to come and ask my white folks for me. dey had to carry passes everywhere dey went, if dey didn't, dey'd git in trouble. "i had to work hard, plow and go and split wood jus' like a man. sometimes dey whup me. dey whup me bad, pull de cloes off down to de wais'--my master did it, our folks didn' have overseer. "we had to ask 'em to let us go to ohurch. went to white folks church, 'tell de black folks get one of dere own. no'm i dunno how to read. never had no schools at all, didn' 'low us to pick up a piece paper and look at it." "nancy, wasn't your mistress kind to you?" "mistis was sorta kin' to me, sometimes. but dey only give me meat and bread, didn' give me nothin' good--i ain' gwine tell no story. i had a heap to undergo wid. i had to scour at night at de big house--two planks one night, two more de nex'. de women peoples spun at night and reeled, so many cuts a night. us had to git up befo' daybreak be ready to go to de fiel's. "my master didn' have but three cullud people, dis yuh was what i stayed wid, my young master, had not been long married and dus' de han's dey give him when he marry was all he had. "didn' have no such house as dis," nancy looked into the open door of the comfortable octtage, "sometimes dey have a house built, it would be daubed. dus' one family, didn' no two families double up." "but the children had a good time, didn't they? they played games?" "maybe dey did play ring games, i never had no time to see what games my chillus play, i work so hard. heap o' little chillun slep' on de flo'. never had no frolics neither, no ma'm, and didn' go to none. we would have prayer meetings on saturday nights, and one might in de week us had a chairback preacher, and sometimes a regular preacher would come in." nancy did not remember ever having seen the patterollers. "i hearn talk of 'em you know, heap o' times dey come out and make out like dey gwine shoot you at night, dey mus' been patterollers, dey was gettin' hold of a heap of 'em." "what did you do about funerals, nancy?" "dey let us knock off for funerals, i tell de truth. us stay up all night, singin' and prayin'. dey make de coffin outter pine boards." "did you suffer during the war?" "we done de bes' we could, we et what we could get, sometimes didn' have nothin' to eat but piece of cornbread, but de white folks allus had chicken." "but you had clothes to wear?" "us had clothes 'cause we spun de thread and weaved 'em. dey bought dem dere great big ole brogans where you couldn' hardly walk in 'em. not like dese shoes i got on." nancy thrust out her foot, easy in "old ladies' comforts." "when they told you were free, nancy, did the master appear to be angry?" "no'm, white folks didn' 'pear to be mad. my master dus' tole us we was free. us moved right off, but not so far i couldn' go backwards and forwards to see 'um." (so it was evident that even if nancy's life had been hard, there was a bond between her and her former owners.) "i didn' do no mo' work for 'um, i work for somebody else. us rented land and made what we could, so we could have little somethin' to eat. i scoured and waited on white people in town, got little piece of money, and was dus' as proud!" nancy savored the recollection of her first earned money a moment, thinking back to the old days. "i had a preacher for my second marriage," she continued, "fo' chillun died on me--one girl, de yuthers was babies. white doctor tended me." asked about midwifery, nancy smiled. "i was a midwife myself, to black and white, after freedom. de thomson doctors all liked me and tole people to 'git nancy.' i used 'tansy tea'--heap o' little root--made black pepper tea, fotch de pains on 'em. when i would git to de place where i had a hard case, i would send for de doctor, and he would help me out, yes, doctor help me out of all of 'em." asked about signs and superstitions, nancy nodded. "i have seed things. day look dus' like a person, walkin' in de woods. i would look off and look back to see it again and it be gone." nancy lowered her voice mysteriously, and looked back into the little room where vanna's unsteady figure moved from bed to chair. "i seed a coffin floatin' in de air in dat room--" she shivered, "and i heard a heap o' knockings. i dunno what it bees--but de sounds come in de house. i runs ev'y squeech owl away what comes close, too." nancy clasped her hands, right thumb over left thumb, "does dat--and it goes on away--dey quits hollerin', you chokin' 'em when you does dat." "do you plant by the moon, nancy?" "plant when de moon change, my garden, corn, beans. i planted some beans once on de wrong time of de moon and dey didn' bear nothing--i hated it so bad, i didn' know what to do, so i been mindful ever since when i plant. women peoples come down on de moon, too. i ain't know no signs to raise chillun. i whup mine when dey didn' do right, i sho' did. i didn' 'low my chillun to take nothin'--no aigs and nothin' 'tall and bring 'em to my house. i say 'put dem right whar you git 'em." "did you sing spirituals, nancy?" "i sang regular meetin' songs," she said, "like 'lay dis body down' and 'let yo' joys be known'--but i can't sing now, not any mo'." nancy was proud of her quilt-making ability. "git 'um, vanna, let de ladies see 'um," she said; and when vanna brought the gay pieces made up in a "double-burst" (sunburst) pattern, nancy fingered the squares with loving fingers. "hit's pooty, ain't it?" she asked wistfully, "i made one for a white lady two years ago, but dey hurts my fingers now--makes 'em stiff." folklore interview alice bradley hull street near corner of hoyt street athens, georgia kizzie colquitt macon avenue athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens, georgia edited by: mrs. leila harris editor federal writers' project augusta, georgia [apr ] [tr: these two interviews were filed together, though not recorded at the same place or time.] alice bradley alice bradley, or "aunt alice" as she is known to everybody, "runs cards" and claims to be a seeress. apologetic and embarrassed because she had overslept and was straightening her room, she explained that she hadn't slept well because a dog had howled all night and she was uneasy because of this certain forerunner of disaster. "here t'is sunday mornin' and what wid my back, de dog, and de rheumatics in my feets, its [tr: 'done' crossed out] too late to go to church, so come in honey i'se glad to hab somebody to talk to. dere is sho' goin' to be a corpse close 'round here. one night a long time ago two dogs howled all night long and on de nex' sunday dere wuz two corpses in de church at de same time. dat's one sign dat neber fails, when a dog howls dat certain way somebody is sho' goin' to be daid." when asked what her full name was, she said: "my whole name is alice bradley now. i used to be a hill, but when i married dat th'owed me out of bein' a hill, so i'se jus' a bradley now. i wuz born on january th but i don't 'member what year. my ma had three chillun durin' de war and one jus' atter de war. i think dat las' one wuz me, but i ain't sho'. my pa's name wuz jim hill, and ma's name wuz ca'line hill. both of 'em is daid now. pa died october , and wuz years old. ma died november , ; she wuz years old. i knows dem years is right 'cause i got 'em from dat old fambly bible so i kin git 'em jus' right. one of my sisters, older dan i is, stays in atlanta wid her son. since she los' one of her sons, her mind's done gone. my other sister ain't as old as i is but her mind is all right and she is well." "i wuz raised in washin'ton, wilkes county, and de fust i 'members was stayin' wid miss alice rayle. she had three chillun and i nussed 'em. one of de boys is a doctor now, and has a fambly of his own, and de las' i heared of 'im, he wuz stayin' in atlanta. "i'se been married' two times. i runned away wid will grisham, when i wuz 'bout years old. mr. carter, a justice of de peace, met us under a 'simmon tree and tied de knot right dar. my folks ketched us, but us wuz already married and so it didn't make no diffunce. "i lived on a farm wid my fust husband, and us had three chillun, but dey is all gone now. i 'members when my oldes' gal wuz 'bout years old, dey wuz playin' out on de porch wid dey little dog, when a mad dog come by and bit my chillun's dog. folks kilt our dog, and jus' 'bout one week atterwards my little gal wuz daid too. she did love dat little dog, and he sho' did mind 'er. she jus' grieved herself to death 'bout dat dog. "atter my fust husband died, i married rich bradley. rich wuz a railroad man, and he went off to washin'ton, d.c., to wuk. he sont me money all de time den, but when he went from dar to shecargo to wuk i didn't hear from 'im long, and i don't know what's happened to 'im 'til now, for it's been a long time since i heared from 'im. "i loves to run de cyards for my friends. i always tells 'em when i sees dere's trouble in de cyards for 'em, and shows 'em how to git 'round it, if i kin. none of de res' of my folks ever run de cyards, but i'se been at it ever since i wuz jus' a little gal, pickin' up old wore out cyards, dat had bean th'owed away, 'cause i could see things in 'em. i 'members one time when i wuz small and didn't know so good what de cyards wuz tellin' me, dat a rich man, one of de riches' in wilkes county, wuz at our place, i tol 'im de cyards when i run 'em. i saw sompin' wuz goin' to happen on his place, dat two colored mens would be tangled up wid, but i didn't know jus' what wuz goin' to happen. and sho' 'nuff, two colored mens sot fire to his barns and burned up all his horses and mules, de onlies' thing dey saved wuz one ridin' horse. dey ketched de mens, and dey served time for what dey done. one of 'em died way out yonder where dey sont 'em. "i 'members one white lady way out in alabama sont a note axin' me to run de cyards for her. i runned 'em and got one of my friends to writer her what i seed. dey had run bright and dat wuz good luck. one time i runned de cyards for two sisters dat had done married two brothers, and de cyards run so close kin date i wuz able to tell 'em how dey wuz married and dey tol me dat i wuz right. "and jus' a few days ago a old man come to see me thinkin' dat he wuz pizened. when i runned de cyards, i seed his trouble. he had been drinkin' and wuz sick, so i jus' give him a big dose of soda and cream of tartar and he got better. den i tole him to go on home; dat nobody hadn't done nothin' to 'im and all he needed wuz a little medicine. "i told mr. dick armell of how he wuz goin' to git kilt if he went up in his airyplane dat day and begged him not to try it but to wait. he wouldn't listen and went on and got kilt jus' lak i tole 'im he would. i runned de cyards for mrs. armell lots of times for i liked 'im, and he wuz a fine man. i runned de cyards for 'im one time 'fore he went to de world's fair, and de cyards run bright, and his trip wuz a good one jus' lak i tole 'im it would be. "all de old white folks dat i wuz raised up wid, de hills from washin'ton, wilkes, is gone now, 'cept i think one of de gals is wukin' at de capitol in atlanta, but she done married now and i don't 'member her name." alice excused herself to answer a knock at the door. upon her return she said: "dat wuz one of my white chillun. i wukked for 'em so long and one of 'em comes by every now an' den to see if i needs sompin'. her ma done had a new picture of herself took and wanted me to see it. dey sho' is good to me." alice doesn't charge for "running the cards." she says she doesn't have a license, and is very thankful for anything that visitors may care to give her. she will not run the cards on sunday. "dat's bad luck," she said. "come back some day when tain't sunday, and i'll see whats in de cyards for you!" kizzie colquitt old aunt kizzie colquitt, about years old, was busily washing in her neat kitchen. she opened the door and window frequently to let out the smoke, saying: "dis old wore out stove don't draw so good." her hands and feet were badly swollen and she seemed to be suffering. "i'll be glad to tell all i kin 'member 'bout dem old times," she said. "i wuz borned durin' de war, but i don't 'member what year. my pa wuz mitchell long. he b'longed to marster sam long of elbert county. us lived on broad river. my ma wuz sallie long, and she b'longed to marster billie lattimore. dey stayed on de other side of broad river and my pa and ma had to cross de river to see one another. atter de war wuz over, and dey wuz free, my pa went to jefferson, georgia, and dar he died. "my ma married some nigger from way out in indiana. he promised her he would send money back for her chillun, but us never heered nothin' from 'im no mo'. i wuz wid' my w'ite folks, de lattimores, when my ma died, way out in indiana. "atter marse bob died, i stayed wid my old missus, and slep' by her bed at night. she wuz good to me, and de hardes' wuk i done wuz pickin' up acorns to fatten de hogs. i stayed dar wid her 'til she died. us had plenty t'eat, a smokehouse filled wid hams, and all de other things us needed. dey had a great big fireplace and a big old time oven whar dey baked bread, and it sho' wuz good bread. "my old missus died when i wuz 'bout years old, and i wus sont to lexin'ton, georgia, to live wid my sister. dere wuz jus' da two of us chilluns. den us wukked every day, and went to bed by dark; not lak de young folks now, gallivantin' 'bout all night long. "when i wuz 'bout i married and come to live on dr. willingham's place. it wuz a big plantation, and dey really lived. when de crops wuz all in and all de wuk done, dey had big times 'round dar. "dere wuz de corn shuckin' wid one house for de corn and another house for de shucks. atter all de shuckin' wuz done, dere wuz eatin' and dancin'. and it wuz eatin' too! dey kilt hogs, barbecued 'em, and roasted some wid apples in dey mouf's to give 'em a good flavor, and course a little corn likker went wid it. dey had big doin's at syrup makin' time too, but dat wuz hard wuk den. makin' syrup sho' wuz a heap of trouble. "later us lived wid de johnson fambly, and atter my old man died, i come to dis town wid de johnsons. dere wuz three chilluns, percy, lewis, and a gal. i stayed wid 'em 'til de chilluns wuz all growed up and eddicated. all my other w'ite folks is gone; my sister done gone too, and my son; all de chillun dat i had, deys done daid too. "now i has to wash so i kin live. i used to have plenty, but times is changed and now sometimes i don't have nothin' but bread, and jus' bread is hard to git, heap of de time. "i put in for one of dem old age pensions, but dey ain't give me nothin' yet, so i jus' wuk when i kin, and hope dat it won't be long 'fore i has plenty again." old slave story della briscoe macon, georgia by adella s. dixon [hw: (colored)] [jul ] della briscoe, now living in macon, is a former slave of mr. david ross, who owned a large plantation in putnam county. della, when a very tiny child, was carried there with her father and mother, sam and mary ross. soon after their arrival the mother was sent to work at the "big house" in eatonton. this arrangement left della, her brother and sister to the care of their grandmother, who really posed as their mother. the children grew up under the impression that their mother was an older sister and did not know the truth until just after the close of the civil war, when the mother became seriously ill and called the children to her bedside to tell them goodbye. mr. david ross had a large family and was considered the richest planter in the county. nearly every type of soil was found on his vast estate, composed of hilly sections as well as acres of lowlands. the highway entering eatonton divided the plantation and, down this road every friday, della's father drove the wagon to town with a supply of fresh butter, for mrs. ross' thirty head of cows supplied enough milk to furnish the city dwellers with butter. refrigeration was practically unknown, so a well was used to keep the butter fresh. this cool well was eighty feet deep and passed through a layer of solid rock. a rope ladder was suspended from the mouth of the well to the place where the butter was lowered for preservation. for safety, and to shield it from the sun, reeds were planted all around the well. and as they grew very tall, a stranger would not suspect a well being there. in addition to marketing, della's father trapped beavers which were plentiful in the swampy part of the plantation bordering the oconee, selling their pelts to traders in the nearby towns of augusta and savannah, where mr. ross also marketed his cotton and large quantities of corn. oxen, instead of mules, were used to make the trips to market and return, each trip consuming six or seven days. the young children were assigned small tasks, such as piling brush in "new grounds", carrying water to field hands, and driving the calves to pasture. punishment was administered, though not as often as on some plantations. the little girl, della, was whipped only once--for breaking up a turkey's nest she had found. several were accused of this, and because the master could not find the guilty party, he whipped each of the children. crime was practically unknown and mr. ross' slaves never heard of a jail until they were freed. men were sometimes placed in "bucks", which meant they were laid across blocks with their hands and feet securely tied. an iron bar was run between the blocks to prevent any movement; then, after being stripped, they were whipped. della said that she knew of but one case of this type of punishment being administered a ross slave. sickness was negligible--childbirth being practically the only form of a negro woman's "coming down". as a precaution against disease, a tonic was given each slave every spring. three were also, every spring, taken from the field each day until every one had been given a dose of calomel and salts. mr. ross once bought two slaves who became ill with smallpox soon after their arrival. they were isolated in a small house located in the center of a field, while one other slave was sent there to nurse them. all three were burned to death when their hut was destroyed by fire. in case of death, even on a neighboring place, all work was suspended until the dead was buried. sunday, the only day of rest, was often spent in attending religious services, and because these were irregularly held, brush arbor meetings were common. this arbor was constructed of a brush roof supported by posts and crude joists. the seats were usually made of small saplings nailed to short stumps. religion was greatly stressed and every child was christened shortly after its birth. an adult who desired to join the church went first to the master to obtain his permission. he was then sent to the home of a minister who lived a short distance away at a place called flat rock. here, his confession was made and, at the next regular service, he was formally received into the church. courtships were brief. the "old man", who was past the age for work and only had to watch what went on at the quarters, was usually the first to notice a budding friendship, which he reported to the master. the couple was then questioned and, if they consented, were married without the benefit of clergy. food was distributed on monday night, and for each adult slave the following staple products were allowed-- weekly ration: on sunday: - / lbs. meat one qt. syrup pk. of meal one gal. flour gal. shorts one cup lard vegetables, milk, etc., could be obtained at the "big house", but fresh meat and chickens were never given. the desire for these delicacies often overcame the slaves' better natures, and some frequently went night foraging for small shoats and chickens. the "old man" kept account of the increase or decrease in live stock and poultry and reported anything missing each day. when suspicion fell on a visitor of the previous night, this information was given to his master, who then searched the accused's dinner pail and cabin. if meat was found in either the culprit was turned over to his accuser for punishment. after being whipped, he was forbidden for three months to visit the plantation where he had committed the theft. one of della's grandmother's favorite recipes was made of dried beef and wheat. the wheat was brought from the field and husked by hand. this, added to the rapidly boiling beef, was cooked until a mush resulted, which was then eaten from wooden bowls with spoons of the same material. white plates were never used by the slaves. cloth for clothing was woven on the place. della's grandmother did most of the spinning, and she taught her child to spin when she was so small that she had to stand on a raised plank to reach the wheel. after the cloth was spun it was dyed with dye made from "shoemake" (sumac) leaves, green walnuts, reeds, and copperas. one person cut and others sewed. the dresses for women were straight, like slips, and the garments of the small boys resembled night shirts. if desired, a bias fold of contrasting colour was placed at the waist line or at the bottom of dresses. the crudely made garments were starched with a solution of flour or meal and water which was strained and then boiled. as a small child della remembers hearing a peculiar knock on the door during the night, and a voice which replied to queries, "no one to hurt you, but keep that red flannel in your mouth. have you plenty to eat? don't worry; you'll be free." no one would ever tell, if they knew, to whom this voice belonged. just before the beginning of the civil war a comet appeared which was so bright that the elder people amused themselves by sitting on the rail fence and throwing pins upon the ground where the reflection was cast. the children scrambled madly to see who could find the most pins. during the early part of the war mr. ross fought with the confederates, leaving his young son, robert, in charge of his affairs. the young master was very fond of horses and his favorite horse--"bill"--was trained to do tricks. one of these was to lie down when tickled on his flanks. the yankees visited the plantation and tried to take this horse. robert, who loved him dearly, refused to dismount, and as they were about to shoot the horse beneath him, the slaves began to plead. they explained that the boy was kind to every one and devoted to animals, after which explanation, he was allowed to keep his horse. the breastworks at savannah required many laborers to complete their construction, and as the commanders desired to save the strength of their soldiers, slave labor was solicited. two slaves from each nearby plantation were sent to work for a limited number of days. the round trip from the ross plantation required seven days. nearly every man had a family and when they returned from these long trips they drove to the quarters and fell on their knees to receive the welcome caresses of their small children. recreational facilities were not provided and slave children had little knowledge of how to play. their two main amusements were building frog houses and sliding down a steep bank on a long board. one day, as they played up and down the highway, building frog houses at irregular intervals, little della looked up and saw a group of yankee calvarymen approaching. she screamed and began running and so attracted the attention of mr. ross who was at home on a furlough. he saw the men in time to find a hiding place. meanwhile, the soldiers arrived and the leader, springing from his horse, snatched della up and spanked her soundly for giving the alarm, as they had hoped to take her master by surprise. della said this was the first "white slap" she ever received. some of the yankees entered the house, tore up the interior, and threw the furniture out doors. another group robbed the smokehouse and smashed so many barrels of syrup that it ran in a stream through the yard. they carried much of the meat off with them and gave the remainder to the slaves. chickens were caught, dressed, and fried on the spot as each soldier carried his own frying pan, and a piece of flint rock and a sponge with which to make a fire. the men were skilled in dressing fowls and cleaned them in a few strokes. when they had eaten as much as they desired, a search for the corral was made, but the mules were so well hidden that they were not able to find them. della's father's hands were tied behind him and he was then forced to show them the hiding place. these fine beasts, used for plowing, were named by the slaves who worked them. characteristic names were: "jule", "pigeon", "little deal", "vic", (the carriage horse), "streaked leg," "kicking kid", "sore-back janie". every one was carried off. this raid took place on christmas eve and the slaves were frantic as they had been told that yankees were mean people, especially was sherman so pictured. when sherman had gone, mr. ross came from his hiding place in the "cool well" and spoke to his slaves. to the elder ones he said, "i saw you give away my meat and mules." "master, we were afraid. we didn't want to do it, but we were afraid not to." "yes, i understand that you could not help yourselves." he then turned to the children, saying, "bless all of you, but to little della, i owe my life. from now on she shall never be whipped, and she shall have a home of her own for life." she shook with laughter as she said, "master thought i screamed to warn him and i was only frightened." true to his word, after freedom he gave her a three-acre plot of land upon which he built a house and added a mule, buggy, cow, hogs, etc. della lived there until after her marriage, when she had to leave with her husband. she later lost her home. having been married twice, she now bears the name of briscoe, her last husband's name. when the family had again settled down to the ordinary routine, a new plague, body lice, said to have been left by the invaders, made life almost unbearable for both races. della now lives with her granddaughter, for she has been unable to work for twenty-eight years. macon's department of public welfare assists in contributing to her livelihood, as the granddaughter can only pay the room rent. she does not know her age but believes that she is above ninety. her keen old eyes seemed to look back into those bygone days as she said, "i got along better den dan i eber hab since. we didn't know nuthin 'bout jail houses, paying for our burial grounds, and de rent. we had plenty o' food." [hw: dist. ex. slv. # ] george brooks, ex-slave date of birth: year unknown (see below) place of birth: in muscogee county, near columbus, georgia present residence: east th street, columbus, georgia interviewed: august , [may ] this old darky, probably the oldest ex-slave in west georgia, claims to be years of age. his colored friends are also of the opinion that he is fully that old or older--but, since none of his former (two) owners' people can be located, and no records concerning his birth can be found, his definite age cannot be positively established. "uncle" george claims to have worked in the fields, "some", the year the "stars fell"-- . his original owner was mr. henry williams--to whom he was greatly attached. as a young man, he was--for a number of years--mr. williams' personal body-servant. after mr. williams' death--during the 's, "uncle" george was sold to a white man--whose name he doesn't remember--of dadeville, alabama, with whom he subsequently spent five months in the confederate service. one of "uncle" george's stories is to the effect that he once left a chore he was doing for his second "marster's" wife, "stepped" to a nearby well to get a drink of water and, impelled by some strange, irresistible "power", "jes kep on walkin 'til he run slap-dab inter de yankees", who corraled him and kept him for three months. still another story he tells is that of his being sold after freedom! according to his version of this incident, he was sold along with two bales of cotton in the fall of --either the cotton being sold and he "thrown in" with it, or vice versa--he doesn't know which, but he _does know_ that he and the cotton were "sold" together! and very soon after this transaction occurred, the seller was clapped in jail! then, "somebody" (he doesn't remember who) gave him some money, put him on a stage-coach at night and "shipped" him to columbus, where he learned that he was a free man and has since remained. "uncle" george has been married once and is the father of several children. his wife, however, died fifty-odd years ago and he knows nothing of the whereabouts of his children--doesn't even know whether or not any of them are living, having lost "all track o'all kin fokes too long ago to tawk about." unfortunately, "uncle" george's mind is clouded and his memory badly impaired, otherwise his life story would perhaps be quite interesting. for more than twenty years, he has been supported and cared for by kind hearted members of his race, who say that they intend to continue "to look after the old man 'til he passes on." ex-slave interview easter brown s. lumpkin street athens, georgia written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby edited by: john n. booth federal writers' project wpa residency no. "aunt" easter brown, years old, was sweeping chips into a basket out in front of her cabin. "go right in honey, i'se comin' soon as i git some chips for my fire. does i lak to talk 'bout when i wuz a chile? i sho does. i warn't but years old when de war wuz over, but i knows all 'bout it." "i wuz born in floyd county sometime in october. my pa wuz erwin and my ma wuz liza lorie. i don't know whar dey come from, but i knows dey wuz from way down de country somewhars. dere wuz six of us chilluns. all of us wuz sold. yessum, i wuz sold too. my oldest brother wuz named jim. i don't riccolec' de others, dey wuz all sold off to diffunt parts of de country, and us never heared from 'em no more. my brother, my pa and me wuz sold on de block in rome, georgia. marster frank glenn buyed me. i wuz so little dat when dey bid me off, dey had to hold me up so folkses could see me. i don't 'member my real ma and pa, and i called marster 'pa' an' mist'ess 'ma', 'til i wuz 'bout 'leven years old. "i don't know much 'bout slave quarters, or what dey had in 'em, 'cause i wuz raised in de house wid de white folkses. i does know beds in de quarters wuz lak shelves. holes wuz bored in de side of de house, two in de wall and de floor, and poles runnin' from de wall and de floor, fastened together wid pegs; on 'em dey put planks, and cross de foot of de bed dey put a plank to hold de straw and keep de little 'uns from fallin' out. "what did us have to eat? lordy mussy! mist'ess! us had everything. summertime dere wuz beans, cabbage, squashes, irish 'tatoes, roas'en ears, 'matoes, cucumbers, cornbread, and fat meat, but de nigger boys, dey wuz plum fools 'bout hog head. in winter dey et sweet 'tatoes, collards, turnips and sich, but i et lak de white folkses. i sho does lak 'possums and rabbits. yessum, some of de slaves had gyardens, some of 'em sholy did. "no'm, us niggers never wore no clothes in summer, i means us little 'uns. in de winter us wore cotton clothes, but us went barefoots. my uncle sam and some of de other niggers went 'bout wid dey foots popped open from de cold. marster had slaves on his plantation. "mist'ess wuz good to me. pa begged her to buy me, 'cause she wuz his young mist'ess and he knowed she would be good to me, but marster wuz real cruel. he'd beat his hoss down on his knees and he kilt one of 'em. he whupped de niggers when dey didn't do right. niggers is lak dis; dey wuz brought to dis here land wild as bucks, and dey is lak chicken roosters in a pen. you just have to make 'em 'have deyselves. its lak dat now; if dey'd 'have deyselves, white folkses would let 'em be. "dere warn't no jails in dem days. dey had a gyuard house what dey whupped 'em in, and mondays and tuesdays wuz set aside for de whuppin's, when de niggers what had done wrong got so many lashes, 'cordin' to what devilment dey had been doin'. de overseer didn't do de whuppin', marster done dat. dem patterrollers wuz sompin else. mankind! if dey ketched a nigger out atter dark widout no pass dey'd most nigh tear de hide offen his back. "i'll tell you what dat overseer done one night. some enemy of marster's sot fire to de big frame house whar him and mist'ess and de chillun lived. de overseer seed it burnin', and run and clam up de tree what wuz close to de house, went in de window and got marster's two little gals out dat burnin' house 'fore you could say scat. dat sho fixed de overseer wid old marster. atter dat marster give him a nice house to live in but marster's fine old house sho wuz burnt to de ground. "de cyarriage driver wuz uncle sam. he drove de chillun to school, tuk marster and mist'ess to church, and done de wuk 'round de house; such as, totin' in wood, keepin' de yards and waitin' on de cook. no'm us slaves didn't go to church; de niggers wuz so wore out on sundays, dey wuz glad to stay home and rest up, 'cause de overseer had 'em up way 'fore day and wuked 'em 'til long atter dark. on saddays dey had to wash deir clothes and git ready for de next week. some slaves might a had special things give to 'em on christmas and new years day, but not on marster's plantation; dey rested up a day and dat wuz all. i heared tell dey had christmas fixin's and doin's on other plantations, but not on marse frank's place. all corn shuckin's, cotton pickin's, log rollin's, and de lak was when de boss made 'em do it, an' den dere sho warn't no extra sompin t'eat. "de onliest game i ever played wuz to take my doll made out of a stick wid a rag on it and play under a tree. when i wuz big 'nough to wuk, all i done wuz to help de cook in de kitchen and play wid old mist'ess' baby. "some of de niggers runned away. webster, hagar, atney, an' jane runned away a little while 'fore freedom. old marster didn't try to git 'em back, 'cause 'bout dat time de war wuz over. marster and mist'ess sho looked atter de niggers when dey got sick for dey knowed dat if a nigger died dat much property wuz lost. yessum, dey had a doctor sometime, but de most dey done wuz give 'em hoarhound, yellow root and tansy. when a baby wuz cuttin' teeth, dey biled ground ivy and give 'em. "louisa, de cook wuz married in de front yard. all i 'members 'bout it wuz dat all de niggers gathered in de yard, louisa had on a white dress; de white folkses sho fixed louisa up, 'cause she wuz deir cook. "jus' lemme tell you 'bout my weddin' i buyed myself a dress and had it laid out on de bed, den some triflin', no 'count nigger wench tuk and stole it 'fore i had a chance to git married in it. i had done buyed dat dress for two pupposes; fust to git married in it, and second to be buried in. i stayed on wid old miss 'til i got 'bout grown and den i drifted to athens. when i married my fust husband, charlie montgomery, i wuz wukkin' for mrs. w.r. booth, and us married in her dinin' room. charlie died out and i married james hoshier. us had one baby. hit wuz a boy. james an' our boy is both daid now and i'se all by myself. "what de slaves done when dey wuz told dat dey wuz free? i wuz too little to know what dey meant by freedom, but old marster called de overseer and told him to ring de bell for de niggers to come to de big house. he told 'em dey wuz free devils and dey could go whar dey pleased and do what dey pleased--dey could stay wid him if dey wanted to. some stayed wid old marster and some went away. i never seed no yankee sojers. i heared tell of 'em comin' but i never seed none of 'em. "no'm i don't know nothin' 'bout abraham lincoln, booker t. washington or jefferson davis. i didn't try to ketch on to any of 'em. as for slavery days; some of de niggers ought to be free and some oughtn't to be. i don't know nuttin much 'bout it. i had a good time den, and i gits on pretty good now. "how come i jined de church? well i felt lak it wuz time for me to live better and git ready for a home in de next world. chile you sho has axed me a pile of questions, and i has sho 'joyed tellin' you what i knowed." julia brown (aunt sally) griffin place, n.w. atlanta, ga. july , [tr:?] by geneva tonsill [tr: one page of this interview was repeated in typescript; where there was a discrepancy, the clearer version was used.] ah always had a hard time aunt sally rocked back and forth incessantly. she mopped her wrinkled face with a dirty rag as she talked. "ah wuz born fo' miles frum commerce, georgia, and wuz thirteen year ole at surrender. ah belonged to the nash fambly--three ole maid sisters. my mama belonged to the nashes and my papa belonged to general burns; he wuz a officer in the war. there wuz six of us chilluns, lucy, malvina, johnnie, callie, joe and me. we didn't stay together long, as we wuz give out to different people. the nashes didn't believe in selling slaves but we wuz known as their niggers. they sold one once 'cause the other slaves said they would kill him 'cause he had a baby by his own daughter. so to keep him frum bein' kilt, they sold him. "my mama died the year of surrender. ah didn't fare well after her death, ah had sicha hard time. ah wuz give to the mitchell fambly and they done every cruel thing they could to me. ah slept on the flo' nine years, winter and summer, sick or well. ah never wore anything but a cotton dress, a shimmy and draw's. that 'oman didn't care what happened to the niggers. sometimes she would take us to church. we'd walk to the church house. ah never went nowhere else. that 'oman took delight in sellin' slaves. she'd lash us with a cowhide whip. ah had to shift fur mahself. "they didn't mind the slaves matin', but they wanted their niggers to marry only amongst them on their place. they didn't 'low 'em to mate with other slaves frum other places. when the wimmen had babies they wuz treated kind and they let 'em stay in. we called it 'lay-in', just about lak they do now. we didn't go to no horspitals as they do now, we jest had our babies and had a granny to catch 'em. we didn't have all the pain-easin' medicines then. the granny would put a rusty piece of tin or a ax under the mattress and this would ease the pains. the granny put a ax under my mattress once. this wuz to cut off the after-pains and it sho did too, honey. we'd set up the fifth day and after the 'layin-in' time wuz up we wuz 'lowed to walk out doors and they tole us to walk around the house jest once and come in the house. this wuz to keep us frum takin' a 'lapse. "we wuzn't 'lowed to go around and have pleasure as the folks does today. we had to have passes to go wherever we wanted. when we'd git out there wuz a bunch of white men called the 'patty rollers'. they'd come in and see if all us had passes and if they found any who didn't have a pass he wuz whipped; give fifty or more lashes--and they'd count them lashes. if they said a hundred you got a hundred. they wuz somethin' lak the klu klux. we wuz 'fraid to tell our masters about the patty rollers because we wuz skeered they'd whip us again, fur we wuz tole not to tell. they'd sing a little ditty. ah wish ah could remember the words, but it went somethin' lak this: 'run, niggah, run, de patty rollers'll git you, run niggah, ran, you'd bettah git away.' "we wuz 'fraid to go any place. "slaves ware treated in most cases lak cattle. a man went about the country buyin' up slaves lak buyin' up cattle and the like, and he wuz called a 'speculator', then he'd sell 'em to the highest bidder. oh! it wuz pitiful to see chil'en taken frum their mothers' breast, mothers sold, husbands sold frum wives. one 'oman he wuz to buy had a baby, and of course the baby come befo' he bought her and he wouldn't buy the baby; said he hadn't bargained to buy the baby too, and he jest wouldn't. my uncle wuz married but he wuz owned by one master and his wife wuz owned by another. he wuz 'lowed to visit his wife on wednesday and saturday, that's the onliest time he could git off. he went on wednesday and when he went back on saturday his wife had been bought by the speculator and he never did know where she wuz. "ah worked hard always. honey, you can't 'magine what a hard time ah had. ah split rails lak a man. how did ah do it? ah used a huge glut, and a iron wedge drove into the wood with a maul, and this would split the wood. "ah help spin the cotton into thread fur our clothes. the thread wuz made into big broaches--four broaches made four cuts, or one hank. after the thread wuz made we used a loom to weave the cloth. we had no sewin' machine--had to sew by hand. my mistress had a big silver bird and she would always catch the cloth in the bird's bill and this would hold it fur her to sew. "ah didn't git to handle money when i wuz young. ah worked frum sunup to sundown. we never had overseers lak some of the slaves. we wuz give so much work to do in a day and if the white folks went off on a vacation they would give us so much work to do while they wuz gone and we better have all of that done too when they'd come home. some of the white folks wuz very kind to their slaves. some did not believe in slavery and some freed them befo' the war and even give 'em land and homes. some would give the niggers meal, lard and lak that. they made me hoe when ah wuz a chile and ah'd keep rat up with the others, 'cause they'd tell me that if ah got behind a run-a-way nigger would git me and split open my head and git the milk out'n it. of course ah didn't know then that wuzn't true--ah believed everything they tole me and that made me work the harder. "there wuz a white man, mister jim, that wuz very mean to the slaves. he'd go 'round and beat 'em. he'd even go to the little homes, tear down the chimneys and do all sorts of cruel things. the chimneys wuz made of mud 'n straw 'n sticks; they wuz powerful strong too. mister jim wuz jest a mean man, and when he died we all said god got tired of mister jim being so mean and kilt him. when they laid him out on the coolin' board, everybody wuz settin' 'round, moanin' over his death, and all of a sudden mister jim rolled off'n the coolin' board, and sich a runnin' and gittin' out'n that room you never saw. we said mister jim wuz tryin' to run the niggers and we wuz 'fraid to go about at night. ah believed it then; now that they's 'mbalmin' ah know that must have been gas and he wuz purgin', fur they didn't know nothin' 'bout 'mbalmin' then. they didn't keep dead folks out'n the ground long in them days. "doctors wuzn't so plentiful then. they'd go 'round in buggies and on hosses. them that rode on a hoss had saddle pockets jest filled with little bottles and lots of them. he'd try one medicine and if it didn't do not [tr: no?] good he'd try another until it did do good and when the doctor went to see a sick pusson he'd stay rat there until he wuz better. he didn't jest come in and write a 'scription fur somebody to take to a drug store. we used herbs a lots in them days. when a body had dropsy we'd set him in a tepid bath made of mullein leaves. there wuz a jimson weed we'd use fur rheumatism, and fur asthma we'd use tea made of chestnut leaves. we'd git the chestnut leaves, dry them in the sun jest lak tea leaves, and we wouldn't let them leaves git wet fur nothin' in the world while they wuz dryin'. we'd take poke salad roots, boil them and then take sugar and make a syrup. this wuz the best thing fur asthma. it was known to cure it too. fur colds and sich we used ho'hound; made candy out'n it with brown sugar. we used a lots of rock candy and whiskey fur colds too. they had a remedy that they used fur consumption--take dry cow manure, make a tea of this and flavor it with mint and give it to the sick pusson. we didn't need many doctors then fur we didn't have so much sickness in them days, and nachelly they didn't die so fast; folks lived a long time then. they used a lot of peachtree leaves too for fever, and when the stomach got upsot we'd crush the leaves, pour water over them and wouldn't let them drink any other kind of water 'till they wuz better. ah still believes in them ole ho'made medicines too and ah don't believe in so many doctors. "we didn't have stoves plentiful then: just ovens we set in the fireplace. ah's toted a many a armful of bark--good ole hickory bark to cook with. we'd cook light bread--both flour and corn. the yeast fur this bread wuz made frum hops. coals of fire wuz put on top of the oven and under the bottom, too. everything wuz cooked on coals frum a wood fire--coffee and all. wait, let me show you my coffee tribet. have you ever seen one? well, ah'll show you mine." aunt sally got up and hobbled to the kitchen to get the trivet. after a few moments search she came back into the room. "no, it's not there. ah guess it's been put in the basement. ah'll show it to you when you come back. it's a rack made of iron that the pot is set on befo' puttin' it on the fire coals. the victuals wuz good in them days; we got our vegetables out'n the garden in season and didn't have all the hot-house vegetables. ah don't eat many vegetables now unless they come out'n the garden and i know it. well, as i said, there wuz racks fitted in the fireplace to put pots on. once there wuz a big pot settin' on the fire, jest bilin' away with a big roast in it. as the water biled, the meat turned over and over, comin' up to the top and goin' down again, ole sandy, the dog, come in the kitchen. he sot there a while and watched that meat roll over and over in the pot, and all of a sudden-like he grabbed at that meat and pulls it out'n the pot. 'course he couldn't eat it 'cause it wuz hot and they got the meat befo' he et it. the kitchen wuz away frum the big house, so the victuals wuz cooked and carried up to the house. ah'd carry it up mahse'f. we couldn't eat all the different kinds of victuals the white folks et and one mornin' when i was carryin' the breakfast to the big house we had waffles that wuz a pretty golden brown and pipin' hot. they wuz a picture to look at and ah jest couldn't keep frum takin' one, and that wuz the hardest waffle fur me to eat befo' i got to the big house i ever saw. ah jest couldn't git rid of that waffle 'cause my conscience whipped me so. "they taught me to do everything. ah'd use battlin' blocks and battlin' sticks to wash the clothes; we all did. the clothes wuz taken out of the water an put on the block and beat with a battlin' stick, which was made like a paddle. on wash days you could hear them battlin' sticks poundin' every which-away. we made our own soap, used ole meat and grease, and poured water over wood ashes which wuz kept in a rack-like thing and the water would drip through the ashes. this made strong lye. we used a lot 'o sich lye, too, to bile with. "sometimes the slaves would run away. their masters wuz mean to them that caused them to run away. sometimes they would live in caves. how did they get along? well, chile, they got along all right--what with other people slippin' things in to 'em. and, too, they'd steal hogs, chickens, and anything else they could git their hands on. some white people would help, too, fur there wuz some white people who didn't believe in slavery. yes, they'd try to find them slaves that run away and if they wuz found they'd be beat or sold to somebody else. my grandmother run away frum her master. she stayed in the woods and she washed her clothes in the branches. she used sand fur soap. yes, chile, i reckon they got 'long all right in the caves. they had babies in thar and raised 'em too. "ah stayed with the mitchells 'til miss hannah died. ah even helped to lay her out. ah didn't go to the graveyard though. ah didn't have a home after she died and ah wandered from place to place, stayin' with a white fambly this time and then a nigger fambly the next time. ah moved to jackson county and stayed with a mister frank dowdy. ah didn't stay there long though. then ah moved to winder, georgia. they called it 'jug tavern' in them days, 'cause jugs wuz made there. ah married green hinton in winder. got along well after marryin' him. he farmed fur a livin' and made a good livin' fur me and the eight chilluns, all born in winder. the chilluns wuz grown nearly when he died and wuz able to help me with the smalles ones. ah got along all right after his death and didn't have sich a hard time raisin' the chilluns. then ah married jim brown and moved to atlanta. jim farmed at first fur a livin' and then he worked on the railroad--the seaboard. he helped to grade the first railroad track for that line. he wuz a sand-dryer." aunt sally broke off her story here. "lord, honey, ah got sich a pain in mah stomach ah don't believe ah can go on. it's a gnawin' kind of pain. jest keeps me weak all over." naturally i suggested that we complete the story at another time. so i left, promisin' to return in a few days. a block from the house i stopped in a store to order some groceries for aunt sally. the proprietress, a jewish woman, spoke up when i gave the delivery address. she explained in broken english that she knew aunt sally. "i tink you vas very kind to do dis for aunt sally. she neets it. i often gif her son food. he's very old and feeble. he passed here yesterday and he look so wasted and hungry. his stomick look like it vas drawn in, you know. i gif him some fresh hocks. i know dey could not eat all of them in a day and i'm afrait it von't be goof [tr: goot? or good?] for dem today. i vas trained to help people in neet. it's pert of my religion. see, if ve sit on de stritcar and an olt person comes in and finds no seat, ve get up and gif him one. if ve see a person loaded vid bundles and he iss old and barely able to go, ve gif a hand. see, ve jews--you colored--but ve know no difference. anyvon neeting help, ve gif." a couple of days later i was back at aunt sally's. i had brought some groceries for the old woman. i knocked a long time on the front door, and, getting no answer, i picked my way through the rank growth of weeds and grass surrounding the house and went around to the back door. it opened into the kitchen, where aunt sally and her son were having breakfast. the room was small and dark and i could hardly see the couple, but aunt sally welcomed me. "lawd, honey, you come right on in. i tole john i heard somebody knockin' at the do'." "you been hearin' things all mornin'," john spoke up. he turned to me. "you must've been thinkin' about mamma just when we started eatin' breakfast because she asked me did i hear somebody call her. i tole her the lawd jesus is always a-callin' poor niggers, but she said it sounded like the lady's voice who was here the other day. well i didn't hear anything and i tole her she mus' be hearin' things." i'd put the bag of groceries on the table unobtrusively, but aunt sally wasn't one to let such gifts pass unnoticed. eagerly she tore the bag open and began pulling out the packages. "lawd bless you, chile, and he sho will bless you! i feels rich seein' what you brought me. jest look at this--lawdy mercy!--rolls, butter, milk, balogny...! oh, this balogny, jest looky there! you must a knowed what i wanted!" she was stuffing it in her mouth as she talked. "and these aigs...! honey, you knows god is goin' to bless you and let you live long. ah'se goin' to cook one at a time. and ah sho been wantin' some milk. ah'se gonna cook me a hoecake rat now." she went about putting the things in little cans and placing them on shelves or in the dilapidated little cupboard that stood in a corner. i sat down near the door and listened while she rambled on. "ah used to say young people didn't care bout ole folks but ah is takin' that back now. ah jest tole my son the other day that its turned round, the young folks thinks of the ole and tries to help 'em and the ole folks don't try to think of each other; some of them, they is too mean. ah can't understand it; ah jest know i heard you call me when ah started to eat, and tole my son so. had you been to the do' befo'?" she talked on not waiting for a reply. "ah sho did enjoy the victuals you sent day befo' yistidy. they send me surplus food frum the gove'nment but ah don't like what they send. the skim milk gripes me and ah don't like that yellow meal. a friend brought me some white meal t'other day. and that wheat cereal they send! ah eats it with water when ah don't have milk and ah don't like it but when you don't have nothin' else you got to eat what you have. they send me ¢ ever two weeks but that don't go very fur. ah ain't complainin' fur ah'm thankful fur what ah git. "they send a girl to help me around the house, too. she's frum the housekeepin' department. she's very nice to me. yes, she sho'ly is a sweet girl, and her foreman is sweet too. she comes in now 'n then to see me and see how the girl is gittin' along. she washes, too. ah's been on relief a long time. now when ah first got on it wuz when they first started givin' me. they give me plenty of anything ah asked fur and my visitor wuz mrs. tompkins. she wuz so good to me. well they stopped that and then the dpw (department of public welfare) took care of me. when they first started ah got more than i do now and they've cut me down 'till ah gits only a mighty little. "yes, ah wuz talkin' about my husband when you wuz here t'other day. he wuz killed on the railroad. after he moved here he bought this home. ah'se lived here twenty years. jim wuz comin' in the railroad yard one day and stepped off the little engine they used for the workers rat in the path of the l. & m. train. he wuz cut up and crushed to pieces. he didn't have a sign of a head. they used a rake to git up the pieces they did git. a man brought a few pieces out here in a bundle and ah wouldn't even look at them. ah got a little money frum the railroad but the lawyer got most of it. he brought me a few dollars out and tole me not to discuss it with anyone nor tell how much ah got. ah tried to git some of the men that worked with him to tell me just how it all happened, but they wouldn't talk, and it wuz scand'lous how them niggers held their peace and wouldn't tell me anything. the boss man came out later but he didn't seem intrusted in it at all, so ah got little or nothing fur his death. the lawyer got it fur hisse'f. "all my chilluns died 'cept my son and he is ole and sick and can't do nothin' fur me or hisse'f. he gets relief too, ¢ every two weeks. he goes 'round and people gives him a little t'eat. he has a hard time tryin' to git 'long. "ah had a double bed in t'other room and let a woman have it so she could git some of the delegates to the baptist world alliance and she wuz goin' to pay me fur lettin' her use the bed, but she didn't git anybody 'cept two. they come there on friday and left the next day. she wuz tole that they didn't act right 'bout the delegates and lots of people went to the expense to prepare fur them and didn't git a one. ah wuz sorry, for ah intended to use what she paid me fur my water bill. ah owes $ . and had to give my deeds to my house to a lady to pay the water bill fur me and it worries me 'cause ah ain't got no money to pay it, fur this is all ah got and ah hates to loose my house. ah wisht it wuz some way to pay it. ah ain't been able to do fur mahse'f in many years now, and has to depend on what others gives me. "tell you mo' about the ole times? lawd, honey, times has changed so frum when ah was young. you don't hear of haints as you did when i growed up. the lawd had to show his work in miracles 'cause we didn't have learnin' in them days as they has now. and you may not believe it but them things happened. ah knows a old man what died, and after his death he would come to our house where he always cut wood, and at night we could hear a chain bein' drug along in the yard, jest as if a big log-chain wuz bein' pulled by somebody. it would drag on up to the woodpile and stop, then we could hear the thump-thump of the ax on the wood. the woodpile was near the chimney and it would chop-chop on, then stop and we could hear the chain bein' drug back the way it come. this went on fur several nights until my father got tired and one night after he heard it so long, the chop-chop, papa got mad and hollered at the haint, 'g---- d---- you, go to hell!!!' and that spirit went off and never did come back! "we'd always know somebody wuz goin' to die when we heard a owl come to a house and start screechin'. we always said, 'somebody is gwine to die!' honey, you don't hear it now and it's good you don't fur it would skeer you to death nearly. it sounded so mo'nful like and we'd put the poker or the shovel in the fire and that always run him away; it burned his tongue out and he couldn't holler no more. if they'd let us go out lak we always wanted to, ah don't 'spects we'd a-done it, 'cause we wuz too skeered. lawdy, chile, them wuz tryin' days. ah sho is glad god let me live to see these 'uns. "ah tried to git the ole-age pension fur ah sho'ly needed it and wuz 'titled to it too. sho wuz. but that visitor jest wouldn't let me go through. she acted lak that money belonged to her. ah 'plied when it first come out and shoulda been one of the first to get one. ah worried powerful much at first fur ah felt how much better off ah'd be. ah wouldn't be so dependent lak ah'm is now. ah 'spects you know that 'oman. she is a big black 'oman--wuz named smith at first befo' she married. she is a johns now. she sho is a mean 'oman. she jest wouldn't do no way. ah even tole her if she let me go through and ah got my pension ah would give her some of the money ah got, but she jest didn't do no way. she tole me if ah wuz put on ah'd get no more than ah _wuz_ gittin'. ah sho believes them thats on gits more'n ¢ every two weeks. ah sho had a hard time and a roughety road to travel with her my visitor until they sent in the housekeeper. fur that head 'oman jest went rat out and got me some clothes. everything ah needed. when ah tole her how my visitor wuz doin' me she jest went out and come rat back with all the things ah needed. ah don't know why my visitor done me lak that. ah said at first it wuz because ah had this house but honey what could ah do with a house when ah wuz hongry and not able to work. ah always worked hard. 'course ah didn't git much fur it but ah lak to work fur what ah gits." aunt sally was beginning to repeat herself and i began to suspect she was talking just to please me. so i arose to go. "lawsy mercy, chile, you sho is sweet to set here and talk to a ole 'oman lak me. ah sho is glad you come. ah tole my son you wuz a bundle of sunshine and ah felt so much better the day you left--and heah you is again! chile, my nose wuzn't itchin' fur nothin'! you come back to see me real soon. ah'se always glad to have you. and the lawd's gonna sho go with you fur bein' so good to me." my awareness of the obvious fulsomeness in the old woman's praise in no way detracted from my feeling of having done a good deed. aunt sally was a clever psychologist and as i carefully picked my way up the weedy path toward the street, i felt indeed that the "lawd" was "sho goin'" with me. ex-slave interview julia bunch, age beech island south carolina written by: leila harris augusta edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project res. & [may ] seated in a comfortable chair in the living room of her home, julia bunch, negress of years, presented a picture of the old south that will soon pass away forever. the little -room house, approachable only on foot, was situated on top of a hill. around the clean-swept yard, petunias, verbena, and other flowers were supplemented by a large patch of old-fashioned ribbon grass. a little black and white kitten was frisking about and a big red hen lazily scratched under a big shade tree in search of food for her brood. julia's daughter, who was washing "white people's clothes" around the side of the house, invited us into the living room where her mother was seated. the floors of the front porch and the living room were scrubbed spotlessly clean. there was a rug on the floor, while a piano across one corner, a chifforobe with mirrored doors, a bureau, and several comfortable chairs completed the room's furnishings. a motley assortment of pictures adorning the walls included: _the virgin mother_, _the sacred bleeding heart_, several large family photographs, two pictures of the dionne quintuplets, and one of president roosevelt. julia was not very talkative, but had a shy, irresistible chuckle, and it was this, together with her personal appearance and the tidiness of her home that left an indelible impression on the minds of her visitors. her skin was very dark, and her head closely wrapped in a dark bandana, from which this gray hair peeped at intervals forming a frame for her face. she was clad in a black and white flowered print dress and a dark gray sweater, from which a white ruffle was apparent at the neck. only two buttons of the sweater were fastened and it fell away at the waist displaying her green striped apron. from beneath the long dress, her feet were visible encased in men's black shoes laced with white strings. her ornaments consisted of a ring on her third finger, earrings, and tortoise-rimmed glasses which plainly displayed their dime-store origin. "i b'longed to marse jackie dorn of edgefield county, i was gived to him and his wife when dey was married for a weddin' gift. i nussed deir three chilluns for 'em and slep' on a couch in dier bedroom 'til i was years old, den 'mancipation come. i loved 'em so and stayed wid 'em for four years atter freedom and when i left 'em i cried and dem chilluns cried. "yassir, dey was sho' good white people and very rich. dere warn't nothin' lackin' on dat plantation. de big house was part wood and part brick, and de niggers lived in one or two room box houses built in rows. marse jackie runned a big grist mill and done de grindin' for all de neighbors 'round 'bout. three or four niggers wukked in de mill all de time. us runned a big farm and dairy too. "dere was allus plenty t'eat 'cause marster had a -acre gyarden and a big fruit orchard. two cooks was in de kitchen all de time. dey cooked in a big fireplace, but us had big ovens to cook de meat, biscuits and lightbread in. us made 'lasses and syrup and put up fruits just lak dey does now. "my ma was head weaver. it tuk two or three days to set up de loom 'cause dere was so many little bitty threads to be threaded up. us had dyes of evvy color. yassir, us could make wool cloth too. de sheeps was sheered once a year and de wool was manufactured up and us had a loom wid wheels to spin it into thread. "old marster never whupped nobody and dere was only one man dat i kin 'member dat de overseer whupped much and he 'served it 'cause he would run away in spite of evvything. dey would tie him to a tree way down in de orchard and whup him." julia kept repeating and seemed anxious to impress upon the minds of her visitors that her white folks were good and very rich. "yassir, my white folks had lots of company and visited a lot. dey rode saddle horses and had deir own carriages wid a high seat for de driver. nosir, she didn't ride wid hoopskirts--you couldn't ride wid dem on. "us bought some shoes from de market but dere was a travelin' shoemaker dat wukked by days for all de folks. he was a slave and didn't git no money; it was paid to his marster. us had our own blacksmith dat wukked all de time. "de slaves from all de plantations 'round come to our corn shuckin's. us had 'em down in de orchard. lots of white folks comed too. dey kilt hogs and us had a big supper and den us danced. nosir, dere warn't no toddy, marse didn't b'lieve in dat, but dey would beat up apples and us drinked de juice. it sho' was sweet too. "folks done dey travelin' in stages and hacks in dem days. each of de stages had four hosses to 'em. when de cotton and all de other things was ready to go to market, dey would pack 'em and bring 'em to augusta wid mules and wagons. it would take a week and sometimes longer for de trip, and dey would come back loaded down wid 'visions and clothes, and dere was allus a plenty for all de niggers too. "de white folks allus helped deir niggers wid de weddin's and buyed deir clothes for 'em. i 'members once a man friend of mine come to ax could he marry one of our gals. marster axed him a right smart of questions and den he told him he could have her, but he mustn't knock or cuff her 'bout when he didn't want her no more, but to turn her loose. "us had a big cemetery on our place and de white folks allus let deir niggers come to de fun'rals. de white folks had deir own sep'rate buryin' ground, but all de coffins was home-made. even de ones for de settlement peoples was made right in our shop. yassum, dey sung at de fun'rals and you wants me to sing. i can't sing, but i'll try a little bit." then with a beautiful and peculiar rhythm only attained by the southern negro, she chanted: 'come-ye-dat-love-de-lord and-let-your-joys-be-known.' "a rooster crowin' outside your door means company's comin' and a squinch owl means sho' death. dose are all de signs i kin 'member and i don't 'member nothin' 'bout slavery remedies. "yassir, dey useter give us a nickel or cents sometimes so us could buy candy from de store." asked if she remembered patterollers she gave her sly chuckle and said: "i sho' does. one time dey come to our house to hunt for some strange niggers. dey didn't find 'em but i was so skeered i hid de whole time dey was dar. yassir, de ku kluxers raised cain 'round dar too. "i 'members de day well when marster told us us was free. i was glad and didn't know what i was glad 'bout. den 'bout yankee soldiers come and dey played music right dar by de roadside. dat was de fust drum and fife music i ever heared. lots of de niggers followed 'em on off wid just what dey had on. none of our niggers went and lots of 'em stayed right on atter freedom. "four years atter dat, i left edgefield and come here wid my old man. us had six chilluns. my old man died six years ago right dar 'cross de road and i'se livin' here wid my daughter. i can't wuk no more. i tried to hoe a little out dar in de field last year and i fell down and i hasn't tried no more since. "i went once not so long ago to see my white folkses. dey gived me a dollar to spend for myself and i went 'cross de street and buyed me some snuff--de fust i had had for a long time. dey wanted to know if i had ever got de old age pension and said dat if i had been close to dem i would have had it 'fore now." [hw: ex. slv. # ] [hw: marshal butler] subject: slavery days and after district: no. w.p.a. editor and research: joseph e. jaffee supervisor: joseph e. jaffee [hw: (this copy has photog. attached.)] slavery days and after i'se marshal butler, [hw: ] years old and was born on december . i knows it was christmas day for i was a gift to my folks. anyhow, i'se the only niggah that knows exactly how old he be. i disremembers the year but you white folks can figure et out. [illustration] my mammy was harriet butler and my pappy was john butler and we all was raised in washington-wilkes. mammy was a frank collar niggah and her man was of the tribe of ben butler, some miles down de road. et was one of dem trial marriages--they'se tried so hard to see each other but old ben butler says two passes a week war enuff to see my mammy on de collar plantation. when de war was completed pappy came home to us. we wuz a family of ten--four females called sally, liza, ellen and lottie and six strong bucks called charlie, elisha, marshal, jack, heywood and little johnnie, [tr: 'cuz he war' marked out] de baby. de collar plantation wuz big and i don't know de size of it. et must have been big for dere war [hw: ] niggahs aching to go to work--i guess they mus' have been aching after de work wuz done. marse frank bossed the place hisself--dere war no overseers. we raised cotton, corn, wheat and everything we un's et. dere war no market to bring de goods to. marse frank wuz like a foodal lord of back history as my good for nothing grandson would say--he is the one with book-larning from atlanta. waste of time filling up a nigger's head with dat trash--what that boy needs is muscle-ology--jes' look at my head and hands. my mammy was maid in de collar's home and she had many fine dresses--some of them were give to her by her missus. pappy war a field nigger for ole ben butler and i worked in the field when i wuz knee high to a grasshopper. we uns et our breakfast while et war dark and we trooped to the fields at sun-up, carrying our lunch wid us. nothing fancy but jes' good rib-sticking victuals. we come in from the fields at sun-down and dere were a good meal awaiting us in de slave quarters. my good master give out rations every second monday and all day monday wuz taken to separate the wheat from the chaff--that is--i mean the victuals had to be organized to be marched off to de proper depository. before we uns et we took care of our mules. i had a mule named george--i know my mule--he was a good mule. "yes, i hollow at the mule, and the mule would not gee, this mornin'. yes, i hollow at the mule, and the mule would not gee. an' i hit him across the head with the single-tree, so soon." yes, boss-man i remembers my mule. marse frank gave mammy four acres of ground to till for herself and us childrens. we raised cotton--yes-sah! one bale of it and lots of garden truck. our boss-man give us saturday as a holiday to work our four acres. all the niggers worked hard--de cotton pickers had to pick pounds of cotton a day and if a nigger didn't, marse frank would take de nigger to the barn and beat him with a switch. he would tell de nigger to hollow loud as he could and de nigger would do so. then the old mistress would come in and say! "what are you doing frank?" "beating a nigger" would be his answer. "you let him alone, he is my nigger" and both marse frank and de whipped nigger would come out of the barn. we all loved marse and the mistress. no, we wuz never whipped for stealing--we never stole anything in dose days--much. we sure froliked saturday nights. dat wuz our day to howl and we howled. our gals sure could dance and when we wuz thirsty we had lemonade and whiskey. no sah! we never mixed [hw: no] whiskey with [hw: no] water.--dem dat wanted lemonade got it--de gals all liked it. niggers never got drunk those days--we wuz scared of the "paddle-rollers." um-m-h and swell music. a fiddle and a tin can and one nigger would beat his hand on the can and another nigger would beat the strings on the [hw: fiddle] [tr: 'can' marked out.] with broom straws. it wuz almos' like a banjo. i remembers we sung "little liza jane" and "green grows the willow tree". de frolik broke up in de morning--about two o'clock--and we all scattered to which ever way we wuz going. we put on clean clothes on sunday and go to church. we went to de white church. us niggars sat on one side and de white folks sat on the other. we wuz baptized in de church--de "pool-room" wuz right in de church. if we went visiting we had to have a pass. if nigger went out without a pass de "paddle-rollers" would get him. de white folks were the "paddle-rollers" and had masks on their faces. they looked like niggers wid de devil in dere eyes. they used no paddles--nothing but straps--wid de belt buckle fastened on. yes sah! i got paddled. et happened dis way. i'se left home one thursday to see a gal on the palmer plantation--five miles away. some gal! no, i didn't get a pass--de boss was so busy! everything was fine until my return trip. i wuz two miles out an' three miles to go. there come de "paddle-rollers" i wuz not scared--only i couldn't move. they give me thirty licks--i ran the rest of the way home. there was belt buckles all over me. i ate my victuals off de porch railing. some gal! um-m-h. was worth that paddlin' to see that gal--would do it over again to see mary de next night. "o jane! love me lak you useter, o jane! chew me lak you useter, ev'y time i figger, my heart gits bigger, sorry, sorry, can't be yo' piper any mo". um-m-mh--some gal! we niggers were a healthy lot. if we wuz really sick marse frank would send for doctor fielding ficklin of washington. if jus' a small cold de nigger would go to de woods and git catnip and roots and sich things. if tummy ache--dere was de castor oil--de white folks say children cry for it--i done my cryin' afterwards. for sore throat dere was alum. everybody made their own soap--if hand was burned would use soap as a poultice and place it on hand. soap was made out of grease, potash and water and boiled in a big iron pot. if yo' cut your finger use kerozene wid a rag around it. turpentine was for sprains and bad cuts. for constipation use tea made from sheep droppings and if away from home de speed of de feet do not match de speed of this remedy. no, boss, i'se not superstitious and i'se believe in no signs. i jes' carry a rabbits' foot for luck. but i do believe the screeching of an owl is a sign of death. i found et to be true. i had an uncle named haywood. he stayed at my house and was sick for a month but wasn't so bad off. one night uncle had a relapse and dat same night a screech owl come along and sat on de top of de house and he--i mean the owl,--"whooed" three times and next morning uncle got "worser" and at eleven o'clock he died. i does believe in signs. when de rooster crows in the house it is sign of a stranger coming. if foot itches you is going to walk on strange land. if cow lows at house at night death will be 'round de house in short time. if sweeping out ashes at night dat is bad luck for you is sweeping out your best friend. remember, your closest friend is your worst enemy. if you want to go a courtin'--et would take a week or so to get your gal. sometimes some fool nigger would bring a gal a present--like "pulled-candy" and sich like. i had no time for sich foolishness. you would pop the question to boss man to see if he was willing for you to marry de gal. there was no minister or boss man to marry you--no limitations at all. boss man would jes say: "don't forget to bring me a little one or two for next year" de boss man would fix a cottage for two and dere you was established for life. "if you want to go a courtin', i sho' you where to go, right down yonder in de house below, clothes all dirty an' ain't got no broom, ole dirty clothes all hangin' in de room. ask'd me to table, thought i'd take a seat, first thing i saw was big chunk o'meat. big as my head, hard as a maul, ash-cake, corn bread, bran an' all." marse frank had plenty of visitors to see him and his three gals was excuse for anyone for miles around to come trompin' in. he enterained mostly on tuesday and thursday nights. i remembers them nights for what was left over from de feasts the niggers would eat. dr. fielding ficklen [tr: earlier, 'ficklin'], bill pope, judge reese,--general robert toombs and alexander stephens from crawfordville--all would come to marse franks' big house. general robert toombs lived in washington and had a big plantation 'bout a mile from de city. he was a farmer and very rich. de general wuz a big man--'bout six feet tall--heavy and had a full face. always had unlighted cigar in his mouth. he was the first man i saw who smoked ten cent cigars. niggers used to run to get "the stumps" and the lucky nigger who got the "stump" could even sell it for a dime to the other niggers for after all--wasn't it general toombs' cigar? the general never wore expensive clothes and always carried a crooked-handled walking stick. i'se never heard him say "niggah", never heard him cuss. he always helped us niggars--gave gave us nickles and dimes at times. alexander stephens wuz crippled. he was a little fellow--slim, dark hair and blue eyes. always used a rolling chair. marse frank would see him at least once a month. i'se saw a red cloud in de west in . i knew war was brewing. marse frank went to war. my uncle was his man and went to war with him--uncle brought him back after the battle at gettsburg--wounded. he died later. we all loved him. my mistress and her boys ran de plantation. the blue-coats came to our place in ' and . they took everythin' that was not red-hot or nailed down. the war made no changes--we did the same work and had plenty to eat. the war was now over. we didn't know we wuz free until a year later. i'se stayed on with marse frank's boys for twenty years. i'se did the same work fo $ to $ a year with rations thrown in. i lived so long because i tells no lies, i never spent more than fifty cents for a doctor in my life. i believe in whiskey and that kept me going. and let me tell you--i'se always going to be a nigger till i die. [hw: dist. ex. slave # ] an interview on slavery obtained from mrs. sarah byrd--ex-slave mrs. sarah byrd claims to be years of age but the first impression one receives when looking at her is that of an old lady who is very active and possessing a sweet clear voice. when she speaks you can easily understand every word and besides this, each thought is well expressed. often during the interview she would suddenly break out in a merry laugh as if her own thoughts amused her. mrs. sarah byrd was born in orange county virginia the youngest of three children. during the early part of her childhood her family lived in virginia her mother judy newman and father sam goodan each belonging to a different master. later on the family became separated the father was sold to a family in east tennessee and the mother and children were bought by doctor byrd in augusta, georgia. here mrs. byrd remarked "chile in them days so many families were broke up and some went one way and der others went t'other way; and you nebber seed them no more. virginia wuz a reg'lar slave market." dr. byrd owned a large plantation and raised such products as peas potatoes, cotton corn (etc). there were a large number of slaves. mrs. byrd was unable to give the exact number but remarked. "oh lordy chile i nebber could tell just how many slaves that man had t'wuz too many uv em." the size of the plantation required that the slaves be classified according to the kind of work each was supposed to do. there were the "cotton pickers", the "plow hands," the "hoe hands," the "rail splitters," etc. "my very fust job," remarked mrs. byrd, "wuz that uv cotton picking." mrs byrd's mother was a full [tr: field?] hand. houses on the byrd plantation were made of logs and the cracks were daubed with mud. the chimnies were made of mud and supported by sticks. each fireplace varied in length from to feet because they serve the purpose of stoves; and the family meals were prepared in those large fireplaces often two and three pots were suspended from a rod running across the fireplace. most of the log houses consisted of one room; however if the family was very large two rooms were built. the furnishings consisted only of a home-made table, benches, and a home-made bed, the mattress of which was formed by running ropes from side to side forming a framework. mattresses were made by filling a tick with wheatstraw. the straw was changed each season. laughing mrs. byrd remarked, "yessirree, them houses wuz warmer than some are ter day." doctor byrd was rather kind and tried to help his slaves as much as possible, but according to mrs. byrd his wife was very mean and often punished her slaves without any cause. she never gave them anything but the coarsest foods. although there of plenty of milk and butter, she only gave it to the families after it had soured. "many a day i have seed butter just sittin around in pans day after day till it got good and spoiled then she would call some uv us and give it ter us. oh she wuz a mean un," remarked mrs. byrd. continuing mrs. byrd remarked "she would give us bread that had been cooked a week." mr. byrd gave his slave families good clothes. twice a year clothing was distributed among his families. every june summer clothes were given and every october winter clothes were given. here mrs. byrd remarked "i nebber knowed what it wuz not ter have a good pair uv shoes." cloth for the dresses and shirts was spun on the plantation by the slaves. the treatment of the slaves is told in mrs. byrd's own words: "we wuz always treated nice by master byrd and he always tried ter save us punishment at the hands uv his wife but that 'oman wuz somethin' nother. i nebber will ferget once she sent me after some brush broom and told me ter hurry back. well plums wuz jest gitting ripe so i just took my time and et all the plums i wanted after that i come on back ter the house. when i got there she called me upstairs, 'sarah come here.' up the steps i went and thar she stood with that old cow hide. she struck me three licks and i lost my balance and tumbled backward down the stairs. i don't know how come i didn't hurt myself but the lord wuz wid me and i got up and flew. i could hear her just hollering 'come back here! come back here!' but i ant stop fer nothing. that night at supper while i wuz fanning the flies from the table she sed ter the doctor. 'doctor what you think? i had ter whip that little devil ter day. i sent her after brush broom and she went off and eat plums instead of hurrying back.' the doctor just looked at her and rolled his eyes but never sed a word. there wuz very little whipping on byrd's plantation, but i have gone ter bed many a night and heard 'em gittin whipped on the plantation next ter us. if dey runned away they would put the hounds on 'em." concluding her story on treatmeant mrs. byrd remarked "yessirree i could tell that 'oman wuz mean the first time i seed her after we came from virginia cause she had red eyes." "pader rollers" stayed busy all the time trying to find slaves off their plantations without passes. marriages were performed by having the couple jump the broom. if the [tr: 'couple' deleted, handwritten words above illegible] belonged to different masters oftentimes one master would purchase the other; but should neither wish to sell the man would then have to get passes to visit his wife on her plantation. "dey would leave the plantation on saturday afternoons and on sunday afternoon you could see 'em coming in just lak they wuz coming from church," remarked mrs. byrd. there were frolics on the byrd plantation any time that the slaves chose to have them. "yes sir we could frolic all we want ter. i use ter be so glad when saturday night came cause i knowed us wuz go have a frolic and i wouldn't have a bit 'uv appetite i would tell my ma we gwine dance ter night i dont want nothin teet. yes sir us would frolic all night long sometimes when the sun rise on sunday morning us would all be layin round or settin on the floor. they made music on the banjo, by knocking bones, and blowing quills." the byrds did not provide a church on their plantation for their slaves neither were they allowed to attend the white church; instead they had prayer meetings in their own cabins where they could sing pray and shout as much as they wished. "i nebber will fergit the last prayer meeting us had," remarked mrs. byrd. "two woman named ant patsy and ant prudence came over from the next plantation. i believed they slipped over there wid out gittin a pass. anyway, they old master came there and whipped 'em and made 'em go home. i reckin he thought us wuz praying ter git free." continuing-- i nebber will fergit the fust time i set eyes on them thar yankees. i done already heard 'bout how they wuz going round ter the different plantations taking the horses and carrying away the money and other valuable things, but they had nebber come ter our place. so this day i saw 'em coming cross the railroad track and they look jest lack thunder there wuz so meny 'uv em. when they got ter our house every body wuz sleep and they knocked and knocked. we had a bad dog that didn't take no foolishness off nobody, so when he kept barking them yankees cursed him and do you know he heshed up? i sid, 'dear lord what sort of man is that all he got ter do is curse that dog and he don't even growl.' well, when they finally got in all they wanted wuz ter know if mr. byrd could help feed the soldiers until monday. mr. byrd told 'em he would. soon after that the war ended and we wuz called ter gether and told us wuz free. some uv'em stayed there and some uv'em left. us left and moved ter another plantation." mrs. byrd who had previously given the writer an interview on folk-lore asked the writer to return at a later date and she would try to think up more information concerning superstitions, conjure, etc. the writer thanked her for the interview and promised to make another visit soon. ex-slave # interview with (mrs.) mariah callaway ex-slave [tr: a significant portion of this interview was repeated in typescript; where there was a discrepancy, the clearer version was used. where a completely different word was substituted, 'the original' refers to the typewritten page.] mrs. mariah callaway sat in a chair opposite the writer and told her freely of the incidents of slavery as she remembered them. to a casual observer it will come as a surprise to know the woman was blind. she is quite old, but her thoughts were clearly and intelligently related to the writer. mrs. callaway was born in washington, wilkes county, georgia probably during the year , as she estimated her age to be around or years when freedom was declared. she does not remember her mother and father, as her mother died the second day after she was born, so the job of rearing her and a small brother fell on her grandmother, mariah willis, for whom she was named. mrs. callaway stated that the old master, jim willis, kept every negro's age in a bible: but after he died the bible was placed upstairs in the gallery and most of the pages were destroyed. the following is a story of the purchase of mrs. callaway's grandfather as related by her. "my grandfather come directly from africa and i never shall forget the story he told us of how he and other natives were fooled on board a ship by the white slave traders using red handkerchiefs as enticement. when they reached america, droves of them were put on the block and sold to people all over the united states. the master and mistress of their plantation were mr. jim willis and mrs. nancy willis who owned hundreds of acres of land and a large number of slaves. mrs. callaway was unable to give an exact number but stated the willises were considered wealthy people. on their plantation were raised sheep, goats, mules, horses, cows, etc. cotton, corn and vegetables were also raised. the willis family was a large one consisting of six children. boys and girls. their home was a large two-story frame house which was set apart from the slave quarters. slave homes on the willis plantation differed in no respect from the usual type found elsewhere. all homes were simple log cabins grouped together, forming what is known as slave quarters. the willis family as kind and religious and saw to it that their slaves were given plenty of food to eat. every monday night each family was given its share of food for the week. each grown person was given a peck of corn [tr: meal on original page] and three pounds of meat; besides the vegetables, etc. on tuesday morning each family was given an ample amount of real flour for biscuits. many of the slave families, especially mrs. callaway's family, were given the privilege of earning money by selling different products. "my grandfather owned a cotton patch," remarked mrs. callaway, "and the master would loan him a mule so he could plow it at night. two boys would each hold a light for him to work by. he preferred working at night to working on his holidays. my master had a friend in augusta, ga., by the name of steve heard and just before my grandfather got ready to sell his cotton, the master would write mr. heard and tell him that he was sending cotton by sam and wanted his sold and a receipt returned to him. he also advised him to give all the money received to sam. when grandfather returned he would be loaded down with sugar, cheese, tea, mackerel, etc. for his family." when the women came home from the fields they had to spin cuts, so many before supper and so many after supper. a group of women were then selected to weave the cuts of thread into cloth. dyes were made from red shoe berries and later used to dye this cloth different colors. all slaves received clothing twice a year, spring and winter. mr. jim willis was known for his kindness to his slaves and saw to it that they were kept supplied with sunday clothes and shoes as well as work clothing. a colored shoemaker was required to keep the plantation supplied with shoes; and everyone was given a pair of sunday shoes which they kept shined with a mixture of egg white and soot. the size of the willis plantation and the various crops and cattle raised required many different types of work. there were the plow hands, the hoe hands, etc. each worker had a required amount of work to complete each day and an overseer was hired by slave owners to keep check on this phase of the work. "we often waited until the overseer got behind a hill, and then we would lay down our hoe and call on god to free us, my grandfather told me," remarked mrs. callaway. "however, i was a pet in the willis household and did not have any work to do except play with the small children. i was required to keep their hands and faces clean. sometimes i brought in chips to make the fires. we often kept so much noise playing in the upstairs bedroom that the master would call to us and ask that we keep quiet." older women on the plantation acted as nurses for all the small children and babies while their parents worked in the fields. the mistress would keep a sharp eye on the children also to see that they were well cared for. a slave's life was very valuable to their owners. punishment was seldom necessary on the willis plantation as the master and mistress did everything possible to make their slaves happy; and to a certain extent indulged them. they were given whisky liberally from their master's still; and other choice food on special occasions. "i remember once," remarked mrs. callaway, "my aunt rachel burned the biscuits and the young master said to her, "rachel, you nursed me and i promised not to ever whip you, so don't worry about burning the bread." my mistress was very fond of me, too, and gave me some of everything that she gave her own children, tea cakes, apples, etc. she often told me that she was my mother and was supposed to look after me. in spite of the kindness of the willis family there were some slaves who were unruly; so the master built a house off to itself and called it the willis jail. here he would keep those whom he had to punish. i have known some slaves to run away on other plantations and the hounds would bite plugs out of their legs." the willis family did not object to girls and boys courting. there were large trees, and often in the evenings the boys from other plantations would come over to see the girls on the willis plantation. they would stand in groups around the trees, laughing and talking. if the courtship reached the point of marriage a real marriage ceremony was performed from the bible and the man was given a pass to visit his wife weekly. following a marriage a frolic took place and the mistress saw to it that everyone was served nice foods for the occasion. frolics were common occurrences on the willis plantation, also quilting parties. good foods consisting of pies, cakes, chicken, brandied peaches, etc. "dancing was always to be expected by anyone attending them," remarked mrs. callaway. "our master always kept two to three hundred gallons of whisky and didn't mind his slaves drinking. i can remember my master taking his sweetened dram every morning, and often he gave me some in a tumbler. on christmas day big dinners were given for all of the slaves and a few ate from the family's table after they had finished their dinner." medical care was promptly given a slave when he became ill. special care was always given them for the willis family had a personal interest in their slaves. "on one occasion," remarked mrs. calloway, "the scarlet fever broke out among the slaves and to protect the well ones it became necessary to build houses in a field for those who were sick. this little settlement later became know as "shant field." food was carried to a hill and left so that the sick persons could get it without coming in contact with the others. to kill the fever, sticks of fat pine were dipped in tar and set on fire and then placed all over the field." religion played as important part in the lives of the slaves, and such [tr: much?] importance was attached to their prayer meetings. there were no churches, provided and occasionally they attended the white churches; but more often they held their prayer meetings in their own cabins. prayers and singing was in a moaning fashion, and you often heard this and nothing more. on sunday afternoons everyone found a seat around the mulberry tree and the young mistress would conduct sunday school. concerning the civil war, mrs. callaway related the following story: "when the war broke out my mistress' home became a sewing center and deifferent women in the neighborhood would come there every day to make clothes for the soldiers. on each bed was placed the vests, coats, shirts, pants, and caps. one group did all the cutting, one the stitching, and one the fitting. many women cried while they served [tr: sewed?] heart-broken because their husbands and sons had to go to the war. one day the yanks came to our plantation and took all of the best horses. in one of their wagons were bales of money which they had taken. money then was blue in color; of course, there was silver and gold. after taking the horses they drank as much whisky as they could hold and then filled their canteens. the rest of the whisky they filled with spit. the master didn't interfere for fear of the long guns which they carried." after the war some of the slaves left the plantation to seek their fortune; others remained, renting land from the willis family or working with them on a share crop basis. as a conclusion mrs. callaway remarked: "my folks were good and i know [hw: they're] in heaven." mrs. callaway is deeply religious and all during the interview would constantly drift to the subject of religion. she is well cared for by her nine children, six girls and three boys. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave susan castle, age w. hancock ave. athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, georgia on a beautiful morning in april, the interviewer found susan sitting in the door of her cabin. when asked if she would like to talk about the old plantation days, she replied; "yes ma'am, i don't mind tellin' what i know, but for dat i done forgot i sho' ain't gwine make nothin' up. for one thing, i ain't never lived on no plantation. i was a house servant in town." she added: "do you mind me axin' you one favor?" consent was given and she continued: "dat is, please don't call me aunt susan; it makes me feel lak i was a hundred years old. "i was borned in clarke county, march , ; i believes dat's what dey say. mudder was named fannie and pappy's name was willis. us chillun called 'im pappy lak he was de onliest one in de world. he fust belonged to marse maxwell of savannah, georgia. i was so little i disremembers how pappy come by de name of castle. in all de seben of us chillun, i didn't have but one brudder, and his name was johnny. my five sisters was mary, louvenia, rosa, fannie, and sarah. all i 'members 'bout us as chilluns was dat us played lak chilluns will do. "in de quarters us had old timey beds and cheers, but i'll tell you whar i slept most times. hit was on a cot right at de foot of mist'ess' bed. i stayed at de big house most of de time at night, and 'fore bedtime i sot close by mist'ess on a foot stool she had special for me. "all i ricollects 'bout my gran'ma was she belonged to general thomas r.r. cobb, and us called 'im marse thomas. gran'ma susan wouldn't do right so marse thomas sold her on de block. "us had evvything good to eat. marse thomas was a rich man and fed 'is niggers well. dey cooked in a big open fireplace and biled greens and some of de udder vittals in a great big pot what swung on a rack. meat, fish and chickens was fried in a griddle iron what was sot on a flat topped trivet wid slits to let de fire thoo. dey called it a trivet 'cause it sot on three legs and hot coals was raked up under it. hoe cakes made out of cornmeal and wheat flour sho' was good cooked on dat griddle. 'tatoes was roasted in de ashes, and dey cooked bread what dey called ash cake in de ashes. pound cake, fruit cake, light bread and biscuits was baked in a great big round pot, only dey warn't as deep as de pots dey biled in; dese was called ovens. makes me hongry to think 'bout all dem good vittals now. "oh! yes ma'am, us had plenty 'possums. pappy used to cotch so many sometimes he jest put 'em in a box and let us eat 'em when us got ready. 'possums tasted better atter dey was put up in a box and fattened a while. us didn't have many rabbits; dey warn't as much in style den as dey is now, and de style of eatin' 'possums lak dey done in slav'ry times, dat is 'bout over. dey eats 'em some yet, but it ain't stylish no mo'. us chillun used to go fishin' in moore's branch; one would stand on one side of de branch wid a stick, and one on de udder side would roust de fishes out. when dey come to de top and jump up, us would hit 'em on de head, and de grown folks would cook 'em. dere warn't but one gyarden, but dat had plenty in it for evvybody. "in summer time us wore checkedy dresses made wid low waistes and gethered skirts, but in winter de dresses was made out of linsey-woolsey cloth and underclothes was made out of coarse unbleached cloth. petticoats had bodice tops and de draw's was made wid waistes too. us chillun didn't know when sunday come. our clothes warn't no diffu'nt den from no udder day. us wore coarse, heavy shoes in winter, but in summer us went splatter bar feets. "marse thomas was jest as good as he could be, what us knowed of 'im. miss marion, my mist'ess, she won't as good to us as marse thomas, but she was all right too. dey had a heap of chillun. deir twin boys died, and de gals was miss callie, miss sallie, miss marion (dey called her miss birdie), and miss lucy, dat lucy cobb institute was named for. my mudder was miss lucy's nuss. marse thomas had a big fine melonial (colonial) house on prince avenue wid slave quarters in de back yard of his -acre lot. he owned 'most nigh dat whole block 'long dar. "oh! dey had 'bout a hundred slaves i'm sho', for dere was a heap of 'em. de overseer got 'em up 'bout five o'clock in de mornin' and dat breakfust sho' had better be ready by seben or else somebody gwine to have to pay for it. dey went to deir cabins 'bout ten at night. marse was good, but he would whup us if we didn't do right. miss marion was allus findin' fault wid some of us. "jesse was de car'iage driver. car'iages was called phaetons den. dey had high seats up in front whar de driver sot, and de white folks sot in de car'iage below. jesse went to de war wid marse thomas, and was wid him when he was kilt at fred'ricksburg, virginia. i heard 'em sey one of his men shot 'im by mistake, but i don't know if dat's de trufe or not. i do know dey sho' had a big grand fun'al 'cause he was a big man and a general in de war. "some of de slaves on marse thomas' place knowed how to read. aunt vic was one of de readers what read de bible. but most of de niggers didn't have sense enough to learn so dey didn't bother wid 'em. dey had a church way downtown for de slaves. it was called landon's chapel for rev. landon, a white man what preached dar. us went to sunday school too. aunt vic read de bible sometimes den. when us jined de chu'ch dey sung: 'amazing grace how sweet de sound.' "marse thomas had lots of slaves to die, and dey was buried in de colored folks cemetery what was on de river back of de lucas place. i used to know what dey sung at fun'als way back yonder, but i can't bring it to mind now. "no ma'am, none of marse thomas' niggers ever run away to de nawth. he was good to his niggers. seems lak to me i 'members dem patterollers run some of marse thomas' niggers down and whupped 'em and put 'em in jail. old marse had to git 'em out when dey didn't show up at roll call next mornin'. "marse thomas allus put a man or de overseer on a hoss or a mule when he wanted to send news anywhar. he was a big man and had too many slaves to do anything hisse'f. "i 'spect dey done den lak dey does now, slipped 'round and got in devilment atter de day's wuk was done. marse thomas was allus havin' swell elegant doin's at de big house. de slaves what was house servants didn't have no time off only atter dinner on sundays. "christmas was somepin' else. us sho' had a good time den. dey give de chilluns china dolls and dey sont great sacks of apples, oranges, candy, cake, and evvything good out to de quarters. at night endurin' christmas us had parties, and dere was allus some nigger ready to pick de banjo. marse thomas allus give de slaves a little toddy too, but when dey was havin' deir fun if dey got too loud he sho' would call 'em down. i was allus glad to see christmas come. on new year's day, de general had big dinners and invited all de high-falutin' rich folks. "my mudder went to de corn shuckin's off on de plantations, but i was too little to go. yes ma'am, us sho' did dance and sing funny songs way back in dem days. us chillun used to play 'miss mary jane,' and us would pat our hands and walk on broom grass. i don't know nothin' 'bout charms. dey used to tell de chillun dat when old folks died dey turned to witches. i ain't never seed no ghostes, but i sho' has felt 'em. dey made de rabbits jump over my grave and had me feelin' right cold and clammy. mudder used to sing to miss lucy to git her to sleep, but i don't 'member de songs. "marster was mighty good to his slaves when dey got sick. he allus sont for dr. crawford long. he was de doctor for de white folks and marster had him for de slaves. "my mudder said she prayed to de lord not to let niggers be slaves all deir lifes and sho' 'nough de yankees comed and freed us. some of de slaves shouted and hollered for joy when miss marion called us togedder and said us was free and warn't slaves no more. most of 'em went right out and left 'er and hired out to make money for deyselfs. "i stayed on wid my mudder and she stayed on wid miss marion. miss marion give her a home on hull street 'cause mudder was allus faithful and didn't never leave her. atter miss marion died, mudder wukked for miss marion's daughter, miss callie hull, in atlanta. den miss callie died and mudder come on back to athens. 'bout ten years ago she died. "i wukked for mrs. burns on jackson street a long time, but she warn't no rich lady lak de cobbs. de last fambly i wukked for was dr. hill. i nussed 'til atter de chillun got too big for dat, and den i done de washin' 'til dis misery got in my limbs." when asked about marriage customs, she laughed and replied: "i was engaged, but i didn't marry though, 'cause my mudder 'posed me marryin'. i had done got my clothes bought and ready. mrs. hull helped me fix my things. my dress was a gray silk what had pearl beads on it and was trimmed in purple. "what does i think 'bout freedom? i think it's best to be free, 'cause you can do pretty well as you please. but in slav'ry time if de niggers had a-behaved and minded deir marster and mist'ess dey wouldn't have had sich a hard time. mr. jeff davis 'posed freedom, but mr. abraham lincoln freed us, and he was all right. booker washin'ton was a great man, and done all he knowed how to make somepin' out of his race. "de reason i jined de church was dat de lord converted me. he is our guide. i think people ought to be 'ligious and do good and let deir lights shine 'cause dat's de safest way to go to heben." at the conclusion of the interview susan asked: "is dat all you gwine to ax me? well, i sho' enjoyed talkin' to you. i hopes i didn't talk loud 'nough for dem other niggers to hear me, 'cause if you open your mouth dey sho' gwine tell it. yes ma'am, i'se too old to wuk now and i'se thankful for de old age pension. if it warn't for dat, since dis misery tuk up wid me, i would be done burnt up, i sho' would. good-bye mist'ess." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] ellen claibourn campbell street (richmond county) augusta, georgia by: (mrs.) margaret johnson--editor federal writers' project dist. augusta, ga. ellen was born august , , on the plantation of mr. hezie boyd in columbia county, her father being owned by mr. hamilton on an adjoining plantation. she remembers being given, at the age of seven, to her young mistress, elizabeth, who afterward was married to mr. gabe hendricks. at her new home she served as maid, and later as nurse. the dignity of her position as house servant has clung to her through the years, forming her speech in a precision unusual in her race. "i 'member all our young marsters was drillin' way back in , an' the confed'rate war did not break out till in april . my mistis' young husband went to the war, an' all the other young marsters 'round us. young marster's bes' friend came to tell us all goodby, an' he was killed in the first battle he fought in. "befo' the war, when we was little, we mostly played dolls, and had doll houses, but sometime young marster would come out on the back porch and play the fiddle for us. when he played 'ole dan tucker' all the peoples uster skip and dance 'bout and have a good time. my young mistis played on the piano. "my granpa was so trusty and hon'able his old marster give him and granma they freedom when he died. he give him a little piece of land and a mule, and some money, and tole him he didn't b'long to nobody, and couldn't work for nobody 'cept for pay. he couldn't free granpa's chilrun, 'cause they already b'longed to their young marsters and mistises. he worked for mr. hezie boyd one year as overseer, but he say he didn't wanter lose his religion trying to make slaves work, so he took to preaching. he rode 'bout on his mule and preach at all the plantations. i never 'member seein' granma, but granpa came to see us of'en. he wore a long tail coat and a _big_ beaver hat. in that hat granma had always pack a pile of ginger cakes for us chilrun. they was big an' thick, an' longish, an' we all stood 'round to watch him take off his hat. every time he came to see us, granma sent us clothes and granpa carried 'em in his saddle bags. you ever see any saddle bags, ma'am? well they could sho' hold a heap of stuff! "my pa uster come two or three times a week to our plantashun, an' just so he was back by sun-up for work, nobody didn't say nothin' to him. he just lived 'bout three or four miles way from us. "yes ma'am we went to church, and the white preachers preached for us. we sat in the back of the church just like we sits in the back of the street cars now-days. some of the house servants would go one time and some another. all the hands could go but ev'rybody had to has a pass, to sho' who they b'long to. "yes ma'am, the slaves was whipped if they didn't do they taskwork, or if they steal off without a pass, but if our marster found a overseer whipped the slaves overmuch he would git rid of him. we was always treated good and kind and well cared for, and we was happy. "no ma'am, no overseer ever went to marster's table, or in the house 'cept to speak to marster. marster had his overseers' house and give 'em slaves to cook for 'em and wait on 'em, but they never go anywhere with the fam'ly. "the house servants' houses was better than the fiel'-hands'--and marster uster buy us cloth from the 'gusta fact'ry in checks and plaids for our dresses, but all the fiel'-hands clothes was made out of cloth what was wove on mistis' own loom. sometime the po' white folks in the neighborhood would come an' ask to make they cloth on mistis' loom, and she always let 'em. "yes, ma'am, we had seamsters to make all the clothes for everybody, and mistis had a press-room, where all the clothes was put away when they was finished. when any body needed clothes mistis would go to the press-room an' get 'em. "during the war mistis had one room all fixed up to take care of sick soldiers. they would come stragglin' in, all sick or shot, an' sometimes we had a room full of 'em. mistis had one young boy to do nothin' but look after 'em and many's the night i got up and helt the candle for 'em to see the way to the room. "oh my gawd, i saw plenty wounded soldiers. we was right on the road to brightsboro, and plenty of 'em pass by. that confed'rate war was the terriblest, awfullest thing. "nobody but me knowed where mistis buried her gold money and finger rings and ear-rings and breat-pins. [tr: breast-pins?] i helt the candle then, too. mistis and marster, (he was home then) an' me went down back of the grape arbor to the garden-house. marster took up some planks, an' dug a hole like a grabe and buried a big iron box with all them things in it; then he put back the planks. nobody ever found 'em, and after the war was over we went and got 'em. "yes, ma'am, everybody did they own work. de cook cooked, and the washer, she didn't iron no clothes. de ironer did that. de housemaid cleaned up, and nurse tended the chilrun. then they was butlers and coachmen. oh, they was a plenty of us to do eve'ything. "we didn't have a stove, just a big fire place, and big oven on both sides, and long-handle spiders. when we was fixin' up to go to camp meeting to the white oak camp meeting grounds, they cooked chickens and roasted pigs, and put apples in they mouth and a lot of other food--good food too. de food peoples eat these days, you couldn't have got _nobody_ to eat. camp meetin' was always in august and september. it was a good methodis' meetin', and eve'ybody got religion. sometimes a preacher would come to visit at the house, an' all the slaves was called an' he prayed for 'em. sometimes the young ones would laugh, an' then marster would have 'em whipped. "my young mistis had a sister older than her. she married mr. artie boyd, an' they had a big weddin' but she loved her home and her mother and father so much she wouldn't leave home. she just stayed on living there. when her baby come she died, and i tell you, ma'am, her fun'al was most like a weddin', with so many people an' so many flowers. all the people from the plantashun came to the house, an' the wimmen had they babies in they arms. one the ladies say, "how come they let all these niggers and babies come in the house?" but marster knowed all us loved mistis, and he call us in. marse artie he wrote a long letter an' all the things he got from mistis he give back to her fam'ly an' all his own things he give to his brother, an' then he died. some say his heart strings just broke 'cause mistis died, and some say he took something. "no, ma'am, i wasn't married till after freedom. i was married right here in 'gusta by mr. wharton, the first baptist church preacher, an' i lived and worked here ever since." [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] adella s. dixon district berry clay old slave story [may ] telfair county was the home of some colored people who never were slaves, but hired their services for wages just as the race does today. berry clay, half indian, half white, was the son of fitema bob britt, a full blood indian, who died shortly after his son's birth. his mother later married william clay, whose name was taken by the children as well as the mother. the family then moved to macon. clay, next [tr: 'to the' scratched out] oldest of five children was years old on august , , and while he was never a slave, remembers many incidents that took place then. not many years after his mother remarried, she became very ill and he recalls being lifted by his step-father to kiss her good bye as she lay dying. after her death, the family continued to live in south macon where the father was employed as overseer for a crew at the railroad yard. this position often called for the punishment of slaves but he was too loyal to his color to assist in making their lives more unhappy. his method of carrying out orders and yet keeping a clear conscience was unique--the slave was taken to the woods where he was supposedly laid upon a log and severely beaten. actually, he was made to stand to one side and to emit loud cries which were accompanied by hard blows on the log. the continuation of the two sounds gave any listener the impression that some one was severely beaten. it is said that clay, the father, wore out several huge leather straps upon logs but that he was never known to strike a slave. mr. wadley, by whom he was employed, was a well-known macon citizen who served as president of the central of georgia railroad for many years. a monument on mulberry street nearly opposite the post office is a constant reminder of the esteem in which he was held. his plantation was a huge one extending from the railroad yard as far as the present site of mercer university. a day of rest was given the slaves about once every three months in addition to the regular holidays which are observed today. on holidays, "frolics" at which square dances were the chief form of entertainment (by the music of a banjo or fiddle) were enjoyed. ring games were played by the children. the refreshments usually consisted of ash cakes and barbecue. the ash cake was made by wrapping corn pones in oak leaves and burying the whole in hot ashes. when the leaves dried, the cake was usually done and was carefully moved to prevent its becoming soiled. [hw: a] skillful cook could produce cakes that were a golden brown and not at all ashy. the membership of the local church was composed of slaves from several plantations. it was an old colored church with a white minister who preached the usual doctrine of the duty of a slave to his master. the form of service was the same as that of the white church. one unusual feature of the plantation was its sunday school for the negro children. courtships were very brief for as soon as a man or woman began to manifest interest in the opposite sex, the master busied himself to select a wife or husband and only in rare cases was the desire of the individual considered. when the selection was made, the master read the ceremony and gave the couple a home. he always requested, or rather demanded, that they be fruitful. a barren woman was separated from her husband and usually sold. very little money was handled by these people. the carriage drivers were more fortunate than the regular workers for they smuggled things to town when they drove the master and mistress and sold them while the family shopped or went visiting. at rare intervals, the field hands were able to earn small sums of money in this manner. food was provided by the owners and all families cooked for themselves whether they were many or one. the weekly allotments of meal, meat, etc., were supplemented through the use of vegetables which could always be obtained from the fields. on special days chicken or beef was given and each one had a sufficient amount for his needs. hunting and fishing were recreations in which the slaves were not allowed to participate although they frequently went on secret excursions of this nature. all food stuff as well as cloth for garments was produced at home. clay is very superstitious, still believing in most of the signs commonly believed in those days, because he has "watched them and found that they are true". he stated that the screeching of the owl may be stopped by placing a poker in the fire and allowing it to remain until it becomes red hot. the owl will then leave, but death will invariably follow its visit. the attitudes of the two races in the south regarding the war were directly opposite. the whites beheld it as something horrible and dreaded the losses that would necessarily be theirs. sons and fathers had property to be considered, but they were generous in their contributions to the soldiers. on the other hand, the slaves rejoiced as they looked forward to their freedom when the war was over. there were, however, a few who were devoted to their masters to the extent that they fought in their stead in the confederate army. others remained at home and skillfully ran the plantation and protected the women and children until the end of the war. when sherman made his famous "march to sea", one phalanx of his army wrought its destruction between this city and griswoldville. a gun factory and government shoe factory were completely destroyed. although the citizens gave the invaders everything they thought they desired, the rest was destroyed in most instances. they tried to ascertain the attitudes of the land owners toward his servants and when for any reason they presumed that one was cruel, their vengeance was expressed through the absolute destruction of his property. in nearly every instance smoke houses were raided and the contents either destroyed or given away. barrels of syrup flowing through the yard was a common sight. at the end of the war, the south was placed under military rule. the presence of the yankee guardsmen had a psychological effect upon the southerners and they were very humble. before the terrors of the war had subsided a new menace sprang up--the klu klux klan. while its energy was usually directed against ex-slaves, a white man was sometimes a victim. one such occasion was recalled by clay. the group planned to visit a man who for some reason became suspicious and prepared to outwit them if they came. he heated a huge pot of water and when a part of his door was crashed in he reached through the opening and poured gourds of boiling water upon his assailants. they retreated, [hw: and] while they were away, he made his way to atlanta. another group which began its operations shortly after the close of the war was a military clan organized for the purpose of giving the ex-slaves a knowledge of drilling and war tactics. an order to disband was received from the "black horse calvary" by the leader of the group. his life was threatened when he failed to obey so he prepared for a surprise visit. he fortified his house with twenty-five men on the inside and the same number outside. when the approaching calvarymen reached a certain point, the fifty hidden men fired at the same time. seven members of the band were killed and many others wounded. there was no further interference from this group. clay and his father ran a grocery store just after emancipation. he did not like this type of work and apprenticed himself to a painter to learn the trade. he is still considered an excellent painter though he does not receive much work. he has always taken care of himself and never "ran about" at night. he boasts that his associates never included a dancing woman. as he has used tobacco for sixty-five years, he does not consider it a menace to health but states that worry will kill anyone and the man who wants to live a long time must form the habit of not worrying. his indian blood--the high cheek bones, red skin and straight black hair now tinged with grey make this unmistakable--has probably played a large part in the length of his life. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] adella s. dixon district pierce cody old slave story [hw: about ] [may ] pierce cody was the eldest son of elbert and dorothy cody. his father was born in richmond, virginia, his mother in warren county. when the emancipation proclamation was signed, he, the eldest child in a large family, was in his early teens. this group lived on the place owned by mr. bob cody, [hw: whose] family was a group of ardent believers in the hardshell baptist faith. so firm was their faith that a church of this denomination was provided for the slaves and each one required to become a member. a white minister invariably preached the then worn out doctrine of a slave's duty to his master, the reward of faithfulness and the usual admonition against stealing. the members of this church were required to fast on one day of the week, the fast lasting all day until seven in the evening. the small boys, both white and colored, resenting the abstinence from food, usually secured a reserve supply which was cached during the week and secretly enjoyed on fast day. fish were plentiful in all the streams and they sometimes sneaked away to the river and after enjoying the sport, cooked their catch on the banks of the stream. groups of ministers-- to --then traveled from one plantation to another spreading the gospel, and were entertained as they traveled. on one occasion the group arrived at the cody estate on fast day. the boys having been on one of their secret fishing trips had caught so many perch that they were not able to consume them on the banks, so had smuggled them to the kitchen, coaxed the cook to promise to prepare them, and had also sworn her to absolute secrecy regarding their origin. although the kitchen was not directly connected with the "big house", the guests soon detected the aroma of fresh fish and requested that they be allowed to partake of this delicacy. when the boys, as well as the servants, heard this, they became panicky for they feared the wrath of the master. but the catch was so heartily relished that instead of the expected punishment, they were commended and allowed to fish on the next day of fasting. as was characteristic of many others, the planter's home was near the center of a vast estate and in this instance had a tall lookout on the roof from which the watchman might see for miles around. the "quarters" were nearby and the care-free children who played in the large yard were closely watched as they were often stolen by speculators and later sold at auctions far away. the land was divided into many fields each of which was used to cultivate a particular product. each field had its special crew and overseer. cody's father was [hw: one of the] feeders [hw: who] arose at least two hours before sunrise, to feed the stock. a large number of horses and more than two hundred head of cattle had to be fed by sunrise when they were to be turned into the pastures or driven to the field to begin the day's work. after sunrise, his father's duty [hw: as] foreman for plowers began. other workers were hoe hands, additional foremen, cooks, weavers, spinners, seamstresses, tailors, shoemakers, etc. as everything used was grown and made on the estate there was plenty of work for all and in many instances [hw: slaves] learned trades which they liked and which furnished a livelihood when they were set free. [hw: when he entered his teens] cody's first duties began [hw: as] a plowhand who broke "newground." as all of this land was to be plowed, a lack of skill in making straight furrows did not matter, so beginners were preferably used. shortly after he began plowing he was made foreman of one of the groups. thus encouraged by his master's faith in his ability to do a man's work, he assumed a "grown up" attitude under the stimulus of his new responsibilities and was married shortly after. at this time marriages resulted from brief courtships. after the consent of the girl was obtained, it was necessary to seek permission from the master, whether she lived on the same or an adjoining plantation. in the latter case, the marriage rites were performed by her master. the minister was not used in most instances--the ceremony [hw: being] read from a testament by the owner of the bride. marriages were nearly always performed out of doors in the late afternoon. the bride's wedding dress was fashioned of cloth made on the plantation from a pattern of her own designing. attendants at marriages were rare. after the ceremony, the guests danced far into the night by music from the fiddle and banjo. refreshments consisting of ginger cakes, barbecue, etc., were served. such a couple, belonging to two different masters, did not keep house. the [hw: husband] was allowed to visit his wife on wednesday night and saturday when he might remain through sunday. all marriage unions were permanent and a barren wife was considered the only real cause for separation. church services for this group were held jointly with the white members, the two audiences being separated by a partition. gradually, the colored members became dissatisfied with this type of service and withdrew to form a separate church. the desire for independence in worship must necessarily have been strong, to endure the inconveniences of the "brush arbor" churches that they resorted to. as a beginning, several trees were felled, and the brush and forked branches separated. four heavy branches with forks formed the framework. straight poles were laid across these to form a crude imitation of beams and the other framework of a building. the top and sides were formed of brush which was thickly placed so that it formed a solid wall. a hole left in one side formed a doorway from which beaten paths extended in all directions. seats made from slabs obtained at local sawmills completed the furnishing. in inclement weather, it was not possible to conduct services here, but occasionally showers came in the midst of the service and the audience calmly hoisted umbrellas or papers and with such scant protection, the worship continued. sunday afternoons were quietly spent, visiting being the only means of recreation. one of the favorite stay at home pastimes was the inspection of heads. the pediculous condition made frequent treatment necessary for comfort. the young white men liked to visit the "quarters" and have the slaves search their heads. they would stretch full length upon the cabin floors and rest their heads upon a pillow. usually they offered a gift of some sort if many of the tiny parasites were destroyed, so the clever picker who found a barren head simply reached into his own and produced a goodly number. there existed on this plantation an antagonistic feeling toward children (born of slave parents) with a beautiful suit of hair, and this type of hair was kept cropped very short. gossip, stealing, etc. was not tolerated. no one was ever encouraged to "tattle" on another. locks were never used on any of the cabin doors or on the smokehouse. food was there in abundance and each person was free to replenish his supply as necessary. money was more or less a novelty as it was only given in ¢ pieces at christmas time. as food, clothing, and shelter were furnished, the absence was not particularly painful. connected with nearly every home were those persons who lived "in the woods" in preference to doing the labor necessary to remain at their home. each usually had a scythe and a bulldog for protection. as food became scarce, they sneaked to the quarters in the still of the night and coaxed some friend to get food for them from the smokehouse. their supply obtained, they would leave again. this was not considered stealing. medical care was also free. excellent physicians were maintained. it was not considered necessary to call a physician until home remedies--usually teas made of roots--had had no effect. women in childbirth were cared for by grannies,--old women whose knowledge was broad by experience, acted as practical nurses. several cooks were regularly maintained. some cooked for the men who had no families, others for the members of the big house and guests. the menus varied little from day to day. a diet of bread--called "shortening bread,"--vegetables and smoked meat were usually consumed. buttermilk was always plentiful. on sundays "seconds" (flour) were added to the list and butter accompanied this. chickens, fresh meat, etc., were holiday items and were seldom enjoyed at any other time. not only were the slaves required to work but the young men of the "big house" also had their duties. in the summer they went fishing. while this sport was enjoyed, it was done on an extremely large scale in order that everyone should have an adequate supply of fish. the streams abounded in all kinds of fish, and nets were used to obtain large quantities necessary. in winter hunting was engaged in for this same purpose. rabbits, squirrels, etc., were the usual game, but in addition the trapping of wild hogs was frequently indulged in. the woods contained many of these animals which were exceptionally vicious. the hunters, however, trapped them in much the same way that rabbits are now caught, without injury to the flesh [tr: 'making the meat more delicious' marked out]. deer were also plentiful and venison enjoyed during its season. horned snakes were the greatest impediments to more abundant hunting. knowledge of the war was kept from the slaves until long after its beginning. most of them had no idea what "war" meant and any news that might have been spread, fell on deaf ears. gradually this knowledge was imparted by yankee peddlers who came to the plantation to sell bed-ticking, etc. when the master discovered how this information was being given out, these peddlers were forbidden to go near the quarters. this rule was strictly enforced. eventually, the confederate soldiers on their way to and from camp began to stop at the house. food and everything available was given to them. three of mr. cody's sons were killed in battle. as the northern soldiers did not come near the home, the loss of property was practically negligible [tr: '--six cents being all' marked out]. when the emancipation proclamation was signed, the slaves were called to the "big house" in a group to receive the news that they were free. both old and young danced and cheered when this information was given out. many of the families remained there for a year or two until they were able to find desirable locations elsewhere. cody attributes his ability to reach a ripe old age to the excellent care he took of himself in his youth. he has used tobacco since he was a small boy and does not feel that it affects his health. distilled liquor was plentiful in his young days and he always drank but never to an excess. ex-slave interview willis cofer, age findley street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: sarah h. hall athens, ga. and leila harris john n. booth augusta, georgia [may ] willis was enjoying the warm sunshine of an april morning as he sat on his small porch. apparently, he was pleased because someone actually wanted to hear him talk about himself. his rheumatism had been painful ever since that last bad cold had weakened him, but he felt sure the sunshine would "draw out all the kinks." having observed the amenities in regard to health and weather, the old man proceeded with his story: "eden and calline cofer was my pa and ma and us all lived on de big old cofer plantation 'bout five miles from washin'ton, wilkes. pa b'longed to marse henry cofer and ma and us chillun wuz de property of marse henry's father, marse joe cofer. "i wuz borned in , and at one time i had three brudders, but cato and john died. my oldest brudder, ben cofer, is still livin' and a-preachin' de gospel somewhar up nawth. "chilluns did have de bestes' good times on our plantation, 'cause old marster didn't 'low 'em to do no wuk 'til dey wuz years old. us jus' frolicked and played 'round de yard wid de white chilluns, but us sho' did evermore have to stay in dat yard. it wuz de cook's place to boss us when de other niggers wuz off in de fields, and evvy time us tried to slip off, she cotch us and de way dat 'oman could burn us up wid a switch wuz a caution. "dere warn't no schools for us to go to, so us jes' played 'round. our cook wuz all time feedin' us. us had bread and milk for breakfas', and dinner wuz mos'ly peas and cornbread, den supper wuz milk and bread. dere wuz so many chilluns dey fed us in a trough. dey jes' poured de peas on de chunks of cornbread what dey had crumbled in de trough, and us had to mussel 'em out. yessum, i said mussel. de only spoons us had wuz mussel shells what us got out of de branches. a little nigger could put peas and cornbread away mighty fast wid a mussel shell. "boys jes' wore shirts what looked lak dresses 'til dey wuz years old and big enough to wuk in de field. den dey put 'em on pants made open in de back. dem britches would look awful funny now, but dey wuz all us had den, and all de boys wuz mighty proud when dey got big enough to wear pants and go to wuk in de fields wid grown folkses. when a boy got to be a man enough to wear pants, he drawed rations and quit eatin' out of de trough. "all de slave quarters wuz log cabins and little famblies had cabins wid jes' one room. old marster sho' did want to see lots of chilluns 'round de cabins and all de big famblies wuz 'lowed to live in two-room cabins. beds for slaves wuz made by nailing frames, built out of oak or walnut planks to de sides of de cabins. dey had two or three laigs to make 'em set right, and de mattresses wuz filled wid wheat straw. dere warn't no sto'-bought stoves den, and all our cookin' wuz done in de fireplace. pots wuz hung on iron cranes to bile and big pones of light bread wuz cooked in ovens on de hearth. dat light bread and de biscuits made out of shorts wuz our sunday bread and dey sho' wuz good, wid our home-made butter. us had good old corn bread for our evvyday bread, and dere ain't nothin' lak corn bread and buttermilk to make healthy niggers. dere wouldn't be so many old sick niggers now if dey et corn bread evvyday and let all dis wheat bread and sto'-bought, ready-made bread alone 'cept on sunday. "dere wuz four or five acres in marster's big old gyarden, but den it tuk a big place to raise enough for all de slaves and white folkses too in de same gyarden. dere wuz jus' de one gyarden wid plenty of cabbage, collards, turnip greens, beans, corn, peas, onions, 'taters, and jus' evvything folkses laked in de way of gyarden sass. marster never 'lowed but one smokehouse on his place. it wuz plumb full of meat, and evvy slave had his meat rations weighed out reg'lar. dere wuz jes' one dairy house too whar de slaves got all de milk and butter dey needed. marster sho' did b'lieve in seeing dat his niggers had a plenty to eat. "marster raised lots of chickens and de slaves raised chickens too if dey wanted to. marster let 'em have land to wuk for deyselves, but dey had to wuk it atter dey come out of his fields. all dey made on dis land wuz deir own to sell and do what dey wanted to wid. lots of 'em plowed and hoed by moonlight to make deir own crops. "us used to hear tell of big sales of slaves, when sometimes mammies would be sold away off from deir chilluns. it wuz awful, and dey would jes' cry and pray and beg to be 'lowed to stay together. old marster wouldn't do nothin' lak dat to us. he said it warn't right for de chilluns to be tuk away from deir mammies. at dem sales dey would put a nigger on de scales and weigh him, and den de biddin' would start. if he wuz young and strong, de biddin' would start 'round $ and de highest bidder got de nigger. a good young breedin' 'oman brung $ , easy, 'cause all de marsters wanted to see plenty of strong healthy chillun comin' on all de time. cyarpenters and bricklayers and blacksmiths brung fancy prices from $ , to $ , sometimes. a nigger what warn't no more'n jes' a good field hand brung 'bout $ . "dem bricklayers made all de bricks out of de red clay what dey had right dar on most all de plantations, and de blacksmith he had to make all de iron bars and cranes for de chimblies and fireplaces. he had to make de plow points too and keep de farm tools all fixed up. sometimes at night dey slipped off de place to go out and wuk for money, a-fixin' chimblies and buildin' things, but dey better not let demselves git cotched. "mammy wove de cloth for our clothes and de white folkses had 'em made up. quilts and all de bed-clothes wuz made out of homespun cloth. "de fus' sadday atter easter wuz allus a holiday for de slaves. us wuz proud of dat day 'cause dat wuz de onlies' day in de year a nigger could do 'zactly what he pleased. dey could go huntin', fishin' or visitin', but most of 'em used it to put in a good days wuk on de land what marster 'lowed 'em to use for deyselves. some of 'em come to athens and help lay bricks on a new buildin' goin' up on jackson street. no ma'am, i done forgot what buildin' it wuz. "us niggers went to de white folkses churches. mr. louis williams preached at de baptist church on de fust sundays, and meferdiss (methodist) meetin's wuz on de second sundays. mr. andy bowden and mr. scott cowan wuz two of de meferdiss preachers. me and pa jined de baptis' church. ma wuz jes' a meferdiss, but us all went to church together. dey had de baptizin's at de pool and dere wuz sho' a lot of prayin' and shoutin' and singin' goin' on while de preacher done de dippin' of 'em. de onliest one of dem baptizin' songs i can ricollect now is, _whar de healin' water flows_. dey waited 'til dey had a crowd ready to be baptized and den dey tuk a whole sunday for it and had a big dinner on de ground at de church. "de sho' 'nough big days wuz dem camp meetin' days. white folkses and niggers all went to de same camp meetin's, and dey brung plenty 'long to eat--big old loafs of light bread what had been baked in de skillets. de night before dey sot it in de ovens to rise and by mawnin' it had done riz most to de top of de deep old pans. dey piled red coals all 'round de ovens and when dat bread got done it wuz good 'nough for anybody. de tables wuz loaded wid barbecued pigs and lambs and all de fried chicken folkses could eat, and all sorts of pies and cakes wuz spread out wid de other goodies. "evvy plantation gen'ally had a barbecue and big dinner for fourth of july, and when sev'ral white famblies went in together, dey did have high old times tryin' to see which one of 'em could git deir barbecue done and ready to eat fust. dey jus' et and drunk all day. no ma'am, us didn't know nuffin' 'bout what dey wuz celebratin' on fourth of july, 'cept a big dinner and a good time. "when slaves got married, de man had to ax de gal's ma and pa for her and den he had to ax de white folkses to 'low 'em to git married. de white preacher married 'em. dey hold right hands and de preacher ax de man: 'do you take dis gal to do de bes' you kin for her?' and if he say yes, den dey had to change hands and jump over de broomstick and dey wuz married. our white folkses wuz all church folkses and didn't 'low no dancin' at weddin's but dey give 'em big suppers when deir slaves got married. if you married some gal on another place, you jus' got to see her on wednesday and sadday nights and all de chilluns b'longed to de gal's white folkses. you had to have a pass to go den, or de patterollers wuz sho' to git you. dem patterollers evermore did beat up slaves if dey cotched 'em off dey own marster's place 'thout no pass. if niggers could out run 'em and git on deir home lines dey wuz safe. "on our place when a slave died dey washed de corpse good wid plenty of hot water and soap and wropt it in a windin' sheet, den laid it out on de coolin' board and spread a snow white sheet over de whole business, 'til de coffin wuz made up. de windin' sheet wuz sorter lak a bed sheet made extra long. de coolin' board wuz made lak a ironin' board 'cept it had laigs. white folkses wuz laid out dat way same as niggers. de coffins wuz made in a day. dey tuk de measurin' stick and measured de head, de body, and de footses and made de coffin to fit dese measurements. if it wuz a man what died, dey put a suit of clothes on him before dey put him in de coffin. dey buried de 'omans in da windin' sheets. when de niggers got from de fields some of 'em went and dug a grave. den dey put de coffin on de oxcart and carried it to de graveyard whar dey jus' had a burial dat day. dey waited 'bout two months sometimes before dey preached de fun'ral sermon. for the fun'ral dey built a brush arbor in front of de white folkses church, and de white preacher preached de fun'ral sermon, and white folkses would come lissen to slave fun'rals. de song most sung at fun'rals wuz _hark from de tomb_. de reason dey had slave fun'rals so long atter de burial wuz to have 'em on sunday or some other time when de crops had been laid by so de other slaves could be on hand. "when white folkses died deir fun'rals wuz preached before dey wuz buried. dat wuz de onliest diff'unce in de way dey buried de whites and de niggers. warn't nobody embalmed dem days and de white folkses wuz buried in a graveyard on de farm same as de niggers wuz, and de same oxcart took 'em all to de graveyard. "our marster done de overseein' at his place hisself, and he never had no hired overseer. nobody never got a lickin' on our plantation lessen dey needed it bad, but when marster did whup 'em dey knowed dey had been whupped. dere warn't no fussin' and fightin' on our place and us all knowed better'n to take what didn't b'long to us, 'cause old marster sho' did git atter niggers what stole. if one nigger did kill another nigger, dey tuk him and locked him in da jailhouse for days to make his peace wid god. evvy day de preacher would come read de bible to him, and when de days wuz up, den dey would hang him by de neck 'til he died. de man what done de hangin' read de bible to de folkses what wuz gathered 'round dar while de murderer wuz a-dyin'. "its de devil makes folkses do bad, and dey all better change and serve god-a-mighty, so as he kin save 'em before its too late. i b'lieve folkses 'haved better dem days dan dey does now. marstar made 'em be good 'round his place. "when us turned marster's watch dogs loose at night, dey warn't nothin' could come 'round dat place. dey had to be kept chained up in de daytime. sometimes marster let us take his dogs and go huntin' and dey wuz de best 'possum trailers 'round dem parts. when dey barked up a 'simmon tree, us allus found a 'possum or two in dat tree. sometimes atter us cotched up lots of 'em, marster let us have a 'possum supper. baked wid plenty of butter and 'tatoes and sprinkled over wid red pepper, dey is mighty good eatments. my mouf's jus' a-waterin' 'cause i'm thinkin' 'bout 'possums. "yes ma'am, us had corn shuckin's, and dey wuz big old times. evvybody from plantations miles 'round would take time out to come. sometimes de big piles of corn would make a line most a half a mile long, but when all de niggers got at dat corn de shucks sho' would fly and it wouldn't be so long before all de wuk wuz done and dey would call us to supper. dere wuz barbecue and chickens, jus' a plenty for all de niggers, and corn bread made lak reg'lar light bread and sho' enough light bread too, and lots of 'tato pies and all sorts of good things. "atter da war wuz over, dey jus' turned de slaves loose widout nothin'. some stayed on wid old marster and wukked for a little money and dey rations. "pa went down on the hubbard place and wukked for dollars a year and his rations. ma made cloth for all de folkses 'round 'bout. dey fotched deir thread and she wove de cloth for cents a day. if us made a good crop, us wuz all right wid plenty of corn, peas, 'tatoes, cabbage, collards, turnip greens, all de hog meat us needed, and chickens too. us started out widout nothin' and had to go in debt to de white folkses at fust but dat wuz soon paid off. i never had no chance to go to school and git book larnin'. all de time, us had to wuk in de fields. "ku kluxers went 'round wid dem doughfaces on heaps atter de war. de niggers got more beatin's from 'em dan dey had ever got from deir old marsters. if a nigger sassed white folkses or kilt a hoss, dem kluxers sho' did evermore beat him up. dey never touched me for i stayed out of deir way, but dey whupped my pa one time for bein' off his place atter dark. when dey turned him loose, he couldn't hardly stand up. de yankees jus' about broke up de ku kluxers, but day sho' wuz bad on niggers while dey lasted. "i wuz 'bout years old when us married. us never had no chillun and my wife done been daid for all dese long years, i don't know how many. i can't wuk and i jus' has to stay hyar wid my daid brother's chillun. dey is mighty good to me, but i gits awful lonesome sometimes. "no ma'am, i ain't never seed but one ghost. late one night, i wuz comin' by de graveyard and seed somethin' dat looked lak a dog 'ceppin' it warn't no dog. it wuz white and went in a grave. it skeered me so i made tracks gittin' 'way from dar in a hurry and i ain't never bean 'round no more graveyards at night. "when i passes by de old graveyard on jackson street, i 'members lots of folkses whats buried dar, bofe white folkses and slaves too, for den white folkses put dey slaves whar dey aimed to be buried deyselves. dat sho' used to be a fine graveyard. "us all gwine to git together someday when us all leaves dis old world. i'm ready to go; jus' a-waitin' for de lord to call me home, and i ain't skeered to face de lord who will judge us all de same, 'cause i done tried to do right, and i ain't 'fraid to die." uncle willis was tired and sent a little boy to the store for milk. as the interviewer took her departure he said: "good-bye missy. god bless you. jus' put yourself in de hands of de lord, for dey ain't no better place to be." plantation life mary colbert, age pearl street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. (note: this is the first story we have had in which the client did not use any dialect. mary colbert's grammar was excellent. her skin was almost white, and her hair was quite straight. none of us know what a "deep" slave was. it may have the same meaning as outlandish negro. the "outlandish negroes" were those newly arrived negroes who had just come in from any country outside of the united states of america, and were untrained. they were usually just from africa. sarah h. hall) with the thermometer registering degrees in the shade on a particularly humid july day, the visitor trudged up one steep, rocky alley and down another, hesitantly negotiated shaky little bridges over several ravines, scrambled out of a ditch, and finally arrived at the address of mary colbert. it was the noon hour. a negro man had tied his mule under an apple tree in one corner of mary's yard. the animal was peacefully munching hay while his master enjoyed lunch from a battered tin bucket. asked if mary was at home, the man replied: "yessum, jus' call her at de door." a luxuriant virginia creeper shaded the front porch of mary's five-room frame house, where a rap on the front door brought the response: "here i am, honey! come right on through the house to the back porch." the aged mulatto woman was hanging out clothes on a line suspended between two peach trees. to the inquiry for mary, she answered: "yes, honey, this is mary. they say i am old, childish, and hellish; anyway, this is mary." "dear, let's go in my parlor," she suggested in a cultured voice. "i wouldn't dare go out on the front porch wearing this dirty dress. it simply isn't my way of living." mary is about five feet tall and wears her straight, snowy-white hair in a neat knot low on the back of her head. the sparkle in her bright brown eyes bespeaks a more youthful spirit than her wrinkled and almost white face would indicate. she was wearing a soiled print dress, brown cotton hose, and high-topped black shoes. in remarkably good english for one of her race she told that her daughter's family lives with her, "so that i won't be right by myself." then she began her story: "honey, what is it you want me to tell you. where was i born? oh, my child! i was born right here in dear old hilly athens. yes, that's where i was born. polly crawford was my mother, and she belonged to major william h. crawford before he gave her to his son, marse john crawford. now about my father, that is the dream. he died when i was just a little child. they said he was sandy thomas and that he was owned by marster obadiah thomas, who lived in oglethorpe county. all i can remember about my grandparents is this: when i found my grandma, hannah crawford, she was living on major crawford's plantation, where crawford, georgia, is now. grandma was a little, bitty woman; so little that she wore a number one shoe. she was brought here from virginia to be a field hand, but she was smart as a whip, and lived to be years old. i used to tell my mother that i wished i was named hannah for her, and so mother called me mary hannah. "i can't bring my grandfather to mind very clearly. i do remember that my mother took me to penfield to see him, and told me if i wasn't a good little girl he would surely whip me. they called him 'uncle campfire', because he had such a fiery temper. for a living, after he got to be an old man, he made cheers (chairs), but for the life of me i don't know who he belonged to, because major crawford sold him before i was born. "there were five of us children: nat, solomon, susannah, sarah, and myself. marse john gave solomon to his daughter, miss fannie, when she married marse william h. gerdine. susannah belonged to miss rosa golden, and sarah and i belonged to the other miss fannie. she was marse john's sister. nat was marse john's house boy, and our mother was his cook. we children just played around the yard until we were large enough to work. "yes, my dear, i was born in marse john's back yard. he lived in a two-story frame house on dougherty street, back of scudder's school. the two slave houses and the kitchen were set off from the house a little piece out in the yard. it was the style then to have the kitchen built separate from the dwelling house. "lord bless your life, honey! we didn't live in log cabins, as you call them. there were two slave houses. the one aggie lived in was two-story, the other one had just one story and they were both weatherboarded like marse john's own house. the grown folks slept on beds made with tall oak posts. there were no metal springs then and the beds were corded instead. the straw-stuffed mattress ticks were made with plain and striped material, and pillows were filled with cotton. we children slept on trundle beds, which were pushed up under the big beds in the daytime, and pulled out for us to sleep on at night. "no ma'm, there was never any money given to me in slavery time. remember, dear, when the yankees came through here, i was only ten years old. misses fannie and ann crawford were major crawford's daughters, and they kept house for marse john. that morning in may i was wearing a sleeveless apron, and they (miss fannie and miss ann) put a bag of gold and silver, and some old greenback confederate money in my apron and told me to hold on to it. miss fannie and miss ann, both of them, patted me on the head and said: 'now, be a good little girl and don't move.' on came the blue coats: they went all over the house searching everything with their guns and swords shining and flashing. i was so scared the sweat was running down my face in streams. bless your life! when they came to the bedroom where i was standing by a bed, holding that money inside my apron, they didn't even glance at me the second time. little did they think that little slave girl had the money they were hunting for. after the yankees were gone, i gave it all back to miss fannie, and she didn't give me the first penny. if any of the money was given to my mother she didn't tell me about it. "i am going to tell you the truth about what we had to eat, so listen now. it was egg bread, biscuits, peas, potatoes--they they were called 'taters then--artichoke pickles, tea cakes, pies, and good old healthy lye hominy. there was plenty of meat served, but i was not allowed to eat that, as i was never a very strong child. i was a fool about stale bread, such as biscuit, cornbread, and light bread. mother was a fine cook and her battercakes would just melt in your mouth. of course, you know we had no stoves in those days and the cooking was done in open fireplaces, in ovens and pots. oh yes! we had a garden. there was only one on the place and enough was raised in it to feed all of the people living there. "i don't remember eating 'possums, rabbits, squirrels and fish until i went to jackson, mississippi, with miss rosa. there were plenty of those meats in mississippi and i was then getting old enough and healthy enough to be allowed to eat them." at this point, mary insisted on serving lunch for her visitor, saying that she had lived with white people and knew how to cook. after a polite refusal, the story was continued: "i was laughing at myself just the other day about those homespun dresses and sleeveless aprons i wore as a child. i reckon that was a sign you were coming to ask me about those things. i kept one of those dresses of mine until my own baby girl wore it out, and now i am sorry i let her wear it, for it would be so nice to have it to show you. we wore just a one piece costume in summer and had calico and muslin dresses for sunday. wintertime, i wore a balmoral petticoat, osnaburg drawers, and er-r-r. well, jacob! i never thought i would live to see the day i'd forget what our dresses were called. anyway they were of woolen material in a checked design, and were made with a full skirt gathered on to a deep yoke. uncle patrick hull--he was a deep slave belonging to mr. a.l. hull--made all the shoes for marse john's slaves. we all wore brass-toed brogans. "oh, good! i should smile! a better man than marse john never lived. nobody better not beat his slaves. marse john was the postmaster. he married miss sallie eden, and everybody said she was mighty good, but i never knew her for she died when i was a baby. marse john and his wife, miss sallie, had three children. they were: miss fannie, miss rosa and marse allie. miss annie crawford, who teaches in the school here, is marse allie's daughter. she don't know me so well, but i know mighty well who she is. i think i have already told you that misses fannie and rosa kept house for their brother, marse john, after their mother died. "darling, please get this right: the plantation is a dream to me. if i should try to tell you about it, i am sure it would be only what my mother told me about it in the years long after the surrender. whether the plantation was the property of marse john or his father, william h. crawford, i don't know, but i am sure there was an overseer, and i am quite sure it was a very large plantation. you know the town of crawford was named for my white folks. the only thing i can be sure of, from my own memory, is of the things that took place here in athens. "breakfast had to be served promptly at : . when that : o'clock bell sounded at night, god bless your soul! you had to be in your house, and you had to be in bed by : o'clock. marse john never punished but just two of his slaves that i can remember, but i have seen them get several good whippings. they were ned and william, aggie's and lucy's boys, and marse john cowhided them for misbehaving. "there were jails during slavery time, but marse john kept his slaves straight himself and did not allow any of them to be taken to jail. i have never seen slaves sold, but i have seen droves of them marching by, being taken to watkinsville to be sold. "no! no! oh! no! you had better not dare let white people know that you could read, in those days. i remember one colored man, alfred evans, who used to read the bible during slavery time. all the learning i have, i got after we were made free. there were two colored churches in athens; one was baptist and the other was methodist. yankee ladies came down from the north and taught us to read and write. i have often considered writing the history of my life and finally decided to undertake it, but i found that it was more of a job than i had expected it to be, and then too, i would have to tell too much, so i thought best to leave it alone. "i went to church but very little during slavery time. however, i dearly loved to go to sunday school, and never missed an opportunity of attending. one of our sunday school songs was worded something like this: 'i want to be an angel, and with the angels stand.' "my favorite song began: 'around the throne in heaven, ten thousand children stand.' "oo! yes, i know how they buried folks in slavery time. for caskets they used straight, white pine boxes that they called coffins. they didn't have funerals like they do now. a preacher would say a few words at the grave and then he prayed, and after that everybody sang something like: 'i will arise and go to jesus.' i was a singer in my younger days. "all i remember 'bout negroes going off to the north was when their masters took them along on trips to wait on them. bless your life! that was one time when the ones that could read and write had the advantage. they were usually chosen to go along so if anything happened to the marster on the trip, they could write back home. i never saw patrollers, but i heard that they used to beat up negroes who were caught away from home without a pass. marse john kept his slaves supplied with passes at all necessary times. "not all the slaves had to work on saturday afternoons. this was their time of the week to get together and have a little fun around their quarters. sunday mornings they went to church, as a rule, and on sunday nights they visited each other and held prayer meetings in their homes. don't get me wrong. they had to have passes to go visiting and attend those prayer meetings. "christmas time was a holiday season for slaves, and they had everything good you could want to eat. listen, child, i am telling you the truth. they even had pumpkin pie. oh, yes! santa claus came to see slave children. once i got too smart for my own good. miss fannie and miss ann had told us to go to bed early. they said if we weren't asleep when santa claus got there, he would go away and never come back. well, that night i made up my mind to stay awake and see santa claus. miss fannie and miss ann slipped into our quarters right easy and quiet and were filling up stockings with candy, dolls, and everything you can imagine. while they were doing that, they turned around and saw me with my eyes wide open. right there my santa claus ended. we didn't have any special observance of new year's day. it was the same as any other day. "mother said they had cornshuckings, quiltings, and cotton pickings on the plantation. she told me a good deal about the cornshuckings: about how they selected a general, whose job was to get up on top of the corn pile and holler at the top of his voice, leading the cornshucking song, while the others all shucked the corn and sang. after the corn was all shucked there were always fine eats. i can remember the quiltings myself. the women went from one house to another and quilted as many as quilts in one night sometimes. after the quilts were all finished they had a big spread of good food too. now it takes a whole month to quilt one quilt and nothing to eat. "what games did we play? let me see. oh! yes, one of them was played to the rhyme: 'chickimy, chickimy, craney crow i went to the well to wash my toe, when i got back my chicken was gone what time, old witch?' "then we would run and chase each other. another game was played to the counting-out by the rhyme that started: 'mollie, mollie bright, three-score and ten.' "honey, there is no use to ask me about raw head and bloody bones. when folks started talking about that, i always left the room. it is a shame how folks do frighten children trying to make them get quiet and go to sleep. i don't believe in ha'nts and ghosts. since i have been grown, i have been around so many dead folks i have learned that the dead can't harm you; its the living that make the trouble. "when his slaves were taken sick, marse john always called in a doctor. an old woman, who was known as 'aunt fannie,' was set aside to nurse sick slaves. dr. joe carlton was marse john's doctor. what i am going to tell you is no fairy tale. once i was so sick that marse john called in dr. carlton, dr. richard m. smith, dr. crawford long, and dr. james long, before they found out what was wrong with me. i had inflammatory rheumatism and i wore out two and a half pairs of crutches before i could walk good again. now, dr. crawford long is a great and famous man in history, but it is sure true that he doctored on this old negro many years ago. "honey, don't flatter me. don't you know a little girl years old can't remember everything that went on that far back. a few things they dosed the slaves with when they were sick was horehound tea, garlic mixed with whiskey, and the worm-few (vermifuge?) tea that they gave to negro children for worms. that worm-few dose was given in april. asafetida was used on us at all times and sage tea was considered a splendid medicine. "when news came that negroes had been freed there was a happy jubilee time. marse john explained the new freedom to his slaves and we were glad and sorry too. my mother stayed with marse john until he died. i was still a child and had never had to do anything more than play dolls, and keep the children in the yard. lord, honey! i had a fine time those days. "it wasn't so long after the surrender before schools for negroes were opened. it looked like they went wild trying to do just like their white folks had done. as for buying homes, i don't know where they would have gotten the money to pay for homes and land. "at the time i married i was a washerwoman for the white folks. my first husband was isaac dixon, who came from some place in alabama and had been owned by dr. lipscomb, the chancelor of the university. dr. lipscomb married us in the colored methodist church, and that night the church was crowded to overflowing. i wore a white dress made with a long train; that was the style then. after the ceremony, my mother served cake and wine at her house. our six children were prettier than you, but only three of them lived to get grown. our white friends named our children. my first husband died and then i married jones colbert, who belonged to marse fletcher colbert of madison county. we just went around to the preacher's house and got married. jones was an old man when i married him. he was a preacher. he is dead now and so are all my children except one. i have one grandson, and this is the shameful part about him; his mother won't married when he was born, but of course she married later. "now i am going to tell you the truth as i see it. abraham lincoln was an instrument of god sent to set us free, for it was god's will that we should be freed. i never did hitch my mind on jeff davis; like the children of israel, he had his time to rule. booker t. washington! well, now i didn't give him a thought. he had to do his part. his mistress had taught him to read. "why did i join the church? well, when the white folks sent their help off to mississippi trying to keep them slaves, my sister and i went with miss rosa crawford to jackson. before i left home my mother gave me an alabaster doll and told me to be a good girl and pray every night. well, i never saw so many slave-houses in my life as i saw in mississippi. every night when i heard a colored man named ben praying in his room that made me think of what my mother had told me and i grew more and more homesick for her. finally one night i crept into uncle ben's room and asked him to tell me about god, and he did. after that, every night i went into his room and we prayed together. yes, honey, i found god in jackson, mississippi, and i joined the church just as soon as i could after i got back to my mother and dear old athens. "yes, honey, i was raised and loved by my own white folks and, when i grew to be old enough and large enough, i worked for them. i have been with, or worked for, white folks all my life and, just let me tell you, i had the best white folks in the world, but it was by god's plan that the negroes were set free." [hw: dist. ex. slave # (with photograph)] [hw: "john cole"] subject: a slave remembers district: no. w.p.a editor: edward ficklen supervisor: joseph e. jaffee [may ] a slave remembers the front door of a little vine-clad cottage on billups street, in athens, georgia quaked open and john cole, ex-slave confronted a "gov'mint man." [illustration] yes, he was the son of lucius cole and betsy cole, was in his th year, and remembered the time "way back" when other gov'mint men with their strange ways had descended on athens. and far beyond that, back to the time when they had tried him out as a scullion boy in the big town house where his mother was the cook, but it seemed that the trays always escaped his clumsy young hands. so "marse henry" had put him on the acre oglethorpe plantation as apprentice to training of the farm horses whose large unmanageableness he found more manageable than the dainty china of the banker's house. he simply had followed more after his father, the carriage driver than his mother, the cook. of course, all fifteen of the hands worked from sun-up to sun-down, but his aunt was the plantation cook, and it was not so bad there. the night brought no counsel, but it brought better. stretch cow-hides over cheese-boxes and you had tambourines. saw bones from off a cow, knock them together, and call it [hw: a drum]. or use broom-straws, on fiddle-strings, and you had your entire orchestra. grow older, and get by the gates with a pass (you had to have a pass or the paddle-rollers would get you,) and you had you a woman. if the woman wasn't willing, a good, hard-working hand could always get the master to make the girl marry him--whether or no, willy-nilly. if a hand were noted for raising up strong black bucks, bucks that would never "let the monkey get them" while in the high-noon hoeing, he would be sent out as a species of circuit-rider to the other plantations--to plantations where there was over-plus of "worthless young nigger gals". there he would be "married off" again--time and again. this was thrifty and saved any actual purchase of new stock. always on saturday afternoon you would have till "first dark" for base-ball, and from first dark till sunday-go-to meeting for drinking and dancing. sunday you could go to the colored church (with benefit of white clergy) or you could go to the white church just like real class except you sat in the rear. no, it was not a bad life. you usually weren't sick, but if you were sick, it afforded you the luxury of tea. turpentine and caster oil composed the entire _materia medica_. turpentine was used for sore throats, cuts and bruises. castor oil was used for everything else except a major fracture which called for the master sending in a doctor to the quarters. yes, the gov'mint men with the blue uniforms and the shiny brass buttons had descended from the north on athens--descended in spite of the double-barrelled cannon that the little master and the little master's men had tried on them. the blue clad invaders had come in despite of the quick breast-works, and the new-fangled cannon, and bob toombs boast that he "could beat the damn yankees with corn-stalks before breakfast". (if only they had fought that way--if only they had [hw: not] needed grape-shot had enough to invent cannon mouths that spoke at the same time and were meant to mow down men with a long chain--if only they had not been able to fight long after bull run, and after breakfast!) yes, the yankees had come over the classic hills of athens (athens that had so many hills that she would have been named rome except for her first land-grant college,) had left, and had come again to stay, and to bring freedom to john cole and his kind. this was six months after lee and his palandins had laid down the sword--the gallant, the unstained (but, alas, claimed meade's batteries) the unconstitutional sword. six months had gone and freedom had come. but john cole, slave of henry hull, the banker, found that his freedom was the freedom of "the big oak"--athens famed tree-that-owns-itself. he was free, but he had no way to go anywhere. he was rooted in the soil and would stay fast rooted. he worked on with his master for years, without pay. did he believe, back in slavery time in "signs" and in "sayings"--that the itching foot meant the journey to new lands--that the hound's midnight threnody meant murder? no, when he was a young buck and had managed the bad horses, he had had no such beliefs. no, he was not superstitious. if the foot itched something ought to be put on it (or taken off it)--and as to the hounds yelping, nobody ever knew what dark-time foolishness a hound-dog might be up to. but he was old, now. death always comes in the afternoon. he does believe in things that have been proved. he does believe that a squinch-owl's screeching ("v-o-o-o-d-o-o! w-h-o-o-o? y-ou-u!") is a sure sign of death. lowing of a cow in afternoon georgia meadows means death mighty close. if death come down to a house, better stop clock and put white cloth on mirrors. no loud talking permitted. better for any nigger to bow low down to death.... to what factors did he attribute his long life, queried the gov'mint man. long living came from leaving off smoking and drinking. would he have a nickle cigar? he would. yes, he was feeling quite tol'able, thank you. but he believed now in the owl and the cow and the clock. in the morning-time one lives, but death always come in the afternoon. better for any nigger, anywhere, to bow low down to death. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave julia cole, age yonah avenue athens, georgia written by: corry fowler athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & a knock on the door of the comfortable little frame house which julia cole shares with her daughter, rosa, brought the response, "who dat?" soon rosa appeared. "come in honey and have a cheer," was her greeting and she added that julia had "stepped across de street to visit 'round a little." soon the neighborhood was echoing and reverberating as the call, "tell aunt julia somebody wants to see her at her house," was repeated from cabin to cabin. a few moments later julia walked in. yellowish gingercake in color, and of rather dumpy figure, she presented a clean, neat appearance. she and her daughter, who cooks for a dentist's family, take much pride in their attractively furnished home. julia was of pleasant manner and seemed anxious to tell all that she could. it is doubtful if rosa made much progress with her ironing in an adjoining room, for every few minutes she came to the door to remind her mother of some incident that she had heard her tell before. julia began her story by saying: "i was born in monroe, georgia and b'longed to marster john grant. my mamma was mittie johnson, and she died de year 'fore de war ended. i don't 'member my pa. mamma had four chillun. richard and thomas grant was my brothers, but me and my sister hattie was johnsons. marse john had a big plantation and a heap of slaves. dey was rich, his folks was. dey is de folks dat give grant's park to atlanta. "dey called my grandpa, 'uncle abram.' atter he had wukked hard in de field all day, he would jus' lay down on a bench at night and sleep widout pullin' off his clothes. us had home-made beds in de cabins widout no paint on 'em. evvything slaves had was home-made, jus' wooden-legged things. even de coffins was made at home out of pine wood. now me, i didn't sleep in de cabin much. i slept on a little trundle bed up at de big house. in de daytime my bed was pushed back up under one of de big beds. "marse john's son, marse willie grant, blowed de bugle in de mornin's by o'clock to git de slaves up in time to be in de fields by daybreak. when slaves got too old to wuk, dey took keer of de chillun in a house down below de kitchen. mamma wukked in de field when she was able. nobody on our place had to wuk in de fields on sadday evenin's. dat was de time de 'omans washed deir clothes and cleaned up. "chillun didn't have much to do. us loved to hunt for turkey nests 'cause dey give us a teacake for evvy turkey egg us fetched in. chillun et in de yard at de big house, whar dey give us plenty of meat and cornbread wid good vegetables for dinner. for breakfast and supper, us had mostly buttermilk and cornbread. on sundays us had bread made from wheat flour and sopped good old syrup wid it. sometimes marse john would give us 'mission to kill little pigs at night and broil 'em over de coals in our yards, and how us did enjoy 'em! i ain't never suffered for nothin' in all my life, 'cause de grants was mighty good white folks. de old white home on prince avenue was deir summer home. when dey built it, woods was all 'round and dere warn't many houses in dat section. "us had plenty of clothes made out of homespun checks, and marse john give us brass-toed shoes. our dresses was well sewed and made wid belts to 'em. nobody went 'bout half naked on our plantation lak some of de old folks f'um other farms talks 'bout. us had good well-made clothes, even if dey was made out of common cloth. "nobody on our plantation run away to de north, and de paddyrollers didn't git nobody at our place neither. marse john was too good to evvybody for his slaves to want to cut up and run 'way and do things to make de paddyrollers hunt 'em down. dey didn't have no jails 'cause dey didn't need none on our place. sometimes marse john made a colored man named uncle jim cooper give 'em a good whuppin' when dey needed it. "when us was sick, dey give us herbs and things of dat sort. in de springtime, dey give us jerusalem oak seed in syrup for nine mornin's and by den us was allus rid of de worms. dey 'tended to slave chillun so good and dutiful dat dere warn't many of 'em died, and i don't never 'member no doctor comin' to my mamma's house. "old missus used to teach us in da blue back speller, and when i didn't know my lesson she made me run f'um de house to de gyarden gate for punishment. de more words i missed; de more times i had to run. us had our own church services on de plantation under home-made brush arbors, and our colored preacher was uncle charles cooper. "once some sojers come by our place lookin' for marse john. he had done hid in de loft of de meat house and told evvybody on de place dey better not tell whar he was. dey didn't find marse john, but dey did find his son, marse willie, and dey tuk him 'long wid 'em. marse willie was de only chile dat marster and missus had and it nearly killed 'em for him to be tuk 'way from 'em. when mr. lincoln's general got to our place he was a-ridin' a big red hoss dat sho' was a grand animal. dem sojers went in de smokehouses and stores evvywhar and tuk what dey wanted. "not long 'fore de war ended, my mamma tuk a 'lapse f'um measles and died. 'fore she died, she sont for marse john and told him what she wanted done, and he done jus' what she axed. she give him my brothers, richard and thomas, and told him to take dem two boys and to make men out of 'em by makin' 'em wuk hard. i jus' lak to have died when my mamma died. dey carried her to de graveyard and put her down in de grave and i jus' couldn't help it; i jumped right down in dat grave wid her, and dey had to take me out. my brothers said i was plum crazy dat day. "atter de war was over, marster moved his family to atlanta on peachtree street. his grandson dat was born dat year died not long ago. dey didn't have no farm in atlanta and so dey didn't need all deir old servants. my sister hattie was a baby and auntie tuk her to atlanta wid de grants. "i don't know what 'come of de others on marster's farm. i had to git in a covered wagon and come wid my uncle jordan johnson to athens. i didn't want to leave, and i hid down under our things in de wagon when dey made me come. when us crossed de river, i was sho' us was 'bout to git drownded. one time atter dat us tuk a trip to madison to see de old breastplates (breastworks) dar. "my brother tom got to be captain of a colored troop dat went to de philippine islands. over dar de sojers kilt a big snake and et it all but de head. he had dat thing stuffed and brought it home. atter he left de army, he got a job in de atlanta post office whar he wukked 'til he was 'tired. "i was hired out to de marks family and stayed dar for years and dat was a mighty good place to be hired out. i was married twice. me and crit clayton married at home. i ain't never seed nothin' lak dat pretty flowerdy weddin' dress dat i wore and i had de prettiest hat and things dat i ever seed. my next husband was andrew cole--he was rosa's pa. i forgits de name of de white preacher dat married us when us went to his house and axed him to. four of our seven chillun is still livin'. "dey tells me our old big house near monroe is standin' yit, and i sho' do wish i could see it once more 'fore i die, but since i broke my hip a few years ago i jus' don't ride in dem automobiles. no ma'am, i don't limp. de lord was good to heal my hip and i ain't takin' no chances on breakin' no more of my bones." ex-slave interview martha colquitt, age lyndon avenue athens, georgia written by: mrs. sarah h. hall federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia the aged negress leaned heavily on her cane as she shuffled about her tiny porch in the waning sunlight of a cold january day. an airplane writing an advertising slogan in letters of smoke high in the sky was receiving but indifferent attention from aunt martha. sha shivered and occasionally leaned against a post until a paroxysm of coughing subsided. "what would you have thought of that if it had suddenly appeared in the sky when you were a child?" she was asked. "it would have scared me plum to death," was the response. "i didn't come out here just to see dat," she continued, "i didn't have nothin' to make no fire wid, and i had to git out in de sunshine 'cause it wuz too cold to stay in de house. it sho' is mighty bad to have to go to bed wid cold feet and cough all night long." her visitor could not resist the impulse to say, "let's make a trade, aunt martha! if i give you a little money will you buy wood; then while you enjoy the fire will you think back over your life and tell me about your experiences when i come back tomorrow?" "bless de lord! i sho' will be glad to tell you de truf 'bout anything i can 'member," was her quick reply as she reached for the money. [tr: return visit] the next day aunt martha was in bed, slowly eating a bowl of potlicker and turnip greens into which cornbread had been crumbled. "my ches' hurt so bad i couldn't git up today," was her greeting, "but set right dar by my bed and i can talk all right, long as i don't have to walk 'bout none. walkin' makes me cough." soon the bowl was empty and when she had wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown, aunt martha began: "when i wuz born, my ma b'longed to marse billie glenn and us lived on his big plantation way down below lexin'ton. my pa wuz anderson mitchell. he come from milledgeville and b'longed to mr. d. smith. the smithies lived close by marse billie's place. my ma wuz healon mitchell. i don't know what her last name wuz 'fore she married. she wuz born in virginny, and her and my grandma wuz sold and brought to georgia when ma wuz a baby. grandma never did see none of her other chillun or her husband no more, and us never did hear nothin' 'bout 'em. "ma had four chillun. lucy wuz my onlies' sister. mr. davenport bought her and she growed up at his place, what wuz called 'de glade.' it wuz a big fine place at point peter, georgia. lucy married a taylor. "my brother, isaac, wuz raised at mr. hamilton's place at point peter. after he growed up, he worked in atlanta and bought him a home dar. he got in a fight wid a man what had done stobbed his mule, and de man hurt isaac so bad he went crazy and died in de 'sylum at milledgeville, but dey took him back and buried him in atlanta. "my other brother wuz anderson mitchell, and after freedom come he got work in athens at de compress. his boss man moved to augusta and took anderson wid him to work in de compress dar. one day somethin' blowed up and he wuz scalded so bad it paralyzed him. dey brought him back here, but he soon died. "ma's house was right on de edge of marse billie's yard, 'cause she was de cook. grandma lived in de same house wid ma and us chillun, and she worked in de loom house and wove cloth all de time. she wove de checkidy cloth for de slaves clo'es, and she made flannel cloth too, leaseways, it wuz part flannel. she made heaps of kinds of cloth. "our beds had big home-made posties and frames, and us used ropes for springs. grandma brought her feather bed wid her from virginny, and she used to piece up a heap of quilts outen our ole clo'es and any kind of scraps she could get a holt of. i don't know what de others had in dey cabins 'cause ma didn't 'low her chillun to visit 'round de other folkses none. "ma's chillun all had vittals from de white folkses kitchen. after marse billie's fambly done et and left de table, de cook wuz s'posed to take what wuz left to feed de house niggers and her own chillun, and us did have sho' 'nuff good vittals. all de other slave folks had day rations weighed out to 'em every week and dey cooked in dey own cabins. when de wheat wuz ground at de mill it made white flour, and shorts, and seconds. most of de shorts wuz weighed out in rations for de slave folks. now and den at christmas and special times dey got a little white flour. dey liked cornbread for reg'lar eatin'. dey wuz always lots of hogs on marse billie's plantation, and his colored folkses had plenty of side meat. slaves never had no time to hunt in de day time, but dey sho' could catch lots of 'possums at night, and dey knowed how to git catfish at night too. "'cross de road from de big 'ouse, marse billie had a big gyarden, and he seed dat his help had plenty of somethin' good to bile. dey won't no separate gyardens. dey didn't have no time to work no gyardens of dey own. "in summertime us chillun wore just one piece of clo'es. it wuz a sack apron. in winter grandma made us yarn underskirts and yarn drawers buttoned down over our knees. ma made our home-knit stockings. dey called our brass toed shoes 'brogans.' i don't speck you ever seed a brass toed shoe! "our big 'ouse sho' wuz one grand fine place. why, it must have been as big as de mill stone baptist church! it wuz all painted white wid green blinds and had a big old high porch dat went nigh all 'round de house. "if i ever did hear what marse billie's wife wuz named, i done plum clear forgot. us called her 'mist'ess' long as she lived and i don't recollect hearin' her called nothin' else. marster and mist'ess never had no little chillun whilst i was dar. miss lizzie wuz dey youngest child and she wuz most grown when i wuz born. "marse billie's overseer lived in a four-room house up de road a piece from the big 'ouse. nobody thought 'bout none of marse billie's overseers as pore white folkses. every overseer he ever had wuz decent and 'spectable. course dey won't in de same class wid marse billie's fambly, but dey was all right. dey wuz four or five homes nigh our plantation, but all of 'em b'longed to rich white folkses. if dey wuz any pore white folkses 'round dar, us chillun never heared nothin' of 'em. "i don't know just how many slaves marse billie had, but dey sho' was a drove of 'em. sometimes he had 'em all git together in de back yard at de big 'ouse, and dey just filled up de yard. "de overseer blowed a horn to wake 'em up just 'fore day, so as everybody could cook, eat, and git out to de fields by sunrise. dey quit nigh sundown, in time for 'em to feed de stock, do de milkin', tend to bringin' in de wood, and all sorts of other little jobs dat had to be done 'fore it got too dark to see. dey never wuz no work done at night on our plantation. "if any of marse billie's help wuz whipped, i never knowed nothin' 'bout it. dey used to say dat if any of 'em didn't work right de overseer would take 'em to de workshop. us chillun never did know what happened when dey took 'em to de workshop. it wuz too fur away for us to hear what happened dar. de workshop was a big lone shed off to itself, whar dey had da blacksmith place, and whar harness wuz mended, and all sorts of fixin' done to de tools and things. "us never heared of no jail. marse billie bossed his place and us never knowed 'bout no trouble. de workshop wuz de nighest thing to a jail or a court dat anybody on our plantation knowed anything 'bout. us never seed nobody in chains 'til long atter de war, when us wuz livin' in lexin'ton, and mr. jim smith come through dar wid some colored folkses all chained up, but us never did know how come dey wuz chained. "no slave never runned away fron marse billie's plantation. dey never even wanted to try. dey wuz always 'fraid dey might not be able to take as good keer of deyselves as marse billie did for 'em, and dey didn't know what would happen to 'em off de plantation. "i heared 'em talkin' 'bout paterollers, but i never did see one. folkses said dey would git you and beat you if dey cotch you off de plantation whar you b'longed 'thout no pass. if any of marse billie's slaves got cotched by de paterollers, i never knowed nothin' 'bout it. "i never heared of no trouble twixt de white folkses and dey colored folkses. grandma and ma never 'lowed us to go to no other cabins, and us didn't hear 'bout no talk what wuz goin' on 'mongst de others. at night ma always spinned and knit, and grandma, she sewed, makin' clo'es for us chillun. dey done it 'cause dey wanted to. dey wuz workin' for deyselves den. dey won't made to work at night. on sadday night, ma bathed all her chillun. i don't know what de other famblies done den. slaves wuz 'lowed to frolic sadday night, if dey b'haved deyselves. on sunday nights dey most always had prayer meetings. "on christmas mornin' all of us would come up to de yard back of de big 'ouse and marse billie and de overseer handed out presents for all. dey wuz a little dram and cake too. us chillun got dolls, and dresses, and aprons. them stuffed rag dolls wuz de prettiest things! on new year's day all de mens would come up to de big 'ouse early in de morning and would work lively as dey could a-cuttin' wood and doing all sorts of little jobs 'til de dinner bell rung. den marse billie would come out and tell 'em dey wuz startin' de new year right a-workin' lively and fast. den he would say dat dey would be fed good and looked atter good, long as dey worked good. he give 'em a good taste of dram and cake all 'round, and let 'em go back to dey cabins for dinner, and dey could have de rest of de day to frolic. "dem cornshuckin's us used to have sho' wuz a sight. corn would be piled up high as dis house, and de folkses would dance 'round and holler and whoop. ma 'lowed us chillun to watch 'em 'bout a half hour; den made us come back inside our cabin, 'cause dey always give de corn shuckin' folkses some dram, and things would git mighty lively and rough by de time all de corn wuz shucked. "on bright moonshiny nights folkses would invite de neighbors to come for cotton pickin's. after the cotton wuz picked dey would eat barbecue, and dance and have a big time. "i never seed but one weddin' 'fore freedom come, and dat wuz when marse billie's daughter, miss lizzie glenn, married mr. deadwyler. dey had everything at dat weddin'. yes, ma'am, just everything. miss lizzie had on a white silk dress a-trailin' so far behind her dat it took two ladies to tote her train. her veil wuz floatin' all 'bout her, and she wuz just de prettiest thing i ever did see in my whole life. a long time atter dat, mr. deadwyler, he died, and left miss lizzie wid two chillun, and she married mr. roan. "i never seed no slave marriage. ma went to 'em sometimes, but she never 'lowed us to go, 'cause she said us wuz too little. marse billie sont atter his own preacher, and de couple would come up to de big 'ouse and stand in de parlor door to be married 'fore marster and mist'ess. den de colored folkses would go back down to da cabins and have a weddin' supper and frolic and dance. dat's what ma told me 'bout 'em. "us used to play lots, but us never did have no special name for our playin'. 'swingin' the corner,' wuz when us all jined hands in a low row, and de leader would begin to run 'round in circles, and at de other end of de line dey would soon be runnin' so fast dey wuz most flyin'. "us all de time heared folkses talkin' 'bout voodoo, but my grandma wuz powerful 'ligious, and her and ma told us chillun voodoo wuz a no 'count doin' of de devil, and christians wuz never to pay it no 'tention. us wuz to be happy in de lord, and let voodoo and de devil alone. none of us liked to hear scritch owls holler, 'cause everybody thought it meant somebody in dat house wuz goin' to die if a scritch owl lit on your chimney and hollered, so us would stir up de fire to make the smoke drive him away. i always runned out and tried to see 'em, but old as i is, nigh , i ain't never seed no scritch owl. "yes, ma'am, i sho' does b'lieve in ha'nts, 'cause i done heared one and i seed it too, leasewise i seed its light. it wuz 'bout years ago, and us had just moved in a house whar a white fambly had moved out. the ma had died a few days atter a little baby wuz born, and de baby had died too. one night i heared a strange sound like somebody movin' 'round in de house, and pretty soon a dim light comes a-movin' into my room real slow and atter goin' 'round de room it went out of sight in de closet. "next day i went to see de white folkses what had lived dar 'fore us moved in, and de husband tole me not to worry, dat it wuz his wife's ha'nt. he said she wuz huntin' for some money she had hid in de house, 'cause she wanted her chillun what wuz still livin' to have it. i went back home and 'most tore dat house down lookin' for dat money. long as us lived dar i would see dat light now and den at night, and i always hoped it would lead me to de money but it never did. "when folkses got sick, marse billie had 'em looked atter. mist'ess would come every day to see 'bout 'em, and if she thought dey wuz bad off, she sont atter dr. davenport. dr. davenport come dar so much 'til he courted and married marse billie's daughter, miss martha glenn. i wuz named for miss martha. dey sho' did take special good keer of de mammies and de babies. dey had a separate house for 'em, and a granny 'oman who didn't have nothin' else to do but look atter colored babies and mammies. de granny 'oman took de place of a doctor when de babies wuz born, but if she found a mammy in a bad fix she would ax mist'ess to send for dr. davenport. "us didn't have no separate church for colored folkses. de white folkses had a big baptist church dey called mill stone church down at goosepond, a good ways down de road from marse billie's plantation. it sho' wuz a pretty sight to see, dat church, all painted white and set in a big oak grove. colored folkses had dey place in de gallery. dey won't 'lowed to jine de church on sunday, but dey had reg'lar sadday afternoons for de slaves to come and 'fess dey faith, and jine de church. us didn't know dey wuz no other church but de baptist. all de baptizin' wuz done on sunday by de white preacher. first he would baptize de white folkses in de pool back of de church and den he would baptize de slaves in de same pool. "my grandma wuz a powerful christian 'oman, and she did love to sing and shout. dat's how come marse billie had her locked up in de loom room when de yankee mens come to our plantation. grandma would git to shoutin' so loud she would make so much fuss nobody in de church could hear de preacher and she would wander off from de gallery and go downstairs and try to go down de white folkses aisles to git to de altar whar de preacher wuz, and dey wuz always lockin' her up for 'sturbin' worship, but dey never could break her from dat shoutin' and wanderin' 'round de meetin' house, atter she got old. "dem yankee sojers rode up in de big 'ouse yard and 'gun to ax me questions 'bout whar marse billy wuz, and whar everything on de place wuz kept, but i wuz too skeered to say nuthin'. everything wuz quiet and still as could be, 'cept for grandma a-singin' and a-shoutin' up in de loom house all by herself. one of dem yankees tried the door and he axed me how come it wuz locked. i told him it wuz 'cause grandma had 'sturbed de baptist meetin' wid her shoutin'. dem mens grabbed de axe from de woodpile and busted de door down. dey went in and got grandma. dey axed her 'bout how come she wuz locked up, and she told 'em de same thing i had told 'em. dey axed her if she wuz hongry, and she said she wuz. den dey took dat axe and busted down de smokehouse door and told her she wuz free now and to help herself to anything she wanted, 'cause everything on de plantation wuz to b'long to de slaves dat had worked dar. dey took grandma to de kitchen and told ma to give her some of de white folkses dinner. ma said 'but de white folkses ain't et yet.' 'go right on,' de yankees said, 'and give it to her, de best in de pot, and if dey's anything left when she gets through, maybe us will let de white folkses have some of it.' "dem brash mens strutted on through de kitchen into de house and dey didn't see nobody else down stairs. upstairs dey didn't even have de manners to knock at mist'ess' door. dey just walked right on in whar my sister, lucy, wuz combin' mist'ess' long pretty hair. they told lucy she wuz free now and not to do no more work for mist'ess. den all of 'em grabbed dey big old rough hands into mist'ess' hair, and dey made her walk down stairs and out in de yard, and all de time dey wuz a-pullin' and jerkin' at her long hair, tryin' to make her point out to 'em whar marse billie had done had his horses and cattle hid out. us chilluns wuz a-cryin' and takin' on 'cause us loved mist'ess and us didn't want nobody to bother her. dey made out like dey wuz goin' to kill her if she didn't tell 'em what dey wanted to know, but atter a while dey let her alone. "atter dey had told all de slaves dey could find on de place not to do no more work, and to go help deyselves to anything dey wanted in de smokehouse, and 'bout de big 'ouse and plantation, dey rode on off, and us never seed no more of 'em. atter de yankees wuz done gone off grandma 'gun to fuss: 'how, dem sojers wuz tellin' us what ain't so, 'cause ain't nobody got no right to take what belongs to marster and mist'ess.' and ma jined in: 'sho' it ain't no truf in what dem yankees wuz a-sayin', and us went right on living' just like us always done 'til marse billie called us together and told us de war wuz over and us wuz free to go whar us wanted to go, and us could charge wages for our work. "when freedom comed my pa wanted us to move off right away over to mr. smithies' place so our family could be together, but us stayed on wid marse billie de rest of dat year. den pa and ma moved to lexin'ton, whar pa digged walls and ditches and made right good pay. ma took all four of us chillun and run a good farm. us got along fine. "'fore de war, all work stopped on de plantation for de funeral of a slave. grandma didn't think chillun ought to see funerals, so de first one i ever seed, wuz when ma died two years atter de war wuz done over. a jackleg colored preacher talked, but he didn't have sense 'nuff to preach a sho' 'nuff sermon. "us heared a heap 'bout dem ku kluxers, but none of my folks never even seed any of 'em. dey wuz s'posed to have done lots of beatin' of colored folks, but nobody knowed who dem ku kluxers wuz. "a long time atter de war i got married to traverse colquitt. de weddin' took place at my sister's house, and us sho' did have a big weddin' and a fine dinner afterwards. den next day my husband carried me to whar he wuz born, and his ma give us another big fine dinner. she had a table longer dan this room, and it wuz just loaded with all sorts of good things. de white folkses dat my husband had used to work for had sent some of de good vittals. "most of my life atter de war wuz spent in lexin'ton. does you know anythin' 'bout mr. john bacon dat used to run de only hotel dar den? well, i worked for him for many a year. his daughter, miss mamie bacon, lives here in athens and she is old and feeble like me. she lives 'bout four blocks from here, and whenever i'se able to walk dat far, i goes to see her to talk 'bout old times, and to git her to 'vise me how to git along. i sho'ly does love miss mamie. "my husband died 'bout a year ago. us had eight boys and two girls, but dey ain't but four of our chillun livin' now. least, i thinks dey is all four alive. two of my sons lives somewhar in alabama, and one son stays in new york. my only livin' daughter lives wid me here, pore thing! since she seed one of her chillun killed last year, she ain't had no mind a t'all. i'se tryin' to look atter her and de other child. her husband done been dead a long time. my neighbors helps me, by bringin' me a little to eat, when dey knows i ain't got nothin' in de house to cook. de storekeeper lets me have a little credit, but i owe her so much now dat i'se 'shamed to ax her to let me have anythin' else. de white folkses on prince avenue is right good to let me have dey clo'es to wash, and de young gals in the neighborhood helps me to do de washin'. i sho' is hopin' de old age pension will soon git started comin' to me. some dat i know, has been gittin' dey old age pensions two or three months. i done signed up for mine twict, so maybe it will 'gin to come 'fore i is done plum wore out." when her visitor was ready to leave, martha hobbled to the door and bade her an affectionate farewell. "goodbye, lady! i prays for you every night. may de good lord bless you." plantation life as viewed by an ex-slave minnie davis, age billups st. athens, ga. written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens, georgia edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens, georgia and john n. booth wpa residencies & august , the bareness of minnie davis' yard was relieved by a single rosebush, and her small house might best be described as a "tumble-down shack." an unsteady wooden box served as a step to the fragment of porch before the front door. "good mornin', mam," was the greeting of a negro man who hastened to answer the visitor's knock at the door. "yes mam, miss minnie's at home." he turned, tapped on the door of one of the four rooms adjoining the hall, and called: "miss minnie, a white lady wants to see you." minnie hobbled to the door and invited the visitor to her bedroom, where a suite of handsome walnut furniture reflected the period when marble tops were standard parts of dressers and washstands. a low chair, an old table, and a rusty heater completed the furnishings of the room. age and ill health have not dealt kindly with minnie, and her short-cut, kinky hair is almost white, but her eyes and face retain a remarkably youthful appearance. she is a small thin woman of gingercake color and, despite the sweltering heat, she wore a pink flannel nightgown, faded and dingy, and a pair of high top black shoes, so badly run over that she hobbled along on the sides of them. minnie is well educated, and she taught school for so long that her speech is remarkably free of dialect. when the nature of the visit was explained, minnie said: "a white woman has been here several times before, but i was sick and didn't understand clearly what she wanted me to tell her." she then explained that she did not care to talk for publication at all. she said she was hungry and had nothing at all in the house to eat. her nephew, ed, an ex-postman lived with her, she explained, and he would go for food if there was any money. she might feel like talking a little if she had a little something to eat. the interviewer provided the cash and ed soon returned with a pint of milk and some cinnamon rolls. after her repast, minnie began to talk, giving the impression that every word was carefully weighed before it was uttered. "i was born in greene county near penfield, georgia," she said. "aggie crawford was my mother and she was married to jim young. my only sister was mariah, and my three brothers were ned, john, and jim. ned was a mulatto. i know who his father was, but of course you won't ask me that. i wouldn't want to expose my own mother or the man who was ned's father. i was quite a small child during the war period, and i can tell you very little of that time, except the things my mother told me when i grew old enough to remember. my mother belonged to the crawford family in greene county, but when i knew anything we were living in athens and were the slaves of marster john crawford. "as children we played around the yard; those of us who were old enough had odd jobs to do. the unceiled house that my father and mother shared with three other families was weatherboarded and had a chimney made of sticks and dirt. there was a bed in each corner of the room and from one to three children slept in the bed with their parents: the rest of the children slept on the floor. the tall old home-made wooden beds had very much the appearance of beds used now, except that cords were used instead of the metal springs that came into use later. our osnaburg mattress ticks were filled with straw. i'm quite sure there were no pillows. there was also a two-story house on the lot for slaves." she was asked what she called her father and mother during slavery time, and her reply was: "i have always said father and mother because i liked it better, and the bible teaches us to say that. "grandmother dilsey and grandfather levi crawford lived in lexington. i saw my grandmother one time, but i don't know what she did at the white folks' house. grandfather was a carpenter. "i never got any money in slavery time. if the slaves ever got any, it was when the yankees came through here. at that time the white people gave their money to the slaves for safekeeping, and after the yankees went on it was returned to the white owners. "my mother was the cook and looked after the house. oh, yes indeed, we had good food to eat. bread, milk, meat, collard greens, turnips, and potatoes. i would say we had just everything that was grown in the garden and on the plantations to eat at that time. the cooking was done in the kitchen in the yard. the fireplace was as wide as the end of this room, and a long iron bar extended from one end to the other. the great cooking pots were suspended over the coals from this bar by means of pot hooks. heavy iron skillets with thick lids were much used for baking, and they had ovens of various sizes. i have seen my mother bake beautiful biscuits and cakes in those old skillets, and they were ideal for roasting meats. mother's batter cakes would just melt in your mouth and she could bake and fry the most delicious fish. there was no certain thing that i liked to eat more than anything else in those days. i was young and had a keen appetite for all good things. miss fannie and miss susan often made candy and it was so good i could have eaten all they made, had they given it to me. my father hired his time out; he made and sold gingercakes on the railroad. "in the summertime we wore homespun dresses made with a full skirt gathered onto a tight-fitting waist. in the wintertime the dresses were made of checked woolen material called linsey cloth. for underwear, we wore balmoral petticoats and osnaburg drawers. we went barefooted most of the time. i remember one particular time when the ground was frozen and i went about without any shoes, but it didn't bother me. barefooted children seldom had bad colds in winter. we wore just anything on sunday, but we had to look nice and clean. "marster john crawford, son of the distinguished william h. crawford, was my owner. indeed, he was good to us. i'll tell you after awhile about the time he wouldn't let the town marshal whip my mother. they told me his wife was a fine woman and that she was as good to her slaves as she could be. she died very young in life and marse john's sisters, miss fannie and miss susan, kept house for him after that. marse john's three children were miss fannie, miss rosa, and marse allie. miss rosa married marse tom golden, and miss fannie married a gerdine; i've forgotten his first name. "marse john may have had an overseer on one of his plantations, but i don't remember. i do know he didn't have a carriage driver for he didn't have a carriage. i don't believe i can describe the peculiar shape of his fine eight-room house. it was on dougherty street, right back of scudder's school. the crawfords were considered very uppity people and their slaves were uppish too. marse john didn't have many slaves and they had to get up and get going early every morning. marse john was postmaster of athens and had to be in his office by eight o'clock every morning so he ordered that his breakfast be served regularly at seven-thirty. "no mam, our white folks didn't teach their slaves to read and write because it was against the law. however, they did read the bible to us, and the slaves that were smart enough, were asked to repeat the verses they had learned from hearing miss fannie, miss sue, and marse john read. the crawford children were caught teaching my mother to read and write, but they were made to stop. mother was quick to learn and she never gave up. she would steal the newspapers and read up about the war, and she kept the other slaves posted as to how the war was progressing. she knew when the war was over, almost as soon as marse john did. "i don't recall any certain reason why the slaves were punished; they needed it, i'm sure of that. some folks need to be punished now. miss sue, as we called her, whipped the slaves for misbehavior. i remember one time there was quite a commotion. the town marshal came to our house to whip my mother. it had been told that she had been writing letters, asking people to buy whiskey from her, but marse john wouldn't let the marshal touch her. there was a jail, but i don't recall that any of marse john's slaves were ever put in there. i was told that his slaves were, as a rule, well behaved and that they gave him no trouble. "yes mam, we went to church, that is, those of us who cared to go did. there wasn't any separate church for colored people in athens, that i can remember. we went to church and sunday school at the first presbyterian church, where the slaves were allowed to sit in the gallery. i recall that dr. hoyt used to pray that the lord would drive the yankees back. he said that 'niggers were born to be slaves.' my mother said that all the time he was praying out loud like that, she was praying to herself: 'oh, lord, please send the yankees on and let them set us free.' i wasn't enough of a singer to have a favorite song, and i was too happy playing with the crawford children to be interested in going to baptizings and funerals. "i did go to my father's funeral. when he was taken sick dr. holt attended his case, and it was not long before he told marse john that father would never get well. when he died mother hollered and screamed something terrible. miss sue told her not to cry because, 'the lord knows best.' 'yes, miss sue,' answered mother, 'but you have never loved a man to lose.' with that, they both cried. when anyone died in those days, the people sat up all night and didn't go to bed until the funeral was over. now, no real sympathy is shown. "i don't believe any of marse john's slaves ever went to the war. he was good to them and everyone of them loved him. i heard of patterollers chasing slaves and whipping them if they were caught away from home without a pass, and sometimes they locked them up. however, nothing of the kind ever happened to any of marse john's slaves. he was a highly respected citizen and everyone in athens knew better than to touch his negroes. "after the work for the day was finished at the big house, the slaves went to their quarters to weave cloth and sew, but when ten o'clock came and the bell sounded, everything had to be quiet. slaves on our place worked saturday afternoons the same as any other day. on saturday nights the young folks and a few of the older folks danced. some of them got passes from marse john so they could visit around. they popped corn, pulled candy, or just sat around and talked. those of us who desired went to sunday school and church on sundays; others stayed at home and did their washing and ironing, and there was always plenty of that to be done. "christmas was a grand time at marse john's. we had everything good to eat under the sun at that time and, as my mother was the cook, i was sure of getting my share of the good things. miss fannie and miss sue played santa claus to slave children. i was sorry when mary got too smart and peeped to see what it was all about, for after that they just came to our house and handed us the things that would have come as santa claus. "new year's day was no different from other days, except that marse john gave the grown folks whiskey to drink that day like he did on christmas morning. they couldn't risk giving slaves much whiskey because it made them mean, and then they would fight the white folks. they had to be mighty careful about things like that in order to keep down uprisings. "my mother went to cornshuckings, cotton pickings, and quiltings. they must have had wonderful times, to hear her tell it. she said that after the corn was shucked, cotton picked, or quilts quilted, they always gave them plenty of good things to eat and drink and let them aloose to enjoy themselves for the balance of the night. those things took place at harvest time, and everyone looked forward to having a good time at that season. mother said that marse john was particular with his slaves, and wouldn't let them go just anywhere to these things. "about the only game i can remember playing as a child was a doll game. the crawford children would use me for the doll, and then when my turn came to play mamma and claim one of them for my doll, miss fanny or miss sue would appear and then i would have to be a doll for them. i didn't mind, for i dearly loved them all. "now about raw head and bloody bones; i am going to tell you, miss, my marster's people were cultured and refined, and they wouldn't allow such things told to their own children or to their slaves' children. they didn't want anything said or done to frighten any little children, and if a nurse or anyone else was caught doing such a thing, that person was punished for it. with the heritage of training like that i could hardly be expected to believe in such things. "marse john was grand to sick slaves. he always sent for dr. moore, who would make his examination and write out his prescription. when he left his parting word was usually 'give him a sound thrashing and he will get better.' of course he didn't mean that; it was his little joke. dr. holt, dr. crawford long, and dr. jones long were sometimes called in for consultation on particularly serious cases. we didn't like dr. moore and usually begged for one of the other doctors. i don't think my white folks used teas made of herbs, leaves or roots; they may have, but i don't remember it. however, i do know that we wore little sacks of asafetida around our necks to keep off diseases, and the white folks wore it too. "on the day we learned of the surrender, the negroes rallied around the liberty flag pole that they set up near where the city hall is now. all day long they cut up and there was a song they sung that day that went something like this: 'we rally around the flag pole of liberty, the union forever, hurrah! boys hurrah!' "next morning when the negroes got up the white folks had cut that pole down. we were mortally afraid of the yankees when they appeared here a short time after the surrender. we were afraid of the ku klux klan riders too. the negroes did act so bad; there were lots of killings going on for a long time after the war was supposed to be over. "mother was glad and sorry too that she was free. marse john had been so good to all his slaves that none of them really wanted to leave him. we stayed on a while, then mother left and rented a room. she worked hard and bought a house as soon as she could; others did the same. there were very few slaves that had any money at all to begin on. "immediately following the surrender northern people opened knox institute. one of my teachers was miss dora brooks, a white woman from the north. the principal was a white man, he was mr. sortur. after i graduated from knox institute, i went to the atlanta university four years, then came back to athens and taught school here forty years. i taught whatever grade they assigned me to each year, never any certain grade from year to year. first and last, i've taught from first grade through high school. i would be teaching now if it were not for my bad health. i receive a teacher's pension, but have never applied for an old age pension. "my husband was samuel b. davis, publisher of the _athens clipper_. i published this newspaper myself for a short while after his death, then sold it. we didn't have a big wedding, just a very simple one at my mother's house. i was married in a nice white dress, but it was nothing fancy. our two children were born dead. once i had a nice home, beautifully furnished. all i have left of it is this old house and my good bedroom suite. the rest of my possessions have gotten away from me during my continued illness. "i often think of abraham lincoln; he did a good deed for my race. jeff davis was a good man and, no doubt, he thought he was doing the right thing. booker t. washington was a man of brilliant mind, but he was radically wrong in many of his views pertaining to education of the black race. he lectured here once, but i didn't bother to hear him speak. "yes mam, indeed i had rather be free. oh! religion is glorious. if god has set you free from the bonds and penalties of sin, i think you ought to live up to your lord's commands. i dearly love to go to church and hear the preacher tell of god. it gives me strength to live until he is ready for me to go. "now, miss, i hope i have told you what you wanted to know, but i must admit the things that took place way back there are rather vague in my mind. i'm an old woman and my mind is not as clear as it once was. next week, if i am strong enough to make the trip, i am going to spend the day with mary colbert, and go over the old times you and i have discussed. she remembers them better than i do, because she is older." whitley [hw: unedited atlanta] e. driskell ex-slave mose davis [apr ] in one of atlanta's many alleys lives mose davis, an ex-slave who was born on a very large plantation miles from perry, georgia. his master was colonel davis, a very rich old man, who owned a large number of slaves in addition to his vast property holdings. mose davis says that all the buildings on this plantation were whitewashed, the lime having been secured from a corner of the plantation known as "the lime sink". colonel davis had a large family and so he had to have a large house to accommodate these members. the mansion, as it was called, was a great big three-storied affair surrounded by a thick growth of cedar trees. mose's parents, jennie and january davis, had always been the property of the davis family, naturally he and his two brothers and two sisters never knew any other master than "the old colonel". mr. davis says that the first thing he remembers of his parents is being whipped by his mother who had tied him to the bed to prevent his running away. his first recollection of his father is seeing him take a drink of whiskey from a five gallon jug. when asked if this was'nt against the plantation rules "uncle mose" replied: "the colonel was one of the biggest devils you ever seen--he's the one that started my daddy to drinking. sometimes he used to come to our house to git a drink hisself". mose's father was the family coachman. "all that he had to do was to drive the master and his family and to take care of the two big grey horses that he drove. compared to my mother and the other slaves he had an easy time," said uncle mose, shaking his head and smiling: "my daddy was so crazy about the white folks and the horses he drove until i believe he thought more of them than he did of me. one day while i was in the stable with him one of the horses tried to kick me and when i started to hit him daddy cussed me and threatned to beat me." his mother, brothers, and sisters, were all field hands, but there was never any work required of mose, who was play-mate and companion to manning, the youngest of colonel davis' five sons. these two spent most of the time fishing and hunting. manning had a pony and buggy and whenever he went to town he always took mose along. field hands were roused, every morning by the overseer who rang the large bell near the slave quarters. women [tr: and] young children were permitted to remain at home until o'clock to prepare breakfast. at o'clock these women had to start to the fields where they worked along with the others until sundown. the one break in the day's work was the noon dinner hour. field hands planted and tended cotton, corn, and the other produce grown on the plantation until harvest time when everybody picked cotton. slaves usually worked harder during the picking season than at any other time. after harvest, the only remaining work was cleaning out fence corners, splitting rails building fences and numerous other minor tasks. in hot weather, the only work was shelling corn. there was no sunday work other than caring for the stock. on this plantation there were quite a few skilled slaves mostly blacksmiths, carpenters, masons, plasterers, and a cobbler. one of mose's brothers was a carpenter. all slaves too old for field work remained at home where some took care of the young children, while others worked in the loom houses helping make the cloth and the clothing used on the plantation. since no work was required at night, this time was utilized by doing personal work such as the washing and the repairing of clothing, etc. on the fourth of july or at christmas colonel davis always had a festival for all his slaves. barbecue was served and there was much singing and dancing. these frolics were made merrier by the presence of guests from other plantations. music was furnished by some of the slaves who also furnished music at the mansion whenever the col. or some of the members of his family had a party. there was also a celebration after the crops had been gathered. although there was only one distribution of clothing per year nobody suffered from the lack of clothes because this one lot had enough to last a year if properly cared for. the children wore one piece garments, a cross between a dress and a slightly lengthened shirt, made of homespun or crocus material [tr note: "crocus" is a coarse, loosely woven material like burlap]. no shoes were given them until winter and then they got the cast-offs of the grown ups. the men all wore pants made of material known as "ausenberg". the shirts and under wear were made of another cotton material. dresses for the women were of striped homespun. all shoes were made on the premises of the heaviest leather, clumsely fashioned and uncle mose says that slaves like his father who worked in the mansion, were given much better clothing. his father received of "the colonel" and his grown sons many discarded clothes. one of the greatest thrills of mose's boyhood was receiving first pair of "ausenberg" pants. as his mother had already taught him to knit (by using four needles at one time) all that he had to do was to go to his hiding place and get the socks that he had made. none of the clothing worn by the slaves on this particular plantation was bought. everything was made by the slaves, even to the dye that was used. asked if there was sufficient food for all slaves, uncle mose said "i never heard any complaints." at the end of each week every family was given some fat meat, black molasses, meal and flour in quantity varying with the size of the family. at certain intervals during the week, they were given vegetables. here too, as in everything else, mose's father was more fortunate than the others, since he took all his meals at the mansion where he ate the same food served to the master and his family. the only difference between week-day and sunday diet was that biscuits were served on sundays. the children were given only one biscuit each. in addition to the other bread was considered a delicacy. all food stuff was grown on the plantation. the slave quarters were located a short distance below the mansion. the cabins one-roomed weatherboard structures were arranged so as to form a semi-circle. there was a wide tree-lined road leading from the master's home to these cabins. furnishings of each cabin consisted of one or two benches, a bed, and a few cooking utensils. these were very crude, especially the beds. some of them had four posts while the ends of others were nailed to the walls. all lumber used in their construction was very heavy and rough. bed springs were unheard of--wooden slats being used for this purpose. the mattresses were large ausenberg bags stuffed to capacity with hay, straw, or leaves. uncle mose told about one of the slaves, named ike, whose entire family slept on bare pine straw. his children were among the fattest on the plantation and when colonel davis tried to make him put this straw in a bag he refused claiming that the pine needles kept his children healthy. the floors and chimneys on the davis plantation were made of wood and brick instead of dirt and mud as was the case on many of the other surrounding plantations. one window (with shutters instead of window panes) served the purpose of ventilation and light. at night pine knots or candles gave light. the little cooking that the slaves did at home was all done at the open fireplace. near the living quarters was a house known as the "chillun house." all children too young for field work stayed at this house in the care of the older slave women. there was no hospital building on the premises. the sick had to remain in their individual cabins where they too were cared for by slaves too old for field work. only one family lived in a cabin. mose's mother and father each had a separate cabin. he did not explain the reason for this but said that he was made to live in his father's cabin. whenever he could, (usually when his father was away with the colonel for a day or two) he stayed in his mothers cabin. "the only difference between the houses we lived in during slavery and those that some of us live in now who said is that we had more room there than we have now." he says that even the community cook house was larger than some of the living quarters of today. all cabins were white washed the same as the other buildings on the plantation, and the occupants were required to keep the interiors and the surrounding clean at all times. the overseer's cabin was located a short distance away from the slave cabins, so that it would be easier for him to keep check on his charges. there was little if any sickness but colonel davis employed a doctor who visited the plantation each week. on other occasions the overseer administered such remedies as castor oil, turpentine, etc., and the slaves had remedies of their own. for stomach ache they used a tea made of jimson weeds. another medicine was heart leaf tea. manual and religious training were the only types allowed on the plantation. trades like carpentry, blacksmithing, etc. were learned from the white mechanics sometimes employed by colonel davis. all slaves were required to attend church and a special building was known as "davis' chapel." a negro preacher officiated and no white people were present. uncle mose doesn't know what was preached as he and manning always slipped into town on sundays to see the girls. uncle mose says he and manning were together so much that occasionally they even slept in the same bed,--sometimes in manning's house and sometimes at his own house. a pool for baptism was filled with well water. the colored pastor performed all baptisms and marriages. book learning was prohibited in any form. sometimes mose tried to persuade manning to teach him to read and write but manning always refused. mose's cousin who was taught to read and write forged colonel davis' name to a check and drew the money from the bank before the hand writing was discovered. for this act he was given a sound whipping and assigned to hard labor by the master, "and", said uncle mose, "he didn't even have the pleasure of spending one penny". when asked if his cousin was arrested and placed in jail he replied that the jails were not for the slaves, as their punishment was usually left to their individual masters. when his cousin was whipped this was an exception to "the colonel's rule"; he was entirely against any form of whipping. his usual method of punishment was to cut off individual privileges for a limited amount of time (in proportion to the nature of the offense), along with an assignment of extra heavy work. the fame of the "paddle-rollers" was widespread among the slaves, but none of colonel davis' servants attempted to run away or leave the plantation often without the required pass (if they did they were never caught). there was very little talk on the plantation about the actual beginning of the civil war. slaves was very guarded in their talk as they feared the master's wrath. uncle mose thought little or nothing about the war and had even less to say. when the yankee soldiers came to the plantation they drove wagons to the smoke house and took all the meat away. "the funny part about it was that "the colonel" had taken shelter in this particular house when he saw the yankees coming," said uncle mose. "he didn't have time to hide any of his other belongings." when the soldiers had left, the colonel looked around and said to manning and mose: "just like i get that, i guess i can get some more." uncle mose says that when freedom was declared, his father came rushing to their cabin waving his arms like a windmill, shouting: "boy we is free--you can go and git yourself a job 'cause i ain't goin' to hitch up no more horses". some of the slaves remained on the plantation where they worked for wages until their deaths. his father was one of them and after his death, his mother moved to another plantation to live with another son. meanwhile mose started traveling from place to place as soon as he was told that he was free to go as he pleased. he paid one visit to the plantation where he learned of his father's death. he then asked manning, who was operating the plantation, for the ox that had belonged to his father and when manning refused to part with this animal, he made a secret visit back, that night, and took the animal away. he has not been back since. at this time mr. davis stretched himself, saying: "well, i guess that's about as straight as i can get it--wish that i could tell you some more but i can't." smiling broadly, he bade the interviewer a pleasant good-bye. ex-slave interview ike derricotte, age hancock avenue athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia august , [tr: one page of this interview was repeated in typescript; where there was a discrepancy, the clearer version was used.] ike derricotte's brown-painted, frame bungalow, well back from the street, faces a wide grassy yard where tall pecan trees provide summer shade and winter nuts. a mulatto woman answered the knock at the front door. her long, straight, white hair was neatly arranged in a low-pinned coil at the back of her head. her print frock and white shoes were immaculate. "yes mam, ike is at home," was the answer to the inquiry for her husband. "jus' have a seat on de porch here 'cause it's so much cooler dan inside de house, and i'll call ike. he's jus' piddlin' 'round de back yard dis mornin'." almost at once a tall, well-built man of gingercake color appeared. he wore an old black cap, blue work shirt, blue wool trousers, and black shoes. "howdy-do, miss! did you want to see me?" was his greeting. his eyes sparkled when he learned that we wished to record the story of his life. "yes mam, i'll be glad to tell you what i kin," he promised, "and miss, i'll jus' bet i kin tell you somepin dat very few folks kin say 'bout dem old days. i was born right here on dis same street, and i'm still livin' on it, but dis house and lot ain't my birthplace. when i was born, dis section was mostly in woods. jus' look at it now; houses has been built up and down both sides of what was den jus' de big road. times has changed in lots of ways since dem days. "my mother's name was myra, and she was a laundry 'oman owned by mr. stevens thomas. mr. thomas was one of de biggest merchants in athens dem days. he owned de square between thomas street and wall street, and it s'tended back to clayton street. "william derricotte was my father, and he belonged to col. robert thomas. my father spent most of his time beautifyin' de yards 'round de big house, and in dese days and times he would be called a landscape gardener. dey jus' called 'em yard boys den. atter pa and ma was married, marster stevens sold ma to marster robert, so dat dey could be together. mr. robert thomas' place was right up dis same old street, whar de y.w.c.a. is now, and right dar is whar i was born. dat was in , a long time ago; and lots of things has happened since den. lots of people has moved away and lots more has died out, 'til dere ain't many of de folks left here dat lived in athens den. de thomases, dorseys, and phinizys was some of de oldest families here. "i was too little to know much about de war but, little as i was, dere's one thing dat's still as fresh in my memory now as den, and dat's how people watched and waited to hear dat old georgia train come in. not many folks was able to take de papers den, and de news in 'em was from one to two weeks old when dey got here. all de men dat was able to fight was off at de front and de folks at home was anxious for news. de way dat old train brought 'em de news was lak dis: if de southern troops was in de front, den dat old whistle jus' blowed continuously, but if it was bad news, den it was jus' one short, sharp blast. in dat way, from de time it got in hearin', evvybody could tell by de whistle if de news was good or bad and, believe me, evvybody sho' did listen to dat train. "times was hard durin' de war but from what i've heared de folks dat was old folks den say, dey warn't near as bad here as in lots of other places. yes mam! sho' i kin 'member dem yankees comin' here, but dat was atter de war was done over. dey camped right here on hancock avenue. whar dey camped was mostly woods den, and deir camp reached nearly all de way to whar milledge avenue is now. us chillun was scared to death of dem soldiers and stayed out of deir way all us could. my marster, mr. stevens thomas, hid all of his family's silver and other valuables dat could be put out of sight, for dem yankees jus' went 'round takin' whatever dey wanted. dey stole all kinds of food out of de homes, went into de smokehouses and got hams, and cotched up de chickens. dey jus' reached out and tuk what dey wanted and laughed about it lak dey hadn't been stealin'. "dem yankees brought de smallpox here wid 'em and give it to all de athens folks, and dat was somepin awful. folks jus' died out wid it so bad. dey built a hospital what dey called de 'pest house' out whar de stockade is now. it was rough and small but i reckon it helped some. it warn't near large enough for all de folks dat was sick wid smallpox at one time, and so dey finally got to whar dey used it jus' for de colored folks, 'cause it seemed dat smallpox went harder wid dem dan wid de white folks. "when de war ended us didn't leave mr. stevens thomas. ma kept on cookin' and wukin' 'round de house, and pa wuked lots for other folks, larned to do brick-work, build walls, and things lak dat. atter he got to be a brickmason he allus had plenty to do. "marbles was de favorite game of de chillun dem days but us never got to play much lak chillun does dese days, 'cause times was so hard right atter de war dat as soon as chillun got big enough dey had to go to wuk. some of our very best times was at de old swimmin' hole. us dammed up dat little crick right back of whar de seaboard depot is now and it made a fine pool to swim in. it was cool for it was shady off down dar in de woods, and us spent many a hour dar on days as hot as dis one is. when dey missed us at home, dat was de fust place dey thought of when dey come to hunt us. i had some mighty good times in dat crick and i couldn't begin to count de duckin's i got dar and de whuppin's my ma and pa give me for stayin' so long. "de biggest time in all de year was de commencement day; evvybody got busy and fixed up for dat. my marster allus had lots of company at commencement times, and us had de most good things to eat. out in town dey was 'pared for it too. tables was all along de sidewalks whar you could buy any kind of 'freshments you wanted. course dere warn't as many kinds of 'freshments den as dey has now, but dere was allus plenty of de strong sort. one time durin' commencement week, ma give me a whole quarter to spend. i was de happiest and de richest boy in dis town; jus' had more money to spend dan anybody, and i walked de streets from one table to another tryin' to see whar i was gwine to spend all dat money." here, ike laughed heartily. "miss," he said, "you jus' never could guess what i spent all dat money for. i bought a whole quarter's worth of ginger-cakes and lit out for de swimmin' hole. us chillun had a fine time down at de swimmin' hole dat day. de cobbs and lumpkins owned all dat land in dar 'round our swimmin' hole den. dey owned from de catholic church straight through to college avenue. "i mighty well 'member de fust wuk i ever done. i was still jus' a little fellow when miss belle brumby told ma she wanted me for a butler boy and dat she would pay me $ . a month. i jus' jumped up and down and begged her to let me wuk for miss belle. why, i jus' knowed i would git rich right away, 'cause $ . was a mighty lot of money." ike laughed as he said: "how many boys would wuk for dat pay for a week now, let alone a whole month? ma did let me wuk for miss belle and i was happy, but i know my mist'ess had a time wid me 'cause, when i got on dat white coat dey let me wear to wait on de table, i knowed more dan evvybody else put together and dere couldn't nobody tell me how to keep de flies off de table. miss belle is one fine 'oman, dey jua' don't come no finer and no better. "when i was fourteen my pa hired me out to be a shoemaker. de shop whar i was 'prenticed was down on broad street, jus' about whar de bernstein furniture store is now. dat old buildin' was tore down long years ago and evvything 'long dar is changed now. de athens hardware store is de only broad street business of dem days dat has stood in de same place and endured through all dese years. "when i went to wuk for mr. joe barry in his shoe shop on jackson street, right in back of whar mr. lee morris' store is now, i felt lak i had got to be a real sho' 'nough important shoemaker. i wuked for him 'bout or years. he was a good man to wuk for and he was de only shoemaker i ever knowed to git rich at his trade; he really did make money in dat shop. i've been a shoemaker ever since , but i never have been able to git far ahead. in spite of all our trouble for years atter de war, it seems to me dat times was much better den dan dey is now. course, folks didn't make as much den as dey does now. carpenters, bricklayers, shoemakers, in fact 'most any kind of laborers who got from $ . to $ . a day thought dey had fine wages den. boys was paid from $ . to $ . a month. cooks got $ . to $ . a month, and of course, dey got deir meals whar dey wuked. sometimes odds and ends of old clothes was give to 'em, and dey got along very well, even if most of 'em did have families and big families at dat. folks could live on less den 'cause things was cheaper. you could git meal for ¢ a bushel; side meat was ¢ to ¢ a pound; and you could git a -pound sack of flour for ¢. wood was ¢ a load. house rent was so cheap dat you didn't have to pay over $ . a month for a or room house, and lots of times you got it cheaper. most evvybody wore clothes made out of homespun cloth and jeans, and dey didn't know nothin' 'bout ready-made, store-bought clothes. dem clothes what dey made at home didn't cost very much. livin' was cheap, but folks lived mighty well in dem days. "us has been married more dan years and dey has all been happy years. us has had our troubles and hard luck, but dey come to evvybody. de lord has been mighty good to us, 'specially in lettin' us be together so long. it was what you might call a case of love at fust sight wid us. i was visitin' down at camak, georgia at christmastime. she lived at sparta, and was spendin' christmas at camak too, but i didn't see her 'til i was 'bout to leave for athens. i jus' thought i never could go 'way atter i fust seed her, but i did, and i didn't git to see her again for long months. us writ to one another all dat year and got married at christmastime, one year from de time us fust met. "us has still got dat old pen i used when i writ and axed her to marry me; i'd lak to show it to you. 'scuse me please whilst i goes in de house to git it." soon ike returned. "ain't it a sight?" he proudly exclaimed as he displayed the relic. "i made it up myself in december and it got her consent to marry me, so i'se kept it ever since. my wife and me wouldn't part wid it for nothin'." the wooden pen staff is very smooth as though from long usage except at the tip end, where it appears to have been gnawed. it looks very much as though ike may have chewed on it as he wrote that all important letter. the iron pen point, much too large to fit the standard grooves of the ordinary pen staff, was placed on the staff and tightly wrapped. after years of service the pen point and its staff are still in good condition. ike has the prince albert coat that he wore on his wedding day and he insists that it looks and fits as well now as it did on the occasion of his marriage. "i'm keepin' de coat and pen for our chillun," he declared. before resuming the conversation, ike went back in the house to put the treasured pen away. in a few moments he returned. "god has been good to us," he said, "for he let us have all nine of our chillun 'til dey was grown up. us wuked mighty hard to raise 'em and give all of 'em a good education. dat was somepin us couldn't have when us was growin' up and i'm thankful to be able to say dat us was able to send 'em all to college. four of our chillun has gone on ahead to de next world, and de five dat's left is scattered from place to place; none of 'em is wid us now, but dey don't forgit us. dey writes to us and visits us often and us goes to see dem. one son is goin' mighty well as a lawyer in washin'ton, d.c., and our baby lives in new york city. it's been 'bout years now since my daughter juliette died atter a automobile wreck near dalton, georgia. did you know 'bout juliette? she give her life to wuk for de y.w.c.a., and she went all over de world tryin' to make things better for de young women of our race. somebody writ a memorial book 'bout her. i wish dere was a copy of dat book here for you to see, but it was borrowed from us and it ain't been returned. "did you know i had jus' come back from washin'ton, whar i visited dat lawyer son of mine? he sends for me nearly evvy summer and i enjoy visitin' dar, but i wouldn't lak to live up dar 'cause dem folks ain't lak our own southern people. i must say dey is mighty nice and good to me when i goes dar though. once when i was dar somebody told me dat if i wanted to have a good time i mustn't let nobody know i was a georgian 'cause dey said dat de northerners don't lak our state. de rest of de time i was dar on dat visit i tuk partic'lar pleasure in tellin' evvybody how proud i was of my state and my home. "dat reminds me of miss sally hodgson. she was in de north, and one evenin' she was tryin' to tell de folks up dar dat de southern people warn't as bad as some of de yankees had said dey was, and dat de white folks down south didn't mistreat de colored folks. miss sally said dat de very next mornin' de papers up dar was full of news 'bout de lynchin' of negroes in one night at watkinsville. if you had knowed miss sally, you would know how funny dat was," ike laughed. "she said atter dat dere warn't no way she could convince dem folks up dar dat georgia was a good place to live in. "us had some good friends in de north and sometimes dey comes down here to see us. one of my wife's friends, a 'oman wid a lot of education has jus' gone back to philadelphia atter a visit here in our home. us travels a good deal and us has found dat de world ain't so large but dat us is allus runnin' up against somebody dat us knows wherever us goes. "sometimes when you is in a strange place it's mighty handy to find somebody you have knowed a long time ago. i 'member one time when i was visitin' in washin'ton and wanted to git a glimpse of de president. i didn't say nothin' to nobody 'bout what was on my mind, but atter my son went to his wuk in de mornin' i slipped off to de capitol widout tellin' nobody whar i was gwine. i found a waitin' room outside de president's office and i made up my mind i would set dar 'til de president had to go out for dinner or to go home for supper. i never thought about he might have a side door he could come and go from widout usin' de door to de waitin' room. atter i had set dar in dat waitin' room de best part of two days watchin' for de president, somebody said: 'howdy, uncle ike! what is you doin' here in de president's waitin' room?' i looked up and dar stood albon holsey. he had growed up in athens. he was de boy dey 'signed to wait on president taft when he was at miss maggie welch's home for a day and night in january 'fore he was inaugurated. i bet albon is still got dat $ . mr. taft give him de mornin' he left athens, but he don't need to spend it now 'cause folks say he got rich off of his chain of stores for colored folks, and anyhow he's got a fine job dese days. well, i s'plained to albon dat i was jus' waitin' to git a peep at de president whenever he happened to pass through dat room. albon he smiled sort of wise-like. he tuk out one of his cyards and writ sompin on it, and axed a lady to take it right in to de president. she warn't gone minutes 'fore she come back and said: 'de president will see mr. holsey and his friend now.' i was wuss skeered dan i has ever been at any other time in my life. us walked in and i was 'fraid de president could hear my knees knockin' together, and my heart was beatin' so fast and loud it seemed to me lak it was 'bout to bust. de president spoke to us and when he found out dat i was from athens, he axed me lots of questions. he said dat he was interested in athens. soon albon said us must be goin' and when us got out of dar i was right weak, but i was might proud and happy to think de president had tuk time to talk pleasant lak wid a pore old negro shoemaker. "another time in washin'ton a friend of my son's tuk me to a club one night whar some of de richest of our race is members. dat night i met a man who had went to school wid de mr. teddy roosevelt dat was president atter mr. mckinley; den i met another negro dat had been a classmate of president hoover and one dat went to school wid president franklin d. roosevelt. it's right strange how dey all heads for washin'ton, d.c. to stay. "athens has allus been a real quiet town, and dere never was no real serious trouble here 'tween de races, not even when matt davis and pink morton was postmasters here. people was allus predictin' trouble 'bout dat, but de folks here was too level-headed for dat. dey knowed dey could straighten out deir own troubles widout havin' to fly off de handle in a race riot, and so dey 'tended to deir own business' and de races got along all right through it all. "atter all, athens is a good place to live in. here us has de best neighbors in de world; dey's allus ready to look atter one another in times of sickness and trouble. wid de kind of good, christian folks dat lives here, athens is bound to go ahead." plantation life benny dillard, age cor. broad and derby streets athens, ga. written by: grace mccune [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, ga. benny's rocky little yard is gay with flowers and a flourishing rose vine shades the small porch at the front of his ramshackle two-room cabin. the old negro was busily engaged at washing his clothes. he is of medium size, darker than gingerbread in color, and his clothing on this day consisted of a faded blue shirt, pants adorned with many patches, and brogans. a frayed sun hat covered the gray hair that is "gittin' mighty thin on de top of my haid." benny was singing as he worked and his quavering old voice kept tune and rhythm to a remarkable degree as he carefully and distinctly pronounced: "jesus will fix it for you, just let him have his way he knows just how to do, jesus will fix it for you." almost in the same breath he began another song: "all my sisters gone, mammy and daddy too whar would i be if it warn't for my lord and marster." about this time he looked up and saw his visitor. off came the old sun hat as he said: "'scuse me, missy, i didn't know nobody was listenin' to dem old songs. i loves to sing 'em when i gits lonesome and blue. but won't you come up on my porch and have a cheer in de shade? dere's a good breeze on dat little porch." having placed a chair for the visitor and made himself comfortable on a crude bench, benny began his story: "missy, de good lord gives and he takes away, and us old darkies is a-passin' out of dis world. dat was why i was a-singin'. one of my bestest friends done passed on to glory dis very mornin'. i knows i'se goin' to miss old randal clayton 'cause both of us warn't no good but for to set and talk 'bout old times." tears rolled down his face as he told of his friend, and the visitor, fearful that he was too much overcome by grief to be able to give a good story, suggested that another engagement be made to record his reminiscences, but he objected. "lawsy, missy!" he protested. "please don't go now, for dem old times is on my mind today and i would so love to talk 'bout 'em now, if you don't mind. if i talks too much, jus' tell me, 'cause i'se mighty apt to do dat when onct i gits started. "my mammy and daddy, dey warn't from dis part of de country. my mammy said dat not long atter she got to america from a trip on de water dat took nigh months to make, dey brung her from virginny and sold her down here in georgy when she was jus' 'bout years old. de onliest name she had when she got to georgy was nancy. i don't know whar my daddy come from. him and mammy was both sold to marse isaac dillard and he tuk 'em to live on his place in elbert county, close to de place dey calls goose pond. dey lived at home on dat big old plantation. by dat, i means dat marse isaac growed evvything needed to feed and clothe his folks 'cept de little sugar, coffee, and salt dey used. i don't 'member so much 'bout times 'fore de big war 'cause i warn't but years old when us was made free. tellin' de slaves dey was free didn't make much diff'unce on our place, for most of 'em stayed right on dar and wukked wid old marster jus' lak dey allus done. dat plantation was jus' lak a little town, it was so big and it had evvything us wanted and needed. "slaves lived in log cabins what had red mud daubed in de cracks 'twixt de logs. de roofs was made out of boards what had so many cracks 'twixt 'em, atter a few rains made 'em swink (shrink), dat us could lay in bed and see de stars through dem big holes. even if us did have leaky houses, folkses didn't git sick half as much as dey does now. our homemade beds was made out of rough planks nailed to high poles; leastways de poles was high for de headpieces, and a little lower for de footpieces. for most of dem beds, planks was nailed to de wall for one long side and dere was two laigs to make it stand straight on de other long side. dey never seed no metal springs dem days but jus' wove cords back and forth, up and down and across, to lay de mattress on. i never seed no sto'-bought bed 'til atter i was married. bedticks was made out of homespun cloth stuffed wid wheatstraw, and sometimes dey slept on rye or oatstraw. pillows was stuffed wid hay what had a little cotton mixed in it sometimes. atter a long day of wuk in de fields, nobody bothered 'bout what was inside dem pillows. dey slept mighty good lak dey was. dey fixed planks to slide across de inside of de holes dey cut out for windows. de doors swung on pegs what tuk de place of de iron hinges dey uses dese days. dem old stack chimblies was made out of sticks and red mud. "de fireplaces was a heap bigger dan dey has now, for all de cookin' was done in open fireplaces den. 'taters and cornpone was roasted in de ashes and most of de other victuals was biled in de big old pots what swung on cranes over de coals. dey had long-handled fryin' pans and heavy iron skillets wid big, thick, tight-fittin' lids, and ovens of all sizes to bake in. all of dem things was used right dar in de fireplace. dere never was no better tastin' somepin t'eat dan dat cooked in dem old cook-things in open fireplaces. "chillun never had no wuk to do. dey jus' et and frolicked around gittin' into evvything dey could find. dey never got no lickin's 'less dey was mighty bad, 'cause our marster said he warn't gwine to 'low no beatin' on his niggers 'cept what he done his own self, and dat was pow'ful little. in hot weather chillun played on de crick and de best game of all was to play lak it was big meetin' time. white chillun loved to play dar too wid de little slave chillun. us would have make-believe preachin' and baptizin' and de way us would sing was a sight. one of dem songs us chillun loved de best went lak dis: 'why does you thirst by de livin' stream? and den pine away and den go to die. 'why does you search for all dese earthly things? when you all can drink at de livin' spring, and den can live.' "when us started playin' lak us was baptizin' 'em, us th'owed all us could ketch right in de crick, clothes and all, and ducked 'em. whilst us was doin' dat, us was singin': 'git on board, git on board for de land of many mansions, same old train dat carried my mammy to de promised land.' "one day our marster hid in de trees and watched us 'cause mist'ess had done been fussin' down 'bout chillun all comin' in soaked to de hide. he waited 'til he seed all de preachin' and baptizin', den he hollered for us to stop and he tuk de ones what was doin' all de baptizin' and made 'em pray and sing, den he ducked 'em good in de water and made us all go up to de house to show mist'ess how come so many of dem pore chillun had done been gittin' wet so much. us got a tannin' den dat marster 'lowed would help us to git sho' 'nough 'ligion. "de wooden bowls what slave chillun et out of was made out of sweetgum trees. us et wid mussel shells 'stid of spoons. dem mussel shells was all right. us could use 'em to git up plenty of bread and milk, or cornpone soaked wid peas and pot likker. dey never let chillun have no meat 'til dey was big enough to wuk in de fields. us had biscuit once a week, dat was sunday breakfast, and dem biscuits was cakebread to us. de fust bought meat us chillun ever seed was a slab of side-meat daddy got from de sto' atter us had done left de plantation, and us was skeered to eat it 'cause it warn't lak what us had been used to. "chillun jus' wore one piece of clothes in summertime and dey all went bar'foots. de gals' summer gyarment was a plain, sleeveless apron dress, and de boys wore skimpy little shirts and nothin' else. dey mixed cow-hair wid de cotton when dey wove de cloth to make our winter clothes out of, and i'm a-tellin' you missy, dat cow-hair cloth sho' could scratch, but it was good and warm and marster seed to it dat us had all de clothes us needed. de 'omans made all de cloth used on de place; dey cyarded, spun, and den wove it. mammy was de weaver; dat was all she done, jus' wove cloth. dey dyed it wid red mud and ink balls, and sich lak. "marster never lakked to git up real early hisself in slavery time, so he had one man what got de niggers up out of bed so early dat dey had done et breakfast and was in de field when daylight come. atter de war was over and evvybody was free, all de niggers used to jus' piddle and play 'round evvy mornin' whilst dey was waitin' for marster to come. dem and de mules would be jus' a-standin' still and when de word was passed dat marster had done got up all of 'em would start off wid a rush, jus' a-hollerin': 'whoa, dar! gee haw!' jus' lak dey had done been wukkin' hard all mornin'. one day marster cotch 'em at it, and he didn't say a word 'til time come to pay off, and he tuk out for all de time dey had lost. "sometimes slaves run away and hid out in caves. dey would pile up rocks and sticks and pine limbs to hide de caves, and sometimes dey would stay hid out for weeks, and de other niggers would slip 'em somepin t'eat at night. dere warn't many what run off on our place, 'cause our marster was so good to all of 'em dat dere warn't nothin' to run from. "marster made all his wuk tools at home. plow-sheers was made out of wood trimmed to de right shape and fastened to a iron point. when dey was plowin' in de young cotton, dey nailed a board on one side of de plow to rake de dirt back up 'round de cotton plants. "marster's gin was turned by a mule. dat big old gin wheel had wooden cogs what made de gin wuk when de old mule went 'round and 'round hitched to dat wheel. dat old cotton press was a sight. fust dey cut down a big old tree and trimmed off de limbs and made grooves in it for planks to fit in. it was stood up wid a big weight on top of it, over de cotton what was to be pressed. it was wukked by a wheel what was turned by a mule, jus' lak de one what turned de gin. a old mule pulled de pole what turned de syrup mill too. missy, dem old mules done deir part 'long side de niggers dem days, and marster seed dat his mules had good keer too. when dem mules had done turned de mill 'til de juice was squez out of de sugarcane stalks, dey strained dat juice and biled it down 'til it was jus' de finest tastin' syrup you ever did see. marster's mill whar he ground his wheat and corn was down on de crick, so de water could turn de big old wheel. "dem old cornshuckin's was sho' 'nough big times, 'cause us raised so much corn dat it tuk several days to shuck it all. us had to have two generals. dey chose sides and den dey got up on top of de biggest piles of corn and kept de slaves a-singin' fast so dey would wuk fast. de fust crowd what finished got de prize. dere ain't much i can 'member of words to dem old cornshuckin' songs. one general would start off singin': 'shuck up dis corn, shuck up dis corn, 'cause us is gwine home,' and de other general would be a-shoutin': 'make dem shucks fly, make dem shucks fly, us is gwine to go home.' over and over dey kept on singin' dem lines. come nighttime marster would have big bonfires built up and set out torches for 'em to see how to wuk, and evvy time he passed 'round dat jug of corn likker shucks would fly some faster. when all de corn was done shucked and de big supper had been et, dere was wrastlin' matches and dancin' and all sorts of frolickin'. "'til dey could git a colored preacher, slaves had to go to church wid deir white folks. missy, i 'members yit, de fust preacher i ever heared. he was a white man, preacher gibson dey called him, and his sermons made you mind what you was 'bout 'cause he preached straight from de bible. dat day when i fust heared him his text was: 'if you gits lost in sin, den you is lost from god's word, and will have to be borned again.' dat's de trufe, missy, it sho' is. young folks dese days is headed plumb straight for 'struction, 'cause dey won't listen to de gospel. if dey don't change from de way dey is goin' now de old debbil is gwine to ketch 'em sho. all of us had better mind what us is 'bout, for 'ligion most times now is by our own minds and thoughts, and somebody else is apt to follow de 'ligion he sees in us. de bible says to teach young folks de way dey should go, and dey won't depart from deir raisin'. you sho' can't raise 'em right by jus' teachin' 'em dese days; it evermore do take plenty of layin' on of dat rod. i would jus' lak to see how dese young folks would lak it if dey had to ride for miles and miles in a oxcart, or else walk it, to git to 'tend church. dere wouldn't be many of de ones i knows 'round here would git dar. us used to have four steers hitched to our old cart, and it was slow-goin', but us got dar. "atter us got our own churches us still had to have white preachers for a long time and den us was 'lowed to have colored preachers. when somebody wanted to jine our church us 'zamined 'em, and if us didn't think dey was done ready to be tuk in de church, dey was told to wait and pray 'til dey had done seed de light. anybody can jine up wid de church now, missy, and it ain't right de way dey lets 'em come in widout 'zaminin' 'em. de good lord sho' don't lak dat way of handlin' his church business. one of dem cand-i-dates was a mean nigger and our preacher and deacons wouldn't let him in our church. den he went over to another church and told 'em dat he had talked wid de lord 'bout how us wouldn't let him jine up wid us, and he 'lowed dat de lord said to him: 'dat's all right. i done been tryin' to jine up in dat church for years myself, and can't git in, so you go on and jine another church.' dat other church let dat bad nigger in and it warn't long 'fore dey had to turn him out, 'cause he warn't fittin' to be in no church. "our preacher used to give us parables. one of 'em was lak dis: 'i'se seed good cotton growin' in de grass.' he 'splained it dat dere was some good in de wust sinners. another of his parables was: 'if you can't keep up wid de man at de foot, how is you gwine to keep up wid de higher-up folks?' dat meant if you can't sarve god here below, how is you gwine to git along wid him if you gits to heben? our preacher told us to sarve both our marsters. de fust marster was god, he said, and de other one was our white marster. "i ain't never been inside no courtroom and don't never 'spect to be dar, 'cause, missy, i don't mind nobody's business but my own, and dat's all i can do. "no mam, i don't never git much sick. i had a bad old haid cold last winter, but i stopped dat wid coal oil and by breathin' in smoke from scorched leather. light'ood splinter tea is helpful when i has a chist cold. salts ain't de best thing for old folks to be doctored wid. i takes common cookin' soda sweetened wid a little sugar. dem is old-time doses from way back in de old days, and i still use 'em all. "durin' of de war time, soda and salt was both hard to git. dey biled down de dirt from under old smokehouses to git salt, and soda was made out of burnt corncobs. you would be s'prised to see what good cookin' could be done wid dat old corncob soda. "us wukked for mr. green hubbard de fust year us left de old plantation, but he wouldn't pay us so us left him and rented some land to farm. den i went to wuk for mr. stephens and stayed wid him years. he was one of de owners of de georgy railroad and i used to drive for him when he went to 'gusty (augusta) to dem board meetin's. he had one of dem old-time gins what run by mule power, and us sho' did gin a heap of cotton. lots of times he had us to haul it all de way to 'gusty on dem wagons. mr. stephens' place was at crawford, georgy. "me and my gal runned away to git married. if you please, mam, come inside and look at her pitcher. ain't she a fine lookin' gal? well, she was jus' as good as she looks. i keeps her pitcher hangin' right over my bed so as i can look at her all de time." the small room was tidy and clean. in one corner a narrow, single bed, neatly made, stood beneath the picture of benny's wife, mary. the picture showed a young woman dressed in white in the style of the period when tight waists and enormous puffed sleeves were in vogue. an old washstand supporting a huge mirror, a small table, evidently used as a dining table, two chairs, a small cupboard filled with dishes, and a small, wood-burning stove completed the furnishings of the room. back on the porch again, benny resumed the story of his marriage. "her daddy wouldn't 'gree for us to git married 'cause he wanted her to stay on and wuk for him. she warn't but seventeen. my boss-man let us use his hoss and buggy and, missy, dat fast hoss is what saved de day for us. when i got to whar i was to meet her, i seed her runnin' down de road wid her daddy atter her fast as he could go on foot. i snatched her up in dat buggy and it seemed lak dat hoss knowed us was in a hurry 'cause he sho' did run. squire jimmie green married us and when us got back to my boss-man's house her daddy had done got dar and was a-raisin' cane. boss stephens, he come out and told her daddy to git on 'way from dar and let us 'lone, 'cause us was done married and dere warn't nothin' could be done 'bout it. us had a hard time gittin' started housekeepin', 'cause my daddy couldn't holp us none. our bed was one of dem home-made ones nailed to de side of de house. us lived together years 'fore de lord tuk her home to heben years ago. dem years was all of 'em happy years. since she's been gone i'se mighty lonesome, but it won't be long now 'til i see her, for i'se ready to go whenever de good lord calls me." [hw: atlanta dist. driskell] the experience of george eason in slavery time [may ] mr. george eason was born in forsyth, ga., on the plantation of mr. jack ormond. in addition to himself there were six other children, one of whom was his twin brother. he and his brother were the oldest members of this group of children. his mother, who was the master's cook, had always belonged to the ormond family while his father belonged to another family, having been sold while he (george) was still a baby. it so happened that mr. ormond was a wealthy planter and in addition to the plantation that he owned in the country, he also maintained a large mansion in the town. the first few years of his life were spent in town where he helped his mother in the kitchen by attending to the fire, getting water, etc. he was also required to look after the master's horse. unlike most other slave owners who allowed their house servants to sleep in the mansion, mr. ormond had several cabins built a short distance in the rear of his house to accommodate those who were employed in the house. this house group consisted of the cook, seamstress, maid, butler, and the wash woman. mr. eason and those persons who held the above positions always had good food because they got practically the same thing that was served to the master and his family. they all had good clothing--the women's dresses being made of calico, and the butler's suits of good grade cloth, the particular kind of which mr. eason knows nothing about. he himself wore a one-piece garment made of crocus. mr. eason was about or years of age when he was first sent to work in the field. it was then that his troubles began. he says that he was made to get up each morning at sun-up and that after going to the field he had to toil there all day until the sun went down. he and his fellow slaves had to work in all types of weather, good as well as bad. although the master or the overseer were not as cruel as some he had heard of they tolerated no looseness of work and in case a person was suspected of loafing the whip was applied freely. although he was never whipped, he has heard the whip being applied to his mother any number of times. it hurt him, he says, because he had to stand back unable to render any assistance whatever. (this happened before he was sent to the plantation.) when his mother got these whippings she always ran off afterwards and hid in the woods which were nearby. at night she would slip to the cabin to get food and while there would caution him and the other children not to tell the master that they had seen her. the master's wife who was very mean was always the cause of her receiving these lashings. some nights after he and the other slaves had left the field they were required to do extra work such as ginning cotton and shelling peas and corn, etc. the young women were required to work that in some respects was as hard as that the men did, while the older women usually did lighter work. when the time came to pick the cotton all hands were converted into pickers. night was the only time that they had to do their washing and to cultivate the small gardens they were allowed to have. during the months when there was little field work to do they were kept busy repairing fences, etc. on the farm. every day was considered a working day except sunday, thanksgiving and christmas. they were not allowed to celebrate on these days as were the slaves on other nearby plantations. clothing on the ormond plantation was usually insufficient to satisfy the needs of the slave. each year one issue was given each slave. for the men this issue consisted of pair of brogan shoes, several homespun shirts, a few pairs of knitted socks, and two or three pairs of pants. the brogans were made of such hard leather until the wearers' feet were usually blistered before the shoes were "broken in." the women, in addition to a pair of shoes and some cotton stockings were given several homespun dresses. on one occasion mr. eason says that he wore his shoes out before time for an issue of clothing. it was so cold until the skin on his feet cracked, causing the blood to flow. in spite of this his master would give him no more shoes. all clothing was made on the plantation except the shoes. those women who were too old for field work did the sewing in addition to other duties to be described later. indigo was cultivated for dyeing purposes and in some instances a dye was made by boiling walnut leaves and walnut hulls in water. in addition to her duties as cook, mr. eason's mother had to also weave part of the cloth. he told of how he had to sit up at night and help her and how she would "crack" him on the head for being too slow at times. the amount of food given each slave was also inadequate as a general rule. at the end of each week they all went to a certain spot on the plantation where each was given peck of meal, gal. of syrup, and pounds of meat. they often suffered from that particular stomach ailment commonly known as hunger. at such times raids were made on the smokehouse. this was considered as stealing by the master and the overseer but to them it was merely taking that which they had worked for. at other times they increased their food by hunting and fishing. possums and coons were the usual game from such a hunting expedition. all meals usually consisted of grits, bacon, syrup, corn bread and vegetables. on sundays and holidays the meals varied to the extent that they were allowed to have biscuits which they called "cake bread." the slaves made coffee by parching corn meal, okra seed or irish potatoes. when sufficiently parched any one of the above named would make a vile type of coffee. syrup was used for all sweetening purposes. the produce from the gardens which the master allowed them could only be used for home consumption and under no circumstances could any of it be sold. the cabins that the slaves occupied were located on one section of the plantation known as the "quarters." these dwellings were crude one-roomed structures usually made from logs. in order to keep the weather out mud was used to close the openings between the logs. in most instances the furnishing of a cabin was complete after a bed, a bench (both of which were made by the slave) and a few cooking utensils had been placed in it. as there were no stoves for slave use all cooking was done at the fireplace, which, like the chimney, was made of mud and stones. one or two openings served the purpose of windows, and shutters were used instead of glass. the mattresses on which they slept were made from hay, grass or straw. when a light was needed a tallow candle or a pine knot was lighted. absolute cleanliness was required at all times and the floors, if they were made of wood, had to be swept and scrubbed often. in addition to the private dwellings there was one large house where all children not old enough to go to the field were kept. one or two of the older women took charge of them, seeing that they had a sufficient amount of corn bread, vegetables and milk each day. all were fed from a trough like little pigs. these old women were also responsible for the care of the sick. when asked if a doctor was employed, mr. eason replied that one had to be mighty sick to have the services of a doctor. the usual treatment for sick slaves was castor oil, which was given in large doses, salts and a type of pill known as "hippocat." (ipecac) although they were not permitted any formal type of learning religious worship it was not denied them. each sunday mr. ormond required that all his slaves attend church. all went to the white church where they sat in back and listened to the sermon of a white preacher. mr. eason says that the slaves believed in all kinds of and every conceivable type of signs. their superstitions usually had to do with methods of conjure. a preacher was never used to perform a wedding ceremony on the ormond plantation. after the man told the master about the woman of his choice and she had been called and had agreed to the plan, all that was necessary was for the couple to join hands and jump over a broom which had been placed on the ground. mr. ormond permitted few if any celebrations or frolics to take place on his farm. when he did grant this privilege his slaves were permitted to invite their friends who of course had to get a "pass" from their respective masters. they, too, were required to secure a pass from mr. ormond if they wanted to visit off the premises. if caught by the "paddle rollers" (patrollers) without this pass they were soundly whipped and then taken to their master. at the beginning of the civil war all the slaves talked among themselves concerning the possible outcome of the war. however, they never let the master or the overseer hear them because it meant a whipping. when sherman and his army marched through they burned all the gin houses on the ormond plantation and took all the available live stock. mr. ormond took a few prized possessions and a few slaves (one of whom was mr. eason) and fled to augusta, ga. after freedom was declared he was still held in bondage and hired out by the day. once he ran away but was found and brought back. in the remaining members of the ormond family moved to atlanta, bringing him along with them. after most of them had died he was finally permitted to go or stay as he pleased. immediately after freedom had been declared he had the good fortune to find his father. however, he never got a chance to spend any time with him as the ormonds refused to release him. says mr. eason: "slavery had a good point in that we slaves always felt that somebody was going to take care of us." he says that he has heard some wish for the good old days but as for himself he prefers things to remain as they are at present. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave callie elder, age w. hancock avenue athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & [jun ] callie lives with her daughter, cornelia, in a -room house near the crest of a hill. their abode is a short distance from the street and is reached by steep stone steps. in response to the call for callie, a tall mulatto woman appeared. her crudely fashioned blue dress was of a coarse cotton fabric and her dingy head rag had long lost its original color. straight black hair, streaked with gray, and high cheek bones gave the impression that in her ancestry of mixed races, indian characteristics predominate. her constant use of snuff causes frequent expectoration and her favorite pastime seems to be the endeavor to attain an incredible degree of accuracy in landing each mouthful of the amber fluid at the greatest possible distance. as she was about to begin conversation, a little yellow boy about five years old ran into the room and callie said: "'scuse me please, i can't talk 'til i gits my grandboy off so he won't be late to school at little knox. set down in dat dar cheer and i'll be right back." soon callie returned and it was evident that her curiosity was aroused. when the interviewer explained the purpose of the visit, she exclaimed: "lordy! miss, what is de government gwine do next? for de god's truth, i never knowed i would have to tell nobody what happened back in dem days, so its jus' done slipped out of my mind. "anyhow, i warn't even born in clarke county. i was born in floyd county, up nigh rome, georgia, on marse billy neal's plantation. ann and washin'ton neal was my mammy and pappy. no ma'am, no preacher never married 'em. marse billy neal, he owned bofe of 'em and atter my pappy axed him could he marry mammy, marse billy made 'em go up to de hall of de big house and jump backwards over a broom. "dere was six of us chillun: me and frances, beulah, thomas, felix, and scott. dere was mighty little wuk done by chillun in slav'ry days. i jus' played 'round and kicked up my heels wid de rest of de chillun. when us played our hidin' game, us sung somepin' lak dis: 'mollie, mollie bright three score and ten, can i git dere by candlelight? yes, if your laigs is long enough!' "sometimes us played what us called de 'crow' game. us spread our fingers out, side by side and counted 'em out wid a rhyme. de one de last word of de rhyme fell on had to be de crow. i didn't love to be counted out and made de crow, but it was a heap of fun to count de others out. since i been knee high to a grasshopper, i ain't never done nothin' but wuk 'round white folks' houses. "our log cabins what us lived in was daubed inside and out wid mud to keep out bad weather. our beds was held together by cords what was twisted evvy which way. you had to be mighty careful tightenin' dem cords or de beds was liable to fall down. us slept on wheat straw mattresses and had plenty of good warm quilts for kiver. "grown folks was fed cornbread and meat wid plenty of vegetables in de week days and on sunday mornin's dey give 'em wheat bread, what was somethin' slaves didn't see no more 'til de next sunday mornin'. 'bout four o'clock on summer atternoons, dey sot a big old wooden bowl full of cornbread crumbs out in de yard and poured in buttermilk or potliquor 'til de crumbs was kivered. den dey let de chillun gather 'round it and eat 'til de bowl was empty. in winter chillun was fed inside de house. "'possums, oh, mussy me! my grandpa hunted 'possums at night and fetched in two and three at a time. don't say nothin' 'bout dem rabbits for dere warn't no end to 'em. rabbits stewed, rabbits fried, and rabbits dried, smoked, and cured lak hog meat! i et so many rabbits when i was young i can't stand to look at 'em now but i could eat 'possums and gnaw de bones all day long. marse billy let grandpa go fishin' and he was all time bringin' back a passel of minnows and other fishes. us rubbed 'em down wid lard and salt and pepper, den rolled 'em in cornmeal and baked 'em. i never seed no fried meat 'til i was a big strappin' gal. dere was one big gyarden whar dey raised 'nough vegetables for all de white folks and slaves too. all de bilin' was done in pots swung on cranes over coals in de fireplace. "our clothes was made new for us in de fall out of cloth wove in looms right dar on de plantation. top clothes was dyed wid hick'ry bark. de full skirts was gathered to tight fittin' waisties. underskirts was made de same way. de dresses had done wore thin 'nough for hot weather by de time winter was gone so us wore dem same clothes straight on through de summer, only us left off de underskirts den. slave chillun didn't never wear no shoes. our foots cracked open 'til dey looked lak goose foots. us wore de same on sunday as evvy day, 'cept dat our clothes was clean, and stiff wid meal starch when us got into 'em on sunday mornin's. "marse billie neal was our owner and miss peggy was his old 'oman. dey was jus' as good to us as dey could be. deir two chillun was marse tom and marse mid. de car'iage driver never had much to do but drive marse billy and miss peggy 'round and, course he had to see dat de hosses and car'iage was kept clean and shiny. i don't 'member if he tuk de chillun 'round. chillun didn't stand de show dey does now. "oh, no ma'am, i sho' can't tell nothin' t'all 'bout how big dat old plantation was, but it was one whoppin' big place. dere was too many slaves on dat plantation for me to count. de overseer got 'em up by : o'clock and de mens had to be in de fields by sunrise. de 'omans went out 'bout : o'clock. dey stopped wuk at sundown and by de time dey et and done de chores for de day it was : o'clock 'fore dey hit de bed. de cabins was built in a circle and de overseer went de rounds evvy night to see if de slaves was in bed. "yes ma'am, dey whupped de niggers. my pappy and grandpa was de wust ones 'bout gittin' licked. evvy time pappy runned away marse billy sicked dem hounds on his heels and dey was sho' to ketch him and fetch him back. dey had to keep knives from pappy or when dem dogs cotch him he would jus' cut 'em up so dey would die. when dey got him back to de house, dey would buckle him down over a barrel and larrup him wid a plaited whup. 'omans warn't whupped much. my grandpa york was so bad 'bout runnin' 'way marse billy made him wear long old horns. one sunday marse billy went by our church to see if all his niggers was dar what was sposen to be dar. and dere grandpa was a-sottin' wid dem horns on his head. marse billy told him he could take de horns off his head whilst he was in de meetin' house. at dat grandpa dropped dem horns, and lit a rag to de woods and it tuk de dogs days to find him. "if one slave kilt another, marse billy made de overseer tie dat dead nigger to de one what kilt him, and de killer had to drag de corpse 'round 'til he died too. de murderers never lived long a-draggin' dem daid ones 'round. dat jus' pyorely skeered 'em to death. dere was a guard house on de farm, whar de wust niggers was kept, and while dey was in dat guard house, dey warn't fed but once a day. it warn't nothin' unusual for marse billy to sell slaves, but he never sold his best niggers. de ones he sold was allus dem he couldn't git no wuk out of. "not a nigger could read or write on marse billy's plantation. dey was all too dumb to larn. dere was a shackly sort of church house on our plantation and on sundays atter de niggers had cleaned deyselfs up, if dey told marse billy dey wanted to go to church, he sent 'em on. all i knows 'bout baptizin's is dey jus' tuk 'em to de river and plunged 'em in. dey sung somepin' 'bout: 'gwine to de river for to be baptized.' us had prayer meetin's on wednesday nights sometimes. "oh, mussy! don't ax me 'bout fun'rals. i got de misery in my laigs and i feels too bad dis mornin' to let myself even think 'bout fun'rals. back den when slave folks died dey jus' put 'em in home-made pine coffins what dey throwed in a wagon and tuk 'em to de graveyard. at dem buryin's, dey used to sing: 'am i born to die to let dis body down.' "none of our niggers ever runned away to de north. dey was too busy runnin' off to de woods. jus' to tell de truth dem niggers on our place was so dumb dey didn't even take in 'bout no north. dey didn't even know what de war was 'bout 'til it was all over. i don't know whar to start 'bout dem patterollers. dey was de devil turned a-loose. dere was a song 'bout 'run nigger run, de patteroller git you!' and dey sho' would too, i want to tell you. "what de slaves done on saddy night? dey done anything dey was big 'nough to do. dere warn't no frolickin' 'cept on sadday night. niggers on our place wukked all day sadday 'cept once a month. some of de slaves would slip off and stay half a day and de overseer wouldn't miss 'em 'cause dere was so many in de field. it was jus' too bad for any nigger what got cotched at dat trick. sadday night, slaves was 'lowed to git together and frolic and cut de buck. "christmas day marse billy called us to de big house and give us a little fresh meat and sweet bread, dat was cake. christmas warn't much diff'unt f'um other times. jus' more t'eat. us jus' had dat one day off, and new year's day was used as a holiday too. "oh, dem cornshuckin's! all day 'fore a cornshuckin' dey hauled corn and put it in great piles as high as dis here house. us sung all de time us was shuckin' corn. dere was a lot of dem old shuckin' songs. de one us sung most was: 'whooper john and calline all night.' marse billy, he give 'em coffee and whiskey all night and dat made 'em git rough and rowdy. den de shucks did fly. us had one more grand feast when de last ear of corn had done been shucked. dere warn't nothin' lackin'. "cotton pickin's warn't planned for fun and frolic lak cornshuckin's. if marse billy got behind in his crops, he jus' sent us back to de fields at night when de moon was bright and sometimes us picked cotton all night long. marster give de 'oman what picked de most cotton a day off, and de man what picked de most had de same privilege. "old aunt martha what nussed de chillun while deir mammies wukked in de field was de quiltin' manager. it warn't nothin' for 'omans to quilt three quilts in one night. dem quilts had to be finished 'fore dey stopped t'eat a bit of de quiltin' feast. marse billy 'vided dem quilts out 'mongst de niggers what needed 'em most. "dem blue and white beads what de grown 'omans wore was jus' to look pretty. dey never meant nothin' else. mammy would skeer us down 'bout rawhead and bloody bones. us was all time a-lookin' for him, but he never got dar. what skeered us most was painters (panthers) a-howlin' close to our cabins at night. you could hear 'em most any night. when mammy wanted to make us behave all she had to say was: 'i hears dem painters comin'!' dat made us jus' shake all over and git mighty still and quiet. de mens tried to run dem painters down, but dey never did ketch one. "one of de cabins was allus ha'nted atter some of de slaves got kilt in it whilst dey was fightin'. nobody never could live in dat cabin no more atter dat widout ha'nts gittin' atter 'em. de wust of 'em was a 'oman ha'nt what you could hear sweepin' up leaves in de yard and all dat time you might be lookin' hard and not see a leaf move. in dat cabin you could all time hear ha'nts movin' cheers and knockin' on de wall. some of dem ha'nts would p'int a gun in your face if you met 'em in de dark. dem ha'nts was too much for me. "our white folks was good as dey knowed how to be when us got sick. i don't 'member dat dey ever had a doctor for de slaves, but dey give us all kinds of home-brewed teas. pinetops, mullein and fat light'ood splinters was biled together and de tea was our cure for diff'unt ailments. scurvy grass tea mixed wid honey was good for stomach troubles, but you sho' couldn't take much of it at a time. it was de movin'est medicine! round our necks us wore asafetida sacks tied on strings soaked in turpentine. dat was to keep diseases off of us. "what does i 'member 'bout de war? well, it was fit to fetch our freedom. marse billy had a fine stallion. when de sojers was comin', he sont pappy to de woods wid dat stallion and some gold and told him not to let dem yankees find 'em. dat stallion kept squealin' 'til de yankees found him, and dey tuk him and de gold too. grandma was a churnin' away out on de back porch and she had a ten dollar gold piece what she didn't want dem sojers to steal, so she drapped it in de churn. dem yankees poured dat buttermilk out right dar on de porch floor and got grandma's money. marse billy hid hisself in a den wid some more money and other things and dey didn't find him. dey tuk what dey wanted of what dey found and give de rest to de slaves. atter de sojers left, de niggers give it all back to marster 'cause he had allus been so good to 'em. "us stayed on wid marse billy for sev'ral years atter de war. he paid us $ a month and he 'lowanced out de rations to us evvy week; most allus on monday 'cause sundays us had 'nough company to eat it all at one time. he give us three pounds of fat meat, a peck of meal, a peck of flour, ¢ worth of sugar, and a pound of coffee. dat had to last a whole week. "i didn't take in nothin' 'bout abraham lincoln, jefferson davis and dat dar booker t. washin'ton man, but i heared folks say dey was all right. "what is you talkin' 'bout miss? i didn't need to have no big weddin' when i married lige elder. it was a big 'nough thing to git a man lak what i got. what did i want to have a big weddin' for when all i was atter was my man? us had done been married years 'fore us had no chillun. dis here cornelia what i lives wid was our first chile. she ain't got no chillun. isaac, my boy, has got four chillun. my old man died 'bout two years ago. "i j'ined de church 'cause i was happy and wanted de world to know i had done got 'ligion. i think evvybody ought to git 'ligion. god says if us do right he will give us all a home in his heaven. "i'd rather have de days as dey is now in some ways. but one thing i does lak to do is eat and us had a plenty of good eatin' den and never had to worry none 'bout whar it was a-comin' f'um. miss, ain't you through axin' me questions yet? i'm tired of talkin'. i done let de fire go out under my washpot twice. dem white folks ain't gwine to lak it if dey has to wait for deir clothes, and dis misery in my laigs, it sho' does hurt me bad dis mornin'." martha everette, ex-slave hawkinsville, georgia (interviewed by elizabeth watson-- ) [jul ] born in pulaski county about , the daughter of isaac and amanda lathrop, martha everette has lived all her life near where she was born. prior to freedom, her first job was "toting in wood", from which she was soon "promoted" to waiting on the table, house cleaning, etc. she make no claims to have ever "graduated" as a cook, as so many old before-the-war negresses do. "aunt" martha's owner was a kind man: he never whipped the slaves, but the overseer "burnt 'em up sometimes." and her mother was a "whipper, too"--a woman that "fanned" her children religiously, so to speak, not overlooking martha. all the watson slaves attended the (white) baptist church at blue springs. rations were distributed on sunday morning of each week, and the slaves had plenty to eat. the slaves were also allowed to fish, thus often adding variety to their regular fare. negro women were taught to sew by the overseers' wives, and most of the slaves' clothes were made from cloth woven on the plantation. the yankees visited the lathrop plantation in ' , asked for food, received it, and marched on without molesting anything or any body. truly, these were well-behaved yankees! "aunt" martha says that she remembers quite well when the yankees captured jefferson davis. she and other slave children were in the "big house" yard when they heard drums beating, and soon saw the yankees pass with mr. davis. "aunt" martha, now old and decrepit, lives with one of her sons, who takes care of her. this son is a gardener and a carpenter and, being thrifty, fares much better than many negroes of his generation. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] by e. driskell typed by a.m. whitley - - first copy of article entitled: "an interview with lewis favor," ex-slave [may ] [tr: informant also referred to as favors in this document.] among atlanta's few remaining ex-slaves is one lewis favors. when he fully understood this worker's reasons for approaching him he consented to tell what he had seen and experienced as a slave. chewing slowly on a large wad of tobacco he began his account in the following manner: "i was born in merriweather county in near the present location of greenville, georgia. besides my mother there were eight of us children and i was elder than all of them with one exception. our owner was mrs. favors, but she was known to everybody as the "widow favors." my father was owned by a mr. darden who had a plantation in this same county. when the "widow's" husband died he left her about one-hundred acres of land and a large sum of money and so she was considered as being rich. she didn't have many slaves of her own and so her son (also a plantation owner) used to send some of his slaves over occasionally to help cultivate her crops, which consisted of cotton, corn, and all kinds of vegetables." in regard to her treatment of the slaves that she held mr. favors says: "she wasn't so tight and then she was pretty tight too." those slaves who were field hands were in the field and at work by the time it was light enough to see. they plowed, hoed, and then later in the season gathered the crops. after the harvesting was over the fences were repaired and rails were split. in rainy weather nobody had to work out of doors, instead they shelled the peas and corn and sometimes ginned the cotton. at night the women were required to spin and to weave. in the winter season no work was required at night unless they had not spun as much thread as was required. at such times they had to work at night until the amount set had been reached. mr. favor's mother was the cook for the "widow favors" and her two neices who lived with her. the favors had paid the owner of a hotel four hundred dollars to have the hotel cook teach her (mr. favors mother) to prepare all kinds of fancy dishes. his father was a field hand on the darden plantation. in addition to this he repaired all the shoes when this was necessary. as a child mr. favors was not very strong physically and because of this the "widow" made him her pet. he never had to do any work other than that of waiting on the mistress while she ate her meals. even in this he had to get up at four o'clock in the morning and help his mother in the kitchen. sometimes he would sweep the yards if he felt like doing so. when he grew older he was given the task of picking the seed out of the cotton at night. on sundays all the servants were free to do as they pleased, that is, with the exception of mr. favors, his mother, and the two women who serve as maids to the "widow's" two neices. at other times if a task was done before the day was over with they were given the remaining time to do as they pleased. however, everybody had a one week holiday at christmas. mr. favors made the following statement in regard to the clothing: "everybody wore the homespun cotton clothes that were made on the plantation by the slave women. the women wore striped ausenberg dresses while the men wore ausenberg pants and shirts that had been made into one garment. my clothes were always better than the other little fellows, who ran around in their shirttails because i was always in the house of the "widow." they used red clay to do the dyeing with. in the winter time cracked feet were common. the grown people wore heavy shoes called brogans while i wore the cast-off shoes of the white ladies. we all wrapped our feet in bagging sacks to help them to keep warm. we were given one complete outfit of clothes each year and these had to last until the time for the next issue." sheets for the beds were also made out of homespun material while the heavier cover such as the quilts, etc., were made from the dresses and the other clothing that was no longer fit for wear. as a general rule all of the slaves on this plantation had enough food to keep them well and healthy. at the end of each week the field hands were given enough food to last them seven days. for most of them the week's supply consisted of three and one-half pounds of pork or fat meat, one peck of meal, flour, and black molasses. the only meals that they had to prepare from the above mentioned articles were breakfast and supper. dinner was cooked in the plantation kitchen by one of the women who was too old for work in the fields. for this particular meal the slaves had some different type of vegetable each day along with the fat meat, corn bread, and the pot liquor which was served every day. they were allowed to come in from the fields to the house to be served. breakfast usually consisted of fat meat, molasses, and corn bread while supper consisted of pot-liquor, bread, and milk. the only variation from this diet was on sunday when all were allowed to have bisquits instead of corn bread. mr. favors was asked what happened if anyone's food was all eaten before it was time for the weekly issue and he answered: "it was just too bad for them 'cause they would have to do the best they could until the time came to get more." when such a thing happened to anyone the others usually helped as far as their limited supplies would permit. mr. favors says that he, his mother, and the two maids ate the same kind of food that the "widow," and her nieces were served. after he had seen to the wants of all at the table he had to take a seat at the table beside his owner where he ate with her and the others seated there. there were two one-roomed cabins located directly behind the four-roomed house of the "widow," the entire lot of them were built out of logs. these two cabins were for the use of those servants who worked in the house of their owner. at one end of each cabin there was a wide fireplace which was made of sticks, stones, and dried mud. instead of windows there were only one or two small holes cut in the back wall of the cabin. the beds were made out of heavy planks and were called "georgia looms," by the slaves. wooden slats were used in the place of bed springs while the mattresses were merely large bags that had been stuffed to capacity with hay, wheat straw, or leaves. the only other furnishings in each of these cabins were several benches and a few cooking utensils. mr. favors says: "we didn't have plank floors like these on some of the other plantations; the plain bare ground served as our floor." as he made this statement he reminded this worker that he meant his mother and some of the other house servants lived in these cabins. he himself always lived in the house with the "widow favors," who had provided a comfortable bed along with a small chair for his use. these slaves who worked in the fields lived in several cabins that were somewhat nearer to their fields than the other two cabins mentioned above. the remaining buildings on the favors' plantation were the smokehouse and the cook house where in addition to the cooking the younger children were cared for by another old person. the woman who cared for these children had to also help with the cooking. whenever any of the slaves were sick the doctor was called if conditions warranted it, otherwise a dose of castor oil was prescribed. mr. favors stated that after freedom was declared the white people for whom they worked gave them hog-feet oil and sometimes beef-oil both of which had the same effect as castor oil. if any were too ill to work in the field one of the others was required to remain at the cabin or at some other convenient place so as to be able to attend to the wants of these so indisposed. when mr. favors was asked if the servants on this plantation ever had the chance to learn how to read or to write he answered: "they was all afraid to even try because they would cut these off," and he held up his right hand and pointed to his thumb and forefinger. at any rate the "widow," nieces taught him to read a few months before the slaves were set free. on sunday all were required to attend the white church in town. they sat in the back of the church as the white minister preached and directed the following text at them: "don't steal your master's chickens or his eggs and your backs won't be whipped." in the afternoon of this same day when the colored minister was allowed to preach the slaves heard this text: "obey your masters and your mistresses and your backs won't be whipped." all of the marriages ware performed by the colored preacher who read a text from the bible and then pronounced the couple being married as man and wife. although nobody was ever sold on the favors plantation mr. favors has witnessed the selling of others on the auction block. he says that the block resembled a flight of steps. the young children and those women who had babies too young to be separated from them were placed on the bottom step, those in their early teens on the next, the young men and women on the next, and the middle-aged and old ones on the last one. prices decreased as the auctioneer went from the bottom step to the top one, that is, the younger a slave was the more money he brought if he was sold. sometimes there were slaves who were punished by the overseer because they had broken some rule. mr. favors says that at such times a cowhide whip was used and the number of lashes that the overseer gave depended on the slave owner's instructions. he has seen others whipped and at such times he began praying. the only punishment that he ever received was as a little boy and then a switch was used instead of the whip. if the "patter-roller" caught a slave out in the streets without a pass from his master they proceeded to give the luckless fellow five lashes with a whip called the cat-o-nine-tails. they gave six lashes if the slave was caught out at night regardless of whether he had a pass or not. as none of the slaves held by the "widow" or her son ever attempted to run away there was no punishment for this. however, he has heard that on other plantations blood hounds were used to trail those who ran away and if they were caught a severe beating was administered. sometime after the civil war had begun the "widow favors" packed as many of her belongings as possible and fled to lagrange, georgia. he and his mother along with several other slaves (one of whom was an old man) were taken along. he never heard any of the white people say anything about the war or its possible results. at one time a battle was being fought a few miles distant and they all saw the cannon balls fall on the plantation. this was when the journey to lagrange was decided upon. before leaving the "widow" had the slaves to bury all the meat, flour, and other food on the plantation so that the yankee soldiers would not get it. mr. favors was given about two thousand dollars in gold currency to keep and protect for his owner. at various intervals he had to take this money to the "widow". so that she might count it. another one of the slaves was given the son's gold watch to keep on his person until the yanks left the vicinity. before freedom was declared mr. favors says that he prayed all of the time because he never wanted to be whipped with the cowhide, like others he had seen. further he says that it was a happy day for him when he was told that he could do as he pleased because he realized then that he could do some of the things that he had always wanted to do. when freedom was declared for the slaves the favors family freed slaves valued at one-hundred and fifty thousand dollars. the live stock that they sold represented a like sum. mr. favors and his mother remained with the "widow," who gave him his board in return for his services and paid his mother twenty-five dollars per year for hers as cook. "even after the war things were pretty tough for us" stated mr. favors. "the plantation owners refused to pay more than thirty or forty cents to a person for a days work in the fields. some of them would not allow an ex-slave to walk in the streets in front of their homes but made them take to the out-of-the-way paths through the woods to reach their various destinations. at other times white men cut the clothes from the backs of the ex-slaves when they were well dressed. if they didn't beg hard enough when thus accosted they might even be cut to death!" after the first three years following the war conditions were somewhat better, he continued. mr. favors says that his old age is due to the fact that he has always taken good care of himself and because he has always refrained from those habits that are known to tear a person's health down. [hw: dist. ex-slave # ] the story of aunt mary ferguson, ex-slave oak street columbus, georgia december , "aunt" mary ferguson, née mary little, née mary shorter, was born somewhere in maryland; the exact locality being designated by her simply as "the eastern shore" of that state. she was born the chattel of a planter named shorter, so her first name, of course, was mary shorter. for many years she has resided with a daughter and a granddaughter, at oak avenue, columbus, georgia. "aunt" mary was about thirteen years old when, in , she was sold and brought south. the story of which, as told in her own words is as follows: "in i wuz a happy chile. i had a good ma an a good paw; one older bruther an one older suster, an a little bruther an a baby suster, too. all my fambly wucked in de fields, 'ceptin me an de two little uns, which i stayed at home to mind. (mind--care for). "it wuz durin' cotton chopping time dat year ( ), a day i'll never fergit, when de speckulataws bought me. we come home from the fiel' 'bout haf atter 'leven dat day an cooked a good dinner, i hopin her. o, i never has forgot dat last dinner wid my fokes! but, some-ow, i had felt, all de mawnin, lak sumpin was gwineter hapin'. i could jes feel it in my bones! an' sho nough, bout de middle of the even', up rid my young marster on his hoss, an' up driv two strange white mens in a buggy. dey hitch dere hosses an' cum in de house, which skeered me. den one o' de strangers said, 'git yo clothers, mary; we has bought you frum mr. shorter." i c'menced cryin' an' beggin' mr. shorter to not let 'em take me away. but he say, 'yes, mary, i has sole yer, an' yer must go wid em.' "den dese strange mens, whose names i ain't never knowed, tuk me an' put me in de buggy an' driv off wid me, me hollerin' at de top o' my voice an' callin' my ma! den dem speckulataws begin to sing loud--jes to drown out my hollerin.' "us passed de very fiel whar paw an' all my fokes wuz wuckin, an' i calt out as loud as i could an', as long as i could see 'em, 'good-bye, ma!' 'good-bye, ma!' but she never heared me. naw, nah, daz white mens wuz singin' so loud ma could'n hear me! an' she could'n see me, caze dey had me pushed down out o' sight on de floe o' de buggy. "i ain't never seed nor heared tell o' my ma an' paw, an' bruthers, an' susters from dat day to dis. "my new owners tuck me to baltymore, whar dey had herded tergether two two-hoss wagon loads o' niggers. all o' us niggers wuz den shipped on a boat to savannah, an' frum dar us wuz put on de cyars an' sont to macon. "in macon, us wuz sold out, and doctor (w.r.) little, of talbotton, bought me at oxion (auction) an' tuck me home wid 'im. den i wuz known as mary little, instid of mary shorter." in the continuation of her narrative, "aunt" mary said that the littles trained her to be a nurse. before the war ended, she was inherited by mr. gus (the late hon. w.a.) little. she remembers that all the "quality", young white men who went to the war from talbotton took negro men-servants (slaves) along with them. these were usually called body-servants, and it was a body-servant's duty to cook, wash, and do general valet service for his master. in a pinch, he was also supposed to raid a hen roost, or otherwise rustle food for his "white fokes". according to "aunt" mary, the little negroes were very religious and given to much loud praying and singing, which often so disturbed dr. little that he gave orders for them to stop it, and also ordered that all lights in the slave quarters be out at o'clock each night. "so us tuck to slippin' off to a big gully in de pastur to sing and pray whar de white fokes couldn' hear us. "my fust baby wuz bawned in , during de secon' year o' de war. i has had several husbants, my las' un, he died 'bout seventeen years ago. "i ain't never seed but one hant in my life, an' i didn' know it wuz a hant 'til aunt peggy (an old slave woman) tole me so. dis hant was in de shape o' a duck, an' it followed me one day frum de big house kitchen ter de hawg pen whar i wuz gwine ter slop de hawgs. when i got back, i said, 'aunt peggy, dar's a strange duck done tuck up wid us!' and she say, 'hush, chile, dat's a hant!' i been seein' 'im fur severrel years! an' dat sholy skeert me!" when asked if she had ever been whipped when a slave, "aunt" mary replied, "yes, and thank god fur it, fur ole miss taught me to be hones' an' not to steal." she admitted that being whipped for stealing made her an honest woman. "aunt" mary's oldest child is now a man of . her hair is as white as cotton and her eye sight is dim, but she is still mentally alert. she says that colored people are naturally religious and that they learned all their "devilment" from the whites. she deplores the wickedness into which the world has drifted, but thanks god that slavery ended when it did. she has never had any particular love for the yankees, and thinks that they treated the southern white folks "most scandalously" after the war, yet feels that she owes them a debt of gratitude for freeing her people. she admits that her awful hatred of slavery was born of her sad experience as a girl when she was so unceremoniously separated from her loved ones, as previously told. she is also of the firm opinion the those "speculataws" who brought her from maryland to georgia in are "brilin in hell fur dey sin" of seperating her from her people. must jesus bear the cross alone and all the world go free? no, there is a cross for every one; there's a cross for me; this consecrated cross i shall bear til death shall set me free, and then go home, my crown to wear; there is a crown for me. sung for interviewer by mary ferguson, ex-slave, december , . folklore interview carrie nancy fryer mill street augusta, georgia written by: miss maude barragan federal writers' project residency # augusta, georgia an angular, red-skinned old negro women was treading heavily down the dusty sidewalk, leaning on a gnarled stick and talking to a little black girl. a "sundown" hat shaded a bony face of typical indian cast and her red skin was stretched so tight over high cheek bones that few wrinkles showed. "auntie," she was asked, "have you time to tell me something about slavery times?" "no'm, i sorry," she answered, "but i gwine to see a sick lady now, and i gots to 'tend to somepin'." "may i come back to see you at your house?" "yas'm, any time you wants. i live in de lil' house on de canal, it has a ellum tree in front. i riz it from sapling. i name dat lil' tree 'nancy' so when i gone, folks kin come by and bow and say 'howdy, nancy.'" she seated herself on a stone step and spread her many skirts of gray chambray, hand-sewed with big white stitches. an old woman came by, her shining black face puckered with anxiety, dressed in a starched white uniform and a battered black hat, well brushed. "morning, nancy," she said. "you look mighty peak-ked dis morning." "hunh!" grunted nancy, "i oughter. i bin to see de mayor. i say 'mr. mayor, here i is. i ain' got nuttin' to eat--it ain' right for a woman my age to beg food. now what yer gwine do 'bout it?' de mayor say: 'auntie, you go right down to de welfare office at de court house and tell de lady i sont you to git somepin' to eat.' i done dat--dey promise to send a lady, but i ain' see no lady yit." a heavy sigh rolled out. "i didn' lef' skin of meat in my house or a piece of cornpone. but i didn' take nuttin' to heart 'cause de lord is my helper." the old woman sighed too. "yeah, nancy, das de way dey does. i ain' gwine keep nasty house for nobody. but white people's funny. dey think if you got clean house and bleachin' sheets you mus' have somepin' to eat inside." she clenched her fist, and her voice rose. "i tells you right now--i gwine keep my house neat jus' like i bin taught, ef i never gits no somepin' t'eat and ain' got cornpone in de oven." "a poor creeter come to my house today to beg for somepin' to eat," said nancy, "i ain' got nuttin' and i tell her so. she say she gwine to de court-house too." "t'won't do no good," answered the other woman. "come over here, nancy. i wants to talk to you." with a dignified excuse, nancy creaked to her long length and moved deliberately to the edge of the sidewalk. whisperings followed, the voices of the two old women rising in their excitement. "i ain' gwine into somepin' i don't know nuttin' about." "nobody gwine 'swade me either." "my husband didn' put no composin' on me. if i don't git but one meal a day, i ain' gwine dirty. i didn' have mouthful t'eat in my house." the interested eavesdropper decided that the welfare office had talked social security to the women instead of direct relief, and they were worried and suspicious about the matter. the old black woman was getting angrier and angrier. "if any of 'em lookin' for me to have nasty old tore-up house, i ain' gwine did it. you dunno when sickness come. when my boy got his leg broke up, soon as dey could, dey put him off on me. miz' powell say: 'steve, if you don't be good to your ma, de lord gwine take your blessing from you.' dey paid steve $ . , nancy, and he ain't gimmie a nickle! he spent it on a woman in edgefield. but my gal is diffunt. if she ain' got but one mouthful she gwine give me half." nancy nodded: "dat like my gal too." the old woman took up her complaint again: "um got daughter. when you walk in her house, you think dey is a white person's house. when i was workin and able, i put down as many bleachin' sheets as any white 'oman." nancy's ponderous sigh rolled out. she was very "peaked" indeed on this hot september morning. "if sister got a hoecake of bread, she gwine give it to me. ain' nobody else to help now--de lord done come along and got ev'y one of my mother's chillun but me." seeing that present necessities were too important to permit an interview, the visitor said: "nancy, i'll see you tomorrow." a preoccupied goodbye followed the interviewer, and the excited conversation rose again. three days later nancy was found on the cluttered back porch of her house by the canal. she was moving heavily about, picking up behind a white boy and her bright-faced grandchild. her face was still worried, but her manner was warm and friendly. "i knowed you'd be comin'," she said, smiling, "but i looked for you yesterday." she sat down and settled herself for conversation, her long hands, still nice looking in spite of rheumatism, moving nervously over her gray chambray lap. "dis las' gone august i was years old," she began, "my sister say i older dan dat, but i know i born las' year of de war. i was born on governor pickens' place, de grove place fur out, and my mother was lizbeth cohen. must have was my father a indian, he brighter dan me, but redder. i kin' member miss dooshka pickens, de one what went to europe. dey put all de lil' chillun in a row for her to look at, and she sittin' up on her lil' pony lookin' at us chillun. she was a pretty thing, yeah, i knowed her well. after de war my mother and father rented land, paid de rent. we liveded well. i would go to school three months when we first gether all de krep (crop). we had a colored teacher in de baptist church where dey taught school. de name was spring grove. "my father died and mother, she moved over in ca-lina on general butler's place. she work in de fields. i wouldn' go to school but three months in de year. when i growed up i work for colonel doctor mckie in de house. he de fines' doctor i ever knowed. i got married to general butler's place where my mother was. i done had six chillun before i come to augusta. i nused to work for dr. sam litchenstein, years. he moved to louisville and dat thow me out anything to do. he tried to git me to go down dere wid him but i fell in bad health. den my daughter and dis yere grandchild, i couldn' bear to leave dem. i cried when dr. sam lef', he was good to me. i nused to carry dis grandchild to his house wid me all de time." as nancy's plantation recollections seemed vague, she was prompted to talk about remedies and cures and on these her mind worked with speed and decision. "i had high blood pressure so bad i couldn' walk right. my head nused to spin, laying down all night, couldn' res. one night i doze off in my sleep and a lady's spirit come to me. her and my mother was two friends, her name was cyndie gardenigh. she say: 'honey, in de morning when you git up, you git you some jimpson weed and put it wid cookin' salt and bind it on your head.' i done det. i nused to have long hair to my shoulder. jimpson weed done cut my hair off, but it cured my blood pressure. mus' did kill 'em!" asked how she treated her rheumatism, nancy replied: "git a pint glass wid a pint of kerosene in it, and a block of camphor. cut up de camphor and mix it round in de kerosene. pat it on when de pain come. when i got up dis morning, dis yere hand i couldn' move, and now it feel a heap better. lord, i done work so hard thoo' life, and all done tuk from me!" a moment's silence brought shadows to nancy's face. a twinge in her knee reminded her of rheumatism cures. she rubbed the painful spot and resumed: "you know what i am wearin' on my leg now? i made me two lil' bags and put a irish potato in it, and when it drawed up jus' as hard as a log it done me good. but you got to _steal_ two irish potatoes, and put around both legs jus' below de knee. i just' be leanin' back stiff all de time, couldn' walk. a old white man told me about dat. he see me walkin' along crooked and he say: 'auntie, what's de matter?' i told him. he say: 'now, i'll tell you what cure me. i was off in a furn (foreign) country, and a man say; me walking cripple, and he told me to steal two irish potatoes and wear 'em, and when dey git hard you burn 'em up.' i specked i bin crooked up all kind of fashion if i ain't done dat: i always bind a piece of brass around my leg. das' good like gold." the eager grandchild was hanging over nancy's shoulder, listening and smiling. the white boy edged up, and nancy laughed. "hunh! i spects dese chillun kin 'member tomorrow every word i tells you today. dey knows everything." her bony arm encircled the negro child. "jooroosalom oak--we got some and give it to dis lil' thing for worms. she went off in a trance and never come out until o'clock nex' day. i think we got de wrong thing and give her root instead of seed. i never fool wid it no more it skeered me so. thought we had killed de child." nancy was asked what her methods were in raising children. "bin so long i mos' forgot," she said. "all my babies growed straight 'cause i swep' 'em times for mornings from de knees down on out, dataway, and bathed 'em wid pot liquor and dish water. i ain' nused no root cep' sassafax roots to make tea outten das good to purge your blood in de spring of de year. drinkin' water from a horse trough, i hearn' tell das good for whoopin' cough and all lika-dat." "dat daughter of mine, she had a wen on her neck big as a apple. an old lady come to me. 'i come to git my child today,' she say, 'a lady died dis morning and i wants to take her dere.' well i didn' want my child gwine to de death house but she take her. de corpse ain' cold yit. she put her times across, nine times straight, and dat child was cured. yas'm, she got jus' as pretty face now! ain' no use talkin', she straighten my child, her and de lord! de wen went and jus' pass away. you got to do it before de corpse git cold, jus' after de breaf' pass out of de body." "i done mark three of my chillun. yas'm, i ruin't three of 'em. i was een de country and i was gwine thoo' de orchard, and de cherries was scarce. i looked up in de man's cherry tree, and one tree was full of fruit. dey jus' as pretty! i say: 'jim, please sir, give me one of dem cherries.' jim say: 'no!' i stood dere wishin' for dem cherries, scratchin' my wrist, and my child born wid cherry on his wrist, right where i scratch! i took de baby and showed him to old man jim, and he cry and pray over dat cherry and told me to forgive him and he never would do it no more. but he done it den." "i live in de country. i come to town where a white man was down here on mckinne street makin' dat soft white candy. i stood up and wished for it. it did look so pretty and i wanted some so bad and i didn' have no money. i was cryin', scratchin' my forehead over my right eye near de hair. he didn' give me none. when my gal born, she had white mark right on her forehead in de place i scratched." "my sister-in-law made me ruin't my other child. twas an old man coming along. he was ruptured. he had on a white ap'on, and she bus' out laughin' and say: 'look at dat!' i jus' young gal, ain' be thinkin' and i bus' out laughin' too, he did look funny. i ruin't my boy. he was in de same fix and when i look at him i feel so bad, and think 'dat didn' have to be.'" "dis kin happen: anybody see another person wid pretty hair and rub dey hair down, dat child gwine have mustee hair too. a old black 'oman had a baby. she seen somebody wid dat mustee hair (das what we calls black folks wid smooth straight hair) and when her child born, everybody say: 'look what dis baby got! long black hair!" asked about persons born with cauls, nancy grunted: "hunh! my mother said it cover my head, shoulders and all! i kin see ghosts. was a man lived right dere in dat house yonder. his name was will beasley but we call 'im bee. de fus' time he got sick he had a stroke, den he git up. de doctor told him to be careful but he would go out. one night about o'clock i see him go. i stay sittin' here on dis porch, and about o'clock here come bee out of his house, in his night clothes out de open door and cross de yard. he go behind dat house. i call out: 'bee, i thought you was gone off? he didn' notice me no more dan i never spoke. i got worried about him bein' sick and when he come out from behind de house i say: 'bee, you bes' be gwine indorrs, dress lika-dat. you git sick again.' he walk straight back in de house. pretty soon here come bee down de street, all dressed up in his brown pants and white shirt! i grab de bannister just' a-tremblin' and de hair rizzed up on my head. i knowed den he ain' got long for here. he come on by and say: 'nancy, how you feelin'?' i say: 'bee, how long you bin out?' he say: 'why, i bin gone since o'clock.' i didn't say nuttin' but i knowed i seed his spirit and it was his death. he tooken sick two or three weeks later jus' before labor day, and died all paralyzed up. a woman come to my house and say: 'nancy, give dis to bee.' i didn' want to see him if he dyin' but i went on over. i call: 'bee! bee!' he say: 'who dat, you, miz' nancy?' i say: 'here's a bottle of medicine miss minnie sont you.' he say: 'i can't move my right side.' he was: laying wid his leg and arm in the air: stiff as a board. he say: 'miz nancy?' i say: 'hunh?' he say: 'go down de canal bank and tell my minnie please come and rub me 'cause she know how. i want my minnie.' das de 'oman he bin livin' wid since his wife lef' him. i wait till de king mill boys come along and call 'em. 'tell miz' minnie dat will bee want her to come and rub him.' but she never did come till o'clock and he was dead before she come. "i did had a niece what died. she was about years old and a good boy. twas a year in august. i went on so over him, his mother say: 'don't you know his last words was, 'i'm on my way to heaven and i ain' gwine turn back?' don't worry, nancy.' but i did worry. dat night he come to me in spirit. he stand dere and look at me and smile, and he say: 'aunt, i am all right. aunt, i am all right,' over and over. den it went off. i was jus' as satisfy den, and i never worry no more." nancy said she saw ghosts all through her childhood. she did not characterize them as "hants" but spoke of them throughout as ghosts. "i seed 'em when i was chillun," she said, "me and my sister one night was comin' from spring. twas in de winter time and jus' as cold, twas dark and i had de light. sister say: 'babe, don't let dat light go out.' jus' den i seed it--a horse's head all spread out in fore! a big ball of fire! i yelled: 'oh, sister, look at de horse wid a head of fire!' she knock me out for dead! she grab dat light and run home and lef' me in de wood. when i come to i run to my mother crying and she say: 'now nancy, you know you kin see 'em but you ought not to tell de other chillun and skeer 'em. you mus' keep it to yourself.' ever since den, i won't tell nobody what i kin see. yas'm, i wake up in de nighttime and see 'em standin' all 'bout dis house. i ain' skeered--when you born wid de veil it jus' be natchel to see 'em. why, i sees 'em on de canal bank when de fog sprangles through de trees and de shape forms on de ground'. "i hears de death alarm too. one kind of call comes from out de sky, a big howlin' noise, loud like singin'--a regular tune. de other kind goes 'hummmmmmm' like somebody moanin'. i was settin' down and de bull bat come in de house. me and de chillun done all we could to git him out de house. a woman nex' door was name rachel. i say: 'rachel! dere's a bull bat in here and we can't get him out.' you know what she done? she turn her pocket inside out and dat bat went out de door jus' like it come in! dat a simple thing to do, ain' it? but it done de work. dat was on thursday night. saturday morning i got de news that my babiest sister was dead. one of my boys was wid her. i was settin' down wid my head bowed, prayin', and a white man dressed in a white robe come in de house and stood before me and say: 'oh, yeah! i gwine take your sister! den what your child gwine do?' i sot down and studied and i said: 'lord, i'll do de bes' i kin.' and miss you know i had to take dat child back! "before i los' my husband ev'y time he go out to work i couldn' hear nuttin' but knockin'--ever he step out de house somebody come to de door and knock four slow knocks. if he go off in de night it wouldn' stop till he git back. i wouldn' tell him 'cause i knowed twould worry him. i say: 'sam, les' us move.' he say: 'honey, we ain' long bin move here.' but us 'cided to move anyway. twas a big show in town. i let all de chillun go to de show. time i got my things fix up to move and went to cook my dinner come de knockin' four times. i knowed he'd be took sick pretty soon. he didn' 'low me to work. dat was a good husband! i had six chillun. he say: 'honey, no! i workin' makin' enough to support you. all i want you to do is keep dis house clean and me and my chillun, and i will pay you de five dollars every week de white lady would pay you.' and he done dat, gimme five dollars every week for myself. "a white lady was crazy about my work, jus' her and her husband. i got up soon one morning, time he left, and runned up dere and washed her clothes and ironed dem. den i started back home 'bout noon. i heared somethin' walkin' behind me. 'bip! bip!' i look round and didn' see nuttin'. i kep' a lookin' back and den i heard a voice moanin' and kind of singing: 'oh, yeah! i bin here and done took your mother. i bin here and done took your sister! now i'm a-comin' to take your husband!' talking to me like-dat in de broad open daytime! i say: 'no, you won't! no, you won't!' i commence a runnin', cryin' inside. when i got home i thow myself on de bed shiverin' and shakin'. twas no dinner done dat day. when he come home dat night he tooken sick and never got up again. he knock on de head of de bed jus' like de knocks come at de door, when he want me to go to him! he never lived but two weeks and went on to de judgment! "one night dey was givin' my husband toddy. he drink some and wanted me to finish it. i told him no, i ain' drinkin' after no sick folks 'cause it mean death. his first cousin tooked it and drank it. he was a fine looking man in two months he was gone too! "my husband come to me in spirit any time i git worried up. when i git in trouble he'll come and stand over me wid his arms folded behind him. he told me one night: 'you must pray, nancy. you must pray! um gwine help, and de lord gwine help you too.' missy, how you reckon he gwine help me if he dead? i ask de lord and beg him to take me too, beg him to please carry me home." nancy was becoming more and more doleful, and to take her mind from the thought of her dead husband, she was asked about remedies. "when us had de mumps mother git sardines and take de oil out and rub us jaws and dat cure us good. sassafax for measles, to run de numor (humor) out de blood. when de fever gone, she would grease us wid grease from skin of meat. git fat light'ood, make fire, cut de skin off bacon meat, broil it over flame and let grease drip into a pan, den rub us all over for de rash. couldn' wash us you see, 'cep' under de arms a little 'cause water musn' tech us. for a sty in de eye we nused to say: 'sty! lie!' you see dat call 'em a lie and dey go on off. 'um got a sty! sty! lie!' when witches ride me i took a sifter. an old lady told me de nex' time dey come, 'you put de sifter in de bed.' i done dat and dey ain' bother me since. a basin of water under de bed is good too." nancy had an experience with a gold digger. he came to board, and had an inconvenient habit of staying up all night. "i nused to have a old man stay here wid me. one night i couldn' lay down it was so cold, so i sit up and wrop in a blanket. he say: 'nancy, see yonder! in de corner of your yard is a pot of gold.' now i knows if you go and git de money what de dead done bury, you don't see no peace, so i told him he couldn' dig in my yard. i made him move. a 'oman say he went to stay wid her and when she got up one morning he had dug a hole in de yard big as a well, so she runned him off too. he had all de implee-ments but he wouldn' let nobody see him digging in de night. well miss, i knowed dat gold was truly in my yard, because i got up one night and looked out dere, and a white 'oman was standin' right where de old man say twas gold pot. i look at de white lady, a high white lady, and she kep' her eye down in dat corner guardin' de gold what she bury! den i seed her go on off thoo' de gate and i knowed twas de spirit of de woman what bury it." nancy did not remember any stories about witches, booger-men or animals, but she did give a version of the story of the mistress who was buried alive. "dat really did happen in edgefield," she said. "marster los' his daughter and den his butler went to de cemetery and dugged her up. he was gittin' de jewelries off of her finger when she moan; 'oh, you hurtin' my finger!' he runned back to de house and she got up out of de coffin and went to de big house. she knock on de door and her father went, and he fainted. her mother went, and she fainted. everyone went to de door fainted. but her father come to himself and he was so happy to have his daughter back, he said god let de man dig her up and git her out alive. he made dat nigger rich. gin him a whole plantation and two big carriage horses and a great big carriage and i dunno how much gold and silver. told him he didn' want him to do anything but sit down and live off of what he gin him de res' of his life." nancy asked her visitor to write a postcard to her "dear doctor" in louisville and tell him she was having a hard time. she insisted that the card be signed: "your carrie fryer what used to work for you, with love." "come back and see me some more," she begged wistfully, "i bin callin' you in my mind all week." plantation life anderson furr, age w. broad street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby [hw: (white)] athens edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & anderson furr's address led the interviewer to a physician's residence on broad street, where she was directed to a small frame house on the rear of the lot. the little three-room cottage has a separate entrance from pulaski street. three stone steps lead from the street to the narrow yard which is enclosed by a low rock coping. anderson rents only one room and the remainder of the house is occupied by annie sims and her husband, george, who works at the holman hotel. reclining comfortably in a cane-backed chair, with his walking stick conveniently placed across his knees, anderson was enjoying the shade of a wide spread oak tree in the tidy yard. his costume consisted of a battered old black felt hat, a dingy white shirt, dark gray pants, and scuffed black shoes. asked if he remembered the days when the north was fighting the south for his freedom, anderson replied: "'member fightin'! why, lady! dey ain't never stopped fightin' yit. folks has been a-fightin' ever since i come in dis world, and dey will be fightin' long atter i is gone. "i dis'members what was de name of de town whar i was borned, but it was in hall county. lydia and earl strickland was my ma and pa. all of deir chillun is daid now 'cept me and bob. de others was: abe, bill, jim, and sarah. dere ain't much to tell 'bout what us done dem days, 'cept play and eat. dem what was big 'nough had to wuk. "lordy, miss! it's lak dis: i is a old nigger, and i done been here for many years, but dese last few years i sho' has been a sick man, and now i can't git things straight in my mind lak dey was den. i knows us lived in log houses what had great big chimblies made out of sticks and mud. why, dem fireplaces was 'bout eight feet wide, and you could put a whole stick of cord wood on de fire. us slept on high-up old timey beds what had big posties and instead of springs, dey had stout cords wove 'cross to hold de mattress. de last time i slept on one of dem sort of beds was when i was a little boy, sleepin' wid my ma. pa and ma was both field hands. ma's mammy was de onliest one of my grandmas i ever seed. her name was ca'line and she lived wid grandpa abe on another plantation. ma's sister, my aunt ca'line was cook up at our old marster's big house. "money? yessum! dey gimme a little money now and den for totin' water to de field, sweepin' de yards, and a million other things dey used to make me do. de most dey ever gimme was cents. i never spent none of it, but jus' turned it over to my ma. chillun warn't 'lowed to spend money den lak dey does now, 'cause dey had evvything dey needed anyhow. old marster, he give us plenty somepin t'eat, such as it was. dere was lots of cornbread, a little meat now and den, collards, whip-poor-will peas and dem unknown peas what was most big as a dime, and black 'lasses--dat was lallyho. "us cotch lots of 'possums, but mighty few of 'em us niggers ever got a chance to eat, or rabbits neither. dey made niggers go out and hunt 'em and de white folks et 'em. our mouths would water for some of dat 'possum but it warn't often dey let us have none. i don't know nothin' 'bout no fishin' bein' done dem days. yessum, slaves had deir own gyardens, and dey better wuk 'em good if dey wanted any gyarden sass to eat. cookin' was done in dem big open fireplaces, mostly in pots and thick iron skillets what had lids on 'em. "boys wore long blue striped shirts in summer and nothin' else a t'all. dem shirts was made jus' lak mother hubbards. us wore de same thing in winter only dem shirts was made new for winter. by summer dey had done wore thin. when de weather got too cold, marster give us old coats, what grown folks had done most wore out, and us warn't none too warm den wid de wind a-sailin' under our little old shirt tails. our shoes was rough old brogans what was hard as rocks, and us had to put rags inside 'em to keep 'em from rubbin' de skin off our foots. us didn't know what socks and stockin's was dem. "marse earl strickland owned us. miss sarah was his old 'oman and dey was sho' mighty good to deir slaves. white folks was heap better folks den dan dey is now anyhow. now-a-days dey will knock you up right now, and won't be long 'bout it. i can't git up no ricollections 'bout 'em havin' no chillun a t'all. seems lak i know for sho' dey didn't have none. dey never had no fine house neither; jus' a plain common house wid a chimbly at both ends. "oh, lord! marster never had no overseer; no car'iage driver neither; didn't even have no car'iage yit. he did have a surrey what he hitched mules to and driv for hisself. warn't no hoss on dat plantation, nothin' 'cept mules. "how big was dat plantation? good granny! it was so big i never did git all de way over it, and dere must a been or slaves. old marster got us up 'bout sunrise and fetched us in at sundown. he was all time knockin' on his niggers 'bout somepin. he 'lowed dey didn't do dis, or dat, or somepin else right--he allus had to have some 'scuse to knock 'em 'round." a little negro boy, possibly five years old, came up to anderson with a peach in his hand and said: "look, uncle anderson, c.t. done gimme dis peach what he stole off dat dar wagon." the old man reached out his hand. "boy, you gimme dat peach," he commanded. "you knows i lak peaches. give it to me, i say. i do declar', nigger chillun jus' got to steal anyhow. run git yourself 'nother peach off dat wagon, but don't you let dat man see you git it. put dat peach under your shirt 'til you gits in dis yard, and if you leave dis yard 'gain i'll buss your haid wide open. does you hear me, boy? "what was dat you was a-axin' 'bout jails, miss? yessum, us had 'em. niggers would git too rowdy-lak, drinkin' liquor and fightin', and dat was when de white folks slapped 'em in de gyardhouse, widout a bite to eat. gyardhouses is called jails dese days. i'se lak my ma. i'se a fighter. ma would jump on anybody what looked at her twice. de onliest time i ever got in de gyardhouse was a long time atter de end of de big war. a man owed me some money, and when i axed him for it, he got mad and knocked me down. i got right up and knocked him out, and right den and dar i was sont to de gyardhouse. "good lord, miss! slave folks warn't 'lowed no time for to larn readin' and writin'. deir time was all tuk up in de field at wuk. slaves went to de white folks' church, but one thing sho' dey couldn't read de bible for deirselfs and couldn't write none. jus' to tell de truth, i didn't take in what dey sung at church, but i ain't forgot dem baptizin's. i'se been to so many of 'em. evvybody went in dem days. dere warn't no place in de church houses for to be ducked dem days, so de white folks had a pool dug out by de branch for de baptizin's, and white folks and slaves was ducked in de same pool of water. white folks went in fust and den de niggers. evvybody what come dar sung a song 'bout 'my sins has all been washed away, and i is white as snow.' "slave fun'rels was mournful sights, for sho'. dem home-made coffins was made out of pine planks, and dey warn't painted or lined or nothin'. and slave coffins warn't no diffunt from de ones de white folks used. our marster sot aside a spot in his own buryin' grounds for de slaves' graveyard. when dey was a-buryin' folks dey sung a song what went somepin lak dis: 'oh, lord! us takes 'em to de graveyard, never to fetch 'em back.' "if slaves did run off to de north, i never heared nothin' 'bout it. oh, lord! i jus' can't talk 'bout dem patterollers, for it looked lak all de white folks tried to jine up wid 'em. how dey did beat up us pore niggers! us had to git a pass for dis and a pass for dat, and dere jus' warn't nothin' us could do widout dem patterollers a-beatin' us up. dey beat you wid a cowhide lash what cut a gash in your back evvy time it struck you. yessum, white folks and niggers was all time quar'ellin' and fightin'. "when slaves got in from de fields dey et deir somepin t'eat and went to bed. dey didn't have to wuk on saddays atter dinnertime. when our old marster turned us loose, he turned us loose; and when he wuked us, us sho' was wuked. de young folks had deir big times on sadday nights. dey danced and frolicked 'round sort of lak dey does now. evvybody went to de meetin' house on sunday, and dere's whar niggers had a good time a-courtin'. "christmas was de time when old marster let us do pretty much as us pleased. us had all kinds of good things t'eat, and atter us drunk a lot of liquor it warn't long 'fore dere was a nigger fight goin' on. yessum, us had cornshuckin's, cotton pickin's, quiltin's, log rollin's, and all sich as dat. wid plenty t'eat and good liquor to drink on hand, niggers would shuck corn or pick cotton all night. it was de big eats and lots of liquor dat made slaves lak dem things. "little slave boys played wid sun-baked marbles, made of mud, and old rag balls, what was sho' a heap diffunt from what chilluns thinks dey has got to have dese days 'fore dey kin have a good time. "marster had mighty good keer tuk of his slaves when dey got sick. dere warn't many doctors dem days. dey jus' used home-made medicines, mostly teas made out of yarbs (herbs). i jus' can't git up no ricollection of what yarbs dey did put in dem teas. i does 'member dat chillun had to live wid bags of assfiddy (asafetida) 'round deir necks to keep off ailments. ma give me and bob, each one, a block of dat assfiddy for good luck. i throwed my block 'way a few years ago, and i ain't had nothin' but bad luck ever since. dat's why i can't git up de things you wants to know 'bout. my mind jus' don't wuk right no more. "dem yankees was on de go all de time. one of 'em come to old marster's house and axed one of my uncles to go off wid him. uncle was old and skeered and he thought de yankees might kill him or somepin lak dat. when de war was done over, old marster told us 'bout how things was. he said us was free and would have to do de best us could for ourselfs. dem was happy days for niggers. dey sho' didn't take no more foolishment off of white folks atter dat, and dey don't pay 'em no mind now. niggers got so bad atter dey got deir freedom dat de ku kluxers come 'round and made 'em be'have deirselfs. one of dem kluxers come to our house and set down and talked to us 'bout how us ought to act, and how us was goin' to have to do, if us 'spected to live and do well. us allus thought it was our own old marster, all dressed up in dem white robes wid his face kivvered up, and a-talkin' in a strange, put-on lak, voice. none of marster's niggers never left him for 'bout two or three years. dere warn't no way for niggers to buy no land 'til atter dey could make and save up some money. marster jus' paid up his niggers once a year, at de end of crap time. it warn't long atter de war was over 'fore dere was some few schools for niggers scattered 'round 'bout. "when did i git married? lordy, miss! such things de giverment do want to know 'bout pore old niggers! it warn't 'til ten years atter us was freed, dat me and martha freeman got married up together. dat was one sho' 'nough fine weddin' what miss sallie morton and our other white friends give us. dey give us evvything us had at dat big old feast. dere was three tables full, one for de white folks, and two for de niggers, and dem tables was jus' loaded down wid good things. willie and ida was de onliest chillun me and martha had, and dey never lived to git grown. martha died out and den i married up wid mamie white. us didn't have no chillun and mamie's daid now. dey's all daid 'cept me. "i thinks it was a good thing mr. lincoln and mr. davis did set us free, and i sho hopes de giverment won't never fetch slavery back no more. "i never will forgit de day i jined up wid morton's baptist church. i had done helped my pa build it from a brush arbor to a sho' 'nough church house. de reason i jined up was 'cause de marster had done changed me from nature to grace. i thinks evvybody ought to jine up in de church 'cause it's de lord's will. "miss, i done told you all i knows and i'se a sick man, so go 'long wid you and let me take my rest." under the stars and bars or, memories of four years service with the oglethorpes, of augusta, georgia. by walter a. clark, orderly sergeant. augusta, ga chronicle printing company. . preface. for the gratification of my old comrades and in grateful memory of their constant kindness during all our years of comradeship these records have been written. the writer claims no special qualification for the task save as it may lie in the fact that no other survivor of the company has so large a fund of material from which to draw for such a purpose. in addition to a war journal, whose entries cover all my four years service, nearly every letter written by me from camp in those eventful years has been preserved. whatever lack, therefore, these pages may possess on other lines, they furnish at least a truthful portrait of what i saw and felt as a soldier. it has been my purpose to picture the lights rather than the shadows of our soldier life. war is a terribly serious business and yet camp life has its humor as well as its pathos, its comedy as well as its tragedy, its sunshine as well as its shadows. as co. b, of the oglethorpes was an outgrowth of the original organization, its muster roll before and after reorganization, with a condensed sketch of its war service has been given. for this information i am indebted to the kindness of mr. frank h. miller and mr. brad merry, as i am to the former also for data pertaining to the early history of the oglethorpes. aside from the motive already named, there is another which has had some influence in inducing me to publish these memories. in the generation that has grown up since the ' 's, there is a disposition to undervalue the merits of the "old south" and to discount the patriotism and the courage, the sacrifice and the suffering of those, who wore the grey. if these pages shall recall to my old comrades with any degree of pleasure, the lights and shadows of our soldier life, or shall bring to the younger generation, to whom the old south is not even a memory, a truer conception of "the tender grace of a day that is dead" i shall be more than repaid for the labor involved in their preparation. index. page introductory. early history of the oglethorpes off to the war the laurel hill retreat chapter i. donning the grey my first march my first skirmish my first picket duty my first battle a night stampede three little confederates chapter ii. a change of base a tramp with stonewall jackson aunt hannah a ride with belle boyd, the confederate spy home again roster of oglethorpe infantry chapter iii. _service with th ga. battalion._ a "little long" th ga. flag col. hogeland's war diary the parson and the gravy rations chapter iv. _coast service._ a study in insect life fire and fall back skirmishing for pie steed and the sugar our camp poet chapter v. dalton and atlanta campaign stripes on the wrong side a twilight prayer meeting tom howard's squirrel bead "jim, touch off no. " a summer day on the firing line saved from death by a bible battle of kennesaw under two flags saved from a northern prison by a novel a slave's loyalty chapter vi. _nashville campaign._ a christmas day with forrest gen. bate as a poet and wit pat cleburne as an orator "who ate the dog?" courage sublime chapter vii. _the closing campaign._ an arctic ride a sad home coming our last battle conclusion roster co. a, rd ga. addenda. oglethorpe infantry co. b roster co. a, th ga., co. c, d ga. s. s. supplement. one of my heroes ben hill and the dog the rebel chaplain and the dying boy in blue introductory. early history of the oglethorpes. on a winter's day in ' , in the old capital at milledgeville, ga., howell cobb, then governor of georgia, gave his official sanction to an act of the general assembly incorporating a new military organization in the city of augusta. if he had been told that ten years from that date he would be wearing the wreath of a brigadier general in actual war and that the company, to which his signature had given legal existence would be camped on virginia soil, attached to the command of an officer, who will go down into history as one of the greatest captains of the ages, he would have smiled at the statement as the outgrowth of a distempered fancy. and yet such a prophecy would have found literal fulfilment. in honor of the founder of the georgia colony the company was named the oglethorpe infantry. hon. andrew j. miller, was its first commander. representing some of the best blood of one of the most cultured cities of the old south, the company, by its proficiency in drill and its military bearing soon gained a distinguished position among the citizen soldiery of the state. on the death of capt. miller in , judge ebenezer starnes was chosen to succeed him. he, in time, was followed by john k. jackson, afterwards a brigadier general in the confederate army. during the captaincy of the last named, the volunteer companies of the state were ordered into camp at milledgeville, ga., by gov. herschel v. johnson. capt. jackson, on account of illness in his family, could not attend and the oglethorpes were commanded by lieut. j. o. clark. in the military drill and review, that occurred during the encampment the oglethorpes presented the best marching front of any company present. mr. frank h. miller, then orderly sergeant, attributes their success on this line, in part at least to the fact that nature had failed to endow him with a full share of what my father was wont to term "legability," and his shortened step, as company guide, rendered it an easier task for his comrades marching in column of companies to preserve their alignment. on the organization of the independent volunteer battalion in , capt. jackson was elected lieut. col., and lieut. j. o. clark succeeded to the captaincy, retaining the position until the company was mustered into the confederate service in . of the original roll as organized in , if my information is correct, only mr. william richards now survives. capt. horton b. adams, who died during the present year ( ) was the last surviving member of the original roll, who retained active connection with the company from its organization until its enlistment in the confederate army. off to the war. prof. joseph t. derry, who served with the oglethorpes from their enlistment until his capture at kennesaw mountain; in july, , has kindly furnished the following sketch of their war service prior to my connection with the company: "following the lead of four of her sister states georgia passed an ordinance of 'secession,' jan. , . gov. brown ordered the seizure of all federal property within the limits of the state, and on jan. the volunteer companies of augusta, consisting of the oglethorpe infantry, clinch rifles, irish volunteers, montgomery guards, washington artillery, richmond hussars, and two companies of 'minute men,' afterwards organized into the walker light infantry, with a company of infantry from edgefield, so. ca., and two hundred mounted men from burke county, marched up to the augusta arsenal and demanded its surrender. capt. elzey, afterwards a brigadier general in the confederate army, was in command, and having only a small force in the barracks, he promptly complied with the demand. organization of first ga. regiment. the efforts to secure a peaceable separation from the union having failed, the augusta companies promptly offered their services to the confederacy. the oglethorpes and walker light infantry were the first two accepted. on march , , the lists for the oglethorpes were opened at their armory on reynolds street. sterling c. eve was the first to enroll his name, and virginius g. hitt was the second. as the company had in its ranks a larger number than would be accepted, married men were excluded, except as commissioned officers. in the closing days of march, orders were received from the war department for these two companies to rendezvous at macon, ga. on april st they were escorted to the central r. r. depot by all the volunteer companies of augusta, while the entire city, apparently, turned out to witness their departure and to bid them god speed on their mission. on april rd the first volunteer regiment of ga. was organized with the following corps of field officers: colonel, james n. ramsey, columbus, ga. lieut. colonel, james o. clark, augusta, ga. major, geo. h. thompson, atlanta, ga. adjutant, james w. anderson, newnan, ga. quartermaster, andrew dunn, forsythe, ga. commissary, geo. a. cunningham, augusta, ga. the enlistment dated from march , ' , and the regiment was composed of the following companies: a. newnan guards, capt. geo. m. hanvey. b. southern guards, capt. f. s. wilkins. c. southern right guards, capt. jno. a. hauser. d. oglethorpe infantry, capt. horton b. adams. e. washington rifles, capt. s. a. h. jones. f. gate city guards, capt. w. l. ezzard. g. bainbridge independents, capt. jno. w. evans. h. dahlonega volunteers, capt. alfred harris. i. walker light infantry, capt. s. h. crump. k. quitman guards, capt. j. s. pinkard. the patriotism of augusta is evidenced by the fact that in this, the first regiment organized, she had larger representation than any city in the state. on the date of its organization gov. brown reviewed the regiment and delivered an address that aroused much enthusiasm. a few days later we left for pensacola, via montgomery, ala., then the capital of the new confederacy. between garland and evergreen, ala., there was a gap of sixteen miles, over which the boys had to take the peoples' route as there was no railway connection. it was their first march and as their feet grew sore and their untried muscles wearied by the unaccustomed strain upon them, they began to ask the citizens they met: "how far to evergreen?" "after you pass the next hill and reach the rise of another it will be five miles," said one. this point reached, another was asked the question. "six miles," he said. tramping along the dusty highway, another traveler was met, "how far to ----." "for the lord's sake," said tom eve, "don't inquire again. the road gets longer every time you ask." an amendment to the table of long measure. while not germane to the matter under discussion my friend, joe derry will pardon i know a slight interruption in his story, suggested by the incident just related. passing through the piney woods of richmond county some years ago the writer stopped at a country home to secure proper direction as to his route. a lady came to the door and in answer to my questions, said she was unable to give the information, but suggested that i might be enlightened at the next house. "how far is the next house?" i asked. "about twict out o' sight," she replied, and i went on my way with at least the satisfaction of having secured for the "table of long measure," that had worried me in my school boy days, an amendment, that in originality if not in definiteness, was literally "out o' sight." "straggling into evergreen, next morning, we reached pensacola by rail that evening, spent a day in the town and then sailed down the beautiful bay, past the navy yard at warrenton, and so close to fort pickens that its guns could have blown us out of the water. landing near fort barrancas, we marched to our camping place, half a mile beyond and near the magazine. our stay here was marked by no special incident, the time being spent in drilling, regimental and picket duty, unloading powder from a sloop and filling sand bags to strengthen the front of fort barrancas. about the last of may, orders were received for the transfer of the regiment to virginia. steaming back to pensacola, the oglethorpes were met by a delegation from the clinch rifles, th ga. reg., by whom they were conducted to the quarters of that company and royally entertained until our departure next day. the pleasure of the occasion was marred, however, by the death of bugler parkins, of the clinch, caused by the bite of a small ground-rattlesnake. on reaching augusta the company received an ovation as great as that accorded them on their departure for pensacola. three days in augusta and then we were off for richmond, where we met with a very hearty reception. at our camp we were reviewed by president davis and gov. letcher, both of whom addressed the regiment. about the middle of june we were off for staunton by rail, stopping at waynesboro to partake of a bountiful feast prepared for us by the ladies and served on rough pine tables in picnic style." (col. c.h. withrow, then a resident of waynesboro, recalls the incident and says that he was strongly impressed with the appetite shown by the boys on that occasion, that the presence of beauty did not prevent them from doing ample justice to the spread.) "at staunton the regiment was entertained by a concert, in which the children of the blind asylum sang patriotic southern airs. a few days later we were on the march to re-inforce garnett at laurel hill. about midday of the first day's march the patriotism of the virginia ladies manifested itself again in a bountiful feast prepared for us in a beautiful grove, while from a rock near by there gushed forth a bold spring of almost ice-cold water. a night or two afterward, we camped at the foot of cheat mountain, in a beautiful valley, at the southern end of which some time later we were stationed for several months, confronting a federal force under gen. reynolds on cheat mountain. a young lady living near our camping ground entertained us with southern songs, with a melodeon accompaniment, some of the boys singing with her. two nights later, at beverly, we encountered a fearful storm, which blew down every tent and repeated that interesting performance every time we put them up. reaching laurel hill we found that service in west virginia was far more serious business that at pensacola. picket duty was heavy and soon became dangerous. mclellan with , men, began his advance early in july. to oppose this force garnett had only , men, many of whom were in the hospital. exposure had produced much sickness and here occurred the first death among the oglethorpes, that of dillard adams, a good soldier and a true man. on july th gen. morris took position in our front with , men, while mclellan, with the remainder of his force advanced on rich mountain, held by col. pegram with , of garnett's command. on july th the st ga. moved out in front of laurel hill to feel the enemy's position. we soon encountered their skirmishers, who after shelling woods, attempted to seize a small round hill in front of belington. lieut. col. j. o. clark quickly deployed his men and exclaiming, "up the hill, boys, and remember you are georgians," led a gallant charge, which drove the enemy back with some loss. skirmishing continued until july th, when garnett learned that rich mountain had been captured by rosecranz. the laurel hill retreat. the capture of pegram's position and of a large part of his force necessitated the evacuation of laurel hill, and garnett began his retreat towards beverly, sixteen miles distant. after two-thirds of the distance had been covered he was falsely informed that the enemy had already occupied that place, and retracing his steps almost to his abandoned camp, he turned off towards beverly, crossing, by an almost impassable road, over cheat mountain into the cheat river valley and intending by turning the mountains at their northern end to regain his communications. on july th we were overtaken by the federals between kalers and corricks fords. the st ga. and rd va., with a section of artillery under lieut. lanier, and a cavalry force under capt. smith, were formed into a rear guard to protect the wagon train. at carrick's ford the rd va. suffered considerably and a part of the wagon train was captured. the larger part of six companies of the st ga. and including the oglethorpes, failed to hear the order to retire and held their position until the enemy had passed. cut off from the main force and with no avenue of escape except the pathless mountains, that hemmed them in, they wandered for three days with nothing to appease their hunger except the inner bark of the laurel trees. on the third day, famished and worn out, they stopped to rest, when evan howell proposed that he and another member of the regiment would go forward and endeavor to find an outlet or a pilot to lead them to an inhabited section. he fortunately met with a mountaineer named parsons, who took them to his home, called in his neighbors, killed a number of beeves to feed the famished men and then piloted them safely to monterey. gen. garnett, who was with the main column, had been killed, after passing carrick's ford, while withdrawing his rear guard and his force under ramsey and taliaferro marched all night and succeeded in passing the red house and turning the mountain before gen. hill, who was sent by mclellan to intercept them, had reached that point. they were now on fairly good roads, in friendly country and at petersburg, w. va., the people turned out en masse to feed the exhausted confederates. from this point they retired by easy marches to monterey. the campaign, undertaken with a small force, to hold an unfriendly section, had proven an expensive failure." chapter i. donning the grey. about midday on dec. , , the writer sat in an audience room in macon, ga., listening to an address delivered by hon. howell cobb to the cotton planters' convention, then in session in that city. after all these years my memory retains no trace of that address in either theme or outline. i do recall, however, an interruption in its delivery, remembered, possibly, because it threw a crimson tint over the years that followed it, and for the further reason that if there had been no occasion for such an interruption, these records might never have been written. while mr. cobb was speaking, a messenger entered the hall and handed him a telegram. he broke the seal, glanced over its contents and then read the following message to the audience: "the south carolina convention has just passed the ordinance of secession from the union." from that moment the "cotton planters' convention" was no longer in it. the audience became a howling mob. that night there was a torchlight procession with brass band accompaniments. the streets were packed with a solid mass of excited, fevered, yelling humanity. the people were simply wild for southern independence and the scene was probably duplicated in every southern city. in the early months in ' , when all hope of a peaceful separation had passed, the war fever attacked first the towns and cities where the people were in constant touch with each other and where the daily press kept the public pulse at more than normal beat. as the demand for troops increased, the infection spread to quiet country places with their monthly church service and their weekly mail. and so in due time it reached the community in which i lived, a community of quiet, well-to-do farmers, whose knowledge of jomini and the art of war was decidedly limited. a military organization of thirty of forty men was, however, effected and mr. john d. mongin, the only member who knew the difference between "shoulder arms" and "charge bayonet," was elected captain. our weekly drills at the academy grounds were confined largely to marching in single rank to the music of a rustic drummer and fifer, who seemed in blissful ignorance of anything but "slow time." there was a short-legged frenchman in the company, whose number was " " and, who in counting off, always responded with "dirty too." a year or two later those of us, who had seen actual service, could probably have made the same response without impairing in the least our reputation for veracity. as there was not sufficient material in the community to form a full company, my brother and myself, with d. w. mongin, a. j. and j. h. rhodes, made application to the oglethorpe infantry, st ga. regiment, then at laurel hill, va., for admission into its ranks, and were accepted. leaving augusta july , , in company with george pournelle and ginnie hitt, who were returning from a ten days' furlough, we stopped over in richmond a day and visited the confederate congress then in session. sitting in the gallery of the senate chamber looking down upon alex stephens in the chair and bob toombs, ben hill, e. a. nisbet r. m. t. hunter and other worthies in the hall, luke lane, an old college classmate, wrote on the fly leaf of the pocket diary, from which these records are partly taken a sort of preface, closing it with these words: "here's hoping that every yankee may find a bloody grave;" and ginnie hitt, sitting by, wrote beneath it: "amen, say i." luke appended my initials to the sentiment, but as it was stronger than my inclinations prompted me to endorse, i erased them. we visited also the prison hospital where the federals wounded at manassas, were being cared for. it was my first contact with "grim visaged war." to a stripling boy, reared in a quiet country home and in a community in which there had never occurred a serious personal difficulty, i had neither inherited nor acquired any taste for carnage or bloodshed, and the scene was not a pleasant one. and yet the battlefield unfortunately soon dulls our natural sensibilities and begets an indifference to suffering that would shock us in civil life. on reaching monterey, va., where the oglethorpes were recuperating from the hardships of the "laurel hill retreat," we found every tent occupied and we remained at the village inn until quarters could be provided. i remember that i slept, or tried to sleep, on the bare floor of our room as a sort of preparation for the life on which i was entering. in this connection i recall another fact, a peculiarity of this tavern, and that was its capacity for the utilization of green apples as an article of public diet. my experience with hostelries is not claimed to be at all extensive, but among those whose hospitality i have had the good or bad fortune to enjoy, or endure, this particular inn, on the line named, certainly "took the dilapidated linen from the lonely shrub." we were treated to apples baked and stewed and fried, to apple tarts and custards and dumplings, to apple butter and it would probably be no exaggeration to say, "there were others." after paying our bill dan mongin remarked, "when green apple season plays out this hotel is going to suspend." in verification of his prophecy, when we passed through monterey en route to join stonewall jackson in december, its doors were closed, its lights were gone and all its halls deserted. whether its demise was due to the green apple theory, i am unable to say. my first month in camp was devoid of incident, its monotony being varied only by squad drill, guard duty, foraging for maple syrup and other edibles among the dutch farmers of that section and digging graves for the unfortunate victims of the campaign just ended. one of the graves which the writer helped to dig in very hard clay, was appropriated by a burial squad from another regiment for one of their own dead. i am not lawyer enough to say whether the act was petty larceny, forcible entry and detainer, or what an old colored friend of mine once diagnosed as "legal mischievous" with the accent on the second syllable. my first march. on sept. , ' , sterling eve, ginnie hitt, dan mongin and the writer, not having been favored with the confidence of gen. lee as to his military plans, went into the country on a foraging expedition. this trip was probably inspired by a triumph in the culinary line achieved by dr. hitt and george pournelle in supplying our table with two varieties of dumpling, apple and huckleberry, on the same day. we had no bag, in which to boil the dumpling and were forced to use the mess towel as a substitute. how long it had been subjected to its ordinary uses before being utilized in this way i do not now recall. dr. hitt remembers, however, or says he does, that the entire outer surface of the dumplings was towel-marked. the nature of the mark referred to is left without further discussion to the imagination of the reader. in this connection i recall another incident in the culinary line, which may be as well recorded here as elsewhere. about twenty years after the war i met dr. hitt in augusta and taking something from my pocket, i handed it to him and asked if he could give me any information as to its character. he examined it very carefully by sight, touch and smell, and then said very confidently: "oh, yes, i know what that is. it is a stone taken from a deer's liver." his diagnosis was not "reasonably" correct. the article under examination was a confederate biscuit baked in our camp at jacksonboro, tenn., in , sent to my father's family as a specimen and preserved during all those years. if i had taken the precaution to have immersed it in insect powder it would probably at this date have been still in the ring, though possibly a little disfigured. a few years after dr. hitt's examination, i found that it had-- "like an insubstantial pageant faded leaving not a wrack"-- but only a little dust behind. on our return from the foraging tour with a good supply of potatoes, onions and maple syrup, we found the camp deserted--a camp favored with the purest mountain air and the finest spring water, and yet where dan mongin wrote to his father for brandy to counteract the effects of malaria. the entire force at monterey had been ordered to report to gen. henry r. jackson on green brier river, and had broken camp two hours before our arrival. after resting an hour we began the tramp, trudging over the mountain roads for eight miles in the mud and rain and stopping for the night at the residence of a col. campbell in crab bottom. here we had the pleasure of meeting the first two heroines of the war, miss mcleod and miss kerr. they had ridden seventy miles on horseback without an escort to notify gen. garnett of mclellan's approach. my first day's march, though a short one, had broken me down so thoroughly that i was compelled to tax the kindness of a rd arkansas regiment wagoner for a ride next day. the entry in my journal for that date begins with these words: "took the road with a heavy heart and a heavier load." three years later, under the hardening process of camp life i was enabled to march, on hood's tramp to nashville and back to corinth, miss., twenty miles a day continuously and rode only one of the eight hundred miles covered in that campaign. during my two days experience as an "arkansas traveler" i think i heard more expletive, unadulterated "cussin" from the driver of that wagon than it has ever been my misfortune to listen to. his capacity in this line seemed to be not only double barreled, but of the magazine gun variety. if he had failed to pass his examination in the school of profanity i have never seen a man who was entitled to a diploma. i appreciated the ride, but was glad to reach our new camp, since it relieved me of his presence. my first skirmish. gen. jackson's force on the green brier consisted of the st and th ga., the rd ark. and the rd and th va. regiments. ten or twelve miles northwest of us, on cheat mountain, lay a federal force of , men under gen. reynolds. gen. lee had planned an attack to be made on this force on the morning of sept. th, two days after our arrival at the green brier. on the evening of the th an advance guard of ninety men from the st and th ga. under command of lieut. dawson was formed with instructions to flank, by a night march, the federal picket, secure a position in their rear, capture them and thus prevent notice to gen. reynolds of the intended attack. for this guard there were detailed from the oglethorpes, wilberforce daniel, joe derry, tom burgess, w. h. clark and the writer. leaving camp at : p. m., under the pilotage of a citizen of that section we reached a position within half a mile of the federal camp about sunrise, after a fatiguing march in the rain and mud, being compelled to draw ourselves up the slippery mountain side by the undergrowth that lay in our route. soon after reaching our place of ambush we heard the drums beat for "guard mount" and then the bands began to play "annie laurie," "run, nigger run," and "jordan is a hard road to trabble," were three of the selections rendered. the first suggested pleasant memories of our far away homes; the second, the possibility that in a little while there might be a practical illustration of the refrain, while the tramp we had just taken satisfied us that "jordan" was not the only hard road to travel. the selection of these airs recalls the singular fact that in actual service military bands do not as a rule play national or military music. the writer had other opportunities than the one named of hearing federal bands during his term of service, but does not recall a single instance in which a national air was rendered. lulled by the music and overcome by fatigue and loss of sleep, i fell into a doze, from which i was awakened by the accidental discharge of a gun in the hands of one of the guard. a federal sergeant from the picket post, hearing the noise, came down the road to investigate. on reaching a point opposite the left of our line he heard the ominous click of the rifle hammers and started in full run for his camp. six or eight balls crashed through him and the poor fellow fell dead in the road. attracted by the firing, about twenty-five of the federal pickets came hurriedly down the road and on seeing their dead comrade fired a volley into the woods, which concealed us, but failed to do any execution. "charge!" sang out our commander, and we broke for the road. before reaching it, the pickets had scattered into the woods beyond. tom burgess, as he leaped into the road saw one of them rise from a stump behind which he had been hiding, and run. tom raised his rifle, took deliberate aim and fired. as he fell, tom pointed his finger at him and said, "got you." i was standing only a few feet from tom and it has always been a matter of gratification to me that my gun had been fired before reaching the road and that i had no opportunity to reload. at such close range it would have been almost impossible to have missed my man, and whatever my feeling at the time may have been it would have been a source of life-long regret to me to know positively that "some mother's boy" had fallen by my hand, even in war. several others were killed as they ran through the woods. no member of the guard received even a scratch, and the affair had more the appearance of a rabbit hunt than a skirmish. after the firing had ceased, lieut. dawson, feeling that it was unsafe to remain so near the federal camp with so small a force, reformed the guard and we began our march down the mountain. we were expecting to meet the reserve picket of the enemy and in a sharp curve in the road were confronted by a column of troops marching in fours and only a hundred yards away. one of the guard sang out, "here they are boys," and the firing began. three men were shot down and seeing that we were outnumbered, dawson gave the command: "fall below the road." believing that implicit obedience to orders was the first requisite of a soldier, i responded with considerable promptness. the fire slackened a moment and then came the order: "charge 'em." up into the road we clambered again, when we discovered that we were fighting our own regiment, and "cease firing, we are georgians," rang out from nearly a hundred throats. ed johnson, then in command of the th ga., afterwards a major general, was riding towards the head of the column and hearing our cry, sang out: "they are liars, boys. pop it to 'em! pop it to 'em." the mistake was soon discovered, however, and the firing ceased. three men had been killed and a number wounded by this mutual and unfortunate error. after the skirmish had ended and order had been restored, dr. hitt told me that he had drawn a bead, squirrel or otherwise, on my anatomy, and was in the act of firing when col. ed johnson, in his anxiety to reach the front, rode directly between us and possibly saved him the horror of having killed a comrade and messmate. one of the victims of that encounter, felder, of the houston guards, told his mess on leaving camp that he would be killed, a presentiment that was unfortunately too true. another poor fellow was shot through the thigh, the ball cutting an artery. he lay there until the blood ran down the road for a distance of fifteen feet. the sight caused another soldier to have a nervous chill and he begged piteously to be moved away. after the wounded had been cared for, the guard was reformed in front of the brigade and we were marched back to a position in front of the federal camp to await the attack on its rear by the rd ark. and the rd va. why this attack was never made seems to be a sort of unsolved problem. gen. lee is said to have made a verbal explanation to president davis, but if there has been any published statement of the reason i have failed to see it. as the attack on the rear had for some reason failed to materialize, gen. jackson, after remaining on the mountain for four days, returned to his old camp. in connection with this, my first skirmish i am glad to have the opportunity of paying deserved tribute to a comrade, who has since passed over the river, but who, on that day, as on every other in which i had the honor to serve with him in time of peril, was conspicuous for his courage and his cool indifference to danger. when the order was given to fall below the road in order to secure some protection from the rocks and trees, will daniel refused to do so and kept his exposed position, coolly loading and firing until the skirmish was over. in devotion to the cause, for which he fought, in readiness to accept the gravest personal risks, in apparently absolute unconsciousness of danger, he was every inch a soldier. and now what were my own sensations in this, my first baptism of fire? a candid confession is said to be good for the soul, but whether it would be good for the reputation in this particular case is another matter. under the law of testimony a witness is not compelled to incriminate himself. besides, after the lapse of nearly forty years, my memory can not be expected to retain very accurately such minor details. i will only say, therefore, that while the excitement produced by the crack of the rifles and the hiss of the minies did in some degree lessen the sense of personal danger, i have been able, even in my limited experience as a traveler, to find quite a number of places that were to me equally as pleasant as being under fire even for the first time. i speak, of course, only for myself. men's tastes differ in this as widely perhaps as in other matters, and i do not claim that mine was a universal or even a common experience. i only claim that while i had been curious to know how i would feel under such circumstances, my curiosity was satisfied in a little while, in a very little while. this may have been due to the fact that my temperament is conservative and that i did not care to be an extremist even in a little matter of this kind--possibly, ah, yes, possibly. my first picket duty. for several miles in our front, the road leading towards cheat mountain ran through a narrow valley and then crossing the river, wound up the mountain side. on an outpost near this road my first picket service was rendered. from an aesthetic, rather than a military point of view the scenery from this post was really enchanting. just beyond the river lay a range of mountains broken in its contour by a partial gap. in its rear and forming a background, rose a loftier range, the whole constituting in appearance a mammoth alcove. the foliage of the forest growth, that studded the slopes from base to summit, alchemized by the autumn frosts had changed its hues to gold and crimson and with its blended tints forming to the eye an immense bouquet, the picture was worthy an artist's brush and has lingered in my memory during all these years. but the scene changes. night comes on cold and drizzly and starless. no fire is allowed by the officer of the guard. standing alone on an outpost in egyptian darkness and numbed with cold, while the muffled patter of the rain drops on the fallen leaves continually suggests the stealthy footfall of an approaching foe, i reach the conclusion that it subjects a man to some inconvenience to die for his country. a few nights afterwards the picket at this post was attacked by the enemy and driven in. as they retired under fire joe derry was knocked down by a buck and ball cartridge that riddled his cap and grazed his scalp but inflicted no wound. when they had rallied on the reserve post and joe had opportunity to take his bearings he found that while unwilling to remain and extend to his northern friends any social courtesies, he had been kind enough to leave with them a lock of his hair. the clipping was made without pecuniary charge, but joe has probably preferred since to patronize a professional barber even at the expense of his bank account. my first battle. on oct. rd, ' , gen. reynolds, thinking, possibly, that military etiquette required that he should return the call we had made him on sept. th, came down, attended by his entire force and knocked at the door of our outer picket posts in the early morning hours with the evident purpose of making an informal visit to our camp. the knock was loud enough to arouse col. ed. johnson, who went out and took command of the pickets in person in order that the reception given our visitors might be sufficiently warm and cordial. under his personal direction every foot of the federal advance was stubbornly contested. a little fellow belonging to our regiment finally grew tired of falling back and running up to johnson said: "colonel, let's charge 'em." johnson, with that peculiar nervous twitching of the lip that characterized him in battle, commended the little fellow for his grit, but did not think it good military judgment to charge an entire army of five thousand men with a squad of fifty pickets. by a. m. gen. reynolds had taken position in our front and his artillery had opened on our line. the main attack was expected on our right, and to its defence the st and th ga. were assigned. forming into line and lying down to escape the shot and shells from the federal batteries, we awaited the attack. a nervous officer in the regiment kept walking up and down the line saying: "keep cool, boys, keep cool," until lieut. ben simmons of the oglethorpes, suggested to him that he was wasting his breath, that the boys were cool. gen. jackson came down to our position to overlook the field, and while there a courier rode up and said: "general, the wagoners are cutting the traces and running off with the horses." the general grew very much excited and turning to his son, harry jackson, said, "go up there, henry and shoot the first wagoner that cuts a trace or leaves his team." harry galloped off, trying to get his pistol from the holster. after the cannonade had lasted several hours an infantry attack was made on our left and was repulsed. then gen. reynolds ordered an assault on our right. as the attacking column debouched from the woods on the further bank of the shallow green brier, we were double-quicked to the front to oppose their passage. just then shoemaker's va. battery began to throw grape shot into their ranks and the men refused to cross. the officers stormed at them and rode their horses into the ranks in the effort to force them to advance, but without avail. the column fell back to the road where they were joined by their right wing and by p. m. the entire force was making tracks for cheat mountain. thus ended my second lesson in "jomini," or my first battle, if battle it can be called. the losses on both sides, probably, did not aggregate two hundred. the official report of the engagement was, however, so elaborate that it was subjected to criticism and ridicule by the merciless pen of jno. m. daniel, of the richmond examiner. it was reported that he said that there were more casualties from overwork and exhaustion in setting up type for that report than from shot and shell in the battle. among the wounded that day was a member of the bainbridge company of our regiment, who had been shot down in the early morning as the pickets were retiring before the federal advance and, whose comrades were forced to leave him where he fell. as the union troops passed him again on their return a surgeon was asked as to the propriety of taking him along as a prisoner. "no," said he. "give him a canteen of water. he'll be dead in a few hours." the wounded man looked up at him and quoting, as dr. mcintyre would say, very liberally from profane history, told him that he didn't intend to die. they left him, nevertheless, and when, at o'clock next morning, he was brought into camp, both of our surgeons pronounced his wound fatal. he dissented very strongly from their opinions, was sent to the hospital and came out a well man, saved largely, as i believe, by his dogged determination not to die. a night stampede. there are panics commercial and panics military, bearing no special relation to each other and yet produced possibly by similar causes. one is attributed to a lack of confidence in others; the other is possibly due to a want of the same mental condition in regard to ourselves. in war fear as well as courage is contagious. the conspicuous bravery of a single soldier has sometimes steadied a wavering line, while one man's inability to face the music has begun a rearward movement that ended in a rout. gen. dick taylor says that in jackson's valley campaign he one day quieted the nervousness of his men under a heavy fire by standing on the breastworks and coolly striking a match on the heel of his boot to light a cigar. his apparent indifference to the danger was probably feigned but it produced the desired result. heroism in battle and out of it is probably not so much the result of what is termed personal courage as it is the effect of lofty pride of character, backed and strengthened by a god-like sense of duty. napoleon once ordered one of his colonels to charge a battery that was playing havoc with his lines. the officer turned pale as the order came from his commander's lips, but he went to his post promptly and led the charge and napoleon said to his staff: "that's a brave man, he feels the danger, but is willing to face it." there are times, however, in war, when men, from some cause, real or imaginary, lose their self-control and give way to an unreasonable and unreasoning fear, when the instinct of self-preservation is uppermost and patriotism and pride alike lose their power. a few occasions of this kind i recall in my term of service. one of them occurred on the night of oct. , ' , at green brier river. a picket from one of the outposts came in and reported the presence of a body of federal troops near his post. two companies from the st and th ga. and th va. each, were aroused from sleep and sent out to capture or disperse these disturbers of our dreams. few occasions in war test a man's nerves more thoroughly than being suddenly awakened at night by an alarm. i have known men at such a time to suffer from nervous chills and on one occasion it brought on a member of the regiment an attack of cholera morbus. as this was the only instance within my observation when such a result was produced, i am not prepared, without further evidence, to recommend it to the medical profession either as an emetic or an aperient. the six companies, including the oglethorpes, had passed the last vidette post and crossing green brier river had begun the ascent of the mountain beyond. we had reached the point where the enemy had been seen and the location was an ideal one for an ambuscade. the dense forest growth overarching the road, shut out the starlight and we were unable to see six feet in our front. the head of the column had passed a sharp bend in the road and was doubling back, after the manner of mountain highways, when a soldier near the front stepped on a stick and it broke with a sharp snapping sound resembling the click of a rifle hammer. some one in his rear, not knowing that the column had changed direction, and mistaking the sound for evidence of an ambush, said: "look out boys," and stepped to the side of the road. the next file followed suit and the movement increased in volume and force as it came down the line, until the hurried tramp of feet sounded like a cavalry charge, as most of the men thought it was. for a few minutes everything was in confusion and panic reigned supreme. there was an undefined dread in every man's mind of a danger whose character and extent was hidden by the darkness. several guns were fired, but fortunately there were no casualties save a few skinned noses from too sudden contact with the undergrowth that walled in the road. order was finally restored and the command proceeded on its mission, but failed to locate an enemy, which had probably never existed except in the perverted vision of a nervous picket. three little confederates. thomas nelson page has written very charmingly of "two little confederates," but an incident that occurred during our stay at green brier shows that "there were others." on nov. , ' , three virginia boys living in vicinity of our camp, and all under fifteen years of age, were out squirrel hunting on the green bank road, which led partly in the direction of the federal camp on cheat mountain. rambling through the woods in search of game, they came in sight of yankee soldier, who was out on a similar errand, or possibly on an independent scouting expedition. as he was a "stranger" they decided to "take him in." he had laid aside his gun and cartridge box and was sitting by a tree eating his lunch. slipping up noiselessly in his rear they captured his arms and then presenting their squirrel rifles they offered to serve as an honorary escort to our camp. he was rather loth to comply with the request of his youthful captors, but the muzzles of their guns were very persuasive, and with true virginia pluck, they marched their mortified prisoner to gen. jackson's quarters. i regret that i failed to preserve the names of those three brave little confederates. but few other incidents worthy of record in these memories occurred during our stay on the green brier. on nov. there was a hotly contested snow ball fight between the st and th ga. regiments, resulting in a drawn battle. two days later at a. m., in response to the rattle of musketry at the picket post, we were aroused and marshalled into line in the wintry night air to repel an expected attack on our camp. it was on this occasion that the cholera morbus incident, to which allusion has been made, occurred. the alarm proved groundless, as the pickets had mistaken an old grey mare and her colt for a body of the enemy. as the animal was clothed in grey, the confederate color, the mistake was all the less excusable. chapter ii. a change of base. for some weeks rumors, or "grape vine" bulletins, as they were called, had been afloat in camp that our regiment was to be transferred to coast service. to boys reared in the milder climate of georgia the taste we were having of a virginia winter rendered these rumors very palatable. and when, on nov. , orders came to break camp we felt rather confident that we were bidding a long farewell to "traveler's repose" and northwest virginia, and were off for georgia. the baggage wagons, of which the st ga. had at that stage of the war, enough, in gen. loring's opinion, to equip a division, were loaded and went their way. all the afternoon we lay around the dismantled camp awaiting order to "follow pursuit," as a friend of mine once said, but they failed to come. night settled down cold and cheerless, with our tents and blankets ten miles away, and we had to make the best of it. my bedfellow and i slept on an oilcloth, covered with an overcoat, and tied our four feet up together in a flannel shirt. next day we crossed allegheny mountain and after three days' march, buoyed with the hope of spending the winter under a warmer sun, we reluctantly turned our faces northward again, with the feeling in our hearts if not voiced upon our lips, "o, ever thus from childhood's hour i've seen my fondest hopes decay." after a week's march my feet grew very sore and as i limped through harrisonburg, a sweet-faced virginia matron, with music in her voice and the light of heaven in her eye, beckoned to me from the window where she was sitting and gave me a nice pair of woollen socks. passing through newtown, middletown, kernstown and a number of other towns in a section made famous afterwards by jackson's valley campaign, we reached winchester dec. , . a few days later a supply of blankets contributed by the good ladies of augusta, was received by the oglethorpes. one of the contributors had no blankets, and in lieu of them, donated a handsome crumb-cloth, which like joseph's coat, was of many colors, red and green being the prevailing tints. in the distribution this fell to elmore dunbar, the wag of the company. not needing it as a blanket he took it to a tailor in winchester, had it transformed into a full suit, cap, coat and pants, and donning it had an innumerable company of gamins, white and black, following in his wake all over the town. he and harrison foster were messmates. there was no discount on either of them as soldiers. enlisting at the first call to arms, they were always among the first to toe the line at every beat of the longroll and in the closing months of the war, when hope of success had well nigh passed and so many were dropping by the wayside, they held out bravely and manfully to the end. but as cooks they were not a brilliant success. one evening harrison had gathered a few brush to make a fire, when he called on dunbar to assist in his preparations for the evening meal, an appeal, to which the latter failed to respond. "well," said harrison, "if you don't help, i'll swear i won't cook any supper." "all right," said dunbar, "my supper's cooked," and fishing out of his coattail pocket an antiquated biscuit of uncertain age, he began to nibble. "well," said harrison, "i won't build any fire. you'll have to freeze," and dunbar gently drew from his haversack an old-fashioned silk beaver hat, that he had worn in the march up the valley and quietly placed it on the fire as his contribution to the evening's comfort. a soliloquy--(not hamlet's.) among the original members enlisting with the oglethorpes, was one h-- h--, who, in civil life, was so scrupulously careful with his dress that in these latter days he would have passed a creditable examination as a dude. camp life is not specially conducive to personal neatness and eight month's service had left to him on this line only the memory of better days. returning from winchester one night in a condition not promotive of mental equilibrium, he failed to find his tent and spent the night around the camp fire. he awoke next morning with his head in a camp kettle and his clothing soiled and blackened by contact with the cooking utensils, that had been his only bed-fellows. running his hand through his matted locks and surveying his discolored uniform he was overheard to indulge in the following soliloquy: "is this the gay and fascinating h-- h--, that once perambulated the streets of augusta in faultless attire? when i think of what i am and what i used to was, i feel myself blamed badly treated without sufficient cause." "liable to disappintments." on a saturday afternoon in my boyhood days, in company with a schoolmate, i was rambling through the woods in the enjoyment of the hebdomadal relief from the restraints of the school room and the unpalatable mysteries of the three r's taught with a hickory attachment. reaching a country bathinghouse half-filled with water and used by a neighboring colored baptist church for baptismal purposes, we proceeded to draw off the water in order to catch the tadpoles that were enjoying their otium cum dignitate on its mud-lined bottom. on the next day the preacher and congregation assembled at the place to administer the rite of baptism to a number of applicants for membership. owing to our tadpole hunt of the preceding day, they found that unlike the place mentioned in the scriptures, there was not "much water there," and they were compelled to defer the ceremony to a more convenient season. in dismissing the congregation the colored brother took occasion to remark that "we are liable, brethren, to disappintments in this life." on christmas day in ' , in our camp, near winchester, the mess to which the writer belonged found sad occasion to verify the truth if not the orthography of our dusky brother's observation. with a laudable desire to celebrate the day in appropriate style we had arranged with a colored caterer to supply our mess table with the proverbial turkey and such other adjuncts as the depleted condition of our financial bureau would permit. the day dawned and in the early morning hours our appetites for the coming feast were whetted by an eggnog kindly furnished the entire company by lieut. j. v. h. allen. the christmas sun passed its meridian and traveled on toward its setting with no joshua to stay its course. the appointed dinner hour came, as all appointed times do, but the proverbial turkey came not, with adjuncts or without. with our gastronomic hopes knocked finally into pi, but not mince pie, we sat down at last to our hardtack and bacon, lamenting in our hearts the uncertainty of "aught that wades, or soars, or shines beneath the stars." whether the roost, from which our caterer expected to supply our larder was too well guarded on the preceding night, or whether the rating given our mess by the commercial agencies was unsatisfactory has remained through all these years an unsolved problem. a tramp with stonewall jackson. after our arrival in winchester the "grape vine" service was again brought into requisition and rumors were current that we were going into winter quarters. but this was not "stonewall jackson's way." his headquarters were in winchester. bath and romney, in his department, were occupied by federal troops and he determined to oust them. on jan. , ' , our division, with ashby's cavalry, began the march to bath. it was a bright, warm day, with a touch of spring in the air. on the evening of the rd it began to snow and for thirty-one days the sun did not show his face again. if any reader of these memories should be disposed to question the accuracy of this statement, i can only say that it is so written in the chronicles of the first georgia regiment as recorded in my journal for the month named. that evening the wagons failed to reach our camp and our supper was confined to a single course--parched corn. not relishing a repetition of the menu for breakfast, i dropped out of the ranks soon after the march began and tramping across the freshly fallen snow to a residence not far from the roadside, i found a trio of pretty virginia girls engineering the first cooking stove i had ever seen. reared in a country home and accustomed to rely for my daily bread on the culinary skill of old "aunt hannah," the presiding genius of an old-fashioned kitchen fire place six feet wide, where, with the tact born of long experience, she piled the ruddy coals on the biscuit oven lid, or fried in a skillet the home-made sausage and spare rib with home made lard, or broiled on a gridiron the juicy beefsteak, or piled the burning "chunks" under the mammoth kettle that hung from the crane, while from its cavernous depths the air was laden with the aroma of ham and cabbage, this innovation on old-time methods was something of a revelation. but its novelty did not diminish the relish with which i hid away in my empty anatomy the steaming pan cakes dished out by fair and shapely hands to a squad of hungry soldier, one of whom, as bill arp would say, i was glad to be which. on the morning of jan. th we were halted in front of bath, while a portion of the division was deployed on the left of the road for an attack upon the enemy. as the line of battle advanced through the snow, over a mountain ridge, and in plain view of us, capt. sam crump, who had seen service in mexico, said: "well, boys, the ball will open now in fifteen minutes." i was only a stripling boy, with but limited experience as a soldier, and i remember with what reverent respect and implicit faith i received the utterance. but the ball did not open. the federals retired without resistance to hancock, md., six miles away, and we hurried forward in pursuit. reaching the hills overlooking the potomac and the town after dark, we were standing in the road awaiting orders when a sudden flash illuminated the heavens and the regiment sank as one man into the snow. we thought we had struck a masked battery, but it was our own guns throwing grape shot into the woods in front. after standing an hour or two in the snow without fire we bivouacked and i slept, or tried to sleep, on three rails with their ends resting on a stump. we had built a fire of rails, a favorite army fuel in those days. i do not remember from what species of timber they were made, but i do recall the fact that it was a popping variety when subjected to heat. all through the night our sleep was disturbed by the necessity of rising at frequent intervals to extinguish our burning blankets, and one man had his cap nearly burned from his head before it awoke him. next morning turner ashby went over under flag of truce to demand the surrender of the town. during his absence on this mission it was rumored that he had been held as a prisoner and his cavalry were preparing to storm the town to secure his release. the report proved a fake and he returned, bringing gen. lander's refusal to comply. an artillery duel ensued. the federal guns had to be elevated to reach our position and their balls striking the frozen ground would rebound. some of the boys, who had played "town ball" at school would pretend to catch them, and would sing out: "caught him out," when another would reply: "don't count, 'twas second bounce." it seemed more like a frolic than a fight. that night i laid aside my shoes and found them next morning filled with snow, while my blanket was covered with an inch or two of the same white mantle. water was scarce and i tried to secure enough for a cup of coffee by melting snow in a tin cup, but found it a tedious process. on the morning of the th the force was withdrawn to operate against romney. the weather at this time recalls an old rhyme learned in my boyhood, which fits the case better than any description i could give and which runs thus, "first she blew, then she snew, and then she thew, and then she friz." the roads were as slick as glass. the horses had to be rough-shod and the wheels rough-locked with chains to cut the frozen sleet and snow in descending the hills, and even with these precautions the horses would fall and be dragged to the bottom of the descent before a halt could be made. twelve horses would be hitched to a single piece of artillery and details were made from each company to push the wagons up the hills. to men not inured to such hardships the experience was a pretty rough one and the criticisms of the winter campaign made by some of them would not look well in a sunday school book. osborne stone's presbyterian training would not allow him to use any cuss words, but i remember that his "dog-on-its" were frequent and emphatic. on january we reached the "cross roads," and those who were pronounced by the surgeons unfit for further winter service were returned to winchester. with them went the writer, to worry for four weeks with typhoid fever, while the command went on to romney. of the romney trip i can not speak from personal knowledge, but from the accounts given by those who can, it was a repetition of the return from hancock with its hardships, perhaps intensified. jackson accomplished his purpose, to drive the enemy from his department, though at the expense of a good deal of exposure and suffering to his men. ashby and jackson. as hard as the service was, i am glad to have had the opportunity of sharing it with such a man as turner ashby. he was then a colonel of cavalry. mounted on his milk white steed, with the form of an athlete; coal black hair, a silky brown beard reaching nearly to his waist and a velvety, steel-grey eye, he was, in soul as well as body, an ideal cavalier. his command embraced some of the best blood of virginia and he and they were fit types of the old south, worthy representatives of a civilization, that in culture, courtesy and courage, in honor and in honesty, the past had never equalled and the future will never repeat. jackson had not then developed the military genius that afterwards rendered him so famous. the campaign furnished but little field for generalship, but it gave evidence of one trait in his character--to halt at no obstacle in the accomplishment of a purpose to benefit the cause for which he fought. in personal appearance and bearing he and ashby differed widely. without grace as a rider, and indifferently mounted, there was nothing in his appearance to indicate or foreshadow the height to which he afterwards attained. and yet i can but cherish with pride the recollection that in this campaign i had the privilege of serving under one, who in the blood-stained years that followed "went down to a soldier's grave with the love of the whole world, and the name of stonewall jackson." "aunt hannah." in this connection my heart prompts me to pay its earnest tribute to one, whose memory the sketch above recalls. dear old aunt hannah. how her name brings back to my heart and life today the glamour of the old, old days, that will never come again--days when to me a barefoot boy, life seemed a long and happy holiday. i can see her now, her head crowned with a checkered handkerchief, her arms bared to the elbows, her spectacles set primly on her nose, while from her kindly eyes there shone the light of a pure white soul within. she was only an humble slave, and yet her love for me was scarcely less than that my father and mother bore me and when on a summer's day in ' my brother and myself left the old homestead to take our humble places under a new born flag, there was not a dry eye on the whole plantation and old aunt hannah wept in grief as pure and deep as if the clods were falling on an only child. long years have come and gone since she was laid away in the narrow house appointed for all the living. no marble headstone marks the spot, yet i am sure the humble mound that lies above her sleeping dust, covers a heart as honest and as faithful, as patient and as gentle, as kindly and as true as any that rest beneath the proudest monument that art could fashion, or affection buy. she reared a large family of sons and daughters, rev. charles t. walker, the "black spurgeon," among them, transmitting to them all a character for honesty and virtue marked even in those, the better days of the republic. wisely or otherwisely, in the order of providence, or in the order of napoleon's "heavier battalions," we have in this good year of our lord not only a new south, but a new type of aunt hannah. the old is, i fear, a lost pleiad, whose light will shine no more on land, or sea, or sky. a ride with belle boyd, the confederate spy. on a page of the writer's scrap book, underneath a roll of the oglethorpes and in friendly contact with the parole granted me at johnston's surrender, is a slip of paper pocket-worn, and yellow with age, which reads as follows: "winchester, va., mar. , . pass w. a. clark and brother today on valley road. by order maj. gen. t. j. jackson. m. m. sibert, captain and provost marshall." thereby hangs the following tale: on my return to winchester, after the tramp to hancock, i had secured lodgings at the home of a mrs. polk, where for nearly four weeks, i lay with my pulses throbbing with fever. from that sick bed two incidents come back vividly today over the waste of years that have intervened. my hostess, whose kindness i shall never forget, had a daughter, nellie, who, as a rustic friend of mine would say, was something of a "musicianer." patriotic songs were all the rage and one evening as i lay on my bed restless from fever and trying to sleep, she began in the parlor below to sing the "bonnie blue flag." the copy used had, i think, eleven verses, and in my nervous condition the entertainment seemed endless. just as i had congratulated myself on its conclusion, a young gentleman called and insisted on a repetition of the program with his vocal accompaniment, and she was kind enough to comply, without skipping a verse. i can not recall a musical entertainment that my condition forced me to appreciate less though cheerfully acquitting her of any malice aforethought in the matter. as i lay on my bed during all those weeks and looked on the white-mantled hills that environed the town i remember distinctly how intensely my parched lips craved the cooling touch of the pure white snow. but like tantalus, i was forced day after day to gaze on a luxury i could not enjoy, for the medical science of that day said nay. tempora mutantur, and doctors change with them. before i had recovered sufficiently to leave my bed stonewall jackson decided to evacuate winchester and ordered all the convalescent sick to be moved. having no desire to complete my recovery in a federal prison my brother secured the pass above referred to and seats in the hack to strasburg. there were nine passengers and among them was belle boyd, the confederate spy. her home was in martinsburg and her father a major in the confederate army. her mother had forced her to leave home on the approach of the federal army. on its first visit to martinsburg she had remained there. having a soldier friend in the hospital and uncertain as to the treatment he would receive from the enemy, she had taken two of her father's servants to the hospital with a stretcher, had him placed upon it and walked by his side through the streets to her home with a loaded pistol in her hand to protect him from insult or injury at their hands. a few days later a federal soldier attempted to place a union flag over the door of her home and she persuaded him to desist by the use of a leaden argument from her pistol. another attempt to remove a confederate flag that waved over the mantel in her parlor met with a similar counter-irritant, and she was molested no further. fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be, neither of her shots hit their mark. in view of these facts her mother thought it prudent to send her away before the union forces occupied the town again, and she was en route to the home of a relative in front royal. to protect myself from the chilly air during the stage ride i was wearing a woollen visor knitted for my brother by miss lucy meredith, of winchester, and covering my head and throat, leaving only my eyes exposed. with a woman's instinct she saw that i was too weak to sit up and arranged to give me possession of an entire seat, improvised a pillow of a red scarf she was wearing on her shoulders and in every way possible contributed to my ease and comfort. on reaching strasburg she aided my brother in getting me into the hotel, arranged a lounge in the parlor for me, brought my supper and entertained me during the meal, refusing to eat anything herself until i had finished. after supper she sat by me and talked to me for an hour, and then, thinking i was weary, she moved the lamp in a corner of the room shading it from my eyes with her scarf, so that i might sleep. after all these years my memory retains some incidents of that conversation. i remember that she told me something of her child life; that when a little girl she had been a member of dave strother's party in his tour through virginia, which he described so charmingly in the early numbers of harper's magazine over the nom de plume of "porte crayon;" that gen. lander, who commanded the federal troops, that we had driven from bath into maryland, was an old sweetheart of hers; that dave strother was a member of his staff, and she intended to cut his acquaintance. i remember that she said further that she had been hurt by a remark made to her that day by a soldier about the seeming boldness of virginia girls; that soldiers mistook kindness and the expression of a desire to serve them for boldness; that she intended coming to georgia after the war to get married. she left on the next train for her destination, and i saw her no more. she had impressed me as one of kindest and gentlest of women and yet a year or two later she forded the potomac alone in a storm at midnight to carry important information to her brother in stuart's cavalry. perhaps with woman as well as man "the bravest are the tenderest, the loving are the daring." if necessity had required it i believe she would have led the charge of pickett's division at gettysburg without a tremor. in the years that followed she became a noted spy, going into the federal lines and securing information, which she sent or carried to the confederate army. she was finally arrested and sent to washington as a prisoner. it was reported that she married the federal officer, to whose oversight she had been entrusted and that he joined the confederate army. some of her methods as a spy subjected her to harsh and hostile criticism, but in grateful memory of her kindness to one, who was only a private soldier, without rank or social prestige, one who had no claim upon her service save that in an humble way he had tried to serve the cause she loved and in that service had grown sick and helpless, her name has never passed my lips except in tones of fervent gratitude and reverent respect. virginia. as my service as a soldier on virginia soil was now about to end and as that service carried me afterwards into six other states of the confederacy, in four of them lengthening into months or years, it may not be amiss to say in this connection that judged by that experience, virginia stood above them all in kindly feeling and hospitable treatment to the confederate soldier. furnishing to the army perhaps a larger quota of her sons than any other state, her territory tracked by the tread of hostile armies for four bloody years, her homes destroyed and her fields laid waste, her generous kindness and her active sympathy for the suffering soldier never wavered to the end. while the south as a whole gave to the world the highest type of civilization it had ever known, virginia, as i believe, stood at its head, the capstone in the fairest structure the sun has gilded since the morning stars sang together, and garlanding its summit like a glistening coronal, bright with the light of immortality stands the name and fame of robert edward lee. home again. the st ga. regiment was the only infantry organization from this state mustered out at the expiration of its first year's service. the conscript act became effective in the spring of ' , and succeeding regiments, whose terms expired later were under its provision retained in the service. on the return of the command from romney the st ga. was ordered to tennessee. going by rail to lynchburg, a railroad accident occasioned some delay at that point and as their time would have expired in a few days they were sent to augusta to be mustered out. my brother, knowing that i would not be strong enough to rejoin the command before its term of service ended, decided to take me directly home. and so by stage and rail, with tiresome delays at every junction, in the deepening twilight of a fair spring day, weak and weary, i came in sight of the old homestead once more. over the joy and gladness of such a meeting after an absence, every day of which had seemed to those i had left behind, an age of agony and dread, it is meet that the mantle of silence should fall. the halo that came to fathers and mothers hearts in those old days when their "boys" came home from the war, seemed like a breath from heaven. it was sacred then and to me it is sacred still. loving lips, that gave me glad welcome that spring day have long been cold and silent, and eyes that shone through misty tears are dim in death. some time in the coming months or years, i know not when, and yet in god's good time, in weakness and in weariness at even-tide on some spring day again, it may be, i shall, i trust, go "home again;" not to the old homestead hallowed as it is by a mother's love and a father's prayers, and yet to find hard by the river of life from lips long silent, a welcome just as loving in "a city, whose builder and maker is god." roster of oglethorpe infantry, co. d, st ba. regt. capt. j. o. clarke, promoted lieut. col. st ga. reg. capt. horton b. adams. st lieut. j. v. h. allen. d lieut. geo. w. crane. d lieut. s. b. simmons. st serg. a. j. setze. d serg. w. s. holmes. d serg. s. c. foreman. th serg. l. a. picquet. st corp. o. m. stone. d corp. jesse w. rankin. d corp. chas h. roberts. th corp. burt o. miller. privates. alfred m. averill. dillard adams. a. e. andrews. a. w. bailey. f. a. beall. a. w. blanchard. r. m. booker. jno. m. bunch. thos. burgess. milton a. brown. a. j. burroughs. wm. bryson. chas. catlin. h. a. cherry. h. b. clark. f. w. clark. wm. h. clark. walter a. clark. w. j. cloyd. jno. r coffin. e. f. clayton. c. s. crag. wm. craig. j. b. crumpton. wilberforce daniel. ed. darby. joseph t. derry. j. j. doughty. c. w. doughty. w. r. doyle. b. b. doyle. jno. p. duncan. s. h. dye. e. a. dunbar. geo. w. evans. robert c. eve. sterling c. eve. l. f. flming. h. clay foster. w. harrison foster. john p. foster. willie goodrich. j. p. goodrich. c. m. goodwin. w. a. griffin. a. g. hall. e. h. hall. wm. haight. j. j. harrell. frank m. hight. jno. c. hill. harry hughes. jno. t. hungerford. v. g. hitt. h. b. jackson. w. f. jackson. a. m. jackson. whit g. johnson. w. h. jones. w. e. jones. g. a. jones. matt kean. w. h. kennedy. w. t. lamar. jas. lamar. geo. g. leonhardt. d. w. little. p. e. love. a. d. marshall. c. o. marshall. geo. w. mclaughlin. c. e. mccarthy. j. t. mcgran. d. w. mongin. r. b. morris. w. b. morris. z. b. morris. w. j. miller. josiah miller. geo. d. mosher. m. c. murphey. w. e. peay. a. pilcher. j. t. newberry. f. m. pope. geo. p. pournelle. w. p. ramsey. j. t. ratcriff. j. h. revill. a. j. rhodes. j. a. rhodes. j. p. roberts. j. c. roebuck. w. a. roll. j. w. rigsby. s. h. sheppard. l. w. shed. l. w. stroud. fred w. stoy. jno. w. stoy. alonzo smith. miles turpin. thomas j. tutt. j. e. thomas. geo. j. verdery. r. w. verdery. g. f. wing. b. h. watkins. c. d. wakins. jas. e. wilson. jas. d. wilson. walter a. wiley. wm. t. williams. w. t. winn. wm. whiting. chapter iii. reorganization with th ga. battalion. on may , , the oglethorpes were re-organized at camp jackson, on the carnes road, near augusta, ga., as an artillery company under capt. j. v. h. allen. three other companies from the st ga. regiment, and the "dekalb rifles" from stone mountain, joined us and the th ga. battalion was formed, with major henry d. capers as commander. we remained at this camp drilling for two months, and our parade ground became a favorite afternoon resort for the young ladies of augusta. a "little long." among the fair visitors, who honored us by their presence, were the misses long, two pretty and attractive girls, who were guests at the savage place, near our quarters. miles turpin, one of the company wits, fell a victim to the charms of the younger one, who in physical make-up was rather petite. when his attack had reached the acute stage, he was being joked about it one day and gave vent to his feelings in the following revised version of goldsmith's familiar lines: i want but little here below, but want "that little long." miles was not the only wit in the company. every branch in phil schley's family tree must have shed puns as an ordinary tree sheds leaves when touched by the breath of winter. lon fleming was crossing the grounds at camp jackson one day with a chair slung over his left shoulder, when he was hailed by phil. "lon, you are most cheerful man i've seen today." "yes," said lon, "over the left." lest some of my readers may fail to see the point, it may be prudent to say that when phil and i were boys, "chair" in the piney woods was pronounced "cheer." this was not one of phil's best nor, perhaps, one of his worst. it would probably grade about "strict low middling." aside from this hereditary punning propensity, from which my old comrade has reasonably recovered, i am glad to recall his unfailing good humor and his readiness to meet the dangers and hardships of the service bravely and without a murmur. the th ga. battalion flag. on july th, ' , miss pinkie evans, of augusta, presented to the battalion a beautiful silk battle flag made, it was said, from her mother's wedding robe. her patriotic address in making the presentation was responded to by maj. capers, who accepted the colors for the battalion. as the oglethorpes were transferred from the battalion in the fall of , we had no opportunity of fighting under their banner save at the skirmish at huntsville, tennessee. it was afterwards bravely borne on many a bloody battlefield, under evans and gordon in maryland and virginia. seven color-bearers were shot down under its silken folds. during the second heavy bombardment of fort sumter, lasting from oct. to dec. , , the th ga. battalion formed a part of its garrison. on oct. st the flag of the fort was shot down and was replaced by serg. graham, will hitt and bob swain, of augusta, then serving with the th ga. batt. it was shot down again on the same day and its staff so badly shattered that it could not be hoisted. the same brave men went up on the parapet, amid the storm of solid shot and shell and raised their own th ga. flag. when the confederate line was broken at cedar creek, serg. hopps of crump's company, bore this flag, and disdaining to fly, he held his ground alone, waving his colors defiantly at the advancing line of blue until he was killed. afred wallen, of the same company, a beardless boy, but a brave one, saw him fall and running back at the risk of his own life, tore the flag from its staff and brought it in safety to his command. it is said these colors were not surrendered at appomatox, but were returned to their fair donor unstained save by the blood of the gallant baker and king and stallings and hopps, who in the shock of battle had gone down to death under their silken folds. off to the front buell was threatening chattanooga, and maj. capers was ordered to report with his battalion to gen. mccown at that point. leaving augusta july th in two special trains, we were detained at ringgold, ga., for a day or two by a collision with a freight train, which resulted in the death of ten or twelve men and fifteen or twenty horses, and in injuries more or less serious to a larger number. reaching chattanooga july , we remained there ten days and were then transferred by n. & c. r. r. to a point near shell mound, ala. picketing here for two weeks in front of buell's army we returned to chattanooga aug. , and on the next day left for knoxville with the intention, i suppose, of accompanying kirby smith's army into kentucky. two days at knoxville and we are off for clinton. en route a courier brings information that the enemy has attacked our forces at tazewell, twenty miles away, and we are ordered to hurry forward to reinforce gen. stevenson at that point. an hour later another dispatch is received that the attack has been repulsed and we are sidetracked at clinton to aid in the capture or dispersion of the th tenn. federal regiment, then occupying a fortified camp near huntsville, tenn. col. hogeland and his war diary. how strangely human events sometimes shape themselves without apparent effort to control them. sitting in my home some weeks ago in the dreamy haze of an october sunday afternoon, there chanced to fall under my eye in the editorial column of a sunday school paper the statement that col. alexander hogeland of louisville, ky., had visited nashville, tenn., in the interest of the "curfew law." other items in the column caused a momentary disturbance of my brain cells, then passed away to be recalled no more. but this one lingered in my memory and would not down, for thereby hangs the following tale: the expedition against the federal force at huntsville was commanded by col. gracie, of alabama, and consisted of the th ga. battalion, a portion of an alabama regiment, and a few cavalry. leaving clinton at p. m., aug. , we camped near jacksonboro on the night of the th and on the morning of the th started for huntsville by a rough mountain path that crossed a spur of the cumberland range. after a toilsome tramp we halted at p. m. and after an hour's rest were again on the march. the path is narrow and the overarching trees shut out every ray of starlight. groping along in the dark we follow the tramp of the feet in front, reaching out occasionally to touch the file just ahead, lest our ears have deceived us. our pathway passes on the edge of a precipitous bluff and my brother in crump's company loses his footing and topples over it. the fall fails to disable him, but he loses his hat and in the darkness is unable to recover it. hatless he rejoins the command and the procession moves on. just before daylight we halt for another rest. at a. m. we resume the march and in the early morning reach the vicinity of the federal camp. deploying into line of battle we advance through a belt of woodland and entering a cornfield beyond, our right is fired upon by the federal pickets. as we drive them in a scattering fire is kept up until we come in sight of their camp and near it a rude log fort built upon the crest of a tall hill, over whose precipitous slope the forest trees have been felled, making an almost impassable abattis. while arrangements are being made for an attack upon the fort, tom tutt and the writer, who are both on the color guard, see a thin line four or five hundred yards to our right, near a church, and whom we take to be the pickets, who had been resisting our advance. tom, whose rule is to shoot at everything in sight, selects his man and fires and the writer follows suit. we load and fire again. after a few rounds i become convinced that it is a portion of capt. crump's company, which had been detached and sent to the right and in which i have two brothers. as tom raises his gun again i said, "hold on, tom, you are shooting at your own company." he made no reply and continued firing until the order to advance was given. a deep gully lay partially in our front and as its passage caused some confusion in the ranks, we halted to reform the line. crump's company was hurrying forward to join us and before they had reached their position in line col. gracie gave the command, "charge." from underneath the head logs of the fort the belgian rifles were barking at us and the heavy balls they carried whistled by us like young shells. we were waiting for crump, and gracie, ignorant of the cause of the delay, shouted: "what is the matter with the th ga. battalion?" just then a lone cavalryman passed the line on foot and with drawn sabre made his way towards the fort with the evident intention of capturing the whole business himself. crump's company came up at a "double quick" and the whole line moved forward with a yell. sergeant harwell, our color-bearer, had never been under fire and the boys, uncertain as to his grit, had asked tom tutt, who did not know what fear meant, to take the colors when the charge began. tom made the effort to seize them, but harwell, a tall, gaunt man, and brother of two honored methodist preachers, declined to give them up and bore them forward bravely. as we advanced the fire from the fort suddenly ceased and we thought they were waiting to see the whites of our eyes. reaching the steep ascent we climbed up over logs and brush until the fort was gained. lieut. joe taliaferro, of augusta, was the first to enter, and with his sword cut down the floating flag. the fort was empty--not a yankee to be seen. under cover of the thick forest growth in their rear they had hid to other haunts, under the idea, perhaps, that "he who fights and runs away, will live to fight another day." their camp, located just below the fort gave ample evidence of their hasty exit. our attack was something of a "surprise party" and their unfinished morning meal was boiling, baking and frying on the camp fires. we were unexpected and uninvited guests and yet our reception was warm, although unfriendly. our all-night tramp enabled us to do full justice to the breakfast they had prepared, as well as the sugar cured hams and other supplies their commissary had kindly left for our use. we appropriated an ample outfit of blankets, canteens, haversacks, etc., and burned what we could not carry away. the skirmish on our side, and probably on theirs was almost bloodless. w. w. bussey, of the oglethorpes, and garyhan, of crump's company, were slightly wounded. i recall no other casualty except the killing of a nice horse ridden by col. gracie. and now what has all this to do with the item i read in a sunday school paper? simply this: among the assets and effects secured that day by the writer from the officer's tent and administered upon without "letter's testamentary" was a pocket diary belonging to capt. alexander hogeland, of the th indiana regt. on reading the paragraph referred to, the coincidence in names suggested the possibility that col. alexander hogeland, of louisville, ky., "father of the curfew," might have been capt. alexander hogeland, of the th ind. regt., whose property had been in my possession for thirty-seven years. to test the matter, i wrote col. hogeland and from his reply the following extract is taken: "your deeply interesting favor of the th inst received and for the information it contains accept my hearty thanks. i am the identical person referred to in your letter. was first lieutenant co. d, th indiana regiment in the west virginia campaign and afterwards captain of co. g. in may, ' , was made lieutenant-colonel of th east tennessee regiment, commanded by col. wm. cliff, and stationed at huntsville, tenn., in august, ' . we lost everything on the occasion you refer to and this is the first information i have received as to the whereabouts of my effects. i am very glad to avail myself of your proffer to return my diary and enclose herewith necessary postage." col. hogeland's diary was duly returned to him and in acknowledging its receipt he took occasion to thank me for looking him up after all these years and assured me that he would endeavor to return that kindness by visiting augusta in the early future and giving the citizens of this goodly city the benefit of the "curfew law." it will furnish additional evidence of the truthfulness of the opening statement in this sketch if the capture of a war diary nearly forty years ago, should result in the adoption of a "curfew" ordinance in augusta. in illustration of the adage that "every dog has his day," it may not be amiss to say that col. hogeland's escapade from fort cliff at the instance of four companies of the old first georgia regiment, was only partial compensation for the -mile run made by those self-same companies from laurel hill, va., in ' , with capt. hogeland's regiment as one of the exciting causes. jacksboro. on our return from huntsville, joe derry and j. w. lindsay, of the oglethorpes, unable to keep pace with the command, straggled and were captured by "bush-whackers." joe was exchanged a few days, later, lindsay preferring to remain a prisoner. after a short stay at clinton we moved up to jacksboro and remained there until oct. th, guarding bragg's line of communications. our service at this place was uneventful. buell's army had retreated into kentucky and there was nothing to disturb our "otium cum dignitate" save a moderate amount of picket duty and the one subject ever uppermost in the soldier's mind--"rations." the following incidents of our stay at this camp furnish some illustrations of this fact: the parson and the gravy. a continuous diet of salt bacon had made the boys ravenous for fresh meat and as war has no tendency to strengthen respect for property rights where a soldier's appetite is involved, they were not, as a rule, very scrupulous as to the methods adopted to procure a supply. the means most in use at the date referred to were known in camp parlance as "flip ups." as no encyclopedia of my acquaintance describes this mechanical contrivance and its specifications have never encumbered the records of the patent office, it may not be amiss to say that it consisted of a bent sapling, a slip noose with a trigger attachment and a bait of corn. the unsuspecting porker, tempted by the bait, sprang the trigger and the sapling freed from its confinement, sought to resume its normal position, while the shote caught in the noose and partially suspended in the air gave noisy notice that the game was up. on one occasion the catch, by right of discovery or otherwise, fell to a mess, of which parson h----, a minister of the presbyterian persuasion, was a member. when dinner was served that day a dish of smoking pork chops was passed to the parson, but he declined with the remark that his conscience did not allow him to eat stolen meat. as the meal progressed the fragrant odor from the dish struck his olfactories with increasingly tempting force and he finally passed up his tin plate and said: "i'll take a little of the gravy if you please." he had made a brave fight for principle and his final compromise was probably due to the fact that paul's vow, "if meat make my brother to offend i will eat no flesh while the world standth," failed to include gravy in its inhibition. he may have been further influenced by the reflection that his refusal to indulge could not possibly restore the porker to life again. as jim wilson said, "'twas greece (grease), but living greece no more." this incident recalls the fact that jim and the writer had on this subject the same scruples as the parson, and in order to place ourselves on the line of strongest resistance we entered into an agreement with each other binding ourselves to total abstinence from all meat of questionable origin until mutually released from the obligation. the compact was religiously observed until hood's campaign in tennessee in the winter of ' . transportation was scarce and rations were scarcer. on one occasion two ears of corn were issued to each soldier. some wag in the company, probably elmore dunbar, seeing that horse rations were being furnished sang out, "come and get your fodder." on another occasion beef was issued but no bread. we had neither lard to fry nor salt to season, but our digestive apparatus was not then fastidious as to condiments. it was unimportant whether it was taken "cum grano salis" or without, so the void was filled. a fire was built of dried limbs from a brush pile and the beef placed in a shallow frying pan to stew, frank stone being the chef de cuisine. the mess sat around with anxious faces and whetted appetites. finally one of them, in shifting his position, struck the end of a limb on which the pan was resting and dumped the whole business into the dirt and ashes. the catastrophe placed us rather than the beef in a stew and we went to bed supperless. under such conditions it is, perhaps, but natural that the case should be re-opened, a new trial granted and a verdict rendered to follow paul's other injunction, "whatsoever is set before you, eat, asking no questions for conscience sake." i can not recall positively that either of us ever indulged even as to gravy, but i think i can say that neither of us was particepts criminis in the act of impressment. if guilty, we were only accessories after the fact. "them molasses." during our stay at jacksboro the farmers in that section were making sorghum syrup, which most of them called "them molasses." near one of our picket posts lived a baptist minister named lindsay, from whose better half we purchased vegetables and other edibles. on one occasion i was unable to make exact change and left owing her - cents in confederate money. two weeks later i was on picket again and paid her the balance due. she was so much surprised that a soldier should have the moral sense to recognize and meet such an obligation that she formed a very exalted estimate of my honesty and when i afterwards went to buy some of "them molasses" she requested her husband to take it from a barrel she had reserved for her own use "for," he said "she likes 'em powerful thick." i had occasion to regret her kindness, for it was so thick that it was with difficulty that i could get it either into or out of my canteen, and in view of her partiality i did not have the heart to suggest that a thinner grade would be preferred. she was a kind and motherly soul, and yet some of the soldiers would steal from her. to prevent or minimize their depredations she cooped a noisy rooster underneath her bedroom as a sort of watch dog to notify her of any midnight foragers. a few mornings afterwards she awoke to find, aside from other losses, that her feathered sentinel had been caught asleep upon his post by some soldier, who was chicken-mouthed, if he was not chicken-hearted. rations. rations as one of the sinews of war, deserve something more than incidental mention in these memories and as no more favorable opportunity may occur, it may be as well to give them more extended notice in connection with the incident just related. confederate rations during the early years of the war were as i recollect them, not only fair in quality but ample in quantity. as evidence of this fact i remember that the boys were sometimes so indifferent when rations hour arrived that it was difficult to induce them to draw their allowance promptly. charles catlin was our company commissary and i can hear now his clear, sharp tones as they rang out on the frosty evening air among the virginia mountains in ' , "come up and get your beef. are you going to keep a man standing out here in the cold all night?" as the war progressed the resources of the confederacy, limited to its own production by the cordon of hostile gunboats that girded its ports, became more and more heavily taxed and its larder grew leaner and leaner. but little wheat was raised in the gulf states and few beeves except in texas. we were reduced largely to meal and bacon rations, and the supply of these sometimes recalled the instructions in regard to loading a squirrel rifle given by its owner to a friend to whom he had loaned it: "put in very little powder, if any." cooking squads were detailed from each company and once a day the wagons would drive up and issue three small corn pones to each man. some of the boys, whose hunger was chronic, would begin on theirs and never stop until the last pone had been eaten. bob winter belonged to this class and eight or ten hours after his daily rations had disappeared dick morris would draw a pone or half a pone from his haversack and say, "bob, here's some bread if you want it," and bob would reply, "dick, i don't want to take it if you need it," and dick would answer, "bob, i've told you a thousand times that i wouldn't give you anything that i wanted," and bob would succumb and so would the bread. when our changes of base were rapid the squads would cook up two or three days' rations and in hot weather the bread would mould and when broken open the fungus growth looked very much like cobweb. some of the pones had also the appearance of slow convalescence from chill and fever. under such conditions it could hardly be considered very palatable except upon the idea of a rustic friend of mine, who, in commending the virtues of india cholagogue, was asked as to its palatability. "o," said he, "it's very palatable, but the meanest stuff to take you ever saw." most of the boys had left well-to-do homes to enter the service and while they bore privation and hunger without a murmur, there would sometimes come into their hard lives a craving for the good things they had left behind. gathered about the camp-fire, cold and tired and hungry, they would discuss the dish that each liked best and their lips would grow tremulous as they thought of the day when hope would become realization. joe derry, i remember, could never be weaned away from the memory of his mother's nice mince pies and black-berry jam. i can see his eyes dance now as he magnified their merits. bob winter's ultimate thule in the gastronomic line was sliced potato pie, while jim thomas would never tire of singing the praises of 'possum baked with potatoes. louis picquet said to him one day, "jim, if i ever get home again i am going to have one dinner of 'possum and 'taters if it kills me." but it was left to the epicurean taste of john henry casey to reach the acme of these unsatisfied longings when, recognizing the value of quantity as well as quality he declared that nothing less would satisfy him than "a chicken pie big enough to trot a horse and buggy around on." but for extending this ration sketch to an irrational length i might have said something of the may pop leaves that we cooked for "greens" in north georgia, of the half hardened corn transformed into meal by means of an improvised grater prepared by driving nails through the side of a tin canteen, of the pork issued to us in tennessee with the hair still on it, of the hog skins that we ate at inka, miss., and of many other such things, but they would probably fail to interest the reader as they did the actors in those far off days. chapter iv. transferred to the coast. our enlistment as artillery had so far proven a delusion and a snare. the confederacy had no guns with which to equip us and we had found no opportunity to capture any. during our stay at jacksboro capt. allen succeeded in securing from the war department the transfer of the oglethorpes to the nd south carolina artillery, then in service at charleston. oct. , ' , at p. m. we fell into line, gave three cheers for our late companions in arms and as the setting sun crimsoned with its last rays the lofty summit of the cumberland, we filed out of the village to the tune of "we are sons of old aunt dinah, and we go where we've amind to and we stay where we're inclined to, and we don't care a----cent." and our sojourn in jacksonboro was a thing of the past. reaching augusta oct. , we were dismissed until the rd, when we went into camp at the bush ground, near the city. why we did not proceed at once to our command in charleston has always been to the writer an unsolved problem. we remained in augusta until dec. , when orders were received to report to gen. h. w. mercer, at savannah. col. geo. a. gordon, in command of the th ga. battalion was endeavoring to raise it to a regiment. as he lacked two companies and as the oglethorpes had men on its roll an effort was made to divide the company. on dec. a vote was taken, the result showing a majority against division. dec. we were formally attached to the rd ga. regiment, ranking as co. a. our quarters were located just in the rear of thunderbolt battery and here we remained for more than twelve months in the discharge of semi-garrison duty. a study in insect life. the period covered by our service on the coast formed a sort of oasis in our military life. the federal gunboats were kind enough to extend social courtesies to us only at long range and longer intervals. we fought and bled, it is true, but not on the firing line. the foes that troubled us most, were the fleas and sand fleas and mosquitoes that infested that sections. they never failed to open the spring campaign promptly and from their attacks by night and day no vigilance on the picket line could furnish even slight immunity. if the old time practice of venesection as a therapeutic agent was correct in theory our hygienic condition ought to have been comparatively perfect. during the "flea season" it was not an unusual occurrence for the boys after fruitless efforts to reach the land of dreams, to rise from their couches, divest themselves of their hickory shirts and break the silence of the midnight air by vigorously threshing them against a convenient tree in the hope of finding temporary "surcease of sorrow" from this ever-present affliction. it was said that if a handful of sand were picked up half of it would jump away. i can not vouch for the absolute correctness of this statement, but i do know that i killed, by actual count, one hundred and twenty fleas in a single blanket on which i had slept the preceding night and i can not recall that the morning was specially favorable for that species of game either. i remember further that as we had in camp no "society for the prevention of cruelty to animals," i corked up an average specimen of these insects to see how long he would live without his daily rations. at the end of two weeks he had grown a trifle thin, but was still a very lively corpse. but these were not the only "ills, that made calamity of so long a life," for as moore might have said, if his environment had been different, "oft in the stilly night, ere slumber's chain had bound me, i felt the awful bite of 'skeeters buzzing 'round me." their bills were presented on the first day of the day of the month and, unfortunately, on every other day. at our picket stations on wilmington and white marsh islands and at the "spindles" on the river where the young alligators amused themselves by crawling up on the bank and stealing our rations, there was a larger variety known as gallinippers, from whose attacks the folds of a blanket thrown over our faces was not full protection. but there were still others. on dress parade in the afternoons, while the regiment was standing at "parade rest" and no soldier was allowed to move hand or foot until richter's band, playing capt. sheppards quick step, had completed its daily tramp to the left of the line and back to its position on the right, the sandflies seemed to be aware of our helplessness and "in prejudice of good order and military discipline" were especially vicious in their attack upon every exposed part of our anatomy. capt. c. w. howard, i remember, was accustomed to fill his ears with cotton as a partial protection. i have seen charlie goetchius, while on the officers' line in front of the regiment, squirm and shiver in such apparent agony that the veins in his neck seemed ready to burst. neither whistling minies, nor shrieking shells, nor forced marches with no meal in the barrel nor oil in the cruse ever seemed to disturb his equanimity in the slightest degree. quietly and modestly and bravely he met them all. but the sandfly brigade was a little too much for him. in addition to these discomforts, the salt water marsh, near which we were camped, never failed to produce a full crop of chills and fever as well as of that peculiar species of crabs known as "fiddlers." gen. early was once advised by one of his couriers that the yankees were in his rear. "rear the d--l," said old jubal, "i've got no rear. i'm front all round." these fiddlers seemed to be in the same happy condition. their physical conformation was such that no matter from what side they were approached, they retired in an exactly opposite direction without the necessity of changing front. but of the chills. of the one hundred and fifteen men in our ranks only three escaped an attack of this disease. the writer was fortunately one of the three. one man had fifty-three chills before a furlough was allowed him. quinine was scarce and boneset tea and flannel bandages saturated with turpentine were used as substitutes. whiskey was sometimes issued as a preventative. in pursuance of a resolution formed on entering the service i never tasted the whiskey and as soon as my habit on this line became known, i was not subjected to the trouble of looking up applicants for the extra ration. the dearth in medical supplies recalls other facts showing the straits to which the confederacy was reduced on other lines by the blockade of its ports. letters written in ' , and now in my possession, show that my brother, then assistant surgeon at tallahassee, fla., could not purchase in that place a pair of suspenders nor a shirt collar--that my mess could not buy an oven in savannah, though willing to pay $ for it and that i ordered shoes for capt. picquet, and other members of the company from a mr. campbell at richmond factory, as no suitable ones could be had in savannah. our service at thunderbolt was entirely devoid of any exciting incident or episode in a martial way. if the company fired a single shot at a yankee during our stay i can not recall it. on one occasion or volunteers from each regiment stationed there were wanted for "a secret and dangerous expedition," as it was termed in the order. there was a ready response from the oglethorpes for the entire number wanted from the regiment. among those volunteers i recall the names of w. j. steed, j. e. wilson, r. b. morris, j. c. kirkpatrick and f. i. stone. we never knew whether it was a contemplated attack on fort pulaski or the capture of a federal gunboat, as the expedition failed to materialize. april , ' , henry wombke of the oglethorpes, was drowned while bathing in warsaw sound, and on july , ' , john quincy adams, while returning from picket at the spindles was accidentally shot by george mosher, who had gone up on the boat to kill alligators. some official changes took place in the company during our stay at this camp. to fill the vacancy occasioned by the resignation of lieut. w. g. johnson, charles t. goetchius was elected, but i have no record of the date. on july , ' , the death of major john r. giles resulted in the promotion on july , of capt. j. v. h. allen to that field office in the regiment. louis picquet became captain of the company, and on july , geo. w. mclaughlin was elected jr. nd. lieut. as a part of the "res gestae" of our soldier life at thunderbolt, the following incident may be of some interest: soap and water. my earliest recollections of thunderbolt is associated with a fruitless effort to mix turpentine soap and salt water. we had reached the place tired and dusty and dirty. as soon as the ranks were broken, the boys divested themselves of their clothing and soaping their bodies thoroughly plunged into the salt water for a bath. the result may be imagined. the dirt and dust accumulated in streaks, which no amount of scrubbing could dislodge for it stuck closer than a postage stamp. a sugared tongue. col. geo. a. gordon was a pleasant, persuasive speaker and in his address to the company urging its division so as to complete the quota necessary for a regimental organization he held out to us a tempting array of promises as to our treatment if his wishes were complied with. an irish member of his old company heard the speech and in commenting on it said, "faith, the sugar on his tongue is an inch thick." the oglethorpes, though serving as infantry, had retained their artillery organization and gordon in his plea for a division, said that the incorporation of such an organization into an infantry regiment would be an anomaly--that we would be "nyther fish, flesh nor fowl," giving the english pronunciation to the word "neither." some time afterward the colonel was making his sunday morning inspection of quarters and had reached elmore dunbar's tent. as some of dunbar's mess were sick, he had hoisted a yellow handkerchief over the tent and with a piece of charcoal had placed on its front the sign, "wayside home." gordon saluted as he came up, and then noticing the sign said, "sergeant, what is your bill of fare today," "nyther fish, flesh nor fowl," said dunbar, and the colonel smiled and went his way. fire and fall back the monotony of garrison duty and our comparative exemption from danger during our stay at thunderbolt, developed the spirit of mischief in the boys to an inordinate degree and no opportunity for its exercise was allowed to go unimproved. bob lassiter, while off duty one day, was taking a nap on a "bunk" in his cabin. his unhosed feet protruded from the window, probably with a view to fumigation by the salt sea breeze. jim mclaughlin passed by and taking in the situation called jim thomas. twisting and greasing a strip of paper they placed it gently between bob's unsuspecting toes, fired the ends and then made themselves scarce in that locality. as the lambent flame "lipped the southern strand" of bob's pedal extremities, he, doubtless, felt in the language of henry timrod, "strange tropic warmth and hints of summer seas" and probably dreamed of "a hot time in the old town" that day. but if so his dreams were short-lived. with a yell of pain he fell back on the floor of his cabin, and then, he hotly hurried to and fro, to find the author of his woe; the search was vain for chance was slim to fasten guilt on either jim. skirmishing for pie dessert was not a standing item on our army bill of fare, and when, by chance or otherwise, our menu culminated in such a course, moderation in our indulgence was one of the lost arts. one day in ' , w. j. steed and i, with several other comrades chanced to be in savannah at the dinner hour. our rations for a long time had known no change from the daily round of corn bread and fat bacon, and we decided to vary this monotony by a meal at the screven house. the first course was disposed of and dessert was laid before us. steed finished his but his appetite for pie was still unsatisfied. calling a waiter he said, "bring me some more pie." "we furnish only one piece," said the waiter. the first course plates had not been removed from the table, but simply shoved aside. the waiter passed on and steed pushed the dessert plate from him and gently drawing the other back in his front, awaited results. another waiter passed and thinking steed had not been served, brought him another piece of pie. this being disposed of the program was again repeated and still another waiter supplied dessert. the shifting process was continued until his commissary department could hold no more and he was forced to retire upon the laurels he had won in the field of gastronomic diplomacy. steed and the sugar my friend's penchant for pie may have had its influence in the origin of a problem in the company, which like the squaring of the circle has never received a satisfactory solution. he held during his term of service the office of commissary sergeant for the company, a position in which it was difficult at any time and impossible when rations were scarce, to give entire satisfaction. these difficulties in his case were, perhaps, enhanced by the peculiarities of his poetic temperament, which caused him to live among the stars and gave him a distaste for the bread and meat side of life, except possibly as to pie. try as faithfully as he would to show strict impartiality in the distribution, there was sometimes a dim suspicion that the bone in the beef fell oftener to other messes than his own and that the scanty rations of sugar issued weekly were heaped a little higher when his mess had in contemplation a pie or pudding on the following day. these suspicions finally culminated in an inquiry, which became a proverb of daily use; an inquiry, which formed the concluding argument in every camp discussion, whether on a disputed point in military tactics or on the reconciliation of geological revelation with the mosaic cosmogony; an inquiry with which jim mclaughlin and jim fleming still salute their former commissary: "what has that to do with steed and the sugar?" of course there was never any foundation for such a feeling and probably never any real suspicion of favoritism in the matter. these things formed the minor key of our soldier life and served as they were intended, to enliven its sometimes dull monotony. my friend, and i am glad to have been honored so long by his friendship, will pardon, i know, in the gentleness of his heart a revival of these memories. aside from the faithful discharge of the difficult duties of his position, it gives me pleasure to add my willing testimony to the silent witness of his armless sleeve, that on the firing line and in all the sphere of duty, to which the service called him, he was every inch a soldier. "butter on my greens." for the convenience and comfort of the soldiers going to and returning from their commands, "wayside homes" were established at different points in the confederacy where free lunches were served by the fair and willing hands of patriotic young ladies living in the vicinity. a uniform of grey was the only passport needed. one of these "homes" was located at millen, ga. detained there on one occasion, en route to my command at thunderbolt i was glad to accept their hospitality. seated at the table enjoying the spread they had prepared one of these fair waiting maids approached me and asked if i would take some butter on my "greens." my gastronomic record as a soldier had been like joseph's coat, "of many colors." i had eaten almost everything from "cush" and "slapjacks" to raw corn and uncooked bacon. i had made up dough on the top of a stump for a tray and cooked it on a piece of split hickory for an oven. i had eaten salt meat to which the government had good title, and fresh meat to which neither i nor the government had any title, good or bad. but butter on "greens" was a combination new to my experience and as my digestive outfit had, during my school days, been troubled with a dyspeptic trend, i felt compelled to decline such an addition to a dish that had been boiled with fat bacon. notwithstanding the absence of my friend steed the supply of pie that day was short, and with a degree of self-denial, for which i can not now account, i asked for none. a soldier next me at the table, however, filed his application and when our winsome waitress returned, she handed the desert to me and left my neighbor pieless. i could not recall her fair young face as one i had ever seen before, and i had always been noted for my lack of personal comeliness. i was at a loss therefore to understand why the unsolicited discrimination in my favor had been made. a few minutes later the problem was solved. standing on the porch after the meal had ended, this self-same maiden approached me a little timidly and asked, "when did you hear from your brother sammie?" she and my younger brother, it seemed, had been schoolmates, and, as i learned afterwards, "sweethearts" as well, and the pie business was no longer a mystery. if she still lives as maid or matron and this sketch should meet her eye, it gives me pleasure to assure her that the fragrance of her kindly deed though based upon no merit of my own, still lingers lovingly in my memory, like the echo of "faint, fairy footfalls down blossoming ways." our camp poet. "dropping into poetry" has not been a peculiarity confined to that singular creation of dickens' fancy, "silag wegg." while not a contagious disease, it is said that a majority of men suffer from it at some period in life. like measles and whooping cough it usually comes early, is rarely fatal and complete recovery, as a rule, furnishes exemption from further attacks, without vaccination. under these conditions it is but natural that the oglethorpes should have had a poet in their ranks. in fact we had two, james e. wilson and w. j. steed, who has already figured somewhat in these memories, and who was called phunie, for short. the latter was, however, only an ex-poet, not ex-officio, nor ex-cathedra, but ex-post facto. his attack had been light, very light, a sort of poetical varioloid. he had recovered and so far as the record shows, there had been no relapse. on the first appearance of the symptoms he had mounted his "pegasus," which consisted of a stack of barrels in rear of his father's barn, and after an hour's mental labor, he rose and reported progress, but did not ask leave to sit again. the results are summed up in the following poetic gem: "here sits phunie on a barrel, with his feet on another barrel." he has always claimed that while the superficial reader might find in these lines an apparent lack of artistic finish, with some possible defects as to metre and an unfortunate blending of anapestic and iambic verse, the rhyme was absolutely perfect. i have been unable to discover in them the rhythmic and liquid cadence that marks buchannan reade's "drifting," or the perfection in measure attributed by poe to byron's "ode" to his sister, yet my tender regard for my old comrade disinclines me to take issue with him as to the merits of this, the sole offspring of his poetic genius. my inability to find it in any collection of poetical quotations has induced me to insert it here with the hope of rescuing it from a fate of possibly undeserved oblivion. jim wilson's case was different. his was a chronic attack. "he lisped in numbers for the numbers came." as a poet he was not only a daisy, but, as tom pilcher would say, he was a regular geranium. i regret that my memory has retained, with a single exception, only fragments of his many wooings of the muse. a young lady friend, miss eve, of nashville, asked from jim a christening contribution to an album she had just purchased. he was equal to the occasion. the man and the hour had met. he was in it from start to finish. he filled every page in the book with original verse. i recall now only the following stanza: "newton, the man of meditation, the searcher after hidden cause, who first discovered gravitation and ciphered out attractions laws, could not, with all his cogitation, find rules to govern woman's jaws." but his special forte was parody. a competitive examination was ordered at thunderbolt in ' to fill the position of second sergeant in the company. after studying hardee's tactics for a week jim relieved his feelings in the following impromptu effort: tell me not the mournful numbers from a "shoulder" to a "prime," for i murmur in my slumbers make two "motions in one time." the oglethorpes, though serving as infantry had clung tenaciously to their artillery organization and to the red stripes and chevrons which marked the heavier arm of the service. on our assignment to gordon's regiment, the colonel had made a very strong appeal to us to divide the company and to discard our artillery trimmings. at the next sunday morning inspection jim's tent bore a placard with this inscription, intended for the colonel's eye: "you may cheat or bamboozle us as much as you will, but the sign of artillery will hang round us still." probably his masterpiece was a parody on "maryland," written at jacksonboro, tenn., on the eve of our transfer from the th ga. battalion. that the reader may understand the personal allusion in the verses it is necessary to say that edgar derry, jim russell, ed clayton and alph rogers had been detailed by col. capers to fill certain staff positions with the battalion; that miles turpin was company drummer and stowe--whose camp sobriquet was "calline," was fifer; that in the skirmish at huntsville, tenn., w. w. bussey, who was known in camp as "busky," had been shot in the temple; that before the final charge on the fort, col. capers in crossing a ditch had mired in its bottom and had found some difficulty in extricating himself; that the war horse of the male persuasion ridden by col. gracie had been killed in the skirmish and that randolph was secretary of war. when the transfer had been effected it was uncertain whether the detailed men would retain their position or would return to the company, and the following verses were written by jim as an appeal to them to go with us: come 'tis the red dawn of the day, here's your mule, come, details, join our proud array, here's your mule. with clayton panting for the fray, with rogers urging on that bay, with derry bold and russell gay, here's your mule. oh! here's your mule. come for your limbs are stout and strong, here's your mule, come for your loafing does you wrong, here's your mule, come with your muskets light and long, rejoin the crowd where you belong, and help us sing this merry song, here's your mule, oh! here's your mule. dear fellows break your office chains, here's your mule, the "web-feet" should not call in vain, here's your mule, but if it goes against the grain, "sick furlough" is the proud refrain, by which you may get off again, here's your mule. oh! here's your mule. we trust you will not from us scud, here's your mule, and nip your glory in the bud, here's your mule, remember "busky" bathed in blood, remember capers stuck in mud, and gallant gracie's dying stud, here's your mule, oh! here's your mule. ah, though you may awhile stay mum, here's your mule, to "calline's" fife and turpin's drum, here's your mule, when orders come from randolph grum, you will not then be deaf nor dumb, ah, then we know you'll come, you'll come, here's your mule, oh! here's your mule. and now in conclusion, i am unwilling that my friend, jim wilson should be judged solely by these rhymes. if any allusion in them sounds harshly to ears polite, it must be remembered that they were intended, only for soldiers eyes and ears. the son of a presbyterian missionary to india, he was an educated christian gentleman, one of the brightest and wittiest men i have ever known, as brave as julius caesar and as true to the flag for which he fought as any man who wore the grey. chapter v. the dalton and atlanta campaign. our service on the coast ended april , . on april orders were received transferring our regiment to gen. a. r. wright's brigade, army of northern virginia. gen. h. w. mercer in command, had been ordered to report for duty to gen. johnston at dalton, ga. as gordon and mercer were both savannah men and their war service to that date had thrown them together, they succeeded in inducing the war department to change our orders and assign us to johnston's army. april we left savannah, reaching dalton at a. m. april , and on may were attached to gen. w. h. t. walker's division, three miles east of dalton. on may sherman opened his atlanta campaign and for one hundred days the rattle of musketry, the roar of cannon, the shrieking of shells and the zip of minies, grew very familiar to us, if not very amusing. our first sight of the enemy was at rocky face ridge, may . our pickets were driven in and our trenches shelled, causing some casualties in the regiment, but none in the oglethorpes. lieut. reddick of co. b, while reading a newspaper in rear of the trenches was killed by a federal sharpshooter. no assault was made on our position, but at three other points in johnston's line efforts were made to carry the trenches, though the attacks were all repulsed. on the same day sherman, probably anticipating such a result, began his flanking plan of campaign by sending mcpherson through snake creek gap to threaten johnston's line of communications at resaca. the federal superiority in numbers at a ratio of nearly two to one, enabled sherman to cover johnston's entire front and gave him besides a large force with which to conduct his flanking operations, a policy he pursued persistently and successfully to the end of the campaign. as it is not my purpose to give the general features of this campaign, but simply to record the share borne in it by the rd ga. regiment, i can, perhaps best subserve that purpose by furnishing the following condensed extracts from my "war diary" for that period, elaborating afterward any special features or incidents that may seem to merit more extended notice. may . left trenches a. m., marched to a point miles from resaca. ( ). marched to resaca and returned. ( ). marched to a position one mile above calhoun. ( ). quiet. being unwell, on invitation of lieut. daniel spent the night with rev. i. s. hopkins and himself at the house of his mother in calhoun. . battle of resaca. rejoined command on its way to the front. walker's division held in reserve until p. m. then ordered up to reinforce stewart's division. exposed to heavy artillery fire while crossing pontoon bridge at resaca. heavy fighting in our front. enemy repulsed. p. m., marched back through calhoun to tanner's ferry. . in line of battle. jackson's brigade charged enemy's line at the ferry but were repulsed. p. m., returned to calhoun. . marched to tanner's ferry. heavy skirmishing between steven's brigade and the enemy. junius t. steed of the oglethorpes, wounded. slept on our arms. . at a. m. aroused and ordered to fall back to adairsville. remained in line of battle until p. m. . fell back four miles below kingston. . advanced and took position miles from kingston. under fire from sharpshooters and skirmishers h. l. hill killed and t. f. burbanks wounded. or casualties in regiment. retired to cass station and formed line of battle. johnston's battle order issued. . at a. m. crossed the etowah and fell back to within two miles of altoona. - . quiet. ( ). marched five miles in the direction of dallas. . aroused at daylight and marched miles, camping near powder springs. . at a. m. marched four miles back. at p. m. moved forward a mile and formed line of battle. after night moved three miles and bivouacked. . at a. m. went forward and took position in rear of stewart's division. skirmishing in front all day. . moved to the left near dallas and then a mile or two to the right. h. b. jackson wounded. oglethorpes and co. i thrown out as skirmishers. at p. m. brigade ordered away, leaving us on skirmish line without support. . skirmishing all day. capt. picquet wounded in leg, a. w. mccurdy in head. . at p. m. relieved from duty on skirmish line and rejoined regiment on ellsbury ridge. -june . quiet. ( ). heavy rain. division moved four miles to the right in rear of stevenson, slippery march. . quiet day. at p. m. moved off to the right. jackson's brigade and a portion of ours detached in the darkness, lost their way and forced to lie over till morning. . rejoined division and built breastworks. oglethorpes and co. g on picket. skirmishing with the enemy. at p. m. relieved by wheeler's cavalry and told to "git," as our army had fallen back. overtook regiment after five mile tramp over muddiest road i ever saw. moved miles further and took position in rear of gist's brigade. ( - ). quiet. . brigade on picket. d ga. in reserve. - . quiet, and rain, rain, rain. . on picket. wet time. . brigade on picket. skirmishing between the lines. . quiet. ( ). brigade on picket. shelled by federal batteries. lowry's pickets retired leaving our flank exposed. took position on left of cleburne's division. at p. m. moved to the rear of lowry's brigade. . shelled by the enemy. some casualties in regiment. . moved several times. built breastworks. . six companies from regiment sent out to reinforce skirmishers. heavy fighting between the lines all day. carroll, casey, knox, miller and smith wounded. casualties in other companies of the regiment. relieved at p. m. moved - miles towards marietta. . moved up to the summit of a ridge as a picket reserve. at night moved down in rear of breastworks and then half mile to the right and had orders to fortify but slept. . dug trenches on kennesaw line of defence. heavy skirmishing and artillery firing on our right. . remained in the trenches. skirmishing in our front. . artillery duel between the enemy and our batteries on kennesaw. six companies from our regiment sent out on picket line. . skirmishing on picket line all day. no casualties in oglethorpes. relieved at p. m. - . artillery firing and skirmishing. . w. a. dabney wounded last night in arm while asleep. seven companies and a detail of men from the oglethorpes sent out from the regiment on picket line. . battle of kennesaw began at a. m. and ended at : . enemy repulsed all along the line, with heavy loss. oglethorpes lost twenty-three in killed, wounded and captured. loss in regiment . -july . quiet. ( ) at p. m. right wing of the army fell back to a position miles below marietta. . federal army lined up in our front. . some indication of a general engagement. yankees seem disposed to celebrate the day with their artillery. co. a with five other companies from the regiment on picket. heard some excellent music by the federal bands. . army retired to a position near the chattahoochee. . entrenched and moved to the left. . quiet. ( ). co. a with five others on picket. . retired and crossed river to rejoin brigade. . johnston's entire army crossed the chattahoochee last night. . having been quite unwell for several days, through advice of lieut. daniel and dr. cumming i went to division hospital. on the th was sent by medical board to atlanta. on the th went to hospital at oxford, ga. i did not rejoin my command again until aug. th. during my absence gen. johnston had been superseded by gen. hood as commander of the army of tennessee, the battles of peach tree creek and atlanta had been fought, gen. w. h. t. walker, our division commander had been killed and our brigade had been transferred to pat cleburne's division. in the battle of peach tree creek july th, our regiment was only partially engaged and suffered but little loss. eugene verdery and henry booth of the oglethorpes were wounded. the former had volunteered for service on the skirmish line that day and while driving in the enemy's picket line received a wound in the head, which caused him to spin around like a top. in the battle of atlanta, july , the regiment was in the thick of the fight and lost more heavily. of the oglethorpes, s. m. guy was killed. ob. rooks was mortally wounded, m. h. crowder lost a leg, r. w. lassiter an arm, jim mclaughlin the bridge of his nose, while george leonhardt, john bynum, clay foster, hugh ogilby, john quinn and j. o. wiley were otherwise wounded. after my return to the company, near east point, on the th the regiment was sent to the picket line on the th and when relieved on the morning of the th, was placed on the reserve line, where we remained until the th. at a. m. that day we were aroused and ordered to "fall in," but did not move until daylight, when we shifted position or miles to the left. at p. m. we were again on the march and after a fatiguing night tramp reached jonesboro about daylight on the st. battle of jonesboro. after investing and bombarding atlanta for a month, sherman had begun his flanking tactics again by sending five of his corps to seize the m. & w. road at jonesboro, and hardee, with his own and lee's corps, had been sent down to checkmate the movement. after resting a few hours we were formed in line of battle across an old field with only lowry's brigade on our left. for the only time in my experience as a soldier, the plan of battle was read to our command. lee's corps and two divisions of hardee's were to attack the enemy in front while cleburne's division, to which we belonged, were to advance, then wheel to the right and attack in flank. lying for several hours under a hot august sun awaiting orders to advance, i remember that, being uncertain as to my fate in the coming fight, and unwilling to allow the letters in my possession to fall into the enemy's hands, i tore them up, leaving only one for the identification of my body in case of my death. at p. m. we were ordered forward. crossing the open field and advancing through a piece of woodland, a battery of artillery opened on us but their shot flew high. sol foreman of the oglethorpes, was struck by a piece of shell, but there was no other casualty in the company. after advancing nearly a mile we struck a boggy swamp and on its farthest edge flint river. will daniel plunged in and turning to me said, "come on sergeant." he had gone but a little way when the water reached his arm pits and sword in hand he swam across. knowing that my cartridges would be useless if i followed suit, i ran up the stream and found dry passage on a log that lay across it. reaching the crest of the hill beyond, we halted to reform the line. the horse ridden by col. olmstead, our brigade commander, had mired in the swamp, our regiment was without a field officer and will daniel offered to take command of the brigade in the final charge, which we all felt to be ahead of us. the hill on which we stood had been occupied by federal cavalry and artillery, who had retired as we approached. the roar of battle giving evidence of a fierce engagement on our right, came to us over the hills and valleys; capt. dickson of cleburne's staff, with his horse all afoam, his coat and vest discarded and the perspiration trickling from his face, was riding from point to point in the line giving his final orders and the sultry summer air smelled viciously of powder and lead. at this juncture a courier from cleburne dashed up with orders for us to retire. we had gone some distance beyond the point intended and had become entirely detached from the line on our right. the attack in the enemy's front had failed to dislodge them and our two brigades could hardly have accomplished much against five corps of the enemy. by dusk we had resumed our original position and our regiment was placed on the picket line. on sept. , lee's corps returned to atlanta and hardee was left with his two divisions to face an enemy whose strength was five times his own. relieved from picket by a detail of cheatham's division, we were placed in the trenches vacated by lee's corps. at p. m. the enemy massed heavily in front of lewis' ky., and govans' ark. brigades and assaulted in three lines of battle, but were repulsed. they then formed in column of companies, making ten lines of battle, and renewed the attack. our breastworks at this point were inferior and were manned only by a line in single rank. with such odds the issue could not long remain in doubt. govans' line was broken and a part of his brigade was captured. no assault was made on the line held by us, though we were subjected to a heavy fire from their skirmish line. at p. m., hardee evacuated his position and at daylight on the nd, occupied another, near lovejoy station. sherman secured a foothold on the m. & w. road and hood, compelled to give up atlanta, formed a junction with hardee on the rd. the enemy had again taken position in our front and skirmishing was kept up until the th, when they were recalled by sherman and the dalton and atlanta campaign was ended. further memories of the campaign. the following incidents oscillating as they do "from grave to gay," and marked perhaps as much by comedy as by tragedy, will probably be of more interest to the reader of these records than the details just ended: "two and a dog." at the date of our transfer from the coast to johnston's army, our uniforms were in fairly good condition and bore in almost every case the insignia of rank held by the wearer. the writer's jacket had on its sleeves the regulation chevrons of an orderly sergeant, three bars or stripes with lozenge or diamond above them. the troops who had followed the fortunes of the western army from shiloh to chickamauga were not so well clad and had, to a large extent discarded their official insignia. for this reason they were disposed to guy us as bandbox soldiers. passing some of these veterans one day on the march one of them noticed my chevrons and sang out to his comrades: "look there, boys. i've often hearn of "two and a dog" but i'll be blamed if there ain't "three and a dog." i reckon that's the way they play kyards on the coast." the laugh that followed convinced me that my lack of familiarity with the mysteries of the card table was not shared by those who heard the jest. stripes on the wrong side. while we suffered from deficiencies on other lines in the summer of ' , there was certainly no lack of rainy weather during that campaign. the roads over which we tramped were composed largely of a red, adhesive clay. the writer's physical conformation gave him some right to be classed with the knock-kneed species of the genus homo, and in marching over the wet clay hills, the red pigment began at his ankles and by successive contact, traveled gradually up the inside seams of his grey trousers until those seams and an inch-wide space on either side were covered for almost their entire length. passing one day a division resting by the roadside, one of them noticed the peculiar condition of my bifurcated garment, and sang out to me: "hello, my friend; you've got the stripe on the wrong side of your pants." i could not deny the soft impeachment and enjoyed the laugh raised at my expense as much as did my comrades. a close shave. the battle of resaca began may , ' . walker's division, to which we belonged, was held in reserve during the morning and at p. m., as the fighting grew fiercer, we were ordered up to reinforce stewart's division in our front. a pontoon bridge had been laid across the oostenaula river and a courier stationed on its bank to hurry the men across, as the railroad embankment on the other side would protect them from the fire of a federal battery, which had secured the exact range of the road over which we were passing. as we approached the bridge capt. martin, commanding the company next in our front, halted the column a moment to hear what the courier was saying. as the march was resumed, a solid shot from the battery struck directly in a file of fours in martin's company killing two and wounding a third, not more than ten feet from where i stood. the time occupied in the halt would have about sufficed to have covered the intervening distance, and certainly saved the lives of some of the oglethorpes and possibly my own. crossing the river, gen. w. h. t. walker passed us going to the front and as he rode by, another shot from the battery struck immediately behind him, barely missing his horse. glancing around at the dust it had raised and turning to us with a smile on his face, he said, "go it boots," and galloped on to the head of the division. on this, as well as on every other occasion when under fire, he seemed not only absolutely indifferent to danger, but really to enjoy its presence. gen. cabell, in recalling his association with gen. walker in the ' 's, said that battle always brought to his eyes an unusual glitter and that he thought him the bravest man he had ever known. a hero in three wars, severely wounded at okeechobee, fla., and at molino del rey and chapultpec, mex., he fell at last gallantly leading his division at the battle of atlanta, july , ' , and i am sure no battle soil on god's green earth in all the ages was ever stained by braver or by nobler blood than william henry walker's. a twilight prayer meeting. on may , ' , sherman and johnston were fronting each other near kingston, ga. in the skirmishing that day the oglethorpes had suffered some casualties, among them one that saddened all the company. hugh legare hill, son of hon. joshua hill, a beardless boy, had been shot through the head and instantly killed. he had joined us some months before at thunderbolt and becoming restive under the inaction of coast service, had applied for a transfer to johnston's army. chafing under the delay brought on by military red tape in such matters, and anxious to secure a place on the firing line he had urged the officers to press the matter as he wanted to reach his new command in time for the opening of the spring campaign. before the papers were returned our regiment was ordered to dalton and the transfer was abandoned. poor legare! the spring campaign had not yet drifted into summer before his bright young life, that knew no other season, but its spring, had found its sad and sudden ending on the firing line, a place for which he longed so ardently and met so bravely. in the evening of that day we occupied a line near cass station, a line chosen by johnston for a general and decisive engagement with sherman's army. the fabian policy, that had marked the campaign from its opening, was to be ended. the gage of battle was thrown down and atlanta's fate was to be settled before another sunset. every arrangement for the coming conflict was made and the men ready and anxious for the fray were resting on their arms. at the twilight hour two members of the oglethorpes left their places in the ranks and retired to a quiet spot in the forest not far away to talk with god. no church spire raised its lofty summit heavenward. under the open sky in one of "god's first temples," as dusk was deepening into night, they kneeled together and each in turn, in tones of earnest supplication, asked for god's protecting care upon themselves and on their comrades in the coming battle and for his blessing on the flag for which they fought and prayed. and when their prayers were ended, they pledged each other that if it was the fate of either one to fall, the other would act a brother's part and give such aid and comfort as he could. returning to their places in the line, they wrapped their worn, grey blankets around them and lay down under the starlight to pass in calm and quiet sleep, the night before the battle. i have attended many larger prayer meetings since that day; i have heard many petitions to a throne of grace, clothed in more cultured phrase, and yet but few that seemed more earnest or filled with simpler trust in god. under the urgent protest of hood and polk, joe johnston's plans were changed and the promised battle beside the etowah was never fought. i know not what the issue would have been, personal or national. i know that if the hundred and fifty thousand men marshalled upon that field on that may day had met in deadly strife, the shadows would have fallen on many a northern and many a southern home. and yet somehow i can but feel that if that evening's bloody promise had been fulfilled and in the gathering twilight at its close our company roll was called to mark the living and the dead, my friend and comrade, steed, and i, whose humble prayers had broken the silence of the evening air to reach no other ears but ours and god's, would in his kindly providence have answered, "here." tom howard's squirrel bead. on may , ' , we were on skirmish line near dallas, ga. the remainder of the brigade had left the trenches in our rear to reinforce some other point in the line and the pickets were holding the fort alone. a federal sharpshooter had secured a concealed position at short range and was picking off the men in a way highly satisfactory to himself, perhaps, but decidedly unpleasant to us. we had been on duty all the night before and worn out from loss of sleep. i sat down with my back to a tree as a protection from careless bullets and fell asleep. will daniel, in a similar position and for like reasons, was dozing at the next tree twenty feet away. a courier came down the line and waking me asked for the officer in command. i pointed to will and as the courier laid his hand on will's shoulder to wake him, a ball crashed through his knee, causing him to scream with pain. a little while before louis picquet had received the wound that cost him his leg, and a little later mccurdy of our company, fell with a ball through his head. tom howard had been watching the progress of events and they seemed to him entirely too one-sided. gripping his rifle more tightly and with the peculiar flash that came to his eyes when excited, he said, "boys if i can get a squirrel bead on that fellow i can stop his racket." slipping from tree to tree until he located the picket by the smoke of his gun, he drew his squirrel bead and fired. this time the yell of pain came from the other side, and tom, with his eyes dancing and his face all aglow, turned to us and said, "boys, i got him. i heard him holler." tom's bead had stopped the racket. "when this cruel war is over." tom was one of the "characters" in the company. brave and generous, full of life and humor and always ready for duty, he would sometimes grow a little homesick. one day, ab mitchell, sitting on the edge of the trenches, began to sing, "when this cruel war is over." so far as i know, ab had never taken first prize at a singing school, but as tom listened, the plaintive melody of the air and the undertone of sadness in the verses carried him back to his old home in oglethorpe. every feature of the old plantation life rose vividly before him. he heard the "watch dog's honest bark bay deep-mouthed welcome" as he drew near home. he slaked his thirst from the "old oaken bucket that hung in the well." he heard the lowing cows and saw the playful gambol of his blooded stock cantering across the barn yard. he saw the blooming cotton fields and heard the rustling of the waving corn. but last and best of all, he felt the pressure of tiny arms about his neck, the touch of loving lips upon his own and then his dream was over. with tears in the heart if not in his eye, he thought of the life that lay before him; of the weary months or years that would come and go before these old familiar scenes would gladden his eyes again, and he could stand it no longer. rising suddenly he seized his old rifle and turning to the singer, he said, "ab mitchell, if you sing another line of that song, i'll blow your blamed head off." and the concert ended without an encore. "jim, touch off no. ." during this campaign, major bledsoe of missouri, commanded a battalion of artillery in cleburne's division. a veteran of two wars, combining in his personality both the southern and western types, tall and gaunt, with no trace of beau brummellism in his physical or mental make-up, he was as stubborn a fighter as the struggle produced on either side, and yet away from the battlefield he was as gentle and as genial as a woman. so accurate were his gunners and so effective their fire, that it was said that no federal battery had ever planted itself in range of his guns, when they were once unlimbered. as he sat by his battery one day in may, ' , reading a newspaper, a stranger approached him and said, "major, where are the yankees?" raising his eyes from the paper a moment he turned to one of his gunners and said: "jim, touch off no. ," and resumed his reading. "jim" pulled the lanyard, there was a puff of smoke, the earth trembled from the concussion and the six-pound messenger sped on its mission of death. as it reached its mark, which had been hidden by the undergrowth in front, the "blue coats" were seen scattering in every direction. the stranger was answered. as i may have no further occasion to refer to major bledsoe in these records, an incident or two occurring some months later may not be amiss in this connection. on october , ' , near courtland, ala., on our trip to nashville, a grey fox crossed our line of march, passing between two of the regiments. the major was riding by and spurring his horse to full speed, he gave chase, trying at every step to disengage his pistol from the holster for a shot at the animal. i think he failed to secure the "brush." the reynard tribe must have been numerous in that section, for on reaching our camping place that evening, we found pat cleburne and his entire staff chasing another fox through an old field. after the retreat from nashville our division was ordered to north carolina and in the transfer the trip from selma to montgomery, ala., was made by steamer. the boat was old and slow, and the voyage monotonous. to enliven it, the boys, for lack of better game, would try their marksmanship on every buzzard that in silent dignity sat perched on the tall dead pines that lined the river bank. major bledsoe was with us, and constituting himself a "lookout" for the game, he entered into the sport with all the zest and ardor of a boy. he was probably no blood kin to "jim bludsoe" of prairie belle fame, but under similar conditions i believe that like "jim" he would, regardless of his own fate, have "held her nozzle to the bank, till the last galoot was ashore." another stampede. mention has been made of a panic that occurred on a night march near green brier river, va., in ' . a similar stampede occurred on the night of may , ' , near powder springs, ga. we were in reserve and were shifting position to the right. the night was dark and none of us knew the object of the movement or our destination. tramping along quietly under a moonless sky over a country road darkly shaded by a heavy forest growth, a sudden rumbling was heard, increasing in volume as it approached and then the column in front dimly seen in the starlight, swayed to the right and there was a unanimous movement to get out of the way and to get quickly. one man, thoroughly demoralized, broke through the woods at full speed in the darkness, ran into a tree, that stood in his pathway, and dislocated his knee cap. most of the men thought the enemy's cavalry were charging down the road upon them and they took to the woods and did not stand upon the order of their going. the rumbling was caused by the hurried tramp of feet as the men left the road. it was simply a causeless stampede and no one knew how it began. it was said that a deer ran across the road in front of the column, but i can not vouch for the correctness of this explanation. i do not know how it may have been with others, but to the writer the expectation of meeting an unseen enemy in the dark, with no means of ascertaining his numbers or location, was never a pleasant sensation. it would have modified the feeling, perhaps, if i had borne in mind always the advice of a confederate general to his men to "remember that the other side is as badly scared as you are." a summer day on the firing line. it was a day in june, but neither a perfect nor a rare june day. for two weeks and more it had rained almost continuously. every day or two jabe poyner, the weather prophet of the company, had said, "well boys, this is the clearing up shower." and still it rained and rained and rained until poyner's reputation on this line had gone where the woodbine twineth. in the early morning of the th there was another of jabe's clearing up showers and at its close the boys were lying on the wet ground, a hundred yards in rear of the breastworks, awaiting orders. they had amused themselves for a time by shooting pebbles at each other, when bill byrd's foot was struck and he said, "boys, don't shoot so hard--that one hurt." looking down at his foot, he found that another partner had entered the game as it had been hit by a minnie ball from the skirmish line. the firing had begun at daylight and was growing heavier. at a. m. six companies of the regiment were ordered to the front to reinforce our skirmish line, which was being pressed back. "over the breastworks, oglethorpes," sang out lieut. daniel, and we went over with a yell. advancing and deploying under fire, we reached a position within yards of the federal line and having no rifle pits, we availed ourselves of such protection as the larger forest trees afforded. selecting a post oak, i had been there only a little while when the man on my right, belonging to another company, was shot down. the woods were very thick in my front and not relishing the idea of being killed with such limited opportunity of returning the favor, i shifted my position to the leeward side of a red oak, twenty or thirty feet to the left where the woods were more open and a federal rifle pit in front was only partially hidden from my view. the diameter of the tree about covered my own and there for twelve hours, in a drizzling rain, i cultivated the acquaintance of that oak more earnestly perhaps than i had ever fostered a personal friendship. for that day at least it was "my own familiar friend in whom i trusted," and if on bidding it adieu, i had met the owner, my prayer to him would have been, woodman spare that tree, mar not its noble shape, today it sheltered me from "minnie" and from "grape." all day long leaden messengers were knocking at the door of my improvised breastwork in search of my long and lank anatomy. it was barked and scarred and torn from the root to twenty feet above my head. twice the bark was knocked into my eyes and once a ball striking at the foot of the tree filled them with dirt. on one of these occasions i must have flinched a little as george harrison, who was cultivating friendly relations with the next tree on my right, turned anxiously and asked if i was shot. the federal line as a rule stuck rather closely to their pits and not feeling authorized to waste my ammunition i fired only when there was a blue target in sight. some of the boys, less careful of their cartridges expended or rounds during the day. john carroll, ten feet to my left, kept firing when i could see no game, and i said to him, "john, what are you shooting at?" "well," he said, "they are down that way." before the day was ended some of them "down that way" had shot him through the thigh, and the poor fellow died of the wound. in addition to the incessant infantry fire, which made small lead mines of the friendly oaks, the federal artillery, not wishing to be lacking in social attentions, complimented us at short intervals with volleys of grape. these came over us like the whir of a covey of overgrown partridges, but fortunately flew high, causing more nervousness than execution. ninety thousand rounds of ammunition were fired on hardee's line alone that day and our friends on the other side expended probably an equal or larger number. there was no intermission for lunch. our rations were nearly half a mile away and the northern exposure of the route towards them somehow dulled our appetites. there are several incidents that come back very vividly today from that twelve hours' fright in the woods. a squirrel hunt under difficulties. one of these incidents furnished an exhibition of coolness under fire and indifference to danger that had no parallel in all my term of service. about midday i heard several shots fired a short distance in my rear. fearing that some excited soldier might fire wildly and shoot me in the back, i turned to investigate, and saw a member of the regiment standing in an exposed position and coolly and deliberately firing, not at the enemy, but at a squirrel he had discovered in the branches of the tree above our heads. grape shot were tearing the limbs from their sockets, minies were making music in the air, or striking the oaks with a dull, dull thud, but that soldier, was oblivious to everything save a determination to have fried squirrel for supper. if i knew his name i cannot now recall it, nor do i remember whether the squirrel was included in the casualties of that day. jim thomas' dilemma. during the afternoon jim and a yankee picket had been taking alternate shots at each other and it was the yankee's time to shoot. jim was nestling up to the southern side of his tree and thinking possibly of all the meanness he had ever committed in order to feel as small as possible, when a cannon ball crashed through the tree, cutting off its top and sending it by force of gravity, in the direction of his head. he was in a dilemma. if he remained where he was he was liable to be crushed to death by the falling timber, and if he left his cover the picket would probably kill him. under ordinary circumstances jim may not have been averse to taking a "horn," but in this dilemma he was undecided which horn to take, whether to bear the ills he had or fly to others, that unfortunately he knew too well. "all things come to him who waits," but in this case there was something coming that jim didn't care to wait for. doing perhaps the rapidest thinking of his life he decided if he had to shuffle off this mortal coil, he would do so in a soldierly way, and leaving the protection of his tree he gave his antagonist a fair shot. fortunately the aim was bad and jim lived to laugh over his deliverance from a sea of troubles. a poor gun or a poor gunner. obliquely to the right of my position in the line, and about yards distant as i estimated it, there was a shallow ravine or valley and or feet beyond, on its further slope, a yankee rifle pit. for reasons which readily occurred to the writer at the time and which will probably suggest themselves to the reader, i did not take the trouble to verify my estimate of the distance by stepping it. about the center of this depression in the land was a very large tree--a pine, as i recollect it. on the farther side of this tree and hidden by it entirely from my view for the larger part of the day was a six-foot yankee soldier, an officer probably, for he had no gun in his hand. during the afternoon, to protect himself from the fire of other skirmishers on my right, he had "inched" around the tree until his body from his knee upward was in plain and unobstructed view of my position. it was drizzling rain and his shoulders were protected by a blue blanket thrown across them. it was the fairest, prettiest shot i had enjoyed during the day and fearing that he would change his position, i aimed at his breast rather hurriedly and fired. the shot failed even to scare him for he didn't move an inch. reloading as rapidly as i could, i steadied the gun against the red oak and with as deliberate aim as i had ever taken at a squirrel in my boyhood i fired again. and still he moved not. reloading again i took even longer aim and when the smoke cleared from the muzzle of the gun he had disappeared. i do not think that he was either killed or disabled as in such event i would have seen him carried to the rear. i am glad to believe that my third shot simply convinced him that a change of base was desirable and that he acted upon that conviction while the smoke obstructed my vision. and now in at least partial extenuation of what seemed very poor marksmanship it may not be amiss to say that the weapon used was an austrian rifle and was considered a very inferior gun. with an enfield or springfield rifle i think i could have made a better record, provided always that my nerves had not been rendered unsteady by the necessity for dodging minies for six or eight hours. george harrison, who took care of the tree nearest me on the right has always insisted that i did redeem my reputation on that day, but with so many guns in possible range of the same point it was impossible for him to have known definitely whose shot was effective. such a result, if positively settled, would be to me now only an unpleasant memory and while in the discharge of my duty as a confederate soldier and in justice to the cause, for which i fought, i lost no opportunity and spared no effort to lessen the number of effectives on the other side, it has been a gratification to me to have no positive knowledge that my efforts were ever successful. saved from death by a bible. evan h. lawrence, of morgan county, and a member of the oglethorpes, occupied that day a position about feet to my left. he had in his left breast pocket and covering his heart, a bible. during the day a minie ball struck the book and passing partly through, stopped at the th verse of the d chapter of isiah. but for the protection furnished by the book it would probably have produced a fatal wound. he told me afterwards that the subject matter of that special chapter had been in his thoughts all day. he survived the war, entered the ministry of the baptist church and preached his first sermon from the text named above: "how beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace," etc. i am satisfied that the incident and the peculiar significance of the text had a controlling influence in the selection of his life work after the war. he fought a good fight, both as a soldier and a christian, and i feel assured, has received his certificate of promotion in the ranks of the army above. at p. m. we were relieved and returned to the trenches. twelve hours' continuous fighting had rendered us hungry for rest as well as food, but our rations of both were destined to be short. the beef issued to us had been slaughtered so long and was so badly tainted that even a soldier's appetite had to reject it. only the tallow or fat could be used and this was stuck on the end of a ramrod, placed in the flame until the outer surface was scorched and was then eaten with a relish that the rarest dainties of a royal table would not bring to me now. after a hasty lunch we were again on the tramp. the roads were very muddy, the march was obstructed by wagons in front and we made only - miles in four hours. there were frequent halts and at one of them will daniel and the writer, standing side by side in the mud, both fell asleep. after a time the company moved on, but neither of us awoke until jostled by other troops in passing us. this incident recalls the fact that on a forced march in tennessee afterwards, i slept walking. the nap must have been a short one, but that i lost consciousness was proven by the fact that i dreamed of a young lady three hundred miles away. a little after midnight we were halted on the crest of a ridge and thoroughly worn out we lay down to rest, invoking in our hearts if not upon our lips, blessings on the man that invented sleep. incidents on the kennesaw line. on the next day, th, we were on reserve picket all day in the rain, but fortunately with no fighting to do. relieved at midnight, we retired behind the trenches, as the writer hoped, for much-needed rest and sleep. my only blanket had been thoroughly soaked by the rain and knowing gen. johnston's predilection for changing base at night, i was in doubt whether to take the chance of securing such sleep as i could get in a wet blanket, or to build a fire, dry the blanket and fall into the arms of morpheus like a gentleman. i chose the latter course, spent an hour in the drying process and then lay down, hopeful of a good night's rest. i had just fitted my angular frame to the inequalities of the ground, when the ominous "fall in," fall in.. fell like another wet blanket on my heart and hopes. out into the mud and darkness we tramped, not knowing whither we went and caring, perhaps as little. we were finally halted near the base of kennesaw mountain and on the line we were to occupy for the next two weeks. before dismissing the company will daniel said, "an attack is expected on this line at daylight tomorrow, and i have orders to fortify it. i am tired and i am going to sleep. you can entrench or not, as you choose, but i want you to distinctly understand that you have got to hold this line in the morning, breastworks or no breastworks." only one man remained awake to fortify and he dug his trench in the wrong direction. fortunately the expected attack did not materialize next day and we found ample opportunity to entrench before it came on the th. sleeping under difficulties. the ground through which our trenches ran sloped upwards in our rear and as we were in range of the federal skirmish line, the balls that missed the breastworks would strike the soil or feet back of them. on the night of june i was sleeping under a shelter made of bark stripped from chestnut trees, with will dabney as bedfellow. about midnight i was awakened by his groaning and found that he had been wounded while asleep, the ball entering his arm above the elbow and stopping at the bone without breaking it. w. j. steed was accustomed to use his shoes and socks as a pillow for his head, a habit growing possibly out of his daily effort as commissary to make both ends meet. he was a little surprised one morning to find that a minie ball had passed through his improvised pillow without disturbing his sleep. geo. mclaughlin found one morning a minie imbedded in the heel of the shoe he had laid aside for the night. these cases might indicate that our northern friends were rather partial to that kind of in-shoe-rance, but i am satisfied that george and "phunie" would have preferred a different policy. the fire from the skirmish line was so heavy one morning and the balls were flying around so carelessly that the company was ordered into the trenches. frank stone and i had not finished our breakfast and as will daniel had a personal interest in the meal, we secured his consent to continue our culinary operations. i was sitting by the fire cutting up a piece of beef for hash, when one of those careless minies struck my right arm near the wrist, ventilating the sleeve of my jacket and partially disabling my arm for ten days. as a souvenir of that temporary interruption to the hash business i have that minie filed away among other war curios. the victim of misplaced confidence. our stay at kennesaw was marked by another squirrel incident differing somewhat from that of june , already referred to. a short distance in the rear of our position a confederate battery had been planted and between this and the enemy's batteries there were frequent artillery duels. so frequent were these engagements and so accustomed did we become to the noise of the guns that if asleep it failed to awake us, although our battery was only seventy-five yards away. on one of these occasions we were ordered into the trenches for protection from the shells. sitting in the ditch with our faces turned rearward, some one in the ranks spied a squirrel in the branches of a tree standing near our battery. he was apparently crazed by the noise of the guns and the shriek of the shells flying around him. one of the oglethorpes sang out to him, "come down in the trenches--you'll be killed up there." i don't think the squirrel heard him, but the words had barely left his lips, when the little animal ran down the tree, struck a bee line for the trenches and leaped in among the men. as he made his way down the line, some one stamped on him and put an end to his race for life. i regretted his fate, not only on account of his grey uniform, but for the reason that if he was really seeking protection he had found himself the victim of misplaced confidence. pediculus corporis. on the evening of june , will daniel said to me, "furnish men for picket duty tonight. lieutenants blanchard and mclaughlin will go with them. as this is a detail, you will remain with the remnant of the company in the trenches." as gen. sherman had not favored us with his confidence, neither of us knew how much, exemption from that service meant for both of us on the morrow. in detailing non-commissioned officers for this detachment, corp. l. a. r. reab asked to be excused upon the ground that he had received that day an outfit of outer and under clothing--that by changing the old garments for the new after a thorough ablution he had succeeded in ridding himself of a camp affliction technically known as "pediculus corporis," but usually characterized by a less euphonious title--that picket service in the pits would certainly bring on a renewal of the attack, from which he desired most earnestly to have at least a few days immunity. while he had my sympathy, i was unable to consider his excuse a valid one, and referred him to his commanding officer, who also declined to relieve him. it was possibly fortunate that he failed as he was captured next day and was kept a prisoner until the close of the war, securing in this way exemption from further risk in battle and perhaps a longer lease of life. in this connection it may not be amiss to say that the oglethorpes were, perhaps, as cleanly as any company in the service and yet during the last year of the war i do not think a single member was free of this affliction for a single day. it was simply a physical impossibility to get rid of it. discussing this matter with my friend, w. j. steed some time since, i made the statement that during our trip to nashville in the winter of ' , when we had no opportunity to change our underclothing for a month or more, it was our custom before retiring at night, to take our flannel or hickory shirts, close the neck and wrist, suspend them over a blazing fire and hold them there until the air was filled with the odor of frying meat. steed's reply was, "i think a good deal of you, old fellow, but i advise you never to make that statement to any one who has not unlimited confidence in your veracity." and yet i make it here with as full conviction of its absolute truthfulness as any statement i have ever made in any presence. and now, bidding the "pediculus corporis" adieu with a great deal of pleasure, i ask the reader's attention to another theme. battle of kennesaw the men detailed for picket on the evening of the th, went to their posts with seven other companies from the regiment, with no premonition of what was in store for them on the coming day. there was the usual desultory firing during the night, but the sunrise salute on the th was not confined to a single gun. every battery fronting hardee's corps and french's division, joined in the chorus. the cannonade was heavy and continuous until a. m., when the federal bugles sounded the advance. as the assaulting column approached our skirmish line, the pickets covering the divisions of cheatham, cleburne and french retired to the trenches, where the enemy met with a bloody and disastrous repulse. in walker's front their approach was hidden from view by a dense forest growth, except on the extreme right adjoining french, where the pits running across an open field, were held by co. c, of our regiment. this company had retired with french's pickets, leaving a vacancy in the line. the oglethorpes were in reserve, and maj. allen, misled by capt. buckner as to the situation and ignorant of the fact that the attacking column had already reached our skirmish line, ordered the company into fill the gap. gallantly led by lieutenants blanchard and mclaughlin, they advanced at a double quick step and on reaching the open field were met by a murderous fire both from the front and flank, for french's deserted pits were already occupied by the enemy. the woods to the left and front were swarming with blue coats. on a portion of the line held by co. k, they had reached the pit and a hand to hand conflict ensued. men fought with clubbed muskets. a short-legged irishman of that company, with the unusual name of john smith, had his gun seized by a stalwart yankee and there was a struggle for its possession. the little son of erin was game, but he was overmatched in strength and shoving his opponent backward as the gun was wrenched from his hands, he said, "to ---- with you and the gun too." lieut. george a. bailie, of co. b, had his ear grazed by a minie and his antagonist, twenty feet away, reloaded to fire again; having no weapon but his sword, lieut. b. decided to emulate david in his contest with goliath, and picking up a stone he threw it, striking his foe squarely between the eyes and placing him hors de combat for a time at least. further up the line and near the vacant pits, another member of the regiment, whose name is not recalled, stood loading and firing as rapidly as his teeth could tear the cartridges and his hands could ram them home. his face was cold and pallid and bloodless, but not from fear. blackened with powder stain, through which the perspiration trickled in streams, his eyes flashed defiance with every flash from his gun, while disdaining the protection of the pits he stood there a perfect demon of war, with no thought save to kill. and what of the oglethorpes? they had picked up something too hot to hold. attacked both in front and flank by largely superior numbers they were in a veritable hornet's nest. they fought bravely to hold their position, but the odds were too great and george mclaughlin, seeing that it was wholesale death or capture, sang out, "save yourselves, boys." the place was too hot to hold and almost to let go. for two or three hundred yards to the rear was an open field sloping upwards. to retire through this bullet swept as it was at short range, was simply to court death. obliquely to the rear was a piece of woodland from which some protection could be gained. most of the men made a break for this. some of them ran squarely into the arms of the enemy who had possession of the woods, and were captured. some failed to leave the pits in time and were taken prisoners there. some ran the gauntlet safely, while some brought to the rear in frame or limb a perpetual souvenir of that warm day. with the first volley as they entered the open field, lieut. blanchard was wounded and w. j. steed fell by his side with a ball through his lungs. a moment later a. m. hilzheim, who had joined us only a day before, had received a fatal wound, and wyatt chamblin had fallen with a shattered leg. when the order to retire was given, w. j. steed, john weigle and charlie bayliss attempted to make their way to the rear through the open field. steed had gone but a little way when a ball crashed through his hand. as he slung it in pain, another shattered his elbow and he fell. as he lay there suffering agony from three wounds a fourth ball broke the same arm near the shoulder. a little way off charlie bayliss lay dead and john weigle had fallen with a broken thigh. the federal line was re-formed in rear of the pits and steed and weigle were ordered to come in and surrender. they replied that they were unable to go in, but that if litter bearers were sent out they could be carried in. just then a shell from one of french's batteries burst over the federal line and they took to the woods without the ceremony of a formal dismissal. steed and weigle took advantage of a temporary lull in the firing and renewed their efforts to escape. steed was so weakened by loss of blood from his four wounds that he could only rise, stagger a little way and fall, then rest for a time and renew the effort, while weigle was forced to crawl and drag his wounded limb. in the effort he was shot in the other leg, but was finally reached by the litter bearers and taken to the rear, one of them being fatally wounded as they bore him off. after repeated efforts, occupying an hour or more, steed reached the haven and swooned away. in this condition he was found and rescued. he still lives, but an armless sleeve furnishes constant reminder of the terrible experience of that june day. weigle, poor fellow, a model soldier and a brave, true man, died from his wounds. and now, though it is due to the truth of history, i regret to record the fact, that while these comrades of mine, who had been shot down on the soil of their own state for defending their homes and firesides, were making in bitter agony their heroic struggle for life, federal soldiers, schooled in sherman's creed that "war is hell" and that "the humanities of life have no place" amid its horrors, concealed behind trees and under the shelter of rifle pits, were trying to murder these men as they lay maimed and mangled and bleeding and helpless upon the ground. it is not a pleasant picture, and i am glad to be able to shift the reader's attention to another that blooms out in striking and refreshing contrast to this product of northern civilization. at the same hour and less than a mile away, the attack of palmer's corps on cleburne's and cheatham's divisions met with a bloody repulse and as the union line retired, exploding shells or paper wrapping from the rifle cartridges, fired the woods where the federal dead and wounded lay. "cease firing," rang out from brave pat cleburne's lips, and the rugged heroes of granbury, govan and lowry, dropped their arms and leaping the breastworks they hurried out under the summer sun and the fiercer heat of the blazing woods to rescue and save their fallen and helpless foes. comment is unnecessary and if it were, as a reconstructed citizen of a reconstructed union, i have no heart to make it. in addition to the casualties already named ab. mitchell of the oglethorpes, lost an arm, and w. w. bussey, w. b. morris, bob prather, billy pardue, ben rowland and randall reeves were otherwise wounded. l. a. r. reab, joe derry, willie eve, geo. harrison, bud howard, w. chamblin, jabe marshall, polk thomas, john coffin and lott were captured. george pournelle's fate was never positively known. those who escaped thought he was captured and those who were captured thought he escaped. he was the last to leave his pit, was probably killed there and falling in it was thus concealed from the view of other members of the company. he was my friend and messmate, brave and kind and true. three years' comradeship had drawn us very close together and the mystery of his death has always saddened me. the pickets were rallied by major allen on a line nearer our trenches, but the federals made no further effort to advance. the brave stand made by our regiment on the skirmish line checked the assaulting column and by : the battle had ended. sherman had lost , and johnston only , one-eighth of it falling on the rd ga. gen. w. h. t. walker complimented the regiment on its gallantry, but suggested that it be tempered with a little more discretion. roll call after battle. few scenes in a soldier's life are touched with sadder interest than the first roll call after a battle. as orderly sergeant of the oglethorpes i had to call its roll, perhaps a thousand times, and yet i do not now remember one that touched my heart more deeply than that which closed that summer day at kennesaw. the voices of twenty-two of those who had so promptly answered to the call of duty a few short hours before, were hushed and silent when their names were called. some with federal bayonets guarding them, were tramping to prison dens, perhaps to slow and lingering death. some with mangled form and limb were suffering more than death, while some with white cold faces turned toward the stars, were answering roll call on the other shore. standing beside the breastworks on that summer evening, under the shadow of grim and silent kennesaw, with twilight deepening into night, there were shadows on all our hearts as well, shadows that stretched beyond us and fell on hearts and hearthstones far away, shadows that rest there still and never will be lifted. under two flags. some time in ' there came to the regiment a young and beardless boy, "the only son of his mother and she was a widow." timid and shrinking, he was assigned to a company in which he had neither friend nor acquaintance, and he soon grew homesick and despondent. he had been my brother's schoolboy friend and in pity for his loneliness i made an effort to secure his transfer to the oglethorpe's. his captain declined to approve the papers and the effort failed. frail and unfitted to endure the hardships of a soldier's life, he nevertheless bore up bravely under the constant toil and danger of the dalton and atlanta campaign until the battle of kennesaw was fought. his company was on the skirmish line that day and suffered heavily. when the federal line had been repulsed and in the hush of the twilight air the roll was called, he was reported "missing," a word that carried with it to many a lonely home a world of agony in those war days. two hours later a member of his company came to me and said, "dick is lying dead between the picket lines. if i can get two others, will you go with us to find the body and bring it in?" prowling around at night between two hostile skirmish lines in constant expectation of being shot by either side was not a pleasant duty, but i thought of his widowed mother and, and told him i would go. he went away to secure other help, but learned in some way that he had been mistaken; that the dead soldier lying cold out under the starlight was not dick, but another member of the regiment. a few days later we abandoned the kennesaw line and i heard no more of my boy friend until the war had ended. then i learned through returning prisoners that he had been captured at kennesaw; that under the bitter cruelties of prison life he had grown sick and helpless and was slowly dying; that in his weakness and under the inhuman policy of grant and lincoln, hopeless of release by exchange, he was offered a chance of renewed life if he would consent to serve against the indians, who were giving trouble in the far west. lee's shadowy line was growing thinner day by day. hood's reckless raid on nashville had ended in disaster and the end had nearly come. with the shadow of the grave resting on every prison wall and more, perhaps, from love of mother than of life, he yielded. but the seeds of death were sown too deeply in his boyish frame. the prison horrors, that merit, but find no place on lincoln's monument, nor grant's mausoleum, had done their work. a few short months and somewhere under the western sky, far from home and kindred, the prairie grass was weaving in the summer sunshine, its creeping tendrils over his lonely grave. poor, gentle-hearted dick! deaths were common, sadly common in those old days but the memory of his fate has never been recalled in all these years without a sense of sadness and of sorrow. my heart has never judged him save in pity and in kindness always, for i am sure few mounds of earth have lain above a purer or a gentler heart. an un-dress parade. in active service, brass bands and "dress parades" fell largely into "innocuous desuetude." when a band was seen going to the rear it was considered prima facie evidence that there was a fight on hand, while an order for dress parade dispelled any apprehension of an early engagement. i recall one instance, however, of an undress parade on the firing line and without a brass band accompaniment. in the early days of july, ' , the northern and southern banks of the chattahoochee formed for a time the skirmish lines of johnston's and sherman's armies. one day some of our pickets established with their opponents on the other side a self-appointed truce. no firing was to be done during its existence, and proper notice was to be given of its termination. the weather was warm and a squad of yankee pickets relying upon the honor of their southern foes, decided to take a swim in the river. stripping themselves to the bathing suit furnished by nature, they plunged in and were enjoying the bath immensely. the confederate officer of the day becoming apprised of the temporary cessation of hostilities, sent a courier down with orders to stop the truce and renew the firing at once. the bathers were in plain view and in easy range of our rifle pits. notice was given them of the orders and they begged to be allowed time to dress and resume their positions in their own pits. the courtesy was accorded, but their toilets were not made in either slow or common time. there was a hasty run on the bank, a hurried leap into the pits and then the crack of the rifles announced the end of the truce and of the undress parade as well. reckless courage. on the same line, on another day, two opposing pickets, who had been taking alternate shots at each other, finally agreed on a challenge given by one and accepted by the other, to leave the protection of their pits and fight to a finish. the gurgling waters of the chattahoochee lay between them. standing on either bank, in full view of each other and without protection, they loaded and fired until one was killed. it was simply a life thrown recklessly away, without reason, and with no possible good to the cause for which he fought. some weeks later bob swain, who had been transferred to our company from the th ga. battalion and to whom reference has already been made in connection with the raising of fort sumter's fallen flag, was on the skirmish line at lovejoy station. the yankee pickets were probably six hundred yards away, but they kept up a continuous fire and their balls would frequently strike the head logs of our rifle pits. so anxious was bob to avail himself of every opportunity to secure a shot and so utterly reckless of danger, that he refused to enter the pit and remained in an exposed position until he was shot through the head and killed. picket firing in war, except when rendered necessary by an attempted advance by one side or the other, is in my opinion, simply legalized murder. the losses sustained in this way can never affect the final result. "only a picket or two now and then" does not count "in the news of the battle," but "in some little cot on the mountain" the shadow of lifelong grief falls just as heavily on the lonely wife or mother as if the victim had hallowed by his life blood a victory that changed the fate of a nation. watermelon as a persuader. during the summer of ' , aaron rhodes of the oglethorpes, fell sick and was sent to the hospital at greensboro, ga. dr. h. v. m. miller, the "demosthenes of the mountains," and an ante-bellum professor in the medical college at augusta, ga., was the surgeon in charge. aaron's father secured for him a leave of absence to visit his home and at its expiration went to greensboro to procure an extension, as he was still unfit for duty. dr. miller told him that it was impossible to grant the request, as strict orders had just been received to allow no further leaves; that the instructions were imperative and gave him no discretion whatever. mr. rhodes argued and pleaded, but the doctor's decision was positive and final. at the close of the interview, mr. r. gave the assurance that his son would be sent up at once, and then in taking his leave said, "by the way, doctor, i brought you those richmond county melons i promised you when i was here last and they are now at the depot for you." "ah; thank you," said the doctor, "and by the way, please say to aaron, that after reconsidering the matter, he can remain at home as long as he wishes, or until able to return to duty." and aaron's melancholy days were not "the saddest of the year." saved from a northern prison by a novel. in july ' , the writer passed through his first and only experience either as prisoner or an inmate of a hospital. sherman was nearing atlanta and his pickets lined the northern bank of the chattahoochee. i had been sick for several days and dr. cumming, acting assistant surgeon, insisted that i should go to the rear. with me there went from the division hospital to atlanta a boy soldier, who did not seem to be over years of age, and i do not think he was as tall as his gun. if not the original of dr. ticknor's "little giffen of tennessee," he was certainly his counterpart for he was "utter lazarus, heels to head." atlanta was only a distributing hospital. the sick were being shipped to points on the atlanta and west point road. reports from that section were anything but favorable. sick and wounded were said to be "dying like sheep." having no special desire to die in that way or in any other way, if possible to avoid it, i asked assignment to some hospital on the georgia railroad. "all full," said the surgeon. "no room anywhere except on atlanta and west point road. train leaves at o'clock in the morning. report here at that hour." as i had fully determined not to go on that road i reported at o'clock instead of , and a few hours later i was pleasantly quartered in the hospital at oxford, ga., where i had spent two years of college life. four years before, almost to a day, i had left its classic halls little dreaming that i should return to its familiar scenes in sickness and in weariness, a victim of grim visaged war. for many months the college exercises had been suspended and the chapel, recitation and literary society halls were being utilized as hospital wards. at the time of my arrival the ladies and older citizens, who had not been absorbed by the war, felt some apprehensions of a raid into the village by sherman's cavalry, which was only forty miles away. among these ladies, however, there was one to whom the expectation of such an event brought no feeling of anxiety. born and reared in the north, she felt assured that no union soldier's vandal hand would molest any of her possessions. asked by one of her neighbors what she proposed to do in the event of their coming she replied, "they'll never trouble me or mine. i am just going to sit down and see the salvation of the lord." how it looked when she saw it, will appear a little further on. the old college chapel where i had attended morning and evening prayer during my college course had been converted into a hospital dining room. on july , a few days after my arrival, the convalescents were taking their midday meal in this room when the clatter of a horse's feet was heard. there was some commotion outside and the men hurriedly left the table to investigate its cause. it required but a few minutes to size up the situation. a few feet from the door on a horse covered with foam sat a red-headed yankee in blue uniform and with full equipment. the expected raid had materialized and garrard's division of federal cavalry had possession of the town. most of the convalescents returned hastily to their quarters without finishing their dinner, the writer, not knowing when or where his next meal would be taken returned to the table and replenished his commissary department to its fullest capacity. the raiders scattered through the village, pillaging to some extent private residences, destroying government cotton and in this way burning the home of mr. irvine, an old citizen of the place. in due time they reached the premises of the lady, to whom reference has already been made. her husband was not at home. he was an honored minister of the methodist church and was considered the champion snorer of the conference to which he belonged. it was said that his family had become so accustomed to the sonorous exercise of his talent in this line that during his absence from home at night, they were forced to substitute the grinding of a coffee mill to secure sleep. i am not prepared, however, to vouch for the absolute accuracy of this statement. whether on this occasion he had received intimation of the enemy's approach, and emulating the example of other male citizens of the village, had made himself conveniently absent, i do not now recall. his wife, possibly relying on the fact that she was northern born, or on providential interposition, for exemption from any war indemnity that her blue-coated guests might be disposed to exact, received them courteously and as long as their levy was confined to chickens from the barnyard or hams from the smoke house she managed to maintain her equilibrium. but when, in addition to these minor depredations, they bridled her pet family horse and led him forth to "jine the cavalry," patience ceased to be a virtue. this crowning indignity furnished the straw that fractured the spinal column of the proverbial camel. she rose, in her righteous wrath and in plain and vigorous english she gave them her opinion of the yankee army in general, and of her unwelcome guests in particular. her indignant protest was unavailing. the stable was thenceforth tenantless, and as tennyson might have said, she mourned for the tramp of a vanished horse and the sound of a neigh that was still. at p. m. the convalescents were formed into line with orders to report to the provost marshal. we had marched but a little way, when a federal colonel ordered us to disband until p. m. i had borrowed the novel "macaria" from a miss harrison in the village and decided to spend the interval in completing its perusal. i retired to my cot in the college chapel, but somehow the book did not interest me. visions of a federal prison peered at me from every page and i gave it up. having made an engagement to take tea with mr. harrison's family that evening, i concluded, if allowed to leave the building, to return the book. going down to reconnoiter i saw one of our men walk up the street without being halted, and with as indifferent air as i could assume, i followed suit. reaching mr. harrison's house i found the family anxious and excited. mr. h., to avoid capture, had concealed himself in the garden. i expressed my regrets to mrs. h. that i was unable to keep my engagement, as i had another, which was a little more pressing. she insisted that i remain with them until the hour for leaving and i sat down to meditate on the fate that the future had in store for me. when a boy i had often sung the old hymn containing the words: "sweet prospects, sweet birds and sweet flowers," but the prospect that loomed up before me that summer afternoon had no flavor of sugar or honey and, as i now recall it, not even a trace of sorghum molasses to shade its bitterness. as i sat there on the piazza, a federal brigade passed in a short distance of the house followed by a crowd of contrabands. one of the soldiers came in and took a ham from the pantry without taking the trouble to ask for it. others passed through the yard on other errands. nothing was said to me and i made no special effort to attract their attention. i was saying nothing, but i was doing some pretty tall thinking. the idea had occurred to me, either, as judge longstreet has said, by "internal suggestion or the bias of jurisprudence," that if i remained quietly where i was, i might be overlooked and i decided to make the experiment. at p. m. the squad of convalescents was re-formed and marched off under guard, passing within a short distance of where i sat. possibly i felt that my place was properly among them, but i felt no disposition to halt them in order to secure it and my heart grew lighter as the line grew dim in the distance and finally vanished. i have sometimes been accused of being absent-minded, but on that occasion i had reason to be grateful for being absent-bodied. at nightfall i returned to my hospital cot and slept the sleep of the just. i was in no hurry to rise next morning until at a. m., some one came in and reported that all the raiders had shaken the dust of oxford from their feet. my escape was due to "macaria" and for that reason i have always felt kindly towards the book and its author. in my condition a northern prison would have meant for me slow death and an unmarked grave and these records would have been unwritten or penned by other hands. a slaves loyalty. on the same day col. h. d. capers of the th ga. battalion, was in oxford recuperating from a wound received in virginia. being advised of the approach of garrard's division, he leaped through a rear window of his residence and taking a country road proceeded to change his base at double-quick step. learning of his escape a squad of cavalry started in pursuit and on reaching a fork in the road they asked a negro standing by which route col. capers had taken. the slave, faithful to his master's friend, intentionally misinformed them and before the error was discovered the colonel was safely hidden. this act of faithfulness recalls the unswerving loyalty of the race during the horrors of a four years' struggle, whose issue meant their freedom. suggesting as it does the ties of friendship between master and servant in the old slave days, it furnishes a reason for the kindly interest the south still feels in the remnant of a class that is fading from the earth and may account for the further fact that on this institution, despite its faults, there rested for a hundred years heaven's benediction and the smile of god. one against three thousand. rumors of the raid had been current for several days before its occurrence, and a mr. jones, a citizen of covington, ga., whose hatred of everything blue had been inflamed by reports of outrages committed by sherman's army, pledged himself to kill the first federal soldier who approached his home. learning that garrard's division had reached the town, he loaded his squirrel rifle and taking his stand in front of the court house he awaited his opportunity. he had been on post but a little while when a federal cavalryman approached with a squad of convalescents captured at the hospital. jones allowed him to come within close range and then raised his rifle. the yankee shouted to him: "don't shoot," but his purpose was not to be changed and his victim dropped from the saddle. reloading his rifle and changing his position to another street a second squad of prisoners came by and again his rifle brought down its game. reloading the third time he intercepted a platoon of cavalry and fired into it, wounding two of them. they captured him, shot him to death and then beat out his brains with the butts of their rifles. he doubtless anticipated such a fate and went coolly to certain death with no hope of fame and with only the satisfaction of getting two for one. geo. daniel, a confederate quartermaster, chanced to be at home on furlough in covington on the same day. he had been out bird hunting that morning and on his return was captured by the yankees, who enraged by the killing of two of their men by jones, determined to shoot daniel simply because he was found with a gun in his hand. his protest that he was out for no hostile purpose availed him nothing. he was ordered to face his executioners and an effort was made to bind a handkerchief over his eyes. he drew it away and said, "no, a confederate soldier can face death without being blindfolded." the rifles rang out and he fell, another victim to the humane influence of northern civilization. a brave carolina maiden. during my stay at the oxford hospital a number of ladies who had refugeed from charleston, so. ca., were making their home in the village. among them was a miss fair, a beautiful girl with a wealth of wavy brown hair. an ardent southerner and anxious to benefit the cause she loved, she had determined to visit sherman's army around atlanta as a spy, bringing out such information as she would be able to procure. the raven locks were sacrificed, the face and hands were died, a cracker bonnet and homespun dress were donned and supplied with a basket of parched ground peas she tramped around the federal camps, keeping her eyes and ears open. making the trip safely, she returned to oxford and mailed a letter to gov. brown, giving him the information she had obtained as to sherman's force and plans. when garrard's division entered oxford, this letter was in the post office and was captured with other mail matter. it was read by the raiders after they left the town and a squad was sent back to search for the fair writer, but fortunately she was securely hidden in the attic of mr. river's home, while her father was concealed in a well on the premises. few braver acts have been recorded of grim visaged warriors than the daring feat accomplished by this fair-faced daughter of the south. a georgia "hoss." while the raiders were in possession of the town, one of them belonging to a michigan regiment rode up to the gate of the home where this girl was staying. the lady of the house was sitting on the porch and the cavalryman saluted her with the remark, "see what a fine georgia "hoss" i have." "yes," she replied, "one you stole i suppose." turning to her ten-year-old son standing by the soldier said, "here, boy, hold this "hoss." "i'd see you at the d--l first," replied the little confederate. this boy, now a middle-aged man, tells me that it was his first and last use of improper language in the presence of his christian mother, and that for some reason she failed on that occasion to administer even a mild reproof. chapter vi. nashville campaign. as we marched more than miles in this campaign, and as a record of these movements would probably interest only my old comrades, the general reader has my cheerful permission to skip the following condensed extracts from my journal and to turn his or her attention to the special incidents which succeed them. on sept. , ' , two days after the enemy had abandoned our front at lovejoy station, we moved up to a position one mile above jonesboro, remaining there ten days. on the th we moved to fairburn and on the th to palmetto, where we fortified our position and remained until the th. gen. mercer having been assigned to another field of duty, gen. smith, on the th, assumed command of our brigade. on the th president davis reviewed the army and on the th gen. hardee, having asked to be relieved, took leave of his old corps and gen. cheatham was made corps commander. on the th we began our northward march for the purpose of destroying sherman's line of communication, passing by easy stages of ten to twenty miles a day, over the ground we had traversed in the recent campaign and reaching the vicinity of dalton, ga., on oct. th. here we destroyed three miles of railroad track, burning the cross-ties and bending the rails by laying them across the burning ties and twisting them around the trees that stood near the track. after capturing the garrisons at dalton and tilton, and tearing up a section of the e. t. & ga. r. r., we left on the th for gadsden, ala., en route to nashville. hood had decided to abandon the plan of campaign mapped out by president davis and himself and to advance into tennessee. passing through villanow, lafayette, alpine and blue pond, we arrived at gadsden oct. th. resting here a day we are off again and for four days are tramping over the arid stretches of sand mountain, reaching the vicinity of decatur, ala., on the evening of the th. my journal for that day has this entry: "march delayed by bridge falling in. very muddy tramp after nightfall. slept under a corn crib." two days later it has this entry: "two ears of corn issued to each man as rations." decatur was occupied by a federal force and after some skirmishing on the th and th we resumed our march, passing through courtland on the th, tuscumbia on the st and camping near the tennessee river on the evening of that day. here we remained until nov. th, when we crossed the river on a pontoon bridge and camped near florence. on the th we fortified our position and on the th hood began his march to intercept schofield in his effort to unite with thomas at nashville. our brigade was detached to ferry the wagon train across the river and on the th we tramped or miles through a driving snowstorm in a bitterly cold wind to reach cheatham's ferry. i recall the fact that my face became so thoroughly chilled that the snow that fell on it failed to melt. after a week's work at the ferry, we left on the th in charge of the wagon train to rejoin our command. on dec. st we struck the nashville turnpike and on the d received our first information of the battle of franklin, which had occurred nov. , and in which our division had suffered so heavily. passing through columbia and spring hill on the d and franklin and the battle ground in its front on the th we rejoined our division near nashville on the th. next day the oglethorpes were on the picket line, were relieved on the th and on the th our brigade was ordered to report to gen. forrest near murfreesboro. under forrest's direction the th and th were spent in tearing up railroad track encased in snow and sleet, terribly cold work. two days' rest with the thermometer at degrees and on the th we are again destroying railroad track near lavergne. on the morning of the th our brigade and palmer's started out under forrest to capture a federal supply train. fording stone river and marching or miles in the direction of murfreesboro forrest is halted by an order from hood to hold himself in readiness to go to his aid, as the battle of nashville was in progress. next day we moved back to the nashville turnpike to await the issue at nashville. during the night forrest received news of hood's defeat and with it orders to form a junction with the retreating army at columbia. as the details of our march to that point, of our assignment to the rear guard and of the retreat to corinth, miss., will be given in succeeding sketches, it is unnecessary to duplicate them here. a christmas day with forrest. it was the winter of ' , and to those of us who wore the grey it was likewise the "winter of our discontent." the hopes of the confederacy were on the wane. the clouds that hung above it had no silver lining, free or otherwise. sherman was "marching through georgia," leaving in his wake the ashes of many a southern home. hood's reckless raid on nashville had ended in disaster and his ragged battalions were making tracks for the tennessee river, (some of them with bare feet) at a quickstep known to confederate tactics as "double distance on half rations." the morale of the army was shattered if not destroyed. if the soliloquy of a gaunt tennesseean as he rose from a fall in the mud on the retreat fairly represented the sentiment of his comrades, it was badly shattered. he is reported to have said: "ain't we in a ---- of a fix, a one-eyed president, a one-legged general and a one-horse confederacy." the oglethorpes had fortunately escaped the butchery at franklin against which forrest had so strongly protested. as this immunity was due to our having been detained with smith's brigade to ferry a salt train across the tennessee river, salt had literally "saved our bacon." after rejoining the army, we had been again detached to operate under forrest near murfreesboro and in this way had missed the rout at nashville. aside from these immunities the campaign had been one of exceptional hardships. the weather was bitterly cold and our wardrobes were not excessively heavy. the writer wore a thin fatigue jacket, with no overcoat and slept under a single blanket with the thermometer at nine degrees above zero. for a week prior to the retreat we had been engaged in the pleasant pastime of handling with ungloved hands, railroad ties and rails encased in sleet and snow. in addition to these hardships our commissary department was but illy supplied. and yet i cannot recall a single complaint made by a soldier during that campaign. it is my deliberate conviction, based upon this and similar evidence, that the confederate soldier fought harder on shorter rations and grumbled less under greater privations than any soldier in history. the battle of nashville opened on the morning of december th and for two days, thirty miles away, we listened to the thunder of the artillery and anxiously awaited the issue. at a. m. dec. th we were aroused to begin the longest, hardest forced march of our four years' service. columbia, the point of junction with hood's retreating army, is sixty miles away and we have to make it in forty-eight hours or run the risk of almost certain capture by a force ten times our own. it is cold, dark and raining--a dreary combination. the roads are a mass of mud and before we have tramped a mile one of my shoe strings breaks, leaving the shoe imbedded six inches deep in the yielding soil. fishing it out, i resume the march with one bare foot, but the rocks in the mud cut and bruise it at every step and i am forced to stop for repairs. taking the strap from my rolled blanket, slits are cut in the flaps of the shoe, the strap is buckled around so as to hold it in place, and i hurry forward to rejoin my command. for twenty-one hours we plow wearily through the mud, camping at p. m. after marching miles. dr. mcintyre, in one of his lyceum lectures, says that he had no proper appreciation of either absolute silence or absolute darkness until he stood within the central chamber of the wyandotte cavern. if he had tramped with forrest that winter day he would probably have added to his experience an adequate conception of absolute fatigue. five hours' rest and we are again on the march, but with slower step, for the strain of the previous day has told on the boys. in the early morning we halt to rest and i breakfast on an ear of corn picked up by the roadside, smearing it with black grease scraped from the bottom of my frying pan. about midday forrest dismounts a number of his cavalry and gives up his own horse for a time to help the "barefoot" brigade along. by p. m. we have made miles and are completely fagged. only five of the thirty oglethorpes reach camp that night, dick morris, the writer, and three others whose names i do not recall. dick is short-limbed, but he has the grit and the habit of getting there. on reaching columbia we are assigned to the rear guard under forrest and walthall, who are instructed by hood to sacrifice every man in the command if necessary to ensure the safety of his army. manning trenches half filled with snow and holding the enemy in check for a few days so as to give hood a fair start in the race, we begin our retreat dec. and on christmas eve camp near pulaski, tenn. coiled up in a single blanket on the cold, bare ground, no visions of santa claus nor hopes of a christmas menu on the morrow brighten our dreams. early christmas morning we are gathered around the camp fire awaiting orders to march. frank stone, tall and thin, so thin that charlie goetchius had advised him always to present a side view to the enemy, as a minie ball would never reach his anatomy in that position, ambles up on a horse he had secured from one of the cavalry. frank had tried manfully to keep up with the procession. half sick, his shoes worn soleless and his feet lacerated and bleeding, he had marched when every step was agony and had crawled over the rocky portions of the road on his hands and knees until human nature could endure no more. fortunately one of forrest's cavalry gave him a lift that saved him from a northern prison. frank had no saddle and to supply that need the boys had piled his steed with blankets to a depth of five or six inches. as he rode up his eye fell on a lot of cooking utensils that had to be left for lack of transportation, and turning to will daniel he said, "lieutenant, hadn't i better take along some of these?" gen. forrest was standing a few feet away, grave and silent. attracted by frank's question, he turned and inspecting the blanket outfit for a moment he said, "i think you've got a ---- sight more now than you're entitled to." frank made no reply, but the criticism was thoroughly unjust for no truer, braver soldier wore the grey. the bugle sounds and we are again on the march. about midday we halt on the summit of a ridge with an old line of breastworks skirting its crest. glad to have a rest we adjust ourselves to take advantage of the respite, when the ominous "fall in," "fall in" comes down the line. the ranks are hastily formed, the trenches are manned and morton's battery is planted a short distance in their rear and commanding the road. our regiment is placed as a support for the battery and as we line up, forrest passes us on foot going to the front in a half bent position. reaching the trenches he watches the advance of the enemy for a few minutes and then hurries to the rear. in a moment we hear the clatter of a horse's feet and the "wizard of the saddle" dashes by at half speed, riding magnificently, his martial figure as straight as an arrow and looking six inches taller than his wont, a very god of war, yelling as he reaches the waiting ranks: "charge!" "charge!" "charge!" over the breastworks flashes a line of grey and down the slope they sweep, yelling at every step. the captain commanding our regiment is undecided as to his duty, but finally orders us to retain our position in the rear of the battery. just then gen. featherston rides up, "what regiment is this?" " rd ga." "what are you doing here?" "supporting this battery." "battery the d--l. get over them breastworks and get quick," and we "get." but the skirmish is soon over. the yankees have fled, leaving a piece of artillery and a number of horses in our possession. we hold our position until late in the afternoon, when "red" jackson, with his cavalry, relieves us and we resume the march. as we are filing off the enemy reappears and the cavalry carbines are waking the echoes. we are directly in the line of fire and the hiss of the minies does not make pleasant music to march by. but jackson repels the attack and we have no further trouble with our friends, the enemy. night comes on and if there was ever a darker or more starless one i can not place it. tramping, tramping in the cold and mud and darkness, companies and regiments are all commingled and no one knows where he is, or where he ought to be. too dark to see the file next in front, we walk by faith and not by sight. elmore dunbar was carrying the colors and but for his occasional whistling imitation of the bugle call in order to let us know "where he was at," our regiment would have lost in the darkness all semblance of its organization. i can not well conceive how a larger share of unadulterated physical comfort could have been compressed into the five solid hours for which we kept it up. at p. m. we are ordered to halt, and camp near sugar creek. the sound never was more welcome, nor fell more sweetly on our ears than on that christmas night. dinnerless and supperless and completely worn out we hailed it with almost rapture for it brought the promise of rest and sleep. of all the christmas days that have come to me in life, only this stands out in gloomy prominence as utterly wanting in every element of the season's cheer and gladness. yet looking backward through the mists of more than thirty years, recalling all its dangers and discomforts, its toil and weariness and hunger, i would not if i could blot that day's record from my memory, for o'er its somber shadows fell and falls today the light that comes to every true heart in the path of duty; while gilding all its gloom there comes across the waste of years a vision of the knightly forrest, the bravest of the brave, for as he rode the lines that day, the light of battle in his eye and the thunderous "charge!" upon his lips he rode into my heart as well, the impersonation of chivalry, and rides there still. closing days of the campaign. early on the morning of the th the federal cavalry came within range of our camp during a dense fog. a volley scattered them and our cavalry drove them back for two miles. holding our position for two hours, and no further advance being made by the enemy, we resumed the march, camping at night near lexington. a march of miles on the th brought us to the tennessee river, which had already been crossed by hood with his army and wagon train. during the night, in expectation of an attack by the enemy, we were moved into a line of breastworks which had been vacated by loring's division, but we had seen the last of our blue-coated friends for that campaign. crossing the river on the th we found on its southern bank and near the end of the pontoon bridge, or dead mules, and among them three or four grey specimens of that much abused animal. i had heard when a boy that a grey mule never died, that they were gifted with a sort of equine immortality. and now this dogma of my early days found its complete subversion, for these were not only dead, but as gen. jno. c. brown said to us in north carolina afterwards, when asked as to president lincoln's death, they were "very dead." unable to resist the force of this absolute demonstration of the fact, i have always believed since that a grey mule could die, though if further personal evidence were demanded i would be unable to produce it. after crossing the river and without stopping to hold a post-mortem examination on these faithful animals, who robed in grey had died in the cause, we set out to rejoin our division at corinth, miss. passing through tuscumbia bartow and cherokee, we reached birnsville, miss., on the evening of dec. st. here in the waning hours of the dying year, after tramping eight hundred miles in absolute health i lay down and had an old-fashioned burke county chill. lying by a log-heap fire through the long watches of the winter night, my changes of base in the effort to keep the chilly side of my body next to the blazing logs were almost continuous. my old comrade joe warren, whose stalwart frame in company with jim thomas, bill jones and eph thompson graced the leading "file of fours" in this campaign was wont to say that a certain brand of whiskey had "a bad far'well." so the closing year had for the writer at least "a bad far'well." the new year found me unable to travel. lying over until jan. d, in company with several other invalids, i secured a seat on top of a dilapidated box car. we had ridden only a mile, when the conductor fearing the concern would collapse and kill us all, kindly invited us to step down and out. complying with some degree of reluctance i shouldered my gun and after a tramp of fifteen miles rejoined my command at corinth, miss., where the shattered remnant of hood's army had gathered. some incidents of the campaign. "go off and wash yourselves." after the death of gen. w. h. t. walker, in july, ' , our brigade was assigned to pat cleburne's division. in his younger days he had served in the english army and had probably imbibed his ideas of military discipline from that service. on sept. , ' , near jonesboro, ga., the army was reviewed by president davis and in the afternoon of that day our regiment was ordered to appear at cleburne's headquarters for inspection. the men had received no intimation of the order and some of the companies were not in a very cleanly condition either as to dress or arms. soap was scarce and but little time had been spent on their toilets. the inspection proceeded without comment from cleburne until the company commanded by capt. joe polhill of louisville, ga., was reached. cleburne looked over the ranks with his keen irish eyes as capt. dixon inspected the arms, and then in a tone indicating some degree of disgust, said, "attention company! shoulder arms. close order, march. right face. forward by file right--march. go off and wash yourselves," and the regiment was ordered back to its quarters. will daniel, jealous of the reputation of the oglethorpes, who had not been inspected, addressed a note to gen. cleburne protesting against the implied reflection on his company, to which the general replied that no reflection was intended where no inspection was made. in justice to capt. polhill and his company it is only proper to say that at a subsequent inspection next day they redeemed their reputation. parting with hardee. on the displacement of gen. johnston in july, , gen. hardee, as the ranking lieutenant general in the army of tennessee, felt aggrieved at the promotion of gen. hood above him, but was too patriotic to ask for an assignment to other fields while his lines were facing the enemy. at the close of the campaign he did prefer this request and on sept. took leave of his old corps. many of them had followed him from shiloh to jonesboro. his almost unbroken success as brigade, division and corps commander had given him the title of the "old reliable." even at missionary ridge his corps held its line and on a portion of it, at the suggestion of gen. alfred cumming, made a counter charge, driving the enemy from their front. at ringgold gap and in every assault upon his lines during the dalton and atlanta campaign hardee had repulsed the attacking column, with the single exception of jonesboro, where ten lines of battle had been massed against govan's thinly manned trenches. for these reasons his old corps was loth to give him up. on the evening before his departure large numbers of his command went over to bid him good-bye. in a simple and touching address he expressed his deep regret at parting from those with whom he had been associated so long, but said that he would be with them in spirit if not in person and hoped they would always sustain the reputation they had so gallantly won. "i leave you," said he, "but i leave you in good hands, frank cheatham's. frank and pat go well together. if frank fails you, you have pat to fall back upon." just then a soldier, who had climbed a tree and was sitting on a limb feet from the ground, sang out, "yes, general, and crazy bill ain't far off," alluding to gen. bate. the scene was a very affecting one and after speeches by gen. gist and gen. capers of so. ca., closed with appropriate music rendered by the band. gen. bate as a poet and wit. the allusion to gen. bate in the preceding incident recalls an address made by him oct. , ' , at gadsden, ala., where we had halted for a day on our trip to nashville. on the evening of that day the officers were serenaded by the army bands and responses were made by beauregard, cleburne, clayton and bate. the last sparkled with eloquence and wit and was the gem of the evening. gov. brown of georgia, had issued an order exempting a goodly number of citizens of conscript age in each county from military service for the purpose of raising provisions for the army, sorghum being named as one of the products to be so used. this order had created a feeling of resentment in the minds of those at the front and gen. bate, in voicing this sentiment, and in criticism of gov. brown's action, impromptued the following parody on campbell's downfall of poland: "what tho' destruction sweep these lovely plains, who cares for liberty while sorghum yet remains? with that sweet name we wave our knives on high, and swear to cut it while we live and suck it till we die." gen. bate's bravery as an officer equalled his wit as a speaker, but his division had been unfortunate in several engagements and other troops were disposed to guy it, saluting it as it passed them with, "lie down bate, we are gwine to bust a cap" or "scorch a feather," and such like sallies of so-called wit. our regiment had indulged in this pastime to some extent and this fact seems to have come to the knowledge of the general. at the battle of bentonville in march, ' , we were assigned to bates' corps. in the early morning an assault was made on govan's brigade, on our immediate left, and as we were without breastworks we were ordered to lie down. as we had not been on the firing line for some time and the whistle of the minies had grown a little unfamiliar, we obeyed the order very promptly, lying as flat as possible without imbedding ourselves in the ground, and in the case of frank stone and the writer this was pretty flat. gen. bate rode up to our line and asked, "what command is this?" " rd ga.," was the reply. "why, boys, you lie mighty close. i came very near riding over you without seeing you. never tell bate to lie down any more," and we didn't. pat cleburne as an orator. gen. cleburne was a better fighter than speaker, and yet his oratory was sometimes very effective. of his address on the occasion above referred to i recall but a single sentiment uttered by him. after referring to the outrages committed by northern troops on southern soil he said, "i am not fighting for right, i am fighting for vengeance." of another address delivered by him on the same day i retain a more vivid recollection. two soldiers of our brigade had appropriated a hog belonging to some citizen living near gadsden, and the matter was reported to gen. cleburne. the brigade was ordered out and formed into a hollow square facing inwards. the two culprits were brought in under guard and placed in the center of the square and then cleburne and his staff rode in. with the culprits before him and in the presence and hearing of the entire brigade he for fifteen minutes abused and demeaned and shamed them until i think they were thoroughly reformed on that particular line of moral depravity. on the march, some days later, the road we were traveling changed direction abruptly to the right. a corn field lay on that side and a number of the boys, with the view of shortening their tramp that day, leaped the fence and took the hypotenuse of the triangle rather than walk the longer distance represented by the other two sides. gen. cleburne, who was riding at the head of the division, probably suspected such a result and when he had reached the corner of the field where they would come out he stopped his horse and quietly awaited their coming. as they reached the road, singly or in pairs, the general gave them a brief but pointed lecture on the sin of straggling, and to impress it more forcibly on their memories he told them in his suave irish way that they could each take a rail from the fence and carry it on their shoulders for the next half mile. it was a new, but not a pleasant form of traveling by rail. if my memory is not at fault one of the oglethorpes had the honor of membership in the rail squad that day, and probably has still a feeling recollection of the incident. he was something of a vocalist in those days and was wont to enliven the march with the tender strains of "faded flowers," "the midnight train," "benny havens ho," and other popular musical selections, but on that day his lyre was voiceless and all its music hushed. hood's strategy. this incident has no reference to gen. john b. hood, whose strategy in this campaign was apparently conspicuous only by its absence. it refers only to private hood of the oglethorpes, who joined our ranks in ' or ' , probably at thunderbolt. as i recall his personality, he was an undergrown youth of sallow complexion and uncertain age. on our march to nashville he grew sick or tired, and stopped at the home of a citizen to recuperate. some days later a squad of yankee soldiers stopped at the house, and hood, deeming prudence the better part of valor, dropped his grey uniform and donning a suit belonging to the son of his host, passed himself off as a member of the family. while chatting with the visitors one of them said to him, "well, bud, haven't they got you in the army yet?" "no, sir," said hood, "and they ain't agoing to either." "that's right, my boy," and with hood's assurance that he had no idea of "jining," they bade him good-bye and went their way. some weeks later he rejoined us, congratulating himself on the success of his strategy. a lucky find. while ferrying the army train across the tennessee river, the flat in charge of sergeant s. c. foreman of the oglethorpes, brought in a box or case containing three hundred pounds of nice dry salted bacon. it was reported to me that they had found it floating down the river and supposed it had been thrown in by the federal garrison at florence to prevent its capture by hood's army. i swallowed the story and some of the meat and had no occasion to question the correctness of the information until sam woods told me in ' that he found it lying in shallow water near the river bank, and george mclaughlin afterwards intimated that it was stolen from the wagon train. whatever may have been the method by which it came into our possession i remember that it was divided among the members of the company as extra rations. i recall the further fact that my mess secured that afternoon a large wash pot and a supply of corn and boiled up a peck or two of "lye hominy." on the next day we began our march to rejoin the army and for miles, in addition to my gun, bayonet, cartridge box and forty rounds of cartridges, heavy blanket, tent fly and haversack with two day's rations, i carried or pounds of this bacon and a bucket of the hominy. the aggregate weight must have been or pounds, a pretty fair load for a "light weight." "who ate the dog." this inquiry, while not invested with the same degree of mystery, nor enjoying as large a measure of notoriety as "who struck billy patterson?" nevertheless echoed on many a hillside and enlivened many a camp fire on our trip to nashville. the incident which gave rise to it occurred soon after we left the tennessee river on this ill-fated tramp. to prevent depredations upon the property of citizens along the route of our march, a provost guard had been formed, in command of which was placed an officer now living not a thousand miles from augusta, but who shall be nameless here, partly out of respect to his feelings and partly out of regard for my own. he has warned me that a different course would be followed by an aggravated case of assault and battery and i do not care to put the courts to unnecessary expense. stringent orders were issued by gen. smith to arrest any man found in possession of fresh meat, for which he could give no satisfactory account. several arrests had been made and the captured meat had been confiscated and appropriated by the provost guard to their own use, benefit and behoof. to the men engaged in these depredations, justified in their eyes by the shortness of their rations, these captures became a little monotonous and they determined to find some means of retaliation. one day a soldier was seen tramping through the woods with a suspicious looking sack swinging from his shoulder and one of the guard ordered him to halt. instead of obeying the command he gave leg bail and the guard started in pursuit. the forager encumbered with the weight of his plunder finally dropped it and made his escape. the sack was found to contain, apparently, a leg of mutton nicely dressed, which was turned over to the officer in command. in view of this tempting addition to the bill of fare, a brother officer, who has since turned his sword into a spatula and is as well versed now in drugs as he was then in tactics, was an invited guest at the midday meal that day. ample justice was done to the menu by all concerned and all went merry as a marriage bell until the command had halted for the night and the men, wearied by the day's march, were resting around their camp fires. and then a change came o'er the spirit of their dream. from one end of the camp, up through the stillness of the evening air, there rose a cry, that like of noise of many waters, rang and reverberated to its farthest bounds, "who ate the dog?" and as its echoes died away, from another camp fire in the same stentorian tones there came the answer, "lieut ----," naming the officer of the provost guard. and on through the entire evening, at brief intervals and without the stimulus of an encore the program was repeated. and now as there flitted across the mental vision of the officer aforesaid the memory of the mutton chops that had seemed so savory and toothsome, there came to him a dim suspicion that he had been the victim of misplaced confidence. was it mutton or was it dog? as he debated the question pro and con, he was forced to admit with shakespeare that "all that glitters is not gold," and with longfellow, that "things are not what they seem," and with whittier that-- "of all sad thoughts of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, it might have been"--a dog. and now if the spirit of poe will pardon me, all this dark and dread suspicion of such canine deglutition, as it crossed his mental vision leading not to height elysian, made him sad and made him sadder, made him mad and made him madder, and his soul from out its shadow shall be lifted, nevermore. for weeks and months, and indeed until the war closed, this canine ghost would never down. he was not allowed to forget it. he was taunted and barked at and dogged so constantly that no lethean waters could wash out the maddening memory. and the bitterness of it all was that the perpetrators of the joke would give no intimation as to the special breed that graced his table that winter day, whether "mongrel, puppy, whelp or hound or cur of low degree." the size of the ham precluded the possibility of its having been a bench-legged fice, but there was the torturing reflection that it might have been what mark twain has termed the ishmael of his race, the "yaller dog," who if mark is to be credited, has been "cursed in all his generations and relations in his kindred by consanguinity and affinity and in his heirs and assigns--cursed with endless hunger with perpetual fear with perennial laziness with hopeless mange, with incessant fleas and with his tail between his legs." these unpleasant reflections were, however, not confined to the officer in command of the provost guard. a part of the meat had been sent to brigade headquarters and it was said that an aide on the general's staff, who had eaten very freely of the dish, suffered on learning of its origin so serious a gastric disturbance that he vomited, as a colored brother once put it, from genesis to revelations. "i know not how the truth may be, i tell the tale as 'twas told to me." regretting my inability, for reasons already stated, to answer this inquiry more definitely, i can only say in conclusion as i heard bob toombs once say in another connection, "in spite of compromises, concessions and constitutions this question still marches onward for its solution," who ate the dog? where is the oven? army life is not specially conducive to personal cleanliness, nor to a high regard for the minor proprieties of life. a young lady visiting camp mckenzie, near augusta, ga., during the spanish-american war, was shocked by seeing a soldier drop a piece of bread upon the ground and after picking it up resume its mastication. if this sketch should meet her eye, that feeling will probably be reawakened and intensified: during the later years of the confederate war wash basins in camp were an unknown quantity. the morning ablution, if performed at all, was managed by pouring water on the hands from a canteen. lieut. blanchard, i remember, always held his hands in cup shape until they were filled and then dropped one, spilling all the liquid and washing his face with the moistened palm of the other. in the bitter cold and constant marching of the nashville campaign i am satisfied that some of the boys did not wash their faces nor comb their hair at less than weekly intervals. as evidence of the infrequency of "bath tub nights" for reasons stated, i recall the fact that i lost a calico handkerchief and thought i had dropped it on the march. some weeks afterwards in removing my outer clothing for the first time after its disappearance, i found it hidden away underneath the back of my vest. on our return to corinth, miss., my mess took their underclothing to a lady to be washed and as they had been wearing it a month or more without change, they apologized for its condition. "no apology is necessary," she said, "i have washed some for forrest's cavalry that was so stiffened with dirt that they were able to stand alone." how we managed to keep our pedal extremities in a cleanly condition i do not recall save in a single instance and this, it is perhaps not amiss to say, was an exceptional case and not a company custom. a member of the oglethorpes one day began his preparations for the midday meal. one of the cooking utensils was missing and he sang out, "where is the oven?" a messmate some distance away shouted back, "can't you wait till i finish washing my feet in it?" i am not prepared to testify as to the flavor of the bread that day as fortunately, i was not a member of that particular mess. amende honorable. it has been my purpose in these records to present the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. it has not been my purpose to do any wrong, express or implied, to any member of either of the human or the canine race. in justice therefore to the truth of history and to the "yaller dog" as well, it is perhaps proper to say that since penning the preceding "dog" sketch, an old comrade has informed me that the "mutton (?) ham" to which allusion was made in that sketch, had its origin in the anatomy of a "brindle" dog and not of one, who as mark twain says, "slinks through life in a diagonal dog trot as if in doubt which end is entitled to the precedence." my comrade claims to speak from personal knowledge and not from hearsay testimony, and as his statement has not been induced by the fear of punishment or the hope of reward, its credibility can not be impeached. he says that the dog in question had grown old in the service of his master and on account of age and meritorious service had been placed on the retired list with full pay as to rations, personal care, etc.; that in the enjoyment of the otium cum dignitate attendant upon these conditions he had grown "fat" if not fair and forty; that in an evil hour he was enticed away from the retirement of his home and with malice aforethought slaughtered in cold blood while his juicy hams were nicely dressed to tickle the palates of the provost guard. as the yaller dog has already had assigned to him as many of the ills that flesh is heir to as he can reasonably bear, it gives me pleasure to make this amende honorable and to relieve him in this special instance of any of the "white man's burden" even as an involuntary particeps criminis in the transaction under consideration. before giving final dismissal to the subject it may not be amiss to say for the benefit of the hospitable host and the appreciative guest at that midday meal that if, as physiologists contend, every atom of our physical organism undergoes a complete metamorphosis in every seven years of our existence, it should comfort them to know that years and seven months ago by exact calculation, the last lingering trace of canine flavor in their muscles, bones and blood and epidermis likewise had gone glimmering through the dream of things that were, a schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour. courage sublime. in concluding these reminiscences of the nashville campaign, a campaign so fraught with disaster to our cause, i am glad to throw over them at their close the glamour of an incident that in its display of infinite courage gilds with its glory even the gloom of defeat. in a subsequent sketch i shall have occasion to pay some tribute to the conspicuous gallantry of the color-bearer of the first florida regiment in our last charge at bentonville. under the inspiration of the "rebel yell" and the contagious enthusiasm and excitement of a charge men may have made reputations for courage they would not sustain when subjected to the test of "simply standing and dying at ease." this man, however, george register by name, was tried in both furnaces and came out pure gold. the incident referred to occurred at the battle of franklin, nov. , ' . the failure of a staff officer to promptly deliver hood's order to cheatham at spring hill had allowed schofield to escape when the interposition of a single division across his front would have resulted in the capture of his army and would have ensured the success of the campaign. and now the federal army lay at franklin heavily entrenched while hood, fretting over the blunder, determined to retrieve it by an assault upon their works. forrest protested that it would be a useless sacrifice of life, would probably end in failure and offered to flank schofield out of his position in two hours if furnished a single division of infantry to co-operate with his cavalry. hood could not be argued out of his purpose to fight and ordered his army into line. cleburne rode down his lines as his division filed into position and passing an old friend, a captain in the ranks, he noticed that he was barefooted and that his feet were bleeding. stopping and dismounting he asked the captain to pull off his boots and then requested him to try them on his own feet. in reply to the captain's protest he said, "i am tired wearing boots and can do without them," and then he rode away to lead his last charge. gen. granbury, commanding a texas brigade in cleburne's division, rode out in front of his men and said, "boys, two hours work this evening will shorten the war two years." two hours later, on that short november afternoon, the very flower of hood's army lay dead or dying in front of the federal breastworks. among them lay cleburne, granbury, adams, gist, strahl and carter, six general offices, a larger number than fell in three day's fighting at gettysburg, or any battle field in the four years' struggle. under the murderous leaden hail that swept the open field over which they passed, the first florida regiment was ordered to lie down to secure some immunity from the fire that was rapidly thinning their ranks. the entire regiment sank to the ground, save one of their number. the color-bearer, unwilling to lower his flag, yet willing to show his foe how a brave man could die, refused to avail himself of the partial protection which a change in position would bring, and standing erect, calmly faced the storm of shot and shell; faced it unmoved, while seven of the eight color guards lying at his feet were killed or wounded; faced it unflinchingly while the staff he held in his brave right hand was three times shattered by hostile shot; faced it without a tremor while the folds of his tattered flag were thirty times rent and torn by hissing minies or shrieking shell; faced it calmly until the blessedness of night had come to end the carnival of death, and stood there at its close the very incarnation of courage and yet without the smell of fire on his garments or the mark of shot or shell on his grey-clad form. i know not whether he still survives. i know not whether his radiant deed has found a fitting recognition save in the memory of surviving comrades. but living or dead, famous or forgotten, my hat goes off to you today, george register, in loving admiration of a heroism that in soldierly devotion to the colors that you bore, crowns you an immortal and rises to the region of the morally sublime. chapter vii. the closing campaign. a weeks' stay in the vicinity of corinth, miss., and orders were received for the transfer of stewart's and cheatham's corps to the east to aid hardee in an effort to prevent a junction of the armies of grant and sherman. an arctic ride. transportation by rail was furnished only to the sick and barefooted, who were ordered to report at corinth at daylight, jan. th. weakened by an attack of chill and fever i joined the sick squad, which left camp at a. m., tramped through the mud and rain, waded several streams and reached corinth in the early morning with our clothing wet to our knees. in this condition, with no opportunity to dry our drenched garments, we rode in a box car without fire on a cold winter day from a. m. until p. m. the car was crowded and the heating arrangements were confined to such exercise as we could take in the limited space we were forced to occupy. i had never been taught to "trip the light fantastic toe" and the figures i cut that day were more continuous than graceful. at p. m. i told the oglethorpes, who were with me, john kirkpatrick and will dabney among them, i remember, that while i was willing to die in a soldierly way in battle, i did not propose to freeze to death, and suggested that in order to secure an opportunity to thaw, we stop at the next station, which chanced to be baldwin, miss. the motion was carried unanimously, though not by a rising vote, as we already occupied from necessity a standing position, our car having no furniture except a floor and a door. to give the reader some gauge of the condition of the railroads in that section at that stage of the war, it is only necessary to say that we had traveled only miles in hours. we were kindly received by a mr. kent, an old citizen of baldwin, who regretted his inability to furnish us anything but shelter and fire, as he had been foraged upon by yankees and confederates alike until there was very little meal in the barrel or oil in the cruse and "no prophet in all the land to bless the scanty store." when the evening meal was ready, however, he came to our room and with an apology to my comrades for failing to include them in the invitation, he pressed the writer to share his humble fare. whether this discrimination in my favor was due to my good looks, my winning ways or the appearance of chronic hunger in my face, has remained to this day an unsolved problem. and yet whatever may have been the right solution, it gives me pleasure through this humble record to waft back over the waste of years my earnest appreciation of his kindness to a sick and underfed confederate. cleaned up financially. no train passed next morning and we tramped down the railroad for miles, stopping at saltillo for the night. none of us were well, the weather was cold and to avoid sleeping on the damp, bare ground we began to reconnoiter for better lodging. by reason possibly of the favorable impression made by the writer on our host at baldwin, i was made spokesman for the occasion. knocking at the residence of a mrs. b. i stated our condition in as impressive language as i could command and emphasized our desire to avoid the exposure of sleeping on the cold, damp ground. to this she replied that she was a widow, living there alone, that she knew nothing of us, and that while she disliked to turn off confederate soldiers, she could not feel that it would be proper or prudent for her to entertain a company of utter strangers. "well, madame," i replied, "i appreciate your position and if you feel the slightest hesitancy, we will not insist." "walk in sir," she replied, "you can stay." she told me afterwards that if i had pressed my appeal she would have turned us away, but that my failure to do so convinced her that we were gentlemen. it may be as well to confess that i had anticipated such an objection and had framed my reply to meet it. during the evening she told us with quivering lips, of the death of her soldier boy in virginia, of her sad mission in visiting the battle field to recover his body and lay it away in the old family burying ground, and spoke so feelingly of her attachment to our cause that on retiring to our room i remember that we entertained some fears that an offer of compensation for our entertainment might offend her. the sum total of our financial assets, as i recollect it, was a $ confederate bill owned by will dabney. on taking our leave next morning we tendered it in payment of our bill, thinking, of course, that she would decline it with thanks, but we had reckoned without our host or at least without our hostess. she accepted it with the remark that it would exactly square the account, and we were turned out on the cold charity of the world without a cent. 'twas the last of our assets, gone glimmering alone. all its blue-backed companions were wasted and gone, no bill of its kindred nor greenback was night, not even a "shinplaster" to spend for pie. in justice to our kind-hearted hostess, and lest some reader should imagine that her charges were really extravagant, it is proper to say that she had given five hungry soldiers a sumptuous supper and breakfast, had lodged us on snowy feather beds and had accepted in payment what was equivalent to one dollar or less in good money. if the condition of our finances needs any explanation it may be found in the fact that our last pay day had occurred just months and ten days before. * * * * * but i am spinning out these little incidents at too great length. resuming our march we were overtaken by our command and tramped with it to tupelo, where we remained days. on january th we boarded the cars for meridian, but the train was overloaded and we traveled only miles in hours, not very rapid transit. in order to lighten the load two cars were detached and in one of them lieut. goetchius and ten of the oglethorpes, including the writer chanced to be passengers. after two days' tramp through the "prairie lands" of mississippi, our squad secured transportation, rejoining our command at meridian, jan. . thence by rail to mcdowell's landing, by boat to demopolis, by rail to selma and by boat to montgomery, reaching that place p. m., feb. st. the preceding night was a very cold one and as we were deck passengers and no heating arrangements had been provided, a fire was built of fat pine on a pile of railroad iron. frank lamar, i remember, sat on the leeward side of the fire with the black smoke pouring into his face all night, and next day could have played the role of negro minstrel without the use of burnt cork. the writer kept his temperature above the freezing point by volunteering as an aid to the fireman in the engine room. leaving montgomery feb. d, we reached columbus, ga., late in the afternoon and on our arrival were met by a delegation of ladies, who greeted us with a speech, a song and a supper. my journal, i regret to say, records the fact that the supper was last but not least in the degree of appreciation meted out to the trio by the boys. passing through macon feb. d, we arrived at midway at a. m. of the th and remained there a day drawing clothing and blankets. leaving the railroad we marched through milledgeville on the th, but did not stop to investigate the condition of gov. brown's "collard patch." reaching mayfield on the th we boarded the cars again, lay over at camak and arrived at augusta on the evening of the th, the brigade going into camp near hamburg and the oglethorpes remaining with friends and relatives in the city. a sad home-coming. sixteen miles away, embowered in a grove of oak and elm, lay the home i had left, holding within the sacred shadow of its walls all that i loved best on earth. for nearly two months no tidings had come to me from them. we had been so constantly on the move that the letters written had never reached me. the latest message received had told me of my father's illness, but its tone gave me hope of his early recovery. our passage through augusta gave me the privilege of revisiting the old homestead, but it was a sad home-coming. twice since i had left it last the family circle had been broken and the shadow of death had fallen on its hearthstone. a few short months before in the autumnal haze of a september day, as sweet a sister as brother ever owned had breathed out her young life just as she was budding into womanhood. and now only a week before i entered its portals again my father, worn out by the added burdens imposed by the absorption of younger physicians in the military service, had been laid away beneath the shadow of the trees in the city of the dead. the reader will pardon, i trust, the filial tribute to his worth that comes unbidden from my heart today. beyond and above any partial judgment born of the love i bore him, i have always thought him the best and purest man i have ever known. it may be that no human life can claim perfection and yet if his knew aught of fault or blemish in all the years from boyhood to the grave, no human eye could see it. in lofty purpose and in lowly, unremitting faithfulness to duty he lived above the common plane of men, serving his generation by the will of god, doing justly, loving mercy, walking humbly in all the paths his master's feet had trod and dying in the noontide of his usefulness, he left to those who loved him, a name as pure and stainless as the snows that winter's breath have heaped upon his grave. * * * * * after ten days' rest at home, in company with eight comrades of the oglethorpes, i left augusta feb. to rejoin my command in upper south carolina, reaching it after six days' tramp, near pomaria. i recall only two or three incidents of that trip, that are seemingly worthy of record in these pages. the night of feb. was spent near the residence of mr. johnson bland, who kindly sent to our bivouac an ample supply of edibles for our evening meal. after they had been disposed of, the negro messenger, who had brought the supplies, entertained us with a learned disquisition on a species of ghosts, which he termed "hanks." harrison foster, with his usual taste for scientific research, wanted to know how the presence of these hanks could be detected and was informed that if in traveling at night he felt the sudden touch of a warm breath of air on his face he might rest assured that it was a "hank." possibly to test the sincerity of his conviction on the subject or to guard our slumbers from the disturbing influence of an inroad of these restless spirits of the night, harrison gave the negro a gun and posted him as a lone sentry in an adjacent graveyard. the next night was spent at the residence of major dearing. the family were all away and mr. smith, who had charge of the plantation, kindly gave us the use of the dwelling for the night. it was very handsomely furnished and to the credit of our squad i desire to record the fact that while silver forks and spoons were lying loosely around the dining room, not one of them disappeared when we took our departure. there were no ben butlers among us. two nights later we slept in a universalist church, said to be haunted, not by "hanks," but by the ghost of its former pastor, mr. stitch. my journal records the further fact that on the evening before we rejoined our command the entire squad suffered from an aggravated attack of the "blues." in whatever way the fact may be accounted for, there is but one other similar entry for the four years' service. an hour or two after reaching the camp of our regiment we began the march for chester, reaching that place march th. remaining there until the th we left by rail for charlotte, but by reason of an accident, failed to arrive at our destination until the evening of the th. on the th we moved on to salisbury, remained there until the th, when the train took us to smithfield. a march of miles on the th enabled us to rejoin our corps near bentonville. our last battle. during the confederate reunion in atlanta, ga., in ' , a man with kindly eyes and grizzled beard approached me with extended hand and said, "do you know me?" his face seemed familiar, but i was forced to confess that i could not exactly place him. "do you know where i saw you last?" i was compelled to admit that i was still in the dark as to his identity. "well," said he, "it was behind the biggest kind of a pine." "now i know you, sam woods," said i. that pine supplied the missing link in my memory and furnished likewise a link in the present sketch. our junction with hardee's force had placed us again under joe johnston--the same joe whose displacement at atlanta had perhaps as much to do with the collapse of the confederacy as the failure of pickett's charge at gettysburg, the joe of whom bill arp said he would walk ten miles on a rainy night to look into his hazel eyes and feel the grip of his soldier hand--the joe of whom capt. picquet said, as he rode by us on his mettled bay at the battle of resaca, "boys, i always feel safer when that man is around"--the same joe who, when asked by col. geo. a. gordon at dalton how he managed to manoeuver an army in the woods in battle, replied, "well, colonel, i have to depend largely on my corps commanders; they rely on the major generals, who in turn depend on the brigadiers, the brigadiers on the colonels, the colonels on the captains, but," said he, "thank god, we all have to rely on the private at last." by a. m., march th, the day after our arrival at bentonville, we were in line of battle, fronting a large part of sherman's army. our regiment depleted by sickness and death and capture and possibly "french leave" as we came through georgia, had only a hundred men in its ranks--the oglethorpes only nineteen. we had no field officer and, as i remember, only one captain, one lieutenant and an orderly sergeant for the ten companies. at one stage in the fight that followed the orderly sergeant was the ranking officer in the regiment. soon after taking our position, near the extreme right of the line, an assault was made by the enemy and was repulsed. about midday gen. bate, commanding our corps, gave the order to advance. in our front and gently sloping upwards for three hundred yards was an old field dotted with second growth pines, and two hundred and fifty yards beyond its highest point on the descending slope lay the federal breastworks awaiting us. closing in to the left as we advanced, we passed over the bodies of the enemy who had been killed in the assault and whose faces, from exposure to the sun, had turned almost black. reaching the top of the slope we came in view of the federal line and if our eyes had been closed our ears would have given us ample evidence of the fact. the rattle of the enfields and the hiss of the minies marked the renewal of our acquaintance with our old antagonists of the dalton and atlanta campaign. down the slope we charged until half the distance had been covered and the enemy's line is only a hundred yards away. the "zips" of the minies get thicker and thicker and the line partially demoralized by the heavy fire suddenly halts. frank stone is carrying the colors (cleburne's division flag--a blue field with white circle in the center) and he and i jump for the same pine. it is only six inches thick and will cover neither of us fully, but we divide its protective capacity fairly. fifteen or twenty feet to my left there is an exclamation of pain and as i turn to look jim beasley clasps his hand to his face as the blood spurts from his cheek. my cartridge box has been drawn to the front of my body for convenience in loading as well as for protection and as i look to the front again a ball strikes it, and strikes so hard that it forces from me an involuntary grunt. frank hears it and turns to me quickly, "are you hurt?" i said i believed not and proceed to investigate. the ball passing through the leather and tin had struck the leaden end of a cartridge and being in that way deflected had passed out the right side of the box instead of through my body. thirty or forty feet to the right the gallant color-bearer of the first florida, whose heroism at franklin has already received notice in these records, is making his way alone towards the breastworks at half speed, with his flag held aloft, fifty yards in front of the halted ranks. inspired by his example or recovering from the temporary panic, the line moves forward again, and the enemy desert their breastworks and make for the rear at a double-quick. leaping the entrenchments, a hatchet, frying pan and enfield rifle lie right in my path. sticking the pan and hatchet in my belt, i drop my austrian gun and seizing the enfield i see across the ravine a group of the enemy running up the hill. aiming at the center of the squad i send one of their own balls after them, but the cartridge is faulty and fails to reach its mark. we pursue them for half a mile and the disordered ranks are halted to be re-formed. capt. hanley, formerly of cleburne's staff, calls for volunteer skirmishers and john kirkpatrick is first to respond. turning to me he says, "come on walter." the writer is not advertising for that sort of a job, but the call is a personal one and not caring to let the boys know how badly scared i am, i step out of the ranks. will dabney, though laboring under a presentiment that he was to be killed that day, joins us, as do others whose names are not recalled. deploying and advancing through the woods we are soon in range of the minies again. lieut. hunter, a little to our left, is struck and tumbles forward on his head. will calls out to me that hunter is killed, but he is mistaken. the lieutenant regains his feet and finds that the wound is confined to his canteen. advancing further i find a lady's gaiter and a glass preserve dish dropped by the enemy and probably stolen from some southern home. capt. matt hopkins, of olmstead's regiment, picks up a book similarly dropped, but does not carry it long before a minie knocks it from his hand. the line of battle follows in our wake but before it reaches us a ball strikes john miller, passing directly through his body, and he turned to the color-bearer and said, "frank, i'm killed." frank replied, "i hope not john." the line presses on and john lies down under the pines to die. in a little while frank is disabled by a wound in the side and turns the colors over to billy morris. the regiment reaches the position occupied by the skirmish line and under heavy fire we are ordered to lie down. sam woods and the writer seek the shelter of a large pine and while kneeling together behind it a minie passes through sam's hand and thigh and he limps to the rear. advancing again, we are halted just before night by a pond or lagoon in our front. a friendly log lies near its edge and we lie down behind it. a federal battery open on us and the color-bearer of olmstead's st ga. regiment is knocked six or eight feet and disemboweled by a solid shot as it plows through the ranks. as the litter-bearers are carrying off another wounded man from the same regiment he begs piteously for his haversack, which has been left behind. they are under fire and refuse to halt. one of the oglethorpes, in pity for the poor fellow, leaves the protection of his log and running up the line secures the haversack, takes it to him, then hastens back to his position. night comes on, the firing ceases and the fight is ended. we have driven the enemy more than a mile, have captured a number of prisoners and have suffered comparatively little loss. of the oglethorpes only one has been killed and three wounded, though thirteen others bear on their bodies, clothing or equipment marks of the enemy's fire, some of them in three or four places. frank stone, in addition to the wound in his side and a hole through his sleeve, has a chew of tobacco taken off by a ball that passes through his pocket. john kirkpatrick has his canteen ventilated, sol foreman and will dabney find the meal in their haversacks seasoned with minies instead of salt, and the writer, in addition to the demoralization of his cartridge box, finds a hole in his haversack and thirteen in his folded blanket, all probably made by a single ball. relieved from our position in the line by harrison's regiment, by the aid of torches we find john miller's body and near it a naked arm taken off at the elbow by a cannon ball. placing them on a blanket, john kirkpatrick, will dabney, the writer and another comrade carry them nearly half a mile to an open field and give them as decent burial as we can. war's casualties, alas, are not all counted on the battlefield. from dread suspense that comes between the battle and the published list of slain and wounded, from the wearing agony of a separation that seems so endless, and the weary watching for footsteps that never come again, they fall on gentle hearts in lonely homes far removed from the smoke and din of musketry and cannon, not suddenly, perhaps, but sometimes just as surely as if by deadly missile on the firing line. john was an only child and far away in his georgia home his stricken parents rendered childless by his death, mourned in their loneliness for "the touch of a vanished hand" until broken hearted they, too, were laid away in the narrow-house appointed for all the living. on the following day the remainder of sherman's army came up and two divisions secured a position in our rear, but were driven back. a regiment of texas cavalry made a successful charge in this engagement, holding their bridle reins in their mouths and a navy pistol in each hand. a gallant son of gen. hardee went in with them as a volunteer and was killed in the charge. our division was not engaged, there being only skirmishing in our front. harrison foster and billy morris were on the picket line and under a misapprehension of an order of gen. bate, who was riding over the line with his crutches strapped to his saddle, they advanced to a point within close range of the yankee trenches. subjected to a heavy fire, they took refuge behind a pile of rails. while lying there billy was struck in the face and the pain of the wound led him to think that he was severely hurt. an investigation, however, showed that a minie ball had shattered a rail and had driven a splinter into the flesh. there was renewed skirmishing on the st, but as a company our last gun had been fired. johnston, finding his force of less than , men too small to cope with sherman's entire army, evacuated his position on the d and retired to the vicinity of smithfield. here we remained until april th, when under an act of the confederate congress, the army was re-organized. the numbers in each military organization had become so reduced that it was found necessary to consolidate divisions into brigades, brigades into regiments, and regiments into battalions. the st, th and rd ga. were merged into the first volunteer regiment of ga., the th ga. forming a battalion. the oglethorpes alone of the ten companies of our regiment, retained their separate and original organization. lieut. wilberforce daniel was made captain, with charles t. goetchius and geo. w. mclaughlin as first and second lieutenants. lieut. a. w. blanchard was promoted to the captaincy of co. k, formed of companies e, f, and g, and the writer, at capt. blanchard's request, was made an officer in the same company, will dabney being also transferred and given the position of orderly sergeant. i am glad to be able to say to the credit of the oglethorpes, that the consolidation not only failed to reduce the rank of any of their officers, as was the case in other companies, but that it resulted in the promotion of them all and in addition to this another company in the new regiment was practically officered by them. as soon as the re-organization had been completed we began our southward march, passing through raleigh and chapel hill and reaching the vicinity of greensboro on april th. appomatox had become history, and a truce of ten days was agreed upon by johnston and sherman, with a view to ending the war. on the th and th rumors were current that the army was to be surrendered and numbers of the troops left their commands, unwilling to submit to the seeming humiliation. to stop this movement johnston issued an order informing the army that negotiations for peace were going on between the governments, and on april th the terms of the military convention, agreed to on the th were published. lee's surrender had shattered the last hope of confederate success and a prolongation of the struggle would have been a useless and criminal sacrifice of life. a report of president's lincoln assassination had reached our camp and a number of us went over one night to the quarters of gen. john c. brown, our division commander, to ascertain the correctness of the rumor. to the question, "is lincoln dead?" he replied, "yes, he's very dead." "well, general, what do you propose to do when you get home?" "i am going to join the quakers," he said, "my fighting days are over." on may d our paroles arrived and were signed up and on the rd we began our march for georgia, making the trip of miles in days. in evidence of south carolina's loyalty to the cause, even in its dying hours, i recall the fact that while passing through its territory on our homeward march, no man or woman refused to accept confederate money for any purchase made by us. although then "representing nothing on god's green earth, and naught in the waters below it," in carolina, at least, "like our dream of success--it passed." reaching augusta may th, we divided the teams allowed us for transportation and with one dollar and twenty cents in silver paid us at greensboro for fifteen months' service, we bade our comrades in arms a tender and affectionate farewell, broke ranks for the last time, and turned our weary steps homeward. the flag we had followed for four years was furled forever and the southern confederacy was a thing of the past. conclusion. i would be doing violence to the expressed wishes of an old comrade and messmate, one whose friendship for me was born at the camp fire, and was strengthened and intensified by common hardship and danger, if i were to close these records without adding a word in behalf of the cause for which we fought. were these four wasted years? was the war on the part of the south only a wicked rebellion, as our northern friends have been pleased to term it? speaking only for myself as a humble unit in the four years' struggle, and yet feeling assured that i fairly represent a vast majority of my confederate comrades, i can say that i never kneeled at my mother's knee in childhood with a deeper sense of duty nor a purer feeling of devotion than impelled me when, with her tear-wet kiss upon my boyish lips, i left the old homestead to take my humble station under the "stars and bars." i can say further that looking backward over the record of the years, that providence has kindly granted me, no four of them come back to me with a deeper sense of satisfaction than those which marked my service as a confederate soldier. the convictions formed in those old days of the absolute righteousness of the cause for which we fought have only strengthened with the passing years. while the south failed in its purpose to secure separate national existence i have never felt that in the struggle it had anything to regret but failure. despite the tremendous odds against which it fought, despite the fact that it entered the contest without an army, without a navy, without military supplies, with the sentiment of its border states hopelessly divided, and with the sympathies of the world against it, but for the loss of its ablest western leader in his first battle, it would not, as i believe, have had even failure to regret. if albert sidney johnston had not fallen on that fateful april sabbath when grant's demoralized and beaten legions were cowering under the river bank at shiloh, he would, in my belief, have duplicated in the west, lee's victories in the east and appomatox and greensboro would have had no place in southern history. even in ' , if president davis had heeded the appeals of gov. brown and gen. johnston, of howell cobb and joe wheeler, sherman's constant apprehension during the dalton and atlanta campaign would have become a reality. forrest, the greatest cavalry leader of the war, and, in the opinions of lee, johnston and sherman, the most brilliant genius developed by it, would have been turned loose on sherman's rear; atlanta would never have fallen, lincoln would have failed of re-election and the "reconstruction" that followed in the wake of the war would have been confined to the geography of the country, rather than to southern state governments at the hands of carpet-baggers. lincoln expected such a result and bent every energy to end the war before the peace sentiment of the north could find expression in the election of mcclellan. the failure to utilize forrest's genius in the destruction of sherman's communication, the removal of johnston and the resultant fall of atlanta, turned the tide and the confederacy was doomed. defeat brought with it some measure of humiliation, and yet it is pleasant to remember that our short-lived republic stands in history today "without a blot upon its honor and with no unrighteous blood upon its hands." with its territory scorched and scarred by a foe, in whose military lexicon the word "humanity" found no place, the south struck no blow below the belt. it fought with rifles, not with firebrands, and made its war upon armed foes, not upon helpless women and children. it had no brutal shermans, nor sheridans, nor butlers, nor hunters in its ranks, but it is pleasant to know that it left to the world the legacy of a lee and a stonewall jackson, whose military record stands unmarred by the faintest shadow of a stain and unparalleled in anglo saxon history. while the north fought, not for the flag, not through sympathy for the slave, but by the admission of lincoln himself, just as surely for commercial greed as if the dollar mark had been woven into every banner that led its hosts to battle, it is a pleasant reflection that the south sought only to free itself from an alliance that had become offensive and dangerous to its liberties. and while lincoln has been canonized as a martyred saint, i am glad to know that jefferson davis or robert e. lee would have suffered a thousand martyrdoms before they would have penned a proclamation deliberately intended not only to beggar a whole people but to subject innocent and helpless women and children to the horrors of a servile insurrection. and so i feel assured that when in coming years posterity, unblinded by prejudice or passion, shall give to all the claimants in the pantheon of fame their just and proper meed, as high in purest patriotism as any rebel that fell at lexington or starved at valley forge, as high in lofty courage as any hero that rode with cardigan at balaclava or marched with ney at waterloo, or fell beneath the shadow of the spears with brave leonidas, will stand the rebel soldier of the south, clad in his tattered grey, beneath whose faded folds is shrined the stars and bars of an invisible republic, that lives in history only as a memory. roster of the "oglethorpes," - . co. b. th ga. battalion. co. a, rd ga. reg. officers. capt. j. v. h. allen--promoted major rd ga. july, . capt. louis a. picquet--wounded may , ' , leg amputated. capt. wilberforce daniel--died in . lieut. w. g. johnson--died since the war. lieut. *a. w. blanchard--wounded june , ' , promoted capt. co. k, st ga., . lieut. c. t. goetchius--living in augusta, ga., . lieut. geo. w. mclaughlin--living in augusta, ga., . st serg. *w. a. clark--promoted st lieut. co. k, st ga., april , ' . d serg. *o. m. stone--promoted st lieut. th ga., ' . d serg. j. w. stoy--captured july , ' , near atlanta. d serg. w. h. clark--promoted asst. surgeon, c. s. a., march, ' . d serg. e. a. dunbar--promoted ensign, . d serg. r. b. morris--living in augusta, ga., . th serg. jno. c. hill--living in augusta, ga., . th serg. s. c. foreman--wounded jonesboro, aug. , ' . com. serg. *w. j. steed--wounded june , ' , arm amputated. st corp. *burt o. miller--promoted lieut. th ga., may , ' . st corp. geo. g. leonhardt--wounded atlanta, july , ' . d corp. e. thompson. d corp. b. b. fortson--promoted ensign, died near tuscumbia, nov. , ' . th corp. *l. a. r. reab--captured at kennesaw, june , ' . th corp. j. h. warren--living in virginia, . th corp. w. h. foster--living in augusta, ga., . th corp. w. h. pardue--wounded at kennesaw, june , ' . privates. *john q. adams--wounded accidentally, thunderbolt, july , ' . w. f. alexander--living in oglethorpe co., . r. h. allen--living in burke co., . j. k. arrington--living in alabama, . philip backus--died since the war. c. t. bayliss--killed at kennesaw, june , ' . henry beale. *jas. a. beasley--wounded at bentonville, march , ' . c. w. beatty--died of disease, aug. , ' . *d. c. blount. thos. blount. geo. w. bouchillon--died since the war. jas. w. bones. henry booth--wounded peach tree creek, july , ' . *t. f. burbank--wounded near kingston, may , ' . *w. w. bussey--wounded huntsville, aug. , ' , and kennesaw, june , ' . *j. l. bynum--wounded atlanta, july , ' . wm. byrd--living in columbia co., . h. t. campfield--living in augusta, ga., . jno. a. carroll--wounded june , ' , died of wound. j. h. casey--wounded june , ' , died of disease july, ' . andy chamblin--died since the war. w. l. chamblin--wounded and captured, kennesaw, june , , leg amputated. h. a. cherry--died since the war. h. c. clary--living in augusta, ga., . e. f. clayton--transferred to th ga. batt., killed march , ' . w. a. cobb. *j. r. coffin--captured, kennesaw, june , ' . w. s. coffin. w. c. colbert--died since the war. w. c. corley. a. n. cox--transferred to th so. ca., june, ' . h. c. cox--transferred to th so. ca., june, ' . c. m. crane--promoted q. m. serg. st ga., apr. ' . floyd crockett--died since the war. h. m. cumming--acting asst. surgeon d ga., ' . m. b. crocker--died of disease in hospital july , ' . miles h. crowder--wounded, atlanta, july , ' , leg amputated. *wm. a. dabney--wounded, kennesaw, june , ' , promoted st serg. co. k, st ga., april , ' . jno. b. daniel--living in atlanta, ga., . john m. dent--living in waynesboro, ga., . *joseph t. derry--captured, huntsville, aug. ' , captured, kennesaw, june , ' . *edgar r. derry--ordnance serg. th ga. bat. wm. f. doyle--died since the war. wiley eberhart. j. r. edwards. j. l. eubanks--died since the war. r. r. evans--living in atlanta, ga., . r. c. eve--promoted asst. surgeon, c. s. a. *w. r. eve--captured at kennesaw, june , ' . j. l. fleming--living in augusta, ga., . l. f. fleming--disabled in r. r. accident, july , ' . w. t. flannigan. h. clay foster--wounded, atlanta, july , ' . j. a. garnett--died of disease, atlanta, june , ' . joel gay. c. g. goodrich--living in augusta, ga., . j. h. goodrich. jno. c. guedron--died since the war. wm. guedron--died since the war. jno. a. grant--living in atlanta, ga., . s. m. guy--killed at atlanta, july , ' . s. h. hardeman. c. a. harper--died since the war. j. e. harper--died since the war. *geo. a. harrison--captured, kennesaw, june , ' . r. w. heard--wounded, kennesaw, june , ' . j. t. heard--died since the war. w. m. heath--died of disease, june, ' . geo. s. heindel--died since the war. b. t. hill--died since the war. h. l. hill--killed near kingston, may , ' . a. m. hilzheim--fatally wounded and captured, june , ' . *v. g. hitt--promoted asst. surgeon in ' . h. w. holt--transferred to co. k, d ga., aug. ' . john hood. t. j. howard--living in lexington, ga., . *w. t. howard--captured, kennesaw, june , ' . f. t. hudson. j. t. hungerford--died since the war. theo. hunter. j. h. ivey. h. b. jackson--wounded near dallas, may , ' . j. a. jones--living in texas, . w. h. jones--living in columbia co., . m. s. kean--died since the war. jno. c. kirkpatrick--living near atlanta, ga., . cephas p. knox--fatally wounded near kennesaw, june , ' . w. t. lamar--living in augusta, ga., . frank lamar--died since the war. r. n. lamar--promoted lieut. of cavalry, jan. , ' . e. h. lawrence--died since the war. j. w. lindsey--captured, huntsville, aug. , ' . d. w. little--died since the war. m. s. lockhart--wounded near kennesaw, june , ' . e. j. lott--fatally wounded and captured, june , ' . t. e. lovell--died since the war. a. t. lyon--company bugler. a. d. marshall--captured, kennesaw, june , ' . c. o. marshall--transferred and promoted lieut., ' . jno. t. may--transferred to th ga. batt. j. p. marshall--living in . t. w. mcafee--living in chattanooga, . a. w. mccurdy--wounded near dallas, may , died june . j. t. mcgran--died since the war. *j. k. p. mclaughlin--wounded, atlanta, july , ' . l. h. mctyre. j. m. miles. t. a. miles. jno. t. miller--wounded june , ' , near kennesaw, killed at bentonville, march , ' . wm. megahee. g. t. mims. *a. l. mitchell--wounded june , ' , at kennesaw, arm amputated. geo. k. moore--died since the war. *w. b. morris--wounded june , ' , kennesaw. geo. d. mosher--living in savannah, . st. john nimmo--transferred to barnwell's battery. a. j. norton--missing near murfreesboro, dec. ' . *h. j. ogilsby--wounded july , ' , atlanta. *j. h. osborne--promoted serg. major st ga., april, ' . f. c. o'driscoll. alex page. s. a. parish--living in . j. o. parks. j. h. patton. j. f. phillips--missing june , ' , died in prison. j. c. pierson--transferred to th ga., june, ' . a. q. pharr--died since the war. a. poullain--transferred to th ga. cavalry. t. n. poullain--died of disease nov. , ' . geo. p. pournelle--missing june , ' , kennesaw, probably killed. jabe poyner--living in oglethorpe co., . r. a. prather--living in . joe price. w. h. prouty--died since the war. w. h. pullin. r. a. quinn--wounded july , ' , atlanta. r. quinn, jr. j. t. ratcliff--died of disease nov. , ' , tuscombia. r. r. reeves--living in columbia co., . *w. h. reeves--wounded june , ' , kennesaw. aaron rhodes--living in . j. z. roebuck--died since the war. jere rooks--living in richmond co., . obe rooks--fatally wounded july , ' , atlanta. b. f. rowland--wounded june , ' , kennesaw. w. radford--living in columbia co., . j. j. russell--living in atlanta, ga., . a. m. rodgers--died since the war. chas. richter. j. b. rogers--died since the war. geo. d. rice--died since the war. j. m. savage--missing in tennessee, dec., ' . w. n. saye--living in atlanta, . r. stokes sayre. p. a. schley--living in richmond co., . j. l. shanklin. c. d. sellars. w. a. sims--died since the war. m. c. smith--died since the war. w. j. smith--wounded june , ' , near kennesaw. j. t. steed--wounded may , ' , died of disease, oct. , ' . -- -- stevens--died in ' , thunderbolt. geo. r. sibley--q. m. serg. th ga. batt. a. w. shaw--died since the war. *f. i. stone--wounded march , ' , bentonville, promoted ensign, ' . f. m. stringer--died since the war. j. j. stanford. robert swain--transferred to co. k, d ga., killed sept. d, ' , lovejoy station. jas. sullivan. elijah stowe--company fifer. floyd thomas--captured june , ' , kennesaw. j. e. thomas--died since the war. whit thomas--living in richmond co., . jas. thompson--died of disease in ' , montgomery. r. f. tompkins. j. w. tucker--missing dec. , ' , near murfreesboro. miles turpin--company drummer. *geo. j. verdery--living in north augusta, . *eugene f. verdery--wounded july , ' . peachtree creek. r. w. verdery--died since the war. j. c. welch--died of disease, dec. ' . r. a. welch--living in richmond co., . john weigle--wounded june , ' , kennesaw, died of wound july . w. h. warren--died since the war. j. w. white--died since the war. g. w. whittaker--living in richmond co., . j. w. whittaker. j. o. wiley--wounded july , ' , atlanta. j. e. wilson--died since the war. r. t. winter--living in richmond co., . s. f. woods--wounded march , ' , bentonville. h. womke--drowned april , ' , thunderbolt. j. f. wren. w. t. williams--died since the war. s. m. wynn--died since the war. -- -- wynn--died ' , knoxville, tenn. * in addition to those registered above as survivors in , those marked with an asterisk are known or reported to me as still living. i regret my inability to secure a complete list of the survivors. addenda. oglethorpe infantry, co. b. when the oglethorpes offered their services to the confederate government in ' the married men in its ranks were, by a vote of the company, excluded from the enlistment except as commissioned officers. after the departure of the company for the seat of war the members, who were left behind, effected a new organization and were known as "co. b." their purpose was to organize for home defence, but in november, ' , they were ordered to savannah by gov. brown, and were assigned to the th regiment ga. state troops, then in process of formation. gen. w. h. t. walker had thrown up his commission in virginia because president davis had seen fit to take from him the brigade he had organized and had assigned to its command his brother-in-law, dick taylor, who was subordinate in rank to every colonel in the brigade. gen. walker could not brook what he deemed a pure case of nepotism, and on his return to georgia he was placed in command of the brigade of state troops, to which the oglethorpes, as co. a, th ga., had been assigned. the company, on account of their proficiency in the manual of arms and in company evolution, became a sort of pet of gen. walker's and when his quarters were visited by ladies from savannah the oglethorpes were ordered out to drill for the benefit of his fair guests. mr. frank h. miller, who was a lieutenant in the company and afterwards adjutant of the regiment, by gen. walker's appointment, relates a characteristic incident that occurred during the general's service at savannah as his commanding officer. one of his men had "run the blockade," had spent the night in savannah and while hustling back to camp in the early morning hours, was overhauled by the sergeant in charge of the guard at the general's quarters. the soldier did not relish the idea of being placed under arrest for his escapade and backing himself against a tree he drew his knife and threatened to carve up any man who laid hands on him. the noise awakened gen. walker, who was sleeping in a tent near by, and rushing out en deshabille, he shouted, "what the d--l is the matter out here?" the sergeant, who seemed to be suffering with a nervous chill, stammered out, "he won't be arrested, general. he says he'll kill anybody that touches him." the general rushed up to the man and said, "give me that knife, sir." the soldier handed it over with a smile on his face and the general saw as he took it that the weapon was entirely bladeless. turning to the sergeant he said, "turn that man loose. i won't have any man arrested who can back out a whole guard with a knife that hasn't got a blade in it." and the "blockade runner" went scot free. in may, ' , their six months term of service having expired, the company was mustered out at augusta. a majority of its members soon effected a re-organization for regular confederate service and the new company was ordered to corinth, miss., and for a time was assigned to the th ga. regiment, then serving in the brigade of gen. john k. jackson. before leaving this camp the d battalion ga. sharpshooters was organized, under the command of major jesse j. cox, of alabama, and the oglethorpes became co. c of that famous organization known in the army of tennessee, as "cox's wild cats." for the remaining years of the war this battalion was identified with every movement and did gallant service in every engagement of the western army. as "sharp-shooters" it fell to their lot to serve almost continuously on the skirmish line, opening every battle in which their division was engaged. transferred from tupelo to chattanooga in the summer of ' , they took part in bragg's kentucky campaign and at its close were stationed for a time at knoxville and then at bridgeport, rejoining bragg again in time to participate in the battle of murfreesboro, dec. , ' . during that engagement, at gen. polk's request, the battalion, with jackson's brigade, was temporarily detached from hardee's corps and was sent into the famous cedar thicket where they were exposed to the concentrated fire of rosecranz's parked artillery and lost half their number. among the casualties sustained by the oglethorpes was the loss of their gallant commander, capt. e. w. ansley, and the brave color-bearer of the battalion, edward h. hall. lieut. m. g. hester succeeded to the captaincy and the colors were given to geo. f. bass of the oglethorpes, who seem to have furnished all the ensigns for the battalion. during the kentucky campaign the colors had been borne by corporal m. v. calvin, and after the transfer of bass to another command, they were entrusted to another oglethorpe, wm. mulherin, who carried them with marked gallantry until his capture at the battle of nashville, in the winter of ' . through the battles of chickamauga and missionary ridge, with johnston through the hundred days from dalton to atlanta, and with hood at franklin and nashville, the "wild cats" sustained their hard-earned reputation as a fighting organization, closing up their soldierly record with the surrender of johnston's army at greensboro in april, ' , at which date lieut. george p. butler was in command of the oglethorpes. a number of the gallant survivors of the company are still living in or near augusta, among them, orderly sergeant wm. k. thompson, serg. m. v. calvin, corp. brad merry, corp. w. h. miller, musician w. b. white, evans morgan, w. h. hendrix and w. d. shaw. ships that did not pass in the night. brad merry's name recalls an incident that occurred at the charleston reunion in . brad and the writer had agreed to make the homeward trip together. on reaching the train i failed to meet him. the coaches were crowded, but i finally secured a seat with a stranger, who after the formation of a railroad acquaintance, proved to be rev. t. p. cleveland, living near atlanta. after a pleasant chat about our mutual friends in atlanta and elsewhere, i strolled through the train in search of my friend brad. finding him in a forward coach, i chanced to say, with no special reason for making the statement, that i had a seat with a rev. mr. cleveland. "what's his full name?" asked brad, with a look of interest. "t. p." i replied. "tom cleveland! why there isn't a man in the world i'd rather see. we were old schoolmates. where is he?" taking him back to my coach i said, "mr. cleveland, here's an old friend of yours, brad merry." the meeting was a very joyous one. as the glamour of the old days came over them and with glowing faces and happy hearts they talked of the long ago, a lady stepped across the aisle and said, "didn't i hear this gentleman call you mr. brad merry?" "you certainly did, madam," said brad. "why, mr. merry, i know you. your battalion was camped near my father's house for a long time and you and your comrades came over nearly every evening and sang for us. we had mighty pleasant times together in those old war days." brad's smile reached from his chin to the back of his neck as he grasped her hand and said, "i am delighted to see you again. i remember you distinctly. your father had three girls, virginia, alabama and tennessee." "well," said she, "this is virginia," and pointing across the aisle to her sister, "there's alabama." the ride to augusta was no longer tiresome or tedious. in the renewal of their old time acquaintance and the revival of so many personal memories the hours sped swiftly and when i left the train brad was using all his persuasive power to induce the entire party to stop over at berzelia and brighten for a time his pinetucky home. they were strangers to me, but i enjoyed their happiness and was glad to have been the unconscious instrument in bringing them together again. but for the accident of my finding that special seat vacant, these four ships would have "passed in the night," possibly to hail each other no more until with wearied sail they cast their final anchor in the harbor that lies beyond the sunset. oglethorpe infantry, co. b. (company a, ninth regiment georgia state troops.) officers. edwin w. ansley, captain. frank h. miller, first lieutenant. thomas h. holleyman, second lieutenant. m. g. hester, third lieutenant. ed. f. kinchley, commissary. w. c. sibley, secretary and treasurer. g. e. boulineau, orderly. g. w. hersey, second sergeant. s. a. verdery, third sergeant. ed. e. dortic, fourth sergeant. w. a. paul, first corporal. j. m. weems, second corporal. w. h. frazer, third corporal. james heney, fourth corporal. privates. armstrong, pat. bruckner, j. d. butler, g. p. barrow, wm. bailie, g. a. butt, wm. p. cheesborough, wm. chenell, john. calvin, m. v. cress, j. g. cheesborough, c. m. dubose, robt. m. davis, jas. s. duvall, r. b. davies, john n. day, john h. fleming, peter l. gartrell, jas. m. glover, wm. heard, henry. henry, jacob a. hett, ed. hitt, dan w. hubbard, jas. c. jonas, chas h. kerniker, ed. kenner, jas. h. lane, lucius a. mulherin, wm. marshall, jno. d. merry, brad. nunn, tom p. norris, w. b. nelson, tom c. niblett, jas. m. o'hara, thos. parker, gustave a. phinizy, thos. a. page, alexander. richmond, h. p. roulette, mike. shackleford, j. h. setze, jno. shaw, alfred w. simmons, r. r. smythe, wm. w. stevens, jno. samuel, wolfe. shaw, wm. a. tant, wm. d. tuttle, dan w. thomas, wm. thompson, wm. k. travis, luke. tant, alexander. verdery, eugene. white, wm. b. wiley, landly j. wingfield, w. j. woodard, c. b. wolfe, mike. youngblood, sam. m. young, jas. r. muster roll of oglethorpe infantry, company c, d ga. sharpshooters. officers. captain, edwin w. ansley. first lieutenant, m. g. hester. second lieutenant, jas. m. weems. third lieutenant, e. e. dortic. first sergeant, wm. k. thompson. second sergeant, walter h. frazer. third sergeant, geo. p. butler. fourth sergeant, wm. a. griffin. fifth sergeant, j. d. marshall. first corporal, w. h. miller. second corporal, thos. o'hara. third corporal, bradford merry. fourth corporal, m. v. calvin. secretary, henry p. richmond. musicians, w. b. white, e. a. young. privates. anderson, w. f. e. bruckner, j. d. bunch, g. m. bass, geo. f. boddie, john s. boulineau, w. a. cheesborough, c. m. carroll, j. r. cleckley, a. duke, j. b. duke, john f. duke, b. f. duvall, r. b. duddy, wm. epps, w. d. fowler, j. c. gardiner, h. n. gates, wm. hall, e. h. hall, a. g. helmuth, f. hendrix, w. h. hinton, g. w. isaacs, wm. king, jesse. kerniker, edward. lamback, geo. f. mulherin, wm. manders, j. j. morgan, evan. mathis, j. t. nelson, t. c. peppers, j. m. peppers, a. h. roberts, chas. p. roulett, m. robinson, james. shaw, a. w. shaw, w. d. stephens, e. a. samuels, w. tobin, john. tant, alex. talbot, j. m. taylor, wm. tuttle, d. w. wise, t. c. wolff, m. young, j. r. supplement. as this is my first, and will probably be my last attempt at authorship, in deference to the possibly too partial judgment of friends, i have ventured to include in the volume two additional sketches in no way connected with the memories, which precede them. yielding to the same kindly criticism i have added also a war poem, intended to perpetuate an incident whose hardly paralleled pathos has not, i trust, been marred by the poetic dress in which i have attempted to preserve it. one of my heroes. personal courage, when from the lack of selfish ends, it rises to the plane of real chivalry, has always met with willing homage from the hearts of men. i do not know that hero-worship has entered largely into my own mental or moral makeup, and yet for thirty years and more my heart has paid its silent and yet earnest tribute to one, who in unadulterated grit and innate chivalry was the peer of any man i have ever known. i have called him my hero, but he was mine, perhaps, only by right of discovery. i found him in a little florida village in the winter of ' . there was nothing in his appearance to indicate the hero. no title, civil or military added dignity to his name. so far as i know no stars or bars had gilded the old grey uniform he had laid aside with lee's surrender. he was simply plain bob harrison. of his lineage or earthly history i learned but little. i know that he was the son of a methodist minister who, some years before, had moved to florida from south carolina, and who, by right of apostolical succession, was not only a good preacher but a good fisherman as well. i know, further, that in one of the battles in virginia my friend had been shot through the lungs and had been left upon the battlefield to die. the surgeons in their hurried rounds passed by on the other side, declining to waste their time on one, who in a few short hours would be beyond the reach of human aid. despairing of any relief from them, he had tied his handkerchief around his chest to staunch the life blood that was ebbing away, and through the long, long lonely night had waited for death or help to come. on the morrow the burial corps had found him still living, and in the hospital he was nursed back to partial health again. the press had placed his name among the dead, and far away in his southern home loving ones mourned for him until one summer's day his feeble footsteps on the walk and his pallid arms about their necks brought to their hearts a resurrection just as real as that which gladdened mary and martha at the tomb of lazarus. of his service as a soldier i know no more than i have written. my claim for him is based upon incidents that occurred when the war had ended and his record as a soldier had been made up. at the date and in the section of which i write the tide of lawlessness that followed in the wake of war had not yet reached its ebb. during my stay a party of toughs came to the village and for a week or more terrorized the place. an effort was made to secure their arrest by civil process, but from lack of nerve in the officers, or failure to secure a posse, the effort failed and the gang was having its own sweet will without let or hindrance. at this juncture bob harrison rode into the village one day from his country home. the lady, at whose boarding house these men were stopping, told him of their misdoings. he was living six miles away and had no personal grievance against them. his wounded lung had never healed and frequent hemorrhages from it had paled the color in his cheeks and weakened a body none too strong when in perfect health. but the appeal stirred the chivalry of his nature and he did not hesitate a moment. he went to them and in vigorous english denounced their conduct as ungentlemanly and dishonorable and told them it must stop. that afternoon a challenge came to him to meet them at a designated place next morning to answer for the insult he had given. he rode in before breakfast and at the appointed hour he was promptly on hand armed with a brace of pistols and a bowie knife. for three hours he offered satisfaction in any shape they chose to take it, and with any weapon they might select, but his nerve had cowed them and the offer was declined. then he said to their leader, "you have been making threats against my friend, charlie p-- for some fancied wrong. he has a wife and children to mourn him if he falls. i have none. i stand in his shoes today and any satisfaction you claim from him you can get from me here and now." the bully failed to press his claim. the gang soon left the village and quiet reigned again. a short time prior to this incident a young lady had made her home in the village--a stranger, without relatives or friends. a citizen of the place taking advantage of her unprotected condition, began to circulate rumors reflecting on her character. these reports reached bob harrison's ears. she was bound to him by no ties of blood or special friendship, but her helplessness was claim enough. he called on the author of the slander and asked to see him privately. the man showed him into a room and bob locked the door and put the key in his pocket. "now, mr --," he said, "you have circulated slanders about miss --. she has no relative here to protect her and i have come to put a stop to it. i don't propose to take any advantage of you. i am going to lay these two pistols on this table. you will stand with your face to that wall and i will stand with my face to this. when i give the word if you can secure a pistol first you are at liberty to shoot. if i get one first, i am going to shoot. you have got to do that or you have got to sit down at this table and sign a "lie bill." the man looked into bob's eyes a moment and said, "i'll sign the lie bill," and miss --'s name was safe from slanderous tongues from that day on. in neither of these cases did he have the slightest personal interest. his conduct was prompted solely by the chivalry of the man. he impressed me as ordinarily one of the gentlest and mildest mannered of men and yet i believe he would have led a forlorn hope to certain death without a tremor. with the close of winter i returned to my georgia home and over the gulf of silence that has intervened since that spring day in ' , no tidings have come to me of my friend, bob harrison. if he still lives my heart goes out in tender greeting to him today, and if he sleeps beneath the daisies i trust this little tribute to his worth will cause the sod that lies above him to press none the less lightly over his manly heart. ben hill and the dog. a reminiscence. just fifty years ago in the unceiled, unpainted and largely unfurnished rooms of an "old field school," holding a blue-backed speller in my boyish hands, i sat with a row of barefoot urchins on a plain pine bench and watched with sleepy eyes the mellow sunshine creeping all too slowly towards the o'clock mark cut by the teacher into the school room floor. this primitive timepiece that marked the boundary line between school hours and the midday intermission, known in schoolboy vernacular as "playtime," was never patented, although it had the happy faculty of never running down and never needing repairs. to the student of today reveling in the luxuriant appointments of the present public school system there may come sometimes a touch of pity for the simple methods and the meagre equipment of the old field school, whose teachers in addition to the inconvenience of having to "board around," were sometimes forced to receive partial compensation for their work in home made "socks." such of my readers as may be disposed to discredit the free and unlimited knitting of socks as a circulating medium for the payment of school salaries, are respectfully referred to my friend, w. j. steed, for the historical accuracy of this statement. and yet--and yet, minimizing as we may the limited advantages of those old school days in the ' 's, and magnifying as we do the wondrous advance in educational methods and appliances in all grades from the kindergarten to the university, the fact remains that "there were giants in those days" who seem to have no successors. examples might be multiplied both in our state and national life, but i give only two. the places of george f. pierce in the pulpit and of benjamin h. hill in the forum and on the hustings have never been filled. it may be true that dame nature requires after the production of great men a period of repose and rest, and if my limited observation is not at fault she is enjoying a good long nap. whatever may have been the explanation of the fact mentioned, the privilege of hearing these men in their palmy days, of feeling the "cold chills" creep up the spinal column as they soared to the empyrean heights of impassioned oratory, of losing consciousness of time and place and environment under the magic spell of their almost superhuman eloquence, furnished some measure of compensation for the meagre advantages, on educational lines, of the last generation. the writer's first opportunity to hear ben hill occurred at mount moriah camp ground, in jefferson county, in the presidential campaign of . on the disintegration of the old whig party mr. hill had aligned himself with its residuary legatee, the american party, and was canvassing the state as an elector on the fillmore ticket. he was years of age, just in the rosy prime of a superb physical and intellectual manhood. i was only a boy and knew nothing of parties or party politics, but i remember that for three hours and more he held the rapt and untiring interest and attention of that vast audience. at the close of the speech major stapleton announced that a messenger had been sent to mr. stephens asking a division of time with mr. hill at the former's appointment in burke county, on the next day. mr. hill was sitting on the pulpit steps, and when the announcement closed he said, "yes, i am not afraid to meet "little aleck," nor big aleck, nor big bob added to them," alluding to mr. toombs. mr. stephens did not consent, but met mr. hill afterwards at lexington, ga., in the same campaign. out of this debate grew mr. stephens' challenge and mr. hill's refusal to accept it, an incident which had large influence in ending the reign of the code duello in georgia. two years later i had the privilege of hearing mr. hill again in the state campaign for governor. a joint canvass of the state had been in progress, but after a few discussions governor brown found that he was no match for mr. hill on the "stump," and he wisely cancelled further engagements. in giving his reasons for such action he said that mr. hill was too much of a sophist, that he could make the worse appear the better cause, and to enforce the point he related the "pig and puppy" anecdote, a favorite illustration with political speakers in those days. in the speech i refer to, delivered at covington, ga., mr. hill gave his opponent the benefit of a statement of the reasons he had assigned for his withdrawal, with the anecdote included, and then with the smile that always gave premonition of a happy retort, he said, "and now, fellow-citizens, in this campaign i have made no effort to make anything out of anybody but mr. brown, and if i have made nothing better than a pig or a puppy it was the best i could do with the material i had to work upon." mr. hill never employed the anecdote argument in his speeches, but if used against him no man of his time or perhaps of any other time was able to turn its edge more readily or more effectively on his opponent i recall only one passage from the address and as it has not been preserved in his published speeches i give it in illustration of his style at that date. after disposing of his opponent and the state campaign he turned his attention to national issues and in urging his audience to resist northern encroachments on their rights closed a burst of impassioned oratory with these words: "has the spirit of southern chivalry folded its wings for an eternal sleep in the grave of calhoun? shall the breezes, which blow from the 'cowpens' where the infant days of jackson were spent, now fan the brows of a nation of slaves? rise, freemen of georgia! arise in your might. shake off this delilah of party for she is an harlot and will betray you to your destruction. arise! drive back the invader from your thresholds, or like samson of old, pull down the pillars of the temple and perish in one common ruin." its effect upon the audience may be inferred from the fact that it has lingered in my memory more than forty years. i heard mr. hill no more until some years after the war. his nerve in putting an end to the seizure of cotton by federal agents in the south in ' , his "davis hall" and "bush arbor" speeches and his "notes on the situation" had given him the very highest place in southern esteem and affection. and then came his acceptance of an interest in the state road lease and his speech at the "delano banquet," which placed him under the ban of popular distrust and postponed the day when southern character and southern history was to find its brave and complete vindication at his hands in the halls of congress. during this shadowed period in his life i heard him several times in atlanta, and on one of these occasions occurred the incident which forms the title of this sketch. chafing under the criticisms and abuse to which he had been subjected he boldly defended the consistency of his record and pointed proudly to the day in ' when the lips of every public man in georgia were sealed except his own. "and now, my friends," said he, "when the lion of military government had prostrate georgia in its cruel grasp, these men, who are now decrying me, were hiding away in quiet places afraid to face him. but when largely through my persistent efforts his clutch was loosened and he was recalled to his den in washington, the whole breed, mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, and cur of low degree, left their hiding places and came out barking, not at the lion, but at me, yelping, "radical!" "radical!" "radical!" the words had barely left his lips when a huge dog standing in the centre of the aisle, began barking loudly and vigorously, with his eyes fixed on mr. hill. i do not know that the speaker, in imitation of a certain minister's reputed habit of inserting, "cry here," at the close of the pathetic passages in his manuscript, had inserted "bark here" in his notes, but i do know that the impromptu illustration fitted in so pertinently that the storm of applause, that greeted it, would have lifted the roof if such a result had been possible. for several minutes there was perfect pandemonium. as the wave of sound rolled and swelled and rose and fell to rise in larger volume than before the speaker faced the audience with the shadow of a smile upon his face and when the last ripple of applause had died away he said: "my friends, i meant no reflection on that dog." i have had the privilege of hearing toombs, stephens, johnson and howell cobb, the first two, a number of times. i claim no ability to make intelligent comparison among these distinguished georgians. but basing an estimate simply upon their effect upon myself and upon others as i have observed it, i should say that while in epigrammatic force, in the ability to pack thought into limited space, mr. toombs had no equal among them, yet in effective oratory, in the power to sway an audience at his will, whether in the domain of ice-cold logic or in the higher realms where only angels soar, mr. hill probably towered above them all. the peroration to his appeal for the pardon of wm. a. choice had few equals in all the range of english forensic literature. it has not been preserved, and in the forty years that have elapsed since its delivery, my memory retains but a single sentence, and with that i close this sketch: "even from the lips of the murdered man, a voice comes back to us today, as soft as evening zephyrs through an orange grove and as warm as an angel's heart. 'forgive him, save him, for he knew not what he did.'" * * * * * the rebel chaplain and the dying boy in blue. the touching incident recorded in the following verses occurred on a bloody western battlefield in the old war days in the ' 's. rev. j. b. mcferrin, formerly of nashville, tenn., and now in heaven, an able and honored minister of the methodist church, and for four years a confederate chaplain in the army of tennessee, was the christian hero of this tenderly pathetic story. his untiring devotion to the sick and wounded amid the dangers and hardships of camp and field are gratefully remembered by his surviving comrades, while his gentle kindness to a stricken foe, will be embalmed in the loving memory of every veteran of both the "blue and grey." 'twas evening on the battle field; o'er trampled plain, with carnage red the lines in blue were forced to yield. leaving their dying and their dead. all day 'mid storm of shot and shell, with smoking crest, war's crimson tide had left its victims where they fell, nor heeding if they lived or died. and now the cannon's roar was dumb, the "rebel yell" was hushed and still; the shrieking shell, the bursting bomb were silent all on plain and hill. from out the lines of faded grey to where the battle's shock was spent, a rebel chaplain made his way, on mercy's kindly mission bent. he kneeled beside a stricken foe, whose life was ebbing fast away, and then in gentle words and low, he asked if he might read and pray? "no, no," the wounded man replied, "my throat is parched, my lips are dry," and in his agony he cried "oh, give me water, or i'll die." the chaplain hurried o'er the strand and in the stream his cup he dips, then hastening back, with gentle hand he pressed it to his waiting lips. "now shall i read?" he asked again, while bleak winds blew across the wold, "no," said the soldier in his pain, "i'm growing cold, i'm growing cold." then in the wintry twilight air his "coat of grey" the chaplain drew, leaving his own chilled body bare, to warm the dying boy in blue. the soldier turned with softened look, with quivering lip, and moistened eye, and said: "if you, in all that book can find for me the reasons why, a rebel chaplain such as you, should show the kindness you have shown to one who wears the union blue, i'll hear them gladly, every one." in tender tones the good man read of love and life beyond the grave, and then in earnest prayer he plead that god would pity, heal and save. above the "blue"--above the "grey" shone no cathedral's lofty spire, yet i am sure the songs that day were chanted by an angel choir. the evening darkened into night, the shadows fell on wold and strand, but in their hearts gleamed softer light than ever shone on sea or land. and ere the wintry night was o'er, beyond the sunset's purpled hue, the stars rose on a fairer shore to greet the dying boy in blue. long years have come and gone since then, long years the good man lived to bless with kindly deed, his fellow men, and then to die in perfect peace. and when in heaven's eternal day, they met before his throne of light, there was no blue, there was no grey, for both were robed in god's own white. * * * * * transcriber's note: obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have been silently corrected in this etext. for project gutenberg. (this file was produced from images generously made available by the internet archive.) [transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other inconsistencies. text that has been changed to correct an obvious error is noted at the end of this ebook.] fifty years in chains; or, the life of an american slave. "my god! can such things be? hast thou not said that whatsoe'er is done unto thy weakest and thy humblest one, is even done to thee?"--whittier. new-york h. dayton, publisher howard street. indianapolis, ind.:--asher & company. . entered according to act of congress in the year , by h. dayton, in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states for the southern district of new york. j. j. reed, printer & stereotyper, centre-st., n. y. preface. the story which follows is _true_ in every particular. responsible citizens of a neighboring state can vouch for the reality of the narrative. the language of the slave has not at all times been strictly adhered to, as a half century of bondage unfitted him for literary work. the subject of the story _is still a slave_ by the laws of this country, and it would not be wise to reveal his name. fifty years in chains or, the life of an american slave. chapter i. separated from my mother. my story is a true one, and i shall tell it in a simple style. it will be merely a recital of my life as a slave in the southern states of the union--a description of negro slavery in the "model republic." my grandfather was brought from africa and sold as a slave in calvert county, in maryland. i never understood the name of the ship in which he was imported, nor the name of the planter who bought him on his arrival, but at the time i knew him he was a slave in a family called maud, who resided near leonardtown. my father was a slave in a family named hauty, living near the same place. my mother was the slave of a tobacco planter, who died when i was about four years old. my mother had several children, and they were sold upon master's death to separate purchasers. she was sold, my father told me, to a georgia trader. i, of all her children, was the only one left in maryland. when sold i was naked, never having had on clothes in my life, but my new master gave me a child's frock, belonging to one of his own children. after he had purchased me, he dressed me in this garment, took me before him on his horse, and started home; but my poor mother, when she saw me leaving her for the last time, ran after me, took me down from the horse, clasped me in her arms, and wept loudly and bitterly over me. my master seemed to pity her, and endeavored to soothe her distress by telling her that he would be a good master to me, and that i should not want anything. she then, still holding me in her arms, walked along the road beside the horse as he moved slowly, and earnestly and imploringly besought my master to buy her and the rest of her children, and not permit them to be carried away by the negro buyers; but whilst thus entreating him to save her and her family, the slave-driver, who had first bought her, came running in pursuit of her with a raw-hide in his hand. when he overtook us, he told her he was her master now, and ordered her to give that little negro to its owner, and come back with him. my mother then turned to him and cried, "oh, master, do not take me from my child!" without making any reply, he gave her two or three heavy blows on the shoulders with his raw-hide, snatched me from her arms, handed me to my master, and seizing her by one arm, dragged her back towards the place of sale. my master then quickened the pace of his horse; and as we advanced, the cries of my poor parent became more and more indistinct--at length they died away in the distance, and i never again heard the voice of my poor mother. young as i was, the horrors of that day sank deeply into my heart, and even at this time, though half a century has elapsed, the terrors of the scene return with painful vividness upon my memory. frightened at the sight of the cruelties inflicted upon my poor mother, i forgot my own sorrows at parting from her and clung to my new master, as an angel and a saviour, when compared with the hardened fiend into whose power she had fallen. she had been a kind and good mother to me; had warmed me in her bosom in the cold nights of winter; and had often divided the scanty pittance of food allowed her by her mistress, between my brothers, and sisters, and me, and gone supperless to bed herself. whatever victuals she could obtain beyond the coarse food, salt fish and corn bread, allowed to slaves on the patuxent and potomac rivers, she carefully distributed among her children, and treated us with all the tenderness which her own miserable condition would permit. i have no doubt that she was chained and driven to carolina, and toiled out the residue of a forlorn and famished existence in the rice swamps, or indigo fields of the south. my father never recovered from the effects of the shock, which this sudden and overwhelming ruin of his family gave him. he had formerly been of a gay, social temper, and when he came to see us on a saturday night, he always brought us some little present, such as the means of a poor slave would allow--apples, melons, sweet potatoes, or, if he could procure nothing else, a little parched corn, which tasted better in our cabin, because he had brought it. he spent the greater part of the time, which his master permitted him to pass with us, in relating such stories as he had learned from his companions, or in singing the rude songs common amongst the slaves of maryland and virginia. after this time i never heard him laugh heartily, or sing a song. he became gloomy and morose in his temper, to all but me; and spent nearly all his leisure time with my grandfather, who claimed kindred with some royal family in africa, and had been a great warrior in his native country. the master of my father was a hard, penurious man, and so exceedingly avaricious, that he scarcely allowed himself the common conveniences of life. a stranger to sensibility, he was incapable of tracing the change in the temper and deportment of my father, to its true cause; but attributed it to a sullen discontent with his condition as a slave, and a desire to abandon his service, and seek his liberty by escaping to some of the free states. to prevent the perpetration of this suspected crime of _running away from slavery_, the old man resolved to sell my father to a southern slave-dealer, and accordingly applied to one of those men, who was at that time in calvert, to become the purchaser. the price was agreed on, but, as my father was a very strong, active, and resolute man, it was deemed unsafe for the georgian to attempt to seize him, even with the aid of others, in the day-time, when he was at work, as it was known he carried upon his person a large knife. it was therefore determined to secure him by stratagem, and for this purpose, a farmer in the neighborhood, who was made privy to the plan, alleged that he had lost a pig, which must have been stolen by some one, and that he suspected my father to be the thief. a constable was employed to arrest him, but as he was afraid to undertake the business alone, he called on his way, at the house of the master of my grandfather, to procure assistance from the overseer of the plantation. when he arrived at the house, the overseer was at the barn, and thither he repaired to make his application. at the end of the barn was the coach-house, and as the day was cool, to avoid the wind which was high, the two walked to the side of the coach-house to talk over the matter, and settle their plan of operations. it so happened that my grandfather, whose business it was to keep the coach in good condition, was at work at this time, rubbing the plated handles of the doors, and brightening the other metallic parts of the vehicle. hearing the voice of the overseer without, he suspended his work, and listening attentively, became a party to their councils. they agreed that they would delay the execution of their project until the next day, as it was then late. they supposed they would have no difficulty in apprehending their intended victim, as, knowing himself innocent of the theft, he would readily consent to go with the constable to a justice of the peace, to have the charge examined. that night, however, about midnight, my grandfather silently repaired to the cabin of my father, a distance of about three miles, aroused him from his sleep, made him acquainted with the extent of his danger, gave him a bottle of cider and a small bag of parched corn, and then enjoined him to fly from the destination which awaited him. in the morning the georgian could not find his newly purchased slave, who was never seen or heard of in maryland from that day. after the flight of my father, my grandfather was the only person left in maryland with whom i could claim kindred. he was an old man, nearly eighty years old, he said, and he manifested all the fondness for me that i could expect from one so old. he was feeble, and his master required but little work from him. he always expressed contempt for his fellow-slaves, for when young, he was an african of rank in his native land. he had a small cabin of his own, with half an acre of ground attached to it, which he cultivated on his own account, and from which he drew a large share of his sustenance. he had singular religious notions--never going to meeting or caring for the preachers he could, if he would, occasionally hear. he retained his native traditions respecting the deity and hereafter. it is not strange that he believed the religion of his oppressors to be the invention of designing men, for the text oftenest quoted in his hearing was, "servants, be obedient to your masters." the name of the man who purchased me at the vendue, and became my master, was john cox; but he was generally called jack cox. he was a man of kindly feelings towards his family, and treated his slaves, of whom he had several besides me, with humanity. he permitted my grandfather to visit me as often as he pleased, and allowed him sometimes to carry me to his own cabin, which stood in a lonely place, at the head of a deep hollow, almost surrounded by a thicket of cedar trees, which had grown up in a worn out and abandoned tobacco field. my master gave me better clothes than the little slaves of my age generally received in calvert, and often told me that he intended to make me his waiter, and that if i behaved well i should become his overseer in time. these stations of waiter and overseer appeared to me to be the highest points of honor and greatness in the whole world, and had not circumstances frustrated my master's plans, as well as my own views, i should probably have been living at this time in a cabin on the corner of some tobacco plantation. fortune had decreed otherwise. when i was about twelve years old, my master, jack cox, died of a disease which had long confined him to the house. i was sorry for the death of my master, who had always been kind to me; and i soon discovered that i had good cause to regret his departure from this world. he had several children at the time of his death, who were all young; the oldest being about my own age. the father of my late master, who was still living, became administrator of his estate, and took possession of his property, and amongst the rest, of myself. this old gentleman treated me with the greatest severity, and compelled me to work very hard on his plantation for several years, until i suppose i must have been near or quite twenty years of age. as i was always very obedient, and ready to execute all his orders, i did not receive much whipping, but suffered greatly for want of sufficient and proper food. my master allowed his slaves a peck of corn, each, per week, throughout the year; and this we had to grind into meal in a hand-mill for ourselves. we had a tolerable supply of meat for a short time, about the month of december, when he killed his hogs. after that season we had meat once a week, unless bacon became scarce, which very often happened, in which case we had no meat at all. however, as we fortunately lived near both the patuxent river and the chesapeake bay, we had abundance of fish in the spring, and as long as the fishing season continued. after that period, each slave received, in addition to his allowance of corn, one salt herring every day. my master gave me one pair of shoes, one pair of stockings, one hat, one jacket of coarse cloth, two coarse shirts, and two pair of trowsers, yearly. he allowed me no other clothes. in the winter time i often suffered very much from the cold; as i had to drive the team of oxen which hauled the tobacco to market, and frequently did not get home until late at night, the distance being considerable, and my cattle traveled very slow. one saturday evening, when i came home from the corn field, my master told me that he had hired me out for a year at the city of washington, and that i would have to live at the navy yard. on the new year's day following, which happened about two weeks afterwards, my master set forward for washington, on horseback, and ordered me to accompany him on foot. it was night when we arrived at the navy yard, and everything appeared very strange to me. i was told by a gentleman who had epaulets on his shoulders, that i must go on board a large ship, which lay in the river. he at the same time told a boy to show me the way. this ship proved to be a frigate, and i was told that i had been brought there to cook for the people belonging to her. in the course of a few days the duties of my station became quite familiar to me; and in the enjoyment of a profusion of excellent provisions, i felt very happy. i strove by all means to please the officers and gentlemen who came on board, and in this i soon found my account. one gave me a half-worn coat, another an old shirt, and a third, a cast off waistcoat and pantaloons. some presented me with small sums of money, and in this way i soon found myself well clothed, and with more than a dollar in my pocket. my duties, though constant, were not burthensome, and i was permitted to spend sunday afternoon in my own way. i generally went up into the city to see the new and splendid buildings; often walked as far as georgetown, and made many new acquaintances among the slaves, and frequently saw large numbers of people of my color chained together in long trains, and driven off towards the south. at that time the slave-trade was not regarded with so much indignation and disgust, as it is now. it was a rare thing to hear of a person of color running away, and escaping altogether from his master: my father being the only one within my knowledge, who had, before this time, obtained his liberty in this manner, in calvert county; and, as before stated, i never heard what became of him after his flight. i remained on board the frigate, and about the navy yard, two years, and was quite satisfied with my lot, until about three months before the expiration of this period, when it so happened that a schooner, loaded with iron and other materials for the use of the yard, arrived from philadelphia. she came and lay close by the frigate, to discharge her cargo, and amongst her crew i observed a black man, with whom, in the course of a day or two, i became acquainted. he told me he was free, and lived in philadelphia, where he kept a house of entertainment for sailors, which, he said, was attended to in his absence by his wife. his description of philadelphia, and of the liberty enjoyed there by the black people, so charmed my imagination that i determined to devise some plan of escaping from the frigate, and making my way to the north. i communicated my designs to my new friend, who promised to give me his aid. we agreed that the night before the schooner should sail, i was to be concealed in the hold, amongst a parcel of loose tobacco, which, he said, the captain had undertaken to carry to philadelphia. the sailing of the schooner was delayed longer than we expected; and, finally, her captain purchased a cargo of flour in georgetown, and sailed for the west indies. whilst i was anxiously awaiting some other opportunity of making my way to philadelphia, (the idea of crossing the country to the western part of pennsylvania, never entered my mind,) new year's day came, and with it came my old master from calvert, accompanied by a gentleman named gibson, to whom, he said, he had sold me, and to whom he delivered me over in the navy yard. we all three set out that same evening for calvert, and reached the residence of my new master the next day. here, i was informed, that i had become the subject of a law-suit. my new master claimed me under his purchase from old mr. cox; and another gentleman of the neighborhood, named levin ballard, had bought me of the children of my former master, jack cox. this suit continued in the courts of calvert county more than two years; but was finally decided in favor of him who had bought me of the children. i went home with my master, mr. gibson, who was a farmer, and with whom i lived three years. soon after i came to live with mr. gibson, i married a girl of color named judah, the slave of a gentleman by the name of symmes, who resided in the same neighborhood. i was at the house of mr. symmes every week; and became as well acquainted with him and his family, as i was with my master. mr. symmes also married a wife about the time i did. the lady whom he married lived near philadelphia, and when she first came to maryland, she refused to be served by a black chambermaid, but employed a white girl, the daughter of a poor man, who lived near. the lady was reported to be very wealthy, and brought a large trunk full of plate and other valuable articles. this trunk was so heavy that i could scarcely carry it, and it impressed my mind with the idea of great riches in the owner, at that time. after some time mrs. symmes dismissed her white chambermaid and placed my wife in that situation, which i regarded as a fortunate circumstance, as it insured her good food, and at least one good suit of clothes. the symmes' family was one of the most ancient in maryland, and had been a long time resident in calvert county. the grounds had been laid out, and all the improvements projected about the family abode, in a style of much magnificence, according to the custom of the old aristocracy of maryland and virginia. appendant to the domicile, and at no great distance from the house, was a family vault, built of brick, in which reposed the occupants of the estate, who had lived there for many previous generations. this vault had not been opened or entered for fifteen years previous to the time of which i speak; but it so happened, that at this period, a young man, a distant relation of the family, died, having requested on his death-bed, that he might be buried in this family resting place. when i came on saturday evening to see my wife and child, mr. symmes desired me, as i was older than any of his black men, to take an iron pick and go and open the vault, which i accordingly did, by cutting away the mortar, and removing a few bricks from one side of the building; but i could not remove more than three or four bricks before i was obliged, by the horrid effluvia which issued at the aperture, to retire. it was the most deadly and sickening scent that i have ever smelled, and i could not return to complete the work until after the sun had risen the next day, when i pulled down so much of one of the side walls, as to permit persons to walk in upright. i then went in alone, and examined this house of the dead, and surely no picture could more strongly and vividly depict the emptiness of all earthly vanity, and the nothingness of human pride. dispersed over the floor lay the fragments of more than twenty human skeletons, each in the place where it had been deposited by the idle tenderness of surviving friends. in some cases nothing remained but the hair and the larger bones, whilst in several the form of the coffin was yet visible, with all the bones resting in their proper places. one coffin, the sides of which were yet standing, the lid only having decayed and partly fallen in, so as to disclose the contents of this narrow cell, presented a peculiarly moving spectacle. upon the centre of the lid was a large silver plate, and the head and foot were adorned with silver stars.--the nails which had united the parts of the coffin had also silver heads. within lay the skeletons of a mother and her infant child, in slumbers only to be broken by the peal of the last trumpet. the bones of the infant lay upon the breast of the mother, where the hands of affection had shrouded them. the ribs of the parent had fallen down, and rested on the back bone. many gold rings were about the bones of the fingers. brilliant ear-rings lay beneath where the ears had been; and a glittering gold chain encircled the ghastly and haggard vertebræ of a once beautiful neck the shroud and flesh had disappeared, but the hair of the mother appeared strong and fresh. even the silken locks of the infant were still preserved. behold the end of youth and beauty, and of all that is lovely in life! the coffin was so much decayed that it could not be removed. a thick and dismal vapor hung embodied from the roof and walls of this charnel house, in appearance somewhat like a mass of dark cobwebs; but which was impalpable to the touch, and when stirred by the hand vanished away. on the second day we deposited with his kindred, the corpse of the young man, and at night i again carefully closed up the breach which i had made in the walls of this dwelling-place of the dead. chapter ii some short time after my wife became chambermaid to her mistress, it was my misfortune to change masters once more. levin ballard, who, as before stated, had purchased me of the children of my former master, jack cox, was successful in his law suit with mr. gibson, the object of which was to determine the right of property in me; and one day, whilst i was at work in the corn-field, mr. ballard came and told me i was his property; asking me at the same time if i was willing to go with him. i told him i was not willing to go; but that if i belonged to him i knew i must. we then went to the house, and mr. gibson not being at home, mrs. gibson told me i must go with mr. ballard. i accordingly went with him, determining to serve him obediently and faithfully. i remained in his service almost three years, and as he lived near the residence of my wife's master, my former mode of life was not materially changed, by this change of home. mrs. symmes spent much of her time in exchanging visits with the families of the other large planters, both in calvert and the neighboring counties; and through my wife, i became acquainted with the private family history of many of the principal persons in maryland. there was a great proprietor, who resided in another county, who owned several hundred slaves; and who permitted them to beg of travelers on the high-way. this same gentleman had several daughters, and according to the custom of the time, kept what they called open house: that is, his house was free to all persons of genteel appearance, who chose to visit it. the young ladies were supposed to be the greatest fortunes in the country, were reputed beautiful, and consequently were greatly admired. two gentlemen, who were lovers of these girls, desirous of amusing their mistresses, invited a young man, whose standing in society they supposed to be beneath theirs, to go with them to the manor, as it was called. when there, they endeavored to make him an object of ridicule, in presence of the ladies; but he so well acquitted himself, and manifested such superior wit and talents, that one of the young ladies fell in love with him, and soon after wrote him a letter, which led to their marriage. his two pretended friends were never afterwards countenanced by the family, as gentlemen of honor; but the fortunate husband avenged himself of his heartless companions, by inviting them to his wedding, and exposing them to the observation of the vast assemblage of fashionable people, who always attended a marriage, in the family of a great planter. the two gentlemen, who had been thus made to fall into the pit that they had dug for another, were so much chagrined at the issue of the adventure, that one soon left maryland; and the other became a common drunkard, and died a few years afterwards. my change of masters realized all the evil apprehensions which i had entertained. i found mr. ballard sullen and crabbed in his temper, and always prone to find fault with my conduct--no matter how hard i had labored, or how careful i was to fulfil all his orders, and obey his most unreasonable commands. yet, it so happened, that he never beat me, for which, i was altogether indebted to the good character, for industry, sobriety and humility, which i had established in the neighborhood. i think he was ashamed to abuse me, lest he should suffer in the good opinion of the public; for he often fell into the most violent fits of anger against me, and overwhelmed me with coarse and abusive language. he did not give me clothes enough to keep me warm in winter, and compelled me to work in the woods, when there was deep snow on the ground, by which i suffered very much. i had determined at last to speak to him to sell me to some person in the neighborhood, so that i might still be near my wife and children--but a different fate awaited me. my master kept a store at a small village on the bank of the patuxent river, called b----, although he resided at some distance on a farm. one morning he rose early, and ordered me to take a yoke of oxen and go to the village, to bring home a cart which was there, saying he would follow me. he arrived at the village soon after i did, and took his breakfast with his store-keeper. he then told me to come into the house and get my breakfast. whilst i was eating in the kitchen, i observed him talking earnestly, but low, to a stranger near the kitchen door. i soon after went out, and hitched my oxen to the cart, and was about to drive off, when several men came round about me, and amongst them the stranger whom i had seen speaking with my master. this man came up to me, and, seizing me by the collar, shook me violently, saying i was his property, and must go with him to georgia. at the sound of these words, the thoughts of my wife and children rushed across my mind, and my heart beat away within me. i saw and knew that my case was hopeless, and that resistance was vain, as there were near twenty persons present, all of whom were ready to assist the man by whom i was kidnapped. i felt incapable of weeping or speaking, and in my despair i laughed loudly. my purchaser ordered me to cross my hands behind, which were quickly bound with a strong cord; and he then told me that we must set out that very day for the south. i asked if i could not be allowed to go to see my wife and children, or if this could not be permitted, if they might not have leave to come to see me; but was told that i would be able to get another wife in georgia. my new master, whose name i did not hear, took me that same day across the patuxent, where i joined fifty-one other slaves, whom he had bought in maryland. thirty-two of these were men, and nineteen were women. the women were merely tied together with a rope, about the size of a bed-cord, which was tied like a halter round the neck of each; but the men, of whom i was the stoutest and strongest, were very differently caparisoned. a strong iron collar was closely fitted by means of a padlock round each of our necks. a chain of iron, about a hundred feet in length, was passed through the hasp of each padlock, except at the two ends, where the hasps of the padlock passed through a link of the chain. in addition to this, we were handcuffed in pairs, with iron staples and bolts, with a short chain, about a foot long, uniting the handcuffs and their wearers in pairs. in this manner we were chained alternately by the right and left hand; and the poor man to whom i was thus ironed, wept like an infant when the blacksmith, with his heavy hammer, fastened the ends of the bolts that kept the staples from slipping from our arms. for my own part, i felt indifferent to my fate. it appeared to me that the worst had come that could come, and that no change of fortune could harm me. after we were all chained and handcuffed together, we sat down upon the ground; and here reflecting upon the sad reverse of fortune that had so suddenly overtaken me, i became weary of life, and bitterly execrated the day i was born. it seemed that i was destined by fate to drink the cup of sorrow to the very dregs, and that i should find no respite from misery but in the grave. i longed to die, and escape from the hands of my tormentors; but even the wretched privilege of destroying myself was denied me, for i could not shake off my chains, nor move a yard without the consent of my master. reflecting in silence upon my forlorn condition, i at length concluded that as things could not become worse--and as the life of man is but a continued round of changes, they must, of necessity, take a turn in my favor at some future day. i found relief in this vague and indefinite hope, and when we received orders to go on board the scow, which was to transport us over the patuxent, i marched down to the water with a firmness of purpose of which i did not believe myself capable, a few minutes before. we were soon on the south side of the river, and taking up our line of march, we traveled about five miles that evening, and stopped for the night at one of those miserable public houses, so frequent in the lower parts of maryland and virginia, called "_ordinaries_." our master ordered a pot of mush to be made for our supper; after despatching which we all lay down on the naked floor to sleep in our handcuffs and chains. the women, my fellow-slaves, lay on one side of the room; and the men who were chained with me, occupied the other. i slept but little this night, which i passed in thinking of my wife and little children, whom i could not hope ever to see again. i also thought of my grandfather, and of the long nights i had passed with him, listening to his narratives of the scenes through which he had passed in africa. i at length fell asleep, but was distressed by painful dreams. my wife and children appeared to be weeping and lamenting my calamity; and beseeching and imploring my master on their knees, not to carry me away from them. my little boy came and begged me not to go and leave him, and endeavored, as i thought, with his little hands to break the fetters that bound me. i awoke in agony and cursed my existence. i could not pray, for the measure of my woes seemed to be full, and i felt as if there was no mercy in heaven, nor compassion on earth, for a man who was born a slave. day at length came, and with the dawn, we resumed our journey towards the potomac. as we passed along the road, i saw the slaves at work in the corn and tobacco fields. i knew they toiled hard and lacked food; but they were not, like me, dragged in chains from their wives, children and friends. compared with me, they were the happiest of mortals. i almost envied them their blessed lot. before night we crossed the potomac, at hoe's ferry, and bade farewell to maryland. at night we stopped at the house of a poor gentleman, at least he appeared to wish my master to consider him a gentleman; and he had no difficulty in establishing his claim to poverty. he lived at the side, of the road, in a framed house, which had never been plastered within--the weather-boards being the only wall. he had about fifty acres of land enclosed by a fence, the remains of a farm which had once covered two or three hundred acres; but the cedar bushes had encroached upon all sides, until the cultivation had been confined to its present limits. the land was the picture of sterility, and there was neither barn nor stable on the place. the owner was ragged, and his wife and children were in a similar plight. it was with difficulty that we obtained a bushel of corn, which our master ordered us to parch at a fire made in the yard, and to eat for our supper. even this miserable family possessed two slaves, half-starved, half-naked wretches, whose appearance bespoke them familiar with hunger, and victims of the lash; but yet there was one pang which they had not known--they had not been chained and driven from their parents or children, into hopeless exile. we left this place early in the morning, and directed our course toward the south-west; our master riding beside us, and hastening our march, sometimes by words of encouragement, and sometimes by threats of punishment. the women took their place in the rear of our line. we halted about nine o'clock for breakfast, and received as much corn-bread as we could eat, together with a plate of boiled herrings, and about three pounds of pork amongst us. before we left this place, i was removed from near the middle of the chain, and placed at the front end of it; so that i now became the leader of the file, and held this post of honor until our irons were taken from us, near the town of columbia in south carolina. we continued our route this day along the high road between the potomac and rappahannock; and i saw each of those rivers several times before night. our master gave us no dinner to-day, but we halted and got as much corn-mush and sour milk as we could eat for supper. the weather grew mild and pleasant, and we needed no more fires at night. from this time we all slept promiscuously, men and women on the floors of such houses as we chanced to stop at. we passed on through bowling green, a quiet village. time did not reconcile me to my chains, but it made me familiar with them. i reflected on my desperate situation with a degree of calmness, hoping that i might be able to devise some means of escape. my master placed a particular value upon me, for i heard him tell a tavern-keeper that if he had me in georgia he could get eight hundred dollars for me, but he had bought me for his brother, and believed he should not sell me; he afterwards changed his mind, however. i carefully examined every part of our chain, but found no place where it could be separated. we all had as much corn-bread as we could eat, procured of our owner at the places we stopped at for the night. in addition to this we usually had a salt herring every day. on sunday we had a quarter of a pound of bacon each. we continued our course up the country westward for a few days and then turned south, crossed james river above richmond, as i heard at the time. after more than four weeks of travel we entered south carolina near camden, and for the first time i saw a field of cotton in bloom. as we approached the yadkin river the tobacco disappeared from the fields and the cotton plant took its place as an article of general culture. i was now a slave in south carolina, and had no hope of ever again seeing my wife and children. i had at times serious thoughts of suicide so great was my anguish. if i could have got a rope i should have hanged myself at lancaster. the thought of my wife and children i had been torn from in maryland, and the dreadful undefined future which was before me, came near driving me mad. it was long after midnight before i fell asleep, but the most pleasant dream, succeeded to these sorrowful forebodings. i thought i had escaped my master, and through great difficulties made my way back to maryland, and was again in my wife's cabin with my little children on my lap. every object was so vividly impressed on my mind in this dream, that when i awoke, a firm conviction settled upon my mind, that by some means, at present incomprehensible to me, i should yet again embrace my wife, and caress my children in their humble dwelling. early in the morning, our master called us up; and distributed to each of the party a cake made of corn-meal and a small piece of bacon. on our journey, we had only eaten twice a day, and had not received breakfast until about nine o'clock; but he said this morning meal was given to welcome us to south carolina. he then addressed us all, and told us we might now give up all hope of ever returning to the places of our nativity; as it would be impossible for us to pass through the states of north carolina and virginia, without being taken up and sent back. he further advised us to make ourselves contented, as he would take us to georgia, a far better country than any we had seen; and where we would be able to live in the greatest abundance. about sunrise we took up our march on the road to columbia, as we were told. hitherto our master had not offered to sell any of us, and had even refused to stop to talk to any one on the subject of our sale, although he had several times been addressed on this point, before we reached lancaster; but soon after we departed from this village, we were overtaken on the road by a man on horseback, who accosted our driver by asking him if his _niggars_ were for sale. the latter replied, that he believed he would not sell any yet, as he was on his way to georgia, and cotton being now much in demand, he expected to obtain high prices for us from persons who were going to settle in the new purchase. he, however, contrary to his custom, ordered us to stop, and told the stranger he might look at us, and that he would find us as fine a lot of hands as were ever imported into the country--that we were all prime property, and he had no doubt would command his own prices in georgia. the stranger, who was a thin, weather-beaten, sun-burned figure, then said, he wanted a couple of breeding wenches, and would give as much for them as they would bring in georgia--that he had lately heard from augusta, and that _niggers_ were not higher there than in columbia, and, as he had been in columbia the week before, he knew what _niggers_ were worth. he then walked along our line, as we stood chained together, and looked at the whole of us--then turning to the women, asked the prices of the two pregnant ones. our master replied, that these were two of the best breeding-wenches in all maryland--that one was twenty-two, and the other only nineteen--that the first was already the mother of seven children, and the other of four--that he had himself seen the children at the time he bought their mothers--and that such wenches would be cheap at a thousand dollars each; but as they were not able to keep up with the gang, he would take twelve hundred dollars for the two. the purchaser said this was too much, but that he would give nine hundred dollars for the pair. this price was promptly refused; but our master, after some consideration, said he was willing to sell a bargain in these wenches, and would take eleven hundred dollars for them, which was objected to on the other side; and many faults and failings were pointed out in the merchandise. after much bargaining, and many gross jests on the part of the stranger, he offered a thousand dollars for the two, and said he would give no more. he then mounted his horse, and moved off; but after he had gone about one hundred yards, he was called back; and our master said, if he would go with him to the next blacksmith's shop on the road to columbia, and pay for taking the irons off the rest of us, he might have the two women. this proposal was agreed to, and as it was now about nine o'clock, we were ordered to hasten on to the next house, where, we were told, we must stop for breakfast. at this place we were informed that it was ten miles to the next smith's shop, and our new acquaintance was obliged by the terms of his contract, to accompany us thither. we received for breakfast, about a pint of boiled rice to each person, and after this was despatched, we again took to the road, eager to reach the blacksmith's shop, at which we expected to be relieved of the iron rings and chains, which had so long galled and worried us. about two o'clock we arrived at the longed-for residence of the smith; but, on inquiry, our master was informed that he was not at home, and would not return before evening. here a controversy arose, whether we should all remain here until the smith returned, or the stranger should go on with us to the next smithery, which was said to be only five miles distant. this was a point not easily settled between two such spirits as our master and the stranger; both of whom had been overseers in their time, and both of whom had risen to the rank of proprietors of slaves. the matter had already produced angry words, and much vaunting on the part of the stranger;--"that a freeman of south carolina was not to be imposed upon; that by the constitution of the state, his rights were sacred, and he was not to be deprived of his liberty, at the arbitrary will of a man just from amongst the yankees, and who had brought with him to the south as many yankee tricks as he had _niggers_, and he believed many more." he then swore, that "all the _niggers_ in the drove were yankee _niggers_." "when i _overseed_ for colonel polk," said he, "on his rice plantation, he had two yankee _niggers_ that he brought from maryland, and they were running away every day. i gave them a hundred lashes more than a dozen times; but they never quit running away, till i chained them together, with iron collars round their necks, and chained them to spades, and made them do nothing but dig ditches to drain the rice swamps. they could not run away then, unless they went together, and carried their chains and spades with them. i kept them in this way two years, and better _niggers_ i never had. one of them died one night, and the other was never good for anything after he lost his mate. he never ran away afterwards, but he died too, after a while." he then addressed himself to the two women, whose master he had become, and told them that if ever they ran away, he would treat them in the same way. wretched as i was myself, my heart bled for these poor creatures, who had fallen into the hands of a tiger in human form. the dispute between the two masters was still raging, when, unexpectedly, the blacksmith rode up to his house, on a thin, bony-looking horse, and dismounting, asked his wife what these gentlemen were making such a _frolick_ about. i did not hear her answer, but both the disputants turned and addressed themselves to the smith--the one to know what price he would demand to take the irons off all these _niggers_, and the other to know how long it would take him to perform the work. it is here proper for me to observe, that there are many phrases of language in common use in carolina and georgia, which are applied in a way that would not be understood by persons from one of the northern states. for instance, when several persons are quarrelling, brawling, making a great noise, or even fighting, they say, "_the gentlemen are frolicking!_" i heard many other terms equally strange, whilst i resided in the southern country, amongst such white people as i became acquainted with; though my acquaintance was confined, in a great measure, to overseers, and such people as did not associate with the rich planters and great families. the smith at length agreed to take the irons from the whole of us for two dollars and fifty cents, and immediately set about it, with the air of indifference that he would have manifested in tearing a pair of old shoes from the hoofs of a wagon-horse. it was four weeks and five days, from the time my irons had been riveted upon me, until they were removed, and great as had been my sufferings whilst chained to my fellow-slaves, i cannot say that i felt any pleasure in being released from my long confinement; for i knew that my liberation was only preparatory to my final, and, as i feared, perpetual subjugation to the power of some such monster, as the one then before me, who was preparing to drive away the two unfortunate women whom he had purchased, and whose life's-blood he had acquired the power of shedding at pleasure, for the sum of a thousand dollars. after we were released from our chains, our master sold the whole lot of irons, which we had borne from maryland, to the blacksmith, for seven dollars. the smith then procured a bottle of rum, and treated his two new acquaintances to a part of its contents--wishing them both good luck with their _niggers_. after these civilities were over, the two women were ordered to follow their new master, who shaped his course across the country, by a road leading westwest. at parting from us, they both wept aloud, and wrung their hands in despair. we all went to them, and bade them a last farewell. their road led into a wood, which they soon entered, and i never saw them nor heard of them again. these women had both been driven from calvert county, as well as myself, and the fate of the younger of the two, was peculiarly severe. she had been brought up as a waiting-maid of a young lady, the daughter of a gentleman, whose wife and family often visited the mistress of my own wife. i had frequently seen this woman when she was a young girl, in attendance upon her young mistress, and riding in the same carriage with her. the father of the young lady died, and soon after she married a gentleman who resided a few miles off. the husband received a considerable fortune with his bride, and amongst other things, her waiting-maid, who was reputed a great beauty among people of color. he had been addicted to the fashionable sports of the country, before marriage, such as horse-racing, fox-hunting, &c., and i had heard the black people say he drank too freely; but it was supposed that he would correct all these irregularities after marriage, more especially as his wife was a great belle, and withal very handsome. the reverse, however, turned out to be the fact. instead of growing better, he became worse; and in the course of a few years, was known all over the country, as a drunkard and a gambler. his wife, it was said, died of grief, and soon after her death, his effects were seized by his creditors, and sold by the sheriff. the former waiting-maid, now the mother of several children, was purchased by our present master, for four hundred dollars, at the sheriff's sale, and this poor wretch, whose employment in early life had been to take care of her young mistress, and attend to her in her chamber, and at her toilet, after being torn from her husband and her children, had now gone to toil out a horrible existence beneath the scorching sun of a south carolina cotton-field, under the dominion of a master, as void of the manners of a gentleman, as he was of the language of humanity. it was now late in the afternoon; but, as we had made little progress to-day, and were now divested of the burden of our chains, as well as freed from the two women, who had hitherto much retarded our march, our master ordered us to hasten on our way, as we had ten miles to go that evening. i had been so long oppressed by the weight of my chains, and the iron collar about my neck, that for some time after i commenced walking at my natural liberty, i felt a kind of giddiness, or lightness of the head. most of my companions complained of the same sensation, and we did not recover our proper feelings until after we had slept one night. it was after dark when we arrived at our lodging-place, which proved to be the house of a small cotton-planter, who, it appeared, kept a sort of a house of entertainment for travelers, contrary to what i afterwards discovered to be the usual custom of cotton-planters. this man and my master had known each other before, and seemed to be well acquainted. he was the first person that we had met since leaving maryland, who was known to my master, and as they kept up a very free conversation, through the course of the evening, and the house in which they were, was only separated from the kitchen, in which we were lodged, by a space of a few feet, i had an opportunity of hearing much that was highly interesting to me. the landlord, after supper, came with our master to look at us, and to see us receive our allowance of boiled rice from the hands of a couple of black women, who had prepared it in a large iron kettle. whilst viewing us, the former asked the latter, what he intended to do with his drove; but no reply was made to this inquiry--and as our master had, through our whole journey, maintained a studied silence on this subject, i felt a great curiosity to know what disposition he intended to make of the whole gang, and of myself in particular. on their return to the house, i advanced to a small window in the kitchen, which brought me within a few yards of the place where they sat, and from which i was able to hear all they said, although they spoke in a low tone of voice. i here learned, that so many of us as could be sold for a good price, were to be disposed of in columbia, on our arrival at that place, and that the residue would be driven to augusta and sold there. the landlord assured my master that at this time slaves were much in demand, both in columbia and augusta; that purchasers were numerous and prices good; and that the best plan of effecting good sales would be to put up each _nigger_ separately, at auction, after giving a few days' notice, by an advertisement, in the neighboring country. cotton, he said, had not been higher for many years, and as a great many persons, especially young men, were moving off to the new purchase in georgia, prime hands were in high demand, for the purpose of clearing the land in the new country--that the boys and girls, under twenty, would bring almost any price at present, in columbia for the purpose of picking the growing crop of cotton, which promised to be very heavy; and as most persons had planted more than their hands would be able to pick, young _niggers_, who would soon learn to pick cotton, were prime articles in the market. as to those more advanced in life, he seemed to think the prospect of selling them at an unusual price, not so good, as they could not so readily become expert cotton-pickers--he said further, that for some cause, which he could not comprehend, the price of rice had not been so good this year as usual; and that he had found it cheaper to purchase rice to feed his own _niggers_ than to provide them with corn, which had to be brought from the upper country. he therefore advised my master not to drive us towards the rice plantation of the low country. my master said he would follow his advice, at least so far as to sell a portion of us in carolina, but seemed to be of opinion that his prime hands would bring him more money in georgia, and named me, in particular, as one who would be worth, at least, a thousand dollars, to a man who was about making a settlement, and clearing a plantation in the new purchase. i therefore concluded, that in the course of events, i was likely to become the property of a georgian, which turned out in the end to be the case, though not so soon as i at this time apprehended. i slept but little this night, feeling a restlessness when no longer in chains; and pondering over the future lot of my life, which appeared fraught only with evil and misfortune. day at length dawned, and with its first light we were ordered to betake ourselves to the road, which, we were told, would lead us to columbia, the place of intended sale of some, if not all of us. for several days past, i had observed that in the country through which we traveled, little attention was paid to the cultivation of anything but cotton. now this plant was almost the sole possessor of the fields. it covered the plantations adjacent to the road, as far as i could see, both before and behind me, and looked not unlike buckwheat before it blossoms. i saw some small fields of corn, and lots of sweet potatoes, amongst which the young vines of the water-melon were frequently visible. the improvements on the plantations were not good. there were no barns, but only stables and sheds, to put the cotton under, as it was brought from the field. hay seemed to be unknown in the country, for i saw neither hay-stacks nor meadows; and the few fields that were lying fallow, had but small numbers of cattle in them, and these were thin and meagre. we had met with no flocks of sheep of late, and the hogs that we saw on the road-side were in bad condition. the horses and mules that i saw in the cotton-fields, were poor and badly harnessed, and the half-naked condition of the negroes, who drove them, or followed with the hoe, together with their wan complexions, proved to me that they had too much work, or not enough food. we passed a cotton-gin this morning, the first that i ever saw; but they were not at work with it. we also met a party of ladies and gentlemen on a journey of pleasure, riding in two very handsome carriages, drawn by sleek and spirited horses, very different in appearance from the moving skeletons that i had noticed drawing the ploughs in the fields. the black drivers of the coaches were neatly clad in gay-colored clothes, and contrasted well with their half-naked brethren, a gang of whom were hoeing cotton by the road-side, near them, attended by an overseer in a white linen shirt and pantaloons, with one of the long negro whips in his hand. i observed that these poor people did not raise their heads, to look at either the fine coaches and horses then passing, or at us; but kept their faces steadily bent towards the cotton-plants, from among which they were removing the weeds. i almost shuddered at the sight, knowing that i myself was doomed to a state of servitude equally cruel and debasing, unless, by some unforeseen occurrence, i might fall into the hands of a master of less inhumanity of temper than the one who had possession of the miserable creatures before me. chapter iii. it was manifest that i was now in a country where the life of a black man was no more regarded than that of an ox, except as far as the man was worth the more money in the market. on all the plantations that we passed, there was a want of live stock of every description, except slaves, and they were deplorably abundant. the fields were destitute of everything that deserved the name of grass, and not a spear of clover was anywhere visible. the few cattle that existed, were browsing on the boughs of the trees, in the woods. everything betrayed a scarcity of the means of supplying the slaves, who cultivated the vast cotton-fields, with a sufficiency of food. we traveled this day more than thirty miles, and crossed the catawba river in the afternoon, on the bottoms of which i saw, for the first time, fields of rice, growing in swamps covered with water. causeways were raised through the low-lands in which the rice grew, and on which the road was formed on which we traveled. these rice-fields, or rather swamps, had, in my eyes, a beautiful appearance. the rice was nearly two feet in height above the water, and of a vivid green color, covering a large space, of at least a hundred acres. had it not been for the water, which appeared stagnant and sickly, and swarmed with frogs and thousands of snakes, it would have been as fine a sight as one need wish to look upon. after leaving the low grounds along the river, we again entered plantations of cotton, which lined the roads on both sides, relieved, here and there, by corn-fields and potato-patches. we stopped for the night at a small tavern, and our master said we were within a day's journey of columbia. we here, again, received boiled rice for supper, without salt, or any kind of seasoning; a pint was allotted to each person, which we greedily devoured, having had no dinner to-day, save an allowance of corn-cakes, with the fat of about five pounds of bacon, extracted by frying, in which we dipped our bread. i slept soundly after this day's march, the fatigues of the body having, for once, overcome the agitations of the mind. the next day, which was, if my recollection is accurate, the ninth of june, was the last of our journey before our company separated; and we were on the road before the stars had disappeared from the sky. our breakfast, this morning, consisted of bacon soup, a dish composed of corn-meal, boiled in water, with a small piece of bacon to give the soup a taste of meat. for dinner we had boiled indian peas, with a small allowance of bacon. this was the first time that we had received two rations of meat in the same day, on the whole journey, and some of our party were much surprised at the kindness of our master; but i had no doubt that his object was to make us look fat and hearty, to enable him to obtain better prices for us at columbia. at supper this night, we had corn mush, in large wooden trays, with melted lard to dip the mush in before eating it. we might have reached columbia this day if we had continued our march, but we stopped, at least an hour before sun-set, about three miles from town, at the house of a man who supported the double character of planter and keeper of a house of entertainment; for i learned from his slaves that their master considered it disreputable to be called a tavern-keeper, and would not put up a sign, although he received pay of such persons as lodged with him. his house was a frame building, weather-boarded with pine boards, but had no plastering within. the furniture corresponded with the house which contained it, and was both scanty and mean, consisting of pine tables and wooden chairs, with bottoms made of cornhusks. the house was only one story high, and all the rooms, six or seven in number, parlor, bed-rooms, and kitchen, were on the first floor. as the weather was warm and the windows open, i had an opportunity of looking into the sleeping rooms of the family, as i walked round the house, which i was permitted freely to do. the beds and their furniture answered well to the chairs and tables; yet in the large front room i observed on an old fashioned side-board, a great quantity of glass-ware, of various descriptions, with two or three dozen silver spoons, a silver tea-urn, and several knives and forks with silver handles. in the corner of this room stood a bed with gaudy red curtains, with figures of lions, elephants, naked negroes, and other representations of african scenery. the master of the house was not at home when we arrived, but came in from the field shortly afterwards. he met my master with the cordiality of an old friend, though he had never seen him before; said he was happy to see him at his house, and that the greatest pleasure he enjoyed was derived from the entertainment of such gentlemen as thought proper to visit his house; that he was always glad to see strangers, and more especially gentlemen who were adding so much to the wealth and population of carolina, as those merchants who imported servants from the north. he then observed that he had never seen a finer lot of property pass his house than we were, and that any gentleman who brought such a stock of hands into the country was a public benefactor, and entitled to the respect and gratitude of every friend of the south. he assured my master that he was happy to see him at his house, and that if he thought proper to remain a few days with him, it would be his chief business to introduce him to the gentlemen of the neighborhood, who would all be glad to become acquainted with a merchant of his respectability. in the state of maryland, my master had been called a _negro buyer, or georgia trader_, sometimes a _negro driver_; but here, i found that he was elevated to the rank of merchant, and a merchant of the first order too; for it was very clear that in the opinion of the landlord, no branch of trade was more honorable than the traffic in us poor slaves. our master observed that he had a mind to remain here a short time, and try what kind of market columbia would present, for the sale of his lot of servants; and that he would make his house his home, until he had ascertained what could be done in town, and what demand there was in the neighborhood for servants. we were not called _slaves_ by these men, who talked of selling us, and of the price we would bring, with as little compunction of conscience as they would have talked of the sale of so many mules. it is the custom throughout all the slave-holding states, amongst people of fashion, never to speak of their negroes as slaves, but always as servants; but i had never before met with the keeper of a public house, in the country, who had arrived at this degree of refinement. i had been accustomed to hear this order of men, and indeed the greater number of white people speak of the people of color as _niggers_. we remained at this place more than two weeks; i presume because my master found it cheaper to keep us here than in town, or perhaps, because he supposed we might recover from the hardships of our journey more speedily in the country. as it was here that my real acquaintance with south carolina commenced, i have noted with more particularity the incidents that occurred, than i otherwise should have done. this family was composed of the husband, wife, three daughters, all young women, and two sons, one of whom appeared to be about twenty, and the other, perhaps seventeen years old. they had nine slaves in all, one very old man, quite crooked with years and labor--two men of middle age--one lad, perhaps sixteen--one woman with three children, the oldest about seven,--and a young girl of twelve or fourteen. the farm, or plantation, they lived on, contained about one hundred and fifty acres of cleared land, sandy, and the greater part of it poor, as was proved by the stinted growth of the cotton. at the time of our arrival at this house, i saw no persons about it, except the four ladies--the mother and her three daughters--the husband being in the field, as noticed above. according to the orders of my master, i had taken the saddle from his horse and put him in a stable; and it was not until after the first salutations of the new landlord to my master were over, that he seemed to think of asking him whether he had come on foot, on horse-back, or in a coach. he at length, however, turned suddenly and asked him, with an air of surprise, where he had left his horses and carriage. my master said he had no carriage, that he traveled on horse-back, and that his horse was in the stable. the landlord then apologized for the trouble he must have had, in having his horse put away himself; and said that at this season of the year, the planters were so hurried by their crops, and found so much difficulty in keeping down the grass, that they were generally obliged to keep all their servants in the field; that for his part, he had been compelled to put his coachman, and even the waiting-maids of his daughters into the cotton-fields, and that at this time, his family were without servants, a circumstance that had never happened before! "for my part," said he, "i have always prided myself on bringing up my family well, and can say, that although i do not live in so fine a house as some of the other planters of carolina, yet my children are as great ladies and gentlemen as any in the state. not one of them has ever had to do a day's work yet, and as long as i live, never shall. i sent two of my daughters to charleston last summer, and they were there three months; and i intend to send the youngest there this summer. they have all learned to dance here in columbia, where i sent them two quarters to a frenchman, and he made me pay pretty well for it. they went to the same dancing school with the daughters of wade hampton and colonel fitzhugh. i am determined that they shall never marry any but gentlemen of the first character, and i know they will always follow my advice in matters of this kind. they are prudent and sensible girls, and are not going to do as major pollack's daughter did this spring, who ran away with a georgia cracker, who brought a drove of cattle for sale from the indian country, and who had not a _nigger_ in the world. he staid with me sometime, and wished to have something to say to my second daughter, but the thing would not do." here he stopped short in his narrative, and seeming to muse a moment, said to his guest, "i presume, as you travel alone, you have no family." "no," replied my master, "i am a single man." "i thought so by your appearance," said the loquacious landlord, "and i shall be glad to introduce you to my family this evening. my sons are two as fine fellows as there are in all carolina. my oldest boy is lieutenant in the militia, and in the same company that marched with gen. marion in the war. he was on the point of fighting a duel last winter, with young m'corkle in columbia; but the matter was settled between them. you will see him this evening, when he returns from the quoit-party. a quoit-party of young bucks meet once every week about two miles from this, and as i wish my sons to keep the best company, they both attend it. there is to be a cock-fight there this afternoon, and my youngest son, edmund, has the finest cock in this country. he is one of the true game blood,--the real dominica game breed; and i sent to charleston for his gaffs. there is a bet of ten dollars a side between my son's cock and the one belonging to young blainey, the son of major blainey. young blainey is a hot-headed young blood, and has been concerned in three duels, though i believe he never fought but one; but i know edmund will not take a word from him, and it will be well if he and his cock do not both get well licked." here the conversation was arrested by the sound of horses' feet on the road, and in the next instant, two young men rode up at a gallop, mounted on lean looking horses; one of the riders carrying a pole on his shoulder, with a game cock in a net bag, tied to one end of it. on perceiving them the landlord exclaimed with an oath, "there's two lads of spirit! stranger--and if you will allow me the liberty of asking you your name, i will introduce you to them." at the suggestion of his name, my master seemed to hesitate a little, but after a moment's pause, said, "they call me m'giffin, sir." "my name is hulig, sir," replied the landlord, "and i am very happy to be acquainted with you, mr. m'giffin," at the same time shaking him by the hand, and introducing his two sons, who were by this time at the door. this was the first time i had ever heard the name of my master, although i had been with him five weeks. i had never seen him before the day on which he seized and bound me in maryland, and as he took me away immediately, i did not hear his name at the time. the people who assisted to fetter me, either from accident or design, omitted to name him, and after we commenced our journey, he had maintained so much distant reserve and austerity of manner towards us all, that no one ventured to ask him his name. we had called him nothing but "master," and the various persons at whose houses we had stopped on our way, knew as little of his name as we did. we had frequently been asked the name of our master, and perhaps had not always obtained credence, when we said we did not know it. throughout the whole journey, until after we were released from our irons, he had forbidden us to converse together beyond a few words in relation to our temporary condition and wants; and as he was with us all day, and never slept out of hearing of us at night, he rigidly enforced his edict of silence. i presume that the reason of this prohibition of all conversation was to prevent us from devising plans of escape; but he had imposed as rigid a silence on himself as was enforced upon us; and after having passed from maryland to south carolina, in his company, i knew no more of my master, than, that he knew how to keep his secrets, guard his slaves, and make a close bargain. i had never heard him speak of his home or family; and therefore had concluded that he was an unmarried man, and an adventurer, who felt no more attachment for one place than another, and whose residence was not very well settled; but, from the large sums of money which he must have been able to command and carry with him to the north, to enable him to purchase so large a number of slaves, i had no doubt that he was a man of consequence and consideration in the place from whence he came. in maryland, i had always observed that men, who were the owners of large stocks of negroes, were not averse to having publicity given to their names; and that the possession of this species of property even there, gave its owner more vanity and egotism, than fell to the lot of the holders of any other kind of estate; and in truth, my subsequent experience proved that without the possession of slaves, no man could ever arrive at, or hope to rise to any honorable station in society;--yet, my master seemed to take no pride in having at his disposal the lives of so many human beings. he never spoke to us in words of either pity or hatred; and never spoke of us, except to order us to be fed or watered, as he would have directed the same offices to be performed for so many horses, or to inquire where the best prices could be obtained for us. he regarded us only as objects of traffic and the materials of his commerce; and although he had lived several years in carolina and georgia, and had there exercised the profession of an overseer, he regarded the southern planters as no less the subjects of trade and speculation than the slaves he sold to them; as will appear in the sequel. it was to this man that the landlord introduced his two sons, and upon whom he was endeavoring to impose a belief, that he was the head of a family which took rank with those of the first planters of the district. the ladies of the household, though i had seen them in the kitchen when i walked round the house, had not yet presented themselves to my master, nor indeed were they in a condition to be seen anywhere but in the apartment they occupied at the time. the young gentlemen gave a very gasconading account of the quoit-party and cock-fight, from which they had just returned, and according to their version of the affair, it might have been an assemblage of at least half the military officers of the state; for all the persons of whom they spoke, were captains, majors and colonels. the eldest said, he had won two bowls of punch at quoits; and the youngest, whose cock had been victor in the battle, on which ten dollars were staked, vaunted much of the qualities of his bird; and supported his veracity by numerous oaths, and reiterated appeals to his brother for the truth of his assertions. both these young men were so much intoxicated that they with difficulty maintained an erect posture in walking. by this time the sun was going down, and i observed two female slaves, a woman and girl, approaching the house on the side of the kitchen from the cotton-field. they were coming home to prepare supper for the family; the ladies whom i had seen in the kitchen not having been there for the purpose of performing the duties appropriate to that station, but having sought it as a place of refuge from the sight of my master, who had approached the front of their dwelling silently, and so suddenly as not to permit them to gain the foot of the stairway in the large front room, without being seen by him, to whose view they by no means wished to expose themselves before they had visited their toilets. about dark the supper was ready in the large room, and, as it had two fronts, one of which looked into the yard where my companions and i had been permitted to seat ourselves, and had an opportunity of seeing, by the light of the candle, all that was done within, and of hearing all that was said. the ladies, four in number, had entered the room before the gentlemen; and when the latter came in my master was introduced, by the landlord to his wife and daughters, by the name and title of _colonel m'giffin_, which, at that time, impressed me with a belief that he was really an officer, and that he had disclosed this circumstance without my knowledge; but i afterwards perceived that in the south it is deemed respectful to address a stranger by the title of colonel, or major, or general, if his appearance will warrant the association of so high a rank with his name. my master had declared his intention of becoming the inmate of this family for some time, and no pains seemed to be spared on their part to impress upon his mind the high opinion that they entertained of the dignity of the owner of fifty slaves; the possession of so large a number of human creatures being, in carolina, a certificate of character, which entitles its bearer to enter whatever society he may choose to select, with out any thing more being known of his birth, his life or reputation. the man who owns fifty servants must needs be a gentleman amongst the higher ranks, and the owner of half a hundred _niggers_ is a sort of nobleman amongst the low, the ignorant, and the vulgar. the mother and three daughters, whose appearance, when i saw them in the kitchen, would have warranted the conclusion that they had just risen from bed without having time to adjust their dress, were now gaily, if not neatly attired; and the two female slaves, who had come from the field at sundown to cook the supper, now waited at the table. the landlord talked much of his crops, his plantation and slaves, and of the distinguished families who exchanged visits with his own; but my master took very little part in the conversation of the evening, and appeared disposed to maintain the air of mystery which had hitherto invested his character. after it was quite dark, the slaves came in from the cotton-field, and taking little notice of us, went into the kitchen, and each taking thence a pint of corn, proceeded to a little mill, which was nailed to a post in the yard, and there commenced the operation of grinding meal for their suppers, which were afterwards to be prepared by baking the meal into cakes at the fire. the woman who was the mother of the three small children, was permitted to grind her allowance of corn first, and after her came the old man, and the others in succession. after the corn was converted into meal, each one kneaded it up with cold water into a thick dough, and raking away the ashes from a small space on the kitchen hearth, placed the dough, rolled up in green leaves, in the hollow, and covering it with hot embers, left it to be baked into bread, which was done in about half an hour. these loaves constituted the only supper of the slaves belonging to this family for i observed that the two women who had waited at the table, after the supper of the white people was disposed of, also came with their corn to the mill on the post and ground their allowance like the others. they had not been permitted to taste even the fragments of the meal that they had cooked for their masters and mistresses. it was eleven o'clock before these people had finished their supper of cakes, and several of them, especially the younger of the two lads, were so overpowered with toil and sleep, that they had to be roused from their slumbers when their cakes were done, to devour them. we had for our supper to-night, a pint of boiled rice to each person, and a small quantity of stale and very rancid butter, from the bottom of an old keg, or firkin, which contained about two pounds, the remnant of that which once filled it. we boiled the rice ourselves, in a large iron kettle; and, as our master now informed us that we were to remain here some time, many of us determined to avail ourselves of this season of respite from our toils, to wash our clothes, and free our persons from the vermin which had appeared amongst our party several weeks before, and now begun to be extremely tormenting. as we were not allowed any soap, we were obliged to resort to the use of a very fine and unctuous kind of clay, resembling fullers' earth, but of a yellow color, which was found on the margin of a small swamp near the house. this was the first time that i had ever heard of clay being used for the purpose of washing clothes; but i often availed myself of this resource afterwards, whilst i was a slave in the south. we wet our clothes, then rubbed this clay all over the garments, and by scouring it out in warm water with our hands, the cloth, whether of woollen, or cotton, or linen texture, was entirely clean. we subjected our persons to the same process, and in this way freed our camp from the host of enemies that had been generated in the course of our journey. this washing consumed the whole of the first day of our residence on the plantation of mr. hulig. we all lay the first night in a shed, or summer kitchen, standing behind the house, and a few yards from it a place in which the slaves of the plantation washed their clothes, and passed their sundays in warm weather, when they did not work; but as this place was quite too small to accommodate our party, or indeed to contain us, without crowding us together in such a manner as to endanger our health, we were removed, the morning after our arrival, to an old decayed frame building, about one hundred yards from the house, which had been erected, as i learned, for a cotton-gin, but into which its possessor, for want of means i presume, had never introduced the machinery of the gin. this building was near forty feet square; was without any other floor than the earth, and neither doors nor windows, to close the openings which had been left for the admission of those who entered it. we were told that in this place the cotton of the plantation was deposited in the picking season, as it was brought from the field, until it could be removed to a neighboring plantation, where there was a gin to divest it of its seeds. here we took our temporary abode--men and women, promiscuously. our provisions, whilst we remained here, were regularly distributed to us; and our daily allowance to each person, consisted of a pint of corn, a pint of rice, and about three or four pounds of butter, such as we had received on the night of our arrival, divided amongst us, in small pieces from the point of a table knife. the rice we boiled in the iron kettle--we ground our corn at the little mill on the post in the kitchen, and converted the meal into bread, in the manner we had been accustomed to at home--sometimes on the hearth, and sometimes before the fire on a hoe. the butter was given us as an extraordinary ration, to strengthen and recruit us after our long march, and give us a healthy and expert appearance at the time of our future sale. we had no beds of any kind to sleep on, but each one was provided with a blanket, which had been the companion of our travels. we were left entirely at liberty to go out or in when we pleased, and no watch was kept over us either by night or day. our master had removed us so far from our native country, that he supposed it impossible for any of us ever to escape from him, and surmount all the obstacles that lay between us and our former homes. he went away immediately after we were established in our new lodgings, and remained absent until the second evening about sundown, when he returned, came into our shed, sat down on a block of wood in the midst of us, and asked if any one had been sick; if we had got our clothes clean; and if we had been supplied with an allowance of rice, corn and butter. after satisfying himself upon these points, he told us that we were now at liberty to run away if we chose to do so; but if we made the attempt we should most certainly be re-taken, and subjected to the most terrible punishment. "i never flog," said he, "my practice is to _cat-haul_; and if you run away, and i catch you again--as i surely shall do--and give you one cat-hauling, you will never run away again, nor attempt it." i did not then understand the import of cat-hauling, but in after times, became well acquainted with its signification. we remained in this place nearly two weeks, during which time our allowance of food was not varied, and was regularly given to us. we were not required to do any work; and i had liberty and leisure to walk about the plantation, and make such observations as i could upon the new state of things around me. gentlemen and ladies came every day to look at us, with a view of becoming our purchasers; and we were examined with minute care as to our ages, former occupations, and capacity of performing labor. our persons were inspected, and more especially the hands were scrutinized, to see if all the fingers were perfect, and capable of the quick motions necessary in picking cotton. our master only visited us once a day, and sometimes he remained absent two days; so that he seldom met any of those who came to see us; but, whenever it so happened that he did meet them, he laid aside his silence and became very talkative, and even animated in his conversation, extolling our good qualities, and averring that he had purchased some of as of one colonel, and others of another general in virginia; that he could by no means have procured us, had it not been that, in some instances, our masters had ruined themselves, and were obliged to sell us to save their families from ruin; and in others, that our owners were dead, their estates deeply in debt, and we had been sold at public sale; by which means he had become possessed of us. he said our habits were unexceptionable, our characters good; that there was not one among us all who had ever been known to run away, or steal any thing from our former masters. i observed that running away, and stealing from his master, were regarded as the highest crimes of which a slave could be guilty; but i heard no questions asked concerning our propensity to steal from other people besides our masters, and i afterwards learned, that this was not always regarded as a very high crime by the owner of a slave, provided he would perpetrate the theft so adroitly as not to be detected in it. we were severally asked by our visitors, if we would be willing to live with them, if they would purchase us, to which we generally replied in the affirmative; but our owner declined all the offers that were made for us, upon the ground that we were too poor--looked too bad to be sold at present--and that in our condition he could not expect to get a fair value for us. one evening, when our master was with us, a thin, sallow-looking man rode up to the house, and alighting from his horse, came to us, and told him that he had come to buy a boy; that he wished to get a good field hand, and would pay a good price for him. i never saw a human countenance that expressed more of the evil passions of the heart than did that of this man, and his conversation corresponded with his physiognomy. every sentence of his language was accompanied with an oath of the most vulgar profanity, and his eyes appeared to me to be the index of a soul as cruel as his visage was disgusting and repulsive. after looking at us for some time, this wretch singled _me_ out as the object of his choice, and coming up to me, asked me how i would like him for a master. in my heart i detested him; but a slave is often afraid to speak the truth, and divulge all he feels; so with myself in this instance, as it was doubtful whether i might not fall into his hands, and be subject to the violence of his temper, i told him that if he was a good master, as every gentleman ought to be, i should be willing to live with him. he appeared satisfied with my answer, and turning to my master, said he would give a high price for me. "i can," said he, "by going to charleston, buy as many guinea negroes as i please for two hundred dollars each, but as i like this fellow, i will give you four hundred for him." this offer struck terror into my heart, for i knew it was as much as was generally given for the best and ablest slaves, and i expected that it would immediately be accepted as my price, and that i should be at once consigned to the hands of this man, of whom i had formed so abhorrent an opinion. to my surprise and satisfaction, however, my master made no reply to the proposition; but stood for a moment, with one hand raised to his face and his fore-finger on his nose, and then turning suddenly to me, said, "go into the house; i shall not sell you to-day." it was my business to obey the order of departure, and as i went beyond the sound of their voices, i could not understand the purport of the conversation which followed between these two traffickers in human blood; but after a parley of about a quarter of an hour, the hated stranger started abruptly away, and going to the road, mounted his horse, and rode off at a gallop, banishing himself and my fears together. i did not see my master again this evening, and when i came out of our barracks in the morning, although it was scarcely daylight, i saw him standing near one corner of the building, with his head inclined towards the wall, evidently listening to catch any sounds within. he ordered me to go and feed his horse, and have him saddled for him by sunrise. about an hour afterwards he came to the stable in his riding dress; and told me that he should remove us all to columbia in a few days. he then rode away, and did not return until the third day afterwards. chapter iv. it was now about the middle of june, the weather excessively warm, and from eleven o'clock, a. m., until late in the afternoon, the sand about our residence was so hot that we could not stand on it with our bare feet in one posture, more than one or two minutes. the whole country, so far as i could see, appeared to be a dead plain, without the least variety of either hill or dale. the pine was so far the predominating timber of the forest, that at a little distance the entire woods appeared to be composed of this tree. i had become weary of being confined to the immediate vicinity of our lodgings, and determined to venture out into the fields of the plantation, and see the manner of cultivating cotton. accordingly, after i had made my morning meal upon corn cakes, i sallied out in the direction which i had seen the slaves of the plantation take at the time they left the house at daylight, and following a path through a small field of corn, which was so tall as to prevent me from seeing beyond it, i soon arrived at the field in which the people were at work with hoes amongst the cotton, which was about two feet and a half high, and had formed such long branches, that they could no longer plough in it without breaking it. expecting to pass the remainder of my life in this kind of labor, i felt anxious to know the evils, if any, attending it, and more especially the manner in which the slaves were treated on the cotton estates. the people now before me, were all diligently and laboriously weeding and hilling the cotton with hoes, and when i approached them, they scarcely took time to speak to me, but continued their labor as if i had not been present. as there did not appear to be any overseer with them, i thought i would go amongst them, and enter into conversation with them; but upon addressing myself to one of the men, and telling him, if it was not disagreeable to him, i should be glad to become acquainted with him, he said he should be glad to be acquainted with me, but master tom did not allow him to talk much to people when he was at work. i asked him where his master tom was; but before he had time to reply, same one called--"mind your work there, you rascals." looking in the direction of the sound, i saw master tom, sitting under the shade of a sassafras tree, at the distance of about a hundred yards from us. deeming it unsafe to continue in the field without the permission of its lord, i approached the sassafras tree, with my hat in my hand, and in a very humble manner, asked leave to help the people work awhile, as i was tired of staying about the house and doing nothing. he said he did not care; i might go and work with them awhile, but i must take care not to talk too much and keep his hands from their work. now, having authority on my side, i returned, and taking a hoe from the hands of a small girl, told her to pull up weeds, and i would take her row for her. when we arrived at the end of the rows which we were then hilling, master tom, who still held his post under the sassafras tree, called his people to come to breakfast. although i had already broken my fast, i went with the rest for the purpose of seeing what their breakfast was composed of. at the tree i saw a keg which contained about five gallons, with water in it, and a gourd lying by it; near this was a basket made of splits, large enough to hold more than a peck. it contained the breakfast of the people, covered by some green leaves of the magnolia, or great bay tree of the south. when the leaves were removed, i found that the supply of provisions consisted of one cake of corn-meal, weighing about half a pound, for each person. this bread had no sort of seasoning, not even salt, and constituted the only breakfast of these poor people, who had been toiling from early dawn until about eight o'clock. there was no cake for me, and master tom did not say anything to me on the state of my stomach; but the young girl, whose hoe i had taken in the field, offered me a part of her cake, which i refused. after the breakfast was despatched, we again returned to our work; but the master ordered the girl, whose hoe i had, to go and get another hoe which lay at some distance in the field, and take her row again. i continued in the field until dinner, which took place about one o'clock, and was the same, in all respects, as the breakfast had been. master tom was the younger of the two brothers who returned from the cock-fight on the evening of our arrival at this place,--he left the field about ten o'clock, and was succeeded by his elder brother, as overseer for the remainder of the day. after this change of superintendents, my companions became more loquacious, and in the course of an hour or two, i had become familiar with the condition of my fellow-laborers, who told me that the elder of their young masters was much less tyrannical than his younger brother; and that whilst the former remained in the field they would be at liberty to talk as much as they pleased, provided they did not neglect their work. one of the men who appeared to be about forty years of age, and who was the foreman of the field, told me that he had been born in south carolina, and had always lived there, though he had only belonged to his present master about ten years. i asked him if his master allowed him no meat, nor any kind of provisions except bread; to which he replied that they never had any meat except at christmas, when each hand on the place received about three pounds of pork; that from september, when the sweet potatoes were at the maturity of their growth, they had an allowance of potatoes as long as the crop held out, which was generally until about march; but that for the rest of the year, they had nothing but a peck of corn a week, with such weeds and other vegetables as they could gather from the fields for greens--that their master did not allow them any salt, and that the only means they had of procuring this luxury, was, by working on sundays for the neighboring planters, who paid them in money at the rate of fifty cents per day, with which they purchased salt and some other articles of convenience. this man told me that his master furnished him with two shirts of tow linen, and two pair of trowsers, one of woollen and the other of linen cloth, one woollen jacket, and one blanket every year. that he received the woollen clothes at christmas, and the linen at easter; and all the other clothes, if he had any, he was obliged to provide for himself by working on sunday. he said, that for several years past, he had not been able to provide any clothes for himself; as he had a wife with several small children, on an adjoining plantation, whose master gave only one suit of clothes in the year to the mother, and none of any kind to the children, which had compelled him to lay out all his savings in providing clothes for his family, and such little necessaries as were called for by his wife from time to time. he had not had a shoe on his foot for several years, but in winter made a kind of moccasin for himself of the bark of a tree, which he said was abundant in the swamps, and could be so manufactured as to make good ropes, and tolerable moccasins, sufficient at least to defend the feet from the frost, though not to keep them dry. the old man whom i have alluded to before, was in the field with the others, though he was not able to keep up with his row. he had no clothes on him except the remains of an old shirt, which hung in tatters from his neck and arms; the two young girls had nothing on them but petticoats, made of coarse tow-cloth, and the woman, who was the mother of the children, wore the remains of a tow-linen shift, the front part of which was entirely gone; but a piece of old cotton bagging tied round her loins, served the purposes of an apron the younger of the two boys was entirely naked. the man who was foreman of the field, was a person of good sense for the condition of life in which fortune had placed him, and spoke to me freely of his hard lot. i observed that under his shirt, which was very ragged, he wore a piece of fine linen cloth, apparently part of an old shirt, wrapped closely round his back, and confined in front by strings, tied down his breast. i asked him why he wore that piece of gentleman's linen under his shirt, and shall give his reply in his own words as well as i can recollect them, at a distance of near thirty years. "i have always been a hard working man, and have suffered a great deal from hunger in my time. it is not possible for a man to work hard every day for several months, and get nothing but a peck of corn a week to eat, and not feel hungry. when a man is hungry, you know, (if you have ever been hungry,) he must eat whatever he can get. i have not tasted meat since last christmas, and we have had to work uncommonly hard this summer. master has a flock of sheep, that run in the woods, and they come every night to sleep in the lane near the house. two weeks ago last saturday, when we quit work at night, i was very hungry, and as we went to the house we passed along the lane where the sheep lay. there were nearly fifty of them, and some were very fat. the temptation was more than i could bear. i caught one of them, cut its head off with the hoe that i carried on my shoulder, and threw it under the fence. about midnight, when all was still about the house, i went out with a knife, took the sheep into the woods, and dressed it by the light of the moon. the carcass i took home, and after cutting it up, placed it in the great kettle over a good fire, intending to boil it and divide it, when cooked, between my fellow-slaves (whom i knew to be as hungry as i was) and myself. unfortunately for me, master tom, who had been out amongst his friends that day, had not returned at bed-time; and about one o'clock in the morning, at the time when i had a blazing fire under the kettle, i heard the sound of the feet of a horse coming along the lane. the kitchen walls were open so that the light of my fire could not be concealed, and in a moment i heard the horse blowing at the front of the house. conscious of my danger, i stripped my shirt from my back, and pushed it into the boiling kettle, so as wholly to conceal the flesh of the sheep. i had scarcely completed this act of precaution, when master tom burst into the kitchen, and with a terrible oath, asked me what i was doing so late at night, with a great fire in the kitchen. i replied, 'i am going to wash my shirt, master, and am boiling it to get it clean.' 'washing your shirt at this time of night!' said he, 'i will let you know that you are not to sit up all night and be lazy and good for nothing all day. there shall be no boiling of shirts here on sunday morning,' and thrusting his cane into the kettle, he raised my shirt out and threw it on the kitchen floor. "he did not at first observe the mutton, which rose to the surface of the water as soon as the shirt was removed; but, after giving the shirt a kick towards the door, he again turned his face to the fire, and seeing a leg standing several inches out of the pot, he demanded of me what i had in there and where i had got this meat! finding that i was detected, and that the whole matter must be discovered, i said,--'master, i am hungry, and am cooking my supper.' 'what is it you have in here?' 'a sheep,' said i, and as the words were uttered, he knocked me down with his cane, and after beating me severely, ordered me to cross my hands until he bound me fast with a rope that hung in the kitchen, and answered the double purpose of a clothes line and a cord to tie us with when we were to be whipped. he put out the fire under the kettle, drew me into the yard, tied me fast to the mill-post, and leaving me there for the night, went and called one of the negro boys to put his horse in the stable, and went to his bed. the cord was bound so tightly round my wrists, that before morning the blood had burst out under my finger nails; but i suppose my master slept soundly for all that. i was afraid to call any one to come and release me from my torment, lest a still more terrible punishment might overtake me. "i was permitted to remain in this situation until long after sunrise the next morning, which being sunday, was quiet and still; my fellow-slaves being permitted to take their rest after the severe toil of the past week, and my old master and two young ones having no occasion to rise to call the hands to the field, did not think of interrupting their morning slumbers, to release me from my painful confinement. however, when the sun was risen about an hour, i heard the noise of persons moving in the great house, and soon after a loud and boisterous conversation, which i well knew portended no good to me. at length they all three came into the yard where i lay lashed to the post, and approaching me, my old master asked me if i had any accomplices in stealing the sheep. i told them none--that it was entirely my own act--and that none of my fellow-slaves had any hand in it. this was the truth; but if any of my companions had been concerned with me, i should not have betrayed them; for such an act of treachery could not have alleviated the dreadful punishment which i knew awaited me, and would only have involved them in the same misery. "they called me a thief, loaded me with oaths and imprecations, and each one proposed the punishment which he deemed the most appropriate to the enormity of the crime that i had committed. master tom was of opinion, that i should be lashed to the post at the foot of which i lay, and that each of my fellow-slaves should be compelled to give me a dozen lashes in turn, with a roasted and greased hickory _gad_, until i had received, in the whole, two hundred and fifty lashes on my bare back, and that he would stand by, with the whip in his hand, and _compel_ them not to spare me; but after a short debate this was given up, as it would probably render me unable to work in the field again for several weeks. my master ned was in favor of giving me a dozen lashes every morning for a month, with the whip; but my old master said, this would be attended with too much trouble, and besides, it would keep me from my work, at least half an hour every morning, and proposed, in his turn, that i should not be whipped at all, but that the carcass of the sheep should be taken from the kettle in its half-boiled condition, and hung up in the kitchen loft without salt; and that i should be compelled to subsist on this putrid mutton without any other food, until it should be consumed. this suggestion met the approbation of my young masters, and would have been adopted, had not mistress at this moment come into the yard, and hearing the intended punishment, loudly objected to it, because the mutton would, in a day or two, create such an offensive stench, that she and my young mistresses would not be able to remain in the house. my mistress swore dreadfully, and cursed me for an ungrateful sheep thief, who, after all her kindness in giving me soup and warm bread when i was sick last winter, was always stealing every thing i could get hold of. she then said to my master, that such villany ought not to be passed over in a slight manner, and that as crimes, such as this, concerned the whole country, my punishment ought to be public for the purpose of example; and advised him to have me whipped that same afternoon, at five o'clock; first giving notice to the neighborhood to come and see the spectacle, and to bring with them their slaves, that they might be witnesses to the consequences of stealing sheep. "they then returned to the house to breakfast; but as the pain in my hands and arms produced by the ligatures of the cord with which i was bound, was greater than i could bear, i now felt exceedingly sick, and lost all knowledge of my situation. they told me i fainted; and when i recovered my faculties, i found myself lying in the shade of the house, with my hands free, and all the white persons in my master's family standing around me. as soon as i was able to stand, the rope was tied round my neck, and the other end again fastened to the mill post. my mistress said i had only pretended to faint; and master tom said, i would have something worth fainting for before night. he was faithful to his promise; but, for the present, i was suffered to sit on the grass in the shade of the house. "as soon as breakfast was over, my two young masters had their horses saddled, and set out to give notice to their friends of what had happened, and to invite them to come and see me punished for the crime i had committed. my mistress gave me no breakfast, and when i begged one of the black boys whom i saw looking at me through the pales, to bring me some water in a gourd to drink, she ordered him to bring it from a puddle in the lane. my mistress has always been very cruel to all her black people. "i remained in this situation until about eleven o'clock, when one of my young mistresses came to me and gave me a piece of jonny-cake about the size of my hand, perhaps larger than my hand, telling me at the same time, that my fellow-slaves had been permitted to re-boil the mutton that i had left in the kettle, and make their breakfast of it, but that her mother would not allow her to give me any part of it. it was well for them that i had parboiled it with my shirt, and so defiled it that it was unfit for the table of my master, otherwise, no portion of it would have fallen to the black people--as it was, they had as much meat as they could consume in two days, for which i had to suffer. "about twelve o'clock, one of my young masters returned, and soon afterwards the other came home. i heard them tell my old master that they had been round to give notice of my offence to the neighboring planters, and that several of them would attend to see me flogged, and would bring with them some of their slaves, who might be able to report to their companions what had been done to me for stealing. "it was late in the afternoon before any of the gentlemen came; but, before five o'clock, there were more than twenty white people, and at least fifty black ones present, the latter of whom had been compelled, by their masters, to come and see me punished. amongst others, an overseer from a neighboring estate attended; and to him was awarded the office of executioner. i was stripped of my shirt, and the waist-band of my trousers was drawn closely round me, below my hips, so as to expose the whole of my back, in its entire length. "it seems that it had been determined to beat me with thongs of raw cow-hide, for the overseer had two of these in his hands, each about four feet long; but one of the gentlemen present said this might bruise my back so badly, that i could not work for sometime; perhaps not for a week or two; and as i could not be spared from the field without disadvantage to my master's crop, he suggested a different plan, by which, in his opinion, the greatest degree of pain could be inflicted on me, with the least danger of rendering me unable to work. as he was a large planter, and had more than fifty slaves, all were disposed to be guided by his counsels, and my master said he would submit the matter entirely to him as a man of judgment and experience in such cases. he then desired my master to have a dozen pods of red pepper boiled in half a gallon of water, and desired the overseer to lay aside his thongs of raw-hide, and put a new cracker of silk, to the lash of his negro whip. whilst these preparations were being made, each of my thumbs were lashed closely to the end of a stick about three feet long, and a chair being placed beside the mill post, i was compelled to raise my hands and place the stick, to which my thumbs were bound, over the top of the post, which is about eighteen inches square; the chair was then taken from under me, and i was left hanging by the thumbs, with my face towards the post, and my feet about a foot from the ground. my two great toes were then tied together, and drawn down the post as far as my joints could be stretched; the cord was passed round the post two or three times and securely fastened. in this posture i had no power of motion, except in my neck, and could only move that at the expense of beating my face against the side of the post. "the pepper tea was now brought, and poured into a basin to cool, and the overseer was desired to give me a dozen lashes just above the waist-band; and not to cover a space of more than four inches on my back, from the waist-band upwards. he obeyed the injunction faithfully, but slowly, and each crack of the whip was followed by a sensation as painful as if a red hot iron had been drawn across my back. when the twelve strokes had been given, the operation was suspended, and a black man, one of the slaves present, was compelled to wash the gashes in my skin, with the scalding pepper tea, which was yet so hot that he could not hold his hand in it. this doubly-burning liquid was thrown into my raw and bleeding wounds, and produced a tormenting smart, beyond the description of language. after a delay of ten minutes, by the watch, i received another dozen lashes, on the part of my back which was immediately above the bleeding and burning gashes of the former whipping; and again the biting, stinging, pepper tea was applied to my lacerated and trembling muscles. this operation was continued at regular intervals, until i had received ninety-six lashes, and my back was cut and scalded from end to end. every stroke of the whip had drawn blood; many of the gashes were three inches long; my back burned as if it had been covered by a coat of hot embers, mixed with living coals; and i felt my flesh quiver like that of animals that have been slaughtered by the butcher and are flayed whilst yet half alive. my face was bruised, and my nose bled profusely, for in the madness of my agony, i had not been able to refrain from beating my head violently against the post. "vainly did i beg and implore for mercy. i was kept bound to the post with my whole weight hanging upon my thumbs, an hour and a half, but it appeared to me that i had entered upon eternity, and that my sufferings would never end. at length, however, my feet were unbound, and afterwards my hands; but when released from the cords, i was so far exhausted as not to be able to stand, and my thumbs were stiff and motionless. i was carried into the kitchen, and laid on a blanket, where my mistress came to see me; and after looking at my lacerated back, and telling me that my wounds were only skin deep, said i had come off well, after what i had done, and that i ought to be thankful that it was not worse with me. she then bade me not to groan so loud, nor make so much noise, and left me to myself. i lay in this condition until it was quite dark, by which time the burning of my back had much abated, and was succeeded by an aching soreness, which rendered me unable to turn over or bend my spine in the slightest manner. my mistress again visited me, and brought with her about half a pound of fat bacon, which she made one of the black women roast before the fire on a fork, until the oil ran freely from it, and then rub it warm over my back. this was repeated until i was greased from the neck to the hips, effectually. an old blanket was then thrown over me, and i was left to pass the night alone. such was the terror stricken into my fellow-slaves, by the example made of me, that although they loved and pitied me, not one of them dared to approach me during this night. "my strength was gone, and i at length fell asleep, from which i did not awake until the horn was blown the next morning, to call the people to the corn crib, to receive their weekly allowance of a peck of corn. i did not rise, nor attempt to join the other people, and shortly afterwards my master entered the kitchen, and in a soft and gentle tone of voice, asked me if i was dead. i answered him that i was not dead, and making some effort, found i was able to get upon my feet. my master had become frightened when he missed me at the corn crib, and being suddenly seized with an apprehension that i was dead, his heart had become softened, not with compassion for my sufferings, but with the fear of losing his best field hand; but when he saw me stand before him erect, and upright, the recollection of the lost sheep revived in his mind, and with it, all his feelings of revenge against the author of its death. "'so you are not dead yet, you thieving rascal,' said he, and cursing me with many bitter oaths, ordered me to go along to the crib and get my corn, and go to work with the rest of the hands. i was forced to obey, and taking my basket of corn from the door of the crib, placed it in the kitchen loft, and went to the field with the other people. "weak and exhausted as i was, i was compelled to do the work of an able hand, but was not permitted to taste the mutton, which was all given to the others, who were carefully guarded whilst they were eating, lest they should give me some of it." this man's back was not yet well. many of the gashes made by the lash were yet sore, and those that were healed had left long white stripes across his body. he had no notion of leaving the service of his tyrannical master, and his spirit was so broken and subdued that he was ready to suffer and to bear all his hardships: not, indeed, without complaining, but without attempting to resist his oppressors or to escape from their power. i saw him often whilst i remained at this place, and ventured to tell him once, that if i had a master who would abuse me as he had abused him, i would run away. "where could i run, or in what place could i conceal myself?" said he. "i have known many slaves who ran away, but they were always caught and treated worse afterwards than they had been before. i have heard that there is a place called philadelphia, where the black people are all free, but i do not know which way it lies, nor what road i should take to go there; and if i knew the way, how could i hope to get there? would not the patrol be sure to catch me?" i pitied this unfortunate creature, and was at the same time fearful that, in a short time, i should be equally the object of pity myself. how well my fears were justified the sequel of my narrative will show. chapter v. we had been stationed in the old cotton-gin house about twenty days, had recovered from the fatigues of our journey, and were greatly improved in our strength and appearance, when our master returned one evening, after an absence of two days, and told us that we must go to columbia the next day, and must, for this purpose, have our breakfast ready by sunrise. on the following morning he called us at daylight, and we made all despatch in preparing our morning repast, the last that we were to take in our present residence. as our equipments consisted of a few clothes we had on our persons and a solitary blanket to each individual, our baggage was easily adjusted, and we were on the road before the sun was up half an hour; and in less than an hour we were in columbia, drawn up in a long line in the street opposite the court-house. the town, which was small and mean-looking, was full of people, and i believe that more than a thousand gentlemen came to look at us within the course of this day. we were kept in the street about an hour, and were then taken into the jail-yard and permitted to sit down; but were not shut up in the jail. the court was sitting in columbia at this time, and either this circumstance or the intelligence of our arrival in the country, or both, had drawn together a very great crowd of people. we were supplied with victuals by the jailor, and had a small allowance of salt pork for dinner. we slept in the jail at night, and as none of us had been sold on the day of our arrival in columbia, and we had not heard any of the persons who came to look at us make proposals to our master for our purchase, i supposed it might be his intention to drive us still farther south before he offered us for sale; but i discovered my error on the second day, which was tuesday. this day the crowd in town was much greater than it had been on monday; and, about ten o'clock our master came into the yard in company with the jailor, and after looking at us some time, the latter addressed us in a short speech, which continued perhaps five minutes. in this harangue he told us we had come to live in the finest country in the world; that south carolina was the richest and best part of the united states; and that he was going to sell us to gentlemen who would make us all very happy, and would require us to do no hard work; but only raise cotton and pick it. he then ordered a handsome young lad, about eighteen years of age, to follow him into the street, where he observed a great concourse of persons collected. here the jailor made another harangue to the multitude, in which he assured them that he was just about to sell the most valuable lot of slaves that had ever been offered in columbia. that we were all young, in excellent health, of good habits, having been all purchased in virginia, from the estates of tobacco planters; and that there was not one in the whole lot who had lost the use of a single finger, or was blind of an eye. he then cried the poor lad for sale, and the first bid he received was two hundred dollars. others quickly succeeded, and the boy, who was a remarkably handsome youth, was stricken off in a few minutes to a young man who appeared not much older than himself, at three hundred and fifty dollars. the purchaser paid down his price to our master on a table in the jail, and the lad, after bidding us farewell, followed his new master with tears running down his cheeks. he next sold a young girl, about fifteen or sixteen years old, for two hundred and fifty dollars, to a lady who attended the sales in her carriage, and made her bids out of the window. in this manner the sales were continued for about two hours and a half, when they were adjourned until three o'clock. in the afternoon they were again resumed, and kept open until about five o'clock, when they were closed for the day. as my companions were sold, they were taken from amongst us, and we saw them no more. the next morning, before day, i was awakened from my sleep by the sound of several heavy fires of cannon, which were discharged, as it seemed to me, within a few yards of the place where i lay. these were succeeded by fifes and drums, and all the noise with which i had formerly heard the fourth of july ushered in, at the navy yard in washington. since i had left maryland i had carefully kept the reckoning of the days of the week, but had not been careful to note the dates of the month; yet as soon as daylight appeared, and the door of our apartment was opened, i inquired and learned that this was, as i had supposed it to be, the day of universal rejoicing. i understood that the court did not sit this day, but a great crowd of people gathered and remained around the jail all the morning; many of whom were intoxicated, and sang and shouted in honor of free government, and the rights of man. about eleven o'clock, a long table was spread under a row of trees which grew in the street, not far from the jail, and which appeared to me to be of the kind called in pennsylvania, the pride of china. at this table several hundred persons sat down to dinner soon after noon, and continued to eat and drink, and sing songs in honor of liberty, for more than two hours. at the end of the dinner a gentleman rose and stood upon his chair, near one end of the table, and begged the company to hear him for a few minutes. he informed them that he was a candidate for some office--but what office it was i do not recollect--and said, that as it was an acknowledged principle of our free government, that all men were born free and equal, he presumed it would not be deemed an act of arrogance in him, to call upon them for their votes at the coming election. this first speaker was succeeded by another, who addressed his audience in nearly the same language; and after he had concluded, the company broke up. i heard a black man that belonged to the jailer, or, who was at least in his service, say that there had been a great meeting that morning in the court house, at which several gentlemen had made speeches. when i lived at the navy-yard, the officers sometimes permitted me to go up town with them, on the fourth of july, and listen to the fine speeches that were made there, on such occasions. about five o'clock, the jailer came and stood at the front door of the jail, and proclaimed, in a very loud voice, that a sale of most valuable slaves would immediately take place; that he had sold many fine hands yesterday, but they were only the refuse and most worthless part of the whole lot;--that those who wished to get great bargains and prime property, had better attend now; as it was certain that such negroes had never been offered for sale in columbia before. in a few minutes the whole assembly, that had composed the dinner party, and hundreds of others, were convened around the jail door, and the jailer again proceeded with his auction. several of the stoutest men and handsomest women in the whole company, had been reserved for this day; and i perceived that the very best of us were kept back for the last. we went off at rather better prices than had been obtained on the former day; and i perceived much eagerness amongst the bidders, many of whom were not sober. within less than three hours, only three of us remained in the jail; and we were ordered to come and stand at the door, in front of the crier, who made a most extravagant eulogium upon our good qualities and capacity to perform labor. he said, "these three fellows are as strong as horses, and as patient as mules; one of them can do as much work as two common men, and they are perfectly honest. mr. m'giffin says, he was assured by their former masters that they were never known to steal, or run away. they must bring good prices, gentlemen, or they will not be sold. their master is determined, that if they do not bring six hundred dollars, he will not sell them, but will take them to georgia next summer, and sell them to some of the new settlers. these boys can do anything. this one," referring to me, "can cut five cords of wood in a day, and put it up. he is a rough carpenter, and a first rate field hand. this one," laying his hand on the shoulder of one of my companions, "is a blacksmith; and can lay a ploughshare; put new steel upon an axe; or mend a broken chain." the other, he recommended as a good shoemaker, and well acquainted with the process of tanning leather. we were all nearly of the same age; and very stout, healthy, robust young men, in full possession of our corporal powers; and if we had been shut up in a room, with ten of the strongest of those who had assembled to purchase us, and our liberty had depended on tying them fast to each other, i have no doubt that we should have been free, if ropes had been provided for us. after a few minutes of hesitancy amongst the purchasers, and a closer examination of our persons than had been made in the jail-yard, an elderly gentleman said he would take the carpenter; and the blacksmith, and shoemaker, were immediately taken by others, at the required price. it was now sundown. the heat of the day had been very oppressive, and i was glad to be released from the confined air of the jail, and the hot atmosphere, in which so many hundreds were breathing.--my new master asked me my name, and ordered me to follow him. we proceeded to a tavern, where a great number of persons were assembled, at a short distance from the jail. my master entered the house, and joined in the conversation of the party, in which the utmost hilarity prevailed. they were drinking toasts in honor of liberty and independence, over glasses of toddy--a liquor composed of a mixture of rum, water, sugar, and nutmeg. it was ten o'clock at night before my master and his companions had finished their toasts and toddy; and all this time, i had been standing before the door, or sitting on a log of wood, that lay in front of the house. at one time, i took a seat on a bench, at the side of the house; but was soon driven from this position by a gentleman, in military clothes, with a large gilt epaulet on each shoulder, and a profusion of glittering buttons on his coat; who passing near me in the dark, and happening to cast his eye on me, demanded of me, in an imperious tone, how i dared to sit on that seat. i told him i was a stranger, and did not know that it was wrong to sit there. he then ordered me with an oath, to begone from there; and said, if he caught me on that bench again, he would cut my head off. "did you not see white people sit upon that bench, you saucy rascal?" said he. i assured him i had not seen any white gentleman sit on the bench, as it was near night when i came to the house; that i had not intended to be saucy, or misbehave myself; and that i hoped he would not be angry with me, as my master had left me at the door, and had not told me where i was to sit. i remained on the log until the termination of the festival, in honor of liberty and equality; when my master came to the door, and observed in my hearing, to some of his friends, that they had celebrated the day in a handsome manner. no person, except the military gentleman, had spoken to me since i came to the house in the evening with my master, who seemed to have forgotten me; for he remained at the door, warmly engaged in conversation, on various political subjects, a full hour after he rose from the toast party. at length, however, i heard him say--"i bought a negro this evening--i wonder where he is." rising immediately from the log on which i had been so long seated, i presented myself before him, and said, "here, master." he then ordered me to go to the kitchen of the inn, and go to sleep; but said nothing to me about supper.--i retired to the kitchen, where i found a large number of servants, who belonged to the house, and among them two young girls, who had been purchased by a gentleman who lived near augusta; and who, they told me, intended to set out for his plantation the next morning, and take them with him. these girls had been sold out of our company on the first day; and had been living in the tavern kitchen since that time. they appeared quite contented, and evinced no repugnance to setting out the next morning for their master's plantation. they were of that order of people who never look beyond the present day; and so long as they had plenty of victuals, in this kitchen, they did not trouble themselves with reflections upon the cotton field. one of the servants gave me some cold meat and a piece of wheaten bread, which was the first i had tasted since i left maryland, and indeed, it was the last that i tasted until i reached maryland again. i here met with a man who was born and brought up in the northern neck of virginia, on the banks of the potomac, and within a few miles of my native place. we soon formed an acquaintance, and sat up nearly all night. he was the chief hostler in the stable of this tavern, and told me that he had often thought of attempting to escape, and return to virginia. he said he had little doubt of being able to reach the potomac; but having no knowledge of the country beyond that river, he was afraid that he should not be able to make his way to philadelphia; which he regarded as the only place in which he could be safe from the pursuit of his master. i was myself then young, and my knowledge of the country, north of baltimore, was very vague and undefined. i, however, told him, that i had heard, that if a black man could reach any part of pennsylvania, he would be beyond the reach of his pursuers. he said he could not justly complain of want of food; but the services required of him were so unreasonable, and the punishment frequently inflicted upon him, so severe, that he was determined to set out for the north, as soon as the corn was so far ripe as to be fit to be roasted. he felt confident, that by lying in the woods and unfrequented places all day, and traveling only by night, he could escape the vigilance of all pursuit; and gain the northern neck, before the corn would be gathered from the fields. he had no fear of wanting food, as he could live well on roasting ears, as long as the corn was in the milk; and afterwards, on parched corn, as long as the grain remained in the field. i advised him as well as i could, as to the best means of reaching the state of pennsylvania, but was not able to give him any very definite instructions. this man possessed a very sound understanding; and having been five years in carolina, was well acquainted with the country. he gave me such an account of the sufferings of the slaves, on the cotton and indigo plantations--of whom i now regarded myself as one--that i was unable to sleep any this night. from the resolute manner in which he spoke of his intended elopement, and the regularity with which he had connected the various combinations of the enterprise, i have no doubt that he undertook that which he intended to perform. whether he was successful or not in the enterprise, i cannot say, as i never saw him nor heard of him after the next morning. this man certainly communicated to me the outlines of the plan, which i afterwards put in execution, and by which i gained my liberty, at the expense of sufferings, which none can appreciate, except those who have borne all that the stoutest human constitution can bear, of cold and hunger, toil and pain. the conversation of this slave aroused in my breast so many recollections of the past, and fears of the future, that i did not lie down, but sat on an old chair until daylight. from the people of the kitchen i again received some cold victuals for my breakfast, but i did not see my master until about nine o'clock; the toddy of the last evening causing him to sleep late this morning. at length a female slave gave me notice that my master wished to see me in the dining-room, whither i repaired without a moment's delay. when i entered the room he was sitting near the window, smoking a pipe, with a very long handle--i believe more than two feet in length. he asked no questions, but addressing me by the title of "boy," ordered me to go with the hostler of the inn, and get his horse and chaise ready. as soon as this order could be executed, i informed him that his chaise was at the door, and we immediately commenced our journey to the plantation of my master, which, he told me, lay at the distance of twenty miles from columbia. he said i must keep up with him, and, as he drove at the rate of five or six miles an hour, i was obliged to run nearly half the time; but i was then young, and could easily travel fifty or sixty miles in a day. it was with great anxiety that i looked for the place, which was in future to be my home; but this did not prevent me from making such observations upon the state of the country through which we traveled, as the rapidity of our march permitted. this whole region had originally been one vast wilderness of pine forest, except the low grounds and river bottoms, here called swamps, in which all the varieties of trees, shrubs, vines, and plants peculiar to such places, in southern latitudes, vegetated in unrestrained luxuriance. nor is pine the only timber that grows on the uplands, in this part of carolina, although it is the predominant tree, and in some places prevails to the exclusion of every other--oak, hickory, sassafras, and many others are found. here, also, i first observed groves of the most beautiful of all the trees of the wood--the great southern magnolia, or green bay. no adequate conception can be formed of the appearance or the fragrance of this most magnificent tree, by any one who has not seen it or scented the air when scented by the perfume of its flowers. it rises in a right line to the height of seventy or eighty feet; the stem is of a delicate taper form and casts off numerous branches, in nearly right angles with itself; the extremities of which decline gently towards the ground, and become shorter and shorter in the ascent, until at the apex of the tree they are scarcely a foot in length, whilst below they are many times found twenty feet long. the immense cones formed by these trees are as perfect as those diminutive forms which nature exhibits in the bur of the pine tree. the leaf of the magnolia is smooth, of an oblong taper form, about six inches in length, and half as broad. its color is the deepest and purest green. the foliage of the bay tree is as impervious as a brick wall to the rays of the sun, and its refreshing coolness, in the heat of a summer day, affords one of the greatest luxuries of a cotton plantation. it blooms in may, and bears great numbers of broad, expanded white flowers, the odor of which is exceedingly grateful, and so abundant, that i have no doubt that a grove of these trees in full bloom, may be smelled at a distance of fifteen or twenty miles. i have heard it asserted in the south, that their scent has been perceived by persons fifty or sixty miles from them. this tree is one of nature's most splendid, and in the climate where she has placed it, one of her most agreeable productions. it is peculiar to the southern temperate latitudes, and cannot bear the rigors of a northern winter; though i have heard that groves of the bay are found on fishing creek, in western virginia, not far from wheeling, and near the ohio river. could this tree be naturalized in pennsylvania, it would form an ornament to her towns, cities and country seats, at once the most tasteful and the most delicious. a forest of these trees, in the month of may, resembles a wood, enveloped in an untimely fall of snow at midsummer, glowing in the rays of a morning sun. we passed this day through cotton-fields and pine woods, alternately; but the scene was sometimes enlivened by the appearance of lots of corn and sweet potatoes, which, i observed, were generally planted near the houses. i afterwards learned that this custom of planting the corn and potatoes near the house of the planter, is generally all over carolina. the object is to prevent the slaves from stealing, and thus procuring more food than, by the laws of the plantation, they are entitled to. in passing through a lane, i this day saw a field which appeared to me to contain about fifty acres, in which people were at work with hoes, amongst a sort of plants that i had never seen before. i asked my master what this was, and he told me it was indigo. i shall have occasion to say more of this plant hereafter. we at length arrived at the residence of my master, who descended from his chaise, and leaving me in charge of the horse at the gate, proceeded to the house across a long court yard. in a few minutes two young ladies, and a young gentleman, came out of the house, and walked to the gate, near which i was with the horse. one of the ladies said, they had come to look at me, and see what kind of a boy her pa had brought home with him. the other one said i was a very smart looking boy; and this compliment flattered me greatly--they being the first kind words that had been addressed to me since i left maryland. the young gentleman asked me if i could run fast, and if i had ever picked cotton. his manner did not impress me so much in his favor, as the address of his sister had done for her. these three young persons were the son and daughters of my master. after looking at me a short time, my young master (for so i must now call him) ordered me to take the harness from the horse, give him water at a well which was near, and come into the kitchen, where some boiled rice was given me for my dinner. i was not required to go to work this first day of my abode in my new residence; but after i had eaten my rice, my young master told me i might rest myself or walk out and see the plantation, but that i must be ready to go with the overseer the next morning. chapter vi. by the laws of the united states i am still a slave; and though i am now growing old, i might even yet be deemed of sufficient value to be worth pursuing as far as my present residence, if those to whom the law gives the right of dominion over my person and life, knew where to find me. for these reasons i have been advised, by those whom i believe to be my friends, not to disclose the true names of any of those families in which i was a slave, in carolina or georgia, lest this narrative should meet their eyes, and in some way lead them to a discovery of my retreat. i was now the slave of one of the most wealthy planters in carolina, who planted cotton, rice, indigo, corn, and potatoes; and was the master of two hundred and sixty slaves. the description of one great cotton plantation will give a correct idea of all others; and i shall here present an outline of that of my master's. he lived about two miles from caugaree river, which bordered his estate on one side, and in the swamps of which were his rice fields. the country hereabout is very flat, the banks of the river are low, and in wet seasons large tracts of country are flooded by the super-abundant water of the river. there are no springs, and the only means of procuring water on the plantations is from wells, which must be sunk in general about twenty feet deep, before a constant supply of water can be obtained. my master had two of these wells on his plantation--one at the mansion house, and one at the quarter. my master's house was of brick, (brick houses are by no means common among the planters, whose residences are generally built of frame work, weather boarded with pine boards, and covered with shingles of the white cedar or juniper cypress,) and contained two large parlors, and a spacious hall or entry on the ground floor. the main building was two stories high, and attached to this was a smaller building, one story and a half high, with a large room, where the family generally took breakfast, with a kitchen at the farther extremity from the main building. there was a spacious garden behind the house, containing, i believe, about five acres, well cultivated, and handsomely laid out. in this garden grew a great variety of vegetables; some of which i have never seen in the market of philadelphia. it contained a profusion of flowers, three different shrubberies, a vast number of ornamental and small fruit trees, and several small hot houses, with glass roofs. there was a head gardener, who did nothing but attend to this garden through the year; and during the summer he generally had two men and two boys to assist him. in the months of april and may this garden was one of the sweetest and most pleasant places that i ever was in. at one end of the main building was a small house, called the library, in which my master kept his books and papers, and where he spent much of his time. at some distance from the mansion was a pigeon-house, and near the kitchen was a large wooden building, called the kitchen quarter, in which the house servants slept, and where they generally took their meals. here, also, the washing of the family was done, and all the rough or unpleasant work of the kitchen department--such as cleaning and salting fish, putting up pork, &c., was assigned to this place. there was no barn on this plantation, according to the acceptation of the word _barn_ in pennsylvania; but there was a wooden building, about forty feet long, called the coach-house, in one end of which the family carriage and the chaise in which my master rode were kept. under the same roof was a stable large enough to contain a dozen horses. in one end the corn intended for the horses was kept, and the whole of one loft was occupied by the blades and tops of the corn. about a quarter of a mile from the dwelling house were the huts or cabins of the plantation slaves, standing in rows. there were thirty-eight of them, generally about sixteen feet square, and provided with pine floors. in these cabins were two hundred and fifty people, of all ages, sexes and sizes. a short distance from the cabins was the house of the overseer. in one corner of his garden stood a corn-crib and a provision-house. a little way off stood the house containing the cotton-gin. there was no smoke-house, nor any place for curing meat, and while i was on this plantation no food was ever salted for the use of the slaves. i went out into the garden, and after sundown my old master sent me to the overseer's house. he was just coming in from the field, followed by a great number of black people. he asked me my name, and calling a middle-aged man, who was passing us at some distance, told him he must take me to live with him. i followed my new friend to his cabin, which was the shelter of his wife and five children. their only furniture consisted of a few blocks of wood for seats; a short bench, made of a pine board, which served as a table; and a small bed in one corner, composed of a mat, made of common rushes, spread upon some corn husks, pulled and split into fine pieces, and kept together by a narrow slip of wood, confined to the floor by wooden pins. there was a common iron pot standing beside the chimney, and several wooden spoons and dishes hung against the wall. several blankets also hung against the wall upon wooden pins. an old box, made of pine boards, without either lock or hinges, occupied one corner. at the time i entered this humble abode the mistress was not at home. she had not yet returned from the field; having been sent, as the husband informed me, with some other people late in the evening, to do some work in a field about two miles distant. i found a child, about a year old, lying on the mat-bed, and a little girl about four years old sitting beside it. these children were entirely naked, and when we came to the door, the elder rose from its place and ran to its father, and clasping him round one of his knees, said, "now we shall get good supper." the father laid his hand upon the head of his naked child, and stood silently looking in its face--which was turned upwards toward his own for a moment--and then turning to me, said, "did you leave any children at home?" the scene before me--the question propounded--and the manner of this poor man and his child, caused my heart to swell until my breast seemed too small to contain it. my soul fled back upon the wings of fancy to my wife's lowly dwelling in maryland, where i had been so often met on a saturday evening, when i paid them my weekly visit, by my own little ones, who clung to my knees for protection and support, even as the poor little wretch now before me seized upon the weary limb of its hapless and destitute father, hoping that, naked as he was, (for he too was naked, save only the tattered remains of a pair of old trowsers,) he would bring with his return at evening its customary scanty supper. i was unable to reply, but stood motionless, leaning against the walls of the cabin. my children seemed to flit by the door in the dusky twilight; and the twittering of a swallow, which that moment fluttered over my head, sounded in my ear as the infantile tittering of my own little boy; but on a moment's reflection i knew that we were separated without the hope of ever again meeting; that they no more heard the welcome tread of my feet, and could never again receive the little gifts with which, poor as i was, i was accustomed to present them. i was far from the place of my nativity, in a land of strangers, with no one to care for me beyond the care that a master bestows upon his ox; with all my future life one long, waste, barren desert, of cheerless, hopeless, lifeless slavery; to be varied only by the pangs of hunger and the stings of the lash. my revery was at length broken by the appearance of the mother of the family, with her three eldest children. the mother wore an old ragged shift; but the children, the eldest of whom appeared to be about twelve, and the youngest six years old, were quite naked. when she came in, the husband told her that the overseer had sent me to live with them; and she and her oldest child, who was a boy, immediately set about preparing their supper, by boiling some of the leaves of the weed, called lamb's-quarter, in the pot. this, together with some cakes of cold corn bread, formed their supper. my supper was brought to me from the house of the overseer by a small girl, his daughter. it was about half a pound of bread, cut from a loaf made of corn meal. my companions gave me a part of their boiled greens, and we all sat down together to my first meal in my new habitation. i had no other bed than the blanket which i had brought with me from maryland; and i went to sleep in the loft of the cabin which was assigned to me as my sleeping room; and in which i continued to lodge as long as i remained on this plantation. the next morning i was waked, at the break of day, by the sound of a horn, which was blown very loudly. perceiving that it was growing light, i came down, and went out immediately in front of the house of the overseer, who was standing near his own gate, blowing the horn. in a few minutes the whole of the working people, from all the cabins, were assembled; and as it was now light enough for me distinctly to see such objects as were about me, i at once perceived the nature of the servitude to which i was, in future, to be subject. as i have before stated, there were altogether on this plantation, two hundred and sixty slaves; but the number was seldom stationary for a single week. births were numerous and frequent, and deaths were not uncommon. when i joined them i believe we counted in all two hundred and sixty-three; but of these only one hundred and seventy went to the field to work. the others were children, too small to be of any service as laborers; old and blind persons, or incurably diseased. ten or twelve were kept about the mansion-house and garden, chosen from the most handsome and sprightly of the gang. i think about one hundred and sixty-eight assembled this morning, at the sound of the horn--two or three being sick, sent word to the overseer that they could not come. the overseer wrote something on a piece of paper, and gave it to his little son. this i was told was a note to be sent to our master, to inform him that some of the hands were sick--it not being any part of the duty of the overseer to attend to a sick negro. the overseer then led off to the field, with his horn in one hand and his whip in the other; we following--men, women, and children, promiscuously--and a wretched looking troop we were. there was not an entire garment amongst us. more than half of the gang were entirely naked. several young girls, who had arrived at puberty, wearing only the livery with which nature had ornamented them, and a great number of lads, of an equal or superior age, appeared in the same costume. there was neither bonnet, cap, nor head dress of any kind amongst us, except the old straw hat that i wore, and which my wife had made for me in maryland. this i soon laid aside to avoid the appearance of singularity, and, as owing to the severe treatment i had endured whilst traveling in chains, and being compelled to sleep on the naked floor, without undressing myself, my clothes were quite worn out, i did not make a much better figure than my companions; though still i preserved the semblance of clothing so far, that it could be seen that my shirt and trowsers had once been distinct and separate garments. not one of the others had on even the remains of two pieces of apparel.--some of the men had old shirts, and some ragged trowsers, but no one wore both. amongst the women, several wore petticoats, and many had shifts. not one of the whole number wore both of these vestments. we walked nearly a mile through one vast cotton field, before we arrived at the place of our intended day's labor. at last the overseer stopped at the side of the field, and calling to several of the men by name, ordered them to call their companies and turn into their rows. the work we had to do to-day was to hoe and weed cotton, for the last time; and the men whose names had been called, and who were, i believe, eleven in number, were designated as captains, each of whom had under his command a certain number of the other hands. the captain was the foreman of his company, and those under his command had to keep up with him. each of the men and women had to take one row; and two, and in some cases where they were very small, three of the children had one. the first captain, whose name was simon, took the first row--and the other captains were compelled to keep up with him. by this means the overseer had nothing to do but to keep simon hard at work, and he was certain that all the others must work equally hard. simon was a stout, strong man, apparently about thirty-five years of age; and for some reason unknown to me, i was ordered to take a row next to his. the overseer with his whip in his hand walked about the field after us, to see that our work was well done. as we worked with hoes, i had no difficulty in learning how the work was to be performed. the fields of cotton at this season of the year are very beautiful. the plants, among which we worked this day, were about three feet high, and in full bloom, with branches so numerous that they nearly covered the whole ground--leaving scarcely space enough between them to permit us to move about, and work with our hoes. about seven o'clock in the morning the overseer sounded his horn; and we all repaired to the shade of some persimmon trees, which grew in a corner of the field, to get our breakfast. i here saw a cart drawn by a yoke of oxen, driven by an old black man, nearly blind. the cart contained three barrels, filled with water, and several large baskets full of corn bread that had been baked in the ashes. the water was for us to drink, and the bread was our breakfast. the little son of the overseer was also in the cart, and had brought with him the breakfast of his father, in a small wooden bucket. the overseer had bread, butter, cold ham, and coffee for his breakfast. ours was composed of a corn cake, weighing about three-quarters of a pound, to each person, with as much water as was desired. i at first supposed that this bread was dealt out to the people as their allowance; but on further inquiry i found this not to be the case. simon, by whose side i was now at work, and who seemed much pleased with my agility and diligence in my duty, told me that here, as well as every where in this country, each person received a peck of corn at the crib door, every sunday evening, and that in ordinary times, every one had to grind this corn and bake it, for him or herself, making such use of it as the owner thought proper; but that for some time past, the overseer, for the purpose of saving the time which had been lost in baking the bread, had made it the duty of an old woman, who was not capable of doing much work in the field, to stay at the quarter, and bake the bread of the whole gang. when baked, it was brought to the field in a cart, as i saw, and dealt out in loaves. they still had to grind their own corn, after night; and as there were only three hand-mills on the plantation, he said they experienced much difficulty in converting their corn into meal. we worked in this field all day; and at the end of every hour, or hour and a quarter, we had permission to go to the cart, which was moved about the field, so as to be near us, and get water. our dinner was the same, in all respects, as our breakfast, except that, in addition to the bread, we had a little salt, and a radish for each person. we were not allowed to rest at either breakfast or dinner, longer than while we were eating; and we worked in the evening as long as we could distinguish the weeds from the cotton plants. simon informed me, that formerly, when they baked their own bread, they had left their work soon after sundown, to go home and bake for the next day, but the overseer had adopted the new policy for the purpose of keeping them at work until dark. when we could no longer see to work, the horn was again sounded, and we returned home. i had now lived through one of the days--a succession of which make up the life of a slave--on a cotton plantation. as we went out in the morning, i observed several women, who carried their young children in their arms to the field. these mothers laid their children at the side of the fence, or under the shade of the cotton plants, whilst they were at work; and when the rest of us went to get water, they would go to give suck to their children, requesting some one to bring them water in gourds, which they were careful to carry to the field with them. one young woman did not, like the others, leave her child at the end of the row, but had contrived a sort of rude knapsack, made of a piece of coarse linen cloth, in which she fastened her child, which was very young, upon her back; and in this way carried it all day, and performed her task at the hoe with the other people. i pitied her, and as we were going home at night escorted her and learned her history. she had been brought up a lady's-maid, and knew little of hardship until she was sold south by a dissipated master. on this plantation she was obliged to marry a man she did not like, and was often severely whipped because she could not do as much work as the rest. i was affected by her story, and the overseer's horn interrupted our conversation, at hearing which she exclaimed, "we are too late, let us run, or we shall be whipped," and setting off as fast as she could run, she left me alone. i quickened my pace, and arrived in the crowd a moment before her. chapter vii. the overseer was calling over the names of the whole from a little book, and the first name i heard was that of my companion--lydia. as she did not answer, i said, "master, the woman that carries her baby on her back will be here in a minute." he paid no attention to what i said, but went on with his call. as the people answered to their names, they passed off to the cabins, except three, two women and a man; who, when their names were called, were ordered to go into the yard, in front of the overseer's house. my name was the last on the list, and when it was called i was ordered into the yard with the three others. just as we had entered, lydia came up out of breath, with the child in her arms; and following us into the yard, dropped on her knees before the overseer, and begged him to forgive her. "where have you been?" said he. poor lydia now burst into tears, and said, "i only stopped to talk awhile to this man," pointing to me; "but indeed, master overseer, i will never do so again." "lie down," was his reply. lydia immediately fell prostrate upon the ground; and in this position he compelled her to remove her old tow linen shift, the only garment she wore, so as to expose her hips, when he gave her ten lashes, with his long whip, every touch of which brought blood, and a shriek from the sufferer. he then ordered her to go and get her supper, with an injunction never to stay behind again.--the other three culprits were then put upon their trial. the first was a middle aged woman, who had, as her overseer said, left several hills of cotton in the course of the day, without cleaning and hilling them in a proper manner. she received twelve lashes. the other two were charged in general terms, with having been lazy, and of having neglected their work that day. each of these received twelve lashes. these people all received punishment in the same manner that it had been inflicted upon lydia, and when they were all gone the overseer turned to me and said--"boy, you are a stranger here yet, but i called you in to let you see how things are done here, and to give you a little advice. when i get a new negro under my command, i never whip at first; i always give him a few days to learn his duty, unless he is an outrageous villain, in which case i anoint him a little at the beginning. i call over the names of all the hands twice every week, on wednesday and saturday evenings, and settle with them according to their general conduct for the last three days. i call the names of my captains every morning, and it is their business to see that they have all their hands in their proper places. you ought not to have staid behind to-night with lyd; but as this is your first offence, i shall overlook it, and you may go and get your supper." i made a low bow, and thanked master overseer for his kindness to me, and left him. this night for supper we had corn bread and cucumbers; but we had neither salt, vinegar, nor pepper with the cucumbers. i had never before seen people flogged in the way our overseer flogged his people. this plan of making the person who is to be whipped lie down upon the ground, was new to me, though it is much practiced in the south; and i have since seen men, and women too, cut nearly in pieces by this mode of punishment. it has one advantage over tying people up by the hands, as it prevents all accidents from sprains in the thumbs or wrists. on monday morning i heard the sound of the horn at the usual hour, and repairing to the front of the overseer's house, found that he had already gone to the corn crib, for the purpose of distributing corn among the people, for the bread of the week; or rather for the week's subsistence, for this corn was all the provision that our master, or his overseer, usually made for us; i say usually, for whatever was given to us beyond the corn, which we received on sunday evening, was considered in the light of a bounty bestowed upon us, over and beyond what we were entitled to, or had a right to expect to receive. when i arrived at the crib, the door was unlocked and open, and the distribution had already commenced. each person was entitled to half a bushel of ears of corn, which was measured out by several of the men who were in the crib. every child above six months old drew this weekly allowance of corn; and in this way, women who had several small children, had more corn than they could consume, and sometimes bartered small quantities with the other people for such things as they needed, and were not able to procure. the people received their corn in baskets, old bags, or any thing with which they could most conveniently provide themselves. i had not been able, since i came here, to procure a basket, or any thing else to put my corn in, and desired the man with whom i lived to take my portion in his basket, with that of his family. this he readily agreed to do, and as soon as we had received our share we left the crib. the overseer attended in person to the measuring of this corn; and it is only justice to him to say that he was careful to see that justice was done us. the men who measured the corn always heaped the measure as long as an ear would lie on; and he never restrained their generosity to their fellow-slaves. in addition to this allowance of corn, we received a weekly allowance of salt, amounting in general to about half a gill to each person; but this article was not furnished regularly, and sometimes we received none for two or three weeks. the reader must not suppose, that, on this plantation, we had nothing to eat beyond the corn and salt. this was far from the case. i have already described the gardens, or patches, cultivated by the people, and the practice which they universally followed of working on sunday, for wages. in addition to all these, an industrious, managing slave would contrive to gather up a great deal to eat. i have observed, that the planters are careful of the health of their slaves, and in pursuance of this rule, they seldom expose them to rainy weather, especially in the sickly seasons of the year, if it can be avoided. in the spring and early parts of the summer, the rains are frequently so violent, and the ground becomes so wet, that it is injurious to the cotton to work it, at least whilst it rains. in the course of the year there are many of these rainy days, in which the people cannot go to work with safety; and it often happens that there is nothing for them to do in the house. at such time they make baskets, brooms, horse collars, and other things, which they are able to sell amongst the planters. the baskets are made of wooden splits, and the brooms of young white oak or hickory trees. the mats are sometimes made of splits, but more frequently of flags, as they are called--a kind of tall rush, which grows in swampy ground. the horse or mule collars are made of husks of corn, though sometimes of rushes, but the latter are not very durable. the money procured by these, and various other means, which i shall explain hereafter, is laid out by the slaves in purchasing such little articles of necessity or luxury, as it enables them to procure. a part is disbursed in payment for sugar, molasses, and sometimes a few pounds of coffee, for the use of the family; another part is laid out for clothes for winter; and no inconsiderable portion of his pittance is squandered away by the misguided slave for tobacco, and an occasional bottle of rum. tobacco is deemed so indispensable to comfort, nay to existence, that hunger and nakedness are patiently endured, to enable the slave to indulge in this highest of enjoyments. there being few towns in the cotton country, the shops, or stores, are frequently kept at some cross road, or other public place, in or adjacent to a rich district of plantations. to these shops the slaves resort, sometimes with, and at other times without, the consent of the overseer, for the purpose of laying out the little money they get. notwithstanding all the vigilance that is exercised by the planters, the slaves, who are no less vigilant than their masters, often leave the plantation after the overseer has retired to his bed, and go to the store. the store-keepers are always ready to accommodate the slaves, who are frequently better customers than many white people; because the former always pay cash, whilst the latter almost always require credit. in dealing with the slave, the shop-keeper knows he can demand whatever price he pleases for his goods, without danger of being charged with extortion; and he is ready to rise at any time of the night to oblige friends, who are of so much value to him. it is held highly disgraceful, on the part of store-keepers, to deal with the slaves for any thing but money, or the coarse fabrics that it is known are the usual products of the ingenuity and industry of the negroes; but, notwithstanding this, a considerable traffic is carried on between the shop-keepers and slaves, in which the latter make their payments by barter. the utmost caution and severity of masters and overseers, are sometimes insufficient to repress the cunning contrivances of the slaves. after we had received our corn, we deposited it in our several houses, and immediately followed the overseer to the same cotton field, in which we had been at work on sunday. our breakfast this morning was bread, to which was added a large basket of apples, from the orchard of our master. these apples served us for a relish with our bread, both for breakfast and dinner, and when i returned to the quarter in the evening, dinah (the name of the woman who was at the head of our family) produced at supper, a black jug, containing molasses, and gave me some of the molasses for my supper. i felt grateful to dinah for this act of kindness, as i well knew that her children regarded molasses as the greatest of human luxuries, and that she was depriving them of their highest enjoyment to afford me the means of making a gourd full of molasses and water. i therefore proposed to her and her husband, whose name was nero, that whilst i should remain a member of the family, i would contribute as much towards its support as nero himself; or, at least, that i would bring all my earnings into the family stock, provided i might be treated as one of its members, and be allowed a portion of the proceeds of their patch of garden. this offer was very readily accepted, and from this time we constituted one community, as long as i remained among the field hands on this plantation. after supper was over, we had to grind our corn; but as we had to wait for our turn at the mill, we did not get through this indispensable operation before one o'clock in the morning. we did not sit up all night to wait for our turn at the mill, but as our several turns were assigned us by lot, the person who had the first turn, when done with the mill, gave notice to the one entitled to the second, and so on. by this means nobody lost more than half an hour's sleep, and in the morning every one's grinding was done. we worked very hard this week. we were now laying by the cotton, as it is termed; that is, we were giving the last weeding and hilling to the crop, of which there was, on this plantation, about five hundred acres, which looked well, and promised to yield a fine picking. in addition to the cotton, there was on this plantation one hundred acres of corn, about ten acres of indigo, ten or twelve acres in sweet potatoes, and a rice swamp of about fifty acres. the potatoes and indigo had been laid by, (that is, the season of working in them was past,) before i came upon the estate; and we were driven hard by the overseer to get done with the cotton, to be ready to give the corn another harrowing and hoeing, before the season should be too far advanced. most of the corn in this part of the country, was already laid by, but the crop here had been planted late, and yet required to be worked. we were supplied with an abundance of bread, for a peck of corn is as much as a man can consume in a week, if he has other vegetables with it; but we were obliged to provide ourselves with the other articles, necessary for our subsistence. nero had corn in his patch, which was now hard enough to be fit for boiling, and my friend lydia had beans in her garden. we exchanged corn for beans, and had a good supply of both; but these delicacies we were obliged to reserve for supper. we took our breakfast in the field, from the cart, which seldom afforded us any thing better than bread, and some raw vegetables from the garden. nothing of moment occurred amongst us, in this first week of my residence here. on wednesday evening, called settlement-night, two men and a woman were whipped; but circumstances of this kind were so common, that i shall, in future, not mention them, unless something extraordinary attended them. i could make wooden bowls and ladles, and went to work with a man who was clearing some new land about two miles off--on the second sunday of my sojourn here--and applied the money i earned in purchasing the tools necessary to enable me to carry on my trade. i occupied all my leisure hours, for several months after this, in making wooden trays, and such other wooden vessels as were most in demand. these i traded off, in part, to a store-keeper, who lived about five miles from the plantation; and for some of my work i obtained money. before christmas, i had sold more than thirty dollars worth of my manufactures; but the merchant with whom i traded, charged such high prices for his goods, that i was poorly compensated for my sunday toils, and nightly labors; nevertheless, by these means, i was able to keep our family supplied with molasses, and some other luxuries, and at the approach of winter, i purchased three coarse blankets, to which nero added as many, and we had all these made up into blanket-coats for dinah, ourselves, and the children. about ten days after my arrival, we had a great feast at the quarter. one night, after we had returned from the field, the overseer sent for me by his little son, and when i came to his house, he asked me if i understood the trade of a butcher--i told him i was not a butcher by trade, but that i had often assisted my master and others to kill hogs and cattle, and that i could dress a hog, or a bullock, as well as most people. he then told me he was going to have a beef killed in the morning at the great house, and i must do it--that he would not spare any of the hands to go with me, but he would get one of the house-boys to help me. when the morning came, i went, according to orders, to butcher the beef, which i expected to find in some enclosure on the plantation; but the overseer told me i must take a boy named toney from the house, whose business it was to take care of the cattle, and go to the woods and look for the beef. toney and i set out sometime before sunrise, and went to a cow-pen, about a mile from the house, where he said he had seen the young cattle only a day or two before. at this cow-pen, we saw several cows waiting to be milked, i suppose, for their calves were in an adjoining field, and separated from them only by a fence. toney then said, we should have to go to the long savanna, where the dry cattle generally ranged, and thither we set off.--this long savanna lay at the distance of three miles from the cow-pen, and when we reached it, i found it to be literally what it was called, a long savanna. it was a piece of low, swampy ground, several miles in extent, with an open space in the interior part of it, about a mile long, and perhaps a quarter of a mile in width. it was manifest that this open space was covered with water through the greater part of the year, which prevented the growth of timber in this place; though at the time it was dry, except a pond near one end, which covered, perhaps, an acre of ground. in this natural meadow every kind of wild grass, common to such places in the southern country, abounded. here i first saw the scrub and saw grasses--the first of which is so hard and rough, that it is gathered to scrub coarse wooden furniture, or even pewter; and the last is provided with edges, somewhat like saw teeth, so hard and sharp that it would soon tear the skin off the legs of any one who should venture to walk through it with bare limbs. as we entered this savanna, we were enveloped in clouds of musquitos, and swarms of galinippers, that threatened to devour us. as we advanced through the grass, they rose up until the air was thick, and actually darkened with them. they rushed upon us with the fury of yellow-jackets, whose hive has been broken in upon, and covered every part of our persons. the clothes i had on, which were nothing but a shirt and trowsers of tow linen, afforded no protection even against the musquitos, which were much larger than those found along the chesapeake bay; and nothing short of a covering of leather could have defended me against the galinippers. i was pierced by a thousand stings at a time, and verily believe i could not have lived beyond a few hours in this place. toney ran into the pond, and rolled himself in the water to get rid of his persecutors; but he had not been long there before he came running out, as fast as he had gone in, hallooing and clamoring in a manner wholly unintelligible to me. he was terribly frightened; but i could not imagine what could be the cause of his alarm, until he reached the shore, when he turned round with his face to the water, and called out--"the biggest alligator in the whole world--did not you see him?" i told him i had not seen anything but himself in the water; but he insisted that he had been chased in the pond by an alligator, which had followed him until he was close in the shore. we waited a few minutes for the alligator to rise to the surface, but were soon compelled by the musquitos, to quit this place. toney said, we need not look for the cattle here; no cattle could live amongst these musquitos, and i thought he was right in his judgment. we then proceeded into the woods and thickets, and after wandering about for an hour or more, we found the cattle, and after much difficulty succeeded in driving a part of them back to the cow-pen, and enclosing them in it. i here selected the one that appeared to me to be the fattest, and securing it with ropes, we drove the animal to the place of slaughter. this beef was intended as a feast for the slaves, at the laying by of the corn and cotton; and when i had it hung up, and had taken the hide off, my young master, whom i had seen on the day of my arrival, came out to me, and ordered me to cut off the head, neck, legs, and tail, and lay them, together with the empty stomach and the harslet, in a basket. this basket was sent home, to the kitchen of the great house, by a woman and a boy, who attended for that purpose. i think there was at least one hundred and twenty or thirty pounds of this offal. the residue of the carcass i cut into four quarters, and we carried it to the cellar of the great house. here one of the hind quarters was salted in a tub, for the use of the family, and the other was sent, as a present, to a planter, who lived about four miles distant. the two fore-quarters were cut into very small pieces, and salted by themselves.--these, i was told, would be cooked for our dinner on the next day (sunday) when there was to be a general rejoicing among all the slaves of the plantation. after the beef was salted down, i received some bread and milk for my breakfast, and went to join the hands in the corn field, where they were now harrowing and hoeing the crop for the last time. the overseer had promised us that we should have holiday after the completion of this work, and by great exertion, we finished it about five o'clock in the afternoon. on our return to the quarter, the overseer, at roll-call--which he performed this day before night--told us that every family must send a bowl to the great house, to get our dinners of meat. this intelligence diffused as much joy amongst us, as if each one had drawn a prize in a lottery. at the assurance of a meat dinner, the old people smiled and showed their teeth, and returned thanks to master overseer; but many of the younger ones shouted, clapped their hands, leaped, and ran about with delight. each family, or mess, now sent its deputy, with a large wooden bowl in his hand, to receive the dinner at the great kitchen. i went on the part of our family, and found that the meat dinner of this day was made up of the basket of tripe, and other offal, that i had prepared in the morning. the whole had been boiled in four great iron kettles, until the flesh had disappeared from the bones, which were broken in small pieces--a flitch of bacon, some green corn, squashes, tomatos, and onions had been added, together with other condiments, and the whole converted into about a hundred gallons of soup, of which i received in my bowl, for the use of our family, more than two gallons. we had plenty of bread, and a supply of black-eyed peas, gathered from our garden, some of which dinah had boiled in our kettle, whilst i was gone for the soup, of which there was as much as we could consume, and i believe that every one in the quarter had enough. i doubt if there was in the world a happier assemblage than ours, on this saturday evening. we had finished one of the grand divisions of the labors of a cotton plantation, and were supplied with a dinner, which to the most of my fellow slaves appeared to be a great luxury, and most liberal donation on the part of our master, whom they regarded with sentiments of gratitude for this manifestation of his bounty. in addition to present gratification, they looked forward to the enjoyments of the next day, when they were to spend a whole sunday in rest and banqueting; for it was known that the two fore-quarters of the bullock were to be dressed for sunday's dinner, and i had told them that each of these quarters weighed at least one hundred pounds. our quarter knew but little quiet this night; singing, playing on the banjo, and dancing, occupied nearly the whole community, until the break of day. those who were too old to take any part in our active pleasures, beat time with their hands, or recited stories of former times. most of these stories referred to affairs that had been transacted in africa, and were sufficiently fraught with demons, miracles, and murders, to fix the attention of many hearers. to add to our happiness, the early peaches were now ripe, and the overseer permitted us to send, on sunday morning, to the orchard, and gather at least ten bushels of very fine fruit. in south carolina they have very good summer apples, but they fall from the trees, and rot immediately after they are ripe; indeed, very often they speck-rot on the trees, before they become ripe. this "speck-rot," as it is termed, appears to be a kind of epidemic disease amongst apples; for in some seasons whole orchards are subject to it, and the fruit is totally worthless, whilst in other years, the fruit in the same orchard continues sound and good, until it is ripe. the climate of carolina is, however, not favorable to the apple, and this fruit of so much value in the north, is in the cotton region only of a few weeks continuance--winter apples being unknown. every climate is congenial to the growth of some kind of fruit tree; and in carolina and georgia, the peach arrives at its utmost perfection; the fig also ripens well, and is a delicious fruit. none of our people went out to work for wages, to-day. some few devoted a part of the morning to such work as they deemed necessary in or about their patches, and some went to the woods, or the swamps, to collect sticks for brooms, and splits, or to gather flags for mats; but far the greater number remained at the quarter, occupied in some small work, or quietly awaiting the hour of dinner, which we had been informed, by one of the house-servants, would be at one o'clock. every family made ready some preparation of vegetables, from their own garden, to enlarge the quantity, if not to heighten the flavor of the dinner of this day. one o'clock at length arrived, but not before it had been long desired; and we proceeded with our bowls a second time, to the great kitchen. i acted, as i had done yesterday, the part of commissary for our family; but when we were already at the place where we were to receive our soup and meat into our bowls, (for it was understood that we were, with the soup, to have an allowance of both beef and bacon to-day,) we were told that puddings had been boiled for us, and that we must bring dishes to receive them in. this occasioned some delay, until we obtained vessels from the quarter. in addition to at least two gallons of soup, about a pound of beef, and a small piece of bacon, i obtained nearly two pounds of pudding, made of corn meal, mixed with lard, and boiled in large bags. this pudding, with the molasses that we had at home, formed a very palatable second course to our bread, soup, and vegetables. on sunday afternoon, we had a meeting, at which many of our party attended. a man named jacob, who had come from virginia, sang and prayed; but a great many of the people went out about the plantation, in search of fruits; for there were many peach and some fig trees, standing along the fences, on various parts of the estate. with us, this was a day of uninterrupted happiness. a man cannot well be miserable when he sees every one about him immersed in pleasure; and though our fare of to-day was not of a quality to yield me much gratification, yet such was the impulse given to my feelings, by the universal hilarity and contentment which prevailed amongst my fellows, that i forgot for the time all the subjects of grief that were stored in my memory, all the acts of wrong that had been perpetrated against me, and entered with the most sincere and earnest sentiments in the participation of the felicity of our community. chapter viii. at the time of which i now speak, the rice was ripe, and ready to be gathered. on monday morning, after our feast, the overseer took the whole of us to the rice field, to enter upon the harvest of this crop. the field lay in a piece of low ground, near the river, and in such a position that it could be flooded by the water of the stream, in wet seasons. the rice is planted in drills, or rows, and grows more like oats than any of the other grain known in the north. the water is sometimes let in to the rice fields, and drawn off again, several times, according to the state of the weather. watering and weeding the rice is considered one of the most unhealthy occupations on a southern plantation, as the people are obliged to live for several weeks in the mud and water, subject to all the unwholesome vapors that arise from stagnant pools, under the rays of a summer sun, as well as the chilly autumnal dews of night. at the time we came to cut this rice, the field was quite dry; and after we had reaped and bound it, we hauled it upon wagons, to a piece of hard ground, where we made a threshing floor, and threshed it. in some places, they tread out the rice, with mules or horses, as they tread wheat in maryland; but this renders the grain dusty, and is injurious to its sale. after getting in the rice, we were occupied for some time in clearing and ditching swampy land, preparatory to a more extended culture of rice the next year; and about the first of august, twenty or thirty of the people, principally women and children, were employed for two weeks in making cider, of apples which grew in an orchard of nearly two hundred trees, that stood on a part of the estate. after the cider was made, a barrel of it was one day brought to the field, and distributed amongst us; but this gratuity was not repeated. the cider that was made by the people was converted into brandy, at a still in the corner of the orchard. i often obtained cider to drink, at the still, which was sheltered from the weather by a shed, of boards and slabs. we were not permitted to go into the orchard at pleasure; but as long as the apples continued, we were allowed the privilege of sending five or six persons every evening, for the purpose of bringing apples to the quarter, for our common use; and by taking large baskets, and filling them well, we generally contrived to get as many as we could consume. when the peaches ripened, they were guarded with more rigor--peach brandy being an article which is nowhere more highly prized than in south carolina. there were on the plantation more than a thousand peach trees, growing on poor sandy fields, which were no longer worth the expense of cultivation. the best peaches grow upon the poorest sand-hills. we were allowed to take three bushels of peaches every day, for the use of the quarter; but we could, and did eat at least three times that quantity, for we stole at night that which was not given us by day. i confess that i took part in these thefts, and i do not feel that i committed any wrong, against either god or man, by my participation in the common danger that we ran, for we well knew the consequences that would have followed detection. after the feast at laying by the corn and cotton, we had no meat for several weeks; and it is my opinion that our master lost money by the economy he practised at this season of the year. i now entered upon a new scene of life. my true value had not yet been ascertained by my present owner; and whether i was to hold the rank of a first or second rate hand, could only be determined by an experience of my ability to pick cotton. i had ascertained that at the hoe, the spade, the sickle, or the flail, i was a full match for the best hands on the plantation; but soon discovered when we came to cotton picking i was not equal to a boy of fifteen. i worked hard the first day, but when evening came, and our cotton was weighed, i had only thirty-eight pounds, and was vexed to see that two young men, about my own age, had, one fifty-eight, and the other fifty-nine pounds. this was our first day's work, and the overseer had not yet settled the amount of a day's picking. it was necessary for him to ascertain, by the experience of a few days, how much the best hands could pick in a day, before he established the standard of the season. i hung down my head, and felt very much ashamed of myself when i found that my cotton was so far behind that of many, even of the women, who had heretofore regarded me as the strongest and most powerful man of the whole gang. i had exerted myself to-day to the utmost of my power; and as the picking of cotton seemed to be so very simple a business, i felt apprehensive that i should never be able to improve myself, so far as to become even a second rate hand. in this posture of affairs, i looked forward to something still more painful than the loss of character which i must sustain, both with my fellows and my master; for i knew that the lash of the overseer would soon become familiar with my back, if i did not perform as much work as any of the other young men. i expected indeed that it would go hard with me even now, and stood by with feelings of despondence and terror, whilst the other people were getting their cotton weighed. when it was all weighed, the overseer came to me where i stood, and told me to show him my hands. when i had done this, and he had looked at them, he observed--"you have a pair of good hands--you will make a good picker." this faint praise of the overseer revived my spirits greatly, and i went home with a lighter heart than i had expected to possess, before the termination of cotton-picking. when i came to get my cotton weighed, on the evening of the second day, i was rejoiced to find that i had forty-six pounds, although i had not worked harder than i did the first day. on the third evening i had fifty-two pounds; and before the end of the week, there were only three hands in the field--two men and a young woman--who could pick more cotton in a day than i could. on the monday morning of the second week, when we went to the field, the overseer told us that he fixed the day's work at fifty pounds; and that all those who picked more than that, would be paid a cent a pound for the overplus. twenty-five pounds was assigned as the daily task of the old people, as well as a number of boys and girls, whilst some of the women, who had children, were required to pick forty pounds, and several children had ten pounds each as their task. picking of cotton may almost be reckoned among the arts. a man who has arrived at the age of twenty-five before he sees a cotton field, will never, in the language of the overseer, become _a crack picker_. by great industry and vigilance, i was able, at the end of a month, to return every evening a few pounds over the daily rate, for which i received my pay; but the business of picking cotton was a fatiguing labor to me, and one to which i never became reconciled, for the reason that in every other kind of work i was called a first rate hand, whilst in cotton picking i was hardly regarded as a _prime hand_. chapter ix. it is impossible to reconcile the mind of the native slave to the idea of living in a state of perfect equality, and boundless affection, with the white people. heaven will be no heaven to him, if he is not to be avenged of his enemies. i know, from experience, that these are the fundamental rules of his religious creed; because i learned them in the religious meetings of the slaves themselves. a favorite and kind master or mistress, may now and then be admitted into heaven, but this rather as a matter of favor, to the intercession of some slave, than as matter of strict justice to the whites, who will, by no means, be of an equal rank with those who shall be raised from the depths of misery, in this world. the idea of a revolution in the conditions of the whites and the blacks, is the corner-stone of the religion of the latter; and indeed, it seems to me, at least, to be quite natural, if not in strict accordance with the precepts of the bible; for in that book i find it every where laid down, that those who have possessed an inordinate portion of the good things of this world, and have lived in ease and luxury, at the expense of their fellow men will surely have to render an account of their stewardship, and be punished, for having withheld from others the participation of those blessings, which they themselves enjoyed. there is no subject which presents to the mind of the male slave a greater contrast between his own condition and that of his master, than the relative station and appearance of his wife and his mistress. the one, poorly clad, poorly fed, and exposed to all the hardships of the cotton field; the other dressed in clothes of gay and various colors, ornamented with jewelry, and carefully protected from the rays of the sun, and the blasts of the wind. as i have before observed, the africans have feelings peculiar to themselves; but with an american slave, the possession of the spacious house, splendid furniture, and fine horses of his master, are but the secondary objects of his desires. to fill the measure of his happiness, and crown his highest ambition, his young and beautiful mistress must adorn his triumph, and enliven his hopes. i have been drawn into the above reflections, by the recollection of an event of a most melancholy character, which took place when i had been on this plantation about three months. amongst the house-servants of my master, was a young man, named hardy, of a dark yellow complexion--a quadroon, or mulatto--one-fourth of whose blood was transmitted from white parentage. hardy was employed in various kinds of work about the house, and was frequently sent on errands; sometimes on horseback. i had become acquainted with the boy, who had often come to see me at the quarter, and had sometimes staid all night with me, and often told me of the ladies and gentlemen who visited at the great house. amongst others, he frequently spoke of a young lady, who resided six or seven miles from the plantation, and often came to visit the daughters of the family, in company with her brother, a lad about twelve or fourteen years of age. he described the great beauty of this girl, whose mother was a widow, living on a small estate of her own. this lady did not keep a carriage; but her son and daughter, when they went abroad, traveled on horseback. one sunday, these two young people came to visit at the house of my master, and remained until after tea in the evening. as i did not go out to work that day, i went over to the great house, and from the house to a place in the woods, about a mile distant, where i had set snares for rabbits. this place was near the road, and i saw the young lady and her brother on their way home. it was after sundown when they passed me; but, as the evening was clear and pleasant, i supposed they would get home soon after dark, and that no accident would befall them. no more was thought of the matter this evening, and i heard nothing further of the young people until the next day, about noon, when a black boy came into the field, where we were picking cotton, and went to the overseer with a piece of paper. in a short time the overseer called me to come with him; and, leaving the field with the hands under the orders of simon, the first captain, we proceeded to the great house. as soon as we arrived at the mansion, my master, who had not spoken to me since the day we came from columbia, appeared at the front door, and ordered me to come in and follow him. he led me through a part of the house, and passed into the back yard, where i saw the young gentleman, his son, another gentleman whom i did not know, the family doctor, and the overseer, all standing together, and in earnest conversation. at my appearance, the overseer opened a cellar door, and ordered me to go in. i had no suspicion of evil, and obeyed the order immediately: as, indeed, i must have obeyed it, whatever might have been my suspicions. the overseer, and the gentlemen, all followed; and as soon as the cellar door was closed after us, by some one whom i could not see, i was ordered to pull off my clothes, and lie down on my back. i was then bound by the hands and feet, with strong cords, and extended at full length between two of the beams that supported the timbers of the building. the stranger, who i now observed was much agitated, spoke to the doctor, who then opened a small case of surgeons' instruments, which he took from his pocket, and told me he was going to skin me for what i had done last night: "but," said the doctor, "before you are skinned, you had better confess your crime." "what crime, master, shall i confess? i have committed no crime--what has been done, that you are going to murder me?" was my reply. my master then asked me why i had followed the young lady and her brother, who went from the house the evening before, and murdered her? astonished and terrified at the charge of being a murderer, i knew not what to say; and only continued the protestations of my innocence, and my entreaties not to be put to death. my young master was greatly enraged against me, and loaded me with maledictions and imprecations; and his father appeared to be as well satisfied as he was of my guilt, but was more calm, and less vociferous in his language. the doctor, during this time, was assorting his instruments, and looking at me--then stooping down, and feeling my pulse, he said, it would not do to skin a man so full of blood as i was. i should bleed so much that he could not see to do his work; and he should probably cut some large vein, or artery, by which i should bleed to death in a few minutes; it was necessary to bleed me in the arms for some time, so as to reduce the quantity of blood that was in me, before taking my skin off. he then bound a string round my right arm, and opened a vein near the middle of the arm, from which the blood ran in a large and smooth stream. i already began to feel faint, with the loss of blood, when the cellar door was thrown open, and several persons came down, with two lighted candles. i looked at these people attentively, as they came near and stood around me, and expressed their satisfaction at the just and dreadful punishment that i was about to undergo. their faces were all new and unknown to me, except that of a lad, whom i recognized as the same who had ridden by me, the preceding evening, in company with his sister. my old master spoke to this boy by name, and told him to come and see the murderer of his sister receive his due. the boy was a pretty youth, and wore his hair long, on the top of his head, in the fashion of that day. as he came round near my head, the light of a candle, which the doctor held in his hand, shone full in my face, and seeing that the eyes of the boy met mine, i determined to make one more effort to save my life, and said to him, in as calm a tone as i could, "young master, did i murder young mistress, your sister?" the youth immediately looked at my master, and said, "this is not the man--this man has short wool, and he had long wool, like your hardy." my life was saved. i was snatched from the most horrible of tortures, and from a slow and painful death. i was unbound, the bleeding of my arm stopped, and i was suffered to put on my clothes, and go up into the back yard of the house, where i was required to tell what i knew of the young lady and her brother on the previous day. i stated that i had seen them in the court yard of the house, at the time i was in the kitchen; that i had then gone to the woods, to set my snares, and had seen them pass along the road near me, and that this was all the knowledge i had of them. the boy was then required to examine me particularly, and ascertain whether i was, or was not, the man who had murdered his sister. he said he had not seen me at the place where i stated i was, and that he was confident i was not the person who had attacked him and his sister. that my hair, or wool, as he called it, was short; but that of the man who committed the crime was long, like hardy's, and that he was about the size of hardy--not so large as i was, but black like me, and not yellow like hardy. some one now asked where hardy was, and he was called for, but could not be found in the kitchen. persons were sent to the quarter, and other places, in quest of him, but returned without him. hardy was nowhere to be found. whilst this inquiry, or rather search, was going on, perceiving that my old master had ceased to look upon me as a murderer, i asked him to please to tell me what had happened, that had been so near proving fatal to me. i was now informed that the young lady, who had left the house on the previous evening in company with her brother, had been assailed on the road, about four miles off, by a black man, who had sprung from a thicket, and snatched her from her horse, as she was riding a short distance behind her brother. that the assassin, as soon as she was on the ground, struck her horse a blow with a long stick, which, together with the fright caused by the screams of its rider when torn from it, had caused it to fly off at full speed; and the horse of the brother also taking fright, followed in pursuit, notwithstanding all the exertions of the lad to stop it. all the account the brother could give of the matter was, that as his horse ran with him, he saw the negro drag his sister into the woods, and heard her screams for a short time. he was not able to stop his horse, until he reached home, when he gave information to his mother and her family. that people had been scouring the woods all night, and all the morning, without being able to find the young lady. when intelligence of this horrid crime was brought to the house of my master, hardy was the first to receive it; he having gone to take the horse of the person--a young gentleman of the neighborhood--who bore it, and who immediately returned to join his friends in their search for the dead body. as soon as the messenger was gone, hardy had come to my master, and told him that if he would prevent me from murdering him, he would disclose the perpetrator of the crime. he was then ordered to communicate all he knew on the subject; and declared that, having gone into the woods the day before, to hunt squirrels, he staid until it was late, and on his return home, hearing the shrieks of a woman, he had proceeded cautiously to the place; but before he could arrive at the spot, the cries had ceased; nevertheless, he had found me, after some search, with the body of the young lady, whom i had just killed, and that i was about to kill him too, with a hickory club, but he had saved his life by promising that he would never betray me. he was glad to leave me, and what i had done with the body he did not know. hardy was known in the neighborhood, and his character had been good. i was a stranger, and on inquiry, the black people in the kitchen supported hardy, by saying, that i had been seen going to the woods before night by the way of the road which the deceased had traveled. these circumstances were deemed conclusive against me by my master; and as the offence of which i was believed to be guilty was the highest that can be committed by a slave, according to the opinion of owners, it was determined to punish me in a way unknown to the law, and to inflict tortures upon me which the law would not tolerate. i was now released, and though very weak from the effects of bleeding, i was yet able to return to my own lodgings. i had no doubt that hardy was the perpetrator of the crime for which i was so near losing my life; and now recollected that when i was at the kitchen of the great house on sunday, he had disappeared, a short time before sundown, as i had looked for him when i was going to set my snares, but could not find him.--i went back to the house, and communicated this fact to my master. by this time, nearly twenty white men had collected about the dwelling, with the intention of going to search for the body of the lost lady; but it was now resolved to make the look-out double, and to give it the two-fold character of a pursuit of the living, as well as a seeking for the dead. i now returned to my lodgings in the quarter, and soon fell into a profound sleep, from which i did not awake until long after night, when all was quiet, and the stillness of undisturbed tranquillity prevailed over our little community. i felt restless, and sunk into a labyrinth of painful reflections, upon the horrid and perilous condition from which i had this day escaped, as it seemed, merely by chance; and as i slept until all sensations of drowsiness had left me, i rose from my bed, and walked out by the light of the moon, which was now shining. after being in the open air some time, i thought of the snares i had set on sunday evening, and determined to go and see if they had taken any game. i sometimes caught oppossums in my snares; and, as these animals were very fat at this season of the year, i felt a hope that i might be fortunate enough to get one to-night. i had been at my snares, and had returned, as far as the road, near where i had seen the young lady and her brother on horseback on sunday evening, and had seated myself under the boughs of a holly bush that grew there. it so happened that the place where i sat was in the shade of the bush, within a few feet of the road, but screened from it by some small boughs. in this position, which i had taken by accident, i could see a great distance along the road, towards the end of my master's lane. though covered as i was by the shade, and enveloped in boughs, it was difficult for a person in the road to see me. the occurrence that had befallen me, in the course of the previous day, had rendered me nervous, and easily susceptible of all the emotions of fear. i had not been long in this place, when i thought i heard sounds, as of a person walking on the ground at a quick pace; and looking along the road, towards the lane i saw the form of some one, passing through a space in the road, where the beams of the moon, piercing between two trees, reached the ground. when the moving body passed into the shade, i could not see it; but in a short time, it came so near that i could distinctly see that it was a man, approaching me by the road. when he came opposite me, and the moon shone full in his face, i knew him to be a young mulatto, named david, the coachman of a widow lady, who resided somewhere near charleston; but who had been at the house of my master, for two or three weeks, as a visiter, with her two daughters. this man passed on at a quick step, without observing me; and the suspicion instantly riveted itself in my mind, that he was the murderer, for whose crime i had already suffered so much, and that he was now on his way to the place where he had left the body, for the purpose of removing, or burying it in the earth. i was confident, that no honest purpose could bring him to this place, at this time of night, alone. i was about two miles from home, and an equal distance from the spot where the girl had been seized. of her subsequent murder, no one entertained a doubt; for it was not to be expected, that the fellow who had been guilty of one great crime, would flinch from the commission of another, of equal magnitude, and suffer his victim to exist, as a witness to identify his person. i felt animated, by a spirit of revenge, against the wretch, whoever he might be, who had brought me so near to torture and death; and feeble and weak as i was, resolved to pursue the foot-steps of this coachman, at a wary and cautious distance, and ascertain, if possible, the object of his visit to these woods, at this time of night. i waited until he had passed me more than a hundred yards, and until i could barely discover his form in the faint light of the deep shade of the trees, when stealing quietly into the road, i followed, with the caution of a spy traversing the camp of an enemy.--we were now in a dark pine forest, and on both sides of us were tracts of low, swampy ground, covered with thickets so dense as to be difficult of penetration even by a person on foot. the road led along a neck of elevated and dry ground, that divided these swamps for more than a mile, when they terminated, and were succeeded by ground that produced scarcely any other timber than a scrubby kind of oak, called black jack. it was amongst these black jacks, about half a mile beyond the swamps, that the lady had been carried off. i had often been here, for the purpose of snaring and trapping the small game of these woods, and was well acquainted with the topography of this forest, for some distance, on both sides of the road. it was necessary for me to use the utmost caution in the enterprise i was now engaged in. the road we were now traveling, was in no place very broad, and at some points barely wide enough to permit a carriage to pass between the trees, that lined its sides. in some places, it was so dark that i could not see the man, whose steps i followed; but was obliged to depend on the sound, produced by the tread of his feet, upon the ground. i deemed it necessary to keep as close as possible to the object of my pursuit, lest he should suddenly turn into the swamp, on one side or the other of the road, and elude my vigilance; for i had no doubt that he would quit the road, somewhere. as we approached the termination of the low grounds, my anxiety became intense, lest he should escape me; and at one time, i could not have been more than one hundred feet behind him; but he continued his course, until he reached the oak woods, and came to a place where an old cart-road led off to the left, along the side of the dark swamp, as it was termed in the neighborhood. this road, the mulatto took, without turning to look behind him. here my difficulties and perils increased, for i now felt myself in danger, as i had no longer any doubt, that i was on the trail of the murderer, and that, if discovered by him, my life would be the price of my curiosity. i was too weak to be able to struggle with him, for a minute; though if the blood which i had lost, through his wickedness, could have been restored to my veins, i could have seized him by the neck, and strangled him. the road i now had to travel, was so little frequented, that bushes of the ground oak and bilberry stood thick in almost every part of it. many of these bushes were full of dry leaves, which had been touched by the frost, but had not yet fallen. it was easy for me to follow him, for i pursued by the noise he made, amongst these bushes; but it was not so easy for me to avoid, on my part, the making of a rustling, and agitation of the bushes, which might expose me to detection. i was now obliged to depend wholly on my ears, to guide my pursuit, my eyes being occupied in watching my own way, to enable me to avoid every object, the touching of which was likely to produce sound. i followed this road more than a mile, led by the cracking of the sticks, or the shaking of the leaves. at length, i heard a loud, shrill whistle, and then a total silence succeeded. i now stood still, and in a few seconds, heard a noise in the swamp like the drumming of a pheasant. soon afterwards, i heard the breaking of sticks, and the sounds caused by the bending of branches of trees. in a little time, i was satisfied that something having life was moving in the swamp, and coming towards the place where the mulatto stood. this was at the end of the cart-road, and opposite some large pine trees, which grew in the swamp, at the distance of two or three hundred yards from its margin. the noise in the swamp still approached us; and at length a person came out of the thicket, and stood for a minute, or more, with the mulatto whom i had followed; and then they both entered the swamp, and took the course of the pine trees, as i could easily distinguish by my ears. when they were gone, i advanced to the end of the road, and sat down upon a log, to listen to their progress through the swamp. at length, it seemed that they had stopped, for i no longer heard any thing of them. anxious, however, to ascertain more of this mysterious business, i remained in silence on the log, determined to stay there until day, if i could not sooner learn something to satisfy me. why these men had gone into the swamp. all uncertainty upon this subject was, however, quickly removed from my mind; for within less than ten minutes, after i had ceased to hear them moving in the thicket, i was shocked by the faint, but shrill wailings of a female voice, accompanied with exclamations and supplications, in a tone so feeble that i could only distinguish a few solitary words. my mind comprehended the whole ground of this matter, at a glance. the lady supposed to have been murdered on sunday evening, was still living; and concealed by the two fiends who had passed out of my sight but a few minutes before. the one i knew, for i had examined his features, within a few feet of me, in the full light of the moon; and, that the other was hardy, i was as perfectly convinced, as if i had seen him also. i now rose to return home; the cries of the female in the swamp still continuing, but growing weaker, and dying away, as i receded from the place where i had sat. i was now in possession of the clearest evidence of the guilt of the two murderers; but i was afraid to communicate my knowledge to my master, lest he should suspect me of being an accomplice in this crime; and, if the lady could not be recovered alive, i had no doubt that hardy and his companion were sufficiently depraved to charge me as a participation with themselves, to be avenged upon me. i was confident that the mulatto, david, would return to the house before day, and be found in his bed in the morning; which he could easily do, for he slept in a part of the stable loft; under pretence of being near the horses of his mistress. i thought it possible, that hardy might also return home that night, and endeavor to account for his absence from home on monday afternoon, by some ingenious lie; in the invention of which i knew him to be very expert. in this case, i saw that i should have to run the risk of being overpowered by the number of my false accusers; and, as i stood alone, they might yet be able to sacrifice my life, and escape the punishment due to their crimes. after much consideration, i came to the resolution of returning, as quick as possible, to the quarter--calling up the overseer--and acquainting him with all that i had seen, heard, and done, in the course of this night. as i did not know what time of night it was when i left my bed, i was apprehensive that day might break before i could so far mature my plans as to have persons to waylay and arrest the mulatto on his return home; but when i roused the overseer, he told me it was only one o'clock, and seemed but little inclined to credit my story; but, after talking to me several minutes he told me he, now more than ever, suspected me to be the murderer, but he would go with me and see if i had told the truth. when we arrived at the great house, some members of the family had not yet gone to bed, having been kept up by the arrival of several gentlemen who had been searching the woods all day for the lost lady, and who had come here to seek lodgings when it was near midnight. my master was in bed, but was called up and listened attentively to my story--at the close of which he shook his head, and said with an oath, "you ----, i believe you to be the murderer; but we will go and see if all you say is a lie; if it is, the torments of ---- will be pleasure to what awaits you. you have escaped once, but you will not get off a second time," i now found that somebody must die; and if the guilty could not be found, the innocent would have to atone for them. the manner in which my master had delivered his words, assured me that the life of somebody must be taken. this new danger aroused my energies--and i told them that i was ready to go, and take the consequences. accordingly, the overseer, my young master, and three other gentlemen, immediately set out with me. it was agreed that we should all travel on foot, the overseer and i going a few paces in advance of the others. we proceeded silently, but rapidly, on our way; and as we passed it, i showed them the place where i sat under the holly bush, when the mulatto passed me. we neither saw nor heard any person on the road, and reached the log at the end of the cart-road, where i sat when i heard the cries in the swamp. all was now quiet, and our party lay down in the bushes on each side of a large gum tree, at the root of which the two murderers stood when they talked together, before they entered the thicket. we had not been here more than an hour, when i heard, as i lay with my head near the ground, a noise in the swamp, which i believed could only be made by those whom we sought. i, however, said nothing, and the gentlemen did not hear it. it was caused, as i afterwards ascertained, by dragging the fallen branch of a tree along the ground, for the purpose of lighting the fire. the night was very clear and serene--its silence only being broken at intervals by the loud hooting of the great long-eared owls, which are numerous in these swamps. i felt oppressed by the cold, and was glad to hear the crowing of a cock, at a great distance, announcing the approach of day. this was followed, after a short interval, by the cracking of sticks, and by other tokens, which i knew could proceed only from the motions of living bodies. i now whispered to the overseer, who lay near me, that it would soon appear whether i had spoken the truth or not. all were now satisfied that people were coming out of the swamp, for we heard them speak to each other. i desired the overseer to advise the other gentlemen to let the culprits come out of the swamp, and gain the high ground, before we attempted to seize them; but this counsel was, unfortunately, not taken; and when they came near to the gum tree, and it could be clearly seen that there were two men and no more, one of the gentlemen called out to them to stop, or they were dead. instead, however, of stopping, they both sprang forward, and took to flight. they did not turn into the swamp, for the gentleman who ordered them to stop, was in their rear--they having already passed him. at the moment they had started to run, each of the gentlemen fired two pistols at them. the pistols made the forest ring on all sides; and i supposed it was impossible for either of the fugitives to escape from so many balls. this was, however, not the case; for only one of them was injured. the mulatto, david, had one arm and one leg broken, and fell about ten yards from us; but hardy escaped, and when the smoke cleared away, he was nowhere to be seen. on being interrogated, david acknowledged that the lady was in the swamp, on a small island, and was yet alive--that he and hardy had gone from the house on sunday, for the purpose of waylaying and carrying her off, and intended to kill her little brother--this part of the duty being assigned to him, whilst hardy was to drag the sister from her horse. as they were both mulattos, they blacked their faces with charcoal, taken from a pine stump partially burned. the boy was riding before his sister, and when hardy seized her and dragged her from her horse, she screamed and frightened both the horses, which took off at full speed, by which means the boy escaped. finding that the boy was out of his reach, david remained in the bushes until hardy brought the sister to him. they immediately tied a handkerchief round her face, so as to cover her mouth and stifle her shrieks; and taking her in their arms, carried her back toward my master's house, for some distance, through the woods, until they came to the cart-road leading along the swamp. they then followed this road as far as it led, and, turning into the swamp, took their victim to a place they had prepared for her the sunday before, on a small knoll in the swamp, where the ground was dry. her hands were closely confined, and she was tied by the feet to a tree. he said he had stolen some bread, and taken it to her that night; but when they unbound her mouth to permit her to eat, she only wept and made a noise, begging them to release her, until they were obliged again to bandage her mouth. it was now determined by the gentlemen, that as the lady was still alive, we ought not to lose a moment in endeavoring to rescue her from her dreadful situation. i pointed out the large pine trees, in the direction of which i heard the cries of the young lady, and near which i believed she was--undertaking, at the same time, to act as pilot, in penetrating the thicket. three of the gentlemen and myself accordingly set out, leaving the other two with the wounded mulatto with directions to inform us when we deviated from a right line to the pine trees. this they were able to do by attending to the noise we made, with nearly as much accuracy as if they had seen us. the atmosphere had now become a little cloudy, and the morning was very dark, even in the oak woods; but when we had entered the thickets of the swamp, all objects became utterly invisible; and the obscurity was as total as if our eyes had been closed. our companions on the dry ground lost sight of the pine trees, and could not give us any directions in our journey. we became entangled in briers, and vines, and mats of bushes, from which the greatest exertions were necessary to disengage ourselves. it was so dark, that we could not see the fallen trees; and, missing these, fell into quagmires, and sloughs of mud and water, into which we sunk up to the arm-pits, and from which we were able to extricate ourselves, only by seizing upon the hanging branches of the surrounding trees. after struggling in this half-drowned condition, for at least a quarter of an hour, we reached a small dry spot, where the gentlemen again held a council, as to ulterior measures. they called to those left on the shore, to know if we were proceeding toward the pine trees; but received for answer that the pines were invisible, and they knew not whether we were right or wrong. in this state of uncertainty, it was thought most prudent to wait the coming of day, in our present resting-place. the air was frosty, and in our wet clothes, loaded as we were with mud, it may be imagined that our feelings were not pleasant; and when the day broke, it brought us but little relief, for we found, as soon as it was light enough to enable us to see around, that we were on one of those insulated dry spots, called "_tussocks_" by the people of the south. these _tussocks_ are formed by clusters of small trees, which, taking root in the mud, are, in process of time, surrounded by long grass, which, entwining its roots with those of the trees, overspread and cover the surface of the muddy foundation, by which the superstructure is supported. these _tussocks_ are often several yards in diameter. that upon which we now were, stood in the midst of a great miry pool, into which we were again obliged to launch ourselves, and struggle onward for a distance of ten yards, before we reached the line of some fallen and decaying trees. it was now broad daylight, and we saw the pine trees, at the distance of about a hundred yards from us; but even with the assistance of the light, we had great difficulty in reaching them,--to do which we were compelled to travel at least a quarter of a mile by the angles and curves of the fallen timber, upon which alone we could walk; this part of the swamp being a vast half-fluid bog. it was sunrise when we reached the pines, which we found standing upon a small islet of firm ground, containing, as well as i could judge, about half an acre, covered with a heavy growth of white maples, swamp oaks, a few large pines, and a vast mat of swamp laurel, called in the south _ivy_. i had no doubt that the object of our search was somewhere on this little island; but small as it was, it was no trifling affair to give every part of it a minute examination, for the stems and branches of the ivy were so minutely inter-woven with each other, and spread along the ground in so many curves and crossings, that it was impossible to proceed a single rod without lying down and creeping along the earth. the gentlemen agreed, that if any one discovered the young lady, he should immediately call to the others; and we all entered the thicket. i, however, turned along the edge of the island, with the intention of making its circuit, for the purpose of tracing, if possible, the footsteps of those who had passed between it and the main shore. i made my way more than half round the island, without much difficulty, and without discovering any signs of persons having been here before me; but in crossing the trunk of a large tree which had fallen, and the top of which extended far into the ivy, i perceived some stains of mud on the bark of the log. looking into the swamp, i saw that the root of this tree was connected with other fallen timber, extending beyond the reach of my vision, which was obstructed by the bramble of the swamp, and the numerous evergreens growing here. i now advanced along the trunk of the tree until i reached its topmost branches, and here discovered evident signs of a small trail, leading into the thicket of ivy. creeping along and following this trail by the small bearberry bushes that had been trampled down and had not again risen to an erect position, i was led almost across the island, and found that the small bushes were discomposed quite up to the edge of a vast heap of the branches of evergreen trees, produced by the falling of several large juniper cypress trees, which grew in the swamp in a cluster, and having been blown down, had fallen with their tops athwart each other, and upon the almost impervious mat of ivies, with which the surface of the island was coated over. i stood and looked at this mass of entangled green bush, but could not perceive the slightest marks of any entrance into its labyrinths; nor did it seem possible for any creature, larger than a squirrel, to penetrate it. it now for the first time struck me as a great oversight in the gentlemen, that they had not compelled the mulatto, david, to describe the place where they had concealed the lady; and, as the forest was so dense that no communication could be had with the shore, either by word or signs, we could not now procure any information on this subject. i therefore called to the gentlemen, who were on the island with me, and desired them to come to me without delay. small as this island was, it was after the lapse of many minutes that the overseer and the other gentlemen arrived where i stood; and when they came, they would have been the subjects of mirthful emotions, had not the tragic circumstances in which i was placed, banished from my heart every feeling but that of the most profound melancholy. when the gentlemen had assembled, i informed them of signs of footsteps that i had traced from the other side of the island; and told them that i believed the young lady lay somewhere under the heap of brushwood before us. this opinion obtained but little credit, because there was no opening in the brush by which any one could enter it; but on going a few paces round the heap, i perceived a small, snaggy pole resting on the brush, and nearly concealed by it, with the lower end stuck in the ground. the branches had been cut from this pole at the distance of three or four inches from the main stem, which made it a tolerable substitute for a ladder. i immediately ascended the pole, which led me to the top of the pile, and here i discovered an opening in the brush, between the forked top of one of the cypress trees, through which a man might easily pass. applying my head to this aperture, i distinctly heard a quick and laborious breathing, like that of a person in extreme illness; and again called the gentlemen to follow me. when they came up the ladder, the breathing was audible to all; and one of the gentlemen, whom i now perceived to be the stranger, who was with us in my master's cellar, when i was bled, slid down into the dark and narrow passage, without uttering a word. i confess that some feelings of trepidation passed through my nerves when i stood alone; but now that a leader had preceded me, i followed, and glided through the smooth and elastic cypress tops, to the bottom of this vast labyrinth of green boughs. when i reached the ground, i found myself in contact with the gentleman who was in advance of me, and near one end of a large concave, oblong, open space, formed by the branches of the trees, having been supported and kept above the ground, partly by a cluster of very large and strong ivies, that grew here, and partly by a young gum tree, which had been bent into the form of an arch by the falling timber. though we could not see into this leafy cavern from above, yet when we had been in it a few moments, we had light enough to see the objects around us with tolerable clearness; but that which surprised us both greatly was, that the place was totally silent, and we could not perceive the appearance of any living thing, except ourselves. after we had been here some minutes, our vision became still more distinct; and i saw, at the other end of the open space, ashes of wood, and some extinguished brands, but there was no smoke. going to these ashes, and stirring them with a stick, i found coals of fire carefully covered over, in a hole six or eight inches deep. when he saw the fire, the gentleman spoke to me, and expressed his astonishment that we heard the breathing no longer; but he had scarcely uttered these words, when a faint groan, as of a woman in great pain, was heard to issue apparently from the ground; but a motion of branches on our right assured me that the sufferer was concealed there. the gentleman sprung to the spot, pushed aside the pendant boughs, stooped low beneath the bent ivies, and came out, bearing in his hands a delicate female figure. as he turned round, and exposed her half-closed eye and white forehead to the light, he exclaimed, "eternal god! maria, is it you?" he then pressed her to his bosom, and sunk upon the ground, still holding her closely in his embrace. the lady lay motionless in his arms, and i thought she was dead. her hair hung matted and dishevelled from her head; a handkerchief, once white, but now soiled with dust, and stained with blood, was bound firmly round her head, covering her mouth and chin, and was fastened at the back of the neck, by a double knot, and secured by a ligature of cypress bark. i knew not whom most to pity--the lady, who now lay insensible in the arms that still clasped her tenderly; or the unhappy gentleman, who having cut the cords from her limbs, and the handkerchief from her face, now sat and silently gazed upon her death-like countenance. he uttered not a sigh, and moved not a joint, but his breast heaved with agony; the sinews and muscles of his neck rose and fell, like those of a man in convulsions; all the lineaments of his face were, alternately, contracted and expanded, as if his last moments were at hand; whilst great drops of sweat rolled down his forehead, as though he struggled against an enemy whose strength was more than human. oppressed by the sight of so much wretchedness, i turned from its contemplation, and called aloud to the gentlemen without (who had all this time been waiting to hear from us) to come up the ladder to the top of the pile of boughs. the overseer was quickly at the top of the opening, by which i had descended; and i now informed him that we had found the lady. he ordered me to hand her up--and i desired the gentleman who was with me to permit me to do so, but this he refused--and mounting the boughs of the fallen trees, and supporting himself by the strong branches of the ivies, he quickly reached the place where the overseer stood. he even here refused to part from his charge, but bore her down the ladder alone. he was, however, obliged to accept aid, in conveying her through the swamp to the place where we had left the two gentlemen with the wounded mulatto, whose sufferings, demon as he was, were sufficient to move the hardest heart. his right arm and left leg were broken, and he had lost much blood before we returned from the island; and as he could not walk, it was necessary to carry him home. we had not brought any horses, and until the lady was recovered, no one seemed to think any more about the mulatto after he was shot down. it was proposed to send for a horse to take david home; but it was finally agreed that we should leave him in the woods, where he was, until a man could be sent for him with a cart. at the time we left him, his groans and lamentations seemed to excite no sympathy in the breast of any. more cruel sufferings yet awaited him. the lady was carried home in the arms of the gentlemen; and she did not speak, until after she was bathed and put to bed in my master's house, as i afterwards heard. i know she did not speak on the way. she died on the fourth day after her rescue, and before her death related the circumstances of her misfortune, as i was told by a colored woman, who attended her in her illness, in the following manner: as she was riding in the dusk of the evening, at a rapid trot, a few yards behind her brother, a black man sprang from behind a tree standing close by the side of the road; seized her by her riding dress, and dragged her to the ground, but failed to catch the bridle of the horse, which sprang off at full speed.--another negro immediately came to the aid of the first, and said, "i could not catch him--we must make haste." they carried her as fast as they could go to the place where we found her, when they bound her hands, feet and mouth, and left her until the next night; and had left her the second morning, only a few minutes, when she heard the report of guns. soon after this, by great efforts, she extricated one of her feet from the bark with which she was bound; but finding herself too weak to stand, she crawled, as far as she could, under the boughs of the trees, hoping that when her assassins returned again they would not be able to find her, and that she might there die alone. exhausted by the efforts she had made to remove herself, she fell into the stupor of sleep, from which she was aroused by the noise we made when we descended into the cavern. she then, supposing us to be her destroyers returned again, lay still, and breathed as softly as possible, to prevent us from hearing her; but when she heard the voice of the gentleman who was with me, the tones of which were familiar to her, she groaned and moved her feet, to let us know where she was. this exertion, and the idea of her horrid condition, overcame the strength of her nerves; and when her deliverer raised her from the ground she had swooned, and was unconscious of all things. we had no sooner arrived at the house, than inquiry was made for hardy; but it was ascertained in the kitchen, that he had not been seen since the previous evening, at night-fall, when he had left the kitchen for the purpose of going to sleep at the stable with david, as he had told one of the black women; and preparation was immediately made to go in pursuit of him. for this purpose all the gentlemen present equipped themselves with pistols, fowling pieces, and horns--such as are used by fox hunters. messengers were despatched round the country, to give notice to all the planters, within the distance of many miles, of the crime that had been committed, and of the escape of one of its perpetrators, with a request to them to come without delay, and join in the pursuit, intended to be given. those who had dogs, trained to chase thieves, were desired to bring them; and a gentleman who lived twelve miles off, and who owned a blood-hound, was sent for, and requested to come with his dog, in all haste. in consequence, i suppose, of the information i had given, i was permitted to be present at these deliberations, and though my advice was not asked, i was often interrogated, concerning my knowledge of the affair. some proposed to go at once, with dogs and horses, into the woods, and traverse the swamp and thickets, for the purpose of rousing hardy from the place of concealment he might have chosen; but the opinion of the overseer prevailed, who thought, that from the intimate knowledge possessed by him, of all the swamps and coverts in the neighborhood, there would be little hope of discovering him in this manner. the overseer advised them to wait the coming of the gentleman with his blood-hound, before they entered the woods; for the reason, that if the blood hound could be made to take the trail, he would certainly find his game, before he quit it, if not thrown off the scent by the men, horses, and dogs crossing his course; but if the blood hound could not take the scent, they might then adopt the proposed plan of pursuit, with as much success as at present. this counsel being adopted, the horses were ordered into the stable; and the gentlemen entered the house to take their breakfast, and wait the arrival of the blood hound. nothing was said of the mulatto, david, who seemed to be forgotten--not a word being spoken by any one of bringing him from the woods. i knew that he was suffering the most agonizing pains, and great as were his crimes, his groans and cries of anguish still seemed to echo in my ears; but i was afraid to make any application in his behalf, lest, even yet, i might be suspected of some participation in his offences; for i knew that the most horrid punishments were often inflicted upon slaves merely on suspicion. as the morning advanced, the number of men and horses in front of my master's mansion increased; and before ten o'clock i think there were, at least, fifty of each--the horses standing hitched and the men conversing in groups without, or assembled together within the house. at length the owner of the blood hound came, bringing with him his dog, in a chaise, drawn by one horse. the harness was removed from the horse, its place supplied by a saddle and bridle, and the whole party set off for the woods. as they rode away, my master, who was one of the company, told me to follow them; but we had proceeded only a little distance, when the gentlemen stopped, and my master, after speaking with the owner of the dog, told the overseer to go back to the house, and get some piece of the clothes of hardy, that had been worn by him lately. the overseer returned, and we all proceeded forward to the place where david lay. we found him where we had left him, greatly weakened by the loss of blood, and complaining that the cold air caused his wounds to smart intolerably. when i came near him, he looked at me and told me i had betrayed him. none of the gentlemen seemed at all moved by his sufferings, and when any of them spoke to him it was with derision, and every epithet of scorn and contumely. as it was apparent that he could not escape, no one proposed to remove him to a place of greater safety; but several of the horsemen, as they passed, lashed him with the thongs of their whips; but i do not believe he felt these blows--the pain he endured from his wounds being so great as to drown the sensation of such minor afflictions. the day had already become warm, although the night had been cold; the sun shone with great clearness, and many carrion crows, attracted by the scent of blood, were perched upon the trees near where we now were. when the overseer came up with us, he brought an old blanket, in which hardy had slept for some time, and handed it to the owner of the dog; who, having first caused the hound to smell of the blanket, untied the cord in which he had been led, and turned him into the woods. the dog went from us fifty or sixty yards, in a right line, then made a circle around us, again commenced his circular movement, and pursued it nearly half round. then he dropped his nose to the ground, snuffed the tainted surface, and moved off through the wood slowly, almost touching the earth with his nose. the owner of the dog and twelve or fifteen others followed him, whilst the residue of the party dispersed themselves along the edge of the swamp, and the overseer ordered me to stay and watch the horses of those who dismounted, going himself on foot in the pursuit. when the gentlemen were all gone out of sight, i went to david, who lay all this time within my view, for the purpose of asking him if i could render him any assistance. he begged me to bring him some water, as he was dying of thirst, no less than with the pain of his wounds. one of the horsemen had left a large tin horn hanging on his saddle; this i took, and stopping the small end closely with leaves, filled it with water from the swamp, and gave it to the wounded man, who drank it, and then turning his head towards me, said:--"hardy and i had laid a plan to have this thing brought upon you, and to have you hung for it--but you have escaped." he then asked me if they intended to leave him to die in the woods, or to take him home and hang him. i told him i had heard them talk of taking him home in a cart, but what was to be done with him i did not know. i felt a horror of the crimes committed by this man; was pained by the sight of his sufferings, and being unable to relieve the one, or to forgive the other, went to a place where i could neither see nor hear him, and sat down to await the return of those who had gone in the pursuit of hardy. in the circumstances which surrounded me, it cannot be supposed that my feelings were pleasant, or that time moved very fleetly; but painful as my situation was, i was obliged to bear it for many hours. from the time the gentlemen left me, i neither saw nor heard them, until late in the afternoon, when five or six of them returned, having lost their companions in the woods. toward sundown, i heard a great noise of horns blown, and of men shouting at a distance in the forest; and soon after, my master, the owner of the blood hound, and many others returned, bringing with them hardy, whom the hound had followed ten or twelve miles through the swamps and thickets; had at last caught him, and would soon have killed him, had he not been compelled to relinquish his prey. when the party had all returned, a kind of court was held in the woods, where we then were, for the purpose of determining what punishment should be inflicted upon hardy and david. all agreed at once, that an example of the most terrific character ought to be made of such atrocious villains, and that it would defeat the ends of justice to deliver these fellows up to the civil authority, to be hanged like common murderers. the next measure was to settle upon the kind of punishment to be inflicted upon them, and the manner of executing the sentence. hardy was, all this time, sitting on the ground covered with blood, and yet bleeding profusely, in hearing of his inexorable judges. the dog had mangled both his arms and hands in a shocking manner; torn a large piece of flesh entirely away from one side of his breast, and sunk his fangs deep in the side of his neck. no other human creature that i have ever seen presented a more deplorable spectacle of mingled crime and cruelty. it was now growing late, and the fate of these miserable men was to be decided before the company separated to go to their several homes. one proposed to burn them, another to flay them alive, and a third to starve them to death, and many other modes of slowly and tormentingly extinguishing life were named; but that which was finally adopted was, of all others, the most horrible. the wretches were unanimously sentenced to be stripped naked, and bound down securely upon their backs, on the naked earth, in sight of each other; to have their mouths closely covered with bandages, to prevent them from making a noise to frighten away the birds, and in this manner to be left to be devoured alive by the carrion crows and buzzards, which swarm in every part of south carolina. the sentence was instantly carried into effect, so far as its execution depended on us. hardy and his companion were divested of their clothes, stretched upon their backs on the ground; their mouths bandaged with handkerchiefs--their limbs extended--and these, together with their necks, being crossed by numerous poles, were kept close to the earth by forked sticks driven into the ground, so as to prevent the possibility of moving any part of their persons; and in this manner these wicked men were left to be torn in pieces by birds of prey. the buzzards and carrion crows, always attack dead bodies by pulling out and consuming the eyes first. they then tear open the bowels, and feed upon the intestines. we returned to my master's plantation, and i did not see this place again until the next sunday, when several of my fellow slaves went with me to see the remains of the dead, but we found only their bones. great flocks of buzzards and carrion crows were assembled in the trees, giving a dismal aspect to the woods; and i hastened to abandon a place fraught with so many afflicting recollections. the lady, who had been the innocent sacrifice of the brutality of the men, whose bones i had seen bleaching in the sun, had died on saturday evening, and her corpse was buried on monday, in a grave-yard on my master's plantation. i have never seen a large cotton plantation, in carolina, without its burying ground. this burying ground is not only the place of sepulture of the family, who are the proprietors of the estate, but also of many other persons who have lived in the neighborhood. half an acre, or an acre of ground, is appropriated as a grave-yard, on one side of which the proprietors of the estate, from age to age, are buried; whilst the other parts of the ground are open to strangers, poor people of their vicinity, and, in general, to all who choose to inter their dead within its boundaries. this custom prevails as far north as maryland; and it seems to me to be much more consonant to the feelings of solitude and tender recollections, which we always associate with the memory of departed friends, than the practice of promiscuous interment in a church-yard, where all idea of seclusion is banished, by the last home of the dead being thrown open to the rude intrusions of strangers; where the sanctity of the sepulchre is treated as a common, and where the grave itself is, in a few years, torn up, or covered over, to form a temporary resting-place for some new tenant. the family of the deceased lady, though not very wealthy, was amongst the most ancient and respectable in this part of the country; and, on sunday, whilst the dead body lay in my master's house, there was a continual influx and efflux of visiters, in carriages, on horse-back, and on foot. the house was open to all who chose to come; and the best wines, cakes, sweetmeats and fruits, were handed about to the company by the servants; though i observed that none remained for dinner, except the relations of the deceased, those of my master's family, and the young gentleman who was with me on the island. the visiters remained but a short time when they came, and were nearly all in mourning. this was the first time that i had seen a large number of the fashionable people of carolina assembled together, and their appearance impressed me with an opinion favorable to their character. i had never seen an equal number of people anywhere, whose deportment was more orderly and decorous, nor whose feelings seemed to be more in accordance with the solemnity of the event, which had brought them together. i had been ordered by the overseer to remain at the great house until the afternoon, for the purpose, as i afterwards learned, of being seen by those who came to see the corpse; and many of the ladies and gentlemen inquired for me, and when i was pointed out to them, commended my conduct and fidelity, in discovering the authors of the murder--condoled with me for having suffered innocently, and several gave me money. one old lady, who came in a pretty carriage, drawn by two black horses, gave me a dollar. on monday the funeral took place, and several hundred persons followed the corpse to the grave, over which a minister delivered a short sermon. the young gentleman who was with me when we found the deceased on the island, walked with her mother to the grave-yard, and the little brother followed, with a younger sister. after the interment, wines and refreshments were handed round to the whole assembly, and at least a hundred persons remained for dinner with my master's family. at four o'clock in the afternoon the carriages and horses were ordered to the door of the court-yard of the house, and the company retired. at sundown, the plantation was as quiet as if its peace had never been disturbed. chapter x. i have before observed that the negroes of the cotton plantations are exceedingly superstitious; and they are indeed prone, beyond all other people that i have ever known, to believe in ghosts, and the existence of an infinite number of supernatural agents. no story of a miraculous character can be too absurd to obtain credit with them; and a narrative is not the less eagerly listened to, nor the more cautiously received, because it is impossible in its circumstances. within a few weeks after the deaths of the two malefactors, to whose horrible crimes were awarded equally horrible punishments, the forest that had been the scene of these bloody deeds was reported and believed to be visited at night by beings of unearthly make, whose groans and death-struggles were heard in the darkest recesses of the woods, amidst the flapping of the wings of vultures, the fluttering of carrion crows, and the dismal croaking of ravens. in the midst of this nocturnal din, the noise caused by the tearing of the flesh from the bones was heard, and the panting breath of the agonized sufferer, quivering under the beaks of his tormentors, as they consumed his vitals, floated audibly upon the evening breeze. the murdered lady was also seen walking by moonlight, near the spot where she had been dragged from her horse, wrapped in a blood-stained mantle, overhung with gory and dishevelled locks. the little island in the swamp was said to present spectacles too horrid for human eyes to look upon, and sounds were heard to issue from it which no human ear could bear. terrific and ghastly fires were seen to burst up, at midnight, amongst the evergreens that clad this lonely spot, emitting scents too suffocating and sickly to be endured; whilst demoniac yells, shouts of despair and groans of agony, mingled their echos in the solitude of the woods. whilst i remained in this neighborhood, no colored person ever traveled this road alone after night-fall; and many white men would have ridden ten miles round the country to avoid the passage of the ridge road, after dark. generations must pass away before the tradition of this place will be forgotten; and many a year will open and close, before the last face will be pale, or the last heart beat, as the twilight traveler skirts the borders of the murderer's swamp. we had allowances of meat distributed to all the people twice this fall--once when we had finished the saving the fodder, and again soon after the murder of the young lady. the first time we had beef, such as i had driven from the woods when i went to the alligator pond; but now we had two hogs given to us, which weighed, one a hundred and thirty, and the other a hundred and fifty-six pounds. this was very good pork, and i received a pound and a quarter as my share of it. this was the first pork that i had tasted in carolina, and it afforded a real feast. we had, in our family, full seven pounds of good fat meat; and as we now had plenty of sweet potatoes, both in our gardens and in our weekly allowance, we had on the sunday following the funeral, as good a dinner of stewed pork and potatoes as could have been found in all carolina. we did not eat all our meat on sunday, but kept part of it until tuesday, when we warmed it in a pot, with an addition of parsley and other herbs, and had another very comfortable meal. i had, by this time, become in some measure acquainted with the country, and began to lay and execute plans to procure supplies of such things as were not allowed me by my master. i understood various methods of entrapping rackoons, and other wild animals that abounded in the large swamps of this country; and besides the skins, which were worth something for their furs, i generally procured as many rackoons, opossums, and rabbits, as afforded us two or three meals in a week. the woman with whom i lived, understood the way of dressing an opossum, and i was careful to provide one for our sunday dinner every week, so long as these animals continued fat and in good condition. all the people on the plantation did not live as well as our family did, for many of the men did not understand trapping game, and others were too indolent to go far enough from home to find good places for setting their traps. my principal trapping ground was three miles from home, and i went three times a week, always after night, to bring home my game, and keep my traps in good order. many of the families in the quarter caught no game, and had no meat, except that which we received from the overseer, which averaged about six or seven meals in the year. lydia, the woman whom i have mentioned heretofore, was one of the women whose husbands procured little or nothing for the sustenance of their families, and i often gave her a quarter of a rackoon or a small opossum, for which she appeared very thankful. her health was not good--she had a bad cough, and often told me she was feverish and restless at night. it appeared clear to me that this woman's constitution was broken by hardships and sufferings, and that she could not live long in her present mode of existence. her husband, a native of a country far in the interior of africa, said he had been a priest in his own nation, and had never been taught to do any kind of labor, being supported by the contributions of the public; and he now maintained, as far as he could, the same kind of lazy dignity, that he had enjoyed at home. he was compelled by the overseer to work, with the other hands, in the field, but as soon as he had come into his cabin, he took his seat, and refused to give his wife the least assistance in doing any thing. she was consequently obliged to do the little work that it was necessary to perform in the cabin; and also to bear all the labor of weeding and cultivating the family patch or garden. the husband was a morose, sullen man, and said he formerly had ten wives in his own country, who all had to work for, and wait upon him; and he thought himself badly off here, in having but one woman to do any thing for him. this man was very irritable, and often beat and otherwise maltreated his wife, on the slightest provocation, and the overseer refused to protect her, on the ground, that he never interfered in the family quarrels of the black people. i pitied this woman greatly, but as it was not in my power to remove her from the presence and authority of her husband, i thought it prudent not to say nor do any thing to provoke him further against her. as the winter approached, and the autumnal rains set in, she was frequently exposed in the field, and was wet for several hours together; this, joined to the want of warm and comfortable woollen clothes, caused her to contract colds, and hoarseness, which increased the severity of her cough. a few days before christmas, her child died, after an illness of only three days. i assisted her and her husband to inter the infant--which was a little boy--and its father buried with it a small bow and several arrows; a little bag of parched meal; a miniature canoe, about a foot long, and a little paddle, (with which he said it would cross the ocean to his own country) a small stick, with an iron nail, sharpened, and fastened into one end of it; and a piece of white muslin, with several curious and strange figures painted on it in blue and red, by which, he said, his relations and countrymen would know the infant to be his son, and would receive it accordingly, on its arrival amongst them. cruel as this man was to his wife, i could not but respect the sentiments which inspired his affection for his child; though it was the affection of a barbarian. he cut a lock of hair from his head, threw it upon the dead infant, and closed the grave with his own hands. he then told us the god of his country was looking at him, and was pleased with what he had done. thus ended the funeral service. as we returned home, lydia told me she was rejoiced that her child was dead, and out of a world in which slavery and wretchedness must have been its only portion. i am now, said she, ready to follow my child, and the sooner i go the better for me. she went with us to the field until the month of january, when, as we were returning from our work, one stormy and wet evening, she told me she should never pick any more cotton--that her strength was gone, and she could work no more. when we assembled, at the blowing of the horn, on the following morning, lydia did not appear. the overseer, who had always appeared to dislike this woman, when he missed her, swore very angrily, and said he supposed she was pretending to be sick, but if she was he would soon cure her. he then stepped into his house and took some copperas from a little bag, and mixed it with water. i followed him to lydia's cabin, where he compelled her to drink this solution of copperas. it caused her to vomit violently, and made her exceedingly sick. i think to this day, that this act of the overseer was the most inhuman of all those that i have seen perpetrated upon defenceless slaves. lydia was removed that same day to the sick room, in a state of extreme debility and exhaustion. when she left this room again she was a corpse. her disease was a consumption of the lungs, which terminated her life early in march. i assisted in carrying her to the grave, which i closed upon her, and covered with green turf. she sleeps by the side of her infant, in a corner of the negro grave-yard of this plantation. death was to her a welcome messenger, who came to remove her from toil that she could not support, and from misery that she could not sustain. christmas approached, and we all expected two or three holidays--but we were disappointed, as only one was all that was allotted to us. i went to the field and picked cotton all day, for which i was paid by the overseer, and at night i had a good dinner of stewed pork and sweet potatoes. such were the beginning and end of my first christmas on a cotton plantation. we went to work as usual the next morning, and continued our labor through the week, as if christmas had been stricken from the calendar. i had already saved and laid by a little more than ten dollars in money, but part of it had been given to me at the funeral. i was now much in want of clothes, none having been given me since i came here. i had, at the commencement of the cold weather, cut up my old blanket, and, with the aid of lydia, who was a very good seamstress, converted it into a pair of trowsers, and a long roundabout jacket; but this deprived me of my bed, which was imperfectly supplied by mats, which i made of rushes. the mats were very comfortable things to lie upon, but they were by no means equal to blankets for covering. a report had been current among us for some time, that there would be a distribution of clothes to the people at new-year's day; but how much, or what kind of clothes we were to get no one pretended to know except that we were to get shoes, in conformity to a long-established rule of this plantation. from christmas to new-year appeared a long week to me, and i have no doubt that it appeared yet longer to some of my fellow slaves, most of whom were entirely barefoot. i had made moccasins for myself, of the skins of squirrels that i had caught in my traps, and by this means protected my feet from the frost, which was sometimes very heavy and sharp in the morning. on the first day of january, when we met at the blowing of the morning horn, the overseer told us we must all proceed to the great house, where we were to receive our winter clothes; and surely, no order was ever more willingly obeyed. when we arrived at the house our master was up, and we were all called into the great court yard in front of the dwelling. the overseer now told us that shoes would be given to all those who were able to go to the field to pick cotton. this deprived of shoes the children, and several old persons, whose eye-sight was not sufficiently clear to enable them to pick cotton. a new blanket was then given to every one above seven years of age--children under seven received no blanket, being left to be provided for by their parents. children of this age and under, go entirely naked, in the day-time, and sleep with their mothers at night, or are wrapped up together in such bedding as the mother may possess. it may well be supposed, that in our society, although we were all slaves, and all nominally in a condition of the most perfect equality, yet there was in fact a very great difference in the manner of living, in the several families. indeed, i doubt if there is as great a diversity in the modes of life, in the several families of any white village in new york or pennsylvania, containing a population of three hundred persons, as there was in the several households of our quarter. this may be illustrated by the following circumstance: before i came to reside in the family with whom i lived at this time, they seldom tasted animal food, or even fish, except on meat-days, as they were called; that is, when meat was given to the people by the overseer, under the orders of our master. the head of the family was a very quiet, worthy man; but slothful and inactive in his habits. when he had come from the field at night, he seldom thought of leaving the cabin again before morning. he would, and did, make baskets and mats, and earned some money by these means; he also did his regular day's work on sunday; but all his acquirements were not sufficient to enable him to provide any kind of meat for his family. all that his wife and children could do, was to provide him with work at his baskets and mats; and they lived even then better than some of their neighbors. after i came among them and had acquired some knowledge of the surrounding country, i made as many baskets and mats as he did, and took time to go twice a week to look at all my traps. as the winter passed away and spring approached, the proceeds of my hunting began to diminish. the game became scarce, and both rackoons and opossums grew poor and worthless. it was necessary for me to discover some new mode of improving the allowance allotted to me by the overseer. i had all my life been accustomed to fishing in maryland, and i now resolved to resort to the water for a living; the land having failed to furnish me a comfortable subsistence. with these views, i set out one sunday morning, early in february, and went to the river at a distance of three miles from home. from the appearance of the stream i felt confident that it must contain many fish; and i went immediately to work to make a weir. with the help of an axe that i had with me, i had finished before night the frame-work of a weir of pine sticks, lashed together with white oak splits. i had no canoe, but made a raft of dry logs, upon which i went to a suitable place in the river and set my weir. i afterwards made a small net of twine that i bought at the store; and on next thursday night i took as many fish from my weir as filled a half bushel measure. this was a real treasure--it was the most fortunate circumstance that had happened with me since i came to the country. i was enabled to show my generosity, but, like all mankind, even in my liberality, i kept myself in mind. i gave a large fish to the overseer, and took three more to the great house. these were the first fresh fish that had been in the family this season; and i was much praised by my master and young mistresses, for my skill and success in fishing; but this was all the advantage i received from this effort to court the favor of the great:--i did not even get a dram. the part i had performed in the detection of the murderers of the young lady was forgotten, or at least not mentioned now. i went away from the house not only disappointed but chagrined, and thought with myself that if my master and young mistresses had nothing but words to give me for my fish, we should not carry on a very large traffic. on next sunday morning, a black boy came from the house, and told me that our master wished to see me. this summons was not to be disobeyed. when i returned to the mansion, i went round to the kitchen, and sent word by one of the house-slaves that i had come. the servant returned and told me, that i was to stay in the kitchen and get my breakfast; and after that to come into the house. a very good breakfast was sent to me from my master's table, after the family had finished their morning meal; and when i had done with my repast i went into the parlor. i was received with great affability by my master, who told me he had sent for me to know if i had been accustomed to fish in the place i had come from. i informed him that i had been employed at a fishery on the patuxent, every spring, for several years; and that i thought i understood fishing with a seine, as well as most people. he then asked me if i could knit a seine, to which i replied in the affirmative. after some other questions, he told me that as the picking of cotton was nearly over for this season, and the fields must soon be ploughed up for a new crop, he had a thought of having a seine made, and of placing me at the head of a fishing party, for the purpose of trying to take a supply of fish for his hands. no communication could have been more unexpected than this was, and it was almost as pleasing to me as it was unexpected by me. i now began to hope that there would be some respite from the labors of the cotton field, and that i should not be doomed to drag out a dull and monotonous existence, within the confines of the enclosures of the plantation. in maryland, the fishing season was always one of hard labor, it is true, but also a time of joy and hilarity. we then had, throughout the time of fishing, plenty of bread, and at least bacon enough to fry our fish with. we had also a daily allowance of whisky, or brandy, and we always considered ourselves fortunate when we left the farm to go to the fishery. a few days after this, i was again sent for by my master, who told me that he had bought twine and ropes for a seine, and that i must set to work and knit it as quickly as possible; that as he did not wish the twine to be taken to the quarter, i must remain with the servants in the kitchen, and live with them while employed in constructing the seine. i was assisted in making the seine by a black boy, whom i had taught to work with me; and by the end of two weeks we had finished our job. while at work on this seine, i lived rather better than i had formerly done when residing at the quarter. we received among us--twelve in number, including the people who worked in the garden--the refuse of our master's table. in this way we procured a little cold meat every day; and when there were many strangers visiting the family, we sometimes procured considerable quantities of cold and broken meats. my new employment afforded me a better opportunity than i had hitherto possessed of making correct observations upon the domestic economy of my master's household, and of learning the habits and modes of life of the persons who composed it. on a great cotton plantation, such as this of my master's, the field hands, who live in the quarter, are removed so far from the domestic circle of their master's family, by their servile condition and the nature of their employment, that they know but little more of the transactions within the walls of the great house than if they lived ten miles off. many a slave has been born, lived to old age, and died on a plantation, without ever having been within the walls of his master's domicile. my master was a widower; and his house was in charge of his sister, a maiden lady, apparently of fifty-five or sixty. he had six children, three sons and three daughters, and all unmarried; but only one of the sons was at home, at the time i came upon the estate; the other two were in some of the northern cities--the one studying medicine, and the other at college. at the time of knitting the twine, these young gentlemen had returned on a visit to their relations, and all the brothers and sisters were now on the place. the young ladies were all grown up, and marriageable; their father was known to be a man of great wealth, and the girls were reputed very pretty in carolina; one of them, the second of the three, was esteemed a great beauty. the reader might deem my young mistress' pretty face and graceful person altogether impertinent to the narrative of my own life; but they had a most material influence upon my fortunes, and changed the whole tenor of my existence. had she been less beautiful, or of a temper less romantic and adventurous, i should still have been a slave in south carolina, if yet alive, and the world would have been saved the labor of perusing these pages. any one at all acquainted with southern manners, will at once see that my master's house possessed attractions which would not fail to draw within it numerous visiters; and that the head of such a family as dwelt under its roof was not likely to be without friends. i had not been at work upon the seine a week before i discovered, by listening to the conversation of my master and the other members of the family, that they prided themselves not a little upon the antiquity of their house, and the long practice of a generous hospitality to strangers, and to all respectable people who chose to visit their homestead. all circumstances seemed to conspire to render this house one of the chief seats of the fashion, the beauty, the wit, and the gallantry of south carolina. scarcely an evening came but it brought a carriage, and ladies and gentlemen and their servants; and every day brought dashing young planters, mounted on horseback, to dine with the family; but sunday was the day of the week on which the house received the greatest accession of company. my master and family were members of the episcopal church, and attended service every sunday, when the weather was fine, at a church eight miles distant. each of my young masters and mistresses had a saddle-horse, and in pleasant weather they frequently all went to church on horseback, leaving my old master and mistress to occupy the family carriage alone. i have seen fifteen or twenty young people come to my master's for dinner on sunday from church; and very often the parson, a young man of handsome appearance, was among them. i had observed these things long before, but now i had come to live at the house, and became more familiar with them. three sundays intervened while i was at work upon the seine, and on each of these sundays more than twenty persons, besides the family, dined at my master's. during these three weeks, my young masters were absent far the greater part of the time; but i observed that they generally came home on sunday for dinner. my young mistresses were not from home much, and i believe they never left the plantation unless either their father or some one of their brothers was with them. dinner parties were frequent in my master's house; and on these occasions of festivity, a black man, who belonged to a neighboring estate, and who played the violin, was sent for. i observed that whenever this man was sent for, he came, and sometimes even came before night, which appeared a little singular to me, as i knew the difficulty that colored people had to encounter in leaving the estate to which they were attached. chapter xi. early in march, my seine being now completed, my master told me i must take with me three other black men, and go to the river to clear out a fishery. this task was a disagreeable job, for it was nothing less than dragging out of the river all the old trees and brush that had sunk to the bottom, within the limits of our intended fishing ground. my master's eldest son had been down the river, and had purchased two boats, to be used at the fishery; but when i saw them, i declared them to be totally unfit for that purpose. they were old batteaux, and so leaky that they would not have supported the weight of a seine and the men necessary to lay it out. i advised the building of two good canoes from some of the large yellow pines in the woods. my advice was accepted, and together with five others hands, i went to work at the canoes, which we completed in less than a week. so far things went pretty well, and i flattered myself that i should become the head man at this new fishery, and have the command of the other hands. i also expected that i should be able to gain some advantage to myself, by disposing of a part of the small fish that might be taken at the fishery. i reckoned without my host. my master had only purchased this place a short time before he bought me. before that time he did not own any place on the river, fit for the establishment of a fishery. his lands adjoined the river for more than a mile in extent, along its margin; but an impassable morass separated the channel of the river, from the firm ground, all along his lines. he had cleared the highest parts of this morass, or swamp, and had here made his rice fields; but he was as entirely cut off from the river, as if an ocean had separated it from him. on the day that we launched the canoes into the river, and while we were engaged in removing some snags and old trees that had stuck in the mud, near the shore, an ill-looking stranger came to us, and told us that our master had sent him to take charge of the fishery, and superintend all the work that was to be done at it. this man, by his contract with my master, was to receive a part of all the fish caught, in lieu of wages; and was invested with the same authority over us that was exercised by the overseer in the cotton field. i soon found that i had cause to regret my removal from the plantation. it was found quite impossible to remove the old logs, and other rubbish from the bottom of the river, without going into the water, and wrenching them from their places with long handspikes. in performing this work we were obliged to wade up to our shoulders, and often to dip our very heads under water, in raising the sunken timber. however, within less than a week, we had cleared the ground, and now began to haul our seine. at first, we caught nothing but common river fish; but after two or three days, we began to take shad. of the common fish, such as pike, perch, suckers, and others, we had the liberty of keeping as many as we could eat; but the misfortune was, that we had no pork, or fat of any kind, to fry them with; and for several days we contented ourselves with boiling them on the coals, and eating them with our corn bread and sweet potatoes. we could have lived well, if we had been permitted to boil the shad on the coals, and eat them; for a fat shad will dress itself in being broiled, and is very good, without any oily substance added to it. all the shad that we caught, were carefully taken away by a black man, who came three times every day to the fishery, with a cart. the master of the fishery had a family that lived several miles up the river. in the summer time, he fished with hooks, and small nets, when not engaged in running turpentine, in the pine woods. in the winter he went back into the pine forest, and made tar of the dead pine trees; but returned to the river at the opening of the spring, to take advantage of the shad fishery. he was supposed to be one of the most skillful fishermen on the congrace river, and my master employed him to superintend his new fishery, under an expectation, i presume, that as he was to get a tenth part of all the fish that might be caught, he would make the most of his situation. my master had not calculated with accuracy the force of habit, nor the difficulty which men experience, in conducting very simple affairs, of which they have no practical knowledge. the fish-master did very well for the interest of his employer for a few days; compelling us to work in hauling the seine, day and night, and scarcely permitting us to take rest enough to obtain necessary sleep. we were compelled to work full sixteen hours every day, including sunday; for in the fishing season no respect is paid to sunday by fishermen anywhere. we had our usual quantity of bread and potatoes, with plenty of common fish; but no shad came to our lot, nor had we anything to fry our fish with. a broiled fresh-water fish is not very good at best, without salt or oil; and after we had eaten them every day, for a week, we cared very little for them. by this time our fish-master began to relax in his discipline; not that he became more kind to us, or required us to do less work, but to compel us to work all night, it was necessary for him to sit up all night and watch us. this was a degree of toil and privation to which he could not long submit; and one evening soon after dark, he called me to him, and told me that he intended to make me overseer of the fishery that night; and he had no doubt i would keep the hands at work, and attend to the business as well without him as with him. he then went into his cabin, and went to bed; whilst i went and laid out the seine, and made a very good haul. we took more than two hundred shad at this draught; and followed up our work with great industry all night, only taking time to eat our accustomed meal at midnight. every fisherman knows that the night is the best time for taking shad; and the little rest that had been allowed us, since we began to fish, had always been from eight o'clock in the morning until four in the afternoon; unless within that period there was an appearance of a school of fish in the river; when we had to rise, and lay out the seine, no matter at what hour of the day. the fish-master had been very severe with the hands since he came amongst us, and had made very free use of a long hickory gad that he sometimes carried about with him; though at times he would relax his austerity, and talk quite familiarly with us,--especially with me, whom he perceived to have some knowledge of the business in which we were engaged. the truth was, that this man knew nothing of fishing with a seine, and i had been obliged from the beginning to direct the operations of laying out and drawing in the seine; though the master was always very loud and boisterous in giving his commands, and directing us in what part of the river we should let down the seine. having never been accustomed to regular work, or to the pursuit of any constant course of personal application, the master was incapable of long continued exertion; and i feel certain that he could not have been prevailed upon to labor twelve hours each day, for a year, if in return he had been certain of receiving ten thousand dollars. notwithstanding this, he was capable of rousing himself, and of undergoing any degree of fatigue or privation for a short time, even for a few days. he had not been trained to habits of industry, and could not bear the restraints of uniform labor. we worked hard all night, the first night of my superintendence, and when the sun rose the next morning, the master had not risen from his bed. as it was now the usual time of dividing the fish, i called to him to come and see this business fairly done; but as he did not come down immediately to the landing, i proceeded to make the division myself, in as equitable a manner as i could: giving, however, a full share of large fish to the master. when he came down to us, and overlooked both the piles of fish--his own and that of my master--he was so well satisfied with what i had done, that he said, if he had known that i would do so well for him, he would not have risen. i was glad to hear this, as it led me to hope that i should be able to induce him to stay in his cabin during the greater part of the time; to do which, i was well assured, he felt disposed. when the night came, the master again told me he should go to bed, not being well, and desired me to do as i had done the night before. this night we cooked as many shad as we could all eat; but were careful to carry, far out into the river, the scales and entrails of the stolen fish. in the morning i made a division of the fish before i called the master, and then went and asked him to come and see what i had done. he was again well pleased, and now proposed to us all that if we would not let the affair be known to our master, he would leave us to manage the fishery at night according to our discretion. to this proposal we all readily agreed, and i received authority to keep the other hands at work, until the master would go and get his breakfast. i had now accomplished the object that i had held very near my heart ever since we began to fish at this place. from this time to the end of the fishing season, we all lived well, and did not perform more work than we were able to bear. i was in no fear of being punished by the fish-master, for he was now at least as much in my power as i was in his; for if my master had known the agreement that he had made with us, for the purpose of enabling himself to sleep all night in his cabin, he would have been deprived of his situation, and all the profits of his share of the fishery. there never can be any affinity of feeling between master and slave, except in some few isolated cases, where the master has treated his slave in such a manner as to have excited in him strong feelings of gratitude; or where the slave entertains apprehensions, that by the death of his master, or by being separated from him in any other way, he may fall under the power of a more tyrannical ruler, or may in some shape be worsted by the change. i was never acquainted with a slave who believed that he violated any rule of morality by appropriating to himself any thing that belonged to his master, if it was necessary to his comfort. the master might call it theft, and brand it with the name of crime; but the slave reasoned differently, when he took a portion of his master's goods, to satisfy his hunger, keep himself warm, or to gratify his passion for luxurious enjoyment. the slave sees his master residing in a spacious mansion, riding in a fine carriage, and dressed in costly clothes, and attributes the possession of all these enjoyments to his own labor; whilst he who is the cause of so much gratification and pleasure to another, is himself deprived of even the necessary accommodations of human life. ignorant men do not and cannot reason logically; and in tracing things from cause to effect, the slave attributes all that he sees in possession of his master to his own toil, without taking the trouble to examine how far the skill, judgment, and economy of his master may have contributed to the accumulation of the wealth by which his residence is surrounded. there is, in fact, a mutual dependence between the master and his slave. the former could not acquire any thing without the labor of the latter, and the latter would always remain in poverty without the judgment of the former in directing labor to a definite and profitable result. after i had obtained the virtual command of the fishery, i was careful to awaken the master every morning at sunrise, that he might be present when the division of the fish was made; and when the morning cart arrived, that the carter might not report to my master, that the fish-master was in bed. i had now become interested in preserving the good opinion of my master in favor of his agent. since my arrival in carolina i had never enjoyed a full meal of bacon; and now determined, if possible, to procure such a supply of that luxury as would enable me and all my fellow-slaves at the fishery to regale ourselves at pleasure. at this season of the year boats frequently passed up the river, laden with merchandise and goods of various kinds, among which were generally large quantities of salt, intended for curing fish, and for other purposes on the plantations. these boats also carried bacon and salted pork up the river, for sale; but as they never moved at night, confining their navigation to day-light, and as none of them had hitherto stopped near our landing, we had not met with an opportunity of entering into a traffic with any of the boat masters. we were not always to be so unfortunate. one evening, in the second week of the fishing season, a large keel-boat was seen working up the river about sundown; and shortly after, came to for the night, on the opposite side of the river, directly against our landing. we had at the fishery a small canoe called a punt, about twelve feet long; and when we went to lay out the seine, for the first haul after night, i attached the punt to the side of the canoe, and when we had finished letting down the seine, i left the other hands to work it toward the shore, and ran over in the punt to the keel-boat. upon inquiring of the captain if he had any bacon that he would exchange for shad, he said, he had a little; but, as the risk he would run in dealing with a slave was great, i must expect to pay him more than the usual price. he at length proposed to give me a hundred pounds of bacon for three hundred shad. this was at least twice as much as the bacon was worth; but we did not bargain as men generally do, where half of the bargain is on each side; for here the captain of the keel-boat settled the terms for both parties. however, he ran the hazard of being prosecuted for dealing with slaves, which is a very high offence in carolina; and i was selling that which, in point of law, did not belong to me; but to which, nevertheless, i felt in my conscience that i had a better right than any other person. in support of the right, which i felt to be on my side in this case, came a keen appetite for the bacon, which settled the controversy, upon the question of the morality of this traffic, in my favor. it so happened, that we made a good haul with our seine this evening, and at the time i returned to the landing, the men were all on shore, engaged in drawing in the seine. as soon as we had taken out the fish, we placed three hundred of them in one of our canoes, and pushed over to the keel-boat, where the fish were counted out, and the bacon was received into our craft with all possible despatch. one part of this small trade exhibited a trait of human character which i think worthy of being noticed. the captain of the boat was a middle-aged, thin, sallow man, with long bushy hair; and he looked like one who valued the opinions of men but little. i expected that he would not be scrupulous in giving me my full hundred pounds of bacon: but in this i was mistaken; for he weighed the flitches with great exactness, in a pair of large steelyards, and gave me good weight. when the business was ended, and the bacon in my canoe, he told me, he hoped i was satisfied with him; and assured me, that i should find the bacon excellent. when i was about pushing from the boat, he told me in a low voice, though there was no one who could hear us, except his own people--that he should be down the river again in about two weeks, when he should be very glad to buy any produce that i had for sale; adding, "i will give you half as much for cotton as it is worth in charleston, and pay you either in money or groceries, as you may choose. take care, and do not betray yourself, and i shall be honest with you." i was so much rejoiced at being in possession of a hundred pounds of good flitch bacon, that i had no room in either my head or my heart for the consideration of this man's notions of honesty, at the present time; but paddled with all strength for our landing, where we took the bacon from the canoe, stowed it away in an old salt barrel, and safely deposited it in a hole dug for the purpose in the floor of my cabin. about this time, our allowance of sweet potatoes was withheld from us altogether, in consequence of the high price paid for this article by the captains of the keel-boats; for the purpose, as i heard, of sending them to new york and philadelphia. ever since christmas we had been permitted to draw, on each sunday evening, either a peck of corn, as usual, or half a peck of corn and half a bushel of sweet potatoes, at our discretion. the half a peck of corn and the half a bushel of potatoes was worth much more than a peck of corn; but potatoes were so abundant this year, that they were of little value, and the saving of corn was an object worth attending to by a large planter. the boatmen now offered half a dollar a bushel for potatoes, and we were again restricted to our corn ration. notwithstanding the privation of our potatoes, we at the fishery lived sumptuously, although our master certainly believed that our fare consisted of corn-bread and river fish, cooked without lard or butter. it was necessary to be exceedingly cautious in the use of our bacon; and to prevent the suspicions of the master and others who frequented our landing, i enjoined our people never to fry any of the meat, but to boil it all. no one can smell boiled bacon far; but fried flitch can be smelled a mile by a good nose. we had two meals every night, one of bacon and the other of fried shad, which nearly deprived us of all appetite for the breakfasts and dinners that we prepared in the daytime; consisting of cold corn-bread without salt, and broiled fresh water fish, without any sort of seasoning. we spent more than two weeks in this happy mode of life, unmolested by our master, his son, or the master of the fishery; except when the latter complained, rather than threatened us, because we sometimes suffered our seine to float too far down the river, and get entangled among some roots and brush that lay on the bottom, immediately below our fishing ground. we now expected, every evening, to see the return of the boatman who had sold us the bacon, and the man who was with me in the canoe at the time we received it, had not forgotten the invitation of the captain to trade with him in cotton on his return. my fellow-slave was a native of virginia, as he told me, and had been sold and brought to carolina about ten years before this time. he was a good-natured, kind-hearted man, and did many acts of benevolence to me, such as one slave is able to perform for another, and i felt a real affection for him; but he had adopted the too common rule of moral action, that there is no harm in a slave robbing his master. the reader may suppose, from my account of the bacon, that i, too, had adopted this rule as a part of my creed; but i solemnly declare, that this was not the case, and that i never deprived any one of all the masters that i have served, of anything against his consent, unless it was some kind of food; and that of all i ever took, i am confident, i have given away more than the half to my fellow-slaves, whom i knew to be equally needy with myself. the man who had been with me at the keel-boat told me one day, that he had laid a plan by which we could get thirty or forty dollars, if i would join him in the execution of his project. thirty or forty dollars was a large sum of money to me. i had never possessed so much money at one time in my life; and i told him that i was willing to do anything by which we could obtain such a treasure. he then told me, that he knew where the mule and cart, that were used by the man who carried away our fish, were kept at night; and that he intended to set out on the first dark night, and go to the plantation--harness the mule to the cart--go to the cotton-gin house--put two bags of cotton into the cart--bring them to a thicket of small pines that grew on the river bank, a short distance below the fishery, and leave them there until the keel-boat should return. all that he desired of me was, to make some excuse for his absence, to the other hands, and assist him to get his cotton into the canoe, at the coming of the boat. i disliked the whole scheme, both on account of its iniquity and of the danger which attended it; but my companion was not to be discouraged by all the arguments which i could use against it, and said, if i would not participate in it, he was determined to undertake it alone: provided i would not inform against him. to this i said nothing; but he had so often heard me express my detestation of one slave betraying another, that i presume he felt easy on that score. the next night but one after this conversation was very dark, and when we went to lay out the seine after night, nero was missing. the other people inquired of me if i knew where he was, and when i replied in the negative, little more was said on the subject; it being common for the slaves to absent themselves from their habitations at night, and if the matter is not discovered by the overseer or master, nothing is ever said of it by the slaves. the other people supposed that, in this instance, nero had gone to see a woman whom he lived with as his wife, on a plantation a few miles down the river; and were willing to work a little harder to permit him to enjoy the pleasure of seeing his family. he returned before day, and said he had been to see his wife, which satisfied the curiosity of our companions. the very next evening after nero's absence, the keel-boat descended the river, came down on our side, hailed us at the fishery, and, drawing in to the shore below our landing, made her ropes fast among the young pines of which i have spoken above. after we made our first haul, i missed nero; but he returned to us before we had laid out the seine, and told us that he had been in the woods to collect some _light-wood_--dry, resinous pine--which he brought on his shoulder. when the morning came, the keel-boat was gone, and every thing wore the ordinary aspect about our fishery; but when the man came with the mule and the cart to take away the fish, he told us that there was great trouble on the plantation. the overseer had discovered that some one had stolen two bags of cotton the last night, and all the hands were undergoing an examination on the subject. the slaves on the plantation, one and all, denied having any knowledge of the matter, and, as there was no evidence against any one, the overseer threatened, at the time he left the quarter, to whip every hand on the estate, for the purpose of making them discover who the thief was. the slaves on the plantation differed in opinion as to the perpetrator of this theft; but the greater number concurred in charging it upon a free negro man, named ishmael, who lived in a place called the white oak woods, and followed making ploughs and harrow frames. he also made handles for hoes, and the frame work of cart bodies. this man was generally reputed a thief for a great distance round the country, and the black people charged him with stealing the cotton on no other evidence than his general bad character. the overseer, on the other hand, expressed his opinion without hesitation, which was, that the cotton had been stolen by some of the people of the plantation, and sold to a poor white man, who resided at the distance of three miles back in the pine woods, and was believed to have dealt with slaves, as a receiver of their stolen goods, for many years. this white man was one of a class of poor cottagers. the house, or cabin, in which he resided, was built of small poles of the yellow pine, with the bark remaining on them; the roof was of clap-boards of pine, and the chimney was made of sticks and mud, raised to the height of eight or ten feet. the appearance of the man and his wife was such as one might expect to find in such a dwelling. the lowest poverty had, through life, been the companion of these poor people, of which their clayey complexions, haggard figures, and tattered garments gave the strongest proof. it appeared to me that the state of destitution in which these people lived, afforded very convincing evidence that they were not in possession of the proceeds of the stolen goods of any person. i had often been at the cabin of this man in my trapping expeditions, the previous autumn and winter; and i believe the overseer regarded the circumstance, that black people often called at his house, as conclusive evidence that he held criminal intercourse with them. however this might be, the overseer determined to search the premises of this harmless forester, whom he resolved, beforehand, to treat as a guilty man. it being known that i was well acquainted with the woods in the neighborhood of the cabin, i was sent for, to leave the fishery, and come to assist in making search for the lost bags of cotton--perhaps it was also believed that i was in the secrets of the suspected house. it was not thought prudent to trust any of the hands on the plantation in making the intended search, as they were considered the principal thieves; whilst we, of the fishery, against whom no suspicion had arisen, were required to give our assistance in ferreting out the perpetrators of an offence of the highest grade that can be committed by a slave on a cotton estate. before leaving the fishery, i advised the master to be very careful not to let the overseer, or my master know, that he had left us to manage the fishery at night, by ourselves; since, as a theft had been committed, it might possibly be charged upon him, if it were known that he had allowed us so much liberty. i said this to put the master on his guard against surprise; and to prevent him from saying anything that might turn the attention of the overseer to the hands at the fishery; for i knew that if punishment were to fall amongst us, it would be quite as likely to reach the innocent as the guilty--besides, though i was innocent of the bags of cotton, i was guilty of the bacon, and, however i might make distinctions between the moral turpitude of the two cases, i knew that if discovered, they would both be treated alike. when i arrived at the quarter, whither i repaired, in obedience to the orders i received, i found the overseer with my master's eldest son, and a young white man, who had been employed to repair the cotton-gin, waiting for me. i observed when i came near the overseer, that he looked at me very attentively, and afterwards called my young master aside, and spoke to him in a tone of voice too low to be heard by me. the white gentlemen then mounted their horses, and set off by the road for the cabin of the white man. i had orders to take a short route, through the woods and across a swamp, by which i could reach the cabin as soon as the overseer. the attentive examination that the overseer had given me, caused me to feel uneasy, although i could not divine the cause of his scrutiny, nor of the subject of the short conversation between him and my young master. by traveling at a rapid pace, i arrived at the cabin of the suspected man before the gentlemen, but thought it prudent not to approach it before they came up, lest it might be imagined that i had gone in to give information to the occupants of the danger that threatened them. here i had a hard struggle with my conscience, which seemed to say to me, that i ought at once to disclose all i knew concerning the lost bags of cotton, for the purpose of saving these poor people from the terror that they must necessarily feel at the sight of those who were coming to accuse them of a great crime, perhaps from the afflictions and sufferings attendant upon a prosecution in a court of justice. these reflections were cut short by the arrival of the party of gentlemen, who passed me where i sat, at the side of the path, with no other notice than a simple command of the overseer to come on. i followed them into the cabin, where we found the man and his wife, with two little children, eating roasted potatoes. the overseer saluted this family by telling them that we had come to search the house for stolen cotton. that it was well known that he had long been dealing with negroes, and they were now determined to bring him to punishment. i was then ordered to tear up the floor of the cabin, whilst the overseer mounted into the loft. i found nothing under the floor, and the overseer had no better success above. the wife was then advised to confess where her husband had concealed the cotton, to save herself from being brought in as a party to the affair; but this poor woman protested with tears that they were totally ignorant of the whole matter. whilst the wife was interrogated, the father stood without his own door, trembling with fear, but, as i could perceive, indignant with rage. the overseer, who was fluent in the use of profane language, exerted the highest degree of his vulgar eloquence upon these harmless people, whose only crime was their poverty, and whose weakness alone had invited the ruthless aggression of their powerful and rich neighbors. finding nothing in the house, the gentlemen set out to scour the woods around the cabin, and commanded me to take the lead in tracing out tree tops and thickets, where it was most likely that the stolen cotton might be found. our search was in vain, as i knew it would be beforehand; but when weary of ranging in the woods, the gentlemen again returned to the cabin, which we now found without inhabitants. the alarm caused by our visit, and the manner in which the gentlemen had treated this lonely family, had caused them to abandon their dwelling, and seek safety in flight. the door of the house was closed and fastened with a string to a nail in the post of the door. after calling several times for the fugitives, and receiving no answer, the door was kicked open by my young master; the few articles of miserable furniture that the cabin contained, including a bed, made of flags, were thrown into a heap in the corner, and fire was set to the dwelling by the overseer. we remained until the flames had reached the roof of the cabin, when the gentlemen mounted their horses and set off for home, ordering me to return by the way that i had come. when we again reached the house of my master, several gentlemen of the neighborhood had assembled, drawn together by common interest that is felt amongst the planters to punish theft, and particularly a theft of cotton in the bag. my young master related to his neighbors, with great apparent satisfaction, the exploits of the morning; said he had routed one receiver of stolen goods out of the country, and that all others of his character ought to be dealt with in the same manner. in this opinion all the gentlemen present concurred, and after much conversation on the subject, it was agreed to call a general meeting for the purpose of devising the best, surest and most peaceful method of removing from the country the many white men who, residing in the district without property, or without interest in preserving the morals of the slaves, were believed to carry on an unlawful and criminal traffic with the negroes, to the great injury of the planters in general, and of the masters of the slaves who dealt with the offenders in particular. i was present at this preliminary consultation, which took place at my master's cotton-gin, whither the gentlemen had repaired for the purpose of looking at the place where the cotton had been removed. so many cases of this forbidden traffic between the slaves and these "white negro dealers," as they were termed, were here related by the different gentlemen, and so many white men were referred to by name as being concerned in this criminal business, that i began to suppose the losses of the planters in this way must be immense. this conference continued until i had totally forgotten the scrutinizing look that i had received from our overseer at the time i came up from the fishery in the morning; but the period had now come when i again was to be reminded of this circumstance, for on a sudden the overseer called me to come forward and let the gentlemen see me. i again felt a sort of vague and undefinable apprehension that no good was to grow out of this examination of my person, but a command of our overseer was not to be disobeyed. after looking at my face, with a kind of leer or side glance, one of the gentlemen, who was an entire stranger to me, and whom i had never before seen, said, "boy, you appear to live well; how much meat does your master allow you in a week?" i was almost totally confounded at the name of meat, and felt the blood rush to my heart, but nevertheless forced a sort of smile upon my face, and replied, "my master has been very kind to all his people of late, but has not allowed us any meat for some weeks. we have plenty of good bread, and abundance of river fish, which, together with the heads and roes of the shad that we have salted at the landing, makes a very excellent living for us; though if master would please to give us a little meat now and then, we should be very thankful for it." this speech, which contained all the eloquence i was master of at the time, seemed to produce some effect in my favor, for the gentleman said nothing in reply, until the overseer, rising from a board on which he had been sitting, came close up to me and said, "charles, you need not tell lies about it; you have been eating meat, i know you have, no negro could look as fat, and sleek, and black, and greasy, as you, if he had nothing to eat but corn bread and river chubs. you do not look at all as you did before you went to the fishery; and all the hands on the plantation have had as many chubs and other river fish as they could eat, as well as you, and yet they are as poor as snakes in comparison with you. come, tell the truth, let us know where you get the meat that you have been eating, and you shall not be whipped." i begged the overseer and the other gentlemen not to ridicule or make sport of me, because i was a poor slave, and was obliged to live on bread and fresh water fish; and concluded this second harangue by expressing my thankfulness to god almighty, for giving me such good health and strength as to enable me to do my work, and look so well as i did upon such poor fare; adding, that if i only had as much bacon as i could eat, they would soon see a man of a different appearance from that which i now exhibited. "none of your palaver," rejoined the overseer--"why, i smell the meat in you this moment. do i not see the grease as it runs out of your face?" i was by this time in a profuse sweat, caused by the anxiety of my feelings, and simply said, "master sees me sweat, i suppose." all the gentlemen present then declared, with one accord, that i must have been living on meat for a long time, as no negro, who had no meat to eat, could look as i did; and one of the company advised the overseer to whip me, and compel me to confess the truth. i have no doubt but this advice would have been practically followed, had it not been for a happy though dangerous suggestion of my own mind, at this moment. it was no other than a proposal on my part, that i should be taken to the landing, and if all the people there did not look as well and as much like meat-eaters as i did, then i would agree to be whipped in any way the gentlemen should deem expedient. this offer on my part was instantly accepted by the gentlemen, and it was agreed among them that they would all go to the landing with the overseer, partly for the purpose of seeing me condemned by the judgment to which i had voluntarily chosen to submit myself, and partly for the purpose of seeing my master's new fishery. we were quickly at the landing, though four miles distant; and i now felt confident that i should escape the dangers that beset me, provided the master of the fishery did not betray his own negligence and lead himself, as well as others, into new troubles. though on foot, i was at the landing as soon as the gentlemen, and was first to announce to the master the feats we had performed in the course of the day, adding, with great emphasis, and even confidence in my manner, "you know, master fish-master, whether we have had any meat to eat here or not. if we had meat here, would not you see it? you have been up with us every night, and know that we have not been allowed to take even shad, let alone having meat to eat." the fish-master supported me in all i said; declared we had been good boys--had worked night and day, of his certain knowledge, as he had been with us all night and every night since we began to fish. that he had not allowed us to eat anything but fresh water fish, and the heads and roes of the shad that were salted at the landing. as to meat, he said he was willing to be qualified on a cart-load of testaments that there had not been a pound at the landing since the commencement of the season, except that which he had in his own cabin. i had now acquired confidence, and desired the gentlemen to look at nero and the other hands, all of whom has as much the appearance of bacon eaters as myself. this was the truth, especially with regard to one of the men, who was much fatter than i was. the gentlemen now began to doubt the evidence of their own senses, which they had held infallible heretofore. i showed the fine fish that we had to eat; cat, perch, mullets, and especially two large pikes, that had been caught to-day, and assured them that upon such fare as this, men must needs get fat. i now perceived that victory was with me for once. all the gentlemen faltered, hesitated, and began to talk of other affairs, except the overseer, who still ran about the landing, swearing and scratching his head, and saying it was strange that we were so fat, whilst the hands on the plantation were as lean as sand-hill cranes. he was obliged to give the affair over. he was no longer supported by my young master and his companions, all of whom congratulated themselves upon a discovery so useful and valuable to the planting interest; and all determined to provide, as soon as possible, a proper supply of fresh river fish for their hands. the two bales of cotton were never once named, and, i suppose, were not thought of by the gentlemen, when at the landing; and this was well for nero; for such was the consternation and terror into which he was thrown by the presence of the gentlemen, and their inquiries concerning our eating of meat, that the sweat rolled off him like rain from the plant _neverwet_; his countenance was wild and haggard, and his knees shook like the wooden spring of a wheat-fan. i believe, that if they had charged him at once with stealing the cotton, he would have confessed the deed. chapter xii. after this the fishing season passed off without anything having happened, worthy of being noticed here. when we left the fishery and returned to the plantation, which was after the middle of april, the corn and cotton had been planted, and the latter had been replanted. i was set to plough, with two mules for my team; and having never been accustomed to ploughing with these animals, i had much trouble with them at first. my master owned more than forty mules, and at this season of the year, they were all at work in the cotton field, used instead of horses for drawing ploughs. some of the largest were hitched single to a plough; but the smallest were coupled together. on the whole, the fishery had been a losing affair with me; for although i had lived better at the landing than i usually did at the plantation, yet i had been compelled to work all the time, by night and by day, including sunday, for my master; by which i had lost all that i could have earned for my own benefit, had i been on the plantation. i had now become so well acquainted with the rules of the plantation and the customs of the country where i lived, that i experienced less distress than i did at my first coming to the south. we now received a shad every sunday evening with our peck of corn. the fish were those that i had caught in the spring, and were tolerably preserved. in addition to all this, each one of the hands now received a pint of vinegar every week. this vinegar was a great comfort to me. as the weather became hot, i gathered lettuce and other salads, from my garden in the woods; which, with the vinegar and bread, furnished me many a cheerful meal. the vinegar had been furnished to us by our master, more out of regard to our health than to our comfort, but it greatly promoted both. the affairs of the plantation now went on quietly, until after the cotton had been ploughed and hoed the first time, after replanting. the working of the cotton crop is not disagreeable labor--no more so than the culture of corn--but we were called upon to perform a kind of labor, than which none can be more toilsome to the body or dangerous to the health. i have elsewhere informed the reader that my master was a cultivator of rice as well as of cotton. whilst i was at the fishery in the spring, thirty acres of swamp land had been cleared off, ploughed and planted in rice. the water had now been turned off the plants, and the field was to be ploughed and hoed. when we were taken to the rice field, the weather was very hot, and the ground was yet muddy and wet. the ploughs were to be dragged through the wet soil, and the young rice had to be cleaned of weeds, by the hand, and hilled up with the hoe. it is the common opinion, that no stranger can work a week in a rice swamp, at this season of the year, without becoming sick; and all the new hands, three in number, besides myself, were taken ill within the first five days after we had entered this field. the other three were removed to the sick room; but i did not go there, choosing rather to remain at the quarter, where i was my own master, except that the doctor, who called to see me, took a large quantity of blood from my arm, and compelled me to take a dose of some sort of medicine that made me very sick, and caused me to vomit violently. this happened on the second day of my illness, and from this time i recovered slowly, but was not able to go to the field again for more than a week. here it is but justice to my master to say, that during all the time of my illness, some one came from the great house every day to inquire after me, and to offer me some kind of light and cool refreshment. i might have gone to the sick room at any time, if i had chosen to do so. an opinion generally prevails among the people of both colors, that the drug _copperas_ is very poisonous--and perhaps it may be so, if taken in large quantities--but the circumstance, that it is used in medicine, seems to forbid the notion of its poisonous qualities. i believe copperas was mingled with the potion the doctor gave me. some overseers keep copperas by them, as a medicine, to be administered to the hands whenever they become sick; but this i take to be a bad practice, for although, in some cases, this drug may be very efficacious, it certainly should be administered by a more skillful hand than that of an overseer. it, however, has the effect of deterring the people from complaining of illness, until they are no longer able to work; for it is the most nauseous and sickening medicine that was ever taken into the stomach. ignorant, or malicious overseer may, and often do, misapply it, as was the case with our overseer, when he compelled poor lydia to take a draught of its solution. after the restoration of my health, i resumed my accustomed labor in the field, and continued it without intermission, until i left this plantation. we had this year, as a part of our crop, ten acres of indigo. this plant is worked nearly after the manner of rice, except that it is planted on high and dry ground, whilst the rice is always cultivated in low swamps, where the ground may be inundated with water; but notwithstanding its location on dry ground, the culture of indigo is not less unpleasant than that of rice. when the rice is ripe, and ready for the sickle, it is no longer disagreeable; but when the indigo is ripe and ready to cut, the troubles attendant upon it have only commenced. the indigo plant bears more resemblance to the weed called wild indigo, which is common in the woods of pennsylvania, than to any other herb with which i am acquainted. the root of the indigo plant is long and slender, and emits a scent somewhat like that of parsley. from the root issues a single stem, straight, hard, and slender, covered with a bark, a little cracked on its surface, of a gray color towards the bottom, green in the middle, reddish at the extremity, and without the appearance of pith in the inside. the leaves ranged in pairs around the stalk, are of an oval form--smooth, soft to the touch, furrowed above, and of a deep green on the under side. the upper parts of the plant are loaded with small flowers, destitute of smell. each flower changes into a pod, enclosing seed. this plant thrives best in a rich, moist soil. the seeds are black, very small, and sowed in straight drills. this crop requires very careful culture, and must be kept free from every kind of weeds and grass. it ripens within less than three months from the time it is sown. when it begins to flower, the top is cut off, and, as new flowers appear, the plant is again pruned, until the end of the season. indigo impoverishes land more rapidly than almost any other crop, and the plant must be gathered in with great caution, for fear of shaking off the valuable farina that lies in the leaves. when gathered, it is thrown into the steeping vat--a large tub filled with water--here it undergoes a fermentation, which, in twenty-four hours at farthest, is completed. a cock is then turned to let the water run into the second tub, called the mortar, or pounding tub: the steeping vat is then cleaned out, that fresh plants may be thrown in, and thus the work is continued without interruption. the water in the pounding tub is stirred with wooden buckets, with holes in their bottoms, for several days; and, after the sediment contained in the water has settled to the bottom of the tub, the water is let off, and the sediment, which is the indigo of commerce, is gathered into bags, and hung up to drain. it is afterwards pressed, and laid away to dry in cakes, and then packed in chests for market. washing at the tubs is exceedingly unpleasant, both on account of the filth and the stench arising from the decomposition of the plants. in the early part of june, our shad, that each one had been used to receive, was withheld from us, and we no longer received any thing but the peck of corn and pint of vinegar. this circumstance, in a community less severely disciplined than ours, might have procured murmurs; but to us it was only announced by the fact of the fish not being distributed to us on sunday evening. this was considered a fortunate season by our people. there had been no exemplary punishment inflicted amongst us for several months; we had escaped entirely upon the occasion of the stolen bags of cotton, though nothing less was to have been looked for, on that occurrence, than a general whipping of the whole gang. there was more or less of whipping amongst us every week; frequently one was flogged every evening, over and above the punishments that followed on each settlement day; but these chastisements, which seldom exceeded ten or twenty lashes, were of little import. i was careful, for my own part, to conform to all the regulations of the plantation. when i no longer received my fish from the overseer, i found it necessary again to resort to my own expedients for the purpose of procuring something in the shape of animal food, to add to my bread and greens. i had, by this time, become well acquainted with the woods and swamps for several miles round our plantation; and this being the season when the turtles came upon the land, to deposit their eggs, i availed myself of it, and going out one sunday morning, caught, in the course of the day, by traveling cautiously around the edges of the swamps, ten snapping turtles, four of which were very large. as i caught these creatures, i tied each one with hickory bark, and hung it up to the bough of a tree, so that i could come and carry it home at my leisure. i afterwards carried my turtles home, and put them into a hole that i dug in the ground, four or five feet deep, and secured the sides by driving small pieces of split timber into the ground, quite round the circumference of the hole, the upper ends of the timber standing out above the ground. into this hole i poured water at pleasure, and kept my turtles until i needed them. on the next sunday, i again went to the swamps to search for turtles; but as the period of laying their eggs had nearly passed, i had poor success to-day, only taking two turtles of the species called skill-pots--a kind of large terrapin, with a speckled back and red belly. this day, when i was three or four miles from home, in a very solitary part of the swamps, i heard the sound of bells, similar to those which wagoners place on the shoulders of their horses. at first, the noise of bells of this kind, in a place where they were so unexpected, alarmed me, as i could not imagine who or what it was that was causing these bells to ring. i was standing near a pond of water, and listening attentively; i thought the bells were moving in the woods, and coming toward me. i therefore crouched down upon the ground, under cover of a cluster of small bushes that were near me, and lay, not free from disquietude, to await the near approach of these mysterious bells. sometimes they were quite silent for a minute or more at a time, and then again would jingle quick, but not loud. they were evidently approaching me; and at length i heard footsteps distinctly in the leaves, which lay dry upon the ground. a feeling of horror seized me at this moment, for i now recollected that i was on the verge of the swamp, near which the vultures and carrion crows had mangled the living bodies of the two murderers; and my terror was not abated, when, a moment after, i saw come from behind a large tree the form of a brawny, famished-looking black man, entirely naked, with his hair matted and shaggy, his eyes wild and rolling, and bearing over his head something in the form of an arch, elevated three feet above his hair, beneath the top of which were suspended the bells, three in number, whose sound had first attracted my attention. upon a closer examination of this frightful figure, i perceived that it wore a collar of iron about its neck, with a large padlock pendant from behind, and carried in its hand a long staff, with an iron spear in one end. the staff, like every thing else belonging to this strange spectre, was black. it slowly approached within ten paces of me, and stood still. the sun was now down, and the early twilight produced by the gloom of the heavy forest, in the midst of which i was, added approaching darkness to heighten my dismay. my heart was in my mouth; all the hairs of my head started from their sockets; i seemed to be rising from my hiding place into the open air in spite of myself, and i gasped for breath. the black apparition moved past me, went to the water and kneeled down. the forest re-echoed with the sound of the bells, and their dreadful peals filled the deepest recesses of the swamps, as their bearer drank the water of the pond, in which i thought i heard his irons hiss, when they came in contact with it. i felt confident that i was now in the immediate presence of an inhabitant of a nether and fiery world, who had been permitted to escape, for a time, from the place of torment, and come to revisit the scenes of his former crimes. i now gave myself up for lost, without other aid than my own, and began to pray aloud to heaven to protect me. at the sound of my voice, the supposed evil one appeared to be scarcely less alarmed than i was. he sprang to his feet, and, at a single bound, rushed middeep into the water, then turning, he besought me in a suppliant and piteous tone of voice, to have mercy upon him, and not carry him back to his master. the suddenness with which we pass from the extreme of one passion, to the utmost bounds of another, is inconceivable, and must be assigned to the catalogue of unknown causes and effects, unless we suppose the human frame to be an involuntary machine, operated upon by surrounding objects which give it different and contrary impulses, as a ball is driven to and fro by the batons of boys, when they play in troops upon a common. i had no sooner heard a human voice than all my fears fled, as a spark that ascends from a heap of burning charcoal, and vanishes to nothing. i at once perceived, that the object that had well nigh deprived me of my reason, so far from having either the will or the power to injure me, was only a poor destitute african negro, still more wretched and helpless than myself. rising from the bushes, i now advanced to the water side, and desired him to come out without fear, and to be assured that if i could render him any assistance, i would do it most cheerfully. as to carrying him back to his master, i was more ready to ask help to deliver me from my own, than to give aid to any one in forcing him back to his. we now went to a place in the forest, where the ground was, for some distance, clear of trees, and where the light of the sun was yet so strong, that every object could be seen. my new friend now desired me to look at his back, which was seamed and ridged with scars of the whip, and the hickory, from the pole of his neck to the lower extremity of the spine. the natural color of the skin had disappeared, and was succeeded by a streaked and speckled appearance of dusky white and pale flesh-color, scarcely any of the original, black remaining. the skin of this man's back had been again and again cut away by the thong, and renewed by the hand of nature, until it was grown fast to the flesh, and felt hard and turbid. he told me his name was paul; that he was a native of congo, in africa, that he had left an aged mother, a widow, at home, as also a wife and four children; that it had been his misfortune to fall into the hands of a master, who was frequently drunk, and whose temper was so savage, that his chief delight appeared to consist in whipping and torturing his slaves, of whom he owned near twenty; but through some unaccountable caprice, he had contracted a particular dislike against paul, whose life he now declared to me was insupportable. he had then been wandering in the woods, more than three weeks, with no other subsistence than the land tortoises, frogs, and other reptiles that he had taken in the woods, and along the shores of the ponds, with the aid of his spear. he had not been able to take any of the turtles in the laying season, because the noise of his bells frightened them, and they always escaped to the water before he could catch them. he had found many eggs, which he had eaten raw, having no fire, nor any means of making fire, to cook his food. he had been afraid to travel much in the middle of the day, lest the sound of his bells should be heard by some one, who would make his master acquainted with the place of his concealment. the only periods when he ventured to go in search of food, were early in the morning, before people could have time to leave their homes and reach the swamp: or late in the evening, after those who were in pursuit of him had gone to their dwellings for the night. this man spoke our language imperfectly, but possessed a sound and vigorous understanding, and reasoned with me upon the propriety of destroying a life which was doomed to continual distress. he informed me that he had first run away from his master more than two years ago, after being whipped with long hickory switches until he fainted. that he concealed himself in a swamp, at that time, ten or fifteen miles from this place, for more than six months, but was finally betrayed by a woman whom he sometimes visited; that when taken, he was again whipped until he was not able to stand, and had a heavy block of wood chained to one foot, which he was obliged to drag after him at his daily labor, for more than three months, when he found an old file, with which he cut the irons from his ancle, and again escaped to the woods, but was retaken within little more than a week after his flight, by two men who were looking after their cattle, and came upon him in the woods where he was asleep. on being returned to his master, he was again whipped, and then the iron collar that he now wore, with the iron rod extending from one shoulder over his head to the other, with the bells fastened at the top of the arch, were put upon him. of these irons he could not divest himself, and wore them constantly from that time to the present. i had no instruments with me to enable me to release paul from his manacles, and all i could do for him was to desire him to go with me to the place where i had left my terrapins, which i gave to him, together with all the eggs that i had found to-day. i also caused him to lie down, and having furnished myself with a flint-stone, (many of which lay in the sand near the edge of the pond) and a handful of dry moss, i succeeded in striking fire from the iron collar, and made a fire of sticks, upon which he could roast the terrapins and the eggs. it was now quite dark, and i was full two miles from my road, with no path to guide me towards home, but the small traces made in the woods by the cattle. i advised paul to bear his misfortunes as well as he could, until the next sunday, when i would return and bring with me a file, and other things necessary to the removal of his fetters. i now set out alone, to make my way home, not without some little feeling of trepidation, as i passed along in the dark shade of the pine trees, and thought of the terrific deeds that had been done in these woods. this was the period of the full moon, which now rose and cast her brilliant rays through the tops of the trees that overhung my way, and enveloped my path in a gloom more cheerless than the obscurity of total darkness. the path i traveled led by sinuosities around the margin of the swamp, and finally ended at the extremity of the cart-road terminating at the spot where david and hardy had been given alive for food to vultures; and over this ground i was now obliged to pass, unless i chose to turn far to the left, through the pathless forest, and make my way to the high road near the spot where the lady had been torn from her horse. i hated the idea of acknowledging to my own heart, that i was a coward, and dared not look upon the bones of a murderer at midnight; and there was little less of awe attached to the notion of visiting the ground where the ghost of the murdered woman was reported to wander in the moonbeams, than in visiting the scene where diabolical crimes had been visited by fiend-like punishment. my opinion is, that there is no one who is not at times subject to a sensation approaching fear, when placed in situations similar to that in which i found myself this night. i did not believe that those who had passed the dark line, which separates the living from the dead, could again return to the earth, either for good or for evil; but that solemn foreboding of the heart which directs the minds of all men to a contemplation of the just judgment, which a superior, and unknown power, holds in reservation for the deeds of this life, filled my soul with a dread conception of the unutterable woes which a righteous and unerring tribunal must award to the blood-stained spirits of the two men whose lives had been closed in such unspeakable torment by the side of the path i was now treading. the moon had risen high above the trees and shone with a clear and cloudless light; the whole firmament of heaven was radiant with the lustre of a mild and balmy summer evening. save only the droppings of the early dew from the lofty branches of the trees into the water, which lay in shallow pools on my right, and the light trampling of my own footsteps, the stillness of night pervaded the lonely wastes around me. but there is a deep melancholy in the sound of the heavy drop as it meets the bosom of the wave in a dense forest at night, that revives in the memory the recollection of the days of other years, and fills the heart with sadness. i was now approaching the unhallowed ground where lay the remains of the remorseless and guilty dead, who had gone to their final account, reeking in their sins, unatoned, unblest and unwept. already i saw the bones, whitened by the rain and bleached in the sun, lying scattered and dispersed, a leg here and an arm there, while a scull with the under jaw in its place, retaining all its teeth, grinned a ghastly laugh, with its front full in the beams of the moon, which, falling into the vacant sockets of the eye-balls, reflected a pale shadow from these deserted caverns, and played in twinkling lustre upon the bald and skinless forehead. in a moment, the night-breeze agitated the leaves of the wood and moaned in dreary sighs through the lofty pine tops; the gale shook the forest in the depth of its solitudes: a cloud swept across the moon, and her light disappeared; a flock of carrion crows disturbed in their roosts, flapped their wings and fluttered over my head; and a wolf, who had been knawing the dry bones, greeted the darkness with a long and dismal howl. i felt the blood chill in my veins, and all my joints shuddered, as if i had been smitten by electricity. at least a minute elapsed before i recovered the power of self-government. i hastened to fly from a place devoted to crime, where an evil genius presided in darkness over a fell assembly of howling wolves, and blood-snuffing vultures. when i arrived at the quarter, all was quiet. the inhabitants of this mock-village were wrapped in forgetfulness; and i stole silently into my little loft and joined my neighbors in their repose. experience had made me so well acquainted with the dangers that beset the life of a slave, that i determined, as a matter of prudence, to say nothing to any one of the adventures of this sunday, but went to work on monday morning, at the summons of the overseer's horn, as if nothing unusual had occurred. in the course of the week i often thought of the forlorn and desponding african, who had so terrified me in the woods, and who seemed so grateful for the succor i gave him. i felt anxious to become better acquainted with this man, who possessed knowledge superior to the common race of slaves, and manifested a moral courage in the conversation that i had with him, worthy of a better fate than that to which fortune had consigned him. on the following sunday, having provided myself with a large file, which i procured from the blacksmith's shop, belonging to the plantation, i again repaired to the place, at the side of the swamp, where i had first seen the figure of this ill-fated man. i expected that he would be in waiting for me at the appointed place, as i had promised him that i would certainly come again, at this time: but on arriving at the spot where i had left him, i saw no sign of any person. the remains of the fire i had kindled were here, and it seemed that the fire had been kept up for several days, by the quantity of ashes that lay in a heap, surrounded by numerous small brands. the impressions of human feet were thickly disposed around this decayed fire: and the bones of the terrapins that i had given to paul, as well as the skeletons of many frogs, were scattered upon the ground, but there was nothing that showed that any one had visited this spot, since the fall of the last rain, which i now recollected had taken place on the previous thursday. from this circumstance i concluded, that paul had relieved himself of his irons and gone to seek concealment in some other place, or that his master had discovered his retreat and carried him back to the plantation. whilst standing at the ashes i heard the croaking of ravens at some distance in the woods, and immediately afterwards a turkey-buzzard passed over me pursued by an eagle, coming from the quarter in which i had just heard the ravens. i knew that the eagle never pursued the buzzard for the purpose of preying upon him, but only to compel him to disgorge himself of his own prey for the benefit of the king of birds. i therefore concluded that there was some dead animal in my neighborhood that had called all these ravenous fowls together. it might be that paul had killed a cow by knocking her down with a pine knot, and that he had removed his residence to this slaughtered animal. curiosity was aroused in me, and i proceeded to examine the woods. i had not advanced more than two hundred yards when i felt oppressed by a most sickening stench, and saw the trees swarming with birds of prey, buzzards perched upon their branches, ravens sailing amongst their boughs, and clouds of carrion crows flitting about, and poising themselves in the air in a stationary position, after the manner of that most nauseous of all birds, when it perceives, or thinks it perceives, some object of prey. proceeding onward, i came in view of a large sassafras tree, around the top of which was congregated a cloud of crows, some on the boughs and others on the wing, whilst numerous buzzards were sailing low and nearly skimming the ground. this sassafras tree had many low horizontal branches, attached to one of which i now saw the cause of so vast an assembly of the obscene fowls of the air. the lifeless and putrid body of the unhappy paul hung suspended by a cord made of twisted hickory bark, passed in the form of a halter round the neck, and firmly bound to a limb of the tree. it was manifest that he had climbed the tree, fastened the cord to the branch, and then sprung off.--the smell that assailed my nostrils was too overwhelming to permit me to remain long in view of the dead body, which was much mangled and torn, though its identity was beyond question, for the iron collar, and the bells with the arch that bore them, were still in their place. the bells had preserved the corpse from being devoured; for whilst i looked at it i observed a crow descend upon it, and make a stroke at the face with its beak, but the motion that this gave to the bells caused them to rattle, and the bird took to flight. seeing that i could no longer render assistance to paul, who was now beyond the reach of his master's tyranny, as well as of my pity, i returned without delay to my master's house, and going into the kitchen, related to the household servants that i had found a black man hung in the woods with bells upon him.--this intelligence was soon communicated to my master, who sent for me to come into the house to relate the circumstance to him. i was careful not to tell that i had seen paul before his death; and when i had finished my narrative, my master observed to a gentleman who was with him, that this was a heavy loss to the owner, and told me to go. the body of paul was never taken down, but remained hanging where i had seen it until the flesh fell from the bones, or was torn off by the birds. i saw the bones hanging in the sassafras tree more than two months afterwards, and the last time that i was ever in these swamps. chapter xiii. an affair was now in progress, which, though the persons who were actors in it were far removed from me, had in its effects a great influence upon the fortunes of my life. i have informed the reader that my master had three daughters, and that the second of the sisters was deemed a great beauty. the eldest of the three was married about the time of which i now write, to a planter of great wealth, who resided near columbia; but the second had formed an attachment to a young gentleman whom she had frequently seen at the church attended by my master's family. as this young man, either from want of wealth, or proper persons to introduce him, had never been at my master's house, my young mistress had no opportunity of communicating to him the sentiments she entertained towards him, without violating the rules of modesty in which she had been educated. before she would attempt any thing which might be deemed a violation of the decorum of her sex, she determined to take a new method of obtaining a husband. she communicated to her father, my master, a knowledge of the whole affair, with a desire that he would invite the gentleman of her choice to his house. this the father resolutely opposed, upon the ground that the young man upon whom his daughter had fixed her heart was without property, and consequently destitute of the means of supporting his daughter in a style suitable to the rank she occupied in society. a woman in love is not easily foiled in her purposes; my young mistress, by continual entreaties, so far prevailed over the affections, or more probably the fears of her father, that he introduced the young man to his family, and about two months afterwards my young mistress was a bride; but it had been agreed amongst all the parties, as i understood, before the marriage, that as the son-in-law had no land or slaves of his own, he should remove with his wife to a large tract of land that my master owned in the new purchase in the state of georgia. in the month of september, my master came to the quarter one evening, at the time of our return from the field, in company with his son-in-law, and informed me that he had given me, with a number of others of his slaves, to his daughter: and that i, with eight other men and two or three women, must set out on the next sunday with my new master, for his estate in georgia, whither we were to go, to clear land, build houses, and make other improvements, necessary for the reception of the newly married lady, in the following spring. i was much pleased with the appearance and manners of my new master, who was a young man apparently about twenty-seven or eight years old, and of good figure. we were to take with us, in our expedition to georgia, a wagon, to be drawn by six mules, and i was appointed to drive the team. before we set off my young mistress came in person to the quarter, and told us that all those who were going to the new settlement must come to the house, where she furnished each of us with two full suits of clothes, one of coarse woollen, and the other of hempen cloth. she also gave a hat to each of us, and two pairs of shoes, with a trifle in money, and enjoined us to be good boys and girls, and get things ready for her, and that when she should come to live with us we should not be forgotten. the conduct of this young lady was so different from that which i had been accustomed to witness since i came to carolina, that i considered myself highly fortunate in becoming her slave, and now congratulated myself with the idea that i should, in future, have a mistress who would treat me kindly, and if i behaved well, would not permit me to want. at the time appointed we set out for georgia, with all the tools and implements necessary to the prosecution of a new settlement. my young master accompanied us, and traveled slowly for several days to enable me to keep up with him. we continued our march in this order until we reached the savannah river at the town of augusta, where my master told me that he was so well satisfied with my conduct, that he intended to leave me with the team to bring on the goods and the women and children; but that he would take the men and push on as fast as possible, to the new settlement, and go to work until the time of my arrival. he gave me directions to follow on and inquire for morgan county court house, and said that he would have a person ready there on my arrival to guide me to him and the people with him. he then gave me twenty dollars to buy food for the mules and provisions for myself and those with me, and left me on the high road master of myself and the team. i was resolved that this striking proof of confidence on the part of my master should not be a subject of regret to him, and pursued my route with the greatest diligence, taking care to lay out as little money as possible for such things as i had to buy. on the sixth day, in the morning, i arrived at our new settlement in the middle of a heavy forest of such timber as is common to that country, with three dollars and twenty-five cents in my pocket, part of the money given to me at augusta. this i offered to return, but my master refused to take it, and told me to keep it for my good conduct. i now felt assured that all my troubles in this world were ended, and that, in future, i might look forward to a life of happiness and ease, for i did not consider labor any hardship, if i was well provided with good food and clothes, and my other wants properly regarded. my master and the people who were with him had, before our arrival with the wagon, put up the logs of two cabins, and were engaged, when we came, in covering one of them with clapboards. in the course of the next day we completed both these cabins, with puncheon floors and small glass windows, the sash and glass for which i had brought in the wagon. we put up two other cabins, and a stable for the mules, and then began to clear land. after a few days my master told me he meant to go down into the settlements to buy provisions for the winter, and that he should leave me to oversee the hands, and carry on the work in his absence. he accordingly left us, taking with him the wagon and two boys, one to drive the team, and another to drive cattle and hogs, which he intended to buy and drive to our settlement. i now felt myself almost proprietor of our new establishment, and believe the men left under my charge did not consider me a very lenient overseer. i in truth compelled them to work very hard, as i did myself. at the end of a week my master returned with a heavy load of meal and bacon, with salt and other things that we needed, and the day following a white man drove to our station several cows and more than twenty hogs, the greater part of which were breeders. at this season of the year neither the hogs nor the cattle required any feeding at our hands. the woods were full of nuts, and the grass was abundant; but we gave salt to our stock, and kept the hogs in a pen two or three days, to accustom them to the place. we now lived very differently from what we did on my old master's plantation. we had as much bacon every day as we could eat, which, together with bread and sweet potatoes, which we had at will, constituted our fare. my master remained with us more than two months; within which time we had cleared forty acres of ground, ready for the plough; but, a few days before christmas, an event took place, which, in its consequences, destroyed all my prospects of happiness, and totally changed the future path of my life. a messenger one day came to our settlement with a letter, which had been forwarded in this manner, by the postmaster at the court house, where the post-office was kept. this letter contained intelligence of the sudden death of my old master, and that difficulties had arisen in the family which required the immediate attention of my young one. the letter was written by my mistress. my master forthwith took an account of the stock of provisions and other things that he had on hand, and putting the whole under my charge, gave me directions to attend to the work, and set off on horseback that evening; promising to return within one month at furthest. we never saw him again, and heard nothing of him until late in the month of january, when the eldest son of my late master came to our settlement in company with a strange gentleman. the son of my late master informed me, to my surprise and sorrow, that my young master, who had brought us to georgia, was dead; and that he and the gentleman with him, were administrators of the deceased, and had come to georgia for the purpose of letting out on lease, for the period of seven years, our place, with all the people on it, including me. to me, the most distressing part of this news was the death of my young master, and i was still more sorry when i learned that he had been killed in a duel. my young mistress, whose beauty had drawn around her numerous suitors, many of whom were men of base minds and cowardly hearts, had chosen her husband, in the manner i have related, and his former rivals, after his return from georgia, confederated together, for the dastardly purpose of revenging themselves, of both husband and wife, by the murder of the former. in all parts of the cotton country there are numerous taverns, which answer the double purpose of drinking and gambling houses. these places are kept by men who are willing to abandon all pretensions to the character and standing of gentlemen, for the hope of sordid gain, and are frequented by all classes of planters, though it is not to be understood that all the planters resort to these houses. there are men of high and honorable virtue among the planters, who equally detest the mean cupidity of the men who keep these houses, and the silly wickedness of those who support them. billiards is the game regarded as the most polite amongst men of education and fashion; but cards, dice and every kind of game, whether of skill or of hazard, are openly played in these sinks of iniquity. so far as my knowledge extends, there is not a single district of ten miles square, in all the cotton region, without at least one of these vile ordinaries, as they are frequently and justly termed. the keeping of these houses is a means of subsistence resorted to by men of desperate reputation, or reckless character, and they invite as guests all the profligate, the drunken, the idle, and the unwary of the surrounding country. in a community where the white man never works, except at the expense of forfeiting all claim to the rank of a gentleman, and where it is beneath the dignity of a man to oversee the labor of his own plantation, the number of those who frequent these gaming houses may be imagined. my young master, fortunately for his own honor, was of those who kept aloof from the precincts of the tavern, unless compelled by necessary business to go there; but the band of conspirators, who had resolved on his destruction, invited him through one of their number, who pretended to wish to treat with him concerning his property, to meet them at an ordinary one evening. here a quarrel was sought with him, and he was challenged to fight with pistols, over the table around which they sat. my master, who, it appears, was unable to bear the reproach of cowardice, even amongst fools, agreed to fight, and as he had no pistols with him, was presented with a pair belonging to one of the gang; and accepted their owner, as his friend, or second in the business. the result was as might have been expected. my master was killed at the first fire, by a ball which passed through his breast, whilst his antagonist escaped unharmed. a servant was immediately despatched with a letter to my mistress, informing her of the death of her husband. she was awakened in the night to read the letter, the bearer having informed her maid that it was necessary for her to see it immediately. the shock drove her into a feverish delirium, from which she never recovered. at periods, her reason resumed its dominion, but in the summer following, she became a mother, and died in child-bed, of puerperal fever. i obtained this account from the mouth of a black man, who was the traveling servant of the eldest son of my old master, and who was with his master at the time he came to visit the tenant, to whom he let his sister's estate in georgia. the estate to which i was now attached, was advertised to be rented for the term of seven years, with all the stock of mules, cattle, and so forth, upon it--together with seventeen slaves, six of whom were too young to be able to work at present. the price asked, was one thousand dollars for the first year, and two thousand dollars for each of the six succeeding years; the tenant to be bound to clear thirty acres of land annually. before the day on which the estate was to be let, by the terms of the advertisement, a man came up from the neighborhood of savannah, and agreed to take the new plantation, on the terms asked. he was immediately put into possession of the premises, and from this moment, i became his slave for the term of seven years. fortune had now thrown me into the power of a new master, of whom, when i considered the part of the country from whence he came, which had always been represented to me as distinguished for the cruelty with which slaves were treated in it, i had no reason to expect much that was good. i had indeed, from the moment i saw this new master, and had learned the place of his former residence, made up my mind to prepare myself for a harsh servitude; but as we are often disappointed for the worse, so it sometimes happens, that we are deceived for the better. this man was by no means so bad as i was prepared to find him; and yet, i experienced all the evils in his service, that i had ever apprehended; but i could never find in my heart to entertain a revengeful feeling towards him, for he was as much a slave as i was; and i believe of the two, the greater sufferer. perhaps the evils he endured himself, made him more compassionate of the sorrows of others; but notwithstanding the injustice that was done me while with him, i could never look upon him as a bad man. at the time he took possession of the estate, he was alone, and did not let us know that he had a wife, until after he had been with us at least two weeks. one day, however, he called us together, and told us that he was going down the country, to bring up his family--that he wished us to go on with the work on the place in the manner he pointed out; and telling the rest of the hands that they must obey my orders, he left us. he was gone full two weeks; and when he returned, i had all the cleared land planted in cotton, corn, and sweet potatoes, and had progressed with the business of the plantation so much to his satisfaction, that he gave me a dollar, with which i bought a pair of new trowsers--my old ones having been worn out in clearing the new land, and burning logs. my master's family, a wife and one child, came with him; and my new mistress soon caused me to regret the death of my former young master, for other reasons than those of affection and esteem. this woman (though she was my mistress, i cannot call her lady,) was the daughter of a very wealthy planter, who resided near milledgeville, and had several children besides my mistress. my master was a native of north carolina--had removed to georgia several years before this--had acquired some property, and was married to my mistress more than two years, when i became his slave for a term of years, as i have stated. i saw many families, and was acquainted with the moral character of many ladies while i lived in the south; but i must, in justice to the country, say that my new mistress was the worst woman i ever saw amongst the southern people. her temper was as bad as that of a speckled viper; and her language, when she was enraged, was a mere vocabulary of profanity and virulence. my master and mistress brought with them when they came twelve slaves, great and small, seven of whom were able to do field work. we now had on our new place a very respectable force; and my master was a man who understood the means of procuring a good day's work from his hands, as well as any of his neighbors. he was also a man who, when left to pursue his own inclinations, was kind and humane in his temper and conduct towards his people; and if he had possessed courage enough to whip his wife two or three times, as he sometimes whipped his slaves, and to compel her to observe a rule of conduct befitting her sex, i should have had a tolerable time of my servitude with him; and should, in all probability, have been a slave in georgia until this day. before my mistress came, we had meat in abundance, for my master had left his keys with me, and i dealt out the provisions to the people. lest my master should complain of me at his return, or suspect that i had not been faithful to my trust, i had only allowed ourselves (for i fared in common with the others) one meal of meat in each day. we had several cows that supplied us with milk, and a barrel of molasses was among the stores of provisions. we had mush, sweet potatoes, milk, molasses, and sometimes butter for breakfast and supper, and meat for dinner. had we been permitted to enjoy this fine fare after the arrival of our mistress, and had she been a woman of kindly disposition and lady-like manners, i should have considered myself well off in the world; for i was now living in as good a country as i ever saw, and i much doubt if there is a better one any where. our mistress gave us a specimen of her character on the first morning after her arrival amongst us, by beating severely, with a raw cow-hide, the black girl who nursed the infant, because the child cried, and could not be kept silent. i perceived by this that my mistress possessed no control over her passions; and that when enraged she would find some victim to pour her fury upon, without regard to justice or mercy. when we were called to dinner to-day, we had no meat, and a very short supply of bread; our meal being composed of badly cooked sweet potatoes, some bread, and a very small quantity of sour milk. from this time our allowance of meat was withdrawn from us altogether, and we had to live upon our bread, potatoes, and the little milk that our mistress permitted us to have. the most vexatious part of the new discipline was the distinction that was made between us, who were on the plantation before our mistress came to it, and the slaves that she brought with her. to these latter, she gave the best part of the sour milk, all the buttermilk, and i believe frequently rations of meat. we were not on our part (i mean us of the old stock) wholly without meat, for our master sometimes gave us a whole flitch of bacon at once; this he had stolen from his own smoke-house--i say stolen, because he took it without the knowledge of my mistress, and always charged us in the most solemn manner not to let her know that we had received it. she was as negligent of the duties of a good housewife, as she was arrogant in assuming the control of things not within the sphere of her domestic duties, and never missed the bacon that our master gave to us, because she had not taken the trouble of examining the state of the meat-house. obtaining all the meat we ate by stealth, through our master, our supplies were not regular, coming once or twice a week, according to circumstances. however, as i was satisfied of the good intentions of my master towards me, i felt interested in his welfare, and in a short time became warmly attached to him. he fared but little better at the hands of my mistress than i did, except as he ate at the same table with her, he always had enough of comfortable food; but in the matter of ill language, i believe my master and i might safely have put our goods together as a joint stock in trade, without either the one or the other being greatly the loser. i had secured the good opinion of my master, and it was perceivable by any one that he had more confidence in me than in any of his other slaves, and often treated me as the foreman of his people. this aroused the indignation of my mistress, who, with all her ill qualities, retained a sort of selfish esteem for the slaves who had come with her from her father's estate. she seldom saw me without giving me her customary salutation of profanity; and she exceeded all other persons that i have ever known in the quickness and sarcasm of the jibes and jeers with which she seasoned her oaths. to form any fair conception of her volubility and scurrilous wit, it was necessary to hear her, more especially on sunday morning or a rainy day, when the people were all loitering about the kitchens, which stood close round her dwelling. she treated my master with no more ceremony than she did me. misery loves company, it is said, and i verily believe that my master and i felt a mutual attachment on account of our mutual sufferings. chapter xiv. the country i now lived in was new, and abounded with every sort of game common to a new settlement. wages were high, and i could sometimes earn a dollar and a half a day by doing job work on sunday. the price of a day's work here was a dollar. my master paid me regularly and fairly for all the work i did for him on sunday, and i never went anywhere else to procure work. all his other hands were treated in the same way. he also gave me an old gun that had seen much hard service, for the stock was quite shattered to pieces, and the lock would not strike fire. i took my gun to a blacksmith in the neighborhood, and he repaired the lock, so that my musket was as sure fire as any piece need be. i found upon trial that though the stock and lock had been worn out, the barrel was none the worse for the service it had undergone. i now, for the first time in my life, became a hunter, in the proper sense of the word; and generally managed my affairs in such a way as to get the half of saturday to myself. this i did by prevailing on my master to set my task for the week on monday morning. saturday was appropriated to hunting, if i was not obliged to work all day, and i soon became pretty expert in the use of my gun. i made salt licks in the woods, to which the deer came at night, and i shot them from a seat of clapboards that was placed on the branches of a tree. raccoons abounded here, and were of a large size, and fat at all seasons. in the month of april i saw the ground thickly strewed with nuts, the growth of the last year. i now began to live well, notwithstanding the persecution that my mistress still directed against me, and to feel myself, in some measure, an independent man. the temper of my mistress grew worse daily, and to add to my troubles, the health of my master began to decline, and towards the latter part of autumn he told me that already he felt the symptoms of approaching death. this was a source of much anxiety and trouble to me, for i saw clearly, if i ever fell under the unbridled dominion of my mistress, i should regret the worst period of my servitude in south carolina. i was afraid as winter came on that my master might grow worse and pass away in the spring--for his disease was the consumption of the lungs. we passed this winter in clearing land, after we had secured the crops of cotton and corn, and nothing happened on our plantation to disturb the usual monotony of the life of a slave, except that in the month of january, my master informed me that he intended to go to savannah for the purpose of purchasing groceries, and such other supplies as might be required on the plantation, in the following season; and that he intended to take down a load of cotton with our wagon and team, and that i must prepare to be the driver. this intelligence was not disagreeable to me, as the trip to savannah would, in the first place, release me for a short time from the tyranny of my mistress, and in the second, would give me an opportunity of seeing a great deal of strange country. i derived a third advantage, in after times, from this journey, but which did not enter into my estimate of this affair, at that time. my master had not yet erected a cotton-gin on his place--the land not being his own--and we hauled our cotton, in the seed, nearly three miles to be ginned, for which we had to give one-fourth to the owner of the gin. when the time of my departure came, i loaded my wagon with ten bales of cotton, and set out with the same team of six mules that i had driven from south carolina. nothing of moment happened to me until the evening of the fourth day, when we were one hundred miles from home. my master stopped to-night (for he traveled with me on his horse) at the house of an old friend of his; and i heard my master, in conversation with this gentleman, (for such he certainly was) give me a very good character, and tell him, that i was the most faithful and trusty negro that he had ever owned. he also said that if he lived to see the expiration of the seven years for which he had leased me, he intended to buy me. he said much more of me; and i thought i heard him tell his friend something about my mistress, but this was spoken in a low tone of voice, and i could not distinctly understand it. when i was going away in the morning with my team, this gentleman came out to the wagon and ordered one of his own slaves to help me to put the harness on my mules. at parting, he told me to stop at his house on my return and stay all night; and said, i should always be welcome to the use of his kitchen, if it should ever be my lot to travel that way again. i mention these trifles to show, that if there are hard and cruel masters in the south, there are also others of a contrary character. the slave-holders are neither more nor less than men, some of whom are good and very many are bad. my master and this gentleman were certainly of the number of the good, but the contrast between them and some others that i have seen, was, unhappily for many of the slaves, very great. i shall, hereafter, refer to this gentleman, at whose house i now was, and shall never name him without honor, nor think of him without gratitude. as i traveled through the country with my team, my chief employment, beyond my duty of a teamster, was to observe the condition of the slaves on the various plantations by which we passed on our journey, and to compare things in georgia, as i now saw them, with similar things in carolina, as i had heretofore seen them. there is as much sameness among the various cotton plantations in georgia, as there is among the various farms in new york or new jersey. he who has seen one cotton-field has seen all the other cotton-fields, bating the difference that naturally results from good and bad soils, or good and bad culture; but the contrast that prevails in the treatment of the slaves, on different plantations, is very remarkable. we traveled a road that was not well provided with public houses, and we frequently stopped for the night at the private dwellings of the planters, and i observed that my master was received as a visitor, and treated as a friend in the family, whilst i was always left at the road with my wagon, my master supplying me with money to buy food for myself and my mules. it was my practice, when we remained all night at these gentlemen's houses, to go to the kitchen in the evening, after i had fed my mules and eaten my supper, and pass some time in conversation with the black people i might chance to find there. one evening we halted before sundown, and i unhitched my mules at the road, about two hundred yards from the house of a planter, to which my master went to claim hospitality for himself. after i had disposed of my team for the night, and taken my supper, i went as usual to see the people of color in the kitchen, belonging to this plantation. the sun had just set when i reached the kitchen, and soon afterwards, a black boy came in and told the woman, who was the only person in the kitchen when i came to it, that she must go down to the overseer's house. she immediately started, in obedience to this order, and not choosing to remain alone in a strange house, i concluded to follow the woman, and see the other people of this estate. when we reached the house of the overseer, the colored people were coming in from the field, and with them came the overseer, and another man, better dressed than overseers usually are. i stood at some distance from these gentlemen, not thinking it prudent to be too forward amongst strangers. the black people were all called together, and the overseer told them, that some one of them had stolen a fat hog from the pen, carried it to the woods, and there killed and dressed it; that he had that day found the place where the hog had been slaughtered, and that if they did not confess, and tell who the perpetrators of this theft were, they would all be whipped in the severest manner. to this threat, no other reply was made than a universal assertion of the innocence of the accused. they were all then ordered to lie down upon the ground, and expose their backs, to which the overseer applied the thong of his long whip, by turns, until he was weary. it was fortunate for these people, that they were more than twenty in number, which prevented the overseer from inflicting many lashes on any one of them. when the whole number had received, each in turn, a share of the lash, the overseer returned to the man, to whom he had first applied the whip, and told him he was certain that he knew who stole the hog; and that if he did not tell who the thief was, he would whip him all night. he then again applied the whip to the back of this man, until the blood flowed copiously; but the sufferer hid his face in his hands, and said not a word. the other gentleman then asked the overseer if he was confident this man had stolen the pig; and, receiving an affirmative answer, he said he would make the fellow confess the truth, if he would follow his directions. he then asked the overseer if he had ever tried cat-hauling, upon an obstinate negro; and was told that this punishment had been heard of, but never practised on this plantation. a boy was then ordered to get up, run to the house, and bring a cat, which was soon produced. the cat, which was a large gray tom-cat, was then taken by the well-dressed gentleman, and placed upon the bare back of the prostrate black man, near the shoulder, and forcibly dragged by the tail down the back, and along the bare thighs of the sufferer. the cat sunk his rails into the flesh, and tore off pieces of the skin with his teeth. the man roared with the pain of this punishment, and would have rolled along the ground, had he not been held in his place by the force of four other slaves, each one of whom confined a hand or a foot. as soon as the cat was drawn from him, the man said he would tell who stole the hog, and confessed that he and several others, three of whom were then holding him, had stolen the hog--killed, dressed, and eaten it. in return for this confession, the overseer said he should have another touch of the cat, which was again drawn along his back, not as before, from the head downwards, but from below the hips to the head. the man was then permitted to rise, and each of those who had been named by him as a participator in stealing the hog, was compelled to lie down, and have the cat twice drawn along his back; first downwards, and then upwards. after the termination of this punishment, each of the sufferers was washed with salt water, by a black woman, and they were then all dismissed. this was the most excruciating punishment that i ever saw inflicted on black people, and, in my opinion, it is very dangerous; for the claws of the cat are poisonous, and wounds made by them are very subject to inflammation. during all this time, i had remained at the distance of fifty yards from the place of punishment, fearing either to advance or retreat, lest i too might excite the indignation of these sanguinary judges. after the business was over, and my feelings became a little more composed, i thought the voice of the gentleman in good clothes, was familiar to me; but i could not recollect who he was, nor where i had heard his voice, until the gentlemen at length left this place, and went towards the great house, and as they passed me, i recognized in the companion of the overseer, my old master, the negro trader, who had bought me in maryland, and brought me to carolina. i afterwards learned from my master that this man had formerly been engaged in the african slave-trade, which he had given up some years before, for the safer and less arduous business of buying negroes in the north, and bringing them to the south, as articles of merchandise, in which he had acquired a very respectable fortune--had lately married in a wealthy family, in this part of the country, and was a great planter. two days after this, we reached savannah, where my master sold his cotton, and purchased a wagon load of sugar, molasses, coffee, shoes, dry goods, and such articles as we stood in need of at home; and on the next day after i entered the city, i again left it, and directed my course up the country. in savannah i saw many black men who were slaves, and who yet acted as freemen so far that they went out to work, where and with whom they pleased, received their own wages, and provided their own subsistence; but were obliged to pay a certain sum at the end of each week to their masters. one of these men told me that he paid six dollars on every saturday evening to his master; and yet he was comfortably dressed, and appeared to live well. savannah was a very busy place, and i saw vast quantities of cotton piled up on the wharves, but the appearance of the town itself was not much in favor of the people who lived in it. on my way home i traveled for several days, by a road different from that which we had pursued in coming down; and at the distance of fifty or sixty miles from savannah, i passed by the largest plantation that i had ever seen. i think i saw at least a thousand acres of cotton in one field, which was all as level as a bowling-green. there were, as i was told, three hundred and fifty hands at work in this field, picking the last of the cotton from the burs; and these were the most miserable looking slaves that i had seen in all my travels. it was now the depth of winter, and although the weather was not cold, yet it was the winter of this climate; and a man who lives on the savannah river a few years, will find himself almost as much oppressed with cold, in winter there, as he would be in the same season of the year on the banks of the potomac, if he had always resided there. these people were, as far as i could see, totally without shoes, and there was no such garment as a hat of any kind amongst them. each person had a coarse blanket, which had holes cut for the arms to pass through, and the top was drawn up round the neck, so as to form a sort of loose frock, tied before with strings. the arms, when the people were at work, were naked, and some of them had very little clothing of any kind besides this blanket frock. the appearance of these people afforded the most conclusive evidence that they were not eaters of pork, and that lent lasted with them throughout the year. i again staid all night, as i went home, with the gentleman whom i have before noticed as the friend of my master, who had left me soon after we quitted savannah, and i saw him no more until i reached home. soon after my return from savannah, an affair of a very melancholy character took place in the neighborhood of my master's plantation. about two miles from our residence lived a gentleman who was a bachelor, and who had for his housekeeper a mulatto woman. the master was a young man, not more than twenty-five years old, and the housekeeper must have been at least forty. she had children grown up, one of whom had been sold by her master, the father of the bachelor, since i lived here, and carried away to the west. this woman had acquired a most unaccountable influence over her young master, who lived with her as his wife, and gave her the entire command of his house, and of every thing about it. before he came to live where he now did, and whilst he still resided with his father, to whom the woman then belonged, the old gentleman perceiving the attachment of his son to this female, had sold her to a trader, who was on his way to the mississippi river, in the absence of the young man; but when the latter returned home, and learned what had been done, he immediately set off in pursuit of the purchaser, overtook him somewhere in the indian territory, and bought the woman of him, at an advanced price. he then brought her back, and put her, as his housekeeper, on the place where he now lived; left his father, and came to reside in person with the woman. on a plantation adjoining that of the gentleman bachelor, lived a planter, who owned a young mulatto man, named frank, not more than twenty-four or five years old, a very smart as well as handsome fellow.--frank had become as much enamored of this woman, who was old enough to have been his mother, as her master, the bachelor was; and she returned frank's attachment, to the prejudice of her owner. frank was in the practice of visiting his mistress at night, a circumstance of which her master was suspicious; and he forbade frank from coming to the house. this only heightened the flame that was burning in the bosoms of the lovers; and they resolved, after many and long deliberations, to destroy the master. she projected the plot, and furnished the means for the murder, by taking her master's gun from the place where he usually kept it, and giving it to frank, who came to the house in the evening, when the gentleman was taking his supper alone. lucy always waited upon her master at his meals, and knowing his usual place of sitting, had made a hole between two of the logs of the house, towards which she knew his back would be at supper. at a given signal, frank came quietly up the house, levelled the gun through the hole prepared for him, and discharged a load of buck-shot between the shoulders of the unsuspecting master, who sprang from his seat and fell dead beside the table. this murder was not known in the neighborhood until the next morning, when the woman herself went to a house on an adjoining plantation and told it. the murdered gentleman had several other slaves, none of whom were at home at the time of his death, except one man; and he was so terrified that he was afraid to run and alarm the neighborhood. i knew this man well, and believe he was afraid of the woman and her accomplice. i never had any doubt of his innocence, though he suffered a punishment, upon no other evidence than mere suspicion, far more terrible than any ordinary form of death. as soon as the murder was known to the neighboring gentlemen, they hastened to visit the dead body, and were no less expeditious in instituting inquiries after those who had done the bloody deed. my master was amongst the first who arrived at the house of the deceased; and in a short time, half the slaves of the neighboring plantations were arrested, and brought to the late dwelling of the dead man. for my own part, from the moment i heard of the murder, i had no doubt of its author. silence is a great virtue when it is dangerous to speak; and i had long since determined never to advance opinions, uncalled for, in controversies between the white people and the slaves. many witnesses were examined by a justice of the peace, before the coroner arrived, but after the coming of the latter, a jury was called; and more than half a day was spent in asking questions of various black people, without the disclosure of any circumstance, which tended to fix the guilt of the murder upon any one. my master, who was present all this time, at last desired them to examine me, if it was thought that my testimony could be of any service in the matter, as he wished me to go home to attend to my work. i was sworn on the testament to tell the whole truth; and stated at the commencement of my testimony, that i believed frank and lucy to be the murderers, and proceeded to assign the reasons upon which my opinion was founded. frank had not been present at this examination, and lucy, who had been sworn, had said she knew nothing of the matter; that at the time her master was shot she had gone into the kitchen for some milk for his supper, and that on hearing the gun, she had come into the room at the moment he fell to the floor and expired; but when she opened the door and looked out, she could neither hear nor see any one. when frank was brought in and made to touch the dead body, which he was compelled to do, because some said that if he was the murderer, the corpse would bleed at his touch, he trembled so much that i thought he would fall, but no blood issued from the wound of the dead man. this compulsory touching of the dead had, however, in this instance, a much more powerful effect, in the conviction of the criminal, than the flowing of any quantity of blood could have had; for as soon as frank had withdrawn his hand from the touch of the dead, the coroner asked him, in a peremptory tone, as if conscious of the fact, why he had done this. frank was so confounded with fear, and overwhelmed by this interrogatory, that he lost all self-possession, and cried out in a voice of despair, that lucy had made him do it. lucy, who had left the room when frank was brought in, was now recalled, and confronted with her partner in guilt, but nothing could wring a word of confession from her. she persisted, that if frank had murdered her master, he had done it of his own accord, and without her knowledge or advice. some one now, for the first time, thought of making search for the gun of the dead man, which was not found in the place where he usually had kept it. frank said he had committed the crime with this gun, which had been placed in his hands by lucy. frank, lucy and billy, a black man, against whom there was no evidence, nor cause of suspicion, except that he was in the kitchen at the time of the murder, were committed to prison in a new log-house on an adjoining plantation, closely confined in irons, and kept there a little more than two weeks, when they were all tried before some gentlemen of the neighborhood, who held a court for that purpose. lucy and frank were condemned to be hung, but billy was found not guilty; although he was not released, but kept in confinement until the execution of his companions, which took place ten days after the trial. on the morning of the execution, my master told me, and all the rest of the people, that we must go to the _hanging_, as it was termed by him as well as others. the place of punishment was only two miles from my master's residence, and i was there in time to get a good stand, near the gallows' tree, by which i was enabled to see all the proceedings connected with this solemn affair. it was estimated by my master, that there were at least fifteen thousand people present at this scene, more than half of whom were blacks; all the masters, for a great distance round the country, having permitted, or compelled their people to come to this _hanging_. billy was brought to the gallows with lucy and frank, but was permitted to walk beside the cart in which they rode. under the gallows, after the rope was around her neck, lucy confessed that the murder had been designed by her in the first place, and that frank had only perpetrated it at her instance. she said she had at first intended to apply to billy to assist her in the undertaking, but had afterwards communicated her designs to frank, who offered to shoot her master, if she would supply him with a gun, and let no other person be in the secret. a long sermon was preached by a white man under the gallows, which was only the limb of a tree, and afterwards an exhortation was delivered by a black man. the two convicts were hung together, and after they were quite dead, a consultation was held among the gentlemen as to the future disposition of billy, who, having been in the house when his master was murdered, and not having given immediate information of the fact, was held to be guilty of concealing the death, and was accordingly sentenced to receive five hundred lashes. i was in the branches of a tree close by the place where the court was held, and distinctly heard its proceedings and judgment. some went to the woods to cut hickories, whilst others stripped billy and tied him to a tree. more than twenty long switches, some of them six or seven feet in length, had been procured, and two men applied the rods at the same time, one standing on each side of the culprit, one of them using his left hand. i had often seen black men whipped, and had always, when the lash was applied with great severity, heard the sufferer cry out and beg for mercy, but in this case, the pain inflicted by the double blows of the hickory was so intense, that billy never uttered so much as a groan; and i do not believe he breathed for the space of two minutes after he received the first strokes. he shrank his body close to the trunk of the tree, around which his arms and legs were lashed, drew his shoulders up to his head like a dying man, and trembled, or rather shivered, in all his members. the blood flowed from the commencement, and in a few minutes lay in small puddles at the root of the tree. i saw flakes of flesh as long as my finger fall out of the gashes in his back; and i believe he was insensible during all the time that he was receiving the last two hundred lashes. when the whole five hundred lashes had been counted by the person appointed to perform this duty, the half dead body was unbound and laid in the shade of the tree upon which i sat. the gentlemen who had done the whipping, eight or ten in number, being joined by their friends, then came under the tree and drank punch until their dinner was made ready, under a booth of green boughs at a short distance. after dinner, billy, who had been groaning on the ground where he was laid, was taken up, placed in the cart in which lucy and frank had been brought to the gallows, and conveyed to the dwelling of his late master, where he was confined to the house and his bed more than three months, and was never worth much afterwards while i remained in georgia. lucy and frank, after they had been half an hour upon the gallows, were cut down, and suffered to drop into a deep hole that had been dug under them whilst they were suspended. as they fell, so the earth was thrown upon them, and the grave closed over them for ever. they were hung on thursday, and the vast assemblage of people that had convened to witness their death did not leave the place altogether until the next monday morning. wagons, carts, and carriages had been brought upon the ground; booths and tents erected for the convenience and accommodation of the multitude; and the terrible spectacles that i have just described were succeeded by music, dancing, trading in horses, gambling, drinking, fighting, and every other species of amusement and excess to which the southern people are addicted. i had to work in the day-time, but went every night to witness this funeral carnival,--the numbers that joined in which appeared to increase, rather than diminish, during the friday and saturday that followed the execution. it was not until sunday afternoon that the crowd began sensibly to diminish; and on monday morning, after breakfast time, the last wagons left the ground, now trampled into dust as dry and as light as ashes, and the grave of the murderers was left to the solitude of the woods. certainly those who were hanged well deserved their punishment; but it was a very arbitrary exercise of power to whip a man until he was insensible, because he did not prevent a murder which was committed without his knowledge; and i could not understand the right of punishing him, because he was so weak or timorous as to refrain from the disclosure of the crime the moment it came to his knowledge. it is necessary for the southern people to be vigilant in guarding the moral condition of their slaves, and even to punish the intention to commit crimes, when that intention can be clearly proved; for such is the natural relation of master and slave, in by far the greater number of cases, that no cordiality of feeling can ever exist between them; and the sentiments that bind together the different members of society in a state of freedom and social equality, being absent, the master must resort to principles of physical restraint, and rules of mental coercion, unknown in another and a different condition of the social compact. it is a mistake to suppose that the southern planters could ever retain their property, or live amongst their slaves, if those slaves were not kept in terror of the punishment that would follow acts of violence and disorder. there is no difference between the feelings of the different races of men, so far as their personal rights are concerned. the black man is as anxious to possess and to enjoy liberty as the white one would be, were he deprived of this inestimable blessing. it is not for me to say that the one is as well qualified for the enjoyment of liberty as the other. low ignorance, moral degradation of character, and mental depravity, are inseparable companions; and in the breast of an ignorant man, the passions of envy and revenge hold unbridled dominion. it was in the month of april that i witnessed the painful spectacle of two fellow-creatures being launched into the abyss of eternity, and a third, being tortured beyond the sufferings of mere death, not for his crimes, but as a terror to others; and this, not to deter others from the commission of crimes, but to stimulate them to a more active and devoted performance of their duties to their owners. my spirits had not recovered from the depression produced by that scene, in which my feelings had been awakened in the cause of others, when i was called to a nearer and more immediate apprehension of sufferings, which, i now too clearly saw, were in preparation for myself. my master's health became worse continually, and i expected he would not survive this summer. in this, however, i was disappointed; but he was so ill that he was seldom able to come to the field, and paid but little attention to his plantation, or the culture of his crops. he left the care of the cotton field to me after the month of june, and was not again out on the plantation before the following october; when he one day came out on a little indian pony that he had used as his hackney, before he was so far reduced as to decline the practice of riding. i suffered very much this summer for want of good and substantial provisions, my master being no longer able to supply me, with his usual liberality, from his own meat house. i was obliged to lay out nearly all my other earnings, in the course of the summer, for bacon, to enable me to bear the hardship and toil to which i was exposed. my master often sent for me to come to the house, and talked to me in a very kind manner; and i believe that no hired overseer could have carried on the business more industriously than i did, until the crop was secured the next winter. soon after my master was in the field, in october, he sent for me to come to him one day, and gave me, on parting, a pretty good great coat of strong drab cloth, almost new, which he said would be of service to me in the coming winter. he also gave me at the same time a pair of boots which he had worn half out, but the legs of which were quite good. this great coat and these boots were afterwards of great service to me. as the winter came on my master grew worse, and though he still continued to walk about the house in good weather, it was manifest that he was approaching the close of his earthly existence. i worked very hard this winter. the crop of cotton was heavy, and we did not get it all out of the field until some time after christmas, which compelled me to work hard myself, and cause my fellow-slaves to work hard too, in clearing the land that my master was bound to clear every year on this place. he desired me to get as much of the land cleared in time for cotton as i could, and to plant the rest with corn when cleared off. as i was now entrusted with the entire superintendence of the plantation by my master, who never left his house, it became necessary for me to assume the authority of an overseer of my fellow-slaves, and i not unfrequently found it proper to punish them with stripes to compel them to perform their work. at first i felt much repugnance against the use of the hickory, the only instrument with which i punished offenders, but the longer i was accustomed to this practice, the more familiar and less offensive it became to me; and i believe that a few years of perseverance and experience would have made me as inveterate a negro-driver as any in georgia, though i feel conscious that i never should have become so hardened as to strip a person for the purpose of whipping, nor should i ever have consented to compel people to work without a sufficiency of good food, if i had it in my power to supply them with enough of this first of comforts. in the month of february, my master became so weak, and his cough was so distressing, that he took to his bed, from which he never again departed, save only once, before the time when he was removed to be wrapped in his winding-sheet. in the month of march, two of the brothers of my mistress came to see her, and remained with her until after the death of my master. when they had been with their sister about three weeks, they came to the kitchen one day when i had come in for my dinner, and told me that they were going to whip me. i asked them what they were going to whip me for? to which they replied, that they thought a good whipping would be good for me, and that at any rate, i must prepare to take it. my mistress now joined us, and after swearing at me in the most furious manner, for a space of several minutes, and bestowing upon me a multitude of the coarsest epithets, told me that she had long owed me a whipping, and that i should now get it. she then ordered me to take off my shirt, (the only garment i had on, except a pair of old tow linen trowsers,) and the two brothers backed the command of their sister, the one by presenting a pistol at my breast, and the other by drawing a large club over his head in the attitude of striking me. resistance was vain, and i was forced to yield. my shirt being off, i was tied by the hands with a stout bed-cord, and being led to a tree, called the pride of china, that grew in the yard, my hands were drawn by the rope, being passed over a limb, until my feet no longer touched the ground. being thus suspended in the air by the rope, and my whole weight hanging on my wrists, i was unable to move any part of my person, except my feet and legs. i had never been whipped since i was a boy, and felt the injustice of the present proceeding with the utmost keenness; but neither justice nor my feelings had any influence upon the hearts of my mistress and her brothers, two men as cruel in temper and as savage in manners as herself. the first strokes of the hickory produced a sensation that i can only liken to streams of scalding water, running along my back; but after a hundred or hundred and fifty lashes had been showered upon me, the pain became less acute and piercing, but was succeeded by a dead and painful aching, which seemed to extend to my very backbone. as i hung by the rope, the moving of my legs sometimes caused me to turn round, and soon after they began to beat me i saw the pale and death-like figure of my master standing at the door, when my face was turned toward the house, and heard him, in a faint voice, scarcely louder than a strong breathing, commanding his brothers-in-law to let me go. these commands were disregarded, until i had received full three hundred lashes; and doubtlessly more would have been inflicted upon me, had not my master, with an effort beyond his strength, by the aid of a stick on which he supported himself, made his way to me, and placing his skeleton form beside me as i hung, told his brothers-in-law that if they struck another stroke he would send for a lawyer and have them both prosecuted at law. this interposition stopped the progress of my punishment, and after cutting me down, they carried my master again into the house. i was yet able to walk, and went into the kitchen, whither my mistress followed, and compelled me to submit to be washed in brine by a black woman, who acted as her cook. i was then permitted to put my shirt on, and to go to my bed. this was saturday, and on the next day, when i awoke late in the morning, i found myself unable to turn over or to rise. i felt too indignant at the barbarity with which i had been treated to call for help from any one, and lay in my bed made of corn husks until after twelve o'clock, when my mistress came to me and asked me how i was. a slave must not manifest feelings of resentment, and i answered with humility, that i was very sore and unable to get up. she then called a man and a woman, who came and raised me up; but i now found that my shirt was as fast to my back as if it had grown there. the blood and bruised flesh having become incorporated with the substance of the linen, it formed only the outer coat of the great scab that covered my back. after i was down stairs, my mistress had me washed in warm water, and warm grease was rubbed over my back and sides, until the shirt was saturated with oil, and becoming soft, was at length separated from my back. my mistress then had my back washed and greased, and put upon me one of my master's old linen shirts. she had become alarmed, and was fearful either that i should die, or would not be able to work again for a long time. as it was, she lost a month of my labor at this time, and in the end, she lost myself, in consequence of this whipping. as soon as i was able to walk, my master sent for me to come to his bed-side, and told me that he was very sorry for what had happened; that it was not his fault, and that if he had been well i should never have been touched. tears came in his eyes as he talked to me, and said that as he could not live long, he hoped i would continue faithful to him whilst he did live. this i promised to do, for i really loved my master; but i had already determined, that as soon as he was in his grave, i would attempt to escape from georgia and the cotton country, if my life should be the forfeiture of the attempt. as soon as i had recovered of my wounds, i again went to work, not in my former situation of superintendent of my master's plantation, for this place was now occupied by one of the brothers of my mistress, but in the woods, where my mistress had determined to clear a new field. after this time, i did nothing but grub and clear land, while i remained in georgia, but i was always making preparations for my departure from that country. my master was an officer of militia, and had a sword which he wore on parade days, and at other times he hung it up in the room where he slept. i conceived an idea that this sword would be of service to me in the long journey that i intended to undertake. one evening, when i had gone in to see my master, and had remained standing at his bed-side some time, he closed his eyes as if going to sleep, and it being twilight, i slipped the sword from the place where it hung, and dropped it out of the window. i knew my master could never need this weapon again, but yet i felt some compunction of conscience at the thought of robbing so good a man. when i left the room, i took up the sword, and afterwards secreted it in a hollow tree in the woods, near the place at which i worked daily. chapter xv. my master died in the month of may, and i followed him to his grave with a heavy heart, for i felt that i had lost the only friend i had in the world, who possessed at once the power and the inclination to protect me against the tyranny and oppression to which slaves on a cotton plantation are subject. had he lived, i should have remained with him and never have left him, for he had promised to purchase the residue of my time of my owners in carolina; but when he was gone, i felt the parting of the last tie that bound me to the place where i then was, and my heart yearned for my wife and children, from whom i had now been separated more than four years. i held my life in small estimation, if it was to be worn out under the dominion of my mistress and her brothers, though since the death of my master she had greatly meliorated my condition by giving me frequent allowances of meat and other necessaries. i believe she entertained some vague apprehensions that i might run away, and betake myself to the woods for a living, but i do not think she ever suspected that i would hazard the untried undertaking of attempting to make my way back to maryland. my purpose was fixed, and now nothing could shake it. i only waited for a proper season of the year to commence my toilsome and dangerous journey. as i must of necessity procure my own subsistence on my march, it behoved me to pay regard to the time at which i took it up. i furnished myself with a fire-box, as it is called, that is, a tin case containing flints, steel and tinder--this i considered indispensable. i took the great coat that my master had given me, and with a coarse needle and thread quilted a scabbard of old cloth in one side of it, in which i could put my sword and carry it with safety. i also procured a small bag of linen that held more than a peck. this bag i filled with the meal of parched corn, grinding the corn after it was parched in the woods where i worked at the mill at night. these operations, except the grinding of the corn, i carried on in a small conical cabin that i had built in the woods. the boots that my master gave me, i had repaired by a spaniard who lived in the neighborhood, and followed the business of a cobbler. before the first of august i had all my preparations completed, and had matured them with so much secrecy, that no one in the country, white or black, suspected me of entertaining any extraordinary design. i only waited for the corn to be ripe, and fit to be roasted, which time i had fixed as the period of my departure. i watched the progress of the corn daily, and on the eighth of august i perceived, on examining my mistress' field, that nearly half of the ears were so far grown, that by roasting them, a man could easily subsist himself; and as i knew that this corn had been planted later than the most of the corn in the country, i resolved to take leave of the plantation and its tenants, for ever, on the next day. i had a faithful dog, called trueman, and this poor animal had been my constant companion for more than four years, without ever showing cowardice or infidelity, but once, and that was when the panther followed us from the woods. i was accordingly anxious to bring my dog with me; but as i knew the success of my undertaking depended on secrecy and silence, i thought it safest to abandon my last friend, and engage in my perilous enterprise alone. on the morning of the ninth i went to work as usual, carrying my dinner with me, and worked diligently at grubbing until about one o'clock in the day. i now sat down and took my last dinner as the slave of my mistress, dividing the contents of my basket with my dog. after i had finished i tied my dog with a rope to a small tree; i set my gun against it, for i thought i should be better without the gun than with it; tied my knapsack with my bag of meal on my shoulders, and then turned to take a last farewell of my poor dog, that stood by the tree to which he was bound, looking wistfully at me. when i approached him, he licked my hands, and then rising on his hind feet and placing his fore paws on my breast, he uttered a long howl, which thrilled through my heart, as if he had said, "my master, do not leave me behind you." i now took to the forest, keeping, as nearly as i could, a north course all the afternoon. night overtook me before i reached any watercourse, or any other object worthy of being noticed; and i lay down and slept soundly, without kindling a fire or eating any thing. i was awake before day, and as soon as there was light enough to enable me to see my way, i resumed my journey and walked on, until about eight o'clock, when i came to a river, which i knew must be the appalachie. i sat down on the bank of the river, opened my bag of meal, and made my breakfast of a part of its contents. i used my meal very sparingly, it being the most valuable treasure that i now possessed; though i had in my pocket three spanish dollars; but in my situation, this money could not avail me any thing, as i was resolved not to show myself to any person, either white or black. after taking my breakfast, i prepared to cross the river, which was here about a hundred yards wide, with a sluggish and deep current. the morning was sultry, and the thickets along the margin of the river teemed with insects and reptiles. by sounding the river with a pole, i found the stream too deep to be waded, and i therefore prepared to swim it. for this purpose i stripped myself, and bound my clothes on the top of my knapsack, and my bag of meal on the top of my clothes; then drawing my knapsack close up to my head. i threw myself into the river. in my youth i had learned to swim in the patuxent, and have seldom met with any person who was more at ease in deep water than myself. i kept a straight line from the place of my entrance into the appalachie, to the opposite side, and when i had reached it, stepped on the margin of the land, and turned round to view the place from which i had set out on my aquatic passage; but my eye was arrested by an object nearer to me than the opposite shore. within twenty feet of me, in the very line that i had pursued in crossing the river, a large alligator was moving in full pursuit of me, with his nose just above the surface, in the position that creature takes when he gives chase to his intended prey in the water. the alligator can swim more than twice as fast as a man, for he can overtake young ducks on the water; and had i been ten seconds longer in the river, i should have been dragged to the bottom, and never again been heard of. seeing that i had gained the shore, my pursuer turned, made two or three circles in the water close by me, and then disappeared. i received this admonition as a warning of the dangers that i must encounter in my journey to the north. after adjusting my clothes, i again took to the woods, and bore a little to the east of north; it now being my determination to turn down the country, so as to gain the line of the roads by which i had come to the south. i traveled all day in the woods; but a short time before sundown, came within view of an opening in the forest, which i took to be cleared fields, but upon a closer examination, finding no fences or other enclosures around it, i advanced into it and found it to be an open savannah, with a small stream of water creeping slowly through it. at the lower side of the open space were the remains of an old beaver dam, the central part of which had been broken away by the current of the stream at the time of some flood. around the margin of this former pond, i observed several decayed beaver lodges, and numerous stumps of small trees, that had been cut down for the food or fortifications of this industrious little nation, which had fled at the approach of the white man, and all its people were now, like me, seeking refuge in the deepest solitudes of the forest, from the glance of every human eye. as it was growing late, and i believed i must now be near the settlements, i determined to encamp for the night, beside this old beaver dam. i again took my supper from my bag of meal, and made my bed for the night amongst the canes that grew in the place. this night i slept but little; for it seemed as if all the owls in the country had assembled in my neighborhood to perform a grand musical concert.--their hooting and chattering commenced soon after dark, and continued until the dawn of day. in all parts of the southern country, the owls are very numerous, especially along the margins of streams, and in the low grounds with which the waters are universally bordered; but since i had been in the country, although i had passed many nights in the woods at all seasons of the year, i had never before heard so clamorous and deafening a chorus of nocturnal music.--with the coming of the morning i arose from my couch, and proceeded warily along the woods, keeping a continual lookout for plantations, and listening attentively to every noise that i heard in the trees, or amongst the canebrakes. when the sun had been up two or three hours, i saw an appearance of blue sky at a distance through the trees, which proved that the forest had been removed from a spot somewhere before me, and at no great distance from me; and, as i cautiously advanced, i heard the voices of people in loud conversation. sitting down amongst the palmetto plants, that grew around me in great numbers, i soon perceived that the people whose conversation i heard, were coming nearer to me. i now heard the sound of horses' feet, and immediately afterwards saw two men on horseback, with rifles on their shoulders, riding through the woods, and moving on a line that led them past me, at a distance of about fifty or sixty yards.--perceiving that these men were equipped as hunters, i remained almost breathless for the purpose of hearing their conversation. when they came so near that i could distinguish their words, they were talking of the best place to take a stand for the purpose of seeing the deer; from which i inferred that they had sent men to some other point, for the purpose of rousing the deer with dogs. after they had passed that point of their way that was nearest to me, and were beginning to recede from me, one of them asked the other if he had heard that a negro had run away the day before yesterday, in morgan county; to which his companion answered in the negative. the first then said he had seen an advertisement at the store, which offered a hundred dollars reward for the runaway, whose name was charles. the conversation of these horsemen was now interrupted by the cry of hounds, at a distance in the woods, and heightening the speed of their horses, they were soon out of my sight and hearing. information of the state of the country through which i was traveling, was of the highest value to me; and nothing could more nearly interest me than a knowledge of the fact, that my flight was known to the white people, who resided round about and before me. it was now necessary for me to become doubly vigilant, and to concert with myself measures of the highest moment. the first resolution that i took was, that i would travel no more in the day-time. this was the season of hunting deer, and knowing that the hunters were under the necessity of being as silent as possible in the woods, i saw at a glance that they would be at least as likely to discover me in the forest, before i could see them, as i should be to see them, before i myself could be seen. i was now very hungry, but exceedingly loath to make any further breaches on my bag of meal, except in extreme necessity. feeling confident that there was a plantation within a few rods of me, i was anxious to have a view of it, in hope that i might find a corn-field upon it, from which i could obtain a supply of roasting ears. fearful to stand upright, i crept along through the low ground, where i then was, at times raising myself to my knees, for the purpose of obtaining a better view of things about me. in this way i advanced until i came in view of a high fence, and beyond this saw cotton, tall and flourishing, but no sign of corn. i crept up close to the fence, where i found the trunk of a large tree, that had been felled in clearing the field. standing upon this, and looking over the plantation, i saw the tassels of corn, at the distance of half a mile, growing in a field which was bordered on one side by the wood, in which i stood. it was now nine or ten o'clock in the morning, and as i had slept but little the night before, i crept into the bushes, great numbers of which grew in and about the top of the fallen tree, and, hungry as i was, fell asleep. when i awoke, it appeared to me from the position of the sun, which i had carefully noted before i lay down, to be about one or two o'clock. as this was the time of the day when the heat is most oppressive, and when every one was most likely to be absent from the forest, i again moved, and taking a circuitous route at some distance from the fields, reached the fence opposite the corn-field, without having met anything to alarm me. having cautiously examined everything around me, as well by the eye as by the ear, and finding all quiet, i ventured to cross the fence and pluck from the standing stalks about a dozen good ears of corn, with which i stole back to the thicket in safety. this corn was of no use to me without fire to roast it; and it was equally dangerous to kindle fire by night as by day, the light at one time and the smoke at another, might betray me to those who i knew were ever ready to pursue and arrest me. "hunger eats through stone walls," says the proverb, and an empty stomach is a petitioner, whose solicitations cannot be refused, if there is anything to satisfy them with. having regained the woods in safety, i ventured to go as far as the side of a swamp, which i knew to be at the distance of two or three hundred yards, by the appearance of the timber. when in the swamp, i felt pretty secure, but determined that i would never again attempt to travel in the neighborhood of a plantation in the daytime. when in the swamp a quarter of a mile, i collected some dry wood and lighted it with the aid of my tinder-box, flint, and steel. this was the first fire that i kindled on my journey, and i was careful to burn none but dry wood, to prevent the formation of smoke. here i roasted my corn, and ate as much of it as i could. after my dinner i lay down and slept for three or four hours. when i awoke, the sun was scarcely visible through the tree-tops. it was evening, and prudence required me to leave the swamp before dark, lest i should not be able to find my way out. approaching the edge of the swamp, i watched the going down of the sun, and noted the stars as they appeared in the heavens. i had long since learned to distinguish the north-star from all the other small luminaries of the night; and the seven pointers were familiar to me. these heavenly bodies were all the guides i had to direct me on my way, and as soon as the night had set in, i commenced my march through the woods, bearing as nearly due east as i could. i took this course for the purpose of getting down the country as far as the road leading from augusta to morgan county, with the intention of pursuing the route by which i had come out from south carolina; deeming it more safe to travel the high road by night, than to attempt to make my way at random over the country, guided only by the stars. i traveled all night, keeping the north-star on my left hand as nearly as i could, and passing many plantations, taking care to keep at a great distance from the houses. i think i traveled at least twenty-five miles to-night, without passing any road that appeared so wide, or so much beaten as that which i had traveled when i came from south carolina. this night i passed through a peach orchard, laden with fine ripe fruit, with which i filled my pockets and hat; and before day, in crossing a corn-field, i pulled a supply of roasting-ears, with which and my peaches, i retired at break of day to a large wood, into which i traveled more than a mile before i halted. here, in the midst of a thicket of high whortleberry bushes, i encamped for the day. i made my breakfast upon roasted corn and peaches, and then lay down and slept, unmolested, until after twelve o'clock, when i awoke and rose up for the purpose of taking a better view of my quarters; but i was scarcely on my feet, when i was attacked by a swarm of hornets, that issued from a large nest that hung on the limb of a tree, within twenty or thirty feet of me. i knew that the best means of making peace with my hostile neighbors, was to lie down with my face to the ground, and this attitude i quickly took, not however before i had been stung by several of my assailants, which kept humming through the air about me for a long time, and prevented me from leaving this spot until after sundown, and after they had retired to rest for the night. i now commenced the attack on my part, and taking a handful of dry leaves, approached the nest, which was full as large as a half bushel, and thrusting the leaves into the hole at the bottom of the nest, through which its tenants passed in and out, secured the whole garrison prisoners in their own citadel. i now cut off the branch upon which the nest hung, and threw it with its contents into my evening fire, over which i roasted a supply of corn for my night's journey. commencing my march this evening soon after nightfall, i traveled until about one o'clock in the morning, as nearly as i could estimate the time by the appearance of the stars, when i came upon a road which, from its width and beaten appearance, seemed to be the road to morgan county. after traveling for a day or two near this road, i at last found myself at daybreak one morning in sight of the home of my late master's friend, spoken of in our journey to savannah. i was desperately hungry, and the idea swayed me to throw myself upon his generosity and beg for food. it seemed to me that this gentleman was too benevolent a man to arrest and send me back to my cruel mistress; and yet how could i expect, or even hope, that a cotton planter would see a runaway slave on his premises, and not cause him to be taken up and sent home? failing to seize a runaway slave, when he has him in his power, is held to be one of the most dishonorable acts to which a southern planter can subject himself. nor should the people of the north be surprised at this. slaves are regarded, in the south, as the most precious of all earthly possessions; and, at the same time, as a precarious and hazardous kind of property, in the enjoyment of which the master is not safe. the planters may well be compared to the inhabitants of a national frontier, which is exposed to the inroads of hostile invading tribes. where all are in like danger, and subject to like fears, it is expected that all will be governed by like sentiments, and act upon like principles. i stood and looked at the house of this good planter for more than an hour after the sun had risen, and saw all the movements which usually take place on a cotton plantation in the morning. long before the sun was up, the overseer had proceeded to the field at the head of the hands; the black women who attended to the cattle, and milked the cows, had gone to the cowpen with their pails; and the smoke ascended from the chimney of the kitchen, before the doors of the great house were opened, or any of the members of the family were seen abroad. at length two young ladies opened the door, and stood in the freshness of the morning air. these were soon joined by a brother; and at last i saw the gentleman himself leave the house and walk towards the stables, that stood at some distance from the house on my left. i think even now that it was a foolish resolution that emboldened me to show myself to this gentleman. it was like throwing one's self in the way of a lion who is known sometimes to spare those whom he might destroy; but i resolved to go and meet this planter at his stables, and tell him my whole story. issuing from the woods, i crossed the fields unperceived by the people at the house, and going directly to the stables, presented myself to their proprietor, as he stood looking at a fine horse in one of the yards. at first he did not know me, and asked me whose man i was. i then asked him if he did not remember me; and named the time when i had been at his house. i then told at once that i was a runaway: that my master was dead, and my mistress so cruel that i could not live with her: not omitting to show the scars on my back, and to give a full account of the manner in which they had been made. the gentleman stood and looked at me more than a minute, without uttering a word, and then said, "i will not betray you, but you must not stay here. it must not be known that you were on this plantation, and that i saw and conversed with you. however, as i suppose you are hungry, you may go to the kitchen and get your breakfast with my house servants." he then set off for the house, and i followed, but turning into the kitchen, as he ordered me, i was soon supplied with a good breakfast of cold meat, warm bread, and as much new buttermilk as i chose to drink. before i sat down to breakfast, the lady of the house came into the kitchen, with her two daughters, and gave me a dram of peach brandy. i drank this brandy, and was very thankful for it; but i am fully convinced now that it did me much more harm than good; and that this part of the kindness of this most excellent family was altogether misplaced. whilst i was taking my breakfast, a black man came into the kitchen, and gave me a dollar that he said his master had sent me, at the same time laying on the table before me a package of bread and meat, weighing at least ten pounds, wrapped up in a cloth. on delivering these things, the black man told me that his master desired me to quit his premises as soon as i had finished my breakfast. this injunction i obeyed, and within less than an hour after i entered this truly hospitable house, i quitted it forever, but not without leaving behind me my holiest blessings upon the heads of its inhabitants. it was yet early in the morning when i regained the woods on the opposite side of the plantation from that by which i had entered it. chapter xvi. i could not believe it possible that the white people whom i had just left, would give information of the route i had taken; but as it was possible that all who dwelt on this plantation might not be so pure of heart as were they who possessed it, i thought it prudent to travel some distance in the woods, before i stopped for the day, notwithstanding the risk of moving about in the open light. for the purpose of precluding the possibility of being betrayed, i now determined to quit this road, and travel altogether in the woods or through open fields, for two or three nights, guiding my march by the stars. in pursuance of this resolution, i bore away to the left of the high road, and traveled five or six miles before i stopped, going round all the fields that i saw in my way, and keeping them at a good distance from me. in the afternoon of this day it rained, and i had no other shelter than the boughs and leaves of a large magnolia tree; but this kept me tolerably dry, and as it cleared away in the evening, i was able to continue my journey by starlight. i have no definite idea of the distance that i traveled in the course of this and the two succeeding nights, as i had no road to guide me, and was much perplexed by the plantations and houses, the latter of which i most carefully eschewed; but on the third night after this i encountered a danger, which was very nearly fatal to me. at the time of which i now speak, the moon having changed lately, shone until about eleven o'clock. i had been on my way two or three hours this evening, and all the world seemed to be quiet, when i entered a plantation that lay quite across my way. in passing through these fields, i at last saw the houses, and other improvements, and about a hundred yards from the house, a peach orchard, which i could distinguish by the faint light of the moon. this orchard was but little out of my way, and a quarter of a mile, as nearly as i could judge, from the woods. i resolved to examine these peach trees, and see what fruit was on them. coming amongst them, i found the fruit of the kind called indian peaches in georgia. these indian peaches are much the largest and finest peaches that i have ever seen, one of them oftentimes being as large as a common quince. i had filled all my pockets, and was filling my handkerchief with this delicious fruit, which is of deep red, when i heard the loud growl of a dog toward the house, the roof of which i could see. i stood as still as a stone, but yet the dog growled on, and at length barked out. i presume he smelled me, for he could not hear me. in a short time i found that the dog was coming towards me, and i then started and ran as fast as i could for the woods. he now barked louder, and was followed by another dog, both making a terrible noise. i was then pretty light of foot, and was already close by the woods when the first dog overtook me. i carried a good stick in my hand, and with this i kept the dogs at bay, until i gained the fence and escaped into the woods; but now i heard the shouts of men encouraging the dogs, both of which were now up with me, and the men were coming as fast as they could. the dogs would not permit me to run, and unless i could make free use of my heels, it was clear that i must be taken in a few minutes. i now thought of my master's sword, which i had not removed from its quilted scabbard, in my great coat, since i commenced my journey. i snatched it from its sheath, and at a single cut laid open the head of the largest and fiercest of the dogs, from his neck to his nose. he gave a loud yell and fell dead on the ground. the other dog, seeing the fate of his companion, leaped the fence, and escaped into the field, where he stopped, and like a cowardly cur, set up a clamorous barking at the enemy he was afraid to look in the face. i thought this no time to wait to ascertain what the men would say when they came to their dead dog, but made the best of my way through the woods, and did not stop to look behind me for more than an hour. in my battle with the dogs, i lost all my peaches, except a few that remained in my pockets; and in running through the woods i tore my clothes very badly, a disaster not easily repaired in my situation; but i had proved the solidity of my own judgment in putting up my sword as a part of my traveling equipage. i now considered it necessary to travel as fast as possible, and get as far as i could before day from the late battle-ground, and certainly i lost no time; but from the occurrences of the next day, i am of opinion that i had not continued in a straight line all night, but that i must have traveled in a circular or zigzag route. when a man is greatly alarmed, and in a strange country, he is not able to note courses, or calculate distances very accurately. daylight made its appearance, when i was moving to the south, for the daybreak was on my left hand; but i immediately stopped, went into a thicket of low white oak bushes, and lay down to rest myself, for i was very weary, and soon fell asleep, and did not awake until it was ten or eleven o'clock. before i fell asleep, i noted the course of the rising sun, from the place where i lay, in pursuance of a rule that i had established; for by this means i could tell the time of day at any hour, within a short period of time, by taking the bearing of the sun in the heavens, from where i lay, and then comparing it with the place of his rising. when i awoke to-day, i felt hungry and after eating my breakfast, again lay down, but felt an unusual sense of disquietude and alarm. it seemed to me that this was not a safe place to lie in, although it looked as well as any other spot that i could see. i rose and looked for a more secure retreat, but not seeing any, lay down again--still i was uneasy, and could not lie still. finally i determined to get up, and remove to the side of a large and long black log, that lay at the distance of seventy or eighty yards from me. i went to the log and lay down by it, placing my bundle under my head, with the intention of going to sleep again, if i could; but i had not been here more than fifteen or twenty minutes, when i heard the noise of men's voices, and soon after the tramping of horses on the ground. i lay with my back to the log in such a position, that i could see the place where i had been in the bushes. i saw two dogs go into this little thicket, and three horsemen rode over the very spot where i had lain when asleep in the morning and immediately horses and voices were at my back around me, and over me. two horses jumped over the log by the side of which i lay, one about ten feet from my feet, and the other within two yards from my head. the horses both saw me, took fright, and started to run; but fortunately their riders, who were probably looking for me in the tops of the trees, or expecting to see me start before them in the woods, and run for my life, did not see me, and attributed the alarm of their horses to the black appearance of the log, for i heard one of them say--"our horses are afraid of black logs: i wonder how they would stand the sight of the negro if we should meet him." there must have been in the troop at least twenty horsemen, and the number of dogs was greater than i could count as they ran in the woods. i knew that all these men and dogs were in search of me, and that if they could find me i should be hunted down like a wild beast. the dogs that had gone into the thicket where i had been, fortunately for me had not been trained to hunt negroes in the woods, and were probably brought out for the purpose of being trained.--doubtless if some of the kept dogs, as they are called of which there were certainly several in this large pack had happened to go into that thicket, instead of those that did go there, my race would soon have been run. i lay still by the side of the log for a long time after the horses, dogs and men had ceased to trouble the woods with their noise; if it can be said that a man lies still who is trembling in every joint, nerve and muscle, like a dog lying upon a cake of ice; and when i arose and turned round, i found myself so completely bereft of understanding, that i could not tell south from north, nor east from west. i could not even distinguish the thicket of bushes, from which i had removed to come to this place, from the other bushes of the woods. i remained here all day, and at night it appeared to me that the sun set in the south-east. after sundown, the moon appeared to my distempered judgment to stand due north from me, and all the stars were out of their places. fortunately i had sense enough remaining to know that it would not be safe for me to attempt to travel, until my brain had been restored to its ordinary stability; which did not take place until the third morning after my fright. the three days that i passed in this place i reckon the most unhappy of my life; for surely it is the height of human misery to be oppressed with alienation of mind, and to be conscious of the affliction. distracted as i was, i had determined never to quit this wood, and voluntarily return to slavery; and the joy i felt on the third morning, when i saw the sun rise in his proper place in the heavens; the black log, the thicket of bushes, and all other things resume the positions in which i found them, may be imagined by those who have been saved from apparently hopeless shipwreck on a barren rock in the midst of the ocean, but cannot be described by any but a poetic pen. i spent this day in making short excursions through the woods, for the purpose of ascertaining whether any road was near to me or not; and in the afternoon i came to one, about a mile from my camp, which was broad, and had the appearance of being much traveled. it appeared to me to lead to the north. awhile before sundown, i brought my bundle to this road, and lay down quietly to await the approach of night. when it was quite dark, except the light of the moon, which was now brilliant, i took to this road, and traveled all night without hearing or seeing any person, and on the succeeding night, about two o'clock in the morning, i came to the margin of a river, so wide that i could not see across it; but the fog was so dense at this time that i could not have seen across a river of very moderate width. i procured a long pole, and sounded the depth of the water, which i found not very deep; but as i could not see the opposite shore, was afraid to attempt to ford the stream. in this dilemma, i turned back from the river, and went more than a mile to gain the covert of a small wood, where i might pass the day in safety, and wait a favorable moment for obtaining a view of the river, preparatory to crossing it. i lay all day in full view of the high road, and saw, at least, a hundred people pass; from which i inferred, that the country was populous about me. in the evening, as soon as it was dark, i left my retreat, and returned to the river side. the atmosphere was now clear, and the river seemed to be at least a quarter of a mile in width; and whilst i was divesting myself of my clothes, preparatory to entering the water, happening to look down the shore i saw a canoe, with its head drawn high on the beach. on reaching the canoe, i found that it was secured to the trunk of a tree by a lock and chain; but after many efforts, i broke the lock and launched the canoe into the river. the paddles had been removed, but with the aid of my sounding-pole, i managed to conduct the canoe across the water. i was now once more in south carolina, where i knew it was necessary for me to be even more watchful than i had been in georgia. i do not know where i crossed the savannah river, but i think it must have been only a few miles above the town of augusta. after gaining the carolina shore, i took an observation of the rising moon and of such stars as i was acquainted with, and hastened to get away from the river, from which i knew that heavy fogs rose every night, at this season of the year, obscuring the heavens for many miles on either side. i traveled this night at least twenty miles, and provided myself with a supply of corn, which was now hard, from a field at the side of the road. at daybreak i turned into the woods, and went to the top of a hill on my left, where the ground was overgrown by the species of pine-tree called spruce in the south. i here kindled a fire, and parched corn for my breakfast. in the afternoon of this day the weather became cloudy, and before dark the rain fell copiously, and continued through the night, with the wind high. i took shelter under a large stooping tree that was decayed and hollow on the lower side, and kept me dry until morning. when daylight appeared, i could see that the country around me was well inhabited, and that the forest in which i lay was surrounded by plantations, at the distance of one or two miles from me. i did not consider this a safe position, and waited anxiously for night, to enable me to change my quarters. the weather was foul throughout the day; and when night returned, it was so dark that i could not see a large tree three feet before me. waiting until the moon rose, i made my way back to the road, but had not proceeded more than two or three miles on my way, when i came to a place where the road forked, and the two roads led away almost at right angles from each other. it was so cloudy that i could not see the place of the moon in the heavens, and i knew not which of these roads to take. to go wrong was worse than to stand still, and i therefore determined to look out for some spot in which i could hide myself, and remain in this neighborhood until the clearing up of the weather. taking the right hand road, i followed its course until i saw at the distance, as i computed it in the night, of two miles from me a large forest which covered elevated ground. i gained it by the shortest route across some cotton fields. going several hundred yards into this wood, i attempted to kindle a fire, in which i failed, every combustible substance being wet. this compelled me to pass the night as well as i could amongst the damp bushes and trees that overhung me. when day came, i went farther into the woods, and on the top of the highest ground that i could see, established my camp, by cutting bushes with my knife, and erecting a sort of rude booth. it was now, by my computation, about the twenty-fifth of august, and i remained here eleven days without seeing one clear night; and in all this time the sun never shone for half a day at once. i procured my subsistence while here from a field of corn which i discovered at the distance of a mile and a half from my camp. this was the first time that i was weather-bound, and my patience had been worn out and renewed repeatedly before the return of the clear weather; but one afternoon i perceived the trees to be much agitated by the wind, the clouds appeared high, and were driven with velocity over my head. i saw the clear sky appear in all its beauty in the north-west. before sundown the wind was high, the sun shone in full splendor, and a few fleecy clouds, careering high in the upper vault of heaven, gave assurance that the rains were over and gone. at nightfall i returned to the forks of the road, and after much observation, finally concluded to follow the right hand road, in which i am satisfied that i committed a great error. nothing worthy of notice occurred for several days after this. as i was now in a thickly-peopled country, i never moved until long after night, and was cautious never to permit daylight to find me on the road; but i observed that the north-star was always on my left hand. my object was to reach the neighborhood of columbia, and get upon the road which i had traveled and seen years before in coming to the south; but the road i was now on must have been the great charleston road, leading down the country, and not across the courses of the rivers. so many people traveled this road, as well by night as by day, that my progress was very slow; and in some of the nights i did not travel more than eight miles. at the end of a week, after leaving the forks, i found myself in a flat, sandy, poor country; and as i had not met with any river on this road, i now concluded that i was on the way to the sea-board instead of columbia. in my perplexity, i resolved to try to get information concerning the country i was in, by placing myself in some obscure place in the side of the road, and listening to the conversation of travelers as they passed me. for this purpose i chose the corner of a cotton field, around which the road turned, and led along the fence for some distance. passing the day in the woods among the pine-trees, i came to this corner in the evening, and lying down within the field, waited patiently the coming of travelers, that i might hear their conversation, and endeavor to learn from that which they said, the name at least of some place in this neighborhood. on the first and second evenings that i lay here, i gleaned nothing from the passengers that i thought could be of service to me; but on the third night, about ten o'clock, several wagons drawn by mules passed me, and i heard one of the drivers call to another and tell him that it was sixty miles to charleston; and that they should be able to reach the river to-morrow. i could not at first imagine what river this could be; but another of the wagoners inquired how far it was to the edisto, to which it was replied by some one that it was near thirty miles. i now perceived that i had mistaken my course, and was as completely lost as a wild goose in cloudy weather. not knowing what to do, i retraced the road that had led me to this place for several nights, hoping that something would happen from which i might learn the route to columbia; but i gained no information that could avail me anything. at length i determined to quit this road altogether, travel by the north-star for two or three weeks, and after that to trust to providence to guide me to some road that might lead me back to maryland. having turned my face due north, i made my way pretty well for the first night; but on the second, the fog was so dense that no stars could be seen. this compelled me to remain in my camp, which i had pitched in a swamp. in this place i remained more than a week, waiting for clear nights; but now the equinoctial storm came on, and raged with a fury which i had never before witnessed in this annual gale; at least it had never before appeared so violent to me, because, perhaps, i had never been exposed to its blasts, without the shelter of a house of some kind. this storm continued four days; and no wolf ever lay closer in his lair, or moved out with more stealthy caution than i did during this time. my subsistence was drawn from a small corn-field at the edge of the swamp in which i lay. after the storm was over, the weather became calm and clear, and i fell into a road which appeared to run nearly north-west. following the course of this road by short marches, because i was obliged to start late at night and stop before day, i came on the first day, or rather night, of october, by my calendar, to a broad and well-frequented road that crossed mine at nearly right angles. these roads crossed in the middle of a plantation, and i took to the right hand along this great road, and pursued it in the same cautious and slow manner that i had traveled for the last month. when the day came i took refuge in the woods as usual, choosing the highest piece of ground that i could find in the neighborhood. no part of this country was very high, but i thought people who visited these woods, would be less inclined to walk to the tops of the hills, than to keep their course along the low grounds. i had lately crossed many small streams; but on the second night of my journey on this road, came to a narrow but deep river, and after the most careful search, no boat or craft of any kind could be found on my side. a large flat, with two or three canoes, lay on the opposite side, but they were as much out of my reach as if they had never been made. there was no alternative but swimming this stream, and i made the transit in less than three minutes, carrying my packages on my back. i had as yet fallen in with no considerable towns, and whenever i had seen a house near the road, or one of the small hamlets of the south in my way, i had gone round by the woods or fields, so as to avoid the inhabitants; but on the fourth night after swimming the small river, i came in sight of a considerable village, with lights burning and shining through many of the windows. i knew the danger of passing a town, on account of the patrols with which all southern towns are provided, and making a long circuit to the right, so as totally to avoid this village, i came to the banks of a broad river, which, upon further examination, i found flowing past the village, and near its border. this compelled me to go back, and attempt to turn the village on the left, which was performed by wandering a long time in swamps and pine woods. it was break of day when i regained the road beyond the village, and returning to the swamps from which i had first issued, i passed the day under their cover. on the following night, after regaining the road, i soon found myself in a country almost entirely clear of timber, and abounding in fields of cotton and corn. the houses were numerous, and the barking of dogs was incessant. i felt that i was in the midst of dangers, and that i was entering a region very different from those tracts of country through which i had lately passed, where the gloom of the wilderness was only broken by solitary plantations or lonely huts. i had no doubt that i was in the neighborhood of some town, but of its name, and the part of the country in which it was located, i was ignorant. i at length found that i was receding from the woods altogether, and entering a champaign country, in the midst of which i now perceived a town of considerable magnitude, the inhabitants of which were entirely silent, and the town itself presented the appearance of total solitude. the country around was so open, that i despaired of turning so large a place as this was, and again finding the road i traveled, i therefore determined to risk all consequences, and attempt to pass this town under cover of darkness. keeping straight forward, i came unexpectedly to a broad river, which i now saw running between me and the town. i took it for granted that there must be a ferry at this place, and on examining the shore, found several small boats fastened only with ropes to a large scow. one of these boats i seized, and was quickly on the opposite shore of the river. i entered the village and proceeded to its centre, without seeing so much as a rat in motion. finding myself in an open space, i stopped to examine the streets, and upon looking at the houses around me, i at once recognized the jail of columbia, and the tavern in which i had lodged on the night after i was sold. this discovery made me feel almost at home, with my wife and children. i remembered the streets by which i had come from the country to the jail, and was quickly at the extremity of the town, marching towards the residence of the paltry planter, at whose house i had lodged on my way south. it was late at night, when i left columbia, and it was necessary for me to make all speed, and get as far as possible from that place before day. i ran rather than walked, until the appearance of dawn, when i left the road and took shelter in the pine woods, with which this part of the country abounds. i had now been traveling almost two months, and was still so near the place from which i first departed that i could easily have walked to it in a week, by daylight; but i hoped, that as i was now on a road with which i was acquainted, and in a country through which i had traveled before, that my future progress would be more rapid, and that i should be able to surmount, without difficulty, many of the obstacles that had hitherto embarrassed me so greatly. it was now in my power to avail myself of the knowledge i had formerly acquired of the customs of south carolina. the patrol are very rigid in the execution of the authority with which they are invested; but i never had much difficulty with these officers anywhere. from dark until ten or eleven o'clock at night, the patrol are watchful, and always traversing the country in quest of negroes, but towards midnight these gentlemen grow cold, or sleepy, or weary, and generally betake themselves to some house, where they can procure a comfortable fire. i now established, as a rule of my future conduct, to remain in my hiding place until after ten o'clock, according to my computation of time; and this night i did not come to the road until i supposed it to be within an hour of midnight, and it was well for me that i practiced so much caution, for when within two or three hundred yards of the road, i heard people conversing. after standing some minutes in the woods, and listening to the voices at the road, the people separated, and a party took each end of the road, and galloped away upon their horses. these people were certainly a band of patrollers, who were watching this road, and had just separated to return home for the night. after the horsemen were quite out of hearing, i came to the road, and walked as fast as i could for hours, and again came into the lane leading to the house, where i had first remained a few days, in carolina. turning away from the road i passed through this plantation, near the old cotton-gin house in which i had formerly lodged, and perceived that every thing on this plantation was nearly as it was when i left it. two or three miles from this place i again left the road, and sought a place of concealment, and from this time until i reached maryland, i never remained in the road until daylight but once, and i paid dearly then for my temerity. i was now in an open, thickly-peopled country, in comparison with many other tracts through which i had passed; and this circumstance compelled me to observe the greater caution. as nearly as possible, i confined my traveling within the hours of midnight and three o'clock in the morning. parties of patrollers were heard by me almost every morning before day. these people sometimes moved directly along the roads, but more frequently lay in wait near the side of the road, ready to pounce upon any runaway slave that might chance to pass; but i knew by former experience that they never lay out all night, except in times of apprehended danger; and the country appearing at this time to be quiet, i felt but little apprehension of falling in with these policemen, within my traveling hours. there was now plenty of corn in the fields, and sweet potatoes had not yet been dug. there was no scarcity of provisions with me, and my health was good, and my strength unimpaired. for more than two weeks i pursued the road that had led me from columbia, believing i was on my way to camden.--many small streams crossed my way, but none of them were large enough to oblige me to swim in crossing them. chapter xvii. on the twenty-fourth of october, according to my computation, in a dark night, i came to a river which appeared to be both broad and deep. sounding its depth with a pole, i found it too deep to be forded, and after the most careful search along the shore, no boat could be discovered. this place appeared altogether strange to me, and i began to fear that i was again lost. confident that i had never before been where i now found myself, and ignorant of the other side of the stream, i thought it best not to attempt to cross this water until i was better informed of the country through which it flowed. a thick wood bordered the road on my left, and gave me shelter until daylight. ascending a tree at sunrise that overlooked the stream, which appeared to be more than a mile in width, i perceived on the opposite shore a house, and one large and several small boats in the river. i remained in this tree the greater part of the day, and saw several persons cross the river, some of whom had horses; but in the evening the boats were all taken back to the place at which i had seen them in the morning. the river was so broad that i felt some fear of failing in the attempt to swim it; but seeing no prospect of procuring a boat to transport me, i resolved to attempt the navigation as soon as it was dark. about nine o'clock at night, having equipped myself in the best manner i was able, i undertook this hazardous navigation, and succeeded in gaining the farther shore of the river, in about an hour, with all my things in safety. on the previous day i had noted the bearing of the road, as it led from the river, and in the middle of the night i again resumed my journey, in a state of perplexity bordering upon desperation; for it was now evident that this was not the road by which we had traveled when we came to the southern country, and on which hand to turn to reach the right way i knew not. after traveling five or six miles on this road, and having the north-star in view all the time, i became satisfied that my course lay northwest, and that i was consequently going out of my way; and to heighten my anxiety, i had not tasted any animal food since i crossed the savannah river--a sensation of hunger harassed me constantly; but fortune, which had been so long adverse to me, and had led me so often astray, had now a little favor in store for me. the leaves were already fallen from some of the more tender trees, and near the road i this night perceived a persimmon tree, well laden with fruit, and whilst gathering the fallen persimmons under the tree, a noise over head arrested my attention. this noise was caused by a large opossum, which was on the tree gathering fruit like myself. with a long stick the animal was brought to the ground, and it proved to be very fat, weighing at least ten pounds. with such a luxury as this in my possession, i could not think of traveling far without tasting it, and accordingly halted about a mile from the persimmon tree, on a rising ground in a thick wood, where i killed my opossum, and took off its skin, a circumstance that i much regretted, for with the skin i took at least a pound of fine fat. had i possessed the means of scalding my game, and dressing it like a pig, it would have afforded me provision for a week; but as it was, i made a large fire and roasted my prize before it, losing all the oil that ran out in the operation, for want of a dripping-pan to catch it. it was daylight when my meat was ready for the table, and a very sumptuous breakfast it yielded me. since leaving columbia, i had followed as nearly as the course of the roads permitted, the index of the north-star; which, i supposed, would lead me on the most direct route to maryland; but i now became convinced, that this star was leading me away from the line by which i had approached the cotton country. i slept none this day, but passed the whole time, from breakfast until night, in considering the means of regaining my lost way. from the aspect of the country i arrived at the conclusion, that i was not near the sea-coast; for there were no swamps in all this region; the land lay rather high and rolling, and oak timber abounded. at the return of night, i resumed my journey earlier than usual; paying no regard to the roads, but keeping the north-star on my left hand, as nearly as i could. this night i killed a rabbit, which had leaped from the bushes before me, by throwing my walking stick at it. it was roasted at my stopping place in the morning, and was very good. i pursued the same course, keeping the north-star on my left hand for three nights; intending to get as far east as the road leading from columbia to richmond, in virginia; but as my line of march lay almost continually in the woods, i made but little progress; and on the third day, the weather became cloudy, so that i could not see the stars. this again compelled me to lie by, until the return of fair weather. on the second day, after i had stopped this time, the sun shone out bright in the morning, and continued to shed a glorious light during the day; but in the evening, the heavens became overcast with clouds; and the night that followed was so dark, that i did not attempt to travel. this state of the weather continued more than a week; obliging me to remain stationary all this time. these cloudy nights were succeeded by a brisk wind from the north-west, accompanied by fine clear nights, in which i made the best of my way towards the north-east, pursuing my course across the country without regard to roads, forests, or streams of water; crossing many of the latter, none of which were deep, but some of them were extremely muddy. one night i became entangled in a thick and deep swamp; the trees that grew in which, were so tall, and stood so close together, that the interlocking of their boughs, and the deep foliage in which they were clad, prevented me from seeing the stars. wandering there for several hours, most of the time with mud and water over my knees, and frequently wading in stagnant pools, with deep slimy bottoms, i became totally lost, and was incapable of seeing the least appearance of fast land. at length, giving up all hope of extricating myself from this abyss of mud, water, brambles, and fallen timber, i scrambled on a large tussock, and sat down to await the coming of day, with the intention of going to the nearest high land, as soon as the sun should be up. the nights were now becoming cool, and though i did not see any frost in the swamp where i was in the morning, i have no doubt that hoar frost was seen in the dry and open country. after daylight i found myself as much perplexed as i was at midnight. no shore was to be seen; and in every direction there was the same deep, dreary, black solitude. to add to my misfortune, the morning proved cloudy, and when the sun was up, i could not tell the east from the west. after waiting several hours for a sight of the sun, and failing to obtain it, i set out in search of a running stream of water, intending to strike off at right angles, with the course of the current, and endeavor to reach the dry ground by this means; but after wandering about, through tangled bushes, briars, and vines, clambering over fallen tree-tops, and wading through fens overgrown with saw grass, for two or three hours, i sat down in despair of finding any guide to conduct me from this detestable place. my bag of meal that i took with me at the commencement of my journey was long since gone; and the only provisions that i now possessed were a few grains of parched corn, and near a pint of chestnuts that i had picked up under a tree the day before i entered the swamp. the chestnut-tree was full of nuts, but i was afraid to throw sticks or to shake the tree, lest hunters or other persons hearing the noise, might be drawn to the place. about ten o'clock i sat down under a large cypress tree, upon a decaying log of the same timber, to make my breakfast on a few grains of parched corn. near me was an open space without trees, but filled with water that seemed to be deep, for no grass grew in it, except a small quantity near the shore. the water was on my left hand, and as i sat cracking my corn, my attention was attracted by the playful gambols of two squirrels that were running and chasing each other on the boughs of some trees near me. half pleased with the joyous movements of the little animals, and half covetous of their carcasses, to roast and devour them, i paid no attention to a succession of sounds on my left, which i thought proceeded from the movement of frogs at the edge of the water, until the breaking of a stick near me caused me to turn my head, when i discovered that i had other neighbors than spring frogs. a monstrous alligator had left the water, and was crawling over the mud, with his eyes fixed upon me. he was now within fifteen feet of me, and in a moment more, if he had not broken the stick with his weight, i should have become his prey. he could easily have knocked me down with a blow of his tail; and if his jaws had once been closed on a leg or an arm, he would have dragged me into the water, spite of any resistance that i could have made. at the sight of him, i sprang to my feet, and running to the other end of the fallen tree on which i sat, and being there out of danger, had an opportunity of viewing the motions of the alligator at leisure. finding me out of his reach, he raised his trunk from the ground, elevated his snout, and gave a wistful look, the import of which i well understood; then turning slowly round, he retreated to the water, and sank from my vision. i was much alarmed by this adventure with the alligator, for had i fallen in with this huge reptile in the night time, i should have had no chance of escape from his tusks. the whole day was spent in the swamp, not in traveling from place to place, but in waiting for the sun to shine, to enable me to obtain a knowledge of the various points of the heavens. the day was succeeded by a night of unbroken darkness; and it was late in the evening of the second day before i saw the sun. it being then too late to attempt to extricate myself from the swamp for that day, i was obliged to pass another night in the lodge that i had formed for myself in the thick boughs of a fallen cypress tree, which elevated me several feet from the ground, where i believed the alligator could not reach me if he should come in pursuit of me. on the morning of the third day the sun rose beautifully clear, and at sight of him i set off for the east. it must have been five miles from the place where i lay to the dry land on the east of the swamp; for with all the exertion that fear and hunger compelled me to make, it was two or three o'clock in the afternoon when i reached the shore, after swimming in several places, and suffering the loss of a very valuable part of my clothes, which were torn off by the briars and snags. on coming to high ground i found myself in the woods, and hungry as i was, lay down to await the coming of night, lest some one should see me moving through the forest in daylight. when night came on, i resumed my journey by the stars, which were visible, and marched several miles before coming to a plantation. the first that i came to was a cotton field; and after much search, i found no corn nor grain of any kind on this place, and was compelled to continue on my way. two or three miles further on i was more fortunate, and found a field of corn which had been gathered from the stalks and thrown in heaps along the ground.--filling my little bag, which i still kept, with this corn, i retreated a mile or two in the woods, and striking fire, encamped for the purpose of parching and eating it. after despatching my meal, i lay down beside the fire and fell into a sound sleep, from which i did not awake until long after sunrise; but on rising and looking around me, i found that my lodge was within less than a hundred yards of a new house that people were building in the woods, and upon which men were now at work. dropping instantly to the ground, i crawled away through the woods, until being out of sight of the house, i ventured to rise and escape on my feet. after i lay down in the night, my fire had died away and emitted no smoke; this circumstance saved me. this affair made me more cautious as to my future conduct. hiding in the woods until night again came on, i continued my course eastward, and some time after midnight came upon a wide, well beaten road, one end of which led, at this place, a little to the left of the north-star, which i could plainly see. here i deliberated a long time, whether to take this road, or continue my course across the country by the stars; but at last resolved to follow the road, more from a desire to get out of the woods, than from a conviction that it would lead me in the right way. in the course of this night i saw but few plantations, but was so fortunate as to see a ground-hog crossing the road before me. this animal i killed with my stick, and carried it until morning. at the approach of daylight, turning away to the right, i gained the top of an eminence, from which i could see through the woods for some distance around me. here i kindled a fire and roasted my ground-hog, which afforded me a most grateful repast, after my late fasting and severe toils. according to custom my meal being over, i betook myself to sleep, and did not awake until the afternoon; when descending a few rods down the hill, and standing still to take a survey of the woods around me, i saw, at the distance of half a mile from me, a man moving slowly about in the forest, and apparently watching, like myself, to see if any one was in view. looking at this man attentively, i saw that he was a black, and that he did not move more than a few rods from the same spot where i first saw him. curiosity impelled me to know more of the condition of my neighbor; and descending quite to the foot of the hill, i perceived that he had a covert of boughs of trees, under which i saw him pass, and after some time return again from his retreat. examining the appearance of things carefully, i became satisfied that the stranger was, like myself, a negro slave, and i determined, without more ceremony, to go and speak to him, for i felt no fear of being betrayed by one as badly off in the world as myself. when this man first saw me, at the distance of a hundred yards from him, he manifested great agitation, and at once seemed disposed to run from me; but when i called to him, and told him not to be afraid, he became more assured, and waited for me to come close to him. i found him to be a dark mulatto, small and slender in person, and lame in one leg. he had been well bred, and possessed good manners and fine address. i told him i was traveling, and presumed this was not his dwelling place: upon which he informed me that he was a native of kent county, in the state of delaware, and had been brought up as a house-servant by his master, who, on his death-bed, had made his will, and directed him to be set free by his executors, at the age of twenty-five, and that in the meantime he would be hired out as a servant to some person who should treat him well. soon after the death of his master, the executors hired him to a man in wilmington, who employed him as a waiter in his house for three or four months, and then took him to a small town called newport, and sold him to a man who took him immediately to baltimore, where he was again sold or transferred to another man, who brought him to south carolina, and sold him to a cotton planter, with whom he had lived more than two years, and had run away three weeks before the time i saw him, with the intention of returning to delaware. that being lame, and becoming fatigued by traveling, he had stopped here and made this shelter of boughs and bark of trees, under which he had remained more than a week before i met him. he invited me to go into his camp as he termed it, where he had an old skillet, more than a bushel of potatoes, and several fowls, all of which he said he had purloined from the plantations in the neighborhood. this encampment was in a level, open wood, and it appeared surprising to me that its occupant had not been discovered and conveyed back to his master before this time. i told him that i thought he ran great risk of being taken up by remaining here, and advised him to break up his lodge immediately, and pursue his journey, traveling only in the night time. he then proposed to join me, and travel in company with me; but this i declined, because of his lameness and great want of discretion, though i did not assign these reasons to him. i remained with this man two or three hours, and ate dinner of fowls dressed after his rude fashion.--before leaving him, i pressed upon him the necessity of immediately quitting the position he then occupied, but he said he intended to remain there a few days longer, unless i would take him with me. on quitting my new acquaintance, i thought it prudent to change my place of abode for the residue of this day, and removed along the top of the hill that i occupied at least two miles, and concealed myself in a thicket until night, when returning to the road i had left in the morning, and traveling hard all night, i came to a large stream of water just at the break of day. as it was too late to pass the river with safety this morning at this ford, i went half a mile higher, and swam across the stream in open daylight, at a place where both sides of the water were skirted with woods. i had several large potatoes that had been given to me by the man at his camp in the woods, and these constituted my rations for this day. at the rising and setting of the sun, i took the bearing of the road by the course of the stream that i had crossed, and found that i was traveling to the northwest, instead of the north or northeast, to one of which latter points i wished to direct my march. having perceived the country in which i now was to be thickly peopled, i remained in my resting place until late at night, when returning to the road and crossing it, i took once more to the woods, with the stars for my guides, and steered for the northeast. this was a fortunate night for me in all respects. the atmosphere was clear, the ground was high, dry, and free from thickets. in the course of the night i passed several corn fields, with the corn still remaining in them, and passed a potato lot, in which large quantities of fine potatoes were dug out of the ground and lay in heaps covered with vines; but my most signal good luck occurred just before day, when passing under a dog-wood tree, and hearing a noise in the branches above me, i looked up and saw a large opossum amongst the berries that hung upon the boughs. the game was quickly shaken down, and turned out as fat as a well-fed pig, and as heavy as a full-grown raccoon. my attention was now turned to searching for a place in which i could secrete myself for the day, and dress my provisions in quietness. this day was clear and beautiful until the afternoon, when the air became damp, and the heavens were overhung with clouds. the night that followed was dark as pitch, compelling me to remain in my camp all night. the next day brought with it a terrible storm of rain and wind, that continued with but little intermission, more than twenty-four hours, and the sun was not again visible until the third day; nor was there a clear night for more than a week. during all this time i lay in my camp, and subsisted upon the provisions that i had brought with me to this place. the corn and potatoes looked so tempting, when i saw them in the fields, that i had taken more than i should have consumed, had not the bad weather compelled me to remain at this spot; but it was well for me, for this time, that i had taken more than i could eat in one or two days. at the end of the cloudy weather, i felt much refreshed and strengthened, and resumed my journey in high spirits, although i now began to feel the want of shoes--those which i wore when i left my mistress having long since been worn out, and my boots were wrap straps of hickory bark about my feet to keep the leather from separating, and falling to pieces. it was now, by my computation, the month of november, and i was yet in the state of south carolina. i began to consider with myself, whether i had gained or lost, by attempting to travel on the roads; and, after revolving in my mind all the disasters that had befallen me, determined to abandon the roads altogether, for two reasons: the first of which was, that on the highways i was constantly liable to meet persons, or to be overtaken by them; and a second, no less powerful, was, that as i did not know what roads to pursue, i was oftener traveling on the wrong route than on the right one. setting my face once more for the north-star, i advanced with a steady, though slow pace, for four or five nights, when i was again delayed by dark weather, and forced to remain in idleness nearly two weeks; and when the weather again became clear, i was arrested on the second night by a broad and rapid river, that appeared so formidable that i did not dare to attempt its passage until after examining it in daylight. on the succeeding night, however, i crossed it by swimming--resting at some large rocks near the middle. after gaining the north side of this river, which i believed to be the catawba, i considered myself in north carolina, and again steered towards the north. chapter xviii. the month of november is, in all years, a season of clouds and vapors; but at the time of which i write, the good weather vanished early in the month, and all the clouds of the universe seemed to have collected in north carolina. from the second night after crossing the catawba, i did not see the north-star for the space of three weeks; and during all this time, no progress was made in my journey; although i seldom remained two days in the same place, but moved from one position to another, for the purpose of eluding the observation of the people of the country, whose attention might have been attracted by the continual appearance of the smoke of my fires in one place. there had, as yet, been no hard frost, and the leaves were still on the oak trees, at the close of this cloudy weather; but the northwest wind which dispelled the mist, also brought down nearly all the leaves of the forest, except those of the evergreen trees; and the nights now became clear, and the air keen with frost. hitherto the oak woods had afforded me the safest shelter, but now i was obliged to seek for groves of young pines to retire to at dawn. heretofore i had found a plentiful subsistence in every corn-field and potato-lot, that fell in my way; but now began to find some of the fields in which corn had grown, destitute of the corn, and containing nothing but the stalks. the potatoes had all been taken out of the lots where they grew, except in some few instances where they had been buried in the field; and the means of subsistence became every day more difficult to be obtained; but as i had fine weather, i made the best use of those hours in which i dared to travel, and was constantly moving from a short time after dark until daylight. the toil that i underwent for the first half of the month of december was excessive, and my sufferings for want of food were great. i was obliged to carry with me a stock of corn, sufficient to supply me for two or three days, for it frequently happened that i met with none in the fields for a long time. in the course of this period i crossed innumerable streams, the greater portion of which were of small size, but some were of considerable magnitude; and in all of them the water had become almost as cold as ice. sometimes i was fortunate enough to find boats or canoes tied at the side of the streams, and when this happened, i always made free use of that which no one else was using at the time; but this did not occur often, and i believe that in these two weeks i swam over nine rivers, or streams, so deep that i could not ford them. the number of creeks and rivulets through which i waded was far greater, but i cannot now fix the number. in one of these fine nights, passing near the house of a planter, i saw several dry hides hanging on poles under a shed. one of these hides i appropriated to myself, for the purpose of converting it into moccasins, to supply the place of my boots, which were totally worthless. by beating the dry hide with a stick it was made sufficiently pliable to bear making it into moccasins; of which i made for myself three pair, wearing one, and carrying the others on my back. one day as i lay in a pine thicket, several pigs which appeared to be wild, having no marks on their ears, came near me, and one of them approached so close without seeing me, that i knocked it down with a stone, and succeeded in killing it. this pig was very fat, and would have weighed thirty if not forty pounds. feeling now greatly exhausted with the fatigues that i had lately undergone, and being in a very great forest, far removed from white inhabitants, i resolved to remain a few days in this place, to regale myself with the flesh of the pig, which i preserved by hanging it up in the shade, after cutting it into pieces. fortune, so adverse to me heretofore, seemed to have been more kind to me at this time, for the very night succeeding the day on which i killed the pig, a storm of hail, snow, and sleet, came on, and continued fifteen or sixteen hours. the snow lay on the ground four inches in depth, and the whole country was covered with a crust almost hard enough to bear a man. in this state of the weather i could not travel, and my stock of pork was invaluable to me. the pork was frozen where it hung on the branches of the trees, and was as well preserved as if it had been buried in snow; but on the fourth day after the snow fell, the atmosphere underwent a great change. the wind blew from the south, the snow melted away, the air became warm, and the sun shone with the brightness, and almost with the warmth of spring. it was manifest that my pork, which was now soft and oily, would not long be in a sound state. if i remained here, my provisions would become putrid on my hands in a short time, and compel me to quit my residence to avoid the atmosphere of the place. i resolved to pursue my journey, and prepared myself, by roasting before the fire, all my pork that was left, wrapping it up carefully in green pine leaves, and enveloping the whole in a sort of close basket, that i made of small boughs of trees. equipping myself for my journey with my meat in my knapsack, i again took to the woods, with the stars for my guide, keeping the north-star over my left eye. the weather had now become exceedingly variable, and i was seldom able to travel more than half of the night. the fields were muddy, the low grounds in the woods were wet, and often covered with water, through which i was obliged to wade--the air was damp and cold by day, the nights were frosty, very often covering the water with ice an inch in thickness. from the great degree of cold that prevailed, i inferred, either that i was pretty far north, or that i had advanced too much to the left, and was approaching the mountain country. to satisfy myself as far as possible of my situation, one fair day, when the sky was very clear, i climbed to the top of a pine tree that stood on the summit of a hill, and took a wide survey of the region around me. eastward, i saw nothing but a vast continuation of plantations, intervened by forests; on the south, the faint beams of a winter sun shed a soft lustre over the woods, which were dotted at remote distances, with the habitations of men, and the openings that they had made in the green champaign of the endless pine-groves, that nature had planted in the direction of the midday sun. on the north, at a great distance, i saw a tract of low and flat country, which in my opinion was the vale of some great river, and beyond this, at the farthest stretch of vision, the eye was lost in the blue transparent vault, where the extremity of the arch of the world touches the abode of perpetual winter.--turning westward, the view passed beyond the region of pine trees, which was followed afar off by naked and leafless oaks, hickories, and walnuts; and still beyond these rose high in air, elevated tracts of country, clad in the white livery of snow, and bearing the impress of mid-winter. it was now apparent that i had borne too far westward, and was within a few days' travel of the mountains. descending from my observations, i determined on the return of night to shape my course, for the future, nearly due east, until i should at least be out of the mountains. according to my calendar, it was the day before christmas that i ascended the pine-tree; and i believe i was at that time in the north-western part of north carolina, not far from the banks of the yadkin river. on the following night i traveled from dark until, as i supposed, about three or four o'clock in the morning, when i came to a road which led as i thought in an easterly direction. this road i traveled until daylight, and encamped near it in an old field, overgrown with young pines and holly-trees. this was christmas-day, and i celebrated it by breakfasting on fat pork, without salt, and substituted parched corn for bread. in the evening, the weather became cloudy and cold, and when night came it was so dark that i found difficulty in keeping in the road, at some points where it made short angles. before midnight it began to snow, and at break of day the snow lay more than a foot deep. this compelled me to seek winter quarters; and fortunately, at about half a mile from the road, i found, on the side of a steep hill, a shelving rock that formed a dry covert, with a southern prospect. under this rock i took refuge, and kindling a fire of dry sticks, considered myself happy to possess a few pounds of my roasted pork, and more than half a gallon of corn that i carried in my pockets. the snow continued falling, until it was full two feet deep around me, and the danger of exposing myself to discovery by my tracks in the snow, compelled me to keep close to my hiding place until the third day, when i ventured to go back to the road, which i found broken by the passage of numerous wagons, sleds and horses, and so much beaten that i could travel it with ease at night, the snow affording good light. accordingly at night i again advanced on my way, which indeed i was obliged to do, for my corn was quite gone, and not more than a pound of my pork remained to me. i traveled hard through the night, and after the morning star rose; came to a river; which i think must have been the yadkin. it appeared to be about two hundred yards wide, and the water ran with great rapidity in it. waiting until the eastern horizon was tinged with the first rays of the morning light, i entered the river at the ford, and waded until the water was nearly three feet deep, when it felt as if it was cutting the flesh from the bones of my limbs, and a large cake of ice floating downward, forced me off my balance, and i was near falling. my courage failed me, and i returned to the shore; but found the pain that already tormented me greatly increased, when i was out of the water, and exposed to the action of the open air. returning to the river, i plunged into the current to relieve me from the pinching frost, that gnawed every part of my skin that had become wet; and rushing forward as fast as the weight of the water, that pressed me downward, would permit, was soon up to my chin in melted ice, when rising to the surface, i exerted my utmost strength and skill to gain the opposite shore by swimming in the shortest space of time. at every stroke of my arms and legs, they were cut and bruised by cakes of solid ice, or weighed down by floating masses of congealed snow. it is impossible for human life to be long sustained in such an element as that which encompassed me; and i had not been afloat five minutes before i felt chilled in all my members, and in less than the double of that time, my limbs felt numbed, and my hands became stiff, and almost powerless. when at the distance of thirty feet from the shore, my body was struck by a violent current, produced by a projecting rock above me, and driven with resistless violence down the stream. wholly unable to contend with the fury of the waves, and penetrated by the coldness of death, in my inmost vitals, i gave myself up for lost, and was commending my soul to god, whom i expected to be my immediate judge, when i perceived the long hanging branch of a large tree, sweeping to and fro, and undulating backward and forward, as its extremities were washed by the surging current of the river, just below me. in a moment i was in contact with the tree, and making the effort of despair, seized one of its limbs. bowed down by the weight of my body, the branch yielded to the power of the water, which rushing against my person, swept me round like the quadrant of a circle, and dashed me against the shore, where clinging to some roots that grew near the bank, the limb of the tree left me, and springing with elastic force to its former position, again dipped its slender branches in the mad stream. crawling out of the water, and being once more on dry land, i found my circumstances little less desperate than when i was struggling with the floating ice.--the morning was frosty, and icicles hung in long pendant groups from the trees along the shore of the river and the hoar frost glistened in sparkling radiance upon the polished surface of the smooth snow, as it whitened all the plain before me, and spread its chill but beautiful covering through the woods. there were three alternatives before me, one of which i knew must quickly be adopted. the one was to obtain a fire, by which i could dry and warm my stiffened limbs; the second was to die, without the fire; the third, to go to the first house, if i could reach one, and surrender myself as a runaway slave. staggering, rather than walking forward, until i gained the cover of a wood, at a short distance from the river, i turned into it, and found that a field bordered the wood within less than twenty rods of the road. within a few yards of this fence i stopped, and taking out my fire apparatus, to my unspeakable joy found them dry and in perfect safety. with the aid of my punk, and some dry moss gathered from the fence, a small flame was obtained, to which dry leaves being added from the boughs of a white oak tree, that had fallen before the frost of the last autumn had commenced, i soon had fire of sufficient intensity to consume dry wood, with which i supplied it, partly from the fence and partly from the branches of the fallen tree. having raked away the snow from about the fire, by the time the sun was up, my frozen clothes were smoking before the coals--warming first one side and then the other--i felt the glow of returning life once more invigorating my blood, and giving animation to my frozen limbs. the public road was near me on one hand, and an enclosed field was before me on the other, but in my present condition it was impossible for me to leave this place to-day, without danger of perishing in the woods, or of being arrested on the road. as evening came on, the air became much colder than it was in the forenoon, and after night the wind rose high and blew from the northwest, with intense keenness. my limbs were yet stiff from the effects of my morning adventure, and to complete my distress i was totally without provisions, having left a few ears of corn, that i had in my pocket, on the other side of the river. leaving my fire in the night, and advancing into the field near me, i discovered a house at some distance, and as there was no light, or sign of fire about it, i determined to reconnoitre the premises, which turned out to be a small barn, standing alone, with no other inhabitants about it than a few cattle and a flock of sheep. after much trouble, i succeeded in entering the barn by starting the nails that confined one of the boards at the corner. entering the house i found it nearly filled with corn, in the husks, and some from which the husks had been removed, was lying in a heap in one corner. into these husks i crawled, and covering myself deeply under them, soon became warm, and fell into a profound sleep, from which i was awakened by the noise of people walking about in the barn and talking of the cattle and sheep, which it appeared they had come to feed, for they soon commenced working in the corn husks with which i was covered, and throwing them out to the cattle. i expected at every moment that they would uncover me; but fortunately before they saw me, they ceased their operations, and went to work, some husking corn, and throwing the husks on the pile over me, while others were employed in loading the husked corn into carts, as i learned by their conversation, and hauling it away to the house. the people continued working in the barn all day, and in the evening gave more husks to the cattle and went home. waiting two or three hours after my visiters were gone, i rose from the pile of husks, and filling my pockets with ears of corn, issued from the barn at the same place by which i had entered it, and returned to the woods, where i kindled a fire in a pine thicket, and parched more than half a gallon of corn. before day i returned to the barn, and again secreted myself in the corn husks. in the morning the people again returned to their work, and husked corn until the evening. at night i again repaired to the woods, and parched more corn. in this manner i passed more than a month, lying in the barn all day, and going to the woods at night; but at length the corn was all husked, and i watched daily the progress that was made in feeding the cattle with the husks, knowing that i must quit my winter retreat before the husks were exhausted. before the husked corn was removed from the barn, i had conveyed several bushels of the ears into the husks, near my bed, and concealed them for my winter's stock. whilst i lay in this barn there were frequent and great changes of weather. the snow that covered the earth to the depth of two feet when i came here, did not remain more than ten days, and was succeeded by more than a week of warm rainy weather, which was in turn succeeded by several days of dry weather, with cold high winds from the north. the month of february was cloudy and damp, with several squalls of snow and frequent rains. about the first of march, the atmosphere became clear and dry, and the winds boisterous from the west. on the third of this month, having filled my little bag and all my pockets with parched corn, i quitted my winter quarters about ten o'clock at night, and again proceeded on my way to the north, leaving a large heap of corn husks still lying in the corner of the barn. on leaving this place, i again pursued the road that had led me to it for several nights; crossing many small streams in my way, all of which i was able to pass without swimming, though several of them were so deep that they wet me as high as my arm-pits.--this road led nearly northeast, and was the only road that i had fallen in with, since i left georgia, that had maintained that direction for so great a distance. nothing extraordinary befell me until the twelfth of march, when venturing to turn out earlier than usual in the evening, and proceeding along the road, i found that my way led me down a hill, along the side of which the road had been cut into the earth ten or twelve feet in depth, having steep banks on each side, which were now so damp and slippery that it was impossible for a man to ascend either the one or the other. whilst in this narrow place, i heard the sound of horses proceeding up the hill to meet me. stopping to listen, in a moment almost two horsemen were close before me, trotting up the road. to escape on either hand was impossible, and to retreat backwards would have exposed me to certain destruction. only one means of salvation was left, and i embraced it. near the place where i stood, was a deep gully cut in one side of the road, by the water which had run down here in time of rains. into this gully i threw myself, and lying down close to the ground, the horsemen rode almost over me, and passed on. when they were gone i arose, and descending the hill, found a river before me. in crossing this stream i was compelled to swim at least two hundred yards; and found the cold so oppressive, after coming out of the water, that i was forced to stop at the first thick woods that i could find and make a fire to dry myself. i did not move again until the next night; and on the fourth night after this, came to a great river, which i suppose was the roanoke. i was obliged to swim this stream, and was carried a great way down by the rapidity of the current. it must have been more than an hour from the time that i entered the water, until i reached the opposite shore, and as the rivers were yet very cold, i suffered greatly at this place. judging by the aspect of the country, i believed myself to be at this time in virginia; and was now reduced to the utmost extremity for want of provisions. the corn that i had parched at the barn and brought with me, was nearly exhausted, and no more was to be obtained in the fields at this season of the year. for three or four days i allowed myself only my two hands full of parched corn per day; and after this i traveled three days without tasting food of any kind; but being nearly exhausted with hunger, i one night entered an old stack-yard, hoping that i might fall in with pigs, or poultry of some kind. i found, instead of these, a stack of oats, which had not been threshed. from this stack i took as much oats in the sheaf as i could carry, and going on a few miles, stopped in a pine forest, made a large fire, and parched at least half a gallon of oats, after rubbing the grain from the straw. after the grain was parched, i again rubbed it in my hands, to separate it from the husks, and spent the night in feasting on parched oats. the weather was now becoming quite warm, though the water was cold in the rivers; and i perceived the farmers had everywhere ploughed their fields, preparatory to planting corn. every night i saw people burning brush in the new grounds that they were clearing of the wood and brush; and when the day came, in the morning after i obtained the oats, i perceived people planting corn in a field about half a mile from my fire. according to my computation of time, it was on the night of the last day of march that i obtained the oats; and the appearance of the country satisfied me that i had not lost many days in my reckoning. i lay in this pine-wood two days, for the purpose of recruiting my strength, after my long fast; and when i again resumed my journey, determined to seek some large road leading towards the north, and follow it in future; the one that i had been pursuing of late, not appearing to be a principal high-way of the country. for this purpose, striking off across the fields, in an easterly direction, i traveled a few hours, and was fortunate enough to come to a great road, which was manifestly much traveled, leading towards the northeast. my bag was now replenished with more than a gallon of parched oats, and i had yet one pair of moccasins made of raw hide; but my shirt was totally gone, and my last pair of trowsers was now in actual service. a tolerable waistcoat still remained to me, and my great coat, though full of honorable scars, was yet capable of much service. having resolved to pursue the road i was now in, it was necessary again to resort to the utmost degree of caution to prevent surprise. traveling only after it was dark, and taking care to stop before the appearance of day, my progress was not rapid, but my safety was preserved. the acquisition of food had now become difficult, and when my oats began to fail, i resorted to the dangerous expedient of attacking the corn-crib of a planter that was near the road. the house was built of round logs, and was covered with boards. one of these boards i succeeded in removing, on the side of the crib opposite from the dwelling, and by thrusting my arm downwards, was able to reach the corn--of which i took as much as filled my bag, the pockets of my great coat, and a large handkerchief that i had preserved through all the vicissitudes of my journey. this opportune supply of corn furnished me with food more than a week, and before it was consumed i reached the appomattox river, which i crossed in a canoe that i found tied at the shore, a few miles above the town of petersburg. having approached petersburg in the night, i was afraid to attempt to pass through it, lest the patrol should fall in with me; and turning to the left through the country, reached the river, and crossed in safety. the great road leading to richmond is so distinguishingly marked above the other ways in this part of virginia, that there was no difficulty in following it, and on the third night after passing petersburg, i obtained a sight of the capitol of virginia. it was only a little after midnight, when the city presented itself to my sight; but here, as well as at petersburg, i was afraid to attempt to go through the town, under cover of the darkness, because of the patrol. turning, therefore, back into a forest, about two miles from the small town on the south-side of the river, i lay there until after twelve o'clock in the day, when loosening the package from my back, and taking it in my hand in the form of a bundle, i advanced into the village, as if i had only come from some plantation in the neighborhood. this was on sunday, i believe, though according to my computation it was monday; but it must have been sunday, for the village was quiet, and in passing it i only saw two or three persons, whom i passed as if i had not seen them. no one spoke to me, and i gained the bridge in safety, and crossed it without attracting the least attention. entering the city of richmond, i kept along the principal street, walking at a slow pace, and turning my head from side to side, as if much attracted by the objects around me. few persons were in the street, and i was careful to appear more attentive to the houses than to the people. at the upper end of the city i saw a great crowd of ladies and gentlemen, who were, i believe, returning from church. whilst these people were passing me, i stood in the street, on the outside of the foot pavement, with my face turned to the opposite side of the street. they all went by without taking any notice of me; and when they were gone, i again resumed my leisure walk along the pavement, and reached the utmost limit of the town without being accosted by any one. as soon as i was clear of the city i quickened my pace, assumed the air of a man in great haste, sometimes actually ran, and in less than an hour was safely lodged in the thickest part of the woods that lay on the north of richmond, and full four miles from the river. this was the boldest exploit that i had performed since leaving my mistress, except the visit i paid to the gentleman in georgia. my corn was now failing, but as i had once entered a crib secretly, i felt but little apprehension on account of future supplies. after this time i never wanted corn, and did not again suffer by hunger, until i reached the place of my nativity. after leaving richmond, i again kept along the great road by which i had traveled on my way south, taking great care not to expose my person unnecessarily. for several nights i saw no white people on the way, but was often met by black ones, whom i avoided by turning out of the road; but one moonlight night, five or six days after i left richmond, a man stepped out of the woods almost at my side, and accosting me in a familiar manner, asked me which way i was traveling, how long i had been on the road, and made many inquiries concerning the course of my late journey. this man was a mulatto, and carried a heavy cane, or rather club, in his hand. i did not like his appearance, and the idea of a familiar conversation with any one seemed to terrify me. i determined to watch my companion closely, and he appeared equally intent on observing me; but at the same time that he talked with me, he was constantly drawing closer to and following behind me. this conduct increased my suspicion, and i began to wish to get rid of him, but could not at the moment imagine how i should effect my purpose. to avoid him, i crossed the road several times; but still he followed me closely. the moon, which shone brightly upon our backs, cast his shadow far before me, and enabled me to perceive his motions with the utmost accuracy, without turning my head towards him. he carried his club under his left arm, and at length raised his right hand gently, took the stick by the end, and drawing it slowly over his head, was in the very act of striking a blow at me, when springing backward, and raising my own staff at the same moment, i brought him to the ground by a stroke on his forehead; and when i had him down, beat him over the back and sides with my weapon, until he roared for mercy, and begged me not to kill him. i left him in no condition to pursue me, and hastened on my way, resolved to get as far from him before day as my legs would carry me. this man was undoubtedly one of those wretches who are employed by white men to kidnap and betray such unfortunate people of color as may chance to fall into their hands but for once the deceiver was deceived, and he who intended to make prey of me, had well nigh fallen a sacrifice himself. the same night i crossed the pammunky river, near the village of hanover by swimming, and secreted myself before day in a dense cedar thicket. the next night, after i had traveled several miles, in ascending a hill i saw the head of a man rise on the opposite side, without having heard any noise. i instantly ran into the woods, and concealed myself behind a large tree. the traveler was on horseback, and the road being sandy, and his horse moving only at a walk, i had not heard his approach until i saw him. he also saw me; for when he came opposite the place where i stood, he stopped his horse in the road, and desired me to tell him how far it was to some place, the name of which i have forgotten. as i made no answer, he again repeated the inquiry; and then said, i need not be afraid to speak, as he did not wish to hurt me; but no answer being given him, he at last said i might as well speak, and rode on. before day i reached the matapony river, and crossed it by wading; but knowing that i was not far from maryland, i fell into a great indiscretion, and forgot the wariness and caution that had enabled me to overcome obstacles apparently insurmountable. anxious to get forward, i neglected to conceal myself before day; but traveled until daybreak before i sought a place of concealment, and unfortunately, when i looked for a hiding place, none was at hand. this compelled me to keep on the road, until gray twilight, for the purpose of reaching a wood that was in view before me; but to gain this wood i was obliged to pass a house that stood at the road side, and when only about fifty yards beyond the house, a white man opened the door, and seeing me in the road, called to me to stop. as this order was not obeyed, he set his dog upon me. the dog was quickly vanquished by my stick, and setting off to run at full speed, i at the same moment heard the report of a gun, and received its contents in my legs, chiefly about, and in my hams. i fell on the road, and was soon surrounded by several persons, who it appeared were a party of patrollers, who had gathered together in this house. they ordered me to cross my hands, which order not being immediately obeyed, they beat me with sticks and stones until i was almost senseless, and entirely unable to make resistance.--they then bound me with cords, and dragged me by the feet back to the house, and threw me into the kitchen, like a dead dog. one of my eyes was almost beaten out, and the blood was running from my mouth, nose and ears; but in this condition they refused to wash the blood from my face, or even to give me a drink of water. in a short time a justice of the peace arrived, and when he looked at me, ordered me to be unbound, and to have water to wash myself, and also some bread to eat. this man's heart appeared not to be altogether void of sensibility, for he reprimanded in harsh terms those who had beaten me; told them that their conduct was brutal, and that it would have been more humane to kill me outright, than to bruise and mangle me in the manner they had done. he then interrogated me as to my name, place of abode, and place of destination, and afterwards demanded the name of my master. to all these inquiries i made no reply, except that i was going to maryland, where i lived. the justice told me it was his duty under the law to send me to jail; and i was immediately put into a cart, and carried to a small village called bowling green, which i reached before ten o'clock. there i was locked up in the jail, and a doctor came to examine my legs, and extract the shot from my wounds. in the course of the operation he took out thirty-four buck shot, and after dressing my legs left me to my own reflections. no fever followed in the train of my disasters, which i attributed to the reduced state of my blood, by long fasting, and the fatigues i had undergone. in the afternoon, the jailer came to see me, and brought my daily allowance of provisions, and a jug of water. the provisions consisted of more than a pound of corn-bread and some boiled bacon. as my appetite was good, i immediately devoured more than two-thirds of this food, but reserved the rest for supper. for several days i was not able to stand, and in this period found great difficulty in performing the ordinary offices of life for myself, no one coming to give me any aid; but i did not suffer for want of food, the daily allowance of the jailer being quite sufficient to appease the cravings of hunger. after i grew better, and was able to walk in the jail, the jailer frequently called to see me, and endeavored to prevail on me to tell where i came from; but in this undertaking he was no more successful than the justice had been in the same business. i remained in the jail more than a month, and in this time became quite fat and strong, but saw no way by which i could escape. the jail was of brick, the floors were of solid oak boards, and the door, of the same material, was secured by iron bolts, let into its posts, and connected together by a strong band of iron, reaching from the one to the other. every thing appeared sound and strong, and to add to my security, my feet were chained together, from the time my wounds were healed. this chain i acquired the knowledge of removing from my feet, by working out of its socket a small iron pin that secured the bolt that held the chain round one of my legs. the jailer came to see me with great regularity, every morning and evening, but remained only a few minutes when he came, leaving me entirely alone at all other times. when i had been in prison thirty-nine days, and had quite recovered from the wounds that i had received, the jailer was late in coming to me with my breakfast, and going to the door i began to beat against it with my fist, for the purpose of making a noise. after beating some time against the door i happened, by mere accident, to strike my fist against one of the posts, which, to my surprise, i discovered by its sound, to be a mere hollow shell, encrusted with a thin coat of sound timber, and as i struck it, the rotten wood crumbled to pieces within. on a more careful examination of this post, i became satisfied that i could easily split it to pieces, by the aid of the iron bolt that confined my feet. the jailer came with my breakfast, and reprimanded me for making a noise. this day appeared as long to me, as a week had done heretofore; but night came at length, and as soon as the room in which i was confined, had become quite dark, i disentangled myself from the irons with which i was bound, and with the aid of the long bolt, easily wrenched from its place the large staple that held one end of the bar, that lay across the door. the hasps that held the lock in its place, were drawn away almost without force, and the door swung open of its own weight. i now walked out into the jail-yard, and found that all was quiet, and that only a few lights were burning in the village windows. at first i walked slowly along the road, but soon quickened my pace, and ran along the high-way, until i was more than a mile from the jail, then taking to the woods, i traveled all night, in a northern direction. at the approach of day i concealed myself in a cedar thicket, where i lay until the next evening, without any thing to eat. on the second night after my escape, i crossed the potomac, at hoe's ferry, in a small boat that i found tied at the side of the ferry flat; and on the night following crossed the patuxent, in a canoe, which i found chained at the shore. about one o'clock in the morning, i came to the door of my wife's cabin, and stood there, i believe, more than five minutes, before i could summon sufficient fortitude to knock. i at length rapped lightly on the door, and was immediately asked, in the well-known voice of my wife, "who is there?"--i replied "charles." she then came to the door, and opening it slowly, said, "who is this that speaks so much like my husband?" i then rushed into the cabin and made myself known to her, but it was some time before i could convince her, that i was really her husband, returned from georgia. the children were then called up, but they had forgotten me. when i attempted to take them in my arms, they fled from me, and took refuge under the bed of their mother. my eldest boy, who was four years old when i was carried away, still retained some recollections of once having had a father, but could not believe that i was that father. my wife, who at first was overcome by astonishment at seeing me again in her cabin, and was incapable of giving credit to the fidelity of her own vision, after i had been in the house a few minutes, seemed to awake from a dream; and gathering all three of her children in her arms, thrust them into my lap, as i sat in the corner, clapped her hands, laughed, and cried by turns; and in her ecstasy forgot to give me any supper, until i at length told her that i was hungry. before i entered the house i felt as if i could eat anything in the shape of food; but now that i attempted to eat, my appetite had fled, and i sat up all night with my wife and children. when on my journey i thought of nothing but getting home, and never reflected, that when at home, i might still be in danger; but now that my toils were ended, i began to consider with myself how i could appear in safety in calvert county, where everybody must know that i was a runaway slave. with my heart thrilling with joy, when i looked upon my wife and children, who had not hoped ever to behold me again; yet fearful of the coming of daylight, which must expose me to be arrested as a fugitive slave, i passed the night between the happiness of the present and the dread of the future. in all the toils, dangers, and sufferings of my long journey, my courage had never forsaken me. the hope of again seeing my wife and little ones, had borne me triumphantly through perils, that even now i reflect upon as upon some extravagant dream; but when i found myself at rest under the roof of my wife, the object of my labors attained, and no motive to arouse my energies, or give them the least impulse, that firmness of resolution which had so long sustained me, suddenly vanished from my bosom; and i passed the night, with my children around me, oppressed by a melancholy foreboding of my future destiny. the idea that i was utterly unable to afford protection and safeguard to my own family, and was myself even more helpless than they, tormented my bosom with alternate throbs of affection and fear, until the dawn broke in the east, and summoned me to decide upon my future conduct. in the morning i went to the great house and showed myself to my master and mistress. they gave me a good breakfast, and advised me at first to conceal myself, but afterwards to work in the neighborhood for wages. for eight years, i lived in this region of country and experienced a variety of fortune. at last i had saved near $ , and bought near baltimore twelve acres of land, a yoke of oxen, and two cows, and attended the baltimore market. i had the great misfortune to lose my wife. i married in two years, and of my second wife had four children. ten years of happiness and comparative ease i enjoyed on my little farm, and i had settled down into contentment, little fearing any more trouble. but a sad fate was before me. chapter xix. in the month of june, --, as i was ploughing in my lot, three gentlemen rode up to my fence, and alighting from their horses, all came over the fence and approached me, when one of them told me he was the sheriff, and had a writ in his pocket, which commanded him to take me to baltimore. i was not conscious of having done any thing injurious to any one; but yet felt a distrust of these men, who were all strangers to me. i told them i would go with them, if they would permit me to turn my oxen loose from the plough; but it was my intention to seek an opportunity of escaping to the house of a gentleman, who lived about a mile from me. this purpose i was not able to effect, for whilst i was taking the yoke from the oxen, one of the gentlemen came behind me, and knocked me down with a heavy whip, that he carried in his hand. when i recovered from the stunning effects of this blow, i found myself bound with my hands behind me, and strong cords closely wrapped about my arms. in this condition i was forced to set out immediately, for baltimore, without speaking to my wife, or even entering my door. i expected that, on arriving at baltimore, i should be taken before a judge for the purpose of being tried, but in this i was deceived. they led me to the city jail, and there shut me up, with several other black people, both men and women, who told me that they had lately been purchased by a trader from georgia. i now saw the extent of my misfortune, but could not learn who the persons were, who had seized me. in the evening, however, one of the gentlemen, who had brought me from home, came into the jail with the jailer, and asked me if i knew him. on being answered in the negative, he told me that he knew me very well; and asked me if i did not recollect the time when he and his brother had whipped me, before my master's door, in georgia. i now recognized the features of the younger of the two brothers of my mistress; but this man was so changed in his appearance, from the time when i had last seen him, that if he had not declared himself, i should never have known him. when i left georgia, he was not more than twenty-one or two years of age, and had black, bushy hair. his hair was now thin and gray, and all his features were changed. after lying in jail a little more than two weeks, strongly ironed, my fellow prisoners and i were one day chained together, handcuffed in pairs, and in this way driven about ten miles out of baltimore, where we remained all night. on the evening of the second day, we halted at bladensburg. on the next morning, we marched through washington, and as we passed in front of the president's house, i saw an old gentleman walking in the grounds, near the gate. this man i was told was the president of the united states. within four weeks after we left washington, i was in milledgeville in georgia, near which the man who had kidnapped me resided. he took me home with him, and set me to work on his plantation; but i had now enjoyed liberty too long to submit quietly to the endurance of slavery. i had no sooner come here, than i began to devise ways of escaping again from the hands of my tyrants, and of making my way to the northern states. the month of august was now approaching, which is a favorable season of the year to travel, on account of the abundance of food that is to be found in the corn-fields and orchards; but i remembered the dreadful sufferings that i had endured in my former journey from the south, and determined, if possible, to devise some scheme of getting away, that would not subject me to such hardships. after several weeks of consideration, i resolved to run away, go to some of the seaports, and endeavor to get a passage on board a vessel, bound to a northern city. with this view, i assumed the appearance of resignation and composure, under the new aspect of my fortune; and even went so far as to tell my new master that i lived more comfortably with him, in his cotton fields, than i had formerly done, on my own small farm in maryland; though i believe my master did me the justice to give no credit to my assertions on this subject. from the moment i discovered in maryland, that i had fallen into the hands of the brother of my former mistress, i gave up all hope of contesting his right to arrest me, with success, at law, as i supposed he had come with authority to reclaim me as the property of his sister; but after i had returned to georgia, and had been at work some weeks on the plantation of my new master, i learned that he now claimed me as his own slave, and that he had reported he had purchased me in baltimore. it was now clear to me that this man, having by some means learned the place of my residence, in maryland, had kidnapped and now held me as his slave, without the color of legal right; but complaint on my part was useless, and resistance vain. i was again reduced to the condition of a common field slave, on a cotton plantation in georgia, and compelled to subsist on the very scanty and coarse food allowed to the southern slave. i had been absent from georgia almost twenty years, and in that period great changes had doubtlessly taken place in the face of the country, as well as in the condition of human society. i had never been in milledgeville until i was brought there by the man who had kidnapped me in maryland, and i was now a slave among entire strangers, and had no friend to give me the consolation of kind words, such as i had formerly received from my master in morgan county. the plantation on which i was now a slave, had formerly belonged to the father of my mistress; and some of my fellow slaves had been well acquainted with her in her youth. from these people i learned, that after the death of my master, and my flight from georgia, my mistress had become the wife of a second husband, who had removed with her to the state of louisiana more than fifteen years ago. after ascertaining these facts, which proved beyond all doubt that my present master had no right whatsoever to me, in either law or justice, i determined that before encountering the dangers and sufferings that must necessarily attend my second flight from georgia, i would attempt to proclaim the protection of the laws of the country, and try to get myself discharged from the unjust slavery in which i was now held. for this purpose, i went to milledgeville, one sunday, and inquired for a lawyer of a black man whom i met in the street. this person told me that his master was a lawyer, and went with me to his house. the lawyer, after talking to me some time, told me that my master was his client, and that he therefore could not undertake my cause; but referred me to a young gentleman, who he said would do my business for me. accordingly to this young man i went, and after relating my whole story to him, he told me that he believed he could not do any thing for me, as i had no witnesses to prove my freedom. i rejoined, that it seemed hard that i must be compelled to prove myself a freeman: and that it would appear more consonant to reason that my master should prove me to be a slave. he, however, assured me that this was not the law of georgia, where every man of color was presumed to be a slave until he could prove that he was free. he then told me that if i expected him to talk to me, i must give him a fee; whereupon i gave him all the money i had been able to procure, since my arrival in the country, which was two dollars and seventy-five cents. when i offered him this money, the lawyer tossed his head, and said such a trifle was not worth accepting; but nevertheless he took it, and then asked me if i could get some more money before the next sunday. that if i could get another dollar, he would issue a writ and have me brought before the court; but if he succeeded in getting me set free, i must engage to serve him a year. to these conditions i agreed, and signed a paper which the lawyer wrote, and which was signed by two persons as witnesses. the brother of my pretended master was yet living in this neighborhood, and the lawyer advised me to have him brought forward, as a witness, to prove that i was not the slave of my present pretended owner. on the wednesday following my visit to milledgeville, the sheriff came to my master's plantation, and took me from the field to the house, telling me as i walked beside him that he had a writ which commanded him to take me to milledgeville. instead, however, of obeying the command of his writ, when we arrived at the house he took a bond of my master that he would produce me at the court-house on the next day, friday, and then rode away, leaving me at the mercy of my kidnapper. since i had been on this plantation, i had never been whipped, although all the other slaves, of whom there were more than fifty, were frequently flogged without any apparent cause. i had all along attributed my exemption from the lash to the fears of my master. he knew i had formerly run away from his sister, on account of her cruelty, and his own savage conduct to me; and i believed that he was still apprehensive that a repetition of his former barbarity might produce the same effect that it had done twenty years before. his evil passions were like fire covered with ashes, concealed, not extinguished. he now found that i was determined to try to regain my liberty at all events, and the sheriff was no sooner gone than the overseer was sent for, to come from the field, and i was tied up and whipped, with the long lashed negro whip, until i fainted, and was carried in a state of insensibility to my lodgings in the quarter. it was night when i recovered my understanding sufficiently to be aware of my true situation. i now found that my wounds had been oiled, and that i was wrapped in a piece of clean linen cloth; but for several days i was unable to leave my bed. when friday came, i was not taken to milledgeville, and afterwards learned that my master reported to the court that i had been taken ill, and was not able to leave the house. the judge asked no questions as to the cause of my illness. at the end of two weeks i was taken to milledgeville, and carried before a judge, who first asked a few questions of my master, as to the length of time that he had owned me, and the place where he had purchased me. he stated in my presence that he had purchased me, with several others, at public auction, in the city of baltimore, and had paid five hundred and ten dollars for me. i was not permitted to speak to the court, much less to contradict this falsehood in the manner it deserved. the brother of my master was then called as a witness by my lawyer, but the witness refused to be sworn or examined, on account of his interest in me, as his slave. in support of his refusal, he produced a bill of sale from my master to himself, for an equal, undivided half part of the slave ----. this bill of sale was dated several weeks previous to the time of trial, and gave rise to an argument between the opposing lawyers that continued until the court adjourned in the evening. on the next morning i was again brought into court, and the judge now delivered his opinion, which was that the witness could not be compelled to give evidence in a cause to which he was really, though not nominally, a party. the court then proceeded to give judgment in the cause now before it, and declared that the law was well settled in georgia that every negro was presumed to be a slave, until he proved his freedom by the clearest evidence. that where a negro was found in the custody or keeping of a white man, the law declared that white man to be his master, without any evidence on the subject. but the case before the court was exceedingly plain and free from all doubt or difficulty. here the master has brought this slave into the state of georgia, as his property, has held him as a slave ever since, and still holds him as a slave. the title of the master in this case is the best title that a man can have to any property; and the order of the court is, that the slave ---- be returned to the custody of his master. i was immediately ordered to return home, and from this time until i left the plantation my life was a continual torment to me. the overseer often came up to me in the field, and gave me several lashes with his long whip over my naked back, through mere wantonness; and i was often compelled, after i had done my day's work in the field, to cut wood, or perform some other labor at the house, until long after dark. my sufferings were too great to be borne long by any human creature; and to a man who had once tasted the sweets of liberty, they were doubly tormenting. there was nothing in the form of danger that could intimidate me, if the road on which i had to encounter it led me to freedom. that season of the year most favorable to my escape from bondage, had at length arrived. the corn in the fields was so far grown as to be fit for roasting; the peaches were beginning to ripen, and the sweet potatoes were large enough to be eaten; but notwithstanding all this; the difficulties that surrounded me were greater than can easily be imagined by any one who has never been a slave in the lower country of georgia. in the first place i was almost naked, having no other clothes than a ragged shirt of tow cloth, and a pair of old trowsers of the same material, with an old woollen jacket that i had brought with me from home. in addition to this, i was closely watched every evening, until i had finished the labor assigned me, and then i was locked up in a small cabin by myself for the night. this cabin was really a prison, and had been built for the purpose of confining such of the slaves of this estate as were tried in the evening, and sentenced to be whipped in the morning. it was built of strong oak logs, hewn square, and dovetailed together at the corners. it had no window in it; but as the logs did not fit very close together, there was never any want of air in this jail, in which i had been locked up every night since my trial before the court. on sundays i was permitted to go to work in the fields, with the other people who worked on that day, if i chose so to do; but at this time i was put under the charge of an old african negro, who was instructed to give immediate information if i attempted to leave the field. to escape on sunday was impossible, and there seemed to be no hope of getting out of my sleeping room, the floor of which was made of strong pine plank. fortune at length did for me that which i had not been able to accomplish, by the greatest efforts, for myself. the lock that was on the door of my nightly prison was a large stock lock, and had been clumsily fitted on the door, so that the end of the lock pressed against the door-case, and made it difficult to shut the door even in dry weather. when the weather was damp, and the wood was swollen with moisture, it was not easy to close the door at all. late in the month of september the weather became cloudy, and much rain fell. the clouds continued to obscure the heavens for four or five days. one evening, when i was ordered to my house as it was called, the overseer followed me without a light, although it was very dark. when i was in the house, he pushed the door after me with all his strength. the violence of the effort caused the door to pass within the case at the top, for one or two feet, and this held it so fast that he could not again pull it open. supposing, in the extreme darkness, that the door was shut, he turned the key; and the bolt of the lock passing on the outside of the staple intended to receive it, completely deceived him. he then withdrew the key, and went away. soon after he was gone, i went to the door, and feeling with my hands, ascertained that it was not shut. an opportunity now presented itself for me to escape from my prison-house, with a prospect of being able to be so far from my master's residence before morning, that none could soon overtake me, even should the course of my flight be ascertained. waiting quietly, until every one about the quarter had ceased to be heard, i applied one of my feet to the door, and giving it a strong push, forced it open. the world was now all before me, but the darkness was so profound, as to obscure from my vision the largest objects, even a house, at the distance of a few yards. but dark as it was, necessity compelled me to leave the plantation without delay, and knowing only the great road that led to milledgeville, amongst the various roads of this country, i set off at a brisk walk on this public highway, assured that no one could apprehend me in so dark a night. it was only about seven miles to milledgeville, and when i reached that town several lights were burning in the windows of the houses; but keeping on directly through the village, i neither saw nor heard any person in it, and after gaining the open country, my first care was to find some secure place where shelter could be found for the next day; but no appearance of thick woods was to be seen for several miles, and two or three hours must have elapsed before a forest of sufficient magnitude was found to answer my purposes. it was perhaps three o'clock in the morning, when i took refuge in a thick and dismal swamp that lay on the right hand of the road, intending to remain here until daylight, and then look out for a secret place to conceal myself in, during the day. hitherto, although the night was so extremely dark, it had not rained any, but soon after my halt in the swamp the rain began to fall in floods, rather than in showers, which made me as wet as if i had swam a river. daylight at length appeared, but brought with it very little mitigation of my sufferings; for the swamp, in which my hiding-place was, lay in the midst of a well-peopled country, and was surrounded on all sides by cotton and corn fields, so close to me that the open spaces of the cleared land could be seen from my position. it was dangerous to move, lest some one should see me, and painful to remain without food when hunger was consuming me. my resting place in the swamp was within view of the road; and, soon after sunrise, although it continued to rain fast, numerous horsemen were seen passing along the road by the way that had led me to the swamp. there was little doubt on my mind that these people were in search of me, and the sequel proved that my surmises were well founded. it rained throughout this day, and the fear of being apprehended by those who came in pursuit of me, confined me to the swamp, until after dark the following evening, when i ventured to leave the thicket, and return to the high road, the bearing of which it was impossible for me to ascertain, on account of the dense clouds that obscured the heavens. all that could be done in my situation, was to take care not to follow that end of the road which had led me to the swamp. turning my back once more upon milledgeville, and walking at a quick pace, every effort was made to remove myself as far as possible this night from the scene of suffering, for which that swamp will be always memorable in my mind. the rain had ceased to fall at the going down of the sun; and the darkness of this second night was not so great as that of the first had been. this circumstance was regarded by me as a happy presage of the final success that awaited my undertaking. events proved that i was no prophet; for the dim light of this night was the cause of the sad misfortune that awaited me. in a former part of this volume, the reader is made acquainted with the deep interest that is taken by all the planters, far and wide, around the plantation from which a slave has escaped by running away. twenty years had wrought no change in favor of the fugitive; nor had the feuds and dissentions that agitate and distract the communities of white men, produced any relaxation in the friendship that they profess to feel, and really do feel, for each other, on a question of so much importance to them all. more than twenty miles of road had been left behind me this night; and it must have been two or three o'clock in the morning, when, as i was passing a part of the road that led through a dense pine grove, where the trees on either side grew close to the wheel tracks, five or six men suddenly rushed upon me from both sides of the road, and with loud cries of "kill him! kill him!" accompanied with oaths and opprobrious language, seized me, dragged me to the ground, and bound me fast with a long cord, which was wrapped round my arms and body, so as to confine my hands below my hips. in this condition i was driven, or rather dragged, about two miles to a kind of tavern or public house, that stood by the side of the road; where my captors were joined, soon after daylight, by at least twenty of their companions, who had been out all night waiting and watching for me on the other roads of this part of the country. those who had taken me were loudly applauded by their fellows; and the whole party passed the morning in drinking, singing songs, and playing cards at this house. at breakfast time they gave me a large cake of corn bread and some sour milk for breakfast. about ten o'clock in the morning my master arrived at the tavern, in company with two or three other gentlemen, all strangers to me. my master, when he came into my presence, looked at me, and said, "well, ----, you had bad luck in running away this time;" and immediately asked aloud, what any person would give for me. one man, who was slightly intoxicated, said he would give four hundred dollars for me. other bids followed, until my price was soon up to five hundred and eighty dollars, for which i was stricken off, by my master himself, to a gentleman, who immediately gave his note for me, and took charge of me as his property. chapter xx. the name of my new master was jones, a planter, who was only a visiter in this part of the country; his residence being about fifty miles down the country. the next day, my new master set off with me to the place of his residence; permitting me to walk behind him, as he rode on horseback, and leaving me entirely unshackled. i was resolved, that as my owner treated me with so much liberality, the trust he reposed in me should not be broken until after we had reached his home; though the determination of again running away, and attempting to escape from georgia, never abandoned me for a moment. the country through which we passed, on our journey, was not rich. the soil was sandy, light, and, in many places, much exhausted by excessive tillage. the timber, in the woods where the ground was high, was almost exclusively pine; but many swamps, and extensive tracts of low ground intervened, in which maple, gum, and all the other trees common to such land in the south, abounded. no improvement in the condition of the slaves on the plantations, was here perceptible; but it appeared to me, that there was now even a greater want of good clothes, amongst the slaves on the various plantations that we passed, than had existed twenty years before. everywhere, the overseers still kept up the same custom of walking in the fields with the long whip, that has been elsewhere described; and everywhere, the slaves proved, by the husky appearance of their skins, and the dry, sunburnt aspect of their hair, that they were strangers to animal food. on the second day of our journey, in the evening, we arrived at the residence of my master, about eighty miles from savannah. the plantation, which had now become the place of my residence, was not large, containing only about three hundred acres of cleared land, and having on it about thirty working slaves of all classes. it was now the very midst of the season of picking cotton, and, at the end of twenty years from the time of my first flight, i again had a daily task assigned me, with the promise of half a cent a pound for all the cotton i should pick, beyond my day's work. picking cotton, like every other occupation requiring active manipulation, depends more upon sleight than strength, and i was not now able to pick so much in a day as i was once able to do. my master seemed to be a man ardently bent on the acquisition of wealth, and came into the field, where we were at work, almost every day; frequently remonstrating, in strong language, with the overseer, because he did not get more work done. our rations, on this place, were a half peck of corn per week; in addition to which, we had rather more than a peck of sweet potatoes allowed to each person. our provisions were distributed to us on every sunday morning by the overseer; but my master was generally present, either to see that justice was done to us, or that injustice was not done to himself. when i had been here about a week, my master came into the field one day, and, in passing near me, stopped and told me that i had now fallen into good hands, as it was his practice not to whip his people much. that he, in truth, never whipped them, nor suffered his overseer to whip them, except in flagrant cases. that he had discovered a mode of punishment much more mild, and, at the same time, much more effectual than flogging; and that he governed his negroes exclusively under this mode of discipline. he then told me, that when i came home in the evening i must come to the house; and that he would then make me acquainted with the principles upon which he chastised his slaves. going to the house in the evening, according to orders, my master showed me a pump, set in a well in which the water rose within ten feet of the surface of the ground. the spout of this pump was elevated at least thirteen feet above the earth, and when the water was to be drawn from it, the person who worked the handle ascended by a ladder to the proper station.--the water in this well, although so near the surface, was very cold; and the pump discharged it in a large stream. one of the women employed in the house, had committed some offence for which she was to be punished; and the opportunity was embraced of exhibiting to me the effect of this novel mode of torture upon the human frame. the woman was stripped quite naked, and tied to a post that stood just under the stream of water, as it fell from the spout of the pump. a lad was then ordered to ascend the ladder, and pump water upon the head and shoulders of the victim; who had not been under the waterfall more than a minute, before she began to cry and scream in a most lamentable manner. in a short time, she exerted her strength, in the most convulsive throes, in trying to escape from the post; but as the cords were strong, this was impossible. after another minute or a little more, her cries became weaker, and soon afterwards her head fell forward upon her breast; and then the boy was ordered to cease pumping the water. the woman was removed in a state of insensibility; but recovered her faculties in about an hour. the next morning she complained of lightness of head, but was able to go to work. this punishment of the pump, as it is called, was never inflicted on me; and i am only able to describe it, as it has been described to me, by those who have endured it. when the water first strikes the head and arms, it is not at all painful; but in a very short time, it produces the sensation that is felt when heavy blows are inflicted with large rods, of the size of a man's finger. this perception becomes more and more painful, until the skull bone and shoulder blades appear to be broken in pieces. finally, all the faculties become oppressed; breathing becomes more and more difficult; until the eye-sight becomes dim, and animation ceases. this punishment is in fact a temporary murder; as all the pains are endured, that can be felt by a person who is deprived of life by being beaten with bludgeons; but after the punishment of the pump, the sufferer is restored to existence by being laid in a bed, and covered with warm clothes. a giddiness of the head, and oppression of the breast, follows this operation, for a day or two, and sometimes longer. the object of calling me to be a witness of this new mode of torture, doubtlessly, was to intimidate me from running away; but like medicines administered by empirics, the spectacle had precisely the opposite effect, from that which it was expected to produce. after my arrival on this estate, my intention had been to defer my elopement until the next year, before i had seen the torture inflicted on this unfortunate woman; but from that moment my resolution was unalterably fixed, to escape as quickly as possible. such was my desperation of feeling, at this time, that i deliberated seriously upon the project of endeavoring to make my way southward, for the purpose of joining the indians in florida. fortune reserved a more agreeable fate for me. on the saturday night after the woman was punished at the pump, i stole a yard of cotton bagging from the cotton-gin house, and converted it into a bag, by means of a coarse needle and thread that i borrowed of one of the black women. on the next morning, when our weekly rations were distributed to us, my portion was carefully placed in my bag, under pretence of fears that it would be stolen from me, if it was left open in the loft of the kitchen that i lodged in. this day being sunday, i did not go to the field to work as usual, on that day, but under pretence of being unwell, remained in the kitchen all day, to be better prepared for the toils of the following night. after daylight had totally disappeared, taking my bag under my arm, under pretense of going to the mill to grind my corn, i stole softly across the cotton fields to the nearest woods, and taking an observation of the stars, directed my course to the eastward, resolved that in no event should anything induce me to travel a single yard on the high road, until at least one hundred miles from this plantation. keeping on steadily through the whole of this night, and meeting with no swamps, or briery thickets in my way, i have no doubt that before daylight the plantation was more than thirty miles behind me. twenty years before this i had been in savannah, and noted at that time that great numbers of ships were in that port, taking in and loading cotton. my plan was now to reach savannah, in the best way i could, by some means to be devised after my arrival in the city, to procure a passage to some of the northern cities. when day appeared before me, i was in a large cotton field, and before the woods could be reached, it was gray dawn; but the forest bordering on the field was large, and afforded me good shelter through the day, under the cover of a large thicket of swamp laurel that lay at the distance of a quarter of a mile from the field. it now became necessary to kindle a fire, for all my stock of provisions, consisting of corn and potatoes, was raw and undressed. less fortunate now than in my former flight, no fire apparatus was in my possession, and driven at last to the extremity, i determined to endeavor to produce fire by rubbing two sticks together, and spent at least two hours of incessant toil, in this vain operation, without the least prospect of success. abandoning this project at length, i turned my thoughts to searching for a stone of some kind, with which to endeavor to extract fire from an old jack-knife, that had been my companion in maryland for more than three years. my labors were fruitless. no stone could be found in this swamp, and the day was passed in anxiety and hunger, a few raw potatoes being my only food. night at length came, and with it a renewal of my traveling labors. avoiding with the utmost care, every appearance of a road, and pursuing my way until daylight, i must have traveled at least thirty miles this night. awhile before day, in crossing a field, i fortunately came upon a bed of large pebbles, on the side of a hill. several of these were deposited in my bag, which enabled me when day arrived to procure fire, with which i parched corn and roasted potatoes sufficient to subsist me for two or three days. on the fourth night of my journey, fortune directed me to a broad, open highway, that appeared to be much traveled. near the side of this road i established my quarters for the day in a thick pine wood, for the purpose of making observations upon the people who traveled it, and of judging thence of the part of the country to which it led. soon after daylight a wagon passed along, drawn by oxen, and loaded with bales of cotton; then followed some white men on horseback, and soon after sunrise a whole train of wagons and carts, all loaded with bales of cotton, passed by, following the wagon first seen by me. in the course of the day, at least one hundred wagons and carts passed along this road towards the south-east, all laden with cotton bales; and at least an equal number came towards the west, either laden with casks of various dimensions, or entirely empty. numerous horsemen, many carriages, and great numbers of persons on foot, also passed to and fro on this road, in the course of the day. all these indications satisfied me that i must be near some large town, the seat of an extensive cotton market. the next consideration with me was to know how far it was to this town, for which purpose i determined to travel on the road the succeeding night. lying in the woods until about eleven o'clock, i rose, came to the road and traveled it until within an hour of daylight, at which time the country around me appeared almost wholly clear of timber; and houses became much more numerous than they had been in the former part of my journey. things continued to wear this aspect until daylight, when i stopped, and sat down by the side of a high fence that stood beside the road. after remaining here a short time, a wagon laden with cotton passed along, drawn by oxen, whose driver, a black man, asked me if i was going towards town. being answered in the affirmative, he then asked me if i did not wish to ride in his wagon. i told him i had been out of town all night, and should be very thankful to him for a ride; at the same time ascending his wagon and placing myself in a secure and easy position on the bags of cotton. in this manner we traveled on for about two hours, when we entered the town of savannah. in my situation there was no danger of any one suspecting me to be a runaway slave; for no runaway had ever been known to flee from the country and seek refuge in savannah. the man who drove the wagon passed through several of the principal streets of the city, and stopped his team before a large warehouse, standing on a wharf, looking into the river. here i assisted my new friend to unload his cotton, and when we were done he invited me to share his breakfast with him, consisting of corn bread, roasted potatoes, and some cold boiled rice. whilst we were at our breakfast, a black man came along the street, and asked us if we knew where he could hire a hand, to help him to work a day or two. i at once replied that my master had sent me to town to hire myself out for a few weeks, and that i was ready to go with him immediately. the joy i felt at finding employment so overcame me, that all thought of my wages was forgotten. bidding farewell to the man who had given me my breakfast, and thanking him in my heart for his kindness, i followed my new employer, who informed me that he had engaged to remove a thousand bales of cotton from a large warehouse, to the end of a wharf at which a ship lay, that was taking in the cotton as a load. this man was a slave, but hired his time of his master at two hundred and fifty dollars a year, which he said he paid in monthly instalments. he did what he called job work, which consisted of undertaking jobs, and hiring men to work under him, if the job was too great to be performed by himself. in the present instance he had seven or eight black men, beside me, all hired to help him to remove the cotton in wheel-barrows, and lay it near the end of the wharf, when it was taken up by sailors and carried on board the ship that was receiving it. we continued working hard all day; and amongst the crew of the ship was a black man, with whom i resolved to become acquainted by some means. accordingly at night after we had quit our work, i went to the end of the wharf against which the ship lay moored, and stood there a long time, waiting for the black sailor to make his appearance on deck. at length my desires were gratified. he came upon the deck, and sat down near the main-mast, with a pipe in his mouth, which he was smoking with great apparent pleasure. after a few minutes, i spoke to him, for he had not yet seen me as it appeared, and when he heard my voice, he rose up and came to the side of the ship near where i stood. we entered into conversation together, in the course of which he informed me that his home was in new-york; that he had a wife and several children there, but that he followed the sea for a livelihood, and knew no other mode of life. he also asked me where my master lived, and if georgia had always been the place of my residence. i deemed this a favorable opportunity of effecting the object i had in view, in seeking the acquaintance of this man, and told him at once that by law and justice i was a free man, but had been kidnapped near baltimore, forcibly brought to georgia, and sold there as a slave. that i was now a fugitive from my master, and in search of some means of getting back to my wife and children. the man seemed moved by the account of my sufferings, and at the close of my narrative, told me he could not receive me on board the ship, as the captain had given positive orders to him, not to let any of the negroes of savannah come on board, lest they should steal something belonging to the ship. he further told me that he was on watch, and should continue on deck two hours. that he was forced to take a turn of watching the ship every night, for two hours; but that his turn would not come the next night until after midnight. i now begged him to enable me to secrete myself on board the ship, previous to the time of her sailing, so that i might be conveyed to philadelphia, whither the ship was bound with her load of cotton. he at first received my application with great coldness, and said he would not do any thing contrary to the orders of the captain; but before we parted, he said he should be glad to assist me if he could, but that the execution of the plan proposed by me, would be attended with great dangers, if not ruin. in my situation there was nothing too hazardous for me to undertake, and i informed him that if he would let me hide myself in the hold of the ship, amongst the bags of cotton, no one should ever know that he had any knowledge of the fact; and that all the danger, and all the disasters that might attend the affair, should fall exclusively on me. he finally told me to go away, and that he would think of the matter until the next day. it was obvious that his heart was softened in my favor; that his feelings of compassion almost impelled him to do an act in my behalf, that was forbidden by his judgment, and his sense of duty to his employers. as the houses of the city were now closed, and i was a stranger in the place, i went to a wagon that stood in front of the warehouse, and had been unladen of the cotton that had been brought in it, and creeping into it, made my bed with the driver, who permitted me to share his lodgings amongst some corn tops that he had brought to feed his oxen. when the morning came, i went again to the ship, and when the people came on deck, asked them for the captain, whom i should not have known by his dress, which was very nearly similar to that of the sailors. on being asked if he did not wish to hire a hand, to help to load his ship, he told me i might go to work amongst the men, if i chose, and he would pay me what i was worth. my object was to procure employment on board the ship, and not to get wages; and in the course of this day i found means to enter the hold of the ship several times, and examine it minutely. the black sailor promised that he would not betray me, and that if i could find the means of escaping on board the ship he would not disclose it. at the end of three days, the ship had taken in her loading, and the captain said in my presence that he intended to sail the day after. no time was now to be lost, and asking the captain what he thought i had earned, he gave me three dollars, which was certainly very liberal pay, considering that during the whole time that i had worked for him my fare had been the same as that of the sailors, who had as much as they could consume of excellent food. the sailors were now busy in trimming the ship and making ready for sea, and observing that this work required them to spend much time in the hold of the ship, i went to the captain and told him, that as he had paid me good wages and treated me well, i would work with his people the residue of this day, for my victuals and half a gallon of molasses; which he said he would give me. my first object now, was to get into the hold of the ship with those who were adjusting the cargo. the first time the men below called for aid, i went to them, and being there, took care to remain with them. being placed at one side of the hold, for the purpose of packing the bags close to the ship's timbers, i so managed as to leave a space between two of the bags, large enough for a man to creep in and conceal himself. this cavity was near the opening in the centre of the hold, that was left to let men get down, to stow away the last of the bags that were put in. in this small hollow retreat among the bags of cotton, i determined to take my passage to philadelphia, if by any means i could succeed in stealing on board the ship at night. when the evening came, i went to a store near the wharf, and bought two jugs, one that held half a gallon, and the other, a large stone jug, holding more than three gallons. when it was dark i filled my large jug with water; purchased twenty pounds of pilot bread at a bakery, which i tied in a large handkerchief; and taking my jugs in my hand, went on board the ship to receive my molasses of the captain, for the labor of the day. the captain was not on board, and a boy gave me the molasses; but, under pretence of waiting to see the captain, i sat down between two rows of cotton bales that were stowed on deck. the night was very dark, and, watching a favorable opportunity, when the man on deck had gone forward, i succeeded in placing both my jugs upon the bags of cotton that rose in the hold, almost to the deck. in another moment i glided down amongst the cargo, and lost no time in placing my jugs in the place provided for them, amongst the bales of cotton, beside the lair provided for myself. soon after i had taken my station for the voyage, the captain came on board, and the boy reported to him that he had paid me off, and dismissed me. in a short time, all was quiet on board the ship, except the occasional tread of the man on watch. i slept none at all this night; the anxiety that oppressed me preventing me from taking any repose. before day the captain was on deck, and gave orders to the seamen to clear the ship for sailing, and to be ready to descend the river with the ebb tide, which was expected to flow at sunrise. i felt the motion of the ship when she got under weigh, and thought the time long before i heard the breakers of the ocean surging against her sides. in the place where i lay, when the hatches were closed, total darkness prevailed; and i had no idea of the lapse of time, or of the progress we made, until, having at one period crept out into the open space, between the rows of cotton bags, which i have before described, i heard a man, who appeared from the sound of his voice to be standing on the hatch, call out and say, "that is cape hatteras." i had already come out of my covert several times into the open space; but the hatches were closed so tightly, as to exclude all light. it appeared to me that we had already been at sea a long time; but as darkness was unbroken with me, i could not make any computation of periods. soon after this, the hatch was opened, and the light was let into the hold. a man descended for the purpose of examining the state of the cargo; who returned in a short time. the hatch was again closed, and nothing of moment occurred from this time, until i heard and felt the ship strike against some solid body. in a short time i heard much noise, and a multitude of sounds of various kinds. all this satisfied me that the ship was in some port; for i no longer heard the sound of the waves, nor perceived the least motion in the ship. at length the hatch was again opened, and the light was let in upon me. my anxiety now was, to escape from the ship, without being discovered by any one; to accomplish which i determined to issue from the hold as soon as night came on, if possible. waiting until sometime after daylight had disappeared, i ventured to creep to the hatchway, and raise my head above deck. seeing no one on board, i crawled out of the hold, and stepped on board a ship that lay alongside of that in which i had come a passenger. here a man seized me, and called me a thief, saying i had come to rob his ship; and it was with much difficulty that i prevailed upon him to let me go. he at length permitted me to go on the wharf; and i once more felt myself a freeman. i did not know what city i was in; but as the sailors had all told me, at savannah, that their ship was bound to philadelphia, i had no doubt of being in that city. in going along the street, a black man met me, and i asked him if i was in philadelphia.--this question caused the stranger to laugh loudly; and he passed on without giving me any answer. soon afterwards i met an old gentleman, with drab clothes on, as i could see by the light of the lamps. to him i propounded the same question, that had been addressed a few moments before to the black man. this time, however, i received a civil answer, being told that i was in philadelphia. this gentleman seemed concerned for me, either because of my wretched and ragged appearance, or because i was a stranger, and did not know where i was. whether for one cause or the other, i knew not; but he told me to follow him, and led me to the house of a black man, not far off, whom he directed to take care of me until the morning. in this house i was kindly entertained all night, and when the morning came, the old gentleman in drab clothes returned, and brought with him an entire suit of clothes, not more than half worn, of which he made me a present, and gave me money to buy a hat and some muslin for a couple of shirts. he then turned to go away, and said, "i perceive that thee is a slave, and has run away from thy master. thee can now go to work for thy living; but take care that they do not catch thee again." i then told him, that i had been a slave, and had twice run away and escaped from the state of georgia. the gentleman seemed a little incredulous of that which i told him; but when i explained to him the cause of the condition in which he found me, he seemed to become more than ever interested in my fate. this gentleman, whose name i shall not publish, has always been a kind friend to me. after remaining in philadelphia a few weeks, i resolved to return to my little farm in maryland, for the purpose of selling my property for as much as it would produce, and of bringing my wife and children to pennsylvania. on arriving in baltimore, i went to a tavern keeper, whom i had formerly supplied with vegetables from my garden. this man appeared greatly surprised to see me; and asked me how i had managed to escape from my master in georgia. i told him, that the man who had taken me to georgia was not my master; but had kidnapped me, and carried me away by violence. the tavern keeper then told me, that i had better leave baltimore as soon as possible, and showed me a hand-bill that was stuck up against the wall of his bar-room, in which a hundred and fifty dollars reward was offered for my apprehension. i immediately left this house, and fled from baltimore that very night. when i reached my former residence, i found a white man living in it, whom i did not know. this man, on being questioned by me, as to the time he had owned this place, and the manner in which he had obtained possession, informed me, that a black man had formerly lived here; but he was a runaway slave, and his master had come, the summer before, and carried him off. that the wife of the former owner of the house was also a slave; and that her master had come about six weeks before the present time, and taken her and her children, and sold them in baltimore to a slave-dealer from the south. this man also informed me, that he was not in this neighborhood at the time the woman and her children were carried away; but that he had received his information from a black woman, who lived half a mile off. this black woman i was well acquainted with; she had been my neighbor, and i knew her to be my friend. she had been set free, some years before by a gentleman of this neighborhood, and resided under his protection, on a part of his land, i immediately went to the house of this woman, who could scarcely believe the evidence of her own eyes, when she saw me enter her door. the first word's she spoke to me were, "lucy and her children have all been stolen away." at my request, she gave me the following account of the manner in which my wife and children, all of whom had been free from their birth, were seized and driven into southern slavery. "a few weeks," said she, "after they took you away, and before lucy had so far recovered from the terror produced by that event, as to remain in her house all night with her children, without some other company, i went one evening to stay all night with her; a kindness that i always rendered her, if no other person came to remain with her. "it was late when we went to bed, perhaps eleven o'clock; and after we had been asleep some time, we were awakened by a loud rap at the door. at first we said nothing; but upon the rap being several times repeated, lucy asked who was there. she was then told, in a voice that seemed by its sound to be that of a woman, to get up and open the door; adding, that the person without had something to tell her that she wished to hear. lucy, supposing the voice to be that of a black woman, the slave of a lady living near, rose and opened the door; but, to our astonishment, instead of a woman coming in, four or five men rushed into the house and immediately closed the door; at which one of the men stood, with his back against it, until the others made a light in the fire-place, and proceeded deliberately to tie lucy with a rope.--search was then made in the bed for the children; and i was found and dragged out. this seemed to produce some consternation among the captors, whose faces were all black, but whose hair and visages were those of white men. a consultation was held among them, the object of which was to determine whether i should also be taken along with lucy and the children, or be left behind, on account of the interest which my master was supposed to feel for me. "it was finally agreed, that as it would be very dangerous to carry me off, lest my old master should cause pursuit to be made after them, they would leave me behind, and take only lucy and the children. one of the number then said it would not do to leave me behind, and at liberty, as i would immediately go and give intelligence of what i had seen; and if the affair should be discovered by the members of the abolition society, before they had time to get out of maryland, they would certainly be detected and punished for the crimes they were committing. "it was finally resolved to tie me with cords, to one of the logs of the house, gag me by tying a rope in my mouth, and confining it closely to the back of my neck. they immediately confined me, and then took the children from the bed. the oldest boy they tied to his mother, and compelled them to go out of the house together. the three youngest children were then taken out of bed, and carried off in the hands of the men who had tied me to the log. i never saw nor heard any more of lucy or her children. "for myself, i remained in the house, the door of which was carefully closed and fastened after it was shut, until the second night after my confinement, without anything to eat or drink. on the second night some unknown persons came and cut the cords that bound me, when i returned to my own cabin." this intelligence almost deprived me of life; it was the most dreadful of all the misfortunes that i had ever suffered. it was now clear that some slave-dealer had come in my absence and seized my wife and children as slaves, and sold them to such men as i had served in the south. they had now passed into hopeless bondage, and were gone forever beyond my reach. i myself was advertised as a fugitive slave, and was liable to be arrested at each moment, and dragged back to georgia. i rushed out of my own house in despair and returned to pennsylvania with a broken heart. for the last few years, i have resided about fifty miles from philadelphia, where i expect to pass the evening of my life, in working hard for my subsistence, without the least hope of ever again seeing my wife and children;--fearful, at this day, to let my place of residence be known, lest even yet it may be supposed, that as an article of property, i am of sufficient value to be worth pursuing in my old age. the end. * * * * * [transcriber's notes: the transcriber made these changes to the text to correct obvious errors: p. burthersome --> burthensome p. aristocrary -->aristocracy p. vetebræ --> vertebræ p. charnal --> charnel p. aad --> and p. jair --> jail p. successsion --> succession p. liven --> linen p. of errands --> on errands p. corspe --> corpse p. disagreeble --> disagreeable p. guitly --> quilty p. thives --> thrives p. stool --> stood p. rearch --> reach p. pototoes --> potatoes p. "charles.' --> "charles." end of transcriber's notes] proofreading team an historical account of the rise and progress of the colonies of south carolina and georgia in two volumes. vol. ii. by alexander hewatt contents of the second volume chap. vii. _the form of legal governments._ _sir alexander cumming sent out to treat of peace with the indians._ _brings with him to england seven cherokees._ _who enter into a treaty of peace and alliance._ _speech of a cherokee warrior._ _robert johnson governor._ _several indulgences granted the people._ _happy effects of peace and security._ _a project formed for planting a new colony._ _james oglethorpe carries a colony to georgia._ _he treats with indians for a share of their lands._ _tomochichi's speech to the king._ _his majesty's answer._ _indians easiest managed by gentle and fair means._ _the colony of switzers brought carolina._ _eleven townships marked out._ _a struggle about lands._ _state of the colony._ _the regulation of the trustees._ _their impolitical restrictions._ _two colonies of highlanders and germans sent out._ _thomas broughton lieut.-governor of carolina._ _oglethorpe fortifies georgia._ _which gives umbrage to the spaniards._ _the brave chickesaws defeat the french._ _religious state of the colony._ _the association of presbyterians._ _remarks on paper currency._ _small progress of georgia._ _hardships of the first settlers._ _an irish colony planted._ chap. viii. _trade obstructed by the spaniards of mexico._ _william bull lieutenant-governor._ _oglethorpe's regiment sent to georgia._ _the spaniards try in vain to seduce the creeks._ _matters hastening to a rupture with spain._ _mutiny in oglethorpe's camp._ _a negro insurrection in carolina._ _a war with spain._ _a project for invading florida._ _measures concerted for this purpose._ _general oglethorpe marches against florida._ _invests augustine._ _raises the siege._ _a great fire at charlestown._ _a petition in favour of the rice trade._ _remarks on the treatment of slaves._ _the hardships of their situation._ _oppressed with ignorance and superstition._ _james glen governor._ _lord carteret's property divided from that of the crown._ _the country much exposed to invasion._ _the spaniards invade georgia._ _a stratagem to get rid of the enemy._ _the spaniards retreat to augustine._ _ill treatment of general oglethorpe._ _his character cleared, and conduct vindicated._ _the carolineans petition for three independent companies._ _the colony's advantages from britain._ _its advantage and importance to britain._ chap. ix. _all commotions and oppressions in europe favourable to america._ _cultivation attended with salutary effects._ _mean heat in carolina._ _the diseases of the country._ _climate favourable to the culture of indigo._ _the manner of cultivating and making indigo._ _the common methods of judging of its quality._ _nova scotia settled._ _the great care of britain for these colonies._ _low state of georgia._ _complaint of the people._ _troubles excited by thomas bosomworth._ _with difficulty settled._ _the charter surrendered to the king._ _george whitfield's settlement._ _whitfield's orphan-house._ _sketch of his character._ _a congress with creeks._ _the governor's speech to them._ _malatchee's answer._ _a hurricane at charlestown._ _the advantages of poor settlers in the province._ _the advantages of money-lenders._ _and of the borrowers._ _great benefits enjoyed by the colonists._ _progress of the province._ chap. x. _a dispute about the limits of british and french territories._ _a chain of forts raised by the french._ _the distracted state of the british colonies._ _general braddock's defeat in virginia._ _colonel johnson's success at lake george._ _governor glen holds a congress with the cherokees._ _and purchases a large tract of land from them._ _forts built in defence of carolina._ _its excellent fruits and plants._ _its minerals undiscovered._ _the british forces augmented._ _their first success in america._ _the cause of the cherokee war._ _governor lyttleton prepares to march against them._ _the cherokees sue for peace._ _governor lyttleton marches against the cherokees._ _holds a congress at fort prince george._ _his speech to attakullakulla._ _attakullakulla's answer._ _a treaty concluded with six chiefs._ _the governor returns to charlestown._ _the treaty of peace broken._ _occonostota's stratagem for killing the officer of the fort._ _the war becomes general._ _colonel montgomery arrives._ _and marches against the cherokees._ _chastises them near etchoe._ _and returns to fort prince george._ _the consternation of the inhabitants from indians._ _great distress of the garrison at fort loudon._ _the terms obtained for the garrison._ _treacherously broken by the savages._ _a proposal for attacking fort prince george._ _captain stuart escapes to virginia._ _the war continues._ _the highlanders return to carolina._ _colonel grant marches against the cherokees._ _engages and defeats them._ _destroys their towns._ _peace with the cherokees._ _a quarrel between the commanding officers._ _a whirlwind at charlestown._ _of the heat at savanna._ chap. xi. _a peace, and its happy effects respecting america._ _boundaries of east and west florida._ _the southern provinces left secure._ _encouragement given to reduced officers and soldiers._ _georgia begins to flourish._ _a plan adopted for encouraging emigrations to carolina._ _a number of palatines seduced into england._ _sent into carolina._ _and settled at londonderry._ _some emigrate from britain, and multitudes from ireland._ _and from the northern colonies, resort to carolina._ _regulations for securing the provinces against indians._ _john stuart made superintendant for indian affairs._ _decrease of indians, and the causes of it._ _present state of indian nations in the southern district._ _mr. stuart's first speech to the indians, at mobile._ _a description of charlestown._ _the number of its inhabitants._ _a general view of the manners, &c. of the people._ _and of their way of living._ _the arts and sciences only of late encouraged._ _the militia and internal strength of the province._ _of its societies formed for mutual support and relief._ _of its merchants and trade._ _of its planters and agriculture._ _an interruption of the harmony between britain and her colonies, and the causes of it._ _the new regulations made in the trade of the colonies give great offence._ _a vote passed for charging stamp-duties on the americans._ _upon which the people of new england discover their disaffection to government._ _an opportunity given the colonies to offer a compensation for the stamp-duty._ _the stamp-act passes in parliament._ _violent measures taken to prevent its execution._ _the assembly of carolina study ways and means of eluding the act._ _their resolutions respecting the obedience due to the british parliament._ _the people become more violent in opposition to government._ _the merchants and manufacturers in england join in petitioning for relief._ _the stamp-act repealed._ _which proves fatal to the jurisdiction of the british parliament in america._ _and gives occasion of triumph to the colonies._ the history of the rise and progress of the colony of south carolina. chap. vii. [sidenote] the form of legal governments. from that period in which the right and title to the lands of carolina were sold, and surrendered to the king, and he assumed the immediate care and government of the province, a new aera commences in the annals of that country, which may be called the aera of its freedom, security, and happiness. the carolineans who had long laboured under innumerable hardships and troubles, from a weak proprietary establishment, at last obtained the great object of their desires, a royal government, the constitution of which depended on commissions issued by the crown to the governor, and the instructions which attended those commissions. the form of all provincial governments was borrowed from that of their mother country, which was not a plan of systematic rules drawn before-hand by speculative men, but a constitution which was the result of many ages of wisdom and experience. its great object is the public good, in promoting of which all are equally concerned. it is a constitution which has a remedy within itself for every political disorder, which, when properly applied, must ever contribute to its stability and duration. after the model of this british constitution the government of carolina now assumed a form like the other regal ones on the continent, which were composed of three branches, of a governor, a council, and an assembly. the crown having the appointment of the governor, delegates to him; its constitutional powers, civil and military, the power of legislation as far as the king possesses it; its judicial and executive powers, together with those of chancery and admiralty jurisdiction, and also those of supreme ordinary: all these powers, as they exist in the crown, are known by the laws of the realm; as they are entrusted to governors, they are declared and defined by their commissions patent. the council, though differing in many respects from the house of peers, are intended to represent that house, and are appointed by the king during pleasure, for supporting the prerogatives of the crown in the province. the assembly consists of the representatives of the people, and are elected by them as the house of commons in great britain, to be the guardians of their lives, liberties, and properties. here also the constitution confides in the good behaviour of the representatives; for should they presume in any respect to betray their trust, it gives the people more frequent opportunities than even in britain, of chusing others in their stead. the governor convenes, prorogues, and dissolves these assemblies, and has a negative on the bills of both houses. after bills have received his assent, they are sent to great britain for the royal approbation, in consequence of which they have the force of laws in the province. this is a general sketch of the royal governments, which are intended to resemble the constitution of great britain, as nearly as the local circumstances of the provinces will admit, and which, notwithstanding its imperfections, is certainly the best form of government upon earth. by the instructions which the governor receives from time to time from england, his power no doubt is greatly circumscribed; but it is his duty to transmit authentic accounts of the state of his province, in order that the instructions given him may be proper, and calculated for promoting not only the good of the province, but also that of the british empire. [sidenote] sir alexander cumming sent out to treat of peace with the indians. after the purchase of the province, the first object of the royal concern was, to establish the peace of the colony on the most firm and permanent foundation; and for this purpose treaties of union and alliance with indian nations were judged to be essentially necessary. domestic security being first established, the colonists might then apply themselves to industry with vigour and success, and while they enriched themselves, they would at the same time enlarge the commerce and trade of the mother-country. for this purpose sir alexander cumming was appointed, and sent out to conclude a treaty of alliance with the cherokees, at this time a warlike and formidable nation of savages. these indians occupied the lands about the head of savanna river, and backwards among the apalachian mountains. the country they claimed as their hunting grounds was of immense extent; and its boundaries had never been clearly ascertained. the inhabitants of their different towns were computed to amount to more than twenty thousand, six thousand of whom were warriors, fit on any emergency to take the field. an alliance with such a nation was an object of the highest consequence to carolina, and likewise to the mother-country, now engaged for its defence and protection. [sidenote] brings with him to england seven cherokees. about the beginning of the year , sir alexander arrived in carolina, and made preparations for his journey to the distant hills. for his guides he procured some indian traders, well acquainted with the woods, and an interpreter who understood the cherokee language, to assist him in his negociations. when he reached keowee, abort three hundred miles from charlestown, the chiefs of the lower towns there met him, and received him with marks of great friendship and esteem. he immediately dispatched messengers to the middle, the valley, and over-hill settlements, and summoned a general meeting of all their chiefs, to hold a congress with him at nequassee. accordingly in the month of april the chief warriors of all the cherokee towns assembled at the place appointed. after the various indian ceremonies were over, sir alexander made a speech to them, acquainting them by whose authority he was sent, and representing the great power and goodness of his sovereign king george; how he, and all his other subjects, paid a cheerful obedience to his laws, and of course were protected by him from all harm: that he had come a great way to demand of moytoy, and all the chieftains of the nation, to acknowledge themselves the subjects of his king, and to promise obedience to his authority: and as he loved them, and was answerable to his sovereign for their good and peaceable behaviour, he hoped they would agree to what he should now require of them. upon which the chiefs, falling on their knees, solemnly promised fidelity and obedience, calling upon all that was terrible to fall upon them if they violated their promise. sir alexander then, by their unanimous consent, nominated moytoy commander and chief of the cherokee nation, and enjoined all the warriors of the different tribes to acknowledge him for their king, to whom they were to be accountable for their conduct. to this they also agreed, provided moytoy should be made answerable to sir alexander for his behaviour to them. after which many useful presents were made them, and the congress ended to the great satisfaction of both parties. the crown was brought from tenassee, their chief town, which with five eagle tails, and four scalps of their enemies, moytoy presented to sir alexander, requesting him, on his arrival at britain, to lay them at his majesty's feet. but sir alexander proposed to moytoy, that he should depute some of their chiefs to accompany him to england, there to do homage in person to the great king. accordingly six of them agreed, and accompanied sir alexander to charlestown, where being joined by another, they embarked for england in the fox man of war, and arrived at dover in june . [sidenote] who enter into a treaty of peace and alliance. we shall not pretend to describe their behaviour at the sight of london, or their wonder and astonishment at the greatness of the city, the number of the people, and the splendour of the army and court. being admitted into the presence of the king, they, in the name of their nation, promised to continue for ever his majesty's faithful and obedient subjects. a treaty was accordingly drawn up, and signed by alured popple, secretary to the lords commissioners of trade and plantations, on one side; and by the marks of the six chiefs, on the other. the preamble to this treaty recites, "that whereas the six chiefs, with the consent of the whole nation of cherokees, at a general meeting of their nation at nequassee, were deputed by moytoy, their chief warrior, to attend sir alexander cumming to great britain, where they had seen the great king george: and sir alexander, by authority from moytoy and all the cherokees, had laid the crown of their nation, with the scalps of their enemies and feathers of glory, at his majesty's feet, as a pledge of their loyalty: and whereas the great king had commanded the lords commissioners of trade and plantations to inform the indians, that the english on all sides of the mountains and lakes were his people, their friends his friends, and their enemies his enemies; that he took it kindly the great nation of cherokees had sent them so far, to brighten the chain of friendship between him and them, and between his people and their people; that the chain of friendship between him and the cherokees is now like the sun, which shines both in britain and also upon the great mountains where they live, and equally warms the hearts of indians and englishmen; that as there is no spots or blackness in the sun, so neither is there any rust or foulness on this chain. and as the king had fastened one end to his breast, he defied them to carry the other end of the chain and fasten it to the breast of moytoy of telliquo, and to the breasts of all their old wise men, their captains, and people, never more to be made loose or broken. "the great king and the cherokees being thus fastened together by a chain of friendship, he has ordered, and it is agreed, that his children in carolina do trade with the indians, and furnish them with all manner of goods they want, and to make haste to build houses and plant corn from charlestown, towards the towns of cherokees behind the great mountains: that he desires the english and indians may live together as children of one family; that the cherokees be always ready to fight against any nation, whether white men or indians, who shall dare to molest or hurt the english; that the nation of cherokees shall, on their part, take care to keep the trading path clean, that there be no blood on the path where the english tread, even though they should be accompanied with other people with whom the cherokees may be at war: that the cherokees shall not suffer their people to trade with white men of any other nation but the english, nor permit white men of any other nation to build any forts or cabins, or plant any corn among them, upon lands which belong to the great king: and if any such attempt shall be made, the cherokees must acquaint the english governor therewith, and do whatever he directs, in order to maintain and defend the great king's right to the country of carolina: that if any negroes shall run away into the woods from their english masters, the cherokees shall endeavour to apprehend them, and bring them to the plantation from whence they run away, or to the governor, and for every slave so apprehended and brought back, the indian that brings him shall receive a gun and a watch-coat: and if by any accident it shall happen, that an englishman shall kill a cherokee, the king or chief of the nation shall first complain to the english governor, and the man who did the harm shall be punished by the english laws as if he had killed an englishman; and in like manner, if any indian happens to kill an englishman, the indian shall be delivered up to the governor, to be punished by the same english laws as if he were an englishman." this was the substance of the first treaty between the king and the cherokees, every article of which was accompanied with presents of different kinds, such as cloth, guns, shot, vermilion, flints, hatchets, knives. the indians were given to understand, "that these were the words of the great king, whom they had seen, and as a token that his heart was open and true to his children the cherokees, and to all their people, a belt was given the warriors, which they were told the king desired them to keep, and shew to all their people, to their children, and children's children, to confirm what was now spoken, and to bind this agreement of peace and friendship between the english and cherokees, as long as the rivers shall run, the mountains shall last, or the sun shall shine." [sidenote] speech of a cherokee warrior. this treaty, that it might be the easier understood, was drawn up in language as similar as possible to that of the indians, which at this time was very little known in england, and given to them, certified and approved by sir alexander cumming. in answer to which, skijagustah, in name of the rest, made a speech to the following effect:--"we are come hither from a mountainous place, where nothing but darkness is to be found--but we are now in a place where there is light.--there was a person in our country--he gave us a yellow token of warlike honour, which is left with moytoy of telliquo,--and as warriors we received it.--he came to us like a warrior from you.--a man he is;--his talk is upright--and the token he left preserves his memory among us.--we look upon you as if the great king were present;--we love you as representing the great king;--we shall die in the same way of thinking.--the crown of our nation is different from that which the great king george wears, and from that we saw in the tower.--but to us it is all one.--the chain of friendship shall be carried to our people.--we look upon the great king george as the sun, and as our father, and upon ourselves as his children.--for though we are red, and you are white, yet our hands and hearts are joined together.--when we shall have acquainted our people with what we have seen, our children from generation to generation will always remember it.--in war we shall always be one with you. the enemies of the great king shall be our enemies;--his people and ours shall be one, and shall die together.--we came hither naked and poor as the worms of the earth, but you have every thing,--and we that have nothing must love you, and will never break the chain of friendship which is between us.--here stands the governor of carolina, whom we know.--this small rope we show you is all that we have to bind our slaves with, and it may be broken.--but you have iron chains for yours.--however, if we catch your slaves, we will bind them as well as we can, and deliver them to our friends, and take no pay for it.--we have looked round for the person that was in our country--he is not here;--however, we must say he talked uprightly to us, and we shall never forget him.--your white people may very safely build houses near us;--we shall hurt nothing that belongs to them, for we are children of one father, the great king, and shall live and die together." then laying down his feathers upon the table he added: "this is our way of talking, which is the same thing to us as your letters in the book are to you, and to you beloved men we deliver these feathers in confirmation of all we have said." the cherokees, however barbarous, were a free and independent people; and this method of obtaining a share of their lands by the general consent, was fair and honourable in itself, and most agreeable to the general principles of equity, and the english constitution. an agreement is made with them, in consequence of which the king could not only give a just title to indian lands; but, by indians becoming his voluntary subjects, the colonists obtained peaceable possession. the cherokees held abundance of territory from nature, and with little injury to themselves could spare a share of it; but reason and justice required that it be obtained by paction or agreement. by such treaties mutual presents were made, mutual obligations were established, and, for the performance of the conditions required, the honour and faith of both parties were pledged. even to men in a barbarous state such policy was the most agreeable, as will afterwards clearly appear; for the cherokees, in consequence of this treaty, for many years, remained in a state of perfect friendship and peace with the colonists, who followed their various employments in the neighbourhood of those indians, without the least terror or molestation. [sidenote] robert johnson governor. about the beginning of the year , robert johnson, who had been governor of carolina while in the possession of the lords proprietors, having received a commission from the king, investing him with the same office and authority, arrived in the province. he brought back these indian chiefs, possessed with the highest ideas of the power and greatness of the english nation, and not a little pleased with the kind and generous treatment they had received. the carolineans, who had always entertained the highest esteem for this gentleman, even in the time of their greatest confusion, having now obtained him in the character of king's governor, a thing they formerly had so earnestly desired, received him with the greatest demonstrations of joy. sensible of his wisdom and virtue, and his strong attachment to the colony, they promised themselves much prosperity and happiness under his gentle administration. this new governor, from his knowledge of the province, and the dispositions of the people, was not only well qualified for his high office, but he had a council to assist him, composed of the most respectable inhabitants. thomas broughton was appointed lieutenant-governor, and robert wright chief justice. the other members of the council were, william bull, james kinloch, alexander skene, john fenwick, arthur middleton, joseph wragg, francis yonge, john hamerton, and thomas waring. at the first meeting of assembly, the governor recommended to both houses, to embrace the earliest opportunity of testifying their gratitude to his majesty for purchasing seven-eight parts of the province, and taking it under his particular care; he enjoined them to put the laws in execution against impiety and immorality, and as the most effectual means of discouraging vice, to attend carefully to the education of youth. he acquainted them of the treaty which had been concluded in england with the cherokees, which he hoped would be attended with beneficial and happy consequences; he recommended the payment of public debts, the establishment of public credit, and peace and unanimity among themselves as the chief objects of their attention; for if they should prove faithful subjects to his majesty, and attend to the welfare and prosperity of their country, he hoped soon to see it, now under the protection of a great and powerful nation, in as flourishing and prosperous a situation as any of the other settlements on the continent. they in return presented to him the most loyal and affectionate addresses, and entered on their public deliberations with uncommon harmony and great satisfaction. [sidenote] several indulgences granted the people. for the encouragement of the people, now connected with the mother country both by mutual affection and the mutual benefits of commerce, several favours and indulgences were granted them. the restraint upon rice, an innumerated commodity, was partly taken off; and, that it might arrive more seasonably and in better condition at the market, the colonists were permitted to send it to any port southward of cape finisterre. a discount upon hemp was also allowed by parliament. the arrears of quit-rents bought from the proprietors were remitted by a bounty from the crown. for the benefit and enlargement of trade their bills of credit were continued, and seventy-seven thousand pounds were stamped and issued by virtue of an act of the legislature, called the appropriation law. seventy pieces of cannon were sent out by the king, and the governor had instructions to build one fort at port-royal, and another on the river alatamaha. an independent company of foot was allowed for their defence by land, and ships of war were stationed there for the protection of trade. these and many more favours flowed to the colony, now emerging from the depths of poverty and oppression, and arising to a state of freedom, ease and affluence. [sidenote] happy effects of peace and security. as a natural consequence of its domestic security, the credit of the province in england increased. the merchants of london, bristol, and liverpool turned their eyes to carolina, as a new and promising channel of trade, and established houses in charlestown for conducting their business with the greater ease and success. they poured in slaves from africa for cultivating their lands, and manufactures of britain for supplying the plantations; by which means the planters obtained great credit, and goods at a much cheaper rate than they could be obtained from any other nation. in consequence of which the planters having greater strength, turned their whole attention to cultivation, and cleared the lands with greater facility and success. the lands arose in value, and men of foresight and judgment began to look out and secure the richest spots for themselves, with that ardour and keenness which the prospects of riches naturally inspire. the produce of the province in a few years was doubled. during this year above thirty-nine thousand barrels of rice were exported, besides deer-skins, furs, naval stores, and provisions; and above one thousand five hundred negroes were imported into it. from this period its exports kept pace with its imports, and secured its credit in england. the rate of exchange had now arisen to seven hundred _per cent. i. e._ seven hundred carolina money was given for a bill of an hundred pounds sterling on england; at which rate it afterwards continued, with little variation, for upwards of forty years. hitherto small and inconsiderable was the progress in cultivation carolina had made, and the face of the country appeared like a desert, with little spots here and there cleared, scarcely discernible amidst the immense forest. the colonists were slovenly farmers, owing to the vast quantities of lands, and the easy and cheap terms of obtaining them; for a good crop they were more indebted to the great power of vegetation and natural richness of the soil, than to their own good culture and judicious management. they had abundance of the necessaries, and several of the conveniencies of life. but their habitations were clumsy and miserable huts, and having no chaises, all travellers were exposed in open boats or on horseback to the violent heat of the climate. their houses were constructed of wood, by erecting first a wooden frame, and then covering it with clap-boards without, and plastering it with lime within, of which they had plenty made from oyster-shells. charlestown, at this time, consisted of between five and six hundred houses, mostly built of timber, and neither well constructed nor comfortable, plain indications of the wretchedness and poverty of the people. however, from this period the province improved in building as well as in many other respects; many ingenious artificers and tradesmen of different kinds found encouragement in it, and introduced a taste for brick buildings, and more neat and pleasant habitations. in process of time, as the colony increased in numbers, the face of the country changed, and exhibited an appearance of industry and plenty. the planters made a rapid progress towards wealth and independence, and the trade being well protected, yearly increased and flourished. [sidenote] a project formed for planting a new colony at the same time, for the relief of poor and indigent people of great britain and ireland, and for the farther security of carolina, the settlement of a new colony between the rivers alatamaha and savanna was projected in england. this large territory, situated on the south-west of carolina, yet lay waste, without an inhabitant except its original savages. private compassion and public spirit conspired towards promoting the excellent design. several persons of humanity and opulence having observed many families and valuable subjects oppressed with the miseries of poverty at home, united, and formed a plan for raising money and transporting them to this part of america. for this purpose they applied to the king, obtained from him letters-patent, bearing date june th, , for legally carrying into execution what they had generously projected. they called the new province georgia, in honour of the king, who likewise greatly encouraged the undertaking. a corporation consisting of twenty-one persons was constituted, by the name of trustees, for settling and establishing the colony of georgia; which was separated from carolina by the river savanna. the trustees having first set an example themselves, by largely contributing towards the scheme, undertook also to solicit benefactions from others, and to apply the money towards clothing, arming, purchasing utensils for cultivation, and transporting such poor people as should consent to go over and begin a settlement. they however confined not their views to the subjects of britain alone, but wisely opened a door also for oppressed and indigent protestants from other nations. to prevent any misapplication or abuse of charitable donations, they agreed to deposit the money in the bank of england, and to enter in a book the names of all the charitable benefactors, together with the sums contributed by each of them; and to bind and oblige themselves, and their successors in office, to lay a state of the money received and expended before the lord chancellor of england, the lord chief justice of the king's bench and common pleas, the master of the rolls, and the lord chief baron of the exchequer. when this scheme of the trustees with respect to the settlement of georgia was made public, the well-wishers of mankind in every part of britain highly approved of an undertaking so humane and disinterested. to consult the public happiness, regardless of private interest, and to stretch forth a bountiful hand for relief of distressed fellow-creatures, were considered as examples of uncommon benevolence and virtue, and therefore worthy of general imitation. the ancient romans, famous for their courage and magnanimity, ranked the planting of colonies among their noblest works, and such as added greater lustre to their empire than their most glorious wars and victories. by the latter old cities were plundered and destroyed; by the former new ones were founded and established. the latter ravaged the dominions of enemies, and depopulated the world; the former improved new territories, provided for unfortunate friends, and added strength to the state. the benevolent founders of the colony of georgia perhaps may challenge the annals of any nation to produce a design more generous and praise-worthy than that they had undertaken. they voluntarily offered their money, their labour, and time, for promoting what appeared to them the good of others, leaving themselves nothing for reward but the inexpressible satisfaction arising from virtuous actions. among other great ends they had also in view the conversion and civilization of indian savages. if their public regulations were afterwards found improper and impracticable; if their plan of settlement proved too narrow and circumscribed; praise, nevertheless, is due to them. human policy at best is imperfect; but, when the design appears so evidently good and disinterested, the candid and impartial part of the world will make many allowances for them, considering their ignorance of the country, and the many defects that cleave to all codes of laws, even when framed by the wisest legislators. about the middle of july, , the trustees for georgia held their first general meeting, when lord percival was chosen president of the corporation. after all the members had qualified themselves, agreeable to the charter, for the faithful discharge of the trust, a common seal was ordered to be made. the device was, on one side, two figures resting upon urns, representing the rivers alatamaha and savanna, the boundaries of the province; between them the genius of the colony seated, with a cap of liberty on his head, a spear in one hand and a cornucopia in the other, with the inscription, colonia georgia aug.: on the other side was a represention of silk worms, some beginning and others having finished their web, with the motto, non sibi sed aliis; a very proper emblem, signifying, that the nature of the establishment was such, that neither the first trustees nor their successors could have any views of interest, it being entirely designed for the benefit and happiness of others. [sidenote] james oglethorpe carries a colony to georgia. in november following, one hundred and sixteen settlers embarked at gravesend for georgia, having their passage paid, and every thing requisite for building and cultivation furnished them by the corporation. they could not properly be called adventurers, as they run no risque but what arose from the change of climate, and as they were to be maintained until by their industry they were able to support themselves. james oglethorpe, one of the trustees, embarked along with them, and proved a zealous and active promoter of the settlement. in the beginning of the year following oglethorpe arrived in charlestown, where he was received by the governor and council in the kindest manner, and treated with every mark of civility and respect. governor johnson, sensible of the great advantage that must accrue to carolina from this new colony; gave all the encouragement and assistance in his power to forward the settlement. many of the carolineans sent them provisions, and hogs, and cows to begin their stock. william bull, a man of knowledge and experience, agreed to accompany mr. oglethorpe, and the rangers and scout-boats were ordered to attend him to georgia. after their arrival at yamacraw, oglethorpe and bull explored the country, and having found an high and pleasant spot of ground, situated on a navigable river, they fixed on this place as the most convenient and healthy situation for the settlers. on this hill they marked out a town, and, from the indian name of the river which ran past it, called it savanna. a small fort was erected on the banks of it as a place of refuge, and some guns were mounted on it for the defence of the colony. the people were set to work in felling trees and building huts for themselves, and oglethorpe animated and encouraged them, by exposing himself to all the hardships which the poor objects of his compassion endured. he formed them into a company of militia, appointed officers from among themselves, and furnished them with arms and ammunition. to shew the indians how expert they were at the use of arms, he frequently exercised them; and as they had been trained beforehand by the serjeants of the guards in london, they performed their various parts in a manner little inferior to regular troops. [sidenote] he treats with indians for a share of their lands. having thus put his colony in as good a situation as possible, the next object of his attention was to treat with the indians for a share of their possessions. the principal tribes that at this time occupied the territory were the upper and lower creeks; the former were numerous and strong, the latter, by diseases and war, had been reduced to a smaller number: both tribes together were computed to amount to about twenty-five thousand, men, women and children. those indians, according to a treaty formerly made with governor nicolson, laid claim to the lands lying south-west of savanna river, and, to procure their friendship for this infant colony, was an object of the highest consequence. but as the tribe of indians settled at yamacraw was inconsiderable, oglethorpe judged it necessary to have the other tribes also to join with them in the treaty. to accomplish this union he found an indian woman named mary, who had married a trader from carolina, and who could speak both the english and creek languages; and perceiving that she had great influence among indians, and might be made useful as an interpreter in forming treaties of alliance with them; he therefore first purchased her friendship with presents, and afterwards settled an hundred pounds yearly on her, as a reward for her services. by her assistance he summoned a general meeting of the chiefs, to hold a congress with him at savanna, in order to procure their consent to the peaceable settlement of his colony. at this congress fifty chieftains were present, when oglethorpe represented to them the great power, wisdom and wealth of the english nation, and the many advantages that would accrue to indians in general from a connection and friendship with them; and as they had plenty of lands, he hoped they would freely resign a share of them to his people, who were come for their benefit and instruction to settle among them. after having distributed some presents, which must always attend every proposal of friendship and peace, an agreement was made, and then tomochichi, in name of the creek warriors, addressed him in the following manner: "here is a little present, and, giving him a buffaloe's skin, adorned on the inside with the head and feathers of an eagle, desired him to accept it, because the eagle was an emblem of speed, and the buffalo of strength. he told him, that the english were as swift as the bird and as strong as the beast, since, like the former, they flew over vast seas to the uttermost parts of the earth; and, like the latter, they were so strong that nothing could withstand them. he said, the feathers of the eagle were soft, and signified love; the buffalo's skin was warm, and signified protection; and therefore he hoped the english would love and protect their little families." oglethorpe accordingly accepted the present, and after having concluded this treaty limited by the nature of their government, was nevertheless great, as they always directed the public councils in all affairs relative to peace and war. it is true their young men, fond of fame and glory from warlike exploits, and rejoicing in opportunities of distinguishing themselves, will now and then, in contempt to the power of their old leaders, break out in scalping parties. to moderate and restrain the fiery passions of the young men, the sages find generally the greatest difficulties, especially as these passions are often roused by gross frauds and impositions. unprincipled and avaricious traders sometimes resided among them, who, that they might the more easily cheat them, first filled the savages drunk, and then took all manner of advantages of them in the course of traffic. when the indian recovered from his fit of drunkenness, and finding himself robbed of his treasures, for procuring which he had perhaps hunted a whole year, he is filled with fury, and breathes vengeance and resentment. no authority can then restrain him within the bounds of moderation. at such a juncture in vain does the leader of the greatest influence interpose. he spurns at every person that presumes to check that arm by which alone he defends his property against the hands of fraud and injustice. among themselves indeed theft is scarcely known, and injuries of this kind are seldom committed; and had the traders observed in general the same justice and equity in their dealings with them, as they commonly practice among themselves, it would have been an easy matter with their wise and grave leaders to maintain peace in all the different intercourses between europeans and indians. tomochichi acknowledged, that the governor of the world had given the english great wisdom, power and riches, insomuch that they wanted nothing; he had given indians great territories, yet they wanted every thing; and he prevailed on the creeks freely to resign such lands to the english as were of no use to themselves, and to allow them to settle among them, on purpose that they might get instruction, and be supplied with the various necessaries of life. he persuaded them, that the english were a generous nation, and would trade with them on the most just and honourable terms; that they were brethren and friends, and would protect them from danger, and go with them to war against all their enemies. some say that james oglethorpe, when he came out to settle this colony in georgia, brought along with him sir walter raleigh's journals, written by his own hand; and by the latitude of the place, and the traditions of the indians, it appeared to him that sir walter had landed at the mouth of savanna river. indeed during his wild and chimerical attempts for finding out a golden country, it is not improbable that this brave adventurer visited many different places. the indians acknowledged that their fathers once held a conference with a warrior who came over the great waters. at a little distance from savanna, there is an high mount of earth, under which they say the indian king lies interred, who talked with the english warrior, and that he desired to be buried in the same place where this conference was held. but having little authority with respect to this matter, we leave the particular relation of it to men in circumstances more favourable for intelligence. [sidenote] the colony of switzers brought to carolina. while the security of carolina, against external enemies, by this settlement of georgia, engaged the attention of british government, the means of its internal improvement and population at the same time were not neglected. john peter pury, a native of neufchatel in switzerland, having formed a design of leaving his native country, paid a visit to carolina, in order to inform himself of the circumstances, and situation of the province. after viewing the lands there, and procuring all the information he could, with respect to the terms of obtaining them, he returned to britain. the government entered into a contract with him, and, for the encouragement of the people, agreed to give lands and four hundred pounds sterling for every hundred effective men he should transport from switzerland to carolina. pury, while in carolina, having furnished himself with a flattering account of the soil and climate, and of the excellence and freedom of the provincial government, returned to switzerland, and, published it among the people. immediately one hundred and seventy poor switzers agreed to follow him, and were transported to the fertile and delightful province as he described it; and not long afterwards two hundred more came over, and joined them. the governor, agreeable to instructions, allotted forty thousand acres of lands for the use of the swiss settlement on the north-east side of savanna river; and a town was marked out for their accommodation, which he called purisburgh, from the name of the principal promoter of the settlement. mr. bignion, a swiss minister, whom they had engaged to go with them, having received episcopal ordination from the bishop of london, settled among them for their religious instruction. on the one hand the governor and council, happy in the acquisition of such a force, allotted each of them his separate tract of land, and gave every encouragement in their power to the people: on the other, the poor swiss emigrants began their labours with uncommon zeal and courage, highly elevated with the idea of possessing landed estates, and big with the hopes of future success. however, in a short time they felt the many inconveniencies attending a change of climate. several of them sickened and died, and others found all the hardships of the first state of colonization falling heavily upon them. they became discontented with the provisions allowed them, and complained to government of the persons employed to distribute them; and, to double their distress, the period for receiving the bounty expired before they had made such progress in cultivation as to raise sufficient provisions for themselves and families. the spirit of murmur crept into the poor swiss settlement, and the people finding themselves oppressed with indigence and distress, could consider their situation in no other light than a state of banishment, and not only blamed pury for deceiving them, but also heartily repented their leaving their native country. [sidenote] eleven townships marked out. according to the new plan adopted in england for the more speedy population and settlement of the province; the governor had instructions to mark out eleven townships, in square plats, on the sides of rivers, consisting each of twenty thousand acres, and to divide the lands within them into shares of fifty acres for each man, woman, and child, that should come over to occupy and improve them. each township was to form a parish, and all the inhabitants were to have an equal right to the river. so soon as the parish should increase to the number of an hundred families, they were to have right to send two members of their own election to the assembly, and to enjoy the same privileges as the other parishes already established. each settler was to pay four shillings a year for every hundred acres of land, excepting the first ten years, during which term they were to be rent free. governor johnson issued a warrant to st. john, surveyor-general of the province, empowering him to go and mark out those townships. but he having demanded an exorbitant sum of money for his trouble, the members of the council agreed among themselves to do this piece of service for their country. accordingly eleven townships were marked out by them in the following situations; two on river alatamacha, two on savanna, two on santee, one on pedee, one on wacamaw, one on watcree, and one on black rivers. [sidenote] a struggle about lands. the old planters now acquiring every year greater strength of hands, by the large importation of negroes, and extensive credit from england, began to turn their attention more closely than ever to the lands of the province. a spirit of emulation broke out among them for securing tracts of the richest ground, but especially such as were most conveniently situated for navigation. complaints were made to the assembly, that all the valuable lands on navigable rivers and creeks adjacent to port-royal had been run out in exorbitant tracts, under colour of patents granted by the proprietors to cassiques and landgraves, by which the complainants, who had, at the hazard of their lives, defended the country, were hindered from obtaining such lands as could be useful and beneficial, at the established quit-rents, though the attorney and solicitor-general of england had declared such patents void. among others, job rothmaller and thomas cooper, having been accused of some illegal practices with respect to this matter, a petition was presented to the assembly by thirty-nine inhabitants of granville county in their vindication. when the assembly examined into the matter, they ordered their messenger forthwith to take into custody job rothmaller and thomas cooper, for aiding, assisting, and superintending the deputy-surveyor in marking out tracks of land already surveyed, contrary to the quit rent act. but cooper, being taken into custody, applied to chief justice wright for a writ of _habeas corpus_, which was granted. the assembly, however, sensible of the ill consequences that would attend such illegal practices, determined to put a stop to them by an act made on purpose. they complained to the governor and council against the surveyor-general, for encouraging land-jobbers, and allowing such liberties as tended to create litigious disputes in the province, and to involve it in great confusion. in consequence of which, the governor, to give an effectual check to such practices, prohibited st. john to survey lands to any person without an express warrant from him. the surveyor-general, however, determined to make the most of his office, and having a considerable number to support him, represented both governor and council as persons disaffected to his majesty's government, and enemies to the interest of the country. being highly offended at the assembly, he began to take great liberties without doors, and to turn some of their speeches into ridicule. upon which an order was issued to take st. john also into custody; and then the commons came to the following spirited resolutions: "that it is the undeniable privilege of this assembly to commit such persons they may judge to deserve it: that the freedom of speech and debate ought not to be impeached or questioned in any court or place out of that house: that it is a contempt and violation of the privileges of that house, to call in question any of their commitments: that no writ of _habeas corpus_ lies in favour of any person committed by that house, and that the messenger attending do yield no obedience to such; and that the chief justice be made acquainted with these resolutions." in consequence of which, wright complained before the governor and council of these resolutions, as tending to the dissolution of all government, and charged the lower house with disallowing his majesty's undoubted prerogative, and with renouncing obedience to his writs of _habeas corpus_. but the council in general approved of their conduct, and were of opinion, that the assembly of carolina had that same privilege there, that the house of commons had in england. in short, this affair created some trouble in the colony. for while a strong party, from motives of private interest, supported the chief justice; the assembly resolved, "that he appeared to be prejudiced against the people, and was therefore unworthy of the office he held, and that it would tend to the tranquillity of the province immediately to suspend him." in this situation was the colony about the end of the year . each planter, eager in the pursuit of large possessions of land, which were formerly neglected, because of little value, strenuously vied with his neighbour for a superiority of fortune, and seemed impatient of every restraint that hindered or cramped him in his favourite pursuit. many favours and indulgences had already been granted them from the crown, for promoting their success and prosperity, and for securing the province against external enemies. what farther favours they expected, we may learn from the following memorial and representation of the state of carolina, transmitted to his majesty, bearing date april th, , and signed by the governor, the president of the council, and the speaker of the commons house of assembly. [sidenote] state of the colony. "your majesty's most dutiful subjects of this province, having often felt, with hearts full of gratitude, the many signal instances of your majesty's peculiar favour and protection, to those distant parts of your dominions, and especially those late proofs of your majesty's most gracious and benign care, so wisely calculated for the preservation of this your majesty's frontier province on the continent of america, by your royal charter to the trustees for establishing the colony of georgia, and your great goodness so timely applied, for the promoting the settlement of the swiss at purisburgh; encouraged by such views of your majesty's wise and paternal care, extended to your remotest subjects, and excited by the duty we owe to your most sacred majesty, to be always watchful for the support and security of your majesty's interest, especially at this very critical conjuncture, when the flame of a war breaking out in europe may very speedily be lighted here, in this your majesty's frontier province, which, in situation, is known to be of the utmost importance to the general trade and traffic in america: we, therefore, your majesty's most faithful governor, council, and commons, convened in your majesty's province of south carolina, crave leave with great humility to represent to your majesty the present state and condition of this your province, and how greatly it stands in need of your majesty's gracious and timely succour in case of a war, to assist our defence against the french and spaniards, or any other enemies to your majesty's dominions, as well as against the many nations of savages which so nearly threaten the safety of your majesty's subjects. "the province of south carolina, and the new colony of georgia, are the southern frontiers of all your majesty's dominions on the continent of america; to the south and south-west of which is situated the strong castle of st. augustine, garrisoned by four hundred spaniards, who have several nations of indians under their subjection, besides several other small settlements and garrisons, some of which are not eighty miles distant from the colony of georgia. to the south-west and west of us the french have erected a considerable town, near fort thoulouse on the moville river, and several other forts and garrisons, some not above three hundred miles distant from our settlements; and at new orleans on the mississippi river, since her late majesty queen anne's war, they have exceedingly increased their strength and traffic, and have now many forts and garrisons on both sides of that great river for several hundred miles up the same; and since his most christian majesty has taken out of the mississippi company the government of that country into his own hands, the french natives in canada come daily down in shoals to settle all along that river, where many regular forces have of late been sent over by the king to strengthen the garrisons in those places, and, according to our best and latest advices, they have five hundred men in pay, constantly employed as wood-rangers, to keep their neighbouring indians in subjection, and to prevent the distant ones from disturbing the settlements; which management of the french has so well succeeded, that we are very well assured they have now wholly in their possession and under their influence, the several numerous nations of indians that are situated near the mississippi river, one of which, called the choctaws, by estimation consists of about five thousand fighting men, and who were always deemed a very warlike nation, lies on this side the river, not above four hundred miles distant from our out-settlements, among whom, as well as several other nations of indians, many french europeans have been sent to settle, whom the priests and missionaries among them encourage to take indian wives, and use divers other alluring methods to attach the indians the better to the french alliance, by which means the french are become throughly acquainted with the indian way, warring and living in the woods, and have now a great number of white men among them, able to perform a long march with an army of indians upon any expedition. "we further beg leave to inform your majesty, that if the measures of france should provoke your majesty to a state of hostility against it in europe, we have great reason to expect an invasion will be here made upon your majesty's subjects by the french and indians from the mississippi settlements. they have already paved a way for a design of that nature, by erecting a fort called the albama fort, alias fort lewis, in the middle of the upper creek indians, upon a navigable river leading to mobile, which they have kept well garrisoned and mounted with fourteen pieces of cannon, and have lately been prevented from erecting a second nearer to us on that quarter. the upper creeks are a nation very bold, active and daring, consisting of about two thousand five hundred fighting men, (and not above one hundred and fifty miles distant from the choctaws), whom, through we heretofore have traded with, claimed and held in our alliance, yet the french, on account of that fort and a superior ability to make them liberal presents, have been for some time striving to draw them over to their interest, and have succeeded with some of the towns of the creeks; which, if they can be secured in your majesty's interest, are the only nation which your majesty's subjects here can depend upon as the best barrier against any attempts either of the french or their confederate indians. "we most humbly beg leave farther to inform your majesty, that the french at mobile perceiving that they could not gain the indians to their interest without buying their deer-skins, (which is the only commodity the indians have to purchase necessaries with), and the french not being able to dispose of those skins by reason of their having no vent for them in old france, they have found means to encourage vessels from hence, new-york, and other places, (which are not prohibited by the acts of trade), to truck those skins with them for indian trading goods, especially the british woollen manufactures, which the french dispose of to the creeks and choctaws, and other indians, by which means the indians are much more alienated from our interest, and on every occasion object to us that the french can supply them with strouds and blankets as well as the english, which would have the contrary effect if they were wholly supplied with those commodities by your majesty's subjects trading with them. if a stop were therefore put to that pernicious trade with the french, the chief dependence of the creek indians would be on this government, and that of georgia, to supply them with goods; by which means great part of the choctaws, living next the creeks, would see the advantage the creek indians enjoyed by having british woollen manufactures wholly from your majesty's subjects, and thereby be invited in a short time to enter into a treaty of commerce with us, which they have lately made some offers for, and which, if effected, will soon lessen the interest of the french with those indians, and by degrees attach them to that of your majesty. "the only expedient we can propose to recover and confirm that nation to your majesty's interest, is by speedily making them presents to withdraw them from the french alliance, and by building some forts among them your majesty may be put in such a situation, that on the first notice of hostilities with the french, your majesty may be able at once to reduce the albama fort, and we may then stand against the french and their indians, which, if not timely prepared for before a war breaks out, we have too much reason to fear we may be soon over-run by the united strength of the french, the creeks and choctaws, with many other nations of their indian allies: for, should the creeks become wholly enemies, who are well acquainted with all our settlements, we probably should also be soon deserted by the cherokees, and a few others, small tribes of indians, who, for the sake of our booty, would readily join to make us a prey to the french and savages. ever since the late indian war, the offences given us then by the creeks have made that nation very jealous of your majesty's subjects of this province. we have therefore concerted measures with the honourable james oglethorpe, esq; who, being at the head of a new colony, will (we hope) be successful for your majesty's interest among that people. he has already by presents attached the lower creeks to your majesty, and has laudably undertaken to endeavour the fixing a garrison among the upper creeks, the expence of which is already in part provided for in this session of the general assembly of this province. we hope therefore to prevent the french from encroaching farther on your majesty's territories, until your majesty is graciously pleased further to strengthen and secure the same. "we find the cherokee nation has lately become very insolent to your majesty's subjects trading among them, notwithstanding the many favours the chiefs of that nation received from your majesty in great-britain, besides a considerable expence which your majesty's subjects of this province have been at in making them presents, which inclines us to believe that the french, by their indians, have been tampering with them. we therefore beg leave to inform your majesty, that the building and mounting some forts likewise among the cherokees, and making them presents will be highly necessary to keep them steady in their duty to your majesty, lest the french may prevail in seducing that nation, which they may the more readily be inclined to from the prospect of getting considerable plunder in slaves, cattle, _&c._ commodities which they very well know we have among us, several other forts will be indispensibly necessary, to be a cover to your majesty's subjects settled backwards in this province, as also to those of the colony of georgia, both which in length are very extensive; for though the trustees for establishing the colony of georgia, by a particular scheme of good management, painfully conducted by the gentleman engaged here in that charitable enterprise, has put that small part of the colony, which he has not yet been able to establish, in a tenable condition, against the spaniards of florida which lie to the southward; yet the back exposition of those colonies to the vast number of french and indians which border on the westward, must, in case of a war, cry greatly aloud for your majesty's gracious and timely succour. the expense of our safety on such an occasion, we must, with all humility, acquaint your majesty, either for men or money, can never be effected by your majesty's subjects of this province, who, in conjunction with georgia, do not in the whole amount to more than three thousand five hundred men, which compose the militia, and wholly consist of planters, tradesmen, and other men of business. "besides the many dangers which by land we are exposed to from so many enemies that lie on the back of us; we further beg leave to represent to your majesty, the defenceless condition of our ports and harbours, where any enemies of your majesty's dominions may very easily by sea invade us, there being no fortifications capable of making much resistance. those in charlestown harbour are now in a very shattered condition, occasioned by the late violent storms and hurricanes, which already cost this country a great deal of money, and now requires several thousands of pounds to repair the old and build new ones, to mount the ordnance which your majesty was graciously pleased to send us, which, with great concern, we must inform your majesty we have not yet been able to accomplish, being lately obliged, for the defence and support of this your majesty's province and government, to raise, by a tax on the inhabitants, a supply of above forty thousand pounds paper currency _per annum_, which is a considerable deal more than a third part of all the currency among us; a charge which your majesty's subjects of this province are but barely able to sustain. since your majesty's royal instruction to your majesty's governor here, an entire stop has been put to the duties which before accrued from european goods imported; and if a war should happen, or any thing extraordinary, to be farther expensive here, we should be under the utmost difficulties to provide additionally for the same, lest an increase of taxes with an apprehension of danger, should drive away many of our present inhabitants, as well as discourage others from coming here to settle for the defence and improvement of your majesty's province, there being several daily moving with their families and effects to north carolina, where there are no such fears and burdens. "we must therefore beg leave to inform your majesty, that, amidst our other perilous circumstances, we are subject to many intestine dangers from the great number of negroes that are now among us, who amount at least to twenty-two thousand persons, and are three to one of all your majesty's white subjects in this province. insurrections against us have been often attempted, and would at any time prove very fatal if the french should instigate them, by artfully giving them an expectation of freedom. in such a situation we most humbly crave leave to acquaint your majesty, that even the present ordinary expences necessary for the care and support of this your majesty's province and government, cannot be provided for by your majesty's subjects of this province, without your majesty's gracious pleasure to continue those laws for establishing the duty on negroes and other duties for seven years, and for appropriating the same, which now lie before your majesty for your royal assent and approbation; and the further expences that will be requisite for the erecting some forts, and establishing garrisons in the several necessary places, so as to form a barrier for the security of this your majesty's province, we most humbly submit to your majesty. "your majesty's subjects of this province, with fulness of zeal, duty and affection to your most gracious and sacred majesty, are so highly sensible of the great importance of this province to the french, that we must conceive it more than probable, if a war should happen, they will use all endeavours to bring this country under their subjection; they would be thereby enabled to support their sugar islands with all sorts of provisions and lumber by an easy navigation, which to our great advantage is not so practicable from the present french colonies, besides the facility of gaining then to their interest most of the indian trade on the northern continent; they might then easily unite the canadees and choctaws, with the many other nations of indians which are now in their interest. and the several ports and harbours of carolina and georgia, which now enable your majesty to be absolute master of the passage through the gulf of florida, and to impede, at your pleasure, the transportation home of the spanish treasure, would then prove for many convenient harbours for your majesty's enemies, by their privateers or ships of war to annoy a great part of the british trade to america, as well as that which is carried on through the gulf from jamaica; besides the loss which great britain must feel in so considerable a part of its navigation, as well as the exports of masts, pitch, tar, and turpentine, which, without any dependence on the northern parts of europe, are from hence plentifully supplied for the use of the british shipping. "this is the present state and condition of your majesty's province of south carolina, utterly incapable of finding funds sufficient for the defence of this wide frontier, and so destitute of white men, that even money itself cannot here raise a sufficient body of them. "with all humility we therefore beg leave to lay ourselves at the feet of your majesty, humbly imploring your majesty's most gracious care in the extremities we should be reduced to on the breaking out of a war; and that your majesty would be graciously pleased to extend your protection to us, as your majesty, in your great wisdom, shall think proper." [sidenote] the regulations of the trustees. in the mean time the trustees for georgia had been employed in framing a plan of settlement and establishing such public regulations as they judged most proper for answering the great end of the corporation. in this general plan they considered each inhabitant both as a planter and a soldier who must be provided with arms and ammunition for defence, as well as with tools and utensils for cultivation. as the strength of the province was their chief object in view, they agreed to establish such tenures for holding lands in it as they judged most favourable for a military establishment. each tract of land granted was considered as a military fief, for which the possessor was to appear in arms, and take the field, when called upon for the public defence. to prevent large tracts from falling in process of time into one hand, they agreed to grant their lands in tail male in preference to tail general. on the termination of the estate in tail male, the lands were to revert to the trust; and such lands thus reverting were to be granted again to such persons, as the common council of the trust should judge most advantageous for the colony; only the trustees in such a case were to pay special regard to the daughters of such persons as had made improvements on their lots, especially when not already provided for by marriage. the wives of such persons as should survive them, were to be during their lives entitled to the mansion-house, and one-half of the lands improved by their husbands. no man was to be permitted to depart the province without licence. if any part of the lands granted by the trustees, shall not by cultivated, cleared, and fenced round about with a worm fence, or pales, six feet high, within eighteen years from the date of the grant, such part was to revert to the trust, and the grant with respect to it to be void. all forfeitures for non-residence, high-treason, felonies, _&c._ were to the trustees for the use and benefit of the colony. the use of negroes was to be absolutely prohibited, and also the importation of rum. none of the colonists were to be permitted to trade with indians, but such as should obtain a special licence for that purpose. [sidenote] their impolitical restrictions. these were some of the fundamental regulations established by the trustees of georgia, and perhaps the imagination of man could scarcely have framed a system of rules worse adapted to the circumstances and situation of the poor settlers, and of more pernicious consequence to the prosperity of the province. yet, although the trustees were greatly mistaken, with respect to their plan of settlement, it must be acknowledged their views were generous. as the people sent out by them were the poor and unfortunate, who were to be provided with necessaries at their public store, they received their lands upon condition of cultivation, and by their personal residence, of defence. silk and wine being the chief articles intended to be raised, they judged negroes were not requisite to these purposes. as the colony was designed to be a barrier to south carolina, against the spanish settlement at augustine they imagined that negroes would rather weaken than strengthen it, and that such poor colonists would run into debt, and ruin themselves by purchasing them. rum was judged pernicious to health, and ruinous to the infant settlement. a free trade with indians was considered as a thing that might have a tendency to involve the people in quarrels and troubles with the powerful savages, and expose them to danger and destruction. such were probably the motives which induced those humane and generous persons to impose such foolish and ridiculous restrictions on their colony. for by granting their small estates in tail male, they drove the settlers from georgia, who soon found that abundance of lands could be obtained in america upon a larger scale, and on much better terms. by the prohibition of negroes, they rendered it impracticable in such a climate to make any impression on the thick forest, europeans being utterly unqualified for the heavy task. by their discharging a trade with the west indies, they not only deprived the colonists of an excellent and convenient market for their lumber, of which they had abundance on their lands, but also of rum, which, when mixed with a sufficient quantity of water, has been found in experience the cheapest, the most refreshing, and nourishing drink for workmen in such a soggy and burning climate. the trustees, like other distant legislators, who framed their regulations upon principles of speculation, were liable to many errors and mistakes, and however good their design, their rules were found improper and impracticable. the carolineans plainly perceived, that they would prove unsurmountable obstacles to the progress and prosperity of the colony, and therefore from motives of pity began to invite the poor georgians to come over savanna river, and settle in carolina, being convinced that they could never succeed under such impolitic and oppressive restrictions. [sidenote] two colonies of highlanders and germans sent out. besides the large sums of money which the trustees had expended for the settlement of georgia, the parliament had also granted during the two past years thirty-six thousand pounds towards carrying into execution the humane purpose of the corporation. but after the representation and memorial from the legislature of carolina reached britain, the nation considered georgia to be of the utmost importance to the british settlements in america, and began to make still more vigorous efforts for its speedy population. the first embarkations of poor people from england, being collected from towns and cities, were found equally idle and useless members of society abroad, as they had been at home. an hardy and bold race of man, inured to rural labour and fatigue, they were persuaded would be much better adapted both for cultivation and defence. to find men possessed of these qualifications, the trustees turned their eyes to germany and the highlands of scotland, and resolved to send over a number of scotch and german labourers to their infant province. when they published their terms at inverness, an hundred and thirty highlanders immediately accepted them, and were transported to georgia. a town-ship on the river alatamaha, which was considered as the boundary between the british and spanish territories, was allotted for the highlanders, on which dangerous situation they settled, and built a town, which they called new inverness. about the same time an hundred and seventy germans embarked with james oglethorpe, and were fixed in another quarter; so that, in the space of three years, georgia received above four hundred british subjects, and about an hundred and seventy foreigners. afterwards several adventurers, both from scotland and germany, followed their countrymen, and added further strength to the province, and the trustees flattered themselves with the hopes of soon seeing it in a promising condition. [sidenote] thomas broughton lieut.-governor of carolina. the same year carolina lost robert johnson, her favourite governor, whose death was as much lamented by the people, as during his life he had been beloved and respected. the province having been much indebted to his wisdom, courage and abilities, to perpetuate his memory among them, and, in testimony of their esteem, a monument was erected in their church at the public expence. after his decease the government devolved on thomas broughton, a plain honest man, but little distinguished either for his knowledge or valour. as the welfare of the province depended greatly on its government, no man ought to be entrusted with such a charge but men of approved virtue and capacity. there is as much danger arising to a community from a feeble and contemptible government, as from an excess of power committed to its rulers. weak and unexperienced hands hold the reins of government with awkwardness and difficulty, and being easily imposed upon, their authority sinks into contempt. at this time many of the leading men of the colony scrupled not to practise impositions, and being eagerly bent on engrossing lands, the lieutenant-governor freely granted them warrants; and the planters, provided they acquired large possessions, were not very scrupulous about the legality of the way and manner in which they were obtained. [sidenote] oglethorpe fortifies georgia. james oglethorpe having brought a number of great guns with him from england, now began to fortify georgia, by erecting strong-holds on its frontiers, where he judged they might be useful for its safety and protection. at one place, which he called augusta a fort was erected on the banks of savanna river, which was excellently situated for protecting the indian trade, and holding treaties of commerce and alliance with several of the savage nations. at another place, called frederica, on an island nigh the mouth of the river alatamaha, another fort, with four regular bastions, was erected, and several pieces of cannon were mounted on it. ten miles nearer the sea a battery was raised, commanding the entrance into the sound, through which all ships of force must come that might be sent against frederica. to keep little garrisons in these forts, to help the trustees to defray the expences of such public works, ten thousand pounds were granted by the parliament of great britain. [sidenote] which gives umbrage to the spaniards. while james oglethorpe was thus busily employed in strengthening georgia, he received a message from the governor of augustine, acquainting him that a spanish commissioner from havanna had arrived there, in order to make certain demands of him, and would meet him at frederica for that purpose. at the same time he had advice, that three companies of foot had came along with him to that spanish settlement. a few days afterwards this commissioner came to georgia by sea, and oglethorpe, unwilling to permit him to come to frederica, dispatched a sloop to bring him into jekyl sound, where he intended to hold a conference with him. here the commissioner had the modesty to demand, that oglethorpe and his people should immediately evacuate all the territories to the southward of st. helena sound, as they belonged to the king of spain, who was determined to maintain his right to them; and if he refuted to comply with his demand, he had orders to proceed to charlestown and lay the same before the governor and council of that province. oglethorpe endeavoured to convince him that his catholic majesty had been misinformed with respect to those territories, but to no purpose; his instructions were peremptory, and the conference broke up without coming to any agreement. after which oglethorpe embarked with all possible expedition, and sailed for england. during his absence the strict law of the trustees, respecting the rum trade, had like to have created a quarrel between the carolineans and georgians. the fortification at augusta had induced some traders of carolina to open stores at that place, so conveniently situated for commerce with indian nations. for this purpose, land carriage being expensive, they intended to force their way by water with loaded boats up savanna river to their stores at augusta. but as they passed the town of savanna, the magistrates rashly ordered the boats to be stopt, the packages to be opened, the casks of rum to be staved, and the people to be confined. such injurious treatment was not to be suffered; the carolineans determined to give a check to their insolence, and for that purpose deputed two persons, one from the council and another from the assembly, to demand of the georgians by what authority they presumed to seize and destroy the effects of their traders, or to compel them to submit to their code of laws. the magistrates of georgia, sensible of their error, made great concessions to the deputies, and treated them with the utmost civility and respect. the goods were instantly ordered to be returned, the people to be set at liberty, and all manner of satisfaction was given to the deputies they could have expected. strict orders were sent to the agents of georgia among indians not to molest the traders from carolina, but to give them all the assistance and protection in their power. the carolineans, on the other hand, engaged not to smuggle any strong liquors among the settlers of georgia, and the navigation on the river savanna was declared equally open and free to both provinces. [sidenote] the brave chickesaws defeat the french. about the same time the french took the field against the emperor; and the flames of war kindling between such powerful potentates, would, it was thought, inevitably spread, and involve all europe in the quarrel. in case great britain should interfere in this matter; and declare in favour of the emperor, orders were sent out to the governors of quebec and new orleans to invade the weakest frontiers of the british settlements of america. for this purpose an army was formed in new france, and preparations were made for uniting the force of canada and louisiana to attack carolina. but before this design was put in execution, advice came, that the clouds of war which threatened europe were dispersed, and a general peace was restored, by the mediation of britain and holland. this put a stop to the motions of the main body in canada; however, a detachment of two hundred french and four hundred indians were sent down the mississippi, to meet a party from new orleans to cut off the chickesaw indians. this tribe were the firm allies of britain, and the bravest nation of savages on the continent, but consisted only of between six and eight hundred gun-men. the french having encroached in their lands, and built some forts nigh them, had on that account drawn upon themselves their invincible enmity and resentment. the chickesaws had long obstinately opposed their progress up the river mississippi, and were now the chief obstacle that prevented a regular communication between louisiana and canada. the french determined to remove it, by extirpating this troublesome nation, and for this purpose fell down the river in boats to the place where they expected to meet their friends from new orleans. but the party from the southward not coming up at the time appointed, and the canadians thinking themselves strong enough for the enterprize, began the war by attacking the chickesaw towns. upon which the savages gathered together above three hundred warriors, gave the french battle in an open field, and, though with considerable loss, compleatly defeated them. above forty frenchmen and eight indians were killed on the spot, and the rest were taken prisoners, among whom was their commander, and chief, brother to mons. bienville, governor of new orleans. hard was the fate of the unfortunate prisoners, who for several days were kept almost perishing with hunger in the wilderness, and at last were tied to a stake, tortured, and burned to death. another party of french from mobile, in the same year, advanced against the creeks, who were also unsuccessful, and obliged to retreat with considerable loss. carolina rejoiced at those disasters, and began now more than ever to court the friendship and interest of these rude nations in their neighbourhood, considering them as the best barrier against their natural enemies. [sidenote] religious state of the colony. by this time the episcopalian form of divine worship had gained ground in carolina, and was more countenanced by the people than any other. that zeal for the right of private judgment had much abated, and those prejudices against the hierarchy, which the first emigrants carried from england with them, were now almost entirely worn off from the succeeding generation. to bring about this change, no doubt the well-timed zeal and extensive bounty of the society, incorporated for the propagation of the gospel, had greatly contributed. at this time the corporation had no less than twelve missionaries in carolina, each of whom shared of their bounty. indeed, a mild church-government, together with able, virtuous, and prudent teachers, in time commonly give the establishment in every country a superiority over all sectaries. spacious churches had been erected in the province, which were pretty well supplied with clergymen, who were paid from the public treasury, and countenanced by the civil authority, all which favoured the established church. the dissenters of carolina were not only obliged to erect and uphold their churches, and maintain their clergy by private contributions, but also to contribute their share in the way of taxes, in proportion to their ability, equally with their neighbours; towards the maintenance of the poor, and the support of the establishment. this indeed many of them considered as a grievance, but having but few friends in the provincial assembly, no redress could be obtained for them. besides, the establishment gave its adherents many advantageous privileges in point of power and authority over persons of other denominations. it gave them the best chance for being elected members of the legislature, and of course of being appointed to offices, both civil and military in their respective districts. over youthful minds, fond of power, pomp and military parade, such advantages have great weight. dissenters indeed had the free choice of their ministers, but even this is often the cause of division. when differences happen in a parish, the minority must yield, and therefore through private pique, discontent or resentment, they often conform to the establishment. it is always difficult, and often impossible for a minister to please all parties, especially where all claim an equal right to judge and chuse for themselves, and divisions and subdivisions seldom fail to ruin the power and influence of all sectaries. this was evidently the case in carolina for many of the posterity of rigid dissenters were now found firm adherents to the church of england, which had grown numerous on the ruins of the dissenting interest. [sidenote] the association of presbyterians. however, the emigrants from scotland and ireland, most of whom were presbyterians, still composed a considerable party of the province, and kept up the presbyterian form of worship in it. archibald stobo, of whom i have formerly taken notice, by great diligence and ability still preserved a number of followers. an association had been formed in favour of this mode of religious worship, by messrs. stobo, fisher, and witherspoon, three ministers of the church of scotland, together with joseph stanyarn, and joseph blake, men of respectable characters and considerable fortunes. the presbyterians had already erected churches at charlestown, wiltown, and in three of the maritime islands, for the use of the people adhering to that form of religious worship. as the inhabitants multiplied, several more in different parts of the province afterwards joined them, and built churches, particularly at jacksonburgh, indian town, port-royal, and williamsburgh. the first clergymen having received their ordination in the church of scotland, the fundamental rules of the association were framed according to the forms, doctrines, and discipline of that establishment, to which they agreed to conform as closely as their local circumstances would admit. these ministers adopted this mode of religious worship, not only from a persuasion of its conformity to the primitive apostolic form, but also from a conviction of its being, of all others, the most favourable to civil liberty, equality, and independence. sensible that not only natural endowments, but also a competent measure of learning and acquired knowledge were necessary to qualify men for the sacred function, and enable them to discharge the duties of it with honour and success, they associated on purpose to prevent deluded mechanics, and illiterate novices from creeping into the pulpit, to the disgrace of the character, and the injury of religion. in different parts of the province, persons of this stamp had appeared, who cried down all establishments, both civil and religions, and seduced weak minds from the duties of allegiance, and all that the presbytery could do was to prevent them from teaching under the sanction of their authority. but this association of presbyterians having little countenance from government, and no name or authority in law, their success depended wholly on the superior knowledge, popular talents and exemplary life of their ministers. from time to time clergymen were afterwards sent out at the request of the people from scotland and ireland; and the colonists contributed to maintain them, till at length funds were established in trust by private legacies and donations, to be appropriated for the support of presbyterian ministers, and the encouragement of that mode of religious worship and government. [sidenote] remarks on paper-currency. i have several times made remarks on the paper-currency of the province, which the planters were always for increasing, and the merchants and money lenders for sinking. the exchange of london, like a commercial thermometer, served to measure the rise or fall of paper-credit in carolina; and the price of bills of exchange commonly ascertained the value of their current money. the permanent riches of the country consisted in lands, houses, and negroes; and the produce of the lands, improved by negroes, raw materials, provisions, and naval stores, were exchanged for what the province wanted from other countries. the attention of the mercantile part was chiefly employed about staple commodities; and as their great object was present profit it was natural for them to be governed by that great axiom in trade, whoever brings commodities cheapest and in the best order to market, must always meet with the greatest encouragement and success. the planters, on the other hand, attended to the balance of trade, which was turned in their favour, and concluded, that when the exports of any province exceeded its imports, whatever losses private persons might now and then sustain, yet that province upon the whole was growing rich. let us suppose, what was indeed far from being the case, that georgia so far advanced in improvement as to rival carolina in raw materials, and exchangeable commodities, and to undersell her at the markets in europe: this advantage could only arise from the superior quality of her lands, the cheapness of her labour, or her landed men being contented with smaller profits. in such a case it was the business of the carolina merchants to lower the price of her commodities, in order to reap the same advantages with her neighbours; and this could only be done by reducing the quantity of paper-money in circulation. if gold and silver only past current in georgia, which by general consent was the medium of commerce throughout the world, if she had a sufficient quantity of them to answer the purposes of trade, and no paper-currency had been permitted to pass current; in such case her commodities would bring their full value at the provincial market, and no more, according to the general standard of money in europe. supposing also that carolina had a quantity of gold and silver in circulation, sufficient for the purposes of commerce, and that the planters, in order to raise the value of their produce, should issue paper-money equal to the quantity of gold and silver in circulation, the consequence would be, the price of labour, and of all articles of exportation would be doubled. but as the markets of europe remained the same, and her commodities being of the same kind and quality with those of georgia, they would not bring an higher price. some persons must be losers, and in the fist instance this loss must fall on the mercantile interest, and moneyed men. therefore this superabundance of paper-credit, on whose foundation the deluded province built its visionary fabric of great wealth, was not only useless, but prejudicial with respect to the community. paper-money in such large quantities is the bane of commerce, a kind of fictitious wealth, making men by high founding language imagine they are worth thousands and millions, while a ship's load of it would not procure for the country a regiment of auxiliary troops in time of war, nor a suit of clothes at an european market in time of peace. had america, from its first settlement, prohibited paper-money altogether, her staple commodities must have brought her, in the course of commerce, vast sums of gold and silver, which would have circulated through the continent, and answered all the purposes of trade both foreign and domestic. it is true the value of gold and silver is equally nominal, and rises and falls like the value of other articles of commerce, in proportion to the quantity in circulation. but as nations in general have fixed on these metals as the medium of trade, this has served to stamp a value on them, and render them the means not only of procuring every where the necessaries of life, but by supporting public credit, the chief means also of national protection. however, some distinction in point of policy should perhaps be made between a colony in its infancy, and a nation already possessed of wealth, and in an advanced state of agriculture and commerce, especially while the former is united to, and under the protection of the latter. to a growing colony, such as carolina, paper-credit, under certain limitations, was useful in several respects; especially as the gold and silver always left the country, when it answered the purpose of the merchant for remittance better than produce. this credit served to procure the planter strength of hands to clear and cultivate his fields, from which the real wealth of the province arose. but in an improved country such as england, supported by labourers, manufacturers and trade, large emissions of paper-money lessen the value of gold and silver, and both cause them to leave the country, and its produce and manufactures to come dearer to market. adventurous planters in carolina, eager to obtain a number of negroes, always stretched their credit with the traders to its utmost pitch; for as negroes on good lands cleared themselves in a few years, they by this means made an annual addition to their capital stock. after obtaining this credit, it then became their interest to maintain their superiority in assembly, and discharge their debt to the merchants in the easiest manner they could. the increase of paper-money always proved to them a considerable assistance, as it advanced the price of those commodities they brought to the market, by which they cancelled their debts with the merchants; so that however much this currency might depreciate, the loss occasioned by it from time to time fell not on the adventurous planters, but on the merchants and money-lenders, who were obliged to take it in payment of debts, or produce, which always arose in price in proportion to its depreciation. in excuse for increasing provincial paper-money the planters always pled the exigencies of the public, such as warlike expeditions, raising fortifications, providing military stores, and maintaining garrisons; those no doubt rendered the measure sometimes necessary, and often reasonable, but private interest had also considerable weight in adopting it, and carrying it into execution. in the year , a bill of exchange on london, for a hundred pounds sterling, sold for seven hundred and fifty pounds carolina currency. of this the merchants might complain, but from this period they had too little weight in the public councils to obtain any redress. the only resource left for them was to raise the price of negroes, and british articles of importation, according to the advanced price of produce, and bills of exchange. however, the exchange again fell to seven hundred _per cent._ at which standard it afterwards rested and remained. [sidenote] small progress of georgia. by this time the poor colonists of georgia, after trial, had become fully convinced of the impropriety and folly of the plan of settlement framed by the trustees, which, however well intended, was ill adapted to their circumstances, and ruinous to the settlement. in the province of carolina, which lay adjacent, the colonists discovered that there they could obtain lands not only on better terms, but also liberty to purchase negroes to assist in clearing and cultivating them. they found labour in the burning climate intolerable, and the dangers and hardships to which they were subjected unsurmountable. instead of raising commodities for exportation, the georgians, by the labour of several years, were not yet able to raise provisions sufficient to support themselves and families. under each discouragements, numbers retired to the carolina side of the river, where they had better prospects of success, and the magistrates observed the infant colony sinking into ruin, and likely to be totally deserted. the freeholders in and round savanna assembled together, and drew up a state of their deplorable circumstances, and transmitted it to the trustees, in which they represented their success in georgia as a thing absolutely impossible, without the enjoyment of the same liberties and privileges with their neighbours in carolina. in two respects they implored relief from the trustees; they desired a fee-simple or free title to their lands, and liberty to import negroes under certain limitations, without which they declared they had neither encouragement to labour, nor ability to provide for their posterity. but the colony of highlanders, instead of joining in this application, to a man remonstrated against the introduction of slaves. as they lay contiguous to the spanish dominions, they were apprehensive that these enemies would entice their slaves from them in time of peace, and in time of war instigate them to rise against their masters. besides, they considered perpetual slavery as shocking to human nature, and deemed the permission of it as a grievance, and which in some future day might also prove a scourge, and make many feel the smart of that oppression they so earnestly desired to introduce. for as the spaniards had proclaimed freedom to them, they alledged that slaves would run away, and ruin poor planters; and at all events would disqualify them the more for defending the province against external enemies, while their families were exposed to barbarous domestics, provoked perhaps by harsh usage, or grown desperate through misery and oppression. [sidenote] hardships of the first settlers. few persons who are acquainted with the country will wonder at the complaints of the poor settlers in georgia; for if we consider the climate to which they were sent, and the labours and hardships they had to undergo, we may rather be astonished that any of them survived the first year after their arrival. when james oglethorpe took possession of this wilderness, the whole was an immense thick forest, excepting savannas, which are natural plains where no trees grow, and a few indian fields, where the savages planted maize for their subsistence. in the province there were the same wild animals, fishes, reptiles and insects, which were found in carolina. the country in the maritime parts was likewise a spacious plain, covered with pine trees, where the lands were barren and sandy; and with narrow slips of oaks, hickory, cypress, cane, &c. where the lands were of a better quality. rains, thunder-storms, hurricanes, and whirlwinds, were equally frequent in the one province as in the other. little difference could be perceived in the soil, which in both was barren or swampy; and the same diseases were common to both. the lands being covered with wood, through which the sea-breezes could not penetrate, there was little agitation in the air, which at some seasons was thick, heavy and foggy, and at others clear, close, and suffocating, both which are very pernicious to health. the air of the swampy land was pregnant with innumerable noxious qualities, insomuch that a more unwholesome climate was not perhaps to be found in the universe. the poor settlers considered this howling wilderness to which they were brought, to have been designed by nature rather for the habitation of wild beasts than human creatures. they found that diseases, or even misfortunes were in effect equally fatal: for though neither of them might prove mortal, yet either would disable them from living, and reduce them to a state in which they might more properly be said to perish than to die. nothing has retarded the progress and improvement of these southern settlements more than the inattention shewn to the natural productions of the soil, and the preference which has commonly been given to articles transplanted from europe. over the whole world different articles of produce are suited to different soils and climates. as georgia lay so convenient for supplying the west indies with maize, indian pease, and potatoes, for which the demand was very great, perhaps the first planters could scarcely have turned their attention to more profitable articles, but without strength of hands little advantage could be reaped from them. it is true the west-india islands would produce such articles, yet the planters would never cultivate them, while they could obtain them by purchase: the lands there suited other productions more valuable and advantageous. abundance of stock, particularly hogs and black cattle, might have been raised in georgia for the same market. lumber was also in demand, and might have been rendered profitable to the province, but nothing could succeed there under the foolish restrictions of the trustees. european grain, such as wheat, oats, barley, and rye, thrived very ill on the maritime parts; and even silk and wine were found upon trial by no means to answer their expectations. the bounties given for raising the latter were an encouragement to the settlers, but either no pains were taken to instruct the people in the proper methods of raising them, or the soil and climate were ill adapted for the purpose. the poor and ignorant planters applied themselves to those articles of husbandry to which probably they had been formerly accustomed, but which poorly rewarded them and left them, after all their toil, in a starved and miserable condition. the complaints of the georgians, however ignorant they might be, ought not to have been entirely disregarded by the trustees. experience suggested those inconveniencies and troubles from which they implored relief. the hints they gave certainly ought to have been improved towards correcting errors in the first plan of settlement, and framing another more favourable and advantageous. such scattered thoughts of individuals sometimes afford wise men materials for forming just judgments, and improving towards the establishment of the best and most beneficial regulations. the people governed ought never to be excluded from the attention and regard of their governors. the honour of the trustees depended on the success and happiness of the settlers, and it was impossible for the people to succeed and be happy without those encouragements, liberties and privileges absolutely necessary to the first state of colonization. a free title to their land, liberty to chuse it, and then to manage it in such a manner as appeared to themselves most conducive to their interest, were the principal incentives to industry; and industry, well directed, is the grand source of opulence to every country. it must be acknowledged, for the credit of the benevolent trustees, that they sent out these emigrants to georgia under several very favourable circumstances. they paid the expences of their passage, and furnished them with clothes, arms, ammunition, and instruments of husbandry. they gave them lands, and bought for some of them cows and hogs to begin their flock. they maintained their family during the first year of their occupancy, or until they should receive some return from their lands. so that if the planters were exposed to hazards from the climate, and obliged to undergo labour, they certainly entered on their task with several advantages. the taxes demanded, comparatively speaking, were a mere trifle. for their encouragement they wrought entirely for themselves, and for some time were favoured with a free and generous maintenance. [sidenote] an irish colony planted. by this time an account of the great privileges and indulgences granted by the crown for the encouragement of emigration to carolina, had been published through britain and ireland, and many industrious people in different parts had resolved to take the benefit of his majesty's bounty. multitudes of labourers and husbandmen in ireland, oppressed by landlords and bishops, and unable by their utmost diligence to procure a comfortable subsistence for their families, embarked for carolina. the first colony of irish people had lands granted them near santee river, and formed the settlement called williamsburgh township. but notwithstanding the bounty of the crown, these poor emigrants remained for several years in low and miserable circumstances. the rigours of the climate, joined to the want of precaution, so common to strangers, proved fatal to numbers of them. having but scanty provisions in the first age of cultivation, vast numbers, by their heavy labour, being both debilitated in body and dejected in spirit, sickened and died in the woods. but as this township received frequent supplies from the same quarter, the irish settlement, amidst every hardship, increased in number; and at length they applied to the merchants for negroes, who entrusted them with a few, by which means they were relieved from the severest part of the labour, then, by their great diligence and industry, spots of land were gradually cleared, which in the first place yielded them provisions, and in process of time became moderate and fruitful estates. chap. viii. [sidenote] trade obstructed by the spaniards of mexico. for several years before an open rupture took place between great britain and spain, no good understanding subsisted between those two different courts, neither with respect to the privileges of navigation on the mexican seas, nor to the limits between the provinces of georgia and florida. on one hand, the spaniards pretended that they had an exclusive right to some latitudes in the bay of mexico; and, on the other, though the matter had never been clearly ascertained by treaty, the british merchants claimed the privilege of cutting logwood on the bay of campeachy. this liberty indeed had been tolerated on the part of spain for several years, and the british merchants, from avaricious motives, had begun a traffic with the spaniards, and supplied them with goods of english manufacture. to prevent this illicit trade, the spaniards doubled the number of ships stationed in mexico for guarding the coast, giving them orders to board and search every english vessel found in those seas, to seize on all that carried contraband commodities, and confine the sailors. at length not only smugglers, but fair traders were searched and detained, so that all commerce in those seas was entirely obstructed. the british merchants again and again complained to the ministry of depredations committed, and damages sustained; which indeed produced one remonstrance after another to the spanish court; all which were answered only by evasive promises and delays. the spaniards flattered the british minister, by telling him, they would enquire into the occasion of such grievances, and settle all differences by way of negotiation. sir robert walpole, fond of pacific measures, and trusting to such proposals of accommodation, for several years suffered the grievances of the merchants to remain unredressed, and the trade of the nation to suffer great losses. [sidenote] william bull lieut.-governor. in the year , samuel horsley was appointed governor of south carolina, but he dying before he left england, the charge of the province devolved on william bull, a man of good natural abilities, and well acquainted with the state of the province. the garrison at augustine having received a considerable reinforcement, it therefore became the business of the people of carolina, as well as those of georgia, to watch the motions of their neighbours. as the spaniards pretended a right to that province, they were pouring in troops into augustine, which gave the british colonists some reason to apprehend they had resolved to assert their right by force of arms. william bull despatched advice to england of the growing power of spain in east florida, and at the same time acquainted the trustees, that such preparations were making there as evidently portended approaching hostilities. the british ministers were well acquainted with the state of carolina, from a late representation transmitted by its provincial legislature. the trustees for georgia presented a memorial to the king, giving an account of the spanish preparations, and the feeble and defenceless condition of georgia, and imploring his majesty's gracious assistance. in consequence of which, a regiment of six hundred effective men was ordered to be raised, with a view of sending them to georgia. the king having made james oglethorpe major-general of all the forces of the two provinces, gave him the command of this regiment and ordered him out for the protection of the southern frontiers of the british dominions in america. [sidenote] oglethorpe's regiment sent to georgia. about the middle of the same year, the hector, and blandford ships of war sailed, to convoy the transports which carried general oglethorpe and his regiment to that province. forty supernumeraries followed the general to supply the place of such officers or soldiers as might sicken and die by the change of the climate. upon the arrival of this regiment, the people of carolina and georgia rejoiced, and testified their grateful sense of his majesty's paternal care in the strongest terms. the georgians, who had been for some time harassed with frequent alarms, now found themselves happily relieved, and placed in such circumstances as enabled them to bid defiance to the spanish power. parties of the regiment were sent to the different garrisons, and the expence the trustees had formerly been at in maintaining them of course ceased. the general held his head-quarters at frederica, but raised forts on some other islands lying nearer the spaniards, particularly in cumberland and jekyl islands, in which he also kept garrisons to watch the motions of his enemies. [sidenote] the spaniards try in vain to seduce the creeks. while these hostile preparations were going on, it behoved general oglethorpe to cultivate the firmest friendship with indian nations, that they might be ready on every emergency to assist him. during his absence the spaniards had made several attempts to seduce the creeks, who were much attached to oglethorpe, by telling them he was at augustine, and promised them great presents in case they would pay him a visit at that place. accordingly some of their leaders went down to see the beloved man, but not finding him there, they were highly offended, and resolved immediately to return to their nation. the spanish governor, in order to cover the fraud, or probably with a design of conveying those leaders out of the way, that they might the more easily corrupt their nation; told them, that the general lay sick on board of a ship in the harbour, where he would be extremely glad to see them. but the savages were jealous of some bad design, and refused to go, and even rejected their presents and offers of alliance. when they returned to their nation, they found an invitation from general oglethorpe to all the chieftains to meet him at frederica, which plainly discovered to them the insidious designs of the spaniards, and helped not a little to increase his power and influence among them. a number of their head warriors immediately set out to meet him at the place appointed, where the general thanked them for their fidelity, made them many valuable presents, and renewed the treaty of friendship and alliance with them. at this congress the creeks seemed better satisfied than usual, agreed to march a thousand men to the general's assistance whenever he should demand them, and invited him up to see their towns. but as he was then busy, he excused himself, by promising to visit them next summer, and accordingly dismissed them no less pleased with his kindness, than incensed against the spaniards for their falsehood and deceit. [sidenote] matters hastening to a rupture with spain. by this time the king of england had resolved to vindicate the honour of his crown, and maintain his right to those territories in georgia, together with the freedom of commerce and navigation in the mexican seas. the pacific system of sir robert walpole had drawn upon him the displeasure of the nation, particularly of the mercantile part; and that amazing power and authority he had long maintained began to decline. the spirit of the nation was rouzed, insomuch that the administration could no longer wink at the insults, depredations, and cruelties of spain. instructions were sent to the british ambassador at the court of madrid, to demand in the most absolute terms a compensation for the injuries of trade, which, upon calculation, amounted to two hundred thousand pounds sterling; and at the same time a squadron of ten ships of the line, under the command of admiral haddock, were sent to the mediterranean sea. this produced an order from the spanish court to their ambassador, to allow the accounts of the british merchants, upon condition that the spanish demand on the south-sea company be deducted: and that oglethorpe be recalled from georgia, and no more employed in that quarter, as he had there made great encroachments on his catholic majesty's dominions. these conditions were received at the court of britain with that indignation which might have been expected from an injured and incensed nation. in answer to which the spanish ambassador was given to understand, that the king of great britain was determined never to relinquish his right to a single foot of land in the province of georgia; and that he must allow his subjects to make reprisals, since satisfaction for their losses in trade could in no other way be obtained. in this unsettled situation, however, matters remained for a little while between those two powerful potentates. [sidenote] mutiny in oglethorpe's camp. in the mean time preparations were making both in georgia and florida, by raising fortifications on the borders of the two provinces, to hold each other at defiance. the british soldiers finding themselves subjected to a number of hardships in georgia, to which they had not been accustomed in britain, several of them were discontented and ungovernable. at length a plot was discovered in the camp for assassinating their general. two companies of the regiment had been drawn from gibraltar, some of whom could speak the spanish language. while stationed on cumberland island, the spanish out-posts on the other side could approach so near as to converse with the british soldiers, one of whom had even been in the spanish service, and not only understood their language, but also had so much of a roman catholic spirit as to harbour an aversion to protestant heretics. the spaniards had found means to corrupt this villain, who debauched the minds of several of his neighbours, insomuch that they united and formed a design first to murder general oglethorpe, and then make their escape to augustine. accordingly, on a certain day a number of soldiers under arms came up to the general, and made some extraordinary demands; which being refused, they instantly cried out, one and all, and immediately one of them discharged his piece at him: and being only at the distance of a few paces, the ball whizzed over his shoulder, but the powder singed his clothes, and burnt his face. another presented his piece, which flashed in the pan; a third drew his hanger and attempted to stab him, but the general parrying it off, an officer standing by run the ruffian through the body, and killed him on the spot. upon which the mutineers ran, but were caught and laid in irons. a court-martial was called to try the ringleaders of this desperate conspiracy, some of whom were found guilty and condemned to be shot, in order to deter others from such dangerous attempts. nor was this the only concealed effort of spanish policy, another of a more dangerous nature soon followed in carolina, which might have been attended with much more bloody and fatal effects. at this time there were above forty thousand negroes in the province, a fierce, hardy and strong race, whose constitutions were adapted to the warm climate, whose nerves were braced with constant labour, and who could scarcely be supposed to be contented with that oppressive yoke under which they groaned. long had liberty and protection been promised and proclaimed to them by the spaniards at augustine, nor were all the negroes in the province strangers to the proclamation. at different times spanish emissaries had been found secretly tampering with them, and persuading them to fly from slavery to florida, and several had made their escape to that settlement. of these negro refugees the governor of florida had formed a regiment, appointing officers from among themselves, allowing them the same pay and clothing them in the same uniform with the regular spanish soldiers. the most sensible part of the slaves in carolina were not ignorant of this spanish regiment, for whenever they run away from their masters, they constantly directed their course to this quarter. to no place could negro serjeants be sent for enlisting men where they could have a better prospect of success. two spaniards were caught in georgia, and committed to jail, for enticing slaves to leave carolina and join this regiment. five negroes, who were cattle hunters at indian land, some of whom belonged to captain mcpherson, after wounding his son and killing another man, made their escape. several more attempting to get away were taken, tried, and hanged at charlestown. [sidenote] a negro insurrection in carolina. while carolina was kept in a state of constant fear and agitation from this quarter, an insurrection openly broke out in the heart of the settlement which alarmed the whole province. a number of negroes having assembled together at stono, first surprised and killed two young men in a warehouse, and then plundered it of guns and ammunition. being thus provided with arms, they elected one of their number captain, and agreed to follow him, marching towards the south-west with colours flying and drums beating, like a disciplined company. they forcibly entered the house of mr. godfrey, and having murdered him, his wife, and children, they took all the arms he had in it, set fire to the house, and then proceeded towards jacksonsburgh. in their way they plundered and burnt every house, among which were those of sacheveral, nash, and spry, killing every white person they found in them, and compelling the negroes to join them. governor bull returning to charlestown from the southward, met them, and, observing them armed, quickly rode out of their way. he spread the alarm, which soon reached the presbyterian church at wiltown, where archibald stobo was preaching to a numerous congregation of planters in that quarter. by a law of the province all planters were obliged to carry their arms to church, which at this critical juncture proved a very useful and necessary regulation. the women were left in church trembling with fear while the militia, under the command of captain bee, marched in quest of the negroes, who by this time had become formidable from the number that joined them. they had marched above twelve miles, and spread desolation through all the plantations in their way. having found rum in some houses, and drank freely of it, they halted in an open field, and began to sing and dance, by way of triumph. during these rejoicings the militia discovered them, and stationed themselves in different places around them, to prevent them from making their escape. the intoxication of several of the slaves favoured the assailants. one party advanced into the open field and attacked them, and, having killed some negroes, the remainder took to the woods, and were dispersed. many ran back to their plantations, in hopes of escaping suspicion from the absence of their masters; but the greater part were taken and tried. such as had been compelled to join them contrary to their inclination were pardoned, but all the chosen leaders and first insurgents suffered death. all carolina was struck with terror and consternation by this insurrection, in which above twenty persons were murdered before it was quelled, and had not the people in that quarter been fortunately collected together at church, it is probable many more would have suffered. or had it become general, the whole colony must have fallen a sacrifice to their great power and indiscriminate fury. it was commonly believed, and not without reason, that the spaniards were deeply concerned in promoting the mischief, and by their secret influence and intrigues with slaves had instigated them to this massacre. having already four companies of negroes in their service, by penetrating into carolina, and putting the province into confusion, they might no doubt have raised many more. but, to prevent farther attempts, governor bull sent an express to general oglethorpe with advice of the insurrection, desiring him to double his vigilance in georgia, and seize all straggling spaniards and negroes. in consequence of which a proclamation was issued to stop all slaves found in that province, offering a reward for every one they might catch attempting to run off. at the same time a company of rangers were employed to patrole the frontiers, and block up all passages by which they might make their escape to florida. [sidenote] a war with spain. in the mean time things were hastening to a rupture in europe, and a war between england and spain was thought unavoidable. the plenipotentiaries appointed for settling the boundaries between georgia and florida, and other differences and misunderstandings subsisting between the two crowns, had met at pardo in convention, where preliminary articles were drawn up; but the conference ended to the satisfaction of neither party. indeed the proposal of a negotiation, and the appointment of plenipotentiaries, gave universal offence to the people of britain, who breathed nothing but war and vengeance against the proud and arrogant spaniards. the merchants had lost all patience under their sufferings, and became clamorous for letters of reprisal, which at length they obtained. public credit arose, and forwarded hostile preparations. all officers of the navy and army were ordered to their stations, and with the unanimous voice of the nation war was declared against spain on the rd of october, . [sidenote] a project for invading florida. while admiral vernon was sent to take the command of a squadron in the west-india station, with orders to act offensively against the spanish dominions in that quarter, to divide their force, general oglethorpe was ordered also to annoy the subjects of spain in florida by every method in his power. in consequence of which, the general immediately projected an expedition against the spanish settlement at augustine. his design he communicated by letter to lieutenant governor bull, requesting the support and assistance of carolina in the expedition. mr. bull laid his letter before the provincial assembly, recommending to them to raise a regiment, and give him all possible assistance in an enterprize of such interesting consequence. the assembly, sensible of the vast advantages that must accrue to them from getting rid of such troublesome neighbours, resolved that so soon as the general should communicate to them his plan of operations, together with a state of the assistance requisite, at the same time making it appear that there was a probability of success, they would most cheerfully assist him. the carolineans, however, were apprehensive, that as that garrison had proved such a painful thorn in their side in time of peace, they would have more to dread from it in time of war; and although the colony had been much distressed by the small-pox and the yellow fever for two years past, which had cut off the hopes of many flourishing families; the people, nevertheless, lent a very favourable ear to the proposal, and earnestly wished to give all the assistance in their power towards dislodging an enemy so malicious and cruel. [sidenote] measures concerted for this purpose. in the mean time general oglethorpe was industrious in picking up all the intelligence he could respecting the situation and strength of the garrison, and finding it in great straits for want of provisions, he urged the speedy execution of his project, with a view to surprise his enemy before a supply should arrive. he declared, that no personal toil or danger should discourage him from exerting himself towards freeing carolina from such neighbours as had instigated their slaves to massacre them, and publicly protected them after such bloody attempts. to concert measures with the greater secrecy and expedition, he went to charlestown himself, and laid before the legislature of carolina an estimate of the force, arms, ammunition, and provisions, which he judged might be requisite for the expedition. in consequence of which, the assembly voted one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, carolina money, for the service of the war. a regiment, consisting of four hundred men, was raised, partly in virginia and partly in north and south carolina, with the greatest expedition, and the command was given to colonel vanderdussen. indians were sent for from the different tribes in alliance with britain. vincent price, commander of the ships of war on that station, agreed to assist with a naval force consisting of four ships of twenty guns each, and two sloops, which proved a great encouragement to the carolineans, and induced them to enter with double vigour on military preparations. general oglethorpe appointed the mouth of st. john's river, on the florida shore, for the place of rendezvous, and having finished his preparations in carolina, set out for georgia to join his regiment, and make all ready for the expedition. [sidenote] general oglethorpe marches against florida. on the th of may , the general passed over to florida with four hundred select men of his regiment, and a considerable party of indians; and on the day following invested diego, a small fort, about twenty-five miles from augustine, which after a short resistance surrendered by capitulation. in this fort he left a garrison of sixty men, under the command of lieutenant dunbar, and returned to the place of general rendezvous, where he was joined by colonel vanderdussen, with the carolina regiment, and a company of highlanders, under the command of captain m'intosh. but by this time six spanish half-galleys, with long brass nine pounders, and two sloops loaded with provisions, had got into the harbour at augustine. a few days afterwards, the general marched with his whole force, consisting of above two thousand men, regulars, provincials and indians, to fort moosa, situated within two miles of augustine, which on his approach the spanish garrison evacuated, and retired into the town. he immediately ordered the gates of this fort to be burnt, three breaches to be made in its walls, and then proceeded to reconnoitre the town and castle. notwithstanding the dispatch of the british army, the spaniards, during their stay at fort diego, had collected all the cattle in the woods around them, and drove them into the town; and the general found, both from a view of the works, and the intelligence he had received from prisoners, that more difficulty would attend this enterprize than he at first expected. indeed, if he intended a surprize, he ought not to have stopped at fort diego, for by that delay the enemy had notice of his approach, and time to gather their whole force, and put themselves in a posture of defence. the castle was built of soft stone, with four bastions; the curtain was sixty yards in length, the parapet nine feet thick; the rampart twenty feet high, casemated underneath for lodgings, arched over, and newly made bomb-proof. fifty pieces of cannon were mounted, several of which were twenty-four pounders. besides the castle, the town was entrenched with ten salient angles, on each of which some small cannon were mounted. the garrison consisted of seven hundred regulars, two troops of horse, four companies of armed negroes, besides the militia of the province, and indians. [sidenote] invests augustine. the general now plainly perceived that an attack by land upon the town, and an attempt to take the castle by storm would cost him dear before he could reduce the place, and therefore changed his plan of operations. with the assistance of the ships of war, which were now lying at anchor off augustine-bar, he resolved to turn the siege into a blockade, and try to shut up every channel by which provisions could be conveyed to the garrison. for this purpose he left colonel palmer with ninety-five highlanders, and forty-two indians at fort moosa, with orders to scour the woods around the town, and intercept all supplies of cattle from the country by land. and, for the safety of his men, he at the same time ordered him to encamp every night in a different place, to keep strict watch around his camp, and by all means avoid coming to any action. this small party was the whole force the general left for guarding the land side. then he sent colonel vanderdussen, with the carolina regiment, over a small creek, to take possession of a neck of land called point quartel, above a mile distant from the castle, with orders to erect a battery upon it; while he himself, with his regiment, and the greatest part of the indians, embarked in boats, and landed on the island of anastatia. in this island the spaniards had a small party of men stationed for a guard, who immediately fled to town, and as it lay opposite to the castle, from this place, the general resolved to bombard the town. captain pierce stationed one of his ships to guard the passage, by way of the motanzas, and with the others blocked up the mouth of the harbour, so that the spaniards were cut off from all supplies by sea. on the island of anastatia batteries were soon erected, and several cannon mounted by the assistance of the active and enterprising sailors. having made these dispositions, general oglethorpe then summoned the spanish governor to a surrender; but the haughty don, secure in his strong hold, sent him for answer, that he would be glad to shake hands with him in his castle. this insulting answer excited the highest degree of wrath and indignation in the general's mind, and made him resolve to exert himself to the utmost for humbling his pride. the opportunity of surprizing the place being now lost, he had no other secure method left but to attack it at the distance in which he then stood. for this purpose he opened his batteries against the castle, and at the same time threw a number of shells into the town. the fire was returned with equal spirit both from the spanish fort and from six half-gallies in the harbour, but so great was the distance, that though they continued the cannonade for several days, little execution was done on either side. captain warren, a brave naval officer, perceiving that all efforts in this way for demolishing the castle were vain and ineffectual, proposed to destroy the spanish gallies in the harbour, by an attack in the night, and offered to go himself and head the attempt. a council of war was held to consider of and concert a plan for that service; but, upon sounding the bar, it was found it would admit no large ship to the attack, and with small ones it was judged rash and impracticable, the gallies being covered by the cannon of the castle, and therefore that design was dropt. [sidenote] raises the siege. in the mean time the spanish commander observing the besiegers embarrassed, and their operations beginning to relax, sent out a detachment of three hundred men against colonel palmer, who surprised him at fort moosa, and, while most of his party lay asleep, cut them almost entirely to pieces. a few that accidentally escaped, went over in a small boat to the carolina regiment at point quartel. some of the chickesaw indians coming from that fort having met with a spaniard, cut off his head, agreeable to their savage manner of waging war, and presented it to the general in his camp: but he rejected it with abhorrence, calling them barbarous dogs, and bidding them begone. at this disdainful behaviour, however, the chickesaws were offended, declaring, that if they had carried the head of an englishman to the french, they would not have treated them so: and perhaps the general discovered more humanity than good policy by it, for these indians, who knew none of the european customs and refinements in war, soon after deserted him. about the same time the vessel stationed at the metanzas being ordered off, some small ships from the havanna with provisions, and a reinforcement of men, got into augustine, by that narrow channel, to the relief of the garrison. a party of creeks having surprised one of their small boats, brought four spanish prisoners to the general, who informed him, that the garrison had received seven hundred men, and a large supply of provisions. then all prospects of starving the enemy being lost, the army began to despair of forcing the place to surrender. the carolinean troops, enfeebled by the heat, dispirited by sickness, and fatigued by fruitless efforts, marched away in large bodies. the navy being short of provisions, and the usual season of hurricanes approaching, the commander judged it imprudent to hazard his majesty's ships, by remaining longer on that coast. last of all, the general himself, sick of a fever, and his regiment worn out with fatigue, and rendered unfit for action by a flux, with sorrow and regret followed, and reached frederica about the th of july . thus ended the unsuccessful expedition against augustine, to the great disappointment of both georgia and carolina. many heavy reflections were afterwards thrown out against general oglethorpe for his conduct during the whole enterprize. perhaps the only chance of success he had from the beginning was by surprising this garrison in the night by some sudden attempt. he was blamed for remaining so long at fort diego, by which means the enemy had full intelligence of his approach, and time to prepare for receiving him. he was charged with timidity afterwards, in making no bold attempt on the town. it was said, that the officer who means to act on the offensive, where difficulties must be surmounted, ought to display some courage; and that too much timidity in war is often as culpable as too much temerity. great caution he indeed used for saving his men, for excepting those who fell by the sword in fort moosa, he lost more men by sickness than by the hands of the enemy. though the disaster of colonel palmer, in which many brave highlanders were massacred, was perhaps occasioned chiefly by want of vigilance and a disobedience of orders, yet many were of opinion, that it was too hazardous to have left so small a party on the main land, exposed to sallies from a superior enemy, and entirely cut off from all possibility of support and assistance from the main body. in short, the carolineans called in question the general's military judgment and skill in many respects; and protested that he had spent the time in barren deliberations, harassed the men with unnecessary marches, allowed them not a sufficient quantity of provisions, and poisoned them with breakish water. he, on the other hand, declared he had no confidence in the firmness and courage of the provincials; for that they refused obedience to his orders, and at last abandoned his camp, and retreated to carolina. the truth was, so strongly fortified was the place, both by nature and art, that probably the attempt must have failed, though it had been conducted by the ablest officer, and executed by the best disciplined troops. the miscarriage, however, was particularly ruinous to carolina, having not only subjected the province to a great expence, but also left it in a worse situation than it was before the attempt. [sidenote] a great fire at charlestown. the same year stands distinguished in the annals of carolina, not only for this unsuccessful expedition against the spaniards, but also for a desolating fire, which in november following broke out in the capital, and laid the half of it in ruins. this fire began about two o'clock in the afternoon, and burnt with unquenchable violence until eight at night. the houses being built of wood, and the wind blowing hard at north-west, the flames spread with astonishing rapidity. from broad-street, where the fire kindled, to granville's bastion, almost every house was at one time in flames, and exhibited an awful and striking scene. the vast quantities of deerskins, rum, pitch, tar, turpentine and powder, in the different stores, served to increase the horror, and the more speedily to spread the desolation. amidst the cries and shrieks of women and children, and the bursting forth of flames in different quarters, occasioned by the violent wind, which carried the burning shingles to a great distance, the men were put into confusion, and so anxious were they about the safety of their families, that they could not be prevailed upon to unite their efforts for extinguishing the fire. the sailors from the men of war, and ships in the harbour were the most active and adventurous hands engaged in the service. but such was the violence of the flames, that it baffled all the art and power of man, and burnt until the calmness of the evening closed the dreadful scene. three hundred of the best and most convenient buildings in the town were consumed, which, together with lots of goods, and provincial commodities, amounted to a prodigious sum. happily few lives were lost, but the lamentations of ruined families were heard in every quarter. in short, from a flourishing condition the town was reduced in the space of six hours to the lowest and most deplorable state. all those inhabitants whose houses escaped the flames, went around and kindly invited their unfortunate neighbours to them, so that two and three families were lodged in places built only for the accommodation of one. after the legislature met, to take the miserable state of the people under consideration, they agreed to make application to the british parliament for relief. the british parliament voted twenty thousand pounds sterling, to be distributed among the sufferers at charlestown, which relief was equally seasonable and useful on the one side, as it was generous and noble on the other. no time should obliterate the impressions of such benevolent actions. this gift certainly deserved to be wrote on the table of every heart, in the most indelible characters. for all men must acknowledge, that it merited the warmest returns of gratitude, not only from the unfortunate objects of such bounty, but from the whole province. [sidenote] a petition in favour of the rice trade. while the war between great britain and spain continued, a bill was brought into parliament to prevent the exportation of rice, among other articles of provision, to france or spain, with a view to distress these enemies as much as possible. in consequence of which, a representation to the following effect, in behalf of the province of carolina, and the merchants concerned in that trade, was presented to the house of commons while the bill was depending before them, praying that the article of rice might be excepted out of the bill, and endeavouring to prove, that the prohibiting its importation would be highly detrimental to great britain, and in no respect to her enemies: "the inhabitants of south carolina have not any manufactures of their own, but are supplied from great britain with all their clothing, and the other manufactures by them consumed, to the amount of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling a-year. the only commodity of consequence produced in south carolina is rice, and they reckon it as much their staple commodity as sugar is to barbadoes and jamaica, or tobacco to virginia and maryland; so that if any stop be put to the exportation of rice from south carolina to europe, it will not only render the planters there incapable of paying their debts, but also reduce the government of that province to such difficulties for want of money, as at this present precarious time may render the whole colony an easy prey to their neighbours the indians and spaniards, and also to those yet more dangerous enemies their own negroes, who are ready to revolt on the first opportunity, and are eight times as many in number as there are white men able to bear arms, and the danger in this respect is greater since the unhappy expedition to augustine. "from the year , when his majesty purchased south carolina, the trade of it hath so increased, that their annual exports and imports of late have been double the value of what they were in the said year; and their exports of rice in particular have increased in a greater proportion: for, from the year to , being ten years, both included, the whole export of rice was , barrels, making , tons. from the to , being also ten years, the whole export of rice was , barrels, making , tons; so that the export of the latter ten years exceeded the former by , barrels, or , tons: and of the vast quantities of rice thus exported, scarcely one fifteenth part is consumed either in great britain or in any part of the british dominions; so that the produce of the other fourteen parts is clear gain to the nation; whereas almost all the sugar, and one fourth part of the tobacco, exported from the british colonies, are consumed by the people of great britain, or by british subjects; from whence it is evident, that the national gain arising from rice is several times as great in proportion, as the national gain arising from either sugar or tobacco. "this year, _viz._ , in particular, we shall export from south carolina above ninety thousand barrels of rice, of which quantity there will not be three thousand barrels used here, so that the clear national gain upon that export will be very great; for at the lowest computation, of twenty-five shillings sterling _per_ barrel, the eighty-seven thousand barrels exported will amount in value to one hundred and eight thousand seven hundred and fifty pounds, at the first hand; whereto there must be added the charge of freight, _&c._ from south carolina to europe, which amount to more than the first cost of the rice, and are also gain to great britain; so that the least gain upon this article for the present year will be two hundred and twenty thousand pounds, over and above the naval advantage of annually employing more than one hundred and sixty ships of one hundred tons each." "rice being an enumerated commodity, it cannot be exported from south carolina without giving bond for double the value that the same shall be landed in great britain, or in some of the british plantations, excepting to the southward of cape finisterre, which last was permitted by a law made in the year ; and the motive for such permission was, that the rice might arrive more seasonably and in better condition at market. we have hereunto added an account of the several quantities of rice which have been exported from south carolina to the different european markets since the said law was made; and it will thereby appear, that we have not in those ten years been able to find sale for any considerable quantity of rice in spain; for in all that time we have not sold above three thousand five hundred and seventy barrels to the spaniards, making only three hundred and fifty-seven barrels annually upon a medium; nor can we in the time to come expect any alteration in favour of our rice trade there, because the spaniards are supplied with an inferior sort of rice from turkey, _&c._ equally agreeable to them and a great deal cheaper than ours; the truth whereof appears by the rice taken in a ship called the baltic merchant and carried into st. sebastians, where it was sold at a price so much under the market rate here, or in holland, as to encourage the sending of it thence to holland and hamburgh. "in france the importation of carolina rice without licence is prohibited; and though during the last and present years there hath, by permission, been some consumption of it there, yet the whole did not exceed nine thousand barrels, and they have received from turkey so much rice of the present year's growth, as to make that commodity five shillings _per_ _lb._ cheaper at marseilles than here, and even at dunkirk it is one shilling and sixpence _per_ _lb._ cheaper than here; so that there is not any prospect of a demand for carolina rice in france, even if liberty could be obtained for sending the same to any port of that kingdom. "germany and holland are the countries where we find the best market for our rice, and there the greater part of it is consumed; so that the present intended embargo, or prohibitory law, cannot have any other effect, in relation to rice, than that of preventing our allies from using what our enemies do not want, nor we ourselves consume more than a twentieth part of, and which is of so perishable a nature, that even in a cold climate it doth not keep above a year without decaying, and in a warm climate it perishes entirely. the great consumption of rice in germany and holland is during the winter season, when pease and all kinds of pulse, _&c._ are scarce; and the rice intended for those markets ought to be brought there before the frost begins, time enough to be carried up the rivers; so that preventing the exportation only a few days may be attended with this had consequence, that by the frost the winter sale may be lost. "and as we have now, _viz._ since november th, above ten thousand barrels of old rice arrived, so we may in a few weeks expect double that quantity, besides the new crop now shipping off from carolina; the stopping of all which, in a country where there is not any sale for it, instead of permitting the same to be carried to the only places of consumption, must soon reduce the price thereof to so low a rate, that the merchants who have purchased that rice will not be able to sell it for the prime cost, much less will they be able to recover the money they have paid for duty, freight, and other charges thereon, which amount to double the first cost: for the rice that an hundred pounds sterling will purchase in south carolina, costs the importer two hundred more in british duties, freight, and other charges[ ]." [ ] an account of rice exported in ten years after the province was purchased for the king. _barrels._ to portugal, - - - - - - - , to gibraltar, - - - - - - to spain, - - - - - - - - , to france, - - - - - - - - , to great britain, ireland, and the british plantations, - - - , to holland, hamburgh and bremen, including barrels to sweden and denmark, - - - - - - - , ------- total quantity exported in those ten years, - - - , "thus it appears, that by prohibiting the exportation of rice from this kingdom, the merchants who have purchased the vast quantities before mentioned will not only lose the money it cost them, but twice as much more in duties, freight, and other charges, by their having a perishable commodity embargoed in a country where it is not used. or if, instead of laying the prohibition here, it be laid in south carolina; that province, the planters there, and the merchants who deal with them, must all be involved in ruin; the province, for want of means to support the expense of government; the planters, for want of the means to pay their debts and provide future supplies; and the merchants, by not only losing those debts, but twice as much more in the freight, duties, and other charges, upon rice which they cannot sell. so that, in either case, a very profitable colony, and the merchants concerned in the trade of it, would be ruined for the present, if not totally lost to this kingdom, by prohibiting the exportation of rice; and all this without doing any national good in another way, for such prohibition could not in any shape distress our enemies. it is therefore humbly hoped, that rice will be excepted out of the bill now before the honourable house of commons." as this representation contains a distinct account of the produce and trade of the province, and shews its usefulness and importance to great britain, we judged it worthy of the particular attention of our readers, and therefore have inserted it. with respect to the internal dangers arising from the savage nature and vast number of the slaves, mentioned in this and a former state of the province, we shall now make some remarks, in which we will be naturally led to consider their miserable condition, and the harsh treatment to which slavery necessarily subjects them. [sidenote] remarks on the treatment of slaves. that slavery has been practiced by many of the most civilized nations in the world, is indeed a truth evident from the history of them. in war the conquerors were supposed to have a right to the life of their captives, insomuch that they might kill, torture or enslave them, as they thought proper. yet, though war may be justifiable on the principles of self-preservation and defence, it is no easy matter to vindicate the conqueror's right to murder or enslave a disarmed enemy. slavery in general, like several other enormities, ought to be ascribed to the corruption and avarice of men, rather than to any principles of nature and humanity, which evidently testify against it; and that vindication which is drawn from the custom and practice of ancient nations in favour of such an institution, is equally applicable to many other enormities which are a shame and disgrace to human nature. helpless children have been exposed to the fury of wild beasts; pride and ambition have spread their desolations far and wide; but such practices are not therefore humane and just. that many nations have encouraged slavery, and that the remains of it are still observable among the freest of them, are argument which none will plead for their honour and credit. that species of servitude which still remains in britain among the labourers in the coal mines, _&c._ is very different from that to which the natives of africa are subjected in the western world; because such labourers voluntarily enter on such servitude, they acquire wages as their reward, and both their persons and properties are under the protection of the laws of the realm. upon the slightest reflection all men must confess, that those africans, whom the powers of europe have conspired to enslave, are by nature equally free and independent, equally susceptible of pain and pleasure, equally averse from bondage and misery, as europeans themselves. like all rude nations, they have a strong attachment to their native country, and to those friends and relations with whom they spent the early years of life. by this trade being torn from those nearest connections, and transported to a distant land, it is no easy thing to describe the uneasiness and pain they must endure from such violence and banishment. during the passage being loaded with irons, and cooped up in a ship, oppressed with the most gloomy apprehensions, many of them sicken and die through fear and regret. the provisions made for the voyage by the merchants and masters of ships, who consult their worldly interest more than the dictates of humanity, we may be sure are neither of the best kind, nor distributed among them in the most plentiful manner. after their arrival they are sold and delivered over to the colonists, to whose temper, language and manners they are utter strangers; where their situation for some time, in case of harsh usage, is little better than that of the dumb beasts, having no language but groans in which they can express their pains, nor any friend to pity or relieve them. some destroy themselves through despair, and from a persuasion they fondly entertain, that, after death, they will return to their beloved friends and native country. [sidenote] the hardships of their situation. after the sale the purchasers become vested with the absolute property of them, according to the laws, usages, and customs of the trade, and whatever hardships are thereby imposed on those foreigners, the planters are so far excusable, having the sanction of the supreme legislature for the purchase they make. the laws of england, from necessity or expediency, have permitted such labourers to be imported among them; and therefore, on their part, the purchase, however injurious, cannot be illegal. having acquired this kind of property, it then lies with the colonists to frame laws and regulations for the future management of their slaves. in doing this, absolute obedience and non-resistance are fundamental principles established for the government of them, and enforced by the severest penalties. all laws framed with respect to them, give their masters such authority over them as is under few limitations. their power of correction may be said to be only not allowed to extend to death. however severely beat and abused, no negro can bring an action against his owner, or appear as an evidence against white men, in any court of law or justice. their natural rights as human creatures are entirely disregarded, and punishments are commonly inflicted according to the will of their master, however cruel and barbarous his disposition may be. a common place of correction is instituted, to which they are sent to receive such a number of stripes as their owners shall order, and such blunders have been committed in giving and executing those orders, that the innocent sometimes have suffered along with the guilty. in short, such is their miserable condition, that they are exposed defenceless to the insolence, caprice, and passions of owners, obliged to labour all their life without any prospect of reward, or any hope of an end of their toil until the day of their death. at the decease of their masters they descend, like other estates of inheritance, to the heir at law, and sometimes to thoughtless and giddy youth, habituated from their earliest days to treat them like brutes. at other times, no doubt, they are more fortunate, but their condition of life evidently subjects them to harsh usage even from the best of masters, and we leave the world to judge what they have to expect from the worst. indeed it must be acknowledged, in justice to the planters of carolina in general, that they treat their slaves with as much, and perhaps more tenderness, than those of any british colony where slavery exists; yet a disinterested stranger must observe, even among the best of masters, several instances of cruelty and negligence in the manner of managing their slaves. comparatively speaking, they are well clothed and fed in that province, which while they continue in health fits and qualifies them for their task. when they happen to fall sick, they are carefully attended by a physician; in which respect their condition is better than that of the poorest class of labourers in europe. but in the west indies, we have been told, they are both covered with rags and have a scanty portion of provisions allowed them, in which case urgent necessity and pinching hunger must often urge them to pilfer, and commit many injuries to which otherwise they would have no inclination, and for which they incur severe punishment. in cases of violence and murder committed on these wretched creatures, it is next to impossible to have the delinquents brought to punishment; for either the grand jury refuse to find the bill, or the petty jury bring in the verdict not guilty. when they are tempted to fly to the woods to shun severe labour or punishment then they may be hunted down or shot as wild beasts. when whipped to death, the murderer, after all, is only subjected to an inconsiderable fine, or a short imprisonment, by the provincial laws. it is impossible that the author of nature ever intended human beings for such a wretched fate; for surely he who gave life, gave also an undoubted right to the means of self-preservation and happiness, and all the common rights and privileges of nature. but there is another circumstance which renders their case still more wretched and deplorable. good masters and mistresses, whose humanity and a sense of interest will not permit them to treat their negroes in a harsh manner, do not always reside at their plantations. many planters have several settlements at considerable distances from the place where they usually live, which they visit perhaps only three or four times in a year. in their absence the charge of negroes is given to overseers, many of whom are ignorant and cruel, and all totally disinterested in the welfare of their charge. in such a case it can scarcely be expected that justice will be equally dispensed, or punishments properly inflicted. the negroes, however, ly entirely at the mercy of such men, and such monsters they sometimes are, as can inflict misery in sport, and hear the groans extorted from nature with laughter and triumph. all slaves under their care must yield absolute obedience to their orders, however unreasonable and difficult, or suffer punishment for their disobedience. it would rouze the anguish and indignation of a humane person to stand by while a puny overseer chastises those slaves, and behold with what piercing stripes he furrows the back of an able negro, whose greatness of soul will not suffer him to complain, and whose strength could crush his tormentor to atoms. the unmerciful whip with which they are chastised is made of cow-skin, hardened, twisted, and tapering, which brings the blood with every blow, and leaves a scar on their naked back which they carry with them to their grave. at the arbitrary will of such managers, many of them with hearts of adamant, this unfortunate race are brought to the post of correction, often no doubt through malice and wantonness, often for the most trifling offences, and sometimes, o horrid! when entirely innocent. can it be deemed wonderful, that such unhappy creatures should now and then be tempted to assert the rights of nature? must not such harsh usage often fire them with desires of liberty and vengeance? what can be expected but that they should sometimes give those oppressors grounds of fear, who have subjected them to such intolerable hardships. but from those labourers in the field the colonials have perhaps less danger to dread, than from the number of tradesmen and mechanics in towns, and domestic slaves. many negroes discover great capacities, and an amazing aptness for learning trades, where dangerous tools are used; and many owners, from motives of profit and advantage, breed them to be coopers, carpenters, bricklayers, smiths, and other trades. out of mere ostentation the colonists also keep a number of them about their families, who attend their tables, and hear their conversation, which very often turns upon their own various arts, plots, and assassinations. from such open and imprudent conversation those domestics may no doubt take dangerous hints, which, on a fair opportunity, may be applied to their owners hurt. they have also easy access to fire arms, which gives them a double advantage for mischief. when they are of a passionate and revengeful disposition, such domestic slaves seldom want an opportunity of striking a sudden blow, and avenging themselves, in case of ill usage, by killing or poisoning their owners. such crimes have often been committed in the colonies, and punished; and there is reason to believe they have also frequently happened, when they have passed undiscovered. prudence and self-preservation strongly dictate to the carolineans the necessity of guarding against those dangers which arise from domestic slaves, many of whom are idle, cunning and deceitful. [sidenote] oppressed with ignorance and superstition. in other respects the policy of the colonists, with respect to the management and treatment of slaves is extremely defective. the hardships to which their bodies are exposed, would be much more tolerable and justifiable, were any provision made for civilizing and improving their minds. but how grievous their circumstances when we consider, that, together with their bodily toil and misery, they are also kept in heathen ignorance and darkness, destitute of the means of instruction, and excluded in a manner from the pale of the christian church. humanity places every rational creature upon a level, and gives all an equal title those rights of nature, which are essential to life and happiness. christianity breathes a spirit of benevolence, gentleness, and compassion for mankind in general, of what nation or complexion soever they be. as government has tolerated and established slavery in the plantations, the supreme charge of these creatures may be regarded rather as a national than a provincial concern. being members of a great empire, living under its supreme care and jurisdiction, and contributing to the increase of trade and commerce, to the improvement and opulence of the british dominions, they are unquestionably entitled to a share of national benevolence and christian charity. an institution for their religious instruction was an object of such usefulness and importance, that it merited the attention of the supreme legislature; and the expence of a few superb and perhaps empty churches in england, would certainly have been better employed in erecting some neat buildings in the plantations for this beneficial purpose. to such an institution the merchants of britain, especially those who owe a great part of their opulence to the labours of africans, and whose plea for the trade was the bringing them within the pale of the christian church, ought certainly to have contributed in the most liberal manner. the profits of the trade, abstracting from other considerations, could well admit of it; but every principle of compassion for the ignorant, the poor, and the unfortunate, powerfully dictates the same duty, the neglect of which, to every impartial judge, must appear in a very inexcusable and criminal light. masters of slaves under the french and spanish jurisdictions, are obliged by law to allow them time for instruction, and to bring them up in the knowledge and practice of the catholic religion. is it not a reproach to the subjects of britain, who profess to be the freest and most civilized people upon earth, that no provision is made for this purpose, and that they suffer so many thousands of these creatures, residing in the british dominions, to live and die the slaves of ignorance and superstition? how can they expect the blessing of heaven on the riches flowing from their foreign plantations, when they are at no pains to introduce those objects of their care to the knowledge of the true god, and to make them partakers of the benefits and hopes of christianity. the advantages of religion, like the other gifts of heaven, ought to be free and common as the air we breathe to every human creature, capable of making a proper use and improvement of them. to the honour of the society for the propagation of the gospel it must indeed be acknowledged, that they have made some efforts for the conversion and instruction of those heathens. not many years ago they had no less than twelve missionaries in carolina, who had instructions to give all the assistance in their power for this laudable purpose, and to each of whom they allowed fifty pounds a-year, over and above their provincial salaries. but it is well known, that the fruit of their labours has been very small and inconsiderable. such feeble exertions were no ways equal to the extent of the work required, nor to the greatness of the end proposed. whether their small success ought to be ascribed to the rude and untractable dispositions of the negroes, to the discouragements and obstructions thrown in the way by their owners, or to the negligence and indolence of the missionaries themselves we cannot pretend to determine. perhaps we may venture to assert, that it has been more or less owing to all these different causes. one thing is very certain, that the negroes of that country, a few only excepted, are to this day as great strangers to christianity, and as much under the influence of pagan darkness, idolatry and superstition, as they were at their first arrival from africa. but, though neglected by the british nation, they are entitled to a share of the common privileges of humanity and christianity, from their provincial owners. it is their duty and interest to use slaves with tenderness and compassion, and render them as happy and contented as their situation will admit. were they to allow them certain portions of time from their labours of body for the improvement of their mind, and open the way for, and provide the means of instruction, would not kind usage be productive of many beneficial effects? the loss of labour none but avaricious wretches would grudge, and the day of rest allotted for man and beast since the beginning of the world, and properly improved for that purpose, might of itself be attended with good consequences; whereas, to encourage them to labour on that day for themselves, is not only robbing them of the opportunities of instruction, but abusing the sunday, by making it to them the most laborious day of the week. it would strike a stranger with astonishment and indignation, to hear the excuses planters make for this criminal neglect. some will tell you they are beings of an inferior rank, and little exalted above brute creatures; that they have no souls, and therefore no concern need be taken about their salvation. others affirm, that they would become more expert in vice by being taught, and greater knaves by being made christians. but such advocates for heathen ignorance and barbarism merit no serious notice, being enemies to all improvements in human nature, and all the benefits resulting to society from civilization and christianity. certain it is, the inhabitants of africa have the same faculties with those of europe. their minds are equally capable of cultivation, equally susceptible of the impressions of religion. ridiculous is it to imagine, that the black tincture of their skin, or the barbarous state in which they were there found, can make any material alteration. though fortune has put the former under the power of the latter, and assigned them the portion of perpetual labour to procure the mere luxuries of life for other men; yet, if such a traffic be reasonable and just, there is no crime negroes can commit that may not be defended and justified upon the same principles. if europe, to obtain sugar, rum, rice, and tobacco, has a right to enslave africa; surely africa, if she had the power, has a much better right to rob europe of those commodities, the fruits of her children's labour. every argument that can be brought in support of the institution of slavery, tends to the subversion of justice and morality in the world. the best treatment possible from the colonists cannot compensate for so great a loss. freedom, in its meanest circumstances, is infinitely preferable to slavery, though it were in golden fetters, and accompanied with the greatest splendour, ease, and abundance. if then the greatest advantages are not a sufficient compensation for the loss of liberty, what shall we think of those who deny them the smallest? but one would imagine that, exclusive of every other motive, personal safety would even induce the colonists to provide for them those advantages which would render them as easy and contented as possible with their condition. were they duly impressed with a sense of their duty to god and man; were they taught the common rules of honesty, justice, and truth; were their dispositions to humility, submission, and obedience, cultivated and improved; would not such advantages place them more on a level with hired servants, who pay a ready and cheerful obedience to their masters? were they favoured with the privileges of christianity, would they not be more faithful and diligent, and better reconciled to their servile condition? besides, christianity has a tendency to tame fierce and wild tempers. it is not an easy thing to display the great and extensive influence which the fear of god, and the expectation of a future account, would have upon their minds: christianity enforces the obligations of morality, and produces a more regular and uniform obedience to its laws. a due sense of the divine presence, the hopes of his approbation, and the fears of his displeasure, are motives that operate powerfully with the human mind, and in fact would prove stronger barriers against trespasses, murders, plots, and conspiracies, than any number of stripes from the hands of men, or even the terrors of certain death. whereas, to keep the minds of human creatures under clouds of darkness, neither disciplined by reason, nor regulated by religion, is a reproach to the name of protestants, especially in a land of christian light and liberty. sundays and holidays are indeed allowed the negroes in carolina, the former cannot consistent with the laws be denied them; the latter, as they are commonly spent are nuisances to the province. holidays there are days of idleness, riot, wantonness and excess; in which the slaves assemble together in alarming crowds, for the purposes of dancing, feasting and merriment. at such seasons the inhabitants have the greatest reason to dread mischief from them; when let loose from their usual employments, they have fair opportunities of hatching plots and conspiracies, and of executing them with greater facility, from the intemperance of their owners and overseers. after all, it must be confessed, that the freemen of carolina themselves were for many years in a destitute condition with respect to religious instruction; partly owing to their own poverty and the unhealthiness of the climate, and partly owing to troubles and divisions subsisting among them during the proprietary government. at that time the first object of their concern would no doubt be to provide for themselves and their children: but since the province has been taken under the royal care, their circumstances in every respect have changed for the better, insomuch that they are not only able to provide instruction for themselves and families, but also to extend the benefit to those living in a state of servitude among them. now they are arrived to such an easy and flourishing situation, as renders their neglect entirely without excuse. the instruction of negroes would no doubt be a difficult, but by no means an impracticable undertaking, and the more difficult the end, the more praise and merit would be due to those who should effectually accomplish it. even the catholics of spain pitied the miserable condition of negroes living among the protestant colonies, and to induce them to revolt, proffered them the advantages of liberty and religion at augustine. is it not a shame to a protestant nation to keep such a number of human creatures so long among them, beings of the same nature, subjects of the same government, who have souls to be saved, and capable of being eternally happy or miserable in a future world, not only in a miserable state of slavery, but also of pagan darkness and superstition. what could be expected from creatures thus doomed to endless labour, and deprived of the natural rights of humanity and the privileges of christianity, but that they should snatch at the least glimmering hopes and prospects of a better state, and give their task-masters reason to dread, that they would lay hold of some opportunity of forcing their way to it. this inexcusable negligence with respect to them may be considered of itself as no small source of danger to the colonists, as the hazard is greater from savage and ferocious, than mild and civilized dispositions, and, as the restraints of terror and temporal punishments are less constant and powerful than those of conscience and religion. the political and commercial connection subsisting between the mother country and the colonies, makes the charge of negroes, in reason and justice, to fall equally upon both. and whatever other men may think, we are of opinion, that an institution for their instruction was an object of the highest consequence, and that, by all the laws of god and man, that nation which brought this unfortunate race into such a situation, was bound to consult both their temporal and eternal felicity. [sidenote] james glen governor. about this time james glen received a commission from his majesty, investing him with the government of south carolina, and at the same time was appointed colonel of a new regiment of foot to be raised in the province. he was a man of considerable knowledge, courteous, and polite; exceedingly fond of military parade and ostentation, which commonly have great force on ordinary minds, and by these means he maintained his dignity and importance in the eyes of the people. all governors invested with extensive powers ought to be well acquainted with the common and civil laws of their country; and every wise prince will guard against nominating weak or wicked persons to an high office, which affords them many opportunities of exercising their power to the prejudice of the people. when men are promoted to the government of provinces on account of their abilities and merit, and not through the interest of friends, then we may expect to see public affairs wisely managed, authority revered, and every man sitting secure under his vine, and enjoying the fruits of his industry with contentment and satisfaction. but when such offices are bestowed on ignorant or needy persons, because they happen to be favourites of some powerful and clamorous lord at court, without any view to the interest and happiness of the people, then avarice and oppression commonly prevail on one hand, and murmur and discontent on the other. the appointment of governor glen was so far proper, as he possessed those qualifications which rendered his government respectable, and the people living under it for several years happy and contented. his council, consisting of twelve men, were appointed also by the king, under his sign manual. the assembly of representatives consisted of forty-four members, and were elected every third year by the freeholders of sixteen parishes. the court of chancery was composed of the governor and council, to which court belonged a master of chancery and a register. there was a court of vice-admiralty, the judge, register, and marshal of which were appointed by the lords commissioners of the admiralty in england. the court of king's bench consisted of a chief justice appointed by the king, who sat with some assistant justices of the province; and the same judges constituted the court of common pleas. there were likewise an attorney-general, a clerk, and provost-marshal. the secretary of the province, who was also register, the surveyor-general of the lands, and the receiver-general of the quit-rents, were all appointed by the crown. the comptroller of the customs, and three collectors, at the ports of charlestown, port-royal, and georgetown, were appointed by the commissioners of the customs in england. the provincial treasurer was appointed by the general assembly. the clergy were elected by the freeholders of the parish. all justices of the peace, and officers of the militia, were appointed by the governor in council. this is the nature of the provincial government and constitution, and in this way were the principal officers of each branch appointed or elected, under the royal establishment. [sidenote] ld. carteret's property divided from that of the crown. about the same time john lord carteret (now earl of granville) applied by petition to his majesty, praying that the eighth part of the lands and soil granted by king charles, and referred to him by the act of parliament establishing an agreement with the other seven lords proprietors for the surrender of their title and interest to his majesty, might be set apart and allotted to him and his heirs for ever, and proposing to appoint persons to divide the same; at the same time offering to resign to the king his share of, and interest in the government, and to convey, release and confirm to his majesty, and his heirs, the other seven parts of the province. this petition being referred to the lords commissioners of trade and plantations, they reported, that it would be for his majesty's service that lord carteret's property should be separated from that of his majesty, and that the method proposed by his lordship would be the most proper and effectual for the purpose. accordingly five commissioners were appointed on the part of the king, and five on that of lord carteret for separating his lordship's share, and making it one entire district by itself. the territory allotted him was divided on the north-east by the line which separated north carolina from virginia; on the east by the atlantic ocean; on the south by a point on the sea-shore, in latitude thirty-five degrees and thirty-four minutes; and, agreeable to the charter, westward from these points on the sea-shore it extended, in a line parallel to the boundary line of virginia, to the pacific ocean. not long afterwards, a grant of the eighth part of carolina, together with all yearly rents and profits arising from it, passed the great seal, to john lord carteret and his heirs. but the power of making laws, calling and holding assemblies, erecting courts of justice, appointing judges and justices, pardoning criminals, granting titles of honour, making ports and havens, taking customs or duties on goods, executing the martial law, exercising the royal rights of a county palatine, or any other prerogatives relating to the administrations of government, were all excepted out of the grant. lord carteret was to hold this estate upon condition of yielding and paying to his majesty and his heirs and successors, the annual-rent of one pound thirteen shillings and fourpence, on the feast of all-saints, for ever, and also one fourth part of all the gold and silver ore found within this eighth part of the territory so separated and granted him. [sidenote] the country much exposed to invasion. as carolina abounds with navigable rivers, while it enjoys many advantages for commerce and trade, it is also much exposed to foreign invasions. the tide on that coast flows from six to ten feet perpendicular, and makes its way up into the flat country by a variety of channels. all vessels that draw not above seventeen feet water, may safely pass over the bar of charlestown, which at spring-tides will admit ships that draw eighteen feet. this bar lies in thirty-two degrees and forty minutes north latitude, and seventy-eight degrees and forty-five minutes west longitude from london. its situation is variable, owing to a sandy foundation and the rapid flux and reflux of the sea. the channel leading to george-town is twelve or thirteen feet deep, and likewise those of north and south edisto rivers, and will admit all ships that draw not above ten or eleven feet of water. at stono there is also a large creek, which admits vessels of the same draught of water; but sewee and santee rivers, and many others of less note, are for smaller craft which draw seven, eight, or nine feet. the channel up to port royal harbour is deep enough for the largest ships that sail on the sea; and the whole royal navy of england may ride with safety in it. nature has evidently ordained this place for trade and commerce, by the many advantages with which she hath favoured it. it lies in thirty-two degrees and five minutes north latitude, and in longitude seventy-nine degrees five minutes. its situation renders it an excellent station for a squadron of ships in time of war, as the run from it is short to the windward islands, but especially as it lies so convenient for distressing the immense trade coming through the gulf of florida. from this harbour ships may run out to the gulf stream in one day, and return with equal ease the next, so that it would be very difficult to escape a sufficient number of cruisers stationed at beaufort. the harbour is also defended by a small fort, built of tappy, which is a kind of cement composed of oyster-shells beat small, and mixed with lime and water, which when dry becomes hard and durable. the fort has two demi-bastions to the river, and one bastion to the land, with a gate and ditch, mounting sixteen heavy cannon, and containing barracks for an hundred men. several leagues to the southward of port-royal, savanna river empties itself into the ocean, which is also navigable for ships that draw not above fourteen feet water. at the southern boundary of georgia the great river alatamaha falls into the atlantic sea, about sixteen leagues north-east of augustine, which lies in twenty-nine degrees fifty minutes. this river admits ships of large burden as far as frederica, a small town built by general oglethorpe, on an eminence in simon's island. the island on the west end is washed by a branch of the river alatamaha, before it empties itself into the sea at jekyl sound. at frederica the river forms a kind of bay. the fort general oglethorpe erected here for the defence of georgia had several eighteen pounders mounted on it and commanded the river both upwards and downwards. it was built of tappy, with four bastions, surrounded by a quadrangular rampart, and a palisadoed ditch, which included also the king's stores, and two large buildings of brick and timber. the town was surrounded with a rampart, in the form of a pentagon, with flankers of the same thickness with that at the fort, and a dry ditch. on this rampart several pieces of ordnance were also mounted. in this situation general oglethorpe had pitched his camp, which was divided into streets, distinguished by the names of the several captains of his regiment. their little huts were built of wood, and constructed for holding each four or five men. at some distance from frederica was the colony of highlanders, situated on the same river, a wild and intrepid race, living in a state of rural freedom and independence. their settlement being near the frontiers, afforded them abundance of scope for the exercise of their warlike temper; and having received one severe blow from the garrison at augustine, they seemed to long for an opportunity of revenging the massacre of their beloved friends. [sidenote] the spaniards invade georgia. the time was fast approaching for giving them what they desired. for although the territory granted by the second charter to the proprietors at carolina extended far to the south-west of the river alatamaha, the spaniards had never relinquished their pretended claim to the province of georgia. their ambassador at the british court had even declared that his catholic majesty would as soon part with madrid as his claim to that territory. the squadron commanded by admiral vernon had for some time occupied their attention in the west indies so much, that they could spare none of their forces to maintain their supposed right. but no sooner had the greatest part of the british fleet left those seas, and returned to england, than they immediately turned their eyes to georgia, and began to make preparations for dislodging the english settlers in that province. finding that threats could not terrify general oglethorpe to compliance with their demands, an armament was prepared at the havanna to go against him, and expel him by force of arms from their frontiers. with this view two thousand forces, commanded by don antonio de rodondo, embarked at the havanna, under the convoy of a strong squadron, and arrived at augustine in may . but before this formidable fleet and armament had reached augustine, they were observed by captain haymer, of the flamborough man of war, who was cruising on that coast; and advice was immediately sent to general oglethorpe of their arrival in florida. georgia now began to tremble in her turn. the general sent intelligence to governor glen at carolina, requesting him to collect all the forces he could with the greatest expedition, and send them to his assistance; and at the same time to dispatch a sloop to the west indies, to acquaint admiral vernon with the intended invasion. carolina by this time had found great advantage from the settlement of georgia, which had proved an excellent barrier to that province, against the incursions of spaniards and spanish indians. the southern parts being rendered secure by the regiment of general oglethorpe in georgia, the lands backward of port-royal had become much in demand, and risen four times their former value. but though the carolineans were equally interested with their neighbours in the defence of georgia, having little confidence in general oglethorpe's military abilities, since his unsuccessful expedition against augustine, the planters, struck with terror, especially those on the southern parts, deserted their habitations, and flocked to charlestown with their families and effects. the inhabitants of charlestown, many of whom being prejudiced against the man, declared against sending him any assistance, and determined rather to fortify their town, and stand upon their own grounds in a posture of defence. in this resolution, however, it is plain they acted from bad motives, in leaving that officer to stand alone against such a superior force. at such an emergency, good policy evidently required the firmest union, and the utmost exertion of the force of both colonies; for so soon as general oglethorpe should be crushed, the reduction of georgia would open to the common enemy an easy access into the bowels of carolina, and render the force of both provinces, thus divided, unequal to the public defence. in the mean time general oglethorpe was making all possible preparations at frederica for a vigorous stand. message after message was sent to his indian allies, who were greatly attached to him, and crowded to his camp. a company of highlanders joined him on the first notice; and seemed joyful at the opportunity of retorting spanish vengeance on their own heads. with his regiment, and a few rangers, highlanders, and indians, the general fixed his head quarters at frederica, never doubting of a reinforcement from carolina, and expecting their arrival every day; but in the mean time determined, in case he should be attacked, to sell his life as dear as possible in defence of the province. about the end of june, , the spanish fleet, amounting to thirty-two sail; and carrying above three thousand men, under the command of don manuel de monteano, came to anchor off simons's bar. here they continued for some time sounding the channel, and after finding a depth of water sufficient to admit their ships, they came in with the tide of flood into jekyl sound. general oglethorpe, who was at simons's fort, fired at them as they passed the sound, which the spaniards returned from their ships, and proceeded up the river alatamaha, out of the reach of his guns. there the enemy having hoisted a red flag at the mizen top-mast-head of the largest ship, landed their forces upon the island, and erected a battery, with twenty eighteen pounders mounted on it. among their land forces they had a fine company of artillery, under the command of don antonio de rodondo, and a regiment of negroes. the negro commanders were clothed in lace, bore the same rank with white officers, and with equal freedom and familiarity walked and conversed with their commander and chief. such an example might justly have alarmed carolina. for should the enemy penetrate into that province, where there were such numbers of negroes, they would soon have acquired such a force, as must have rendered all opposition fruitless and ineffectual. general oglethorpe having found that he could not stop the progress of the enemy up the river, and judging his situation at fort simons too dangerous, nailed up the guns, burst the bombs and coehorns, destroyed the stores, and retreated to his head quarters at frederica. so great was the force of the enemy, that he plainly perceived that nothing remained for him to achieve, with his handful of men, and therefore resolved to use his utmost vigilance, and to act only on the defensive. on all sides he sent out scouting parties to watch the motions of the spaniards, while the main body were employed in working at the fortifications, making them as strong as circumstances would admit. day and night he kept his indian allies ranging through the woods, to harass the outposts of the enemy, who at length brought in five spanish prisoners, who informed him of their number and force, and that the governor of augustine was commander in chief of the expedition. the general, still expecting a reinforcement from carolina, used all his address in planning measures for gaining time, and preventing the garrison from sinking into despair. for this purpose he sent out the highland company also to assist the indians, and obstruct as much as possible the approach of the enemy till he should obtain assistance and relief. his provisions for the garrison were neither good nor plentiful, and his great distance from all settlements, together with the enemy keeping the command of the river, cut off entirely all prospects of a supply. to prolong the defence, however, he concealed every discouraging circumstance from his little army, which, besides indians, did not amount to more than seven hundred men; and to animate them to perseverance, exposed himself to the same hardships and fatigues with the meanest soldier in his garrison. [sidenote] a stratagem to get rid of the enemy. while oglethorpe remained in this situation, the enemy made several attempts to pierce through the woods, with a view to attack the fort; but met with such opposition from deep morasses, and dark thickets, lined with fierce indians, and wild highlanders, that they honestly confessed that the devil himself could not pass through them to frederica. don manuel de monteano, however, had no other prospect left, and these difficulties must either be surmounted, or the design dropt; and therefore one party after another was sent out to explore the thickets, and to take possession of every advantageous post to be found in them. in two skirmishes with the highlanders and indians, the enemy had one captain, and two lieutenants killed, with above one hundred men taken prisoners. after which the spanish commander changed his plan of operations, and keeping his men under cover of his cannon, proceeded with some gallies up the river with the tide of flood, to reconnoitre the fort, and draw the general's attention to another quarter. to this place oglethorpe sent a party of indians, with orders to lie in ambuscade in the woods, and endeavour to prevent their landing. about the same time an english prisoner escaped from the spanish camp, and brought advice to general oglethorpe of a difference subsisting in it, in so much that the forces from cuba, and those from augustine encamped in separate places. upon which the general resolved to attempt a surprise on one of the spanish camps, and taking the advantage of his knowledge of the woods, marched out in the night with three hundred chosen men, the highland company, and some rangers. having advanced within two miles of the enemy's camp, he halted, and went forward with a small party to take a view of the posture of the enemy. but while he wanted above all things to conceal his approach, a frenchman fired his musket, run off and alarmed the enemy. upon which oglethorpe finding his design defeated, retreated to frederica, and being apprehensive that the deserter would discover his weakness, began to study by what device he might most effectually defeat the credit of his informations. for this purpose he wrote a letter, addressing it to the deserter, in which he desired him to acquaint the spaniards with the defenceless state of frederica, and how easy and practicable it would be to cut him and his small garrison to pieces. he begged him, as his spy, to bring them forward to the attack, and assure them of success; but if he could not prevail with them to make that attempt, to use all his art and influence to persuade them to stay at least three days more at fort simons, for within that time, according to the advice he had just received from carolina, he would have a reinforcement of two thousand land-forces, and six british ships of war, with which he doubted not he would be able to give a good account of the spanish invaders. he intreated the deserter to urge them to stay, and above all things cautioned him against mentioning a single word of vernon coming against augustine, assuring him, that for such services he should be amply rewarded by his britannic majesty. this letter he gave to one of the spanish prisoners, who for the sake of liberty and a small reward, promised to deliver it to the french deserter; but, instead of that, as oglethorpe expected, he delivered it to the commander and chief of the spanish army. [sidenote] the spaniards retreat to augustine. various were the speculations and conjectures which this letter occasioned in the spanish camp, and the commander, among others, was not a little perplexed what to infer from it. in the first place he ordered the french deserter to be put in irons, to prevent his escape, and then called a council of war, to consider what was most proper to be done in consequence of intelligence, so puzzling and alarming. some officers were of opinion, that the letter was intended to deceive, and to prevent them from attacking frederica; others thought that the things mentioned in it appeared so feasible, that there were good grounds to believe, the english general wished them to take place, and therefore gave their voice for consulting the safety of augustine, and dropping a plan of conquest attended with so many difficulties, and which, in the issue, might perhaps hazard the loss of both army and fleet, if not of the whole province of florida. while the spanish leaders were employed in these deliberations, and much embarrassed, fortunately three ships of force, which the governor of south carolina had sent out, appeared at some distance on the coast. this corresponding with the letter, convinced the spanish commander of its real intent, and struck such a panic into the army, that they immediately set fire to their fort, and in great hurry and confusion embarked, leaving behind them several cannon, and a quantity of provisions and military stores. the wind being contrary, the english ships could not, during that day, beat up to the mouth of the river, and before next morning the invaders got past them, and escaped to augustine. in this manner was the province of georgia delivered, when brought to the very brink of destruction by a formidable enemy. fifteen days had don manuel de monteano been on the small island on which frederica was situated, without gaining the smallest advantage over an handful of men, and in different skirmishes lost some of his bravest troops. what number of men oglethorpe lost we have not been able to learn, but it must have been very inconsiderable. in this resolute defence of the country he displayed both military skill and personal courage, and an equal degree of praise was due to him from the carolineans as from the georgians. it is not improbable that the spaniards had carolina chiefly in their eye, and had meditated an attack where rich plunder could have been obtained, and where, by an accession of slaves, they might have increased their force in proportion to their progress. never did the carolineans make so bad a figure in defence of their country. when union, activity and dispatch were so requisite, they ingloriously stood at a distance, and suffering private pique to prevail over public spirit, seemed determined to risk the safety of their country, rather than general oglethorpe, by their help, should gain the smallest degree of honour and reputation. money, indeed, they voted for the service, and at length sent some ships, but, by coming so late, they proved useful rather from the fortunate co-operation of an accidental cause, than from the zeal and public spirit of the people. the georgians with justice blamed their more powerful neighbours, who, by keeping at a distance in the day of danger, had almost hazarded the loss of both provinces. had the enemy pursued their operations with vigour and courage, the province of georgia must have fallen a prey to the invaders, and carolina had every thing to dread in consequence of the conquest. upon the return of the spanish troops to the havanna, the commander was imprisoned, and ordered to take his trial for his conduct during this expedition, the result of which proved so shameful and ignominious to the spanish arms. though the enemy threatened to renew the invasion, yet we do not find that after this repulse they made any attempts by force of arms to gain possession of georgia. [sidenote] ill treatment of general oglethorpe. the carolineans having had little or no share of the glory gained by this brave defence, were also divided in their opinions with respect to the conduct of general oglethorpe. while one party acknowledged his signal services, and poured out the highest encomiums on his wisdom and courage; another shamefully censured his conduct, and meanly detracted from his merit. none took any notice of his services, except the inhabitants in and about port-royal, who addressed him in the following manner: "we the inhabitants of the southern parts of carolina beg leave to congratulate your excellency on your late wonderful success over your and our inveterate enemies the spaniards, who so lately invaded georgia, in such a numerous and formidable body, to the great terror of his majesty's subjects in these southern parts. it was very certain, had the spaniards succeeded in those attempts against your excellency, they would also have entirely destroyed us, laid our province waste and desolate, and filled our habitations with blood and slaughter; so that his majesty must have lost the fine and spacious harbour of port-royal, where the largest ships of the british nation may remain in security on any occasion. we are very sensible of the great protection and safety we have long enjoyed, by your excellency being to the southwards of us, and keeping your armed sloops cruising on the coast, which has secured our trade and fortunes more than all the ships of war ever stationed at charlestown; but more by your late resolution in frustrating the attempts of the spaniards, when nothing could have saved us from utter ruin, next to the providence of almighty god, but your excellency's singular conduct, and the bravery of the troops under your command. we think it our duty to pray god to protect your excellency, and send you success in all your undertakings for his majesty's service; and we assure your excellency, that there is not a man of us but would most willingly have ventured his all, in support of your excellency and your gallant troops, had we been assisted, and put in a condition to have been of service to you; and that we always looked upon our interest to be so united to that of the colony of georgia, that had your excellency been cut off, we must have fallen of course." but while the inhabitants in and about port-royal were thus addressing general oglethorpe, reports were circulating in charlestown to his prejudice, insomuch that both his honour and honesty were called in question. such malicious rumours had even reached london, and occasioned some of his bills to return to america protested. lieutenant-colonel william cook, who owed his preferment to the general's particular friendship and generosity, and who, on pretence of sickness, had left georgia before this invasion, had filed no less than nineteen articles of complaint against him, summoning several officers and soldiers from georgia to prove the charge. as the general had, in fact, stretched his credit, exhausted his strength, and risqued his life for the defence of carolina in its frontier colony, such a recompence must have been equally provoking, as it was unmerited. we are apt to believe, that such injurious treatment could not have arisen from the wiser and better part of the inhabitants, and therefore must be solely ascribed to some envious and malicious spirits, who are to be found in all communities. envy cannot bear the blaze of superior virtue, and malice rejoices in the stains which even falsehood throws on a distinguished character; and such is the extensive freedom of the british form of government that every one, even the meanest, may step forth as an enemy to great abilities and an unblemished reputation. the charges of envy and malice, oglethorpe might have treated with contempt; but to vindicate himself against the rude attacks of an inferior officer, he thought himself at this time bound in honour to return to england. [sidenote] his character cleared, and conduct vindicated. soon after his arrival a court-martial of general officers was called, who sat two days at the horse guards, examining one by one the various articles of complaint lodged against him. after the most mature examination, the board adjudged the charge to be false, malicious, and groundless, and reported the same to his majesty. in consequence of which lieutenant-colonel cook was dismissed from the service, and declared incapable of serving his majesty in any military capacity whatever. by this means the character of general oglethorpe was divested of those dark stains with which it had been overclouded, and began to appear to the world in its true and favourable light. carolina owed this benefactor her friendship and love. georgia was indebted to him for both her existence and protection. indeed his generous services for both colonies deserved to be deeply imprinted on the memory of every inhabitant and the benefits resulting from them to be remembered to the latest age with joy and gratitude. after this period general oglethorpe never returned to the province of georgia, but upon all occasions discovered in england an uncommon zeal for its prosperity and improvement. from its first settlement the colony had hitherto been under a military government, executed by the general and such officers as he thought proper to nominate and appoint. but now the trustees thought proper to establish a kind of civil government, and committed the charge of it to a president and four assistants, who were to act agreeable to the instructions they should receive from them, and to be accountable to that corporation for their public conduct. william stephens was made chief magistrate, and thomas jones, henry parker, john fallowfield, and samuel mercer, were appointed assistants. they were instructed to hold four general courts at savanna every year, for regulating public affairs, and determining all differences relating to private property. no public money could be disposed of but by a warrant under the seal of the president and major part of the assistants in council assembled, who were enjoined to send monthly accounts to england of money expended, and of the particular services to which it was applied. all officers of militia were continued, for the purpose of holding musters, and keeping the men properly trained for military services; and oglethorpe's regiment was left in the colony for its defence. by this time the trustees had transported to georgia, at different times, above one thousand five hundred men, women and children. as the colony was intended as a barrier to carolina, by their charter the trustees were at first laid under several restraints with respect to the method of granting lands, as well as the settlers with respect to the terms of holding and disposing of them. now it was found expedient to relieve both the former and latter from those foolish and impolitic restrictions. under the care of general oglethorpe the infant province had surmounted many difficulties, yet still it promised a poor recompense to britain for the vast sums of money expended for its protection. the indigent emigrants, especially those from england, having little acquaintance with husbandry, and less inclination to labour, made bad settlers; and as greater privileges were allowed them on the carolina side of the river, they were easily decoyed away to that colony. the highlanders and germans indeed, being more frugal and industrious, succeeded better, but hitherto had made very small progress, owing partly to wars with the spaniards, and to severe hardships attending all kinds of culture in such an unhealthy climate and woody country. the staple commodities intended to be raised in georgia were silk and wine, which were indeed very profitable articles; but so small was the improvement made in them, that they had hitherto turned out to little account. the most industrious and successful settlers could as yet scarcely provide for their families, and the unfortunate, the sick, and indolent part, remained in a starved and miserable condition. [sidenote] the carolineans petition for three independent companies. soon after the departure of general oglethorpe, the carolineans petitioned the king, praying that three independent companies, consisting each of an hundred men, might be raised in the colonies, paid by great britain, and stationed in carolina, to be entirely under the command of the governor and council of that province. this petition was referred to the lords of his majesty's privy-council, and a time appointed for considering, whether the present state of carolina was such as rendered this additional charge to the nation proper and necessary. two reasons were assigned by the colonists for the necessity of this military force: the first was, to preserve peace and security at home; the second, to protect the colony against foreign invasions. they alledged, that as the country was overstocked with negroes, such a military force was requisite to overawe them, and prevent insurrections; and as the coast was so extensive, and the ports lay exposed to every french and spanish plunderer that might at any time invade the province, their security against such attempts was of the highest consequence to the nation. but though they afterwards obtained some independent companies, those reasons, at this time, did not appear to the privy-council of weight sufficient to induce them to give their advice for this military establishment. it was their opinion, that it belonged to the provincial legislature to make proper laws for limiting the importation of negroes, and regulating and restraining them when imported; rather than put the mother country to the expence of keeping a standing force in the province to overawe them: that georgia, and the indians on the apalachian hills, were a barrier against foreign enemies on the western frontiers: that fort johnson, and the fortifications in charlestown, were a sufficient protection for that port; besides, that as the entrance over the bar was so difficult to strangers, before a foreign enemy could land five hundred men in that town, half the militia in the province might be collected for its defence. georgetown and port-royal indeed were exposed, but the inhabitants being both few in number and poor, it could not be worth the pains and risque of a single privateer to look into those harbours. for which reasons it was judged, that carolina could be in little danger till a foreign enemy had possession of georgia; and therefore it was agreed to maintain oglethorpe's regiment in that settlement complete; and give orders to the commandant to send detachments to the forts in james's island, port-royal, and such other places where their service might be thought useful and necessary to the provincial safety and defence. [sidenote] the colony's advantages from britain. many are the advantages carolina has derived from its political and commercial connection with britain. its growing and flourishing state the colony owes almost entirely to the mother-country, without the protection and indulgence of which, the people had little or no encouragement to be industrious. britain first furnished a number of bold and enterprising settlers, who carried with them the knowledge, arts, and improvements of a civilized nation. this may be said to be the chief favour for which carolina stands indebted to the parent state during the proprietary government. but since the province has been taken under the royal care, it has been nursed and protected by a rich and powerful nation. its government has been stable, private property secure, and the privileges and liberties of the people have been extensive. lands the planters obtained from the king at a cheap rate. to cultivate them the mother-country furnished them with labourers upon credit. each person had entire liberty to manage his affairs for his own profit and advantage, and having no tythes, and very trifling taxes to pay, reaped almost the whole fruits of his industry. the best and most extensive market was allowed to the commodities he produced, and his staples increased in value in proportion to the quantity raised, and the demand for them in europe. all british manufactures he obtained at an easy rate, and drawbacks were allowed on articles of foreign manufacture, that they might be brought the cheaper to the american market. in consequence of which frugal planters, every three or four years, doubled their capital, and their progress towards independence and opulence was rapid. indeed, the colonists had many reasons for gratitude, and none for fear, except what arose from their immoderate haste to be rich, and from purchasing such numbers of slaves, as exposed them to danger and destruction. the plan of settling townships, especially as it came accompanied with the royal bounty, had proved beneficial in many respects. it encouraged multitudes of poor oppressed people in ireland, holland and germany to emigrate, by which means the province received a number of frugal and industrious settlers. as many of them came from manufacturing towns in europe, it might have been expected that they would naturally have pursued those occupations to which they had been bred, and in which their chief skill consisted. but this was by no means the case; for, excepting a few of them that took up their residence in charlestown, they procured lands, applied to pasturage and agriculture, and by raising hemp, wheat and maize in the interior parts of the country, and curing hams, bacon, and beef, they supplied the market with abundance of provision, while at the same time they found that they had taken the shortest way of arriving at easy and independent circumstances. [sidenote] its advantage and importance to britain. indeed while such vast territories in carolina remained unoccupied, it was neither for the interest of the province, nor that of the mother-country, to employ any hands in manufactures. so long as labour bestowed on lands was most profitable, no prudent colonist would direct his attention or strength to any other employment, especially as the mother-country could supply him with all kinds of manufactures at a much cheaper rate than he could make them. the surplus part of british commodities and manufactures for which there was no vent in britain, found in carolina a good market, and in return brought the english merchant such articles as were in demand at home, by which means the advantages were mutual and reciprocal. the exclusive privilege of supplying this market encouraged labour in england, and augmented the annual income of the nation. from the monopoly of this trade with america, which was always increasing, britain derived many substantial advantages. these colonies consumed all her superfluities which lay upon hand, and enlarged her commerce, which, without such a market, must have been confined to its ancient narrow channel. in the year , two hundred and thirty vessels were loaded at the port of charlestown, so that the national value of the province was not only considerable in respect of the large quantity of goods it consumed, but also in respect to the naval strength it promoted. fifteen hundred seamen at least found employment in the trade of this province, and, besides other advantages, the profits of freight must make a considerable addition to the account in favour of britain. nor is there the smallest reason to expect that manufactures will be encouraged in carolina, while landed property can be obtained on such easy terms. the cooper, the carpenter, the brick-layer, the shipbuilder, and every other artificer and tradesman, after having laboured for a few years at their respective employments, and purchased a few negroes, commonly retreat to the country, and settle tracts of uncultivated land. while they labour at their trades, they find themselves dependent on their employers; this is one reason for their wishing at least to be their own masters; and though the wages allowed them are high, yet the means of subsistence in towns are also dear, and therefore they long to be in the same situation with their neighbours, who derive an easy subsistence from a plantation, which they cultivate at pleasure, and are answerable to no master for their conduct. even the merchant becomes weary of attending the store, and risking his flock on the stormy seas, or in the hands of men where it is often exposed to equal hazards, and therefore collects it as soon as possible, and settles a plantation. upon this plantation he sets himself down, and being both landlord and farmer, immediately finds himself an independent man. having his capital in lands and negroes around him, and his affairs collected within a narrow circle, he can manage and improve them as he thinks fit. he soon obtains plenty of the necessaries of life from his plantation; nor need he want any of its conveniencies and luxuries. the greatest difficulties he has to surmount arise from the marshy soil, and unhealthy climate, which often cut men off in the midst of their days. indeed in this respect carolina is the reverse of most countries in europe, where the rural life, when compared with that of the town, is commonly healthy and delightful. chap. ix. [sidenote] all commotions and oppressions in europe favourable to america. the war between england and france still raged in europe, and being carried on under many disadvantages on the side of the allied army, was almost as unsuccessful as their enemies could have desired. the battle of fontenoy was obstinate and bloody, and many thousands were left on the field on the side of the vanquished. the victorious army had little reason for boasting, having likewise bought their victory very dear. though bad success attended the british arms on the continent at this time, yet that evil being considered as remote, the people seemed only to feel it as affecting the honour of the nation, which by some fortunate change might retrieve the glory of its arms; but a plot of a more interesting nature was discovered, which added greatly to the national perplexity and distress. a civil war broke out within the bowels of the kingdom, the object of which was nothing less than the recovery of the british crown from the house of brunswick. charles edward stuart, the young pretender, stimulated by the fire of youth, encouraged by the deceitful promises of france, and invited by a discontented party of the scotch nation, had landed in north britain to head the rash enterprise. multitudes of bold and deluded highlanders, and several lowlanders, who owed their misfortunes to their firm adherence to that family, joined his army. he became formidable both by the numbers that followed him, and the success that at first attended his arms. but at length, after having struck a terror into the nation, he was routed at culloden field, and his party were either dispersed, or made prisoners of war. what to make of the prisoners of war became a matter of public deliberation. to punish all, without distinction, would have been unjustifiable cruelty in any government, especially where so many were young, ignorant, and misled: to pardon all, on the other hand, would discover unreasonable weakness, and dangerous lenity. the prisoners had nothing to plead but the clemency of the king, and the tenderness of the british constitution. examples of justice were necessary to deter men from the like attempts; but it was agreed to temper justice with mercy, in order to convince the nation of the gentleness of that constitution, which made not only a distinction between the innocent and guilty, but even among the guilty themselves, between those who were more, and those who were less criminal. the king ordered a general pardon to pass the great seal, in which he extended mercy to the ignorant, and misled among the rebels, which pardon comprehended nineteen out of twenty, who drew lots for this purpose, were exempted from trial, and transported to the british plantations. among other settlements in america, the southern provinces had a share of these bold and hardy caledonians, who afterwards proved excellent and industrious settlers. as every family of labourers is an acquisition to a growing colony, such as carolina, where lands are plenty, and hands only wanted to improve them; to encourage emigration, a door was opened there to protestants of every nation. the poor and distressed subjects of the british dominions, and those of germany and holland, were easily induced to leave oppression, and transport themselves and families to that province. lands free of quit-rents, for the first ten years, were allotted to men, women, and children. utensils for cultivation, and hogs and cows to begin their stock, they purchased with their bounty-money. the like bounty was allowed to all servants after the expiration of the term of their servitude. from this period carolina was found to be an excellent refuge to the poor, the unfortunate, and oppressed. the population and prosperity of her colonies engrossed the attention of the mother-country. his majesty's bounty served to alleviate the hardships inseparable from the first years of cultivation, and landed property animated the poor emigrants to industry and perseverance. the different townships yearly increased in numbers. every one upon his arrival obtained his grant of land, and sat down on his freehold with no taxes, or very trifling ones, no tythes, no poor rates, with full liberty of hunting and fishing, and many other advantages and privileges he never knew in europe. it is true the unhealthiness of the climate was a great bar to his progress, and proved fatal to many of these first settlers; but to such as surmounted this obstacle, every year brought new profits, and opened more advantageous prospects. all who escaped the dangers of the climate, if they could not be called rich during their own life, by improving their little freeholds, they commonly left their children in easy or opulent circumstances. even in the first age being free, contented, and accountable to man for their labour and management, their condition in many respects was preferable to that of the poorest class of labourers in europe. in all improved countries, where commerce and manufactures have been long established, and luxury prevails, the poorest ranks of citizens are always oppressed and miserable. indeed this must necessarily be the case, otherwise trade and manufactures, which flourish principally by the low price of labour and provisions, must decay. in carolina, though exposed to more troubles and hardships for a few years, such industrious people had better opportunities than in europe for advancing to an easy and independent state. hence it happened that few emigrants ever returned to their native country; on the contrary, the success and prosperity of the most fortunate, brought many adventurers and relations after them. their love to their former friends, and their natural partiality for their countrymen, induced the old planters to receive the new settlers joyfully, and even to assist and relieve them. having each his own property and possession, this independence produced mutual respect and beneficence, and such general harmony and industry reigned among them, that those townships, formerly a desolate wilderness, now stocked with diligent labourers, promised soon to become fruitful fields. [sidenote] cultivation attended with salutary effects. it has been observed, that in proportion as the lands have been cleared and improved, and scope given for a more free circulation of air, the climate has likewise become more salubrious and pleasant. this change was more remarkable in the heart of the country than in the maritime parts, where the best plantations of rice are, and where water is carefully preserved to overflow the fields; yet even in those places cultivation has been attended with salutary effects. time and experience had now taught the planters, that, during the autumnal months, their living among the low rice plantations subjected them to many disorders, from which the inhabitants of the capital were entirely exempted. this induced the richer part to retreat to town during this unhealthy season. those who were less able to bear the expences of this retreat, and had learned to guard against the inconveniencies of the climate, sometimes escaped; but laborious strangers suffered much during these autumnal months. accustomed as they were in europe to toil through the heat of the day, and expose themselves in all weathers, they followed the same practices in carolina, where the climate would by no means admit of such liberties. apprehensive of no ill consequences from such exposure, they began their improvement with vigour and resolution, and persevered until the hot climate and heavy toil exhausted their spirits, and brought home to them the unwelcome intimations of danger. [sidenote] mean heat in carolina. in the months of july, august, and september, the heat in the shaded air, from noon to three o'clock, is often between ninety and an hundred degrees; and as such extreme heat is of short duration, being commonly productive of thunder-showers, it becomes on that account the more dangerous. i have seen the mercury in fahrenheit's thermometer arise in the shade to ninety-six in the hottest, and fall to sixteen in the coolest season of the year; others have observed it as high as an hundred, and as low as ten; which range between the extreme heat of summer and cold in winter is prodigious, and must have a great effect upon the constitution of all, even of those who are best guarded against the climate; what then must be the situation of such as are exposed to the open air and burning sky in all seasons? the mean diurnal heat of the different seasons has been, upon the most careful observation, fixed at sixty-four in spring, seventy-nine in summer, seventy-two in autumn, and fifty-two in winter; and the mean nocturnal heat in those seasons at fifty-six degrees in spring, seventy-five in summer, sixty-eight in autumn, and forty-six in winter. [sidenote] the diseases of the country. as this climate differs so much from that of britain, ireland, and germany, and every where has great influence on the human constitution, no wonder that many of these settlers should sicken and die by the change, during the first state of colonization. in the hot season the human body is relaxed by perpetual perspiration, and becomes feeble and sickly, especially during the dog-days, when the air is one while suffocating and sultry, and another moist and foggy. exhausted of fluids, it is perhaps not at all, or very improperly, supplied. hence intermittent, nervous, putrid and bilious fevers, are common in the country, and prove fatal to many of its inhabitants. young children are very subject to the worm-fever, which cuts off multitudes of them. the dry belly-ache, which is a dreadful disorder, is no stranger to the climate. an irruption, commonly called the prickly heat, often breaks out during the summer, which is attended with troublesome itching and stinging pains; but this disease being common, and not dangerous, is little regarded; and if proper caution be used to prevent it from striking suddenly inward, is thought to be attended even with salutary effects. in the spring and winter pleurisies and peripneumonies are common, often obstinate, and frequently fatal diseases. so changeable is the weather, that the spirits in the thermometer will often rise or fall twenty, twenty-five, and thirty degrees, in the space of twenty four hours, which must make havock of the human constitution. in autumn there is sometimes a difference of twenty degrees between the heat of the day and that of the night, and in winter a greater difference between the heat of the morning and that of noon-day. we leave it to physicians more particularly to describe the various disorders incident to this climate, together with the causes of them; but if violent heat and continual perspiration in summer, noxious vapours and sudden changes in autumn, piercing cold nights, and hot noon-days in winter, affect the human constitution, the inhabitants of carolina, especially in the maritime parts, have all these and many more changes and hardships during the year to undergo. not only man, but every animal, is strongly affected by the sultry heat of summer. horses and cows retire to the shade, and there, though harassed with insects, they stand and profusely sweat through the violence of the day. hogs and dogs are also much distressed with it. poultry and wild fowls droop their wings, hang out their tongues, and, with open throats, pant for breath. the planter who consults his health is not only cautious in his dress and diet, but rises early for the business of the field, and transacts it before ten o'clock, and then retreats to the house or shade during the melting heat of the day, until the coolness of the evening again invites him to the field. such is his feebleness of body and languor of spirit at noon, that the greatest pleasure of life consists in being entirely at rest. even during the night he is often restless and depressed, insomuch that refreshing sleep is kept a stranger to his eyes. if unfortunately the poor labourer is taken sick in such weather, perhaps far removed from, or unable to employ, a physician, how great must be his hazard. in towns this heat is still rendered more intolerable by the glowing reflection from houses, and the burning sand in the streets. but how it is possible for cooks, blacksmiths, and other tradesmen, to work at the side of a fire, as many in the province do during such a season, we must leave to the world to judge. [sidenote] climate favourable to the culture of indigo. this hot weather, however, has been found favourable to the culture of indigo, which at this time was introduced into carolina, and has since proved one of its chief articles of commerce. about the year a fortunate discovery was made, that this plant grew spontaneously in the province, and was found almost every where among the wild weeds of the forest. as the soil naturally yielded a weed which furnished the world with so useful and valuable a dye, it loudly called for cultivation and improvement. for this purpose some indigo seed was imported from the french west indies, where it had been cultivated with great success, and yielded the planters immense profit. at first the seed was planted by way of experiment, and it was found to answer the most sanguine expectations. in consequence of which several planters turned their attention to the culture of indigo and studied the art of extracting the dye from it. every trial brought them fresh encouragement. in the year a considerable quantity of it was sent to england, which induced the merchants trading to carolina to petition parliament for a bounty on carolina indigo. the parliament, upon examination, found that it was one of the most beneficial articles of french commerce, that their west india islands supplied all the markets of europe; and that britain alone consumed annually six hundred thousand weight of french indigo, which, at five shillings a pound, cost the nation the prodigious sum of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling. it was demonstrated by the merchants, that this vast expence might be saved, by encouraging the cultivation of indigo in carolina, and commonly believed that in time the colony might bring it to such perfection, as to rival the french at the markets of europe. this petition of the merchants was soon followed by another from the planters and inhabitants of carolina, and others to the same effect from the clothiers, dyers, and traders of different towns in britain. it was proved, that the demand for indigo annually increased, and it could never he expected that the planters in the west indies would turn their hands to it, while the culture of sugar canes proved more profitable. accordingly, an act of parliament passed, about the beginning of the year , for allowing a bounty of sixpence _per_ pound on all indigo raised in the british american plantations, and imported directly into britain from the place of its growth. in consequence of which act the planters applied themselves with double vigour and spirit to that article, and seemed to vie with each other who should bring the best kind and greatest quantity of it to the market. some years indeed elapsed before they learned the nice art of making it as well as the french, whom long practice and experience had taught it to perfection; but every year they acquired greater skill and knowledge in preparing it, and received incredible profit as the reward of their labours. while many of them doubled their capital every three or four years by planting indigo, they in process of time brought it to such a degree of perfection, as not only to supply the mother-country, but also to undersel the french at several european markets. [sidenote] the manner of cultivating and making indigo. here it may not be improper to give the reader some account of the manner in which the people of carolina cultivate this plant, and extract the dye from it. as we pretend to little knowledge of this matter ourselves, we shall give the following rules and directions of an ingenious person, who practised them for several years with great success. "as both the quantity and quality of indigo greatly depend on the cultivation of the plant, it is proper to observe, that it seems to thrive best in a rich, light soil, unmixed with clay or sand. the ground to be planted should be plowed, or turned up with hoes, some time in december, that the frost may render it rich and mellow. it must also be well harrowed, and cleansed from all grass, roots, and stumps of trees, to facilitate the hoeing after the weed appears above ground. the next thing to be considered is the choice of the seed, in which the planters should be very nice; there is great variety of it, and from every sort good indigo may be made; but none answers so well in this colony as the true guatimala, which if good is a small oblong black seed, very bright and full, and when rubbed in the hand will appear as if finely polished. "in carolina we generally begin to plant about the beginning of april, in the following manner: the ground being well prepared, furrows are made with a drill-plow, or hoe, two inches deep, and eighteen inches distant from each other, to receive the seed, which is sown regularly, and not very thick, after which it is lightly covered with earth. a bushel of seed will sow four english acres. if the weather proves warm and serene, the plant will appear above ground in ten or four-teen days. after the plant appears, the ground, though not grassy, should be hoed to loosen the earth about it, which otherwise would much hinder its growth. in good seasons it grows very fast, and must all the while be kept perfectly clean of weeds. whenever the plant is in full bloom it must be cut down, without paying any regard to its height, as its leaves are then thick and full of juice, and this commonly happens in about four months after planting. but, previous to the season for cutting, a complete set of vats of the following dimensions, for every twenty acres of weed, must be provided, and kept in good order. the steeper or vat in which the weed is first put to ferment, must be sixteen feet square in the clear, and two and a half feet deep; the second vat or battery twelve feet long, ten feet wide, and four and a half feet deep from the top of the plate. these vats should be made of the best cypress or yellow-pine plank, two and a half inches thick, well fastened to the joints and studs with seven-inch spikes, and then caulked, to prevent their leaking. vats thus made will last in carolina, notwithstanding the excessive heat, at least seven years. when every thing is ready, the weed must be cut and laid regularly in the steeper with the stalk upward, which will hasten the fermentation; then long rails must be laid the length of the vat, at eighteen inches distance from one another, and wedged down to the weed, to prevent its buoying up when the water is pumped into the steeper. for this purpose the softest water answers best, and the quantity of it necessary must be just sufficient to cover all the weed. in this situation it is left to ferment, which will begin sooner or later in proportion to the heat of the weather, and the ripeness of the plant, but for the most part takes twelve or fifteen hours. after the water is loaded with the salts and substance of the weed, it must be let out of the steeper into the battery, there to be beat; in order to perform which operation, many different machines have been invented: but for this purpose any instrument that will agitate the water with great violence may be used. when the water has been violently agitated for fifteen or twenty minutes in the battery, by taking a little of the liquor up in a plate it will appear full of small grain or curdled; then you are to let in a quantity of lime-water kept in a vat for the purpose, to augment and precipitate the faeculae, still continuing to stir and beat vehemently the indigo water, till it becomes of a strong purple colour, and the grain hardly perceptible. then it must be left to settle, which it will do in eight or ten hours. after which the water must be gently drawn out of the battery through plug-holes contrived for that purpose, so that the faeculae may remain at the bottom of the vat. it must then be taken up, and carefully strained through a horse-hair sieve, to render the indigo perfectly clean, and put into bags made of osnaburghs, eighteen inches long, and twelve wide, and suspended for six hours, to drain the water out of it. after which the mouths of these bags being well fastened, it must be put into a press to be entirely freed from any remains of water, which would otherwise greatly hurt the quality of the indigo. the press commonly used for this purpose is a box of five feet in length, two and a half wide, and two deep, with holes at one end to let out the water. in this box the bags must be laid, one upon another, until it is full, upon which a plank must be laid, fitted to go within the box, and upon all a sufficient number of weights to squeeze out the water entirely by a constant and gradual pressure, so that the indigo may become a fine stiff paste; which is then taken out and cut into small pieces, each about two inches square, and laid out to dry. a house made of logs must be prepared on purpose for drying it, and so constructed that it may receive all the advantages of an open and free air, without being exposed to the sun, which is very pernicious to the dye. for here indigo placed in the sun, in a few hours will be burnt up to a perfect cinder. while the indigo remains in the drying house, it must be carefully turned three or four times in a day, to prevent its rotting. flies should likewise be carefully kept from it, which at this season of the year are hatched in millions, and infest an indigo plantation like a plague. after all, great care must also be taken, that the indigo be sufficiently dry before it is packed, lest after it is headed up in barrels it should sweat, which will certainly spoil and rot it." in this manner indigo is cultivated and prepared in carolina, and the richest land in the heart of the country is found to answer best for it. the maritime islands, however, which are commonly sandy, are not unfavourable for this production, especially those that contain spots of land covered with oak, and hickory trees. it is one of those rank weeds which in a few years will exhaust the strength and fertility of the best lands in the world. it is commonly cut in the west indies six and seven times in the year, but in carolina no more than two or three times before the frost begins. our planters have been blamed by the english merchants for paying too much attention to the quantity, and too little to the quality of their indigo, hence the west-india indigo brings an higher price at the market. he that prefers the quality to the quantity, is very careful to cut the plant at the proper season, that is, when the weed begins to bloom; for the more luxuriant and tender the plant, the more beautiful the indigo. while it is curing, indigo has an offensive and disagreeable smell, and as the dregs of the weed are full of salts, and make excellent manure, therefore they should be immediately buried under ground when brought out of the steeper. it is commonly observed, that all creatures about an indigo plantation are starved, whereas, about a rice one, which abounds with provisions for man and beast, they thrive and flourish. the season for making indigo in carolina ends with the first frosty weather, which puts a stop to fermentation, and then double labour is not only requisite for beating it, but when prepared it is commonly good for nothing. [sidenote] the common methods of judging of its quality. the planters bring their indigo to market about the end of the year, and frequently earlier. the merchant judges of its quality by breaking it, and observing the closeness of its grain, and its brilliant copper, or violet blue colour. the weight in some measure proves its quality, for heavy indigo of every colour is always bad. good indigo almost entirely consumes away in the fire, the bad leaves a quantity of ashes. in water also pure and fine indigo entirely melts and dissolves, but the heterogeneous and solid parts of the bad sink to the bottom like sand. from this period it became a staple to carolina, and proved equally profitable as the mines of mexico or peru. to the mother country it was no less beneficial, in excluding the french indigo entirely from her market, and promoting her manufactures, and trade. i shall afterwards take notice of the rapid progress made in the cultivation of this article; particularly with respect to the quantity produced and yearly shipped to britain, to supply the markets in europe. [sidenote] nova scotia settled. the great bounty and indulgence of britain towards her american colonies increased with their progress in cultivation, and favour after favour was extended to them. filled with the prospect of opening an excellent market for her manufactures, and enlarging her commerce and navigation, in which her strength in a great measure consisted, these colonies were become the chief objects of her care, and new ones were planted for the protection of the old. at this time the peace of aix la chapelle left a number of brave sailors and soldiers without employment. good policy required that they should be rendered useful to the nation, and at the same time furnished with employment for their own subsistence. acadia, which was ceded to britain by the treaty of peace, changed its name to nova scotia, and was capable of producing every species of naval stores. the sea there abounded with excellent fish, which might furnish employment for a number of sailors, and be made an useful and advantageous branch of trade. but the excellent natural harbours which the country afforded, of all other things proved the greatest inducement for establishing a colony in it, the possession of which would not only promote trade in the time of peace, but also prove a safe station for british fleets in time of war. besides, for the sake of commercial advantage, it was judged proper to confine the settlements in america as much as possible to the sea-coast. the parliament therefore determined to send out a colony to nova scotia, and, to forward the settlement, voted forty thousand pounds. the following advantageous terms were held forth to the people by government, and a number of adventurers agreed to accept them. fifty acres of land were to be allowed to every soldier and sailor, two hundred to every ensign, three hundred to every lieutenant, four hundred and sixty to every captain, and six hundred to all officers of higher rank; together with thirty for every servant they should carry along with them. no quit-rents were to be demanded for the first ten years. they were also to be furnished with instruments for fishing and agriculture, to have their passage free, and provisions found them for the first year after their arrival. three thousand seven hundred and sixty adventurers embarked for america on these favourable terms, and settled at halifax, which place was fixed on as the seat of government, and fortified. the acadians, the former inhabitants of the country, were allowed peaceably to remain in it, and having sworn never to bear arms against their countrymen, submitted to the english government, and passed under the denomination of french neutrals. the greatest difficulty which the new settlers of nova scotia had to surmount at this time arose from the micmac indians, who held that territory from nature, and for some time obstinately defended their right to their ancient possessions; and it was not without considerable loss that the british subjects at length, by force of arms, drove them away from those territories. [sidenote] the great care of britain for these colonies. nor did this new settlement engross the whole attention and liberality of the parent state; the province of georgia also every year shared plentifully from the same hands. indeed the bounty of the mother country was extensive as her dominions, and, like the sun, cherished and invigorated every object on which it shone. all the colonies might have been sensible of her constant attention to their safety and prosperity, and had great reason to acknowledge themselves under the strongest obligations to her goodness. if she expected a future recompense by the channel of commerce, which is for the most part mutually advantageous, it was no more than she had justly merited. the colonists, we allow, carried with them the rights and liberties of the subjects of britain, and they owed in return the duties of obedience to her laws and subjection to her government. the privileges and duties of subjects in all states have been reciprocal, and as the mother country had incurred great expence for the establishment and support of these foreign settlements; as she had multiplied her burdens for their defence and improvement; surely such protection and kindness laid a foundation for the firmest union, and the most dutiful returns of allegiance and gratitude. [sidenote] low state of georgia. however, the province of georgia, notwithstanding all that britain had done for its population and improvement, still remained in a poor and languishing condition. its settlers consisted of two sorts of people; first, of indigent subjects and foreigners, whom the trustees transported and maintained; secondly, of men of some substance, whom flattering descriptions of the province had induced voluntarily to emigrate to it. after the peace oglethorpe's regiment being disbanded, a number of soldiers accepted the encouragement offered them by government, and took up their residence in georgia. all those adventurers who had brought some substance along with them, having by this time exhausted their small stock in fruitless experiments, were reduced to indigence, so that emigrants from britain, foreigners, and soldiers, were all on a level in point of poverty. from the impolitic restrictions of the trustees, these settlers had no prospects during life but those of hardship and poverty, and of consequence, at their decease, of bequeathing a number of orphans to the care of providence. nor was the trade of the province in a better situation than its agriculture. the want of credit was an unsurmountable obstacle to its progress in every respect. formerly the inhabitants in and about savanna had transmitted to the trustees a representation of their grievous circumstances, and obtained from them some partial relief. but now, chagrined with disappointments, and dispirited by the severities of the climate, they could view the design of the trustees in no other light than that of having decoyed them into misery. even though they had been favoured with credit, and had proved successful, which was far from being their case; as the tenure of their freehold was restricted to heirs male, their eldest son could only reap the benefit of their toil, and the rest must depend on his bounty, or be left wholly to the charge of that being who feeds the fowls of the air. they considered their younger children and daughters as equally entitled to paternal regard, and could not brook their holding lands under such a tenure, as excluded them from the rights and privileges of other colonists. they saw numbers daily leaving the province through mere necessity, and frankly told the trustees, that nothing could prevent it from being totally deserted, but the same encouragements with their more fortunate neighbours in carolina. [sidenote: complaint of the people.] that the trustees might have a just view of their condition, the georgians stated before them their grievances, and renewed their application for redress. they judged that the british constitution, zealous for the rights and liberties of mankind, could not permit subjects who had voluntarily risked their lives, and spent their substance on the public faith, to effect a settlement in the most dangerous frontiers of the british empire, to be deprived of the common privileges of all colonists. they complained that the land-holders in georgia were prohibited from selling or leasing their possessions; that a tract containing fifty acres of the best lands was too small an allowance for the maintenance of a family, and much more so when they were refused the freedom to chuse it; that a much higher quit-rent was exacted from them than was paid for the best lands in america; that the importation of negroes was prohibited, and white people were utterly unequal to the labours requisite; that the public money granted yearly by parliament, for the relief of settlers and the improvement of the province, was misapplied, and therefore the wise purposes for which it was granted were by no means answered. that these inconveniencies and hardships kept them in a state of poverty and misery, and that the chief cause of all their calamities was the strict adherence of the trustees to their chimerical and impracticable scheme of settlement, by which the people were refused the obvious means of subsistence, and cut off from all prospects of success. we have already observed, that the laws and regulations even of the wisest men, founded on principles of speculation, have often proved to be foreign and impracticable. the trustees had an example of this in the fundamental constitutions of john locke. instead of prescribing narrower limits to the industry and ambition of the georgians, they ought to have learned wisdom from the case of the proprietors of carolina, and enlarged their plan with respect to both liberty and property. by such indulgence alone they could encourage emigrations, and animate the inhabitants to diligence and perseverance. the lands in georgia, especially such as were first occupied, were sandy and barren; the hardships of clearing and cultivating them were great, the climate was unfavourable for labourers, and dangerous to european constitutions. the greater the difficulties were with which the settlers had to struggle, the more encouragement was requisite to surmount them. the plan of settlement ought to have arisen from the nature of the climate, country, and soil, and the circumstances of the settlers, and been the result of experience and not of speculation. hitherto georgia had not only made small improvement in agriculture and trade, but her government was feeble and contemptible. at this time, by the avarice and ambition of a single family, the whole colony was brought to the very brink of destruction. as the concerns of these settlements are closely connected and interwoven with the affairs of indian nations, it is impossible to attain proper views of the circumstances and situation of the people, without frequently taking notice of the relation in which they stood to their savage neighbours. a considerable branch of provincial commerce, as well as the safety of the colonists, depended on their friendship with indians; and, to avoid all danger from their savage temper, no small share of prudence and courage was often requisite. this will appear more obvious from the following occurrence, which, because it is somewhat remarkable, we shall the more circumstantially relate. [sidenote] troubles excited by thomas bosomworth. i have already observed, that during the time general oglethorpe had the direction of public affairs in georgia, he had, from maxims of policy, treated an indian woman, called mary, with particular kindness and generosity. finding that she had great influence among the creeks, and understood their language, he made use of her as an interpreter, in order the more easily to form treaties of alliance with them, allowing her for her services an hundred pounds sterling a-year. this woman thomas bosomworth, who was chaplain to oglethorpe's regiment, had married, and among the rest had accepted a track of land from the crown, and settled in the province. finding that his wife laid claim to some islands on the sea-coast, which, by treaty, had been allotted the indians as part of their hunting lands; to stock them he had purchased cattle from the planters of carolina, from whom he obtained credit to a considerable amount. however, this plan not proving so successful as the proud and ambitious clergyman expected, he took to audacious methods of supporting his credit, and acquiring a fortune. his wife pretended to be descended in a maternal line from an indian king, who held from nature the territories of the creeks, and bosomworth now persuaded her to assert her right to them, as superior not only to that of the trustees, but also to that of the king. accordingly mary immediately assumed the title of an independent empress, disavowing all subjection or allegiance to the king of great britain, otherwise than by way of treaty and alliance, such as one independent sovereign might make with another. a meeting of all the creeks was summoned, to whom mary made a speech, setting forth the justice of her claim, and the great injury done to her and them by taking possession of their ancient territories, and stirring them up to defend their property by force of arms. the indians immediately took fire, and to a man declared they would stand by her to the last drop of their blood in defence of their lands. in consequence of which mary, with a large body of savages at her back, set out for savanna, to demand a formal surrender of them from the president of the province. a messenger was despatched before hand, to acquaint him that mary had assumed her right of sovereignty over the whole territories of the upper and lower creeks, and to demand that all lands belonging to them be instantly relinquished; for as she was the hereditary and rightful queen of both nations, and could command every man of them to follow her, in case of refusal, she had determined to extirpate the settlement. the president and council, alarmed at her high pretensions and bold threats, and sensible of her great power and influence with the savages, were not a little embarrassed what steps to take for the public safety. they determined to use soft and healing measures until an opportunity might offer of privately laying hold of her, and shipping her off to england. but, in the mean time, orders were sent to all the captains of the militia, to hold themselves in readiness to march to savanna at an hour's warning. the town was put in the best posture of defence, but the whole militia in it amounted to no more than one hundred and seventy men, able to bear arms. a messenger was sent to mary at the head of the creeks, while several miles distant from town, to know whether she was serious in such wild pretensions, and to try to persuade her to dismiss her followers, and drop her audacious design. but finding her inflexible and resolute, the president resolved to put on a bold countenance, and receive the savages with firmness and resolution. the militia was ordered under arms, to overawe them as much as possible, and as the indians entered the town, captain jones, at the head of his company of horse, stopped them, and demanded whether they came with hostile or friendly intentions? but receiving no satisfactory answer, he told them they must there ground their arms, for he had orders not to suffer a man of them armed to set his foot within the town. the savages with great reluctance submitted, and accordingly thomas bosomworth, in his canonical robes, with his queen by his side, followed by the various chiefs according to their rank, marched into town, making a formidable appearance. all the inhabitants were struck with terror at the sight of the fierce and mighty host. when they advanced to the parade, they found the militia drawn up under arms to receive them, who saluted them with fifteen cannon, and conducted them to the president's house. there thomas and adam bosomworth being ordered to withdraw, the indian chiefs, in a friendly manner, were called upon to declare their intention of visiting the town in so large a body, without being sent for by any person in lawful authority. the warriors, as they had been previously instructed, answered, that mary was to speak for them, and that they would abide by her words. they had heard, they said, that she was to be sent like a captive over the great waters, and they were come to know on what account they were to lose their queen. they assured the president they intended no harm, and begged their arms might be restored; and, after consulting with bosomworth and his wife, they would return and settle all public affairs. to please them their muskets were accordingly given back, but strict orders were issued to allow them no ammunition, until the council should see more clearly into their dark designs. on the day following, the indians having had some private conferences with their queen, began to be very surly, and to run in a mad and tumultuous manner up and down the streets, seemingly bent on some mischief. all the men being obliged to mount guard, the women were terrified to remain by themselves in their houses, expecting every moment to be murdered or scalped. during this confusion, a false rumour was spread, that they had cut off the president's head with a tomahawk, which so exasperated the inhabitants, that it was with difficulty the officers could prevent them from firing on the savages. to save a town from destruction, never was greater prudence requisite. orders were given to the militia to lay hold of bosomworth, and carry him out of the way into close confinement. upon which mary became outrageous and frantic, and insolently threatened vengeance against the magistrates and whole colony. she ordered every man of them to depart from her territories, and at their peril to refuse. she cursed general oglethorpe and his fraudulent treaties, and, furiously stamping with her feet upon the ground, swore by her maker that the whole earth on which she trode was her own. to prevent bribery, which she knew to have great weight with her warriors, she kept the leading men constantly in her eye, and would not suffer them to speak a word respecting public affairs but in her presence. the president finding that no peaceable agreement could be made with the indians while under the baleful eye and influence of their pretended queen privately laid hold of her, and put her under confinement with her husband. this step was necessary, before any terms of negotiation could be proposed. having secured the chief promoters of the conspiracy, he then employed men acquainted with the indian tongue to entertain the warriors in the most friendly and hospitable manner, and explain to them the wicked designs of bosomworth and his wife. accordingly a feast was prepared for all the chief leaders; at which they were informed, that mr. bosomworth had involved himself in debt, and wanted not only their lands, but also a large share of the royal bounty, to satisfy his creditors in carolina: that the king's presents were only intended for indians, on account of their useful services and firm attachment to him during the former wars: that the lands adjoining the town were reserved for them to encamp upon, when they should come to visit their beloved friends at savanna, and the three maritime islands to hunt upon, when they should come to bathe in the salt waters: that neither mary nor her husband had any right to those lands, which were the common property of the creek nations: that the great king had ordered the president to defend their right to them, and expected that all his subjects, both white and red, would live together like brethren; in short that he would suffer no man or woman to molest or injure them, and had ordered these words to be left on record, that their children might know them when they were dead and gone. such policy produced the desired effect, and many of the chieftains being convinced that bosomworth had deceived them, declared they would trust him no more. even malatchee, the leader of the lower creeks, and a relation to their pretended empress, seemed satisfied, and was not a little pleased to hear, that the great king had sent them some valuable present. being asked why he acknowledged mary as the empress of the great nation of creeks, and resigned his power and possessions to a despicable old woman, while all georgia owned him as a chief of the nation, and the president and council were now to give him many rich clothes and medals for his services? he replied, that the whole nation acknowledged her as their queen, and none could distribute the royal presents but one of her family. the president by this answer perceiving more clearly the design of the family of bosomworth, to lessen their influence, and shew the indians that he had power to divide the royal bounty among the chiefs, determined to do it immediately, and dismiss them, and the hardships the inhabitants underwent, in keeping guard night and day for the defence of the town. in the mean time malatchee, whom the indians compared to the wind, because of his fickle and variable temper, having, at his own request, obtained access to bosomworth and his wife, was again seduced and drawn over to support their chimerical claim. while the indians were gathered together to receive their respective shares of the royal bounty; he stood up in the midst of them, and with a frowning countenance, and in violent agitation of spirit, delivered a speech fraught with the most dangerous insinuations. he protested, that mary possessed that country before general oglethorpe; and that all the lands belonged to her as queen, and head of the creeks; that it was by her permission englishmen were at first allowed to set their foot on them; that they still held them of her as the original proprietor; that her words were the voice of the whole nation, consisting of above three thousand warriors, and at her command every one of them would take up the hatchet in defence of her right; and then pulling out a paper out of his pocket, he delivered it to the president in confirmation of what he had said. this was evidently the production of bosomworth, and served to discover in the plainest manner, his ambitious views and wicked intrigues. the preamble was filled with the names of indians, called kings, of all the towns of the upper and lower creeks, none of whom, however, were present, excepting two. the substance of it corresponded with malatchee's speech; styling mary the rightful princess and chief of their nation, descended in a maternal line from the emperor, and invested with full power and authority from them to settle and finally determine all public affairs and causes, relating to lands and other things, with king george and his beloved men on both sides of the sea, and whatever should be said or done by her, they would abide by, as if said or done by themselves. after reading this paper in council, the whole board were struck with astonishment; and malatchee, perceiving their uneasiness, begged to have it again, declaring he did not know it to be a bad talk, and promising he would return it immediately to the person from whom he had received it. to remove all impression made on the minds of the indians by malatchee's speech, and convince them of the deceitful and dangerous tendency of this confederacy into which bosomworth and his wife had betrayed them, had now become a matter of the highest consequence; happy was it for the province this was a thing neither difficult nor impracticable; for as ignorant savages are easily misled on the one hand, so, on the other, it was equally easy to convince them of their error. accordingly, having gathered the indians together for this purpose, the president addressed them to the following effect. "friends and brothers, when mr. oglethorpe and his people first arrived in georgia, they found mary, then the wife of john musgrove, living in a small hut at yamacraw, having a licence from the governor of south carolina to trade with indians. she then appeared to be in a poor ragged condition, and was neglected and despised by the creeks. but mr. oglethorpe finding that she could speak both the english and creek languages, employed her as an interpreter, richly clothed her, and made her the woman of the consequence she now appears. the people of georgia always respected her until she married thomas bosomworth, but from that time she has proved a liar and a deceiver. in fact, she was no relation of malatchee, but the daughter of an indian woman of no note, by a white man. general oglethorpe did not treat with her for the lands of georgia, she having none of her own, but with the old and wise leaders of the creek nation, who voluntarily surrendered their territories to the king. the indians at that time having much waste land, that was useless to themselves, parted with a share of it to their friends, and were glad that white people had settled among them to supply their wants. he told them that the present bad humour of the creeks had been artfully infused into them by mary, at the instigation of her husband, who owed four hundred pounds sterling in carolina for cattle; that he demanded a third part of the royal bounty, in order to rob the naked indians of their right; that he had quarrelled with the president and council of georgia for refusing to answer his exorbitant demands, and therefore had filled the heads of indians with wild fancies and groundless jealousies, in order to breed mischief, and induce them to break their alliances with their best friends, who alone were able to supply their wants, and defend them against all their enemies." here the indians desired him to stop, and put an end to the contest, declaring that their eyes were now opened, and they saw through his insidious design. but though he intended to break the chain of friendship, they were determined to hold it fast, and therefore begged that all might immediatly smoke the pipe of peace. accordingly pipes and rum were brought, and the whole congress, joining hand in hand, drank and smoked together in friendship, every one wishing that their hearts might be united in like manner as their hands. then all the royal presents, except ammunition, with which is was judged imprudent to trust them until they were at some distance from town, were brought and distributed among them. the most disaffected were purchased with the largest presents. even malatchee himself seemed fully contented with his share, and the savages in general perceiving the poverty and insignificance of the family of bosomworth, and their total inability to supply their wants, determined to break off all connection with them for ever. while the president and council flattered themselves that all differences were amicably compromised, and were rejoicing in the re-establishment of their former friendly intercourse with the creeks, mary, drunk with liquor, and disappointed in her views, came rushing in among them like a fury, and told the president that these were her people, that he had no business with them, and he should soon be convinced of it to his cost. the president calmly advised her to keep to her lodgings, and forbear to poison the minds of indians, otherwise he would order her again into close confinement. upon which turning about to malatchee in great rage, she told him what the president had said, who instantly started from his seat, laid hold of his arms, and then calling upon the rest to follow his example, dared any man to touch his queen. the whole house was filled in a moment with tumult and uproar. every indian having his tomahawk in his hand, the president and council expected nothing but instant death. during this confusion captain jones, who commanded the guard, very seasonably interposed, and ordered the indians immediately to deliver up their arms. such courage was not only necessary to overawe them, but at the same time great prudence was also requisite, to avoid coming to extremities with them. with reluctance the indians submitted, and mary was conveyed to a private room, where a guard was set over her, and all further intercourse with savages denied her during their stay in savanna. then her husband was sent for, in order to reason with him and convince him of the folly of his chimerical pretensions, and of the dangerous consequences that might result from persisting in them. but no sooner did he appear before the president and council, than he began to abuse them to their face. in spite of every argument used to persuade him to submission, he remained obstinate and contumacious, and protested he would stand forth in vindication of his wife's right to the last extremity, and that the province of georgia should soon feel the weight of her vengeance. finding that fair means were fruitless and ineffectual, the council then determined to remove him also out of the way of the savages, and to humble him by force. after having secured the two leaders, it only then remained to persuade the indians peaceably to leave the town, and return to their settlements. captain ellick, a young warrior, who had distinguished himself in discovering to his tribe the base intrigues of bosomworth, being afraid to accompany malatchee and his followers, thought fit to set out among the first: the rest followed him in different parties, and the inhabitants, wearied out with constant watching, and harassed with frequent alarms, were at length happily relieved. [sidenote] with difficulty settled. by this time adam bosomworth, another brother of the family, who was agent for indian affairs in carolina, had arrived from that province, and being made acquainted with what had passed in georgia, was filled with shame and indignation. he found his ambitious brother, not contented with the common allowance of land granted by the crown, aspiring after sovereignty, and attempting to obtain by force one of the largest landed estates in the world. his plot was artfully contrived, and had it been executed with equal courage, fatal must the consequence have been. had he taken possession of the provincial magazine on his arrival at savanna, and supplied the creeks with ammunition, the militia must soon have been overpowered, and every family must of course have fallen a sacrifice to the indiscriminate vengeance of savages. happily, by the interposition of his brother, all differences were peaceably compromised. thomas bosomworth at length having returned to sober reflection, began to repent of his folly, and to ask pardon of the magistrates and people. he wrote to the president, acquainting him that he was now deeply sensible of his duty as a subject, and of the respect he owed to civil authority, and could no longer justify the conduct of his wife; but hoped that her present remorse, and past services to the province, would entirely blot out the remembrance of her unguarded expressions and rash design. he appealed to the letters of general oglethorpe for her former irreproachable conduct, and steady friendship to the settlement, and hoped her good behaviour for the future would atone for her past offences, and reinstate her in the public favour. for his own part, he acknowledged her title to be groundless, and for ever relinquished all claim to the lands of the province. the colonists generously forgave and forgot all that had past; and public tranquillity being re-established, new settlers applied for lands as usual, without meeting any more obstacles from the idle claims of indian queens and chieftains. [sidenote] the charter surrendered to the king. the trustees of georgia finding that the province languished under their care, and weary of the complaints of the people, in the year surrendered their charter to the king, and it was made a royal government. in consequence of which his majesty appointed john reynolds, an officer of the navy, governor of the province, and a legislature similar to that of the other royal governments in america was established in it. great had been the expence which the mother country had already incurred, besides private benefactions, for supporting this colony; and small had been the returns yet made by it. the vestiges of cultivation were scarcely perceptible in the forest, and in england all commerce with it was neglected and despised. at this time the whole annual exports of georgia did not amount to ten thousand pounds sterling. though the people were now favoured with the same liberties and privileges enjoyed by their neighbours under the royal care, yet several years more elapsed before the value of the lands in georgia was known, and that spirit of industry broke out in it which afterwards diffused its happy influence over the country. [sidenote] george whitfield's settlement. in the annals of georgia the famous george whitfield may not be unworthy of some notice, especially as the world through which he wandered has heard so much of his orphan-house built in that province. actuated by religious motives, this wanderer several times passed the atlantic to convert the americans, whom he addressed in such a manner as if they had been all equal strangers to the privileges and benefits of religion with the original inhabitants of the forest. however, his zeal never led him beyond the maritime parts of america, through which he travelled, spreading what he called the true evangelical faith among the most populous towns and villages. one would have imagined that the heathens, or at least those who were most destitute of the means of instruction, would have been the primary and most proper objects of his zeal and compassion; but this was far from being the case. however, wherever he went in america, as in britain, he had multitudes of followers. when he first visited charlestown, alexander garden, a man of some sense and erudition, who was the episcopal clergyman of that place, to put the people upon their guard, took occasion to point out to them the pernicious tendency of whitfield's wild doctrines and irregular manner of life. he represented him as a religious impostor or quack, who had an excellent knack of setting off to advantage his poisonous tenets. on the other hand, whitfield, who had been accustomed to bear reproach and face opposition, recriminated with double acrimony and greater success. while alexander garden, to keep his flock from straying after this strange pastor, expatiated on the words of scripture, "those that have turned the world upside down are come hither also." whitfield, with all the force of comic humour and wit for which he was so much distinguished, by way of reply, enlarged on these words, "alexander the coppersmith hath done me much evil, the lord reward him according to his works." in short, the pulpit was perverted by both into the mean purposes of spite and malevolence, and every one catching a share of the infection, spoke of the clergymen as they were differently affected. [sidenote] whitfield's orphan-house. in georgia whitfield having obtained a track of land from the trustees, erected a wooden house two stories high, the dimensions of which were seventy feet by forty, upon a sandy beach nigh the sea-shore. this house, which he called the orphan-house, he began to build about the year , and afterwards finished it at a great expense. it was intended to be a lodging for poor children, where they were to be clothed and fed by charitable contributions, and and trained up in the knowledge and practice of the christian religion. the design, beyond doubt, was humane and laudable; but, perhaps, had he travelled over the whole earth, he could scarcely have found out a spot of ground upon it more improper for the purpose. the whole province of georgia could not furnish him with a track of land of the same extent more barren and unprofitable. to this house poor children were to be sent from at least a healthy country, to be supported partly by charity, and partly by the produce of this land cultivated by negroes. nor was the climate better suited to the purpose than the soil, for it is certain, before the unwholesome marshes around the house were fertilized, the influences of both air and water must have conspired to the children's destruction. however, whitfield having formed his chimerical project, determined to accomplish it, and, instead of bring discouraged by obstacles and difficulties, gloried in despising them. he wandered through the british empire, persuaded the ignorant and credulous part of the world of the excellence of his design, and obtained from them money, clothes, and books, to forward his undertaking, and supply his poor orphans in georgia. about thirty years after this wooden house was finished it was burned to the ground; during which time, if i am well informed, few or none of the children educated in it have proved either useful members of society, or exemplary in respect to religion. some say the fire was occasioned by a foul chimney, and others by a flash of lightning; but whatever was the cause, it burnt with such violence that little of either the furniture or library escaped the flames. when i saw the ruins of this fabric, i could not help reflecting on that great abuse of the fruits of charity too prevalent in the world. that money which was sunk here had been collected chiefly from the poorest class of mankind. most of those bibles which were here burnt had been extorted from indigent and credulous persons, who perhaps had not money to purchase more for themselves. happy was it for the zealous founder of this institution, that he did not live to see the ruin of his works. after his death he was brought from new-england, above eight hundred miles, and buried at this orphan-house. in his last will he left lady huntingdon sole executrix, who has now converted the lands and negroes belonging to the poor benefactors of great britain and her dominions, to the support of clergymen of the same irregular stamp with the deceased, but void of his shining talents, and it is become a seminary of dissension and sedition. [sidenote] sketch of his character. as george whitfield appeared in such different lights in the successive stages of life, it is no easy matter to delineate his character without an uncommon mixture and vast variety of colours. he was in the british empire not unlike one of those strange and erratic meteors which appear now and then in the system of nature. in his youth, as he often confessed and lamented, he was gay, giddy and profligate; so fondly attached to the stage, that he joined a company of strolling actors and vagabonds, and spent a part of his life in that capacity. at this period it is probable he learned that grimace, buffoonery and gesticulation which he afterwards displayed from the pulpit. from an abandoned and licentious course of life he was converted; and, what is no uncommon thing, from one extreme he run into the other, and became a most zealous and indefatigable teacher of religion. having studied some time at oxford, he received ordination in the church of england; yet he submitted to none of the regulations of that or any other church, but became a preacher in churches, meeting-houses, halls, fields, in all places, and to all denominations, without exception. though little distinguished for genius or learning, yet he possessed a lively imagination, much humour, and had acquired considerable knowledge of human nature and the manners of the world. his pretensions to humanity and benevolence were great, yet he would swell with venom, like a snake, against opposition and contradiction. his reading was inconsiderable, and mankind being the object of his study, he could, when he pleased, raise the passions, and touch the tone of the human heart to great perfection. by this affecting eloquence and address he impressed on the minds of many, especially of the more soft and delicate sex, such a strong sense of sin and guilt as often plunged them into dejection and despair. as his custom was to frequent those larger cities and towns, that are commonly best supplied with the means of instruction, it would appear that the love of fame and popular applause was his leading passion; yet in candour it must be acknowledged, that he always discovered a warm zeal for the honour of god and the happiness of men. while he was almost worshipped by the vulgar, men of superior rank and erudition found him the polite gentleman, and the facetious and jocular companion. though he loved good cheer, and frequented the houses of the rich or more hospitable people of america, yet he was an enemy to all manner of excess and intemperance. while his vagrant temper led him from place to place, his natural discernment enabled him to form no bad judgment of the characters and manners of men wherever he went. though he appeared a friend to no established church, yet good policy winked at all his irregularities, as he every where proved a steady friend to monarchy and the civil constitution. he knew well how to keep up the curiosity of the multitude, and his roving manner stamped a kind of novelty on his instructions. when exposed to the taunts of the scoffer, and the ridicule of the flagitious, he remained firm to his purpose, and could even retort these weapons with astonishing ease and dexterity, and render vice abashed under the lash of his satire and wit. sometimes, indeed, he made little scruple of consigning over to damnation such as differed from him or despised him; yet he was not entirely devoid of liberality of sentiment. to habitual sinners his address was for the most part applicable and powerful, and with equal ease could alarm the secure, and confirm the unsteady. though, in prayer, he commonly addressed the second person of the trinity in a familiar and fulsome style, and in his sermons used many ridiculous forms of speech, and told many of his own wonderful works, yet these seemed only shades to set off to greater advantage the lustre of his good qualities. in short, though it is acknowledged he had many oddities and failings, and was too much the slave of party and vain-glory, yet in justice it cannot be denied, that religion in america owed not a little to the zeal, diligence, and oratory, of this extraordinary man. having said so much with respect to the character which mr. whitfield bore in america, if we view the effects of his example and manner of life in that country, he will appear to us in a less favourable light. his great ambition was to be the founder of a new sect, regulated entirely by popular fancy and caprice, depending on the gifts of nature, regardless of the improvements of education and all ecclesiastical laws and institutions. accordingly, after him a servile race of ignorant and despicable imitators sprung up, and wandered from place to place, spreading doctrines subversive of all public order and peace. we acknowledge the propriety and justice of allowing every reasonable indulgence to men in matters of religion. the laws of toleration being part of our happy constitution, it lies with men to learn their duty from them, and claim protection under them. but after a church has been erected and established by the most skilful architects, and for ages received the approbation of the wisest and best men, it serves only to create endless confusion to be making alterations and additions to gratify the fancy of every gothic pretender to that art. though whitfield was in fact a friend to civil government, yet his followers on that continent have been distinguished for the contrary character, and have for the most part discovered an aversion to our constitution both of church and state. toleration to men who remain peaceable subjects to the state is reasonable; but dissention, when it grows lawless and headstrong, is dangerous, and summons men in general to take shelter under the constitution, that the salutary laws of our country may be executed by its united strength. no man ought to claim any lordship over the conscience; but when the consciences of obstinate sectaries become civil nuisances, and destructive of public tranquillity, they ought to be restrained by legal authority. for certainly human laws, if they have not the primary, have, or ought to have, a secondary power to restrain the irregular and wild excesses of men in religious as well as in civil matters. [sidenote] a congress with creeks. about the year the flames of war broke out among some indian nations, which threatened to involve the province of carolina in the calamity. the creeks having quarrelled with their neighbours for permitting some indians to pass through their country to wage war against them, by way of revenge had killed some cherokees nigh the gates of charlestown. a british trader to the chickesaw nation had likewise been scalped by a party of warriors belonging to the same nation. governor glen, in order to demand satisfaction for these outrages, sent a messenger to the creeks, requesting a conference at charlestown with their leading men. the creeks returned for answer, that they were willing to meet him, but as the path had not been open and safe for some time, they could not enter the settlement without a guard to escort them. upon which the governor sent fifty horsemen, who met them at the confines of their territories, and convoyed malatchee, with above an hundred of his warriors, to charlestown. [sidenote] the governor's speech to them. as they arrived on sunday the governor did not summon his council until the day following, to hold a congress with them. at this meeting a number of gentlemen were present, whom curiosity had drawn together to see the warriors and hear their speeches. when they entered the council-chamber the governor arose and took them by the hand, signifying that he was glad to see them, and then addressed them to the following effect: "being tied together by the most solemn treaties, i call you by the beloved names of friends and brothers. in the name of the great king george i have sent for you, on business of the greatest consequence to your nation. i would have received you yesterday on your arrival, but it was a beloved day, dedicated to repose and the concerns of a future life. i am sorry to hear that you have taken up the hatchet, which i flattered myself had been for ever buried. it is my desire to have the chain brightened and renewed, not only between you and the english, but also between you and other indian nations. you are all our friends, and i could wish that all indians in friendship with us were also friends one with another. you have complained to me of the cherokees permitting the northern indians to come through their country to war against you, and supplying them with provisions and ammunition for that purpose. the cherokees, on the other hand, alledge, that it is not in their power to prevent them, and declare, that while their people happen to be out hunting those northern indians come in to their towns well armed, and in such numbers that they are not able to resist them. "i propose that a treaty of friendship and peace be concluded first with the english, and then with the cherokees, in such a manner as may render it durable. some of your people have from smaller crimes proceeded to greater. first, they waylaid the cherokees, and killed one of them in the midst of our settlements; then they came to charlestown, where some cherokees at the same time happened to be, and though i cautioned them, and they promised to do no mischief, yet the next day they assaulted and murdered several of them nigh the gates of this town. for these outrages i have sent for you, to demand satisfaction; and also for the murder committed in one of your towns, for which satisfaction was made by the death of another person, and not of the murderer. for the future, i acquaint you, that nothing will be deemed as satisfaction for the lives of our people, but the lives of these persons themselves who shall be guilty of the murder. the english never make treaties of friendship but with the greatest deliberation, and when made observe them with the strictest punctuality. they are, at the same time vigilant, and will not suffer other nations to infringe the smallest article of such treaties. it would tend to the happiness of your people were you equally careful to watch against the beginnings of evil; for sometimes a small spark, if not attended to, may kindle a great fire; and a slight sore, if suffered to spread, may endanger the whole body. therefore, i have sent for you to prevent farther mischief, and i hope you come disposed to give satisfaction for the outrages already committed, and to promise and agree to maintain peace and friendship with your neighbours for the future." [sidenote: malatchee's answer.] this speech delivered to the indians was interpreted by lachlan mcgilvray, an indian trader, who understood their language. after which malatchee, the king of the lower creek nation, stood forth, and with a solemnity and dignity of manner that astonished all present, in answer, addressed the governor to the following effect: "i never had the honour to see the great king george, nor to hear his talk--but you are in his place--i have heard yours, and i like it well--your sentiments are agreeable to my own--the great king wisely judged, that the best way of maintaining friendship between white and red people was by trade and commerce: --he knew we are poor, and want many things, and that skins are all we have to give in exchange for what we want--i have ordered my people to bring you some as a present, and, in the name of our nation, i lay them at your excellency's feet--you have sent for us--we are come to hear what you have to say--but i did not expect to hear our whole nation accused for the faults of a few private men--our head-men neither knew nor approved of the mischief done--we imagined our young men had gone a-hunting as usual--when we heard what had happened at charlestown, i knew you would send and demand satisfaction--when your agent came and told me what satisfaction you required, i owned the justice of it--but it was not adviseable for me alone to grant it--it was prudent to consult with our beloved men, and have their advice in a matter of such importance--we met--we found that the behaviour of some of our people had been bad--we found that blood had been spilt at your gates--we thought it just that satisfaction should he made--we turned our thoughts to find out the chief persons concerned; (for a man will sometimes employ another to commit a crime he does not chuse to be guilty of himself) --we found the acorn whistler was the chief contriver and promoter of the mischief--we agreed that he was the man that ought to suffer--some of his relations, who are here present, then said he deserved death, and voted for it--accordingly he was put to death--he was a very great warrior, and had many friends and relations in different parts of the country--we thought it prudent to conceal for some time the true reason of his death, which was known only to the head men that concerted it--we did this for fear some of his friends in the heat of fury would take revenge on some of your traders--at a general meeting all matters were explained--the reasons of his death were made known--his relations approved of all that was done.--satisfaction being made, i say no more about that matter--i hope our friendship with the english will continue as heretofore. "as to the injuries done to the cherokees, which you spoke of, we are sorry for them--we acknowledge our young men do many things they ought not to do, and very often act like madmen--but it is well known i and the other head warriors did all we could to oblige them to make restitution--i rode from town to town with mr. bosomworth and his wife to assist them in this matter--most of the things taken have been restored--when this was over, another accident happened which created fresh troubles--a chickesaw who lived in our nation; in a drunken fit shot a white man--i knew you would demand satisfaction--i thought it best to give it before it was asked--the murder was committed at a great distance from me--i mounted my horse and rode through the towns with your agent--i took the head men of every town along with me--we went to the place and demanded satisfaction--it was given--the blood of the indian was spilt for the blood of a white man--the uncle of the murderer purchased his life, and voluntarily killed himself in his stead--now i have done--i am glad to see you face to face to settle those matters--it is good to renew treaties of friendship--i shall always be glad to call you friends and brothers." this speech throws no small light on the judicial proceedings of barbarous nations, and shews that human nature in its rudest state possesses a strong sense of right and wrong. although indians have little property, yet here we behold their chief magistrate protecting what they have, and, in cases of robbery, acknowledging the necessity of making restitution. they indeed chiefly injure one another in their persons or reputations, and in all cases of murder the guilty are brought to trial and condemned to death by the general consent of the nation. even the friends and relations of the murderer here voted for his death. but what is more remarkable, they give us an instance of an atonement made, and justice satisfied, by the substitution of an innocent man in place of the guilty. an uncle voluntarily and generously offers to die in the place of his nephew, the savages accept of the offer, and in consequence of his death declare that satisfaction is made. next to personal defence, the indian guards his character and reputation; for as it is only from the general opinion his nation entertains of his wisdom, justice and valour, that he can expect to arrive at rank and distinction, he is exceedingly watchful against doing any thing for which he may incur public blame or disgrace. in this answer to governor glen, malatchee discovers considerable talents as a public speaker, and appears to be insensible neither to his own dignity and freedom, not to the honour and independence of his nation. genius and liberty are the gifts of heaven; the former is universal as that space over which it has scope to range, the latter inspires confidence, and gives a natural confidence to our words and actions. during the months of june, july, and august, , the weather in carolina was warmer than any of the inhabitants then alive had ever felt it, and the mercury in the shade often arose above the nintieth, and at one time was observed at the hundred and first degree of the thermometer; and, at the same time, when exposed to the sun, and suspended at the distance of five feet from the ground, it arose above the hundred and twentieth division. by this excessive heat the air becomes greatly rarified, and a violent hurricane commonly comes and restores the balance in the atmosphere. in such a case the wind usually proceeds from the north-east, directly opposite to the point from which it had long blown before. those storms indeed seldom happen except in seasons when there has been little thunder, when the weather has been long exceeding dry and intolerably hot, and though they occasion damages to some individuals, there is reason to believe that they are wisely ordered, and productive upon the whole of good and salutary effects. among the close and dark recesses of the woods the air stagnates, and requires some violent storm to clear it of putrid effluvia, and render it fit for respiration. at the same time the earth emits vapours which in a few days causes the finest polished metals to rust. to penetrate through the thick forest, and restore the air to a salubrious state, hurricanes may be useful and necessary. and as such storms have been observed to be productive of good effects, the want of them for many years together may be deemed a great misfortune by the inhabitants, especially such as are exposed to the noon-day heat, to the heavy fogs that fall every morning and evening, and all the severities of the climate. it is not improbable that the maritime parts of carolina have been forsaken by the sea. though you dig ever so deep in those places you find no stones or rocks, but every where sand or beds of shells. as a small decrease of water will leave so flat a country entirely bare, so a small increase will again cover it. the coast is not only very level, but the dangerous hurricanes commonly proceed from the north-east; and as the stream of the gulf of florida flows rapidly towards the same point, this large body of water, when obstructed by the tempest, recurs upon the shore, and overflows the country. [sidenote] a hurricane at charlestown. in the month of september, , a dreadful hurricane happened at charlestown. in the night before, it was observed by the inhabitants that the wind at north-east began to blow hard, and continued increasing in violence till next morning. then the sky appeared wild and cloudy, and it began to drizzle and rain. about nine o'clock the flood came rolling in with great impetuosity, and in a little time rose ten feet above high water mark at the highest tides. as usual in such cases, the town was overflown, and the streets were covered with boats, boards, and wrecks of houses and ships. before eleven all the ships in the harbour were driven ashore, and sloops and schooners were dashing against the houses of bay-street, in which great quantities of goods were damaged and destroyed. except the hornet man of war, which by cutting away her masts, rode out the storm, no vessel escaped being damaged or wrecked. the tremor and consternation which seized the inhabitants may be more easily conceived than expressed. finding themselves in the midst of a tempestuous sea, and expecting the tide to flow till one o'clock, its usual hour, at eleven they retired to the upper stories of their houses, and there remained despairing of life. at this critical time providence however mercifully interposed, and surprised them with a sudden and unexpected deliverance. soon after eleven the wind shifted, in consequence of which the waters fell five feet in the space of ten minutes. by this happy change the gulf stream, stemmed by the violent blast, had freedom to run in its usual course, and the town was saved from imminent danger and destruction. had the water continued to rise, and the tide to flow until its usual hour, every inhabitant of charlestown must have perished. almost all the tiled and slated houses were uncovered, several persons were hurt, and some were drowned. the fortifications and wharfs were almost entirely demolished: the provisions in the field, in the maritime parts, were destroyed, and numbers of cattle and hogs perished in the waters. the pest-house in sullivan's island, built of wood, with fifteen persons in it, was carried several miles up cooper river, and nine out of the fifteen were drowned. in short, such is the low situation of charlestown, that it is subject to be destroyed at any time by such an inundation, and the frequent warnings the people have had may justly fill them with a deep sense of their dependent condition, and with constant gratitude to providence for their preservation. [sidenote] the advantages of poor settlers in the province. we have seen the hardships under which the carolineans laboured from the hot climate and low situation of the province, it may not be improper to take a view of those advantages afforded them which served to animate them amidst such difficulties to industry and perseverance. in that growing colony, where there are vast quantities of land unoccupied, the poorest class of people have many opportunities and advantages, from which they are entirely excluded in countries fully peopled and highly improved. during the first years of occupancy they are indeed exposed to many dangers in providing for themselves and families an habitation for a shelter against the rigours of the climate, and in clearing fields for raising the necessaries of life. but when they have the good fortune to surmount the hardships of the first years of cultivation, the inconveniencies gradually decrease in proportion to their improvements. the merchants being favoured with credit from britain, are enabled to extend it to the swarm of labourers in the country. the planters having established their characters for honesty and industry, obtain hands to assist them in the harder tasks of clearing and cultivation. their wealth consists in the increase of their slaves, stock and improvements. having abundance of waste land, they can extend their culture in proportion to their capital. they live almost entirely on the produce of their estates, and consequently spend but a small part of their annual income. the surplus is yearly added to the capital, and they enlarge their prospects in proportion to their wealth and strength. at market if there be a great demand for the commodities they raise, this is an additional advantage, and renders their progress rapid beyond their most sanguine expectations; they labour, and they receive more and more encouragement to persevere, until they advance to an easy and comfortable state. it has been observed, on the other hand, that few or none of those emigrants that brought much property along with them have ever succeeded in that country. [sidenote] the advantages of money lenders. or, if the poor emigrant be an artificer, and chuses to follow his trade, the high price of labour is no less encouraging. by the indulgence of the merchants, or by the security of a friend, he obtains credit for a few negroes. he learns them his trade, and a few good tradesmen, well employed, are equal to a small estate. having got some hands, instead of a labourer he becomes an undertaker, and enters into contract with his employer, to erect his house; to build his ship; to furnish his plantations with shoes, or the capital with bricks. in a little time he acquires some money, and, like several others in the city whose yearly gain exceeds what is requisite for the support of themselves and families, lays it out on interest. ten and eight _per cent._ being given for money, proved a great temptation, and induced many, who were averse from the trouble of settling plantations, or were unable to bestow that attention to them which they demanded, to take this method of increasing their fortune. if the moneylender followed his employment in the capital, or reserved in his hands a sufficiency for family use, and allowed the interest to be added yearly to the capital stock, his fortune increased fast, and soon became considerable. several persons preferred this method of accumulating riches to that of cultivation, especially those whom age or infirmity had rendered unfit for action and fatigue. notwithstanding the extensive credit commonly allowed the planting interest by the merchants, the number of borrowers always exceeded that of the lenders of money. having vast extent of territory, the planters were eager to obtain numbers of labourers, which raised the demand for money, and kept up the high rate of interest. the interest of money in every country is for the most part according to the demand, and the demand according to the profits made by the use of it. the profits must always be great where men can afford to take money at the rate of eight and ten _per cent._ and allow it to remain in their hands upon compound interest. in carolina labourers on good lands cleared their first cost and charges in a few years, and therefore great was the demand for money in order to procure them. [sidenote] and of the borrowers. let us next take a view of those advantages in favour of the borrower of money. his landed estate he obtained from the crown. the quit-rents and taxes were trifling and inconsiderable. being both landlord and farmer he had perfect liberty to manage and improve his plantation as he pleased, and was accountable to none but himself for any of the fruits of his industry. his estate furnished him with game and fish, which he had freedom to kill and use at pleasure. in the woods his cattle, hogs and horses grazed at their ease, attended perhaps only by a negro boy. if his sheep did not thrive well, he had calves, hogs and poultry in abundance for the use of his family. all his able labourers he could turn to the field, and exert his strength in railing his staple commodity. the low country being every where interspersed with navigable rivers and creeks, the expence of conveying his rice to the market, which otherwise would have been intolerable, was thereby rendered easy. having provisions from his estate to support his family and labourers, he applies his whole staple commodities for the purposes of answering the demands of the merchant and moneylender. he expects that his annual produce will not only answer those demands against him, but also bring an addition to his capital, and enable him to extend his hand still farther in the way of improvement. hence it happened, that in proportion as the merchants extended credit to the planters, and supplied them with labourers for their lands, the profits returned to the capital yearly according to the increased number of hands employed in cultivation. it is no easy thing to enumerate all the advantages of water carriage to a fruitful and commercial province. the lands are rendered more valuable by being situated on navigable creeks and rivers. the planters who live fifty miles from the capital, are at little more expence in sending their provisions and produce to its market, than those who live within five miles of it. the town is supplied with plenty of provisions, and its neighbourhood prevented from enjoying a monopoly of its market. by this general and unlimited competition the price of provisions is kept low, and while the money arising from them circulates equally and universally through the country, it contributes, in return, to its improvement. the planters have not only water carriage to the market far their staple commodities, but on their arrival the merchant again commits them to the general tide of commerce, and receives in return what the world affords profitable to himself, and useful to the country in which he lives. hence it happened, that no town was better supplied than charlestown with all the necessaries, conveniencies, and luxuries of life. [sidenote] great benefits enjoyed by colonists. besides these advantages arising from good lands given them by the crown, the carolineans received protection to trade, a ready market, drawbacks and bounties, by their political and commercial connection with the mother country. the duties laid on many articles of foreign manufacture on their importation into britain were drawn back, sometimes the whole, almost always a great part, on their exportation to the colonies. these drawbacks were always in favour of the consumers, and supplied the provincial markets with foreign goods at a rate equally cheap as if they had been immediately imported from the place where they were manufactured. hence the colonists were exempted from those heavy duties which their fellow-subjects in britain were obliged to pay, on most articles of foreign manufacture which they consumed. besides, upon the arrival of such goods in the country, the planters commonly had twelve months credit from the provincial merchant, who was satisfied with payment once in the year from all his customers. so that to the consumers in carolina, east-india goods, german manufactures, spanish, portugal, madeira and fyal wines came cheaper than to those in great britain. we have known coals, salt, and other articles brought by way of ballast, sold cheaper in charlestown than in london. but the colonists had not only those drawbacks on foreign goods imported, but they were also allowed bounties on several articles of produce exported. for the encouragement of her colonies great britain laid high duties on several articles imported from foreign countries, and gave the colonists premiums and bounties on the same commodities. the planting tobacco was prohibited in england, in order to encourage it in america. the bounties on naval stores, indigo, hemp, and raw silk, while they proved an encouragement to industry, all terminated in favour of the plantations. nor ought the carolineans to forget the perfect freedom they enjoyed with respect to their trade with the west indies, where they found a convenient and most excellent market for their indian corn, rice, lumber, and salt provisions, and in return had rum, unclayed sugar, coffee and molasses much cheaper than their fellow-subjects in britain. i mention these things because many of the colonists are ignorant of the privileges and advantages they enjoy; for, upon a general view of their circumstances, and a comparison of their case with that of their fellow-subjects in britain and ireland, they must find they had much ground for contentment, and none for complaint. another circumstance we may mention to which few have paid sufficient attention. it is true, great britain had laid the colonists under some restraints with respect to their domestic manufactures and their trade to foreign ports, but however much such a system of policy might affect the more northern colonies, it was at this time rather serviceable than prejudicial to carolina. it served to direct the views of the people to the culture of lands, which was both more profitable to themselves and beneficial to the mother country. though they had plenty of beaver skins, and a few hats were manufactured from them, yet the price of labour was so high, that the merchant could send the skins to england, import hats made of them, and undersell the manufacturers of carolina. the province also furnished some wool and cotton, but before they could be made into cloth, they cost the consumer more money than the merchant demanded for the same goods imported. the province afforded leather, but before it could be prepared and made into shoes, the price was equally high, and often higher, than that of shoes imported from britain. in like manner, with respect to many other articles, it would be for the advantage of the province as well as mother country to export the raw materials and import the goods manufactured. for while the inhabitants of carolina can employ their hands to more advantage in cultivating waste land, it will be their interest never to wear a woollen or linen rag of their own manufacture, to drive a nail of their own forging, nor use any sort of plate, iron, brass or stationary wares of their own making. until the province shall grow more populous, cultivation is the most profitable employment, and the labourer injures himself and family by preferring the less to the more profitable branch of industry. few also are the restrictions upon trade, which, in effect, could be deemed hurtful; for, excepting the vessels which traded to the southward of cape finisterre, and were obliged to return to england to cancel their bond before they sailed for carolina, every other restraint may be said to be ultimately in favour of the province. it was the interest of such a flourishing colony to be always in debt to great britain, for the more labourers that were sent to it, the more rapidly it advanced in riches. suppose the planters this year stand much indebted to the merchants, and, by reason of an unfavourable season, are rendered unable to answer the demands against them; the merchants, instead of ruining them, indulged them for another year, and perhaps intrusted them with double the sum for which they stood indebted. this has frequently been found the most certain method of obtaining payment. in like manner the merchants must have indulgence from england, the primary source of credit. if the province could not obtain such indulgence from any part of the world as from the mother country, it must be for its interest to support its credit with those generous friends who were both able and disposed to give it. to lodge the yearly produce of the province in the hands of those english creditors as soon as possible, is the surest means of supporting this credit. besides, the london merchants being the best judges of the markets of europe, can of course sell the staple commodities to the best advantage. the centrical situation of that city was favourable for intelligence; her merchants are famous over the world for their extensive knowledge in trade; they well knew the ports where there was the greatest demand for the commodity; all which were manifestly in favour of the province in which it was raised. were the planters to have the choice of their market, it is very doubtful whether such liberty would be for their interest. were they to export their produce on their own bottom, they would certainly be great losers. some who have made the attempt have honestly confessed the truth: while it divided their attention, it engaged them in affairs to which they were in general very great strangers. even the provincial merchants themselves are not always perfect judges of the markets in europe, nor could they have obtained such unlimited credit in any other channel than that circumscribed by the laws of their country. here is a co-operation of a number of persons united for promoting the interest and advantage of one another, and placed in circumstances and situations well adapted for that purpose. so that, in fact, it is not for the interest of carolina, in its present advancing state, to be free from debt, far less of its planters to engage in trade, or its inhabitants in manufactures. [sidenote] progress of the province. to form a right judgment of the progress of the province, and the mutual advantages resulting from its political and commercial connection with britain, we need only attend to its annual imports and exports. we cannot exactly say what its imports amounted to at this time; but if they amounted to above one hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling in the year , as we have already seen, they must have arisen at least to two hundred thousand pounds sterling in . the quantities of rice exported this year were , barrels; of indigo, , pounds weight, which, together with naval stores, provisions, skins, lumber, _&c._ amounted in value to two hundred and forty-two thousand, five hundred and twenty-nine pounds sterling. this shews the great value and importance of the province to britain. and while she depends on the mother country for all the manufactures she uses, and applies her attention to such branches of business as are most profitable to herself and most beneficial to britain, carolina must in the nature of things prosper. without this dependence, and mutual exchange of good offices, the colony might have subsisted, but could never have thrived and flourished in so rapid a manner. chap. x. [sidenote] a dispute about the limits of british and french territories. although the peace of aix-la-chapelle extended to the subjects of both britain and france residing in america, yet the boundaries of the respective territories claimed by those rival states were by no means fixed in so clear and precise a manner as to preclude all grounds of future dispute. the limits of nova scotia in particular, and those of the extensive back settlements of virginia and pennsylvania, were neither clearly understood nor accurately marked. in consequence of which, as the colonists extended their culture backwards encroachments were made, or supposed to be made, which created jealousies and differences between the british and french subjects on that continent. some merchants trading to virginia and pennsylvania having formed a project for a settlement on the ohio, obtained a grant of six hundred thousand acres of land from the king, together with an exclusive privilege of trafficking with indian nations nigh that river. to these territories the french claimed a right; and, to keep possession, as well as to engross the indian trade, built a fort on the banks of the ohio river, which they called fort duquesne. this situation was very convenient for preserving the friendship of indian nations, an object of the utmost importance to the french, as the subjects of britain in america were at that time vastly more numerous and powerful than those of france. tobacco being a plant which quickly exhausts the richest lands, the planters of virginia were accustomed gradually to stretch backward, and occupy such fresh spots of ground as promised them the greatest returns. some had even crossed the allegany mountains, where they found rich vallies lying waste, upon which they settled plantations; and though the land-carriage of such a heavy and bulky commodity was expensive, yet they found that the superiority of their crops made them some compensation. to this territory beyond the mountains, as well as the other marked and measured out for the ohio company, the french laid claim, and sent a considerable garrison from montreal to fort duquesne, to defend their pretended right. the commander in chief of canada wrote a letter to the governor of virginia, complaining of encroachments made on his most christian majesty's territories, and demanding that such british planters and traders as had settled on those lands should withdraw, otherwise he would be obliged to seize both their properties and persons. no regard being paid to his complaints, the commandant of fort duquesne seized by force three british traders, and goods to a large amount, and carried them to montreal. upon which the governor of virginia determined to resent the injury, and immediately began to concert measures for the protection of the frontiers. he raised a body of militia, and sent them met the mountains to watch the motions of their troublesome neighbours, and obtained reinforcements from north and south carolina to assist them against the french garrison. this detachment, under the command of major washington, encamped near fort duquesne, between whom and the french garrison hostilities commenced in america; and the flame of war afterwards spreading, involved europe in the quarrel. [sidenote] a chain of forts raised by the french. from this period the great object which the french kept in view was to strengthen their frontiers, and make all possible preparations for defending themselves against the storm which they foresaw gathering in america. though they seemed averse from an open declaration of war, yet they continued pouring troops into the continent, and raising a line of forts to secure a communication between their colony at the mouth of the mississippi and their great settlement in canada. they amused the british administration with fruitless negotiations about the limits of nova scotia, while they were busily employed in the execution of this great plan. their design, however, was no secret to the more discerning part of the americans, who plainly perceived from such preparations that hostilities were approaching. in acadia they erected a fort at chinecto, to confine the british subjects of nova scotia within the peninsula. at crown point another was raised, on lands claimed by the king of great britain, well situated for harassing the back settlements of new york and connecticut. another was built at niagara, on land belonging to the six nations in alliance with britain. while the canadians were falling down the ohio river, and raising strong-holds, the forces at pensacola and new orleans were also forcing their way up the mississippi, and establishing garrisons on the most advantageous posts, on purpose to meet their friends from canada, and confine the british settlements to the space between the mountains and the atlantic sea. the more easily to accomplish this great design, it was necessary to secure by all possible means the interest of the savage nations. for this purpose missionaries were sent among the different tribes, who conformed to the dress, manners and customs of the savages, and represented the british heretics in the most odious light, making the indians believe that their safety and happiness depended on the total extirpation of such men from america. though some tribes rejected their friendship, yet it is certain that many were won over by their insinuating arts and intrigues, and entered into alliances with them. when a general congress was held at albany fewer indians than usual at such meetings attended, which afforded grounds of suspicion, and obliged the governors of the british colonies to double their diligence for watching the motions of their enterprising neighbours. [sidenote] the distracted state of the british colonies. at the same time the situation of some of the british colonies proved favourable to the hostile preparations and attempts of their enemies. their clashing interests had bred jealousies and animosities among them, insomuch that it was no easy matter to bring them firmly to unite, in order to oppose a common enemy with vigour and spirit. they believed themselves unable to withstand the militia of canada supported by some regiments of regular troops from france, and therefore in the most humble manner implored the protection of britain. they were filled with terrible apprehensions of the french power, declaring that their vanity and ambition had nothing less in view at this period than to divide the western world with spain, and make all its riches center in the house of bourbon. but whether they had such a view or not, one thing is plain, that the reduction of the british empire in america would facilitate the accomplishment of such a design, as the portuguese dominions must afterwards fall an easy prey to those two powerful potentates. though great britain was sensible of the danger which threatened her colonies, yet as the number of british settlers on the continent exceeded that of the french, being not less than twenty to one, she expected that they would unite among themselves, and raise a fund for the common defence. hitherto she had nursed and protected them, and many of the colonies had arrived at a considerable degree of opulence and strength. they had the easiest taxes of any civilized people upon earth. they had enjoyed many civil privileges, and commercial advantages, from their connection with the mother country. as their resources were considerable, it was hoped their zeal would not be wanting for their own defence. to give a check to any encroachments of the french in that quarter, great britain was more remotely, america herself more immediately, concerned. instructions were therefore sent to the governors of the different provinces, to recommend unanimity to the people, and the necessity of an association for their mutual defence. but when the raising of men and money was proposed to the assemblies they fell into disputes among themselves, which became more violent in proportion as the enemy approached their habitations. some pleaded extraordinary privileges from their charters; others started frivolous and absurd objections, insisting on punctilios as pretences for delay. in short, so different were their constitutions and forms of government, so divided were they in their views and interests, that it was found impossible to unite them together, in order to give their force its due weight. the frontiers were naked and extensive, the inhabitants upon them were thin and scattered, and utterly unequal to the service requisite without the assistance of their neighbours. the flames of war had broke out on some of them, and the neighbouring provinces could no otherwise be safe than by stretching forth their hands in helping to extinguish them. thus, while the french were acting in concert under one commander and chief, the british colonists were spending that time in barren deliberations and private disputes which they ought to have employed in fortifying their borders and checking the progress of their enemy. what was in fact the business of every man seemed to engage the attention of none, and all kept their eyes fixed on the mother country for protection, regarding themselves as disinterested in the general safety of the empire, and very unequal to their own defence. [sidenote] general braddock's defeat in virginia. while thus one province refused help to another, great britain, notwithstanding the extensive dominions she had to guard in different quarters of the globe, generously undertook the protection of america. as the greatest dangers seemed to hang over the province of virginia, general braddock was sent out with a considerable body of men to assist the virginians in driving the french from their frontiers. this haughty and rash leader, being possessed of considerable skill in the european arts of war, entertained a sovereign contempt for an american enemy, and advanced against fort duquesne without even the smallest doubt of success. however, the french had intelligence of his approach, and were prepared to receive him. having collected a large body of indians, they had taken possession of an advantageous ground, and placed the regulars on a rising hill in front, and the savages in the dark woods on each side. general braddock, instead of keeping small parties before the main body, to scour the woods as he advanced, and explore every dangerous pass, marched his men, according to the custom in europe, in a close compacted body, and unfortunately fell into the snare which his enemies had laid for him. the french regulars in the front began the attack from behind a breast-work, while the indians kept up an irregular and scattered fire from the dark thickets on each side, which surprized and confounded the british soldiers, who were utter strangers to such methods of attack. almost every shot took effect, and the brave men observing their neighbours falling by their side, were put into confusion and fled, refusing to return to the charge against invisible assailants, notwithstanding every effort used by the officers for that purpose. braddock with many brave officers and men fell in this field, and the remainder retreated with precipitation to philadelphia, leaving these frontiers in a worse condition than they were in before. [sidenote] colonel johnston's success at lake george. colonel johnston, who marched with about three thousand men against crown point, was indeed more successful than this rash commander in virginia. being better acquainted with the woods, and the various methods of attack, he could both avail himself of the advantages, and guard against the dangers arising from the nature of the country. with cautious steps he advanced against the enemy, until he reached lake george, where a party of his advanced guard being attacked retreated to the main body. the french pursued them, and a bloody battle ensued between the two armies, equally skilled in bush-fighting, which terminated much to the honour of the british officer. the enemy was repulsed with considerable loss, leaving baron de diescau wounded in the field, who, with many others, fell into johnston's hands, and were made prisoners of war. this finall advantage gained over the french served in some measure to revive the drooping spirits of the colonists; yet still they entertained the most discouraging apprehensions of the french power in the woods, and seemed ardently to long for the relief and assistance of the mother country. while these hostilities were openly carrying on in the northern parts of america, it was judged prudent to consult the safety of the provinces to the south, and put them in the best posture of defence. to prevent the fatal influence of french emissaries among the indian tribes, it was thought necessary to build some small forts in the heart of their country. the indians on the ohio river, from the success which attended their arms at fort duquesne, entertained the highest ideas of french courage and conduct, and were trying to seduce the cherokees, who were at this time the firmest allies of britain. a message was sent to governor glen from the chief warrior of the over-hill settlements, acquainting him that some frenchmen and their allies were among their people, endeavouring to poison their minds, and that it would be necessary to hold a general congress with the nation, and renew their former treaties of friendship. he assured the governor, that though he had been wounded in his younger years, and was now old, yet he would meet him half way for this purpose, if he should even be carried on the backs of his people. accordingly, governor glen appointed a place for holding a congress, and agreed to meet the warrior; for as the clouds were gathering every where on the american horizon, the friendship of the cherokees at such a time was an object of too much importance to carolina to be overlooked or neglected. it may be remarked, that the cherokees differ in some respects from other indian nations that have wandered often from place to place, and fixed their habitations on separate districts. from time immemorial they have had possession of the same territory which at present they occupy. they affirm, that their forefathers sprung from that ground, or descended from the clouds upon those hills. these lands of their ancestors they value above all things in the world. they venerate the places where their bones lie interred, and esteem it disgraceful in the highest degree to relinquish these sacred repositories. the man that would refuse to take the field in defence of these hereditary possessions, is regarded by them as a coward, and treated as an outcast from their nation. to the over-hill villages the french had an easy access by means of rivers that emptied themselves into the ohio and mississippi. their middle settlements and towns in the valley lay more convenient for trading with the carolineans. hitherto they despised the french, whom they called light as a feather, fickle as the wind, and deceitful as serpents; and, being naturally of a very grave cast, they considered the levity of that people as an unpardonable insult. they looked upon themselves as a great and powerful nation, and though their number was much diminished, yet they could bring from their different towns about three thousand men to the field. at this time they had neither arms nor ammunition to defend themselves against their enemy, and the governor of carolina wanted liberty to build two forts on their lands, in order to secure their friendship and trade. as the french were tampering with them, and had shewn a keenness more than common to gain some footing with them, it behoved the province to exert itself, in order to prevent if possible any alliance with its enemies. [sidenote] governor glen holds a congress with the cherokees. accordingly, in , governor glen met the cherokee warriors in their own country, with a view to purchase some lands from them; and, after the usual ceremonies previous to such solemn treaties were over, the governor sat down under a spreading tree, and chulochcullah being chosen speaker for the cherokee nation, came and took his seat beside him. the other warriors, about five hundred in number, stood around them in solemn silence and deep attention. then the governor arose, and made a speech in name of his king, representing his great power, wealth and goodness, and his particular regard for his children the cherokees. he reminded them of the happiness they had long enjoyed by living under his protection; and added, that he had many presents to make them, and expected they would surrender a share of their territories in return for them. he acquainted them of the great poverty and wicked designs of the french, and hoped they would permit none of them to enter their towns. he demanded lands to build two forts in their country, to protect them against their enemies, and to be a retreat to their friends and allies, who furnished them with arms, ammunition, hatchets, clothes, and every thing that they wanted. when the governor had finished his speech, chulochcullah arose, and holding his bow in one hand, his shaft of arrows and other symbols used by them on such occasions in the other, in answer spoke to the following effect. "what i now speak our father the great king should hear--we are brothers to the people of carolina--one house covers us all." then taking a boy by the hand he presented him to the governor, saying, "we, our wives and our children, are all children of the great king george--i have brought this child, that when he grows up he may remember our agreement on this day, and tell it to the next generation, that it may be known for ever." then opening his bag of earth, and laying the same at the governor's feet, he said, "we freely surrender a part of our lands to the great king--the french want our possessions, but we will defend them while one of our nation shall remain alive." then shewing his bows and arrow, he added, "these are all the arms we can make for our defence--we hope the king will pity his children the cherokees, and send us guns and ammunition--we fear not the french--give us arms and we will go to war against the enemies of the great king." then delivering the governor a string of wampum in confirmation of what he had said, he added, "my speech is at an end--it is the voice of the cherokee nation--i hope the governor will send it to the king, that it may be kept for ever." [sidenote] and purchases a large tract of land from them. at this congress a territory of prodigious extent was ceded and surrendered to the king. deeds of conveyance were drawn up, and formally executed by their head men in name of the whole people. it contained not only much rich land, but there the air was more serene, and the climate more healthy, than in the maritime parts. it exhibited many pleasant and romantic scenes, formed by an intermixture of beautiful hills, fruitful vallies, rugged rocks, clear streams, and gentle water-falls. the hills were of a stiff and tenacious clay, but the vallies of a deep, fat mould, and were covered with perpetual verdure. the acquisition at that time was so far of importance to carolina, as it removed the savages at a greater distance from the settlements, and allowed the inhabitants liberty to extend backwards, in proportion as their number increased. [sidenote] forts built in defence of carolina. soon after the cession of these lands, governor glen built a fort about three hundred miles from charlestown, afterwards called fort prince george, which was situated on the banks of the river savanna, and within gun-shot of an indian town called keowee. this fort was made in the form of a square, and had an earthen rampart about six feet high, on which stockades were fixed, with a ditch, a natural glacis on two sides, and bastions at the angles, on each of which four small cannon were mounted. it contained barracks for an hundred men, and was designed for a defence to the western frontiers of the province. about an hundred and seventy miles further down there was another strong-hold, called fort moore, in a beautiful commanding situation on the banks of the same river. in the year following another fort was erected, called fort loudon, among the upper cherokees, situated on tenassee river upwards of five hundred miles distant from charlestown; to which place it was very difficult at all times, but, in case of a war with the cherokees, utterly impracticable to convey necessary supplies. these strong-holds, together with those of frederica and augusta in georgia, were garrisoned by his majesty's independent companies of foot, stationed there for the protection of the two provinces. after having fortified these frontiers, the settlers of carolina began to stretch backward, and occupied lands above an hundred and fifty miles from the shore. new emigrants from ireland, germany and the northern colonies obtained grants in these interior parts, and introduced the cultivation of wheat, hemp, flax and tobacco, for which the soil answered better there than in the low lands nearer the sea. the cattle, sheep, hogs and horses multiplied fast, and having a country of vast extent to range over, they found plenty of provisions in it through the whole year. from different parts new settlers were invited to those hilly and more healthy parts of carolina, where they laboured with greater safety than among the swamps, and success crowned their industry. by degrees public roads were made, and they conveyed their produce in waggons to the capital, where they found an excellent market for all their productions, but especially the provisions which they raised. [sidenote] its excellent fruits and plants. although the soil and climate of the province suited the finest fruits and vegetable productions, yet the garden had long been neglected, and the orchard had engaged the attention only of a few. the people of bermuda, not many years ago, carried to the market in charlestown cabbages raised on that island, and the northern colonies their apples and irish potatoes. but now the carolineans found, by chusing a spot of land with judgment for the garden, that it would furnish them with all necessaries of this kind. every spring and autumn brought them a crop of european peas and beans. musk and water melons thrive exceedingly well even on the sandy maritime islands, and arrive at a degree of perfection unknown in many parts of europe. all kinds of sallad, such as lettuce, endive, cresses, parsley, radishes, onions, will grow there in all seasons of the year, excepting one, and as nature has denied the people this kind of nourishment during the summer months, it is probable it must on that account be unwholesome. the garden also yielded abundance of cabbages, brocoli, cauliflower, turnips, spinage, cucumbers, squashes, artichokes, pompions, asparagus, _&c._ in great perfection. the climate indeed refuses the people of carolina currants and gooseberries, as every attempt to raise them has failed; but they have oranges, figs, peaches, apricots, nectarines and strawberries in plenty, which are exceedingly agreeable and refreshing in the summer season. olives, grapes, cherries, citrons and plumbs will grow, though not cultivated in common; but apples, pears, pomegranates, chesnuts and walnuts are, or at least may be, raised in abundance. many physical roots and herbs, such as china-root, snake-root, sassafras, are the spontaneous growth of the woods; and sage, balm and rosemary thrive well in the gardens. the planters distil brandy of an inferior quality from peaches; and gather berries from the myrtle bushes of which they make excellent candles. the woods will also supply them with a variety of cherries, mulberries, wild grapes and nuts. in short, nature hath denied the diligent and skilful planter few of the most useful vegetables, and many delicious fruits grow to a degree of perfection exceeded by no country in europe. ar the same time it must be acknowledged, that some disadvantages attend the climate with respect to the vegetable kingdom. european grapes have been transplanted, and several attempts made to raise wine in carolina; but so overshaded are the vines planted in the woods, and so foggy is the season of the year when they begin to ripen, that they seldom come to maturity. but as excellent grapes have been raised in gardens where they are exposed to the sun, we are apt to believe that proper methods have not been taken for encouraging that branch of agriculture, considering its great importance in a national view. some tolerable wine has been made from the native vines, which do not ripen so early in the season as those transplanted from europe; and perhaps in some future day, when the planters have acquired greater skill, and made trials of different soils and situations, the vineyard culture may succeed better than it has yet done, and turn to some national account, like other profitable articles of american husbandry. in some seasons the cold blast from the north-west proves very destructive to the orange, the olive and peach trees. in mild winters the trees blossom early, sometimes by the beginning of february, often before the middle of it. after the juices begin to rise, should the north west wind bring a cold frosty night, it commonly kills every tender shoot. governor glen makes mention of a frost which happened on the th of february, , which killed almost all the orange trees in the country. the trees being ready to blossom about the time the frost came, it burst all their vessels, insomuch that not only the bark, but even the bodies of many of them were split, and all on the side next the sun. such blasts are incredibly sharp and piercing. the governor says he found several birds frozen to death near his house. we cannot vouch for the truth of this assertion, but we know no climate where the cold is more severely felt by the human body. [sidenote] its minerals undiscovered. with respect to the mineral kingdom we may say, who can tell what rich mines lie hid in carolina, when no person has sought for them? if it be true that mountainous countries are favorable to mines, it may be presumed that this province, in which there are many extensive and high mountains, is not without its hidden treasures, no more than the other parts of the continent. pennsylvania hath already exhibited to the world some useful minerals, and carolina in time will probably do the same. but while the surface of the earth yields abundance of vegetable productions for the use of the inhabitants, and a plentiful livelihood can be obtained by easier means than that of digging into its bowels, it can scarcely be expected that they will apply themselves to deep and uncertain researches. it remains for a more populous and improved state, when ingenious men will probably attempt to explore those subterranean riches, which as yet lie neglected. mineral water has been found in several parts, and such springs will help both to lead men to the important discovery, and animate them with the hopes of success. the province of georgia, with respect to improvement, still remained little better than a wilderness, and the vast expence it had cost the mother country might perhaps have been laid out to greater advantage in other parts of the continent. in the government of that colony john ellis, a fellow of the royal society, succeeded captain john reynolds. the rich swamps on the sides of the rivers lay uncultivated; and the planters had not yet found their way into the interior parts of the country, where the lands not only exceeded those in the maritime parts in fertility, but where the climate was also more healthy and pleasant. excepting vagabonds and fraudulent debtors, who fled to them from carolina, few of the georgians had any negroes to assist them in cultivation; so that, in , the whole exports of the country were barrels of rice, lb. of indigo, lib. of raw silk, which, together with skins, furs, lumber and provisions amounted only to , pounds sterling. although the hostilities which had commenced between great britain and france still continued, yet both potentates remained averse from an open declaration of war. william lyttleton, now lord westcot, being appointed governor of south carolina, in his way through the bay of biscay, was intercepted by a french squadron under the command of count de guay, and carried into france; but an order from the french court came to release the ship, and permit the governor to return to england. the british commanders at sea indeed had orders to seize all french ships and bring them into port, yet as some hopes of an accommodation still remained, the crews were only confined, and the cargoes remained entire. but so soon as the news of the bare-faced invasions of our dominions in the mediterranean, joined with the many encroachments in america, had reached the british court, all prospects of an accommodation vanished at once, and war was publicly declared against france on the th of may, . before the end of that year william pitt, who had long been distinguished in the house of commons for a bold and powerful orator, was called to the helm, and to his uncommon popularity added the whole influence of administration. after his preferment such bold plans of operation were introduced to the council, as were calculated at once to rouze the british nation and to alarm her enemies. the city of london, having the greatest confidence in the spirit and abilities of the minister, poured in its treasures to his assistance, and so great were his resources, that his schemes, however vast, never failed for want of money. from this period vigour and decision attended almost every warlike enterprize; a martial spirit pervaded the navy and army, and every officer seemed emulous of distinction and glory in the service of his country. this new minister gave the enemy so much employment, that for the future they had scarce time to breathe, and extended the powerful arm of britain from the centre to the extremities of the empire. in america john earl of london had been appointed commander in chief; but such was the state of affairs on that continent, that all he could do was not sufficient to prevent the encroachments of the enemy. so disunited were the provincials, and so different were their principles, views and interests, that each colony seemed concerned only for its own defence, and determined to act independent of its neighbour; while the french were firmly united under one commander in chief, the governor of canada. lord loudon plainly saw that nothing remained for him to achieve, and therefore pitched his camp at albany, and there determined to continue with his little army on the defensive, until a reinforcement should arrive from britain. the french still wore the laurel, and triumphed in the forest, having every possible advantage their heart could desire from the divided state of british america. but although the campaign under lord loudon was opened under many disadvantages, this gallant officer was not idle during the year. having made himself master of the state of affairs on the continent, he perceived that the french, though united and strong, were nevertheless vulnerable, and drew up a plan of operations for the ensuing campaign, which he transmitted to the minister in britain. immediately preparations were made for carrying it into execution. it had been proposed to raise some regiments in america, but the levies went on slowly. as many of the colonists fit for service were foreigners, and only understood their native language, it was thought proper to allow them foreign officers to command them upon their taking the oaths to government, which contributed not a little to the more speedy completion of the royal american regiments. [sidenote: the british forces augmented.] early in the year following a considerable reinforcement from britain arrived at new york. the indians in alliance with us were furnished with arms, and encouraged to join the army. among the british forces sent out there was a regiment of highlanders, who were in many respects well qualified for the service. it is impossible to describe how much the savages were delighted with the dress, manners and music of this regiment. their sprightly manner of dancing, their dexterity in the use of arms, and natural vivacity and intrepidity, the savages greatly admired, and expressed a strong inclination for attending the scotch warriors to the field. to prevent them from joining the enemy it was not only necessity to employ those warriors, but it was thought they might be rendered useful for scouring the dark thickets before the regular army. lieutenant kennedy, to encourage them, entered into their humour, and, in order to head them, dressed and painted himself like an indian. they gave him a squaw, and the nation to which she belonged having made him a king, no small service was expected from the new alliance. [sidenote] their first success in america. when general abercrombie succeded lord loudon as commander in chief in america, the british force being considerably augmented, bolder enterprises were undertaken. it was agreed to attack the french settlements in different places. though this commander met with a sharp repulse at ticonderago, the french paid dear for this advantage by the loss of cape breton, which opened the way into canada. fort frontenac next surrendered to colonel bradstreet, in which were found vast quantities of provision and ammunition, that had been designed for the french forces on the ohio. the great loss sustained by the enemy at this place facilitated the reduction of fort duquesne, against which general forbes was advancing with great vigilance and considerable force. this fortress the enemy, after a few skirmishes, determined to abandon; and having burnt their houses, and destroyed their works, fell down the ohio river in boats to their strong-holds erected beyond the cherokee mountains. no sooner was the british flag erected on fort duquesne, than the numerous tribes of indians came in and made their submission; and, from a conviction of the superior valour and strength of the british army, joined the conquerors. although the enemy lost few men at this place, yet their power in america received a heavy stroke by the division of their force which the loss of it occasioned. all communication between their settlements on the south parts and those of canada being cut off, they could no longer act in concert, and their future exertions were rendered more feeble and ineffectual. [sidenote] the cause of the cherokee war. however, the flight of this french garrison to the south promised little good to carolina. the scene of action was changed only from one place to another, and the baleful influence of those active and enterprising enemies soon appeared among the upper tribes of cherokees. an unfortunate quarrel with the virginians helped to forward their designs, by opening to them an easier access into the towns of the savages. in the different expeditions against fort duquesne, the cherokees, agreeable to treaty, had sent considerable parties of warriors to the assistance of the british army. as the horses in those parts run wild in the woods, it was customary, both among indians and white people on the frontiers, to lay hold on them and appropriate them to their own purposes. while the savages were returning home through the back parts of virginia, many of them having lost their horses, laid hold of such as came in their way, never imagining that they belonged to any individual in the province. the virginians however, instead of asserting their right in a legal way, resented the injury by force of arms, and killed twelve or fourteen of the unsuspicious warriors, and took several more prisoners. the cherokees, with reason, were highly provoked at such ungrateful usage from allies, whose frontiers they had helped to change from a field of blood into peaceful habitations, and when they came home told what had happened to their nation. the flame soon spread through the upper towns, and those who had lost their friends and relations were implacable, and breathed nothing but fury and vengeance against such perfidious friends. in vain did the chieftains interpose their authority, nothing could restrain the furious spirits of the young men, who were determined to take satisfaction for the loss of their relations. the emissaries of france among them added fuel to the flame, by telling them that the english intended to kill every man of them, and make slaves of their wives and children. they instigated them to bloodshed, and for that purpose furnished them with arms and ammunition. the scattered families on the frontiers of carolina lay much exposed to scalping parties of these savages, who commonly make no distinction of age or sex, but pour their vengeance indiscriminately on the innocent and guilty. the garrison of fort loudon, consisting of about two hundred men, under the command of captains demere and stuart, first discovered the ill humour in which the cherokee warriors returned from the northern expedition. the soldiers, as usual, making excursions into the woods, to hunt for fresh provisions, were attacked by them, and some of them were killed. from this time such dangers threatened the garrison, that every one was confined within the small boundaries of the fort. all communication with the distant settlement from which they received supplies being cut off, and the soldiers being but poorly provided, had no other prospects left but those of famine or death. parties of young indians took the field, and, rushing down among the settlements, murdered and scalped a number of people on the frontiers. [sidenote] governor lyttleton prepares to march against them. the commanding officer at fort prince george having received intelligence of those acts of hostility, dispatched a messenger to charlestown to inform governor lyttleton that the cherokees were gone to war, and that it would be necessary speedily to warn the people of their danger. in consequence of which orders were given to the commanders of the militia immediately to collect their men, and stand in a posture of defence, while the governor was making preparations in charlestown for marching against them, in order to give a speedy check to their progress. parties of the independent companies were brought to charlestown for this purpoise. the militia of the country had orders to rendezvous at congarees, where the governor, with such a force as he could procure from the lower parts, resolved to join them, and march to the relief of the frontier settlements. [sidenote] the cherokees sue for peace. no sooner had the cherokees heard of these warlike preparations at charlestown, than thirty-two of their chiefs set out for that place; in order to settle all differences, and prevent if possible a war with the carolineans. for although they could not restrain some of their young men from acts of violence, yet the nation in general was still inclined to friendship and peace. as they arrived at charlestown before the governor had set out on the intended expedition, a council was called, and the chiefs being sent for, mr. lyttleton, among other things, told them, "that he was well acquainted with all the acts of hostility of which their people had been guilty, and likewise those they intended against the english, and enumerated some of them; then he added, that he would soon be in their country, where he would let them know his demands, and the satisfaction he required, which he would certainly take if they refused it. as they had come to charlestown to treat with him as friends, they should go home in safety, and not a hair of their head should be touched; but as he had many warriors in arms in different parts of the province, he could not be answerable for what might happen to them unless they marched along with his army." after this speech occonostota, who was distinguished by the name of the great warrior of the cherokee nation, began to speak by way of reply; but the governor being determined that nothing should prevent his military expedition, declared, he would hear no talk he had to make, neither in vindication of his nation, nor any proposals with regard to peace. lieutenant-governor bull, who was better acquainted with the manners of indians, and the dangers to which the province would be exposed from a war with them, urged the necessity of hearing the great warrior, and the happy consequences of an agreement before more blood was spilt. but mr. lyttleton remained inflexible, and put an end to the conference; with which behaviour the chiefs, however, were not a little displeased. for as they had travelled so far to obtain peace, and, after all, to be not only denied liberty to speak, but also to be disappointed with respect to the chief end of their journey, chagrined them much, and created many uneasy fears and suspicions. [sidenote] governor lyttleton marches against the cherokees. a few days after holding this conference with the chieftains the governor set out for congarees, the place of general rendezvous for the militia, and about one hundred and forty miles distant from charlestown, where he mustered in all about one thousand four hundred men. to this place the cherokees marched along with the army, and were to appearance contented, but in reality burning with fury and resentment. when the army moved from the congarees, the chieftains, very unexpectedly, were all made prisoners, and, to prevent their escape to the nation, a captain's guard was mounted over them, and in this manner they were obliged to march to fort prince george. being not only deprived of their liberty, which an indian values above all things, but also compelled to accompany an enemy going against their families and friends, they could now no longer conceal their resentment. they turned exceedingly sullen, and shewed that they were stung to the heart by such base treatment. the breach of promise an indian holds an atrocious crime. to requite good intended with real evil, they with reason deemed an unpardonable injury. but what compleated the ill usage, the thirty-two indians, upon the arrival of the army at fort prince george, were all shut up in a hut scarcely sufficient for the accommodation of six soldiers, where they spent their time in concerting plots for obtaining their liberty, and satisfaction for the injuries done them. [sidenote] holds a congress a fort prince george. governor lyttleton's little army being not only ill armed and disciplined, but also discontented and mutinous, he therefore judged it dangerous to proceed farther into the enemy's country. having beforehand sent for attakullakulla, who was esteemed both the wisest man of the nation and the most steady friend of the english, to meet him at fort prince george, this warrior hastened to his camp from an excursion against the french, in which he had taken some prisoners, one of whom he presented to the governor. mr lyttleton knew, that, for obtaining a re-establishment of peace, there was not a man in the whole nation better disposed to assist him than this old warrior, though it was observed that he cautiously avoided making any offer of satisfaction. but so small was his influence among the cherokees at this time, that they considered him as no better than an old woman on account of his attachment to their english enemies, and his aversion from going to war against them. [sidenote] his speech to attakullakulla. about the th of december, , the governor held a congress with this warrior, and by an interpreter spoke to him to the following effect: "you told me yesterday that you had a good talk to make, and expected the same from me. you know it is the will of the great king that his subjects and your people should live together in friendship, and you have said you desire not to break the chain thereof. it is a chain which our most gracious sovereign holds at one end, and you hold at the other. you know that, in order to keep this chain from contracting rust, and hinder it from being broken, it was necessary certain conditions should be made; and as all acts of the great king are kept till time shall be no more, so i now have in my hand those very conditions made with you and your people. it was agreed, that if an indian should kill an englishman, he shall be delivered up to be punished as the law requires. this was the ancient talk of our fathers and your fathers, and when king george took your nation under his protection he so ordered it for the future. this treaty has been since renewed by several of our king's governors of this province from time to time. it was the mercy of the great king that this way of restitution should be established, to prevent a war which might destroy your nation; whereas, at any time, by delivering up of the guilty person, the innocent might escape, and your people be suffered to live in friendship with ours. "in the month of november, , six deputies from your nation came to charlestown, to make up all differences between our people and yours. they did then engage to observe the words of the treaty i have here, and which you know are the same with those formerly made by the great king. they received a large quantity of goods as a full compensation for the injuries done them by white people, and did solemnly promise to continue in strict friendship with all the king's subjects. notwithstanding which they went to statiquo under moytoy and killed many white men, though no provocation had been given them. thereupon i demanded satisfaction, according to the words of the great king, but they have given me none. as king gorge loves mercy better than war, i was willing to wait; and while our people lay quietly in their houses, the indians came, killed and scalped them. last of all they put to death three men in the upper nation, and drove our people, who lived in their towns to furnish them with goods, into the forts. as you know that your people have been guilty of all these crimes, and many more, i expected you would not only come down with a good talk, but also would have offered satisfaction for them. i am now come here with a great number of warriors, to take that satisfaction i have more than once demanded. perhaps some of you thought, that, as our people put up with such injuries, they were apprehensive of your power; but you shall now see that this was owing to their patience, and not to their want of resolution. you know well the strength of our province, and that one third part of it is sufficient to destroy your nation. besides, the white people in all the provinces are brothers, and linked together: we come not alone against you because we have suffered, for the virginians and north carolineans are prepared to march against you, unless satisfaction be given me. my brother the governor of georgia will also prevent any ammunition from coming to you. some time ago you sent to virginia, offering to trade with that province, and goods were on their way to you which i have stopt and they shall not proceed hither until i send directions for them. it is not necessary for me to say more to you, until you make satisfaction for killing the white people. "attakullakulla, you have been in england, and seen the power of the great king, and the number of his warriors. you also know, that, during these five years and more, we have been at war with the french, who were once numerous over all parts of america. you know i disdain to tell you a falsehood, and i will now inform you what success our army has had. some of the last ships that arrived at charlestown brought me a good deal of news. our fleet has taken many ships of war belonging to the french. a messenger has arrived with an account that the great city of quebec is reduced, as also, that the warriors of the great king have taken all the forts on the lakes and upon the ohio, and beat down all things in their way, as a hurricane would have done in its passage. the indians in those parts, fearing his power, have made their peace with the great king. the delawares, shawanese, and all of them that live near fort duquesne, have desired to be in friendship with us. the choctaws also beg to be received under the king's protection by his beloved man mr. aitken, upon which a great number of traders are gone into their country with all sorts of goods. if you will not believe what i say, and imagine that the french are able to supply you with the necessaries which you want, you will be deceived, for they themselves are starving, and so much undone that they cannot furnish a blanket or a gun to the choctaws, much less to you, who are removed at so great a distance from them. "these things i have mentioned to show you that the great king will not suffer his people to be destroyed without satisfaction, and to let you know the people of this province are determined to have it. what i say is with a merciful intention. if i make war with you, you will suffer for your rashness; your men will be destroyed, and your women and children carried into captivity. what few necessaries you now have will soon be done, and you will get no more. but if you give the satisfaction i shall ask, the trade will be again opened with you, and all things go right. i have twice given you a list of the murderers; i will now tell you there are twenty-four men of your nation whom i demand to be delivered up to me, to be put to death, or otherwise disposed of as i shall think fit. your people have killed that number of ours and more, therefore it is the least i will accept of. i shall give you till to-morrow morning to consider of it, and then i shall expect your answer. you know best the indians concerned; several gangs at different times have been out, and i expect the twenty-four you shall deliver up will be those who have committed the murders." [sidenote] attakullakulla's answer. to this long speech attakullakulla replied in words to the following effect: "that he remembered the treaties mentioned, as he had a share in making them: he owned the kindness of the province of south carolina, but complained much of the bad treatment his countrymen had received in virginia, which, he said, was the immediate cause of our present misunderstanding: that he had always been the firm friend of the english, of which he hoped his late fatiguing march against their enemies the french was a sufficient proof: that he would ever continue such, and would use all the influence he had to persuade his countrymen to give the governor the satisfaction he demanded, though he believed it neither would nor could be complied with, as they had no coercive authority one over another: he desired the governor to release some of the head men then confined in the fort to assist him; and added, that he was pleased to hear of the successes of his brothers the english, but could not help mentioning, that they shewed more resentment against the cherokees than they had used to other nations that had disobliged them; that he remembered some years ago several white people belonging to carolina were killed by the choctaws, for whom no satisfaction had either been given or demanded." [sidenote] a treaty concluded with six chiefs. agreeable to the request of attakullakulla, the governor released occonostota, fiftoe the chief man of keowee town, and the head warrior of estaloe, who next day delivered up two indians, whom mr. lyttleton ordered to be put in irons. after which all the cherokees present, who knew their connections to be weak, being alarmed, fled out of the way, so that it was impossible to complete the number demanded. attakullakulla, being then convinced that peace could not be obtained on such terms as the governor required, resolved to go home and patiently wait the event; but no sooner was mr. lyttleton made acquainted with his departure, than he dispatched a messenger after him to bring him back to his camp; and being desirous of finishing the campaign with as much credit as possible, immediately on his return began to treat of peace. accordingly a treaty was drawn up and signed by the governor and six of the head men; in which it was agreed, that those twenty-two chieftains of the cherokees should be kept as hostages confined in the fort, until the same number of indians guilty of murder be delivered up to the commander in chief of the province; that trade should be opened and carried on as usual; that the cherokees should kill, or take every frenchman prisoner, who should presume to come into their nation during the continuance of the war; and that they should hold no intercourse with the enemies of great britain, but should apprehend every person, white or red, found among them, that may be endeavouring to set the english and cherokees at variance, and interrupt the friendship and peace established between them. after having concluded this treaty with the cherokees, the governor resolved to return to charlestown. but whether the indians who put their mark to it understood the articles of agreement or not, we cannot pretend to affirm; one thing is certain, that few or none of the nation afterward paid the smallest regard to it. the treacherous act of confining their chiefs, against whom no charge could be brought, and who had travelled several hundred miles in order to obtain peace for their nation, had made a strong impression on their minds, but particularly on that of occonostota, who breathed nothing but fury and vengeance against such false friends. instead of permitting them to return home without hurting a hair of their head, as the governor promised in charlestown, they were close confined in a miserable hut, having permission neither to see their friends nor even the light of day. it was said they were kept only as hostages, until the number of criminals he demanded was completed by their nation; but if they were robbed of their liberty, it was of little consequence to them under what denomination they were confined. it was said to be done by the consent of the nation, as six of its chiefs had signed the articles of peace; but in whatever light we view the act, it appears to be one of those base and unjustifiable advantages which policy and craft commonly take of the weakness and simplicity of more unfortunate neighbours; and nothing less could have been expected, than that these wild and independent warriors would resent such base and unmerited usage on the first opportunity that offered. [sidenote] the governor returns to charlestown. scarcely had governor lyttleton concluded the treaty of fort prince george when the small-pox, which was raging in an adjacent indian town, broke out in his camp. as few of his little army had ever gone through that distemper, and as the surgeons were totally unprovided for such an accident, his men were struck with terror, and in great haste returned to the settlements, cautiously avoiding all intercourse one with another, and suffering much from hunger and fatigue by the way. the governor followed them, and arrived in charlestown about the beginning of the year . though not a drop of blood had been spilt during the expedition, he was received like a conqueror, with the greatest demonstrations of joy. addresses the most flattering were presented to him by the different societies and professions, and bonefires and illuminations testified the high sense the inhabitants entertained of his merit and services, and the happy consequences which they believed would result from his expedition. [sidenote] the treaty of peace broken however, those rejoicings on account of the peace were scarcely over, when the news arrived that fresh hostilities hod been committed, and the governor was informed that the cherokees had killed fourteen men within a mile of fort prince george. the indians had contracted an invincible antipathy to captain coytmore, the officer whom mr. lyttleton had left commander of that fort. the treatment they had received at charlestown, but especially the imprisonment of their chiefs, had now converted their former desire of peace into the bitterest rage for war. occonostota, a chieftain of great influence, had become a most implacable and vindictive enemy to carolina, and determined to repay treachery with treachery. having gathered a strong party of cherokees, he surrounded fort prince george, and compelled the garrison to keep within their works; but finding that he could make no impression on the fort, nor oblige the commander to surrender, he contrived the following stratagem for the relief of his countrymen confined in it. [sidenote] occonostota's stratagem for killing the officer of the fort. as that country was every where covered with woods, he placed a party of savages in a dark thicket by the river side, and then sent an indian woman, whom he knew to be always welcome at the fort, to inform the commander that he had something of consequence to communicate to him, and would be glad to speak with him at the river side. captain coytmore imprudently consented, and without any suspicions of danger walked down towards the river, accompanied by lieutenants bell and foster. occonostota appearing on the opposite side, told him he was going to charlestown to procure a release of the prisoners, and would he glad of a white man to accompany him as a safeguard; and, the better to cover his dark design, had a bridle in his hand, and added, he would go and hunt for a horse to him. the captain replied, that he should have a guard, and wished he might find a horse, as the journey was very long. upon which the indian, turning quickly about, swung the bridle thrice round his head, as a signal to the savages placed in ambush, who instantly fired on the officers, shot the captain dead on the spot, and wounded the other two. in consequence of which orders were given to put the hostages in irons, to prevent any farther danger from them. but while the soldiers were attempting to execute their orders, the indians stabbed the first man who had hold of them with a knife, and wounded two more; upon which the garrison, exasperated to the highest degree, fell on the unfortunate hostages, and butchered them in a manner too shocking to relate. [sidenote] the war becomes general. there were few men in the cherokee nation that did not lose a friend or a relation by this massacre, and therefore with one voice all immediately declared for war. the leaders in every town seized the hatchet, telling their followers that the spirits of murdered brothers were flying around them, and calling out for vengeance on their enemies. from the different towns large parties of warriors took the field, painted in the most formidable manner, and arrayed with all their instruments of death. all sang the song of war, and burning with impatience to imbrue their hands in the blood of their enemies, rushed down among innocent and defenceless families on the frontiers of carolina, where men, women and children, without distinction, fell a sacrifice to their merciless fury. such as fled to the woods, and escaped the scalping-knife, perished with hunger; and those whom they made prisoners were carried into the wilderness, where they suffered inexpressible hardships. every day brought fresh accounts to the capital of their ravages, murders and desolations. but while the back settlers impatiently looked to their governor for relief, the small-pox raged to such a degree in town, that few of the militia could be prevailed on to leave their distressed families to serve the public. in this extremity an express was sent to general amherst, the commander in chief in america, acquainting him with the deplorable situation of the province, and imploring his assistance in the most pressing terms. accordingly a battalion of highlanders, and four companies of the royal scots, under the command of colonel montgomery, now earl of eglinton, were ordered immediately to embark, and sail for the relief of carolina. in the mean time william lyttleton being appointed governor of jamaica, the charge of the province devolved on william bull, a man of great integrity and erudition. application was made to the neighbouring provinces of north carolina and virginia for relief, and seven troops of rangers were raised to patrole the frontiers, and prevent the savages from penetrating farther down among the settlements. a considerable sum was voted for presents to such of the creeks, chickesaws and catabaws as should join the province and go to war against the cherokees. provisions were sent to the families that had escaped to augusta and fort moore, and the best preparations possible made for chastising their enemy, so soon as the regulars coming from new york should arrive in the province. [sidenote] colonel montgomery arrives. before the end of april, , colonel montgomery landed in carolina, and encamped at monk's corner. great was the joy of the province upon the arrival of this gallant officer; but as the conquest of canada was the grand object of this year's campaign in america, he had orders to strike a sudden blow for the relief of carolina, and return to head quarters at albany without loss of time. nothing was therefore omitted that was judged necessary to forward the expedition. several gentlemen of fortune, excited by a laudable zeal for the safety of their country, formed themselves into a company of volunteers, and joined the army. the whole force of the province was collected, and ordered to rendezvous at congarees. waggons, carts and horses were impressed for the service of his majesty, and the colonists flattered themselves with the hopes that they would now be able to punish the insolence of their barbarous enemies. [sidenote] and marches against the cherokees. a few weeks after his arrival colonel montgomery marched to the congarees, where he was joined by the internal strength of the province, and immediately set out for the cherokee country. for a guide he was provided with an half-blooded indian, who was well acquainted with the roads though the woods, and the passages through the rivers. having little time allowed him, his march was uncommonly spirited and expeditious. after reaching a place called twelve-mile river, he encamped on an advantageous ground, and marched with a party of his men in the night to surprize estatoe, an indian town about twenty miles from his camp. the first noise he heard by the way was the barking of a dog before his men, where he was informed there was an indian town called little keowee, which he ordered the light infantry to surround, and, except women and children, to put every indian in it to the sword. having done this piece of service, he proceeded to estatoe, which he found abandoned by all the savages, excepting a few who had not had time to make their escape. this town, which consisted of at least two hundred houses, and was well provided with corn, hogs, poultry, and ammunition, he reduced to ashes. sugar town, and every other settlement in the lower nation, afterwards shared the same fate. the surprize to every one of them was nearly equal; for as the army darted upon them like lightning, the savages could scarcely save themselves, far less any little property that they had. in these lower towns about sixty indians were killed and forty made prisoners, and the rest driven to seek for shelter among the mountains. having finished his business among these lower settlements with the small loss of three or four men, he then marched to the relief of fort prince george, which had been for some time invested by savages, insomuch that no soldier durst venture beyond the bounds of the fort, and where the garrison was in distress, not for the want of provisions, but of wood to prepare them. [sidenote] chastises them near etchoe. while the army rested at fort prince george, edmund atkin, agent for indian affairs, dispatched two indian chiefs to the middle settlements, to inform the cherokees that by suing for peace they might obtain it, as the former friends and allies of britain. at the same time he sent a messenger to fort loudon, requesting captains demere and stuart, the commanding officers at that place, to use their best endeavours for obtaining peace with the cherokees in the upper towns. colonel montgomery finding that the savages were as yet disposed to listen to no terms of accommodation, determined to carry the chastisement a little farther. dismal was the wilderness into which he entered, and many were the hardships and dangers he had to encounter, from dark thickets, rugged paths, and narrow passes; in which a small body of men, properly posted, might harass and tire out the bravest army that ever took the field. having on all hands suspicious grounds, he found occasion for constant vigilance and circumspection. while he was piercing through the thick forest he had numberless difficulties to surmount, particularly from rivers fordable only at one place, and overlooked by high banks on each side, where an enemy might attack him with advantage, and retreat with safety. when he had advanced within five miles of etchoe, the nearest town in the middle settlements, he found there a low valley, covered so thick with bushes that the soldiers could scarcely see three yards before them, and in the middle of which there was a muddy river, with steep clay banks. through this dark place, where it was impossible for any number of men to act together, the army must necessarily march; and therefore captain morison, who commanded a company of rangers, well acquainted with the woods, had orders to advance and scour the thicket. he had scarcely entered it, when a number of savages sprung from their lurking den, and firing on them, killed the captain and wounded several of his party. upon which the light infantry and grenadiers were ordered to advance and charge the invisible enemy, which they did with great courage and alacrity. a heavy fire then began on both sides, and during some time the soldiers could only discover the places where the savages were hid by the report of their guns. colonel montgomery finding that the number of indians that guarded this place was great, and that they were determined obstinately to dispute it, ordered the royal scots, who were in the rear, to advance between the savages and a rising ground on the right, while the highlanders marched towards the left to sustain the light infantry and grenadiers. the woods now resounded with horrible shouts and yells, but these, instead of intimidating the troops, seemed rather to inspire them with double firmness and resolution. at length the savages gave way, and in their retreat falling in with the royal scots, suffered considerably before they got out of their reach. by this time the royals being in the front and the highlanders in the rear, the enemy stretched away and took possession of a hill, seemingly disposed to keep at a distance, and always retreating as the army advanced. colonel montgomery perceiving that they kept aloof, gave orders to the line to face about, and march directly for the town of etchoe. the enemy no sooner observed this movement, than they got behind the hill, and ran to alarm their wives and children. during the action, which lasted above an hour, colonel montgomery, who made several narrow escapes, had twenty men killed, and seventy-six wounded. what number the enemy lost is uncertain, but some places were discovered into which they had thrown several of their slain, from which it was conjectured that they must have lost a great number, as it is a custom among them to carry their dead off the field. upon viewing the ground, all were astonished to see with what judgment and skill they had chosen it. scarcely could the most experienced officer have fixed upon a spot more advantageous for way-laying and attacking an enemy, according to the method of fighting practised among the indian nations. [sidenote] and returns to fort prince george. this action, though it terminated much in favour of the british army, had nevertheless reduced it to such a situation as made it very imprudent, if not altogether impracticable, to penetrate farther into those woods. the repulse was far from being decisive, for the enemy had only retired from one to another advantageous situation, in order to renew their attack when the army should again advance. humanity would not suffer the commander to leave so many wounded men exposed to the vengeance of savages, without any strong-hold in which he might lodge them, or some detachment, which he could not spare, to protect them. should he proceed farther, he saw plainly that he must expect frequent skirmishes, which would increase the number, and the burning of so many indian towns would be a poor compensation for the great risque and perhaps wanton sacrifice of so many valuable lives. to furnish horses for the men already wounded obliged him to throw so many bags of flour into the river, and what remained was no more than sufficient for his army during their return to fort prince george. orders were therefore given for a retreat, which was made with great regularity, although the enemy continued hovering around them, and annoying them to the utmost of their power. a large train of wounded men was brought above sixty miles through a hazardous country in safety, for which no small share of honour and praise was due to the officer that conducted the retreat. never did men endure greater hardships and fatigues with fewer complaints than this little army during the expedition. such confidence did they repose in their leader, that they seemed to despise all difficulties and dangers which he shared along with them in the service of their king and country. [sidenote] the consternation of the inhabitants from indians. after colonel montgomery had returned to the settlements, and was preparing to embark for new york, agreeable to his orders from general amherst, the carolineans were again thrown under the most dreadful apprehensions from the dangers which hung over the province. this appears from the following address of the general assembly, presented to lieutenant-governor bull on the th of july, . "we, his majesty's most dutiful and loyal subjects, the commons house of assembly of this province, return your honour our sincere thanks for the advices you have been pleased to communicate to us in the morning; and being deeply affected with the contents of colonel grant's letter, which imports, that colonel montgomery will soon embark with his majesty's troops under his command to join general amherst; humbly beg leave to represent to your honour, that we apprehend the province to be in a much more dangerous situation at this juncture, than it was at the time when the said troops arrived here; as the upper creek indians have since murdered several english traders in their towns, and made no offer to give up the murderers, or make any other satisfaction whatever; whence we have the greatest reason to believe they will soon break out into open war. and by what is mentioned in colonel grant's letter, we fear that our implacable enemies the french have already spirited up and prevailed with the choctaws to assist the cherokees against us. and notwithstanding the present rupture with the cherokees has cost the province, in less than nine months, near , pounds sterling, yet all our endeavours to raise a number of forces capable of preventing the cherokees from ravaging the back settlements have proved ineffectual. this being the situation of the province when we had only the cherokees to contend with, how deplorable then must our case be, should colonel montgomery depart with the king's troops under his command, and we have the united attacks of the cherokees, creeks and choctaws, (the three most powerful nations of indians on the continent), to repel, can be better imagined than described. being truely sensible of your honour's good inclinations to render every service in your power to this province, we unanimously intreat your honour to use the most pressing instances with colonel montgomery not to depart with the king's troops, as it may be attended with the most pernicious consequences." accordingly the lieutenant-governor having given the colonel the fullest view of those extensive dangers to which the province after his departure would be exposed, prevailed with him to leave four companies of the royal regiment, under the command of major frederick hamilton, for covering the frontiers, while he embarked with the battalion of highlanders, and sailed for new york. [sidenote] great distress of the garrison at fort loudon. [sidenote] the terms obtained for the garrison. in the mean time the distant garrison of fort loudon, consisting of two hundred men, was reduced to the dreadful alternative of perishing by hunger or submitting to the mercy of the enraged cherokees. the governor having information that the virginians had undertaken to relieve it, for a while seemed satisfied, and anxiously waited to hear the news of that happy event. but the virginians were equally ill qualified with their neighbours of carolina to send them any assistance. so remote was the fort from every settlement, and so difficult was it to march an army through the barren wilderness, where the various thickets were lined with enemies, and to carry at the same time sufficient supplies along with them, that the virginians had dropped all thoughts of the attempt. provisions being entirely exhausted at fort loudon, the garrison was reduced to the most deplorable situation. for a whole month they had no other subsistence but the flesh of lean horses and dogs, and a small supply of indian beans, which some friendly cherokee women procured for them by stealth. long had the officers endeavoured to animate and encourage the men with the hopes of relief; but now being blockaded night and day by the enemy, and having no resource left, they threatened to leave the fort, and die at once by the hands of savages, rather than perish slowly by famine. in this extremity the commander was obliged to call a council of war, to consider what was proper to be done; when the officers were all of opinion that it was impossible to hold out any longer, and therefore agreed to surrender the fort to the cherokees on the best terms that could be obtained from them. for this purpose captain stuart, an officer of great sagacity and address, and much beloved by all the indians that remained in the british interest, procured leave to go to chote, one of the principal towns in the neighbourhood, where he obtained the following terms of capitulation, which were signed by the commanding officer and two of the cherokee chiefs. "that the garrison of fort loudon march out with their arms and drums, each soldier having as much powder and ball as their officer shall think necessary for their march, and all the baggage they may chuse to carry: that the garrison be permitted to march to virginia, or fort prince george, as the commanding officer shall think proper, unmolested; and that a number of indians be appointed to escort them, and hunt for provisions during their march: that such soldiers as are lame, or by sickness disabled from marching, be received into the indian towns, and kindly used until they recover, and then be allowed to return to fort prince george: that the indians do provide for the garrison as many horses as they conveniently can for their march, agreeing with the officers and soldiers for payment: that the fort great guns, powder, ball, and spare arms, be delivered to the indians without fraud or further delay, on the day appointed for the march of the troops." [sidenote] treacherously broken by the savages. agreeable to those terms stipulated, the garrison delivered up the fort, and marched out with their arms, accompanied by occonostota, judd's friend, the prince of chote, and several other indians, and that day went fifteen miles on their way to fort prince george. at night they encamped on a plain about two miles from taliquo, an indian town, when all their attendants, upon one pretence or another, left them; which the officers considered as no good sign, and therefore placed a strict guard round their camp. during the night they remained unmolested, but next morning about break of day a soldier from an out-post came running in, and informed them that he saw a vast number of indians, armed, and painted in the most dreadful manner, creeping among the bushes, and advancing in order to surround them. scarcely had the officer time to order his men to stand to their arms, when the savages poured in upon them a heavy fire from different quarters, accompanied with the most hideous yells, which struck a panic into the soldiers, who were so much enfeebled and dispirited that they were incapable of making any effectual resistance. captain demere, with three other officers, and about twenty-five private men, fell at the first onset. some fled into the woods, and were afterwards taken prisoners and confined among the towns in the valley. captain stuart, and those that remained, were seized, pinioned, and brought back to fort loudon. no sooner had attakullakulla heard that his friend mr. stuart had escaped, than he hastened to the fort, and purchased him from the indian that took him, giving him his rifle, clothes, and all he could command, by way of ransom. he then took possession of captain demere's house, where he kept his prisoner as one of his family, and freely shared with him the little provisions his table afforded, until a fair opportunity should offer for rescuing him from their hands; but the poor soldiers were kept in a miserable state of captivity for some time, and then redeemed by the province at a great expence. [sidenote] a proposal for attacking fort prince george. during the time these prisoners were confined at fort loudon, occonostota formed a design of attacking fort prince george, and for this purpose dispatched a messenger to the settlements in the valley, requesting all the warriors there to join him at stickoey old town. by accident a discovery was made of ten bags of powder, and ball in proportion, which the officers had secretly buried in the fort, to prevent their falling into the enemy's hands. this discovery had nearly proved fatal to captain stuart, and would certainly have cost him his life, had not the interpreter had so much presence of mind as to assure the enemy that these warlike stores had been concealed without his knowledge or consent. the indians having now abundance of ammunition for the siege, a council was called at chote, to which the captain was brought, and put in mind of the obligations he lay under to them for sparing his life; and as they had resolved to carry six cannon and two cohorns with them against fort prince george, to be managed by men under his command, they told him he must go and write such letters to the commandant as they should dictate to him. they informed him at the same time, that if that officer should refuse to surrender, they were determined to burn the prisoners one after another before his face, and try if he could be so obstinate as to hold out while he saw his friends expiring in the flames. captain stuart was much alarmed at his situation, and from that moment resolved to make his escape or perish in the attempt. his design he privately communicated to attakullakulla, and told him how uneasy he was at the thoughts of being compelled to bear arms against his countrymen. he acknowledged that he had always been a brother, and hoped he would assist him to get out of his present perilous circumstances. the old warrior, taking him by the hand, told him he was his friend, he had already given one proof of his regard, and intended to give another so soon as his brother should return and help him to concert the measure. he said he was well apprized of the ill designs of his countrymen, and should he go and persuade the garrison of fort prince george to do as he had done, what could he expect but that they should share the same dismal fate. strong and uncultivated minds carry their friendship, as well as their enmity, to an astonishing pitch. among savages family friendship is a national virtue, and civilized mortals may blush when they consider how much barbarians have often surpassed them in the practice of it. the instance i am going to relate is as singular and memorable as many that have been recorded in the annals of past ages. [sidenote] captain stuart escapes to virginia. attakullakulla claimed captain stuart as his prisoner, and had resolved to deliver him from danger and for this purpose there was no time to be lost. accordingly he gave out among his countrymen that he intended to go a-hunting for a few days, and carry his prisoner along with him to eat venison, of which he declared he was exceedingly fond. at the same time the captain went through among his soldiers, telling them that they could never expect to be ransomed by the province, if they gave the smallest assistance to the indians against fort prince george. having settled all matters, they set out on their journey, accompanied by the warrior's wife, his brother, and two soldiers, who were the only persons in the garrison that knew how to convey great guns through the woods. for provisions they depended on what they might kill by the way. the distance to the frontier settlements was great, and the utmost expedition necessary to prevent any surprize from indians pursuing them. nine days and nights did they travel through a dreary wilderness, shaping their course by the light of the sun and moon for virginia, and traversing many hills, valleys and paths that had never been crossed before but by savages and wild beasts. on the tenth they arrived at the banks of holston's river, where they fortunately fell in with a party of three hundred men, sent out by colonel bird for the relief of such soldiers as might make their escape that way from fort loudon. on the fourteenth day the captain reached colonel bird's camp on the frontiers of virginia, where having loaded his faithful friend with presents and provisions, he sent him back to protect the unhappy prisoners till they should be ransomed, and to exert his influence among the cherokees for the restoration of peace. no sooner had captain stuart made his escape from the hands of the savages, than he immediately began to concert ways and means for the relief of his garrison. an express was dispatched to lieutenant-governor bull, informing him of the sad disaster that had happened to the garrison of fort loudon, and of the designs of the enemy against fort prince george. in consequence of which orders were given to major thomson, who commanded the militia on the frontiers, to throw in provisions for ten weeks into that fort, and warn the commanding officer of his danger. at the same time a messenger was sent to attakullakulla desiring him to inform the cherokees that fort george was impregnable, having vast quantities of powder buried under ground every where around it, to blow up all enemies that should attempt to come near it. presents of considerable value were sent to redeem the prisoners at fort loudon, a few of whom had by this time made their escape; and afterwards not only those that were confined among the towns in the valley, but also all that had survived the hardships of hunger, disease and captivity in the upper towns were released, and delivered up to the commanding officer at fort prince george. [sidenote] the war continues. it might now have been expected that the vindictive spirit of the savages would be satisfied, and that they would he disposed to listen to some terms of accommodation. this treacherous conduct to the soldiers at fort loudon, they intended as a satisfaction for the harsh treatment their relations had met with at fort prince george; and dearly had the province paid for the base imprisonment and horrid massacre of the chiefs at that place. still, however, a great majority of the nation spurned at every offer of peace. the lower towns had all been destroyed by colonel montgomery; the warriors in the middle settlements had lost many friends and relations; and several frenchmen had crept in among the uppertowns, and helped to foment their ill humour against carolina. lewis latinac, a french officer, was among them, and proved an indefatigable instigator to mischief. he persuaded the indians that the english had nothing less in view than to exterminate them from the face of the earth; and, furnishing them with arms and ammunition, urged them on to war. at a great meeting of the nation he pulled out his hatchet, and, striking it into a log of wood, called out, who is the man that will take this up for the king of france? saloue, the young warrior of estatoe, instantly laid hold of it, and cried out, "i am for war. the spirits of our brothers who have been slain still call upon us to avenge their death. he is no better than a woman that refuses to follow me." many others seized the tomahawk, yet dyed in british blood, and burnt with impatience for the field. [sidenote] the highlanders return to carolina. under the flattering appearance of a calm were those clouds again gathering; however, lieutenant-governor bull, who knew well how little indians were to be trusted on any occasion, kept the royal scots and militia on the frontiers in a posture of defence. but finding the province still under the most dreadful apprehensions from their savage neighbours, who continued insolent and vindictive, and ready to renew their ravages and murders, he made application a second time to general amherst for assistance. canada being now reduced; the commander in chief could the more easily spare a force adequate to the purpose intended. the brave colonel montgomery, who conducted the former expedition, having by this time embarked for england, the command of the highlanders devolved on lieutenant-colonel james grant, who received orders to return to the relief of carolina. early in the year he landed at charlestown, where he took up his winter quarters, until the proper season should approach for taking the field. unfortunately during this time many of the soldiers, by drinking brackish water, were taken sick, which afforded the inhabitants an opportunity of showing their kindness and humanity. they considered themselves, and with reason, under the strongest obligations to treat men with tenderness, who came to protect them against their enemies, and therefore they brought the sick soldiers into their houses, and nursed them with the greatest care and attention. in this campaign the province determined to exert itself to the utmost, that, in conjunction with the regular forces, a severe correction might be given to those troublesome savages. for this purpose a provincial regiment was raised, and the command of it given to colonel middleton. presents were provided for the indian allies, and several of the chickesaws and catabaws engaged to assist them against the cherokees. but the creeks, whose help was also strongly solicited, played an artful game between the english and the french, and gave the one or the other encouragement, according to the advantages they reaped from them. all possible preparations were made for supplying the army with provisions at different stages, and with such carts and horses as were thought necessary to the expedition. great had been the expence which this quarrel with the cherokees had already occasioned; now they flattered themselves that by one resolute exertion more they would tire the savages of war, and oblige them to accept of such terms of peace as they thought proper to dictate. as all white men in the province, of the military age, were soldiers as well as citizens, and trained in some measure to the use of arms, it was no difficult matter to complete the provincial regiment. their names being registered in the list of militia; on every emergency they were obliged to be ready for defence, not only against the incursions of indians, but also against the insurrection of negroes; and although the same prompt obedience to orders could not be expected from them that is necessary in a regular army, yet the provincials had other advantages which compensated for that defect. they were better acquainted than strangers with the woods, and the nature of that country in which their military service was required. they were seasoned to the climate, and had learned from experience what clothes, meat and drink were most proper to enable them to do their duty. in common occasions, when the militia was called out, the men received no pay, but when employed, as in this cherokee war, for the public defence, they were allowed the same pay with the king's forces. [sidenote] colonel grant marches against the cherokees. so soon as the highlanders had recovered from their sickness, and were in a condition to take the field, colonel grant began his march for the cherokee territories. after being joined by the provincial regiment and indian allies, he mustered in all about two thousand six hundred men. having served some years in america, and been in several engagements with indians, he was now no stranger to their methods of making war. he was sensible how ready they were to take all advantages, by surprize, stratagem, or otherwise, that the nature of their country afforded them. caution and vigilance were not only necessary on his part, but, to prepare an army for such services, the dress, the arms, and discipline, should all be adapted to the nature of the country, in order to give the men every advantage, according to the indian manner of attack. the eye should be habituated to perpetual watchfulness, the body should be clothed in green, the prevailing colour of the woods, that it may be difficult to distinguish it, and equipped in such light armour as is easiest managed in a thicket. the feet and legs should be fortified against prickly briers and bushes, and those men who have been accustomed to hunt in the woods, being quick-sighted, are best qualified for scouring the dark thickets, and for guards to the main body. europeans, who are strangers to such things, are ill prepared for military services in america. many brave officers have suffered by inattention to them, and being ignorant of the peculiar circumstances of the country, have fallen a sacrifice to their own rashness, or the numberless snares to which they are exposed in it. on the th of may, , colonel grant arrived at fort prince george, and attakullakulla, having got information that he was advancing against his nation with a formidable army, hastened to his camp, to signify his earnest desire of peace. he told the colonel that he always had been, and ever would continue to be, a firm friend to the english; that the outrages of his countrymen covered him with shame, and filled his heart with grief; yet nevertheless he would gladly interpose in their behalf, in order to bring about an accommodation. often, he said, had he been called an old woman by the mad young men of his nation, who delighted in war and despised his counsels. often had he endeavoured to get the hatchet buried, and the former good correspondence with the carolineans established. now he was determined to set out for the cherokee towns, to persuade them to consult their safety, and speedily agree to terms of peace, and again and again begged the colonel to proceed no farther until he returned. [sidenote] engages and defeats them. [sidenote] defeats them and destroys their towns. colonel grant, however, gave him no encouragement to expect that his request could be granted; but, on the th of june, began his march from fort prince george, carrying with him provisions to the army for thirty days. a party of ninety indians, and thirty woodmen painted like indians, under the command of captain quintine kennedy, had orders to march in front and scour the woods. after them the light infantry and about fifty rangers, consisting in all of about two hundred men, followed, by whose vigilance and activity the commander imagined that the main body of the army might be kept tolerably quiet and secure. for three days he made forced marches, in order to get over two narrow and dangerous defiles, which he accomplished without a shot from the enemy, but which might have cost him dear, had they been properly guarded and warmly disputed. on the day following he found suspicious ground on all hands, and therefore orders were given for the first time to load and prepare for action, and the guards to march slowly forward, doubling their vigilance and circumspection. as they frequently spied indians around them, all were convinced that they should that day have an engagement. at length, having advanced near to the place where colonel montgomery was attacked the year before, the indian allies in the van-guard, about eight in the morning, observed a large body of cherokees posted upon a hill on the right flank of the army, and gave the alarm. immediately the savages, rushing down, began to fire on the advanced guard, which being supported, the enemy were repulsed, and recovered their heights. under this hill the line was obliged to march a considerable way. on the left there was a river, from the opposite banks of which a large party of indians fired briskly on the troops as they advanced. colonel grant ordered a party to march up the hill and drive the enemy from the heights, while the line faced about and gave their whole charge to the indians that annoyed them from the side of the river. the engagement became general, and the savages seemed determined obstinately to dispute the lower grounds, while those on the hill were dislodged only to return with redoubled ardour to the charge. the situation of the troops was in several respects deplorable; fatigued by a tedious march, in rainy weather, surrounded with woods, so that they could not discern the enemy, galled by the scattered fire of savages, who when pressed always kept aloof, but rallied again and again, and returned to the ground. no sooner did the army gain an advantage over them in one quarter, than they appeared in another. while the attention of the commander was occupied in driving the enemy from their lurking-place on the river's side, the rear was attacked, and so vigorous an effort made for the flour and cattle, that he was obliged to order a party back to the relief of the rear-guard. from eight o'clock in the morning until eleven the savages continued to keep up an irregular and incessant fire, sometimes from one place and sometimes from another, while the woods resounded with hideous shouts and yells, to intimidate the troops. at length the cherokees gave way, and, being pursued for some time, popping shots continued till two o'clock, when they disappeared. what loss the enemy sustained in this action we have not been able to learn, but of colonel grant's army there were between fifty and sixty men killed and wounded; and it is probable the loss of the savages could not be much greater, and perhaps not so great, owing to their manner of fighting. orders were given not to bury the slain, but to sink them in the river, to prevent their being dug up from their graves and scalped. to provide horses for those that were wounded, several bags of flour were thrown into the river. after which the army proceeded to etchoe, a pretty large indian town, which they reached about midnight, and next day reduced to ashes. every other town in the middle settlements, fourteen in number, shared the same fate. their magazines and corn fields were likewise destroyed, and those miserable savages, with their families, were driven to seek for shelter and provisions among the barren mountains. it would be no easy matter to describe the various hardships which this little army endured in the wilderness, from heat, thirst, watching, danger and fatigue. thirty days did colonel grant continue in the heart of the cherokee territories, and, upon his return to fort prince george, the feet and legs of many of his army were so mangled, and their strength and spirits so much exhausted, that they were utterly unable to march farther. he resolved therefore to encamp at that place for a while, both to refresh his men and wait the resolutions of the cherokees, in consequence of the heavy chastisement which they had received. besides the numberless advantages their country afforded for defence, it was supposed that some french officers had been among them, and given them all the assistance in their power. it is true the savages supported their attack for some hours with considerable spirit; but being driven from their advantageous posts and thickets they were wholly disconcerted, and though the repulse was far from being decisive, yet after this engagement they returned no more to the charge, but remained the tame spectators of their towns in flames, and their country laid desolate. such engagements in europe would be considered as trifling skirmishes, scarcely worthy of relation, but in america a great deal is often determined by them. it is no easy matter to describe the distress to which the savages were reduced by this severe correction. even in time of peace they are destitute of that foresight, in a great measure, which provides for future events; but in time of war, when their villages are destroyed and their fields laid desolate, they are reduced to extreme want. being driven to the barren mountains, the hunters furnished with ammunition might indeed make some small provision for themselves, but women, children, and old men, must perish, being deprived of the means of subsistence. [sidenote] peace with the cherokees a few days after colonel grant's arrival at fort prince george, attakullakulla, attended by several chieftains, came to his camp, and expressed a desire of peace. severely had they suffered for breaking their alliance with britain, and giving ear to the deceitful promises of france. convinced at last of the weakness and perfidy of the french, who were neither able to assist them in time of war, nor supply their wants in time of peace, they resolved to renounce all connection with them for ever. accordingly terms of peace were drawn up and proposed, which were no less honourable to colonel grant than advantageous to the province. the different articles being read and interpreted, attakullakulla agreed to them all excepting one, by which it was demanded, that four cherokee indians be delivered up to colonel grant at fort prince george, to be put to death in the front of his camp; or four green scalps be brought to him in the space of twelve nights. the warrior having no authority from his nation, declared he could not agree to this article, and therefore the colonel sent him to charlestown, to see whether the lieutenant-governor would consent to mitigate the rigour of it. accordingly attakullakulla and the other chieftains, being furnished with a safeguard, set out for charlestown to hold a conference with mr. bull, who, on their arrival, called a council to meet at ashley ferry, and then spoke to the following effect. "attakullakulla, i am glad to see you, and as i have always heard of your good behaviour, that you have been a good friend to the english, i take you by the hand, and not only you but all those with you also, as a pledge for their security whilst under my protection. colonel grant acquaints me that you have applied for peace; now that you are come, i have met with my beloved men to hear what you have to say, and my ears are open for that purpose." then a fire was kindled, the pipe of peace was lighted, and all smoked together for some time in great silence and solemnity. then attakullakulla arose, and addressed the lieutenant-governor and council to the following effect. "it is a great while since i last saw your honour; now i am glad to see you, and all the beloved men present--i am come to you as a messenger from the whole nation--i have now seen you, smoked with you, and hope we shall live together as brothers.--when i came to keowee, colonel grant sent me to you--you live at the water side, and are in light--we are in darkness, but hope all will be yet clear with us.--i have been constantly going about doing good, and though i am tired, yet i am come to see what can be done for my people, who are in great distress." here he produced the strings of wampum he had received from the different towns, denoting their earnest desire of peace; and then added, "as to what has happened, i believe it has been ordered by our father above.--we are of a different colour from the white people--they are superior to us--but one god is father of all, and we hope what is past will be forgotten.--god almighty made all people--there is not a day but some are coming into, and others are going out of, the world.--the great king told me the path should never be crooked, but open for every one to pass and repass.--as we all live in one land, i hope we shall all live as one people." after which peace was formally ratified and confirmed by both parties, and their former friendship being renewed, all hoped that it would last as long as the sun shall shine and the rivers run. [sidenote] a quarrel between the commanding officers. thus ended the cherokee war, which was among the last humbling strokes given to the expiring power of france in north america, and colonel grant returned to charlestown to wait further orders. but no sooner was peace concluded, and the province secured against external enemies, than an unhappy difference broke out between the two principal commanders of the regular and provincial forces. colonel grant, a native of scotland, was naturally of an high spirit, to which he added that pride of rank which he held among those british soldiers who had carried their arms triumphant through the continent. during this expedition it is probable that he scorned to ask the advice of a provincial officer, whom he deemed an improper judge of military operations, and claimed the chief glory of having restored peace to the province. colonel middleton was equally warm and proud, and considering such neglect as an affront, resented it, and while some reflections were cast upon the provincial troops, being the chief in command, he thought himself bound to stand forth as a champion for the honour of the province. this ill-humour, which appeared between the officers on their return to charlestown, was encouraged and fomented by persons delighting in broils, who, by malicious surmises and false reports, helped to widen the difference. the dispute became serious, and was carried on for some time in the public papers by mutual charges of misconduct, and at length terminated in a duel. mr. middleton called out colonel grant to the single combat, after they had both given the best proof of their courage against the common enemy. the duel, however, happily terminated without bloodshed, and not a little to the credit of the scots officer, though his antagonist shewed no less spirit in the field of honour, falsely so called, than in defence of his country. the citizens of charlestown seemed interested in the dispute, and each spoke of the conduct of the two officers as they were differently affected. indeed, however much we may applaud the brave man who is first in the field in defence of his country, with justice we with-hold our praises from him that is first at the single combat with a private friend. colonel grant, with great reason, considered such treatment, after having brought the enemies of the colony to the most advantageous terms of peace, as a base recompence for his services. from this period a party-spirit appeared in carolina. all the malicious aspersions and inflammatory accusations against the inhabitants of north britain, which were at this time wantonly and wickedly published in england, were greedily swallowed by one party in the province, and industriously propagated. prejudices were contracted, cherished, and unhappily gained ground among the people. terms of reproach and abuse were collected from those factious publications in london, and poured indiscriminately upon all the natives of scotland, who were by no means backward in retorting the abuse. in a growing province, where the utmost harmony and liberality of sentiment ought to have been cherished by all, as the most certain means of promoting the public strength and prosperity, such a party-spirit was attended, as might have been expected, with the most pernicious consequence. [sidenote] a whirlwind at charlestown. i have already observed, that the province is subject to whirlwinds, especially among the hills in the back country; but this year one of those, which was indeed the most violent and dreadful that had ever been known, passed charlestown in the month of may. it appeared at first to the west of the town, like a large column of smoke, approaching fast in an irregular direction. the vapour of which it was composed resembled clouds rolling one over another in violent tumult and agitation, assuming at one time a dark, at another a bright flaming colour. its motion was exceedingly swift and crooked. as it approached the inhabitants were alarmed with an uncommon sound, like the continual roaring of distant thunder, or the noise made by a stormy sea beating upon the shore, which brought numbers of people to witness the dreadful phenomenon. while it passed down ashley river, such was its incredible velocity and force, that it plowed the waters to the bottom, and laid the channel bare. the town narrowly and providentially escaped, but it threatened destruction to a fleet consisting of no less than forty sail of loaded ships, lying at anchor in rebellion road, about four miles below the town, and waiting a fair wind to sail for england. when it reached the fleet, five vessels were sunk in an instant by it, and his majesty's ship the dolphin, with eleven others, were dismasted. such was the situation of the fleet, and so rapid was the motion of the whirlwind, that though the seaman observed it approaching, it was impossible to provide against it. in its oblique course it struck only a part of the fleet, and the damage, though computed at l. , sterling, was by no means so great as might have been expected. nor were many lives lost, for the channel of the river not being very deep, while the ships sat down in the mud and were covered by the waves, the sailors saved themselves by running up the shrouds. the whirlwind passed the town a little before three o'clock, and before four the sky was so clear and serene, that we could scarcely have believed such a dreadful scene had been exhibited, had it not left many striking proofs behind it. its route was not only marked in the woods, having levelled the loftiest trees, or swept them away before it like chaff, but its effects were visible in the fleet, by the number of vessels sunk and dismasted. it has been also remarked, that the province is subject to violent storms of lightning and thunder throughout the year; but from the end of april until october they are very frequent and terrible. there are few nights during the summer in which lighting is not visible in some part of the horizon. sometimes indeed those storms are of short duration, particularly when they come attended with brisk gales of wind; but when that is not the case, they will often last for four or five hours. while the clouds are gathering, it is surprising how quickly the atmosphere, which was formerly serene, will be covered with darkness. to the inhabitants, accustomed to view such appearances, the thunder-shower is rather welcome than alarming, as it cools the air and earth, and enables them to live comfortably during the remainder of the day; but to every stranger it is exceedingly grand and awful. as the flashes of lightning from the clouds commonly strike the highest objects, and the whole country is covered with woods, the fury of the storm for the most part falls upon them, and its amazing effects are visible from the vast number of blasted trees every where appearing throughout the forest. the country being as yet but thinly peopled, the inhabitants do not suffer so severely as might be expected, considering the violence of these storms; yet few years pass without some accidents from lightning. i never knew more than five houses in the town, but others have observed nine, two churches and five ships struck with lightning during one thunder-shower. such storms often occasion considerable damage, particularly to the ships in the harbour, and sometimes they are attended with showers of hail, or rather solid pieces of ice, which fall with such force as to beat down the corn in the fields, to break glass windows, and occasion danger to children exposed to them. but since the inhabitants have found out the method of erecting iron rods on their houses, less damage has been done to them, and fewer lives have been lost by lightning in this province. [sidenote] of the heat at savanna. the climate of georgia, like that of carolina, is more mild and pleasant in the inland than maritime parts. governor ellis has left us the following account of the heat of the summer at savanna. in the th of july, while he was writing in his piazza, which was open at each end, he says the mercury in fahrenheit's thermometer stood at in the shade. twice had it risen to that height during the summer, several times to , and for many days together to ; and in the night did not sink below . he thought it highly probable, that the inhabitants of savanna breathed a hotter air than any other people upon earth. the town being situated on a sandy eminence, the reflection from the dry sand, when there is little or no agitation in the air, greatly increases the heat; for by walking an hundred yards from his house upon the sand, under his umbrella, with the thermometer suspended by a thread to the height of his nostrils, the mercury rose to . the same thermometer he had with him in the equatorial parts of africa, in jamaica, and in the leeward islands; yet by his journals he found that it had never in any of these places risen so high. its general station was between and . he acknowledges, however, that he felt those degrees of heat in a moist air more disagreeable than at savanna, when the thermometer stood at in his cellar, at in the storey above it, and in the upper storey of his house at . on the th of december the mercury was up at , on then th down as low as , on the same instrument. such sudden and violent changes, especially when they happen frequently, must make havock of the human constitution; yet he asserts that few people die at savanna out of the ordinary course, though many were working in the open air, exposed to the sun during this extreme heat.--as this governor was a man of sense and erudition, and no doubt made his observations with great accuracy, we shall not presume to call in question the facts he relates; but we must say, we never saw the mercury rise so high in the shade at charlestown, and believe it very seldom happens to do so in georgia. we may add, that such is the situation of savanna, surrounded with low and marshy lands, and so sudden and great are the changes in the weather there, as well as in carolina, that the maritime parts of both provinces must be ranked among the most unhealthy climates in the world. chap. xi. [sidenote] a peace, and its happy effects respecting america. the peace of paris, though condemned by many in england as inadequate to the amazing success that attended the british arms during the bloody war, and below the expectation of the british nation, unquestionably placed america in the most advantageous situation. as the flames of war first kindled in that continent, by a contest about the limits of the british and french territories, to prevent all disputes of this kind for the future was made one of the first objects of attention in framing a treaty of peace. by the seventh article of this treaty it was agreed, "that, for the future, the confines between the dominions of his britannic majesty and those of his most christian majesty in that part of the world should be fixed irrevocably, by a line drawn along the middle of the river mississippi, from its source to the river iberville, and from thence by a line drawn along the middle of the river and the lakes maurepas and pontchartrain to the sea." by the twentieth article, "his catholic majesty ceded and guarantied in full right to his britannic majesty, florida, with fort augustine and the bay of pensacola, as well as all that spain possessed on the continent of north america to the east or south-east of the river mississippi, and in general every thing depending on the said countries and lands, with the sovereignty, property, possession, and all rights acquired by treaties or otherwise, which the catholic king and the crown of spain have had till now over the said countries, lands, places, and other inhabitants." by these articles the southern provinces were rendered perfectly secure, and, considering the nature of the country, no frontiers could be more distinctly defined. but as the french colonies in the northern district had been the chief seat of war, the conquest of which had occasioned such an immense waste of blood and treasure to britain, it was also judged proper to guard against the return of any danger on that side. experience had shewn the nation, that while france possesses a single stronghold on that continent, the british subjects could never enjoy perfect repose, but must be in danger of being again plunged into those calamities from which they had been with so much difficulty delivered. therefore it was determined to remove this ambitious and enterprising enemy entirely from the neighbourhood of these colonies, and secure them beyond a possibility of future molestation. accordingly, by the fourth article of the treaty, "his most christian majesty renounced all pretensions which he had heretofore formed, or might form, to nova scotia, or acadia, in all its parts, and guarantied the whole of it, with all its dependencies, to the king of great britain; as also canada, with all its dependencies; cape breton, and all the other islands and coasts in the gulf of st. laurence, and every thing that depends on these countries, islands, lands, places and coasts, and their inhabitants; so that the most christian king ceded and made over the whole to the said king and crown of great britain, and that in the most ample manner and form, without restriction, and without any liberty to depart from said cession and guaranty under any pretence, or to disturb great britain in the possessions above mentioned; reserving only the island of new orleans, and liberty of fishing in the gulf of st. laurence, which was granted, upon condition that the subjects of france do not execute the said fishery but at the distance of three leagues from all the coasts belonging to great britain, as well those of the continent as those of the islands situated in the gulf of st. laurence." we do not pretend to pass any judgment on the value of these conquests in america, which were preferred to those of the west india islands at the peace. by giving up a little of the sugar trade, it was thought the nation lost only a luxury, and could be sufficiently supplied with all the sugar and rum she wanted from the islands which she possessed before the war; and therefore the precious conquests in the west indies were sacrificed to the security of america. the vast territory to the east and south east of the great river mississippi formed the british empire on the continent, which, for variety of climate as well as of soil was exceeded by no empire upon earth. as the trade of the mother country had uniformly increased with the population of her colonies, it was hoped that by freeing them from all molestation, they must increase in a still more rapid manner than they had hitherto done, to the great advantage of britain; for while the colonists had liberty to extend their culture to the remotest desert, the trade of the mother country would be increased, her debt diminished, and at the same time the demand for manufactures would be so great, that all the hands she employed would scarcely be able to furnish the supply. these were thought to be the probable consequences which would flow from the security of our american colonies at the peace. [sidenote] boundaries of east and west florida. with respect to the new acquisitions, great pains were taken to acquire an exact knowledge of them, not only to establish proper regulations, but also to render them as useful and flourishing as possible. they were divided into three separate independent governments, which were given to officers who had distinguished themselves during the war. the government of east florida was bounded to the westward by the gulf of mexico and the river apalachicola; to the north by a line drawn from that part of the above-mentioned river where the catabouchee and flint rivers meet, to the source of st. mary's river, and by the course of the same river to the atlantic ocean; and to the east and south by the atlantic ocean; and the gulf of florida, including all islands within six leagues of the sea coast. the government of west florida was bounded to the southward by the gulf of mexico, including all islands within six leagues of the sea coast, from the river apalachicola to lake pontchartrain; to the westward by the said lake, the lake maurepas, and the river mississippi; to the north by a line drawn due east from that part of the river mississippi which lies in thirty-one degrees of north latitude, to the river apalachicola, or catabouchee; and to the east by the said river. all the lands lying between the rivers alatamaha and st. mary's were annexed to the province of georgia. [sidenote] the southern provinces left secure. the possession of these two provinces of east and west florida, though of themselves little better than an immense waste, was of great importance to the neighbouring provinces of georgia and carolina. it robbed the spaniards of a strong-hold from which they could send out an armed force and harass these provinces, and of an easy avenue through which they had often invaded them. it removed troublesome neighbours out of their way, who had often instigated the savages against them, and made augustine an asylum for fugitive slaves. it opened some convenient ports for trade with britain and the west indies, and for annoying french and spanish ships coming through the gulf of florida, in case of any future rupture. it formed a strong frontier to the british dominions in that quarter, and furnished an immense track of improveable land for reduced officers, soldiers, and others, to settle and cultivate. [sidenote] encouragement given to reduced officers and soldiers. to testify the high sense his majesty had of the conduct and bravery of his officers and soldiers during the late war, and to encourage the settlement of the colonies, tracks of land were offered them as the rewards of their services. orders were given to the governors on the continent, to grant, without fee or reward, five thousand acres to every field officer who had served in america, three thousand to every captain, two thousand to every subaltern, two hundred to every non-commissioned officer, and fifty to every private man; free of quit-rents for ten years, but subject, at the expiration of that term, to the same moderate quit-rents as the lands in the other provinces, and to the same conditions of cultivation and improvement. in the new colonies, for the encouragement of the people, they were to be allowed civil establishments, similar to those of the other royal governments on the continent, so soon as their circumstances would admit, and the same provision was made for the security of their lives, liberties and properties under the new as under the old governments. [sidenote] georgia begins to flourish. no province on the continent felt the happy effects of this public security sooner than the province of georgia, which had long struggled under many difficulties, arising from the want of credit from friends, and the frequent molestations of enemies. during the late war the government had been given to james wright, who wanted neither wisdom to discern, nor resolution to pursue, the most effectual means for its improvement. while he proved a father to the people and governed the province with justice and equity, he discovered at the same time the excellence of its low lands and river swamps, by the proper management and diligent cultivation of which he acquired in a few years a plentiful fortune. his example and success gave vigour to industry, and promoted a spirit of emulation among the planters for improvement. the rich lands were sought for with that zeal, and cleared with that ardour, which the prospect of riches naturally inspired. the british merchants observing the province safe, and advancing to a hopeful and flourishing state, were no longer backward in extending credit to it, but supplied it with negroes, and goods of british manufacture, with equal freedom as the other provinces on that continent. the planters no sooner got the strength of africa to assist them than they laboured with success, and the lands every year yielded greater and greater increase. the trade of the province kept pace with its progress in cultivation. the rich swamps attracted the attention not only of strangers, but even of the planters of carolina, who had been accustomed to treat their poor neighbours with the utmost contempt, several of whom sold their estates in that colony, and moved with their families and effects to georgia. many settlements were made by carolineans about sunbury, and upon the great river alatamaha. the price of produce at savanna arose as the quantity increased, a circumstance which contributed much to the improvement of the country. the planters situated on the opposite side of savanna river found in the capital of georgia a convenient and excellent market for their staple commodities. in short, from this period the rice, indigo and naval stores of georgia arrived at the markets in europe in equal excellence and perfection, and, in proportion to its strength, in equal quantities with those of its more powerful and opulent neighbours in carolina. to form a judgment of the progress of the colony, we need only attend to its exports. in the year , the exports of georgia consisted of barrels of rice, libs. of indigo, bushels of indian corn, which, together with deer and beaver skins, naval stores, provisions, timber, _&c._ amounted to no more than l. , sterling; but afterwards the colony thrived and increased in a manner so rapid, that, in the year , it exported staple commodities to the value of l. , sterling. [sidenote] a plan adopted for encouraging emigrations to carolina. no less favourable and happy were the blessings of peace and security to their neighbours of carolina; for never did any country flourish and prosper in a more astonishing degree than this province has done since the conclusion of the late war. the government had been given to thomas boone, who was not only a native of the province, but had a considerable estate in it, which naturally rendered him deeply interested in its prosperity. the french and spaniards being removed out of the way, its progress was no more retarded by any molestation from them. the assembly appropriated a large fund for bounties to foreign protestants, and such industrious poor people of britain and ireland as should resort to the province within three years, and settle on the inland parts. two townships, each containing , acres, were laid out; one on the river savanna, called mecklenburgh, and the other on the waters of santee at long canes, called londonderry; to be divided among emigrants, allowing one hundred acres for every man, and fifty for every woman and child, that should come and settle in the back woods. the face of the country in those interior parts is variable and beautiful, and being composed of hills and vallies, rocks and rivers, there is not that stagnation in the air, which is so exceedingly hurtful to the human constitution in the flat marshy parts of the province. the hills occasion an agitation in the atmosphere, and by collecting the air in streams, these run along the earth in pleasant breezes, and mitigate the rigour of the hot season. the climate in those inland parts is not only more mild and wholesome, but the soil, particularly in the vallies, which are covered with lofty trees and luxuriant bushes, is exceedingly fertile, and promised in the amplest manner to reward the industrious labourer. in consequence of this encouragement offered, it was hoped that multitudes would resort to carolina, and settle those extensive and fruitful territories in the back woods, by which means the frontiers of the province would be strengthened, its produce increased, and its trade enlarged. [sidenote] a number of palatines seduced into england. not long after this a remarkable affair happened in germany, by which carolina received a great acquisition. one stumpel, who had been an officer in the king of prussia's service, being reduced at the peace, applied to the british ministry for a tract of land in america, and having got some encouragement returned to germany, where, by deceitful promises, he seduced between five and six hundred ignorant people from their native country. when these poor palatines arrived in england, the officer finding himself unable to perform his promises, fled, leaving them in a strange land, without money, without friends, exposed in the open fields, and ready to perish through want. while they were in this starving condition, and knew no person to whom they could apply for relief, a humane clergyman, who came from the same country, took compassion on them, and published their deplorable case in the news-papers. he pleaded for the mercy and protection of government to them, until an opportunity might offer of transporting them to some of the british colonies, where he hoped they would prove useful subjects, and in time give their benefactors ample proofs of their gratitude and affection. no sooner did their unhappy situation reach the ears of a great personage, than he immediately set an example to his subjects, which served both to warm their hearts and open their hands for the relief of their distressed fellow-creatures. a bounty of three hundred pounds was allowed them; tents were ordered from the tower for the accommodation of such as had paid their passage and been permitted to come ashore; money was sent for the relief of those that were confined on board. the public-spirited citizens of london, famous for acts of beneficence and charity, associated, and chose a committee on purpose to raise money for the relief of these poor palatines. a physician, a surgeon, and man-midwife, generously undertook to attend the sick gratis. from different quarters benefactions were sent to the committee, and in a few days those unfortunate strangers, from the depth of indigence and distress, were raised to comfortable circumstances. the committee finding the money received more than sufficient to relieve their present distress, applied to his majesty to know his royal pleasure with respect to the future disposal of the german protestants. his majesty, sensible that his colony of south carolina had not its proportion of white inhabitants, and having expressed a particular attachment to it, signified his desire of transporting them to that province. another motive for sending them to carolina was the bounty allowed to foreign protestants by the provincial assembly, so that when their source of relief from england should be exhausted, another would open after their arrival in that province, which would help them to surmount the difficulties attending the first state of cultivation. [sidenote] sent into carolina. accordingly preparations were made for sending the germans to south carolina. when the news was communicated to them they rejoiced, not only because they were to go to one of the most fertile and flourishing provinces on the continent, but also because many of them had friends and countrymen before them. two ships, of two hundred tons each, were provided for their accommodation, and provisions of all kinds laid in for the voyage. an hundred and fifty stand of arms were ordered from the tower, and given them by his majesty for their defence after their arrival in america; all which deserve to be recorded for the honour of the british nation, which has at different times set before the world many noble examples of benevolence. every thing being ready for their embarkation, the palatines broke up their camp in the fields behind white-chapel, and proceeded to the ships attended by several of their benefactors; of whom they took their leave with songs of praise to god in their mouths, and tears of gratitude in their eyes. [sidenote] and settled at londonderry. in the month of april, , they arrived at charlestown, and presented a letter from the lords commissioners for trade and plantations to governor boone, acquainting him that his majesty had been pleased to take the poor palatines under his royal care and protection, and as many of them were versed in the culture of silks and vines, had ordered that a settlement be provided for them in carolina, in a situation most proper for these purposes. though their settlement met with some obstructions from a dispute subsisting at that time between the governor and assembly about certain privileges of the house; yet the latter could not help considering themselves as laid under the strongest obligations to make provision for so many useful settlers. accordingly, in imitation of the noble example set before them in london, they voted five hundred pounds sterling to be distributed among the palatines, according to the directions of the lieutenant-governor, and their necessities. that they might be settled in a body, one of the two townships, called londonderry, was allotted for them, and divided in the most equitable manner into small tracts, for the accommodation of each family. captain calhoun, with a detachment of the rangers, had orders to meet them by the way, and conduct them to the place where their town was to be built, and all possible assistance was given towards promoting their speedy and comfortable settlement. [sidenote] some emigrate from britain, and multitudes from ireland. besides foreign protestants, several persons from england and scotland resorted to carolina after the peace. but of all other countries none has furnished the province with so many inhabitants as ireland. in the northern counties of that kingdom the spirit of emigration seized the people to such a degree, that it threatened almost a total depopulation. such multitudes of husbandmen, labourers and manufacturers flocked over the atlantic, that the landlords began to be alarmed, and to concert ways and means for preventing the growing evil. scarce a ship sailed for any of the plantations that was not crowded with men, women and children. but the bounty allowed new settlers in carolina proved a great encouragement, and induced numbers of these people, notwithstanding the severity of the climate, to resort to that province. the merchants finding this bounty equivalent to the expenses of the passage, from avaricious motives persuaded the people to embark for carolina, and often crammed such numbers of them into their ships that they were in danger of being stifled during the passage, and sometimes were landed in such a starved and sickly condition, that numbers of them died before they left charlestown. many causes may be assigned for this spirit of emigration that prevailed so much in ireland: some, no doubt, emigrated from a natural restlessness of temper, and a desire of roving abroad, without any fixed object in view. others were enticed over by flattering promises from their friends and relations, who had gone before them. but of all other causes of emigration oppression at home was the most powerful and prevalent. most men have a natural fondness and partiality for their native country, and leave it with reluctance while they are able to earn a comfortable livelihood in it. that spot where they first drew the breath of life, that society in which they spent the gay season of youth, the religion, the manners and customs of those among whom they were educated, all conspire to affect the heart, and endear their native country to them. but poverty and oppression will break through every natural tie and endearment, and compel men to rove abroad in search of some asylum against domestic hardship. hence it happened that many poor people forsook their native land, and preferred the burning sky and unwholesome climate of carolina, to the temperate and mild air of their mother country. the success that attended some friends who had gone before them being also industriously published in ireland, and with all the exaggerations of travellers, gave vigour to the spirit of adventure, and induced multitudes to follow their countrymen, and run all hazards abroad, rather than starve at home. government winked at those emigrations, and every year brought fresh strength to carolina, insomuch that the lands in ireland were in danger of lying waste for want of labourers, and the manufacturers of dwindling into nothing. [sidenote] and from the northern colonies, resort to carolina. nor were these the only sources from which carolina, at this time, derived strength and an increase of population. for, notwithstanding the vast extent of territory which the provinces of virginia and pennsylvania contained, yet such was the nature of the country, that a scarcity of improveable lands began to be felt in these colonies, and poor people could not find spots in them unoccupied equal to their expectations. most of the richest vallies in these more populous provinces lying to the east of the alleganny mountains were either under patent or occupied, and, by the royal proclamation at the peace, no settlements were allowed to extend beyond the sources of the rivers which empty themselves into the atlantic. in carolina the case was different, for there large tracks of the best lands as yet lay waste, which proved a great temptation to the northern colonists to migrate to the south. accordingly, about this time above a thousand families, with their effects, in the space of one year resorted to carolina, driving their cattle, hogs and horses over land before them. lands were allotted them on the frontiers, and most of them being only entitled to small tracks, such as one, two or three hundred acres, the back settlements by this means soon became the most populous parts of the province. the frontiers were not only strengthened and secured by new settlers, but the old ones on the maritime parts began also to stretch backward and spread their branches, in consequence of which the demand for lands in the interior parts every year increased. the governor and council met once a-month for the purpose of granting lands and signing patents, and it is incredible what numbers of people attended those meetings in order to obtain them; so that; from the time in which america was secured by the peace, carolina made rapid progress in population, wealth and trade, which will farther appear when we come particularly to consider its advanced state and annual exports. [sidenote] regulations for securing the provinces against indians. in proportion as the province increased in the number of white inhabitants, its danger from the savage tribes grew less alarming. but to prevent any molestation from indians, and establish the peace of the colonies on the most lasting foundation, his majesty, by his royal proclamations after the peace, took care to fix the boundaries of their hunting lands, in as clear a manner as the nature of the country would admit. no settlements were allowed to extend any farther backward upon the indian territories, than the sources of those great rivers which fall into the atlantic ocean, and all british subjects who had settled beyond these limits were ordered to remove. in this restriction his majesty evidently made a distinction between the rights of sovereignty and those of property; having excluded his governors from all manner of jurisdiction over those lands which were not specified within the limits of their respective provinces. all private subjects were prohibited from purchasing lands from indians; but if the latter should at any time be inclined to dispose of their property, it must for the future be done to the king, by the general consent of their nation, and at a public assembly held by british governors for that purpose. all traders were obliged to take out licences from their respective governors for carrying on commerce with indian nations. [sidenote] john stuart made superintendant for indian affairs. such regulations were in many respects useful and necessary; for the french and spaniards being excluded, it only remained to guard the provinces against the danger arising from indians. and as they were liable to much abuse and oppression from private traders, it was thought necessary that the office of a superintendant should be continued for the southern as well as the northern district of america. accordingly this office was given to captain john stuart, who was in every respect well qualified for the trust. attakullakulla had signified to the governor and council, after the cherokee war, that the province would receive no molestation from indians were this officer appointed to reside among them, and to advise and direct them. the assembly had not only thanked him for his good conduct and great perseverance at fort loudon, and rewarded him with fifteen hundred pounds currency, but also recommended him to the governor as a person worthy of preferment in the service of the province. after his commission arrived from the king, the carolineans rejoiced, and promised themselves for the future great tranquillity and happiness. plans of lenity were likewise adopted by government with respect to those indian tribes, and every possible precaution was taken to guard them against oppression, and prevent any rupture with them. experience had shewn that rigorous measures, such as humbling them by force of arms, were not only very expensive and bloody, but disagreeable to a humane and generous nation, and seldom accompanied with any good effects. such ill treatment rendered the savages cruel, suspicious and distrustful, and prepared them for renewing hostilities, by keeping alive their ferocious and warlike spirit. their extirpation, even though it could easily be compleated, would be a cruel act, and all the while the growth and prosperity of the settlements would be much retarded by the attempt. whereas, by treating indians with gentleness and humanity, it was thought they would by degrees lose their savage spirit, and become more harmless and civilized. it was hoped that by establishing a fair and free trade with them, their rude temper would in time be softened, their manners altered, and their wants increased; and instead of implacable enemies, ever bent on destruction, they might he rendered good allies, both useful and beneficial to the trade of the nation. [sidenote] decrease of indians, and the causes of it. it has been remarked, that those indians on the continent of america, who were at the time of its discovery a numerous and formidable people, have since that period been constantly decreasing, and melting away like snow upon the mountains. for this rapid depopulation many reasons have been assigned. it is well known that population every where keeps pace with the means of subsistence. even vegetables spring and grow in proportion to the richness of the soil in which they are planted, and to the supplies they receive from the nourishing rains and dews of heaven; animals flourish or decay according as the means of subsistence abound or fail; and as all mankind partake of the nature of both, they also multiply or decrease as they are fed, or have provision in plenty, luxury excluded. the indians being driven from their possessions near the sea as the settlements multiplied, were robbed of many necessaries of life, particularly of oysters, crabs, and fish, with which the maritime parts furnished them in great abundance, and on which they must have considerably subsisted, as is apparent from a view of their camps, still remaining near the sea-shore. the women are not only much disregarded and despised, but also naturally less prolific among rude than polished nations. the men being often abroad, at hunting or war, agriculture, which is the chief means of subsistence among a civilized people, is entirely neglected by them, and looked upon as an occupation worthy only of women or slaves. that abstinence and fatigue which the men endure in their distant excursions, and that gluttony and voraciousness in which they indulge themselves in the times of plenty, are equally hurtful to the constitution, and productive of diseases of different kinds. now that their territories are circumscribed by narrower bounds, the means of subsistence derived even from game is less plentiful. indeed scanty and limited are the provisions they raise by planting, even in the best seasons; but in case of a failure of their crops, or of their fields being destroyed by enemies, they perish in numbers by famine. their natural passion for war the first european settlers soon discovered; and therefore turned the fury of one tribe against another, with a view to save themselves. when engaged in hostilities, they always fought not so much to humble and conquer, as to exterminate and destroy. the british, the french and spanish nations, having planted colonies in their neighbourhood, a rivalship for power over them took place, and each nation having its allies among the savages was zealous and indefatigable in instigating them against the allies of its neighbour. hence a series of bloody and destructive wars has been carried on among these rude tribes, with all the rage and rancour of implacable enemies. but famine and war, however destructive, were not the only causes of their rapid decay. the smallpox having broke out among them, proved exceedingly fatal, both on account of the contageous nature of the distemper, and their harsh and injudicious attempts to cure it by plunging themselves into cold rivers during the most violent stages of the disorder. the pestilence broke out among some nations, particularly among the pemblicos in north carolina, and almost swept away the whole tribe. the practice of entrapping them, which was encouraged by the first settlers in carolina, and selling them for slaves to the west india planters, helped greatly to thin their nations. but, of all other causes, the introduction of spirituous liquors among them, for which they discovered an amazing fondness, has proved the most destructive. excess and intemperance not only undermined their constitution, but also created many quarrels, and subjected them to a numerous list of fatal diseases, to which in former times they were entire strangers. besides those europeans engaged in commercial business with them, generally speaking, have been so far from reforming them, by examples of virtue and purity of manners, that they rather served to corrupt their morals, and render them more treacherous, distrustful, base and debauched than they were before this intercourse commenced. in short, european avarice and ambition have not only debased the original nature and stern virtue of that savage race, so that these few indians that now remain have lost in a great measure their primitive character; but european vice and european diseases, the consequences of vice, have exterminated this people, insomuch that many nations formerly populous are totally extinct, and their names entirely forgotten. [sidenote] present state of indian nations in the southern district. the principal tribes around carolina that now remain are, the cherokees, the catabaws, the creeks, the chickesaws, and choctaws, and a few others that scarcely deserve to be mentioned. in the cherokees, who inhabit the mountains to the north of charlestown, could scarcely bring two thousand men to the field. the catabaws have fifteen miles square allotted them for hunting lands, about two hundred miles north of charlestown, with british settlements all around them; but they are so much reduced by a long war with the five nations, that they could not muster one hundred and fifty warriors. the creeks inhabit a fine country on the south-west, between four and five hundred miles distant from charlestown, and the number of both the upper and lower nations does not exceed two thousand gun-men. the chickesaw towns lie about six hundred miles due west from charlestown, but the nation cannot send three hundred warriors to the field, owing to the incessant wars which they have carried on against the french, by which their number has been greatly diminished. the choctaws are at least seven hundred miles west-south-west from charlestown, and have between three and four thousand gun-men; and as their settlements border on west florida, the greatest part of them till the late peace remained allies of france. but as these artful and insinuating rivals were removed out of the way, and the british government had adopted prudent plans of civilizing and managing those barbarous nations, the colonies for the future were in a great measure freed from all apprehensions of danger from them. i shall therefore conclude my observations respecting indians with a speech of mr. stuart the superintendant, delivered at a general congress held in mobile, at which governor johnstone and many british officers and soldiers attended. for as he was so well acquainted with the humours, tempers and characters of these tribes, this speech, in which is exhibited a good specimen of the language and manner proper for addressing barbarous nations, may not be unworthy of the reader's attention. [sidenote] mr. stuart's first speech to the indians at mobile. "friends and brothers, the supreme being who made the world and all its inhabitants, has been pleased to permit many great warriors of the british and indian nations to meet together in peace. the great king, who is the father of all white people in great britain and america, and defends them from danger, this day stretches out his arms to receive his red children into favour. he has been pleased to appoint me superintendent of the affairs of all indian nations to the southward of virginia. in his name i speak to you, and as the words you hear are his words, i hope you will listen to them with attention, and allow them to remain deeply impressed on your minds. they are calculated to promote not only your happiness, but that of your children and childrens children for ever. "when the great kings of britain and france were at variance, the storms of war raged through this great forest, the indian nations were divided, brothers against brothers, and your country was stained with blood. malice and revenge went forth, all paths were made crooked, and your land was covered with darkness. now that it has pleased the author of life to restore the blessings of light and peace, it is our duty to make a proper use and improvement of them. as fogs gathered in the night are dispersed by the rising sun, so words dictated by the rage of war should be forgotten in the time of peace. the great king, full of wisdom and magnanimity, knows the frailty of his red children, and forgives their disobedience and rebellion. he extends his love to them all, even to those that lifted up the hatchet against him. to render them secure, he has resolved that the english and french shall be for ever separated by the great river mississippi, and that all nations on this side of it shall have him for their common father. he commands all strife and enmity between his white and red children to cease, and expects that the allies of britain will take those indians, the former allies of france, by the hand, and live together like brethren of one family. that his white and red children may be near one other, and mutually supply each other's wants, he has ordered some of his good subjects to come over the great waters, and live on the fruits of this land, which the supreme being made for the use of mankind in general. to open this friendly intercourse, i have invited you all to meet me at this place, and i rejoice that so many brothers are come to accept of the royal favour and protection. "ye chickesaw warriors, i speak first to you, and i know your ears are open to my words. the great king regards you as children brought up in their father's house, who from their infancy have been dutiful and obedient, and by that means merited what you have always enjoyed, his particular care and affection. while darkness surrounded you on every side, he has defended you from all those snares and dangers to which you were exposed. now the day is clear and unclouded. your father continues to love you. the paths from your towns to all nations shall be made straight and plain, and nothing shall be permitted to hurt your feet. your children shall rejoice and grow up in safety, and your houses shall be filled with abundance of corn and venison. i am come to tell you the good news, and to see that justice be done you in all commercial dealings. "in the next place i speak to you, ye warriors of the great party of the choctaw notion. you were like sons separated from their father, and removed at a great distance from his protection; but by persisting in obedience you were entitled to his love. the great king always acknowledged you, but now he receives you into his family, and offers you all the favours and privileges of sons. while you continue dutiful and obedient, the eye of your father shall be upon you, and his hand shall be open to relieve your wants. under his care you shall enjoy all the blessings of peace and safety. you shall receive no injuries from friends, nor be exposed to any dangers from enemies. your arms shall be kept bright, your hunting lands no man shall be permitted to take from you, and there shall be abundance of corn about your village. "but as for you, ye choctaw warriors of the six villages, you were like children early lost. while you were wandering out of the way, without knowing your brothers you blindly struck them. you found a father, indeed, who adopted you, and you have long served him with zeal, and shewn many proofs of your courage. you have received from your french father such poor rewards for your services as he could bestow; but all the while you remained under his care you were hungry, naked and miserable. he gave you many fair words and promises, and having long deceived you, at last is obliged to leave you in your present forlorn and wretched condition. now your true father has found you, and this day stretches forth his arms to receive you under his protection. he has forgotten all your past offences. he knows your weakness, and forgives your errors. he knows your wants, and is disposed to relieve them. i have but one tongue, and always speak the truth; and as i bring you good news, i hope my words shall not be blown away by the wind. the great king is wise, generous and merciful, and i flatter myself with the hopes that you will never forget your obligations to his goodness. "it is my duty to watch over indians, and protect them against all manner of danger and oppression. for this purpose my ears shall be always open to your complaints, and it shall be my study to redress your grievances. i must warn you to beware of all quarrels and outrages, by which you will certainly forfeit the royal favour, and plunge yourselves again into misery. i hope you will always observe my advice, and conduct yourselves accordingly, that i may be able to transmit good accounts of your behaviour to england. it is only by the permission of the great king that your wants can be supplied, and that traders can come into your villages with guns, powder, balls, knives, hatchets, flints, hoes, clothes and other necessaries. these things you cannot make for yourselves, and no other nation will be allowed to furnish you with them. therefore the great king has a right to expect your gratitude and obedience, for all he requires is with a view to your own tranquillity and happiness. "as you are all received into the family of the great king, it is expected that indians will not only live in friendship and peace with white men, but also with one another. in imitation of his majesty's good example, you must forget all injuries and offences, and throw aside all national jealousies and antipathies. the king expects that the great chieftains, to whom he has given medals and gorgets, will consider them not merely as ornaments, but as emblems of the high offices they bear, and the great trust reposed in them. all presents made you are in consideration of the good services expected from you. therefore, ye wise and great leaders, i expect you will use your authority like fathers, and restrain your young men from all acts of violence and injustice, and teach them that the only way to merit honour and preferment is to be just, honest and peaceable, and that disgrace and punishment will be the consequences of disorderly practices, such as robbing plantations, and beating or abusing white people. "ye warriors who have no commissions, i speak to you also in name of the king, and i hope you will reverence his authority and love your brethren. listen at all times to your wise rulers, and be careful to follow their advice and example. by their wisdom and justice they have arrived at an high pitch of preferment, and stand distinguished by great and small medals. if, like them, you wish to be great, like them, you must first be good. you must respect them as children do their father, yielding submission to their authority, and obedience to their commands. without the favour of your chiefs, you will neither get your wants supplied nor reach the station of honour. an armourer will be sent into your nation to clean and repair your rifles, but he will have instructions to mend arms to none but such as shall be recommended by their chiefs, it being proper that such leaders should have it in their power to distinguish those that are peaceable and obedient from the obstinate and perverse. "i am to inform you all, that i will send a beloved man into your towns, who will be vested with authority to hear and determine all differences between you and the traders, to deliver all messages from me to you, and all talks from you to me. and as he will come to promote your welfare and tranquillity, i hope you will receive him kindly, protect him against all insults, and assist him in the execution of his office. "when the french governor took his leave of you, he advised you to look upon yourselves as the children of the king of great britain. the advice was good, i hope you will remember it for ever. the great king has warriors numerous as the trees of the forest, and stands in no need of your assistance; but he desires your friendship and alliance to render you happy. he loves peace and justice, but he will punish all murders and rebellion. be careful, therefore, to keep your feet far from the crooked and bloody path. shun all communication with indian tribes who lift the hatchet against their white brethren. their talks, their calamets, their belts of wampum, and their tobacco are all poisonous. if you receive them into your towns, be assured you will be infected with their madness, and be in danger of rushing into destruction. be cautious; above all things, of permitting great quantities of rum to be brought into your villages. it poisons your body, enervates your mind, and, from respectable warriors, turns you into furious madmen, who treat friends and enemies alike. mark those persons, whether they be white or red, that bring rum among you, for bad men, who violate the laws, and have nothing else in view but to cheat, and render you despicable and wretched. "lastly, i inform you that it is the king's order to all his governors and subjects, to treat indians with justice and humanity, and to forbear all encroachments on the territories allotted for them. accordingly, all individuals are prohibited from purchasing any of your lands; but as you know that your white brethren cannot feed you when you visit them unless you give them grounds to plant, it is expected that you will cede lands to the king for that purpose. but whenever you shall be pleased to surrender any of your territories to his majesty, it must be done for the future at a public meeting of your nation, when the governors of the provinces, or the superintendent shall be present, and obtain the consent of all your people. the boundaries of your hunting grounds will be accurately fixed, and no settlement permitted to be made upon them. as you may be assured that all treaties with you will be faithfully kept, so it is expected that you also will be careful strictly to observe them. i have now done, and i hope you will remember the words i have spoken. time will soon discover to you the generosity, justice and goodness of the british nation. by the bounty of the king, and a well-ordered trade with his subjects, your houses shall be filled with plenty, and your hearts with joy. you will see your men and women well clothed and fed, and your children growing up to honour you, and add strength to your nation; your peace and prosperity shall be established, and continue from generation to generation." having now endeavoured to give some account of the rise and progress of this colony for the first century after its settlement, or rather from the time the proprietors received their second charter in to the year , we shall add a general view of its present state and condition. i have purposely delayed speaking of several things, particularly of the temper, manners and character of the people, until this period, when they come more immediately under my own notice; and such observations as i have made shall now be submitted to the public view for the use of strangers, leaving all men acquainted with provincial affairs to judge for themselves, according to the different lights in which matters may have occurred to them. [sidenote] a description of charlestown. with respect to the towns in carolina, none of them, excepting one, merit the smallest notice. beaufort, purisburgh, jacksonburgh, dorchester, camden, and george-town, are all inconsiderable villages, having in each no more than twenty, thirty, or, at most, forty dwelling houses. but charlestown, the capital of the province, may be ranked with the first cities of british america, and yearly advances in size, riches and population. it is situated upon a neck of land at the continence of ashley and cooper rivers, which are large and navigable, and wash at least two third parts of the town. these rivers mingle their streams immediately below the town, and, running six or seven miles farther, empty themselves at sullivan's island into the atlantic ocean. by means of such broad rivers the sea is laid open from east to southeast, and the town fanned by gentle breezes from the ocean, which are very refreshing to the inhabitants during the summer months. the tide flows a great way above the town, and occasions an agitation in the air which is also productive of salutary effects. so low and level is the ground upon which charlestown is built, that the inhabitants are obliged to raise banks of earth, as barriers, to defend themselves against the higher floods of the sea. the streets from east to west extend from river to river, and, running in a straight line, not only open a beautiful prospect, but also afford excellent opportunities, by means of subterranean drains, for removing all nuisances; and keeping the town clean and healthy. these streets are intersected by others, nearly at right angles, and throw the town into a number of squares, with dwelling houses on the front, and office-houses and little gardens behind them. some of the streets are broad, which in such a climate is a necessary and wise regulation, for where narrow lanes and alleys have been tolerated, they prove by their confined situation a fruitful nursery for diseases of different kinds. the town, which was at first entirely built of wood, as might be expected, has often suffered from fire; but such calamities, though they fell heavy on individuals, have given the inhabitants frequent opportunities of making considerable improvements in it. now most houses are built of brick, three storeys high, some of them elegant, and all neat habitations; within they are genteelly furnished, and without exposed as much as possible to the refreshing breezes from the sea. many of them are indeed encumbered with balconies and piazzas, but these are found convenient and even necessary during the hot season, into which the inhabitants retreat for enjoying the benefit of fresh air, which is commonly occasioned, and always increased, by the flux and reflux of the sea. almost every family have their pump-wells, but the water in them being at no great distance from the salt river, and filtered only through sand, is brackish, and commonly occasions severe griping and purging to every person not accustomed to it. the town consisted at this time of, at least, twelve hundred dwelling houses, and was in at advancing state. the public buildings are, an exchange, a state-house, an armoury, two churches for episcopalians, one for presbyterians, two for french and dutch protestants; to which may be added, meeting-houses for anabaptists, independents, quakers and jews. upon the sides of the rivers wharfs are built, to which all ships that come over the bar may lie close; and having stores and ware-houses erected upon them, are exceedingly convenient for importing and exporting all kinds of merchandise. the harbour is also tolerably well fortified, the king having at different times presented the province with great guns for that purpose. towards cooper river the town is defended by a number of batteries, insomuch that no ships of an enemy can approach it without considerable hazard. besides these, the passage up to it is secured by fort johnson, built on james's island, about two miles below the town. this fort stands in a commanding situation, within point-blank shot of the channel, through which every ship, in their way to and from charlestown, must pass. the commander of fort johnson is commissioned by the king, and has authority to stop every ship coming in until the master or mate shall make oath that there is no malignant distemper on board. it has barracks for fifty men; but, in case of emergency, it obtains assistance from the militia of the island. during the late cherokee war a plan was also formed for fortifying the town towards the land, with a horn-work built of tappy, flanked with batteries and redoubts at proper distances, and extending from river to river; but, after having spent a great sum of money on this work, peace being restored, the design was dropt. [sidenote] the number of its inhabitants. in the number of white inhabitants in charlestown amounted to between five and fix thousand, and the number of negroes to between seven and eight thousand. with respect to the number of white inhabitants in the province we cannot be certain, but we may form some conjecture from the militia roll; for as all male persons from sixteen to sixty are obliged by law to bear arms and muster in the regiments, and as the whole militia formed a body of between seven and eight thousand, reckoning the fifth person fit for military duty, the whole inhabitants in the province might amount to near forty thousand. but the number of negroes was not less than eighty or ninety thousand. as no exact register of the births and funerals has been kept at charlestown for several years, we cannot ascertain the proportion between them. formerly, when bills of mortality were annually printed, the common computation was, that, while no contagious disorder prevailed in town, one out of thirty-five died yearly, or one out of each family in the space of seven years. however, the list of deaths is often increased by the sailors and transient persons that die in the town, and by malignant distempers imported into it. it is generally believed, that the number of births among the settled inhabitants exceeds that of funerals; but we shall affirm nothing with respect to this matter without better authority than common observation and conjecture. [sidenote] a general view of the manners _&c._ of the people. with respect to temper and character, the inhabitants of carolina differ little from those of great britain and ireland; i mean, such as derived their origin from those islands, for the descendents of other nations still retain something of the complexion, manners and customs of those countries from whence they came. in stature, the natives of carolina are about the middle size; for in europe we meet with men both taller and shorter. they are, generally speaking, more forward and quick in growth than the natives of cold climates. indeed we may say, there are no boys or girls in the province, for from childhood they are introduced into company, and assume the air and behaviour of men and women. many of them have an happy and natural quickness of apprehension, especially in the common affairs of life, and manage business with ease and discretion; but want that steadiness, application and perseverance necessary to the highest improvements in the arts and sciences. several natives who have had their education in britain, have distinguished themselves by their knowledge in the laws and constitution of their country; but those who have been bred in the province, having their ideas confined to a narrower sphere, have as yet made little figure as men of genius or learning. agriculture being more lucrative than any other employment, all who possess lands and negroes apply their chief attention to the improvement of their fortune, regardless of the higher walks of science. they commonly marry early in life, and of course are involved in domestic cares and concerns before their minds have had time to ripen in knowledge and judgment. in the progress of society they have not advanced beyond that period in which men are distinguished more by their external than internal accomplishments. hence it happens, that beauty, figure, agility and strength form the principal distinctions among them, especially in the country. among english people they are chiefly known by the number of their slaves, the value of their annual produce, or the extent of their landed estate. for the most part they are lively and gay, adapting their dress to the nature of the climate in which they live, and discover no small taste and neatness in their outward appearance. their intercourse and communication with britain being easy and frequent, all novelties in fashion, dress and ornament are quickly introduced; and even the spirit of luxury and extravagance, too common in england, was beginning to creep into carolina. almost every family kept their chaises for a single horse, and some of the principal planters of late years have imported fine horses and splendid carriages from britain. they discover no bad taste for the polite arts, such as music, drawing, fencing and dancing; and it is acknowledged by all, but especially by strangers, that the ladies in the province considerably outshine the men. they are not only sensible, discreet and virtuous, but also adorned with most of those polite and elegant accomplishments becoming their sex. the carolineans in general are affable and easy in their manners, and exceedingly kind and hospitable to all strangers. there are few old men or women to be found in the province, which is a sure sign of the unhealthiness of the climate. we cannot say that there are many in the country that arrive at their sixtieth year, and several at thirty bear the wrinkles, bald head and grey hairs of old age. as every person by diligence and application may earn a comfortable livelihood, there are few poor people in the province, except the idle or unfortunate. nor is the number of rich people great; most of them being in what we call easy and independent circumstances. it has been remarked, that there are more persons possessed of between five and ten thousand pounds sterling in the province, than are to be found any where among the same number of people. in respect of rank, all men regarded their neighbour as their equal, and a noble spirit of benevolence pervaded the society. in point of industry the town was like a bee-hive, and there were none that reaped not advantages more or less from the flourishing state of trade and commerce. pride and ambition had not as yet crept into this community; but the province was fast advancing to that state of power and opulence, when some distinctions among men necessarily take place. [sidenote] and of their way of living. with respect to the manner of living in charlestown, it is nearly the same as in england; and many circumstances concur to render it neither very difficult nor expensive to furnish plentiful tables. they have tea from england, and coffee, chocolate and sugar from the west indies, in plenty. butter is good, especially at that season when the fields are cleared of rice, and the cows are admitted into them; and it is so plentiful that they export a good deal of it to the leeward islands. the province produces some flour for bread; but it being of an inferior quality, the inhabitants chiefly make use of that imported from new york and philadelphia. in the market there is plenty of beef, pork, veal, poultry and venison, and a great variety of wild-fowls and salt-water fish. the mutton from the low lands is not so good as that from the hills in the interior parts, but as the back country is now well settled, it is hoped that the market in time will be likewise well supplied with mutton from it. they have also a variety of the finest fruits and vegetables in their season. their principal drink is punch, or grog, which is composed of rum well diluted with water. with respect to wine, madeira is not only best suited to the climate, in which it improves by heat and age, but also most commonly used by the people in general, though french, spanish and portuguese wines are likewise presented at the tables of the most opulent citizens. besides these, they have porter and beer from england, and cyder and perry from the northern colonies. where rum is cheap, excess in the use of it will not be uncommon, especially among the lower class of people; but the gentlemen in general are sober, industrious and temperate. in short, the people are not only blessed with plenty, but with a disposition to share it among friends and neighbours; and many will bear me witness, when i say, that travellers could scarcely go into any city where they could meet with a society of people more agreeable, intelligent and hospitable than that at charlestown. [sidenote] the arts and sciences only of late encouraged. though the arts and sciences had been long neglected, and have as yet made no great progress in the province, yet of late years they have met with great encouragement. the people in general stand not only much indebted to an ingenious bookseller, who introduced many of the most distinguished authors among them, but several of the most respectable citizens also united and formed a society for the promotion of literature, having obtained a charter of incorporation for that purpose. all the new publications in london, and many of the most valuable books, both ancient and modern, have been imported for the use of this society the members of which were ambitious of proving themselves the worthy descendants of british ancestors, by transporting not only their inferior arts of industry and agriculture, but also their higher improvements in philosophy and jurisprudence. their design was not confined to the present generation, but extended to posterity, having the institution of a college in view, so soon as the funds of the society should admit of it. news-papers were also printed, for supplying the province with the freshest and most useful intelligence of all that passed in the political and commercial world. for amusement the inhabitants of charlestown had not only books and public papers, but also assemblies, balls, concerts and plays, which were attended by companies almost equally brilliant as those of any town in europe of the same size. [sidenote] the militia and internal strength of the province. charlestown had its armoury, magazine, and militia, and every citizen, like those of ancient sparta, joined the military to the civil character. the officers of the militia are appointed by the governor, who commonly nominates such men from among the inhabitants to command the rest as are most distinguished for their courage and capacity. all men of the military age being registered in the militia roll, each person knows the company to which he belongs, the captain who commands it, and is obligated to keep his arms in order, and to appear properly equipped in case of any alarm or other emergency. we cannot say that the militia in general made a good appearance, or seemed expert at the use of arms; but the companies of grenadiers, light infantry, and artillery, were extravagantly gay, and tolerably well disciplined. as most of the men were equally independent as their officers, that prompt obedience to orders, necessary in a regular army, could not be expected from them; but being conscious that union of strength was necessary to the common safety, on all emergencies they appeared under arms with alacrity and expedition. by the militia law the merchants and tradesmen of the city were subjected to some temporary inconveniencies and interruptions of business; but as agriculture was chiefly carried on by slaves, and nature brought the fruits of the earth to maturity, the planters in the country had abundance of time to spare for military exercises. their rural life, and the constant use of arms, promoted a kind of martial spirit among them, and the great dangers to which they were always exposed, habituated them to face an enemy with resolution. fortunately a natural antipathy subsisted between indians and negroes, and prevented the two from uniting and conspiring the destruction of the colony. therefore, while indians remained quiet and peaceable, it was not the interest of the province to have them removed at a great distance; for had they been driven over the mississippi, or extirpated, their place would probably have been supplied by fugitive slaves, who, by taking shelter in the mountains, would have proved an enemy equally, if not more, cruel and formidable to carolina than the indians themselves; or had the savage nations given encouragement to slaves to fly to them for liberty and protection, fatal must the consequences have been to the settlement. [sidenote] of its societies formed for mutual support and relief. thus exposed to barbarians, the members of this little community knew that union of strength was not only requisite to the common safety, but both interest and duty naturally led them to establish societies with a particular view of raising funds for relieving each others wants. though every person was obliged by law to contribute, in proportion to his estate, for the relief of the poor of the province, yet, besides this, there were several societies formed and incorporated for the particular purpose of assisting such families belonging to them as might happen to be unfortunate in trade, or in any other way reduced to an indigent state. among these there is one called the south-carolina society, which merits particular notice. at first it consisted not of the most opulent citizens, though many of these afterwards joined it, but of persons in moderate stations, who held it an essential duty to relieve one another in such a manner as their circumstances would admit; accordingly they united, elected officers, and, by trifling weekly contributions, donations and legacies, together with good management, in process of time accumulated a considerable stock. a common seal was provided, with the device of a hand planting a vine, and the motto _posteritati_. the heavens smile on humane and generous designs. many observing the great usefulness of this society, petitioned for admission into it; and as its numbers increased its stock enlarged. in , their capital amounted to no more than l. : s.; but, in , it had arisen to a sum not less than l. , : : , current money. all the while their works of charity have likewise been conspicuous and extensive. many unfortunate and sinking families have been supported by them in a decent and respectable manner. many helpless orphans have been educated, and prepared for being useful members of society. several other societies in charlestown have been founded upon the same plan, and on many occasions the inhabitants in general, (it may be mentioned to their honour), have discovered a benevolent and charitable spirit, not only to poor people in the province, but also to unfortunate strangers. [sidenote] of its merchants and trade. the merchants in carolina are a respectable body of men, industrious and indefatigable in business, free, open and generous in their manner of conducting it. the whole warehouses in charlestown were like one common store, to which every trader had access for supplying his customers with those kinds of goods and manufactures which they wanted. the merchants of england, especially since the late peace, observing the colonies perfectly secure, and depending on the strength of the british navy for the protection of trade, vied with each other for customers in america, and stretched their credit to its utmost extent for supplying the provinces. hence every one of them were well furnished with all kinds of merchandise. but as the staples of carolina were valuable, and in much demand, credit was extended to that province almost without limitation, and vast multitudes of negroes, and goods of all kinds, were yearly sent to it. in proportion as the merchants of charlestown received credit from england, they were enabled to extend it to the planters in the country, who purchased slaves with great eagerness, and enlarged their culture. though the number of planters had of late years much increased, yet they bore no proportion to the vast extent of territory, and lands were still easily procured, either by patent or by purchase. according to the number of hands employed in labour, agriculture prospered and trade was enlarged. an uncommon circumstance also attended this rapid progress, which was favourable to the planting interest, and proved an additional incentive to industry. the price of staple commodities arose as the quantity brought to market increased. in rice sold at forty shillings per barrel, and indigo at two shillings per lib.; but in in so flourishing a state was the commerce of this country, that rice brought at market three pounds ten shillings per barrel, and indigo three shillings per lib. at the same time the quantity increased so much, that the exports of carolina amounted, upon an average of three years after the peace, to l. , : : ; but, in , the exports in that year alone arose to a sum not less than l. , sterling. how great then must the imports have been, when the province, notwithstanding this amazing increase, still remained in debt to the mother country. [sidenote] of its planters and agriculture. to this advanced state had carolina arrived in point of improvement. agriculture, beyond doubt, is of such importance to every country, that, next to public security and the distribution of justice and equity, it is the interest of every government to encourage it. nothing could more manifestly promote industry and agriculture, than that fair and equitable division of lands among the people which took place in this province. immense tracts of ground in possession of one man, without hands to cultivate and improve them, are only unprofitable deserts: but when lands are judiciously parcelled out among the people, industry is thereby encouraged, population increased, and trade promoted. the lands first yield abundance for the inhabitants, and then more than they can consume. when this is the case, the overplus can be spared for procuring foreign articles of exchange, and the province is thereby furnished with the conveniencies and luxuries of another climate and country. then the planter's views are turned to the advantages of trade, and the merchant's, in return, to the success of husbandry. from which time a mutual dependence subsists between them, and it is the interest of the one to encourage the other. for when the merchants receive nothing from the province, it is impossible they can afford to import anything into it. without cultivation commerce must always languish, being deprived of its chief supplies, the fruits of the earth. without credit from the merchant there would have been little encouragement to emigrate to carolina. a single arm could make little impression on the forest. a poor family, depending for support on the labour of one man, would have long remained in a starving condition, and scarcely ten of an hundred emigrants, obliged to work in such a climate, would have survived the tenth year after their arrival. to what causes then shall we ascribe the prosperity of the province? the answer is plain. under the royal care the people, being favoured with every advantage resulting from public security, an indulgent government, abundance of land, large credit, liberty to labour and to reap the whole fruits of it, protection to trade, and an excellent market for every staple, laboured with success. these were powerful motives to emigrate, strong incentives to industry, and the principal causes of its rapid advances towards maturity. no colony that ever was planted can boast of greater advantages. few have, in the space of an hundred years, improved and flourished in an equal degree. notwithstanding the favourable situation for agriculture in which the carolineans stood, they remained slovenly husbandmen, and every stranger was astonished at the negligent manner in which all estates in the province were managed. those planters who had arrived at easy or affluent circumstances employed overseers; and having little to do but to ride round their fields now and then, to see that their affairs were not neglected, or their slaves abused, indulge themselves in rural amusements, such as racing, mustering, hunting, fishing, or social entertainments. for the gun and dog the country affords some game, such as small partridges, woodcocks, rabbits, _&c._ but few of the planters are fond of that kind of diversion. to chace the fox or the deer is their favourite amusement, and they are forward and bold riders, and make their way through the woods and thickets with astonishing speed. the horses of the country, though hardy and serviceable animals, make little figure; and therefore, to improve the breed, many have been of late years imported from england. the planters being fond of fine horses, have been at great pains to raise them, so that they now have plenty of an excellent kind, both for the carriage and the turf. in every plantation great care is taken in making dams to preserve water, for overflowing the rice-fields in summer, without which they will yield no crops. in a few years after this pond is made, the planters find it stocked with a variety of fishes; but in what manner they breed, or whence they come, they cannot tell, and therefore leave that matter to philosophical inquirers to determine. some think that the spawn of fishes is exhaled from the large lakes of fresh water in the continent, and being brought in thunder-clouds, falls with the drops of rain into these reservoirs of water. others imagine that it must have remained every where among the sand since that time the sea left these maritime parts of the continent. others are of opinion, that young fish are brought by water-fowls, which are very numerous, from one pond to another, and there dropt, by which means the new-made pools receive their supply. but be the cause what it will, the effect is visible and notorious all over the country. when the ponds are stocked with fishes, it becomes an agreeable amusement to catch them, by hawling a sene[*] through the pool. parties of pleasure are formed for this purpose, so that the young planters, like gentlemen of fortune, being often abroad at these rural sports and social entertainments, their domestic affairs by such means are much neglected, and their plantations carelessly managed. [transcriber's note: the word 'sene' appears thus in the original. might be an uncommon misprint of 'sieve'.] but even among the most diligent and attentive planters we see not that nice arrangement and order in their fields observable in most places of europe, probably owing to the plenty and cheapness of land. in every country where landed estates are easily procured, they engross not that care and attention requisite for making them yield the greatest returns. the freeholds in carolina are not only easily obtained by patent or purchase, but also all alienable at pleasure; so that few of the present generation of planters regulate their system of husbandry upon any established principles or plans, much less with any views to posterity. in no country have the finest improvements been found in the first ages of cultivation. this remains for a future day, and when lands shall be more scarce and valuable, and the country better peopled; then, it is probable, carolina will cover, like other countries, the effects of the nice art and careful management of the husbandman. at present the common method of cultivation is as follows. after the planter has obtained his tract of land, and built a house upon it, he then begins to clear his field of that load of wood with which the land is covered. nature points out to him where to begin his labours; for the soil, however various, is every where easily distinguished, by the different kinds of trees which grow upon it. having cleared his field, he next surrounds it with a wooden fence, to exclude all hogs, sheep and cattle from it. this field he plants with rice or indigo, year after year, until the lands are exhausted or yield not a crop sufficient to answer his expectations. then it is forsaken, and a fresh spot of land is cleared and planted, which is also treated in like manner, and in succession forsaken and neglected. although there are vast numbers of cattle bred in the province, yet no manure is provided for improving the soil. no trials of a different grain are made. no grass seeds are sown in the old fields for enriching the pastures, so that either shrubs and bushes again spring up in them, or they are overgrown with a kind of coarse grass, grateful or nourishing to no animal. like farmers often moving from place to place, the principal study with the planters is the art of making the largest profit for the present time, and if this end is obtained, it gives them little concern how much the land may be exhausted. the emulation that takes place among the present generation, is not who shall put his estate in the most beautiful order, who shall manage it with most skill and judgment for posterity; but who shall bring the largest crop to the market. let their children provide for themselves. they will endeavour to leave them plenty of labourers, and they know they can easily obtain abundance of lands; vain and absurd, therefore, would it be to bestow much pains and time in preparing this or that landed estate for them, and laying it out in fine order, which they are certain will be deserted so soon as the lands are exhausted. such is the present method of carrying on agriculture in carolina, and it may do for some time, but every one must clearly see that it will be productive of bad effects. the richness of the soil, and the vast quantity of lands, have deceived many, even those men who had been bred farmers in england, and made them turn out as careless husbandmen as the natives themselves. wherever you go in this province, you may discover the ignorance of the people with respect to agriculture, and the small degree of perfection to which they have yet attained in this useful art. this will not be the case much longer, for lands will become scarce, and time and experience, by unfolding the nature of the soil, and discovering to the planters their errors, will teach them, as circumstances change, to alter also their present rules, and careless manner of cultivation. in every country improvements are gradual and progressive. in such a province as carolina, where the lands are good, new staples will be introduced, new sources of wealth will open; and, if we may judge from what is past, we may conclude, that, if no misunderstandings or quarrels shall interrupt its future progress, it certainly promises to be one of the most flourishing settlements in the world. we have seen that its exports are already very great, even while the lands are negligently cultivated and ill managed; but how much greater will they be when the art of agriculture shall hare arrived at the same degree of perfection in that province as in england. [sidenote] an interruption of the harmony between britain and her colonies, and the causes of it. such, at this period, was the happy situation of the people and province of south carolina; safe under the royal care and protection, and advancing to an opulent state by the unlimited credit and great indulgence granted by britain. however, if we proceed a little farther, we shall see the face of things gradually changing. we shall behold the mother country, as the wealth of her colonies increased, attempting some alteration in their political and commercial system: and the different provinces, infected with pride and ambition, aspiring after independence. let us take a slight view of the causes of that unhappy quarrel which at this time began between them, and afterwards proceeded to such a degree of violence as to threaten a total dissolution of all political union and commercial intercourse. it might have been expected that those colonies would not soon forget their obligations to the mother country, by which they had been so long cherished and defended. as all the colonies were in themselves so many independent societies, and as in every state protection and allegiance are reciprocal and inseparable duties, one would have thought that subjects would yield obedience to the laws, and submission to the authority of that government under which they claimed protection. such was the constitution of the provinces, that each, by its own legislature, could only regulate the internal police within the bounds of its territory. thus far, and no farther, did its authority extend. not one of them could either make or execute regulations binding upon another. they had no common council, empowered by the constitution, to act for and to bind all, though perhaps good policy now required the establishment of such a council, for the purpose of raising a revenue from them. every member of the vast empire might perceive, that some common tax, regularly and impartially imposed, in proportion to the strength of each division, was necessary to the future defence and protection of the whole. in particular, the people of great britain, when they looked forward to the possible contingency of a new war, and considered the burdens under which they groaned, had a melancholy and dreadful prospect before them; and the parliament considered it as their indispensible duty to relieve them as much as possible, and provide for the safety of the state by a proportionable charge on all its subjects. for as the exemption of one part from this equal charge was unreasonable and unjust, so it might tend to alienate the hearts of these subjects residing in one corner of the empire from those in another, and destroy that union and harmony in which the strength of the whole consisted. such were probably the views and designs of the parliament of great britain at this juncture, with respect to america. at the same time, if we consider the genius, temper and circumstances of the americans, we will find them jealous of their liberties, proud of their strength, and sensible of their importance to britain. they had hitherto obeyed the laws of the british parliament; but their great distance, their vast extent of territory, their numerous ports and conveniencies for trade, their increasing numbers, their various productions, and consequently their growing power, had now prepared and enabled them for resisting such laws as they deemed inconsistent with their interest, or dangerous to their liberty. some of these colonists even inherited a natural aversion to monarchy from their forefathers, and on all occasions discovered a strong tendency towards a republican form of government, both in church and state. so that, before the parliament began to exert its authority for raising a revenue from them, they were prepared to shew their importance, and well disposed for resisting that supreme power, and loosening by degrees their connection with the parent state. america was not only sensible of her growing strength and importance, but also of the weakness of the mother country, reduced by a tedious and expensive war, and groaning under an immense load of national debt. the colonies boasted of the assistance they had given during the war, and great britain, sensible of their services, was generous enough to reimburse them part of the expences which they had incurred. after this they began to over-rate their importance, to rise in their demands, and to think so highly of their trade and alliance, as to deem it impossible for britain to support her credit without them. in vain did the mother country rely upon their gratitude for past favours, so as to expect relief with respect to her present burdens. we allow, that the first generation of emigrants retained some affection for britain during their lives, and gloried in calling her their home and their mother country; but this natural impression wears away from the second, and is entirely obliterated in the third. among the planters in all the colonies this was manifestly the case; the sons of englishmen in america by degrees lost their affection for england, and it was remarkable, that the most violent enemies to scotland were the descendants of scotchmen. but among merchants, the attachment to any particular country is still sooner lost. men whose great object is money, and whose business is to gather it as fast as possible, in fact retain a predilection for any country no longer than it affords them the greatest advantages. they are citizens of the world at large, and provided they gain money, it is a matter of indifference to them to what country they trade, and from what quarter of the globe it comes. england is the best country for them, so long as it allows them to reap the greatest profits in the way of traffic; and when that is not the case, a trade with france, spain, or holland will answer better. if the laws of great britain interfere with their favourite views and interests, merchants will endeavour to elude them, and smuggle in spite of legal authority. of late years, although the trade of the colonies with the mother country had increased beyond the hopes of the most sanguine politicians, yet the american merchants could not be confined to it, but carried on a contraband trade with the colonies of france and spain, in defiance of all the british laws of trade and navigation. this illicit trade the people had found very advantageous, having their returns in specie for their provisions and goods, and the vast number of creeks and rivers in america proved favourable to such smugglers. during the late war this trade had been made a treasonable practice, as it served to supply those islands which britain wanted to reduce; but, after the conclusion of the war, it returned to its former channel, and increased beyond example in any past period. [sidenote] the new regulations made in the trade of the colonies give great offence. to prevent this illicit commerce, it was found necessary, soon after the peace, to establish some new regulations in the trade of the colonies. for this purpose some armed sloops and cutters were stationed on the coasts of america, whose commanders had authority to act as revenue officers, and to seize all ships employed in that contraband trade, whether belonging to foreigners or fellow-subjects. and to render these commercial regulations the more effectual, courts of admiralty were erected, and invested with a jurisdiction more extensive than usual. in consequence of the restrictions laid on this trade, which the smugglers found so advantageous, it suffered much, and, notwithstanding the number of creeks and rivers, was almost annihilated. this occasioned some very spirited representations to be sent across the atlantic by merchants, who declared that the americans bought annually to the amount of three millions of british commodities: that their trade with the french and spanish colonies took off such goods as remained an encumbrance on their hands, and made returns in specie, to the mutual advantage of both parties concerned in it. they complained, that the british ships of war were converted into guarda costas, and their commanders into custom-house officers; an employment utterly unworthy of the exalted character of the british navy: that naval officers were very unfit for this business in which they were employed, being naturally imperious in their tempers, and little acquainted with the various cases in which ships were liable to penalties, or in which they were exempted from detention: that that branch of trade was thereby ruined, by which alone they were furnished with gold and silver for making remittances to england; and that though the loss fell first upon them, it would ultimately fall on the commerce and revenue of great britain. [sidenote] a vote passed for charging stamp-duties on the americans. soon after this an act of parliament was passed, which, while it in some respects rendered this commercial intercourse with the foreign settlements legal, at the same time loaded a great part of the trade with duties, and ordered the money arising from them to be paid in specie to the british exchequer. instead of giving the colonists any relief, this occasioned greater murmurs and complaints among them, as it manifestly tended to drain the provinces of their gold and silver. at the same time another act was passed, for preventing such paper bills of credit as might afterwards be issued for the conveniency of their internal commerce, from being made a legal tender in the payment of debts. this served to multiply their grievances, and aggravate their distress. but that the provinces might he supplied with money for their internal trade, all gold and silver arising from these duties were to be reserved, and applied to the particular purpose of paying troops stationed in the colonies for their defence. several new regulations for encouraging their trade with great britain were also established. in consequence of a petition for opening more ports for the rice trade, leave was granted to the provinces of south carolina and georgia to carry their rice for a limited time into foreign parts, on its paying british duties at the place of exportation. a bounty was given on hemp and undressed flax imported into britain from the american colonies; and a bill was passed for encouraging the whale-fishery on the coasts of america: which advantages, it was thought, would amply compensate for any loss the colonies might sustain by the duties laid on their foreign trade. but the colonists, especially those in new england, who had advanced to such a degree of strength as rendered troops unnecessary for their defence, were too much soured in their tempers, to allow that great britain had any other than self-interested views in her whole conduct towards them. they murmured and complained, and resolved on a plan of retrenchment with respect to the purchasing of british manufactures; but still they presumed not openly to call in question the authority of the british legislature over them. but the time was at hand when their affection to the mother country, which was already considerably weaned, should undergo a greater trial, and when their real dispositions with respect to the obedience due to the british parliament would no longer be concealed. a vote passed in the house of commons, and very unanimously, "that, towards the farther defraying of the necessary expences of protecting the colonies, it may he proper to charge certain stamp-duties upon them." [sidenote] upon which the people of new-england discover their disaffection to government. when the news of this determination reached america, all the colonies were in some degree uneasy at the thoughts of paying taxes; but the colonists of new england, as if ripe for some commotion, were alarmed with the most terrible apprehensions and suspicions, openly affirming, that the king, lords and commons had formed a design for enslaving them, and had now begun deliberately to put it in execution. immediately they entered into associations for distressing the mother country, from a principle of resentment, as some thought, agreeing to purchase as few clothes and goods from her as possible, and to encourage manufactures of all kinds within themselves. they pretended that they were driven to such measures by necessity; but in reality they had nothing less in view than their favourite plan of independence, for the accomplishment of which it required time to secure the union and help of the other colonies, without which they plainly perceived all attempts of their own would be vain and fruitless. accordingly they established a correspondence with some leading men in each colony, representing the conduct of great britain in the most odious light, and declaring that nothing could prevent them and their posterity from being made slaves but the firmest union and most vigorous opposition of every colony, to all laws made in great britain on purpose to raise a revenue in the plantations. a few discontented persons, who are commonly to be found in every legislature, joined the disaffected colonists of new england; and though at this time the party was inconsiderable, yet being more firmly cemented together by the prospect of a stamp-act, which equally affected the interest of all, it by degrees gained strength, and at length became formidable. [sidenote] an opportunity given the colonies to offer a compensation for the stamp-duty. such measures, however, did not intimidate the british ministers, who imagined that an association entered into from a principle of resentment would be of short duration, and that the colonies in general would be averse from any serious quarrel with the mother country, upon which they depended for safety and protection. and although they were well apprised of this sullen and obstinate disposition of the colonists before the bill was introduced, yet they took no measures for preventing that opposition, which they had reason to believe would be made to the execution of their law. on the contrary, time was imprudently given to sound the temper of the colonies with respect to it, and to give them an opportunity of offering a compensation for it in their own way, in case they were dissatisfied with that method of raising a revenue for their defence. the minister even signified to the agents of the colonies his readiness to receive proposals from them for any other tax that might be equivalent to the stamp-duty. this he did although he thought that the parliament not only had a right to tax them, but also that it was expedient and proper to exercise that right. for as the colonies had no common council empowered by their constitution to bind all, their taxing themselves equally and impartially would be a matter of great difficulty, even although they should be disposed to agree to it. but the colonies, instead of making any proposal for raising a revenue by a stamp-duty or any other way, sent home petitions to be presented to king, lords, and commons, questioning, in the most direct and positive terms, the jurisdiction of parliament over their properties. [sidenote] the stamp-act passes in parliament. in this situation of affairs, the parliament, sensible of the heavy burden which already lay on the people of great britain, and of the addition to it which another war must occasion, thought it their indispensable duty to exert that authority, which before this time had never been called in question, for relieving this oppressed part of the nation, and providing for the common safety, by a charge impartially laid upon all subjects, in proportion to their abilities. the tender indulgence exercised by a parent over her children in their infant state, was now considered as both unreasonable and unnecessary in that state of maturity to which the colonies had advanced. all were obliged to confess, that the people of america were favoured with the same privileges and advantages with their fellow-subjects of britain, and justice required that they should contribute to the necessary expences of that government under which they lived, and by which they were protected. a revenue was necessary to the future security of america; and on whom should it be raised, but those colonists who were to enjoy the benefit of such protection. therefore the bill for laying a stamp-duty upon the colonies was brought into parliament; which, after much debate, and many strong arguments urged on both sides, passed through both houses, and received the royal assent by commission, on the d of march, . at the same time, to compensate for the operations of the stamp-act, another was made to encourage the importation of all kinds of timber from the colonies into britain: and as the estimated produce of the stamp-act amounted only to l. , _per annum_, and timber was so plentiful over all the plantations, it was thought that the great advantage which the colonies must reap from the latter act, would be an ample recompense for the loss they might sustain from the former. [sidenote] violent measures taken to prevent its execution. in the mean time the inhabitants of new england were industrious in spreading an alarm of danger over all the continent, and making all possible preparations for resistance. they had turned a jealous eye towards the mother country, where they had many friends employed to watch her conduct, who failed not to give them the earliest intelligence of what was doing in parliament. while they received the news that the stamp-act had passed, they at the same time had intelligence of that violent opposition it had met with from a strong faction in the house of commons. and if their friends in britain had the boldness to call in question both the right of the british legislature to impose taxes on the colonies, and the expediency of exercising that right, they thought that they had much better reason to do so; and that none deserved the blessing of liberty who had not courage to assert their right to it. accordingly, no means were neglected that could inflame and exasperate the populace. bold and seditious speeches were made to stir up the people to resistance; by representing the act in the most odious light, and affirming that it would be attended with consequences subversive of all their invaluable rights and privileges. they declared that silence was a crime at such a critical time, and that a tame submission to the stamp-act would leave their liberties and properties entirely at the disposal of a british parliament. having obtained a copy of the act, they publicly burnt it. the ships in the harbours hung out their colours half-mast high, in token of the deepest mourning; the bells in the churches were muffled, and set a-ringing, to communicate the melancholy news from one parish to another. these flames, kindled in new england, soon spread through all the capital towns along the coast; so that there was scarcely a sea-port town in america in which combinations were not framed for opposing the introduction of stamp-paper. when the vessels arrived which carried those stamp-papers to america, the captains were obliged to take shelter under the stern of some ships of war, or to surrender their cargoes into the hands of the enraged populace. the gentlemen appointed to superintend the distribution of stamps, were met by the mob at their landing, and compelled to resign their office. all men suspected of having any desire of complying with the act, or of favouring the introduction of stamps into america, were insulted and abused. the governors of the provinces had no military force to support civil authority. the magistrates connived at these irregular and riotous proceedings of the people. the assemblies adopted the arguments of the minority in parliament, and took encouragement from them to resist the authority of the supreme legislature. though each colony in respect of another was a separate and independent society, without any political connection, or any supreme head to call the representatives of the people together, to act in concert for the common good; yet in this case almost all, of their own authority, sent deputies to meet in congress at new york, who drew up and signed one general declaration of their rights, and of the grievances under which they laboured, and transmitted a petition to the king, lords and commons, imploring relief. [sidenote] the assembly of carolina study ways and means of eluding the act. among the rest a party in south carolina, which province at this time, from inclination, duty and interest, was very firmly attached to the mother country, entered warmly into the general opposition. lieutenant-governor bull, a native of the province, manifested a desire of complying with the act, and supporting the legal and constitutional dependency of the colony on the crown and parliament of great britain; but wanted power sufficient for maintaining the dignity and authority of his government, and carrying that act into execution. several old and wise men joined him, and declared that they had formerly taken an active part in bringing the province under his majesty's care, but would now be very cautious of resisting the authority of parliament, and robbing it of that protection which it had so long and so happily enjoyed. the members of assembly, finding the lieutenant-governor determined to transact no public business but in compliance with the act of parliament, began to deliberate how they might best elude it. for this purpose they addressed him, begging to be informed whether the stamp act, said to be passed in parliament, had been transmitted to him by the secretary of state, the lords of trade; or any other authentic channel, since he considered himself as under obligations to enforce it. he replied, that he had received it from thomas boone, the governor of the province. the assembly declared, that they could consider mr. boone, while out of the bounds of his government, in no other light than that of a private gentleman, and that his receiving it in such a channel was not authority sufficient to oblige him to execute so grievous an act. but mr. bull and his council were of opinion, that the channel in which he had received it was equally authentic with that in which he had formerly received many laws, to which they had quietly submitted. upon which the assembly came to the following resolutions, which were signed by peter manigault their speaker, and ordered to be printed, that they might be transmitted to posterity, in order to shew the sense of that house with respect to the obedience due by america to the british parliament. [sidenote] their resolutions respecting the obedience due to the british parliament. "resolved, that his majesty's subjects in carolina owe the same allegiance to the crown of great britain that is due from its subjects born there. that his majesty's liege subjects of this province are entitled to all the inherent rights and liberties of his natural born subjects within the kingdom of great britain. that the inhabitants of this province appear also to be confirmed in all the rights aforementioned, not only by their character, but by an act of parliament, th george ii. that it is inseparably essential to the freedom of a people, and the undoubted right of englishmen, that no taxes be imposed on them but with their own consent. that the people of this province are not, and from their local circumstances cannot be represented in the house of commons in great britain; and farther, that, in the opinion of this house, the several powers of legislation in america were constituted in some measure upon the apprehension of this impracticability. that the only representatives of the people of this province are persons chosen therein by themselves; and that no taxes ever have been, or can be, constitutionally imposed on them but by the legislature of this province. that all supplies to the crown being free gifts of the people, it is unreasonable and inconsistent with the principles and spirit of the british constitution for the people of great britain to grant to his majesty the property of the people of this province. that trial by jury is the inherent and invaluable right of every british subject in this province. that the act of parliament, entitled, an act for granting and applying certain stamp-duties and other duties on the british colonies and plantations in america, _&c._ by imposing taxes on the inhabitants of this province; and the said act and several other acts, by extending the jurisdiction of the courts of admiralty beyond its ancient limits, have a manifest tendency to subvert the rights and liberties of this province. that the duties imposed by several late acts of parliament on the people of this province will be extremely burdensome and grievous; and, from the scarcity of gold and silver, the payment of them absolutely impracticable. that as the profits of the trade of the people of this province ultimately center in great britain, to pay for the manufactures which they are obliged to take from thence, they eventually contribute very largely to all the supplies granted to the crown; and besides, as every individual in this province is as advantageous at least to great britain as if he were in great britain, as they pay their full proportion of taxes for the support of his majesty's government here, (which taxes are equal, or more, in proportion to our estates, than those paid by our fellow subjects in great britain upon theirs), it is unreasonable for them to be called upon to pay any further part of the charges of government there. that the assemblies of this province have from time to time, whenever requisitions have been made to them by his majesty, for carrying on military operations, either for the defence of themselves or america in general, most cheerfully and liberally contributed their full proportion of men and money for these services. that though the representatives of the people of this province had equal assurances and reasons with those of the other provinces, to expect a proportional reimbursement of those immense charges they had been at for his majesty's service in the late war, out of the several parliamentary grants for the use of america; yet they have obtained only their proportion of the first of those grants, and the small sum of l. sterling received since. that, notwithstanding, whenever his majesty's service shall for the future require the aids of the inhabitants of this province, and they shall be called upon for this purpose in a constitutional way, it shall be their indispensable duty most cheerfully and liberally to grant to his majesty their proportion, according to their ability, of men and money, for the defence, security, and other public services of the british american colonies. that the restrictions on the trade of the people of this province, together with the late duties and taxes imposed on them by act of parliament, must necessarily greatly lessen the consumption of british manufactures amongst them. that the increase, prosperity and happiness of the people of this province, depend on the full and free enjoyment of their rights and liberties, and on an affectionate intercourse with great britain. that the readiness of the colonies to comply with his majesty's requisitions, as well as their inability to bear any additional taxes beyond what is laid on them by their respective legislatures, is apparent from several grants of parliament, to reimburse them part of the heavy expences they were at in the late war in america. that it is the right of the british subjects of this province to petition the king, or either house of parliament. ordered, that these votes be printed and made public, that a just sense of the liberty, and the firm sentiments of loyalty of the representatives of the people of this province, may be known to their constituents, and transmitted to posterity." [sidenote] the people become more violent in opposition to government. notwithstanding these resolutions, few of the inhabitants of carolina, even the most sanguine, entertained the smallest hopes of a repeal; but expected, after all their struggles, that they would be obliged to submit. indeed a very small force in the province at that time would have been sufficient to quell the tumults and insurrections of the people, and enforce obedience to legal authority. but to the imprudence of ministers, the faction in parliament, and the weakness of the civil power in america, the resistance of the colonies may be ascribed. had the stamp-duty been laid on them without any previous notice of the resolution of parliament, it is not improbable that they would have received it as they had done other acts of the british legislature. or had the parliament been unanimous in passing the act, and taken proper measures for carrying it into execution, there is little doubt but the colonies would have submitted to it. for however generally the people might be indisposed for admitting of that or any other tax, yet a great majority of them at this time were averse from calling in question the supreme authority of the british parliament. but a small flame, which at first is easily extinguished, when permitted to spread, has often been productive of great conflagrations. the riotous and turbulent party, encouraged by the minority in england, set the feeble power of government in america at defiance. the better sort of people mingled with the rioters, and made use of the arguments of their friends in england to inflame and exasperate them. at length, they not only agreed to adhere to their former illegal combinations for distressing and starving the english manufactures, but also to with-hold from british merchants their just debts. this they imagined would raise such commotions in britain as could not fail to overturn the ministry, or intimidate the parliament. [sidenote] the merchants and manufacturers in england join in petitioning for relief. in consequence of these disturbances and combinations in america, great evils began to be felt in england, and still greater to be feared. the temporary interruption of commercial intercourse between the mother country and the colonies was very prejudicial to both. that large body of people engaged in preparing, purchasing and sending out goods to the continent were deprived of employment, and consequently of the means of subsistence; than which nothing could be conceived more likely to excite commotions in england. the revenue suffered by the want of the export and import duties. petitions flowed into parliament from all quarters, not only from the colonies in america, but also from the trading and manufacturing towns in great britain, praying for such relief as to that house might seem expedient, at a juncture so alarming. the ministers having neglected to take the proper measures to enforce their law, while the matter was easy and practicable, were now obliged to yield to the rising current, and resign their places. by the interposition of the duke of cumberland, such a change in the administration took place as promised an alteration of measures with respect to america. mr. pitt, who highly disapproved of the scheme for raising a revenue from the colonies, having long been detained by indisposition from parliament, had now so much recovered as to be able to attend the house.--the history of what follows is disgraceful to great britain, being entirely composed of lenient concessions in favour of a rising usurpation, and of such shameful weakness and timidity in the ministry, as afterwards rendered the authority of the british parliament in america feeble and contemptible. [sidenote] the stamp-act repealed. no sooner had this change in administration taken place, than all papers and petitions relative to the stamp-act, both from great britain and america, were ordered to be laid before the house of commons. the house resolved itself into a committee, to consider of those papers, about the beginning of the year . leave was given to bring in a bill for repealing an act of last session of parliament, entitled, an act for granting and applying certain stamp-duties and other duties, in the british colonies and plantations in america, towards defraying the expenses of protecting and securing the same. when this bill came into parliament a warm debate ensued, and mr. pitt with several more members strongly urged the necessity of a repeal. he made a distinction between external and internal taxes, and denied not only the right of parliament to impose the latter on the colonies, but also the justice, equity, policy and expediency of exercising that right. accordingly, while it was declared that the king, by and with the consent of the lords spiritual and temporal, and commons of great britain in parliament assembled, had, have, and of right ought to have, full power and authority to make laws and statutes of sufficient force and validity to bind the colonies and people of america, subjects of the crown of great britain, in all cases whatsoever; the stamp-act was repealed, because it appeared that the continuance of it would be attended with many inconveniences, and might be productive of consequences detrimental to the commercial interest of these kingdoms. [sidenote] which proves fatal to the jurisdiction of the british parliament in america. this concession in favour of the rising usurpation, instead of proving favourable to the commercial interests of the nation, had rather the contrary effect, and served to set the colonies in some measure free from the legislative authority of britain. it gave such importance to the licentious party in america, and such superiority over the good and loyal subjects as had a manifest tendency to throw the colonies into a state of anarchy and confusion. it served to promote a doctrine among them subversive of all good government, which plainly implied, that the obedience of subjects was no longer due to the laws of the supreme legislature, than they in their private judgments might think them agreeable to their interest, or the particular notions which they may have framed of a free constitution. while it gave countenance and encouragement to the riotous and turbulent subjects in america, who at that time were neither an opulent nor respectable party in the colonies, it exposed the real friends of government to popular prejudice, and rendered their affections more cool, and their future endeavours in support of government more feeble and ineffectual. for after repealing the stamp-act, without any previous submission on the part of the colonies, how could it be expected that any gentleman would risque his domestic peace, his fortune, or his life, in favour of a distant government ready to desert him, and leave him subjected to all the insults and outrages of future insurgents? how could it be imagined that these colonies, that had set the power of great britain at defiance, and obtained what they aimed at by tumults and insurrections, would afterwards remain quiet? as they had opposed the stamp-act, assigning for reason that they were not represented in parliament, was it not evident that the same reason would extend to all other laws which the parliament might enact to bind them in times to come, or had enacted to bind them in times past? the repeal of the stamp-act upon such a principle, and in such circumstances of tumult, unquestionably served to encourage the colonies in disobedience, and to prepare their minds for asserting their independence. [sidenote] and gives occasion of triumph to the colonies. when the news of the repeal of this act reached america, it afforded the colonists, as might have been expected, matter of great triumph. the most extravagant demonstrations of joy, by bonfires, illuminations and ringing of bells, were exhibited in every capital. the carolineans sent to england for a marble statue of mr. pitt, and erected it in the middle of charlestown, in grateful remembrance of the noble stand he had made in defence of their rights and liberties. addresses were sent home to the king, acknowledging the wisdom and justice of his government in the repeal of the grievous act, and expressing their happiness that their former harmony and commercial intercourse, so beneficial to both countries, were restored. but soon after it appeared that the power of great britain in america had received a fatal blow, such as she would never be able to recover without the severest struggles and boldest exertions. for whatever fair professions of friendship some colonies might make, the strongest of them retained their natural aversion to monarchy, and were well disposed for undermining the civil establishments, and paving the way for their entire subversion. the british government, formerly so much revered, was now deemed oppressive and tyrannical. the little island, they said, had become jealous of their dawning power and splendour, and it behoved every one to watch her conduct with a sharp eye, and carefully guard their civil and religious liberties. accordingly, for the future, we will find, that the more great britain seemed to avoid, the more the colonies seemed to seek for, grounds of quarrel; and the more the former studied to unite, by the ties of common interest, the more the latter strove to dissolve every political and commercial connection. their minds and affections being alienated from the mother country, they next discovered an uneasiness under the restraints of legal authority. they quarrelled almost with every governor, found fault with all instructions from england which clashed with their leading passions and interests, and made use of every art for weakening the hands of civil government. their friends in britain had gloried that they had resisted; and now subjection of every kind was called slavery, and the spirit of disorder and disobedience which had broke out continued and prevailed. at length, even the navigation-act was deemed a yoke, which they wished to shake off, and throw their commerce open to the whole world. several writers appeared in america in defence of what they were pleased to call their natural rights, who had a lucky talent of seasoning their compositions to the palate of the bulk of the people. hence the seeds of disaffection which had sprung up in new england spread through the other colonies, insomuch that multitudes became infected with republican principles, and aspired after independence.--but here we shall stop for the present time, and leave the account of their farther struggles towards the accomplishment of this favourite plan to some future opportunity. nights with uncle remus [illustration: miss meadows and brother rabbit _frontispiece_] +-------------------------------------------+ | books by joel chandler harris. | | ______ | | | |little mr. thimblefinger and his queer | |country. illustrated by oliver herford. | | | |mr. rabbit at home. a sequel to little mr. | |thimblefinger and his queer country. | |illustrated by oliver herford. | | | |the story of aaron (so-named) the son of | |ben ali. told by his friends and | |acquaintances. illustrated by oliver | |herford. | | | |aaron in the wildwoods. illustrated by | |oliver herford. | | | |plantation pageants. illustrated by e. boyd| |smith. | | | |nights with uncle remus. illustrated. | | | |uncle remus and his friends. illustrated. | | | |mingo, and other sketches in black and | |white. | | | |balaam and his master, and other sketches. | | | |sister jane, her friends and acquaintances.| |a narrative of certain events and episodes | |transcribed from the papers of the late | |william wornum. | | | |tales of the home folks in peace and war. | |illustrated. | | | | houghton mifflin company | | boston and new york | +-------------------------------------------+ nights with uncle remus myths and legends of the old plantation by joel chandler harris author of "uncle remus: his songs and sayings," "at teague poteet's," etc. _with illustrations_ boston and new york houghton mifflin company the riverside press cambridge copyright, , by joel chandler harris copyright, , by esther la rose harris all rights reserved contents chapter page i. mr. fox and miss goose ii. brother fox catches mr. horse iii. brother rabbit and the little girl iv. how brother fox was too smart v. brother rabbit's astonishing prank vi. brother rabbit secures a mansion vii. mr. lion hunts for mr. man viii. the story of the pigs ix. mr. benjamin ram and his wonderful fiddle x. brother rabbit's riddle xi. how mr. rooster lost his dinner xii. brother rabbit breaks up a party xiii. brother fox, brother rabbit, and king deer's daughter xiv. brother terrapin deceives brother buzzard xv. brother fox covets the quills xvi. how brother fox failed to get his grapes xvii. mr. fox figures as an incendiary xviii. a dream and a story xix. the moon in the mill-pond xx. brother rabbit takes some exercise xxi. why brother bear has no tail xxii. how brother rabbit frightened his neighbours xxiii. mr. man has some meat xxiv. how brother rabbit got the meat xxv. african jack xxvi. why the alligator's back is rough xxvii. brother wolf says grace xxviii. spirits, seen and unseen xxix. a ghost story xxx. brother rabbit and his famous foot xxxi. "in some lady's garden" xxxii. brother 'possum gets in trouble xxxiii. why the guinea-fowls are speckled xxxiv. brother rabbit's love-charm xxxv. brother rabbit submits to a test xxxvi. brother wolf falls a victim xxxvii. brother rabbit and the mosquitoes xxxviii. the pimmerly plum xxxix. brother rabbit gets the provisions xl. "cutta cord-la!" xli. aunt tempy's story xlii. the fire-test xliii. the cunning snake xliv. how brother fox was too smart xlv. brother wolf gets in a warm place xlvi. brother wolf still in trouble xlvii. brother rabbit lays in his beef supply xlviii. brother rabbit and mr. wildcat xlix. mr. benjamin ram defends himself l. brother rabbit pretends to be poisoned li. more trouble for brother wolf lii. brother rabbit outdoes mr. man liii. brother rabbit takes a walk liv. old grinny-granny wolf lv. how wattle weasel was caught lvi. brother rabbit ties mr. lion lvii. mr. lion's sad predicament lviii. the origin of the ocean lix. brother rabbit gets brother fox's dinner lx. how the bear nursed the little alligator lxi. why mr. dog runs brother rabbit lxii. brother wolf and the horned cattle lxiii. brother fox and the white muscadines lxiv. mr. hawk and brother buzzard lxv. mr. hawk and brother rabbit lxvi. the wise bird and the foolish bird lxvii. old brother terrapin gets some fish lxviii. brother fox makes a narrow escape lxix. brother fox's fish-trap lxx. brother rabbit rescues brother terrapin lxxi. the night before christmas list of illustrations face page miss meadows and brother rabbit _frontispiece_ mr. fox and miss goose brother rabbit and the little girl brother rabbit's astonishing prank mr. benjamin ram and his wonderful fiddle brother fox, brother rabbit, and king deer's daughter brother fox covets the quills a dream and a story brother rabbit takes some exercise why brother bear has no tail why the alligator's back is rough brother wolf says grace why the guinea fowls are speckled brother rabbit and the mosquitoes the pimmerly plum brother rabbit gets the provisions brother wolf still in trouble brother rabbit and mr. wildcat brother rabbit ties mr. lion how the bear nursed the little alligator good-night introduction the volume[i_ ] containing an instalment of thirty-four negro legends, which was given to the public three years ago, was accompanied by an apology for both the matter and the manner. perhaps such an apology is more necessary now than it was then; but the warm reception given to the book on all sides--by literary critics, as well as by ethnologists and students of folk-lore, in this country and in europe--has led the author to believe that a volume embodying everything, or nearly everything, of importance in the oral literature of the negroes of the southern states, would be as heartily welcomed. the thirty-four legends in the first volume were merely selections from the large body of plantation folk-lore familiar to the author from his childhood, and these selections were made less with an eye to their ethnological importance than with a view to presenting certain quaint and curious race characteristics, of which the world at large had had either vague or greatly exaggerated notions. the first book, therefore, must be the excuse and apology for the present volume. indeed, the first book made the second a necessity; for, immediately upon its appearance, letters and correspondence began to pour in upon the author from all parts of the south. much of this correspondence was very valuable, for it embodied legends that had escaped the author's memory, and contained hints and suggestions that led to some very interesting discoveries. the result is, that the present volume is about as complete as it could be made under the circumstances, though there is no doubt of the existence of legends and myths, especially upon the rice plantations, and sea islands of the georgia and carolina seacoast, which, owing to the difficulties that stand in the way of those who attempt to gather them, are not included in this collection. it is safe to say, however, that the best and most characteristic of the legends current on the rice plantations and sea islands, are also current on the cotton plantations. indeed, this has been abundantly verified in the correspondence of those who kindly consented to aid the author in his efforts to secure stories told by the negroes on the seacoast. the great majority of legends and stories collected and forwarded by these generous collaborators had already been collected among the negroes on the cotton plantations and uplands of georgia and other southern states. this will account for the comparatively meagre contribution which daddy jack, the old african of the rice plantations, makes towards the entertainment of the little boy. the difficulty of verifying the legends which came to hand from various sources has been almost as great as the attempt to procure them at first hand. it is a difficulty hard to describe. it is sometimes amusing, and sometimes irritating, but finally comes to be recognized as the result of a very serious and impressive combination of negro characteristics. the late professor charles f. hartt, of cornell university, in his admirable monograph[i_ ] on the folk-lore of the amazon regions of brazil, found the same difficulty among the amazonian indians. exploring the amazonian valley, professor hartt discovered that a great body of myths and legends had its existence among the indians of that region. being aware of the great value of these myths, he set himself to work to collect them; but for a long time he found the task an impossible one, for the whites were unacquainted with the indian folk-lore, and neither by coaxing nor by offers of money could an indian be persuaded to relate a myth. in most instances, professor hartt was met with statements to the effect that some old woman of the neighborhood was the story-teller, who could make him laugh with tales of the animals; but he never could find this old woman. but one night, professor hartt heard his indian steersman telling the indian boatmen a story in order to keep them awake. this indian steersman was full of these stories, but, for a long time, professor hartt found it impossible to coax this steersman to tell him another. he discovered that the indian myth is always related without mental effort, simply to pass the time away, and that all the surroundings must be congenial and familiar. in the introduction to the first volume of "uncle remus"[i_ ] occurs this statement: "curiously enough, i have found few negroes who will acknowledge to a stranger that they know anything of these legends; and yet to relate one is the surest road to their confidence and esteem." this statement was scarcely emphatic enough. the thirty-four legends in the first volume were comparatively easy to verify, for the reason that they were the most popular among the negroes, and were easily remembered. this is also true of many stories in the present volume; but some of them appear to be known only to the negroes who have the gift of story-telling,--a gift that is as rare among the blacks as among the whites. there is good reason to suppose, too, that many of the negroes born near the close of the war or since, are unfamiliar with the great body of their own folk-lore. they have heard such legends as the "tar baby" story and "the moon in the mill-pond," and some others equally as graphic; but, in the tumult and confusion incident to their changed condition, they have had few opportunities to become acquainted with that wonderful collection of tales which their ancestors told in the kitchens and cabins of the old plantation. the older negroes are as fond of the legends as ever, but the occasion, or the excuse, for telling them becomes less frequent year by year. with a fair knowledge of the negro character, and long familiarity with the manifold peculiarities of the negro mind and temperament, the writer has, nevertheless, found it a difficult task to verify such legends as he had not already heard in some shape or other. but, as their importance depended upon such verification, he has spared neither pains nor patience to make it complete. the difficulties in the way of this verification would undoubtedly have been fewer if the writer could have had an opportunity to pursue his investigations in the plantation districts of middle georgia; but circumstances prevented, and he has been compelled to depend upon such opportunities as casually or unexpectedly presented themselves. one of these opportunities occurred in the summer of , at norcross, a little railroad station, twenty miles northeast of atlanta. the writer was waiting to take the train to atlanta, and this train, as it fortunately happened, was delayed. at the station were a number of negroes, who had been engaged in working on the railroad. it was night, and, with nothing better to do, they were waiting to see the train go by. some were sitting in little groups up and down the platform of the station, and some were perched upon a pile of cross-ties. they seemed to be in great good-humor, and cracked jokes at each other's expense in the midst of boisterous shouts of laughter. the writer sat next to one of the liveliest talkers in the party; and, after listening and laughing awhile, told the "tar baby" story by way of a feeler, the excuse being that some one in the crowd mentioned "ole molly har'." the story was told in a low tone, as if to avoid attracting attention; but the comments of the negro, who was a little past middle age, were loud and frequent. "dar now!" he would exclaim, or, "he's a honey, mon!" or, "gentermens! git out de way, an' gin 'im room!" these comments, and the peals of unrestrained and unrestrainable laughter that accompanied them, drew the attention of the other negroes, and before the climax of the story had been reached, where brother rabbit is cruelly thrown into the brier-patch, they had all gathered around and made themselves comfortable. without waiting to see what the effect of the "tar baby" legend would be, the writer told the story of "brother rabbit and the mosquitoes," and this had the effect of convulsing them. two or three could hardly wait for the conclusion, so anxious were they to tell stories of their own. the result was that, for almost two hours, a crowd of thirty or more negroes vied with each other to see which could tell the most and the best stories. some told them poorly, giving only meagre outlines, while others told them passing well; but one or two, if their language and their gestures could have been taken down, would have put uncle remus to shame. some of the stories told had already been gathered and verified, and a few had been printed in the first volume; but the great majority were either new or had been entirely forgotten. it was night, and impossible to take notes; but that fact was not to be regretted. the darkness gave greater scope and freedom to the narratives of the negroes, and but for this friendly curtain it is doubtful if the conditions would have been favorable to story-telling. but however favorable the conditions might have been, the appearance of a note-book and pencil would have dissipated them as utterly as if they had never existed. moreover, it was comparatively an easy matter for the writer to take the stories away in his memory, since many of them gave point to a large collection of notes and unrelated fragments already in his possession. theal, in the preface to his collection of kaffir tales,[i_ ] lays great stress upon the fact that the tales he gives "have all undergone a thorough revision by a circle of natives. they were not only told by natives, but were copied down by natives." it is more than likely that his carefulness in this respect has led him to overlook a body of folk-lore among the kaffirs precisely similar to that which exists among the negroes of the southern states. if comparative evidence is worth anything,--and it may be worthless in this instance,--the educated natives have "cooked" the stories to suit themselves. in the "story of the bird that made milk," the children of masilo tell other children that their father has a bird which makes milk.[i_ ] the others asked to see the bird, whereupon masilo's children took it from the place where their father had concealed it, and ordered it to make milk. of this milk the other children drank greedily, and then asked to see the bird dance. the bird was untied, but it said the house was too small, and the children carried it outside. while they were laughing and enjoying themselves the bird flew away, to their great dismay. compare this with the story of how the little girl catches brother rabbit in the garden (of which several variants are given), and afterwards unties him in order to see him dance.[i_ ] there is still another version of this story, where mr. man puts a bridle on brother rabbit and ties him to the fence. mr. man leaves the throat-latch of the bridle unfastened, and so brother rabbit slips his head out, and afterwards induces brother fox to have the bridle put on, taking care to fasten the throat-latch. the brother rabbit of the negroes is the hare, and what is "the story of hlakanyana"[i_ ] but the story of the hare and other animals curiously tangled, and changed, and inverted? hlakanyana, after some highly suggestive adventures, kills two cows and smears the blood upon a sleeping boy.[i_ ] the men find the cows dead, and ask who did it. they then see the blood upon the boy, and kill him, under the impression that he is the robber. compare this with the story in the first volume of uncle remus, where brother rabbit eats the butter, and then greases brother possum's feet and mouth, thus proving the latter to be the rogue. hlakanyana also eats all the meat in the pot, and smears fat on the mouth of a sleeping old man. hlakanyana's feat of pretending to cure an old woman, by cooking her in a pot of boiling water, is identical with the negro story of how brother rabbit disposes of grinny-granny wolf. the new story of brother terrapin and brother mink, relating how they had a diving-match, in order to see who should become the possessor of a string of fish, is a variant of the kaffir story of hlakanyana's diving-match with the boy for some birds. hlakanyana eats the birds while the boy is under water, and brother terrapin disposes of the fish in the same way; but there is this curious difference: while hlakanyana has aided the boy to catch the birds, brother terrapin has no sort of interest in the fish. the negro story of how brother rabbit nailed brother fox's tail to the roof of the house, and thus succeeded in getting the fox's dinner, is identical with hlakanyana's feat of sewing the hyena's tail to the thatch. when this had been accomplished, hlakanyana ate all the meat in the pot, and threw the bones at the hyena. but the most curious parallel of all exists between an episode in "the story of hlakanyana," and the story of how the bear nursed the alligators (p. ). this story was gathered by mrs. helen s. barclay, of darien, georgia, whose appreciative knowledge of the character and dialect of the coast negro has been of great service to the writer. hlakanyana came to the house of a leopardess, and proposed to take care of her children while the leopardess went to hunt animals. to this the leopardess agreed. there were four cubs, and, after the mother was gone, hlakanyana took one of the cubs and ate it. when the leopardess returned, she asked for her children, that she might suckle them. hlakanyana gave one, but the mother asked for all. hlakanyana replied that it was better one should drink and then another; and to this the leopardess agreed. after three had suckled, he gave the first one back a second time. this continued until the last cub was eaten, whereupon hlakanyana ran away. the leopardess saw him, and gave pursuit. he ran under a big rock, and began to cry for help. the leopardess asked him what the matter was. "do you not see that this rock is falling?" replied hlakanyana. "just hold it up while i get a prop and put under it." while the leopardess was thus engaged, he made his escape. this, it will be observed, is the climax of a negro legend entirely different from daddy jack's story of the bear that nursed the alligators, though the rock becomes a fallen tree. in the "story of the lion and the little jackal,"[i_ ] the same climax takes the shape of an episode. the lion pursues the jackal, and the latter runs under an overhanging rock, crying "help! help! this rock is falling on me!" the lion goes for a pole with which to prop up the rock, and so the jackal escapes. it is worthy of note that a tortoise or terrapin, which stands next to brother rabbit in the folk-lore of the southern negroes, is the cause of hlakanyana's death. he places a tortoise on his back and carries it home. his mother asks him what he has there, and he tells her to take it off his back. but the tortoise would not be pulled off. hlakanyana's mother then heated some fat, and attempted to pour it on the tortoise, but the tortoise let go quickly, and the fat fell on hlakanyana and burnt him so that he died. the story concludes: "that is the end of this cunning little fellow." theal also gives the story of demane and demazana,[i_ ] a brother and sister, who were compelled to run away from their relatives on account of bad treatment. they went to live in a cave which had a very strong door. demane went hunting by day, and told his sister not to roast any meat in his absence, lest the cannibals should smell it and discover their hiding-place. but demazana would not obey. she roasted some meat, a cannibal smelt it, and went to the cave, but found the door fastened. thereupon he tried to imitate demane's voice, singing: "_demazana, demazana, child of my mother, open this cave to me. the swallows can enter it. it has two apertures._" the cannibal's voice was hoarse, and the girl would not let him in. finally, he has his throat burned with a hot iron, his voice is changed, and the girl is deceived. he enters and captures her. compare this with the story of the pigs, and also with the group of stories of which daddy jack's "cutta cord-la!" is the most characteristic. in middle georgia, it will be observed, brother rabbit and his children are substituted for the boy and his sister; though miss devereux, of raleigh, north carolina, who, together with her father, mr. john devereux, has laid the writer under many obligations, gathered a story among the north carolina negroes in which the boy and the sister appear. but to return to the kaffir story: when the cannibal is carrying demazana away, she drops ashes along the path. demane returns shortly after with a swarm of bees which he has captured, and finds his sister gone. by means of the ashes, he follows the path until he comes to the cannibal's house. the family are out gathering wood, but the cannibal himself is at home, and has just put demazana in a big bag where he intends to keep her until the fire is made. the brother asks for a drink of water. the cannibal says he will get him some if he will promise not to touch his bag. demane promises; but, while the cannibal is gone for the water, he takes his sister out of the bag and substitutes the swarm of bees. when the cannibal returns with the water, his family also return with the firewood. he tells his wife there is something nice in the bag, and asks her to bring it. she says it bites. he then drives them all out, closes the door, and opens the bag. the bees fly out and sting him about the head and eyes until he can no longer see. compare this with the negro story (no. lxx.) of how brother fox captures brother terrapin. brother terrapin is rescued by brother rabbit, who substitutes a hornet's nest. this story was told to the writer by a colored baptist preacher of atlanta, named robert dupree, and also by a henry county negro, named george ellis. compare, also, the kaffir "story of the great chief of the animals"[i_ ] with the negro story of "the fate of mr. jack sparrow."[i_ ] in the kaffir story, a woman sees the chief of the animals and calls out that she is hunting for her children. the animal replies: "come nearer; i cannot hear you." he then swallows the woman. in the negro story, mr. jack sparrow has something to tell brother fox; but the latter pretends he is deaf, and asks jack sparrow to jump on his tail, on his back, and finally on his tooth. there is a variant of this story current among the coast negroes where the alligator is substituted for the fox. the kaffir "story of the hare" is almost identical with the story of wattle weasel in the present volume. the story of wattle weasel was among those told by the railroad hands at norcross, but had been previously sent to the writer by a lady in selma, alabama, and by a correspondent in galveston. in another kaffir story, the jackal runs into a hole under a tree, but the lion catches him by the tail. the jackal cries out: "that is not my tail you have hold of. it is a root of the tree. if you don't believe, take a stone and strike it and see if any blood comes." the lion goes to hunt for a stone, and the jackal crawls far into the hole. in the first volume of uncle remus, brother fox tries to drown brother terrapin; but the latter declares that his tail is a stump-root, and so escapes. the amazonian indians tell of a jaguar who catches a tortoise by the hind leg as he is disappearing in his hole; but the tortoise convinces him that he is holding a tree-root.[i_ ] in the kaffir story of the lion and the jackal, the latter made himself some horns from beeswax in order to attend a meeting of the horned cattle. he sat near the fire and went to sleep, and the horns melted, so that he was discovered and pursued by the lion. in a negro story that is very popular, brother fox ties two sticks to his head, and attends the meeting of the horned cattle, but is cleverly exposed by brother rabbit. there is a plantation proverb current among the negroes which is very expressive. thus, when one accidentally steps in mud or filth, he consoles himself by saying "good thing foot aint got no nose." among the kaffirs there is a similar proverb,--"the foot has no nose,"--but mr. theal's educated natives have given it a queer meaning. it is thus interpreted: "this proverb is an exhortation to be hospitable. it is as if one said: give food to the traveller, because when you are on a journey your foot will not be able to smell out a man whom you have turned from your door, but, to your shame, may carry you to his." it need not be said that this is rather ahead of even the educated southern negroes. to compare the negro stories in the present volume with those translated by bleek[i_ ] would extend this introduction beyond its prescribed limits, but such a comparison would show some very curious parallels. it is interesting to observe, among other things, that the story of how the tortoise outran the deer--current among the amazonian indians, and among the negroes of the south,--the deer sometimes becoming the rabbit in the south, and the _carapato_, or cow-tick, sometimes taking the place of the tortoise on the amazonas--has a curious counterpart in the hottentot fables.[i_ ] one day, to quote from bleek, "the tortoises held a council how they might hunt ostriches, and they said: 'let us, on both sides, stand in rows, near each other, and let one go to hunt the ostriches, so that they must flee along through the midst of us.' they did so, and as they were many, the ostriches were obliged to run along through the midst of them. during this they did not move, but, remaining always in the same places, called each to the other: 'are you there?' and each one answered: 'i am here.' the ostriches, hearing this, ran so tremendously that they quite exhausted their strength, and fell down. then the tortoises assembled by and by at the place where the ostriches had fallen, and devoured them." there is also a curious variant[i_ ] of the negro story of how brother rabbit escapes from brother fox by persuading him to fold his hands and say grace. in the hottentot story, the jackal catches the cock, and is about to eat him, when the latter says: "please pray before you kill me, as the white man does." the jackal desires to know how the white man prays. "he folds his hands in praying," says the cock. this the jackal does, but the cock tells the jackal he should also shut his eyes. whereupon the cock flies away. in his preface, bleek says that the hottentot fable of the white man and the snake is clearly of european origin; but this is at least doubtful. the man rescues the snake from beneath a rock, whereupon the snake announces her intention of biting her deliverer. the matter is referred to the hyena, who says to the man: "if you were bitten, what would it matter?" but the man proposed to consult other wise people before being bit, and after a while they met the jackal. the case was laid before him. the jackal said he would not believe that the snake could be covered by a stone so that she could not rise, unless he saw it with his two eyes. the snake submitted to the test, and when she was covered by the stone the jackal advised the man to go away and leave her. now, there is not only a variant of this story current among the southern negroes (which is given in the present volume), where brother rabbit takes the place of the man, brother wolf the place of the snake, and brother terrapin the place of the jackal, but dr. couto de magalhães[i_ ] gives in modern tupi a story where the fox or opossum finds a jaguar in a hole. he helps the jaguar out, and the latter then threatens to eat him. the fox or opossum proposes to lay the matter before a wise man who is passing by, with the result that the jaguar is placed back in the hole and left there. with respect to the tortoise myths, and other animal stories gathered on the amazonas, by professor hartt and mr. herbert smith, it may be said that all or nearly all of them have their variants among the negroes of the southern plantations. this would constitute a very curious fact if the matter were left where professor hartt left it when his monograph was written. in that monograph[i_ ] he says: "the myths i have placed on record in this little paper have, without doubt, a wide currency on the amazonas, but i have found them only among the indian population, and they are all collected in the lingua geral. all my attempts to obtain myths from the negroes on the amazonas proved failures. dr. couto de magalhães, who has recently followed me in these researches, has had the same experience. the probability, therefore, seems to be that the myths are indigenous, but i do not yet consider the case proven." professor hartt lived to prove just the contrary; but, unfortunately, he did not live to publish the result of his investigations. mr. orville a. derby, a friend of professor hartt, writes as follows from rio de janeiro: dear sir,--in reading the preface to uncle remus,[i_ ] it occurred to me that an observation made by my late friend professor charles fred hartt would be of interest to you. at the time of the publication of his amazonian tortoise myths, professor hartt was in doubt whether to regard the myths of the amazonian indians as indigenous or introduced from africa. to this question he devoted a great deal of attention, making a careful and, for a long time, fruitless search among the africans of this city for some one who could give undoubted african myths. finally he had the good fortune to find an intelligent english-speaking mina black, whose only knowledge of portuguese was a very few words which he had picked up during the short time he had been in this country, a circumstance which strongly confirms his statement that the myths related by him were really brought from africa. from this man professor hartt obtained variants of all or nearly all of the best known brazilian _animal_ myths, and convinced himself that this class is not native to this country. the spread of these myths among the amazonian indians is readily explained by the intimate association of the two races for over two hundred years, the taking character of the myths, and the indian's love for stories of this class, in which he naturally introduces the animals familiar to him.... yours truly, orville a. derby. _caixa em correio, no. , rio de janeiro._ those who are best acquainted with the spirit, movement, and motive of african legends will accept mr. derby's statement as conclusive. it has been suspected even by professor j. w. powell, of the smithsonian institution, that the southern negroes obtained their myths and legends from the indians; but it is impossible to adduce in support of such a theory a scintilla of evidence that cannot be used in support of just the opposite theory, namely, that the indians borrowed their stories from the negroes. the truth seems to be that, while both the indians and the negroes have stories peculiar to their widely different races and temperaments, and to their widely different ideas of humor, the indians have not hesitated to borrow from the negroes. the "tar baby" story, which is unquestionably a negro legend in its conception, is current among many tribes of indians. so with the story of how the rabbit makes a riding-horse of the fox or the wolf. this story is also current among the amazonian indians. the same may be said of the negro coast story "why the alligator's back is rough." mr. w. o. tuggle, of georgia, who has recently made an exhaustive study of the folk-lore of the creek indians, has discovered among them many legends, which were undoubtedly borrowed from the negroes, including those already mentioned, the story of how the terrapin outran the deer, and the story of the discontented rabbit, who asks his creator to give him more sense. in the negro legend, it will be observed, the rabbit seeks out mammy-bammy big-money, the old witch-rabbit. it may be mentioned here, that the various branches of the algonkian family of indians allude to the great white rabbit as their common ancestor.[i_ ] all inquiries among the negroes, as to the origin and personality of mammy-bammy big-money, elicit but two replies. some know, or even pretend to know, nothing about her. the rest say, with entire unanimity, "hit 's des de ole witch-rabbit w'at you done year'd talk un 'fo' now." mrs. prioleau of memphis sent the writer a negro story in which the name "big-money" was vaguely used. it was some time before that story could be verified. in conversation one day with a negro, casual allusion was made to "big-money." "aha!" said the negro, "now i know. you talkin' 'bout ole mammy-bammy big-money," and then he went on to tell, not only the story which mrs. prioleau had kindly sent, but the story of brother rabbit's visit to the old witch-rabbit. mr. tuggle's collection of creek legends will probably be published under the auspices of the smithsonian institution, and it will form a noteworthy contribution to the literature of american folk-lore. in the creek version of the origin of the ocean, the stream which the lion jumps across is called throwing-hot-ashes-on-you. another creek legend, which bears the ear-marks of the negroes, but which the writer has been unable to find among them, explains why the 'possum has no hair on his tail. it seems that noah, in taking the animals into the ark, forgot the 'possums; but a female 'possum clung to the side of the vessel, and her tail dragging in the water, all the hair came off. no male 'possum, according to the story, was saved. mr. tuggle has also found among the creeks a legend which gives the origin of fire. one time, in the beginning, the people all wanted fire, and they came together to discuss the best plan of getting it. it was finally agreed that the rabbit (chufee) should go for it. he went across the great water to the east, and was there received with acclamation as a visitor from the new world. a great dance was ordered in his honor. they danced around a large fire, and the rabbit entered the circle dressed very gayly. he had a peculiar cap upon his head, and in this cap, in place of feathers, he had stuck four sticks of resin, or resinous pine. as the people danced, they came near the fire in the centre of the circle, and the rabbit also approached near the fire. some of the dancers would reach down and touch the fire as they danced, while the rabbit, as he came near the fire, would bow his head to the flame. no one thought anything of this, and he continued to bow to the fire, each time bowing his head lower. at last he touched the flame with his cap, and the sticks of resin caught on fire and blazed forth. away he ran, the people pursuing the sacrilegious visitor. the rabbit ran to the great water, plunged in, and swam away to the new world; and thus was fire obtained for the people. the student of folk-lore who will take into consideration the widely differing peculiarities and characteristics of the negroes and the indians, will have no difficulty, after making due allowance for the apparent universality of all primitive folk-stories, in distinguishing between the myths or legends of the two races, though it sometimes happens, as in the case of the negro story of the rabbit, the wildcat, and the turkeys, that the stories are built upon until they are made to fit the peculiarities of the race that borrows them. the creek version of the rabbit, wildcat, and turkey story is to the effect that the wildcat pretended to be dead, and the rabbit persuaded the turkeys to go near him. when they are near enough, the rabbit exclaims: "jump up and catch a red-leg! jump up and catch a red-leg!" the wildcat catches one, and proceeds to eat it, whereupon the turkeys pursue the rabbit, and peck and nip him until his tail comes off, and this is the reason the rabbit has a short tail. the creeks, as well as other tribes, were long in contact with the negroes, some of them were owners of slaves, and it is perhaps in this way that the animal stories of the two races became in a measure blended. the discussion of this subject cannot be pursued here, but it is an interesting one. it offers a wide field for both speculation and investigation. the "cutta cord-la" story (p. ) of daddy jack is in some respects unique. it was sent to the writer by mrs. martha b. washington, of charleston, south carolina, and there seems to be no doubt that it originated in san domingo or martinique. the story of how brother rabbit drove all the other animals out of the new house they had built, by firing a cannon and pouring a tub of water down the stairway, has its variant in demerara. indeed, it was by means of this variant, sent by mr. wendell p. garrison, of "the nation" (new york), that the negro story was procured. in the introduction to the first volume of uncle remus, a lame apology was made for inflicting a book of dialect upon the public. perhaps a similar apology should be made here; but the discriminating reader does not need to be told that it would be impossible to separate these stories from the idiom in which they have been recited for generations. the dialect is a part of the legends themselves, and to present them in any other way would be to rob them of everything that gives them vitality. the dialect of daddy jack, which is that of the negroes on the sea islands and the rice plantations, though it may seem at first glance to be more difficult than that of uncle remus, is, in reality, simpler and more direct. it is the negro dialect in its most primitive state--the "gullah" talk of some of the negroes on the sea islands, being merely a confused and untranslatable mixture of english and african words. in the introductory notes to "slave songs of the united states" may be found an exposition of daddy jack's dialect as complete as any that can be given here. a key to the dialect may be given very briefly. the vocabulary is not an extensive one--more depending upon the manner, the form of expression, and the inflection, than upon the words employed. it is thus an admirable vehicle for story-telling. it recognizes no gender, and scorns the use of the plural number except accidentally. "'e" stands for "he" "she" or "it," and "dem" may allude to one thing, or may include a thousand. the dialect is laconic and yet rambling, full of repetitions, and abounding in curious elisions, that give an unexpected quaintness to the simplest statements. a glance at the following vocabulary will enable the reader to understand daddy jack's dialect perfectly, though allowance must be made for inversions and elisions. _b'er_, brother. _beer_, bear. _bittle_, victuals. _bret_, breath. _buckra_, white man, overseer, boss. _churrah_, _churray_, spill, splash. _da_, the, that. _dey_, there. _dey-dey_, here, down there, right here. _enty_, ain't he? an exclamation of astonishment or assent. _gwan_, going. _leaf_, leave. _lif_, live. _lil_, _lil-a_, or _lilly_, little. _lun_, learn. _mek_, make. _neat'_, or _nead_, underneath, beneath. _oona_, you, all of you. _sem_, same. _shum_, see them, saw them. _tam_, time. _'tan'_, stand. _tankee_, thanks, thank you. _tark_, or _tahlk_, talk. _teer_, tear. _tek_, take. _t'ink_, or _t'ought_, think, thought. _t'row_, throw. _titty_, or _titter_, sissy, sister. _trute_, truth. _turrer_, or _tarrah_, the other. _tusty_, thirsty. _urrer_, other. _wey_, where. _wun_, when. _wut_, what. _y'et_ or _ut_, earth. _yeddy_, or _yerry_, heard, hear. _yent_, ain't, is n't. the trick of adding a vowel to sound words is not unpleasing to the ear. thus: "i bin-a wait fer you; come-a ring-a dem bell. wut mek-a (or mekky) you stay so?" "yeddy," "yerry," and probably "churry" are the result of this--heard-a, yeard-a, yeddy; hear-a, year-a, yerry; chur-a, churray. when "eye" is written "y-eye," it is to be pronounced "yi." in such words as "back," "ax," _a_ has the sound of _ah_. they are written "bahk," "ahx." professor j. a. harrison of the washington and lee university, lexington, virginia, has recently written a paper on "the creole patois of louisiana,"[i_ ] which is full of interest to those interested in the study of dialects. in the course of his paper, professor harrison says: "many philologists have noted the felicitous [greek: _aithiopizein_] of uncle remus in the negro dialect of the south. the creole lends itself no less felicitously to the _récit_ and to the _conte_, as we may say on good authority. the fables of la fontaine and perrin, and the gospel of st. john have, indeed, been translated into the dialect of san domingo or martinique; lately we have had a greek plenipotentiary turning dante into the idiom of new hellas; what next? any one who has seen the delightful 'chansons canadiennes' of m. ernest gagnon (quebec, ) knows what pleasant things may spring from the naïve consciousness of the people. the creole of louisiana lends itself admirably to those _petits poèmes_, those simple little dramatic tales, compositions, improvisations, which, shunning the regions of abstraction and metaphysics, recount the experiences of a story-teller, put into striking and pregnant syllabuses the memorabilia of some simple life, or sum up in pointed monosyllables the humor of plantation anecdote." professor harrison alludes to interesting examples of the creole negro dialect that occur in the works of mr. george w. cable, and in "l'habitation saint-ybars," by dr. alfred mercier, an accomplished physician and _litterateur_ of new orleans. in order to show the possibilities of the creole negro dialect, the following _conte nègre_, after dr. mercier, is given. the story is quoted by professor harrison, and the literal interlinear version is inserted by him to give a clue to the meaning. the miss meadows of the georgia negro, it will be perceived, becomes mamzel calinda, and the story is one with which the readers of the first volume of uncle remus are familiar. it is entitled "mariage mlle. calinda." . dan tan lé zote foi, compair chivreil avé compair dans temps les autres fois, compère chevreuil avec compère . torti té tou lé dé apé fé lamou à mamzel calinda. tortue étaient tous les deux après faire l'amour à mademoiselle calinda. . mamzel calinda té linmin mié compair chivreil, cofair mlle. calinda avait aimé mieux compère chevreuil, [pour] quoi faire . li pli vaïan; mé li té linmin compair torti oucite, le plus vaillant; mais elle avait aimé compère tortue aussi, . li si tan gagnin bon tchor! popa mamzel calinda di li: il si tant gagner bon coeur! papa mlle. calinda dire lui: . "mo fie, li tan to maïé; fo to soizi cila to oulé." landimin, "ma fille, il (est) temps te marier; faut te choisir cela tu voulez." lendemain, . compair chivreil avé compair torti rivé tou yé dé coté mlle. c. compère chevreuil avec compère tortue arriver tous eux de côté mlle. c. . mamzel c., qui té zonglé tou la nouite, di yé: "michié chivreil avé mlle. c., qui avait songé toute la nuit, dire eux: "monsieur chevreuil avec . michié torti, mo popa oulé mo maïe. mo pa oulé di ain monsieur tortue, mon papa vouloir me marier. moi pas vouloir dire un . dan ouzote non. ouzote a galopé ain lacourse dice foi cate dans vous autres non. vous autres va galopper une la course dix fois quatre . narpan; cila qui sorti divan, ma maïe avé li. apé dimin arpents; cela qui sortir devant, moi va marier avec lui. après demain . dimance, ouzote a galopé." yé parti couri, compair chivreil dimanche, vous autres va galopper." eux partir courir, compère chevreuil . zo tchor contan; compair torti apé zonglé li-minme: son coeur content; compère tortue après songer lui-même: . "dan tan pacé, mo granpopa bate compair lapin pou "dans temps passé, mon grandpapa battre compère lapin pour . galopé. pa conin coman ma fé pou bate compair chivreil." galopper. pas conner (= connaître) comment moi va faire pour battre compère chevreuil." . dan tan cila, navé ain vié, vié cocodri qui té gagnin dans temps cela en avait un vieux, vieux crocodile qui avait gagné . plice pacé cincante di zan. li té si malin, yé té pelé li plus passé cinquante dix ans. lui était si malin, eux avaient appelé lui . compair zavoca. la nouite vini, compair torti couri trouvé compère avocat. la nuit venir, compère tortue courir trouver . compair zavoca, é conté li coman li baracé pou so compère avocat, et conter lui comment lui embarrasser pour sa . lacourse. compair zavoca di compair torti: "mo ben la course. compère avocat dire compère tortue: "moi bien . oulé idé toi, mo gaçon; nou proce minme famie; la tair vouloir aider toi, mon garçon; nous proche même famille; la terre . avé do lo minme kichoge pou nizote. mo zonglé zafair avec de l'eau même quelquechose pour nous autres. moi va songer cette affaire . to vini dimin bon matin; ma di toi qui pou fé." toi venir demain bon matin; moi va dire toi que pour faire." . compair torti couri coucé; mé li pas dromi boucou, compère tortue courir coucher; mais lui pas dormir beaucoup, . li té si tan tracassé. bon matin li parti couri lui était si tant tracassé. bon matin lui partir courir . coté compair zavoca. compair zavoca dija diboute apé côté compère avocat. compère avocat déjà debout après . boi so café. "bonzou, michié zavoca." "bonzou, mo boire son café. "bonjour, monsieur avocat." "bonjour, mon . gaçon. zafair cila donne moin boucou traca; min mo garçon. cette affaire cela donne moi beaucoup tracas; mais moi . cré ta bate compair chivreil, si to fé mékié ma di toi." crois toi va battre compère chevreuil, si toi fais métier moi va dire toi." . "vouzote a pranne jige jordi pou misiré chimin au ra "vous autres va prendre juge aujourd'hui pour mesurer chemin au ras . bayou; chac cate narpan mété jalon. compair chivreil a bayou; chaque quatre arpents mettez jalon. compère chevreuil va . galopé on la tair; toi, ta galopé dan dolo. to ben compranne galopper en la terre; toi, tu va galopper dans de l'eau. toi bien comprendre . ça mo di toi?" "o, oui, compair zavoca, mo ben cela moi dire toi?" "o, oui, compère avocat, moi bien . couté ton ça vapé di." "a soua, can la nouite vini, écouter tout cela vous après dire." "le soir, quand la nuit venir, . ta couri pranne nef dan to zami, é ta chaché aine dan toi va courir prendre neuf dans tes amis, et toi va cacher un dans . zerb au ra chakène zalon yé. toi, ta couri caché au ra herbe au ras chacun jalon eux. toi, toi va courir cacher au ras . la mison mamzel calinda. to ben compranne ça mo di toi?" la maison mlle. calinda. toi bien comprendre cela moi dire toi?" . "o, oui, compair zavoca, mo tou compranne mékié ça vou "o, oui, compère avocat, moi tout comprendre métier cela vous . di." "eben! couri paré pou sové lonnair nou nachion." dire." "eh bien! courir préparer pour sauver l'honneur notre nation." . compair torti couri coté compair chivreil é rangé tou compère tortue courir côté compère chevreuil et arranger tout . kichoge compair zavoca di li. compair chivreil si tan sire quelquechose compère avocat dire lui. compère chevreuil si tant sûr . gagnin lacourse, li di oui tou ça compair torti oulé. gagner la course, lui dire oui tout cela compère tortue vouloir. . landimin bon matin, ton zabitan semblé pou oua lendemain bon matin, tous habitants assembler pour voir . gran lacourse. can lhair rivé, compair chivreil avé grande la course. quand l'heure arriver, compère chevreuil avec . compair torti tou lé dé paré. jige la crié: "go!" é yé compère tortue tous les deux préparés. juge là crier: "go!" et eux . parti galopé. tan compair chivreil rivé coté primié partir galopper. temps compère chevreuil arriver côté premier . zalon, li hélé: "halo, compair torti!" "mo la, compair jalon, lui héler: "halo, compère tortue!" "moi là, compère . chivreil!" tan yé rivé dézième zalon, compair chivreil chevreuil!" temps eux arriver deuxième jalon, compère chevreuil . siffle: "fioute!" compair torti réponne: "croak!" troisième siffler: "fioute!" compère tortue répondre: "croak!" troisième . zalon bouté, compair torti tink-à-tink avé compair jalon au bout, compère tortue tingue-à-tingue avec compère . chivreil. "diâbe! torti la galopé pli vite chevreuil. "diable! tortue là galopper plus vite . pacé stimbotte; fo mo grouyé mo cor." tan compair passé steamboat; faut moi grouiller mon corps." temps compère . chivreil rivé coté névième zalon, li oua compair torti chevreuil arriver côté neuvième jalon, lui voir compère tortue . apé patchiou dan dolo. li mété ton so laforce après _patchiou_! dans de l'eau. lui mettre toute sa la force . dihior pou aïen; avan li rivé coté bite, li tendé dehors pour rien; avant lui arriver côté but, lui entendre . ton monne apé hélé: "houra! houra! pou compair torti!" tout monde après héler: "hourra! hourra! pour compère tortue!" . tan li rivé, li oua compair torti on la garlie apé temps lui arriver, lui voir compère tortue en la galerie après . brassé mamzel calinda. ca fé li si tan mal, li embrasser mlle. calinda. cela faire lui si tant mal, lui . sapé dan boi. compair torti maïé avé mamzel calinda s'échapper dans bois. compère tortue marier avec mlle. calinda . samedi apé vini, é tou monne manzé, boi, jika samedi après venir, et tout monde manger, boire jusqu'à . y tchiak.[i_ ] eux griser. it only remains to be said that none of the stories given in the present volume are "cooked." they are given in the simple but picturesque language of the negroes, just as the negroes tell them. the ghost-story, in which the dead woman returns in search of the silver that had been placed upon her eyes, is undoubtedly of white origin; but mr. samuel l. clemens (mark twain) heard it among the negroes of florida, missouri, where it was "the woman with the golden arm." fortunately, it was placed in the mouth of 'tildy, the house-girl, who must be supposed to have heard her mistress tell it. but it has been negroized to such an extent that it may be classed as a negro legend; and it is possible that the white version is itself based upon a negro story. at any rate, it was told to the writer by different negroes; and he saw no reason to doubt its authenticity until after a large portion of the book was in type. his relations to the stories are simply those of editor and compiler. he has written them as they came to him, and he is responsible only for the setting. he has endeavored to project them upon the background and to give them the surroundings which they had in the old days that are no more; and it has been his purpose to give in their recital a glimpse of plantation life in the south before the war. if the reader, therefore, will exercise his imagination to the extent of believing that the stories are told to a little boy by a group of negroes on a plantation in middle georgia, before the war, he will need neither foot-note nor explanation to guide him. in the preparation of this volume the writer has been placed under obligations to many kind friends. but for the ready sympathy and encouragement of the proprietors of "the atlanta constitution"--but for their generosity, it may be said--the writer would never have found opportunity to verify the stories and prepare them for the press. he is also indebted to hundreds of kind correspondents in all parts of the southern states, who have interested themselves in the work of collecting the legends. he is particularly indebted to mrs. helen s. barclay, of darien, to mr. w. o. tuggle, to hon. charles c. jones, jr., to the accomplished daughters of mr. griswold, of clinton, georgia, and to mr. john devereux, jr., and miss devereux, of raleigh, north carolina. j. c. h. atlanta, georgia. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [i_ ] _uncle remus; his songs and his sayings._ the folk-lore of the old plantation. new york: d. appleton & co. . [i_ ] _amazonian tortoise myths_, pp. , . [i_ ] page . [i_ ] _kaffir folk-lore_; or, _a selection from the traditional tales current among the people living on the eastern border of the cape colony_. london, . [i_ ] _kaffir folk-lore_, p. . [i_ ] professor hartt, in his _amazonian tortoise myths_, relates the story of "the jabuti that cheated the man." the jabuti is identical with brother terrapin. the man carried the jabuti to his house, put him in a box, and went out. by and by the jabuti began to sing, just as brother rabbit did. the man's children listened, and the jabuti stopped. the children begged him to continue, but to this he replied: "if you are pleased with my singing, how much more would you be pleased if you could see me dance." the children thereupon took him from the box, and placed him in the middle of the floor, where he danced, to their great delight. presently, the jabuti made an excuse to go out, and fled. the children procured a stone, painted it like the tortoise, and placed it in the box. after a while the man returned, took the painted stone from the box and placed it on the fire, where it burst as soon as it became heated. meantime, the jabuti had taken refuge in a burrow having two openings, so that, while the man was looking in at one opening, the tortoise would appear at another. professor hartt identifies this as a sun-myth--the slow-sun (or tortoise) escaping from the swift-moon (or man). [i_ ] _kaffir folk-lore_, p. . [i_ ] page . [i_ ] _kaffir folk-lore_, p. . [i_ ] page . [i_ ] _kaffir folk-lore_, p. . [i_ ] _uncle remus: his songs and sayings_, xix. p. . [i_ ] _amazonian tortoise myths_, p. . [i_ ] _reynard, the fox, in south africa_; or, _hottentot fables and tales_. by w. h. i. bleek, ph. d. london, . [i_ ] page . [i_ ] bleek, p. . [i_ ] _o'selvagem_, p. . quoted by mr. herbert h. smith, in his work _brazil and the amazons_. [i_ ] page . [i_ ] the first volume. [i_ ] d. g. brinton's _myths_, pp. - . [i_ ] _the american journal of philology_, vol. iii. no. . [i_ ] _tchiak_ is the name given by the creole negroes to the starling, which, dr. mercier tells me, is applied adjectively to express various states of spirituous exhilaration.--_note by prof. harrison._ -------------------------------------------------------------------- nights with uncle remus i mr. fox and miss goose it had been raining all day so that uncle remus found it impossible to go out. the storm had begun, the old man declared, just as the chickens were crowing for day, and it had continued almost without intermission. the dark gray clouds had blotted out the sun, and the leafless limbs of the tall oaks surrendered themselves drearily to the fantastic gusts that drove the drizzle fitfully before them. the lady to whom uncle remus belonged had been thoughtful of the old man, and 'tildy, the house-girl, had been commissioned to carry him his meals. this arrangement came to the knowledge of the little boy at supper time, and he lost no time in obtaining permission to accompany 'tildy. uncle remus made a great demonstration over the thoughtful kindness of his "miss sally." "ef she aint one blessid w'ite 'oman," he said, in his simple, fervent way, "den dey aint none un um 'roun' in deze parts." with that he addressed himself to the supper, while the little boy sat by and eyed him with that familiar curiosity common to children. finally the youngster disturbed the old man with an inquiry: "uncle remus, do geese stand on one leg all night, or do they sit down to sleep?" "tooby sho' dey does, honey; dey sets down same ez you does. co'se, dey don't cross der legs," he added, cautiously, "kase dey sets down right flat-footed." "well, i saw one the other day, and he was standing on one foot, and i watched him and watched him, and he kept on standing there." "ez ter dat," responded uncle remus, "dey mought stan' on one foot an' drap off ter sleep en fergit deyse'f. deze yer gooses," he continued, wiping the crumbs from his beard with his coat-tail, "is mighty kuse fowls; deyer mighty kuse. in ole times dey wuz 'mongs de big-bugs, en in dem days, w'en ole miss goose gun a-dinin', all de quality wuz dere. likewise, en needer wuz dey stuck-up, kase wid all der kyar'n's on, miss goose wer'n't too proud fer ter take in washin' fer de neighborhoods, en she make money, en get slick en fat lak sis tempy. "dis de way marters stan' w'en one day brer fox en brer rabbit, dey wuz settin' up at de cotton-patch, one on one side de fence, en t'er one on t'er side, gwine on wid one er n'er, w'en fus' news dey know, dey year sump'n--_blim_, _blim_, _blim_! "brer fox, he ax w'at dat fuss is, en brer rabbit, he up'n 'spon' dat it's ole miss goose down at de spring. den brer fox, he up'n ax w'at she doin', en brer rabbit, he say, sezee, dat she battlin' cloze." [illustration: mr. fox and miss goose] "battling clothes, uncle remus?" said the little boy. "dat w'at dey call it dem days, honey. deze times, dey rubs cloze on deze yer bodes w'at got furrers in um, but dem days dey des tuck'n tuck de cloze en lay um out on a bench, en ketch holt er de battlin'-stick en natally paddle de fillin' outen um. "w'en brer fox year dat ole miss goose wuz down dar dabblin' in soapsuds en washin' cloze, he sorter lick he chops, en 'low dat some er dese odd-come-shorts he gwine ter call en pay he 'specks. de minnit he say dat, brer rabbit, he know sump'n' 'uz up, en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he 'speck he better whirl in en have some fun w'iles it gwine on. bimeby brer fox up'n say ter brer rabbit dat he bleedzd ter be movin' 'long todes home, en wid dat dey bofe say good-bye. "brer fox, he put out ter whar his fambly wuz, but brer rabbit, he slip 'roun', he did, en call on ole miss goose. ole miss goose she wuz down at de spring, washin', en b'ilin', en battlin' cloze; but brer rabbit he march up en ax her howdy, en den she tuck'n ax brer rabbit howdy. "'i'd shake han's 'long wid you, brer rabbit,' sez she, 'but dey er all full er suds,' sez she. "'no marter 'bout dat, miss goose,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'so long ez yo' will's good,' sezee." "a goose with hands, uncle remus!" the little boy exclaimed. "how you know goose aint got han's?" uncle remus inquired, with a frown. "is you been sleepin' longer ole man know-all? little mo' en you'll up'n stan' me down dat snakes aint got no foots, and yit you take en lay a snake down yer 'fo' de fier, en his foots 'll come out right 'fo' yo' eyes." uncle remus paused here, but presently continued: "atter ole miss goose en brer rabbit done pass de time er day wid one er n'er, brer rabbit, he ax 'er, he did, how she come on deze days, en miss goose say, mighty po'ly. "'i'm gittin' stiff en i'm gittin' clumpsy,' sez she, 'en mo'n dat i'm gittin' bline,' sez she. 'des 'fo' you happen 'long, brer rabbit, i drap my specks in de tub yer, en ef you'd 'a' come 'long 'bout dat time,' sez ole miss goose, sez she, 'i lay i'd er tuck you for dat nasty, owdashus brer fox, en it ud er bin a born blessin' ef i had n't er scald you wid er pan er b'ilin' suds,' sez she. 'i'm dat glad i foun' my specks i dunner w'at ter do,' sez ole miss goose, sez she. "den brer rabbit, he up'n say dat bein's how sis goose done fotch up brer fox name, he got sump'n' fer ter tell 'er, en den he let out 'bout brer fox gwine ter call on 'er. "he comin' sez brer rabbit, sezee; 'he comin' sho', en w'en he come hit 'll be des 'fo' day,' sezee. "wid dat, ole miss goose wipe 'er han's on 'er apun, en put 'er specks up on 'er forrerd, en look lak she done got trouble in 'er mine. "'laws-a-massy!' sez she, 'spozen he come, brer rabbit! w'at i gwine do? en dey aint a man 'bout de house, n'er,' sez she. "den brer rabbit, he shot one eye, en he say, sezee: "'sis goose, de time done come w'en you bleedzd ter roos' high. you look lak you got de dropsy,' sezee, 'but don't mine dat, kase ef you don't roos' high, youer goner,' sezee. "den ole miss goose ax brer rabbit w'at she gwine do, en brer rabbit he up en tell miss goose dat she mus' go home en tie up a bundle er de w'ite folks' cloze, en put um on de bed, en den she mus' fly up on a rafter, en let brer fox grab de cloze en run off wid um. "ole miss goose say she much 'blige, en she tuck'n tuck her things en waddle off home, en dat night she do lak brer rabbit say wid de bundle er cloze, en den she sont wud ter mr. dog, en mr. dog he come down, en say he'd sorter set up wid 'er. "des 'fo' day, yer come brer fox creepin' up, en he went en push on de do' easy, en de do' open, en he see sump'n' w'ite on de bed w'ich he took fer miss goose, en he grab it en run. 'bout dat time mr. dog sail out fum und' de house, he did, en ef brer fox had n't er drapt de cloze, he'd er got kotch. fum dat, wud went 'roun' dat brer fox bin tryin' ter steal miss goose cloze, en he come mighty nigh losin' his stannin' at miss meadows. down ter dis day," uncle remus continued, preparing to fill his pipe, "brer fox b'leeve dat brer rabbit wuz de 'casion er mr. dog bein' in de neighborhoods at dat time er night, en brer rabbit aint 'spute it. de bad feelin' 'twix' brer fox en mr. dog start right dar, en hits bin agwine on twel now dey aint git in smellin' distuns er one er n'er widout dey's a row." ii brother fox catches mr. horse there was a pause after the story of old miss goose. the culmination was hardly sensational enough to win the hearty applause of the little boy, and this fact appeared to have a depressing influence upon uncle remus. as he leaned slightly forward, gazing into the depths of the great fireplace, his attitude was one of pensiveness. "i 'speck i done wo' out my welcome up at de big house," he said, after a while. "i mos' knows i is," he continued, setting himself resignedly in his deep-bottomed chair. "kase de las' time i uz up dar, i had my eye on miss sally mighty nigh de whole blessid time, en w'en you see miss sally rustlin' 'roun' makin' lak she fixin' things up dar on de mantle-shelf, en bouncin' de cheers 'roun', en breshin' dus' whar dey aint no dus', en flyin' 'roun' singin' sorter louder dan common, den i des knows sump'n' done gone en rile 'er." "why, uncle remus!" exclaimed the little boy; "mamma was just glad because i was feeling so good." "mought er bin," the old man remarked, in a tone that was far from implying conviction. "ef 't wa'n't dat, den she wuz gittin' tired er seem' me lounjun' 'roun' up dar night atter night, en ef 't wa'n't dat, den she wuz watchin' a chance fer ter preach ter yo' pa. oh, i done bin know miss sally long fo' yo' pa is!" exclaimed uncle remus, in response to the astonishment depicted upon the child's face. "i bin knowin' 'er sence she wuz so high, en endurin' er all dat time i aint seed no mo' up'n spoken' w'ite 'oman dan w'at miss sally is. "but dat aint needer yer ner dar. you done got so youk'n rush down yer des like you useter, en we kin set yer en smoke, en tell tales, en study up 'musements same like we wuz gwine on 'fo' you got dat splinter in yo' foot. "i mines me er one time"--with an infectious laugh--"w'en ole brer rabbit got brer fox in de wuss trubble w'at a man wuz mos' ever got in yit, en dat 'uz w'en he fool 'im 'bout de hoss. aint i never tell you 'bout dat? but no marter ef i is. hoe-cake aint cook done good twel hit 's turnt over a couple er times. "well, atter brer fox done git rested fum keepin' out er de way er mr. dog, en sorter ketch up wid his rations, he say ter hisse'f dat he be dog his cats ef he don't slorate ole brer rabbit ef it take 'im a mont'; en dat, too, on top er all de 'spe'unce w'at he done bin had wid um. brer rabbit he sorter git win' er dis, en one day, w'iles he gwine 'long de road studyin' how he gwineter hol' he hand wid brer fox, he see a great big hoss layin' stretch out flat on he side in de pastur'; en he tuck'n crope up, he did, fer ter see ef dish yer hoss done gone en die. he crope up en he crope 'roun', en bimeby he see de hoss switch he tail, en den brer rabbit know he aint dead. wid dat, brer rabbit lope back ter de big road, en mos' de fus' man w'at he see gwine on by wuz brer fox, en brer rabbit he tuck atter 'im, en holler: "'brer fox! o brer fox! come back! i got some good news fer you. come back, brer fox,' sezee. "brer fox, he tu'n 'roun', he did, en w'en he see who callin' 'im, he come gallopin' back, kaze it seem like dat des ez gooder time ez any fer ter nab brer rabbit; but 'fo' he git in nabbin' distance, brer rabbit he up'n say, sezee: "'come on, brer fox! i done fine de place whar you kin lay in fresh meat 'nuff fer ter las' you plum twel de middle er nex' year,' sezee. "brer fox, he ax wharbouts, en brer rabbit, he say, right over dar in de pastur', en brer fox ax w'at is it, en brer rabbit, he say w'ich 'twuz a whole hoss layin' down on de groun' whar dey kin ketch 'im en tie 'im. wid dat, brer fox, he say come on, en off dey put. "w'en dey got dar, sho' nuff, dar lay de hoss all stretch out in de sun, fas' 'sleep, en den brer fox en brer rabbit, dey had a 'spute 'bout how dey gwine ter fix de hoss so he can't git loose. one say one way en de yuther say n'er way, en dar dey had it, twel atter w'ile brer rabbit, he say, sezee: "'de onliest plan w'at i knows un, brer fox,' sezee, 'is fer you ter git down dar en lemme tie you ter de hoss tail, en den, w'en he try ter git up, you kin hol' 'im down,' sezee. 'ef i wuz big man like w'at you is,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'you mought tie me ter dat hoss' tail, en ef i aint hol' 'im down, den joe's dead en sal's a widder. i des knows you kin hol' 'im down,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'but yit, ef you 'feared, we des better drap dat idee en study out some yuther plan,' sezee. "brer fox sorter jubus 'bout dis, but he bleedzd ter play biggity 'fo' brer rabbit, en he tuck'n 'gree ter de progrance, en den brer rabbit, he tuck'n tie brer fox ter de hoss' tail, en atter he git 'im tie dar hard en fas', he sorter step back, he did, en put he han's 'kimbo, en grin, en den he say, sezee: "ef ever dey wuz a hoss kotch, den we done kotch dis un. look sorter lak we done put de bridle on de wrong een',' sezee, 'but i lay brer fox is got de strenk fer ter hol' 'im,' sezee. "wid dat, brer rabbit cut 'im a long switch en trim it up, en w'en he get it fix, up he step en hit de hoss a rap--_pow!_ de hoss 'uz dat s'prise at dat kinder doin's dat he make one jump, en lan' on he foots. w'en he do dat, dar wuz brer fox danglin' in de a'r, en brer rabbit, he dart out de way en holler: "'hol' 'im down, brer fox! hol' 'im down! i'll stan' out yer en see fa'r play. hol' 'im down, brer fox! hol' 'im down!' "co'se, w'en de hoss feel brer fox hangin' dar onter he tail, he thunk sump'n' kuse wuz de marter, en dis make 'im jump en r'ar wusser en wusser, en he shake up brer fox same like he wuz a rag in de win', en brer rabbit, he jump en holler: "'hol' 'im down, brer fox! hol' 'im down! you got 'im now, sho'! hol' yo' grip, en hol' 'im down,' sezee. "de hoss, he jump en he hump, en he rip en he r'ar, en he snort en he t'ar. but yit brer fox hang on, en still brer rabbit skip 'roun' en holler: "'hol' 'im down, brer fox! you got 'im whar he can't needer back ner squall. hol' 'im down, brer fox!' sezee. "bimeby, w'en brer fox git chance, he holler back, he did: "'how in de name er goodness i gwine ter hol' de hoss down 'less i git my claw in de groun'?' "den brer rabbit, he stan' back little furder en holler little louder: "'hol' 'im down, brer fox! hol' 'im down! you got 'im now, sho'! hol' 'im down!' "bimeby de hoss 'gun ter kick wid he behime legs, en de fus' news you know, he fetch brer fox a lick in de stomach dat fa'rly make 'im squall, en den he kick 'im ag'in, en dis time he break brer fox loose, en sont 'im a-whirlin'; en brer rabbit, he keep on a-jumpin' 'roun' en hollerin': "'hol' 'im down, brer fox!'" "did the fox get killed, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "he wa'n't 'zackly kilt, honey," replied the old man, "but he wuz de nex' do' ter't. he 'uz all broke up, en w'iles he 'uz gittin' well, hit sorter come 'cross he min' dat brer rabbit done play n'er game on 'im." iii brother rabbit and the little girl "what did brother rabbit do after that?" the little boy asked presently. "now, den, you don't wanter push ole brer rabbit too close," replied uncle remus significantly. "he mighty tender-footed creetur, en de mo' w'at you push 'im, de furder he lef' you." there was prolonged silence in the old man's cabin, until, seeing that the little boy was growing restless enough to cast several curious glances in the direction of the tool chest in the corner, uncle remus lifted one leg over the other, scratched his head reflectively, and began: "one time, atter brer rabbit done bin trompin' 'roun' huntin' up some sallid fer ter make out he dinner wid, he fine hisse'f in de neighborhoods er mr. man house, en he pass 'long twel he come ter de gyardin-gate, en nigh de gyardin-gate he see little gal playin' 'roun' in de san'. w'en brer rabbit look 'twix' de gyardin-palin's en see de colluds, en de sparrer-grass, en de yuther gyardin truck growin' dar, hit make he mouf water. den he take en walk up ter de little gal, brer rabbit did, en pull he roach,[ ] en bow, en scrape he foot, en talk mighty nice en slick. "'howdy, little gal,' sez brer rabbit, sezee; 'how you come on?' sezee. "den de little gal, she 'spon' howdy, she did, en she ax brer rabbit how he come on, en brer rabbit, he 'low he mighty po'ly, en den he ax ef dis de little gal w'at 'er pa live up dar in de big w'ite house, w'ich de little gal, she up'n say 'twer'. brer rabbit, he say he mighty glad, kaze he des bin up dar fer to see 'er pa, en he say dat 'er pa, he sont 'im out dar fer ter tell de little gal dat she mus' open de gyardin-gate so brer rabbit kin go in en git some truck. den de little gal, she jump 'roun', she did, en she open de gate, en wid dat, brer rabbit, he hop in, he did, en got 'im a mess er greens, en hop out ag'in, en w'en he gwine off he make a bow, he did, en tell de little gal dat he much 'blije', en den atter dat he put out fer home. "nex' day, brer rabbit, he hide out, he did, twel he see de little gal come out ter play, en den he put up de same tale, en walk off wid a n'er mess er truck, en hit keep on dis a-way, twel bimeby mr. man, he 'gun ter miss his greens, en he keep on a-missin' un um, twel he got ter excusin' eve'ybody on de place er 'stroyin' un um, en w'en dat come ter pass, de little gal, she up'n say: "'my goodness, pa!' sez she, 'you done tole mr. rabbit fer ter come and make me let 'im in de gyardin atter some greens, en aint he done come en ax me, en aint i done gone en let 'im in?' sez she. "mr. man aint hatter study long 'fo' he see how de lan' lay, en den he laff, en tell de little gal dat he done gone en disremember all 'bout mr. rabbit, en den he up'n say, sezee: "'nex' time mr. rabbit come, you tak'n tu'n 'im in, en den you run des ez fas' ez you kin en come en tell me, kase i got some bizness wid dat young chap dat 's bleedze ter be 'ten' ter,' sezee. "sho' nuff, nex' mawnin' dar wuz de little gal playin' 'roun', en yer come brer rabbit atter he 'lowance er greens. he wuz ready wid de same tale, en den de little gal, she tu'n 'im in, she did, en den she run up ter de house en holler: "'o pa! pa! o pa! yer brer rabbit in de gyardin now! yer he is, pa!' [illustration: brother rabbit and the little girl] "den mr. man, he rush out, en grab up a fishin'-line w'at bin hangin' in de back po'ch, en mak fer de gyardin, en w'en he git dar, dar wuz brer rabbit tromplin' 'roun' on de strawbe'y-bed en mashin' down de termartusses. w'en brer rabbit see mr. man, he squot behime a collud leaf, but 't wa'n't no use. mr. man done seed him, en 'fo' you kin count 'lev'm, he done got ole brer rabbit tie hard en fas' wid de fishin'-line. atter he got him tie good, mr. man step back, he did, en say, sezee: "'you done bin fool me lots er time, but dis time you er mine. i'm gwine ter take you en gin you a larrupin',' sezee, 'en den i'm gwine ter skin you en nail yo' hide on de stable do',' sezee; 'en den ter make sho dat you git de right kinder larrupin', i'll des step up ter de house,' sezee, 'en fetch de little red cowhide, en den i'll take en gin you brinjer,' sezee. "den mr. man call to der little gal ter watch brer rabbit w'iles he gone. "brer rabbit aint sayin' nothin', but mr. man aint mo'n out de gate 'fo' he 'gun ter sing; en in dem days brer rabbit wuz a singer, mon," continued uncle remus, with unusual emphasis, "en w'en he chuned up fer ter sing he make dem yuther creeturs hol' der bref." "what did he sing, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "ef i aint fergit dat song off'n my min'," said uncle remus, looking over his spectacles at the fire, with a curious air of attempting to remember something, "hit run sorter dish yer way: "'_de jay-bird hunt de sparrer-nes', de bee-martin sail all 'roun'; de squer'l, he holler from de top er de tree, mr. mole, he stay in de groun'; he hide en he stay twel de dark drop down-- mr. mole, he hide in de groun'._' "w'en de little gal year dat, she laugh, she did, and she up'n ax brer babbit fer ter sing some mo', but brer rabbit, he sorter cough, he did, en 'low dat he got a mighty bad ho'seness down inter he win'pipe some'rs. de little gal, she swade,[ ] en swade, en bimeby brer rabbit, he up 'n 'low dat he kin dance mo' samer dan w'at he kin sing. den de little gal, she ax' im won't he dance, en brer rabbit, he 'spon' how in de name er goodness kin a man dance w'iles he all tie up dis a-way, en den de little gal, she say she kin ontie 'im, en brer rabbit, he say he aint keerin' ef she do. wid dat de little gal, she retch down en onloose de fish-line, en brer rabbit, he sorter stretch hisse'f en look 'roun'." here uncle remus paused and sighed, as though he had relieved his mind of a great burden. the little boy waited a few minutes for the old man to resume, and finally he asked: "did the rabbit dance, uncle remus?" "who? him?" exclaimed the old man, with a queer affectation of elation. "bless yo' soul, honey! brer rabbit gedder up his foots und' 'im, en he dance outer dat gyardin, en he dance home. he did dat! sho'ly you don't 'speck' dat a ole-timer w'at done had 'spe'unce like brer rabbit gwine ter stay dar en let dat ar mr. man sackyfice 'im? _shoo!_ brer rabbit dance, but he dance home. you year me!" ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] topknot, foretop. [ ] persuaded. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- iv how brother fox was too smart uncle remus chuckled a moment over the escape of brother rabbit, and then turned his gaze upward toward the cobwebbed gloom that seemed to lie just beyond the rafters. he sat thus silent and serious a little while, but finally squared himself around in his chair and looked the little boy full in the face. the old man's countenance expressed a curious mixture of sorrow and bewilderment. catching the child by the coat-sleeve, uncle remus pulled him gently to attract his attention. "hit look like ter me," he said presently, in the tone of one approaching an unpleasant subject, "dat no longer'n yistiddy i see one er dem ar favers chillun clim'in' dat ar big red-oak out yan', en den it seem like dat a little chap 'bout yo' size, he tuck'n start up ter see ef he can't play smarty like de favers's yearlin's. i dunner w'at in de name er goodness you wanter be a-copyin' atter dem ar faverses fer. ef you er gwine ter copy atter yuther folks, copy atter dem w'at's some 'count. yo' pa, he got de idee dat some folks is good ez yuther folks; but miss sally, she know better. she know dat dey aint no favers 'pon de top side er de yeth w'at kin hol' der han' wid de abercrombies in p'int er breedin' en raisin'. dat w'at miss sally know. i bin keepin' track er dem faverses sence way back yan' long 'fo' miss sally wuz born'd. ole cajy favers, he went ter de po'house, en ez ter dat jim favers, i boun' you he know de inside er all de jails in dish yer state er jawjy. dey allers did hate niggers kase dey aint had none, en dey hates um down ter dis day. "year 'fo' las'," uncle remus continued, "i year yo unk' jeems abercrombie tell dat same jim favers dat ef he lay de weight er he han' on one er his niggers, he'd slap a load er buck shot in 'im; en, bless yo' soul, honey, yo' unk' jeems wuz des de man ter do it. but dey er monst'us perlite unter me, dem faverses is," pursued the old man, allowing his indignation, which had risen to a white heat, to cool off, "en dey better be," he added spitefully, "kase i knows der pedigree fum de fus' ter de las', en w'en i gits my affikin up, dey aint nobody, 'less it's miss sally 'erse'f, w'at kin keep me down. "but dat aint needer yer ner dar," said uncle remus, renewing his attack upon the little boy. "w'at you wanter go copyin' atter dem favers chillun fer? youer settin' back dar, right dis minnit, bettin' longer yo'se'f dat i aint gwine ter tell miss sally, en dar whar youer lettin' yo' foot slip, kaze i'm gwine ter let it pass dis time, but de ve'y nex' time w'at i ketches you in hollerin' distuns er dem faverses, right den en dar i'm gwine ter take my foot in my han' en go en tell miss sally, en ef she don't natally skin you 'live, den she aint de same 'oman w'at she useter be. "all dish yer copyin' atter deze yer faverses put me in min' er de time w'en brer fox got ter copyin' atter brer rabbit. i done tole you 'bout de time w'en brer rabbit git de game fum brer fox by makin' like he dead?"[ ] the little boy remembered it very distinctly, and said as much. "well, den, ole brer fox, w'en he see how slick de trick wuk wid brer rabbit, he say ter hisse'f dat he b'leeve he'll up'n try de same kinder game on some yuther man, en he keep on watchin' fer he chance, twel bimeby, one day, he year mr. man comin' down de big road in a one-hoss waggin, kyar'n some chickens, en some eggs, en some butter, ter town. brer fox year 'im comin', he did, en w'at do he do but go en lay down in de road front er de waggin. mr. man, he druv 'long, he did, cluckin' ter de hoss en hummin' ter hisse'f, en w'en dey git mos' up ter brer fox, de hoss, he shy, he did, en mr. man, he tuck'n holler wo! en de hoss, he tuck'n wo'd. den mr. man, he look down, en he see brer fox layin' out dar on de groun' des like he cole en stiff, en w'en mr. man see dis, he holler out: "'heyo! dar de chap w'at been nabbin' up my chickens, en somebody done gone en shot off a gun at 'im, w'ich i wish she'd er bin two guns--dat i does!' "wid dat, mr. man he druv on en lef brer fox layin' dar. den brer fox, he git up en run 'roun' thoo de woods en lay down front er mr. man ag'in, en mr. man come drivin' 'long, en he see brer fox, en he say, sezee;-- "'heyo! yer de ve'y chap what been 'stroyin' my pigs. somebody done gone en kilt 'im, en i wish dey'd er kilt 'im long time ago.' "den mr. man, he druv on, en de waggin-w'eel come mighty nigh mashin' brer fox nose; yit, all de same, brer fox lipt up en run 'roun' 'head er mr. man, en lay down in de road, en w'en mr. man come 'long, dar he wuz all stretch out like he big 'nuff fer ter fill a two-bushel baskit, en he look like he dead 'nuff fer ter be skint. mr. man druv up, he did, en stop. he look down pun brer fox, en den he look all 'roun' fer ter see w'at de 'casion er all deze yer dead fox is. mr. man look all 'roun', he did, but he aint see nothin', en needer do he year nothin'. den he set dar en study, en bimeby he 'low ter hisse'f, he did, dat he had better 'zamin' w'at kinder kuse zeeze[ ] done bin got inter brer fox fambly, en wid dat he lit down outer de waggin, en feel er brer fox year; brer fox year feel right wom. den he feel brer fox neck; brer fox neck right wom. den he feel er brer fox in de short ribs; brer fox all soun' in de short ribs. den he feel er brer fox lim's; brer fox all soun' in de lim's. den he tu'n brer fox over, en, lo en beholes, brer fox right limber. w'en mr. man see dis, he say ter hisse'f, sezee: "'heyo, yer! how come dis? dish yer chicken-nabber look lak he dead, but dey aint no bones broked, en i aint see no blood, en needer does i feel no bruise; en mo'n dat he wom en he limber,' sezee. 'sump'n' wrong yer, sho'! dish yer pig-grabber _mought_ be dead, en den ag'in he moughtent,' sezee; 'but ter make sho' dat he is, i'll des gin 'im a whack wid my w'ip-han'le,' sezee; en wid dat, mr. man draw back en fotch brer fox a clip behime de years--_pow!_--en de lick come so hard en it come so quick dat brer fox thunk sho' he's a goner; but 'fo' mr. man kin draw back fer ter fetch 'im a n'er wipe, brer fox, he scramble ter his feet, he did, en des make tracks 'way fum dar." uncle remus paused and shook the cold ashes from his pipe, and then applied the moral: "dat w'at brer fox git fer playin' mr. smarty en copyin' atter yuther foks, en dat des de way de whole smarty fambly gwine ter come out." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] _uncle remus: his songs and his sayings_, p. (new york: d. appleton & co.). [ ] disease. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- v brother rabbit's astonishing prank "i 'speck dat 'uz de reas'n w'at make ole brer rabbit git 'long so well, kaze he aint copy atter none er de yuther creeturs," uncle remus continued, after a while. "w'en he make his disappearance 'fo' um, hit 'uz allers in some bran new place. dey aint know wharbouts fer ter watch out fer 'im. he wuz de funniest creetur er de whole gang. some folks moughter call him lucky, en yit, w'en he git in bad luck, hit look lak he mos' allers come out on top. hit look mighty kuse now, but 't wa'n't kuse in dem days, kaze hit 'uz done gun up dat, strike 'im w'en you might en whar you would, brer rabbit wuz de soopless creetur gwine. "one time, he sorter tuck a notion, ole brer rabbit did, dat he'd pay brer b'ar a call, en no sooner do de notion strike 'im dan he pick hisse'f up en put out fer brer b'ar house." "why, i thought they were mad with each other," the little boy exclaimed. "brer rabbit make he call w'en brer b'ar en his fambly wuz off fum home," uncle remus explained, with a chuckle which was in the nature of a hearty tribute to the crafty judgment of brother rabbit. "he sot down by de road, en he see um go by,--ole brer b'ar en ole miss b'ar, en der two twin-chilluns, w'ich one un um wuz name kubs en de t'er one wuz name klibs." the little boy laughed, but the severe seriousness of uncle remus would have served for a study, as he continued: "ole brer b'ar en miss b'ar, dey went 'long ahead, en kubs en klibs, dey come shufflin' en scramblin' 'long behime. w'en brer rabbit see dis, he say ter hisse'f dat he 'speck he better go see how brer b'ar gittin' on; en off he put. en 't wa'n't long n'er 'fo' he 'uz ransackin' de premmuses same like he 'uz sho' 'nuff patter-roller. w'iles he wuz gwine 'roun' peepin' in yer en pokin' in dar, he got ter foolin' 'mong de shelfs, en a bucket er honey w'at brer b'ar got hid in de cubbud fall down en spill on top er brer rabbit, en little mo'n he'd er bin drown. fum head ter heels dat creetur wuz kiver'd wid honey; he wa'n't des only bedobble wid it, he wuz des kiver'd. he hatter set dar en let de natal sweetness drip outen he eyeballs 'fo' he kin see he han' befo' 'im, en den, atter he look' 'roun' little, he say to hisse'f, sezee: "'heyo, yer! w'at i gwine do now? ef i go out in de sunshine, de bumly-bees en de flies dey'll swom up'n take me, en if i stay yer, brer b'ar'll come back en ketch me, en i dunner w'at in de name er gracious i gwine do.' "ennyhow, bimeby a notion strike brer rabbit, en he tip 'long twel he git in de woods, en w'en he git out dar, w'at do he do but roll in de leafs en trash en try fer ter rub de honey off'n 'im dat a-way. he roll, he did, en de leafs dey stick; brer rabbit roll, en de leafs dey stick, en he keep on rollin' en de leafs keep on stickin', twel atter w'ile brer rabbit wuz de mos' owdashus-lookin' creetur w'at you ever sot eyes on. en ef miss meadows en de gals could er seed 'im den en dar, dey would n't er bin no mo' brer rabbit call at der house; 'deed, en dat dey would n't. "brer rabbit, he jump 'roun', he did, en try ter shake de leafs off'a 'im, but de leafs, dey aint gwine ter be shuck off. brer rabbit, he shake en he shiver, but de leafs dey stick; en de capers dat creetur cut up out dar in de woods by he own-alone se'f wuz scan'lous--dey wuz dat; dey wuz scan'lous. "brer rabbit see dis wa'nt gwine ter do, en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he better be gittin' on todes home, en off he put. i 'speck you done year talk er deze yer booggers w'at gits atter bad chilluns," continued uncle remus, in a tone so seriously confidential as to be altogether depressing; "well, den, des 'zactly dat a-way brer rabbit look, en ef you'd er seed 'im you'd er made sho' he de gran'-daddy er all de booggers. brer rabbit pace 'long, he did, en ev'y motion he make, de leafs dey'd go _swishy-swushy_, _splushy-splishy_, en, fum de fuss he make en de way he look, you'd er tuck 'im ter be de mos' suvvigus varment w'at disappear fum de face er de yeth sence ole man noah let down de draw-bars er de ark en tu'n de creeturs loose; en i boun' ef you'd er struck up long wid 'im, you'd er been mighty good en glad ef you'd er got off wid dat. "de fus' man w'at brer rabbit come up wid wuz ole sis cow, en no sooner is she lay eyes on 'im dan she h'ist up 'er tail in de elements, en put out like a pack er dogs wuz atter 'er. dis make brer rabbit laff, kaze he know dat w'en a ole settle' 'oman like sis cow run 'stracted in de broad open day-time, dat dey mus' be sump'n' mighty kuse 'bout dem leafs en dat honey, en he keep on a-rackin' down de road. de nex' man w'at he meet wuz a black gal tollin' a whole passel er plantation shotes, en w'en de gal see brer rabbit come prancin' 'long, she fling down 'er basket er corn en des fa'rly fly, en de shotes, dey tuck thoo de woods, en sech n'er racket ez dey kick up wid der runnin', en der snortin', en der squealin' aint never bin year in dat settlement needer befo' ner since. hit keep on dis a-way long ez brer rabbit meet anybody--dey des broke en run like de ole boy wuz atter um. [illustration: brother rabbit's astonishing prank] "co'se, dis make brer rabbit feel monst'us biggity, en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he 'speck he better drap 'roun' en skummish in de neighborhoods er brer fox house. en w'iles he wuz stannin' dar runnin' dis 'roun' in he min', yer come old brer b'ar en all er he fambly. brer rabbit, he git crossways de road, he did, en he sorter sidle todes um. ole brer b'ar, he stop en look, but brer rabbit, he keep on sidlin' todes um. ole miss b'ar, she stan' it long ez she kin, en den she fling down 'er parrysol en tuck a tree. brer b'ar look lak he gwine ter stan' his groun', but brer rabbit he jump straight up in de a'r en gin hisse'f a shake, en, bless yo' soul, honey! ole brer b'ar make a break, en dey tells me he to' down a whole panel er fence gittin' 'way fum dar. en ez ter kubs en klibs, dey tuck der hats in der han's, en dey went skaddlin' thoo de bushes des same ez a drove er hosses." "and then what?" the little boy asked. "brer rabbit p'raded on down de road," continued uncle remus, "en bimeby yer come brer fox en brer wolf, fixin' up a plan fer ter nab brer rabbit, en dey wuz so intents on der confab dat dey got right on brer rabbit 'fo' dey seed 'im; but, gentermens! w'en dey is ketch a glimpse un 'im, dey gun 'im all de room he want. brer wolf, he try ter show off, he did, kase he wanter play big 'fo' brer fox, en he stop en ax brer rabbit who is he. brer rabbit, he jump up en down in de middle er de road, en holler out: "'i'm de wull-er-de-wust.[ ] i'm de wull-er-de-wust, en youer de man i'm atter!' "den brer rabbit jump up en down en make lak he gwine atter brer fox en brer wolf, en de way dem creeturs lit out fum dar wuz a caution. "long time atter dat," continued uncle remus, folding his hands placidly in his lap, with the air of one who has performed a pleasant duty,--"long time atter dat, brer rabbit come up wid brer fox en brer wolf, en he git behime a stump, brer rabbit did, en holler out: "'i'm de wull-er-de-wust, en youer de mens i'm atter!' "brer fox en brer wolf, dey broke, but 'fo' dey got outer sight en outer yar'n', brer rabbit show hisse'f, he did, en laugh fit ter kill hisse'f. atterwuds, miss meadows she year 'bout it, en de nex' time brer fox call, de gals dey up en giggle, en ax 'im ef he aint feard de wull-er-de-wust mought drap in." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] or wull-er-de-wuts. probably a fantastic corruption of "will-o'-the-wisp," though this is not by any means certain. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- vi brother rabbit secures a mansion the rain continued to fall the next day, but the little boy made arrangements to go with 'tildy when she carried uncle remus his supper. this happened to be a waiter full of things left over from dinner. there was so much that the old man was moved to remark: "i cl'ar ter gracious, hit look lak miss sally done got my name in de pot dis time, sho'. i des wish you look at dat pone er co'n-bread, honey, en dem ar greens, en see ef dey aint got remus writ some'rs on um. dat ar chick'n fixin's, dey look lak deyer good, yet 'taint familious wid me lak dat ar bile ham. dem ar sweet-taters, dey stan's fa'r fer dividjun, but dem ar puzzuv,[ ] i lay dey fit yo' palate mo' samer dan dey does mine. dish yer hunk er beef, we kin talk 'bout dat w'en de time come, en dem ar biscuits, i des nat'ally knows miss sally put um in dar fer some little chap w'ich his name i aint gwine ter call in comp'ny." it was easy to perceive that the sight of the supper had put uncle remus in rare good-humor. he moved around briskly, taking the plates from the waiter and distributing them with exaggerated carefulness around upon his little pine table. meanwhile he kept up a running fire of conversation. "folks w'at kin set down en have der vittles brung en put down right spang und' der nose--dem kinder folks aint got no needs er no umbrell. night 'fo' las', w'iles i wuz settin' dar in de do', i year dem willis-whistlers, en den i des knowed we 'uz gwine ter git a season."[ ] "the willis-whistlers, uncle remus," exclaimed the little boy. "what are they?" "youer too hard fer me now, honey. dat w'at i knows i don't min' tellin', but w'en you axes me 'bout dat w'at i dunno, den youer too hard fer me, sho'. deze yer willis-whistlers, dey bangs my time, en i bin knockin' 'roun' in dish yer low-groun' now gwine on eighty year. some folks wanter make out deyer frogs, yit i wish dey p'int out unter me how frogs kin holler so dat de nigher you come t'um, de furder you is off; i be mighty glad ef some un 'ud come 'long en tell me dat. many en many's de time is i gone atter deze yer willis-whistlers, en, no diffunce whar i goes, deyer allers off yander. you kin put de shovel in de fier en make de squinch-owl hush he fuss, en you kin go out en put yo' han' on de trees en make deze yere locus'-bugs quit der racket, but dem ar willis-whistlers deyer allers 'way off yander."[ ] suddenly uncle remus paused over one of the dishes, and exclaimed: "gracious en de goodness! w'at kinder doin's is dis miss sally done gone sont us?" "that," said the little boy, after making an investigation, "is what mamma calls a floating island." "well, den," uncle remus remarked, in a relieved tone, "dat 's diffunt. i wuz mos' fear'd it 'uz some er dat ar sillerbug, w'ich a whole jugful aint ska'cely 'nuff fer ter make you seem like you dremp 'bout smellin' dram. ef i'm gwine ter be fed on foam," continued the old man, by way of explaining his position on the subject of syllabub, "let it be foam, en ef i'm gwine ter git dram, lemme git in reach un it w'ile she got some strenk lef'. dat 's me up an down. w'en it come ter yo' floatin' ilun, des gimme a hunk er ginger-cake en a mug er 'simmon-beer, en dey won't fine no nigger w'ats got no slicker feelin's dan w'at i is. "miss sally mighty kuse w'ite 'oman," uncle remus went on. "she sendin' all deze doin's en fixin's down yer, en i 'speck deyer monst'us nice, but no longer'n las' chuseday she had all de niggers on de place, big en little, gwine squallin' 'roun' fer remus. hit 'uz remus yer en remus dar, en, lo en beholes, w'en i come ter fine out, miss sally want remus fer ter whirl in en cook 'er one er deze yer ole-time ash-cakes. she bleedzd ter have it den en dar; en w'en i git it done, miss sally, she got a glass er buttermilk, en tuck'n sot right flat down on de flo', des like she useter w'en she wuz little gal." the old man paused, straightened up, looked at the child over his spectacles, and continued, with emphasis: "en i be bless ef she aint eat a hunk er dat ash-cake mighty nigh ez big ez yo' head, en den she tuck'n make out 't wa'n't cook right. "now, den, honey, all deze done fix. you set over dar, and i'll set over yer, en 'twix' en 'tween us we'll sample dish yer truck en see w'at is it miss sally done gone en sont us; en w'iles we er makin' 'way wid it, i'll sorter rustle 'roun' wid my 'membunce, en see ef i kin call ter min' de tale 'bout how ole brer rabbit got 'im a two-story house widout layin' out much cash." uncle remus stopped talking a little while and pretended to be trying to remember something,--an effort that was accompanied by a curious humming sound in his throat. finally, he brightened up and began: "hit tu'n out one time dat a whole lot er de creeturs tuck a notion dat dey'd go in coboots wid buil'n' un um a house. ole brer b'ar, he was 'mongs' um, en brer fox, en brer wolf, en brer 'coon, en brer 'possum. i won't make sho', but it seem like ter me dat plum down ter ole brer mink 'uz 'mongs' um. leas'ways, dey wuz a whole passel un um, en dey whirl in, dey did, en dey buil' de house in less'n no time. brer rabbit, he make lak it make he head swim fer ter climb up on de scaffle, en likewise he say it make 'im ketch de palsy fer ter wuk in de sun, but he got 'im a squar', en he stuck a pencil behime he year, en he went 'roun' medjun[ ] en markin'--medjun en markin'--en he wuz dat busy dat de yuther creeturs say ter deyse'f he doin' monst'us sight er wuk, en folks gwine 'long de big road say brer rabbit doin' mo' hard wuk dan de whole kit en bilin' un um. yit all de time brer rabbit aint doin' nothin', en he des well bin layin' off in de shade scratchin' de fleas off'n 'im. de yuther creeturs, dey buil' de house, en, gentermens! she 'uz a fine un, too, mon. she'd 'a' bin a fine un deze days, let 'lone dem days. she had er upsta'rs en downsta'rs, en chimbleys all 'roun', en she had rooms fer all de creeturs w'at went inter cahoots en hope make it. "brer rabbit, he pick out one er de upsta'rs rooms, en he tuck'n' got 'im a gun, en one er deze yer brass cannons, en he tuck'n' put um in dar w'en de yuther creeturs aint lookin', en den he tuck'n' got 'im a tub er nasty slop-water, w'ich likewise he put in dar w'en dey aint lookin'. so den, w'en dey git de house all fix, en w'iles dey wuz all a-settin' in de parlor atter supper, brer rabbit, he sorter gap en stretch hisse'f, en make his 'skuses en say he b'leeve he'll go ter he room. w'en he git dar, en w'iles all de yuther creeturs wuz a-laughin' en a-chattin' des ez sociable ez you please, brer rabbit, he stick he head out er de do' er he room en sing out: "'w'en a big man like me wanter set down, wharbouts he gwine ter set?' sezee. "den de yuther creeturs dey laugh, en holler back: "'ef big man like you can't set in a cheer, he better set down on de flo'.' "'watch out down dar, den,' sez ole brer rabbit, sezee. 'kaze i'm a gwine ter set down,' sezee. "wid dat, _bang!_ went brer rabbit gun. co'se, dis sorter 'stonish de creeturs, en dey look 'roun' at one er n'er much ez ter say, w'at in de name er gracious is dat? dey lissen en lissen, but dey don't year no mo' fuss, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' dey got ter chattin' en jabberin' some mo'. bimeby, brer rabbit stick he head outer he room do', en sing out: "'w'en a big man like me wanter sneeze, wharbouts he gwine ter sneeze at?' "den de yuther creeturs, dey tuck'n holler back: "'ef big man like you aint a-gone gump, he kin sneeze anywhar he please.' "'watch out down dar, den,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'kaze i'm gwine ter tu'n loose en sneeze right yer,' sezee. "wid dat, brer rabbit let off his cannon--_bulderum-m-m!_ de winder-glass dey shuck en rattle, en de house shuck like she gwine ter come down, en ole brer b'ar, he fell out de rockin'-cheer--_kerblump!_ w'en de creeturs git sorter settle, brer 'possum en brer mink, dey up'n 'low dat brer rabbit got sech a monst'us bad cole, dey b'leeve dey'll step out and git some fresh a'r, but dem yuther creeturs, dey say dey gwine ter stick it out; en atter w'ile, w'en dey git der h'ar smoove down, dey 'gun ter jower 'mongs' deyse'f. 'bout dat time, w'en dey get in a good way, brer rabbit, he sing out: "'w'en a big man like me take a chaw terbacker, wharbouts he gwine ter spit?' "den de yuther creeturs, dey holler back, dey did, sorter like deyer mad: "'big man er little man, spit whar you please.' "den brer rabbit, he squall out: "'dis de way a big man spit!' en wid dat he tilt over de tub er slop-water, en w'en de yuther creeturs year it come a-sloshin' down de sta'r-steps, gentermens! dey des histed deyse'f outer dar. some un um went out de back do', en some un um went out de front do', en some un um fell out de winders; some went one way en some went n'er way; but dey all went sailin' out." "but what became of brother rabbit?" the little boy asked. "brer rabbit, he des tuck'n shot up de house en fassen de winders, en den he got ter bed, he did, en pull de coverled up 'roun' he years, en he sleep like a man w'at aint owe nobody nuthin'; en needer do he owe um, kaze ef dem yuther creeturs gwine git skeer'd en run off fum der own house, w'at bizness is dat er brer rabbit? dat w'at i like ter know." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] preserves. [ ] in the south, a rain is called a "season," not only by the negroes, but by many white farmers. [ ] it is a far-away sound that might be identified with one of the various undertones of silence, but it is palpable enough (if the word may be used) to have attracted the attention of the humble philosophers of the old plantation. [ ] measuring. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- vii mr. lion hunts for mr. man uncle remus sighed heavily as he lifted the trivet on the head of his walking-cane, and hung it carefully by the side of the griddle in the cavernous fireplace. "folks kin come 'long wid der watchermaycollums," he said presently, turning to the little boy, who was supplementing his supper by biting off a chew of shoemaker's-wax, "en likewise dey kin fetch 'roun' der watziznames. dey kin walk biggity, en dey kin talk biggity, en mo'n dat, dey kin feel biggity, but yit all de same deyer gwine ter git kotch up wid. dey go 'long en dey go 'long, en den bimeby yer come trouble en snatch um slonchways, en de mo' bigger w'at dey is, de wusser does dey git snatched." the little boy did n't understand this harangue at all, but he appreciated it because he recognized it as the prelude to a story. "dar wuz mr. lion," uncle remus went on; "he tuck'n sot hisse'f up fer ter be de boss er all de yuther creeturs, en he feel so biggity dat he go ro'in' en rampin' 'roun' de neighborhoods wuss'n dat ar speckle bull w'at you see down at yo' unk' jeems abercrombie place las' year. he went ro'in' 'roun', he did, en eve'ywhar he go he year talk er mr. man. right in de middle er he braggin', some un 'ud up'n tell 'im 'bout w'at mr. man done done. mr. lion, he say he done dis, en den he year 'bout how mr. man done dat. hit went on dis a-way twel bimeby mr. lion shake he mane, he did, en he up'n say dat he gwine ter s'arch 'roun' en 'roun', en high en low, fer ter see ef he can't fine mr. man, en he 'low, mr. lion did, dat w'en he do fine 'im, he gwine ter tu'n in en gin mr. man sech n'er larrupin' w'at nobody aint never had yit. dem yuther creeturs, dey tuck'n tell mr. lion dat he better let mr. man 'lone, but mr. lion say he gwine ter hunt 'im down spite er all dey kin do. "sho' nuff, atter he done tuck some res', mr. lion, he put out down de big road. sun, she rise up en shine hot, but mr. lion, he keep on; win', hit come up en blow, en fill de elements full er dust; rain, hit drif' up en drizzle down; but mr. lion, he keep on. bimeby, w'iles he gwine on dis a-way, wid he tongue hangin' out, he come up wid mr. steer, grazin' 'long on de side er de road. mr. lion, he up'n ax 'im howdy, he did, monst'us perlite, en mr. steer likewise he bow en scrape en show his manners. den mr. lion, he do lak he wanter have some confab wid 'im, en he up'n say, sezee: "'is dey anybody 'roun' in deze parts name mr. man?' sezee. "'tooby sho' dey is,' sez mr. steer, sezee; 'anybody kin tell you dat. i knows 'im mighty well,' sezee. "'well, den, he de ve'y chap i'm atter,' sezee. "'w'at mought be yo' bizness wid mr. man?' sez mr. steer, sezee. "'i done come dis long ways fer ter gin 'im a larrupin',' sez mr. lion, sezee. 'i'm gwine ter show 'im who de boss er deze neighborhoods,' sezee, en wid dat mr. lion, he shake he mane, en switch he tail, en strut up en down wuss'n one er deze yer town niggers. "'well, den, ef dat w'at you come atter,' sez mr. steer, sezee, 'you des better slew yo'se'f 'roun' en p'int yo' nose todes home, kaze you fixin' fer ter git in sho' 'nuff trouble,' sezee. "'i'm gwine ter larrup dat same mr. man,' sez mr. lion, sezee; 'i done come fer dat, en dat w'at i'm gwine ter do,' sezee. "mr. steer, he draw long breff, he did, en chaw he cud slow, en atter w'ile he say, sezee: "'you see me stannin' yer front er yo' eyes, en you see how big i is, en w'at long, sharp hawns i got. well, big ez my heft is, en sharp dough my hawns be, yit mr. man, he come out yer en he ketch me, en he put me und' a yoke, en he hitch me up in a kyart, en he make me haul he wood, en he drive me anywhar he min' ter. he do dat. better let mr. man 'lone,' sezee. 'if you fool 'long wid 'im, watch out dat he don't hitch you up en have you prancin' 'roun' yer pullin' he kyart,' sezee. "mr. lion, he fotch a roar, en put out down de road, en 't wa'n't so mighty long 'fo' he come up wid mr. hoss, w'ich he wuz a-nibblin' en a-croppin' de grass. mr. lion make hisse'f know'd, en den he tuck'n ax mr. hoss do he know mr. man. "'mighty well,' sez mr. hoss, sezee, 'en mo'n dat, i bin a-knowin' 'im a long time. w'at you want wid mr. man?' sezee. "'i'm a-huntin' 'im up fer ter larrup 'im,' sez mr. lion, sezee. 'dey tells me he mighty stuck up,' sezee, 'en i gwine take 'im down a peg,' sezee. "mr. hoss look at mr. lion like he sorry, en bimeby he up'n say: "'i 'speck you better let mr. man 'lone,' sezee. 'you see how big i is, en how much strenk w'at i got, en how tough my foots is,' sezee; 'well dish yer mr. man, he kin take'n take me en hitch me up in he buggy, en make me haul 'im all 'roun', en den he kin take'n fassen me ter de plow en make me break up all his new groun',' sezee. 'you better go 'long back home. fus' news you know, mr. man'll have you breakin' up his new groun',' sezee. "spite er all dis, mr. lion, he shake he mane en say he gwine ter larrup mr. man anyhow. he went on down de big road, he did, en bimeby he come up wid mr. jack sparrer, settin' up in de top er de tree. mr. jack sparrer, he whirl 'roun' en chirp, en flutter 'bout up dar, en 'pariently make a great 'miration. "'heyo yer!' sezee; 'who'd er 'speckted fer ter see mr. lion 'way down yer in dis neighborhoods?' sezee. 'whar you gwine, mr. lion?' sezee. "den mr. lion ax ef mr. jack sparrer know mr. man, en mr. jack sparrer say he know mr. man mighty well. den mr. lion, he ax ef mr. jack sparrer know whar he stay, w'ich mr. jack sparrer say dat he do. mr. lion ax wharbouts is mr. man, en mr. jack sparrer say he right 'cross dar in de new groun', en he up'n ax mr. lion w'at he want wid 'im, w'ich mr. lion 'spon' dat he gwine larrup mr. man, en wid dat, mr. jack sparrer, he up'n say, sezee: "'you better let mr. man 'lone. you see how little i is, en likewise how high i kin fly; yit, 'spite er dat, mr. man, he kin fetch me down w'en he git good en ready,' sezee. 'you better tuck yo' tail en put out home,' sez mr. jack sparrer, sezee, 'kaze bimeby mr. man 'll fetch you down,' sezee. "but mr. lion des vow he gwine atter mr. man, en go he would, en go he did. he aint never see mr. man, mr. lion aint, en he dunner w'at he look lak, but he go on todes de new groun'. sho' 'nuff, dar wuz mr. man, out dar maulin' rails fer ter make 'im a fence. he 'uz rippin' up de butt cut, mr. man wuz, en he druv in his wedge en den he stuck in de glut. he 'uz splittin' 'way, w'en bimeby he year rustlin' out dar in de bushes, en he look up, en dar wuz mr. lion. mr. lion ax 'im do he know mr. man, en mr. man 'low dat he know 'im mo' samer dan ef he wer' his twin brer. den mr. lion 'low dat he wanter see' im, en den mr. man say, sezee, dat ef mr. lion will come stick his paw in de split fer ter hol' de log open twel he git back, he go fetch mr. man. mr. lion he march up en slap his paw in de place, en den mr. man, he tuck'n' knock de glut out, en de split close up, en dar mr. lion wuz. mr. man, he stan' off en say, sezee: "'ef you'd 'a' bin a steer er hoss, you mought er run'd, en ef you'd 'a' bin a sparrer, you mought er flew'd, but yer you is, en you kotch yo'se'f,' sezee. "wid dat, mr. man sa'nter out in de bushes en cut 'im a hick'ry, en he let in on mr. lion, en he frail en frail 'im twel frailin' un 'im wuz a sin. en down ter dis day," continued uncle remus, in a tone calculated to destroy all doubt, "you can't git no lion ter come up whar dey 's a man a-maulin' rails en put he paw in de split. dat you can't!" viii the story of the pigs uncle remus relapsed into silence again, and the little boy, with nothing better to do, turned his attention to the bench upon which the old man kept his shoemaker's tools. prosecuting his investigations in this direction, the youngster finally suggested that the supply of bristles was about exhausted. "i dunner w'at miss sally wanter be sendin' un you down yer fer, ef you gwine ter be stirr'n' en bodderin' 'longer dem ar doin's," exclaimed uncle remus, indignantly. "now don't you scatter dem hog-bristle! de time wuz w'en folks had a mighty slim chance fer ter git bristle, en dey aint no tellin' w'en dat time gwine come ag'in. let 'lone dat, de time wuz w'en de breed er hogs wuz done run down ter one po' little pig, en it look lak mighty sorry chance fer dem w'at was bleedzd ter have bristle." by this time uncle remus's indignation had vanished, disappearing as suddenly and unexpectedly as it came. the little boy was curious to know when and where and how the bristle famine occurred. "i done tole you 'bout dat too long 'go ter talk 'bout," the old man declared; but the little boy insisted that he had never heard about it before, and he was so persistent that at last uncle remus, in self-defence, consented to tell the story of the pigs. "one time, 'way back yander, de ole sow en er chilluns wuz all livin' 'longer' de yuther creeturs. hit seem lak ter me dat de ole sow wuz a widder 'oman, en ef i don't run inter no mistakes, hit look like ter me dat she got five chilluns. lemme see," continued uncle remus, with the air of one determined to justify his memory by a reference to the record, and enumerating with great deliberation,--"dar wuz big pig, en dar wuz little pig, en dar wuz speckle pig, en dar wuz blunt, en las' en lonesomes' dar wuz runt. "one day, deze yer pig ma she know she gwine kick de bucket, and she tuck'n call up all 'er chilluns en tell um dat de time done come w'en dey got ter look out fer deyse'f, en den she up'n tell um good ez she kin, dough 'er breff mighty scant, 'bout w'at a bad man is ole brer wolf. she say, sez she, dat if dey kin make der 'scape from ole brer wolf, dey'll be doin' monst'us well. big pig 'low she aint skeer'd, speckle pig 'low she aint skeer'd, blunt, he say he mos' big a man ez brer wolf hisse'f, en runt, she des tuck'n root 'roun' in de straw en grunt. but ole widder sow, she lay dar, she did, en keep on tellin' um dat dey better keep der eye on brer wolf, kaz he mighty mean en 'seetful man. "not long atter dat, sho' 'nuff ole miss sow lay down en die, en all dem ar chilluns er hern wuz flung back on deyse'f, en dey whirl in, dey did, en dey buil' um all a house ter live in. big pig, she tuck'n buil' 'er a house outer bresh; little pig, she tuck'n buil' a stick house; speckle pig, she tuck'n buil' a mud house; blunt, he tuck'n buil' a plank house; en runt, she don't make no great ter-do, en no great brags, but she went ter wuk, she did, en buil' a rock house. "bimeby, w'en dey done got all fix, en marters wuz sorter settle, soon one mawnin' yer come ole brer wolf, a-lickin' un his chops en a-shakin' un his tail. fus' house he come ter wuz big pig house. brer wolf walk ter de do', he did, en he knock sorter saf'--_blim! blim! blim!_ nobody aint answer. den he knock loud--_blam! blam! blam!_ dis wake up big pig, en she come ter de do', en she ax who dat. brer wolf 'low it's a fr'en', en den he sing out: "'_ef you'll open de do' en let me in, i'll wom my han's en go home ag'in._' "still big pig ax who dat, en den brer wolf, he up'n say, sezee: "'how yo' ma?' sezee. "'my ma done dead,' sez big pig, sezee, 'en 'fo' she die she tell me fer ter keep my eye on brer wolf. i sees you thoo de crack er de do', en you look mighty like brer wolf,' sezee. "den ole brer wolf, he draw a long breff lak he feel mighty bad, en he up'n say, sezee: "i dunner w'at change yo' ma so bad, less'n she 'uz out'n er head. i year tell dat ole miss sow wuz sick, en i say ter myse'f dat i'd kinder drap 'roun' en see how de ole lady is, en fetch 'er dish yer bag er roas'n'-years. mighty well dose i know dat ef yo' ma wuz yer right now, en in 'er min', she 'd take de roas'n'-years en be glad fer ter git um, en mo'n dat, she'd take'n ax me in by de fire fer ter worn my han's,' sez ole brer wolf, sezee. "de talk 'bout de roas'n'-years make big pig mouf water, en bimeby, atter some mo' palaver, she open de do' en let brer wolf in, en bless yo' soul, honey! dat uz de las' er big pig. she aint had time fer ter squeal en needer fer ter grunt 'fo' brer wolf gobble 'er up. "next day, ole brer wolf put up de same game on little pig; he go en he sing he song, en little pig, she tuck'n let 'im in, en den brer wolf he tuck'n 'turn de compelerments[ ] en let little pig in." here uncle remus laughed long and loud at his conceit, and he took occasion to repeat it several times. "little pig, she let brer wolf in, en brer wolf, he let little pig in, en w'at mo' kin you ax dan dat? nex' time brer wolf pay a call, he drop in on speckle pig, en rap at de do' en sing his song: "'_ef you'll open de do' en let me in, i'll wom my han's en go home ag'in._' "but speckle pig, she kinder 'spicion sump'n', en she 'fuse ter open de do'. yit brer wolf mighty 'seetful man, en he talk mighty saf' en he talk mighty sweet. bimeby, he git he nose in de crack er de do' en he say ter speckle pig, sezee, fer ter des let 'im git one paw in, en den he won't go no furder. he git de paw in, en den he beg fer ter git de yuther paw in, en den w'en he git dat in he beg fer ter git he head in, en den w'en he git he head in, en he paws in, co'se all he got ter do is ter shove de do' open en walk right in; en w'en marters stan' dat way, 't wa'n't long 'fo' he done make fresh meat er speckle pig. "nex' day, he make way wid blunt, en de day atter, he 'low dat he make a pass at runt. now, den, right dar whar ole brer wolf slip up at. he lak some folks w'at i knows. he'd 'a' bin mighty smart, ef he had n't er bin too smart. runt wuz de littles' one er de whole gang, yit all de same news done got out dat she 'uz pestered wid sense like grown folks. "brer wolf, he crope up ter runt house, en he got un'need de winder, he did, en he sing out: "'_ef you'll open de do' en let me in, i'll wom my han's en go home ag'in._' "but all de same, brer wolf can't coax runt fer ter open de do', en needer kin he break in, kaze de house done made outer rock. bimeby brer wolf make out he done gone off, en den atter while he come back en knock at de do'--_blam, blam, blam!_ "runt she sot by de fier, she did, en sorter scratch 'er year, en holler out: "'who dat?' sez she. "'hit 's speckle pig,' sez ole brer wolf, sezee, 'twix' a snort en a grunt. 'i fotch yer some peas fer yo' dinner!' "runt, she tuck'n laugh, she did, en holler back: "'sis speckle pig aint never talk thoo dat many toofies.' "brer wolf go off 'g'in, en bimeby he come back en knock. runt she sot en rock, en holler out: "'who dat?' "'big pig,' sez brer wolf. 'i fotch some sweet-co'n fer yo' supper.' "runt, she look thoo de crack un'need de do', en laugh en say, sez she: "'sis big pig aint had no ha'r on 'er huff.' "den ole brer wolf, he git mad, he did, en say he gwine come down de chimbley, en runt, she say, sez she, dat de onliest way w'at he kin git in; en den, w'en she year brer wolf clam'in' up on de outside er de chimbley, she tuck'n pile up a whole lot er broom sage front er de h'a'th, en w'en she year 'im clam'in' down on de inside, she tuck de tongs en shove de straw on de fier, en de smoke make brer wolf head swim, en he drap down, en 'fo' he know it he 'uz done bu'nt ter a cracklin'; en dat wuz de las' er ole brer wolf. leas'ways," added uncle remus, putting in a cautious proviso to fall back upon in case of an emergency, "leas'ways, hit 'uz de las' er dat brer wolf." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] compliments. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ix mr. benjamin ram and his wonderful fiddle "i 'speck you done year tell er ole man benjermun ram," said uncle remus, with a great affectation of indifference, after a pause. "old man who?" asked the little boy. "ole man benjermun ram. i 'speck you done year tell er him too long 'go ter talk 'bout." "why, no, i have n't, uncle remus!" exclaimed the little boy, protesting and laughing. "he must have been a mighty funny old man." "dat 's ez may be," responded uncle remus, sententiously. "fun deze days would n't er counted fer fun in dem days; en many's de time w'at i see folks laughin'," continued the old man, with such withering sarcasm that the little boy immediately became serious,--"many's de time w'at i sees um laughin' en laughin', w'en i lay dey aint kin tell w'at deyer laughin' at deyse'f. en 'taint der laughin' w'at pesters me, nudder,"--relenting a little,--"hit 's dish yer ev'lastin' snickle en giggle, giggle en snickle." having thus mapped out, in a dim and uncertain way, what older people than the little boy might have been excused for accepting as a sort of moral basis, uncle remus proceeded: "dish yer mr. benjermun ram, w'ich he done come up inter my min', wuz one er dezeyer ole-timers. dey tells me dat he 'uz a fiddler fum away back yander--one er dem ar kinder fiddlers w'at can't git de chune down fine 'less dey pats der foot. he stay all by he own-alone se'f way out in de middle un a big new-groun', en he sech a handy man fer ter have at a frolic dat de yuther creeturs like 'im mighty well, en w'en dey tuck a notion fer ter shake der foot, w'ich de notion tuck'n struck um eve'y once in a w'ile, nuthin' 'ud do but dey mus' sen' fer ole man benjermun ram en he fiddle; en dey do say," continued uncle remus, closing his eyes in a sort of ecstasy, "dat w'en he squar' hisse'f back in a cheer, en git in a weavin' way, he kin des snatch dem ole-time chunes fum who lay de rail.[ ] en den, w'en de frolic wuz done, dey'd all fling in, dem yuther creeturs would, en fill up a bag er peas fer ole mr. benjermun ram fer ter kyar home wid 'im. "one time, des 'bout christmas, miss meadows en miss motts en de gals, dey up'n say dat dey 'd sorter gin a blowout, en dey got wud ter ole man benjermun ram w'ich dey 'speckted 'im fer ter be on han'. w'en de time done come fer mr. benjermun ram fer ter start, de win' blow cole en de cloud 'gun ter spread out 'cross de elements--but no marter fer dat; ole man benjermun ram tuck down he walkin'-cane, he did, en tie up he fiddle in a bag, en sot out fer miss meadows. he thunk he know de way, but hit keep on gittin' col'er en col'er, en mo' cloudy, twel bimeby, fus' news you know, ole mr. benjermun ram done lose de way. ef he'd er kep' on down de big road fum de start, it moughter bin diffunt, but he tuck a nigh-cut, en he aint git fur 'fo' he done los' sho' 'nuff. he go dis a-way, en he go dat a-way, en he go de yuther way, yit all de same he wuz done los'. some folks would er sot right flat down whar dey wuz en study out der way, but ole man benjermun ram aint got wrinkle on he hawn fer nothin', kaze he done got de name er ole billy hardhead long 'fo' dat. den ag'in, some folks would er stop right still in der tracks en holler en bawl fer ter see ef dey can't roust up some er de neighbors, but ole mr. benjermun ram, he des stick he jowl in de win', he did, en he march right on des 'zackly like he know he aint gwine de wrong way. he keep on, but 't wa'n't long 'fo' he 'gun ter feel right lonesome, mo' speshually w'en hit come up in he min' how miss meadows en de gals en all de comp'ny be bleedz ter do de bes' dey kin bidout any fiddlin'; en hit kinder make he marrer git cole w'en he study 'bout how he gotter sleep out dar in de woods by hisse'f. [illustration: mr. benjamin ram and his wonderful fiddle] "yit, all de same, he keep on twel de dark 'gun ter drap down, en den he keep on still, en bimeby he come ter a little rise whar dey wuz a clay-gall. w'en he git dar he stop en look 'roun', he did, en 'way off down in de holler, dar he see a light shinin', en w'en he see dis, ole man benjermun ram tuck he foot in he han', en make he way todes it des lak it de ve'y place w'at he bin huntin'. 't wa'n't long 'fo' he come ter de house whar de light is, en, bless you soul, he don't make no bones er knockin'. den somebody holler out: "'who dat?' "'i'm mr. benjermun ram, en i done lose de way, en i come fer ter ax you ef you can't take me in fer de night,' sezee. "in common," continued uncle remus, "ole mr. benjermun ram wuz a mighty rough-en-spoken somebody, but you better b'leeve he talk monst'us perlite dis time. "den some un on t'er side er de do' ax mr. benjermun ram fer ter walk right in, en wid dat he open de do' en walk in, en make a bow like fiddlin' folks does w'en dey goes in comp'ny; but he aint no sooner make he bow en look 'roun' twel he 'gun ter shake en shiver lak he done bin strucken wid de swamp-ager, kaze, settin' right dar 'fo' de fier wuz ole brer wolf, wid his toofies showin' up all w'ite en shiny like dey wuz bran new. ef ole mr. benjermun ram aint bin so ole en stiff i boun' you he'd er broke en run, but 'mos' 'fo' he had time fer ter study 'bout gittin' 'way, ole brer wolf done bin jump up en shet de do' en fassen 'er wid a great big chain. ole mr. benjermun ram he know he in fer't, en he tuck'n put on a bol' face ez he kin, but he des nat'ally hone[ ] fer ter be los' in de woods some mo'. den he make n'er low bow, en he hope brer wolf and all his folks is well, en den he say, sezee, dat he des drap in fer ter wom hisse'f, en 'quire uv de way ter miss meadows', en ef brer wolf be so good ez ter set 'im in de road ag'in, he be off putty soon en be much 'blige in de bargains. "'tooby sho', mr. ram,' sez brer wolf, sezee, w'iles he lick he chops en grin; 'des put yo' walkin'-cane in de cornder over dar, en set yo' bag down on de flo', en make yo'se'f at home,' sezee. 'we aint got much,' sezee, 'but w'at we is got is yone w'iles you stays, en i boun' we'll take good keer un you,' sezee; en wid dat brer wolf laugh en show his toofies so bad dat ole man benjermun ram come mighty nigh havin' 'n'er ager. "den brer wolf tuck'n flung 'n'er lighter'd-knot on de fier, en den he slip inter de back room, en present'y, w'iles ole mr. benjermun ram wuz settin' dar shakin' in he shoes, he year brer wolf whispun' ter he ole 'oman: "'ole 'oman! ole 'oman! fling 'way yo' smoke meat--fresh meat fer supper! fling 'way yo' smoke meat--fresh meat fer supper!' "den ole miss wolf, she talk out loud, so mr. benjermun ram kin year: "'tooby sho' i'll fix 'im some supper. we er 'way off yer in de woods, so fur fum comp'ny dat goodness knows i'm mighty glad ter see mr. benjermun ram.' "den mr. benjermun ram year ole miss wolf whettin' 'er knife on a rock--_shirrah! shirrah! shirrah!_--en ev'y time he year de knife say _shirrah!_ he know he dat much nigher de dinner-pot. he know he can't git 'way, en w'iles he settin' dar studyin', hit come 'cross he min' dat he des mought ez well play one mo' chune on he fiddle 'fo' de wuss come ter de wuss. wid dat he ontie de bag en take out de fiddle, en 'gun ter chune 'er up--_plink, plank, plunk, plink! plunk, plank, plink, plunk!_" uncle remus's imitation of the tuning of a fiddle was marvellous enough to produce a startling effect upon a much less enthusiastic listener than the little boy. it was given in perfect good faith, but the serious expression on the old man's face was so irresistibly comic that the child laughed until the tears ran down his face. uncle remus very properly accepted this as a tribute to his wonderful resources as a story-teller, and continued, in great good-humor: "w'en ole miss wolf year dat kinder fuss, co'se she dunner w'at is it, en she drap 'er knife en lissen. ole mr. benjermun ram aint know dis, en he keep on chunin' up--_plank, plink, plunk, plank!_ den ole miss wolf, she tuck'n hunch brer wolf wid 'er elbow, en she say, sez she: "'hey, ole man! w'at dat?" "den bofe un um cock up der years en lissen, en des 'bout dat time ole mr. benjermun ram he sling de butt er de fiddle up und' he chin, en struck up one er dem ole-time chunes." "well, what tune was it, uncle remus?" the little boy asked, with some display of impatience. "ef i aint done gone en fergit dat chune off'n my min'," continued uncle remus; "hit sorter went like dat ar song 'bout 'sheep shell co'n wid de rattle er his ho'n,' en yit hit mout er been dat ar yuther one 'bout 'roll de key, ladies, roll dem keys.' brer wolf en ole miss wolf, dey lissen en lissen, en de mo' w'at dey lissen de skeerder dey git, twel bimeby dey tuck ter der heels en make a break fer de swamp at de back er de house des lak de patter-rollers wuz atter um. "w'en ole man benjermun ram sorter let up wid he fiddlin', he don't see no brer wolf, en he don't year no ole miss wolf. den he look in de back room; no wolf dar. den he look in de back po'ch; no wolf dar. den he look in de closet en de cubberd; no wolf aint dar yit. den ole mr. benjermun ram, he tuck'n shot all de do's en lock um, en he s'arch 'roun' en he fine some peas en fodder in de lof', w'ich he et um fer he supper, en den he lie down front er de fier en sleep soun' ez a log. "nex' mawnin' he 'uz up en stirrin' monst'us soon, en he put out fum dar, en he fine de way ter miss meadows' time 'nuff fer ter play at de frolic. w'en he git dar, miss meadows en de gals, dey run ter de gate fer ter meet 'im, en dis un tuck he hat, en dat un tuck he cane, en t'er'n tuck he fiddle, en den dey up'n say: "'law, mr. ram! whar de name er goodness is you bin? we so glad you come. stir 'roun' yer, folks, en git mr. ram a cup er hot coffee.' "dey make a mighty big ter-do 'bout mr. benjermun ram, miss meadows en miss motts en de gals did, but 'twix' you en me en de bedpos', honey, dey'd er had der frolic wh'er de ole chap 'uz dar er not, kaze de gals done make 'rangerments wid brer rabbit fer ter pat fer um, en in dem days brer rabbit wuz a patter, mon. he mos' sholy wuz." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] that is, from the foundation, or beginning. [ ] to pine or long for anything. this is a good old english word, which has been retained in the plantation vocabulary. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- x brother rabbit's riddle "could brother rabbit pat a tune, sure enough, uncle remus?" asked the little boy, his thoughts apparently dwelling upon the new accomplishment of brother rabbit at which the old man had hinted in his story of mr. benjamin ram. uncle remus pretended to be greatly surprised that any one could be so unfamiliar with the accomplishments of brother rabbit as to venture to ask such a question. his response was in the nature of a comment: "name er goodness! w'at kinder pass dish yer we comin' ter w'en a great big grow'd up young un axin' 'bout brer rabbit? bless yo' soul, honey! dey wa'n't no chune gwine dat brer rabbit can't pat. let 'lone dat, w'en dey wuz some un else fer ter do de pattin', brer rabbit kin jump out inter de middle er de flo' en des nat'ally shake de eyel'ds off'en dem yuther creeturs. en 't wa'n't none er dish yer bowin' en scrapin', en slippin' en slidin', en han's all 'roun', w'at folks does deze days. hit uz dish yer up en down kinder dancin', whar dey des lips up in de a'r fer ter cut de pidjin-wing, en lights on de flo' right in de middle er de double-shuffle. _shoo!_ dey aint no dancin' deze days; folks' shoes too tight, en dey aint got dat limbersomeness in de hips w'at dey uster is. dat dey aint. "en yit," uncle remus continued, in a tone which seemed to imply that he deemed it necessary to apologize for the apparent frivolity of brother rabbit,--"en yit de time come w'en ole brer rabbit 'gun ter put dis en dat tergedder, en de notion strak 'im dat he better be home lookin' atter de intruss er he fambly, 'stidder trapesin' en trollopin' 'roun' ter all de frolics in de settlement. he tuck'n study dis in he min' twel bimeby he sot out 'termin' fer ter 'arn he own livelihoods, en den he up'n lay off a piece er groun' en plant 'im a tater-patch. "brer fox, he see all dish yer gwine on, he did, en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he 'speck brer rabbit rashfulness done bin supjued kaze he skeer'd, en den brer fox make up his min' dat he gwine ter pay brer rabbit back fer all he 'seetfulness. he start in, brer fox did, en fum dat time forrerd he aggervate brer rabbit 'bout he tater-patch. one night he leave de draw-bars down, 'n'er night he fling off de top rails, en nex' night he t'ar down a whole panel er fence, en he keep on dis a-way twel 'pariently brer rabbit dunner w'at ter do. all dis time brer fox keep on foolin' wid de tater-patch, en w'en he see w'ich brer rabbit aint makin' no motion, brer fox 'low dat he done skeer'd sho' 'nuff, en dat de time done come fer ter gobble him up bidout lief er license. so he call on brer rabbit, brer fox did, en he ax 'im will he take a walk. brer rabbit, he ax wharbouts. brer fox say, right out yander. brer rabbit, he ax w'at is dey right out yander? brer fox say he know whar dey some mighty fine peaches, en he want brer rabbit fer ter go 'long en climb de tree en fling um down. brer rabbit say he don't keer ef he do, mo' speshually fer ter 'blige brer fox. "dey sot out, dey did, en atter w'ile, sho' 'nuff, dey come ter de peach-orchud, en brer rabbit, w'at do he do but pick out a good tree, en up he clum. brer fox, he sot hisse'f at de root er de tree, kaze he 'low dat w'en brer rabbit come down he hatter come down backerds, en den dat 'ud be de time fer ter nab 'im. but, bless yo' soul, brer rabbit dun see w'at-brer fox atter 'fo' he clum up. w'en he pull de peaches, brer fox say, sezee: "'fling um down yer, brer rabbit--fling um right down yer so i kin ketch um,' sezee. "brer rabbit, he sorter wunk de furdest eye fum brer fox, en he holler back, he did: "'ef i fling um down dar whar you is, brer fox, en you misses um, dey'll git squshed,' sezee, 'so i'll des sorter pitch um out yander in de grass whar dey won't git bus',' sezee. "den he tuck'n flung de peaches out in de grass, en w'iles brer fox went atter um, brer rabbit, he skint down outer de tree, en hustle hisse'f twel he git elbow-room. w'en he git off little ways, he up 'n holler back ter brer fox dat he got a riddle he want 'im ter read. brer fox, he ax w'at is it. wid dat, brer rabbit, he gun it out ter brer fox lak a man sayin' a speech: "'_big bird rob en little bird sing, de big bee zoon en little bee sting, de little man lead en big hoss foller-- kin you tell w'at's good fer a head in a holler?_' "ole brer fox scratch he head en study, en study en scratch he head, but de mo' he study de wuss he git mix up wid de riddle, en atter w'ile he tuck'n tell brer rabbit dat he dunno how in de name er goodness ter onriddle dat riddle. "'come en go 'longer me,' sez ole brer rabbit, sezee, 'en i boun' you i show you how ter read dat same riddle. hit 's one er dem ar kinder riddle,' sez ole man rabbit, sezee, 'w'ich 'fo' you read 'er you got ter eat a bait er honey, en i done got my eye sot on de place whar we kin git de honey at,' sezee. "brer fox, he ax wharbouts is it, en brer rabbit, he say up dar in ole brer b'ar cotton-patch, whar he got a whole passel er bee-gums. brer fox, he 'low, he did, dat he aint got no sweet-toof much, yit he wanter git at de innerds er dat ar riddle, en he don't keer ef he do go 'long. "dey put out, dey did, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' dey come ter ole brer b'ar bee-gums, en ole brer rabbit, he up'n gun um a rap wid he walkin'-cane, des lak folks thumps water-millions fer ter see ef dey er ripe. he tap en he rap, en bimeby he come ter one un um w'ich she soun' like she plum full, en den he go 'roun' behime it, ole brer rabbit did, en he up'n say, sezee: "'i'll des sorter tilt 'er up, brer fox,' sezee, 'en you kin put yo' head und' dar en git some er de drippin's,' sezee. "brer rabbit, he tilt her up, en, sho' 'nuff, brer fox, he jam he head un'need de gum. hit make me laugh," uncle remus continued, with a chuckle, "fer ter see w'at a fresh man is brer fox, kaze he aint no sooner stuck he head un'need dat ar bee-gum, dan brer rabbit turnt 'er aloose, en down she come--_ker-swosh!_--right on brer fox neck, en dar he wuz. brer fox, he kick; he squeal; he jump; he squall; he dance; he prance; he beg; he pray; yit dar he wuz, en w'en brer rabbit git way off, en tu'n 'roun' fer ter look back, he see brer fox des a-wigglin' en a-squ'min', en right den en dar brer rabbit gun one ole-time whoop, en des put out fer home. "w'en he git dar, de fus' man he see wuz brer fox gran'daddy, w'ich folks all call 'im gran'sir' gray fox. w'en brer rabbit see 'im, he say, sezee: "'how you come on, gran'sir' gray fox?' "'i still keeps po'ly, i'm 'blije ter you, brer rabbit,' sez gran'sir' gray fox, sezee. 'is you seed any sign er my gran'son dis mawnin'?' sezee. "wid dat brer rabbit laugh en say w'ich him en brer fox bin a-ramblin' 'roun' wid one er'n'er havin' mo' fun dan w'at a man kin shake a stick at. "'we bin a-riggin' up riddles en a-readin' un um,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'brer fox is settin' off some'rs in de bushes right now, aimin' fer ter read one w'at i gun 'im. i'll des drap you one,' sez ole brer rabbit, sezee, 'w'ich, ef you kin read it, hit'll take you right spang ter whar yo' gran'son is, en you can't git dar none too soon,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "den ole gran'sir' gray fox, he up'n ax w'at is it, en brer rabbit, he sing out, he did: "'_de big bird rob en little bird sing; de big bee zoon en little bee sting, de little man lead en big hoss foller-- kin you tell w'at's good fer a head in a holler?_' "gran'sir' gray fox, he tuck a pinch er snuff en cough easy ter hisse'f, en study en study, but he aint make it out, en brer rabbit, he laugh en sing: "'_bee-gum mighty big fer ter make fox collar, kin you tell w'at's good fer a head in a holler?_' "atter so long a time, gran'sir' gray fox sorter ketch a glimpse er w'at brer rabbit tryin' ter gin 'im, en he tip brer rabbit good-day, en shuffle on fer ter hunt up he gran'son." "and did he find him, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "tooby sho', honey. brer b'ar year de racket w'at brer fox kickin' up, en he go down dar fer ter see w'at de marter is. soon ez he see how de lan' lay, co'se he tuck a notion dat brer fox bin robbin' de bee-gums, en he got 'im a han'ful er hick'ries, brer b'ar did, en he let in on brer fox en he wom he jacket scannerlous, en den he tuck'n tu'n 'im loose; but 't wa'n't long 'fo' all de neighbors git wud dat brer fox bin robbin' brer b'ar bee-gums." xi how mr. rooster lost his dinner it seemed that the rainy season had set in in earnest, but the little boy went down to uncle remus's cabin before dark. in some mysterious way, it appeared to the child, the gloom of twilight fastened itself upon the dusky clouds, and the great trees without, and the dismal perspective beyond, gradually became one with the darkness. uncle remus had thoughtfully placed a tin pan under a leak in the roof, and the _drip-drip-drip_ of the water, as it fell in the resonant vessel, made a not unmusical accompaniment to the storm. the old man fumbled around under his bed, and presently dragged forth a large bag filled with lightwood knots, which, with an instinctive economy in this particular direction, he had stored away for an emergency. a bright but flickering flame was the result of this timely discovery, and the effect it produced was quite in keeping with all the surroundings. the rain, and wind, and darkness held sway without, while within, the unsteady lightwood blaze seemed to rhyme with the _drip-drip-drip_ in the pan. sometimes the shadow of uncle remus, as he leaned over the hearth, would tower and fill the cabin, and again it would fade and disappear among the swaying and swinging cobwebs that curtained the rafters. "w'en bed-time come, honey," said uncle remus, in a soothing tone, "i'll des snatch down yo' pa buggy umbrell' fum up dar in de cornder, des lak i bin a-doin', en i'll take'n take you und' my arm en set you down on miss sally h'a'th des ez dry en ez wom ez a rat'-nes' inside a fodder-stack." at this juncture 'tildy, the house-girl, rushed in out of the rain and darkness with a water-proof cloak and an umbrella, and announced her mission to the little boy without taking time to catch her breath. "miss sally say you got ter come right back," she exclaimed. "kaze she skeerd lightin' gwine strak 'roun' in yer 'mongs' deze high trees some'rs." uncle remus rose from his stooping posture in front of the hearth and assumed a threatening attitude. "well, is anybody year de beat er dat!" was his indignant exclamation. "look yer, gal! don't you come foolin' 'longer me--now, don't you do it. kaze ef yer does, i'll take'n hit you a clip w'at'll put you ter bed 'fo' bed-times come. dat 's w'at!" "lawdy! w'at i done gone en done ter unk' remus now?" asked 'tildy, with a great affectation of innocent ignorance. "i'm gwine ter put on my coat en take dat ar umbrell', en i'm gwine right straight up ter de big house en ax miss sally ef she sont dat kinder wud down yer, w'en she know dat chile sittin' yer 'longer me. i'm gwine ter ax her," continued uncle remus, "en if she aint sont dat wud, den i'm gwine ter fetch myse'f back. now, you des watch my motions." "well, i year miss sally say she 'feard lightnin' gwine ter strak some'rs on de place," said 'tildy, in a tone which manifested her willingness to compromise all differences, "en den i axt 'er kin i come down yer, en den she say i better bring deze yer cloak en pairsol." "now you dun brung um," responded uncle remus, "you des better put um in dat cheer over dar, en take yo'se'f off. thunder mighty ap' ter hit close ter whar deze here slick-head niggers is." but the little boy finally prevailed upon the old man to allow 'tildy to remain, and after a while he put matters on a peace footing by inquiring if roosters crowed at night when it was raining. "dat dey duz," responded uncle remus. "wet er dry, dey flops der wings en wakes up all de neighbors. law, bless my soul!" he exclaimed suddenly, "w'at make i done gone en fergit 'bout mr. rooster?" "what about him?" inquired the little boy. "one time, 'way back yander," said uncle remus, knocking the ashes off his hands and knees, "dey wuz two plan'ations right 'longside one er 'ne'r, en on bofe er deze plan'ations wuz a whole passel of fowls. dey wuz mighty sociable in dem days, en it tu'n out dat de fowls on one plan'ation gun a party, w'ich dey sont out der invites ter de fowls on de 't'er plan'ation. "w'en de day come, mr. rooster, he blow his hawn, he did, en 'semble um all tergedder, en atter dey 'semble dey got in line. mr. rooster, he tuck de head, en atter 'im come ole lady hen en miss pullet, en den dar wuz mr. peafowl, en mr. tukkey gobbler, en miss guinny hen, en miss puddle duck, en all de balance un um. dey start off sorter raggedy, but 't wa'n't long 'fo' dey all kotch de step, en den dey march down by de spring, up thoo de hoss-lot en 'cross by de gin-house, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' dey git ter whar de frolic wuz. "'dey dance, en dey play, en dey sing. mo' 'speshually did dey play en sing dat ar song w'ich it run on lak dis: "'_come under, come under, my honey, my love, my own true love; my heart bin a-weepin' way down in galilee._' "dey wuz gwine on dis a-way, havin' der 'musements, w'en, bimeby, ole mr. peafowl, he got on de comb er de barn en blow de dinner-hawn. dey all wash der face en ban's in de back po'ch, en den dey went in ter dinner. w'en dey git in dar, dey don't see nothin' on de table but a great big pile er co'n-bread. de pones was pile up on pones, en on de top wuz a great big ash-cake. mr. rooster, he look at dis en he tu'n up he nose, en bimeby, atter aw'ile, out he strut. ole miss guinny hen, she watchin' mr. rooster motions, en w'en she see dis, she take'n squall out, she did: "_'pot-rack! pot-rack!_ mr. rooster gone back! _pot-rack! pot-rack!_ mr. rooster gone back!' "wid dat dey all make a great ter-do. miss hen en miss pullet, dey cackle en squall, mr. gobbler, he gobble, en miss puddle duck, she shake 'er tail en say, _quickity-quack-quack_. but mr. rooster, he ruffle up he cape, en march on out. "dis sorter put a damper on de yuthers, but 'fo' mr. rooster git outer sight en year'n dey went ter wuk on de pile w'at wuz 'pariently co'n-bread, en, lo en beholes, un'need dem pone er bread wuz a whole passel er meat en greens, en bake' taters, en bile' turnips. mr. rooster, he year de ladies makin' great 'miration, en he stop en look thoo de crack, en dar he see all de doin's en fixin's. he feel mighty bad, mr. rooster did, w'en he see all dis, en de yuther fowls dey holler en ax 'im fer ter come back, en he craw, w'ich it mighty empty, likewise, it up'n ax 'im, but he mighty biggity en stuck up, en he strut off, crowin' ez he go; but he 'speunce er dat time done las' him en all er his fambly down ter dis day. en you neenter take my wud fer't, ne'r, kaze ef you'll des keep yo' eye open en watch, you'll ketch a glimse er ole mr. rooster folks scratchin' whar dey 'specks ter fine der rations, en mo' dan dat, dey'll scratch wid der rations in plain sight. since dat time, dey aint none er de mr. roosters bin fool' by dat w'at dey see on top. dey aint res' twel dey see w'at und' dar. dey'll scratch spite er all creation." "dat 's de lord's truth!" said 'tildy, with unction. "i done seed um wid my own eyes. dat i is." this was 'tildy's method of renewing peaceful relations with uncle remus, but the old man was disposed to resist the attempt. "you better be up yander washin' up dishes, stidder hoppin' down yer wid er whole packet er stuff w'at miss sally aint dreamp er sayin'." xii brother rabbit breaks up a party as long as uncle remus allowed 'tildy to remain in the cabin, the little boy was not particularly interested in preventing the perfunctory abuse which the old man might feel disposed to bestow upon the complacent girl. the truth is, the child's mind was occupied with the episode in the story of mr. benjamin ram which treats of the style in which this romantic old wag put mr. and mrs. wolf to flight by playing a tune upon his fiddle. the little boy was particularly struck with this remarkable feat, as many a youngster before him had been, and he made bold to recur to it again by asking uncle remus for all the details. it was plain to the latter that the child regarded mr. ram as the typical hero of all the animals, and this was by no means gratifying to the old man. he answered the little boy's questions as well as he could, and, when nothing more remained to be said about mr. ram, he settled himself back in his chair and resumed the curious history of brother rabbit: "co'se mr. ram mighty smart man. i aint 'spute dat; but needer mr. ram ner yet mr. lam is soon creeturs lak brer rabbit. mr. benjermun ram, he tuck'n skeer off brer wolf en his ole 'oman wid his fiddle, but, bless yo' soul, ole brer rabbit he gone en done wuss'n dat." "what did brother rabbit do?" asked the little boy. "one time," said uncle remus, "brer fox, he tuck'n ax some er de yuther creeturs ter he house. he ax brer b'ar, en brer wolf, en brer 'coon, but he aint ax brer rabbit. all de same, brer rabbit got win' un it, en he 'low dat ef he don't go, he 'speck he have much fun ez de nex' man. "de creeturs w'at git de invite, dey tuck'n 'semble at brer fox house, en brer fox, he ax um in en got um cheers, en dey sot dar en laugh en talk, twel, bimeby, brer fox, he fotch out a bottle er dram en lay 'er out on de side-bode, en den he sorter step back en say, sezee: "'des step up, gentermens, en he'p yo'se'f,' en you better b'lieve dey he'p derse'f. "w'iles dey wuz drinkin' en drammin' en gwine on, w'at you 'speck brer rabbit doin'? you des well make up yo' min' dat brer rabbit monst'us busy, kaze he 'uz sailin' 'roun' fixin' up his tricks. long time 'fo' dat, brer rabbit had been at a bobbycue whar dey was a muster, en w'iles all de folks 'uz down at de spring eatin' dinner, brer rabbit he crope up en run off wid one er de drums. dey wuz a big drum en a little drum, en brer rabbit he snatch up de littles' one en run home. "now, den, w'en he year 'bout de yuther creeturs gwine ter brer fox house, w'at do brer rabbit do but git out dis rattlin' drum en make de way down de road todes whar dey is. he tuk dat drum," continued uncle remus, with great elation of voice and manner, "en he went down de road todes brer fox house, en he make 'er talk like thunner mix up wid hail. hit talk lak dis: "'_diddybum, diddybum, diddybum-bum-bum--diddybum!_' "de creeturs, dey 'uz a-drinkin', en a-drammin', en a-gwine on at a terrible rate, en dey aint year de racket, but all de same, yer come brer rabbit: "'_diddybum, diddybum, diddybum-bum-bum--diddybum!_' "bimeby brer 'coon, w'ich he allers got one year hung out fer de news, he up'n ax brer fox w'at dat, en by dat time all de creeturs stop en lissen; but all de same, yer come brer rabbit: "'_diddybum, diddybum, diddybum-bum-bum--diddybum!_' "de creeturs dey keep on lis'nin', en brer rabbit keep on gittin' nigher, twel bimeby brer 'coon retch und' de cheer fer he hat, en say, sezee: "'well, gents, i 'speck i better be gwine. i tole my ole 'oman dat i won't be gone a minnit, en yer 't is 'way 'long in de day.' "wid dat brer 'coon, he skip out, but he aint git much furder dan de back gate, 'fo' yer come all de yuther creeturs like dey 'uz runnin' a foot-race, en ole brer fox wuz wukkin' in de lead." "dar, now!" exclaimed 'tildy, with great fervor. "yasser! dar dey wuz, en dar dey went," continued uncle remus. "dey tuck nigh cuts, en dey scramble over one er 'n'er, en dey aint res' twel dey git in de bushes. "ole brer rabbit, he came on down de road--_diddybum, diddybum, diddybum-bum-bum_--en bless gracious! w'en he git ter brer fox house dey aint nobody dar. brer rabbit is dat ow-dacious, dat he hunt all 'roun' twel he fine de a'r-hole en de drum, en he put his mouf ter dat en sing out, sezee: "'is dey anybody home?' en den he answer hisse'f, sezee, 'law, no, honey--folks all gone.' "wid dat, ole brer rabbit break loose en laugh, he did, fit ter kill hisse'f, en den he slam brer fox front gate wide open, en march up ter de house. w'en he git dar, he kick de do' open en hail brer fox, but nobody aint dar, en brer rabbit he walk in en take a cheer, en make hisse'f at home wid puttin' his foots on de sofy en spittin' on de flo'. "brer rabbit aint sot dar long 'fo' he ketch a whiff er de dram--" "you year dat?" exclaimed 'tildy, with convulsive admiration. "--'fo' he ketch a whiff er de dram, en den he see it on de side-bode, en he step up en drap 'bout a tumbeler full some'rs down in de neighborhoods er de goozle. brer rabbit mighty lak some folks i knows. he tuck one tumbeler full, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he tuck 'n'er'n, en w'en a man do dis a-way," continued uncle remus, somewhat apologetically, "he bleedz ter git drammy." "truth, too!" said 'tildy, by way of hearty confirmation. "all des time de yuther creeturs wuz down hi de bushes lissenin' fer de _diddybum_, en makin' ready fer ter light out fum dar at de drop uv a hat. but dey aint year no mo' fuss, en bimeby brer fox, he say he gwine back en look atter he plunder, en de yuther creeturs say dey b'leeve dey'll go 'long wid 'im. dey start out, dey did, en dey crope todes brer fox house, but dey crope mighty keerful, en i boun' ef somebody'd 'a' shuck a bush, dem ar creeturs 'ud 'a' nat'ally to' up de ye'th gittin' 'way fum dar. yit dey still aint year no fuss, en dey keep on creepin' twel dey git in de house. "w'en dey git in dar, de fus' sight dey see wuz ole brer rabbit stannin' up by de dram-bottle mixin' up a toddy, en he wa'n't so stiff-kneed n'er, kase he sorter swage fum side ter side, en he look lak he mighty limbersome, w'ich, goodness knows, a man bleedz ter be limbersome w'en he drink dat kinder licker w'at brer fox perwide fer dem creeturs. "w'en brer fox see brer rabbit makin' free wid he doin's dat a-way, w'at you 'speck he do?" inquired uncle remus, with the air of one seeking general information. "i 'speck he cusst," said 'tildy, who was apt to take a vividly practical view of matters. "he was glad," said the little boy, "because he had a good chance to catch brother rabbit." "tooby sho' he wuz," continued uncle remus, heartily assenting to the child's interpretation of the situation: "tooby sho' he wuz. he stan' dar, brer fox did, en he watch brer rabbit motions. bimeby he holler out, sezee: "'ah yi![ ] brer rabbit!' sezee. 'many a time is you made yo' 'scape, but now i got you!' en wid dat, brer fox en de yuther creeturs cloze in on brer rabbit. "seem like i done tole you dat brer rabbit done gone en tuck mo' dram dan w'at 'uz good fer he wholesome. yit he head aint swim so bad dat he dunner w'at he doin', en time he lay eyes on brer fox, he know he done got in close quarters. soon ez he see dis, brer rabbit make like he bin down in de cup mo' deeper dan w'at he is, en he stagger 'roun' like town gal stannin' in a batteau, en he seem lak he des ez limber ez a wet rag. he stagger up ter brer fox, he did, en he roll he eyeballs 'roun', en slap 'im on he back en ax 'im how he ma. den w'en he see de yuther creeturs," continued uncle remus, "he holler out, he did: "'vents yo' uppance, gentermens! vents yo' uppance![ ] ef you'll des gimme han'-roomance en come one at a time, de tussle 'll las' longer. how you all come on, nohow?' sezee. "ole brer rabbit talk so kuse dat de yuther creeturs have mo' fun dan w'at you k'n shake a stick at, but bimeby brer fox say dey better git down ter business, en den dey all cloze in on brer rabbit, en dar he wuz. "in dem days, ole man b'ar wuz a jedge 'mongs' de creeturs, en dey all ax 'im w'at dey gwine do 'long wid brer rabbit, en jedge b'ar, he put on his specks, en cle'r up his th'oat, en say dat de bes' way ter do wid a man w'at kick up sech a racket, en run de neighbors outer der own house, en go in dar en level[ ] on de pantry, is ter take 'im out en drown 'im; en ole brer fox, w'ich he settin' on de jury, he up'n smack he hands togedder, en cry, en say, sezee, dat atter dis he bleedz ter b'leeve dat jedge b'ar done got all-under holt on de lawyer-books, kaze dat 'zackly w'at dey say w'en a man level on he neighbor pantry. "den brer rabbit, he make out he skeerd, en he holler en cry, en beg um, in de name er goodness, don't fling 'im in de spring branch, kaze dey all know he dunner how ter swim: but ef dey bleedz fer ter pitch 'im in, den for mussy sake gin' 'im a walkin'-cane, so he kin have sumpin' ter hol' ter w'iles he drownin'. "ole brer b'ar scratch his head en say, sezee, dat, fur ez his 'membunce go back, he aint come 'cross nothin' in de lawyer-book ter de contraries er dat, en den dey all 'gree dat brer rabbit kin have a walkin'-cane. "wid dat, dey ketch up brer rabbit en put 'im in a wheelborrow en kyar 'im down ter de branch, en fling 'im in." "eh-eh!" exclaimed 'tildy, with well-feigned astonishment. "dey fling 'im in," continued uncle remus, "en brer rabbit light on he foots, same ez a tomcat, en pick his way out by de helps er de walkin'-cane. de water wuz dat shaller dat it don't mo'n come over brer rabbit slipper, en w'en he git out on t'er side, he holler back, sezee: "'so long, brer fox!'" ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] a corruption of "aye, aye." it is used as an expression of triumph and its employment in this connection is both droll and picturesque. [ ] southern readers will recognize this and "han'-roomance" as terms used by negroes in playing marbles,--a favorite game on the plantations sunday afternoons. these terms were curt and expressive enough to gain currency among the whites. [ ] levy. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xiii brother fox, brother rabbit, and king deer's daughter notwithstanding brother rabbit's success with the drum, the little boy was still inclined to refer to mr. benjamin ram and his fiddle; but uncle remus was not, by any means, willing that such an ancient vagabond as mr. ram should figure as a hero, and he said that, while it was possible that brother rabbit was no great hand with the fiddle, he was a drummer, and a capital singer to boot. furthermore, uncle remus declared that brother rabbit could perform upon the quills,[ ] an accomplishment to which none of the other animals could lay claim. there was a time, too, the old man pointedly suggested, when the romantic rascal used his musical abilities to win the smiles of a nice young lady of quality--no less a personage, indeed, than king deer's daughter. as a matter of course, the little boy was anxious to hear the particulars, and uncle remus was in nowise loath to give them. "w'en you come ter ax me 'bout de year en day er de mont'," said the old man, cunningly arranging a defence against criticism, "den i'm done, kaze de almanick w'at dey got in dem times won't pass muster deze days, but, let 'lone dat, i 'speck dey aint had none yit; en if dey is, dey aint none bin handed down ter remus. "well, den, some time 'long in dar, ole brer fox en brer rabbit got ter flyin' 'roun' king deer daughter. dey tells me she 'uz a monst'us likely gal, en i 'speck may be she wuz; leas'ways, brer fox, he hanker atter 'er, en likewise brer rabbit, he hanker atter 'er. ole king deer look lak he sorter lean todes brer fox, kaze ter a settle man like him, hit seem lak dat brer fox kin stir 'roun' en keep de pot a-b'ilin', mo' speshually bein's he de bigges'. hit go on dis a-way twel hardly a day pass dat one er de yuther er dem creeturs don't go sparklin' 'roun' king deer daughter, en it got so atter w'ile dat all day long brer rabbit en brer fox keep de front gate a-skreakin', en king deer daughter aint ska'cely had time fer ter eat a meal vittels in no peace er min'. "in dem days," pursued uncle remus, in a tone of unmistakable historical fervor, "w'en a creetur go a-courtin' dey wa'n't none er dish yer bokay doin's mix' up 'longer der co'tship, en dey aint cut up no capers like folks does now. stidder scollopin' 'roun' en bowin' en scrapin', dey des go right straight atter de gal. ole brer rabbit, he mouter had some bubby-blossoms[ ] wrop up in his hankcher, but mostly him en brer fox 'ud des drap in on king deer daughter en 'gin ter cas' sheep-eyes at 'er time dey sot down en cross der legs." "en i bet," said 'tildy, by way of comment, and looking as though she wanted to blush, "dat dey wa'n't 'shame', nuther." "dey went 'long dis a-way," continued uncle remus, "twel it 'gun ter look sorter skittish wid brer rabbit, kaze ole king deer done good ez say, sezee, dat he gwine ter take brer fox inter de fambly. brer rabbit, he 'low, he did, dat dis aint gwine ter do, en he study en study how he gwine ter cut brer fox out. [illustration: brother fox, brother rabbit, and king deer's daughter] "las', one day, w'iles he gwine thoo king deer pastur' lot, he up wid a rock en kilt two er king deer goats. w'en he git ter de house, he ax king deer daughter whar'bouts her pa, en she up'n say she go call 'im, en w'en brer rabbit see 'im, he ax w'en de weddin' tuck place, en king deer ax w'ich weddin', en brer rabbit say de weddin' 'twix' brer fox en king deer daughter. wid dat, ole king deer ax brer rabbit w'at make he go on so, en brer rabbit, he up'n 'spon' dat he see brer fox makin' monst'us free wid de fambly, gwine 'roun' chunkin' de chickens en killin' up de goats. "ole king deer strak he walkin'-cane down 'pon de flo', en 'low dat he don't put no 'pennunce in no sech tale lak dat, en den brer rabbit tell 'im dat ef he'll des take a walk down in de pastur' lot, he kin see de kyarkiss er de goats. ole king deer, he put out, en bimeby he come back, en he 'low he gwine ter settle marters wid brer fox ef it take 'im a mont'. "brer rabbit say he a good frien' ter brer fox, en he aint got no room ter talk 'bout 'im, but yit w'en he see 'im 'stroyin' king deer goats en chunkin' at his chickens, en rattlin' on de palin's fer ter make de dog bark, he bleedz ter come lay de case 'fo' de fambly. "'en mo'n dat,' sez ole brer rabbit, sezee, 'i'm de man w'at kin make brer fox come en stan' right at de front gate en tell you dat he is kill dem goat; en ef you des wait twel ter-night, i won't ax you ter take my wud,' sezee. "king deer say ef brer rabbit man 'nuff ter do dat, den he kin git de gal en thanky, too. wid dat, brer rabbit jump up en crack he heels tergedder, en put out fer ter fine brer fox. he aint git fur 'fo' he see brer fox comin' down de road all primp up. brer rabbit, he sing out, he did: "'brer foxy, whar you gwine?' "en brer fox, he holler back: "'go 'way, rab; don't bodder wid me. i'm gwine fer ter see my gal.' "brer rabbit, he laugh 'way down in his stomach, but he don't let on, en atter some mo' chat, he up'n say dat ole king deer done tell 'im 'bout how brer fox gwine ter marry he daughter, en den he tell brer fox dat he done promise king deer dat dey'd drap 'roun' ter-night en gin 'im some music. "'en i up'n tole 'im,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'dat de music w'at we can't make aint wuth makin',--me wid my quills, en you wid yo' tr'angle.[ ] de nex' motion we makes,' sezee, we'll hatter go off some'rs en practise up on de song we'll sing, en i got one yer dat'll tickle um dat bad,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'twel i lay dey'll fetch out a hunk er dat big chicken-pie w'at i see um puttin' in de pot des now,' sezee. "in a 'casion lak dis, brer fox say he de ve'y man w'at brer rabbit huntin', en he 'low dat he'll des 'bout put off payin' he call ter king deer house en go wid brer rabbit fer ter practise on dat song. "den brer rabbit, he git he quills en brer fox he git he tr'angle, en dey went down on de spring branch, en dar dey sing en play, twel dey git it all by heart. ole brer rabbit, he make up de song he own se'f, en he fix it so dat he sing de call, lak de captain er de co'n-pile, en ole brer fox, he hatter sing de answer."[ ] at this point uncle remus paused to indulge in one of his suggestive chuckles, and then proceeded: "don't talk 'bout no songs ter me. gentermens! dat 'uz a funny song fum de wud go. bimeby, w'en dey practise long time, dey gits up en goes 'roun' in de neighborhoods er king deer house, en w'en night come dey tuck der stan' at de front gate, en atter all got still, brer rabbit, he gun de wink, en dey broke loose wid der music. dey played a chune er two on de quills en tr'angle, en den dey got ter de song. ole brer rabbit, he got de call, en he open up lak dis: "'_some folks pile up mo'n dey kin tote, en dot w'at de marter wid king deer goat,_' en den brer fox, he make answer: "'_dat 's so, dat 's so, en i'm glad dat it's so!_' den de quills en de tr'angle, dey come in, en den brer rabbit pursue on wid de call: "'_some kill sheep en some kill shote, but brer fox kill king deer goat,_' en den brer fox, he jine in wid de answer: "'_i did, dat i did, en i'm glad dat i did!_' en des 'bout dat time king deer, he walk outer de gate en hit brer fox a clip wid his walkin'-cane, en he foller it up wid 'n'er'n, dat make brer fox fa'rly squall, en you des better b'lieve he make tracks 'way fum dar, en de gal she come out, en dey ax brer rabbit in." "did brother rabbit marry king deer's daughter, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "now, den, honey, you're crowdin' me," responded the old man. "dey ax 'im in, en dey gun 'im a great big hunk er chicken-pie, but i won't make sho' dat he tuck'n marry de gal. de p'int wid me is de way brer rabbit run brer fox off fum dar." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] the veritable pan's pipes. a simple but very effective musical instrument made of reeds, and in great favor on the plantations. [ ] a species of sweet-shrub growing wild in the south. [ ] triangle. [ ] that is to say, brother rabbit sang the air and brother fox the refrain. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xiv brother terrapin deceives brer buzzard there was a pause here, which was finally broken by 'tildy, whose remark was in the shape of a very undignified yawn. uncle remus regarded her for a moment with an expression of undisguised scorn, which quickly expressed itself in words: "ef you'd er bin outer de house dat whack, you'd er tuck us all in. pity dey aint some place er 'n'er whar deze yer trollops kin go en l'arn manners." tildy, however, ignored the old man, and, with a toss of her head, said to the little boy in a cool, exasperating tone, employing a pet name she had heard the child's mother use: "well, pinx, i 'speck we better go. de rain done mos' hilt up now, en bimeby de stars'll be a-shinin'. miss sally lookin' fer you right now." "you better go whar you gwine, you triflin' huzzy, you!" exclaimed uncle remus. "you better go git yo' jim crow kyard en straighten out dem wrops in yo' ha'r. i allers year w'ite folks say you better keep yo' eye on niggers w'at got der ha'r wrop up in strings. now i done gun you fa'r warnin's." "uncle remus," said the little boy, when the old man's wrath had somewhat subsided, "why do they call them jim crow cards?" "i be bless ef i know, honey, 'ceppin' it's kaze dey er de onliest machine w'at deze yer low-life niggers kin oncomb der kinks wid. now, den," continued the old man, straightening up and speaking with considerable animation, "dat 'min's me 'bout a riddle w'at been runnin' 'roun' in my head. en dat riddle--it's de outdoin'es' riddle w'at i mos' ever year tell un. hit go lak dis: ef he come, he don't come; ef he don't come, he come. now, i boun' you can't tell w'at is dat." after some time spent in vain guessing, the little boy confessed that he did n't know. "hit 's crow en co'n," said uncle remus sententiously. "crow and corn, uncle remus?" "co'se, honey. crow come, de co'n don't come; crow don't come, den de co'n come." "dat 's so," said 'tildy. "i done see um pull up co'n, en i done see co'n grow w'at dey don't pull up." if 'tildy thought to propitiate uncle remus, she was mistaken. he scowled at her, and addressed himself to the little boy: "de crow, he mighty close kin ter de buzzud, en dat puts me in min' dat we aint bin a-keepin' up wid ole brer buzzud close ez we might er done. "w'at de case mout be deze days, i aint a-sayin', but, in dem times, ole brer tarrypin love honey mo' samer dan brer b'ar, but he wuz dat flat-footed dat, w'en he fine a bee-tree, he can't climb it, en he go so slow dat he can't hardly fine um. bimeby, one day, w'en he gwine 'long down de road des a-honin' atter honey, who should he meet but ole brer buzzud. "dey shuck han's mighty sociable en ax 'bout de news er de neighborhoods, en den, atter w'ile, brer tarrypin say ter ole brer buzzud, sezee, dat he wanter go inter cahoots wid 'im 'longer gittin' honey, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' dey struck a trade. brer buzzud wuz ter fly 'roun' en look fer de bee-tree, en brer tarrypin he wuz ter creep en crawl, en hunt on de groun'. "dey start out, dey did, ole brer buzzud sailin' 'roun' in de elements, en ole brer tarrypin shufflin' en shamblin' on de groun'. 'mos' de ve'y fus' fiel' w'at he come ter, brer tarrypin strak up wid a great big bumbly-bee nes' in de groun'. he look 'roun', ole brer tarrypin did, en bimeby he stick he head in en tas'e de honey, en den he pull it out en look all 'roun' fer ter see ef he kin ketch a glimpse er brer buzzud; but brer buzzud don't seem lak he nowhar. den brer tarrypin say to hisse'f, sezee, dat he 'speck dat bumbly-bee honey aint de kinder honey w'at dey been talkin' 'bout, en dey aint no great shakes er honey dar nohow. wid dat, brer tarrypin crope inter de hole en gobble up de las' drop er de bumbly-bee honey by he own-alone se'f. atter he done make 'way wid it, he come out, he did, en he whirl in en lick it all off'n his footses, so ole brer buzzud can't tell dat he done bin git a mess er honey. "den ole brer tarrypin stretch out he neck en try ter lick de honey off'n he back, but he neck too short; en he try ter scrape it off up 'g'in' a tree, but it don't come off; en den he waller on de groun', but still it don't come off. den old brer tarrypin jump up, en say ter hisse'f dat he'll des 'bout rack off home, en w'en brer buzzud come he kin lie on he back en say he sick, so ole brer buzzud can't see de honey. "brer tarrypin start off, he did, but he happen ter look up, en, lo en beholes, dar wuz brer buzzud huv'rin' right spang over de spot whar he is. brer tarrypin know brer buzzud bleedz ter see 'im ef he start off home, en mo'n dat, he know he be fine out ef he don't stir 'roun' en do sump'n' mighty quick. wid dat, brer tarrypin shuffle back ter de bumbly-bee nes' swif' ez he kin, en buil' 'im a fier in dar, en den he crawl out en holler: "'brer buzzud! o brer buzzud! run yer, fer gracious sake, brer buzzud, en look how much honey i done fine! i des crope in a little ways, en it des drip all down my back, same like water. run yer, brer buzzud! half yone en half mine, brer buzzud!' "brer buzzud, he flop down, en he laugh en say he mighty glad, kaze he done git hongry up dar whar he bin. den brer tarrypin tell brer buzzud fer ter creep in little ways en tas'e en see how he like um, w'iles he take his stan' on de outside en watch fer somebody. but no sooner is brer buzzud crope in de bumbly-bee nes' dan brer tarrypin take'n roll a great big rock front er de hole. terreckly, de fier 'gun ter bu'n brer buzzud, en he sing out like a man in trouble: "'sump'n' bitin' me, brer tarrypin--sump'n' bitin' me, brer tarrypin!' "den ole brer tarrypin, he holler back: "'it's de bumbly-bees a-stingin' you, brer buzzud; stan' up en flop yo' wings, brer buzzud. stan' up en flop yo' wings, brer buzzud, en you'll drive um off,' sezee. "brer buzzud flop en flop he wings, but de mo' w'at he flop, de mo' he fan de fier, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he done bodaciously bu'n up, all 'ceppin' de big een er his wing-fedders, en dem ole brer tarrypin tuck en make inter some quills, w'ich he go 'roun' a-playin' un um, en de chune w'at he play was dish yer: "'_i foolee, i foolee, i foolee po' buzzud; po' buzzud i foolee, i foolee, i foolee._'" xv brother fox covets the quills "that must have been a mighty funny song," said the little boy. "fun one time aint fun 'n'er time; some folks fines fun whar yuther folks fines trouble. pig may laugh w'en he see de rock a-heatin', but dey aint no fun dar fer de pig.[ ] "yit, fun er no fun, dat de song w'at brer tarrypin play on de quills: "'_i foolee, i foolee, i foolee po' buzzud; po' buzzud i foolee, i foolee, i foolee._' "nobody dunner whar de quills cum fum, kaze brer tarrypin, he aint makin no brags how he git um; yit ev'ybody wants um on account er der playin' sech a lonesome[ ] chune, en ole brer fox, he want um wuss'n all. he beg en he beg brer tarrypin fer ter sell 'im dem quills; but brer tarrypin, he hol' on t' um tight, en say eh-eh! den he ax brer tarrypin fer ter loan um t' um des a week, so he kin play fer he chilluns, but brer tarrypin, he shake he head en put he foot down, en keep on playin': "'_i foolee, i foolee, i foolee po' buzzud; po' buzzud i foolee, i foolee, i foolee._' "but brer fox, he aint got no peace er min' on account er dem quills, en one day he meet brer tarrypin en he ax 'im how he seem ter segashuate[ ] en he fambly en all he chilluns; en den brer fox ax brer tarrypin ef he can't des look at de quills, kaze he got some goose-fedders at he house, en if he kin des get a glimpse er brer tarrypin quills, he 'speck he kin make some mighty like um. "brer tarrypin, he study 'bout dis, but he hate ter 'ny small favors like dat, en bimeby he hol' out dem quills whar brer fox kin see um. wid dat, brer fox, he tuck'n juk de quills outen brer tarrypin han', he did, and dash off des ez hard ez he kin go. brer tarrypin, he holler en holler at 'im des loud ez he kin holler, but he know he can't ketch 'im, en he des sot dar, brer tarrypin did, en look lak he done los' all de kin-folks w'at he got in de roun' worrul'. "atter dis, brer fox he strut 'roun' en play mighty biggity, en eve'y time he meet brer tarrypin in de road he walk all 'roun' 'im en play on de quills like dis: "'_i foolee, i foolee po' buzzud; i foolee ole tarrypin, too._' "brer tarrypin, he feel mighty bad, but he aint sayin' nothin'. las', one day w'iles ole brer tarrypin was settin' on a log sunnin' hisse'f, yer come brer fox playin' dat same old chune on de quills, but brer tarrypin, he stay still. brer fox, he come up little nigher en play, but brer tarrypin, he keep he eyes shot en he stay still. brer fox, he come nigher en git on de log; brer tarrypin aint sayin' nothin'. brer fox still git up nigher en play on de quills; still brer tarrypin aint sayin' nothin'. "'brer tarrypin mighty sleepy dis mawnin',' sez brer fox, sezee. "still brer tarrypin keep he eyes shot en stay still. brer fox keep on gittin' nigher en nigher, twel bimeby brer tarrypin open he eyes en he mouf bofe, en he make a grab at brer fox en miss 'im. "but hol' on!" exclaimed uncle remus, in response to an expression of intense disappointment in the child's face. "you des wait a minnit. nex' mawnin', brer tarrypin take hisse'f off en waller in a mud-hole, en smear hisse'f wid mud twel he look des 'zackly lak a clod er dirt. den he crawl off en lay down un'need a log whar he know brer fox come eve'y mawnin' fer ter freshen[ ] hisse'f. "brer tarrypin lay dar, he did, en terreckly yer come brer fox. time he git dar, brer fox 'gun ter lip backerds en forerds 'cross de log, and brer tarrypin he crope nigher en nigher, twel bimeby he make a grab at brer fox en kotch him by de foot. dey tells me," continued uncle remus, rubbing his hands together in token of great satisfaction,--"dey tells me dat w'en brer tarrypin ketch holt, hit got ter thunder 'fo' he let go. all i know, brer tarrypin git brer fox by de foot, en he hilt 'im dar. brer fox he jump en he r'ar, but brer tarrypin done got 'im. brer fox, he holler out: "'brer tarrypin, please lemme go!' "brer tarrypin talk way down in his th'oat: "'gim' my quills!' "'lemme go en fetch um.' "'gim'my quills!' "'do pray lemme go git um.' "'gim'my quills!' "en, bless gracious! dis all brer fox kin git outer brer tarrypin. las', brer fox foot hu't 'im so bad dat he bleedz ter do sump'n', en he sing out fer his ole 'oman fer ter fetch de quills, but he ole 'oman, she busy 'bout de house, en she don't year 'im. den he call he son, w'ich he name tobe. he holler en bawl, en tobe make answer: "'tobe! o tobe! you tobe!' "'w'at you want, daddy?' "'fetch brer tarrypin quills.' "'w'at you say, daddy? fetch de big tray ter git de honey in?' "'no, you crazy-head! fetch brer tarrypin quills!' "'w'at you say, daddy? fetch de dipper ter ketch de minners in?' "'no, you fool! fetch brer tarrypin quills!' "'w'at you say, daddy? water done been spill?' "hit went on dis a-way twel atter w'ile ole miss fox year de racket, en den she lissen, en she know dat 'er ole man holler'n' fer de quills, en she fotch um out en gun um ter brer tarrypin, en brer tarrypin, he let go he holt. he let go he holt," uncle remus went on, "but long time atter dat, w'en brer fox go ter pay he calls, he hatter go _hoppity-fetchity, hoppity-fetchity_." [illustration: brother fox covets the quills] the old man folded his hands in his lap, and sat quietly gazing into the lightwood fire. presently he said: "i 'speck miss sally blessin' us all right now, en fus' news you know she'll h'ist up en have mars john a-trapesin' down yer; en ef she do dat, den ter-morrer mawnin' my brekkuss'll be col', en lakwise my dinner, en ef dey's sump'n' w'at i 'spizes hit 's col' vittels." thereupon uncle remus arose, shook himself, peered out into the night to discover that the rain had nearly ceased, and then made ready to carry the little boy to his mother. long before the chickens had crowed for midnight, the child, as well as the old man, had been transported to the land where myths and fables cease to be wonderful,--the land of pleasant dreams. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] an allusion to the primitive mode of cleaning hogs by heating rocks, and placing them in a barrel or tank of water. [ ] this word "lonesome," as used by the negroes, is the equivalent of "thrilling," "romantic," etc., and in that sense is very expressive. [ ] an inquiry after his health. another form is: "how does yo' corporosity seem ter segashuate?" [ ] exercise himself. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xvi how brother fox failed to get his grapes one night the little boy failed to make his appearance at the accustomed hour, and the next morning the intelligence that the child was sick went forth from the "big house." uncle remus was told that it had been necessary during the night to call in two physicians. when this information was imparted to the old man, there was an expression upon his countenance of awe not unmixed with indignation. he gave vent to the latter: "dar now! two un um! w'en dat chile rize up, ef rize up he do, he'll des nat'ally be a shadder. yer i is, gwine on eighty year, en i aint tuck none er dat ar docter truck yit, ceppin' it's dish yer flas' er poke-root w'at ole miss favers fix up fer de stiffness in my j'ints. dey'll come en dey'll go, en dey'll po' in der jollup yer, en slap on der fly-plarster dar, en sprinkle der calomy yander, twel bimeby dat chile won't look like hisse'f. dat 's w'at! en mo'n dat, hit 's mighty kuse unter me dat ole folks kin go 'long en stan' up ter de rack en gobble up der 'lowance, en yit chilluns is got ter be strucken down. ef miss sally'll des tu'n dem docter mens loose onter me, i lay i lick up der physic twel dey go off 'stonish'd." but no appeal of this nature was made to uncle remus. the illness of the little boy was severe, but not fatal. he took his medicine and improved, until finally even the doctors pronounced him convalescent. but he was very weak, and it was a fortnight before he was permitted to leave his bed. he was restless, and yet his term of imprisonment was full of pleasure. every night after supper uncle remus would creep softly into the back piazza, place his hat carefully on the floor, rap gently on the door by way of announcement, and so pass into the nursery. how patient his vigils, how tender his ministrations, only the mother of the little boy knew; how comfortable and refreshing the change from the bed to the strong arms of uncle remus, only the little boy could say. almost the first manifestation of the child's convalescence was the renewal of his interest in the wonderful adventures of brother rabbit, brother fox, and the other brethren who flourished in that strange past over which this modern �sop had thrown the veil of fable. "miss sally," as uncle remus called the little boy's mother, sitting in an adjoining room, heard the youngster pleading for a story, and after a while she heard the old man clear up his throat with a great affectation of formality and begin. "dey aint skacely no p'int whar ole brer rabbit en ole brer fox made der 'greements side wid one er 'n'er; let 'lone dat, dey wuz one p'int 'twix' 'um w'ich it wuz same ez fier en tow, en dat wuz miss meadows en de gals. little ez you might 'speck, dem same creeturs wuz bofe un um flyin' 'roun' miss meadows en de gals. ole brer rabbit, he'd go dar, en dar he'd fine ole brer fox settin' up gigglin' wid de gals, en den he'd skuze hisse'f, he would, en gallop down de big road a piece, en paw up de san' same lak dat ar ball-face steer w'at tuck'n tuck off yo' pa' coat-tail las' feberwary. en lakwise ole brer fox, he'd sa'nter in, en fine old man rab. settin' 'longside er de gals, en den he'd go out down de road en grab a 'simmon-bush in he mouf, en nat'ally gnyaw de bark off'n it. in dem days, honey," continued uncle remus, responding to a look of perplexity on the child's face, "creeturs wuz wuss dan w'at dey is now. dey wuz dat--lots wuss. "dey went on dis a-way twel, bimeby, brer rabbit 'gun ter cas' 'roun', he did, fer ter see ef he can't bus' inter some er brer fox 'rangerments, en, atter w'ile, one day w'en he wer' settin' down by de side er de road wukkin up de diffunt oggyment w'at strak pun he mine, en fixin' up he tricks, des 'bout dat time he year a clatter up de long green lane, en yer come ole brer fox_toobookity--bookity--bookity-book--_lopin' 'long mo' samer dan a bay colt in de bolly-patch. en he wuz all primp up, too, mon, en he look slick en shiny lak he des come outen de sto'. ole man rab., he sot dar, he did, en w'en ole brer fox come gallopin' 'long, brer rabbit, he up'n hail 'im. brer fox, he fotch up, en dey pass de time er day wid one er nudder monst'us perlite; en den, bimeby atter w'ile, brer rabbit, he up'n say, sezee, dat he got some mighty good news fer brer fox; en brer fox, he up'n ax 'im w'at is it. den brer rabbit, he sorter scratch he year wid his behime foot en say, sezee: "'i wuz takin' a walk day 'fo' yistiddy,' sezee, 'w'en de fus' news i know'd i run up gin de bigges' en de fattes' bunch er grapes dat i ever lay eyes on. dey wuz dat fat en dat big,' sezee, 'dat de natal juice wuz des drappin' fum um, en de bees wuz a-swawmin' atter de honey, en little ole jack sparrer en all er his fambly conneckshun wuz skeetin' 'roun' dar dippin' in der bills,' sezee. "right den en dar," uncle remus went on, "brer fox mouf 'gun ter water, en he look outer he eye like he de bes' frien' w'at brer rabbit got in de roun' worl'. he done fergit all 'bout de gals, en he sorter sidle up ter brer rabbit, he did, en he say, sezee: "'come on, brer rabbit,' sezee, 'en less you 'n me go git dem ar grapes 'fo' deyer all gone,' sezee. en den ole brer rabbit, he laff, he did, en up'n 'spon', sezee: "'i hungry myse'f, brer fox,' sezee, 'but i aint hankerin' atter grapes, en i'll be in monst'us big luck ef i kin rush 'roun' yer some'rs en scrape up a bait er pusley time nuff fer ter keep de breff in my body. en yit,' sezee,' ef you take'n rack off atter deze yer grapes, w'at miss meadows en de gals gwine do? i lay dey got yo' name in de pot,' sezee. "'ez ter dat,' sez ole brer fox, sezee, 'i kin drap 'roun' en see de ladies atterwards,' sezee. "'well, den, ef dat 's yo' game,' sez ole man rab., sezee, 'i kin squot right flat down yer on de groun' en p'int out de way des de same ez leadin' you dar by de han',' sezee; en den brer rabbit sorter chaw on he cud lak he gedder'n up his 'membunce, en he up'n say, sezee: "'you know dat ar place whar you went atter sweetgum fer miss meadows en de gals t'er day?' sezee. "brer fox 'low dat he know dat ar place same ez he do he own tater-patch. "'well, den,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'de grapes aint dar. you git ter de sweetgum,' sezee, 'en den you go up de branch twel you come ter a little patch er bamboo brier--but de grapes aint dar. den you follow yo' lef' han' en strike 'cross de hill twel you come ter dat big red oak root--but de grapes aint dar. on you goes down de hill twel you come ter 'n'er branch, en on dat branch dars a dogwood-tree leanin' 'way over, en nigh dat dogwood dars a vine, en in dat vine, dar you'll fine yo' grapes. deyer dat ripe,' sez ole brer rabbit, sezee, 'dat dey look like deyer done melt tergedder, en i speck you'll fine um full er bugs, but you kin take dat fine bushy tail er yone, brer fox,' sezee, 'en bresh dem bugs away.' "brer fox 'low he much 'blige, en den he put out atter de grapes in a han'-gallop, en w'en he done got outer sight, en likewise outer year'n, brer rabbit, he take'n git a blade er grass, he did, en tickle hisse'f in de year, en den he holler en laff, en laff en holler, twel he hatter lay down fer ter git he breff back 'gin. "den, atter so long time, brer rabbit he jump up, he do, en take atter brer fox, but brer fox, he aint look ter de right ner de lef', en needer do he look behime; he des keep a-rackin' 'long twel he come ter de sweetgum-tree, en den he tu'n up de branch twel he come ter de bamboo brier, en den he tu'n squar ter de lef' twel he come ter de big red-oak root, en den he keep on down he hill twel he come ter de yuther branch, en dar he see de dogwood; en mo'n dat, dar nigh de dogwood he see de vine, en in dat vine dar wuz de big bunch er grapes. sho' nuff, dey wuz all kivvud wid bugs. "ole brer rabbit, he'd bin a-pushin' 'long atter brer fox, but he des hatter scratch gravel fer ter keep up. las' he hove in sight, en he lay off in de weeds, he did, fer ter watch brer fox motions. present'y brer fox crope up de leanin' dogwood-tree twel he come nigh de grapes, en den he sorter ballunce hisse'f on a lim' en gun um a swipe wid his big bushy tail, fer ter bresh off de bugs. but, bless yo' soul, honey! no sooner is he done dat dan he fetch a squall w'ich miss meadows vow atterwards she year plum ter her house, en down he come--_kerblim_!" "what was the matter, uncle remus?" the little boy asked. "law, honey! dat seetful brer rabbit done fool ole brer fox. dem ar grapes all so fine wuz needer mo' ner less dan a great big was'-nes', en dem bugs wuz deze yer red wassies--deze yer speeshy w'at's rank pizen fum cen' ter cen'. w'en brer fox drap fum de tree de wassies dey drap wid 'im, en de way dey wom ole brer fox up wuz sinful. dey aint mo'n tetch' im 'fo' dey had 'im het up ter de b'ilin' p'int. brer fox, he run, en he kick, en he scratch, en he bite, en he scramble, en he holler, en he howl, but look lak dey git wuss en wuss. one time, hit seem lak brer fox en his new 'quaintance wuz makin' todes brer rabbit, but dey aint no sooner p'int dat way, dan ole brer rabbit, he up'n make a break, en he went sailin' thoo de woods wuss'n wunner dese whully-win's, en he aint stop twel he fetch up at miss meadows. "miss meadows en de gals, dey ax 'im, dey did, wharbouts wuz brer fox, en brer rabbit, he up'n 'spon' dat he done gone a-grape-huntin', en den miss meadows, she 'low, she did: "'law, gals! is you ever year de beat er dat? en dat, too, w'en brer fox done say he comin' ter dinner,' sez she. 'i lay i done wid brer fox, kaze you can't put no pennunce in deze yer men-folks,' sez she. 'yer de dinner bin done dis long time, en we bin a-waitin' lak de quality. but now i'm done wid brer fox,' sez she. "wid dat, miss meadows en de gals dey ax brer rabbit fer ter stay ter dinner, en brer rabbit, he sorter make like he wanter be skuze, but bimeby he tuck a cheer en sot um out. he tuck a cheer," continued uncle remus, "en he aint bin dar long twel he look out en spy ole brer fox gwine 'long by, en w'at do brer rabbit do but call miss meadows en de gals en p'int 'im out? soon's dey seed 'im dey sot up a monst'us gigglement, kaze brer fox wuz dat swell up twel little mo'n he'd a bus'. he head wuz swell up, en down ter he legs, dey wuz swell up. miss meadows, she up'n say dat brer fox look like he done gone en got all de grapes dey wuz in de neighborhoods, en one er de yuther gals, she squeal, she did, en say: "'law, aint you 'shame', en right yer 'fo' brer rabbit!' "en den dey hilt der han's 'fo' der face en giggle des like gals duz deze days." xvii brother fox figures as an incendiary the next night the little boy had been thoughtful enough to save some of his supper for uncle remus, and to this "miss sally" had added, on her own account, a large piece of fruit-cake. the old man appeared to be highly pleased. "ef ders enny kinder cake w'at i likes de mos', hit 's dish yer kine w'at's got reezins strowed 'mongs' it. wid sick folks, now," he continued, holding up the cake and subjecting it to a critical examination, "dish yer hunk 'ud mighty nigh las' a mont', but wid a well man lak i is, hit won't las' a minnit." and it did n't. it disappeared so suddenly that the little boy laughed aloud, and wanted uncle remus to have some more cake; but the latter protested that he did n't come there "fer ter git founder'd," but merely to see "ef somebody's strenk uz strong 'nuff fer ter stan' 'n'er tale." the little boy said if uncle remus meant him, he was sure his health was good enough to listen to any number of stories. whereupon, the old man, without any tantalizing preliminaries, began: "brer fox done bin fool so much by brer rabbit dat he sorter look 'roun' fer ter see ef he can't ketch up wid some er de yuther creeturs, en so, one day, w'iles he gwine long down de big road, who should he strak up wid but old brer tarrypin. brer fox sorter lick his chops, en 'low dat ef he kin fling ennybody en gin um all-under holt, brer tarrypin de man, en he march up, mighty biggity, like he gwine ter make spote un 'im. w'en he git up nigh 'nuff, brer fox hail 'im: "'how you 'speck you fine yo'se'f dis mawnin', brer tarrypin?' sezee. "'slow, brer fox--mighty slow,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee. 'day in en day out i'm mighty slow, en it look lak i'm a-gittin' slower; i'm slow en po'ly, brer fox--how you come on?' sezee. "'oh, i'm slanchindickler, same ez i allers is,' sez brer fox, sezee. 'w'at make yo' eye so red, brer tarrypin?' sezee. "'hit 's all 'longer de trouble i see, brer fox,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee. 'i see trouble en you see none; trouble come en pile up on trouble,' sezee. "'law, brer tarrypin!' sez brer fox, sezee, 'you aint see no trouble yit. ef you wanter see sho' 'nuff trouble, you des oughter go 'longer me; i'm de man w'at kin show you trouble,' sezee. "'well, den,' sez ole brer tarrypin, sezee, 'ef youer de man w'at kin show me trouble, den i'm de man w'at want a glimpse un it,' sezee. "den brer fox, he ax brer tarrypin is he seed de ole boy, en den brer tarrypin, he make answer dat he aint seed 'im yit, but he year tell un 'im. wid dat, brer fox 'low de ole boy de kinder trouble he bin talkin' 'bout, en den brer tarrypin, he up'n ax how he gwine see 'im. brer fox, he tak'n lay out de pogrance, en he up'n tell brer tarrypin dat ef he'll step up dar in de middle er dat ole broom-sage fiel', en squot dar a spell, 't won't be no time 'fo' he'll ketch a glimpse er de ole boy. "brer tarrypin know'd ders sump'n' wrong some'rs, yit he mos' too flat-flooted fer ter have enny scuffle wid brer fox, en he say ter hisse'f dat he'll go 'long en des trus' ter luck; en den he 'low dat ef brer fox he'p 'im 'cross de fence, he b'lieve he'll go up en resk one eye on de ole boy. co'se brer fox hope 'im 'cross, en no sooner is he good en gone, dan brer fox, he fix up fer ter make 'im see trouble. he lipt out ter miss meadows house, brer fox did, en make like he wanter borry a chunk er fier fer ter light he pipe, en he tuck dat chunk, en he run 'roun' de fiel', en he sot de grass a fier, en't wa'n't long 'fo' it look lak de whole face er de yeth waz a-blazin' up." "did it burn the terrapin up?" interrupted the little boy. "don't push me, honey; don't make me git de kyart 'fo' de hoss. w'en ole brer tarrypin 'gun ter wade thoo de straw, de ve'y fus' man w'at he strak up wid wuz ole man rabbit layin' dar sleepin' on de shady side uv a tussock. brer rabbit, he one er deze yer kinder mens w'at sleep wid der eye wide open, en he wuz 'wake d'reckly he year brer tarrypin scufflin' en scramblin' 'long thoo de grass. atter dey shuck han's en ax 'bout one er n'er fambly, hit aint take long fer brer tarrypin fer ter tell brer rabbit w'at fotch 'im dar, en brer rabbit, he up'n say, sezee: "'hit 's des na'tally a born blessin' dat you struck up wid me w'en you did,' sezee, 'kaze little mo' en bofe un us would 'a' bin bobbycu'd,' sezee. "dis kinder tarrify brer tarrypin, en he say he wanter git out fum dar; but brer rabbit he 'low he'd take keer un 'im, en he tuck'n tuck brer tarrypin in de middle er de fiel' whar dey wuz a big holler stump. onter dis stump brer rabbit lif' brer tarrypin, en den he lip up hisse'f en crope in de holler, en, bless yo' soul, honey, w'en de fier come a-snippin' en a-snappin', dar dey sot des ez safe en ez snug ez you iz in yo' bed dis minnit. "w'en de blaze blow over, brer tarrypin look 'roun', en he see brer fox runnin' up'n down de fence lak he huntin' sump'n'. den brer rabbit, he stick he head up outen de hole, en likewise he seed 'im, and den he holler like brer tarrypin" (here uncle remus puckered his voice, so to say, in a most amusing squeak): "'brer fox! brer fox! o brer fox! run yer--we done kotch brer rabbit!' "en den brer fox, he jump up on de top rail er de fence en fetch a spring dat lan' 'im 'way out in de bu'nin' grass, en it hurted 'im en sting 'im in de footses dat bad, dat he squeal en he roll, en de mo' he roll de wuss it bu'n him, en brer rabbit en brer tarrypin dey des holler en laff. bimeby brer fox git out, en off he put down de road, limpin' fus' on one foot en den on de yuther." the little boy laughed, and then there was a long silence--so long, indeed, that uncle remus's "miss sally," sewing in the next room, concluded to investigate it. an exceedingly interesting tableau met her sight. the little child had wandered into the land of dreams with a smile on his face. he lay with one of his little hands buried in both of uncle remus's, while the old man himself was fast asleep, with his head thrown back and his mouth wide open. "miss sally" shook him by the shoulder and held up her finger to prevent him from speaking. he was quiet until she held the lamp for him to get down the back steps, and then she heard him say, in an indignantly mortified tone: "now den, miss sally'll be a-riggin' me 'bout noddin', but stidder dat she better be glad dat i aint bus loose en sno' en 'larm de house--let 'lone dat sick baby. dat 's w'at!" xviii a dream and a story "i dreamed all about brother fox and brother rabbit last night, uncle remus," exclaimed the little boy when the old man came in after supper and took his seat by the side of the trundle-bed; "i dreamed that brother fox had wings and tried to catch brother rabbit by flying after him." "i don't 'spute it, honey, dat i don't!" replied the old man, in a tone which implied that he was quite prepared to believe the dream itself was true. "manys en manys de time, deze long nights en deze rainy spells, dat i sets down dar in my house over ag'in de chimbley-jam--i sets dar en i dozes, en it seem lak dat ole brer rabbit, he'll stick he head in de crack er de do' en see my eye periently shot, en den he'll beckon back at de yuther creeturs, en den dey'll all come slippin' in on der tip-toes, en dey'll set dar en run over de ole times wid one er n'er, en crack der jokes same ez dey useter. en den ag'in," continued the old man, shutting his eyes and giving to his voice a gruesome intonation quite impossible to describe,--"en den ag'in hit look lak dat brer rabbit'll gin de wink all 'roun', en den dey'll tu'n in en git up a reg'lar juberlee. brer rabbit, he'll retch up en take down de trivet, en brer fox, he'll snatch up de griddle, en brer b'ar, he'll lay holt er de pot-hooks, en ole brer tarrypin, he'll grab up de fryin' pan en dar dey'll have it, up en down, en' roun' en 'roun'. hit seem like ter me dat ef i kin git my mine smoove down en ketch up some er dem ar chunes w'at dey sets dar en plays, den i 'd lean back yer in dish yer cheer en i'd intrance you wid um, twel, by dis time termorrer night, you'd be settin' up dar at de supper-table 'sputin' 'longer yo' little brer 'bout de 'lasses pitcher. dem creeturs dey sets dar," uncle remus went on, "en dey plays dem kinder chunes w'at moves you fum 'way back yander; en manys de time w'en i gits lonesome kaze dey aint nobody year um 'ceppin' it's me. dey aint no tellin' de chunes dey is in dat trivet, en in dat griddle, en in dat fryin'-pan er mine; dat dey aint. w'en dem creeturs walks in en snatches um down, dey lays miss sally's pianner in de shade, en mars john's flute, hit aint nowhars." "do they play on them just like a band, uncle remus?" inquired the little boy, who was secretly in hopes that the illusion would not be destroyed. "dey comes des lak i tell you, honey. w'en i shets my eyes en dozes, dey comes en dey plays, but w'en i opens my eyes dey aint dar. now, den, w'en dat 's de shape er marters, w'at duz i do? i des shets my eyes en hol' um shot, en let um come en play dem ole time chunes twel long atter bed-time done come en gone." [illustration: a dream and a story] uncle remus paused, as though he expected the little boy to ask some question or make some comment, but the child said nothing, and presently the old man resumed, in a matter-of-fact tone: "dat dream er yone, honey, 'bout brer fox wid wings, fetches up de time w'en brer fox en brer wolf had der fallin' out wid one er n'er--but i 'speck i done tole you 'bout dat." "oh, no, you have n't, uncle remus! you know you have n't!" the little boy exclaimed. "well, den, one day, atter so long a time, brer wolf en brer fox dey got ter 'sputin' 'longer one er n'er. brer wolf, he tuck'n 'buse brer fox kaze brer fox let brer rabbit fool 'im, en den brer fox, he tuck'n quol back at brer wolf, kaze brer wolf let ole man rabbit lakwise fool 'im. dey keep on 'sputin' en 'sputin', twel bimeby dey clinch, en brer wolf, bein' de bigges' man, 't would n't a bin long 'fo' he'd a wool brer fox, but brer fox, he watch he chance, he did, en he gin 'im leg bail." "gave him what, uncle remus?" "gin 'im leg bail, honey. he juk loose fum brer wolf, brer fox did, en, gentermens, he des mosey thoo de woods. brer wolf, he tuck atter 'm, he did, en dar dey had it, en brer wolf push brer fox so close, dat de onliest way brer fox kin save he hide is ter fine a hole some'rs, en de fus' holler tree dat he come 'cross, inter it he dove. brer wolf fetcht a grab at 'im, but he wuz des in time fer ter be too late. "den brer wolf, he sot dar, he did, en he study en study how he gwine git brer fox out, en brer fox, he lay in dar, he did, en he study en study w'at brer wolf gwine do. bimeby, brer wolf, he tuck'n gedder up a whole lot er chunks, en rocks, en sticks, en den he tuck'n fill up de hole what brer fox went in so brer fox can't git out. w'iles dis wuz gwine on, ole brer tukky buzzud, he wuz sailin' 'roun' 'way up in de elements, wid he eye peel fer bizness, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he glance lit on brer wolf, en he 'low ter hisse'f, sezee: "'i'll des sorter flop down,' sezee, 'en look inter dis, kaze ef brer wolf hidin' he dinner dar wid de expeck'shun er findin' it dar w'en he come back, den he done gone en put it in de wrong place,' sezee. "wid dat ole brer tukky buzzud, he flop down en sail 'roun' nigher, en he soon see dat brer wolf aint hidin' no dinner. den he flop down furder, ole brer buzzud did, twel he lit on de top er de holler tree. brer wolf, he done kotch a glimpse er ole brer buzzud shadder, but he keep on puttin' chunks en rocks in de holler. den, present'y, brer buzzud, he open up: "'w'at you doin' dar, brer wolf?' "'makin' a toom-stone, brer buzzud.' "co'se brer buzzud sorter feel like he got intruss in marters like dis, en he holler back: "'who dead now, brer wolf?' "'wunner yo' 'quaintance, w'ich he name brer fox, brer buzzud.' "'w'en he die, brer wolf?' "'he aint dead yit, but he won't las' long in yer, brer buzzud.' "brer wolf, he keep on, he did, twel he done stop up de hole good, en den he bresh de trash off'n his cloze, en put out fer home. brer tukky buzzud, he sot up dar, he did, en ontankle his tail fedders, en lissen en lissen, but brer fox, he keep dark, en brer buzzud aint year nuthin'. den brer buzzud, he flop he wings en sail away. "bimeby, nex' day, bright en early, yer he come back, en he sail all 'roun' en 'roun' de tree, but brer fox he lay low en keep dark, en brer buzzud aint year nuthin'. atter w'ile, brer buzzud he sail 'roun' ag'in, en dis time he sing, en de song w'at he sing is dish yer: "'_boo, boo, boo, my filler-mer-loo, man out yer wid news fer you!_' den he sail all 'roun' en 'roun' n'er time en listen, en bimeby he year brer fox sing back: "'_go 'way, go 'way, my little jug er beer, de news you bring, i yeard las' year._'" "beer, uncle remus? what kind of beer did they have then?" the little boy inquired. "now, den, honey, youer gittin' me up in a close cornder," responded the old man, in an unusually serious tone. "beer is de way de tale runs, but w'at kinder beer it moughter bin aint come down ter me--en yit hit seem lak i year talk some'rs dat dish yer beer wuz mos' prins'ply 'simmon beer." this seemed to satisfy the small but exacting audience, and uncle remus continued: "so, den, w'en brer buzzud year brer fox sing back, he 'low he aint dead, en wid dat, brer buzzud, he sail off en 'ten' ter he yuther business. nex' day back he come, en brer fox, he sing back, he did, des ez lively ez a cricket in de ashes, en it keep on dis way twel brer fox stomach 'gun ter pinch him, en den he know dat he gotter study up some kinder plans fer ter git out fum dar. n'er day pass, en brer fox, he tuck'n lay low, en it keep on dat a-way twel hit look like ter brer fox, pent up in dar, he mus' sholy pe'sh. las', one day brer buzzud come sailin' all 'roun' en 'roun' wid dat "'_boo, boo, boo, my filler-mer-loo_,' but brer fox, he keep dark en brer buzzud, he tuck'n spishun dat brer fox wuz done dead. brer buzzud, he keep on singin', en brer fox he keep on layin' low, twel bimeby brer buzzud lit en 'gun ter cle'r 'way de trash en truck fum de holler. he hop up, he did, en tuck out one chunk, en den he hop back en lissen, but brer fox stay still. den brer buzzud hop up en tuck out n'er chunk, en den hop back en lissen, en all dis time brer fox mouf 'uz waterin' w'iles he lay back in dar en des nat'ally honed atter brer buzzud. hit went on dis a-way, twel des 'fo' he got de hole unkivvud, brer fox, he break out he did, en grab brer buzzud by de back er de neck. dey wuz a kinder scuffle 'mongs' um, but 't wa'n't fer long, en dat wuz de las' er ole brer tukky buzzud." xix the moon in the mill-pond one night when the little boy made his usual visit to uncle remus, he found the old man sitting up in his chair fast asleep. the child said nothing. he was prepared to exercise a good deal of patience upon occasion, and the occasion was when he wanted to hear a story. but, in making himself comfortable, he aroused uncle remus from his nap. "i let you know, honey," said the old man, adjusting his spectacles, and laughing rather sheepishly,--"i let you know, honey, w'en i gits my head r'ar'd back dat a-way, en my eyeleds shot, en my mouf open, en my chin p'intin' at de rafters, den dey's some mighty quare gwines on in my min'. dey is dat, des ez sho' ez youer settin' dar. w'en i fus' year you comin' down de paf," uncle remus continued, rubbing his beard thoughtfully, "i 'uz sorter fear'd you mought 'spicion dat i done gone off on my journeys fer ter see ole man nod." this was accompanied by a glance of inquiry, to which the little boy thought it best to respond. "well, uncle remus," he said, "i did think i heard you snoring when i came in." "now you see dat!" exclaimed uncle remus, in a tone of grieved astonishment; "you see dat! man can't lean hisse'f 'pun his 'membunce, 'ceppin' dey's some un fer ter come high-primin' 'roun' en 'lowin' dat he done gone ter sleep. _shoo!_ w'en you stept in dat do' dar i 'uz right in 'mungs some mighty quare notions--mighty quare notions. dey aint no two ways; ef i uz ter up en let on 'bout all de notions w'at i gits in 'mungs, folks 'ud hatter come en kyar me off ter de place whar dey puts 'stracted people. "atter i sop up my supper," uncle remus went on, "i tuck'n year some flutterments up dar 'mungs de rafters, en i look up, en dar wuz a bat sailin' 'roun'. 'roun' en 'roun', en 'roun' she go--und' de rafters, 'bove de rafters--en ez she sail she make noise lak she grittin' 'er toofies. now, w'at dat bat atter, i be bless ef i kin tell you, but dar she wuz; 'roun' en 'roun', over en under. i ax 'er w'at do she want up dar, but she aint got no time fer ter tell; 'roun' en 'roun', en over en under. en bimeby, out she flip, en i boun' she grittin' 'er toofies en gwine 'roun' en 'roun' out dar, en dodgin' en flippin' des lak de elements wuz full er rafters en cobwebs. "w'en she flip out i le'nt my head back, i did, en 't wa'n't no time 'fo' i git mix up wid my notions. dat bat wings so limber en 'er will so good dat she done done 'er day's work dar 'fo' you could 'er run ter de big house en back. de bat put me in min' er folks," continued uncle remus, settling himself back in his chair, "en folks put me in min' er de creeturs." immediately the little boy was all attention. "dey wuz times," said the old man, with something like a sigh, "w'en de creeturs 'ud segashuate tergedder des like dey aint had no fallin' out. dem wuz de times w'en ole brer rabbit 'ud 'ten 'lak he gwine quit he 'havishness, en dey'd all go 'roun' des lak dey b'long ter de same fambly connexion. "one time atter dey bin gwine in cohoots dis a-way, brer rabbit 'gun ter feel his fat, he did, en dis make 'im git projecky terreckly. de mo' peace w'at dey had, de mo' wuss brer rabbit feel, twel bimeby he git restless in de min'. w'en de sun shine he'd go en lay off in de grass en kick at de gnats, en nibble at de mullen stalk en waller in de san'. one night atter supper, w'iles he 'uz romancin' 'roun', he run up wid ole brer tarrypin, en atter dey shuck han's dey sot down on de side er de road en run on 'bout ole times. dey talk en dey talk, dey did, en bimeby brer rabbit say it done come ter dat pass whar he bleedz ter have some fun, en brer tarrypin 'low dat brer rabbit des de ve'y man he bin lookin' fer. "'well den,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'we'll des put brer fox, en brer wolf, en brer b'ar on notice, en termorrer night we'll meet down by de mill-pon' en have a little fishin' frolic. i'll do de talkin',' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en you kin set back en say _yea_,' sezee. "brer tarrypin laugh. "'ef i aint dar,' sezee, 'den you may know de grasshopper done fly 'way wid me,' sezee. "'en you neenter bring no fiddle, n'er,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'kaze dey aint gwineter be no dancin' dar,' sezee. "wid dat," continued uncle remus, "brer rabbit put out fer home, en went ter bed, en brer tarrypin bruise 'roun' en make his way todes de place so he kin be dar 'gin de 'p'inted time. "nex' day brer rabbit sont wud ter de yuther creeturs, en dey all make great 'miration, kaze dey aint think 'bout dis deyse'f. brer fox, he 'low, he did, dat he gwine atter miss meadows en miss motts, en de yuther gals. "sho' nuff, w'en de time come dey wuz all dar. brer b'ar, he fotch a hook en line; brer wolf, he fotch a hook en line; brer fox, he fotch a dip-net, en brer tarrypin, not ter be outdone, he fotch de bait." "what did miss meadows and miss motts bring?" the little boy asked. uncle remus dropped his head slightly to one side, and looked over his spectacles at the little boy. "miss meadows en miss motts," he continued, "dey tuck'n stan' way back fum de aidge er de pon' en squeal eve'y time brer tarrypin shuck de box er bait at um. brer b'ar 'low he gwine ter fish fer mud-cats; brer wolf 'low he gwine ter fish fer horneyheads; brer fox 'low he gwine ter fish fer peerch fer de ladies; brer tarrypin 'low he gwine ter fish fer minners, en brer rabbit wink at brer tarrypin en 'low he gwine ter fish fer suckers. "dey all git ready, dey did, en brer rabbit march up ter de pon' en make fer ter th'ow he hook in de water, but des 'bout dat time hit seem lak he see sump'n'. de t'er creeturs, dey stop en watch his motions. brer rabbit, he drap he pole, he did, en he stan' dar scratchin' he head en lookin' down in de water. "de gals dey 'gun ter git oneasy w'en dey see dis, en miss meadows, she up en holler out, she did: "'law, brer rabbit, w'at de name er goodness de marter in dar?' "brer rabbit scratch he head en look in de water. miss motts, she hilt up 'er petticoats, she did, en 'low she monst'us fear'd er snakes. brer rabbit keep on scratchin' en lookin'. "bimeby he fetch a long bref, he did, en he 'low: "'ladies en gentermuns all, we des might ez well make tracks fum dish yer place, kaze dey aint no fishin' in dat pon' fer none er dish yer crowd.' "wid dat, brer tarrypin, he scramble up ter de aidge en look over, en he shake he head, en 'low: "'tooby sho'--tooby sho'! tut-tut-tut!' en den he crawl back, he did, en do lak he wukkin' he min'. "'don't be skeert, ladies, kaze we er boun' ter take keer un you, let come w'at will, let go w'at mus',' sez brer rabbit, sezee. 'accidents got ter happen unter we all, des same ez dey is unter yuther folks; en dey aint nuthin' much de marter, 'ceppin' dat de moon done drap in de water. ef you don't b'leeve me you kin look fer yo'se'f,' sezee. "wid dat dey all went ter de bank en lookt in; en, sho' nuff, dar lay de moon, a-swingin' an' a-swayin' at de bottom er de pon'." the little boy laughed. he had often seen the reflection of the sky in shallow pools of water, and the startling depths that seemed to lie at his feet had caused him to draw back with a shudder. "brer fox, he look in, he did, en he 'low, 'well, well, well!' brer wolf, he look in, en he 'low, 'mighty bad, mighty bad!' brer b'ar, he look in, en he 'low, 'tum, tum, tum!' de ladies dey look in, en miss meadows she squall out, 'aint dat too much?' brer rabbit, he look in ag'in, en he up en 'low, he did: "'ladies en gentermuns, you all kin hum en haw, but less'n we gits dat moon out er de pon', dey aint no fish kin be ketch 'roun' yer dis night; en ef you'll ax brer tarrypin, he'll tell you de same.' "den dey ax how kin dey git de moon out er dar, den brer tarrypin 'low dey better lef' dat wid brer rabbit. brer rabbit he shot he eyes, he did, en make lak he wukkin' he min'. bimeby, he up'n 'low: "'de nighes' way out'n dish yer diffikil is fer ter sen' 'roun' yer to ole mr. mud-turkle en borry his sane, en drag dat moon up fum dar,' sezee. "'i 'clar' ter gracious i mighty glad you mention dat,' says brer tarrypin, sezee. 'mr. mud-turkle is setch clos't kin ter me dat i calls 'im unk muck, en i lay ef you sen' dar atter dat sane you won't fine unk muck so mighty disaccomerdatin'.' "well," continued uncle remus, after one of his tantalizing pauses, "dey sont atter de sane, en w'iles brer rabbit wuz gone, brer tarrypin, he 'low dat he done year tell time en time ag'in dat dem w'at fine de moon in de water en fetch 'im out, lakwise dey ull fetch out a pot er money. dis make brer fox, en brer wolf, en brer b'ar feel mighty good, en dey 'low, dey did, dat long ez brer rabbit been so good ez ter run atter de sane, dey ull do de sanein'. "time brer rabbit git back, he see how de lan' lay, en he make lak he wanter go in atter de moon. he pull off he coat, en he 'uz fixin' fer ter shuck he wescut, but de yuther creeturs dey 'low dey wa'n't gwine ter let dryfoot man lak brer rabbit go in de water. so brer fox, he tuck holt er one staff er de sane, brer wolf he tuck holt er de yuther staff, en brer b'ar he wade 'long behime fer ter lif' de sane 'cross logs en snags. "dey make one haul--no moon; n'er haul--no moon; n'er haul--no moon. den bimeby dey git out furder fum de bank. water run in brer fox year, he shake he head; water run in brer wolf year, he shake he head; water run in brer b'ar year, he shake he head. en de fus' news you know, w'iles dey wuz a-shakin', dey come to whar de bottom shelfed off. brer fox he step off en duck hisse'f; den brer wolf duck hisse'f; en brer b'ar he make a splunge en duck hisse'f; en, bless gracious, dey kick en splatter twel it look lak dey 'uz gwine ter slosh all de water outer de mill-pon'. "w'en dey come out, de gals 'uz all a-snickerin' en a-gigglin', en dey well mought, 'kaze go whar you would, dey wa'n't no wuss lookin' creeturs dan dem; en brer rabbit, he holler, sezee: "'i 'speck you all, gents, better go home en git some dry duds, en n'er time we'll be in better luck,' sezee. 'i hear talk dat de moon'll bite at a hook ef you take fools fer baits, en i lay dat 's de onliest way fer ter ketch 'er,' sezee. "brer fox en brer wolf en brer b'ar went drippin' off, en brer rabbit en brer tarrypin, dey went home wid de gals." xx brother rabbit takes some exercise one night while the little boy was sitting in uncle remus's cabin, waiting for the old man to finish his hoe-cake, and refresh his memory as to the further adventures of brother rabbit, his friends and his enemies, something dropped upon the top of the house with a noise like the crack of a pistol. the little boy jumped, but uncle remus looked up and exclaimed, "ah-yi!" in a tone of triumph. "what was that, uncle remus?" the child asked, after waiting a moment to see what else would happen. "news fum jack fros', honey. w'en dat hick'y-nut tree out dar year 'im comin' she 'gins ter drap w'at she got. i mighty glad," he continued, scraping the burnt crust from his hoe-cake with an old case-knife, "i mighty glad hick'y-nuts aint big en heavy ez grinestones." he waited a moment to see what effect this queer statement would have on the child. "yasser, i mighty glad--dat i is. 'kaze ef hick'y-nuts 'uz big ez grinestones dish yer ole callyboose 'ud be a-leakin' long 'fo' chris'mus." just then another hickory-nut dropped upon the roof, and the little boy jumped again. this seemed to amuse uncle remus, and he laughed until he was near to choking himself with his smoking hoe-cake. "you does des 'zackly lak ole brer rabbit done, i 'clar' to gracious ef you don't!" the old man cried, as soon as he could get his breath; "dez zackly fer de worl'." the child was immensely flattered, and at once he wanted to know how brother rabbit did. uncle remus was in such good humor that he needed no coaxing. he pushed his spectacles back on his forehead, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and began: "hit come 'bout dat soon one mawnin' todes de fall er de year, brer rabbit wuz stirrin' 'roun' in de woods atter some bergamot fer ter make 'im some h'ar-grease. de win' blow so col' dat it make 'im feel right frisky, en eve'y time he year de bushes rattle he make lak he skeerd. he 'uz gwine on dis a-way, hoppity-skippity, w'en bimeby he year mr. man cuttin' on a tree way off in de woods. he fotch up, brer rabbit did, en lissen fus' wid one year en den wid de yuther. "man, he cut en cut, en brer rabbit, he lissen en lissen. bimeby, w'iles all dis was gwine on, down come de tree--_kubber-lang-bang-blam!_ brer rabbit, he tuck'n jump des lak you jump, en let 'lone dat, he make a break, he did, en he lipt out fum dar lak de dogs wuz atter 'im." "was he scared, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "skeerd! who? _him?_ shoo! don't you fret yo'se'f 'bout brer rabbit, honey. in dem days dey wa'n't nothin' gwine dat kin skeer brer rabbit. tooby sho', he tuck keer hisse'f, en ef you know de man w'at 'fuse ter take keer hisse'f, i lak mighty well ef you p'int 'im out. deed'n dat i would!" uncle remus seemed to boil over with argumentative indignation. "well, den," he continued, "brer rabbit run twel he git sorter het up like, en des 'bout de time he makin' ready fer ter squot en ketch he win', who should he meet but brer coon gwine home atter settin' up wid ole brer bull-frog. brer coon see 'im runnin', en he hail 'im. "'w'at yo' hurry, brer rabbit?' "'aint got time ter tarry.' "'folks sick?' "'no, my lord! aint got time ter tarry!' "'tryin' yo' soopleness?' "'no, my lord! aint got time ter tarry!' "'do pray, brer rabbit, tell me de news!' "'mighty big fuss back dar in de woods. aint got time ter tarry!' "dis make brer coon feel mighty skittish, 'kaze he fur ways fum home, en he des lipt out, he did, en went a-b'ilin' thoo de woods. brer coon aint gone fur twel he meet brer fox. "'hey, brer coon, whar you gwine?' "'aint got time ter tarry!' "'gwine at'-de doctor?' "'no, my lord! aint got time ter tarry.' "'do pray, brer coon, tell me de news.' "'mighty quare racket back dar in de woods! aint got time ter tarry!' [illustration: brother rabbit takes some exercise] "wid dat, brer fox lipt out, he did, en fa'rly split de win'. he aint gone fur twel he meet brer wolf. "'hey, brer fox! stop en res' yo'se'f!' "'aint got time ter tarry!' "'who bin want de doctor?' "'no'ne, my lord! aint got time ter tarry!' "'do pray, brer fox, good er bad, tell me de news.' "'mighty kuse fuss back dar in de woods! aint got time ter tarry!' "wid dat, brer wolf shuck hisse'f loose fum de face er de yeth, en he aint git fur twel he meet brer b'ar. brer b'ar he ax, en brer wolf make ans'er, en bimeby brer b'ar he fotch a snort en run'd off; en, bless gracious! 't wa'n't long 'fo' de las' one er de creeturs wuz a-skaddlin' thoo de woods lak de ole boy was atter um--en all 'kaze brer rabbit year mr. man cut tree down. "dey run'd en dey run'd," uncle remus went on, "twel dey come ter brer tarrypin house, en dey sorter slack up 'kaze dey done mighty nigh los' der win'. brer tarrypin, he up'n ax um wharbouts dey gwine, en dey 'low dey wuz a monst'us tarryfyin' racket back dar in de woods. brer tarrypin, he ax w'at she soun' lak. one say he dunno, n'er say he dunno, den dey all say dey dunno. den brer tarrypin, he up'n ax who year dis monst'us racket. one say he dunno, n'er say he dunno, den dey all say dey dunno. dis make ole brer tarrypin laff 'way down in he insides, en he up'n say, sezee: "you all kin run 'long ef you feel skittish,' sezee. 'atter i cook my brekkus en wash up de dishes, ef i gits win' er any 'spicious racket may be i mought take down my pairsol en foller long atter you,' sezee. "w'en de creeturs come ter make inquirements 'mungs one er n'er 'bout who start de news, hit went right spang back ter brer rabbit, but, lo en beholes! brer rabbit aint dar, en it tu'n out dat brer coon is de man w'at seed 'im las'. den dey got ter layin' de blame un it on one er n'er, en little mo' en dey'd er fit dar scan'lous, but ole brer tarrypin, he up'n 'low dat ef dey want ter git de straight un it, dey better go see brer rabbit. "all de creeturs wuz 'gree'ble, en dey put out ter brer rabbit house. w'en dey git dar, brer rabbit wuz a-settin' cross-legged in de front po'ch winkin' he eye at de sun. brer b'ar, he speak up: "'w'at make you fool me, brer rabbit?' "'fool who, brer b'ar?' "'me, brer rabbit, dat 's who.' "'dish yer de fus' time i seed you dis day, brer b'ar, en you er mo' dan welcome ter dat.' "dey all ax 'im en git de same ans'er, en den brer coon put in: "'w'at make you fool me, brer rabbit?' "'how i fool you, brer coon?' "'you make lak dey wuz a big racket, brer rabbit.' "'dey sholy wuz a big racket, brer coon.' "'w'at kinder racket, brer rabbit?' "'_ah-yi!_ you oughter ax me dat fus', brer coon.' "'i axes you now, brer rabbit.' "'mr. man cut tree down, brer coon.' "co'se dis make brer coon feel like a nat'al-born slink, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' all de creeturs make der bow ter brer rabbit en mosey off home." "brother rabbit had the best of it all along," said the little boy, after waiting to see whether there was a sequel to the story. "oh, he did dat a-way!" exclaimed uncle remus. "brer rabbit was a mighty man in dem days." xxi why brother bear has no tail "i 'clar' ter gracious, honey," uncle remus exclaimed one night, as the little boy ran in, "you sholy aint chaw'd yo' vittles. hit aint bin no time, skacely, sence de supper-bell rung, en ef you go on dis a-way, you'll des nat'ally pe'sh yo'se'f out." "oh, i wasn't hungry," said the little boy. "i had something before supper, and i wasn't hungry anyway." the old man looked keenly at the child, and presently he said: "de ins en de outs er dat kinder talk all come ter de same p'int in my min'. youer bin a-cuttin' up at de table, en mars john, he tuck'n sont you 'way fum dar, en w'iles he think youer off some'rs a-snifflin' en a-feelin' bad, yer you is a-high-primin' 'roun' des lak you done had mo' supper dan de king er philanders." before the little boy could inquire about the king of philanders he heard his father calling him. he started to go out, but uncle remus motioned him back. "des set right whar you is, honey,--des set right still." then uncle remus went to the door and answered for the child; and a very queer answer it was--one that could be heard half over the plantation: "mars john, i wish you en miss sally be so good ez ter let dat chile 'lone. he down yer cryin' he eyes out, en he aint bodderin' 'long er nobody in de roun' worl'." uncle remus stood in the door a moment to see what the reply would be, but he heard none. thereupon he continued, in the same loud tone: "i aint bin use ter no sich gwines on in ole miss time, en i aint gwine git use ter it now. dat i aint." presently 'tildy, the house-girl, brought the little boy his supper, and the girl was no sooner out of hearing than the child swapped it with uncle remus for a roasted yam, and the enjoyment of both seemed to be complete. "uncle remus," said the little boy, after a while, "you know i wasn't crying just now." "dat 's so, honey," the old man replied, "but 't would n't er bin long 'fo' you would er bin, kaze mars john bawl out lak a man w'at got a strop in he han', so w'at de diff'unce?" when they had finished eating, uncle remus busied himself in cutting and trimming some sole-leather for future use. his knife was so keen, and the leather fell away from it so smoothly and easily, that the little boy wanted to trim some himself. but to this uncle remus would not listen. "'t aint on'y chilluns w'at got de consate er doin' eve'ything dey see yuther folks do. hit 's grown folks w'at oughter know better," said the old man. "dat 's des de way brer b'ar git his tail broke off smick-smack-smoove, en down ter dis day he de funnies'-lookin' creetur w'at wobble on top er dry groun'." instantly the little boy forgot all about uncle remus's sharp knife. "hit seem lak dat in dem days brer rabbit en brer tarrypin done gone in cohoots fer ter outdo de t'er creeturs. one time brer rabbit tuck'n make a call on brer tarrypin, but w'en he git ter brer tarrypin house, he year talk fum miss tarrypin dat her ole man done gone fer ter spen' de day wid mr. mud-turkle, w'ich dey wuz blood kin. brer rabbit he put out atter brer tarrypin, en w'en he got ter mr. mud-turkle house, dey all sot up, dey did, en tole tales, en den w'en twelf er'clock come dey had crawfish fer dinner, en dey 'joy deyse'f right erlong. atter dinner dey went down ter mr. mud-turkle mill-pon', en w'en dey git dar mr. mud-turkle en brer tarrypin dey 'muse deyse'f, dey did, wid slidin' fum de top uv a big slantin' rock down inter de water. "i 'speck you moughter seen rocks in de water 'fo' now, whar dey git green en slipp'y," said uncle remus. the little boy had not only seen them, but had found them to be very dangerous to walk upon, and the old man continued: "well, den, dish yer rock wuz mighty slick en mighty slantin'. mr. mud-turkle, he'd crawl ter de top, en tu'n loose, en go a-sailin' down inter de water--_kersplash!_ ole brer tarrypin, he'd foller atter, en slide down inter de water--_kersplash!_ ole brer rabbit, he sot off, he did, en praise um up. "w'iles dey wuz a-gwine on dis a-way, a-havin' der fun, en 'joyin' deyse'f, yer come ole brer b'ar. he year um laffin' en holl'in', en he hail um. "'heyo, folks! w'at all dis? ef my eye aint 'ceive me, dish yer's brer rabbit, en brer tarrypin, en ole unk' tommy mud-turkle,' sez brer b'ar, sezee. "'de same,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en yer we is 'joyin' de day dat passes des lak dey wa'n't no hard times.' "'well, well, well!' sez ole brer b'ar, sezee, 'a-slippin' en a-slidin' en makin' free! en w'at de matter wid brer rabbit dat he aint j'inin' in?' sezee. "ole brer rabbit he wink at brer tarrypin, en brer tarrypin he hunch mr. mud-turkle, en den brer rabbit he up'n 'low, he did: "'my goodness, brer b'ar! you can't 'speck a man fer ter slip en slide de whole blessid day, kin you? i done had my fun, en now i'm a-settin' out yer lettin' my cloze dry. hit 's tu'n en tu'n about wid me en deze gents w'en dey's any fun gwine on,' sezee. "'maybe brer b'ar might jine in wid us,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee. [illustration: why brother bear has no tail] "brer rabbit he des holler en laff. "'shoo!' sezee, 'brer b'ar foot too big en he tail too long fer ter slide down dat rock,' sezee. "dis kinder put brer b'ar on he mettle, en he up'n 'spon', he did: "'maybe dey is, en maybe dey aint, yit i aint a-feared ter try.' "wid dat de yuthers tuck'n made way fer 'im, en ole brer b'ar he git up on de rock, he did, en squot down on he hunkers, en quile he tail und' 'im, en start down. fus' he go sorter slow, en he grin lak he feel good; den he go sorter peart, en he grin lak he feel bad; den he go mo' pearter, en he grin lak he skeerd; den he strack de slick part, en, gentermens! he swaller de grin en fetch a howl dat moughter bin yeard a mile, en he hit de water lak a chimbly a-fallin'. "you kin gimme denial," uncle remus continued after a little pause, "but des ez sho' ez you er settin' dar, w'en brer b'ar slick'd up en flew down dat rock, he break off he tail right smick-smack-smoove, en mo'n dat, w'en he make his disappear'nce up de big road, brer rabbit holler out: "'brer b'ar!--o brer b'ar! i year tell dat flaxseed poultices is mighty good fer so' places!' "yit brer b'ar aint look back." xxii how brother rabbit frightened his neighbors when uncle remus was in a good humor he turned the most trifling incidents into excuses for amusing the little boy with his stories. one night while he was hunting for a piece of candle on the shelf that took the place of a mantel over the fireplace, he knocked down a tin plate. it fell upon the hearth with a tremendous clatter. "dar now!" exclaimed uncle remus. "hit 's a blessin' dat dat ar platter is got mo' backbone dan de common run er crockery, 'kaze 't would er bin bust all ter flinderations long time ago. dat ar platter is got dents on it w'at miss sally put dar w'en she 'uz a little bit er gal. yet dar 't is, en right dis minnit hit'll hol' mo' vittles dan w'at i got ter put in it. "i lay," the old man continued, leaning his hand against the chimney and gazing at the little boy reflectively,--"i lay ef de creeturs had a bin yer w'iles all dat clatterment gwine on dey'd a lef' bidout tellin' anybody good-bye. all 'ceppin' brer rabbit. bless yo' soul, he'd er stayed fer ter see de fun, des lak he did dat t'er time w'en he skeer um all so. i 'speck i done tole you 'bout dat." "when he got the honey on him and rolled in the leaves?" uncle remus thought a moment. "ef i make no mistakes in my 'membunce, dat wuz de time w'en he call hisse'f de wull-er-de-wust." the little boy corroborated uncle remus's memory. "well, den, dish yer wuz n'er time, en he lak ter skeer um plum out'n de settlement. en it all come 'bout 'kaze dey wanter play smarty." "who wanted to play smarty, uncle remus?" asked the child. "oh, des dem t'er creeturs. dey wuz allers a-layin' traps fer brer rabbit en gittin' cotch in um deyse'f, en dey wuz allers a-pursooin' atter 'im day in en day out. i aint 'nyin' but w'at some er brer rabbit pranks wuz mighty ha'sh, but w'y'n't dey let 'im 'lone deyse'f?" naturally, the little boy was not prepared to meet these arguments, even had their gravity been less impressive, so he said nothing. "in dem days," uncle remus went on, "de creeturs wuz same lak folks. dey had der ups en dey had der downs; dey had der hard times, and dey had der saf' times. some seasons der craps 'ud be good, en some seasons dey'd be bad. brer rabbit, he far'd lak de res' un um. w'at he'd make, dat he'd spen'. one season he tuck'n made a fine chance er goobers, en he 'low, he did, dat ef dey fetch 'im anywhars nigh de money w'at he 'speck dey would, he go ter town en buy de truck w'at needcessity call fer. "he aint no sooner say dat dan ole miss rabbit, she vow, she did, dat it be a scannul en a shame ef he don't whirl in en git sevin tin cups fer de chilluns fer ter drink out'n, en sevin tin plates fer 'm fer ter sop out 'n, en a coffee-pot fer de fambly. brer rabbit say dat des zackly w'at he gwine do, en he 'low, he did, dat he gwine ter town de comin' we'n'sday." uncle remus paused, and indulged in a hearty laugh before he resumed: "brer rabbit wa'n't mo'n out'n de gate 'fo' miss rabbit, she slap on 'er bonnet, she did, en rush 'cross ter miss mink house, en she aint bin dar a minnit 'fo' she up'n tell miss mink dat brer rabbit done promise ter go ter town we'n'sday comin' en git de chilluns sump'n'. co'se, w'en mr. mink come home, miss mink she up'n 'low she want ter know w'at de reason he can't buy sump'n' fer his chilluns same ez brer rabbit do fer his'n, en dey quo'll en quo'll des lak folks. atter dat miss mink she kyar de news ter miss fox, en den brer fox he tuk'n got a rakin' over de coals. miss fox she tell miss wolf, en miss wolf she tell miss b'ar, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' ev'ybody in dem diggin's know dat brer rabbit gwine ter town de comin' we'n'sday fer ter git his chilluns sump'n'; en all de yuther creeturs' chilluns ax der ma w'at de reason der pa can't git _dem_ sump'n'. so dar it went. "brer fox, en brer wolf, en brer b'ar, dey make up der mines, dey did, dat ef dey gwine ter ketch up wid brer rabbit, dat wuz de time, en dey fix up a plan dat dey'd lay fer brer rabbit en nab 'im w'en he come back fum town. dey tuck'n make all der 'rangerments, en wait fer de day. "sho' nuff, w'en we'n'sday come, brer rabbit e't he brekkus 'fo' sun-up, en put out fer town. he tuck'n got hisse'f a dram, en a plug er terbarker, en a pocket-hankcher, en he got de ole 'oman a coffee-pot, en he got de chillun sevin tin cups en sevin tin plates, en den todes sundown he start back home. he walk 'long, he did, feelin' mighty biggity, but bimeby w'en he git sorter tired, he sot down und' a black-jack tree, en 'gun to fan hisse'f wid one er der platters. "w'iles he doin' dis a little bit er teenchy sap-sucker run up'n down de tree en keep on makin' mighty quare fuss. atter w'ile brer rabbit tuk'n shoo at 'im wid de platter. seem lak dis make de teenchy little sap-sucker mighty mad, en he rush out on a lim' right over brer rabbit, en he sing out: "'_pilly-pee, pilly-wee! i see w'at he no see! i see, pilly-pee, i see, w'at he no see!_' "he keep on singin' dis, he did, twel brer rabbit 'gun ter look 'roun', en he aint no sooner do dis dan he see marks in de san' whar sum un done bin dar 'fo' 'im, en he look little closer en den he see w'at de sap-sucker drivin' at. he scratch his head, brer rabbit did, en he 'low ter hisse'f: "'ah-yi! yer whar brer fox bin settin', en dar de print er he nice bushy tail. yer whar brer wolf bin settin', en dar de print er he fine long tail. yer whar brer b'ar bin squattin' on he hunkers, en dar de print w'ich he aint got no tail. dey er all bin yer, en i lay dey er hidin' out in de big gully down dar in de holler.' "wid dat, ole man rab. tuck'n put he truck in de bushes, en den he run 'way 'roun' fer ter see w'at he kin see. sho' nuff," continued uncle remus, with a curious air of elation,--"sho' nuff, w'en brer rabbit git over agin de big gully down in de holler, dar dey wuz. brer fox, he 'uz on one side er de road, en brer wolf 'uz on de t'er side; en ole brer b'ar he 'uz quiled up in de gully takin' a nap. "brer rabbit, he tuck'n peep at um, he did, en he lick he foot en roach back he h'ar, en den hol' his han's 'cross he mouf en laff lak some chilluns does w'en dey t'ink dey er foolin' der ma." "not me, uncle remus--not me!" exclaimed the little boy promptly. "heyo dar! don't kick 'fo' you er spurred, honey! brer rabbit, he seed um all dar, en he tuck'n grin, he did, en den he lit out ter whar he done lef he truck, en w'en he git dar he dance 'roun' en slap hisse'f on de leg, en make all sorts er kuse motions. den he go ter wuk en tu'n de coffee-pot upside down en stick it on he head; den he run he gallus thoo de han'les er de cups, en sling um crosst he shoulder; den he 'vide de platters, some in one han' en some in de yuther. atter he git good en ready, he crope ter de top er de hill, he did, en tuck a runnin' start, en flew down like a harrycane--_rickety, rackety, slambang!_" the little boy clapped his hands enthusiastically. "bless yo' soul, dem creeturs aint year no fuss lak dat, en dey aint seed no man w'at look lak brer rabbit do, wid de coffee-pot on he head, en de cups a-rattlin' on he gallus, en de platters a-wavin' en a-shinin' in de a'r. "now, mine you, ole brer b'ar wuz layin' off up de gully takin' a nap, en de fuss skeer 'im so bad dat he make a break en run over brer fox. he rush out in de road, he did, en w'en he see de sight, he whirl 'roun' en run over brer wolf. wid der scramblin' en der scufflin', brer rabbit got right on um 'fo' dey kin git away. he holler out, he did: "'gimme room! tu'n me loose! i'm ole man spewter-splutter wid long claws, en scales on my back! i'm snaggle-toofed en double-j'inted! gimme room!' "eve'y time he'd fetch a whoop, he'd rattle de cups en slap de platters tergedder--_rickety, rackety, slambang!_ en i let you know w'en dem creeturs got dey lim's tergedder dey split de win', dey did dat. ole brer b'ar, he struck a stump w'at stan' in de way, en i aint gwine tell you how he to' it up 'kaze you won't b'leeve me, but de nex' mawnin' brer rabbit en his chilluns went back dar, dey did, en dey got nuff splinters fer ter make um kin'lin' wood all de winter. yasser! des ez sho' ez i'm a-settin' by dish yer h'ath." xxiii mr. man has some meat the little boy sat watching uncle remus sharpen his shoe-knife. the old man's head moved in sympathy with his hands, and he mumbled fragments of a song. occasionally he would feel of the edge of the blade with his thumb, and then begin to sharpen it again. the comical appearance of the venerable darkey finally had its effect upon the child, for suddenly he broke into a hearty peal of laughter; whereupon uncle remus stopped shaking his head and singing his mumbly-song, and assumed a very dignified attitude. then he drew a long, deep breath, and said: "'w'en folks git ole en stricken wid de palsy, dey mus' 'speck ter be laff'd at. goodness knows, i bin use ter dat sence de day my whiskers 'gun to bleach." "why, i was n't laughing at you, uncle remus; i declare i was n't," cried the little boy. "i thought maybe you might be doing your head like brother rabbit did when he was fixing to cut his meat." uncle remus's seriousness was immediately driven away by a broad and appreciative grin. "now, dat de way ter talk, honey, en i boun' you wa'n't fur wrong, n'er, 'kaze fer all dey'll tell you dat brer rabbit make he livin' 'long er nibblin' at grass en greens, hit 't wa'n't dat a-way in dem days, 'kaze i got in my 'membunce right now de 'casion whar brer rabbit is tuck'n e't meat." the little boy had learned that it was not best to make any display of impatience, and so he waited quietly while uncle remus busied himself with arranging the tools on his shoe-bench. presently the old man began: "hit so happen dat one day brer rabbit meet up wid brer fox, en w'en dey 'quire atter der corporosity, dey fine out dat bofe un um mighty po'ly. brer fox, he 'low, he do, dat he monst'us hongry, en brer rabbit he 'spon' dat he got a mighty hankerin' atter vittles hisse'f. bimeby dey look up de big road, en dey see mr. man comin' 'long wid a great big hunk er beef und' he arm. brer fox he up 'n 'low, he did, dat he lak mighty well fer ter git a tas'e er dat, en brer rabbit he 'low dat de sight er dat nice meat all lineded wid taller is nuff fer ter run a body 'stracted. "mr. man he come en he come 'long. brer rabbit en brer fox dey look en dey look at 'im. dey wink der eye en der mouf water. brer rabbit he 'low he bleedz ter git some er dat meat. brer fox he 'spon', he did, dat it look mighty fur off ter him. den brer rabbit tell brer fox fer ter foller 'long atter 'im in hailin' distuns, en wid dat he put out, he did, en 't wa'nt long 'fo' he kotch up wid mr. man. "dey pass de time er day, en den dey went joggin' 'long de road same lak dey 'uz gwine 'pun a journey. brer rabbit he keep on snuffin' de a'r. mr. man up'n ax 'im is he got a bad cole, en brer rabbit 'spon' dat he smell sump'n' w'ich it don't smell like ripe peaches. bimeby, brer rabbit 'gun to hoi' he nose, he did, en atter w'ile he sing out: "'gracious en de goodness, mr. man! hit 's dat meat er yone. _phew!_ whar'bouts is you pick up dat meat at?' "dis make mr. man feel sorter 'shame' hisse'f, en ter make marters wuss, yer come a great big green fly a-zoonin' 'roun'. brer rabbit he git way off on t'er side er de road, en he keep on hol'in' he nose. mr. man, he look sorter sheepish, he did, en dey aint gone fur 'fo' he put de meat down on de side er de road, en he tuck'n ax brer rabbit w'at dey gwine do 'bout it. brer rabbit he 'low, he did: "'i year tell in my time dat ef you take'n drag a piece er meat thoo' de dus' hit'll fetch back hits freshness. i aint no superspicious man myse'f,' sezee, 'en i aint got no 'speunce wid no sech doin's, but dem w'at tell me say dey done try it. yit i knows dis,' says brer rabbit, sezee,--'i knows dat 't aint gwine do no harm, 'kaze de grit w'at gits on de meat kin be wash off,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "'i aint got no string,' sez mr. man, sezee. "brer rabbit laff hearty, but still he hol' he nose. "'time you bin in de bushes long ez i is, you won't miss strings,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "wid dat brer rabbit lipt out, en he aint gone long 'fo' he come hoppin' back wid a whole passel er bamboo vines all tied tergedder. mr. man, he 'low: "'dat line mighty long.' "brer rabbit he 'low: "'tooby sho', you want de win' fer ter git 'twix' you en dat meat.' "den mr. man tuck'n tied de bamboo line ter de meat. brer rabbit he broke off a 'simmon bush, he did, en 'low dat he'd stay behime en keep de flies off. mr. man he go on befo' en drag de meat, en brer rabbit he stay behime, he did, en take keer un it." here uncle remus was compelled to pause and laugh before he could proceed with the story. "en he is take keer un it, mon--dat he is. he tuck'n git 'im a rock, en w'iles mr. man gwine 'long bidout lookin' back, he ondo de meat en tie de rock ter de bamboo line, en w'en brer fox foller on, sho' nuff, dar lay de meat. mr. man, he drug de rock, he did, en brer rabbit he keep de flies off, twel atter dey gone on right smart piece, en den w'en mr. man look 'roun', whar wuz ole man rabbit? "bless yo' soul, brer rabbit done gone back en jine brer fox, en he wuz des in time, at dat, 'kaze little mo' en brer fox would 'a' done bin outer sight en yearin'. en so dat de way brer rabbit git mr. man meat." the little boy reflected a little, and then said: "uncle remus, was n't that stealing?" "well, i tell you 'bout dat, honey," responded the old man, with the air of one who is willing to compromise. "in dem days de creeturs bleedz ter look out fer deyse'f, mo' speshually dem w'at aint got hawn en huff. brer rabbit aint got no hawn en huff, en he bleedz ter be he own lawyer." just then the little boy heard his father's buggy rattling down the avenue, and he ran out into the darkness to meet it. after he was gone, uncle remus sat a long time rubbing his hands and looking serious. finally he leaned back in his chair, and exclaimed: "dat little chap gittin' too much fer ole remus--dat he is!" xxiv how brother rabbit got the meat when the little boy next visited uncle remus the cabin was dark and empty and the door shut. the old man was gone. he was absent for several nights, but at last one night the little boy saw a welcome light in the cabin, and he made haste to pay uncle remus a visit. he was full of questions: "goodness, uncle remus! where in the world have you been? i thought you were gone for good. mamma said she reckoned the treatment here did n't suit you, and you had gone off to get some of your town friends to hire you." "is miss sally tell you dat, honey? well, ef she aint de beatenes' w'ite 'oman dis side er kingdom come, you kin des shoot me. miss sally tuck'n writ me a pass wid her own han's fer ter go see some er my kin down dar in de ashbank settlement. yo' mammy quare 'oman, honey, sho'! "en yit, w'at de good er my stayin' yer? t'er night, i aint mo'n git good en started 'fo' you er up en gone, en i aint seed ha'r ner hide un you sence. w'en i see you do dat, i 'low ter myse'f dat hit 's des 'bout time fer ole man remus fer ter pack up he duds en go hunt comp'ny some'r's else." "well, uncle remus," exclaimed the little boy, in a tone of expostulation, "did n't brother fox get the meat, and was n't that the end of the story?" uncle remus started to laugh, but he changed his mind so suddenly that the little boy was convulsed. the old man groaned and looked at the rafters with a curious air of disinterestedness. after a while he went on with great seriousness: "i dunner w'at kinder idee folks got 'bout brer rabbit nohow, dat i don't. s'pozen you lays de plans so some yuther chap kin git a big hunk er goody, is you gwine ter set off some'r's en see 'im make way wid it?" "what kind of goody, uncle remus?" "dish yer kinder goody w'at town folks keeps. mint draps and reezins, en sweet doin's lak miss sally keep und' lock en key. well, den, if you gits some er dat, er may be some yuther kinder goody, w'ich i wish 't wuz yer right dis blessid minnit, is you gwine ter set quile up in dat cheer en let n'er chap run off wid it? dat you aint--dat you aint!" "oh, i know!" exclaimed the little boy. "brother rabbit went back and made brother fox give him his part of the meat." "des lak i tell you, honey; dey wa'n't no man 'mungs de creeturs w'at kin stan' right flat-footed en wuk he min' quick lak brer rabbit. he tuck'n tie de rock on de string, stidder de meat, en he pursue long atter it, he did, twel mr. man tu'n a ben' in de road, en den brer rabbit, he des lit out fum dar--_terbuckity-buckity, buck-buck-buckity!_ en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he tuck'n kotch up wid brer fox. dey tuck de meat, dey did, en kyar'd it way off in de woods, en laid it down on a clean place on de groun'. "dey laid it down, dey did," continued uncle remus, drawing his chair up closer to the little boy, "en den brer fox 'low dey better sample it, en brer rabbit he 'gree. wid dat, brer fox he tuck'n gnyaw off a hunk, en he shut bofe eyes, he did, en he chaw en chaw, en tas'e en tas'e, en chaw en tas'e. brer rabbit, he watch 'im, but brer fox, he keep bofe eyes shot, en he chaw en tas'e, en tas'e en chaw." uncle remus not only furnished a pantomime accompaniment to this recital by shutting his eyes and pretending to taste, but he lowered his voice to a pitch of tragical significance in reporting the dialogue that ensued: "den brer fox smack he mouf en look at de meat mo' closeter, en up'n 'low: "'brer rabbit, _hit 's lam'!_' "'_no_, brer fox! _sho'ly not!_' "'brer rabbit, _hit 's lam'!_' "'brer fox, _tooby sho'ly not!_' "den brer rabbit, he tuck'n gnyaw off a hunk, en he shot bofe eyes, en chaw en tas'e, en tas'e en chaw. den he smack he mouf, en up'n 'low: "'brer fox, _hit 's shote!_' "'brer rabbit, you foolin' me!' "'brer fox, _i vow hit 's shote!_' "'brer rabbit, hit des _can't be!_' "'brer fox, _hit sho'ly is!_' "dey tas'e en dey 'spute, en dey 'spute en dey tas'e. atter w'ile, brer rabbit make lak he want some water, en he rush off in de bushes, en d'reckly yer he come back wipin' he mouf en cle'rin' up he th'oat. den brer fox he want some water sho' nuff: "'brer rabbit, whar you fin' de spring?' "'cross de road, en down de hill en up de big gully.' "brer fox, he lope off, he did, en atter he gone brer rabbit totch he year wid he behime foot lak he flippin' 'im good-bye. brer fox, he cross de road en rush down de hill, he did, yit he aint fin' no big gully. he keep on gwine twel he fin' de big gully, yit he aint fin' no spring. "w'iles all dish yer gwine on, brer rabbit he tuck'n grabble a hole in de groun', he did, en in dat hole he hid de meat. atter he git it good en hid, he tuck'n cut 'im a long keen hick'ry, en atter so long a time, w'en he year brer fox comin' back, he got in a clump er bushes, en tuck dat hick'ry en let in on a saplin', en ev'y time he hit de saplin', he 'ud squall out, brer rabbit would, des lak de patter-rollers had 'im: "_pow, pow!_ 'oh, pray, mr. man!'--_pow, pow!_ 'oh, pray, mr. man!'--_chippy-row, pow!_ 'oh, lordy, mr. man! brer fox tuck yo' meat!'--_pow!_ 'oh, pray, mr. man! brer fox tuck yo' meat!'" every time uncle remus said "_pow!_" he struck himself in the palm of his hand with a shoe-sole by way of illustration. "co'se," he went on, "w'en brer fox year dis kinder doin's, he fotch up, he did, en lissen, en ev'y time he year de hick'ry come down _pow!_ he tuck'n grin en 'low ter hisse'f, 'ah-yi! you fool me 'bout de water! ah-yi! you fool me 'bout de water!' "atter so long a time, de racket sorter die out, en seem lak mr. man wuz draggin' brer rabbit off. dis make brer fox feel mighty skittish. bimeby brer rabbit come a-cally-hootin' back des a-hollerin': "'run, brer fox, run! mr. man say he gwine to kyar dat meat up de road ter whar he son is, en den he's a-comin' back atter you. run, brer fox, run!' "en i let you know," said uncle remus, leaning back and laughing to see the little boy laugh, "i let you know brer fox got mighty skace in dat neighborhood!" xxv african jack usually, the little boy, who regarded himself as uncle remus's partner, was not at all pleased when he found the old man entertaining, in his simple way, any of his colored friends; but he was secretly delighted when he called one night and found daddy jack sitting by uncle remus's hearth. daddy jack was an object of curiosity to older people than the little boy. he was a genuine african, and for that reason he was known as african jack, though the child had been taught to call him daddy jack. he was brought to georgia in a slave-ship when he was about twenty years old, and remained upon one of the sea-islands for several years. finally, he fell into the hands of the family of which uncle remus's little partner was the youngest representative, and became the trusted foreman of a plantation, in the southern part of georgia, known as the walthall place. once every year he was in the habit of visiting the home place in middle georgia, and it was during one of these annual visits that the little boy found him in uncle remus's cabin. daddy jack appeared to be quite a hundred years old, but he was probably not more than eighty. he was a little, dried-up old man, whose weazened, dwarfish appearance, while it was calculated to inspire awe in the minds of the superstitious, was not without its pathetic suggestions. the child had been told that the old african was a wizard, a conjurer, and a snake-charmer; but he was not afraid, for, in any event,--conjuration, witchcraft, or what not,--he was assured of the protection of uncle remus. as the little boy entered the cabin uncle remus smiled and nodded pleasantly, and made a place for him on a little stool upon which had been piled the odds and ends of work. daddy jack paid no attention to the child; his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. "go en shake han's, honey, en tell daddy jack howdy. he lak good chilluns." then to daddy jack: "brer jack, dish yer de chap w'at i bin tellin' you 'bout." the little boy did as he was bid, but daddy jack grunted ungraciously and made no response to the salutation. he was evidently not fond of children. uncle remus glanced curiously at the dwarfed and withered figure, and spoke a little more emphatically: "brer jack, ef you take good look at dis chap, i lay you'll see mo'n you speck ter see. you'll see sump'n' dat'll make you grunt wusser dan you grunted deze many long year. go up dar, honey, whar daddy jack kin see you." the child went shyly up to the old african and stood at his knee. the sorrows and perplexities of nearly a hundred years lay between them; and now, as always, the baffled eyes of age gazed into the sphinx-like face of youth, as if by this means to unravel the mysteries of the past and solve the problems of the future. daddy jack took the plump, rosy hands of the little boy in his black, withered ones, and gazed into his face so long and steadily, and with such curious earnestness, that the child did n't know whether to laugh or cry. presently the old african flung his hands to his head, and rocked his body from side to side, moaning and mumbling, and talking to himself, while the tears ran down his face like rain. "ole missy! ole missy! 'e come back! i bin shum dey-dey, i bin shum de night! i bin yeddy 'e v'ice, i bin yeddy de sign!" "ah-yi!" exclaimed uncle remus, into whose arms the little boy had fled; "i des know'd dat 'ud fetch 'im. hit 's bin manys de long days sence brer jack seed ole miss, yit ef he aint seed 'er dat whack, den i aint settin' yer." after a while daddy jack ceased his rocking, and his moaning, and his crying, and sat gazing wistfully into the fireplace. whatever he saw there fixed his attention, for uncle remus spoke to him several times without receiving a response. presently, however, daddy jack exclaimed with characteristic but laughable irrelevance: "i no lakky dem gal wut is bin-a stan' pidjin-toe. wun 'e fetch pail er water on 'e head, water churray, churray. i no lakky dem gal wut tie 'e wool up wit' string; mekky him stan' ugly fer true. i bin ahx da' 'tildy gal fer marry me, un 'e no crack 'im bre't' fer mek answer 'cep' 'e bre'k out un lahf by me werry face. da' gal do holler un lahf un stomp 'e fut dey-dey, un dun i shum done gone pidjin-toe. oona bin know da' 'tildy gal?" "i bin a-knowin' dat gal," said uncle remus, grimly regarding the old african; "i bin a-knowin' dat gal now gwine on sence she 'uz knee-high ter one er deze yer puddle-ducks; en i bin noticin' lately dat she mighty likely nigger." "enty!" exclaimed daddy jack, enthusiastically, "i did bin mek up ter da' lilly gal troo t'ick un t'in. i bin fetch 'im one fine 'possum, un mo' ez one, two, free peck-a taty, un bumbye i bin fetch 'im one bag pop-co'n. wun i bin do dat, i is fley 'roun' da' lilly gal so long tam, un i yeddy 'im talk wit' turrer gal. 'e do say: 'daddy jack fine ole man fer true.' dun i is bin talk: 'oona no call-a me daddy jack wun dem preacher man come fer marry we.' dun da' lilly gal t'row 'e head back; 'e squeal lak filly in canebrake." the little boy understood this rapidly spoken lingo perfectly well, but he would have laughed anyhow, for there was more than a suggestion of the comic in the shrewd seriousness that seemed to focus itself in daddy jack's pinched and wrinkled face. "she tuck de truck w'at you tuck'n fotch 'er," said uncle remus, with the air of one carefully and deliberately laying the basis of a judicial opinion, "en den w'en you sail in en talk bizness, den she up en gun you de flat un 'er foot en de back un 'er han', en den, atter dat, she tuck'n laff en make spote un you." "enty!" assented daddy jack, admiringly. "well, den, brer jack, youer mighty ole, en yit hit seem lak youer mighty young; kaze a man w'at aint got no mo' speunce wid wimmen folks dan w'at you is neenter creep 'roun' yer callin' deyse'f ole. dem kinder folks aint ole nuff, let 'lone bein' too ole. w'en de gal tuck'n laff, brer jack, w'at 'uz yo' nex' move?" demanded uncle remus, looking down upon the shrivelled old man with an air of superiority. daddy jack shut his shrewd little eyes tightly and held them so, as if by that means to recall all the details of the flirtation. then he said: "da' lilly gal is bin tek dem t'ing. 'e is bin say, 't'anky, t'anky.' him eaty da' 'possum, him eaty da' pop-co'n, him roas'n da' taty. 'e do say, 't'anky, t'anky!' wun i talk marry, 'e is bin ris 'e v'ice un squeal lak lilly pig stuck in 'e t'roat. 'e do holler: 'hi, daddy jack! wut is noung gal gwan do wit' so ole man lak dis?' un i is bin say: 'wut noung gal gwan do wit' ole chris'mus' cep' 'e do 'joy 'ese'f?' un da' lil gal 'e do lahff un flut 'ese'f way fum dey-dey." "i know'd a nigger one time," said uncle remus, after pondering a moment, "w'at tuck a notion dat he want a bait er 'simmons, en de mo' w'at de notion tuck 'im de mo' w'at he want um, en bimeby, hit look lak he des nat'ally erbleedz ter have um. he want de 'simmons, en dar dey is in de tree. he mouf water, en dar hang de 'simmons. now, den, w'at do dat nigger do? w'en you en me en dish yer chile yer wants 'simmons, we goes out en shakes de tree, en ef deyer good en ripe, down dey comes, en ef deyer good en green, dar dey stays. but dish yer yuther nigger, he too smart fer dat. he des tuck'n tuck he stan' und' de tree, en he open he mouf, he did, en wait fer de 'simmons fer ter drap in dar. dey aint none drap in yit," continued uncle remus, gently knocking the cold ashes out of his pipe; "en w'at's mo', dey aint none gwine ter drap in dar. dat des 'zackly de way wid brer jack yer, 'bout marryin'; he stan' dar, he do, en he hol' bofe han's wide open en he 'speck de gal gwine ter drap right spang in um. man want gal, he des got ter grab 'er--dat 's w'at. dey may squall en dey may flutter, but flutter'n' en squallin' aint done no damage yit ez i knows un, en 't aint gwine ter. young chaps kin make great 'miration 'bout gals, but w'en dey gits ole ez i is, dey ull know dat folks is folks, en w'en it come ter bein' folks, de wimmen ain gut none de 'vantage er de men. now dat 's des de plain up en down tale i'm a-tellin' un you." this deliverance from so respectable an authority seemed to please daddy jack immensely. he rubbed his withered hands together, smacked his lips and chuckled. after a few restless movements he got up and went shuffling to the door, his quick, short steps causing uncle remus to remark: "de gal w'at git ole brer jack 'ull git a natchul pacer, sho'. he move mo' one-sideder dan ole zip coon, w'ich he rack up de branch all night long wid he nose p'int lak he gwine 'cross." while the little boy was endeavoring to get uncle remus to explain the nature of daddy jack's grievances, muffled laughter was heard outside, and almost immediately 'tildy rushed in the door. 'tildy flung herself upon the floor and rolled and laughed until, apparently, she could laugh no more. then she seemed to grow severely angry. she arose from the floor and flopped herself down in a chair, and glared at uncle remus with indignation in her eyes. as soon as she could control her inflamed feelings, she cried: "w'at is i done ter you, unk' remus? 'fo' de lord, ef anybody wuz ter come en tole me dat you gwine ter put de ole boy in dat ole affikin nigger head, i would n't er b'leeved um--dat i would n't. unk' remus, w'at is i done ter you?" uncle remus made no direct response; but he leaned over, reached out his hand, and picked up an unfinished axe-helve that stood in the corner. then he took the little boy by the arm, and pushed him out of the way, saying in his gentlest and most persuasive tone: "stan' sorter 'roun' dar, honey, 'kaze w'en de splinters 'gin ter fly, i want you ter be out'n de way. miss sally never gimme 'er fergivance in de roun' worl' ef you 'uz ter git hurted on account er de frazzlin' er dish yer piece er timber." uncle remus's movements and remarks had a wonderful effect on 'tildy. her anger disappeared, her eyes lost their malignant expression, and her voice fell to a conversational tone. "now, unk' remus, you ought n't ter do me dat a-way, 'kaze i aint done nothin' ter you. i 'uz settin' up yon' in aunt tempy house, des now, runnin' on wid riah, en yer come dat ole affikin jack en say you say he kin marry me ef he ketch me, en he try ter put he arm 'roun' me en kiss me." 'tildy tossed her head and puckered her mouth at the bare remembrance of it. "w'at wud did you gin brer jack?" inquired uncle remus, not without asperity. "w'at i gwine tell him?" exclaimed 'tildy disdainfully. "i des tuck'n up en tole 'im he foolin' wid de wrong nigger." 'tildy would have continued her narration, but just at that moment the shuffling of feet was heard outside, and daddy jack came in, puffing and blowing and smiling. evidently he had been hunting for 'tildy in every house in the negro quarter. "hi!" he exclaimed, "lil gal, 'e bin skeet sem lak ma'sh hen. 'e no run no mo'." "pick 'er up, brer jack," exclaimed uncle remus; "she's yone." 'tildy was angry as well as frightened. she would have fled, but daddy jack stood near the door. "look yer, nigger man!" she exclaimed, "ef you come slobbun 'roun' me, i'll take one er deze yer dog-iüns en brain you wid it. i aint gwine ter have no web-foot nigger follerin' atter me. now you des come!--i aint feard er yo' cunjun. unk' remus, ef you got any intruss in dat ole affikin ape, you better make 'im lemme 'lone. g'way fum yer now!" all this time daddy jack was slowly approaching 'tildy, bowing and smiling, and looking quite dandified, as uncle remus afterward said. just as the old african was about to lay hands upon 'tildy, she made a rush for the door. the movement was so unexpected that daddy jack was upset. he fell upon uncle remus's shoe-bench, and then rolled off on the floor, where he lay clutching at the air, and talking so rapidly that nobody could understand a word he said. uncle remus lifted him to his feet, with much dignity, and it soon became apparent that he was neither hurt nor angry. the little boy laughed immoderately, and he was still laughing when 'tildy put her head in the door and exclaimed: "unk' remus, i aint kilt dat ole nigger, is i? 'kaze ef i got ter go ter de gallus, i want to go dar fer sump'n' n'er bigger'n dat." uncle remus disdained to make any reply, but daddy jack chuckled and patted himself on the knee as he cried: "come 'long, lilly gal! come 'long! i no mad. i fall down dey fer laff. come 'long, lilly gal, come 'long." 'tildy went on laughing loudly and talking to herself. after awhile uncle remus said: "honey, i 'speck miss sally lookin' und' de bed en axin' whar you is. you better leak out fum yer now, en by dis time termorrer night i'll git brer jack all primed up, en he'll whirl in en tell you a tale." daddy jack nodded assent, and the little boy ran laughing to the "big house." xxvi why the alligator's back is rough the night after the violent flirtation between daddy jack and 'tildy, the latter coaxed and bribed the little boy to wait until she had finished her work about the house. after she had set things to rights in the dining-room and elsewhere, she took the child by the hand, and together they went to uncle remus's cabin. the old man was making a door-mat of shucks and grass and white-oak splits, and daddy jack was dozing in the corner. "w'at i tell you, brer jack?" said uncle remus, as 'tildy came in. "dat gal atter you, mon!" "fer de lord sake, unk' remus, don't start dat ole nigger. i done promise miss sally dat i won't kill 'im, en i like ter be good ez my word; but ef he come foolin' longer me i'm des nat'ally gwine ter onj'int 'im. now you year me say de word." but daddy jack made no demonstration. he sat with his eyes closed, and paid no attention to 'tildy. after awhile the little boy grew restless, and presently he said: "daddy jack, you know you promised to tell me a story to-night." "he wukkin' wid it now, honey," said uncle remus, soothingly. "brer jack," he continued, "wa'n't dey sump'n' n'er 'bout ole man yalligater?" "hi!" exclaimed daddy jack, arousing himself, "'e 'bout b'er 'gater fer true. oona no bin see da' b'er 'gater?" the child had seen one, but it was such a very little one he hardly knew whether to claim an acquaintance with daddy jack's 'gater. "dem all sem," continued daddy jack. "big mout', pop-eye, walk on 'e belly; 'e is bin got bump, bump, bump 'pon 'e bahk, bump, bump, bump 'pon 'e tail. 'e dife 'neat' de water, 'e do lif 'pon de lan'. "one tam dog is bin run b'er rabbit, tel 'e do git tire; da' dog is bin run 'im tel him ent mos' hab no bre't' in 'e body; 'e hide 'ese'f by de crik side. 'e come close 'pon b'er 'gater, en b'er 'gater, 'e do say: "'ki, b'er rabbit! wut dis is mek you blow so? wut mekky you' bre't' come so?' "'eh-eh! b'er 'gater, i hab bin come 'pon trouble. dog, 'e do run un-a run me.' "'wey you no fetch 'im 'long, b'er rabbit? i is bin git fat on all da' trouble lak dem. i proud fer yeddy dog bark, ef 'e is bin fetch-a me trouble lak dem.' "'wait, b'er 'gater! trouble come bisitin' wey you lif; 'e mekky you' side puff; 'e mekky you' bre't' come so.' "'gater, he do flup 'e tail un 'tretch 'ese'f, un lahff. 'e say: "'i lak fer see dem trouble. nuddin' no bodder me. i ketch-a dem swimp, i ketch-a dem crahb, i mekky my bed wey de sun shiün hot, un i do 'joy mese'f. i proud fer see dem trouble.' "''e come 'pon you, b'er 'gater, wun you bin hab you' eye shed; 'e come 'pon you fum de turrer side. ef 'e no come 'pon you in da' crik, dun 'e come 'pon you in da' broom-grass.' "'dun i shekky um by de han', b'er rabbit; i ahx um howdy.' "'eh-eh, b'er 'gater! you bin-a lahff at me; you no lahff wun dem trouble come. dem trouble bin ketch-a you yit.'" daddy jack paused to wipe his face. he had reported the dialogue between brother rabbit and brother alligator with considerable animation, and had illustrated it as he went along with many curious inflections of the voice, and many queer gestures of head and hands impossible to describe here, but which added picturesqueness to the story. after awhile he went on: "b'er rabbit, 'e do blow un 'e do ketch urn bre't'. 'e pit one year wey dog is bin-a bark; 'e pit one eye 'pon b'er 'gater. 'e lissen, 'e look; 'e look, 'e lissen. 'e no yeddy dog, un 'e comforts come back. bumbye b'er 'gater, 'e come drowsy; 'e do nod, nod, un 'e head sway down, tel ma'sh-grass tickle 'e nose, un 'e do cough sem lak 'e teer up da' crik by da' root. 'e no lak dis place fer sleep at, un 'e is crawl troo da' ma'sh 'pon dry lan'; 'e is mek fer da' broom-grass fiel'. 'e mek 'e bed wid 'e long tail, un 'e is 'tretch 'ese'f out at 'e lenk. 'e is shed 'e y-eye, un opun 'e mout', un tek 'e nap. "b'er rabbit, 'e do hol' 'e y-eye 'pon b'er 'gater. him talk no wud; him wallup 'e cud; him stan' still. b'er 'gater, 'e do tek 'e nap; b'er rabbit 'e do watch. bum-bye, b'er 'gater bre't', 'e do come _loud_; 'e is bin sno' _hard!_ 'e dream lilly dream; 'e wuk 'e fut un shek 'e tail in 'e dream. b'er rabbit wink 'e y-eye, un 'e do watch. b'er 'gater, he do leaf 'e dream bahine, un 'e sleep soun'. b'er rabbit watch lil, wait lil. bumbye, 'e do go wey fier bu'n in da' stump, un 'e is fetch some. 'e say, 'dis day i is mek you know dem trouble; i is mek you know dem well.' 'e hop 'roun' dey-dey, un 'e do light da' broom-grass; 'e bu'n, bu'n--bu'n, bu'n; 'e do bu'n smaht. "b'er 'gater, 'e is dream some mo' lilly dream. 'e do wuk 'e fut, 'e do shek 'e tail. broom-grass bu'n, bu'n; b'er 'gater dream. 'e dream da' sun is shiün' hot; 'e wom 'e back, 'e wom 'e belly; 'e wuk 'e fut, 'e shek 'e tail. broom-grass bu'n high, 'e bu'n low; 'e bu'n smaht, 'e bu'n hot. bumbye, b'er 'gater is wek fum 'e dream; 'e smell-a da' smoke, 'e feel-a da' fier. 'e run dis way, 'e run turrer way; no diffran' wey 'e is run, dey da' smoke, dey da' fier. _bu'n, bu'n, bu'n!_ b'er 'gater lash 'e tail, un grine 'e toof. bumbye, 'e do roll un holler: "'trouble, trouble, trouble! _trouble, trouble!_' [illustration: why the alligator's back is rough] "b'er rabbit, 'e is stan' pas' da' fier, un 'e do say: "'ki! b'er 'gater! wey you fer l'arn-a dis talk 'bout dem trouble?' "b'er 'gater, 'e lash 'e tail, 'e fair teer da' ye't,[ ] un 'e do holler: "'oh, ma lord! trouble! _trouble, trouble, trouble!_' "'shekky um by de han', b'er 'gater. ahx um howdy!' "'ow, ma lord! _trouble, trouble, trouble!_' "'lahff wit' dem trouble, b'er 'gater, lahff wit' dem! ahx dem is dey he'lt' bin well! you bin-a cry fer dey 'quaintun',[ ] b'er 'gater; now you mus' beer wit' dem trouble!' "b'er 'gater come so mad, 'e mek dash troo da' broom-grass; 'e fair teer um down. 'e bin scatter da' fier wide 'part, un 'e do run un dife in da' crik fer squinch da' fier 'pon 'e bahk. 'e bahk swivel, 'e tail swivel wit' da' fier, un fum dat dey is bin stan' so. bump, bump 'pon 'e tail; bump, bump 'pon 'e bahk, wey da' fier bu'n." "hit 's des lak brer jack tell you, honey," said uncle remus, as daddy jack closed his eyes and relapsed into silence. "i done seed um wid my own eyes. en deyer mighty kuse creeturs, mon. dey back is all ruffed up en down ter dis day en time, en mo'n dat, you aint gwineter ketch brer rabbit rackin' 'roun' whar de yallergaters is. en de yallergaters deyse'f, w'en dey years any crackin' en rattlin' gwine on in de bushes, dey des makes a break fer de creek en splunges in." "enty!" exclaimed daddy jack, with momentary enthusiasm. "'e do tu'n go da' bahnk, un dife 'neat' da' crik. 'e bin so wom wit' da' fier, 'e mek de crik go si-z-z-z!" here daddy jack looked around and smiled. his glance fell on 'tildy, and he seemed suddenly to remember that he had failed to be as polite as circumstances demanded. "come-a set nex' em, lilly gal. i gwan tell you one tale." "come 'long, pinx," said 'tildy, tossing her head disdainfully, and taking the little boy by the hand. "come 'long, pinx; we better be gwine. i done say i won't kill dat ole nigger man. yit ef he start atter me dis blessid night, i lay i roust de whole plantation. come on, honey; less go." the little boy was not anxious to go, but uncle remus seconded 'tildy's suggestion. "better let dat gal mosey 'long, honey, 'kaze she mout start in fer ter cut up some 'er capers in yer, en i hate mighty bad ter bus' up dis yer axe-helve, w'ich i'm in needs un it eve'y hour er de day." whereupon the two old negroes were left sitting by the hearth. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] tear the earth. [ ] acquaintance. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xxvii brother wolf says grace 'tildy, the house-girl, made such a terrible report of the carryings on of daddy jack that the little boy's mother thought it prudent not to allow him to visit uncle remus so often. the child amused himself as best he could for several nights, but his play-things and picture-books finally lost their interest. he cried so hard to be allowed to go to see uncle remus that his mother placed him under the care of aunt tempy,--a woman of large authority on the place, and who stood next to uncle remus in the confidence of her mistress. aunt tempy was a fat, middle-aged woman, who always wore a head-handkerchief, and kept her sleeves rolled up, displaying her plump, black arms, winter and summer. she never hesitated to exercise her authority, and the younger negroes on the place regarded her as a tyrant; but in spite of her loud voice and brusque manners she was thoroughly good-natured, usually good-humored, and always trustworthy. aunt tempy and uncle remus were secretly jealous of each other, but they were careful never to come in conflict, and, to all appearances, the most cordial relations existed between them. "well de goodness knows!" exclaimed uncle remus, as aunt tempy went in with the little boy. "how you come on, sis tempy? de rainy season aint so mighty fur off w'en you come a-sojourneyin' in dis house. ef i'd a-know'd you'd a-bin a-comin' i'd a-sorter steered 'roun' en bresh'd de cobwebs out'n de cornders." "don't min' me, brer remus. luck in de house whar de cobwebs hangs low. i 'uz des a-passin'--a-passin' 'long--en miss sally ax me ef i kin come fur ez de do' wid dat chile dar, but bless you, 't aint in my manners ter tu'n back at de do'. how you come on, brer remus?" "po'ly, sis tempy; en yit i aint complainin'. pain yer, en a ketch yander, wid de cramps th'ow'd in, aint no mo' dan ole folks kin 'speck. how you is, sis tempy?" "i thank de lord i'm able to crawl, brer remus, en dat 's 'bout all. ef i wa'n't so sot in my ways, deze yer niggers would er run me 'stracted d'reckly." daddy jack was sitting in the corner laughing and talking to himself, and the little boy watched him not without a feeling of awe. after a while he said: "uncle remus, won't daddy jack tell us a story to-night?" "now, den, honey," responded the old man, "we aint got ter push brer jack too closte; we ull des hatter creep up on 'im en ketch 'im fer er tale wence he in de humors. sometimes hoss pull, sometime he aint pull. you aint bin down yer so long, hit sorter look lak it my tu'n; 'kaze it done come 'cross my 'membunce dat dey wuz one time w'en brer wolf kotch brer rabbit, w'ich i aint never gun it out ter you yit." "brother wolf caught brother rabbit, uncle remus?" exclaimed the little boy, incredulously. "yasser! dat 's de up en down un it, sho'," responded the old man with emphasis, "en i be mighty glad ef sis tempy yer will 'scuze me w'iles i runs over de tale 'long wid you." "bless yo' soul, brer remus, don't pay no 'tention ter me," said aunt tempy, folding her fat arms upon her ample bosom, and assuming an attitude of rest and contentment. "i'm bad ez de chillun 'bout dem ole tales, 'kaze i kin des set up yer un lissen at um de whole blessid night, un a good part er de day. yass, lord!" "well, den," said uncle remus, "we ull des huddle up yer en see w'at 'come er brer rabbit, w'en ole brer wolf kotch 'im. in dem days," he continued, looking at daddy jack and smiling broadly, "de creeturs wuz constant gwine a-courtin'. ef 't wa'n't miss meadows en de gals dey wuz flyin' 'roun', hit 'uz miss motts. dey wuz constant a-courtin'. en 't wa'n't none er dish yer 'howdy-do-ma'm-i-'speck-i-better-be-gwine,' n'er. hit 'uz go atter brekkus en stay twel atter supper. brer rabbit, he got tuk wid a-likin' fer miss motts, en soon one mawnin', he tuck'n slick hisse'f up, he did, en put out ter call on 'er. w'en brer rabbit git ter whar miss motts live, she done gone off some'rs. "some folks 'ud er sot down en wait twel miss motts come back, en den ag'in some folks 'ud er tuck der foot in der han' en went back; but ole brer rabbit, he aint de man fer ter be outdone, en he des tuck'n go in de kitchen en light he seegyar, en den he put out fer ter pay a call on miss meadows en de gals. "w'en he git dar, lo en beholes, he fine miss motts dar, en he tipped in, ole brer rabbit did, en he galanted 'roun' 'mungs um, same lak one er dese yer town chaps, w'at you see come out ter harmony grove meetin'-house. dey talk en dey laff; dey laff en dey giggle. bimeby, 'long todes night, brer rabbit 'low he better be gwine. de wimmen folks dey all ax 'im fer ter stay twel atter supper, 'kaze he sech lively comp'ny, but brer rabbit fear'd some er de yuther creeturs be hidin' out fer 'im; so he tuck'n pay his 'specks, he did, en start fer home. "he aint git fur twel he come up wid a great big basket settin' down by de side er de big road. he look up de road; he aint see nobody. he look down de road; he aint see nobody. he look befo', he look behime, he look all 'roun'; he aint see nobody. he lissen, en lissen; he aint year nothin'. he wait, en he wait; nobody aint come. "den, bimeby brer rabbit go en peep in de basket, en it seem lak it half full er green truck. he retch he han' in, he did, en git some en put it in he mouf. den he shet he eye en do lak he studyin' 'bout sump'n'. atter w'ile, he 'low ter hisse'f, 'hit look lak sparrer-grass, hit feel lak sparrer-grass, hit tas'e lak sparrer-grass, en i be bless ef 't aint sparrer-grass.' "wid dat brer rabbit jump up, he did, en crack he heel tergedder, en he fetch one leap en lan' in de basket, right spang in 'mungs de sparrer-grass. dar whar he miss he footin'," continued uncle remus, rubbing his beard meditatively, "'kaze w'en he jump in 'mungs de sparrer-grass, right den en dar he jump in 'mungs ole brer wolf, w'ich he wer' quile up at de bottom." "dar now!" exclaimed aunt tempy, enthusiastically. "w'at i tell you? w'at make him pester t'er folks doin's? i boun' brer wolf nail't 'im." "time brer wolf grab 'im," continued uncle remus, "brer rabbit knowed he 'uz a gone case; yit he sing out, he did: "'i des tryin' ter skeer you, brer wolf; i des tryin' ter skeer you. i know'd you 'uz in dar, brer wolf, i know'd you by de smell!' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "ole brer wolf grin, he did, en lick he chops, en up'n say: "'mighty glad you know'd me, brer rabbit, 'kaze i know'd you des time you drapt in on me. i tuck'n tell brer fox yistiddy dat i 'uz gwine take a nap 'longside er de road, en i boun' you 'ud come 'long en wake me up, en sho' nuff, yer you come en yer you is,' sez brer wolf, sezee. "oh-ho, mr. rabbit! how you feel now?" exclaimed aunt tempy, her sympathies evidently with brother wolf. "w'en brer rabbit year dis," said uncle remus, paying no attention to the interruption, "he 'gun ter git mighty skeer'd, en he whirl in en beg brer wolf fer ter please tu'n 'im loose; but dis make brer wolf grin wusser, en he toof look so long en shine so w'ite, en he gum look so red, dat brer rabbit hush up en stay still. he so skeer'd dat he bref come quick, en he heart go lak flutter-mill. he chune up lak he gwine cry: "'whar you gwine kyar me, brer wolf?' "'down by de branch, brer rabbit.' "'w'at you gwine down dar fer, brer wolf?' "'so i kin git some water ter clean you wid atter i done skunt you, brer rabbit.' "'please, sir, lemme go, brer wolf.' "'you talk so young you make me laff, brer rabbit.' "'dat sparrer-grass done make me sick, brer wolf.' "'you'll be sicker'n dat 'fo' i git done wid you, brer rabbit.' "'whar i come fum nobody dast ter eat sick folks, brer wolf.' "'whar i come fum dey aint dast ter eat no yuther kin', brer rabbit.'" "ole mr. rabbit wuz a-talkin', mon," said aunt tempy, with a chuckle that caused her to shake like a piece of jelly. "dey went on dis a-way," continued uncle remus, "plum twel dey git ter de branch. brer rabbit, he beg en cry, en cry en beg, en brer wolf, he 'fuse en grin, en grin en 'fuse. w'en dey come ter de branch, brer wolf lay brer rabbit down on de groun' en hilt 'im dar, en den he study how he gwine make way wid 'im. he study en he study, en w'iles he studyin' brer rabbit, he tuck'n study some on he own hook. "den w'en it seem lak brer wolf done fix all de 'rangerments, brer rabbit, he make lak he cryin' wusser en wusser; he des fa'rly blubber." uncle remus gave a ludicrous imitation of brother rabbit's wailings. "'ber--ber--brer wooly--ooly--oolf! is you gwine--is you gwine ter sakerfice-t me right now--ow--ow?' "'dat i is, brer rabbit; dat i is.' "'well, ef i blee-eedz ter be kilt, brer wooly--ooly--oolf, i wants ter be kilt right, en ef i blee-eedz ter be e't, i wants ter be e't ri--ight, too, now!' [illustration: brother wolf says grace] "'how dat, brer rabbit?' "'i want you ter show yo' p'liteness, brer wooly--ooly--oolf!' "'how i gwine do dat, brer rabbit?' "'i want you ter say grace, brer wolf, en say it quick, 'kaze i gittin' mighty weak.' "'how i gwine say grace, brer rabbit?' "'fol' yo' han's und' yo' chin, brer wolf, en shet yo' eyes, en say: "bless us en bine us, en put us in crack whar de ole boy can't fine us." say it quick, brer wolf, 'kaze i failin' mighty fas'.'" "now aint dat des too much!" exclaimed aunt tempy, as delighted as the little boy. uncle remus laughed knowingly and went on: "brer wolf, he put up he han's, he did, en shot he eyes, en 'low, 'bless us en bine us;' but he aint git no furder, 'kaze des time he take up he han's, brer rabbit fotch a wiggle, he did, en lit on he foots, en he des nat'ally lef a blue streak behime 'im." "ah-yi-ee!" exclaimed daddy jack, while aunt tempy allowed her arms to drop helplessly from her lap as she cried "dar now!" and the little boy clasped his hands in an ecstasy of admiration. "oh, i just knew brother rabbit would get away," the child declared. "dat 's right, honey," said uncle remus. "you put yo' pennunce in brer rabbit en yo' won't be fur out er de way." there was some further conversation among the negroes, but it was mostly plantation gossip. when aunt tempy rose to go she said: "goodness knows, brer remus, ef dis de way you all runs on, i'm gwine ter pester you some mo'. hit come 'cross me like ole times, dat it do." "do so, sis tempy, do so," said uncle remus, with dignified hospitality. "you allers fine a place at my h'a'th. ole times is about all we got lef'." "trufe, too!" exclaimed aunt tempy; and with that she took the child by the hand and went out into the darkness. xxviii spirits, seen and unseen it was not many nights before the same company was gathered in uncle remus's cabin,--daddy jack, aunt tempy, and the little boy. the conversation took a turn that thrilled the child with mingled fear and curiosity. uncle remus had inquired as to the state of aunt tempy's health, when the latter came in, and her response was: "i feelin' mighty creepy, brer remus, sho'. look like i bleedz ter hunt comp'ny. w'en i come 'long down i felt dat skittish twel ef a leaf had blow'd 'crost de paff, i'd 'a' des about drapt in my tracks." "how come dat, sis tempy?" uncle remus inquired. "you know dat little gal er riah's? well, i 'uz settin' up dar in my house 'w'ile ergo, w'en, bless gracious! fus' news i know, i year dat chile talkin' in the yuther room. i 'low ter myse'f, she aint talkin' ter riah, 'kaze riah aint come yit, un den i crope up, un dar wuz de chile settin' right flat in de middle er de flo', laffin' un talkin' un makin' motions like she see somebody in de cornder. i des stood dar un watch 'er, un i aint a livin' human ef she don't do like dey 'uz somebody er n'er in dar wid 'er. she ax um fer ter stay on dey own side, un den, w'en it seem like dey come todes 'er, den she say she gwine git a switch un drive um back. hit make me feel so cole un kuse dat i des tuck'n come 'way fum dar, un ef dey's sump'n' n'er dar, hit'll be dem un riah fer't." "'e do talk wid ghos'; 'e is bin larf wit' harnt," exclaimed daddy jack. "i 'speck dat 's 'bout de upshot un it," said uncle remus. "dey tells me dat w'ence you year chilluns talkin' en gwine on periently wid deyse'f, der er bleedz ter see ha'nts." the little boy moved his stool closer to his venerable partner. daddy jack roused himself. "oona no bin-a see dem ghos'? oona no bin-a see dem harnt? hi! i is bin-a see plenty ghos'; i no 'fraid dem; i is bin-a punch dem 'way wit' me cane. i is bin-a shoo dem 'pon dey own siëd da' road. dem is bin walk w'en da' moon stan' low; den i is bin shum. oona no walk wit' me dun. 'e berry bahd. oona call, dey no answer. wun dey call, hol' you' mout' shet. 'e berry bahd fer mek answer, wun da' harnt holler. dem call-a you 'way fum dis lan'. i yeddy dem call; i shetty me y-eye, i shekkey me head. "wun i is bin noung mahn, me der go fer git water, un wun i der dip piggin 'neat' da' crik, i yeddy v'ice fer call me--'_jahck! o jahck!_' i stan', i lissen, i yeddy de v'ice--'_jahck! jahck! o jahck!_' i t'ink 'e bin titty ann;[ ] i ahx um: "wey you bin call-a me, titty ann?' titty ann 'tretch 'e y-eye big: "'i no bin-a call. dead ghos' is bin-a call. dem harnt do call-a you.' "dun i rise me y-eye, un i is bin shum gwan by sundown; 'e is bin gwan bahckwud. i tell titty ann fer look at we nuncle, gwan bahckwud by sundown. titty ann pit 'e two han' 'pon me y-eyes, un 'e do bline me. 'e say i bin-a see one dead ghos'." "what then, daddy jack?" asked the little boy, as the old african paused. "ki! nuff dun. 'kaze bumbye, so long tam, folks come fetch-a we nuncle 'tretch out. 'e is bin-a tek wit' da' _he_cup; 'e t'row 'e head dis way; 'e t'row 'e head dat way." daddy jack comically suited the action to the word. "'e is bin tek-a da' _he_cup; da' _he_cup is bin tek um--da' cramp is bin fetch um. i is bin see mo' dead ghos', but me no spot um lak dis." "i boun' you is," said uncle remus. "dey tells me, brer jack," he continued, "dat w'en you meets up wid one er deze ha'nts, ef you'll take'n tu'n yo' coat wrong-sud-outerds, dey won't use no time in makin' der disappearance." "hey!" exclaimed daddy jack, "tu'n coat no fer skeer dead ghos'. 'e skeer dem jack-me-lantun. one tam i is bin-a mek me way troo t'ick swamp. i do come hot, i do come cole. i feel-a me bahck quake; me bre't' come fahs'. i look; me ent see nuttin'; i lissen; me ent yeddy nuttin'. i look, dey de jack-me-lantun mekkin 'e way troo de bush; 'e comin' stret by me. 'e light bin-a flick-flicker; 'e git close un close. i yent kin stan' dis; one foot git heffy, da' heer 'pon me head lif' up. da' jack-me-lantun, 'e git-a high, 'e git-a low, 'e come close. dun i t'ink i bin-a yeddy ole folks talk _tu'n you' coat-sleef_ wun da' jack-me-lantun is bin run you. i pull, i twis', i yerk at dem jacket; 'e yent come. 'e is bin grow on me bahck. jack-me-lantun fly close. i say me pray 'pon da' jacket; 'e is bin-a yerk loose; da' sleef 'e do tu'n. jack-me-lantun, 'e see dis, 'e lif' up, 'e say '_phew!_' 'e done gone! oona no walk in da' swamp 'cep' you is keer you' coat 'cross da' arm. enty!" "dat w'at make me say," remarked aunt tempy, with a little shiver, "dat 'oman like me, w'at aint w'ar no jacket, aint got no business traipsin' un trollopin' 'roun' thoo the woods atter dark." "you mout tu'n yo' head-hankcher, sis tempy," said uncle remus, reassuringly, "en ef dat aint do no good den you kin whirl in en gin um leg-bail." "i year tell," continued aunt tempy, vouchsafing no reply to uncle remus, "dat dish yer jacky-ma-lantun is a sho' nuff sperit. sperits aint gwine to walk un walk less'n dey got sump'n' n'er on der min', un i year tell dat dish yer jacky-ma-lantun is 'casioned by a man w'at got kilt. folks kilt 'im un tuck his money, un now his ha'nt done gone un got a light fer ter hunt up whar his money is. mighty kuse ef folks kin hone atter money w'en dey done _gone_. i dunner w'at he wanter be ramblin' 'roun' wid a light w'en he done _dead_. ef anybody got any hard feelin's 'gin' me, i want um ter take it out w'ile deyer in de flesh; w'en dey come a-ha'ntin' me, den i'm done--i'm des _done_." "are witches spirits?" the little boy asked. the inquiry was not especially directed at daddy jack, but daddy jack was proud of his reputation as a witch, and he undertook to reply. "none 't all. witch, 'e no dead ghos'--'e life folks, wey you shekky han' wit'. oona witch mebbe; how you is kin tell?" here daddy jack turned his sharp little eyes upon the child. the latter moved closer to uncle remus, and said he hoped to goodness he was n't a witch. "how you is kin tell diffran 'cep' you bin fer try um?" continued daddy jack. "'e good t'ing fer be witch; 'e mek-a dem folks fred. 'e mek-a dem fred; 'e mek-a dem hol' da' bre't', wun dey is bin-a come by you' place." "in de name er de lord, daddy jack, how kin folks tell wh'er dey er witches er no?" asked aunt tempy. "oo! 'e easy nuff. wun da' moon is shiün low, wet-a you' han' wit' da' pot-licker grease; rub noung heifer 'pon 'e nose; git 'pon 'e bahck. mus' hol' um by 'e year; mus' go gallop, gallop down da' lane, tel 'e do come 'cross one-a big gully. mus' holler, '_double, double, double up! double, double, double up!_' heifer jump, oona witch; heifer no jump, oona no witch." "did you ever ride a heifer, daddy jack?" asked the little boy. "mo' tam es dem," replied the old negro, holding up the crooked fingers of one withered hand. "did--did she jump across the big gully?" the child's voice had dropped to an awed whisper, and there was a glint of malicious mischief in daddy jack's shrewd eyes, as he looked up at uncle remus. he got his cue. uncle remus groaned heavily and shook his head. "hoo!" exclaimed daddy jack, "wun i is bin-a tell all, dey no mo' fer tell. mus' kip some fer da' sunday. lilly b'y no fred dem witch; 'e no bodder lilly b'y. witch, 'e no rassel wit' 'e ebry-day 'quaintan'; 'e do go pars 'e own place." it was certainly reassuring for the child to be told that witches did n't trouble little boys, and that they committed their depredations outside of their own neighborhood. "i is bin-a yeddy dem talk 'bout ole witch. 'e do leaf 'e skin wey 'e is sta't fum. man bin-a come pars by; 'e is fine dem skin. 'e say: "'ki! 'e one green skin; i fix fer dry um.' "man hang um by da' fier. skin, 'e do swink, i' do swivel. bumbye 'e do smell-a bahd; man, 'e hol' 'e nose. 'e do wait. skin swink, skin stink, skin swivel. 'e do git so bahd, man pitch um in da' ya'd. 'e wait; 'e is wait, 'e is lissen. bumbye, 'e yeddy da' witch come. witch, e' do sharp' 'e claw on-a da' fence; 'e is snap 'e jaw--_flick! flick! flick!_ 'e come-a hunt fer him skin. 'e fine un. 'e trey um on dis way; 'e no fit. 'e trey um on dat way; 'e no fit. 'e trey um on turrer way; 'e no fit. 'e pit um 'pon 'e head; skin 'e no fit. 'e pit um 'pon 'e foot; skin 'e no fit. 'e cuss, 'e sweer; skin 'e no fit. 'e cut 'e caper; skin 'e no fit. bumbye 'e holler: "''tiss-a me, skin! wey you no know me? skin, 'tiss-a me! wey you no know me?' "skin, 'e no talk nuttin' 'tall. witch 'e do jump, 'e do holler; à mek no diffran. skin 'e talk nuttin' 'tall. man, 'e tekky to'ch, 'e look in ya'd. 'e see big blahck woolf lay by da' skin. e toof show; 'e y-eye shiün. man drife um 'way; 'e is come bahck. man bu'n da' skin; 'e is bin-a come bahck no mo'." the little boy asked no more questions. he sat silent while the others talked, and then went to the door and looked out. it was very dark, and he returned to his stool with a troubled countenance. "des wait a little minnit, honey," said uncle remus, dropping his hand caressingly on the child's shoulder. "i bleedz ter go up dar ter de big house fer ter see mars john, en i'll take you 'long fer comp'ny." and so, after a while, the old man and the little boy went hand in hand up the path. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] sissy ann. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xxix a ghost story the next time the little boy visited uncle remus he persuaded 'tildy to go with him. daddy jack was in his usual place, dozing and talking to himself, while uncle remus oiled the carriage-harness. after a while aunt tempy came in. the conversation turned on daddy jack's story about "haunts" and spirits. finally 'tildy said: "w'en it come ter tales 'bout ha'nts," said she, "i year tell er one dat'll des nat'ally make de kinks on yo' head onquile deyse'f." "w'at tale dat, chile?" asked aunt tempy. "unk' remus, mus' i tell it?" "let 'er come," said uncle remus. "well, den," said 'tildy, rolling her eyes back and displaying her white teeth, "one time dey wuz a 'oman en a man. seem like dey live close ter one er n'er, en de man he sot his eyes on de 'oman, en de 'oman, she des went 'long en 'ten' ter her bizness. man, he keep his eyes sot on 'er. bimeby, de 'oman, she 'ten' ter her bizness so much tel she tuck'n tuck sick en die. man, he up'n tell de folks she dead, en de folks dey come en fix 'er. dey lay 'er out, en dey light some candles, en dey sot up wid 'er, des like folks does now; en dey put two great big roun' shiny silver dollars on 'er eyes fer ter hol' 'er eyeleds down." in describing the silver dollars 'tildy joined the ends of her thumbs and fore-fingers together, and made a figure as large as a saucer. "dey wuz lots bigger dan dollars is deze days," she continued, "en dey look mighty purty. seem like dey wuz all de money de 'oman got, en de folks dey put um on 'er eyeleds fer to hol' um down. den w'en de folks do dat dey call up de man en take'n tell 'im dat he mus' dig a grave en bury de 'oman, en den dey all went off 'bout der bizness. "well, den, de man, he tuck'n dig de grave en make ready fer ter bury de 'oman. he look at dat money on 'er eyeleds, en it shine mighty purty. den he tuck it off en feel it. hit feel mighty good, but des 'bout dat time de man look at de 'oman, en he see 'er eyeleds open. look like she lookin' at 'im, en he take'n put de money whar he git it fum. "well, den, de man, he take'n git a waggin en haul de 'oman out ter de buryin'-groun', en w'en he git dar he fix ever'thing, en den he grab de money en kivver up de grave right quick. den he go home, en put de money in a tin box en rattle it 'roun.' hit rattle loud en hit rattle nice, but de man, he aint feel so good. seem like he know de 'oman eyeled stretch wide open lookin' fer 'im. yit he rattle de money 'roun', en hit rattle loud en hit rattle nice. "well, den, de man, he take'n put de tin box w'at de money in on de mantel-shel-uf. de day go by, en de night come, en w'en night come de win' 'gun ter rise up en blow. hit rise high, hit blow strong. hit blow on top er de house, hit blow und' de house, hit blow 'roun' de house. man, he feel quare. he set by de fier en lissen. win' say '_buzz-zoo-o-o-o-o!_' man lissen. win' holler en cry. hit blow top er de house, hit blow und' de house, hit blow 'roun' de house, hit blow in de house. man git closte up in de chimbly-jam. win' fin' de cracks en blow in um. '_bizzy, bizzy, buzz-zoo-o-o-o-o!_' "well, den, man, he lissen, lissen, but bimeby he git tired er dis, en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he gwine ter bed. he tuck'n fling a fresh light'd knot in de fier, en den he jump in de bed, en quile hisse'f up en put his head und' de kivver. win' hunt fer de cracks--_bizzy-buzz, bizzy-buzz, buzz-zoo-o-o-o-o-o!_ man keep his head und' de kivver. light'd knot flar' up en flicker. man aint dast ter move. win' blow en w'issel _phew-fee-e-e-e!_ light'd knot flicker en flar'. man, he keep his head kivvud. "well, den, man lay dar, en git skeer'der en skeer'der. he aint dast ter wink his eye skacely, en seem like he gwine ter have swamp agur. w'iles he layin' dar shakin', en de win' a-blowin', en de fier flickin', he year someyuther kind er fuss. hit mighty kuse kind er fuss. _clinkity, clinkalinkle!_ man 'low: "'hey! who stealin' my money?' "yit he keep his head kivvud w'iles he lay en lissen. he year de win' blow, en den he year dat yuther kinder fuss--_clinkity, clink, clinkity, clinkalinkle!_ well, den, he fling off de kivver en sot right up in de bed. he look, he aint see nothin'. de fier flicker en flar' en de win' blow. man go en put chain en bar 'cross de do'. den he go back to bed, en he aint mo'n totch his head on de piller tel he year de yuther fuss--_clink, clink, clinkity, clinkalinkle!_ man rise up, he aint see nothin' 'tall. mighty quare! "des 'bout time he gwine ter lay down 'g'in, yer come de fuss--_clinkity, clinkalinkle_. hit soun' like it on de mantel-shel-uf; let 'lone dat, hit soun' like it in de tin box on de mantel-shel-uf; let 'lone dat, hit soun' like it de money in de tin box on de man-tel-shel-uf. man say: "'hey! rat done got in box!' "man look; no rat dar. he shet up de box, en set it down on de shel-uf. time he do dat yer come de fuss--_clinkity, clinkity, clinkalinkle!_ man open de box en look at de money. dem two silver dollars layin' in dar des like he put um. w'iles de man dun dis, look like he kin year sump'n' say 'way off yander: "'_whar my money? oh, gim me my money!_' "man, he sot de box back on de shel-uf, en time he put it down he year de money rattle--_clinkity, clinkalinkle, clink!_--en den fum 'way off yander sump'n' say: "'_oh, gim me my money! i want my money!_' "well, den, de man git skeer'd sho' nuff, en he got er flat-iün en put on de tin box, en den he tuck'n pile all de cheers 'gin' de do', en run en jump in de bed. he des know dey's a booger comin'. time he git in bed en kivver his head, de money rattle louder, en sump'n' cry way off yander: "'_i want my money! oh, gim me my money!_' "man, he shake en he shiver; money, hit clink en rattle; booger, hit holler en cry. booger come closter, money clink louder. man shake wusser en wusser. money say: _'clinkity, clinkalinkle!'_ booger cry, _'oh, gim me my money!'_ man holler, '_o lordy, lordy!_' "well, den, hit keep on dis a-way, tel dreckly man year de do' open. he peep fum und' de kivver, en in walk de 'oman w'at he done bury in de buryin'-groun'. man shiver en shiver, win' blow en blow, money rattle en rattle, 'oman cry en cry. '_buzz-zoo-o-o-o-o!_' sez de win'; '_clinkalink!_' sez de box; '_oh, gim me my money!_' sez de 'oman; '_o lordy!_' sez de man. 'oman year de money, but look like she aint kin see, en she grope 'roun', en grope 'roun', en grope 'roun' wid 'er han' h'ist in de a'r des dis away." here 'tildy stood up, pushed her chair back with her foot, raised her arms over her head, and leaned forward in the direction of daddy jack. "win' blow, fier flicker, money rattle, man shake en shiver, 'oman grope 'roun' en say, '_gim me my money! oh, who got my money?_'" 'tildy advanced a few steps. "money look like it gwine ter t'ar de tin box all ter flinders. 'oman grope en cry, grope en cry, tel bimeby she jump on de man en holler: "'_you got my money!_'" as she reached this climax, 'tildy sprang at daddy jack and seized him, and for a few moments there was considerable confusion in the corner. the little boy was frightened, but the collapsed appearance of daddy jack convulsed him with laughter. the old african was very angry. his little eyes glistened with momentary malice, and he shook his cane threateningly at 'tildy. the latter coolly adjusted her ear-rings, as she exclaimed: "dar, now! i know'd i'd git even wid de ole vilyun. come a-callin' me pidjin-toed!" "better keep yo' eye on 'im, chile," said aunt tempy. "he 'witch you, sho'." "'witch who? ef he come witchin' roun' me, i lay i break his back. i tell you dat right pine-blank." xxx brother rabbit and his famous foot the little boy was very glad, one night shortly after he had heard about daddy jack's ghosts and witches and 'tildy's "ha'nts," to find uncle remus alone in his cabin. the child liked to have his venerable partner all to himself. uncle remus was engaged in hunting for tobacco crumbs with which to fill his pipe, and in turning his pockets a rabbit foot dropped upon the hearth. "grab it, honey!" he exclaimed. "snatch it up off'n de h'a'th. in de name er goodness, don't let it git in de embers; 'kaze ef dat ar rabbit foot git singe, i'm a goner, sho'!" it was the hind foot of a rabbit, and a very large one at that, and the little boy examined it curiously. he was in thorough sympathy with all the superstitions of the negroes, and to him the rabbit foot appeared to be an uncanny affair. he placed it carefully on uncle remus's knee, and after the pipe had been filled, he asked: "what do you carry that for, uncle remus?" "well, honey," responded the old man, grimly, "ef you want me ter make shorts out'n a mighty long tale, dat rabbit foot is fer ter keep off boogers. w'en i hatter run er'n's fer myse'f all times er night, en take nigh cuts thoo de woods, en 'cross by de buryin'-groun', hits monst'us handy fer ter have dat ar rabbit foot. keep yo' head studdy, now; mine yo' eye; i aint sayin' deyer any boogers anywhars. brer jack kin say w'at he mineter; i aint sayin' nothin'. but yit, ef dey wuz any, en dey come slinkin' atter me, i let you know dey'd fine out terreckly dat de ole nigger heel'd wid rabbit foot. i 'ud hol' it up des dis a-way, en i boun' you i'd shoo um off'n de face er de yeth. en i tell you w'at," continued uncle remus, seeing that the little boy was somewhat troubled, "w'en it come to dat pass dat you gotter be dodgin' 'roun' in de dark, ef you'll des holler fer me, i'll loan you dish yer rabbit foot, en you'll be des ez safe ez you is w'en miss sally stannin' by yo' bed wid a lit can'le in 'er han'. "strip er red flannil tied 'roun' yo' arm'll keep off de rheumatis; stump-water 'll kyo 'spepsy; some good fer one 'zeeze,[ ] en some good fer n'er, but de p'ints is dat dish yer rabbit foot 'll gin you good luck. de man w'at tote it mighty ap' fer ter come out right een' up w'en dey's any racket gwine on in de neighborhoods, let 'er be whar she will en w'en she may; mo' espeshually ef de man w'at got it know 'zactly w'at he got ter do. w'ite folks may laugh," uncle remus went on, "but w'en rabbit run 'cross de big road front er me, w'at does i do? does i shoo at um? does i make fer ter kill um? dat i don't--_dat_ i don't! i des squots right down in de middle er de road, en i makes a cross-mark in de san' des dis way, en den i spits in it."[ ] uncle remus made a practical illustration by drawing a cross-mark in the ashes on the hearth. "well, but, uncle remus, what good does all this do?" the little boy asked. "lots er good, honey; bless yo' soul, lots er good. w'en rabbit crosses yo' luck, w'at you gwine do, less'n you sets down en crosses it out, right den en dar? i year talk er folks shootin' rabbit in de big road, yit i notices dat dem w'at does de shootin' aint come ter no good een'--dat w'at i notices." "uncle remus," the little boy asked, after a while, "how did people happen to find out about the rabbit's foot?" "oh, you let folks 'lone fer dat, honey! you des let um 'lone. w'at de wimmen aint up'n tell bidout anybody axin' un um, folks mighty ap' fer ter fine out fer deyse'f. de wimmen, dey does de talkin' en de flyin', en de mens, dey does de walkin' en de pryin', en betwixt en betweenst um, dey aint much dat don't come out. ef it don't come out one day it do de nex', en so she goes--ant'ny over, ant'ny under--up one row en down de udder, en clean acrosst de bolly-patch!" it may be that the child did n't understand all this, but he had no doubt of its wisdom, and so he waited patiently for developments. "dey's a tale 'bout de rabbit foot," continued uncle remus, "but yo' eye look watery, like ole man nod 'bout ter slip up behime you; en let 'lone dat, i 'speck miss sally clock clickin' fer you right now." "oh, no, it is n't, uncle remus," said the child, laughing. "mamma said she'd make 'tildy call me." "dar, now!" exclaimed the old man, indignantly, "'tildy dis en 'tildy dat. i dunner w'at yo' mammy dreamin' 'bout fer ter let dat nigger gal be a-holl'in' en a-bawlin' atter you all 'roun' dish yer plan'ation. she de mos' uppity nigger on de hill, en de fus' news you know dey ull all hatter make der bows en call 'er mistiss. ef ole miss wuz 'live, dey would n't be no sech gwines on 'roun' yer. but nummine.[ ] you des let 'er come a-cuttin' up front er my do', en i lay you'll year squallin'. now, den," continued the old man, settling himself back in his chair, "wharbouts wuz i?" "you said there was a tale about the rabbit foot," the little boy replied. "so dey is, honey! so dey is!" uncle remus exclaimed, "but she got so many crooks en tu'ns in 'er dat i dunner but w'at i aint done gone en fergotted some un um off'n my min'; 'kaze ole folks lak me knows lots mo' dan w'at dey kin 'member. "in de days w'ence brer rabbit wuz sorter keepin' de neighborhoods stirred up, de yuther creeturs wuz studyin' en studyin' de whole blessid time how dey gwine ter nab 'im. dey aint had no holiday yit, 'kaze w'en de holiday come, dey'd go ter wuk, dey would, en juggle wid one er n'er fer ter see how dey gwine ter ketch up wid brer rabbit. bimeby, w'en all der plans, en der traps, en der jugglements aint do no good, dey all 'gree, dey did, dat brer rabbit got some cunjerment w'at he trick um wid. brer b'ar, he up'n 'low, he did, dat he boun' brer rabbit is a nat'al bawn witch; brer wolf say, sezee, dat he 'speck brer rabbit des in cahoots wid a witch; en brer fox, he vow dat brer rabbit got mo' luck dan smartness. den jedge b'ar, he drap he head one side, he did, en he ax how come brer rabbit got all de luck on he own side. de mo' dey ax, de mo' dey git pestered, en de mo' dey git pestered, de wuss dey worry. day in en day out dey wuk wid dis puzzlement; let 'lone dat, dey sot up nights; en bimeby dey 'gree 'mungs deyse'f dat dey better make up wid brer rabbit, en see ef dey can't fine out how come he so lucky. "w'iles all dis gwine on, ole brer rabbit wuz a-gallopin' 'roun' fum funtown ter frolicville, a-kickin' up de devilment en terrifyin' de neighborhoods. hit keep on dis a-way, twel one time, endurin' de odd-come-shorts,[ ] ole jedge b'ar sont wud dat one er his chilluns done bin tooken wid a sickness, en he ax won't ole miss rabbit drap 'roun' en set up wid 'im. ole miss rabbit, she say, co'se she go, en atter she fill 'er satchy full er yerbs en truck, off she put. "i done fergit," said uncle remus, scratching his head gravely, "w'ich one er dem chilluns wuz ailin'. hit mout er bin kubs, en hit mout er bin klibs; but no marter fer dat. w'en ole miss rabbit git dar, ole miss b'ar wuz a-settin' up in de chimbly-cornder des a-dosin' en a-nussin' de young un; en all de wimmin er de neighborhoods wuz dar, a-whispun en a-talkin', des fer all de worl' lak wimmin does deze days. it 'uz: "'come right in, sis rabbit! i mighty proud to see you. i mighty glad you fotch yo' knittin', 'kaze i'm pow'ful po' comp'ny w'en my chillun sick. des fling yo' bonnet on de bed dar. i'm dat flustrated twel i dunner w'ich een's up, skacely. sis wolf, han' sis rabbit dat rickin'-cheer dar, 'kaze 't aint no one step fum her house ter mine.' "dat de way ole miss b'ar run on," continued uncle remus, "en dey set dar en dey chatter en dey clatter. ole brer wolf, he 'uz settin' out on de back peazzer smokin' en noddin'. he 'ud take en draw a long whiff, he would, en den he 'ud drap off ter noddin' en let de smoke oozle out thoo he nose. bimeby ole sis rabbit drap 'er knittin' in 'er lap, en sing out, sez she: "'law, sis b'ar! i smells 'barker smoke,' sez she. "ole sis b'ar, she jolt up de sick baby, en swap it fum one knee ter de yuther, en 'low: "'my ole man bin smokin' 'roun' yer de whole blessid day, but soon'z dish yer chile tuck sick, i des tuck'n tole 'im, sez i, fer ter take hisse'f off in de woods whar he b'long at, sez i. yessum! i did dat! i pities any 'oman w'at 'er ole man is fer'verlastin' stuck 'roun' de house w'en dey's any sickness gwine on,' sez she. "ole brer wolf sot out dar on de back peazzer, en he shot one eye, he did, en open um 'g'in, en let de smoke oozle out'n he nose. sis b'ar, she jolt de sick baby en swap it fum one knee ter de yuther. dey sot dar en talk twel bimeby der confab sorter slack up. fus' news dey know sis rabbit drap 'er knittin' en fling up 'er han's en squall out: "'de gracious en de goodness! ef i aint done come traipsin' off en lef' my ole man money-pus, en he got sump'n' in dar w'at he won't take a purty fer, needer! i'm dat fergitful,' sez she, 'twel hit keep me mizerbul mighty nigh de whole time,' sez she. "brer wolf, he lif' up he year en open he eye, en let de smoke oozle out'n he nose. sis b'ar, she jolt de sick baby wuss en wuss, en bimeby, she up'n say, sez she: "'i mighty glad 't aint me, dat i is,' sez she, 'bekaze ef i wuz ter lef' my ole man money-pus layin' 'roun' dat a-way, he'd des nat'ally rip up de planks in de flo', en t'ar all de bark off'n de trees,' sez she. "ole miss rabbit, she sot dar, she did, en she rock en study, en study en rock, en she dunner w'at ter do. ole sis b'ar, she jolt en jolt de baby. ole brer wolf, he let de 'barker smoke oozle thoo he nose, he did, en den he open bofe eyes en lay he pipe down. wid dat, he crope down de back steps en lit out fer brer rabbit house. brer wolf got gait same lak race-hoss, en it aint take 'im long fer ter git whar he gwine. w'en he git ter brer rabbit house, he pull de latch-string en open de do', en w'en he do dis, one er de little rabs wake up, en he holler out: "'dat you, mammy?' "den brer wolf wish he kin sing 'bye-o-baby,' but 'fo' he kin make answer, de little rab holler out 'g'in: "'dat you, mammy?' "ole brer wolf know he got ter do sump'n', so he tuck'n w'isper, he did: "'sh-sh-sh! go ter sleep, honey. de boogers'll git you!' en wid dat de little rab 'gun ter whimple, en he whimple hisse'f off ter sleep. "den w'en it seem lak de little rabs, w'ich dey wuz mighty nigh forty-eleven un um, is all gone ter sleep, brer wolf, he crope 'roun', he did, en feel on de mantel-shelf, en feel, en feel, twel he come ter ole brer rabbit money-pus. ef he want so light wid he han'," uncle remus went on, glancing quizzically at the child, "he'd a knock off de pollygollic vial w'at ole miss rabbit put up dar. but nummine! brer wolf, he feel, en feel, twel he come ter de money-pus, en he grab dat, he did, en he des flew'd away fum dar. "w'en he git out er sight en year'n', brer wolf look at de money-pus, en see w'at in it. hit 'uz one er deze yer kinder money-pus wid tossle on de een' en shiny rings in de middle. brer wolf look in dar fer ter see w'at he kin see. in one een' dey wuz a piece er calamus-root en some collard-seeds, en in de t'er een' dey wuz a great big rabbit foot. dis make brer wolf feel mighty good, en he gallop off home wid de shorance[ ] un a man w'at done foun' a gol' mine." here uncle remus paused and betrayed a disposition to drop off to sleep. the little boy, however, touched him upon the knee, and asked him what brother rabbit did when he found his foot was gone. uncle remus laughed and rubbed his eyes. "hit 's mighty kuse 'bout brer rabbit, honey. he aint miss dat money-pus fer mighty long time, yit w'en he do miss it, he miss it mighty bad. he miss it so bad dat he git right-down sick, 'kaze he know he bleedz ter fine dat ar foot let go w'at may, let come w'at will. he study en he study, yit 't aint do no good, en he go all 'roun' 'lowin' ter hisse'f: "'i know whar i put dat foot, yit i dunner whar i lef' um; i know whar i put dat foot, yit i dunner whar i lef' um.' "he mope en he mope 'roun'. look lak brer wolf got all de luck en brer rabbit aint got none. brer wolf git fat, brer rabbit git lean; brer wolf run fas', brer rabbit lope heavy lak ole sis cow; brer wolf feel funny, brer rabbit feel po'ly. hit keep on dis a-way, twel bimeby brer rabbit know sump'n' n'er bleedz ter be done. las' he make up he min' fer ter take a journey, en he fix up he tricks, he do, en he go en see ole aunt mammy-bammy big-money." "and who was old aunt mammy-bammy big-money, uncle remus?" the little boy inquired. "ah-yi!" exclaimed uncle remus, in a tone of triumph, "i know'd w'en i fotch dat ole creetur name up, dey wa'n't gwine ter be no noddin' 'roun' dish yer h'a'th. in dem days," he continued, "dey wuz a witch-rabbit, en dat wuz her entitlements--ole aunt mammy-bammy big-money. she live way off in a deep, dark swamp, en ef you go dar you hatter ride some, slide some; jump some, hump some; hop some, flop some; walk some, balk some; creep some, sleep some; fly some, cry some; foller some, holler some; wade some, spade some; en ef you aint monst'us keerful you aint git dar den. yit brer rabbit he git dar atter so long a time, en he mighty nigh wo' out. "he sot down, he did, fer ter res' hisse'f, en bimeby he see black smoke comin' outer de hole in de groun' whar de ole witch-rabbit stay. smoke git blacker en blacker, en atter w'ile brer rabbit know de time done come fer 'im ter open up en tell w'at he want." as uncle remus interpreted the dialogue, brother rabbit spoke in a shrill, frightened tone, while the voice of the rabbit-witch was hoarse and oracular: "'mammy-bammy big-money, i needs yo' he'p.' "'son riley rabbit, why so? son riley rabbit, why so?' "'mammy-bammy big-money, i los' de foot you gim me.' "'o riley rabbit, why so? son riley rabbit, why so?' "'mammy-bammy big-money, my luck done gone. i put dat foot down 'pon de groun'. i lef um dar i know not whar.' "'de wolf done tuck en stole yo' luck, son riley rabbit, riley. go fine de track, go git hit back, son riley rabbit, riley.' "wid dat," continued uncle remus, "ole aunt mammy-bammy big-money sucked all de black smoke back in de hole in de groun', and brer rabbit des put out fer home. w'en he git dar, w'at do he do? do he go off in a cornder by hisse'f, en wipe he weepin' eye? dat he don't--dat he don't. he des tuck'n wait he chance. he wait en he wait; he wait all day, he wait all night; he wait mighty nigh a mont'. he hang 'roun' brer wolf house; he watch en he wait. "bimeby, one day, brer rabbit git de news dat brer wolf des come back fum a big frolic. brer rabbit know he time comin', en he keep bofe eye open en bofe years h'ist up. nex' mawnin' atter brer wolf git back fum de big frolic, brer rabbit see 'im come outer de house en go down de spring atter bucket water. brer rabbit, he slip up, he did, en he look in. ole miss wolf, she 'uz sailin' 'roun' fryin' meat en gittin' brekkus, en dar hangin' 'cross er cheer wuz brer wolf wes'cut where he keep he money-pus. brer rabbit rush up ter do' en pant lak he mighty nigh fag out. he rush up, he did, en he sing out: "'mawnin', sis wolf, mawnin'! brer wolf sont me atter de shavin'-brush, w'ich he keep it in dat ar money-pus w'at i 'loant 'im.' "sis wolf, she fling up 'er han's en let um drap, en she laugh en say, sez she: "'i 'clar' ter gracious, brer rabbit! you gimme sech a tu'n, dat i aint got room ter be perlite skacely.' "but mos' 'fo' she gits de wuds out'n 'er mouf, brer rabbit done grab de money-pus en gone!" "which way did he go, uncle remus?" the little boy asked, after a while. "well, i tell you dis," uncle remus responded emphatically, "brer rabbit road aint lay by de spring; i boun' you dat!" presently 'tildy put her head in the door to say that it was bedtime, and shortly afterward the child was dreaming that daddy jack was mammy-bammy big-money in disguise. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] disease. [ ] if, as some ethnologists claim, the animal myths are relics of zoötheism, there can scarcely be a doubt that the practice here described by uncle remus is the survival of some sort of obeisance or genuflexion by which the negroes recognized the presence of the rabbit, the great central figure and wonder-worker of african mythology. [ ] never mind. [ ] sometime, any time, no time. thus: "run fetch me de ax, en i'll wait on you one er deze odd-come-shorts." [ ] assurance. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xxxi "in some lady's garden" when the little boy next visited uncle remus the old man was engaged in the somewhat tedious operation of making shoe-pegs. daddy jack was assorting a bundle of sassafras roots, and aunt tempy was transforming a meal-sack into shirts for some of the little negroes,--a piece of economy of her own devising. uncle remus pretended not to see the child. "hit 's des lak i tell you all," he remarked, as if renewing a conversation; "i monst'us glad dey aint no bad chilluns on dis place fer ter be wadin' in de spring-branch, en flingin' mud on de yuther little chilluns, w'ich de goodness knows dey er nasty nuff bidout dat. i monst'us glad dey aint none er dat kinder young uns 'roun' yer--i is dat." "now, uncle remus," exclaimed the little boy, in an injured tone, "somebody's been telling you something on me." the old man appeared to be very much astonished. "heyo! whar you bin hidin', honey? yer 't is mos' way atter supper en you aint in de bed yit. well--well--well! sit over ag'in in de chimbly jam dar whar you kin dry dem shoes. en de ve'y nex' time w'at i see you wadin' in dat branch, wid de sickly season comin' on, i'm a-gwine ter take you 'cross my shoulder en kyar you ter miss sally, en ef dat aint do no good, den i'll kyar you ter mars john, en ef dat aint do no good, den i'm done wid you, so dar now!" the little boy sat silent a long time, listening to the casual talk of uncle remus and his guests, and watching the vapor rise from his wet shoes. presently there was a pause in the talk, and the child said: "uncle remus, have i been too bad to hear a story?" the old man straightened himself up and pushed his spectacles back on his forehead. "now, den, folks, you year w'at he say. shill we pursue on atter de creeturs? shill er shan't?" "bless yo' soul, brer remus, i mos' 'shame' myse'f, yit i tell you de lord's trufe, i'm des ez bad atter dem ar tales ez dat chile dar." "well, den," said uncle remus, "a tale hit is. one time dey wuz a man, en dish yer man he had a gyardin. he had a gyardin, en he had a little gal fer ter min' it. i don't 'speck dish yer gyardin wuz wide lak miss sally gyardin, but hit 'uz lots longer. hit 'uz so long dat it run down side er de big road, 'cross by de plum thicket, en back up de lane. dish yer gyardin wuz so nice en long dat it tuck'n 'track de 'tention er brer rabbit; but de fence wuz built so close en so high, dat he can't git in nohow he kin fix it." "oh, i know about that!" exclaimed the little boy. "the man catches brother rabbit and ties him, and the girl lets him loose to see him dance." uncle remus dropped his chin upon his bosom. he seemed to be humbled. "sis tempy," he said, with a sigh, "you'll hatter come in some time w'en we aint so crowded, en i'll up en tell 'bout billy malone en miss janey." "_that_ wasn't the story i heard, uncle remus," said the little boy. "_please_ tell me about billy malone and miss janey." "ah-yi!" exclaimed uncle remus, with a triumphant smile; "i 'low'd maybe i wa'n't losin' de use er my 'membunce, en sho' nuff i aint. now, den, we'll des wuk our way back en start fa'r en squar'. one time dey wuz a man, en dish yer man he had a gyardin en a little gal. de gyardin wuz chock full er truck, en in de mawnin's, w'en de man hatter go off, he call up de little gal, he did, en tell 'er dat she mus' be sho' en keep ole brer rabbit outer de gyardin. he tell 'er dis eve'y mawnin'; but one mawnin' he tuck en forgit it twel he git ter de front gate, en den he stop en holler back: "'o janey! you janey! min' w'at i tell you 'bout ole brer rabbit. don't you let 'im get my nice green peas.' "little gal, she holler back: 'yes, daddy.' "all dis time, brer rabbit he 'uz settin' out dar in de bushes dozin'. yit, w'en he year he name call out so loud, he cock up one year en lissen, en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he bleedz ter outdo mr. man. bimeby, brer rabbit, he went 'roun' en come down de big road des ez natchul ez ef he bin trafflin' some'rs. he see de little gal settin' by de gate, en he up'n 'low: "'aint dish yer miss janey?' "little gal say: 'my daddy call me janey.'" uncle remus mimicked the voice and manner of a little girl. he hung his head, looked excessively modest, and spoke in a shrill tone. the effect was so comical that even daddy jack seemed to enjoy it. "'my daddy call me janey; w'at yo' daddy call you?' "brer rabbit look on de groun', en sorter study lak folks does w'en dey feels bad. den he look up en 'low: "i bin lose my daddy dis many long year, but w'en he 'live he call me billy malone.' den he look at de little gal hard en 'low: 'well, well, well! i aint seed you sence you 'uz a little bit er baby, en now yer you is mighty nigh a grown 'oman. i pass yo' daddy in de road des now, en he say i mus' come en tell you fer ter gimme a mess er sparrer-grass.' "little gal, she fling de gate wide open, en let mr. billy malone git de sparrer-grass. "man come back en see whar somebody done bin tromplin' on de gyardin truck, en den he call up de little gal, en up'n ax 'er who bin dar since he bin gone; en de little gal, she 'low, she did, dat mr. billy malone bin dar. man ax who in de name er goodness is mr. billy malone. little gal 'low hit 's des a man w'at say 'er daddy sont 'im fer ter git some sparrer-grass on account er ole acquaintance. man got his 'spicions, but he aint say nothin'. "nex' day, w'en he start off, he holler en tell de little gal fer ter keep one eye on ole brer rabbit, en don't let nobody git no mo' sparrer-grass. brer rabbit, he settin' off dar in de bushes, en he year w'at de man say, en he see 'im w'en he go off. bimeby, he sorter run 'roun', ole brer rabbit did, en he come hoppin' down de road, twel he git close up by de little gal at de gyardin gate. brer rabbit drapt 'er his biggest bow, en ax 'er how she come on. den, atter dat, he 'low, he did: "'i see yo' daddy gwine 'long down de road des now, en he gimme a rakin' down 'kaze i make 'way wid de sparrer-grass, yit he say dat bein' 's how i sech a good fr'en' er de fambly i kin come en ax you fer ter gimme a mess er inglish peas.' "little gal, she tuck'n fling de gate wide open, en ole brer rabbit, he march in, he did, en he git de peas in a hurry. man come back atter w'ile, en he 'low: "'who bin tromplin' down my pea-vines?' "'mr. billy malone, daddy.' "man slap he han' on he forrud;[ ] he dunner w'at ter make er all dis. bimeby, he 'low: "'w'at kinder lookin' man dish yer mr. billy malone?' "'split lip, pop eye, big year, en bob-tail, daddy.' "man say he be bless ef he aint gwine ter make de acquaintance er mr. billy malone; en he went ter wuk, he did, en fix 'im up a box-trap, en he put some goobers in dar, en he tell de little gal nex' time mr. billy malone come fer 'vite 'im in. nex' mawnin', man git little ways fum de house en tuck'n holler back, he did: "'w'atsumever you does, don't you dast ter let nobody git no mo' sparrer-grass, en don't you let um git no mo' inglish peas.' "little gal holler back: 'no, daddy.' "den, atter dat, 't wa'n't long 'fo' yer come mr. billy malone, hoppin' 'long down de big road. he drapt a bow, he did, en 'low: "'mawnin', miss janey, mawnin'! met yo' daddy down de big road, en he say dat i can't git no mo' sparrer-grass en green peas but you kin gimme some goobers.' "little gal, she lead de way, en tell mr. billy malone dar dey is in de box. mr. billy malone, he lick he chops, he did, en 'low: "'you oughter be monst'us glad, honey, dat you got sech a good daddy lak dat.' "wid dat, mr. billy malone wunk he off eye, en jump in de box." "w'at i done tell you!" exclaimed aunt tempy. "he jump in de box," continued uncle remus, "en dar he wuz, en ef de little gal hadder bin a minnit bigger, i lay she'd 'a' tuck'n done some mighty tall winkin'. "man aint gone fur, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' yer he come back. w'en brer rabbit year 'im comin' he bounce 'roun' in dar same ez a flea in a piller-case, but 't aint do no good. trap done fall, en brer rabbit in dar. man look thoo de slats, en 'low: "'dar you is--same old hoppum-skippum run en jumpum. youer de ve'y chap i'm atter. i want yo' foot fer ter kyar in my pocket, i want yo' meat fer ter put in de pot, en i want yo' hide fer ter w'ar on my head.' "dis make cole chill rush up en down brer rabbit backbone, en he git more 'umble dan a town nigger w'at been kotch out atter nine erclock.[ ] he holler en cry, en cry en holler: "'do pray, mr. man, tu'n me go! i done 'ceive you dis time, but i aint gwine ter 'ceive you no mo'. do pray, mr. man, tu'n me go, des dis little bit er time.' "man he aint sayin' nothin'. he look lak he studyin' 'bout somep'n' ne'r way off yan', en den he take de little gal by de han' en go off todes de house." "sho'ly brer rabbit time done come now!" exclaimed aunt tempy, in a tone of mingled awe and expectation. uncle remus paid no attention to the interruption, but went right on: "hit seem lak dat brer rabbit got mo' luck dan w'at you kin shake a stick at, 'kaze de man en de little gal aint good en gone skacely twel yer come brer fox a-pirootin' 'roun'. brer fox year brer rabbit holl'in' en he up'n ax w'at de 'casion er sech gwines on right dar in de broad open daylight. brer rabbit squall out: "'lordy, brer fox! you better make 'as'e 'way fum yer, 'kaze mr. man ull ketch you en slap you in dish yer box en make you eat mutton twel you ull des nat'ally bus' right wide open. run, brer fox, run! he bin feedin' me on mutton the whole blessid mawnin' en now he done gone atter mo'. run, brer fox, run!' "yit, brer fox aint run. he up'n ax brer rabbit how de mutton tas'e. "'he tas'e mighty good 'long at fus', but nuff's a nuff, en too much is a plenty. run, brer fox, run! he ull ketch you, sho'!' "yit, brer fox aint run. he up'n 'low dat he b'leeve he want some mutton hisse'f, en wid dat he onloose de trap en let brer rabbit out, en den he tuck'n git in dar. brer rabbit aint wait fer ter see w'at de upshot gwine ter be, needer--i boun' you he aint. he des tuck'n gallop off in de woods, en he laff en laff twel he hatter hug a tree fer ter keep fum drappin' on de groun'." "well, but what became of brother fox?" the little boy asked, after waiting some time for uncle remus to proceed. "now, den, honey," said the old man, falling back upon his dignity, "hit e'en about takes all my spar' time fer ter keep up wid you en brer rabbit, let 'lone keepin' up wid brer fox. ole brer rabbit tuck'n tuck keer hisse'f, en now let brer fox take keer hisse'f." "i say de word!" exclaimed aunt tempy. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] forehead. [ ] during slavery, the ringing of the nine-o'clock bell in the towns and villages at night was the signal for all negroes to retire to their quarters. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xxxii brother 'possum gets in trouble when uncle remus began his story of billy malone and miss janey, daddy jack sat perfectly quiet. his eyes were shut, and he seemed to be dozing; but, as the story proceeded, he grew more and more restless. several times he was upon the point of interrupting uncle remus, but he restrained himself. he raised his hands to a level with his chin, and beat the ends of his fingers gently together, apparently keeping time to his own thoughts. but his impatience exhausted itself, and when uncle remus had concluded, the old african was as quiet as ever. when brother fox was left so unceremoniously to his fate, daddy jack straightened himself temporarily and said: "me yent bin-a yerry da tale so. 'e nice, fer true, 'e mek larf come; oona no bin-a yerry um lak me." "no," said uncle remus, with grave affability, "i 'speck not. one man, one tale; 'n'er man, 'n'er tale. folks tell um diffunt. i boun' yo' way de bes', brer jack. out wid it--en we ull set up yer, en hark at you en laff wid you plum twel de chick'ns crow." daddy jack needed no other invitation. he clasped his knee in his hands and began: "dey is bin lif one màn wut plan' some pea in 'e geerden. 'e plan' some pea, but 'e mek no pea; b'er rabbit, 'e is fine um. 'e fine um un 'e eat um. màn mek no pea, b'er rabbit 'e 'stroy um so. 'e plan' dem pea; dey do grow, un 'e go off. 'e come bahk; pea no dere. b'er rabbit teer um up un mek 'e cud wit' dem. so long tam, màn say 'e gwan ketch um, un 'e no ketch um. màn go, b'er rabbit come; màn come, b'er rabbit go. bumbye, màn, 'e is git so mad, 'e y-eye bin-a come red; 'e crack 'e toof, 'e do cuss. 'e oby 'e gwan ketch b'er rabbit nohow. dun 'e is bin-a call 'e lilly gal. 'e talk, 'e tell 'im fer let b'er rabbit go troo da geerden gett. lil gal say yasser. 'e talk, 'e tell 'im wun b'er rabbit go troo da gett, dun 'e mus' shed da gett, un no le'm come pas' no mo'. lil gal say yasser. "ole màn is bin-a gone 'bout 'e wuk; lil gal, 'e do lissun. b'er rabbit, 'e come tippy-toe, tippy-toe; gone in da geerden; eat dem pea tel 'e full up; eat tel he mos' git seeck wit' dem pea. dun 'e start fer go out; 'e fine da gett shed. 'e shek um, 'e no open; 'e push um, 'e no open; 'e fair grunt, 'e push so hard, 'e no open. 'e bin-a call da lil gal; e' say: "'lil gal, lil gal! cum y-open da gett. 't is hu't me feelin' fer fine da gett shed lak dis.' "lil gal no talk nuttin'. b'er rabbit say: "''t is-a bin hu't me feelin', lil gal! come y-open da gett, lil gal, less i teer um loose from da hinch.' "lil gal v'ice come bahk. 'e talk: "'daddy say mus'n'.' "b'er rabbit open 'e mout'. 'e say: "'see me long sha'p toof? 'e bite you troo un troo!' "lil gal skeer; 'e tu'n loose de gett un fly. b'er rabbit _gone_! ole màn come bahk; 'e ahx 'bout b'er rabbit. lil gal say: "''e done gone, daddy. i shed da gett, i hol' um fas'. b'er rabbit bin show 'e toof; 'e gwan fer bite-a me troo un troo. i git skeer', daddy.' màn ahx: "'how 'e gwin fer bite you troo un troo, wun 'e toof fix bite grass? b'er rabbit tell one big tale. 'e no kin bite-a you. wun 'e come 'g'in, you shed dem gett, you hol' um tight, you no le'm go pas' no mo'.' lil gal say yasser. "nex' day mawnin', màn go 'long 'bout 'e wuk. lil gal, 'e play 'roun', un 'e play 'roun'. b'er rabbit, 'e is come tippy-tippy. 'e fine gett open; 'e slip in da geerden. 'e chew dem pea, 'e gnyaw dem pea; 'e eat tel dem pea tas'e bad. dun 'e try fer go out; gett shed fas'. 'e no kin git troo. 'e push, gett no open; 'e keek wit' um fut, gett no open; 'e butt wit' um head, gett no open. dun 'e holler: "'lil gal, lil gal! come y-open da gett. 'e berry bad fer fool wit' ole màn lak me. i no kin hol' me feelin' down wun you is do lak dis. 'e berry bad.' "lil gal hol' 'e head down; 'e no say nuttin'. b'er rabbit say: "'be shame, lil gal, fer do ole màn lak dis. me feelin' git wusser. come y-open de gett 'fo' i is teer um down.' "lil gal say: 'daddy say mus'n'.' "b'er rabbit open 'e y-eye wide; 'e is look berry mad. 'e say: "'see me big y-eye? i pop dis y-eye stret at you, me kill-a you dead. come y-open da gett 'fo' me y-eye pop.' "lil gal skeer fer true. 'e loose de gett, 'e fair fly. b'er rabbit done _gone_! lil gal daddy bahk. 'e ahx wey is b'er rabbit. lil gal say: "''e done gone, daddy. i hol' gett fas'; 'e is bin-a 'come berry mad. 'e say he gwan pop 'e y-eye at me, shoot-a me dead.' màn say: "'b'er rabbit tell-a too big tale. how 'e gwan shoot-a you wit' 'e y-eye? 'e y-eye sem lak turrer folks y-eye. wun 'e come some mo', you shed dem gett, you hol' um fas'.' lil gal say yasser. "nex' day mawnin', màn go, b'er rabbit come. 'e is ma'ch in da gett un eat-a dem pea tel 'e kin eat-a no mo'. 'e sta't out; gett shed. 'e no kin come pas'. 'e shek, 'e push, 'e pull; gett shed. dun 'e holler: "'lil gal, lil gal! come y-open da gett. 'tis berry bad fer treat you' kin lak dis. come y-open da gett, lil gal. 'tis full me up wit' sorry wun you do lak dis.' "lil gal, 'e no say nuttin'. b'er rabbit say: "''e berry bad fer treat you' kin lak dis. tu'n go da gett, lil gal.' lil gal say: "'how you is kin wit' me, b'er rabbit?' "'you' gran'daddy foller at' me nuncle wit' 'e dog. da mek we is kin. come y-open da gett, lil gal.'" "dat ole rabbit wuz a-talkin', mon!" exclaimed aunt tempy, enthusiastically. "lil gal no say nuttin' 't all!" daddy jack went on, with renewed animation. "dun b'er rabbit say: "'see me long, sha'p toof, lil gal? me bite-a you troo un troo.' lil gal say: "'me no skeer da toof. 'e bite nuttin' 'tall 'cep' 'e bite grass.' b'er rabbit say: "'see me big y-eye? i pop um at you, shoot-a you dead.' lil gal say: "me no skeer da y-eye. 'e sem lak turrer folks y-eye.' b'er rabbit say: "'lil gal, you mek me 'come mad. i no lak fer hu't-a me kin. look at me ho'n! i run you troo un troo.' "b'er rabbit lif 'e two year up; 'e p'int um stret at da lil gal. lil gal 'come skeer da ho'n; 'e do tu'n go da gett; 'e fly fum dey-dey." "well, ef dat don't beat!" exclaimed aunt tempy, laughing as heartily as the little boy. "look at um one way, en rabbit year does look lak sho' nuff ho'ns." "lil gal tu'n go da gett," daddy jack continued; "b'er rabbit _gone_! màn come bahk; 'e ahx wey is b'er rabbit. lil gal cry; 'e say 'e skeer b'er rabbit ho'n. màn say 'e is hab no ho'n. lil gal is stan' um down 'e see ho'n. màn say da ho'n is nuttin' 't all but b'er rabbit year wut 'e yeddy wit'. 'e tell lil gal nex' tam b'er rabbit come, 'e mus' shed da gett; 'e mus' run fum dey-dey un leaf um shed. lil gal say yasser. "màn gone, b'er rabbit come. 'e is go in da gett; 'e eat-a dem pea tel 'e tire'. 'e try fer go pas' da gett, gett shed. 'e call lil gal; lil gal _gone_! 'e call, call, call; lil gal no yeddy. 'e try fer fine crack in da palin'; no crack dey. 'e try fer jump over; de palin' too high. 'e 'come skeer; 'e is 'come so skeer 'e squot 'pun da groun'; 'e shek, 'e shiver. "màn come bahk. 'e ahx wey b'er rabbit. lil gal say 'e in da geerden. màn hug lil gal, 'e is lub um so. 'e go in da geerden; 'e fine b'er rabbit. 'e ketch um--'e ca' um off fer kill um; 'e mad fer true. lil gal come holler: "'daddy, daddy! missus say run dere! 'e wan' you come stret dere!' "màn tie b'er rabbit in da bag; 'e hang um on tree lim'. 'e say: "'i gwan come bahk. i l'arn you fer mek cud wit' me green pea.' "màn gone fer see 'e missus. bumbye, b'er 'possum is bin-a come pas'. 'e look up, 'e ketch glimp' da bag 'pun da lim'. 'e say: "'ki! wut dis is bin-a hang in da bag 'pun da tree-lim'?' b'er rabbit say: "'hush, b'er 'possum! 't is-a me. i bin-a lissen at dem sing in da cloud.' "b'er 'possum lissen. 'e say: "'i no yed dem sing, b'er rabbit.' "'hush, b'er 'possum! how is i kin yeddy dem sing wun you is mek-a da fuss dey-dey?' "b'er 'possum, 'e hoi' 'e mout' still, 'cep' 'e do grin. b'er rabbit say: "'i yed dem now! i yed dem now! b'er 'possum, i wish you is yeddy dem sing!' "b'er 'possum say 'e mout' water fer yeddy dem sing in da cloud. b'er rabbit, 'e say 'e is bin-a hab so long tarn 'quaintun wit' b'er 'possum, 'e le'm yeddy dem sing. 'e say: "'i git fum da bag. i tu'n-a you in tel you is yeddy dem sing. dun you is git fum da bag, tel i do come bahk un 'joy mese'f.' "b'er 'possum, 'e do clam up da tree; 'e git dem bag, 'e bring um down. 'e tak off da string; 'e tu'n b'er rabbit go. 'e crawl in un 'e quile up. 'e say: "'i no yeddy dem sing, b'er rabbit!' "'hi! wait tel da bag it tie, b'er 'possum. you yed dem soon nuff!' 'e wait. "'i no yeddy dem sing, b'er rabbit!' "'hi! wait tel i clam da tree, b'er 'possum. you yed dem soon nuff!' 'e wait. "'i no yeddy dem sing, b'er rabbit!' "'wait tel i fix um 'pun da lim', b'er 'possum. you yed dem soon nuff!' 'e wait. "b'er rabbit clam down; 'e run 'way fum dey-dey; 'e hide in da bush side. màn come bahk. 'e see da bag moof. b'er 'possum say: "'i no yeddy dem sing. i wait fer yed um sing!' "màn t'ink 'e b'er rabbit in da bag. 'e say: "'ah-yi-ee! i mekky you yed dem sing!' "màn teka da bag fum da tree-lim'; 'e do slam da bag 'gin' da face da ye't'. 'e tek-a 'e walkin'-cane, un 'e beat b'er 'possum wut is do um no ha'm tel 'e mos' kill um. màn t'ink b'er rabbit mus' bin dead by dis. 'e look in da bag; 'e 'tretch 'e y-eye big; 'e 'stonish'. b'er rabbit, 'e do come fum da bush side; 'e do holler, 'e do laff. 'e say: "'you no is ketch-a me! i t'ief you' green pea,--i t'ief um some mo',--i t'ief um tel i dead!' "màn, 'e 'come so mad, 'e is fling hatchet at b'er rabbit un chop off 'e tail." at this moment daddy jack subsided. his head drooped forward, and he was soon in the land of nod. uncle remus sat gazing into the fireplace, as though lost in reflection. presently, he laughed softly to himself, and said: "dat 's des 'bout de long en de short un it. mr. man clip off brer rabbit tail wid de hatchet, en it bleed so free dat brer rabbit rush off ter de cotton-patch en put some lint on it, en down ter dis day dat lint mos' de fus' t'ing you see w'en brer rabbit jump out'n he bed en tell you good-bye." "but, uncle remus, what became of brother 'possum?" uncle remus smacked his lips and looked wise. "don't talk 'bout brer 'possum, honey, ef dat ar mr. man wuz nice folks lak we all is, en i aint 'spute it, he tuck'n tuck brer 'possum en bobbycue 'im, en i wish i had a great big piece right now. dat i does." xxxiii why the guinea-fowls are speckled one night, while the little boy was watching uncle remus broil a piece of bacon on the coals, he heard a great commotion among the guinea-fowls. the squawking and _pot-racking_ went on at such a rate that the geese awoke and began to scream, and finally the dogs added their various voices to the uproar. uncle remus leaned back in his chair and listened. "i 'speck may be dat 's de patter-rollers gwine by," he said, after a while. "but you can't put no 'pen'unce in dem ar guinny-hins, 'kaze dey'll wake up en holler ef dey year deyse'f sno'. dey'll fool you, sho'." "they are mighty funny, anyhow," said the little boy. "dat 's it!" exclaimed uncle remus. "dey looks quare, en dey does quare. dey aint do lak no yuther kinder chick'n, en dey aint look lak no yuther kinder chick'n. yit folks tell me," the old man went on, reflectively, "dat dey er heap mo' kuse lookin' now dan w'at dey use' ter be. i year tell dat dey wuz one time w'en dey wuz all blue, 'stid er havin' all dem ar teenchy little spots on um." "well, how did they get to be speckled, uncle remus?" asked the little boy, seeing that the old man was disposed to leave the subject and devote his attention to his broiling bacon. uncle remus did not respond at once. he turned his meat over carefully, watched it a little while, and then adroitly transferred it to the cover of a tin bucket, which was made to answer the purpose of a plate. then he searched about in the embers until he found his ash-cake, and in a little while his supper was ready to be eaten. "i aint begrudgin' nobody nothin'," said uncle remus, measuring the victuals with his eye; "yit i'm monst'us glad brer jack aint nowhar's 'roun', 'kaze dey aint no tellin' de gawm dat ole nigger kin eat. he look shaky, en he look dry up, en he aint got no toof, yit w'ence he set hisse'f down whar dey any vittles, he des nat'ally laps hit up. en let 'lone dat, he ull wipe he mouf en look' roun' des lak he want mo'. time miss sally see dat ole nigger eat one meal er vittles, i boun' you he hatter go back down de country. i aint begrudgin' brer jack de vittles," uncle remus went on, adopting a more conciliatory tone, "dat i aint, 'kaze folks is got ter eat; but, gentermens! you be 'stonish' w'en you see brer jack 'pesterin' 'long er he dinner." the little boy sat quiet awhile, and then reminded uncle remus of the guinea-fowls. "tooby sho', honey, tooby sho'! w'at i doin' runnin' on dis-a-way 'bout ole brer jack? w'at he done ter me? yer i is gwine on 'bout ole brer jack, en dem ar guinny-hins out dar waitin'. well, den, one day sis cow wuz a-grazin' 'bout in de ole fiel' en lookin' atter her calf. de wedder wuz kinder hot, en de calf, he tuck'n stan', he did, in he mammy shadder, so he kin keep cool, en so dat one flip un he mammy tail kin keep the flies off'n bofe un um. atter w'ile, 'long come a drove er guinnies. de guinnies, dey howdied, en sis cow, she howdied, en de guinnies, dey sorter picked 'roun' en sun deyse'f; en sis cow, she crap de grass en ax um de news er de neighborhoods. dey went on dis a-way twel 't wa'n't long 'fo' dey year mighty kuse noise out dar t'er side er de ole fiel'. de guinnies, dey make great 'miration, des lak dey does deze days, en ole sis cow fling up 'er head en look all 'roun'. she aint see nothin'. "atter w'ile dey year de kuse fuss 'g'in, en dey look 'roun', en bless gracious! stan'in' right dar, 'twix' dem en sundown, wuz a great big lion!" "a lion, uncle remus?" asked the little boy, in amazement. "des ez sho' ez you er settin' dar, honey,--a great big lion. you better b'leeve dey wuz a monst'us flutterment 'mungs de guinnies, en ole sis cow, she looked mighty skeer'd. de lion love cow meat mos' better dan he do any yuther kinder meat, en he shake he head en 'low ter hisse'f dat he'll des about ketch ole sis cow en eat 'er up, en take en kyar de calf ter he fambly. "den he tuck'n shuck he head, de lion did, en make straight at sis cow. de guinnies dey run dis a-way, en dey run t'er way, en dey run all 'roun' en 'roun'; but ole sis cow, she des know she got ter stan' 'er groun', en w'en she see de lion makin' todes 'er, she des tuck'n drapt 'er head down en pawed de dirt. de lion, he crope up, he did, en crope 'roun', watchin' fer good chance fer ter make a jump. he crope 'roun', he did, but no diffunce which a-way he creep, dar wuz ole sis cow hawns p'intin' right straight at 'im. ole sis cow, she paw de dirt, she did, en show de white er her eyes, en beller way down in 'er stomach. "dey went on dis a-way, dey did, twel bimeby de guinnies, dey see dat sis cow aint so mighty skeer'd, en den dey 'gun ter take heart. fus' news you know, one un um sorter drap he wings en fuzzle up de fedders en run out 'twix' sis cow en de lion. w'en he get dar, he sorter dip down, he did, en fling up dirt des lak you see um do in de ash-pile. den he tuck'n run back, he did, en time he git back, 'n'er one run out en raise de dus' 'twix' sis cow en de lion. den 'n'er one, he run out en dip down en shoo up de dus'; den 'n'er one run out en dip down, en 'n'er one en yit 'n'er one, twel, bless gracious! time dey all run out en dip down en raise de dus', de lion wuz dat blin' twel he aint kin see he han' befo' 'im. dis make 'im so mad dat he make a splunge at sis cow, en de old lady, she kotch 'im on her hawns en got 'im down, en des nat'ally to' intruls out." "did she kill the lion, uncle remus?" asked the little boy, incredulously. [illustration: why the guinea fowls are speckled] "dat she did--dat she did! yit 't aint make 'er proud, 'kaze atter de lion done good en dead, she tuck en call up de guinnies, she did, en she 'low, dey bin so quick fer ter he'p 'er out, dat she wanter pay um back. de guinnies, dey say, sezee: "'don't bodder 'long er we all, sis cow,' sezee. 'you had yo' fun en we all had ourn, en 'ceppin' dat ar blood en ha'r on yo' hawn,' sezee, 'dey aint none un us any de wuss off,' sezee. "but ole sis cow, she stan' um down, she did, dat she got ter pay um back, en den atter w'ile she ax um w'at dey lak bes'. "one un um up en make answer dat w'at dey lak bes', sis cow, she can't gi' um. sis cow, she up en 'low dat she dunno 'bout dat, en she ax um w'at is it. "den de guinnies, dey tuck'n huddle up, dey did, en hol' er confab wid one er 'n'er, en w'iles dey er doin' dis, ole sis cow, she tuck'n fetch a long breff, en den she call up 'er cud, en stood dar chawin' on it des lak she aint had no tribalation dat day. "bimeby one er de guinnies step out fum de huddlement en make a bow en 'low dat dey all 'ud be mighty proud ef sis cow kin fix it some way so dey can't be seed so fur thoo de woods, 'kaze dey look blue in de sun, en dey look blue in de shade, en dey can't hide deyse'f nohow. sis cow, she chaw on 'er cud, en shet 'er eyes, en study. she chaw en chaw, en study en study. bimeby she 'low: "'go fetch me a pail!' guinny-hin laff! "'law, sis cow! w'at de name er goodness you gwine do wid a pail?' "'go fetch me a pail!' "guinny-hin, she run'd off, she did, en atter w'ile yer she come trottin' back wid a pail. she sot dat pail down," continued uncle remus, in the tone of an eye-witness to the occurrence, "en sis cow, she tuck 'er stan' over it, en she let down 'er milk in dar twel she mighty nigh fill de pail full. den she tuck'n make dem guinny-hins git in a row, en she dip 'er tail in dat ar pail, en she switch it at de fust un en sprinkle 'er all over wid de milk; en eve'y time she switch 'er tail at um she 'low: "'i loves dis un!' den she 'ud sing: "'_oh, blue, go 'way! you shill not stay! oh, guinny, be gray, be gray!_' "she tuck'n sprinkle de las' one un um, en de guinnies, dey sot in de sun twel dey git dry, en fum dat time out dey got dem little speckles un um." xxxiv brother rabbit's love-charm "dey wuz one time," said uncle remus one night, as they all sat around the wide hearth,--daddy jack, aunt tempy, and the little boy in their accustomed places,--"dey wuz one time w'en de t'er creeturs push brer rabbit so close dat he tuck up a kinder idee dat may be he wa'n't ez smart ez he mout be, en he study 'bout dis plum twel he git humble ez de nex' man. 'las' he low ter hisse'f dat he better make inquirements--" "ki!" exclaimed daddy jack, raising both hands and grinning excitedly, "wut tale dis? i bin yerry da tale wun i is bin wean't fum me mammy." "well, den, brer jack," said uncle remus, with instinctive deference to the rules of hospitality, "i 'speck you des better whirl in yer en spin 'er out. ef you git 'er mix up anywhars i ull des slip in front er you en ketch holt whar you lef' off." with that, daddy jack proceeded: "one tam, b'er rabbit is bin lub one noung leddy." "miss meadows, i 'speck," suggested uncle remus, as the old african paused to rub his chin. "'e no lub miss meadow nuttin' 't all!" exclaimed daddy jack, emphatically. "'e bin lub turrer noung leddy fum dat. 'e is bin lub werry nice noung leddy. 'e lub 'um hard, 'e lub 'um long, un 'e is gwan try fer mek dem noung leddy marry wit' 'im. noung leddy seem lak 'e no look 'pon b'er rabbit, un dis is bin-a mek b'er rabbit feel werry bad all da day long. 'e moof 'way off by 'ese'f; 'e lose 'e fat, un 'e heer is bin-a come out. bumbye, 'e see one ole affiky mans wut is bin-a hunt in da fiel' fer root en yerrub fer mek 'e met'cine truck. 'e see um, un he go toze um. affiky mans open 'e y-eye big; 'e 'stonish'. 'e say: "'ki, b'er rabbit! you' he'lt' is bin-a gone; 'e bin-a gone un lef' you. wut mekky you is look so puny lak dis? who is bin hu't-a you' feelin'?' "b'er rabbit larf wit' dry grins. 'e say: "'shoo! i bin got well. ef you is see me wun i sick fer true, 't will mekky you heer stan' up, i skeer you so.' "affiky mans, 'e mek b'er rabbit stick out 'e tongue; 'e is count b'er rabbit pulse. 'e shekky 'e head; 'e do say: "'hi, b'er rabbit! wut all dis? you is bin ketch-a da gal-fever, un 'e strak in 'pon you' gizzud.' "den b'er rabbit, 'e is tell-a da affiky mans 'bout dem noung leddy wut no look toze 'im, un da affiky mans, 'e do say 'e bin know gal sem lak dat, 'e is bin shum befo'. 'e say 'e kin fix all dem noung leddy lak dat. b'er rabbit, 'e is feel so good, 'e jump up high; 'e is bin crack 'e heel; 'e shekky da affiky mans by de han'. "affiky mans, 'e say b'er rabbit no kin git da gal 'cep' 'e is mek 'im one cha'm-bag. 'e say 'e mus' git one el'phan' tush, un 'e mus' git one 'gater toof, un 'e mus' git one rice-bud bill. b'er rabbit werry glad 'bout dis, un 'e hop way fum dey-dey. "'e hop, 'e run, 'e jump all nex' day night, un bumbye 'e see one great big el'phan' come breakin' 'e way troo da woots. b'er rabbit, 'e say: "'ki! oona big fer true! i bin-a yeddy talk 'bout dis in me y-own countree. oona big fer true; too big fer be strong.' "el'phan' say: 'see dis!' "'e tek pine tree in 'e snout; 'e pull um by da roots; 'e toss um way off. b'er rabbit say: "'hi! dem tree come 'cause you bin high; 'e no come 'cause you bin strong.' "el'phan' say: 'see dis!' "'e rush troo da woots; 'e fair teer um down. b'er rabbit say: "'hoo! dem is bin-a saplin' wey you 'stroy. see da big pine? oona no kin 'stroy dem.' "el'phan' say: 'see dis!' "'e run 'pon da big pine; da big pine is bin too tough. el'phan' tush stick in deer fer true; da big pine hol' um fas'. b'er rabbit git-a dem tush; 'e fetch um wey da affiky mans lif. affiky mans say el'phan' is bin too big fer be sma't. 'e say 'e mus' haf one 'gater toof fer go wit' el'phan' tush. "b'er rabbit, 'e do crack 'e heel; 'e do fair fly fum dey-dey. 'e go 'long, 'e go 'long. bumbye 'e come 'pon 'gater. da sun shiün hot; da 'gater do 'joy 'ese'f. b'er rabbit say: "'dis road, 'e werry bad; less we mek good one by da crickside.' "'gater lak dat. 'e wek 'ese'f up fum 'e head to 'e tail. dey sta't fer clean da road. 'gater, 'e do teer da bush wit' 'e toof; 'e sweep-a da trash way wit' 'e tail. b'er rabbit, 'e do beat-a da bush down wit' 'e cane. 'e hit lef', 'e hit right; 'e hit up, 'e hit down; 'e hit all 'roun'. 'e hit un 'e hit, tel bumbye 'e hit 'gater in 'e mout' un knock-a da toof out. 'e grab um up; 'e gone fum dey-dey. 'e fetch-a da 'gater toof wey da affiky mans lif. affiky mans say: "''gater is bin-a got sha'p toof fer true. go fetch-a me one rice-bud bill.' "b'er rabbit gone! 'e go 'long, 'e go 'long, tel 'e see rice-bud swingin' on bush. 'e ahx um kin 'e fly. "rice-bud say: 'see dis!' "'e wissle, 'e sing, 'e shek 'e wing; 'e fly all 'roun' un 'roun'. "b'er rabbit say rice-bud kin fly wey da win' is bin blow, but 'e no kin fly wey no win' blow. "rice-bud say, 'enty!' "'e wait fer win' stop blowin'; 'e wait, un 'e fly all 'roun' un 'roun'. "b'er rabbit say rice-bud yent kin fly in house wey dey no win'. "rice-bud say, 'enty!' "'e fly in house, 'e fly all 'roun' un 'roun'. b'er rabbit pull de do' shed; 'e look at dem rice-bud; 'e say, 'enty!' "'e ketch dem rice-bud; 'e do git um bill, 'e fetch um wey da affiky mans lif. affiky mans says dem rice-bud bill slick fer true. 'e tekky da el'phan' tush, 'e tekky da 'gater toof, 'e tekky da rice-bud bill, he pit um in lil bag; 'e swing dem bag 'pon b'er rabbit neck. den b'er rabbit kin marry dem noung gal. enty!" here daddy jack paused and flung a glance of feeble tenderness upon 'tildy. uncle remus smiled contemptuously, seeing which 'tildy straightened herself, tossed her head, and closed her eyes with an air of indescribable scorn. "i dunner what brer rabbit mout er done," she exclaimed; "but i lay ef dey's any ole nigger man totin' a cunjer-bag in dis neighborhood, he'll git mighty tired un it 'fo' it do 'im any good--i lay dat!" daddy jack chuckled heartily at this, and dropped off to sleep so suddenly that the little boy thought he was playing 'possum. xxxv brother rabbit submits to a test "uncle remus," said the child, "do you reckon brother rabbit really married the young lady?" "bless yo' soul, honey," responded the old man, with a sigh, "hit b'long ter brer jack fer ter tell you dat. 't aint none er my tale." "was n't that the tale you started to tell?" "who? me? _shoo!_ i aint 'sputin' but w'at brer jack tale des ez purty ez dey er any needs fer, yit 't aint none er my tale." at this, the little boy laid his head upon uncle remus's knee and waited. "now, den," said the old man, with an air of considerable importance, "we er got ter go 'way back behime dish yer yallergater doin's w'at brer jack bin mixin' us up wid. ef i makes no mistakes wid my 'membunce, de place wharbouts i lef' off wuz whar brer rabbit had so many 'p'intments fer ter keep out de way er de t'er creeturs dat he 'gun ter feel monst'us humblyfied. let um be who dey will, you git folks in a close place ef you wanter see um shed der proudness. dey beg mo' samer dan a nigger w'en de patter-rollers ketch 'im. brer rabbit aint ko no beggin', 'kaze dey aint kotch; yit dey come so nigh it, he 'gun ter feel he weakness. "w'en brer rabbit feel dis a-way, do he set down flat er de groun' en let de t'er creeturs rush up en grab 'im? he mought do it deze days, 'kaze times done change; but in dem days he des tuck'n sot up wid hisse'f en study 'bout w'at he gwine do. he study en study, en las' he up'n tell he ole 'oman, he did, dat he gwine on a journey. wid dat, ole miss rabbit, she tuck'n fry 'im up a rasher er bacon, en bake 'im a pone er bread. brer rabbit tied dis up in a bag en tuck down he walkin' cane en put out." "where was he going, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "lemme 'lone, honey! lemme sorter git hit up, like. de trail mighty cole 'long yer, sho'; 'kaze dish yer tale aint come 'cross my min' not sence yo' gran'pa fotch us all out er ferginny, en dat 's a monst'us long time ago. "he put out, brer rabbit did, fer ter see ole mammy-bammy big-money." "dat 'uz dat ole witch-rabbit," remarked aunt tempy, complacently. "yasser," continued uncle remus, "de ve'y same ole creetur w'at i done tell you 'bout w'en brer rabbit los' he foot. he put out, he did, en atter so long a time he git dar. he take time fer ter ketch he win', en den he sorter shake hisse'f up en rustle 'roun' in de grass. bimeby he holler: "'mammy-bammy big-money! o mammy-bammy big-money! i journeyed fur, i journeyed fas'; i glad i foun' de place at las'.' "great big black smoke rise up out er de groun', en ole mammy-bammy big-money 'low: "'wharfo', son riley rabbit, riley? son riley rabbit, wharfo'?' "wid dat," continued uncle remus, dropping the sing-song tone by means of which he managed to impart a curious dignity and stateliness to the dialogue between brother rabbit and mammy-bammy big-money,--"wid dat brer rabbit up'n tell 'er, he did, 'bout how he fear'd he losin' de use er he min', 'kaze he done come ter dat pass dat he aint kin fool de yuther creeturs no mo', en dey push 'im so closte twel 't won't be long 'fo' dey'll git 'im. de ole witch-rabbit she sot dar, she did, en suck in black smoke en puff it out 'g'in, twel you can't see nothin' 't all but 'er great big eyeballs en 'er great big years. atter w'ile she 'low: "'dar sets a squer'l in dat tree, son riley; go fetch dat squer'l straight ter me, son riley rabbit, riley.' "brer rabbit sorter study, en den he 'low, he did: "'i aint got much sense lef', yit ef i can't coax dat chap down from dar, den hit 's 'kaze i done got some zeeze w'ich it make me fibble in de min',' sezee. "wid dat, brer rabbit tuck'n empty de provender out'n he bag en got 'im two rocks, en put de bag over he head en sot down und' de tree whar he squer'l is. he wait little w'ile, en den he hit de rocks tergedder--_blip!_ "squer'l he holler, 'hey!' "brer rabbit wait little, en den he tuck'n slap de rocks tergedder--_blap!_ "squer'l he run down de tree little bit en holler, 'heyo!' "brer rabbit aint sayin' nothin'. he des pop de rocks tergedder--_blop!_ "squer'l, he come down little furder, he did, en holler, 'who dat?' "'biggidy dicky big-bag!' "'what you doin' in dar?' "'crackin' hick'y nuts.' "'kin i crack some?' "'tooby sho', miss bunny bushtail; come git in de bag.' "miss bunny bushtail hang back," continued uncle remus, chuckling; "but de long en de short un it wuz dat she got in de bag, en brer rabbit he tuck'n kyar'd 'er ter ole mammy-bammy big-money. de ole witch-rabbit, she tuck'n tu'n de squer'l a-loose, en 'low: "'dar lies a snake in 'mungs' de grass, son riley; go fetch 'im yer, en be right fas', son riley rabbit, riley.' "brer rabbit look 'roun', en sho' nuff dar lay de bigges' kinder rattlesnake, all quile up ready fer business. brer rabbit scratch he year wid he behime leg, en study. look lak he gwine git in trouble. yit atter w'ile he go off in de bushes, he did, en cut 'im a young grape-vine, en he fix 'im a slip-knot. den he come back. snake 'periently look lak he sleep. brer rabbit ax 'im how he come on. snake aint say nothin', but he quile up a little tighter, en he tongue run out lak it bin had grease on it. mouf shot, yit de tongue slick out en slick back 'fo' a sheep kin shake he tail. brer rabbit, he 'low, he did: "'law, mr. snake, i mighty glad i come 'cross you,' sezee. 'me en ole jedge b'ar bin havin' a turrible 'spute 'bout how long you is. we bofe 'gree dat you look mighty purty w'en youer layin' stretch out full lenk in de sun; but jedge b'ar, he 'low you aint but th'ee foot long, en i stood 'im down dat you 'uz four foot long ef not mo',' sezee. 'en de talk got so hot dat i come mighty nigh hittin' 'im a clip wid my walkin'-cane, en ef i had i boun' dey'd er bin some bellerin' done 'roun' dar,' sezee. "snake aint say nothin', but he look mo' complassy[ ] dan w'at he bin lookin'. "'i up'n tole ole jedge b'ar,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'dat de nex' time i run 'cross you i gwine take'n medjer you; en goodness knows i mighty glad i struck up wid you, 'kaze now dey won't be no mo' 'casion fer any 'sputin' 'twix' me en jedge b'ar,' sezee. "den brer rabbit ax mr. snake ef he won't be so good ez ter onquile hisse'f. snake he feel mighty proud, he did, en he stretch out fer all he wuff. brer rabbit he medjer, he did, en 'low: "'dar one foot fer jedge b'ar; dar th'ee foot fer jedge b'ar; en, bless goodness, dar four foot fer jedge b'ar, des lak i say!' "by dat time brer rabbit done got ter snake head, en des ez de las' wud drop out'n he mouf, he slip de loop 'roun' snake neck, en den he had 'im good en fas'. he tuck'n drag 'im, he did, up ter whar de ole witch-rabbit settin' at; but w'en he git dar, mammy-bammy big-money done make 'er disappearance, but he year sump'n' way off yander, en seem lak it say: "'ef you git any mo' sense, son riley, you'll be de ruination ev de whole settlement, son riley rabbit, riley.' "den brer rabbit drag de snake 'long home, en stew 'im down en rub wid de grease fer ter make 'im mo' 'soopler in de lim's. bless yo' soul, honey, brer rabbit mought er bin kinder fibble in de legs, but he wa'n't no ways cripple und' de hat."[ ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] a mixture of "complacent" and "placid." accent on the second syllable. [ ] a version of this story makes brother rabbit capture a swarm of bees. mr. w. o. tuggle, of georgia, who has made an exhaustive study of the creek indians, has discovered a variant of the legend. the rabbit (chufee) becomes alarmed because he has nothing but the nimbleness of his feet to take him out of harm's way. he goes to his creator and begs that greater intelligence be bestowed upon him. thereupon the snake test is applied, as in the negro story, and the rabbit also catches a swarm of gnats. he is then told that he has as much intelligence as there is any need for, and he goes away satisfied. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xxxvi brother wolf falls a victim "uncle remus," said the little boy, one night, when he found the old man sitting alone in his cabin, "did you ever see mammy-bammy big-money?" uncle remus placed his elbows on his knees, rested his chin in the palms of his hands, and gazed steadily in the fire. presently he said: "w'en folks 'gin ter git ole en no 'count, hit look lak der 'membunce git slack. some time hit seem lak i done seed sump'n' n'er mighty nigh de make en color er ole mammy-bammy big-money, en den ag'in seem lak i aint. w'en dat de case, w'at does i do? does i stan' tiptoe en tetch de rafters en make lak i done seed dat ole witch-rabbit, w'en, goodness knows, i aint seed 'er? dat i don't. no, bless you! i'd say de same in comp'ny, much less settin' in yer 'long side er you. de long en de short un it," exclaimed uncle remus, with emphasis, "is des dis. ef i bin run 'crost ole mammy-bammy big-money in my day en time, den she tuck'n make 'er disappearance dat quick twel i aint kotch a glimp' un 'er." the result of this good-humored explanation was that the child did n't know whether uncle remus had seen the witch-rabbit or not, but his sympathies led him to suspect that the old man was thoroughly familiar with all her movements. "uncle remus," the little boy said, after a while, "if there is another story about mammy-bammy big-money, i wish you would tell it to me all by my own-alone self." the idea seemed to please the old man wonderfully, and he chuckled over it for several minutes. "now, den, honey," he said, after a while, "you hit me whar i'm weak--you mos' sho'ly does. comp'ny mighty good fer some folks en i kin put up wid it long ez de nex' un, but you kin des take'n pile comp'ny 'pun top er comp'ny, en dey won't kyore de liver complaint. w'en you talk dat a-way you fetches me, sho', en i'll tell you a tale 'bout de ole witch-rabbit ef i hatter git down yer on my all-fours en grabble it out'n de ashes. yit dey aint no needs er dat, 'kaze de tale done come in my min' des ez fresh ez ef 't was day 'fo' yistiddy. "hit seem lak dat one time atter brer wolf tuck'n steal brer rabbit foot, dey wuz a mighty long fallin'-out 'twix' um. brer rabbit, he tuck'n got ashy 'kaze brer wolf tuck'n tuck he foot; en brer wolf, he tuck'n got hot 'kaze brer rabbit wuk en wuk 'roun' en git he foot ag'in. hit keep on dis a-way twel bimeby de ole witch-rabbit sorter git tired er brer wolf, en one day she tuck'n sont wud ter brer rabbit dat she lak mighty well fer ter see 'im. "dey fix up der plans, dey did, en 't wa'n't so mighty long 'fo' brer rabbit run inter brer wolf house in a mighty big hurry, en he 'low, he did: "'brer wolf! o brer wolf! i des now come fum de river, en des ez sho' ez youer settin' in dat cheer, ole big-money layin' dar stone dead. less[ ] we go eat 'er up.' "'brer rabbit, sho'ly youer jokin'!' "'brer wolf, i'm a-ginin'[ ] un you de fatal fack. come on, less go!' "'brer rabbit, is you sho' she dead?' "'brer wolf, she done dead; come on, less go!' "en go dey did. dey went 'roun' en dey got all de yuther creeturs, en brer wolf, livin' so nigh, he let all he chilluns go, en 't wa'n't so mighty long 'fo' dey had a crowd dar des lak camp-meetin' times. "w'en dey git dar, sho' nuff, dar lay ole big-money all stretch out on de river bank. dis make brer wolf feel mighty good, en he tuck'n stick he han's in he pocket en strut 'roun' dar en look monst'us biggity. atter he done tuck'n 'zamine ole big-money much ez he wanter, he up'n 'low, he did, dat dey better sorter rustle 'roun' en make a fa'r dividjun. he ax brer mink, he ax brer coon, he ax brer 'possum, he ax brer tarrypin, he ax brer rabbit, w'ich part dey take, en dey all up'n 'low, dey did, dat bein' ez brer wolf de biggest en de heartiest in de neighborhoods er de appetite, dey 'speck he better take de fus' choosement. "wid dat brer wolf, he sot down on a log, en hang he head ter one side, sorter lak he 'shame' er hisse'f. bimeby, he up'n 'low: "'now, den, folks en fr'en's, sence you shove it on me, de shortes' way is de bes' way. brer coon, we bin good fr'en's a mighty long time; how much er dish yer meat ought a fibble[ ] ole man lak me ter take?' sezee. "brer wolf talk mighty lovin'. brer coon snuff de a'r, en 'low: "'i 'speck you better take one er de fo'-quarters, brer wolf,' sezee. "brer wolf look lak he 'stonish'. he lif' up he han's, en 'low: "'law, brer coon, i tuck you ter be my fr'en', dat i did. man w'at talk lak dat aint got no feelin' fer me. hit make me feel mighty lonesome,' sezee. "den brer wolf tu'n 'roun' en talk mighty lovin' ter brer mink: "'brer mink, many's de day you bin a-knowin' me; how much er dish yer meat you 'speck oughter fall ter my sheer?' sezee. "brer mink sorter study, en den he 'low: "'bein' ez you er sech a nice man, brer wolf, i 'speck you oughter take one er de fo'-quarters, en a right smart hunk off'n de bulge er de neck,' sezee. "brer wolf holler out, he did: "'go 'way, brer mink! go 'way! you aint no 'quaintance er mine!' "den ole brer wolf tu'n 'roun' ter brer 'possum en talk lovin': "'brer 'possum, i done bin tuck wid a likin' fer you long time 'fo' dis. look at me, en den look at my fambly, en den tell me, ef you be so good, how much er dish yer meat gwine ter fall ter my sheer.' "brer 'possum, he look 'roun', he did, en grin, en he up'n 'low: "'take half, brer wolf, take half!' "den ole brer wolf holler out: "'shoo, brer 'possum! i like you no mo'.' "den brer wolf tu'n to brer tarrypin, en brer tarrypin say brer wolf oughter take all 'cep' one er de behime quarters, en den brer wolf 'low dat brer tarrypin aint no fr'en' ter him. den he up'n ax brer rabbit, en brer rabbit, he tuck'n 'spon', he did: "'gentermuns all! you see brer wolf chillun? well, dey er all monst'us hongry, en brer wolf hongry hisse'f. now i puts dis plan straight at you: less we all let brer wolf have de fus' pass at big-money; less tie 'im on dar, en le'm eat much ez he wanter, en den we kin pick de bones,' sezee. "'youer my pardner, brer rabbit!' sez brer wolf, sezee; 'youer my honey-pardner!' "dey all 'gree ter dis plan, mo' 'speshually ole brer wolf, so den dey tuck'n tie 'im onter big-money. dey tie 'im on dar, dey did, en den ole brer wolf look all 'roun' en wunk at de yuthers. brer rabbit, he tuck'n wunk back, en den brer wolf retch down en bite big-money on de back er de neck. co'se, w'en he do dis, big-money bleedz ter flinch; let 'lone dat, she bleedz ter jump. brer wolf holler out: "'ow! run yer somebody! take me off! she aint dead! o lordy! i feel 'er move!' brer rabbit holler back: "'nummine de flinchin', brer wolf. she done dead; i done year 'er sesso[ ] 'erse'f. she dead, sho'. bite er ag'in, brer wolf, bite 'er ag'in!' "brer rabbit talk so stiff, hit sorter tuck de chill off'n brer wolf, en he dipt down en bit ole big-money ag'in. wid dat, she 'gun ter move off, en brer wolf he holler des lak de woods done kotch a-fier: "'ow! o lordy! ontie me, brer rabbit, ontie me! she aint dead! ow! run yer, brer rabbit, en ontie me!' "brer rabbit, he holler back: "'she er sho'ly dead, brer wolf! nail 'er, brer wolf! bite 'er! gnyaw 'er!' "brer wolf keep on bitin', en big-money keep on movin' off. bimeby, she git ter de bank er de river, en she fall in--_cumberjoom!_--en dat 'uz de las' er brer wolf." "what did brother rabbit do?" the little boy asked, after a while. "well," responded uncle remus, in the tone of one anxious to dispose of a disagreeable matter as pleasantly as possible, "you know w'at kinder man brer rabbit is. he des went off some'rs by he own-alone se'f en tuck a big laugh." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] let us; let's; less. [ ] g hard. [ ] feeble. [ ] say so. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xxxvii brother rabbit and the mosquitoes the next night daddy jack was still away when the little boy went to see uncle remus, and the child asked about him. "bless yo' soul, honey! don't ax me 'bout brer jack. he look lak he mighty ole en trimbly, but he mighty peart nigger, mon. he look lak he shufflin' 'long, but dat ole nigger gits over groun', sho'. forty year ergo, maybe i mought er kep' up wid 'im, but i let you know brer jack is away 'head er me. he mos' sho'ly is." "why, he's older than you are, uncle remus!" the child exclaimed. "dat w'at i year tell. seem lak hit mighty kuse, but sho' ez youer bawn brer jack is a heap mo' pearter nigger dan w'at ole remus is. he little, yit he mighty hard. dat 's brer jack, up en down." uncle remus paused and reflected a moment. then he went on: "talkin' 'bout brer jack put me in min' 'bout a tale w'ich she sho'ly mus' er happen down dar in dat ar country whar brer jack come fum, en it sorter ketch me in de neighborhoods er de 'stonishment 'kaze he aint done up'n tell it. i 'speck it done wuk loose fum brer jack 'membunce." "what tale was that, uncle remus?" "seem lak dat one time w'en eve'ything en eve'ybody was runnin' 'long des lak dey bin had waggin grease 'pun um, ole brer wolf"-- the little boy laughed incredulously and uncle remus paused and frowned heavily. "why, uncle remus! how did brother wolf get away from mammy-bammy big-money?" the old man's frown deepened and his voice was full of anger as he replied: "now, den, is i'm de tale, er is de tale me? tell me dat! is i'm de tale, er is de tale me? well, den, ef i aint de tale en de tale aint me, den how come you wanter take'n rake me over de coals fer?" "well, uncle remus, you know what you said. you said that was the end of brother wolf." "i bleedz ter 'spute dat," exclaimed uncle remus, with the air of one performing a painful duty; "i bleedz ter 'spute it. dat w'at de tale say. ole remus is one nigger en de tale, hit 's a n'er nigger. yit i aint got no time fer ter set back yer en fetch out de oggyments." here the old man paused, closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and sighed. after a while he said, in a gentle tone: "so den, brer wolf done dead, en yer i wuz runnin' on des same lak he wuz done 'live. well! well! well!" uncle remus stole a glance at the little boy, and immediately relented. "yit," he went on, "ef i'm aint de tale en de tale aint me, hit aint skacely make no diffunce whe'er brer wolf dead er whe'er he's a high-primin' 'roun' bodder'n 'longer de yuther creeturs. dead er no dead, dey wuz one time w'en brer wolf live in de swamp down dar in dat ar country whar brer jack come fum, en, mo'n dat, he had a mighty likely gal. look lak all de yuther creeturs wuz atter 'er. dey 'ud go down dar ter brer wolf house, dey would, en dey 'ud set up en court de gal, en 'joy deyse'f. "hit went on dis a-way twel atter w'ile de skeeters 'gun ter git monst'us bad. brer fox, he went flyin' 'roun' miss wolf, en he sot dar, he did, en run on wid 'er en fight skeeters des es big ez life en twice-t ez natchul. las' brer wolf, he tuck'n kotch brer fox slappin' en fightin' at he skeeters. wid dat he tuck'n tuck brer fox by de off year en led 'im out ter de front gate, en w'en he git dar, he 'low, he did, dat no man w'at can't put up wid skeeters aint gwine ter come a-courtin' his gal. [illustration: brother rabbit and the mosquitoes] "den brer coon, he come flyin' 'roun' de gal, but he aint bin dar no time skacely 'fo' he 'gun ter knock at de skeeters; en no sooner is he done dis dan brer wolf show 'im de do'. brer mink, he come en try he han', yit he bleedz ter fight de skeeters, en brer wolf ax 'im out. "hit went on dis a-way twel bimeby all de creeturs bin flyin' 'roun' brer wolf's gal 'ceppin' it's ole brer rabbit, en w'en he year w'at kinder treatments de yuther creeturs bin ketchin' he 'low ter hisse'f dat he b'leeve in he soul he mus' go down ter brer wolf house en set de gal out one whet ef it's de las' ack. "no sooner say, no sooner do. off he put, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he fine hisse'f knockin' at brer wolf front do'. ole sis wolf, she tuck'n put down 'er knittin' en she up'n low, she did: "'who dat?' "de gal, she 'uz stannin' up 'fo' de lookin'-glass sorter primpin', en she choke back a giggle, she did, en 'low: "'sh-h-h! my goodness, mammy! dat 's mr. rabbit. i year de gals say he's a mighty prop-en-tickler[ ] gentermun, en i des hope you aint gwine ter set dar en run on lak you mos' allers does w'en i got comp'ny 'bout how much soap-grease you done save up en how many kitten de ole cat got. i gits right 'shame' sometimes, dat i does!'" the little boy looked astonished. "did she talk that way to her mamma?" he asked. "_shoo_, chile! 'mungs' all de creeturs dey aint no mo' kuse creeturs dan de gals. ole ez i is, ef i wuz ter start in dis minnit fer ter tell you how kuse de gals is, en de lord wuz ter spar' me plum twel i git done, yo' head 'ud be gray, en remus 'ud be des twice-t ez ole ez w'at he is right now." "well, what did her mamma say, uncle remus?" "ole sis wolf, she sot dar, she did, en settle 'er cap on 'er head, en snicker, en look at de gal lak she monst'us proud. de gal, she tuck'n shuck 'erse'f 'fo' de lookin'-glass a time er two, en den she tipt ter de do' en open' it little ways en peep out des lak she skeer'd some un gwine ter hit 'er a clip side de head. dar stood ole brer rabbit lookin' des ez slick ez a race-hoss. de gal, she tuck'n laff, she did, en holler: "'w'y law, maw! hit 's mr. rabbit, en yer we bin 'fraid it 'uz some 'un w'at aint got no business 'roun' yer!' "ole sis wolf she look over 'er specks, en snicker, en den she up'n 'low: "'well, don't keep 'im stannin' out dar all night. ax 'im in, fer goodness sake.' "den de gal, she tuck'n drap 'er hankcher, en brer rabbit, he dipt down en grab it en pass it ter 'er wid a bow, en de gal say she much 'blige, 'kaze dat 'uz mo' den mr. fox 'ud er done, en den she ax brer rabbit how he come on, en brer rabbit 'low he right peart, en den he ax 'er wharbouts 'er daddy, en ole sis wolf 'low she go fine 'im. "'t wa'n't long 'fo' brer rabbit year brer wolf stompin' de mud off'n he foots in de back po'ch, en den bimeby in he come. dey shuck han's, dey did, en brer rabbit say dat w'en he go callin' on he 'quaintunce, hit aint feel natchul 'ceppin' de man er de house settin' 'roun' some'rs. "'ef he don't talk none,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'he kin des set up ag'in' de chimbly-jam en keep time by noddin'.' "but ole brer wolf, he one er deze yer kinder mens w'at got de whimzies,[ ] en he up'n 'low dat he don't let hisse'f git ter noddin' front er comp'ny. dey run on dis a-way twel bimeby brer rabbit year de skeeters come zoonin' 'roun', en claimin' kin wid 'im." the little boy laughed; but uncle remus was very serious. "co'se dey claim kin wid 'im. dey claims kin wid folks yit, let 'lone brer rabbit. manys en manys de time w'en i year um sailin' 'roun' en singin' out '_cousin! cousin!'_ en i let you know, honey, de skeeters is mighty close kin w'en dey gits ter be yo' cousin. "brer rabbit, he year um zoonin'," the old man continued, "en he know he got ter do some mighty nice talkin', so he up'n ax fer drink er water. de gal, she tuck'n fotch it. "'mighty nice water, brer wolf.' (_de skeeters dey zoon._)[ ] "'some say it too full er wiggletails,[ ] brer rabbit.' (_de skeeters, dey zoon en dey zoon._) "'mighty nice place you got, brer wolf.' (_skeeters dey zoon._) "'some say it too low in de swamp, brer rabbit.' (_skeeters dey zoon en dey zoon._) "dey zoon so bad," said uncle remus, drawing a long breath, "dat brer rabbit 'gun ter git skeer'd, en w'en dat creetur git skeer'd, he min' wuk lak one er deze yer flutter-mills. bimeby, he 'low: "'went ter town t'er day, en dar i seed a sight w'at i never 'speckted ter see.' "'w'at dat, brer rabbit?' "'spotted hoss, brer wolf.' "'_no_, brer rabbit!' "'i mos' sho'ly seed 'im, brer wolf.' "brer wolf, he scratch he head, en de gal she hilt up 'er han's en make great 'miration 'bout de spotted hoss. (_de skeeters dey zoon, en dey keep on zoonin'._) brer rabbit, he talk on, he did: "''t wa'n't des one spotted hoss, brer wolf, 't wuz a whole team er spotted hosses, en dey went gallin'-up[ ] des lak de yuther hosses,' sezee. 'let 'lone dat, brer wolf, my grandaddy wuz spotted,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "gal, she squeal en holler out: "'w'y, brer rabbit! aint you 'shame' yo'se'f fer ter be talkin' dat a-way, en 'bout yo' own-'lone blood kin too?' "'hit 's de naked trufe i'm a-ginin'[ ] un you,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. (_skeeter zoon en come closeter._) "brer wolf 'low 'well--well--well!' ole sis wolf, she 'low 'tooby sho'ly, tooby sho'ly!' (_skeeter zoon en come nigher en nigher._) brer rabbit 'low: "'yasser! des ez sho' ez youer settin' dar, my grandaddy wuz spotted. spotted all over. (_skeeter come zoonin' up en light on brer rabbit jaw._) he wuz dat. he had er great big spot right yer!'" here uncle remus raised his hand and struck himself a resounding slap on the side of the face where the mosquito was supposed to be, and continued: "no sooner is he do dis dan ne'r skeeter come zoonin' 'roun' en light on brer rabbit leg. brer rabbit, he talk, en he talk: "'po' ole grandaddy! i boun' he make you laff, he look so funny wid all dem spots en speckles. he had spot on de side er de head, whar i done show you, en den he had n'er big spot right yer on de leg,' sezee." uncle remus slapped himself on the leg below the knee, and was apparently so serious about it that the little boy laughed loudly. the old man went on: "skeeter zoon en light 'twix' brer rabbit shoulder-blades. den he talk: "'b'leeve me er not b'leeve me ef you min' to, but my grandaddy had a big black spot up yer on he back w'ich look lak saddle-mark.' "_blip brer rabbit tuck hisse'f on de back!_ "skeeter sail 'roun' en zoon en light down yer beyan de hip-bone. he say he grandaddy got spot down dar. "_blip he tuck hisse'f beyan de hip-bone._ "hit keep on dis a-way," continued uncle remus, who had given vigorous illustrations of brer rabbit's method of killing mosquitoes while pretending to tell a story, "twel bimeby ole brer wolf en ole sis wolf dey lissen at brer rabbit twel dey 'gun ter nod, en den ole brer rabbit en de gal dey sot up dar en kill skeeters right erlong." "did he marry brother wolf's daughter?" asked the little boy. "i year talk," replied uncle remus, "dat brer wolf sont brer rabbit wud nex' day dat he kin git de gal by gwine atter 'er, but i aint never year talk 'bout brer rabbit gwine. de day atterwuds wuz mighty long time, en by den brer rabbit moughter had some yuther projick on han'."[ ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] proper and particular. [ ] in these latter days a man with the whimzies, or whimsies, is known simply as a crank. [ ] the information in parentheses is imparted in a low, impressive, confidential tone. [ ] is it necessary to say that the wiggletail is the embryo mosquito? [ ] galloping. [ ] g hard as in give. [ ] this story, the funniest and most characteristic of all the negro legends, cannot be satisfactorily told on paper. it is full of action, and all the interest centres in the gestures and grimaces that must accompany an explanation of brother rabbit's method of disposing of the mosquitoes. the story was first called to my attention by mr. marion erwin, of savannah, and it is properly a coast legend, but i have heard it told by three middle georgia negroes. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xxxviii the pimmerly plum one night, when the little boy had grown tired of waiting for a story, he looked at uncle remus and said: "i wonder what ever became of old brother tarrypin." uncle remus gave a sudden start, glanced all around the cabin, and then broke into a laugh that ended in a yell like a view-halloo. "well, well, well! how de name er goodness come you ter know w'at runnin' on in my min', honey? mon, you skeer'd me; you sho'ly did; en w'en i git skeer'd i bleedz ter holler. let 'lone dat, ef i keep on gittin' skeerder en skeerder, you better gimme room, 'kaze ef i can't git 'way fum dar somebody gwine ter git hurted, en deyer gwine ter git hurted bad. i tell you dat right pine-blank.[ ] "ole brer tarrypin!" continued uncle remus in a tone of exultation. "ole brer tarrypin! now, who bin year tell er de beat er dat? dar you sets studyin' 'bout ole brer tarrypin, en yer i sets studyin' 'bout ole brer tarrypin. hit make me feel so kuse dat little mo' en i'd 'a' draw'd my rabbit-foot en shuck it at you." the little boy was delighted when uncle remus went off into these rhapsodies. however nonsensical they might seem to others, to the child they were positively thrilling, and he listened with rapt attention, scarcely daring to stir. "ole brer tarrypin? well, well, well!-- "'_w'en in he prime he tuck he time!_' "dat w'at make he hol' he age so good. dey tells me dat somebody 'cross dar in jasper county tuck'n kotch a tarrypin w'ich he got marks cut in he back dat 'uz put dar 'fo' our folks went fer ter git revengeance in de moccasin war. dar whar yo' unk' jeems bin," uncle remus explained, noticing the little boy's look of astonishment. "oh!" exclaimed the child, "that was the mexican war." "well," responded uncle remus, closing his eyes with a sigh, "i aint one er deze yer kinder folks w'at choke deyse'f wid names. one name aint got none de 'vantage er no yuther name. en ef de tarrypin got de marks on 'im, hit don't make no diffunce whe'er yo' unk' jeems abercrombie git his revengeance out'n de moccasin folks, er whe'er he got it out'n de mackersons." "mexicans, uncle remus." "tooby sho', honey; let it go at dat. but don't less pester ole brer tarrypin wid it, 'kaze he done b'long ter a tribe all by he own-'lone se'f.--i 'clar' ter gracious," exclaimed the old man after a pause, "ef hit don't seem periently lak 't wuz yistiddy!" "what, uncle remus?" "oh, des ole brer tarrypin, honey; des ole brer tarrypin en a tale w'at i year 'bout 'im, how he done tuck'n do brer fox." "did he scare him, uncle remus?" the little boy asked, as the old man paused. "no, my goodness! wuss'n dat!" "did he hurt him?" "no, my goodness! wuss'n dat!" "did he kill him?" "no, my goodness! lots wuss'n dat!" "now, uncle remus, what _did_ he do to brother fox?" "honey!"--here the old man lowered his voice as if about to describe a great outrage--"honey! he tuck'n make a fool out'n 'im!" the child laughed, but it was plain that he failed to appreciate the situation, and this fact caused uncle remus to brighten up and go on with the story. "one time w'en de sun shine down mighty hot, ole brer tarrypin wuz gwine 'long down de road. he 'uz gwine 'long down, en he feel mighty tired; he puff, en he blow, en he pant. he breff come lak he got de azmy 'way down in he win'-pipe; but, nummine! he de same ole creep-um-crawl-um have-some-fun-um. he 'uz gwine 'long down de big road, ole brer tarrypin wuz, en bimeby he come ter de branch. he tuck'n crawl in, he did, en got 'im a drink er water, en den he crawl out on t'er side en set down und' de shade un a tree. atter he sorter ketch he win', he look up at de sun fer ter see w'at time er day is it, en, lo en beholes! he tuck'n skivver dat he settin' in de shade er de sycamo' tree. no sooner is he skivver dis dan he sing de ole song: "'_good luck ter dem w'at come and go, w'at set in de shade er de sycamo'._' "brer tarrypin he feel so good en de shade so cool, dat 't wa'n't long 'fo' he got ter noddin', en bimeby he drapt off en went soun' asleep. co'se, brer tarrypin kyar he house wid 'im eve'ywhar he go, en w'en he fix fer ter go ter sleep, he des shet de do' en pull to de winder-shetters, en dar he is des ez snug ez de ole black cat und' de barn. "brer tarrypin lay dar, he did, en sleep, en sleep. he dunner how long he sleep, but bimeby he feel somebody foolin' 'long wid 'im. he keep de do' shet, en he lay dar en lissen. he feel somebody tu'nin' he house 'roun' en 'roun'. dis sorter skeer brer tarrypin, 'kaze he know dat ef dey tu'n he house upside down he ull have all sorts er times gittin' back. wid dat, he open de do' little ways, en he see brer fox projickin' wid 'im. he open de do' little furder, he did, en he break out in a great big hoss-laff, en holler: "'well! well, well! who'd 'a' thunk it! ole brer fox, cuter dan de common run, is done come en kotch me. en he come at sech a time, too! i feels dat full twel i can't see straight skacely. ef dey wuz any jealousness proned inter me, i'd des lay yer en pout 'kaze brer fox done fine out whar i gits my pimmerly plum.' "in dem days," continued uncle remus, speaking to the child's look of inquiry, "de pimmerly plum wuz monst'us skace. leavin' out brer rabbit en brer tarrypin dey wa'n't none er de yuther creeturs dat yuvver got a glimp' un it, let 'lone a tas'e. so den w'en brer fox year talk er de pimmerly plum, bless gracious! he h'ist up he head en let brer tarrypin 'lone. brer tarrypin keep on laffin' en brer fox 'low: "'hush, brer tarrypin! you makes my mouf water! whar'bouts de pimmerly plum?' "brer tarrypin, he sorter cle'r up de ho'seness in he th'oat, en sing: "'_poun' er sugar, en a pint er rum, aint nigh so sweet ez de pimmerly plum!_' "brer fox, he lif' up he han's, he did, en holler: "'oh, hush, brer tarrypin! you makes me dribble! whar'bouts dat pimmerly plum?' "'you stannin' right und' de tree, brer fox!' "'brer tarrypin, sho'ly not!' "'yit dar you stan's, brer fox!' "brer fox look up in de tree dar, en he wuz 'stonish'." "what did he see in the sycamore tree, uncle remus?" inquired the little boy. there was a look of genuine disappointment on the old man's face, as he replied: "de gracious en de goodness, honey! aint you nev' is see dem ar little bit er balls w'at grow on de sycamo' tree?"[ ] the little boy laughed. there was a huge sycamore tree in the centre of the circle made by the carriage way in front of the "big house," and there were sycamore trees of various sizes all over the place. the little balls alluded to by uncle remus are very hard at certain stages of their growth, and cling to the tree with wonderful tenacity. uncle remus continued: "well, den, w'en ole brer tarrypin vouch dat dem ar sycamo' balls wuz de ginnywine pimmerly plum, ole brer fox, he feel mighty good, yit he dunner how he gwine git at um. push 'im clos't, en maybe he mought beat brer tarrypin clammin' a tree, but dish yer sycamo' tree wuz too big fer brer fox fer ter git he arms 'roun'. den he up'n 'low: "'i sees um hangin' dar, brer tarrypin, but how i gwine git um?' "brer tarrypin open he do' little ways en holler out: "'ah-yi! dar whar ole slickum slow-come got de 'vantage! youer mighty peart, brer fox, yit somehow er nudder you aint bin a-keepin' up wid ole slickum slow-come.' "'brer tarrypin, how de name er goodness does you git um?' "'don't do no good fer ter tell you, brer fox. nimble heel make restless min'. you aint got time fer ter wait en git um, brer fox.' "'brer tarrypin, i got all de week befo' me.' "'ef i tells you, you'll go en tell all de t'er creeturs, en den dat'll be de las' er de pimmerly plum, brer fox.' "'brer tarrypin, dat i won't. des try me one time en see.' "brer tarrypin shet he eye lak he studyin', en den he 'low: [illustration: the pimmerly plum] "'i tell you how i does, brer fox. w'en i wants a bait er de pimmerly plum right bad, i des takes my foot in my han' en comes down yer ter dish yer tree. i comes en i takes my stan'. i gits right und' de tree, en i r'ars my head back en opens my mouf. i opens my mouf, en w'en de pimmerly plum draps, i boun' you she draps right spang in dar. all you got ter do is ter set en wait, brer fox.' "brer fox aint sayin' nothin'. he des sot down und' de tree, he did, en r'ar'd he head back, en open he mouf, en i wish ter goodness you mought er bin had er chance fer ter see 'im settin' dar. he look scan'lous, dat 's de long en de short un it; he des look scan'lous." "did he get the pimmerly plum, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "_shoo!_ how he gwine git plum whar dey aint no plum?" "well, what did he do?" "he sot dar wid he mouf wide open, en eve'y time brer tarrypin look at 'im, much ez he kin do fer ter keep from bustin' aloose en laffin'. but bimeby he make he way todes home, brer tarrypin did, chucklin' en laffin', en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he meet brer rabbit tippin' 'long down de road. brer rabbit, he hail 'im. "'w'at 'muze you so mighty well, brer tarrypin?' "brer tarrypin kotch he breff atter so long a time, en he 'low: "'brer rabbit, i'm dat tickle' twel i can't shuffle 'long, skacely, en i'm fear'd ef i up'n tell you de 'casion un it, i'll be tooken wid one er my spells whar folks hatter set up wid me 'kaze i laff so loud en laff so long.' "yit atter so long a time, brer tarrypin up'n tell brer rabbit, en dey sot dar en chaw'd terbacker en kyar'd on des lak sho' 'nuff folks. dat dey did!" uncle remus paused; but the little boy wanted to know what became of brer fox. "hit 's mighty kuse," said the old man, stirring around in the ashes as if in search of a potato, "but endurin' er all my days i aint nev' year nobody tell 'bout how long brer fox sot dar waitin' fer de pimmerly plum." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] point-blank. [ ] in another version of this story current among the negroes the sweet-gum tree takes the place of the sycamore. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xxxix brother rabbit gets the provisions the next time the little boy called on uncle remus a bright fire was blazing on the hearth. he could see the light shining under the door before he went into the cabin, and he knew by that sign that the old man had company. in fact, daddy jack had returned and was dozing in his accustomed corner, aunt tempy was sitting bolt upright, nursing her contempt, and uncle remus was making a curious-looking box. none of the negroes paid any attention to the little boy when he entered, but somehow he felt that they were waiting for him. after a while uncle remus finished his curious-looking box and laid it upon the floor. then he lifted his spectacles from his nose to the top of his head, and remarked: "now, den, folks, dar she is, en hit 's bin so long sence i uv made one un um dat she make me sweat. yasser! she did dat. howsumev', hit aint make no diffunce wid me. promise is a promise, dough you make it in de dark er de moon. long time ago, i tuck'n promise one er my passin' 'quaintance dat some er deze lonesome days de ole nigger 'd whirl in en make 'im a rabbit-trap ef he'd des be so good ez to quit he devilment, en l'arn he behavishness." "is that my rabbit-trap, uncle remus?" exclaimed the child. he would have picked it up for the purpose of examining it, but uncle remus waved him off with a dignified gesture. "don't you dast ter tetch dat ar trap, honey, 'kaze ef you does, dat spiles all. i'll des hatter go ter wuk en make it bran-new, en de lord knows i aint got no time fer ter do dat." "well, uncle remus, you've had your hands on it." "tooby sho' i is--tooby sho' i is! en w'at's mo' dan dat, i bin had my han's in tar-water." "i year talk er dat," remarked aunt tempy, with an approving nod. "yasser! in de nat'al tar-water," continued uncle remus. "you put yo' han' in a pa'tridge nes', en he'll quit dem premises dough he done got 'lev'm dozen aigs in dar. same wid rabbit. dey aint got sense lak de ole-time rabbit, but i let you know dey aint gwine in no trap whar dey smell folks' han's--dat dey aint. dat w'at make i say w'at i does. don't put yo' han' on it; don't tetch it; don't look at it skacely." the little boy subsided, but he continued to cast longing looks at the trap, seeing which uncle remus sought to change the current of his thoughts. "she bin er mighty heap er trouble, mon, yet i mighty glad i tuck'n make dat ar trap. she's a solid un, sho', en ef dey wuz ter be any skaceness er vittles, i lay dat ar trap 'ud help us all out." "de lord knows," exclaimed aunt tempy, rubbing her fat hands together, "i hope dey aint gwine ter be no famishin' 'roun' yer 'mungs we all." "likely not," said uncle remus, "yet de time mought come w'en a big swamp rabbit kotch in dat ar trap would go a mighty long ways in a fambly no bigger dan w'at mine is." "mo' speshually," remarked aunt tempy, "ef you put dat wid w'at de neighbors mought sen' in." "eh-eh!" uncle remus exclaimed, "don't you put no 'pennunce in dem neighbors--don't you do it. w'en famine time come one man aint no better dan no yuther man 'ceppin' he be soopless; en he got ter be mighty soople at dat." the old man paused and glanced at the little boy. the child was still looking longingly at the trap, and uncle remus leaned forward and touched him lightly on the shoulder. it was a familiar gesture, gentle and yet rough, a token of affection, and yet a command to attention; for the venerable darkey could be imperious enough when surrendering to the whims of his little partner. "all dish yer talk 'bout folks pe'shin' out," uncle remus went on with an indifferent air, "put me in min' er de times w'en de creeturs tuck'n got up a famine 'mungs deyse'f. hit come 'bout dat one time vittles wuz monst'us skace en high, en money mighty slack. long ez dey wuz any vittles gwine 'roun', brer rabbit, he 'uz boun' ter git he sheer un um, but bimeby hit come ter dat pass dat brer rabbit stomach 'gun ter pinch 'im; en w'iles he gettin' hongry de yuther creeturs, dey 'uz gettin' hongry deyse'f. hit went on dis a-way twel one day brer rabbit en brer wolf meet up wid one er n'er in de big road, en atter dey holler howdy dey sat down, dey did, en make a bargain. "dey tuck'n 'gree wid one er n'er dat dey sell der mammy en take de money en git sump'n' n'er ter eat. brer wolf, he 'low, he did, dat bein' 's hit seem lak he de hongriest creetur on de face er de yeth, dat he sell his mammy fus', en den, atter de vittles gin out, brer rabbit he kin sell he own mammy en git some mo' grub. "ole brer rabbit, he chipt in en 'greed, he did, en brer wolf, he tuck'n hitch up he team, en put he mammy in de waggin, en den him en brer rabbit druv off. man come 'long: "'whar you gwine?' "'_gwine 'long down ter town, wid a bag er co'n fer ter sell; we aint got time fer ter stop en talk, yit we wish you mighty well!_'" "did they talk poetry that way, uncle remus?" the little boy inquired. "shoo! lot's wuss dan dat, honey. dey wuz constant a-gwine on dat a-way, en ef i wa'n't gittin' so mighty weak-kneed in de membunce i'd bust aloose yer en i'd fair wake you up wid de gwines on er dem ar creeturs. "now, den, dey tuck'n kyar brer wolf mammy ter town en sell 'er, en dey start back wid a waggin-load er vittles. de day wuz a-wanin' den de sun wuz a-settin'. de win' tuck'n blow up sorter stiff, en de sun look red when she settin'. dey druv on, en druv on. de win' blow, en de sun shine red. bimeby, brer wolf scrooch up en shiver, en 'low: "'brer rabbit, i'm a-gittin' mighty cole.' "brer rabbit, he laugh en 'low: "'i'm gittin' sorter creepy myself, brer wolf.' "dey druv on en druv on. win' blow keen, sun shine red. brer wolf scrooch up in little knot. bimeby he sing out: "'brer rabbit, i'm freezin'! i'm dat cole i dunner w'at ter do!' "brer rabbit, he p'int ter de settin' sun en say: "'you see dat great big fier 'cross dar in de woods, brer wolf? well, dey aint nothin' ter hender you fum gwine dar en wommin' yo'se'f en i'll wait yer fer you. gimme de lines, brer wolf, en you go wom yo'se'f all over.' "wid dat brer wolf, he put out des ez hard ez he kin, fer ter see ef he can't fin' de fier; en w'iles he wuz gone, bless goodness, w'at should brer rabbit do but cut off de hosses' tails en stick um down deep in de mud--" "le' 'im 'lone, now! des le' 'im 'lone!" exclaimed aunt tempy in an ecstasy of admiration. [illustration: brother rabbit gets the provisions] "he stick de hosses' tails down in de mud," continued uncle remus, "en den he tuck'n druv de waggin 'way off in de swamp en hide it. den he tuck'n come back, ole brer rabbit did, fer ter wait fer brer wolf. "atter so long a time, sho' 'nuff, yer come brer wolf des a-gallin'-up back. brer rabbit he hail 'im. "'is you wom yo'se'f, brer wolf?' "'brer rabbit, don't talk! dat de mos' 'seetful fier w'at i had any speunce un. i run, en i run, en i run, en de mo' w'at i run de furder de fier git. de nigher you come ter dat fier de furder hit 's off.' "brer rabbit, he sorter scratch hisse'f behime de shoulder-blade, en 'low: "'nummine 'bout de fier, brer wolf. i got sump'n' yer dat'll wom you up. ef you aint nev' bin wom befo', i lay you'll get wom dis time.' "dis make brer wolf sorter look 'roun', en w'en he see brer rabbit hol'in' on ter de two hoss-tails, he up'n squall out, he did: "'lawdy mussy, brer rabbit! whar my vittles? whar my waggin? whar my hosses?' "'dey er all right yer, brer wolf; dey er all right yer. i stayed dar whar you lef' me twel de hosses gun ter git restless. den i cluck at um, en, bless gracious, dey start off en lan' in a quicksan'. w'en dey gun ter mire, i des tuck'n tu'n eve'ything a-loose en grab de hosses by de tail, en i bin stan'in' yer wishin' fer you, brer wolf, twel i done gone gray in de min'. i 'low ter myse'f dat i'd hang on ter deze yer hoss-tails ef it killt eve'y cow in de islan'. come he'p me, brer wolf, en i lay we'll des nat'ally pull de groun' out but w'at we'll git deze creeturs out.' "wid dat, brer wolf, he kotch holt er one hoss-tail, en brer rabbit, he kotch holt er de yuther, en w'en dey pull, co'se de tails come out'n de mud. dey stood dar, dey did, en dey look at de tails en den dey look at one n'er. bimeby brer rabbit 'low: "'well, sir, brer wolf; we pull so hard twel we pull de tails plum out!' "ole brer wolf, he dunner w'at ter do, but it 'gun ter git dark, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he tell brer rabbit good-by, en off he put fer home. dat ar brer rabbit," uncle remus went on, "he des tuck'n wait twel brer wolf git out'n yearin', en den he went into de swamp en druv de hosses home en git all de vittles, en he aint hatter sell he ole mammy n'er. dat he aint." xl "cutta cord-la!" to all appearances daddy jack had taken no interest in uncle remus's story of the horses' tails, and yet, as soon as the little boy and aunt tempy were through laughing at a somewhat familiar climax, the old african began to twist and fidget in his chair, and mumble to himself in a lingo which might have been understood on the guinea coast, but which sounded out of place in uncle remus's middle georgia cabin. presently, however, his uneasiness took tangible shape. he turned around and exclaimed impatiently: "shuh-shuh! w'en you sta't fer tell-a dem tale, wey you no tell um lak dey stan'? 'e bery bad fer twis' dem tale 'roun' un 'roun'. wey you no talk um stret?" "well, brer jack," said uncle remus, smiling good-humoredly upon the queer little old man, "ef we done gone en got dat ar tale all twis' up, de way fer you ter do is ter whirl in en ontwis' it, en we-all folks 'll set up yer en he'p you out plum twel mars john comes a-hollerin' en a-bawlin' atter dish yer baby; en atter he done gone ter bed, den me en sis tempy yer we ull set up wid you plum twel de chickens crow fer day. dem's de kinder folk we all is up yer. we aint got many swimps en crabs up yer in putmon county, but w'en it come ter settin' up wid comp'ny en hangin' 'roun' atter dark fer ter make de time pass away, we er mighty rank. now den, brer jack, i done call de roll wid my eye, en we er all yer 'ceppin' dat ar 'tildy gal, en 't won't be long 'fo' she'll be a-drappin' in. run over in yo' min', en whar my tale 'uz wrong, des whirl in en put 'er ter rights." "shuh-shuh!" exclaimed the old african, "oona no git dem tale stret. i yed dem wey me lif; 'e soun' lak dis: one tam dem bittle bin git bery skace. da rice crop mek nuttin'; da fish swim low; da bud fly high. hard times bin come dey-dey. 'e so hard, dem creeturs do git honkry fer true. b'er rabbit un b'er wolf dey come pit bote 'e head tergerrer; dey is mek talk how honkry dey is 'way down in da belly. "bumbye, b'er rabbit, 'e shed 'e y-eye, 'e say dey mus' kill dey gran'mammy. b'er wolf say 'e mek 'e y-eye come wat'ry fer yeddy da talk lak dat. b'er rabbit say: "'ki, b'er wolf! da water come in you' y-eye wun you is bin honkry. me y-eye done bin-a come wat'ry so long tam befo' i bin talky wit' you 'bout we gran'mammy.' "b'er wolf, 'e der keep on cryin'; 'e wipe 'e y-eye 'pon 'e coat-sleef. b'er rabbit, 'e bin say: "'ef you is bin tek it so ha'd lak dis, b'er wolf, 'e bery good fer kill-a you' gran'mammy fus', so you is kin come glad ag'in.' "b'er wolf, 'e go dry 'e y-eye un kill 'e gran'mammy, un dey is bin tek 'im gran'mammy off un sell um fer bittle. dun dey is bin eat dis bittle day un night tell 'e all done gone. wun-a tam come fer b'er rabbit fer kill 'e gran'mammy, b'er wolf, 'e go bisitin' 'im. 'e say: "'b'er rabbit, i is bin-a feel honkry troo un troo. less we kill-a you' gran'mammy.' "b'er rabbit lif' up 'e head high; 'e lahff. 'e shekky one year, 'e shed-a one eye. 'e say: "'eh-eh, b'er wolf, you t'ink i gwan kill-a me gran'mammy? oh, no, b'er wolf! me no kin do dat.' "dis mek b'er wolf wuss mad den 'e is bin befo'. 'e fair teer de yet' wit' 'e claw; 'e yowl sem lak injun mans. 'e say 'e gwan make b'er rabbit kill 'e gran'mammy nohow. "b'er rabbit say 'e gwan see 'im 'bout dis. 'e tek 'e gran'mammy by da han'; 'e lead um way off in da woods; 'e hide um in da top one big cocoanut tree: 'e tell um fer stay deer." the mention of a cocoanut tree caused the little boy to glance incredulously at uncle remus, who made prompt and characteristic reply: "dat 's it, honey; dat 's it, sho'. in dem days en in dem countries dey wuz plenty er cocoanut trees. less we all set back yer en give brer jack a livin' chance." "'e hide 'e gran'mammy in top cocoanut tree," continued daddy jack, "un 'e gi' um lilly bahskit wit' cord tie on um. in de day-mawnin', b'er rabbit, 'e is bin go at da foot da tree. 'e make 'e v'ice fine: 'e holler: "'_granny!--granny!--o granny! jutta cord-la!_' "wun 'e granny yeddy dis, 'e let bahskit down wit' da cord, un b'er rabbit 'e fill um wit' bittle un somet'ing t'eat. ebry day dey is bin-a do dis t'ing; ebry day b'er rabbit is come fer feed 'e granny. "b'er wolf 'e watch, 'e lissun; 'e sneak up, 'e creep up, 'e do lissun. bumbye, 'e do yeddy b'er rabbit call; 'e see da bahskit swing down, 'e see um go back. wun b'er rabbit bin-a go 'way fum dey-dey, b'er wolf, 'e come by da root da tree. 'e holler; 'e do say: "'_granny!--granny!--o granny! shoot-a cord-la!_' "da ole granny rabbit lissun; 'e bin lissun well. 'e say: "'ki! how come dis? me son is no talky lak dis. 'e no shoot-a da cord lak dat.' "w'en b'er rabbit come back da granny is bin-a tell um 'bout somet'ing come-a holler shoot-a da cord-la, un b'er rabbit, 'e lahff tel 'e is kin lahff no mo'. b'er wolf, 'e hidin' close; 'e yed b'er rabbit crackin' 'e joke; 'e is git bery mad. "wun b'er rabbit is gone 'way, b'er wolf bin-a come back. 'e stan' by da tree root; 'e holler: "'_granny!--granny!--o granny! jutta cord-la!_' "granny rabbit hol' 'e head 'pon one side; 'e lissun good. 'e say: "'i bery sorry, me son, you bin hab so bad col'. you' v'ice bin-a soun' rough, me son.' "dun granny rabbit is bin peep down; 'e bin say: "'hi! b'er wolf! go 'way fum dey-dey. you no is bin fool-a me lak dis. go 'way, b'er wolf!' "b'er wolf, 'e come bery mad; 'e grin tell 'e tush bin shiün. 'e go in da swamp; 'e scratch 'e head; 'e t'ink. bumbye, 'e go bisitin' one blacksmit', un 'e ahx 'im how kin 'e do fer make 'e v'ce come fine lak b'er rabbit v'ice. da blacksmit', 'e say: "'come, b'er wolf; i run dis red-hot poker in you' t'roat, 'e mekky you talk easy.' "b'er wolf say, 'well, i lak you for mekky me v'ice fine.' "dun da blacksmit' run da red-hot poker in b'er wolf t'roat, un 'e hu't um so bad, 'tiss-a bin long tam befo' b'er wolf kin tekky da long walk by da cocoanut tree. bumbye 'e git so 'e kin come by, un wun 'e git dey-dey, 'e holler: "'_granny!--granny!--o granny! jutta cord-la!_' "da v'ice soun' so nice un fine da' granny rabbit is bin t'ink 'e b'er rabbit v'ice, un 'e is bin-a let da bahskit down. b'er wolf, 'e shekky da cord lak 'e is put some bittle in da bahskit, un dun 'e is bin-a git in 'ese'f. b'er wolf, 'e keep still. da granny rabbit pull on da cord; 'e do say: "'ki! 'e come he'ffy; 'e he'ffy fer true. me son, 'e love 'e granny heap.' "b'er wolf, 'e do grin; 'e grin, un 'e keep still. da granny rabbit pull; 'e do pull ha'd. 'e pull tel 'e is git b'er wolf mos' by da top, un dun 'e stop fer res'. b'er wolf look-a down, 'e head swim; 'e look up, 'e mout' water; 'e look-a down 'g'in, 'e see b'er rabbit. 'e git skeer, 'e juk on da rope. b'er rabbit, 'e do holler: "'_granny!--granny!--o granny! cutta cord-la!_' "da granny rabbit cut da cord, un b'er wolf is fall down un broke 'e neck." xli aunt tempy's story the little boy observed that aunt tempy was very much interested in daddy jack's story. she made no remarks while the old african was telling it, but she was busily engaged in measuring imaginary quilt patterns on her apron with her thumb and forefinger,--a sure sign that her interest had been aroused. when daddy jack had concluded--when, with a swift, sweeping gesture of his wrinkled hand, he cut the cord and allowed brother wolf to perish ignominiously--aunt tempy drew a long breath, and said: "dat ar tale come 'cross me des like a dream. hit put me in mine er one w'at i year w'en i wuz little bit er gal. look like i kin see myse'f right now, settin' flat down on de h'ath lis'nin' at ole unk monk. you know'd ole unk monk, brer remus. you bleeze ter know'd 'im. up dar in ferginny. i 'clar' ter goodness, it make me feel right foolish. brer remus, i des know you know'd unk monk." for the first time in many a day the little boy saw uncle remus in a serious mood. he leaned forward in his chair, shook his head sadly, as he gazed into the fire. "ah, lord, sis tempy!" he exclaimed sorrowfully, "don't less we all go foolin' 'roun' 'mungs' dem ole times. de bes' kinder bread gits sour. w'at's yistiddy wid us wuz 'fo' de worl' begun wid dish yer chile. dat 's de way i looks at it." "dat 's de lord's trufe, brer remus," exclaimed aunt tempy with unction, "un i mighty glad you call me ter myse'f. little mo' un i'd er sot right yer un 'a' gone 'way back to ferginny, un all on 'count er dat ar tale w'at i year long time ago." "what tale was that, aunt tempy?" asked the little boy. "eh-eh, honey!" replied aunt tempy, with a display of genuine bashfulness; "eh-eh, honey! i 'fraid you all 'll set up dar un laugh me outer de house. i aint dast ter tell no tale 'long side er brer remus un daddy jack yer. i 'fraid i git it all mix up." the child manifested such genuine disappointment that aunt tempy relented a little. "ef you all laugh, now," she said, with a threatening air, "i'm des gwine ter pick up en git right out er dish yer place. dey aint ter be no laughin', 'kaze de tale w'at i year in ferginny aint no laughin' tale." with this understanding aunt tempy adjusted her head-handkerchief, looked around rather sheepishly, as uncle remus declared afterwards in confidence to the little boy, and began: "well, den, in de times w'en brer rabbit un brer fox live in de same settlement wid one er 'n'er, de season's tuck'n come wrong. de wedder got hot un den a long dry drouth sot in, un it seem like dat de nat'al leaf on de trees wuz gwine ter tu'n ter powder." aunt tempy emphasized her statements by little backward and forward movements of her head, and the little boy would have laughed, but a warning glance from uncle remus prevented him. "de leaf on de trees look like dey gwine ter tu'n ter powder, un de groun' look like it done bin cookt. all de truck w'at de creeturs plant wuz all parched up, un dey wa'n't no crops made nowhars. dey dunner w'at ter do. dey run dis a-way, dey run dat a-way; yit w'en dey quit runnin' dey dunner whar dey bread comin' frun. dis de way it look ter brer fox, un so one day w'en he got a mighty hankerin' atter sumpin' sorter joosy, he meet brer rabbit in de lane, un he ax um, sezee: "'brer rabbit, whar'bouts our bread comin' frun?' "brer rabbit, he bow, he did, un answer, sezee: "'look like it mought be comin' frun nowhar,' sezee." "you see dat, honey!" exclaimed uncle remus, condescending to give the story the benefit of his patronage; "you see dat! brer rabbit wuz allus a-waitin' a chance fer ter crack he jokes." "yas, lord!" aunt tempy continued, with considerable more animation; "he joke, un joke, but bimeby, he aint feel like no mo' jokin', un den he up'n say, sezee, dat him un brer fox better start out'n take der fammerlies wid um ter town un swap um off for some fresh-groun' meal; un brer fox say, sezee, dat dat look mighty fa'r un squar', un den dey tuck'n make dey 'greements. "brer fox wuz ter s'ply de waggin un team, un he promise dat he gwine ter ketch he fammerly un tie um hard un fast wid a red twine string. brer rabbit he say, sezee, dat he gwine ter ketch he fammerly un tie um all, un meet brer fox at de fork er de road. "sho' 'nuff, soon in de mawnin', w'en brer fox draw up wid he waggin, he holler 'wo!' un brer rabbit he tuck'n holler back, 'wo yo'se'f!' un den brer fox know dey 'uz all dar. brer fox, he tuck'n sot up on de seat, un all er he fammerly, dey wuz a-layin' under de seat. brer rabbit, he tuck'n put all he fammerly in de behime een' er de waggin, un he say, sezee, dat he 'speck he better set back dar twel dey git sorter usen ter dey surrounderlings, un den brer fox crack he whip, un off dey wen' toze town. brer fox, he holler ev'y once in a w'ile, sezee: "'no noddin' back dar, brer rabbit!' "brer rabbit he holler back, sezee: "'brer fox, you miss de ruts en de rocks, un i'll miss de noddin'.' "but all dat time, bless yo' soul! brer rabbit wuz settin' dar ontyin' he ole 'oman un he childun, w'ich dey wuz sev'm uv um. w'en he git um all ontie, brer rabbit, he tuck'n h'ist hisse'f on de seat 'long er brer fox, un dey sot dar un talk un laugh 'bout de all-sorts er times dey gwine ter have w'en dey git de co'n meal. brer fox sez, sezee, he gwine ter bake hoecake; brer rabbit sez, sezee, he gwine ter make ashcake. "des 'bout dis time one er brer rabbit's childun raise hisse'f up easy un hop out de waggin. miss fox, she sing out: "'_one frun sev'm don't leave 'lev'm._' "brer fox hunch he ole 'oman wid he foot fer ter make 'er keep still. bimeby 'n'er little rabbit pop up un hop out. miss fox say, se' she: "'_one frun six leaves me less kicks._' "brer fox go on talkin' ter brer rabbit, un brer rabbit go on talkin' ter brer fox, un 't wa'n't so mighty long 'fo' all brer rabbit fammerly done pop up un dive out de waggin, un ev'y time one 'ud go miss fox she 'ud fit it like she did de yuthers." "what did she say, aunt tempy?" asked the little boy, who was interested in the rhymes. "des lemme see-- "'_one frun five leaves four alive_; "'_one frun four leaves th'ee un no mo'_; "'_one frun th'ee leaves two ter go free_; "'_one frun one, un all done gone_.'" "what did brother rabbit do then?" inquired the little boy. "better ax w'at brer fox do," replied aunt tempy, pleased with the effect of her rhymes. "brer fox look 'roun' atter w'ile, un w'en he see dat all brer rabbit fammerly done gone, he lean back un holler 'wo!' un den he say, sezee: "'in de name er goodness, brer rabbit! whar all yo' folks?' "brer rabbit look 'roun', un den he make like he cryin'. he des fa'rly boo-hoo'd, un he say, sezee: "'dar now, brer fox! i des know'd dat ef i put my po' little childuns in dar wid yo' folks dey'd git e't up. i des know'd it!' "ole miss fox, she des vow she aint totch brer rabbit fammerly. but brer fox, he bin wantin' a piece un um all de way, un he begrudge um so dat he git mighty mad wid he ole 'oman un de childuns, un he say, sezee: "'you kin des make de most er dat, 'kaze i'm a-gwine ter bid you good riddance dis ve'y day'; un, sho' nuff, brer fox tuck'n tuck he whole fammerly ter town un trade um off fer co'n. "brer rabbit wuz wid 'em, des ez big ez life un twice ez natchul. dey start back, dey did, un w'en dey git four er five mile out er town, hit come 'cross brer fox min' dat he done come away un lef' a plug er terbacker in de sto', en he say he bleeze ter go back atter it. "brer rabbit, he say, sezee, dat he'll stay en take keer er de waggin, w'ile brer fox kin run back un git he terbacker. soon ez brer fox git out er sight, brer rabbit laid de hosses under line un lash un drove de waggin home, un put de hosses in he own stable, un de co'n in de smoke-house, un de waggin in de barn, un den he put some co'n in he pocket, un cut de hosses tails off, un went back up de road twel he come ter a quog-mire, un in dat he stick de tails un wait fer brer fox. "atter w'ile yer he come, un den brer rabbit gun ter holler un pull at de tails. he say, sezee: "'run yer, brer fox! run yer! youer des in time ef you aint too late. run yer, brer fox! run yer!' "brer fox, he run'd en juk brer rabbit away, un say, sezee: "'git out de way, brer rabbit! you too little! git out de way, un let a man ketch holt.' "brer fox tuck holt," continued aunt tempy, endeavoring to keep from laughing, "un he fetch'd one big pull, un i let you know dat 'uz de onliest pull he make, 'kaze de tails come out un he tu'n a back summerset. he jump up, he did, en 'gun ter grabble in de quog-mire des ez hard ez he kin. "brer rabbit, he stan' by, un drop some co'n in onbeknowns' ter brer fox, un dis make 'im grabble wuss un wuss, un he grabble so hard un he grabble so long dat 't wa'n't long 'fo' he fall down dead, un so dat 'uz de las' er ole brer fox in dat day un time." as aunt tempy paused, uncle remus adjusted his spectacles and looked at her admiringly. then he laughed heartily. "i declar', sis tempy," he said, after a while, "you gives tongue same ez a lawyer. you'll hatter jine in wid us some mo'." aunt tempy closed her eyes and dropped her head on one side. "don't git me started, brer remus," she said, after a pause; "'kaze ef you does you'll hatter set up yer long pas' yo' bedtime." "i b'leeve you, sis tempy, dat i does!" exclaimed the old man, with the air of one who has made a pleasing discovery. xlii the fire-test "we er sorter bin a-waitin' fer sis tempy," uncle remus remarked when the little boy made his appearance the next night; "but somehow er n'er look lak she fear'd she hatter up en tell some mo' tales. en yit maybe she bin strucken down wid some kinder ailment. dey aint no countin' on deze yer fat folks. dey er up one minnit en down de nex'; en w'at make it dat a-way i be bless ef i know, 'kaze w'en folks is big en fat look lak dey oughter be weller dan deze yer long hongry kinder folks. "yit all de same, brer jack done come," continued uncle remus, "en we ull des slam de do' shet, en ef sis tempy come she'll des hatter hol' 'er han's 'fo' 'er face en holler out: "'_lucky de linktum, chucky de chin, open de do' en let me in!_' "oh, you kin laugh ef you wanter, but i boun' you ef sis tempy wuz ter come dar en say de wuds w'at i say, de button on dat ar do' 'ud des nat'ally twis' hitse'f off but w'at 't would let 'er in. now, i boun' you dat!" whatever doubts the child may have had he kept to himself, for experience had taught him that it was useless to irritate the old man by disputing with him. what effect the child's silence may have had in this instance it is impossible to say, for just then aunt tempy came in laughing. "you all kin des say w'at you please," she exclaimed, as she took her seat, "but dat ar _shucky cordy_ in de tale w'at daddy jack done tole, bin runnin' 'roun' in my min' en zoonin 'in my years all de time." "yer too!" exclaimed uncle remus, with emphasis. "dat 's me up en down. look lak dat ar cricket over dar in de cornder done tuck it up, en now he gwine, '_shucky-cordy! shucky-cordy!_'" "shuh-shuh!" exclaimed daddy jack, with vehement contempt, "'e _jutta cord-la!_ 'e no 'shucky-cordy' no'n 't all." "well, well, brer jack," said uncle remus, soothingly, "in deze low groun's er sorrer, you des got ter lean back en make 'lowances fer all sorts er folks. you got ter 'low fer dem dat knows too much same ez dem w'at knows too little. a heap er sayin's en a heap er doin's in dis roun' worl' got ter be tuck on trus'. you got yo' sayin's, i got mine; you got yo' knowin's, en i got mine. man come 'long en ax me how does de wum git in de scaly-bark.[ ] i tell 'im right up en down, i dunno, sir. n'er man come 'long en ax me who raise de row 'twix' de buzzud en de bee-martin.[ ] i tell 'im i dunno, sir. yit, 'kaze i dunno," continued uncle remus, "dat don't hender um. dar dey is, spite er dat,--wum in de scaly-bark, bee-martin atter de buzzud." "dat 's so," exclaimed aunt tempy, "dat 's de lord's trufe!" "dat ar pullin' at de string," uncle remus went on, "en dat ar hollerin' 'bout shucky-cordy"-- "_jutta cord-la!_" said daddy jack, fiercely. "'bout de watsizname," said uncle remus, with a lenient and forgiving smile,--"all dish yer hollerin' en gwine on 'bout de watsizname put me in min' er one time w'en brer rabbit wuz gwine off fum home fer ter git a mess er green truck. "w'en brer rabbit git ready fer ter go, he call all he chilluns up, en he tell um dat w'en he go out dey mus' fas'n de do' on de inside, en dey mus'n' tu'n nobody in, nohow, 'kaze brer fox en brer wolf bin layin' 'roun' waitin' chance fer ter nab um. en he tuck'n tole um dat w'en he come back, he'd rap at de do' en sing: "'_i'll stay w'en you away, 'kaze no gol' will pay toll!_' "de little rabs, dey hilt up der ban's en promise dat dey won't open de do' fer nobody 'ceppin' dey daddy, en wid dat, brer rabbit he tuck'n put out, he did, at a han'-gallop, huntin' sump'n' n'er ter eat. but all dis time, brer wolf bin hidin' out behime de house, en he year eve'y wud dat pass, en ole brer rabbit wa'n't mo'n out'n sight 'fo' brer wolf went ter de do', en he knock, he did,--_blip, blip, blip!_ "little rab holler out, 'who dat?' "brer wolf he sing: "'_i'll stay w'en you away, 'kaze no gol' will pay toll!_' "de little rabs dey laugh fit ter kill deyse'f, en dey up'n 'low: "'go 'way, mr. wolf, go 'way! you aint none er we-all daddy!' "ole brer wolf he slunk off, he did, but eve'y time he thunk er dem plump little rabs, he des git mo' hongry dan befo', en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he 'uz back at de do'--_blap, blap, blap!_ "little rab holler: 'who dat?' "brer wolf, he up'n sing: "'_i'll stay w'en you away, 'kaze no gol' will pay toll!_' "de little rabs dey laugh en roll on de flo', en dey up'n 'low: "'go 'way, mr. wolf! we-all daddy aint got no bad col' lak dat.' "brer wolf slunk off, but bimeby he come back, en dis time he try mighty hard fer ter talk fine. he knock at de do'--_blam, blam, blam!_ "little rab holler: 'who dat?' "brer wolf tu'n loose en sing: "'_i'll stay w'en you away, 'kaze no gol' will pay toll!_' "little rab holler back, he did: "'go 'way, mr. wolf! go 'way! we-all daddy kin sing lots puttier dan dat. go 'way, mr. wolf! go 'way!' "brer wolf he slunk off, he did, en he go 'way out in de woods, en he sing, en sing, twel he kin sing fine ez de nex' man. den he go back en knock at de do', en w'en de little rabs ax who dat, he sing dem de song; en he sing so nice, en he sing so fine, dat dey ondo de do', en ole brer wolf walk in en gobble um all up, fum de fus' ter de las'. "w'en ole brer rabbit git back home, he fine de do' stannin' wide open en all de chilluns gone. dey wa'n't no sign er no tussle; de h'a'th 'uz all swep' clean, en eve'ything wuz all ter rights, but right over in de cornder he see a pile er bones, en den he know in reason dat some er de yuther creeturs done bin dar en make hash outen he chilluns. "den he go 'roun' en ax um 'bout it, but dey all 'ny it; dey all 'ny it ter de las', en brer wolf, he 'ny it wuss'n all un um. den brer rabbit tuck'n lay de case 'fo' brer tarrypin. ole brer tarrypin wuz a mighty man in dem days," continued uncle remus, with something like a sigh,--"a mighty man, en no sooner is he year de state er de condition dan he up'n call all de creeturs tergedder. he call um tergedder, he did, en den he up'n tell um 'bout how somebody done tuck'n 'stroy all er brer rabbit chillun, en he 'low dat de man w'at do dat bleedz ter be kotch, 'kaze ef he aint, dey aint no tellin' how long it'll be 'fo' de same somebody'll come 'long en 'stroy all de chillun in de settlement. "brer b'ar, he up'n ax how dey gwine fine 'im, en brer tarrypin say dey er allers a way. den he 'low: "'less dig a deep pit.' "'i'll dig de pit,' sez brer wolf, sezee. "atter de pit done dug, brer tarrypin say: "'less fill de pit full er lighter'd knots en bresh.' "'i'll fill de pit,' sez brer wolf, sezee. "atter de pit done fill up, brer tarrypin say: "'now, den, less set it a-fier.' "'i'll kindle de fier,' sez brer wolf, sezee. "w'en de fier 'gun ter blaze up, brer tarrypin 'low dat de creeturs mus' jump 'cross dat, en de man w'at 'stroy brer rabbit chilluns will drap in en git bu'nt up. brer wolf bin so uppity 'bout diggin', en fillin', en kindlin', dat dey all 'spected 'im fer ter make de fus' trial; but, bless yo' soul en body! brer wolf look lak he got some yuther business fer ter 'ten' ter. "de pit look so deep, en de fier bu'n so high, dat dey mos' all 'fear'd fer ter make de trial, but atter w'ile, brer mink 'low dat he aint hunted none er brer rabbit chilluns, en wid dat, he tuck runnin' start, en lipt across. den brer coon say he aint hunted um, en over he sailed. brer b'ar say he feel mo' heavy dan he ever is befo' in all he born days, but he aint hurted none er brer rabbit po' little chilluns, en wid dat away he went 'cross de fier. dey all jump, twel bimeby hit come brer wolf time. den he 'gun ter git skeered, en he mighty sorry 'kaze he dig dat pit so deep en wide, en kindle dat fier so high. he tuck sech a long runnin' start, dat time he git ter de jumpin' place, he 'uz done wo' teetotally out, en he lipt up, he did, en fetch'd a squall en drapt right spang in de middle er de fier." "uncle remus," said the little boy, after a while, "did brother terrapin jump over the fire?" "w'at brer tarrypin gwine jump fer?" responded uncle remus, "w'en eve'ybody know tarrypins aint eat rabbits." "well, you know you said everything was different then," said the child. "look yer, brer jack," exclaimed uncle remus, "ef you got any tale on yo' mine, des let 'er come. dish yer youngster gittin' too long-headed fer me; dat he is."[ ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] a species of hickory-nut. the tree sheds its bark every year, hence the name, which is applied to both tree and fruit. [ ] the king-bird. [ ] see _uncle remus: his songs and his sayings_, p. . ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xliii the cunning snake daddy jack, thus appealed to, turned half round in his seat, winked his bright little eyes very rapidly, and said, with great animation: "hoo! me bin yeddy one sing-tale; me yeddy um so long tam 'go. one tam dere bin one ole affiky ooman, 'e call 'im name coomba. 'e go walky troo da woots, 'e walky troo da fiel. bumbye 'e is bin come 'pon one snake-nes' fill wit' aig. snake big snake, aig big aig. affiky oomans is bin want-a dem aig so bahd; 'e 'fraid fer tek um. 'e gone home; 'e is see dem aig in 'e dream, 'e want um so bahd. wun da nex' day mornin' come, da affiky oomans say 'e bleeze fer hab dem aig. 'e go 'way, 'e bin-a see da snake-nes', 'e is git-a da aig; 'e fetch um at 'e own house; 'e cook um fer 'e brekwuss. "bumbye da snake bin-a come by 'e nes'. aig done gone. 'e pit 'e nose 'pon da groun', 'e is track da affiky oomans by 'e own house. snake come by da affiky oomans house; 'e ahx 'bout 'e aig. affiky oomans say 'e no hab bin see no aig. snake see da skin wut bin 'pon 'e aig; 'e ahx wut is dis. affiky oomans no say nuttin' 't all. snake 'e say: "'wey fer you come brek up me nes' un tekky me aig?' "affiky oomans 'e no say nuttin' 't all. 'e toss 'e head, 'e mek lak 'e no yeddy da snake v'ice, 'e go 'bout 'e wuk. snake, 'e say: "'ooman! you is bin yed me v'ice wun me cry out. you bin tekky me aig; you is bin 'stroy me chillun. tek keer you' own; tek keer you' own.' "snake gone 'way; 'e slick out 'e tongue, 'e slide 'way. bumbye de affiky oomans, 'e hab one putty lil pickaninny; 'e lub um ha'd all over. 'e is mine wut da snake say; 'e tote da pickaninny 'roun' 'pon 'e bahck. 'e call um noncy, 'e tote um fur, 'e lub um ha'd. "snake, 'e bin-a stay in da bush-side; 'e watch all day, 'e wait all night; 'e git honkry fer da pickaninny, 'e want um so bahd. 'e bin slick out 'e tongue, 'e bin slide troo da grass, 'e bin hanker fer da pickaninny. "bumbye da affiky oomans tote-a da noncy til 'e git tire; 'e puff, 'e blow, 'e wuk 'e gill sem lak cat-fish." aunt tempy burst into loud laughter at this remarkable statement. "whoever is year de beat er dat!" she exclaimed. "daddy jack, you goes on owdashus 'bout de wimmen, dat you does!" "'e puff, 'e blow, 'e pant; 'e say: "'da pickaninny, 'e der git-a big lak one bag rice. 'e der git-a so heffy, me yent mos' know wut fer do. me yent kin tote um no mo'.' "da affiky oomans is bin-a pit da pickaninny down 'pon da groun'. 'e mek up one sing[ ] in 'e head, un 'e l'arn da lilly gal fer answer da sing. 'e do show um how fer pull out da peg in da do'. snake, 'e is bin lay quile up in da bush; 'e say nuttin' 't all. "affiky oomans is l'arn-a da pickaninny fer answer da sing, un wun he sta't fer go off, 'e say: "pit da peg in da do' un you no y-open um fer nobody 'cep' you is yeddy me sing.' "lil gal, 'e say yassum, un da affiky oomans gone off. snake stay still. 'e quile up in 'e quile; 'e yent moof[ ] 'e tail. bumbye, toze night-time, da affiky oomans come bahck wey 'e lif. 'e stan' by da do'; 'e talk dis sing: "'_walla walla witto, me noncy, walla walla witto, me noncy, walla walla witto, me noncy!_' "'e v'ice 'come finer toze da las' tel 'e do git loud fer true. da lilly gal, 'e do mek answer lak dis: "'_andolee! andoli! andolo!_' "'e know 'e mammy v'ice, en 'e bin pull out da peg queek. 'e run to 'e mammy; 'e mammy der hung um up. nex' day, 'e da sem t'ing; two, t'ree, sev'm day, 'e da sem t'ing. affiky oomans holler da sing; da lilly gal mek answer 'pon turrer side da do'. snake, 'e lay quile up in da bush. 'e watch da night, 'e lissun da day; 'e try fer l'arn-a da sing; 'e no say nuttin' 't all. bumbye, one tam wun affiky oomans bin gone 'way, snake, 'e wait 'til 'e mos' tam fer oomans fer come bahck. 'e gone by da do'; 'e y-open 'e mout'; 'e say: "'_wullo wullo widdo, me noncy, wullo wullo widdo, me noncy, wullo wullo widdo, me noncy!_' "'e try fer mekky 'e v'ice come fine lak da lil gal mammy; 'e der hab one rough place in 'e t'roat, un 'e v'ice come big. lilly gal no mek answer. 'e no y-open da do'. 'e say: "'go 'way fum dey-dey! me mammy no holler da sing lak dat!' "snake, 'e try one, two, t'ree time; 'e yent no use. lilly gal no y-open da do', 'e no mek answer. snake 'e slick out 'e tongue un slide 'way; 'e say 'e mus' l'arn-a da sing sho' 'nuff. "bumbye, da affiky oomans come bahck. 'e holler da sing: "'_walla walla witto, me noncy, walla walla witto, me noncy, walla walla witto, me noncy!_' "lilly gal say: 'da' me mammy!' 'e answer da sing: "'_andolee! andoli! andolo!_' "snake, 'e quile up in da chimmerly-corner; 'e hol' 'e bre't' fer lissun; 'e der l'arn-a da sing. nex' day mornin' da affiky oomans bin-a gone 'way un lef' da lilly gal all by 'ese'f. all de day long da snake 'e t'ink about da song; 'e say um in 'e min', 'e say um forwud, 'e say um backwud. bumbye, mos' toze sundown, 'e come at da do'; 'e come, 'e holler da sing: "'_walla walla witto, me noncy, walla walla witto, me noncy, walla walla witto, me noncy!_' "da lil gal, 'e t'ink-a da snake bin 'e mammy; 'e is answer da sing: "'adolee! andoli! andolo!' "'e mek answer lak dat, un 'e y-open da do' queek. 'e run 'pon da snake 'fo' 'e is _shum_.[ ] snake, 'e bin-a hug da lilly gal mo' sem dun 'e mammy; 'e is twis' 'e tail 'roun' um; 'e is ketch um in 'e quile. lilly gal 'e holler, 'e squall; 'e squall, 'e holler. nobody bin-a come by fer yeddy um. snake 'e 'quees'[ ] um tight, 'e no l'em go; 'e 'quees' um tight, 'e swaller um whole; 'e bre'k-a no bone; 'e tekky da lilly gal lak 'e stan'. "bumbye da lil mammy come home at 'e house. 'e holler da sing, 'e git-a no answer. 'e come skeer'; 'e v'ice shek, 'e body trimple. 'e lissun, 'e no yeddy no fuss. 'e push de do' y-open, 'e no see nuttin' 't all; da lilly gal gone! da ooman 'e holler, 'e cry; 'e ahx way 'e lilly gal bin gone; 'e no git no answer. 'e look all 'roun', 'e see way da snake bin-a 'cross da road. 'e holler: "'ow, me lard! da snake bin come swaller me lil noncy gal. i gwan hunt 'im up; i gwan foller da snake pas' da een' da yet'.'[ ] "'e go in da swamp, 'e cut 'im one cane; 'e come bahck, 'e fine da snake track, un 'e do foller 'long wey 'e lead. snake 'e so full wit de lilly gal 'e no walk fas'; lil gal mammy, 'e bin mad, 'e go stret 'long. snake 'e so full wit' da lilly gal, 'e come sleepy. 'e lay down, 'e shed-a 'e y-eye. 'e y-open um no mo'," continued daddy jack, moving his head slowly from side to side, and looking as solemn as he could. "da ooman come 'pon de snake wun 'e bin lay dar 'sleep; 'e come 'pon 'im, un 'e tekky da cane un bre'k 'e head, 'e mash um flat. 'e cut da snake open, 'e fine da lilly gal sem lak 'e bin 'sleep. 'e tek um home, 'e wash um off. bumbye da lilly gal y-open 'e y-eye, un soon 'e see 'e mammy, 'e answer da sing. 'e say: "'_andolee! andoli! andolo!_'" "well, well, well!" exclaimed aunt tempy, sympathetically. "un de po' little creetur wuz 'live?" "enty!" exclaimed daddy jack. no reply could possibly have been more prompt, more emphatic, or more convincing. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] "'e mek up one sing." she composed a song and taught the child the refrain. [ ] move; he aint move he tail; he hasn't even moved his tail. [ ] before he see um. [ ] squeeze. [ ] earth. uncle remus would say "yeth." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xliv how brother fox was too smart "uncle remus," said the little boy, one night when he found the old man alone, "i don't like these stories where somebody has to stand at the door and sing, do you? they don't sound funny to me." uncle remus crossed his legs, took off his spectacles and laid them carefully on the floor under his chair, and made a great pretence of arguing the matter with the child. "now, den, honey, w'ich tale is it w'at you aint lak de mos'?" the little boy reflected a moment and then replied: "about the snake swallowing the little girl. i don't see any fun in that. papa says they have snakes in africa as big around as his body; and, goodness knows, i hope they won't get after me." "how dey gwine git atter you, honey, w'en you settin' up yer 'long side er me en de snakes 'way 'cross dar in affiky?" "well, daddy jack, he came, and the snakes might come too." uncle remus laughed, more to reassure the child than to ridicule his argument. "dem ar snakes aint no water-moccasin, not ez i knows un. brer jack bin yer mighty long time, en dey aint no snake foller atter 'im yit." "now, uncle remus! papa says they have them in shows." "i 'speck dey is, honey, but who's afear'd er snake stufft wid meal-bran? not none er ole miss gran'chillun, sho'!" "well, the stories don't sound funny to me." "dat mought be, yit deyer funny ter brer jack, en dey do mighty well fer ter pass de time. atter w'ile you'll be a-gwine 'roun' runnin' down ole-brer rabbit en de t'er creeturs, en somehow er n'er you'll take'n git ole remus mix up wid um twel you won't know w'ich one un um you er runnin' down, en let 'lone dat, you won't keer needer. shoo, honey! you aint de fus' chap w'at i done tole deze yer tales ter." "why, uncle remus," exclaimed the little boy, in a horrified tone, "i _would n't_; you _know_ i would n't!" "don't tell me!" insisted the old man, "you er outgrowin' me, en you er outgrowin' de tales. des lak miss sally change de lenk er yo' britches, des dat a-way i got ter do w'ence i whirl in en persoo atter de creeturs. time wuz w'en you 'ud set down yer by dish yer h'a'th, en you'd take'n holler en laugh en clap yo' han's w'en ole brer rabbit 'ud kick outen all er he tanglements; but deze times you sets dar wid yo' eyes wide open, en you don't crack a smile. i say it!" uncle remus exclaimed, changing his tone and attitude, as if addressing some third person concealed in the room. "i say it! stidder j'inin' in wid de fun, he'll take'n lean back dar en 'spute 'long wid you des lak grow'd up folks. i'll stick it out dis season, but w'en chrismus come, i be bless ef i aint gwine ter ax miss sally fer my remoovance papers, en i'm gwine ter hang my bundle on my walkin'-cane, en see w'at kinder dirt dey is at de fur een' er de big road." "yes!" exclaimed the little boy, triumphantly, "and, if you do, the patter-rollers will get you." "well," replied the old man, with a curious air of resignation, "ef dey does, i aint gwine ter do lak brer fox did w'en brer rabbit showed him de tracks in de big road." "how did brother fox do, uncle remus?" "watch out, now! dish yer one er de tales w'at aint got no fun in it." "uncle remus, please tell it." "hol' on dar! dey mought be a snake some'rs in it--one er deze yer meal-bran snakes." "_please_, uncle remus, tell it." the old man never allowed himself to resist the artful pleadings of the little boy. so he recovered his specks from under the chair, looked up the chimney for luck, as he explained to his little partner, and proceeded: "one day w'en brer fox went callin' on miss meadows en miss motts en de t'er gals, who should he fine settin' up dar but ole brer rabbit? yasser! dar he wuz, des ez sociable ez you please. he 'uz gwine on wid de gals, en w'en brer fox drapt in dey look lak dey wuz mighty tickled 'bout sump'n' n'er brer rabbit bin sayin'. brer fox, he look sorter jub'ous, he did, des lak folks does w'en dey walks up in a crowd whar de yuthers all a-gigglin'. he tuck'n kotch de dry grins terreckerly. but dey all howdied, en miss meadows, she up'n say: "'you'll des hatter skuse us, brer fox, on de 'count er dish yer gigglement. tooby sho', hit monst'us disperlite fer we-all fer to be gwine on dat a-way; but i mighty glad you come, en i sez ter de gals, s'i, "'fo' de lord, gals! dar come brer fox, en yer we is a-gigglin' en a-gwine on scan'lous; yit hit done come ter mighty funny pass," s'i, "ef you can't run on en laugh 'fo' home folks," s'i. dat des 'zactly w'at i say, en i leave it ter ole brer rabbit en de gals yer ef 't aint.' "de gals, dey tuck'n jine in, dey did, en dey make ole brer fox feel right splimmy-splammy, en dey all sot dar en run on 'bout dey neighbors des lak folks does deze days. dey sot dar, dey did, twel atter w'ile brer rabbit look out todes sundown, en 'low: "'now, den, folks and fr'en's, i bleedz ter say goo' bye. cloud comin' up out yan, en mos' 'fo' we know it de rain 'll be a-po'in' en de grass 'll be a-growin'.'" "why, that's poetry, uncle remus!" interrupted the little boy. "tooby sho' 't is, honey! tooby sho' 't is. i des let you know brer rabbit 'uz a mighty man in dem days. brer fox, he see de cloud comin' up, en he up'n 'low he 'speck he better be gittin' 'long hisse'f, 'kaze he aint wanter git he sunday-go-ter-meetin' cloze wet. miss meadows en miss motts, en de gals, dey want um ter stay, but bofe er dem ar creeturs 'uz mighty fear'd er gittin' der foots wet, en atter w'ile dey put out. "w'iles dey 'uz gwine down de big road, jawin' at one er 'n'er, brer fox, he tuck'n stop right quick, en 'low: "'run yer, brer rabbit! run yer! ef my eye aint 'ceive me yer de signs whar mr. dog bin 'long, en mo'n dat dey er right fresh.' "brer rabbit, he sidle up en look. den he 'low: "'dat ar track aint never fit mr. dog foot in de roun' worl'. w'at make it mo' bindin',' sezee, 'i done gone en bin 'quainted wid de man w'at make dat track, too long 'go ter talk 'bout,' sezee. "'brer rabbit, please, sir, tell me he name.' "brer rabbit, he laugh lak he makin' light er sump'n' 'n'er. "'ef i aint make no mistakes, brer fox, de po' creetur w'at make dat track is cousin wildcat; no mo' en no less.' "'how big is he, brer rabbit?' "'he des 'bout yo' heft, brer fox.' den brer rabbit make lak he talkin' wid hisse'f. 'tut, tut, tut! hit mighty funny dat i should run up on cousin wildcat in dis part er de worl'. tooby sho', tooby sho'! many en manys de time i see my ole grandaddy kick en cuff cousin wildcat, twel i git sorry 'bout 'im. ef you want any fun, brer fox, right now de time ter git it.' "brer fox up'n ax, he did, how he gwine have any fun. brer rabbit, he 'low: "'easy 'nuff; des go en tackle ole cousin wildcat, en lam 'im 'roun'.' "brer fox, he sorter scratch he year, en 'low: "'eh-eh, brer rabbit, i fear'd. he track too much lak mr. dog.' "brer rabbit des set right flat down in de road, en holler en laugh. he 'low, sezee: "'shoo, brer fox! who'd 'a' thunk you 'uz so skeery? des come look at dish yer track right close. is dey any sign er claw anywhar's?' "brer fox bleedz ter 'gree dat dey wa'n't no sign er no claw. brer rabbit say: "'well, den, ef he aint got no claw, how he gwine ter hu't you, brer fox?' "'w'at gone wid he toofs, brer rabbit?' "'shoo, brer fox! creeturs w'at barks[ ] de trees aint gwine bite.' "brer fox tuck'n tuck 'n'er good look at de tracks, en den him en brer rabbit put out fer ter foller um up. dey went up de road, en down de lane, en 'cross de turnip patch, en down a dreen,[ ] en up a big gully. brer rabbit, he done de trackin', en eve'y time he fine one, he up'n holler: "'yer 'n'er track, en no claw dar! yer 'n'er track, en no claw dar!' "dey kep' on en kep' on, twel bimeby dey run up wid de creetur. brer rabbit, he holler out mighty biggity: "'heyo dar! w'at you doin'?' "de creetur look 'roun', but he aint sayin' nothin'. brer rabbit 'low: "'oh, you nee'nter look so sullen! we ull make you talk 'fo' we er done 'long wid you! come, now! w'at you doin' out dar?' "de creetur rub hisse'f 'gin' a tree des lak you see deze yer house cats rub 'gin' a cheer, but he aint sayin' nothin'. brer rabbit holler: "'w'at you come pesterin' 'long wid us fer, w'en we aint bin a-pesterin' you? you got de consate dat i dunner who you is, but i does. youer de same ole cousin wildcat w'at my gran'daddy use ter kick en cuff w'en you 'fuse ter 'spon'. i let you know i got a better man yer dan w'at my gran'daddy ever is bin, en i boun' you he ull make you talk. dat w'at i boun' you.' "de creetur lean mo' harder 'gin' de tree, en sorter ruffle up he bristle, but he aint sayin' nothin'. brer rabbit, he 'low: "'go up dar, brer fox, en ef he 'fuse ter 'spon' slap 'im down! dat de way my gran'daddy done. you go up dar, brer fox, en ef he dast ter try ter run, i'll des whirl in en ketch 'im.' "brer fox, he sorter jub'ous, but he start todes de creetur. ole cousin wildcat walk all 'roun' de tree, rubbin' hisse'f, but he aint sayin' nothin'. brer rabbit, he holler: "'des walk right up en slap 'im down, brer fox--de owdashus vilyun! des hit 'im a surbinder, en ef he dast ter run, i boun' you i'll ketch 'im.' "brer fox, he went up little nigher. cousin wildcat stop rubbin' on de tree, en sot up on he behime legs wid he front paws in de a'r, en he balance hisse'f by leanin' 'gin' de tree, but he aint sayin' nothin'. brer rabbit, he squall out, he did: "'oh, you nee'nter put up yo' han's en try ter beg off. dat de way you fool my ole gran'daddy; but you can't fool we-all. all yo' settin' up en beggin' aint gwine ter he'p you. ef youer so humble ez all dat, w'at make you come pesterin' longer we-all? hit 'im a clip, brer fox! ef he run, i'll ketch 'im!' "brer fox see de creetur look so mighty humble, settin' up dar lak he beggin' off, en he sorter take heart. he sidle up todes 'im, he did, en des ez he 'uz makin' ready fer ter slap 'im ole cousin wildcat draw'd back en fotch brer fox a wipe 'cross de stomach." uncle remus paused here a moment, as if to discover some term strong enough to do complete justice to the catastrophe. presently he went on: "dat ar cousin wildcat creetur fotch brer fox a wipe 'cross de stomach, en you mought a yeard 'im squall fum yer ter harmony grove. little mo' en de creetur would er to' brer fox in two. w'ence de creetur made a pass at 'im, brer rabbit knew w'at gwine ter happen, yit all de same he tuck'n holler: "'hit 'im ag'in, brer fox! hit 'im ag'in! i'm a-backin' you, brer fox! ef he dast ter run, i'll inabout cripple 'im--dat i will. hit 'im ag'in!' "all dis time w'iles brer rabbit gwine on dis a-way, brer fox, he 'uz a-squattin' down, hol'in' he stomach wid bofe han's en des a-moanin': "'i'm ruint, brer rabbit! i'm ruint! run fetch de doctor! i'm teetotally ruint!' "'bout dat time, cousin wildcat, he tuck'n tuck a walk. brer rabbit, he make lak he 'stonish' dat brer fox is hurted. he tuck'n 'zamin' de place, he did, en he up'n 'low: "'hit look lak ter me, brer fox, dat dat owdashus vilyun tuck'n struck you wid a reapin'-hook.' "wid dat brer rabbit lit out fer home, en w'en he git out er sight, he tuck'n shuck he han's des lak cat does w'en she git water on 'er foots, en he tuck'n laugh en laugh twel it make 'im sick fer ter laugh." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] gnaws the bark from the trees. [ ] drain or ditch. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xlv brother wolf gets in a warm place the little boy thought that the story of how the wildcat scratched brother fox was one of the best stories he had ever heard, and he did n't hesitate to say so. his hearty endorsement increased uncle remus's good-humor; and the old man, with a broad grin upon his features and something of enthusiasm in his tone, continued to narrate the adventures of brother rabbit. "after brer fox git hurted so bad," said uncle remus, putting an edge upon his axe with a whetstone held in his hand, "hit wuz a mighty long time 'fo' he could ramble 'roun' en worry ole brer rabbit. der time cousin wildcat fetch'd 'im dat wipe 'cross de stomach, he tuck'n lay de blame on brer rabbit, en w'en he git well, he des tuck'n juggle wid de yuther creeturs, en dey all 'gree dat dem en brer rabbit can't drink out er de same branch, ner walk de same road, ner live in de same settlement, ner go in washin' in de same wash-hole. "tooby sho' brer rabbit bleedz ter take notice er all dish yer kinder jugglements en gwines on, en he des tuck'n strenken he house, in de neighborhoods er de winders, en den he put 'im up a steeple on top er dat. yasser! a sho' 'nuff steeple, en he rise 'er up so high dat folks gwine 'long de big road stop en say, 'hey! w'at kinder meetin'-house dat?'" the little boy laughed loudly at uncle remus's graphic delineation of the astonishment and admiration of the passers-by. the old man raised his head, stretched his eyes, and seemed to be looking over his spectacles right at brother rabbit's steeple. "folks 'ud stop en ax, but brer rabbit aint got time fer ter make no answer. _he_ hammer'd, _he_ nailed, _he_ knock'd, _he_ lamm'd! folks go by, he aint look up; creeturs come stan' en watch 'im, he aint look 'roun'; wuk, wuk, wuk, from sun-up ter sun-down, twel dat er steeple git done. den ole brer rabbit tuck'n draw long breff, en wipe he forrerd, en 'low dat ef dem t'er creeturs w'at bin atter 'im so long is got any de 'vantage er him, de time done come fer um fer ter show it. "wid dat he went en got 'im a snack er sump'n' t' eat, en a long piece er plough-line, en he tole he ole 'oman fer ter put a kittle er water on de fire, en stan' 'roun' close by, en eve'yt'ing he tell 'er not ter do, dat de ve'y t'ing she sho'ly mus' do. den ole brer rabbit sot down in he rockin'-cheer en lookt out fum de steeple fer ter see how de lan' lay. "'t wa'n't long 'fo' all de creeturs year talk dat brer rabbit done stop wuk, en dey 'gun ter come 'roun' fer ter see w'at he gwine do nex'. but brer rabbit, he got up dar, he did, en smoke he seegyar, en chaw he 'backer, en let he min' run on. brer wolf, he stan' en look up at de steeple, brer fox, he stan' en look up at it, en all de t'er creeturs dey done de same. nex' time you see a crowd er folks lookin' at sump'n' right hard, you des watch um, honey. dey'll walk 'roun' one er 'n'er en swap places, en dey'll be constant on de move. dat des de way de creeturs done. dey walk 'roun' en punch one er 'n'er en swap places, en look en look. ole brer rabbit, he sot up dar, he did, en chaw he 'backer, en smoke he seegyar, en let he min' run on. "bimeby ole brer tarrypin come 'long, en ole brer tarrypin bin in cohoots wid brer rabbit so long dat he des nat'ally know dey wuz gwine ter be fun er plenty 'roun' in dem neighborhoods 'fo' de sun go down. he laugh 'way down und' de roof er he house, ole brer tarrypin did, en den he hail brer rabbit: "'heyo, brer rabbit! w'at you doin' 'way up in de elements lak dat?' "'i'm a-sojourneyin' up yer fer ter res' myse'f, brer tarrypin. drap up en see me.' "''twix' you en me, brer rabbit, de drappin' 's all one way. s'posin' you tu'n loose en come. man live dat high up bleedz ter have wings. i aint no high-flyer myse'f. i fear'd ter shake han's wid you so fur off, brer rabbit.' "'not so, brer tarrypin, not so. my sta'rcase is a mighty limbersome one, en i'll des let it down ter you.' "wid dat, brer rabbit let down de plough-line. "'des ketch holt er dat, brer tarrypin,' sez brer rabbit, sezee, 'en up you comes, _linktum sinktum binktum boo!_' sezee." "what was that, uncle remus?" said the little boy, taking a serious view of the statement. "creetur talk, honey--des creetur talk. bless yo' soul, chile!" the old man went on, with a laughable assumption of dignity, "ef you think i got time fer ter stop right short off en stribbit[ ] out all i knows, you er mighty much mistaken--mighty much mistaken. "ole brer tarrypin know mighty well dat brer rabbit aint got nothin' 'gin' 'im, yet he got sech a habit er lookin' out fer hisse'f dat he tuck'n ketch de plough-line in he mouf, he did, en try de strenk un it. ole brer rabbit, he holler 'swing on, brer tarrypin!' en brer tarrypin, he tuck'n swung on, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he 'uz settin' up dar side er brer rabbit. "but i wish ter goodness you'd 'a' bin dar," continued uncle remus, very gracefully leaving it to be inferred that _he_ was there; "i wish ter goodness you'd 'a' bin dar so you could er seed ole brer tarrypin w'iles brer rabbit 'uz haulin' 'im up, wid he tail a-wigglin' en he legs all spraddled out, en him a-whirlin' 'roun' en 'roun' en lookin' skeer'd. "de t'er creeturs dey see brer tarrypin go up safe en soun', en dey see de vittles passin' 'roun', en dey 'gun ter feel lak dey wanter see de inside er brer rabbit steeple. den brer wolf, he hail 'im: "'heyo dar, brer rabbit! youer lookin' mighty scrumptious way up dar! how you come on?' "brer rabbit, he look down, he did, en he see who 't is hollerin', en he 'spon': "'po'ly, mighty po'ly, but i thank de lord i'm able to eat my 'lowance.[ ] won't you drap up, brer wolf?' "'hit 's a mighty clumsy journey fer ter make, brer rabbit, yit i don't keer ef i does.' "wid dat, brer rabbit let down de plough-line, en brer wolf kotch holt, en dey 'gun ter haul 'im up. dey haul en dey haul, en w'en brer wolf git mos' ter de top he year brer rabbit holler out: "'stir 'roun', ole 'oman, en set de table; but 'fo' you do dat, fetch de kittle fer ter make de coffee.' "dey haul en dey haul on de plough-line, en brer wolf year brer rabbit squall out: "'watch out dar, ole 'oman! you'll spill dat b'ilin' water on brer wolf!' "en, bless yo' soul!" continued uncle remus, turning half around in his chair to face his enthusiastic audience of one, "dat 'uz 'bout all brer wolf did year, 'kaze de nex' minit down come de scaldin' water, en brer wolf des fetch one squall en turn't hisse'f aloose, en w'en he strak de groun' he bounce des same ez one er deze yer injun-rubber balls w'at you use ter play wid 'long in dem times 'fo' you tuck'n broke yo' mammy lookin'-glass. ole brer rabbit, he lean fum out de steeple en 'pollygize de bes' he kin, but no 'pollygy aint gwine ter make ha'r come back whar de b'ilin' water hit." "did they spill the hot water on purpose, uncle remus?" the little boy inquired. "now, den, honey, youer crowdin' me. dem ar creeturs wuz mighty kuse--mo' speshually brer rabbit. w'en it come down ter dat," said uncle remus, lowering his voice and looking very grave, "i 'speck ef youder s'arch de country fum hen-roost to river-bank,[ ] you won't fine a no mo' kuser man dan brer rabbit. all i knows is dat brer rabbit en brer tarrypin had a mighty laughin' spell des 'bout de time brer wolf hit de groun'." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] distribute. [ ] allowance; ration. [ ] based on a characteristic negro saying. for instance: "where's jim?" "you can't keep up wid dat nigger. des let night come, en he's runnin' fum hen-roost to river-bank." in other words, stealing chickens and robbing fish baskets. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xlvi brother wolf still in trouble "en still we er by ourse'fs," exclaimed uncle remus, as the little boy ran into his cabin, the night after he had heard the story of how brother rabbit scalded brother wolf. "we er by ourse'fs en time's a-passin'. dem ar folks dunner w'at dey er missin'. we er des gittin' ter dat p'int whar we kin keep de run er creeturs, en it keeps us dat busy we aint got time fer ter bolt our vittles skacely. "i done tell you 'bout brer rabbit makin' 'im a steeple; but i aint tell you 'bout how brer rabbit got ole brer wolf out'n er mighty bad fix." "no," said the little boy, "you have n't, and that's just what i have come for now." uncle remus looked at the rafters, then at the little boy, and finally broke into a loud laugh. "i 'clar' ter goodness," he exclaimed, addressing the imaginary third person to whom he related the most of his grievances, "i 'clar' ter goodness ef dat ar chile aint gittin' so dat he's eve'y whit ez up-en-spoken ez w'at ole miss ever bin. dat he is!" the old man paused long enough to give the little boy some uneasiness, and then continued: "atter ole brer wolf git de nat'al hide tuck off'n 'im on de 'count er brer rabbit kittle, co'se he hatter go 'way off by hisse'f fer ter let de ha'r grow out. he 'uz gone so long dat brer rabbit sorter 'low ter hisse'f dat he 'speck he kin come down out'n he steeple, en sorter rack 'roun' mungs de t'er creeturs. "he sorter primp up, brer rabbit did, en den he start out 'pun he journeys hether en yan.[ ] he tuck'n went ter de crossroads, en dar he stop en choose 'im a road. he choose 'im a road, he did, en den he put out des lak he bin sent fer in a hurry. "brer rabbit gallop on, he did, talkin' en laughin' wid hisse'f, en eve'y time he pass folks, he'd tu'n it off en make lak he singin'. he 'uz gwine on dis a-way, w'en fus' news you know he tuck'n year sump'n'. he stop talkin' en 'gun ter hum a chune, but he aint meet nobody. den he stop en lissen en he year sump'n' holler: "'o lordy! lordy! won't somebody come he'p me?'" the accent of grief and despair and suffering that uncle remus managed to throw into this supplication was really harrowing. "brer rabbit year dis, en he stop en lissen. 't wa'n't long 'fo' sump'n' n'er holler out: "'o lordy, lordy! please, somebody, come en he'p me.' "brer rabbit, he h'ist up he years, he did, en make answer back: "'who is you, nohow, en w'at de name er goodness de marter?' "'please, somebody, do run yer!' "brer rabbit, he tuck'n stan' on th'ee legs fer ter make sho' er gittin' a good start ef dey 'uz any needs un it, en he holler back: "'whar'bouts is you, en how come you dar?' "'do please, somebody, run yer en he'p a po' mizerbul creetur. i'm down yer in de big gully und' dish yer great big rock.' "ole brer rabbit bleedz ter be mighty 'tickler in dem days, en he crope down ter de big gully en look in, en who de name er goodness you 'speck he seed down dar?" uncle remus paused and gave the little boy a look of triumph, and then proceeded without waiting for a reply: "nobody in de roun' worl' but dat ar ole brer wolf w'at brer rabbit done bin scalted de week 'fo' dat. he 'uz layin' down dar in de big gully, en, bless gracious! 'pun top un 'im wuz a great big rock, en ef you want ter know de reason dat ar great big rock aint teetotally kilt brer wolf, den you'll hatter ax some un w'at know mo' 'bout it dan w'at i does, 'kaze hit look lak ter me dat it des oughter mash 'im flat. "yit dar he wuz, en let 'lone bein' kilt, he got strenk 'nuff lef' fer ter make folks year 'im holler a mile off, en he holler so lonesome dat it make brer rabbit feel mighty sorry, en no sooner is he feel sorry dan he hol' he coat-tails out de way en slid down de bank fer ter see w'at he kin do. "w'en he git down dar brer wolf ax 'im please, sir, kin he he'p 'im wid de removance er dat ar rock, en brer rabbit 'low he 'speck he kin; en wid dat brer wolf holler en tell 'im fer mussy sake won't he whirl in en do it, w'ich brer rabbit tuck'n ketch holt er de rock en hump hisse'f, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he git a purchis on it, en, bless yo' soul, he lif' 'er up des lak nigger at de log-rollin'. "hit tu'n out dat brer wolf aint hurted much, en w'en he fine dis out, he tuck'n tuck a notion dat ef he ev' gwine git he revengeance out'n brer rabbit, right den wuz de time, en no sooner does dat come 'cross he min' dan he tuck'n grab brer rabbit by de nap er de neck en de small er de back. "brer rabbit he kick en squeal, but 't aint do no manner er good, 'kaze de mo' w'at he kick de mo' tighter brer wolf clamp 'im, w'ich he squoze 'im so hard dat brer rabbit wuz fear'd he 'uz gwine ter cut off he breff. brer rabbit, he 'low: "'well, den, brer wolf! is dish yer de way you thanks folks fer savin' yo' life?' "brer wolf grin big, en den he up'n 'low: "'i'll thank you, brer rabbit, en den i'll make fresh meat out'n you.' "brer rabbit 'low, he did: "'ef you talk dat a-way, brer wolf, i never is to do yer 'n'er good turn w'iles i live.' "brer wolf, he grin some mo' en 'low: "'dat you won't, brer rabbit, dat you won't! you won't do me no mo' good turn tel you er done dead.' "brer rabbit, he sorter study ter hisse'f, he did, en den he 'low: "'whar i come fum, brer wolf, hit 's agin' de law fer folks fer to kill dem w'at done done um a good turn, en i 'speck hit 's de law right 'roun' yer.' "brer wolf say he aint so mighty sho' 'bout dat. brer rabbit say he willin' fer ter lef' de whole case wid brer tarrypin, en brer wolf say he 'gree'ble. "wid dat, dey put out, dey did, en make der way ter whar ole brer tarrypin stay; en w'en dey git dar, brer wolf he tuck'n tell he side, en den brer rabbit he tuck'n tell he side. ole brer tarrypin put on he specks en cle'r up he th'oat, en den he 'low: "'dey's a mighty heap er mixness in dish yer 'spute, en 'fo' i kin take any sides you'll des hatter kyar me fer ter see de place whar'bouts brer wolf wuz w'en brer rabbit foun' 'im,' sezee. "sho' 'nuff, dey tuck'n kyar'd ole brer tarrypin down de big road twel dey come ter de big gully, en den dey tuck 'im ter whar brer wolf got kotch und' de big rock. ole brer tarrypin, he walk 'roun', he did, en poke at de place wid de een' er he cane. bimeby he shuck he head, he did, en 'low: "'i hates might'ly fer ter put you all gents ter so much trouble; yit, dey aint no two ways, i'll hatter see des how brer wolf was kotch, en des how de rock wuz layin' 'pun top un 'im,' sezee. 'de older folks gits, de mo' trouble dey is,' sezee, 'en i aint 'nyin' but w'at i'm a-ripenin' mo' samer dan a 'simmon w'at's bin strucken wid de fros',' sezee. [illustration: brother wolf still in trouble] "den brer wolf, he tuck'n lay down whar he wuz w'en brer rabbit foun' 'im, en de yuthers dey up'n roll de rock 'pun top un 'im. dey roll de rock 'pun 'im," continued uncle remus, looking over his spectacles to see what effect the statement had on the little boy, "en dar he wuz. brer tarrypin, he walk all 'roun' en 'roun', en look at 'im. den he sot down, he did, en make marks in de san' wid he cane lak he studyin' 'bout sump'n' n'er. bimeby, brer wolf, he open up: "'ow, brer tarrypin! dish yer rock gittin' mighty heavy!' "brer tarrypin, he mark in de san', en study, en study. brer wolf holler: "'ow, brer tarrypin! dish yer rock mashin' de breff out'n me.' "brer tarrypin, he r'ar back, he did, en he 'low, sezee: "'brer rabbit, you wuz in de wrong. you aint had no business fer ter come bodderin' 'longer brer wolf w'en he aint bodderin' 'longer you. he 'uz 'ten'in' ter he own business en you oughter bin 'ten'in' ter yone.' "dis make brer rabbit look 'shame' er hisse'f, but brer tarrypin talk right erlong: "'w'en you 'uz gwine down dish yer road dis mawnin', you sho'ly mus' bin a-gwine som'ers. ef you _wuz_ gwine som'ers you better be gwine on. brer wolf, he wa'n't gwine nowhars den, en he aint gwine nowhars now. you foun' 'im und' dat ar rock, en und' dat ar rock you lef 'im.' "en, bless gracious!" exclaimed uncle remus, "dem ar creeturs racked off fum dar en lef' ole brer wolf und' dat ar rock." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] hither and yon. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xlvii brother rabbit lays in his beef supply "i wonder where daddy jack is," said the little boy, one night after he had been waiting for some time for uncle remus to get leisure to tell him a story. uncle remus, who was delightfully human in his hypocrisy, as well as in other directions, leaned back in his chair, looked at the little boy with an air of grieved resignation, and said: "i boun' you does, honey, i boun' you does. ole brer jack look mighty weazly ter de naked eye, but i lay he's a lots mo' likelier nigger dan w'at ole remus is. de time done gone by w'en a po' ole no-'count nigger lak me kin hol' he han' wid a bran new nigger man lak brer jack." the child stared at uncle remus with open-eyed astonishment. "now, uncle remus! i did n't mean that; you know i did n't," he exclaimed. "bless yo' heart, honey! hit don't pester me. i done got de speunce un it. dat i is. plough-hoss don't squeal en kick w'en dey puts 'n'er hoss in he place. brer jack got de age on 'im but he new ter you. ole er young, folks is folks, en no longer'n day 'fo' yistiddy, i year you braggin' 'bout how de vittles w'at dey feeds you on up at de big house aint good ez de vittles w'at yuther childun gits. nummine ole remus, honey; you en brer jack des go right erlong en i'll be much 'blige ef you'll des lemme set in de cornder yer en chunk de fier. sho'ly i aint pas' doin' dat." the child was troubled to think that uncle remus should find it necessary to depreciate himself, and he made haste to explain his position. "i thought that if daddy jack was here he could tell me a story while you are working, so you would n't be bothered." a broad grin of appreciation spread over uncle remus's face. he adjusted his spectacles, looked around and behind him, and then, seeing no one but the child, addressed himself to the rafters and cobwebs: "well! well! well! ef dish yer don't beat all! gentermens! dish yer little chap yer, he puny in de legs, yit he mighty strong in de head." he paused, as if reflecting over the whole matter, and then turned to the child: "is _dat_ w'at make you hone atter daddy jack, honey--des 'kaze you wanter set back dar en lissen at a tale? now, den, ef you had n't 'a' got me off'n de track, you'd 'a' bin settin' yer lis'nen at one un um dis blessid minnit, 'kaze des time i year talk dat mars john gwine ter have dat ar long-hornded steer kilt fer beef, hit come 'cross my min' 'bout de time w'ence brer rabbit en brer fox j'ined in wid one er 'n'er en kilt a cow." "killed a cow, uncle remus?" "des ez sho' ez youer settin' dar," replied the old man with emphasis. "look lak dey wa'n't no kinder doin's w'at dem ar creeturs wa'n't up ter, mo' speshually ole brer rabbit. day in en day out, fum mawnin' twel night en fum night twel mawnin', he 'uz constant a-studyin' up some bran new kinder contrapshun fer ter let de yuther creeturs know he 'uz some'rs in de neighborhoods. "come down ter dat, you kin b'leeve me er not b'leeve me, des ez you er min' ter; you kin take yo' choosement; but ole brer rabbit en ole brer fox, spite er dey fallin' out, dey tuck'n go inter cahoots en kilt a cow. seem lak i disremember who de cow b'long ter," continued the old man, frowning thoughtfully, and thus, by a single stroke, imparting an air of reality to the story; "but she sho'ly b'long'd ter some er de neighbors, 'kaze you kin des put it down, right pine-blank, dat brer rabbit aint gwine ter kill he own cow, en needer is brer fox. "well, den, dey tuck'n kilt a cow, en 't wa'n't dey own cow, en alter dey done skunt 'er brer rabbit, he up'n 'low, he did, dat ef brer fox wanter git de good er de game, he better run home en fetch a tray er sump'n fer put de jiblets in." "jiblets, uncle remus?" "tooby sho', honey. dats w'at we-all calls de liver, de lights, de heart, en de melt. some calls um jiblets en some calls um hasletts, but ef you'll lemme take um en kyar um home, you kin des up en call um mos' by any name w'at creep inter yo' min'. you do de namin'," the old man went on, smacking his lips suggestively, "en i'll do de eatin', en ef i'm de loser, i boun' you won't year no complaints fum me. "but, law bless me! w'at is i'm a-doin'? de time's a-passin', en i'm aint skacely got start on de tale. dey kilt de cow, dey did, en brer rabbit tell brer fox 'bout de jiblets, en w'iles brer fox gwine on home atter de bucket fer ter put um in, he say ter hisse'f dat brer rabbit aint bad ez he crackt up ter be. but no sooner is brer fox outer sight dan brer rabbit cut out de jiblets, he did, en kyar'd um off en hide um. den he come back en tuck a piece er de meat en drap blood 'way off de udder way. "bimeby yer come brer fox wid he bucket, en w'en he git dar brer rabbit wuz settin' down cryin'. mon, he 'uz des a-boohoo-in'. brer fox, he 'low: "'name er goodness, brer rabbit! w'at de marter?' "''nuff de marter--'nuff de marter. i wish you'd 'a' stayed yer w'iles you wuz yer--dat i does, brer fox!' "'how come, brer rabbit,--how come?' "'man come, brer fox, en stole all yo' nice jiblets. i bin a-runnin' atter 'im, brer fox, but he outrun me.' "'w'ich a-way he go, brer rabbit?' "'yer de way he went, brer fox; yer whar he drap de blood. ef you be right peart, brer fox, you'll ketch 'im.' "brer fox he drapt de bucket, he did, en put out atter de man w'at tuck de jiblets, en he wa'n't out'n sight good, 'fo' ole brer rabbit sail in en cut out all de fat en taller, en kyar' it off en hide it. atter w'ile, yer come brer fox back des a-puffin' en a-pantin'. he aint see no man. brer rabbit, he hail 'im: "'you aint come a minnit too soon, brer fox, dat you aint. w'iles you bin gone 'n'er man come 'long en kyar'd off all de taller en fat. he went right off dat a-way, brer fox, en ef you'll be right peart, you'll ketch 'im.' "brer fox, he tuck'n put out, he did, en run, en run, yit he aint see no man. w'iles he done gone brer rabbit kyar off one er de behime quarters. brer fox come back; he aint see no man. brer rabbit holler en tell 'im dat 'ne'r man done come en got a behime quarter en run'd off wid it. "brer fox sorter study 'bout dis, 'kaze it look lak nobody yuver see de like er mens folks passin' by dat one lonesome cow. he make out he gwine ter run atter de man w'at steal de behime quarter, but he aint git fur 'fo' he tuck'n tu'n 'roun' en crope back, en he 'uz des in time fer ter see brer rabbit makin' off wid de yuther behime quarter. brer fox mighty tired wid runnin' hether en yan, en backards en forrerds, but he git so mad w'en he see brer rabbit gwine off dat a-way, dat he dash up en ax 'im whar is he gwine wid dat ar beef. "brer rabbit lay de beef down, he did, en look lak he feelin's hurted. he look at brer fox lak he feel mighty sorry fer folks w'at kin ax foolish questions lak dat. he shake he head, he did, en 'low: "'well, well, well! who'd 'a' thunk dat brer fox would 'a' come axin' me 'bout dish yer beef, w'ich anybody would er know'd i 'uz a-kyar'n off fer ter save fer 'im, so nobody could n't git it?' "but dish yer kinder talk don't suit brer fox, en he tuck'n make a motion 'zef[ ] ter ketch brer rabbit, but brer rabbit he 'gun 'im leg bail, en dar dey had it thoo de woods twel brer rabbit come 'pon a holler tree, en inter dat he went, des lak one er deze streaked lizzuds goes inter a hole in de san'." "and then," said the little boy, as uncle remus paused, "along came brother buzzard, and brother fox set him to watch the hole, and brother rabbit said he had found a fat squirrel which he would run out on the other side; and then he came out and ran home." this was the climax of a story that uncle remus had told a long time before, and he looked at his little partner with astonishment not unmixed with admiration. "i 'clar' ter gracious, honey!" he exclaimed, "ef you hol's on ter yo' pra'rs lak you does ter deze yer tales youer doin' mighty well. but don't you try ter hol' brer rabbit down ter one trick, you won't never keep up wid 'im in de 'roun' worl'--dat you won't. "ole brer buzzard wuz dar, en brer fox ax 'im fer ter watch de hole, but he aint bin dar long 'fo' brer rabbit sing out: "'i got de 'vantage un you, dis whet, brer buzzard, i sho'ly is.' "'how dat, brer rabbit?' "''kaze i kin see you, en you can't see me.' "wid dat brer buzzard stuck he head in de hole, en look up; en no sooner is he do dis dan brer rabbit fill he eyes full er san', en w'iles he gone ter de branch fer ter wash it out, brer rabbit he come down outer de holler, en went back ter whar de cow wuz; en mo' dan dat, brer rabbit got de ballunce un de beef." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] as if. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xlviii brother rabbit and mr. wildcat "uncle remus," said the little boy, after a pause, "where did brother rabbit go when he got out of the hollow tree?" "well, sir," exclaimed uncle remus, "you aint gwine ter b'leeve me, skacely, but dat owdashus creetur aint no sooner git out er dat ar tree dan he go en git hisse'f mix up wid some mo' trouble, w'ich he git mighty nigh skeer'd out'n he skin. "w'en brer rabbit git out'n de holler tree, he tuck'n fling some sass back at ole brer buzzard, he did, en den he put out down de big road, stidder gwine 'long back home en see 'bout he fambly. he 'uz gwine 'long--_lickety-clickety, clickety-lickety_--w'en fus' news you know he feel sump'n' 'n'er drap down 'pun 'im, en dar he wuz. bless yo' soul, w'en brer rabbit kin git he 'membunce terge'er, he feel ole mr. wildcat a-huggin' 'im fum behime, en w'ispun in he year." "what did he whisper, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "dis, dat, en de udder, one thing en a nudder." "but what did he say?" "de way un it wuz dis," said uncle remus, ignoring the child's question, "brer rabbit, he 'uz gallin'-up down de road, en ole mr. wildcat, he 'uz layin' stretch' out takin' a nap on a tree-lim' hangin' 'crosst de road. he year brer rabbit come a-lickity-clickitin' down de road, en he des sorter fix hisse'f, en w'en brer rabbit come a-dancin' und' de lim', all mr. wildcat got ter do is ter drap right down on 'im, en dar he wuz. mr. wildcat hug 'im right up at 'im, en laugh en w'isper in he year." "well, uncle remus, what did he _say_?" persisted the little boy. the old man made a sweeping gesture with his left hand that might mean everything or nothing, and proceeded to tell the story in his own way. "ole mr. wildcat hug brer rabbit up close en w'isper in he year. brer rabbit, he kick, he squall. bimeby he ketch he breff en 'low: "'ow! o lordy-lordy! w'at i done gone en done now?' "mr. wildcat, he rub he wet nose on brer rabbit year, en make cole chill run up he back. bimeby he say: "'o brer rabbit, i des nat'ally loves you! you bin a-foolin' all er my cousins en all er my kinfolks, en 't aint bin so mighty long sence you set cousin fox on me, en little mo' en i'd a-to' 'im in two. o brer rabbit! i des nat'ally loves you,' sezee. "den he laugh, en he toofs strak terge'er right close ter brer rabbit year. brer rabbit, he 'low, he did: "law, mr. wildcat, i thunk maybe you mought lak ter have brer fox fer supper, en dat de reason i sent 'im up ter whar you is. hit done come ter mighty purty pass w'en folks can't be fr'en's 'ceppin' sump'n' 'n'er step in 'twix' en 'tween um, en ef dat de case i aint gwine ter be fr'en's no mo'--dat i aint.' "mr. wildcat wipe he nose on brer rabbit year, en he do sorter lak he studyin'. brer rabbit he keep on talkin'. he 'low: "'endurin' er all dis time, is i ever pester 'long wid you, mr. wildcat?' "'no, brer rabbit, i can't say ez you is.' "'no, mr. wildcat, dat i aint. let 'lone dat, i done my level bes' fer ter he'p you out. en dough you done jump on me en skeer me scan'lous, yit i'm willin' ter do you 'n'er good tu'n. i year some wild turkeys yelpin' out yan', en ef you'll des lem me off dis time, i'll go out dar en call um up, en you kin make lak you dead, en dey'll come up en stretch dey neck over you, en you kin jump up en kill a whole passel un um 'fo' dey kin git out de way.' [illustration: brother rabbit and mr wildcat] "mr. wildcat stop en study, 'kaze ef dey er one kinder meat w'at he lak dat meat is turkey meat. den he tuck'n ax brer rabbit is he jokin'. brer rabbit say ef he 'uz settin' off some'rs by he own-'lone se'f he mought be jokin', but how de name er goodness is he kin joke w'en mr. wildcat got 'im hug up so tight? dis look so pleezy-plozzy[ ] dat 't wa'n't long 'fo' mr. wildcat 'low dat he 'uz mighty willin' ef brer rabbit mean w'at he say, en atter w'ile, bless yo' soul, ef you'd 'a' come 'long dar, you'd er seed ole mr. wildcat layin' stretch out on de groun' lookin' fer all de wul' des lak he done bin dead a mont', en you'd er yeard ole brer rabbit a-yelpin' out in de bushes des lak a sho' 'nuff tukky-hen." the little boy was always anxious for a practical demonstration, and he asked uncle remus how brother rabbit could yelp like a turkey-hen. for reply, uncle remus searched upon his rude mantel-piece until he found a reed, which he intended to use as a pipe-stem. one end of this he placed in his mouth, enclosing the other in his hands. by sucking the air through the reed with his mouth, and regulating the tone and volume by opening or closing his hands, the old man was able to produce a marvellous imitation of the call of the turkey-hen, much to the delight and astonishment of the little boy. "ah, lord!" exclaimed uncle remus, after he had repeated the call until the child was satisfied, "manys en manys de time is i gone out in de woods wid old marster 'fo' de crack er day en call de wile turkeys right spang up ter whar we could er kilt um wid a stick. w'en we fus' move yer fum ferginny, dey use ter come right up ter whar de barn sets, en mo'n dat i done seed ole marster kill um right out dar by de front gate. but folks fum town been comin' 'roun' yer wid der p'inter dogs twel hit done got so dat ef you wanter see turkey track you gotter go down dar ter de oconee, en dat 's two mile off." "did the wildcat catch the turkeys?" the little boy inquired, when it seemed that uncle remus was about to give his entire attention to his own reminiscences. "de gracious en de goodness!" exclaimed the old man. "yer i is runnin' on en dar lays mr. wildcat waitin' fer brer rabbit fer ter help dem turkeys up. en 't aint take 'im long nudder, 'kaze, bless yo' soul, ole brer rabbit wuz a yelper, mon. "sho' 'nuff, atter w'ile yer dey come, ole brer gibley gobbler wukkin' in de lead. brer rabbit, he run'd en meet um en gun um de wink 'bout ole mr. wildcat, en by de time dey git up ter whar he layin', brer gibley gobbler en all his folks wuz jined in a big 'spute. one 'low he dead, 'n'er one 'low he aint, 'n'er one 'low he stiff, udder one 'low he aint, en t'udder 'low he is. so dar dey had it. dey stretch out dey neck en step high wid dey foot, yit dey aint git too close ter mr. wildcat. "he lay dar, he did, en he aint move. win' ruffle up he ha'r, yit he aint move; sun shine down 'pun 'im, yit he aint move. de turkeys dey gobble en dey yelp, but dey aint go no nigher; dey holler en dey 'spute, but dey aint go no nigher; dey stretch dey neck en dey lif' dey foot high, yit dey aint go no nigher. "hit keep on dis a-way, twel bimeby mr. wildcat git tired er waitin', en he jump up, he did, en make a dash at de nighest turkey; but dat turkey done fix, on w'en mr. wildcat come at 'im, he des riz in de a'r, en mr. wildcat run und' 'im. den he tuck'n run at 'n'er one, en dat un fly up; en dey keep on dat a-way twel 't wa'n't long 'fo' mr. wildcat wuz so stiff in de j'ints en so short in de win' dat he des hatter lay down on de groun' en res', en w'en he do dis, ole brer gibley gobler en all er he folks went on 'bout dey own business; but sence dat day deyer constant a-'sputin' 'long wid deyse'f en eve'ybody w'at come by. ef you don't b'leeve me," with an air of disposing of the whole matter judicially, "you kin des holler at de fus' gobbler w'at you meets, en ef he 'fuse ter holler back atter you, you kin des use my head fer a hole in de wall; en w'at mo' kin you ax dan dat?" "what became of brother rabbit, uncle remus?" "well, sir, brer rabbit tuck'n lef' dem low-groun's. w'iles de 'sputin' wuz gwine on, he tuck'n bowed his good-byes, en den he des put out fum dar. nex' day ole brer gibley gobbler tuck'n sent 'im a turkey wing fer ter make a fan out'n, en brer rabbit, he tuck'n sent it ter miss meadows en de gals. en i let you know," continued the old man, chuckling heartily to himself, "dey make great 'miration 'bout it." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] no doubt this means that brother rabbit's proposition was pleasant and plausible. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- xlix mr. benjamin ram defends himself "i 'speck we all dun gone en fergot ole mr. benjermun ram off'n our min'," said uncle remus, one night, as the little boy went into the cabin with a large ram's horn hanging on his arm. "about his playing the fiddle and getting lost in the woods!" exclaimed the child. "oh, no, i have n't forgotten him, uncle remus. i remember just how he tuned his fiddle in brother wolf's house." "dat 's me!" said uncle remus with enthusiasm; "dat 's me up en down. mr. ram des ez fresh in my min' now ez he wuz de day i year de tale. dat ole creetur wuz a sight, mon. he mos' sho'ly wuz. he wrinkly ole hawn en de shaggy ha'r on he neck make 'im look mighty servigous,[ ] en w'ence he shake he head en snort, hit seem lak he gwine ter fair paw de yeth fum und' 'im. "ole brer fox bin pickin' up ole mr. benjermun ram chilluns w'en dey git too fur fum home, but look lak he aint never bin git close ter de ole creetur. "so one time w'en he 'uz comin' on down de road, talkin' 'long wid brer wolf, he up'n 'low, ole brer fox did, dat he mighty hongry in de neighborhoods er de stomach. dis make brer wolf look lak he 'stonish'd, en he ax brer fox how de name er goodness come he hongry w'en ole mr. benjermun ram layin' up dar in de house des a-rollin' in fat. "den brer fox tuck'n 'low, he did, dat he done bin in de habits er eatin' mr. benjermun ram chillun, but he sorter fear'd er de ole creetur 'kaze he look so bad on de 'count er he red eye en he wrinkly hawn. "brer wolf des holler en laugh, en den he 'low: "'lordy, brer fox! i dunner w'at kinder man is you, nohow! w'y, dat ar ole creetur aint never hurted a flea in all he born days--dat he aint,' sezee. "brer fox, he look at brer wolf right hard, he did, en den he up'n 'low: "'heyo, brer wolf! manys de time dat you bin hongry 'roun' in deze diggin's en i aint year talk er you makin' a meal off'n mr. benjermun ram,' sezee. "brer fox talk so close ter de fatal trufe, dat brer wolf got tooken wid de dry grins, yit he up'n 'spon', sezee: "'i des lak ter know who in de name er goodness wanter eat tough creetur lak dat ole mr. benjermun ram--dat w'at i lak ter know,' sezee. "brer fox, he holler en laugh, he did, en den he up'n say: "'ah-yi, brer wolf! you ax me w'at i goes hongry fer, w'en ole mr. benjermun ram up dar in he house, yit you done bin hongry manys en manys de time, en still ole mr. benjermun ram up dar in he house. now, den, how you gwine do in a case lak dat?' sez brer fox, sezee. "brer wolf, he strak de een' er he cane down 'pun de groun', en he say, sezee: "'i done say all i got ter say, en w'at i say, dat i'll stick ter. dat ole creetur lots too tough.' "hongry ez he is, brer fox laugh way down in he stomach. atter w'ile he 'low: "'well, den, brer wolf, stidder 'sputin' 'longer you, i'm gwine do w'at you say; i'm gwine ter go up dar en git a bait er ole mr. benjermun ram, en i wish you be so good ez ter go 'long wid me fer comp'ny,' sezee. "brer wolf jaw sorter fall w'en he year dis, en he 'low: "'eh-eh, brer fox! i druther go by my own--'lone se'f,' sezee. "'well, den,' sez brer fox, sezee, 'you better make 'as'e,' sezee, ''kaze 't aint gwine ter take me so mighty long fer ter go up dar en make hash out'n ole mr. benjermun ram,' sezee. "brer wolf know mighty well," said uncle remus, snapping his huge tongs in order to silence a persistent cricket in the chimney, "dat ef he dast ter back out fum a banter lak dat he never is ter year de las' un it fum miss meadows en miss motts en de gals, en he march off todes mr. benjermun ram house. "little puff er win' come en blow'd up some leafs, en brer wolf jump lak somebody shootin' at 'im, en he fly mighty mad w'en he year brer fox laugh. he men' he gait, he did, en 't wa'n't 'long 'fo' he 'uz knockin' at mr. benjermun ram do'. "he knock at de do', he did, en co'se he 'speck somebody fer ter come open de do'; but stidder dat, lo' en beholes yer come mr. benjermun ram 'roun' de house. dar he wuz--red eye, wrinkly hawn en shaggy head. now, den, in case lak dat, w'at a slim-legged man lak brer wolf gwine do? dey aint no two ways, he gwine ter git 'way fum dar, en he went back ter whar brer fox is mo' samer dan ef de patter-rollers wuz atter 'im. "brer fox, he laugh en he laugh, en ole brer wolf, he look mighty glum. brer fox ax 'im is he done kilt en e't mr. benjermun ram, en ef so be, is he lef' any fer him. brer wolf say he aint feelin' well, en he don't lak mutton nohow. brer fox 'low: "'you may be puny in de min', brer wolf, but you aint feelin' bad in de leg, 'kaze i done seed you wuk um.' "brer wolf 'low he des a-runnin' fer ter see ef 't won't mak 'im feel better. brer fox, he say, sezee, dat w'en he feelin' puny, he aint ax no mo' dan fer somebody fer ter git out de way en let 'im lay down. "dey went on in dis a-way, dey did, twel bimeby brer fox ax brer wolf ef he'll go wid 'im fer ter ketch mr. benjermun ram. brer wolf, he 'low, he did: "'eh-eh, brer fox! i fear'd you'll run en lef' me dar fer ter do all de fightin'.' "brer fox, he 'low dat he'll fix dat, en he tuck'n got 'im a plough-line, en tied one een' ter brer wolf en t'er een' ter he own se'f. wid dat dey put out fer mr. benjermun ram house. brer wolf, he sorter hang back, but he 'shame' fer ter say he skeer'd, en dey went on en went on plum twel dey git right spang up ter mr. benjermun ram house. "w'en dey git dar, de ole creetur wuz settin' out in de front po'ch sorter sunnin' hisse'f. he see um comin', en w'en dey git up in hailin' distance, he sorter cle'r up he th'oat, he did, en holler out: "'i much 'blije to you, brer fox, fer ketchin' dat owdashus vilyun en fetchin' 'im back. my smoke-'ouse runnin' short, en i'll des chop 'im up en pickle 'im. fetch 'im in, brer fox! fetch 'im in!' "des 'bout dat time ole miss ram see dem creeturs a-comin', en gentermens! you mought er yeard er blate plum ter town. mr. benjermun ram, he sorter skeer'd hisse'f, but he keep on talkin': "'fetch 'im in, brer fox! fetch 'im in! don't you year my ole 'oman cryin' fer 'im? she aint had no wolf meat now in gwine on mighty nigh a mont'. fetch 'im in, brer fox! fetch 'im in!' "fus' brer wolf try ter ontie hisse'f, den he tuck'n broke en run'd, en he drag ole brer fox atter 'im des lak he aint weigh mo'n a poun', en i let you know hit 'uz many a long day 'fo' brer fox git well er de thumpin' he got." "uncle remus," said the little boy after a while, "i thought wolves always caught sheep when they had the chance." "dey ketches lam's, honey, but bless yo' soul! dey aint ketch deze yer ole-time rams wid red eye en wrinkly hawn." "where was brother rabbit all this time?" "now, den, honey, don't less pester wid ole brer rabbit right now. des less gin 'im one night rest, mo' speshually w'en i year de seven stares say yo' bed-time done come. des take yo' foot in yo' han' en put right out 'fo' miss sally come a-callin' you, 'kaze den she'll say i'm a-settin' yer a-noddin' en not takin' keer un you." the child laughed and ran up the path to the big-house, stopping a moment on the way to mimic a bull-frog that was bellowing at a tremendous rate near the spring. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] wild; fierce; dangerous; courageous. the accent is on the second syllable, ser-_vi_-gous; or, ser-_vi_-gus, and the g is hard. aunt tempy would have said "vigrous." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- l brother rabbit pretends to be poisoned not many nights after the story of how mr. benjamin ram frightened brother wolf and brother fox, the little boy found himself in uncle remus's cabin. it had occurred to him that mr. ram should have played on his fiddle somewhere in the tale, and uncle remus was called on to explain. he looked at the little boy with an air of grieved astonishment, and exclaimed: "well, i be bless if i ever year der beat er dat. yer you bin a-persooin' on atter deze yer creeturs en makin' der 'quaintunce, en yit look lak ef you 'uz ter meet um right up dar in der paff you'd fergit all 'bout who dey is." "oh, no, i would n't, uncle remus!" protested the child, glancing at the door and getting a little closer to the old man. "yasser! you'd des nat'ally whirl in en fergit 'bout who dey is. 't aint so mighty long sence i done tole you 'bout ole mr. benjermun ram playin' he fiddle at brer wolf house, en yer you come en ax me how come he don't take en play it at 'im 'g'in. w'at kinder lookin' sight 'ud dat ole creetur a-bin ef he'd jump up en grab he fiddle en go ter playin' on it eve'y time he year a fuss down de big road?" the little boy said nothing, but he thought the story would have been a great deal nicer if mr. benjamin ram could have played one of the old-time tunes on his fiddle, and while he was thinking about it, the door opened and aunt tempy made her appearance. her good-humor was infectious. "name er goodness!" she exclaimed, "i lef' you all settin' yer way las' week; i goes off un i does my wuk, un i comes back, un i fines you settin' right whar i lef' you. goodness knows, i dunner whar you gits yo' vittles. i dunner whar i aint bin sence i lef' you all settin' yer. i let you know i bin a-usin' my feet un i been a-usin' my han's. dat 's me. no use ter ax how you all is, 'kaze you looks lots better'n me." "yas, sis tempy, we er settin' yer whar you lef' us, en der lord, he bin a-pervidin'. w'en de vittles don't come in at de do' hit come down de chimbly, en so w'at de odds? we er sorter po'ly, sis tempy, i'm 'blige ter you. you know w'at de jay-bird say ter der squinch owl! 'i'm sickly but sassy.'" aunt tempy laughed as she replied: "i 'speck you all bin a-havin' lots er fun. goodness knows i wish many a time sence i bin gone dat i 'uz settin' down yer runnin' on wid you all. i aint bin gone fur--dat 's so, yit mistiss put me ter cuttin'-out, un i tell you now dem w'at cuts out de duds fer all de niggers on dis place is got ter wuk fum soon in de mawnin' plum tel bed-time, dey aint no two ways. 't aint no wuk youk'n kyar' 'bout wid you needer, 'kaze you got ter spread it right out on de flo' un git down on yo' knees. i mighty glad i done wid it, 'kaze my back feel like it done broke in a thous'n pieces. honey, is brer remus bin a-tellin' you some mo' er dem ole-time tales?" aunt tempy's question gave the little boy an excuse for giving her brief outlines of some of the stories. one that he seemed to remember particularly well was the story of how brother rabbit and brother fox killed a cow, and how brother rabbit got the most and the best of the beef. "i done year talk uv a tale like dat," exclaimed aunt tempy, laughing heartily, "but 't aint de same tale. i mos' 'shame' ter tell it." "you gittin' too ole ter be blushin', sis tempy," said uncle remus with dignity. "well den," said aunt tempy, wiping her fat face with her apron: "one time brer rabbit un brer wolf tuck'n gone off som'ers un kilt a cow, un w'en dey come fer ter 'vide out de kyarkiss, brer wolf 'low dat bein's he de biggest he oughter have de mos', un he light in, he did, un do like he gwine ter take it all. brer rabbit do like he don't keer much, but he keer so bad hit make 'im right sick. he tuck'n walk all 'roun' de kyarkiss, he did, un snuff de air, un terreckly he say: "'brer wolf!--o brer wolf!--is dis meat smell 'zuckly right ter you?' "brer wolf, he cuttin' un he kyarvin' un he aint sayin' nothin'. brer rabbit, he walk all 'roun' un 'roun' de kyarkiss. he feel it un he kick it. terreckly he say: "'brer wolf!--o brer wolf!--dis meat feel mighty flabby ter me; how it feel ter you?' "brer wolf, he year all dat 's said, but he keep on a-cuttin' un a kyarvin'. brer rabbit say: "'you kin talk er not talk, brer wolf, des ez youer min' ter, yit ef i aint mistooken in de sign, you'll do some tall talkin' 'fo' youer done wid dis beef. now you mark w'at i tell you!' "brer rabbit put out fum dar, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' yer he come back wid a chunk er fier, un a dish er salt. w'en brer wolf see dis, he say: "'w'at you gwine do wid all dat, brer rabbit?' "brer rabbit laugh like he know mo' dan he gwine tell, un he say: "'bless yo' soul, brer wolf! i aint gwine ter kyar er poun' er dis meat home tel i fin' out w'at de matter wid it. no i aint--so dar now!' "den brer rabbit built 'im a fier un cut 'im off a slishe er steak un br'ilte it good un done, un den he e't little uv it. fus' he'd tas'e un den he'd nibble; den he'd nibble un den he'd tas'e. he keep on tel he e't right smart piece. den he went'n sot off little ways like he waitin' fer sump'n'. "brer wolf, he kyarve un he cut, but he keep one eye on brer rabbit. brer rabbit sot up dar same ez judge on de bench. brer wolf, he watch his motions. terreckly brer rabbit fling bofe han's up ter he head un fetch a groan. brer wolf cut un kyarve un watch brer rabbit motions. brer rabbit sorter sway backerds un forrerds un fetch 'n'er groan. den he sway fum side to side un holler 'o lordy!' brer wolf, he sorter 'gun ter git skeer'd un he ax brer rabbit w'at de matter. brer rabbit, he roll on de groun' un holler: "'o lordy, lordy! i'm pizen'd, i'm pizen'd! o lordy! i'm pizen'd! run yer, somebody, run yer! de meat done got pizen on it. oh, do run yer!' "brer wolf git so skeer'd dat he put out fum dar, un he wa'n't out er sight skacely 'fo' brer rabbit jump up fum dar un cut de pidjin-wing, un 't wa'n't so mighty long atter dat 'fo' brer rabbit done put all er dat beef in his smoke-house." "what became of brother wolf?" the little boy inquired. "brer wolf went atter de doctor," continued aunt tempy, making little tucks in her apron, "un w'en he come back brer rabbit un de beef done gone; un, bless goodness, ef it had n't er bin fer de sign whar brer rabbit built de fier, brer wolf would er bin mightly pester'd fer ter fine der place whar de cow bin kilt." at this juncture, 'tildy, the house-girl, came in to tell aunt tempy that one of the little negroes had been taken suddenly sick. "i bin huntin' fer you over de whole blessid place," said 'tildy. "no, you aint--no, you aint. you aint bin huntin' nowhar. you know'd mighty well whar i wuz." "law, mam' tempy, i can't keep up wid you. how i know you down yer courtin' wid unk remus?" "yo' head mighty full er courtin', you nas' stinkin' huzzy!" exclaimed aunt tempy. uncle remus, strange to say, was unmoved. he simply said: "w'en you see dat ar 'tildy gal pirootin' 'roun' i boun' you ole brer affikin jack aint fur off. 't won't be so mighty long 'fo' de ole creetur'll show up." "how you know dat, unk remus?" exclaimed 'tildy, showing her white teeth and stretching her eyes. "hit 's de lord's trufe; mass jeems done writ a letter ter miss sally, en' he say in dat letter dat daddy jack ax 'im fer ter tell miss sally ter tell me dat he'll be up yer dis week. dat ole affikin ape got de impidence er de ole boy. he dunner who he foolin' 'longer!" li more trouble for brother wolf the next night the little boy hardly waited to eat his supper before going to uncle remus's house; and when aunt tempy failed to put in an appearance as early as he thought necessary, he did not hesitate to go after her. he had an idea that there was a sequel to the story she had told the night before, and he was right. after protesting against being dragged around from post to pillar by children, aunt tempy said: "atter brer rabbit tuck'n make out he 'uz pizen'd un git all de beef, 't wa'n't long 'fo' he chance to meet ole brer wolf right spang in de middle uv de road. brer rabbit, he sorter shied off ter one side, but brer wolf hail 'im: "'w'oa dar, my colty! don't be so gayly. you better be 'shame' yo'se'f 'bout de way you do me w'en we go inter cahoots wid dat beef.' "brer rabbit, he up'n ax brer wolf how all his folks. brer wolf say: "'you'll fin' out how dey all is 'fo' dis day gone by. you took'n took de beef, un now i'm a-gwine ter take'n take you.' "wid dis brer wolf make a dash at brer rabbit, but he des lack a little bit uv bein' quick 'nuff, un brer rabbit he des went a-sailin' thoo de woods. brer wolf, he tuck atter 'im, un yer dey had it--fus' brer rabbit un den brer wolf. brer rabbit mo' soopler dan brer wolf, but brer wolf got de 'vantage er de win', un terreckly he push brer rabbit so close dat he run in a holler log. "brer rabbit bin in dat log befo' un he know dey's a hole at de t'er een', un he des keep on a-gwine. he dart in one een' un he slip out de udder. he aint stop ter say goo'-bye; bless you! he des keep on gwine. "brer wolf, he see brer rabbit run in de holler log, un he say ter hisse'f: "'heyo, dey bin callin' you so mighty cunnin' all dis time, un yer you done gone un shot yo'se'f up in my trap.' "den brer wolf laugh un lay down by de een' whar brer rabbit went in, un pant un res' hisse'f. he see whar brer b'ar burnin' off a new groun', un he holler un ax 'im fer ter fetch 'im a chunk er fier, un brer b'ar he fotch it, en dey sot fier ter de holler log, un dey sot dar un watch it till it burn plum up. den dey took'n shuck han's, un brer wolf say he hope dat atter dat dey'll have some peace in de neighborhoods." uncle remus smiled a knowing smile as he filled his pipe, but aunt tempy continued with great seriousness: "one time atter dat, brer wolf, he took'n pay a call down ter miss meadows, un w'en he git dar un see brer rabbit settin' up side uv one er de gals, he like to 'a' fainted, dat he did. he 'uz dat 'stonish'd dat he look right down-hearted all endurin' uv de party. "brer rabbit, he bow'd his howdies ter brer wolf un shuck han's 'long wid 'im, des like nothin' aint never happen 'twixt 'um, un he up'n say: "'ah-law, brer wolf! youer much mo' my fr'en' dan you ever 'speckted ter be, un you kin des count on me right straight 'long.' "brer wolf say he feel sorter dat a-way hisse'f, un he ax brer rabbit w'at make 'im change his min' so quick. "'bless you, brer wolf, i had needs ter change it,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "brer wolf, he ax 'im how come. "'all about bein' burnt up in a holler log, brer wolf, un w'en you gits time i wish you be so good ez ter bu'n me up some mo',' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "brer wolf, he ax 'im how so. brer rabbit say: "'i'm fear'd ter tell you, brer wolf, 'kaze i don't want de news ter git out.' "brer wolf vow he won't tell nobody on de top side er de worl'. brer rabbit say: "i done fin' out, brer wolf, dat w'en you git in a holler tree un somebody sets it a-fier, dat de nat'al honey des oozles out uv it, un mor'n dat, atter you git de honey all over you, 't aint no use ter try ter burn you up, 'kaze de honey will puzzuv you. don't 'ny me dis favor, brer wolf, 'kaze i done pick me out a n'er holler tree,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "brer wolf, he wanter put right out den un dar, un brer rabbit say dat des de kinder man w'at he bin huntin' fer. dey took deyse'f off un 't wa'n't long 'fo' dey came ter de tree w'at brer rabbit say he done pick out. w'en dey git dar, brer wolf, he so greedy fer ter git a tas'e er de honey dat he beg un beg brer rabbit fer ter let 'im git in de holler. brer rabbit, he hol' back, but brer wolf beg so hard dat brer rabbit 'gree ter let 'im git in de holler. "brer wolf, he got in, he did, un brer rabbit stuff de hole full er dry leaves un trash, un den he got 'im a chunk er fier un totch 'er off. she smoked un smoked, un den she bust out in a blaze. brer rabbit, he pile up rocks, un brush, un sticks, so brer wolf can't git out. terreckly brer wolf holler: "'gittin' mighty hot, brer rabbit! i aint see no honey yit.' "brer rabbit he pile on mo' trash, un holler back: "'don't be in no hurry, brer wolf; you'll see it un tas'e it too.' "fier burn un burn, wood pop like pistol. brer wolf, he holler: "'gittin' hotter un hotter, brer rabbit. no honey come yit.' "'hol' still, brer wolf, hit'll come.' "'gimme a'r, brer rabbit; i'm a-chokin'.' "'fresh a'r make honey sour. des hol' still, brer wolf!' "'_ow!_ she gittin' hotter en hotter, brer rabbit!' "'des hol' right still, brer wolf; mos' time fer de honey!' "'_ow! ow!_ i'm a-burnin', brer rabbit!' "'wait fer de honey, brer wolf.' "'i can't stan' it, brer rabbit.' "'stan' it like i did, brer wolf.' "brer rabbit he pile on de trash un de leaves. he say: "'i'll gin you honey, brer wolf; de same kinder honey you wanted ter gimme.' "un it seem like ter me," said aunt tempy, pleased at the interest the little boy had shown, "dat it done brer wolf des right." lii brother rabbit outdoes mr. man the little boy had heard uncle remus lamenting that his candle was getting rather short, and he made it his business to go around the house and gather all the pieces he could find. he carried these to the old man, who received them with the liveliest satisfaction. "now dish yer sorter look lak sump'n', honey. w'en ole brer jack come back, en sis tempy git in de habits er hangin' 'roun', we'll des light some er dese yer, en folks'll come by en see de shine, en dey'll go off en 'low dat hit 's de night des 'fo' camp-meetin' at ole remus house. "i got little piece dar in my chist w'at you brung me long time ergo, en i 'low ter myse'f dat ef shove ever git ter be push,[ ] i'd des draw 'er out en light 'er up." "mamma says daddy jack is coming back sunday," said the little boy. "dat w'at i year talk," replied the old man. "what did he go off for, uncle remus?" "bless yo' soul, honey! brer jack bleedz ter go en see yo' unk jeems. he b'leeve de worl' go wrong ef he aint do dat. dat ole nigger b'leeve he white mon. he come up yer fum down de country whar de lord done fersook um too long 'go ter talk 'bout,--he come up yer en he put on mo' a'rs dan w'at i dast ter do. not dat i'm keerin', 'kaze goodness knows i aint, yit i notices dat w'en i has ter go some'rs, dey's allers a great ter-do 'bout w'at is i'm a-gwine fer, en how long is i'm a-gwine ter stay; en ef i aint back at de ve'y minit, dars mars john a-growlin', en miss sally a-vowin' dat she gwine ter put me on de block."[ ] perhaps uncle remus's jealousy was more substantial than he was willing to admit; but he was talking merely to see what the little boy would say. the child, however, failed to appreciate the situation, seeing which the old man quickly changed the subject. "times is mighty diffunt fum w'at dey use ter wuz, 'kaze de time has bin dat ef ole brer rabbit had er run'd up wid brer jack w'iles he comin' fum yo' unk jeems place, he'd outdone 'im des ez sho' ez de worl' stan's. deze days de rabbits has ter keep out de way er folks, but in dem days folks had ter keep out der way er ole brer rabbit. aint i never tell you 'bout how brer rabbit whirl in en outdo mr. man?" "about the meat tied to the string, uncle remus?" "_shoo!_ dat aint a drap in de bucket, honey. dish yer wuz de time w'en ole brer rabbit wuz gwine 'long de big road, en he meet mr. man drivin' 'long wid a waggin chock full er money." "where did he get so much money, uncle remus?" "bruisin' 'round en peddlin' 'bout. mr. man got w'at lots er folks aint got,--good luck, long head, quick eye, en slick fingers. but no marter 'bout dat, he got de money; en w'en you sorter grow up so you kin knock 'roun', 't won't be long 'fo' some un'll take en take you off 'roun' de cornder en tell you dat 't aint make no diffunce whar de money come fum so de man got it. dey won't tell you dat in de meeting-house, but dey'll come mighty nigh it. "but dat aint needer yer ner dar. mr. man, he come a-drivin' 'long de big road, en he got a waggin full er money. brer rabbit, he come a-lippity-clippitin' 'long de big road, en he aint got no waggin full er money. ole brer rabbit, he up'n tuck a notion dat dey's sump'n' wrong some'rs, 'kaze ef dey wa'n't, he 'ud have des ez much waggin en money ez mr. man. he study, en study, en he can't make out how dat is. bimeby he up'n holler out: "'mr. man, please, sir, lemme ride.' "mr. man, he tuck'n stop he waggin, en 'low: "'heyo, brer rabbit! how come dis? you comin' one way en i gwine nudder; how come you wanter ride?' "brer rabbit, he up'n scratch hisse'f on de back er de neck wid he behime foot, en holler out: "'mr. man, yo' sho'ly can't be 'quainted 'long wid me. i'm one er dem ar ole-time kinder folks w'at aint a-keerin' w'ich way deyer gwine long ez deyer ridin'.'" the little boy laughed a sympathetic laugh, showing that he heartily endorsed this feature of brother rabbit's programme. "atter so long a time," uncle remus went on, "mr. man 'gree ter let brer rabbit ride a little piece. he try ter git brer rabbit fer ter ride upon de seat wid 'im so dey kin git ter 'sputin' 'n'er, but brer rabbit say he fear'd he fall off, en he des tuck'n sot right flat down in de bottom er de waggin, en make lak he fear'd ter move. "bimeby, w'iles dey goin' down hill, en mr. man hatter keep he eye on de hosses, brer rabbit he tuck'n fling out a great big hunk er de money. dez ez de money hit de groun' brer rabbit holler out: "'_ow_!' "mr. man look 'roun' en ax w'at de marter. brer rabbit 'low: "'nothin' 't all, mr. man, 'ceppin' you 'bout ter jolt my jaw-bone a-loose.' "dey go on little furder, en brer rabbit fling out 'n'er hunk er de money. w'en she hit de groun', brer rabbit holler: "'_blam_!' "mr. man look 'roun' en ax w'at de marter. brer rabbit 'low: "'nothin' 't all, mr. man, 'ceppin' i seed a jaybird flyin' 'long, en i make lak i had a gun.' "hit keep on dis a-way twel fus' news you know mr. man aint got a sign er money in dat waggin. seem lak mr. man aint notice dis twel he git a mighty fur ways fum de place whar brer rabbit drap out de las' hunk; but, gentermens! w'en he do fine it out, you better b'leeve he sot up a howl. "'whar my money? whar my nice money? whar my waggin full er purty money? o you long-year'd rascal! whar my money? oh, gimme my money!' "brer rabbit sot dar en lissen at 'im lak he 'stonish'd. den he up'n 'low: "'look out, mr. man! folks'll come 'long en year you gwine on dat a-way, en dey'll go off en say you done gone ravin' 'stracted.' "yit mr. man keep on holler'n en beggin' brer rabbit fer ter gin 'im de money, en bimeby brer rabbit, he git sorter skeer'd en he up'n 'low: "'sun gittin' low, mr. man, en i better be gittin' 'way fum yer. de sooner i goes de better, 'kaze ef you keep on lak you gwine, 't won't be long 'fo' you'll be excusin' me er takin' dat ar money. i'm 'blige' fer de ride, mr. man, en i wish you mighty well.' "brer rabbit got de money," continued uncle remus, gazing placidly into the fire, "en hit 's mighty kuse ter me dat he aint git de waggin en hosses. dat 't is!" ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] a plantation saying. it means if hard times get harder. a briefer form is "w'en shove 'come push"--when the worst comes to the worst. [ ] that is to say, put him on the block, and sell him. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- liii brother rabbit takes a walk "eve'y time i run over in my min' 'bout the pranks er brer rabbit," uncle remus continued, without giving the little boy time to ask any more embarrassing questions about mr. man and his wagon full of money, "hit make me laugh mo' en mo'. he mos' allers come out on top, yit dey wuz times w'en he hatter be mighty spry." "when was that, uncle remus?" inquired the little boy. "i min' me er one time w'en de t'er creeturs all git de laugh on 'im," responded the old man, "en dey make 'im feel sorter 'shame'. hit seem lak dat dey 'uz some kinder bodderment 'mungs' de creeturs en wud went out dat dey all got ter meet terge'er some'rs en ontangle de tanglements. "w'en de time come, dey wuz all un um dar, en dey hilt der confab right 'long. all un um got sump'n' ter say, en dey talk dar, dey did, des lak dey 'uz paid fer talkin'. dey all had der plans, en dey jabbered des lak folks does w'en dey call deyse'f terge'er. hit come 'bout dat mr. dog git a seat right close by brer rabbit, en w'en he open he mouf fer ter say sump'n', he toofs look so long en so strong, en dey shine so w'ite, dat it feel mighty kuse. "mr. dog, he'd say sump'n', brer rabbit, he'd jump en dodge. mr. dog, he'd laugh, brer rabbit, he'd dodge en jump. hit keep on dis a-way, twel eve'y time brer rabbit'd dodge en jump, de t'er creeturs dey'd slap der han's terge'er en break out in a laugh. mr. dog, he tuck'n tuck a notion dat dey 'uz laughin' at him, en dis make 'im so mad dat he 'gun ter growl en snap right smartually, en it come ter dat pass dat w'en brer rabbit'd see mr. dog make a motion fer ter say a speech, he'd des drap down en git und' de cheer. "co'se dis make um laugh wuss en wuss, en de mo' dey laugh de madder it make mr. dog, twel bimeby he git so mad he fa'rly howl, en brer rabbit he sot dar, he did, en shuck lak he got er ager. "atter w'ile brer rabbit git sorter on t'er side, en he make a speech en say dey oughter be a law fer ter make all de creeturs w'at got tushes ketch en eat der vittles wid der claws. all un um 'gree ter dis 'cep' hit 's mr. dog, brer wolf, en brer fox. "in dem days," continued uncle remus, "ef all de creeturs aint 'gree, dey put it off twel de nex' meetin' en talk it over some mo', en dat 's de way dey done wid brer rabbit projick. dey put it off twel de nex' time. "brer rabbit got a kinder sneakin' notion dat de creeturs aint gwine do lak he want um ter do, en he 'low ter brer wolf dat he 'speck de bes' way fer ter do is ter git all de creeturs ter 'gree fer ter have mr. dog mouf sew'd up, 'kaze he toofs look so venomous; en brer wolf say dey ull all go in fer dat. "sho' 'nuff, w'en de day done come, brer rabbit he git up en say dat de bes' way ter do is have mr. dog mouf sew'd up so he toofs won't look so venomous. dey all 'gree, en den mr. lion, settin' up in de arm-cheer, he ax who gwine do de sewin'. "den dey all up'n 'low dat de man w'at want de sewin' done, he de man fer ter do it, 'kaze den he ull know it done bin done right. brer rabbit, he sorter study, en den he 'low: "'i aint got no needle.' "brer b'ar, he sorter feel in de flap er he coat collar, en he 'low: "'yer, brer rabbit; yer a great big one!' "brer rabbit, he sorter study 'g'in, en den he 'low: "'i aint got no th'ead.' "brer b'ar, he tuck'n pull a rav'lin' fum de bottom er he wescut, en he 'low: "'yer, brer rabbit; yer a great long one!' "ef it had er bin anybody in de roun' worl' he'd er 'gun ter feel sorter ticklish," uncle remus went on. "but ole brer rabbit, he des tuck'n lay he finger 'cross he nose, en 'low: "'des hol' um dar fer me, brer b'ar, en i'll be much 'blige ter you. _hit 's des 'bout my time er day fer ter take a walk!_'" uncle remus laughed as heartily as the child, and added: "some folks say de creeturs had de grins on brer rabbit 'bout dat time; but i tell you right pine-blank dey aint grin much w'en dey year brer rabbit say dat." liv old grinny-granny wolf at last daddy jack returned, and the fact that the little boy had missed him and inquired about him, seemed to give the old african particular pleasure. it was probably a new experience to daddy jack, and it vaguely stirred some dim instinct in his bosom that impelled him to greet the child with more genuine heartiness than he had ever displayed in all his life. he drew the little boy up to him, patted him gently on the cheek, and exclaimed: "ki! i bin want fer see you bery bahd. i bin-a tell you' nunk jeem' how fine noung màn you is. 'e ahx wey you no come fer shum. fine b'y--fine b'y!" "well, ef dat 's de way youer gwine on, brer jack, you'll spile dat chap sho'. a whole sack er salt won't save 'im." "i dunno 'bout dat, brer remus," said aunt tempy, who had come in. "don't seem like he bad like some yuther childun w'at i seen. bless you, i know childun w'at'd keep dish yer whole place tarryfied--dat dey would!" "well, sir," said uncle remus, shaking his head and groaning, "you all aint wid dat young un dar much ez i is. some days w'en dey aint nobody lookin', en dey aint nobody nowhar fer ter take keer un me, dat ar little chap dar 'll come down yer en chunk me wid rocks, en 'buze me en holler at me scan'lous." the little boy looked so shocked that uncle remus broke into a laugh that shook the cobwebs in the corners; then, suddenly relapsing into seriousness, he drew himself up with dignity and remarked: "good er bad, you can't git 'long wid 'im less'n you sets in ter tellin' tales, en, brer jack, i hope you got some 'long wid you." daddy jack rubbed his hands together, and said: "me bin yeddy one tale; 'e mekky me lahff tel i is 'come tire'." "fer de lord sake less have it den!" exclaimed aunt tempy, with unction. whereupon, the small but appreciative audience disposed itself comfortably, and daddy jack, peering at each one in turn, his eyes shining between his half-closed lids as brightly as those of some wild animal, began: "one tam b'er rabbit is bin traffel 'roun' fer see 'e neighbor folks. 'e bin mahd wit' b'er wolf fer so long tam; 'e mek no diffran, 'e come pas' 'e house 'e no see nuttin', 'e no yeddy nuttin'. 'e holler: "'hi, b'er wolf! wey you no fer mek answer wun me ahx you howdy? wey fer you is do dis 'fo' me werry face? wut mekky you do dis?' "'e wait, 'e lissun; nuttin' no mek answer. b'er rabbit, 'e holler: "'come-a show you'se'f, b'er wolf! come-a show you'se'f. be 'shame' fer not show you'se'f wun you' 'quaintun' come bisitin' wey you lif!' "nuttin' 't all no mek answer, un b'er rabbit 'come berry mahd. 'e 'come so mahd 'e stomp 'e fut un bump 'e head 'pon da fence-side. bumbye 'e tek heart, 'e y-opun da do', 'e is look inside da house. fier bu'n in da chimbly, pot set 'pon da fier, ole ooman sed by da pot. fier bu'n, pot, 'e bile, ole ooman, 'e tek 'e nap. "da ole ooman, 'e ole granny wolf; 'e cripple in 'e leg, 'e bline in 'e y-eye, 'e mos' deaf in 'e year. 'e deaf, but 'e bin yeddy b'er rabbit mek fuss at da do', un 'e is cry out: "'come-a see you' ole granny, me gran'son--come-a see you' granny! da fier is bin bu'n, da pot is bin b'ile; come-a fix you' granny some bittle,[ ] me gran'son.'" daddy jack's representation of the speech and action of an old woman was worth seeing and hearing. the little boy laughed, and uncle remus smiled good-humoredly; but aunt tempy looked at the old african with open-mouthed astonishment. daddy jack, however, cared nothing for any effect he might produce. he told the story for the story's sake, and he made no pause for the purpose of gauging the appreciation of his audience. "b'er rabbit, 'e is bin mek 'ese'f comfuts by da fier. bumbye, 'e holler: "'hi, granny! i bin cripple mese'f; me y-eye bin-a come bline. you mus' bile-a me in da water, granny, so me leg is kin come well, un so me y-eye kin come see.' "b'er rabbit, 'e mighty ha'd fer fool. 'e bin tek 'im one chunk woot, 'e drap da woot in da pot. 'e bin say: "'i is bin feelin' well, me granny. me leg, 'e comin' strong, me y-eye 'e fix fer see.' "granny wolf, 'e shek 'e head; 'e cry: "'me one leg cripple, me turrer leg cripple; me one eye bline, me turrer y-eye bline. wey you no fer pit me in da pot fer mek me well?' "b'er rabbit laff in 'e belly; 'e say: "'hol' you'se'f still, me granny; i fix you one place in da pot wey you is kin fetch-a back da strenk in you' leg un da sight in you' eye. hol' still, me granny!' "b'er rabbit, 'e is bin tekky da chunk y-out da pot; 'e tekky da chunk, un 'e is bin pit granny wolf in dey place. 'e tetch da water, 'e holler: "'ow! tekky me way fum dis!' "b'er rabbit say 'tiss not da soon 'nuff tam. granny wolf, 'e holler: "'ow! tekky me way fum dis! 'e bin too hot!' "b'er rabbit, 'e no tekky da mammy wolf fum da pot, un bumbye 'e die in dey. b'er rabbit 'e tek 'e bone un t'row um 'way; 'e leaf da meat. 'e tek granny wolf frock, 'e tu'n um 'roun', 'e pit um on; 'e tek granny wolf cap, 'e tu'n 'roun', 'e pit um on. 'e sed deer by da fier, 'e hol' 'e'se'f in 'e cheer sem lak granny wolf. "bumbye b'er wolf is bin-a come back. 'e walk in 'e house, 'e say: "'me honkry, grinny-granny! me honkry, fer true!' "'you' dinner ready, grin'son-gran'son!' "b'er wolf, 'e look in da pot, 'e smell in da pot, 'e stir in da pot. 'e eat 'e dinner, 'e smack 'e mout'." the little boy shuddered, and aunt tempy exclaimed, "in de name er de lord!" the old african paid no attention to either. "b'er wolf eat 'e dinner; 'e call 'e chilluns, 'e ahx um is dey no want nuttin' 't all fer eat. 'e holler back: "'we no kin eat we grinny-granny!' "b'er rabbit, 'e run 'way fum dey-dey; 'e holler back: "'b'er wolf, you is bin eat you' grinny-granny.' "b'er wolf bin-a git so mad 'e yent mos' kin see. 'e yeddy b'er rabbit holler, un 'e try fer ketch um. 'e feer teer up da grass wey 'e run 'long. bumbye 'e come 'pon b'er rabbit. 'e is bin push um ha'd. b'er rabbit run un-a run tel 'e yent kin run no mo'; 'e hide 'neat' leanin' tree. b'er wolf, 'e fine um; b'er rabbit 'e holler: "'hi! b'er wolf! mek 'as'e come hol' up da tree, 'fo' 'e is fall dey-dey; come-a hol' um, b'er wolf, so i is kin prop um up.' "b'er wolf, 'e hol' up da tree fer b'er rabbit; 'e hol' um till 'e do come tire'. b'er rabbit gone!" daddy jack paused. his story was ended. the little boy drew a long breath and said: "i did n't think brother rabbit would burn anybody to death in a pot of boiling water." "dat," said uncle remus, reassuringly, "wuz endurin' er de dog days. dey er mighty wom times, mon, dem ar dog days is." this was intended to satisfy such scruples as the child might have, and it was no doubt successful, for the youngster said no more, but watched uncle remus as the latter leisurely proceeded to fill his pipe. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] victuals. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lv how wattle weasel was caught uncle remus chipped the tobacco from the end of a plug, rubbed it between the palms of his hands, placed it in his pipe, dipped the pipe in the glowing embers, and leaned back in his chair, and seemed to be completely happy. "hit mought not er bin endurin' er de dog days," said the old man, recurring to daddy jack's story, "'kaze dey wuz times dat w'en dey push ole brer rabbit so close he 'uz des bleedz ter git he revengeance out'n um. dat mought er bin de marter 'twix' him en ole grinny-granny wolf, 'kaze w'en ole brer rabbit git he dander up, he 'uz a monst'us bad man fer ter fool wid. "dey tuck atter 'im," continued uncle remus, "en dey 'buzed 'im, en dey tried ter 'stroy 'im, but dey wuz times w'en de t'er creeturs bleedz ter call on 'im fer ter he'p 'em out dey trouble. i aint nev' tell you 'bout little wattle weasel, is i?" asked the old man, suddenly turning to the little boy. the child laughed. the dogs on the plantation had killed a weasel a few nights before,--a very cunning-looking little animal,--and some of the negroes had sent it to the big house as a curiosity. he connected this fact with uncle remus's allusions to the weasel. before he could make any reply, however, the old man went on: "no, i boun' i aint, en it come 'cross me right fresh en hot time i year talk er brer wolf eatin' he granny. dey wuz one time w'en all de creeturs wuz livin' in de same settlement en usin' out'n de same spring, en it got so dat dey put all dey butter in de same piggin'. dey put it in dar, dey did, en dey put it in de spring-house, en dey'd go off en 'ten' ter dey business. den w'en dey come back dey'd fine whar some un been nibblin' at dey butter. dey tuck'n hide dat butter all 'roun' in de spring-house; dey sot it on de rafters, en dey bury it in de san'; yit all de same de butter 'ud come up missin'. "bimeby it got so dey dunner w'at ter do; dey zamin' de tracks, en dey fine out dat de man w'at nibble dey butter is little wattle weasel. he come in de night, he come in de day; dey can't ketch 'im. las' de creeturs tuck'n helt er confab, en dey 'gree dat dey hatter set some un fer ter watch en ketch wattle weasel. "brer mink wuz de fus' man 'p'inted, 'kaze he wa'n't mo'n a half a han'[ ] no way you kin fix it. de t'er creeturs dey tuck'n went off ter dey wuk, en brer mink he tuck'n sot up wid de butter. he watch en he lissen, he lissen en he watch; he aint see nothin', he aint year nothin'. yit he watch, 'kaze der t'er creeturs done fix up a law dat ef wattle weasel come w'iles somebody watchin' en git off bidout gittin' kotch, de man w'at watchin' aint kin eat no mo' butter endurin' er dat year. "brer mink, he watch en he wait. he set so still dat bimeby he git de cramps in de legs, en des 'bout dat time little wattle weasel pop he head und' de do'. he see brer mink, en he hail 'im: "'heyo, brer mink! you look sorter lonesome in dar. come out yer en less take a game er hidin'-switch.' "brer mink, he wanter have some fun, he did, en he tuck'n jine wattle weasel in de game. dey play en dey play twel, bimeby, brer mink git so wo' out dat he aint kin run, skacely, en des soon ez dey sets down ter res', brer mink, he draps off ter sleep. little wattle weasel, so mighty big en fine, he goes en nibbles up de butter, en pops out de way he come in. "de creeturs, dey come back, dey did, en dey fine de butter nibbled, en wattle weasel gone. wid dat, dey marks brer mink down, en he aint kin eat no mo' butter dat year. den dey fix up 'n'er choosement en 'p'int brer possum fer ter watch de butter. "brer possum, he grin en watch, and bimeby, sho' 'nuff, in pop little wattle weasel. he come in, he did, en he sorter hunch brer possum in de short ribs, en ax 'im how he come on. brer possum mighty ticklish, en time wattle weasel totch 'im in de short ribs, he 'gun ter laugh. wattle weasel totch 'im ag'in en laugh wusser, en he keep on hunchin' 'im dat a-way twel bimeby brer possum laugh hisse'f plum outer win', en wattle weasel lef 'im dar en nibble up de butter. "de creeturs, dey tuck'n mark brer possum down, en 'p'int brer coon. brer coon, he tuck'n start in all so mighty fine; but w'iles he settin' dar, little wattle weasel banter 'im fer a race up de branch. no sooner say dan yer dey went! brer coon, he foller de tu'ns er de branch, en little wattle weasel he take'n take nigh cuts, en 't wa'n't no time 'fo' he done run brer coon plum down. den dey run down de branch, and 'fo' brer coon kin ketch up wid 'im, dat little wattle weasel done got back ter de noggin er butter, en nibble it up. "den de creeturs tuck'n mark brer coon down, dey did, en 'p'int brer fox fer ter watch de butter. wattle weasel sorter 'fear'd 'er brer fox. he study long time, en den he wait twel night. den he tuck'n went 'roun' in de ole fiel' en woke up de killdees[ ] en druv 'roun' todes de spring-house. brer fox year um holler, en it make he mouf water. bimeby, he 'low ter hisse'f dat 't aint no harm ef he go out en slip up on one." "dar now!" said aunt tempy. "brer fox tuck'n slip out, en wattle weasel he slicked in, en bless yo' soul! dar goes de butter!" "enty!" exclaimed daddy jack. "brer fox he git marked down," continued uncle remus, "en den de creeturs tuck'n 'p'int brer wolf fer ter be dey watcher. brer wolf, he sot up dar, he did, en sorter nod, but bimeby he year some un talkin' outside de spring-house. he h'ist up he years en lissen. look lak some er de creeturs wuz gwine by, en talkin' 'mungs' deysef'; but all brer wolf kin year is dish yer: "'i wonder who put dat ar young sheep down dar by de chinkapin tree, en i like ter know wharbouts brer wolf is.' "den it seem lak dey pass on, en ole brer wolf, he fergotted w'at he in dar fer, en he dash down ter de chinkapin tree, fer ter git de young sheep. but no sheep dar, en w'en he git back, he see signs whar wattle weasel done bin in dar en nibble de butter. "den de creeturs tuck'n mark brer wolf down, en 'p'int brer b'ar fer ter keep he eye 'pun de noggin er butter. brer b'ar he tuck'n sot up dar, he did, en lick he paw, en feel good. bimeby wattle weasel come dancin' in. he 'low: "'heyo, brer b'ar, how you come on? i 'low'd i yeard you snortin' in yer, en i des drapt in fer ter see.' "brer b'ar tell him howdy, but he sorter keep one eye on 'im. little wattle weasel 'low: "'en you got ticks on yo' back, brer b'ar?' "wid dat wattle weasel 'gun ter rub brer b'ar on de back en scratch 'im on de sides, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he 'uz stretch out fast asleep en sno'in' lak a saw-mill. co'se wattle weasel git de butter. brer b'ar he got marked down, and den de creeturs aint know w'at dey gwine do skacely. "some say sen' fer brer rabbit, some say sen' fer brer tarrypin; but las' dey sent fer brer rabbit. brer rabbit, he tuck a notion dat dey 'uz fixin' up some kinder trick on 'im, en dey hatter beg mightily, mon, 'fo' he 'ud come en set up 'longside er dey butter. "but bimeby he 'greed, en he went down ter de spring-house en look 'roun'. den he tuck'n got 'im a twine string, en hide hisse'f whar he kin keep he eye on de noggin er butter. he aint wait long 'fo' yer come wattle weasel. des ez he 'bout ter nibble at de butter, brer rabbit holler out: "'let dat butter 'lone!' "wattle weasel jump back lak de butter bu'nt 'im. he jump back, he did, en say: "'sho'ly dat mus' be brer rabbit!' "'de same. i 'low'd you'd know me. des let dat butter 'lone.' "'des lemme git one little bit er tas'e, brer rabbit.' "'des let dat butter 'lone.' "den wattle weasel say he want er run a race. brer rabbit 'low he tired. wattle weasel 'low he want er play hidin'. brer rabbit 'low dat all he hidin' days is pas' en gone. wattle weasel banter'd en banter'd 'im, en bimeby brer rabbit come up wid a banter er he own. "'i'll take'n tie yo' tail,' sezee, 'en you'll take'n tie mine, en den we'll see w'ich tail de strongest.' little wattle weasel know how weakly brer rabbit tail is, but he aint know how strong brer rabbit bin wid he tricks. so dey tuck'n tie der tails wid brer rabbit twine string. "wattle weasel wuz ter stan' inside en brer rabbit wuz ter stan' outside, en dey wuz ter pull 'gin' one er n'er wid dey tails. brer rabbit, he tuck'n slip out'n de string, en tie de een' 'roun' a tree root, en den he went en peep at wattle weasel tuggin' en pullin'. bimeby wattle weasel 'low: "'come en ontie me, brer rabbit, 'kaze you done outpull me.' "brer rabbit sot dar, he did, en chaw he cud, en look lak he feel sorry 'bout sump'n'. bimeby all de creeturs come fer ter see 'bout dey butter, 'kaze dey fear'd brer rabbit done make way wid it. yit w'en dey see little wattle weasel tie by de tail, dey make great 'miration 'bout brer rabbit, en dey 'low he de smartest one er de whole gang." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] that is, could do no more than half the work of a man. [ ] killdeers--a species of plover. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lvi brother rabbit ties mr. lion there was some comment and some questions were asked by the little boy in regard to wattle weasel and the other animals; to all of which uncle remus made characteristic response. aunt tempy sat with one elbow on her knee, her head resting in the palm of her fat hand. she gazed intently into the fire, and seemed to be lost in thought. presently she exclaimed: "well, de lord he'p my soul!" "dat 's de promise, sis tempy," said uncle remus, solemnly. aunt tempy laughed, as she straightened herself in her chair, and said: "i des knowed dey wuz sump'n' 'n'er gwine 'cross my min' w'en i year talk 'bout dat ar sheep by de chinkapin tree." "out wid it, sis tempy," said uncle remus, by way of encouragement; "out wid it; free yo' min', en des make yo'se'f welcome." "no longer'n sunday 'fo' las', i 'uz 'cross dar at de spivey place un i tuck'n year'd a nigger man tellin' de same tale, un i 'low ter myse'f dat i'd take'n take it un kyar' it home un gin it out w'en i come ter pass de time wid brer remus un all uv um. i 'low ter myse'f i'll take it un kyar' it dar, un i'll des tell it my own way." "well, den," said uncle remus, approvingly, "me en dish yer chap, we er willin' en a-waitin', en ez fer brer jack over dar, we kin say de same fer him, 'kaze i up en year 'im draw mighty long breff des now lak he fixin' fer ter snort. but you neenter min' dat ole creetur, sis tempy. des push right ahead." "ah-h-h-e-e!" exclaimed daddy jack, snapping his bright little eyes at uncle remus with some display of irritation; "you tek-a me fer be sleep ebry tam i shed-a me y-eye, you is mek fool-a you'se'f. _warrah yarrah garrah tarrah!_"[ ] "brer remus!" said aunt tempy, in an awed whisper, "maybe he's a-cunju'n un you." "no-no!" exclaimed daddy jack, snappishly, "me no cuncher no'n' 't all. wun me cuncher you all you yeddy bone crack. enty!" "well, in de name er de lord, don't come a-cunju'n wid me, 'kaze i'm des as peaceable ez de day's long," said aunt tempy. uncle remus smiled and closed his eyes with an air of disdain, caught from his old mistress, the little boy's grandmother, long since dead. "tell yo' tale, sis tempy," he said pleasantly, "en leave de talk er cunju'n ter de little nigger childun. we er done got too ole fer dat kinder foolishness." this was for the ear of the little boy. in his heart uncle remus was convinced that daddy jack was capable of changing himself into the blackest of black cats, with swollen tail, arched back, fiery eyes, and protruding fangs. but the old man's attitude reassured aunt tempy, as well as the child, and forthwith she proceeded with her story: "hit seem like dat one time w'en brer rabbit fine hisse'f way off in de middle er de woods, de win' strike up un 'gun ter blow. hit blow down on de groun' un it blow up in de top er de timber, un it blow so hard twel terreckerly brer rabbit tuck a notion dat he better git out fum dar 'fo' de timber 'gun ter fall. "brer rabbit, he broke en run, un, man--sir![ ] w'en dat creetur run'd he run'd, now you year w'at i tell yer! he broke un run, he did, un he fa'rly flew 'way fum dar. w'iles he gwine 'long full tilt, he run'd ag'in' ole mr. lion. mr. lion, he hail 'im: "'heyo, brer rabbit! w'at yo' hurry?' "'run, mr. lion, run! dey's a harrycane comin' back dar in de timbers. you better run!' "dis make mr. lion sorter skeer'd. he 'low: "'i mos' too heavy fer ter run fur, brer rabbit. w'at i gwine do?' "'lay down, mr. lion, lay down! git close ter de groun'!' "mr. lion shake his head. he 'low: "'ef win' lierbul fer ter pick up little man like you is, brer rabbit, w'at it gwine do wid big man like me?' "'hug a tree, mr. lion, hug a tree!' "mr. lion lash hisse'f wid his tail. he 'low: "'w'at i gwine do ef de win' blow all day un a good part er de night, brer rabbit?' "'lemme tie you ter de tree, mr. lion! lemme tie you ter de tree!' "mr. lion, he tuk'n 'gree ter dis, un brer rabbit, he got 'im a hick'ry split[ ] un tie 'im hard un fast ter de tree. den he tuck'n sot down, ole brer rabbit did, un wash his face un han's des same ez you see de cats doin'. terreckerly mr. lion git tired er stan'in' dar huggin' de tree, un he ax brer rabbit w'at de reason he aint keep on runnin', un brer rabbit, he up'n 'low dat he gwine ter stay der un take keer mr. lion. [illustration: brother rabbit ties mr. lion] "terreckerly mr. lion say he aint year no harrycane. brer rabbit say he aint needer. mr. lion say he aint year no win' a-blowin'. brer rabbit say he aint needer. mr. lion say he aint so much ez year a leaf a-stirrin'. brer rabbit say he aint needer. mr. lion sorter study, un brer rabbit sot dar, he did, un wash his face un lick his paws. "terreckerly mr. lion ax brer rabbit fer ter onloose 'im. brer rabbit say he fear'd. den mr. lion git mighty mad, un he 'gun ter beller wuss'n one er deze yer bull-yearlin's. he beller so long un he beller so loud twel present'y de t'er creeturs dey 'gun ter come up fer ter see w'at de matter. "des soon ez dey come up, brer rabbit, he tuck'n 'gun ter talk biggity un strut 'roun', un, man--sir! w'en dem yuthers see dat brer rabbit done got mr. lion tied up, i let you know dey tuck'n walked way 'roun' 'im, un 't wuz many a long day 'fo' dey tuck'n pestered ole brer rabbit." here aunt tempy paused. the little boy asked what brother rabbit tied mr. lion for; but she did n't know; uncle remus, however, came to the rescue. "one time long 'fo' dat, honey, brer rabbit went ter de branch fer ter git a drink er water, en ole mr. lion tuck'n druv 'im off, en fum dat time out brer rabbit bin huntin' a chance fer ter ketch up wid 'im." "dat 's so," said aunt tempy, and then she added: "i 'clare i aint gwine tell you all not na'er n'er tale, dat i aint. 'kaze you des set dar en you aint crack a smile fum de time i begin. ef dat'd 'a' bin brer remus, now, dey'd 'a' bin mo' gigglin' gwine on dan you kin shake a stick at. i'm right down mad, dat i is." "well, i tell you dis, sis tempy," said uncle remus, with unusual emphasis, "ef deze yer tales wuz des fun, fun, fun, en giggle, giggle, giggle, i let you know i'd a-done drapt um long ago. yasser, w'en it come down ter gigglin' you kin des count ole remus out." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] this is simply "gullah" negro talk intended to be unintelligible, and therefore impressive. it means "one or the other is as good as t'other." [ ] an expression used to give emphasis and to attract attention; used in the sense that uncle remus uses "gentermens!" [ ] hickory withe. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lvii mr. lion's sad predicament the discussion over aunt tempy's fragmentary story having exhausted itself, daddy jack turned up his coat collar until it was as high as the top of his head, and then tried to button it under his chin. if this attempt had been successful, the old african would have presented a diabolical appearance; but the coat refused to be buttoned in that style. after several attempts, which created no end of amusement for the little boy, daddy jack said: "da lion, 'e no hab bin sma't lak b'er rabbit. 'e strong wit' 'e fut, 'e strong wit' 'e tush, but 'e no strong wit' 'e head. 'e bery foolish, 'cep' 'e is bin hab chance ter jump 'pon dem creetur. "one tam 'e bin come by b'er rabbit in da road; 'e ahx um howdy; 'e ahx um wey 'e gwan. b'er rabbit say 'e gwan git fum front de buckra màn wut bin comin' 'long da road. b'er rabbit say: "'hide you'se'f, b'er lion; da buckra ketch-a you fer true; 'e is bin ketch-a you tam he pit 'e y-eye 'pon you; 'e mekky you sick wit' sorry. hide fum da buckra, b'er lion!' "da lion, 'e shekky 'e head; 'e say: "'ki! me no skeer da buckra màn. i glad fer shum. i ketch um un i kyar um wey i lif; me hab da buckra màn fer me bittle. how come you bein' skeer da buckra màn, b'er rabbit?' "b'er rabbit look all 'bout fer see ef da buckra bin comin'. 'e say: "'me hab plenty reason, b'er lion. da buckra màn shoot-a wit' one gun. 'e r'ise um too 'e y-eye, 'e p'int um stret toze you; 'e say _bang!_ one tam, 'e say _bang!_ two tam: dun you is bin git hu't troo da head un cripple in da leg.' "lion, 'e shek 'e head; 'e say: "'me no skeer da buckra màn. i grab-a da gun. i ketch um fer me brekwus.' "b'er rabbit, 'e lahff; 'e say: "'him quare fer true. me skeer da buckra, me no skeer you; but you no skeer da buckra. how come dis?' "da lion lash 'e tail; 'e say: "'me no skeer da buckra, but me skeer da pa'tridge; me berry skeer da pa'tridge.' "b'er rabbit, 'e lahff tel 'e kin lahff no mo'. 'e say: "'how come you skeer da pa'tridge? 'e fly wun you wink-a you' eye; 'e run un 'e fly. hoo! me no skeer 'bout dem pa'tridge. me skeer da buckra.' "da lion, 'e look all 'bout fer see ef da pa'tridge bin comin'. 'e say: "'i skeer da pa'tridge. wun me bin walk in da bushside, da pa'tridge 'e hol' right still 'pon da groun' tel me come dey-dey, un dun 'e fly up--_fud-d-d-d-d-d-e-e!_ wun 'e is bin do dat me is git-a skeer berry bahd.'" no typographical device could adequately describe daddy jack's imitation of the flushing of a covey of partridges, or quail; but it is needless to say that it made its impression upon the little boy. the old african went on: "b'er rabbit, 'e holler un lahff; 'e say: "'me no skeer da pa'tridge. i bin run dem up ebry day. da no hu't-a you, b'er lion. you hol' you' eye 'pon da buckra màn. da pa'tridge, 'e no hab no gun fer shoot-a you wit'; da buckra, 'e is bin hab one gun two tam.[ ] let da pa'tridge fly, b'er lion; but wun da buckra man come you bes' keep in de shady side. i tell you dis, b'er lion.' "da lion, 'e stan' um down 'e no skeer da buckra màn, un bimeby 'e say goo'-bye; 'e say 'e gwan look fer da buckra màn fer true. "so long tam, b'er rabbit is bin yeddy one big fuss in da timber; 'e yeddy da lion v'ice. b'er rabbit foller da fuss tel 'e is bin come 'pon da lion wey 'e layin' 'pon da groun'. da lion, 'e is moan; 'e is groan; 'e is cry. 'e hab hole in 'e head, one, two, t'ree hole in 'e side; 'e holler, 'e groan. b'er rabbit, 'e ahx um howdy. 'e say: "'ki, b'er lion, wey you hab fine so much trouble?' "da lion, 'e moan, 'e groan, 'e cry; 'e say: "'ow, ma lord! i hab one hole in me head, one, two, t'ree hole in me side, me leg bin bruk!' "b'er rabbit bin hol' 'e head 'pon one side; 'e look skeer. 'e say: "'ki, b'er lion! i no know da pa'tridge is so bahd lak dat. i t'ink 'e fly 'way un no hu't-a you. shuh-shuh! wun i see dem pa'tridge i mus' git 'pon turrer side fer keep me hide whole.' "da lion, 'e groan, 'e moan, 'e cry. b'er rabbit, 'e say: "'da pa'tridge, 'e berry bahd; 'e mus' bin borry da buckra màn gun.' "da lion, 'e groan, 'e cry: "''e no da pa'tridge no'n 'tall. da buckra màn is bin stan' way off un shoot-a me wit' 'e gun. ow, ma lord!' "b'er rabbit, 'e h'ist 'e han'; 'e say: "'wut i bin tell-a you, b'er lion? wut i bin tell you 'bout da buckra màn? da pa'tridge no hu't-a you lak dis. 'e mek-a da big fuss, but 'e no hu't-a you lak dis. da buckra màn, 'e no mek no fuss 'cep' 'e p'int 'e gun at you--_bang!_'" "and what then?" the little boy asked, as daddy jack collapsed in his seat, seemingly forgetful of all his surroundings. "no'n 't all," replied the old african, somewhat curtly. "de p'ints er dat tale, honey," said uncle remus, covering the brusqueness of daddy jack with his own amiability, "is des 'bout lak dis, dat dey aint no use er dodgin' w'iles dey's a big fuss gwine on, but you better take'n hide out w'en dey aint no racket; mo' speshually w'en you see miss sally lookin' behine de lookin'-glass fer dat ar peach-lim' w'at she tuck'n make me kyar up dar day 'fo' yistiddy; yit w'en she fine it don't you git too skeer'd, 'kaze i tuck'n make some weak places in dat ar switch, en miss sally won't mo'n strak you wid it 'fo' hit'll all come onjinted." parts of this moral the little boy understood thoroughly, for he laughed, and ran to the big house, and not long afterwards the light went out in uncle remus's cabin; but the two old negroes sat and nodded by the glowing embers for hours afterwards, dreaming dreams they never told of. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] one gun two times is a double-barrelled gun. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lviii the origin of the ocean "uncle remus," said the little boy, one night shortly after daddy jack's story of the lion's sad predicament, "mamma says there are no lions in georgia, nor anywhere in the whole country." "tooby sho'ly not, honey; tooby sho'ly not!" exclaimed uncle remus. "i dunner who de name er goodness bin a-puttin' dat kinder idee in yo' head, en dey better not lemme fine um out, needer, 'kaze i'll take en put mars john atter um right raw en rank, dat i will." "well, you know daddy jack said that brother rabbit met the lion coming down the road." "bless yo' soul, honey! dat 's 'way 'cross de water whar ole man jack tuck'n come fum, en a mighty long time ergo at dat. hit 's away off yan, lots furder dan ferginny yit. we-all er on one side de water, en de lions en mos' all de yuther servigous creeturs, dey er on t'er side. aint i never tell you how come dat?" the little boy shook his head. "well, _sir_! i dunner w'at i bin doin' all dis time dat i aint tell you dat, 'kaze dat 's whar de wussest kinder doin's tuck'n happen. yasser! de wussest kinder doin's; en i'll des whirl in en gin it out right now 'fo' ole man jack come wobblin' in. "one time way back yander, 'fo' dey wuz any folks a-foolin' 'roun', mr. lion, he tuck'n tuck a notion dat he'd go huntin', en nothin' 'ud do 'im but brer rabbit must go wid 'im. brer rabbit, he 'low dat he up fer any kinder fun on top side er de groun'. wid dat dey put out, dey did, en dey hunt en hunt clean 'cross de country. "mr. lion, he'd lam aloose en miss de game, en den brer rabbit, he'd lam aloose en fetch it down. no sooner is he do dis dan mr. lion, he'd squall out: "'hit 's mine! hit 's mine! i kilt it!' "mr. lion sech a big man dat brer rabbit skeer'd ter 'spute 'long wid 'im, but he lay it up in he min' fer to git even wid 'im. dey went on en dey went on. mr. lion, he'd lam aloose en miss de game, en ole brer rabbit, he'd lam aloose en hit it, en mr. lion, he'd take'n whirl in en claim it. "dey hunt all day long, en w'en night come, dey 'uz sech a fur ways fum home dat dey hatter camp out. dey went on, dey did, twel dey come ter a creek, en w'en dey come ter dat, dey tuck'n scrape away de trash en built um a fire on de bank, en cook dey supper. "atter supper dey sot up dar en tole tales, dey did, en brer rabbit, he tuck'n brag 'bout w'at a good hunter mr. lion is, en mr. lion, he leant back on he yelbow, en feel mighty biggity. bimeby, w'en dey eyeleds git sorter heavy, brer rabbit, he up'n 'low: "'i'm a monst'us heavy sleeper, mr. lion, w'en i gits ter nappin', en i hope en trus' i aint gwine 'sturb you dis night, yit i got my doubts.' "mr. lion, he roach he ha'r back outen he eyes, en 'low: "'i'm a monst'us heavy sleeper myse'f, brer rabbit, en i'll feel mighty glad ef i don't roust you up in de co'se er de night.' "brer rabbit, he tuck'n change his terbacker fum one side he mouf ter de yuther, he did, en he up'n 'low: "'mr. lion, i wish you be so good ez ter show me how you sno' des' fo' you git soun' asleep.' "mr. lion, he tuck'n draw in he breff sorter hard, en show brer rabbit; den brer rabbit 'low: "'mr. lion, i wish you be so good ez ter show me how you sno' atter yo done git soun' asleep.' "mr. lion, he tuck'n suck in he breff, en eve'y time he suck in he breff it soun' des lak a whole passel er mules w'en dey whinney atter fodder. brer rabbit look 'stonish'. he roll he eye en 'low: "'i year tell youer mighty big man, mr. lion, en you sho'ly is.' "mr. lion, he hol' he head one side en try ter look 'shame', but all de same he aint feel 'shame'. bimeby, he shot he eye en 'gun ter nod, den he lay down en stretch hisse'f out, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he 'gun ter sno' lak he sno' w'en he aint sleepin' soun'. "brer rabbit, he lay dar. he aint sayin' nothin'. he lay dar wid one year h'ist up en one eye open. he lay dar, he did, en bimeby mr. lion 'gun ter sno' lak he sno' w'en he done gone fas' ter sleep. "w'en ole brer rabbit year dis, he git up fum dar, en sprinkle hisse'f wid de cole ashes 'roun' de fier, en den he tuck'n fling er whole passel der hot embers on mr. lion. mr. lion, he jump up, he did, en ax who done dat, en brer rabbit, he lay dar en kick at he year wid he behime foot, en holler '_ow!_' "mr. lion see de ashes on brer rabbit, en he dunner w'at ter t'ink. he look all 'roun', but he aint see nothin'. he drap he head en lissen, but he aint year nothin'. den he lay down 'g'in en drap off ter sleep. atter w'ile, w'en he 'gun ter sno' lak he done befo', brer rabbit, he jump up en sprinkle some mo' cole ashes on hisse'f, en fling de hot embers on mr. lion. mr. lion jump up, he did, en holler: "'dar yo is 'g'in!' "brer rabbit, he kick en squall, en 'low: "'you oughter be 'shame' yo'se'f, mr. lion, fer ter be tryin' ter bu'n me up.' "mr. lion hol' up he han's en des vow 't aint him. brer rabbit, he look sorter jubous, but he aint say nothin'. bimeby he holler out: "'phewee! i smells rags a-bu'nin'!' "mr. lion, he sorter flinch, he did, en 'low: "''t aint no rags, brer rabbit; hit 's my ha'r a-sinjin'.' "dey look all 'roun', dey did, but dey aint see nothin' ner nobody. brer rabbit, he say he gwine do some tall watchin' nex' time, 'kaze he boun' ter ketch de somebody w'at bin playin' dem kinder pranks on um. wid dat, mr. lion lay down 'g'in, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he drap ter sleep. "well, den," continued uncle remus, taking a long breath, "de ve'y same kinder doin's tuck'n happen. de cole ashes fall on brer rabbit, en de hot embers fall on mr. lion. but by de time mr. lion jump up, brer rabbit, he holler out: "'i seed um, mr. lion! i seed um! i seed de way dey come fum 'cross de creek! dey mos' sho'ly did!' "wid dat mr. lion, he fetch'd a beller en he jumped 'cross de creek. no sooner is he do dis," uncle remus went on in a tone at once impressive and confidential, "no sooner is he do dis dan brer rabbit cut de string w'at hol' de banks togedder, en, lo en beholes, dar dey wuz!" "what was, uncle remus?" the little boy asked, more amazed than he had been in many a day. "bless yo' soul, honey, de banks! co'se w'en brer rabbit tuck'n cut de string, de banks er de creek, de banks, dey fall back, dey did, en mr. lion can't jump back. de banks dey keep on fallin' back, en de creek keep on gittin' wider en wider, twel bimeby brer rabbit en mr. lion aint in sight er one er n'er, en fum dat day to dis de big waters bin rollin' 'twix' um." "but, uncle remus, how could the banks of a creek be tied with a string?" "i aint ax um dat, honey, en darfo' yo'll hatter take um ez you git um. nex' time de tale-teller come 'roun' i'll up'n ax 'im, en ef you aint too fur off, i'll whirl in en sen' you wud, en den you kin go en see fer yo'se'f. but 't aint skacely wuth yo' w'ile fer ter blame me, honey, 'bout de creek banks bein' tied wid a string. who put um dar, i be bless ef _i_ knows, but i knows who onloose um, dat w'at i knows!" it is very doubtful if this copious explanation was satisfactory to the child, but just as uncle remus concluded, daddy jack came shuffling in, and shortly afterwards both aunt tempy and 'tildy put in an appearance, and the mind of the youngster was diverted to other matters. lix brother rabbit gets brother fox's dinner after the new-comers had settled themselves in their accustomed places, and 'tildy had cast an unusual number of scornful glances at daddy jack, who made quite a pantomime of his courtship, uncle remus startled them all somewhat by breaking into a loud laugh. "i boun' you," exclaimed aunt tempy, grinning with enthusiastic sympathy, "i boun' you brer remus done fine out some mo' er brer rabbit funny doin's; now i boun' you dat." "you hit it de fus' clip, sis tempy, i 'clar' ter gracious ef you aint. you nailed it! you nailed it," uncle remus went on, laughing as boisterously as before, "des lak ole brer rabbit done." the little boy was very prompt with what uncle remus called his "inquirements," and the old man, after the usual "hems" and "haws," began. "hit run'd 'cross my min' des lak a rat 'long a rafter, de way ole brer rabbit tuk'n done brer fox. 'periently, atter brer rabbit done went en put a steeple on top er he house, all de yuther creeturs wanter fix up dey house. some put new cellars und' um, some slapped on new winder-blines, some one thing and some er n'er, but ole brer fox, he tuck a notion dat he'd put some new shingles on de roof. "brer rabbit, he tuck'n year tell er dis, en nothin'd do but he mus' rack 'roun' en see how ole brer fox gittin' on. w'en he git whar brer fox house is, he year a mighty lammin' en a blammin' en lo en beholes, dar 'uz brer fox settin' straddle er de comb er de roof nailin' on shingles des hard ez he kin. "brer rabbit cut he eye 'roun' en he see brer fox dinner settin' in de fence-cornder. hit 'uz kivered up in a bran new tin pail, en it look so nice dat brer rabbit mouf 'gun ter water time he see it, en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he bleedz ter eat dat dinner 'fo' he go 'way fum dar. "den brer rabbit tuck'n hail brer fox, en ax 'im how he come on. brer fox 'low he too busy to hol' any confab. brer rabbit up en ax 'im w'at is he doin 'up dar. brer fox 'low dat he puttin' roof on he house 'g'in de rainy season sot in. den brer rabbit up en ax brer fox w'at time is it, en brer fox, he 'low dat hit 's wukkin time wid him. brer rabbit, he up en ax brer fox ef he aint stan' in needs er some he'p. brer fox, he 'low he did, dat ef he does stan' in needs er any he'p, he dunner whar in de name er goodness he gwine to git it at. "wid dat, brer rabbit sorter pull he mustarsh, en 'low dat de time wuz w'en he 'uz a mighty handy man wid a hammer, en he aint too proud fer to whirl in en he'p brer fox out'n de ruts. "brer fox 'low he be mighty much erblige, en no sooner is he say dat dan brer rabbit snatched off he coat en lipt up de ladder, en sot in dar en put on mo' shingles in one hour dan brer fox kin put on in two. "oh, he 'uz a rattler--ole brer rabbit wuz," uncle remus exclaimed, noticing a questioning look in the child's face. "he 'uz a rattler, mon, des ez sho' ez youer settin' dar. dey wa'n't no kinder wuk dat brer rabbit can't put he han' at, en do it better dan de nex' man. "he nailed on shingles plum twel he git tired, brer rabbit did, en all de time he nailin', he study how he gwine git dat dinner. he nailed en he nailed. he 'ud nail one row, en brer fox 'ud nail 'n'er row. he nailed en he nailed. he kotch brer fox en pass 'im--kotch 'im en pass 'im, twel bimeby w'iles he nailin' 'long brer fox tail git in he way. "brer rabbit 'low ter hisse'f, he did, dat he dunner w'at de name er goodness make folks have such long tails fer, en he push it out de way. he aint no mo'n push it out'n de way, 'fo' yer it come back in de way. co'se," continued uncle remus, beginning to look serious, "w'en dat 's de case dat a soon man lak brer rabbit git pester'd in he min', he bleedz ter make some kinder accidents some'rs. "dey nailed en dey nailed, en, bless yo' soul! 't wa'n't long 'fo' brer fox drap eve'yt'ing en squall out: "'laws 'a' massy, brer rabbit! you done nail my tail. he'p me, brer rabbit, he'p me! you done nail my tail!'" uncle remus waved his arms, clasped and unclasped his hands, stamped first one foot and then the other, and made various other demonstrations of grief and suffering. "brer rabbit, he shot fus' one eye en den de yuther en rub hisse'f on de forrerd, en 'low: "'sho'ly i aint nail yo' tail, brer fox; sho'ly not. look right close, brer fox, be keerful. fer goodness sake don' fool me, brer fox!' "brer fox, _he_ holler, _he_ squall, _he_ kick, _he_ squeal. "'laws 'a' massy, brer rabbit! you done nailed my tail. onnail me, brer rabbit, onnail me!' "brer rabbit, he make fer de ladder, en w'en he start down, he look at brer fox lak he right down sorry, en he up'n 'low, he did: "'well, well, well! des ter t'ink dat i should er lamm'd aloose en nail brer fox tail. i dunner w'en i year tell er anyt'ing dat make me feel so mighty bad; en ef i had n't er seed it wid my own eyes i would n't er bleev'd it skacely--dat i would n't!' "brer fox holler, brer fox howl, yit 't aint do no good. dar he wuz wid he tail nail hard en fas'. brer rabbit, he keep on talkin' w'iles he gwine down de ladder. "'hit make me feel so mighty bad,' sezee, 'dat i dunner w'at ter do. time i year tell un it, hit make a empty place come in my stomach,' sez brer rabbit, sezee. "by dis time brer rabbit done git down on de groun', en w'iles brer fox holler'n, he des keep on a-talkin'. "'dey's a mighty empty place in my stomach,' sezee, 'en ef i aint run'd inter no mistakes dey's a tin-pail full er vittles in dish yer fence-cornder dat'll des 'bout fit it,' sez ole brer rabbit, sezee. "he open de pail, he did, en he eat de greens, en sop up de 'lasses, en drink de pot-liquor, en w'en he wipe he mouf 'pun he coat-tail, he up'n 'low: "'i dunner w'en i bin so sorry 'bout anything, ez i is 'bout brer fox nice long tail. sho'ly, sho'ly my head mus' er bin wool-getherin' w'en i tuck'n nail brer fox fine long tail,' sez ole brer rabbit, sezee. "wid dat, he tuck'n skip out, brer rabbit did, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he 'uz playin' he pranks in some yuther parts er de settlement." "how did brother fox get loose?" the little boy asked. "oh, you let brer fox 'lone fer dat," responded uncle remus. "nex' ter brer rabbit, ole brer fox wuz mos' de shiftiest creetur gwine. i boun' you he tuck'n tuck keer hisse'f soon ez brer rabbit git outer sight en year'n." lx how the bear nursed the little alligator while the negroes were talking of matters which the little boy took little or no interest in, he climbed into uncle remus's lap, as he had done a thousand times before. presently the old man groaned, and said: "i be bless ef i know w'at de marter, honey. i dunner whe'er i'm a-gittin' fibble in de lim's, er whe'er youer outgrowin' me. i lay i'll hatter sen' out en git you a nuss w'at got mo' strenk in dey lim's dan w'at i is." the child protested that he was n't very heavy, and that he would n't have any nurse, and the old man was about to forget that he had said anything about nurses, when daddy jack, who seemed to be desirous of appearing good-humored in the presence of 'tildy, suddenly exclaimed: "me bin yeddy one tale 'bout da tam w'en da lil bear is bin nuss da 'gator chilluns. 'e bin mek fine nuss fer true. 'e stan' by dem lilly 'gator tel dey no mo' fer stan' by." [illustration: how the bear nursed the little alligator] seeing that daddy jack manifested symptoms of going to sleep, the little boy asked if he would n't tell the story, and, thus appealed to, the old african began: "one tam dey is bin one ole bear; 'e big un 'e strong. 'e lif way in da swamp; 'e hab nes' in da holler tree. 'e hab one, two lilly bear in da nes'; 'e bin lub dem chillun berry ha'd. one day, 'e git honkry; 'e tell 'e chillun 'e gwan 'way off fer git-a some bittle fer eat; 'e tell dem dey mus' be good chillun un stay wey dey lif. 'e say 'e gwan fer fetch dem one fish fer dey brekwus. dun 'e gone off. "da lil bear chillun hab bin 'sleep till dey kin sleep no mo'. da sun, 'e der shine wom, 'e mekky lilly bear feel wom. da lil boy bear, 'e rub 'e y-eye, 'e say 'e gwan off fer hab some fun. da lil gal bear, 'e say: "'wut will we mammy say?' "lil boy bear, 'e der lahff. 'e say: "'me gwan down by da crik side fer ketch some fish 'fo' we mammy come.' "lil gal bear, 'e look skeer; 'e say: "'we mammy say somet'ing gwan git-a you. min' wut 'e tell you.' "lil boy bear, 'e keep on lahff. 'e say: "'shuh-shuh! 'e yent nebber know less you tell um. you no tell um, me fetch-a you one big fish.' "lil boy bear, 'e gone! 'e gone by da crik side, 'e tek 'e hook, 'e tek 'e line, 'e is go by da crik side fer ketch one fish. wun 'e come dey-dey, 'e see somet'ing lay dey in de mud. 'e t'ink it bin one big log. 'e lahff by 'ese'f; 'e say: "''e one fine log fer true. me 'tan' 'pon da log fer ketch-a da fish fer me lil titty.'[ ] "lil boy bear, 'e der jump down; 'e git 'pon da log; 'e fix fer fish; 'e fix 'e hook, 'e fix 'e line. bumbye da log moof. da lil boy bear holler: "'ow ma lordy!' "'e look down; 'e skeer mos' dead. da log bin one big 'gator. da 'gator 'e swim 'way wit' da lil boy bear 'pon 'e bahck. 'e flut 'e tail, 'e knock da lil boy bear spang in 'e two han'. 'e grin _wide_, 'e feel da lil boy bear wit' 'e nose; 'e say: "'i tekky you wey me lif; me chillun is hab you fer dey brekwus.' "da 'gator, 'e bin swim toze da hole in da bank wey 'e lif. 'e come by da hole, 'e ca' da lil boy bear in dey. 'e is call up 'e chillun; 'e say: "'come see how fine brekwus me bin brung you.' "da ole 'gator, 'e hab seben chillun in 'e bed. da lil boy bear git skeer; 'e holler, 'e cry, 'e beg. 'e say: "'_please_, missy 'gator, gib me chance fer show you how fine nuss me is--_please_, missy 'gator. wun you gone 'way, me min' dem chillun, me min' um well.' "da 'gator flut 'e tail; 'e say: "'i try you dis one day; you min' dem lil one well, me luf you be.' "da ole 'gator gone 'way; 'e luf da lil boy bear fer min' 'e chillun. 'e gone git somet'ing fer dey brekwus. da lil boy bear, 'e set down dey-dey; 'e min' dem chillun; 'e wait un 'e wait. bumbye, 'e is git honkry. 'e wait un 'e wait. 'e min' dem chillun. 'e wait un 'e wait. 'e 'come so honkry 'e yent mos' kin hol' up 'e head. 'e suck 'e paw. 'e wait un 'e wait. da 'gator no come. 'e wait un 'e wait. da 'gator no come some mo'. 'e say: "'ow! me no gwan starf mese'f wun da planty bittle by side er me!' "da lil boy bear grab one da lil 'gator by 'e neck; 'e tek um off in da bush side; 'e der eat um up. 'e no leaf 'e head, 'e no leaf 'e tail; 'e yent leaf nuttin' 't all. 'e go bahck wey da turrer lil 'gator bin huddle up in da bed. 'e rub 'ese'f 'pon da 'tomach; 'e say: "'hoo! me feel-a too good fer tahlk 'bout. i no know wut me gwan fer tell da ole 'gator wun 'e is come bahck. ki! me no keer. me feel too good fer t'ink 'bout dem t'ing. me t'ink 'bout dem wun da 'gator is bin come; me t'ink 'bout dem bumbye wun da time come fer t'ink.' "da lil boy bear lay down; 'e quile up in da 'gator bed; 'e shed 'e y-eye; 'e sleep ha'd lak bear do wun ef full up. bumbye, mos' toze night, da 'gator come; 'e holler: "'hey! lil boy bear! how you is kin min' me chillun wun you is gone fer sleep by um?' "da lil boy bear, 'e set up 'pon 'e ha'nch; 'e say: "'me y-eye gone fer sleep, but me year wide 'wake.' "da 'gator flut 'e tail; 'e say: "'wey me chillun wut me leaf you wit'?' "da lil boy bear 'come skeer; 'e say: "'dey all dey-dey, missy 'gator. wait! lemme count dem, missy 'gator. "'_yarrah one, yarrah narrah, yarrah two 'pon top er tarrah, yarrah t'ree pile up tergarrah!_'[ ] "da 'gator y-open 'e mout', 'e grin wide; 'e say: "'oona nuss dem well, lil boy bear; come, fetch-a me one fer wash un git 'e supper.' "da lil boy bear, 'e ca' one, 'e ca' nurrer, 'e ca' turrer, 'e ca' um all tel 'e ca' six, den 'e come skeer. 'e t'ink da 'gator gwan fine um out fer true. 'e stop, 'e yent know wut fer do. da 'gator holler: "'fetch-a me turrer!' "da lil boy bear, 'e grab da fus' one, 'e wullup um in da mud, 'e ca' um bahck. da 'gator bin wash un feed um fresh; 'e yent know da diffran. "bumbye, nex' day mornin', da 'gator gone 'way. da lil boy bear stay fer nuss dem lil 'gator. 'e come honkry; 'e wait, but 'e come mo' honkry. 'e grab nurrer lil 'gator, 'e eat um fer 'e dinner. mos' toze night, da 'gator come. it sem t'ing: "'wey me chillun wut me leaf you fer nuss?' "'dey all dey-dey, missy 'gator. me count um out: "'_yarrah one, yarrah narrah, yarrah two 'pon top er tarrah, yarrah t'ree pile up tergarrah!_' "'e ca' um one by one fer wash un git dey supper. 'e ca' two bahck two tam. ebry day 'e do dis way tel 'e come at de las'. 'e eat dis one, un 'e gone luf da place wey da 'gator lif. 'e gone down da crik side tel 'e is come by da foot-log, un 'e is run 'cross _queek_. 'e git in da bush, 'e fair fly tel 'e is come by da place wey 'e lil titty bin lif. 'e come dey-dey, un 'e yent go 'way no mo'." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] sissy. [ ] here is one, here's another; here are two on top of t'other; here are three piled up together. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lxi why mr. dog runs brother rabbit the little boy was not particularly pleased at the summary manner in which the young alligators were disposed of; but he was very much amused at the somewhat novel method employed by the bear to deceive the old alligator. the negroes, however, enjoyed daddy jack's story immensely, and even 'tildy condescended to give it her approval; but she qualified this by saying, as soon as she had ceased laughing: "i 'clar' ter goodness you all got mighty little ter do fer ter be settin' down yer night atter night lis'nin' at dat nigger man." daddy jack nodded, smiled, and rubbed his withered hands together apparently in a perfect ecstasy of good-humor, and finally said: "oona come set-a by me, lil gal. 'e berry nice tale wut me tell-a you. come sit-a by me, lil gal;'e berry nice tale. ef you no want me fer tell-a you one tale, dun you is kin tell-a me one tale." "humph!" exclaimed 'tildy, contemptuously, "you'll set over dar in dat cornder en dribble many's de long day 'fo' i tell you any tale." "look yer, gal!" said uncle remus, pretending to ignore the queer courtship that seemed to be progressing between daddy jack and 'tildy, "you gittin' too ole fer ter be sawin' de a'r wid yo 'head en squealin' lak a filly. ef you gwine ter set wid folks, you better do lak folks does. sis tempy dar aint gwine on dat a-way, en she aint think 'erse'f too big fer ter set up dar en jine in wid us en tell a tale, needer." this was the first time that uncle remus had ever condescended to accord 'tildy a place at his hearth on an equality with the rest of his company, and she seemed to be immensely tickled. a broad grin spread over her comely face as she exclaimed: "_oh!_ i 'clar' ter goodness, unk remus, i thought dat ole nigger man wuz des a-projickin' 'long wid me. ef it come down ter settin' up yer 'long wid you all en tellin' a tale, i aint 'nyin' but w'at i got one dat you all aint never year tell un, 'kaze dat ar slim jim w'at mars ellick akin got out'n de speckerlater waggin,[ ] he up'n tell it dar at riah's des 'fo' de patter-rollers tuck'n slipt up on um." "dar now!" remarked aunt tempy. 'tildy laughed boisterously. "w'at de patter-rollers do wid dat ar slim jim?" uncle remus inquired. "done nothin'!" exclaimed 'tildy, with an air of humorous scorn. "time dey got in dar slim jim 'uz up de chimbly, en riah 'uz noddin' in one cornder en me in de udder. nobody never is ter know how dat ar long-leg nigger slick'd up dat chimbly--dat dey aint. he put one foot on de pot-rack,[ ] en whar he put de t'er foot _i_ can't tell you." "what was the story?" asked the little boy. "i boun' fer you, honey!" exclaimed uncle remus. "well, den," said 'tildy, settling herself comfortably, and bridling a little as daddy jack manifested a desire to give her his undivided attention,--"well, den, dey wuz one time w'en ole brer rabbit 'uz bleedz ter go ter town atter sump'n' 'n'er fer his famerly, en he mos' 'shame' ter go 'kaze his shoes done wo' tetotally out. yit he bleedz ter go, en he put des ez good face on it ez he kin, en he take down he walkin'-cane en sot out des ez big ez de next un. "well, den, ole brer rabbit go on down de big road twel he come ter de place whar some folks bin camp out de night befo', en he sot down by de fier, he did, fer ter wom his foots, 'kaze dem mawnin's 'uz sorter cole, like deze yer mawnin's. he sot dar en look at his toes, en he feel mighty sorry fer hisse'f. "well, den, he sot dar, he did, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he year sump'n' 'n'er trottin' down de road, en he tuck'n look up en yer come mr. dog a-smellin' en a-snuffin' 'roun' fer ter see ef de folks lef' any scraps by der camp-fier. mr. dog 'uz all dress up in his sunday-go-ter-meetin' cloze, en mo'n dat, he had on a pa'r er bran new shoes. "well, den, w'en brer rabbit see dem ar shoes he feel mighty bad, but he aint let on. he bow ter mr. dog mighty perlite, en mr. dog bow back, he did, en dey pass de time er day, 'kaze dey 'uz ole 'quaintance. brer rabbit, he say: "'mr. dog, whar you gwine all fix up like dis?' "'i gwine ter town, brer rabbit; whar you gwine?' "'i thought i go ter town myse'f fer ter git me new pa'r shoes, 'kaze my ole uns done wo' out en dey hu'ts my foots so bad i can't w'ar um. dem mighty nice shoes w'at you got on, mr. dog; whar you git um?' "'down in town, brer rabbit, down in town.' "'dey fits you mighty slick, mr. dog, en i wish you be so good ez ter lemme try one un um on.' "brer rabbit talk so mighty sweet dat mr. dog sot right flat on de groun' en tuck off one er de behime shoes, en loant it ter brer rabbit. brer rabbit, he lope off down de road en den he come back. he tell mr. dog dat de shoe fit mighty nice, but wid des one un um on, hit make 'im trot crank-sided. "well, den, mr. dog, he pull off de yuther behime shoe, en brer rabbit trot off en try it. he come back, he did, en he say: "'dey mighty nice, mr. dog, but dey sorter r'ars me up behime, en i dunner 'zackly how dey feels.' "dis make mr. dog feel like he wanter be perlite, en he take off de befo' shoes, en brer rabbit put um on en stomp his foots, en 'low: "'now dat sorter feel like shoes;' en he rack off down de road, en w'en he git whar he oughter tu'n 'roun', he des lay back he years en keep on gwine; en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he git outer sight. "mr. dog, he holler, en tell 'im fer ter come back, but brer rabbit keep on gwine; mr. dog, he holler, mr. rabbit, he keep on gwine. en down ter dis day," continued 'tildy, smacking her lips, and showing her white teeth, "mr. dog bin a-runnin' brer rabbit, en ef you'll des go out in de woods wid any dog on dis place, des time he smell de rabbit track he'll holler en tell 'im fer ter come back." "dat 's de lord's trufe!" said aunt tempy. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] speculator's wagon. [ ] a bar of iron across the fireplace, with hooks to hold the pots and kettles. the original form of the crane. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lxii brother wolf and the horned cattle daddy jack appeared to enjoy 'tildy's story as thoroughly as the little boy. "'e one fine tale. 'e mekky me lahff tell tear is come in me y-eye," the old african said. and somehow or other 'tildy seemed to forget her pretended animosity to daddy jack, and smiled on him as pleasantly as she did on the others. uncle remus himself beamed upon each and every one, especially upon aunt tempy; and the little boy thought he had never seen everybody in such good-humor. "sis tempy," said uncle remus, "i 'speck it's yo' time fer ter put in." "i des bin rackin' my min'," said aunt tempy, thoughtfully. "i see you fixin' dat ar hawn, un terreckerly hit make me think 'bout a tale w'at i aint year none un you tell yit." uncle remus was polishing a long cow's-horn, for the purpose of making a hunting-horn for his master. "hit come 'bout one time dat all de creeturs w'at got hawns tuck a notion dat dey got ter meet terge'er un have a confab fer ter see how dey gwine take ker deyse'f, 'kaze dem t'er creeturs w'at got tush un claw, dey uz des a-snatchin' um fum 'roun' eve'y cornder." "tooby sho'!" said uncle remus, approvingly. "dey sont out wud, de hawn creeturs did, un dey tuck'n meet terge'er 'way off in de woods. man--sir!--dey wuz a big gang un um, un de muster dey had out dar 't wa'n't b'ar tellin' skacely. mr. bull, he 'uz dar, un mr. steer, un miss cow"-- "and mr. benjamin ram, with his fiddle," suggested the little boy. --"yes, 'n mr. billy goat, un mr. unicorn"-- "en ole man rinossyhoss," said uncle remus. --"yes, 'n lots mo' w'at i aint know de names un. man--sir!--dey had a mighty muster out dar. ole brer wolf, he tuck'n year 'bout de muster, un he sech a smarty dat nothin' aint gwine do but he mus' go un see w'at dey doin'. "he study 'bout it long time, un den he went out in de timber un cut 'im two crooked sticks, un tie um on his head, un start off ter whar de hawn creeturs meet at. w'en he git dar mr. bull ax 'im who is he, w'at he want, whar he come frum, un whar he gwine. brer wolf, he 'low: "'ba-a-a! i'm name little sook calf!'" "eh-eh! look out, now!" exclaimed 'tildy, enthusiastically. "mr. bull look at brer wolf mighty hard over his specks, but atter a w'ile he go off some'rs else, un brer wolf take his place in de muster. "well, den, bimeby, terreckerly, dey got ter talkin' un tellin' der 'sperence des like de w'ite folks does at class-meetin'. w'iles dey 'uz gwine on dis a-way, a great big hoss-fly come sailin' 'roun', un brer wolf tuck'n fergit hisse'f, un snap at 'im. "all dis time brer rabbit bin hidin' out in de bushes watchin' brer wolf, un w'en he see dis he tuck'n break out in a laugh. brer bull, he tuck'n holler out, he did: "'who dat laughin' un showin' der manners?' "nobody aint make no answer, un terreckerly brer rabbit holler out: "'_o kittle-cattle, kittle-cattle, whar yo' eyes? who ever see a sook calf snappin' at flies?_' "de hawn creeturs dey all look 'roun' un wonder w'at dat mean, but bimeby dey go on wid dey confab. 't wa'n't long 'fo' a flea tuck'n bite brer wolf 'way up on de back er de neck, un 'fo' he know what he doin', he tuck'n squat right down un scratch hisse'f wid his behime foot." "enty!" exclaimed daddy jack. "dar you is!" said 'tildy. "brer rabbit, he tuck'n broke out in 'n'er big laugh un 'sturb um all, un den he holler out: "'_scritchum-scratchum, lawsy, my laws! look at dat sook calf scratchin' wid claws!_' "brer wolf git mighty skeer'd, but none er de hawn creeturs aint take no notice un 'im, un 't wa'n't long 'fo' brer rabbit holler out ag'in: "'_rinktum-tinktum, ride 'im on a rail! dat sook calf got a long bushy tail!_' "de hawn creeturs, dey go on wid der confab, but brer wolf git skeerder un skeerder, 'kaze he notice dat mr. bull got his eye on 'im. brer rabbit, he aint gin 'im no rest. he holler out: "'_one un one never kin make six, sticks aint hawns, un hawns aint sticks!_' "wid dat brer wolf make ez ef he gwine 'way fum dar, un he wa'n't none too soon, needer, 'kaze ole mr. bull splunge at 'im, en little mo' un he'd er nat'ally to' 'im in two." "did brother wolf get away?" the little boy asked. "yas, lord!" said aunt tempy, with unction; "he des scooted 'way fum dar, un he got so mad wid brer rabbit, dat he tuck'n play dead, un wud went 'roun' dat dey want all de creeturs fer ter go set up wid 'im. brer rabbit, he went down dar fer ter look at 'im, un time he see 'im, he ex: "'is he grin yit?' "all de creeturs dey up'n say he aint grin, not ez dey knows un. den brer rabbit, he 'low, he did: "'well, den, gentermuns all, ef he aint grin, den he aint dead good. in all my 'speunce folks aint git dead good tel dey grins.'[ ] "w'en brer wolf year brer rabbit talk dat a-way, he tuck'n grin fum year ter year, un brer rabbit, he picked up his hat un walkin'-cane un put out fer home, un w'en he got 'way off in de woods he sot down un laugh fit ter kill hisse'f." uncle remus had paid aunt tempy the extraordinary tribute of pausing in his work to listen to her story, and when she had concluded it, he looked at her in undisguised admiration, and exclaimed: "i be bless, sis tempy, ef you aint wuss'n w'at i is, en i'm bad 'nuff', de lord knows i is!" ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] see _uncle remus: his songs and his sayings_, p. . ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lxiii brother fox and the white muscadines aunty tempy did not attempt to conceal the pleasure which uncle remus's praise gave her. she laughed somewhat shyly, and said: "bless you, brer remus! i des bin a-settin' yer l'arnin'. 'sides dat, chris'mus aint fur off un i 'speck we er all a-feelin' a sight mo' humorsome dan common." "dat 's so, sis tempy. i 'uz comin' thoo de lot des 'fo' supper, en i seed de pigs runnin' en playin' in de win', en i 'low ter myse'f, sez i, 'sholy dey's a-gwine ter be a harrycane,' en den all at once hit come in my min' dat chris'mus mighty close at han', en den on ter dat yer come de chickens a-crowin' des now en 't aint nine er'clock. i dunner how de creeturs know chris'mus comin', but dat des de way it stan's." the little boy thought it was time enough to think about christmas when the night came for hanging up his stockings, and he asked uncle remus if it was n't his turn to tell a story. the old man laid down the piece of glass with which he had been scraping the cow's horn, and hunted around among his tools for a piece of sandpaper before he replied. but his reply was sufficient. he said: "one time w'iles brer rabbit wuz gwine thoo de woods he tuck'n strak up wid ole brer fox, en brer fox 'low, he did, dat he mighty hongry. brer rabbit 'low dat he aint feelin' dat a-way hisse'f, 'kaze he des bin en had er bait er w'ite muscadimes, en den he tuck'n smack he mouf en lick he chops right front er brer fox. brer fox, he ax, sezee: "'brer rabbit, whar de name er goodness is deze yer w'ite muscadimes, en how come i'm aint never run 'crosst um?' sezee. "'i dunner w'at de reason you aint never come up wid um,' sez brer rabbit, sezee; 'some folks sees straight, some sees crooked, some sees one thing, some sees 'n'er. i done seed dem ar w'ite muscadimes, en let 'lone dat, i done wipe um up. i done e't all dey wuz on one tree, but i lay dey's lots mo' un um 'roun' in dem neighborhoods,' sezee. "ole brer fox mouf 'gun to water, en he git mighty restless. "'come on, brer rabbit; come on! come show me whar dem ar w'ite muscadimes grows at,' sezee. "brer rabbit, he sorter hang back. brer fox, he 'low: "'come on, brer rabbit, come on!' "brer rabbit, he hang back, en bimeby he 'low: "'uh-uh, brer fox! you wanter git me out dar in de timber by myse'f en do sump'n' ter me. you wanter git me out dar en skeer me.' "ole brer fox, he hol' up he han's, he do, en he 'low: "'i des 'clar' 'fo' gracious, brer rabbit, i aint gwine do no sech uv a thing. i dunner w'at kinder 'pinion you got 'bout me fer ter have sech idee in yo' head. come on, brer rabbit, en less we go git dem ar w'ite muscadimes. come on, brer rabbit.' "'uh-uh, brer fox! i done year talk er you playin' so many prank wid folks dat i fear'd fer ter go 'way off dar wid you.' "dey went on dat a-way," continued uncle remus, endeavoring to look at the little boy through the crooked cow's horn, "twel bimeby brer fox promise he aint gwine ter bodder 'long er brer rabbit, en den dey tuck'n put out. en whar you 'speck dat ar muscheevous brer rabbit tuck'n kyar' brer fox?" uncle remus paused and gazed around upon his audience with uplifted eyebrows, as if to warn them to be properly astonished. nobody made any reply, but all looked expectant, and uncle remus went on: "he aint kyar 'im nowhars in de roun' worl' but ter one er deze yer great big scaly-bark trees. de tree wuz des loaded down wid scaly-barks, but dey wa'n't ripe, en de green hulls shined in de sun des lak dey ben whitewash'. brer fox look 'stonish'. atter w'ile he up'n 'low: "'is dem ar de w'ite muscadimes? mighty funny i aint fine it out 'fo' dis.' "ole brer rabbit, he scratch hisse'f en 'low: "'dems um. dey may n't be ripe ez dem w'at i had fer my brekkus, but dems de w'ite muscadimes sho' ez youer bawn. dey er red bullaces[ ] en dey er black bullaces, but deze yer, dey er de w'ite bullaces.' "brer fox, sezee, 'how i gwine git um?' "brer rabbit, sezee, 'you'll des hatter do lak i done.' "brer fox, sezee, 'how wuz dat?' "brer rabbit, sezee, 'you'll hatter clam fer 'm.' "brer fox, sezee, 'how i gwine clam?' "brer rabbit, sezee, 'grab wid yo' han's, clam wid yo' legs, en i'll push behime!'" "man--sir!--he's a-talkin' now!" exclaimed aunt tempy, enthusiastically. "brer fox, he clum, en brer rabbit, he push, twel, sho' 'nuff, brer fox got whar he kin grab de lowmos' lim's, en dar he wuz! he crope on up, he did, twel he come ter whar he kin retch de green scaly-bark, en den he tuck'n pull one en bite it, en, gentermens! hit uz dat rough en dat bitter twel little mo' en he'd 'a' drapt spang out'n de tree. "he holler '_ow!_' en spit it out'n he mouf des same ez ef 't wuz rank pizen, en he make sech a face dat you would n't b'leeve it skacely less'n you seed it. brer rabbit, he hatter cough fer ter keep fum laughin', but he make out ter holler, sezee: "'come down, brer fox! dey aint ripe. come down en less go some'rs else.' "brer fox start down, en he git 'long mighty well twel he come ter de lowmos' lim's, en den w'en he git dar he can't come down no furder, 'kaze he aint got no claw fer cling by, en not much leg fer clamp. "brer rabbit keep on hollerin', 'come down!' en brer fox keep on studyin' how he gwine ter come down. brer rabbit, he 'low, sezee: "'come on, brer fox! i tuck'n push you up, en ef i 'uz dar whar you is, i'd take'n push you down.' "brer fox sat dar on de lowmos' lim's en look lak he skeer'd. bimeby brer rabbit tuck he stan' 'way off fum de tree, en he holler, sezee: "'ef you'll take'n jump out dis way, brer fox, i'll ketch you.' "brer fox look up, he look down, he look all 'roun'. brer rabbit come little closer, en 'low, sezee: "'hop right down yer, brer fox, en i'll ketch you.' "hit keep on dis a-way, twel, bimeby, brer fox tuck a notion to jump, en des ez he jump brer rabbit hop out de way en holler, sezee: "'_ow!_ scuze me, brer fox! i stuck a brier in my foot! scuze me, brer fox! i stuck a brier in my foot!' "en dat ole brer fox," continued uncle remus, dropping his voice a little, "dat ole brer fox, gentermens! you oughter bin dar! he hit de groun' like a sack er taters, en it des nat'ally knock de breff out'n 'im. w'en he git up en count hisse'f fer ter see ef he all dar, he aint kin walk skacely, en he sat dar en lick de so' places a mighty long time 'fo' he feel lak he kin make he way todes home." when the little boy wanted to know what became of brother rabbit uncle remus said: "shoo! don't you pester 'bout brer rabbit. he kick up he heels en put out fum dar." then he added: "dem ar chick'ns crowin' 'g'in, honey. done gone by nine er'clock. scoot out fum dis. miss sally'll be a-rakin' me over de coals." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] another name for muscadines. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lxiv mr. hawk and brother buzzard one night the little boy ran into uncle remus's cabin singing: "_t-u turkey, t-u ti, t-u turkey buzzard's eye!_" uncle remus, daddy jack, aunt tempy, and 'tildy were all sitting around the fire, for the christmas weather was beginning to make itself rather severely felt. as they made room for the child, daddy jack flung his head back, and took up the song, beating time with his foot: "'_t-u tukry, t-u ti, t-u tukry-buzzud y-eye! t-u tukry, t-u ting, t-u tukry-buzzud wing!_" "deyer mighty kuse creeturs," said 'tildy, who was sitting rather nearer to daddy jack than had been her custom,--a fact to which aunt tempy had already called the attention of uncle remus by a motion of her head, causing the old man to smile a smile as broad as it was wise. "deyer mighty kuse, an' i'm fear'd un um," 'tildy went on. "dey looks so lonesome hit makes me have de creeps fer ter look at um." "dey no hu't-a you," said daddy jack, soothingly. "you flut you' han' toze um dey fly 'way fum dey-dey." "i dunno 'bout dat," said 'tildy. "deyer bal'-headed, en dat w'at make me 'spize um." daddy jack rubbed the bald place on his head with such a comical air that even 'tildy laughed. the old african retained his good-humor. "you watch dem buzzud," he said after awhile, addressing himself particularly to the little boy. "'e fly high, 'e fly low, 'e fly 'way 'roun'. rain come, 'e flup 'e wings, 'e light 'pon dead pine. rain fall, 'e hug 'ese'f wit' 'e wing, 'e scrooge 'e neck up. rain come, win' blow, da buzzud bin-a look ragged. da buzzud bin-a wink 'e y-eye, 'e say: "'wun da win' fer stop blow un da rain fer stop drip, me go mek me one house. me mek um tight fer keep da rain out; me pit top on strong fer keep da win' out.' "dun da rain dry up un da win' stop. da buzzud, 'e stan' 'pon top da dead pine. wun da sun bin-a shine, 'e no mek um no house no'n 't all. 'e stay 'pon da dead pine; 'e 'tretch 'e wing wide open; 'e bin dry hisse'f in da sun. 'e hab mek no house sence 'e bin born. 'e one fool bud." "en yit," said uncle remus, with a grave, judicial air, "i year tell er one time w'en ole brer buzzard wa'n't so mighty fur outer de way wid he notions." "me yent yeddy tahlk 'bout dis," daddy jack explained. "i 'speck not," responded uncle remus. "hit seem lak dat dey wuz one time w'en mr. hawk come sailin' 'roun' huntin' fer sump'n' 'n'er t' eat, en he see brer buzzard settin' on a dead lim', lookin' mighty lazy en lonesome. "mr. hawk, sezee, 'how you come on, brer buzzard?' "brer buzzard, sezee, 'i'm mighty po'ly, brer hawk; po'ly en hongry.' "mr. hawk, sezee, 'w'at you waitin' yer fer ef you hongry, brer buzzard?' "brer buzzard, sezee, 'i'm a-waitin' on de lord.' "mr. hawk, sezee, 'better run en git yo' brekkus, brer buzzard, en den come back en wait.' "brer buzzard, sezee, 'no, brer hawk, i'll go bidout my brekkus druther den be biggity 'bout it.' "mr. hawk, he 'low, sezee, 'well, den, brer buzzard, you got yo' way en i got mine. you see dem ar chick'ns, down dar in mr. man hoss-lot? i'm a-gwine down dar en git one un um, un den i'll come back yer en wait 'long wid you.' "wid dat, mr. hawk tuck'n sail off, en brer buzzard drop he wings down on de lim' en look mighty lonesome. he sot dar en look mighty lonesome, he did, but he keep one eye on mr. hawk. "mr. hawk, he sail 'roun' en 'roun', en he look mighty purty. he sail 'roun' en 'roun' 'bove de hoss-lot--'roun' en 'roun'--en bimeby he dart down at chick'ns. he shot up he wings en dart down, he did, des same ef he 'uz fired out'n a gun." "watch out, pullets!" exclaimed 'tildy, in a tone of warning. "he dart down, he did," continued uncle remus, rubbing his hand thoughtfully across the top of his head, "but stidder he hittin' de chick'ns, he tuck'n hit 'pon de sharp een' un a fence-rail. he hit dar, he did, en dar he stuck." "ah-yi-ee!" exclaimed daddy jack. "dar he stuck. brer buzzard sot en watch 'im. mr. hawk aint move. brer buzzard sot en watch 'im some mo'. mr. hawk aint move. he done stone dead. de mo' brer buzzard watch 'im de mo' hongrier he git, en bimeby he gedder up he wings, en sorter clean out he year wid he claw, en 'low, sezee: "'i know'd de lord 'uz gwineter pervide.'" "trufe too!" exclaimed aunt tempy. "'t aint bin in my min' dat buzzard got sense lak dat!" "dar's whar you missed it, sis tempy," said uncle remus gravely. "brer buzzard, he tuck'n drap down fum de dead lim', en he lit on mr. hawk, en had 'im fer brekkus. hit 's a mighty 'roun' about way fer ter git chick'n-pie, yit hit 's lots better dan no way." "i 'speck hawk do tas'e like chicken," remarked 'tildy. "dey mos' sho'ly does," said uncle remus, with emphasis. lxv mr. hawk and brother rabbit "i year tell er one time," said 'tildy, "w'en ole mr. hawk tuck'n kotch brer rabbit, but 't aint no tale like dem you all bin tellin'." "tell it, anyhow, 'tildy," said the little boy. "well, 't aint no tale, i tell you dat now. one time brer rabbit wuz gwine 'long thoo de bushes singin' ter hisse'f, en he see a shadder pass befo' 'im. he look up, en dar 'uz mr. hawk sailin' 'roun' en 'roun'. time he see 'im, brer rabbit 'gun ter kick up en sassy 'im. "mr. hawk aint pay no 'tention ter dis. he des sail all 'roun' en 'roun'. eve'y time he sail 'roun', he git little closer, but brer rabbit aint notice dis. he too busy wid his devilment. he shuck his fis' at mr. hawk, en chunk'd at 'im wid sticks;[ ] en atter w'ile he tuck'n make out he got a gun, en he tuck aim at mr. hawk, en 'low'd, 'pow!' en den he holler en laugh. "all dis time mr. hawk keep on sailin' 'roun' en 'roun' en gittin' nigher en nigher, en bimeby down he drapt right slambang on brer rabbit, en dar he had 'im. brer rabbit fix fer ter say his pra'rs, but 'fo' he do dat, he talk to mr. hawk, en he talk mighty fergivin'. he 'low he did: "'i 'uz des playin', mr. hawk; i 'uz dez a-playin'. you oughtn' ter fly up en git mad wid a little bit er man like me.' "mr. hawk ruffle up de fedders on his neck en say: "'i aint flyin' up, i'm a-flyin' down, en w'en i fly up, i'm a-gwine ter fly 'way wid you. you bin a-playin' de imp 'roun' in dis settlement long 'nuff, en now ef you got any will ter make, you better make it quick, 'kaze you aint got much time.' "brer rabbit cry. he say: "'i mighty sorry, mr. hawk, dat i is. i got some gol' buried right over dar in fence cornder, en i wish in my soul my po' little childuns know whar 't wuz, 'kaze den dey could git long widout me fer a mont' er two.' "mr. hawk 'low, 'whar'bouts is all dis gol'?' "brer rabbit low, 'right over dar in de fence-cornder.' "mr. hawk say show it ter 'im. brer rabbit say he don't keer ef he do, en he say: "'i'd 'a' done show'd it ter you long 'fo' dis, but you hol' me so tight, i can't wink my eye skacely, much less walk ter whar de gol' is.' "mr. hawk say he fear'd he gwineter try ter git 'way. brer rabbit say dey aint no danger er dat, 'kaze he one er deze yer kinder mens w'en dey er kotch once deyer kotch fer good. "mr. hawk sorter let brer rabbit loose, en dey went todes de fence-cornder. brer rabbit, he went 'long so good dat dis sorter ease mr. hawk min' 'bout he gittin' 'way. dey got ter de place en brer rabbit look all 'roun', en den he frown up like he got some mighty bad disap'intment, en he say: "'you may b'lieve me er not, mr. hawk, but we er on de wrong side er de fence. i hid dat gol' some'rs right in dat cornder dar. you fly over en i'll go thoo.' "tooby sho' dis look fa'r, en brer rabbit, he crope thoo' de fence, en mr. hawk flew'd 'cross. time he lit on t'er side, mr. hawk year brer rabbit laugh." the little boy asked what brother rabbit laughed for, as 'tildy paused to adjust a flaming red ribbon-bow pinned in her hair. "'kaze dey wuz a brier-patch on t'er side de fence," said 'tildy, "en brer rabbit wuz in dar." "i boun' you!" aunt tempy exclaimed. "he 'uz in dar, en dar he stayed tel mr. hawk got tired er hangin' 'roun' dar." "ah, lord, chile!" said uncle remus, with the candor of an expert, "some er dat tale you got right, en some you got wrong." "oh, i know'd 't wa'n't no tale like you all bin tellin'," replied 'tildy, modestly. "tooby sho' 't is," continued uncle remus, by way of encouragement; "but w'iles we gwine 'long we better straighten out all de kinks dat'll b'ar straightenin'." "goodness knows i aint fittin' ter tell no tale," persisted 'tildy. "don't run yo'se'f down, gal," said uncle remus, encouragingly; "ef dey's to be any runnin' down let yuther folks do it; en, bless yo' soul, dey'll do 'nuff un it bidout waitin' fer yo' lettin'. "now, den, old man hawk,--w'ich dey call 'im billy blue-tail in my day en time,--ole man hawk, he tuck'n kotch brer rabbit des lak you done said. he kotch 'im en he hilt 'im in a mighty tight grip, let 'lone dat he hilt 'im so tight dat it make brer rabbit breff come short lak he des come off'n a long jurney. "he holler en he beg, but dat aint do no good; he squall en he cry, but dat aint do no good; he kick en he groan, but dat aint do no good. den brer rabbit lay still en study 'bout w'at de name er goodness he gwine do. bimeby he up'n 'low: "'i dunner w'at you want wid me, mr. hawk, w'en i aint a mouf full fer you, skacely!' "mr. hawk, sezee, 'i'll make way wid you, en den i'll go ketch me a couple er jaybirds.' "dis make brer rabbit shake wid de allovers, 'kaze ef dey's any kinder creetur w'at he nat'ally 'spize on de topside er de yeth, hit 's a jaybird. "brer rabbit, sezee, 'do, pray, mr. hawk, go ketch dem jaybirds fus', 'kaze i can't stan' um bein' on top er me. i'll stay right yer, plum twel you come back,' sezee. "mr. hawk, sezee, 'oh-oh, brer rabbit, you done bin fool too many folks. you aint fool me,' sezee. "brer rabbit, sezee, 'ef you can't do dat, mr. hawk, den de bes' way fer you ter do is ter wait en lemme git tame, 'kaze i'm dat wil' now dat i don't tas'e good.' "mr. hawk, sezee, 'oh-oh!' "brer rabbit, sezee, 'well, den, ef dat won't do, you better wait en lemme grow big so i'll be a full meal er vittles.' "mr. hawk, sezee, 'now youer talkin' sense!' "brer rabbit, sezee, 'en i'll rush 'roun' 'mungs' de bushes, en drive out pa'tridges fer you, en we'll have mo' fun dan w'at you kin shake a stick at.' "mr. hawk sorter study 'bout dis, en brer rabbit, he beg en he 'splain, en de long en de short un it wuz," said uncle remus, embracing his knee with his hands, "dat brer rabbit tuck'n git loose, en he aint git no bigger, en needer is he druv no pa'tridges fer mr. hawk." "de lord he'p my soul!" exclaimed 'tildy, and this was the only comment made upon this extraordinary story. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] that is to say, threw sticks at mr. hawk. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lxvi the wise bird and the foolish bird all this talk about hawks and buzzards evidently reminded daddy jack of another story. he began to shake his head and mumble to himself; and, finally, when he looked around and found that he had attracted the attention of the little company, he rubbed his chin and grinned until his yellow teeth shone in the firelight like those of some wild animal, while his small eyes glistened under their heavy lids with a suggestion of cunning not unmixed with ferocity. "talk it out, brer jack," said uncle remus; "talk it out. all nex' week we'll be a-fixin' up 'bout chris'mus. mars jeems, he's a-comin' up, en miss sally'll have lots er yuther comp'ny. 'tildy yer, she'll be busy, en dish yer little chap, he won't have no time fer ter be settin' up wid de ole niggers, en sis tempy, she'll have 'er han's full, en ole remus, he'll be a-pirootin' 'roun' huntin' fer dat w'at he kin pick up. time's a-passin', brer jack, en we all er passin' wid it. des whirl in en gin us de upshot er w'at you got in yo' min'." "enty!" exclaimed daddy jack, by way of approval. "one time dey bin two bud. one bin sma't bud; da turrer, 'e bin fool bud. dey bin lif in da sem countree; da bin use in da sem swamp. da sma't bud, 'e is bin come 'pon da fool bud; 'e bin tahlk. 'e bin say: "'ki! you long in da leg, you deep in da craw. you bin 'tan' well; you bin las' long tam.' "fool bud, 'e look proud, 'e toss 'e head; 'e say: "'me no mekky no brag.' "sma't bud, 'e say: "'less we try see fer how long tam we is kin go 'dout bittle un drink.' "fool bud, 'e 'tretch 'e neck, 'e toss 'e head; 'e say: "'all-a right; me beat-a you all day ebry day. me beat-a you all da tam.' "sma't bud, 'e say: "'ef you bin 'gree wit' dis, less we tek we place. you git 'pon da crik-side un tekky one ho'n, i git 'pon da tree y-up dey, un tekky nurrer ho'n. less we 'tan' dey-dey tel we see how long tam we is kin do 'dout bittle un drink. wun i blow 'pon me ho'n dun you blow 'pon you' ho'n fer answer me; me blow, you blow, dun we bote blow.' "fool bud walk 'bout big; 'e say: "'me will do um!' "nex' day mornin' come. da sma't bud bin tekky one ho'n un fly 'pon da tree. de fool bud bin tekky one nurrer ho'n un set by da crik-side. dey bin sta't in fer starf deyse'f. da fool bud, 'e stay by da crik-side wey dey bin no'n 't all fer eat; 'e no kin fin' no bittle dey-dey. sma't bud git in da tree da y-ant un da bug swa'm in da bark plenty. 'e pick dem ant, 'e y-eat dem ant; 'e pick dem bug, 'e y-eat dem bug. 'e pick tel 'e craw come full; he feel berry good. "fool bud, 'e down by da crik-side. 'e set down, 'e come tire'; 'e 'tan' up, 'e come tire'; 'e walk 'bout, 'e come tire'. 'e 'tan' 'pon one leg, he 'tan' 'pon turrer; 'e pit 'e head need 'e wing; still he come tire'. sma't bud shed 'e y-eye; 'e feel berry good. wun 'e come hongry, 'e pick ant, 'e pick bug, tel 'e hab plenty, toze dinner-time 'e pick up 'e ho'n, 'e toot um strong-- "'_tay-tay, tenando wanzando waneanzo!_' "fool bud craw bin empty, but 'e hab win'. 'e tekky da ho'n, 'e blow berry well; he mek um say: "'_tay-tay tenando wanzando olando!_' "sma't bud pick ant plenty; 'e git full up. 'e wait tel mos' toze sundown; 'e blow 'pon da ho'n-- "'_tay-tay tenando wanzando waneanzo!_' "fool bud mek answer, but 'e come weak; 'e yent hab eat nuttin' 't all. soon nex' day mornin' sma't bud tek 'e ho'n un toot um. 'e done bin eat, 'e done bin drink dew on da leaf. fool bud, 'e toot um ho'n, 'e toot um slow. "dinner-time, sma't bud bin tek 'e ho'n un blow; 'e yent bin honkry no'n 't all; 'e hab good feelin'. fool bud toot um ho'n; 'e toot um slow. night tam come, 'e no toot um no mo'. sma't bud come down, 'e fin' um done gone dead. "watch dem 'ceitful folks; 'e bin do you bad."[ ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] mrs. h. s. barclay, of darien, who sends this story, says it was told by a native african woman, of good intelligence, who claimed to be a princess. she had an eagle tattoed on her bosom--a sign of royalty. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lxvii old brother terrapin gets some fish "dat tale," said uncle remus, "puts me in min' er de time w'en ole brer tarrypin had a tussel wid brer mink. hit seem lak," he went on, in response to inquiries from the little boy, "dat dey bofe live 'roun' de water so much en so long dat dey git kinder stuck up long wid it. leasways dat 'uz de trouble wid brer mink. he jump in de water en swim en dive twel he 'gun ter b'leeve dey wa'n't nobody kin hol' der han' long wid 'im. "one day brer mink 'uz gwine long down de creek wid a nice string er fish swingin' on he walkin'-cane, w'en who should he meet up wid but ole brer tarrypin. de creeturs 'uz all hail feller wid ole brer tarrypin, en no sooner is he seed brer mink dan he bow 'im howdy. ole brer tarrypin talk 'way down in he th'oat lak he got bad col'. he 'low: "'heyo, brer mink! whar you git all dem nice string er fish?' "brer mink 'uz mighty up-en-spoken in dem days. he 'low, he did: "'down dar in de creek, brer tarrypin.' "brer tarrypin look 'stonish'. he say, sezee: "'well, well, well! in de creek! who'd er b'leev'd it?' "brer mink, sezee: 'whar i gwine ketch um, brer tarrypin, ef i aint ketch um in de creek?' "ole brer tarrypin, sezee: 'dat 's so, brer mink; but a highlan' man lak you gwine in de creek atter fish! hit looks turrible, brer mink--dat w'at it do; hit des looks turrible!' "brer mink, sezee: 'looks er no looks, dar whar i got um.' "brer tarrypin sorter sway he head fum side ter side, en 'low: "'ef dat de case, brer mink, den sho'ly you mus' be one er dem ar kinder creeturs w'at usen ter de water.' "'dat 's me,' sez brer mink, sezee. "'well, den,' sez brer tarrypin, sezee, 'i'm a highlan' man myse'f, en it's bin a mighty long time sence i got my foots wet, but i don't min' goin' in washin' 'long wid you. ef youer de man you sez you is, you kin outdo me,' sezee. "brer mink, sezee: 'how we gwine do, brer tarrypin?' "ole brer tarrypin, sezee: 'we 'ull go down dar ter de creek, en de man w'at kin stay und' de water de longest, let dat man walk off wid dat string er fish.' "brer mink, sezee: 'i'm de ve'y man you bin lookin' fer.' "brer mink say he don't wanter put it off a minnit. go he would, en go he did. dey went down ter creek en make der 'rangerments. brer mink lay he fish down on der bank, en 'im en ole brer tarrypin wade in. brer tarrypin he make great 'miration 'bout how col' he water is. he flinch, he did, en 'low: "'ow, brer mink! dish yer water feel mighty col' and 't aint no mo'n up ter my wais'. goodness knows how she gwine feel w'en she git up und' my chin.' "dey wade in, dey did, en brer tarrypin say, sezee: "'now, den, brer mink, we'll make a dive, en de man w'at stay und' de water de longest dat man gits de fish.' "brer mink 'low dat 's de way he look at it, en den brer tarrypin gun de wud, en und' dey went. co'se," said uncle remus, after a little pause, "brer tarrypin kin stay down in de water longer'n brer mink, en brer mink mought er know'd it. dey stay en dey stay, twel bimeby brer mink bleedz ter come up, en he tuck'n kotch he breff, he did, lak he mighty glad fer ter git back ag'in. den atter w'ile brer tarrypin stuck he nose out er de water, en den brer mink say brer tarrypin kin beat 'im. brer tarrypin 'low: "'no, brer mink; hit 's de bes' two out er th'ee. ef i beats you dis time den de fish, deyer mine; ef i gits beated, den we kin take 'n'er trial.' "wid dat, down dey went, but brer tarrypin aint mo'n dove 'fo' up he come, en w'iles brer mink 'uz down dar honin' fer fresh a'r, he tuck'n gobble up de las' one er de fish, ole brer tarrypin did. he gobble up de fish, en he 'uz fixin' fer ter pick he toof, but by dis time brer mink bleedz ter come up, en ole brer tarrypin, he tuck'n slid down in de water. he slid so slick," said uncle remus, with a chuckle, "dat he aint lef' a bubble. he aint stay down long, n'er, 'fo' he come up en he make lak he teetotally out er win'. "ole brer tarrypin come up, he did, en look 'roun', en 'fo' brer mink kin say a wud, he holler out: "'youer nice man, brer mink! youer mighty nice man!' "'w'at i done now, brer tarrypin?' "'don't ax me. look up dar whar you bin eatin' dem fish en den ax yo'se'f. youer mighty nice man!' "brer mink look 'roun' en, sho' 'nuff, de fish done gone. ole brer tarrypin keep on talkin': "'you tuck'n come up fust, en w'iles i bin down dar in de water, nat'ally achin' fer lack er win', yer you settin' up chawin' on de fish w'ich dey oughter bin mine!' "brer mink stan' 'im down dat he aint eat dem fish; he 'ny it ter de las', but ole brer tarrypin make out he don't b'leeve 'im. he say, sezee: "'you'll keep gwine on dis a-way, twel atter w'ile you'll be wuss'n brer rabbit. don't tell me you aint git dem fish, brer mink, 'kaze you know you is.' "hit sorter make brer mink feel proud 'kaze ole brer tarrypin mix 'im up wid brer rabbit, 'kaze brer rabbit wuz a mighty man in dem days, en he sorter laugh, brer mink did, lak he know mo' dan he gwine tell. ole brer tarrypin keep on grumblin'. "'i aint gwine ter git mad long wid you, brer mink, 'kaze hit 's a mighty keen trick, but you oughter be 'shame' yo'se'f fer ter be playin' tricks on a ole man lak me--dat you ought!' "wid dat ole brer tarrypin went shufflin' off, en atter he git outer sight he draw'd back in he house en shot de do' en laugh en laugh twel dey wa'n't no fun in laughin'." lxviii brother fox makes a narrow escape the next time the little boy had an opportunity to visit uncle remus the old man was alone, but he appeared to be in good spirits. he was cobbling away upon what the youngster recognized as 'tildy's sunday shoes, and singing snatches of a song something like this: "_o mr. rabbit! yo' eye mighty big-- yes, my lord! dey er made fer ter see; o mr. rabbit! yo' tail mighty short-- yes, my lord! hit des fits me!_" the child waited to hear more, but the song was the same thing over and over again--always about brother rabbit's big eyes and his short tail. after a while uncle remus acknowledged the presence of his little partner by remarking: "well, sir, we er all yer. brer jack and sis tempy en dat ar 'tildy nigger may be a-pacin' 'roun' lookin' in de fence-cornders fer chris'mus, but me en you en ole brer rabbit, we er all yer, en ef we aint right on de spot, we er mighty close erroun'. yasser, we is dat; mo' speshually ole brer rabbit, wid he big eye and he short tail. don't tell me 'bout brer rabbit!" exclaimed uncle remus, with a great apparent enthusiasm, "'kaze dey aint no use er talkin' 'bout dat creetur." the little boy was very anxious to know why. "well, i tell you," said the old man. "one time dey wuz a monst'us dry season in de settlement whar all de creeturs live at, en drinkin'-water got mighty skace. de creeks got low, en de branches went dry, en all de springs make der disappearance 'cep'n one great big un whar all de creeturs drunk at. dey'd all meet dar, dey would, en de bigges' 'ud drink fus', en by de time de big uns all done swaje der thuss[ ] dey wa'n't a drap lef' fer de little uns skacely. "co'se brer rabbit 'uz on de happy side. ef anybody gwine git water brer rabbit de man. de creeturs 'ud see he track 'roun' de spring, but dey aint nev' ketch 'im. hit got so atter w'ile dat de big creeturs 'ud crowd brer fox out, en den 't wa'n't long 'fo' he hunt up brer rabbit en ax 'im w'at he gwine do. "brer rabbit, he sorter study, en den he up 'n tell brer fox fer ter go home en rub some 'lasses all on hisse'f en den go out en waller in de leafs. brer fox ax w'at he mus' do den, en brer rabbit say he mus' go down by de spring, en w'en de creeturs come ter de spring fer ter git dey water, he mus' jump out at um, en den atter dat he mus' waller lak he one er dem ar kinder varment w'at got bugs on um. "brer fox, he put out fer home, he did, en w'en he git dar he run ter de cubbud[ ] en des gawm hisse'f wid 'lasses, en den he went out in de bushes, he did, en waller in de leafs en trash twel he look mos' bad ez brer rabbit look w'en he play wull-er-de-wust on de creeturs. "w'en brer fox git hisse'f all fix up, he went down ter de spring en hide hisse'f. bimeby all de creeturs come atter der water, en w'iles dey 'uz a-scuffin' en a-hunchin', en a-pushin' en a-scrougin', brer fox he jump out'n de bushes, en sorter switch hisse'f 'roun', en, bless yo' soul, he look lak de ole boy. "brer wolf tuck'n see 'im fus', en he jump spang over brer b'ar head. brer b'ar, he lip back, en ax who dat, en des time he do dis de t'er creeturs dey tuck'n make a break, dey did, lak punkins rollin' down hill, en mos' 'fo' youk'n wink yo' eye-ball, brer fox had de range er de spring all by hisse'f. "yit 't wa'n't fur long, 'kaze 'fo' de creeturs mov'd fur, dey tuck'n tu'n 'roun', dey did, en crope back fer ter see w'at dat ar skeery lookin' varment doin'. w'en dey git back in seein' distuns dar 'uz brer fox walkin' up en down switchin' hisse'f. "de creeturs dunner w'at ter make un 'im. dey watch, en brer fox march; dey watch, en he march. hit keep on dis a-way twel bimeby brer fox 'gun ter waller in de water, en right dar," continued uncle remus, leaning back to laugh, "right dar 'uz whar brer rabbit had 'im. time he 'gun ter waller in de water de 'lasses 'gun ter melt, en 't wa'n't no time skacely 'fo' de 'lasses en de leafs done all wash off, en dar 'uz ole brer fox des ez natchul ez life. "de fus' brer fox know 'bout de leafs comin' off, he year brer b'ar holler on top er de hill: "'you head 'im off down dar, brer wolf, en i'll head 'im off 'roun' yer!' "brer fox look 'roun' en he see all de leafs done come off, en wid dat he make a break, en he wa'n't none too soon, n'er, 'kaze little mo' en de creeturs 'ud 'a' kotch 'im." without giving the little boy time to ask any questions, uncle remus added another verse to his rabbit song, and harped on it for several minutes: "_o mr. rabbit! yo' year mighty long-- yes, my lord! dey made fer ter las'; o mr. rabbit! yo' toof mighty sharp-- yes, my lord! dey cuts down grass!_" ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] assuaged their thirst. [ ] cupboard. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lxix brother fox's fish-trap the little boy wanted uncle remus to sing some more; but before the old man could either consent or refuse, the notes of a horn were heard in the distance. uncle remus lifted his hand to command silence, and bent his head in an attitude of attention. "des listen at dat!" he exclaimed, with some show of indignation. "dat aint nothin' in de roun' worl' but ole man plato wid dat tin hawn er his'n, en i boun' you he's a-drivin' de six mule waggin, en de waggin full er niggers fum de river place, en let 'lone dat, i boun' you deyer niggers strung out behime de waggin fer mo'n a mile, en deyer all er comin' yer fer ter eat us all out'n house en home, des 'kaze dey year folks say chris'mus mos' yer. hit 's mighty kuse unter me dat ole man plato aint done toot dat hawn full er holes long 'fo' dis. "yit i aint blamin' um," uncle remus went on, with a sigh, after a little pause. "dem ar niggers bin livin' 'way off dar on de river place whar dey aint no w'ite folks twel dey er done in about run'd wil'. i aint a-blamin' um, dat i aint." plato's horn--a long tin bugle--was by no means unmusical. its range was limited, but in plato's hands its few notes were both powerful and sweet. presently the wagon arrived, and for a few minutes all was confusion, the negroes on the home place running to greet the new-comers, who were mostly their relatives. a stranger hearing the shouts and outcries of these people would have been at a loss to account for the commotion. even uncle remus went to his cabin door, and, with the little boy by his side, looked out upon the scene,--a tumult lit up by torches of resinous pine. the old man and the child were recognized, and for a few moments the air was filled with cries of: "howdy, unk remus! howdy, little marster!" after a while uncle remus closed his door, laid away his tools, and drew his chair in front of the wide hearth. the child went and stood beside him, leaning his head against the old negro's shoulder, and the two--old age and youth, one living in the past and the other looking forward only to the future--gazed into the bed of glowing embers illuminated by a thin, flickering flame. probably they saw nothing there, each being busy with his own simple thoughts; but their shadows, enlarged out of all proportion, and looking over their shoulders from the wall behind them, must have seen something, for, clinging together, they kept up a most incessant pantomime; and plato's horn, which sounded again to call the negroes to supper after their journey, though it aroused uncle remus and the child from the contemplation of the fire, had no perceptible effect upon the shadows. "dar go de vittles!" said uncle remus, straightening himself. "dey tells me dat dem ar niggers on de river place got appetite same ez a mule. let 'lone de vittles w'at dey gits from mars john, dey eats oodles en oodles er fish. ole man plato say dat de nigger on de river place w'at aint got a fish-baskit in de river er some intruss[ ] in a fish-trap aint no 'count w'atsomever." here uncle remus suddenly slapped himself upon the leg, and laughed uproariously; and when the little boy asked him what the matter was, he cried out: "well, sir! ef i aint de fergittenest ole nigger twix' dis en phillimerdelphy! yer 't is mos' chris'mus en i aint tell you 'bout how brer rabbit do brer fox w'ence dey bofe un um live on de river. i dunner w'at de name er sense gittin' de marter 'long wid me." of course the little boy wanted to know all about it, and uncle remus proceeded: "one time brer fox en brer rabbit live de on river. atter dey bin livin' dar so long a time, brer fox 'low dat he got a mighty hankerin' atter sump'n' 'sides fresh meat, en he say he b'leeve he make 'im a fish-trap. brer rabbit say he wish brer fox mighty well, but he aint honin' atter fish hisse'f, en ef he is he aint got no time fer ter make no fish-trap. "no marter fer dat, brer fox, he tuck'n got 'im out some timber, he did, en he wuk nights fer ter make dat trap. den w'en he git it done, he tuck'n hunt 'im a good place fer ter set it, en de way he sweat over dat ar trap wuz a sin--dat 't wuz. "yit atter so long a time, he got 'er sot, en den he tuck'n wash he face en han's en go home. all de time he 'uz fixin' un it up, brer rabbit 'uz settin' on de bank watchin' 'im. he sot dar, he did, en play in de water, en cut switches fer ter w'ip at de snake-doctors,[ ] en all dat time brer fox, he pull en haul en tote rocks fer ter hol' dat trap endurin' a freshet. "brer fox went home en res' hisse'f, en bimeby he go down fer ter see ef dey any fish in he trap. he sorter fear'd er snakes, but he feel 'roun' en he feel 'roun', yit he aint feel no fish. den he go off. "bimeby, 'long todes de las' er de week, he go down en feel 'roun' 'g'in, yit he aint feel no fish. hit keep on dis a-way twel brer fox git sorter fag out. he go en he feel, but dey aint no fish dar. atter w'ile, one day, he see de signs whar somebody bin robbin' he trap, en he 'low ter hisse'f dat he'll des in 'bout watch en fine out who de somebody is. "den he tuck'n got in he boat en paddle und' de bushes on de bank en watch he fish-trap. he watch all de mornin'; nobody aint come. he watch all endurin' er atter dinner; nobody aint come. 'long todes night, w'en he des 'bout makin' ready fer ter paddle off home, he year fuss on t'er side de river, en lo en beholes, yer come brer rabbit polin' a boat right todes brer fox fish-trap. "look lak he dunner how to use a paddle, en he des had 'im a long pole, en he'd stan' up in de behime part er he boat, en put de een' er de pole 'gin' de bottom, en shove 'er right ahead. "brer fox git mighty mad w'en he see dis, but he watch en wait. he 'low ter hisse'f, he did, dat he kin paddle a boat pearter dan anybody kin pole um, en he say he sho'ly gwine ketch brer rabbit dis time. "brer rabbit pole up ter de fish-trap, en feel 'roun' en pull out a great big mud-cat; den he retch in en pull out 'n'er big mud-cat; den he pull out a big blue cat, en it keep on dis a-way twel he git de finest mess er fish you mos' ever laid yo' eyes on. "des 'bout dat time, brer fox paddle out fum und' de bushes, en make todes brer rabbit, en he holler out: "'ah-yi! youer de man w'at bin robbin' my fish-trap dis long time! i got you dis time! oh, you nee'nter try ter run! i got you dis time sho'!' "no sooner said dan no sooner done. brer rabbit fling he fish in he boat en grab up de pole en push off, en he had mo' fun gittin' 'way fum dar dan he y-ever had befo' in all he born days put terge'er." "why did n't brother fox catch him, uncle remus?" asked the little boy. "_shoo!_ honey, you sho'ly done lose yo' min' 'bout brer rabbit." "well, i don't see how he could get away." "ef you'd er bin dar you'd er seed it, dat you would. brer fox, he wuz dar, en he seed it, en brer rabbit, he seed it, en e'en down ter ole brer bull-frog, a-settin' on de bank, he seed it. now, den," continued uncle remus, spreading out the palm of his left hand like a map and pointing at it with the forefinger of his right, "w'en brer rabbit pole he boat, he bleedz ter set in de behime een', en w'en brer fox paddle he boat, _he_ bleedz ter set in de behime een'. dat bein' de state er de condition, how brer fox gwine ketch 'im? i aint 'sputin' but w'at he kin paddle pearter dan brer rabbit, but de long en de shorts un it is, de pearter brer fox paddle de pearter brer rabbit go." the little boy looked puzzled. "well, i don't see how," he exclaimed. "well, sir!" continued uncle remus, "w'en de nose er brer fox boat git close ter brer rabbit boat all brer rabbit got ter do in de roun' worl' is ter take he pole en put it 'gin' brer fox boat en push hisse'f out de way. de harder he push brer fox boat back, de pearter he push he own boat forrerd. hit look mighty easy ter ole brer bull-frog settin' on de bank, en all brer fox kin do is ter shake he fist en grit he toof, w'iles brer rabbit sail off wid de fish." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnotes: [ ] interest. [ ] dragon-flies. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- lxx brother rabbit rescues brother terrapin the arrival of the negroes from the river place added greatly to the enthusiasm with which the christmas holidays were anticipated on the home place, and the air was filled with laughter day and night. uncle remus appeared to be very busy, though there was really nothing to be done except to walk around and scold at everybody and everything, in a good-humored way, and this the old man could do to perfection. the night before christmas eve, however, the little boy saw a light in uncle remus's cabin, and he interpreted it as in some sort a signal of invitation. he found the old man sitting by the fire and talking to himself: "ef mars john and miss sally 'specks me fer ter keep all deze yer niggers straight deyer gwine ter be diserp'inted,--dat dey is. ef dey wuz 'lev'm remuses 't would n't make no diffunce, let 'long one po' ole cripple creetur lak me. dey aint done no damage yit, but i boun' you by termorrer night dey'll tu'n loose en tu'n de whole place upside down, en t'ar it up by de roots, en den atter hit 's all done gone en done, yer'll come miss sally a-layin' it all at ole remus do'. nigger aint got much chance in deze yer low-groun's, mo' speshually w'en dey gits ole en cripple lak i is." "what are they going to do to-morrow night, uncle remus?" the little boy inquired. "now w'at make you ax dat, honey?" exclaimed the old man, in a grieved tone. "you knows mighty well how dey done las' year en de year 'fo' dat. dey tuck'n cut up 'roun' yer wuss'n ef dey 'uz wil' creeturs, en termorrer night dey'll be a-hollin' en whoopin' en singin' en dancin' 'fo' it git dark good. i wish w'en you go up ter de big house you be so good ez ter tell miss sally dat ef she want any peace er min' she better git off'n de place en stay off twel atter deze yer niggers git dey fill er chris'mus. goodness knows, she can't 'speck a ole cripple nigger lak me fer ter ketch holt en keep all deze yer niggers straight." uncle remus would have kept up his vague complaints, but right in the midst of them daddy jack stuck his head in at the door, and said: "oona bin fix da' 'tildy gal shoe. me come fer git dem shoe; me come fer pay you fer fix dem shoe." uncle remus looked at the grinning old african in astonishment. then suddenly the truth dawned upon him and he broke into a loud laugh. finally he said: "come in, brer jack! come right 'long in. i'm sorter po'ly myse'f, yit i'll make out ter make you welcome. dey wuz a quarter dollar gwine inter my britches-pocket on de 'count er dem ar shoes, but ef youer gwine ter pay fer um 't won't be but a sev'mpunce." somehow or other daddy jack failed to relish uncle remus's tone and manner, and he replied, with some display of irritation: "shuh-shuh! me no come in no'n 't all. me no pay you se'mpunce. me come fer pay you fer dem shoe; me come fer tek um 'way fum dey-dey." "i dunno 'bout dat, brer jack, i dunno 'bout dat. de las' time i year you en 'tildy gwine on, she wuz 'pun de p'ints er knockin' yo' brains out. now den, s'pozen i whirls in en gins you de shoes, en den 'tildy come 'long en ax me 'bout um, w'at i gwine say ter 'tildy?" "me pay you fer dem shoe," said daddy jack, seeing the necessity of argument, "un me tek um wey da lil 'tildy gal bin stay. she tell me fer come git-a dem shoe." "well, den, yer dey is," said uncle remus, sighing deeply as he handed daddy jack the shoes. "yer dey is, en youer mo' dan welcome, dat you is. but spite er dat, dis yer quarter you flingin' 'way on um would er done you a sight mo' good dan w'at dem shoes is." this philosophy was altogether lost upon daddy jack, who took the shoes and shuffled out with a grunt of satisfaction. he had scarcely got out of hearing before 'tildy pushed the door open and came in. she hesitated a moment, and then, seeing that uncle remus paid no attention to her, she sat down and picked at her fingers with an air quite in contrast to her usual "uppishness," as uncle remus called it. "unk remus," she said, after awhile, in a subdued tone, "is dat old affikin nigger bin yer atter dem ar shoes?" "yas, chile," replied uncle remus, with a long-drawn sigh, "he done bin yer en got um en gone. yas, honey, he done got um en gone; done come en pay fer 'm, en got um en gone. i sez, sez i, dat i wish you all mighty well, en he tuck'n tuck de shoes en put. yas, chile, he done got um en gone." something in uncle remus's sympathetic and soothing tone seemed to exasperate 'tildy. she dropped her hands in her lap, straightened herself up and exclaimed: "yas, i'm is gwine ter marry dat ole nigger an' i don't keer who knows it. miss sally say she don't keer, en t'er folks may keer ef dey wanter, en much good der keerin' 'll do um." 'tildy evidently expected uncle remus to make some characteristic comment, for she sat and watched him with her lips firmly pressed together and her eyelids half-closed,--an attitude of defiance significant enough when seen, but difficult to describe. but the old man made no response to the challenge. he seemed to be very busy. presently 'tildy went on: "somebody bleedz to take keer er dat ole nigger, en i dunner who gwine ter do it ef i don't. somebody bleedz ter look atter 'im. good win' come 'long hit 'ud in about blow 'im 'way ef dey wa'n't somebody close 'roun' fer ter take keer un 'im. let 'lone dat, i aint gwineter have dat ole nigger man f'ever 'n 'ternally trottin' atter me. i tell you de lord's trufe, unk remus," continued 'tildy, growing confidential, "i aint had no peace er min' sence dat ole nigger man come on dis place. he des bin a-pacin' at my heels de whole blessed time, en i bleedz ter marry 'im fer git rid un 'im." "well," said uncle remus, "hit don't s'prize me. you marry en den youer des lak brer fox wid he bag. you know w'at you put in it, but you dunner w'at you got in it." 'tildy flounced out without waiting for an explanation, but the mention of brother fox attracted the attention of the little boy, and he wanted to know what was in the bag, how it came to be there, and all about it. "now, den," said uncle remus, "hit 's a tale, en a mighty long tale at dat, but i'll des hatter cut it short, 'kaze termorrer night you'll wanter be a-settin' up lis'nen at de kyar'n's on er dem ar niggers, w'ich i b'leeve in my soul dey done los' all de sense dey ever bin bornded wid. "one time brer fox wuz gwine on down de big road, en he look ahead en he see ole brer tarrypin makin' he way on todes home. brer fox 'low dis a mighty good time fer ter nab ole brer tarrypin, en no sooner is he thunk it dan he put out back home, w'ich 't wa'n't but a little ways, en he git 'im a bag. he come back, he did, en he run up behime ole brer tarrypin en flip 'im in de bag en sling de bag 'cross he back en go gallin'-up back home. "brer tarrypin, he holler, but 't aint do no good, he rip en he r'ar, but 't aint do no good. brer fox des keep on a-gwine, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' he had ole brer tarrypin slung up in de cornder in de bag, en de bag tied un hard en fas'. "but w'iles all dis gwine on," exclaimed uncle remus, employing the tone and manner of some country preacher he had heard, "whar wuz ole brer rabbit? yasser--dats it, whar wuz he? en mo'n dat, w'at you 'speck he 'uz doin' en whar you reckon he wer' gwine? dat 's de way ter talk it; whar'bouts wuz he?" the old man brought his right hand down upon his knee with a thump that jarred the tin-plate and cups on the mantel-shelf, and then looked around with a severe frown to see what the chairs and the work-bench, and the walls and the rafters, had to say in response to his remarkable argument. he sat thus in a waiting attitude a moment, and then, finding that no response came from anything or anybody, his brow gradually cleared, and a smile of mingled pride and satisfaction spread over his face, as he continued in a more natural tone: "youk'n b'leeve me er not b'leeve des ez youer min' ter, but dat ar long-year creetur--dat ar hoppity-skippity--dat ar up-en-down-en- sailin'-'roun' brer rabbit, w'ich you bin year me call he name 'fo' dis, he wa'n't so mighty fur off w'iles brer fox gwine 'long wid dat ar bag slung 'cross he back. let 'lone dat, brer rabbit 'uz settin' right dar in de bushes by de side er de road, en w'ence he see brer fox go trottin' by, he ax hisse'f w'at is it dat creetur got in dat ar bag. "he ax hisse'f, he did, but he dunno. he wunder en he wunder, yit de mo' he wunder de mo' he dunno. brer fox, he go trottin' by, en brer rabbit, he sot in de bushes en wunder. bimeby he 'low ter hisse'f, he did, dat brer fox aint got no business fer ter be trottin' 'long down de road, totin' doin's w'ich yuther folks dunner w'at dey is, en he 'low dat dey won't be no great harm done ef he take atter brer fox en fine out w'at he got in dat ar bag. "wid dat, brer rabbit, he put out. he aint got no bag fer ter tote, en he pick up he foots mighty peart. mo'n dat, he tuck'n tuck a nigh-cut, en by de time brer fox git home, brer rabbit done had time fer ter go 'roun' by de watermillion-patch en do some er he devilment, en den atter dat he tuck'n sot down in de bushes whar he kin see brer fox w'en he come home. "bimeby yer come brer fox wid de bag slung 'cross he back. he onlatch de do', he did, en he go in en sling brer tarrypin down in de cornder, en set down front er de h'ath fer ter res' hisse'f." here uncle remus paused to laugh in anticipation of what was to follow. "brer fox aint mo'n lit he pipe," the old man continued, after a tantalizing pause, "'fo' brer rabbit stick he head in de do' en holler: "brer fox! o brer fox! you better take yo' walkin'-cane en run down yan. comin' 'long des now i year a mighty fuss, en i look 'roun' en dar wuz a whole passel er folks in yo' watermillion-patch des a-tromplin' 'roun' en a-t'arin' down. i holler'd at um, but dey aint pay no 'tention ter little man lak i is. make 'a'se, brer fox! make 'a'se! git yo' cane en run down dar. i'd go wid you myse'f, but my ole 'oman ailin' en i bleedz ter be makin' my way todes home. you better make 'a'se, brer fox, ef you wanter git de good er yo' watermillions. run, brer fox! run!' "wid dat brer rabbit dart back in de bushes, en brer fox drap he pipe en grab he walkin'-cane en put out fer he watermillion-patch, w'ich 't wer' down on de branch; en no sooner is he gone dan ole brer rabbit come out de bushes en make he way in de house. "he go so easy dat he aint make no fuss; he look 'roun' en dar wuz de bag in de cornder. he kotch holt er de bag en sorter feel un it, en time he do dis, he year sump'n' holler: "'ow! go 'way! lem me 'lone! tu'n me loose! ow!' "brer rabbit jump back 'stonish'd. den 'fo' you kin wink yo' eye-ball, brer rabbit slap hisse'f on de leg en break out in a laugh. den he up'n 'low: "'ef i aint make no mistakes, dat ar kinder fuss kin come fum nobody in de roun' worl' but ole brer tarrypin.' "brer tarrypin, he holler, sezee: 'aint dat brer rabbit?' "'de same,' sezee. "'den whirl in en tu'n me out. meal dus' in my th'oat, grit in my eye, en i aint kin git my breff, skacely. tu'n me out, brer rabbit.' "brer tarrypin talk lak somebody down in a well. brer rabbit, he holler back: "'youer lots smarter dan w'at i is, brer tarrypin--lots smarter. youer smarter en pearter. peart ez i come yer, you is ahead er me. i know how you git in de bag, but i dunner how de name er goodness you tie yo'se'f up in dar, dat i don't.' "brer tarrypin try ter splain, but brer rabbit keep on laughin', en he laugh twel he git he fill er laughin'; en den he tuck'n ontie de bag en take brer tarrypin out en tote 'im 'way off in de woods. den, w'en he done dis, brer rabbit tuck'n run off en git a great big hornet-nes' w'at he see w'en he comin' long--" "a hornet's nest, uncle remus?" exclaimed the little boy, in amazement. "tooby sho', honey. 't aint bin a mont' sence i brung you a great big hornet-nes', en yer you is axin' dat. brer rabbit tuck'n slap he han' 'cross de little hole whar de hornets goes in at, en dar he had um. den he tuck'n tuck it ter brer fox house, en put it in de bag whar brer tarrypin bin. "he put de hornet-nes' in dar," continued uncle remus, lowering his voice, and becoming very grave, "en den he tie up de bag des lak he fine it. yit 'fo' he put de bag back in de cornder, w'at do dat creetur do? i aint settin' yer," said the old man, seizing his chair with both hands, as if by that means to emphasize the illustration, "i aint settin' yer ef dat ar creetur aint grab dat bag en slam it down 'g'in de flo', en hit it 'g'in de side er de house twel he git dem ar hornets all stirred up, en den he put de bag back in de cornder, en go out in de bushes ter whar brer tarrypin waitin', en den bofe un um sot out dar en wait fer ter see w'at de upshot gwine ter be. "bimeby, yer come brer fox back fum he watermillion-patch en he look lak he mighty mad. he strak he cane down 'pun de groun', en do lak he gwine take he revengeance out'n po' ole brer tarrypin. he went in de do', brer fox did, en shot it atter 'im. brer rabbit en brer tarrypin lissen', but dey aint year nothin'. "but bimeby, fus' news you know, dey year de mos' owdashus racket, tooby sho'. seem lak, fum whar brer rabbit en brer tarrypin settin' dat dey 'uz a whole passel er cows runnin' 'roun' in brer fox house. dey year de cheers a-fallin', en de table turnin' over, en de crock'ry breakin', en den de do' flew'd open, en out come brer fox, a-squallin' lak de ole boy wuz atter 'im. en sech a sight ez dem t'er creeturs seed den en dar aint never bin seed befo' ner sence. "dem ar hornets des swarmed on top er brer fox. 'lev'm dozen un um 'ud hit at one time, en look lak dat ar creetur bleedz ter fine out fer hisse'f w'at pain en suffin' is. dey bit 'im en dey stung 'im, en fur ez brer rabbit en brer tarrypin kin year 'im, dem hornets 'uz des a-nailin' 'im. gentermens! dey gun 'im binjer! "brer rabbit en brer tarrypin, dey sot dar, dey did, en dey laugh en laugh, twel bimeby, brer rabbit roll over en grab he stomach, en holler: "'don't, brer tarrypin! don't! one giggle mo' en you'll hatter tote me.' "en dat aint all," said uncle remus, raising his voice. "i know a little chap w'ich ef he set up yer 'sputin' 'longer me en de t'er creeturs, he won't have much fun termorrer night." the hint was sufficient, and the little boy ran out laughing. lxxi the night before christmas the day and the night before christmas were full of pleasure for the little boy. there was pleasure in the big house, and pleasure in the humble cabins in the quarters. the peculiar manner in which the negroes celebrated the beginning of the holidays was familiar to the child's experience, but strange to his appreciation, and he enjoyed everything he saw and heard with the ready delight of his years,--a delight, which, in this instance, had been trained and sharpened, if the expression may be used, in the small world over which uncle remus presided. the little boy had a special invitation to be present at the marriage of daddy jack and 'tildy, and he went, accompanied by uncle remus and aunt tempy. it seemed to be a very curious affair, but its incongruities made small impression upon the mind of the child. 'tildy wore a white dress and had a wreath of artificial flowers in her hair. daddy jack wore a high hat, which he persisted in keeping on his head during the ceremony, and a coat the tails of which nearly dragged the floor. his bright little eyes glistened triumphantly, and he grinned and bowed to everybody again and again. after it was all over, the guests partook of cake baked by aunt tempy, and persimmon beer brewed by uncle remus. it seemed, however, that 'tildy was not perfectly happy; for, in response to a question asked by aunt tempy, she said: "yes'm, i'm gwine down de country 'long wid my ole man, an' i lay ef eve'ything don't go right, i'm gwineter pick up en come right back." "no-no!" exclaimed daddy jack, "'e no come bahck no'n 't all. 'e bin stay dey-dey wit' 'e nice ole-a màn." "you put yo' pennunce in dat!" said 'tildy, scornfully. "dey aint nobody kin hol' me w'en i takes a notion, 'cep'n hit 's miss sally; en, goodness knows, miss sally aint gwine ter be down dar." "who miss sally gwine put in de house?" aunt tempy asked. "humph!" exclaimed 'tildy, scornfully, "miss sally say she gwine take dat ar darkess[ ] nigger en put 'er in my place. an' a mighty nice mess darkess gwine ter make un it! much she know 'bout waitin' on w'ite folks! many's en many's de time miss sally'll set down in 'er rockin'-cheer en wish fer 'tildy--many's de time." this was 'tildy's grievance,--the idea that some one could be found to fill her place; and it is a grievance with which people of greater importance than the humble negro house-girl are more or less familiar. but the preparations for the holidays went on in spite of 'tildy's grievance. a large platform, used for sunning wheat and seed cotton, was arranged by the negroes for their dance, and several wagon-loads of resinous pine--known as lightwood--were placed around about it in little heaps, so that the occasion might lack no element of brilliancy. at nightfall the heaps of lightwood were set on fire, and the little boy, who was waiting impatiently for uncle remus to come for him, could hear the negroes singing, dancing, and laughing. he was just ready to cry when he heard the voice of his venerable partner. "is dey a'er passenger anywhar's 'roun' yer fer thumptown? de stage done ready en de hosses a-prancin'. ef dey's a'er passenger 'roun' yer, i lay he des better be makin' ready fer ter go." the old man walked up to the back piazza as he spoke, held out his strong arms, and the little boy jumped into them with an exclamation of delight. the child's mother gave uncle remus a shawl to wrap around the child, and this shawl was the cause of considerable trouble, for the youngster persisted in wrapping it around the old man's head, and so blinding him that there was danger of his falling. finally, he put the little boy down, took off his hat, raised his right hand, and said: "now, den, i bin a-beggin' un you fer ter quit yo' 'haveishness des long ez i'm a-gwinter, en i aint gwine beg you no mo', 'kaze i'm des teetotally wo' out wid beggin', en de mo' i begs de wuss you gits. now i'm done! you des go yo' ways en i'll go mine, en my way lays right spang back ter de big house whar miss sally is. dat 's whar i'm a-gwine!" uncle remus started to the house with an exaggerated vigor of movement comical to behold; but, however comical it may have been, it had its effect. the little boy ran after him, caught him by the hand, and made him stop. "now, uncle remus, _please_ don't go back. i was just playing." uncle remus's anger was all pretence, but he managed to make it very impressive. "my playin' days done gone too long ter talk 'bout. when i plays, i plays wid wuk, dat w'at i plays wid." "well," said the child, who had tactics of his own, "if i can't play with you, i don't know who i am to play with." this touched uncle remus in a very tender spot. he stopped in the path, took off his spectacles, wiped the glasses on his coat-tail, and said very emphatically: "now den, honey, des lissen at me. how de name er goodness kin you call dat playin', w'ich er little mo' en i'd er fell down on top er my head, en broke my neck en yone too?" the child promised that he would be very good, and uncle remus picked him up, and the two made their way to where the negroes had congregated. they were greeted with cries of "dar's unk remus!" "howdy, unk remus!" "yer dey is!" "ole man remus don't sing; but w'en he do sing--gentermens! des go 'way!" all this and much more, so that when uncle remus had placed the little boy upon a corner of the platform, and made him comfortable, he straightened himself with a laugh and cried out: "howdy, boys! howdy all! i des come up fer ter jine in wid you fer one 'roun' fer de sakes er ole times, ef no mo'." "i boun' fer unk remus!" some one said. "now des hush en let unk remus 'lone!" exclaimed another. the figure of the old man, as he stood smiling upon the crowd of negroes, was picturesque in the extreme. he seemed to be taller than all the rest; and, notwithstanding his venerable appearance, he moved and spoke with all the vigor of youth. he had always exercised authority over his fellow-servants. he had been the captain of the corn-pile, the stoutest at the log-rolling, the swiftest with the hoe, the neatest with the plough, and the plantation hands still looked upon him as their leader. some negro from the river place had brought a fiddle, and, though it was a very feeble one, its screeching seemed to annoy uncle remus. "put up dat ar fiddle!" he exclaimed, waving his hand. "des put 'er up; she sets my toof on aidje. put 'er up en les go back ter ole times. dey aint no room fer no fiddle 'roun' yer, 'kaze w'en you gits me started dat ar fiddle won't be nowhars." "dat 's so," said the man with the fiddle, and the irritating instrument was laid aside. "now, den," uncle remus went on, "dey's a little chap yer dat you'll all come ter know mighty well one er deze odd-come-shorts, en dish yer little chap aint got so mighty long fer ter set up 'long wid us. dat bein' de case we oughter take 'n put de bes' foot fo'mus' fer ter commence wid." "you lead, unk remus! you des lead en we'll foller." thereupon the old man called to the best singers among the negroes and made them stand near him. then he raised his right hand to his ear and stood perfectly still. the little boy thought he was listening for something, but presently uncle remus began to slap himself gently with his left hand, first upon the leg and then upon the breast. the other negroes kept time to this by a gentle motion of their feet, and finally, when the thump--thump--thump of this movement had regulated itself to suit the old man's fancy, he broke out with what may be called a christmas dance song. his voice was strong, and powerful, and sweet, and its range was as astonishing as its volume. more than this, the melody to which he tuned it, and which was caught up by a hundred voices almost as sweet and as powerful as his own, was charged with a mysterious and pathetic tenderness. the fine company of men and women at the big house--men and women who had made the tour of all the capitals of europe--listened with swelling hearts and with tears in their eyes as the song rose and fell upon the air--at one moment a tempest of melody, at another a heart-breaking strain breathed softly and sweetly to the gentle winds. the song that the little boy and the fine company heard was something like this--ridiculous enough when put in cold type, but powerful and thrilling when joined to the melody with which the negroes had invested it: _my honey, my love_ _hit 's a mighty fur ways up de far'well lane, my honey, my love! you may ax mister crow, you may ax mr. crane, my honey, my love! dey'll make you a bow, en dey'll tell you de same, my honey, my love! hit 's a mighty fur ways fer to go in de night, my honey, my love! my honey, my love, my heart's delight-- my honey, my love!_ _mister mink, he creep twel he wake up de snipe, my honey, my love! mister bull-frog holler,_ come-a-light my pipe _, my honey, my love! en de pa'tridge ax,_ aint yo' peas ripe? my honey, my love! better not walk erlong dar much atter night, my honey, my love! my honey, my love, my heart's delight-- my honey, my love!_ _de bully-bat fly mighty close ter de groun', my honey, my love! mister fox, he coax 'er,_ do come down! my honey, my love! mister coon, he rack all 'roun' en 'roun', my honey, my love! in de darkes' night, oh, de nigger, he's a sight! my honey, my love! my honey, my love, my heart's delight-- my honey, my love!_ _oh, flee, miss nancy, flee ter my knee, my honey, my love! 'lev'm big fat coons lives in one tree, my honey, my love! oh, ladies all, won't you marry me? my honey, my love! tu'n lef', tu'n right, we 'ull dance all night, my honey, my love! my honey, my love, my heart's delight-- my honey, my love!_ _de big owl holler en cry fer his mate, my honey, my love! oh, don't stay long! oh, don't stay late! my honey, my love! hit aint so mighty fur ter de good-by gate, my honey, my love! whar we all got ter go w'en we sing out de night, my honey, my love! my honey, my love, my heart's delight-- my honey, my love!_ after a while the song was done, and other songs were sung; but it was not long before uncle remus discovered that the little boy was fast asleep. the old man took the child in his arms and carried him to the big house, singing softly in his ear all the way; and somehow or other the song seemed to melt and mingle in the youngster's dreams. he thought he was floating in the air, while somewhere near all the negroes were singing, uncle remus's voice above all the rest; and then, after he had found a resting-place upon a soft warm bank of clouds, he thought he heard the songs renewed. they grew fainter and fainter in his dreams until at last (it seemed) uncle remus leaned over him and sang good night [illustration: good night] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- footnote: [ ] dorcas. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- +--------------------------------------------+ |transcriber's note: | | | |punctuation and inconsistencies in language | |and dialect found in the original book have | |been retained. in a later edition, "uch ti!"| |on page appears as "ki!". | +--------------------------------------------+ westerfelt a novel by will n. harben new york and london harper & brothers publishers copyright, , by harper & brothers. all rights reserved. to my wife westerfelt chapter i they had had a quilting at the house of the two sisters that day. six or seven women of the neighborhood, of middle age or older, had been in to sew on the glaring, varicolored square. all day long they had thrust their needles up and down and gossiped in their slow, insinuating way, pausing only at noon to move their chairs to the dinner-table, where they sat with the same set curves to their backs. the sun had gone down behind the mountain and the workers had departed, some traversing the fields and others disappearing by invisible paths in the near-by wood. the two sisters had taken the finished quilt from its wooden frame, and were carefully ironing out the wrinkles preparatory to adding it to the useless stack of its kind in the corner of the room. "i believe, as i'm alive, that it's the purtiest one yet," remarked mrs. slogan. "leastwise, i hain't seed narry one to beat it. folks talks mightily about mis' lithicum's last one, but i never did have any use fer yaller buff, spliced in with indigo an' deep red. i wisht they was goin' to have the fair this year; ef i didn't send this un i'm a liar." mrs. slogan was a childless married woman of past sixty. her sister, mrs. dawson, had the softer face of the two, which, perhaps, was due to her having suffered much and to the companionship of a daughter whom she loved. she was shorter than her sister by several inches, and had a small, wrinkled face, thin, gray hair, and a decided stoop. some people said she had acquired the stoop in bending so constantly over her husband's bed during his last protracted illness. others affirmed that her sister was slowly nagging the life out of her, and simply because she had been blessed with that which had been denied her--a daughter. be this as it may, everybody who knew mrs. slogan knew that she never lost an opportunity to find fault with the girl, who was considered quite pretty and had really a gentle, lovable disposition. "whar's sally?" asked mrs. slogan, when she had laid the quilt away. "i don't know whar she is," answered mrs. dawson. "i reckon she'll be in directly." "i'll be bound you don't know whar she is," retorted the other, with asperity; "you never keep a eye on 'er. ef you'd a-watched 'er better an' kept 'er more at home thar never would 'a' been the talk that's now goin' about an' makin' you an' her the laughin'-stock of the settlement. i told you all along that john westerfelt never had marryin' in the back o' his head, an' only come to see her beca'se she was sech a fool about 'im." "i seed 'er down the meadow branch just now," broke in her husband, who sat smoking his clay pipe on the door-step. "she was hard at it, pickin' flowers as usual. i swear i never seed the like. that gal certainly takes the rag off'n the bush. i believe she'd let 'possum an' taters git cold to pick a daisy. but what's the talk?" he ended, as he turned his head and looked at his wife, who really was the source of all his information. "why," replied mrs. slogan, with undisguised satisfaction in her tone, "mis' simpkins says westerfelt is goin' with ab lithicum's daughter lizzie." "well," said slogan, with a short, gurgling laugh, "what's wrong with that? a feller as well fixed as westerfelt is ort to be allowed to look around a little, as folks say in town when they are a-tradin'. lord, sometimes i lie awake at night thinkin' what a good time i mought 'a' had an' what i mought 'a' run across ef i hadn't been in sech a blamed fool hurry! lawsy me, i seed a deef an' dumb woman in town t'other day, and, for a wonder, she wasn't married, nur never had been! i jest looked at that woman an' my mouth fairly watered." "yo're a born fool," snorted mrs. slogan. "what's that got to do with john wester--" "sh--" broke in mrs. dawson. "i heer sally a-comin'." "but i _want_ 'er to heer me," cried the woman appealed to, just as the subject of the conversation entered the room from the passage which connected the two parts of the house. "it'll do 'er good, i hope, to know folks think she has made sech a goose of 'erse'f." "what have i done now, aunt clarissa?" sighed the frail-looking girl, as she took off her sun-bonnet and stood in the centre of the room, holding a bunch of wild flowers and delicate maiden-hair fern leaves in her hand. "why, john westerfelt has done you exactly as he has many a other gal," was the bolt the woman hurled. "he's settin' up to lizzie lithicum like a house afire. i don't know but i'm glad of it, too, fer i've told you time an' time agin that he didn't care a hill o' beans fer no gal, but was out o' sight out o' mind with one as soon as another un struck his fancy." sally became deathly pale as she turned to the bed in one of the corners of the room and laid her flowers down. she was silent for several minutes. all the others were watching her. even her mother seemed to have resigned her to the rude method of awakening which suited her sister's heartless mood. at first it looked as if sally were going to ignore the thrust, but they soon discovered their mistake, for she suddenly turned upon them with a look on her rigid face they had never seen there before. it was as if youth had gone from it, leaving only its ashes. "i don't believe one word of it," she said, firmly. "i don't believe it. i wouldn't believe it was anything but your mean meddling if you swore it." "did you ever!" gasped mrs. slogan; "after all the advice i've give the foolish girl!" "well, i reckon that's beca'se you don't want to believe it, sally," said slogan, without any intention of abetting his wife. "i don't want to take sides in yore disputes, but westerfelt certainly is settin' square up to ab's daughter. i seed 'em takin' a ride in his new hug-me-tight buggy yesterday. she's been off to cartersville, you know, an' has come back with dead loads o' finery. they say she's l'arned to play 'dixie' on a pyanner an' reads a new novel every week. ab's awfully tickled about it. down at the store t'other day, when westerfelt rid by on his prancin' hoss, clem dill said: 'ab, i reckon it won't be long 'fore you move over on yore son-in-law's big farm,' an' ab laughed so hard he let the tobacco juice run down on his shirt. "'liz 'll manage his case,' sez he. 'westerfelt may fly around the whole caboodle of 'em, but when liz gits 'er head set she cuts a wide swathe an' never strikes a snag ur stump, an' cleans out the fence-corners as smooth as a parlor floor.'" sally bent down over her uncle; her face was slowly hardening into conviction. when she spoke her voice had lost its ring of defiance and got its strength of utterance only from sheer despair. "you saw them in his new buggy, uncle peter," she asked, "taking a ride--are you sure?" peter slogan dropped his eyes; he seemed to realize the force of the blow he had helped to deal, and made no answer. mrs. slogan laughed out triumphantly as she stooped to put her smoothing-iron down on the hearth. "ride together!" she exclaimed. "as ef that was all! why, he's been goin' thar twice an' three times a week regular. jest as he begun taperin' off with you he tapered on with her. i don't reckon you hardly remember when he come heer last, do you? ab lithicum's as big a fool as yore mother was in not callin' a halt. jest let a man have a little property, an' be a peg or two higher as to family connections, an' he kin ride dry-shod over a whole community. he's goin' thar to-night. mis' simpkins was at lithicum's when a nigger fetched the note. lizzie was axin' 'er what to put on. she's got a sight o' duds. they say it's jest old dresses that her cousins in town got tired o' wearin', but they are ahead o' anything in the finery line out heer." a look of wretched conviction stamped itself on the girl's delicate features. slowly she turned to pick up her flowers, and went with them to the mantel-piece. there was an empty vase half filled with water, and into it she tried to place the stems, but they seemed hard to manage in her quivering fingers, and she finally took the flowers to her own room across the passage. they heard the sagging door scrape the floor as she closed it after her. "now, i reckon you two are satisfied," said mrs. dawson, bitterly. "narry one of you hain't one bit o' feelin' ur pity." mrs. slogan shrugged her shoulders, and peter looked up regretfully, and then with downcast eyes continued to pull silently at his pipe. "i jest did what i ort to 'a' done," said mrs. slogan. "she ort to know the truth, an' i tol' 'er." "you could 'a' gone about it in a more human way," sighed mrs. dawson. "the lord knows the child's had enough to worry 'er, anyway. she's been troubled fer the last week about him not comin' like he used to, an' she'd a-knowed the truth soon enough." an hour later supper was served, and though her aunt called to her that it was on the table, sally dawson did not appear, so the meal passed in unusual silence. the slogans ate with their habitual zest, but the little bent widow only munched a piece of bread and daintily sipped her cup of buttermilk. presently they heard the rasping sound of sally's door as it was drawn open, and then they saw her go through the passage and step down into the yard. rising quickly, mrs. dawson went to the door and looked out. she descried her daughter making her way hastily towards the gate. "sally!" cried out the old woman, her thin voice cracking on its too high key, "sally, wait thar fer me! stop, i say!" the girl turned and waited for her mother to approach through the half-darkness, her face averted towards the road. "sally, whar have you started?" the girl did not move as she answered: "nowhere, mother; i--" the old woman put out her bony hand and laid it on the girl's arm. "sally, you are not a-tellin' me the truth. you are a-goin' to try to see john westerfelt." "well, what if i am, mother?" "i don't believe i'd go, darlin'. i'd be above lettin' any triflin' man know i was that bad off--i railly would try to have a little more pride." sally dawson turned her head, and her eyes bore down desperately on the small face before her. "mother," she said, "you don't know what you'd do if you was in my place." "i reckon not, darlin', but--" "mother, i'll die if i don't know the truth. once he told me if i ever heard one word against him to come to him with it, and i said i would. maybe aunt clarissa is right about lizzie an' him, but i've got to get it straight from him. he went to town to-day, and always drives along the road about this time." "then i'll go out thar with you, sally, if you will do sech a thing." "no, you won't, mother. nobody has any right to hear what i've got to say to him." the old woman raised the corner of her gingham apron to her eyes as if some inward emotion had prompted tears, but the fountains of grief were dry. "oh, sally," she whimpered, "i'm so miserable! i'll never forgive yore aunt fer devilin' you so much, right now when you are troubled. i'll tell you what me 'n' you'll do; we'll git us a house an' move away from 'er." "i don't care what she says--if it's true," replied sally. "if--if john westerfelt has fooled me, i wouldn't care if it was printed in every paper in the state. if he don't love me, i won't care for nothin'. mother, you know he made me think he loved--wanted me, at least--that was all i could make out of it." "i was a leetle afeerd all along," admitted mrs. dawson. "i was afeerd, though i couldn't let on at the time. folks said he was powerful changeable. you see, he has treated other gals the same way. sally, you must be brave, an' not let on. why, thar was mattie logan--jest look at her. folks said she was a rantin' fool about 'im, but when he quit goin' thar she tuck up with clem dill, an' now she's a happy wife an' mother." sally turned towards the gate. "what's that to me?" she said, fiercely. "i'm not her, and she's not me. stay here, mother. i'll be back soon." "well, i'm goin' to set right thar on that log outside the gate, an' not budge one inch till you come back, sally. if you wait too long, though, i'll come after you. oh, sally, i'm awful afeerd--i don't know what at, but i'm afeerd." together the two passed through the gate, and then, leaving her mother at the log, sally hastened through the darkness towards the main road, several hundred yards away. mrs. dawson sat down and folded her hands tightly in her lap and waited. after a few minutes she heard the heat of a horse's hoofs on the clay road, and when it ceased she knew her child was demanding and learning her fate. fifteen minutes passed. the beat of hoofs was resumed, and soon afterwards sally dawson came slowly through the darkness, her dress dragging over the dewy grass. she seemed to have forgotten that her mother was waiting for her, and was about to pass on to the house, when mrs. dawson spoke up. "heer i am, sally; what did he say?" the girl sat down on the log beside her mother. there was a desperate glare in her eyes that had never been in eyes more youthful. her lips were drawn tight, her small hands clinched. "it's every bit true," she said, under her breath. "he's goin' with lizzie, regular. he admitted he had an engagement with her tonight. mother, it's all up with me. he's jest tired of me. i don't deserve any pity for bein' such a fool, but it's awful--awful--awful!" mrs. dawson caught her breath suddenly, so sharp was her own pain, but she still strove to console her daughter. "he's railly not wuth thinkin' about, darlin'; do--do try to forget 'im. it may look like a body never could git over a thing like that, but i reckon a pusson kin manage to sort o' bear it better, after awhile, than they kin right at the start. sally, i'm goin' to tell you a secret. i'd 'a' told you before this but i 'lowed you was too young to heer the like. it's about me 'n' yore pa--some'n' you never dreamt could 'a' happened. mebby it 'll give you courage, fer if a old woman like me kin put up with sech humiliation, shorely a young one kin. sally, do you remember, when you was a leetle, tiny girl, that thar was a mis' talley, a tall, slim, yaller-headed woman, who come out from town to board one summer over at hill's? well, she never had nothin' much to occupy 'er mind with durin' the day, an' she used to take 'er fancy-work an' set in the shady holler at the gum spring, whar yore pa went to water his hoss. of course, she never keerd a cent fer him, but i reckon to pass the time away she got to makin' eyes at him. anyway, it driv' 'im plumb crazy. i never knowed about it till the summer was mighty nigh over, an' i wouldn't 'a' diskivered it then if i hadn't 'a' noticed that he had made powerful little headway ploughin' in the field whar he claimed to be at work. she wasn't a bad woman. i give 'er credit fer that, an' i reckon she never talked to 'im many times, an' never thought of him except to laugh at him after she went back home, but he never quit thinkin' about her. she had 'er picture printed in a paper along with some other church-women in town, an' somehow he got a-hold of it an' cut it out. he used to keep it hid in a ol' testament, in a holler tree behind the cow-lot, an' used to slip out an' look at it when he 'lowed he wasn't watched. sally, i never once mentioned it to him. i seed what had been done couldn't be undone, but the lord on high knows well enough how i suffered. sally, maybe it's the lord's will fer you to lose this feller now when you are young an' able to fight agin it, so you won't suffer the awful humiliation at a time o' life when a body ort to be easy. sally, are you a-listenin' to me?" "yes, mother. i heard every word you said about pa an' the woman. i heard that, and i heard them frogs down there croaking, too, and the chickens fluttering on their roosts. i heard his horse still a-trotting. mother, he was whistling when he drove up just now--_whistling_!" the two stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then the old woman went on: "it'll go powerful hard with you now, but you'd better have it over with when you're young 'an to suffer when you're a weak old woman like me. ol' age cayn't stand such things so well. no, i never once mentioned the woman to yore pa. i knowed it would jest make him resort to lyin', an' at the bottom he was a good, pious man. he jest couldn't quit thinkin' o' that yaller-headed woman an' her blue eyes an' shiny store shoes. i jest pitied 'im like he was a baby. it went on till he got sick, an' many an' many a day he'd lie thar helpless an' look out towards the cow-lot, wistful like, an' i knowed he was thinkin' o' that pictur'. he was lookin' that way when he drawed his last breath. it may 'a' been jest a notion o' mine, fer some said he was unconscious all that day, but it looked that away to me. i nussed him through his sickness as well as i could, an' attended to every wish he had till he passed away. now, you know some'n' else, sally. you know why i never put up no rock at his grave. the neighbors has had a lots to say about that one thing--most of 'em sayin' i was too stingy to pay fer it, but it wasn't that, darlin'. it was jest beca'se i had too much woman pride. when i promised the lord to love an' obey, it was not expected that i'd put up a rock over another woman's man if he was dead. sally, you are a sight more fortunate than you think you are." sally rose, the steely look was still in her eyes, her face was like finely polished granite. mrs. dawson got up anxiously, and together they passed through the gate. they could see the red fire of peter slogan's pipe, and the vague form of his wife standing over him. "now, darlin'--" began mrs. dawson, but sally checked her. "don't talk to me any more, mother," she said, impatiently. "i want to be quiet and think--oh, my god, have mercy on me!" mrs. dawson said nothing more, and with a sinking heart she saw the stricken child of her breast walk on into her room and close the door. "whar's she been?" asked mrs. slogan, aggressively. "she went to git out o' re'ch o' yore tongue," said the widow, desperately. to this apt retort mrs. slogan could not reply, but it evoked an amused laugh from her appreciative husband. "well, sally didn't shorely try to do that afoot, did she?" he gurgled. "looks like she'd 'a' tuck a train ef sech was her intention." mrs. dawson passed into the house and through the dining-room into her own small apartment and closed the door. she lighted a tallow-dip and placed it on the old-fashioned bureau, from which the mahogany veneering had been peeling for years. her coarse shoes rang harshly on the smooth, bare floor. she sank into a stiff, hand-made chair and sat staring into vacancy. the bend of her back had never been more pronounced. "the idee," she muttered, "o' my goin' over my trouble as ef that amounted to a hill o' beans ur would be a bit o' comfort! my god, ef some'n' ain't done to relieve sally i'll go stark crazy, an'--an'--i could kill 'im in cold blood, freely, so i could. oh, my pore, helpless baby! it seems like she never did have any rail friend but me." she rose and crept to the window, parted the calico curtains, and peered across the passage at her daughter's door. there was a narrow pencil of light beneath it. "she's readin' his letters over," said the old woman, "ur mebby she's prayin'. that's railly what i ort to be a-doin' instead o' standin' heer tryin' to work out what's impossible fer any mortal. i reckon ef a body jest would have enough faith--but i did have faith till--till it quit doin' me a particle o' good. yes, i ort to be a-prayin', and i'll do it--funny i never thought o' that sooner. ef god fetched a rain, like they claim he did t'other day, shorely he'll do a little some'n' in a case like this un." she blew out the tallow-dip and knelt down in the darkness, and interlaced her bony fingers. "lord god almighty, king of hosts--my blessed redeemer," she began, "you know how i have suffered an' why i never could put no grave-rock over my husband's remains; you know how i have writhed an' twisted under that scourge, but i kin bear that now, an' more an' more of it, but i jest cayn't have my pore little baby go through the same, an' wuss. it don't look like it's fair--no way a body kin look at it, for shorely one affliction of that sort in a family is enough, in all reason. i stood mine, bein' a ol' woman, but sally, she'll jest pine away an' die, fer she had all her heart set on that one man. oh, god almighty, my redeemer, you that forgive the dyin' thief an' begged fer help in yore own agony, let this cup pass. huh! i'd ruther have 'em stick a speer through my side time an' time agin 'an have it go on with sally like it is. you'd better do what i ask, fer it's makin' a reg'lar devil out o' me. i feel it comin' on, an' i won't be fit fer no place but hell fire. i jest cayn't see no sense, jestice, nur reason in my pore little child lyin' in her bed an' twistin' with sech trouble. you, or some power above or below, tuck jasper frum me an' left that yaller-haired sting fer me to brood over day an' night, but the same ur wuss mustn't come to sally, kase she don't deserve it--she's _helpless_! oh, lord, have mercy--have mercy--mercy--mercy!" she rose to her feet, and without undressing threw herself on the bed. she could hear slogan and his wife, now barefooted, thumping about in the next room. far away against the mountain-side she heard a hunter calling to his dogs and blowing a horn. chapter ii john westerfelt lived on his own farm in the big two-storied frame house which had been built by his grandfather, and which came to him at the death of his father and mother. the place was managed for him by a maternal uncle, whose wife and daughter kept the house in order. but all three of them had gone away on a short visit, leaving only the old negro woman, who was the cook and servant about the house, to attend to his wants. the morning following his meeting with sally dawson on the road near her house, westerfelt arose with a general feeling of dissatisfaction with himself. he had not slept well. several times through the night he awoke from unpleasant dreams, in which he always saw sally dawson's eyes raised to his through the darkness, and heard her spiritless voice as she bade him good-bye, and with bowed head moved away, after promising to return his letters the next day. he was a handsome specimen of physical manhood. his face was dark and of the poetic, sensitive type; his eyes were brown, his hair was almost black, and thick, and long enough to touch his collar. his shoulders were broad, and his limbs muscular and well shaped. he wore tight-fitting top-boots, which he had drawn over his trousers to the knee. his face was clean-shaven, and but for his tanned skin and general air of the better-class planter, he might have passed for an actor, poet, or artist. he was just the type of southerner who, with a little more ambition, and close application to books, might have become a leading lawyer and risen finally to a seat in congress. but john westerfelt had never been made to see the necessity of exertion on his part. things had come easily ever since he could remember, and his wants were simple, and, in his own way, he enjoyed life, suffering sharply at times, as he did this morning, over his mistakes, for at heart he was not bad. "poor little girl," he said, as he went out on the front veranda to wait for his breakfast. "it was just blind thoughtlessness. i really never dreamt she was feeling that way. i've just got to make it lighter for her. to begin with, i'll never put my foot inside of lithicum's gate, and i'll go over there this morning and try to make her see what a worthless scamp i really am. i wonder if i couldn't marry her--but, no, that wouldn't be right to her nor to me, for a man hasn't the moral right to marry a woman he doesn't really love, even if she thinks he is the only man on earth. i wonder if i really told her i loved her?" here westerfelt shuddered, and felt a flush of shame steal over his face. "yes, i have--i have," he muttered, "and i reckon i really did fancy i cared for her at the time. yes, i have been a contemptible coward; for my own idle enjoyment i have allowed her to go on counting on me until the thought of my going to see lizzie lithicum nearly kills her. well, by george! i can cut that off, and i shall, too." just then, in looking across the meadow lying between his house and the main road, he saw the short form of peter slogan approaching. "he's coming here," thought westerfelt. "she has asked him to bring the letters, even before breakfast. that's the little woman's way of showing her pride. what a contemptible scoundrel i am!" but as he continued to watch the approaching figure he was surprised to note that slogan was displaying more energy than usual. the little, short man was taking long steps, and now and then jumping over an obstacle instead of going around it. and when he had reached the gate he leaned on it and stared straight at westerfelt, as if he had lost his power of speech. then it was that westerfelt remarked that slogan's face looked troubled, and that a general air of agitation rested on him. "i wish you'd step out, if you please, john," he said, after a moment, "i've been walkin' so blamed fast i've mighty nigh lost my breath. i'm blowin' like a stump-suckin' hoss." westerfelt went to him. "what is the matter, slogan?" he questioned, in a tone of concern. "we've had big trouble over our way," panted slogan. "sally fell off'n the foot-log into the creek this mornin' an' was drowned." "drowned! you don't mean that, slogan!" cried westerfelt, in horror; "surely there is some mistake!" "no; she's as dead as a mackerel," slogan answered. "she wasn't diskivered tell she'd been under water fer a good half-hour. she started, as usual, about daybreak, over to her cousin, molly dugan's, fer a bucket o' fresh milk, an' we never missed 'er until it was time she was back, an' then we went all the way to dugan's before we found out she hadn't been thar at all. then her ma tuck up a quar notion, an' helt to it like a leech fer a long time. my hoss had got out o' the stable an' strayed off some'rs in the woods, an' sally's mother firmly believed the gal had run off. i don't know why she 'lowed sally would do sech a thing, but she did, and jest paced up an' down the yard yellin' an' takin' on an' beggin' us to go fetch her back, so that none of us at the house thought o' draggin' the hole at the foot-log. but bill dugan did, an' soon come with the news whar she was at. then her ma jest had a spasm. i railly believe on my soul she cussed god an' all futurity. she raved till she was black in the face." "then there is--is no doubt about it?" gasped westerfelt. "she is dead?" "of course she's dead," answered slogan; "an' bein' as my hoss ain't to be had, i 'lowed i'd try to borrow one o' yore'n to go order the coffin." slogan here displayed a piece of twine which he had wound into a coil. "i've got the exact length o' the body. i 'lowed that would be the best way. i reckon they kin tell me at the store how much play a corpse ort to have at each end. i've noticed that coffins always look longer, a sight, than the pusson ever did that was to occupy 'em, but i thought ef i tuck the exact measure--" "here's the stable key," interrupted westerfelt, with a shudder. "take any horse you want. you'll find saddles and bridles in the shed." slogan turned away, and westerfelt walked back to the veranda. "my god!" he groaned; "why don't i _know_ it was accident? if it was not, then may the lord have mercy on my soul!" he went into his room and threw himself on his bed and stared fixedly at the ceiling, a thousand conflicting thoughts crowding upon him. presently he heard slogan talking to the horse in the yard, and went out just as he was mounting. "i wisht you'd hand me a switch, john," he said. "i don't want to be all day goin' an' comin'. i'll be blamed ef i ain't afeerd them two ol' cats 'll be a-fightin' an' scratchin' 'fore i get back. they had a time of it while the gal was alive, an' i reckon thar 'll be no peace at all now." "does mrs. dawson blame anybody--or--or--?" westerfelt paused as if he hardly knew how to finish. "oh, i reckon the ol' woman does feel a leetle hard at us--my wife in particular, an'--an' some o' the rest, i reckon. you see, thar was a lot said at the quiltin' yesterday about lizzie lithicum a-cuttin' of sally out, an' one thing or other, an' a mother's calculated to feel bitter about sech talk, especially when her only child is laid out as cold an' stiff as a poker." again westerfelt shuddered; his face was ghastly; his mouth was drawn and his lips quivered; there was a desperate, appealing, shifting of his eyes. "i reckon mrs. dawson feels hurt at me," he said, tentatively. slogan hesitated a moment before speaking. "well," he said, as if he felt some sort of apology should come from him, "maybe she does--a little, john, but the lord knows you cayn't expect much else at sech a time, an' when she's under sech a strain." "did she mention any names?" questioned the young man, desperately; and while he waited for slogan to speak a look of inexpressible agony lay in his eyes. "i never was much of a hand to tote tales," said slogan, "but i may as well give you a little bit of advice as to how you ort to act with the ol' woman while she is so wrought up. i wouldn't run up agin 'er right now ef i was you. she's tuck a funny sort o' notion that she don't want you at the funeral or the buryin'. she told me three times, as i was startin' off, to tell you not to come to the church nur to the grave. she was clean out o' her senses, an' under ordinary circumstances i'd say not to pay a bit of attention to 'er, but she's so upset she might liter'ly pounce on you like a wild-cat at the meetin'-house." "tell her, for me, that i shall respect her wish," said westerfelt. "i shall not be there, slogan. if she will let you do so, tell her i am sorry her daughter is--dead." "all right, john, i'll do what i can to pacify 'er," promised peter, as he took the switch westerfelt handed him and started away. chapter iii when slogan had ridden off through the mild spring sunshine, westerfelt saddled another horse and rode out of the gate towards the road leading away from the house containing sally dawson's remains. he hardly had any definite idea of whither he was going. he had only a vague impression that the movement of a horse under him would to some degree assuage the awful pain at his heart, but he was mistaken; the pangs of self-accusation were as sharp as if he were a justly condemned murderer. his way led past the cross-roads store, which contained the post-office. two men, a woman, and a child stood huddled together at the door. they were talking about the accident; westerfelt knew that by their attitudes of awed attention and their occasional glances towards mrs. dawson's. he was about to pass by when the storekeeper signalled to him and called out: "mail fer you, mr. westerfelt; want me to fetch it out?" westerfelt nodded, and reined in and waited till the storekeeper came out with a packet. "it must 'a' been drapped in after i closed last night," he said. "thar wasn't a thing in the box 'fore i went home, an' it was the only one thar when i unlocked this mornin'. mighty bad news down the creek, ain't it?" he ended. "powerful hard on the old woman. they say she's mighty nigh distracted." making some unintelligible reply, westerfelt rode on, the packet held tightly in his hand. it was addressed in sally dawson's round, girlish handwriting, and he knew it contained his letters, and perhaps--he shuddered at the thought of what else it might contain. he whipped his horse into a gallop. he wanted to reach a spot where he could open the package unobserved. he met several wagons and a buggy. they contained people who bowed and spoke to him, but he scarcely saw them. at the first path leading from the road into the wood he turned aside, and then opened his package. there were three or four letters and notes he had written the dead girl, and one blotted sheet from her. with a quaking soul he read it. it confirmed him in the fear which had taken hold of him at the first news of the tragedy. the letter ran: "dear john,--i simply cannot stand it any longer. it is now about three in the morning. some people contend that such acts are done only by crazy folks, but i don't believe i ever was more sensible than i am right now. i am not ashamed to own that i had my heart and soul set on being your wife and making you happy, but now that i know you didn't feel a bit like i did, an' love lizzie, i jest can't stand it. the pain is awful--awful. i could not meet folks face to face, now that they know the truth. i'd rather die a hundred deaths than see you an' her even once together. i couldn't live long anyway. i'm simply too weak and sick at heart. the hardest thing of all is to remember that you never did care for me all the time i was making such a little fool of myself. i know you never did. folks said you was changeable, but i never once believed it till last night on the road. i have fixed it so everybody will think my death was accidental. i've been warned time and again about that foot-log, and nobody will suspicion the truth. you must never mention it to a soul. it is my last and only request. it would go harder with mother if she knew that. good-bye, john. i love you more right now than i ever did, and i don't know as i blame you much or harbor much resentment. i thought i would not say anything more, but i cannot help it. john, lizzie is not the woman for you. she never will love you deep, or very long. good-bye. "sally." westerfelt put the letter in his pocket and turned his horse into an unfrequented road leading to the mountain and along its side. the air was filled with the subtle fragrance of growing and blooming things. he was as near insanity as a man can well be who still retains his mental equipoise. in this slow manner, his horse picking his way over fallen trees and mountain streams, he traversed several miles, and then, in utter desolation, turned homeward. it was noon when he came in sight of his house. peter slogan had returned the horse, and, with a parcel under his arm, was trudging homeward. all that night westerfelt lay awake, and the next morning he did not leave his room, ordering the wondering servant not to prepare any breakfast for him. he did not want to show himself on the veranda or in the front yard, thinking some neighbor might stop and want to talk over the tragedy. there were moments during this solitary morning that he wished others knew the secret of sally dawson's death. it seemed impossible for him to keep the grewsome truth locked in his breast--it made the happening seem more of a crime. and then an awful thought dawned upon him. was it not a way god had of punishing him, and would there ever be any end to it? from his window he had a clear view of mrs. dawson's house. there was a group of people in their best clothes on the porch, and considerable activity about the front yard, to the fence of which a goodly number of horses and mules were hitched. the little church, with its gray, weather-beaten spire, could also be seen farther away, on a slight elevation. it had a fence around it, and blended with the whiteness of the fence were a few gravestones. about eleven o'clock westerfelt saw a negro boy climb a ladder leaning against the side of the church and creep along the edge of the roof to the open cupola and grasp the clapper of the cast-iron bell. then it began to toll. the boy was an unpractised hand, and the strokes were irregular, sometimes too slow and sometimes too rapid. it was a signal for the procession to leave the house. westerfelt's eyes were glued to the one-horse wagon at the gate, for it contained the coffin, and was moving like a thing alive. behind it walked six men, swinging their hats in their hands. next followed slogan's rickety buggy with its threatening wheels, driven by peter. the bent figure of the widow in black sat beside him. other vehicles fell in behind, and men, women, and children on foot, carrying wild flowers, dogwood blossoms, pink and white honeysuckle, and bunches of violets, brought up the rear. westerfelt was just turning from the window, unable to stand the sight longer, when he saw abner lithicum's new road-wagon, with its red wheels and high green bed, in which sat the five women of his family, pause at his gate. going out on the veranda, westerfelt saw abner coming up the walk, cracking his wagon-whip at the stunted rose-bushes. "hello!" he cried out; "i 'lowed mebby you hadn't left yet. it 'll be a good half-hour 'fore they all get thar an' settled. the preacher promised me this mornin' he'd wait on me an' my folks. it takes my gals sech a' eternity to fix up when they go anywhar." "won't you come in?" asked westerfelt, coldly, seeing that lithicum did not seem to be in any hurry to announce the object of his visit. "oh no, thanky'," said lithicum, with a broad grin; "the truth is, i clean forgot my tobacco. i knowed you wasn't a chawin' man, but yore uncle is, an' he mought have left a piece of a plug lyin' round. my old woman tried to git me to use her snuff as a make-shift, but lawsy me! the blamed powdery truck jest washes down my throat like leaves in a mill-race. i never could see how women kin set an' rub an' rub the'r gums with it like they do. i reckon it's jest a sort o' habit." "i'm sorry," said westerfelt, "but i don't know where my uncle keeps his tobacco." "well, i reckon i'll strike some chawin' man down at the meetin'-house." lithicum stood, awkwardly cutting the air with his whip. "railly, thar is one thing more," he said, haltingly. "lizzie 'lowed, as thar was a' extra seat in our wagon, you might like to come on with us. she said she had some'n' particular to tell you." "tell her i am not going," said westerfelt, sharply. "i am not going." "oh, you ain't!" lithicum looked his surprise both at the decision and at the unaccountable coldness of the young man's manner, which he had not noticed till now. "well, so long, mr. westerfelt, i reckon you know yore own business, but i 'lowed everybody would turn out, through respect to all concerned, if nothin' else." "i am not going; it is impossible for me to go," answered westerfelt, and he turned abruptly into the house. alone in his room, westerfelt took sally dawson's last letter from his pocket and read it again. then he lighted a match and started to burn it, but some inward fear seemed to check him, and the match burned down to his rigid fingers and went out. "no," he said, "that would be cowardly. i shall keep it always, to remind me of my hellish mistake. great god! the idea of my going to her funeral in a red wagon with lizzie lithicum--lizzie lithicum!" the next morning, as he was returning from the post-office, westerfelt met peter slogan riding to a field he had rented down the road, and which he was getting ready for cotton-planting. slogan was astride of his bony horse, which was already clad in shuck collar and clanking harness, and carried on his shoulder a cumbersome plough-stock. "well," he smiled, reining in as he caught westerfelt's eye, "i 'lowed hard work in the sun would do more to git the kinks out'n me after all the trouble at my house than anything else." "how is mrs. dawson?" ventured westerfelt. "you'd better ax me how she _ain't_," retorted slogan, shrugging his shoulders. "i could tell you a sight easier. she's turned into a regular hell-cat. i thought her an' my wife was bad enough 'fore the trouble, but it's wuss now. the ol' woman has left us." "left you?" repeated westerfelt. "what do you mean?" "why, she says she won't sleep an' eat in the same house with my wife, beca'se she give sally advice, an'--an' one thing or nuther. the ol' woman has bought 'er some second-hand cookin' utensils--a oven an' a skillet an' a cup an' a plate or two, an' has moved 'er bed an' cheer into the hilgard cabin down below us. she slept thar last night. it looks powerful like she's wrong in the upper-story. at fust she was all yells an' fury, but now she jest sulks an' hain't got one word to say to nobody. i went down thar last night an' tried to call 'er to the door, but she wouldn't stir a peg. as soon as she heerd me at the fence she blowed out 'er light an' wouldn't let on no more'n ef i was a dog a-barkin'. now, i hold that she hain't got no call to treat me that away. i never tuck no hand in 'er disputes with my wife, an' ef hard things has been said about sally, why they never come from me. lord, i've got plenty else to think about besides gals an' women. i think i'm on track o' the skunk 'at stole my axe." westerfelt walked on. it was plain to him that none of the neighbors knew the secret of sally dawson's death, but he was beginning to think that the mother of the girl might half suspect the truth, and that she was his enemy for life he did not doubt. chapter iv the cornfields had grown to their full height and turned from green to yellow. the stalks, stripped of their tops and blades, were bent by the weight of their ears. there was a whispering of breezes in the sedge-fields, in the long rows of brown-bolled cotton plants, among the fodder-stacks, and in the forest that stretched from the main road up the mountain-side. it was the season in which the rugged landscape appeared most brilliant; when the kalmia bloomed, the gentian, the primrose, the yellow daisy, the woodbine, and the golden-disked aster still lingered in sunny spots. it was the season in which the leaves of the maple were as red as blood. john westerfelt was leaving home, to take up his abode in the adjoining county over the mountain. as he sat upon his horse and slowly rode along, one who had known him six months before would scarcely have recognized him, so great had been the change in his appearance. his face was thinner; at the temples his hair had turned slightly gray, and an ineffable expression of restless discontent lay about his eyes. a sum of money had come to him from his father's estate, and with it he had purchased a livery-stable at the village of cartwright. ever since sally dawson's death, he had wanted an excuse to get away from the spot where the tragedy had occurred, and his leaving his farm to the management of his uncle now caused no particular comment among his neighbors. reaching the highest point of the mountain, the village in question lay in the valley below. here he paused and looked behind him. "god being my helper, i'm going to try to begin a new life over here," he said, almost aloud. "surely, i have repented sorely enough, and this is not shirking my just punishment. a man ought to make something of himself, and i never could, in my frame of mind, with that poor, silent old woman constantly before my eyes, and knowing that she will never forgive my offence, and is perhaps constantly praying for some calamity to strike me down." at the first house in the outskirts of the village he dismounted. a woman hearing his approach announced by a couple of lean dogs, which sprang from under the porch, came to the door. she smiled and spoke, but her voice was drowned in the yelping of the dogs, which were trying to climb over the fence to get at the stranger. there was something admirable, if slightly discourteous, in the fearless manner in which westerfelt leaned over the fence and, with the butt of his riding-whip, struck the animals squarely in the face, coolly laughing as he did so. "you, tige! you, pomp!" cried the woman, running to them and picking up sticks and stones and hurling them at the animals, "down thar, i say!" "they have forgotten me," said westerfelt, with a laugh, as the dogs retreated behind the house, and he reached over the ramshackle gate to shake hands. "but i hain't, john," she replied, cordially. "i wasn't lookin' fer you quite so soon, though. i reckon you must 'a' rid purty peert." "generally do," he made answer, "though i started early this morning, and lost half an hour at long's shop, where i got my horse shod." "put up yore animal," she said. "that's the stable thar, an' you know better how to feed 'im 'an i do. luke's gone down to the livery-stable to look atter things fer you, but he'll be back 'fore supper-time." westerfelt led his horse into the yard, and to the well near the door. he pushed the bucket into the opening, and allowed the wooden windlass to fly round of its own accord till the bucket struck the water. "thirsty?" she asked. "i'll git the gourd." he nodded. "and i want to water my horse; every branch and creek is bridged for the last ten miles." while she was in the house he wound up the bucket, swearing at the horse for continually touching an inquisitive nose to his moving elbow. she returned with a great gourd dipper. he rinsed it out, and, filling it, drank long and deeply. then he refilled the gourd and offered it to her. "i beg your pardon," he said. "i forgot my politeness." "i ain't dry," she said. "i was jest a-lookin' at you, john; you look so much older an' different-like." "oh, i reckon i'm all right," he said. "how's luke?" emptying the bucket into the trough and watching the horse drink. "as well as common; me an' him wus both bound fer you to git the livery-stable, an' we are glad the trade's closed. it will seem like ol' times to have a body from fannin over heer. as soon as you writ the price you wus willin' to give in a lumpin' sum, luke set to scheming. he ain't no fool, if i do say it. horton an' webb had the'r eyes on the stable, an' luke thinks they'd a-raised his bid, but they 'lowed he wus biddin' fur himself, an' knowed he couldn't raise the money. mis' thorp wus in heer this mornin', an' she said jasper webb swore like rips when the administrator tol' 'im the trade wus closed with luke as yore agent. you orter do well with the investment; you got it cheap; you know how to keep up stock, an' the hack-line will pay with the mail it carries an' the passenger travel twixt heer an' darley." "i'm satisfied," he said, and he took the saddle and bridle from his horse and turned the animal into the little log stable. "hain't you goin' to feed 'im?" she asked, hospitably, as he was closing the door; "the's some fodder overhead, an' the corn is in re'ch through the crack above the trough." "not yet," he returned; "i fed him some shelled corn at the shop. i'll give him a few ears at supper-time." the slanting rays of the sun streamed from a saffron sky in the west and blazed in the red, yellow, and pink foliage on the mountain-side. the light brought into clearer outline the brown peaks and beetling crags that rose bleak and bare above the wealth of color, beyond the dark, evergreen stretches of pines and mountain cedars. the gorgeous tail of a peacock spread and gleamed under the cherry-trees in the back yard. a sleek calf was running back and forth in a little lot, and a brindled cow was bellowing mellowly, her head thrown up as she cantered down the road, her heavy bag swinging under her. at the sight of the woman a flock of ducks, chickens, and geese gathered round her. she shooed the fowls away with her apron. "they want the'r supper," she said, as she led her guest back to the front yard. she went to the gate and looked down the road. "i see luke at the branch," she added, coming back to him; "he'd be on faster ef he knowed you wus heer." luke bradley was about fifty years of age. he had blue eyes, a long body, long arms, and long legs. his hair was reddish brown and his face florid and freckled. he walked with a shambling gait, stooped considerably, and swung his arms. he seldom wore a coat, and on days as mild as this his shirt-sleeves were always rolled up. he presented a striking contrast to john westerfelt, who, by the people of that remote section, might have been considered something of a swell. "how are you, ol' hoss?" bradley laughed, as he swung the sagging gate open and grasped his friend's hand. "glad to see you; i've done nothin' but fight tongue battles fer you all day. webb has been cussin' me black an' blue fer biddin' agin 'im fer a stranger, but thar's one consolation--we've got 'im on the hip." westerfelt laughed pleasantly as he followed his host into the sitting-room. "much obliged to you, luke. i'm glad i took your advice about the investment." "me'n marthy wus both dead set on gettin' you over heer," luke said, as he placed a chair for westerfelt in front of the fire. "both of us 'low a change will do you good." mrs. bradley sat down in a corner and spread out her ample homespun skirt and began to run the hem of her apron through her fat, red fingers. "me'n luke's been talkin' it over," she said, with some embarrassment; "we 'lowed you mought mebby be willin' to put up with us; we've got a spare room, an' you know about how we live. you've lied unmercifully ef you don't like my cookin'," she concluded, with an awkward little laugh. "i never lie," he retorted, smiling. "it's been a year since i ate at your house, but i can taste your slice-potato pie yet, and your egg-bread and biscuits, ugh!" she laughed. "you'll stay, then?" "i'm afraid not. i've packed up some pieces of furniture--a bed and one thing or other--and i calculated that i'd occupy the room over the stable. i'd like to be near my business. i reckon i can get my meals down at the hotel. i'll stay with you to-night, though; the wagon won't come till to-morrow." "well, i'm disappointed, shore 'nough," said mrs. bradley. "i had clean forgot the room at the stable, an' i ought to 'a' knowed, too, that saunders' boys bunked thar. well, i won't raise no objections; mis' boyd, a widow woman, is keepin' the hotel now, and folks say she feeds well an' cheap enough. she's from tennessee, an's got a good-lookin', sprightly daughter. nobody knows a thing about 'em; they don't talk much about the'rse'ves. they tuk the hotel when rick martin sold out last fall, an' they've been thar ever sence." supper was served in the room adjoining the kitchen. after it was over, westerfelt and his host went back to the sitting-room. alf, a colored farm-hand, was heaping logs on the old-fashioned dog-irons in the wide fireplace, and a mass of fat pine burning under the wood lighted the room with a soft red glow. westerfelt looked round him in surprise. while they were at supper the carpet had been taken up, the floor swept clean, and a number of chairs placed against the wall round the room. "marthy's doin's," bradley explained, sheepishly; "don't hold me accountable; she's arranged to give you a shindig to introduce you to the young folks round about." just then mrs. bradley came in. "sweep the hearth, alf," she said, pointing to a live coal that had popped out on the floor. "didn't i tell you never to put on them chestnut logs? do you want to burn the roof over our heads? give it to me!" she snatched the unwieldy bundle of broomstraw from him. "go tell mis' snow i'm much obleeged fer the cheers, an' ef i need any more i'll send fer um after 'while. tell 'er ef she don't let mary an' ella come i'll never set foot in her house agin." "what's all this for?" asked westerfelt. "_you_." she slapped him familiarly on the arm. "i'm goin' to give you a mount'in welcome. this settlement is full o' nice gals, an' you hain't the least idee how much excitement thar's been sence the report went out that you are gwine to live amongst us. i'm the most popular woman in cartwright, jest beca'se i know you. i tell you i've been blowin' yore horn. i've talked a sight about you, an' you must do yore best an' look yore purtiest. oh, yore clothes is all right!" (seeing that he was looking doubtfully at his boots and trousers). "they hain't a dressy set over heer." her husband was leaving the room, and she waited till he had closed the door after him. "i want to talk to you like a mother, john," she said, sitting down near him and holding the bundle of broom between her knees. "the truth is, i've had a sight o' worry over you. i often lie awake at night thinkin' about you, an' wonderin' ef yore ma wouldn't blame me ef she wus alive fer not lookin' atter you more. i've heerd what a solitary life you've been livin' sence she died. god knows she wus a big loss, an' it does bring a great change to part with sech a friend, but, from what i heer, you let 'er death bother you most too much. why, folks tell me you hain't at all like you used to be, an' that you jest stayed at home an' never went about with the young folks any more. you don't look as well as you did the last time i seed you, nuther. i reckon it's yore way o' living but you jest sha'n't do that away over heer. you've got to be natural like other young folks, an' you jest shall, ef i have anything to say in the matter. john, yore mamma was the best friend i ever had, an'--" she paused. luke was hallooing to some one down the road, and westerfelt heard the rumble of wheels over a distant bridge. mrs. bradley went to the door and went out. "they are comin', the whole caboodle of 'em!" she cried, excitedly. "i declare, i believe i enjoy a party as much as any gal that ever lived, an' at my age, too--it's shameful. i'd be talked about in some places." she laid her hands on the shoulders of her guest, her face beaming. "now, ef you want to primp up a little an' bresh that hoss-hair off'n yore pants, go in yore room. it's at the end o' the back porch. alf's already tuck yore saddle-bags thar." chapter v his room was a small one. it had a sloping ceiling, and a little six-paned window. a small, oblong stove stood far enough back in the capacious fireplace to allow its single joint of pipe to stand upright in the chimney. there was a high-posted bed, a wash-stand, a mirror, and a split-bottomed chair. he sat down in the chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward. despite his determination to begin life anew, he was thinking of sally dawson's death and burial--the old woman who was leading the life of a recluse, and hating all her kind, him in particular. he put his hand in his coat-pocket and drew out a thick envelope containing the dead girl's letter, and read it as he had done almost every day since it came to him. it was part of the punishment he was inflicting on himself. he had been tempted a thousand times to destroy the letter, but had never done so. he forgot that a gay party of young people were assembling in the next room; he was oblivious of the noise of moving chairs, the creaking floor, loud laughter, and the hum of voices. fate had set him aside from the rest of the world, he told himself; he was living two lives, one in the present, the other in the past. westerfelt was suddenly reminded of where he was by the sound of some one tuning a fiddle in the sitting-room. he put the letter into his pocket, rose, and brushed his hair before the mirror. there was a clatter of heavy boots in the entry opposite his door; four or five young men had come out to wash their hands in the pans on the long shelf; they were passing jokes, laughing loudly, and playfully striking at one another. two of them clinched arms and began to wrestle. westerfelt heard them panting and grunting as they swayed back and forth, till the struggle was ended by one of them shoving the other violently against the wall; westerfelt opened the door. a stout, muscular young giant was pinning a small man to the weather-boarding and making a pretence at choking him. "lord, h'ram, stop!" gasped the victim; "yore sp'ilin' my necktie an' collar." "'gin the rules to wear 'em," was the laughing reply. "heer, joe, you sprinkle 'im while i hold 'im!" this command was about to be obeyed, when mrs. bradley suddenly appeared. "boys, boys, behave!" she cried, and as the wrestlers separated she continued, apologetically, "i clean forgot thar wusn't a sign of a towel on the roller; i wonder what you intended to wipe on; here, take this one, an' hang it up when you're through." then she turned to westerfelt's door and looked into his room. "are you ready, young man?" she asked. "yes," he replied, coming out. "gentlemen," she said, "quit thar a minute! this is john westerfelt, my old friend. mind you look atter yore intrusts. the boys over in fannin know how to please the gals. ef you don't watch sharp he'll cut you every one out." the two men holding the towel between them gave him their moist hands, and those at the basins nodded. mrs. bradley drew him into the sitting-room. the buzz of conversation ceased as she introduced him. they all rose, bowed, and sat down again, but no one spoke. he tried to detain his hostess, but she would not stay. "i've got to look atter the rest," she said. "you must talk to some o' these folks. they didn't come here jest to look at you. here, jennie wynn, turn yore face round, an' give frank a chance to talk to lou." she whisked off into another room, and westerfelt found himself facing a blushing maiden with a round face, dark hair and eyes. "excuse my back," she said over her shoulder to frank hansard. "it _hain't_ as purty as yore face, ef you _have_ got on a new dress," he replied, laughing. "hush, frank; hain't you got no manners?" she meant that he was showing discourtesy by continuing to talk to her when she had just been introduced to a stranger. "you ought not to be hard on him," said westerfelt; "he must have meant what he said." "you are jest like all the rest, i reckon," she said; "men think girls don't care for nothin' but sweet talk." just then the old negro fiddler moved into the chimney-corner and raked his violin with his bow. jennie wynn knew that he was about to ask the couples to take their places for the first dance. she did not want westerfelt to feel obliged to ask her to be his partner, so she pretended to be interested in the talk of a couple on her left. "do they dance the lancers?" asked westerfelt. "no, jest the reg'lar square dance. only one or two know the lancers, an' they make a botch of it whenever they try to teach the rest. uncle mack cayn't play the music for it, anyway, though he swears he can." she glanced across the room at a pretty little girl with short curly hair, slender body, and small feet, and added, significantly, "sarah wambush is our brag dancer." he understood what she meant. "too short for a fellow as tall as i am, though," he said. "git yo' pahtners fer de quadrille!" cried the fiddler, in a sing-song voice, quite in harmony with his music. westerfelt did not want to dance. he had ridden hard that day, and was tired and miserable, but he saw no way of escape. the party had been given in his honor, and he must show appreciation of it. "will you dance it with me?" he asked the girl at his side. "i am not a good dancer, and i am stiff from riding to-day." "old mack will soon take that out of you," she laughed, as she gladly nodded her acceptance. she put out her hand to his. "quick!" she cried; "let's git that place near the door--it's head, and we can be opposite sarah and nelse baker." he followed her across the room. he felt as undignified as if he were romping with a child. the room was not large enough for two sets, so only one of four couples was formed. old mack noticed that three couples were left sitting, and cried out, autocratically, "double on de sides!" two couples sprang eagerly forward and took places, leaving one couple alone in a corner. the girl remaining with her partner attracted westerfelt's attention. she had rich brown hair, deep gray eyes, a small, well-shaped mouth, and a rather sad but decidedly pretty face. there was something very graceful and attractive in the general contour of her body--her small waist, her broad shoulders and rounding chest, her well-formed head, and the artistic arrangement of her abundant hair. there was something, too, in the tasteful simplicity of her gray tailor-made gown that reminded westerfelt of the dress of young ladies he had seen on short visits to the larger towns in the state. her companion was the most conspicuous person in the room. he was above medium height, and had a splendid physique--broad shoulders, muscular limbs, light brown eyes, short brown beard, and long curling hair. he wore a navy-blue sack-coat, large checked trousers tucked in the tops of his boots, a gray woollen shirt, and a broad leather belt. he was the only man in the room who had not taken off his hat. it was very broad, the brim was pinned up on one side by a little brass ornament, and he wore it on the back of his head. westerfelt caught the eye of his partner, and asked: "who is the fellow with the hat on?" "don't you know him?" she asked, in surprise. "why, that's toot wambush, sarah's brother." "why don't he take off his hat?" "for want of better sense, i reckon." then she laughed, impulsively. "i'll tell you why he always keeps it on in the house. he was at a party over at sand bank last spring, an'--" "han's to yo' pahtners!" cried out uncle mack, as he drew his bow across three or four strings at once, producing a harmony of bass, alto, and treble sounds. "salute de lady on yo' right!" whack! the bridge of the fiddle had fallen. everybody laughed over uncle mack's discomfiture, as he rubbed the rosin out of his eyes and grunted, half amused, half vexed at the accident. he held the violin between his knees and proceeded to adjust the bridge. "you were telling me why that fellow keeps on his hat," westerfelt reminded his partner. "oh yes!" laughed the girl, "that's so. toot's never satisfied if he ain't in a row o' some sort. he will always manage to pick a quarrel out of something. he's mighty troublesome, especially when he's drinkin'. he was pretty full over there that night, an' kept dancin' with his hat on. mis' lumpkin, who give the dance, asked 'im quietly to take it off an' behave like a gentleman. that made 'im mad, an' he swore he'd die first. then some o' the boys tuk mis' lumpkin's part, an' tol' 'im the hat would come off ur he'd go out. it 'ud be a treat to see toot wambush mad if you could feel sure you wouldn't get hit. he clamped his hands together behind 'im an' yelled to uncle mack to stop fiddlin'; then he 'lowed ef any man thar tried to oust 'im he'd put windows in 'im. frank hansard, lum evans, and andy treadwell made signs at one another an' closed in on 'im. they didn't fully realize who they had to deal with, though. i hain't got much use for toot, but he'll fight a circular saw bare-handed. he backed into a corner over a pile o' split pine-knots an' grabbed one that thad muntford declared wuz shaped like the jaw-bone o' samson's ass. it had a long handle an' weighed about fifteen pounds. on my word, it seemed to me he slugged frank and andy at exactly the same time. you could 'a' heerd the'r skulls pop to the gate. they both fell kerflop in front of 'im. that left jest lum evans facin' 'im 'thout a thing in his hands. he dodged toot's pine-knot when he swung it at 'im an' then toot laughed an' thowed it down and shook his fists at 'im, an' tol' 'im to come on for a fair fisticuff. jest then frank come to an' started to rise, but toot sent 'im back with a kick in the face, an' helt 'im down with 'is boot on 'is neck. andy backed out of the door, an' then toot ordered uncle mack to play, an' tried to get the girls to dance with 'im, but nobody would, so he danced by 'isse'f, while doc white an' mis' lumpkin worked on the wounded men in the next room. since then toot has al'ays wore his hat at dances. he swore he never would go to one unless he did." westerfelt laughed. "who's the young lady?" he asked. "harriet floyd. her mother keeps the hotel. they 'ain't been here so mighty long; they're tennessee folks." "sweethearts?" "don't know. he's 'er very shadder. i reckon she likes that sort of a man; she's peculiar, anyway." "how do you mean?" "i don't know, but she is." jennie shrugged her shoulders. "she don't git on with us. in a crowd o' girls she never has much to say; it always seemed to me she was afraid somebody would find out some'n' about 'er. she never mentions tennessee. but she's a great favorite with all the boys. they'd be a string o' 'em round 'er now, but they don't want to make toot mad." "right han' ter yo' pahtners," called out uncle mack, rapping on the back of his fiddle with his bow. "salute yo' pahtners; balance all!" and the dance began. "swing corners! fust fo' for'ards, en back agin!" "faster, unc' mack!" cried sarah wambush, as she swung past the old negro. "that hain't the right time!" "wait till he gets limbered up," cried frank hansard across to her. "he hain't drawed a bow in two weeks, an' has been ploughin' a two-hoss turnover." louder and louder grew the music and the clatter of shoes and boots. the air was filled with dust; old mack's fiddle could hardly be heard above his shouts and the laughter of the dancers. luke and mrs. bradley stood in the open door leading to the kitchen, both smiling. mrs. bradley seemed pleased with the ease with which westerfelt appeared to be adapting himself to the company. "git the straws, luke!" urged frank hansard, as the "grand chain" brought him near bradley. "give it to us lively." "i can't beat straws," said luke. hearing this, old mack uttered a contradictory guffaw, and shook his gray wool in high amusement. "go on, luke," said his wife, as she pushed him towards the fiddler; "you kin, you know you kin." luke edged round between the dancers and the fire, and took two smooth sour-wood sticks from mack's coat-pocket. the old negro laughed and sang all the louder as he held his head to one side and luke began to thrum the strings in time to the music. "whoo-ee!" shouted frank, and the dance waxed faster and more noisy, till the exhausted fiddler brought it to an end by crying out: "seat yo' pahtners." jennie sat down in a row of girls against the wall, and mrs. bradley came to westerfelt. "you must stir round," she said; "i want you to git acquainted. come over here an' talk to sarah wambush." he followed her across the room. sarah was seated next to harriet floyd. as he sat down near sarah, he fancied that harriet, whose profile was towards him, gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye, but she turned her head and continued talking to toot wambush. there was something he liked in the ease of her position as she sat, balling her handkerchief in a hand hidden half in the pocket of her jacket. he thought her easily the prettiest girl in the room, and he vaguely resented the fact that she was receiving marked attention from a man of wambush's character. he wanted to knock the fellow's hat off, and tell him that a new man had come into the settlement who could not, and would not, stand such nonsense in the presence of ladies. he listened to sarah's prattle with only half an ear, adding a word now and then to keep her tongue going, till another dance was called. nelse baker asked sarah to be his partner, and she rose. finding himself alone, westerfelt got up. as he did so, he caught another glance from the corner of harriet floyd's eye, but she looked away quickly. she thought he was going to ask her to dance with him when he turned towards her, but he had decided to invite a little plain girl who sat next the wall, hemmed in by the crossed legs of wambush. the girl flushed over the unexpected attention and rose at once. "that couple don't seem to be dancing," westerfelt remarked, with a glance at wambush and harriet, as he and his partner took a place in front of the fire. "no," she answered. "toot sorter sprained his foot at a log-rollin' to-day." "and she won't dance without him, is that it?" "she would, but none o' the boys won't ask her when toot's on hand." "ah, i see--engaged?" "no. i reckon not; but toot sorter lays claim to 'er though." "and she don't object?" she looked up and laughed. "it don't look much like it, does it?" "i don't know; i never saw them together before." "oh, i see; well, he's her regular stand-by; he takes 'er to all the frolics, an' the picnics, an' to meetin'. he lives out at his father's, a mile or so from town, but he gets meals mighty often at the hotel." as the dance began westerfelt glanced again at harriet floyd. he could not explain the interest he had in her. she was looking straight into his eyes, as if she had divined that he was talking about her. he was almost certain that she colored slightly as she glanced on to mrs. bradley. mrs. bradley smiled and moved towards her, between the wall and the flying heels of the revolving circle. westerfelt, in turning his "lady on the right," came near them as mrs. bradley was saying: "i want you to get acquainted with my fannin young man, harriet. he's mighty nice." at that moment harriet caught westerfelt's eye again, and knew that he had heard the remark. she nodded, and said, evasively, "you are having a nice dance, mrs. bradley; they all seem to be enjoying it very much." westerfelt had not heard her voice before, and he liked it. he noticed that she did not leave off her final g's, and that she spoke more clearly and correctly than the others. he concluded that she must have received a better education than the average young lady in that section. the dance was nearly ended when westerfelt saw wambush bend over and whisper something to her. she nodded, drew her white shawl round her shoulders, rose, and followed him out through the kitchen. "gone to try the moonlight," remarked the little gossip at westerfelt's side, with a knowing smile. "all promenade!" shouted the fiddler, the dance being over. the couples went outside. they passed wambush and harriet on the porch, leaning against the banisters in the moonlight. her head was covered with her shawl, and her companion was very near her. "never mind; we won't bother you," called out sarah wambush, who, with nelson baker, led the promenaders. "we're goin' down the walk; you needn't run off on our account." all the others laughed, and sarah, thinking she had said something bright, added: "harriet's got a bad cold, an' buddy's sprained his foot; they're takin' the'r medicine." this evoked another laugh, but neither wambush nor his companion heeded it. westerfelt observed that they turned their backs to the promenaders and seemed to be talking earnestly. "it's cool out here," said westerfelt's partner as they were returning from the walk under the arbor of grape-vines. "they are all goin' inside." at about twelve o'clock the guests began to leave. harriet floyd, followed by wambush, came in hurriedly after most of the others had gone. westerfelt was near mrs. bradley when she came to say good-night. he heard her say she had enjoyed herself very much, but she spoke hurriedly, as if she did not want to be the last to leave. westerfelt watched them go through the gate, but he turned away when wambush put his arm round her waist and lifted her lightly into his buggy. he was sure he would never like the fellow. just before westerfelt went to bed, bradley looked into his room. "i 'lowed i'd better take a peep at that stove o' yore'n, an' see that thar ain't any danger o' fire while we are asleep," he said. "how'd you make out to-night?" "first rate." "i 'lowed you wus gittin' on well enough--talked to most all the gals, i reckon." "all but one, i think--that miss floyd." "ah, toot's gal; mortgaged property, i reckon, or soon will be; she's as purty as red shoes, though, an' as peert as a cricket." westerfelt sat down on the side of his bed and drew off his boots. "what sort of a man is he, luke?" "bad--bad; no wuss in seven states." "fighting man?" "yes; an' whiskey an' moonshinin' an' what not; ain't but one good p'int in 'im, an' that hain't wuth much in time o' peace. i reckon ef yo're through with it, i'd better take yore candle; sometimes i have to strike a light 'fore day." "all right." westerfelt got into the bed and drew the covers up to his chin. there was a thumping on the floor beneath the house. "it's the dogs," explained luke, at the door. "they are a-flirtin' the'r tails about. they'll settle down terrectly. what time do you want to rise in the mornin'?" "when you do. i'm no hand to lie in bed." "you'll have to crawl out with the chickens then." "luke!" bradley turned at the door. "what is it, john?" "i don't like wambush's looks." bradley laughed, with his hand over his mouth. "nobody else does to hurt." "do you think he would trifle with the affections of a young girl?" "would he?" again bradley laughed. "well, i reckon he would; he is a bad man, i tell you. we'd never 'low him to enter our house, ef we could help it, but he'd raise the very devil ef he was slighted. we'd never heer the end of it. ef we'd left 'im out to-night i'd 'a' had 'im to fight out thar in the front yard while the party was goin' on. i wouldn't mind it much, but my wife never wanted me in a row." "this girl he was with to-night, has she father or brothers?" "no, the's jest her an' 'er mother." "isn't it pretty risky for her to go with him so much?" "oh, i reckon she kin take care o' herse'f; she has that look to me; besides, she's been warned; my wife an' among 'em has talked to her plenty o' times. i reckon she knows what he is well enough. do you know i had my eye on you an' her to-night?" "what do you mean, luke?" westerfelt managed to avoid meeting the eye of his host as he put the question. he could not remember ever having waited for a reply with more concern. "oh, i don't know," smiled bradley, knowingly; "but somehow you an' her seemed to me to be head an' shoulders above the rest o' that silly crowd. the idee just popped into my head that you'd make a spankin' team, an' then ag'in" (bradley laughed) "i tuck notice that you never went up to 'er an' talked to her free-like, as you did to most o' the rest, an' i remembered i wus jest that big a fool when i fust met marthy. but you wus a-watchin' of her, though. i'll bet ef you looked at 'er once you did forty times. as for her, i happen to know some'n funny. you see, i heerd her an' wambush a-talkin' on the back porch when i went out thar to draw up a bucket o' water. the rope had got tangled somehow, an' i had to fix it, an' while i was doin' of it i couldn't help heerin' what they said, beca'se toot wus as mad as a wet hen, an' didn't keer a dern who heerd 'im." "mad--at her?" ejaculated westerfelt. "yes; it seemed that he had bantered her to say what she thought about you, an' she'd up an' told him you wus about the best-lookin' man she'd ever seed, an' that you looked like a born gentleman, an' one thing anuther. i couldn't heer all that passed betwixt 'em, but he wus as nigh a' explosion as i ever seed 'im git without goin' off. you'd better look out. he won't do to meddle with. he's a bad egg--an' tricky." when bradley had gone, leaving his guest in the dark, westerfelt found himself unable to sleep for thinking of what luke had said. "i wonder, really," he mused, "why i didn't talk to her as i did to the others, for i certainly wanted to bad enough." chapter vi westerfelt's room at the stable was at the head of a flight of steps leading up from the office. it had only a single window, but it commanded a partial view of several roads leading into the village, and a sparse row of houses on the opposite side of the street. in front of the stable stood a blacksmith shop, and next to it, on the right, the only store in the village. the store building had two rooms, the front being used for dry-goods, groceries, and country produce, the one in the rear as the residence of the storekeeper. next to the store, in a sort of lean-to, whitewashed shed with green shutters, was a bar-room. farther on in this row, opposite the jail of the place, and partially hidden by the thinning foliage of sycamore, chestnut, and mulberry trees, was the hotel. it was the only two-storied building in the village. it had dormer windows in the roof and a long veranda in front. somehow this building interested westerfelt more than any of the others. he told himself it was because he intended to get his meals there. finally he decided, as he was not to dine that day with the bradleys, that he ought to go over at once and speak to the landlady about his board. as he arranged his cravat before the little walnut-framed mirror, which the stable-boys in placing his furniture had hung on the wall, together with a hairbrush and a comb tied to strings, he wondered, with no little pleasurable excitement, if harriet floyd had anything to do with the management of the house, and if he would be apt to meet her that morning. descending to the office on his way out, he found a young man writing at a desk. it was william washburn, the book-keeper for the former owners of the livery-stable, whom westerfelt had retained on bradley's recommendation. washburn was copying accounts from a ledger on to sheets of paper. "how are they running?" asked westerfelt, looking over the young man's shoulder. "lots of 'em hain't wuth the paper they are on," replied washburn. "the old firm knowed everybody in creation, an' never could refuse a soul. when you bought the accounts you didn't buy gold dollars." "i know that, but bradley said he thought i might collect a good many of them." "oh yes; maybe a half, or tharabouts." "well," said westerfelt, indifferently, "we'll do the best we can." "thar's a big un that's no good." washburn pointed to an account he had just copied. "who's it on?" "toot wambush." "how much?" "seventy-eight dollars an' fifty cents. it's been runnin' on fer two yeer, an' thar hain't a single credit on it. he never was knowed to pay a cent to nobody." "don't let anything out to him till the account is paid." washburn looked up with a dubious smile. "he'll raise a' awful row. he never wants to go anywhar tell he's drinkin', an' then he's as ill as a snake an' will fight at the drop of a hat. nobody in cartwright dares to refuse 'im credit." "i will, if he doesn't pay up." "d' y' ever see 'im?" "yes, last night." "i'd be cautious if i wus you; he's a dangerous man, an' takes offence at the slightest thing." "if he gets mad at me for refusing to let him drive my horses when he owes a bill like that, and won't pay it, he can do so. i obey the law myself, and i will not let drunkards run my business to suit themselves." "he's talking 'bout goin' out to his father's this morning, an' wants to drive the same rig he had last night." "i did not know he had my turnout last night." "yes, you wusn't heer, an' i knowed he'd make trouble if i refused him." "that's all right, but don't let him get in any deeper till the old debt is settled. i'm going over to the hotel a minute." it was a warm day for october, and the veranda of the hotel was crowded with loungers, homely men in jeans, slouched hats, and coarse brogans. some of them sat on the benches, supported by the square columns, at the end of the veranda; a few had tilted their chairs against the wall, and others stood in groups and talked county politics. they all eyed westerfelt curiously, and some of them nodded and said "howdy do" as he passed. he entered the parlor on the right of the long hall which ran through the centre of the main wing. a slovenly negro girl was sweeping the hearth. she leaned her broom against the cottage organ and went to call her mistress. a sombre rag carpet was on the floor, and a rug made of brilliant red and blue scraps of silk lay in front of the fire. on a centre-table, covered with a red flannel cloth, stood a china vase, filled with colored leaves and grasses, and lying near it was a plush photograph album. the rest of the furniture consisted of an ancient hair-cloth sofa, an old rocking-chair, the arms of which had been tied on with twine, and a sewing-machine. the windows had cheap lace curtains, stiff enough to stand alone, and green shades with tinselled decorations. the plastered walls were whitewashed and the ceiling was faded sky-blue. he heard a door close somewhere in the rear, and then with a light step harriet floyd entered. "good-morning," she said, slightly embarrassed. "mother was busy, and so she asked me to come in." "i believe we were introduced, in a general way, last night," he said. "i hope you remember." "oh yes, indeed," she made answer. he thought she was even prettier in the daylight in her simple calico dress and white apron than she had appeared the evening before, and he was conscious that the sharp realization of this fact was causing him to pause unnecessarily long before speaking in his turn. but he simply could not help it; he experienced a subtle pleasure he could not explain in watching her warm, slightly flushed face. her eyes held a wonderful charm for him. there seemed to be a strange union of forces between her long lashes and the pupils of her eyes, the like of which he believed he had never met before. "i've come to see if i can get my meals here," he said. "it is near my place of business, and i've heard a lot of good things about your mother's table." "we always have plenty of room," she answered, simply. "mother will be glad to have you. won't you take a seat?" she sat down on the sofa and he took a chair opposite her. "i suppose you enjoyed the party last night," he said, tentatively. he fancied she raised her brows a little and glanced at him rather steadily, but she looked down when she replied. "yes; mrs. bradley always gives us a good time." "but you were not dancing." "no, i don't care much for it, and toot--mr. wambush--had sprained his foot and said he'd rather not dance." "that was very kind of you. not many girls would be so considerate of a fellow's feelings." she looked down at a brindled cat that came into the room and rubbed its side against her skirt. "i don't think girls care enough about the feelings of men," she answered, after a little pause. "if they would treat them nicer they would be better." "you think women can reform men then?" "yes, i do; though a man that drinks is mighty hard to manage. sometimes they can't help it, and they drink more when women show that they have lost confidence in them." he liked what she had said, notwithstanding its being an indirect defence of wambush, but was prevented from answering by hearing his name angrily called in the street. this was followed by heavy footsteps on the veranda. "whar is that d----d livery man?" the voice was now in the hall. "it's toot wambush!" cried the girl, rising quickly and turning to the door. "i am afraid he--" just then the young ruffian entered. his red face and unsteady walk showed that he had been drinking. "say, miss harriet, have you seed--oh, heer you are!"--he broke off as he noticed westerfelt. "you are the one man in the united kingdom that i want to see jest at this present moment. bill washburn 'lowed he had orders from you not to let me have anything out'n yore shebang; is that so?" "i'd rather not talk business here," replied westerfelt. he rose and coolly looked wambush in the face. "if you say so, we'll walk across to the stable." "no," sneered wambush, "this heer's good enough fur me; i hain't got no secrets frum them mount'in men out thar nur this young lady. i jest want ter know now--right _now_, by glory! ef you ever give sech orders." "do you think this is a proper place to settle such a matter?" calmly asked westerfelt. "d----d you; you are a coward; you are afeerd to say so!" harriet floyd, with a white, startled face, tried to slip between the two men, but wambush roughly pushed her aside. "you _are_ afeerd!" he repeated, shaking his fist in westerfelt's face. "no, i'm not," replied westerfelt. the corners of his mouth were drawn down and his chin was puckered. "i have fought some in my life, and sometimes i get as mad as the next one, but i still try to be decent before ladies. this is no place to settle a difficulty." "will you do it outside, then?" sneered wambush. westerfelt hesitated, and looked at the crowd that filled the door and stood peering in at the window. mrs. floyd was running up and down in the hall, excitedly calling for harriet, but the crowd was too anxious to hear westerfelt's reply to notice her. "if nothing else will suit you, yes," answered westerfelt, calmly. "i don't think human beings ought to spill blood over a matter of business, and i don't like to fight a man that's drinking, but since you have behaved so in this lady's presence, i'm really kinder in the notion." "come on, then," blustered wambush. "i'm either yore meat or you are mine." he turned to the door and pushed the crowd before him as he stamped out of the hall into the street. harriet ran between westerfelt and the door. she put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him beseechingly. "don't go out there," she pleaded; "stay here and let him cool off; he is drinking! he's a dangerous man." he took her hands and held them for an instant and then dropped them. "i'm afraid he's been humored too much," he smiled. "i'd never have any respect for myself if i was to back down now. i've known his kind to be cured by a good, sound thrashing, when nothing else would do any good." she raised her hands again, but he avoided her gently and went out into the street. wambush stood on the sidewalk a few yards from the door, one booted foot on the curbstone, the other on the ground. he had thrown his broad-brimmed hat on the ground, and tossed his long hair back over his shoulders. his left hand rested on his raised knee, his right was in the pocket of his short coat. "come on, if you ain't too weak-kneed," he jeered, as westerfelt appeared on the veranda. westerfelt advanced towards wambush, but when he was within a few feet of him, wambush suddenly drew a revolver, cocked it, and deliberately raised it. westerfelt stopped and looked straight into wambush's eyes. "i'm unarmed," said he; "i never carry a pistol; is that the way you do your fighting?" "that's yore lookout, not mine, d----n you!" just then luke bradley ran up the sidewalk and out on the veranda near westerfelt. he had a warning on his lips, but seeing the critical situation he said nothing. a white, tigerish look came into the face of westerfelt. the cords of his neck tightened as he leaned slowly towards wambush. he was about to spring. "don't be a fool, john," cautioned bradley. "be ashamed o' yorese'f, toot! drap that gun, an' fight like a man ur not at all!" wambush's eye ran along the revolver, following every movement of westerfelt's with the caution of a panther watching dangerous prey. "one more inch and you are a dead man!" he said, slowly. mrs. floyd, who was on the veranda, cried out and threw her arms round harriet, who seemed ready to run between the two men. no one quite saw how it happened, but westerfelt suddenly bent near the earth and sprang forward. wambush's revolver went off over his head, and before he could cock it again, westerfelt, with a swift sweep of his arm, had sent it spinning through a window-pane in the hotel. "ah!" escaped somebody's lips in the silent crowd, and the two men, closely on the alert, faced each other. "part 'em, men; what are you about?" cried mrs. floyd. "yes, part 'em," laughed a man on the edge of the crowd; "somebody 'll get his beauty spiled; toot kin claw like a pant'er; i don't know what t'other man kin do, but he looks game." "no, let 'em fight it out fa'r an' squar'," suggested red-faced buck hillhouse, the bar-keeper, in the autocratic tone he used in conducting cock-fights in his back yard. the blood had left westerfelt's face. wambush's eyes gleamed desperately; disarmed, he looked less a man than an infuriated beast. westerfelt was waiting for him to make the attack, but, unlike his antagonist, was growing calmer every second. all at once wambush sent his right arm towards westerfelt's face so quickly that the spectators scarcely saw it leave his side, but it was not quicker than westerfelt's left, which skilfully parried the thrust. then, before toot could shield himself, westerfelt struck him with the force of a battering-ram squarely in the mouth. wambush whined in pain, spat blood from gashed lips, and shook his head like a lion wounded in the mouth. he ran backward a few feet to recover himself, and then, with a mad cry, rushed at westerfelt and caught him by the throat. westerfelt tried to shake him off, but he was unsuccessful. he attempted to strike him in the face, but wambush either dodged the thrusts or caught them in his thick hair. it seemed that westerfelt's only chance now was to throw his assailant down, but his strength had left him, wambush's claws had sunk into his neck like prongs of steel. he could not breathe. "hit 'im in the bread-basket, john!" cried luke bradley. it was a happy suggestion. westerfelt struck wambush in the stomach. with a gasp and an oath, wambush doubled up and released westerfelt's throat. the two men now clinched breast to breast, and, with arms round each other's bodies, each began to try to throw the other down. they swung back and forth and from side to side, but they were well mated. westerfelt suddenly threw his left leg behind wambush's heels and began to force him backward. in an instant wambush would have gone down, but seeing his danger he wriggled out of westerfelt's grasp, drew something from his coat pocket, and sprang towards him. "knife! knife! knife!" cried luke bradley in alarm. "part 'em!" "yes, part 'em!" echoed the bar-keeper with an oath, as if the edge of his pleasure had been taken off by the more serious turn of affairs. several men ran towards wambush, but they were not quick enough. he had stabbed westerfelt once in the breast and drawn back his arm for another thrust, when luke bradley caught his wrist. wambush struck at bradley with his left hand, but the bar-keeper caught it, and between him and bradley, wambush was overpowered. "the sheriff's coming!" a voice exclaimed, as a big man rode up quickly and dismounted. "hello!" he cried, "i summon you, buck hillhouse, and luke bradley, in the name o' the law to 'rest wambush. take that knife from 'im!" "arrest the devil!" came from wambush's bloody lips. he made a violent effort to free himself, but the two men held him. "i'll he'p yer, whether you deputize me or not!" grunted bradley, as he hung to the hand which still held the knife, "i'll he'p yer cut 'is d----d throat, the cowardly whelp!" "i've got nothin' 'gin nuther party," said the bar-keeper, "but i reckon i'll have to obey the law." "he's attempted deliberate murder on a unarmed man," bradley informed the sheriff; "fust with a gun an' then with a knife. ef you don't jail 'im, bale warlick, you'll never hold office in cohutta valley agin." the sheriff stepped up to wambush. "drap that knife!" he ordered. "drap it!" "go to h----!" toot ceased his struggling and glared defiantly into the face of the sheriff. "drap that knife!" the sheriff was becoming angered. he grasped wambush's hand and tried to take the knife away, but toot's fingers were like coils of wire. "i'll see you damned fust!" grunted wambush, and, powerless to do anything else, he spat in the sheriff's face. "d----n you, i'll kill you!" roared warlick, and he struck wambush on the jaw. wambush tried to kick him in the stomach, but bradley prevented it by jerking him backward. it now became a struggle between three men and one, and that one really seemed equal in strength to the other three. "drap the knife!" yelled warlick again, and he drew a big revolver, and with the butt of it began to hammer toot's clinched fingers. as he did this, bradley and hillhouse drew wambush backward and down to the ground. "i'll pay you for this, bale warlick," he groaned in pain, but he still held to the knife. "let go that knife," thundered the sheriff. "let it a-loose, i tell you, or i'll mash your skull!" "not while i hold 'im, bale," said the bar-keeper, sullenly. "law or no law, i won't he'p beat no man 'at's down!" "let go that knife!" the sheriff spoke the last word almost in a scream, and he beat wambush's knuckles so furiously that the knife fell to the ground. he then pinned toot's legs to the earth with his knees, and held the knife up to a man in the crowd. "keep it jest like it is fur evidence," he panted. "don't shet it up or tetch the blade." disarmed, wambush seemed suddenly overcome with fear. he allowed the sheriff to jerk him to his feet, and walked passively between the three men across the street to the stone jail. westerfelt stood alone on the sidewalk. everybody went to see wambush locked up except harriet and her mother. they instantly came out to westerfelt. harriet picked up a folded piece of letter paper. "did you drop this?" she asked. he did not reply, but took the paper absently and thrust it into his coat pocket. it had fallen from wambush's pocket. he was very white and leaned heavily against a sycamore-tree. "oh, he's cut your coat; look!" harriet cried. still he did not speak. he looked down at the slit in the cloth and raised his hand towards it, but his arm fell limply and he swayed from side to side. "are you hurt?" asked mrs. floyd, anxiously. "i think not," he said; "but maybe i am, a little." harriet opened his coat and screamed, "oh, mother, he's cut! look at the blood!" he tried to button his coat, but could not use his fingers. "only a scratch," he said. "but your clothes are wet with blood," harriet insisted, as she pointed to his trousers. he stooped and felt them. they were damp and heavy. then he raised his heel in his right boot, and let it down again. "it's full," he said, with a sickly smile. "i reckon i _have_ lost some blood. why--why, i didn't feel it." martin worthy, the storekeeper, ran across from the jail ahead of the others. hearing westerfelt's remark, he cried: "my lord! you must go inside an' lie down; fix a place, miss harriet, an' send fer a doctor, quick!" harriet ran into the house, and mrs. floyd and worthy supported westerfelt between them into a room adjoining the parlor. they made him lie on a bed, and worthy opened his waistcoat and shirt. "good gracious, it's runnin' like a wet-weather spring," he said. "have you sent fer a doctor?" he asked as harriet came in. "yes; dr. lash, but he may not be at his office." "send for dr. wells," he ordered a man at the door. "that's right," he added to harriet, who had knelt by the bed and was holding the lips of the wound together, "keep the cut closed as well as you kin! i'll go tell 'im to use my hoss." as he went out there was a clatter of feet on the veranda. the people were returning from the jail. westerfelt opened his eyes and looked towards the door. "they'll crowd in here," said harriet to her mother. "shut the door; don't let anybody in except mr. bradley." mrs. floyd closed the door in the face of the crowd, asking them to go outside, but they remained in the hall, silent and awed, waiting for news of the wounded man. mrs. floyd admitted luke bradley. "my heavens, john, i had no idea he got such a clean sweep at you!" he said, as he approached the bed. "ef i'd a-knowed this i'd 'a' killed the dirty scamp!" "i'm all right," replied westerfelt; "just a little loss of blood." but his voice was faint and his eyelids drooped despite his effort to keep them open. worthy rapped at the door and was admitted. "doc lash has rid out to widow treadwell's," he announced. "he's been sent fer, an' ort ter git heer before long. it'll take a hour to git wells, even ef he's at home." harriet floyd glanced at her mother when she heard this. her knees ached and her fingers felt stiff and numb, but she dared not stir. once westerfelt opened his eyes and looked down at her. "do i hurt you?" she asked, softly. "not a bit." he smiled, and his eyes lingered on her face till their lids dropped over them. chapter vii dr. lash came a little earlier than he was expected. the wound was not really a fatal one, he said, but if miss harriet had not been so attentive and skilful in keeping the cut closed, the man would have bled to death. westerfelt dropped to sleep, and when he awoke it was night. a lamp, the light of which was softened by a pink shade, stood on a sewing-machine near the fireplace. at first he could not recall what had happened nor where he was, and he felt very weak and sleepy. after awhile, however, he became conscious of the fact that he was not alone. a slight figure was moving silently about the room, now at the fireplace, again at a table where some lint, bandages, and phials had been left. the figure approached his bed cautiously. it was harriet floyd. when she saw that he was awake, she started to move away, but he detained her. "i'm a lot of trouble for a new boarder," he said, smiling. "this is my first day, and yet i've turned your house into a fortification and a hospital." "you are not a bit of trouble; the doctor said let you sleep as much as possible." "i don't need sleep; i've been hurt worse than this before." she put her hand on his brow. "it'll make you feverish to talk, mr. westerfelt; go to sleep." "did they jail wambush?" "yes." "toughest customer i ever tackled." he laughed, dryly. she made no reply. she went to the fire and began stirring the contents of a three-legged pot on the coals. to see her better, he turned over on his side. the bed slats creaked. "oh!" she exclaimed, running to him, "you'll break the stitches, and bleed again. don't move that way." he raised the blanket and looked down at his wound. "i reckon they are holding all right, though i _did_ feel a little twinge." "you have not had any dinner or supper," she went on. "dr. lash said if you wanted anything i might give you some gruel and milk. i've made it, and it is keeping warm at the fire. will you take some?" "no, i thank you; i can wait till breakfast. then i'll set up at the table and eat a square meal; somehow, i'm not hungry. wambush objected mightily to being jailed, didn't he?" "you ought not to wait till breakfast," she said, looking at the fire; "you'd better let me give you some of this gruel." "all right; you are the doctor." she dipped up some of the gruel in a bowl, and, adding some milk to it, came back to him. but she was confronted by a difficulty. he could not eat gruel and milk from a spoon while lying on his back. he saw this, and put his hands on either side of him and started to sit up. "oh, don't!" she cried, setting the bowl on the floor and gently pushing him back on his pillow; "you must not!" he laughed. "just like a woman. you surely don't think i'm going to lie here for a week, like a sick cat, for such a little scratch. i've lost some blood, that's all." and before she could prevent it, he had drawn himself up and was smiling broadly. "i can't look after sick folks," she said, in despair. "the doctor will blame me." "i heard him say if you hadn't held my cut so well i'd have bled to death." "anybody else could have done it." "nobody else didn't." "do you want the gruel? take it quick, and lie down again; you'll lose strength sitting up." "you'll have to feed me," he said, opening his mouth. "i'm too blamed weak to sit up without propping with my hands, and they don't seem very good supports. look how that one is wobbling." she sat down on the edge of the bed, and without a word placed the bowl in her lap and her arm round him. then neither spoke as she filled the spoon and held it to his lips. she felt him trying to steady his arms to keep his weight from her. "it's really good," he said, as she filled the spoon the second time, "i had no idea i was so hungry; you say you made it?" "yes; there now, i'll have to wipe your chin; you ought not to talk when you are eating." for several minutes neither spoke. he finished the bowl of gruel and lay down again. "i feel as mean as a dog," he said, as she rose and drew the cover over him; "here i am being nursed by the very fellow's sweetheart i tried my level best to do up." she turned and placed the bowl on the table, and then went to the fire. "i heard you were his girl last night," he went on. "well, i'm glad i didn't kill him. i wouldn't have tried in anything but self-defence, for even if he did use a gun and knife, when i had none, he's got bulldog pluck, and plenty of it. do you know, i felt like mashing the head of that sheriff for beating him like he did." she sat down before the fire, but soon rose again. "if i stay here," she said, abruptly, and rather sharply, "you'll keep talking, and not sleep at all. i'm going into the next room--the parlor. if you want anything, call me and i'll come." a few minutes after she left him he fell asleep. she put a piece of wood on the fire in the next room and sat down before it. she had left the door of his room ajar, and a ray of light from his lamp fell across the dark carpet and dimly illuminated the room. the hours passed slowly. no one in the house was astir. no sound came from the outside save the dismal barking of a dog down the road. she was fatigued and almost asleep, when she was suddenly roused by a far-off shout. "whoopee! whoopee!" it seemed to come from the road leading down from the loftiest mountain peak. she held her breath and listened. "whoopee! whoopee!" it was nearer. then she heard the steady tramp of horses' hoofs. she rose and went to the window, moving softly, that her ear might not lose any of the sounds. she raised the window cautiously and looked out. the moon was shining brightly, and down the street beyond the livery-stable she saw a body of horsemen. "great heavens!" she exclaimed; "it's the 'whitecaps'!" she drew back behind the curtains as the horsemen rode up to the hotel and stopped. there were twenty or more, and each wore a white cap, a white mask, and a white sheet over the body. "thar's whar the scrimmage tuck place," explained some one in a muffled voice, and a white figure pointed to the spot where westerfelt and wambush had fought. "we must hurry an' take 'im out, an' have it over." harriet floyd heard some one breathing behind her. it was westerfelt. his elbow touched her as he leaned towards the window and peered out. "oh, it's you!" she cried. "go back to bed, you--" he did not seem to hear her. the moonlight fell on his face. it was ghastly pale. he suddenly drew back beside her to keep from being observed by the men outside. his lips moved, but they made no sound. "go back to bed," she repeated. she put out her hand and touched him, but she did not look at him, being unable to resist the fascination of the sight in the street. "what do they want?" he whispered. he put his hand on an old-fashioned what-not behind him, and the shells and ornaments on it began to rattle. "i don't know," she said; "don't let 'em see you; you couldn't do anything against so many. they are a band sworn to protect one another." "his friends?" he asked. "yes." "ah, i see." he glanced at the two doors, one opening into the hall, the other into his room, and then he swayed and clutched the curtain. she caught his arm and braced him up. "oh, you _must_ go lie down; you'll--" a noise outside drew her back to the window. the band was crossing the street to the jail. "what are they going to do?" he steadied himself, resting his hand on her shoulder, and looked through a pane above her head. "to take toot out." "an' then he'll lead them, won't he?" "i don't know! i reckon so--oh, i can't tell!" she faced him for an instant, a look of helpless indecision in her eyes; then she turned again to the window. "i'll go slip on my coat," he said. "i--i'm cold. i'd better get ready. you see, he may want to--call me out. i wish i had a gun--or something." she made no answer, and he went into his room. he turned up the lamp, but quickly lowered it again. he found his coat on a chair and put it on. he wondered if he were actually afraid. surely he had never felt so before; perhaps his mind was not right--his wound and all his mental trouble had affected his nerves, and then a genuine thrill of horror went over him. might not this be the particular form of punishment providence had singled out for the murderer of sally dawson--might it not be the grewsome, belated answer to her mother's prayer? just then harriet entered the room softly and turned his light down still lower. "stay back here," she said, her tone almost a command. "why?" "if they get toot out, it would be just like him to try to-- you--you are not strong enough to get out of their way. oh, i don't know what to do!" she went back to the window in the next room. he followed her, and stood by her side. the white figures had dismounted at the jail. they paused at the gate a moment, then filed into the yard and stood at the door. the leader rapped on it loudly. "hello in thar, tarpley brown, show yorese'f!" he cried. there was a silence for a moment. in the moonlight the body of men looked like a snowdrift against the jail. the same voice spoke again: "don't you keep us waitin' long, nuther, tarp. you kin know what sort we are by our grave-clothes ef you'll take the trouble to peep out o' the winder." "what do you-uns want?" it was the quavering voice of the jailer, from the wing of the house occupied by him and his family. his voice roused a sleeping infant, and it began to cry. the cry was smothered by some one's hand over the child's mouth. "you know what we-uns want," answered the leader. "we come after toot wambush; turn 'im out, ef you know what's good fer you." "gentlemen, i'm a sworn officer of the law, i--" "drap that! open that cell door, ur we'll put daylight through you." this was followed by the low, pleading voice of the jailer's wife, begging her husband to comply with the demand, and the wailing of two or three children. "wait, then!" yielded the jailer. westerfelt heard a door slam and chains clank and rattle on the wooden floor; a bolt was slid back, the front door opened, and the white drift parted to receive a dark form. "whar's my hoss?" doggedly asked toot wambush. "out thar hitched to the fence," answered the leader. "you-uns was a hell of a time comin'," retorted wambush. "had to git together; most uv us never even heerd uv yore capture tell a hour by sun. huh, you'd better thank yore stars we re'ched you when we did." the band filed out of the gate and mounted their horses. toot wambush was a little in advance of the others. he suddenly turned his horse towards the hotel. westerfelt instinctively drew back behind the curtain, harriet caught his arm and clung to it. "go to your room!" she whispered. "you'd better; you must not stay here." he seemed not to hear; he leaned forward and peered again through the window. the leader and wambush had just reined their horses in at the edge of the sidewalk. "come on, toot; whar you gwine?" asked the leader. "i want to take that feller with us; i'll never budge 'thout him, you kin bet your bottom dollar on that." "he's bad hurt--'bout ter die; don't be a fool!" "huh! doc lash sent me word he was safe. i didn't hurt 'im; but he did me; he damaged my feelings, and i want to pay 'im fer it. are you fellers goin' back on me?" "not this chicken," a voice muttered, and a white form whipped his horse over to wambush's. "i'm with you," said another. then there was a clamor of voices, and all the gang gathered round wambush. he chuckled and swore softly. "that's the stuff!" he said. "them's cohutta men a-talkin'; you kin bet yore sweet life." harriet turned to westerfelt. "they are drinking," she said. "haven't you got a pistol?" "no." "you stay here then; don't let them see you; i'm going up-stairs and speak to toot from the veranda. it's the only chance. sh!" she did not wait for a reply, but opened the door noiselessly and went out into the hall. he heard the rustle of her skirts as she went up the stairs. a moment later the door leading to the veranda on the floor above opened with a creak, and she appeared over the heads of the band. "toot! toot wambush!" she called out in a clear, steady voice. "i want to speak to you!" wambush, in a spirit of bravado, had just ridden on to the veranda, and could hear nothing above the thunderous clatter of his horse's hoofs on the floor. "here, thar, you jail-bird, yore wanted!" cried out the leader. "stop that infernal racket!" "what is it?" asked wambush, riding back among his fellows. "toot wambush!" harriet repeated. he looked up at her. "what do you want?" he asked, doggedly, after gazing up at her steadily for a moment. "get away as fast as you can," she replied. "his wound has broke again. he's bleeding to death!" "well, that's certainly good news!" wambush did not move. "you'd better go," she urged. "it will be wilful murder. you made the attack. he was unarmed, and you used a pistol and a knife. do you want to be hung?" he sat on his horse silent and motionless, his face upraised in the full moonlight. there was no sound except the champing of bits, the creaking of saddles. "come on, toot," urged the leader in a low tone. "you've settled yore man's hash; what more do you want? we've got you out o' jail, now let us put you whar you'll be safe from the law." wambush had not taken his eyes from the girl. he now spoke as if his words were meant for her only. "if i go," he said, "will you come? will you follow me? you know i'm not a-goin' to leave 'thout you, harriet." it seemed to westerfelt that she hesitated before speaking, and at that moment a realization of what she had become to him and what she doubtless was to wambush came upon him with such stunning force that he forgot even his peril in contemplating what seemed almost as bad as death. "this is no time nor place to speak of such things," he heard the girl say, finally. "go this minute and save yourself while you can." "hold on, harriet!" wambush cried out, as she was moving away. westerfelt could no longer see her, and then he heard her close the door and start down-stairs. "come on, toot"--the leader whipped his horse up against that of wambush. some of the others had already started away. toot did not move. he was still looking at the spot where harriet floyd had stood. "it simply means the halter, you blamed fool!" wambush stared into the mask of the speaker, and then reluctantly rode away. chapter viii when harriet returned she found westerfelt lying face downward on the floor. in his fall he had unconsciously clutched and torn down the curtain, and like a shroud it lay over him. she was trying to raise him, when the door opened and her mother appeared. "what's the matter, harriet?" "he has fainted--i don't know, he may be dead. look, mother!" mrs. floyd raised westerfelt's head and turned his face upward. "no, he's still breathing." she opened his shirt hastily. "his wound has not broken; we must get him to bed again. how did he happen to be here?" "he got up as soon as the whitecaps came; i couldn't persuade him to go back." "we must carry him to the bed," said mrs. floyd. as they started to raise him, westerfelt opened his eyes, took a long breath, and sat up. without a word he rose to his feet, and between them was supported back to his bed. "his feet are like ice," said mrs. floyd, as she tucked the blankets round him. "why did you let him stand there?" "it wasn't her fault, mrs. floyd," explained westerfelt, with chattering teeth. "i knew they meant trouble, and thought i ought to be ready." "you ought to have stayed in bed." her eyes followed harriet to the fireplace. "no, daughter," she said, "go lie down; i'll stay here." "i'd rather neither of you would sit up on my account," protested westerfelt; "i'm all right; i'll sleep like a log till breakfast. i don't want to be such a bother." "you ain't a bit of trouble," replied mrs. floyd, in a tone that was almost tender. "we are only glad to be able to help. when i saw that cowardly scamp draw his pistol and knife on you, i could 'a' killed him. i've often told harriet--" "mother, mr. westerfelt doesn't care to hear anything about him." harriet turned from the fire and abruptly left the room. mrs. floyd did not finish what she had started to say. westerfelt looked at her questioningly and then closed his eyes. she went to the fireplace and laid a stick of wood across the andirons, and then sat down and hooded her head with a shawl. when westerfelt awoke it was early dawn. the outlines of the room and the different objects in it were indistinct. at the foot of his bed he noticed something which resembled a heap of clothing on a chair. he looked at it steadily, wondering if it could be part of the strange dreams which had beset him in sleep. as the room gradually became lighter, he saw that it was a woman. mrs. floyd, he thought--but no, the figure was slighter. it was harriet. she had taken her mother's place just before daybreak. her head hung down, but she was not asleep. presently she looked up, and catching his eyes, rose and came to him. "how do you feel now?" she touched his forehead with her soft, cool hand. "i'm all right; i'll be up to breakfast." "no, you won't; you must not; it would kill you." "pshaw! that pin-scratch?" he playfully struck his breast near the wound. "he'd have to cut deeper and rip wider to do me up." she stifled a cry and caught his hand. "you must not be so foolish." she started to turn away, but his fingers closed over hers. "i'm sorry. i'll mind what you say, because you've been so good to me. it seems mighty queer--toot wambush's girl takin' care of the very man he tried to wipe off of the face of creation. no wonder he--" she twisted her hand from his clasp. "why do you say _i'm his girl_?" "because they all do, i reckon; ain't you? last night i heard him ask you to follow him." "you never heard me say i would, did you?" "no, but--" "well, then!" she went to the fireplace. he could not see her, but heard her stirring the fire with a poker, and wondered if her movement was that of anger or agitation, for several minutes neither of them spoke; then she came to him suddenly. "i forgot," she said; "here's a newspaper and a letter. will washburn left them for you." she gave them to him and went to the window and raised the shade, flooding the room with the soft yellowing light from the east. then she resumed her seat at the fire. he opened his letter. the handwriting was very crude, and he did not remember having seen it before. looking at the bottom of the last page, he saw that it was signed by sue dawson--sally dawson's mother. it was not dated, and began without heading of any kind. it ran thus: "so you left this place fur new pastures. but i will be sworn you went off cause you could not see the sun ashinin on my childs grave nor meet her old broke down mother face to face. i have wanted to meet you ever since she died, but i helt in. the reason i sent you word not to come to the funeral was cause i knowed ef i saw you thar i would jump right up before the people and drag you with yore yaller pumpkin face full of gilt right up to her box an make you look at yore work. it was not out of respect fur yore feelings that i did not, nuther, fur i dont respect you as much as i do a decent egg-suckin dog, but i was afraid folks would suspicion the pore child's secret, the secret that me an you an nobody else knows, that she took her own life to git out of the misery you put her in. she did not want them to know, an they shall not; besides, thar are folks in this cussed settlement mean enough to begrudge her the grave lot she has becase of what she was driv to. "thar is one thing i want you to stop. i dont want you to hire peter slogan with blood money, nur nobody else, to haul wood fur me. i knowed you did send a load, fur he is too lazy to think of anybody but hisself without thar was money in it. i accused him of it after i had toted the last stick back to yore land whar he got it. he tried to deny it, but i saw the lie in his face an shamed it. dont you bother about me. i will live a powerful sight longer than you want me to before i am through with you. you will never forgit how sally died, ef you did not look at her pore little face in death nur help the neighbors fill her grave up. "john westerfelt, you killed my child as deliberately as ef you had choked the life out of her with yore bare hands. you hung after her night and day, even after she had been cautioned that you was fickle, an then when you got her whole soul an hart you deliberately left her an begun flyin around liz lithicum. i know yore sort. it is the runnin after a thing that amuses you, an as soon as you get it you turn agin it an spurn it under foot an laugh at it when it strugles in pain. lawsy me. god almighty dont inflict good men with that disease, but you will have it nawin at yore hart tel you run across some huzzy that will rule you her way. beware, john westerfelt, you will want to marry before long; you are a lonely, selfish man, an you will want a wife an childern to keep you company an make you forget yore evil ways, but it is my constant prayer that you will never git one that loves you. i am prayin for that very thing and i believe it will come. john westerfelt, i am yore enemy--i am that ef it drags me into the scorchin flames of hell. "sue dawson." he refolded the letter, put it with quivering fingers back into its envelope, and then opened the newspaper and held it before his eyes. there was a clatter of dishes and pans in the back part of the house. a negro woman was out in the wood-yard, picking up chips and singing a low camp-meeting hymn. now and then some one would tramp over the resounding floor, through the hall to the dining-room. harriet went to the door and closed it. then she turned to him. the paper had slipped from his fingers and lay across his breast. "what shall i get for your breakfast?" she asked. she moved round on the other side of the bed, wondering if it was the yellow morning light or his physical weakness that gave his face such a depressed, ghastly look. "what did you say?" he stared at her absently. "what would you like for breakfast?" he looked towards his coat that hung on the foot of his bed. "don't bother about me; i'm going to get up." "no, you must not." she caught his wrist. "look how you are quivering; you ought not to have tried to read." he raised the paper again, but it shook so that its rustling might have been heard across the room. she took it from him, and laid it on a chair by the bed. she looked away; the corners of his mouth were drawn down piteously and his lips were twitching. "please hand me my coat," he said. "you are not going to get up?" she sat down on the bed and put her hand on his brow. her face was soft and pleading. it held a sweetness, a womanly strength he longed to lean upon. he caught her hand and held it nervously. "i don't believe i've got a single friend on earth," he said. "i don't deserve any; i'm a bad man." "don't talk that way," she replied. there was something in his plaintive tone that seemed to touch her deeply, for she took his hand in both of hers and pressed it. "i don't want to die, for your sake," he said, "for if i was to go under, it would be awkward for your--your friend. he might really have to swing for it." she released his hand suddenly, a pained look in her face. "did you want to put your letter in your coat pocket?" she asked. "yes." she took the coat from a chair, gave it to him, and then went back to the fireplace. he thrust his hand into the pocket and took out sally dawson's last letter, and put it and her mother's into the same envelope. as he was putting them away he found in the same pocket a folded sheet of paper. he opened it. it was a letter from john wambush to his son toot. then westerfelt remembered the paper harriet had picked up and given him in the street after the fight. hardly knowing why he did so, he read it. it was as follows: "dear toot,--me an yore mother is miserable about you. we have prayed for yore reform day and night, but the lord seems to have turned a deef ear to our petitions. we hardly ever see you now an we are afraid you are goin to git into serious trouble. we want you to give up moonshinin, quit drinkin an settle down. we both think if you would jest git you a good wife you would act better. i wish you would go an marry that girl at the hotel--you know who i mean. i am as sorry for her as i ever was for anybody, for she dont think you love her much. she told me all about it the night the revenue men give you sech a close shave. i was standin on the hotel porch when you driv the wagon up with the whiskey barrel on it an i heerd them a-lopin along the road after you. i thought it was all up with you for i knowed they could go faster than you. then i seed her run out on the back porch an help you roll the whiskey in the kitchen an close the door. an when the officers com up you was a-settin on the empty wagon talkin to her as if nothin had happened. i heard all the lies she told em about seein another wagon go whizzin down the road an i thought it was a great pity for her to do it, but she was doin it for a man she loved an i wouldent hold that agin her. a woman that loves as hard as she does would do a sight wuss than that if it was necessary. after you loaded the whiskey back on the wagon and got away to the woods, i went round an told her what i had seed an she bust out cryin an throwed her arms round my neck an said she loved you better than she did her own life an that she never would love any other man as long as breeth was in her body. son, that night she come as nigh beggin me to git you to marry her as a proud girl could, an when i left i promised her i would talk to you about it. she's a good girl, toot, and it would make a man of you to marry her. i like her mighty well an so does yore mother. please do come out home soon. it looks like a pity for you to be away so much when it worries yore ma like it does. "yore affectionate father, "john wambush." westerfelt folded the letter deliberately, and then in a sudden spasm of jealous despair he crumpled it in his hand. he turned his head on the side and pressed down his pillow that he might see harriet as she sat by the fire. the red firelight shone in her face. she looked tired and troubled. "poor girl!" he murmured. "poor girl! oh, god, have mercy on me! she loves him--she loves him!" she looked up and caught his eyes. "did you want anything?" she asked. he gave the letter to her. "burn it, please. i wish i had not read it." she took it to the fire. the light of the blazing paper flashed on the walls, and then went out. he remained so silent that she thought he was sleeping, but when she rose to leave the room she caught his glance, so full of dumb misery that her heart sank. she went to her mother in the kitchen. mrs. floyd was polishing a pile of knives and forks, and did not look up until harriet spoke. "mother," she said, "i am afraid something has gone wrong with mr. westerfelt." "what do you mean?" asked the old lady in alarm. "i don't know, but he got a letter this morning, and after he read it he seemed changed and out of heart. he gave it to me to burn, and i never saw such a desperate look on a human face. i know it was the letter, because before he read it he was so--so different." "well," said mrs. floyd, "it may be only some business matter that's troubling him. men have all sorts of things to worry about. as for me, i've made a discovery, harriet, at least i think i have." "why, mother!" mrs. floyd put the knives and forks into the knife-box. "hettie fergusson was here just now," she said. "this early!" exclaimed harriet, incredulously. "why, mother, where did she spend the night?" "at home; that's the curious part about it; she has walked all that three miles since daylight, if she didn't get up before and start through the dark. i never could understand that girl. all the time she was working here she puzzled me. she was so absent-minded, and would jump and scream almost when the door would open. i am glad we didn't need her help any longer. sometimes i wish she had never come to the hotel." harriet stared wonderingly at her mother; then she said: "did she want to help us again?" mrs. floyd laughed significantly. "that's what she pretended she wanted, but she didn't have no more idea of working here than i have of flying through the air at this minute. harriet, she is dead crazy in love with toot wambush. that is the truth about it." "why, mother, i can't believe it!" cried harriet, her brow wrinkling in perplexity. "he hardly ever went with her or talked to her." "he took her out home with him in a buggy six or seven times to my knowledge," declared mrs. floyd, "and there's no telling how often he saw her at home. he is awfully thick with her father. i never was fooled in a woman; she is in love with him, and right now she is worried to death about him. she couldn't hide her anxiety, and asked a good many round-about questions about where he was gone to, and if we knew whether the sheriff was hunting for him now, and if we thought mr. westerfelt would prosecute him." harriet laughed. "well, i never dreamt there was a thing between those two. when he asked her to go with him in his buggy out home, i thought it was because she lived on the road to his father's, and that he just did it to accommodate her, and--" "oh, i've no doubt that is what _he_ did it for, darling, but she was falling in love with him all the time, and now that he is in trouble, she can't hide it. do you know her conduct this morning has set me to thinking? the night you and i spent over at joe long's i heard wambush came very near being arrested with a barrel of whiskey he was taking to town, and that he managed to throw the officers off his track while he was talking to hettie in our back yard. do you know it ain't a bit unlikely that she helped him play that trick somehow? they say he was laughing down at the store after that about how he gave them the slip. i'll bet she helped him." "if she is in love with him she did, i reckon," returned harriet, wisely. "i wish he was in love with her. he is getting entirely too troublesome." "he'll never care a snap for her as long as you are alive," retorted the old lady. "i'm sorry now that i ever let you go with him so much. he seems to be getting more and more determined to make you marry him whether or no. he is jealous of mr. westerfelt." mrs. floyd lowered her voice. "if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have fought him as he did. that is at the bottom of it, daughter, and now that he is a regular outlaw i am awfully uneasy. if i ever get a chance, i'm going to convince him that it is useless for him to worry you as he does. i'd rather see you in your grave than married to a man like that." chapter ix it was a week before john westerfelt was strong enough to leave his room in the hotel. inflammation of his wound had set in, and at one time his condition was thought to be quite critical. one day luke bradley came in his buggy to drive him out to his house. "marthy won't heer to a refusal," he said. "she's powerful' troubled. she 'lowed ef we'd 'a' made you stay with us you'd not 'a' been apt to 'a' met wambush that day, an' 'a' been laid up like this. she's jest dyin' to git to cook things fer you an' doctor you up." "i'll go and stay a day, anyway," promised westerfelt. he glanced at harriet floyd, who stood behind the curtains looking out of the window. "i don't need any finer treatment than i've had, luke. miss harriet's been better than a sister to me. she saved my life the other night, too. if she hadn't interfered that gang would have nabbed me as sure as preaching, and i was unarmed and too weak to stand rough handling." harriet came from the window. she took the roll of blankets that bradley had brought and held one of them before the fire. "it's chilly out to-day," she said. "you'd better wrap him up well, mr. bradley." bradley did not reply. he heard a noise outside, and went out hastily to see if his horse was standing where he had left him. westerfelt dragged himself from his chair and stood in front of the fire. he had grown thinner during his confinement, and his clothes hung loosely on him. "you have been good to me," he repeated, in a low tone, "and i wish i could do something to pay you back." she said nothing. she bent over and felt the blanket to see if it were scorching, and then turned the other side to the fire. "mrs. bradley is a fine nurse," she said, presently. "she'll take good care of you. besides, she has a better claim on you than we--mother and i--have; she has known you longer." "i'll tell you the truth," he answered, after studying her face for a moment in silence. "i'd really be willing to get hurt over again for an excuse to live here like i have. i am the loneliest man that was ever born--lonely is no name for it. in the dead hours of the night i suffer agonies--you see, i am not a good sleeper. i have been as near insanity as any man that ever lived out of an asylum. but i have been mighty nearly free from all that since you began to nurse me. i wish to god it could go on forever--forever, do you understand?--but it can't--it can't. i have my troubles and you have yours--that is," he added, quickly, as she shot a sudden glance of inquiry at him, "i reckon you have troubles, most girls do." "yes, i have my troubles, mr. westerfelt," she said, simply. "sometimes i think i cannot bear mine, but i do." he said nothing, but his eyes were upon her almost with a look of fear. was she about to tell him frankly of her love for wambush? she rolled up one of the blankets and put it on the rug in front of the fire, and held up another to be warmed. he thought he had never seen a face so full of sweet, suffering tenderness. his heart bounded suddenly with a thought so full of joy that he could hardly breathe. she had driven the outlaw from her heart and already loved him; she had learned to love him since he had been there. he could see it, feel it in her every tender word and act, and he--god knew he loved her--loved her with his whole wearied soul. then the thought of her appeal to old john wambush and the lies she had told that night to save her lover struck him like a blow in the face, and he felt himself turning cold all over in the embrace of utter despair. "no, no, no!" he said, in his heart, "she's not for me! i could never forget that--never! i've always felt that the woman i loved must never have loved before, and wambush--ugh!" she raised her great eyes to his in the mellow firelight, and then, as if puzzled by his expression, calmly studied his face. "you are not going back to that room over the stable, are you?" she questioned. "yes, to-morrow night." "don't do it--it is not comfortable; it is awfully roomy and bare and cold." "oh, i am used to that. many a time i've slept out in the open air on a frosty night, with nothing round me but a blanket." "you could occupy this room whenever it suited you; it is seldom used. i heard mother say yesterday that she wished you would." "i'd better stay there," he answered, moved again by her irresistible solicitude, and that other thing in her tone to which he had laid claim and hugged to his bruised heart. he felt an almost uncontrollable desire to raise her in his arms, to unbosom his anguish to her, and propose that they both fight their battles of forgetfulness side by side, but he shrank from it. the thought of wambush was again upon him like some rasping soul-irritant. "no, no; i'm going back to the stable," he said, fiercely. "i will not stay here any longer--not a day longer!" he saw her start, and then she put down the blanket and stood up. "i do not understand you at all, sometimes" she faltered, "not at all." "but i understand you, god knows," he returned, bitterly. "harriet, little, suffering, wronged woman, i know something about you. i know what has been worrying you so much since i came here." she started and an awful look crept into her face. "oh, mr. westerfelt, do you?" "yes, i know it--that's enough now; let's agree never again to speak of it. i don't want to talk about it, and i reckon you don't. anyway, it can't be helped." "no, it can't be helped." her lips began to twitch and quiver, and her eyes went down. "i understand it all now," she added. "and i don't blame you. i told mother yesterday that i thought you might suspect--" "your mother knows then?" "yes, of course," raising her eyes in surprise. for a moment they were silent. westerfelt leaned against the mantel-piece; he had never felt such utter despair. it was like being slowly tortured to death to hear her speaking so frankly of the thing which he had never been able to contemplate with calmness. "so you see now that i'd better go back to the stable, don't you?" he asked, gloomily. "i suppose so," she said. "i suppose you mean that--" but she was unable to formulate what lay in her confused mind. besides, luke bradley was coming in. they heard his heavy tread on the veranda. "well, come on, john, ef you are ready," he called out. "that blamed nag o' mine won't stand still a minute." when westerfelt had been driven away, and harriet had watched him out of sight down the road, she came back to the fire and sat down in the chair westerfelt had used during his convalescence. she kept her eyes fixed on the coals till her mother entered the room. "i reckon he thought funny that i didn't come in to tell him good-bye," she said, with a knowing little laugh; "but i'll be bound he was glad i didn't. even mr. bradley had the good sense to go outside." "mother, what are you talking about?" "you know mighty well what i mean," returned mrs. floyd, with a smile. "i know mr. westerfelt is dead in love with you, and goodness knows you couldn't fool me about how you feel if you tried. i was a girl once." "mother," said harriet, "i never want you to mention him to me again," and she put her hands over her face and began to cry softly. "why, what is the matter, dear?" the old woman sat down near her daughter, now alarmed by her conduct. harriet stared her mother in the face. "he knows all about it, mother--he knows i am not your child, that nobody knows where i came from. oh, mother, i can't stand it--i simply cannot. i wanted him to know, and yet when he told me he knew, it nearly killed me." mrs. floyd turned pale. "there must be some mistake," she said; "no one here knows it--and only one or two up in tennessee." "there is no mistake," sighed the girl. "he told me the other day that he had relatives in tennessee. oh, mother, more people know it than you think. i have always felt that they knew. so many have noticed that you and i do not look alike." mrs. floyd's eyes were moist and her face was wrung with sympathy. she put her arms around the girl and drew her to her breast. "i ought never to have told you," she said; "but the lawyers knew it, and when your papa's estate was wound up it had to be told to a few. i thought you would soon forget it, but you have never stopped thinking about it. you are entirely too sensitive, too--" "mother, you don't know anything about it," said harriet. "when you told me i was not your child i actually prayed to die. it has been the only real trouble i ever had. i never see poor, worthless people without thinking that i may be closely related to them, and since mr. westerfelt has been here and told me about his aristocratic relatives and his old family, i have been more unhappy than ever. i was going to tell him some day, but he saved me the trouble." "i can't imagine how he knew it," gave in mrs. floyd, thoughtfully. "perhaps he has had some dealings with our lawyers, though they promised not to speak of it. i thought when we moved down here among strangers you'd quit troubling about that. you know you are as good as anybody else, so what is the good of worrying? you make me very unhappy, harriet. i feel almost as if i did wrong to bring you up. but you know i love you just the same as if you was my own child, don't you?" "yes, and i love you as if you were my own mother. i love you more, too, when i am in trouble, though i reckon i don't show it; but, mother, i am dying to know something about my own flesh and blood. i'd rather know that my blood was good than have all the wealth of the earth. you have let enough out to show me that i must have had very, very poor parents." "i simply said that when they left you at my house you had on rather cheap clothing, but you know that was just after the war, when nobody could dress their children much." "but they deserted me," said harriet; "they could not have been very honorable. i reckon mr. westerfelt knows all about it." "well, he won't think any the less of you if he does," said mrs. floyd. "he looks like a born gentleman to me. you will never see a man like him turning against a girl for something she can't help. you ought not to say your parents were not honorable; they may have left you, thinking it would be best for you. we were considered pretty well off then." harriet made no reply for several minutes, and then she said: "i think mr. westerfelt is the best man i ever knew, but he must be like his father some, and he told me that his father, who was a captain in the army, refused to ever see his daughter again who married the son of his overseer. she moved to texas, and died out there. mother, the legitimate daughter of an overseer would stand higher in any southern community than--" at this point a sob broke in her voice, and the girl could go no further. mrs. floyd rose and kissed her on the cheek. "i see," she said, "that as long as you keep talking about this you will search and search for something to worry about. i'm glad mr. westerfelt knows about it, though, for he would have to be told some day, and now he knows what to count on. i'll bet you anything he keeps on loving you, and--" "oh, mother," broke in harriet, "i don't think he lo--cares that much for me; i really do not." chapter x "by george!" exclaimed bradley, as they drove away, "you certainly lit on your feet when you struck that house. it looks like it 'ud pay you to git stabbed every day in the week; it's paid the community, the lord knows, fer it is shet of the biggest dare-devil that wus ever in it. the ol' lady seems to have about as bad a case on you as the gal. i've been thar a time or two to ax about you, an' i never seed the like o' stirrin' round fixin' things they 'lowed would suit yore taste." "they have been mighty good to me, indeed," answered the young man, simply. "i don't think i could have had such thoughtful attention, even at home." "i don't like fer anything to puzzle me," said luke, with a little laugh, "an' i'll swear miss harriet's a riddle. i would a-swore on the stand a week ago that she wus as big a fool about wambush as a woman kin git to be, but now--well, i reckon she's jest like the rest. let the feller they keer fer git a black eye an' have bad luck, an' they'll sidle up to the fust good-lookin' cuss they come across. a man that reads novels to git his marryin' knowledge frum is in pore business; besides the book hain't writ that could explain a woman unless it is the great book, an' it wouldn't fit no woman o' this day an' time." "you think, then, luke," said westerfelt, "that a good woman--a real good woman--could love twice in--in a short space of time?" "gewhillikins! what a question; they kin love a hundred times before you kin say jack robinson with yore mouth open. when you git married, john, you must make up your mind that yo're marryin' fer some'n else besides dern foolishness. the bible says the prime intention of the business wus to increase an' multiply; ef you an' yore wife ever git to multiplyin', you an' her won't find much time to suck thumbs an' talk love an' pick flowers an' press 'em in books an' the like. folks may say what they damn please about women lovin' the most; it's the feller mighty nigh ever' whack that acts the fool. i was plumb crazy about marthy, an' used to be afeerd she wus so fur gone on me that she wouldn't take a sufficient supply o' victuals to keep up 'er strength. that wus when i was courtin' of 'er an' losin' sleep, an' one thing or other. after we wus married, though, me an' 'er mother come to words one day about a shoat pig she claimed had her mark on its yeer an' was penned up with mine, an' she up an' told me out o' spite that the very night before me 'n' marthy got married, ward billingsley wus thar at the house tryin' to get 'er to run off with him, an' that marthy come as nigh as pease a-doin' of it. her maw said she'd a-gone as shore as preachin' ef she'd a-had a dress fitten to take the trip on the train in. i reckon it wus every word the truth, fer to this day marthy won't deny it; but it don't make a bit of difference to me now. marthy would a-done as well by ward as she did by me, i reckon. when women once git married they come down to hard-pan like a kickin' mule when it gits broke to traces." westerfelt drew the blankets closer about him. the road had taken a sharp turn round the side of a little hill, and the breeze from the wide reach of level valley lands was keen and piercing. bradley's volubility jarred on him. it brought an obnoxious person back, and roughly, into the warm memory of harriet floyd's presence, and gentle, selfless tenderness. he ground his teeth in agony. he had just been debating in his mind the possibility of his being, in consideration of his own mistakes, able to take the girl, in her new love, into his heart and hold her there forever, but if she loved wambush, as, of course, she once did, might she not later love some other man--or might she not even think--remember--wambush? "great god!" he uttered the words aloud, and bradley turned upon him in surprise. "what's the matter?" "nothing," said westerfelt; "my wound twinged just a little, that is all." "i was driving too fast over these rocks anyway," said bradley, solicitously. the horse stopped at a clear mountain stream that leaped in a succession of waterfalls down the sheer hill-side into the valley. bradley got out to loosen the bridle to allow the animal to drink, and stood with one foot on the shore and the other on a brown stone in the water. try as he would, westerfelt could not banish harriet from his mind. her sweet personality seemed to be trying to defend itself against the unworthy thoughts which fought for supremacy in his mind. he thought of her wonderful care of him in his illness; her unfailing tenderness and sympathy when he was suffering; her tears--yes, he was sure he had detected tears in her eyes one day when the doctor was giving him unusual pain in dressing his wound. ah, how sweet that was to remember! and yet the same creature had loved a man no higher than wambush; had even sobbed out a confession of her love in the arms of his father. such was the woman, but he loved her with the first real love of his life. the next day but one, westerfelt, feeling sufficiently strong, was driven by washburn down to the livery-stable, where he sat in the warm sunshine against the side of the house. while sitting there watching the roads which led down to the village from the mountains, he was surprised to see peter slogan ride up on his bony bay horse and alight. "howdy' do, john?" he said. "i wus jest passin' on my way home an' thought i'd halt an' ax about that cut o' yore'n." "oh, i'm doing pretty well, peter," answered westerfelt, as he extended his hand without rising. "but i didn't know that you ever got this far from home." "hain't once before, since i went to fight the yanks," grinned slogan. "seems to me i've rid four hundred an' forty-two miles on that churndasher thar. my legs is one solid sore streak from my heels up, an' now it's beginnin' to attact my spine-bone. i'm too ol' an' stiff to bear down right in the stirrups, i reckon." "what has brought you over here?" asked westerfelt, with a smile. slogan took out his clay pipe with its cane stem and knocked it on the heel of his boot, then he put it into his mouth and blew through it till the liquid nicotine cracked audibly. "i've been huntin'," he said, dryly. "in my day an' time i've been on all sorts o' hunts, from bear an' deer down to yaller-hammers, but i waited till i wus in my sixty-fifth year--goin' on sixty-six--'fore i started out huntin' fer a dad-blasted woman." "a woman!" exclaimed the listener. "you could guess who it wus ef you'd make a stab ur two at it," slogan made answer, as he scratched a match and began to smoke. "day before yesterday clariss' went out in the yard to rake up a apron o' chips, an' happened to take notice that thar wusn't a sign o' smoke comin' out o' the old woman's chimney. it was cold enough to freeze hard boiled eggs, an' she 'lowed some'n had gone wrong down at the cabin, so she run in whar i wus, skeerd into kinniptions. 'mr. slogan,' sez she, 'i believe sister's friz in 'er bed, ur dropped off sudden, fer as shore as yore a-smokin' in that cheer, thar ain't a speck o' fire in 'er chimney.' well, i wus in my stockin' feet, like i ginerally am when i want to take it easy before a fire on a cold day, an' i slid my feet into my shoes as quick as i could an' went out an' took a look. shore enough, thar wusn't a bit o' smoke about the cabin. so i tol' clariss' to run down an' see what wus wrong, but she wouldn't budge out o' her tracks. you see, she ain't never felt right about the way she used to do the old woman, an' i reckon she wus afeerd her dead body would do a sight more accusin'--i dunno, she wouldn't go a step fer some reason ur other, but she stood thar twistin' 'er hands an' cryin' an' beggin' me to do her duty. i tol' 'er the last time i wus thar the ol' huzzy wouldn't so much as notice me, an' that i'd had 'nough trouble lookin' atter my own pore kin without galivantin' about atter my kin by a' unfortunate marriage, but nothin' would do 'er but fer me to go, so i did, an' found the old woman had run clean off. well, when i told clariss' that, she mighty nigh had a fit. she swore she had driv her sister desperate by her conduct in the past an' that 'er body would be found as stiff as a bar o' iron in the woods some'rs whar she wus tryin' to keep warm. so the long an' short of it wus that me 'n' my hoss had to start out." "and you have found her?" asked the young man, now thoroughly concerned. "you bet i did, after scourin' the entire face of creation. i traced 'er frum one old acquaintance to another, till last night i run up on 'er over at bill wyman's, ten miles down the valley. it was ten o'clock when i got thar, an' as cold as a cake o' ice in the small o' yore back. i called bill out in his shift on the porch. i was mighty nigh friz, an' i reckon he soon got that away, fer he kept dancin' about fust on one foot an' then on another, while we talked. he admitted she wus thar, but he wouldn't let me stay all night, although i offered to plank down the usual price fer man an' beast. she'd been talkin' to him, i could see that, fer he up an' said some'n about folks bein' churched in his settlement fer the mistreatment o' widows, but he'd admit, he said, that he wusn't posted on the manners an' customs uv all the places over beyant the mount'in; he reckoned the nigher people got to the railroad the furder they wus from the cross. i tried to reason with 'im, but he said ef i wanted to argue my case, i'd better come round in the summer. "thar wusn't any other house nigher'n six miles, an' so i made me a fire in a little cove by the road, an' set over it an' thought, mostly about women, all night. i've heerd preachers say a man oughtn't to think too much about women anyway, but i reckon i backslid last night, fer i thought hard about mighty nigh ever' woman i ever seed or heerd of." "how has mrs. dawson been getting on since i left?" ventured westerfelt. "just about as bad as she knowed how, i reckon, john. after you left, she seemed to take 'er spite out on lizzie lithicum. liz never could pass anywhar nigh 'er without havin' the old cat laugh out loud at 'er. liz has been goin' with that cock-eyed joe webb a good deal--you know he's jest about the porest ketch anywhars about, an' that seemed to tickle mis' dawson mightily. i reckon somebody told 'er some'n liz said away back when you fust started to fly around 'er. i axed clem dill ef he knowed anything about it, an' clem 'lowed liz had kind o' made fun o' sally about you gittin' tired uv 'er, an' one thing ur other. i dunno; i cayn't keep up with sech things. i jest try to find 'em out once in awhile because clariss' is sech a hand to want to know. when she gits to rantin' about anythin' i've done--ur hain't done--all i got to do to shet 'er up is to start to tell 'er some'n somebody's has said about somebody else, an' she gits 'er cheer. so i try to keep a stock o' things on hand. clem dill's afeerd o' mis' dawson now. i was in the store one day about a week ago, an' she come in to swap a pair o' wool socks she had knit fer coffee, an' clem 'lowed, jest to pass the time, while he wus at the scales, he'd ax 'er what ailed her an' lizzie, anyway. but i reckon clem has quit axin' fool questions, fer she turned on 'im like a tiger-cat. sez she: "'liz lithicum dared to say my child made a fool o' herse'f about john westerfelt. that's exactly what liz an' other folks sez about yore wife. i don't see what right you have to ax me sech a question.' well, sir, clem was so much set back 'at he couldn't hardly speak, an' he spilled a scoop o' coffee on the counter 'fore he could get it into the old woman's poke. after she had gone out, laughin' in her sneakin' way, clem come back whar i wus at by the stove an' set down an' spit about two dozen times. arter 'while he axed me ef i'd ever heerd the talk about his wife, an' i eased him all i could, but, lawsy me, you ort ter see 'im hop up an' bow an' scrape when old sue comes in the store now. clem ain't a jealous man--i reckon he's been married too long for that. in my courtin' days i used to be jealous actually of clariss's own daddy, but now i make a habit o' invitin' the preacher to our house every third sunday so i kin git a decent meal an' set an' smoke in the kitchen. john, you don't seem to be any nigher marryin' now than you wus awhile back." westerfelt smiled, but made no reply. "well, you'd better keep on a-thinkin' it over," counselled slogan, as he took the saddle and blanket from his horse and examined a rubbed spot on the animal's back; "thar's a heap more fun marryin' in a body's mind than before a preacher; the law don't allow a feller but one sort of a wife, but a single man kin live alone, an' fancy he's got any kind he wants, an' then she won't be eternally a-yellin' to 'im to fetch in fire-wood. a young feller kin make a woman a sight more perfect than the creator ever did, an' he's had a sight o' practice. i reckon the lord made 'em like they are to keep men humble and contrite an' to show up to advantage his best work on t'other shore. but so long, john, i must be goin'." chapter xi it was a dark night two weeks later. westerfelt, quite recovered from his illness, was returning from a long ride through the mountains, where he had been in search of a horse that had strayed from the stable. the road along the mountain-side was narrow and difficult to follow. at times he was obliged to ascend places so steep that he had to hold to the mane of his horse to keep from falling off. at the foot of a mountain about two miles from cartwright, he heard voices ahead of him. he stopped, peered through the foliage, and, a few paces farther on, saw a wagon containing a couple of barrels. near it stood two men in slouched hats and jeans clothing. "thought shore i heerd some'n," said one of them. "which away?" asked the other. "sounded to me like a hoss up on the mount'in." there was a silence for a moment, then the first voice said: "no, not that away. listen! it's somebody comin' up the road on foot. i reckon it's a friend, but i don't take no resks." the two men stepped quickly to the wagon and took out a couple of rifles. then they stood motionless behind the wagon and horse. westerfelt heard the regular step of some one coming up the road. "hello thar!" cried one of the men at the wagon. "hello!" was the answer. "stand in yore tracks! what's the password?" "joe dill's good 'nough pass-word fer me; i don't try to keep up with all the pop-doodle you fellers git up." "joe dill will do in this case, bein' as yore a good liquor customer. what'll you have, joseph?" "a gallon o' mash--this jug jest holds that amount up to the neck. gi'me a swallow in a cup, i'm as dry as powder. what do you-uns mean by bein' in the business ef you cayn't send out a load oftener'n this? i'll start to 'stillin' myse'f. i know how the dang truck's made; nothin' but corn-meal an' water left standin' till it rots, an'--" "revenue men's as thick through heer as flies in summer-time," broke in the man at the faucet. "sh! what's that?" westerfelt's horse had stepped on a dry twig. there was silence for a moment, then dill laughed softly. "nothin' but a acorn drappin'. you fellers is afeerd o' yore shadders; what does the gang mean by sendin' out sech white-livered chaps?" the only sound for a moment was the gurgling of the whiskey as it ran into the jug. "how's toot like his isolation?" concluded dill, grunting as he lifted the jug down from the wagon. "it's made a wuss devil 'n ever out'n 'im," was the answer. "he don't do a blessed thing now but plot an' plan fer revenge. he's beginnin' to think that hotel gal's gone back on 'im an' tuk to likin' the feller he fit that day. my lord, that man'll see the day he'll wish he'd never laid eyes on wambush." "i hain't in entire sympathy with toot." it was dill's voice. "that is to say, not entire!" "well, don't say so, ef you know what's good fer you." "oh, it's a free country, i reckon." "don't you believe it!" "what's toot gwine to do?" "i don't know, but he'll hatch out some'n." westerfelt's horse had been standing on the side of a little slope, and the soft earth suddenly gave way beneath his hind feet, and in regaining a firm footing he made a considerable noise. there was nothing now for westerfelt to do but to put a bold face on the matter. "get up," he said, guiding his horse down towards the men. "halt!" commanded one of the moonshiners. all three of them were now huddled behind the wagon. "hello!" answered westerfelt, drawing rein; "i'm lookin' for an iron gray, flea-bitten horse that strayed away from the livery-stable this morning; have you fellows seen anything of him?" "no, i hain't." this in a dogged tone from a slouched hat just above a whiskey barrel. there was a pause. "i don't think anybody could have taken him," continued westerfelt, pleasantly. "hain't seed 'im." the speaker struck the wagon-bed with his rifle as he was trying to put it down behind the barrels without being seen. "the left hand road leads to town, i believe?" said westerfelt, riding away. "yes, but take the right at the next fork." about half a mile farther on he saw two horsemen, approaching. when quite near they stopped. "howdy' do?" said one, eying westerfelt suspiciously. "how are you?" answered westerfelt. "we are revenue men; we're after a couple o' men and a wagon loaded with whiskey. seen anything of them?" westerfelt was silent. the revenue officer who had spoken rested his elbow on his thigh and leaned towards him. "looky' here," he said, deliberately; "we don't know one another, but there may be no harm in tellin' you if you try to throw us off the track you lay yoreself liable to complicity. we've had about as much o' that sort o' treatment round heer as we are going to put up with." "i'm not on the witness-stand," said westerfelt, pleasantly; "i'm only looking for a stray horse." "let's go on," said the other officer to his companion. "we are on the right road; he's seed 'em ur he'd a-denied it. let's not lose time." "i'm with you," was the reply; then to westerfelt: "you are right, you hain't on the witness-stand, but ef we wanted to we could mighty easy arrest you on suspicion and march you back to jail to be questioned by the inspectors." westerfelt smiled, "you'd have to feed me at the expense of the government, and i'm as hungry as a bear; i've been out all day, and haven't had a bite since breakfast." the revenue men laughed. "we know who you are," said the one that had spoken first, "an' we know our business, too; so long!" two hours later, as westerfelt was about to go to bed in his room over the stable, he heard a voice calling down-stairs. he went to the window and looked out. below he saw four men, two saddle horses, and a horse and wagon. he heard washburn open the office door and ask: "what do you folks want?" "want to put up our beasts an' this hoss an' wagon," was the reply. "we've got some gentlemen heer we're gwine to jail till mornin'." "all right. i'll slide open the doors as soon as i git my shoes on. i wus in bed." "we'll have to leave these barrels o' rotgut with you." "all right. plenty o' room." westerfelt came down-stairs just as washburn opened the big doors. "hello!" said the revenue officer who had addressed him on the mountain; "you see we made quick time; we found 'em right whar you left 'em." "i see." washburn, who was under the skirt of a saddle unbuckling a girth, glanced at westerfelt in surprise as he lifted the saddle from the horse and carried it into the stable. the two moonshiners exchanged quick glances and sullenly muttered something to each other. westerfelt, intent on getting the business over that he might go to bed, failed to observe these proceedings. when the officers had taken their prisoners on towards the jail, washburn, who, with a lantern, was putting the horses into stalls, turned to westerfelt. "my lord! mr. westerfelt," he said, "i hope you didn't give them fellers away." "never dreamt of such a thing. what do you mean?" "i 'lowed you had by what that feller said just now." "what did he say?" "why, he said they'd ketched the men right whar you left 'em, an'--" "well, what of that?" westerfelt spoke impatiently. "i did pass the whiskey wagon. the revenue men asked me if i'd seen them, and i simply refused to answer. they didn't get anything out of me." "that's just what i'd 'a' done, but i wish you'd 'a' set yorese'f right jest now, fer them fellers certainly think you give 'em away, an' they'll tell the gang about it." "well, i didn't, so what does it matter?" washburn took out the bowl of his lantern and extinguished the light as they entered the office. "it makes a man mighty unpopular in the cohutta valley to interfere with the moonshiners," he answered. "whiskey-makin' is agin the law, but many a family gits its livin' out o' the stuff, an' a few good citizens keep the'r eyes shet to it. you see, mr. westerfelt, the gang may be a little down on you anyway sence your difficulty with wambush. did you know that he wus a sort of a ring-leader amongst 'em?" "yes." "well, you mark my word, that feller'd swear his chances of heaven away to turn them mount'in men agin you." "most of them are good-hearted fellows" replied westerfelt. "they won't harm me." washburn sat down on his bed, pulled off his shoes, and dropped them on the puncheon floor. "but he's got the'r ear, an' you hain't, mr. westerfelt. he'd grab at a chance like this an' you'd never be able to disprove anything. toot's got some unprincipled friends that 'ud go any length to help him in rascality." the next morning before the revenue men had left with their prisoners and the confiscated whiskey for the town where the trial before an inspector was to take place, a number of mountaineers had gathered in the village. they stood about the streets in mysterious groups and spoke in undertones, and now and then a man would go to the jail window and confer with the prisoners through the bars. several men had been summoned to attend the trial as witnesses, and others went out of curiosity or friendship for the accused. that evening, as john westerfelt was passing through the hall of the hotel to the dining-room, he met harriet floyd. she started when she saw him, and he thought she acted as if she wanted to speak to him, but just then some other boarders entered, and she turned from him abruptly. she sat opposite him at the table a few moments later, but she did not look in his direction. on his return to the stable after supper, washburn gave him a letter. he recognized sue dawson's handwriting on the envelope. "is it a order?" asked washburn, thinking it concerned the business. "no, no; from a--a friend." westerfelt lighted a candle at the wick of washburn's lantern and went up to his room. he put the candle on a little table and sat down by it. "i'll never read another line from that woman," he said. "i can't. she'll run me crazy! i've suffered enough." he threw the letter unopened on the table, and clasped his hands over his knee and sat motionless for several minutes. then he picked up the letter and held one corner of it in the candle-flame. it ignited, and the blue blaze began to spread over the envelope. suddenly he blew it out and tore the letter open. the margin of the paper was charred, but the contents were intact. it ran: "john westerfelt,--i heard you come nigh meeting yore death. the lord let you live to make you suffer. the worst pain is not in the body but in the soul. you will likely live a long time and never git over yore guilty suffering. the report has gone out that some gal over thar tuk care of you while you wus down in bed. well, it would be jest like you to try yore skill on her. god help her. i dont know her, nor nothin about her, but she ort ter be warned. ef she loved you with all her soul you would pick a flaw somehow. mark my words. you will live to see awful shapes when nobody else does. yore hell has begun. it will go on for everlastin and everlastin. "sue dawson." he put the letter into his pocket and went to the window and drew down the shade. then he locked the door and placed the candle on the mantel-piece and stood an open book before it, so that his bed was in the shadow. he listened to hear if washburn was moving below, then knelt by the bed and covered his face with his hands. he tried to pray, but could think of no words to express his desires. he had never been so sorely tried. even if he could school himself to forgetting harriet's old love and the act of deceitfulness into which her love had drawn her, could he ever escape mrs. dawson's persecutions? would she not, even if he won and married harriet, pursue and taunt him with the girl's old love, as she had clem dill? and how could he stand that--he, whose ideal of woman and woman's constancy had always been so high? he rose, sat on the edge of the bed, and clasped his hands between his knees. the room was in darkness except the spot of light on the wall behind the book. below he heard the horses crunching their corn and hay. he took from his pocket sue dawson's letters and the one from sally and wrapped them in a piece of paper. then he looked about for a place to hide them. in a corner overhead he saw a jutting rafter, and behind it a dark niche where the shingles sloped to the wall. it was too high for him to reach from the floor, so he placed the table beneath the spot, and, mounting it, pushed the packet tightly into the corner. then he stepped down and removed the table, cautiously, that washburn might not hear him, and sat on the bed again. he remained there motionless for twenty minutes. suddenly a rat ran across the floor with a scrap of paper in its mouth. he stared at the place where the rat had disappeared as if bewildered, then rose, placed the table back against the wall, secured the packet, and put it into his pocket. chapter xii westerfelt knew he could not sleep, and, seeing the moonlight shining through his window, he decided to take a walk. he went below. washburn sat in a little circle of candle-light mending a piece of harness. "has the hack come in yet?" asked westerfelt, remembering that he had paid little attention to business that day. "yes," answered washburn; "it's down at the store unloadin' the mail." "i thought i heard it turn the corner. any passengers?" "no; buck said a family, one woman and five children, wus ready to start by the cohutta road to royleston, but the report about the whitecaps t'other night skeerd 'em out of it, so they went by train to wilks, an' through that way. this outlawin' will ruin the country ef it hain't stopped; nobody'll want to settle heer." "i'll be back soon," said westerfelt, and he went out. the november air was dry and keen as he walked briskly towards the mountains. the road ran through groves of stunted persimmon and sassafras bushes, across swift-bounding mountain streams, and under natural arbors of wild grapes and muscadine vines. in a few minutes westerfelt reached the meeting-house on a little rise near the roadside. it had never been painted, but age and the weather had given it the usual grayish color. behind it, enclosed by a rail fence, was the graveyard. the mounds had sunk, the stones leaned earthward, and the decaying trellises had been pulled down by the vines which clambered over them. it was a strange thing for westerfelt to do, but, seeing the door open, he went into the church. two windows on each side let in the moonlight. the benches were unpainted, and many of them had no backs. westerfelt stood before the little pulpit for a moment and then turned away. outside, the road gleamed in the moonlight as it stretched on to the village. a glimpse of the graveyard through the window made him shudder. it reminded him of a grave he had never seen save in his mind. it was past midnight. he would go back to his bed, though he felt no inclination to sleep. as he approached the stable, walking in the shadow of the trees on the side of the street, he saw a woman come out of the blacksmith's shop opposite the stable. for a moment she paused, her face raised towards the window of his room, and then retreated into the shop. it was harriet floyd. he stepped behind a tree and watched the door of the shop. in a moment she reappeared and looked up towards his window again. he thought she might be waiting to see him, so he moved out into the moonlight and advanced towards her. "oh, it's you!" she exclaimed, excitedly. "i've been waiting to see you. i--i must tell you something, but it won't do to stand here; somebody will see us. can't we?--come in the shop a minute." without speaking, and full of wonder, he followed her into the dark building. she led him past piles of old iron, wagon-tires, ploughshares, tubs of black water, anvils, and sledges to the forge and bellows at the back of the shop. she waited for a moment for him to speak, but he only looked at her questioningly, having almost steeled his heart against her. "i come to warn you," she began, awkwardly, her eyes raised to his. "toot wambush has prejudiced the whitecaps against you. he has convinced them that you reported the moonshiners. they are coming to-night to take you out. the others don't mean to kill you; they say it's just to whip you, and tar and feather you, and drive you out of the place, but he--toot wambush--will kill you if he can. he would not let you get away alive. he has promised the others not to use violence, but he will; he hates you, and he wants revenge. he'll do it and make the others share the responsibility with him--that's his plan." he put his hand on the bellows-pole; the great leather bag rattled and gasped, and a puff of ashes rose from the forge. "how do you happen to know this?" he asked, coldly. she shrank from him, and stared at him in silence. "how do you know it?" he repeated, his tone growing fierce. she drew the shawl with which she had covered her head more closely about her shoulders. "toot hinted at it himself," she said, slowly. "when?" "about an hour ago." "you met him?" "yes." "are you a member of his gang?" "mr. westerfelt," shrinking from him, "do--do you mean to insult me?" "would he have told you if he had thought you would give him away?" "i reckon not--why, no." "then he considers you in sympathy with his murderous plans." "i don't know, but i want you to keep out of his way. you must--oh, mr. westerfelt, you must go! don't stand here; they are coming down the hawkbill road directly. you could ride off towards dartsmouth and easily get away, if you will hurry." "i see," he answered, with a steady stare of condemnation; "you want to keep him from committing another crime--a more serious one." she looked at him an instant as if puzzled, and then said: "i want to keep him from killing you." "do you think he would take advantage of a helpless man?" "i know it, mr. westerfelt; oh, i know he would!" "then you acknowledge he is a coward, and yet you--my god, what sort of a creature _are_ you?" she continued to stare at him wonderingly, as if half afraid. she moved suddenly into a moonbeam that streamed through a broken shingle in the roof. her face was like white marble. in its terrified lines and angles he read nothing but the imprint of past weakness where he should have seen only pleading purity--the purity of a child cowed and awed by the object of a love so powerful, so self-sacrificing that she made no attempt to understand it. she had always felt her inferiority to others, and now that she loved her ideal of superiority she seemed to expect ill-treatment--even contempt--at his hands. he looked away from her. the begrimed handle of the bellows creaked and swung as he leaned on it. he turned suddenly and impulsively grasped her hands. "you are a good girl," he cried; "you have been the best friend i ever had. if i don't treat you better, it is on account of my awful nature. i can't control it when i think of that villain." "he _has_ treated you very badly," she said, slowly, in a voice that faltered. "where did you meet him and when?" he asked, under his breath. "god knows i thought you were done with him." "he came right to the house just after dark," returned harriet. "mother let him come in; she wanted to talk to him." "did he come to get you to go away with him, harriet?" "yes, mr. westerfelt." "and why didn't you go?" "oh, how _can_ you ask such a question," she asked, "when you _know_--" she broke off suddenly, and then, seeing that he was silent, she added: "mr. westerfelt, sometimes i am afraid, really afraid, your sickness has affected your mind, you speak so strange and harsh to me. surely i do not deserve such cruelty. i am just a woman, and a weak one at that; a woman driven nearly crazy through troubling about you." she raised a corner of her shawl to her eyes. he saw her shoulders rise with a sob, then he caught her hands. "don't--don't cry, little girl. i'd give my life to help you. oh yes, _do_ let me hold your hands, just this once; it won't make any difference." she did not attempt to withdraw her hands from his passionate, reckless clasp, and, now more trustingly, raised her eyes to his. "sometimes i think you really love me," she faltered. "you have made me think so several times." "i'm not ashamed of it," he said. "i've had fancies for women, but i have never felt this way before. it seems to me if i was to live a thousand years i'd never, never feel that you was like other women. maybe you love me real deep, and maybe you just fancy me, but i'll never want any other human being like i want you. i have been a bad man--a careless, thoughtless man. ever since i was a boy i have played with love. i was playing with fire--the fire of hell, harriet--and i got burnt. in consequence of what i've done i suffer as no mortal ever suffered. repentance brings contentment to some men, but they are not built like me. i don't do anything from morning to night but brood and brood over my past life." "i thought you had had some trouble," she returned, sympathetically. "why did you think so?" he asked. "you talked when you were out of your head. that's why i first took pity on you. i never saw a man suffer in mind as you did. you rolled and tumbled the first two or three nights and begged for forgiveness; often you spoke so loud i was afraid others in the house would hear." he opened his palms before her. "these hands are soaked in human blood--innocent human blood," he said, tragically. "i don't deny it; if it would do a particle of good i'd tell every soul on earth. i won a good girl's love, and when i got tired of her and left her she killed herself to escape the misery i put her in. i was unworthy of her, but she didn't know it, or want to know it. nobody knows she took her own life except me and her mother, and it has ruined her life--taken away her only comfort in old age and made her my mortal enemy. she never gives me a minute's rest--she reminds me constantly that i'll never get forgiveness and never be happily married, and she is right--i never shall. my wicked nature demands too much of a woman. i can love, and do love, with all my soul, but my pride cannot be subdued. i--" "i understand, mr. westerfelt" she broke in, quickly. "don't bring up that subject again. what you said when i last saw you was enough. it almost kept me from coming to-night, but it was my duty; but you do not have to say any more about that." she took a step backward and stood staring at him in mute misery. she had never felt that she was worthy of him, in a way, but his cold reference--as she understood it--to her misfortune released a spring of resentment she hardly knew was wound in her breast. "forgive me," he pleaded, trying to regain her hands. "i'll never mention it again. i promise you that--never again." "it's all right," she answered, softening under his passionate gaze. "but it would be kind of you to avoid mentioning what i cannot help." he was about to reply, but there was a sound of barking dogs from the mountain. "go quick!" she caught her breath. "don't wait! that may be them now. don't let them kill you." he did not stir. "you'd better go home," he said, calmly. "i don't care a straw what becomes of me. i've had enough of the whole business. i have got as much right to live as anybody else, and i will not be driven from pillar to post by a gang of outlaws, headed by a coward." he drew a revolver, and, half cocking it, carelessly twirled the cylinder with his thumb. "i've got five thirty-two-caliber shots here, and i think i can put some of them where they ought to go." she pushed the revolver down with her hand. "no, no!" she cried, "you must not be reckless." "i am a pretty good shot," he went on, bitterly, "and toot wambush shall be my first target, if i can pick him out. then the rest may do what they like with me. you go home. it will do you no good to be seen with me." she caught his arm. "if you don't go, i'll stay right here with you. hush! listen! what was--? great heavens, they are coming. go! go!" she glided swiftly to the door, and he followed her. coming along the hawkbill road, about an eighth of a mile distant, they saw a body of horsemen, their heads and shoulders dressed in white. his revolver slipped from his fingers and rang on a fallen anvil. he picked it up mechanically, still staring into the moonlight. again he wondered if he were afraid, as he was that night at the hotel. "run! get out a horse," she cried. "mr. washburn is there; he will help you! go quick, for god's sake! i shall kill myself if they harm you." he stared at her an instant, then he put his revolver into his belt. "all right, then, to oblige you; but you must hurry home!" he hastened across the street and rapped on the office door. "who's thar?" called out washburn from his bed. "me--westerfelt." there was a sound of bare feet on the floor inside and the door opened. "what's up?" asked washburn, sleepily. "i want my horse; there's a gang of whitecaps coming down the hawkbill, and it looks like they are after me." "my god!" washburn began fumbling along the wall. "where's the matches? here's one!" he scratched it and lighted his lantern. "i'll git yore hoss. stand heer, mr. westerfelt, an' ef i ain't quick enough make a dash on foot fer that strip o' woods over thar in the field. the fences would keep 'em from followin', an' you might dodge 'em." when washburn had gone into the stable, westerfelt looked towards harriet. she had walked only a few yards down the street and stood under the trees. he stepped out into the moonlight and signalled her to go on, but she refused to move. he heard washburn swearing inside the stable, and asked what the matter was. "i've got the bridles all tangled to hell," he answered. "hurry; anything will do!" the whitecaps had left the mountain-side and were now in sight on the level road. a minute more and westerfelt would be a captive. he might get across the street unnoticed and hide himself in the blacksmith's shop, but they would be sure to look for him there. if he tried to go through the fields they would see him and shoot him down like a rabbit. "heer you are; which door, back or front?" cried washburn. "front, quick! i've got to run for it! i'm a good mind to stand and make a fight of it." "oh no; hell, no! mr. westerfelt." washburn slid the big door open and kicked the horse in the stomach as he led him out. "git up, quick! they are at the branch. blast it, they heerd the door--they've broke into a gallop!" as westerfelt put his foot into the stirrup he saw harriet floyd glide out of sight into the blacksmith's shop. she had determined not to desert him. as he sprang up, the girth snapped, and the saddle and blanket fell under his feet. "god, they are on us!" gasped washburn. one of the gang raised a shout, and they came on with increased speed. "up! up!" cried washburn, kicking the saddle out of his way. "quick! what's the matter?" westerfelt felt a twinge in his old wound as he tried to mount. washburn caught one of his legs and lifted him on his horse. westerfelt spurred the horse furiously, but the animal plunged, stumbled, and came to his knees--the bridle-rein had caught his foot. the foremost of the gang was now within twenty yards of him. "halt thar!" he yelled. westerfelt drew his horse up and continued to lash him with his bridle-rein. "shoot his hoss, but don't tetch him!" was the next command. several revolvers went off. westerfelt's horse swayed at the rump and then ran sideways across the street and fell against a rail fence. westerfelt alighted on his feet. he turned and drew his revolver, but just then his horse rolled over against his legs and knocked the weapon from his hand. it struck the belly of the horse and bounded into the middle of the street. "ha, we've got ye!" jeered the leader, as he and two or three others covered westerfelt with their revolvers. chapter xiii the gang formed a semi-circle round westerfelt and his horse. in their white caps and sheets they appeared ghostly and hideous, as they looked down at him through the eye-holes of their masks. one of them held a coil of new rope and tantalizingly swung it back and forth before his face. "you must go with us up the hawkbill fer a little moonlight picnic," he jeered. "we've picked out a tree up thar that leans spank over a cliff five hundred feet from the bottom. ef the rope broke, ur yore noggin slipped through the noose, you'd never know how come you so." "he's got to have some'n to ride," suggested another muffled voice; "we have done his horse up." "well, he's got a-plenty, an' he won't need 'em atter our ja'nt," jested the man with the rope. "you uns back thar, that hain't doin' nothin' but lookin' purty, go in the stable and trot out some'n fer 'im to ride; doggoned ef i want 'im straddled behind me. his ha'nt 'ud ride with me every time i passed over the hawkbill." "bill washburn's in thar," said a man in the edge of the crowd. "i seed 'im run in as we rid up." the leader, who sat on a restive horse near westerfelt, called out: "hello in thar, bill washburn; git out some'n to put yore man on. hurry up, ur we'll take you along to see the fun." washburn opened the office door and came out slowly. "what do _you_ say, mr. westerfelt? it's yore property. i won't move a peg agin the man that i work fer ef eve'y dam whitecap in christendom orders it." "care_ful_, care_ful_, young man; none o' your lip!" said the leader, half admiringly. "give 'em the lot!" it was the first time westerfelt had spoken. washburn made no reply, but went slowly back into the stable. westerfelt's dying horse raised his head and groaned. a man near the animal dismounted and drew his revolver. "what d' you say?" said he to westerfelt. "hadn't i better put 'im out o' his misery?" "i'd be much obliged if you would." westerfelt turned his face away. there was a moment's pause. the man waited for the horse's head to become still. then he fired. "thanks," said westerfelt. he looked round at the crowd, wondering which of the men could be toot wambush. he had an idea that he had not yet spoken, and was not among those nearest to him. through the open door he could see washburn's lantern moving about in the stable. "hurry up in thar," cried a tall figure. "do you think we're gwine to--" he began to cough. "how do you like to chaw cotton, number six?" a man near him asked. "the blamed lint gits down my throat," was the reply. "i'd ruther be knowed by my voice'n to choke to death on sech truck." from far and near on all sides came the dismal barking of dogs, but the villagers, if they suspected what was being enacted, dared not show their faces. washburn led a horse through the crowd and gave the bridle to westerfelt. he hesitated, as if about to speak, and then silently withdrew. westerfelt mounted. the leader gave the order, and the gang moved back towards the mountain. two horsemen went before westerfelt and two fell behind. as they passed the shop, dimly he saw the form of a woman lying on the ground just out of the moonlight that fell in at the door. harriet had swooned. when they had gone past the shop, westerfelt reined in his horse and called over his shoulder to washburn, who stood in front of the stable. he would not leave her lying there if he could help it, and yet he did not want wambush to know she had warned him. the gang stopped, and washburn came to them. "any directions you want to give?" he asked of westerfelt. "i saw you looking for the account-book," answered westerfelt, staring significantly into his eyes. "i was in the blacksmith's shop to-day and left it on the forge." washburn stared blankly at him for an instant, then he said, slowly, "all right." "you'd better get it to-night," added westerfelt. "all right, sir. i'll attend to everything." "cool as a cucumber," laughed a man. "next thing you know he'll give orders 'bout whar he wants to be buried, an' what to have cut on his grave-rock." the whole gang laughed at this witticism, and started on again. when they had gone about a hundred yards westerfelt glanced back. he saw washburn cross the road and enter the blacksmith's shop, and the next instant the shop was hidden by a sudden turn in the road. they passed the meeting-house and began to ascend the mountain. here and there along the dark range shone the red fires of chestnut harvesters. the blue smoke hung among the pines, and the air was filled with the odor of burning leaves. they passed a camp--a white-covered wagon, filled with bags of chestnuts, two mules tethered to saplings, and three or four forms in dusky blankets lying round a log fire. as the weird procession passed, the mules drew back on their halters and threw their ears forward, but the bodies at the fire did not stir. in about twenty minutes the band reached a plateau covered with a matting of heather. they went across it to the edge of a high precipice. it was as perpendicular as a wall. below lay the valley, its forests of pines and cedars looking like a black lake in the clear moonlight. "git down, men, an' let's 'tend to business an' go back home," commanded the leader. "i have a hankerin' atter a hot breakfast." everybody alighted except westerfelt. the leader touched him with his whip. "will you git down, or do you want to be drug off like a saddle?" "may i ask what you intend to do with me?" asked westerfelt, indifferently. the leader laughed. "put some turkey red calico stripes on that broad back o' yorn, an' rub in some salt and pepper to cuore it up. we are a-gwine to l'arn you that new settlers cayn't run this community an' coolly turn the bluecoats agin us mount'in folks." westerfelt looked down on the masks upturned to him. only one of the band showed a revolver. westerfelt believed him to be toot wambush. he had not spoken a word, but was one of the two that had ridden close behind him up the mountain. one of the white figures unstrapped a pillow from the back part of his saddle. he held it between his knees and gashed it with a knife. "by hunkey! they're white uns," he grunted, as he took out a handful. "i 'lowed they wus mixed; ef my ole woman knowed i'd tuck a poke uv 'er best goose feathers ter dab on a man she'd get a divorce." two or three laughed behind their masks. another laugh went round as a short figure returned from the bushes with a bucket of tar which had been left near the road-side. "heer's yore gumstickum." he dipped a paddle in it and flourished it before westerfelt, who was still on his horse. "say, mister, you don't seem inclined to say anything fer yorese'f; the last man we dressed out fer his weddin' begged like a whipped child, an' made no end o' promises uv good behavior." westerfelt got down from his horse. "i'm completely in your power," he replied. "i won't beg any man nor gang of men living to give me my rights. i suppose i am accused of having reported those fellows to the revenue men. i have simply to say that it is a lie!" "uh, uh!" said the leader; "_care_ful! _care_ful! don't be reckless. we uns ain't the lyin' sort." "i say it's a lie!" westerfelt stared straight into the mask of toot wambush. the wearer of it started and half raised his revolver, but quickly concealed it under the sheet that hung below his waist. everybody was silent, as if they expected a reply from wambush, but he made none. "them pore cohutta men lyin' in the atlanta jail said so, anyway," returned the leader. "they ain't heer to speak fer the'rse'ves; it's a easy thing to give them the lie behind the'r backs." "they were mistaken, that's all," said westerfelt. "nobody but the revenue men themselves could tell the whole truth about it. i did pass the wagon--" "an' eavedropped on our two men. oh, we know you did, kase they heerd a sound, an' then as you didn't come for'ard, they 'lowed they had made a mistake, but when you finally did pass they knowed it wus you, an' that you'd been listenin'." "that's the truth," admitted westerfelt. "i had been warned that it would be dangerous for me to go about in the mountains alone. i heard the men talking, and stopped to find out who they were. i did not want to run into an ambush. as soon as i found out who they were i spoke to them and passed." "at the stable, though, young man," reminded the leader--"at the stable, when the bluecoats fetched the prisoners an' the plunder in, they told you that they'd found them right whar you said they wus." "you bet he did. what's the use a-jabberin' any longer?" the voice was unmistakably wambush's, and his angry tones seemed to fire the impatience of the others. westerfelt started to speak, but his words were drowned in a tumult of voices. "go ahead!" cried several. "go ahead! are you gwine to hold a court an' try 'im by law?" asked wambush, hotly. "i 'lowed that point was done settled." westerfelt calmly folded his arms. "i've no more to say. i see i'm not going to be heard. you are a gang of cold-blooded murderers." the words seemed to anger the leader. "shuck off that coat an' shirt!" was his order. westerfelt did not move. "i'm glad to say i'm not afraid of you," he said. "if you have got human hearts in you, though, you'll kill me, and not let me live after the degradation you are going to inflict. i know who's led you to this. it is a cowardly dog who never had a thing against me till i refused to let him have credit at my stable, when he owes an account that's been running for two years. he tried to kill me with a pistol and a knife when i was unarmed. he failed, and had to get you to help him. you are not a bit better than he is. i'm no coward. i've got fighting blood in me. some of you'd acknowledge it if i was to tell you who my father was. i have reason to believe there are men here to-night who fought side by side with him in the war, and were with him when he was shot down tryin' to hold up the flag at the battle of chickamauga. one of the dirty cowards he once carried off the field when the whelp could hardly walk with a bullet in his leg!" "what company wus that?" came from the edge of the crowd. the voice was quivering. "forty-second georgia." for a moment no one spoke, then the same voice asked: "who wus your pa, young man?" "captain alfred stone westerfelt, under colonel mills." the tall slender figure of the questioner leaned forward breathlessly and then pushed into the ring. without a word he stood near westerfelt, unpinned the sheet that was round him, and slowly took off his mask. then he put a long forefinger into his mouth, pried a wad of cotton out of each cheek, and threw them on the ground. it was old jim hunter. he cleared his throat, spat twice, wiped his mouth with his hand, and slowly swept the circle with his eyes. "i'm the feller he toted out," he said. he cleared his throat again, and went on: "boys, if thar's to be any whippin', ur tarrin' an' featherin' in this case, i'm agin it tooth an' toe-nail. cap westerfelt's boy sha'n't have a hair o' his head fetched on sech flimsy evi_dence_ as we've had while i'm alive. you kin think what you please o' me. i've got too much faith in the westerfelt stock to believe that a branch of it 'u'd spy ur sneak. this is jim hunter a-talkin'." two others pushed forward, taking off their sheets and masks. they were joe longfield and weston burks. "we are t'other two," said longfield, dryly. "the yanks killed off too blame many o' that breed o' men fer us to begin to abuse one at this late day. ef westerfelt's harmed, it will be over my dead body, an' i bet i'm as hard to kill as a eel." "joe's a-talkin' fer me," said burks, simply, and he put his hand on his revolver. "we've been too hasty," began jim hunter again. "we've 'lowed toot to inflame our minds agin this man, an' now i'll bet my hat he's innocent. i'd resk a hoss on it." "thar's a gal in it, i'm a-thinkin'," opined weston burks, dryly. "men," cried the leader, "thar's a serious disagreement; we've always listened to jim hunter; what must we do about the matter under dispute?" "send the man back to town," cried a voice in the edge of the crowd. "he's the right sort to the marrow; i'll give 'im my paw an' wish 'im well." "that's the ticket!" chimed in the man with the rope, as he tossed it over the horn of his saddle. "i 'low myself we've been a leetle bit hasty," admitted the leader. "put down that gun! drap it!" cried jim hunter, turning suddenly on toot wambush. "ef you dare to cock a gun in this crowd, you'll never live to hear it bang!" wambush started to raise his revolver again, but hunter knocked it from his hand. wambush stooped to pick it up, but the old man kicked it out of his reach. "you don't work that trick on this party," he said, hotly. "i wasn't tryin' to draw it," muttered wambush. "you lie!" then hunter turned to the leader: "what d'ye think ortter be done with a man like that? ef i hadn't a-been so quick he'd a shot westerfelt, an' before the law we'd all a-been accomplices in murderin' a innocent man." "i move we give the whelp six hours to git out'n the county," said joe longfield. "you all know i've been agin toot." "that would be too merciful," said burks. "boys," the leader cried, "wambush has broke a rule in tryin' this thing on us. you've heerd the motion; is thar a second?" "i second it," said jim hunter. "it's been moved and seconded that wambush be 'lowed six hours to git clean out o' the county; all in favor say yes." there was almost a general roar. "all opposed say no." no one spoke for a moment, then wambush muttered something, but no one understood what it was. he turned his horse round and started to mount. he had his left foot in the stirrup, and had grasped the mane of the animal with his right hand, when the leader yelled: "hold on thar! not so quick, sonny. we don't let nobody as sneakin' as you are ride off with a gun in his hip pocket. s'arch 'im, boys; he's jest the sort to fire back on us an' make a dash fer it." hunter and burks closed in on him. wambush drew back and put his hand behind him. "damn you! don't you touch me!" he threatened. the two men sprang at him like tigers and grasped his arms. wambush struggled and kicked, but they held him. "wait thar a minute," cried the leader; "he don't know when to let well enough alone. you white sperits out thar with the tar an' feathers come for'ard. wambush ain't satisfied with the garb he's got on." a general laugh went round. with an oath wambush threw his revolver on the ground and then his knife. this done, hunter and burks allowed him to mount. "don't let him go yet," commanded the leader; "look in his saddle-bags." wambush's horse suddenly snorted, kicked up his heels, and tried to plunge forward, but burks clung to the reins and held him. "he dug his spur into his hoss on this side like thunder," said a man in the crowd. "it's a wonder he didn't rip 'im open." "s'arch them bags," ordered the leader, "an' ef he makes anuther budge before it's done, or opens his mouth fer a whisper, drag 'im right down an' give 'im 'is deserts." wambush offered no further resistance. hunter fumbled in the bags. he held up a quart flask of corn whiskey over his head, shook it in the moonlight, and then restored it. "i hain't the heart to deprive 'im of that," he said, as he walked round the horse; "he won't find any better in his travels." on the other side he found a forty-four-caliber revolver. "that 'u'd be a ugly customer to meet on a dark road," he said, holding it up for the others to see. "by hunky! it 'u'd dig a tunnel through a rock mountain. say, westerfelt, ef he'd 'a' got a whack at yer with this yore fragments 'u'd never a-come together on the day o' jedgment." westerfelt made no reply. "now, let 'im go," said the leader. "ef he dares to be seed anywhar in the cohutta section six hours frum now he knows what will come uv 'im. we refuse to shelter 'im any longer, an' the officers of the law will take 'im in tow." the ring of men and horses opened for wambush to pass out. he said nothing, and did not turn his head as he rode down the mountain into the mysterious haze that hung over the valley. "what do you say, boys?" proposed jim hunter to longfield and burks. "let's ride down the road a piece with westerfelt." "all right," both of them said. there was a general scramble of the band to get mounted. westerfelt got on his horse and started back towards the village, accompanied by the three men. when they had ridden about a hundred yards, westerfelt said: "i'm taking you out of your way, gentlemen, and i think i'd rather go alone." "well, all right," said hunter; "but you've got to take my gun. that whelp would resk his salvation to get even with you." "i know it," said westerfelt, putting the revolver into his pocket; "but he'll not try it to-night." "no, i think he's gone fer good," said longfield. "i guess he'll make fer texas." at a point where two roads crossed a few yards ahead of them, westerfelt parted with the three men. they went back up the mountain, and he rode slowly homeward. when he was in sight of the stable, he saw washburn coming towards him on horseback. "hello! did they hurt you, mr. westerfelt?" he asked. "they never touched me." "my lord! how was that?" "i told them i had nothing to do with the arrest; three of them were old friends of my father's, and they believed me. did you find her--did you find miss harriet?" "yes; i couldn't make out what you meant 'bout the account-book at first, but i went over to the shop as soon as you all left. she wus lyin' thar on the ground in a dead faint. it took hard work to bring her to." "you took her home?" "not right away; i couldn't do a thing with 'er. she acted like a crazy woman. she screamed an' raged an' tore about an' begged fer a hoss to ride atter you all. she wasn't in no fix to go; she didn't know what she wus about, an' that scamp would a-shot 'er. i believe on my soul he would." they had reached the stable and dismounted, but neither moved to go in. "i reckon you ought to know the truth, washburn, since you saw her there so late at night," said westerfelt, hesitatingly. "the fact is, she came to warn me. i suppose she knew wambush would try to kill me, and she didn't want to--" "she don't keer a snap for wambush, ef that's what you mean," said washburn, when he saw that westerfelt was going no farther. "i know it's been the talk, an' she no doubt did like him a little at one time, but the' ain't but one man livin' she keers fer now. it ain't none o' my business--i'm no hand to meddle, but i know women! she kep' cryin' an' sayin' that they'd murder you, an' ef they did she'd kill toot wambush ur die in the attempt. i'm tellin' you a straight tale." westerfelt sat down in a chair at the side of the door. washburn led the horse into the stable and put him into a stall. then he came back. westerfelt's hands were over his face, but he took them down when he heard washburn's step. "did--did she hurt herself when she fell?" he asked. "no, she's all right." washburn hesitated a moment, then he added: "mr. westerfelt, you ought to go up to yore room an' try to rest some; this night's been purty rough on you atter bein' down in bed so long." westerfelt rose silently and went through the office and up the stairs. chapter xiv the dawn was breaking when harriet floyd stole up to her room under the slant of the roof. she had no idea of trying to sleep. she sat down on the side of the bed, shivering with cold. through the small-paned dormer window the gray light fell, bringing into vague relief the different objects in the room. down in the back yard the chickens were flapping their wings and crowing lustily. through the dingy glass she could see the cow-lot, the sagging roof of the wagon-shed, the barn, the ricks of hay, and the bare branches of the apple-trees still holding a few late apples. her shoes were wet with dew and her dress and shawl hung limply about her. there was a sudden step in the hall; a hand touched the latch; the door opened cautiously. "harriet!" "yes, mother." mrs. floyd glided across the floor, sat down on the bed by her daughter, and stared at her in wonder. "where on earth have you been? i have been watching for you all night. oh, my child, what is the matter? what has gone wrong?" "i have been out trying to save mr. westerfelt. toot led the regulators down an' they took him out. i warned him, but he would not go in time and they took him to the mountain." "good heavens! what did they intend to do with him?" "most of them meant only to frighten him and to whip him, but toot wambush will kill him if he gets a chance." "i don't believe they'll harm him," said mrs. floyd, consolingly. "anyway, we can't do anything; get in bed and let me cover you up; you are damp to the skin and all of a quiver; you'll catch your death sitting here." mrs. floyd put her hand round harriet, but she sprang up and pulled down a heavy cloak from a hook on the wall. "i did not come here to go to bed!" she cried. she put the garment on and strode past her mother to the window. mrs. floyd followed her movements with an anxious glance. at the window harriet turned and stamped her foot. "do you think i'm going to bed when i don't know--oh, my god, i can't bear it! i can't bear it!" she suddenly approached her bewildered mother, put her hands on her shoulders, and turned her face to the light. "you hear me, mother? as god in heaven is my witness, if a hair of that man's head is harmed to-night, i'll kill toot wambush on sight. i'll kill him, if i hang for it! i swear it before god! do you hear? i swear it--no power on earth shall stop me! i'll _do_ it!" her body swayed. she made a step towards the door and sank down in a swoon. mrs. floyd sprang for a pitcher of water and sprinkled her face. the girl revived a little, and her mother raised her in her arms, put her on the bed, and drew the covers over her. harriet closed her eyes drowsily. she did not seem wholly conscious. mrs. floyd went down-stairs and lighted a fire in the kitchen stove, and put on some water to heat. then she went to the cook's room off the back porch and shook the door. "get up quick, em', harriet is sick!" she cried; then she ran up to her own room, opposite harriet's, and finished dressing herself. as she was crossing the hall she saw a man on horseback in the street. she went out on the veranda and called to him. at first she did not recognize him, but when he came nearer she saw that it was washburn. "are you going to help mr. westerfelt?" she asked, in a low tone, as she leaned over the railing. "i've done all that kin be done," he said. "i've been round among the citizens. they all say we'd be fools to try to do anything, mrs. floyd. some are skeerd to death, an' others pretend they don't think mr. westerfelt's in danger." she did not answer, fearing her voice would rouse harriet, and after he had ridden away, she went back to the girl's room. harriet was asleep, so she left her. a few hours later the barkeeper's wife came into the kitchen and told mrs. floyd the latest news. she dropped the pan she was cleaning and eagerly ran up to harriet. the noise of the opening door roused the girl. she sat up, stared in a dazed way at her mother an instant, then threw off the coverings and sprang out of bed. "i've been asleep; mr. westerfelt! oh, mother, why did you let me--" "he's all right!" interrupted mrs. floyd. "they didn't touch a hair of his head." harriet stared open-mouthed. "he's back safe and sound," went on mrs. floyd; "he proved himself innocent and they let 'im go." "oh, mother, mother!" harriet put her arms round the old woman's neck and clung to her. "thank god! oh, mother, thank god--thank god!" then she sat down in a chair and began hastily to put on her shoes. "what are you going to do?" "going to see him." "not now; why--" "i _will_ see him. let me alone; don't try to stop me!" "you surely would not go to the stable! he--" "i'd go anywhere to see him. i don't care what people say; i'm going to see him." as harriet bent to fasten her shoes, mrs. floyd touched her. "daughter, are you engaged to mr. westerfelt?" harriet did not look up. she still bent over her shoes, but the strings lay motionless in her fingers. "no, he intimated he couldn't marry me, on--on account of my misfortune. oh, don't let's talk about it. he and i understand each other. he loves me, but we're not engaged." mrs. floyd leaned against the mantel-piece. her face had become hard and stern. harriet started to leave the room, but mrs. floyd suddenly stepped between her and the door. "he intimated that _that_ would keep him from marrying you? my lord--the coward!" "mother, don't--don't say that!" "i thought he was a _man_! why, he is lower than a brute." harriet disengaged herself from her mother's grasp, and passed on to the door. she turned on the threshold. "i have no time to quarrel with you about him," she said, with a sigh; "you can have your opinion, nothing on earth will change mine. he loves me. i am going to see him now, and nothing you can say or do will prevent me." her shoes rattled loosely on the bare floor and on the stairs as she went down to the street. during the night the sycamore-trees had strewn the ground with half-green, half-yellow leaves, and the tops of the fences were white with frost. martin worthy was taking down the shutters at the store and calling through the window to his wife, who was unscrewing them on the inside. a farmer had left his team in front of the bar, and she saw him taking his morning drink at the counter and heard buck hillhouse giving him an exaggerated report of the visit of the whitecaps. the eastern sky was yellowing, and a peak of the tallest mountain cut a brown gash in the coming sunlight. at the fence in front of bufford webb's cottage a cow stood lowing for admittance, and a milking-pail hung on the gate. as harriet passed, mrs. webb came out with a bucket of "slop" for the pig in a pen near the fence. she rested it on the top rail to speak to harriet, but the hungry animal made such a noise that she hastened first to empty the vessel into the trough. "good-morning," she said, going quickly to the gate and wiping her hands on her apron; "did you-uns heer the racket last night?" "yes," answered harriet. "i didn't sleep a wink. we could see 'em frum the kitchen winder. it's a outrage, but i'm glad they did no rail harm." the girl passed on. she found washburn in front of the stable oiling a buggy. he had placed a notched plank under an axle and was rapidly twirling a wheel. "where is mr. westerfelt?" she asked. he raised his eyes to the window in the attic. "up thar lyin' down. he's not in bed. he jest threw hisself down without undressing." "is he asleep?" "i don't know, miss harriet, but i think not." "did they hurt him last night, mr. washburn?" "why, no, miss harriet, not a single bit." she caught her breath in relief. "i thought maybe they had, and that he was not going to acknowledge it. are--are you sure?" "as sure as i could be of anything, miss harriet; i believe he is a truthful man, an' he told me they didn't lay the weight of a finger on 'im. you kin go up an' ax 'im. he ain't asleep; he looked too worried to sleep when he got back. he walked the floor the balance o' the night. seems to me he's been through with enough to lay out six common men." harriet did not answer. she turned into the office and went up the stairs to westerfelt's room. round her was a dark, partially floored space containing hay, fodder, boxes of shelled corn, piles of corn in the husk, and bales of cotton-seed meal. she rapped on the door-facing, and, as she received no response, she called out: "mr. westerfelt, come out a minute." she heard him rise from his bed, and in a moment he stood in the doorway. "oh, it's you!" he cried, in a glad voice. "i was afraid you were not well. i--" "i am all right," she assured him. "but i simply couldn't rest till i saw you with my own eyes. when i heard they let you off i was afraid it was a false report. sometimes, when those men do a bad thing they try to cover it up. oh, mr. westerfelt, i am so--so miserable!" he caught her hands and tried to draw her into his room out of the draught which came up the stairs, but she would not go farther than the door. "no, i must hurry back home" she said. "mother did not want me to come anyway; she didn't think it looked right, but i was so--so worried." "i understand." he was feasting his eyes on hers; it was as if their hunger could never be appeased. "oh, i'm so glad you come i've had you on my mind--" but she interrupted him suddenly. looking round at the bleak room and its scant furniture, she said: "i--i thought may be i could persuade you now to come back to your room at the hotel, where mother and i could wait on you. you do not look as well as you did, mr. westerfelt." he smiled and shook his head. "it's mighty good of you to ask me," he returned, "but this is good enough for me, and i don't want to be such a bother. the lord knows i was enough trouble when i was there." a look of sharp pain came upon her sensitive face for an instant, then she said; "i wish you wouldn't talk that way; you weren't one bit of trouble." he looked away from her. he was, indeed, not at his best. his beard had grown out on his usually clean-shaven face and his cheeks looked sallow and sunken. he was tingling all over with a raging desire to throw his arms about her and tell her how he loved her and longed to make her his wife, but suddenly a mind-picture of toot wambush rose before him. he saw her deliberately lying to the officers to save him from arrest, and--worse than all--he saw her in the arms of the outlaw's father sobbing out a confession of her love. he told himself then, almost in abject terror of some punishment held over him by god himself, that mrs. dawson's prayers would be answered--if--if he gave way. "no," he commanded himself, "i shall stand firm. she's not for me, though she may love me--though she does love me now and would wipe out the past with her life. a woman as changeable as that would change again." then a jealous rage flared up within him, and he laid a threatening hand on either of her shoulders and glared into her eyes. "i told you last night i'd never bring up a certain subject again, but--" "then you'd better not," she said, so firmly, so vindictively, that his tongue was stilled. "i came here out of kindness; don't you dare--don't you insult me again, mr. westerfelt." "oh, do forgive me! i--" but she had shaken off his hands and moved nearer the stairway. "you made a promise last night," she reminded him, "and i did not dream you had so little respect for me as to break it so soon." he moved towards her, his hands outstretched imploringly, but a sound from below checked him. some one was speaking to washburn in the office. then footsteps were heard on the stairs, and mrs. bradley, followed by luke, waddled laboriously up the steps. she was wiping her eyes, which were red from weeping. she glanced in cold surprise at harriet, and passing her with only a nod, went to westerfelt and threw her arms around his neck. then with her head on his breast she burst into fresh tears. "you pore, motherless, unprotected boy," she sobbed. "i can't bear it a bit longer. me 'n' luke wus the cause o' yore comin' to this oncivilized place anyway, an' you've been treated wuss 'an a dog. ef luke had one speck o' manhood left in him, he'd--" bradley advanced from the door, and drew his wife away from westerfelt. "don't act so daddratted foolish," he said. "no harm hain't been done yet--no _serious_ harm." still holding her hand, he turned to westerfelt; "they've tried to do you dirt, john, i know, but them boys will be the best friends on earth to you now. ef you ever want to run fer office all you got to do is to announce yorese'f. old hunter wus down at bill stone's this mornin' as we passed buyin' his fine hoss to replace yore'n." "i reckon they've run toot wambush clean off," put in mrs. bradley, looking significantly at harriet. she expected the girl to reply, but harriet only avoided her glance. mrs. bradley rubbed her eyes again, put her handkerchief into her pocket, and critically surveyed the damp, bedraggled dress of the girl. "it's mighty good of you to come down to see 'im all by yourself so early," she said; "some gals wouldn't do sech a thing. the report is out that you notified john of what the band intended to do." harriet nodded, and looked as if she wanted to get away. "it wus mighty good of you, especially as you an' toot are sech firm friends," went on mrs. bradley; "but it's a pity you wusn't a little sooner with yore information." "she told me in plenty of time," corrected westerfelt. "it was my fault that i didn't get away. i didn't go when miss harriet told me to." his reply did not please mrs. bradley, as she showed by her next remark. "i'd think you'd be afeerd o' makin' toot madder at you 'n he already is," she said to harriet. the girl did not look at her. she was watching westerfelt, who had suddenly moved to the bed and sat down. when she spoke she directed her explanation to bradley rather than to his wife. "mother and i thought mr. westerfelt ought not to stay here alone, and that we'd get him to come over to the room he had in the hotel; so we--" "you an' yore mother hain't knowed 'im sence he wus knee-high like me an' luke has," jealously retorted mrs. bradley. "i reckon it's time we wus givin' the boy a little attention. we've got the buggy down thar waitin', john, an' a hot breakfast ready at home. i won't stand no refusal. you jest got to come with us; you needn't make no excuse." "i'm not sick," answered westerfelt, with a faint smile. he glanced at harriet. with an unsteady step she was moving away. he wanted to call to her, but the presence of the others sealed his lips. she turned out into the semi-darkness of the loft, and then they heard her descending the stairs. the sun was rising as she went back to the hotel. no one was in the parlor. she entered it and closed the door after her. she drew up the window-shade and looked down the street till she saw mrs. bradley and westerfelt pass in a buggy. then she went into the dining-room, where a servant was laying a cloth on a long table, took down a stack of plates from a shelf, and began to put them in their places. when breakfast was over that morning westerfelt went back to the stable. while sitting in the office. long jim hunter came to the door leading a fine bay horse, a horse that westerfelt recognized at a glance as one he had seen and admired before. "oh, mr. westerfelt," he called out over washburn's shoulder, who had gone to him. "i wish you'd step heer a minute. i know you don't do the rough work round heer, but i like to have my dealings with the head of a shebang. wash, heer, never did have much more sense 'n a chinch, nohow." "what can i do for you, mr. hunter?" asked the man addressed, coming out. there was a decidedly sheepish look in the old man's face, and he swung the halter of the horse awkwardly to and fro. "well, you see, it's jest this way, westerfelt," he began, with an effort. "i've bought this blamed hoss frum bill stone an' i want to leave 'im heer with you. i want you to put 'im through any sort o' work you see fit; he's too blam' fat an' frisky anyhow." westerfelt comprehended the whole situation, but he did not want to accept the horse. "why, mr. hunter, really--" he began. "oh, we'll take yore hoss," laughed washburn. "we kin take the kinks out'n his mane an' tail an' make 'im wish he never wus born. oh, lordy, yes, we want 'im, an' ef you've got a good saddle an' bridle ur a buggy hustle 'em around." "well, you'd better 'tend to 'im." hunter tossed the halter to washburn. "i'll be blamed ef i want 'im." and he turned and without another word walked away. "it's wuth three o' the one they shot," was washburn's laconic observation. he looked the animal over admiringly and slapped him so vigorously under the belly that the horse grunted and humped his back. cartwright, like nearly every other georgian village, had its lawyer. bascom bates was a young man of not more than thirty, but he was accounted shrewd by many older legal heads, who had been said to have advised him to move to a larger place. when business did not come to his office, bates sometimes went after it. if a woman lost a husband in a railway wreck or was knocked off the track where he had no right to be, bates called as early as possible and offered to direct a suit against the corporation for damages at half the usual price--that is, as bill stone once put it, the widow got half and bates half, which nobody seemed to think exorbitant, because it cost a lawyer a good deal to get his education, and court convened but twice a year. he was among the first to call on westerfelt that morning, and with a mysterious nod and crooking of his fingers in the air he induced the young man to follow him into one of the vacant stalls in the back part of the long building. "thar's something that has jest struck me, westerfelt," he began, in the low voice of an electioneering candidate, and he possessed himself of one of westerfelt's lapels and began to rub his thick, red fingers over it. "i wouldn't have you mention me in the matter, for really i hain't got a thing ag'in any of these mountain men, but i thought i'd say to you as a friend that this is a damageable case. them men could be handled for what they done last night, and made to sweat for it--sweat hard cash, as the feller said." westerfelt stared at him in surprise. "oh," he said, "i never thought of that. i--" "well, there ain't no harm in looking at the thing from all sides," broke in the lawyer, as deliberately as his professional eagerness would permit. "a good price could be made out of the ring-leaders anyway. old jim hunter's got two hundred acres o' bottom land as black as that back yard out thar, an' it's well stocked, an' i know all the rest o' the gang an' their ability to plank up. maybe it wouldn't even get as far as court. them fellers would pay up rather than be published all over creation as--" westerfelt drew back, smiling. he did not really dislike bates, and he attributed his present proposition to the desire to advance in his profession, but he was far from falling into the present proposal. "i haven't the slightest intention of prosecuting, mr. bates," he declared, firmly. "in fact, nothing could persuade me to take a single step in that direction." the face of the lawyer fell. "oh, that's the way you feel. well," scratching his chin, "i don't know as it makes much difference one way or the other, but i hope, mr. westerfelt, that you won't mention what i said. these fellers are the very devil about boycottin' people." "it shall go no further," answered westerfelt, and together they walked to the front. a few minutes after bates had gone across the street to his office, old hunter slouched into the stable and stood before westerfelt. he jerked his thumb over his shoulder in bates's direction and grinned uneasily. then he spat, and delivered himself of this: "i'll bet i kin make a powerful good guess at what that feller wanted to see you about." westerfelt smiled good-naturedly. he felt irresistibly drawn towards the old man. "do you think you could, mr. hunter?" "i'd bet a ten-acre lot agin a ginger-cake. an' i'll bet some'n else; i'll bet ten dollars 'gin a nickel that cap. westerfelt's boy ain't a-gwine to harbor no ill-will agin one o' his daddy's old friends that wus actin' the damn fool 'fore he knowed who he wus monkeyin' with." "you'd win on that bet, mr. hunter," and westerfelt gave the old man his hand. hunter's shook as with palsy as he grasped and held it. tears rose in his eyes. "lord, lord a'mighty!" he said, "when i reecolect that the young chap 'at stood up thar so spunky all by hisse'f last night, in that moonlight an' sassed all of us to our teeth was cap. westerfelt's boy--by god, i jest want some hound dog to come an' take my place on god's earth--so i do. i want some able-bodied cornfield nigger to wear a hickory-withe out on my bare back." then he dropped westerfelt's hand and strode away. chapter xv westerfelt accepted the urgent invitation of the bradleys to live in their house awhile. for the first week his wound gave him pain and his appetite failed him, which was due as much, perhaps, to mental as bodily trouble, for harriet floyd was on his mind constantly. thoroughly disgusted with himself for having in the past treated the hearts of women lightly, he now drew the rein of honor tightly when he thought of his position and hers. he told himself he would never go to see her again till he had made up his mind to forget her love for wambush and every rasping fact pertaining to it, and honorably ask her to be his wife. there were moments in which he wondered if she were not, on her part, trying to forget him, and occasionally, when his spirits sank lowest, he actually harbored the fear that her affection might already have returned to wambush. he recalled something he had once heard that a woman would love a man who was unfortunate more surely than one who was not, and this thought almost drove him mad with jealousy, for was she not likely, through pity, to send her heart after the exile? now and then, in passing the hotel, he caught a glimpse of harriet on the veranda or at the window, but she always turned away, as if she wished to avoid meeting him, and this pained him, too, for she had become his very life, and such cold encounters were like permanent steps towards losing her forever, which, somehow, had never quite shaped itself into a possibility in his mind. it was a warm day in the middle of november, westerfelt and washburn stood at the stable waiting for the hack, which, once a day, brought the mail and passengers from darley. it had come down the winding red clay road and stopped at the hotel before going on to the stable. "i see a woman on the back seat," remarked washburn. "wonder why she didn't git out at the hotel." in a moment the hack was in front of the stable, and budd ridly, the driver, had sprung down and was helping a woman out on the opposite side. when she had secured her shawl and little carpet-bag, she walked round the hack and came towards westerfelt. it was sue dawson. she wore the same black cotton bonnet and gown, now faded and soiled, that she had worn at her daughter's funeral. "howdy' do?" she said, giving him the ends of her fingers, and resting her carpet-bag on her hip. "i _'lowed_ you'd be glad to see me." there was a malicious gleam in her little blue eyes, and her withered face was hard and pale and full of desperate purpose. "how do you do?" he replied. she smiled as she slowly scrutinized him. "well, you _don't_ look as if you wus livin' on a bed of ease exactly," she said, in a tone of satisfaction; "you've been handled purty rough, i reckon, fer a dandified feller like you, but--" she stopped suddenly and glanced at washburn, who was staring at her in surprise, then went on: "budd ridly couldn't change a five-dollar bill, an' he 'lowed i might settle my fare with the proprietor uv the shebang. don't blame budd; i tol' 'im i wus well acquainted with the new stableman; an' i am, i reckon, ef _any_body is. i had business over heer," she went on, as she got out her old-fashioned pocket-book and fumbled it with trembling fingers. "i couldn't attend to it by writin'; some'n's gone wrong with the mails; it looks like i cayn't git no answers to the letters i write." washburn took the money and went into the office for the change. "i didn't see what good it would do to write, mrs. dawson," said westerfelt; "maybe it was wrong for me not to, but i've had a lot to bear; and you--" "_that_ you have," she interrupted, her face hardening, as she looked across the ploughed fields, bordered by strips of yellow broom-sedge, towards the pine forests in the west. "you wus cut bad, i heer, an' laid up fer a week ur so, an' then the skeer them whitecaps give you on top of it must a' been awful to a proud sperit like yore'n; but even sech as that will wear off _in time_. but nothin' _human_, john westerfelt--nothin' _human_ kin fetch back the dead. sally's place is unoccupied. i'm doin' her work every day, an' her dressin' an' pore little sunday fixin's is all still a-hangin' on the wall. she wus the only gal--" washburn came back with the change. the old woman's thin hands quivered as she took the coin and slowly counted the pieces into her pocket-book, washburn suspected from the expression of westerfelt's face that the conversation was of a private nature, so he went out to the hack to help budd unharness the horses. "no," went on the old woman, sternly, "you've brought about a pile o' misery in yore life, john westerfelt, an' you hain't a-gwine to throw it off like a ol' coat, an' dance an' make merry. you may try that game; but yore day is over; you already bear the mark of it in yore face an' sunk cheeks. you've got another gal on yore string by this time, too." "you are mistaken, mrs. dawson." "how about the one at the hotel that nussed you through yore sick spell?" "there is nothing between us." he hesitated, then added: "nothing at all, nor there never will be." "_you_ say thar hain't, but that don't prove it. i want to lay eyes on _her_; i can tell ef you have been up to yore old tricks when i see 'er. ef she's got a purty face you have." he made no reply. she hitched her burden up on her left hip and curved her body to the right. "i'm a-gwine to put up thar, an' i'll see. the bradleys 'll think quar ef i don't put up with them, i reckon; but i'm gwine to try hotellin' fer once. right now it's in my line uv business. good-mornin'; i don't owe you anything--nothin' in the money way, i mean. ah! you think i'm a devil, i reckon; well, you made me what i am. i'm yore work, john westerfelt!" he stood in the stable door and watched the little bent figure walk away. he saw her pass the cottages, the store, the bar, and enter the hotel; then he went through the stable into the back yard and stood against the wall in the warm sunlight. he didn't want washburn to come to him just then with any questions about business. a sudden, startling fear had come to him. he was going to lose harriet now, and through mrs. dawson, and it would be the just consequences of his early indiscretion. chapter xvi as the old woman entered the hotel she saw no one. looking into the parlor, and seeing it empty, she went down the hall to the rear of the house. the door of the dining-room was open. mrs. floyd was there arranging some jars of preserves in the cupboard, and turned at the sound of the slip-shod feet. "good-morning," mrs. floyd said; "won't you have a seat?" mrs. dawson put her shawl and carpetbag on a chair. "i want to put up heer to-night," she said. "i never put up at a tavern in my life, an' i'm a sorter green hand at it. i reckon you could tell that by lookin' at me." "we are pretty full," said mrs. floyd; "but we will manage to make a place for you somehow. my daughter will show you a room. oh, harriet!" "yes, mother." harriet came in from the kitchen. she had overheard the conversation. mrs. dawson eyed her critically and slowly from head to foot. "this lady wants to stop with us," said mrs. floyd; "show her to the little room upstairs." harriet took the carpet-bag. "do you want to go up now?" "i reckon i mought as well." harriet preceded her to a little room at the head of the stairs. the girl was drawing up the window-shade to let light into the room when the old woman spoke. "you are the gal that nussed john westerfelt through his spell, i reckon," she said. harriet turned to her in surprise. "yes, he was with us," she replied. "do you know him?" "a sight better 'n you do, i'm a-thinkin'," mrs. dawson seated herself, took off her bonnet, and began nervously folding it on her knee. "but not better 'n you _will_, ef you don't mind what yo're about." harriet flushed in mingled embarrassment and anger. without replying, she started to leave the room, but mrs. dawson caught the skirt of her dress and detained her. "you don't know who i am. i had a daughter--" "i know all about it." harriet jerked her skirt from the old woman's hand and looked angrily into her face. "she drowned herself because he didn't love her. i do know who you are; you are a devil disguised as a woman! he may have caused your daughter's death, but he did not do it intentionally, but you--you would murder him in cold blood if you could. you have come all the way over here to drive him to desperation. you--you are a bad woman. i mean it!" for a moment mrs. dawson was thrown entirely off her guard by the unexpected attack. she rose and stretched out a quivering hand for her carpet-bag, which she had put on the bed. she shifted it excitedly from one hand to the other, and looked towards the door. "yo're jest one more uv his fool victims, i kin see that," she gasped. "he's the deepest, blackest scoundrel on the face of the earth!" harriet's eyes flashed. "he's the best man i ever saw, and has had more to put up with. you've come over here to persecute him; but you sha'n't stay in this house. get right out; we don't want you!" "why, harriet, what on _earth_ do you mean?" exclaimed mrs. floyd, suddenly entering the room. harriet pointed at mrs. dawson. "this woman has come over here to worry the life out of mr. westerfelt because he didn't marry her daughter. she wrote threatening letters to him while he was at death's door, and is doing her best now to drive him crazy. she sha'n't stay under this roof while i am here. you know i mean exactly what i say, mother. she goes or i do. take your choice!" "mr. westerfelt has had a lot of trouble," began mrs. floyd, wondering what it could all be about; "everybody here is in sympathy with him. we are all liable to mistakes; surely you can pardon him if--" "not while i'm above ground," shrieked the old woman. she dropped her bag, then picked it up awkwardly, and started to leave by a door which opened into another room. she burst into hysterical weeping when mrs. floyd caught her arm to detain her. "not while i'm alive an' have my senses," she went on, in sobs and piping tones. "i'll hound him to his grave. i wouldn't stay heer over night to save my life. i'd ruther sleep in a hay-stack ur in a barn-loft." harriet turned her white, rigid face to the window, and stood between the parted curtains as still as a statue. mrs. floyd tried again to detain the old woman, but she flounced out of the room and thumped down-stairs. the next morning a young girl came into the village by one of the mountain roads. her face was sad and troubled, and she looked as if she had walked a long distance. she was poorly dressed, and her shoes were coarse and coated with dust, but her face was pretty and sweet. in front of the meeting-house she stopped and sat down on a log near the road-side. when people passed she would draw her sun-bonnet over her face and turn her head from them. suddenly she rose and trudged on to the post-office. it was a busy day at cartwright, and the little porch was filled with loungers. old jim hunter was there with his long-barrelled rifle and a snarling opossum, the tail of which was held between the prongs of a split stick. when the animal showed a disposition to bite anybody, or crawl away, he subdued it instantly by turning the stick and twisting its tail. joe longfield had come with a basket of eggs packed in cotton-seed to exchange for their value in coffee, and the two wags were entertaining the crowd with jokes at the expense of each other. as the girl passed into the store martin worthy was weighing a pail of butter for a countryman in a slouch hat and a suit of brown jeans. she returned his nod and went to the little pen in the corner in which the mail was kept. "i cayn't 'low you but ten cents a pound for yore butter," worthy said to the man. "yore women folks never _will_ work the water out, an' it's al'ays puffy an' white. town people don't want sech truck. it has to be firm and yaller. look what the beeson gals fetch once a week. i gladly pay 'em fifteen fer it." he uncovered a pile of firm golden balls and struck them with his paddle. "any woman can make sech butter ef they won't feed the cows cotton-seed an' will take 'nough trouble." when the man had joined the group outside, worthy came from behind the counter into the pen, wiping his hands on a sheet of brown paper. "i don't think thar's a thing fer any o' yore folks, miss hettie," he said to the girl, "but i'll look jest to satisfy you." he took a bundle of letters from a pigeon-hole and ran them hurriedly through his hands. "not a thing," he concluded, putting the letters back; "jest as i thought." she paused for a moment as if about to ask a question. she put a thin hand on the cover of a sugar-barrel, and looked at him timidly from the depths of her bonnet as he came out of the pen, but she said nothing. as she started to go, her skirt caught on a sliver of the barrel, and, as she stooped to unfasten it, she almost fell forward. but she recovered herself and went out of the door towards the hitching-rack in front, paused, and looked back at the road over which she had come. "don't seem to know exactly whar she _does_ want to go," remarked jim hunter, breaking the silence which had followed her departure from the store. "who is she, anyway?" "oz fergerson's daughter hettie," replied worthy, leaning against the door-jamb. "she don't look overly well; i reckon that's why she quit workin' at the hotel. she's dyin' to git a letter from some'rs; she comes reg'lar every day an' goes away powerfully disappointed." "never seed her before as i know of," said longfield, handing worthy his basket of eggs. the girl suddenly turned down the sidewalk. she passed mrs. webb's cottage and the bar and went into the hotel. mrs. floyd met her at the door. "mis' floyd, i want to see harriet," she said. "she's up-stairs," replied mrs. floyd. "i'll call her; but you'd better go in to the fire." the girl shook her head and muttered something mrs. floyd could not understand, so she left her in the hall. mrs. floyd found harriet in her room. "hettie fergerson is down-stairs and wants to see you," she said. "she still acts very strange. i asked her to go into the parlor, but she wouldn't." "how do you do, hettie?" said harriet, as she came down the steps. "come into the parlor; you look cold." the girl hesitated, but finally followed harriet into the warm room. they sat down before the fire, and there was an awkward silence for several minutes, then the visitor suddenly pushed back her bonnet and said, in a hard, desperate tone: "where is toot wambush, harriet?" harriet looked at her in surprise for an instant, then she answered: "why, hettie, how could i know? nobody in cartwright does now, i reckon." "i thought _you_ might." both girls were silent for a moment, then the visitor looked apprehensively over her shoulder at the door. "is yore ma coming in here?" "no; she's busy in the kitchen; do you want to see her?" "no." the girl spoke quickly and moved uneasily. "you came to see me?" "i come to see _some_body--oh, harriet, i'm so miserable! you didn't suspicion it, harriet, but i'm afraid that man has made a plumb fool of me. i haven't slept hardly one wink since they driv' 'im off. i--" she put her hand to her eyes, and as she paused harriet thought she was crying, but a moment later, when she removed her hand, her eyes were dry. "why did you come to--to see me, hettie?" questioned harriet. "because," was the slow-coming reply, "i thought maybe he had wrote back to you." "he has never written to me, hettie--never a line." the face of the girl brightened. "then you ain't engaged to him, _are_ you, harriet?" "the idea! of course not." "oh, i'm mighty glad of that," exclaimed the visitor. "you see, i'm such a fool about him i got jealous. oh, harriet, there ain't no use in me tryin' to deceive myself; i know he would marry you at the drop of a hat if you'd have him. i know that, and still i am crazy about him. i ain't much to blame, harriet, if i am foolish. he made me so, an' 'most any pore, lonely girl like i am would care for a good-looking man like he is. oh, harriet, it is awfully humiliating to have to think it, but i believe the reason he treats me like he does is that i showed him too plainly how much i loved him." "i did not suspect till the other day," said harriet, to avoid that point, "that he was paying you any particular attention. mother told me he often drove you out home." "oh, la, that ain't a circumstance, harriet! he used to come out home mighty nigh every day or night. pa an' ma think he is a regular prince. you know he swore pa out of a big whiskey scrape in atlanta, and since then pa and him has been mighty thick. they thought all along that toot wanted to marry me, and it made 'em mighty proud, and then it began to look like he was settin' up to you. that's why i quit staying here, harriet. i couldn't be around you so much and know--or think, as i did, that he was beginning to love you." "i don't think," protested harriet, "that he was ever deeply interested in me. you must not think that. in fact, i believe now, hettie, that you and he will be happily married some day--if he ever gets out of his trouble." hettie drew in her breath quickly and held it, raising a glad glance to the speaker's face. "why do you think so, harriet?--oh, you are just saying this to make me feel better." harriet deliberated for a moment, then she said: "he was here the night they run him off--the night they all took mr. westerfelt out. mother and i had a long talk with him. mother talked straight to him about flirting with you, and told him what a good, nice girl you were, and--" "oh, did she, harriet? i could hug her for it!" "yes, and he talked real nice about you, too, and admitted he had acted wrong. hettie, i believe in time that he'll come back and ask you to marry him. i believe that in the bottom of my heart." the countenance of the visitor was now aglow with hope. "maybe he will--maybe he will," she said. "i was afraid i let him see too plain that i was a fool about him, but some men like that, i reckon; he always seemed to come oftener. harriet, one thing has worried the life nearly out of me. i heard frank hansard say a young man never would think as much of a girl after she let him kiss her. i'm no hypocrite--i'm anything else; but as much as i'd love to have a young man i cared for kiss me, i'd die in my tracks before i'd let 'im put his arm around me if i thought it would make 'im think less of me. do you reckon" (she was avoiding harriet's eyes)--"do you think that would make any difference with toot--i mean, with any young man?" harriet smiled in spite of the look of gravity in hettie's eyes. "some men might be that way," she finally said, consolingly--she was thinking of the innate coarseness of hettie's lover--"but i don't think mr. wambush is. that was one of the first things my mother ever taught me. she told me she'd learned it by experience when she was a girl. i don't pretend to be better than other girls, but i've always made men keep their distance." hettie shrugged her shoulders, as if to throw off some unpleasant idea. "oh, i don't care. i'd do it over again. lord, i couldn't help it. i love him so, and he is so sweet and good when he tries to be. he thinks i'm all right, too, in some ways. he says i'm just the girl to marry a dare-devil like he is. did you ever know it was me that helped get him away from the revenue men the night he had a barrel o' whiskey on his wagon?" hettie laughed impulsively, and her graceful little body shook all over. "mother thought you had a hand in it," answered harriet, with an appreciative smile. "it was fun," giggled hettie. "toot drove nipitytuck down the street from the hawkbill as fast as he could lick it, and them a-gallopin' after 'im. i had been on the front porch talkin' to his father, who was anxious about 'im and wanted to see 'im. toot pulled up at the side gate an' said: 'no use, het, damn it; i can't make it, and they'll know my horse and wagon an' prove it on me.' then i thought what to do; the men wasn't in sight back there in the woods. quicker 'n lightnin', i made toot push the whiskey across the porch into the kitchen an' shet the door, an' when the revenue men stopped at the gate toot was settin' up as cool as a cucumber in his wagon talkin' to me over the fence. i think he was asking me to get in the wagon and go out home with him. i never seed--saw 'im so scared, though, in my life; but la me! it was fun to me, an' i had more lies on my tongue 'n a dog has fleas. "'did you have a barrel on that wagon a minute ago?' one of the two men asked. "'what'n the hell are you talkin' about?' asked toot. 'i haven't seed--seen no barrel.'" hettie was trying to speak correctly, but the spirit of the narrative ran away with her meagre ideas of grammar. "'oh,' said i, 'you've got the wrong sow by the ear; a wagon went whizzin' by here a minute ago like it was shot out of a gun.' "'which way?' the officer asked, rippin' out an oath that 'u'd a-took the prize at a cussin'-bee. "i pointed down the road and said: 'i hear it a-clatterin' now,' and off they galloped. well, toot soon loaded the whiskey again and drove off up the mountain, but he's laughed about that a hundred times and told the moonshiners about it. whenever i meet one in the road--i know the last one of 'em--they ask me if i've seen a whiskey wagon anywheres about. harriet," she added, more soberly, "you've give me a sight of comfort. now tell me about you-know-who. toot told me the last time he was at our house that he knowed you were gone on that new feller. i'm sorry they fit, but he had no business refusin' to credit toot. nobody else ever did the like, and it was calculated to rile him, especially when he was full an' loaded for bear, as folks say. how are you and him makin' out, harriet?" harriet's face had taken on a sober look, and she hesitated before replying; finally she said: "there is nothing between us, hettie, and i'd rather not talk about him." "oh, i'm _so_ sorry!" the other exclaimed. "he is such a good-looking man, and so many thought you and him would come to a understanding. they say a girl gets a mighty good whack at a man when he is laid up flat of his back. i never have tried it, but it looks reasonable." then hettie rose. "i'm goin' to stay to dinner with you all," she said, "and i'm going out now to help yore ma. pore woman, she looked dead tired jest now!" a few minutes later mrs. floyd came to harriet, who was still seated in the parlor, an expression of deep thought on her face. "harriet," said the old lady, wiping her damp hands on her apron, "hettie has gone to work washing dishes in there like a house a-fire. i declare she's a big help; as soon as she comes about i feel rested, for i know she won't leave a thing undone. what have you been saying to her? i never saw her so cheerful. she's been runnin' on in the kitchen like a fifteen-year-old child. i declare i can't keep from liking her. you must a-told her some'n about toot wambush." "i did," admitted harriet. "mother, i've been standing in her way. i believe he likes her, and will marry her now that i have given him his last answer." "do you really, daughter?" "yes, i think he will--i'm almost sure of it, and i just had to tell her so, she looked so down-hearted." mrs. floyd laid her hand on harriet's head and smiled. "you deserve to be happy, too, daughter, and somehow i feel like you are going to be. mr. westerfelt is nobody's fool; he knows you're sweet and good, and--" "i don't want to talk about him, mother," harriet said, firmly, as she rose. "i think we ought to keep hettie a few days; she'd like to be near the post-office, i know." "well, the lord knows i'm willing," consented mrs. floyd, as she followed her daughter to the kitchen. chapter xvii sue dawson leaned on the front gate at the bradleys'. "hello! hello! hello! in thar!" she cried, in a shrill, piping voice. no one replied. "i'm a good mind to go in anyway," she thought. "i reckon they hain't got no bitin' dog." she raised the iron ring from the post and drew the sagging gate through the grooves worn in the pebbly ground and entered the yard. the front and back doors were open, and she could see a portion of the back yard through the hall. no one seemed to be in the house. a young chicken had hopped up the back steps, crossed the entry, and was stalking about in the hall chirping hollowly, as if bewildered by its surroundings. across the rear door a sudden gust of wind blew a wisp of smoke, and then it occurred to mrs. dawson that some one might be in the back yard. she drove the chicken before her as she stalked through the hall. martha bradley was making soap. with her back to the house, she was stirring a boiling mixture of grease and lye in a large wash-pot. under the eaves of the kitchen stood an ash-hopper, from the bottom of which trickled a tiny amber stream. "howdy, marthy?" said mrs. dawson, behind mrs. bradley's back. "it was so still in the house, i 'lowed you wus all dead an' buried." mrs. bradley turned and dropped her paddle. "why, ef it hain't mis' dawson, as i'm alive! whar on earth are you bound fer?" "jest come over fer a day ur so," was the reply. "i thought some o' stoppin' at the hotel, but, on second thought, i 'lowed you an' luke mought think strange ef i did, so heer i am." "i've al'ays got room fer a old neighbor, an' you'd a-been lonely at the hotel. i'm glad you come, but--" mrs. bradley took up her paddle and began to stir the contents of the pot. "i reckon, i ortter tell you, plain, mis' dawson, that john westerfelt is stayin' with us. we've got plenty o' room fer you both, but i thought it mought not be exactly agreeable fer you." a spiteful fire kindled in mrs. dawson's eyes. "it mought upset _him_ a little speck, marthy, but i hain't done nothin' to be ashamed uv myse'f." mrs. bradley went to the ash-hopper and filled a dipper with lye and poured it into the pot. then she wiped her hands on her apron. "john westerfelt's had enough trouble to kill a ordinary man, mis' dawson," she said, "an' i'm his friend to the backbone; ef you've got any ill-will agin 'im, don't mention it to me. besides, now would be a good time fer you to show christian forbearance. he's been thoughtless, but heer lately he is a changed man, an' i believe he's tryin' his level best to do right in god's sight. he's had a peck o' trouble in one way or another over heer, but, in addition to that, i'm mistaken ef he don't suffer in secret day and night." "you don't say," cried mrs. dawson, eagerly. "i 'lowed he wus cuttin' a wide swath over heer." "never was a bigger mistake. he don't visit a single gal in the place. he neglects his business, an' spends most o' his time in the woods pretendin' to hunt, but he seldom fetches back a thing, and you know he used to be the best shot at the beef matches. luke thinks his mind is turned a little bit. luke happened to go 'long the shader rock road t'other day an' seed john lyin' flat o' his back in the woods. he passed 'im twice inside of a hour, an' he hadn't moved a peg. no healthy minded man don't carry on that way, mis' dawson." "hain't he a-settin' up to that hotel gal?" mrs. bradley turned towards the house with her guest. "no, he hain't," she answered. "she nussed him when he wus down, an'--well, maybe she does kinder fancy _him_ a little--any natcherl girl would--i don't say she _does_ nor _doesn't_, but he hain't been to see 'er, to my knowledge, a single time, nur has never tuk her out to any o' the parties. no, thar's nothin' twixt 'em; she tried to git 'im to come stay at the hotel when he wus sick atter the whitecap outrage, an' i thought she acted a little for'ard then, but he refused an' come to us instead." "you don't say so; why, i heerd--" "a body kin always heer more about a thing fur off than right whar it happens," concluded mrs. bradley. they were now in the sitting-room, and mrs. dawson took off her bonnet and shawl. mrs. bradley put some pieces of pine under the smouldering logs in the fireplace and swept the hearth. that night when westerfelt came home supper was on the table. he was surprised to see the visitor, but she did not notice him and he said nothing to her. the meal passed awkwardly. luke made an effort to keep up the conversation with her by asking about his friends in her neighborhood, but her replies were in a low tone and short, and he finally gave up the attempt. westerfelt rose from the table before any of the others and left the house. as he turned from the gate to go to the stable, he looked through the window and saw mrs. dawson move her chair to the fire. he paused and leaned against the fence. the firelight shone in the old woman's face; it was sad and careworn. somehow she reminded him of his mother, as she had looked a short time before she died. he started on slowly, but came back again to the same spot. luke wiped his mouth on the corner of the table-cloth, rose from the table, and went out at the back door. westerfelt heard his merry whistle at the barn. mrs. bradley filled a large pan with dishes and took them into the kitchen. mrs. dawson bent over the fire. something in the curve of her back and the trembling way she held her hands to the blaze made him think again of his mother. he hesitated a moment, then, lifting the ring from the post, he pushed the gate open and went round the house and into the kitchen. in a corner dimly lighted by a tallow-dip, and surrounded by pans, pots, and cooking utensils, mrs. bradley stood washing dishes. she turned when he entered. "why," she exclaimed, "i--i thought you'd gone; what are you comin' in the back way fer?" "i've got something to say to--to her," he said, in a low tone. "i thought i'd ask you to stay out here for a minute--i won't be long." she said nothing for a moment, but looked at him strangely, as she slowly dried her hands on a dish-towel. then she burst out impulsively: "john westerfelt, ef luke wusn't so particular 'bout my conduct with men, i'd kiss you smack dab in the mouth an' hug you; no wonder women make fools of the'rse'ves about you. ef anybody ever dares agin to say anything agin yore character to me, i'll--" she choked up, turned to the corner, and dived into her dishpan, and he saw only her back. he went into the next room. mrs. dawson's dull glance was fixed on the coals under the logs. she started when she looked up and saw him behind her, and shrank from him in a pitiful blending of fright and questioning astonishment as he drew a chair near to hers and sat down. "what do you want, man?" she asked, looking towards the kitchen door, as if she hoped mrs. bradley would appear. "i want to talk to you, mrs. dawson," he said. "i don't want you to hate me any longer. i am awfully sorry for you; i did you a big injury, but i didn't do it on purpose. i did not dream it would end like it did. i have suffered over it night and day. it will stick to me the rest of my life." the old woman was rapidly regaining her self-possession and with it her hatred of him; her eyes flashed in the firelight. the sad expression he had surprised on her face was gone. "she's in 'er grave," she snarled. "give 'er back an' i'll git down on my knees to you, as much as i hate you!" "you know i'm helpless to undo what's been done," he said, regretfully. "well, take yorese'f out'n my sight then. you've made a' ol' woman perfectly miserable; go on an' marry, an' be happy, ef you kin." "i never expect to be that. i've repented of my conduct a thousand times. i have suffered as much as god ought to make a man suffer for a wrong deed." "not as much as me, an' i hain't guilty o' no crime nuther." "i've humbly begged your forgiveness. i can do no more." he rose slowly, despondently. "git out'n my sight, you vagabond!" mrs. dawson's voice rose till the last word ended in a shriek. footsteps were heard in the kitchen, the door opened, and mrs. bradley strode in, her face aflame. westerfelt stepped towards her and put his hands on her shoulders. "don't say anything," he said; "for god's sake, pity her." "i cayn't stand it," she blurted out, half crying; "she's gwine entirely too fur!" she pushed his hands down and stood glaring at mrs. dawson. "look a heer, sue dawson," she said, getting her breath fast, "yo're a older woman an' me, an' i've got due respect fer age an' a gray head, but john westerfelt is my friend, an' is a-visitin' of me 'n' luke at present. you are welcome in my house ef you'll behave yorese'f decent, but you cayn't come under my roof to goad him to desperation. now i've said my say. thar's the door ef you dare open yore mouth agin. thar ain't a speck o' christian sperit in you. i'm ashamed to call you neighbor." with an expression of mingled anger and fear in her face, mrs. dawson looked at her hostess, and without a word rose stiffly and went to the bed, on which lay her shawl, carpet-bag, and bonnet. her face was to the wall as she drew her bonnet on and began to tie the strings. "i'll go out the back way," whispered westerfelt to mrs. bradley; "for god's sake, don't let her go!" "all right," promised mrs. bradley; "go on. i'll make 'er stay, i reckon, but she's as stubborn as a mule." he went through the kitchen, round the house, and out at the gate. he stopped, leaned against the fence, and watched the two women through the window. mrs. dawson had put on her shawl. she held her bag in front of her, and stood in the centre of the room. mrs. bradley leaned against the mantel-piece. their lips moved, and mrs. dawson was gesticulating furiously, but he could not hear their voices. suddenly mrs. bradley took the bag from the old woman and put it on the bed. then she untied mrs. dawson's bonnet-strings, took off the bonnet and shawl, and drew her back to the fire. they stood talking for a moment, then sat down together. mrs. bradley, holding the shawl and bonnet in her lap, put her arm round the old woman. mrs. dawson began fumbling in the pocket of her dress. she got out her handkerchief and held it to her face, then mrs. bradley began to wipe her own eyes on the corner of her apron. "my god!" groaned westerfelt, as he turned away, "this is more than i can bear!" the next day was sunday. it was as bright and balmy as spring. westerfelt slept late. when he went in to breakfast mrs. bradley told him that mrs. dawson was out at the barn with luke. they all intended to go to camp-meeting that day, she said. a revival had been going on at the meeting-house for the past week, and the congregation had increased so much that the little building would no longer hold the people. it had, therefore, been announced that the sunday service would be held at stone hill camp-ground, two miles from the village on the most picturesque of the cohutta valley roads. as westerfelt went down to the stable after breakfast he saw wagons, hacks, and old-fashioned carriages standing at nearly every gate on the street. washburn and a colored boy, jake, were at the stable busy washing and oiling the wheels of vehicles and currying horses. "i wus jest about to send up to you," was washburn's greeting. "turnouts are at a premium to-day. i didn't know whether to let out yore own hoss an' buggy or not; two or three fellers that want to take the'r girls are offerin' any price fer some'n to ride in." "i am going myself." "hossback ur buggy?" "buggy." westerfelt turned suddenly and walked back towards the hotel. he had decided to invite harriet floyd to go to camp-meeting with him, let the consequences be what they might. he wanted to see her, and nothing should prevent it--not even mrs. dawson's presence in the village nor her threats. as westerfelt walked away washburn said to himself; "it u'd be tough on 'im ef bascom bates is ahead of 'im, after all his hangin' back. by george! i can't imagine who else bates could 'a' intended to ask; he's give up goin' to hansard's. i'll bet my hat bates means business with miss harriet." westerfelt walked into the parlor of the hotel. a colored girl was sweeping the carpet and went out to tell harriet that he wished to see her. harriet didn't keep him waiting long. on rising she had dressed for church. she wore a pretty gray gown with a graceful bow of ribbon at her throat, and carried her cloak on her arm. she put it on the sofa as she entered. she was agitated, and he felt her hand quiver when he took it. "i came to ask you to drive to the camp-ground with me," he said, as her hand slid out of his; "will you go?" "why--why," she stammered, "i--i--promised to go with mr. bates; i'm very sorry; if i had known--" he glanced through the open door; his face had suddenly grown cold, hard, and suspicious. he was jealous even of a man she had never been with before. she sank into a chair and looked up at him helplessly, appealingly. she knew he was jealous, and in that proof of his love her heart went out to him. "oh, it don't matter," he said, quickly. "i'm going to drive out myself anyway, and i thought if you had nobody to take you, you might like to go 'long." "he asked me yesterday," she faltered. her voice was full of startled concern. "i'd rather go with you, you know i had. i have never gone with him anywhere. we are almost strangers. i--i would hardly know how to talk to him." she knew it was not with his natural voice that westerfelt answered. "well," he said, coldly, "you can't go with two fellows, and he got to you first. i reckon bates knows the roads; you'd better take the river-bottom route. washburn says the other is not as good as it might be. good-bye." he had reached the veranda when she called him back. as he re-entered the room she rose and stepped towards him. "are you mad with me, mr. westerfelt?" he was ashamed of himself, but he could not conquer his horrible humor. "not in the least; i don't blame you." his tone was still cold and his glance averted. she put her handkerchief to her face in vexation, but removed it quickly as she caught his glance. "i'll not go; i'll stay at home," she affirmed. "no, go; you'd never hear the end of it if you were to slight bates." "shall i see you out there?" "i reckon not," he laughed, harshly. "i never want anybody bothering me when i take a girl anywhere, and i try to obey the golden rule with other men. you belong to bates to-day." he left the room. she heard him stride across the veranda and walk hurriedly away. she went to the window and tried to catch another glimpse of him, but he was out of sight. she turned into the next room. her mother was there packing some table linen into the bottom of a wardrobe. "mother," the girl faltered, "mr. westerfelt asked me just now to go to the camp-ground with him." mrs. floyd let a table-cloth which she was folding hang down in front of her for a moment as she looked at harriet. "well, you told him you was going with bascom bates, didn't you?" "yes, of course, but--" "well, what of it? i wish you'd just look what a mess the rats have gone and made of this linen. they've been trying to gnaw the starch out of it, and have cut holes in nearly every piece." "he looked mad, mother; he pretended he didn't care, but i never saw such a look on anybody's face. oh, mother--" "harriet!" mrs. floyd looked straight into the girl's eyes as she closed the wardrobe door and turned the key. "looky' here, i'm older than you, and i know men a sight better. mr. westerfelt is a nice man and a good enough catch, but he's got plenty of faults. you've just got to listen to reason. some men will despise a girl quicker for letting themselves be run over than anything else, and he's one of that sort. he has deliberately insulted you by throwing up a delicate matter to you, which god knows you couldn't help, and now--well, he's a purty thing to dictate to you who you go with--" "mother, something was wrong with his mind when he said that," interrupted harriet. "he's just gettin' well, that's all. oh, mother, he loves me--i know he does--i know it! i'll bet he hardly remembers what he said. and now this old bascom bates has come between us." mrs. floyd was moved, in spite of her desire to hold her ground. "yes," she admitted, "i think he acts like he loves you, and after staying away so long, his wanting to go with you to-day looks powerful like he has come to his senses at last. but you will spoil it all if you slight another respectable man to please him. that's the long and short of it. now, you take my advice and give him as good as he sends every time, and a little more to boot. it's a woman's right." "mother, you don't know mr. westerfelt; he--" "la! yes, i do; they are every one p'int-blank alike. they want what they can't get, and what other men have, a sight more than what is in easy reach. if you've got any gumption, you'll make him think you are having a mighty good time with bascom bates to-day. if bascom keeps coming to see you it will make him think all the more of you, too. bates belongs to mighty nigh as good stock as he does anyway, and folks say he is the sharpest trader and note-shaver in the county. ef you don't encourage him to come regular i shall do it for you. and if i ever get a chance i'll throw out a hint to westerfelt that you have a little leaning towards the law anyway." "i don't want you to do that, mother," objected harriet, quite seriously. mrs. floyd laughed slyly as she turned away. "you leave them two jakes to me. i feel like i was a girl again. we used to have lots o' fun with mr. floyd, me 'n' mother did. did i ever tell you the time me'n' her--" but harriet, with a preoccupied air, had turned away. chapter xviii westerfelt went back to the stable and ordered jake to get out his horse and buggy. washburn watched him over the back of the mule he was hitching to a spring wagon and smiled. "got it in the neck that pop!" he murmured. "i knowed bates wusn't a-buyin' a new whip an' lap-robe fer nothin'. i'll bet my life mr. westerfelt 'll lose that gal, an', by george, he ort to! he don't seem to know his own mind." just then bascom bates whirled by on his way to the hotel. there was something glaringly incongruous between his glistening silk hat and the long-haired "plough horse" and rickety buggy he was driving. the silk hat was a sort of badge of office; lawyers wore them, as a rule, and he was the only lawyer at cartwright. he had bought his silk hat on the day of his admission to the bar, and had worn it regularly on dry sundays ever since. it would have suited anybody else better than it did him. he was not at all good-looking. his hair was stiff and rather red, his eyes were pale blue, his face was freckled, and the skin of his neck had a way of folding itself unattractively. he wore thick cow-leather shoes, which he never blacked, but greased frequently, and that made them catch and hold the dust. he never considered himself carefully dressed unless all the buttons of his vest were unfastened, except one at the top and one at the bottom. the gap between the two buttons was considered quite a touch of rural style. he held the reins, but a little negro boy sat on the seat beside him. he was taking the boy to hold his horse while he went into the hotel after harriet. that, too, was considered quite the proper thing--a custom which had come down from slavery days--and as there was a scarcity of black boys in the village, bates had brought his all the way from his father's plantation. the boy was expected to walk back home after the couple got started, but bates intended to give him something for his trouble, and the distinction of holding mr. bates's horse in town was something the boy never expected to forget. bates had been a common farm-boy before he studied law, and the handles of ploughs, axes, and grubbing-hoes had enlarged the joints of his fingers and hardened his palms. he had studied at night, earned a reputation as an off-hand speaker hard to be downed in debating societies, made a few speeches on the stump for willing gubernatorial candidates, and was now looked upon as a possible democratic nominee for the legislature. most young lawyers in that part of the state were called "colonel," and bates had been addressed by the title once or twice. westerfelt pretended not to see him as he passed, but he urged jake to hurry up and get out his horse and buggy. he had a strange idea that it would humiliate him in harriet's eyes to be seen by her as she passed with a man he now regarded as a rival. he would have given much to have had any sort of companion with him. jake had some difficulty in backing the horse into the shafts, and before westerfelt could get started, he saw harriet come out on the veranda and follow bates to his buggy. however, westerfelt managed to get started before they did, and drove on without looking back. knowing that bates was fond of fast driving, and fearing that he might overtake him, westerfelt drove rapidly. the fires of jealousy were raging within him. he told himself that it would be a long time before he would ask her again to go with him anywhere, and during that drive he almost convinced himself that he could give her up without much regret. he was sure bates wanted to marry her. such a stolid, matter-of-fact man would never visit a girl with less serious intentions. bates, of course, was ignorant of the girl's early love for wambush. he wondered if she would ever confess to the lawyer as she had to him. he thought it unlikely; for he had found it out and mentioned it to her first, and, besides, her experience with him had taught her discretion. westerfelt would have been more generous in his estimation of her character had he been less jealous, and less angered by the disappointment of not being her escort. people driving slow teams looked at him curiously as he dashed past them. he had but one desire at that moment, and that was not to face harriet and bates together. the road, near the camp-ground, went through a dense wood, and was so narrow that vehicles could not pass one another on it. in the narrowest part of this road westerfelt was forced to stop. a wagon filled with women and children, and driven by old john wambush, had halted in front of him. "what's the matter?" westerfelt called out to the old man, who had got down beside his horses and was peering at the motionless line of vehicles ahead. "a hack's broke down," the old fellow replied. "nobody hurt, it seems, but the banks on both sides is so steep that they cayn't cleer the road. we'll have to take our time. i'd jest about as soon set heer in my wagon as to listen to them long-winded preachers, anyway." westerfelt heard the beat of hoofs behind him. he was sure bates and harriet were approaching, but he dared not look around. through the trees came the sound of singing from the camp-ground. the horse behind got nearer and nearer, till it stopped with its nose in the back part of westerfelt's buggy, westerfelt did not turn his head. he leaned over the dash-board and impatiently called out to old wambush: "how long are they going to keep us?" "tell kingdom come ur gabriel blows his horn," laughed the old man, and all his family and the neighbors who were sharing the hospitality of his wagon joined in the laugh. it was a thing the old man would have said to anybody else and in the same tone, but it irritated westerfelt. the silence of the couple behind convinced him that it was bates and harriet, for men in love do not talk much. mrs. wambush turned her head and took off her gingham bonnet to get a good look at the man her son had tried twice to kill. her features were so much like toot's that westerfelt, who had never seen her before, thought he had discovered the fountain-head of the young outlaw's villany. he glanced aside, but she continued to stare at him fixedly. "how are you comin' on?" she asked him, slapping a little girl in a blue homespun dress who was about to fall out of the wagon. "pretty well, thank you," replied westerfelt, coldly. he had detected a suggestion of a sneer about the old woman's lips. "cuts _is_ a bad thing," she went on. "i reckon yore doctor bill run up to some more'n you'd 'a' lost that day by jest lettin' my boy have some'n to ride out home in." "dry up!" thundered old wambush. he climbed back into his chair and glared at her. "ef you dare open yore mouth agin, i'll make you git right out an' make tracks fer home." the old woman jerked on her bonnet and turned her face towards the horses. old wambush looked over his shoulder at westerfelt, a sheepish look on his face. "don't pay no 'tention to her," he apologized; "she's had the very old scratch in 'er ever since toot was run off; i don't harbor no ill-will, but women ain't got no reason nohow. they never seem to know when peace is declared. it's the women that's keepin' up all the strife twixt north and south right now. them that shouldered muskets an' fit an' lived on hard-tack don't want no more uv it." westerfelt said nothing. "hello thar!" the voice was from the buggy behind. westerfelt turned. it was frank hansard with jennie wynn. "hello!" replied westerfelt, greatly relieved, "whyn't you git down an' fight it out while we're waitin'?" jested frank, in a low voice. "anything 'u'd be better'n this; but i'll tell you, she's a regular wild-cat, if you don't know it." westerfelt smiled, but made no response. beyond hansard's buggy was another, and in it sat harriet and bates; there was no mistaking the old-fashioned silk hat and harriet's gray dress. it seemed to westerfelt that the blood in his veins stopped at the sight of the couple sitting so close together. "can you see who's behind us?" asked jennie, mischievously. "it's undoubtedly a case; they've been connoodlin' all the way an' didn't even have the politeness to speak to us as we passed 'em in the big road." westerfelt pretended not to hear. old wambush's wagon had started. the camp-ground was soon reached. as westerfelt was hitching his horse to a tree, he could not help seeing bates and harriet in the bushes not far away. bates was taking his horse out of the shafts and looping up the traces, and she stood looking on. westerfelt knew that jake or washburn would attend to his horse, so he walked on to the spot where the service was to be held. the camp-ground was in a level grove of pine-trees, between two steep hills. a space had been cleared in the centre of the grove and a long shed built. it was open at the sides and at one end, and filled with benches without backs. straw was strewn in the aisles and between the benches. there was a platform at the closed end of the shed, and on it sat a number of preachers and elders of the church. the crowd was large. westerfelt stood for a moment in the phalanx of men surrounding the shed, and surreptitiously eyed bates and harriet. her back was towards him as she stood, her cloak on her arm, still politely watching her escort's movements. she looked so pretty, and there was such appealing grace in her posture. he saw bates join her and take her arm, and then he watched them no longer. he knew they were coming, and he went in at the end of the shed and found a seat near the centre on the left. he saw luke bradley drive up and help his wife and mrs. dawson to alight, then frank hansard and jennie wynn came in and sat on the bench just behind him. jennie was laughing in her handkerchief. "there is old mis' henshaw," she whispered to frank; "she's the'r regular stan'-by at shouting. when they begin to call up mourners she commences to clap 'er hands an' shout, then the rest get over their bashfulness an' the fun begins. we may see a lot of excitement if the town-people don't come and freeze 'em out with their finery an' stiff ways." "you ort ter go up yorese'f, jen," replied frank; "you need it ef anybody does." "i went up once," she laughed; "but mary trumbull pinched me an' tol' me to look at ol' mis' warlick's dress, right in front of us. it had split wide open between the shoulders an' all down the back. i thought i'd die laughin'. they all believed i was cryin', and i got hugged by a whole string of exhorters." "we'd better lie low," cautioned frank; "last year, these camp-ground folks had some town-people indicted for disturbin' public worship, an' they had a lots o' trouble at court. they say they've determined to break up the fun that goes on here." westerfelt saw luke bradley and his party come in and sit down near the centre of the shed. he caught mrs. dawson's glance, but she quickly looked away. she had not forgiven him; that fact lay embedded in the sallow hardness of her face. a moment later he forgot that mrs. dawson was in existence, for harriet and bates were coming in. bates still clutched her arm and carried her cloak thrown over his shoulder. westerfelt looked straight ahead at the platform, but he heard their feet rustling in the straw, and knew that they had sat down on the bench behind hansard and jennie. he overheard bates, who could not possibly speak in a whisper, ask her in a mumbling bass voice if she wanted her cloak, and he saw the shadows of the couple on the ground as she stood up and allowed him to help her put it on. gradually the shed had filled to overflowing. a white-haired preacher raised the tune of a familiar hymn, and the principal service of the day began. after the sermon was over, the congregation rose to get their lunch-baskets, which had been left in their vehicles. "mighty poky business so far," westerfelt heard jennie wynn say, as she and hansard went out ahead of him; "wait until after dinner, they'll get limbered up by that time." westerfelt hoped harriet and bates would leave as soon as the others did, but he saw them standing between the benches as if waiting for some one. he looked straight ahead of him as he approached them, and was about to pass without looking in the direction, when bates caught his arm and detained him. "miss harriet wants to see you," he said, with a grin; "you wouldn't be in such a hurry if you knew what for." "i want you to come to dinner with us," harriet said, tremulously, leaning forward. "jennie wynn and i are going to put our baskets together, and hyram longtree and sue kirby are coming." "i thank you," he said, "but i reckon i'll have to eat with mrs. bradley." he might have accepted the invitation if bates had not been grinning so complacently and looking at harriet with such a large air of ownership. "oh, come on," urged bates. "you get bradley hash every day; there is some'n good in our basket; i could smell it all the way out here." "i wish you _would_ come," urged harriet. "mrs. bradley will let you off." there was something in her look and tone that convinced him that she had detected his jealousy and was sympathizing with him, and that in itself angered him. "no, i thank you, not to-day," he said, coldly; "how did you like the preacher?" "very well," she replied, her face falling. "i have heard him before." he had brought it on himself, but he was stung to the quick when she touched bates's arm, smiled indifferently, and said: "i see sue and hyram out there waiting for us; we'd better go." as westerfelt walked on, overwhelmed with jealous rage, he heard her in the same tone ask jennie wynn to send frank after her basket. westerfelt edged his way through the crowd to mrs. bradley and mrs. dawson. "why," said mrs. bradley, "i 'lowed you'd go off an' eat with some o' yore young friends. but we are glad you come." "i never go back on home folks," he said, making an effort to speak lightly. "well, i fetched enough fer a dozen field-hands," laughed mrs. bradley. "two young preachers have promised to eat with me; that's all i've axed. luke, you go bring brother jones an' his friend, an' wait fer us out at the wagon." "why cayn't we fetch the dinner in heer an' not have to sit on the damp ground?" suggested bradley. "beca'se, gumption! they won't have us greasin' up the benches that folks set on in the'r best duds," she retorted. "besides, the pine straw will keep us off'n the ground, ef you ain't too lazy to rake it up." just then harriet and her friends passed, and westerfelt saw the girl looking inquiringly at mrs. dawson. he heard the old woman grunt contemptuously, and saw her toss her head and fiercely eye harriet from head to foot as she went down the aisle. westerfelt shuddered. he wondered if the old woman could possibly know of harriet's past connection with wambush and her girlish infatuation. he turned away with luke to get the basket. bradley was saying something about a suitable place to spread the lunch, but westerfelt did not listen. he could think of nothing but the strange, defiant look in mrs. dawson's eyes as they fell on the girl he loved. chapter xix at luncheon westerfelt sat next to mrs. bradley and could not see mrs. dawson, who was on the other side of her. among the trees on his right, he had a good view of harriet floyd's party. they all seemed exasperatingly merry. bates was making himself boyishly conspicuous, running after water, preparing lemonade, and passing it round to the others, with his silk hat poised on the back part of his head. mrs. bradley and her friends remained seated for some time after they had finished eating, and westerfelt saw the young men in harriet's party rise, leaving the girls to put the remains of the lunch into the baskets. hyram and frank strolled off together, and bates, after a moment's hesitation, came straight over to westerfelt. "i want to talk to you, if you are through," he said, alternately pulling at a soiled kid glove on his hand and twisting his stubby mustache. westerfelt rose, conscious that mrs. dawson was eying him, and walked down a little road through the pines. neither spoke till they were out of sight of the crowd. then bates stopped suddenly and faced his companion. he put his foot on a fallen log, and cleared his throat. he looked up at the sky and slowly caressed his chin with his fingers, as westerfelt had once seen him do in making a speech before the justice of the peace. "we ain't well acquainted, westerfelt," he began, stroking his chin downward and letting his lips meet with a clucking sound, also another professional habit; "but, you'd find, ef you knew me better, that i never beat the devil round the stump, as the feller said, an' i'm above board." he paused for a moment; then he kicked a rotten spot on the log with the broad heel of his brogan till it crumbled into dust. "i've got some'n to say to you of a sort o' confidential nature, an' ef you'll let me, i may ask you a point-blank question." "fire away," said westerfelt, wonderingly. "i'm not a ladies' man," continued bates, with a kick at another soft spot on the log. "i'm jest a plain cohutta mountain, jack-leg lawyer. i've not been much of a hand to go to the shindigs the young folks have been gitting up about heer. one reason was i couldn't afford it, another was i didn't have the time to spare, so i haven't never paid court to any special young lady in cartwright. but now, i think i am in purty good shape to marry. i believe all young men ought to get 'em a wife, an' if i ever intend to do the like, i'll have to be about it, for i'm no spring chicken. now, to make a long story short, i've taken a strong liking to the girl i fetched out here to-day, an', by george, now that i've got headed that way, i simply can't wait any longer, nor hold in either. i intend to ask her to be my wife if--" he began again to kick the log. "dang it, it seems to me--you see, i know that she don't care a rap for wambush; a few of us thought thar was something between 'em once, but since he went off it is as plain as day that she is not grieving after him. but, somehow, it seems to me that she may have a hankering after you. i don't know why i think so, but if thar is any understanding between you two i'd take it as a great favor if you'd let me know it, right now at the start. i'll wish you well--but i'd like to know it. it's a powerful big thing to me, westerfelt--the biggest thing i ever tackled yet." westerfelt's face was hard and expressionless. he avoided the lawyer's searching glance, shrugged his shoulders and smiled coldly. "i am not engaged to her," he said, doggedly; "as far as i know she is free to--to choose for herself." "ah!" bates slowly released his chin and caught his breath. westerfelt could have struck out the light that sprang into his eyes. "i hain't seen a bit of evidence in that line, i'll admit," went on bates, with a chuckle of relief; "but some of the boys and girls seemed to think that something might have sprung up between you and her while you was laid up at the hotel. i reckon i was mistaken, but i thought she looked cut up considerable when you didn't come to dinner with us jest now. she wasn't lively like the rest." "pshaw!" said westerfelt; "you are off the track." "well, no odds." bates began to tug at his glove again. "i've come to you like a man an' made an open breast of it, as the feller said. i intend to ask her point-blank the very first time i get her alone again. the girl hain't give me the least bit of hope, but her mother has--a little. i reckon a feller might take it that way." "what did mrs. floyd say?" westerfelt started, and looked bates straight in the eyes. "oh, nothing much; i may be a fool to think it meant anything, but this morning when i called for miss harriet the old lady came in and acted mighty friendly. she asked me to come to dinner with 'em next sunday, and said harriet always was backward about showing a preference for the young man she really liked, an' said she was shore i didn't care much for her or i'd come oftener." westerfelt was silent. he had never suspected mrs. floyd of scheming, but now that his suspicions were roused he let them run to the opposite extreme. yes, he thought, she was trying to marry her daughter off. perhaps because she wanted her to forget wambush, who was certainly a man no sensible woman would like to have in her family. bates's round red face appeared in a blur before him. bates said something, but it sounded far off, and he did not catch its import. there was a long silence, and then the lawyer spoke again: "what do you say? why are you so devilish grum?" he took off his hat, and wiped his brow with a red bandanna. westerfelt stared into his face. he was unable to collect his senses. it was an awful moment for him. if he intended to marry her, and forget all, he must propose to her at once, or, urged by her mother, she might marry bates and be lost to him forever. bates caught his arm firmly. "i'm no fool," he said, impatiently. "dad burn it, you _do_ love her. i see it! you are trying to throw me off the track! look heer! if you've lied to me--" voices were heard in the bushes up the road. jennie wynn and harriet were approaching. "there they are now!" exclaimed bates, in another tone; "you have not been open with me; for god's sake, don't keep me in suspense! is she _yours_? answer that!" "i have never asked her." westerfelt spoke through tight lips. "i've no claim on her." "well, then, it's as fair for one of us as the other." bates was half angry. "we both want her; let's have it over with. let's speak out now an' let her take her choice. if she takes you, you may drive her home; ef it's me--well, you bet it'll make a man of me. she is the finest girl on god's green earth. here they come! what do you say?" westerfelt drew his arm from bates's grasp, and stared at him with eyes which seemed paralyzed. "don't mention me to her," he demanded, coldly. "i'll manage my own affairs." "all right," bates lowered his voice, for the two girls were now quite near; "you may be sure of your case, and i may be making a blamed fool of myself, but she's worth it." "what are you two confabbin' about?" cried jennie, in a merry voice. neither of the men answered. harriet looked curiously at them, her glance resting last and longer on the lawyer. that encouraged him to speak. "i want to see you a minute, miss harriet," he said, reaching out for her sunshade. "may i?" "certainly," she said, looking at him in slow surprise. she relinquished her umbrella, and they walked off together. "what on earth is the matter with that man?" asked jennie, her eyes on the receding couple; then she glanced at westerfelt, and added, with a little giggle, "what's the matter with _you_?" westerfelt seemed not to hear. "mr. bates looks like he's lost his best friend," went on the irrepressible girl. "look how he wabbles; he walks like he was following a plough in new ground. i wouldn't want him to swing my parasol about that way. what do you reckon ails him?" "i don't know," said westerfelt. her words irritated him like the persistent buzzing of a mosquito. "i wonder if that fellow is goose enough to go an' fall in love with harriet." "what if he should?" westerfelt was interested. "she hain't in love with him." "how do you know?" "how do i _know_? because she is silly enough to be gone on a man that don't care a snap for her." "wambush?" "no," scornfully; "_you_, that's who." westerfelt was silent for a moment, then he said: "how do you know i don't care for her?" "you don't show it; you always stay away from her. they say you've been spoiled to death by girls over the mountain." "i asked her to come out here with me to-day." "did you? you don't mean it! well, i'll bet she--but i'm not goin' to tell you; you are vain enough already." they were silent for several minutes after that. she seated herself on a log by the roadside, and he stood over her, his eyes on the pines behind which bates and harriet had disappeared. what could be keeping them so long? jennie prattled on for half an hour, but he did not hear half she said. afternoon service began. the preacher gave out the hymn in a solemn, monotonous voice, and the congregation sang it. "we must be goin' purty soon," said jennie; "my gracious, what is the matter with them people; hadn't we better go hunt 'em?" "i think not, they--but there they are now." harriet and bates had turned into the road from behind a clump of blackberry vines, and, with their heads hung down, were slowly approaching. looking up and seeing westerfelt and jennie, they stopped, turned their faces aside, and continued talking. westerfelt was numb all over. had she accepted bates? he tried to read their faces, but even the open countenance of bates revealed nothing. "come on, you ninnies!" jennie cried out. "what on earth are you waiting for?" her voice jarred on westerfelt. "hush! for god's sake, hush!" he commanded, sharply. "let's go on--they don't want us!" wondering over his vehemence, jennie rose quickly and followed him. he walked rapidly. she glanced over her shoulder at harriet and bates, but westerfelt did not look back. when the shed was reached, jennie asked him if he were going in with her, but he shook his head, and she entered alone. he remained in the crowd on the outside, pretending to be listening to the sermon, but was furtively watching the spot where, concealed by the trees, bates and harriet still lingered. the preacher ended his discourse, started a hymn, and commenced to "call up mourners." old mrs. henshaw began to pray aloud and clap her hands. the preacher came down from the platform, gave his hand to her, and she rose and began to shout. then the excitement commenced. others joined in the shouting and the uproar became deafening. it was a familiar scene to westerfelt, but to-day it was all like a dream. he could not keep his eyes off the trees behind which he had left harriet with his new rival. what could be keeping them? presently he saw them emerge from the woods. they were still walking slowly and close together. westerfelt could learn nothing from harriet's passive face, but bates now certainly looked depressed. a sudden thought stunned westerfelt. could she have told bates of her old love for wambush, and had he--even he--decided not to marry her? they passed the shed, went on to bates's buggy, got into it, and drove down the road to cartwright. chapter xx the religious excitement had spread over all the congregation. every bench held some shouting or praying enthusiast. some of the women began to move about on the outside, pleading with the bystanders to go forward for prayer. one of them spoke to westerfelt, but he simply shook his head. just then he noticed mrs. dawson sitting on the end of a bench next to the centre aisle. she had turned half round and was staring at him fixedly. when she caught his eye, she got up and came towards him. other women were talking to men near him, and no one noticed her approach. in the depths of her bonnet her withered face had never appeared so hard and unrelenting. she laid her hand on his arm and looked up into his eyes. "are you a seeker, john westerfelt?" she asked, with a sneer. "no, i am not." he tried to draw his arm away, but her bony fingers clutched and held it. "they say the's a chance fer all to wipe out sins," she went on, "but i have my doubts 'bout you. you know whar you'll land. you kin mighty nigh feel the hot now, i reckon." he caught her wrist and tore his arm from her grasp. "leave me alone!" he cried; then he dropped her wrist and added: "for heaven sake don't--_don't_ devil me to death; you make me forget you are a woman and not a beast--a snake! my god, let me alone!" his angry tone had drawn the attention of a few of the bystanders. a tall, lank countryman, standing near westerfelt, turned on him. "be ashamed o' yorese'f, young man," he said; "ef you don't want to be prayed fer you don't have to, but don't cut up any o' yore shines with these christian women who are tryin' to do good." "you don't know what you are talking about," replied westerfelt, and he turned away quickly, and went across the cleared space to his horse and buggy. jake, who was lying on the ground with some other negroes, ran forward and unfastened his horse, and gave him the reins. "want me to go back wid yer, marse john?" he asked. "no," answered westerfelt, and he drove rapidly homeward. reaching the stable, he put up his horse, and went to the room over the office. he sat down, took up an old newspaper, and tried to read it, but there seemed to be something in the paling light on the bare fields outside and the stillness of the empty building that oppressed him. he rose and looked out of the window. not a soul was in sight. the store and the bar, with their closed shutters, looked as if they had not been opened for a century. a brindled cow stood in the middle of the street, jangling a discordant bell, and lowing dolefully. he rose, went down-stairs, walked aimlessly about in the stable, and then went up the street towards bradley's. he wondered if harriet had returned, but as he passed the hotel he had not the courage to look in. every door of the bradley house was closed. he tried all the windows, but they were held down by sticks placed over the sashes on the inside. even the chickens and ducks in the back yard seemed to have fallen under the spell of the unwonted silence. the scare-crow in the cornfield beyond the staked-and-ridered rail fence looked like the corpse of a human being flattened against the yellow sky. he went out at the gate and turned up the hawkbill road till he was high enough to see the village street above the trees. later he noticed the vehicles beginning to come back from the camp-ground, and he returned home by a short path through the fields. he reached the bradleys' just as luke was helping his wife out of the spring-wagon at the gate. "we didn't fetch mis' dawson back," explained mrs. bradley. "she met some old acquaintances--the hambrights--an' they made 'er go home with 'em. lawsy me, haven't i got a lots to tell you, though! you had as well prepare fer a big surprise. you couldn't guess what tuk place out thar atter you left ef you made a thousand dabs at it. luke, go put up the hoss. i want to talk to john, an' i don't want you to bother us tell i'm through, nuther. you kin find plenty to do out at the barn fer a few minutes." westerfelt followed her into the sitting-room and helped her kindle the fire in the big chimney. "well, what has happened?" he asked, when the red flames were rolling up from the heap of split pine under the logs. "it's about mis' dawson," announced mrs. bradley, as she sank into a big chair and began to unpin her shawl. "she's got religion!" "you don't mean it!" "yes, an' i'm what give it to her--me, an' nobody else. i'm a purty thing to be talkin' that way, but it's the livin' truth. i caused it. when i seed her git up an' go acrost to you and drive you clean off, i got so mad i could a-choked her. i wus sittin' by brother tim mitchell. you don't know 'im, i reckon, but he's the biggest bull-dog preacher 'at ever give out a hymn. he's a ugly customer, not more'n thirty, but he's consecrated, an' had ruther rake a sinner over the coals of repentance 'an eat fried chicken, an' he's a methodist preacher, too. he's nearly six foot an' a half high an' as slim as a splinter; he lets his hair run long an' curls it some. he's as dark as a spaniard, an' his face shines like he eats too much grease an' sweats it out through the pores uv his skin. "well, he seed me a-lookin' at mis' dawson, when she went to devil you, an' he bent over to me an' sez he: 'sister bradley, what ails that woman anyhow?' "'what ails her?' sez i. 'what'd you ax that fer, brother tim?' "'she don't do nat'ral,' sez he. 'i've been talkin' to 'er about 'er speritual welfare ever sence i set down heer, an' she won't say one word. she ain't a bit like the gineral run o' old women; an' what's more, she hain't doin' one bit o' exhortin' that i kin see. i don't know whether she's in the vineyard or not.' "then, john westerfelt, i jest come out an' tol' 'im about 'er. of course i never give no names; but i made 'im see what ailed her, an' i never seed a man look so interested. 'sister bradley,' sez he, rubbin' his hands, when i got through, 'i'm going to wade in an' get hold o' that woman's soul.' "'well,' sez i, 'you may have to wade purty fur an' dive consider'ble, fer she's about the toughest snag you ever struck.' "'i'm a-goin' to have 'er _soul_,' sez he, an' he laughed. 'i'd ruther make that sort of a struggle for the lord 'an to put out a burnin' house, ur keep a pizen snake frum bitin' a baby. you watch my smoke. is she a-comin' back heer?' "'i kin bring 'er back,' sez i, 'fer right this minute i'd ruther see that woman a shoutin' convert 'n to have a meal sack full o' gold dollars.' "'well,' sez he, sorter jokin' like, 'you fetch 'er heer an' set 'er down whar she wus a minute ago, an' i'll put a plaster on 'er back that'll make 'er _think_ she's shoutin' whether she is or not.' "well, i went to whar she was outside an' tol' 'er brother mitchell wanted to see 'er. 'i jest ain't a-goin' a step,' sez she, 'so i ain't,' an' she looked sorter suspicious. "'well, i don't railly see how yo're goin' to help yorese'f, mis' dawson,' sez i. 'goodness knows yo're showin' mighty little int'rust in the meetin' anyways. looks like you wouldn't insult one of the most saintly men we got by turnin' yore back on 'im. mebby he wants to ax about startin' a meetin' over yore way. you'd better go.' "that settled it; i took 'er back an' set 'er down by him, an' he begun to git in his work. i never knowed a man called to preach could be so mealy-mouthed. he begun--you see i was next to him an' could ketch ev'ry word, although thar was jest a regular hullabaloo o' shoutin' an' singin' goin' on all about--he begun by goin' over his own family trouble, an' i wanted to laugh out, fer the lord knows, while brother tim's folks has had _some_ few ordinary reverses, an' _did_ lose a few head o' stock in the war, an' one o' the gals married a no-'count yankee carpenter an' never would write back home, an' brother mitchell's ma an' pa died uv ripe old age--but, as i say, nobody ever thought they wus particular unfortunate. howsomever, she thought they wus from his tale an' his sad, mournful way o' talkin'. job an' all he went through, b'iles an' all, wasn't a circumstance, an' it was all the lord's doin's, brother tim said, to show him the true light. i seed she was listenin' an' that he had hold uv 'er some, but i kinder thought she wusn't as easy prey as he 'lowed, fer he broke down once in awhile an' had a sort o' sickly, quivery look about the mouth. all at once he turned to me as mad as a hornet. sez he: 'it's that dern bonnet,'--no, he didn't say that exactly. i heer luke say them things so much 'at his words slip in when i'm in a hurry--'it's that bonnet o' her'n, sister bradley,' sez he. 'i'll never git 'er in a wearin' way as long as that poke keeps bobbin' up an' down twixt me 'n her eyes. cayn't you manage to git it off?' "well, you kin imagine that wus a difficult thing to do, but i reckon the lord o' hosts must 'a' been with us, fer all at once a idee come to me an' i jest leaned over to her. 'sister dawson,' sez i, 'i beg yore pardon, but the skirt o' yore bonnet is ripped, le'me see it a minute,' an', la me! brother mitchell's eyes fairly danced in his head. i heerd him laugh out sudden an' then he kivered his mouth 'ith his long, bony hand an' coughed as i snatched the bonnet frum 'er head an' begun to tear a seam open. she made a grab over his spindlin' legs fer it, but i paid no attention to 'er, pretendin' to be fixin' it. then the fun begun. i seed 'im lay hold of 'er wrists an' look 'er spank, dab in the eyes, an' 'en he begun to rant. purty soon i seed her back limberin' up an' i knowed, as the sayin' is, that she was our meat. all at once, still a-hold o' 'er hands, he turned to me, an' sez he: 'go ax brother quagmire to sing "how firm a foundation" three times, with the second an' last verse left out, an' tell 'im to foller that up with "jesus, lover." git 'im to walk up an' down this aisle--this un, remember. tell 'im i've got a case heer wuth more 'n a whole bench full o' them scrubs 'at'll backslide as soon as meetin' 's over; tell 'im to whoop 'em up. sister bradley, you are addin' more feathers to yore wings right now 'an you ever sprouted in one day o' the lord's labor. but, for all you do, hold on to that blasted devil's contraption.' he meant the bonnet. "i slid out 'twixt the benches on one side, an' went round to the stand an' spoke to brother quagmire, who wus leadin'; he's the big, white-headed man they say looks like moody an' has the scalps o' more sinners in 'is belt than any man on the war-path. when i tol' 'im what wus up, he giggled an' said, 'god bless 'im, mitch is a wheel-hoss!' an' with that he busted out singin' 'how firm a foundation, ye saints o' the lord,' an' he waved his hands up an' down like a buzzard's wings, an' went up our aisle, a-clappin' an' singin' to beat the dutch. i never seed the like before. i wusn't cryin' fer the same reason 'at the rest of 'em wus, but the tears wus jest a-streamin' down my face like a leaky well-bucket, fer i believed the thing wus goin' to work, an' i wus thinkin' how glad you'd be. she looked up an' seed my face an' busted out cryin'. then brother mitchell ketched 'er up in his arms an' yelled: 'you little, ol', triflin' thing, i'm a-gwine to put you in the arms o' yore redeemer,' an' then i jest couldn't help cryin'. luke seed me give way an' sneeked off to water the hosses. john, she was the happiest creetur god ever made. she laid 'er old bare head in my lap an' cried like a baby. i never railly loved 'er before, but i did then. somehow she seemed to be my own mother come back to life ag'in. but she didn't shout an' take on like the rest. she jest cried an' cried an' had the youngest look on 'er face i ever seed on a ol' person. once she said, sez she, 'i'm goin' back to put a grave-rock over jasper's remains,' an' then i remembered folks said she wus too stingy to do that when dawson died. she looked like she wanted to talk about you, but i didn't feel called on to fetch up the subject. after awhile she went out to the wagon whar her carpet-bag wus, an' got up in one o' the cheers an' begun to stitch on some'n. i wus puzzled right sharp, fer it wus a sunday, an' it looked like a funny thing fer a body to do, but atter awhile she come to me with some'n wrapped up in a paper--i'll show it to you in a minute--an' give it to me. it was a pair uv her best knit wool socks. you know some old women think it's a mark o' great respect to give a pair o' socks to anybody that they've knit the'rselves. "'i want you to take the socks,' sez she, 'an' give 'em to the right person,' sez she, awful bashful like. you know, john, i don't believe all the religion this side o' the burnin' lake kin make some folks beg a body's pardon, not ef they wanted to wuss than anything on earth. she is one o' that sort. i 'lowed right off 'at the socks wus fer you an' started to tell 'er how glad you'd be to git 'em when, all at once, i noticed a letter m worked in red wool on 'em. it was a letter m as plain as anything could be, a big letter m, 'an' that throwed me. then i thought about brother mitchell's name beginnin' with a m, an' so i said, sez i, 'so you want me to give 'em to brother mitchell, do you?' an' 'en she flared up. 'who said a word about brother mitchell?' she axed. i seed she wusn't pleased by my mistake, an' so i tried my level best to think o' somebody else with a m to his name, but i couldn't to save my neck, so at last i give it up. 'yo're entirely too mysterious fer me, mis' dawson,' sez i. 'i can't, fer the life o' me, think uv one soul you know whose name begins with a m.' 'm,' sez she, 'who said that was a letter m? yo're jest a-puttin' on. you know that ain't no m.' "'that's what it is,' sez i. 'i haven't waited till i'm old enough to have gran'children to l'arn my a b c's.' "she snatched the socks frum me, an' i 'lowed she wus goin' to throw 'em away, but she turned 'em upside down an' helt 'em before my eyes. 'do you call that a m?' sez she, an' shore 'nough it was as plain a w as i ever laid eyes on. "'oh!' sez i, 'now i see. do you want me to give 'em to john westerfelt?' "but she wouldn't say narry a word. i seed how the land lay, fer i knowed she'd ruther die, religion ur no religion, 'an come right out in so many words an' say she wus sorry. you know i believe as i'm a-settin' heer 'at thar'll be folks meetin' on the golden sands of eternity, by the river of life, 'at'll pass one another with the'r noses in the air; but i'll take that back. i reckon thar won't be no noses, nur no air, as fer that matter; folks that's read up on sech matters says everything will be different. the lord knows i hope it will be. i want a change. but i am gettin' away frum mis' dawson. then i up an' told 'er p'int-blank i wus goin' to give the socks to you with the compliments of the day, an' ef she objected she'd better put in 'er complaint in time, but she jest walked back an' set down in front o' the stand. john, she's that sorry fer all she's said and done 'at she can't talk about it. these heer socks is all the proof you need. i don't think she wants to meet you face to face nuther. she's goin' home in the mornin' in sam hambright's wagon. lord! peter slogan an' his wife never 'll know what to make uv 'er. i'd give a purty to be thar when she comes, fer they won't know she's converted, an' she'd be strung up by the toes ruther 'n tell 'em right out." mrs. bradley stood up, and then quickly sat down again. "i thought i'd get them socks out'n the dinner-basket, but i heer luke a-comin'. he's like a fish out o' water. he seed me a-takin' on with mis' dawson, an' he thinks i've got a fresh dose o' religion. i didn't let 'im know no better, an' he wus grum all the way home. he can't put up with a christian of the excitable sort. hush, don't say a word; watch me devil him, but ef you don't keep a straight face i'll bust out laughin'. lordy, i feel good somehow--i reckon it's beca'se yo're shet o' that old woman's persecutions." just then bradley entered and laid his hat on the bed. westerfelt now noticed the unsettled expression of his face and smiled as he thought of the innocent cause of it. "well," said bradley, "are you through with john? it's high time we wus havin' some'n t' eat." "yes," said his wife, with a doleful expression of countenance, "i reckon i'm through with him. set down in that cheer, luke. i've been talkin' to john about his speritual welfare, an' it's yore time now. we've got to turn over a new leaf, luke--me 'n' you has; we've jest gone fur enough in iniquity--that is, you have; i've meant well enough all along." "i say!" luke sat down uneasily and glanced at westerfelt, who sat staring at him with an assumed look of seriousness which threatened to go to pieces at any instant. "yes, luke," went on his wife, "you've been my mill-rock long enough, an' now i'm goin' to take a new an' a firmer stand in my treatment uv you. we used to hold family prayer an' ax the blessin', an' now our house has got to be called the dancin'-door to perdition; we've got to quit all that. i'm a-goin' to smash that jug o' bug-juice o' yo'r'n in the closet, an' not another speck o' the vile truck shall come in my house." (she caught westerfelt's eye, drew down the side of her face which was next to him, and winked slyly.) "oh, you are!" bradley was a picture of absolute misery. he crossed his legs and then put his feet side by side, only to cross and recross his legs again. "i've had a great awakenin' to-day, luke," she went on, "an' now i see nothin' ahead o' me but one solid blaze o' glory. john heer is convicted, an' is goin' to do the right thing, but i reckon he won't have as much to undo as you who are older in wrong livin'. that cow you traded fer with fred wade has to go back early in the mornin'. you knowed the one you swapped wus mighty nigh dry, an' 'at his'n come home every night with 'er bag so loaded she could hardly take a step without trippin' up--the fust thing in the mornin', mind you! i want you to git the book right now, too, an' read some, an' let's begin family worship. thar it is on the sewin'-machine; i'll bet you ain't looked in it in a month o' sundays." westerfelt was laboriously keeping a straight face, but it was waxing red as blood and his eyes were protruding from their sockets and twinkling with a merriment that was a delight to mrs. bradley, who kept glancing at him as she talked. "what in the dev--what do you mean, marthy?" bradley stammered. "the cow kin go back, ef you say so, but blame--but i'll draw a line at home prayin'. i ain't fittin', that's all; i ain't fittin'." "i know that as well as you do"--mrs. bradley wiped a smile from her face and winked at westerfelt--"but this blessed sabbath is a good time to begin. git the book, luke!" "i'll not do it, marthy; you may shout an' carry on as much as you like, with yore sudden religious spurts, but i believe in regularity, one way ur the other." "git that book, luke bradley; git it, i say," and then westerfelt's laughter burst from him, and he laughed so heartily that an inkling of the truth seemed forced on bradley, who had witnessed his wife's practical joking before. "i believe, on my soul, it's a sell," he said, in a tone of vast relief. "lord, i 'lowed you'd gone plumb crazy." and then he was sure it was a joke, for mrs. bradley had her head between her fat knees, and was laughing as he had never heard her laugh before. "i paid you back, you ol' goose," she said, when she could master her merriment. "you had no business thinkin' i'd lost my senses, jest because i cried when 'at ol' woman got so happy. i was glad on john's account, but you don't know a bit more now than you did. you couldn't see a wart on yore nose ef you wus cross-eyed." chapter xxi mrs. dawson reached home the next day about four o'clock in the afternoon. mrs. slogan was seated at her great cumbersome hand-made loom in the corner of the kitchen, weaving reddish brown jeans for peter's clothing. mrs. lithicum and her husband were in paying a visit. the latter and slogan were talking over a joint hog-killing they were going to have to save labor and expense. peter had put a higher mental valuation on the labor saved than lithicum. he had discovered, on a former occasion, that the arrangement had saved him some money, and that ab had done all the work, such as directing the black hands and keeping the water just the proper temperature to remove the bristles without "setting" them. "you see," peter had remarked to his wife, "ab works more'n i do; mebby it's beca'se he's a chawin' man--a smokin' man has to set down to smoke to do any good, while a chawin' man kin use both hands at any job, an' jest squirt when an' whar he wants to." peter went to a window, while ab was watching the movement of the loom, and looked across the fields. suddenly the others heard him utter an ejaculation of profound astonishment. the loom ceased its monotonous thumping, and all eyes turned on him. "what's the matter?" asked mrs. lithicum, her round, red face full of curiosity. "i'll bet narry one o' you could make a good guess." they knew him too well to expect information from him, so they all started for the window. mrs. lithicum reached it first. "as i'm alive!" she cried. "mis' dawson's got back. she's gettin' out uv a wagon down at 'er cabin." "well, i 'lowed she wouldn't always be gallivantin' about heer and yan," said the weaver, as she peered over the shoulder of her guest. "i reckon they've all got tired of 'er over thar an' sent 'er home." mrs. lithicum followed the speaker back to the loom. "well, i don't know but i'm a leetle grain sorry," she said. "sorry!" repeated the sister of the person under discussion. "i don't see what thar railly is to be sorry about." mrs. lithicum looked as if she had got her foot into it, and she flushed, but she had her defence ready. "well, you see, mis' slogan, she's tuck a most unaccountable dislike to lizzie, an' a pusson like--well, some _do_ think her trouble has sorter turned 'er brain, an' the's no rail tellin' what quar notion may strike 'er." "do you think so, mis' lithicum?" mrs. slogan retained the big smooth shuttle in her hand and eyed the speaker anxiously, her eyelids quivering. "to be downright plain, yes, i do. mis' slogan, ef she _is_ yore sister, an' i've thought many a time 'at ef i wus in yore place i wouldn't feel safe nuther. they say a pusson sometimes gits softenin' o' the brain frum hatin' folks an' livin' alone like she does. i'd be afeerd to leave the house open at night ef i wus you." "well!" suddenly broke in peter, who was the only one remaining at the window. "you may have my overcoat an'"--after a pause--"my best sunday shirt, too, ef she hain't loaded 'er bed in that wagon an' 's a-comin' this way as big as the side of a house. she's comin' back heer, clariss, lordy, lordy!" they all ran to the window again and stood breathlessly watching the oncoming wagon. "she's off 'er nut now, i know," said peter. "i know 'er too well; she never would come back heer ef she wus in 'er right mind." "well, i don't want to meet 'er--that's one thing certain," cried mrs. lithicum in sudden terror. "she mought pounce upon me on lizzie's account. i'm a-goin' home by the path through the cotton-patch. good day to all uv you. ef i was you-uns," she called back from the door, "i'd have 'er put up!" abner mutely followed her, and the slogans were left to solve the problem for themselves. the wagon drew up at the door, and from their window they saw the little woman step down over the front wheel and direct the white driver--they could not hear her voice, but they read the signs of her hands--to put the few pieces of furniture on the porch. this done, the wagon clattered away, and mrs. dawson, with hanging head, came into the passage and went to her old room. "what in the name o' goodness do you reckon she's goin' to do?" gasped mrs. slogan, quite pale and cold. "i'm nearly skeerd to death." "she's got a faint idee 'at she's goin' to put up heer with us," answered peter with considerable concern for a man of his phlegmatic temperament. "they say crazy folks jest natcherly drift back into the'r old ruts, an' the best way is to let 'em alone. ef she kin feed 'erself we'll be in luck; some crazy folks jest gaum the'rselves from head to foot an' have to have constant attention." "but you ain't a-goin' to let 'er stay, are you?" cried his wife. peter smiled grimly and went to the mantel-piece for his foul-smelling comforter. he also pulled down from a nail on the wall a dry stalk of tobacco and proceeded to crush and crumble some of the crisp leaves in his big palm. "me? i don't see 'at i've got a thing to say in the matter," he retorted, with a grimace that bore a slight resemblance to a smile. "you wus tellin' me jest t'other day 'at the lan' an' house wus in yore name an' her'n, an' 'at i had no right to put in. i reckon you'll have to manage 'er, clariss." mrs. slogan sank back on the bench of the loom, but she didn't set the thing in motion; she had an idea that the slightest sound might draw the attention of the bustling inmate of the room across the passage, and just then she was not prepared to exchange greetings. peter stood at the window, his head now enveloped in smoke, and kept peering out at the porch from which mrs. dawson was moving the various articles pertaining to her bed, such as slats, posts, railings, mattress, pillows, sheets, and coverings. "she's as busy as a hoss's tail in fly-time," he observed. "oh, lawsy mercy!" this last ejaculation came out with such startled emphasis that his wife let her mouth fall open as she waited for him to explain. but peter only stretched his neck towards the window, holding his pipe behind him to keep from setting fire to the curtain. "oh, peter, what is it?" "she hain't fetched a sign of a thing to cook with," he replied. "i kinder thought i heerd a clatter in that wagon as it driv' off; she's give 'er coffee-pot an' fryin'-pan an' dishes to the feller that fetched 'er over heer an' moved 'er things. she intends to eat with us." mrs. slogan wrung her hands. "something jest has to be done," she said, "an' the lord knows i don't know what it is. do you reckon she's dangerous, peter?" "she's yore sister, clariss," he chuckled, in spite of the gravity of the situation, "an' i'd hate to be in yore re'ch ef you wus to lose any more uv yore mind. as it is, you--" "i wish you'd shet up!" broke in his wife; "this ain't no time fer foolishness." then they drew their chairs up to the fireplace and sat down. they could still hear the old woman moving about, setting things to rights in her room. suddenly there was a great clatter of falling slats. the bed had come down. "she can't put that thing up by 'erself" suggested peter. "go in an' he'p 'er." "i'll do no sech a thing; do you reckon i want 'er to scratch my eyes out? huh! she hates me like a rattlesnake, an' has jest come heer so she kin devil me to death. i see it now. she seed she wusn't worryin' me much over thar in 'er ol' cabin, an' she's jest bent on gittin' nigher." "i reckon that's jest yore--yore conscience a-talkin'," opined slogan. "thar's no gittin' round it, clariss, you did sorter rub it in when sally wus alive. i often used to wonder how the old creetur managed to put up with it; you kept ding-dongin' at 'er frum mornin' to night. ef she's cracked, yo're purty apt to have it read out to you frum the book o' judgment." mrs. slogan must have felt the truth of this accusation, for she voiced no denial. the room across the passage suddenly became quiet. it was evident that the bed was up; as a further evidence of this, mrs. dawson was seen to go out to the wood-pile and fill her apron with chips and return with them. "she's got located," remarked slogan. "she's a-goin' to set in now an' make 'erse'f comfortable." "she'll burn the house down over our heads," whined mrs. slogan. "oh, peter, i'm not satisfied! i'm anything but." the sun went down and night came on. mrs. slogan began to prepare supper, casting, the while, frequent glances at the door opening on the passage. peter smoked pipe after pipe without being able to come to any definite conclusion as to how to surmount the difficulty. suddenly he looked over his shoulder and tapped the heel of his shoe with his pipe. "you'd better cook enough fer three," was what he said, "an' make more coffee. ef she don't he'p us drink it, we'll need it to keep us company through the night. i know in reason 'at you won't close yore eyes till--till we see some way out of the difficulty." "peter slogan," said his wife, in a whisper, as she laid the table-cloth down in a chair and leaned over him, "you skeer the life out o' me when you talk that away. i never seed you look like you minded anything before." "i'm glad i show some'n'," he grinned, struggling back into his old sardonic mood. "i 'lowed i'd got too hardened to feer man, god, ha'nt, ur devil. well, i _don't_ keer overly much about havin' a crazy creetur' so nigh me, an' i ain't a-goin' to, ef i kin see any way out of it. we ain't a thousand miles from the state asylum." mrs. slogan moved noiselessly as she unfolded the cloth and spread it. she put the coffee on the table and poured the floating grounds from the top into a tin cup. "i'll tell you what i'll do," she proposed, timidly. "i'll fix 'er some supper on that piece o' plank thar, an' a big cup o' coffee sweetened jest like she used to like it, ef--" she hesitated. "ef what? out with it!" "ef you'll take it in thar whar she's at." peter deliberated and cleared his throat. "she's _yore_ sister," he got out, finally, "an' the last time i went to 'er cabin she wouldn't listen to me no more 'n ef i wus a rat a-squeakin'. you see, a feller's sorter expected to--" "i don't keer ef she _is_ my sister, i ain't a-goin' in thar, an' that settles it. i declare i'd be ashamed to call myse'f a man ef i wus afeerd uv a weakly, bent-over old woman like she is." peter stirred uneasily in his chair. "i don't keer about holdin' no talk with 'er--ur startin' 'er off by the sight o' me--but i'll go thar--i see 'er door ain't shet--an' i'll put the grub whar she'll see it." "well, that'll do," agreed mrs. slogan. "feedin' 'er ain't a-goin' to make 'er any wuss, an' it mought have a quietin' effect." peter took the improvised tray when it was brought to him and went out with it, returning in a moment. "i ketched 'er a-lookin' right at me," he said, "an' so i jest walked bold-faced in an' put the stuff on a table in front of 'er. she looked down in the fire an' didn't speak, an' i didn't nuther. she didn't look one bit dangerous. now that i've seed 'er, i reckon i'll sleep some. i'm dem glad i did. ef you'll jest take a peep at 'er you'll feel better." "well, i won't close my two eyes," affirmed his wife. "i hain't seed 'er, nur i don't intend to, ef i kin git out of it." when supper was ready they softly moved their chairs to their places and sat down. mrs. slogan didn't eat heartily, but peter's appetite seemed normal. they had finished eating, peter had secured his toothpick from the broom, and they had moved back to the fireplace, when they heard a stealthy step on the passage floor near the door. the bolt was turned, the door shutter creaked and moved a few inches. a hand came in sight, and something wrapped in brown paper was tossed into the centre of the room. then the steps receded, and they heard the widow resume her chair. peter rose curiously and picked up the parcel, and bringing it to the fire opened it. its contents were a pair of woollen socks and a pair of stockings of the same material. on the first had been worked a big red letter "p" and on the other a capital "c." "did you ever?" gasped mrs. slogan. "i don't believe she's a bit more crazy 'n i am." "i never 'lowed she wus," said peter, with a laugh. "i jest thought she mought be harder to manage 'an you, that's all." "sister's gone an' had a change o' heart!" declared mrs. slogan, ignoring his joke. "nothin' else could a-made 'er come back an' give us these things. i heerd they had a big revival over thar. oh, lordy, i do feel so relieved!" "well, i reckon we mought as well go in an' pay 'er our respects an' git started," grumbled peter. "i'm not a-goin' to tote 'er meals about, i'll tell you that. slavery day is over." "no, we'll jest let 'er alone," mrs. slogan beamed; "she'll know we mean all right by the supper, an' i reckon she'll move up 'er cheer in the mornin'; ef she don't, i'll blow the field-horn." peter lighted another pipe. "i wonder," said he, "how long it'll be 'fore you an' her 'll be clawin' agin. religion ur no religion, crazy ur no crazy, women is jest the same." chapter xxii when westerfelt went to bed that night after his talk with mrs. bradley about the conversion of mrs. dawson, it was with a certain lightness of heart and buoyancy of spirits that he had not experienced for a long time. he did not know exactly how his new feeling would show itself in regard to harriet, but he believed he might, in time, cease to look upon her love for wambush as such an unpardonable offence. "surely," he argued, "if mrs. dawson can forgive me for all i have done, i ought to pardon the girl i love for what she did before she knew me." these were admirable intentions, but he was counting on a depth of nature that was not his either by inheritance or cultivation. the inflammable material was still bound up in his breast, and it needed but one spark to fire it. what he was struggling against had come down to him from a long line of ancestors, men who would rather have died than brook the thought of a rival, especially in an inferior; men who would have spurned the love of their hearts if it were stained with falsehood under any circumstances, and when, as it was in westerfelt's case, the provocation was not only deceit, but ardent love for such a man--ah, there was the rub! the next morning he watched bates's office from the stable till he saw the lawyer come down the street and enter. he waited awhile longer, for he saw bates go out to the wood-pile and return with an armful of wood. presently blue smoke began to rise from the chimney, and westerfelt went over and rapped on the door. "come in!" bates called out. westerfelt found him with his back to the door, sitting over the fire, a leather-bound tome in his lap. "hello!" he cried, seeing who it was; "pull up a seat." westerfelt drew a rickety chair from beneath a dusty desk and sat down. "did you get home all right?" he asked. "yes." bates closed his book, leaving his forefinger in it for a book-mark; he removed his foot from the side of the chimney and cleared his throat. "miss harriet asked me to fetch her home early; dang it! i believe she would a-stayed longer, but she was sorry for me." "sorry for you--why?" "because she couldn't see it my way, i reckon." "did she--refuse you?" bates threw his book on a table. "do i look like a man that's goin' to marry the prettiest and the best girl in the world? westerfelt, i didn't sleep a wink last night." "that's bad." "looky' heer, don't give me any shenanigan; you knowed what she'd do for me. you knowed mighty well." "me?" "yes, dad burn it; you know she loves you." "what are you talking about?" "if you don't know it you are a numskull. she intimated to me that she loved some feller, but that she never intended to marry anybody. i'm no fool. i know who she meant. look here!" bates suddenly rose to his feet. his face was both white and red in splotches. he grasped the back of his chair with both his hands and leaned on it. "i've heard o' your doings over the mountain. she hain't no kin to me, but i'll tell you one thing right now, westerfelt, she's a good girl, an' if you trifle with her feelings you'll have me to whip ur get a licking yorese'f. i'm talking straight now, man to man." westerfelt rose, and the two men stood side by side, each staring into the other's face. "don't be a fool," said westerfelt, after a slight pause; "don't meddle with what don't concern you," and he turned and left the room. he had never allowed a man to threaten him in that sort of way, but he was in no frame of mind to quarrel. besides, there was something in the lawyer's defence of harriet that made him like the fellow. he was about to cross the street to the stable when he saw harriet come out of the hotel and trip along the sidewalk towards the store. she wore no hat or bonnet, but held a handkerchief over her head to protect her face from the sun. he was sure she saw him, but she did not show any sign of recognition. he kept on his way, but when she had disappeared in the store he hesitated, then stopped, recrossed the street, and turned into the store after her. she was standing on the grocery side, tapping the counter with a coin. martin worthy was behind the counter, weighing a package of soda for her. she flushed red and then paled a little as westerfelt entered and held out his hand. "it's a pretty day," he said. "i'd like to take you to drive after dinner, if you will go with me. i hated like smoke to miss that ride yesterday." she shook hands with him and then turned to worthy, who was tying the package with a piece of twine drawn from a ball in a holder at the ceiling. westerfelt was afraid she was going to ignore his invitation wholly, but she looked round presently and smiled faintly. "i shall be glad to go," she answered. "any one else going?" "no; that is, not that i know of." she leaned over to give worthy the money, and waited for the change without glancing again at westerfelt. she took her parcel and started to leave. "then i shall come about two o'clock?" he said, going with her to the door. she nodded. "very well; i'll be ready," and he stood aside for her to pass. she walked briskly back to the hotel and into the kitchen, where her mother was at work. "did you get it?" mrs. floyd asked. "yes, and there's the change." harriet put down the package and dropped some pieces of silver into a goblet on the table. "what's the matter?" mrs. floyd was kneading dough in a great wooden tray, and she looked at harriet over her shoulder. "nothing." "i know there _is_." mrs. floyd turned and began rubbing the dough from her fingers as a woman puts on a kid glove. "mr. westerfelt has asked me to drive with him after dinner," said the girl. "that's all." "harriet!" mrs. floyd's eyes sparkled with excitement as she sprinkled some flour over her dough and began to roll the mass back and forth. "i reckon you will acknowledge _now_ that i know something about young men. if you had refused to go with bascom bates yesterday, mr. westerfelt would have had no respect for you; as it is, he couldn't wait twenty-four hours to see you. for all you do, don't let him see too plain that you care for him. mind what i say!" westerfelt was impatient for two o'clock to arrive. it was one when he left bradley's after dinner. he went to the stable and ordered jake to get out his horse and buggy. he would call for her at once; he could not wait any longer. he felt a sort of sinking sensation at his heart as jake gave him the whip and reins, and he was actually trembling when he stopped at the hotel. harriet came out on the veranda above and told him she would be down at once. she did not keep him waiting long, and when she came down, prettily flushed and neatly attired, his heart bounded and his pulse quickened. had she been a queen he could not have felt more respect for her than he did as he stood shielding her skirt from the wheels and helped her get seated. he was just about to get in himself when an old man came down the sidewalk from worthy's store, headed for the buggy. it was old john wambush with a basket of eggs on his arm. "howdy' do," he said, nodding to them both. "miss harriet, is yore ma needin' any more eggs now? i diskivered another nest this mornin', an' 'lowed she mought be able to use 'em. she's about the only one in the place 'at ever has cash to pay fer produce." "i don't know, mr. wambush," harriet replied, politely. "she is in the house; you might go in and see her." the old man shifted his basket to his other arm and hesitated. westerfelt got into the buggy and took up the reins. "i reckon, miss harriet, you hain't heerd frum toot sence i seed you?" "no, mr. wambush." westerfelt was not looking at her as she spoke, and the saddest part of it lay in the fact that he was trying to save her from what he imagined must be a very embarrassing situation. "no, he has not written me." "well"--the old man turned--"as fur as i'm concerned, i'm not one bit afeerd that he'll not be able to take keer o' hisse'f, but his mammy is pestered mighty nigh to death about 'im." just then mrs. floyd came out on the porch and threw a kiss at harriet. the act and its accompanying smile reminded westerfelt of the deception the old lady had played on bates, and that added weight to the vague convictions once more alive in his brain. mrs. floyd's smile implied a certain confidence in his credulity and pliability that was galling to his proud spirit. his horse was mettlesome, and westerfelt drove rapidly over a good road which ran along the foot of the mountain. the day was fine, the scenery glorious, but he was oblivious of their charm. his agony had never been so great. he kept his eyes on his horse; his face was set, his glance hard. once he turned upon her, maddened by the sweet, half-confiding ring in her voice when she asked him why he was so quiet, but the memory of his promise never to reproach her again stopped him. with that came a sudden reckless determination to rid himself of the whole thing by going away, at least temporarily, and then he remembered that he really had some business affairs to attend to in atlanta. "i am going away awhile, miss harriet," he told her. "you are, really?" "yes; i'm needed down in atlanta for a while. i reckon i'll get back in a few weeks." he saw her face change, but he did not read it correctly. at that moment he could not have persuaded himself that she cared very much one way or the other. surely a girl who had, scarcely six weeks before, sobbed in old wambush's arms about her love for his son could not feel anything deeply pertaining to another man whom she had known such a short time. "let's go back," he proposed, suddenly, and almost brutally. "i reckon we've gone far enough. night comes on mighty quick here in the valley." she raised her eyes to his in a half-frightened glance, and said: "yes; let's go back." he turned his horse, and for fifteen minutes they drove along in silence. there was now absolutely no pity in his heart. the vast black problem of his own tortured love seemed to be soaking into him from the very air about him. he broke the silence. "so you refused bates?" she looked at him again. "how did you know that?" he laughed bitterly. "he told me so; he's another fool." "mr. westerfelt!" "i beg your pardon," he amended, quickly; "but any man is a fool to be simply crazy about a woman, and he is." he saw her raise her little shapely hand to her twitching mouth and experienced one instant's throbbing desire to catch it and hold it and beg her to have mercy on him and help him throw off the hellish despair that rested on him. it was a significant fact that she said nothing to protract the conversation on the line of bates's proposal. to her the proposal and rejection of a king by her would have found no place in her thoughts, facing the incomprehensible mood of the man she loved. it was growing dark when they reached the hotel. as he aided her to alight he gave her his hand. "it's good-bye for a while, anyway," he said. she started; her hand was heavy and cold. she caught her breath. "when are you going, mr. westerfelt?" "in the morning after breakfast, by the hack to darley." that was all. she lowered her head and passed into the house. in the hall she met her mother. "great goodness, dear!" exclaimed the old woman; "what on earth did you run away from him so sudden for?" harriet pushed past her into the parlor and stood fumbling with the buttons of her cloak. "answer me, daughter," pursued mrs. floyd; "what did--" "oh, god! don't bother me, mother," cried harriet. mrs. floyd held her breath as she drew her daughter down on a sofa and stared into her face. "what's the matter, daughter? _do_ tell me." "he's going away," said harriet. "oh, mother, i don't know what ails him! i never saw anybody act as he did. he had little to say, and when he spoke it looked as if he was mad with me. oh, mother, sometimes i think he loves me, and then again--" "he _does_ love you," declared mrs. floyd. "i hid behind the curtains in the parlor and watched him on the sly while he was waiting for you to come down. i never saw a man show love plainer; he kept looking up at your window, and his face fairly shone when you come out. you can't fool me. he's in love, but he's trying to overcome it for--for some reason or other. high-spirited men do that way, sometimes. men don't like to give up their liberty and settle down. but he'll come to time, you see if he don't." harriet stood up and started to the door. "where are you going?" asked her mother. "up-stairs," sighed harriet. "mother, can you do without my help at supper? i want to lie down and be alone." "of course; i won't need you; everything is attended to, and hettie come while you was away. she fairly danced when she heard you had gone to drive with mr. westerfelt. she hopes you will speak to him about toot. she's heard from him. he wants to come back home and marry her, if mr. westerfelt can be persuaded to withdraw the charges. do you think he would, daughter?" "oh, i don't know, mother!" harriet slowly ascended the stairs to her room, and mrs. floyd sat down in the darkening parlor to devise some scheme; she finally concluded that harriet was too much in love to manage her own affairs, and that she would take them in hand. "he loves her, that's certain," she mused, "and he is a man who can be managed if he is worked just right." she had evidently arrived at an idea as to what should be done in the emergency, for she put on her cloak and hat and went up to harriet's room. the girl sat near the bed, her head bent over to a pillow. "daughter," mrs. floyd said, laying her hand on harriet's head, "you stay here, and don't come down-stairs to-night for all you do. i'm not going to have people see you looking like that. it will set 'em to talking, after you've been to ride with mr. westerfelt. stay here; i'll have hettie fetch you something to eat." harriet did not look up or reply, and mrs. floyd descended to the street. chapter xxiii westerfelt was in the yard back of the stable. he had just started home when he saw a muffled figure enter the front door, and heard mrs. floyd asking washburn if he were in. "here i am," he called out; and he approached her as she waited at the door. "i want to see you a minute, mr. westerfelt," she said. "can you walk back a piece with me?" "yes," he replied. "i'm going up to bradley's to supper." outside it was dark; only the lights from the fire in the store and the big lamp on a post in front of the hotel pierced the gloom. a few yards from the stable she turned and faced him. "do you intend to kill my child?" she asked, harshly. "what do you mean?" he answered. "i mean that you will literally kill her--that's exactly what i mean. you've treated her worse than a brute. what did you do to her this evening? tell me; i want to know. i have never seen her act so before." he stopped, leaned against a fence, and stared at her. "i've done nothing; i--" "i know better. she fell in a dead faint as soon as she got to her room. i undressed her an' put 'er to bed; but something is wrong. she is out of her head, but she keeps moaning about you, and saying you are going away. are you?" "i thought of it, but i won't. i'll stay if--if you think i ought. i'll do anything, mrs. floyd--anything you wish." "well, don't go off. she'll not live a week if you do. spare her--she is all i have left on earth. think, think how she has suffered. she has not been well since the night she fainted in the blacksmith's shop an' lay so long on the cold ground--that was all for your sake, too." "i know that, mrs. floyd," he said. "i'll stay. tell her that--tell her i'm coming to see her. can i see her to-night?" the old woman hesitated. "no, she's--she's in bed; but i'll tell her what you said, though. it will do her good. i'm glad i came to see you. i knew you loved her; you couldn't help it. she has been so good to you, and no woman ever loved a man more. when you are married you will both be happy. you'll wonder then how you could be so silly." "i know i have been a fool." he took her hand and pressed it, almost affectionately. "take care of her, mrs. floyd; don't let her be sick." she turned to leave him. "she'll be well in the morning, i hope; don't worry. she will get all right when she's had a rest and a night's sleep. now, let me walk on alone; the people talk so much in this place." he stopped behind a clump of sycamore bushes and watched her disappear in the gloom. he saw her when she went through the light at the store, and again as she passed under the lamp at the hotel. he followed slowly. he passed the hotel and looked into the wide hall, but saw no one. a lane led from the street to an open lot behind the hotel. he remembered that harriet's room looked out that way, and, hardly knowing why he did so, he walked down the lane till he could see her window. there was a light in the room. for several minutes he stood gazing at the window, feeling his feet sink into the marshy soil. he wondered how he could pass the long hours of the night without speaking to her. he had just resolved that he would go to the hotel and implore mrs. floyd to let him see harriet if only for a moment, when he noticed a shadow on the wall of the room. it looked like some one sitting at a table. he decided that it must be mrs. floyd watching by harriet's bed, and in imagination he saw the girl lying there white and unconscious. suddenly, however, the shadow disappeared. the figure rose into the light and crossed the room. it was harriet. she wore the same gown she had worn an hour before. she stood for a moment in the light, as if placing something on the mantel-piece, and then resumed her seat at the table. the shadow was on the wall again. he looked at it steadily for twenty minutes. his feet had sunk deeper into the loam and felt wet and cold. slowly he trudged back through the lane. mrs. floyd had lied to him. the girl was not ill. at the street corner he stopped. for an instant he was tempted to go to the hotel and ask mrs. floyd if he could see harriet for a moment, that he might catch her in another lie, and then and there face her in it, but he felt too sick at heart. harriet had not swooned. mrs. floyd had not undressed her and put her to bed. she had made up the story to excite his sympathy and gain a point. he groaned as he started on towards bradley's. mrs. floyd had tried to get bates to marry the girl, and now was attempting the same thing with him. and why? at the gate of bradley's house he stopped. through the window he saw luke and his wife at supper. they had not waited for him. he would not go in. he could not eat or talk to them. he wanted to be alone to decide what course to pursue. he crossed the road and plunged into the densest part of a pine forest. he came to a heap of pine-needles that the wind had massed together, and sank down on it, hugged his knees to his breast, and groaned. he wanted to tell his whole story to some one--any one who would listen and advise him. he could not decide for himself--his power of reasoning was gone. suddenly he rose to his feet and started up the mountain. taking a short cut, he reached the hawkbill road, and, with rapid, swinging strides, began to climb the mountain. as he got higher among the craggy peaks, that rose sombre and majestic in the moonlight, the air grew more rarified and his breath came short. he could see the few lights of the village scattered here and there in the dark valley, and hear the clangor of the cast-iron bell at the little church. it was prayer-meeting night. after a while he left the main road, and without any reason at all for so doing, he plunged into the tangle of laurel, rhododendron bushes, vines, and briers. the soles of his shoes had become slick on the pine-needles and heather, and he slipped and fell several times, but he rose and struggled on. then he saw the bare brown cliff of a great canyon over the tops of the trees, and suddenly realizing the distance he had come he turned and walked homeward. he found the bradley house wrapped in darkness. he could hear luke snoring out to the gate. he went round the house to the back door. it was unlocked, and he slipped in and gained his own room. without undressing he threw himself on the bed and tried to sleep, but the attempt was vain. he lay awake all night, and when dawn broke he had not yet decided whether he was going away or not. he really believed he was losing his mind, but he did not care. he rose and sat at his window. the sky along the eastern horizon was turning pale, and the chickens were crowing and flapping their wings. he heard bradley lustily clearing his throat as he got out of bed. later he heard him in the kitchen making a fire. westerfelt knew he would go out to the barn-yard to feed and water his cattle and horses, and he wanted to avoid him and his cheery morning greeting. buttoning his coat round his neck, he tip-toed from his room across the passage and went down the street to the stable. one of the big sliding-doors had been pushed aside, and in the back yard he saw jake washing a buggy, and heard washburn in one of the rear stalls, rattling his currycomb and brush together as he groomed a horse. he went into the office. the outer door was closed, and it would have been dark there, but for washburn's lighted lantern which hung on a peg over the desk. he sat down at the desk and tried anew to think. presently he decided that he would go to atlanta, and that he would write a note to mrs. floyd, telling her of his change of plans. he took up a sheet of paper and began the note, but was interrupted by washburn's step outside. he crumpled the paper in his hand, quickly thrust it into his pocket, and pretended to be looking over the pages of the ledger which lay open on the desk. "hello!" washburn stood in the doorway. "i didn't know you wus heer. anything gone wrong?" "no; why?" "it's a little early fer you, that's all." washburn dropped his brush and currycomb under the desk, and, full of concern, stood looking down at him. "thought i'd come down before breakfast" said westerfelt. "how was business yesterday?" "good; nearly everything out, and it wus most all cash--very little booked." "wash?" "yes, sir." "how much did i agree to pay you by the month?" "thirty dollars." washburn glanced at the open ledger. "have i made any mistake?" "no, but--but i've been making you do all the work. it isn't fair. credit yourself with forty dollars a month from the start and keep it up." washburn flushed. "i'm mighty much obliged, mr. westerfelt. i wusn't complainin' as it wus." "i know it, but you are a good fellow; i'm going to trust the whole business to you. your judgment's as good as mine; do the best you can. i'm going down to atlanta for a few days--i don't know for how long, but i will write you from there." "i'll do the best i can, mr. westerfelt, you kin be shore of that." chapter xxiv after breakfast, at bradley's, westerfelt went into his room and hastily packed his valise and told alf to take it to the stable and put it into the hack going that morning to the station. mrs. bradley came to him in the entry. "john westerfelt, what's got into you?" she asked, looking at him with concern. "shorely you are not goin' off." "to atlanta for a few days on business, that's all," he said; "i'll write back from there." she looked at him curiously, as if not quite satisfied with his explanation. "well, hurry back," she said. "me 'n' luke'll miss you mightily." "tell luke good-bye for me," he called back from the gate, and she nodded to him from the hall, but he could not hear what she said. as he approached the stable, he saw the hack waiting for him at the door. budd ridly sat on the driver's seat. "time we wus off," he remarked to westerfelt. "it takes peert drivin' to catch the two-forty, south-bound." "that's a fact," said washburn, coming from the stable, "but i'll bet you'll have to wait a few minutes, anyway." he was looking back in the direction from whence westerfelt had come. "i saw miss harriet come out o' the hotel jest after you passed; it looks to me like she's trying to overtake you." westerfelt turned and saw harriet about a hundred yards away. "maybe she is," he said. "i'll go meet her." she paused when she saw him approaching, and he noticed that she looked greatly troubled and was quite pale. "i must see you, mr. westerfelt," she said, a catch in her voice. "i came right at once so you wouldn't get left. oh, mr. westerfelt, mother has just told me what she said to you last night. i don't know what she did it for--i reckon she thought she was acting right--but i cannot help her in deception of any kind. i was not sick last night." "i knew you were not," he said, and then he could think of nothing else to say. "but mother said she told you i was, and that she left the impression on your mind that it was because you were going off. that is not true, mr. westerfelt. i cannot presume to dictate to you about what you ought to do. besides, it really seems a sensible thing for you to go. she said you promised not to leave, but i can't have it that way." something in the very firmness of her renunciation of him added weights to his sinking spirits. "you think it would be best for me to go?" he managed to articulate. "oh, do you, harriet?" "yes, i do," she said, emphatically, after a little pause in which she looked down at the ground. "i am only a girl, a poor weak girl, and then--" raising her fine eyes steadily to his face--"i have _my_ pride, too, you see, and it has never been so wounded before. if--if i had not loved you as i have this would have been over between us long ago. and then i excused you because you were sick and unjustly persecuted, but you are well now, mr. westerfelt--well enough to know what's right and just to a defenceless girl." there was now not a trace of color in his face, and he felt as if he were turning to stone. he found himself absolutely unable to meet her words with any of his own, but he had never been so completely her slave. "you must answer me one question plainly," she continued, "and i want the truth. will you, mr. westerfelt?" "if i can i will, harriet." "on your honor?" "yes, on my honor." "were you not leaving simply to--to get away from the--(oh, i don't know how to say it)--the--because you did not want to be near me?" he shrank back; how was he to reply to such a pointed question? "on your word of honor, mr. westerfelt!" there was nothing for him to do but answer in the affirmative, but it fired him with a desire to justify himself. "but it was not because i don't love you, harriet. on the other hand, it was because i do--so much that the whole thing is simply driving me crazy. as god is my judge, i worship you--i love you as no man ever loved a woman before. but when i remember--" "i know what you are going to say," her lip curling in scorn, "and i want to help you forget my misfortune. perhaps you will when i tell you that my feeling for you is dying a natural death, and it is dying because i no longer respect you as i did." "oh, god! don't--_don't_ say that, harriet!" "but i'm only telling you the truth. i would not marry you--not if you were the only man on earth--not if you were worth your weight in gold--not if you got down on your knees and asked me a thousand times." "you would not, harriet?" "why should i? a girl wants a husband she can lean on and go to in every trouble she has. you wouldn't fill the bill, mr. westerfelt. good gracious, no!" she turned back towards the hotel, and like a man with his intelligence shaken from him by a superior force, he tried to keep at her side. in silence they reached the steps of the hotel. "you'll miss that hack if you don't hurry," she said. "besides, you've acted as if this was a pest-house ever since mother and i nursed you here and i made such a fool of myself." "harriet, if you do not consent to be my wife i don't know what i shall do. i want you--i want you. i love you, i can't do without you. that's god's truth. if i hesitated it was only because i was driven crazy with--" "it's a great pity about your love," she sneered; her eyes flashed, and she snapped her fingers in his face, her breast rising and falling in agitation. "sweethearts may be hard to find, and husbands, too, but i wouldn't marry you--you who have no more gentlemanly instincts than to blame a girl for what happened when she was a helpless little baby." "what--what do you mean by that, harriet?" he questioned, his eyes opening wide. "i have never--" "you told me--or, at least, you showed it mighty plain--" she broke in, "that it was because i was a foundling and never knew who my real parents were that you have such a contempt for me." "harriet, as god is my judge, i don't know what you're talking about. you have never mentioned such a thing to me before." "oh yes, i did," she was studying his startled face curiously, "or rather you told me you knew about it--that you had heard of it." "but i had never heard of it--i never dreamed of it till this minute. besides that would not make a particle of difference to me. it would only make me love you more--it _does_ make me love you more." her face clouded over with perplexity. somebody was coining down the sidewalk, and she led him into the parlor. "why, mr. westerfelt," she began again, "i--i don't know what to make of you. it was one day when you were sick here, just after you asked me to burn a letter you had got. i remember it distinctly." he started. "i was not alluding to that," he said. "then what were you speaking of?" "of wambush, and all the rest. oh, harriet, i've tried so hard to forget him and overcome my--" "what about him? answer me; what about him?" "the letter i asked you to burn was not for me. it was from old wambush to toot. in it he mentioned you, and how you helped toot hide that whiskey, and how you confessed your love and cried in the old man's arms." "mr. westerfelt, are you _crazy_? are you a raving maniac? i never did anything like that. toot wambush was writing about hettie fergusson. she is his sweetheart; she helped him hide the barrel of whiskey in the kitchen. oh, mr. westerfelt, was that what you've been thinking all this time?" a great joy had illuminated his face, and he grasped her hands and clung to them. "harriet, i see it all now; can you ever forgive me?" she did not answer, but hearing her mother's step in the hall she called out, while she tightened her little fingers over his, "mother, come in here; come quick!" "what is it, darling?" asked the old woman, anxiously, as she entered the room. "oh, mother, he thought i was hettie; he thought i loved toot wambush; he says he doesn't care about the other thing one bit." "well, i didn't see how he could," said mrs. floyd. "i didn't, really." "she hasn't said she will forgive me for thinking she was in love with wambush, and making such a fool of myself on account of the mistake," said westerfelt. "i wish you'd help me out, mrs. floyd." "i may not forgive you for thinking i could love such a man," answered harriet, "but i don't blame you a bit for the way you acted. i reckon that was just jealousy, and that showed he cared for me; don't you think so, mother?" "yes, daughter, i always have believed that mr. westerfelt loved you. and if i had had the management of this thing there wouldn't have been such a long misunderstanding. mr. westerfelt, hettie fergusson is out in the kitchen, just crazy to know if you will withdraw the charges against toot so that he can come back home." "i wouldn't prosecute that man," laughed westerfelt, "not if he'd killed my best friend. tell her that, mrs. floyd." "well, she'll be crazy to hear it, and i'll go tell her." she went into the hall and quickly returned. "will washburn is in front and wants to speak to you," she said. but washburn came to the door himself, an anxious look on his face. "the hack's still waitin' fer you, mr. westerfelt," he said. "what must i do about it?" "tell ridly to go on without me," laughed westerfelt. "and--wash!" he added. "take all the money out of the cash drawer and go get blind drunk. shoot off all the guns you can find, and set the stable on fire. wash, shake hands! i'm the luckiest fellow on god's green earth." washburn was not dense, and he reddened as it occurred to him that his reply ought to voice some sort of congratulations. "ef i'm any jedge o' human natur' yo're both lucky," he stammered. "mr. westerfelt is about the squarest man i ever struck an' would fight a circular saw bare-handed, an' miss harriet, i'll sw'ar i jest can't think o' nothin' good enough to say about you, except ef you hadn't a-been all wool an' a yard wide mr. westerfelt wouldn't a-been so crazy about you." washburn laughed out suddenly, and added, "some time i'll tell you about how he used to do at night when he couldn't sleep, especially after bas' bates got to cuttin' his patchin', an' buyin' paper collars an' neckties." after washburn had left they sat together on the sofa for several minutes in silence. the pause was broken by harriet. "i've been trying to make out what god meant by making us go through all this--you through all your ups and downs, and me mine. don't you reckon it was so that he could make us feel just like we do now?" he nodded, but there was a lump of happiness in his throat that kept him from speaking. "well, i do," she said. "i used to think he hadn't treated me fair, but i thank him with all my heart for _all_ of it--_all_ of it. i wouldn't alter a thing. i believe you love me, and i can't think of anything else i could want. i believe you loved me even when you thought i loved toot wambush, and if you did then, i know you will now when i tell you i never loved any other man but you, and never even allowed any other man even hold my hand." the summit house mystery or the earthly purgatory by l. dougall author of "beggars all," "the madonna of a day," "the zeit-geist," etc. [illustration: logo] funk & wagnalls company new york and london copyright, , by funk & wagnalls company [printed in the united states of america] _published, march, _ publishers' introductory note "the story's the thing" is a creed to which novel readers are supposed to give unanimous adherence. art, literary style, study of character, and other of the higher, subtler elements of fiction, good as they are acknowledged to be, must yield first place to "the story," and afterwards shift for themselves the best way they may. how many so-called novel readers adhere to this creed is a matter of question--probably not as many as its exponents believe. unquestionably there are two forms of fiction--the one in which art, and style, and character are pre-eminent, and control the course of the story, and the one in which "the story's the thing," and often the only thing. but why should not these two forms of fiction be blended? why should not the art of george eliot or mr. meredith be wedded to the thrilling action and absorbing mystery of anthony hope and sir a. conan doyle? in this story, "the summit house mystery," miss dougall has illustrated so well the possibilities of combining an exciting story with the charm of real literary art, that it must be considered as a model for a better school of popular fiction. in substance and in form it is unusually satisfying. the mystery with which it deals is so impenetrable as to baffle the cleverest reader until the very sentence in which, literally in a flash of light, the secret is revealed; yet from the beginning the story progresses steadily, logically, and without straining or melodramatic claptrap, to the inevitable solution. it is not, in the ordinary sense, a detective story, altho the two elements of concealment and search are present. it is not a "love story," but love, of the noblest order, supplies the cause and the support of the terrible mystery throughout the book. it is, as one has aptly said, a story of mystery "into which a soul has been infused." the rare distinction of its style and the beauty of its language place it far above stories of its class. a wonderful setting is given, high up on the summit of deer mountain, in georgia, and the story seems to take on a quiet dignity, as well as a deeper atmosphere of mystery, from the lofty solitude. seldom have the beauties of the mountains, "in all their varying moods of cloud, and mist, and glorious night," been painted in truer colors. "the summit house mystery" must inevitably set a higher standard for such novels, and the public will thus gain more than this one good story if it shall have, as it deserves, an immense popular success. contents chap. page i. a hut in the precipice ii. the unwelcome guest iii. a strange dismissal iv. the hostess jailer v. the northern ladies vi. events on deer mountain vii. the godson possibility viii. the wordless letters ix. the spectre in the forest x. a skeleton in the fire xi. the mysterious 'dolphus xii. the secret of the oak xiii. a sob in the dark xiv. the going out of eve xv. the question of guilt xvi. a call for help xvii. hermione's advocate xviii. a startling disclosure xix. tangled in the coil xx. the terrible confession xxi. opening the past xxii. the earthly purgatory xxiii. what 'dolphus knows xxiv. the woman with a secret xxv. lost in the maze xxvi. a tortured conscience xxvii. a hound on the scent xxviii. probing a deep wound xxix. forged letters xxx. the vision in the hut xxxi. a flash of light xxxii. what a terrier found xxxiii. the restoration xxxiv. all that happened xxxv. readjustments book i the summit house mystery chapter i a hut in the precipice in the southern part of the appalachian mountains the tree-clad ridges fold and coil about one another. in this wooded wilderness the trend of each slope, the meandering of each stream, take unlooked-for turnings, and the valleys cross and twist. it is such a region as we often find in dreams, where the unexpected bars the way or opens out into falling vistas down which our souls must speed, chasing some hope or chased by unknown fears. on a certain day a man called neil durgan passed through the village of deer cove, in the mountains of northern georgia. when he had left the few wooden buildings and the mill round which they clustered, he took a path by the foaming mill-stream and ascended the mountain of deer. for more than a century before the freeing of the slaves, the durgans had been one of the proudest and richest families of georgia. this man was the present head of the house, sole heir to the loss of all its lands and wealth. he was growing old now. disappointment, poverty, and humility walked with him. yet joy, the fugitive, peeped at him through the leafless forest, from the snow-flakes of the dogwood and from the violets in the moss, laughed at him in the mountain torrent, and wooed him with the scent of the warming earth. humility caught and kissed the fleeting spirit, and led her also in attendance upon the traveller's weary feet. deer cove is more than two thousand feet in altitude; deer mountain rises a thousand feet above. half-way up, durgan came to the cabin of a negro called adam. according to the usage of the time, the freedman's surname was durgan, because he had been born and bred on the durgan estates. adam was a huge black negro. he and durgan had not met since they were boys. adam's wife set a good table before the visitor. she was a quadroon, younger, lithe and attractive. both stood and watched durgan eat--adam dumb with pleasure, the negress talking at times with such quick rushes of soft words that attentive listening was necessary. "yes, marse neil, suh; these ladies as lives up here on deer, they's here for their health--they is. very nice ladies they is, too; but they's from the north! they don't know how to treat us niggers right kind as you does, suh! they's allus for sayin' 'please' an' 'thank 'e,' and 'splaining perjinks to adam an' me. but ef you can't board with these ladies, marsa, ther's no place you can live on deer--no, there ain't, suh." durgan had had his table set before the door, and ate looking at the chaos of valleys, domes, and peaks which, from this height, was open to the view. the characteristic blue haze of the region was over all. the lower valleys in tender leaf had a changeful purple shimmer upon them, as seen in the peacock's plumage. the sun rained down white light from a fleecy sky. the tree-tops of the slope immediately beneath them were red with sap. after a mood of reflection durgan said, "you live well. these ladies must pay you well if you can afford dinners like this." "yes, marse neil, suh; they pays better than any in these parts. miss hermie, she's got right smart of sense, too, 'bout money. miss birdie, she's more for animals and flowers an' sich; but they pays well, they does." "look me out two good men to work with me in the mine, adam." adam showed his white teeth in respectful joy. "that's all right, suh." "of course, as you are working for these ladies, you will look for my men in your spare time." "that's all right, suh." durgan put down sufficient payment for his food, took up his travelling satchel, and walked on. from the turn of the rough cart-road on which the cabin stood the rocky summit was visible, and close below it the gables of a solitary dwelling. "a rough perch for northern birds!" said he to himself, and then was plunged again in his own affairs. the branches, arching above, shut out all prospect. he plodded on. the upper side of the mountain was a bald wall of rock. where, part way up, the zigzag road abutted on this precipice it met a foot-trail to the summit, and at the same point an outer ledge of flat rock gave access to an excavation near at hand in the precipice. a wooden hut with a rude bench at its door stood on the ledge, the only legacy of a former miner. durgan perceived that his new sphere was reached. he rested upon the bench and looked about him wistfully. he was a large, well-built man, with patrician cast of feature, brown skin, and hair that was almost gray. his clothes were beginning to fray at the edges. they were the clothes of a man of fashion whose pockets had long been empty. his manner was haughty, but subdued by that subtle gentleness which failure gives to higher natures. a broken heart, a head carried high--these evoke compassion which can seldom be expressed. he could look over the foot-hills to where cloud-shadows were slowly sailing upon the blue, billowy reaches of the georgian plains. in that horizon, dim with sunlight, durgan had sucked his silver spoon, and possessed all that pertains to the lust of the eye and the pride of life. the cruel war had wrapped him and his in its flames. when it was over, he had sought relief in speculation, and time had brought the episode of love. he had fought and lost; he had played and lost; he had married and lost. out of war and play and love he had brought only himself and such a coat as is as much part of a man as its fur is part of an animal. after a while he unfolded a letter already well worn. he read it for the last time with the fancy that it was well to end the old life where he hoped to commence the new one. the letter was written in new york, and dated a month before. it was from his wife. "it is very well for you to say that you would not want money from me if i came to live in the south with you, but i do not believe you could earn your own living, and it would ill become my social position to acknowledge a husband who was out at elbows and working like a convict. i think, too, that it is cant for you to preach to me and say that 'it would be well for us to try and do better.' is it my fault that you have lost all self-respect, refusing to enter good society, to interest yourself in the arts and all that belongs to the spiritual side of life? is it my fault that a spiritually minded man has given me the sympathy which you cannot even understand? i desire that you never again express to me your thoughts about a friendship which is above your comprehension. "if your rich cousin will let you delve for him for a pittance i shall not interfere. i might tell him he could not put his mine into worse hands! i shall not alter the agreement we made ten years ago, which is that while you remain at a distance, and refrain from annoyance, i shall not seek legal separation." the husband looked with a faint smile at the crest of the durgans on the fashionable notepaper, at the handwriting in which a resolute effort at fashion barely concealed a lack of education. in the diction and orthography he discerned the work of a second mind, and it was with a puzzled, as well as a troubled air, that he tore the paper into atoms and let them flutter over the precipice in the soft breeze. but the puzzle was beyond his reading, and the trouble he cast into the past. whatever good he had deserved at the hands of his wife, it was not in his nature to feel that providence dealt too hardly with him. as he rose to examine his new scene of work, the phrase of the huge negro returned to his mind, and he muttered to himself, "yes, suh; that's all right!" he found a pick and hammer in the shed, and set himself instantly to break the rock where the vein of mica had already been worked. weary as he soon became, he was glad to suppose that, having failed in dealing with his kind, he must wrestle now only with the solid earth, and in the peace of the wilderness. the angels, looking down upon him, smiled; for they know well that the warfare of the world is only escaped by selfishness, not by circumstance. chapter ii the unwelcome guest the sun set glorious over the peaks of the cherokee ridges, and their crimson outline lay dark, like a haven for the silver boat of the descending moon, when durgan, satchel in hand, climbed the ascending foot-trail. the cart-road evidently reached the summit by further turnings; but this footpath, wending through close azalea scrub and under trees, emerged between one gable of the summit house and the higher rocks above it. on the other three sides of the house its open lands were broad enough. this had been the dwelling of the former miner. durgan, already heralded by the barking of watch-dogs, could hardly pause to look at a place which would have been his perquisite had it not been bought at a fancy price by woman's caprice. the low shingled dwelling, weathered and overgrown by vines, was faced by a long, open porch. its lawn was already bordered by a fringe of crocus flowers. the house was old, but, beyond a group of trees, a new barn and carriage-house were standing. the fences of garden, field, and meadow were also new. the whole property bore marks of recent improvements which betokened wealth and taste. a prim little lady met durgan in the porch. her hair was gray; she wore a dress of modified fashion. even the warm glamour of the evening light and the matchless grace of hanging vines could give but small suggestion of romance to miss smith's neat, angular figure and thin face; but of her entire goodness durgan, after the first glance, had never a doubt. she put on spectacles to read the letter of introduction which he brought from the owner of deer mountain and of the mine. she was startled by something she read there, but only betrayed her excitement by a slight trembling, hardly seen. the letter read, she greeted durgan in the neat manner of an established etiquette which, like her accent, savored of a new england education. "take a chair, for i guess you're tired. yes, we bought this land from general durgan blount, and, of course, we've had dealing with him. that's about the extent of our acquaintance." she swayed in a light rocking-chair, and for some minutes obviously thought over the request which the letter contained that she should give durgan a temporary home as a paying guest. he employed the time in looking at books and pictures, which were of no mean quality, but seemed to have been recently collected. at last she said, "come to think of it, i don't see why you shouldn't stop with us a while. my sister isn't at home just now, but i guess i'll say 'yes.' it isn't good for folks to be too much alone. we've a real comfortable room over the harness-room in the carriage-house. you'll have to sleep there, as we've no room in the house, and i guess what we eat will be good enough." a moment's pause and she added, "my sister won't be quite agreeable, perhaps, not being accustomed----" "of course, i quite understand, you're not in the habit of doing such a----" "i did not mean that we felt too grand." miss smith made this answer to his interruption with crisp decision, but as she did not return to the interrupted subject, he was left uncertain. while she busied herself for his entertainment, durgan, surprised into great contentment, sat watching the darkness gather beyond the low arches of the porch. the room was warmed, and at that hour lit, by logs blazing in an open chimney. it was furnished with simple comfort and the material for pleasant occupations. glass doors stood open to the mild, still night. the sweet, cool scent of the living forest wandered in to meet the fragrance of the burning logs. there was one uneasy element in durgan's sense of rest--he dreaded the advent of the sister who might not be "quite agreeable." out of the gloaming, stooping under the tendrils of the vine, a young woman came quickly and stopped upon the threshold. she seemed a perfect type of womanhood, lovely and vigorous. one arm was filled with branches of dogwood bloom, the other hand held in short leash a mastiff. her figure, at once lithe and buxom, her rosy and sun-browned face, soft lips, aquiline nose, and curly hair gave durgan sincere astonishment, altho he had formed no expectation. but his attention was quickly focussed upon an indescribable depth of hope and fear in her eyes. before she spoke he had time to notice more consciously the clear brown skin, crimson-tinted on the round of the cheek, the nose delicately formed and curved, and the startled terror and pleading look in her sad brown eyes. the dog, probably at the suggestion of a nervous movement on the leash, began to growl, and was silenced by a caress as durgan introduced himself and explained his errand. "it is very late," she said gravely. "it will surely be difficult for you to find your way down the mountain again." "miss smith has very kindly acceded to my cousin's request." durgan spoke in the soft, haughty tone of reserve which was habitual to him. the girl's tone, quick and subdued, had in it the faint echo of a cry. "oh, i don't think you would like to stay here. oh, i don't think you----" miss smith came to the door to announce his supper. "mr. durgan is going to stop a while with us, bertha. it's no use his having a mile's climb from the cove to his work every day--at least not that i know of. i've been fixing up the room over the carriage-house; i tell him the barns are a sight better built than the house." it appeared to durgan that she was reasoning with the younger sister as a too indulgent mother reasons with a spoilt tyrant of the nursery. the effort seemed successful. without further comment bertha said, "we bought this old house along with the ground, but we built the rest. we took great care that they should be good models for the people here, who are rather in need of high standards in barns and--other things." "in many other things," said durgan. "i have not been familiar with my own state since the war, and the poverty and sloth i have seen in the last few days sadly shocked me." durgan had not of late been accustomed to kindness from women. it was years since he had eaten and talked with such content as he did that evening. if his material comforts were due to the essential motherliness in miss smith's nature, it was bertha's generous beauty and lively mind that gave the added touch of delight. miss smith swayed in her rocking-chair, her neat feet tapping the ground, and put in shrewd, kindly remarks; bertha discussed the prospects of the mine with well-bred ease. durgan assumed that, as is often the case in the northern states, the growing wealth of the family had bestowed on the younger a more liberal education than had fallen to the lot of the elder. at the hour for retiring he felt for them both equal respect and equal gratitude. the stairs to his chamber ran up outside the carriage-house. the room was pleasant--a rainy-day workroom, containing a divan that had been converted into a bed. books, a shaded lamp, even flowers, were there. as a sick man luxuriates in mere alleviation, as the fugitive basks in temporary safety, so durgan, who had resigned himself to the buffets of fortune, felt unspeakably content with the present prospect of peace. he read till late, and, putting out what was by then the only light upon deer mountain, he lay long, watching the far blaze of other worlds through the high casement. to his surprise he heard an almost noiseless step come up the stairs; then a breathless listening. he had been given no key, but one was now gently inserted in the lock and turned from without. durgan smiled to himself, but the smile grew cynical. chapter iii a strange dismissal when durgan woke in the sunshine the door had been unlocked and the key removed. the sisters, and the good cheer they offered, were the same at breakfast as on the former evening; but the incident of the night had disturbed durgan's feeling of respect. adam and his wife were betimes at their work as day servants. they had, as commanded, brought two negro laborers for the mine. durgan shouldered his pick and marched before his men. they went by the cart-road, under the arching branches. suddenly, through the wood, bertha appeared, walking alone in the sparkling morning. it seemed a chance meeting till the negroes had gone on. blushing nervously and very grave, she spoke, begging durgan to find another lodging. her voice, as she gave her reason, faltered. "i am sure that my sister is not strong enough for the extra care." durgan said within himself that the reason was false. he stiffened himself to that dull sense of disappointment to which he was accustomed. "i can only do as you bid me," said he. "i am afraid you will need to camp out. believe me, i am very sorry. my sister"--again the voice faltered--"is not very strong. she would try to have visitors for my sake, and so she will not admit that this would be too much--but----" again durgan was sure that her reason was in some way false. this woman was so honest that her very lies were transparent. "and so--and on this account, i must ask you, mr. durgan, to be good enough to--conceal from my sister that i have made this request." she dropped her eyes in confusion; her face was flushed, her hands fluttering as she clasped them restlessly; but she was perfectly resolute. about her and above the trees were gray. the dogwood alone held out horizontal sprays--white flowers veined in bright mahogany. above, the sky was blue--a gorgeous blue--and, on a gray bough that hung over, this hue was seen again where the gay bluebird of the south swelled out its glossy crimson throat in song. as durgan looked at this beautiful woman and the wild solitude, he felt as deeply puzzled as annoyed. general durgan blount had well remarked, as he wrote the letter of introduction, that the presence of a gentleman of durgan's age and position would certainly appear to be an advantage in the precincts of the lonely dwelling. "may i ask if you have heard anything to my disadvantage?" "oh, nothing! it is for your----" she stopped, her distress growing, but began again very rapidly. "i know it must seem very strange to you; and living alone as we do, it is a great thing for us not to appear odd or strange to anyone. and so--that is the reason i ask you to be so good as----" she paused, raising her sad eyes for an answering flash of sympathy which his reticence did not give. it was not durgan's way to give any play to feeling in manner or tone. then she said impulsively, "i am trusting you. don't you see i am trusting you with the secret of my interference? i don't want my sister to know, and i don't want anyone to know, that i have spoken. hermie would be vexed with me, and other people would think it very odd." "i thank you for trusting me." he was lifting his hat and moving when she stayed him. "i hope you believe that i regret this--that i will do all i can to make your stay on the mountain pleasant for you." his eyes twinkled. "pardon me for thinking that you have done all you can to make it unpleasant for me. your house is not a good one to leave." "still, i hope you will remain our friend, and i beg"--she flushed scarlet at her reiteration--"i implore you, when you return for your things, to give my sister no hint that i have interfered, or to speak of it to your cousin." she went back into the woods, her head bowed. durgan looked after her with solicitude. chapter iv the hostess jailer there was one other house nearer to the mine than deer cove. a small farm belonging to "mountain whites" lay on the other side, but cut off from the road by precipice and torrent. thither in the early evening durgan, by steep detour, bent his way, but found his journey useless. the family was in excess of the house-room, and the food obviously unclean. more weary with his work than laborer bred to toil can ever be, again in the gloaming he climbed to the summit of deer. he began the ascent with the intention of taking his possessions to the miserable inn at deer cove, but on his way reflected that one night more could make little difference to the comfort of the sisters. he would speak to bertha apart, and ask if he might remain till morning. the sisters were found together, and durgan was dumb. until he was confronted with evidence that bertha had really given no hint to her sister, he had not realized that, in cancelling the arrangement, much would devolve on his own tact and readiness of excuse. he grew impatient of the mystery, ate the supper that miss smith's careful housewifery had prepared, and having no explanation to offer, accepted the early retirement which her compassion for his evident weariness proposed. as on the night before, bertha offered no opposition. the work had broken at a touch durgan's long habit of insomnia. he slept soon and soundly. waking in the utter silence of the mountain dawn, his brain proceeded to fresh activities. he reviewed the events of the previous night and morning with more impartial good-nature. from the picture of miss smith's motherly age, shrewd wit, equable temper, and solid virtues, he turned to the healthful beauty of the younger sister. he saw again the interview on the road. how transparent her blushes! how deep the hope and terror in her eyes! how false the ring of her tone when she murmured her ostensible excuse! surely this was a girl who had been sore driven before she lied or asked secrecy of a stranger! he remembered that the first night someone had locked him in. a caged feeling roused him to see if he were again a prisoner. he rose, tried the door, and it opened. dark ruby fire of the dawn was kindling behind the eastern peaks. dark as negroes' hair lay the heads and shoulders of all the couchant hills. their sides were shrouded in moving mists; the valleys were lost; only in one streak of sky above the ruby dawn had the stars begun to fail. he saw a woman's figure crouching on the porch of the dwelling-house. the wind was moaning. the woman was sitting on the low flooring of the porch, her feet on the ground, her elbows on her knees, her head held forward, her whole attitude indicative of watching. he thought she slept at her post or else the wind and darkness covered his slight movement of the door. either someone was in great need of compassion, perhaps help, or he was outraged by a surveillance which merited displeasure. he awaited the swift daybreak of the region. every moment light increased visibly. when the mists, like white sea-horses, were seen romping down the highways of the valleys; when the tree-tops were seen tossing and the eastern sky was fleeced with pink, as if the petals of some gigantic rose were shaken out, durgan went across the grass and confronted bertha before she could retire. with a sudden impulse of fear she put her finger to her lips; then, ashamed, sought to cancel the gesture. she had not changed her gown from the evening before, but was wrapped in furs. "last night you locked me in; to-night you watch my door. what is the matter? are you afraid of me?" he had noticed her abortive signal; his customary tones met any need for quiet of which he could conceive. "you!" her lips formed the word. she seemed confounded by his suddenness. "you!" he gained no idea from the repeated monosyllable. "i will pack up my traps and go at once, rather than rob you of further sleep. perhaps you will kindly make my excuses to your sister." he was turning, but added, "i evidently owe you an apology for remaining last night. i hope you understand that i had no excuse to give your sister--none, at least, that would not have been too true to suit you or too untrue to suit me." she made an imperious gesture; she spoke so low that he wondered at the power of command in her tone. "go back and take your sleep out--you need it. come to breakfast without saying that you have seen me. i have no explanation. i have nothing to say--except--" she lifted a weary face--"except that i hoped you were too tired to be wakeful." his incredulity was overcome by pity. "can i do you no service?" she shook her head. "i have already asked far too much." her voice sank as she spoke. "we are neighbors, and i think we must be friends. you are evidently in need of help." "from heaven--yes. but from you only what i have said." chapter v the northern ladies durgan furnished the wooden hut that stood on the ledge of the cliff between the road and the mine. adam's wife baked his bread and made his bed. durgan fell into the fanciful habit of calling her "eve." "oh, marse neil, honey; adam an' eve they was white folks. thought you'd have known your bible better 'an us pore niggers, an' we knows that much, sure 'nough--yes, we does, suh." when eve spoke her words came in a multitude, soft and quick. "wasn't mighty surprised you didn't stop with those northern ladies. very nice ladies they is, but they's the mightiest 'ticlar 'bout their house, an' the workin'est folks i ever did see. 'tain't a sign o' good fam'ly--no, marse neil, suh--gettin' up near sun-up in the mornin', and allers a-doin'. 'tain't like quality, an' you couldn't never have stopped. but they's powerful nice ladies, miss hermie an' miss birdie, an' i don't go to say a word against them, no, suh." durgan watched to see if anyone else had a word to say against these ladies. from the loungers of deer cove, from the country folk who ascended deer to sell their produce at the summit house, from the very children who trooped up the road with field flowers and pet animals, he heard the same testimony. in the whole countryside the sisters had the reputation of being gentle and just. too methodical and thrifty to appear quite liberal in the eyes of the shiftless, too unconscious of the distinction of color to appear quite genteel, they were yet held in favor, and were to the whole region a source of kindly interest and guileless extortion. no other strangeness was attributed to them than that which "being from the north" implied. young blount, the son of the landowner, soon rode over to see his cousin. the blounts were one of the few rich southern families who, owning a line of merchant ships, had not lost the source of their wealth in the war. they spent part of their time in this mountain region, of which a large area was their own. the old general had not changed with the times, but the new epoch had stamped the son with a sense of responsibility for the humanity at his gates which his slave-owning forefathers had never known. he was twenty years younger than durgan. having looked upon a devastated land from his schoolroom windows, he had never acquired the patrician manner. he was affable and serious. when arrived at durgan's camp he tied his beautiful horse to a tree, and remained for the night. the two sat on the open rock by a fire of logs. before darkness fell the visitor had pointed out every village, hamlet, and cabin which lay within the wide prospect which they overlooked. the inhabitants of this land were, each for his respective station, poor, most of them miserably poor and thriftless. blount took an interest in each individual. he was a gossip as confirmed as any club-man or idle dowager; but the objects of his interest were not his equals, and their benefit was the end he held in view. the greenery of the valleys was rising like a tide upon slopes, and merging its verdure in the flush of flowing sap and ruddy buds which colored the upland forest; but, far and near, the highest hills still held up their gray woodlands to the frosty skies. after listening to a long chronicle of his humbler neighbors, durgan held out his pipe for a moment, and said casually-- "and the northern ladies?" "ah, yes; despite the northern flavor, they are a godsend to the place, if you will! our people come from far and near to see their new-fangled barn, and carriage-house, and kitchen stoves. it's as elevating to our mountaineers"--he gave a laugh--"as the summer hotels they are building in the tennessee mountains or at nashville are to the people of those parts. a new idea, an object-lesson. most useful for children and fools. our mountain whites are obstinate as mules. they think they know everything because they have never seen anything to arouse their curiosity. you can talk a new notion into a pig's head sooner than into them; but after they have seen an object, fingered it, and talked it over for a year or two, they imagine that it had its origin in their own minds. it was a good enough day for us when these ladies came here; and then, they put some money into circulation." durgan, with little further inquiry, soon heard all that gossip had to tell. miss bertha, he said, had been delicate. after some years of travel in europe, a high altitude in a mild climate, and quiet, had been prescribed. a chance of travel had brought them to this place, and the invalid's fancy had fixed itself on this site. miss smith, he said, was rather niggardly, but she had recognized that it was worth while to humor her sister's fancy by buying the place. "she is fanciful, then?" "i did not mean to imply that. you see, there are not many houses in the whole mountain range at this altitude to choose from, and this neighborhood is quiet and safe. the choice was not unnatural, but i spoke of it being 'humored' because the general put on a fancy price. he likes to rook a northerner, and it was not to his interest to separate the house from the mine." "you would say, then, that they are not fanciful or--eccentric in any way?" "i should rather say that they have displayed great sense and moderation, never raising a suggestion of their northern sympathies. they ride about and administer charity in a judicious way. they have even won over the general. both he and i have a great respect for them. their financial affairs are in the hands of an excellent firm of new york lawyers. they have friends who keep up a very regular correspondence. they are both fine women. it is refreshing to come across a little genuine culture in these wilds. i enjoy them every time i call." in harmony with this last statement, young blount called at the summit house the next morning, and took his noonday meal with the sisters. when he was riding down the mountain road again he called out, on passing the mine: "oh, neil durgan--say--why did you leave those quarters? miss smith says she gave you leave to stop. are you anchoriting?" the unwilling anchorite took comfort in the thought that his discomfort and his silence were offered to, and accepted by, a woman who, for some inscrutable reason, seemed to stand in need of them. "none so poor but that he has something to give!" he muttered. chapter vi events on deer mountain the sisters made all their expeditions on horseback, and, on the upward ride, the horses were commonly breathed on the zigzag of the road which abutted on the mine. miss smith, who was disposed to be offended by durgan's quick change of residence, was dry and formal when he greeted them; but bertha bent kind glances upon him, and always made time to chat. her manner to men had the complete frankness and dignity which is more usually acquired by older women; and she always appeared to be on perfectly open terms with her sister. her talk was always replete with interest in the passing events of deer. for the first week that durgan delved he supposed that there were no events on deer mountain. bertha aided him to discover them. she had fraternized closely with her solitudes, not only by directing all things concerning the garden, fields, meadows, and live-stock of the little summit farm, but also by extending her love and sympathy to the whole mountain of deer and to all the changes in the splendid panorama round about. "'nothing happens!'" cried she, playfully, echoing durgan. "open your eyes, master miner, lest by burrowing you become a veritable mole! can you only recognize the thrill of events when they are printed in a vulgar journal?" so durgan's observation was stimulated. first, there were the events of the weather--what bertha called the "scene-shifting." to-day the veil of blue air would be so thin that, in a radius of many miles, the depth of each gorge, the molding of each peak, was so clear that the covering forest would be revealed like a carpet of fern, each tree a distinct frond when the eye focussed upon it. the rocky precipices would declare each cave and crevice in sharply outlined shadow, and emerald forms far off would look so near that house and fence and wandering paths were seen. at such an hour the cherokee ridges would stand like the great blue-crested waves of ocean, and the "great smokies" be like clouds, turquoise-tinted, on the northern horizon. the next day the azure mists that lay always on the georgian plain would have crept, embracing the very spurs of deer, hiding the modeling of even the adjacent mountains as with a luminous gauze. then only a screen of mountainous outline could be seen, standing flat against emptiness, of uniform tint, colored like a blue-jay's wing. again there was nothing but vapor to be seen, here towering black, here moving fringed with glory and lit within. may showers winged their silver way among the mist-clouds and cleft a passing chasm for the sun. or again, following or preceding thunder, there would be an almost terrible clearness of the sun, and big cloud-shadows would flap from range to range like huge black bats with sharply outlined wings. secondly, apart from the weather, came startling events in the sphere of what bertha called "the crops." the term did not relate chiefly to her cultivated land, but to all the successive forms of vegetation upon deer. the joy of the opening leaf rose nearer the mountain-top. already, about deer cove, the trees held out a delicate fretwork of tiny leaves between earth and sky, and the under thickets were tipped at every point with silver-green. all along the village street a double row of marsh maples stood, their roots drinking at the millstream. the marsh maple differs from its patient sisters, who are glorified by autumn, and, like passion in the house of the interpreter, insists upon having its good things early. these now dressed themselves gorgeously in leaflets of crimson and pink. for a day or two this bright display, seen from afar through the branches that surrounded durgan's mine, looked like a garden of tulips. then his landscape narrowed; his own trees opened their leaves. there were days of warm, quick rain. suddenly the gray forest was glorious with green; serried ranks of azure stars stood out in every bank of moss, and the gray earth was pied with dandelion, heart's-ease, and violet. said durgan, as the sisters rode by, "summer passed me in the night, dripping and bedraggled. she was going on to you with leaps and bounds." "'dripping,' but not 'bedraggled,'" corrected bertha, shaking the mist out of her riding-gloves. "somewhat bedraggled," insisted durgan. "her skirts of wild flowers and meadow grass are already too long." but more exciting still were the events of animal life in the purlieus of deer. the beetles were rolling their mud-balls on the earth; the tadpoles in the mountain ponds were putting forth feet, and the squirrels and birds were arranging their nurseries in different nooks of the greenery above. the polecats prowled boldly to find provender for their wives and little ones. a coon and its cubs were seen. but more interesting than these, because more fully interpreted, were the members of the baby farm over which bertha reigned. she had calves and kids, litters of pigs and litters of pups, a nest of gray squirrels, nests of birds, and the kit of a wildcat, which a hunter had brought her. this last, a small, whiskered thing, gray as a fox and striped like a tiger, had only just opened its eyes, and must needs be fed from bertha's hand. "i am only the grandmother of the others, for they have their own parents," said she; "but i seem to be this one's mother, for it cries continually when i leave it." for some weeks she carried the kit with her everywhere, even when riding; it curled contentedly in a bag on her lap, and bid fair to be tame. if bertha rode out twice a day she paused four times by the mine to exhibit the growing tameness of her pet, or to recount fresh instances of the sagacity or prowess displayed by child or parent in her menagerie. durgan went up often to inspect the infant prodigies, and advise (altho he knew nothing) about their upbringing. durgan's own work lay exclusively in the "mineral kingdom," and he advanced from ignorance to some degree of skill in auguring from the bowels of the rock. each day's work brought its keen daily interest, each night's sleep its quota of health and increasing cheerfulness. chapter vii the godson possibility when young blount paid his next visit durgan was in a mood better to appreciate his budget of gossip. he even contributed to it. adam had beaten his wife, and with good cause. durgan had himself seen a strange nigger eating adam's dinner, waited upon by adam's wife. he found time to explain to his interested cousin that the nigger was both sickly and flashy--a mulatto, consumptive and dandified. "the worst sort of trash. what could have brought him here? there is no such fellow belonging to the county, i'll swear." "adam's wife is not eve, after all, i think. she can only be lilith; and i wish the fates would change her for a superior." durgan spoke musingly. "at least i hope she'll have more sense than to take a tramping scamp nigger like that to the summit house," said blount. "he's sure to be a thief." "i'd chastise her myself if she did," said durgan, smoking lazily. "ah, i'm glad you feel that way, for those ladies are a real benefit to the neighborhood, and, to tell the truth, it was on their account i came to you now. the general sent me." durgan smoked on. they were sitting late at the door of the hut. darkness was falling like a mantle over all that lay below their precipice. blount began again. "these ladies from the north can't realize how little our mountain whites know of class distinctions. if you have only seen one thing, how can you appreciate the difference between that and another? the mountain men have lived in these hills for generations, knowing only themselves. you have to be born and bred in the brier bush to understand their ignorance and the self-importance that underlies their passive behavior." "so i have heard." "but miss bertha will be getting herself proposed to--indeed she will. what we are afraid of is that, on that, both sisters will be as angry and unsettled as birds whose nest has been disturbed, and that they will leave the place." durgan quite enjoyed his own thrill of curiosity. "who?" "the godsons, father and son--gardeners, you know--have been laying out a new orchard for the ladies. young godson is as fine a fellow as we have at the cove; and miss bertha has been lending him books, helping to some education, you know." "yes; i have seen them passing--men with blue eyes and rather spiritual faces--father gray, son light brown?" "just so. fine men if they could have had a chance to look over the hedge of their own potato plot. miss bertha has made a protégé of the son. nothing could be more kind and proper, for she has distinction of manner which could never be misunderstood except by the ignorant. in this case it is doing mischief. the general thought i had better mention it to you." "why to me?" "well, we're trying to work up this region. if these ladies were to leave, it would be a distinct loss. if they stay, their friends will visit them; there is a spell about the beauty of the place; people with means always return." "have they friends?" durgan in lazy manner asked a question he had asked two weeks before; the answer was the same. "very regular correspondence, i understand." "is it the money young godson aspires to?" "i am inclined to think it may be love, which is worse; it would create much more feeling on both sides, for they are women of culture and refinement. that is why we thought you might be willing to warn her." durgan mused. he was convinced that the story of the sisters and their solitude was not the simple reading that his cousins supposed; convinced also that what his cousin called their "culture and refinement" was of a higher cast, because based on higher ethical standards, than the blounts, father or son, would be likely to understand. "the affair is not at all in my line." durgan spoke with haughty indolence. "why choose me to interfere?" "but i assure you young godson is going ahead. i tell you i positively heard his father chaffing him about her in the post-office; all the men were about." "that is intolerable," said durgan, sternly. "what did you do?" "it is not as if these men were not given to humorous nonsense between themselves. i could only assume it to be nonsense." "that would make it more sufferable." "i should only have injured my own popularity, and they would have held on their own way. and, after all, if ladies leave their family and choose to live unprotected except by their dogs, it amounts to saying to us and to all that they are able to protect themselves. and," added blount, "if they knew of this fellow's folly they could protect themselves. the general would ride over any afternoon; but neither he nor i am on terms to broach so delicate a subject." the answer to durgan's question, "why i?" was obviously, "there is no one else." he felt disposed to consider the reason inconclusive till, lying awake that night, he had watched many stars set, one by one, over the purple heights. thus pondering, he admitted that he was already in a measure bertha's protector. however inexplicable the circumstance which had given him this office, he could not rid himself of its responsibility. he did not greatly blame young blount's lack of chivalry in silently hearing the girl's name taken in vain. still less did he use the word "duty" of his own intention. he only grew more conscious that, forlorn as his present state was, he had stumbled into a useful relation to this radiant and kindly fellow-creature. when the next day was declining and durgan, having dismissed his negroes, was preparing his evening meal, he heard bertha's step on the narrow trail that, hidden in rocks and shrubs, led from the summit. she paused on a ledge that overlooked his platform, and, holding with one arm to a young fir tree, lowered a basket on the crook of her mountain staff. framed in a thicket of silver azalea buds, strong and beautiful as a sylvan nymph, she looked down at him, dangling her burden and laughing. "pudding!" said she in oracular tone. "for me?" "pie!" said she. he lifted a vain hand for what was still above his reach. then she lowered the staff with an air of resigned benevolence. "pudding and pie. but you don't deserve them, for you were too proud to come to supper, even when i invited you." "you must remember that to be worthy of my hire i grow stiff by sundown." she was looking at him now with grave attention. "have you got a looking-glass?" she asked. he raised his eyebrows in whimsical alarm. "if not, you may not have observed how very thin you are growing. do not kill yourself for hire." "i shall batten on pudding." she was retracing her steps when he recalled her. "will you pardon a word of warning?" she instantly descended the remainder of the path. it led her round a clump of shrubs, and when he met her at its foot he was startled at the change the moment's suspense had worked. she now wore the face of terror he had seen when he caught her guarding his door in the april dawn. so surprised was he that his speech halted. she was probably not at all aware of her pallor or dilated eyes. "i am not alarmed," she said. "what is it?" but her breath came quick. "i must apologize for what may seem an impertinence. i had a little daughter once, and i sometimes think if she had lived she would have looked like you--let that be my excuse." "thank you, indeed; but what----" she almost tapped her foot in strained impatience. then he told her, in guarded terms, that someone had suggested that young godson did not understand his inferior position. the look of health and carelessness at once returned to her cheek and eye. "does that matter?" she asked. "living in an isolated place as we do, it is desirable to cultivate friendly relations with one's kind." it now occurred to him for the first time that for some reason she might be willing to marry below her station. the pathos of her youthful loneliness, even with that additional haunting distress of which he had evidence, lent color to the new idea. "godson is a very fine young fellow; if he can obtain education he will be most intelligent. he is manly and handsome----" "but?" she asked. "i am perhaps turning busybody in my old age. i thought i saw a difficulty like a snake in your path. if i was mistaken, forgive." "what sort of venom did you fear?" "presumptuous love." she stood for half a minute, her face blank with astonishment; then her cheeks flamed; but immediately the look of vital interest died out. "truly, i never thought of that." she bit her lip in meditation. he essayed to speak, but she held up her hand. "i do not want to know your evidence. i know you would not have spoken unless there was need. only tell me what i must do." if durgan a minute before had felt rueful with regard to his interference, he was now even more unprepared to meet its successful issue. while he hesitated, she began a quick, practical statement of her case. "i do not want to estrange any friend, however humble. i stand in need of human friends, as well as of my animals." "for protection?" the question came naturally from him; but the moment it was uttered he perceived that she shrank slightly, as if he had broken his compact of silence. "no; not for protection, but to keep me human. my sister has less need for friends; her religion is everything to her, and she loves her housekeeping. but with me it is different; i must get my mind freshened by every human i come across, and these men have work at our place for a month to come. i could make short work of familiarity when it came from men who know better, but these cannot conceive that anyone is above them, and so could not see the justice of reproof. i do not wish to hurt them, and i dare not make them my enemies. tell me what to do." "if you knew me better, you would not expect me to guide you. i have made too many mistakes of my own. my misfortunes are all my own fault." "ah, it is only the saints who say that; commoners blame the fates or their fellows." durgan laughed in sudden surprise. "it is the first time i have been proposed for such a society." "you have been very kind to me," she added impulsively; "i never expected to find so good a friend." he wondered why she should not expect to find friends, but turned his mind perforce to her present problem. "if you could think what it has been in your dealing with young godson--what avoidable touch of graciousness has set his heart on fire, you might----" "oh!" she cried, "i have done nothing; i have only forgotten--forgotten that for most people 'love' and 'marriage' are interesting words. they have no interest for me." as usual, she regretted an impulsive confession as soon as she perceived it. "i only mean that i have no intention of marrying--or rather, that i intend not to marry." "such resolutions are sometimes broken." "with me that is impossible." her manner was growing more remote. durgan had not a prying mind, yet he found his thought full of questions. the more closely he observed the sisters, the less was he able to imagine an explanation of what he saw and heard. bertha's was a larger intellectual outlook than her sister's, and it might seem she would weary of her companion; but, on the contrary, there was the closest comradeship. miss smith managed the house solely for bertha's welfare; but the petted child was not spoiled, and made every return of unselfish devotion. chapter viii the wordless letters close around the little village of deer cove, three mountain steeps looked down in everlasting peace; two upland valleys descended to the village, and held on their fertile slopes many small farms and hamlets. the houses of men employed in the saw-mill, which had created the village, lay within a nearer circle. of all this district the post-office at deer cove was the centre. the mill belonged to the durgan blounts, whose summer residence lay at some distance on the one road which threaded the descending ravine to the county town of hilyard. all substance and knowledge which came to deer cove was hauled up this long, winding road from the unseen town, and halted at the post-office, which was also the general store and tavern. thither the mill-hands, and an ever-changing group of poor whites, repaired for all refreshment of body and mind. the rush of the stream, the whirr of the mill, the sigh of the wind-swept woods, the never-silent tinkling from the herds that roam the forests--these sounds mingled always with the constant talk that went on in the post-office. here news of the outer world met with scant attention; but things concerning the region were discussed, weighed, and measured by the standard of the place. the wealth of a housekeeper was gauged by the goods he received direct from hilyard and further markets, and his social importance by the number of his letters. a steady correspondence proved stability of connection and character; a telegram conferred distinction. in the post-office young blount, or even the magnificent old general himself, would not scruple to lounge for an hour at mail time, exchanging greetings with all who came thither. durgan came of stiffer stuff; he could not unbend. he was also conscious that, as he never received letters, and as his lost lands were here little known, it was only the reflected importance of his cousins that kept him from being reckoned a "no account" person, and suffering the natural rudeness meted out to such unfortunates. he preferred to rely upon adam to bring him his paper and such news as the village afforded. adam went to the post every evening for miss smith. there came a week of rain. the road to hilyard was washed away by the first storm. the mail accumulated there, and when at last it could be brought to deer, it was still raining. durgan's cutting was flooded. unable to work, he had paid a visit to his cousins, and returned one evening, through a thick cloud which clothed deer like a cerement, to find adam in the hut by the mine, seated before a hot fire. in the light of the dancing flame, the big black man, all his clothes and hair dripping and glistening, was indeed a strange picture. he was wholly intent upon a row of papers and letters, which from time to time he moved carefully and turned before the blaze. "it's all right, suh. i only clean done forgot to put the ladies' lettahs in de rubber bag they give me. it's a debble of a rain to-night, suh; it soak through all i hab, and there's a powerful lot of lettahs to-night, suh; a whole week o' lettahs, marse neil, so there is." durgan looked down at a goodly assortment of mail matter--newspapers, missionary records, magazines, business letters from well-known stores. in the warmest place was a row of private letters. adam's big hands hovered over these with awesome care. "they's the lettahs the ladies is most perjink about, allus." adam spoke proud of his own powers of distinction. "i'se not worked for 'em so long, suh, widout bein' able to know their 'ticlarities." "i'm proud of you, adam." durgan went out into the mist again and sat on a ledge of rock. it was still daylight, but the thick mantle of cloud was gray in its depths, toning the light to dusk. within the circle which the mist left visible, the jeweled verdure showed all its detail as through a conclave lens. it was the hour at which adam's wife usually came to set durgan's hut in order. through the ghostly folds of cloud she now appeared like a beautiful animal, cowering yet nimble, swift and silent, frightened at the loss of all things beyond the short limit of sight, the very pressing nearness of the unknown around the known. framed in the magnified detail of branch and bole and dewy leaves, durgan saw her arrive and pause with involuntary stealth in the fire-glow from the door of the hut. eve did not see durgan. as a dog, and especially a female dog, can worship a master, so eve worshipped durgan. when she fawned upon him all her attitudes were winsome, her bright eyes soft, and a gentle play of humor was in her features. despite his studied indifference and contempt, he had never before seen an evil look upon her face, but now with malicious shrewdness she was observing her unconscious husband. suddenly adam, without turning, uttered a short yell of terror. durgan sprang and entered with the woman. adam rose from his stooping position--his jaw dropped, his teeth chattering. "as i'm alive, suh, the lettahs they come open of themselves, sittin' right here before the fire; an' they was so soppin' i jest took the inside out to get it dry. as i'm alive, marse neil, suh; the debble's in this thing. 'tain't nowise any person but the debble as would send ladies--very nice ladies, too--lettahs like this, with no writin' on 'em; that's the debble all right, suh, sure enough." durgan's gaze had fixed itself involuntarily on the sheets the man had dropped. the envelopes which had purported to hold letters of private friendship had, in truth, held blank paper. assured that such was the fact, however strange, durgan sought some words which might quiet the terrified adam and efface the circumstance from eve's frivolous mind. he could trust adam, when quiet enough, to obey a command of secrecy; the negress must be beguiled. but she was too quick for him. she was now watching his eyes, reading there part of his interpretation, and with half-animal instinct, perceiving that he desired to hush the matter, thought to make common cause with him. "you's a sure enough convic' now, adam, chil'; an' i'd like to know who's to be s'portin' o' me when you's workin' out your time in chains. is you so ignorant, chil', as not to know that it's a heap an' a lot wus to read these letters than the sort as has writin' all ovah?" the negro's terrified attitude showed some relief. "i didn't know as there was a sort o' lettah that had no writin' on, honey. is you sure o' that, honey? i thought these lettahs must be a sure enough work o' the debble." "sure as i'm a born nigger, there is lettahs o' that sort; an' it's hangin', or somethin' wus, to open 'em. oh, adam, it's a powerful hangin' crime; an' if you's cotched in this business, what'll come to me?" the woman paused to wipe an eye, then---- "i tell you, adam, your on'y chance o' takin' care o' me any more is nebber so much as to speak o' these lettahs down to deer or any other place. because no gen'leman or lady or decen' nigger would ever so much as say that there was this sort o' lettah--'tain't perlite, 'cause it's on'y the great folks, an' the rich, an' the eddicated, as gets 'em. isn't that gospel truth, marse neil, suh?" durgan was listening, intent on laying a trap for the wife. he gave no sign. but adam, honest soul, too unsuspicious to wait for durgan's corroboration, spoke with steadily returning confidence. "sure as i'm stan'in' here, marse neil, suh, these lettahs opened themselves--like that yaller flower that comes open of itself in the evenin', suh; an' takin' of them out, i only had the contention, suh, o' dryin' the insides of 'em; for i can't read the sort o' lettah that's written all ovah--only the big print in the testament; an' the min'ster that learned me, he'll tell you the same." eve's voice rose in the soft climax of triumph. "an' that's jest the reason, adam, chil', that readin' o' these lettahs is hangin', an' workin' in chains, an' states prison, an' whippin'--all that jest 'cause niggers like you an' me can't read the other kind." eve was getting beyond her depth. "you've learned me somethin' this very hour, honey," said adam kindly, "for i didn't know before sure enough there was this sort o' lettah; but you degogerate now, honey, for if it's hangin', it can't be work in chains, an' if they can't prove i can read other sort o' lettah, it's mighty powerful sure they can't prove i can read these. the debble himself can't prove that." durgan had sealing-wax with which he fastened his samples of mica for the post. he put the blank pages back in the envelopes and fastened them with his own seal. telling adam to explain only that the flaps had come open in wet, he dismissed him. he sat watching the negress sternly, and she grew less confident. "us pore slave niggers don't know nothin', marse neil, suh." "how old are you?" he spoke as beginning a judicial inquiry. "us pore slave niggers don't know how old we is. i's gettin' an old woman--i's powerful old. i wus crawlin' out an' aroun' 'fore the 'mancipation. ole marse durgan, he jest naturally licked me hisself one day when i crawled 'fore his hoss in the quarters. that's what my mammy told me. we's all durgans--adam's folks an' mine." "you are no durgan nigger. i know you. we bought you and your mother out of bad hands." durgan spoke roughly, but in himself he said: "alas, who was responsible for this creature, sly and soulless? not herself or those of her race!" "have you seen letters with no writing on them before?" "why should a pore nigger know anythin' 'bout such lettahs? if you'll tell me how god a'mighty made the first nigger, i'll tell you as well why these ladies gets lettahs stuffed like that, an' no sooner--an' that's gospel truth, marse neil, suh. i's got nothin' to do with white folks' lettahs." he was sure now that she knew no more than what she had just seen, and had drawn no inference. she gave way to tears, realizing that he did not approve of the address with which she had managed adam. "marse neil, adam's a powerful low down nigger, adam is. he's a no account darkie, is adam. you know yourself, suh, how he laid on to me t'other night." "if he had let you go off with a thieving yellow coon like that other nigger, you might say adam was unkind--kindest thing he could do to beat you!" she was so pretty she could not believe any man would really side with her husband against her. "oh, yes, marse neil, suh; i don't go for to say as a darkie shouldn't beat his wife--any decen' durgan nigger would, suh; but the thing that's low down, an' dreffle mean, an' no account 'bout adam is that he don't know when to stop. lickin'--that's all right, suh; but when a nigger goes on so long, an' me yellin' on him all the time--oh, adam, he's a low down feller an' dreffle mean." "you did more yelling than he did beating. he was crying all the time. i don't believe he hurt you--but go on." her tears were unfeigned: she cared only to regain durgan's good-will. "go on with what, suh?" "with what you were telling me." there had certainly been no sequence discernible. "well, marsa, a poor girl's like me don't go for to tell lies for nothin'. nex' time adam holds a stick over me, i's got the states prison to hold over him. an' you's mistaken, marsa, honey, in sayin' as he didn't maul me black an' blue, for he did, suh--not that it wasn't right an' just this time, as you say so, marsa; but for nex' time i mus' have a way for to 'scuse myself to him. so you won't go for to tell him it isn't hangin', will you, marsa, honey, suh?" the softness and assumed penitence of the low wail with which she ended made durgan laugh aloud. "look here. look me straight in the face!" she could do that very well, raising her soft, doe-like eyes to his, then fringing them with her lashes as an accomplished beauty might. durgan was so angry with her on adam's account, that he forgot that his first object was to secure her silence. "you've got a good husband and a good home. if you ar'n't good to adam after this, i'll despise you. do you understand?" "don't speak to me so sharp, marsa." there was already a little edge of malice in the velvet of her voice. "now, about these letters--if i catch you ever speaking of them again, i'll tell adam you've lied to him, and why. i'll tell him all about you, and he'll never trust you again. do you understand?" "an' if i don't tell nothin' you ain't disposed on, marse neil, honey?" "then i'll be kind to you, and let adam think you're better than you are." but the negress, turning to her work in the hut, no longer moved about him with liquid eyes and joyful steps, as a happy spaniel does. beneath her calmer demeanor he saw the shade of sullenness, and still heard the edge of malice in her voice. "i have been a fool," thought he. "she would have managed better in my place." then he dismissed her from his thoughts. chapter ix the spectre in the forest the letters durgan resealed had each borne a different handwriting; they had not all come from new york. the sheets could hardly have been covered with invisible ink, having been subjected to both water and fire with no result. these, apparently, were the letters which came to the sisters with marked regularity. "these ladies are hiding," said durgan to himself. "this is a device of their new york lawyers to save them from remark." he was unable to associate trickery with the sisters. in considering bertha's strong repudiation of future marriage, he began to suppose that she might be already unhappily married and hiding from some villain who held her in legal control. but, in that case, why was she more at ease when riding than at home, and why did she betray fear of some danger close at hand? with nightfall the rain-cloud sank down, and the moon, floating above in an empty sky, showed clear on the mountain-tops. the rock wall above and below durgan's camp glistened with silver facets, and the wet forest all about shimmered with reflected light. but, beautiful as was the shining island of deer in its close converse with the queen of night, it was not so strange a sight as the upper moon-lit levels of the vast cloud which was floating a hundred feet below. durgan went up the trail, passed the vine-hung house, and climbed the highest eminence. the cloud was composed of perpendicular layers of mist, the upper crests of which rolled in ridge over ridge before the wind--a strong surge of deepest foam. so white was each wave that only in its deep recess was there a touch of shadow. the whiteness was dazzling; the silence absolute. the adjacent mountain-tops were black islands in mid-ocean. the silence seemed a terrible thing to the cheated sense of sight. the cloud breakers curled upon the sides of deer, broke in fragments like windblown froth, curled back, and broke again, as if lashing the rocks and forest trees. up the deep channel of the valley the waves rolled on with a steady rhythm and fall of surf that should have filled the mountain spaces with its thunder. across the shining flood, against the black shoulders of opposite shores, the same surf tossed and fell. yet there was no echo far or near, or murmur; only the hush of a phantom world. durgan stood long on a portion of the mountain-top which was covered with short, scrubby oak in young leaf, fascinated by the mighty movement and intense silence. a rustle came near him amongst the covert. he looked down and stroked the head of one of bertha's great dogs. he saw the mistress coming: she was cloaked and hooded. it was the hood, perhaps, that hindered her observing him till she was very near. she uttered a cry of undisguised terror, throwing out her arm, as if to ward off an expected blow. this movement of defense, so instinctive, told durgan more than any tale of woe the lips could frame. he was confounded by such evidence of some scene or scenes of past cruelty. "now, in the name of heaven," he cried, "what do you fear? you know that the dogs would allow no mortal to injure you or yours. is it some murderous spectre of whom you stand in dread?" she regained a quiet pose, but seemed dazed by the unexpected fright. "a murderous spectre! what do you mean? why do you use that phrase, mr. durgan?" "the words are pure nonsense. i used them to show you how baseless your fear appears. but i speak now in earnest to say that you ought not to come out at night alone if you are thus alarmed." "but i am perfectly safe with the dogs." "just so. then why were you afraid?" "i--i--in that shawl mistook you for----" she came to a final pause. he remembered now that, to shield himself from the drenched verdure, he had wrapped a camp blanket around him. "yes, i certainly cut a queer figure--like an old wife; but, pardon my insistence, it is not good for any woman to be so terror-stricken as you were just now. that you are safe from danger with the dogs i truly think; but fear itself is injurious. if you are not safe from unruly fears, why roam where you invite them? it is always possible to meet a stranger." "oh, i am not afraid of travelers." "any shadow may assume a fantastic form." "but i am really not afraid of odd appearances." "then why were you afraid of my blanket?" but her caution returned. with inconsequence and a touch of reproach she said: "you would rather have the mountain all to yourself, i believe." "i should be twice desolate. but that has nothing to do with my request that you should keep where you not only are, but feel, safe." "but if my fears are the result of my own imagination, why should any place be better?" "you are fencing with me now. if you could tell me what it is you fear----" she walked by his side as if thinking what she might answer him. "you used a phrase when you just spoke--what put it into your mind?--which perhaps expressed what i fear as literally as words can." "what do you mean by endorsing such foolish words?" "your regard--your friendship, for us, is a very great comfort to us both--the best boon that providence, if there be a providence, could have sent us. yet you have forced me to say what forfeits your regard." "that would be impossible. our regard for one another is based solidly upon that touch of good principle which makes the whole world neighbors." "ah! i am glad you say that. it is so comfortable to know your benevolence does not depend on our worth. long ago, and i would have resented such an intimation from anyone; now it gives me the same sort of comfort that a good fire does or, say, a good pudding." she was regaining her spirits; but there was still a tense ring in her voice which meant intense sincerity. "your regard for me has the same basis," said he; and added soon: "i am greatly in earnest in what i say; you ought not to put yourself in the path of fears you cannot master." "i thank you for the advice. what exactly was it that happened to our letters to-night?" he ascertained that adam had given his meagre message discreetly. he could now have comforted her easily with half the truth, but he told all briefly--in whose hands was the keeping of the curious fact of the blank letters, and why he judged it comparatively safe. bertha pushed the hood from her head, as if she felt suffocated. she sat down upon a fragment of rock on the verge of the hill, and they both gazed at the silent rolling of the cloud beneath. "tricks are folly, and deserve detection," she said at length. "silence is the only noble form of concealment. yet our friend, who is a lawyer, told us that if we came here obviously as friendless as we are, rumor would have been cruel. it would have worried our reputation as a dog worries a rat. every face we met would have been full of suspicion, and--surely it is right to shun morbid conditions?" durgan stood uneasy. "people often drop almost all correspondence through indolence," he suggested. "my sister permitted the trick, i think, simply for my sake. she was distressed by your seals and hearing that the letters had come open. i shall be able to tell her it did not happen at the post-office." "i should have thought your sister would have trusted her fate in god's hands with perfect resignation." "yes, i think she does. she has great faith in god." after another pause, he said: "you were so good as to ask me the other day for advice; will you take an old man's advice now and go home to bed? all things appear more reasonable by daylight, and the more you tire yourself, the more you are likely to see the circumstances of life in distorted shape." she answered with an anger that leaped beyond her more tardy self-control. "you know no more than my dogs do what i can and cannot do, what it is drives me here to-night, or what it is that i fear." "i beg your pardon." penitent in a moment, she said: "you are truly kind, mr. durgan. i am so glad that we have a neighbor, and that he should be what you are." "i wish, since you are in misery, that he could have been one in whom you could confide, who could perhaps help." she stood wrapping her cloak closer about her. "let me be petulant when i want to be petulant, mysterious when i must, tragic when i must, gay when i can. let my moods pass you as the winds pass. if you can do this and preserve a secret, you will do more than any other human being could or would." she waited a moment, and added: "i have trusted you from the first to do this; i do not know why." chapter x a skeleton in the fire the mountains now burst into midsummer. bloom, color, and fragrance reigned; also heat and drought. the cups of the tulip tree, the tassels of the chestnut, lit the leafy canopy. the covert of azaleas blazed on the open slopes in all shades of red and yellow. in every crevice by the trickling streams rhododendrons lined the glades with garlands of purple and white. the hidden house of the sisters was embowered in climbing roses and the passion flower. it was surrounded by gorgeous parterres, and the tendrils of the porch vines hung still, or only fluttered at sundown. there was no vapor at dawn or eve in gorge or on mountain-top. a dry blue haze like wood smoke dulled light and shade in the myriad hills. they looked like a vast perspectiveless painting by some prentice titan, who had ground his one color from the pale petals of the wild hydrangea. some clouds there were--ragged towers, tinted in the light browns and pinks of seashells. they tottered round the far horizon in fantastic trains, but came no nearer. the very azure of the sky was faded by the heat of the sun. all moss and low wild flowers had long withered; the earth under the forest was hot and dry. the whole region basked, and from all the valleys a louder and more ceaseless tinkling rose from the herds of pigs and oxen who roamed for meagre provender. one afternoon durgan and his laborers heard a cry. it was the voice of adam. they heard him crash through the brushwood above them. "fire!" yelled adam, and crashed back toward the summit house. durgan outran his men, and was relieved to find the evil not beyond hope of redress. smoke was issuing from one corner of the roof of the dwelling-house; no flame as yet, but the roof was of shingle, like tinder in the sun. the ladies, with admirable skill and courage, had already organized their forces--adam pumping, bertha and eve stationed on the path from the well, miss smith, the most agile, taking the bucket at the door and running up the stair. thither durgan followed, leaving his men to bertha's command. the fire was smouldering between the ceiling of the kitchen and a pile of papers and books which lay on the floor far under the sloping roof of the low attic. miss smith had been wise enough to move nothing. the solid parcels of periodicals kept out the air, and she was dashing the water on the roof and floor. with the added help smoke soon ceased. it remained to investigate the cause of the fire, which was not obvious, to make sure that the rest of the house was safe, and undo as far as possible the injury of the water, which, spreading itself on the attic floor, had poured into the bedrooms below. while the negroes were carrying out the parcels of printed matter, wet and charred, durgan moved about in all the recesses of the house, examining the walls, lifting wet furniture on to the sunny veranda roof, and otherwise helping to modify the unaccustomed disorder. while thus engaged, he realized how strongly had grown upon him a fancy that these lonely women might be harboring some insane person, whose escape and violence they might justly dread. he must now smile at himself for thinking that any source of terror lurked here in visible shape. as he followed miss smith from one simple room to another, creeping under the very eaves of the roof and feeling the temperature of every wall and shelf, he certainly assured himself that neither the skeleton nor its closet was of material sort. he was struck with the orderly and cheerful arrangement of the house, with the self-control, speed, and good sense the sisters had displayed; but most of all was he surprised that the excitement and effort had unnerved them so little. when the hour for relaxation came, they appeared neither talkative nor moody; they neither shed tears nor were unusually cheerful. in his married life he had had some experience of women's nerves. this calm, practical way of taking a narrow escape from great loss roused his admiration. many bundles of papers were too much damaged to be worth keeping. durgan had a use for these in a stove his laborers used, and, after miss smith had looked them over, they were carted down to the mine. durgan sorted them, storing some old magazines and more solid papers for future use. he soon found the covers of an old book, tied together over a collection of parchment envelopes. these in turn contained newspaper clippings still legible. each envelope had its contents marked outside; they were the reports of a number of criminal trials, extending over a number of years, cut from american, english, and other european papers. durgan was at once convinced that neither of the sisters could have been interested in the collection, and, assuming it to be the work of some dead relative, he reflected for the first time how rarely they spoke of family ties. it was true that bertha would sometimes say: "my dear father would have enjoyed this view--would have liked this flower," or "dear papa would have said this or that." he remembered how her voice would soften over these sacred memories, and remembered, too, how they always came to her among the beauties of nature, never in domestic surroundings. such a father would scarcely have been so much interested in annals of crime. sitting by the lamp in his hut, durgan went over the envelopes. the first was dated ten years before; it contained the notorious claxton trial, reported by the _new york tribune_. the next was the case of the wadham pearls, from the london _times_. durgan was not familiar with the case, and became interested in the story of the girl, very young and beautiful, who, being above temptation of poverty and above reproach, had been sentenced, on convincing evidence, for theft and perjury. the common interest in these cases obviously was that in both the accused was a gentlewoman, and the evidence overwhelming, altho chiefly circumstantial. the cases that came after did not follow this thread of connection. they were stories of such crimes as may almost be considered accidental, in which respectable people fall a prey to unexpected temptation or sudden mania. the last selection was from the _galignani messenger_. it was the case of a parish priest, apparently a _dilettante_ and esthetic personage of highly religious temperament, who was condemned for having killed his sister with sudden brutality, and who gave the apparently insane excuse that, seeing her in the dusk, he had thought her a spirit, and been so terrified that he knew not what he did. the date of this last story was only about three years after the first. next day, when bertha passed by on her horse, durgan told her what he had found. "oh, i am sure we don't want them," said she. "burn them with the rest." she was wearing a deep sun-bonnet; he could hardly see her face in its shade. durgan had very naturally tried to fit the circumstances of any of these stories of crime to a domestic tragedy which might have resulted in the hiding of these sisters and in bertha's fears; but none of them seemed to meet the case, nor did any story he could devise. since the opening of the letters, and bertha's words in the moonlight, he had wondered more than once whether she believed in some ghostly enemy. durgan had been rudely jostled against such fantasies in his domestic experience. his wife was nominally a spiritualist, and altho he was inclined, from knowledge of her character, to suppose her faith more a matter of convenience than of conviction, he had reason to think that the man who had long dominated her life under the guise of a spiritual instructor was, or had been, entirely convinced of his own power to communicate with the spirit world. this man had believed himself to see apparitions and hear voices. durgan did not believe such experiences to be spiritual, but gave more weight to the question of such a belief in bertha than if he had not already rubbed against the dupe of such a monomania. the subject was not a pleasant one, yet, in connection with this painful theme, durgan resolved to speak to bertha in the hope of inducing confidence and perhaps driving away her fears. chapter xi the mysterious 'dolphus for a few days after the fire at the summit house some of the mountain folk from far and near took occasion to ride up to the scene of the excitement, "to visit with" the ladies, and hear that the bruit of the matter had greatly magnified it. they were an idle, peaceful people; a little thing diverted them. the road by the mine was thus unusually gay; yet durgan kept a more or less jealous watch, and at last caught sight of the yellow negro who a month before had visited eve. he was dressed like a valet, in an odd mixture of clothes from the wardrobes of a gentleman and a groom. his features were small and regular; his long side-whiskers had an air of fashion which did not conceal the symptoms of some chronic disease. "ho!" cried durgan; "where are you going?" the darkie stopped with a submissive air, almost cringing as one accustomed to danger. "what is your name?" "'dolphus, sir--'dolphus courthope." "courthope?" "yes, sir--from new orleans. mr. courthope was very rich and had a great many slaves." he spoke correctly, with a northern accent. "_you_ never saw slavery," said durgan in scorn. "you have no right to that name." "no, sir; my father and mother gave me that name. they belonged to mr. courthope." "you were here before." "yes, sir; i came last month, but i went back to hilyard. i came looking for"--there was just a perceptible pause--"the miss smiths; but i thought i'd come to the wrong place." durgan felt at a loss. on adam's account he could have ordered the man off, but he had no right to inquire into his errand to the smiths. "i'm a respectable boy, sir. i'm not going to do any harm. i've got business." the darkie made this answer to durgan's look of suspicion, and spoke with apparent knowledge of the world and confidence in the importance of his errand. "see that you don't get into mischief!" with this curt dismissal durgan stepped back into his own place. in some minutes, when he heard the watchdog barking above, he went up the short foot-trail, expecting to reach the house with the negro, but nearing it, saw no one without. from the open windows he heard bertha's voice raised in excitement. "i will not leave you alone with him, hermie, you need not ask it. he can have nothing to say that i should not hear." as durgan drew nearer he heard bertha again, this time with a sob of distress in her voice. "i don't care what he says or does; i will brave anything rather." "birdie, darling, you are very, very foolish!" miss smith's voice was raised above her natural tone, but was much calmer. durgan's step was on the wooden verandah. doors and windows were all open to the summer heat. the sisters were standing in the low sitting-room. the negro, hat in hand, stood in a properly respectful attitude near the door. as before, his manner suggested that he was a servant and had no aspiration beyond his sphere. "i saw that fellow come up the road," said durgan. "i do not know, of course, what his errand is here; but i thought i ought to tell you that adam told me that he had got no regular job, and that he had found him idling around a month ago with no apparent reason." "yes, sir; i was trying to discover from adam's wife who it was that lived up here; but she told me so many fixings out of her head about these ladies that i come to the conclusion they wasn't the ladies i was looking for. miss smith knows me, sir; and i've been very ill lately--the doctor tells me i'm not long to live." "oh, you folks always think you're dying if you've got a cold. you're begging, i see." "yes, sir; i was asking this lady to help me. i'm dying of consumption, sir." the man's manner was quiet enough. durgan saw that both the sisters were intensely excited. the elder had her emotion perfectly under control; the younger looked almost fierce in the strain of some distress. what surprised him was that his protection was equally unwelcome to both. he could see, spite of their thanks, that, in trouble as they were, their first desire now was that he should be gone. "i do not trust this man," durgan said. "i would rather stay within call till you dismiss him." "i'm all right, sir," said the darkie, again respectfully. "he won't do us any harm," cried bertha eagerly. "i know who he is," said miss smith; "i know him to be unfortunate, mr. durgan." yet durgan saw dismay written on bertha's face as surely as if they had been attacked by open violence. "birdie, go out with mr. durgan and wait. you cannot be afraid to leave me while he is near." "i will not! i will not!" cried the younger, with more vehemence than seemed necessary. so excited was she that she stamped her foot as she spoke. the tension was relieved by what seemed propriety on the stranger's part. "i'll go away, then," he said. "i don't want to make the young lady cry. i sha'n't make you any trouble, ladies." he backed out to where durgan stood on the verandah. "wait, i'll give you something," said miss smith. "you ought to have good food." she went to her desk, and came out giving him a folded bank-note. "thank you, ma'am. good-day." he went on a few steps and looked back, as if expecting durgan to conduct him off the premises. "i'd be much obliged, sir, if you'd show me the short way--i'm weak, sir." durgan indicated the trail, and followed to make sure that the negro did not return through the bushes. as they went, durgan saw him unfold the bank-note and take from inside a slip of written paper. the mulatto went steadily down the mountain, without so much as looking at the kitchen door, whence eve was regarding him with eager interest. adam had been in the meadow at the time of this incident. when going down to the post-office on his regular evening errand, he stopped to ask durgan if the "yaller boy" had any genuine errand. and on the way up he stopped again, with trouble in his eyes, to give the information that 'dolphus was spending the night there, and had suggested staying in this salubrious spot for his health. durgan discovered that adam and his own negro laborers regarded the sickly and tawdry new yorker as a peculiarly handsome specimen of their race--quite the gentleman, and irresistibly attractive to any negress--and that they agreed in denouncing his looks and manners solely on account of the possibly vagrant affections of their own women. durgan believed the stranger's errand to be purely mercenary, and feared that he was levying some sort of blackmail on miss smith. he feared, too, that eve was abetting. chapter xii the secret of the oak next morning bertha rode down to the village. later, durgan heard that she had visited 'dolphus, taken pains to get him a more comfortable lodging, and left him a basket of sundry nourishing foods. more than this, she had sat and talked with him in a friendly way for quite an hour. when she passed up the hill again, durgan observed that she appeared calm and contented. she stopped to give him an invitation. "my sister requires your attendance at supper o'clock this evening--no excuse accepted." "why _this_ evening?" he asked. "for two reasons. first, we are very grateful for your kindness yesterday, and sister wanted to 'make up.' secondly, she was making your favorite chicken salad. perhaps you think that is all one reason, but the second part makes your acceptance imperative, as the salad will be already made." at sundown durgan surrendered himself to the attractions of the gracious sisters and the delicacies of their table. when adam and his wife had been dismissed, and the three were sitting on the darkling verandah, watching the vermilion west, miss smith reminded them that she had the bread to "set" for next day. bertha and durgan were playing cards. she went through the dining-room to the kitchen at the back of the house. she was not gone long, barely half an hour; the sky had scarcely faded and the lamp but just been lit, when she came back calm and gentle as ever. durgan was not calm. he felt his hand tremble as he brought from the shelf a book which bertha had asked for. ten minutes before a contention had arisen between himself and bertha as to the time of the moon's rising. to satisfy himself he had walked on the soft grass as far as the gable of the house nearest his footpath. watching a moment in the shadow, he had heard a movement in the wood. as the first moon-rays lit the gloom he saw the figure of a woman standing on the low bough of an old oak and reaching a long arm toward an upper branch. all the oaks here were stunted and easy to climb. that this was adam's wife he did not doubt, till, when she had lightly jumped down, he discerned that she was returning attended by the dogs. durgan went back hastily lest bertha should follow him. he reported only the rising of the moon. a moment's thought convinced him that he had been invited that evening for the purpose of keeping bertha from the knowledge of her sister's excursion. no one but miss smith could have taken the dogs. he guessed that she had fulfilled some promise to the boy, 'dolphus--some promise given him on the slip of paper in the bank-note, of putting money where he might seek it. amazing as the method resorted to was, durgan felt no doubt that miss smith's action was wise and right in her own eyes, but he was convinced that she was putting herself in danger. he lingered a little while, not knowing what to do. then he spoke of 'dolphus, taking occasion to explain the extreme distrust he felt concerning the man and the degraded nature which so many of this class had exhibited. both sisters seemed interested, but not greatly. "of course, we never thought whether we liked or disliked him," cried bertha. "that is not the way one thinks of men like that. we knew him to have been unfortunate; and he is certainly very ill." miss smith said, with a kind smile lighting up her face: "i think, mr. durgan, you don't mean that even a 'thieving yellow nigger' hasn't an immortal soul. even if we can't get real religion into his mind, we can show him kindness which must help him to believe in the mercy of god--not" (she added in humble haste) "that i have ever been kind to him, but i guess birdie tried to be this morning." durgan was never far from the thought that the slave-owning race was responsible for the very existence of a people who had been nourished and multiplied in their homes for the sake of gain. "not only for the soul he has, but for the diseased body of him, for all that he suffers and for all the injury he does--he and all his class----" durgan stopped. both women were looking at him inquiringly. "before god i take my share of the blame and shame of it. but it is one thing to be guilty, and another to know how to make reparation. take an illustration from the brood of snakes in the cliff here. in some slight way you are responsible even for their existence, for you ought to have had the parents killed. but you cannot benefit this brood by kindness; you would wrong the world by protecting them. believe me, i have been reared among these people; i know the good and bad of them; a rattlesnake is less dangerous than a man like this 'dolphus. while i would defend such fellows as adam with my life, if need be, i believe that i should do the best thing for the world in killing such creatures as 'dolphus and adam's wife. while such as i ought to bear the punishment of their sins and our own in the next world, the best reparation we could make in this world would be to slaughter them." bertha had listened, fascinated by his most unusual earnestness of manner. but at the last words she rose hastily and went out with averted face. the tardy moon was now high. they saw her pacing the walk between the tall sides of the garden beds. miss smith watched her a moment with eyes of loving solicitude, then said, "i'm sure you think you're speaking right down truth, mr. durgan, but, you see, _i'm_ a christian, and i b'lieve the lord jesus died for 'dolphus and eve, and not for rattlers. that makes all the difference." "and yet it is a fact that, among the men and women for whom he died, there are fires of evil which can only burn themselves out." "all things are possible with god," said she. he made no reply. he was always impressed by the spiritual strength of this delicate woman. after a moment's pause it occurred to him to ask simply-- "what is your sister frightened of--i mean at different times? she seems to suffer from fears." slowly she raised her faded blue eyes to him with a look of deep sorrow and puzzled inquiry. "i don't know. she won't talk to me about it--bertha won't." "but surely----" "yes, i ought to know all she thinks, and be able to help her. perhaps i know there may be something i won't admit to myself. but, mr. durgan, i'm real glad if she talks to you, for it's bad for her to be so lonesome. she had a great shock once, bertha had. if you can make her talk to you, it'll do her good, mr. durgan." durgan obediently went out, and walked a few minutes with bertha in the further shadow of the garden. "why did you say it?" she asked. "how could you talk of it being good to kill anyone?" "my child!" he exclaimed, and then, more calmly, "you know well what i meant. we all know perfectly that there is a leprosy of soul as well as of body, for which on this side death we see no cure, of which even god must see that the world would be well rid. we cannot act on our belief; we leave it in his hands." "don't say it! don't even hint at such a thing again!" in a moment she exclaimed, in a voice of tears, "what does god care? ah me! when i look back and see my childhood--such high hope, such trustful prayer! who gave that heart of hope but the god of whom you speak? who taught the little soul the courage to trust and pray? and the hope is dead, the courage crushed, the prayers--may my worst enemy be saved from such answer, if answer there is, to prayer!" she leaned her head against a tree, sobbing bitterly. he supposed that 'dolphus, bringing memories of a previous time, had unnerved her. "you had a happy childhood." he spoke soothingly, hardly with interrogation. she looked up fiercely. "you call god a father! it was my father who taught me to pray. he--ah! you cannot think how beautiful he was, how loving, how fond of all beautiful things! he taught me to pray for him. he said that he could not pray for himself--that he had no faith. i knelt by his knee every day, and prayed, as he taught me, for him and for sister and for myself, but most of all for him. then hermie became religious--dear, gentle, self-denying sister--and i cannot doubt that she spent half her time in prayer for him because he wasn't converted." "and he died?" asked durgan. "yes; he died." it seemed to him that she shuddered. "had you ever anything to do with people who believe that the dead can return to speak to us, or appear to us?" she raised her head and looked at him with interest. "i once knew a man," continued durgan, "who believed in such things, who saw such visions." "do you mean the man called charlton beardsley?" durgan was much surprised by hearing the name of his wife's protégé from such a source. "i should not have supposed that you had ever even heard his name. when he came to this country you must have been at school." "i had just left school. tell me what he was like. was he bad or good?" "i thought him simple, and much mistaken." "was he a wicked man?" "i did not think him so then; i have not seen him since." "he lives with mrs. durgan now, and is a great invalid. surely you must know if he is a wicked man?" "was it the blounts who told you about him?" "yes--mr. blount mentioned it before you came"--he thought her words came with hesitation--"but i have wanted to ask you. he was called a mesmerist, too--do you believe that one man's will could possess another person, and make that person do--well, any wicked thing?" "there was some talk about what was called 'mesmerism' among beardsley's followers. he had nothing to do with it, i think. i do not believe in one man controlling another to the extent you speak of. if it can happen, it is so rare as not to be worth thought." she sat silently thinking. and he was egotistic enough to suppose that the unkindness of mentioning his wife might now occur to her! but when she spoke again he saw that she was only absorbed in her own thoughts. "i suppose you are right." she sighed. he said, "i am surprised to find your former life and mine have ever touched so nearly as that we should have taken interest in the same man. he was not a public medium--only known to a very few people. i spoke of his seeing ghosts only because i wanted an opportunity to ask you if you were frightened of ghosts." "oh, no; i am not. i have been better taught than that. why should you ask?" "i see i should be ashamed of asking such a question." "ah! i understand. i talk so wildly at times, i have been so foolishly, childishly talkative, that you think me capable of any folly. you cannot despise me as i despise myself; but--oh, mr. durgan--at times i am very unhappy. if i were not terribly afraid to die, my greatest fear would sometimes be that i should live another day. it is not melodrama; it is not hysterics; it is the plain, sober truth; but i am sorry that i have let you know it." then, saying good-night, she added, "i have the best sister in the world. i want to live bravely and be happy for her sake; and you can best help me by forgetting what i have said and done. i had the best father in the world: by the memory of your lost daughter, help me to be worthy of him." chapter xiii a sob in the dark when durgan had said good-night to the sisters, he made the warm moonlight night an excuse for wandering. he sat down a little way off, able to watch the lights in the house, and also the stunted oak into whose keeping he had seen miss smith confide something. he felt pretty sure that, as soon as the house was shut up for the night, the dogs as usual within, 'dolphus would appear to take money from the tree. the house was closed; the curtained windows ceased to glow; but no one climbed the tree. the oaks were on rocky, windy ground, the old trees gnarled and conspicuous above the denser growth of low shrub. the thought of spying on any of miss smith's plans was revolting; his only wish was to see that the negro did not approach the house. he felt at last compelled to descend to this tree, to be sure that no one lurked near it. he had marked it by a peculiar fork in its upper part, but he lost sight of this fork on entering the thin wood, and moved about carefully for some time before he found it, and then no one was to be seen. he stood nonplused, wondering how long he ought to guard the house. the white light fell on the small leaves and the gray moss and lichen which covered the oak branches. it cast sharp interlacing shadows beneath. the under thicket was of those small, aromatic azaleas which can put forth their modest pink and white blossoms in sterile places. to these bushes has been given a rare, sweet scent, to console them for lack of splendor. durgan's senses were lulled by this scent, by the soft air and glamor of light. he stood a long while, not unwillingly, intent upon every sight and sound. no hint of any human presence came near him. it seemed to him at length that he heard steps a long way down the hill on the cart-road. he thought he heard voices. now he felt sure the negro was coming, and he was exceedingly angry to believe that eve was with him. who else could be there? he shuddered to think that this false, soulless creature knew every door and window in the house, every soft place in the hearts of her mistresses, perhaps every fear they entertained. with her to help, and with some prior knowledge of the sisters' secret as the basis of his operations, what tortures might not this villain inflict, what robbery might he not commit, without fear of accusation? durgan felt angry with eve; the other only roused his contempt. with real rage, a passion strong in his southern nature, he slipped silently out, ready to confront the two. but now again there was silence. he could hear nothing. at every turn the lone beauty of the place met him like a benediction. he waited. there was nothing--no one. then--ah, what was that sound? what could it be--like a gasp or sigh, far away or near? one soft but terrible sob. that was all; but durgan felt his spirit quail. his rage was gone; he did not notice its absence. the moments in which he listened seemed long, but almost instantly he found himself wondering if he had really heard anything at all. he went as quickly and quietly as he could, by the trail and the mine, to the road below, and saw 'dolphus some way beneath, walking slowly, not up but down the road. the casual aspect of his figure, the slight consumptive cough, effaced the weird sensation of a minute before. "hi!" cried durgan. bertha's terriers in the barn barked cheerfully in answer to his well-known voice. the mountain echoed a moment. 'dolphus stood, hat in hand. a fit of coughing seized him. durgan went down the road. "what are you doing here?" "trapping for coon, sir." "not coon." "yes, sir; i was prospecting for a likely place to set a trap. the gentleman i've been servant to wrote and said he'd pay me for coon skins." "you lie." "yes, sir." he stood still submissively. the full light of the moon fell on him between the shadows of the high and drooping trees. the dust of the road absorbed and partly returned the pearly light. the sylvan beauty of this sheltered bank was all around. what a sorry and absurd figure the mulatto made! his silky hair, parted in the middle and much oiled, received also the glint of the moon. his long side-whiskers hung to his shoulders; his false jewelry flashed. this man, whose shirt-fronts and manners were already the envy of darkydom in deer cove, looked indeed so pitiful an object in these rich surroundings, that durgan felt that he had overrated his power for mischief. "i said you lied. what do you mean by saying 'yes'?" "i would not contradict you, sir. reckon i lied. i'm a dying man, sir; you could knock me down with a straw, sir." "what are you doing here?" "i came to do a service for miss smith. she's a holy one, sir. when i found i wasn't long to live, i thought i oughter serve her if i could." "serve her? you are trying some sort of trick to get money." "miss smith'll see that i'm comfortable as long as i live, sir. that's all i want." "you're trying some game to enrich yourself, and you've got adam's wife helping you." 'dolphus laughed out; it was a weak, hysterical giggle. "beg pardon, sir, but the woman ain't in it. beg pardon, i can't help laughing, sir. reckon good, religious ladies would be a sight better off without that thieving yaller girl waiting on them." he laughed weakly till he coughed again. durgan, revolted beyond measure, swore within himself that eve should never pollute the house of the sisters by entering it again. "get home. get out of my sight. if you come out here again i'll have the general turn you out of the district." he spoke as to a dog, but the dog did not turn and run. he leaned against a tree out of sheer weakness, but faced his enemy steadily. "no, sir; you can't frighten me, 'cause i'm a dying man, anyway. miss smith, she'll speak to the general, and to the almighty too, for me. i'll die easier 'cause i know she will." his voice had grown thin, and now vibrated with excitement. "i've just got one thing more to say, sir. you'll see i'm not frightened of you when i say it. if you knew the sort o' wife you've got, sir, and what she's been hiding, you'd look after her better than you do; and if you value your salvation, you'll stand by the pious little lady on the hill; you'll be happier when you come to die." "look here, my good fellow; you're very ill, i see; you're delirious. go home and get to bed." "yes, sir, i'll go. but study on what i've said, sir; for it's gospel truth, as i'm a dying man." "can you manage to go alone? shall i wake adam to help you home?" 'dolphus laughed again. "no, don't wake adam, sir. i'll go safer alone." durgan, now convinced that hectic fever had produced delirium, went as far as adam's cabin to consult him. to his surprise, he found it empty. chapter xiv the going out of eve when the next day was breaking, durgan wakened to the sound of footsteps and loud lamenting. adam, weeping like a heart-broken schoolboy, in terrified haste stumbled into the door of the hut. "marse neil, suh, i've been huntin' her the whole night long, an' i've found her done dead. marsa, come, for de good lord's sake! she's lyin' all by herself on de ground. oh, oh, my pore gal; my pore honey!" he was now running away again, and durgan was following. in the thick of the forest, in a hollow of coarse fern, lay the pretty eve--a bronze figure of exquisite workmanship. one small dark wound was seen above her heart, where the torn muslin of her bodice revealed the beautiful rounding of neck and breast. she lay with her face upturned, and death's seal of peace upon her lips. big adam knelt sobbing by her side, trying to close the fringed eyelids, which allowed one crescent line of the velvet eye to be seen. "adam, tell me what you know." durgan's imperious tone was a needed tonic. the big negro drew himself up and controlled his sobs. with a gesture toward the dead of great simplicity, he said, "i know nuthin', marsa--nuthin' but this! miss smith, she sen' me last night with a lettah for the gen'ral. the hoss los' a shoe, so i leave him an' walk. i come home very late, near middle of night, an' i meet that yaller boy, all up an' dressed, in the cove. so i run home, an' my poor gal was gone from the cabin. i'se been lookin' for her the whole night through till i foun' her. oh, oh! marse neil! my pore, pore gal!" he broke down again in tears, casting himself beside the corpse on the ground. durgan looked at the two with indescribable sorrow. how he had desired to have this woman out of the way--adam free from his thraldom, the sisters from their mischief-making! now! there is naught on earth can grieve the heart of the living like the face of the dead. the dawn brightened; the birds sang peans of joy; the gay wind danced; and over the woman who had been so light and winsome a part of yesterday's life a rigid chill had crept, which made her to-day a part only of the dark cold earth. durgan stood with head bowed. he remembered the day his father had bought her, a babe with her mother, to save them from a darker fate. in this dead body was the blood of fathers who, calling themselves american gentlemen, had, one generation after another, sold their own children as slaves. what chance had she to have in her nerve or fibre that could vibrate to any sense of good? if her spirit had now passed to plead at the bar of some great judgment-hall, on whose head must the doom of her transgressions fall? at length he knelt on one knee and laid his hand on adam's head. "don't cry so! oh, adam; you've got your old master's son to love, you big nigger. i couldn't do without you. you'll kill yourself crying for the poor girl like that." adam struggled like a manful child, and subdued his grief in order to show how deep was his gratitude for this kindness. "we were both reared in the same old place, adam. you'll not forget that i'm lonely in the world now, too, and a poor working man like yourself--oh, adam!" adam rose up. "this nigger will try and bear up an' not shame you, marse neil. this nigger will never forget your kindness this day, marse neil, suh." since seeing that the woman was dead, durgan had assumed that the low, soft sob which had chilled his heart the night before was nothing more than eve's death groan. it seemed apparent that she had been stabbed to the heart too suddenly to have had more than a moment's consciousness of death. he supposed that 'dolphus had perhaps been watched and waylaid by eve, and in a half-delirious moment had thus disposed of her to avoid sharing the money he was seeking. durgan took his bearings to find out where he now was, and climbed to catch sight of the tree by which he had watched the evening before. but as soon as he could see the upper part of the hill he perceived that it was by no means sure such a sound could have been heard so far. this annoyed him, as he wished to send his testimony at once to the magistrate at hilyard. when he remembered how 'dolphus had laughed at the mention of eve, how he had raved about his innocent intentions, and even ventured to slander mrs. durgan, of whose existence it would seem he could only know through eve's gossip, durgan felt persuaded of his dangerous mental state, and that there was no safety for the community until this poor irresponsible creature was in confinement. the cool daring of offering advice on his own domestic affairs was what, above all, convinced durgan of his delirious condition. he wrote a statement for the magistrate, giving such evidence as he could, and his belief that 'dolphus was the only person within reach of the place where the crime was committed. leaving adam to watch beside his dead, durgan himself went to deer cove, sent one of his laborers to hilyard and the other to blount's, set a guard over the house where 'dolphus slept, and roused the village to adam's aid. it was not until he had done all he could in the interests of justice and humanity, and was again returning to his solitary hut, that it struck him for the first time how strange it was that this sorrowful thing should occur within the radius of bertha's unaccountable terrors, that a cruel, crafty stroke, such as she would appear to dread, had actually been struck within the purlieus of her hiding-place. chapter xv the question of guilt when durgan reached the stone platform of the mine, bertha came out to meet him. she had apparently been sitting alone on some rock in the lateral cutting. she was dressed for riding; her face was quite pale, and had a strength and sternness in it that alarmed him. "i must go at once to hilyard. i have come to--have you not heard?" "'tis an affair of niggers," said he; "they are always knifing one another." "oh, no, no! do you not understand at all? whom do you suppose to be guilty?" "'dolphus, of course." "mr. durgan, for the sake of all that is true and just, and for our sakes, if you will, do not breathe such a thought to anyone. what has happened is, perhaps, what i have feared for years--what i have labored for years to prevent. may god forgive me if i have risked too much. but the worst thing that can be done--the worst for us--would be to accuse _him_." "my dear miss bertha, you cannot possibly have anything to do with this sad affair?" "oh, you do not know! you do not know! do not contradict me. only believe me that there is more in this than you know. i fear i have done a terrible wrong in concealment, but i did it for the best. i hoped----" "i am quite sure that 'dolphus killed the woman." "no! no! alas! i am afraid i know too well who did. and i am so far yet from knowing what i ought to do that i dare not tell you more. i'm afraid that i should say too much or too little. but if you will do what i ask, i think no harm will come if i go to hilyard without saying more than this." "tell me why you are going to hilyard." "i'm going to telegraph for our lawyer, mr. alden. he must come at once. i intend to say in deer that i am going to fetch adam's mother, who lives there; but i'm really going for the other purpose." "i cannot endure that you should mix yourself up in this affair! i am sure that 'dolphus did it. i caught him near the spot. he is very ill; he was raving with fever, i think. but i will not argue with you. the ride may do you good." "will you do what i am going to ask?" "tell me what it is." she had schooled herself to rapid work and action; her thought was quite clear. "i want you to be kind enough to saddle my horse and bring him down to me. i want you to explain to my sister that i have no time to go back to the house, and to tell her that there is no woman who can come to work for us to-day. i want you to speak very gently to her, for she is so distressed; but you must not tell her that i spoke of the lawyer. and first, last, and above all, mr. durgan, i want you to be on your guard against an enemy. going up to our house, and coming back, and wherever you are till i come home, be on your guard. if you will promise to do this you will be safe, and i can do my part with some composure." durgan looked at her, speechless with sheer astonishment. manlike, he found the expense involved in bringing a notable lawyer a two days' journey, and into this desolate height, a greater proof that she had some substantial reason for alarm than any as yet offered him. "promise me," she said. she was beyond all mood of tears or impatient excitement. she was only resolute. he went up the hill to do her bidding, and at first found himself looking to right and left in the bushes before him, as he formerly looked upon the ground for snakes. miss smith came into the front room at his knock. she was tremulous and tearful. after expressing his sympathy for the shock which her housemaid's sudden death must have given, he asked her if she thought bertha well enough to ride alone. "it sometimes does her good to have a right down long ride, doesn't it, mr. durgan? i don't quite understand the way she's feeling about this dreadful thing, but i guess she'll be safe enough riding. she's promised me to go to our good friend mrs. moore, at hilyard. i don't see as the ride can do her any harm." "if you think so," he said, "i'll saddle the horse." but miss smith had something else to say. "do you think adam did it, mr. durgan? it seems dreadful to think such a thing of our good adam, but i always feel that a man who can strike a woman might do almost any mean, bad thing." durgan felt to the full the hopelessness of explaining to a woman so ignorant of colored folk as was miss smith, the kindness of adam's discipline. he could only assure her of his present innocence. "you don't think, mr. durgan, that it could have been----" her face was very troubled. "yes; i suppose it was 'dolphus," said durgan. "i found him near the spot last night. he was delirious with fever, i think, and coughing badly. it's not safe to leave him at large. they'll give him medical attendance in jail. it's not likely he'll live to be hanged. i have sent what evidence i have against him to hilyard; i could not do otherwise." he said this in a tentative way, and found that miss smith did not share her sister's belief that 'dolphus was not guilty. she only sighed deeply and said-- "the good lord alone knows how to be just, mr. durgan; but i suppose the law comes as near as it can." "have you any evidence concerning his former character?" "no; i don't know anything about his character. i guess you've done just right, mr. durgan. i'm asking the lord to make known whatever ought to be made known, and to hide whatever ought to be hidden, and to bless us all. i guess that's about the best prayer i can think of. but i don't mind telling you that 'twould be a dreadful trial to me or birdie to be obliged to give any evidence. and i can say before god that we neither of us know anything about him that could have any bearing on this matter." "you may depend upon me; i'll keep you out of it if i can. it's only what happens constantly in a niggers' brawl." his heart went out with more and more cordiality to the upright, tearful little lady, who, in the thick of troubles, seemed by her very life to point to god, as the church spire seems to point to heaven above the city's smoke. when leading off the saddled horse he stopped for a moment and looked back with irresistible curiosity, thinking of the conflicting aspects of the life that centered here. the grass of the foreground lay patterned with the graceful shadows of acacia boughs. between them he saw the low gray house, about which the luxuriance of flowers made the only confusion. hens were pecking and dogs basking in the neat kitchen yard; and miss smith, in default of a servant, was quietly sweeping the kitchen porch. the place was like a dream of home. "surely," he said to himself, "if the angel of peace could ever seek an earthly dwelling, she might well alight here and fold her wings." he led the horse down the trail with brows knit, and in his mind the intention of further remonstrance with bertha; but she mounted and rode away without a moment's delay. book ii chapter xvi a call for help that night adam, who had given up his cabin to the female watchers of the dead, lay stretched at the door of durgan's hut. in the small hours durgan was awakened by the negro's sighs. "oh, adam! can't you sleep?" "oh! marse neil, suh; d'you think my pore gal's in de bad place? the min'ster, he come to see me to-day, an' he said as how she was, 'cause she wasn't converted. d'you think so, suh?" if durgan had the modern distrust of old-fashioned preaching, he did not feel sure that he knew better than the preacher. he lay a moment, thinking of the brightness and lightness of the creature so suddenly laid stark, trying in thought to place her spirit in any sort of angelic state. it would not do; the woman, as he knew her, refused to be content with any heaven his thought could offer. he could not conceive of any sane and wholesome spiritual condition to which the trivial, sensual soul could be adjusted. "oh, adam, i don't know any better than your preacher; but i can tell you something that i suppose----" "yes, marse neil?" the tone told of a deep, sustained attention which surprised the educated man. "i think the good lord will take you to the good place when you die, and that----" "yes, but marsa, i done gone an' got religion long time ago, an' my pore gal she wer'n't ever converted." "i was going to say that i think the lord may let you be as near her there as you were here if you go on caring for her--which was all the distance between heaven and hell," he added within himself. before the dawn durgan was again disturbed. far off there was hint of a sound, the hoofs of several horses, perhaps--a ring, faint and far, of a bridle chain? yes, certainly, horsemen were in the valley. adam heard nothing but the throbs of his own heart-sorrow. durgan listened. the road in the valley circled the mountain to deer cove. the sound of the horsemen was lost again almost before it was clearly heard. they were coming from hilyard; were they coming further than the village? an hour later he heard them again; they were on the road to the mine. adam had fallen into the sleep of exhaustion. durgan stood out on the road and listened and waited. had bertha met with some accident, and was this her escort home? were the horsemen coming for some purpose quite unknown to him, bearing on the mystery of the summit house? alas! doubt as he would, he knew of one errand which these sounds might easily betoken. it was widely known that adam had had quarrels with his wife. soon the men appeared. there were three constables, leading an extra horse. durgan saw the handcuffs held by the foremost. he ground his teeth in helpless indignation. all the affection he felt for the home of his forefathers, all the warmth of the sights and sounds of his own joyous youth in the durgan plantations, intensified his sentiment for the friend who still slept on, childlike, with teardrops on his cheek. when adam was taken, durgan brooded over this wrong. he realized more and more that his certainty of one man's guilt and the other's innocence was based only on his own estimate of their characters. the one was true to the core, the other false; but how to prove it? about nine o'clock bertha rode up. her horse was jaded, her face worn. "i started from hilyard at daybreak," she said. "i loped nearly all the way." "did you meet the constables?" her reply was a monosyllable of brief distress. "you saw adam--had they 'dolphus, too?" "yes. don't let us talk of it; i can't bear it." she slid from her horse, grateful for respite, and durgan, seeing her weariness, offered coffee and food. she partook eagerly, as she had eaten little since the day before; but she seemed in no hurry to go on. hers was a depression from which words did not come easily. he asked if the telegram had been sent. "yes. mr. alden will be here the day after to-morrow." "you had his answer?" "no; but i know he will come as soon as possible. i could not decide what to say and what not, even in cipher; i only said 'come.'" there was silence again, for durgan was too heartsore at the injustice done to adam to think much of anything else. at last bertha broke out almost fiercely, "it was a glorious sunrise. i saw it as i came over the ridge. the clouds were like a meadow of flame-flower, and the purple color ran riot upon the hills till the common, comfortable sunshine flashed over and made all the world happy, looking as if life was good." "it was not to see the sunrise that you started so early," said he. "no, i could not rest. i was afraid, afraid that you would not believe what i said yesterday." "what part of it?" "about being on your guard. indeed, indeed i beg of you--laugh if you like, but if you have any regard for me, do as i say. i only ask it until mr. alden comes. he will be here the day after to-morrow, i am sure. when i confess that i came so early because i was afraid that you would not take care of yourself, you will take heed, i am sure." there was an awkward silence. she was hanging her head in shame, and seemed hardly able to find her way as she rose and groped for her bridle. "if we are in this danger i will certainly escort you to the house." "yes; you may do that." so he led the horse under the green arches in the warm silence up to the gate where the dogs fawned on their mistress. near the house miss smith came running to meet them. she embraced bertha with motherly tenderness, asking crisp little questions about her journey and about adam's mother. "i am safe now," said bertha, dismissing durgan with thanks. she added in explanation to her sister, "i felt overdone with the heat. mr. durgan gave me coffee and brought me up the hill." chapter xvii hermione's advocate durgan felt very curious to know whether theodore alden, the well-known lawyer, would appear. he knew little about him except that his name was always in the papers in connection with the law courts, with philanthropic schemes and religious enterprise of an evangelical sort. report said various things--that he would plead in no case in which he did not believe his cause to be right--that his integrity was in excess of his brains, and was the only argument he offered worthy of a juror's consideration--or, that the huge fees given him were often bribes to use his reputation in the service of crime, and that his diabolical cleverness was only equaled by his hypocrisy. these conflicting views partly arose from the fact that he had gained some notorious cases in the face of strong public opinion, and in one case, at least, it seemed against all the weight of evidence. whatever alden's character, it was certain that his hands would at any time be more than full of affairs. bertha had only given him half a day and a night in which to prepare for the journey. durgan had no sanguine hope of having his curiosity satisfied as soon as she expected. yet, on the very next day, at evening, some twenty hours before the time bertha had set, a carriage from hilyard drove up, and while the horses were resting, a dapper, townbred northerner jumped out to inspect his surroundings. the stranger was about sixty years of age. he had a pale face, a trim gray beard, a brisk manner, a fineness of dress, which all carried a whiff of new york atmosphere into the lateral mica cutting, which was as yet but a shallow cave. as soon as he perceived the nature of durgan's work, he took an almost exhaustive interest in mica, although it was probable that he had never even thought of the product in its rough state before. in vain durgan tried to discern solitude or impatience in the face of the stranger. he had no doubt heard of the deed with which the county was ringing, on his way from hilyard, but that could hardly have put his mind at rest concerning bertha's enigmatical telegram. when the horses were ready, the traveler and his luggage went on. the carriage soon returned empty. durgan heard no more till the next day. he had prevailed upon the old general to ride to hilyard to try to obtain adam's release, and after waiting impatiently for the result, heard by a messenger late that evening that adam must abide his trial. durgan was proportionately angry and distressed. in this mood bertha found him the morning after the lawyer arrived. she was somewhat less troubled than on the last occasion, but showed confusion in explaining her errand. she said that alden was coming at once to see durgan. she added, "when i sent for him, and was so terribly frightened, i--i thought i could tell him all that i feared." "it matters less that you should tell him what you fear, but you must tell him all that you know." "oh, mr. durgan, that is just what i cannot do--now that he is here." "you must. one innocent man, at least, is most falsely accused. do you think poor adam is not made of the same flesh as you are? think of the agony of being accused of killing one whom you fondly loved, whom you were bound to protect. even if he is not hanged, every hour that he lies in jail is unutterable misery to him." "alas! who can know that better than i?" she asked. there was conviction in her tone. she raised her face to his; then suddenly flushed and covered it with her hands. "you don't know? we thought you must have guessed; but mr. alden will tell you. oh, mr. durgan, try to think of us as we are, not as the world thinks, and--there! he is coming." they listened a moment to approaching footsteps. bertha took hold of durgan's sleeve in her intensity. "don't tell him anything i have said," she whispered. "child!" he said a little sharply, "i must." her intensity grew. "for hermie's sake, don't. i will do anything you tell me in defense of adam. i will--yes, i promise--i will tell you all i know, all i fear, only promise me this." she was clinging to his arm in tears. he gave promise grudgingly. "not before i see you again, then." "in spite of whatever he may tell you?" "i have promised," he said with displeasure. she had gone on, and the lawyer tripped jauntily down the path. he brought with him the suggestion of hope. he presented his card with an almost quaint formality. his manner was old-fashioned. he admired the superb view, paid a few compliments to old georgian families and to the durgans in particular, and apologized for his unceremonious intrusion the previous evening. he went on, in elegant and precise diction, to say that he understood from his clients at the summit house that durgan could give him details concerning the recent deplorable death of a colored woman who had been in their employment. durgan conducted him to the place where eve was found, and to adam's now empty cabin. they discussed the facts that no knife had been found, that the fern had taken no print of feet. then durgan described his first sight of 'dolphus and the interview. he was growing very tired of a statement that he had already been obliged to make more than once. alden took notes and gave no sign of opinion. "the mulatto did it," said durgan, sternly. "very probably, my dear sir; but there is as yet no proof. in such a place, whoever did it could throw the knife where it would remain hidden forever. there is no proof that this mulatto committed the deed before he went down the mountain; none that adam did not do it when he returned later." "adam is a better man than i am. i am as certain of him as of myself." "i entirely take your word for it. i am convinced by what you say. but men of the law, my dear sir, think only of what will convince the men in the box." having told all this of his own accord, durgan became aware that in the course of conversation he was being questioned, and very closely. where had he gone when he left the sisters? how long had he rested? where did he go then? why did he wait? did he remember exactly the place in which he waited? none of these questions were asked in categorical form, yet he had soon rather reluctantly told his every movement, except what he had seen of miss smith's actions when the moon rose, and the location of the particular tree. he was wholly determined that what he had so unexpectedly spied should never pass his lips. "you were very kind in guarding the house. this colored man was evidently a dangerous character. you had reason, no doubt, for suspecting that he would be about at that hour, mr. durgan?" "i knew nothing about his movements. i can tell you nothing more." "can you be sure that he made no attempt to enter the house that evening?" "he could hardly have done that?" "you were in the house all the evening, and then watched it till you heard the alarming sound of this poor woman's last breath. you are sure that he did not come or go from the house in that time?" "have you any reason to suppose he did?" "suppose, merely for the sake of argument, that i had reason to suspect he did, can you deny it?" "i am sure he did not." "could you swear to it in a court of justice?" "no. it was impossible for me to watch every door. i expected him from one direction, and watched only that. i should have expected the dogs to bark if he came within the paling." "ah! then you could not swear that anyone who could silence the dogs might have left the house." the lawyer relapsed into significant silence. chapter xviii a startling disclosure at last alden said, "mr. durgan, i came here this morning at the request of my clients and dear friends to make a communication to you. when i have made it you will understand why i should have been glad had you been certain that during the evening no one could have left or entered the house--this negro or any other person. have you any idea of what i am going to tell you?" "i am aware that these ladies are, for some good reason, hiding. this information came to me by accident. the secret is safe with me. i have no wish to know more." "no doubt it is safe, and we are happy that it should be in your keeping. may i ask if you came to guess it solely from those letters which this unhappy pair opened; or did any other circumstance----?" "solely through that accident." "you feel convinced that this knowledge was only shared by these two?" "i quite think so. adam will never tell. he is as safe as i am." "and the woman is dead." for the first time durgan put the two circumstances together. he felt vexed. "you will naturally suppose," said alden, "that when adam is tried, my clients will go into court and give evidence as to his excellent character. but if it is possible to prevent it, they must not do that. it was never by my advice that they secluded themselves and took an assumed name; it was bertha who insisted upon seclusion. i would have preferred that they had had strength to live in the open. i should not have greatly cared had all the country found out who they were, but for this crime, which is the most unfortunate that could have happened at their doors. their identity must now be hid, if it is possible without wickedness." durgan had been trying jealously to find some element of falsity beneath the northerner's quiet face and dapper exterior. now he no longer doubted his sincerity. the lawyer sat looking absently down where the beautiful valley lay in all its summer tranquillity, framed in the peace of the eternal hills, and durgan saw the beads of sweat break upon his brow. he was convinced that he had more than the interest of clients at stake, that his whole heart was in some way concerned in this matter. alden spoke slowly. "i have known these women since bertha was a mere girl. eight years ago i was working in the same mission school with the elder sister. for three years we met twice a week, with the most sacred of all interests in common. constantly i had the pleasure of walking to or fro with her, and we talked together on the great theme of religion. after that i knew her intimately in the midst of the greatest sorrows a woman could endure. i have strengthened our friendship by every means in my power ever since. is it possible that i could be mistaken in her character?" his small blue eyes had grown deeper and bluer as he spoke; the lines about them also deepened. sorrow, and that of the nobler sort, was written there. durgan liked him. "i am sure that our friend is a true woman," said he. "and yet, mr. durgan, she is publicly believed to have committed the most barbarous of crimes. she is hermione claxton." durgan uttered an exclamation of dismay. the two men turned from each other with mute accord. to durgan it seemed strange and terrible that here, in these splendid mountain solitudes, the edge of such a shameful thing should enter his own life. below the rock, the forest in glossy leaf breathed in the perfect sunlight; rank below rank stood shining trees like angelic hosts in pictures of heaven. the air was filled with the lullaby of unseen herd-bells. afar, where the valley widened and purpled, the mountain stream, in quiet waters, was descried, and sunny fields. before durgan's mind lay the daily papers of the time of the notorious trial of hermione claxton--the sensational headlines, the discursive leaders. in his ears echoed the universal conversation of that time--voices in street-cars, hotels, and streets. the natural horror of brutal deeds, which had made him recoil then, darkened his outlook now like a cloud. but in the midst of this obscurity upon all things two figures stood, a moving vision--bertha, fresh and beautiful, faulty and lovable, and beside her the fragile sister, gray-haired and upright, with steadfast face turned heavenward. alden spoke first. "you are aware, mr. durgan, that mr. claxton and his second wife were suddenly killed, that a large body of circumstantial evidence proved that hermione was alone in the house with them, that by her own arranging she was alone with them--in fact, i must say there was complete circumstantial proof that she had committed the heinous crime. there was even motive, if just anger and love of money are motive enough. against this stood, i may say, only her personality, for so reticent and modest is she that few know her character. to my mind, it is a great honor to america that the twelve ordinary men who formed the jury could be so impressed by her personality that, while the whole world hooted, they were resolute in a verdict of acquittal." "it was you--your eloquence that did it." "so the world said; but i only appealed to their sense of truth, and out of the truth of their hearts they pronounced her 'not guilty.' you are aware, mr. durgan, that the world pronounced another verdict." durgan would have been glad to be silent. in the rush of his thought he was conscious that he chose the most childish thing to say. "but--but--someone must have done it." when alden did not seem to find this remark worthy even of assent he hastened, stumbling, to explain it. "i would be understood to mean that, familiar as you were with them, it is hardly possible that you do not suspect, do not, perhaps, know, who might be guilty. i am not, of course, asking you who--i have not the slightest right to ask--but----" "do you suggest that, while the whole nation was roused, and rightly, to demand justice, i screened the sinner? mr. durgan, i come of puritan descent. so strongly do i feel the wickedness of lax justice that if my own son had done it i would have led him to the scaffold." durgan believed him. there had flashed out of this little, dainty man so hot a spark from the lightnings of mount sinai that the onlooker felt for the moment scorched by the sudden heat. also by this time durgan had perceived that his imputation had really arisen, not from the public reports of the case, or from alden's epitome, but from his knowledge of bertha's perplexity, terror, and distress. he was glad that alden went on without waiting for reply. "you must surely be aware, mr. durgan, that, admitting the daughter's innocence, the case was one of those termed 'mysteries,' and ranks among the most obscure of these. the murder must have been the work of some maniac intruder; my own suspicions have always centered about a boy who certainly came to the house that morning, but was never heard of after, altho large rewards were offered. but that only shifts the unknown a step farther back. who was this boy who could so vanish? who sent him, and who concealed him? indeed, mr. durgan, who can have thought on this problem as i have done? and there were many even astute lawyers and commercial men who have confessed to me that they induced insomnia by merely trying to conceive an adequate explanation. remember that the dual crime and the vanishing of this boy occurred at midday in a fashionable neighborhood, in a household noted for propriety, elegance, and culture. i, who know more than anyone else, know nothing; but this i do say, mr. durgan: rather than believe hermione claxton guilty, i would believe that the deed was done by an invisible fiend from the nether world; and i am not superstitious." "i quite agree with you. anyone who knows miss claxton must agree with you. she is innocent of every evil thought." but he felt that he spoke mechanically. his mind was turning with more and more distress and bewilderment to bertha's talk and behavior. he was glad when alden went away for the time, altho he knew that the question of adam's defense must be quickly settled. alden left him with the words: "i will come back, mr. durgan. you can see now that if that insane thing called the public got hold of the fact that the victim of last week's crime belonged to the claxton household, unless it could be proved that no one issued from the house that evening----" "i understand," durgan answered with ill-controlled impatience. the small man squared his shoulders and looked up staunchly. "we must save her at any cost, save that of breaking god's law." chapter xix tangled in the coil those elemental emotions, the protection of feebleness, the vindication of womanhood tender and motherly, were aroused in durgan to the heat of passion. in heart he joined hands firmly with the little lawyer who had fought the battle so long. he had saved this good woman once from the worst peril, but durgan feared there was more to come, and was panting to establish her innocence. he struggled with a temptation. if he could swear that he had heard eve's last breath at an hour when it was known the husband was away, this evidence would set adam free. he believed himself to have heard it, conjecturing that either some peculiar atmospheric condition had obtained, or his senses had been strained to abnormal acuteness, or the passing spirit, terrified, had flown for safety to the nearest friend, bringing its sob of fear when it was but an instant too late to seek human aid. why not continue to conceal the fact that he had been half a furlong beyond all natural earshot of the woman's death? he would not have known so precisely where he was had not miss smith's action caused him to mark one tree among its fellows. neil durgan, striding into court at hilyard to give his evidence concerning the death of one of his father's slaves, was not likely to be strictly cross-questioned. the terror of the past to both sisters and bertha's present terrors (which must yet be inquired into and allayed), surely this was enough trouble without unnecessary delay and hesitation in the course of justice at hilyard. durgan was at work all day, and desired in hacking and hewing the rock to temper his own mind to meet the need of the hour, hardly knowing on which side of his path honor lay, and caring more to succeed than to be scrupulous. while the day spent itself, his thought upon all that had occurred became clearer. it was obvious that first, before taking another step, he must know the whole warp and woof of bertha's suspicions, which at present seemed to him so flimsy. he must know each thread, or alden must know. at this point he stopped to marvel. on what pretext should bertha seek to deceive so good a friend as alden? and could it be that neither sister had confessed to alden that the criminal had some sinister hold over them? perhaps, after all, to give evidence against 'dolphus was not the first step out of this coil of trouble. in revenge the nigger might be able to declare what they all desired most to keep silent. bertha's strongly expressed desire in the matter strengthened this idea. that afternoon the carriage of the durgan blounts was drawn by foaming thoroughbreds up the rough and winding road to the summit of deer. mrs. durgan blount was with her husband, and young blount rode beside on his chestnut mare. they stopped at the mica cutting to converse cheerfully with durgan on the frequency of knifing among niggers and the obvious purpose of their journey. the dame spoke languidly. "we thought it incumbent to offer our sympathy to the northern ladies. this ghastly thing having happened on our property, and so close to the site these ladies have bought, we felt obliged." "come along, neil durgan," said the old general. "jump in and call with us; it ought to be a family affair." durgan excused himself, wondering grimly what effect the name of claxton would have had on this family expedition. the son waited till his mother's carriage had gone on. "you are quite sure it was the yellow boy who did it? i heard at the post-office that you had found his knife." durgan explained that this was not so, but reiterated his conviction as to the guilt of 'dolphus. said blount slowly: "your opinion will be conclusive. it wouldn't go far in a northern court, perhaps; but here, and for niggers, if you tell your tale well it will prove sufficient." "i'd be satisfied to get adam off, if that could be done without hanging the other." blount stooped forward to rub the mare's ears and smooth her silken mane. his young countenance was benign and thoughtful. "you had better have him sentenced," he said quietly. "it's annoying for you, of course, because the result rests with you--the general settled that with the judge. but it's your duty; and you do more for the world in ridding it of one villain than by a lot of charity." durgan felt ill-satisfied now with the sentiment of these last words, altho a few days before it had been his own. young blount rode away with serious mien. the hot sunflecks fell between chestnut boughs upon horse and rider and tawny wheel-ruts. at sunset durgan went up to the meadow, where he knew bertha would come to feed her four-footed friends. as he waited he sat on the ledge of the wooden barn. he saw bertha come through the meadow gate. the calves ran to meet and conduct her to the place of feeding. handsome young things they were, red and white, with square heads and shoulders. they formed a bodyguard on either side of the terrier and mastiff, which always had the right of place nearest to her. thus bertha advanced down the green-grown road between the ranks of deep, flowering grass. she carried a bucket and a basket with fine, erect balance, one in either hand. the meadow slanted upward from the barn. as durgan walked to meet her and take the burden, he could just see over its rise the heads of the opposite mountains. a wide gulf of slant sunbeams lay between. bertha greeted him with serious mien. when he had taken her load and fallen into line among her animals, she said: "you know the worst about us now." "do i?" asked he. for he discovered at that moment that the question he must now put was a cruel one, and could not be shirked or smoothed over. "alas!" she uttered the one deprecating word slowly, and moved on in silence. the bull calf pushed its powerful head under her hand, which now hung free, and she walked, leaning upon it, till the mastiff slowly inserted himself between the two, and, with a sudden push of its side, ousted the calf, who took a short scamper and returned head downward toward the mastiff's broad flank. the terrier laughed aloud: no one could have interpreted his snorts of delight otherwise. the mastiff reluctantly withdrew his soft nose from bertha's palm, and attended to matters of defense. all the calves scattered in an ungainly dance, and all returned circling the dogs with lowered heads. bertha watched these antics with a sad smile; then by sundry cuffs and pats put an end to the feud. when they had fed the calves and the other creatures who lived in sumptuous hutches and sties behind the barn, durgan asked his question. chapter xx the terrible confession bertha and durgan were standing in the broad central doorway of the barn. hay, full of meadow flowers, was piled high to right and left. the air was full of dried pollen, and golden with the level sunlight. "do you know who it was that killed your parents?" durgan asked. she put up trembling hands in the brave pretense of shielding her eyes from the sun. her whole body shook; her head sank on her breast. at last she said in faint tones: "you think _this_ because i warned you of danger--because of all i have said; but i was distracted, and at that time i did not foresee that you must be told who we are." "all that is true. i am more sorry for you than words can say; but it must be better for you to share a secret you seem to be nursing alone, and you cannot think i would ask if i did not need to know." she did not answer. he suspected that she was using all her attention to regain self-control and the strength that she had lost so suddenly. "you told me that you thought you knew who committed this second crime," he said, "and i am convinced that you connect it with that other." a low moan escaped her. her head sank lower. "i believe that the nigger is guilty, but i can't go to court and swear away his life, knowing only what you have told me and no more." she whispered eagerly: "will it do if i swear now that i believe i was mistaken--that i knew nothing, or, at least, no proof to the contrary?" "have you ever had the least reason to suppose that another person capable of these crimes lurked upon deer?" "if i swear to you that i never thought anyone else was near us, or on the mountain, will that satisfy you?" she was leaning her brow heavily on the hand that shaded her face. "no one else--else than----?" she did not help him out. she sat down, or rather crouched, on the steps of the loft. he said very gently but resolutely: "you think, then, that your sister committed these crimes." she put up her hands. "do not, do not say it. oh, i have never thought it possible that you could be so cruel as to say such a thing to me. leave me in peace; for god's sake, leave me!" "child! even if i could leave you, it is not right that you should go on nursing this terrible suspicion alone. in the back of your mind you believe this thing, and think that some time--any time, she may repeat the crime; and the terror of it is killing you." she was trembling violently, her face buried in her hands. "have you allowed anyone else to know of this suspicion of yours? tell me, have you talked it over with a single soul?" "no, no; oh, no," she moaned. "for pity's sake, stop speaking! i never thought anyone would dare to say this to me." "that is just what i supposed. you have nursed the idea in absolute secret. you have not even allowed your sister herself to know what you think." "i beg that you will say no more." "you are guarding this idea in heroic silence. you imprison it in darkness, and think it would be more terrible if you brought it out to the light. you are wrong. it will vanish away in the light. it is not true." she started, looking up at him with wide eyes in which the tears were arrested by surprise. the flush on her face faded. she grew pale to the lips with excitement. "how do you know?" she whispered hoarsely. "tell me--do you know? how?" "i know just as i know that i did not do it--or you. you did not see her do this terrible thing." "oh, you know nothing." she sank down again and rocked herself, moaning: "you know nothing, nothing. why did you deceive me?" "tell me, then--on what grounds have you formed this belief?" she grew more quiet, drooping before him as if in despair. "i must go to hilyard to-morrow. i must know first what i can say. you must tell me why you, even for one hour, believed 'dolphus to be innocent, before i go. i must judge for myself of what you tell me, but you must tell me all you know--or else you must tell alden." at that she uncovered her face and sought to speak calmly. "i cannot tell mr. alden; i beseech you, spare me that. i thought i could tell him. then, when he came--ah, i saw then what i never knew before--that he loves hermie--that she loves him. there is a far deeper friendship between them than i knew. i was but a girl when they used to be together, and now---- it is so sad to see the feeling he has for her. she has grown so old, and so has he--so prematurely old. this sorrow has been so deep to them both. the night that he came here he reproached her for not letting him protect her more openly. he asked her to marry him now--even now; it seems he has asked her before. surely it must be left to her to tell him if he must ever know, if she must ever endure the anguish of his knowing." durgan could hardly believe his own sense of hearing, so calmly certain did she seem of the verity of her secret. "your sister could not tell mr. alden what is not true. she is wholly innocent. she can never, thank god, have any misery that accrues to one who has committed an evil deed." "you know nothing," she repeated gently, "and, oh, i am in a terrible perplexity; i do not know what to do. i am in far greater straits than you know of, mr. durgan. you urge me to tell you--will you accept my confession in confidence? otherwise--ah, if you tell mr. alden what i have already said, it seems to me that i shall die of grief and shame. i could never look my dear sister in the face again." "you have no choice now but to tell me. the life of an innocent man must be saved; your sister's name must be kept out of the trial. for their sakes i am bound to consult mr. alden about what you have already told me, unless, upon knowing your whole story, i think i am justified in keeping your secret. i am your friend. i can have no possible desire but to serve your sister and yourself." "but truth--justice? would you sacrifice us to a fetish you call 'justice,' pretending it is god? i have always felt that you would not. mr. alden would, even if it cost him his own life." durgan meditated on this aspect of alden's character. he could perceive that from her point of view this characteristic made him terrible. in her trouble she had blindly put her finger on perhaps the main difference between the virtue of the south and that of the north. "hermie has always told me that about him, but till this time i never entirely believed her. now i do. the more he loved hermie, the more---- oh, mr. durgan, it is terrible to think of!" he looked down pityingly. "the thoughts that you are enduring, child, are too terrible for you to bear alone. you must trust me. we southerners were never taught to think, as the puritans did, that the whole heart of god could be translated into a human code. i am not as good a man as alden, but if i were----" "oh, i can trust you," she cried. "i know i can. and you are right--i must, i ought, to speak; but do not know how, or how much. question me, and i will answer." "on what possible ground can you believe this of your sister?" "on the ground of her own confession. it is written and sealed up; i know where it is." she had again crouched down on the lower step, and her face was hidden; but her shaken voice was quite clear and resolute. durgan was amazed into silence. the sun, in a dry, empty sky, had slowly descended to the dark rim of the cherokee ridge. now it seemed to set suddenly, and a cold shadow rose over deer. bertha saw nothing, but to durgan the change in the atmosphere lent emphasis to her statement, and all the combative part of his nature rose up against it. he was convinced that there was no such confession. chapter xxi opening the past "are you sure of what you tell me?" asked durgan. bertha answered: "yes; i do not know what she wrote, but i am sure it was her confession." "you don't know what she wrote," sharply. "how do you know she confessed?" "she told me so." "then, even in the face of that, i say she is innocent." "innocent--ah, yes, indeed--of any motive, any intent, of any knowledge at the moment of what she was doing. as innocent as any angel of god. do you think i do not know the heart, the life, of my sister? it was madness, or the possession of a demon. it was madness that came suddenly, like a fit or stroke. that is why i want to know what i ought to do. it may come back; any excitement, any association with the former attack, might bring it back. oh, consider her case, and tell me what i ought to do. when you first came i was terrified. you did not see how much roused she was--she is so shy and quiet--but i saw a new light in her eyes. your name is mixed up with the thought of our father in a very sad way. i was frightened then, but mercifully nothing happened. then about the letters--ah, she was vexed about that, and i was so frightened lest she should be ill again. then, when the colored boy came, i dared not let her be alone with him. he brought all the details of that dreadful time back to us and--ah, i thought, living as we do and keeping him from her, i had taken every precaution, but--on the morning after that poor woman was killed, i found, oh, mr. durgan, i found her handkerchief in the wood where she never goes. i found it because the dogs were scenting something and i followed, and the place was in a direct line from where poor eve----" she stopped, shuddering. "you did not tell alden this?" "oh, no. how could i? and _now_ i hardly believe--at least, i don't think she could have been out that night. she has been so calm since. i am sure she cannot have gone out; but i don't know--i don't know what i ought to believe or do." the miserable recital of her fears and perplexities came to an end only when her voice failed her. durgan had been obliged to listen attentively to gather her full purport. he knew certainly that miss claxton had been out alone that night, that the tree which she had climbed was, in fact, in a line between eve's beautiful deathbed and her own back door. nor did anyone know at what hour eve died. his own assumption that miss claxton had gone out only as far as the tree to leave money for 'dolphus had only the slightest foundation, and the mulatto's movements certainly did not confirm it. while he reviewed all this with some reasonable horror, he found that his inward belief of the propriety of all miss claxton's actions was not shaken. his faith was obstinate, and facts had to be made to fit into it. "let us take this terrible secret of yours, and spread it out to the light quite calmly. you believe your sister did this first dreadful thing in a fit of sudden madness, from which she seems to have recovered immediately, as no one else thought her mad. did you believe this at the time of the trial?" "i did not know what to think then." "after that, while you were abroad together, were you always in terror like this?" "oh, no. it was when we were coming home that my sister had an illness. it was then that she told me of her confession and where to find it if it was ever needed. then, knowing what must have been the matter, and that it might come again, i was determined to find a lonely house where i thought i should be the only one in danger. i thought i could take that risk, as i only risked myself. when we found this house i felt sure we were safe from intrusion and excitement." "after you heard of this confession you decided that she was subject to homicidal mania. when i intruded on your privacy you feared for my life in your house. you have feared for your own life whenever any cause of excitement came up, and thought everyone near her was in danger. you think now that such an attack may have been the cause of eve's death." bertha rose up in the twilight, looking like a trembling, guilty thing, and slunk away from his cool voice and overbearing manner. "do you think i have been so terribly wicked to keep this secret?" she moaned. "i think you have been very foolish; but as your folly arose from tenderness to your sister, i suppose you must be forgiven. you ought to have told your sister or alden, or consulted a good doctor. you would have found then that you were mistaken." "how could i speak to anyone without causing suspicion? how could i speak to her when i thought her only chance of continued health lay in forgetting? indeed, our own family doctor, who never guessed this, told us after the trial was over that our only chance of health and leading useful lives was never to talk or let ourselves think of our trouble. before we went abroad he warned us again and again." "he was wise. and you--have you been obeying him?" "how can you speak to me like this?" "it is the medicine you need. your sister is not mad--has never been mad. it is now years since your misfortune, and had there been want of balance or brain disease, it would have shown itself by now. your sister is not obstinate or foolish. she is not subject to attacks of emotion, nor does she lack self-control. there is no sign of any such mania as could make such a crime possible to a well-principled woman." "but--oh, but--i read constantly in the papers of people who kill themselves, or kill others and themselves afterwards. the verdict is always 'temporary insanity.' i supposed there was such a thing." "that verdict is usually a cloak for ignorance; but it assumes that had such people lived they would have shown symptoms of mental disease." bertha raised her hands and clasped them above her head. she drew a long breath, dilating her frame, and looked off where an empty yellow sky circled a fading landscape. "if i could only believe you--ah--if i could only believe you, i should ask no greater happiness in heaven." "believe me, i am telling you the truth." "but--but----" "sit down again, child," he said. the term "child," used constantly by the negroes to express half-humorous or gentle chiding, comes very naturally to southern lips. it carried with it little suggestion of the difference of age between them, but gave a sense of comradeship and good-will which comforted her. he pulled down a bundle of hay to cushion her seat on the steps. "now tell me all the 'buts,'" he said. "alas, mr. durgan, you cannot scold away our great trouble and my fears. you cannot smile them into insignificance; but now i am willing to tell you our story, and when it is told i hope you will see that you, too, must bury it forever in silence, as i have tried to do." she began again. "there is another reason, which you don't know yet, why i must tell you now. it is this 'dolphus. i will try to be quick. do you know all that was put in the newspapers about us--about the trial?" durgan made a sign of assent. "day after day the court discussed every detail of our family life and of that awful day--held it up to the whole world with an awful minuteness and intensity. and hermie was in prison when she was not in court--oh, i wonder we lived--and it was all such a farce. they got hold of everything but the things that mattered. they never came near them. "they tried to make out that we hated poor mamma because she was not our own mother, and were jealous lest papa should make a will in her favor. what rubbish! she was only a pretty doll, and had money of her own. no one could hate her, and papa never thought of leaving her our money. we never thought about his will." "i quite believe that," said durgan heartily. "the facts they did not get hold of were about the boy they made such a mystery of." "what did they know about the boy?" "one of the servants let him in, and one of the neighbors saw him come in. they both took him for a beggar: one thought he was an italian. hermie and i knew more. i gave evidence that he had come in, and that we had not seen him leave the hall, where he waited, or seen him again that morning, which was true. but he did not come as a beggar, he did not go away before the trouble, or vanish after it. he was hidden in the house all that day, and we arranged his escape at night. in court they never asked questions that i could not answer about him, for they never once guessed." "guessed what?" "that we wanted to save him. their one idea was that we wanted him to be found. mr. alden moved the earth to find him, and he was conducting our case." "who was the boy?" "may i tell you all i know? the boy was 'dolphus. he was only a messenger--a servant of that man who was raising spirits in dark rooms and making them give messages and----" "you mean beardsley?" "yes. you said the other night that he was supposed not to be a common medium. my sister has told me that mrs. durgan----" "yes, yes, i know." "i only mean that just a few people went to him, and my father had gone. oh, i believe he went often, and he used to tell us things that vexed hermie so." "what things?" "oh, about knocks and tables moving. and then dear father began to receive knocks and messages from our mother. that made hermie almost frantic. she remembered mother well, and was offended. she called it 'profanity.' but i am sure my father did not know how it vexed her; he was always so considerate." "the boy came from beardsley?" "oh, yes. we knew, and know, nothing about the boy. he asked for my father, and was told to wait in the kitchen. i saw him there, and so did the maids. but only hermie knew about the note--he gave it to her. she took it upstairs. i saw that she looked very white and angry. she told me that it was a message from that 'shameful impostor.' then hermie asked me to gather fruit in the garden, and she sent out the maids up the street. then, some time after that, she--ah, you know it all!--gave the alarm. she called in people, and they went and rang for the police. she was very calm. everyone knows the whole story after that." "yes; but tell me what you did." "she never allowed me to go into that room where---- she told me my father was too much disfigured for me to recognize him. oh, i thought of nothing but the loss of my father all that day. i went into his dressing-room and cried there. i took out his dear clothes and laid my head on them. hermie sat with me part of the day. the police were in charge of the house; but no one had thought then of accusing her. "when it was dark night hermie came to me and said that there was something we could do for father's sake, and i must help her. she told me the boy was in the house and he was innocent, but that if he was found he might be arrested unjustly. she told me that some great disgrace might fall on father's name if we did not get him safely away. oh, i did not at all understand at the time that she meant that if he were charged she must confess and be convicted. she chose some clothes of father's, and then i found that the boy was locked in a very narrow press in that very room. he put on the clothes, and he and hermie knotted some dark thing together and we let him down from the window in the dark to the garden. he got in the neighbor's garden. she told him how to get from garden to garden. the police were about, but he got away. her mind seemed quite clear. she said that because the boy was innocent it was our duty to tell nothing that could lead to his capture. she never told mr. alden that she knew who the boy was or who sent him, that he had brought a letter, or how he escaped." "but how was she so certain that he was innocent?" "ah, that is what i have asked myself night and day for years. what could make her certain but one thing? she _knew_, and if she knew that anyone else had committed the deed, why not tell and exonerate the boy?" "it is most extraordinary," said durgan. the words were wrung from him almost without his will. bertha took no notice. "then that night she did not know what she was saying. she thought she saw all sorts of strange things in the room, and she talked continually, as if seeing people who were not there. her words were quite fantastic and related to nothing i could understand. but occasionally, when she seemed more coherent, she told me that the police would come for her, that she would be proved to be guilty, and begged me in the most touching terms to love her in spite of all. in the daytime she would get up and go about the house, and she appeared composed; but i knew her well enough to see that she was still strange. but she never said a word, except when we were alone, to lead anyone to suppose that she knew more than she first told. on the third day mr. alden told us that she would be taken to prison. it was an awful shock to me, but it seemed to rouse her and bring back her faculties. we were alone together for about an hour. after she had tried to soothe and comfort me by speaking of duty, of god, and of heaven, she spoke to me very solemnly, and told me not to grieve for any hardship that befell her, for she had broken the law and must suffer if she was condemned; but that, short of doing or saying anything to inculpate anyone else, she would do all that could be done to convince the world of her innocence. she said: 'it would be worse for you, and for father's sake, if i were convicted. i will fight for my liberty unless someone else is accused; but remember, if anyone else is accused, i shall have to do what will bring disgrace. remember that, bertha. remember that if any circumstance should come to your knowledge to tempt you to accuse anyone else, _that_ will put an end to my hopes.' she said this very solemnly several times. then she told me the lines on which mr. alden would probably have the case conducted; and that i must tell nothing but the truth, but refuse to tell about the boy, or what she had told me. i never heard anyone speak more clearly and collectedly. she foresaw almost everything. our other lawyers and mr. alden said the same thing, that her intellect was almost like that of a trained lawyer in its prevision of the effect of evidence." "and did you believe her guilty?" "i did not know what to think. i was stunned. i dared not think, for it took all my mind to act the part she assigned to me. but afterwards, during the long time she was in prison and during the trial, i believed her innocent. when i thought of her goodness and the perfectly unforeseen and inexplicable manner of the way poor papa and mamma died, i could not think hermione guilty, and i did not. as to the wild things she said in those nights, i supposed she had been in a fever, and put down all i could not understand to that. "then we formed the plan of going abroad and returning to some place like this, only not so lonely. we packed all our valuables to be put in a safe by mr. alden. when my sister had packed the family papers and her own jewelry and locked and sealed the box, she called me to look at it and gave me the key. when she was ill in paris she told me of her confession, and that it lay at the bottom of this box. but she asked me most solemnly never to open it unless someone else was falsely accused. she told me that she had no further motive in life than to make up to me as far as possible for all that i had innocently suffered; but she begged me not to make life too hard for her by ever speaking of this matter again. i have never spoken to her again about it." bertha's voice had become very melancholy; now she ceased. "this mulatto calling himself 'dolphus is certainly the boy?" "yes--oh, yes; we both knew him the moment he turned up again." "have you never seen him between then and now?" "no." "where has he been?" "i don't know." "how did he find you?" "by bribing the porter in mr. alden's office to show him the letters he carried. he has a right to protection and support from us, for there is still a great reward offered for him. mr. alden offered it." "and alden does not guess that this is he?" "how should he? he has no idea that we would hide him. but now we cannot conceive what will happen, for altho we are sure that he won't tell about us as long as he has a chance of escape, hermie herself says that if he is condemned he may, in despair and revenge, tell all that he knows." "alden must be told this." she sprang up with great energy. "he must not know. it is the one thing hermie will not let him know if it is possible to help it. oh, of course the worst catastrophe may come and overwhelm us; but while we have hope of escape, hermie will not let mr. alden know that." it had become dark. hermione claxton was looking for her sister, walking across the meadow and calling in motherly tones. "answer me just one thing. did your sister tell you in plain words that she committed this deed?" "no; she did not. but i have tried to make what she said mean anything else. in any case she would not have said a word she could help; such words are too terrible. can you think i have not sought to believe otherwise?" she said this in a tense, hurried voice, and standing at the barn door, called back: "i'm coming, i'm coming, dear." "she never did it," said durgan strongly. "she knows who did. she is shielding someone." "that is very easy to say," said the girl scornfully. "of one thing i am certain; there is no one on earth she would shield at my expense. think what we have suffered while she fought through that terrible trial. she knows no one, loves no one on earth, but me and mr. alden." "i'm coming, i'm coming, darling." she took up her empty pail and ran. chapter xxii the earthly purgatory waking or sleeping, one figure stood forth in durgan's imagination that night, and was the center of all his mental activity--it was hermione claxton. he had been accustomed to regard her as the very incarnation of the commonplace, in so far as good sense and good feeling can be common. now he knew her as the chief actor in a story wherein the heights and depths of human passion had been so displayed that it might seem impossible for one mind to habitually hold so wide a gamut of experience in its conscious memory. this quiet little gray-haired housewife, who lived beside him, baking, sweeping, and sewing her placid days away, had stood in the criminal dock almost convicted of the most inhuman of crimes. having passed through the awful white flame of public execration, she had accepted her blackened reputation with quiet dignity; for years she had lived a hidden life of perfect self-sacrifice, devoting herself to the purest service of sister-love. with character still uncleared, she had been urged to take her place as the wife of one of new york's best-known philanthropists, with whom, it seemed, she had long suffered the sorrows of mutual love and disappointment. of more than this durgan felt assured. as he reviewed all that had been told him that day, he was the more convinced that she had been no involuntary victim of false accusation, that she knew the secret that had puzzled the world, and had chosen to shield the criminal, to bear the odium, and also inflict it on the objects of her love. she had done all this for the sake of--what? what motive could have been strong enough to induce a wise and good woman to make such a sacrifice and endure the intolerable keeping of such a secret? durgan very naturally sought again the bundle of criminal reports which had fallen into his hands after the fire. packed in the pile which fed the miners' stove, they had not, as yet, been burned. he reconsidered them, supposing now that they had been collected by miss claxton herself. a motley band of prisoners was thus evoked. they passed in procession before durgan, beginning with hermione claxton, and ending with that curious figure of the dilettante priest who had beaten a sister to death in fear that she was an apparition. the well-born woman who, without temptation, had stolen jewels; the french peasant who had killed a loved wife to save her from the sufferings of a painful disease, and all the other members of this strange procession, represented the eccentricities of the respectable, rather than the characteristics of the degraded class. from a fresh scrutiny of each durgan gained no information, only a strong suspicion that the criminal for whom miss claxton had so bravely stood scapegoat belonged to the same respectable class. he assumed that while her lawyers had been hunting for some inconsequent housebreaker who had taken a maniacal delight in dealing death, she had covered the guilt of someone whose reputation defied suspicion. love, blind love, could have been the only motive strong enough to initiate and sustain such a course of action. the only way to discover the villain to whom she had sacrificed herself was to discover the man to whom she had given her heart. no doubt, since the crime and cowardice had betrayed his true value, such a woman would turn with some affection to a man like alden. but durgan's surmise required that before the crime she should have had another lover. such a lover, if at enmity with the father and in need of money, would have had all the motive that the prosecution had attributed to miss claxton. she was supposed to have sent all witnesses out of the house before the crime; if her lover was demanding a private interview with her father, and her engagement was as yet private, such action on her part---- but durgan paused, vexed at the nimbleness of his fancy. he derided himself for assuming that so obvious a suspicion had not long ago been probed to the bottom by acuter minds than his. when he came to question more soberly what clues he held by which he might himself seek for any truth in his new suspicion, more unquiet suggestions came thick and fast. more than once lately he had had the unpleasant sensation of hearing his wife's name very unexpectedly. bertha had more than once referred to her; and what was it the raving mulatto had said? it took him some time to recollect words that had fallen on his astonished ears only to convince him of their nonsense. the mulatto had implied that his wife had concealed something for years which put her in some rivalry or enmity with miss claxton. his advice that durgan should look into his wife's conduct and take miss claxton's part could, if it meant anything, only point to some mutual interest both women had with the spiritualist, charlton beardsley. durgan was amazed at such an idea. he remained for some time, as he said to himself, "convinced" that the mulatto was raving; and yet he went as far as to reflect that there had never been any visible reason for his wife's devotion to this man; furthermore, that bertha had said that mr. claxton, an hour before his sad death, had received a message from charlton beardsley, that the mulatto had come from beardsley, and was it not likely that he had sought shelter with his employer? the mulatto evidently knew hermione to be innocent; in that case beardsley would know it, and perhaps durgan's own wife knew it. they had come forward with no evidence. what possible motive could they have had for concealment? durgan broke from his camp bed and from his hut, hot and stifled by the disagreeable rush of indignant and puzzled thoughts. he stood in the free air and dark starlight, trying to shake off his growing suspicions. details gathered from different sources were darting into his mind, and it seemed to him that fancy, not reason, was rapidly constructing a dark story of which he could conceive no explanation, but which involved even himself--through tolerance of his wife's conduct--in the guilt of miss claxton's unmerited sufferings. alarmed at the trend of these memories and hasty inferences, he controlled himself, to reflect only on the more instant question of eve's death, and the evidence he must give at the trial. it would appear that until 'dolphus was condemned, even the claxtons did not fear his tongue. to give evidence against him, and at the same time to seal his tongue, appeared to be durgan's immediate duty, but the performance seemed difficult. what bribe, what threat could move a condemned man who was but a waif in the world, and need care for none but himself? yet if rational meaning was to be granted at all to his raving on the night of eve's death, it would appear that even this creature had a reverence for miss claxton, and a desire to be the object of her prayers. was this motive strong enough to be worked upon? it would be better, no doubt, to gain an interview with the prisoner and try to discover if he had any tenacity of purpose, but to this durgan felt strong repugnance. in avoiding this issue, his mind began to torment him regarding the evidence against miss claxton, which he alone knew, and which he might not have a right to conceal. his ardent belief in her goodness, his firm belief that he had heard eve die, rested only on intuitive insight, common in men of solitary habit and unscholarly minds; he knew that this was no basis on which to found legal evidence. with these uneasy and unfinished thoughts he at last fell asleep in the faint light of the dawn, and waked again soon with a vivid and bad dream. he dreamed that he was again on the lonely mountain on the night of eve's death, groping under the stunted thicket of old oak. again he saw miss claxton come to the forked tree. she climbed as before, and reached up one thin arm to deposit something in the highest cleft of the trunk. the moon rose as before; durgan saw in his dream that the thing she hid there was a knife, and the blade was red. rousing himself from a sleep that brought so odious a vision, he woke to find the rays of a red sunrise in his face. one of his laborers brought up the borrowed horse which he had arranged to ride to hilyard. before he started he went up the trail to the summit house, hoping that alden might be about. he had nothing definite to ask, and yet he would have been glad to have some parting advice from him. no one was up. the very house was drowsy under the folded petals of its climbing flowers. durgan went down through the stunted oak wood, and looked up as he passed the forked tree. it was the first time he had been close to it in daylight. in one branch of the fork, close to the notch, there was a round hole, such as squirrels choose for their nests. better hiding-place for a small object could not be. to act the spy so far as to look into the hole without miss claxton's permission would have been what durgan called "a nigger's trick." like all the better class of slave-owners, he habitually sought to justify his own assumption of superiority by holding himself high above all mean actions or superstitious ideas. as he went down the hill he was vexed with himself for having been so far influenced by a dream as to have even looked for the hole in the tree. yet as he rode out into the glorious morning, he found himself arguing that if money for the mulatto had been put in the tree, it was odd that the mulatto had made no effort to get it before his arrest or to send for it after. the thing which had really been put there, if not meant for 'dolphus, was probably intended to be long hidden. but a dream, of course, meant nothing, and his could easily be accounted for by the tenor of his waking thoughts and the color of the sunrise. when he reached the saw-mill he turned by the long, wooden mill-race and set his horse at a gentle gallop for hilyard. even at that speed he began to wonder whether if, by such evidence as had convinced bertha, he were induced to hold the erroneous opinion of miss claxton's guilt, he would be also forced into bertha's conclusion, that fits of mania were the only explanation. since last night he had called bertha a fool; now, while most unwelcome suspicions followed him like tormenting demons, he was driven into greater sympathy with the younger sister. he galloped gently down the slope of the valley, tree and shrub and flower rushing past him in the freshness of the morning. suddenly he checked his horse to look up. he was beneath his own precipice. the mine was on a ledge about three hundred feet above him. the rock rose sheer some hundred and fifty feet above that. he could trace the opening of the trail, but even the smoke of the hidden dwelling-house could not be seen here. as durgan listened for the faint chink of his workmen's tools, and sought from this unfamiliar point of view to trace each well-known spot, he began, for the first time, to realize fully the dreadfulness of the story which only yesterday had revealed. involuntarily he drew rein. the memory that had transfixed him was the description of the claxton murder. while the step-mother had been killed by only one well-aimed shot, the father had been beaten with such brutal rage that no likeness of the living man appeared in the horrid shape of the dead. he spoke aloud in the sunny solitude, and his words were of bertha and her sister. "my god! she has lived alone with her there for two years believing this." he had very often of late thought slightingly of bertha's excitability. last night he had thought scorn of her conclusions. now, when he perceived how the terrible form of death which had befallen her loved father must have wrought upon her nerves, and how much more reason she had to believe her sister guilty than the most bigoted member of the public who had tried to condemn her, he felt only reverence for the courage and devotion of such a life. no doubt her womanly proneness to nervous fears, and the undisciplined activity of her imagination, had sometimes pictured scenes of impossible distress, and resulted in words and looks inconsistent with her resolution of secrecy; but, also, how much did this timorous and excitable disposition heighten the heroism of the office she had so perseveringly filled. yet while he remained in deep admiration of this heroism, he thought that he himself could never forgive bertha's suspicion of her sister. how much less could alden forgive? and if it ever reached the trustful mind of that loving sister that the child of her delight had thought her prone to madness, the word "forgiveness" would have no meaning between them. a wound would be made that no earthly love could ever heal. bertha's beauty came vividly before him--her kind, honest, impulsive girlhood. "god help her," he said slowly. "she has cheerfully borne worse than hell for love's sake, and such is the extreme tragedy of love, that if she is mistaken, all this loyalty and suffering can never atone for her mistake." chapter xxiii what 'dolphus knows durgan left the breeze of the sunrise and the mountains behind him, and after that one first gallop, rode slowly down into the stillness of the lower country and the heat of the midday hours. the smoke of some distant forest fire filled the air, diffusing the sunlight in a golden glow. who can tell the sweetness that the flame of distant pine-woods lends? it is not smoke after it has floated many hundred miles; it is a faint and delicious aroma and a tint in the air--that is all. on the lower side of the road now the hill dropped, in ragged harvest fields and half-cultivated vineyards, towards the wide hot cotton plains of the sea-board. on the other side were enclosed pastures where tame cattle were straying among young growths of trees, which were everywhere again conquering the once smooth clearings. in the long, central street of hilyard, behind the weathered palings, garden flowers brimmed over. great heads of phlox, white and crimson, sent forth the sweetest and most subtle fragrance. petunias, large as ladies' bonnets, soft and purple, breathed of honey. rose and poppy, love-in-a-mist and lovelies-bleeding, marigold and prince's feather, all fought for room in tangles of delight. over the old wooden houses the morning-glory held its gorgeous cups still open under the mellow veil of smoke. no house in the town was newly painted, or bore to the world the sharp, firm outline of good repair; but there was not one which nature had not adorned with flower or vine or moss. everywhere there was the trace of poverty and languor after war; everywhere there was beauty, sweetness, and warmth, and the gracious outline of repose. hilyard lay on the way from the mountains to the broad plantations which still bore durgan's name. it was soothing to him to find himself again in a country where he had lost so much for the federal cause that he had gained proportionate respect. the mountain whites knew nothing but their own hills; but here, to everyone, high or low, it was enough that he was neil durgan, however shabby his clothes and empty his pocket; and he felt afresh the responsibility and self-confidence which an honorable ancestry and personal sacrifice have power to give. the interview with the magistrate was a short one. the trial of the two negroes was put off because the mulatto had asked for ten days in which to obtain money and advice from his friends in the north. a few days before durgan would have been enraged at the delay on adam's account; now he was only too thankful. he took his resolution, and obtained leave to visit both prisoners. the prison was a square house, differing from others only in having bars in the windows and standing nakedly to the street without fence or garden. outside and in it was dirty and slovenly. adam's cell was in bright contrast, well furnished, clean and neat as its inmate. adam's skin shone with soap; his shirt was spotless; he sat on a rocking-chair, large-print bible in hand; and when durgan came he wept. "there, there," said durgan, patting him. "reckon you'd better cheer up. the folks all speak well of you, you big nigger." the jailer stood in the doorway grinning with delight at the novel juxtaposition of a good prisoner and a local hero. "oh, adam," went on durgan, "you look like a man in a tract. i'm proud of you, adam. how's this for a good durgan nigger?" he asked, turning to the hard-featured jailer. the excellence of adam's behavior, which might have been art, had evidently been accepted as artless; for the callous and indolent authorities knew well enough the broad difference between good and bad in the unsophisticated blacks. "adam--he does you credit, mr. durgan, sir," said the jailer. "reckon hilyard always had a good word for your pa's niggers, sir. adam--he's all right. general durgan blount said as how you said he was to have his comforts." when durgan stepped again into the dirty passage way, and recalled the turnkey to open the mulatto's cell, all the easy, brutal injustice of it weighed upon his sense of honor; he felt ashamed for his country. 'dolphus, backed by no local influence, too weak to wash his cell, was confined amid dirt and vermin. the crusted window-glass let in little light. the wretch sat on the edge of a straw bed, almost his only furniture, his silken hair long and matted, his smart clothes crushed, his linen filthy. durgan was shocked; in such case it was but evident that his disease, already advanced, would make rapid progress. it was with a new sensation of pity that he took the chair that the jailer thrust in before he withdrew. "have you no money to get yourself comforts?" durgan asked. "yes, sir. miss--that lady, you know, sir--has given me as much as i can spend on food and drink. i ain't got much appetite, sir." he seemed entirely frank as to miss claxton's kindness. "i have come to see if i can do anything for you." "i thought, sir, you was only the friend of your own niggers like adam." "whom did your father belong to?" "general courthope, of louisiana. no, sir, he isn't dead; but my father ran away when the 'mancipation came, and left the ole gen'ral, and pulled up in new york; so the fam'ly might as well be dead for all they'll do for me." "have you no folks?" "not now, sir. i got called for up north, for something i hadn't done; so i had to lie low, and lost any folks i had. but there's one gen'leman i've written to; he'll play up to get me out of this." a curious look came over the face of the speaker. he chuckled. durgan felt puzzled at the look and the laugh. "are you sure he got the letter?" 'dolphus pulled a well-worn bit of paper out of his pocket. it was a telegram dated only a few days before. he regarded it with an intense expression which might have been hatred, and after gloating over it for a few moments, he showed it to durgan. it was dated, "corner of beard and th street." it said only, "received letter; you may depend on me." it was signed "b. d." it had been handed in at a new york office two days before. "and if this friend should fail you?" "he says, sir, that i can depend upon him; an' i wrote to him that if he didn't come up to the scratch he could depend on me." another chuckle ended this speech. "oh, i see; you have some threat to hold over his head." 'dolphus did not answer. durgan, looking at the lustrous eyes and clever, sickly face, became exceedingly interested in the object of his contemplation. how strange to sit thus face to face, with perhaps nothing between him and the claxton secret but this dying mulatto's flimsy will, and yet go away unsatisfied. almost in spite of himself, he bent forward and said, "you were in a certain house when a murder was committed. i do not believe you guilty or wish to harm you, but i believe you know who _is_ guilty." a look of caution came over the other's face; he listened and looked intently. "look here, sir; i wasn't never at no house where there was such things done. i wasn't never at no place such as you say." durgan had no argument to meet this obvious lie. he could not quote his authority. he was, however, more interested than angry, because the prisoner was so evidently enjoying the momentous question raised, and with lips parted, sat expectant, as if he did not intend his denial to be believed. "i only desire to see justice done," said durgan coldly. 'dolphus looked at him with eyes half-shut, and, to durgan's astonishment, a sensation of fear found room in his consciousness. "are you sure of that, sir?" "of what?" "that you'd like to see justice done--all round, sir?" "justice--yes. and what else could i desire but justice?" then he added, hardly knowing why, "but unless you have evidence, no one will believe anything you choose to say." 'dolphus chuckled aloud. "i've got evidence all right enough, sir; an' i know where one witness is to be found--a truthful lady, sir, who is so queer made that she'd die rather than hurt a gen'leman she cared for, sir; but she'd sooner hurt him than swear what was false. i'm agoin' to clear her in spite of herself." "do you wish to hurt this good lady by making her real name known here, where she wishes it to be concealed?" "look you here, sir. you're a mighty fine gen'leman; i'm a poor yaller nigger; you wouldn't trust me with a ten-cent bit. well, sir, one of us has got to give a good deal to save that lady. which 'ull it be, sir?" durgan received this astonishing challenge in amazement. he began to believe the fellow was in terrible earnest under his mocking tone and light manner. he was too proud to answer. "look here, sir; you can go an' tell that pious little lady i won't harm her--not if i die for it; but i ain't goin' to die till i've done better than that. i'm turnin' ill now, sir. you'd better send for the man outside to bring me something to drink. i'll pay him, sir." he actually refused the greenbacks his visitor offered. before durgan had summoned the turnkey, 'dolphus had curled himself up on the pallet in all the appearance of a swoon. durgan went to the "hotel" where he had left his horse. it was a wooden house with scanty furniture, all its many doors and windows open to the street. two old women sat in one doorway, ceaselessly rubbing their gums with snuff--a local vice. three rickety children were playing in the barroom. the landlord was exercising his thoroughbred horses in the yard. the horses were beautiful creatures, neither rickety nor vicious. a valuable microscope and a case of surgical instruments stood on a table, surrounded by the ash of cigars. they were the property of the country doctor, a noted surgeon, who was satisfied to make his home in this fantastic inn. the wife of the hotel-keeper, who always wore a blue sun-bonnet whether in or out of the house, brought durgan a glass of the worst beer he had ever tasted, and delicious gingerbread hot from the oven. when durgan had found the doctor and made sure that he would go at once and better the mulatto's condition, he set out on his homeward journey. he had said to the medical man, "whatever happens, you must not let the fellow die till i come back." the answer had been, "i won't do that." chapter xxiv the woman with a secret durgan had ridden down the hills in rather leisurely fashion; now he urged his horse to speed. he had come uncertain how to meet the issue of the day; now he was eager to forestall the issue of the next. he had brought from his interview with the dying prisoner a strong impression that the poor fellow had more mind and purpose than he had supposed, and that he certainly had some scheme on hand from the development of which he expected excitement and some lively satisfaction. the hints thrown out sounded madder than the supposed raving of his last night of freedom. he had control over some unknown person, or persons, of wealth in new york, who would send to save him, and he would sacrifice something--perhaps his salvation--to miss claxton; further, he threatened durgan with discomfiture. what could seem more mad than all this? but to-day durgan was not at all sure that the poor creature did not mean all he said and could not do all he promised. the development of the mulatto's purpose might be left to time, but durgan's purpose was to follow up the clues he had obtained, and two facts had to be dealt with now. 'dolphus had freely expressed the belief that miss claxton had shielded an unknown criminal of the male sex whom she loved. durgan had been so astonished, and even shocked, at hearing his own bold surmise so quickly and fully corroborated, that he knew now for the first time how little confidence he had had in his own detective powers. further, it was probably this guilty person over whom 'dolphus had power. he was rich, and could not be unknown; he was within reach, for he had recently telegraphed, and the address given must be meant to find him. durgan felt that it would be criminal to lose a moment in putting this clue in alden's hand. bertha had desired that alden should be left in ignorance of the mulatto's identity because she feared it might lead to her sister's condemnation; now that 'dolphus himself had implied that he could clear the sister's reputation, bertha could not, must not, hesitate. miss claxton's desire to hide from alden who the mulatto was and what he knew must be part of her desire to hide the miscreant; but with time, durgan was ready to believe, this desire must have lessened or almost failed, as love must have cooled. in any case, miss claxton held all her desires as subordinate to the will of god; persuasion, reason, pressure, must move her. durgan urged on his horse. all the way home he passed over shady roads flecked with pink sunlight. the heaviest foliage of summer mantled the valleys. the birds were almost still, resting in the deep shadows of the mature season. when durgan was almost within hearing of the waterfall and the hum of the saw-mill at deer cove, he met three riders. mr. alden and bertha, in company with young blount, were descending for a gallop in the cool of the evening. they all stopped to say they had heard by post that the trial was deferred, and to inquire after adam's welfare. durgan could reply cheerfully as to adam, that he was spending his time in ablutions and pious exercises, and that the authorities were bent upon having him acquitted. "reckon they are," said young blount. "my father saw to that when he went over." durgan saw that neither bertha nor mr. alden would ask about the other prisoner in his cousin's presence. he said in a casual tone, "the yellow fellow seems assured that he will have money and influence behind him, too, by next week." "yes," cried blount, interested always in minutiæ, "he sent a letter and received a telegram." durgan rode on. he must wait now an hour or two for an opportunity to speak to alden or bertha, and he began to wonder whether it would not be more honorable to approach miss claxton direct, confess what he had chanced to see of her secret actions, and tell her frankly what the mulatto had let fall that day. his borrowed horse had been offered the hospitality of her stable for the night, so he must, perforce, reach the summit. the horse rubbed down and fed in the spacious stable, durgan sought the front of the low house, now richly decorated by the scarlet trumpet-flower, which had conquered the other creepers of earlier summer, and had thrown out its triumphal flag from the very chimneys. he found the lady, as he had expected, sitting quietly busy at some woman's work in the front porch. the house mastiff lay at her feet, and round the corner came the low, sweet song of the colored maid who had taken eve's place in the kitchen. the rich crimson plant called "love-lies-bleeding," now in full flower, trailed its tassels on the earth on either side of the low doorway. it seemed, indeed, a fit emblem of the tragedy of the life beside it. miss claxton welcomed durgan with her usual self-effacing gentleness. "bertha and mr. alden have ridden out with mr. blount. thought likely you would have met them." durgan's avowal of the meeting caused her to expect an explanation of his visit; but for some minutes he dallied, glad to rest in her gentle presence, and feeling now the extreme difficulty of saying things he thought it only honorable to say. he had hitherto blamed bertha and alden for not addressing themselves to miss claxton more openly. he now realized to what degree she had the power which many of the meekest people possess, of hiding from the strife of tongues behind their own gentle, inapproachable dignity. durgan rested in pacific mood while she uttered gentle words of sympathy for his fatigue, and fell into a muse of astonishment that she should be the center of such pressing and tragic interests. so strong was his silent thought that it would have forced him into questions had she been less strong. he longed to ask, "why do you assume that this 'dolphus will not expose the criminal you have suffered so much to hide?" instead, he only began to describe his visits to the prisoners, taking adam first, and coming naturally to 'dolphus. "it was real kind of you, mr. durgan, to see after him; and it was very mean of the jail folks not to wash up for him. he had money to pay them." "the doctor will make them stand round. but i wanted to tell you that i have been wondering upon what or whom 'dolphus relies for his defence. adam has such a strong backing, there seems to be no doubt of his acquittal. i did not know this till i went to-day, or how little difference the emancipation has really made as to the justice or injustice meted out to niggers. i supposed--i have been absent since the close of the war--that the evidence given at the trial would be all-important. now i think the conclusion is foregone; judge and jury, whoever the jurors may be, have already fallen into the belief that i and my cousins have insisted on." she had dropped her work; she was absorbed in his every word. "it's a bad principle, of course," she said; "but as to adam, it is working out all right. i suppose--i suppose, mr. durgan, that 'dolphus did kill poor eve? i'd feel pretty mean if he's being punished for nothing." "i believe he did; but i have no proof." "i don't mind telling you, mr. durgan, that i got mr. alden to get a lawyer--quite privately, of course--to offer his services to 'dolphus--to tell him we would pay the costs, because adam and eve were our 'help,' and of course we wanted to see only justice done. 'dolphus wouldn't accept it. he refused; we don't know why. he told the lawyer he knew 'a game worth two of that.' of course, if there is miscarriage of justice, we can't feel quite so badly as if we hadn't made the offer." "what do you think he meant by 'knowing a better game'?" "it wasn't just fooling, was it, mr. durgan?" underneath her quiet there was now a tremulous eagerness; her faded eyes looked to his with sorrowful appeal. "no; after seeing him to-day, i am inclined to think more of him than i did; but i think he's up to tricks of some sort. may i tell you what he said to me, miss claxton?" "i'm just praying to the lord all the time, mr. durgan, and trying to leave it all in his hands. he won't let us suffer more than is right; and i hope he'll give us grace to bear what he sends, if it isn't the full deliverance i pray for." durgan was nonplused. "do you mean to say you would rather not hear what the man said? because i must tell alden, and as it concerns you most, i thought----" "yes, i guess perhaps i ought to hear it. and if you tell me you don't need to tell mr. alden, because i know better than you what he ought to hear--that is, if it concerns me." this seemed a simple and self-evident view of the case; durgan hardly knew how he could have thought of interfering. nor did he find it at all easy to put significance into the prisoner's words apart from his own foreknowledge and prejudgment of the case. "'dolphus suggested to me that i would not wish to see justice done in--to say the truth--in your own case, miss claxton. he challenged me, asking if i were willing to make a sacrifice to prove your innocence." she looked at him straight. her eyes were not faded now; he was amazed at the flash and flush of energy and youth he had brought to her face. he thought he had never in his life seen so honest, so spiritual a face as that which confronted him; but whether her present expression was one of astonishment or dismay he could not tell. "you could not have expected him to speak on this subject; and you never had any connection with our trouble? what more did he say?" "he never really mentioned your name; i only assumed that his reference was to you. he said that he knew a lady who would die to save a--well, he _said_, a gentleman she loved, but would let even _him_ die rather than swear falsely." she never flinched. "was that all?" she asked. but durgan was already cut with remorse to think how impertinent his words must sound. "no, that was not all. he asked me to give you a message, to tell you that he would not harm you--that he would rather die than harm you. this was in answer to my suggestion that you would not wish your real name to be known in these parts." she looked relieved. "i have always believed that he had more good in him than you thought. but tell me all. i'd liefer hear every word, if you please." "i hope i remember all that he said. i think that was all that i took to be a direct reference to you, miss claxton; but what i thought most needful to tell alden----" "yes?" the little word pulsed with restrained excitement. "i asked the fellow on what defence he relied, and he said what made me think he had the pull of some threat over the person he relied on. he had had a telegram." "i don't exactly understand, mr. durgan." "neither do i, i assure you." "but i mean, what has that to do with mr. alden?" "oh, i think i assumed that 'dolphus believed this person to be the criminal, and his address was on the telegram." "may i ask why you made this assumption?" "it may have been unwarranted, but taken in connection with his boast that he could establish your entire freedom from blame----" durgan was floundering in his effort to find words for the very painful subject. he paused, with face red and dew on his brow. "i guess, mr. durgan, if you'll speak quite plainly what you mean, it will be better for us both." "why do you include me? do you know why this boy threatens me, reproaches me, challenges me?" "tell me first, mr. durgan, what you made out, and what you think this telegram has to do with it?" "to be plain, i suspect that this man knows who was guilty of the crime for which you were tried, that he is now in communication with him, and i saw an address in the telegram he had received." "what was the address?" "'corner of beard and th street,' and it was signed 'b. d.'" he told her its contents. she went into the house and brought out a new york directory a year or two old. "i guess there isn't any such corner," she said, and in a moment she showed him there was not. "do you know of anyone who has these initials?" "i do not." "if alden sent a detective to the office where it was received, i wonder if he could find out who sent it?" "is it likely that if anyone took the trouble to give a wrong address, they would leave any clew to their whereabouts?" "could 'dolphus give alden any information of moment?" "he could give him none that would do anyone any good." "might that not be a matter of opinion?" "i don't see that folks who don't know what they are doing can have a right to an opinion about the results." there was then a silence. the sun had long set on the valley, but from this eminence its last rays were still seen mingling with a foam of crimson cloud in a vista of the western hills. both the man and the woman had their faces turned to the great red cloud-flower in which the light of day was declining. the mountains were solemn and tender; the valleys dim and wide. it was not a scene on which the sober mind could gaze without gaining for the hour some reflection of the greatness and earnestness of god. but the world about could only be environment to their thought, not for a moment its object. durgan was roused in spirit. the quiescent temper which he had sought to obtain in compensation for a stormy and disappointed youth was lost for the time. this woman, who bore the odium of a cruel and dastardly deed, was still intent on shielding the real doer. durgan looked at the splendid arena of the mountains and the manifest struggle of light and darkness therein; the many tracks of suspicion in which his thoughts had all day been moving gathered together. "miss claxton, are you willing to tell me all you know about charlton beardsley?" she looked at him for a moment as if trying to read his thoughts, then looked back at the outer world, as if moved by his question only to profound and regretful reverie. "about charlton beardsley i know very little," she said, in a voice touched as with compassion; "very, very little, mr. durgan; but i had once occasion to ask your wife something about him, and she told me, i believe truly, that he had been brought up, an orphan, in an english charity school, that he had no relatives that he knew of and no near friends. that was all she could tell me. he was by taste a somewhat solitary mystic, i believe, only sought after by those who had discovered his delusions and wished to be deluded by them. you see, i can easily tell you all i know; it is not much." durgan sat watching her, too entirely amazed at both words and manner to find speech. just so a good woman, treading the violets of some neglected graveyard, might speak of the innocent dead who lay beneath. there was silence. miss claxton said, "i always like the time just after the sun goes down, mr. durgan; i have a fancy it is the time one feels nearest god. i suppose it's only fancy, but it does say in genesis, you know, that god walked in the garden in the cool of the day." then, as darkness grew, and finding that he made no response, she exerted herself and rose to light the lamp. in the full light she faced him. "mr. durgan, i don't wonder you feel the responsibility of the suspicions the negro has put into your mind. i don't blame you, and it's only natural he should like the excitement of talking. it would not be right for me to tell you exactly what i believe he was referring to; but there are some things i can tell you, and i can only pray god to help you believe what i say. i believe it was your wife who sent that telegram; it was, at least, paid for with her money, and it will be her money that will be used freely to get 'dolphus acquitted. if you pursue the suspicions he has started for you, i don't believe you will make any discovery. but even if you did, what would happen? you would drag your wife's name in the mire; you would"--she paused, and tried to steady her voice. "oh, mr. durgan, think of bertha; you would break bertha's heart and mine. you think you understand justice, and that there is someone whom you ought to bring to justice. justice belongs to god. he alone can mete it out in this world so as to save the soul that has sinned. are you afraid to leave it to him? i am not. i have left it to him for five years, and i am not sorry, but glad. and i entreat you to consider that if you interfere you don't know what you are doing; you may make the worst mistakes. 'dolphus thinks he knows the name of the person who should be brought to justice; i assure you he does not. i spoke to him on the night eve died, and found out that he did not. believe me, mr. durgan, i am making no romantic and fantastic sacrifice of myself, as this negro supposes. the truth, were it made public, would be the worst thing for me, as for bertha, and would bring yourself shame and pain. and it could never be the real, whole truth, for that you could not understand, nor could anyone. i hear their horses on the hill. please go. do not let them find you here, as if you had had news of some strange thing. you know nothing, for the thing you think you know is not true. do nothing, for fear you do harm. you cannot do any good." "but how can you be sure this sick man will not do the thing you dread?" "i begged him not to do anything, just as i've begged you. i don't think, anyway, that he will get the chance he reckons on. if he did, i think that when he has to choose between accepting the help that will get him acquitted, if anything will, of the present charge against him, and, as he thinks, righting me, the love of life will be too strong. he will not die on my behalf, even though his intentions are good, as i believe yours are, mr. durgan." durgan had turned to the door the moment she had asked him to go. he was tarrying on the threshold to ask his last question, to hear her response. when he heard himself, with no unkind intent, naturally linked with the wretched mulatto, his pace was accelerated. with a word of farewell he disappeared into the dusk, hearing the horses arrive at the stables as he went his fugitive way down the familiar trail. chapter xxv lost in the maze durgan had still one strong emotion regarding his wife; he was able to feel overwhelming shame on her account, and he dreaded any publicity concerning her behavior. she had always lived so as to command the consent of good society to her doings. he had perfectly trusted her social instinct to do this as long as it lay in her power to tell her own story; but he knew, with a sense of bitter degradation, that if someone else had need to tell that story, it would sound very different. his wife was the daughter of an uneducated hotel-keeper, and had married him, as he afterward discovered, because he had the entrance into certain drawing-rooms and clubs, which, if skilfully used, might have proved the stepping-stone to almost any social eminence. at the time of her marriage she had professed passionate love for him and sympathy for the southern cause; and her fortune, not small, was naturally to be used in the difficult task of making part of his paternal acres productive by the paid labor of the negroes reared and trained by his father, and justly dear to the son. disconsolate at the loss of friends and fortune--for all near to him had died in the war, of wounds or sorrow--durgan repaid the love and sympathy of one who seemed a warm-hearted and impulsive woman with tender gratitude. a little later, when the wife found out that durgan would not push himself into the fashionable _milieu_ which was open to him in europe and america, he began to discover, tho slowly, that she would not bestow affection or time upon any less fashionable pursuit. she needed her whole fortune for the social adventures that she must make alone; and as he would not open the door of southern pride for her, she fell to knocking at the door of northern pride for herself. no doubt providence has a good reason for making men before marriage blind to female character, but it was many years before durgan bowed to the fate to which defect, not fault, had brought him. too proud to accept any bounty from such a wife, he had sullenly shielded her from remark till she reached a position of middle-class fashion in which she could stand alone. having attempted, in the meantime, to increase by speculation the small patrimony left him, and losing much, he had retired from the scene of her struggles some six years before the present time, proudly thankful that any public reproach was directed only at himself. since then she had scaled social heights seemingly beyond her--he had often wondered how. that his wife was tricky and false, that the means she had used to cajole or overawe the society she was determined to conquer bore no necessary relation to the truth, he knew; but knowing her also to be clever and cold-hearted, he had not feared that she would so transgress any social law as to make her small or large meannesses known. but the most surprising thing in his wife's career since he left her was that she had not dropped the medium, beardsley, as soon as his health and popularity were lost. she had been wont to drop all her instruments as soon as their use was over, and most of them had more attractions than he. the man had been poor, plebeian, and sickly; and durgan, who had never suspected love as the cause of the odd relationship, had now some cause to suppose it rooted in the unspeakable shame of the worst of crimes. in what possible way this had come about he could not even begin to imagine, but he continued to consider his maturing suspicion in growing consternation. if miss claxton had not told him the truth, she was a more finished actress than the world had yet seen. if what she said of his wife were true, the mulatto's words were corroborated--his wife was nearly connected with this awful crime. in durgan's mind the telegraphic address--evidently suggestive to miss claxton--had at last become significant. "beard" suggested beardsley; " " was the date of the claxton murder; "b" might possibly stand for beardsley, and "d" for his wife. then the help promised evidently involved his wife's purse. beardsley had nothing. if this beardsley was guilty, he must be a most extraordinary man. it was clear that if it was he whom hermione claxton was shielding, she was as much determined to keep his secret to-day as at first. she could not speak of him save in tones of sorrow and tenderness. for him, too, the wife whom durgan knew to be cold and ambitious had apparently ventured all. the extraordinary nature of a man who could on short acquaintance so deeply involve two such different women, gave durgan so much room for astonished thought that some other things miss claxton had said for the time escaped his memory. his strongest impulse after the last interview was to take miss claxton at her word and make no further move in the matter--at least, not now and on her account. ultimately he must find out if his wife was in any plot to conceal a criminal, and if so, put a stop to her connivance. at present he had certainly no desire to make such action on his wife's part public, or break bertha's heart by filling the air with a public scandal in which her sister's name would be linked with a lover who was a common charlatan and brutal criminal. if for this man's sake hermione had left her father's death unavenged and ruined her sister's life, bertha's wrath and sorrow might well be a thing to dread, and such knowledge a disaster that might well crush her. the mulatto might work to bring truth to light; he must work alone. but at this point durgan again shifted his ground of suspicion; for he still believed in hermione claxton's singular purity of mind and gentleness of disposition, and in his wife's callousness and shrewd selfishness. was it possible that beardsley had some mysterious power over both women such as a magician or modern hypnotist is said to use? but then, was not such influence in such a man too strange to be possible, too like a cheap novel to be true? a terrible thought struck cold at durgan's heart; the man, as he knew him, was more likely to be a cat's-paw than the mover in any momentous deed. the surprise of ascertaining that his wife had had some connection with the claxtons forced him to realize how little he knew about her life, how totally ignorant he was as to any cause she might have to hate mr. and mrs. claxton. his heart failed him. he drew in his breath in quick terror, trying to persuade himself that he could not have arrived at the bottom of a secret over which alden had brooded so long in vain. "well, i understand that your visit to hilyard was most satisfactory. you are assured of your good adam's safety; and i find the mulatto sent a message to our friends that he would not drag their name into the business. so far so good. do you suppose that the money and advice he expects to receive are all in the air, or how?" alden, dandified and chirpy, his little gray beard wagging in the morning sunlight, was standing on the mountain road. there was a sharpness as of autumn in the sunshine, which made the new yorker fresh. durgan, who had taken to his pick and spade very early that morning, already warm, dirty, and tired, looked like some grim demiurge. called from his work to this colloquy, he was not in good humor. "these fellows are always boasting," continued alden. "the peculiarity in this case is that he would not take the cost of his own defence from us." "and _i_ offered him what i had in my pocket. he would not look at it," said durgan, dully. "odd." "do you think so?" "well, of course, when a flimsy, tawdry creature of that sort refuses a bird in the hand, one wonders what he sees in the bush, especially when, as in this case, the bird in the hand could hardly prevent his robbing the bush also." "i reckon it's beyond me," said durgan, stupidly. alden's simile reminded him afresh of the hole in the forked tree, which had not ceased to haunt his mind. "you have a headache this morning, my dear sir." "thanks; i'm all right." a boy, a slovenly country lout, came up the hill. he was whistling a merry air attuned to the snap of the morning. he was looking about him in the trees for birds and squirrels. his hands hung in the delicious idleness of his pockets. there was a spring in his legs to match his tone. durgan envied him unfeignedly. he thought of his own gallant, cheerful purpose of the day before, and wished that he dare form any fresh resolve. alden was evidently alarmed by what he had heard. "as you know, being widely known as counsel for the claxtons, i preferred not to appear to take any interest in this prisoner. a possible inference might have been drawn by someone. we of the law, my dear sir----" durgan perceived that it would be a vast relief to his conscience if alden could visit 'dolphus himself. "they are lax," continued alden; "there would be no difficulty in my seeing the man." "why do you want to see him?" "i hear he wrote to new york and got a telegram back. he may, for all we know, be a member of a gang of thieves or blackmailers. they may bribe judge and jury with a thousand dollars if he threatens to round on them. a little money would go a long way in hilyard. then, if it is proved, so to say, that both prisoners are innocent, the authorities might arrest someone else." "me, for instance? i was there." "probably not you!" then after a pause he added, "miss claxton is disposed to think that we have done all we can honestly do, and must now leave the matter in the hand of providence; but, under providence, i myself feel that i am responsible for leaving no effort untried to gain further light as to the basis of this fellow's hopes." the boy, bobbing his head, explained to durgan that he had been sent to fetch the borrowed horse. when he had gone on, durgan said, "'dolphus may die before anything happens; that would be the simplest solution, perhaps." he remembered how yesterday it had seemed all-important to extract all the knowledge this man had before life went from him. "ah; you spoke to the doctor, i hear. it is always right, in any case, to preserve life as long as possible." durgan looked toward his mine. the triteness to which the dialog had descended was the more irksome because he suspected that alden read beneath his own sudden dullness and inertia. "when the boy brings along the horse you can ride it as far as my cousins'. he will find you a buggy, and will give you a letter which will open things at hilyard without giving much publicity to your name and position. but you, of course, can best judge whether it's worth while to go." "miss claxton has seemed averse to my going," said alden; and because durgan made no answer to this, he sat down on a rock, with brows knit, and determined to go. some twenty minutes later durgan was called again into the road. the lout of a boy refused to give alden the horse. he said very little; he even blubbered; but he hung on to the bridle and tried to pass. it was soon discovered that he had been commissioned by miss claxton to take a telegram to hilyard, for which service he had been promised excessive pay. wrath rose in durgan. "fool that i was to warn her," he thought. "she has wired to the man she shields to be on his guard." at that moment his wife's welfare was not in his thought, and he felt he would rather have suffered the last penalty of crime himself than allow this coil of secrets to exist longer. he inwardly cursed all women, and was very sorry for alden. alden, meanwhile, unconscious of need for passion, was explaining that he knew what the telegram must be, as he had heard miss claxton mention that some supplies on which she was depending were delayed. as he was going he would assume the responsibility of sending it. he would pay the boy. durgan was afraid to speak. he picked up the boy, took a letter addressed to the telegraph clerk out of his pocket, and sent him running down the road at a forced pace. he put the sealed message in alden's hands, and returned to his work before a word could escape his lips. as he toiled all day with spade and mattock, he wondered incessantly whether or not alden would open the message to see it correctly transmitted. when the long work-day had calmed his pulse he was still too impatient to await alden's time; sauntered down the hill, and finally reached deer cove. there he saw alden looking very tired and haggard, but in no haste to return. the saw-mill was silent for the night. the quiet plash of the water over the dam made a pleasing accompaniment to a banjo played by a negro. the musician sat on the steps of the general store and post-office; he wore a red handkerchief on his head. some of his kind were dancing in leisurely burlesque in an open space between the steps and the mill-race. a circle of white men looked on, exchanging foolish jokes and puffing strong tobacco. many a bright necktie or broad-brimmed hat gave picturesqueness to the group. the quiet of the sylvan evening was over and around them all. alden, standing on the verandah of the post-office, looking upon this scene as if he were an habitual lounger, struck durgan as presenting one of the saddest figures he had ever seen. no sign that could be controlled of any grief was there; but the incongruity between what the man was doing, and what in a better state of mind he would have liked to do, seemed to betoken a depression so deep that normal action was inhibited for the time. durgan thought one of the blounts was perhaps with alden. he accordingly went straight inside the store; but the place was empty. no one of gentle birth was to be seen near or far. when he came out on the verandah alden explained that he had insisted on leaving the trap at the blounts' and walking. "i was stiff with the drive and felt the walk would do me good. you found me resting by the way." durgan remarked that there was nothing like a leisurely walk when cramped with sitting long. after a while the two were beginning the ascent of deer together, still uttering trivial words. chapter xxvi a tortured conscience "did you see the prisoners?" asked durgan. he assumed that alden would visit adam as a blind. "ah--i saw the doctor. it occurred to me to see him first." "how long will 'dolphus live?" asked durgan, eagerly. again he felt that he could not let this man die without extracting whatever clue he held. "impossible to make any forecast. the doctor has had the glass removed from his window--in short, the proper steps are being taken. absolute quiet is ordered." "then you _could_ not see him?" "no." after a minute alden sat down wearily on a fallen tree. the wood was close upon them on all sides. the crescent moon, like a golden boat sailing westward, was seen through chinks in the leafy roof. "i sent him a message to say that if there was anything he wished done, he might trust me to do it. i made sure that the doctor, honest man, would impress on him the fact that i, too, am honest." "that doctor _is_ a man to be relied on. it's wonderful how one comes across an honest man once in a while." "mr. durgan, when i first related to you my clients' unfortunate story, you were kind enough to express your faith and reverence for such a woman as miss claxton, and your willingness to serve her. i felt very grateful to you. i should like to speak to you in confidence, and take counsel with you now." durgan sat still, suspecting that he might be subjected to the subtle cross-questioning for which alden was celebrated. alden continued: "i naturally asked the clerk to read miss claxton's telegrams to see if he understood them. there are so often errors of transcription." "there were two, then?" "one was, as i had supposed, about the supplies. i did not send the other. it is about that i wish to consult you. the address of mrs. durgan is----?" durgan gave a number on fifth avenue. "i supposed as much. the message was addressed quite openly to charlton beardsley at that address. it said, 'lost article being traced. reward likely to be claimed.' it was not signed. why is this man kept under your wife's roof?" "as a sort of adviser in occult matters--as one might say, a spiritual director." "there is only one reward with which the claxtons have any interest. that is offered for information concerning the murderer." "i thought it was offered for the missing boy." "it's all the same. whoever can be proved to have been in the house at the time, having hidden himself afterwards, must have been in some way concerned with the murder. the laws of chance preclude the idea of there being two mysteries in one house at one time. i now ask you, would you have advised me to send this telegram without further information? it goes to a house over which you have at least some legal control." durgan perceived that it was any information he might possess, rather than advice, that alden really sought; but determined only to give advice. his thoughts and passions had been wavering this way and that for twenty-four hours; now he knew his mind, and answered alden's question. "it lies in a nutshell," said he. "are you able to trust miss claxton's goodness against all evidence to the contrary, or are you not? you have assured me that no one who knew her could mistrust her; and you, of all people, not only know her best, but, pardon me, love her. if you trust her you should have sent the telegram and asked no questions. if not, set your detectives to work, for i don't believe you will learn anything further from miss claxton." alden turned on him fiercely. "you know more than you say in this matter. you are trying to shield your wife." "as far as i know, my wife has done nothing wrong. as to miss claxton, i have known her only a few months, and that slightly. i see clearly, as you do, that facts point to some underhand dealing on her part. further, i have been taught from my childhood to distrust anyone who uses hackneyed religious phrases as she does. in spite of all this i believe in her. i cannot conceive of any circumstance that could justify her secrecy and double-dealing; but i believe there is a justification. is not that about what you feel, too?" "you speak somewhat evasively, mr. durgan. you can surely tell me more about your wife than about miss claxton. it was not until i read this message that i knew--what i never could have supposed--that any member of your household could be guilty of any connection with that crime. you must see that it now becomes my positive duty to make the strictest inquiry." "why--if miss claxton does not wish it? if she was, through your exertions, acquitted, she has, as you know, suffered the penalty of the crime ten times over. if she prefers to continue that pain and ignominy rather than allow you to again open the inquiry, what right have you, as her friend and agent, to reopen it?" "i owe a higher allegiance--to the law of my country, and the law of my god." "and when these laws conflict, i presume you would wish to obey the latter? my notion is that miss claxton's conduct indicates such a conflict." durgan's voice was still hard and cold. "i should need to be assured of such contradiction." "are you not willing to give her the benefit of the presumption?" there is not a man on earth who is content to be alone. durgan, recently horror-stricken at the thought of the part his wife might have played, realized how little reason he had to feel such blind confidence in anyone whom he had the right to love, and envied alden his opportunity for faith. nothing like starvation to give a man a clear sight of another's luxuries and corresponding duties. "in the war," he added, "we southerners had to learn to trust out and out whom we trusted at all." "that miss claxton is doing what she conceives to be right, i have no doubt," said alden, stiffly. even in the dim light there was a visible improvement of attitude; some heart for life appeared to return to him with this declaration, which a moment before would have been a lie. durgan could almost have laughed out in irony. "what she supposes to be right," repeated the reviving lover, "but i cannot approve." "she is a reasonable woman; you ought to trust her reason. as you don't know what she is doing, you don't know whether you approve or not." "_you_ know what she is doing, mr. durgan. you have information from mrs. durgan or beardsley that i have not." "no; if my wife is in it, i have been as completely hoodwinked as you. i cannot even yet imagine how my wife could be inculpated in any way. and this beardsley--i know nothing more of him than i told you; and the only explanation i can suggest as to the message you hold is merely the crudest imagination: supposing him to be the guilty person, miss claxton must have been in love with him to shield him as she did--as she does. you cannot wish that made public." alden rose up, his back stiff with indignation. "sir! that is at least a contingency which is entirely impossible. are you aware that, before her father's death, hermione claxton had consented to marry me? we were about to make the engagement public. i had asked mr. claxton to accord me an interview. he was a confirmed hypochondriac; it was difficult to see him. i was waiting his pleasure when the tragedy----. ah! it is impossible to explain how this tragedy has wrecked our lives, for, with an unparalleled strength of will and sensitive honor, miss claxton at once, and ever since, has refused to link her name with mine. but one thing, at least, this relation gives me reason to assure you: before this crime miss claxton had not a serious thought that she did not confide to me. there was no one on earth that she would wish to shield in the way you suggest; i know there was not. her father, and her anxiety concerning the state of irreligion in which he lived; her sister, whom she loved with a mother's love; her mission work, which with her was done as under a direct command from our lord--these, and the friendship she felt for my unworthy self, made up her life. i am certain of that, sir. as for this beardsley, she not only despised him as a common impostor, but she abhorred him for the hold he had over her father." "your view, then, coincides with that of her sister," durgan pondered, as he spoke. the lawyer's eyelids flickered at this use of bertha's name. "so," continued durgan, "to come to the point; what do you suppose this intercepted message means?" "the mulatto, you tell me, expected a large sum of money to be expended on his defence. our first supposition to account for this was that he might be one of a gang, and his fellows would buy him off. i judge now, rather, that he must have information that would enable him to claim the reward in the claxton case. it must have been the possession of this information that brought him round this neighborhood. this telegram seems to show that what you told miss claxton yesterday led her to believe he was about to claim it. as i read it, she wishes, through beardsley, to warn someone on whom she believes the suspicion likely to fall." "but you say there can be no one whom miss claxton would wish to shield." the lawyer's whole manner faltered. "i could not have believed it," he said. "i may say i cannot believe it now." "my suspicions center on beardsley himself," durgan said, "and i cannot understand why, at the time of the trial, the clue afforded by the note brought by the missing boy was not closely followed up. beardsley, i happen to know, was seriously ill shortly after the crime, for he was at my wife's house; but, as he sent the boy, he must have been able to give some suggestion as to where he came from or went to. i cannot understand when you sought for the boy why he was not cross-questioned." alden got up, and they began to ascend the road. "i am interested in the result of any mature reflection of yours, mr. durgan. i notice that your observations are astute." he walked, his head slightly bent, in an attitude of attention. "i can't understand," said durgan, "why it was assumed at the trial that this note was merely a begging letter. my belief is that it gave a warning of someone's visit." alden put in: "it is true miss claxton said at the inquest that she had not seen its contents." durgan spoke with increasing eagerness. "but she said at the same time that she knew it came from charlton beardsley. her very words were, 'from that impostor beardsley.'" "your memory is evidently good. and this might have suggested to you, at any rate, that she could have no affection for beardsley. but i have been thinking that perhaps you are right; the clue of the note was not followed up as it ought to have been." "you must have seen beardsley. how did he convince you that he could throw no light on the whereabouts of the missing boy? what did he say was in the note?" durgan turned upon his companion almost angrily, and saw the little gray-haired man walking steadily on with abstracted mien. but there was a peculiar aspect of attention about his shoulders, his neck; it seemed to alter the very shape of his ears. durgan felt himself warned of some unseen pitfall. "you must consider my crude way of dealing with a problem to which you have brought your highly trained mind somewhat absurd," he said. "by no means. i am only surprised at your able handling of the matter, and--ah--a little surprised, perhaps, at some omissions which seem to have occurred in my conduct of the case. may i ask you, mr. durgan, if you have had any corroboration of the idea that this note came from beardsley, either from him or from your wife?" "no. certainly not. i only know what miss claxton said before the coroner." "miss claxton never gave that evidence. until you told me a moment ago i never heard the note came from beardsley. i am shocked and surprised." durgan started. "surely i am quoting the verbatim report." "i can see, mr. durgan, that you believe miss claxton did say this; and as it was not given publicly, someone must have told you in private. i will not ask you again the source of your information, which i now suppose to have been miss bertha." "i have made a mistake," said durgan. "but only in telling me what you would have withheld, and what, it would appear, those for whom i have done everything have long withheld--the one thing that it most behooved me to know." the lawyer stopped in his walk, and spoke, shaken with distress. "i will admit to you, mr. durgan, that for years i have been aware that my clients withheld something from me; i may say 'bitterly aware,' for, the trial being over, i could not with delicacy renew my questions. but i believed in their integrity, and have assured myself that their secret must be unimportant. you can estimate how acute is my present distress when i perceive that this concealment has covered what was the vital point, the clue to the murderer." "i had no intention of telling you anything they did not tell you, mr. alden. at the same time, no one would be more glad than myself if they could emerge from the shadow of this mystery. but i think, as i said to you at the beginning, that unless you obtain miss claxton's permission to act further, you ought to leave the matter in her hands. you must trust to her good sense and good feeling." durgan had paused at his own turning; alden went a few steps further and faced round, hat in hand. under the trees, in the glimmer of the summer night, his jaded attitude and unkempt hair were just seen and no more. he looked, indeed, like a storm-tossed soul, already in the shades of some nether world. even then he summoned up all that he might of his precise manner: "my dear sir--my dear sir! i have had more experience of such matters than you, and much more knowledge of this most distressing and mysterious case. i thank you for your advice. i thank you. i must act according to my own conscience." chapter xxvii a hound on the scent it was that season in the summer when, in regions remote from fields of harvest, time itself stands still. nothing is doing in the wild wood. each young thing is fledged and flown, or, strong in its coat of fur, is off and away; the flower of the season is passed, the berry hangs green on the bush. the panting trees of the valleys speak to the trees of the mountains, telling them, in hot, dry whispers, to look out for the autumn that comes from afar. only sometimes, in the morning on the hilltops, a courier comes from the season that tarries. with feet that trip on the nodding weeds, and a voice singing in the fluttering trees, and a smile that speaks in a bluer sky, the unseen courier of autumn comes and goes. the hearts of men and beasts are excited, they know not why, and the berry and the grape and the tender leaf turn red. such was the weather in which the time of waiting passed. within two days bertha passed down the road twice on village errands. her horse each time loitered as it passed the mine until durgan at last went out and walked a few steps by her bridle. he was afraid to talk with her lest he should say more, or less, or something quite different from what he would wish to say. but bertha would speak. "mr. durgan, are you still quite sure? i cannot tell you how you have lightened my heart, but i must hear it again. it came to you freshly the other night; after thinking it over, are you still quite sure?" "of what?" he asked. he could not think of anything connected with bertha's misfortunes of which he was sure at all. "that it could not have been as i thought--that my dear sister----" "your sister has no mental weakness; and she did not commit that crime," he said almost sharply. "if that is what you mean, i am as sure of it as that i stand here." "don't be angry with me. you speak so severely. but i can't tell you how i like to hear you say it." "it was a bugbear of your own imagination, and i feel angry with you when i think of it. and if you take my advice you will never, never, under any circumstances, let her, or anyone else, know that you thought such a thing." "i would rather tell her all about it sometime. she would forgive it." "i dare say she would." durgan spoke bitterly. "i don't know what forgiveness in such a case is; but no doubt, whatever it is, it would cost her more than you can conceive. she would give it to you; but you are a child if you think that she would ever recover from the wound of such knowledge. god may put such things right in the next life, but never in this. that, at least, is my opinion." "i am offended with you," she said. she was looking very well that day. her blue cotton riding-dress and blue sun-bonnet well displayed the warm color and youthful contour of her face. there was a peace in her eyes, too, that he had never seen there before. "i wanted to tell you something else, but you have made me angry." "forgive me, then. it is so easy." there was sarcasm in his voice. she thought for a few minutes, and seemed to forget her quarrel. "mr. alden went to hilyard, and he has come back without finding out anything about 'dolphus. i was so much afraid. i have asked hermie if we might not tell him just about 'dolphus; but she spoke to me so solemnly, so sadly, that now i only regret that i told _you_. i want to beg you never to repeat it. i don't understand hermie's motives, but i can't side against her." "what has alden been doing?" "he has been attending to business letters and papers. he is making this his holiday, but of course he has always a great deal of business on hand. he thinks a great deal over his writing. this morning he spent hours pacing in the pasture and sitting on the stile." "ah!" said durgan. "he actually came in with his necktie crooked, he was thinking so hard," continued bertha. "he is good, but i can't think why hermie cares for him so; he usually looks so like a doll." in a few minutes durgan dropped the bridle and turned back. his mind was uneasy. but the next afternoon bertha descended in a different mood. she had evidently been watching to see his negro laborers depart, for she stood on the rock ledge before they were out of sight. "you told him my secret. how could you? you promised at least not to tell until you had spoken to me. you never explained yesterday that you had told. oh, how he has turned against us! and you! there is no one in the world we can trust." durgan stood in awkward distress before her. his intention not to tell could not balance his stupidity in having betrayed anything. "i told you because you said you must know my story on adam's account, but you found adam's safety provided for; you said you must know lest you should do injustice to 'dolphus, but he will likely die before the trial comes on; and yet you have babbled to mr. alden, not being able to keep faith with a most unhappy woman for a few days. i was foolish, i was wrong, to tell you our secret; but you forced me to speak. oh, how could you call yourself a gentleman and betray me so?" she was very imperious, very handsome; but she was far too sad and frightened to be really angry. as he stood before her without a word, contrition written on his face, she took shelter in the threshold of his hut and, sitting by the open door, began to cry piteously, not with abandonment, but with the quietude of a real sorrow. she spoke again. "mr. alden is a hound, with his keen nose on a scent. he will not lift it off till his victim is at bay. when i said to hermie that mr. alden would not rest now till whoever did it was hanged, she fainted. she was so ill upstairs in our room that i was terrified, but she would not let mr. alden know." "yes, but _who_ is the victim?" she looked up suddenly. "he said you told him who it is; and that i had told you. hermie never betrayed any feeling when he told her--it was afterwards--but i know her heart is breaking." "i am at my wit's end," said durgan sadly. "he says hermie, my own hermie, has made every sacrifice to protect this charlton beardsley. it is not true. there was no one she despised and disliked so much. whatever else is or is not true, that is. do i not know? did i not see her even quarrel with our dear father about this man because he had pretended to give messages from mother?" at this recollection she wept again, her head in her hands. "my dear, dear father," she whispered. "oh, if he could come back to us! if he could only come back!" durgan stood helpless. that faculty by which words arise unbidden in the mind kept obstinately repeating in durgan's the name charlton beardsley, in that tone of almost tender compassion given to it by miss claxton when he last spoke to her. at last bertha rose to go. "there is no such thing as truth," she cried. "i was false to hermie in telling you what i did; you were false to me. mr. alden is a false friend to us all. there is no truth." durgan laid a detaining hand on her arm. "look up," he said. she looked up at the dogwood tree whose spring blossom had first cheered that rocky spot for durgan. across the unutterable brightness of the sky the tree held its horizontal sprays of golden leaves. the bluebird of the south, dashed with gloss of crimson and green, pecked at the scarlet berries. the tree glistened in the light of evening. above and beyond it the sky was radiant with the level light. "very probably there is no such thing as the truth you seek in this world," he said; "but there must be truth somewhere, or why should we all try to approximate to it, and feel so like whipped dogs when we have failed?" for two or three days after that durgan heard nothing, but alden came and went on the mountain road, and once again made the journey to hilyard. at last, one evening after dark, durgan received a message demanding his presence at the summit house. he went, and found the little family in some formal condition of distress--the elder lady sitting calm, but very sad, her usually busy hands idle in her lap; bertha, her face swollen with tears, sitting beside her sister in an attitude of defiant protection; alden moving restlessly about, his face blanched and haggard. the weather over all the mountain was still tense and dry. the cold had come without rain--a highly nervous condition for the human frame. it was only miss claxton who tried to make durgan's arrival more agreeable to him by a few words of ordinary conversation. then alden spoke. "i believe now that yours was the right suspicion, mr. durgan. miss claxton having declined to help me at all, i resolved to ask you to be present while i tell her exactly what i suspect with regard to charlton beardsley. i would not have miss claxton without a protector while i am obliged to say and do what she tells me will make me her worst enemy. if so, it must be so. i cannot be silent. i cannot be inactive. i cannot be responsible for a murderer's freedom. but i will do no more without giving you all fair warning. i believe your wife to be implicated. we are here agreed in desiring your presence." durgan looked at the women. how often had he seen them here in the mellow lamplight, at peace in this beautiful retreat. bertha looked up at him. "stay with us," said she. "you have done us an injury by betraying my confidence; now ward off the consequences if you can." miss claxton's gentle face was also upturned. "it is right that you should stay to know what accusation will be brought against your wife; but i do not need your protection." she looked towards alden when she had spoken, and durgan saw the little man quiver with distress. durgan sat down beside the sisters. chapter xxviii probing a deep wound alden began with a stiff, quaint bow to his little audience. it was easy to see that he had fallen into the mannerism of a court. "in making my statement it is not necessary for me to tell from what source i obtained any part of my information, or what is inference from information. i will say exactly what i now suppose to have happened upon the morning of the day on which mr. claxton was killed with unparalleled brutality, and his wife shot." durgan felt rebellion in its keenest form at this beginning, but sat in silence. when alden had once begun it was obvious that he felt the relief of open speech. he told in detail how he believed 'dolphus to have been sent to mr. claxton's with a note announcing beardsley's visit, which caused miss hermione to send the maids and miss bertha out of the house. "but how," asked alden, "did beardsley come to the house without observation? i have found again and again that the thing that is hardest to detect has been done in the simplest and most obvious way. negative evidence is often no evidence at all; and the thing done most openly more often escapes remark than an attempt at secrecy. in this case two neighbors saw the maids go out on their errand; one saw the dark-faced boy enter. she swore he was an italian music boy, while in fact he was a mulatto. the servant of a neighbor said she saw the boy leave the house again. they both agreed that he was long and lanky. everyone else in the neighborhood, with a chance of seeing, testified that no boy came or went. i believe that beardsley came, as the boy came, in an open way, and was admitted by miss hermione. again, one neighbor swears that she saw the two maids go down the street together; another, that only one went down alone while she was looking. cross-examined, she could not be sure whether the one maid she saw was the cook, or housemaid, or charwoman, but only that she came out of the claxton house. the other neighbors had not seen any woman leave the house. this shows what such evidence is worth. i believe beardsley left the house disguised in the clothes of the boy. the boy was almost grown, beardsley not large. no doubt, being in the habit of personating spirits and juggling, escape would be no difficulty to him. i am still unable to suggest any motive for the crime." alden paused. "go on." the words were spoken breathlessly by bertha. alden went on solemnly. "i think, hermione, you knew the boy's message to be from beardsley. you must have admitted beardsley to the house, hermione! in the night you helped the boy to escape. it is not possible that you did not know that beardsley had committed the crime. i am convinced that you helped him also to escape. one possible explanation of your action, and the subsequent concealment, is that he extracted some oath of secrecy which you wrongly considered binding." there was a breathless silence. "but i think you have too much good sense to consider such a compulsory promise binding. you have had another reason." there was still silence. "the fact that you did not denounce him points to the fact that you helped beardsley's escape. the fact that you sent the mulatto to mrs. durgan's address proves that you knew where beardsley had taken refuge. beardsley went to mrs. durgan's house, not to his former lodgings. she must have known that some disaster had happened if he returned in disguise; she must quickly have known from the papers the extent of his guilt. she certainly had him in her house ill a week after--really very ill, for mr. durgan, on one of his rare visits, found two hospital nurses attending him. it was said to be a severe case of pleurisy with complications; and he has been, or has pretended to be, more or less of an invalid ever since. but before his illness he acted his part well. he certainly held his séances regularly for a number of evenings after the crime. i made very strict inquiry at the time of several members of this circle as to its nature, because of the connection mr. claxton had with it. beardsley went into his trances, and spoke with strange tongues, and what not, during that week. i knew this because several of his disciples, who believed in his dealings with the unseen world, tried to call up the spirits of mr. and mrs. claxton, so unhappily departed, and entreated for some information as to their murderer. the villain had not the hardihood to personate his own victims." alden paused suddenly, and demanded of the sisters: "you remember hearing of the incident?" bertha, her face flushed and excited, gave a hasty "yes." miss claxton made an indifferent motion of assent. she preserved a uniform expression of great sadness. she seemed to take hardly any special interest in anything said. "this boy, 'dolphus, went also straight to mrs. durgan's house. he has been sheltered by beardsley and mrs. durgan; he has been beardsley's valet ever since. mrs. durgan may have hid them both in the first instance out of pity; or she, too, may have had another reason. she would fear to send them away later lest her connivance in their hiding should become known." "consider," said durgan. "do you think my wife, or any other woman, would voluntarily live in daily terror of being killed by such a madman as you describe?" "is there no adequate motive that you can suggest?" alden returned. "love," said he. "but i am certain that my wife has not been in love." hermione claxton looked at durgan for a moment; a tinge of color and an abatement of her sorrow were evident. then she relapsed into her former attitude. alden stood in front of her, watching her changing expression with impassioned eagerness. "in the name of god, hermione," he cried solemnly, "why do you shield this man? why do you still wish to shield him? why are you glad that mr. durgan should believe that love does not exist between him and mrs. durgan?" his sudden manner of agonized affection, and words that came like a cry from the heart, brought a hush of trembling expectation. bertha gazed intently at her sister, unconscious of the tears of excitement that were running over her own eyes. durgan, who had never thought to see alden so moved, felt the utmost wonder. but the fragile, faded woman, to whom the passionate question had been addressed, faced her questioner with no other change in the calm front she bore than an added degree of sadness. "hermione," cried alden again, "why did you conceal this man's guilt from me at the time, and why do you still wish to conceal it?" "herbert," she replied very gently, "you have no evidence of his guilt." "i have," he replied. durgan felt himself start nervously. such a statement from this keen legal mind was like a declaration of proof. the effect of the words upon miss hermione was a visible shudder which ran through her frame. "evidence?" she said, as if still doubting; but terror was written on her face. "two days ago i went to hilyard at the summons of the doctor and constable. the colored prisoner, called adolphus courthope, was supposed to be dying, and desired to see me. when i went, he asked me to take down a confession and a statement, parts of which supplied links in the story i have told you. the doctor was witness to the interview. courthope swore that beardsley was the criminal." miss claxton looked at him steadily. "what reason have you to assume that what he said is true?" "in all those parts where i can test its truth it appears to be true. he referred me to bertha for the fact that she aided his escape at night." "birdie will not corroborate that. she will tell you nothing." "he would hardly have asked her to corroborate a lie," said alden. "he told me that when in new york he knew he was dying, his conscience caused him to bring some documents which he believed to incriminate beardsley; that he gave them to you by appointment on the night of eve's death; that after giving them he discovered that adam's wife had been spying on the interview and had followed you up the hill. she showed him a certain place where she saw you hide these letters. he added, in the most matter-of-fact way, that he then killed eve for her treachery to you, and because she would only make mischief." bertha stood up in great wrath. "how can you say that my sister did such things as this? no word of this is true. how can you believe a man who is a murderer?" alden went on looking at hermione. "i went to the tree of which he gave me a rough drawing." he took from his coat two packets of old letters, with their wrapping of oil-silk, which he had unfastened. "i have read them," he said. "i did not wish to do so without your permission and that of mr. durgan, as they chiefly belong to his wife; but it was necessary, and the fact that i found them there, and also their contents, prove the most unlikely part of his tale to be true--that you have trafficked secretly with such a man as he, and crept out at night to meet him and hide documents which----" he paused half-way through the sentence; his voice broke, and the tremor coming at so strong a moment, brought all the little gracious ways of his long friendship and service for hermione to their minds. the strange scene vibrated with a throb of sorrow. "herbert," she said falteringly, "you have indeed become my enemy, concerting with this poor wretch to outwit me, spying upon my most private actions." "nay, hermione; i did not even ask the man for his evidence. i was forced, in the name of common justice, and above all, of justice to you, to hear it; and i am justified in what i have done since, because i have done it to save you from yourself." "i beg your pardon," said she. "for a moment i spoke unjustly; but, whatever your motives, you have become my enemy. those letters were stolen by a servant to injure a master who, whatever else his faults, had treated him with unvarying kindness. they were given to me under the mistaken idea that i could use them for my own advantage. i cannot; nor can you." "i read them, hermione, because, without suspicion and by mere accident, i had read your telegram to charlton beardsley the other day." she rose up now. there was a movement of her small clasped hands, as tho she wrung them together. "when i read it at the post-office, merely to aid in its transmission, i saw its significance only too plainly. i withheld it for a day. then i had it sent by an agent whom i could trust, and whom i instructed to watch the house of the recipient. i could not have connived at the man's escape. had he tried to get away after receiving your wire, i should have been justified in his arrest." "did you have my message sent from hilyard?" she asked suddenly. "no. from new york. but it was the exact message." she was white to the lips. "it had no significance coming from new york." she lifted both hands with a gesture of despair. instinctively he chose quick words to comfort her. "no, you wanted to warn him against coming here! but beardsley had gone. i suppose he had got some other warning. he had fled three days before. my men could gain no information." she was comforted. some color returned to her face. alden spoke out once more. "in heaven's name, what motive have you for seeking this man's freedom? why hide these letters? they are written between beardsley and mrs. durgan. what secret of yours can they contain?" she looked at him with unutterable pain in her face, but gave no word or sound. "hermione!" he cried; "this trickster had only been a few months upon this continent when this crime was committed; and during those few months you gave me to understand that i was your dearest and only intimate friend. we were together constantly; we were looking forward to marriage. it cannot be possible that, at that same time, you contracted a friendship--shall i say an affection?--for this man? you spoke of him to me as a person whose pretensions you despised, whose slight acquaintance with your father you deplored; and, beyond this, you told me that you had never seen him. am i to believe that, in spite of all this, he was your lover?" "my lover!" she repeated the word with white lips, and remained gazing at him for some minutes as if paralyzed with surprise. then with a gesture of that dignity which only a mind innocent in thought and act can command, she rose and turned away, with no further word, toward the staircase that led from the room. "you know that is not true," cried bertha to alden fiercely. she stood up as a man would who was ready to make good the word with a blow. then she called: "hermione! hermione! come back. don't you see that mr. alden has no choice but to give this beardsley up to justice, and hand over all the evidence he has in these letters to the police?" hermione turned to alden again. "is that true? do not deceive me in the hope of making me confess anything; but tell me truly, do not say you have no choice." but he could not abandon the point which gave him such unbounded astonishment. "what motive have you for protecting him? why do you love him?--for you do love him, hermione." "i am asking you whether it is no longer in my power to protect him, should i wish to do so." "oh, my dear; give me some notion why you want to save him." the term of affection, if not used between them for the first time, was certainly now first used before others. a slow flush mantled her faded, sensitive face. "alas! herbert, is it not clear now why i should have kept my secret from you, if your conscience is such that you can concede no mercy to a criminal? you may be right. you may have no choice but to wield the law, and the law only. but if i had a choice, you cannot blame me for not telling you, who admit you have none. do you not know that i have loved you--you only? do you think i could have endured to be separated from you for a slight or a low motive, for a whim, or for a duty about which i felt the slightest doubt? and nothing has taken away the need for my silence. i cannot tell you my motive, or give you any indication whether the clue you now hold is true or false, or whether these letters will help you to do justice or lead you astray, or why i went out to get them at night, or why i put them where bertha would not have found them in the event of my death. i put these letters where i could find them should a certain contingency arise in my life, and where, failing that, they would be lost. i will not tell you more, or give you leave to use them." "hermione!" cried bertha, the energy of a long distress in her tone, "for my sake, can you not help us to understand? i have tried to be brave; and if you will not tell, i will stand by you in anything; but my courage is all gone now. i cannot bear this mystery and disgrace." the elder sister looked at her with tenderness and pity. it was a lingering look that a mother might cast on a child doomed to a crippled life. but she gave no answer, and went up the stairs. chapter xxix forged letters alden looked at bertha. "mr. durgan must read these letters," he said, "because they belong to his wife. you must choose whether you will be a witness to the reading. yours is a filial as well as a sisterly part. it is in the effort to bring your father's enemy to justice that i take this step. on the other hand, you may think that your sister has also acted with that filial duty in view, and that, in taking a course in opposition to her wishes, you would be casting a reflection upon her conduct which is disloyal. i cannot advise you, you must judge for yourself." bertha did not speak. "the course which your sister has pursued appears to me suicidal," continued alden. "i cannot, if i would, endorse her action further; but you must judge for yourself." "whatever duty to my dear father i leave unperformed, his happiness cannot now be marred. i only wish to serve my sister now." then she followed her sister upstairs. when alden was relieved from constraint, his face and figure settled into lines even more haggard and weary than before. "i will give you the letters in the order of their dates," said he to durgan. the letters were carefully arranged. he had made notes concerning each on a slip of paper. the first was written upon cheap notepaper in a cramped hand. durgan, as he read, characterized the writer as a half-educated person, unaccustomed to social usage. it was dated from new york, and on a day about a month before the claxton tragedy. it ran thus: "mrs. durgan: "madame--i find the boarding-house to which you have been so good as to recommend me very comfortable. the parcel of comforts has reached and been duly received by me, for which also kindly receive my thanks. but i cannot forbear from reminding you that he who would seek spiritual knowledge and communion with those in a finer state of being than our own, must eschew such unnecessary gratification of the flesh. again thanking you, dear madame, "i remain, your obedient servant, "john charlton beardsley." durgan turned this over and over. there was no postmark or stamp on the envelope. it had perhaps been returned by the bearer of the parcel referred to. the paper was not soiled, and the fragrance of his wife's own stationery adhered to it. she had evidently kept this paltry note among her own papers until recently--why? a fashionable woman must receive hundreds of such notes. then, too, to keep what was of no use was not in accordance with his wife's business habits. after this followed three more notes on the same paper. they also were brief and formal, giving thanks for favors, making or cancelling engagements to teach spiritual lore. then came one dated the day before the claxton murder. durgan felt a strange thrill as he read it: "madame: i feel compelled to visit mr. claxton at his own residence to-morrow. i feel that it is my duty to declare to him in the presence of mrs. claxton--or if he will not consent to this to warn mr. claxton of the risk to his soul which he encounters in his present meetings with----" here a line had been carefully erased. the next line began in the middle of a sentence. "----not think that i have any other than an honorable intention. for again i say that if we seek to know the spirit world we must purge ourselves of all dross. "i am, your obedient servant, "john charlton beardsley." "this is of importance", said durgan. "he intended to go to the house on the fatal day, and there is suggestion of material for a quarrel over some unknown person--a woman, probably, as mrs. claxton's presence is required." "is there reason to assume this third person unknown? it may have been a name that is erased, or it may have been a pronoun in the second person. shall we read on?" the next letter was dated the day after the crime. it ran: "mrs. durgan: "madame--i am sensible of kindness in your inquiries about my health. i have, as you are aware, received a great shock in hearing of the terrible fate of our friend, mr. claxton. alas! in the midst of life we are in death. i had, as you know, held the intention of paying him a call upon that very day, but, instead, fell into a trance soon after my simple breakfast of bread and milk. in that trance i saw the dark deed committed, but could not see the actor. the terror of the hour has preyed upon my health. if i can keep my evening engagements this week it will be all that i can do. i will not see you again at present, except in public. your obedient servant, j. c. b." "do you think he could possibly have gone out and done it in his trance, and never known his own guilt?" asked durgan. "observe that that letter appears to be written from beardsley's, while 'dolphus swears that he was then in mrs. durgan's house." the next was a reply from mrs. durgan, upon the costly, scented paper her husband knew so well--crest and monogram and address embossed in several delicate colors. it was dated the same day. "dear mr. charlton beardsley: i am sorry indeed to hear that your health has been too greatly strained by spiritual exercises and (may i not say?) by too great abstinence. i regret this on my own account, for i am deprived of the valuable instruction you have been giving me in spiritual matters. i confess i cannot glean so much wisdom from you when i meet you only in the more public séance. but on no account risk any danger to your health. yours cordially, "anna durgan. "p.s.--i was so absorbed in my personal disappointment that i have forgotten to express my horror and sympathy at the terrible news (which is now in all the papers) concerning your friend, mr. claxton, and his family." next, with the same date, came another note from mrs. durgan, briefly inviting the medium to pay a week's visit at her house, and stating that an old nurse of her own would wait on him if he preferred to keep his room. the next letter was dated two months later, and was from beardsley at atlantic city. in it the patient recounted with gratitude all the attention he had received during a long illness suffered in mrs. durgan's house. he also spoke of much pleasure in a further friendship with her, and the hope of spending his life not far from her. more elegance of thought and language was now displayed. after this there were several other letters, written at intervals during the next year, alternately by beardsley and mrs. durgan, and filled only with matters of ordinary friendship--discussions on spiritualism, and of a plan that beardsley should avail himself permanently of mrs. durgan's hospitality. beardsley stated that he had no longer the health to continue his work as a medium. when the reading was finished, and alden was waiting, durgan was loth to speak. he felt a curious sense of helplessness. why had these particular letters been kept? was it to incriminate charlton beardsley or to exculpate him? the period of the letters was well chosen with reference to the crime, but how had his wife been able to foresee a month before the murder that she might want to produce the notes of that date? then arose a question of much greater interest to durgan. the beardsley revealed in these letters was, as he had always believed, the last man to attract mrs. durgan. if innocent, he appeared to be a simple-minded, uneducated enthusiast in bad health and liable to fits. if guilty, there was still less reason why a woman whose motive was always selfish, and whose aim was ambitious, should compromise herself by befriending him. "what do you think of these letters?" asked durgan impatiently. alden gave a little genteel snort of anger and annoyance. he looked towards the stairs and spoke in a low voice. "i confide in you, mr. durgan. in confidence, i may say i am confounded. the world has said that this was an extraordinary case, and that without knowing this latest and most baffling development. i confess i am confounded." "but you will have some theory about them?" "the only thing they prove is that someone has thought it worth while to try to deceive someone else; and i should think--pardon me--that the agent in the matter is mrs. durgan. this is her writing, is it not?" "yes." "beardsley's letters are all forgeries except one." durgan took back the letters to seek evidence of forgery. his hand trembled. "don't you see which is the genuine one?" asked alden. durgan did not see until it was pointed out to him that the letter which contained the erasure differed from the rest in displaying some peculiarities of crude handwriting which were more or less successfully copied, but exaggerated, in the others which bore his supposed signature. "do you agree with me that my wife's are genuine?" asked durgan haughtily. "i have no reason to suppose otherwise. they are all in the same hand, but i think----" "go on," said durgan. "i think they were not written at the dates given, but were composed to make up this series." "do you suppose, then, that my wife is the author of these beardsley forgeries?" "i cannot tell. if they were written in beardsley's interest, why did he not write them himself? but if not in his interest, whoever forged them must have done it at her bidding." as durgan kept silence, alden spoke again. "i ought to explain to you, perhaps with an apology, why i suggested that the person referred to in the erased line may have been mrs. durgan. by mere accident i heard, a year after the trial, a piece of gossip which first made me pitch on that one letter as probably genuine. i am loth to mention it to you, for it appeared to be trivial talk about a mere mistake. a man who had belonged to that somewhat secret circle of beardsley's was telling me that beardsley knew nothing of society, and was, like all lower-class men, at first quite unaccustomed to the idea of mere friendship between men and women, and, as an illustration of this, he went on to say what i am referring to. mrs. durgan and claxton seemed to have discovered some spiritual affinity. the spirits, i understood, sometimes spoke through mrs. durgan and sent messages to him----" "she said they did?" "personally, of course, i don't believe in such communications, but we may believe that mrs. durgan believed----" "i was not entering into that question. i merely wish to be clear as to what occurred." "yes; i understood that mrs. durgan said they sent messages of an agreeable and flattering nature; and beardsley suspected that they were not genuine, and, being a person of primitive ideas, showed disapproval. he thought they indicated undue interest in claxton on mrs. durgan's part. the man told me that all who knew of the incident laughed at beardsley's lack of knowledge of the world. he gave me to understand no one thought the incident of any importance, and all had the good feeling not to speak of it after poor claxton's death." "did they suppose beardsley to be jealous?" "not at all. my informant, a man of the world, represented him as having the idea that a high moral tone was necessary to insure the success of his entertainments, and that these flattering messages were not in harmony with such a tone." "you heard this a year ago and no suspicion of beardsley entered your mind?" "no. how should it? my informant ended his chat by remarking how well mrs. durgan knew how to disarm criticism, for, instead of being offended, she had most charitably supported the simple moralist during years of ill health." "it is easy to be wise after the event," said durgan; and then he asked: "what are you going to do now?" "the chief thing we have got to consider is that, although these letters, and above all, those i have not yet shown you, confirm the mulatto's tale that beardsley was at the house, we have as yet no explanation whatever of the crime, and no reason whatever to accuse beardsley of it beyond the fact that he was there. i do not see how to get further except by discovering a clue to miss claxton's conduct. the kernel of the secret lies there." "i see quite clearly," rejoined durgan, "that we are, as you say, far from any explanation of the mystery; but as far as my wife is concerned, these letters appear to me to show that she knew that she was protecting this man at the risk of danger to herself. she has prepared this series to save herself if he is found out. the one letter which you suppose to be his is evidence that he had the intention of visiting the claxtons that morning; the rest of the letters only imply that she believed he had never gone. if, as we now suppose, the cause of quarrel between beardsley and poor claxton was this misapprehension of his regarding my wife's feeling for claxton, she may have sheltered him at first to save scandal involving herself." "yet," said alden, "we must admit that this does not appear to be any sufficient motive for mrs. durgan's conduct. we agree that only some important fact, as yet unknown to us, can explain the action of these two women." alden put down his notes on the small table. they sat in silence. the smouldering birch log in the stove chimney emitted only an occasional spit of flame. the dogs slumbered in front of it. the shaded lamp, which durgan had often regarded as the symbol of domestic felicity, threw the same soft light around the graceful room as on the first evening of his introduction to it. upstairs there was an occasional sound made by the movements of the sisters, which gave a soft reminder of their presence in the house, and no more. through the low, uncurtained windows the mountain trees and the meadows were seen outlined in the starlight, as on the night of his arrival. "what of these other letters you still have in your hand?" said durgan at last. "there are three that were tied up and hidden, evidently before the stolen packet came into her possession; and three that were with the rest that you have seen. these last three i cannot let you see. they are the saddest letters i have ever read. they are written to beardsley, and altho without date or signature, undoubtedly in miss claxton's writing. they implore him by every sacred feeling of love and duty to turn to god in repentance and accept the christian salvation. mr. durgan, nothing but love and the most earnest sense of duty could have prompted these letters, and i wish, in your presence, to put them in the fire. they have been rejected and spurned by the cur to whom they were sent, and altho they are undoubted proofs that for him she has felt the madness--i can call it by no other word--the madness of love, they shall never be used as evidence against her." the little man stepped forward and laid them on the fire. the tears, unfelt, fell from his eyes as he did so. the flame shot up from the glowing log, and the dark, uncurtained windows of the room repeated the quivering light. the sorrow of it drowned durgan's curiosity. he forgot to wonder what letters miss claxton had previously hidden in the tree till alden roused himself to speak again. "the three letters still left, which apparently came months ago, at intervals, in response to those just burned, are addressed to miss claxton at my office. i judge from this that beardsley never knew of the alias 'smith' or of this retreat. indeed, adolphus told me he does not know." alden paused absently. "and these letters?" durgan reminded. "these letters are no doubt from that beast. they are in feigned hand and anonymous; and the subject is money--no religion, no duty, no affection, is to be believed as long as money is withheld. thousands of dollars are demanded. i've no means of knowing whether this money was given or not." durgan went over the notes, which alden had described accurately. "the negro is really dying, i suppose?" he asked. "he can help us no further?" "yes; he may be dead by this time; but, curiously enough, to the end of my interview he was chuckling, and saying that he would pay the villain and right the lady yet. but he would not give me, or the doctor, any indication of what he meant. he adjured me to----" "listen." durgan went to the window as he spoke, and the dogs pricked their ears. "i hear nothing," said alden. "i ought to be going home," said durgan. "what were you saying?" "only that the fellow told me to keep my wits about me, and tell you to do the same. there is something to be subtracted from all the evidence he gave, for he was certainly, if rational at all, in a very fantastic humor." the lawyer's tones were low and weary. durgan was not even listening. he had opened the window a little. "i think there is a horse, or horses, on the road from the cove," he said. his thought glanced back to the last time he heard horsemen approach in the night, to arrest adam. no errand of less baneful import seemed to fit the circumstances now. the french clock on the mantel-shelf rang out twelve musical strokes. chapter xxx the vision in the hut there is, perhaps, no more enthralling sound than the far but sure approach of someone who comes unlooked-for to a lonely place. the two men who were keeping vigil became certain that travelers were ascending the steep zig-zags of deer. they looked at one another in apprehensive silence, and went softly out to that side of the house nearest the road. the young moon had set, and there was cloud overhead. almost an hour's journey below them the creak of wheel, the sound of hoof, came faint but nearer. the two house dogs stood by the men, a growl in their throats. bertha came downstairs and out to them, a shawl over her head. the mountain nights had been growing colder; the air was bleak and dry. "hermie is terribly ill," she said. "she has cried till the pain in her head is anguish--and who can possibly be coming?" then she turned indignantly to alden. "is this some plan of your arranging?" alden denied in dispirited tones, and suggested that perhaps some travelers had lost their way. "people don't usually climb a mountain by mistake," she retorted. "there are two horses--and two men talking--and wheels," said durgan, slowly reckoning up the sounds he heard. "go in, and take the dogs," said alden to bertha. "we will go down to the mine and meet them, so that hermione need not be disturbed." "you need not be so careful to protect her now," she said hardly. "she is in too great pain to care what happens." then durgan was striding down the trail, and alden hopping nimbly over the rocks beside him. "the last visitors who rode here through the night brought handcuffs," said durgan grimly. he could not divest himself of the idea that some armed fate was close upon them all. he lit his lantern, and kindled a fire of sticks in the stove of his hut. alden, who was shivering with cold, warmed himself. the travelers were now resting their horses a half-mile below. the keen air, the new excitement, were a spur to the mind of the weary lawyer. he began to talk with renewed melancholy, and a persistence that wearied durgan's ears. "so far, we are not only without proof, but without reasonable hypothesis. the cleverest detective in new york tells me that beardsley left new york and cannot be traced. when we find him, we shall only have, as means to incriminate him, the word of a dead negro, whose mind was obviously failing when he gave his evidence, and one letter which----" durgan's impatience was intolerable. he went out on the dark road. he thought of that other night, gorgeous in its whiteness, when the full moon had looked down on the beautiful bronze form of the murdered woman and on a strolling, dandified valet, of whose portrait durgan remembered every detail. he had seen him in the glamor of the silvered avenue; and his silken hair and long whiskers, the expanse of shirt-front, the flash of false jewels, and his mad utterance, which was now gradually taking the form of truth, lived again in his memory. he remembered, too, the crimson dawn in which he had witnessed adam's passionate grief, and his own rage of indignation when the next night had brought with it, on this same road, the worst of insults to taint that grief. the cause of all that coil of evil and pain had been the quiet lady, whom they had just left with the intense loneliness of her secret, shut off in her anguish from sister and lover. for her sake, it seemed, eve had been killed, and adam had wept, and the vain serving-man had used his last vital powers to save her from a world's reproach. as yet there was no outcome of it all, except dissension and misery. the horses below began to move again. durgan went in to alden. they sometimes heard a thin, impatient voice raised high in questioning tones, and answers given. when the horses had passed the last turn below, the words of the thin voice could be heard clearly. "drivah, what is this light?" there was a slight drawl and an assumption of importance. "i think i have heard that voice before," said the lawyer slowly, listening; "but i cannot tell where." "is this the top of the mountain, drivah? is this the house?" "i can't be sure, but i think i know it," commented the lawyer again. "do you recognize it?" "no, i do not." durgan stood out on the road. "then drive on. if this is not the summit house, drive on, drivah. don't stop." there was a note of alarm in the thin tone. durgan's lantern flashed its light upon horses and driver and old-fashioned surrey from the hotel at hilyard. the driver was a silent man, well known on the road. within, his keen, facile face bent forward in ill temper and alarm, sat an emaciated man, wrapped in a rich fur coat and propped with cushions. the driver had so far answered in lazy monosyllables. now, on recognizing durgan, he pulled up the carriage. the thin-voiced traveler addressed durgan. "i am going to the boarding-house of a miss smith. i understand there is a lawyer there, the best in the state. i will not detain you, sir. go on, drivah; we are much too late now." the owner of the voice leaned back in the surrey. he was evidently alarmed by his surroundings; but a stranger might well be excused for showing some dislike of the long, steep road, the extreme solitude, and the sudden appearance of a man who barred the way. durgan turned his light on the face of the driver. "what's the meaning of this?" he asked sternly. the man returned his inspection with a queer, sphinx-like look that had in it something of the nature of a grin and a wink, but gave no indication as to the cause of his humor. he grumbled as he clumsily tumbled off his seat. then, opening the surrey door, he remarked, in a casual tone, that his horses could go no further. "if this 'ere gentleman doesn't keep summer hotels and big-bug lawyers handy, i dunno anyone as does 'bout here. as for miss smith's house, we'll have a rest first." again the face of the invalid, keen and drawn by pain or passion, was thrust forward from the shadow of the carriage. his voice was shrill enough to sound at first like a shriek. "look here, my man; you needn't suppose the money i've got to pay you is in my pockets. it's in hilyard, where you'll get all the currency you want when you've done my work; but you'll gain nothing by stopping here." on seeing durgan more clearly he looked about him in absolute terror, grasping the rug that impeded his movements as if wondering only how to fling himself out of their reach, or else not knowing whether to argue or ingratiate. the driver held the door, taking the volley of weak-voiced profanity in the passive way common to the region. durgan's amusement at the driver's mastery, and at being himself so obviously mistaken for a robber, was overlaid by astonishment and curiosity. "i am working a small mica mine close by. you can come into my camp to rest and get warm if you wish to." he spoke to the agitated traveler in the low, haughty tone that usually won for him the immediate respect of those inferior in social position. but the traveler only answered in a more imperious tone. "who are you, sir? is this bear mountain? i was told it was. this man," he cried, pointing to the driver, "engaged to bring me to a mountain called bear and a house kept by a woman called smith. we were delayed--horribly delayed--by one of the horses casting a shoe. i ask you, sir, what does this man mean by turning me out at a mica mine? what does he mean?" "i should like to know," said durgan. "you have evidently been misled." the driver here left the open carriage door, and began busying himself about the harness. again suggesting that the traveler might take advantage of his fire if he chose, durgan turned back to his camp. alden stood outside, unseen from the carriage in the black shadow of the hut. he had the baffled air of a hound who, thinking he has found a scent, loses it again. he shook his head; his eyes contracted in concentrated attention. "i've no idea who he is; but i think he is acting a part." the stranger now proved himself a man of the world by descending from the carriage with some polite expressions of relief at obtaining rest from the intolerable road, and gratitude for durgan's hospitality. he was of middle height, and stooped as he walked. his traveling coat was of the richest, the muffling of the fur collar and the slouch of the warm felt hat seemed habitual to him. in spite of them he shivered in the mountain night. he went close to the fire, unbuttoned his coat to let the warmth reach him, and took out a card-case. "perhaps you will be good enough to extract a card," said he, handing it to durgan. "my fingers are numb." he took off his gloves, and chafed his hands before the blaze. he took off his hat, holding its inside to the fire to warm. he had the appearance of a man of perhaps fifty, with face withered and sunburnt. his hair was black, his mustache waxed, his beard pointed. he looked like a fashion plate from paris, handsome in his way, but his skin and eyes gave the impression of pain impatiently borne. the sense of being an aristocrat was written large all over him. his cat's-eye pin, the cutting of his seal ring, answered true to the glare of the firelight. having shown himself, as it would appear accidentally, he put on his hat and buttoned up his collar. durgan took a card from a well-filled and well-worn card-case and read it aloud, "mr. adolphus courthope." it gave as an address a club in new orleans. "i heard a few days ago that a namesake of mine, a scoundrelly fellow, whose mother was one of our niggers, is lying in jail at hilyard, charged with murder. of course, i have no responsibility for the fellow--never saw him till to-day. still, his mother was my foster-sister, the daughter of the good old mammy who nursed me. she gave him my name, and--damn it--i don't care to have the fellow publicly hanged. seems in a bad way now with lung trouble; but he'll revive--that's the way with these cases." durgan disliked this man, but was surprised to find that he pitied him still more. the terror that he had just shown, the illusive resemblance in his eyes to someone--perhaps someone more worthy of pity--the very disparity of physical size and strength, all inspired in durgan an unreasoning instinct to protect him. the other went on. "only reached hilyard to-day. the poor fellow would have it that there was a woman called smith, who kept a small summer hotel, or something of the kind, located here, who alone could give the evidence that would get him off; and that there was a clever lawyer boarding with her who would take up the case on her evidence. would have it there was nothing for it but for me to come straight on here. i'm not the man to give up what i've undertaken, but if i'd known what the roads were like, confound it if i'd not have stayed in new orleans. i say this to you, sir, because i see you are a man of my own class--damn it, there are few enough of us left." certain now that this man had been sent by 'dolphus, durgan perceived that till now he had had some vague hope that 'dolphus, as some _deus ex machina_, would contrive to trick beardsley himself into their power. the production of this man, beguiled hither by a lie, was evidently the mulatto's supreme effort; but this man, whoever he was, was certainly not charlton beardsley, for however accomplished an actor he might be, durgan felt certain he had never been a man of plebeian origin. "is there no hotel that i can sleep in to-night?" asked the other shortly. "has that cursed nigger not told me the truth?" "not precisely. had he any reason for endeavoring to mislead you?" "well, i should rather think not. trial coming on in two days. if he had his senses about him, he'd go only the quickest road to success." this sounded genuine. "and the driver brought you all this way and did not enlighten you?" said durgan. "great god!" cried the other. "what could they mean?" and in his tone vibrated returning fear. "_i have_ a friend here--the lawyer to whom you are sent; and there _is_ a miss smith living higher up, but it is a private house." again the stranger overcame the fear he had a second time betrayed. "oh, thanks awfully. that is all that matters. has your friend turned in for the night?" aware that alden had been looking and listening through the chinks of the hut, durgan wandered out in a slow detour among the trees, and brought alden back with him. when they entered, the stranger was not looking toward the door. "this is mr. theodore alden, of new york," said durgan; and altho the visitor only appeared to indolently turn his head and bow, durgan felt sure that his whole body started and shrank under the heavy folds of his long coat. "mr. courthope has come," began durgan, and then, with indifferent manner, he repeated the story of mr. courthope of new orleans. he could see that alden had as yet no scent. "are you aware," began alden, "that the other negro apprehended for this murder is being protected by his late owner upon the same grounds? it is not a usual proceeding; i might almost say--speaking from a wide knowledge of the south since the war--a novel proceeding. to have it repeated is a novel coincidence." there was a little silence in which durgan and alden both observed the stranger narrowly, and neither felt sure whether his pause was caused by the inattentive habits of illness, or whether he was silent from annoyance. it would appear to have been the first, for, after again warming his legs and again rubbing his hands before the blaze, he lifted his head as if he had just observed that he had not replied. "i beg your pardon--a bad habit of mine, forgetting to answer. as to coincidence, it isn't coincidence at all. my nigger writes to me what a mr. durgan is doing for the other nigger, and sends me a local paper, saying in effect how much better the durgans are than the courthopes. i acted on impulse--we courthopes always do. it's the way of the world, you know--we should never do anything if it wasn't for trying to show that we are as good, or one better, than someone else. but if i'd known that folks here all lived on different mountains, i'd have let the durgans have the field. devilish cold at this altitude." as he turned from the fire to speak he shivered, pushed up his collar still higher, and pulled his hat down almost to his eyes. he turned again to the fire. "desperately cold up here," he repeated. "what's the name of this mountain?" he suddenly demanded. they told him. "'deer mountain.' i thought the driver said 'bear mountain.' i'm sure the nigger told me to come up 'bear.'" "there is a peak of that name further off," said alden. "ah, well, i must say i am relieved to find i've not come on a fool's errand, but have achieved my purpose and discovered our friend, mr. alden, altho on another mountain. odd place this, where mountains have to be reckoned like streets or squares. well, mr. alden, my business is just this: i'm willing to pay anything in reason, and you can use bribery and corruption, or talent, or villainy, or anything else you like as long as you get my man off. there is my card; and if you'll agree to undertake it, i'd better drive back to the last village and try to get a bed." he did not take a step toward the door as he spoke, but durgan believed that he would fain have done so. alden was standing very square, alert, and upright. "mr. courthope, this is a very strange thing. there is nothing that adolphus knows better than that i believe him to be guilty, and will not defend him." the stranger expressed astonishment in word and action. he moved back a few steps, and sat down weakly on the bench by the wall; but durgan observed that he thus neared the door, tho appearing to settle himself for conversation. "you are scarcely a hundred yards from the place where this 'dolphus stabbed a beautiful quadroon woman, and left her dead," said durgan. "she was found just here at----" "how ghastly!" interrupted the other in unfeigned distress. "i confess to being afraid of ghosts--horribly afraid. but, gentlemen, i beg you to think what an awful business it would be to have that poor nigger hanged." there was no doubt as to the truth of the emotion he now displayed, any more than in the matter of his former terror. "it isn't fair, you know," he said; "for the punishment is out of all proportion to the crime, even if he is guilty. to be killed suddenly, when you are not expecting it, you know, is no suffering at all--nothing to compare with sitting for weeks expecting a horrible and deliberate end. then the disgrace, the execration of the public." his thin voice had risen now in actual terror at the picture he had conjured up. "save the poor devil if you can." his eyes turned instinctively toward durgan's. "sir, i do not know who you are, but i recognize a man of feeling and of honor. i protest the very thought of such a fate for this poor fellow appals me. i beseech you, have pity on the poor wretch, as you would desire pity in--in--your worst extremity." he rose after he had spoken, moving about restlessly, as if in the attempt to control himself. his unfeigned appeal seemed to touch even alden. his manner to the man suddenly became kinder. "there is one thing that i can do for you," said the lawyer. "if you will write a short letter formally empowering me to find better counsel for the defence, i will--telegraph to a man i know in atlanta to undertake it. of course you must formally authorize me." "certainly; certainly. i quite understand," said the stranger eagerly, coming toward the table where alden was arranging paper. "what's that?" he said sharply, as he sat down. there was a scrambling upon the hill above, in which durgan recognized the well-known run of bertha with her dogs in leash. he determined at once to meet her and send her back, altho he hardly knew why. he said to courthope evasively, "there are cattle grazing on all these hills." at the moment he felt reproach for the lie, because the stranger seemed to trust him implicitly, for he seated himself and took the pen. alden surreptitiously kicked the damper of the small stove, increasing its heat, which was already great. he said to the stranger, who sat with his back to it, "you will catch cold in driving if you do not open your coat here." durgan left alden to put the stranger through his paces, and went hastily round the ledge of the mine and swung himself up to the trail, meaning to intercept bertha before she came near. he had not correctly estimated her pace, for when he emerged on the path she had just passed over it. he could only follow her, as the girl descended by a light jump to the rock platform. she was about forty feet from the door of the hut when she stood still and, turning, spoke: "my sister has a terrible attack of neuralgia. if the carriage is going back--we must send for the doctor. who--who is it?" in the next few confused moments durgan was promising to send the message, seeking words to persuade her to return, and giving some answer to her question; while bertha was trying to hold the dogs still, and they, on the scent of strange footsteps, were straining on their leashes toward the door of the hut. she was, perhaps, little loth to be pulled a few steps forward so that she could look in at the open door for herself. the lantern, which burned full in the face of the stranger, writing at the table, sent a long, bright stream outwards, in which bertha now stood framed. in durgan's memory afterwards this moment always remained with these two faces lit up at each end of the beam of light, while all around them was lost in darkness. the stranger had thrown back his coat. his face was in clear profile. durgan himself was paralyzed by the intensity of emotion which leaped to bertha's face. she gave an inarticulate sound of terrified joy, a moan of heart-rending joy--or was it terror? the stranger, turning sharply, saw the girl, her face and figure illumined. his jaw dropped with terror. he stood up abjectly. she sank to the ground, and durgan, bending over her, heard her trying to gasp a word with a wonderful intonation of tenderness and astonishment. that word was "father." she tried again and again to speak it aloud. she seemed fainting. instinctively durgan held the dogs, who broke into a howl of rage against the abject intruder. as for the stranger, he appeared to become mad. alden moved to the door to detain him, and was caught and thrown into the room as a child would be cast off by an athlete. the man had fled, and was lost in the gloom of the forest. he disappeared somewhere between the glow of the carriage lamps and durgan's light, rushing down the hill. bertha had not wholly fainted. now she was clinging to the collars of the dogs with her whole weight, grappling with them on the very floor of the rock. she was entreating durgan in almost voiceless whispers to "go and bring him back. go bring him." alden, who heard nothing bertha said, was on the road shouting to the driver, "the man is mad. he is dangerous. head him off down the road. don't let him escape." the words rang sharp. that portion of the hill into which the stranger had run was bordered by the rock precipice, which came up to the road beyond where the carriage stood. alden raised his voice to a reverberating shout, addressing the fugitive. "come back. if you don't come back we will loose the dogs." durgan was trying to take the furious dogs from the girl, but she would not relax her hold. she was crying and moaning to the dogs to quiet them, and entreating durgan to leave her with wild whispers. "oh, save him; for god's sake, save him. bring him back to me." she ground her teeth in anger at alden's shout. "for pity's sake, stop that cruel man shouting. call him off," she demanded, as if alden were a dog; "call him off." durgan followed alden. "she won't give you the dogs," he said. "it was the sight of the dogs that frightened him," said alden. "he is a maddened criminal, and a very dangerous man, whoever he may be. his weakness was feigned. he's skulking; but he's as good as caught, for he can't get over the precipice." durgan heard bertha dragging and coaxing the dogs up the trail. in a few minutes she would have them shut up. he felt glad of this. in alden's anger there was no mercy. the driver was making torches with sticks, lamp oil, and a bit of rope. before long, the three men had a glare which so illumined the wood that each tree-trunk threw a sharp, black shadow. they distributed the lights to lessen the shadows. they hunted all the slope between the road and the rock wall, but the fugitive was not found. "if he had fallen over we should certainly have heard the fall," they said. the silent driver added, "he swore he'd be good for forty dollars if i'd get him here and back; reckon i ain't the man to lose half a chance of that. i kep' my ears open; he ain't rolled over." book iii chapter xxxi a flash of light the bank shelved: no one could come on the precipice unwarned. soon they found a travelling boot, and after that, at some distance, another. they felt sure now that the fugitive had climbed one of the trees, throwing away his boots as far as possible. looking up, they perceived the hopelessness, in that case, of their quest. the arms of the forest spread out above them thick, gnarled, and black with the heaviest foliage of the year. the flame of their torches glared only on the under side of the boughs. light and shadow were thrown in fantastic patches into the higher canopies, where also the lurid smoke of their torches curled. they went back to the road; the small, neat new yorker tripping first, his torch dying, the boots of the fugitive in his other hand; the driver, in old, loose coat, striding indolently toward the horses; durgan, lingering as he went, with sinewy arm throwing his light high and looking upward. alden examined the boots by the lamp in the hut. "these are new york boots," he said. then he turned to the half-written letter on the table. "this writing i made him do is in a feigned hand." alden's eyes were ablaze with angry excitement. "look!" he cried. in the lining of the boots he had found a mark in ink. the initials were "j. c. b." "can he be beardsley, masquerading as a southerner?" "i begin to think he has done some years of masquerading as beardsley." "what do you mean?" but durgan went no further. his own uncertainty, alden's obvious exhaustion, and the desire to let things sift themselves, kept him silent. something more alert than weary human sense was required for the vigil. durgan went to the stable to get the terrier. he purposely took his way near the window of the sisters, anxious as to the nature of bertha's excitement and her sister's illness. but after passing the tranquil house, he found that bertha had not entered it. she still stood outside the locked door of the stable in which she had chained the dogs. she leaned back against the door, looking up at the quiet light in her sister's window. durgan lit a match, and held it in the pink lantern of his fingers until it was big enough to give them both a clear momentary view of each other. to his surprise, bertha appeared to be in a quiet mood. the spark fell, and again only her light dress glimmered in the night. the first fine drops of gathering rain were falling. he did not like a calm that seemed to him unnatural. he told her of the watch kept below, and of his errand. she answered, "i am glad you have come. i don't know how to go to hermie. poor hermie! how we have wronged her! but i am afraid to tell her, for it might kill her to-night. it was some cruel plan of mr. alden's, i know. i am afraid to go to her; but i am afraid, too, to leave her alone as ill as she is. she might die; tho i don't think she will, because she always seems to have god with her; and, do you know, i have a queer feeling to-night that god may be here. it would seem better, of course, if we could all three die to-night; but in that case, why have we lived to meet again? no; there must be some way out, because hermie has prayed so much--prayer must make some difference, don't you think?" "i don't like to hear you talking in this mild, reasonable way. are you not excited? why do you not cry?" "i was so dreadfully excited that i thought i was going mad; and then seemed to grow all still inside, as if there was no need to be afraid. i can't explain. the reason i'm talking is that i want you to tell me what to do. i've told you the danger of telling hermie, and the danger of not going to her; and then, too, i want to go down the hill. if i went alone, he would come to me and speak to me. he must be cold and hungry and tired. in the old days we never let a draught blow upon him. and he is so terribly thin, and has done something so dreadful with his hair, because i suppose he was afraid of being known. i ought to go to him." "you must not stand here and go on talking like this. you must go at once into the house and nurse your sister. and you must not tell her what you are fancying or thinking about. if you do, it will make her very ill, and it will be your fault. you have wronged her terribly, as you say. rouse yourself, and make some amends." "well--i will." she began to move with docility, but talked as he walked with her. "could you not send mr. alden down to the cove on some pretence? and then, you know, we could find him, and i could bring him into the kitchen, at least, and give him warm wine--he used to like warm wine--and get him to bed without hermie knowing. dear mr. durgan, couldn't you do this for hermie's sake? you know it is what she would like." durgan took her by the arm. "miss bertha, you have, perhaps, made a mistake. it is very easy to make such mistakes under excitement such as you have passed through to-night. that excitement has almost killed your sister, and it has probably made you fanciful." "yes--but then, how was it _he_ knew _me_?" "he saw the dogs. he may have supposed they were brought to seize him, and so he bolted." she replied in the same voice as before. "but then, this explains hermie's secret. what else could? you know we said nothing could, but this does." durgan felt that, perhaps, her mind had become a blank, and her voice was answering with his own thoughts, which within him were holding the same dialog. "what are you saying?" he said roughly. "how can your father be alive? and if he were, do you understand that he must have killed the other man?" he had struck the right note. she pulled herself from him with natural recoil. "yes, yes; and that is clear from hermie's action, too. but you don't know what happened. there must be some excuse." "you know, miss bertha, you have thought very foolish things before; you may not be right now." she sat down on the edge of the verandah, and began to weep heartily and quietly. he was relieved: tears proved her well-being. they had come, walking together, to that end of the house where, on the second day of their acquaintance, he had found her at dawn watching over his safety. he looked about now, and longed for the dawn, but there was nothing but glimmering darkness and the sweet smell of the gathering rain. when bertha had cried for a while she went in to her sister. in a minute she came tip-toeing back to durgan. "hermie is sleeping quite restfully," she said. "how much softer the air feels; i think the change has done her good." as he turned away durgan's heart sank. the belief that claxton was the murderer, not the murdered, and had been sheltered all these years by his own wife, forced itself upon durgan. these innocent women might find rest in the softened air; but what rest could that woman who bore his name ever find, whose cruelty and selfishness must, in consequence of the exposure now imminent, bear the light of public shame? chapter xxxii what a terrier found durgan took the terrier and led him up and down through the bit of sequestered woodland; but the animal, beyond enjoying the unusual festivity of a night walk, exhibited no sense of the situation. it stopped to bark at no tree-foot, and altho it resented the intrusion of the driver, discovered nothing else to resent. the slow-tongued driver made another remark. "that's a queer thing, too. i'd have thought he'd have barked at a cat in a tree, i would." durgan had despised alden in the vicious snap of his pitiless anger against the fugitive; but as the night wore on, and he saw his face grow more and more haggard, as if he were aged by a decade since the last sun shone, he was glad to procure him rest or relief of any sort. confident that the dog would give warning if the prisoner climbed down, alden accepted the use of durgan's bed; but it was easy to see that he could not rest. there was the constant secret movement of one who was pretending to be still. "perhaps you would rather talk," said durgan. "i wish you would tell me all you know about miss claxton's father. is she like him?" "not at all. i found little to respect in his character." "i suppose you dug up his past very thoroughly." "there was nothing in it but selfishness and vanity. he was of old colonial stock, but had been ill-reared to leisure and luxury--the worst training in a new country, where these things involve no corresponding responsibilities. he married into a plain new england family for the sake of money. the mother of hermione, i need not say, was immensely his superior; but she died at the birth of the second daughter. there is some disparity of age between them--hermione----" durgan had to bring him back from reminiscences of his love. "ah--as to claxton's ill health, if it interests you, i judge that it dated from a blow to his vanity. he was very worldly, and, when a widower, did a good deal of amateur acting, and became engaged to marry a young beauty who had just come out as a public singer. society took her up. she was the belle of the season, and jilted claxton. it was a matter of talk; but i don't suppose his daughters ever heard of it--daughters don't hear such things, you know. he kept them in a country boarding-school, where, i am happy to say, hermione got religion." durgan smiled to himself over the quaint phrase used so seriously. "but the father?" "he married in pique a dull pink and white society woman, with more money; and then became a chronic invalid. when he was tired of his wife he sent for his daughters. i never heard that he was unkind to them, or to his wife; but it seemed to me he only cared for them as they devoted themselves to his comfort. hermione--often has she discussed it with me--was very anxious as to his spiritual state. it was her great desire that he should seek salvation. it was that desire that caused her always such distress when her father finally dabbled in spiritualism. his death, in a still ungodly state, was, i can aver, her worst trouble in all that terrible chain of events. she felt so much that she never mentioned her concern about him again." alden had been speaking in a sleepy way, as if his recent distrust of his chosen lady was obliterated by some fragrance from the poppy beds of weariness and love and night. he slept at last. the bleakness of the mountain night had given place to a balmy rain. durgan pondered. he knew that his wife would bow down to one like claxton, who had had the social ball at his feet; she would regard his intimate knowledge of the society she desired to cajole as a most valuable property, and would risk much to retain it. when the gray morning came they went out to the trees again, but no one was hiding among them. then they went down by the road, and climbed along to the foot of the precipice; but, making the closest search along its base, they found nothing. alden became racked by a new fear: the unknown had perhaps cheated them, and recrossed the road. the desperate condition of the man, the women unprotected--these thoughts were so terrible that he ran up the hill to protect them, unconscious that his valor was out of all proportion to his frame. when he was gone the driver said, "forty dollars didn't get the better of me crossin' that road while i kep' an eye on it, i reckon." the mountain forest dripped and trickled, the dry ground soaking in the moisture with almost audible expansion of each atom of earth, each pore of fern and leaf, and the swelling of twigs. the wet and glisten everywhere deepened the color of rock and wood, moss, lichen, and weed. the driver stood considering the face of the rock; the terrier began nosing among some fallen leaves; durgan was looking this way and that, to see which might have invited the nearest temporary hiding. alden had believed the stranger's weakness a pretence; durgan believed the strength he had shown to be the transient effect of fear. the driver at length said, "hi! look here. what's that?" he pointed to a black bundle in a fissure of the precipice. "that there fur coat! i'll be blowed! he got down here, sir; and he had the devil to help him--leastwise, reckoning from all i have seen this night, i conclude that satan was in the concern. he climbed down that crack in the rock, sir, and caught on by the bushes on the way, and scrambled along that slantwise bit, and then he got hold of the tree. he warn't killed or maimed or he'd be here." "then we've lost him." "mr. bantam cock will perhaps be sending despatches for to apprehend him at the different steam-car depôts, for to get my forty dollars." "say we make it fifty?" "well, sir; i would say, 'thank you.'" "and that would be all you would say, mind you, or i'll have you turned off at the hotel." "then i won't even say that, sir. there ain't anything comes easier to me than shuttin' up, i reckon." after this colloquy, which passed quickly, durgan was turning upwards when he heard a horse ascending the road. in a few minutes he had met his two negro laborers coming to their work, and, behind them, the doctor from hilyard, riding, as he usually did, with saddle-bags, his old buff clothes much bespattered. "the yellow nigger is dead, mr. durgan. he died last night with the change of the weather. you told me to keep him alive till you came, but you didn't come. he was a very curious fellow--not half bad; and his last freak was to ask me to come and tell you to look sharp after the visitor he sent you. so, as you're not much out of my way to-day, i've come at once." he got off his horse, and the two men talked together. the doctor, whose ordinary round comprised anything within a radius of thirty miles, had not been in hilyard when the rich traveler from new orleans arrived and started again. his wealth and imperious airs had impressed the little town, but beyond the fact that he had gained a private interview with the dying prisoner, nothing was known about him. "and the odd thing is," said the doctor, "that 'dolphus sent the jailer with every cent he had in the world--about fifteen dollars--to bribe the driver. as to his health, he was decidedly better, and when this mr. courthope turned up he seems to have acted like a well man, and made him believe he was well. when i got home there was a report about that the stranger was a wonder-worker, and had cured him. but when i went to him the fever was up. after his last flash in the pan he burnt out in a few hours." durgan supposed there might be something of greater importance to justify the doctor's ride. "perhaps," he said, "he asked you to bring a message to mr. alden or miss smith?" "he was a most extraordinary fellow," said the other. "i never was quite sure when he was talking sense and when nonsense. but the message was to you; and it was that you were to keep this courthope, and write to the chief of police in new york and claim the reward offered in the claxton case. and you are to give as much of the money to adam as you think will pay for his wife. he said he'd die easy if i'd give you that tip; and he did die easy." durgan smiled sadly at the pathos of the dying nigger's interest in his fellows and his desire for justice to be done. "did you reckon him wandering?" "that's just as you choose to take it," said the doctor. "i'm accustomed to hearing secrets and forgetting them. my only business before i forget this one is to ascertain that a dangerous character is not left at large. if you cannot give me that assurance, i suppose i ought to tell the police myself." durgan felt that the case of the claxton sisters had now reached extremity, and, much against his will, he replied in a nonchalant tone, "we must come and talk the matter over with mr. alden." he saw no means of securing the runaway or of hiding the scandal--he hardly desired to hide it. he felt stunned at the shame that must fall on his wife. as they turned the doctor said, "you think this yellow fellow and his sort mere trash, mr. durgan; but i'm inclined to think he would have made a good citizen with any sort of training. he had more public spirit than ten of our corrupt politicians rolled into one." "perhaps so," said durgan absently. "i may be prejudiced." he whistled the dog, and heard nothing at first, but then, from a nook below the hill, came an answering yelp. the yelp was repeated. the driver, who had been standing passive at a distance, sauntered nearer. "there's something queer about that dog. he's been down there a powerful while. if he'd found another shoe he'd bark like that. and mebbe there's another shoe still to find, sir, for if two fits out a man, a man in conjunction with the devil might require two more." durgan took the hint, and went down towards the dog. he was puzzled by its peculiar call. it came a little way to meet him, crawling and fawning, but returned swiftly whither it came. in a few minutes more durgan was looking down on the prostrate body of the unknown traveler. he was lying straight and flat on his back; his eyes were open, and they met durgan's with a mournful look of full intelligence which, in that position, was more startling than the glazed eye of death. the terrier licked the hand that lay nearest the face, then licked the brow very gently just for a moment, and yelped again. "why don't you get up?" the stranger's lips moved. durgan had to kneel to hear the thick effort at speech. "paralyzed!" the lips moved feebly to let durgan know that, after his escape, the seizure had come as he fled. the doctor came, and gently moved hand and foot, testing the muscles and nerves. he confirmed the self-diagnosis. the stricken man had probably lain unconscious half through the night, but his mind was clear now. the rain had washed the temporary dye and all the stiffness from his hair. it lay gray and disheveled about his thin, brown face. the haggard lines were partly gone; the dark eyes looked up steadily, sad as eyes could be, but fearless. the change was so great that durgan spoke his involuntary sympathy. "guess you feel nothing worse can come to you now." then he added, "keep up your heart. i'll take you where you will be well cared for." the driver had followed slowly, and looked on without query. "you bet," he said at length; "the devil's gone out of him." durgan wondered if that was actually what had happened when bertha felt the peace of god, and hermione slept, and the wretched mulatto found ease in death. "he had over-exerted," said the doctor, "and all the tonic went out of the air when the rain fell." chapter xxxiii the restoration they went back to durgan's hut, and made a stretcher of his bed, and brought down his laborers as carriers. a curious group walked slowly up the zig-zag road to the summit house: durgan and the terrier walked one on each side; the doctor rode behind. there was naught to be said; they walked in silence. sometimes the eyelids of the still face drooped; again they were opened wide. the wet forest breathed about their silence the whisper of the rain. when the party came in sight of the house gable, someone who was sitting in the window of the sisters' room seemed to see them and moved away. the place was astir for the day. smoke was rising from the chimneys, and the soft-voiced colored servant was singing to a southern melody one of the doggerel hymns of her race: "de lord he sent his angel. (fly low, sweet angel; fly low, sweet angel; comin' for deliver us again.) an' he tamed de lions for daniel; an' for peter broke de prison and de chain. o! de angel of de lord." the servant was at work in an outer kitchen; the very words were clear. the gentle melody of the stanza was ended abruptly by the soft, triumphal shout of the last line. durgan made the laborers rest their burden within the doorway of the barn, while he went forward with the doctor. but now from the back door hermione came. she was clad in the simple gray morning gown which she always wore at her housewife's duties; but she looked a shadow of herself, so pale and wan with the pain of the night. she came forward quickly. durgan saw at a glance that she knew what bertha could tell, and was ready to meet whatever evil was sufficient for the day. even at such a moment, so selfless and courteous was she, she had a modest word of greeting and gratitude for durgan. durgan made the doctor tell her the truth quickly, and hermione went straight on to the side of the nerveless man. almost as soon as she looked, without a moment's betrayal of unusual emotion, she stooped and kissed him. in thick utterance the paralytic repeated her name. what he thought or felt none might know; the still features gave no expression. then a great joy lit up her face, and the tone of her homely words was like a song of praise. "we can keep you safe. you will be quite safe here; and birdie and i will take real good care of you. we have a beautiful home ready for you." the doctor had turned away. she gave her command to the bearers, and walked with new lightness beside the bed as it was carried toward the house. durgan followed, and found that he was holding his hat in his hand. how terrible, indeed, was this meeting of love and lack-love, of the life gained by self-giving and the life lost by self-saving. the woman, at one with all the powers of life--body, mind, and spirit a unity--able (rare self-possession) to give herself when and for whom she would; meeting with this self-wrecked, disintegrated man, for whom she had suffered and was still eager to suffer. like most things of divine import, that kiss given by the very principle of life to the soul lying in moral death had passed without observation. durgan looked upon the still face. he could now clearly recognize the likeness to bertha in the form, color, and inward glow of the eyes; but so fixed and expressionless were the muscles of the face, which had taken on a look of sensuous contentment, that the onlooker could not even guess what that glow of suffering might betoken, how much there was of memory, of shame, of remorse, of any love for aught but self, or how much latent force of moral recuperation there might be. while they went to the house through the tears of the morning, the negress with the velvet voice was still singing: "an' de lord he sent his angel, an' he walked wi' de children in de flame. (fly low, sweet angel.)" durgan, who had been feeling like one in a dream, suddenly forgot to listen to the song, for he saw, as in a flash, the cause of hermione's solemn joy. the criminal had been restored to her in the only way in which it was possible for his life to be preserved for a time, and for him to be allowed to die in peace. neither alden, nor any other, could propose to bring this stricken man to answer in an earthly court. it was again her privilege to lavish love upon him, to reap the result of her sacrifice by tending his lingering life and telling him her treasure of faith--of the mercy of god and the hope of heaven. chapter xxxiv all that happened durgan felt that day to be a distinctly happy one. a youth makes many pictures of happiness for himself, and he must have but a poor outfit of hope and imagery whose pictures are realized. yet happiness springs up beside the steps of the older wayfarer, a wild flower that he has not sown or tended. in places where his familiar burden lightens, or when gathering clouds disperse, it pushes up its bright flower-face with a positive beauty and fragrance, something much fairer and better than the mere negation of trouble, yet not so gay as mere imagined joys. durgan, who had come to this mountain thinking to be alone, and had become so strenuously involved in the fate of his neighbors, to-day not only felt peace in the cessation of fear and gloomy forebodings which had enwrapped them all, but was lifted beyond this to participate in the joy of heavenly deliverance which transfigured hermione claxton. he could not think of her to-day without a strange, new, selfless pleasure which he did not analyze; and, added to this, his heart leaped up in gratitude on his own account, for surely now the wife he was bound to honor would be spared the public odium which to her vain nature would be peculiar agony. the fate of a long, living death for the man who had stifled every honorable impulse to avoid the legal punishment of death was robbed of its worst horror, because it gave him immunity from the passion of fear by which he was enslaved, and restored him to the arms of the only human love which could not be quenched by his misconduct and disgrace. durgan knew enough to suppose that when his wife's first glamor of reverence for claxton had passed, when, with the help of such a skilful prompter, she had succeeded on the stage of her ambition, his home with her had been no longer even peaceful. the letters 'dolphus had stolen had convinced durgan that she was prepared to get rid of her protégé if possible; and when he left her he was practically a homeless fugitive, the whole world his enemy. from such a fate self-destruction, or yielding to the last penalty of the law, were the only ways of escape, had not the angel of mercy intervened. later in the day alden came from the room above the carriage house, the room in which durgan had spent his first two curious nights on deer mountain. he only knew of the finding of the fugitive, for, on being assured of this, he had fallen asleep in sheer exhaustion. the rain was shifting for the time, affording intervals of blithe air and mellow sunlight. alden sat him down upon a settle in the verandah. the trailing vines and the passion-flower were glowing with the life-renewing moisture, but the gorgeous leaves and long tassels of the love-lies-bleeding had fallen, sodden with the rain. durgan was waiting for some instructions concerning certain invalid requisites. his cousins, the durgan blounts, were returning to baltimore for the winter, and durgan had undertaken that they should make the purchases. no sooner had alden spoken than miss claxton left her writing desk, came swiftly, and sat down beside him. "there is something that i am waiting to tell you," she said. her voice was very gentle. "i have not made any explanation, either, to mr. durgan, for i wouldn't till i saw you; but he ought to know, for mrs. durgan's sake." durgan had moved, but, at her command, remained. there was a little silence, and after she began he was quite sure she had forgotten his presence. she took alden's passive hand in hers. "herbert! my father has come back to us. no, dear; do not start like that. he is still alive. that is my long secret, which i could not have kept from you for anyone's sake but his." alden said not a word. he sat erect, as if someone had struck him. "oh," she cried, with tears in her voice, "the fate that came to him that terrible morning was worse than death, and now he has been carried back to us paralyzed. have patience with me, and i will tell you all that happened." the little lawyer, as if suddenly moved by some electric force, was for bounding from his seat, every nerve quivering with the sting of his own mortification and the shock of surprise. it was the strength of her will that controlled him. "i must tell you from the beginning--it is the only way. upon the morning that that crime was committed in our house, a boy came with a note from mr. beardsley. it made my father very angry. he told me that beardsley was coming on the heels of his messenger upon an impertinent errand. what he said was that beardsley was bent upon dictating the terms of his friendship with mrs. durgan, whom he had only lately met. "there was something the maids had to do that afternoon, and i sent them then in the morning, for i could not bear that anyone should see such a person in our house, or see my father so angry. my poor step-mother had not risen from bed. when beardsley came he went upstairs to my father's sitting-room. the door was shut, but from what my father told me afterwards, i know pretty well what happened." "afterwards!" repeated alden; "afterwards! hermione?" "dear herbert, do not be angry, but only listen, and you will understand how easily what seemed impossible could happen. this mr. beardsley had the idea that my poor father and mrs. durgan had fallen in love at his meetings. he was a simple, stupid man, and he thought it his duty to exhort my father and warn my step-mother. i think that, angry as he was, my father thought it best to receive his exhortation with the affection of playfulness. it was his way, you know. he had graceful, whimsical ways; he was not like other people. when he could not make this man see his own folly, or divert him from his purpose, he took down the little old pistol that was fastened on the wall as an ornament--the one that was found. i need not tell you that he did not know it was loaded; i did not know, and i dusted his things every day, for he could not bear to have a servant in the room. he tried to stop beardsley by threatening to shoot himself in mock despair. poor mamma, hearing loud voices, ran in. "up till then i am sure papa had not a serious thought, except that he was naturally angered by the folly of the man; but the pistol went off, and poor mamma was killed. oh! can you not imagine my father's wild grief and anger against the fellow that, as he would think, had caused him to do it? but there was more than that. my father told me that beardsley denounced him as a wilful murderer, and declared that it was only a feigned accident. then, you see, he was the only witness, and could ruin my father's reputation. oh, i think it was fear as much as anger, but i am sure it was frenzy, possessed my father. you know what happened. the indian battle-ax was hanging beside the pistol, and as soon as beardsley fell, i am sure my father lost all control of himself or any knowledge of what he was doing." "hermione," said alden, "you cannot believe this story? who has made you believe it?" he lifted her hand to his lips. "have you believed this all these years?" "it is true, herbert; you will have to believe it. i will tell you my part of it. i do not think i did right, but you will see that i did not know what else to do. when i heard the noise i ran upstairs, but the door was locked. the boy that brought the note was waiting in the kitchen all this time for beardsley to pay him. then, in a minute, all was quiet, and i heard my father sobbing like a child. you cannot think how quickly it all happened. then my father came to the door and whispered through, 'hermione, are you alone? are the servants out? is bertha there?' so i told him of beardsley's messenger waiting below. "then he came out and called over the stairs to the boy. you know how very clever and quick he always was when he wanted to do anything. he looked the boy up and down, and then he said, 'do you want to earn a hundred dollars?' the boy was cautious; he did not answer. my father said, 'can you hold your tongue and help me, and i'll make a gentleman of you? it's your best chance, for a crime has been committed in this house, and if you don't do as i bid you, i'll give you up to the police and say you did it; they'll take my word for it.' and all the time, between speaking, he was sobbing. he shoved the boy into his dressing-room. then he told me what had happened. "he told me he would be hanged if i did not keep quite quiet. i could not believe that they were dead. i went into the room, but i couldn't stop an instant. the sight of that poor body, disfigured past all recognition, even the clothes stained beyond recognition, made me almost insensible. i saw that no doctor could be of any use. "my father was very quick. he shaved himself, and colored his face with his paints, and put on the boy's clothes. he told me he would go to mrs. durgan, who would get him away. he told me to call the police at once, and tell them everything, except that i had seen him or knew anything about him. he locked the boy in a narrow cupboard that held hot-water pipes, and told me how to let him out at night. i did not think at the time it could be wrong to keep silence about my father. i did just what he told me to do. "you know, herbert, you said the other night that i had deceived you; but, indeed, the great deceit came of itself. i don't think even my father intended it. i could never have believed they could have mistaken that man lying there for my father. first, the police made the mistake; then, in a few hours, we heard the newsboys crying it all over the streets. still i felt sure that when you came, and the coroner, the truth would be known. when you believed it, too, what word could i have said to you that would not have made it your duty to hunt him down? his daughter was the only person who could take the responsibility of silence. i don't say i was right to do it; i only know i could not do anything else. even the boy, as i found afterwards, had never seen beardsley. a servant had given him the note to bring. he naturally thought it was beardsley who had bribed him, and escaped in his clothes. i only kept silent hour by hour. "i thought again they would find out at the inquest; but when, at length, the poor body was buried, and those saturated, torn clothes burned, and i had found out from mrs. durgan that the poor wretch had no near relatives or friends to mourn him, i could do nothing but acquiesce. i had a message from father, through mrs. durgan, before they arrested me. she and he had decided that he must personate the dead man, and he even ventured to play the medium's part at the dark séance. he was always clever at disguises. i could not judge them. i hardly cared, then, whether i lived or died; the wickedness of it all was so dreadful. i shrank far more--and there was nothing heroic in that--from the thought of my father being arrested and punished than from danger for myself. think what it would have been like if it had been your father!" seeing that alden was profoundly distressed, she hastened to say, "if i had told you, herbert, how painful would your position have been! and i never even told bertha; it was father's parting request that she should not know. but i know that of late she has guessed something, for she has lived in fear up here alone. i was obliged when i was ill in paris to tell her where she would find the truth; she guessed the rest, i fear, and it must have been father's return that she has dreaded. but now he has been brought back so helpless he can never hurt anyone again." alden's emotion was hardly restrained from breaking through the crust of his conventionality, and hermione was fain to turn to a lighter aspect of the case in addressing durgan. "i gathered from my father's letters that mrs. durgan's motive in befriending him was partly kindness, and partly that he could be of use to her." "i can understand that," said durgan. he also felt it a relief to speak clearly on the only aspect of this sorrowful tale which did not awaken emotion. "it was the one thing in the whole world that my wife wanted--to be told how to manipulate the secret springs of a world of fashion in which she had so far moved as one in the dark. and having once taken your father in, she could not go back." he rose as he said this and went away, wondering how much alden would submit to the continued devotion of such a daughter to such a father, how much hermione's appeal would reach him: "think how you would feel if it were your father." chapter xxxv readjustments a day or two later alden was returning to new york. durgan drove him to hilyard in miss claxton's surrey. all the mountains had begun to wear golden caps. lower down the yellow pod of the wild pea and purple clusters of wild grapes were tangled in the roadside bushes. the sun shone, and the birds cawed and chirped as they quarreled for the scarlet berries of the ash; not a bird sang, for it was not nesting time. "the doctor can't make a guess, then, as to how long claxton may live? it may be for months, i suppose," said durgan. alden drew himself up in the attitude of one who gives an important opinion. he was going back to his world of conventions, and already taking on its ways. "my dear sir, i see no reason why, with such nursing, surrounded by such luxuries, in the finest air, and in such tranquillity, he should not live--ah, perhaps for years." "it will not be so long as that, i think." "that must be as god wills." but there was too much religious starch in the tone of these words to suggest acquiescence. this good little man, with all his constancy and fervor, had not a large enough soul to see so vile a prodigal feasted without resentment. said durgan, "if his mind is as lucid as the doctor thinks, his present experience must be pretty much like lying helpless in a lake of fire." "sir, what is there to trouble him? two of the finest, most agreeable women who ever lived on this earth are his slaves. they wheel him hither and thither as he suggests a preference. they read; they sing; they show him nature in her glory; and his body suffers no pain. i do not understand your allusion." "i thought it just possible that, being human, he might have a soul latent in him." "'soul'! he has, without excuse or provocation, committed the most brutal crime of the decade; he has passed his years since ministering to his own tastes and indolences in the society of a lady who pleased his fancy, while, with the most horrid cruelty and worm-like cowardice, he has left his tender daughter to suffer the consequences of his crime. he has within him, sir, a soul, humanly speaking, beyond hope of redemption." "but christian faith compels his daughter to set aside the human aspects of the case." "women, sir--women have no standard of manly virtue. can you conceive that a son--a man who knew the world, could slur over such vice, such perfidy, in a parent?" alden's reiteration of "sir," spoken between his teeth, had so very much the force of "damn you," that durgan forbore to suggest that the point of his remark had been evaded. alden, half conscious of his own angry inconsistency as a religious man in desiring the torment of the wicked, still resented durgan's logic enough to bring forward at this point an unpalatable subject. "with regard to mrs. durgan, sir; from all the inquiries i have made, i understand that she probably was aware that adolphus, who has been his valet all these years, had summoned claxton here on threat of disclosure, and that claxton had gone to new orleans, there to assume his new incognito--which, knowing the negro's origin, was natural enough before he interfered on his behalf in your neighborhood. but i understand that mrs. durgan did not know that i or the ladies were here, and had no suspicion of the servant's intended treachery. in all probability she has not heard from claxton, at any rate since he left new orleans. you are aware that we have decided that the miss claxtons shall, till their father's death, retain the name they took upon entering this neighborhood. i wish to suggest to you that it would not be safe to trust mrs. durgan with the secret of their whereabouts. it is undesirable, in keeping a secret, to trust human nature any further than is absolutely necessary, and it appears to me, therefore, needful to request you to let mrs. durgan be left in entire ignorance of the fate of her late protégé." durgan could not but inwardly admit that there was a certain poetic justice in leaving his wife thus in a condition of suspense, and altho he resented the manner of the instruction, he expressed conditional acquiescence. durgan more than suspected that alden was querulously wreaking upon the criminal, and upon all he met, the anger he felt against himself for not, at the first, discerning the simple mistake which had caused the mystery of the "claxton case." as they drove on, mile after mile, through the wild harvests of the woodland, this supposition was confirmed. after talking of many things, alden broke out in self-soothing comment: "as to the mistake of the murdered man's identity, my dear sir, how could doubt enter the mind? the body lay in claxton's private room, beside the couch that he constantly occupied--an unrecognizable mass; mrs. claxton dead beside him, and neither of self-inflicted wounds; bertha wailing the loss of her father; hermione stunned by shock of grief. who the dead was, seemed so self-evident; who the murderer could be, such a puzzle, that the mind inevitably dwelt exclusively on the latter point. my dear sir, looking back on the matter, even now i cannot see how a suspicion of the truth could have arisen." with his professional pique adding to his intense private grief for hermione's long sacrifice, it was, perhaps, not surprising that the return of perfect confidence in her, after the agony of reluctant distrust, did not do more to sweeten the ferment of his little soul. durgan reflected that on a mind no longer young, filled with long earlier memories of mutual trust, the suspicion of a few recent days could make little impression. and, again, this short-lived emotion of suspicion was succeeded by the pain of knowing that his own happiness and hers had been voluntarily sacrificed for a wretch so devoid of any trace of chivalry or of parental feeling. before reaching hilyard, alden expressed his opinion upon another aspect of the recent disclosure. "you say, sir, that to you the most amazing part is that such a man as claxton could do so deadly a deed. my dear sir, my experience of crime is that the purely selfish nature only needs the spark of temptation to flame out into some hellish deed. no doubt you will think me puritanical, but i hold that, while to most cultured egoists such temptation never comes, in god's sight they are none the less evil for that mere absence of temptation. idleness and self-love, especially where education enhances the guilt, are the dirt in which the most virulent plague-germs can propagate with speed and fecundity." durgan felt that, whether his opinion was true or false, it was brought forward now with an energy directed against the class to which he himself belonged. the two men parted stiffly, but they both felt that alden would return in a more placable mood. that day, in a burying-ground near hilyard, the mulatto called "'dolphus" was laid beneath the ground. born the ward of a nation whose institutions had first brought about his existence and then severed him from his natural protectors, he had been given only a little knowledge by way of life's equipment, which, murderer as he was, had proved in his hands a less dangerous thing than in those of many a citizen of the dominant race. no one in that great nation mourned his death or gave a passing sigh to his lone burial; and if anyone set store by that bare patch of grave cut in the unkempt grass among the wild field lilies it must have been god, who is said to gather what mortals cast away. durgan took adam back to deer with him. adam was somewhat the worse for the success of his grief and piety, genuine tho they were. these qualities had won him praise and consideration; they were no longer unconscious. like a child who had been on a stage, he was inclined to pose and show elaborate signs of grief. durgan bore with him for a few days, and then spoke his mind: "stop that, you absurd nigger! if you don't look alive i'll make you!" adam paused in the middle of a pious ejaculation with his mouth open. "reckon you don't know what i'll do to you." "no, marse neil. how can this pore child know your mind, suh?" "i'll have you married to the new girl miss smith got. i'll do it next week!" adam rolled his eyes heavenward. "an' the lord only just took my pore gal, suh! you's not in earnest, suh?" "and if i make you marry the new girl the lord will have given you a better one." adam was deftly cooking durgan's breakfast, moving about the hut with the light step of pride in the new service. there was a silence. durgan had become absorbed in the newspaper. at last, with another sigh that was cut short ere it had expanded his huge chest, adam meekly began: "marse neil, suh." "well?" "the minister who visited me in my affliction, he say--sez he--that we ought to take wi' joy all the dealin' of the lord an' bless his name." and durgan replied, without raising his eyes, "i believe it. adam, you are a good nigger. i'll speak to miss smith." one day, a while after, the young gardener against whose aspirations durgan had warned bertha came up to the mica mine. he had left deer cove soon after bertha had dismissed him, and gone, as the old stories have it, "into the world to seek his fortune." it was a very unusual step for a mountain white, and had given his father so much concern that he had had the son prayed for at the sunday camp meeting. the errant gardener had roamed as far as baltimore, and worked awhile in the household of a certain rich man. he had come away from the plutocrat's palace homesick for his mountains, but had brought back one dominant idea. probably his disappointed love had made his mind peculiarly impressionable, or, true to the traditions of his class, he might, perhaps, not have gained even one. he had now the most exaggerated idea of the elevation to which the "rich and great" were raised. convinced when he left deer that bertha would not receive his addresses, he had found consolation in investing her with a new glamor, as one of an almost princely cast. upon his return he had heard the talk of the neighborhood--the story which alden had allowed to go abroad--that the invalid father, who had been leading some kind of dissipated life abroad, had returned, after years of estrangement, to be nursed in his last illness by his daughters. herein lay the motive of young godson's errand. "they say that he doesn't like colored men lifting him and moving him about--that miss smith's looking for a helper for him." durgan laid his pick against the rock and stood in silent astonishment. he had seen different emotions work different changes in the habits of men, but never so remarkable a result of love as this cure of petty pride in the stiff-necked mountaineer. he was uncertain how far the young man had interpreted himself aright. "it is for miss bertha's sake you wish to do this?" he asked. godson assented. and having at last satisfied himself, by more interrogation, that the youth had actually no further hope at present than to serve his goddess in some lowly task, durgan undertook to support his application. with this end in view he went up to the summit house at his usual hour, when the day's work was over, at sundown. on the lawn the invalid's flat carriage was tilted at an angle which enabled him to see the delectable mountains bathed in the light reflected from that other country--the cloud-land beyond the golden river of the horizon, in which the sun, like a pilgrim, was going down. the elder daughter was reading to him. durgan had no mind to disturb them. he had come hoping that the paralytic would have been put away for the night. he disliked encountering claxton; and, had he disliked the man less, the wrestling soul that shone through the eyes of the almost inanimate face would have distressed him. bertha, who was sitting at a short distance from the pair, and out of their sight, saw the visitor and came across the grass. they went for a stroll together up on the higher rocks. "i am very idle in these days," said bertha. "all the children in my nursery have grown up and are too big to be nursed. there is nothing to do, even in the garden." "but the care of your father must absorb all your time and thought." as he said this there was a questioning inflection in his mind that he kept out of his tone. she hung her head as she walked. after a while she spoke, a beautiful flush on her face. "in the old days father loved me better than hermie, because i was better-looking, and i always thought all that he did was perfect. i thought i loved him far more than hermie did, because she often tried to persuade him that what he did was wrong. now----" durgan waited. "now he does not want to see me. he does not like me to talk or read to him. it makes it hard for hermie, for she has everything to do. she thinks father is shy of me and that it will wear away." "i have no doubt it will." "no," she sighed; "you are both wrong. father, in spite of his helplessness, sees far more clearly. he was always quick to read everyone. he knows"--her voice faltered--"that i cannot love him now that i know what he did. oh, i hate him for deserting hermie and letting her bear it!" she pressed her hand to her side, as if speaking of some disease that gave her pain. "how can i help it, mr. durgan? i despise him, and he knows it." "i dare say he does. he knows, of course, that the whole world could regard him with no feelings but those of hatred and scorn." she stopped short in her walk. in a minute she said, "i think i will go back again, mr. durgan. i cannot bear that you should speak that way to me about my own father." he smiled. "you seem to have some filial affection left." "did you only say it to make me feel angry?" "yes; that is why i said it; but, at the same time, you must remember that the world would certainly judge as you have said; and if the ties of kindred did not give a closer embrace than the world does, there would be no home feeling for any of us; there would be no bright spark of the sacred fire of the next world in this." "'fire.' we think of heaven as light, not heat." "and we think of hell as heat, not light; yet we know light and heat to be one and the same thing; and both are the supreme need of life, and both are the only adequate symbols of love." many a red flag and gay pennon of autumn was now flying on the heights of deer. the leaves of the stunted oak wood were floating and falling, and below, the chestnuts were yellowing, burr and leaf. the weeds were sere and full of ripe seed, and the shrubs of ripe berries. birds of passage in flocks were talking and calling, eating their evening meal, or settling, a noisy multitude, in verdant lodging for the night. "i always wonder where they come from, or where they are going," said the girl. "i used to long so often, in all the nights and days i have been on this mountain, to be able to fly away as the birds fly; and now, since eve died, what we have suffered makes me feel that just to live here, away from the worse sorrows of the world, would be enough happiness always." "that's right. let us make the best of our mountain, for we are likely to enjoy its solitudes for some time to come." "if i only could set my affections right!" she said wistfully. "perhaps, as you think, i have better feelings underneath, but they are not on the top just now. i am ashamed to be with hermie, because i suspected her; and father is ashamed to be with me, because i am not good enough to forget what he has done. and i have no comfort in religion, for either i think god is cruel, or else most likely it is all chance and there is no reason at the heart of the universe." "you are quite ready to believe now in god's insanity." "how can you taunt me that way? i have told you that i am ashamed of my wicked thoughts about hermione. but how can we tell that there is any mind governing the universe?" "it was only when you could not understand your sister that you thought you had found any proof of lack of mind. you would treat the great power that lies behind the universe in the same way." "i have heard many good people say as much. do you think it wicked?" "i can only say that i have never liked you so well since i knew your thoughts about your sister. how much more must all good spirits despise us when we distrust the mind of god." "you speak unkindly. i cannot alter my doubt." "no. you are endowed with beauty and health, intellect and heart. you have done many things well. but this, i suppose, is a radical defect." she did not look satisfied. "how can i alter it?" "if i were you i would go on laying out the orchard you were working at in spring. you could put in a great many of the small trees yourself. i have gained so much from delving that i offer you the same occupation with a certificate of merit." "but i can't get the rows straight alone," she said, "or prepare the ground. it is all as it was when the godsons left. it was you who made me send them away." "and now i have come to ask you to take young godson back," he said. so he told the young man's story. "he will have time to help in the orchard if he is employed about your father." "do you think there is no risk?" she asked, with the grave dignity that the peculiar isolation of her life had given. "i would not undertake to say that," he replied, with a smile. "but, such as it is, he takes it. you need help sadly, and perhaps you will both learn more wisdom than i was able to impart when i first interfered." durgan went his solitary way down the trail. godson was still waiting for him. he was as fine a fellow as those remote mountains produce--spare, tall, with a curious look of ideality peculiar to their hardy sons. when he was told he might go up to the summit house, his blue eyes, far under the projecting tow-colored brows, looked almost like the eyes of a saint wrapped in adoration. durgan was not in a mood to feel that bertha was his superior. durgan built sticks for a fire on the rock-ledge to make his own coffee. he was a better man physically than he had been when he came to deer mountain--strong, sinewy, and calm, the processes of age arrested by the vital tide of work. alone as he was in his eyrie, he could take keen pleasure in the stateliness of his rock palace, in the vision of nights and days that passed before it, in the food and rest that his body earned. to-night he was not expecting satisfaction, and when he struck his match the whole universe was gray and seemed empty; but no sooner had his small beacon blazed than an answering beam leaped out of the furthest distance. it was the evening star. none mingo and other sketches in black and white by joel chandler harris "uncle remus" _author's edition_ edinburgh david douglas, castle street edinburgh: printed by t. and a. constable for david douglas london: simpkin, marshall and co. contents. mingo: a sketch of life in middle georgia at teague poteet's: a sketch of the hog mountain range a piece of land blue dave mingo: a sketch of life in middle georgia i. in , circumstances, partly accidental and partly sentimental, led me to revisit crooked creek church, near the little village of rockville, in middle georgia. i was amazed at the changes which a few brief years had wrought. the ancient oaks ranged roundabout remained the same, but upon everything else time had laid its hand right heavily. even the building seemed to have shrunk: the pulpit was less massive and imposing, the darkness beyond the rafters less mysterious. the preacher had grown grey, and feebleness had taken the place of that physical vigour which was the distinguishing feature of his interpretations of the larger problems of theology. people i had never seen sat in the places of those i had known so well. there were only traces here and there of the old congregation, whose austere simplicity had made so deep an impression upon my youthful mind the blooming girls of had grown into careworn matrons, and the young men had developed in their features the strenuous uncertainty and misery of the period of desolation and disaster through which they had passed. anxiety had so ground itself into their lives that a stranger to the manner might well have been pardoned for giving a sinister interpretation to these pitiable manifestations of hopelessness and unsuccess. i had known the venerable preacher intimately in the past; but his eyes, wandering vaguely over the congregation, and resting curiously upon me, betrayed no recognition. age, which had whitened his hair and enfeebled his voice, seemed also to have given him the privilege of ignoring everything but the grave and the mysteries beyond. these swift processes of change and decay were calculated to make a profound impression, but my attention was called away from all such reflections. upon a bench near the pulpit, in the section reserved for the coloured members, sat an old negro man whose face was perfectly familiar. i had known him in my boyhood as mingo, the carriage-driver and body-servant of judge junius wornum. he had changed but little. his head was whiter than when i saw him last, but his attitude was as firm and as erect, and the evidences of his wonderful physical strength as apparent, as ever. he sat with his right hand to his chin, his strong serious face turned contemplatively toward the rafters. when his eye chanced to meet mine, a smile of recognition lit up his features, his head and body drooped forward, and his hand fell away from his face, completing a salutation at once graceful, picturesque, and imposing. i have said that few evidences of change manifested themselves in mingo; and so it seemed at first, but a closer inspection showed one remarkable change. i had known him when his chief purpose in life seemed to be to enjoy himself. he was a slave, to be sure, but his condition was no restraint upon his spirits. he was known far and wide as "laughing mingo," and upon hundreds of occasions he was the boon companion of the young men about rockville in their wild escapades. many who read this will remember the "'possum suppers" which it was mingo's delight to prepare for these young men, and he counted among his friends and patrons many who afterward became distinguished both in war and in the civil professions. at these gatherings, mingo, bustling around and serving his guests, would keep the table in a roar with his quaint sayings, and his local satires in the shape of impromptu doggerel; and he would also repeat snatches of orations which he had heard in washington when judge wornum was a member of congress. but his chief accomplishments lay in the wonderful ease and fluency with which he imitated the eloquent appeals of certain ambitious members of the kockville bar, and in his travesties of the bombastic flights of the stump-speakers of that day. it appeared, however, as he sat in the church, gazing thoughtfully and earnestly at the preacher, that the old-time spirit of fun and humour had been utterly washed out of his face. there was no sign of grief, no mark of distress, but he had the air of settled anxiety belonging to those who are tortured by an overpowering responsibility. apparently here was an interesting study. if the responsibilities of life are problems to those who have been trained to solve them, how much more formidable must they be to this poor negro but lately lifted to his feet! thus my reflections took note of the pathetic associations and suggestions clustering around this dignified representative of an unfortunate race. upon this particular occasion church services were to extend into the afternoon, and there was an interval of rest after the morning sermon, covering the hour of noon. this interval was devoted by both old and young to the discussion of matters seriously practical. the members of the congregation had brought their dinner baskets, and the contents thereof were spread around under the trees in true pastoral style. those who came unprovided were, in pursuance of an immemorial custom of the section and the occasion, taken in charge by the simple and hearty hospitality of the members. somehow i was interested in watching mingo. as he passed from the church with the congregation, and moved slowly along under the trees, he presented quite a contrast to the other negroes who were present. these, with the results of their rural surroundings superadded to the natural shyness of their race, hung upon the outskirts of the assembly, as though their presence was merely casual, while mingo passed along from group to group of his white friends and acquaintances with that familiar and confident air of meritorious humility and unpretentious dignity which is associated with good-breeding and gentility the world over. when he lifted his hat in salutation, there was no servility in the gesture; when he bent his head, and dropped his eyes upon the ground, his dignity was strengthened and fortified rather than compromised. both his manners and his dress retained the flavour of a social system the exceptional features of which were too often by both friend and foe made to stand for the system itself. his tall beaver, with its curled brim, and his blue broadcloth dress-coat, faded and frayed, with its brass buttons, bore unmistakable evidence of their age and origin, but they seemed to be a reasonable and necessary contribution to his individuality. passing slowly through the crowd, mingo made his way to a double-seated buggy shielded from all contingencies of sun and rain by an immense umbrella. prom beneath the seat he drew forth a large hamper, and proceeded to arrange its contents upon a wide bench which stood near. while this was going on i observed a tall angular woman, accompanied by a bright-looking little girl, making her way toward mingo's buggy. the woman was plainly, oven shabbily, dressed, so that the gay ribbons and flowers worn by the child were gaudy by contrast. the woman pressed forward with decision, her movements betraying a total absence of that undulatory grace characteristic of the gentler sex, while the little girl dancing about her showed not only the grace and beauty of youth, but a certain refinement of pose and gesture calculated to attract attention. mingo made way for these with ready deference, and after a little i saw him coming toward me. he came forward, shook hands, and remarked that he had brought me an invitation to dine with mrs. feratia bivins. "miss f'raishy 'members you, boss," he said, bowing and smiling, "en she up'n say she be mighty glad er yo' comp'ny ef you kin put up wid cole vittles an' po' far'; en ef you come," he added on his own account, "we like it mighty well." ii. accepting the invitation, i presently found myself dining with mrs. bivins, and listening to her remarkable flow of small-talk, while mingo hovered around, the embodiment of active hospitality. "mingo 'lowed he'd ast you up," said mrs. bivins, "an' i says, says i, 'don't you be a-pesterin' the gentulmun, when you know thar's plenty er the new-issue quality ready an' a-waitin' to pull an' haul at 'im,' says i. not that i begrudge the vittles--not by no means; i hope i hain't got to that yit. but somehow er 'nother folks what hain't got no great shakes to brag 'bout gener'ly feels sorter skittish when strange folks draps in on 'em. goodness knows i hain't come to that pass wher' i begrudges the vittles that folks eats, bekaze anybody betweenst this an' clinton, jones county, georgy, 'll tell you the sanderses wa'n't the set to stint the'r stomachs. i was a sanders 'fore i married, an' when i come 'way frum pa's house hit was thes like turnin' my back on a barbecue. not by no means was i begrudgin' of the vittles. says i, 'mingo,' says i, 'ef the gentulmun is a teetotal stranger, an' nobody else hain't got the common perliteness to ast 'im, shorely you mus' ast 'im,' says i; 'but don't go an' make no great to-do,' says i; 'bekaze the little we got mightent be satisfactual to the gentulmun,' says i. what we got may be little enough, an' it may be too much, but hit's welcome." it would be impossible to convey an idea of the emphasis which mrs. bivins imposed upon her conversation. she talked rapidly, but with a certain deliberation of manner which gave a quaint interest to everything she said. she had thin grey hair, a prominent nose, firm thin lips, and eyes that gave a keen and sparkling individuality to sharp and homely features. she had evidently seen sorrow and defied it. there was no suggestion of compromise in manner or expression. even her hospitality was uncompromising. i endeavoured to murmur my thanks to mrs. bivins for mingo's thoughtfulness, but her persistent conversation drowned out such poor phrases as i could hastily frame. "come 'ere, pud hon," continued mrs. bivins, calling the child, and trimming the demonstrative terms of "pudding" and "honey" to suit all exigencies of affection--"come 'ere, pud hon, an' tell the gentulmun howdy. gracious me! don't be so _countrified_. he ain't a-gwine to _bite_ you. no, sir, you won't fine no begrudgers mixed up with the _sanderses_. hit useter be a _common_ sayin' in jones, an' cle'r 'cross into jasper, that pa would 'a bin a rich man an' 'a owned _niggers_ if it hadn't but 'a bin bekase he sot his head agin stintin' of his stomach. that's what they useter say--usen't they, mingo?" "dat w'at i year tell, miss f'raishy--sho'," mingo assented, with great heartiness. but mrs. bivins's volubility would hardly wait for this perfunctory indorsement. she talked as she arranged the dishes, and occasionally she would hold a piece of crockery suspended in the air as she emphasised her words. she dropped into a mortuary strain--"poor pa! i don't never have nuthin' extry an' i don't never see a dish er fried chicken but what pa pops in my mind. a better man hain't never draw'd the breath of life--that they hain't. an' he was thes as gayly as a kitten. when we gals'd have comp'ny to dinner, pore pa he'd cut his eye at me, an' up an' say, says he, 'gals, this 'ere turkey's mighty nice, yit i'm reely afeared you put too much inguns in the stuffin. maybe the young men don't like 'em as good as you all does;' an' then pore pa'd drap his knife an' fork, an' laugh tell the tears come in his eyes. sister prue she useter run off an' have a cry, but i was one er the kind what wa'n't easy sot back. "i'd 'a bin mighty glad if pud yer had er took airter pa's famerly, but frum the tip eend er her toe nails to the toppermust ha'r of her head she's a wornum. hit ain't on'y thes a streak yer an' a stripe thar-- hit's the whole bolt. i reckon maybe you know'd ole jedge june wornum; well, jedge june he was pud's gran'pa, an' deely wornum was her ma. maybe you might 'a seed deely when she was a school-gal." cordelia wornum! no doubt my astonishment made itself apparent, for mrs. bivins bridled up promptly, and there was a clearly perceptible note of defiance in her tone as she proceeded. "yes, sir-ree! _an' make no mistake!_ deely wornum married my son, an' henry clay bivina made 'er a good husbun', if i do have to give it out myse'f. yes, 'ndeed! an' yit if you'd 'a heern the rippit them wornums kicked up, you'd 'a thought the pore chile'd done took'n run off 'long of a whole passel er high pirates frum somewheres er 'nother. in about that time the ole jedge he got sorter fibbled up, some say in his feet, an' some say in his head; but his wife, that em'ly wornum, she taken on awful. i never seen her a-gwine on myse'f; not that they was any hidin' out 'mongst the bivinses er the sanderses--bless you, no! bekaze here's what wa'n't afeared er all the wornums in the continental state er georgy, not if they'd 'a mustered out under the lead er ole nick hisse'f, which i have my doubta if he wa'n't somewheres aroun'. i never seen 'er, but i heern tell er how she was a-cuttin' up. you mayn't think it, but that 'oman taken it on herse'f to call up all the niggers on the place an' give 'em her forbiddance to go an' see the'r young mistiss." "yit i lay dey tuck 'n sneak 'roun' en come anyhow, ain't dey, miss f'raishy?" inquired mingo, rubbing his hands together and smiling blandly. "_that_ they did--_that_ they did!" was mrs. bivins's emphatic response. "niggers is niggers, but them wornum niggers was a cut er two 'bove the common run. i'll say that, an' i'll say it on the witness stan'. freedom might a turned the'r heads when it come to t'other folks, but hit didn't never turn the'r heads 'bout the'r young mistiss. an' if mingo here hain't done his juty 'cordin' to his lights, then i dunner what juty is. i'll say that open an' above-board, high an' low." the curious air of condescension which mrs. bivins assumed as she said this, the tone of apology which she employed in paying this tribute to mingo and the wornum negroes, formed a remarkable study. evidently she desired me distinctly to understand that in applauding these worthy coloured people she was in no wise compromising her own dignity. thus mrs. bivins rattled away, pausing only long enough now and then to deplore my lack of appetite. meanwhile mingo officiated around the improvised board with gentle affability; and the little girl, bearing strong traces of her lineage in her features--a resemblance which was confirmed by a pretty little petulance of temper--made it convenient now and again to convey a number of tea cakes into mingo's hat, which happened to be sitting near, the conveyance taking place in spite of laughable pantomimic protests on the part of the old man, ranging from appealing nods and grimaces to indignant frowns and gestures. "when deely died," mrs. bivins went on, waving a towel over a tempting jar of preserves, "they wa'n't nobody but what was afeared to break it to emily wornum, an' the pore chile'd done been buried too long to talk about before her ma heern tell of it, an' then she drapped like a clap er thunder had hit 'er. airter so long a time, mingo thar he taken it 'pun hisse'f to tell 'er, an' she flopped right down in 'er tracks, an' mingo he holp 'er into the house, an', bless your life, when he come to he'p 'er out'n it, she was a changed 'oman. 'twa'n't long 'fore she taken a notion to come to my house, an' one mornin' when i was a-washin' up dishes, i heern some un holler at the gate, an' thar sot mingo peerched up on the wornum carry-all, an' of all livin' flesh, who should be in thar but ole emily wornum! "hit's a sin to say it," continued mrs. bivins, smiling a dubious little smile that was not without its serious suggestions, "but i tightened up my apern strings, an' flung my glance aroun' tell hit drapped on the battlin'-stick, bekaze i flared up the minnit i seen 'er, an' i says to myse'f, says i: 'if hit's a fracas youer huntin', my lady, i lay you won't hafter put on your specs to fine it.' an' then i says to pud, says i-- "'pud hon, go in the shed-room thar, chile, an' if you hear anybody a-hollerin' an' a-squallin', thes shet your eyeleds an' grit your teeth, bekaze hit'll be your pore ole granny a-tryin' to git even with some er your kin.' "an' then i taken a cheer an' sot down by the winder. d'reckly in come emily wornum, an' i wish i may die if i'd 'a know'd 'er if i'd saw 'er anywheres else on the face er the yeth. she had this 'ere kinder dazzled look what wimmen has airter they bin baptized in the water. i helt my head high, but i kep' my eye on the battlin'-stick, an' if she'd 'a made fight, i'll be boun' they'd 'a bin some ole sco'es settled then an' thar if ole sco'es ken be settled by a frailin'. but, bless your heart, they wa'n't never no cammer 'oman than what emily wornum was; an' if you'd 'a know'd 'er, an' mingo wa'n't here to b'ar me out, i wish i may die if i wouldn't be afeared to tell you how ca'm an' supjued that 'oman was, which in her young days she was a tarrifier. she up an' says, says she-- "'is mizzers bivins in?' "'yessum,' says i, 'she is that-away. an more 'n that, nobody don't hafter come on this hill an' holler more 'n twicet 'thout gittin'some kinder answer back. _yessum!_ an' what's more, mizzers bivins is come to that time er life when she's mighty proud to git calls from the big-bugs. if i had as much perliteness, ma'am, as i is cheers, i'd ast you to set down,' says i. "she stood thar, she did, thes as cool as a cowcumber; but d'reckly she ups an' says, says she-- "'might i see my little gran'chile?' says she. "'oho, ma'am!' says i; 'things is come to a mighty purty pass when quality folks has to go frum house to house a-huntin' up pore white trash, an' a-astin' airter the'r kin. tooby shore! tooby shore! yessum, a mighty purty pass,' says i." i cannot hope to give even a faint intimation of the remarkable dramatic fervour and earnestness of this recital, nor shall i attempt to describe the rude eloquence of attitude and expression; but they seemed to represent the real or fancied wrongs of a class, and to spring from the pent-up rage of a century. "i wa'n't lookin' fer no compermise, nuther," mrs. bivins continued. "i fully spected 'er to flar' up an' fly at me; but 'stedder that, she kep' a-stan'in' thar lookin' thes like folks does when theyer runnin' over sump'n in the'r min'. then her eye lit on some 'er the pictur's what deely had hung up on the side er the house, an' in pertic'lar one what some 'er the woruum niggers had fetched 'er, whar a great big dog was a-watehin' by a little bit er baby. when she seen that, bless your soul, she thes sunk right down on the floor, an' clincht 'er han's, an' brung a gasp what looked like it might er bin the last, an' d'reckly she ast, in a whisper, says she-- "'was this my dear daughter's room?' "maybe you think," said mrs. bivins, regarding me coldly and critically, and pressing her thin lips more firmly together, if that could be--"maybe you think i oughter wrung my han's, an' pitied that 'oman kneelin' thar in that room whar all my trouble was born an' bred. some folks would 'a flopped down by 'er, an' i won't deny but what hit come over me; but the nex' minnit hit flashed acrost me as quick an' hot as powder how she'd 'a bin a-houndin' airter me an' my son, an' a-treatin' us like as we'd 'a bin the offscourin's er creation, an' how she cast off her own daughter, which deely was as good a gal as ever draw'd the breath er life--when all this come over me, hit seem like to me that i couldn't keep my paws off'n 'er. i hope the lord'll forgive me--that i do--but if hit hadn't but 'a bin for my raisin', i'd 'a jumped at emily wornum an' 'a spit in 'er face an' 'a clawed 'er eyes out'n 'er. an' yit, with ole nick a-tuggin' at me, i was a christun 'nuff to thank the lord that they was a tender place in that pore miserbul creetur's soul-case. "when i seen her a-kneelin' thar, with 'er year-rings a-danglin' an' 'er fine feathers a-tossin' an' a-trimblin', leetle more an' my thoughts would 'a sot me afire. i riz an' i stood over her, an' i says, says i-- "'emily wornum, whar you er huntin' the dead you oughter hunted the livin'. what's betwix' you an' your maker _i_ can't tell,' says i, 'but if you git down on your face an' lick the dirt what deely bivins walked on, still you won't be humble enough for to go whar _she's_ gone, nor good enough nuther. she died right yer while you was a-traipsin' an' a-trollopin' roun' frum pos' to pillar a-upholdin' your quality idees. these arms helt 'er,' says i, 'an' ef hit hadn't but 'a bin for _her_, emily wornum,' says i, 'i'd 'a strangled the life out'n you time your shadder darkened my door. an' what's more,' says i, 'ef youer come to bother airter pud, _the make the trail of it. thes so much as lay the weight er your little finger on 'er,_' says i, '_an' i'll grab you by the goozle an' t'ar your haslet out_,' says i." o mystery of humanity! it was merely mrs. feratia bivins who had been speaking, but the voice was the voice of tragedy. its eyes shone; its fangs glistened and gleamed; its hands clutched the air; its tone was husky with suppressed fury; its rage would have stormed the barriers of the grave. in another moment mrs. bivins was brushing the crumbs from her lap, and exchanging salutations with her neighbours and acquaintances; and a little later, leading her grandchild by the hand, she was making her way back to the church, where the congregation had begun to gather. iii. for my own part, i preferred to remain under the trees, and i soon found that this was the preference of mingo. the old man had finished his dinner, and sat at the foot of a gigantic oak, gazing dreamily at the fleecy clouds that sailed across the sky. his hands were clasped above his head, and his attitude was one of reflection. the hymn with which the afternoon services were opened came through the woods with a distinctness that was not without a remote and curious suggestion of pathos. as it died away, mingo raised himself slightly, and said, in a tone that was intended to be explanatory, if not apologetic-- "miss f'raishy, ef she ain't one sight, den i ain't never seed none. i s'pec' it seem sorter funny ter you, boss, but dat w'ite 'oman done had lots er trouble; she done had bunnunce er trouble--she sholy is! look mighty cu'us dat some folks can't git useter yuther folks w'at got fergiuny ways, but dat's miss f'raishy up en down. dat's her, sho! ole miss en ole marster dey had ferginny ways, en miss f'raishy she wouldn't 'a staid in a ten-acre fiel' wid urn--dat she wouldn't. folks wa't got ferginny ways, miss f'raishy she call um big-bugs, en she git hos_tile_ w'en she year der name call. hit's de same way wid niggers. miss f'raishy she hate de common run er niggers like dey wuz pizen. yit i ain't makin' no complaints, kaze she mighty good ter me. i goes en i suns myse'f in miss f'raishy back peazzer all day sundays, w'en dey ain't no meetin's gwine on, en all endurin' er de week i hangs 'roun' en ploughs a little yer, en hoes a little dar, en scratches a little yander, en looks arter ole miss' gran'chile. but des let 'n'er nigger so much ez stick der chin 'cross de yard palin's, en, bless yo' soul, you'll year miss f'raishy blaze out like de woods done cotch afire." mingo paused here to chuckle over the discomfiture and alarm of the imaginary negro who had had the temerity to stick his supposititious chin over the fence. then he went on-- "i dunner whar miss f'raishy git do notion 'bout dat chile a-faverin' er de wornums, kaze she de ve'y spit en image er ole miss, en ole miss wuz a full-blood bushrod. de bushrods is de fambly what i cum fum myse'f, kaze w'en ole miss marry marster, my mammy fell ter her, en w'en i got big 'nuff, dey tuck me in de house fer ter wait on de table en do er'n's, en dar i bin twel freedom come out. she 'uz mighty high-strung, ole miss wuz, yit i sees folks dese days put on mo' a'rs dan w'at ole miss ever is. i ain't 'sputin' but w'at she hilt 'er head high, en i year my mammy say dat all the bushrods in ferginny done zactly dat a way. "high-strung yer, headstrong yander," continued mingo, closing one eye, and gazing at the sun with a confidential air. "ef it hadn't er bin fer de high-strungity-head-strongityness er de bushrod blood, miss deely wouldn't 'a never runn'd off wid clay bivins in de roun' worril, dough he 'uz des one er de nicest w'ite mens w'at you 'mos' ever laid yo' eyes on. soon ez she done dat, wud went 'roun' fum de big house dat de nigger w'at call miss deely name on dat plantation would be clap on de cote-house block, en ole miss she shot 'erse'f up, she did, en arter dat mighty few folks got a glimpse un 'er, 'ceppin' hit 'uz some er de kin, en bless yo' soul, _dey_ hatter look mighty prim w'en dey come whar she wuz. ole marster he ain't say nothin', but he tuck a fresh grip on de jimmy-john, en it got so dat, go whar you would, dey want no mo' lonesomer place on de face er de yeth dan dat wornum plantation, en hit look like ruination done sot in. en den, on top er dat, yer come de war, en clay bivins he went off en got kilt, en den freedom come out, en des 'bout dat time miss deely she tuck 'n' die. "i 'clar' ter gracious," exclaimed mingo, closing his eyes and frowning heavily, "w'en i looks back over my shoulder at dem times, hit seem like it mighty funny dat any un us pull thoo. some did en some didn't, en dem w'at did, dey look like deyer mighty fergitful. w'en de smash come, ole marster he call us niggers up, he did, en 'low dat we 'uz all free. some er de boys 'low dat dey wuz a-gwineter see ef dey wuz free sho 'nuff, en wid dat dey put out fer town, en some say ef dey wuz free dey wuz free ter stay. some talk one way en some talk 'n'er. i let you know i kep' my mouf shot, yit my min' 'uz brimful er trouble. "bimeby soon one mornin' i make a break. i wrop up my little han'ful er duds in a hankcher, en i tie de hankcher on my walkin'-cane, en i put out arter de army. i walk en i walk, en 'bout nine dat night i come ter ingram ferry. de flat wuz on t'er side er de river, en de man w'at run it look like he gone off some'rs. i holler en i whoop, en i whoop en i holler, but ef dey wuz any man 'roun', he wuz hidin' out fum me. arter so long i got tired er whoopin' en hollerin', en i went ter de nighest house en borrer'd a chunk, en built me a fier by de side er de road, en i set dar en nod twel i git sleepy, en den i pull my blanket 'cross my head en quile up--en w'en i do dat, hit's good-bye, mingo! "boss," said mingo, after a little pause, "you don't b'leeve in no ghos'es en sperrits, does you?" an apparently irrelevant inquiry, suddenly put, is sometimes confusing, and i fear i did not succeed in convincing mingo of my unbelief. "some does en some don't," he continued, "but ez fer me, you kin des put me sorter 'twix' en between. dey mout be ghos'es en den ag'in dey moutent. ole nigger like me ain't got no bizness takin' sides, en dat w'at make i say w'at i does. i ain't mo'n kivver my head wid dat blanket en shot my eyes, 'fo' i year somebody a-callin' un me. fus' hit soun' way off yander. "'_mingo!--oh, mingo!_' en den hit got nigher--'_mingo!--oh, mingo!_' "i ain't 'spon' ter dat, but i lay dar, i did, en i say ter myse'f-- "'bless gracious! de man on t'er side done come, but how in de name er goodness is he know mingo?' "i lay dar, en i study en i lissen, en i lissen en i study; en den i doze off like, en fus' news i know yer come de call-- "'_mingo!--oh, mingo!_' "hit soun' nigher, yit hit seem like it come fum a mighty fur ways, en den wiles i wundin' en studyin', yer she come mo' plainer dan befo'-- "'oh, mingo!' "i snatch de blanket offn my head, en sot up en lissen, i did, en den i make answer-- "'who dat callin' mingo way out yer?' "i lissen en i lissen, but nobody ain't callin'. i year de water sneakin' 'long under de bank, en i year de win' squeezin' en shufflin' 'long thoo de trees, en i year de squinch-owl shiver'n' like he cole, but i ain't year no callin'. dis make me feel sorter jubous like, but i lay down en wrop up my head. "i ain't bin dar long 'fo' bimeby yer come de call, en it soun' right at me. hit rise en it fall, en de wud wuz-- "'_mingo!--oh, mingo! whar my little baby? my little baby, mingo! whar my little, baby?_' "en den, boss, hit seem like i year sump'n like a 'oman cryin' in de dark like 'er heart gwineter break. you kin laff ef you mineter, but i ain't dast ter take dat blanket offn my head, kaze i know my young mistiss done come back, en mo'n dat, i know sho 'uz stannin" dar right over me. "tooby sho i wuz skeer'd, but i wa'n't so skeer'd dat i dunner w'at she mean, en i des broke inter de bigges' kinder boo-hoo, en i say, sez i-- "'make yo' peace, miss deely! make yo' peace, honey! kaze i gwine right back ter dat baby ef de lord spar' me. i gwine back, miss deely! i gwine back!' "bless yo' soul, boss, right den en dar i know'd w'at bin a-pester'n' un me, kaze des time i make up my min' fer ter come back ter dat baby, hit look like i see my way mo' cle'r dan w'at it bin befo'. arter dat i lay dar, i did, en i lissen en i lissen, but i ain't year no mo' callin' en no mo' cryin'; en bimeby i tuck de blanket fum off'n my head, en lo en beholes, de stars done fade out, en day done come, en dey wa'n't no fuss nowhars. de squinch-owl done hush, en de win' done gone, en it look like de water done stop sneakin' en crawlin' und' de bank. "i riz up, i did, en shuck de stift'nes out'n my bones, en i look 'way 'cross de river ter de top er de hill whar de road lead. i look en i say, sez i-- "'maybe you leads ter freedom, but, bless god! i gwine back.' "des 'bout dat time i see de fe'ymun come down ter de flat en onloose de chain, en make ez he wuz comin' 'cross arter me. wid dat i raise up my hat en tip 'im a bow, en dat's de las' i seed un 'im. "i come back, i did," continued mingo, reflectively, "en yer i is, en yer i bin; en i ain't come none too soon, en i ain't stay none too close, n'er, kaze i dunuer w'at mout er happin. miss f'raishy been mighty good, too, sho. she ain't useter niggers like some w'ite folks, en she can't git 'long wid um, but she puts up wid me mighty well. i tuck holt er de little piece er groun' w'at she had, en by de he'p er de lord we bin gittin on better dan lots er folks. it bin nip en tuck, but ole tuck come out ahead, en it done got so now dat miss p'raishy kin put by some er de cotton money fer ter give de little gal a chance w'en she git bigger. 'twon't b'ar tellin' how smart dat chile is. she got miss deely peanner, en, little ez she is, she kin pick mos' all de chunes w'at her mammy useter pick. she sets at de peanner by de hour, en whar she larnt it i be bless ef _i_ kin tell you--dat i can't!" the little girl had grown tired of the services in the church, and ran out just as the old man had put my horse to the buggy. mingo knew a shorter road to rockville than that by which i had come, and taking the child by the hand, he walked on ahead to show me the way. in a little while we came to the brow of a hill, and here i bade the old man and his charge good-bye, and the two stood watching me as i drove away. presently a cloud of dust rose between us, and i saw them no more, but i brought away a very pretty picture in my mind--mingo with his hat raised in farewell, the sunshine falling gently upon his grey hairs, and the little girl clinging to his hand and daintily throwing kisses after me. at teague poteet's. a sketch of the hog mountain range emmigration is a much more serious matter than revolution. virtually, it is obliteration. thus, gerard petit, landing upon the coast of south carolina in the days of french confusion--a period covering too many dates for a romancer to be at all choice in the matter--gave his wife and children over to the oblivion of a fatal fever. turning his face westward, he pushed his way to the mountains. he had begun his journey fired with the despair of an exile, and he ended it with something of the energy and enterprise of a pioneer. in the foot-hills of the mountains he came to the small stream of english colonists that was then trickling slowly southward through the wonderful valleys that stretch from pennsylvania to georgia, between the foot-hills of the blue ridge and the great cumberland range. here, perhaps for the first time, the _je, vous, nous_ of france met in conflict the "ah yi," the "we uns" and the "you uns" of the english-pennsylvania-georgians. the conflict was brief. there was but one gerard petit, and, although he might multiply the _je, vous, nous_ by the thousands and hundreds of thousands, as he undoubtedly did, yet, in the very nature of things, the perpetual volley of "you uns" and "we uns" must carry the day. they belonged to the time, and the climate suited them. by degrees they fitted themselves to gerard petit; they carried him from the mountains of south carolina to the mountains of north georgia, and there they helped him to build a mill and found a family. but their hospitality did not end there. with the new mill and the new family, they gave him a new name. gerard petit, presumably with his hand upon his heart, as became his race, made one last low bow to genealogy. in his place stood jerd poteet, "you uns" to the left of him, "we uns" to the right of him. he made such protest as he might. he brought his patriotism to bear upon the emergency, and named his eldest son huguenin petit. how long this contest between hospitality on the one hand and family pride and patriotism on the other was kept up it is unnecessary to inquire. it is enough to say that the huguenin of one generation, left hugue poteet as his son and heir; hugue left hague, and this hague, or a succeeding one, by some mysterious development of fate, left teague poteet. meanwhile the restless stream of english-pennsylvania-georgians, with its "you uns" and its "we uns," trickled over into alabama, where some of the petits who were carried with it became pettys and pettises. the georgia settlements, however, had been reinforced by virginians, south carolinians, and georgians. the gold excitement brought some; while others, set adrift by the exigencies of the plantation system, found it easier and cheaper to get to north georgia than to reach louisiana or mississippi. thus, in , teague poteet, a young man of thirty or thereabouts, was tilling, in a half-serious, half-jocular way, a small farm on hog mountain, in full view of gullettsville. that is to say, poteet could see the whole of gullettsville, but gullettsville could not, by any means, see the whole, nor even the half, of poteet's fifty-acre farm. gullettsville could see what appeared to be a grey notch on the side of the mountain, from which a thin stream of blue smoke flowed upward and melted into the blue of the sky, and this was about all that could be seen. gullettsville had the advantage in this, that it was the county-seat. a country-road, straggling in from the woods, straggled around a barn-like structure called the court-house, and then straggled off to some other remote and lonely settlement. upon rare occasions teague made his appearance on this straggling street, and bought his dram and paid his thrip for it; but, in a general way, if gullettsville wanted to see him, it had to search elsewhere than on the straggling street. by knocking the sheriff of the county over the head with a chair, and putting a bullet through a saloon-keeper who bullied everybody, poteet won the reputation of being a man of marked shrewdness and common sense, and gullettsville was proud of him, in a measure. but he never liked gullettsville. he wore a wool hat, a homespun shirt, jeans pantaloons, and cotton suspenders, and he never could bring himself into thorough harmony with the young men who wore ready-made clothes, starched shirts, and beaver hats; nor was his ideal of feminine beauty reached by the village belles, with their roach-combs, their red and yellow ribbons, and their enormous flounces. in the mountains, he was to the manner born; in the village, he was keenly alive to the presence and pressure of the exclusiveness that is the basis of all society, good, bad, or indifferent; and it stirred his venom. his revolt was less pronounced and less important than that of his ancestors; but it was a revolt. gerard petit left france, and teague poteet remained away from gullettsville. otherwise there was scarcely a trace of his lineage about him, and it is a question whether he inherited this trait from france or from the euphrates--from gerard or from adam. but he did not become a hermit by any means. the young men of gullettsville made sunday excursions to his farm, and he was pleased to treat them with great deference. moreover, he began to go upon little journeys of his own across sugar valley. he made no mystery of his intentions; but one day there was considerable astonishment when he rode into gullettsville on horseback, with puss pringle behind him, and informed the proper authorities of his desire to make her mrs. puss poteet. miss pringle was not a handsome woman, but she was a fair representative of that portion of the race that has poisoned whole generations by improving the frying-pan and perpetuating "fatty bread." the impression she made upon those who saw her for the first time was one of lank flatness--to convey a vivid idea rather clumsily. but she was neither lank nor flat. the total absence of all attempts at artificial ornamentation gave the future mrs. poteet an appearance of forlorn shiftlessness that was not even slightly justified by the facts. she was a woman past the heyday of youth, but of considerable energy, and possessed of keen powers of observation. whatever was feminine about her was of that plaintive variety which may be depended upon to tell the story of whole generations of narrow, toilsome, and unprofitable lives. there was one incident connected with miss pringle's antenuptial ride that rather intensified the contempt which the mountain entertained for the valley. as she jogged down the street, clinging confidently, if not comfortably, to teague poteet's suspenders, two young ladies of gullettsville chanced to be passing along. they walked slowly, their arms twined about each other's waists. they wore white muslin dresses, and straw hats with wide and jaunty brims, and the loose ends of gay ribbons fluttered about them. these young ladies, fresh from school, and no doubt full of vainglory, greeted the bridal procession with a little explosion of giggles, and when puss pringle pushed back her gingham sun-bonnet and innocently gazed upon them, they turned up their noses, sniffed the air scornfully, and made such demonstrations as no feminine mind, however ignorant in other directions, could fail to interpret. miss pringle had not learned the art of tossing her head and sniffing the air, but she half closed her eyes and gave the young ladies a look that meant something more than scorn. she said nothing to teague, for she was in hopes he had not observed the tantrums of the school-girls. as for teague, he saw the whole affair, and was out to the quick. in addition to the latent pride of his class, he inherited the sensitiveness of his ancestors, but, turning his eyes neither to the right nor to the left, he jogged along to the wedding. he carried his wife home, and thereafter avoided gullettsville. when he was compelled to buy coffee and sugar, or other necessary luxuries, he rode forty miles across the mountain to villa bay. he had been married a year or more when, one afternoon, he was compelled to ride down to gullettsville under whip and spur for a doctor. there was a good deal of confused activity in the town. old men and young boys were stirring around with blue cockades in their hats, and the women wore blue rosettes on their bosoms. three negroes in uniform--a contribution from the nearest railroad town--were parading up and down the straggling street with fife and drums, and a number of men were planting a flag-pole in front of the court-house. no conscientious historian can afford to ignore a coincidence, and it so happened that upon the very day that league poteet's wife presented him with the puzzle of a daughter, fate presented his countrymen with the problem of war. that night, sitting in the door of his house and smoking his pipe, teague witnessed other developments of the coincidence. in the next room the baby-girl squalled most persistently; down in the valley the premonitions of war made themselves heard through the narrow throat of a small cannon which, until then, had been used only to celebrate the fourth of july. the noise of a horse's hoofs roused teague's hounds, and some one called out from the road-- "hello, poteet!" "ah-yi!" "you hearn the racket?" "my gal-baby keeps up sich a hollerin' i can't hear my own years." "_oh!_" "you better b'lieve! nine hours ole, an' mighty peart. what's them restercrats in the valley cuttin' up the'r scollops fer?" "whoopin' up se_say_sion. sou' ca'liny done plum gone out, an' georgy a-gwine." teague poteet blew a long, thin cloud of home-made tobacco-smoke heavenward, leaned back heavily in his chair, and replied-- "them air restercrats kin go wher' they dang please; i'm a-gwine to stay right slambang in the united states." there was a little pause, as if the man on horseback was considering the matter. then the response came-- "here's at you!" "can't you 'light?" asked poteet. "not now," said the other; "i'll git on furder." the man on horseback rode on across the mountain to his home. another mountaineer, seeing the rockets and hearing the sound of the cannon, came down to poteet's for information. he leaned over the brush-fence. "what's up, teague?" "gal-baby; reg'lar surbinder." "_shoo!_ won't my ole 'oman holler! what's up down yan?" "them dad-blasted restercrats a secedin' out'n the united states." "they say theyer airter savin' of the'r niggers," said the man at the fence. "well, i hain't got none, and i hain't a wantin' none; an' it hain't been ten minnits sence i ups an' says to dave hightower, s' i, 'the united states is big enough for me.'" "now you er makin' the bark fly," said the man at the fence. during the night other men came down the mountain as far as poteet's, and always with the same result. the night broadened into day, and other days and nights followed. in the valley the people had their problem of war, and on the mountain teague poteet had the puzzle of his daughter. one was full of doubt and terror, and death, and the other full of the pleasures of peace. as the tide of war surged nearer and nearer, and the demand for recruits became clamorous, the people of the valley bethought them of the gaunt but sturdy men who lived on the mountain. a conscript officer, representing the necessities of a new government, made a journey thither--a little excursion full of authority and consequence. as he failed to return, another officer, similarly equipped and commissioned, rode forth and disappeared, and then another and another; and it was not until a little search expedition had been fitted out that the confederates discovered that the fastnesses of hog mountain concealed a strong and dangerous organisation of union men. there was a good deal of indignation in the valley when this state of affairs became known, and there was some talk of organising a force for the purpose of driving the mountaineers away from their homes. but somehow the valley never made up its mind to attack the mountain, and, upon such comfortable terms as these, the mountain was very glad to let the valley alone. after a while the valley had larger troubles to contend with. gullettsville became in some measure a strategic point, and the left wing of one army and the right wing of the other manoeuvred for possession. the left wing finally gave way, and the right wing marched in and camped round about, introducing to the distracted inhabitants general tecumseh sherman and some of his lieutenants. the right wing had learned that a number of union men were concealed on the mountain, and one or two little excursion parties were made up for the purpose of forming their acquaintance. these excursions were successful to this extent, that some of the members thereof returned to the friendly shelter of the right wing with bullet-holes in them, justly feeling that they had been outraged. the truth is, the poteets, and the pringles, and the hightowers of hog mountain had their own notions of what constituted union men. they desired to stay in the united states on their own terms. if nobody pestered them, they pestered nobody. meanwhile league poteet's baby had grown to be a thumping girl, and hardly a day passed that she did not accompany her father in his excursions. when the contending armies came in sight, teague and his comrades spent a good deal of their time in watching them. each force passed around an elbow of the mountain, covering a distance of nearly sixty miles, and thus for days and weeks this portentous panorama was spread out before these silent watchers. surely never before did a little girl have two armies for her playthings. the child saw the movements of the soldiers, the glitter of the array, and the waving of the banners; she heard the dull thunder of the cannon, and the sharp rattle of the musketry. when the sun went down, and the camp-fire shone out, it seemed that ten thousand stars had fallen at her feet, and sometimes sweet strains of music stole upward on the wings of the night, and slipped heavenward through the sighing pines. the grey columns swung right and left, and slowly fell back; the blue columns swayed right and left, and slowly pressed forward--sometimes beneath clouds of sulphurous smoke, sometimes beneath heavy mists of rain, sometimes in the bright sunshine. they swung and swayed slowly out of sight, and hog mountain and gullettsville were left at peace. the child grew and thrived. in the midst of a gaunt and sallow generation she shone radiantly beautiful. in some mysterious way she inherited the beauty, and grace, and refinement of a frenchwoman. merely as a phenomenon, she ought to have reminded league of his name and lineage; but teague had other matters to think of. "sis ain't no dirt-eater," he used to say, and to this extent only would he commit himself, his surroundings having developed in him that curious excess of caution and reserve which characterises his class. as for puss poteet, she sat and rocked herself and rubbed snuff, and regarded her daughter as one of the profound mysteries. she was in a state of perpetual bewilderment and surprise, equalled only by her apparent indifference. she allowed herself to be hustled around by sis without serious protest, and submitted, as teague did, to the new order of things as quietly as possible. meanwhile the people in the valley were engaged in adjusting themselves to the changed condition of affairs. the war was over, but it had left some deep scars here and there, and those who had engaged in it gave their attention to healing these--a troublesome and interminable task, be it said, which by no means kept pace with the impatience of the victors, whipped into fury by the subtle but ignoble art of the politician. there was no lack of despair in the valley, but out of it all prosperity grew, and the promise of a most remarkable future. behind the confusion of politics, of one sort and another, the spirit of progress rose and shook her ambitious wings. something of all this must have made itself felt on the mountain, for one day teague poteet pushed his wide-brimmed wool hat from over his eyes, with an air of astonishment. puss had just touched upon a very important matter. "i reckon in reason," she said, "we oughter pack sis off to school some'rs. she'll thes nat'ally spile here." "hain't you larnt her how to read an' write an' cipher?" asked teague. "i started in," said mrs. poteet, "but, lord! i hain't more'n opened a book tell she know'd mor'n i dast to know ef i wuz gwine to die fer it. hit'll take somebody lots smarter'n' stronger'n me." teague laughed, and then relapsed into seriousness. after a while he called sis. the girl came running in, her dark eyes flashing, her black hair bewitchingly tangled, and her cheeks flushing with a colour hitherto unknown to the mountain. "what now, pap?" "i wuz thes a-thinkin' ef maybe you oughtn't to bresh up an' start to school down in gullettsville." "o pap!" the girl exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight. she was about to spring upon teague and give him a severe hugging, when suddenly her arms dropped to her side, the flush died out of her face, and she flopped herself down upon a chair. teague paid no attention to this. "yes, siree," he continued, as if pursuing a well-developed line of argument; "when a gal gits ez big ez you is, she hain't got no business to be a-gwine a-whoopin' an' a-hollerin' an' a-rantin' an' a-rompin' acrost the face er the yeth. the time's done come when they oughter be tuck up an' made a lady out'n; an' the nighest way is to sen' 'em to school. that's whar you a-gwine--down to gullettsville to school." "i shan't, an' i won't--i won't, i won't, i _won't!_" exclaimed sis, clenching her hands and stamping her feet. "i'll die first." teague had never seen her so excited, "why, what's the matter, sis?" he asked with unfeigned concern. sis gave him a withering look. "pap, do you reckon i'm fool enough to traipse down to gullettsville an' mix with them people, wearin' cloze like these? do you reckon i'm fool enough to make myself the laughin'-stock for them folks?" teague poteet was not a learned man, but he was shrewd enough to see that the mountain had a new problem to solve. he took down his rifle, whistled up his dogs, and tramped skyward. as he passed out through his horse-lot, a cap and worm of a whisky-still lying in the corner of the fence attracted his attention. he paused, and turned the apparatus over with his foot. it was old and somewhat battered. "i'll thes about take you," said teague, with a chuckle, "an' set up a calico-factory. i'll heat you up an' make you spin silk an' split it into ribbens." it was a case of civilisation or no civilisation, and there is nothing more notorious in history--nothing more mysterious--than the fact that civilisation is not over-nice in the choice of her handmaidens. one day it is war, another it is slavery. every step in the advancement of the human race has a paradox of some kind as a basis. in the case of sis poteet, it was whisky. teague got his still together and planted it in a nice cool place, where it could be reached only by a narrow footpath. he had set up a still immediately after the war, but it had been promptly broken up by the revenue officers. upon this occasion, therefore, he made elaborate preparations to guard against surprise and detection, and these preparations bore considerable fruit in the way of illicit whisky; the ultimate result of which was that sis went to school in gullettsville, and became the belle of the town. the breath of the mountain was heavily charged with whisky, and the government got a whiff of it. word went to washington, and there was much writing and consulting by mail, and some telegraphing. the officials--marshal, deputy-marshals, and collector--were mostly men from a distance, brought hither on the tide of war, who had no personal interest in judging the situation. naturally enough, the power with which they were invested was neither discreetly nor sympathetically exercised. they represented the government, which, they were taught to believe by the small men above them, was still at war with every condition and belief in georgia. down in the valley they domineered with impunity, and one fine morning a posse, armed with carbines, rode up the mountain, laughing, talking, and rattling their gear as gaily as a detachment of cuirassiers parading under the protection of friendly guns. the mountain was inhospitable, for when they rode down again, a few hours afterward, three saddles were empty, and the survivors had a terrible story to tell of an attack from an unseen foe. by the time the story of this fight with the illicit distillers reached washington, the details were considerably enlarged. the commissioner was informed by the marshal that a detail of deputy-marshals had attempted to seize a still, and were driven back by an overpowering force. the correspondents at the capital still further enlarged the details, and the affair finally went into history as "a new phase of the rebellion." this was the natural outgrowth of the confusion of that period; for how should the careless deputy-marshals, thinking only of the sectionalism that lit up the smouldering ruins of war, know that the moonshiners were union men and republicans? while the government was endeavouring to invent some plan for the capture of the moonshiners, sis poteet was growing lovelier every day. she was a great favourite with the teachers of the academy and with everybody. as a general thing, she avoided the public square when riding to and from the school, but it was hats off with all the men when she did go clattering down the street, and some of the romantic dry-goods clerks sent their sighs after her. sighs are frequently very effective with school-girls, but those that followed sis poteet fell short and were wasted on the air; and she continued to ride from the mountain to the valley and from the valley to the mountain in profound ignorance of the daily sensation she created among the young men of gullettsville, to whom her fine figure, her graceful ways, and her thrillingly beautiful face were the various manifestations of a wonderful revelation. naturally enough, the government took no account of sis poteet. the commissioner at washington conferred with the marshal for georgia by mail, and begged him to exert himself to the utmost to break up the business of illicit distilling in the hog mountain range. in view of an important election about to be held in some doubtful state in the north or west, the worthy commissioner at washington even suggested the propriety of another armed raid, to be made up of deputy-marshals and a detachment of men from the atlanta garrison. but the marshal for georgia did not fall in with this suggestion. he was of the opinion that if a raid was to be made at all it should not be made blindly, and he fortified his opinion with such an array of facts and arguments that the bureau finally left the whole matter to his discretion. early one morning, in the summer of , a stranger on horseback rode up the straggling red road that formed the principal business thoroughfare of gullettsville, and made his way toward the establishment known as the gullettsville hotel. the chief advertisement of the hotel was the lack of one. a tall worm-eaten post stood in front of the building, but the frame in which the sign had swung was empty. this post, with its empty frame, was as significant as the art of blazonry could have made it. at any rate, the stranger on horseback--a young man--pressed forward without hesitation. the proprietor himself, squire lemuel pleasants, was standing upon the low piazza as the young man rode up. the squire wore neither coat nor hat. his thumbs were caught behind his suspenders, giving him an air of ease or of defiance, as one might choose to interpret, and his jaws were engaged in mashing into shape the first quid of the morning. as the young man reined up his horse at the door, squire pleasants stepped briskly inside and pulled a string which communicated with a bell somewhere in the backyard. "this is the gullettsville hotel, is it not?" the young man asked. "well, sir," responded the squire, rubbing his hands together, "sence you push me so clos't, i'll not deny that this here's the tavern. some calls it the hotel, some calls it the pleasants house, some one thing, an' some another, but as for me, i says to all, says i, 'boys, it's a plain tavern.' in fergeenia, sir, in my young days, they wa'n't nothin' better than a tavern. 'light, sir, 'light," continued the hospitable squire, as a tow-headed stable-boy tumbled out at the door in response to the bell; "drap right down an' come in." the young man followed the landlord into a bare little office, where he was given to understand in plain terms that people who stopped with squire pleasants were expected to make themselves completely at home. with a pen upon which the ink had been dry for many a day the young man inscribed his name on a thin and dirty register--"philip woodward, clinton, georgia;" whereupon the squire, with unnecessary and laborious formality, assigned mr. woodward to a room. judging from appearance, the united states marshal for georgia had not gone astray in selecting woodward to carry out the delicate mission of arranging for a successful raid upon hog mountain. lacking any distinguishing trait of refinement or culture, his composure suggested the possession of that necessary information which is the result of contact with the world and its inhabitants. he had that large air of ease and tranquillity which is born of association, and which represents one of the prime elements of the curious quality we call personal magnetism. he was ready-witted, and full of the spirit of adventure. he was the owner of the title to a land-lot somewhere in the neighbourhood of hog mountain, and this land-lot was all that remained of an inheritance that had been swept away by the war. there was a tradition--perhaps only a rumour--among the woodwards that the hog mountain land-lot covered a vein of gold, and to investigate this was a part of the young man's business in gullettsville; entirely subordinate, however, to his desire to earn the salary attached to his position. the presence of a stranger at the hospitable tavern of squire pleasants attracted the attention of the old and young men of leisure, and the most of them gathered upon the long narrow piazza to discuss the matter. uncle jimmy wright, the sage of the village, had inspected the name in the register and approved of it. he had heard of it before, and he proceeded to give a long and rambling account of whole generations of woodwards. jake cohen, a pedlar, who with marevelous tact had fitted himself to the conditions of life and society in the moutains, and who was supposed to have some sort of connection with the traffice in "blockade" whisky, gravely inquired of squire pleasants if the new-comer had left any message for him. doubtless the squire, or some one else, would have attempted a facetious reply to mr. watson; but just then a tall, gaunt, grey-haired, grizzly-bearded man stepped upon the piazza, and saluted the little gathering with an awkward wave of the hand. the not unkindly expression of his face was curiously heightened (or deepened) by the alertness of his eyes, which had the quizzical restlessness we sometimes see in the eyes of birds or animals. it was teague poteet, and the greetings he received were of the most effusive character. "howdy, boys, howdy!" he said in response to the chorus. "they hain't airy one er you gents kin split up a twenty-dollar chunk er greenbacks, is they?" tip watson made a pretence of falling in a chair and fainting, but he immediately recovered, and said in a sepulchral whisper-- "ef you find anybody dead, an' they ain't got no twenty-dollar bill on their person, don't come a-knockin' at my door. lord!" he continued, "look at cohen's upper lip a-trimblin'. he wants to take that bill out somewheres an' hang it on a clothesline." "ow!" exclaimed cohen, "yoost lizzen at date man! date teep vatsen, he so foony as allt tern utter peoples put tergetter. vait, teague, vait! i chanche date pill right avay, terreckerly." but teague was absorbed in some information which squire pleasants was giving him. "he don't favour the gang," the squire was saying with emphasis, "an' i'll be boun' he ain't much mixed up wi' 'em. he's another cut. oh, they ain't a-foolin' me this season of the year," he continued, as teague poteet shook his head doubtfully; "he ain't mustered out'n my mind yit, not by a dad-blamed sight. i'm jest a-tellin' of you; he looks spry, an' he ain't no sneak--i'll swar to that on the stan'." "well, i tell you, square," responded teague, dryly, "i hain't never seed people too flirty to pester yuther folks; an' i reckon you ain't nuther, is you?" "no," said squire pleasants, his experience appealed to instead of his judgment; "no, i ain't, that's a fact; but some folks youer bleege to take on trus'." further comment on the part of poteet and the others was arrested by the appearance of woodward, who came out of his room, walked rapidly down the narrow hallway, and out upon the piazza. he was bare-headed, his bands were full of papers, and he had the air of a man of business. the younger men who had gathered around squire pleasants and teague poteet fell back loungingly as woodward came forward with just the faintest perplexed smile. "judge pleasants," he said, "i'm terribly mixed up, and i'll have to ask you to unmix me." the squire cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and straightened himself in his chair. the title of judge, and the easy air of deference with which it was bestowed, gave him an entirely new idea of his own importance. he frowned judicially as he laid his hand upon the papers. "well, sir," said he, "i'm gittin' ole, an' i reckon i ain't much nohow; i'm sorter like the grey colt that tried to climb in the shuck-pen--i'm weak, but willin'. ef you'll jest whirl in an' make indication whar'in i can he'p, i'll do the best i kin." "i've come up here to look after a lot of land," said woodward. "it is described here as lot no. , th district, georgia militia, part of land lot no. , in tugaloo, formerly towaliga county. here is a plat of hog mountain, but somehow i can't locate the lot." the squire took the papers and began to examine them with painful particularity. "that 'ar lot," said teague poteet, after a while, "is the ole mathis lot. the line runs right acrost my simblin' patch, an' backs up ag'in' my hoss-stable." "tooby shore--tooby shore!" exclaimed the squire. "tut-tut! what am i doin'? my mind is drappin' loose like seed-ticks from a shumake bush. tooby shore, it's the mathis lot. mr. wooderd, mr. poteet--mr. poteet, mr. wooderd; lem me make you interduced, gents." mr. woodward shook hands gracefully and cordially--poteet awkwardly and a trifle suspiciously. "it seems to me, mr. poteet," said woodward, "that i have teen your name in the papers somewhere." "likely," replied poteet; "they uv bin a mighty sight er printin' gwino on sence the war, so i've heern tell. ef you'd a drappod in at atlanty, you mought er seed my name mixt up in a warrant." "how is that?" woodward asked. "bekaze i bin a-bossin' my own affa'rs." poteet had straightened himself up, and he looked at woodward with a steadiness which the other did not misunderstand. it was a look which said, "if you've got that warrant in your pocket, it won't be safe to pull it out in these diggm's." squire pleasants recognised the challenge that made itself heard in teague poteet's voice. "yes, yes," he said, in a cheerful tone, "our folks is seen some mighty quare doin's sence the war; but times is a-gittin' a long ways better now." "better, hell!" exclaimed sid parmalee. what he would have said further no one can know, for the voluminous voice of cohen broke in-- "tlook ow-ut, t'ere, sid! tlook ow-ut! t'at pad man kedge you!" this remarkable admonition was received with a shout of laughter. good-humour was restored, and it was increased when woodward, shortly afterward, drinking with the boys at nix's saloon, called for three fingers of mountain dew, and washed it down with the statement that it tasted just as nice as liquor that had been stamped by the government. in short, woodward displayed such tact, and entered with such heartiness into the spirit of the people around him, that he disarmed the trained suspicions of a naturally suspicious community. perhaps this statement should be qualified. undoubtedly the marshal, could he have made a personal inspection of woodward and his surroundings, would have praised his subordinate's tact. the truth is, while he had disarmed their suspicions, he had failed utterly to gain their confidence. with a general as well as a particular interest in the direction of hog mountain, it was natural that deputy-marshal woodward should meet or overtake miss poteet as she rode back and forth between gullettsville and the grey notch in the mountain known as poteet's. it was natural, too, that he should take advantage of the social informalities of the section and make her acquaintance. it was an acquaintance in which woodward, and, presumably, the young lady herself, became very much interested; so that the spectacle of this attractive couple galloping along together over the red road that connected the valley with the mountain came to be a familiar one. and its effect upon those who paused to take note of it was not greatly different from the effect of such spectacles in other sections. some looked wise and shook their heads sorrowfully; some smiled and looked kindly, and sent all manner of good wishes after the young people. but whether they galloped down the mountain in the fresh hours of the morning, or rambled up its dark slope in the dusk of the evening, neither woodward nor sis poteet gave a thought to the predictions of spite, or to the prophecies of friendliness. the mountain girl was a surprise to woodward. she had improved her few opportunities to the utmost. such information as the gullettsville academy afforded she relished and absorbed, so that her education was thorough as far as it went. neither her conversation nor her manners would have attracted special attention in a company of fairly bright young girls, but she formed a refreshing contrast to the social destitution of the mountain region. beyond this, her personality was certainly more attractive than that of most women, being based upon an independence which knew absolutely nothing of the thousand and one vexatious little aspirations that are essential to what is called social success. unlike the typical american girl, whose sweetly severe portraits smile serenely at us from the canvas of contemporary fiction, miss poteet would have been far from equal to the task of meeting all the requirements of perfectly organised society; but she could scarcely have been placed in a position in which her natural brightness and vivacity would not have attracted attention. at any rate, the indefinable charm of her presence, her piquancy, and her beauty, was a perpetual challenge to the admiration of deputy-marshal woodward. it pursued him in his dreams, and made him uncomfortable in his waking hours, so much so, indeed, that his duties as a revenue officer, perplexing at best, became a burden to him. in point of fact, this lively young lady was the unforeseen quantity in the problem which woodward had been employed to solve; and, between his relations to the government and his interest in sis poteet, he found himself involved in an awkward predicament. perhaps the main features of this predicament, baldly presented, would have been more puzzling to the authorities at washington than they were to woodward; but it is fair to the young man to say that he did not mistake the fact that the moonshiner had a daughter for an argument in favour of illicit distilling, albeit the temptation to do so gave him considerable anxiety. in the midst of his perplexity, deputy-marshal woodward concluded that it would be better for the government, and better for his own peace of mind, if he allowed sis poteet to ride home without an escort; and for several days he left her severely alone, while he attended to his duties, as became a young fellow of fair business habits. but one afternoon, as he sat on the piazza of the hotel nursing his confusion and discontent, sis poteet rode by. it was a tantalising vision, though a fleeting one. it seemed to be merely the flash of a red feather, the wave of a white hand, to which woodward lifted his hat; but these were sufficient. the red feather nodded gaily to him, the white hand invited. his horse stood near, and in a few moments he was galloping toward the mountain with the moonshiner's daughter. when the night fell at teague poteet's on this particular evening, it found a fiddle going. the boys and girls of the mountain, to the number of a dozen or more, had gathered for a frolic--a frolic that shook the foundations of poteet's castle, and aroused echoes familiar enough to the good souls who are fond of the cotillon in its primitive shape. the old folks who had accompanied the youngsters sat in the kitchen with teague and his wife, and here woodward also sat, listening with interest to the gossip of what seemed to be a remote era--the war and the period preceding it. the activity of sis poteet found ample scope, and, whether lingering for a moment at her father's side like a bird poised in flight, or moving lightly through the figures of the cotillon, she never appeared to better advantage. toward midnight, when the frolic was at its height, an unexpected visitor announced himself. it was uncle jake norris, who lived on the far side of the mountain. the fiddler waved his bow at uncle jake, and the boys and girls cried "howdy," as the visitor stood beaming and smiling in the doorway. to these demonstrations uncle jake, "a chunk of a white man with a whole heart," as he described himself, made cordial response, and passed on into the kitchen. the good-humour of mr. norris was as prominent as his rotundity. when he was not laughing, he was ready to laugh. he seated himself, looked around at the company, and smiled. "it's a long pull betwixt this an' atlanty," he said after a while; "it is that, certain an' shore, an' i hain't smelt of the jug sence i lef ther'. pull 'er out, teague, pull 'er out." the jug was forthcoming. "now, then," continued uncle jake, removing the corn-cob stopper, "this looks like home, sweet home, ez i may say. it does, certain an' shore. none to jine me? well, well! times change an' change, but the jug is company for one. so be it. ez st. paul says, cleave nigh unto that which is good. i'm foreswore not to feel lonesome tell i go to the gallows. friends! you uv got my good wishes, one an' all!" "what's a-gwine on?" asked poteet. "the same," responded uncle jake, after swallowing his dram. "allers the same. wickedness pervails wellnigh unto hit's own jestiflcation. i uv seed sights! you all know the divers besettings wher'by jackson ricks wuz took off this season gone--murdered i may say, in the teeth of the law an' good govunment. sirs! i sot by an' seed his besetters go scotch-free." "ah!" the exclamation came from teague poteet. "yes, sirs! yes, friends!" continued uncle jake, closing his eyes and tilting his chair back. "even so. nuther does i boast ez becometh the fibble-minded. they hurried an' skurried me forth an' hence, to mount upon the witness stan' an' relate the deed. no deniance did i make. ez st. paul says, sin, takin' occasion by the commandment, worked in me all manner of conspicuessence. i told 'em what these here eyes had seed. "they errayed me before jedge an' jury," uncle jake went on, patting the jug affectionately, "an' i bowed my howdies. 'gen-termun friends,' s' i, 'foller me close't, bekaze i'm a-givin' you but the truth, stupendous though it be. ef you thes but name the word,' s' i, 'i'll take an' lay my han' upon the men that done this unrighteousness, for they stan' no furder than yon piller,' s' i. 'them men,' s' i, 'surroundered the house of jackson ricks, gentermun friends, he bein' a member of friendship church, an' called 'im forth wi' the ashoreance of satan an' the intents of evil,' s' i; 'an' ole en decrippled ez he wuz, they shot 'im down--them men at yon piller,' s' i, 'ere he could but raise his trimblin' han' in supplication; an' the boldest of 'em dast not to face me here an' say nay,' s' i." "an' they uv cler'd the men what kilt pore jackson ricks!" said teague, rubbing his grizzled chin. "ez clean an' ez cle'r ez the pa'm er my han'," replied uncle jake, with emphasis. the fiddle in the next room screamed forth a jig, and the tireless feet of the dancers kept time, but there was profound silence among those in the kitchen. uncle jake took advantage of this pause to renew his acquaintance with the jug. deputy-marshal woodward knew of the killing of jackson ricks; that is to say, he was familiar with the version of the affair which had been depended upon to relieve the revenue officers of the responsibility of downright murder; but he was convinced that the story told by uncle jake norris was nearer the truth. as the young man rode down the mountain, leaving the fiddle and the dancers to carry the frolic into the grey dawn, he pictured to himself the results of the raid that he would be expected to lead against hog mountain--the rush upon poteet's, the shooting of the old moonshiner, and the spectacle of the daughter wringing her hands and weeping wildly. he rode down the mountain, and, before the sun rose, he had written and mailed his resignation. in a private note to the marshal, enclosed with this document, he briefly but clearly set forth the fact that, while illicit distilling was as unlawful as ever, the man who loved a moonshiner's daughter was not a proper instrument to aid in its suppression. but his letter failed to have the effect he desired, and in a few weeks he received a communication from atlanta setting forth the fact that a raid had been determined upon. meantime, while events were developing, some of the old women of the hog mountain range had begun to manifest a sort of motherly interest in the affairs of woodward and sis poteet. these women, living miles apart on the mountain and its spurs, had a habit of "picking up their work" and spending the day with each other. upon one occasion it chanced that mrs. sue parmalee and mrs. puritha hightower rode ten miles to visit mrs. puss poteet. "don't lay the blame of it onter me, puss," exclaimed mrs. hightower,--her shrill, thin voice in queer contrast with her fat and jovial appearance; "don't you lay the blame onter me. dave, he's been a-complainin' bekaze they wa'n't no salsody in the house, an' i rid over to sue's to borry some. airter i got ther', sue sez, se' she; 'yess us pick up an' go an' light in on puss,' se' she, 'an' fine out sump'n' nuther that's a-gwine on 'mongst folks,' se' she." "yes, lay it all onter me," said mrs. parmalee, looking over her spectacles at mrs. poteet; "i sez to purithy, s' i, 'purithy, yess go down an' see puss,' s' i; 'maybe we'll git a glimpse er that air new chap with the slick ha'r. sid'll be a-peggin' out airter a while,' s' i, 'an' ef the new chap's ez purty ez i hear tell, maybe i'll set my cap fer 'im,' s' i." at this fat mrs. puritha hightower was compelled to lean on frail mrs. puss poteet, so heartily did she laugh. "i declar'," she exclaimed, "ef sue hain't a sight! i'm mighty nigh outdone. she's thes bin a-gwine on that a-way all the time, an' i bin that tickled tell a little more an' i'd a drapped on the groun'. how's all?" "my goodness!" exclaimed mrs. poteet, "i hope you all know _me_ too well to be a-stan'in' out there makin' excuse. come right along in, an' take off your things, an' ketch your win'. sis is home to-day." "well, i'm monstus glad," said mrs. hightower. "sis use to think the world an' all er me when she was a slip of a gal, but i reckon she's took on town ways, hain't she? hit ain't nothin' but natchul." "sis is proud enough for to hoi' 'er head high," mrs. parmalee explained, "but she hain't a bit stuck up." "well, i let you know," exclaimed mrs. hightower, untying her bonnet and taking off her shawl, "i let you know, here's what wouldn't be sot back by nothin' ef she had sis's chances. in about the las' word pore maw spoke on 'er dying bed, she call me to 'er an' sez, se' she, 'purithy emma,' se' she, 'you hol' your head high; don't you bat your eyes for to please none of 'em,' se' she." "i reckon in reason i oughter be thankful that sis ain't no wuss," said mrs. poteet, walking around with aimless hospitality; "yit that chile's temper is powerful tryin', an' teague ackshully an' candidly b'leeves she's made out'n pyo'gol'. [footnote: pure gold] i wish i may die ef he don't." after a while sis made her appearance, buoyant and blooming. her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed, and her smiles showed beautiful teeth--a most uncommon sight in the mountains, where the girls were in the habit of rubbing snuff or smoking. the visitors greeted her with the effusive constraint and awkwardness that made so large a part of their lives, but after a while mrs. hightower laid her fat motherly hand on the girl's shoulder, and looked kindly but keenly into her eyes. "ah, honey!" she said, "you hain't sp'ilt yit, but you wa'n't made to fit thish here hill--_that_ you wa'n't, _that_ you wa'n't!" women are not hypocrites. their little thrills arid nerve-convulsions are genuine while they last. fortunately for the women themselves, they do not last, but are succeeded by others of various moods, tenses, and genders. these nerve-convulsions are so genuine and so apt that they are known as intuitions, and under this name they have achieved importance. mrs. hightower, with all her lack of experience, was capable of feeling that sis poteet needed the by no means unsubstantial encouragement that lies in one little note of sympathy, and she was not at all astonished when sis responded to her intention by giving her a smart little hug. presently mrs. parmalee, who had stationed herself near the door, lifted her thin right arm and let it fall upon her lap. "well, sir!" she exclaimed, "ef yander ain't sis's bo!" sis ran to the door, saw woodward coming up the road, and blushed furiously--a feat which mrs. hightower and mrs. parmalee, with all their experience, had rarely seen performed in that region. woodward greeted mrs. poteet's visitors with a gentle deference and an easy courtesy that attracted their favour in spite of themselves. classing him with the "restercrats," these women took keen and suspicious note of every word he uttered, and every movement he made, holding themselves in readiness to become mortally offended at a curl of the lip or the lifting of an eyebrow; but he was equal to the occasion. he humoured their whims and eccentricities to the utmost, and he was so thoroughly sympathetic, so genial, so sunny, and so handsome withal, that he stirred most powerfully the maternal instincts of those weather-beaten bosoms, and made them his friends and defenders. he told them wonderful stories of life in the great world that lay far beyond hog mountain, its spurs and its foot-hills. he lighted their pipes, and even filled them out of his own tobacco-pouch, a proceeding which caused mrs. parmalee to remark that she "would like mannyfac' [footnote: "manufactured" tobacco, in contradistinction to the natural leaf.] mighty well ef 'twer'n't so powerful weak." mrs. hightower found early opportunity to deliver her verdict in sis's ear, whereupon the latter gave her a little hug, and whispered: "oh, i just think he's adorable!" it was very queer, however, that as soon as sis was left to entertain mr. woodward (the women making an excuse of helping puss about dinner), she lost her blushing enthusiasm, and became quite cold and reserved. the truth is, sis had convinced herself some days before that she had the right to be very angry with this young man, and she began her quarrel, as lovely woman generally does, by assuming an air of tremendous unconcern. her disinterestedness was really provoking. "how did you like sue fraley's new bonnet last sunday?" she asked, with an innocent smile. "sue fraley's new bonnet!" exclaimed woodward, surprised in the midst of some serious reflections; "why, i didn't know she had a new bonnet." "oh! you _didn't_? you were right _opposite_. i should think _anybody_ could see she had a new bonnet by the way she tossed her head." "well, i didn't notice it, for one. was it one of these sky-scrapers? i was looking at something else." "_oh!_" woodward had intended to convey a very delicately veiled compliment, but this young woman's tone rather embarrassed him. he saw in a moment that she was beyond the reach of the playful and ingenious banter which he had contrived to make the basis of their relations. "yes," he said, "i was looking at something else. i had other things to think about." "well, she _did_ have a new bonnet, with yellow ribbons. she looked handsome. i hear she's going to get married soon." "i'm glad to hear it. she's none too young," said woodward. at another time sis would have laughed at the suggestion implied in this remark, but now she only tapped the floor gently with her foot, and looked serious. "i hope you answered her note," she said presently. "what note?" he asked, with some astonishment, sis was the picture of innocence. "oh, i didn't think!" she exclaimed. "i reckon it's a great _secret_. i mean the note she handed you when she came out of church. it's none of _my_ business." "nor of mine either," said woodward, with a relieved air. "the note was for tip watson." this statement, which was not only plausible but true, gave a new direction to sis's anger. "well, i don't see how anybody that thinks anything of himself could be a mail-carrier for _sue fraley!_" she exclaimed scornfully; whereupon she flounced out, leaving woodward in a state of bewilderment. he had not made love to the girl, principally because her moods were elusive and her methods unique. she was dangerously like other women of his acquaintance, and dangerously unlike them. the principal of the academy in gullettsville--a scholarly old gentleman from middle georgia, who had been driven to teaching by dire necessity--had once loftily informed woodward that miss poteet was superior to her books, and the young man had verified the statement to his own discomfiture. she possessed that feminine gift which is of more importance to a woman in this world than scholarly acquirements--aptitude. even her frankness--perfectly discreet--charmed and puzzled woodward; but the most attractive of her traits were such as mark the difference between the bird that sings in the tree and the bird that sings in the cage--delightful, but indescribable. when sis poteet began to question him about sue fraley, the thought that she was moved by jealousy gave him a thrill that was new to his experience; but when she flounced angrily out of the room because he had confessed to carrying a note from miss fraley to tip watson, it occurred to him that he might be mistaken. indeed, so cunning does masculine stupidity become when it is played upon by a woman, that he frightened himself with the suggestion that perhaps, after all, this perfectly original young lady was in love with tip watson. during the rest of the day woodward had ample time to nurse and develop his new theory, and the more he thought it over the more plausible it seemed to be. it was a great blow to his vanity; but the more uncomfortable it made him the more earnestly he clung to it. without appearing to avoid him, sis managed to make the presence of mrs. parmalee and mrs. hightower an excuse for neglecting him. she entertained these worthy ladies with such eager hospitality that when they aroused themselves to the necessity of going home, they found to their dismay that it would be impossible, in the language of mrs. poteet, to "git half way acrost pullium's summit 'fore night 'ud ketch 'em." sis was so delighted, apparently, that she became almost hilarious; and her gaiety affected all around her except woodward, who barely managed to conceal his disgust. after supper, however, mrs. poteet and her two guests betook themselves to the kitchen, where they rubbed snuff and smoked their pipes, and gossiped, and related reminiscences of that good time which, with old people, is always in the past. thus woodward had ample opportunity to talk with sis. he endeavoured, by the exercise of every art of manner and conversation of which he was master, to place their relations upon the old familiar footing, but he failed most signally. he found it impossible to fathom the gentle dignity with which he was constantly repulsed. in the midst of his perplexity, which would have been either pathetic or ridiculous if it had not been so artfully concealed, he managed for the first time to measure the depth of his love for this exasperating but charming creature whom he had been patronising. she was no longer amusing; and woodward, with the savage inconsistency of a man moved by a genuine passion, felt a tragic desire to humble himself before her. "i'm going home to-morrow, miss sis," he said finally, in sheer desperation. "well, you've had a heap of fun--i mean," she added, "that you have had a nice time." "i have been a fool!" he exclaimed bitterly. seeing that she made no response, he continued: "i've been a terrible fool all through. i came here to hunt up blockade whisky----" "_what!_" sis's voice was sharp and eager, full of doubt, surprise, and consternation. "i came to gullettsville," he went on, "to hunt up blockade whisky, and failed, and three weeks ago i sent in my resignation. i thought i might find a gold mine on my land-lot, but i have failed, and now i am going to sell it. i have failed in everything." gloating over his alleged misfortunes, woodward, without looking at sis poteet, drew from his pocket a formidable-looking envelope, unfolded its contents leisurely, and continued-- "even my resignation was a failure. hog mountain will be raided to-morrow or next day." sis rose from her chair, pale and furious, and advanced toward him as if to annihilate him with her blazing eyes. such rage, such contempt, he had never before beheld in a woman's face. he sat transfixed. with a gesture almost tragic in its vehemence, the girl struck the papers from his hands. "o you mean, sneaking wretch! you----" and then, as if realising the weakness of mere words, she turned and passed swiftly from the room. woodward was thoroughly aroused. he was not used to the spectacle of a woman controlled by violent emotions, and he recognised, with a mixture of surprise and alarm, the great gulf that lay between the rage of sis poteet and the little platitudes and pretences of anger which he had seen the other women of his acquaintance manage with such pretty daintiness. as the girl passed through the kitchen, she seized a horn that hung upon the wall, and went out into the darkness. the old women continued their smoking, their snuff-rubbing, and their gossiping. mrs. high-tower was giving the details of a local legend showing how and why edny favers had "conjured" tabithy cozby, when suddenly mrs. poteet raised her hands-- "_sh-h-h!_" the notes of a horn--short, sharp, and strenuous--broke in upon the stillness of the night. once, twice, thrice! once, twice, thrice! once, twice, thrice! it was an alarm that did not need to be interpreted to the sensitive ear of hog mountain. the faces of the old women became curiously impassive. the firelight carried their shadows from the floor to the rafters, where they seemed to engage in a wild dance,--whirling, bowing, jumping, quivering; but the women themselves sat as still as statues. they were evidently waiting for something. they did not wait long. in a little while the sharp notes of the horn made themselves heard again--once, twice, thrice! once, twice, thrice! once, twice, thrice! then the old women arose from their low chairs, shook out their frocks, and filed into the room where mr. philip woodward, late of the revenue service, was sitting. there would have been a good deal of constraint on both sides, but before there could be any manifestation of this sort, sis came in. she seemed to be crushed and helpless, nay, even humiliated. "why, my goodness, sis!" exclaimed mrs. hightower, "you look natchully fagged out. a body 'ud think you'd bin an' taken a run up the mountain. we all 'lowed you wuz in here lookin' airter your comp'ny. wher'd you git the news?" "from this gentleman here," sis replied, indicating woodward without looking at him. she was pale as death, and her voice was low and gentle. woodward would have explained, but the apparent unconcern of the women gave him no opportunity. "i declare, sis," exclaimed her mother, with a fond, apologetic little laugh; "ef you hain't a plum sight, i hain't never seed none." "she's thes es much like her gran'pap poteet," said mrs. hightower, "ez ef he'd 'a' spit'er right out'n his mouth--that she is." this led to a series of reminiscences more or less entertaining, until after a while, sis, who had been growing more and more restless, rose and said-- "good night, folks; i'm tired and sleepy. the clock has struck eleven." "yes," said mrs. poteet, "an' the clock's too fast, bekaze it hain't skacely bin more'u a minnit sence the chickens crowed for ten." this remark contained the essence of hospitality, for it was intended to convey to mrs. poteet's guests the information that if they were not ready to retire, she was prepared to discredit her clock in their interests. but there was not much delay on the part of the guests. the women were dying to question sis, and woodward was anxious to be alone; and so they said "good night," the earnestness and quaint simplicity of the old women carrying woodward back to the days of his childhood, when his grandmother leaned tenderly over his little bed, and whispered: "good night, dear heart, and pleasant dreams." shortly afterward the lights were put out, and, presumably, those under teague poteet's roof addressed themselves to slumber. but what of the news that sis had given to the winds? there was no slumber for it until it had fulfilled its mission. where did it go, and what was its burden? three sharp blasts upon a horn, thrice repeated; then an interval; then three more thrice repeated. up, up the mountain the signal climbed; now faltering, now falling, but always climbing; sending echoes before it, and leaving echoes behind it, but climbing, climbing; now fainting and dying away, but climbing, climbing, until it reached pullium's summit, the smallest thread of sound. two men were sitting talking in front of a cabin. the eldest placed one hand upon the shoulder of his companion, and flung the other to his ear. faint and far, but clear and strenuous, came the signal. the men listened even after it had died away. the leaves of the tall chestnuts whipped each other gently, and the breeze that had borne the signal seemed to stay in the tops of the mountain pines as if awaiting further orders; and it had not long to wait. the man who had held his hand to his ear slapped his companion on the back, and cried, "poteet's!" and that was news enough for the other, who rose, stretched himself lazily, and passed into the cabin. he came out with a horn--an exaggerated trumpet made of tin,--and with this to his lips he repeated to the waiting breeze, and to the echoes that were glad to be aroused, the news that had come from poteet's. across the broad plateau of pullium's summit the wild tidings flew, until, reaching the western verge of the mountain, they dived down into prather's mill road--a vast gorge which takes its name from the freak of a drunken mountaineer, who declared he would follow the stream that rushed through it until he found a mill, and was never heard of again. the news from poteet's was not so easily lost. it dropped over the sheer walls of the chasm, three hundred feet down, and refused to be drowned out by the rush and roar of the waters, as they leaped over the boulders, until it had accomplished its mission. for here in prather's mill road burned the slow fires that kept the government officials in atlanta at a white heat. they were burning now. if one of the officials could have crawled to the edge of the gorge, where everything seemed dwarfed by the towering walls of rook and the black abyss from which they sprang, he would have seen small fitful sparks of flame glowing at intervals upon the bosom of the deeper and blacker night below. these were the fires that all the power and ingenuity of the government failed to smother, but they were now blown out one after another by the blasts from sis poteet's horn. the news that was wafted down into the depths of prather's mill road upon the wings of the wind was not at all alarming. on the contrary, it was received by the grimy watchers at the stills with considerable hilarity. to the most of them it merely furnished an excuse for a week's holiday, including trips to both gullettsville and villa ray. freely interpreted, it ran thus: "friends and fellow-citizens: this is to inform you that hog mountain is to be raided by the revenue men by way of teague poteet's. let us hear from you at once." there was neither alarm nor hurry, but the fires were put out quickly, because that was the first thing to be done. teague poteet owned and managed two stills. he was looking after some "doublings" when the notes of the horn dropped down into the gorge. he paused, and listened, and smiled. uncle jake norris, who had come to have his jug filled, was in the act of taking a dram, but he waited, balancing the tin cup in the palm of his hand. tip watson was telling one of his stories to the two little boys who accompanied uncle jake, but he never ended it. "sis talks right out in meetin'," said teague, after waiting to be sure there was no postscript to the message. "what's the row, teague?" asked uncle jake, swallowing his dram. "'nother raid comin' right in front er my door," teague explained, "an' i reckon in reason i oughter be home when they go past. they use to be a kinder coolness betweenst me an' them revenue fellers, but we went to work an' patched it up." tip watson appeared to be so overjoyed that he went through all the forms of a cotillon dance, imitating a fiddle, calling the figures, and giving his hand to imaginary partners. the boys fairly screamed with laughter at this exhibition, and uncle jake was so overcome that he felt called upon to take another dram--a contingency that was renewed when tip swung from the measure of a cotillon to that of a breakdown, singing-- "i hain't bin a-wantin' no mo' wines--mo' wines-- sence daddy got drunk on low wines--low wines." "come, tip," said teague, "yess shet up shop. ef sis ain't a caution," he said, after a while, as he moved around putting things to rights. "ef sis ain't a caution, you kin shoot me. they hain't no mo' tellin' wher' sis picked up 'bout thish 'ere raid than nothin' in the worl'. dang me ef i don't b'lieve the gal's glad when a raid's a-comin'. wi' sis, hit's move_ment_, move_ment_, day in an' day out. they hain't nobody knows that gal less'n it's me. she knows how to keep things a-gwine. sometimes she runs an' meets me, an' says, se' she: 'pap, mammy's in the dumps; yess you an' me make out we er quollin'. hit'll sorter stir 'er up;' an' then sis, she'll light in, an' by the time we git in the house, she's a-scoldin' an' a-sassin' an' i'm a-cussin', en' airter a while hit gits so hot an' natchul-like that i thes has ter drag sis out behin' the chimbly and buss 'er for to make certain an' shore that she ain't accidentally flew off the han'le. bliss your soul an' body! she's a caution!" "an' what's 'er maw a-doin' all that time?" inquired uncle jake, as he took another dram with an indifferent air. teague laughed aloud as he packed the fresh earth over his fire. "oh, puss! puss, she thes sets thar a-chawin' away at 'er snuff, an' a-knittin' away at 'er socks tell she thinks i'm a-pushin' sis too clost, an' then she blazes out an' blows me up. airter that," teague continued, "things gits more homelike. ef 'twan't fer me an' sis, i reckon puss 'nd teetotally fret 'erself away." "st. paul," said uncle jake, looking confidentially at another dram which he had poured into the tin cup,--"st. paul says ther' er divers an' many wimmin, an' i reckon he know'd. ther' er some you kin fret an some you can't. ther's my ole 'oman: the livin' human bein' that stirs _her_ up'll have ter frail 'er out, er she'll frail _him_." "well," said teague, by way of condolence, "the man what's stabbed by a pitchfork hain't much better off 'n the man that walks bar'footed in a treadsaft patch." the suggestion in regard to mistress norris seemed to remind uncle jake of something important. he called to his boys, took another modest dram, and disappeared in the undergrowth. teague poteet and his friends were soon ready to follow this worthy example, so that in another hour prather's mill road was a very dull and uninteresting place from a revenue point of view. woodward was aroused during the night by the loud barking of dogs, the tramp of horses, and the confused murmur of suppressed conversation. looking from the window, he judged by the position of the stars that it was three or four o'clock in the morning. he sat upon the side of the bed, and sought, by listening intently, to penetrate the mystery of this untimely commotion. he thought he recognised the voice of tip watson, and he was sure he heard sid parmalee's peculiar cough and chuckle. the conversation soon lifted itself out of the apparent confusion, and became comparatively distinct. the voices were those of teague and sis. "come now, pap, you must promise." "why, sis, how _kin_ i?" "you shall, you shall, you _shall!_" "why, sis, hon, he mought be a spy. sid pannalee he 'lows that the whole dad-blamed business is a put-up job. he wants to bet right now that we'll all be in jail in atlanty 'fore the moon changes. i lay they don't none of 'em fool sid." "you don't love me any more," said sis, taking a new tack. "good lord, sis! why, honey, what put that idee in your head?" "i know you don't--i know it! its always dave hightower this, and sid par-malee that, and old drunken jake norris the other. i just _know_ you don't love me." teague also took a new tack, but there was a quiver in his voice born of deadly earnestness. "i tell you, sis, they er houndin' airter us; they er runnin' us down; they er closin' in on us; they er hemmin' us up. airter they git your pore ole pappy an' slam 'im in jail, an' chain 'im down, who's a-gwineter promise to take keer er _him?_ hain't ole man joshway blasingame bin sent away off to al_benny?_ hain't ole man cajy shannon a-sarvin' out his time, humpback an' cripple ez he is? who took keer _them_? who ast anybody to let up on 'em? but don't you fret, honey; ef they hain't no trap sot, nobody ain't a-gwineter pester _him_." "i wouldn't trust that sid parmalee out of my sight!" exclaimed sis, beginning to cry. "i know him, and i know all of you." "but ef they is a trap sot," continued teague, ignoring sis's tears, "_ef_ they is, i tell you, honey, a thousau' folks like me can't hol' the boys down. the time 'a done come when they er teetotally wore out with thish 'ere sneakin' aroun' an' hidin'-out bizness." this appeared to end the conversation, but it left woodward considerably puzzled. shortly afterward he heard a rap at his door, and before he could respond to the summons by inquiry or invitation, teague poteet entered with a lighted candle in his hand. "i 'lowed the stirrin' 'roun' mought 'a' sorter rousted you," said teague, by way of apology, as he placed the light on a small table and seated himself on a wooden chest. "yes. what's up?" woodward inquired. "oh, the boys--thes the boys," teague replied, chuckling and rubbing his chin with an embarrassed air; "hit's thes the boys cuttin' up some er ther capers. they er mighty quare, the boys is," he continued, his embarrassment evidently increasing, "mighty quare. they uv up'd an' tuk a notion for to go on a little frolic, an' they uv come by airter me, an' nothin' won't do 'em but i mus' fetch you. s' i, 'genter_men_, they hain't no manners in astin' a man on a marchin' frolic this time er night,' s' i; but sid parmalee, he chipped in an' 'lowed that you wuz ez high up for fun ez the next man." woodward thought he understood the drift of things, but he was desperately uncertain. he reflected a moment, and then faced the situation squarely. "if you were in my place, mr. poteet, what would you do?" he asked. this seemed to relieve teague, his embarrassment disappeared. his eyes, which had been wandering uneasily around the room, sought woodward's face and rested there. he took off his wide-brimmed wool hat, placed it carefully upon the floor, and ran his fingers through his iron-grey hair. "i don't mind sayin'," he remarked grimly, "that i uv seed the time when i'd uv ast you to drap out'n that winder an' make for the bushes, knowin' that you'd tote a han'ful er bullets in thar wi' you. but on account er me an' sis, i'm willin' to extracise my bes' judg_ment_. it mayn't be satisfactual, but me an' sis is mighty long-headed when we pulls tergether. ef i was you, i'd thes slip on my duds, an' i'd go out thar whar the boys is, an' i'd be high up for the'r frolic, an' i'd jine in wi' 'em, an' i'd raise any chune they give out." with this poteet gravely bowed himself out, and in a very few minutes woodward was dressed and ready for adventure. he was young and bold, but he felt strangely ill at ease. he realised that, with all his address, he had never been able to gain the confidence of these mountaineers, and he felt sure they connected him with the revenue raid that was about to be made, and of which they had received information. he appreciated to the fullest extent the fact that the situation called for the display of all the courage and coolness and nerve he could command; but, in the midst of it all, he longed for an opportunity to show sis poteet the difference between a real man and a feebleminded, jocular rascal like tip watson. his spirits rose as he stepped from the low piazza into the darkness and made his way to where he heard the rattle of stirrups and spurs. some one hailed him-- "hello, cap!" "ah-yi!" he responded. "it's here we go, gals, to the wedding." "i knowed we could count on 'im," said the voice of tip watson. "yes," said sid parmalee, "i knowed it so well that i fotch a extry hoss." "where are we going?" woodward asked. "well," said parmalee, "the boys laid off for to have some fun, an' it's done got so these times that when a feller wants fun he's got to git furder up the mounting." if the words were evasive, the tone was far more so, but woodward paid little attention to either. he had the air of a man accustomed to being called up in the early hours of the morning to go forth on mysterious expeditions. a bright fire was blazing in poteet's kitchen, and the light, streaming through the wide doorway, illuminated the tops of the trees on the edge of the clearing. upon this background the shadows of the women, black and vast--titanic indeed,--were projected as they passed to and fro. from within there came a sound as of the escape of steam from some huge engine; but the men waiting on the outside knew that the frying-pan was doing its perfect work. the meat sizzled and fried; the shadows in the tops of the trees kept up what seemed to be a perpetual promenade, and the men outside waited patiently and silently. this silence oppressed woodward. he knew that but for his presence the mountaineers would be consulting together and cracking their dry jokes. in spite of the fact that he recognised in the curious impassiveness of these people the fundamental qualities of courage and endurance, he resented it as a barrier which he had never been able to break down. he would have preferred violence of some sort. he could meet rage with rage, and give blow for blow, but how was he to deal with the reserve by which he was surrounded? he was not physically helpless, by any means, but the fact that he had no remedy against the attitude of the men of hog mountain chafed him almost beyond endurance. he was emphatically a man of action--full of the enterprises usually set in motion by a bright mind, a quick temper, and ready courage; but, measured by the impassiveness which these men had apparently borrowed from the vast aggressive silences that give strength and grandeur to their mountains, how trivial, how contemptible all his activities seemed to be! but the frying was over after a while. the titanic shadows went to roost in the tops of the trees, and teague poteet and his friends, including ex-deputy woodward, took themselves and their fried meat off up the mountain, and the raid followed shortly after. it was a carefully-planned raid, and deserved to be called a formidable one. like many another similar enterprise it was a failure, so far as the purposes of the government were concerned, but fate or circumstance made it famous in the political annals of that period. fifteen men, armed with carbines, rode up the mountain. they were full of the spirit of adventure. they felt the strong arm of the law behind them. they knew they were depended upon to make some sort of demonstration, and this, together with a dram too much here and there, made them a trifle reckless and noisy. they had been taught to believe that they were in search of outlaws. they caught from the officers who organised them something of the irritation which was the natural result of so many fruitless attempts to bring hog mountain to terms. they betrayed a sad lack of discretion. they brandished their weapons in the frightened faces of women and children, and made many foolish mistakes which need not be detailed here. they rode noisily over the mountain, making a circle of pullium's summit, and found nothing. they peered over the precipitous verge of prather's mill road, and saw nothing. they paused occasionally to listen, and heard nothing. they pounced upon a lonely pedlar who was toiling across the mountain with his pack upon his back, and plied him with questions concerning the moonshiners. this pedlar appeared to be a very ignorant fellow indeed. he knew his name was jake cohen, and that was about all. he had never crossed hog mountain before, and, so help his gracious, he would never cross it again. the roads were all rough and the ladies were all queer. as for the latter--well, great jingo! they would scarcely look at his most beautiful collection of shawls and ribbons and laces, let alone buy them. in villa bay (or, as cohen called it, "feel hooray") he had heard that teague poteet had been arrested and carried to atlanta by a man named woodward. no one had told him this, but he heard people talking about it wherever he went in villa ray, and there seemed to be a good deal of excitement in the settlement. cohen was a droll customer, the revenue officers thought, and the longer they chatted with him the droller he became. first and last they drew from him what they considered to be some very important information. but most important of all was the report of the arrest of teague poteet. the deputies congratulated themselves. they understood the situation thoroughly, and their course was perfectly plain. poteet, in endeavouring to escape from them, had fallen into the clutches of woodward, and their best plan was to overtake the latter before he reached atlanta with his prize, and thus share in the honour of the capture. with this purpose in view, they took a dram all round and turned their horses' heads down the mountain. cohen certainly was a droll fellow. he stood in the road until the revenue men had disappeared. then he unbuckled the straps of his pack, dropped it upon the ground, and sat down upon a boulder. with his head between his hands, he appeared to be lost in thought, but he was only listening. he remained listening until after the sounds of the horses' feet had died away. then he carried his precious pack a little distance from the roadside, covered it with leaves, listened a moment to be sure that the deputies were not returning, and then proceeded to a. little ravine in the side of the mountain where the moonshiners lay. he had been waiting nearly two days where the revenue men found him, and his story of the capture of teague poteet was concocted for the purpose of sending the posse back down the mountain the way they came. if they had gone on a mile further they would have discovered signs of the moonshiners, and this discovery would have led to a bloody encounter, if not to the capture of the leaders. the deputies rode down the mountain in the best of spirits. they had accomplished more than any other posse; they had frightened the moonshiners of hog mountain to their hiding-places, and not a deputy had been killed, or even wounded. the clatter they made as they journeyed along attracted the attention of ab bonder, a boy about fifteen, who happened to be squirrel-hunting, and he stepped into the road to get a good view of them. he was well grown for his age, and his single-barrelled shot-gun looked like a rifle. the revenue men halted at once. they suspected an ambuscade. experience had taught them that the moonshiners would fight when the necessity arose, and they held a council of war. the great gawky boy, with the curiosity of youth and ignorance combined, stood in the road and watched them. when they proceeded toward him in a compact body, he passed on across the road. hearing a command to halt, he broke into a run, and endeavoured to make his way across a small clearing that bordered the road. several of the deputies fired their guns in the air, but one, more reckless than the rest, aimed directly at the fugitive, and ab bonner fell, shot through and through. viewed in its relations to all the unfortunate events that have marked the efforts of the government officials to deal with the violators of the revenue laws from a political point of view, the shooting of this ignorant boy was insignificant enough. but it was important to hog mountain. for a moment the deputy-marshals were stunned and horrified at the result of their thoughtlessness. then they dismounted and bore the boy to the roadside again and placed him under the shade of a tree. his blood shone upon the leaves, and his sallow, shrunken face told a pitiful tale of terror, pain, and death. the deputy-marshals mounted their horses and rode steadily and swiftly down the mountain, and by nightfall they were far away. but there was no need of any special haste. the winds that stirred the trees could carry no messages. the crows flying over, though they made a great outcry, could tell no tales. once the boy raised his hand and cried "mammy!" but there was no one to hear him. and though ten thousand ears should listen, the keenest could hear him no more he became a part of the silence--the awful, mysterious silence--that sits upon the hills and shrouds the mountains. this incident in the tumultuous experience of hog mountain--the killing of ab bonner was merely an incident--had a decisive effect upon the movements of ex-deputy woodward. when jake cohen succeeded in turning the revenue officials back, the mountaineers made themselves easy for the day and night, and next morning prepared to go to their homes. some of them lived on one side of hog mountain, and some on the other. they called themselves neighbours, and yet they lived miles apart, and it so happened that, with few exceptions, each went in a different direction. teague poteet gave the signal-- "come, cap," he said to woodward, "yess be a-traipsiu'. puss'll be a-puttin' on biskits for supper before we git thar if we don't push on. be good to yourse'f, boys, an' don't raise no fracas." poteet and woodward rode off together. that afternoon, half a mile from poteet's, they met a woman running in the road, crying and wringing her hands wildly. she moved like one distracted. she rushed past them, crying-- "they uv killed little ab! they uv killed him. oh, lordy! they uv killed little ab!" she ran up the road a little distance and then came running back; she had evidently recognised poteet. as she paused in the road near them, her faded calico sun-bonnet hanging upon her shoulders, her grey hair falling about her face, her wrinkled arms writhing in response to a grief too terrible to contemplate, she seemed related in some vague way to the prophets of old who were assailed by fierce sorrows. here was something more real and more awful than death itself. woodward felt in his soul that the figure, the attitude, the misery of this poor old woman were all biblical. "oh, teague," she cried, "they uv killed him! they uv done killed my little ab! oh, lordy! that mortal hain't a-livin' that he ever done any harm. what did they kill him for?" then she turned to woodward: "oh, mister, mister! _please_ tell me what he done. _i'm_ the one that made the liquor, _i'm_ the one. oh, lordy! what did they kill little ab for?" teague poteet dismounted from his horse, took the woman firmly but gently by the arm, and made her sit down by the side of the road. then, when she was more composed, she told the story of finding her son's body. it was a terrible story to hear from the lips of the mother, but she grew quieter after telling it, and presently went on her way. the two men watched her out of sight. "i'll tell you what, cap," said teague, as he flung himself into the saddle, "they er houndin' airter us. they er 'buzin' the wimmin an' killin' the childern; stidder carryin' out the law, they er gwine about a-shootin' an' a-murderin'. so _fur, so good_. well, now, lemme tell you: the hawk 'a done lit once too much in the chicken-lot. this is a free country. i hain't a-layin' no blame on you. me an' sis stood by you when the boys s'ore they wuz a-gwine to rattle you up. we made 'em behave the'rse'ves, an' i hain't a-blamin' you, but they er houndin' airter us, an' ef i wuz you i wouldn't stay on this hill nary 'nuther minnit longer than it 'ud take me to git offn it. when the boys git wind er this ongodly bizness, they ull be mighty hard to hol'. i reckon maybe you'll be a-gwine down about atlanty. well, you thes watch an' see what stan' the govern_ment's_ gwineter take 'bout ab bonner, an' ef hit don't take no stan', you thes drap in thar an' tell 'em how you seed er ole man name teague poteet, an' _he_ 'lowed that the revenue fellers better not git too clost ter hog mountain, bekaze the hidin'-out bizness is done played. the law what's good enough fer pore little ab bonner is good enough fer the men what shot 'im." they rode on until they came to poteet's house. "we'll thes go in an' git a snack," said teague, "an' airter that your best gait is a gallop." but woodward declined. he was dazed as well as humiliated, and he had no desire to face sis poteet. he pictured to himself the scorn and bitterness with which she would connect his presence on the mountain with the murder of ab bonner, and he concluded to ride on to gullettsville. he took teague poteet by the hand. "good-bye, old man," he said; "i shall remember you. tell miss sis--well, tell miss sis good-bye." with that he wheeled his horse and rode rapidly toward gullettsville. it was a fortunate ride for him, perhaps. the wrath of hog mountain was mightily stirred when it heard of the killing of ab bonner, and woodward would have fared badly at its hands. the wrath of others was stirred also. the unfortunate affair took the shape of a political issue, and thus the hands of justice were tied. but all this is a matter of history, and need not be dwelt upon. in the meantime, as the days passed, teague poteet became dimly and uncomfortably conscious that a great change had come over sis. one day she would be as bright and as gay as the birds in the trees; the next, she would be quiet, taciturn, and apparently depressed. as teague expressed, "one minnit hit's sis, an' the nex' hit's some un else." gradually the fits of depression grew more and more frequent and lasted longer. she was abstracted and thoughtful, and her petulance disappeared altogether. the contrast resulting from this change was so marked that it would have attracted the attention of a person of far less intelligence than teague poteet. he endeavoured to discuss the matter with his wife, but puss poteet was not the woman to commit herself. she was a mountain sphinx. "i'm afeard sis is ailin'," said teague, upon one occasion. "well," replied puss, "she ain't complainin'." "that's hit," teague persisted; "she hain't complainin'. that's what pesters me. she looks lonesome, an' she's got one er them kinder fur-away looks in her eyes that gives me the all-overs." the sphinx rubbed its snuff and swung in its rocking-chair. "some days she looks holp up, an' then ag'in she looks cas' down. i 'low'd maybe you mought know what ailed her." "men folks," said puss, manipulating her snuff-swab slowly and deliberately, "won't never have no sense while the worl' stan's. ef a 'oman ain't gwine hether an' yan', rippity-clippity, day in an' day out, an' half the night, they er on the'r heads. wimmen hain't men." "that's so," replied league gravely, "they hain't. ef they wuz, the men 'ud be in a mighty nice fix." "they'd have some sense," said puss. "likely so. yit 'oman er man kin sliet one eye an' tell that sis looks droopy, an' when sis looks droopy, i know in reason sump'n' nuther ails her." "well, goodness knows; i wish in my soul somebody'd shet one eye an' look at me," exclaimed puss, with a touch of jealousy in her tone. "i traipse 'roun' this hill ontell i'm that wore out i kin skacely drag one foot alrter t'other, an' i don't never hear nobody up an' ast what ails me. it's sis, sis, sis, all the time, an' eternally. ef the calf's fat, the ole cow ain't got much choice betwixt the quogmire an' the tan-vat." "lord, how you do run on," said the iron-grey giant, rubbing his knuckles together sheepishly. "you don't know sis ef you go on that away. many's the time that chile 'ud foller me up an' say, 'pap, ef you see my shawl a-haugin' out on the fence, puss'll be asleep, an' don't you come a-lumberin' in an' wake her up, nuther.' an' many's the time she'd come out an' meet me, an' up an' say, 'pap, puss has takin' an' bin a-mopin' all day long; yess you an' me go in an' fetch her up.' an' bless your life," teague continued, addressing some imaginary person on the other side of the fireplace, "when me an' sis sets our heads for to fetch anybody up, they er thes natchully erbleeged ter come." puss rubbed her snuff and swayed to and fro in her rocking-chair, disdaining to make any reply to this array of facts and arguments; and teague was as ignorant as ever of the cause of the queer change in his daughter. perhaps, as becomes a dutiful husband, he should have retorted upon his complaining wife with complaints of his own; but his interests and his isolation had made him thoughtful and forbearing. he had the trait of gentleness which frequently sweetens and equalises large natures. he remembered that behind whatever complaints-- reasonable or unreasonable--puss might make, there existed a stronghold of affection and tenderness; he remembered that her whole life had been made up of a series of small sacrifices; he knew that she was ready, whenever occasion made it necessary, to cast aside her snuff-swab and her complaints, and go to the rack without a murmur. but teague was by no means satisfied with the condition of affairs, so far as sis was concerned. he said no more to his wife, but he kept his eyes open. the situation was baffling to the point of irritation, but teague betrayed neither uneasiness nor restlessness. he hung about the house more, and he would frequently walk in quietly when the women thought he was miles away. there were times when sis ignored his presence altogether, but as a general thing she appeared to relish his companionship. sometimes at night, after her mother had gone to bed, she would bring her chair close to teague's, and rest her head upon his shoulder, while he smoked his pipe and gazed in the fire. teague enjoyed these occasions to the utmost, and humoured his daughter's slightest wish, responding to her every mood and fancy. if she talked, he talked; if she was silent, he said nothing. once she dropped asleep with her head on his arm, and teague sat holding her thus half the night. when she did awake she upbraided herself so earnestly for imposing on her old pappy (as she called him) that teague yawned, and stretched himself, and rubbed his eyes, and pretended that he, too, had been asleep. "lordy, honey! i wuz that gone tell i didn't know whe'er i 'uz rolled up in a haystack er stretched out in a feather-bed. i reckon ef you'd 'a' listened right clost you'd 'a' heern me sno'. i thes laid back an' howled at the rafters, an' once-t er twice-t i wuz afeard i mought waken up puss." sis's response to this transparent fib was an infectious peal of laughter, and a kiss which amply repaid teague for any discomfort to which he may have been subjected. once, after sis had nestled up against teague, she asked somewhat irrelevantly-- "pap, do you reckon mr. woodward was a revenue spy after all?" "well, not to'rds the last. he drapped that business airter he once seed its which-aways. what makes you ast?" "because i hate and despise revenue spies." "well, they hain't been a-botherin' roun lately, an' we hain't got no call to hate 'em tell they gits in sight. hatin' is a mighty ha'sh disease. when puss's preacher comes along, he talks ag'in it over the bible, an' when you call 'im in to dinner, he talks ag'in it over the chicken-bones. i reckon hit's mighty bad--mighty bad." "did you like him?" "who? puss's preacher?" "now, you know i don't mean _him_, pap." "_oh!_ cap'n woodward. well, i tell you what, he had mighty takin' ways. look in his eye, an' you wouldn't see no muddy water; an' he had grit. they hain't no two ways about that. when i ast 'im out with us that night, he went like a man that had a stool to a quiltin'-bee; an' when duke dawson an' sid parmalee flung out some er the'r slurs, he thes snapt his fingers in the'r face, an' ups an' says, says he, 'gents, ef youer up for a frolic, i'm your man, an' ef youer in for a fight, thes count me in,' says he. the boys wuz a little drinky," said teague, apologetically. sis squeezed up a little closer against her father's shoulder. "did they fight, pap?" "lord bless you, no. i thes taken am' flung my han' in duke's collar an' fetched 'im a shake er two, an put 'im in a good humour thereckly; an' then airterwerds tip watson sot 'em all right when he read out the letter you foun' on the floor." "oh, pap!" sis exclaimed in a horrified tone, "i _slapped_ that letter out of mr. woodward's _hand!_" teague laughed exultantly. "what'd he say?" "he didn't say _anything_. he looked like he expected the floor to open and swallow him. i never was so ashamed in my life. i've cried about it a thousand times." "why, honey, i wouldn't take an' _cry_ 'bout it ef i wuz you." "yes you would, pap, if--if--you were me. i don't know what came over me; i don't know how i could be so hateful. no _lady_ would ever do such a thing as that." sis gave her opinion with great emphasis. teague took his pipe out of his mouth. "well, i tell you what, honey, they mought er done wuss. i let you know, when folks is got to be a-runnin' here an' a-hidin' yander, hit's thes about time for the gals for to lose the'r manners. nobody wouldn't a-blamed you much ef you'd a-fetched the cap'n a clip stidder the letter; leastways, i wouldn't." the girl shivered and caught her breath. "if i had hit _him_," she exclaimed vehemently, "i should have gone off and killed myself." "_shoo!_" said teague in a tone intended to be at once contemptuous and reassuring, but it was neither the one nor the other. this conversation gave teague fresh cause for anxiety. from his point of view, sis's newly-developed humility was absolutely alarming, and it added to his uneasiness. he recognised in her tone a certain shyness which seemed to appeal to him for protection, and he was profoundly stirred by it without at all understanding it. with a tact that might be traced to either instinct or accident, he refrained from questioning her as to her troubles. he was confused, but watchful. he kept his own counsel, and had no more conferences with puss. perhaps puss was also something of a mystery; if so, she was old enough to take care of her own affairs. teague had other talks with sis--some general, some half-confidential,--and he finally became aware of the fact that every subject led to woodward. he humoured this, awkwardly but earnestly, and thought he had a clew, but it was a clew that pestered him more than ever. he turned it round in his mind and brooded over it. woodward was a man of fine appearance and winning manners, and sis, with all the advantages--comparative advantages merely--that the gullettsville academy had given her, was only a country girl after all. what if----? teague turned away from the suspicion in terror. it was a horrible one; but as often as he put it aside, so often he returned to it. it haunted him. turn where he might, go where he would, it pursued him night and day. one mild afternoon in the early spring, mr. philip woodward, ex-deputy marshal, leaned against the railing of broad street bridge in the city of atlanta, and looked northward to where kennesaw mountain rises like a huge blue billow out of the horizon and lends picturesqueness to the view. mr. woodward was in excellent humour. he had just made up his mind in regard to a matter that had given him no little trouble. a wandering prospector, the agent of a company of boston capitalists, had told him a few hours before that he would be offered twenty thousand dollars for his land-lot on hog mountain. this was very important, but it was not of the highest importance. he nodded familiarly to kennesaw, and thought: "i'll slip by you to-morrow and make another raid on hog mountain, and compel that high-tempered girl to tell me what she means by troubling me so." a train of cars ran puffing and roaring under the bridge, and as woodward turned to follow it with his eye he saw standing upon the other side a tall, gaunt, powerful-looking man, whom he instantly recognised as teague poteet. teague wore the air of awkward, recklessly-helpless independence which so often deceives those who strike the mountain men for a trade. swiftly crossing the bridge, woodward seized teague and greeted him with a cordiality that amounted to enthusiasm. "well, of all the world, old man, you are the one i most wanted to see." teague's thoughts ran with grim directness to a reward that had been offered for a certain grey old moonshiner who had made his headquarters on hog mountain. "how are all at home?" woodward went on, "and what is the news?" "the folks is porely and puny," teague replied, "an' the news won't skacely b'ar relatin'. i hain't a-denyin'," he continued, rubbing his chin and looking keenly at the other, "i hain't a-denyin' but what i'm a-huntin' airter you, an' the business i come on hain't got much howdyin' in it. ef you uv got some place er nuther wher' ever'body hain't a-cockin' up the'r years at us, i'd like to pass some words wi' you." "why, of course," exclaimed woodward, hooking his arm in teague's. "we'll go to my room. come! and after we get through, if you don't say that my business with you is more important than your business with me, then i'll agree to carry you to hog mountain on my back. now that's a fair and reasonable proposition. what do you say?" woodward spoke with unusual warmth, and there was a glow of boyish frankness in his tone and manners that teague found it hard to resist. "well, they's thes this much about it," he said; "my business is mighty troublesome, an' yit hit's got to be settled up." he had put a revolver in his pocket on account of this troublesome business. "so is mine troublesome," responded woodward, laughing, and then growing serious. "it has nearly worried me to death." presently they reached woodward's room, which was up a flight of stairs near the corner of broad and alabama streets. it was a very plain apartment, but comfortably furnished, and kept with scrupulous neatness. "now, then," said woodward, when teague had seated himself, "i'll settle my business, and then you can settle yours." he had seated himself in a chair, but he got up, shook himself, and walked around the room nervously. the lithograph of a popular burlesque actress stared brazenly at him from the mantelpiece. he took this remarkable work of art, folded it across the middle, and threw it into the grate. "i've had more trouble than enough," he went on, "and if i hadn't met you to-day i intended to hunt you up to-morrow." "in atlanty?" "no; on hog mountain. oh, i know the risk," woodward exclaimed, misinterpreting teague's look of surprise. "i know all about that, but i was going just the same. has miss sis ever married?" he asked, stopping before teague and blushing like a girl. "not less'n it happened sence last we'n'sday, an' that hain't noways likely," replied the other, with more interest than he had yet shown. woodward's embarrassment was more impressive than his words. "i hardly know how to say it," he continued, "but what i wanted to ask you was this: suppose i should go up to hog mountain some fine morning, and call on you, and say, as the fellow did in the song, 'old man, old man, give me your daughter,' and you should reply, 'go upstairs and take her if you want to,' what do you suppose the daughter would say?" woodward tried in vain to give an air of banter to his words. teague leaned forward with his hands upon his knees. "do you mean, would sis marry you?" he asked. "that is just exactly what i mean," woodward replied. the old mountaineer rose and stretched himself, and drew a deep sigh of relief. his horrible suspicion had no foundation. he need not fly to the mountains with woodward's blood upon his hands. "lemme tell you the honest truth, cap," he said, placing his hand kindly on the young man's shoulder. "i might 'low she would, an' i might 'low she wouldn't; but i'm erbleege to tell you that i dunno nothin' 'bout that chil' no more'n ef i hadn't a-never seed 'er. wimmin is mighty kuse." "yes," said woodward, "they are curious." "some days they er gwine rippitin' aroun' like the woods wuz afire, an' then ag'in they er mopin' an' a-moonin' like ever' minnit wuz a-gwine to be the nex'. i bin a-studyin' sis sence she wan't no bigger'n a skinned rabbit, an' yit i hain't got to a, b, c, let alone _a_-b ab, _u_-b ub. when a man lays off for to keep up wi' the wimmiu folks, he kin thes make up his min' that he'll have to git in a dark corner an' scratch his head many a time when he oughter be a-diggin' for his livin'. they'll addle 'im thereckly." "well," said woodward, with an air of determination, "i'm going back with you and hear what miss sis has to say. sit down. didn't you say you wanted to see me on business?" "i did start out wi' that idee," said teague, slipping into a chair and smiling curiously, "but i disremember mostly what 'twuz about. ever'thing is been a-pesterin' me lately, an' a man that's hard-headed an' long-legged picks up all sorts er foolish notions. i wish you'd take keer this pickle-bottle, cap," he continued, drawing a revolver from his coat-tail pocket and placing it on the table. "i uv bin afeard ever sence i started out that the blamed thing 'ud go off an' far my jacket wrong-sud-outerds. gimme a gun, an' you'll gener'lly fin' me somewheres aroun'; but them ar cliokety-cluckers is got mos' too many holes in 'em for to suit my eyesight." usually, it is a far cry from atlanta to hog mountain, but teague poteet and woodward lacked the disposition of loiterers. they shortened the distance considerably by striking through the country, the old mountaineer remarking that if the big road would take care of itself he would try and take care of himself. they reached poteet's one afternoon, creating a great stir among the dogs and geese that were sunning themselves outside the yard. sis had evidently seen them coming, and was in a measure prepared; but she blushed painfully when woodward took her hand, and she ran into her father's arms with a little hysterical sob. "sis didn't know a blessed word 'bout my gwine off to atlanty," said teague awkwardly but gleefully. "did you, honey?" sis looked from one to the other for an explanation. woodward was smiling the broad, unembarrassed smile of the typical american lover, and teague was laughing. suddenly it occurred to her that her father, divining her secret--her sweet, her bitter, her well-guarded secret-- had sought woodward out and begged him to return. the thought filled her with such shame and indignation as only a woman can experience. she seized teague by the arm-- "pap, have you been to atlanta?" "yes, honey, an' i made 'as'e to come back." "oh, how could you? how _dare_ you do such a thing!" she exclaimed passionately. "i will never forgive you as long as i live--never!" "why, honey----" but she was gone, and neither teague nor her mother could get a word of explanation from her. teague coaxed, and wheedled, and threatened, and puss cried and quarrelled; but sis was obdurate. she shut herself in her room and remained there. woodward was thoroughly miserable. he felt that he was an interloper in some measure, and yet he was convinced that he was the victim of a combination of circumstances for which he was in nowise responsible. he had never made any special study of the female mind, because, like most young men of sanguine temperament, he was convinced that he thoroughly understood it; but he had not the remotest conception of the tragic element which, in spite of social training or the lack of it, controls and gives strength and potency to feminine emotions. knowing nothing of this, woodward knew nothing of women. the next morning he was stirring early, but he saw nothing of sis. he saw nothing of her during the morning, and at last, in the bitterness of his disappointment, he saddled his horse, and made preparations to go down the mountain. "i reckon it hain't no use to ast you to make out your visit," said teague gloomily. "that's what i says to puss. i'm a free nigger ef sis don't beat my time. you'll be erbleege to stop in gullettsville to-night, an' in case er accidents you thes better tie this on your coat." the old mountaineer produced a small piece of red woollen string, and looped it in woodward's button-hole. "ef any er the boys run up wi' you an' begin to git limber-jawed," league continued, "thes hang your thum' in that kinder keerless like, an' they'll sw'ar by you thereekly. ef any of 'em asts the news, thes say they's a leak in sugar creek. well, well, well!" he exclaimed, after a little pause; "hit's thes like i tell you. wimmin folks is mighty kuse." when woodward bade puss good-bye, she looked at him sympathetically and said-- "sometime when youer passin' by, i'd be mighty thankful ef you 'ud fetch me some maccaboy snuff." the young man, unhappy as he was, was almost ready to accuse mrs. poteet of humour, and he rode off with a sort of grim desire to laugh at himself and the rest of the world. the repose of the mountain fretted him; the vague blue mists that seemed to lift the valleys into prominence and carry the hills further away, tantalised him; and the spirit of spring, just touching the great woods with a faint suggestion of green, was a mockery. there was a purpose--a decisiveness--in the stride of his horse that he envied, and yet he was inclined to resent the swift amiability with which the animal moved away. but it was a wise steed, for when it came upon sis poteet standing by the side of the road, it threw up its head and stopped. woodward lifted his hat, and held it in his hand. she gave him one little glance, and then her eyes drooped. "i wanted to ask you something," she said, pulling a dead leaf to pieces. her air of humility was charming. she hesitated a moment, but woodward was too much astonished to make any reply. "are you very mad?" she asked with bewitching inconsequence. "why should _i_ be mad, miss sis? i am glad you have given me the opportunity to ask your pardon for coming up here to worry you." "i wanted to ask you if pap--i mean, if father went to atlanta to see you," she said, her eyes still bent upon the ground. "he said he wanted to see me on business," woodward replied. "did he say anything about me?" "not that i remember. he never said anything about his business even," woodward went on. "i told him about some of my little troubles, and when he found i was coming back here, he seemed to forget all about his own business. i suppose he saw that i wouldn't be much interested in anybody else's business but my own just then." sis lifted her head and looked steadily at woodward. a little flush appeared in her cheeks, and mounted to her forehead, and then died away. "pap doesn't understand--i mean he doesn't understand everything, and i was afraid he had----why do you look at me so?" she exclaimed, stopping short, and blushing furiously. "i ask your pardon," said the young man; "i was trying to catch your meaning. you say you were afraid your father----" "oh, i am not afraid now. don't you think the weather is nice?" woodward was a little puzzled, but he was not embarrassed. he swung himself off his horse and stood beside her. "i told your father," he said, drawing very near to the puzzling creature that had so wilfully eluded him--"i told your father that i was coming up here to ask his daughter to marry me. what does the daughter say?" she looked up in his face. the earnestness she saw there dazzled and conquered her. her head drooped lower, and she clasped her hands together. he changed his tactics. "is it really true, then, that you hate me?" "oh! if you only knew!" she cried, and with that woodward caught her in his arms. an hour afterwards, teague poteet, sitting in his low piazza, cleaning and oiling his rifle, heard the sound of voices coming from the direction of the gullettsville road. presently sis and woodward came in sight. they walked slowly along in the warm sunshine, wholly absorbed in each other. woodward was leading his horse, and that intelligent animal improved the opportunity to nip the fragrant sassafras buds just appearing on the bushes. teague looked at the two young people from under the brim of his hat and chuckled, but when sis caught sight of him, a little while after, he was rubbing his rifle vigorously, and seemed to be oblivious to the fact that two young people were making love to each other in full view. but sis blushed all the same, and the blushes increased as she approached the house, until woodward thought in his soul that her rosy shyness was the rarest manifestation of loveliness to be seen in all the wide world. as she hovered a moment at the gate, blushing and smiling, the old mountaineer turned the brim of his hat back from his eyes and called out with a great pretence of formal hospitality-- "walk in an' rest yourselves; thes walk right in! hit's lots too soon in the season for the dogs to bite. looks to me, cap, like you hain't so mighty tender wi' that 'ar hoss er your'n. ef you uv rid 'im down to gullettsville an' back sence a while ago, he'll be a-needin' feed thereckly. thes come right in an' make yourselves at home." woodward laughed sheepishly, but sis rushed across the yard, flung her arms around teague's neck, and fell to crying with a vehemence that would have done credit to the most broken-hearted of damsels. the grizzled old mountaineer gathered the girl to his bosom and stroked her hair gently, as he had done a thousand times before. he looked at woodward with glistening eyes. "don't min' sis, cap. sis hain't nothin' but a little bit of a slip of a gal, an' sence the day she could toddle 'roun' an' holler--good news or bad, mad er glad--she's bin a-runnin' an' havin' it out wi' her ole pappy. wimmen an' gals hain't like we all, cap; they er mighty kuse. she never pestered wi' puss much," continued league, as his wife came upon the scene, armed with the plaintive air of slouchiness, which is at once the weapon and shield of women who believe that they are martyrs--"she never pestered wi' puss much, but, cry or laugh, fight or frolic, she allers tuck it out on her ole pappy." puss asked no questions. she went and stood by teague, and toyed gently with one of sis's curls. "sis don't take airter none er the pringles," she said after a while, by way of explanation. "they hain't never bin a day when i couldn't look at teague 'thout battin' my eyes, an' ma use to say she 'uz thes that away 'bout pap. i never know'd what the all-overs wuz tell thes about a hour before me an' teague wuz married. we 'uz thes about ready for to go an' face the preacher, when ma comes a-rushin' in--an' she won't never be no paler when she's laid out than she wuz right that minnit. 'in the name er the lord, ma, is you seed a ghost?' s' i. 'puss!' se' she, 'the cake hain't riz!' i thes tell you what, folks, i like to a-went through the floor--that i did!" at this sis looked up and laughed, and they all laughed except puss, who eyed woodward with an air of faint curiosity, and dryly remarked-- "i reckon you hain't brung me my maccaboy snuff. i lay me an' my snuff wan't in your min'. 'let the old hen cluck,' ez the sparrer-hawk said when he courted the pullet. well," she continued, smiling with genuine satisfaction as she saw that woodward no more than half-relished the comparison, "i better be seein' about dinner. ol' folks like me can't live on love." the days that followed were very happy ones for the two young people-- and for the two old people for that matter. teague enjoyed the situation immensely. he would watch the young lovers from afar, and then go off by himself and laugh heartily at his own conceits. he was very proud that sis was going to marry somebody--a very broad term, as the old mountaineer employed it. at night when they all sat around the fire (spring on hog mountain bore no resemblance to summer) teague gave eager attention to woodward's stories, and laughed delightedly at his silliest jokes. if teague was delighted with woodward, he was astounded at sis. she was no longer the girl that her surroundings seemed to call for. she was a woman, and a very delightful one. from the old scholar, whom fate or circumstance had sent to preside over the gullettsville academy, she had caught something of the flavour and grace of cultivation--a gentle dignity, leaning always to artlessness, and a quick appreciation, which was in itself a rare accomplishment. the day for the wedding was set, and woodward went his way to atlanta. he had urged that the ceremony be a very quiet one, but teague had different views, and he beat down all opposition. "why, good lord, cap'." he exclaimed, "what 'ud the boys say?--poteet's gal married an' no stools [footnote: invitations] give out! no, siree! not much. we hain't that stripe up here, cap. we hain't got no quality ways, but we allers puts on the pot when comp'ny comes. me an' sis an' puss hain't had many weddin's 'mongst us, an' we're thes a-gwine to try an' put the bes' foot foremos'. oh no, cap! you fetch your frien's an' we'll fetch our'n, an' ef the house hain't roomy enough, bless you, the woods is." when hog mountain heard the news, which it did by special messenger, sent from house to house with little pink missives written by sis, it was as proud as teague himself. fat mrs. hightower laid aside her spectacles when the invitation was translated to her, and remarked-- "they hain't nobody on the face er the yeth good enough fer sis, but that air feller's got the looks an' the spunk. i'll set in this very day an' hour, an' i'll bake sis a cake that'll make the'r eyes water." and so it went. everybody on hog mountain had some small contributions to make. the wedding, however, was not as boisterous as the boys proposed to make it. they had their frolic, to be sure, as sid parmalee or tip watson will tell you, but an incident occurred which took the edge off their enjoyment, and gave them the cue of soberness. two of woodward's friends--young men from atlanta--bore him company to hog mountain. at gullettsville they fell in with uncle jake norris, at all times a jovial and companionable figure. "roundabout man, roundabout way," remarked uncle jake, by way of explaining his presence in gullettsville. "my house is away an' beyan' frum poteet's, but i says to myself, s' i, in obejunce to the naked demands of the law i'll go this day an' git me a jug er licker that's bin stomped by the govunment, an' hide it an' my wickedness, ez you may say, in league's hoss-stable. yes, frien's, them wuz the words. 'let the licker be stomped by the govunment for the sakes of the young chap,' s' i, 'an' i'll hide the jug along er my wickedness in teague's hoss-stable.' so then, frien's, yess be a sojourneyin', an' ef you feel the needance er somethin' quick an' strong for to brace you for endurance, make your way to the lot, an' feel behin' the stable-door-- an' watch out for the kickin' mule! i give you my intentionals cle'r an' clean. what does st. paul say?--'ef you can't do good by slippance, do it by stealth.'" they journeyed along as rapidly as the nature of the mountain road would permit, but before they reached poteet's the shadows of twilight began to deepen. the road, like most mountain roads, wound itself painfully about. at one point they were within a short half-mile of poteet's, but a towering wall of rock barred their approach. the road, accommodating itself to circumstances, allowed the towering wall to drive it three miles out of the way. uncle jake norris, turning readily to reminiscences, connected the precipitous shelf with many of the mysterious disappearances that had at various times occurred in army and revenue circles. "natur' built it," he said lightly, "an' a jaybird showed it to the boys. teague, up thar, he 'lowed that a man wi' grey eyes an' a nimble han' could git on that rock an' lay flat of his belly an' disembowel a whole army. them wuz his words--disembowel a whole army." while uncle jake was speaking, the travellers had passed beyond the wall, but the declivity on their left was still too steep to accommodate the highway, and so they rode along with the shadows of night on one side of them and pale symptoms of the day on the other. suddenly a thin stream of fire, accompanied by the sharp crack of a rifle, shot out of the side of the mountain straight at woodward, and seemed, as one of his companions said afterwards, to pass through him. his horse shied with a tremendous lurch, and woodward fell to the ground. "he is shot!" cried one of the young men. "what devil's work is this?" exclaimed uucle jake. "cap, you ain't hurt, is you?" receiving no reply, for woodward was stunned into semi-unconsciousness, uncle jake addressed himself to the bushes-- "come forth," he cried. "jestify this deed!" there was a moment's silence, but not a moment's inaction. uncle jake leaped from his horse, and, telling the frightened yoxing men to look after woodward, ran up the mountain-side a quarter of a mile, placed his hands to his mouth, and hallooed three times in rapid succession. then he heard poteet's dogs bark, and he hallooed again. this time he was answered from above, and he turned and ran back to where he left woodward. when he got there he beheld a sight and heard words that made his blood run cold. woodward was still lying upon the ground, but by his side was kneeling a gaunt and hollow-eyed woman. her thin grey hair hung loose upon her shoulders and about her eyes, and the ragged sleeves of her gown fluttered wildly as she flung her bony arms in the air. she was uttering loud cries. "oh, lordy! it's little ab! i uv done killed little ab over ag'in! oh, my little ab! it's your pore ole mammy, honey! oh, mister! make little ab wake up an' look at his pore ole mammy!" the two young men from atlanta were paralysed with horror. when uncle jake norris ran up the mountain to alarm poteet, the witch-like figure of the woman sprang from the bushes and fell upon woodward with a loud outcry. the whole occurrence, so strange, so unnatural, and so unexpected, stripped the young men of their power of reasoning; and if the rocks had opened and fiery flames issued forth, their astonishment and perplexity and terror could have been no greater. but if they had been acquainted with the history of this wild-eyed woman,--if they had known that for weeks she had been wandering over the mountain bereft of reason, and seeking an opportunity to avenge with her own hands the murder of ab bonner, her son,--they would have been overcome by pity. uncle jake norris understood at once that ab bonner's mother had shot woodward, and he forgot to be merciful. "woe unto you, woman, ef you have done this deed! woe unto you an' your'n, rachel bonner, ef you have murdered this innocent!" "that he wuz innocent!" exclaimed the woman, swaying back and forth and waving her hands wildly. "the unborn babe wan't no innocenter than little ab!" "woe unto you, sister bonner!" uncle jake went on, examining woodward and speaking more calmly when he found him breathing regularly. "woe unto you, and shame upon you, sister bonner, to do this deed of onjestifiable homicide, ez i may say. let flesh an' min' rankle, but shed no blood." "oh, my little ab! i uv kilt 'im ag'in!" "you may well sesso, sister rachel bonner," said uncle jake, turning woodward over and examining him with the crude skill of an old soldier; "you may well sesso. drap down where you is, an' call on the lord not to give you over to a reprobate min' for to do the things that were unconvenient, ez st. paul says. let tribulation work patience, lest you git forsook of hope, sister jane bonner. come, cap," he went on, addressing himself to woodward, "teague'll be a drappin' on us, thereckly, an' it twon't never do in the roun' worl' for to be a-makin' faces at 'im frum the groun'. roust up, roust up." woodward did rouse up. in fact his unconsciousness was only momentary, but he had been making a vain effort to trace his surroundings, disordered as they were by the wild cribs of the woman, to a reasonable basis. by the time he had been helped to his feet, and had discovered that the bullet from mrs. bonner's rifle had merely grazed the fleshy part of his shoulder, teague and a number of his friends had arrived upon the scene. there was nothing to be said, nothing to be done, except to move up the mountain to poteet's. "ah, pore woman!" exclaimed uncle jake. "pore mizerbul creetur! come wi' us, sister jane bonner, come wi' us. ther's a warm place at teague's h'a'th fer sech ez you." the woman followed readily, keeping close to woodward. to her distracted eyes he took the shape of her murdered son. poteet was strangely reticent. his tremendous stride carried him ahead of the horses, and he walked with his head held down, as if reflecting. once he turned and spoke to parmalee-- "oh, sid!" "ah-yi?" 's'posen it had thes a bin a man?' "good-bye, mr. man!" it is not necessary to describe the marriage of sis and woodward, or to recite here the beautiful folk-songs that served for the wedding music. as mrs. poteet remarked after it was all over, "they wer'n't a bobble frum beginnin' to en';" and when the wedding party started down the mountain in the early hours of the morning to take conveyances at gullettsville for the railroad station, thirty miles away, uncle jake norris was sober enough to stand squarely on his feet as he held sis's hand. "ez st. paul says, i prophesy in perportion to my faith. you all is obleege to be happy. take keer of thish 'ere gal, cap!" teague poteet went down the mountain a little way, and returned after a while like a man in a dream. he paused at a point that overlooked the valley and took off his hat. the morning breeze, roused from its sleep, stirred his hair. the world, plunging swiftly and steadily through its shadow, could not rid itself of a star that burned and quivered in the east. it seemed to be another world toward which sis was going. an old woman, grey-haired, haggard, and sallow, who had been drawn from the neighbourhood of hog mountain by the managers of the atlanta cotton exposition to aid in illustrating the startling contrasts that the energy and progress of man have produced, had but one vivid remembrance of that remarkable display. she had but one story to tell, and, after the exposition was over, she rode forty miles on horseback, in the mud and rain, to tell it at teague poteet's. "i wish i may die," she exclaimed, flinging the corners of her shawl back over her shoulders and dipping her clay pipe in the glowing embers--"i wish i may die ef i ever see sech gangs, an' gangs, an' _gangs_ of folks, an' ef i git the racket out'n my head by next chris'mas, i'll be _mighty_ lucky. they sot me over ag'in the biggest fuss they could pick out, an' gimme a pa'r er cotton kyards. here's what kin kyard when she gits her han' in, an' i b'leeve'n my soul i kyarded 'nuff bats to thicken all the quilts betwix' this an' californy. the folks, they 'ud come an' stan', an' star', an' then they 'ud go some'rs else; an' then new folks 'ud come an' stan', an' star', an' go some'rs else. they wuz jewlarkers thar frum ever'wheres, an' they lookt like they wuz too brazen to live skacely. not that _i_ keer'd. no, bless you! not when folks is a plumpin' down the cash money. not me! no, siree! i wuz a-settin' thar one day a-kyardin' away, a-kyardin' away, when all of a sudden some un retched down' an' grabbed me 'roun' the neck, an' bussed me right here on the jaw. now, i hain't a-tellin' you no lie, i like to 'a' fainted. i lookt up, an' who do you reckon it wuz?" "i bet a hoss," said teague dryly, "that sis wa'n't fur from thar when that bussin' wuz a-gwine on." "who should it be _but_ sis!" exclaimed the old woman, leaning forward eagerly as she spoke. "who else but sis wuz a-gwine to grab me an' gimme a buss right here on the jaw, a-frontin' of all them jewlarkers? when i lookt up an' seen it twuz sis, i thought in my soul she 'uz the purtiest creetur i ever laid eyes on. 'well, the lord love you, sis,' s' i; 'whar on the face er the yeth did you drap frum?' s' i. i ketched 'er by the arm an' belt 'er off, an' s' i, 'ef i don't have a tale to tell when i git home, no 'oman never had none,' s' i. she took an' buss'd me right frontin' of all them jewlarkers, an' airter she 'uz gone i sot down an' had a good cry. that i did. i sot right whar i wuz, an' had a good cry." and then the old woman fell to crying softly at the remembrance of it, and those who had listened to her story cried with her. and narrow as their lives were, the memory of the girl seemed to sweeten and inspire all who sat around the wide hearth that night at teague poteet's. a piece of land. the history of pinetucky district in putnam county is preserved in tradition only, but its records are not less savoury on that account. the settlement has dispersed and disappeared, and the site of it is owned and occupied by a busy little man, who wears eye-glasses and a bob-tailed coat, and who is breeding jersey cattle and experimenting with ensilage. it is well for this little man's peace of mind that the dispersion was an accomplished fact before he made his appearance. the jersey cattle would have been winked at, and the silo regarded as an object of curiosity; but the eye-glasses and the bob-tailed coat would not have been tolerated. but if pinetucky had its peculiarities, it also had its advantages. it was pleased with its situation and surroundings, and was not puzzled, as a great many people have since been, as to the origin of its name. in brief, pinetucky was satisfied with itself. it was a sparsely settled neighbourhood, to be sure, but the people were sociable and comparatively comfortable. they could remain at home, so to speak, and attend the militia musteri, and they were in easy reach of a church-building which was not only used by all denominations--methodists, baptists, and presbyterians--as a house of worship, but was made to serve as a schoolhouse. so far as petty litigation was concerned, squire ichabod inchly, the wheel-wright, was prepared to hold justice-court in the open air in front of his shop when the weather wag fine, and in any convenient place when the weather was foul. "gentlemen," he would say, when a case came before him, "i'd a heap ruther shoe a horse or shrink a tire; yit if you _will_ have the law, i'll try and temper it wi' jestice." this was the genuine pinetucky spirit, and all true pinetuckians tried to live up to it. when occasion warranted, they followed the example of larger communities, and gossiped about each other; but rural gossip is oftener harmless than not; besides, it is a question whether gossip does not serve a definite moral purpose. if our actions are to be taken note of by people whose good opinion is worth striving for, the fact serves as a motive and a cue for orderly behaviour. yet it should be said that the man least respected by the pinetuckians was the man least gossiped about. this was bradley gaither, the richest man in the neighbourhood. with few exceptions, all the pinetuckians owned land and negroes; but bradley gaither owned more land and more negroes than the most of them put together. no man, to all appearances, led a more correct life than bradley gaither. he was first at church, and the last to leave; he even affected a sort of personal interest in politics; but the knack of addressing himself to the respect and esteem of his neighbours he lacked altogether. he was not parsimonious, but, as squire inchly expressed it, "narrer-minded in money matters." he had the air of a man who is satisfied with himself rather than with the world, and the continual exhibition of this species of selfishness is apt to irritate the most simple-minded spectator. lacking the sense of humour necessary to give him a knowledge of his own relations to his neighbours, he lived under the impression that he was not only one of the most generous of men, but the most popular. he insisted upon his rights. if people made bad bargains when they traded with him--and he allowed them to make no other kind,--they must stand or fall by them. where his lands joined those of his neighbours, there was always "a lane for the rabbits," as the saying is. he would join fences with none of them. indeed, he was a surly neighbour, though he did not even suspect the fact. he had one weakness,--a greed for land. if he drove hard bargains, it was for the purpose of adding to his landed possessions. he overworked and underfed his negroes in order that he might buy more land. day and night he toiled, and planned, and pinched himself and the people around him to gratify his land-hunger. bradley gaither had one redeeming feature,--his daughter rose. for the sake of this daughter pinetueky was willing to forgive him a great many things. to say that rose gaither was charming or lovely, and leave the matter there, would ill become even the casual historian of pinetucky. she was lovely, but her loveliness was of the rare kind that shows itself in strength of character as well as in beauty of form and feature. in the appreciative eyes of the pinetuckians she seemed to invest womanhood with a new nobility. she possessed dignity without vanity, and her candour was tempered by a rare sweetness that won all hearts. she carried with her that mysterious flavour of romance that belongs to the perfection of youth and beauty; and there are old men in rockville to-day, sitting in the sunshine on the street corners and dreaming of the past, whose eyes will kindle with enthusiasm at mention of rose gaither's name. but in bradley gaither's beautiful daughter was not by any means the only representative of womankind in pinetucky. there was miss jane inchly, to go no further. miss jane was squire inchly's maiden sister; and though she was neither fat nor fair, she was forty. perhaps she was more than forty; but if she was fifty she was not ashamed of it. she had a keen eye and a sharp tongue, and used both with a freedom befitting her sex and her experience. squire inchly's house was convenient to his shop; and just opposite lived the carews, father and son, once the most prosperous and prominent family in the neighbourhood. it was the custom of pinetucky to take a half-holiday on saturdays, and on one of these occasions squire inchly, instead of going to his shop or to the store, sat in his porch and smoked his pipe. after a while miss jane brought out her sewing and sat with him. across the way uncle billy carew sat in his easy-chair under the shade of a tree, and made queer gestures in the air with his hands and cane, while his son, a young man of twenty-five or thereabouts, paced moodily up and down the veranda. the birds fluttered in and out of the hedges of cherokee rose that ran along both sides of the road, and over all the sun shone brightly. "billy is cuttin' up his antics ag'in," said the squire, finally. "first the limbs give way, and then the mind. it's providence, i reckon. we're all a-gittin' old." "why, you talk, ichabod, as if providence went around with a drink of dram in one hand and a stroke of palsy in t'other one," said miss jane. "it's the old boy that totes the dram. and don't you pester yourself on account of old billy oarew's palsy. a man's nimble enough in the legs when he can git to the dimmy-john." "well, i'm sorry for jack, sister jane," exclaimed the squire, heartily. "i am, from the bottom of my heart. the boy is too lonesome in his ways. he needs comp'ny; he needs to be holp up, sister jane. he does, certain and shore." "well, we're all near-sighted; but when im in trouble, i'm like a hen a-layin'; i don't want nobody to stand around and watch me. not even them that feeds me. the lord knows what he keeps old billy carew here to fret poor jack for, but i don't," continued miss jane, with a sigh. "i'm much mistaken if that old creetur hain't got years before him to drink and dribble in." "it passes me, sister jane," said squire inchly, moving uneasily in his chair. "it passes me, certain and shore. here was billy, rich and healthy, jack at college, and ever'thing a-runnin' slick and smooth, when nothin' must do but the old creetur must take to the jug, and it's gone on and gone on, till old bradley gaither owns in-about all the carew plantation that's wuth ownin'. maybe it was billy's wife druv him to it, sister jane." "i say the word!" exclaimed miss jane, scornfully,--"i say the word! how could a little bit of a dried-up 'oman drive a grown man to drink?" "they are a heap livelier than they look to be, sister jane," said the squire reassuringly. "little as she was, i lay billy carew's wife had her say." "well," said miss jane, "a mouse'll squeal if you tromple on it." squire inchly had a jovial appearance ordinarily; but when he found it necessary to wrestle with the moral problems that the sharp tongue of his sister presented to his mind, he was in the habit of putting on his spectacles, as if by that means to examine them more impartially. he put his spectacles on now, and with them a severe judicial frown. "that's the trouble, sister jane,--that's the trouble," he said after a while. "the mouse'll squeal and squeal, but where's the man that ever got use to sech squealin'?" "don't pester the mouse then," said miss jane, sententiously. "old bradley gaither," remarked the squire, showing a disposition to wander away from a dangerous discussion,--"old bradley gaither ain't only got mighty nigh all the carew plantation, but he's hot arter the balance of it. last sale-day he took me off behind the court-house, and, says he-- "'square,' says he, 'i'd like mighty well for to git that carew place,' says he. "'why, mr. gaither,' says i, 'you've in-about got it all now,' says i. "'square ichabod," says he, 'it's only a matter of two hundred acres or thereabouts, and it cuts right spang into my plantation,' says he. "'well,' says i, 'two hundred acres ain't much, yit arter all it's a piece of land,' says i. "'that's so,' says he, 'but i want that land, and i'm willin' for to pay reasonable. i want you to buy it for me, square,' says he. "right across from where we sot," the squire continued, taking off his spectacles, "old billy carew was a cuttin' up and singin' his worldly-reminded gongs, and jack was a-tryin' for to git him off home. "'mr. gaither,' says i, 'do you want to crowd that poor old creetur out 'n the county?' says i. 'and look at jack; you won't find a better-favoured youngster,' says i. "i disremember what he said," the squire went on; "but when i named jack he puckered up them thin lips of his'n like he was fortifyin' his mind ag'in anger. i didn't let on about rose and jack, sister jane, but i reckon mr. gaither has got his suspicions. no doubt he has got his suspicions, sister jane." "ichabod," said miss jane, scratching her head with the long teeth of her tucking-comb, "you're too old to be made a tool of. let old bradley gaither do his own buyin' and sellin'. that old scamp is deep as a well. them that didn't know him'd think he was sanctified; yit he's got devilment enough in him to break the winders out 'n the meetin'-house. well, he needn't pester wi' jack and rose," miss jane went on; "jack'll never marry rose whilst old billy carew is hoppin' along betwixt the grocery and the graveyard. lord, lord! to think that sech a no-'count old ereetur as that should be a-ha'ntin' the face of the earth!" "he took to fiddlin' and drinkin' arter he was fifty year old," remarked the squire. "yes, and the property he hain't drunk up he's fiddled away, till now he hain't got nothin' but a passel of half-free niggers and a little piece of land, and old bradley gaither is hungry for that. and that ain't all," exclaimed miss jane, solemnly; "jack is ruined, and rose is distracted." "ah!" said the squire. "yes," said miss jane. "trouble is always double and thribble. rose was here last tuesday, and she sot by the winder there and watched jack all the time she stayed. "'that's what i call courtship at long taw,' s' i. "'yes, miss jane,' se' she, 'it is, and i'm in a great deal of trouble about jack. i understand him, but he don't understand me,' se' she. 'he's mad because father loaned his father money and then took land to pay for it. but i'd marry jack,' se' she, 'if only to give him his land back.' "i declare!" miss jane continued, "'twould 'a' melted airy heart in the universe to see that child blushin' and cryin', i went and stood by her and put my arms round her, and i says to her, s' i-- "'don't you fret, honey, don't you fret. old billy carew is full of capers and vain babblin's,' s' i, 'and your pappy is puffed up by his fleshly mind; but the almighty, he's a-watching' 'em. he'll fetch 'em up wi' a round turn,' s' i; 'he knows how to deal wi' unreasonable and wicked men.' i said them very words." "saint paul said 'em before you, sister jane, but you said 'em right,-- you said 'em right," exclaimed squire inchly, heartily. "well, i don't set up to judge nobody, but i don't need no spyglass to see what's right in front of my face," said miss jane. thus these two old people sat and talked about the affairs of their friends and neighbours,--affairs in which they might be said to have almost a personal interest. the conversation turned to other matters; but across the way they saw enacted some of the preliminaries and accompaniments of a mysterious complication that finally became as distressing and as disastrous as a tragedy. old billy carew continued to gesticulate with his cane and to talk to himself. he desired no other audience. one moment he would be convulsed with laughter; then he would draw himself up proudly, wave his hand imperiously, and seem to be laying down a proposition that demanded great deliberation of thought and accuracy of expression. after a while his son, apparently growing tired of the humiliating spectacle, left his father to himself, and went over to squire inchly's. jack carew was a great favourite with the squire and his sister. miss jane had petted him as a boy; indeed, after the death of his own mother, she had maintained towards him the relations of a foster-mother. his instinct had told him, even when a child, that the asperity of miss inehly was merely the humorous mask of a gentle and sensitive heart. as he flung himself wearily in the chair which miss jane had been quick to provide, he seemed, notwithstanding his dejection, to be a very handsome specimen of manhood. his hair was dark, his eyes large and lustrous, his nose straight and firm, and his chin square and energetic. his face was smooth-shaven, and but for the glow of health in his cheeks, his complexion would have been sallow. "father has gone to the legislature again," he said with a faint apologetic smile and a motion of the hand toward the scene of the poor old man's alcoholic eloquence. "well," said miss jane, soothingly, "he hain't the first poor creetur that's flung his welfare to the winds. the old boy's mighty busy in these days, but the almighty hain't dead yit, i reckon, and he'll come along thereckly and set things to rights." the young man's face grew gloomy as he looked across the way at his homestead. the house was showing signs of neglect, and the fences were falling away here and there, the jagged splinters of a tall oak, whose top had been wrenched off by a storm, were outlined against the sky, and an old man babbled and dribbled near by. on the hither side the cherokee roses bloomed and the birds sang. it seemed as if some horrible nightmare had thrust itself between jack carew and the sweet dreams of his youth. "i trust you are right, miss jane," said jack, after a long pause; "but he will have to come soon if lie sets my affairs to rights." "don't git down-hearted, jack," exclaimed miss jane, laying her hand upon the young man's arm with a motherly touch. "them that's big-hearted and broad-shouldered hain't got much to be afear'd of in this world. have you forgot rose gaither, jack?" "i haven't forgotten bradley gaither," said jack, frowning darkly, "and i won't forget him in a day, you may depend. bradley gaither is at the bottom of all the misery you see there." the young man made a gesture that included the whole horizon. "ah, jack!" exclaimed miss jane, solemnly, "i won't deny but what old bradley gaither is been mighty busy runnin' arter the rudiments of the world, but the time was when you'd kindle up barely at the mention of rose gaither's name." "shall i tell you the truth, miss jane?" asked jack carew, turning to miss inchly with a frank but bashful smile. "you've never failed to do that, jack, when the pinch come." "well, this is the pinch, then. but for rose gaither i should have sold out here when i first found how matters stood. i could easily sell out now--to bradley gaither." "that's so, jack, you could," said squire inchly, who had been a sympathetic listener. "yes, sir, you could; there ain't no two ways about that." "but i wouldn't, and i won't," continued jack. "everybody around here knows my troubles, and i propose, to stay here. i haven't forgotten rose gaither, miss jane, but i'm afraid she has forgotten me. she has changed greatly." "you look in the glass," said miss jane, with a knowing toss of the head, "and you'll see where the change is. rose was here t'other day, and she stood right in that room there, behind them identical curtains. i wish--but i sha'n't tell the poor child's secrets. i'll say this: the next time you see rose gaither a-passin' by, you raise your hat and tell her howdy, and you'll git the sweetest smile that ever man got." "miss jane!" exclaimed jack carew, "you are the best woman in the world." "except one, i reckon," said miss jane, dryly. jack carew rose from his chair, and straightened himself to his full height. he was a new man. youth and hope rekindled their fires in his eyes. the flush of enthusiasm revisited his face. "i feel like a new man; i am a new man!" he exclaimed. then he glanced at the pitiful figure, maundering and sputtering across the way. "i am going home," he went on, "and will put father to bed and nurse him and take care of him just as if--well, just as if i was his mother." "the lord'll love you for it, jack," said miss jane, "and so'll rose gaither. when ever'thing else happens," she continued, solemnly, "put your trust in the lord, and don't have no misdoubts of rose." the superstition that recognises omens and portents we are apt to laugh at as vulgar, but it has an enduring basis in the fact that no circumstance can be regarded as absolutely trivial. events apparently the most trifling lead' to the most tremendous results. the wisest of us know not by what process the casual is transformed into the dreadful, nor how accident is twisted into fate. jack carew visited the inchlys almost daily; yet if he had postponed the visit, the purport of which has been given above, the probability is that he would have been spared much suffering; on the other hand, he would have missed much happiness that came to him at a time of life when he was best prepared to appreciate it. he had determined in his own mind to sell the little land and the few negroes he had saved from the wreck his father's extravagance had made; he had determined to sell these, and slip away with his father to a new life in the west; but his conversation with miss jane gave him new hope and courage, so that when bradley gaither, a few weeks afterwards, offered to buy the carew place for two or three times its value, he received a curt and contemptuous message of refusal. young carew was high-strung and sensitive, even as a boy, and events had only served to develop these traits. when he was compelled to leave college to take charge of his father's' affairs, he felt that his name was disgraced for ever. he found, however, that all who had known him were anxious to hold up his hands, and to give him such support as one friend is prepared to give another. if the pinetuckians were simple-minded, they were also sympathetic, there was something gracious as well as wholesome in their attitude. the men somehow succeeded in impressing him with a vague idea that they had passed through just such troubles in their youth. the idea was encouraging, and jack carew made the most of it. but he never thought of rose gaither without a sense of deepest humiliation. he had loved rose when they were schoolchildren together, but his passion had now reached such proportions that he deeply resented the fact that his school-hoy love had been so careless and shallow a feeling. now that circumstances had placed her beyond his reach, he regretted that his youthful love experience was not worthier of the place it held in his remembrance. he could forget that rose gaither was the daughter of the man to whom he attributed his troubles, but he could never forget that he himself was the son of a man whose weakness had found him out at an age when manhood ought to have made him strong. still, jack carew made the most of a bad situation. he had the courage, the endurance, and the hopefulness of youth. he faced his perplexities with at least the appearance of good-humour; and if he had his moments of despair, when the skeleton in the jug in the closet paraded in public, pinetucky never suspected it. the truth is, while pinetucky was sympathetic and neighbourly, it was not inclined to make a great fuss over those who took a dram too much now and then. intemperance was an evil, to be sure; but even intemperance had its humorous side in those days, and pinetucky was apt to look at the humorous side. one fine morning, however, pinetuoky awoke to the fact that it was the centre and scene of a decided sensation. rumour pulled on her bonnet and boots, and went gadding about like mad. pinetucky was astonished, then perplexed, then distressed, and finally indignant, as became a conservative and moral community. a little after sunrise, bradley gaither had galloped up to squire inchly's door with the information that two bales of cotton had been stolen from hie place the night before. the facts, as sot forth by bradley gaither, were that he had twelve bales of cotton ready for market. the twelve balei had been loaded upon three, wagons, and the wagons were to start for augusta at daybreak. at the last moment, when everything was ready, the teams harnessed, and the drivers in their seats, it was discovered that two bales of the cotton were missing. fortunately, it had rained during the night, and bradley gaither had waited until it was light enough to make an investigation. he found that a wagon bad been driven to his packing-screw. he saw, moreover, that but one wagon had passed along the road after the rain, and it was an easy matter to follow the tracks. the fact of the theft had surprised squire inchly, but the details created consternation in his mind. the tracks of the wagon led to the carew place! squire inchly was prompt with a rebuke. "why, you've woke up wi' a joke in your mouth, mr. gaither. now that you've spit it out, less start fresh. a spiteful joke before breakfus' 'll make your flesh crawl arter supper, mr. gaither." squire inchly spoke seriously, as became a magistrate. bradley gaither's thin lips grew thinner as he smiled. "i'm as serious as the thieves that stole my cotton, squire inchly," said bradley gaither. "two whole bales of cotton in these days is a heavy loss," said the squire, reflectively. "i hope you'll ketch the inconsiderate parties to the larceny." "if you will go with me, squire, we'll call by for brother gossett and colonel hightower, and if i'm not mistaken we'll find the cotton not far from here." "well, sir," said the squire, indignantly, "you won't find it on the carew place. i'll go wi' you and welcome. we don't need no search warrant." the long and the short of it was that the cotton was found concealed in jack carew's rickety barn under a pile of fodder. of those who joined bradley gaither in the search, not one believed that the cottor would be found on the carew place; and some of them had even gone so far as to suggest to mr. gaither that his suspicions had been fathered by his prejudices; but that injured individual merely smiled his cold little smile, and declared that there could be no harm in following the wagon tracks. this was reasonable enough; and the result was that not only was the cotton found, but the wagon standing under the shelter, and two mules at the trough in the lot showed signs of having been used. these things so shocked those who had gone with bradley gaither that they had little to say. they stood confounded. they could not successfully dispute the evidence of their eyes. they were simple-minded men, and therefore sympathetic. each one felt ashamed. they did not look into each other's eyes and give utterance to expressions of astonishment. they said nothing; but each one, with the exception of bradley gaither, fell into a state of mental confusion akin to awe. when bradley gaither, with cm. air of triumph, asked them if they were satisfied, they said nothing, but turned and walked away one after the other. they turned and walked away, and went to their homes; and somehow after that, though the sun shone as brightly and the birds fluttered and sang as joyously, a silence fell upon pinetucky,--a silence full of austerity. the men talked in subdued tones when they met, as though they expected justice to discharge one of her thunderbolts at their feet; and the women went about their duties with a degree of nervousness that was aptly described by miss jane inchly long afterwards, when reciting the experiences of that most memorable day in the history of pinetucky. "i let a sifter drop out 'n my hand," said she, "and i declare to gracious if it didn't sound like a cannon had went off." in all that neighbourhood the carews, father and son, had but one accuser, and not one apologist. pinetucky existed in a primitive period, as we are in the habit of believing now, and its people were simple-minded people. in this age of progress and culture, morality and justice are arrayed in many refinements of speech and thought. they have been readjusted, so to speak, by science; but in pinetucky in the forties, morality and justice were as robust and as severe as they are in the bible. it was not until after the machinery of justice had been set in motion that pinetucky allowed itself to comment on the case; but the comment was justified by the peculiar conduct of the carews, when they were confronted with the facts--the cotton concealed in the barn and the warrant in the hands of the sheriff,--old billy carew fell to trembling as though he had the palsy. jack had turned pale as death, and had made a movement toward bradley gaither as though to offer violence; but when he saw his father shaking so, the colour returned to his face, and he exclaimed quickly-- "the warrant is for me alone, mr. sheriff. pay no attention to father. he is old, and his mind is weak." "he's a liar!" the old man screamed, when he found his voice. "he's a miserable liar! he never stole that cotton. don't tetch him! don't you dast to tetch him! he'll lie to you, but he won't steal your cotton! put my name in that warrant. bradley gaither stole my money and land; i reckon i've got the rights to steal his cotton." "he's drunk again," said jack. "we'll carry him in the house, and then i'll be ready to go with you." but the old man was not carried to the house without a scene. he raved, and screamed, and swore, and finally fell to the ground in a fit of impotent rage, protesting to the last that jack was a liar. when those who were present had been worked up to the highest pitch of excitement, bradley gaither spoke-- "don't criminate yourself, jack. i am willing to drop this matter." he appeared to be greatly agitated. "drop what matter?" exclaimed young carew in a passion. "i have a matter with you, sir, that won't be dropped." "go your ways, then," said bradley gaither; "i've done my duty." with that he mounted his horse, and jack carew was left in the hands of the sheriff. the machinery of the law was not as difficult to set in motion in those days as it is now. there was no delay. pinetuoky was greatly interested in the trial, and during the two days of its continuance delegations of pinetuckians were present as spectators. some of these were summoned to testify to the good character of young carew, and this they did with a simplicity that was impressive; but neither their testimony nor the efforts of the distinguished counsel for the defence, colonel peyton poindexter, had any effect. the facts and the tacit admissions of jack were against him. colonel poindexter's closing speech was long remembered, and indeed is alluded to even now, as the most eloquent and impressive ever delivered in the court-house in rockville; but it failed to convince the jury. a verdict in accordance with the facts and testimony was brought in, and jack carew was sentenced to serve a term in the penitentiary at milledgeville. the first to bring this information to pinetucky was bradley gaither himself. he stopped at squire inehly's for his daughter, and went in. "what's the news?" asked miss jane. "bad, very bad news," said bradley gaither. "jack ain't hung, i reckon," said miss jane. "my mind tells me, day and night, that the poor boy in innocent as the child that's unborn." "innocent or guilty," said bradley gaither, "he has been sent to the penitentiary." miss jane gave a quick glance at rose, and was just in time to catch her as she fell from her chair. "ah, poor child!" cried miss jane, "her heart is broke!" "rose!--daughter!--darling!" exclaimed bradley gaither, dropping on his knees beside her. "oh, what is this? what have i done? speak to her, miss inchly! what shall i do?" he was pale as death, and his features worked convulsively. "do nothin', mr. gaither. you've done more 'n you can undo a'ready. you've took and give that poor boy over for to be persecuted, mr. gaither, and now the innocent suffers and the wicked goes scotch-free." bradley gaither covered his face with his hands and groaned aloud. "what have i done? what have i done?" he cried. miss jane supported the girl in her strong arms with a grim display of affection, but her attitude towards bradley gaither was uncompromising. "don't alarm yourself, mr. gaither," she said; "this poor child'll come too, quick enough. folks don't fling off the'r misery this easy!" rose revived after a while, but she seemed to have no desire to talk to her father. after a copious use of camphor, miss jane fixed rose comfortably on the lounge, and the girl lay there and gazed at the ceiling, the picture of wide-eyed despair. bradley gaither paced the room like one distracted. his sighs were heart-rending. when miss jane succeeded in getting him out of the room, he paced up and down the entry, moving his lips and groaning as though in great mental agony. failing to understand what emotions he was at the mercy of, miss jane failed to sympathise with him. to her mind his display of grief bore no sort of proportion to the cause, and she had a woman's contempt for any manifestation of weakness in man, even the weakness of grief. "i'll pray to the lord to forgive me!" he cried out piteously. "that's right," exclaimed miss jane, in her decisive way. "but if the grace of pra'r was in the hinges of the knee, i know a heap of folks that'd be easy in the mind." every word she spoke cut like a knife, but not until long after did miss inchly realise the fact. when she did realise it, it is to be feared she hugged the remembrance of it to her bosom with a sort of grim thankfulness that providence had so happily fashioned her words and directed her tongue. as time passed on, the pinetuckians became aware that a great change had come over both bradley gaither and his daughter. the father grew old before his time, and fell into a decline, as his neighbours expressed it. the daughter grew more beautiful, but it was beauty of a kind that belonged to devoutness; so that in contemplating it the minds of men were led in the direction of mercy and charity and all manner of good deeds. one night, a year or more after the trial and sentence of jack carew, a negro on horseback rode to squire inchly's door, and said that his master, bradley gaither, desired the squire to come to him at once. the worthy magistrate was prompt to obey the summons; and when he arrived at the gaither place, he found that the preacher and other neighbours had also been summoned. bradley gaither lay upon his bed, surrounded by these, and it was plain to see that his sands of life had about run out. he presented a spectacle of dissolution calculated to arouse the sympathies of those who stood around his bed. when squire inchly had arrived, bradley gaither lay a little while with his eyes closed as in a dream. then he motioned to his daughter, who drew from beneath his pillow a few sheets of letter-paper stained and blotted with ink. this she handed to the minister. "read it aloud," said bradley gaither. the minister, with some degree of embarrassment, adjusted his spectacles and read:-- "with this paper will be found my last will and testament. i am unhappy, but i should be less miserable if i knew i could put such meaning in these lines as no man could misunderstand. i have sinned against an innocent man, i have sinned against my dear daughter, i have sinned against myself, i have sinned against god. i have been guilty of a great wrong, and though i cannot forgive myself, yet i hope to be forgiven. john carew, who is now in prison, is an innocent man. i coveted his land. in my worldly-mindedness i set my heart upon his possessions. i offered him double their value. i thought he treated me with contempt, and then i hit upon a plan to drive him out. i carried the cotton to his barn and hid it. he knew no more about it than any honest man. but as god is my judge, i did not foresee the end. i thought he would compromise and sell the land and go away. at the last the law took the matter out of my hands. john carew believes that he is suffering punishment in place of his father; but william carew is as honest as his son, and no man could be honester than that. i, bradley gaither, being in my right mind and of sound memory, do hereby charge myself with the crime for which john carew has been adjudged guilty. let the disgrace of it be attached to me alone. the sin of it i hope a merciful god will forgive." this document was duly signed and witnessed. when the preacher reached the end, he said, "let us pray;" and while that prayer, as fervent as simplicity could make it, was ascending heavenward, the soul of bradley gaither took its flight. "i glanced at him arter the breath left him," said squire inchly, relating the facts to his sister, "and he looked like a man that had shook hisself free from a heap of worriment. i hope he's at peace. i do, from the bottom of my heart." the confession was received with great wonder in pinetucky; but there was not one among the pinetuckians who did not believe that bradley gaither was a better man at bottom than his life had shown him to be, not one, indeed, who did not believe that his grievous errors were among the dispensations which an all-wise providence employs to chasten the proud and humble the vainglorious. when jack carew returned to his friends, he made his way straight to squire inchly's. he was not much changed, but the sight of him gave miss jane the cue for tears. these, however, she dried immediately, and, with a smile that jack remembered long, motioned towards the little sitting-room. "go in there, jack. a man oughtn't to grumble at waitin' for his dinner, if he knows he'll git pie." in the little sitting-room rose gaither was waiting for him. blue dave i. the atmosphere of mystery that surrounds the kendrick place in putnam county is illusive, of course; but the illusion is perfect. the old house, standing a dozen yards from the roadside, is picturesque with the contrivances of neglect and decay. through a door hanging loose upon its hinges the passer-by may behold the evidences of loneliness and gloom,--the very embodiment of desolation,--a void, a silence, that is almost portentous. the roof, with its crop of quaint gables, in which proportion has been sacrificed to an effort to attain architectural liveliness, is covered with a greenish-grey moss on the north side, and has long been given over to decay on all sides. the cat-squirrels that occasionally scamper across the crumbling shingles have as much as they can do, with all their nimbleness, to find a secure foot-hold. the huge wooden columns that support the double veranda display jagged edges at top and bottom, and no longer make even a pretence of hiding their grim hollowness. the well, hospitably placed within arm's reach of the highway, for the benefit of the dead and buried congregation that long ago met and worshipped at bethesda meeting-house, is stripped of windlass, chain, and bucket. all the outhouses have disappeared, if they ever had an existence; and nothing remains to tell the story of a flourishing era, save a fig-tree, which is graciously green and fruitful in season. this fig-tree has grown to an extraordinary height, and covers a large area with its canopy of limbs and leaves, giving a sort of oriental flavour to the illusion of mystery and antiquity. it is said of this fig-tree that sermons have been preached and marriages solemnised under its wide-spreading branches; and there is a vague tradition to the effect that a duel was once fought in its shadow by some of the hot-bloods. but no harm will come of respectfully but firmly doubting this tradition; for it is a fact, common to both memory and observation, that duels, even in the old days, when each and every one of us was the pink of chivalry and the soul of honour, were much rarer than the talk of them. nevertheless, the confession may be made that without such a tradition a fig-tree surrounded by so many evidences of neglect and decay would be a tame affair indeed. the house, with its double veranda, its tall chimneys, and its curious collection of gables, was built as late as by young felix kendrick, in order, as grandsir kendrick declared, to show that "some folks was as good as other folks." whether felix succeeded in this or not, it is impossible to gather from either local history or tradition; but there is no doubt that the house attracted attention, for its architectural liveliness has never to this day been duplicated in that region. in those days the kendrick family was a new one, so to speak, but ambitious. grandsir kendrick--a fatal title in itself--was a hatter by trade, who had come to georgia in search of a precarious livelihood. he obtained permission to build him a little log hut by the side of a running stream; and, for a year or two, people going along the road could hear the snap and twang of his bowstring as he whipped wool or rabbit fur into shape. some said he was from north carolina; others said he was from connecticut; but whether from one state or the other, what should a hatter do away off in the woods in putnam county? grandsir kendrick, who was shrewd, close-fisted, and industrious, did what any sensible man would have done: he became an overseer. in this business, which required no capital, he developed considerable executive ability. the plantations he had charge of paid large profits to their owners, and he found his good management in demand. he commanded a large salary, and saved money. this money he invested in negroes, buying one at a time and hiring them out. he finally came to be the owner of seven or eight stout field hands; whereupon he bought two hundred acres of choice land, and set himself up as a patriarch. grandsir kendrick kept to his sober ways, continued his good management, and, in the midst of much shabbiness, continued to put aside money in the shape of negroes. he also reared a son, who contrived somehow to have higher notions than his father. these notions of young felix kendrick were confirmed and enlarged by his marriage to the daughter of a methodist circuit-rider. this young lady had been pinched by poverty often enough to know the value of economy, while the position of her father had given her advantages which the most fortunate young ladies of that day might have envied. in short, mrs. felix turned out to be a very superior woman in all respects. she was proud as well as pretty, and managed to hold her own with the element which grandsir kendrick sometimes dubiously referred to as "the quality." the fact that mrs. felix's mother was a barksdale probably had something to do with her energy and tact; but whatever the cause of her popularity may have been, grandsir kendrick was very proud of his son's wife. he had no sympathy with, and no part in, her high notions; but their manifestation afforded him the spectacle of an experience entirely foreign to his own. here was his son's wife stepping high, and compelling his son to step high. so far as grandsir kendrick was concerned, however, it was merely a spectacle. to the day of his death, he never ceased to higgle over a thrip, and it was his constant boast that in his own experience it had always been convenient to give prudence the upper hand of pride. in the house was not showing many signs of decay, but young mrs. felix had become the widow kendrick, her daughter kitty bad grown to be a beautiful young woman, and her son felix was a lad of remarkable promise. the loss of her husband was a great blow to mrs. kendrick. with all her business qualities, her affection for her family and her home was strongly marked, and her husband stood first as the head and centre of each. felix kendrick died in the latter part of november , and his widow made him a grave under the shadow of a tree he had planted when a boy, and in full view of her window. the obsequies were very simple. a prayer was said, and a song was sung; that was all. but it was understood that the funeral sermon would be preached at the house by mrs. kendrick's brother, who was on his way home from china, where he had been engaged in converting (to use a neighbourhood phrase) the "squinch-eyed heathen." the weeks went by, and the missionary brother returned; and one sunday morning in february it was given out at bethesda that "on the first sabbath after the second tuesday in march, the funeral sermon of brother felix kendrick will be preached at the house by brother garwood." on the morning of this particular sunday, which was selected because it did not conflict with the services of the bethesda congregation, two neighbours met in the forks of the public road that leads to rockville. each had come from a different direction. one was riding and one was walking; and both were past the middle time of life. "well met, brother roach!" exclaimed the man on horseback. "you've took the words from my mouth, brother brannum. i hope you are well. i'm peart myself, but not as peart as i thought i was, bekaze i find that the two or three miles to come is sticking in my craw." "ah, when it comes to that, brother roach," said the man on horseback, "you and me can be one another's looking-glass. look on me, and you'll see what time has done for you." "not so, brother brannum! not so!" exclaimed the other. "there's some furrows on your forrud, and a handful of bird-tracks below your eyes that would ill become me; and i'm plumper in the make-up, you'll allow." "yes, yes, brother johnny roach," said brother brannum, frowning a little; "but what of that? death takes no time to feel for wrinkles and furrows, and nuther does plumpness stand in the way. look at brother felix kendrick,--took off in the very pulse and power of his prime, you may say. yet, providence permitting, i am to hark to his funeral to-day." "why, so am i,--so am i," exclaimed brother roach. "we seem to agree, brother brannum, like the jay-bird and the joree,--one in the tree and t'other on the ground." brother brannum's grim sense of superiority showed itself in his calm smile. "yet i'll not deny," continued brother roach, flinging his coat, which he had been carrying on his arm, across his shoulder, "that sech discourses go ag'in the grain it frets me in the mind for to hear what thundering great men folks git to be arter they are dead, though i hope we may both follow suit, brother brannum." "but how, brother johnny roach?" "why, by the grace of big discourses, brother brannum. there 'a many a preacher could close down the bible on his hankcher and make our very misdeeds smell sweet as innocence. it's all in the lift of the eyebrow, and the gesticures of the hand. so old neighbour harper says, and he's been a lawyer and a schoolmaster in his day and time.". "still," said brother brannum, as if acknowledging the arguments, "i think sister kendrick is jestified in her desires." "oh, yes,--oh, yes!" replied brother roach, heartily; "none more so. felix kendrick's ways is in good shape for some preacher wi' a glib tongue. felix was a good man; he wanted his just dues, but not if to take them would hurt a man. he was neighbourly; who more so? and, sir, when you got to rastlin' wi' trouble, he'd find you and fetch you out. i only hope the chinee preacher'll be jedgmatical enough for to let us off wi' the simple truth." "they say," said brother brannum, "that he's a man full of grace and fire." "well, sir," said johnny roach, "if he but makes me disremember that i left the bay mar' at home, i'll thank him kindly." "mercy, brother roach," exclaimed brother brannum, taking this as a neighbourly hint, "mount up here and rest yourself, whilst i stretch my legs along this level piece of ground." "i'd thank you kindly, brother branuum, if you wouldn't so misjudge me! it's my will to walk; but if i git my limbs sot to the saddle here and now, they'd ache and crack might'ly when next i called upon 'em. i'll take the will for the deed, brother brannum." thus these neighbours jogged along to felix kendrick's funeral. they found a great crowd ahead of them when they got there, though they were not too late for the services; but the house was filled with sympathetic men and women, and those who came late were compelled to find such accommodations as the yard afforded; and these accommodations were excellent in their way, for there was the cool green grass under the trees, and there were the rustic seats in the shadow of the fig-tree of which mention has been made. coming together, brother brannum and brother roach stayed together; and they soon found themselves comfortably seated under the fig-tree,--a point of view from which they could observe everything that was going on. brother brannum, who was a pillar of bethesda church, and extremely officious withal, seemed to regret that he had not arrived soon enough to find a place in the house near the preacher, but brother roach appeared to congratulate himself that he had been crowded out of ear-shot. "we can set here," he declared in great good-humour, "and hear the singing, and then whirl in and preach each man his own sermon. i know better than the furrin preacher what'd be satisfactual to felix kendrick. i see george denham sailing in and out and flying around; and if the pinch comes, as come it must, brother brannum, we can up and ast george for to fetch us sech reports as a hongry man can stomach." brother brannum frowned heavily, but made no response. presently brother roach beckoned to the young man whom he had called george denham. "howdy, george! how is kitty kendrick? solemn as the season is, george, i lay 'twould be wrong for to let beauty pine." the young man suppressed a smile, and raised his hands in protest. "uncle johnny! to joke me at such a time! i shall go to-morrow and cut your mill-race, and you will never know who did it." "ah, george! if death changes a man no more'n they say it does, little does felix kendrick need to be holp by these dismal takings-on. from first to last, he begrudged no man his banter. but here we are, and yan's the preacher. the p'int wi' me, george, is, how kin we-all setting on the back seats know when the preacher gits to his 'amen,' onless his expoundance is too loud to be becoming?" "come, now, uncle johnny," said young denham, "no winking, and i'll tell you. i was talking to miss kitty just now, and all of a sudden she cried out, 'why, yonder's uncle johnny roach, and he's walking, too. uncle johnny must stay to dinner;' and mrs. kendrick says, 'yes, and brother branmim too.' and so there you are." "well, sir," exclaimed brother roach, "kitty always had a piece of my heart, and now she has it all." "a likely young man, that george denham," said brother brannum, as denham moved towards the house. "you never spoke a truer word, brother brannum," said brother roach, enthusiastically. "look at his limbs, look at his gait, look at his eye. if the world, the flesh, and the devil don't freeze out his intents, you'll hear from that chap. he's a-gitting high up in the law, and where'll you find a better managed plantation than his'n?" what else brother roach said or might have said must be left to conjecture. in the midst of his eulogy on the living, the preacher in the house began his eulogy of the dead. those who heard what he said were much edified, and those who failed to hear made a decorous pretence of listening intently. in the midst of the sermon brother roach felt himself touched on the arm. looking up, he saw that brother brannum was gazing intently at one of the gables on the roof. following the direction of brother brannum's eyes, brother roach beheld, with astonishment not unmixed with awe, the head and shoulders of a powerfully built negro. the attitude of the negro was one of attention. he was evidently trying to hear the sermon. his head was bent, and the expression of his face was indicative of great good-humour. his shirt was ragged and dirty, and had fallen completely away from one arm and shoulder, and the billowy muscles glistened in the sun. while brother brannum and brother roach were gazing at him with some degree of amazement, an acorn dropped upon the roof from one of the tall oaks. startled by the sudden noise, the negro glanced hurriedly around, and dropped quickly below the line of vision. "well, well, well!" exclaimed brother roach, after exchanging a look of amazement with brother brannum. "well, well, well! who'd 'a' thought it? once 'twas the nigger in the wood-pile; now it's the nigger in the steeple, and arter a while they'll be a-flying in the air,--mark my words. i call that the impidence of the old boy. maybe you don't know that nigger, brother brannum?" "i disremember if i do, brother roach." "well, sir, when one of 'em passes in front of your uncle johnny, you may up and sw'ar his dagarrytype is took. that nigger, roosting up there so slick and cool, is bledser's blue dave. nuther more, nuther less." "bledser's blue dave!" exclaimed brother brannum in a voice made sepulchral by amazement. "the identical nigger! i'd know him if i met him arm-in-arm with the king and queen of france." "why, i thought blue dave had made his disappearance five year ago," said brother brannum. "well, sir, my two eyes tells me different. time and time ag'in i've been told he's a quare creetur. some say he's strong as a horse and venomous as a snake. some say he's swifter than the wind and slicker than a red fox. and many's the time by my own h'a'th-stone i've had to pooh-pooh these relations; yet there's no denying that for mighty nigh seven year that nigger's been trolloping round through the woods foot-loose and scotch-free, bidding defiance to the law of the state and bill brand's track dogs." "well, sir," said brother brannum, fetching his hand down on his knee with a thwack, "we ought to alarm the assemblage." "jes so," replied brother roach, with something like a chuckle; "but you forgit the time and the occasion, brother brannum. i'm a worldly man myself, as you may say, but 'twill be long arter i'm more worldlier than what i am before you can ketch me cuttin' sech a scollop as to wind up a funeral sermon wi' a race arter a runaway nigger." brother brannum agreed with this view, but it was with a poor grace. he had a vague remembrance of certain rewards that had from time to time been offered for the capture of blue dave, and he was anxious to have a hand in securing at least a part of these. but he refrained from sounding the alarm. with brother roach, he remained at the kendrick place after the sermon was over, and took dinner. he rode off shortly afterwards, and the next day bill brand and his track dogs put in an appearance; but blue dave was gone. it was a common thing to hear of fugitive negroes; but blue dave (so called because of the inky blackness of his skin) had a name and a fame that made him the terror of the women and children, both white and black; and kitty kendrick and her mother were not a little disturbed when they learned that he had been in hiding among the gables of their house. the negro's success in eluding pursuit caused the ignorant-minded of both races to attribute to him the possession of some mysterious power. he grew into a legend; he became a part of the folk-lore of the section. according to popular belief, he possessed strange powers and great courage; he became a giant, a spirit of evil. women frightened their children into silence by calling his name, and many a youngster crept to bed in mortal fear that blue dave would come in the night and whisk him away into the depths of the dark woods. whatever mischief was done was credited to blue dave. if a horse was found in the lot spattered with mud, blue dave had ridden it; if a cow was crippled, a hog missing, or a smoke-house robbed, blue dave was sure to be at the bottom of it all, so far as popular belief was concerned. the negroes had many stories to tell of him. one had seen him standing by a tall poplar-tree. he was about to speak to him when there came a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder, and blue dave disappeared, leaving a sulphurous smell behind him. he had been seen by another negro. he was standing in the middle of the armour's ferry road. he was armed with a gleaming reaphook, and accompanied by a big black dog. as soon as the dog saw the new-comer, it bristled up from head to foot, its eyes shone like two coals of fire, and every hair on its back emitted a fiery spark. very little was known of the history of blue dave. he was brought to the little village of rockville in chains in a speculator's train,--the train consisting of two conestoga wagons and thirty or forty forlorn-looking negroes. the speculator explained that he had manacled blue dave because he was unmanageable; and he put him on the block to sell him after making it perfectly clear to everybody that whoever bought the negro would get a bad bargain. nevertheless blue dave was a magnificent specimen of manhood, straight as an arrow, as muscular as hercules, and with a countenance as open and as pleasant as one would wish to see. he was bought by general alfred bledser, and put on his river place. he worked well for a few weeks, but got into trouble with the overseer, and finally compromised matters by taking to the woods. he seemed born for this particular business; for the track dogs failed to find him, and all the arts and artifices employed for capturing and reclaiming runaways failed in his case. it was a desperate sort of freedom he enjoyed; but he seemed suited to it, and he made the most of it. as might be supposed, there was great commotion in the settlement, and particularly at the kendrick homestead, when it was known that blue dave had been hiding among the gables of the kendrick house. mrs. kendrick and her daughter kitty possessed their full share of what brother roach would have called "spunk;" but there is a large and very important corner of the human mind--particularly if it happens to be a feminine mind--which devotes itself to superstition; and these gentle ladies, while they stood in no terror of blue dave as a runaway negro simply, were certainly awed by the spectral figure which had grown up out of common report. the house negroes stood in mortal dread of blue dave, and their dismay was not without its effect upon mrs. kendrick and her daughter. jenny, the house-girl, refused to sleep at the quarters; and when aunt tabby, the cook, started for her cabin after dark, she was accompanied by a number of little negroes bearing lightwood torches. all the stories and legends that clustered around blue dave's career were brought to the surface again; and, as we have seen, the great majority of them were anything but reassuring. ii. while the commotion in the settlement and on the kendrick place was at its height, an incident occurred that had a tendency to relieve kitty kendrick's mind. shortly after the funeral the spring rains had set in, and for several days great floods came down from the skies. one evening shortly after dark, kitty kendrick stepped out upon the veranda, in an aimless sort of way, to look at the clouds. the rain had ceased, but the warm earth was reeking with moisture. the trees and the ground were smoking with fog, and great banks of vapour were whirling across the sky from the south-west. kitty sighed. after a while george denham would go rattling by in his buggy from his law office in rockyille to his plantation, and it was too dark to catch a glimpse of him. at any rate, she would do the best she could. she would put the curtains of the sitting-room back, so the light could shine out, and perhaps george would stop to warm his hands and say a word to her mother. kitty turned to go in when she heard her name called-- "miss kitty!" "well, what is it?" kitty was startled a little in spite of herself. "please, ma'am, don't be skeer'd." "why should i be frightened? what do you want?" "miss kitty, i des come by fer ter tell you dat murder creek done come way out er its banks, en ef mars. george denham come by w'en he gwine on home, i wish you please, ma'am, be so good ez ter tell 'im dat dey ain't no fordin'-place fer ter be foun' dar dis night." the voice was that of a negro, and there was something in the tone of it that arrested kitty kendrick's attention. "who sent you?" she asked. "nobody ain't sont me; i des come by myse'f. i laid off fer ter tell mars. george, but i year talk he mighty headstrong, en i speck he des laugh at me." "are you one of our hands?" "no, 'm; i don't b'long on de kendrick place." "come out of the shadow there where i can see you." "i mos' fear'd, miss kitty." "what is your name?" "dey calls me blue dave, ma'am." the tone of the voice was something more than humble. there was an appeal in it for mercy. kitty kendrick recognised this; but in spite of it she could scarcely resist an impulse to rush into the house, lock the door, and take steps to rouse the whole plantation. by a great effort she did resist it, and the negro went on:-- "please, ma'am, don't be skeer'd er me, miss kitty. de lord years me w'en i say it, dey ain't a ha'r er yo' head dat i'd hurt, dat dey ain't. i ain't bad like dey make out i is, miss kitty. dey tells some mighty big tales, but dey makes um up dey se'f. manys en manys de time is i seed you w'en you gwine atter sweet-gum en w'en you huntin' flowers, en i allers say ter myse'f, i did, 'nobody better not pester miss kitty w'iles blue dave anywhars 'roun'.' miss kitty, i 'clar' 'fo' de lord i ain't no bad nigger," blue dave continued in a tone of the most emphatic entreaty. "you des ax yo' little br'er. little mars. felix, he knows i ain't no bad nigger." "why don't you go home, instead of hiding out in the woods?" said kitty, striving to speak in a properly indignant tone. "bless yo' soul, miss kitty, hit ain't no home fer me," said blue dave, sadly. "hit mought be a home fer some niggers, but hit ain't no home fer me. i year somebody comin'. good-bye, miss kitty; don't fergit 'bout mars. george." as noiselessly as the wind that faintly stirs the grass, blue dave glided away in the darkness, leaving kitty kendrick standing upon the veranda half frightened and wholly puzzled. her little brother felix came out to see where she had gone. felix was eight years old, and had views of his own. "sister kit, what are you doing? watching for mr. george to go by?" "don't speak to me, you naughty boy!" exclaimed kitty. "you've disgraced us all. you knew blue dave was hiding on top of the house all the while. what would be done with us if people found out we had been harbouring a runaway negro?" kitty pretended to be terribly shocked. felix gave a long whistle, indicative of astonishment. "you are awful smart," he said. "how did you find that out? yes, i did know it," he went on, desperately, "and i don't care if i did. if you tell anybody, i'll never run up the road to see if mr. george is coming as long as i live; i won't never do anything for you." kitty's inference was based on what blue dave had said; but it filled her with dismay to find it true. she caught the child by the shoulder and gave him a little shake. "brother felix, how dare you do such a thing? if mother knew of it, it would break her heart." "well, go and tell her and break her heart," said the boy, sullenly. "it wasn't my fault that blue dave was up there. i didn't tote him up, i reckon." "oh, how could you do such a thing?" reiterated kitty, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, as if by this means to expiate her brother's folly. "well," said the child, still speaking sullenly, "i heard something moving on top of the house one day when i was in the garret, and i kept on hearing it until i opened the window and went out on the roof. then, when i got out there, i saw a great big nigger man." "weren't you frightened?" exclaimed kitty, catching her breath. "what did you say?" "i said 'hello!' and then he jumped like he was shot. i asked him his name, and he said he was named blue dave, and he begged me so hard i promised not to tell he was up there. and then, after that, he used to come in the garret and tell me no end of tales, and i've got a trunk full of chestnuts that he brought me. he 'a the best nigger man i ever saw, less'n it's old uncle manuel, and he'll be as good as uncle manuel when he gets that old, 'cause uncle manuel said so. and i know it ain't my fault; and if you want to tell mother you can come and tell her right now, and then you won't never be my sister any more, never, never!" "i think you have acted shamefully," said kitty. "suppose he had come in the garret, and made his way down-stairs, and murdered us all while we were asleep." "well," said felix, "he could have come any time. i wouldn't be afraid to go out in the woods and stay with blue dave this very night, and if i had my way he wouldn't be running from old bill brand and his dogs. when i get a man i'm going to save up money and buy blue dave: i thought at first i wanted a pony, but i wouldn't have a pony now." while they were talking, kitty heard the rattle of buggy wheels. the sound came nearer and nearer. whoever was driving was singing, to pass the time away, and the quick ear of kitty recognised the voice of george denham. he went dashing by; but he must have seen the girl standing on the veranda, for he cried out, "good night, miss kitty!" and then caught up the burden of his song again as he went whirling down the road. kitty wrung her hands. she went in to her mother with tears in her eyes. "o mother! george has gone by without stopping. what shall we do?" mrs. kendrick was a very practical woman. knowing nothing of the freshet in murder creek, she was amazed as well as amused at kitty's tragic attitude. "well, it's most too soon for george to begin to take his meals here, i reckon," she said dryly. "you'd better make you a cup of ginger-tea and go to bed." "but, mother, there's a freshet in murder creek. oh, why didn't he stop?" mrs. kendrick was kneeling on the floor cutting out clothes for the plough-hands,--"slaving for her niggers," as she called it. she paused in her work and looked at kitty, as if to see whether she had heard her aright. "well, upon my word!" she exclaimed, after critically surveying her daughter, "i don't see how girls can be so weak-minded. many a man as good as george denham has crossed murder creek in a freshet. i don't see but what he's big enough and ugly enough to take care of himself." "oh," exclaimed kitty, going from window to window, and vainly endeavouring to peer out into the darkness, "why didn't he stop?" "well," said mrs. kendrick, resuming the use of her shears, "if you'll try to worry along and stand it this time, i'll send out and have a fence built across the big road, and get the niggers to light a bonfire; and we'll stop him the next time he comes along. i'll have to do my duty by my own children, i reckon. but don't be alarmed," she continued, perceiving that kitty's distress was genuine. "you may have to fly around here and get george some supper, after all. i've been waiting on niggers all day; and even if i hadn't, i'm too old and fagged out to be rushing in amongst the pots and kettles to please george denham." george denham rattled down the road, singing of "barbara allen," but thinking of kitty kendrick. suddenly his horse shied, and then he heard somebody call him. "mars. george! is dat you, mars. george?" "unless you want to make a ghost of me by frightening my horse," exclaimed the young man, checking the animal with some difficulty. "what do you want?" "mars. george, is you see miss kitty w'en you come by des now?" "no, i didn't stop. is anything the matter?" "no, sir, nothin' in 'tickler ain't de matter, 'ceppin' dat miss kitty had sump'n' ter tell you." "are you one of the kendrick negroes?" "no, sir; i don't b'long dar." "who are you?" "i 'clar' ter goodness, i skeer'd ter tell you, mars. george; kaze you mought fly up en git mad." the young man laughed with such genuine heartiness that it did the negro good to hear it. "well, i know who you are," he said; "you are blue dave, and you've come to tell me that you want me to carry you to jail, where bill brand can get his hands on you." the negro was thunderstruck. "to' de lord, mars. george! how you know who i is?" "why, i know by your looks. you've got horns and a club foot. that's the way the old boy fixes himself." "now, mars. george," said the negro in a grieved tone, "ef you could see me good you wouldn't set dar en say i'm a bad-lookin' nigger." "are you really blue dave?" the young man asked, dropping his bantering tone and speaking seriously. "yasser, mars. george; i'm dat ve'y nigger." "what do you want with me?" "i des wanter tell you, mars. george, dat dey's a freshet come fum 'bove, en murder creek is 'way out'n hits banks. you can't cross dar wid no hoss en buggy dis night." the young man reflected a moment. he was more interested in the attitude of the negro than he was in the extent of the freshet or the danger of an attempt to cross the creek. "i've a knack of crossing murder creek in a freshet," he said. "but why should you want to keep me out of it?" "well, sir, fer one thing," said blue dave, shifting about on his feet uneasily, "you look so much like my young marster w'at died in perginny. en den dat day w'en de speckerlater put me up on de block, you 'uz settin' dar straddle er yo' pony, en you 'lowed dat he oughter be 'shame er hisse'f fer ter chain me up dat a-way." "oh, i remember. i made quite a fool of myself that day." "yasser; en den w'en de man say sump'n' sassy back, little ez you wuz, you spurred de pony at 'im en tole 'im you'd slap 'im in de jaw. he 'uz de skeer'dest w'ite man i ever see. i say ter myse'f den dat i hope de day'd come w'en dat little boy'd grow up en buy me; en dat make i say w'at i does. i want you to keep out 'n dat creek dis night, en den i want you ter buy me. please, sir, buy me, mars. george; i make you de bes' nigger you ever had." "why, great jerusalem! you wouldn't be on my place a week before you'd get your feelings hurt and rush off to the woods, and i'd never see you any more." "des try me, mars. george! des try me. i'll work my arms off ter de elbows, en den i'll work wid de stumps. des try me, mars. george!" "i expect you would be a right good hand if you hadn't been free so long. go home and let me see how you can work for your master, and then maybe i'll think about buying you." "eh-eh, mars. george! i better go jump in a burnin' bresh-pile. ain't you gwine ter tu'n back, mars. george?" "not to-night. go home and behave yourself." with that george denham clucked to his restive horse, and went clattering down the road in the direction of murder creek, which crossed the highway a mile further on. blue dave stood still a moment, scratching his head and looking after the buggy. "is anybody ever see de beat er dat?" he exclaimed. "ef mars. george gits in dat creek, dey's got ter be a merakel come 'bout ef he gits out." he stood in the road a moment longer, still scratching his head as if puzzled. then he addressed himself indignantly. "looky yer, nigger, w'at you stan'in' yer fer? whar yo' manners, whar yo' perliteness?" thus, half--humorously, half--seriously, talking to himself, blue dave went trotting along in the direction taken by george denham. he moved without apparent exertion, but with amazing swiftness. but the young man in the buggy had also moved swiftly; and, go as fast as he might, blue dave could not hope to overtake him before he reached the creek. for george denham was impatient to get home,--as impatient as his horse, which did not need even the lightest touch of the whip to urge it forward. he paid no attention to the familiar road. he was thinking of pretty kitty kendrick, and of the day, not very far in the future, he hoped, when, in going home, he should be driving towards her instead of away from her. he paid no attention to the fact that, as he neared the creek, his horse subsided from a swinging trot to a mincing gait that betrayed indecision; nor did it strike him as anything unusual that the horse should begin to splash water with his feet long before he had reached the banks of the creek; no doubt it was a pool left standing in the road after the heavy rains. but the pool steadily grew deeper; and while george denham was picturing kitty kendrick sitting on one side of his fireplace and his old mother on the other,--his old mother, with her proud face and her stately ways,--his horse stopped and looked around. young denham slapped the animal with the reins, without taking note of his surroundings. thus reassured, the horse went on; but the water grew deeper and deeper, and presently the creature stopped again. this time it smelt of the water and emitted the low, deeply-drawn snort by which horses betray their uneasiness; and when george denham would have urged it forward, it struck the water impatiently with its forefoot. aroused by this, the young man looked around; but there was nothing to warn him of his danger. the fence that would otherwise have been a landmark was gone. there was no loud and angry roaring of the floods. behind him the shifting clouds, the shining stars, and the blue patches of sky mirrored themselves duskily and vaguely in the slow creeping waters; before him the shadows of the trees that clustered somewhere near the banks of the creek were so deep and heavy that they seemed to merge the dark waters of the flood into the gloom of the night. when the horse was quiet, peering ahead, with its sharp little ears pointed forward, there was no sound save the vague sighing of the wind through the tops of the scrub pines and the gentle ripple of the waters. as george denham urged his horse forward, confident of his familiarity with the surroundings, blue dave ran up on the little ridge to the left through which the road had been cut or worn. "mars. george!" he shouted, "don't you see wharbouts you is? wait, mars. george! pull dat hoss up!" but blue dave was too late. as he spoke, the horse and buggy plunged into the flood, and for a moment they were lost to view. then the struggling animal seemed to strike rising ground; but the buggy was caught in the resistless current, and, with george denham clinging to it, it dragged the horse down, and the swirling waters seemed to sweep over and beyond them. blue dave lost not a moment. flinging himself into the flood from the vantage-ground on which he stood, a few strokes of his sinewy arms carried him to where he saw george denham disappear. that young man was an expert swimmer; and though the sudden immersion had taken him at a disadvantage, he would have made his way out with little difficulty but for the fact that a heavy piece of driftwood had been hurled against his head. stunned, but still conscious, he was making an ineffectual attempt to reach the shore, when he was caught by blue dave and borne safely back to land. the horse, in its struggles, had succeeded in tearing itself loose from the buggy, and they heard it crawl up the bank on the other side and shake itself. blue dave carried george denham out of the water as one would carry a child. when he had set the young man down in a comparatively dry place, he exclaimed with a grin-- "dar now, mars. george! w'at i tell you? little mo' en de tarrypins would 'a' bin a-nibblin' atter you." george denham was dazed as well as weak. he put his hand to his head and tried to laugh. "you were just in time, old fellow," he said. then he got on his feet, and tried to walk, but he would have sunk down again but for blue dave's arm. "why, i'm as weak as a stray cat," he exclaimed, feebly. "let me lie down here a moment." "dat i won't, mars. george! dat i won't! i tuck 'n' brung you out, en now i'm a-gwineter take 'n' ca'er you back dar whar miss kitty waitin'." "well, you'll have to wait until i can walk." "no, sir; i'll des squat down, en you kin crawl up on my back des like you useter play hoss." "why, you can't carry me, old fellow; i'm too heavy for that." "shoo! don't you b'leeve de half er dat, mars. george. i toted bigger turns dan w'at you is long 'fo' i had de strenk w'at i got now. grab me 'roun' de neck, mars. george; git up little higher. now, den, don't you be fear'd er fallin'." blue dave rose from his stooping posture, steadied himself a moment, and then moved on with his living burden. he moved slowly and cautiously at first, but gradually increased his pace to a swinging walk that carried him forward with surprising swiftness. to george denham it all seemed like a dream. he suffered no pain, and it was with a sort of queer elation of mind that he felt the huge muscles of the negro swell and subside under him with the regularity of machinery, and knew that every movement carried him toward kitty kendrick and rest. he was strangely tired, but not otherwise uncomfortable. he felt abundantly grateful to this poor runaway negro, and thought that if he could overcome his mother's prejudices (she had a horror of runaway negroes) he would buy blue dave and make him comfortable. thus they swung along until the negro's swift stride brought them to mrs. kendrick's gate. there blue dave deposited george denham, and exclaimed with a laugh as he leaned against the fence-- "you'er right smart chunk er meat, mars. george, ez sho ez de worl'!" george denham also leaned against the fence, but he didn't laugh. he was thinking of what seemed to him a very serious matter. "mother will be frightened to death when that horse gets home," he said. "you go in dar en get worn, mars. george," said blue dave. "i'm gwine 'roun' by de high bridge en tell um whar you is." "why, you'll break yourself down," said george deuham. "ah, lord, mars. george!" said the negro, laughing, "time you bin in de woods long ez i is de four mile 'twix' yer en yo' house'll look mighty short. go in dar, mars. george, 'fo' you git col'!" shortly after this, george denham was in bed and fast asleep. he had been met at the door by kitty kendrick, in whose telltale face the blushes of that heartiest of all welcomes had chased away the pallor of dread and anxiety. mrs. kendrick was less sympathetic in word than in deed. she had known george denham since he was a little boy in short clothes; and while she approved of him, and had a sort of motherly affection for him, she was disposed to be critical, as are most women who have the knack of management. "and so you've come back dripping, have you? well, you ain't the first head-strong, high-strung chap that's found out water is wet when the creek blots out the big road, i reckon. i'm no duck myself. when i see water, i'm like the old cat in the corner; i always feel like shaking my foot. kitty, call bob and tell him to make a fire in the big room. he's asleep, i reckon, and you'll have to holler. set a nigger down and he's snoring directly. you look pale," mrs. kendrick continued, turning to george. "you must have gone in over your ears. i should think a drenching like that would take all the conceit out of a man." "well, it has taken it all out of me, ma'am," said george, laughing. then the young man told mrs. kendrick of his misadventure, and of the part blue dave had borne in it. "he's the nigger that roosted on top of my house," said mrs. felix, bustling around and putting a kettle of water on the fire. "well, it's a roundabout way to pay for his lodging, but it's the best he could do, i reckon. now, don't you worry yourself, george; in ten minutes you'll be snug in bed, and then you'll drink a cup of composition tea, and to-morrow morning you'll have forgotten all about trying to make a spring branch out of murder creek." as the successful mistress of a household, mrs. kendrick knew precisely what was necessary to be done. there was no hitch in her system, no delay in her methods, and no disputing her remedies. george denham was ordered to bed as if he had been a child; and though the "composition" tea was hot in the month and bitter to the palate, it was useless to protest against it. as a consequence of all this, the young man was soon in the land of dreams. when everything was quiet, kitty prepared a very substantial lunch. then, calling her little brother felix, she went across the yard to the quarters, and stopped at uncle manuel's cabin. the door was ajar, and kitty could see the venerable old negro nodding before the flickering embers. she went in and called his name-- "uncle manuel!" "eh! who dat?" then, looking around and perceiving kitty, the old negro's weather-beaten face shone with a broad smile of surprise and welcome. "why, honey! why, little mistiss! how come dis? you makes de ole nigger feel proud; dat you does. i fear'd ter ax you ter set down, honey, de cheer so rickety." "uncle manuel," said kitty, "do you know blue dave?" uncle manuel was old, and wise, and cunning. he hesitated a moment before replying, and even then his caution would not allow him to commit himself. "blue dave, he's dat ar runaway nigger, ain't he, honey? i done year talk un 'im lots er times." "well," said kitty, placing her basket upon uncle manuel's tool-chest, "here is something for blue dave to eat. if you don't see him yourself, perhaps you can send it to him by some one." uncle manuel picked up the basket, weighed it in his hand, and then placed it on the chest again. then he looked curiously at kitty, and said-- "honey, how come you gwine do dis? ain't you year tell hit's ag'in de law fer ter feed a runaway nigger?" kitty blushed as she thought of george denham. "i send blue dave the victuals because i choose to, uncle manuel," she said. "the law has nothing to do with that little basket." she started to go, but uncle manuel raised both hands heavenwards. "wait, little mistiss," he cried, the tears running down his furrowed face; "des wait, little mistiss. 'twou't hurt you, honey. de ole nigger wuz des gwine ter git down ter his pra'rs 'fo' you come in. dey ain't no riper time dan dis." uncle manuel's voice was husky with suppressed emotion. with his hands still stretched toward the skies, and the tears still running down his face, he fell upon his knees and exclaimed-- "saviour en marster er de worl'! draw nigh dis night en look down into dis ole nigger's heart; lissen ter de humblest er de humble. blessed marster! some run wild eh some go stray, some go hether en some go yan'; but all un um mus' go befo' dy mercy-seat in de een'. some'll fetch big works, en some'll fetch great deeds, but po' ole manuel won't fetch nothiu' but one weak, sinful heart. dear, blessed marster! look in dat heart en see w'at in dar. de sin dat's dar, lord, blot it out wid dy wounded han'. dear marster, bless my little mistiss. her comin's en her gwines is des like one er dy angels er mercy; she scatters bread en meat 'mongs' dem w'at's lonesome in der ways, en dem w'at runs up en down in de middle er big tribalation. saviour! marster! look down 'pon my little mistiss; gedder her 'nead dy hev'mly wings. ef trouble mus' come, let it come 'pon me. i'm ole, but i'm tough; i'm ole, but i got de strenk. lord! let de troubles en de trials come 'pon de ole nigger w'at kin stan' um, en save my little mistiss fum sheddin' one tear. en den, at de las' fetch us all home ter hev'm, whar dey's res' fer de w'ary. amen." never in her life before had kitty felt so thrilling a sense of nearness to her creator as when uncle manuel was offering up his simple prayer; and she went out of the humble cabin weeping gently. iii. the four-mile run to the denham plantation was fun for blue dave. he was wet and cold, and the exercise acted as a lively invigorant. once, as he sped along, he was challenged by the patrol; but he disappeared like a shadow, and came into the road again a mile away, singing to himself-- run, nigger, run! patter-roller ketch you; run, nigger, run! hit's almos' day! he was well acquainted with the surroundings at the denham plantation, having been fed many a time by the well-cared-for negroes; and he had no hesitation in approaching the premises. the clouds had whirled themselves away, and the stars told him it was ten o'clock. there was a light in the sitting-room, and blue dave judged it best to go to the back door. he rapped gently, and then a little louder. ordinarily the door would have been opened by the trim black housemaid; but to-night it was opened by george denham's mother, a prim old lady of whom everybody stood greatly in awe without precisely knowing why. she looked out, and saw the gigantic negro looming up on the doorsteps. "do you bring news of my son?" she asked. the voice was low, but penetrating; and the calm, even tones told the story of a will too strong to tolerate opposition, or even contradiction. blue dave hesitated out of sheer embarrassment at finding such cool serenity where he had probably expected to find grief or some such excitement. "did you hear me speak?" the prim old lady asked, before the negro had time to gather his wits. "do you bring me news of my son?" "yessum," said blue dave, scratching his head; "dat w'at i come fer. mars. george gwine ter stay at de kendrick place ter-night. i speck he in bed by dis time," he added, reassuringly. "his horse has come home without buggy or harness. is my son hurt? don't be afraid to tell me the truth. what has happened to him?" how could the poor negro--how could anybody--know what a whirlwind of yearning affection, dread, and anxiety was raging behind these cool, level tones? "mistiss, i tell you de trufe: mars. george is sorter hurted, but he ain't hurted much. i met 'im in de road, en i tuck 'n' tole 'im dey wuz a freshet in murder creek; but he des laugh at me, en he driv' in des like dey wa'n't no water dar; en den w'en he make his disappearance, i tuck 'n' splunge in atter 'im, en none too soon, n'er, kaze he got strucken on de head wid a log, an w'en i fotch 'im out, he 'uz all dazzle up like. yit he ain't hurted much, mistiss." "what is your name?" the prim old lady asked. "blue dave, ma'am." "the runaway?" the negro hesitated, looked around, and then hung down his head. he knew the calm, fearless eyes of this gentlewoman were upon him; he felt the influence of her firm tones. she repeated her question-- "are you blue dave, the runaway?" "yessum." the answer seemed to satisfy the lady. she turned and called eliza, the housemaid. "eliza, your master's supper is in the dining-room by the fire. here are the keys. take it into the kitchen." then she turned to blue dave. "david," she said, "go into the kitchen and eat your supper." then eliza was sent after ellick, the negro foreman; and ellick was not long in finding blue dave a suit of linsey-woolsey clothes, a little warmer and a little drier than those the runaway was in the habit of wearing. then the big greys were put to the denham carriage, shawls and blankets were thrown in, and blue dave was called. "have you had your supper, david?" said mrs. denham, looking grimmer than ever as she stood on her veranda arrayed in bonnet and wraps. "thanky, mistiss! thanky, ma'am. i ain't had no meal's vittles like dat, not gence i lef ferginny." "can you drive a carriage, david?" the old lady asked. "dat i kin, mistiss." whereupon he seized the reins and let down the carriage steps. mrs. denham and her maid got in; but when everything was ready, blue dave hesitated. "mistiss," he said, rather sheepishly, "w'en i come 'long des now, de patter-rollers holler'd atter me." "no matter, david," the grim old lady replied; "your own master wouldn't order you off of my carriage." "keep yo' eye on dat off boss!" exclaimed ellick, as the carriage moved off. "hush, honey," blue dave cried, as exultantly as a child; "'fo' dey gits ter de big gate, i'll know deze yer bosses better dan ef dey wuz my br'er." after that, nothing more was said. the road had been made firm and smooth by the heavy beating rain, and the carriage swung along easily and rapidly. the negro housemaid fell back against the cushions, and was soon sound asleep; but mrs. denham sat bolt upright. hers was an uncompromising nature, it had been said, and certainly it seemed so; but as the carriage rolled along, there grew before her mind's eye the vague, dim outlines of a vision,--a vision of a human creature hiding in the dark swamps, fleeing through the deep woods, and creeping swiftly through the pine thickets. it was a pathetic figure, this fleeing human creature, whether chased by dogs and men or pursued only by the terrors that hide themselves behind the vast shadows of the night; and the figure grew more pathetic when, as it seemed, it sprang out of the very elements themselves to snatch her son from the floods. the old lady sighed and pressed her thin lips together. she had made up her mind. presently the carriage drew up at the kendrick place; and in a little while, after effusive greetings all around, mrs. denham was sitting at mrs. kendrick's hearth listening to the story of her son's rescue. she wanted to go in and see george at once, but mrs. kendrick would consent only on condition that he was not to be aroused. "it is foolish to say it," said the old lady, smiling at kitty as she came out of the room in which her son was sleeping; "but my son seems to look to-night just as he did when a baby." kitty smiled such a responsive smile, and looked so young and beautiful, that the proud old lady stooped and kissed her. "i think i shall love you, my dear." "i reckon i'll have to get even with you," said mrs. kendrick, who had a knack of hiding her own emotion, "by telling george that i've fallen in love with him." this gave a light and half-humorous turn to affairs, and in a moment mrs. denham was as prim and as uncompromising in appearance as ever. "well!" exclaimed mrs. kendrick, after she and kitty had retired for the night, "the day's worth living if only to find out that rebecca denham has got a heart in her insides. i believe actually she'd 'a' cried for a little." "she did cry, mother," said kitty, solemnly. "there were tears in her eyes when she leaned over me." "well, well, well!" said mrs. kendrick, "she always put me in mind of a ghost that can't be laid on account of its pride. but we're what the lord made us, i reckon, and people deceive their looks. my old turkey gobbler is harmless as a hound puppy; but i reckon he'd bust if he didn't up and strut when strangers are in the front porch." with that mrs. kendrick addressed herself to her prayers and to slumber; but kitty lay awake a long time, thinking and thinking, until finally her thoughts became the substance of youth's sweetest dreams. iv. but why should the tender dreams of this pure heart be transcribed here? indeed, why should these vague outlines be spun out to the vanishing-point, like the gossamer threads that float and glance and disappear in the september skies? some of the grandchildren of george denham and kitty kendrick will read these pages, and wonder, romantic youngsters that they are, why all the love passages have been suppressed; other readers, more practical, and perhaps severer, will ask themselves what possible interest there can be in the narrative of a simple episode in the life of a humble fugitive. what reply can be made, what explanation can be offered? fortunately, what remains to be told may mostly be put in the sententious language of brother johnny roach. one day, shortly after the events which have been described, brother branuum rode up to brother roach's mill, dismounted, and hitched his horse to the rack. "you're mighty welcome, brother brannum," said brother roach from the door, as cheerful under his covering of meal dust as the clown in the pantomime; "you're mighty welcome. i had as lief talk to my hopper as to most folks; but the hopper knows me by heart, and i dassent take too many liberties wi' it. come in, brother brannum; there's no great head of water on, and the gear is running soberly. sat'days, when all the rocks are moving, my mill is a female woman; the clatter is turrible. i'll not deny it. i hope you're well, brother brannum. and sister brannum. i'll never forgit the savour of her sunday dumplings, not if i live a thousand year." "we're well as common, brother roach, well as common. yit a twitch here and a twinge there tells us we're moving along to'rds eternity. it's age that's a-feeling of us, brother roach; and when we're ripe it'll pluck us." "it's age rutherthan the dumplings, that i'll take the stand on," exclaimed brother roach. "yit, when it comes to that, look at mizzers denham; that woman kin look age out of countenance any day. then there's giner'l bledser; who more nimble at a muster than the giner'l? i see 'era both this last gone sat'day, and though i was in-about up to my eyes in the toll-bin, i relished the seeing and the hearing of 'em. but i reckon you've heard the news, brother brannum," said brother roach, modestly deprecating his own sources of information. "bless you! not me, brother roach," said brother brannum; "i've heard no news. down in my settlement i'm cut off from the world. let them caper as they may, we're not pestered wi' misinformation." "no, nor me nuther, brother brannum," said brother roach, "bekaze it's as much as i can do for to listen at the racket of my mill. yit there are some sights meal dust won't begin to hide, and some talk the clatter of the hopper won't nigh drown." "what might they be, brother roach?" brother brannum brushed the dust off a box with his coat-tails, and sat down. "well, sir," said brother roach, pushing his hat back, and placing his thumbs behind his suspenders, "last sat'day gone i was a-hurrying to and fro, when who should pop in at the door but giner'l bledser? "'hello, johnny!' says he, free and familiar. "'howdy, giner'l,' says i. 'you look holp up, speaking off-hand,' says i. "'that i am, johnny, that i am,' says he; 'i've made a trade that makes me particular proud,' says he. "'how's that, giner'l?' says i. "'why, i've sold blue dave,' says he; 'eight year ago, i bought him for five hundred dollars, and now i've sold him to mizzerg denham for a thousand,' says he. 'i've got the cold cash in my pocket, and now let 'em ketch the nigger,' says he. "'well, giner'l,' says i, 'it'll be time for to marvel arter you seethe outcome, bekaze,' says i, 'when there's business in the wind, mizzers denham is as long-headed and as cle'r-sighted as a philedelphia lawyer,' says i. "and (would you believe it, brother brannum?) the outcome happened then and there right before our very face and eyes." "in what regards, brother roach?" said brother brannum, rubbing his bony hands together. "well, sir, i glanced my eye out of the door, and i see the denham carriage coming down yan hill. i p'inted it out to the giner'l, and he ups and says, says he-- "'davy, though she may be a-going to town for to sue me for damages, yit, if mizzers denham's in that carriage, i'll salute her now,' says he; and then he took his stand in the door, as frisky as a colt and as smiling as a basket of chips. as they come up, i tetch'd the giner'l on the shoulder. "'giner'l,' says i, 'look clost at that nigger on the carriage,--look clost at him,' says i. "'why, what the thunderation!' says he. "'to be certain!' says i; 'that's your blue dave, and he looks mighty slick,' says i. "the giner'l forgot for to say howdy," continued brother roach, laughing until he began to wheeze; "but mizaers denham, she leant out of the carriage window, and said, says she-- "'good morning, giner'l, good morning i david is a most excellent driver,' says she. "the giner'l managed for to take off his hat, but he was in-about the worst-whipped-out white man i ever see. and arter the carriage got out of hearing, sir, he stood in that there door there and cussed plump tell he couldn't cuss. when a man's been to congress and back, he's liable for to know how to take the name of the lord in vain. but don't tell me about the wimmen, brother brannum. don't!" blue dave was happy at last. he became a great favourite with everybody. his voice was the loudest at the corn-shucking, his foot was the nimblest at the plantation frolics, his row was the straightest and the cleanest in the cotton-patch, his hand was the firmest on the carriage-seat, his arm was the strongest at the log-rolling. when his old mistress came to die, her wandering mind dwelt upon the negro who had served her so faithfully. she fancied she was making a journey. "the carriage goes smoothly along here," she said. then, after a little pause, she asked, "is david driving?" and the weeping negro cried out from a corner of the room-- "'tain't po' dave, mistiss! de good lord done tuck holt er de lines." and so, dreaming as a little child would dream, the old lady slipped from life into the beatitudes, if the smiles of the dead mean anything. the end none * * * * * +-----------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: | | | | inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has | | been preserved. | | | | obvious typographical errors have been corrected. for | | a complete list, please see the end of this document. | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * a woman's wartime journal [illustration] a woman's wartime journal an account of the passage over a georgia plantation of sherman's army on the march to the sea, as recorded in the diary of dolly sumner lunt (mrs. thomas burge) with an introduction and notes by julian street [illustration] new york the century co. copyright, , by the century co. introduction though southern rural life has necessarily changed since the civil war, i doubt that there is in the entire south a place where it has changed less than on the burge plantation, near covington, georgia. and i do not know in the whole country a place that i should rather see again in springtime--the georgia springtime, when the air is like a tonic vapor distilled from the earth, from pine trees, tulip trees, balm-of-gilead trees (or "bam" trees, as the negroes call them), blossoming judas trees, georgia crab-apple, dogwood pink and white, peach blossom, wistaria, sweet-shrub, dog violets, pansy violets, cherokee roses, wild honeysuckle, azalia, and the evanescent green of new treetops, all carried in solution in the sunlight. it is indicative of the fidelity of the plantation to its old traditions that though more than threescore springs have come and gone since sherman and his army crossed the red cottonfields surrounding the plantation house, and though the burge family name died out, many years ago, with mrs. thomas burge, a portion of whose wartime journal makes up the body of this book, the place continues to be known by her name and her husband's, as it was when they resided there before the civil war. some of the negroes mentioned in the journal still live in cabins on the plantation, and almost all the younger generation are the children or grandchildren of mrs. burge's former slaves. mrs. burge (dolly sumner lunt) was born september , , in bowdoinham, maine. that she was brought up in new england, in the heart of the abolitionist movement, and that she was a relative of charles sumner, consistent foe of the south, lends peculiar interest to the sentiments on slavery expressed in her journal. as a young woman she moved from maine to georgia, where her married sister was already settled. while teaching school in covington she met thomas burge, a plantation-owner and gentleman of the old south, and presently married him. when some years later mr. burge died, mrs. burge was left on the plantation with her little daughter sarah (the "sadai" of the journal) and her slaves, numbering about one hundred. less than three years after she was widowed the civil war broke out, and in this cultivated and charming woman saw sherman's army pass across her fields on the march to the sea. at the time of my visit to the plantation the world was aghast over the german invasion of belgium, the horrors of which had but recently been fully revealed and confirmed.... what, then, i began to wonder, must life have been in this part of georgia, when sherman's men came by? what must it have been to the woman and the little girl living on these acres, in this very house? for though germany's assault was upon an unoffending neutral state and was the commencement of a base war, whereas sherman's march through georgia was an invasion of what was then the enemy's country for the purpose of "breaking the back" of that enemy and thus terminating the war, nevertheless "military necessity" was the excuse in either case for a campaign of deliberate destruction--which, in the state of georgia, was measured by sherman himself at one hundred millions. when, therefore, i learned that mrs. burge had kept a journal in which were related her experiences throughout this period, i became eager to see it; and i am sure the reader will agree that i did him a good turn when, after perusing the journal, i begged its author's granddaughters--mrs. m.j. morehouse of evanston, ills., and mrs. louis bolton of detroit, mich., my hostesses at the plantation--that they permit it to be published. their consent having graciously been given, i can only wish that the reader might sit, as i did, perusing the story in the very house, in the very room, in which it was written. i wish he might turn the yellow pages with me, and read for himself of events which seem, somehow, more vivid for the fact that the ink is faded brown with time. and i wish that when the journal tells of "bluecoats coming down the road" the reader might glance up and out through the open window, as i did, and see the very road down which they came. imagine yourself in a low white house standing in a grove of gigantic oaks surrounded by the cottonfields. imagine yourself in a large comfortable room in this house, in an old rocking chair by the window. from the window you may see the white well-house, its roof mottled with the shadows of branches above; beyond, the garden and the road, and far away in the red fields negroes and mules at work. then look down at the large book resting in your lap and read. julian street. new york, march, . a woman's wartime journal a woman's wartime journal january , . a new year is ushered in, but peace comes not with it. scarcely a family but has given some of its members to the bloody war that is still decimating our nation. oh, that its ravages may soon be stopped! will another year find us among carnage and bloodshed? shall we be a nation or shall we be annihilated?... the prices of everything are very high. corn seven dollars a bushel, calico ten dollars a yard, salt sixty dollars a hundred, cotton from sixty to eighty cents a pound, everything in like ratio. * * * * * july , . [_the day of the battle of atlanta_] we have heard the loud booming of cannon all day. mr. ward [the overseer] went over to the burial of thomas harwell, whose death i witnessed yesterday. they had but just gone when the rev. a. turner, wife, and daughter drove up with their wagons, desiring to rest awhile. they went into the ell [a large back room] and lay down, i following them, wishing to enjoy their company. suddenly i saw the servants running to the palings, and i walked to the door, when i saw such a stampede as i never witnessed before. the road was full of carriages, wagons, men on horseback, all riding at full speed. judge floyd stopped, saying: "mrs. burge, the yankees are coming. they have got my family, and here is all i have upon earth. hide your mules and carriages and whatever valuables you have." sadai [mrs. burge's nine-year-old daughter] said: "oh, mama, what shall we do?" "never mind, sadai," i said. "they won't hurt you, and you must help me hide my things." i went to the smoke-house, divided out the meat to the servants, and bid them hide it. julia [a slave] took a jar of lard and buried it. in the meantime sadai was taking down and picking up our clothes, which she was giving to the servants to hide in their cabins; silk dresses, challis, muslins, and merinos, linens, and hosiery, all found their way into the chests of the women and under their beds; china and silver were buried underground, and sadai bid mary [a slave] hide a bit of soap under some bricks, that mama might have a little left. then she came to me with a part of a loaf of bread, asking if she had not better put it in her pocket, that we might have something to eat that night. and, verily, we had cause to fear that we might be homeless, for on every side we could see smoke arising from burning buildings and bridges. major ansley, who was wounded in the hip in the battle of missionary ridge, and has not recovered, came with his wife, sister, two little ones, and servants. he was traveling in a bed in a small wagon. they had thought to get to eatonton, but he was so wearied that they stopped with me for the night. i am glad to have them. i shall sleep none to-night. the woods are full of refugees. * * * * * july , . i have been left in my home all day with no one but sadai. have seen nothing of the raiders, though this morning they burned the buildings around the depot at the circle [social circle, a near-by town]. i have sat here in the porch nearly all day, and hailed every one that passed for news. just as the sun set here major ansley and family came back. they heard of the enemy all about and concluded they were as safe here as anywhere. just before bedtime john, our boy, came from covington with word that the yankees had left. wheeler's men were in covington and going in pursuit. we slept sweetly and felt safe. * * * * * sunday, july , . no church. our preacher's horse stolen by the yankees. this raid is headed by guerrard and is for the purpose of destroying our railroads. they cruelly shot a george daniel and a mr. jones of covington, destroyed a great deal of private property, and took many citizens prisoners. * * * * * july , . major ansley and family have remained. we are feeling more settled and have begun to bring to light some of the things which we had put away. * * * * * july , . i rose early and had the boys plow the turnip-patch. we were just rising from breakfast when ben glass rode up with the cry: "the yankees are coming. mrs. burge, hide your mules!" how we were startled and how we hurried the major to his room! [the yankees did not come that day, but it was thought best to send major ansley away. he left at a.m.] * * * * * july , . sleepless nights. the report is that the yankees have left covington for macon, headed by stoneman, to release prisoners held there. they robbed every house on the road of its provisions, sometimes taking every piece of meat, blankets and wearing apparel, silver and arms of every description. they would take silk dresses and put them under their saddles, and many other things for which they had no use. is this the way to make us love them and their union? let the poor people answer whom they have deprived of every mouthful of meat and of their livestock to make any! our mills, too, they have burned, destroying an immense amount of property. * * * * * august , . just as i got out of bed this morning aunt julia [a slave] called me to look down the road and see the soldiers. i peeped through the blinds, and there they were, sure enough, the yankees--the blue coats! i was not dressed. the servant women came running in. "mistress, they are coming! they are coming! they are riding into the lot! there are two coming up the steps!" i bade rachel [a slave] fasten my room door and go to the front door and ask them what they wanted. they did not wait for that, but came in and asked why my door was fastened. she told them that the white folks were not up. they said they wanted breakfast, and that quick, too. "thug" [short for "sugar," the nickname of a little girl, minnie minerva glass, now mrs. joe carey murphy of charlotte, north carolina, who had come to pass the night with sadai] and sadai, as well as myself, were greatly alarmed. as soon as i could get on my clothing i hastened to the kitchen to hurry up breakfast. six of them were there talking with my women. they asked about our soldiers and, passing themselves off as wheeler's men, said: "have you seen any of our men go by?" "several of wheeler's men passed last evening. who are you?" said i. "we are a portion of wheeler's men," said one. "you look like yankees," said i. "yes," said one, stepping up to me; "we are yankees. did you ever see one before?" "not for a long time," i replied, "and none such as you." [these men, mrs. burge says further, were raiders, illinois and kentucky men of german origin. they left after breakfast, taking three of her best mules, but doing no further injury.] to-night captain smith of an alabama regiment, and a squad of twenty men, are camped opposite in the field. they have all supped with me, and i shall breakfast with them. we have spent a pleasant evening with music and talk. they have a prisoner along. i can't help feeling sorry for him. * * * * * august , . mr. ward has been robbed by the yankees of his watch, pencil, and shirt. * * * * * november , . to-day will probably decide the fate of the confederacy. if lincoln is re-elected i think our fate is a hard one, but we are in the hands of a merciful god, and if he sees that we are in the wrong, i trust that he will show it unto us. i have never felt that slavery was altogether right, for it is abused by men, and i have often heard mr. burge say that if he could see that it was sinful for him to own slaves, if he felt that it was wrong, he would take them where he could free them. he would not sin for his right hand. the purest and holiest men have owned them, and i can see nothing in the scriptures which forbids it. i have never bought or sold slaves and i have tried to make life easy and pleasant to those that have been bequeathed me by the dead. i have never ceased to work. many a northern housekeeper has a much easier time than a southern matron with her hundred negroes. * * * * * november , . warped and put in dresses for the loom. oh, this blockade gives us work to do for all hands! * * * * * november , . went up to covington to-day to pay the confederate tax. did not find the commissioners. mid [a slave] drove me with beck and the buggy. got home about three o'clock. how very different is covington from what it used to be! and how little did they who tore down the old flag and raised the new realize the results that have ensued! * * * * * november , . as i could not obtain in covington what i went for in the way of dye stuffs, etc., i concluded this morning, in accordance with mrs. ward's wish, to go to the circle. we took old dutch and had a pleasant ride as it was a delightful day, but how dreary looks the town! where formerly all was bustle and business, now naked chimneys and bare walls, for the depot and surroundings were all burned by last summer's raiders. engaged to sell some bacon and potatoes. obtained my dye stuffs. paid seven dollars [confederate money] a pound for coffee, six dollars an ounce for indigo, twenty dollars for a quire of paper, five dollars for ten cents' worth of flax thread, six dollars for pins, and forty dollars for a bunch of factory thread. on our way home we met brother evans accompanied by john hinton, who inquired if we had heard that the yankees were coming. he said that a large force was at stockbridge, that the home guard was called out, and that it was reported that the yankees were on their way to savannah. we rode home chatting about it and finally settled it in our minds that it could not be so. probably a foraging party. just before night i walked up to joe perry's to know if they had heard anything of the report. he was just starting off to join the company [the home guard], being one of them. * * * * * november , . have been uneasy all day. at night some of the neighbors who had been to town called. they said it was a large force moving very slowly. what shall i do? where go? * * * * * november , . slept very little last night. went out doors several times and could see large fires like burning buildings. am i not in the hands of a merciful god who has promised to take care of the widow and orphan? sent off two of my mules in the night. mr. ward and frank [a slave] took them away and hid them. in the morning took a barrel of salt, which had cost me two hundred dollars, into one of the black women's gardens, put a paper over it, and then on the top of that leached ashes. fixed it on a board as a leach tub, daubing it with ashes [the old-fashioned way of making lye for soap]. had some few pieces of meat taken from my smoke-house carried to the old place [a distant part of the plantation] and hidden under some fodder. bid them hide the wagon and gear and then go on plowing. went to packing up mine and sadai's clothes. i fear that we shall be homeless. the boys came back and wished to hide their mules. they say that the yankees camped at mr. gibson's last night and are taking all the stock in the county. seeing them so eager, i told them to do as they pleased. they took them off, and elbert [the black coachman] took his forty fattening hogs to the old place swamp and turned them in. we have done nothing all day--that is, my people have not. i made a pair of pants for jack [a slave]. sent nute [a slave] up to mrs. perry's on an errand. on his way back, he said, two yankees met him and begged him to go with them. they asked if we had livestock, and came up the road as far as mrs. laura perry's. i sat for an hour expecting them, but they must have gone back. oh, how i trust i am safe! mr. ward is very much alarmed. * * * * * november , . slept in my clothes last night, as i heard that the yankees went to neighbor montgomery's on thursday night at one o'clock, searched his house, drank his wine, and took his money and valuables. as we were not disturbed, i walked after breakfast, with sadai, up to mr. joe perry's, my nearest neighbor, where the yankees were yesterday. saw mrs. laura [perry] in the road surrounded by her children, seeming to be looking for some one. she said she was looking for her husband, that old mrs. perry had just sent her word that the yankees went to james perry's the night before, plundered his house, and drove off all his stock, and that she must drive hers into the old fields. before we were done talking, up came joe and jim perry from their hiding-place. jim was very much excited. happening to turn and look behind, as we stood there, i saw some blue-coats coming down the hill. jim immediately raised his gun, swearing he would kill them anyhow. "no, don't!" said i, and ran home as fast as i could, with sadai. i could hear them cry, "halt! halt!" and their guns went off in quick succession. oh god, the time of trial has come! a man passed on his way to covington. i halloed to him, asking him if he did not know the yankees were coming. "no--are they?" "yes," said i; "they are not three hundred yards from here." "sure enough," said he. "well, i'll not go. i don't want them to get my horse." and although within hearing of their guns, he would stop and look for them. blissful ignorance! not knowing, not hearing, he has not suffered the suspense, the fear, that i have for the past forty-eight hours. i walked to the gate. there they came filing up. i hastened back to my frightened servants and told them that they had better hide, and then went back to the gate to claim protection and a guard. but like demons they rush in! my yards are full. to my smoke-house, my dairy, pantry, kitchen, and cellar, like famished wolves they come, breaking locks and whatever is in their way. the thousand pounds of meat in my smoke-house is gone in a twinkling, my flour, my meat, my lard, butter, eggs, pickles of various kinds--both in vinegar and brine--wine, jars, and jugs are all gone. my eighteen fat turkeys, my hens, chickens, and fowls, my young pigs, are shot down in my yard and hunted as if they were rebels themselves. utterly powerless i ran out and appealed to the guard. "i cannot help you, madam; it is orders." as i stood there, from my lot i saw driven, first, old dutch, my dear old buggy horse, who has carried my beloved husband so many miles, and who would so quietly wait at the block for him to mount and dismount, and who at last drew him to his grave; then came old mary, my brood mare, who for years had been too old and stiff for work, with her three-year-old colt, my two-year-old mule, and her last little baby colt. there they go! there go my mules, my sheep, and, worse than all, my boys [slaves]! alas! little did i think while trying to save my house from plunder and fire that they were forcing my boys from home at the point of the bayonet. one, newton, jumped into bed in his cabin, and declared himself sick. another crawled under the floor,--a lame boy he was,--but they pulled him out, placed him on a horse, and drove him off. mid, poor mid! the last i saw of him, a man had him going around the garden, looking, as i thought, for my sheep, as he was my shepherd. jack came crying to me, the big tears coursing down his cheeks, saying they were making him go. i said: "stay in my room." but a man followed in, cursing him and threatening to shoot him if he did not go; so poor jack had to yield. james arnold, in trying to escape from a back window, was captured and marched off. henry, too, was taken; i know not how or when, but probably when he and bob went after the mules. i had not believed they would force from their homes the poor, doomed negroes, but such has been the fact here, cursing them and saying that "jeff davis wanted to put them in his army, but that they should not fight for him, but for the union." no! indeed no! they are not friends to the slave. we have never made the poor, cowardly negro fight, and it is strange, passing strange, that the all-powerful yankee nation with the whole world to back them, their ports open, their armies filled with soldiers from all nations, should at last take the poor negro to help them out against this little confederacy which was to have been brought back into the union in sixty days' time! my poor boys! my poor boys! what unknown trials are before you! how you have clung to your mistress and assisted her in every way you knew. never have i corrected them; a word was sufficient. never have they known want of any kind. their parents are with me, and how sadly they lament the loss of their boys. their cabins are rifled of every valuable, the soldiers swearing that their sunday clothes were the white people's, and that they never had money to get such things as they had. poor frank's chest was broken open, his money and tobacco taken. he has always been a money-making and saving boy; not infrequently has his crop brought him five hundred dollars and more. all of his clothes and rachel's clothes, which dear lou gave her before her death and which she had packed away, were stolen from her. ovens, skillets, coffee-mills, of which we had three, coffee-pots--not one have i left. sifters all gone! seeing that the soldiers could not be restrained, the guard ordered me to have their [of the negroes] remaining possessions brought into my house, which i did, and they all, poor things, huddled together in my room, fearing every movement that the house would be burned. a captain webber from illinois came into my house. of him i claimed protection from the vandals who were forcing themselves into my room. he said that he knew my brother orrington [the late orrington lunt, a well-known early settler of chicago]. at that name i could not restrain my feelings, but, bursting into tears, implored him to see my brother and let him know my destitution. i saw nothing before me but starvation. he promised to do this, and comforted me with the assurance that my dwelling-house would not be burned, though my out-buildings might. poor little sadai went crying to him as to a friend and told him that they had taken her doll, nancy. he begged her to come and see him, and he would give her a fine waxen one. [the doll was found later in the yard of a neighbor, where a soldier had thrown it, and was returned to the little girl. her children later played with it, and it is now the plaything of her granddaughter.] he felt for me, and i give him and several others the character of gentlemen. i don't believe they would have molested women and children had they had their own way. he seemed surprised that i had not laid away in my house, flour and other provisions. i did not suppose i could secure them there, more than where i usually kept them, for in last summer's raid houses were thoroughly searched. in parting with him, i parted as with a friend. sherman himself and a greater portion of his army passed my house that day. all day, as the sad moments rolled on, were they passing not only in front of my house, but from behind; they tore down my garden palings, made a road through my back-yard and lot field, driving their stock and riding through, tearing down my fences and desolating my home--wantonly doing it when there was no necessity for it. such a day, if i live to the age of methuselah, may god spare me from ever seeing again! as night drew its sable curtains around us, the heavens from every point were lit up with flames from burning buildings. dinnerless and supperless as we were, it was nothing in comparison with the fear of being driven out homeless to the dreary woods. nothing to eat! i could give my guard no supper, so he left us. i appealed to another, asking him if he had wife, mother, or sister, and how he should feel were they in my situation. a colonel from vermont left me two men, but they were dutch, and i could not understand one word they said. my heavenly father alone saved me from the destructive fire. my carriage-house had in it eight bales of cotton, with my carriage, buggy, and harness. on top of the cotton were some carded cotton rolls, a hundred pounds or more. these were thrown out of the blanket in which they were, and a large twist of the rolls taken and set on fire, and thrown into the boat of my carriage, which was close up to the cotton bales. thanks to my god, the cotton only burned over, and then went out. shall i ever forget the deliverance? to-night, when the greater part of the army had passed, it came up very windy and cold. my room was full, nearly, with the negroes and their bedding. they were afraid to go out, for my women could not step out of the door without an insult from the yankee soldiers. they lay down on the floor; sadai got down and under the same cover with sally, while i sat up all night, watching every moment for the flames to burst out from some of my buildings. the two guards came into my room and laid themselves by my fire for the night. i could not close my eyes, but kept walking to and fro, watching the fires in the distance and dreading the approaching day, which, i feared, as they had not all passed, would be but a continuation of horrors. * * * * * november , . this is the blessed sabbath, the day upon which he who came to bring peace and good will upon earth rose from his tomb and ascended to intercede for us poor fallen creatures. but how unlike this day to any that have preceded it in my once quiet home. i had watched all night, and the dawn found me watching for the moving of the soldiery that was encamped about us. oh, how i dreaded those that were to pass, as i supposed they would straggle and complete the ruin that the others had commenced, for i had been repeatedly told that they would burn everything as they passed. some of my women had gathered up a chicken that the soldiers shot yesterday, and they cooked it with some yams for our breakfast, the guard complaining that we gave them no supper. they gave us some coffee, which i had to make in a tea-kettle, as every coffee-pot is taken off. the rear-guard was commanded by colonel carlow, who changed our guard, leaving us one soldier while they were passing. they marched directly on, scarcely breaking ranks. once a bucket of water was called for, but they drank without coming in. about ten o'clock they had all passed save one, who came in and wanted coffee made, which was done, and he, too, went on. a few minutes elapsed, and two couriers riding rapidly passed back. then, presently, more soldiers came by, and this ended the passing of sherman's army by my place, leaving me poorer by thirty thousand dollars than i was yesterday morning. and a much stronger rebel! after the excitement was a little over, i went up to mrs. laura's to sympathize with her, for i had no doubt but that her husband was hanged. she thought so, and we could see no way for his escape. we all took a good cry together. while there, i saw smoke looming up in the direction of my home, and thought surely the fiends had done their work ere they left. i ran as fast as i could, but soon saw that the fire was below my home. it proved to be the gin house [cotton gin] belonging to colonel pitts. my boys have not come home. i fear they cannot get away from the soldiers. two of my cows came up this morning, but were driven off again by the yankees. i feel so thankful that i have not been burned out that i have tried to spend the remainder of the day as the sabbath ought to be spent. ate dinner out of the oven in julia's [the cook's] house, some stew, no bread. she is boiling some corn. my poor servants feel so badly at losing what they have worked for; meat, the hog meat that they love better than anything else, is all gone. * * * * * november , . we had the table laid this morning, but no bread or butter or milk. what a prospect for delicacies! my house is a perfect fright. i had brought in saturday night some thirty bushels of potatoes and ten or fifteen bushels of wheat poured down on the carpet in the ell. then the few gallons of syrup saved was daubed all about. the backbone of a hog that i had killed on friday, and which the yankees did not take when they cleaned out my smokehouse, i found and hid under my bed, and this is all the meat i have. major lee came down this evening, having heard that i was burned out, to proffer me a home. mr. dorsett was with him. the army lost some of their beeves in passing. i sent to-day and had some driven into my lot, and then sent to judge glass to come over and get some. had two killed. some of wheeler's men came in, and i asked them to shoot the cattle, which they did. about ten o'clock this morning mr. joe perry [mrs. laura's husband] called. i was so glad to see him that i could scarcely forbear embracing him. i could not keep from crying, for i was sure the yankees had executed him, and i felt so much for his poor wife. the soldiers told me repeatedly saturday that they had hung him and his brother james and george guise. they had a narrow escape, however, and only got away by knowing the country so much better than the soldiers did. they lay out until this morning. how rejoiced i am for his family! all of his negroes are gone, save one man that had a wife here at my plantation. they are very strong secesh [secessionists]. when the army first came along they offered a guard for the house, but mrs. laura told them she was guarded by a higher power, and did not thank them to do it. she says that she could think of nothing else all day when the army was passing but of the devil and his hosts. she had, however, to call for a guard before night or the soldiers would have taken everything she had. * * * * * november , . after breakfast this morning i went over to my grave-yard to see what had befallen that. to my joy, i found it had not been disturbed. as i stood by my dead, i felt rejoiced that they were at rest. never have i felt so perfectly reconciled to the death of my husband as i do to-day, while looking upon the ruin of his lifelong labor. how it would have grieved him to see such destruction! yes, theirs is the lot to be envied. at rest, rest from care, rest from heartaches, from trouble.... found one of my large hogs killed just outside the grave-yard. walked down to the swamp, looking for the wagon and gear that henry hid before he was taken off. found some of my sheep; came home very much wearied, having walked over four miles. mr. and mrs. rockmore called. major lee came down again after some cattle, and while he was here the alarm was given that more yankees were coming. i was terribly alarmed and packed my trunks with clothing, feeling assured that we should be burned out now. major lee swore that he would shoot, which frightened me, for he was intoxicated enough to make him ambitious. he rode off in the direction whence it was said they were coming. soon after, however, he returned, saying it was a false alarm, that it was some of our own men. oh, dear! are we to be always living in fear and dread! oh, the horrors, the horrors of war! * * * * * november , . a very cold morning. elbert [the negro coachman] has to go to mill this morning, and i shall go with him, fearing that, if he is alone, my mule may be taken from him, for there are still many straggling soldiers about. mounted in the little wagon, i went, carrying wheat not only for myself, but for my neighbors. never did i think i would have to go to mill! such are the changes that come to us! history tells us of some illustrious examples of this kind. got home just at night. mr. kennedy stopped all night with us. he has been refugeeing on his way home. every one we meet gives us painful accounts of the desolation caused by the enemy. each one has to tell his or her own experience, and fellow-suffering makes us all equal and makes us all feel interested in one another. * * * * * december , . tuesday, the nineteenth of the month, i attended floyd glass's wedding. she was married in the morning to lieutenant doroughty. she expected to have been married the week after the yankees came, but her groom was not able to get here. some of the yankees found out in some way that she was to have been married, and annoyed her considerably by telling her that they had taken her sweetheart prisoner; that when he got off the train at the circle they took him and, some said, shot him. the yankees found mrs. glass's china and glassware that she had buried in a box, broke it all up, and then sent her word that she would set no more fine tables. they also got mrs. perry's silver. * * * * * december , . just before night mrs. robert rakestraw and miss mary drove up to spend the night with me. they had started down into jasper county, hoping to get back their buggy, having heard that several buggies were left at mr. whitfield's by the yankees. nothing new! it is confidently believed that savannah has been evacuated. i hear nothing from my boys. poor fellows, how i miss them! * * * * * december , . this has usually been a very busy day with me, preparing for christmas not only for my own tables, but for gifts for my servants. now how changed! no confectionery, cakes, or pies can i have. we are all sad; no loud, jovial laugh from our boys is heard. christmas eve, which has ever been gaily celebrated here, which has witnessed the popping of fire-crackers [the southern custom of celebrating christmas with fireworks] and the hanging up of stockings, is an occasion now of sadness and gloom. i have nothing even to put in sadai's stocking, which hangs so invitingly for santa claus. how disappointed she will be in the morning, though i have explained to her why he cannot come. poor children! why must the innocent suffer with the guilty? * * * * * december , . sadai jumped out of bed very early this morning to feel in her stocking. she could not believe but that there would be something in it. finding nothing, she crept back into bed, pulled the cover over her face, and i soon heard her sobbing. the little negroes all came in: "christmas gift, mist'ess! christmas gift, mist'ess!" i pulled the cover over my face and was soon mingling my tears with sadai's. * * * * * [the records in the journal for the year are full of details of farm work and reflections on the war. for example]: january , . as the moon has changed, julia [the cook] has gone to making soap again. she is a strong believer in the moon, and never undertakes to boil her soap on the wane of the moon. "it won't thicken, mist'ess--see if it does!" she says, too, we must commence gardening this moon. i have felt a strong desire to-day that my captured boys might come back. oh, how thankful i should feel to see them once more safe at home! * * * * * april , . boys plowing in old house field. we are needing rain. everything looks pleasant, but the state of our country is very gloomy. general lee has surrendered to the victorious grant. well, if it will only hasten the conclusion of this war, i am satisfied. there has been something very strange in the whole affair to me, and i can attribute it to nothing but the hand of providence working out some problem that has not yet been revealed to us poor, erring mortals. at the beginning of the struggle the minds of men, their wills, their self-control, seemed to be all taken from them in a passionate antagonism to the coming-in president, abraham lincoln. our leaders, to whom the people looked for wisdom, led us into this, perhaps the greatest error of the age. "we will not have this man to rule over us!" was their cry. for years it has been stirring in the hearts of southern politicians that the north was enriched and built up by southern labor and wealth. men's pockets were always appealed to and appealed to so constantly that an antagonism was excited which it has been impossible to allay. they did not believe that the north would fight. said robert toombes: "i will drink every drop of blood they will shed." oh, blinded men! rivers deep and strong have been shed, and where are we now?--a ruined, subjugated people! what will be our future? is the question which now rests heavily upon the hearts of all. this has been a month never to be forgotten. two armies have surrendered. the president of the united states has been assassinated, richmond evacuated, and davis, president of the confederacy, put to grief, to flight. the old flag has been raised again upon sumter and an armistice accepted. * * * * * [may is full of stories of confederate soldiers bitterly returning to their homes, and of apprehension of the yankee troops encamped in the neighborhood.] may , . sunday evening. had company every day last week, paroled soldiers returning to their homes. last night a mr. and mrs. adams, refugees from alberta, who have been spending the time in eatonton, called to stay all night. i felt as though i could not take them in. i had purposely kept in the back part of the house all the evening with my blinds down and door locked, to keep from being troubled by soldiers, and had just gone into my room with a light, when some one knocked at the door, and wanted shelter for himself and family. i could not turn away women and children, so i took them in. found them very pleasant people. they had government wagons along, and he had them guarded all night. i fear there was something in them which had been surrendered, and belonged to the united states, but he assured me that with the exception of the mules and wagon, all belonged to himself. he said that he left jeff davis at washington in this state, on thursday morning last. his enemies are in close pursuit of him, offering a hundred thousand reward to his captors. * * * * * may , . mr. knowles, our circuit preacher, came. i like him. we agree upon a good many contested topics. he loves the old flag as well as myself and would be glad to see it floating where it ever has. i had a long conversation with my man elbert to-day about freedom, and told him i was perfectly willing, but wanted direction. he says the yankees told major lee's servants they were all free, but they had better remain where they were until it was all settled, as it would be in a month's time. we heard so many conflicting rumors we know not what to do, but are willing to carry out the orders when we know them. * * * * * may , . dr. williams, from social circle, came this morning to trade me a horse. he tells me the people below are freeing their servants and allowing those to stay with them that will go on with their work and obey as usual. what i shall do with mine is a question that troubles me day and night. it is my last thought at night and the first in the morning. i told them several days ago they were free to do as they liked. but it is my duty to make some provisions for them. i thank god that they are freed, and yet what can i do with them? they are old and young, not profitable to hire. what provision can i make? * * * * * [the last two entries of the year , however, supply the journal with the much-to-be-desired happy ending]: december , . it has been many months since i wrote in this journal, and many things of interest have occurred. but above all i give thanks to god for his goodness in preserving my life and so much of my property for me. my freedmen have been with me and have worked for one-sixth of my crop. this is a very rainy, unpleasant day. how many poor freedmen are suffering! thousands of them must be exposed to the pitiless rain! oh, that everybody would do right, and there would not be so much suffering in the world! sadai and i are all alone in the house. we have been reading, talking, and thus spending the hours until she went to bed, that i might play santa claus. her stocking hangs invitingly in the corner. happy child and childhood, that can be so easily made content! * * * * * december , . sadai woke very early and crept out of bed to her stocking. seeing it well filled she soon had a light and eight little negroes around her, gazing upon the treasures. everything opened that could be divided was shared with them. 'tis the last christmas, probably, that we shall be together, freedmen! now you will, i trust, have your own homes, and be joyful under your own vine and fig tree, with none to molest or make afraid. the end * * * * * +-----------------------------------------------------------+ | typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | page : "before we we were done" replaced with | "before we were done" | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington volume iv georgia narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of georgia informants garey, elisha doc garrett, leah gladdy, mary gray, sarah green, alice , green, isaiah (isaac) , green, margaret green, minnie gresham, wheeler griffin, heard gullins, david goodman hammond, milton harmon, jane smith hill harris, dosia harris, henderson harris, shang hawkins, tom heard, bill heard, emmaline , , heard, mildred heard, robert henderson, benjamin henry, jefferson franklin henry, robert hill, john hood, laura hudson, carrie hudson, charlie huff, annie huff, bryant huff, easter hunter, lina hurley, emma hutcheson, alice jackson, amanda jackson, camilla jackson, easter jackson, snovey jake, uncle jewel, mahala johnson, benjamin johnson, georgia johnson, manuel johnson, susie jones, estella jones, fannie jones, rastus +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |[tr:] = transcriber note | | | |[hw:] = handwritten note | | | |every effort was made to faithfully reflect the distinctive character of| |this document. some obvious typographic errors have been corrected. the | |above notes are placed inline, to cover all other unusual comments. | +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ plantation life as viewed by ex-slave elisha doc garey lyndon avenue athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project res. & augusta, ga. asked for the story of his early life and his recollections of slavery, elisha replied: "yes ma'am, 'deed i'll tell you all i knows 'bout dem days." his next words startled the interviewer. "i knowed you was comin' to write dis jedgment," he said. "i seed your hand writin' and long 'fore you got here i seed you jus' as plain as you is now. i told dese folks what i lives wid, a white 'oman was comin' to do a heap of writin'. "i was born on de upper edge of hart county, near shoal crick. sarah anne garey was my ma and i was one of dem shady babies. dere was plenty of dat kind in dem times. my own sister was rachel, and i had a half sister named sallie what was white as anybody. john, lindsay, david, and joseph was my four brothers. "what did us chillun do? us wukked lak hosses. didn't nobody eat dar 'less dey wukked. i'se been wukkin' ever since i come in dis world. "us lived in log huts. evvy hut had a entry in de middle, and a mud chimbly at each end. us slep' in beds what was 'tached to de side of de hut, and dey was boxed up lak wagon bodies to hold de corn shucks and de babies in. home-made rugs was put on top of de shucks for sheets, and de kivver was de same thing. "i still 'members my grandma rachel. de traders fotched her here f'um virginny, and she never did learn to talk plain. grandma sallie gaines was too old for field wuk, so she looked atter de slave babies whilst deir ma's was wukkin' in de field. grandpa jack gaines was de shoemaker. "most of de time i was up at de big house waitin' on our white folks, huntin' eggs, pickin' up chips, makin' fires, and little jobs lak dat. de onliest way i could find to make any money in dem days was to sell part'idges what i cotched in traps to dem yankees what was allus passin' 'round. dey paid me ten cents apiece for part'idges and i might have saved more of my money if i hadn't loved dat store boughten pep'mint candy so good. "what i et? anything i could git. peas, green corn, 'tatoes, cornbread, meat and lye hominy was what dey give us more dan anything else. bakin' was done in big old ovens what helt three pones of bread and in skillets what helt two. big pots for bilin' was swung over de coals in de fireplace. dey was hung on hooks fastened to de chimbly or on cranes what could be swung off de fire when dey wanted to dish up de victuals. hit warn't nothin' for us to ketch five or six 'possums in one night's huntin'. de best way to tote 'possums is to split a stick and run deir tails thoo' de crack--den fling de stick crost your shoulders and tote de 'possums 'long safe and sound. dat way dey can't bite you. dey's bad 'bout gnawin' out of sacks. when us went giggin' at night, us most allus fotched back a heap of fishes and frogs. dere was allus plenty of fishes and rabbits. our good old hound dog was jus' 'bout as good at trailin' rabbits in de daytime as he was at treein' 'possums at night. i was young and spry, and it didn't seem to make no diff'unce what i et dem days. big gyardens was scattered over de place whar-some-ever marster happened to pick out a good gyarden spot. dem gyardens all b'longed to our marster, but he fed us all us wanted out of 'em. "all dat us chillun wore in summer was jus' one little shirt. it was a long time 'fore us knowed dere was folks anywhar dat put more dan one piece of clothes on chillun in summer. grandpa jack made de red shoes us wore widout no socks in winter. our other winter clothes was cotton shirts and pants, and coats what had a little wool in 'em. summer times us went bar headed, but unker ned made bullrush hats for us to wear in winter. dere warn't no diff'unt clothes for sunday. us toted our shoes 'long in our hands goin' to church. us put 'em on jus' 'fore us got dar and tuk 'em off again soon as us got out of sight of de meetin' house on de way back home. "marse joe glover was a good man and he never whupped his niggers much. his wife, our miss julia, was all right too--dat she was. deir three chilluns was miss sue, miss puss, and marster will. marse joe done all his own overseein'. he used to tuck his long white beard inside his shirt and button it up. "dat was a fine lookin' turn-out of marse joe's--dat rock-a-way car'iage wid bead fringe all 'round de canopy, a pair of spankin' black hosses hitched to it, and my brother, david, settin' so proud lak up on de high seat dey put on de top for de driver. "dere warn't no slave, man or 'oman, livin' on dat plantation what knowed how many acres was in it. i 'spects dere was many as slaves in all. marster 'pinted a cullud boy to git de slaves up 'fore day, and dey wukked f'um sunup to sundown. "jails? yes ma'am, dere was sev'ral little houses dat helt 'bout two or three folks what dey called jails. white folks used to git locked up in 'em but i never did see no niggers in one of dem little jailhouses. i never seed no niggers sold, but i did see 'em in wagons gwine to mississippi to be sold. i never seed no slave in chains. "some few slaves could read and write, and dem what could read was most allus called on by de others for preachin'. charlie mccollie was de fust cullud preacher i ever seed. white folks 'lowed slaves to make brush arbors for churches on de plantations, and nigger boys and gals done some tall courtin' at dem brush arbors. dat was de onliest place whar you could git to see de gals you lakked de best. dey used to start off services singin', 'come ye dat loves de lawd.' warn't no pools in de churches to baptize folks in den, so dey tuk 'em down to de crick. fust a deacon went in and measured de water wid a stick to find a safe and suitable place--den dey was ready for de preacher and de canidates. evvybody else stood on de banks of de crick and jined in de singin'. some of dem songs was: 'lead me to de water for to be baptized,' 'oh, how i love jesus,' and 'oh, happy day dat fixed my choice.' "i hates to even think 'bout funerals now, old as i is. 'course i'se ready to go, but i'se a thinkin' 'bout dem what ain't. funerals dem days was pretty much lak dey is now. evvybody in de country would be dar. all de coffins for slaves was home-made. dey was painted black wid smut off of de wash pot mixed wid grease and water. de onliest funeral song i 'members f'um dem days is: 'oh, livin' man come view de ground whar you must shortly lay.' "how in de name of de lawd could slaves run away to de north wid dem nigger dogs on deir heels? i never knowed nary one to run away. patterollers never runned me none, but dey did git atter some of de other slaves a whole lot. marse joe allus had one pet slave what he sont news by. "when slaves come in f'um de fields at night, dey was glad to jus' go to bed and rest deir bones. dey stopped off f'um field wuk at dinner time saddays. sadday nights us had stomp down good times pickin' de banjo, blowin' on quills, drinkin' liquor, and dancin'. i was sho' one fast nigger den. sunday was meetin' day for grown folks and gals. boys th'owed rocks and hunted birds' nests dat day. "chris'mas mornin's us chillun was up 'fore squirrels, lookin' up de chimbly for santa claus. dere was plenty to eat den--syrup, cake, and evvything. "new year's day de slaves all went back to wuk wid most of 'em clearin' new ground dat day. dere was allus plenty to do. de only other holidays us had was when us was rained out or if sleet and snow drove us out of de fields. evvybody had a good time den a frolickin'. when us was trackin' rabbits in de snow, it was heaps of fun. "marse joe had piles and piles of corn lined up in a ring for de corn shuckin's. de gen'ral pitched de songs and de niggers would follow, keepin' time a-singin' and shuckin' corn. atter all de corn was shucked, dey was give a big feast wid lots of whiskey to drink and de slaves was 'lowed to dance and frolic 'til mornin'. "if a neighbor got behind in geth'rin' his cotton, marse joe sont his slaves to help pick it out by moonlight. times lak dem days, us ain't never gwine see no more. "i ain't never seed no sich time in my life as dey had when marse will glover married miss moorehead. she had on a white satin dress wid a veil over her face, and i 'clare to goodness i never seed sich a pretty white lady. next day atter de weddin' day, marse will had de infare at his house and i knows i ain't never been whar so much good to eat was sot out in one place as dey had dat day. dey even had dried cow, lak what dey calls chipped beef now. dat was somepin' brand new in de way of eatin's den. i et so much i was skeered i warn't gwine to be able to go 'long back to marse joe's plantation wid de rest of 'em. "old marster put evvy foot forward to take care of his slaves when dey tuk sick, 'cause dey was his own property. dey poured asafiddy (asafetida) and pinetop tea down us, and made us take tea of some sort or another for 'most all of de ailments dere was dem days. slaves wore a nickel or a copper on strings 'round deir necks to keep off sickness. some few of 'em wore a dime; but dimes was hard to git. "one game us chillun played was 'doodle.' us would find us a doodle hole and start callin' de doodle bug to come out. you might talk and talk but if you didn't promise him a jug of 'lasses he wouldn't come up to save your life. one of de songs us sung playin' chilluns games was sorter lak dis: "whose been here since i been gone? a pretty little gal wid a blue dress on." "joy was on de way when us heared 'bout freedom, if us did have to whisper. marse joe had done been kilt in de war by a bomb. mist'ess, she jus' cried and cried. she didn't want us to leave her, so us stayed on wid her a long time, den us went off to mississippi to wuk on de railroad. "dem yankees stole evvything in sight when dey come along atter de surrender. dey was bad 'bout takin' our good hosses and corn, what was $ a bushel den. dey even stole our beehives and tuk 'em off wropt up in quilts. "my freedom was brought 'bout by a fight dat was fit 'twixt two men, and i didn't fight nary a lick myself. mr. jefferson davis thought he was gwine beat, but mr. lincoln he done de winnin'. when mr. abraham lincoln come to dis passage in de bible: 'my son, therefore shall ye be free indeed,' he went to wuk to sot us free. he was a great man--mr. lincoln was. booker washin'ton come 'long later. he was a great man too. "de fust school i went to was de miller o. field place. cam king, de teacher, was a injun and evvywhar he went he tuk his flute 'long wid him. "me and my fust wife, essie lou sutton, had a grand weddin', but de white folks tuk her off wid 'em, and i got me a second wife. she was julia goulder of putman county. us didn't have no big doin's at my second marriage. our onliest two chillun died whilst dey was still babies." asked about charms, ghosts and other superstitions, he patted himself on the chest, and boasted: "de charm is in here. i just dare any witches and ghosties to git atter me. i can see ghosties any time i want to. "want me to tell you what happened to me in gainesville, georgia? i was out in de woods choppin' cordwood and i felt somepin' flap at me 'bout my foots. atter while i looked down, and dere was one of dem deadly snakes, a highland moccasin. i was so weak i prayed to de lawd to gimme power to kill dat snake, but he didn't. de snake jus' disappeared. i thought it was de lawd's doin', but i warn't sho'. den i tuk up my axe and moved over to a sandy place whar i jus' knowed dere warn't no snakes. i started to raise my axe to cut de wood and somepin' told me to look down. i did, and dere was de same snake right twixt my foots again. den and dere i kilt him, and de sperrit passed th'oo me sayin': 'you is meaner dan dat snake; you kilt him and he hadn't even bit you.' i knowed for sho' den dat de lawd was speakin'. "i was preachin' in gainesville, whar i lived den, on de sunday 'fore de tornado in april . whilst i was in dat pulpit de sperrit spoke to me and said: 'dis town is gwine to be 'stroyed tomorrow; 'pare your folks.' i told my congregation what de sperrit done told me, and dem niggers thought i was crazy. bright and early next mornin' i went down to de depot to see de most of my folks go off on de train to atlanta on a picnic. dey begged me to go along wid 'em, but i said: 'no, i'se gwine to stay right here. and 'fore i got back home dat tornado broke loose. i was knocked down flat and broke to pieces. dat storm was de cause of me bein' hitched up in dis here harness what makes me look lak de devil's hoss. "tuther night i was a-singin' dis tune: 'mother how long 'fore i'se gwine?' a 'oman riz up and said: 'you done raised de daid.' den i laughed and 'lowed: 'i knows you is a sperrit. i'se one too.' at dat she faded out of sight. "i think folks had ought to be 'ligious 'cause dat is god's plan, and so i jined de church atter christ done presented hisself to me. i'se fixin' now to demand my sperrit in de lawd. "yes ma'am, miss, i knowed you was a-comin'. i had done seed you, writin' wid dat pencil on dat paper, in de sperrit." richmond county ex-slave interview leah garrett written by: louise oliphant federal writers' project augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia leah garrett, an old negress with snow-white hair leaned back in her rocker and recalled customs and manners of slavery days. mistreatment at the hands of her master is outstanding in her memory. "i know so many things 'bout slavery time 'til i never will be able to tell 'em all," she declared. "in dem days, preachers wuz just as bad and mean as anybody else. dere wuz a man who folks called a good preacher, but he wuz one of de meanest mens i ever seed. when i wuz in slavery under him he done so many bad things 'til god soon kilt him. his wife or chillun could git mad wid you, and if dey told him anything he always beat you. most times he beat his slaves when dey hadn't done nothin' a t'all. one sunday mornin' his wife told him deir cook wouldn't never fix nothin' she told her to fix. time she said it he jumped up from de table, went in de kitchen, and made de cook go under de porch whar he always whupped his slaves. she begged and prayed but he didn't pay no 'tention to dat. he put her up in what us called de swing, and beat her 'til she couldn't holler. de pore thing already had heart trouble; dat's why he put her in de kitchen, but he left her swingin' dar and went to church, preached, and called hisself servin' god. when he got back home she wuz dead. whenever your marster had you swingin' up, nobody wouldn't take you down. sometimes a man would help his wife, but most times he wuz beat afterwards. "another marster i had kept a hogshead to whup you on. dis hogshead had two or three hoops 'round it. he buckled you face down on de hogshead and whupped you 'til you bled. everybody always stripped you in dem days to whup you, 'cause dey didn't keer who seed you naked. some folks' chillun took sticks and jobbed (jabbed) you all while you wuz bein' beat. sometimes dese chillun would beat you all 'cross your head, and dey mas and pas didn't know what stop wuz. "another way marster had to whup us wuz in a stock dat he had in de stables. dis wuz whar he whupped you when he wuz real mad. he had logs fixed together wid holes for your feet, hands, and head. he had a way to open dese logs and fasten you in. den he had his coachman give you so many lashes, and he would let you stay in de stock for so many days and nights. dat's why he had it in de stable so it wouldn't rain on you. everyday you got dat same number of lashes. you never come out able to sit down. "i had a cousin wid two chillun. de oldest one had to nuss one of marster's grandchildren. de front steps wuz real high, and one day dis pore chile fell down dese steps wid de baby. his wife and daughter hollered and went on turrible, and when our marster come home dey wuz still hollerin' just lak de baby wuz dead or dyin'. when dey told him 'bout it, he picked up a board and hit dis pore little chile 'cross de head and kilt her right dar. den he told his slaves to take her and throw her in de river. her ma begged and prayed, but he didn't pay her no 'tention; he made 'em throw de chile in. "one of de slaves married a young gal, and dey put her in de "big house" to wuk. one day mistess jumped on her 'bout something and de gal hit her back. mistess said she wuz goin' to have marster put her in de stock and beat her when he come home. when de gal went to de field and told her husband 'bout it, he told her whar to go and stay 'til he got dar. dat night he took his supper to her. he carried her to a cave and hauled pine straw and put in dar for her to sleep on. he fixed dat cave up just lak a house for her, put a stove in dar and run de pipe out through de ground into a swamp. everybody always wondered how he fixed dat pipe, course dey didn't cook on it 'til night when nobody could see de smoke. he ceiled de house wid pine logs, made beds and tables out of pine poles, and dey lived in dis cave seven years. durin' dis time, dey had three chillun. nobody wuz wid her when dese chillun wuz born but her husband. he waited on her wid each chile. de chillun didn't wear no clothes 'cept a piece tied 'round deir waists. dey wuz just as hairy as wild people, and dey wuz wild. when dey come out of dat cave dey would run everytime dey seed a pusson. "de seven years she lived in de cave, diffunt folks helped keep 'em in food. her husband would take it to a certain place and she would go and git it. people had passed over dis cave ever so many times, but nobody knowed dese folks wuz livin' dar. our marster didn't know whar she wuz, and it wuz freedom 'fore she come out of dat cave for good. "us lived in a long house dat had a flat top and little rooms made like mule stalls, just big enough for you to git in and sleep. dey warn't no floors in dese rooms and neither no beds. us made beds out of dry grass, but us had cover 'cause de real old people, who couldn't do nothin' else, made plenty of it. nobody warn't 'lowed to have fires, and if dey wuz caught wid any dat meant a beatin'. some would burn charcoal and take de coals to deir rooms to help warm 'em. every pusson had a tin pan, tin cup, and a spoon. everybody couldn't eat at one time, us had 'bout four different sets. nobody had a stove to cook on, everybody cooked on fire places and used skillets and pots. to boil us hung pots on racks over de fire and baked bread and meats in de skillets. "marster had a big room right side his house whar his vittals wuz cooked. den de cook had to carry 'em upstairs in a tray to be served. when de somethin' t'eat wuz carried to de dinin' room it wuz put on a table and served from dis table. de food warn't put on de eatin' table. "de slaves went to church wid dey marsters. de preachers always preached to de white folks first, den dey would preach to de slaves. dey never said nothin' but you must be good, don't steal, don't talk back at your marsters, don't run away, don't do dis, and don't do dat. dey let de colored preachers preach but dey give 'em almanacs to preach out of. dey didn't 'low us to sing such songs as 'we shall be free' and 'o for a thousand tongues to sing'. dey always had somebody to follow de slaves to church when de colored preacher was preachin' to hear what wuz said and done. dey wuz 'fraid us would try to say something 'gainst 'em." mary gladdy, ex-slave place of birth: on the holt plantation, in muscogee county, near columbus, georgia. date of birth: about . present residence: in rear of - / - th avenue, columbus, georgia. interviewed: july , . her story: "i was a small girl when the civil war broke out, but i remember it distinctly. i also remember the whisperings among the slaves--their talking of the possibility of freedom. "my father was a very large, powerful man. during his master's absence, in ' or ' , a colored foreman on the hines holt place once undertook to whip him; but my father wouldn't allow him to do it. this foreman then went off and got five big buck negroes to help him whip father, but all six of them couldn't 'out-man' my daddy! then this foreman shot my daddy with a shot-gun, inflicting wounds from which he never fully recovered. "in ' , another negro foreman whipped one of my little brothers. this foreman was named warren. his whipping my brother made me mad and when, a few days later, i saw some men on horseback whom i took to be yankees, i ran to them and told them about warren--a common negro slave--whipping my brother. and they said, 'well, we will see warren about that.' but warren heard them and took to his heels! yes, sir, he flew from home, and he didn't come back for a week! yes, sir, i sholy scared that negro nearly to death! "my father's father was a very black, little, full-blooded, african negro who could speak only broken english. he had a son named adam, a brother of my father, living at lochapoka, ala. in , after freedom, this granpa of mine, who was then living in macon, georgia, got mad with his wife, picked up his feather bed and toted it all the way from macon to lochapoka! said he was done with grandma and was going to live with adam. a few weeks later, however, he came back through columbus, still toting his feather bed, returning to grandma in macon. i reckon he changed his mind. i don't believe he was over five feet high and we could hardly understand his talk. "since freedom, i have lived in mississippi and other places, but most of my life has been spent right in and around columbus. i have had one husband and no children. i became a widow about years ago, and i have since remained one because i find that i can serve god better when i am not bothered with a negro man." mary gladdy claims to have never attended school or been privately taught in her life. and she can't write or even form the letters of the alphabet, but she gave her interviewer a very convincing demonstration of her ability to read. when asked how she mastered the art of reading, she replied: "the lord revealed it to me." for more than thirty years, the lord has been revealing his work, and many other things, to mary gladdy. for more than twenty years, she has been experiencing "visitations of the spirit". these do not occur with any degree of regularity, but they do always occur in "the dead hours of the night" after she has retired, and impel her to rise and write in an unknown hand. these strange writings of her's now cover eight pages of letter paper and bear a marked resemblance to crude shorthand notes. off-hand, she can "cipher" (interpret or translate) about half of these strange writings; the other half, however, she can make neither heads nor tails of except when the spirit is upon her. when the spirit eases off, she again becomes totally ignorant of the significance of that mysterious half of her spirit-directed writings. "aunt" mary appears to be very well posted on a number of subjects. she is unusually familiar with the bible, and quotes scripture freely and correctly. she also uses beautiful language, totally void of slang and negro jargon, "big" words and labored expressions. she is a seventh day adventist; is not a psychic, but is a rather mysterious personage. she lives alone, and ekes out a living by taking in washing. she is of the opinion that "we are now living in the last days"; that, as she interprets the "signs", the "end of time" is drawing close. her conversion to christianity was the result of a hair-raising experience with a ghost--about forty years ago, and she has never--from that day to this--fallen from grace for as "long as a minute". to know "aunt" mary is to be impressed with her utter sincerity and, to like her. she is very proud of one of her grandmothers, edie dennis, who lived to be years old, and concerning whom a reprint from the atlanta constitution of november , , is appended. her story of chuck, and the words of two spirituals and one slave canticle which "aunt" mary sang for her interviewer, are also appended. aunt edie dennis has reached good old age --special-- (from atlanta constitution, november , .) quite a remarkable case of longevity is had in the person of edie dennis, a colored woman of columbus, who has reached the unusual age of years of age and is still in a state of fair health. aunt edie lives with two of her daughters at no. third avenue, in this city. she has lived in three centuries, is a great-great grandmother and has children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren, aggregating in all over a hundred persons. she lives with one of her "young" daughters, sixty-six. edie dennis is no doubt one of the oldest persons living in the united states. cases are occasionally reported where years is reached, but years is an age very seldom attained. a wonderful feature of this case is that this old woman is the younger sister of another person now living. aunt edie has a brother living at americus, georgia, who is years old. notwithstanding her great age, aunt edie is in fairly good health. she is naturally feeble and her movements are limited. even in her little home, from which she never stirs. although she is feeble, her faculties seem clear and undimmed and she talked interestingly and intelligently to a constitution reporter who called upon her recently. aunt edie was born in , just eight years before the death of george washington occurred. she was a mother when the war of took place. the establishment of columbus as a city was an event of her mature womanhood. the indian war of the thirties she recalls very distinctly. she was getting old when the mexican war took place. she was an old woman when the great conflict between the states raged. she was seventy-five years of age when she became free. it is quite needless to say that aunt edie was a slave all her life up to the year . she was born in hancock county, georgia, between milledgeville and sparta. she was the property of thomas schlatter. she came to columbus just after the town had been laid off, when she was a comparatively young woman. she became the property of the family of judge hines holt, the distinguished columbus lawyer. she says that when she first came here there was only a small collection of houses. where her present home was located was then nothing but swamp land. the present location of the court house was covered with a dense woods. no event in those early years impressed itself more vividly upon aunt edie's mind than the indian war, in the thirties. she was at the home of one of the indians when she first heard of the uprising against the whites, and she frankly says that she was frightened almost to death when she listened to the cold-blooded plots to exterminate the white people. not much attention was paid to her on account of her being a negro. those were very thrilling times and aunt edie confesses that she was exceedingly glad when the troubles with the red men were over. another happening of the thirties which aunt edie recalls quite distinctly is the falling of the stars. she says quaintly that there was more religion that year in georgia than there ever was before or has been since. the wonderful manner in which the stars shot across the heavens by the thousands, when every sign seemed to point to the destruction of the earth, left a lasting impression upon her brain. aunt edie says that she was kindly treated by her masters. she says that they took interest in the spiritual welfare of their slaves and that they were called in for prayer meeting regularly. aunt edie was such an old woman when she was freed that the new condition meant very little change in life for her, as she had about stopped work, with the exception of light tasks about the house. there seems to be no doubt that aunt edie is years old. she talks intelligently about things that occurred years ago. all her children, grandchildren, etc., asserts that her age is exactly as stated. indeed, they have been the custodians of her age, so to speak, for nearly half a century. it was a matter of great interest to her family when she passed the mark. aunt edie is religious and she delights in discussing scriptural matters. she has practical notions, however, and while she is morally sure she will go to a better world when she dies, she remarks, "that we know something about this world, but nothing about the next." perhaps this is one reason why aunt edie has stayed here years. * * * * * note: mary gladdy ( - / - sixth avenue, columbus, georgia). a grand-daughter of edie dennis, states that her grandmother died in , aged . the story of chuck, as told by mary gladdy. chuck was a very intelligent and industrious slave, but so religious that he annoyed his master by doing so much praying, chanting, and singing. so, while in a spiteful mood one day, this master sold the negro to an infidel. and this infidel, having no respect for religion whatsoever, beat chuck unmercifully in an effort to stop him from indulging in his devotions. but, the more and the harder the infidel owner whipped chuck, the more devout and demonstrative the slave became. finally, one day, the infidel was stricken ill unto death; the wicked man felt that his end was near and he was afraid to die. moreover, his conscience rebuked him for his cruel treatment of this slave. the family doctor had given the infidel up: the man apparently had but a few hours to live. then, about o'clock at night, the dying man asked his wife to go down in the slave quarter and ask chuck if he would come to his bedside and pray for him. the white lady went, as requested, and found chuck on his knees, engaged in prayer. "chuck", she called, "your master is dying and has sent me to beg you to come and pray for him." "why, maddom", replied chuck, "i has been praying fer marster tonight--already, and i'll gladly go with you." chuck then went to his master's bed side and prayed for him all night, and the lord heard chuck's prayers, and the white man recovered, was converted, joined the church, and became an evangelist. he also freed chuck and made an evangelist of him. then the two got in a buggy and, for years, traveled together all over the country, preaching the gospel and saving souls. note: mary gladdy believes this to be a true story, though she knew neither the principals involved, nor where nor when they lived and labored. she says that the story has been "handed down", and she once saw it printed in, and thus confirmed by, a negro publication--long after she had originally heard it. keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up. fire, fire, o, keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up. o, keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up; never mind what satan says while your soul's fired up. you ain't going to learn how to watch and pray, less you keep the fire burning while your soul's fired up. old satan is a liar and a cunjorer, too; if you don't mind, he'll cunjor you; keep the fire burning while your =soul's fired up=. never mind what satan says while, your soul's fired up. sung for interviewer by: mary gladdy, ex-slave, - / - sixth avenue, columbus, georgia. december , . the gospel train never seen the like since i've been born, the people keep a-coming, and the train's done gone; too late, too late, the train's done gone, too late, sinner, too late, the train's done gone; never seen the like since i've been born, the people keep a-coming, and the train's done gone; too late, too late, the train's done gone. went down into the valley to watch and pray, my soul got happy and i stayed all day; too late, too late, the train's done gone; too late, sinner, too late, the train's done gone; never seen the like since i've been born, the people keep a-coming and the train's done gone. too late, too late, the train's done gone. sung for interviewer by: mary gladdy, ex-slave, - / - th avenue, columbus, georgia, december , old slave canticle. my sister, i feels 'im, my sister i feels 'im; all night long i've been feelin 'im; jest befoe day, i feels 'im, jest befoe day i feels 'im; the sperit, i feels 'im, the sperit i feels 'im! my brother, i feels 'im, my brother, i feels 'im; all night long i've been feelin 'im, jest befoe day, i feels 'im, jest befoe day, i feel 'im; the sperit, i feels 'im! according to mary gladdy, ex-slave, - / - th avenue, columbus, georgia, it was customary among slaves during the civil war period to secretly gather in their cabins two or three nights each week and hold prayer and experience meetings. a large, iron pot was always placed against the cabin door--sideways, to keep the sound of their voices from "escaping" or being heard from the outside. then, the slaves would sing, pray, and relate experiences all night long. their great, soul-hungering desire was freedom--not that they loved the yankees or hated their masters, but merely longed to be free and hated the institution of slavery. practically always, every negro attendant of these meetings felt the spirit of the lord "touch him (or her) just before day". then, all would arise, shake hands around, and begin to chant the canticle above quoted. this was also a signal for adjournment, and, after chanting or minutes, all would shake hands again and go home--confident in their hearts that freedom was in the offing for them. a short talk with sarah gray-- ex-slave a paper submitted by minnie b. ross revision of original copy and typing by j. c. russell / / talk with ex-slave sarah gray m. b. ross sarah gray is an aged ex-slave, whose years have not only bent her body but seem to have clouded her memory. only a few facts relating to slavery could, therefore, be learned from her. the events she related, however, seemed to give her as much pleasure as a child playing with a favorite toy. the only recollection sarah has of her mother is seeing her as she lay in her coffin, as she was very young when her mother died. she remembers asking her sisters why they didn't give her mother any breakfast. sarah's master was mr. jim nesbit, who was the owner of a small plantation in gwinnett county. the exact number of slaves on the plantation were not known, but there were enough to carry on the work of plowing, hoeing and chopping the cotton and other crops. women as well as men were expected to turn out the required amount of work, whether it was picking cotton, cutting logs, splitting rails for fences or working in the house. sarah was a house slave, performing the duties of a maid. she was often taken on trips with the mistress, and treated more as one of the nesbit family than as a slave. she remarked, "i even ate the same kind of food as the master's family." the nesbits, according to sarah, followed the customary practice of the other slave owners in the matter of the punishment of slaves. she says, however, that while there were stories of some very cruel masters, in her opinion the slave owners of those days were not as cruel as some people today. she said occasionally slave owners appointed some of the slaves as overseers, and very often these slave-overseers were very cruel. when the war began, the nesbits and other plantation owners grouped together, packed their wagons full of supplies, took all of their slaves, and started on a journey as refugees. they had not gone very far when a band of yankee soldiers overtook them, destroyed the wagons, took seventy of the men prisoners and marched off taking all of the horses, saying they were on their way to richmond and when they returned there would be no more masters and slaves, as the slaves would be freed. some of the slaves followed the yankees, but most of them remained with their masters' families. they were not told of their freedom immediately on the termination of the war, but learned it a little later. as compensation, mr. nesbit promised them money for education. she declares, however, that this promise was never fulfilled. sarah gray's recollections of slavery, for the most part, seem to be pleasant. she sums it up in the statement, "in spite of the hardships we had to go through at times, we had a lot to be thankful for. there were frolics, and we were given plenty of good food to eat, especially after a wedding." the aged ex-slave now lives with a few distant relatives. she is well cared for by a family for whom she worked as a nurse for years, and she declares that she is happy in her old age, feeling that her life has been usefully spent. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave alice green athens georgia written by: corry fowler, athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & alice green's supposed address led the interviewer to a cabin with a padlocked front door. a small negro girl who was playing in the adjoining yard admitted, after some coaxing, that she knew where alice could be found. pointing down the street, she said: "see dat house wid de sheet hangin' out in front. dat's whar aunt alice lives now." a few moments later a rap on the door of the house designated was answered by a small, slender negress. "yes mam, i'm alice green," was her solemn response to the inquiry. she pondered the question of an interview for a moment and then, with unsmiling dignity, bade the visitor come in and be seated. only one room of the dilapidated two-room shack was usable for shelter and this room was so dark that lamplight was necessary at : o'clock in the morning. her smoking oil lamp was minus its chimney. a negro child about two or three years old was alice's sole companion. "i takes keer of little sallie mae whilst her mammy wuks at a boardin' house," she explained. "she's lots of company for me. "charles and milly green was my daddy and mammy. daddy's overseer was a man named green, and dey said he was a powerful mean sort of man. i never did know whar it was dey lived when daddy was borned. mammy's marster was a lawyer dat dey called slickhead mitchell, and he had a plantation at helicon springs. mammy was a house gal and she said dey treated her right good. now daddy, he done field work. you know what field work is, hoein', plowin', and things lak dat. when you was a slave you had to do anything and evvything your marster told you to. you was jus' 'bliged to obey your marster no matter what he said for you to do. if you didn't, it was mighty bad for you. my two oldest sisters was fannie and rena. den come my brothers, isaac and bob, and my two youngest sisters, luna and violet. dere was seven of us in all. "slaves lived in rough little log huts daubed wid mud and de chimblys was made out of sticks and red mud. mammy said dat atter de slaves had done got through wid deir day's work and finished eatin' supper, dey all had to git busy workin' wid cotton. some carded bats, some spinned and some weaved cloth. i knows you is done seen dis here checkidy cotton homespun--dat's what dey weaved for our dresses. dem dresses was made tight and long, and dey made 'em right on de body so as not to waste none of de cloth. all slaves had was homespun clothes and old heavy brogan shoes. "you'll be s'prised at what mammy told me 'bout how she got her larnin'. she said she kept a school book hid in her bosom all de time and when de white chillun got home from school she would ax 'em lots of questions all 'bout what dey had done larned dat day and, 'cause she was so proud of evvy little scrap of book larnin' she could pick up, de white chillun larned her how to read and write too. all de larnin' she ever had she got from de white chillun at de big house, and she was so smart at gittin' 'em to larn her dat atter de war was over she got to be a school teacher. long 'fore dat time, one of dem white chillun got married and tuk mammy wid her to her new home at butler, georgia. "now my daddy, he was a plum sight sho' 'nough. he said dat when evvythin' got still and quiet at night he would slip off and hunt him up some 'omans. patterollers used to git atter him wid nigger hounds and once when dey cotch him he said dey beat him so bad you couldn't lay your hand on him nowhar dat it warn't sore. dey beat so many holes in him he couldn't even wear his shirt. most of de time he was lucky enough to outrun 'em and if he could jus' git to his marster's place fust dey couldn't lay hands on him. yes mam, he was plenty bad 'bout runnin' away and gittin' into devilment. "daddy used to talk lots 'bout dem big cornshuckin's. he said dat when dey got started he would jump up on a big old pile of corn and holler loud as he could whilst he was a snatchin' dem shucks off as fast as greased lightin'. "when mammy was converted she jined the white folks church and was baptized by a white preacher 'cause in dem days slaves all went to de same churches wid deir marster's famblies. dere warn't no separate churches for negroes and white people den. "i warn't no bigger dan dis here little sallie mae what stays wid me when de war ended and dey freed de slaves. a long time atter it was all over, mammy told me 'bout dat day. she said she was in de kitchen up at de big house a-cookin' and me and my sisters was out in de yard in de sandbed a-playin' wid de little white chillun when dem yankee sojers come. old miss, she said to mammy: 'milly, look yonder what's a-comin'. i ain't gwine to have nothin' left, not even a nickels worth, 'cause dere comes dem yankees.' dey rid on in de yard, dem sojers what wore dem blue jackets, and dey jus' swarmed all over our place. dey even went in our smokehouse and evvywhar and took whatever dey wanted. dey said slaves was all freed from bondage and told us to jus' take anything and evvything us wanted from de big house and all 'round de plantation whar us lived. dem thievin' sojers even picked up one of de babies and started off wid it, and den old miss did scream and cry for sho'. atter dey had done left, old miss called all of us together and said she didn't want none of us to leave her and so us stayed wid her a whole year atter freedom had done come. "not many slaves had a chance to git property of deir own for a long time 'cause dey didn't have no money to buy it wid. dem few what had land of deir own wouldn't have had it if deir white folks hadn't give it to 'em or holp 'em to git it. my uncle, carter brown, had a plenty 'cause his white folks holped him to git a home and 'bout evvything else he wanted. dem morton negroes got ahead faster dan most any of de others 'round here but dey couldn't have done it if deir white folks hadn't holped 'em so much. "soon as i got big enough, i started cookin' for well-off white folks. fact is, i ain't never cooked for no white folks dat didn't have jus' plenty of money. some of de white folks what has done et my cookin' is de mitchells, upsons, ruckers, bridges, and chief seagraves' fambly. i was cookin' for chief buesse's mammy when he was jus' a little old shirttail boy. honey, i allus did lak to be workin' and i have done my share of it, but since i got so old i ain't able to do much no more. my white folks is mighty good to me though. "now honey, you may think it's kind of funny but i ain't never been much of a hand to run 'round wid colored folks. my mammy and my white folks dey raised me right and larned me good manners and i'm powerful proud of my raisin'. i feels lak now dat white folks understands me better and 'preciates me more." why, jus' listen to dis! when mr. weaver bridges told me his mother had done died, he axed me did i want to go to the funeral and he said he was goin' to take me to de church and graveyard too, and sho' 'nough dey did come and git me and carry me 'long. i was glad dey had so many pretty flowers at mrs. bridges' funeral 'cause i loved her so much. she was a mighty sweet, good, kind 'oman. "all my folks is dead now 'cept me and my chillun, archie, lila, and lizzie. all three of 'em is done married now. archie, he's got a house full of chillun. he works up yonder at de georgian hotel. i loves to stay in a little hut off to myself 'cause i can tell good as anybody when my chillun and in-laws begins to look cross-eyed at me so i jus' stays out of deir way. "i'm still able to go to church and back by myself pretty reg'lar. 'bout four years ago i jined hill's baptist church. lak to a got lost didn't i? if i had stayed out a little longer it would have been too late, and i sho' don't want to be lost." plantation life interview with: alice green willow street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & . alice green ex-slave--age alice green's address led to a tumble down shack set in a small yard which was enclosed by a sagging poultry wire fence. the gate, off its hinges, was propped across the entrance. the call, "alice!" brought the prompt response, "here i is. jus' push de gate down and come on in." when a little rat terrier ran barking out of the house to challenge the visitor, alice hobbled to the door. "come back here and be-have yourself" she addressed the dog, and turning to the interviewer, she said: "lady, dat dog won't bite nothin' but somepin' t'eat--when he kin git it." don't pay him no 'tention. won't you come in and have a seat?" alice has a light brown complexion and bright blue eyes. she wore a soiled print dress, and a dingy stocking cap partly concealed her white hair. boards were laid across the seat of what had been a cane-bottomed chair, in which she sat and rocked. asked if she would talk of her early life the old negress replied: "good lord! honey, i done forgot all i ever knowed 'bout dem days. i was born in clarke county. milly and charley green was my mammy and pappy and dey b'longed to marse daniel miller. mammy, she was born and raised in clarke county but my pappy, he come from southwest georgia. i done forgot de town whar he was brung up. dere was seven of us chillun: me and viola, lula, fannie, rene, bob, and isaac. chillun what warn't big 'nough to wuk in de fields or in de house stayed 'round de yard and played in de sand piles wid de white chillun. "slaves lived in mud-daubed log huts what had chimblies made out of sticks and mud. lordy honey! dem beds was made wid big high posties and strung wid cords for springs. folks never had no wire bedsprings dem days. our mattresses was wheat straw put in ticks made out of coarse cloth what was wove on de loom right dar on de plantation. "i don't know nothin' 'bout what my grandmammies done in slav'ry time. i never seed but one of 'em, and don't 'member much 'bout her. i was jus' so knotty headed i never tuk in what went on 'cause i never 'spected to be axed to tell 'bout dem days. "money! oh-h-h, no ma'am! i never seed no money 'til i was a great big gal. my white folks was rich and fed us good. dey raised lots of hogs and give us plenty of bread and meat wid milk and butter and all sorts of vegetables. marster had one big garden and dere warn't nobody had more good vegetables den he fed to his slaves. de cookin' was done in open fireplaces and most all de victuals was biled or fried. us had all de 'possums, squirrels, rabbits, and fish us wanted cause our marster let de mens go huntin' and fishin' lots. "us jus' wore common clothes. winter time dey give us dresses made out of thick homespun cloth. de skirts was gathered on to tight fittin' waisties. us wore brass toed brogan shoes in winter, but in summer niggers went bar'foots. us jus' wore what us could ketch in summer. by dat time our winter dresses had done wore thin and us used 'em right on through de hot weather. "marse daniel miller, he was some kinder good to mammy, and miss susan was good to us too. now honey, somehow i jus' cain't 'member deir chilluns names no more. and i played in de sand piles all day long wid 'em too. "oh-h-h! dat was a great big old plantation, and when all dem niggers got out in de fields wid horses and wagons, it looked lak a picnic ground; only dem niggers was in dat field to wuk and dey sho' did have to wuk. "marster had a carriage driver to drive him and ole miss 'round and to take de chillun to school. de overseer, he got de niggers up 'fore day and dey had done et deir breakfast, 'tended to de stock, and was in de field by sunup and he wuked 'em 'til sundown. de mens didn't do no wuk atter dey got through tendin' to de stock at night, but mammy and lots of de other 'omans sot up and spun and wove 'til 'leven or twelve o'clock lots of nights. "my pappy was a man what b'lieved in havin' his fun and he would run off to see de gals widout no pass. once when he slipped off dat way de patterollers sicked dem nigger hounds on him and when dey cotched him dey most beat him to death; he couldn't lay on his back for a long time. "if dey had jails, i didn't know nothin' 'bout 'em. de patterollers wid deir nigger hounds made slaves b'have deirselfs widout puttin' 'em in no jails. i never seed no niggers sold, but mammy said her and her whole fambly was sold on de block to de highes' bidder and dat was when ole marster got us. "mammy, she was de cook up at de big house, and when de white chillun come back from school in de atternoon she would ax 'em to show her how to read a little book what she carried 'round in her bosom all de time, and to tell her de other things dey had larn't in school dat day. dey larned her how to read and write, and atter de war was over mammy teached school and was a granny 'oman (midwife) too. "dey made us go to church on sundays at de white folks church 'cause dere warn't no church for slaves on de plantation. us went to sunday school too. mammy jined de white folks church and was baptized by de white preacher. he larnt us to read de bible, but on some of de plantations slaves warn't 'lowed to larn how to read and write. i didn't have no favorite preacher nor song neither, but mammy had one song what she sung lots. it was 'bout 'hark from de tombs a doleful sound.' i never seed nobody die and i never went to no buryin' durin' slav'ry time, so i cain't tell nothin' 'bout things lak dat. "lordy honey! how could dem niggers run off to de north when dem patterollers and deir hounds was waitin' to run 'em down and beat 'em up? now some of de slaves on other places might have found some way to pass news 'round but not on ole marster's place. you sho' had to have a pass 'fore you could leave dat plantation and he warn't goin' to give you no pass jus' for foolishment. i never heared tell of no uprisin's twixt white folks and niggers but dey fussed a-plenty. now days when folks gits mad, dey jus' hauls off and kills one another. "atter slaves got through deir wuk at night, dey was so tired dey jus' went right off to bed and to sleep. dey didn't have to wuk on sadday atter dinner, and dat night dey would pull candy, dance, and frolic 'til late in de night. dey had big times at cornshuckin's and log rollin's. my pappy, he was a go-gitter; he used to stand up on de corn and whoop and holler, and when he got a drink of whiskey in him he went hog wild. dere was allus big eatin's when de corn was all shucked. "christmas warn't much diffunt from other times. us chillun had a heap of fun a-lookin' for santa claus. de old folks danced, quilted, and pulled candy durin' de christmastime. come new year's day, dey all had to go back to wuk. "what for you wants to know what i played when i was a little gal? dat was a powerful long time ago. us played in de sand piles, jumped rope, played hide and seek and old mother hubbard." at this time a little girl, who lives with alice, asked for a piece of bread. she got up and fed the child, then said: "come in dis here room. i wants to show you whar i burned my bed last night tryin' to kill de chinches: dey most eats me up evvy night." in the bedroom an oil lamp was burning. the bed and mattress showed signs of fire. the mattress tick was split from head to foot and cotton spilling out on the floor. "dat's whar i sleep," declared alice. the atmosphere of the bedroom was heavy with nauseous odors and the interviewer hastened to return to the front of the house desiring to get out of range of the chinch-ridden bed. before there was time to resume conversation the terrier grabbed the bread from the child's hand and in retaliation the child bit the dog on the jaw and attempted to retrieve the bread. alice snatched off her stocking cap and beat at the dog with it. "git out of here, biddy. i done told you and told you 'bout eatin' dat chile's somepin t'eat. i don't know why miz. woods gimme dis here dog no how, 'cause she knows i can't feed it and it's jus' plum starvin'. go on out, i say. "lordy! lady, dar's one of dem chinches from my bed a-crawlin' over your pretty white dress. ketch him quick, 'fore he bites you." soon the excitement was over and alice resumed her story. "dey tuk mighty good care of slaves when dey got sick. dey had to, 'cause slaves was propity and to let a slave die was to lose money. ole miss, she looked atter de 'omans and ole marster, he had de doctor for de mens. i done forgot most of what dey made us take. i know dey made us wear assfiddy (asafetida) sacks 'round our necks, and eat gumgoo wax. dey rubbed our heads wid camphor what was mixed wid whiskey. old folks used to conjure folks when dey got mad at 'em. dey went in de woods and got certain kinds of roots and biled 'em wid spider webs, and give 'em de tea to drink. "one day us chillun was playin' in de sand pile and us looked up and seed a passel of yankees comin'. dere was so many of 'em it was lak a flock of bluebirds. 'fore dey left some folks thought dey was more lak blue devils. my mammy was in de kitchen and ole miss said: 'look out of dat window, milly; de yankees is comin' for sho' and dey's goin' to free you and take you and your chillun 'way from me. don't leave me! please don't leave me, milly!' dem yankees swarmed into de yard. dey opened de smokehouse, chicken yard, corncrib, and evvything on de place. dey tuk what dey wanted and told us de rest was ours to do what us pleased wid. dey said us was free and dat what was on de plantation b'longed to us, den dey went on off and us never seed 'em no more. "when de war was over ole miss cried and cried and begged us not to leave her, but us did. us went to wuk for a man on halves. i had to wuk in de field 'til i was a big gal, den i went to wuk for rich white folks. i ain't never wuked for no pore white folks in my whole life. "it was a long time 'fore niggers could buy land for deirselfs 'cause dey had to make de money to buy it wid. i couldn't rightly say when schools was set up for de niggers. it was all such a long time ago, and i never tuk it in nohow. "i don't recollect when i married george huff or what i wore dat day. didn't live wid him long nohow. i warn't goin' to live wid no man what sot 'round and watched me wuk. mammy had done larnt me how to wuk, and i didn't know nothin' else but to go ahead and wuk for a livin'. i don't know whar george is. he might be dead for all i know; if he ain't, he ought to be. i got three chillun. two of 'em is gals, lizzie and lila, and one is a boy. my oldest gal, she lives in atlanta." she ignored the question as to where her other daughter lives. "my son wuks at de georgian hotel. but understand now, dem ain't george huff's chillun. deir pappy was my sweetheart what got into trouble and runned away. i ain't gwine to tell his name. "honey, i jus' tell you de truth; de reason why i jined de church was 'cause i was a wild gal, and dere warn't nothin' too mean for me to do for a long time. mammy and my sisters kept on beggin' me to change my way of livin', but i didn't 'til four years ago. i got sick and thought i was goin' to die, and den i begged de good lord to forgive me and promised him if he would let me git well 'nough to git out of dat bed, i would change and do good de rest of my life. when i was able to git up, i jined de church. i didn't mean to burn in hell lak de preachers said i would. i thinks evvybody ought to jine de church and live right. "oh-h-h! lady, i sho' do thank you for dis here dime. i'm gwine to buy me some meat wid it. i ain't had none dis week. my white folks is mighty good to me, but niggers don't pay me no mind. "has you axed me all you wants to? i sho' is glad 'cause i ain't had nothin' t'eat yit." she pulled down her stocking to tie the coin in its top and revealed an expanse of sores from ankle to knee. a string was tied above each knee. "a white lady told me dem strings soaked in kerosene would drive out de misery from my laigs," alice explained. "goodbye honey, and god bless you." an opinion of slavery by isaiah green--ex slave submitted by minnie b. ross typed by j.c. russell - - an opinion of slavery by isaiah green--ex-slave an ex-slaves opinion of slavery isaiah green, an ex-slave, still has a clear, agile mind and an intelligent manner. with his reddish brown complexion, straight hair, and high cheek bones, he reminds you of an old indian chief, and he verifies the impression by telling you that his grandfather was a full blooded indian. isaiah green was born in at greensboro, ga. cleary mallory willis and bob henderson were his parents, but he did not grow up knowing the love and care of a father, for his father was sold from his mother when he was only two years. years later, his mother lost track of his father and married again. there were eleven children and isaiah was next to the youngest. his master was colonel dick willis, who with his wife "miss sally" managed a plantation of , acres of land and slaves. col. willis had seven children, all by a previous marriage. throughout the state he was known for his wealth and culture. his plantation extended up and down the oconee river. his slave quarters were made up of rows of -room log cabins with a different family occupying each room. the fireplaces were built three and four feet in length purposely for cooking. the furniture, consisting of a bed, table, and chair, was made from pine wood and kept clean by scouring with sand. new mattresses and pillows were made each spring from wheat straw. old uncle peter, one of the willis slaves, was a skilled carpenter and would go about building homes for other plantation owners. sometimes he was gone as long as four or five months. every two weeks, rations of meal, molasses and bacon were given each slave family in sufficient quantity. the slaves prepared their own meals, but were not allowed to leave the fields until noon. a nursing mother, however, could leave between times. large families were the aim and pride of a slave owner, and he quickly learned which of the slave women were breeders and which were not. a slave trader could always sell a breeding woman for twice the usual amount. a greedy owner got rid of those who didn't breed. first, however, he would wait until he had accumulated a number of undesirables, including the aged and unruly. there was an old slave trader in louisiana by the name of riley who always bought this type of slave, and re-sold them. when ready to sell, a slave owner notified him by telegram. when riley arrived, the slaves were lined up, undressed and closely inspected. too many scars on the body meant a "bad slave" and no one would be anxious to purchase him. green related the story of his grand mother betsy willis. "my grandmother was half white, since the master of the plantation on which she lived was her father." he wished to sell her, and when she was placed on the block he made the following statement: "i wish to sell a slave who is also my daughter. before anyone can purchase her, he must agree not to treat her as a slave but as a free person. she is a good midwife and can be of great service to you." col. dick willis was there, and in front of everyone signed the papers. the willis plantation was very large and required many workers. there were plow hands alone, excluding those who were required to do the hoeing. women as well as men worked in the fields. isaiah green declares that his mother could plow as well as any man. he also says that his work was very easy in the spring. he dropped peas into the soft earth between the cornstalks, and planted them with his heel. cotton, wheat, corn, and all kinds of vegetables made up the crops. a special group of women did the carding and spinning, and made the cloth on two looms. all garments were made from this homespun cloth. dyes from roots and berries were used to produce the various colors. red elm berries and a certain tree bark made one kind of dye. besides acting as midwife, green's grandmother betsy willis, was also a skilled seamstress and able to show the other women different points in the art of sewing. shoes were given to the slaves as often as they were needed. green's step-father was afflicted and could not help with the work in the field. since he was a skilled shoe maker his job was to make shoes in the winter. in summer, however, he was required to sit in the large garden ringing a bell to scare away the birds. col. willis was a very kind man, who would not tolerate cruel treatment to any of his slaves by overseers. if a slave reported that he had been whipped for no reason and showed scars on his body as proof, the overseer was discharged. on the willis plantation were colored men known as "nigger drivers." one particularly, known as "uncle jarrett," was very mean and enjoyed exceeding the authority given by the master. green remarked, "i was the master's pet. he never allowed anyone to whip me and he didn't whip me himself. he was -ft. in. tall and often as i walked with him, he would ask, "isaiah, do you love your old master?' of course i would answer, yes, for i did love him." col. willis did not allow the "patterrollers" to interfere with any of his slaves. he never gave them passes, and if any were caught out without one the "patterrollers" were afraid to whip them. mr. john branch was considered one of the meanest slave owners in green county, and the negroes on his plantation were always running away. another slave owner known for his cruelty was colonel calloway, who had a slave named jesse who ran away and stayed years. he dug a cave in the ground and made fairly comfortable living quarters. other slaves who no longer could stand col. calloway's cruelty, would join him. jesse visited his wife, lettie, two and three times a week at night. col. calloway could never verify this, but became suspicious when jesse's wife gave birth to two children who were the exact duplicate of jesse. when he openly accused her of knowing jesse's whereabouts, she denied the charges, pretending she had not seen him since the day he left. when the war ended, jesse came to his old master and told him he had been living right on the plantation for the past years. col. calloway was astonished; he showed no anger toward jesse, however, but loaned him a horse and wagon to move his goods from the cave to his home. there were some owners who made their slaves steal goods from other plantations and hide it on theirs. they were punished by their master, however, if they were caught. frolics were held on the willis plantation as often as desired. it was customary to invite slaves from adjoining plantations, but if they attended without securing a pass from their master, the "patterrollers" could not bother them so long as they were on the willis plantation. on the way home, however, they were often caught and beaten. in those days there were many negro musicians who were always ready to furnish music from their banjo and fiddle for the frolics. if a white family was entertaining, and needed a musician but didn't own one, they would hire a slave from another plantation to play for them. col. willis always allowed his slaves to keep whatever money they earned. there were two stills on the willis plantation, but the slaves were never allowed to drink whiskey at their frolics. sometimes they managed to "take a little" without the master knowing it. on sunday afternoons, slaves were required to attend white churches for religious services, and over and over again the one sermon drummed into their heads was, "servants obey your mistress and master; you live for them. now go home and obey, and your master will treat you right." if a slave wished to join the church, he was baptized by a white minister. the consent of both slave owners was necessary to unite a couple in matrimony. no other ceremony was required. if either master wished to sell the slave who married, he would name the price and if it was agreeable to the other, the deal was settled so that one owner became master of both. the larger and stronger the man, the more valuable he was considered. slaves did not lack medical treatment and were given the best of attention by the owner's family doctor. sometimes slaves would pretend illness to escape work in the field. a quick examination, however, revealed the truth. home remedies such as turpentine, castor oil, etc., were always kept on hand for minor ailments. green remembers hearing talk of the war before he actually saw signs of it. it was not long before the yankees visited greensboro, ga., and the willis plantation. on one occasion, they took all the best horses and mules and left theirs which were broken down and worn from travel. they also searched for money and other valuables. during this period a mail wagon broke down in the creek and water soon covered it. when the water fell, negroes from the willis plantation found sacks of money and hid it. one unscrupulous negro betrayed the others; rather than give back the money, many ran away from the vicinity. isaiah's uncle managed to keep his money but the ku klux klan learned that he was one of the group. one night they kidnaped and carried him to the woods where they pinned him to the ground, set the dry leaves on fire, and left him. in the group he recognized his master's son jimmie. as fate would have it the leaves burned in places and went out. by twisting a little he managed to get loose, but found that his feet were badly burned. later, when he confronted the master with the facts, col. willis offered to pay him if he would not mention the fact that his son jimmie was mixed up in it, and he sent the man to a hospital to have his burns treated. in the end, all of his toes had to be amputated. another time, the yankees visited the willis plantation and offered green a stick of candy if he would tell them where the master hid his whiskey. isaiah ignorantly gave the information. the leader of the troops then blew his trumpet and his men came from every direction. he gave orders that they search for an underground cellar. very soon they found the well-stocked hiding place. the troops drank as much as they wanted and invited the slaves to help themselves. later, when col. willis arrived and the mistress, who was furious, told him, she said, "if it hadn't been for that little villain, the yankees would never have found your whiskey." the master understood, however, that isaiah hadn't known what he was doing, and refused to punish him. the yankees came to the willis plantation to notify the negroes of their freedom. one thing they said stands out in green's memory. "if your mistress calls you 'john,' call her 'sally.' you are as free as she is and she can't whip you any more. if you remain, sign a paper so that you will receive pay for your work." mrs. willis looked on with tears in her eyes and shook her head sadly. the next day the master notified each slave family that they could remain on his plantation if they desired and he would give each $ . at christmas. looking at isaiah's step-father, he told him that since he was afflicted he would pay him only $ . , but this amount was refused. wishing to keep the man, col. willis finally offered him as much as he promised the ablebodied men. some slave owners did not let their slaves know of their freedom, and kept them in ignorance as long as six months; some even longer. green's family remained on the willis plantation until they were forced to move, due to their ex-master's extravagance. as isaiah remarked, "he ran through with , acres of land and died on rented land in morgan county." directly after the war, col. willis was nominated for the office of legislator of georgia. realizing that the vote of the ex-slaves would probably mean election for him, he rode through his plantation trying to get them to vote for him. he was not successful, however, and some families were asked to move off his plantation, especially those whom he didn't particularly like. years later, green's family moved to atlanta. isaiah is now living in the shelter provided by the dept. of public welfare. he appears to be fairly contented. [hw: isaac (isaiah) green] edwin driskell the experiences of an ex-slave following is the account of slavery as told by mr. isaac green, who spent a part of his childhood as a slave. "i wus born in greene county, georgia, eighty-one years ago. my marster wus named colonel willis. he wus a rich man an' he had a whole lots o' slaves--'bout seventy-five or more. besides my mother an' me i had nine sisters. i wus de younges' chile. i didn't know 'bout my father 'till after surrender, 'cause ol' marster sold him 'way fum my mother when i wus two years old. "when i wus big enuff i had to go to de fiel' wid de res' o' de chillun an' drap corn an' peas. we'd take our heels an' dent a place in de groun' an' in every dent we had to drap two peas. sometimes we'd make a mistake an' drap three seeds instead o' two an' if we did dis too often it meant de strap fum de overseer. on our plantation we had a colored an' a white overseer. "my ol' marster never did whup me an' he didn't 'low none o' de overseers to whup me either. he always say: 'dat's my nigger--i sol' his father when i coulda saved him--he wus de bes' man i had on de plantation.' de rest o' de slaves uster git whuppins sometimes fer not workin' like dey should. when dey didn't work or some other little thing like dat dey would git twenty-five or fifty lashes but de marster would tell de overseer: 'don't you cut my nigger's hide or scar him.' you see if a slave wus scarred he wouldn't bring as much as one with a smooth hide in case de marster wanted to sell 'im, 'cause de buyers would see de scars an' say dat he wus a bad nigger. "sometimes de women uster git whuppins fer fightin'. ol' marster uster tell my mother all de time dat he wus goin' to give her one-hundred lashes if she didn't stop fightin', but he never did do it though. my grandmother never did git whupped. colonel black, her first marster, wus her father an' when he went broke he had to sell her. when he went broke he put her on de block--in dem days dey put slaves on de block to sell 'em jes' like dey do horses an' mules now--he say to de gentlemen gathered 'roun: 'dis is my nigger an' my chile; she is a midwife an' a extraordinary weaver an' whoever buys her has got to promise to treat her like a white chile.' my marster bought her an' he treated her like she wus white, too. he never did try to hit her an' he wouldn't let nobody else hit her. "we always had a plenty to eat an' if we didn't we'd go out in somebody's pasture an' kill a hog or sheep an' clean him by a branch an' den hide de meat in de woods or in de loft of de house. some of de white folks would learn you how to steal fum other folks. sometimes ol' marster would say to one o' us: 'blast you--you better go out an' hunt me a hog tonight an' put it in my smokehouse---dey can search you niggers' houses but dey can't search mine.' "once a week de marster give us three pounds of pork, a half gallon o' syrup, an' a peck o' meal. you had to have a garden connected wid yo' house fer yo' vegetables. de marster would let you go out in de woods an' cut you as large a space as you wanted. if you failed to plant, it wus jes' yo' bad luck. if you wanted to you could sell de corn or de tobacco or anything else dat you raised to de marster an' he would pay you. 'course he wusn't goin' to pay you too much fer it. "all de slaves had to work---my mother wus a plow han'. all de aged men an' women had to tend to de hogs an' de cows an' do de weavin' an' de sewin'. sometimes ol' marster would let us have a frolic an' we could dance all night if we wanted to as long as we wus ready to go to de fiel' when de overseer blowed de bugle 'fo day nex' mornin'. de fiel' han's had to git up early enuff to fix dey breakfas' befo' dey went to de fiel'. we chillun took dinner to 'em at twelve o'clock. we used baskets to take de dinner in, an' large pails to take de milk in. dey had to fix supper fer dey selves when dey lef' de fiel' at dark. "all de clothes we wore wuz made on de plantation. de women had to card, spin an' weave de thread an' den when de cloth wuz made it wuz dyed wid berries. my step-father wuz de shoemaker on de plantation an' we always had good shoes. he beat ol' marster out o' 'bout fifteen years work. when he didn't feel like workin' he would play like he wuz sick an' ol' marster would git de doctor for him. when anybody got sick dey always had de doctor to tend to him." regarding houses, mr. green says: "we lived in log houses dat had wood floors. dere wuz one window an' a large fireplace where de cookin' wuz done in de ashes. de chinks in de walls wuz daubed wid mud to keep de weather out. de beds wuz made by hand an' de mattresses wuz big tickin's stuffed wid straw." continuing he says: "yo' actual treatment depended on de kind o' marster you had. a heap o' folks done a heap better in slavery dan dey do now. everybody on our plantation wuz glad when de yankee soldiers tol' us we wuz free." ex-slave interview: margaret green jones street augusta, georgia. (richmond county) by: mrs. margaret johnson editor federal writers' project, augusta, georgia. ex-slave interview margaret green, jones street, augusta, georgia (richmond county) margaret green, jones street was born in on the plantation of mr. cooke mckie in edgefield county, south carolina. margaret's house was spotlessly clean, her furniture of the golden oak type was polished, and the table cover and sideboard scarfs were beautifully laundered. margaret is a small, trim little figure dressed in a grey print dress with a full gathered skirt and a clean, starched apron with strings tied in a big bow. she has twinkling eyes, a kindly smile and a pleasant manner. "yes, mam, i remembers slavery times very well. i wuz a little girl but i could go back home and show you right where i wuz when the sojers come through our place with their grey clothes and bright brass buttons. they looked mighty fine on their hosses ridin' round. i could show you right where those sojers had the camp". margaret described "the quarters" and told of the life. "each fam'ly had a garden patch, and could raise cotton. only marse cooke raised cotton; what we raised we et". "margaret were the slaves on your master's plantation mistreated?" "what you say? mistreat? oh! you mean whipped! yes, man, sometime marse cooke whip us when we need it, but he never hurt nobody. he just give 'em a lick or two make 'em mind they business. marse cooke was a good man, and he never let a overseer lay a finger on one of his niggers!" "margaret were you ever whipped?" margaret laughed; with her eyes twinkling merrily she replied, "marse cooke say he wuz gonna whip me 'cause i was so mischievious. he was on his horse. i broke and run, and marse ain't give me that whippin' till yet!" "yes, mam, i hearn stories o' ghos'es and hants, but i never did b'lieve in none of 'em. i uster love to play and to get out of all the work i could. the old folk on the plantashun uster tell us younguns if we didn't hurry back from the spring with the water buckets, the hants and buggoos would catch us. i ain't never hurry till yet, and i never see a hant. i wished i could, 'caus' i don't b'lieve i would be scart." "margaret, did you learn to read?" "oh! no mam, that wus sumpin' we wuzn't 'lowed to do; nobody could have lessons. but we went to church to the publican baptist church. yes, mam, i'se sho' dat wuz the name--the publican baptist church--ain't i been there all my life 'till i been grown and married? we uster go mornin' and evenin', and the white people sat on one side and the slaves on the other." margaret said her mother was a seamstress and also a cook. three other seamstresses worked on the plantation. there was a spinning wheel and a loom, and all the cotton cloth for clothing was woven and then made into clothes for all the slaves. there were three shoe makers on the place who made shoes for the slaves, and did all the saddle and harness repair. margaret was asked who attended the slaves when they were sick. "marse cooke's son was a doctor", she replied, and he 'tended anybody who was bad sick. granny phoebe was the midwife at our plantashun and she birthed all the babies. she was old when i was a little gal, and she lived to be . marse cooke never let any of his slaves do heavy work 'till dey wuz years old." margaret's father went to the war with "marse cooke" as his body servant, and her mother went also, to cook for him! "to tell you the truth, man," said the old woman, "i 'member more 'bout that war back yonder than i member 'bout the war we had a few years ago." minnie green interviewed alberta minor re-search worker minnie is not an ex-slave, for she was "jes walkin'" when the war was over. her parents were given their freedom in may but stayed on with judge green until fall, after the wheat cutting. the family moved to a two story house "out meriwether road" but didn't get along so well. minnie was hungry lots and came to town to get scraps of food. when she was a "good big girl" she came to town one day with her hair full of cukle-burrs, dressed in her mother's basque looking for food, when she saw a man standing in front of a store eating an orange. she wanted that peeling. no one kept their cows and pigs up and when the man threw the peeling on the ground a sow grabbed it. minnie chased the pig right down hill street, was hollering and making plenty of noise, when a lady, "mis' mary beeks", came out and asked her "what's the matter?" "right then and there i hired myself out to miss mary, and she raised me." minnie played with white children, went to the "white folks" church, and did not "associate with niggers" until she was grown. every summer they went to the camp grounds for two weeks. they took the children, minnie for nurse, a stove, a cow and everything they needed for that time. she was nearly grown before she went to a colored church and "baptisin'" and it frightened her to see a person immersed, and come up "shoutin'". minnie thought they was "fightin' the preacher" so she didn't go back anymore. minnie firmly believes if a woman comes in your house first on new years day, it will bring you bad luck, and she has walked as far as miles to get a man in her house first. if she meets a cross eyed person, she crosses her fingers and spits on them to break the bad spell. "hooten' owls" are sure the sign of death and she always burns her hair combins because if you just throw them away and the birds get them to put in their nests, you'll have a "wanderin' mind." minnie is years old, very active physically and mentally, lives among the negroes now but greatly misses her "white folks." minnie green east chappell street griffin, georgia august , . wheeler gresham of wilkes county georgia by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia dec. , . wheeler gresham, years old, tall, very erect, has white hair and beard, a quiet dignified manner, and faded old eyes that seem ever to be gazing back on those happy days he told about "when we war' in slavery." he is uneducated, having gone to school only one week in his life--gave up "tryin' to larn out er books." wheeler claims the distinction of having had three masters and loving them all equally well; he belonged to one and lived with the other two. it all happened in this wise: his mother, barbara booker, belonged to "marse simmie and marse jabie booker"--("marse simmie wuz the one what named me") his father, franklin gresham belonged to "marse george gresham." the bookers and greshams lived on adjoining plantations and were the best of friends and neighbors. they would not sell a slave no matter what happened, so when barbara and franklin wanted to marry they had the consent of their owners and settled down on the booker plantation where barbara continued her work and franklin spending all his spare time with her, although he belonged to the greshams and kept up his work for them. he had a pass to go and come as he pleased. wheeler tells of his life on the plantations for his time was spent between the two where he played with the other little slaves and with the white boys near his age. he enjoyed most playing marbles, hunting and fishing with the little gresham boys. he never has had a punishment of any kind in all his whole long life, and said with much pride--"an' i ain't never been in no court scrape neither. no'm, my marsters didn't 'low nobody ter 'buke dey han's. ef a overseer got rough an' wanted to beat a nigger, he had to go right den and dar." he added: "dem overseer fellows wuz rough anyhow, dey warn't our sort of folks. an' de owners what wuz mean to dey niggers wuz looked down on by 'spectable white folks lak dem what i belonged to." "all us little niggers on the booker plantation et in de white folks' kitchen, a big old kitchen out in de yard. de grown slaves cooked and et in dey cabins, but our mistess wouldn't trust 'em to feed de little ones. my gramma wuz de cook an' we had plenty of good victuals, we'd all set er round an' eat all we wanted three times er day." wheeler said that the doctor who lived near by was always called in when the negroes were sick and they had the best of care; their owners saw to that. of course there were simple home remedies like mullein tea for colds, jerusalem oak seed crushed up and mixed with syrup, given to them in the springtime, and always that terrible "garlic warter" they so despised to take. when death came the slave was buried on the plantation in the negro burial ground, a white preacher conducting the last rites. when a negro couple wanted to marry the consent of the owners was ceremony enough and they set up a home as man and wife and lived on "'thout all dis 'vocin' lak dey has terday." christmas was a big time with three or four days holiday on the plantations. santa claus found his way to the quarters and left the little negroes stick candy and "reisens", and "dar wuz er plenty of pound cake fer everybody." fourth of july was a big holiday and all the little boys white and black went a-fishing together that day. sundays were kept holy--no work was done on the sabbath. on "meetin' days" everybody attended the neighborhood church, white and black worshiped together, the darkies in the gallery built for them. on all other sundays they went to church, and everybody sat in one big bible class. wheeler said his mistess called up all the little negroes on the plantation on sunday afternoons and taught them the catechism and told them bible stories. there was plenty of fun for the darkies in the gresham and booker community. they had dances, cornshuckings, picnics and all kinds of old time affairs. these were attended by slaves for some distance around, but they had to have passes or "de patter rollers would sho' git 'em. us little niggers wuz feared to go 'bout much 'kase we heered so much erbout de patter rollers." wheeler enjoyed the cornshuckings more than anything else, or rather he talked more freely about them. he said that the corn was piled high in the barn and the men and boys, after a big supper of "fresh meat and all kinds of good things, and plenty of sho' nough pound cake"--(that pound cake he can't seem to forget)--would gather around and to the tune of an old fiddle in the hands of a plantation musician, they would sing and shuck corn until the whole pile was finished. many races were entered into and the winners proclaimed amid much shouting and laughter. this merriment and work lasted into the night. wheeler was quick to say that the happiest time of his life was those days of slavery and the first years immediately after. he was happy, had all that anyone needed, was well taken care of in every way. he spoke of their family as being a happy one, of how they worked hard all day, and at night were gathered around their cabin fire where the little folks played, and his mother spun away on her "task of yarn". his mistess made all his clothes, "good warm ones, too." all the little negroes played together and there "wuz a old colored lady" that looked after them "an' kept 'em straight." there was little talk of the war, in fact some of the slaves didn't know what "de white folks wuz er fightin' 'bout." wheeler's two booker masters, "marse simmie and marse jabie, went to de war, marse jabie wuz kilt dar." very little difference was noticed in the plantation life--of course times were harder and there was a sadness around, but work went on as usual. when the war was over and the slaves called up and told they were free: "sum wuz glad an' sum wuz sorry, dey all wuz at a wonder--at de row's en', didn't know whar ter go. de most of 'em stayed on lak we wuz, workin' fer our white folks. dat's what my pa an' ma done, dey stayed on fer sometime after de war." wheeler tells about a few yankees coming through the country after the war: "us niggers wuz all 'feared of 'em an' we run frum 'em, but dey didn't do nothin' to nobody. i dunno what dey cum er 'round down here fer." wheeler said he "nuver paid signs no mind--nuver paid no 'tention to all dem 'stitions an' sich lak." he didn't have any superstitions to tell only he did hear "ef a screech owl fly 'cross yo' do' hits er sign of a death in dat house, an' ef a whippowill calls at de' do' hit's er sign of death. dat's what folks say, i don't know nothin' 'bout hit." "i'm glad i knowed slavery, i had er better livin' in dem days dan i eber had since. no talk 'bout money in dem days--no mam, an' ef a doctor wuz needed he wuz right dar. i'se livin' ter day 'kase i got sich a good start, an' den too, i'se livin' on de days of my pa and ma. dey wuz good folks an' lived ter be old. an' den too, i'se allus lived on a farm, ain't nuver knowed no t'other kind of life, an' dat's de healthiest and freest way ter live." and, maybe, this gray old son of the soil is right--who knows? first copy of article entitled: "an interview with heard griffin," ex-slave. by minnie b. ross typed by a. m. whitley - - heard griffin--ex-slave in order to catch mr. heard griffin, the writer prepared herself for an early morning interview. his daughter previously informed her that it would be the only possible chance of seeing him. why? because even at the age of years he is still restless; and is forever in the streets. he can walk much faster than a young person; but memory and hearing are a little dimmed by age. by careful and tactful questioning, [hw: and by giving him] ample time for thinking the writer was able to learn a few facts of slavery which are as follows: mr. griffin was born may , in waldon county, monroe, georgia. his mother sarah griffin birthed children; but he did not clearly remember his father as their master sold him when he was a very small boy. here he remarked. "they would take small babies from their mothers' arms and sell them." their master and mistress mike and lucinda griffin owned about acres of land and a large number of slaves. on this plantation was grown corn, cotton, wheat, etc. long before day light, the master would come to the slave quarters and call each person one by one, "get up. get up." very soon every one was up and fully dressed ready to begin the day's work. first, however, they drank one or two glasses of milk and a piece of corn bread, which was considered breakfast. whether this amount of food was sufficient for a morning's meal didn't matter to their master. they simply had to make it last them until dinner. smiling mr. griffin remarked, "it wouldn't be long before you would hear the "geeing and hawing" coming from the fields, the squealing of pigs and the barking of dogs--all sounds mingling together." every one had a certain amount of work to complete before the day ended; and each person worked in feverish haste to get it done and avoid the whipping which they knew was in store for them, should they fail. during the day mr. griffin's mother worked in the field, hoeing and plowing. at night she, as well as other women, had to spin thread into cloth until bed time. each woman had to complete four cuts or be punished the next morning. "if it began raining while we worked in the fields, the overseer would tell everyone to put up their horses and to shelling corn in the cribs," remarked mr. griffin. "mike griffin was the meanest man i've ever known," he continued. "he would sit down with nothing else to do, think of some man, send for him and for no reason at all, give him a good beating. he kept a long cowhide, which was almost an inch thick and with this he would almost beat folks to death. first you had to remove your clothing so that whipping would not wear them out. one day he beat a woman named hannah so badly that she died the same night. before daybreak he had carried the baby off and buried it. we never knew the burial place." overseers too, were very mean, particularly those on the griffin plantation. they followed the example of the man who hired them and as a result this plantation was known far and wide for its cruelty, fear and terror. [hw original text "cruelty, fear and terror" is stricken out.] many slaves would have attempted to run away but for fear of the pack of blood hounds kept for the purpose of tracking run away slaves. "patter-rollers" were busy, too, looking up slaves and whipping them for the flimsiest of excuses. slaves often outran them to the woods and managed to return to their plantations unobserved. if a pass had a certain hour marked in it, for the slave's return, and he failed to return at the designated houses, this was an offense for which they were punished by the "patter-rollers." "yes," remarked mr. griffin, "we were not even allowed to quarrel among ourselves. our master would quickly tell us, 'i am the one to fight, not you.'" when a slave visited his relatives on another plantation the master would send along one or two of his children to make sure they did not attempt to run away. discarded bed clothing was given to slave families on the griffin plantation and often it was necessary to keep a big log fire in the winter, in order to sleep comfortably. clothing for individual needs consisted of one pair of brogan shoes a year and homemade cotton garments, shirts, pants, dresses, etc. every person went bare footed in the summer and saved their one pair of shoes for the winter. food consisting of meal, bacon meat, and syrup was given the slave families once a week. occasionally "short" a second quality of flour was given them for their sunday meals. the griffins were not liberal in feeding their slaves, but would not object to their raising a little corn, and a few vegetables. they had to work their gardens at night, however, by the light of burning fat wood. real coffee was on unheard-of luxury among slaves: so scorched or corn meal served the purpose just as well. on christmas the master called each slave and gave him a dram of whiskey. no other food or fruit was given. [hw: strikes this sentence out] tin pans served as plates for the families. spoons, knives, and forks were unheard of: "many a day i have eaten mashed bread and milk from a trough and thought it was good," remarked mr. griffin. occasionally on other plantations slaves were allowed to earn money by selling vegetables, chickens, etc. on the griffin plantation they could only sell home made "gingercakes" for which a five-cent piece of paper money was received in return. there were three pieces of paper money used in those days: the five-cent, ten-cent, and fifteen-cent pieces. although the slaves did not have separate churches, they were expected to attend the white churches and occupy the benches placed in the back, purposely for them. after the coachman drove the white family to church he unhitched the horses from the carriage and carried them to the pasture where they remained until the services were over. marriages were very easily performed on the griffin plantation: after securing the consent of both owners the rest of the ceremony consisted only in having the couple jump the broom. in the event, the bride and groom lived on separate plantations the groom was given a pass to visit her on week ends, beginning saturday afternoon and ending sunday evening. "our master was too mean to let us have frolics," remarked mr. griffin; "we never knew anything, but work. of course when we got sick we were given the best medical care possible. people didn't die, they always got well." home remedies made from various roots were used for minor illnesses. "when the civil war broke out our master loaded his horses with his most valuable possessions and refugeed forty miles from his home," remarked mr. griffin. "on one occasion the yanks came to our plantation and stole three of our best horses. i never saw a battle fought but often watched the confederate soldiers drilling. we continued to work long after freedom was declared, not knowing that we were free. one day our master's son-in-law called us together and told us we were free. most of us didn't know what to do but we were glad to get off of that plantation and away from old man griffin." with a broad smile he continued: "well that is all i can tell you miss, but come back to see me again." with the above remark mr. heard griffin and i closed our interview. he reminded me, however, that he had been married five times and was the father of fifteen children, four of whom are still living. his daughter cares for him and tries to make his old age as happy and comfortable as she can without the aid of relief. [hw: david goodman gullins] subject reminiscences of slavery days district no. w.p.a. editor and research ruth a. chitty supervisor j. e. jaffee october , . reminiscences of slavery days it was a beautiful brisk morning in october when i turned into main street to call on one of the most unique and interesting characters that we have among our colored citizens. upon arriving at the house where uncle dave lives, i made my way through a side gate and the first thing that greeted me in his back yard was a sign, "no truspassing." i called to a tenant who rents his home to inquire where i might find uncle dave. we looked about the premises, and called him, but no response. i was just about to leave in despair, when the colored girl said "maybe he can be found inside," whereupon we called him forth. he greeted me with a deep peal of laughter, saying "now you done caught me sho, mistiss!" i told him the story of my mission, and, after making various excuses he finally, with a studied reluctance, consented to talk to me a while. he called the colored girl and asked her to bring a chair into the yard, which he placed near his favorite out-door lounging place, and invited me to sit down. then, with a hearty laugh he said, "now miss, just what is it you want me to tell you?" "i want you to tell me all about yourself back in slavery days and since, uncle dave." "miss, if i tell you all i know, then you will know as much about me as i know." again he burst into laughter, and constrained by a high sense of propriety, but with perfect ease, he began to relate to me in a manner and style all his own, some of the facts connected with his life. "miss, my name is david goodman gullins. i was born in on the th day of december, in putnam county, about - / miles from eatonton, on the greensboro road. i was born in slavery, my father and mother being owned by mr. j. w. mappin. marse mappin was not a large slave holder, since he only had about thirty-five slaves, but he was what we call a 'coming man'. i do not remember how much land he owned, but nothing like some of the very wealthy land and slave owners. my owner was a comparatively young man, say middle aged, weighing about pounds, with a fairly good education and withall a first rate man. my earliest recollection of him was his perfectly bald head. it looked like a peeled onion. he married a widow, mrs. elizabeth lawson, who had two sons; one who was judge thomas g. lawson of the ocmulgee circuit, and zurst lawson, who was killed in the war. my owners were very good to their slaves. "my father's name was john mappin. he of course went by the name of the owner. my mother's name was catharine. she was bought from an owner by the name of milline by my master, and she became catharine mappin. i know nothing of their lives, their childhood, their struggles, hardships, etc., and where they came from. there were eleven boys and one girl in our family, i being the third oldest boy born. three brothers born after me died in infancy. my mother raised only five of her sons to manhood, and my sister is still living in eatonton, ga. she is gracie roby. i have one brother still living, w. r. gullins, a minister. he is somewhere in north carolina. when this brother was born, mistress had a lot of company, and all the ladies wanted to name the new baby for their best friends. so the baby was named willie richard edgar mappin for the best friends of the young ladies. he later dropped the name edgar and goes by the name of willie richard gullins. "uncle david you say your owners name was mappin, why is your name gullins?" "well, miss, i'll have to digress a little to give you the history of the name. every effect has a cause you know, and after i got old enough to reason things out, i wondered too why my name was gullins, so i did some investigating and the story goes like this. "when i was a very small boy back before the war, a circus came to town. i remember the clown, whose name was gullins. my father, john mappin, was so much like the clown in his ways and sayings, that afterwards everyone started calling him gullins. this soon became a sort of nickname. some years after when slaves were freed, they were all registered, most of them taking the family name of their owners. when time came for my father to register, the registrar says, "john, what name are you going to register under, mappin or gullins? everyone calls you gullins, and they will always call you gullins. my father, after thinking for a moment said, "just put down gullins." by this time i was beginning to think that uncle dave was pretty much of a clown himself. "now uncle dave tell me your early impressions of your mother and father." "miss, my mother was one of the best women god ever made. back in slavery time i recall the trundle bed that we children slept on. in the day it was pushed under the big bed, and at night it was pulled out for us to sleep on. all through cold, bitter winter nights, i remember my mother getting up often to see about us and to keep the cover tucked in. she thought us sound asleep, and i pretended i was asleep while listening to her prayers. she would bend down over the bed and stretching her arms so as to take us all in, she prayed with all her soul to god to help her bring up her children right. don't think now that she let god do it all; she helped god, bless your life, by keeping a switch right at hand." "uncle dave you didn't have to be chastised, did you?" "i got two or three whippings every day. you see my mother didn't let god do it all. you know if you spare the rod you spoil the child, and that switch stimulated, regulated, persuaded and strengthened my memory, and went a long way toward making me do the things my mother told me to do. hurrah for my mother! god bless her memory!" "what about your father, uncle dave?" "my father was a good man; he backed my mother in her efforts to bring us up right. he told me many a time, 'boy, you need two or three killings every day!'" "uncle dave why were you so obstreperous?" "miss, you see i was the baby in the family a long time, as three brothers born after me died in infancy. i was petted and spoiled, and later on they had to whip it out of me. "of course the slavery question was fast drawing to its climax when i was born. already war clouds seemed to cast a shadow. while freedom was not had in georgia until , i was hardly old enough to remember very much about the early customs of slavery in pre-war days. we had comfortable quarters in which to live. our houses were built in long rows, house after house. my father was carriage driver and foreman of the other niggers. his title was b.n." "uncle dave what does b.n. stand for?" with this question to answer, uncle dave broke into a spasm of laughter, bending double first, then rocking from side to side, all the time laughing while i waited anxiously to know the secret. then, throwing his head back, he came forth with great emphasis--"why, he was what we called 'big nigger'." then we both laughed. "uncle dave what were the duties of your mother as a slave?" "every slave had his task, and my mother was cook for the family and the weaver. all of the clothing was made on the plantation from cotton and wool. the cotton was carded, spun and woven into cloth and died. likewise, woolen garments was made from the wool clipped from the sheep raised for this purpose. all these garments were made right on the plantation." "uncle dave what did you do when you were a little slave?" "well, there was a whole drove of us little niggers. we had lots of chickens, cattle, hogs, sheep, etc. i had to help get up the eggs, drive cattle, open gates, go on errands for marster, and marster most always took me on trips with him, letting me ride in the foot of his buggy. i was his favorite little pet nigger." "you must have been the little big nigger, uncle dave." "i was always pushing an investigation, so when marse mappin take me on trips with him that was my favorite time to ask questions. i remember one hot august day we were driving along, and i had already asked numerous questions, and marse had already told me to shut up. i remained quiet for a time, but the temptation was too great, and while marse was wiping the perspiration off his bald head, i said, 'marster, may i ask you one more question?' 'yes, what is it david?' 'if a fly should light on your head wouldn't he slip up and break his neck?' when marster shouted 'shut up,' i did shut up. he used to tell his wife, miss elizabeth, 'you know elizabeth, my little nigger, dave, drives me nearly crazy asking questions about the stars, moon, sun, and everything.' "my family lived continuously on the mappin plantation until after the war. perhaps the most grievous fault of slavery was its persistent assault upon the home life. fortunately, none of our family was ever sold, and we remained together until after the war. marster mappin was far above the average slave owner; he was good to his slaves, fed them well, and was a very humane gentleman. we had such quantities of food--good rations, raised on the plantation. we had cattle, goats, hogs, sheep, chickens, turkeys, geese, all kinds of grain, etc. very often a beef was butchered, we had fresh meat, barbecued kids, plenty vegetables, in fact just plenty to eat, and the slaves fared well. on sundays we had pies and cakes and one thing and another. a special cook did the cooking for the single slaves. i'll say our rations were % fit. everyone had certain tasks to perform, and all that was done above certain requirements was paid for in some way. we always had meat left over from year to year, and this old meat was made into soap, by using grease and lye and boiling all in a big iron pot. after the mixture become cold, it was a solid mass, which was cut and used for soap. those were good old days. everybody had plenty of everything. "there were strict rules governing slaves, but our master was never brutal. i being a child, never received any punishment from any one except my mother and my mistress. punishment was inflicted with a raw cow hide, which was cut in a strip about three inches wide, one end being twisted. this made a very powerful and painful weapon. there were unruly slaves, what we called desperadoes. there were 'speculators', too, who would get possession of these, and if a slave come into possession of one of these speculators, he either had to come under or else he was sure to die. the lynch law was used extensively. those slaves committing crimes against the state were more often considered unworthy of trial, though some were brought to trial, punishment being so many licks each day for so many days or weeks, or capital punishment. it is true that many crimes were put upon the slaves when the white man was guilty. "we had plenty of amusements in those days, such as corn shuckings, dances, running, jumping and boxing contest. saturday was the big frolicking time, and every body made the most of it. slaves were allowed to tend little patches of their own, and were often given saturday afternoons off to work their crops, then when laying-by time came, we had more time for our patches. we were allowed all we could make over and above our certain tasks. marster used to buy me candy when he take me with him, but i can't remember him giving me spending money. "we were not compelled to attend church on sundays, but most of the slaves went from time to time. i was a baptist, my family being baptist, but i have long since put christianity above creeds. i learned too, many years ago, that we can find in the contents of that old book we call the bible, a solution to every problem we run up against."--uncle dave is a learned theologian, and has served many years as a minister, or doctor of divinity. he is very modest, and says that he wants no titles on his name. he believes that every man and every woman gets all the credit they deserve in this world. "going back to the church services, we slaves attended the white folks churches. there were galleries built for the slaves in some of the churches, in others, there was space reserved in the back of the church for the colored worshippers. it was a custom to hold prayer meetings in the quarters for the colored sick. one of the slaves named charity had been sick a long time, just wasting away. one beautiful spring morning they came running for my mother saying that charity was dying. i was a very small child, and ran after my mother to charity's house. it was a very harrowing experience to me, as it required three women to hold charity on the bed while she was dying. i became so frightened, i slipped into unconsciousness. they took me home, and after hours went by i still was unconscious, and marster became so alarmed about me that they sent for dr. cogburn. he said that it was a thousand wonders that i ever came back, but he gave me some medicine and brought me around. about a year later, my hair turned white, and it has been white ever since. they used to gather herbs and one thing and another from the woods for simple maladies, but marster always send for the doctor when things looked serious to him. "in , miss elizabeth was going to have big company at her house, and she was saving her strawberries for the occasion. i spied all these nice, ripe strawberries through the paling fence, and the whole crowd of us little niggers thought they needed picking. we found an opening on the lower side of the fence and made our way in, destroying all of those luscious ripe strawberries. when we had about finished the job, mistress saw us, and hollered at us. did we scatter! in the jam for the fence hole i was the last one to get through and mistress had gotten there by that time and had me by the collar. she took me back to the house, got the cow hide down, and commenced rubbing it over me. before she got through, she cut me all to pieces. i still have signs of those whelps on me today. in the fight i managed to bite her on the wrist, causing her to almost bleed to death. i finally got away and ran to a hiding place of safety. [hw: i] they used soot and other things trying to stop the bleeding. "when marster come home he saw miss elizabeth with her hand all bandaged up, and wanted to know what the trouble was. he was told the story, so he came out to look for me. he called me out from my hiding place, and when he saw me with those awful whelps on me, and how pitiful looking i was, he said, "elizabeth, you done ruint my little nigger, david." "i wouldn't have him in this fix for all the strawberries." i was very fond of strawberries in those days, but that experience put an end forever to my taste for them. so much for the strawberry business! "even a dog [hw: likes] kind treatment. some days mistress was good and kind to us little niggers, and she would save us the cold biscuits to give us when we brought in the eggs. sometime, she would go two or three days without giving us any biscuits then she didn't get no eggs. we rascals would get up the eggs and go off and have a rock battle with them. every effect has a cause--then miss would wonder why she didn't get any eggs and call us all in for cold biscuits, then the eggs would come again. of course we had our game of "tell". if one of the gang threatened to tell, then we all would threaten to tell all we knew on him, and somehow we managed to get by with it all. "after the war, my father stayed on with marster mappin as a cropper running a two horse farm for himself. in the early 's my father bought acres of land from judge lawson near eatonton, which was later sold in lots to different colored people, and became known as gullinsville, and is still so called by some. "in , day of november, i left my folks and came to milledgeville to live. i worked for mr. miller s. bell in the livery stable for $ . per month. of this amount i sent $ . home to my parents. the next year i went on a farm with mr. john wall for $ . per month. the next year i had a better offer with mr. r. n. lamar to farm and act as general handy man for $ . per month. i saved my money and worked hard, and i would lend mr. lamar my yearly income at interest. in , mr. lamar negotiated a trade with mr. samuel evans for this piece of property right here. when they found out a negro wanted to buy the property, there was more or less argument, but i sat right still and let mr. lamar handle the trade for me. i have owned other property, but i have sold everything else i had. my health failed, and i just settled down here to be quiet. i owned property on chestnut street in atlanta and in putnam county also. i have been saving all my life, everything." on looking about me, i concluded he was indeed a thrifty person. an accumulation of every conceivable thing (junk) that had been discarded by others, uncle dave had brought home and carefully and neatly stored it away for subsequent use. "uncle dave tell me something about your education." "well, when i was a boy back in putnam county i went to night school. for a long time i was the only negro in the class. my foundation work i got under a mr. whitfield, mr. john nix, and we had a yankee teacher, miss claudia young. in september i went to atlanta and entered the academic department of what is now morehouse college. i was graduated in academics in as valedictorian of the class--my subject being "we are coming", which was a theme on the progress of the negro race. in i was graduated from the theological department as valedictorian, my subject then being "why do nations die". "now miss, you ask me if i am superstitious. i show am. when i hear these owls at night i just get up and get me some salt and a newspaper and burn this, and i don't never hear that same owl again. some folks say tie knots in the sheet, but i burn salt. i think the bellowing or lowing of cows and oxen or the bleating of sheep is a bad omen." then uncle david took me way back in the bible and recited how the king was commanded to slay all the cattle and everything and they kept out some of the oxen and sheep. "i believe you should turn a clock face to the wall when a person dies. i believe in signs, yes mam!" "marster was good to his niggers, but they had to have a pass to leave the plantation. there were patrolers to look after the slaves and see that they did not run around without a pass. if they found one without a pass, he was strapped then and there by the patrolers. of course i was too young in those days to run around at night, and my mother always had us in bed early. it was long after the war that i did my courting. i was to have married a girl before i went to atlanta in the 's, but she died. i later married a yankee nigger in atlanta. she belonged to the , and some how, she never could get used to me and my plain ways. we had four children, three boys and one girl. two of the boys died, and i have living today, one daughter married and living in washington, d.c. and my son and his family live in alabama. "my marster did not go to the war, but we all worked at home preparing food and clothes and other things for those who did go. some of the slaves went as helpers, in digging ditches and doing manual labor. the yankee soldiers visited our territory, killing everything in sight. they were actually most starved to death. marster was all broken after the war. he had planned to buy another plantation, and increase his holdings, but the war sorter left us all like the yellow fever had struck. "after a number of years in mission work and in the ministry i was compelled to retire on account on my broken health. i owe my long life to my mother's training in childhood. there are four things that keep old man gullins busy all the time--keeping out of jail, out of hell, out of debt, and keeping hell out of me. i learned to put my wants in the kindergarten, and if i couldn't get what i wanted, i learned to want what i could get. i believe it is just as essential to have jails as to have churches. i have learned too, that you can't substitute anything for the grace of god." - - minnie b. ross. ex slave milton hammond. after explaining the object of the visit to mr. hammond he smiled and remarked "i think that is a good piece of work you're doing; and i'll tell you all that i can remember about slavery, you see i was only a small boy then; yesterday though, i was years old." mr. hammond led the way up a dark stairway down a dark hall to a door. after unlocking the door, he turned on a light which revealed a very dark room commonly furnished and fairly neat in appearance. the writer took a seat and listened to the old man relate the following incidents. a slave boy by the name of milton hammond was born in griffin, georgia, october , . his parents, emily and james hammond, had children boys and girls of whom he was oldest. his mother, sisters and brothers used the name hammond as this was their father's name. although every number of his family with the exception of his father, belonged to bill freeman they always used his name. mr. hammonds family always lived in the town of griffin and belonged to a class known as "town slaves". when mr. hammond reached the age of years their old master, bill freeman died and all the property money, slaves, etc., had to be re-sold at an administrations sale. among his four children a plan was made to repurchase their favorite slaves; but many were sold to owners in different states particularly mississippi and louisiana. mr. hammonds father, desiring to keep his family near him, spoke to his master and asked that he appeal to the young mistress to purchase his family. "i remember the auction sale quite well, remarked mr. hammond. they stood us on the block side by side. the mistress held my baby brother in her arms; and they began to cry us off just as they do now. of course my mistress came forward and bought us, and we returned home the same day we left". slaves were always sorted and placed into separate groups or classes. for instance, the heavy robust ones were placed together and sold for large sums of money. the light weights were grouped and sold accordingly. although the freemans owned a large plantation several miles from griffin and had a large number of slaves, who lived on this plantation to do the work, they resided in town with only the hammond family as their servants. mr. hammonds' grandmother acted as the cook for the household and his mother assisted her. his sister was the chamber-maid and kept the house spotlessly clean. smiling, mr. hammond remarked, "until i was older my job was that of playing, later i became my young mistress's carriage driver". miss adeline freeman was the young mistress whom mr. hammond continued to speak of; and during the war period she did welfare work; that is, mr. hammond drove her and her mother around through different counties, soliciting medicines, rags for bandages, etc., which were sent, to the hospitals. mr. hammond related the following experiences while driving through the country. "we always visited the richest slave owners, those who owned and hundred head of slaves, and often would remain in one community over night and probably the next day. after putting up the horses an and carriage i would follow my mistress into the dining room. she always saw to it that i sat at the same table with her. i never could drink milk or eat butter, so on more than one occasion other people would try to influence my mistress and tell her that if i belonged to them they would make me drink milk or beat me. she never noticed any of their remarks; but always gave me the same food that she ate. "often while driving, i would almost drop off to sleep and my old mistress would shout, "milton aren't you sleepy?". "no ma'am", i would reply, "why, yes you are; i'll slap your jaws". my young mistress would then take the reins and tell me to go to sleep." mr. hammond continued--"many a morning i have known the overseers on the plantation where we were stopping to blow the horn for every one to get up, long before sunrise prepare their breakfast and get to the fields. the old women were required to care for the young children while their mothers worked in the fields. sometimes there would be a many as ten and fifteen for each to look after. around noon they were fed from a trough which was about ten or fifteen feet in length. pot liquor by the buckets was thrown in the trough until they were filled. the children with spoons in their hands would then line up on each side no sooner was the signal given than they began eating like a lot of pigs. the smaller ones would often jump in with their feet." after the work in the fields was completed for the day, women were then required to work at night spinning thread into cloth. each woman had a task which consisted of making so many cuts a night. as mr. hammond remarked, "you couldn't hear your ears at night on some plantations, for the old spinning wheels". at o'clock the overseer would blow the horn for every one to go to bed. the cloth woven by women was used to make men clothing also, and was dyed different colors from dye which was made by boiling walnut hulls and berries of various kinds. color varied according to the kind of berry used. one pair of shoes, made to order, was given each person once a year. one and two roomed log cabins were found on practically all the plantations. the number of rooms depended upon the number in the family. sometimes one room would contain three and four bed scaffolds, so called by mr. hammond because of their peculiar construction. some beds were nailed to the walls and all of them were built with roped bottoms. home made tables and benches completed the furnishings of a slave home. there were no stoves, large fireplaces, five to six feet in length, served the purpose of stoves for cooking. cooking utensils including an oven and very large pots were found in every home. wooden plates and spoons were used on some plantations. the rations for the next week were given each family on saturday nights, amounts varying according to the number in each family. usually a small family received three lbs. of bacon, one peck of meal, and one quart of syrup. slaves on the freeman plantation never knew anything but kind treatment. their mistress was a religious woman and never punished unless it was absolutely necessary. on other plantations however, some slaves were treated cruelly. when a slave resented this treatment he was quickly gotten rid of. many were sent to mississippi and texas. white offenders were sent to chain gangs, but there were no gangs for slaves. "patter rollers" were known more for their cruelty than many of the slave owners and would often beat slaves unmercifully". "i remember one," remarked mr. hammond, "the patter rollers fot after a man on our place." booker went to see his wife and took along an old out of date pass. the patter-rollers asked to see the pass which he quickly handed to them and kept walking. after inspecting the pass closely they called booker and told him the pass was no good. "well this is" he replied and started running just as fast as he could until he safely reached the plantation. "i never needed a pass." through the week the slaves were allowed to conduct prayer meeting in the quarters themselves; but on sundays they attended the white churches for their weekly religious meetings. we were told to obey our masters and not to steal. "that is all the sermon we heard," remarked mr. hammond. their services were conducted in the basement of the church in the afternoons. marriages on the freeman plantation, were conducted in much the same manner as they are today. mr. hammond only remembers attending just one marriage of a colored couple. a white minister performed the ceremony right in the mistress's yard as every one white and colored looked on. after the ceremony the usual frolic did not take place; however on other plantations frolics often took place immediately following a marriage. whiskey served as refreshment for some while others had to content themselves with barbecue. "when we got sick we were not allowed to suffer through negligence on the part of our owner", remarked mr. hammond. family doctors of the white families attended the slaves and through them they were well cared for. castor oil was the favorite home remedy used in those days and it could always be found on the family shelf. "my first impression of the civil war was received when the methodist and baptist churches began to disagree", remarked mr. hammond. he continued,--"one day as my uncle and i worked on miss adeline's truck farm wheeler's calvary, a group of confederate soldiers came to the field and forced us to give them our two best mules. in their place they left their old half starved horses. we immediately rode to town and informed the mistress of what had taken place. during this time confederate soldiers were known to capture slaves and force them to dig ditches, known as breastworks. my mistress became frightened, and locked me in the closet until late in the evening. she then fixed a basket of food and instructed me as to the direction in which to travel back to the field. it was a common sight to see soldiers marching on to macon, ga., in the mornings and in the evenings see the same group on their way back running from the yanks". mr. hammond made the following statement concerning the end of the war. "our mistress told us we were free; however, i was too young to realize just what freedom would mean to us, but somehow i knew that we would have to be responsible for our own upkeep. doctors bills, medicines, clothing, (etc) would have to be paid by us from then on. after that we worked for anyone who would hire us and never earned over or cents a day. sometimes our pay consisted of a peck of meal or a piece of meat." as a close to the interview mr. hammond stated he married at the age of and was the father of children. he has lived in atlanta for the past years working at various jobs. at one time he owned a dray. "my old age is the result of taking care of myself and not being exposed." besides this mr. hammond attends bethel a.m.e. church regularly. as writer prepared to leave, mr. hammond remarked, "i never knew much about slavery, you see; i've always been treated as a free man". jane smith hill harmon of washington-wilkes by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia jane smith hill harmon of washington-wilkes a comical little old black woman with the happy art of saying and doing as she pleases and getting by with it, is jane smith hill harmon of washington-wilkes. she lives alone in her cabin off the public square and is taken care of by white friends. she is on the streets every day carrying her long walking stick which she uses to lean on and as a "hittin' stick". she doesn't fail to use it vigorously on any "nigger" who teases her. she hits hard and to hurt, but it seems they had rather hear what she has to say, and take the penalty, then to let her alone. her wardrobe consists of out-of-style clothes and hats given her and it is her delight on saturday afternoons to dress up in her finest and fanciest creations and come strutting along down town proud of the attention she is attracting. unlike most old people, aunt jane doesn't like to talk about the past. she enjoys life and lives in the present. it was hard to get her to tell anything much of her early life. finally, however, she grew a bit reminiscent and talked of the past for a little while. "yassum, i'se years ole last gone may, an' i been in washington, georgy fuh years an' i ain't been in no council scrape an' no cote nor nothin' bad lak dat, kase i 'haves myself an' don't lak niggers an' don't fool 'long wid 'em. no'm, i sho' ain't got no use fuh niggers 'tall. an' as fuh yaller niggers--huh! i jes' hates 'em--dey's de wust niggers de're is, dey's got dirty feets, an' dey's nasty an' mean, i hates 'em, i tells yuh! "i wuz borned an' raised on de smith plantation out here a piece frum town. i wuz one of fourteen chillun, i think i wuz de th 'un. we wuz well took keer of by our marster an' his fust wife, she wuz jes' as good ter us as she could be, my fust mistess wuz, but she died an' marster married agin an' she wuz mean ter us little niggers. she'd whup us fuh nothin', an' us didn't known what ter do, kase our fust mistess wuz so good ter us, but dat last 'oman, she sho' wuz mean ter us. "my marster had lots of slaves an' us all had work ter do. de fust work i done wuz churnin' an' i loved ter do 'hit kase i loved milk an' butter so good. i'd dance an' dance 'round dat ole churn, churnin' an' churnin' 'till de butter wuz come. i allus could dance, i cuts fancy steps now sometimes when i feels good. at one o' dem big ole country breakdowns (dances), one night when i wuz young, i danced down seben big strong mens, dey thought dey wuz sumpin'! huh, i danced eb'ry one down! "i uster play dolls wid de overseer's chillun, an' look fuh aigs, an' tote in wood an' pick up chips. us had good times togeder, all us little niggers an' de little white chilluns. us had two days at chris'mus, an' no work wuz done on de place of a sunday. everybody white an' black had ter go ter chu'ch. de overseer piled us all in de waggin an' took us whether us wanted ter go or no. us niggers set up in de loft (gallery), an' de white folks wuz down in de chu'ch too. "atter er while dey s'lected me out to be a housegirl an' den i slep' in de big house. all de little niggers et in de white folks' kitchen out'n er big tray whut wuz lak a trough. de cook put our victuals in de tray an' gib us a spoon an' pone er bread a piece an' made us set 'roun' dat tray an' eat all us wanted. 'hit wuz good eatin', too. "all durin' of de war my marster wuz off fightin' an' de overseer wuz hard on us. we wuz glad when marster cum home er gin. de yankees wuz a-comin' an' daddy charles, he wuz a ole black man on de place, knowed 'bout marster's money, an' he took hit all an' put it in er big box an' went out in de night time an' buried hit 'way down deep in some thick woods an' put leaves all over de place an' dem yankees couldn't fin' hit nowhar, an' dey went on off an' let us 'lone. "my ma wuz a 'spert spinner an' weaver, an' she spun an' wove things ter be sont ter de soldiers in de war. i 'members dat, her er spinnin' an' dey say hit wuz fer de soldiers. "atter we wuz free i went ter school er mont'. i fit so wid all de chillun i quit. dey said i mustn't fight an' i knowed i couldn't git er long widout fightin' so i jes' quit an' ain't never been ter no mo' schools. my marster said he wuz goin' ter have a school on de place fer all his niggers, but freedom cum an' he didn't do hit. "i mari'ed in my white folks' kitchen, mari'ed de fust time when i wuz years ole. i been mari'ed two times an' had good husban's. dey wuz good ter me. "doctors? doctors? i don't know nothin' 'bout no doctors! i ain't never been sickly. dis year ( ) i done had to have mo' ter do wid doctors dan ever in my life. i'se gittin' now to whar i kain't walk lak i uster, all crippled up in my laigs wid sumpin'. "ain't nobody lef' now but me an' one o' my six chillun. he lives up in dat phillerdelma (philadelphia) an' i 'cided onst three er fo' year ergo, to go up da're an' live wid 'im. lawdy, lawdy, i ain't been so glad o' nothin' in my life as i wuz ter git back ter washington, georgy! i ain't goin' 'way frum here 'till i dies. son is mari'ed, an' sich er 'oman as he's got! she's un o' dem smart no'th'n niggers. she 'bused de so'th an' de white folks down here all de time. i'd er beat her wid my stick ef'n i'd er had 'tection, but i wuz way off up da're in de no'th an' didn't know nobody. but i did found a gal what use ter live here an' went an' stayed wid her 'till i worked an' got 'nough money ter git home on. jes' soon as i got here i went straight ter mr. sheriff walton an' mr. sturdivant (chief of police) an' tole dem 'bout dat sassy hateful nigger up da're talkin' 'bout de so'th an' de white folks lak she done, an dat she say she wuz comin' down here ter see me. i axed dem when i got er letter sayin' she wuz a-comin' would dey take me ter augusty ter meet her an' when she stept off'n de train ter let me take my stick an' beat her all i wanted ter fer talkin' bout my white folks lak she done. dey said: "aunt jane, jes' you let us know an' we sho' will take you to augusty ter meet her, an' let you beat her all you want ter." but she ain't never come--she skeered, an she sho' better be, kase i'se home down here an got all de 'tection i needs. ef'n she ever do come, i'm goin' ter beat her wid dis stick an sen' her back to her country up da're in dat phillerdelma. she ain't got no sense an' no raisin, neider, talkin' 'bout de so'th an' my white folks what lives here." and from the wicked flash from aunt jane's eyes, it will be well for her "sassy" daughter-in-law to stay "up no'th". plantation life as viewed by ex-slave dosia harris valley street athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & . dosia harris ex-slave--age dosia lives in a red painted frame house. her very black skin, thick lips, and broad nose are typical of her african ancestry. she is tall, thin, and a little stooped, and her wooly hair is fast fading from gray to almost white. when she greeted the interviewer, she was wearing a blue striped dress which displayed a large patch of blue print on the front of the skirt over her knees. over her dress a black silk blouse, lavishly trimmed with black beads, was worn for a wrap, and a pair of men's brown shoes, sans laces, completed her costume. due to illiteracy dosia has retained the dialect of the old southern darky. asked to relate her experiences as a slave, she replied: "oo, miss! what does you want to know 'bout dat for? well, anyhow i was borned in greene county. mary and auss downs was my ma and pa. i cain't tell you whar dey come from. "i played 'round de yard wid de rest of de chillun and picked a little cotton up and down de rows. i was de onliest chile my mammy had. my pa was married two times, and i was his fust chile. i had four half sisters: fannie, clara, daisy, and martha ann, but i never had no brothers. "all de houses in de slave quarters was log cabins 'cept two. dey was made of boards what was put on straight up and down. all de houses had chimblies made out of mud and sticks. de beds had high posties and some of 'em was nailed to de wall of de cabin. dey didn't know nothin' 'bout no wire springs den, and dey strung de beds wid heavy cords for springs. dey made mattress ticks out of coarse home-wove cloth; some was striped and some was plain unbleached white. atter de wheat was thrashed evvy year de 'omans tuk deir ticks and emptied out de old straw and went and filled 'em wid new wheat straw. wisht i had a nice fresh made wheat straw mattress now. us had plenty of good quilts for kivver. "some of de slave chillun slept on de flo', but me, i slept wid my grandma. she was crecia downs, and she done raised me, 'cause my mammy died when i was three days old, or come to think of it, was i three weeks old when dat happened? i'se done got so old i forgits lots of things lak dat. mammy died of some kind of fever dat was mighty catchin'. twenty-five niggers died on dat one plantation 'bout de same time, from dat fever. atter grandma got too old to wuk in de field, she didn't do nothin' but piddle 'round de yard and bile slops for de hogs. grandpa joe downs, he was de carpenter, but he done most any kind of wuk dat come up to be done; he wuked in de fields and driv cows, or jus' anything. "money! no ma'am! all dey ever give slaves was a belly full of somepin t'eat, de clo'es dey wore, and de orders to keep on wukin'. now come to think of it, i did see $ , of jeff davis fodder what de white folks th'owed 'way atter de war. us chillun picked it up and played wid it. "what did us have t'eat? oo-o! dey give us plenty good victuals. dere was bread and meat; peas, greens, and other vegetables; all de milk us wanted, and sometimes dere was good old gingercakes made wid sorghum syrup. as for me, i laked fried fat meat and cornbread cooked in de ashes better dan greens and sweet things any old time. all de cookin' was done in great big open fireplaces dat was plum full of ovens, skillets and all sorts of long handled pans and things. gentlemen! dat pot would bile down wid dem peas in it 'fore you knowed it if you didn't watch it close. dere never was no other bread good as what us baked in dem ovens and in de ashes. "'possums! you jus' makes my mouth water, talkin' 'bout 'possums. folks thought so much of deir 'possum dogs dem days dey fed 'em 'til dey was jus' fat and lazy. dey cotched de 'possums, singed and scraped de hair off of 'em, finished dressin' 'em and drapped 'em in de pot to bile 'til dey was tender. den dey put 'em in bakin' pans and kivvered 'em over wid strips of fat meat and baked 'em jus' as nice and brown, and if dey had good sweet 'tatoes, dey roasted 'em in de ashes, peeled 'em, and put 'em on de big old platters wid de 'possums. rabbits was plentiful too and i loves 'em 'til dis good day. most of de young tender rabbits what dey cotched was fried, but if dey brung in some old tough ones dey was throwed in de pot wid a piece of fat meat and biled 'til dey was done. squirrels was cooked jus' lak rabbits. dere was plenty of fish down dar in greene county whar us lived, but i never did eat 'em. slaves would wuk all day and fish all night, but you never did ketch dosia foolin' 'round no fish ponds. slave famblies was 'lowed to have little gyarden patches if dey wanted 'em. i ricollect how i used to go to de gyarden in de winter and cut down collards atter frost had done hit 'em and fetched 'em to de house to be biled down for dinner. "what us wore in summer? well, it was lak dis--little nigger chillun didn't stay out of de branch long 'nough to need much clothes in hot weather, but in de winter dey give us dresses made out of coarse cloth wove on de loom right dar on de plantation. some of dem dresses was red and some was blue. de cloth was dyed wid red oak bark and copperas, and dey used indigo what dey raised on de place to dye de blue cloth. de waisties was close fittin' and sorter skimpy skirts was gathered on to 'em. de underskirts was unbleached white cloth made jus' lak de dresses only some skimpier. old marster raised plenty of cattle and saved de hides what he sont to de tannery to be got ready for my uncle, moses downs, to make our brogan shoes. dem shoes had brass toes to keep 'em from wearing out too quick. uncle mose was sho' a smart shoemaker. he had to make shoes for all de slaves on de whole plantation. "marster sam downs owned us, and his wife, miss mary, was a mighty good somebody to belong to--"old mist'ess" us called her. i don't 'member nothin' 'tall 'bout old marster, 'cause he died 'fore i was knee high to a duck. old marster and old mist'ess had five chillun. dey was: miss ellen, marse sam, marse james kelsey, marse tom, and marse william. old miss sho' was good to us niggers, 'cause she was raisin' us to wuk for her. "when marse william went to de war, he tuk my pappy wid him. dey come back home on one of dem flyloughs, (furloughs) or somepin lak dat, end you jus' ought to have seed de way us chillun crowded 'round pappy when he got dar. one of his fingers had done got shot off in de fightin', and us chillun thought it was one of de funniest lookin' things us had ever seed, a man wid a short finger. he said dem yankees had done shot it off. "atter old marster died old mist'ess moved to a town called woodstock, or was it woodville? it was wood-somepin' or nother. she hired old man john akins to oversee de plantation, and she evermore did oversee him and de plantation too. she had a fine pacing mule what wouldn't throw her for nothin'. evvy mornin' she got on dat mule and rid out to her plantation. she allus fetched us somepin' t'eat; most of de time it was a gingercake apiece. "i couldn't rightly say how big dat plantation of hers was. oo-o! but it sho' was one more big place, and niggers was scattered all 'round dar lak blackbirds. dat old overseer, he sho' was mean to de slaves. he whupped 'em and he kept on whuppin' 'em, 'til sometimes it seemed lak he jus' beat on 'em to hear 'em holler. it warn't long atter midnight when he got 'em up to go to wuk and he kept 'em at hard labor 'til way atter sundown. de biggest things he whupped niggers for was for runnin' 'way and for not doin' deir wuk right. "jails! did you say jails? yessum, dey had jails. you know slaves warn't civilized folks den--all dey knowed was to fuss end fight and kill one 'nother. dey put de niggers in dem jails 'til dey hung 'em. "grandma was sold on de block to marse sam's pa, marse kelsey downs, soon atter she was brung over to dis country from de homeland of de black folks. she never did larn to talk dis language right plain. us used to git her to tell us 'bout when she was sold. de sale was in december but it was so far off dat corn was in tassel 'fore my pore grandmammy got to greene county. she said dey camped at night and got up long 'fore day and was driv lak cows, a man in front and 'nother one back of 'em to keep 'em from branchin' out and runnin'. "niggers never had no chance to larn to read and write dem days. dey went to meetin' at shiloh--dat was de white folks church nigh penfield--and bethesda was 'nother of de white folks churches whar slaves was brought to listen to de preachin'. one thing sho', niggers couldn't read de bible, but dey jus' lumbered down 'bout de lord from deir heads. "slaves didn't run off to no north dat i ever knowed 'bout. i heared tell 'bout one man named si what run 'way wid dem yankees when dey come through and dey made a black yankee soldier out of him atter he jined up wid 'em. i heared tell of patterollers what cotched niggers 'way from home 'thout no pass. folks said dey brushed you off and sont you home if dey cotched you. "all i knowed niggers to do at night atter dey come in from de fields, was to eat supper and fling deirselfs on de beds and go right off to sleep, 'cept when dey wanted to hunt and fish, and most of dat sort of thing was done atter de crops was laid by or atter dey had done been gathered into de barns. on saddy nights, de older womans ironed and fixed up for sunday whilst de men was busy gittin' de harness and tools and things ready for de next week's wuk. young folks never had nothin' but good times on deir minds. dey danced, frolicked, and cut de buck in gen'ral. dey didn't have no sho' 'nough music, but dey sho' could sing it down. one of de dance songs went somepin' lak dis: 'oh! miss liza, miss liza jane! axed miss liza to marry me guess what she said? she wouldn't marry me, if de last nigger was dead.' "christmas was sho' one grand time. der warn't no big heap of good things lak dey has now. old mist'ess give de niggers a little flour and syrup for to make sweet cake. dere was plenty of fresh hog meat and chickens and all sorts of dried fruits. i was allus plum crazy 'bout de rag doll grandma would make for my christmas present. come new year's day, it was time to go back to wuk and evvy slave was made to do a heap of wuk on dat day to start de year off right. "slaves had a big old time at cornshuckin's. dey didn't care so much 'bout de somepin' t'eat jus' so dey got plenty of whiskey to drink, and when dey got all het up on dat you could hear 'em a mile away a'whoopin' and hollerin'. sometimes dey kilt a cow and throwed it in a pot and biled it down wid dumplin's, seasoned hot wid red pepper." asked what games she played as a child, dosia replied: "gentlemen! what de giver'ment don't want to know, ain't wuth knowin' no how. what i played? well, now, let me see: =mollie, mollie bright= was one of our games; =hiding de switch= was de one whar you counted 'em out; dat countin' run lak dis: 'ten, ten, double-ten, forty-five, fifteen.' gentlemen! i could run lak a snake. "ha'nts? why, i kin see dem things anytime. dis hyar place whar i lives is full of ha'nts, but dese folks would git mad wid me if i told 'bout 'em. now, back in greene county, i kin talk 'bout dem ha'nts all right. back dar mrs. babe thaxton had a mighty pretty flower yard. she used to tell me dat if i let anybody git any flowers from her yard atter she was daid, she would sho' ha'nt me. she had done been daid a good while when i was gittin' some flowers from her yard and a gal come along and axed me to give her some. i started cuttin' flowers for her. at dat miss babe, she riz up over me lak she was gwine to burn me up. she looked at me hard and went off and sot in a tree whar she could look right down on me. i ain't never cut no flowers out of dat yard no more. now 'bout raw head and bloody bones, honey, don't you know dat ain't nothin' but a cows head what's done been skint? old folks used to ax us: 'has you seed raw head and bloody bones?' us would run over one 'nother tryin' to git dar fust to see him, and it allus turned out to be jus' a old skint up cow head. den in de nighttime us would have wild dreams 'bout dem old skint cow heads. "de onliest song i ever heared de niggers sing in de fields run somepin lak dis: 'tarrypin, tarrypin, (terrapin) when you comin' over, for to see your wife and fam-i-lee.' dey must a been wantin' to eat turkle (turtle), when dey was a-singin' dat song. "old mist'ess was mighty special good to her slaves when dey was sick. fust thing she done was send for de doctor. i kin see him now. he rid horseback and carried his medicine in saddlebags. he used to put some kind of powders in a glass of water and give it to de sick ones. dere was three old 'omans what old mist'ess kept to look atter sick slave 'omans. dem old granny nurses knowed a heap about yarbs (herbs). may apple and blacksnake roots, king of de meadow, (meadow rue) wild asthma (aster) and red shank, dese was biled and deir tea give to de slaves for diffunt ailments." asked to describe king of the meadow, she continued: "honey, ain't you never seed none? well, it's such a hard tough weed dat you have to use a axe to chop it up, and its so strong and pow'ful dat nothin' else kin grow nigh 'round it. back in dem days folks wore tare (tar) sacks 'round deir necks and rubbed turpentine under deir noses. when deir ailments got too hot, lak when mammy died, dey made 'em swallow two or three draps of turpentine. "i ricollects dat when de news come dat dem yankees was on de way towards our plantation, old mist'ess tuk her old pacin' mule and all her money and made uncle moses go down on de river wid her to help hide 'em. i told her i was gwine tell dem yankees she had done stole my uncle and hid him so he wouldn't hear 'bout freedom. and when dem yankees finally did git dar, dey was singin' some sort of a song 'bout freedom. i lit out to runnin', and it was way atter midnight 'fore old mist'ess found me. i was pretty nigh skeered to death. dey called all de slaves together and told 'em dey was free as jack rabbits, and 'deed dat was de truth. us stayed dar for years. it looked lak us warn't never gwine to leave. "grandma started out to wuk for herself as a granny 'oman, and old mist'ess give her a mule to ride on to make her trips from one farm to another. it was a long time 'fore niggers could git 'nough money together for to buy land of deir own, and it seems lak it was a long time 'fore schools for niggers was sot up. "when me and oscar harris got married, us had a big weddin' wid evvything good to eat what us could git, and plenty of wine to drink. de dancin' and good time went on most all night. i had a reg'lar weddin' dress made out of pretty white swiss trimmed wid lots of lace and it had a long train. i wore long white gloves. tucks went 'round my petticoat from de knees to de lace what aidged de bottom, and my draw's was white cambric, gathered at de knee wid a wide ruffle what was tucked and trimmed up pretty. i married on saddy night and dat called for a second day dress, 'cause i jus' had to go to church next day and show dat man off. anyhow, my second day dress was blue cotton wid white lace on it, and i wore a big white plumed hat draped down over one eye. wid de second day dress i wore dem same draw's, petticoat, and gloves what i was married in. me and oscar's five chillun was mary, annie belle, daniel, cleveland, and austin. "my old man and all my chillun is daid 'cept daniel, and i don't know whar he is. i wants to git married again, but dese hyar jealious niggers 'round hyar says if i does de giver'ment is gwine to cut off my old age pension, and i sho' don't want to loose dat money. no sir! "i didn't take in nothin' 'bout lincoln, davis or dat man washington. dem days chillun had to take a back seat. when old folks wanted to talk, dey jus' sent chillun on 'bout dey business. one thing i does know: i'd sho' ruther have times lak dey is now. yessum, i sho' had. "i jined randolph baptist church in greene county 'cause i felt de urge and knowed it had done got to be my duty to jine up. i'se been a baptist ever since, and will be one 'til i die; so was all my folks 'fore me. folks when dey jine de church ought to live right so dey kin see de good lord and have a restin' place atter dey is done wid dis sinful world. yessum, i jined dat randolph baptist church way down in greene county a long time ago." mary a. crawford re-search worker henderson harris--ex-slave henderson harris was born august , , in talbot county. his parents were frederick and adeline harris of jones county, but henderson remembers nothing about them because they both were sold on the block and left him when he was just a few months old. mr. bill adams, henderson's owner, lived on a large plantation on the old stage road between macon and columbus. there were about three hundred acres in this plantation and between thirty and fifty slaves. mr. adams was just a "straight out farmer, and as good a marster as ever wore shoe leather. 'marse bill' was a putty hard man about business, and meant 'skat' when he said 'skat'". he had a white preacher and a white doctor on his plantation, and expected all the negroes to go to 'preachin' on sunday afternoon, and if any of them were sick enough to need a doctor, they had him. the doctor came around about once a month and every slave was looked after. the slaves were allowed saturday afternoons, provided there was no fodder or other stuff down in the field to be put into the barn loft in case of rain. from breakfast on, they had all sunday, even the cook and other house servants. "ole miss had the cook bake up light bread and make pies on saturday to do at the big house through sunday." the first work that henderson remembers doing was "totin peaches to the pigs" and "drapin' peas". he recalls nothing about the yankees coming through, but remembers the others telling how they burned the warehouse and drove off the cattle and hogs. after freedom his mammy and daddy returned to 'ole marster's' plantation and he and the other seven children lived with them and worked for 'marse bill'. the old fellow is very superstitious and firmly believes that the "squinch" owl's note is a "sho sign o' death." henderson says that he is able to work and that he cleans yards, cuts wood, and does almost any kind of job [hw: that] he can find. henderson harris e. slaton avenue griffin, georgia september , . velma bell district # augusta, ga. ex-slave interview uncle shang harris toccoa, georgia (stephens county) "uncle shang" harris, at the age of , is more vigorous than many men twenty years younger. erect and stocky, holding his white woolly head high, he retains the full favor of living. when the interviewer entered his cabin he rose from the supper table wiping from his mouth the crumbs of a hearty meal, and peered uncertainly through the gathering dark. "does i 'member 'bout slav'ey times?" his face relaxed into a broad smile, "g-lory, hallelujah, i sho does! i was born den and freed den. what you wanter know? i kin tell you all about it." he led the way to two chairs near the stove. "my marster was mr. bob alexander. he lived in franklin county jes' dis side o' carnesville. he treated me good--yes mam, he sho did. my marster didn't have no beatin' o' his niggers. i didn't do no work back in dem times--nuttin' but play. me and my sister belonged to de youngest boy (dey was seven boys in dat family) and we jes' climbed trees and frolicked all de time. we had plenty in de eatin' line too. "but law chile, eve'ybody didn't have dat. some de marsters tied dey niggers to posts and whupped 'em till dey nigh killed 'em. lots of 'em run away and hid in de woods. de marsters would put de dogs after you jes' like a coon. dey'd run you and tree you"--imitating the sound of baying dogs--"oh, glory, hallelujah--dat's de way dey done 'em! i'se seed bare feets all cracked up wid de cold. we don't have no cold weather now. why, i'se seed big pine trees bust wide open--done froze, and de niggers would be out in dat kind o' weather. but dey'd ruther do dat dan stay and git beat to death. many a night jes' 'bout dark, i'd be a-settin' in my cabin wid my ole lady (dat was after i got older) and see somebody prowlin' roun' in de bushes, and i'd know hit was some po' nigger was hidin' and didn't had nuttin' to eat. my marster nuse to say, 'harris, when you see somebody hongry, gi' 'im sumpin' to eat'. we didn't never turn 'em down even when dey look so bad dey was right scarey. "no'm, i never was sold. mr. bob nuse to say, 'i got hogs, horses, mules and cows to sell, but no niggers.' he had 'bout twenty slaves. de biggest portion of 'em stayed on de farm. "lots o' folks did sell dey niggers, and sometimes dey'd take yo' chile and go to alabama or virginia, and you wouldn't never see him no mo'. dey kept de dark ones together and de bright ones together. hit didn't make no diffunce 'bout families. dey warn't no marryin' 'mongst de niggers way back in time. de marsters wanted you to increase to give 'em more niggers, but dey didn't had no marryin'. i had three wives and i got my fourth one now. dey all treated me good. "dat mixed-up color in niggers come from slav'ey times. some de marsters beat de slave women to make 'em give up to 'em. "dey talks a heap 'bout de niggers stealin'. well, you know what was de fust stealin' done? hit was in afriky, when de white folks stole de niggers jes' like you'd go get a drove o' horses and sell 'em. dey'd bring a steamer down dere wid a red flag, 'cause dey knowed dem folks liked red, and when dey see it dey'd follow it till dey got on de steamer. den when it was all full o' niggers dey'd bring 'em over here and sell 'em. "no'm i never was hired out to nobody in slav'ey times. didn't i tole you we didn't do no work? i never seed no money--not a nickel. de most money i ever seed was when my boss buried some when de yankees was. "we nuse to have frolics and break-downs all de time--quiltin's and finger-pickin's and dances and all sech as dat. finger-pickin's was when we'd pick de cotton off de seeds by hand. we'd spread it down in front o' de fire place 'cause it was easier to pick when it was hot. "does i 'member de old songs? hallelujah, i sho does!" the old darkey began to pat his foot and clap his hands while he sang, "pickin' out de cotton an' de bolls all rotten", repeating the same line over and over to a sing-song melody as impossible of transcription as a bird-call. suddenly his smiling face fell serious and the song stopped. "but since de lawd saved me from a life o' sin, i don't think about dem things. i don't 'member 'em much now. i been saved forty odd years." "was that a sinful song, uncle shang?" "dat's de devil's song, dat is. a-dancin' an' a stompin' dat-a-way! "folks nuse to have fights sometimes at de frolics but dey didn't do no killin'. hit ain't like dat now. dey stob you now, but dey didn't do dat den. somebody'd always stop 'em 'fore it got dat fur." "yes'm, we sung spirituals. we sung 'de good ole-time religion', an' sech as dat. i can't 'member all dem good songs now." his middle-aged wife, washing dishes over the wood stove, struck up, "i am bound for de promise land," and he joined in with a firm voice. but neither remembered many songs distinctly. "we didn't had no schools. dey wouldn't let de white chillen tell us about books. one day i axed about sumpin' in a book, and one de chillen say, 'mamma tole me not to learn you nuttin' or she'd whup me'." asked about holidays, uncle shang replied, "thanksgiving we give thanks in de church on our knees. warn't no slave gallery. white and colored all together and shouted together. "christmas we frolic and eat cake. we had serenades, too, on banjoes and old tin pans and whatever you wanted to make a noise. and a gallon o' liquor--anything you want!" with a loud laugh. "yes, mam, i 'members when de war broke out. hit was on a sunday morning, jes' as clear and bright as could be. and gen'l lee prayed till it thundered. jes' 'fore de sun riz he was fixin' to go to a battle. he got down on his knees and he jarred de worl'. yes, mam, hit thundered and when de folks heered it, dey all commenced runnin' todes him wid de butts o' dey guns, and stacked de guns 'round a sweet-apple tree." uncle shang was not quite clear as to who had stacked the guns, but he was sure it had been done. "i 'members when de yankees come too. de yankees come in--well, hallelujah!--one friday mornin' 'bout sun-up. mamma took a notion to go out in de syrup-cane patch, and i was settin' on de fence. i could hear dem cannons a-boomin' and de sun was a-risin' so red jes' like blood. den i seed de yankees a-comin' wid dey blue coats on an' all dem brass buttons jes' a-shinin'. i holler, 'mamma--look a-yo-o-onder!' one man had a flag wid red on it--dat's for blood. one man come in a hurry and say, 'all come to de house.' "den he look at me a-settin' on de fence, and he say, 'hey, boy, you mighty fat'. he talk and he talk and by dat time de yard was full o' yankees. 'lemme ask you sumpin', he say, 'where's de horses?' wid dat, he shot off a pistol--bam! "my boss had done took 'em off. i say, 'i don' know nuttin' 'bout 'em.' "all dey got from our house was a big sack o' flour. dey didn't burn nuttin' o' ours. dey say, 'you all feelin' so good, havin' a good time--we won't take nuttin.' "de calvary was here 'fore de yankees was. dey had on blue coats, too. dey make de boss haul corn all day a-sunday to fed dey horses. "dey try to git de niggers to go back north wid 'em, and dey had a big crowd o' colored goin', but i wouldn't go. a fust cousin to my dad left 'cause dey beat him so. i think he done well in de north. but i didn't want to go. "after freedom was, some de marsters wouldn't tell you. but our marster tole us. he said, 'you free as i is. if you want to stay wid me, all right. if not, you know where to go.' "mistis warn't like de boss," (mimicking a precise, slightly acid voice), "she say, 'i don't want to hear of no fightin' now. you'll git your arms cut off if you fight.' "but de boss keep her cooled down. he say, 'arms cut off--huh! you git yo's broke off if you don't hush.' "after freedom, we didn't work for no regular wages--jes' knock about like chillen 'round de house. i don't know how old i was den, but i warn't no chicken. after while i worked on de railroad, de fust one here, what used wood burners. i helped build it. dey's great tall pines growin' now where dat fill was made. "white folks nuse to travel in wagons way back in time. when dey tuk de cotton to new york dey went to athens in de wagons wid oxen or mules, and den to new york on de train. de ladies rid 'round town in carriages--rockaways--dem low one-hoss things. de driver sat on top. he wore a big beaver hat and good clothes and heavy gloves. "white folks had lots o' dances and eve'ything went well. people was mighty nice in dis country. "one my young bosses was a doctor. dey didn't give dem little pills you have now, what don't do no good. dey made tea out o' devil's shoestring, and yerbs out de woods, and blue mass pills. when babies come, dey had mid-wives. dey didn't do nuttin' to cut de pains--=you got to have dem=. "yes, mam, i knows 'bout cunjurs--plenty o' cunjurs. dem cunjur-folks takes weeds and yerbs, and fixes you so you can't sleep and can't eat and bark like a dog. one man told a girl he'd fix her so green flies 'ud follow her all de time--and dey did! "one of 'em gin me some stuff once. yes, mam, like to killed de old pap. i had done found some money in alabama, and another man wanted me to gi' it to him so he put sumpin' in my coffee. when i tasted dat coffee i started cussin' (i was wicked den)--i couldn't sleep--couldn't rest. my nephew said, 'somebody done hurt you!' my father-in-law tuk it off. he made some tea out o' rattle-snake master, and i drunk dat and swallowed a silver dime. dat tuk de cunjur off. some says it's good to take nine silver pieces and boil 'em and drink de water. "i knows sumpin' 'bout ghoses, too, but my foots got temper in 'em and when i sees anything, i runs. people say dey ain't no sech thing, but dey is. "dey was a house--people couldn't live dere, but a fellow said he could go dere, so he went. fust thing he seed a cat rarin' and pitchin' in de fireplace. den dey was a kickin' up in de loft, and here come a big old dog a-spittin', and fire all spranglin' out. he rared and growled. den in come a woman. he say, 'what'll you have, lady?' she say, 'dey's ten thousand dollars buried right where i'm a-standin'. "he stayed dere till he got it too. de devil was trying to scare him off, but she wanted him to have it. "people nuse to bury lots o' money 'way back in time, and lots o' folks is found it. "good-luck and bad-luck signs, you say? well, lemme see," the old man paused to reflect and scratch his head. "well, de bes' luck sign is to git in wid de lawd. keep wid him; he'll keep you sweet in yo' soul. god's goin' to come down de mid-air. i seen dat one time. jesus come to me--you never seen de like of it--de chariots--oh, glory!--and de purtiest singin' you ever heered, o-oh--g-lory, hallelujah! dat was jes' last year. "i had a good life. i been enjoyin' myself. i enjoys myself now, but i so old now i jes' staggers over de place. can't do no work but chop wood once in a while. i enjoys myself in prayer. "when de relief folks fus' come here, dey wouldn't give me nuttin' but i been prayin' and glory to jesus i been gittin' little sumpin' ever since dat time. "de way things is goin' now, it's better dan in slav'ey times, 'cause dey ain't no knockin' and beatin'. things is gone too fur for dat now. if eve'ybody would be o' one mind and serve de lawd, dey wouldn't be no troubles. "i don't know whether i'll get th'ough dis winter or not. hit was mighty cold last year, and dey warn't much fuel. but i thanks de lawd for all he's done for me, and i'se ready to meet him when he comes." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave tom hawkins bremen street athens, georgia. written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta, ga. tom hawkins ex-slave--age . tom was nowhere to be seen when the interviewer mounted the steps of his cabin. daisy, his wife, was ironing on the back porch and when she learned the object of the proposed interview, she readily agreed to induce tom to talk. she approached a basement door and called: "tom, here's one of dem giver'ment ladies what's come to hear you talk 'bout slavery days." tom replied: "all right, miss daisy, i'se a-comin'." the old man soon appeared feeling his way with his cane carefully before each hesitant step. tom is blind. established comfortably in his favorite chair, he talked freely. "i was borned on marse johnny poore's plantation 'bout four miles f'um belton, south callina. marse johnny owned my ma, mornin' poore, and all three of her chillun. dey was me and johnny, and mollie. my pa was tom hawkins and he was named for his owner. de hawkins plantation was 'bout a mile f'um de poore place. atter ma married pap, dey each one had to stay on wid deir own marster. dey couldn't stay on de same plantation together. i don't 'member much 'bout gran'ma jennie poore 'cept dat she was de cook at de big house. gran'pa wade poore was de blacksmith and marse johnny got a big price when he sold him to dr. chandler. some of de slaves made demselfs corded beds and others jus' had makeshifts. de beds and cabins was good 'nough for de niggers den, 'cause dey never had knowed no better. gangs of slaves slept together lak hogs in dem dirt-floored log cabins. "chilluns what was big 'nough to do anything had to wuk. i was a moughty little chap when dey started me in as houseboy. i slept on a trun'le (trundle) bed in miss annie's room. in de daytime my little trun'le bed was rolled back out of sight under miss annie's big old four poster teester bed. i kep' a fire burnin' in her room winter and summer. night times she would call me. 'tom! tom!' sometimes i was so soun' asleep i didn't answer. den pop, she would hit me on de head wid her long stick. den i knowed hit was time to fire up her pipe. she smoked dat pipe a pow'ful lot atter marse johnny died. "grown slaves made a little money, but i never got none 'til atter de war. i didn't have no cause to want no money. miss annie, she give me evvything i needed. "oh, but us had plenty of good things to eat on de poore plantation--meat and bread wid lots of turnips and 'tatoes. 'bout once a month dey give us lallyhoe. dey calls dat 'lasses now. us et our breakfast and dinner out of wooden bowls. under a long shed built next to de kitchen was a long trough. at night dey crumbled cornbread in it, and poured it full of buttermilk. grown folks and chilluns all gathered 'roun' dat old trough and et out of it wid deir wooden spoons. no ma'am, dere warn't no fightin' 'roun' dat trough. dey all knowed better'n dat. "us got 'possums and rabbits de best ways us could--cotch 'em in traps, hit 'em wid rocks, and trailed 'em wid dogs. us lakked 'possums baked wid 'tatoes, but most of de rabbits was stewed wid dumplin's. all our cookin' was done on big open fireplaces. dey didn't fry nothin' dem days; leastwise dey never give de slaves no fried victuals. grown folks seined for fish in big crick and saluda river at night, 'cause dey couldn't git away f'um field wuk in de day. chillun cotch a heap of fish wid hook and line. de river and crick bofe run thoo' miss annie's plantation so us didn't have to ax for a pass evvy time us went a fishin'. us allus had to have a pass if us left de plantation for anything or de patterollers was apt to git you and look out den, for you was sho' to git a larrupin' if dey cotch you off f'um home widout no pass. "dere warn't but one gyarden on de poore plantation, and it was big enough to feed all de white folks and slaves too. two whole acres of dat gyarden was sowed down in turnips. "chilluns didn't wear but one piece of clothes in summer; dat was a shirt. in winter dey doubled up on us wid two shirts. i 'members how dem shirt tails used to pop in de wind when us runned fast. us chillun used to tie up de 'bacco, what us stole f'um miss annie, in de under-arm part of de long loose sleeves of our shirts. us didn't git no shoes for our foots, winter or summer, 'til us was ten years old. "marse johnny poore, he was kilt in de war and den old mist'ess, she was our miss annie, looked atter de plantation 'til her only child, young miss ann, married marse tom dean. den he helped miss ann 'tend to her business. dey was moughty good to us. miss annie done her own overseein'. she rid over dat plantation onct or twict a day on her hoss. "our white folks lived in a big old two-story house what sot off f'um de road up on a high hill in a big oak grove. miss annie's own room was a shed room on dat house. de upstairs room was kept for comp'ny. unkle wade norris poore was miss annie's car'iage driver. de car'iage was called a surrey den. "dar was 'bout four or five hunderd acres in our plantation. miss annie kept 'bout a hunderd slaves. she was all time sellin' 'em for big prices atter she done trained 'em for to be cooks, housegals, houseboys, carriage drivers, and good wash 'omans. she wukked slaves in her fields. her niggers was waked by four o'clock and had to be in de field by sunup. dey come in 'bout dark. atter supper, de mens made up shoes, horse collars, and anything else lak dat what was needed; de 'omans spun thread and wove cloth. "miss annie was her own whuppin' boss. she beat on 'em for most anything. she had a barrel wid a pole run thoo' it, and she would have a slave stretched out on dat barrel wid his clothes off and his hands and foots tied to de pole. den miss annie would fire up her pipe and set down and whup a nigger for a hour at a time. miss annie would pull my ears and hair when i didn't do to suit her, but she never whupped me. miss annie didn't need no jail for her slaves. she could manage 'em widout nothin' lak dat, and i never did hear of no jails in de country 'roun' whar us lived. "yes ma'am, i seed old miss sell de slaves what she trained. she made 'em stand up on a block, she kept in de back yard, whilst she was a-auctionin' 'em off. i seed plenty of traders go by our place in wagons what dey had deir somepin' t'eat and beddin' in, and deir slaves was walkin' 'long behind de wagon, gwine on to be sold, but dere warn't none of 'em in chains. "dere warn't no schools whar slaves could git book larnin' in dem days. dey warn't even 'lowed to larn to read and write. when dr. cannon found out dat his carriage driver had larned to read and write whilst he was takin' de doctor's chillun to and f'um school, he had dat niggers thumbs cut off and put another boy to doin' de drivin' in his place. "washin'ton church was de name of de meetin' house whar us niggers on de poore plantation went to church wid our white folks. couldn't none of us read no bible and dere warn't none of de niggers on our plantation ever converted and so us never had no baptizin's. de preacher preached to de white folks fust and den when he preached to de niggers all he ever said was: 'it's a sin to steal; don't steal marster's and mist'ess' chickens and hogs;' and sech lak. how could anybody be converted on dat kind of preachin'? and 'sides it never helped none to listen to dat sort of preachin' 'cause de stealin' kept goin' right on evvy night. i never did see no fun'rals in dem days. "niggers didn't run to no north. dey run to de south, 'cause dem white folks up north was so mean to 'em. one nigger, named willis earle, run off to de woods and made hisself a den in a cave. he lived hid out in dat cave 'bout years. "old miss give dem dat wanted one a cotton patch and she didn't make her slaves wuk in her fields atter de dinner bell rung on saddays. de mens wukked in dem patches of deir own an sadday evenin' whilst de 'omans washed de clothes and cleaned up de cabins for de next week. sadday nights dey all got together and frolicked; picked de banjo, and drunk whiskey. didn't none of 'em git drunk, 'cause dey was used to it. dar was barrels of it whar dey stilled it on de place. on sundays us went f'um cabin to cabin holdin' prayer meetin's. miss annie 'pointed diff'unt ones to look atter da stock evvy sunday. "big times was had by all at chris'mas time. de eats warn't no diff'unt 'cept dey give us sweet bread and plenty of lallyhoe (molasses) what was made on de plantation. us had two weeks vacation from field wuk and dey let us go rabbit and 'possum huntin'. us had a gran' time clear up to new year's day. "oh, us did have one more big time at dem cornshuckin's. de corn was hauled to de crib and de folks was 'vited in de atternoon 'fore de cornshukin' started dat night. when de mans got to shuckin' dat corn, de 'omans started cookin' and dey got thoo' 'bout de same time. den us et, and dat was de best part of de cornshuckin' fun. cotton pickin's was held on moonshiny nights. dey picked cotton 'til midnight, and den dey had a little shakin' of de footses 'til day. "mens had good times at de quiltin's too. deir white folkses allus give 'em a little somepin' extra t'eat at dem special times. but de 'omans what was cooks at de big house tied sacks 'roun' deir waisties under deir skirts, and all thoo' de day would drap a little of dis, and some of dat, in de sacks. when day poured it out at night, dare was plenty of good somepin' t'eat. de mens kept de fire goin' and if dey got hold of a tallow candle day lit dat to help de 'omans see how to quilt. most of de quiltin's was at night and nearly all of 'em was in winter time. "de best game us had was marbles, and us played wid homemade clay marbles most of de time. no witches or ghosties never bothered us, 'cause us kept a horseshoe over our cabin door. "miss annie doctored us. in summer, she made us pull up certain roots and dry special leafs for to make her teas out of. horehoun', boneset, and yellow root was de main things she used. she made a sort of sody out of de white ashes f'um de top of a hick'ry fire and mixed it wid vinegar for headaches. de black ashes, left on de bottom of de hick'ry fire, was leached for lye, what was biled wid grease to make our soap. "i never will forgit de day dey told us de war was over and us was free. one of de 'omans what was down by de spring a washin' clothes started shoutin': 'thank god-a-moughty i'se free at last!' marse tom heared her and he come and knocked her down. it was 'bout october or november 'fore he ever told us dat us was free sho' 'nough. dat same 'oman fainted dead away den 'cause she wanted to holler so bad and was skeered to make a soun'. de yankees come thoo' soon atter dat and said us was free and 'vited all de niggers dat wanted to, to go 'long wid dem. i never will forgit how bad dem yankees treated old miss. dey stole all her good hosses, and her chickens and dey broke in de smokehouse and tuk her meat. dey went in de big house and tuk her nice quilts and blankets. she stood all of dat wid a straight face but when dey foun' her gold, she just broke down and cried and cried. i stayed on and was miss annie's houseboy long as she lasted. i was when she died. "dem night riders done plenty of whuppin' on our plantation. hit was a long time 'fore niggers could git 'nough money to buy lan' wid and it was a good years 'fore no school was sot up for niggers in our settlement. "i thinks mr. jefferson davis and mr. lincoln was bofe of 'em doin' deir best to be all right. booker washin'ton, he was all right too, but he sho' was a 'maybe man.' he mought do right and den he moughtn't. "yes ma'am, if old miss was livin' i'd ruther have slavery days back, 'cause den you knowed you was gwine to have plenty t'eat and wear, and a good place to sleep even if mist'ess did make you wuk moughty hard. now you can wuk your daylights plum out and never can be sho' 'bout gittin' nothin'. "de fust time i married me and ad'line rogers stood up by da side of de big road whilst de preacher said his marryin' words over us, and den us went on down de road. me and ad'line had six chillun: mary, lucy, annie, bessie, john and henry thomas. atter my ad'line died, i married daisy carlton. i didn't have no weddin' needer time. me and daisy just got a hoss and buggy and driv' up to de house whar de justice of de peace lived, and he jined us in mattermony. den us got back in de buggy and went back down de big road." tom began telling why he joined the church, when daisy interrupted. "now tom," she said, "you just tell dis white lady what you told me 'bout how come you jined de church." "now, miss daisy," pleaded tom, "l don't want to do dat." daisy snapped: "i don't keer what you don't want to, you is gwine to tell de trufe, tom hawkins." at that, tom giggled and began: "well, miss, hit was lak dis: i went to church one night a feelin' moughty good. i went up and kneeled at de altar whar dey was prayin' for converts, and a good lookin' yaller gal was kneelin' right in front of me. i accident'ly tetched her on de laig. i sho' didn't mean to do it. in dat 'cited crowd most anything was apt to happen. dat gal, she kicked me in de eye, and bruised up my face. my nose and eyes started drippin' and i hollered out real loud: 'oh, lord have mussy.' den i staged a faint. de brother's of de church tuk me outside. dey was sho' i had got 'ligion. by dat time i was so 'shamed of myself, i went back inside de meetin' house and jined de church, 'cause i didn't want nobody to know what had done happened. i 'cided den and dar to change my way of livin'. next time i seed dat yaller gal i axed her why she kicked me in de face and she said: 'next time you do what you done den, i'se gwine to kill you, nigger." "yes ma'am, i thinks evvybody ought to be 'ligious." ex-slave interview bill heard reese street athens, georgia written by: miss grace mccune athens -- edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' proj. residencies & augusta, georgia. sept. , bill heard ex-slave--age . bill heard's blacksmith shop, a sagging frame structure, in the forks of oconee street and lexington highway, is conveniently located for both local and traveling clientele. an old voice singing =swing low sweet chariot= in a low tone but with a fervor known only to negroes led the visitor through the shop, where there was no sight of the singer. bill was eventually discovered seated on a cushion-covered nail keg beneath a large water-oak at the rear of the building. a large hymn book was placed across his knees, and the old negro was happily singing away all by himself. his gray hair was partly covered by an old black cap, and his faded blue work skirt and pants showed evidence of long wear. as the song ended bill discovered that he was not alone. off came his cap, and he scrambled to his feet with a smile. "good evenin', missy, how is you? won't you have a seat and rest? dese nail kegs makes a mighty good place to set when you is tired out, and it's powerful nice and cool under dis old tree." after his guest was comfortably seated on another cushioned keg, the aged smith resumed his perch. "i didn't hear you come into my shop, and i think dat's about de fust time anybody ever did come in dar widout me hearin' 'em. i used to be in dar so busy all de time, i never had no chance to rest up or practice my singin'. times has changed in lots of ways since dem good old days. some folks laughs when us calls 'em 'good old days,' and dey wants to know how come us thinks dey was good old days, when us had such hard wuk to do den. course folks had to wuk hard and didn't have all dese new-fangled gadgets to wuk wid lak dey got now, but i still calls 'em de good old days 'cause folks was better off den; dey loved one another and was allus ready to lend a helpin' hand, 'specially in times of trouble. "i don't know nothin' 'bout slavery times 'cept what my mammy and daddy told me. daddy, he belonged to marse tom heard down in elbert county, 'bout miles from rucker place, nigh ruckersville. daddy said marse tom had about a hunnerd and twenty-five slaves on his place. daddy was mighty little when marse tom got him, and he never bought none of daddy's other kinfolks, so it was right hard for de little boy all by hisself, 'cause de other slaves on de plantation was awful mean to him. dey wouldn't let him sleep in deir quarters, so he stayed up at de big house, and place to keep warm. atter he got big enough to wuk, day treated him better. "evvybody cooked on fireplaces dem days, 'cause dere warn't no sto'-bought stoves. marse tom fed all his slaves at de big house; he kept 'em so regular at wuk dere warn't no time for 'em to do deir own cookin'. "slaves lived in one-room log cabins dat had rock chimblies, and each cabin had one little window wid a wooden shutter dey fastened at night and in bad weather. deir beds was made out of pine poles fastened to de sides of dem old beds 'teesters,' 'cause de posties was so high. ropes or cords was criss-crossed to hold 'em together and to take de place of springs. nobody hadn't ever saw no iron springs on beds dem days. dem big old ticks was generally filled wid wheat straw, but sometimes slaves was 'lowed to pick up waste cotton and wash, dry, and card it to stuff deir bed-ticks wid. but missy, dat was jus' too much trouble when a good old straw tick slept so fine. cheers was made out of oak splits, and cane and rye plaits was used for de cheer-bottoms. dem old cheers sot mighty good and lasted a lifetime. "folks sho 'nough did live at home den; dey raised all sorts of vegetables sich as corn, 'taters, wheat, rye, and oats, and what's more, dey raised de cotton and wool to make de cloth for deir clothes. cows, hogs, goats, sheep, chickens, geese, and turkeys was runnin' all over dem pastures, and dere warn't no lack of good victuals and home-made clothes. when hogs and cows was kilt to put meat in de smokehouse deir hides was tanned for leather to be used for harness and shoes, and a heap of times a piece of hide was used for a cheer-seat. "daddy said dey had a powerful hard time gittin' things lak soda, salt, sugar, and coffee durin' de war times. he said dat sometimes corn and okra seeds was parched right brown and ground up to be used for coffee, but it warn't nigh as good as sho 'nough coffee. when de salt had to be used if folks and critters was to keep well. dey dug up de dirt under old smokehouses and biled it to git out de salt. nobody didn't waste none of dat salt. no surree! it was too hard to git. when it got so dey couldn't buy no soda, dey saved nice clean corncobs and burned dem into a fine powder what dey used for soda. was it fit for bread-makin'? why, missy, dem biscuits made out of corncob soda and baked in dem old dutch ovens was fit for anybody to eat and enjoy. de onliest trouble 'bout it was gittin' 'em to bake enough of it. "slaves clothes was all made at home. gals spun de thread and old 'omens wove de cloth on home-made looms; my mammy was one of dem weavin' 'omans. clothes for summer was jus' thin cotton, but cotton and wool was mixed for cold weather, and don't think dem wool and cotton clothes didn't keep out de cold; dey sho did. deir clothes was dyed wid barks from trees, ink balls, walnut hulls, and red bud. most evry plantation had its own shoemaker man dat tanned all de leather and made up all de shoes. leather for slaves' shoes warn't allus tanned and shoes made out of untanned leather looked lak dey had done been dyed red. "dey had special mens on de plantation for all de special wuk. one carpenter man done all de fixin' of things lak wagons and plows, holped wid all de buildin' wuk, and made all de coffins. "no, missy, dere warn't no undertakers back in dem days, and folks had to pervide evvything at home. corpses was measured and coffins made to fit de bodies. all de neighbors, fur and nigh, gathered 'round to set up wid de fambly. "funerals warn't so common den as now 'cause folks didn't die out so fast dem days. dey tuk better keer of deyselfs, et right, wuked hard, and went to bed at night 'stid of folks runs 'round now; deir mammies and daddies never knows whar dey is. folks don't teach chillun right, and dey don't make dem go to church lak dey should oughta. "folks didn't even git married back in dem days lak dey does now, leastwise slaves didn't. if a slave wanted to marry up wid a gal he knocked on his marster's door and told him 'bout it. if his marstar laked de idea he told him to go on and take de gal and to treat her right; dat was all dere was to slaves gittin' married. "my daddy said slaves went to de white folks' church 'til dey got some churches for colored folks. church days was big days wid folks den 'cause dey didn't have meetin' evvy sunday. slave 'omans had percale or calico dresses, brogan shoes, and big home-made bonnets wid slats in de brims for sunday-go-to-meetin' wear, and if it was cold dey wropt up in shawls. menfolks wore cotton shirts and pants. dey had grand preachin' dem days and folks got honest-to-goodness 'ligion. "folks wuked mighty hard dem days, 'specially durin' plantin' and harvest time, 'til atter de corn was gathered and fetched out of de fields in dem old two-wheel carts dat was used to haul up all de craps. when de cornshuckin's started evvywhar dey tuk time about at de diffunt plantations. de fust thing dey done atter dey got together was to 'lect a general; he led de singin', and de faster he sung de faster de shucks flew. plenty of corn liquor was passed 'round and you know dat stuff is sho to make a nigger hustle. evvy time a red ear of corn was found dat meant a extra drink of liquor for de nigger dat found it. atter de last ear of corn was shucked a big supper was served and dey danced and sung de rest of de night. "when dey needed some new ground cleared up, dey had a logrollin'. evvybody tried to out wuk de others, and if de job hadn't been finished 'fore night, dey kept right on at it by moonlight. one man wuked so hard tryin' to beat de others dat when he went to de spring for some water, he tuk one drink, raised his haid quick lak, and died right dar. he was plumb daid when dey picked him up! "dey give us our freedom in april and daddy left old marster in may. he moved here nigh de old pittner place whar i was borned. daddy farmed for a-while and wuked at blacksmithin' for de white folks too, 'cause dat was de wuk he had been doin' for his old marster. de fust ricollections i've got is 'bout de days on dat old place. i ain't never gwine to forgit 'bout dem old cottonpickin's dey had when i was a youngster. dey said dey was jus' lak dem cottonpickin's dey had 'fore de war. dey would git up big crowds and pick cotton by de light of de harvest moon, and dat's 'most as bright as daylight. evvybody holped and, fast as dey picked all de cotton on one farm and et a big supper, dey hustled on to de next place whar plenty of cotton, white in de fields and liquor, and good barbecue, and sich lak kept 'em happy and hustlin' 'most all night. when dey had done all de cottonpickin' dey could for one night dey stopped for dancin' and all sorts of frolickin'. plenty of liquor in dem little brown jugs holped to make things 'most too lively sometimes. de few fights dey had when dey was drinkin' heavy didn't 'mount to much. "chillun loved hogkillin' times. five or six mens would jine up and go from place to place in de community whar dere was lots of hogs to be kilt. when dem hogs was all butchered de folks would git together and sich a supper as dey would have! de mostest fresh meat sich as chit'lin's, haslets, pig foots, and sausage, wid good old collard greens, cracklin' bread, and hot coffee. i'm a-tellin' you, lady, dat was good eatin', and atter you had done been wukin' in de hogkillin' dem cold days you was ready for victuals dat would stay by you. "de fust place i ever went to school was in a little house on de old bert benyard place nigh winterville, georgy, and let me tell you, missy, schoolin' warn't nothin' lak what it is now. dem what lived nigh went home to dinner, but chillun dat lived a fur piece off fotch deir dinner to school in a tin bucket. us was still livin' dar when mr. john mccune moved from whitfield county to dat old pittner place. my daddy wuked for him and i played 'round wid his boys. "daddy moved closer to town and opened up a blacksmith shop on broad street at what was called wood's corner den. i holped him in de shop and went to school some. folks had to wuk so hard to make enough to keep alive dat dey didn't git to go to school much. athens was a heap diffunt den to what it is now; it was mostly woods, and de roads was awful. dere warn't no paved streets, no street-lights, and no streetcars den. i 'members dem fust street-lights. lawsey, missy, folks was sho proud of dem lights and, when dey got dem little streetcars what was pulled by little mules, athens folks felt lak dey lived in a real city. dey had a big old town hall whar dey had all sorts of shows and big 'tainments. "times has changed, folks has changed, and nothin' ain't lak it used to be. when i was little it warn't no sight a t'all to see traders wid big droves of hogs, horses, cows, sheep, and goats, bringin' 'em to town to sell or trade for somepin dey needed. daddy said dat durin' slavery time dey drove slaves 'long de road de same way and sold 'em jus' lak dey sold deir cattle. "it was mostly woods and fields 'round here when i opened dis little shop 'bout years ago. johnson's store was sot up whar de carither's wagon yard used to be, and soon paved streets was laid, and den fillin' stations, other stores, and de lak, sprung up in a hurry 'long here. soon dere won't be no need of a blacksmith shop here, but i wants to stay on at wuk in my shop jus' as long as i kin, here in dis world of trouble whar i has had good times and hard times jus' lak de others. no other place wouldn't seem right. "me and my wife jus' runned away and got married widout havin' no big weddin' and atter us has done wuked together dese long years, us hopes to go to de heavenly home together. our oldest gal is all us has left of our five chillun; she lives off somewhar in washington, and us don't never hear from her no more. us still has de boy us 'dopted long years ago; him and his wife lives wid us and dey keeps us from bein' too lonesome. "i has made a good livin' right here in dis old shop, wuked hard, and saved my money, and now us is got a right nice little home out on reese street. de good lord has been wid us in all our troubles as well as in our good times, and i knows he is gwine to stay wid us de rest of de time and den he will take us home to glory. "i'se mighty glad you hunted me up, for i 'members dem old days, playin' wid your daddy, down on de pittner place. atter us had all moved to athens, he was still my friend. come back to see me again, and just trust in de good lord; he will take keer of you." as the visitor went down the street bill's quavering voice was heard again. he was singin' =lord i'se comin' home=. a story of slavery as told by emmaline heard--ex-slave a paper submitted by minnie b. ross revision of original copy and typing by j.c.russell - - story of slavery by ex-slave emmaline heard ex-slave m. b. ross emmaline heard is a small, dark brown skinned woman who appears to be about but is probably older. her mind seems to be active, however, as she responds quickly to questions and expresses herself intelligently. henry county, near mcdonough, ga., is emmaline's birthplace. judging from her earliest childhood memories and what she learned from her mother, her birth must have occurred four or five years before freedom. her parents, lewis and caroline harper had eleven children, of whom she was the second youngest. mr. roger and mrs. frances harper were the owners of the heard family. the large harper plantation was located near mcdonough, bordering the mcdonough highway. the harper home, a large -story frame dwelling, faced the highway. the family consisted of twin boys and two girls, in addition to the father and mother. they also owned a large number of slaves, who occupied two rows of cabins, built close together, at some distance behind the "big house." in those days before the war, slaves were moved from place to place and from state to state in droves, known as "speculators' droves," and sold at public auction. emmaline heard's father was born in virginia, but was brought to georgia and sold to the harpers as a plow boy, at the age of eleven. the slave's cabins were constructed of rough-hewn logs, with the cracks daubed with mud and, as emmaline recalled it, were very warm; warmer, in fact, than many of their houses are today. the furniture consisted of a "corded" bed, wooden tables and benches. this "corded" bed was constructed by running rope or cord from the head to the foot and then from side to side. a wooden peg was driven into the holes to hold the cord in place. pegs were a household necessity and had to be cared for just as a key is today. most homes also included a quilt slab, a sort of table used to place quilts on, as a necessary part of the furniture. every woman had a certain amount of weaving and spinning to do at home after coming in from the fields. emmaline says her mother had to card bats at night so that the two older sisters could begin spinning the next morning. a loom was almost as large as a small kitchen and was operated by hands and feet. until midnight, the spinning wheels could be heard humming in the slave cabins. at the hour of twelve, however, a bell was rung, which was the signal for the slaves to cease their spinning and go to bed. dye for coloring the cloth was provided by collecting sweet gum, dogwood bark, and red clay. mixing these together produced different colors of dye. sweet gum and clay produced a purple; dogwood, a blue. two dresses a year were allowed the women, while two cotton shirts and two pair of cotton pants were given the men. everyone received one pair of shoes. emmaline's father was a shoemaker by trade and made shoes for both slaves and the harper family. the slaves shoes were called "nigger shoes," and made from rough horse and mule hide. the white folks' shoes were made from soft calf leather. mr. harper had a tanning vat on his plantation especially for the purpose of tanning hides for their shoes. emmaline said these tanning vats reminded her of baptismal holes. the water was very deep, and once her sister almost drowned in one. barks of various kinds were placed in the water in these vats to produce an acid which would remove the hair from the hides. layers of goat, calf, and horse hides were placed in the vats and, after a certain length of time removed and dried. meals on week days consisted principally of syrup and bread and they were glad, emmaline stated, to see saturday come, because they knew they would have biscuit made from "seconds" on sunday. butter seems to have been a delicacy but little known. "the only butter i remember eating before we were freed," emmaline declared, "was that which my little mistress fannie would slip to me." this led her mother to say, "miss fannie is so crazy about 'em' i am going to give 'em' to her for a cook." besides working as a plow hand, emmaline's mother assisted aunt celia travis in preparing the meals for the harper family. four or five pots each containing a different kind of food hung over the fire along the long fireplace. just before dinner, the mistress would come in to inspect the cooking. if the food in any of the pots was not cooked to her satisfaction, she would sometimes lose her temper, remove her slipper and strike the cook. slaves on the harper plantation arose when the horn was sounded at four o'clock and hurried to the fields, although they would sometimes have to wait for daylight to dawn to see how to work. the overseer rode over the plantation watching the slaves at work and keeping account of the amount of work performed by each. any who failed to complete their quota at the close of the day were punished. on the harper plantation, a brush arbor was used for the slave's church. the trees and underbrush were cleared away to provide a sufficient space to accommodate the slaves and the trees evened off at a good height and the brush and limbs piled on top to form a roof. in rainy weather, of course, church services could not be held. sometimes the slaves would slip behind the trees beside the white folks' church and listen to the singing and preaching. they would then go back to their brush arbor church, and preach the same gospel and sing the same songs they had heard in the white people's church. frolics were often given on the harper plantation. they usually consisted of dancing and banjo playing. slaves from other plantations sometimes attended, but it was necessary to secure a pass from their master and mistress in order to do so. a prize was given to the person who could "buck dance" the steadiest with a tumbler of water balanced on the head. a cake or a quilt was often given as the prize. a marriage ceremony was performed after both owners had given their consent, when bride and groom did not belong to the same master. often neither owner would sell their slave to the other, in which case it was necessary for the husband to be given a pass in order to visit his wife. slaves were given treatment by the doctor when they became ill, but if the doctor stated that the slave was well enough to work, they had to go to the fields. sick babies were left at home while the parents were at work in the field. no matter what sickness the child suffered, castor oil was the only remedy ever given. slaves who chanced to be visiting away from his plantation without a pass from his owner would be severely handled if caught by the ku klux klan or "patterrollers" as they were more commonly called. fear of the "patterrollers" was invoked to frighten children into good behaviour. a few civil war incidents impressed themselves upon emmaline's memory although she was a very young child at the time. one day, she recalls, as she and her little mistress fannie sat on the front fence facing the highway they saw a cloud of dust in the distance down the highway and soon a troop of soldiers in blue and silver uniforms marched by. the children, frightened by the sight of these strange soldiers, ran to the house to tell the mistress. mrs. harper instructed emmaline's mother to run to the smokehouse, lock the door and bring her the key. in a few minutes the soldiers tramped into the kitchen and ate all of the food they could find. when they found the smokehouse locked they demanded the key from mrs. harper, and when she refused proceeded to break down the door and appropriated all the meat they could conveniently carry. they also robbed the cellar of its store of jellies and preserves, hitched the buggy mare to the wagon and drove off with the best of the mules tied behind, as mrs. harper and the family looked on in tears. when the harpers learned that the slaves were free, they offered emmaline's father and mother a house, mule, hog, and cow if they would remain on their plantation, but they thought they might fare better elsewhere and hired out to a plantation owner in an adjoining county. a few years later, when she became old enough to obtain on her own account, she came to atlanta where she has lived ever since. she is now being cared for by a grand-daughter and a son. she is an ardent admirer of president franklin d. roosevelt and declared she would like to vote for him a hundred times. part ii mrs. emmaline heard, who resides at cain st., n.e. has proved to be a regular storehouse for conjure and ghost stories. not only this but she is a firm believer in the practice of conjure. to back up her belief in conjure is her appearance. she is a dark browned skinned woman of medium height and always wears a dirty towel on her head. the towel which was at one time white gives her the weird look of an old time fortune teller. tuesday december , a visit was made to her home and the following information was secured. "there wuz onst a house in mcdonough and it wuz owned by the smiths that wuz slave owners way back yonder. now this is the trufe 'cause it wuz told ter me by old uncle joe turner and he 'spirense it. nobody could live in this how i don't care how they tried. dey say this house wuz hanted and any body that tried to stay there wuz pulled out of bed by a hant. well sir they offered the house and $ . to any one who could stay there over night. uncle joe sed he decided to try it so sho nuff he got ready one night and went ter this house to stay. after while says he something came in the room and started over ter the bed; but fore it got there he sed "what in the name of the lord you wont with me." it sed "follow me there is a pot of gold buried near the chimney; go find it and you want be worried with me no more." der nect morning uncle joe went out then and begin ter dig and sho nuff he found the gold; and sides that he got the house. dis here is the trufe uncle joes' house is right there in mcdonough now and any body round there will tell you the same thing cause he wuz well known. uncle joe is dead now." anudder story that happened during slavery time and wuz told ter me by father wuz this: the master had a old man on his plantation named jimson. well jimson's wife wuz sick and had been fer nearly a year. one day there she wanted some peas--black eyed peas; but old man harper didn't have none on his plantation so jimson planned ter steal off that night and go ter old marse daniels farm, which wuz miles from moore harpers farm, and steal a few peas fer his wife. well between mid-night and day he got a sack and started off down the road. long after while a owl started hootin who o o o are e-e-e, who are o-o-o- and it sounded jest lak some one saying "who are you". jimson got scared pulled off his cap and ran all the way to old man daniels farm. as he run he wuz saying "sir dis is me. old jimson" over and over again. now when he got near the farm old daniel heard him and got up in the loft ter watch him. finally old jimson got dar and started creeping up in the loft. when he got up there chile marse daniel grabbed his whip and almost beat jimson ter death. this here story happened in mississippi years ago but der folks that tell it ter me sed it wuz the trufe. "there wuz a woman that wuz sick, her name wuz mary jones. well she lingered and lingered till she finally died. in them days folks all around would come ter the settin up of somebody wuz dead. they done sent some men after the casket since they had ter go miles they wuz a good while getting back so the folkses decided ter sing. after while they heared the men come up on the porch or somebody got up ter let em in. chile jest as they opened the door that 'oman set straight up on that bed, and sich another runnin and gittin out of that house you never heard; but some folks realized she wuzn't dead so they got the casket out der way so the wouldn't see it cause they wuz fraid she would pass out sho nuff; just the same they wuz fraid of her too. the men went off and come back with pistols guns, sticks and every thing and when this 'oman saw em she sed don't run i wont bother you' but child they left there in a big hurry too. well this here mary went to her sister's house and knocked on the door and said "let me in this is mary i want to talk to you and tell you where i've been. the sisters' husband opened the door and let her in. this 'oman told 'em that god had brought her to and that she had been in a trance with the lord. after that everyone wuz always afraid of that 'oman and they wouldn't even sit next 'ter her in church. they say she is still living. this happened right yonder in mcdonough years ago. a gal went to a party with her sweet'art and her ma told her not ter go well she went on any how in a buggy. when they got ter the railroad crossing a train hit the buggy, and killed the gal; but the boy didn't get hurted at all. well while they wuz sittin up with this dead gal, the boy comes long there in his buggy with anudder gal in the buggy; and do you know that horse stopped right in front 'uv that house and wouldn't bulge one inch. no matter how hard he whipped that horse it wouldn't move instid he rared and kicked and jumped about and almost turned the buggy over. the gal in the buggy fainted. finally a old slavery time man come along and told em to git a quart of whiskey and pour it around the buggy and the hant would go away so they did that and the spirit let 'em pass. if a han't laked whiskey in they lifetime and you pour it round when theys at they will go away. the following are true conjure stories supposedly witnessed by mrs. heard. there wuz a rev. dennis that lived below the federal prison now he wuz the preacher of the hard shell baptist church in this community; this man stayed sick about a year and kept gittin different doctors and none 'uv them did him any good well his wife kept on at him till he decided ter go ter see dr. geech. his complaint wuz that he felt something run up his legs ter his thighs. old dr. geech told him that he had snakes in his body and they wuz put there by the lady he had been going wid. dr. geech give him some medicine ter take and told him that on the th day from then that 'oman would come and take the medicine off the shelf and throw it away. course rev. dennis didn't believe a thing he sed so sho nuff she come jest lak dr. geech sed and took the medicine away. dr. geech told him that he would die when the snakes got up in his arm. but if he would do lak he told him he would get alright. dis 'oman had put this stuff in some whiskey and he drunk it so the snakes breed in his body. after he quit taking the medicine he got bad off and had ter stay in the bed; sho nuff the morning he died. you could see the snake in his arm, the print uv it wuz there. when he died the snake stretched out in his arm and died too. i got a son named jack heard, well somebody fixed him. i wuz in chicago when that happened and my daughter kept writing ter me ter come home cause jack wuz acting funny and she thought maybe he wuz losing his mind. they wuz living in thomasville then and every day he would go sit round the store and laugh and talk but jest as soon as night would come and he would eat his supper them fits would come on him. he would squeal jest lak a pig and he would get down on his knees and bark jest lak a dog. well i come home and went ter see a old conjure doctors. he says ter me, "that boy is hurt and when you go home you look in the corner of the mattress and you will find it." sho nuff i went home and looked in the corner uv the mattress and there the package. it wuz a mixture of hair his hair and blue stone wrapped up in red flannel with new needles running all through it. when i went back he says ter me, emmaline have you got dimes no i sed but i got a dollar. well get that dollar changed inter dimes and take 'uv em and give 'em ter me. then he took jack in a room took off his clothes and started ter rubbing him down with medicine all the same time, he wuz a saying a ceremony over him, then he took them dimes put 'em in a bag and tied them around jacks chest some where so that they would hang over his heart. now wear them always says he ter jack. jack wore them dimes a long time but he finally drunk 'em up. any way that doctor cured him 'cause he sho woulda died. the following is a few facts, as related by mrs. heard, concerning an old conjure doctor known as aunt darkas. "aunt darkas lived in mcdonough, georgia until a few years ago. she died when she wuz years old; but chile lemme tell you that 'oman knowed jest what ter do fer you. she wuz blind but she could go ter the woods and pick out any kind of root or herb she wanted. she always sed the lord told her what roots to get and always fore sun up you would see her in the woods with a short handled pick. she sed she had ter pick 'em fore sun up, i don't know why. if you wuz sick all you had ter do wuz go to see aunt darkas and tell her. she had a well and after listening to your complaint she would go out there and draw a bucket of water and set it on the floor and then she would wave her hand over it and say something. she called this healing the water. after this she would give you a drink of water as she handed it ter you she would say, now drink, take this and drink. honey, i had some uv that water myself and believe me it goes all over you and makes you feel so good. old aunt darkas would give you a supply of water and tell you ter come back fer more when that wuz gone. old aunt darkas sed the lord gave her power and vision and she used ter fast fer a week at a time. when she died there wuz a piece in the paper 'bout her." this here is sho the trufe and if you don't go out ter southview cemetary and see sid heard my oldest son he been out there over years as sexton and book keeper. yessir he tole it ter me and i believe it. this happen long ago or years. there wuz a couple that lived in macon, ga., but their home wuz in atlanta and they had a lot out ter south view. well they had a young baby that tuck sick and died so they had the babies funeral there in macon then they put the coffin in the box placed the lable on the box then brought it ter atlanta. folkses are always buried so that they head faces the east. they say when judgement day come and gabriel blow that trumpet every body will rise up facing the east. well as i wuz saying they come here sid heard met im out yonder and instructed his men fer arrangements fer the grave and everything. a few weeks later the 'oman called sid heard up long distance. she said, "mr. heard." "yesmam," he said. "i call you ter tell you me and my husband can't rest at all." "why?" he asked. "because we can hear our baby crying every night and it is worrying us ter death our neighbors next door says our baby must be buried wrong." sid heard sed, "well i buried the baby according ter the way you got the box labled." "i'm not blaming you mr. heard but if i pay you will you take my baby up?" sed she "yes mam i will if you want me to jest let me know the day you will be here and i'll have everything ready". "alright," sed she. "well," sed sid heard, "the day she wuz ter come she wuz sick and instead sent a carload of her friends. the men got busy and started digging till they got ter the box, when they took it up sho nuff after they opened it they found the baby had been buried wrong the head was facing the west instead of the east. they turned the box around and covered it up. the folks then went on back ter macon. a week later the 'oman called up again. "mr. heard," she says. "yes maam" says he. "well i haven't heard my baby cry at all in the past week i wuzn't there but i know the exact date you took my baby up, cause i never heard it cry no more". =on december and , , mrs. emmaline heard= was interviewed at her home, cain street. the writer had visited mrs. heard previously, and it was at her own request that another visit was made. this visit was supposed to be one to obtain information and stories on the practice of conjure. on two previous occasions mrs. heard's stories had proved very interesting, and i knew as i sat there waiting for her to begin that she had something very good to tell me. she began: "chile, this story wuz told ter me by my father and i know he sho wouldn't lie. every word of it is the trufe; fact, everything i ebber told you wuz the trufe. now, my pa had a brother, old uncle martin, and his wife wuz name julianne. aunt julianne used ter have spells and fight and kick all the time. they had doctor after doctor but none did her any good. somebody told uncle martin to go ter a old conjurer and let the doctors go cause they wan't doing nothing for her anyway. sho nuff he got one ter come see her and give her some medicine. this old man said she had bugs in her head, and after giving her the medicine he started rubbing her head. while he rubbed her head he said: "dar's a bug in her head; it looks jest like a big black roach. now, he's coming out of her head through her ear; whatever you do, don't let him get away cause i want him. whatever you do, catch him; he's going ter run, but when he hits the pillow, grab 'em. i'm go take him and turn it back on the one who is trying ter send you ter the grave." sho nuff that bug drop out her ear and flew; she hollered, and old uncle martin ran in the room, snatched the bed clothes off but they never did find him. aunt julianne never did get better and soon she died. the conjurer said if they had a caught the bug she would a lived." the next story is a true story. the facts as told by mrs. heard were also witnessed by her; as it deals with the conjuring of one of her sons. it is related in her exact words as nearly as possible. "i got a son named albert heard. he is living and well; but chile, there wuz a time when he wuz almost ter his grave. i wuz living in town then, and albert and his wife was living in the country with their two chillun. well, albert got down sick and he would go ter doctors, and go ter doctors, but they didn't do him any good. i wuz worried ter death cause i had ter run backards and for'ards and it wuz a strain on me. he was suffering with a knot on his right side and he couldn't even fasten his shoes cause it pained him so, and it was so bad he couldn't even button up his pants. a 'oman teached school out there by the name of mrs. yaney; she's dead now but she lived right here on randolph street years ago. well, one day when i wuz leaving albert's house i met her on the way to her school. 'good evening, mrs. heard', she says. 'how is mr. albert?' i don't hardly know, i says, cause he don't get no better. she looked at me kinda funny and said, don't you believe he's hurt?' yes mam, i said, i sho do. 'well,' says she, 'i been waiting to say something to you concerning this but i didn't know how you would take it. if i tell you somewhere to go will you go, and tell them i sent you?' yes mam, i will do anything if albert can get better. 'all right then', she says, 'catch the federal prison car and get off at butler st.' in them days that car came down forrest ave. 'when you get to butler st.', she says, 'walk up to clifton st. and go to such and such a number. knock on the door and a 'oman by the name of mrs. hirshpath will come ter the door. fore she let you in she go ask who sent you there; when you tell 'er she'll let you in. now lemme tell you she keeps two quarts of whisky all the time and you have ter drink a little with her; sides that she cusses nearly every word she speaks; but don't let that scare you; she will sho get your son up if it kin be done.' sho nuff that old 'oman did jest lak mrs. yaney said she would do. she had a harsh voice and she spoke right snappy. when she let me in she said, 'sit down. you lak whisky?' i said, well, i take a little dram sometimes. 'well, here take some of this', she said. i poured a little bit and drank it kinda lak i wuz afraid. she cussed and said 'i ain't go conjure you. drink it.' she got the cards and told me to cut 'em, so i did. looking at the cards, she said: 'you like ter wait too long; they got him marching to the cemetery. the poor thing! i'll fix those devils. (a profane word was used instead of devils). he got a knot on his side, ain't he?' yes, mam, i said. that 'oman told me everything that was wrong with albert and zackly how he acted. all at once she said: 'if them d----d things had hatched in him it would a been too late. if you do zackly lak i tell you i'll get him up from there.' i sho will, i told her. 'well, there's a stable south east of his house. his house got three rooms and a path go straight to the stable. i see it there where he hangs his harness. yes, i see it all, the devils! have you got any money?' yes, mam, a little, i said. 'all right then,' she said. 'go to the drug store and get ¢ worth of blue stone; ¢ wheat bran; and go ter a fish market and ask 'em ter give you a little fish brine; then go in the woods and get some poke-root berries. now, there's two kinds of poke-root berries, the red skin and the white skin berry. put all this in a pot, mix with it the guts from a green gourd and parts of red pepper. make a poultice and put to his side on that knot. now, listen, your son will be afraid and think you are trying ter do something ter him but be gentle and persuade him that its fer his good.' child, he sho did act funny when i told him i wanted to treat his side. i had ter tell him i was carrying out doctors orders so he could get well. he reared and fussed and said he didn't want that mess on him. i told him the doctor says you do very well till you go ter the horse lot then you go blind and you can't see. he looked at me. 'sho nuff, ma,' he said, 'that sho is the trufe. i have ter always call one of the chillun when i go there cause i can't see how ter get back ter the house.' well, that convinced him and he let me fix the medicine for him. i put him ter bed and made the poultice, then i put it ter his side. now this 'oman said no one was ter take it off the next morning but me. i was suppose ter fix three, one each night, and after taking each one off ter bury it lak dead folks is buried, east and west, and ter make a real grave out of each one. well, when i told him not ter move it the next morning, but let me move it, he got funny again and wanted to know why. do you know i had ter play lak i could move it without messing up my bed clothes and if he moved it he might waste it all. finally he said he could call me the next morning. sho nuff, the next morning he called me, ma! ma! come take it off. i went in the room and he wuz smiling. i slept all night long he said, and i feel so much better. i'm so glad, i said, and do you know he could reach down and fasten up his shoe and it had been a long time since he could do that. later that day i slipped out and made my first grave under the fig bush in the garden. i even put up head boards, too. that night albert said, 'mama, fix another one. i feel so much better.' i sho will, i said. thank god you're better; so for three nights i fixed poultices and put ter his side and each morning he would tell me how much better he felt. then the last morning i was fixing breakfast and he sat in the next room. after while albert jumped up and hollered, 'ma! ma!' what is it, i said. 'mama, that knot is gone. it dropped down in my pants.' what! i cried. where is it? chile, we looked but we didn't find anything, but the knot had sho gone. der 'oman had told me ter come back when the knot moved and she would tell me what else ter do. that same day i went ter see her and when i told her she just shouted, 'i fixed 'em the devils!' now, says she, do you where you can get a few leaves off a yellow peachtree. it must be a yellow peach tree, though. yes, mam, i says to her. i have a yellow peachtree right there in my yard. well, she says, get a handful of leaves, then take a knife and scrape the bark up, then make a tea and give him so it will heal up the poison from that knot in his side, also mix a few jimson weeds with it. i came home and told him i wanted ter give him a tea. he got scared and said, what fer, ma? i had ter tell him i wuz still carrying out the doctor's orders. well, he let me give him the tea and that boy got well. i went back to mrs. hirshpath and told her my son wuz well and i wanted to pay her. go on, she said, keep the dollar and send your chillun ter school. this sho happened ter me and i know people kin fix you. yes sir." the next story was told to mrs. heard by mrs. hirshpath, the woman who cured her son. i used to go see that 'oman quite a bit and even sent some of my friends ter her. one day while i wuz there she told me about this piece of work she did. "there was a young man and his wife and they worked for some white folks. they had just married and wuz trying ter save some money ter buy a home with. all at onct the young man went blind and it almost run him and his wife crazy cause they didn't know what in the world ter do. well somebody told him and her about mrs. hirshpath, so they went ter see her. one day, said mrs. hirshpath, a big fine carriage drew up in front of her door and the coachman helped him to her door. she asked him who sent him and he told her. she only charged ¢ for giving advice and after you wuz cured it wuz up to you to give her what you wanted to. well, this man gave her ¢ and she talked ter him. she says, boy, you go home and don't you put that cap on no more. that cap? he says. that cap you wears ter clean up the stables with, cause somebody done dressed that cap for you, and every time you perspire and it runs down ter your eyes it makes you blind. you jest get that cap and bring it ter me. i'll fix 'em; they's trying ter make you blind, but i go let you see. the boy was overjoyed, and sho nuff he went back and brought her that cap, and it wasn't long fore he could see good as you and me. he brought that 'oman $ , but she wouldn't take but $ and give the other $ back ter him. "what i done told you is the trufe, every word of it; i know some other things that happened but you come back anudder day fer that." ex-slave mildred heard. the following interviews were obtained from mildred heard, a young woman who has lived in the country most of her life and might easily be described as a child of nature. although a full grown woman and the mother of two children she seems much older than her years, this is true i believe because she has always lived among much older people. she is fairly intelligent and expresses her thoughts clearly and without hesitation. quite a few of the stories related here were handed down to her from the older residents of the settlement. these stories are related in her own words. animal behavior--cows "i have always lived around animals and used to spend whole days in the woods; but first i want to tell you about a story concerning cows; and this is the trufe too. every new years night when the whistles begin to blow, cows get down on their knees lift up their front legs and make a mumbling noise. this is true cause one night i made it my business to be around some cows when the whistles begin to blow and sho nuff they got down on their hind legs and started making that noise. i was so fraid i ran all the way home. "i also remember we had a cow that would eat clothes. my grandmother took in a lot of washings and one day after she had hung out mrs. richardson's clothes she (the cow) ate up most all of the clothes. grandma whipped her and had to pay the white lady for the clothes but that cow kept on eating clothes. a lady told us to sprinkle red pepper on the clothes and that would break her up. sho nuff we did it and she kicked her heels over her head; but we never had any more trouble with that cow. "maybe, you don't know it but cows are funny about the water they drink especially cows raised at a dairy. if water is placed in a tub for a cow and you stick your hand in the water they will not drink it. i have done it and i know it to be true. the cow don't have to see you but the scent from your hand is in the water". =birds= "if a bird leaves her nest and flies away and you take her eggs out of the nest and put them back the bird can tell it the minute she returns to her nest; and she will not have the nest on the eggs again. i tried this once to see if it was true. i moved the eggs from a birds' nest and placed them back and then i hid behind a tree to watch sho nuff the bird came back to her nest she looked at the nest and the eggs a long time and flew away. every day i would watch; but she never returned to that nest." "once a little red bird got hurt and i caught it and nursed it back to health and this bird began to act just like a pet. when i saw the bird was well enough to leave i tied a red string around it's leg so that i would know it if i saw it again. after that for three years my little bird used to fly back and sit on the steps until i would feed him and then he would fly away. my bird came back until it was caught by a cat. i was so sorry when my bird died i cried and buried it in the back yard." =snakes= "i have walked through the woods and almost stepped on different kinds of snakes. i wouldn't be afraid cause i would know that unless the snake is in a quirl, that is, in a pose to bite you, he wouldn't bite you. if you smell a water mellon scent in the woods you know right then that a black snake is around. if the scent is like a honey suckle a highland moccasin is around somewhere. a rattlesnake smells like a billy goat. always remember a snake can't bite until it gets posed neither can a snake bite you in the water. some snakes lay eggs and hatch their young. a mother snake always protects her baby snakes by swallowing them if danger comes around." grandma told me once that they were cleaning out a large hole for a baptizing pool; and saw a mother snake swallow about ten baby snakes. after they killed the mother snake they pulled out the babies. =fowls= we had a rooster that was raised from a biddie and for years this rooster practically lived in the house and would not sleep any place but on the foot of the bed. "chickens get used to certain people feeding them and you can't get them used to others, that is, it was true concerning my cousin. he had a lot of chickens and he used to feed them every day. my cousin took sick and died and after that his chickens would not eat anything given them by any one else. one by one the chickens died. my aunt said his spirit came back for the chickens". =bees=. "this is a true story concerning bees that belonged to my aunt caroline hooper. aunt caroline died and left hives of bees. we noticed they kept going away and would not return. one day a lady named mrs. jordan asked if anyone had told the bees that caroline was dead; and we told her no, "well" she said, "go out to the hive and say to the bees caroline is dead and that they will have a new owner." my uncle told the bees that they belonged to him now that caroline was dead. after that none others left the hive." mildred heard continued giving short facts concerning different animals.--"if you run a rabbit out of his bed and shoot at him i don't care if you run him five or more miles he will come right back to the same place." "buzzards are born as white as snow but turn darker as they grow older. another fact concerning buzzards is that they will eat any carcass except that of a mad dog, he will walk around the body of a dead mad dog and then fly away." "i remember once we had a cat that was the pet of every one in our house so when she gave birth to kittens she went in the chifforobe and when we let her out we didn't know she had left kittens in there. naturally they died and we buried them in the back yard. everyday this mother cat would go to their grave and whine, finally she left home." the following stories relate to =birthmarks= as previously mentioned mildred heard has two small daughters and the story of birthmarks begins with her own experience concerning them. "my oldest child tina is marked by crying. i don't care how much you whip or beg her to stop crying she will not stop until she gets ready. during the time i was pregnant my aunt died and i went to the funeral and before i knew it i found myself crying and unable to stop. "my youngest child georgia is marked by a monkey. this mark is the result of a visit to grants park during the time i was pregnant. as i stood with the white baby i was nursing at the time a monkey fell and when he got up he started scratching his back. it all looked so funny i began to laugh. when gloria was born her bead resembled a monkeys in shape and on the lower part of her back she had red marks and was very hairy. i was afraid she would never change but as she grew older the marks and the hair disappeared." note--i glanced at the child and it is quite true that the shape of her head slightly resembles that of a monkey. the next stories were related by mrs. heard. mildred's grandmother. "i know a white 'oman that lives in thomasville now that marked her child by a horse. this 'oman got tickled at a horse with his tongue hanging out. when her baby was born he had feet and hands jest lak a horse and she nebber would let any one see this child's feet. "another 'oman, alberta turner, got scared of a turtle while she wuz fishing and right now her child got feet that spreads out just like a turtles and he walks with his feet straight out that way. "aunt eattie coffee who lives in macedonia, ga., had a baby born with teeth that looked jest like pearls. the doctor told her that the baby would shed those teeth and if she lost 'em the baby would die. "he told her to be sure and watch the baby and to give him the teeth when they came out. sho nuff them teeth came out but they never knowed where they went and that baby she died". robert heard--portrait of an ex-slave [hw: j. jaffee] as we approached the little dilapidated, one-room cabin on the jackson county hilltop, the aroma of frying bacon smote our nostrils. uncle robert heard welcomed us and stopped tending his ash-cake, peas, and fat back long enough to squint over the top of the "specks dat ole mis had give him back in ' ", then he took a long look at the mahogany clock that had "sot on her parlor fish boa'd". in spite of his ninety-six years his memory of the old days is still fresh and his body surprisingly active for a person of his age. "course i 'members all 'bout marster and mistis," he asserted with an indignant air. "i wuz grown an' big nuff to pick out a 'oman fer myse'f in de fust year ov de war. dey wuz niggers on de place whar i wuz borned. hit belonged to ole gen'l heard an' hit wuz clost to washin'ton." "my mammy died when i warn't nothin' but a little trot-about. she wuz name' susan, an' my pa wuz name' john. de gen'l went to virginny an' bought 'em an' had 'em sont home in boxes wid cracks big nuff to feed 'em through. mistis give us our fust names an' us tuck dey las' un." "us didn't have no overseer on our plantation. gen'l heard allus looked arter his niggers hisssef til he got too old an' den his son, mars tom, seed arter 'em. i ain't never see'd 'em beat but one slave an' dat wuz caze he got rowdy drunk. dey allus gite us a note to de patty rollers (patrollers) when us wanted to go somewheres". "us went to work 'bout a half hour by sun an' quit at dusty dark. de mens done fiel' wuk an' de wimmins mostly hepped mistis 'bout de house. dey washed, milked, made candles, an' worked in de spinnin' room. us didn't have to buy nothin' caze dey wuz evathing us needed on the plantation." "on some places de bosses kep' nigger mens at stud but gen'l heard an' mars tom didn't low nobody to live in sin on dey plantation. us wuz all married by a white preacher, just lak white folks. us 'tended de white folk's church ever sundey an' sot in de gal'ry. dey warn't no dancin' or cyard playin' in gen'l heard's house. he said: 'if you serve the lord you have no time to fiddle and dance.'" "old marster wuz too old to go to de war but mars tom went an' i hyeard mistis say he got kilt at de second manassas. my uncle chris went to de war wid mars tom an' he come back wid only one arm. he say de blood on some uv dem battle fiel's come up to de top uv his boots. "gen'l heard died whiles de war wuz ragin' an' ole mistis come out on de po'ch an' tolt us we wuz all free. most all de niggers stayed on wid mistis arter de war an' worked fer fo'ths. us used her mules an' tools an' she give us rations just lak marster had been a doin' afore dey wuz any war. she would uv been powerful rich ef confederacy money hadn't uv been so wuthless. she had four loads uv it hauled outen de house an' dumped in a ditch. "at christmus time, us allus had a big frolic wid music an' dancin'. us danced de cotillion an' beat on buckets wid gourds fer music. marster give us a little toddy now an' den an' us had plenty uv it at christmas. de frolic allus had to bust up at midnight caze marster would git out his horse pistols an' start shootin' ef it didn't. sometimes us ud have a satidy off an' us ud all go fishin' or have a frolic. candy pullin's wuz allus de bestes kind of fun. "i ain't lak mos' ob dese yere flibberty-gibbet niggers. i don' believe in hants an' ghostes, but they's some things which i does think is signs of death. ef somebody brings a axe in de house hits a sho sign. yer better watch when a cow lows arter dark, or a dog barks at de moon in front uv yer do', or ef yer sneezes whiles eatin', caze hit mout mean dat de death angel is hangin' roun'. ef somebody in de house dies yer better stop de tickin' uv de clock an' kiver all de lookin'-glasses wid white cloth or else dey's liable to be another death in de fam'ly. "yer can take dis or leave it, but whutever yer does, don' never take ashes out doors arter dark, caze hits sho to bring yer bad luck. now i done tol' yer all i knows so let me finish cookin' dis yere mess of vittals so i kin git back to de cotton patch." thus dismissed, we took our departure, gingerly picking our way down the rickety steps. the last we heard of uncle robert was a snatch of negro ballad sung in a high-pitched, nasal voice. whitley, - - m.b. ross. ex-slave benjamin henderson. after acquainting mr. benjamin henderson with the facts of the interview he informed the writer that he would be very glad to give as much information as he could concerning the period of "i was only seven years old when freedom was declared, but i can remember a few facts," he said. his speech is well chosen and after a short talk one is much impressed with his intelligence and youthful appearance. benjamin henderson was born september , in jasper county, monticello, ga., the youngest of three children. his father was mr. sam henderson, master and owner of the henderson plantation, and his mother was mandy henderson, a slave. mr. sam henderson never married but operated his farm with the help of his mother, mrs. allie henderson. the henderson plantation comprised acres and mr. henderson owned only five slaves to carry the necessary work. besides benjamin's immediate family there was one other man slave, named aaron. cotton, cattle and vegetables were the chief products of the farm. the work was divided as follows: benjamin's job was to keep the yards clean and bring up the calves at night; his older sister and brother, together with aaron, did the field work; and his mother worked in the house as general servant. the same routine continued from day to day, each person going about his or her particular job. plenty of flour was raised on the plantation and the master had to buy very little. the henderson slave houses were of the one-room log type, with one window and one door; each cabin was furnished with a bed, chair, and table. large fireplaces took the place of stoves for cooking. these were constructed four or five feet in width so that one or two pots or a side of meat could be suspended from a hook which was fastened on a rack in the stick and dirt chimney. each family was given a spinning wheel and loom. after the day's work each slave home was the scene of spinning and weaving cloth for the occupant's clothes and bedding. the master gave each slave a pair of shoes; benjamin received his first pair of shoes when he was five years old. all slaves went barefoot in summer months. summer rations on the henderson plantations never varied from bacon and corn bread. in the fall each family was free to eat as many of the different vegetables as they wanted. wooden spoons, bowls, and trays, were kept clean by scouring regularly with sand. at christmas those who asked for whiskey were given an ample amount; and occasionally each family was given a cake baked by mr. henderson's mother. the master of the henderson plantation, as well as other plantation owners', allowed their slaves to work individual cotton patches; when the cotton was picked he paid them their price for the amount they had raised. slaves often earned money, too, by splitting rails at night and selling them to different plantation owners. although mr. sam henderson was a kind master and hardly ever punished his slaves, there were some masters who were known for their cruelty. one in particular was an old man by the name of shirley, who would pick up anything from a stick to a brush broom to punish his slaves. benjamin heard from his elders that some masters constructed stocks like those of old, and sometimes slaves were whipped while fastened in the stocks. one slave owner named gay kept wristbands of iron, and also a gag made to fit into the mouth and fasten around the neck, which prevented rolling while being whipped. besides being punished for disobedience, a slave was often punished because he failed to complete the required amount of work. there were certain amounts of work specified for each slave: rails had to be split a day by the rail splitters; cotton pickers were supposed to pick pounds of cotton a day. should anyone fail to complete his daily task, a sound whipping was given. slaves were punished by "patter rollers" or the government patrol, if caught off of their plantations without a pass. often slaves outran the "patter rollers" and escaped the lashes which were in store for them if they were caught. "patter rollers" carried a crooked-handle stick which they would try to fasten around the slaves' necks or arms. however, the slaves soon learned that the "patter-rollers" stick would slide off their bare arms and backs, so they left their shirts if planning to make a visit without a pass. the second sunday of each month the slaves attended religious services. since there were no separate churches provided, they were allowed to use the white churches with the white minister in charge. benjamin henderson remarked: "it was my job to ride behind the mistress to church and while the services were going on i took care of her riding skirt and tended the horse." a slave desiring marriage with a slave on another plantation must get his master's consent after which he went to see the master of his prospective mate. if both agreed, the marriage was set for the following saturday night. all marriages usually took place on saturday nights. the master of the bridegroom would then pick a straw broom or a pole and give two slaves the job of holding the ends of it. to be devilish they often held the stick too high and would not lower it until the master asked them to. after the bridegroom made the jump over the stick, the knot of matrimony was considered tied. without any more ceremony the bride became his legal wife. if it so happened that the bride and groom lived on different plantations the groom would be given two passes a week, one to visit her on wednesday nights and another which permitted him to remain over the weekend, from saturday until monday morning. following the marriage there would take place the usual "frolic" ending up with several members drunk. these were thrown into the seed house where they remained all night. slave owners guarded carefully against illness among their slaves. home remedies such as certain oil, turpentine, teas of all sorts were used. if these did no good the doctor was called in; he usually brought along all varieties of medicine in his saddle bags and gave what was needed. benjamin henderson considers that people were much healthier in those days and did not need doctors often. he tells this story: "my mistress had a daughter who was married and had three sons who were confederate soldiers. i remember the day they rode up on their grey horses to take dinner and say goodbye to the family. when they were ready to leave their grandmother gave them an old testament and told them to take it and read it and make good soldiers of themselves. one son replied, 'oh grandma it won't last long, we're going to bring old lincoln's head back and set it on the gate post for a target.' but they didn't come back: all three were killed. the master of the plantation also enlisted in the army; he was able to come home every week or two". after the war benjamin's mother married and moved with her husband to another farm, where she spent the rest of her life. some families moved to other plantations, and during the first year after the war they were forced to work for one-sixth of the crop raised. the next year plantation owners realized this amount was unfair and agreed to let the ex-slaves work for one-third of the crops raised. finally they worked on halves. even now, working on halves is common in rural villages. benjamin henderson believes he has lived long because he has lived a clean, useful life filled with plenty of hard work. he married at the age of years and was the father of five children, none of whom are living. his physical condition prevents him from working at present, but he has not given up hope that he will soon be able to take care of himself again. plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave written by: mrs. sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: mrs. sarah. h. hall athens -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia september , . jefferson franklin henry ex-slave--age athens, georgia the widespread branches of a white mulberry tree formed a canopy for the entire yard before jefferson henry's gray-painted cottage. luxuriant hydrangeas in wooden tubs, august lilies in other containers on the old-fashioned flower steps, and a carefully pruned privet hedge gave the place an air of distinction in this shabby neighborhood, and it was not surprising to learn that a preacher, a man highly respected by his race, lived there. a rap on the door brought quick response from a rumbling bass voice inside the house. "george, is you here already?" in another moment a short, stocky negro man appeared in the doorway, a collar clutched in one hand, and a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "good mornin'," he said. "yes, mam, this is jeff henry. i thought you was george done come to take me to atlanta. one of my good church members is to be buried thar today, and i'se got to preside over the funeral. i can talk to you a few minutes if you ain't got too much to ax me about." though jeff used some dialect, it was not so noticeable as in the speech of most southern negroes. a scant fringe of kinky gray hair framed his almost bald head, and he was dressed in his sunday-best clothes; a gray suit, white shirt, and black shoes, worn but carefully polished. "this old negro has been here many a day," he began. "i 'members when all this side of town was in farms and woods with just a few houses scattered about." just then george drove up and jeff suggested that the interview be postponed. at the appointed hour jeff was waiting to resume his narrative. "i sho is done been wukin' this old brain of mine to bring back them old times 'fore freedom come," he announced. "anyhow, i was born in paulding county. sam and phyllis henry was my pa and ma, and they was field hands. me and james, william, john, mittie, and mary was all the chillun they had. us just played 'round the yard mostly, 'cause thar warn't none of us big enough to do no field wuk wuth talkin' 'bout 'fore the end of the war. "slave quarters was off from the big house a piece, and they was built in rows lak streets. most of the log cabins had one room; some had two, but all of them had plain old stack chimblies made of sticks and red mud. our beds was just home-made makeshifts, but us didn't know no diffunce 'cause us never had seed no better ones. they sawed pine posts the right height and bored holes through them and through the slabs they had cut for the railin's, or side pieces. they jined the bed together with cords that they wove back and forth and twisted tight with a stout stick. them cords served two purposes; they held the bed together and was our springs too, but if us warn't mighty keerful to keep 'em twisted tight our beds would fall down. lak them old beds, the mattresses us had them days warn't much compared with what we sleeps on now. them ticks was made of coarse home-wove cloth, called 'osnaburg,' and they was filled with straw. my! how that straw did squeak and cry out when us moved, but the blessed lord changed all that when he gave us freedom and let schools be sot up for us. with freedom negroes soon got more knowledge of how a home ought to be. "grandma ca'line is the onliest one of my grandparents i can 'member. when she got too old for field wuk, they tuk and used her as a cook up at the big house, and she done the weavin', spinnin', and milkin' too, and kept a eye on the slave chillun whilst the mammies was off in the field. "no, mam, slaves warn't paid no money them days, and it's mightly little i'se got holt of since. anyhow i warn't big enough then to do no wuk, even if folks had been payin' wages to slaves. the most i ever done 'fore the war ended was to fetch water to the kitchen and pick up chips to kindle up the fire when it got low. matches was so scarce then that fires warn't 'lowed to go slap out, but they did burn mighty low sometimes in summer and us had to use fat lightwood splinters to git 'em started up again. "us et home produce them days. folks didn't know nothin' 'bout livin' out of cans and paper sacks lak they does now. thar was allus plenty of hog meat, syrup, milk and butter, cornbread, and sometimes us chillun got a biscuit. thar was one big old garden on the place that had evvything in the way of vegetables growin' in it, besides the patches of beans, peas, 'taters, and the lak that was scattered 'round in the fields. the orchards was full of good fruit sich as apples, peaches, pears, and plums, and don't forgit them blackberries, currants, and figs what growed 'round the aidge of the back yard, in fence corners, and off places. sho, us had 'possums, plenty of 'em, 'cause they let us use the dogs to trail 'em down with. 'possums was biled 'til they was tender, then baked with sweet 'taters, and thar ain't no better way been found to fix 'em to this good day, not even if they's barbecued. sho, sho, us had rabbits and squirrels by the wholesale, and fish too if us tuk time to do our fishin' at night. they never did lak to see slaves settin' 'round fishin' in the daytime. "all the cookin' was done in a log cabin what sot a good little piece behind the big house. the big old fireplace in that kitchen held a four-foot log, and when you was little you could set on one end of that log whilst it was a-burnin' on t'other. they biled in pots hangin' from hooks on a iron bar that went all the way 'cross the fireplace, and the bakin' was done in skillets and ovens, but sometimes bread was wropt up in cabbage or collard leaves and baked in hot ashes; that was ashcake. thick iron lids fitted tight on them old skillets, and most of 'em had three legs so hot coals could be raked under 'em. the ovens sot on trivets over the coals. "our clothes warn't nothin' to talk about. in summer boys wore just one piece and that looked lak a long nightshirt. winter clothes was jean pants and homespun shirts; they was warm but not too warm. thar warn't no sich things as sunday clothes in them days, and i never had a pair of shoes on my foots in slavery time, 'cause i warn't big enough to wuk. grown negroes wore shoes in winter but they never had none in summer. "marse robert trammell and his wife, miss martha, was our marster and mistess. miss ada, miss emma, and miss mary 'liza was the young misses, and the young marsters was named george washin'ton and william daniel. marse robert and his fambly lived in a log and plank house with a rock chimbly. he was buildin' a fine rock house when the war came on, but he never got it finished. "robert scott, one of the slaves, was made foreman atter marse robert turned off his overseer. gilbert was the carriage driver and 'sides drivin' the fambly 'round, he tuk marse robert's ma, miss betsey, to her church at powder springs. miss betsey was a hardshell baptist, and marse robert and his wife wouldn't go to church with her. "that old plantation was a large place all right enough; i 'spects thar was 'bout four or five hunderd acres in it. marse robert warn't no big slave holder and he didn't have so awful many slaves. his foreman had 'em out in the fields by daylight and wuked 'em 'til dark. the women had a certain stint of thread to spin and cloth to weave 'fore they could go to bed at night. the menfolks had to shuck corn, mend horse-collars, make baskets, and all sich jobs as that at night, and they had to holp the women with the washin' sometimes. most of that kind of thing was done on days when the weather was too hot for 'em to work in the fields. "marse robert done his own whippin' of his slaves and, let me tell you, they didn't have to do much for him to whip 'em; he whipped 'em for most anything. they was tied, hand and foots, to a certain tree, and he beat 'em with a heavy leather strop. i'se seed him whip 'em heaps of times, and it was 'most allus in the mornin's 'fore they went to wuk. thar warn't no jailhouse nigh whar us lived and marse robert never had no place to lock slaves up when they got too bad, so he just beat the meanness out of 'em. thar was one slave he never tetched; that was his foreman and his name was robert too, lak i done told you. "i never seed no slaves sold on the block or auctioned off, and if any droves of slaves for sale passed our plantation i'se done forgot about it. no, mam, a slave warn't 'lowed to take no book in his hand to larn nothin'; it was agin' the law to permit slaves to do that sort of thing. if us went to any churches at all it had to be our white folks' churches, 'cause thar warn't no churches for negroes 'til the war was over. not a slave on our place could read a word from the bible, but some few could repeat a verse or two they had cotch from the white folks and them that was smart enough made up a heap of verses that went 'long with the ones larned by heart. us went to poplar springs baptist church with marse robert's fambly; that church was 'bout miles from whar us lived. miss betsey, she tuk grandma ca'line with her to the hardshell baptist church about miles further down the road. sometimes grandma ca'line would go by herself when marse robert's ma didn't go. us just had church once a month. "when a slave died evvybody on our plantation quit wuk 'til atter the buryin'. the home-made coffins was made of unpainted planks and they was lined with white cloth. white folks' coffins was made the same way, only theirs was stained, but they never tuk time to stain the ones they buried slaves in. graves was dug wide at the top and at the bottom they was just wide enough to fit the coffin. they laid planks 'crost the coffins and they shovelled in the dirt. they never had larnt to read the songs they sung at funerals and at meetin'. them songs was handed down from one generation to another and, far as they knowed, never was writ down. a song they sung at the house 'fore they left for the graveyard begun: 'why do we mourn departed friends, or shake at death's alarm.'" at the grave they sung, =am i born to die, to lay this body down?= "slaves on our plantation never thought about runnin' off to no north. marse robert allus treated 'em fair and square, and thar warn't no need for 'em to run nowhar. that foreman of his, robert scott, did go off and stay a few days once. marse robert had started to whip his wife and he had jumped 'twixt 'em; that made marse robert so mad he run to the house to git his gun, so the foreman he got out of the way a day or two to keep from gittin' shot. when he come back, marse robert was so glad to git him back he never said a word to him 'bout leavin'. "on saddays the women wuked in the field 'til dinnertime, but the menfolks wuked on 'til a hour 'fore sundown. the women spent that time washin', cleanin' up the cabins, patchin', and gittin' ready for the next week. oh! how they did frolic 'round sadday night when they could git passes. sundays they went to church but not without a pass for, if they ever was cotch out without one, them paterollers would beat 'em up something terrible. "sho, christmastime was when slaves had their own fun. thar warn't nothin' extra or diffunt give 'em, only plenty to eat and drink; marse robert allus made lots of whiskey and brandy. he give his slaves six days holiday and 'lowed 'em to have passes. they frolicked, danced, and visited 'round and called it havin' a good time. wuk begun again on new year's day and thar warn't no more holidays 'til the next christmas. no, mam, not many slave chillun knowed what santa claus was or what christmas was meant to celebrate 'til they got some schoolin' atter the war was over. "sho, sho, us had cornshuckin's, all right enough. sometimes marse robert raised so much corn us had to have more than one cornshuckin' to git it all shucked. the neighbors was 'vited and such a time as us did have atter the wuk was done. i was too little to do so much eatin', drinkin', and cuttin' the buck as the older ones done. 'cuttin' the buck' is what i calls the kind of frolics they had atter they got full of liquor. "yes, mam, they had dances all right. that's how they got mixed up with the paterollers. negroes would go off to dances and stay out all night; it would be wuk time when they got back, and they went to the field and tried to keep right on gwine, but the good lord soon cut 'em down. you couldn't talk to folks that tried to git by with things lak that; they warn't gwine to do no diffunt, nohow. when they ain't 'cepted at st. peter's gate, i'se sho they's gwine to wish they had heeded folks that talked to 'em and tried to holp 'em. "weddin's? didn't you know slaves didn't have sho'nough weddin's? if a slave man saw a girl to his lakin' and wanted her to make a home for him, he just axed her owner if it was all right to take her. if the owner said 'yes' then the man and girl settled down together and behaved theyselves. if the girl lived on one plantation and the man on another that was luck for the girl's marster, 'cause the chillun would belong to him. "right now i can't call to mind nothin' us played when i was a chap but marble games. us made them marbles out of clay and baked 'em in the sun. grown folks used to scare chillun 'bout raw head and bloody bones, but that was mostly to make chillun git still and quiet at night. i ain't never seed no ghost in my life, but i has heared a heap of sounds and warn't able to find out what made them noises. "when slaves got sick marse robert was good enough to 'em; he treated 'em right, and allus sont for a doctor, 'specially when chillun was borned. oil, turpentine, and salts was the medicines the doctors give the most of to slaves. 'fore they was sick enough to send for the doctor the homefolks often give sick folks boneset and life-everlastin' teas, and 'most evvybody wore a little sack of asafetida 'round their necks to protect 'em from diseases. "when freedom come i was down in the lower end of clarke county on marse george veal's plantation whar marse robert had done sont miss martha and the chillun and part of the slaves too. my white folks was fleein' from the yankees. marse robert couldn't come 'long 'cause he had done been wounded in battle and when they sont him home from the war he couldn't walk. i don't know what he said to the slaves that was left thar to 'tend him, but i heared tell that he didn't tell 'em nothin' 'bout freedom, leastwise not for sometime. pretty soon the yankees come through and had the slaves come together in town whar they had a speakin' and told them negroes they was free, and that they didn't belong to nobody no more. them yankees said orders for that pernouncement had come from the president of the united states, mr. abraham lincoln, and they said that mr. lincoln was to be a father to the slaves atter he had done freed 'em. "it warn't long then 'fore marse robert sont my pa to fetch miss martha and her chillun, and the slaves too, back to the old plantation. pa wuked for him 'til june of the next year and then rented a farm on shares. "i heared 'bout night-riders, but i never seed none of 'em. it was said they tuk negroes out of their cabins and beat 'em up jus' 'cause they belonged to the negro race. negroes was free but they warn't 'lowed to act lak free people. three months atter the war, schools was opened up here for negroes and they was in charge of yankee teachers. i can't call back the name of the yankee woman that taught me. "it was several years before no negroes was able to buy land, and thar was just a few of 'em done it to start with. negroes had to go to school fust and git larnin' so they would know how to keep some of them white folks from gittin' land 'way from 'em if they did buy it. "slavery time customs had changed a good bit when i married ella strickland. us had a common little home affair at her ma's house. i never will forgit how ella looked that day in her dove-colored weddin' dress; it was made with a plain, close-fittin' waist that had pretty lace 'round the neck and sleeves. her skirt was plaited, and over it was draped a overskirt that was edged with lace. the good lord gave us seven children, but three of 'em he has taken from the land of the livin'. us still has two boys and two girls. sam wuks at a big clubhouse in washington, d.c., and his four chillun are the onliest grandchillun me and ella's got, so far as us knows. charlie's job is at the pennsylvania station. both of our daughters is teachers; one of 'em teaches at the union baptist school, here in athens, and the other's at a school in statesboro, georgia. yes, mam, ella's still livin', but she is bad off with her foots. if the lord lets us both live 'til this comin' december, us will celebrate our rd. weddin' anniversary. "now that its all been over more than years and us is had time to study it over good, i thinks it was by god's own plan that president abraham lincoln sot us free, and i can't sing his praises enough. miss martha named me for jeff davis, so i can't down him when i'se got his name; i was named for him and benjamin franklin too. oh! sho, i'd ruther be free and i believes the negroes is got as much right to freedom as any other race, 'deed i does believe that. "why did i jine the church? 'cause i was converted by the power of the holy spirit. i thinks all people ought to be 'ligious, to be more lak christ; he is our saviour. i'se been in the church years and 'bout of them years i'se been a-preachin'. i went one year to the atlanta baptist college to git my trainin' for the ministry, and i would have gone back, but me and ella got married. i'se been pastor of the friendship baptist church years. in all, i'se been pastor of eight churches; i'se got three regular churches now." a negro boy came to the door and asked jeff to tell him about some work. as jeff arose he said: "if you is through with me, i'll have to go now and holp this boy. i'se 'titled to one of them books with my story in it free, 'cause i'se a preacher, and i knows i'se give you the best story you has wrote up yit." subject: [hw: robert henry]--ex-slave district: w.p.a. no. research worker: joseph e. jaffee editor: john n. booth supervisor: joseph e. jafffee (asst.) plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave uncle robert henry, an active , now lives with his daughter on billups street in athens. at the time of our visit he was immaculate in dark trousers, a tweed sack coat, and a gayly striped tie. naturally the question came to mind as to whether he found life more pleasant in his daughter's neat little cottage, with its well kept yards, or in the quarters on "ole marster's plantation." he seemed delighted to have an opportunity to talk about "slave'y days"; and although he could not have been more than years old at the time, he has a very vivid recollection of the "year de war broke and freedom came." [illustration] his parents, robert and martha henry, were born in oglethorpe county and were later purchased by p.w. sayles, who owned a , -acre plantation about miles from washington, in wilkes county. ga. "marster didn't have many niggers, not more'n ," he stated. uncle robert was the oldest of children, boys and girls. "pa wuz de butler at de big house," he declared with pride in his voice; and he went on to tell how his mother had been the head seamstress on the plantation and how, at the tender age of , his father had begun training him to "wait on marster's table". the picture of "old marster's" household, as the old man unfolds it to his listeners, is one of almost idyllic beauty. there was the white-pillared "big house" in a grove of white oaks on the brow of a hill with a commanding view of the whole countryside. a gravelled driveway led down to the dusty public road where an occasional stagecoach rattled by and which later echoed with the hoofbeats of confederate cavalry. the master's house contained twelve rooms, each about x feet. the kitchen was in the back yard and food was carried to the dining room in the high basement to the big house by means of an underground passage. two servants stood guard over the table with huge fans made of peacock feathers which they kept in continuous motion during meals to "shoo de flies away." the slave quarters were on the banks of a creek down the hill behind the big house. nearby were the overseer's cottage, the stables, and the carriage houses. in the family were: "marster, mistis, mis' fannie, mis' sally, mars' thomas, mars' hickey, and mars' wyatt. dey all 'tended a school on de plantation." two of the boys went to the war but only one of them came back. after the war the "yanks" came by and took nearly all the stock that the servants hadn't hidden in the swamps and all the silver that "ole mistis" hadn't buried under the currant bushes. yes, in spite of the hard work required, life was very pleasant on the plantations. the field hands were at work at sun-up and were not allowed to quit until dark. each slave had an acre or two of land which he was allowed to farm for himself. he used saturday morning to cultivate his own crop and on saturday afternoon he lolled around or went fishing or visiting. saturday nights were always the time for dancing and frolicking. the master sometimes let them use a barn loft for a big square dance. the musical instruments consisted of fiddles; buckets, which were beaten with the hands; and reeds, called "blowing quills," which were used in the manner of a flute. there were two churches on the plantation, "one for de white folks and one fer de niggers." the same preacher held forth in both congregations. when there were services in the white church there was no negro meetings; but negroes were allowed to sit in the gallery of the "white folk'" church. the master regarded his slaves as [hw: deleted: a] valuable [hw: deleted: piece of] property and they received treatment as such. when they were ill the doctor would be sent for or "old mistis" would come to the cabins bringing her basket of oil, pills, and linament. food was always given out to the slaves from the commissary and the smokehouse. there was flour and corn meal, dried beans and other vegetables, and cured pork and beef in the winter. in season the servants had access to the master's vegetable garden and they were always given as much milk as they could use. life [hw: deleted: had indeed been; added: was] was very pleasant in those times; but uncle robert, at ease in a comfortable rocker, would not agree that it was more to his liking than this present-day existence. when the subject of signs and omens was broached he waxed voluble in denying that he believed in any such "foolishment." however, he agreed that many believed that a rooster crowing in front of the door meant that a stranger was coming and that an owl screeching was a sign of death. he suggested that a successful means of combatting the latter omen is to tie knots in the bed sheets or to heat a poker in the fire. in case of death, uncle robert says, to be on the safe side and prevent another death in the family, it is wise to stop the clock and turn its face to the wall and to cover all the mirrors in the house with white cloths. uncle robert's highly educated daughter smiled indulgently on him while he was giving voice to these opinions and we left him threatening her with dire punishment if she should ever fail to carry out his instructions in matters of this nature. [hw: robert henry ex-slave] federal writers' project w.p.a. office cobb street athens, georgia october , mr. john l. peters, director w.p.a. district no. telfair street augusta, georgia =attention:= mrs. carolyn p. dillard state director federal writers' projects atlanta, georgia dear mr. peters: attaching herewith story of an ex-slave prepared by mr. john booth from my notes and is in accordance with the instructions contained in your letter of october . the snap-shots are by jaffee. we have located a former slave of dr. crawford w. long in jackson county and we plan to interview the 'darky' in the very near future. we are anxious to get a very intimate picture of dr. crawford w. long from the eyes of one of his personal servants. very truly yours, [hw: joseph e. jaffee] joseph e. jaffee asst. district supervisor federal writers' project w.p.a. district no. jej:h john hill broad street athens, georgia plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave written by: grace mccune research worker federal writers' project athens, georgia edited by: leila harris editor federal writers' project augusta, georgia john hill ex-slave, age w. broad st. athens, georgia john hill, an old negro about years old, was seated comfortably on the front porch of his little cabin enjoying the sunshine. he lives alone and his pleasure was evident at having company, and better still an appreciative audience to whom he could relate the story of his early days. "my pa wuz george washin'ton hill. his old marster wuz mr. aubie hill, an' dey all lived on de hill plantation, in de buncombe district, nigh whar monroe, georgia is now. my ma wuz lucy annie carter, an' she b'longed to de carter fambly down in oglethorpe county, 'til she wuz sold on de block, on de ole tuck plantation, whar dey had a regular place to sell 'em. dey put 'em up on a big old block, an' de highest bidder got de nigger. marse george hill bought my ma, an' she come to stay on de hill plantation. dar's whar my pa married her, an' dar's whar i wuz borned. "when i wuz just a little tike, i toted nails for 'em to build de jailhouse. dey got 'bout two by four planks, nailed 'em crossways, an' den dey drived nails in, 'bout evvy inch or two apart, just lak a checkerboard. when dey got it done, dat jail would evermo' keep you on de inside. dere wuz a place wid a rope to let down, when de jailbirds would need somethin', or when somebody wanted to send somethin' up to 'em. no ma'am, dat warn't de rope dey used to hang folkses wid. "my pa stayed on wid old marster 'bout ten years atter de war, den us moved to de farm wid de walkers at monroe, georgia. dat wuz governor walker's pa. dere wuz a red clay bank on de side of de crick whar us chilluns had our swimmmin' hole, an' us didn't know when us wuz a frolickin' an' rollin' young marse clifford down dat bank, dat someday he would be gov'ner of georgia. he evermo' wuz a sight, kivered wid all dat red mud, an' mist'ess, she would fuss an' say she wuz goin' to whup evvyone of us, but us just stayed out of de way an' she never cotched us. den she would forgit 'til de nex' time. "when i wuz 'bout eight years old, dey 'lowed it wuz high time i wuz a larnin' somethin', an' i wuz sont to de little log schoolhouse down in de woods. de onliest book i had wuz just a old blue back speller. us took corn an' 'tatoes 'long an' cooked 'em for dinner, for den us had to stay all day at school. us biled de corn an' roasted 'tatoes in ashes, an' dey tasted mighty good. "us had corn pone to eat all de time, an' on de fust sunday in de month us had cake bread, 'cause it wuz church day. cake bread wuz made out of shorts, but dem biscuits wuz mighty good if dey wuz dark, 'stead of bein' white. "us had big gyardens, an' raised all sorts of vegetables: corn, peas, beans, 'tatoes, colla'ds, an' turnip greens. us had plenty of milk an' butter all de time. an' marster made us raise lots of cows, hogs, sheep, an' chickens, an' tukkeys. "dey warn't no ready made clo'es or no vittuls in cans at de sto'keepers' places, an' us didn't have no money to spend, if dey had a been dar. us didn't have nothin' what us didn't raise an' make up. cotton had to be picked offen de seed, an' washed an' cyarded, den ma spun de thread an' wove de cloth an' sometimes she dyed it wid ink balls, 'fore it wuz ready to make clo'es out of. de ink marster used to write wid wuz made out of ink balls. "i wuz still little when my ma died. de white folks' preacher preached her fun'ral from de tex' of isaiah fifth chapter: fust verse, an' dey sung de old song, "goin' home to die no mo'." den dey buried her on de place, an' built a rail fence 'roun' de grave, to keep de stock from trompin' on it. sometimes several owners got together an' had one place to bury all de slaves, an' den dey built a rail fence all 'roun' de whole place. "hit wuz just lak bein' in jail, de way us had to stay on de place, 'cause if us went off an' didn't have no ticket de paddyrollers would always git us, an' dey evermore did beat up some of de niggers. "i 'members de klu klux klan good. dey kept niggers skeered plum to death, an' when dey done sumpin' brash dey sho' got beat up if de kluxers cotched 'em. "one time de kluxers come by our place on de way to beat a old nigger man. i begged 'em to lemme go wid 'em, an' atter a while dey said i could go. dere wuz horns on de mask dey kivvered up my head wid an' i wuz mighty skeered but i didn't say nothin'. atter us got dar, dey tied de old man up by his hands to de rafters in his house. he wuz beggin' 'em to let him off an' yellin' 'o lordy, have mussy!' dere wuz a little gal dar an' i wanted to skeer her, so i started atter her, an' de old man tole her to hit me on de head. she picked up a shovel an' th'owed it an' cut my leg so wide open de blood just spilt down on de floor. i got so bad off dey had to take me back to old marster, an' he fix me up. hit wuz six months 'fore i could use dat leg good, an', i nebber did wanter go wid dem kluxers no more. "us went to de white folkses church, but onct a year on de fust sunday in augus' de white folkses let de niggers have dat day for camp meetin'. dey fixed good dinners for us, an' let us go off in de woods an' stay all day. dem chicken pies an' dem good old 'tato custards, 'bout one an' a half inches thick, made wid sea sugar, dey make your mouf water just to talk 'bout 'em. what wuz sea sugar? why it wuz dat crawly, kind of grayish, lookin' sugar us used den. i wuz grown 'fore i ever seed no sho' 'nough white sugar. "my pa hired me out to mr. ray kempton to tote cotton to de gin on his plantation, when i wuz 'bout years old. i wuz wukkin' dar when de fust railroad wuz laid, an' dey named de place kempton station fer marse ray kempton. i wuz paid five dollars a month an' board for my wuk, an' i stayed dar 'til i married. "i wuz 'bout eighteen when i rode on de train for de fust time. us rode from social circle to washin'ton, wilkes, to see my ma's folkses. ma tuk a heap of ginger cakes an' fried chicken along for us to eat on de train, an' de swingin' an' swayin' of dat train made me so sick i didn't want to ride no more for a long time. "soon atter i wuz twenty years old, i married a gal from washin'ton, wilkes, an' us moved to athens, an' i been livin' right here ever since. us got here de last day de old whiskey house wuz open. dey closed it down dat night. i wukked a long time wid de allgood boys in de horse tradin' business an' den i wukked for mr. an' mrs. will peeples 'bout ten years. dey runned a boardin' house, an' while i wuz dar, dr. walker come to board, an' i wuz mighty glad to wait on him, 'cause he wuz from monroe an' had done been livin' on de old walker place dat i stayed at when us wuz down dar. "my uncle, ambus carter, wuz a preacher on marse jim smith's place. he b'longed to marse jim durin' de war, an' he never did leave him. atter freedom come, most of marse jim's niggers lef' him, an' den he had what dey called chaingang slaves. he paid 'em out of jail for 'em to wuk for him. an' he let 'em have money all de time so dey didn't never git out of debt wid him. dey had to stay dar an' wuk all de time, an' if dey didn't wuk he had 'em beat. he evermore did beat 'em if dey got lazy, but if dey wukked good, he wuz good to 'em. sometimes dey tried to run away. dey had dogs to trail 'em wid so dey always cotched 'em, an' den da whippin' boss beat 'em mos' to death. it wuz awful to hear 'em hollerin' an' beggin' for mussy. if dey hollered, 'lord have mussy!' marse jim didn't hear 'em, but if dey cried, 'marse jim have mussy!' den he made 'em stop de beatin'. he say, 'de lord rule heb'en, but jim smith ruled de earth.' "one time he cotched some niggers down at de seaboard station, what had runned away from his place. he got de police, an' brung 'em back 'cause he 'lowed dey still owed him money. i wuz mighty sorry for 'em, for i knowed what dey wuz goin' to git when he done got 'em back on his place. dat whippin' boss beat 'em 'til dey couldn't stan' up. "but he wuz good to my uncle, an' treated him just lak one of de fambly. he helped him wid all his sermons, an' told him to always tell 'em to be observerant an' obejent to de boss man. he provided good fer his help an' dey always had plenty to eat. he used to try to git me to come an' stay wid him, but i didn't want to stay on dat place. "marse jim used to have big 'possum hunts for his niggers, an' he would sen' me word, an' i most always went, 'cause dem wuz good times den, when dey cooked de coons an' 'possums, an' eat an' drunk mos' of de night. coon meat is most as good as lamb if you is careful to take out de musk sacs when you dress 'em to cook." smithsonia, the jim smith plantation, covered thousands of acres, but the words of the feeble old negro showed that he could not imagine it possible for any farmer to own more than one hundred acres. "marse jim had a hund'ud acre farm, an' he had to keep plenty of niggers to look atter dat place, but i wuz 'fraid to go dar to stay, for it wuz sho' just lak de jailhouse. "dey ain't but four of our nine chilluns livin' now an' dey's all up nawf. dey done sont atter me when deir ma died, an' tried to git me to stay wid 'em, but its too cold up dar for dis old nigger, so i just stays on here by myself. it don't take much for me to live on. in crop times i wuks in de fiel' a choppin' cotton, an' i picks cotton too. i'll just wait on here an' de waitin' won't be much longer, 'cause i'se a living right, an', 'praise de lawd,' i'se a gwine to heb'en w'en i die." mary a. crawford re-search worker laura hood ex-slave laura was born in griffin december , on mr. henry bank's place. her mother, sylvia banks (called "cely ann" by the darkies) married her father, joe brawner, a carpenter, who was owned by mr. henry brawner. joe and sylvia were married in mr. henry bank's parlor by this white preacher. mr. banks, laura's master, owned a tannery in griffin and had "around fifty slaves" according to laura's memory. most of the slaves worked at the tannery, the others at mr. bank's home. laura's mother was the cook in the bank's home for over forty years. joe, laura's father, was a carpenter and the four little darkies of the family helped about the house and yard doing such work as feeding the chickens, sweeping the yards and waiting on the mistress. laura, herself was a "house girl", that is, she made the beds, swept the floors and sewed and helped the mistress do the mending for the family. when asked if the master and mistress were good to the slaves, laura replied that they certainly were, adding, "marse henry was as good a man as ever put a pair of pants on his legs." as to the punishments used by the banks, laura was almost indignant at such a question, saying that marse henry never whipped or punished his darkies in any way, that he did not believe in it. the only whipping that laura herself ever had was one lick across the shoulders with a small switch used by her mistress to keep her mother, celie ann, from whipping her. laura relates that the darkies worked all the time except sunday. on sunday they could do as they pleased so long as they went to church. all the bank's darkies attended service in the "cellar" (basement) of the first baptist church and had a colored preacher. when any of the darkies were sick if 'ole marster' and 'ole miss' could not "set them straight" they called in "ole marse's" white doctor. mr. banks, himself, was too old "to fight the yankees" but young 'marse henry' fought but did not "get a scratch" and when he came home all of them were sure glad to see him. "after freedom, when 'ole mars' was gone, 'young marster' was as good as gold to all the darkies." laura can remember when he gave her $ . to $ . at a time." she also recalls that when the slaves were freed that her ole marse called all of the darkies around him out in the yard and told them that they were as free as he was and could leave if they wanted to, but if they would stay 'till christmas and help him that he would pay them wages. all of them stayed except one negro named "big john" who left with a bunch of yankees that came along soon after. as to what happened at the bank's home when the yankees came through, laura does not remember, but she does recall that the banks family "refugeed to florida to get out of the path of the yankees." "no, mam," said laura in reply to the question "did your master have his slaves taught to read and write?" "we never had any school of any kind on the bank's place. 'marse henry did not believe we needed that." laura has lived in her present home since and recalls when griffin was "mostly a big woods full of paths here and there." she recalls the "auction block" which was on or near the site of the present court house. the old woman is very feeble, in fact, unable to walk but is cared for by a niece. laura pood e. solomon street griffin, georgia september , plantation life as viewed by ex-slave carrie hudson lyndon avenue athens, georgia. written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & . carrie hudson ex-slave--age carrie was asked to relate her memories of childhood days on the old plantation. "i'se done most forgot 'bout dem days," she replied, "but if you ax me some questions hit mought come back to me. hit's such a fur way back dat i don't never think 'bout dem times no more." after a few reminders, the old negress began eagerly volunteering her recollections. "slave traders fotched my pa, he was phil rucker, f'um richmond, virginny, and sold him to marse joe squire rucker. ma, she was frances rucker, was borned on marse joe's place nigh ruckersville, up in elbert county, and all of us chilluns was born on dat plantation too. hester ann, loke ann, elizabeth, mary, minnie bright, dawson, ant'ony, squire and philip was my sisters and brothers. grandma bessie done de cookin' at de big house. grandpa ant'ony had done died long 'fore i got big enough to know nothin' 'bout him. "miss, chilluns what was knee high to a duck had to wuk. 'til dey was big and strong enough for field wuk, little niggers done all sorts of piddlin' jobs. dey toted water to de big house and to de hands in de fields, fotched in chips and wood, and watched de cows. me? i nussed most of de time. if dere was any money give out for slaves' wuk de grown folkses got it all, for i never seed none and i never heared 'bout no niggers gittin' none in slavery times. "us lived in log cabins scattered 'round de plantation. de biggest of 'em had two rooms and evvy cabin had a chimbly made out of sticks and red mud. most of de chillun slept on pallets on de floor, but i slept wid my pa and ma 'cause i was so pettish. most of de beds was made out of poles, dis a-way: dey bored two holes in de wall, wide apart as dey wanted de bed, and in dese holes dey stuck one end of de poles what was de side pieces. dey sharpened de ends of two more poles and driv' 'em in de floor for de foot pieces and fastened de side pieces to 'em. planks was put acrost dis frame to hold a coarse cloth tick filled wid wheat straw. ma had a ruffle, what was called a foot bouncer, 'round de foot of her bed. beds up at de big house was a sight to see. dey had high posties and curtains over de top and 'round de bottom of deir beds. dem beds at de big house was so high dey had steps to walk up so dey could git in 'em. oh, dey was pretty, all kivvered over wid bob' net to keep flies and skeeters off de white folkses whilst dey slept! "warn't nothin' short 'bout de eats. our white folkses b'lieved in good eatin's. dey give us bread and meat wid all de cabbage, colla'd and turnip greens us wanted, and us had 'matoes, 'tatoes, chickens and ducks. yessum, and dere allus was plenty 'possums and rabbits cooked 'bout lak dey is now, only dere warn't no stoves in dem days. pots for biling swung on racks dey called cranes, over de coals in big open fireplaces. baking was done in ovens and skillets. dere was allus lots of fishes in season, but i didn't do none of de fishin', 'cause i was too skeered of de water when i was a chap. "all de cloth for our clothes was wove in de loom room up at de big house. little gal's dresses was made just lak deir ma's, wid full skirts gathered on to plain, close fittin' waisties. little boys just wore shirts. didn't no chillun wear but one piece of clothes in summer. winter time us wore de same only dey give us a warm underskirt, and rough red brogan shoes. didn't no niggers wear shoes in warm weather durin' slavery times. "marse joe squire rucker was de fust marster of our plantation. atter him and miss peggy done died, his son, marse elbert rucker tuk up where his pa left off. i can't call to mind nothin' 'bout marse joe and miss peggy 'cept what old folkses told me long atter dey done died, but i does 'member marse elbert and miss sallie and dey was just as good to us as dey could be. de onliest ones of dier chilluns i ricollects now is miss bessie, miss cora and marsters joe, guy, marion and early. dey all lived in a big fine house sot back f'um de road a piece. "marse elbert's overseer was a mr. alderman. he got de slaves up early in de mornin' and it was black night 'fore he fotched 'em in. marse elbert didn't 'low nobody to lay hands on his niggers but his own self. if any whuppin' had to be done, he done it. "my brother, squire, was de carriage driver and he was all time a-drivin' our white folkses to ruckersville, and sometimes he driv' 'em far as anderson, south callina. "to tell de truth, missy, i don't know how many acres was in dat big old plantation. dere just ain't no tellin'. niggers was scattered over dat great big place lak flies. when dey come in f'um de fields at night, dem slaves was glad to just go to sleep and rest. "dey didn't do no field wuk atter dinner on saddays. de 'omans washed, ironed and cleaned up deir cabins, while de mens piddled 'roun' and got de tools and harness and things lak dat ready for de next week's wuk. "i heared 'em say dere was a jail at ruckersville, but so far as i knows dere warn't no slaves ever put in jail. niggers didn't have no chance to git in devilment, 'cause de overseers and patterollers kep' close atter 'em all de time, and slaves what stepped aside allus got a whuppin'. dere warn't no time for to larn readin' and writin' on marse elbert's plantation. dem slaves knowed what a bible was but dey sho' couldn't read de fust line. us went to white folkses church on sundays, and while i never tuk in none of dem songs us sung, i sho'ly do ricollect moughty well how de reverend duncan would come down on dat preachin'. "lordy, miss! dere you is a-axing me 'bout folkses dyin', and i'se nigh dead myself! brother 'lisha done prophesied you was a-comin' here for to write a jedgment, and hit makes me feel right creepy. anyhow i seed a heaps of folkses died out and git put in dem home-made coffins what was black as sin. i sho' is glad dey done changed de color of coffins. i 'members how us used to holler and cry when dey come to de part of de fun'ral whar dey sung: 'hark f'um de tomb, a doleful sound.' "dere was a heap of baptizin's dem days and i went to most all of 'em, but i sho' warn't baptized 'til long atter i got grown, 'cause i was so skeered of de water. i kin see dem folkses now, a-marchin' down to de crick, back of de church, and all de can-i-dates dressed in de whites' white clothes, what was de style den. evvybody jined in de singin', and de words was lak dis: 'marchin' for de water for to be baptized. de lord done lit de candle on de other side for to see his chilluns when dey gits baptized.' "niggers on marse elbert's place never knowed nothin' 'bout no north; if dey did dey wouldn't tell it to chilluns little as i was den. dere was some sort of uprisin' a good piece f'um ruckersville, but i can't tell you 'bout it 'cause i just heared de old folkses do a little talkin', what warn't enough to larn de whole tale. chillun back dar didn't jine in de old folkses business lak dey does now. "sadday nights de young folkses picked de banjo, danced and cut de buck 'til long atter midnight, but christmas times was when chilluns had deir bestes' good times. marse elbert 'ranged to have hog killin' close enough to christmas so dere would be plenty of fresh meat, and dere was heaps of good chickens, tukkeys, cake, candies, and just evvything good. en durin' de christmas, slaves visited 'roun' f'um house to house, but new year's day was wuk time again, and dere was allus plenty to do on dat plantation. most all de niggers loved to go to dem cornshuckin's, 'cause atter de corn was all shucked dey give 'em big suppers and let 'em dance. de cotton pickin's was on nights when de moon was extra bright 'cause dey couldn't do much lightin' up a big cotton field wid torches lak dey did de places where dey had de cornshuckin's. atter cornshuckin's, dey mought be dancin' by de light of torches, but us danced in de moonlight when de cotton was picked and de prize done been give out to de slave what picked de most. logrollin's was de most fun of all. de men and 'omans would roll dem logs and sing and dey give 'em plenty of good eats, and whiskey by de kegs, at logrollin's. de marsters, dey planned de cornshuckin's, and cotton pickin's, and logrollin's and pervided de eats and liquor, but de quiltin' parties b'longed to de slaves. dey 'ranged 'em deir own selfs and done deir own 'vitin' and fixed up deir own eats, but most of de marsters would let 'em have a little somepin' extra lak brown sugar or 'lasses and some liquor. de quiltin's was in de cabins, and dey allus had 'em in winter when dare warn't no field wuk. dey would quilt a while and stop to eat apple pies, peach pies, and other good things and drink a little liquor. "us had to tote water and nuss chillun 'stid of playin' no games. us didn't know nothin' 'bout ghosties, hants, and sich lak. our white folkses would whup a nigger for skeerin' us chillun quick as anything. dey didn't 'low none of dat. de onliest ghost i'se ever seed was just t'other day. i seed somebody pass my door. i hollered out: 'who dat?' dey didn't say nothin'. brother 'lisha here said it was a sperrit passin' by. he must be right, 'cause whoever it was, dey didn't say nothin' 'tall. "marse elbert and miss sallie was sho' moughty good when deir niggers tuk sick. castor oil and turpentine was what dey give 'em most of de time. horehound tea was for colds, and elderberry tea was to help babies teethe easier. yessum, us wore beads, but dey was just to look pretty. "all i knows 'bout how come us was sot free is dat folkses said mr. jefferson davis and mr. abraham lincoln got to fightin' 'bout us, and mr. lincoln's side got de best of mr. davis' side in de quarrel. de day dey told us dat us was free dere was a white man named mr. bruce, what axed: 'what you say?' dey told him 'gain dat all de niggers was free. he bent hisself over, and never did straighten his body no more. when he died, he was still all bent over. mr. bruce done dis to sho' de world how he hated to give his niggers up atter dey done been sot free. "when dem yankees come thoo' dey stole evvything dey could take off wid 'em. dey tuk sue, my brother's nice hoss, and left him a old poor bag-of-bones hoss. us stayed on wid our white folkses a long time atter de war. "edwin jones was my fust husband and i wore a pretty dove colored dress at our weddin'. jenny ann was our onliest child. all but one of our eight grandchillun is all livin' now, and i'se got great grandchillun. atter edwin died, i married dis here charlie hudson what i'se livin' wid now. us didn't have no big weddin' and tain't long since us got married. me and charlie ain't got no chillun. "i jined de church 'cause i got 'ligion and i knows de good lord done forgive my sins. evvybody ought to git 'ligion and hold it and jine de church. "de way us is a havin' to live now is pretty bad 'cause us is both too old to wuk. don't give me dem slavery days no more 'cause i would have to wuk anyhow if i was a slave again! us couldn't set 'roun' and smoke our pipes and do as us please. i'd ruther have it lak it is now. "i can't 'member no more to tell you, but i sho' has 'joyed dis talk. yessum, dem days was a fur piece back." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave [tr: date stamp: may ] charlie hudson lyndon avenue athens, georgia written by: sadie b. hornsby athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- leila harris augusta -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project res. & . augusta, ga. charlie hudson =ex-slave--age .= charlie listened with eager interest to the story related by carrie, his wife, and frequent smiles played over his wrinkled black face as her reminiscences awakened memories of younger days. his delight was evident when the interviewer suggested that he tell his own impressions of slavery and the period following the war between the states. "miss," he said, "i been takin' in what de old 'oman done told you. dat was de beginnin' way back yonder and de end is nigh. soon dere won't be nobody left livin' what was a sho' 'nough slave. it's somepin' to think about, ain't it? "anyhow, i was born march , in elbert county. ma lived on de bell plantation and marse matt hudson owned my pa and kept him on de hudson place. dere was seben of us chillun. will, bynam, john and me was de boys, and de gals was amanda, liza ann, and gussie. 'til us was big enough to wuk, us played 'round de house 'bout lak chillun does dese days. "slave quarters was laid out lak streets. us lived in log cabins. beds? dey was jus' makeshift beds, what was made out of pine poles. de side of de house was de head of de beds. de side rails was sharpened at both ends and driv' in holes in de walls and foot posties. den dey put boards 'cross de side rails for de mattresses to lay on. de coarse cloth bed ticks was filled wid 'georgy feathers.' don't you know what georgy feathers was? wheat straw was georgy feathers. our kivver was sheets and plenty of good warm quilts. now dat was at our own quarters on marse david bell's plantation. "didn't evvybody have as good places to sleep as us. i 'members a white fambly named sims what lived in flatwoods. dey was de porest white folks i ever seed. dey had a big drove of chillun and deir pa never wukked a lick in his life--he jus' lived on other folkses' labors. deir little log cabin had a partition in it, and 'hind dat partition dere warn't a stitch of nothin'. dey didn't have no floor but de ground, and back 'hind dat partition was dug out a little deeper dan in de rest of de house. dey filled dat place wid leaves and dat's whar all de chilluns slept. evvy day miss sallie made 'em take out de leaves what dey had slep' on de night before and fill de dugout wid fresh leaves. on de other side of de partition, miss sallie and her old man slept 'long wid deir hog, and hoss, and cow, and dat was whar dey cooked and et too. i ain't never gwine to forgit dem white folks. "my grandma patsy, pappy's ma, knocked 'round lookin' atter de sheep and hogs, close to de house, 'cause she was too old for field wuk. ma's mammy was my grandma rose. her job was drivin' de oxcart to haul in wood from de new grounds and to take wheat and corn to mill and fetch back good old home-made flour and meal. i never did hear nothin' 'bout my grandpas. ma done de cookin' for de white folks. "i don't know if i was no pet, but i did stay up at de big house most of de time, and one thing i loved to do up dar was to follow miss betsy 'round totin' her sewin' basket. when wuk got tight and hot in crop time, i helped de other chillun tote water to de hands. de bucket would slamp 'gainst my laigs all along de way, and most of de water would be done splashed out 'fore i got to de field. "marse david and his fambly most allus sont deir notes and messages by me and another yearlin' boy what was 'lowed to lay 'round de big house yard so us would be handy to wait on our white folks. dey give you de note what dey done writ, and dey say: 'boy, if you lose dis note, you'll git a whuppin'! all de time you was carryin' dem notes you had your whuppin' in your hand and didn't know it, lessen you lost de note. i never heared of no trouble to 'mount to nothin' twixt white folks and niggers in our settlement. "us et good, not much diff'unt f'um what us does now. most times it was meat and bread wid turnip greens, lye hominy, milk, and butter. all our cookin' was done on open fireplaces. oh! i was fond of 'possums, sprinkled wid butter and pepper, and baked down 'til de gravy was good and brown. you was lucky if you got to eat 'possum and gnaw de bones atter my ma done cooked it. "dey cotch rabbits wid dogs. now and den, a crowd of niggers would jump a rabbit when no dogs was 'round. dey would tho' rocks at him and run him in a hollow log. den dey would twiss him out wid hickory wisps (withes). sometimes dere warn't no fur left on de rabbit time dey got him twisted out, but dat was all right. dey jus' slapped him over daid and tuk him on to de cabin to be cooked. rabbits was most gen'ally fried. "grown boys didn't want us chillun goin' 'long 'possum huntin' wid 'em, so all right, dey tuk us way off crost de fields 'til dey found a good thick clump of bushes, and den dey would holler out dat dere was some moughty fine snipes 'round dar. dey made us hold de poke (bag) open so de snipes could run in. den dey blowed out deir light'ood knot torches, and left us chillun holdin' de poke whilst dey went on huntin' 'possums. "atter dinner saddays all of us tuk our hooks, poles, and lines down to dry fork crick, when it was de right time of de year to fish. sometimes dey stewed fish for old folkses to eat, but young folkses loved 'em fried best. "winter time dey give chillun new cotton and wool mixed shirts what come down most to de ankles. by de time hot weather come de shirt was done wore thin and swunk up and 'sides dat, us had growed enough for 'em to be short on us, so us jus' wore dem same shirts right on thoo' de summer. on our place you went bar foots 'til you was a great big yearlin' 'fore you got no shoes. what you wore on yo' haid was a cap made out of scraps of cloth dey wove in de looms right dar on our plantation to make pants for de grown folks. "mr. david bell, our marster, was born clubfooted. his hands and foots was drawed up evvy which a way long as he lived. he was jus' lak a old tom cat, he was such a cusser. all he done was jus' set dar and cuss, and a heap of times you couldn't see nothin' for him to cuss 'bout. he tuk his crook-handled walkin' stick and cotch you and drug you up to him and den jus' helt you tight and cussed you to yo' face, but he didn't never whup nobody. our mist'ess, miss betsey, was allus moughty kind at times lak dat, and she used to give us chillun a heap of ginger cakes. deir seben chilluns was dr. bynam, marse david and little misses ad'line, elizabeth, mary and mildred. dey lived in a big old two-story house, but i done forgot how it looked. "dat overseer, he was a clever man, but i can't ricollect his name. he never paid no heed to what sort of clothes slaves wore, but he used to raise merry cain if dey didn't have good shoes to ditch in. marse david was de cussin' boss, but de overseer called hisself de whuppin' boss. he had whuppin's all time saved up special for de 'omans. he made 'em take off deir waistes and den he whupped 'em on deir bar backs 'til he was satisfied. he done all de whuppin' atter supper by candle light. i don't 'member dat he ever whupped a man. he jus' whupped 'omans. "evvybody was up early so dat by sunrise dey was out in de fields, jus' a whoopin' and hollerin'. at sundown dey stopped and come back to de cabins. in wheat harvestin' time dey wukked so hard dey jus' fell out f'um gittin' overhet. other times dey jus' wukked 'long steady lak. "marse david never had no sho' 'nough car'iage so he never needed no car'iage driver. he had what dey called a ground sleigh. in de spring marse david sont a man to de woods to pick out a lakly lookin' young white oak saplin' and bent it down a certain way. hit stayed bent dat way 'til it growed big enough, den dey sawed it lengthways and put a mortise hole in each front piece to put de round thoo' to hold de singletrees. holes was bored at de back to fasten de plank seat to. dey put a quilt on de seat for a cushion and hitched a pair of oxen to de sleigh. come winter, come summer, snow or rain, dey went right on in de old sleigh jus' de same! "now, miss, dis sho' is right! many times as i is done been over dat plantation f'um one side to de other i couldn't tell you to save my life how many acres was in it. i would be 'fraid to say, how many slaves marse david owned, but i'm here to tell you dere was a bunch of 'em 'round dar. "dey didn't have no jail house or nothin' lak dat 'round dat plantation, 'cause if slaves didn't please marster dey was jus' made to come up to de yard at de big house and take deir beatin's. i seed dem traders come thoo' f'um virginny wid two wagon loads of slaves at one time, gwine down on broad river to a place called lisbon whar dey already had orders for 'em. i ain't never seed no slaves bein' sold or auctioned off on de block. "wunst a white man named bill rowsey, come and begged marse david to let him teach his niggers. marse david had de grown mens go sweep up de cottonseed in de ginhouse on sunday mornin', and for three sundays us went to school. when us went on de fourth sunday night riders had done made a shape lak a coffin in de sand out in front, and painted a sign on de ginhouse what read: 'no niggers 'lowed to be taught in dis ginhouse.' dat made marse david so mad he jus' cussed and cussed. he 'lowed dat nobody warn't gwine tell him what to do. but us was too skeered to go back to de ginhouse to school. next week marse david had 'em build a brush arbor down by de crick, but when us went down dar on sunday for school, us found de night riders had done 'stroyed de brush arbor, and dat was de end of my gwine to school. "dere warn't no church for slaves whar us was. marse david give us a pass so us wouldn't be 'sturbed and let us go 'round from one plantation to another on sundays for prayer meetin's in de cabins and under trees if de weather was warm and nice. sometimes when dere was a jubilee comin' off, slaves was 'lowed to go to deir marsters' church. me? i used to ride 'hind miss betsey on her hoss what she called puss, and away us went jiggin' down de road to jubilees at millstone and elam churches. i was a rich feelin' little nigger den. "de chillun had to take a back seat whilst de old folks done all de singin', so i never larned none of dem songs good 'nough to 'member what de words was, or de tunes neither. now and den us went to a fun'ral, not often, but if dere was a baptizin' inside of miles 'round f'um whar us lived, us didn't miss it. us knowed how to walk, and went to git de pleasure. "atter slaves got in f'um de fields at night, de 'omans cooked supper whilst de mens chopped wood. lessen de crops was in de grass moughty bad or somepin' else awful urgent, dere warn't no wuk done atter dinner on saddays. de old folks ironed, cleant house, and de lak, and de young folks went out sadday nights and danced to de music what dey made beatin' on tin pans. sundays, youngsters went to de woods and hunted hickernuts and muscadines. de old folks stayed home and looked one anothers haids over for nits and lice. whenever dey found anything, dey mashed it twixt dey finger and thumb and went ahead searchin'. den de 'omans wropt each others hair de way it was to stay fixed 'til de next sunday. "chris'mas us went f'um house to house lookin' for locust and persimmon beer. chillun went to all de houses huntin' gingerbread. ma used to roll it thin, cut it out wid a thimble, and give a dozen of dem little balls to each chile. persimmon beer and gingerbread! what big times us did have at chris'mas. new year's day, dey raked up de hoss and cow lots if de weather was good. marster jus' made us wuk enough on new year's day to call it wukkin', so he could say he made us start de new year right. "marse david had cornshuckin's what lasted two or three weeks at a time. dey had a gen'ral to keep dem brash boys straight. de number of gen'rals 'pended on how much corn us had and how many slaves was shuckin' corn. atter it was all shucked, dere was a big celebration in store for de slaves. dey cooked up washpots full of lamb, kid, pork, and beef, and had collard greens dat was wu'th lookin' at. dey had water buckets full of whiskey. when dem niggers danced atter all dat eatin' and drinkin', it warn't rightly dancin'; it was wrastlin'. "dem moonlight cotton pickin's was big old times. dey give prizes to de ones pickin' de most cotton. de prizes was apt to be a quart of whiskey for de man what picked de most and a dress for de 'oman what was ahead. dem niggers wouldn't take no time to empty cotton in baskets--jus' dumped it out quick on baggin' in de field. "day went f'um one plantation to another to quiltin's. atter de 'omans got thoo' quiltin' and et a big dinner, den dey axed de mens to come in and dance wid 'em. "whenever any of our white folks' gals got married dere was two or three weeks of celebratin'. what a time us did have if it was one of our own little misses gittin' married! when de day 'rived, it was somepin' else. de white folks was dressed up to beat de band and all de slaves was up on deir toes to do evvything jus' right and to see all dey could. atter de preacher done finished his words to de young couple, den dey had de sho' 'nough weddin' feast. dere was all sorts of meat to choose f'um at weddin' dinners--turkeys, geese, chickens, peafowls, and guineas, not to mention good old ham and other meats. "pitchin' hoss shoes and playin' marbles was heaps and lots of fun when i was growin' up. atter while, de old folks 'cided dem games was gamblin' and wouldn't let us play no more. i don't know nothin' t'all 'bout no ghosties. us had 'nough to be skeered of widout takin' up no time wid dat sort of thing. "when marse david changed me f'um calf shepherd to cowboy, he sont three or four of us boys to drive de cows to a good place to graze 'cause de male beast was so mean and bad 'bout gittin' atter chillun, he thought if he sont enough of us dere wouldn't be no trouble. dem days, dere warn't no fence law, and calves was jus' turned loose in de pastur to graze. da fust time i went by myself to drive de cows off to graze and come back wid 'em, aunt vinnie 'ported a bunch of de cows was missin', 'bout of em, when she done de milkin' dat night, and i had to go back huntin' dem cows. de moon come out, bright and clear, but i couldn't see dem cows nowhar--didn't even hear de bell cow. atter while i was standin' in de mayberry field a-lookin' crost dry fork crick and dere was dem cows. de bell was pulled so clost on de bell cow's neck whar she was caught in de bushes, dat it couldn't ring. i looked at dem cows--den i looked at de crick whar i could see snakes as thick as de fingers on your hand, but i knowed i had to git dem cows back home, so i jus' lit out and loped 'cross dat crick so fast dem snakes never had no chanct to bite me. dat was de wust racket i ever got in. "marse david and miss betsey tuk moughty good keer of deir niggers, 'specially when dey was sick. dr. bynam bell, deir oldest son, was a doctor but miss betsey was a powerful good hand at doctoring herself. she looked atter all da slave 'omans. for medicines dey give us asafiddy (asafetida), calomel, and castor oil more dan anything else for our diff'unt ailments. "marse david's nephew, mr. henry bell, visited at de big house durin' de war, and he was cut down jus' a few days atter he left us and went back to de battlefield. "us had been hearin' fust one thing and another 'bout freedom might come, when one mornin' mr. will bell, a patteroller, come ridin' on his hoss at top speed thoo' de rye field whar us was at wuk. us made sho' he was atter some pore slave, 'til he yelled out: 'what you niggers wukkin' for? don't you know you is free as jay birds?' 'bout dat time de trumpet blowed for dinner and us fell in line a-marchin' up to de big house. marse david said: 'you all might jus' as well be free as anybody else.' den he promised to give us somepin' to eat and wear if us would stay on wid him, and dere us did stay for 'bout three years atter de war. i was burnt up den, 'cause i didn't have de privilege of ridin' 'hind miss betsey on old puss no more when she went to meetin'. "whar us lived, ku kluxers was called 'night thiefs.' dey stole money and weepons (weapons) f'um niggers atter de war. dey tuk $ in gold f'um me and $ in jeff davis' shimplasters f'um my brother. pa and ma had left dat money for us to use when us got big enough. a few niggers managed somehow to buy a little land. i couldn't rightly say when de school was set up. "me and carrie rucker, us ain't been married long. i thinks big weddin's is a foolish waste of time and money. yessum, i'm moughty proud of all of carrie's grandchillun and i'm fond of evvyone of dem great-grandchillun of hers. "well, it was a god-sent method mr. lincoln used to give us our freedom. mr. davis didn't want no war, and he 'posed it all he knowed how, but if he hadn't a gone ahead and fit, dere never would have been nothin' done for us. far as i knows, booker washin'ton done some good things in his day and time, but i don't know much 'bout him. "in a way, i'm satisfied wid what confronts me. a pusson in jail or on de chaingang would ruther be outside and free dan in captivity. dat's how i feels. "when dey read dis passage of de bible to me, i 'cided to jine up wid de church. 'come ye out f'um amongst dem, and ye shall be my people.' i think evvybody ought to read dat verse, jine de church, and den live 'ligious lifes. i done been changed f'um darkness to light. 'oh, for a closer walk wid god.' "yes ma'am, miss, i done been here a long time i done seed many come and go. lots of changes has tuk place. i done told you 'bout f'um de cradle to de grave, and i enjoyed doin' it. all dat ricollectin' sho' tuk me back over many a rocky road, but dem was de days what ain't never gwine to be no more." person interviewed: annie huff, ex-slave, of near macon, georgia jul a large windmill beside the highway, on the houston road near seven bridges, draws the attention of a traveler to a two-story house, recently remodeled, which was the colonial home of mr. travis huff, now occupied by mrs. rosa melton, his grand-daughter. during the days of slavery the master and an indulgent mistress with their twelve slaves lived on this property. mr. huff's family was a large one, all of whom were well educated and very religious. several of his daughters became teachers after the close of the civil war. among the "quarter" families were annie huff and her daughters, mary being the elder. the mother cooked and the small children learned to sweep the yard and to do minor jobs in the field at a very early age. at the age of twelve, the girls were taught to card and spin as well as to knit and were required to do a certain task each day until they were large enough to assist with the heavier work. the adult females did this type of work after sunset, when their labor in the field was over. on rainy days they shucked and shelled corn or did some other kind of indoor labor. generally, this group was humanely treated, but occasionally one was unmercifully beaten. in spite of the fact that there was only one male among his slaves, mr. huff's outbursts of temper caused him to be so cruel that his daughters would frequently beg him to end his punishment. frolics were mostly given at corn shuckings, cane grindings, hog killings, or quiltings. at hog killing time, huge containers of water were heated in the yard. when it reached the desired temperature, the hogs were driven to a certain spot where they were struck a hard blow on the head. when they fell, they were stuck with a very sharp knife, then scalded in the boiling water. the hair and dirt were then scrubbed off and they were a pretty light color as they hung from a rack to be dressed. when the work was completed, the guests cooked chitterlings and made barbecue to be served with the usual gingercake and persimmon beer. they then dressed in their colorful "sunday" garments, dyed with maple and dogwood bark, to engage in promenades, cotillions, etc., to the time of a quill instrument. on sunday, church services were held at old liberty church where seats in the rear were provided for all adult slaves. the small children were not allowed to attend these services, but they frequently sneaked away from home and attended in spite of the restriction. it was expedient that they also leave before the close of the service, but often lingered on the roadside and waited for mr. huff to pass. he'd stop and ask them where they's been, and as they danced up and down they replied in chorus: "we've been to church, master; we've been to church." the presence of slave visitors was not encouraged, for mr. huff usually purchased women with children and there were no married couples living on his place. however, young negro men would often sneak in the cabins at night--usually coming through the windows--and visit with their sweethearts. gifts of handkerchiefs and earrings were smuggled in strictly against the rules of the master. children tattlers kept mr. huff informed regarding the happenings in the quarters, but their silence could be bought with a few shin plasters. this "hush" money and that made from running errands were enough to keep the children supplied with spending change. often, when their childish prattle had caused some adult to be punished, mrs. huff would keep them in the house for a night to escape the wrath of the offender. all food was raised on the plantation and cooked in the family kitchen. every one had the same kind of food and the game caught or killed by the elder sons was a delicacy relished by all. when the family meal was served, a mischievous collection of black children would sometimes crawl under the table and meddle with each person seated there. instead of being scolded, they would receive luscious morsels from the hands of the diners. mrs. huff often laughingly stated that she knew not which was more annoying--"the children or the chickens, as neither were disciplined." probably because of the absence of male slaves, no shoe-maker was maintained. footwear for the entire group was purchased at strong's shoe store in macon. superstition was usually a part of the life of a slave. those seeking to escape from a cruel master used to rub turpentine on the soles of their feet to prevent capture. others collected quantities of soil from a graveyard and sprinkled it in their tracks for a certain distance. both of these precautions were used to throw the dogs off scent. refugee slaves often found shelter on mr. huff' estate, where they were assisted in further flight by the huff negroes. those who remained in the woods were fed regularly. mr. huff was not in favor of emancipating the slaves. one of his sons, ramsey huff, fought in the confederate army. the slaves rejoiced at every bit of news which they heard regarding the probability of their being freed by the yankees. during the latter part of the war, people from macon journeyed to the outlying swampy sections to hide their valuables, many of which were never recovered. mr. huff owned a place in houston county where he hid most of his provisions, but these were stolen before the close of the war. a few yankees who visited his home did little damage beyond the destruction of a turnip patch. when the war ended, mr. huff would not tell his slaves they were free, for, it was said, that he hated the thought of a negro being able to wear a starched shirt. slaves from neighboring plantations spread the news. a few days later mrs. huff returned from a trip to macon and called all the children together to tell them that, even though they were free, they would have to remain with her until they were twenty-one. little mary exclaimed loudly--"i'm free! i won't stay here at all!" when the emancipation proclamation was made public, the yankee soldiers gave a dinner in macon for all negroes and poor whites who cared to come. a line was formed on the outside of the building in which the dinner was served and no one was allowed to enter unless he was in poor circumstances. food of every description was served in abundance and all admitted were allowed to eat as much as they desired. annie huff moved to macon when she was freed and her daughter, mary, now eighty-seven years old, was reared here. she attributed her long life to the excellent care she has always taken of herself. huff, mary, cotton avenue, macon, georgia adella s. dixon district may bryant huff old slave story bryant huff was the son of janie and daniel huff who were born on neighboring plantations between camack and augusta. they were married while they still belonged to separate owners, but when "marse" jesse rigerson, to whom janie belonged, decided to move, he bought daniel in order that he might live with his wife and family. they moved to warren county and it was here that bryant was born. he was one of twelve children. bryant's early life was not one to inspire pleasant memories for his master, a highly educated man; ardent church worker, had a cruel nature and a temper that knew no bounds. owning acres of land in a fairly level section, he ruled his small kingdom with an iron hand. bryant's father, daniel, was the only man who did not fear "marse" rigerson. the quarters consisted of poorly constructed cabins with worse interiors. there were no beds, only bunks made of two poles balancing sides nailed to the walls. rags and old clothing served as a mattress and the other furniture was equally bad. food was cooked on an open fireplace and the frying pan was the most important utensil; vegetables were boiled in a swinging kettle. the griddle stood several inches from the floor, on three small pegs. through the middle a "pin" was placed so that the griddle might revolve as the bread etc., cooked on the side near the hottest part of the fire. matches, a luxury, were then sold in small boxes the size of the average snuff box at ten cents per box. all the slaves worked from sunrise to sunset; the majority did field work. women, as well as men, shared farm work. small boys not old enough to be sent to the field, minded horses, drove cows to and from the pasture, and did chores around the "big house". a few women prepared meals and supervised a group of younger girls who did general work in the big house. sunday was the only day of rest and usually all the adults attended church. on this plantation a church with a colored minister was provided and services, while conducted on the same order as those of the white churches, were much longer. generally children were not allowed to attend church, but occasionally this privilege was granted to one. huff recalls vividly his first visit to sunday services. being very small and eager to attend he sat quietly by his mother's side and gazed with wonder at the minister and congregation. an emotional outburst was part of the services and so many of the "sisters" got "happy" that the child, not having witnessed such a scene before, was frightened; as the number of shouters increased, he ran from the building screaming in terror. of the children in his family, were sold. the eldest child, harriet, owned by a judge who lived on a neighboring plantation, returned to the family after emancipation. the father left home in a fit of anger because one of his children had been whipped. the master, knowing how devoted he was to his wife, placed her and her infant child in jail. shortly afterward, the father returned and was allowed to visit his wife and to go unmolested. a few weeks later he came back to the jail, and was allowed to enter, as before, but when ready to leave, was told that he was there for safe keeping. the next day, he and his son, johnie, were sold to some speculators who promised to carry them so far away that they could not return. as daniel left, he told his wife to wait for him to return, whether it be months or years. she grieved over his departure and refused, although urged, to marry again. a few months before the close of the civil war, her husband appeared and remained on the plantation until emancipation. johnie was accidently killed shortly after his departure. while most of the punishment was given by the "patty-roller" and the master, in some instances overseers were allowed to administer it. some of these overseers were negroes and occasionally there was trouble when they attempted to punish another slave. huff recalls having seen one of these "bosses" approach his mother as she toiled in the field and questioned her regarding her whereabouts on the previous evening. she refused to answer and as he approached her in a threatening manner, she threw piles of twigs upon him. (she was loading a wagon with small limbs cut from trees on "new ground"). he fled in terror. that night, as the mother and her children were seated in their cabin, the same man accompanied by their master entered, tied her hands and led her from the home. she was carried quite a distance down the road and severely beaten. food was provided by the master who gave it out in regular weekly allotments. collard greens, peas, smoked meat and corn bread were the chief items on all menus. on sundays a small amount of flour for biscuits and some coffee was given; buttermilk was always plentiful. holidays were usually synonymous with barbecue when large hogs and beeves were killed and an ample supply of fresh meat was given each person. as all food was raised on the plantation, everyone had plenty. cloth spun from cotton produced at home was woven into the material under the watchful eye of the mistress, afterwards being cut into dresses for the women, shirts and trousers for men. winter garments were made of wool from home raised sheep. some of this home-spun material was colored with dye made from powdered red rocks. with a shoe hammer, last, pegs (instead of nails) and a standard pattern slave cobblers fashioned shoes from the hides of their master's cattle. they were no models of beauty, but strong, durable shoes designed for hard wear. bryant was not superstitious, although he did sometimes wonder when "signs" proved true. superstition, however, had a strong grip on slave life. a fellow slave named andy was a seasoned runaway and the overseer usually set the hounds after him. (going to a fortune teller andy secured a "hound" which caused all dogs to be friendly with him. there after when the hounds were set upon him, he played with them, turned their ears inside out, and sent them back to their owner.) the attitude of the slaves toward freedom varied and as they were not allowed to discuss it, their hope was veiled in such expressions as the "lord will provide". some were even afraid to settle any statement and silently prayed that their release would come soon. some feared that something might prevent their emancipation so they ran away and joined the yankee army, hoping to be able to destroy their former master. during this time masters suffered as well as their slaves, for many of their sons went gaily forth to battle and were never heard of again. simpson rigerson, son of "marse" jesse rigerson, was lost to his parents. a younger son, who lost his right hand while "helping" feed cane to a grinder, is the only member of the family now living. sorrow did not break this slaves group and they soon learned to sing away their troubles. one song which gives some light on their attitude toward the government went as follows: i. jeff davis rode the gray horse ole lincoln rode the mule jeff davis is the gentleman ole lincoln is the fool chorus: i'll lay ten dollars down i'll count it one by one. i'll give ten dollars to know the man who struck peter butler's son. ii. i lay down in my bed i lay down in no dread conscript come and took me and dragged me from my bed. iii. i went down a new cut road she went down the lane i turned my back upon her and 'long come liza jane. after freedom was declared, bryant huff's family moved several miles from the rigerson plantation to one owned by an elderly woman. they ran from a mean master but their flight was a "leap from the frying pan into the fire", for this woman proved even worse than their former master. at the close of the war the k.k.k. was very active and their fearful exploits made them the terror of the slaves. a band of the latter was organized to attempt to curb the k.k.k. activities. neither gang knew who was a member of the other, but their clashes were frequent. one night the k.k.k. appeared at the huff cabin and when admitted took the father, an uncle, and a man named mansfield from the house. after forcing the father to break a gun which he had borrowed from mr. rigerson, they beat him so brutally that his arm was broken. the uncle, a minister who preached a type of doctrine that they liked, was unharmed. mansfield, accused of being a member of the anti-k.k.k. gang, was beaten unmercifully. while this was being done, two members of the gang returned to the house where they searched the back room (men slept in the front room, the women and children in the rear) to see if any adults were secreted there. the small boys under the bed said "don't harm us, we're only children". after this outrage, done at the request of the mistress, the huff family moved back to the rigerson plantation. mr. rigerson's harsh disposition was broken after the civil war ended and he repented of his severe treatment of his former slaves. daniel huff whom he had despised and feared, became his best friend who nursed him until death. huff's wife received three acres of ground and two houses from her former master who also gave her an apology for his past meanness and stated that he wished to provide her with a home for life. during this period martial law prevailed in the south. the yankee troops, placed in every town, were the only police present and all cases from the county were presented to them for settlement. a few years after emancipation, bryant then a young man, ran away from home and apprenticed himself to a physician who became interested in his thirst for knowledge and gave him an opportunity to attend school. after several years of hard study, he went before the board of examiners in order to teach. after examinations he was immediately appointed to teach at the school where he had once been a pupil. huff, now on aged man, is dependent upon local relief for his sustenance. he is able to do light work like sweeping yards and is a very good umbrella mender and shoe repairer, but is not able to go in search of work. he has smoked since he was a young man and has never taken especial care of his health, so his long life may be attributed to a strong constitution. plantation life as related by ex-slave: [tr: date stamped may ] easter huff rockspring st., athens, georgia. written by: sadie b. hornsby athens, georgia edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- florence blease john n. booth augusta, georgia. easter huff =ex-slave--age = easter eagerly complied with the request for the story of her life, "i done forgot a heap i knowed, but i allus loves to talk 'bout de old times." she declared solemnly. "dis young race lives so fas' dey needs to know what a hard time us had." "i was borned in oglethorpe county on marse jabe smith's plantation. i don't 'zactly know how old i is, but i was jus' a chap when de war ended. easter is my right name, but white folkses calls me esther. mammy was louisa smith, but i don't know nothin' 'bout my gram'ma, 'cause she died 'fore i was born, and she done de cookin' in de white folkses house. i can't tell you nothin' 'bout neither one of my gram'pas. "us slep' on corded beds what had high postes and ruffled curtains 'round de foot. de beds what had curtains all 'round de top of dem high postes was called teester beds. when all dem curtains was fresh washed and starched, de beds sho' did look grand. chilluns slep' on pallets on de flo'. "mammy was a plow hand, but us chillun didn't do nothin' much 'cept eat and play and sleep in de grass 'til she got in from de fiel' evvy night. de big old cook house had a partition 'crost it, and on one side aunt peggy done all de cookin' for old marster's household and for de slaves too. on de udder side of de partition was de loom room whar aunt peggy weaved all de cloth and mrs. lacy hines, what lived on another plantation not far f'um us, made all our clothes. "chilluns didn't know nothin' 'bout gittin' no money of dey own 'til atter de war. mammy, she made her little money knittin' socks, and patchin' clothes at night, and she had done saved up nigh $ . in confederate money. dey called it confederate shucks atter de war 'cause it warn't no good no more den, and she let us chillun play wid it. de shin plasters was confederate money for as low as cents. "victuals dem days warn't fancy lak day is now, but marstar allus seed dat us had plenty of milk and butter, all kinds of greens for bilein', 'tatoes and peas and sich lak. chilluns et cornbread soaked in de pot liquor what de greens or peas done been biled in. slaves never got much meat. dey mixed butter wid home-made syrup and sopped it up wid cornbread. dare warn't much wheat bread for slaves. "dere was a good 'possum hound on de plantation what was a fine rabbit dog too, and marster let us use him to ketch us lots of 'possums and rabbits. de mens went seinin' at night in buffalo crick what run thoo' marse jabe's place. dey used to put back all de little fishes and de turkles and tarrepins. 'possums was baked wid sweet 'tatoes and rabbits was parbiled in a big old open fireplace in big pots and skillets. marster had one big gyarden whar enough was growed for evvybody on de whole plantation, but some of de slaves was 'lowed to have deir own little gyardens and cotton patches what dey wukked on moonlight nights. "de gal chillun in dem days wore little slips, and de boys had shirts split up de sides. dey jus' wore one piece in summer, no drawers or nothin'. in de winter us had good warm clothes, made out of coarse ausenburg (osnaburg) cloth. us wore de same clothes sundays as evvyday, only us was s'posed to put 'em on clean on sunday mornin'. a colored man named clark dogget made our shoes out of rough red leather what never had been dyed or colored up none. sometimes manuel would have to help him wid de shoemakin'. "on sundays mammy would comb my hair and put a clean dress on me, and den take me to de white folkses' church at salem, whar dere was two rows of benches in de back for slaves. rev. brantley calloway was de pastor, and rev. patrick butler preached too. "i never seed no baptizin's or fun'als in slavery days, but atter anybody was buried mammy tuk us to de graveyard and let us look at de grave. dey allus put a fence made wid pine poles 'round de grave. some few of de slaves might have read de bible a little, but dar warn't none what could write. "i jined church 'cause i was converted and had done changed my way of livin'. i think folkses ought to be 'ligious so dey can help others to live lak de bible says. "marse jabe smith was a good white man. he was a grand fiddler and he used to call us to de big house at night to dance for him. i couldn't do nothin' 'cept jump up and down and i sho' did git tired. marse jabe warn't married. he raised his brother's chillun, but dey was all grown when de war come on. "i done clean forgot de name of marster's overseer and i don't ricollec' how many acres was in dat plantation, but it sho' was a big one. dere was 'bout grown slaves, and a lot of nigger chillun rompin' round. de overseer got 'em up 'bout three 'clock and dey stayed in de field 'til sundown 'fore dey started for de house. "when dey got f'um de fields at night, de 'omans spun, mended, and knit, and de mens wukked in deir gyardens and cotton patches. winter nights dey plaited baskets and made hoss collars. all de slaves knocked off at twelve o'clock sadday. dere was allus somepin' to do on sadday night--frolics, dances, and sich lak. dey picked de banjo and knocked on tin pans for music to dance by. sunday was a rest day. slaves visited each other or went to church if dey wanted to, but dey had to git a pass. "i seed dem patterollers on hosses jus' goin' it down de big road. i seed 'em axin' niggers dey met if dey had passes. attar dey looked at de passes, dey would let 'em go on. but if a slave was cotched widout no pass dey would beat him mos' nigh to death. if us had patterollers to keep niggers f'um gallivantin' 'round so much now days, dar wouldn't be so much devilment done. "some of de slaves jus' had to be whupped 'cause dey wouldn't behave. on our plantation, de overseer done de whuppin'; marse jabe never totched 'em. mammy told us 'bout seein' slaves put on de block in virginny and sold off in droves lak hosses. "didn't none of marse jabe's niggers run off to de north dat i knowed 'bout. one nigger named barlow what was too lazy to wuk in de field slipped off to de woods and made hisself a den to live in. he made baskets, footmats, and brooms, and used to come out at night and sell 'em. dey said he would steal de white folkses' hogs, chickens, and jus' anythin' he could put his hands on. if dey ever cotched him, i don't know nothin' 'bout it. mammy used to skeer us pretty nigh to death at night when she wanted us to go on to bed. she said if us didn't go to sleep barlow sho' would git us. "oh! us did have a time at chris'mas. dey would have plenty to eat; eggnog and all sorts of good things, and sometimes mens and 'omans got drunk and cut up. marse jabe allus give us a little cheese to eat christmas time. on new year's day all de slaves went to de big house for a council. marse jabe would talk to 'em and counsel 'em for de new year and tell 'em how to live. "cornshuckin's! yassum, i ricollects cornshuckin's. de folkses comed f'um all de plantations close 'round. atter dey was thoo' wid shuckin' de corn, dey gathered 'round a long table in de yard. marse jabe had de prettiest level yard you ever seed; it was swept so nice and clean. de victuals was piled on dat table, and dey give us great kegs of apple and peach brandy. "mammy used to tell us 'bout raw-head an' bloody-bones if us didn't go to bed when she wanted to go out. us sho' would pile in in a hurry den, and duck under dat kivver and most nigh die 'cause us was skeered to look out lessen he mought be dar atter us. "marse jabe was mighty good to his slaves when dey got sick. i seed mammy sick once. dr. lumpkin landon was sont atter. de slaves would git fever weeds and sweetgum bark, bile 'em together, and take de tea for colds, coughs, and fever. dey wore little sacks of assfidity (assafoetida) 'round dey necks to keep off disease, and strung hollow treadsass (treadsalve) roots on strings lak necklaces and hung 'em 'round de babies' necks to make 'em teethe easy. "soon atter de surrender, marse jabe told his niggers dey was free as he was, but dat he didn't want nary one to leave him. he wanted 'em to stay wid him he said, and he offered to pay 'em wages. dere warn't nary one what left. mammy wukked and plowed right on lak she done before. atter i was big enough, i went to lexin'ton to wuk for mrs. mcwhorter. "when i married bob willin'ham, i sho' had a nice weddin'. i was married in a blue merino dress. my underskirt was white as snow wid trimmin's on it. i wore long drawers what was trimmed fancy at de bottom. our white folkses give us lots of cake, turkey, ham, and sich lak for de weddin' feast. our only child was named minnie, and dere was five of our grandchillun, but dey's all dead now but two. one lives in cincinnati, ohio, and i lives wid de udder one what wuks at de chapter house here. atter bob died, i married lumpkin huff, but us didn't have no weddin' dat time. de preacher jus' come to my house and married us. i went to elberton wid 'im, but he was so mean i didn't live wid 'im but eight months before i come back to athens. "dey used to have a song 'bout mr. lincoln when i was a little chap, but i done forgot it. no ma'am, i don't know nothin' 'bout mr. davis and booker washin'ton. dem days i never heard much 'bout folkses away off f'um here. "i b'lieve i'se done told you all i knows 'bout back days. i don't know nothin' 'bout dese fas' present-day ways o' livin'. when i was a chap and got a whuppin' and mammy heerd 'bout it i got another one. now dey takes you to de law. yes ma'am, for myself i'd rather have de old days wid good old marster to take keer of me." plantation life, as viewed by an ex-slave written by: miss grace mccune athens -- edited by: mrs. sarah h. hall athens -- and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residences no. & augusta, georgia sept. , . =lina hunter= ex-slave, age about bailey street athens, georgia lina hunter's weather-beaten house nestles at the foot of a long hill, and several large chinaberry trees furnish shade for her well-kept yard. as the visitor hesitated before the rickety front steps someone called from inside the house, "chile, do be keerful on dem old steps 'cause dey might fall wid you; dey done went through wid some of dese chillun here." the tall mulatto woman who came to the door had tiny plaits of white hair that covered her head in no apparent design. her faded print dress was clean, and she wore badly scuffed brogan shoes several sizes too large on her stockingless feet. in answer to an inquiry she replied: "dis is lina's house, and i is lina. have a cheer out here on de porch, please, mam, 'cause de gals is ironin' in de house and dem fire buckets sho make it hot in dar." lina readily agreed to tell of her life in the ante-bellum period. "i 'members all 'bout slavery time," she laughed, "cause i was right dar. course i warn't grown-up, but i was big enough to holp great-granny rose look atter all dem other slave chillun whilst deir mammies and daddies was in de field at wuk. "anne and peter billups was my mammy and daddy, and my granddaddy and grandmammy was washin'ton and tiller billups; all of 'em belonged to old marster jack billups. marse jack stayed in athens, but his plantation, whar i was borned and whar all my folks was borned and raised, was 'way down in oglethorpe county. i don't rightly know how old i is, 'cause all marster's old records is done got lost or 'stroyed, evvy blessed one of 'em, but i'se been here a mighty long time. "honey, dat old plantation was sho one big place. back of de big house, whar de overseer lived, was just rows and rows of slave cabins. dey stacked 'em up out of big logs jus' lak dey made hog-pen fences. all de cracks 'twixt de logs was chinked up tight wid red mud and, let me tell you, honey, dey was keerful to lay on so much red mud over dem sticks dat chimblies on our place never did ketch fire lak dey did on some of de places whar dey done things sort of shiftless lak. dem cabins had two rooms and a shed room 'crost de back whar day done de cookin'. two famblies lived in evvy cabin. "dey allus had plenty to cook, 'cause dere was plenty of victuals raised on marse jack's place. chillun was all fed up at de big house whar marse garner, de overseer, lived. deir mammies was 'lowed to come in from de fields in time to cook dinner for de menfolks, but dey didn't git deir chillun back home 'til atter supper. granny rose had 'em all day, and she had to see dat dey had de right sort of victuals to make chillun grow fast and strong. chillun et out of wooden trays, and, honey, dey sho was some sight; dey looked jus' lak pig troughs. dey poured peas, cabbage, or whatever de chillun was to eat right in dat trough on top of a passel of cornbread. for supper chillun jus' had milk and bread, but dere was allus plenty of it. marse jack had lots of cows, and old aunt mary didn't have no other job but to churn enough so dere would allus be plenty of milk and butter, 'cause marse jack had done said milk was good for chillun and dat us was to have it to drink any time us wanted it. "evvybody cooked on fireplaces den. i jus' wish you could see dat big old fireplace in de big house kitchen; you could stand up in it. it had long racks clear acrost de inside for de pots what dey biled in to hang on. bakin' was done in thick iron skillets dat had heavy lids. you sot 'em on coals and piled more coals all over 'em. us had somepin dat most folks didn't have; dat was long handled muffin pans. dey had a lid dat fitted down tight, and you jus' turned 'em over in de fire 'til de muffins was cooked on both sides. i had dem old muffin irons here, but de lid got broke off and dese here boys done lost 'em diggin' in de ground wid 'em. dem victuals cooked on open fireplaces was mighty fine, and i wishes you could have a chance to see jus' how nice dey was. "evvy kind of vegetable us knowed anything 'bout was raised right dar on de place and dey had big old fields of corn, oats, rye, and wheat. us had lots of fruit trees on de plantation too. dere warn't no runnin' off to de store evvy time dere was a special meal to be got up. coffee, sugar, salt, and black pepper was de most marse jack had to buy in de way of victuals. course dey was hard to git in war times. parched corn and okra seed was ground together for coffee, and us had to git up dirt under old smokehouses and bile it down for salt. dere was allus a little sugar 'round de sides of de syrup barr'ls, and us had to make out wid dat hot red pepper 'til atter de war was done over a good long time, 'fore dere was any more black pepper shipped in. spite of all dat, honey, dem was good old days. "marster raised enough cows, sheep, hogs, chickens, and turkeys for us to have all de meat us needed. he had lots of mules and oxen too. dey used de mules for 'most of de plowin' and for goin' to mill, and don't forgit it took plenty of goin' to mill to feed as many niggers as our marster had. lordy, lady! i never knowed how many slaves he owned. oxen pulled dem two-wheeled carts dey hauled in de craps wid, and i has rid to town in a ox-cart many a time. dem old oxen was enough to make a preacher lose his best 'ligion. dey had a heap of mean ways, but de wust thing dey done was to run spang down in de water evvy time dey come to a crick. it never mattered how deep it was, and you might holler all day, but dey warn't coming out of dat water 'till dey was good and ready. dat happened evvy time dey saw a crick, but dere warn't nothin' us could do 'bout it, for marse jack sho never 'lowed nobody to lay deir paws on his stock. "folks wove all deir cloth at home dem days. dey made up plenty of cotton cloth for hot weather, and for de cold wintertime, dere warn't nothin' warmer dat us knowed about dan de cloth dey made out of home-raised wool and cotton. marster kept a slave dat didn't have nothin' else to do but make shoes for evvybody on de place. yes, mam, honey, dey tanned de hide evvy time dey kilt a cow. leather was tanned wid whiteoak bark. chillun's shoes was finished off wid brass knobs on de toes, and us was sho mighty dressed up niggers when us got on dem shoes wid deir shiny knobs. little gals' dresses was made wid long skirts gathered on to plain waisties. dere warn't no showin' de legs lak dey does now. little boys had red and black jeans suits made wid waisties and britches sewed together in front but wid a long buttoned-up openin' in de back. most of de other places jus' put long shirts on little boys, but dat warn't de way dey done on our place, 'cause us didn't belong to no pore folks. our marster had plenty and he did lak to see his niggers fixed up nice. course in summertime none of de chillun didn't wear nothin' but little slips, so dey could keep cool, but in winter it was diffunt. honey, dem old balmoral petticoats was some sight, but dey was sho warm as hell. i seed a piece of one of mine not long ago whar i had done used it to patch up a old quilt. 'omans' dresses was made jus' about lak dis one i got on now, 'ceptin' i didn't have enough cloth to make de skirt full as dem old-time clothes used to be." the old woman stood up to show just how her dress was fashioned. the skirt, sewed to a plain, close-fitting waist, was very full in the back, but plain across the front. lina called attention to an opening on the left side of the front. "see here, chile," she said, "here's a sho 'nough pocket. jus' let me turn it wrong-side-out to show you how big it is. why, i used a whole pound flour sack to make it 'cause i don't lak none of dese newfangled little pockets. i lak things de way i was raised. dis pocket hangs down inside and nobody don't see it. de chilluns fusses 'bout my big pocket, but it ain't in none of deir dresses, and i'se sho gwine to wear 'em 'til dey is wore out to a gnat's heel. "chillun never had to wuk on our plantation 'til dey was big enough to go to de fields, and dat was when dey was around to years old. dey jus' played 'round de yards and down by de wash-place dat was a little ways off from de big house on a branch dat run from de big spring. on wash days dat was a busy place, wid lots of 'omans bending over dem great big wash pots and de biggest old wooden tubs i ever seed. dere was plenty racket 'round de battlin' block whar dey beat de dirt out of de clothes, and dey would sing long as dey was a-washin'. "marster was sho good to his niggers all de time. course he made 'em wuk 'less dey was sick. chillun never had nothin' to do 'cept eat, sleep, and play. evvy time marse jack come out to his plantation he brung candy for all de pickaninnies, and, honey, it warn't in no little sacks neither; dere was allus plenty for 'em all, and it was a mighty big crowd of us. marster loved to come out on sundays to see us chillun git our heads combed. honey, dere sho was hollerin' on dat place when dey started wukin' on us wid dem jim crow combs what was made lak a curry comb 'ceppin' dey warn't quite as wide acrost. when dem jim crow combs got stuck in dat tangled, kinky wool, damn if dem chillun didn't yell, and marster would laugh and tell granny rose to comb it good. "granny rose larnt me to keep clean and fix myself up nice, and, honey, i ain't got too old to primp up now. one thing dis old nigger ain't never done is to put hair straightener on her head, 'cause de blessed lord sont me here wid kinky hair, and i'se gwine 'way from here wid dat same old kinky hair. it's white now, but dat ain't no fault of mine. honey, i sho do trust dat good lord. why, i 'member when i used to pull out my own teeth; i jus' tied a string 'round 'em, laid down on my bed, and said, 'lord, i is in your hands,' and den i would give dat string a hard yank and out come dem damn teeth. "yes, mam, i'se seed slaves sold. dey jus' put dem niggers up on de block and bid 'em off. a smart worker brought a big price, and a good breedin' 'oman sho did fetch de money, 'cause all de white folks did lak to have plenty chillun 'round. dem breedin' 'omans never done no wuk a t'all; dey made other slaves wait on 'em 'til atter deir babies was borned. slave 'omans what had babies was sont back from de fields in de mornin' and atter dinner so deir babies could suck 'til atter dey was big enough to eat bread and milk; den dey was kept wid de other chillun for granny rose to keer for. "slaves didn't even git married lak folks does now. dere warn't none of dem newfangled licenses to buy. all dey had to do was tell marster dey wanted to marry up. if it was all right wid him he had 'em jump over a broom and dey was done married. slaves couldn't git out and do no courtin' on other plantations widout deir marsters knowed it, 'cause dey had to have passes to leave de place whar dey lived. if dey was brash enough to go off widout no pass de paterollers would cotch 'em for sho, and dey would nigh beat 'em to death. dat didn't stop courtin', 'specially on our place, 'cause dey jus' tuk anybody dey laked; it didn't matter whose man or 'oman dey had. "marster had a big old ginhouse on de plantation about miles from de big house, but i never seed in it, 'cause dey didn't 'low 'omans and chillun 'round it. de menfolks said dey hitched up mules to run it, and dat dey had a cotton press inside de ginhouse. dey said it was a heap of trouble to git rid of all dem old cotton-seeds dat piled up so fast in ginnin' time. dere was a great big wuk-shop on de place too, whar dey fixed evvything, and dat was whar dey made coffins when anybody died. yes, mam, evvything was made at home, even down to de coffins. "dere didn't many folks die out back in dem good old days, 'cause dey was made to take keer of deirselfs. dey had to wuk hard, but dey et plenty and went to bed reg'lar evvy night in wuk time. when one of 'em did die out, deir measure was tuk and a coffin was made up and blackened 'til it looked right nice. whenever dere was a corpse on de place marster didn't make nobody do no wuk, 'cept jus' look atter de stock, 'til atter de buryin'. dey fixed up de corpses nice. yes, mam, sho as you is borned, dey did; dey made new clothes for 'em and buried 'em decent in de graveyard on de place. marse jack seed to dat. dey put de coffin on a wagon, and de folks walked to de graveyard. dere was crowds of 'em; dey come from jus' evvywhar. a preacher, or some member of deir marster's fambly, said a prayer, de folks sung a hymn, and it was all over. 'bout de biggest buryin' us ever had on our place was for a 'oman dat drapped down in de path and died when she was comin' in from de field to nuss her baby. yes, mam, she was right on de way to granny rose's cabin in de big house yard. "no, mam, i ain't forgot when de yankees come to our place. dat was right atter de end of de war, not long atter us had been told 'bout freedom. when us heared dey was on deir way us tuk and hid all de stuff us could, but dey sho tore up dat place. dey tuk all de meat out of de smokehouse and give it to de niggers, but deir bellies was already full and dey didn't need it, so dey give it back to marse jack soon as dem sojers was gone. 'fore dey left dem yankee sojers tuk marse jack's mules and horses slap out of de plows and rid 'em off, and left deir old wore-out stock right dar. "freedom didn't make so many changes on our place right at fust, 'cause most of de slaves stayed right on dar, and things went on jus' lak dey had 'fore dere was any war. marse jack had done told 'em dey was free, but dat dem what wanted to stay would be tuk keer of same as 'fore de war. dere warn't many what left neither, 'cause marse jack had been so good to evvy one of 'em dey didn't want to go 'way. "honey, back in dem good old days us went to church wid our white folks. slaves sot in de gallery or in de back of de church. i'se been to dat old cherokee corners church more times dan i knows how to count, but de fust baptizin' i ever seed was at de old st. jean church; dere was jus' three or four baptized dat day, but lordy, i never did hear such prayin', shoutin', and singin', in all my born days. one old 'oman come up out of dat crick a-shoutin' 'bout she was walkin' through de pearly gates and wearin' golden slippers, but i looked down at her foots and what she had on looked more lak brogans to me. i kin still hear our old songs, but it's jus' now and den dat dey come back to my mind." for a moment lina was quiet, then she said, "honey, i wants to smoke my old pipe so bad i kin most taste it, but how in hell kin i smoke when i ain't had no 'baccy in two days? chile, ain't you got no 'baccy wid you, jus' a little 'baccy? you done passed de nighest store 'bout miles back toward town," she said, "but if you will pay for some 'baccy for lina, some of dese good-for-nothin' chillun kin sho go git it quick and, whilst dey's dar, dey might as well git me a little coffee too, if you kin spare de change." the cash was supplied by the visitor, and lina soon started the children off running. "if you stops airy a minute," she told them, "i'se gwine take de hide offen your backs, sho' as you is borned." as soon as they were out of sight, she returned to her chair and started talking again. "yes, mam, honey, things went on 'bout de same old way atter de war." suddenly the old woman leaped to her feet and began shouting, "bless god a'mighty! praise de lord! i knows de key to prayers. i'se done prayed jus' dis mornin' for de lord to send me some 'baccy and coffee, and god is done sont missy wid de money to answer my prayer. praise de lord! i'se glad i'se here, 'cause i coulda been gone and missed my 'baccy and coffee. praise god! i'se gwine to smoke dat damned old pipe one more time." she seized the visitor by the shoulder as she shouted, "i sho laks your looks, but you may be de devil for all i knows, and you may be fixin' to put me in de chaingang wid all dis here writin', but" here she gave the startled visitor a shake that almost pulled her out of the chair, "damn, if i don't lak you anyhow." her granddaughter, callie, came out on the porch to see what was wrong with lina. "granny," she said, "i wouldn't talk lak dat. missy will think you is dat way all de time." "git back to your ironin', gal," said lina. "i knows i talks right smart ugly. didn't my miss fannie, tell me one time she was gwine to put potash in my mouth to clean it out? now, nigger, i said git, 'fore i hits you." her grandmother started toward her, and callie lost no time going inside the house. lina went back to her chair, and as she sat down started singing. with each note her tones grew louder. the words were something like this: "god a'mighty, when my heart begins to burn and dat old wheel begins to turn, den, oh, lord! don't leave me here." it seemed from the length of her chant that the wheels would turn indefinitely, but no sooner had she finished that song, than she started another. "when my old mammy died a-shoutin', all de friend i had done died and gone. she died a-prayin', she died a-prayin'. "in dat day dat you died, dat you died, gwine to be a star risin' in dat mornin'. didn't you hear 'em say, 'gwine to be a star risin' in de mornin'. "de christians all will know in dat day, dat my old mammy died a-shoutin', died a-shoutin', 'cause dat star sho gwine to be dar. "oh, lord! don't leave me now, oh, lord! but guide me all 'long de way, 'long de way. 'cause i'se in trouble, dat i am. lord! oh, lord! don't leave me now." "honey, i jus' feels lak prayin' and cussin' too, at de same time, but it's 'cause i'se so happy. here i is, i'se nigh 'bout crazy. if old marster could jus' come back i'd sho have plenty of evvy thing i needs. "i 'members dem old frolics us had, when harvest times was over, and all dat corn was piled up ready for de big cornshuckin'. honey, us sho had big old times. us would cook for three or four days gittin' ready for de feast dat was to follow de cornshuckin'. de fust thing dey done was 'lect a general to lead off de singin' and keep it goin' so de faster dey sung, de faster dey shucked de corn. evvy now and den dey passed de corn liquor 'round, and dat holped 'em to wuk faster, and evvy nigger dat found a red ear got a extra swig of liquor. atter de sun went down dey wuked right on by de light of pine torches and bonfires. dem old pine knots would burn for a long time and throw a fine bright light. honey, it was one grand sight out dar at night wid dat old harvest moon a-shinin', fires a-burnin', and dem old torches lit up. i kin jus' see it all now, and hear dem songs us sung. dem was such happy times. when all de corn was shucked and dey had done et all dat big supper, dey danced for de rest of de night. "dey had logrollin's when dere was new ground to be cleared up. de menfolks done most of dat wuk, but de 'omans jus' come along to fix de big supper and have a good time laughin' and talkin' whilst de menfolks was doin' de wuk. atter de logs was all rolled, dey et, and drunk, and danced 'til dey fell out. i'll bet you ain't never seed nothin' lak dem old break-downs and dragouts us had dem nights atter logrollin's. dey sho drug heaps of dem niggers out. "when de harvest moon was 'most as bright as daylight us had cotton pickin's. dem big crowds of slaves would clean out a field in jus' no time, and you could hear 'em singin' a long ways off whilst dey was a-pickin' dat cotton. dey 'most allus had barbecue wid all de fixin's to enjoy when dey finished pickin' out de cotton, and den lots of drinkin' and dancin'. 'bout dat dancin', honey, i could sho cut dem corners. dancin' is one thing i more'n did lak to do, and i wish i could hear dat old dance song again. =miss liza jane=, it was, and some of de words went lak dis, 'steal 'round dem corners, miss liza jane. don't slight none, miss liza jane. swing your partner, miss liza jane.' dere was heaps and lots more of it, but it jus' won't come to me now. "one night not long atter day sot us free, dere was a big old nigger breakdown on our plantation, and such a lot of niggers as you never seed was at dat dance. whilst us was havin' de bestest time, takin' a drink 'twixt dances, us heared a 'oman screamin' lak murder. evvybody run, but us jus' heared a horse runnin' and dat 'oman still hollerin'. de menfolks got on horses and rid all night but dey never did find 'em. one of our gals was gone; a real young one named rose billups. some damn, no 'count nigger had done stole 'er. us didn't larn nothin' 'bout her for nigh onto a year, den she writ to marse jack to come atter her. he went. it was a fur way off, and i don't 'member now whar it was. dat mean man had done most kilt rose, and had left her wid a baby. no, mam, dey didn't never cotch 'im. "norman green had two wives and dey didn't live fur from our plantation. i knows 'bout dat, 'cause in years to come i lived on de same farm whar dey was. it was dis way: his fust wife, tildy, was sold off from him in slavery time. he got married again, and atter freedom come tildy come right back to him. he kept both his wives right dar in de same one-room cabin. deir beds sot right 'side each other. one wife's chilluns was all boys and de other didn't have nothin' but gals. "yes, chile, us wuked hard. i'se seed my mammy plowin' in de fields many a time, wid her skirt pinned up to keep it out of de dirt. yes, mam, us did wuk, but us had a good place to stay, plenty somepin t'eat, and plenty clothes to wear; dere warn't nothin' else us needed. "missy did you ever hear dat old sayin' 'bout folks gittin' speckledy when dey gits old? well, 'cordin' to dat old sayin', i'se sho been here a mighty long time. jus' look at my legs." she raised her skirts to her knees to display the white specks that stood out in clear contrast on her dark skin. "dat's a sho sign of bein' old folks," insisted lina. she stood up and peered down the road, impatient for the return of the children, who were to bring her tobacco and coffee. finally she saw them come over the hill and could hardly restrain herself until they arrived in the yard. snatching the parcels, as the children came up the steps, lina called out, "callie, come here, gal, fix my pipe quick, and put dat coffeepot on de fire bucket, 'cause glory to god! i'se gwine to smoke my old pipe and drink me one more good cup of coffee." when callie finally succeeded in filling and lighting lina's pipe to suit her, and the old woman had inhaled with an exaggerated air of satisfaction for several moments, she indulged in a few more shouts of "praise de lord!" then she said, "honey, i'se ready to talk some more now. damned if i ain't gwine to git right on talkin' for you, 'fore i starts off singin' again. "oh, it's 'bout my marriage you wants to know now, is it? well, me and jeff hunter got married up whilst i was still stayin' on marster jack's place. jeff went to de courthouse and got us a license lak de white folks, and us had a nice weddin'. my dress was mighty pretty; it was white lawn, made long waisted lak dey wore dresses den. mrs. lizzie johnson made it, and it had long sleeves, and a long full skirt wid lots of ruffles. de two petticoats she gimme to wear wid my weddin' dress was ruffled to beat de band and had trimmin' on evvy ruffle. my weddin' drawers even had ruffles on 'em; i was really dressed up. us had a big fine supper and two dances. sho, mam, dat ain't no mistake. us did have two dances, one was at home, and den us went over to my brother's house whar he give us another one and served cake and wine to de weddin' party. atter us drunk dat wine, it warn't no trouble to dance for de rest of de night. "me and jeff moved on de johnson place, and jeff wuked some for mrs. johnson's daughter, mrs. fannie dean, but for de most part he wuked in de wagon shop wid mr. tom anthony. "i'se still got one of my old weddin' petticoats; i wore out four bodies on it." lina excused herself and went inside the house for a moment. she returned to the porch with an old-fashioned suitcase or "grip," as she called it. "dis here's older dan old lina is," she said. "it belonged to miss lizzie's daddy, but i sewed it back together atter dey throwed it away, and i'se gwine to keep it long as i lives." she opened it and took out a petticoat that was yellow with age. it was several yards wide and was encircled by numerous embroidered ruffles. the skirt was sewed on to a tight, straight body-waist that was much newer than the skirt and this waist was topped by a rose-colored crocheted yoke. "mrs. fannie dean made dat for me," declared lina. "look at dis old black shawl. see how big it is? dat's what i used to wear for a wrop on church days 'fore i ever had a coat. "i'se still sleepin' on one of miss lizzie's beds. come inside, i wants you to see it." a part of the tall headboard had been removed so the bed could be used in a low-ceiled room. the footboard was low, and lina insisted on showing the small double locks that joined the side pieces to the head and foot boards. these are rarely seen now. she was using the original old wooden-framed wire fabric springs, and a straw mattress. as she displayed the latter, she said, "yes, chile, i still sleeps on my straw tick, 'cause dat's what i was raised on and dere ain't nothin' sleeps as good as dat old tick when it's full of good fresh wheat straw." lina's coffeepot on the charcoal bucket was steaming and the visitor prepared to depart so that the old woman could enjoy her drink while it was fresh and hot. lina followed her to the veranda and said with much enthusiasm, "god bless you, lady. you sho is done made me happy, and i'se gwine to pray for you evvy day and ask de lord to take keer of you all de time. i'se gwine to do dat, 'cause i wants you to come back and let me sing some more of our good old songs for you sometime." after the house was no longer in sight, lina's high pitched voice could be heard singing =my old mammy died a-shoutin'=. [tr: date stamp: may ] subject: emma hurley of washington-wilkes research worker: minnie branham stonestreet editor: john n. booth supervisor: miss velma bell district: w.p.a. no. i date: march , emma hurley of washington-wilkes with snow white hair peeping from underneath a spotless "head rag" and wearing a big white apron, emma hurley reminds one of the plantation days of the long ago. she is eighty-odd years old, but does not know her exact age. from all she remembers she is sure she was at least or at the beginning of the war for she clearly recalls the talk of war and all the excitement of those anxious days. unfortunately, aunt emma was born of parents belonging to a family that bought and sold slaves as they did cattle and thought of them only in terms of dollars and cents. the story she tells of her childhood would make a simon legree turn pale with envy. she is not resentful, but is honest in telling of those early years of her life, years of suffering and great hardship. although she has never been to school, she uses very little dialect: "no mam, honey, the folks i belonged to said it wouldn't do fer niggers to learn out'n books; that schools warn't fer them. they said learnin' would git us so they couldn't do nothin' wid us. after freedom i wuz nussin' here in washin'ton. the mother of the chillun was a good lady an' she let me look on the books when she read to them an' larned me the lessons 'long with her chillun. she said it wuz a pity i couldn't ov went to school, cause i wuz a apt pupil. i larned easy, yassum, that's what she said." "my ma wuz name margaret an' she had thirteen chillun, six of 'em twins. i wuz the oldest one, but i ain't a twin. i wuz born on a plantation in wilkes county right on the line of oglethorpe. in the white family i belonged to there wuz a mother, four boys, an' two girls, all grown. they come to wilkes county from maryland. all four of the men went to the war an' three of 'em died of sickness caught in the war." aunt emma told of how the slaves had to live on the plantation and an unpleasant story it was. there were no neat cabins all in a row making up the "quarters" where the slaves lived. instead they were made to live around in any old hut they could find shelter in. her mother and three other women stayed in one room of the house the white family lived in. the little slaves were fed pig-fashion in the kitchen, but they were given just so much food and no more. they were alloted two garments at the time, summer and winter: "why, honey, i never had no shoes 'til after freedom come. i've walked on snow many a time barefooted with my feet so cold my toes wuz stickin' straight up with no feelin' in 'em. the white folks had a trained shoe-maker slave an' he made shoes fer them, but us little niggers didn't have none. the first shoes i ever remembers had wooden bottoms an' sich a sound as they made when the folks walked 'round with 'em on." the slaves did plenty of hard work done on the plantation. the women labored all day in the fields and then spun at night. each one was given the task of spinning six broaches a week. on saturday "a white lady" reeled off the spinning and if one of the women had failed in her task she was severely beaten. the men worked all day and until ten o'clock at night shucking corn or doing other chores by lamp light. every wednesday night the slaves had to go to the spring and wash their clothes by torch light. they did have all day sunday as a resting period, but they were not allowed to go to church and no religious services were held for them. there was one day holiday at christmas, "but i never heard of a santa claus when i wuz a child," said emma. when a slave died on the place he was wrapped in a sheet, put into a pine box, and taken to a "burying ground" where he was put in the ground without any services, and with only the immediate family attending. all other slaves on the place had to keep on working just as though nothing had happened. there were no marriages. the slaves being told to "step over the broom stick." many families were separated by sale. "i recollects good when mr. seaborn callaway come over to the place an' bought my grandma an' some other slaves an' took 'em away. we jest cried an' cried an' grandma did too. them white folks bought an' sold slaves that way all the time." "honey, there wuz one time when them white folks wuz good to us slaves," said aunt emma, "an' that wuz when we wuz sick. they would give us homemade remedies like tansy tea, comfort root tea, life everlasting tea, boneset tea, garlic water an' sich, 'cordin' ter what ailed us. then if we didn't git better they sont fer the doctor. if we had a misery anywhere they would make poultices of tansy leaves scalded, or beat up garlic an' put on us. them folks wuz sho' 'cerned 'bout us when we wuz sick, 'cause they didn't want us ter die." when asked about the war and what she remembered of those terrible times, aunt emma slowly shook her head and said: "i never wants to live through sich sad times no more. them wuz the hardest an' the saddest days i ever knowed. everybody went 'round like this: (here she took up her apron and buried her face in it)--they kivered their face with what-somever they had in their hands that would ketch the tears. sorrow an' sadness wuz on every side. the men all went off to fight an' left the women an' chillun an' niggers behind to do the best they could." "times wuz so hard, why, honey, in them times folks couldn't git so much as some plain salt to use on their victuals. the white folks had the dirt dug up from out'n their smokehouses an' hauled it up to mr. sisson's an' he run it an' got what salt he could out'n it. i 'members one day i went over there fer sumpthin' an' the dirt what he had run wuz piled way up high like sawdust these days. there warn't no soda neither, so the white folks took watermelon rinds, fixed 'em keerful like we does fer perserves, burned 'em an' took the ashes an' sifted 'em an' used 'em fer soda. coffee giv' out an none could be bought so they took okra seeds an' parched 'em good an' brown an' ground 'em an' made coffee out'n 'em. some folks made coffee out'n parched ground wheat too. everybody had to do the best they could in them times." "durin' the war," continued aunt emma, "the mother died an' all her property wuz divided 'mongst the chillun. my ma an' all her chillun fell to miss mary what had married an' wuz livin' in lexington, over in oglethorpe county. she moved us all up there an' we wuz there 'til freedom, then we moved down to washington where we have lived ever since. miss mary's husband's ma had over two hundred slaves an' she sho' did take on when they wuz all freed. i 'members how she couldn't stay in the house, she jest walked up an' down out in the yard a-carrin'-on, talkin' an' a-ravin'. "word come one day that the yankee soldiers wuz comin' an' all us niggers went down to the road to watch 'em go by. it wuz a sight. they all marched by singin'. 'fore they come, though, the white folks had all the niggers busy hidin' everything they could. stock wuz tied out way down in thick woods, an' silver, money, an' good clothes wuz buried deep in the ground an' leaves put all over the earth so they couldn't see where it had been dug. when the yankees did come they called all the slaves up an' went into smokehouses an' throwed out the meat to the niggers an' said: 'here, take all this, we knows it's yours anyhow, you worked fer it.' but most of the niggers give it all back to the white folks it belonged to. the yankees poured out all the syrup an' 'stroyed everything they could. i tell you, honey, them wuz bad times an' us all wuz skeered 'most to death." aunt emma had only one sign: "no mam, i ain't 'tall superstitious, i never thinks of things like that. but i does know when it's goin' to rain hard, an' that's when my haid itches an' itches up under my haid rag." when asked about the amusements of her day aunt emma said: "i ain't never danced a step nor sung a reel in my life. my ma allus said we shouldn't do them things an' we didn't. she said if we went to the devil it wouldn't be 'cause she give us her 'mission!" "how come i done lived so long? i dunno, only i allus been truthful an' honest an' tried hard to treat people good as i want them to treat me. once i wuz so sick they all thought i wuz goin' to die. i thought so too. but i lay there sufferin' an' the spirit seemed to come 'round an' reasoned that i would be spared days longer in this low ground of sorrow. that's been long ago an' here i is livin' yet." not even the faintest smile crossed aunt emma's wrinkled face while she was talking. although she lived to marry and have a home of her own with good children, she is sad when she thinks of her childhood with all its injustice and suffering. "i'se glad my race don't have to suffer now what we did on that plantation. some of my old friends tells me they had good homes an' wuz took keer of an' all that, but from my own 'sperience, i'se glad my chillun never knowed slavery." consultant: emma hurley washington, georgia [tr: date stamp: may ] plantation life as viewed by ex-slave alice hutcheson rockspring street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens and john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project augusta, georgia. alice hutcheson ex-slave--age as the interviewer approached the house she could hear alice singing, "good mornin' to you! howdy you do?" and through the open window the old woman could be seen busily engaged in household duties. her broom, moving in rhythm with the song, did not miss a stroke when the tune changed to, "lord i'se a comin' home." at the first sound of rapping, the singing ceased and alice promptly opened the door. "good mornin' missy," she said. "how is you?" asked for the story of her early life as a slave, she smiled and urged the visitor to "have a seat in dis here rockin' cheer out here on de porch in de sunshine." "my ma and pa was named har'iet bell and william hanson, and dey b'longed to marse cal robinson down in monroe county. ma was married two times, and de fus' man was named bell. he was de pa of my half brother. only one of my three sisters is livin' now. i was born in june durin' de war. ma's two brothers, taylor and bob smith, b'longed to de robinson's in morgan county. dem robinsons was kin to our white folkses, and us was still all robinson niggers. ma's four sisters is all done died out long years ago. "i jus' kin 'member one time de yankees come to our plantation. dey ramsacked de place, tuk all de victuals f'um de white folkses and give 'em to de slaves. us chillun sho' hid out whilst dey was dar, 'cause dem was skeery times, and dem sojers sung old songs i heared lots of times atter i got bigger. de captain would start de song. 'member , boys, de rebels in hell of fixes, but we'll drink and eat deir bones yit.' atter de yankees lef' de niggers brung back de white folkses victuals 'cause dey was our own white folkses and dey had allus done give us plenty of evvything. "us chillun didn't have to do no hard wuk, jus' played 'round de yards wid de white chillun mos' of de time. one of our little jobs was to git in plenty of wood for de fires. chestnut and hick'ry wood made de bes' fires and dere was allus plenty of good kindlin' to git 'em started. oak and pine bark was good to make de pot bile in a hurry. dem ovens would bake lak evvything wid heaps of hot coals piled 'round 'em. "dere warn't no nigger schools den, but miss jane larnt us 'long wid de white chillun, and us sho' had to mind dem lessons or she'd tear us up. "de slave quarters was jus' log cabins, and dey cooked on fireplaces jus' lak at de big house. marster didn't have many niggers, but us had plenty somepin' t'eat. he had a big gyarden whar he raised mos' evvything: corn, 'taters, cabbages, peas, onions, collard greens, and lots of pun'kins. when de mens plowed up de 'taters us chillun had to go 'long and put 'em in baskets. de bestes' times was hog killin' times. us chillun wukked den. dey hung up de hogs all night and nex' day us cut 'em, put 'em down in salt, and cooked up de lard. us chillun got some of dem good old skin cracklin's when dey got brown. "atter marster tuk de meat out of de salt, he put brown sugar and 'lasses on de hams and shoulders, sacked 'em up, and hanged 'em in de smokehouse. den he say for us to git de fire ready. us made a fire wid cottonseed to smoke de meat. dat kep' it good, and it didn't git old tastin'. it was sho' good eatin' when you got some of dat meat. "when de time come 'round to gather in de corn us wukked mighty peart lak, 'cause us couldn't hardly wait for de cornshuckin's dat marster was gwine to let us have atter dat corn was hauled in f'um de fields. marster 'vited all de other white folkses and dey brung deir niggers 'long. shucks would jus' fly off of dat corn while dem niggers was a-singin' 'old liza jane' and 'susan jane'. when de cornshuckin' was all done, us had a big supper--chicken pies, barbecue, and plenty of evvything good wid lots of liquor too. atter supper dey started up playin' dem fiddles and banjoes, and de dancin' begun. white folkses danced da twistification up at de big house, but us had reg'lar old breakdowns in a house what marstar let us have to dance in. wid all dat toddy helpin' 'em 'long, sometimes dey danced all night, and some of 'em fell out and had to be dragged off de dance flo'. "marse had log rollin's and 'vited evvybody. dey all come and brung deir niggers. marster had big dinners for 'em, and atter dey done rolled dem logs all day dem niggers evermore did eat. when dey was wukkin' dey sung somethin' lak dis: 'i'se wukkin' on de buildin' and hits a sho' foundation, and when i git done i'se goin' home to heb'en.' "all de neighbors comed to de quiltin's, and when de quilts was finished, dey throwed it over de head of de house. dat brung good luck. "us had to cyard, spin and reel cotton. missy give us chillun six cuts of thread for a days wuk and if us wukked hard and fas' us got done in time to go chestnut and chinquapin huntin'. us th'owed rocks 'ginst de limbs to shake de nuts down, and us had jus' de bestes' time a-gittin' 'em out of de burrs and eatin' 'em. us used to string chinquapins and hang 'em 'round our necks. "marster had dese big car'iages wid de high front seats whar de driver sot. us had buggies den too, but attar de war us jus' had two-wheeled carts and dey was pulled," the old negress modestly explained, "by male cows." "niggers all laked thrashin' time. marstar, he growed lots of wheat and de thrashin' machine tuk turn about gwine f'um one plantation to another. dey had big dinners on thrashin' days and plenty of toddy for de thrashin' hands atter dey done de wuk. dey blowed de bugle to let 'em know when dey done finished up at one place and got ready to go on to de nex' one. "missy lef' us to look atter de house when she went off to morgan county to see de other robinsons, and she mos' allus fetched us a new dress apiece when she come home. one time dey was dolly vardens, and dey was so pretty us kep' 'em for our sunday bes' dresses. dem dolly vardens was made wid overskirts what was cotched up in puffs. evvyday dresses was jus' plain skirts and waistes sowed together. gal chilluns wore jus' plain chemises made long, and boys didn't wear nothin' 'cep' long shirts widout no britches 'til dey was 'bout twelve or fo'teen. dem was summertime clothes. cold weather us had flannel petticoats and drawers. our bonnets had staves in de brim to make 'em stand out and had ruffles 'round de front. "ma done de cookin' and house wuk at de big house for mist'ess jane robinson. white folkses had lots of comp'ny, and dey had de cook fix de mostes' good things for 'em. dey kilt heaps of chickens and cooked whole hams and lots of 'tater puddin's and sich lak. when ma steamed pun'kin 'til it was done and den fried it, hit sho' would make your mouf water. missy's folkses was crazy 'bout de 'tater puddin's what ma made, and when she went off to visit 'em she allus had ma bake one for her to take 'long to 'em. "white folkses and niggers all went to de same church and listened to de same white preacher. church day was second sunday of evvy mont'. white folkses went in de mornin' and niggers atter dinner. dem niggers had better behave and listen to de preacher, 'cause if dey didn't marster would give 'em a rakin' over sho'. us went to mount zion church in monroe county, and de baptists and meferdists both used de same church house. "when anybody died, dey laid 'em out on de coolin' board 'til dey got de coffin made up. a white man lived nigh us what made all de coffins. he charged cents to make one for a chile and a dollar for grown folkses. dey had de same kind of coffins for evvybody, white and black, buried 'em all in de same graveyard, and built a fence 'round it. white mens preached all de fun'rals. when dey buried a nigger dey mos'ly had prayer, a little talkin' and some songs. parts of de songs went lak dis: "death has been here and tore away a sister from our side, jus' in de mornin' of 'er day as young as us, she had to die. "not long ago she filled 'er place and sot wid us to larn, but she done run 'er mortal race and nevermore can she return. "us can't tell who nex' may fall underneath de chasen' rod, one maybe fus', but let us all prepare to meet our god. "and needful help is thine to give for grace our souls to thee apply, to larn us how to serve and live, and make us fit at las' to die." "part of another one was: "oh, come angel band come and 'round me stand, and bear me away on your snowy wings, to my immortal home." "seems lak i can mos' hear de preacher read de scripture for his tex', 'buy de truf and sell it not.' "sometimes our white folkses tuk us all to old smyrna church, and den ma allus cooked a fine dinner to take 'long, 'cause dey had church all day and dinner on de grounds. i ain't never gwine forgit a sermon i heared at smyrna, onct. de tex' was, 'be thou faithful unto death, and i will give you a crown of life.' "one day marster called all his niggers together and said us was all free, and dat us could go whar us pleased anytime us got ready, but he said too, dat us could stay on wid him if us wanted to. charlie martin was de onlies' nigger what didn't stay. charlie said he wanted to go somewhars else and marster give him a good hoss and saddle and some money when he lef', but i don't know how much dat money was. "'twarn't long 'fore dere was plenty of ku kluxers 'round 'bout. dey had on doughfaces and long white robes what come down over de hosses dey was a-ridin'. ma allus tole us dat if one of dem kluxers tetched a nigger, dat nigger was gwine to die, and us was so skeered us stayed out of deir way so day didn't ketch none of us, but dey sho' did wuk on de hides of some of dem other niggers what dey did git a holt of. "i wukked for miss sally yervin a while and den us moved here to athens. my gran'pa come atter us, and mr. mote robinson moved us in one of dem big, high up waggons." an ice truck passed the cabin door and alice said: "now jus' look, honey, us didn't have nothin' lak dat den. our milk and butter and sich lak was kep' in de spring house. folkses what had wells used to put milk in buckets and let 'em down in de well wid ropes, and dat milk would keep good and cool down dar. "i got married atter us come to athens. us didn't have no big weddin', jus' went to de preacher man's house to git married. de onlies' child us had is done been daid for years, and my old man died 'way over years ago." the old negress [hw: woman] was reluctant to end the interview. "goodbye missy, i hopes you come back sometime, 'cause old alice has had a mighty good time a-talkin' to you. atter us gits too old to do any wuk dere ain't many folkses takes up no time a-listenin' to old niggers." [hw: ex-slave interview: mrs. amanda jackson] mrs. amanda jackson was born a slave. she is unable to give her age but she can tell of some of the conditions, etc. on the plantation where she lived. following are the things that she remembers most vividly: "i wuz born in glasscock county 'bout twelve miles fum davisboro, ga. my marster's name wuz lowry calhoun--he did'nt have no chillun--jes' him an' his wife an' her mother. he wus a rich man an' he had a big plantation an' 'bout fifty slaves or more--i 'members de big quarters in de back o' his house, where me an' de res' o' de slaves lived, an how we uster git up an' do 'roun." "besides me i had two sisters an' one brother--i wuz de younges' child." "all of de slaves on de plantation worked in de fiel'--even de cook--dat is 'till time fer her to cook de meals. on dis plantation dey raised practically everything--corn, cotton, wheat, an' rye, an' a heap o' live stock. dey wuz runnin' 'bout twenty-five or thirty plows all de time. dere wuz one overseer." "every mornin' de slaves had to git up an' by de time it wuz light enuff to see dey had to be in de fiel' workin'". when asked how they were awakened mrs. jackson replied: "dey knowed how to git you up alright--de overseer had a horn dat he blowed an' dem dat did'nt wake up when de horn wuz blowed wuz called by some of de others in de quarters". continuing, she said: "dey wuz in de fiel' fore de sun rose an' dere 'till after it went down--fum sun to sun". "de fiel' han's had one hour fer dinner--dem dat had families done dere own cookin' an' dere wuz a special cook fer de single ones. de women whut had families would git up soon in de mornin's 'fore time to go to de fiel' an' put de meat on to boil an' den dey would come in at dinner to come in at dinner time an' put de vegetables in de pot to cook an' when dey come home in de evenin' dey would cook some corn bread in de ashes at de fireplace". "all dat i could do den wuz sweep de yards, water de cows an' de chickens an' den go to de pasture to git de cows an' de calves--we had two pastures--one fer de calves an' one fer de cows, i had to git de cows so de womens could milk 'em." "all of de hard work on de plantation wuz done in de summertime. in rainy weather an' other bad weather all dat dey had to do wuz to shell corn an' to help make cloth. as a rule ol' marster wuz pretty good to his slaves but sometimes some of 'em got whupped kinda bad fer not workin' an' stuff like dat--i seen 'im cut womens on dey shoulders wid a long whip 'till it looked like he wuz gonna cut de skin off'n 'im." "you had to do yo' own work on saturdays an' sundays--i members seeing my po' mother wash her clothes on sundays many times. we did'nt have no holidays except sundays an' den we did'nt have nowhere to go except to church in de woods under a bush-arbor". "de white folks clothes an' all o' de slaves clothes wuz all made on de plantation. de marster's wife could sew an' she an' her mother an' some of de slaves done all o' de spinning an' weaving on de place. i've worked many a day in de house where dey made de cloth at. to color de clothes dey made dyes out o' all kinds o' barks. if dey wanted yellowstripes dey used dye made out o' hickory bark. dere wuz always plenty o' clothes fer everybody 'cause dey give two complete outfits two times a year--one in de summer an' one in de winter. fer blankets we used homespun spreads." "even de shoes wuz made on de plantation--dere wuz a man on de place dat made all o' de shoes. dey wuz made out o' cowhide an' wuz very stiff. you had to grease 'em to wear 'em an' after you done dat you could do pretty well. de clothes dat dey wore on sunday wuz'nt no different fum de ones dat dey wore in de week--dey didn't have nowhere to go on sundays unless dey had services somewhere in de woods." "dere wuz a always plenty to eat 'cause dey raised everything dat you c'n think of. dere wuz all kinds o' vegetables an' big fiel's of hogs an' 'bout fifteen or twenty head'a cattle dat had to be milked everyday. dem dat had families got a issue o' food everyday an' de others whut wuz single wuz fed at de cookhouse. de only time we ever got biscuits wuz on sundays--de res' o' de time we et cornbread. marster had two smokehouses--one fer de lard an' one fer de meat. besides des he 'lowed de slaves to raise dere own vegetables in dey wanted to but dey could'nt raise no chickens on stuff like dat". "de place where de slaves lived wuz in de back o' de white folks house. dey called it de "quarters". dere wuz lotsa log cabins kinda 'ranged 'roun in a sorta circle an' all of 'em had big dirt chimneys on de outside. de holes in de walls wuz stopped up wid dried mud to keep de weather out. fer furniture dey jes' nailed up anything--dere wuz a bench or two an' a few boards nailed together fer a bed. de mattress wuz a big tickin' stuffed wid straw or dried grass. some of de houses had big iron pots so dat dey could cook if dey wanted to. de fireplaces wuz big ones an' dey had racks in de inside of 'em so dat de pots could hang dere when dey wuz cookin'. de only light dat dey had wuz de firelight--don't care how hot it wuz--if you wanted to see you had to make a fire in de fireplace. de floors in all de cabins wuz made wid wood. "hardly anybody ever got sick on de plantation. when dey wuz sick de white lady would come out once in a while to see how you wuz gittin' 'long. if anybody wuz very sick de doctor would come on his horse an' bring his medicine wid 'im when he come. when you wuz sick like dis somebody from de fiel' would stay in an' do de nursin'. all de medicine i 'members is big blue mass pills an' salts--dey would give you des fer anything. when you wuz too sick to go to de fiel' an' not sick enuff to be in bed you had to report to de white lady at de house--she could tell pretty much if you wuz sick an' she would work on you--if you did'nt git better den she would send fer de doctor." "on des plantation dey did'nt have no regular church fer de slaves an' so when de weather wuz good de slaves went to de woods an' had church in a bush-arbor. dey made a bush-arbor by takin' some posts an' puttin' dem in de groun' an' de coverin' de top wid bushes. later on dey had a shelter covered wid boards. de prechin' wuz done by a ol' man dey called caesar--he wuz too old to do anything else an' so prechin' wuz de biggis' thing he done." "my marster never did sell any o' his slaves--'course if dey wanted to go to somebodyyelse he'd let 'um go p'vided de one dey wanted to go to paid fer 'em. he let one or two go like dat once. other folks uster put 'em on de block an' sell 'em like dey would a chicken or sumpin' like dat." "dere wuz'nt much whuppin on our plantation--not by de marster. dey usually got whupped fer not workin'. others got whupped by de paddie-rollers when dey wuz cot off'n de plantation widout a pass. dey would come to de plantation an' whup you if dey knowed you had been off wid out a pass. der man whose plantation we wuz on did pretty well by us--he did'nt like fer de paddie-rollers to come on his place to do no whuppin'." in reply to a query regarding the possibility of a slave buying his freedom mrs. jackson replied: "de only ones i knowed to go free wuz some whose marsters willed 'em enuff money to buy deyself out an' dey wuz mighty few". continuing mrs. jackson said: "when de yankee soldiers come through we had to fit busy an' hide all de meat an' de other food dat wuz in de smokehouse so dat de soldiers would'nt take it." "my mother an' father stayed on de plantation a long time after freedom wuz declared". "memories of her childhood", by an ex-slave, camilla jackson submitted by-- minnie b. ross (colored) mrs. camilla jackson doesn't know how old she is, but is so very old that she almost never leaves her chair. she wears a white rag around her head and is always spotlessly clean. she speaks distinctly; but her memory is a little slow, due to her old age. the events related were given only after she had thought them over carefully, for, as she stated, she did not wish to tell anything but the truth. she lives in a back room of a large house and is cared for by other people in the house. she was born in decatur, georgia, the daughter of charlotte and joe hoyle, and the tenth child of children. her family included her mother and father, a grandmother and sisters and brothers. as far as she can remember, her family always belonged to mr. peter hoyle, who was a doctor. dr. hoyle's family included his wife, three boys, and three girls. he owned a very large plantation, and a large number of a slaves, probably or more. all of them were required to work in the fields and tend the crops, which consisted mostly of sugar cane and cotton. syrup was made from the sugar cane. mrs. jackson remembers quite well that everyone was required to work in the fields, but not until dr. hoyle, who was a kind master, was sure that they were old enough. she was about years old when she was given a job in the house, operating the fly-brush. the fly-brush was constructed so that a piece of cloth, fastened on a wooden frame with hinges, could be pulled back and forth with a cord. this constant fanning kept the room clear of flies. as she related this, she smiled to herself as if her job was particularly amusing. dr. hoyle did not find it necessary to hire out any of his slaves as he had enough work to keep them all busy. she frequently said that her master was a kind man and never punished unnecessarily. it was very seldom that he used the whip. his slaves respected him for his kindness and tried to please him. as a result of his good treatment dr. hoyle never found it necessary to sell any one of his slaves. once she hesitated and seemed to go into a deep study over something. a few minutes later she related the incident of the selling of a woman slave. this woman gave birth to a baby out of wedlock and, since dr. hoyle was a firm believer in marriage, he immediately sold her, to prevent further trouble. mrs. hoyle was not as kind as her husband, and at times was cruel to the slaves. mrs. jackson clearly related the method of courtship and marriage on her master's plantation. dr. hoyle never selected the mates for his slaves but left it to each person to chose whomever he wished. however, the selection would have to be made from among the slaves on some of his friends plantations. they were not allowed to chose anyone on their own plantation. the person chosen was allowed to call on sundays after getting a "pass" from his master. she told how courtship was carried on in those days. a young man courted the girl in the presence of the parents. every now and then he would be seen looking at the clock. when he left, the mother would go to the door with him. when the master was properly notified of the intended marriage, he would prepare a feast and call in his own preacher to perform the ceremony. after the ceremony everybody was allowed to take part in the feast. when mrs. jackson's oldest sister married the master roasted a pig and stuck a red apple in its mouth. she smiled over this incident. a slave's home life was very simple. after work hours they were allowed to visit other plantations; however, they could not visit any plantation unless their master was friendly with the owner of this particular plantation. one of the most enjoyable affairs in those days was the quilting party. every night they would assemble at some particular house and help that person to finish her quilts. the next night, a visit would be made to some one else's home and so on, until everyone had a sufficient amount of bed-clothing made for the winter. besides, this was an excellent chance to get together for a pleasant time and discuss the latest gossip. most friendly calls were made on sunday, after securing a "pass". this "pass" was very necessary to go from one plantation to another. slaves did not have to prepare their food during the week. their food was brought to them in pails from the "big house". (the master's house was called the "big house".) on sundays they were given groceries to prepare their own meals. mrs. jackson remembers the bread that was made from "shorts". "shorts" was the name given to a second grade of flour, similar to whole wheat. the first grade was always used in the master's house. as a whole, dr. hoyle gave his slaves enough food; however, on several occasions she remembers that a friend of her mother's, who lived on the adjoining plantation, handed pans of food over the fence to them. slaves were never given spending money but her grandmother was very thrifty and managed to earn a little money. this was done by collecting all the rags she could find and then carrying them to town in an oxcart to sell them. old women used oxcarts because oxen would not run away. she smiled when asked if she had ever worn a hoop skirt. "yes, child", she replied, "i have worn hoop skirts. they were the fad in those days." she related how her sister made hoop skirts by cutting slits in the hem of the skirt, and running a hoop through it. "i can remember the cloth that was made on the spinning wheel", she said. she told how she had turned the reel many a day and spun the thread. she could not clearly relate the construction of a spinning wheel. everyone, particularly the older people, was required to attend church. for christmas everyone was given a special sunday suit to wear to church. the slaves did not have a separate church of their own but were allowed to attend the white church and occupy the balcony. mrs. jackson began to laugh outright over the memory of a funny yet serious incident that occurred in church one sunday. she had a little white girl friend with whom she played every day. one sunday she looked over the balcony and saw her in the audience below. they both began a little game of looking and snatching back their heads. finally she leaned over too far and fell over the balcony into the white audience below. she hurt herself pretty badly and cried so much that the service was broken up for that day. dr. hoyle carried her home and administered the proper treatment. after this incident she didn't look over balconies anymore. before she could learn anything definite the civil war had begun and she began to see soldiers going here and there dressed in their uniforms. one event stands out clearly in her memory and that was the time the master took all of his slaves and as many of his possession as he could and went to camp ground, georgia, to dodge the yankee soldiers. after the attack on decatur, they returned to find all of the slave quarters torn down. the master's house, which had rooms, was still standing. most of the slaves had to stay in the "big house" until their homes could be rebuilt. many were still living in the master's house when the papers were read telling them they were free. dr. hoyle asked his slaves to remain and he would pay them for their services. her family remained with dr. hoyle's family one year after freedom. afterwards they moved to atlanta, where she has lived practically all of her life. she married immediately after freedom and proudly spoke of being the first person to wed in the old "big bethel church". she is now alone without sister, brother, or child; but even at her old age she is unusually optimistic and continues to enjoy life. she believes in serving god and living a clean honest life. she has just one desire, and that is to enter the kingdom of heaven someday. [tr: date stamp may ] life story as told by aunt easter jackson ex-slave it was during the height of slavery days that frances wilkerson and one child came to make their home in troup county, having been bought by mr. tom dix from a mr. snow, of virginia. frances, being an unusually intelligent slave, able to weave, spin, and do all kinds of sewing, cost mr. dix $ . . she received excellent care, never once being allowed to do any field work, and was kept at the "big house" to do the sewing for the household. frances' husband, silas wilkerson, was bought by the wilkerson family, who were neighbors. it was here on the dix plantation, located about one mile from what is now the court square, that another child, easter, was born, a few years before the civil war. it is with a smile of tenderness that she described her life on the old plantation. "yes, chile, i can see mistus now a-ridin' up on her grey horse, "pat", wid er basket on her arm plum full of biscuit! yes, chile, white biscuits! and ain't no short cake ever been made what could hold a light to dem biscuits. mistus would say, 'where's dem chillun, mammy?' "lawdy, you never seed so many little niggers pop up in all yo' life--just 'peared lak de come right out o' de groun'. sometimes dere 'ud be so many chillun, she'd have to break de biscuits to make 'em go 'roun' and sometimes when she's have an extry big basket, she'd say, 'bring on de milk, and less feed dese chullun.' a big bucket o' milk would be brung and po'd in little troughs and de'd lay down on dey little stommacks, and eat jest lak pigs! but de wuz jest as slick and fat as yer please--lots fatter an us is now! and clean too. old mustus would say, 'mammy, you scrub dese chillun and use dat "jim-crow."' lawd, chile! i done fergot you doan know what a "jim-crow" wus--dat's a little fine com' what'll jest natchully take the skin plum off yo' haid 'long wid de dirt. "dem was good old days, plenty ter eat and a cabin o' sticks and dirt to call yo' own. had good times too, 'specially on de th of july and christmas, when old marster tom allus let de niggers have pigs to kill for de feas'; why chile, you should er seen de pot we cooked dem pigs in, it wus so big an' heavy, it took two to put the i'on led on. and sech music! music played on harps, saws, and blowin' quills. ever'body had a good time; even de "white folks" turned out for de dance which went 'way into de night. "den dere wus de prayer meetin's, once a week, first on one of the plantations den a nother; when all de niggers would meet and worshup, singin' praises unto the lord; i can hear 'em now, dere voices soundin' fur away. yes sir! folks had religun in dem days, the "old time religun." our white folks belonged to the first baptis' church in lagrange, and all de slaves went to de same church. our services wus in de basement. "but t'wasn' long 'fore de war broke out, and den things wuz turrible; de niggers would huddle 'roun' de "big house" scared ter death o' de orful tales that wus told er bout de war! it wusn't but er bout a year til young marster tom, john, and bee wus called to de war. albert and scott dix, two young slaves, went with marster tom and john and stayed by them 's close as de could, cookin' and gettin' good for de camp. but t'wus a sad day when de word come dat marster tom wus dyin'. old mistus left right straight, all us slaves goin' down to de train wid her, an' when she got on, she wave her han' an' said, 'i want all o' you, white and black, to take keer o' my baby.' "when she got dere 'twuz a two-story house where they had marster tom--the blood had run down de stairs. "ole mistus had stood so much she couldn't stan' no mo',--the next mornin' she wus dead in de bed! one o' de slaves, albert, and her son, john, carried her on dere shoulders for five miles, but the war bein' so bad dey couldn't carry her no further, so dey buried her by de road and after de war wus over, de took her to de fam'ly graveyard. "den de word spread lak wild fire: "the niggers wuz free". that night all the slaves went up to the "big house", wurried an' askin' 'young marster tom, where is we goin'? what is we goin' to do?' young marster tom said, "go on back to your cabins and go to bed, dey are your homes and you can stay on here as long as you want to."" * * * * * according to aunt easter's statement, life for the slaves on the dix plantation changed very little after the war. she later was married to john henry jackson, whose mother also came from virginia. aunt easter had fourteen children, six of them are now living in troup county and have good jobs. she has made her home with her children and has the respect of all the "white folks", and she often boasts that "her white folks" will care for her till she dies. she now lives on west haralson street, lagrange, troup county, georgia. [tr: date stamp may ] slavery days as related by: =snovey jackson= ruth a. chitty--research worker aunt snovey jackson, crippled and bent with rheumatism, lives in a cabin set in the heart of a respectable white neighborhood. surrounded by white neighbors, she goes her serene, independent way. the years have bequeathed her a kindly manner and a sincere interest in the fairness and justice of things. wisdom and judgment are tempered with a sense of humor. "my name is snovey jackson--s-n-o-v-e-y, dat's the way i spells it. d' ain't nary 'nother snovey jackson in de south. i was bawned in clarksville, va., and owned by one captain williams of virginia. i don' know jes' 'zackly how old i is, but i must be 'bout . "i was jes' a small chap 'bout three or fo' years old when my folks 'cided to come to georgia to raise cotton. you see we didn't raise no cotton in virginia--nutten' 'cept wool and flax. de people in virginia heerd 'bout how cotton was growed down here and how dey was plenty o' labor and dey come by the hund'eds to georgia. back in dem days dey warn't no trains, and travel was slow, so dey come in gangs down here. jes' like dey had de boom down in florida few years back, dat's de way people rushed off to georgia to git rich quick on cotton. "when they got here it warn't nutten' like dey thought it was go'n be. dey thought dey could make cotton 'dout no trouble, and dey'd rake in de money. my folks lef' me in virginia 'cause i was too li'l' to be any help, and dey thought dey could get plenty o' cheap labor here. (i'se talkin' 'bout fo' de war broke out.) of course virginia was a slave breedin' state, and niggers was sold off jes' like stock. families was all broke up and never seed one 'nother no mo'. "i don't even know who my mother and father was. i never knowed what 'come of 'em. me and my two little brothers was lef' in virginia when captain williams come to georgia. de specalators got hol' o' us, and dey refugeed us to georgia endurin' o' de war. niggers down here used to be all time axin' me where my folks was, and who dey was--i jes' tell 'em de buzzards laid me and de sun hatch me. "after we was brought to georgia mr. james jackson bought me. i never knowed what 'come of my brothers. the specalators had tried to keep us together, but we got all separated. i ain't got no kin in the world today dat i knows 'bout. "de jacksons owned a plantation in baldwin county, but dey sold it and moved to lagrange, georgia. we lived dere 'til after de war was on, den dey move back to baldwin county. old miss lost her son-in-law, and later her husband died, den her daughter died. she had a little grandchild, a boy, her daughter's child, to raise. she used to say she had two pets, one pet black child and one pet white child. she was good to me. i never got no punishin's. "old miss had a lot of kin folks here--high class folks. dey was stomp down virginians, too. dey use to call me dey kin. miss kizzie weiderman was a niece o' old miss jackson's, and she used to come down the street and say, 'look here, ain't dat some o' my kin?--come shake hands wid me.' miss kizzie was a sight. she alluz say when she die she want all her nigger kin to come and look on her dead body. "finally old miss got dissatisfied and she 'cided de best thing for her to do was to sell her home and farm here and go to chicago to live wid her son. dat lef' me to seek 'nother home, 'cause i didn't want to go off up dere. so we parted. "i come to town den (it was in ) and found work wid de agent o' the central o' georgia railroad here in milledgeville. my mistis den was mrs. ann bivins. she was good to me, and when they went away, she say, 'snovey, ef'n i had the money, nuttin' but death could separate me and you.' den the nesbits was made de agent, and i work fifty years at dat central depot. i used to get up eve'y mawnin' and cook breakfas' for all de section hands, den i'd go to de house and cook for de family. child, i jes' worked myself to death. all my folks gone away now. de nesbits live in florida. i sends 'em a bag o' nuts eve'y christmas, and dey sends me a box o' oranges. sometime dey comes here to see me. "i mus' tell you how de yankees done when dey come th'ough here. i was wid old miss jackson at dat time. we live over de river. i was a small chap not big enough to do nothing much 'cept nuss old miss. we heard de yankees was comin', and did dey ruin eve'thing! why milledgeville was jes' tore up; twon't nuttin mo'n a cow pasture when de yankees got th'ough wid it. dey tuck all de stock and cattle what folks had, and burned and 'stroyed eve'ything. after de war was breakin' up, we heerd de soldiers was comin' through here and was go'n pass town creek on de way to sparta, and on from sparta to warrenton, and from warrenton to augusta. i lost record after dat. some said it was go'n be , soldiers passing th'ough. we all wanted to see them. i axed old miss to lemme go to sand town to see 'em. she lemme go. hit was a crowd of us went in a big wagon. we did see 'bout , soldiers. i was 'bout or years old. i 'members jes' as well how dey looked--some of 'em had canteens. dey was tryin' to git back home. dey seemed all bewildered like. i had alluz been skeered o' soldiers, but after i seen dem i warn't skeered no mo'. "i had alluz wanted to own a little piece of land, and have me a one room hut like other niggers had. after i started to cookin' for de white folks at de central depot, i 'cided i'd buy me a home. so i got my eyes on a piece of property i wanted and i started to 'vestigatin' it. it seemed like a heap o' money and me making sech a li'l' bit. i found out mrs. ann dubignon owned de square i wanted, so i went to see her son, de lawyer. he say, 'snovey, you can't buy dat lot. you ain't got a chance in de world to pay for it.' "i warn't satisfied wid dat, so i walked out to where old miss ann lived at scottsboro, and i talked to her. she say she was anxious to git a buyer, but she didn't want to worry wid small payments on it, and if i could finance it, she'd sell. well, i studied and studied, and i figgered and figgered, and my little wages for a whole year, even if i didn't spend a penny for nuttin', was mighty little. so i went down to see mr. samuel walker. he owned jes' 'bout all de land in baldwin county what he had got by loans to people dat give de land as security and never could pay off. so we talked things over, and he let me have de money to pay miss for de square. mind you dis here was all jes' a field and woods den. look at it now!" she proudly pointed out the modern homes and streets. "at de end of dat fus' year, here come mr. walker. 'well, snovey, how you gittin' 'long?' he say. "'i'se gittin' 'long fine mr. walker.' "'well, what you go'n' do 'bout dis land?' "i was ready for him. he thought he was go'n' come down and take de land, 'cause he knowed i didn't have de money to pay off. but i was waitin' fer him. "'i'se ready, mr. walker, to settle up.' was he surprised! he sho' was disappointed. lot o' folks has wanted my property. finally judge allen persuaded me to sell him enough to build his home. den mr. bone come 'long, and he wanted to build here. so you see i done sold off several lots, and i still owns part o' my square. dis here old nigger been de foundation of dem homes you see dere. "i could be a grand counselor now. if i could live my days over i'd show 'em all sumpin'. like a rollin' stone, up and down, so de world go'n' move on. i been a heap o' help to folks in my day. i done made a way out o' no way. "i ain't never married, never had no chillun, and de niggers says i alluz been a house-bird. i suffers a heap wid rheumatism now. dat's de reason you see me all bent over disaway. i can't hardly raise up from my waist. i looks mighty feeble but i done out-lived a lot o' 'em. some years ago when dey was buildin' dat fine home up dere on de lot they bought from me, de contractor boarded right across dere from me wid mrs. sims, and he used to say, 'aunt snovey, how 'bout sellin' me dis corner lot to build me a marble house on? you might not be here much longer, and i sho' love to have dis corner lot.' "i used to laugh and tell him i might eat de goose dat ate de grass dat growed on his grave. sho' 'nough, he died here some years ago." "aunt snovey, what are you going to do with all your property--you have no family and no relatives?" "well, dis property was here when i come here." "haven't you made a will?" "me? no mam. some fellow'll git it. i can't say who'll git it. i better not say." "aunt snovey, i would like so much to have these old chairs you have here--how about selling them to me?" "child, i can't tell you de folks is wanted dem chairs. i has to have sumpin' to use. folks done traded me out o' fust one thing then another. you see dat table? mrs. bone up here swapped me one she had for one i had she wanted. i ain't worrying about what's go'n' become o' things when i'se gone. it was all here when i come here, and it'll be here when i die. "i'se a old-fashioned missionary baptis'. i used to go to de white folks' church. dat's where i got my dip. we fared a heap better back in dem times dan we does now." "aunt snovey do you have any pet superstitions?" "go on way from here, child, i ain't got nuttin' to do wid superstitions. my old miss never 'lowed me to believe in no signs and sech like. i could dig up a lot of sorrow in my life, but dat wouldn't do no good. "i never did believe in bumpin' 'bout, so dat's why i settled down here and made up my mind to have me a home. you see dis ain't no fine home, but it's mine and it's paid for. some day when i can afford it, i'se go'n' try to finish de inside o' dis house. i got one room ceiled, and maybe some day i can finish it. i don't believe in taking on no bigger load dan i can git up de hill wid. i'se seed folks go th'ough de machinery o' extravagance, and it'll eat you up sho'. i'se skeerd o' debts as i is o' a rattlesnake, but debts in de right sense makes you industrious. and i'se learned dis much--that a line fence and a dog creates more fuss dan anything in de world." [hw: dist. ex. slave.] louise mckinney [hw: "uncle jake"] "a vessel ob de lawd". uncle jake was a character up in the hills of north georgia. i can look back and see him now as he trudged through the snow in the early morning from his little log cabin down in the field. his new home-made shoes were being worn for the first time and with every swing of the milk pail, he limped. "whose on de lawd's side? i's on de lawd's side!" his thin, cracked voice rang out clearly, and every other word received special emphasis as he tried to step lightly with his left foot. my nose was flattened against the cold, frosty window pane as i watched the old darky go about his morning chores. just the afternoon before i had slipped away to his and aunt callie's cabin to talk for a little while and found him melting tallow in an old bucket over a sputtering log fire. as he rubbed the smelly drippings over the heavy shoes he kept glancing toward the sky at the soft gray clouds, then he would say, "look at dat smoke up at de big house. it am meeting and mingling and habin' communion wid dem clouds oberhead. we's goin' hab wedder in de mornin', and here you is cissie ann wid dat 'plexion o' yo's as soft as a fresh born lam'. dis wind aint for sweet chile's like you for it soun's like de pipe what de dibbil play as it whistles roun' dis chimney corner". with all of my six years' wide experience, i always learned something new from uncle jake and somehow i enjoyed the musty smell of the dark cabin, the strings of red pepper draped in festoons, twists of "chawing baccer" and bunches of onions which hung from the rafters and the soft goose feather bed which uncle jake said warded off dampness and kept him from having "the misery in his stiff ol' jints". in spite of his protests as to me remaining longer, i settled myself on a three-legged stool and with the aid of his fumbling fingers took off my bonnet. my mother insisted that a bonnet was for protection from wind and sun, so i always wore mine, but i had to have assistance in removing it because mother braided my hair near the top of my head and pulled the plait through a hole in the bonnet left for that purpose, then the top was buttoned around it so my fingers could not remove it. uncle jake always laughed when he helped me take it off because we had to be rather secretive and not let mother find out. mammy callie was in the kitchen churning, so i continued to ply uncle jake with questions while i waited for a glass of fresh buttermilk. i knew that my father was away at war and that uncle jake and mammy callie were looking after my grandparents, my mother and me, but they would not tell what war was like or why i could not go and play with other children--they always watched me when i played and everything was kept locked and hidden. it was all so strange and different from what it had been, but uncle jake was just the same and all he would say was, "dis ol' worl' am just a vessel ob de lawd and sometimes de contents of dat vessel jest don' agree, dey gets bilin' hot like when water am poured on burning embers, a powerful smoke do rise. so it is now, chile, dis ol' worl' jest got too hot wid sin and god am trying to cool it off wid refreshin' showers ob his love, but de dibbil am makin' sech a smoke it am smartin' god's eyes", and uncle jake would pat me on the head and i would smile and nod as if his explanation had been perfectly clear. these thoughts of the afternoon before ran through my mind as i watched uncle jake as he limped through the snow with a big brown shawl wrapped around his stooped shoulders, a piece of home spun jeans pinned around his head and a pair of patched jeans trousers supported by heavy bands of the same material for suspenders. as he returned from milking, i wondered if he had my gray kitten in his pocket, but suddenly i realized he was hobbling hurriedly, the milk pail was thrown aside and he seemed badly frightened. i ran to find out what had occurred to upset uncle jake's usual carefree manner. "de lock am gone! dat mule am gone! dem bushwhackers done tuk it off and i's done gone atter 'em, right now". his eyes flashed as he shouted without stopping and he hobbled down to his cabin. grandfather went down and tried to convince him that the weather was too cold to attempt to follow the thief and to wait until later, but the old negro began quoting scripture as he put on another coat and heavy knit gloves. "de lawd say, 'dey shall not steal', and de white folks is sho' to think i tuk 'at mule off. fuddermore, in de 'pistle ob de 'postle, isaiah, he say, 'be a clean vessel ob de lawd god', and i gonna find out de truf and prove my position 'fore dese people. dat low-down scallawag what come here wid no 'nouncement ob his 'pearance is gwine suffer for dis here axident. he nebber reckoned wid me". and with that uncle jake waded into the deep snow and was last seen following the creek down through the meadow as it meandered underneath an icy crust. several days passed and anxiety began to show on the faces of those at home, but one morning mammy callie came to get breakfast with her face aglow. after praying most of the night, she said "the good lord has given me a sho sign, for he done showed me a vision of a man up 'fore a jedge and den i see jake wid a bucket of oats and dat mule was toggin' behin' him". his spirit was contagious and we lived in an atmosphere of expectancy during the day and were not surprised when we heard shouts of joy and praises to "de good lawd" from jake as he rode up on the old mule. he had been unable to locate any tracks, but he had walked miles in the cold and sneaked around the barns and in the chimney corners to eavesdrop at the homes of those whom he suspected of being disloyal to the confederate cause. while hiding under a haystack late one afternoon, he heard voices and he recognised his master's mule as it was sold by a stranger with a decided northern brogue to the owner of the place on which he was hiding. uncle jake almost shouted for joy, but he realised he was on "alien" territory so he remained out of sight. when the mule was fed and stabled, he skipped in under cover of darkness and led the mule away. in the excitement of getting away he forgot that he had crossed the county line, so no excuse was taken when the sheriff of that county took him into custody. uncle jake was hailed into court the next morning with the "owner" as witness against him. "how old are you?" asked the judge in a stern manner. "i's ol' enuf to know dat am de mule what belongs to marster. i knows him by his bray", answered the negro, as he looked over the crowd and saw and felt no sympathy from any of them. "you were caught with stolen goods out of your county and from all appearances you were hurt in the attempt to escape for i see you are limping. what do you say to that?" uncle jake was trembling as he looked down at his smelly shoes. "no, sir, jedge. you is sho' wrong. i jest receibed a commandment from my heabenly father to walk in de truth and i was serbing my white folks by getting back what is ders. dis mule was stole by some po' sinner what don' know de scriptures". at this point the sheriff from jake's county, who was a good friend of our marlow family, walked into the courtroom to see if he could help jake in his difficulties. when the frightened negro saw him, he forgot the dignity of the court and shouted, "praise de lawd. i's been a vessel ob his for nigh onto sixty years and he's done fill me full ob grace and glory dis very hour". and without further ado, he left the sheriff to make all explanations. as he ran to the hitching post the mule began to bray and as uncle jake mounted he shouted, "we're shaking de dust ob dis place from off our feet and goin' back to our (fannin) county where we can con-tinue bein' vessels ob de lawd and servin' our white folks". as long as he lived, uncle jake was a faithful servant to his white folks. every time i slipped away to spend a little time at the log-cabin, i always asked him to repeat the story of how he returned the mule and with each repeating he praised the lord more for being a direct instrument in helping him prove to the countryside that he was "a clean vessel ob de lawd", but he blamed the new shoes and his skinned heel for not getting across the county line before he was caught. bibliography. an old negro by the name of jake identified a mule of his master's in court at morganton. the little girls in the morris family in fannin county were made to wear bonnets with their hair pulled through so they could not be removed. these two facts told me by mr. j. r. kincaid of blue ridge. plantation life as viewed by ex-slave mahala jewel berry street athens, georgia. written by: grace mccune athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens -- john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & . mahala jewel =ex-slave--age .= mahala jewel, known in the community as "aunt hailie," was sitting on her tiny porch when the interviewer arrived. "i'se a-tryin' to git my foots warm," she declared. "dey was cold all last night, and didn't warm up none even when i had done walked all de way up to de courthouse to git dem cabbage what de welfare ladies had for me today. yes ma'am, hit sho' is hard times wid old hailie now. i was raised whar folks had plenty. our white folks warn't no pore white trash, and if my old marster and mist'ess was a-livin' today dey sho' would do somepin' for old hailie in a hurry, 'cause dey allus give us plenty of evvything dey had." aunt hailie's rickety chair was kept in vigorous motion as she talked and the visitor was fearful it would collapse at any moment. one rocker was broken and on top of the cushions in the low seat of the chair she was sitting on an old cheese box. suddenly she arose to go in the house to "see if dem cabbages is a-burnin'," and when she returned she carefully adjusted the box before resuming her precarious perch in the old rocking chair. when she was sure that her feet were in a sunny spot, she began her narrative. "gracie wright was my ma's name 'fore she tuk off and married my pa. he was named tuggle, and both of 'em belonged to marse hamp mcwhorter on his plantation down in oglethorpe county. marse hamp was sho' a rich man and on his big old plantation dey raised evvything dey needed lak, peas, 'tatoes, ingons, collards, cabbages, and turnip sallet, beans, punkins, and plenty of corn, wheat and rye. marse hamp had lots of cows, hogs, sheep, and goats too. miss liza was our mist'ess, and she raised more chickens dan dey ever could use. i just tells you, my white folks warn't no pore folks. "i was born and raised up right dar. ma wukked in de fields, and mist'ess brung me up in de big house 'cause she said i was gwine to have to wait on her when she got old. dare was sho' a moughty big lot of slave chillun a-comin' on all de time and marster and mist'ess was good as dey could be to all of 'em. marster and mist'ess had seben chillun. deir boys was william, joe, james, and mack. miss tildy and miss mary was two of deir gals, but i just can't ricollect de name of deir oldest daughter. "whilst us was little, slave chillun didn't have much wuk to do. de littlest ones just picked up trash when de yards was bein' cleant up and done easy jobs lak dat. "marse hamp never fooled wid dem little one track stores at maxeys, de town nighest our plantation. when he needed somepin', he just cotch a train and lit out for 'gusty (augusta), georgie. mist'ess knowed when he was comin' back, and she allus sont de car'iage to meet him. when us chillun seed 'em gittin' out de car'iage and hosses, us didn't wait, us just lit out and when dat train got to de crossin' all of us was right dar a-waitin' to see our marster step off. den us followed dat car'iage down de big road plum back to de plantation, 'cause us knowed marster never forgot none of us. dere was new dresses for de gals and clothes for de boys too, and us felt moughty proud when us dressed up in dem store bought clothes f'um 'gusty. chilluns' evvy day clothes was just slips cut all in one piece, sleeves and all. boys wore long shirts 'til dey was big and strong enough for field wuk. clothes for de grown folks was made out of cloth wove in de loom house right dar on de plantation, but dere was some beaded cloth too. "us sho' did have a pretty place. de big house was painted white, and dere was big old yards wid lots of flowers. de slave quarters was white too. dey was one room cabins built in long rows, way off f'um de big house. home-made beds was nailed to de wall and had just two laigs, and de big ticks stuffed wid straw made dem beds moughty good places to sleep. "most of de slaves et at de two long tables close by de kitchen up nigh de big house. de kitchen warn't built on to de big house, but hit sot out in de yard a little piece. dat's de way evvybody had deir kitchens built dem days. marster kept a big strong man to do de cookin' for his slaves. pa was de boss for marse hamp. i don't 'member much 'bout him. my brother stayed in de cabin wid pa and ma, but i was all time up at de big house wid mist'ess. she was good to me as she could be. she told me to allus do right and never do no wrong to nobody. i had a little highup cheer what i sot in to keep de flies off of mist'ess. "all de slaves went to church wid deir white folks, and sot in de back part of de meetin' house. us went to old beard (baird) church, off out in de country, and sometimes i had to take de littlest white chilluns out and stay in de car'iage wid 'em, if dey got too restless inside de meetin' house. out dar in de car'iage us could listen to de singin' and it sho' did sound sweet. meetin' days was big days. dey fetched deir dinners and stayed all day. de mcwhorter family allus carried great big baskets, and one of deir biggest baskets was kept special just to carry chickens in, and de barbecue, it was fixed right dar on de church grounds. slave gals sot de long tables what was built out under de trees, and dem same gals cleant up atter evvybody had done got thoo' eatin'. niggers et atter de white folks, but dere was allus a plenty for all. little niggers kept de flies off de tables by wavin' long branches kivvered wid green leafs for fly brushes. some few of 'em brung home-made paper fly brushes f'um home. most of dem all day meetin's was in july and august. some folks called dem months de 'vival season, 'cause dere was more 'vival meetin's den dan in all de rest of de year. de day 'fore one of dem big baptizin's dey dammed up de crick a little, and when dey gathered 'round de pool next day dere was some tall shoutin' and singin'. white preachers done all de preachin' and baptizin'. "somehow i don't 'member much 'bout de celebratin' when dey got in de wheat and done de thrashin'. dey was so busy wid de cotton 'bout dat time on our place dat dere warn't much frolickin', but de sho' nuff big celebratin' was in de fall atter all de corn was gathered and dey had cornshuckin's. marse hamp 'vited all de white folks and deir niggers. de white folks visited and de niggers done de wuk. de fust thing dey done at cornshuckin's was to 'lect a gen'ral. all he done was to lead de singin' and try to git evvybody to jine in his song 'bout de corn, and as dey sung faster, de shucks dey flew faster too. atter de corn was all shucked, dey et de big feast what us had done been cookin' for days and days. hit tuk a passel of victuals, 'cause dem shuckers could sho' hide 'way dem good eats. den de fiddlers started up deir music wid =turkey in de straw=. de old breakdown dancin' was on, and hit was apt to go on all night. "syrup makin' time at marse hamp's was a frolic too. us raised plenty of sugar-cane to make dat good old 'lasses what tasties so good wid hoecake and home-made butter. "atter de war, ma and pa stayed on wid marse hamp a long time. mist'ess died when i was just a little chile, but she had done willed me to miss mary and told her to allus take keer of hailie. miss mary stayed right on dar wid marse hamp. my ma and pa had done left, and i ain't never heared nothin' more f'um 'em since dey went away f'um marse hamp's place. "den marster he done went and got kilt. he had rid off on a middle size pony what must a runned away wid him, 'cause dey found him plumb daid in a ditch. it was all so sudden lak us never could find out if he died happy. us knowed mist'ess died happy 'cause she told de folks 'round de bed dat de lord was a-takin' her home out of dis old world of trouble. "atter marse hamp died, miss mary married marse pleaze winter, and us all moved to flatwoods, what warn't so fur f'um marse jim smith's place. i 'members when dat smith man died. dey buried him in de graveyard on his own plantation at fust, but den dey said nobody didn't want to live dar atter he was buried dar, so dey tuk him up and buried him somewhar else. "i didn't lak to live at flatwoods, but i stayed on wid my miss mary and nussed her chillun 'til me and joe jewel got married. joe was named atter his old marster, captain joseph jewel, and dey lived on de jewel place in oglethorpe county. i never did keer much for fine clothes and miss mary said what clothes i had was all right, but she just would give me a nice white weddin' dress. she had us git married at her house, and she 'vited lots of mine and joe's folks and our friends to a big supper she had fixed for us. miss mary sho' did give me a grand send off. atter dat, i visited my miss mary whenever i wanted to, and still helped her wid her babies when she needed me. "miss mary is done daid now, but if she was a livin' old hailie would have what she needs. i'm a gittin' moughty old now and my old man is done gone on to glory, but hailie will soon be wid him dar. whilst i did go and git married to a jewel, i ain't forgittin' i was borned and bred a mcwhorter, and i'm here to tell you dat i'm still just de same--a mcwhorter." benjamin johnson ex-slave following is benjamin johnson's own account of some of his experiences as a slave and of conditions on his plantation. "on our plantation de white folks been feedin' de slaves off fat meat, jowls, an' heads an' jaws. dey kept all de meat out in de smoke house in de back yard. in dis house dey kept de hams all hangin' up high an' above dem dey kept de sausages and den above dem dey kept de finest hams all trimmed an' everything. de slaves eat dat fat meat an' thought dat dey wus eatin' pound cake. come down to chicken--if you got it you stole it when de white folks wus sleep at night an' den you had to be careful an' bury all de feathers in de groun' 'cause if you burned 'em de white folks would smell 'em. we boys in de fiel' used to be so hungry 'till we didn't know what to do. de overseer would be settin' down under a tree an' he would holler 'keep goin.' de sweat would be jes' running' off you and sometimes you could smell one another. "dere wus a spring nearby an' when we would git to it we would fall down an' drink fum de branch. de women would be plowin' an' hoein' grain an' de spanish needles an' cockle burrs would be stickin' to dere dresses fum dere knees to dere feet. further down dere would be a man diggin' a ditch. every now an' den white folks would walk over to de ditch an' see if it wus de same width all de way." "you go off to see somebody at night--jes' like you an' me want to laff an' talk--an' if dey ketch an' you ain't got no pass den dey gwine to whup you. you be glad to git away too 'cause when dey hit you, you wus hit. i wus down to ol' john brady's place one night talkin' to a lady an' ol' man brady slipped up behin' me an' caught me in de collar an' he say: "whut you doin' over here?--i'm goin' to give you twenty-five lashes" an' den he say to me: "come here". he wus jes' bout as tall as i am an' when i got to 'im he say turn 'roun' and' i say to 'im dat i ain't doin' nuthin' an' den he say: "dats whut i'm goin to whup you fer 'cause you ought to be home doin' sumpin'. 'bout dat time when i stooped over to take off my coat i caught 'im in his pants an' throwed 'im in a puddle o' water an' den i lit out fer home. if you git home den dey couldn't do nuthin' to you. he tried to chase me but he did'nt know de way through de woods like i did an he fell in a gulley an' hurt his arm. de next mornin' when i wus hitchin' up de boss man's horse i seed 'im comin' an' i tol de boss dat he tried to whup me de night befo' an' den de boss man say "did he have you?" i tol' 'im dat he did but dat i got away. an' den de boss say: "he had you an' he did'nt have you--is dat right?" den he say "don't worry 'bout dat i can git you out of dat. if he had you he shoulda whupped you an' dat woulda been his game but he let you git away an' so dat wus yo' game." 'bout dat time ol' man brady had done got dere an' he tol' de marster dat i wus on his place de night befo' an' dat i got away an' when he tried to whup me an' de marster say to him: "dat wus his game--if you had him you shoulda whupped 'im. dats de law. if you had whupped 'im dat woulda been yo' game, but you let 'im git away an' so dat wus his game." ol' man brady's face turned so red dat it looked like he wus gonna bus'. "we worked in de fiel' every day an' way in de night we shucked an' shelled corn. de cook done all de cookin'. when all of de marster's slaves wus in de fiel' dey had two cooks to feed 'em. at twelve o'clock de cooks would blow a horn at de stump in de yard back o' de cook house. even de hosses an' de mules knowed dat horn an' dey would'nt go a step further. you had to take de mule out of de harness an' take 'im to de spring an' water 'im an' den take 'im to de house where a colored man up dere named sam johnson had all de feed ready fer de hosses. when you git dere all de hosses go to dere own stalls where dere wus ten ears o' corn an' one bundle o' fodder fer each hoss. while dem hosses is eatin' you better be out dere eatin' yo' own. sarah an' annie, de cooks had a big wooden tray wid de greens an' de meat all cut up on it an' you pass by wid yo' tin pan an' dey put yo' meat all cut up on it along wid de greens an' den you could eat anywhere you wanted to--on de stump or in de big road if you wanted to. sometimes some of 'ems meat would give out or dere bread would give out an' den dey would say: "i'll give you a piece of my bread for some or yo' meat or i'll give you some of my meat for some of yo' bread". some of 'em would have a big ol' ash cake an' some of 'em would have jes' plain corn bread. dere wus usually a big skillet o' potatoes at de cook house an' when you eat an' drink yo' water den you is ready to go back to work. dey wus goin' to let you lay down in de shade fer 'bout a hour but you would make de time up by workin' till dark. some of 'em worked so 'till dey back wus gone. dey could'nt even stand up straight. "sometimes ol' missus would come 'long an' she would be mad wid some of de women an' she would want to go to whuppin' on 'em." "sometimes de women would'nt take it an' would run away an' hide in de woods. sometimes dey would come back after a short stay an' den again dey would have to put de hounds on dere trail to bring dem back home. as a general rule dere wus'nt much whuppin' on our plantation. 'course if you did'nt do what dey tol' you to do dey would take you out an' put yo' hands round a pole an' tie you so yo' feet would jes' touch de groun' an' den dey would go to work on you wid a cowhide. everytime dey hit you de blood would fly wid de whip." "de clothes den wus'nt but ol' plain white cloth. most of 'em wus patched fum de legs to de waist. some wus patched so till dey looked like a quilt. some of de women wore dese long striped cotton dresses an' when dey would go in de fiel' de spanish needles an' de burrs would stick all over 'em. de only shoes dat you got wus red brogans. if you got anything better it wus some dat de marster give you fer brushing off his shoes at de house. you wus so proud whenever dey give you a pair o' shoes or a ol' straw hat dat dey wus through wid at de house you went back an' showed it to everybody an' you wus mighty proud too. i used to drive my marster's hoss an' buggy fer 'im an' so i used to git a lotsa stuff like dat." "ol' marster wus a judge an' his name wus luke johnson. his wife wus named betsy an' his sons wus named jim, tom, will, an' dorn. his daughters wus janie, mary, catherine, an' lissie. he had acres of land an' slaves." "all de houses on de plantation 'cept ol' marster's wus built out o' logs. ol' marster lived in a fine house. sometimes when one o' de slaves had a chance to go inside his house all de rest of de slaves would be waitin' outside fer you to come out. when you did come out dey would say: "you been in de marster's house--how did it look in dere--whut did you see?" dey would tell 'em: "you ought to go in dere--it's so pretty". whenever you got a chance to go in dere you had done pulled off yo' hat long' fore you got to de door. "on sunday we would take soot out of de chimney an' wet it an' den go an' borrow de marster's shoe brush an' go an' brush our shoes. we wus gittin' ready to go to church." "at church all de white folks would sit in de front an' all de slaves would sit in de back. de preacher would preach an' say: "obey yo' master an' yo' missus an' you will always do right. if you see eggs in de yard take 'em to yo' marster or yo' missus an' put 'em at her feet. if you don't do dis she will needle you well or break bark over yo' head an' de bad man will git you." "sometimes dey would give us a dollar at christmas time an' if somebody did'nt take it fum us we would have it de nex' christmas 'cause we didn't have nuthin' to spend it fer." "when de war broke out ol' marster enlisted an' he took me 'long to wait on him an' to keep his clothes clean. i had plenty o' fun 'cause dere wus'nt so very much work to do. i 'members seein' 'im fightin' in richmond an' danville, virginia. i had a good time jes' watchin' de soldiers fightin'. i did'nt have to fight any at all. i used to stand in de door of de tent an' watch 'em fight. it wus terrible--you could hear de guns firin' an' see de soldiers fallin' right an' left. all you could see wus men gittin' all shot up. one day i seed one soldier git his head shot off fum his body. others got arms an' legs shot off. an' all de time all you could hear wus de guns goin'--bam, bam, bam--it wus terrible to see an' hear. one mornin' as i wus standin' in de door of de tent i had a dose of it. i wus leanin' against de side of de tent wid my hand stretched out a load o' grape shot fum de guns hit me in de hand an' de blood flew everywhere. i jes' hollered. it come pretty near scareing me to death. after de doctor got it patched up (and he held the hand up to exibit the scar) it wus as good as it every wus." "after de war wus over ol' marster wus all shot up an' i had to take him on back home. when we got dere all de slaves crowded 'roun me an' wanted to know if dey wus gonna be freed or not an' when i tol' 'em dat de war wus over an' dat dey wus free dey wus all very glad. after de war a whole lots of 'em stayed on de plantation an' a whole lots of 'em left as soon as dey could git away." plantation life as viewed by ex-slave georgia johnson w. broad street athens, georgia written by: grace mccune athens -- edited by: sarah h. hall athens leila harris augusta georgia johnson ex-slave--age almost without exception the old negroes who have given their "ricollections" have had life stories centered around one plantation. unlike these aunt georgia johnson, years old, of athens, georgia, moved about considerably during her childhood, lived in several states and had many and varied experiences. after coming back home she is of the opinion shared by all georgians: "dar's no place kin tetch georgie." "ma's fust name was myra. i don't 'member what her other name was. atter her white folkses had done died out up in maryland, her pa, her brudder and sister was sold off up dar, and a man named jim grisham brung de rest of de slaves from dat plantation down to lexin'ton, georgie to sell 'em. marse duncan allen bought my ma and her mammy dar at de sale in lexin'ton and tuk 'em to his big old plantation in south callina. "ma said her didn't never see no hog meat 'til she come to dis country. her said dey et all sorts of fishes; just went to de beach and got crabs, oysters, and swimp (shrimp) wid de hulls still on 'em, but when her done et some hog meat at marster's plantation, her said hit sho' was good. marse duncan allen give my ma to his gal, mist'ess laura, for her maid. my pa, he was charlie allen; he b'longed to marse duncan allen too. when mist'ess laura done went and married marse blackwell of e'berton, georgie, marse duncan give 'em my pa for a weddin' present and dey fetched my ma and pa wid 'em to live in e'berton, georgie. atter dey got moved and settled, my ma and pa dey got married. ma, her wukked in de big house and done most of de cookin'. pa driv' de carriage for de white folks. marster and mist'ess was powerful good to deir slaves. marster, he run a big store at e'berton, and 'sides dat he had a big plantation and a heap of niggers too. "on de plantation dey had big gyardens whar dey raised heaps of cabbages, potatoes, colla'd greens, turnip sallet, onions, peas, rutabagas, and pun'kins and sech lak. dey raised plenty of chickens, tukkeys, hogs, cows and sheep, and dey wove good wool cloth on de plantation looms out of de wool f'um dem dar sheep. "slave quarters was just one room log cabins what was built so de corners come together to big old chimneys. yessum, i 'members dey just had one big chimney to evvy four cabins. dey cooked on de fireplace and had pot racks for to hang de pots on, and ovens to bake in. us sho' could do 'way wid a heap of sweet 'tatoes what had done been roasted in de ashes. cabins was planked up on de inside and de outside was daubed wid mud in de cracks to keep out de wind and rain. our home-made beds, nailed to de side of de cabins, had ticks filled wid wheat straw. white folks had nice corded beds. ma said hit was lots of trouble to keep dem cords tight. dey had hooks for to draw 'em up tight and den peg 'em down wid wooden pegs. "marster allus give his niggers passes on sundays so as dem paddyroller folks wouldn't ketch 'em and beat 'em up, if dey went off de plantation. niggers went to de white folks church and listened to white preachers. when ma jined de church, dey had to break de ice in beaver dam crick to baptize her. her was so happy and shouted so loud, dey had to drag her out of de crick and take her way back in de woods to keep her from 'sturbin' de rest of de folks at de baptizin'. "i was borned in de last year of de war so i don't have no sho' 'nough ricollections 'bout dem hard times what old folks says dey had dem days. atter de war was over, us all stayed on wid marster for a long time. mist'ess was moughty good to us chillun. us played wid de white chillun, and one day mist'ess cotch us all a-fightin', and her switched us all, but it didn't hurt. marster used to git my sister to shout for him. i kin just see her now, a-twistin' and jumpin' and hollerin' for all de world lak grown-up niggers done at meetin's and baptizin's, 'til she done fell out. den marster, he say, 'take her to de kitchen and feed her good.' "pa and marster had a fallin' out, 'cause marster wouldn't have no settlement wid 'im. he just wouldn't give my pa no money. marster said us younguns still b'longed to 'im and dat us had evvything us needed, and could git anything us wanted at his store and he thought he had done 'nough for us. but my pa said he didn't wanter take up evvything he wukked for in trade, 'cause he would lak to have some money too. "bout dat time marse pope barrow was a gittin' up lots of niggers to go wid him to mis'sippi for to raise cotton out dar, whar he said dey was makin' heaps of money. pa tuk us all and went 'long wid 'im. i just kin 'member dat place. hit was all kivvered wid water. marse pope, he hired a lot of irishmen to help dig ditches for to dreen de water off his land. den dey planted cotton and pa said hit sho' was fine cotton, just a-growin' to beat de band, when dem irishmens got mad 'cause dey said marse pope hadn't paid 'em for deir wuk, and dey blowed up de dams and let all dat water back on de cotton. hit was plumb ruint. den marse pope, he left dar and tuk my pa and all of us along wid him to arkansas. us made a big cotton crop out dar, but when all de cotton done been sold us niggers didn't git nothin'. ma, her had done all de cookin' for de mens what wukked for marse pope. his wife, mist'ess sallie barrow used to come to see him and her allus brought her maid along wid her, and de maid, her stayed wid us. ma said us chillun used to cry to go back to georgie wid mist'ess sallie, 'cause her rid on one of dem boats what was run wid steam. pa left marse pope 'cause he wouldn't give 'im no pay. us sold our things and come to memphis, tennessee and went to farmin' for marse partee, and us just stayed dar long 'nough to make one crop. whilst us was out dar, our little sister died. just 'fore her died her said her was goin' to see god. her told de debbil to git away f'um dar, 'cause her warn't gwine wid him. dey put a little white dress on her and laid her out on de bed, 'til dey could make up a coffin out of plain pine wood for her. dey just had a prayer and sung 'hark f'um de tomb,' and den dey buried her away in de groun'. "pa got his money for dat crop and den us come on back to da plantation in e'berton, georgie, 'cause old marster had done been a-wantin' us back. he said he needed us, chillun and all, and us was sho' glad for to git back home. ma done de cookin' and pa driv' de carriage and done little jobs 'roun' de barns and hosses. sometimes he wukked a little in de fiel's. us chillun used to clean yards, git in de wood, feed chickens and on sundays atter dinner when dar warn't no company at de big house us would go up to de big plunder room in de attic and us would have de bestes' times wid de white chilluns, a-dressin' up in de old clothes what mist'ess had stored away up dar. sometimes when marster would ketch us up dar all dressed up, he would make us come down and preach for him. den he made us all set down 'cep' one what was to do de preachin'. sometimes it was his own son he called on to preach to us, and dat white boy sho' told us niggers 'bout our sins. den dey would make my sister, millie, sing, 'po' sinner man, done gone down yonder'. one time when marster's son was a preachin' he told all about a fight us done had once when i hit him wid a rock. he said i sho' was goin' to de debbil for dat. i just knowed marster was gwine git atter me 'bout dat, but he just laughed and said hit warn't de fust time a preacher had done been hit wid a rock." "marse deadwyler, de mayor, up at e'berton, lived on de plantation next to ours, and he had a big old deer what sho' hated chillun. hit would try to stomp 'em to death, and us sho' did make tracks fast sometimes when dat old deer got out. and marster had a old mule what would fight at us chillun too. one time us didn't know he was in de parstur when us went out dar to play. de gate was wukked wid draw poles and us couldn't git 'em down, so us had to crawl under a old crib house and hit was plumb dark when marster foun' us. us sho' didn't go in de parstur no more lessen us knowed dat mule was fas'ened up good and tight at de barn." "one time, in de middle of de night, long atter us chillun had done gone to bed us heared grown folks runnin' 'roun', and dey told us to git up and see mr. deadwyler's house a burnin' up. dat was de bigges' fire i ever seed. blazes and sparks went way up, and dey didn't save nothin'. us chillun got so 'cited us didn't go back to bed no more dat night." "niggers didn't have no church of dey own, but dey did have prayer meetin's. dey would kindle 'em a big fire for light and to keep 'em warm, off clost to de woods, whar deir racket wouldn't 'sturb de white folks, and dey would gather 'roun' dat fire and pray. sometimes slaves would just go off by deirselfs in de woods to pray. one night when ma was out in de woods a prayin' her heared a loud fuss back of her lak somebody was tearin' down de woods, and hit skeered her so her quit prayin' and run to de big house. marster told her, hit was de debbil atter her." "pa got mad again at old marster 'cause still he wouldn't have no settlement wid 'im, so us left e'berton again and went back to south callina to de old allen place where pa had come f'um. den pa bought me a doll what would dance when you wound it up, and i sho' did love dat little dancin' doll. soon miss laura come to see her pa, marse duncan allen, and her brung me a little doll too. her said i needed somebody to play wid 'cause i couldn't go to school on account of my eyes. dey was bad and i warn't 'lowed to read nothin', but ma larnt me to do a little sewin'. i felt moughty big and grown up soon as i could make my own dresses and chemise. dey warn't hard to make, but i was moughty proud 'cause i had done made 'em my own self." "marse duncan allen didn't have no little chillun of his own den, but he sho' seed atter us. for supper us had bread and milk, wid butter and 'lasses sirup. dey says dats 'nough for chillun at night. us was still dar on marse allen's place when me and isaac mccollie got married. de white folks said i was too young 'cause i was just den, but my ma told me i could go ahead and git married if i wanted too. isaac's two brudders was married at de same time. whilst de boys was gone atter licenses and de preacher, us three gals was a-waitin' up at marse tom young's house whar de weddin' was to take place. dem other two gals was so skeered dat marse tom's housekeeper give each one of us a glass of gin to quiet our nerves, but i warn't skeered a bit, not me, when i had a chanst to be all dressed up lak dat, in a satin striped white weddin' dress wid a long train a-trailin' off de back of it. all de ten ruffles 'roun' dat dress was aidged wid pink and de big puffed sleeves had pink cuffs. hit did seem an awful long time 'fore dem boys got back wid preacher lockhart. us was married dar at marse tom's and den us went back to marse duncan allen's place whar de bigges' surprise i ever had was ready for us. marster and mist'ess had done 'lowed dat if i just had to git married dey would do de best dey could for me. out in de big house yard was long tables just loaded down wid everything good--chickens, barbecue, pies, and a great big weddin' cake, what my good old mist'ess done baked for me her own self, and den us just had de bigges' sort of time a-dancin' and frolickin' atter us et all dat good supper. isaac's pa said he owed him one more year 'cause he was just when us got married, and all us got for dat whole year's wuk was a little corn and one heifer. "old marse blackwell had done died and miss laura was a-beggin' my pa to come back and wuk for her, but he wouldn't go nowhar 'til atter marse duncan allen died, den he moved back to georgie, down nigh de jim smith place. den pa got a farm whar de stockade is now. us wukked moughty hard a-gittin' a start, and dat hard wuk made good crops and us raised most all us needed to eat--veg'tables, hogs, cows, chickens, tukkeys, and sech lak. in de fall atter us had done wukked so hard all thoo' crop time, pa let us have cornshuckin's. us cooked for two or three days 'fore dem cornshuckin's 'cause dere was allus a big crowd to be fed. when de big day come, fust thing us done was choose a gen'ral. he just walked 'roun' de big piles of corn and led de singin'. somehow, i can't 'member how dat song went, but it was all 'bout corn. de gen'ral started de song slow and den got it to goin' faster and faster and de livelier de song went de faster de shucks would fly, and de more often dey would pass 'roun' de liquor. soon as all de corn was shucked, us had de big feast wid plenty of good coffee and toddy to go wid dem good victuals us had done been cookin' up; dem chickens, all dat fresh killed hog meat and a big spread of lightbread and pies and cakes. dem was de good old days, and dey don't have no sech grand times a helpin' each other, and a-celebratin' de harvest time no more. "atter isaac died, i wukked for diff'unt white folks, cookin' and washin' 'til i married alec johnson. dis time us just went to de preacher for to git de knot tied and didn't have no big weddin'. i did have on a nice white dress, but hit warn't nigh so pretty and fancy as my fust weddin' dress. a few friends come 'roun' dat night and us handed 'em out a little cake and ice cream, but dere warn't no big supper. "bofe my husbands is done been daid and gone long ago, but i'se still got two of my chillun, my gran'chillun and four great gran'chillun. dey's all sweet and good to me, and sees dat i has all what i needs. i done lost de sight in one eye and de other one is failin' moughty fast. i prays and prays dat de good lord will let me see a little, what time i'se got left to live. "one of my chillun died de fust of dis year and soon i'm gwine to jine her. i hopes you laks what i ricollected, but somehow i can't call dem old times back to mind since i done got so old, lak i use to. come back to see me again, honey. good-bye." manuel johnson of washington-wilkes by minnie branham stonestreet washington-wilkes georgia seventy-four year old manuel johnson, "about de younges'" of the nine children of milford and patsey johnson, is a tall ebony-black old man with the whitest hair and the roundest, merriest face. he lives in washington, but even at his age he farms. although he was too young to remember much about slavery, uncle manuel recalls the happy old plantation days: "my pa an' ma cum frum ole virgin'y five years befo' de wah, jedge harris here in wilkes county went up ter virgin'y an' bo't dem frum de putnams an' bro't 'em home wid him. you know, miss, in dem days us niggers wuz bo't an' sole lak dey does mules ter-day. i wuz borned down on de harris place de same year miss carrie (the youngest harris daughter) wuz--we's de same year's chillun, dat's de onlies' way i knows how ole i is, miss harris tole me. "jedge harris had er lot ov slaves--i specks i kin name er hunderd now, dey all lived in log cabins in de quarters an' wuz happy an' well took keer ov as dey could be. de white folks took me in de house when i wuz leetle an' raised me kase dey wanted me fer er house boy. i waited on de table, washed dishes, an' atter i got big 'nough, i milked de cows. i et in de kitchen out'n young marse jimmie's plate. i tho't so much ov him i allus et out'n de same plate he did. we sho' had er plenty ov ev'ything good too. all de y'uther niggers cooked an' et in de cabins. i wuz gittin' 'long in years 'fo' i knowed you could buy meat in a sto'. yassum, us lived well on dat plantation--had plenty ter eat an' ter wear. miss cornelia--(the oldest harris daughter)--made all my clothes. de nigger wimmens spun an' wove, but i never paid dem much mind when i wuz er comin' on. i 'member hearin' dem talk 'bout dyin' de cloth out er bark an' things dey got out'n de woods. jes' so i had somethin' ter wear i never tho't how hard dey had ter wuk ter mak hit. "i lived on de harris plantation wid dem 'til i wuz nineteen years ole an' i allus felt lak i belonged ter dem--dey wuz so good ter me. when i fust could 'member, miss cornelia would git on ole ruben, dat wuz her saddle horse, an' mak me git up behind her an den she'd go anywhere she wanted ter go. 'nough times she took me ter ole mt zion church wid her. "no nigger wuz ever 'lected on de harris place. ef we wuz sick er needed sumthin' us got hit. ef we wuz real sick de horseback doctor cum. in dem days de doctors rid 'roun' in de country on horseback an' took medicine wid em. ef we warn't so sick de ole white folks cum ter see us an' 'scribed fer us. dey use ter mak us little niggers take hoehound tea an' fat lightwood tea fer coles. dat lightwood tea is er good medicine, i takes hit lots ov times now when i has er cole. us had ter take garlic water--no'm, not garlic and whiskey, but jes' plain garlic water, an' hit wuz a bad dose too. dey give us candy made out'n jerusalem oak an' sugar, dat warn't so bad." uncle manuel said when he first could remember the negroes had services in their cabins at night. "chairback" preachers went around from one plantation to another holding services and much good was done. "on sunday evenings, our mistess called all us little folks up to de house an' read de bible to us an' tole us bible stories an' talked ter us 'bout livin' right. i 'members dat jes' as good." when asked about the funerals and marriages when he first remembered, uncle manuel said: "dey keeps dead folks out too long now. when i wuz comin' on, ef somebody died lak terday, dey wuz buried ter-morrer'. dere wuz a settin' up an' prayer service dat night, de body wuz put in er plain home-made coffin blacked wid blackin' an' speerits turpentine, an' when de waggin cum ter take de body ter de buryin' groun' ev'ybody went out behin' de corpse singin' some good ole song lak 'amazin' grace' an' 'hark frum de tomb'. den dey went on ter de grave an' had a little service tellin' 'bout how de departed 'un had gone ter peace an' rest--dere warn't no long 'ictionary lak dey has now--none ov dese great long sermons an' gwines on--ev'ybody had jes' er common funeral an' hit wuz so much better. "my marster wuz a jedge so he married all his niggers whut got married. he married lots ov y'uther couples too. i 'members dat dey use ter cum fer him ter marry dem." uncle manuel said he tried superstitions and signs, but they didn't "prosper me none", so he gave up all he knew except the weather signs, and he plants his crops by the moon. "i watches de fust twelve days ov de new year an' den i kin tell jes' whut weather ev'y mont' ov de year gwine ter bring. dat's de way mens mak almanacs. 'course i ain't got no edercation--nuver been ter school in my life--but dat's my fault kase i could have went, but long 'bout den i wuz so mannish i wouldn't go an' ev'y day i wishes i had er went so i could read now, but i didn't have sense 'nough den ter want ter learn." about planting crops, uncle manuel advises: "plant ev'ything dat makes under de groun' lak 'taters, goobers, tunips an' sich, on de dark ov de noon; plant ev'ything dat makes on top de groun' on light nights. plant yo' crap on de waste ov de moon an' dat crap sho' gwine ter waste er way, an' dat's de truf, i ain't nuver seed hit fail yit. plant corn on de full ov de moon an' you'll have full good-made years, plant on de growin' ov de moon an' you'll have a full growed stalk, powerful stalks, but de years won't be fulled out. i pays 'tention to dem signs, but as fer all dese y'uthers, dey ain't nothin' ter dem, 'cept meetin' er cat, i jes' has ter turn clean er 'roun' when i meets er cat an' dat turns de bad luck dat hit means, er way." uncle manuel grew sad as he recalled the good old days long gone. he made an unusual statement for one of his race when he said: "mistess, ef somebody had er thousan' dollars in one han' an' in de y'uther a pass fer me ter go back to dem ole days an' axed me which 'un i'de tak', i'de go back to dem ole days an' live de rest ov my life. dere aint' nothin' to dese times now--nothin' 'cept trubble, peoples is livin' so fast, dey don't tak' no time ter stop an' 'sider, dey jes' resh right into trubble. i use ter drive oxen--four ov 'em--an' dey took me 'long all right. i'se plowed oxen too, now yu nuver see 'un kase dey's too slow; hit's autymobiles an' gas-run things, no'm, folks don't 'sider on de ways ov life lak dey use ter. "why is i livin' so long? dat's easy--i'se 'onest, ain't nuver stole, nuver been in no trubble ov any kin', been nigh ter death two times, but i'se been spared kase i jes' ain't lived out my days yit. i'se on borrowed time, i knows dat, but dat ain't worryin' me none. an' i tell yu somthin' else; i ain't botherin' none over dis ole age pensun business fer i'se gwine ter wok on pensun er no pensun. no mam, i ain't gwine ter set back an' 'speck no govermint ter feed me long as i kin' scratch er 'roun'. i got wuk ter do--i got mo' wuk ter do an' gwine ter do hit long as i'se able." it was easy to see from uncle manuel's manner he meant every word he said about "wuk". an independent old soul, and a good example to the younger ones of his race. [hw: ex-slave] mary a. crawford re-search worker susie johnson--ex-slave susie was only four years old when the war between the states began, but recalls a great deal about the old days, and remembers a great deal that her mother told her. susie's parents were jim and dinah freeman who belonged to mr. and mrs. henry freeman. the freemans lived on a large plantation near the rock, georgia, and had so many slaves "they could not be counted". the old freeman home is still standing, but is occupied now by negroes and is in a bad state of repair. susie is around seventy-five or seventy-seven years old, as nearly as she can "figger it out". a good many years ago when she first came over here from upson county, she found "mr. frank freeman, her young marster, away back yonder", and he told her lots and lots about her mother and father and gave her her correct age--july th. susie says that mr. and mrs. freeman were "sho" good to their slaves but they surely did control them. for instance, if any of them had the stomach ache "ole miss" would make them take some "jerusalem oak tea" and if they had a bad cold it was "hoar hound tea". if you did not take the medicine "ole miss" would reach up and get the leather "strop" and (susie chuckled) "then you'd take it". when asked if mr. freeman whipped the slaves very much, susie said he did not and that if he had been a mean master that "all the niggers wouldn't a wanted to stay on with him after freedom". when asked about the negro marriage customs of slavery days, susie stated that her mother said that "she and jim (susie's daddy) when they got in love and wanted to marry, jest held each others hands and jumped over the broom and they was married". "yes, i believe in lots o' signs", susie replied on being asked about that. for instance, the "scritch' owl is a sho' sign o' death. and the reason i knows that is cause my papa's death was fo' told by an owl. papa was took sick like this morning at nine o'clock and about eleven o'clock a little scritch' owl come and set right on the corner of the roof right above the head o' papa's bed and scritched and scritched--and by two o'clock that day papa was a corpse!" susie remembers one day when she and her mother were picking cotton when all of a sudden her mother began to sing "glory to the dying land" and sang so much that "atter a while she got so happy she couldn't be still and she danced all over masta's cotton patch and tromped down so much cotton i jest knowed masta was gwina whup her. den i laffed at her so hard 'ole miss whupped me wid dat strop! law! law!" susie johnson-- east tinsley street, griffin, georgia september , ex-slave interview estella jones wrightsboro road augusta, georgia written by: louisa oliphant federal writers' project augusta, georgia. edited by: john n. booth district supervisor federal writers' project residencies & augusta, georgia. at least one old augusta negress has vivid recollections of childhood days on plantations in the pre-civil war days. outstanding in their memories are the methods of rearing slave children and the amusements indulged in by their mothers and fathers. "i was born and raised in powers pond place," said decrepit estella jones, "and, though i warn't but nine years old, i 'member dey had a nuss house whar dey put all de young chillun 'til dey wuz old enough to work. de chillun wuz put at dis nuss house so dey ma and pa could work. dey had one old 'oman to look atter us and our [hw: some'pin] t' eat wuz brought to dis house. our milk wuz put on de floor in a big wooden tray and dey give us oyster shells to eat wid. all de chillun would gather 'round dis tray and eat. dey always let us eat 'til us got enough. i kept some of de oyster shells dey give us for spoons 'til my own chillun wuz grown. "de nuss house wuz close to de marster's house. it wuz a wooden house wid two great big rooms. de sleepin' room wuz furnished wid little bunk beds three or four feet apart. the other room wuz used for a playroom and dinin' room. de floor wuz bare and de seats and benches wuz built from undressed lumber. "slaves on our place had a hard time. dey had to work night and day. marster had stobs (staves) all over de field to put lights on so dey could see how to work atter dark. de mens, more so dan de womens, had to work every night 'til twelve o'clock. but dey would feed 'em good. dey had dey supper sont out in de field to 'em 'bout nine o'clock by a cripple boy who didn't do nothin' but tote water and do things lak dat. "dey wuz always glad when de time come for 'em to shell corn. dey enjoyed dat better dan dey did christmas, or at least jist as much. dey always had to work durin' de day time and shell corn at night. de overseer wuz real good to 'em and it looked lak he enjoyed corn shellin's as much as dey did. most times slaves from other plantations would come over and help 'em. dey used to put on dey good clothes 'cause dey wanted to look dey best. "it always tuk 'bout two weeks to shell corn 'cause de real old mens and womens never did help. dey always had somethin' good to eat at dese times. dey would pick out de best six cooks and dey wouldn't help shell corn, dey jist looked atter de cookin'. dey would have chicken, sometimes fish or anythin' dey could get. now and den dey had jist chitt'lin's and sweet 'tatoes. "de men have even stole hogs from other people and barbecued 'em, den dey would cook hash and rice and serve barbecue. the overseer knowed all 'bout it but he et as much as anybody else and kept his mouth shut. he wuz real good to all de slaves. he never run you and yelled at you lak you warn't human. everybody loved him, and would mind him better dan dey would anybody else. he always let de slaves shell corn 'til 'bout ten o'clock, den everybody would stop and have supper. atter dat he would let 'em dance and play games 'til twelve. our marster didn't say nothin' 'bout what de slaves done so long as de overseer wuz wid 'em. "when corn-shellin' time come, everything would be tuk out of a big room, and one half of de room would be filled wid corn. every pusson had a bucket dat held de same amount. every time a bucket wuz filled it wuz tuk to de scorekeeper to be credited to his name. whenever de huskin' wuz over, de number of buckets you had filled wuz counted and de one who filled de most always got a prize. "whenever anybody wuz late gittin' his cotton picked out, he always give a moonlight cotton pickin' party. dese parties wuz always give on moonshiny nights and wuz liked by everybody. atter while dey give everybody somethin' good to eat, and at de end of de party, de pusson who had picked de most cotton got a prize. sometimes dey had pea shellin's 'stead of corn huskin's, but de parties and frolics wuz all pretty much alike. "at quiltin' bees, four folks wuz put at every quilt, one at every corner. dese quilts had been pieced up by old slaves who warn't able to work in de field. quiltin's always tuk place durin' de winter when dere warn't much to do. a prize wuz always give to de four which finished dere quilt fust. 'freshments went 'long wid dis too. "sometimes de grown folks all went huntin' for fun. at dem times, de womens had on pants and tied dey heads up wid colored cloths. "cake walkin' wuz a lot of fun durin' slavery time. dey swept de yards real clean and set benches 'round for de party. banjos wuz used for music makin'. de womens wore long, ruffled dresses wid hoops in 'em and de mens had on high hats, long split-tailed coats, and some of 'em used walkin' sticks. de couple dat danced best got a prize. sometimes de slave owners come to dese parties 'cause dey enjoyed watchin' de dance, and dey 'cided who danced de best. most parties durin' slavery time, wuz give on saturday night durin' work seasons, but durin' winter dey wuz give on most any night. "i still 'members some of de songs dey used to sing at frolics and at church too": =the wind blows east= the wind blows east and the wind blows west, it blows like the judgment day. and all them sinners who never have cried, will surely cry that day. let me tell you, sure to cry that day, sure to cry that day, all them sinners who never have cried, will surely cry that day. =you'd better be praying= you'd better be praying while you're young, you'd better be praying while you're young, you'd better be praying without waiting any longer, you'd better be praying while you're young. you'd better seek religion while you're young, you'd better seek religion while you're young, you'd better seek religion without waiting any longer, you'd better seek religion while you're young. =come change my name= bright angel, bright angel, come change my name, o angel come change my name. come change my name from nature to grace, o angel come change my name. sweet jesus, sweet jesus come change my name, o jesus come change my name, come change my name from nature to grace, o jesus come change my name. =i'm on my way= if a seeker gets to heaven before i do, look out for me, i'm on my way too. shout, shout the heaven-bound king! shout, shout i'm on my way! if a brother gets to heaven before i do, look out for me, i'm on my way too. shout, shout the heaven-bound king! shout, shout i'm on my way! ex-slave interview =fannie jones= -- th street augusta, georgia written by: emily powell augusta, georgia edited by: john n. booth wpa residencies no. & sept. , . =fannie jones= ex-slave, age -- th st. augusta, georgia fannie jones lives in a ramshackle, two-story, rooming house near the banks of the savannah river. she is an old negress with iron gray hair and a gingercake complexion. her ill-fitting old dress was none too clean, and her bare feet exposed toe nails almost a half-inch long. fannie apparently hadn't a tooth in her head, but she was munching some bread. the old negress thought the purpose of the visit was to see about an old age pension for her, and she was very much disappointed when she learned the real reason; however, she invited her visitor into a bedroom. this place was much too dark, and the interview finally took place on the back porch where an old cat was made to get out of the only chair. fannie settled herself on the doorsteps, while the visitor fanned flies and gnats with one hand and took notes with the other. "i was born on marse jim dubose's plantation 'bout de year ," she began. "my marster and mistiss was de overseer and his wife. you see, honey, i was born in de overseer's house. when my ma was year old she was give to de overseer's wife, miss becky ann, when she married. my marster was named jesse durden. i never did see marse jim dubose's house nor none of de slave quarters, and i don't know nothin' 'bout dem or none of his niggers. i jus' stayed in de house and waited on marster and mistiss. i cleaned up de house, made de beds, churned for mistiss, and made fires for marster. my ma, she cooked for marster and mistiss, cleaned up de house, and waited on mistiss 'cause she was a invalid. "marse jim dubose's plantation covered thousands of acres, and he owned hundreds of slaves. you see, my marster was de man what handled all of dese here niggers. evvy mornin' marster jesse would git up and go out and blow his horn, dat was de way he called de niggers to de fields. "de overseer's house was a one-story buildin' and it was furnished in de old time stuff. de beds was teestered and had slats to hold de mattresses. when marster would come in from de fields he would be so tired he never did go nowhar. sometimes i would say to him, 'i'se cold,' and he would say, 'nig, you jus' crawl up on de foot of my bed and git warm.' he would say 'nig, what you want for supper?' and i would say, 'i wants some bread and milk and a little syrup.' he give me anything dat i wanted to eat, and us had good things to eat. us had chickens, hogs, and good milk cows. i kin see de big bowls of milk now dat us used to have. us made a heap of butter and sont it to augusta onct a month and sold it for ¢ a pound. "atter freedom come, marster said to me and ma, 'you all is free now to go wharever you wants to.' ma, she wanted to go, but i jus' cried and cried 'cause i didn't want to leave marster and mistiss; dey was too good to me. so ma tuk me and us went to her grandma's down at barnett. us stayed dar awhile, den us lef' and went to thomson. us stayed at dat place a long time, and i was married dar to a man by de name of claiborne jones. us had 'leven chillun, but dey is all daid now 'cept two. i lives here wid one of my daughters. "my husband b'longed to marse john wilson. durin' de war marse john wuz a captain, and he tuk my husband 'long to cook and to wait on him. he said one night de yankees was atter 'em and him and marse john jumped in a big ditch. later in de night it rained and dey couldn't git out of de ditch, so de rest of marse john's company lef' 'em alone. de next mornin' when dey got out of de ditch, dey didn't know which way dey had went, but marse john got a hoss and dey got on and rid 'til dey caught up wid de company. "at christmas dey give us anything dat us wanted. dey give me dolls, candy, fruit and evvything. mistiss used to git a book and say, 'nig, come here and let me larn you how to read.' i didn't pay no 'tention to her den, but now i sho' does wish i had. my mistiss didn't have but one chile, miss cornelia." at this moment fannie, tired of sitting on the doorsteps, abandoned the back porch for her room. the place was very untidy, but she explained this by saying that she was not able to clean it up. on one side of the room hung a picture of the =sacred heart= and on another a reproduction of the =lord's supper=. an enlarged family portrait decorated the front wall. the symbolic pictures aroused curiosity as to whether fannie was a church member. she answered questions on the subject by saying "yes honey, i joined de mount pleasant baptist church years ago and wuz baptized by brother mike wilson." when she was asked to sing, the cracked voice broke into this song: "i am a baptist born, and my shoes cried, and my eyes batted, and when i'm gone dere is a baptist gone." fannie was now completely tired out, but when her visitor arose to leave, she sang out cordially: "honey, god bless you; goodbye." alberta minor [hw: over years old] rastus jones, ex-slave place of birth: chapel hill, north carolina date of birth: apparently, between and present residence: near vaugn, georgia on farm of mr. w.m. parker interviewed: august , rastus jones, born the slave property of mr. sidney jones, a north carolina planter, is a very old man, probably between and years of age. his earliest memory is that of the "falling stars," the most brilliant display, perhaps, of the leonids ever recorded, that of november - , , which establishes his age as being in excess of years. "uncle" rastus states that the joneses were good to their slaves--gave them clothing each spring and fall, issued them shoes as needed, fed them well, and furnished them medical attention when ill. the negro children and white children played together and the life of the slave was usually happy and care-free. at christmas time, the slaves were always remembered by their masters with gifts. the jones family owned about twenty-five negroes and, some years prior to the civil war, moved to desoto county, mississippi, taking their slaves with them, all making the trip in wagons. in both north carolina and mississippi, it was a custom of mr. jones to give each deserving, adult negro slave an acre or two of land to work for himself and reap any profits derived therefrom. while living in mississippi, rastus ran off with a crowd "o' niggers" and joined the federal forces at memphis. during the siege of vicksburg, he was employed as cook in general grant's army, and later marched east with the yankees. subsequently, he seems to have become attached to sherman's forces. near marietta, georgia, in july or august, , he was captured by the confederates under general hood, who confined him in prison at--or near--macon until the close of the war. after his release, in may, , he had "a pretty hard time of it" for several years. still later, he came to spalding county and hired out to mr. jones bridges. he remained with mr. bridges for seven years, then went to work for, and farming with, the parker family, with whom he has since remained. he is the father of fourteen children and has a large number of grand and great-grandchildren. for a man of his years, "uncle" rastus is well preserved mentally and physically. he is a widower and now lives with a daughter, the only one of his children that he knows the whereabouts of. produced from images generously made available by the internet archive.) the reconstruction of georgia studies in history, economics and public law edited by the faculty of political science of columbia university volume xiii] [number the reconstruction of georgia by edwin c. woolley, ph.d. new york the columbia university press the macmillan company, agents london: p. s. king & son table of contents page chapter i presidential reconstruction chapter ii the johnson government chapter iii congress and the johnson governments--the reconstruction acts of chapter iv the administrations of pope and meade chapter v the supposed restoration of chapter vi the expulsion of the negroes from the legislature and the uses to which this event was applied chapter vii congressional action regarding georgia from december, , to december, chapter viii the execution of the act of december , , and the final restoration chapter ix reconstruction and the state government chapter x conclusion bibliography list of abbreviations a. a. c. = american annual cyclopaedia. b. a. = address of bullock to the people of georgia, a pamphlet dated . b. l. = letter from bullock to the chairman of the ku klux committee, published in atlanta in . c. g. = congressional globe. c. r. = report of the state comptroller. e. d. = united states executive documents. e. m. = executive minutes (of georgia). g. o. d. s. = general orders issued in the department of the south. g. o. h. = general orders issued from the headquarters of the army. g. o. m. d. g. = general orders issued in the military district of georgia. g. o. t. m. d. = general orders issued in the third military district. h. j. = journal of the georgia house of representatives. h. m. d. = united states house miscellaneous documents. j. c., = journal of the georgia constitutional convention of . j. c., - = journal of the georgia constitutional convention of - . k. k. r. = ku klux report (report of the joint committee of congress on the conditions in the late insurrectionary states, submitted at the d session of the d congress, ). m. c. u. = milledgeville _confederate union_. m. f. u. = milledgeville _federal union_. r. c. = reports of committees of the united states house of representatives. r. s. w. = report of the secretary of war. s. d. = united states senate documents. s. j. = journal of the georgia senate. s. l. = session laws of georgia. s. r. = united states senate reports. s. o. m. d. g. = special orders issued in the military district of georgia. s. o. t. m. d. = special orders issued in the third military district. u. s. l. = united states statutes at large. chapter i presidential reconstruction the question, what political disposition should be made of the confederate states after the destruction of their military power, began to be prominent in public discussion in december, . it was then that president lincoln announced his policy upon the subject, which was to restore each state to its former position in the union as soon as one-tenth of its population had taken the oath of allegiance prescribed in his amnesty proclamation and had organized a state government pledged to abolish slavery. this policy lincoln applied to those states which were subdued by the federal forces during his administration, viz., tennessee, arkansas and louisiana. when the remaining states of the confederacy surrendered in , president johnson applied the same policy, with some modifications, to each of them (except virginia, where he simply recognized the pierpont government). before this policy was put into operation, however, an effort was made by some of the leaders of the confederacy to secure the restoration of those states to the union without the reconstruction and the pledge required by the president. after the surrender of lee's army (april , ), general j. e. johnston, acting under the authority of jefferson davis and with the advice of breckenridge, the confederate secretary of war, and reagan, the confederate postmaster general, proposed to general sherman the surrender of all the confederate armies then in existence on certain conditions. among these was the condition that the executive of the united states should recognize the lately hostile state governments upon the renewal by their officers of their oath of allegiance to the federal constitution, and that the people of the states so recognized should be guaranteed, so far as this lay in the power of the executive, their political rights as defined by the federal constitution. sherman signed a convention with johnston agreeing to these terms, on april . that he intended by the agreement to commit the federal government to any permanent policy is doubtful. but when the convention was communicated for ratification to his superiors at headquarters, they showed the most decided opposition to granting the terms proposed even temporarily. the convention was emphatically disavowed, and on april sherman had to content himself with the surrender of johnston's army only, agreed to on purely military terms.[ ] georgia formed a part of the district under the command of general johnston. as soon, therefore, as the news of the surrender could reach that state, hostilities there ceased. on may , governor brown issued a summons for a meeting of the state legislature to take place on may , in order that measures might be taken "to prevent anarchy, restore and preserve order, and save what [could be saved] of liberty and civilization."[ ] at a time of general consternation, when military operations had displaced local government and closed the courts in many places, when the whole population was in want[ ] through the devastation of the war or through the collapse of the confederate currency which followed the collapse of the confederate army,[ ] the need of such measures was apparent. the calling of the legislature incurred the disapproval of the federal authorities for two reasons. first, they regarded it as an attempt to prepare for further hostilities, and they accordingly arrested brown, carried him to washington, and put him in prison.[ ] second, in any case, as the disavowal of the convention of april had shown, they did not intend to allow the state governments of the south to resume their regular activities at once, and accordingly the commander of the department of the south issued orders on may , declaring void the proclamation of joseph e. brown, "styling himself governor of georgia," and forbidding obedience thereto.[ ] the federal army now took control of the entire state government. detachments were stationed in all the principal towns and county seats, and the commanders sometimes removed the civil officers and appointed others, sometimes allowed them to remain, subject to their direction. military orders were issued regarding a wide range of civil affairs, such as school administration, sanitary provisions, the regulation of trade, the fixing of prices at which commodities should be sold, etc.[ ] the provost marshal's courts were further useful, to some extent, as substitutes for the state courts, whose operations were largely interrupted.[ ] directions to the officers of the department admonished them that "the military authority should sustain, not assume the functions of, civil authority," except when the latter course was necessary to preserve the peace.[ ] this admonition from headquarters, issued after the president's plan for reinstating georgia in the union had been put into operation, reflects his desire for a quick restoration of normal government. president johnson announced his policy toward the seceded states in his proclamation of may , , regarding north carolina. by it a provisional governor was appointed for that state, with the duty of making the necessary arrangements for the meeting of a constitutional convention, to be composed of and elected by men who had taken the oath of allegiance prescribed by, the president's amnesty proclamation of the same date, and who were qualified voters according to the laws of the state in force before the war. the proclamation did not state what the president would require of the convention, but we may mention by way of anticipation that his requirements were the revocation of the ordinance of secession, the construction of a new state government in place of the rebel government, the repudiation of the rebel debt, and the abolition of slavery within the state. the provisional governor was further authorized to do whatever was "necessary and proper to enable [the] loyal people of the state of north carolina to restore said state to its constitutional relations to the federal government."[ ] for each of the states subdued in , except virginia, a provisional governor was appointed by a similar proclamation. on june , james johnson, a citizen of georgia, was appointed to the position in that state.[ ] on july th, he issued a proclamation providing for the election of the convention. delegates were distributed on the basis of the legislature of ; the first wednesday in october was set for the election, and the fourth wednesday in the same month for the meeting of the convention.[ ] next, the provisional governor undertook the task of securing popular support to the programme of restoration. to encourage subscription to the amnesty oath (a prerequisite to voting for delegates to the convention) he removed the disagreeable necessity of taking it before the military authorities by directing the ordinary and the clerk of the superior court of each county to administer it.[ ] he made many speeches throughout the state urging the citizens to take the amnesty oath, to enter earnestly into the election of the convention, and to submit quietly to the conditions imposed by the president. his efforts were very successful. this was partly due to the place he held in public estimation. he was a lawyer widely known and universally respected. it was also partly due to the attitude of governor brown. brown, after a confinement of several weeks in prison at washington, secured an interview with president johnson, and satisfied the president that his object in calling the legislature was simply public relief, that he had no intention to prolong the war, but calmly submitted to the fact that his side was defeated.[ ] this explanation and the spirit displayed were so satisfactory to johnson that brown was released, and permitted to return to georgia. his return, remarked johnson, "can be turned to good account. he will at once go to work and do all he can in restoring the state."[ ] this prediction proved correct. the war governor of georgia became the type of those secessionists who practised and counseled quiet acceptance of the terms imposed by the conqueror, as the most sensible and advantageous course. on june th he issued an address to the people of georgia, resigning the governorship, and advising acquiescence in the abolition of slavery and active participation in the reorganization of the state government according to the president's wishes.[ ] the assumption of this attitude by brown grieved and offended some of his fellow secessionists. but the majority shared his opinion. the provisional governor was welcomed, and his speeches approved on all sides.[ ] the result was that the convention which met on october th was a body distinguished for the reputation and ability of its members. the convention was called to order by the provisional governor, and chose as permanent chairman herschel v. johnson.[ ] then a message from the provisional governor was read, suggesting certain measures of finance and other state business requiring immediate action, suggesting also certain alterations in the state judiciary, but especially pointing out the chief objects of the convention, viz., the passage of those acts requisite for the restoration of the state.[ ] these measures the convention quickly proceeded to pass. on october th it repealed the ordinance of secession and the ordinance ratifying the confederate constitution;[ ] by paragraph of article i. of the new constitution it abolished slavery in the state; and on november th, the last day of the session, it declared the state debt contracted to aid the confederacy void.[ ] the convention provided for a general state election on the following november th, and to expedite complete restoration, anticipated the regular work of the legislature by creating congressional districts, in order that georgia's representatives might be chosen at that election.[ ] one thing now remained to be done before the president would withdraw federal power and leave the state to its own government, viz., ratification of the thirteenth amendment. the legislature elected on november th assembled on december th.[ ] the provisional governor, according to the president's directions,[ ] laid the thirteenth amendment before it. the amendment was ratified on december th.[ ] after this the provisional governor was relieved, the governor elect was inaugurated (december th), and the president sent a courteous message of recognition to the latter.[ ] thus the president, having reconstructed the state government, had restored georgia to statehood so far as its internal government was concerned. there remained only the admission of its representatives to congress to complete the restoration. chapter ii the johnson government from the conduct of the state governments formed in georgia and the other southern states under the direction of president johnson, the public opinion of the north drew conclusions regarding three things; the disposition of the people represented by those governments toward the emancipated slaves, their attitude toward the cause for which they had fought, and their feeling toward the power which had subdued them. this chapter treats the johnson government of georgia from the same points of view. whatever may have been the prevailing disposition of the white people toward the slaves while slavery flourished, shortly before the close of the war that disposition was characterized by benevolence and gratitude. in spite of the opportunities of escape, and of plunder and other violence, offered by the times, the slaves had acted with singular faithfulness and devotion.[ ] the gratitude of their masters even went so far as to propose plans for the general education of the negroes.[ ] the close of the war and the advent of emancipation produced a change in the conduct of the negroes, which in time produced a change in the attitude of the white people. the negroes, from the talk which they heard and did not understand, and from their ignorant imaginations, conceived strange ideas of emancipation. they supposed it meant governmental bounty, idleness, and wealth. they abandoned their work, wandered about the country, collected in towns--in short, manifested a general restlessness and demoralization. this caused alarm and apprehension among the white people. there were other causes of friction between the two races. many negroes, on discovering that they were free, assumed what are known as "airs;" and then as now, among things intolerable to a southern white man a "sassy nigger" held a curious pre-eminence. the airs of the negro and the wrath of the white man were both augmented by officious members of the freedmen's bureau. moreover, because the negroes had gained by the humiliation of the south, they received a share of the venom of defeat. another element of discord was furnished by a particular part of the white population, the so-called poor whites. these saw in the new _protégés_ of the united states not only a rival laboring class, but a menace to their social position, and hence assumed an attitude of jealousy and hatred. such were the conditions favorable to social disturbance which followed emancipation. in the latter part of they had already begun to produce their natural result. violent encounters between negroes and white men (in which the latter were almost always the aggressors) were noticeably frequent.[ ] to this social demoralization was added economic distress and perplexity. the devastation of the war had fallen with especial severity upon georgia. worse still, the people seemed unable to repair the damage or to return to productive activity. planters seemed unable to adapt themselves to the new economic conditions. slavery, the system which they understood, was gone; they used the new system with little success, all the less because of the restlessness of the negroes. such were the conditions and dangers with which the johnson government had to deal as it best could. it was believed by northern statesmen that the situation would be mastered by enfranchising the negroes and investing them with a citizenship exactly equal to that of white persons.[ ] the georgia constitution of made it clear that the georgia law-makers were not disciples of that school. that constitution confined the electoral franchise to "free white male citizens."[ ] it ordered the legislature at its first session "to provide by law for the government of free persons of color," for "guarding them and the state against any evil that may arise from their sudden emancipation," and "for the regulation of their transactions with citizens;" also "to create county courts with jurisdiction in criminal cases excepted from the exclusive jurisdiction of the superior [county] court, and in civil cases whereto free persons of color may be parties," and to make rules "prescribing in what cases their testimony shall be admitted in the courts."[ ] the legislation enacted in in the interest of the public peace and order consisted of-- . an apprentice law. by this it was made the duty of the judges of the county courts to bind out minors whose parents were dead or unable to support them as apprentices until the age of twenty-one. a master receiving an apprentice under this law was to teach him a trade, furnish him food, clothes, and medicine, teach him habits of industry, honesty, and morality, teach him to read the english language, and govern him with humanity. on default of any of these requirements a master was to be fined. the judge having charge of this law might, on application from an apprentice or an apprentice's friend, dissolve the contract on account of cruelty on the part of the master. an apprentice at the end of his term was entitled to an allowance from the master "with which to begin life." the amount was left to the master's generosity, but if he offered less than $ the apprentice might complain to the court, which should then fix the amount.[ ] . a vagrancy law. vagrancy was defined in the usual language of our criminal codes. the penalty was heavier than these usually provide, because the need of suppressing the vice was more urgent than usual. a vagrant might be fined or imprisoned at the discretion of the court, or sentenced to labor on the public works for not more than one year; or he might, at the discretion of the court "be bound out to some person for a time not more than one year, upon such valuable consideration as the court may prescribe."[ ] . alterations in the penal laws. these alterations were of two contrasting kinds. the penalty for burglary in the night, arson, horse stealing and rape was changed from long imprisonment[ ] to death,[ ] which, however, might be in every case commuted to life imprisonment.[ ] on the other hand, several hundred crimes, including all the species of larceny except that mentioned above, were reduced from felonies to misdemeanors, and the penalties from imprisonment in the penitentiary to fine, imprisonment in the county jail, or whipping, at the discretion of the court.[ ] this mitigation of punishment was made in consideration of the negroes' ignorance of the nature of their offences, due to the fact that these had before been punished by their masters and not by the law. probably the capacity of the penitentiary was also considered. to facilitate the transition from the old labor system to the new by remedying in some degree the instability of the labor supply, the legislature made it a crime to employ any servant during the term for which he had contracted to work for another, or to induce a servant to quit the service of an employer before the close of the period contracted for.[ ] regarding the civil rights and relations of the negroes the following legislation was passed: . a law in these words: that persons of color shall have the right to make and enforce contracts; to sue, be sued; to be parties and give evidence; to inherit; to purchase, lease, sell, hold and convey real and personal property; and to have full and equal benefit of all laws and proceedings for the security of person and estate; and shall not be subject to any other or different punishment, pain or penalty for the commission of any act or offence than such as are prescribed for white persons committing like acts or offences.[ ] . a provision, implied in the law above quoted, that negroes were to be held competent witnesses in all courts in cases, civil or criminal, whereto persons of color should be parties.[ ] . certain provisions for establishing among the negroes the regular relations between husband and wife, parent and child, in place of the irregular relations which had prevailed under slavery.[ ] . the prohibition of marriage between negroes and white persons.[ ] this last provision, and also the exclusion of the testimony of negroes from cases whereto a colored person was not party, are of social rather than legal importance, since their effect was to separate the two races, but not to deprive the negroes of the equal protection and benefit of the law. they were like the school law, which provided that only "free white inhabitants of the state" were entitled to instruction in the public schools.[ ] the johnson government thus assigned to the negroes a position of political incapacity, social inferiority, but equality of civil rights. this plan was very remote from that in favor in the north, but it is not thereby condemned. as to the measures of the johnson government for remedying industrial distress and guarding against social dangers, we search them in vain for the inhuman harshness to the negroes which they were reputed to embody. this legislation of georgia was more favorable to the negroes than that of the other johnson governments. but the north looked at the conquered south as a whole, and if the difference of the laws of georgia from those of other states was noticed, it was quickly forgotten. to northern public opinion the scheme for the treatment of the negroes embodied in the georgia laws, even if its mildness had been recognized, would have been a cause of indignation. this was the consummate hour of a humanitarian enthusiasm sprung from forty years of anti-slavery agitation, and now intensified by the passions of the war. in such an hour a plan which frankly denied to the negroes political and social equality was looked upon as an offence against justice and humanity. the georgia law-makers had sought for a plan to meet immediate necessities, not a plan for the elevation of the black race. to demand that georgia, stricken and menaced as she was, should pass by the needs of the present and enter upon a vague scheme of philanthropy, was unreasonable. it was just as unreasonable to conclude from the course which georgia took, that the black race in georgia would be forever held down, or that positive encouragement would be withheld as time went on. nevertheless the public opinion of the north made this demand and drew these conclusions. having stated the attitude of the johnson government to the emancipated slave, we next come to its attitude toward the fallen confederacy and toward the federal government. and with reference to this subject the following facts are to be noticed: . almost the first act of the constitutional convention was to vote a memorial to the president in behalf of jefferson davis.[ ] . the convention, instead of declaring that the ordinance of secession was an act of illegality and error, and was null and void, laconically declared it "repealed."[ ] . the convention anticipated the function of the legislature in order to provide pensions for the wounded confederate soldiers and for widows of the dead.[ ] through the legislature georgia showed herself equally frank in expressing affection and regret for the lost cause, and equally wanting in an attitude of humility to the federal government--or at least to the dominant party in congress. on the recommendation of the governor she rejected the fourteenth amendment by an almost unanimous vote, largely because of the disabilities it imposed on the leaders of the confederacy.[ ] instead of remaining a humbly silent spectator of the controversy between the president and congress, she boldly thanked the president for his "regard for the constitutional rights of states," and for "the determined will that says to a still hostile faction of her recent foes, 'thus far shalt thou go and no farther. peace, be still.'"[ ] she continued to provide for the unfortunate champions of the confederacy, characterizing this action as "a holy and patriotic duty."[ ] she extended expressions of "sincerest condolence and warmest sympathy" to the illustrious state prisoner, jefferson davis, declaring that her "warmest affections cluster[ed] around the fallen chief of a once dear but now abandoned cause."[ ] these acts and resolutions expressed through the government the spirit which was found among the people by direct observers--a spirit of submission to irresistible force, in some cases sullen, in most cases unrepentant.[ ] at that time the absence of that spirit would have been extraordinary. but the public opinion of the north regarded it not as the aftermath of war, which would soon pass, but as a spirit which, if left undisciplined, would break out in another war. this belief, and the belief that the negroes were destined by the southern governments to suffer injustice and debasement, and that the ballot was their only salvation, gave rise to two corresponding purposes--to chasten the rebellious spirit of the south, and to invest the negroes with the voting franchise by force. to destroy the state governments of the south and rebuild them on a basis of negro suffrage would accomplish both these purposes. this plan was also supported for the sake of a third purpose, viz., to secure for the republican party the votes of the negroes. there were thus three classes of men bent on abolishing the johnson government. we may call them the disciplinarians, the humanitarians, and the republican politicians. chapter iii congressional deliberations and actions concerning the johnson governments, ending in the reconstruction acts of when congress met on december , , president johnson informed it of the measures he had taken for restoring the southern states and of the conditions he had required as necessary to restoration. he emphasized the requirement that the thirteenth amendment be ratified (which, as stated in chapter i, was complied with in georgia five days later). it is not too much to ask [he said], in the name of the whole people, that, on the one side, the plan of restoration shall proceed in conformity with a willingness to cast the disorders of the past into oblivion; and that, on the other, the evidence of sincerity in the future maintenance of the union shall be put beyond any doubt by the ratification of the proposed amendment.... the amendment to the constitution being adopted, it would remain for the states ... to resume their places in the two branches of the national legislature.[ ] that congress was not entirely pleased with the president's course; that it did not agree with him considering the adoption of the thirteenth amendment, the most that could be asked of the southern states, and that it did not intend to give effect to his last suggestion, soon became apparent. in the senate, on the day on which the president's message was read, sumner offered resolutions to the effect that before the southern states should be admitted to representation in congress they must enfranchise "all citizens," establish systems of education open to negroes equally with white people, and choose loyal persons for state and national offices.[ ] the resolutions concluded: "that the states cannot be precipitated back to political power and independence, but they must wait until these conditions are in all respects fulfilled."[ ] the house of representatives, after organizing, immediately proposed to the senate a joint committee to "inquire into the condition of the states which formed the so-called confederate states of america, and report whether they, or any of them, are entitled to be represented in either house of congress." the senate accepted the proposal, and on december the committee was formed.[ ] five months passed before the committee reported. during that interval congress took no action determining the question at issue. a vast number of bills and resolutions was introduced proposing various modes of treatment for the southern states and various theories regarding their status, which are interesting to the historian, but all of which fell by the way. the freedmen's bureau bill, if it had become law during this period, would have implied that in the opinion of congress the late confederate states were simply territory of the united states and not states in the union.[ ] but this bill failed to be repassed over the president's veto.[ ] the civil rights bill, which became law on april , , made it a crime to discriminate against any person on account of his race or color under the alleged authority of any state law or custom, gave the federal judicial authorities power to arrest and punish any person guilty of this offense, and also gave the federal courts jurisdiction over any case before a state court in which such discrimination was attempted.[ ] this law created entirely new relations between federal and state authority, but since it was passed as an act to enforce the thirteenth amendment,[ ] and applied to all states alike, it committed congress to no declaration regarding the status of the southern states. the joint committee made its long-expected report on april , .[ ] a great number of witnesses had been examined regarding conditions in the south, whose testimony fills a large volume and purports to be the basis of the committee's report. the committee thought that since the johnson governments had been set up under the military authority of the president and were merely instruments through which he had exercised that power in governing conquered territory, they were not regular state governments. this belief was confirmed by the fact that the existing state constitutions had been framed by conventions acting under the constant direction of the president, and also by the fact that they had not been submitted to the people for adoption. the johnson governments then were not state governments at all, and so could not send representatives to congress. the committee appealed less to this constitutional argument than to arguments of policy. it was willing to grant the "profitless abstraction" that the southern states still remained states. the people of those states had waged war on the united states. though subdued, they were defiant, disloyal, and abusive. they showed no disposition to abate their hatred for the union or their affection for the confederacy. to accord to such a people entire independence, taking no measures for security from future danger; to admit their representatives to congress; to allow conquered enemies "to participate in making laws for their conquerors;" to turn over to the custody of recent enemies the treasury, the army, the whole administration--this would be madness unexampled. for these reasons the committee recommended a joint resolution and two bills. the resolution proposed an amendment to the constitution forbidding any state to abridge the civil rights of citizens of the united states, or to deny to any person the equal protection of the laws, providing that a state which withheld the electoral franchise from negroes should suffer a deduction from its congressional representation, and providing that until all adherents to the confederacy should be excluded from voting for members of congress and for presidential electors. the first of the two bills was to enact "that whenever the above recited amendment [should] have become a part of the constitution of the united states, and any state lately in insurrection [should] have ratified the same, and [should] have modified its constitution and laws in accordance therewith," then its representatives might be admitted to congress. the second bill was to make ineligible to office under the united states men who had been prominent in the service of the confederacy. a minority of the committee took issue with the majority on both its legal and its political views. the states under consideration, said the minority, had never gone out of the union; therefore, being states of the union, congress could not lawfully deprive them of their rights as states. that the johnson governments were only the machinery of military occupation, set up by the conquering general, was denied. we know [said the minority report] that [the southern states] have governments completely organized, with legislative, executive, and judicial functions. we know that they are now in successful operation; no one within their limits questions their legality, or is denied their protection. how they were formed, under what auspices they were formed, are inquiries with which congress has no concern. a state is under no restriction as to the mode of altering its constitution; if it chooses to receive assistance from the president, or any one else, the validity of the amended constitution is not affected. to the statement of the majority regarding the disposition of the southern people, the minority opposed the high authority of general grant. in an official report he had said: i am satisfied that the mass of thinking men of the south accept the present situation of affairs in good faith.... [they] are in earnest in wishing to do what they think is required by the government ... and if such a course was pointed out they would pursue it in good faith. the right way in which to deal with the southern people was, then, to conciliate them, as the president had tried to do, not to perpetuate their hostility. if congress adopted the program recommended by the majority, said the minority, it would repudiate its own solemn declaration made in , that this war is not waged upon our part in any spirit of oppression, nor purpose of overthrowing or interfering with the rights or established institutions of those states, but to defend and maintain the supremacy of the constitution, and to preserve the union, with all the dignity, equality, and rights of the several states unimpaired.[ ] the proposed provisions regarding ineligibility would dishonor the government by annulling the pardons granted by the president. further, the program contradicted itself, since it proposed to treat the southern communities as states, in submitting a constitutional amendment to them, while at the same time imposing on them conditions to which a state could not lawfully be subjected. after a debate of which these two opposing reports are a convenient summary, congress adopted the program of the committee. the joint resolution, changed into a form embodying the present fourteenth amendment, was passed on june , .[ ] the two bills proposed were taken up, but congress adjourned without bringing them to a final vote, leaving the south to be regulated during the recess by the civil rights act, and by an act, passed over the president's veto on july , embodying in a less drastic form the provisions of the freedmen's bureau bill which had failed in february.[ ] when congress met in december, , the same voluminous mass of reconstruction proposals and declaratory resolutions appeared in both houses as at the last session. but the denunciation of the president and of the johnson governments was more emphatic in these bills and resolutions, as well as in the debates. sumner proposed a resolution to this effect: that all proceedings with a view to reconstruction originating in executive power are in the nature of usurpation; that this usurpation becomes especially offensive when it sets aside the fundamental truths of our institutions; that it is shocking to common sense when it undertakes to derive new governments from the hostile populations which have just been engaged in armed rebellion, and that all governments having such origin are necessarily illegal and void.[ ] another resolution proposed that the committee of the house on territories be instructed to take steps for organizing the districts known as virginia, north carolina, etc., into states. cullom said in a speech: during the last session of this congress we sent to the country a proposed amendment to the constitution.... the people of the rebel states by their pretended legislatures are treating it with scorn and contempt.... it is time, sir, that the people of the states were informed in language not to be misunderstood that the people who saved this country are going to reconstruct it in their own way, the opposition of rebels to the contrary notwithstanding.[ ] another fact which appeared prominently in the speeches and resolutions of this session was the growing fear, real or assumed, that freedmen and loyal persons in the south were in mortal danger. bills for their protection were introduced by the dozen. shall we shut our eyes [said a speaker] to the abuse and murders of loyal men in the south, and the continued destruction of their property by wicked men, and give them no means of protection?[ ] stevens exclaimed that the united states would be disgraced unless congress proceed[ed] at once to do something to protect these people from the barbarians who [were] daily murdering them; who [were] murdering the loyal whites daily, and daily putting into secret graves not only hundreds but thousands of the colored people.[ ] at first the lower house resumed its consideration of the bills recommended at the last session by the joint committee. but early in february, , these were dropped in favor of a new bill. this was the reconstruction bill which became law on march . it provided that the south should be divided into five districts, each to comprise the territory of one or more of the southern states. the president should assign to each district a military officer not below the rank of brigadier-general, and should detail for his use a sufficient military force. the duties of these officers should be "to protect all persons in their rights of person and property, to suppress insurrection, disorder and violence, and to punish, or cause to be punished, disturbers of the public peace and criminals." to this end they might either allow local courts to exercise their usual jurisdiction or organize special military courts, for the procedure of which a few general regulations were provided in the bill. until the states should be by law restored to the union, the governments existing in them were declared "provisional only, and in all respects subject to the paramount authority of the united states, at any time to abolish, modify, control or suspend the same." in section of this bill were stated the conditions upon which the southern states might regain their places in the union. in each of them a constitutional convention should be elected. for members of this convention all male "citizens" of the voting age should vote, except those excluded from office by the pending fourteenth amendment. these were forbidden to sit in the convention or to vote for delegates. the convention thus formed should frame a new constitution, which should give the franchise to all persons qualified to vote for delegates by the present bill. the constitution should be submitted to the people of the state for ratification, and to congress for approval. when these should have been received, and when the legislature elected under the new constitution should have ratified the fourteenth amendment, then congress should pass an act admitting the reconstructed state to congressional representation, and the present law should cease to operate in that state.[ ] the principle of this bill was the same as that of the reconstruction measures first undertaken at the suggestion of the joint committee, namely the punishment of an enemy. the debate in the house was opened by a felicitous quotation from vattel on the public law applicable to the case of a conquered enemy.[ ] the punishment here provided was, however, more severe than that first proposed. the former program was designed to offer to the states the alternative of adopting the fourteenth amendment or remaining out of the union and under the freedman's bureau--which was, indeed, regarded as a very obnoxious alternative. but the present bill required them not only to ratify the amendment, but to adopt new constitutions, elect new governments, enfranchise the negroes, and disfranchise their most prominent and respected citizens; and meanwhile imposed upon them not simply a bureau, to interfere in individual cases, but the virtually absolute rule of a military governor. this bill was passed over johnson's veto on march , . on march a supplementary act was passed, providing means for executing section of the preceding act. the initiative in calling the constitutional conventions, instead of being left to the states, to be exercised or not, as they chose, was now assigned to the military governor. he, with the assistance of such boards of registry as he might create, was directed to register all persons qualified to vote for delegates. he should then fix the number of delegates and arrange the plan of representation, set the day for election and summon the convention.[ ] a third reconstruction act was passed on july , . it is unnecessary to discuss it, since it was only explanatory of the acts of march and , and added nothing which needs mention here to their provisions.[ ] * * * * * were the reconstruction acts constitutional? since the supreme court has failed, either voluntarily or otherwise, to decide every case brought before it depending upon this question,[ ] reasoning is not rendered idle by authority. the supreme court has indeed expressed a definite opinion on the subject, but has given no decision. the opinion referred to was expressed in the case of texas _versus_ white.[ ] the court said: these new relations [namely, those created by the civil war] imposed new duties upon the united states. the first was that of suppressing the rebellion. the next was that of re-establishing the broken relations of the states with the union. the authority for the performance of the first had been found in the power to suppress insurrection and to carry on war; for the performance of the second, authority was derived from the obligation of the united states to guarantee to every state a republican form of government. this the court considered good authority for the passage of the reconstruction acts. most of the advocates of the acts based them upon this theory. now, upon that clause of article iv., section , of the constitution which says: "the united states shall guarantee to every state in this union a republican form of government," the _federalist_ remarks: it may possibly be asked whether [this clause] may not become a pretext for alterations in the state governments without the concurrence of the states themselves.... but the authority extends no further than to a _guarantee_ [the _federalist's_ italics] of a republican form of government, which supposes a pre-existing government of the form which is to be guaranteed.[ ] the intention of the clause, says the _federalist_ in the same paper, is simply to guard "against aristocratic or monarchic innovations." to one not interested in establishing the constitutionality of the reconstruction acts, it seems indisputable that the clause is rightly interpreted by the _federalist_. story accepts this interpretation as a matter of course.[ ] cooley groups the clause with that which forbids the states to grant titles of nobility.[ ] if this interpretation is correct, then the guarantee clause gives no authority for destroying a state government of a republican form and substituting another. there is, however, a constitutional basis for the reconstruction acts. it is the war power of congress. if a section of the people of a stale rebel against the government, the resulting contest is not a war, in the sense of international law. but as it may assume the physical character of a war, so it may call into existence the rights and customs incident to war. upon this principle the federal government acquired the rights of war in the contest of - .[ ] now the rights of war do not end with military operations; one of these rights is the right of the victorious party, after an unconditional surrender, to occupy the territory of the defeated party, to govern or punish the people as it sees fit. if the united states government acquired the rights of war, this right was included. the close of a war is not simultaneous with the cessation of fighting. the surrender of the southern armies was an important incident in the civil war; it was not the end. if the federal government had the rights of war before this incident, it had them after. the united states government might therefore say to the persons composing the military power which it had subdued: as the terms of war, you are to be governed by military government. if the persons against whom this sentence is assumed to have been pronounced formed the majority of the population of a state, one result of the sentence would be to suspend independent state government. the united states government might choose another punishment. it might say to the lately hostile persons: we forbid you to participate in the federal government. if the persons so sentenced form the majority of the population of a state, that state can send no representatives to congress while the sentence remains. these sentences might be imposed permanently or only until such time as the people sentenced should fulfil certain demands--hold certain conventions, pass certain laws, adopt certain resolutions in certain ways. the federal government can thus effect through its war powers what it cannot effect through any power to interfere directly with a state government. it had no right to reconstruct the government of maine in , because maine had no body of people over whom the federal government could exercise war powers. it had the right to reconstruct the government of georgia, because nine-tenths of the people of georgia were lawfully at its mercy as a conqueror. even if it be admitted, however, that the federal government had the power described, it may still be argued that the reconstruction acts are not legally justified. a conqueror has a right to govern a conquered people as he pleases and as long as he pleases; he also has a right to alter his mode of treatment and substitute another mode. but after he has imposed certain terms as final, after the requirements of these terms have been complied with, after he has restored the conquered people to their normal position and rights and has unmistakably terminated the relation of conqueror to conquered--then his rights of war are at an end. it may be argued that this was the case when the reconstruction acts were passed. it may be argued that in december, , the federal government had, through the president, terminated its capacity as a conqueror, and could regain that capacity only by another war; that after that termination it had no more power to reconstruct georgia than to reconstruct maine. this argument is irrefutable if we assume that the president had full power to act for the federal government in the disposition of the defeated secessionists, and that therefore his acts of were the acts of the federal government. in case of an international war, which is closed by a treaty, the president may (if supported by the senate) act finally for the federal government, and estop that government (so far as international law is concerned) from further action. but at the close of a civil war he cannot exercise his diplomatic power. the disposition of the defeated people in this case falls to the legislative branch of the government. if the president had pardoned a great majority of the secessionists, that fact perhaps might have legally estopped congress from passing the reconstruction acts. these acts were a war punishment, and a pardon cuts off further punishment.[ ] but the total number of persons who received amnesty under the proclamation of may , , was , ,[ ] which was of course only a small fraction of the secessionist population. the passage of the reconstruction acts may thus be regarded, from a legal point of view, as simply the substitution of one method of treating the defeated enemy for another. the change was from mildness to harshness. it was doubly bitter to the defeated enemy, after he had been led to believe that his punishment was over, to be subjected to a worse one. but these are not legal considerations. that the reconstruction acts required communities not states to ratify a constitutional amendment did not affect their legality. that an amendment depended for its validity on such ratification might make the amendment void (though even from this result there is a means of escape in the theory of relation, to be mentioned later), but that would not affect the act requiring the ratification. that this requirement was not made with the exclusive purpose of obtaining votes for the passage of the amendment is shown by a resolution introduced into the house of representatives on july , , which reads: _resolved_, that in ratifying amendments to the constitution of the united states ... the said several states ... are wholly incapable either of accepting or rejecting any such amendment so as to bind the loyal states of the union, ... and that when any amendment ... shall be adopted by three-fourths of the states recognized by the congress as lawfully entitled to do so, ... the same shall become thereby a part of the constitution.[ ] what virtues the reconstruction acts had besides legal regularity will be discussed later. chapter iv the administrations of pope and meade in the third military district, of which georgia was a part, the reconstruction acts were administered from april , , to january , , by general pope, and from january to july , , by general meade.[ ] the present chapter will describe, first, the manner in which these men conducted the political rebuilding of georgia, and second, the manner in which they governed during this process. on april pope issued his first orders regarding the registration of voters. the three officers commanding respectively in the sub-districts of georgia, florida and alabama were directed to divide the territory under them into registration districts, and for each of these to appoint a board of registry consisting as far as possible of civilians.[ ] on may the scheme of districts for georgia was published. the state was divided into forty-four districts of three counties each, and three districts of a city each. for each district the names of two white registrars were announced, and each of these pairs was ordered to complete the board by selecting a negro colleague. the compensation of registrars was to be from fifteen cents to forty cents for every name registered, varying according to the density or sparseness of the population. it was made the duty of registrars to explain to those unused to the enjoyment of suffrage the nature of this function. after the lists were complete they were to be published for ten days.[ ] the unsettled condition of the negro population suggested to pope the possibility that many negroes would lose their right to vote by change of residence. he therefore ordered on august that persons removing from the district where they were registered should be furnished by the board of registry with a certificate of registration, which should entitle them to vote anywhere in the state.[ ] the election for deciding whether a constitutional convention should be held, and for choosing delegates in case the affirmative vote prevailed, was ordered to begin on october and to continue three days. registrars were ordered to revise their lists during the fortnight preceding the election, to erase names wrongly registered, and to add the names of persons entitled to be registered. the boards of registry were to act as judges of election, but registrars who were candidates for election were forbidden to serve in the districts where they sought election.[ ] the election was to occupy the last three days of october. on october pope extended the time to the night of november , in order to give the negroes ample opportunity to vote, which in their inexperience they might otherwise fail to do.[ ] after the election the following figures were announced:[ ] number of registered voters in georgia , of these the negroes numbered , " the white men[ ] , number of votes polled , " " for a convention , " " against a convention , the delegates elected were ordered to meet in convention on december th.[ ] on that day the convention met in atlanta. its business was not completed until the middle of march in the following year. the constitution which it framed more than met the demands of the reconstruction acts. a single citizenship was established for all residents of the state, in language borrowed from the fourteenth amendment to the federal constitution.[ ] legislation on the subject of social status of citizens was forever prohibited.[ ] the electoral right was given to all male persons born or naturalized in the united states who should have resided six months in georgia.[ ] electors were privileged from arrest (except for treason, felony or breach of the peace) for five days before, during, and for two days after, elections, and the legislature was ordered to provide such other means for the protection of electors as might be necessary.[ ] other provisions presumably acceptable to northern sentiment were the prohibition of whipping as a penalty for crime,[ ] and the command that the legislature should create a system of public schools free to all children of the state.[ ] by an ordinance of the convention, made valid by being embodied in military orders, april , , was appointed for the submission of the new constitution to popular vote, and also for the election of members of congress and officers of the new state government.[ ] this election resulted in the adoption of the constitution by a majority of , votes, and in the election of a governor (rufus b. bullock by name), a legislature, and a full delegation to the lower house of congress.[ ] the remaining requirement of the reconstruction acts was that the new legislature convene and ratify the fourteenth amendment. this transaction will be reserved for the next chapter. * * * * * general pope was inspired by the ideas and emotions from which reconstruction had sprung. he was an ardent friend of the reconstruction measures. he was convinced of the importance of suppressing the old political leaders in his district. he held with enthusiasm the optimistic views prevalent in the north regarding the negroes. their recent progress in "education and knowledge," he said, was "marvellous," and if continued, in five years the intelligence of the community would shift to the colored portion.[ ] the purport of his orders, the didactic style in which they are couched, the declarations of his principles which frequently accompany these orders, indicate the spirit in which he administered the office of military governor. most of the official acts of pope concerned either the enforcement of obedience and the suppression of disobedience to the letter and spirit of the reconstruction acts, or the protection and promotion of the present interests of the freedmen. in assuming command he announced that in the absence of special orders all persons holding office under the state government would be permitted to retain their positions until the expiration of their terms. their successors, however, were to be appointed by pope alone; no elections should be held in the state except those required by congress. the general expressed the hope that no necessity for interference in the regular operation of the state government would arise. it could arise, he said, only from the failure of state tribunals to do equal justice to all persons.[ ] a few weeks later he announced that this necessity would also arise if any state officer interfered with or opposed the reconstruction measures; such an officer, it was "distinctly announced," would be deposed.[ ] governor jenkins, on april , had issued a letter to the public, advising them to abstain from registering and voting under the reconstruction acts. pope had excused him with a lecture, and then issued the order referred to, to make clear that no more advice of that sort from state officers would be permitted.[ ] opposition to reconstruction by state officers was declared to include also the awarding of state printing to newspapers which opposed reconstruction, and it was ordered that thereafter the state's patronage should be given only to loyal papers.[ ] another measure to the same end was the order that no state court should entertain any action against any person for any acts done under the military authority.[ ] but while opposition by state officers was thus dealt with, freedom of public opinion was emphatically declared. the declaration accompanied a public reprimand administered to the post commander at mobile for interference with a newspaper.[ ] the careful consideration for the needs of the freedmen shown in the general's method of forming the boards of registry, in his instructions to the registrars, in his provision of certificates of registration to migrating citizens, and in his extension of the time of election, has been pointed out. of a similar character was the warning to employers that any attempt to prevent laborers from voting, or to influence their votes by docking wages, threats, or any other means, would be severely dealt with.[ ] in his first general orders, as we have said, pope warned the judiciary against racial prejudice. it was probably disregard of this warning which caused the removal of about a dozen judges, justices of the peace, and sheriffs.[ ] in the interest of equal justice, pope also ordered that grand and petit jurors should be selected impartially from the lists of voters registered under the reconstruction acts.[ ] besides this general protection, individual relief was given by release from arrest, mitigation of the conditions of confinement, reduction of fines, and other special dispensations.[ ] the method of securing justice mentioned in the act of march , , namely by ordering the trial of cases by military commissions, was employed by pope only once.[ ] such was the administration of pope. its influence on the _personnel_ of the state government was large, but was exercised only slightly through removal, chiefly through appointment to fill vacancies. pope removed about fifteen state officers (almost all of whom were the judicial officers mentioned in the preceding paragraph). he filled about two hundred vacancies.[ ] it is significant that a great number of these were caused by resignation. his acts of interference with the action of state officers were few, and with all his zeal for the success of reconstruction, he favored freedom of speech. nevertheless, his opinions and his personal character, combined with such interference as he did practice, served to gain for him the dislike of the people and the rather unjust reputation of a petty tyrant. though meade lacked pope's zealous enthusiasm for reconstruction, yet he held much the same opinion as his predecessor regarding the duties with which he was charged. like pope, he forbade the bestowal of public patronage on anti-reconstruction newspapers.[ ] like pope, he thought it his duty to depose state officers who opposed the execution of the reconstruction acts. when he assumed command he found the convention at loggerheads with the governor and the state treasurer. the convention had levied a tax to pay its expenses, and pending the collection of it had directed the treasurer to advance forty thousand dollars.[ ] the treasurer (jones by name) declined to do this except on a warrant from the governor, according to the regular practice. meade requested jenkins to issue the warrant. jenkins refused, on the ground that the act would violate the state constitution under which he held office, and that even if it were authorized by the reconstruction acts (which he denied), that was an authorization contrary to the constitution of the united states, upon which he would not act.[ ] thereupon, on january , , meade issued an order by which the governor (designated as the "provisional governor") and the treasurer (also designated as "provisional") were removed and brigadier-general ruger and captain rockwell "detailed" to act as governor and treasurer respectively.[ ] for this act the convention rewarded meade with a resolution of gratitude.[ ] before the end of the same month the state comptroller and the secretary of state were also removed for obstructing reconstruction,[ ] and later the mayor and the entire board of aldermen of columbus shared the same fate.[ ] toward the freedmen general meade assumed the attitude of his predecessor. he made similar rules to protect them, in voting, from coercion by employers.[ ] on the other hand, observing that too frequent enticement of negroes to political meetings was disturbing industry, he announced that interference of this sort with the rights of employers by political agitators would meet with the same punishment as interference with the rights of freedmen.[ ] besides following the two policies of suppressing resistance and protecting freedmen, meade used his power to a great extent simply in the interest of the general welfare. public peace and order seemed threatened on the eve of the april election. orders issued on april expressed the belief that there existed a concerted plan, extending widely through the third district and apparently emanating from a secret organization, to overawe the population and affect elections. both military and civil officers were ordered to arrest publishers of incendiary articles and to organize special patrols.[ ] troops were distributed so as to command the parts chiefly in danger,[ ] and the frequent resignation of office by sheriffs occasioned the order that no more resignations would be permitted, but that the sheriffs must retain their offices and execute the law.[ ] by way of benevolent despotism, meade, at the request of the convention, suspended the operation of the bail process and of the writ of _capias satisfaciendum_, and promulgated the provisions of the new constitution for the relief of debtors until the constitution should become law.[ ] likewise he gave special orders in eight or ten cases suspending trails, releasing prisoners, and otherwise preventing hardship or failure of justice. whereas pope had convened one military court, meade convened six,[ ] and before these thirty two cases were tried. meade appointed about seventy state officers and removed about twenty. these facts show that the two administrations we are considering were alike in policy, and that in action meade's was the more vigorous. nevertheless, while pope was disliked, meade, thanks to a more attractive character, enjoyed a certain popularity. * * * * * such was the process by which the disciplinarians, the humanitarians, and the republican politicians hoped to gain their respective purposes. what were the results of the process by the end of the administration of meade? for the disciplinarians they were not encouraging. military government was received not as discipline but as bullying. the spirit which reconstruction was designed to quell was only embittered; for to those who entertained it reconstruction was not the chastening of the nation, but the domineering of a political party, which it was hoped and believed would soon lose its ascendency.[ ] for the humanitarians reconstruction had produced written laws regarding equality of civil and political rights, which were deemed a subject of congratulation. outside the laws they would have found less encouragement. the kindness of the white people toward the negroes had been changed to apprehension by the events of . when the advent of negro suffrage brought the carpet-baggers to the south to marshal the negro voters for their own benefit, and when these men began to disturb the negroes by organizing them into mysterious union leagues and giving them indigestible ideas of their rights, apprehension became alarm. negroes seized property of all kinds--including even plantations--by violence, supposing this to be one of their new rights. already they had raised a new terror by crimes against white women, hitherto unknown. some thoughtful men believed that the best defence against the dangers apprehended from the disturbed black population was kindness and friendly influence.[ ] that opinion was not heard after the arrival of the carpet-baggers; its methods were then seen to be inadequate. secret organizations were formed by white men for protection against the negroes. these organizations, which sowed the seed of a subsequent harvest of crime, at first included men of the best character and of the highest standing.[ ] thus reconstruction, together with its written laws, had produced conditions which made the net humanitarian results doubtful, at least for the moment. for the republican politicians reconstruction did not produce in georgia all that was to be desired. when the enterprise was first launched some of the white men, though offended, favored accepting the inevitable and endeavoring to elect good men to the constitutional convention and to the new state government.[ ] others, carried further by their anger, determined to take no part in elevating the negroes and debasing their heroes. prominent among these, as we have said, was governor jenkins. these men stayed at home on october , , contemptuously ignoring the "bogus concern called an election," which occurred on that day.[ ] many of these latter, by the time the "motley crew assembled at atlanta" had finished its labors, decided to follow the example of the former. a convention met at macon on december , , formed a party, the georgia conservatives, named a ticket, with john b. gordon at the head, and began a powerful campaign for the defeat of negroes and adventurers at the april election.[ ] to make an active fight was recognized as a better course than to stand in ineffectual scorn.[ ] as a result the sweeping victory expected by the republican politicians did not occur in georgia. a republican governor was elected; but in the state senate the seats were equally divided between the republicans and the conservatives, in the state house of representatives the conservatives obtained a large majority, and of the seven congressmen elected three were conservatives.[ ] chapter v the supposed restoration of the passage of the reconstruction acts of determined the course of reconstruction, but did not stop discussion. when congress met in december, , the acts passed continued to be attacked and defended and new bills to be introduced and dropped. but the plan as adopted remained untouched, with one exception. one of the reasons given by the joint committee on reconstruction for abolishing the johnson governments was that the johnson constitutions had not been ratified by popular vote, and therefore did not rest upon the consent of a majority of the people. to avoid a like defect in the new governments the act of march had provided that the new constitutions should be regarded as adopted only if a majority of the registered voters took part in the vote on the question of adoption. at its next session congress repented of this provision; it was now seen to involve the risk that the opponents of reconstruction in the southern states would defeat the new constitutions by the plan of inaction. this risk should be avoided, since the adoption of a state constitution probably meant the election of a republican state government, and hence of republican senators, as well as republican congressional representatives and republican presidential electors in november, . these advantages would be lost if the new constitutions were defeated. therefore, by an act which became law on march , , the reconstruction legislation was amended so as to provide that elections held under that legislation should be decided by a majority of the votes cast. this act also adopted as part of the general scheme two expedients already employed by pope in the third district. that is to say, it provided that any registered voter might vote in any election district in his state, provided he had lived there ten days, and that the elections should be "continued from day to day."[ ] aside from these alterations, congress allowed reconstruction to complete its course according to the first plan. within the first six months of north carolina, south carolina, louisiana and florida, besides georgia, had adopted new constitutions. according to the act of march , , two more steps would complete the process for these states; namely, the ratification by their legislatures of the fourteenth amendment, and the declaration "by law" (provided congress approved the constitutions) that they were entitled to representation in congress.[ ] congress now decided, instead of waiting for the ratification of the amendment, to pass the declaratory law at once, which should operate as soon as the ratification should have occurred. by this method one act would suffice for all the states which had adopted constitutions. the bill for this purpose was called the omnibus bill. it provided that north carolina, south carolina, georgia, florida, louisiana, and also alabama,[ ] should be admitted to representation in congress as soon as their legislatures elected under the new constitution should have ratified the fourteenth amendment, on condition that the provisions of that amendment regarding eligibility to office should at once go into operation in those states, and on condition that the constitution of none of them should ever be amended so as to deprive of the right to vote any citizens entitled to that right as the constitutions then stood. a special condition was imposed on georgia; namely, that article v., section , §§ and of her constitution be declared void by the legislature. a precedent for such a requirement was found in the act of , admitting missouri to statehood.[ ] the bill gave the governors-elect in the states concerned authority to call the legislatures immediately to fulfill the required conditions.[ ] the omnibus bill became law on june , . on the same day rufus b. bullock, the governor-elect of georgia, issued a proclamation in accordance with the act, summoning the legislature to meet on july th.[ ] now, the reconstruction act of july th, , had provided as follows: all persons hereafter elected or appointed to office in said military districts, under any so-called state or municipal authority, or by detail or appointment of the district commanders, shall be required to take ... the oath of office prescribed by law for officers of the united states.[ ] on april th meade had announced that in accordance with this provision the members of the legislature to be elected on april th would be required to subscribe to the test oath. but he was later advised from headquarters, and by certain prominent members of congress, that the persons contemplated by the act of july , , were those elected under the johnson government, not under the new government; and that therefore the men elected on april th were not "officers elected under any so-called state authority" in the sense of the act of july th. the eligibility of these men, he was told, was to be determined by the provisions of the new constitution and by the fourteenth amendment, and they were not required to take the test oath.[ ] meade therefore did not enforce his order. but though the new government was exempt from this one requirement of the reconstruction acts, it was subject to the provision which said: ... until the people of said rebel states shall be by law admitted to representation in the congress of the united states, any civil government which may exist therein shall be deemed provisional only, and in all respects subject to the paramount authority of the united states. over the new state government, as over the old, meade would exercise the powers of a district commander until the legislature by complying with the requirements of the omnibus act, should have made that act operative. on june meade relieved general ruger of the office of governor and appointed in his place the governor-elect, bullock, whom he directed to organize the legislature on july .[ ] when the legislature met on that day, therefore, bullock called each house to order in turn, and under his direction as chairman the members were sworn in (by the official oath prescribed in the state constitution), and the presiding officers elected. on july the legislature informed the governor that it was organized and ready to proceed to business. bullock, instead of replying, wrote to meade, stating that it was alleged that a number of men seated in the legislature were ineligible to office according to the proposed fourteenth amendment, and hence were disqualified from holding their seats by the omnibus act.[ ] meade replied on july that the allegation was serious, and that he would not recognize as valid any act of the legislature until satisfactory evidence should be presented that the legislature contained no member who would be disqualified from office by the fourteenth amendment.[ ] bullock sent meade's letter to the legislature, and both houses appointed committees to investigate the eligibility of every member. these committees reported on july . the senate committee reported that no senators were ineligible. a minority of the committee found, on evidence detailed in its report, that four were ineligible. after much debate the majority report was adopted.[ ] the house committee reported that two representatives were ineligible. a minority report found three ineligible. a second minority report found that none were ineligible. the last was adopted.[ ] the conclusions of the two houses may be regarded, in view of these proceedings, with some just suspicion. bullock in informing meade of them expressed the opinion that the legislature had failed to furnish the "satisfactory evidence" upon which meade had conditioned his recognition.[ ] if meade had desired to know the exact truth, he might well have accepted bullock's advice and ignored the reports, investigated the records of the legislators himself, and excluded those whom he found ineligible. but meade desired only to see that the acts of congress were complied with. "satisfactory evidence" was evidence not logically, but formally satisfactory. meade followed the established principle that legislative bodies are the final judges of the eligibility of their members. he considered the statement of the legislature that its members were all eligible formally satisfactory evidence that the acts of congress were obeyed. having this evidence, he refused to interfere further. his decision was influenced partly by reluctance to interfere more than was necessary, and partly by aversion to aiding bullock to gain a party advantage, which he alleged to be the governor's chief motive in urging the rejection of the reports.[ ] he acted with the approval of the general of the army.[ ] he notified the governor that the legislature was legally organized from the date of the adoption of the reports (july ).[ ] bullock transmitted this message to the legislature on july . on that day both houses ratified the fourteenth amendment and declared void the sections of the constitution required to be so declared by the omnibus act.[ ] as soon as the legislature had performed these acts georgia was, presumably, according to the acts of congress, a state of the union. on july meade directed all state officers holding by military appointment to turn over their offices to those elected or appointed under the new government.[ ] on july orders issued from the headquarters of the army stating that the general commanding in the third military district had ceased to exercise authority under the reconstruction acts, and that georgia, florida and alabama no longer constituted a military district, but should henceforth constitute an ordinary military circumscription--the department of the south.[ ] on july bullock, who had up to that time been governor by military appointment, was inaugurated in the regular manner and became governor under the state constitution.[ ] on july , the seven congressmen-elect from georgia were seated in the house of representatives.[ ] the georgia senators would doubtless have been seated at this time if they had arrived before the close of the session; but they were elected by the legislature on july ,[ ] two days after congress adjourned.[ ] in view of georgia's compliance with the reconstruction acts and the omnibus act, and in view of the various official recognitions that that compliance was complete, there could now be no doubt that her reconstruction was accomplished and her statehood regained. chapter vi the expulsion of the negroes from the legislature and the uses to which this event was applied when the georgia republicans, or radicals, as they were locally called, found that instead of a sweeping victory they had won only a governorship hemmed in by a hostile legislature, an effort was made, as we have said, to improve their position through the interference of meade. meade refused to aid them. when, a short time afterwards, federal power, on which they had hitherto relied, was completely withdrawn, they seemed left to make the best of an uncomfortable position without any assistance. at this point a god appeared from the machine. in the state senate there were three negroes, in the lower house twenty-five.[ ] their presence was an offense. it was an offense not merely to the conservative members. some of the republicans entertained conservative sentiments and principles, but supported reconstruction simply in order to hasten the liberation of the state from congressional interference.[ ] to them as well as to the conservatives "negro rule" was obnoxious. negro rule, so far as it consisted in negro suffrage, was established by the constitution. but negro office-holding was not so established expressly. as early as july , , the question, whether negroes were eligible to the legislature, was raised in the state senate.[ ] legally considered, the question had two sides, each supported by eminent lawyers. for the negroes it was argued that irwin's code, which was made part of the law of the state by the constitution,[ ] enumerated among the rights of citizens the right to hold office.[ ] negroes were made citizens of equal rights with all other citizens by the new constitution.[ ] therefore they had the right to hold office. it was true that the constitution did not grant the right to hold office to the negroes expressly, as it granted the right to vote; but in view of the fact that the convention which made the constitution was elected by , white and , colored men, and that that constitution was adopted by , white and , colored men, it would be absurd to suppose that the intent of that instrument was to withhold office from the negroes.[ ] on the other side, it was argued that the right to hold office did not belong to every citizen, but only to such citizens as the law specially designated, or to such as possessed it by common law or custom. irwin's code could not be cited to prove that negroes had the right, because that law had been enacted before the negroes had been made citizens, and the word _citizens_ in it referred to those who were citizens at that time. as the negro had no right to hold office because he was a citizen, and as he could not claim the right from common law or custom, he could obtain it only by specific grant of law. there was no such grant. the argument for the negro was made by the supreme court of the state in , the opposing argument by one of the justices of that court in a dissenting opinion.[ ] such were the legal aspects of the question, which were of course less important than the political and the emotional aspects. the legislature passed upon the issue in the early part of september, , by declaring all the colored members ineligible, and admitting to the vacated seats the candidates who had received respectively the next highest number of votes.[ ] if there was some legal ground for unseating the negroes, there was none for seating the minority candidates. it was done on the authority of the clause in irwin's code which said: if at any popular election to fill any office the person elected is ineligible, ... the person having the next highest number of votes, who is eligible, whenever a plurality elects, shall be declared elected.[ ] but this clause is found under the title "of the executive department," and under the sub-head "regulations as to all executive offices and officers." under the next title "of the legislative department," there is no such provision. for a legislature to unseat some of the elected members because on not untenable legal grounds it finds them ineligible, is not unusual. but the act of the georgia legislature could not, under the circumstances, be regarded in the ordinary way. it showed strong racial prejudice. it was a startling breach of the system which reconstruction had been designed to institute, committed the very moment after the federal government withdrew its hand. it fixed on georgia at once the earnest and unfavorable attention of northern public opinion. this fact enabled the georgia republicans to bring the federal government again to their assistance. their leader, governor bullock, at the next session of congress (december, ), presented a letter to the senate, saying that georgia had not yet been admitted to the union. she had not been admitted by the omnibus act, for that act provided that she should be admitted when certain things had been done, and those things had not been done. by the reconstruction act of july , , all persons elected in georgia were required to take the test oath. the members of the present legislature had never taken it. therefore the action which that body had taken on july st, regarding the fourteenth amendment, was not a ratification by a legislature formed according to the reconstruction acts; it was simply a ratification by a body which called itself the legislature. hence the omnibus act had not yet gone into effect as to georgia, and georgia was not yet entitled to representation in congress.[ ] if this argument was valid in the winter of , it must also have been valid in the preceding summer. yet in july bullock had made no objection to being inaugurated as governor of georgia, on the ground that georgia had not become a state. he had not refused on that ground to issue on september th a commission to joshua hill, reciting that he had been regularly elected to the senate of the united states by the legislature of the state, and signed "rufus b. bullock, governor."[ ] the argument was an afterthought, not advanced until the expulsion of the negroes created a favorable opportunity for a hearing. it conflicted with the declarations and acts of the military authorities, and of the house of representatives, but the sentiment aroused by the expulsion of the negroes was considered strong enough to sustain a repudiation of those declarations and acts. direct appeal to this sentiment was the auxiliary to the above argument. bullock's letter to the senate was accompanied by a memorial from a convention of colored men held at macon in october. it said that there existed in georgia a spirit of hatred toward the negroes and their friends, which resulted in the persecution, political repression, terrorizing, outrage and murder of the negroes, in the burning of their schools, and in the slander, ostracism and abuse of their teachers and political friends. of this the act of the legislature was an instance and an evidence. the aid of the federal government was implored.[ ] similar charges had been made, it will be remembered, in the debates of and . now, however, they began to be urged with an earnestness and persistence altogether new. so conspicuous is this fact in the debates in congress that a southern writer ironically remarks: "from this time forth the entire white race of the south devoted itself to the killing of negroes."[ ] the rest of this chapter will be devoted to considering how much truth there was in the reported abuse of negroes and "loyal" persons. we stated in chapter ii. that after the war a bitter jealousy and animosity toward the negroes arose among the lower class of the white population, and in chapter iv. that the restless conduct of the negroes under the influences of reconstruction filled the upper class with such alarm that they formed secret organizations in self-defence. this practice, at first supported and led by good men of the higher class, simply for defence, soon fell into the hands of the poor white class, the criminal class, and the turbulent and discontented young men of all classes, and became an instrument of revenge, crime and oppression. the change, however, was not a complete transformation. a great deal of the whipping inflicted upon negroes was _bona fide_ chastisement for actual misdemeanors. this mode of punishment was the natural product of the transition from the old social conditions, when the negroes were disciplined by their masters, to the new conditions.[ ] but besides these acts of correction many outrages were committed upon negroes, and also upon white men, simply from malice or vengeance, or other private motive.[ ] these outrages included some homicides.[ ] the testimony of credible contemporaries belonging to both political parties agrees that the ku klux klan and similar organizations were used only to a very small extent for political purposes.[ ] how many of these corrective or purely vicious acts were perpetrated upon negroes? democrats of that time commonly said that the number was insignificant, that the peace was as well kept in georgia as in any northern state, and that statements to the contrary were invented for political purposes.[ ] the number was, indeed, greatly exaggerated by republicans, as some of the republicans themselves admitted.[ ] making allowance for the warping of the truth in both directions, and considering the statements of the moderate republicans,[ ] and the admissions of some of the democrats,[ ] remembering also the recent disbandment of the army and the disturbed conditions of society, we must conclude that the attacks on negroes, made by disguised bands and otherwise, were very numerous. the friends of the negroes also fared badly. philanthropic women who came from the north to teach in the negro schools were almost invariably treated with contempt and avoided by the white people.[ ] this was due partly to the lingering bitterness of the war and partly to the connection of the negro schools with the freedmen's bureau. this institution, the office of which was to set up strangers, from a recently hostile country, to instruct the southern people in their private affairs, was in itself odious. it was rendered more odious by the want of intelligence and tact, and even of honesty, which is said to have frequently characterized its officers. that the hatred thus aroused should be visited upon true philanthropists who were connected with the bureau was unfortunate, but inevitable. as for the political friends of the negroes, the "loyal" men, or in other words the white men who supported reconstruction, they were habitually treated by the conservative press and by conservative speakers with violent invective. conservative editors and orators neither engaged in nor recommended the slaughter or outrage of radicals, but by continually voicing furious sentiments, they furnished encouragement to action of that sort by men of less intelligence and self-control.[ ] the accounts of lawlessness and persecution in georgia, though exaggerated, undoubtedly had a substantial foundation. whether this fact was a good argument for renewed interference in the state government by congress is another question. chapter vii congressional action regarding georgia from december, , to december, on december , , the credentials of joshua hill, one of the senators elected by the georgia legislature in the previous july, were presented in the united states senate. immediately the letter of governor bullock and the memorial of the negro convention were also presented. these documents, seconded by a speech from a senator dwelling on the fact that georgia was under "rebel control," secured the reference of hill's credentials to the committee on the judiciary.[ ] this committee on january , , recommended that hill be not admitted to the senate.[ ] the reason for this recommendation, said the committee's report, was that georgia had failed to comply with the requirements of the omnibus act, and so was not yet entitled to representation in congress. the failure here referred to was not that alleged by bullock--that the members of the legislature had not taken the test oath--but the failure of the two houses to exclude persons disqualified by the fourteenth amendment. the omnibus act had provided that georgia should be entitled to representation in congress when her legislature had "_duly_" ratified the fourteenth amendment. the word _duly_ meant _in a certain manner_--namely, the manner required by the rest of the act. the failure to exclude the disqualified members was a departure from this manner. we saw in chapter v. that each of the committees appointed by the georgia legislature in july to investigate the eligibility of members was divided, that both houses voted that all were eligible in the face of detailed evidence to the contrary, that the decision of the lower house contradicted the majority of its committee, and that meade accepted the decision rather for the sake of convenience and finality than because it was indisputably correct. on these facts and on some independent investigation the senate judiciary committee based its belief that the legislature had failed to obey the omnibus act in this respect. trumbull, of this committee, submitted a minority report. he admitted that the decision of the legislature may have been incorrect. but he protested that if the united states government intended to regard the presence of half a dozen ineligible members in a body of two hundred and nineteen as entirely vitiating the action of the legislature, it should have taken this stand at first. if at first it had, through its representative, meade, overlooked the irregularity as a trifle, it seemed only just to continue to overlook it, and not to make it now the occasion for augmenting the turmoil in the state by fresh interference. but the majority rejoined that there were very good reasons for not overlooking the irregularity. it was not a mere trifling departure from the letter of the act of congress, it was a violation of the spirit of that act. "the obvious design" of the omnibus act "was to prevent the new organization from falling under the control of enemies of the united states." the expulsion of the negroes showed that that design had been frustrated and that the government was under "rebel control;" it showed a "common purpose to ... resist the authority of the united states." moreover, the "disorganized condition of society" in the state made it necessary for the federal government to intervene again in georgia, not only to vindicate its law, but to preserve order. the protest of trumbull is significant as an early sign of the growth within the republican party of an opposition to the prolongation of congressional interference with the southern state governments. the report of the judiciary committee was not acted upon, and thus the senate avoided a categorical decision. but hill was not admitted. a number of bills relating to georgia were introduced; a bill "to carry out the reconstruction acts in georgia" by sumner,[ ] a bill to repeal the act of june , , in so far as it admitted georgia, and to provide for a provisional government in that state, by edmunds,[ ] and others. all of these soon lapsed. meanwhile, in the house of representatives the committee on reconstruction had been instructed to examine the public affairs of georgia and to inquire what measures ought to be taken regarding the representatives of georgia in the house.[ ] many citizens of georgia, black and white, testified before the committee.[ ] among them governor bullock was conspicuous, advocating the enforcement of the test oath qualification--a fact which aroused great indignation in the state. the doubtful position in which georgia now hung raised the question, what should be done with her electoral votes in february, ? congress had passed a joint resolution on july , , to the effect that none of the states affected by the omnibus act should be entitled to vote in the electoral college in unless at the time for choosing electors it had become entitled to representation in congress.[ ] as february , the day for counting the votes, approached, it was considered desirable, in order that the ceremony might pass off smoothly, that the senate and the house should agree by a special rule what should be done with georgia's votes. now, the senate could not agree to a rule declaring that the votes should be counted, for that would imply that the state had become entitled to representation in congress, and the senate had refused to admit hill. but the house could not concur in declaring that the votes should not be counted; for that would imply that the state had not become entitled to representation in congress, and the house had admitted seven representatives from the state. it was therefore agreed by a concurrent resolution passed february , that at the count of the electoral votes, in case the georgia votes should be found not to affect the result essentially (which it was well known would be the case), then the presiding officer should make the following announcement: were the votes presented as of the state of georgia to be counted, the result would be for ---- for president of the united states, -- votes; if not counted, for ----, for president of the united states, -- votes; but in either case ---- is elected president of the united states; and a similar announcement of the votes for vice-president.[ ] accordingly, on february , amid the wildest uproar, caused by the blunders of a perplexed chairman and the violent protest of a group of representatives, led by butler, against the execution of the special rule, which had been rushed through the house without their knowledge, it was announced that the electoral vote was as follows: for grant and colfax including georgia's votes excluding georgia's votes for seymour and blair including georgia's votes excluding georgia's votes and that in either case grant and colfax were elected.[ ] on march , the first day of the forty-first congress, the house of representatives was able to get rid of the georgia representatives on a technicality. the same delegation which had represented georgia since july, , appeared again to finish its supposed term. their credentials failed to state to what congress they had been elected, but authorized them to take seats in the house of representatives according to the ordinance of the georgia constitutional convention passed march , . now, this ordinance provided that all the public officers who should be elected on april should enter on their duties as soon as authorized by congress or by the general commanding the military district, but should continue in the same as long as they would if elected in the november following.[ ] these congressmen, then, were elected to serve as if elected in november, , that is, they were elected members of the forty-first congress. but they had already served several months in the fortieth. if they should serve through the forty-first they would exceed the constitutional term. the convention of georgia could make the first term of all state officers longer than the regular term subsequently to obtain; it could not so lengthen the term of members of the congress of the united states. the credentials were referred to the committee of elections, and the house was thus relieved of the presence of the georgia representatives, which would have been an embarrassment in the subsequent proceedings.[ ] several bills relating to georgia were then introduced, which, though they were not advanced very far, are worth noticing.[ ] their titles indicate the purpose "to enforce the fourteenth amendment." now, the fourteenth amendment consists principally of prohibitions on states; it could not be enforced in georgia unless georgia was a state. georgia had (it was assumed) admitted to her legislature men subject to the disqualifications of the fourteenth amendment, and had excluded men from the legislature on the ground of color, thus denying the equal protection of the laws to citizens. the latter act had been done after the fourteenth amendment went into effect (july , [ ]), the former before, but its effect continued. if georgia was a state, then, she had violated the amendment, and congress might correct these two acts by virtue of its power to enforce the amendment. if georgia was not a state, she had not violated the fourteenth amendment, but her acts were subject to correction by congress, because her government was "provisional only." if, therefore, congress proposed to enforce the fourteenth amendment in georgia, it acknowledged that georgia was a state, and so debarred itself from any interference not necessary to enforce that amendment. if it proposed to interfere simply as with a provisional government, there was no such limitation. the bills of the first session of the forty-first congress proposed to enforce the fourteenth amendment. to secure the enforcement of the disqualification clause they provided that each member of the legislature should be required to take an oath saying that he was not disqualified by the amendment, and that those who did not so swear should be excluded. to secure equal rights to the colored legislators they provided that all persons elected to the legislature (according to general meade's announcement of the result of the election of ) who should take the test oath required should be admitted, and that the expulsion of the negroes should be declared void. the federal military authority was to assist in executing these measures if requested by the governor. these measures, it will be observed, were only such as might legally be taken regarding massachusetts if it violated the fourteenth amendment. at the next session of congress, beginning in december, , the policy of enforcing the fourteenth amendment was abandoned for the alternative policy of legislating for a provisional government. the reason for the change was an emergency in which the republican politicians found themselves. in the previous february congress had passed the joint resolution proposing the fifteenth amendment. by december it seemed certain that the number of ratifying states would fall short of the required three-fourths by just one, unless congress could prevent it.[ ] georgia furnished the means of preventing it. in march her legislature had rejected the proposed amendment.[ ] it could now be forced to ratify and thus complete the necessary majority. georgia must then be treated not as a state which had violated the fourteenth amendment, but as a provisional organization subject to the uncontrolled will of congress. a bill was accordingly prepared containing the same provisions as the bills of the preceding session, but adding this clause: "that the legislature shall ratify the fifteenth amendment before senators and representatives from georgia are admitted to seats in congress." in accordance with its different legal basis the bill was entitled: "an act to promote the reconstruction of the state of georgia." little need be said of the manner in which this bill was passed. the usual partisan abuse prevailed on both sides. the democrats made a remarkable opposition, led by beck of kentucky.[ ] the republicans were aided by a message from president grant urging the intervention of congress,[ ] by the report of the reconstruction committee on affairs in georgia,[ ] and by a report from general terry, who was stationed in the department of the south, alleging that disorder was rampant in georgia and the need of further military government by federal authority imperative.[ ] terry's superior officer, general halleck, added a postscript to terry's report to the effect that terry was mistaken, that the disorder in georgia was much less than was commonly believed, and that federal interference was highly inadvisable.[ ] aided by the report and undeterred by the postscript, the republicans discoursed of "rebel control" and "murder" with unprecedented effect. butler said that congress must act instantly; if action on the bill is postponed, he said, "the rest of the republican majority of that state may be murdered, even during christmas week, when the son of god came on earth to bring peace and good will to man."[ ] the bill became law on december , .[ ] congress thus decided at last to adopt the opinion of the senate judiciary committee, that georgia had not become a state through the omnibus act. general meade, in declaring the contrary, had been mistaken. bullock, in calling himself governor, had been mistaken. the house of representatives, in admitting members sent from georgia, had been mistaken; they were _de facto_ members, but had no legal right there.[ ] the legal basis of the act of december was then the same as that of the original reconstruction acts. the question which had been raised in the debates on these acts--what legal effect could the action of a body not the legislature of a state have on the adoption of an amendment to the constitution?--was raised again here. some of the republicans argued that such action could have no effect and should not be required.[ ] under these circumstances there was a more earnest effort than any heretofore made to defend such a requirement. it was answered: true, the body which will ratify the amendment in georgia will not be a state legislature at the time; but it will later become a state legislature, and then by relation the ratification will be imputed to the state legislature and will thus have legal effect. relation, an operation known to private law, had been applied to constitutional law in several previous cases, in order to give to acts done by the legislatures of territories the same effect as if they had been done after statehood was obtained.[ ] the ratification by georgia would be valid by relation.[ ] chapter viii the execution of the act of december , , and the final restoration before relating the manner in which the act of december , (which we shall call the reorganization act), was executed, we must mention its provisions in more detail than we did in the last chapter. it first "authorized and directed" the governor by proclamation to summon "forthwith" all persons elected to the legislature in april, , according to meade's announcement of the result of the election then held,[ ] to meet in special session "on some day certain." the act continued: and thereupon the said general assembly shall proceed to perfect its organization in conformity with the constitution and laws of the united states, according to the provisions of this act. when the legislature was assembled, every person claiming to be a member should take a test oath prescribed in the act, to the effect that he had never been a member of congress or of a state legislature, nor held any civil office created by law for the administration of any general law of a state, or for the administration of justice in any state, or under the laws of the united states, nor served in the military or naval forces of the united states as an officer, and thereafter engaged in or supported hostilities against the united states; each person should take this oath or else an oath (also prescribed _verbatim_) that he had been relieved from disability by congress according to section of the fourteenth amendment. the exclusion on the ground of color of any person elected and otherwise qualified, the act declared "would be illegal and revolutionary," and was "prohibited." the act directed the president to use force in executing the act upon application from the governor. the process ordered by the act seems simple and obvious, but the general of the army deduced much from it not apparent on its face. this act, he reasoned, implies that the georgia government is provisional, and has never ceased to be so since march , . and in that case the act of march , , has never ceased to operate as to georgia, since by its own terms it is to remain in force in each "rebel state" until each respectively has been "by law admitted to representation in the congress of the united states." georgia has not been so admitted, since she did not comply with the omnibus act. therefore the reconstruction acts are still in force in georgia, and the general orders of july , , declaring the third military district abolished were a mistake. accordingly those orders were countermanded by the general of the army on january , , and general terry, a prominent advocate, as we have seen, of the revival of military government in georgia, was placed in command of the remnant of the third military district.[ ] the war department's deduction from the reorganization act of authority to institute again the system of the reconstruction acts came a month or two later under the consideration of the senate judiciary committee, and was pronounced a gratuitous perversion of the act last passed. that act implied, to be sure, that the georgia government was provisional; but it was plainly intended not to revive but to supersede the former regulations regarding that government. the purpose of the reorganization act was simply that the legislature should reorganize itself and ratify the fifteenth amendment. to this purpose military government had no relation. the reconstruction acts had not expired according to their own provisions as to georgia, it was true, but they had been repealed by the reorganization act. this was further proved by the latter's provision that military force should be used "upon the application of the governor." the reorganization act, said the committee, "invokes military action in what it provides shall be done, and no more."[ ] unfortunately this opinion was delivered some time after the theory which it demolished had been in practical operation. terry, having received the _rôle_ of military governor, played it as the true heir to the power of his great predecessors. he removed from office three sheriffs and a county ordinary and appointed successors.[ ] he intervened in eight private controversies and composed them with a strong hand.[ ] in two cases before the state courts he substituted his command for the regular process.[ ] still more apparent was the official character which he had assumed, in his conduct toward the legislature. possessing the power wielded by pope and meade, he could issue any orders he pleased to that body. for this reason, and because he was in sympathy with them, the georgia republicans ardently embraced and tenaciously clung to the theory that he was not a mere assistant in executing the reorganization act, but a military governor under the reconstruction acts. on december , , governor bullock issued his proclamation (which he signed "rufus b. bullock, provisional governor"), summoning the men elected to the legislature in to meet in atlanta on january following.[ ] this duty, besides that of calling on the president for aid if he saw fit, was the only one expressly entrusted to bullock by the reorganization act. another one, however, was deduced by the following process of reasoning: the legislature can do nothing before its members are qualified according to the act. since it can do nothing, it cannot even organize itself. but it is the purpose of the act that the legislature be organized. therefore some one else must be intended to organize it. this duty naturally belongs to the governor, since the cognate duty of convening the body is imposed on him. in accordance with this reasoning, bullock appointed a temporary clerk for each house, who should call the house to order and preside until all the members should be qualified or declared disqualified, by taking or failing to take one of the test oaths of the reorganization act.[ ] this appointment of bullock rested not only upon the reasoning stated above, but upon the approval of terry, who, whether the reasoning was correct or not, could do, or order to be done, to the legislature anything he chose.[ ] when the legislature convened on january , each house was called to order by its temporary clerk, who proceeded to call the roll of names announced by meade after the election of , for the administration to each person of one of the required test oaths. on the same day the upper house completed the roll call and the swearing in of members, and effected a permanent organization. a republican (conley) was elected president by a large majority. on assuming the chair he delivered an oration, the spirit of which may be perceived from the following sentence: "the government has determined that in this republic, which is not, never was, and never can be, a democracy--that in this republic republicans shall rule."[ ] far different was the course of events in the lower house. when that house assembled it found one harris in the chair. forgetting that his appointment had been indorsed by terry and that he was, therefore, the virtual agent of a military governor who had the power to do anything he chose to the legislature, the conservatives raised objection to his presiding and attempted to elect a temporary chairman in the usual way. this attempt precipitated a violent scene in the house, but was unsuccessful. harris kept his seat and ordered the roll call for the swearing in of members to proceed. the names of seventy-eight persons were called and as many of these as were present were sworn in. at this point, the journal records, "the clerk _pro tem._ announced that the house would take a recess" until the next day. this the house did.[ ] on january and , the same proceedings occurred, the swearing in continuing until it was suspended and the house adjourned by the "clerk _pro tem._"[ ] without the theory that the reconstruction acts were still in force these proceedings in the lower house would have constituted the plainest illegality. but if terry was a military governor and harris his agent, they were legal. though the senate judiciary committee later declared this a false interpretation of the law, yet it was the official interpretation of the war department, as we saw by the order appointing terry.[ ] the war department had a right to decide what the reorganization act, which it was to aid in executing, meant. its decision, whatever its character, was never officially overruled. therefore the proceedings in the legislature were officially regular. before the legislature met, the conservative papers had published an article by a state judge on the meaning of the first test oath of the reorganization act. it concerned especially the phrase: "any civil office created by law for the administration of any general law of a state." it was argued that there were many state offices not included in this phrase--among them those of mayor, alderman and state librarian. since these offices were not "for the administration of any general law," but only for that of special or local law, former occupants of them who had supported the confederacy could take the present test oath.[ ] this construction would give an advantage to the conservatives. to counteract it, bullock applied to the attorney general for an official interpretation. that officer (farrow by name) responded with a very reasonable opinion. he admitted that officers with merely local functions were not included in the phrase in question, but pointed out that many municipal officers had the powers of a justice of the peace. in such cases they were charged with the administration of general law and were included in the phrase. the state librarian, said farrow, executed general law and was included.[ ] after the swearing in of members had gone on in the house of representatives, as we have said, it was believed by the radicals that some conservatives were acting upon the judge's interpretation and disregarding the attorney general's, and that others had sworn or intended to swear falsely who were debarred even by the former. ordinarily, if a man intends to swear falsely to a test oath there is no way of preventing him. in the existing state of public opinion, prosecution for perjury after the oath of office was taken was impossible. but georgia had a military governor. by issuing orders he could prevent men whom he believed ineligible from swearing and could unseat those whom he believed to have sworn falsely. this terry decided to do. on january he detailed a board of soldiers to investigate the cases of twenty-one members elect whose eligibility was questioned.[ ] this board sat for two weeks, and found five men ineligible[ ] and eleven eligible.[ ] terry accordingly forbade the five, and ordered the eleven, to be sworn in. the remaining five of the twenty-one, together with nineteen others, confessed ineligibility by filing with bullock application for the removal of their disabilities by congress. these also terry forbade to be sworn in.[ ] the actions and the decision of the board of inquiry were pronounced fair and honorable even by the conservatives.[ ] the nineteen applications for congressional grace were said to have been procured by the radicals through intimidation and fraud.[ ] if the applicants were in fact ineligible but intended nevertheless to take the oath, then we must admire the cleverness of the radicals in dissuading them, by whatever means they did it. if they used intimidation and fraud, their means were no worse than the end sought by their victims--the frustration of a law by perjury. on the other hand, if nineteen conservatives who were eligible were induced by radicals to petition for the removal of ineligibility, the fact may excite disapproval of the radicals, but hardly pity for the conservatives. on january , when the board of inquiry was appointed, the "clerk _pro tem._" of the lower house, by order of bullock countersigned by terry, had declared the house adjourned till january , to await the decision of the board.[ ] on the th the house met and listened to the reading of two orders from bullock indorsed by terry; the one directing the state treasurer to issue fifty dollars to each member of the house, the other ordering the house to adjourn till january .[ ] on the th the house met, and after one man had been sworn in was adjourned in the same manner till the th.[ ] on the th it met and after two men had been sworn in was again adjourned by order of the governor.[ ] on the morning of the th it met and was adjourned till afternoon. in the afternoon it was adjourned as soon as it had met till the next day. to the countersignature of terry in this case was added the promise that this was the last adjournment of the series, since the board had now rendered so much of its decision as related to members of the lower house. the house was therefore ordered to swear in, on the next day, all the remaining members elect except those found or confessed ineligible, and to elect its permanent officers.[ ] on january this order was complied with; the radical candidate for chairman was elected by a large majority, and the redoubtable "clerk _pro tem._," having presided for the last time, retired.[ ] the reorganized legislature on february complied with the remaining requirements of the reorganization act by ratifying the fifteenth amendment. on the advice of bullock it also repassed the resolutions of july, , required by the omnibus act. this was not necessary to re-admission. it is true, the requirements of the omnibus act had, by the hypothesis of the reorganization act, never been "duly" fulfilled. but the omnibus act had been superseded by other legislation, which made new requirements and did not renew the old. the renewal of the unfulfilled requirements had been discussed in congress and rejected.[ ] nevertheless, the resolutions were passed gratuitously.[ ] the omnibus act had definitely said that georgia should be "entitled and admitted to representation in congress as a state of the union when the legislature" had complied with the conditions mentioned in the act. the reorganization act was not so definite. it said; "the legislature shall ratify the fifteenth amendment ... before senators and representatives from georgia are admitted to seats in congress." this might be construed as granting title to representation as a state as soon as the fifteenth amendment should be ratified, or as merely requiring the ratification and making no definite provision as to restoration but leaving that subject to be provided for by another act. the latter construction was adopted by the georgia radicals, since it prolonged the tenure of their military governor. it followed from this construction that the state government was still "provisional" and could not proceed with its business like a regular state government. so after electing united states senators (the election of july, , being regarded as invalid,[ ] and the present election probably being designed to become valid by relation), the legislature adjourned until april , to await congressional action.[ ] in april congress had taken no action, and the legislature, after sitting a fortnight, took another recess of two months.[ ] meantime the theory of military government had been faithfully observed. though the legislature was only provisional, it could legislate with terry's permission. it passed a stay law on february , and asked terry to enforce it.[ ] on may it passed revenue and appropriation acts,[ ] but not before terry had informed it through the governor that he would allow those acts to have the validity of regularly issued military orders.[ ] * * * * * whatever may have been the merits of the construction of the reorganization act adopted by the war department, it is certain that the proceedings taken under it greatly astonished those who had passed the act. on january the house of representatives adopted a resolution requesting the general of the army to inform it by what authority three united states soldiers were acting as a committee in the legislature of georgia.[ ] on february the senate asked for official information regarding the proceedings had under the reorganization act.[ ] the facts disclosed in response to this request created such surprise that the senate directed the judiciary committee to inquire and report whether the act had been complied with.[ ] the answer of the committee, as we saw in the early part of the chapter, was that the act had been misconstrued and violated. the appointment of presiding officers by the governor, the acts of those officers, the revival of the military governorship, and in particular the interference of terry in the organization of the legislature--these, said the committee, were wholly unlawful. but though unlawful they had resulted in no substantial injustice, since all the men debarred by terry were undoubtedly ineligible. and in any case a general state election was approaching, so that if any injustice had been done it would soon be righted. for these reasons the committee recommended that congress undertake no more legislation for georgia, but admit her representatives to each house as soon as possible.[ ] the committee believed that the reorganization act was to be construed as a law entitling georgia to representation in congress as soon as she had ratified the fifteenth amendment. this opinion was held by many republicans, who had followed trumbull's example and who appeared from this time on as opponents of further congressional interference in the south. the radical republicans, however, led by butler--those republicans characterized by a republican paper of the time as "the screeching wing" of the party[ ]--insisted that georgia must be admitted, as the first reconstruction act had said, "by law," and that no law to that effect had been passed. the reason why this argument was urged was that the passage of a new act for restoring the state would give an opportunity to annex other provisions besides the declaration of restoration. the particular provisions designed to be annexed were for the purpose of prolonging the term of the present state government. on february butler introduced the bill to admit georgia.[ ] one of its sections was as follows: that the power granted by the constitution of georgia to the general assembly to change the time of holding elections ... shall not be so exercised as to postpone the election for members of the next general assembly beyond the tuesday after the first monday in november in the year . the power here referred to was that conferred by article iii., section , of the state constitution; the election for members of the general assembly shall begin on tuesday after the first monday in november of every second year ... but the general assembly may by law change the time of election, and members shall hold until their successors are elected and qualified. the constitutional term of the present legislature (except of one-half of the senators, who held four years) would expire in november, . but this section of the constitution, butler pointed out, would enable the legislature to postpone the election and perpetuate its power. this grave danger he proposed to remove by the clause of his bill above quoted. in order to prevent the legislature from prolonging its tenure forever, he proposed, not to forbid prolongation, but to allow it for two years. i also propose [he said] by this [clause] to give to the present state officers of georgia a two years' term of office in that state as a state in this union. that congress should pose as the defender of the people of georgia against a usurping legislature, and at the same time by the guaranty of its approval encourage that legislature to double its constitutional term--this was a conception of political genius which, independently of its realization, should make butler immortal. the moderate republicans of the house of representatives were willing, for the sake of settling doubt, to pass a bill declaring georgia restored, but were decidedly opposed the scheme to use the bill as a means of prolonging the tenure of the georgia radicals. an amendment to butler's bill, known as the bingham amendment, was offered, to the following effect: ... neither shall this act be construed to extend the official tenure of any officer of said state beyond the term limited by the constitution thereof, dating from the election or appointment of such officer.[ ] the bill with this amendment passed the house by a large majority on march .[ ] in the senate the necessity of any bill and the propriety of the bingham amendment were warmly debated for some weeks. then the so-called drake amendment was offered. it provided that whenever the legislature or governor of any state should inform the president of the existence within that state of associations organized for the purpose of obstructing the law and doing violence to persons, then the president should send troops to that state, declare martial law, suspend the privileges of the writ of _habeas corpus_, and take such other military measures as he saw fit, and should levy the cost of the expedition on the people of the state.[ ] the propriety of grafting this general measure on a special bill like the present should not be discussed, it was said, in view of the pressing necessity of passing it in some way, no matter how.[ ] the debate thus complicated continued until april , when the bill went to the committee of the whole. there, the night being far spent, two entirely new amendments were suddenly offered. one commanded georgia to hold a general election in the present year; the other declared that the existing government of georgia was still "provisional" and provided that the reconstruction acts of should continue to be enforced there. these amendments were adopted by the committee. the drake amendment was also adopted. finally, the entire bill as it came from the house was stricken out.[ ] thus transformed so that, as a senator said, "it would not be recognized by the oldest inhabitant," the bill was passed by the senate.[ ] the house of representatives did not take up the bill again until june . on june it decided to insist on the passage of the bill substantially as before passed.[ ] as a result of the conference following, the senate yielded to the house. the bill became law on july , . it said: ... it is hereby declared that the state of georgia is entitled to representation in the congress of the united states. but nothing in this act contained shall be construed to deprive the people of georgia of the right to an election for members of the general assembly of said state, as provided for in the constitution thereof.[ ] one would suppose that this act of july should close the chapter; that it recognized georgia as a state, and that henceforth all peculiar relations between georgia and the federal government were at an end. the georgia radicals were able to avoid this conclusion. in a message to the legislature on july the governor said that according to the act of march , , the federal military power was to remain until the state was not only entitled to representation but actually represented in congress. section of that act contained this language: when ... any one of said rebel states shall have [fulfilled all requirements], said state shall be declared entitled to representation in congress, and senators and representatives shall be admitted therefrom ... and then and thereafter the preceding sections of this act shall be inoperative in said state. hence, the military authority, said bullock, would continue in georgia until the following december. but he informed the legislature that it might proceed with legislation, since terry had informed him that he would allow it.[ ] the radicals in the legislature took advantage of the theory announced by the governor to make one last attempt at prolongation of power. on july a resolution was offered in the upper house to this effect: that the authority of the united states was still paramount in georgia; that no offence ought to be offered to congress by an apparent denial of this fact; that therefore no election should be held in the state until congress had fully recognized its statehood by receiving its representatives.[ ] on july the senate adopted a resolution similar to this, but the lower house rejected it by a few votes.[ ] with the failure of this attempt, the reconstruction acts ceased to operate in georgia, either in fact or in any one's theory. at the next session of congress a delegation from georgia composed of men elected in december, , was seated in the house of representatives.[ ] in the senate, farrow and whitely, elected by the legislature in february, , presented credentials. they were referred to the judiciary committee, which reported adversely. it recommended that hill, elected in , be seated, and reported that miller, elected with hill, would be entitled to a seat except that he was unable to take the test oath required of members of congress by the act of july , .[ ] since this committee had decided in january, , that the georgia legislature was not legally organized in , and in march, , that its organization in january of that year was also illegal, and since therefore the election of hill and miller and that of farrow and whitely were both illegal, the committee had to decide the question: to which of these illegal elections ought we to give _de facto_ validity? it decided in favor of the earlier one on grounds of equity. the senate adopted the committee's opinion. the test oath act was suspended in favor of miller by a special act of congress, and he and hill were sworn in, in february, .[ ] thus, after federal intervention had been imposed in and apparently withdrawn in the same year, again imposed in and again apparently withdrawn in , and yet again imposed in , it was now withdrawn for the last time, and georgia was completely restored to statehood. chapter ix reconstruction and the state government in the preceding chapters we have mentioned the immediate effect of reconstruction upon social conditions. to its immediate effects upon political conditions, in other words to the character and conduct of the new state government, which have been mentioned only incidentally, we shall now give a more direct and consecutive consideration. with reference to the political reforms of reconstruction the white men of georgia formed three distinct parties. there were those who favored them, either on their ethical and political merits or (more often) as a means of attaining political power otherwise unattainable. they were called scalawags, carpet-baggers and radicals, of which terms we shall adopt the last. there were those unalterably opposed to them, called rebels by their critics and conservatives by themselves. there were, thirdly, those who supported them not upon their merits, which they doubted, but because they saw the state at the mercy of a conqueror and believed that, bad as the measures were, it was better to accept them quickly than to make a vain resistance, which could only prolong the social and commercial disturbances in the state, and which might occasion the administration of a still worse dose. this group embraced many of the commercial class, which was especially large in georgia, and one of the men prominent in former politics, namely governor brown. they were classed by the conservatives with the basest of radicals, but we shall call them the moderate republicans. the admixture of this group with the radical party had important consequences. differing from their party in principle and allying themselves with it to bring peace to the state, when the peace of the state seemed secure, they sometimes adhered to their principles rather than to their party. it is true, many of them became so interested in the great game of politics then going on that they played it for its own sake, but some party splits of importance occurred. the first fruit of the policy of negro enfranchisement and rebel disenfranchisement was the constitutional convention of - . it was stated in the latter part of chapter iv. that in the election for members of this convention many conservatives declined to take part. for this reason the radicals obtained a predominance in the convention which they did not retain in the state government after the conservatives decided to fight. the convention, in fact, was extremely radical. the constitution which it framed shows the thoroughness with which it entered into the humanitarian reforms. the speeches and resolutions show that a close sympathy with the republican party and a bitter antagonism to the conservatives were entertained by most of the members. the temporary chairman, foster blodgett, in his opening speech, mentioned the suspicious, hostile and contemptuous attitude of the conservatives toward the convention. he said: they may stand and rail at us and strive to distract us from our patriotic labors; but we are engaged in a great work ... we are building up the walls of a great state.[ ] parrot, the permanent chairman, said: many of us come here from amongst a people who have spurned us and spit upon us ... the enemies of the convention are watching with envious eyes to see whether we shall be able to meet public expectation.... we should form a state government for an unwilling people based upon the soundest principles ... and in governing them rescue human liberty from the grave, and prevent them from trampling us under foot. on the other side, he said: the republican party of the nation is waiting with intense anxiety the movements of this body. our friends will soon be able to determine whether we shall be a burden upon them ... or aid them in the great work of restoring our state.[ ] when governor jenkins brought suit against stanton on behalf of the state, the convention declared the action unauthorized and in the name of the people of georgia demanded that the suit be dismissed.[ ] on december , , a resolution was passed, asking pope to appoint, in lieu of governor jenkins, a provisional governor, and asking that the person appointed be rufus b. bullock.[ ] unsuccessful here, the convention tried again on january . it requested congress to allow it to vacate the governorship and all other offices now filled by men unfriendly to reconstruction and to fill them with new appointees.[ ] these two last named resolutions suggest not only radical sentiment, but also radical organization in the convention. the attitude of the convention toward the military authorities was most cordial. on december , a reception was given to pope. the general made a speech and received an ovation.[ ] resolutions of friendship and gratitude were voted him on his departure.[ ] meade, on his arrival, received resolutions of welcome,[ ] and resolutions of friendly import on various other occasions.[ ] meade did not entirely reciprocate this cordiality. toward congress the convention was not only cordial; it was almost filial. not only was the united states government eloquently thanked for its magnanimity,[ ] but it was appealed to by the convention as a kind parent by a child confident of favor. it was petitioned to appropriate thirty million dollars to be loaned on mortgage to southern planters;[ ] to loan a hundred thousand dollars to the south georgia and florida railroad,[ ] and "to make a liberal appropriation" for building the proposed air line railroad.[ ] the constitutional convention of had met on october , and adjourned on november , thus completing its work in fourteen days. this dispatch, as well as the style of its resolutions and of the speeches of its members,[ ] had marked it as a body where good taste, decorum and public spirit prevailed. the reconstruction convention met on december , , and continued in session (excepting a recess from december to january ), until march , . the first article of the new constitution on which the convention took action was reported on january .[ ] before that time many resolutions and ordinances were introduced. most of them related to "relief" (such as suspension of tax collections, homestead exemption, stay of execution for debt, etc.), or to the pay and mileage of delegates, and only rarely was anything said about the constitution. on december the more conscientious members secured the appointment of a committee to inquire whether the convention had power to do any business besides frame a constitution.[ ] this committee did not discuss the law of the question, but recommended on moral grounds a resolution to this effect: that all ordinances or other matter ... already introduced and pending are hereby indefinitely postponed; and in future no ordinance or other matter ... not necessarily connected with the fundamental law shall be entertained by this convention [except relief legislation]. this report met with vigorous opposition. it was saved from the table by two votes. but it was adopted.[ ] the contemporary conservative press describes the convention as very infamous and very disgusting.[ ] it contained thirty-three negroes, and the transactions recorded in the official journal show that it was composed largely of men of low character. hence, to many of the delegates, framing the constitution was only a minor incident of the convention, and the main part of that work was left to a small number of men. their work shows intelligence and ability. moreover, in the records of the convention there are not wanting traces of that undoubted public spirit which animated many of the supporters of reconstruction--the honest desire to repair and develop the material welfare of the state. this spirit is evident in the speeches we have cited, and in some of the resolutions. we have stated how the campaign of resulted in giving the governorship to the republicans and a majority of twenty-nine in the legislature to the conservatives; how governor bullock tried to reduce that majority through meade, and how meade refused his aid; and how the majority was more than doubled by the expulsion of the negroes and the seating of the minority candidates. from that time to the reorganization of the legislature in , the most remarkable fact in the state politics was the hostility between the governor and the legislature. after the expulsion of the negroes, the lower house asked the governor to send it the names of the candidates who at the election had received the next highest vote to the persons expelled. the governor sent the names and with them a long protest against the expulsion of the negroes.[ ] the house, on hearing the message, adopted a tart resolution, reminding the governor that the members of each house were "the keepers of their own consciences, and not his excellency."[ ] a similar message to the upper house in response to a similar request provoked a similar resolution, which was defeated by two votes.[ ] it will be remembered that in december, , and january, , the governor urged upon congress, through his letter presented in the senate and through his testimony before the reconstruction committee, the theory that georgia had not yet been restored. on january , , he urged the same view upon the legislature. he advised it to reorganize itself by summoning all men elected members in , requiring each to take the test oath, excluding only those who should not take it, and thus constituted to repass the resolutions required by the omnibus act. if the legislature did not do this, it must submit to congressional interference.[ ] this message apparently caused the legislature some apprehension. it adopted a joint resolution to the effect that it desired the question of the eligibility of negroes to office to be determined by the supreme court of the state. the governor sent this resolution back with one of his admirably keen and powerful messages. he said that congress had two grievances against the present legislature; that it had admitted members disqualified by the fourteenth amendment, contrary to the omnibus act, and that it had expelled twenty-eight negroes. the present resolution, intended to appease congress, ignored the first grievance and proposed no remedy for the second; therefore it was meaningless and absurd.[ ] on january , , the state treasurer, angier, in response to an inquiry from the house of representatives regarding the affairs of his department, intimated that the governor had drawn money from the treasury under suspicious circumstances.[ ] thus began the feud between the governor and the treasurer which continued during the rest of bullock's term. angier's report was referred to the committee on finance. the majority of the committee reported that the governor's acts had been irregular but in good faith. the minority reported that his acts were culpable and his explanations inadequate, and concluded: "the facts herein set forth develop the necessity for further legislation for the security of the treasury."[ ] this report the house adopted by a large majority.[ ] another index of the relations between the governor and the legislature is furnished by the governor's message submitting the proposed fifteenth amendment. it opened thus: it is especially gratifying to learn, as i do from the published proceedings of your honorable body, that senators and representatives who have heretofore acted with a political organization which adopted as one of its principles a denunciation of the acts of a republican congress ... should now give expression to their anxious desire to lose no time in embracing this opportunity of ratifying one of the fundamental principles of the republican party ... and i very much regret that the preparation necessary for a proper presentation of this subject to your honorable body has necessarily caused a short delay, and thereby prolonged the suspense of those who are so anxious to concur.[ ] the radicals probably desired the rejection of the amendment, since it would furnish another strong argument to congress in favor of reorganizing the legislature. hence, the radical governor, as his message shows, did not do his best to induce the legislature to ratify, and probably some radical members for the same reason voted against the amendment or refrained from voting for it. it was defeated in the lower house on march ,[ ] and in the upper on march .[ ] in the last chapter we saw that terry excluded five men from the legislature because the board of inquiry had found them ineligible, and excluded nineteen others because they had failed to take the required oath, and had applied to congress for removal of disabilities. it is safe to assume that all of these twenty-four men were conservatives. nineteen of them had been elected to the lower house, five to the senate.[ ] immediately after organization, on advice of bullock and with the sanction of terry, the senate gave the five vacated seats to the minority candidates,[ ] and the house gave fourteen of its vacated seats to the minority candidates.[ ] the result was that the republicans secured a majority in each house.[ ] the republican control thus secured remained uninterrupted for the remainder of . perfect accord now existed between the governor and legislature, and in the quarrel between bullock and angier, which went on with increased acerbity in the press and before a congressional committee,[ ] the legislature proceeded to transfer its support to the governor.[ ] but republican supremacy was in danger. it was threatened by the moderate republicans. j. e. bryant, a republican, prominent in the state politics since the beginning of the new _régime_, in testifying before the reconstruction committee in january, , had advocated reorganization of the legislature, but had opposed any other interference, especially the restoration of military government.[ ] he and other republicans who shared his opinion were disgusted with the proceedings of bullock and terry. as early as january , , there were reports that the radicals were apprehensive of a combination between the moderate republicans and the conservatives.[ ] probably the strenuous efforts of the radicals to take and make every possible advantage for themselves in the reorganization is partly accounted for by this apprehension. on february , bryant caused to be entered on the journal of the house of representatives a protest denouncing the reorganization proceedings as illegal.[ ] shortly afterwards he published a statement of his position. he said that he was a republican, but was opposed to the corrupt ring which controlled the party in georgia.[ ] from this time on the papers frequently referred to the alliance between the followers of bryant and the conservatives as the salvation of the state.[ ] the radical majority was not quite strong enough to pass a resolution declaring that there should be no election in , as was attempted in august of that year.[ ] but it was strong enough to pass an election law very favorable to the radical party. it changed the date of the election from the regular time in november to december , and following the example set by general pope in , provided that it should continue three days. it established a board of five election managers for each county, three to be appointed by the governor and senate, and two by the county ordinary. it provided that the board should have "no power to refuse the ballot of any male person of apparent full age, a resident of the county, who [had] not previously voted at the said election." also it said: "they [the managers] shall not permit any person to challenge any vote."[ ] another act was passed, calculated to prevent the loss of republican votes through disqualification of negroes for non-payment of taxes. it declared the poll tax levied in , and illegal.[ ] at the election thus provided for were to be chosen a new legislature (except half of the senators, who held four years) and congressmen. to what extent the republicans availed themselves of the advantages offered by the election law we do not know. at any rate, the conservatives obtained two-thirds of the seats in the legislature, and five of the seven seats in congress.[ ] this result meant trouble for the governor, whose term ran to november, . his efforts to secure congressional interference, his conduct in january, , and the accusations of extravagance, corruption, and other crimes continually made by an intemperate press, had raised public indignation to a high point. it was certain that when the new legislature met it would investigate the charges, and it was hoped that the governor would be impeached.[ ] the time of reckoning had been postponed, however, by the prudence of the outgoing legislature, which had provided that the next session of the legislature should begin, instead of in january, the regular time set by the constitution,[ ] on the first wednesday in november, .[ ] the first wednesday in november, , was november . on october , the governor recorded in the executive minutes that he resigned his office, for "good and sufficient reasons," the resignation to take effect on october .[ ] he then quietly left the state. the fact that he had resigned was kept secret until october .[ ] in case of a vacancy in the office of governor, the constitution directed the president of the senate to fill the office.[ ] on october , therefore, conley, the president of the senate at its last session, hastened to be sworn in as governor.[ ] by resigning just before the meeting of the incoming conservative legislature, bullock had thus cleverly prolonged republican power, while at the same time resigning. the question whether under the constitution the governor's office should not be filled by the president of the newly-organized senate, was raised by the papers.[ ] but conley was by common consent left in possession of the office. though, as he said in his first message to the legislature,[ ] "a staunch republican," he was not personally unpopular.[ ] moreover, the legislature intended to furnish a successor very soon. on november , a bill was passed ordering a special election for governor for the remainder of the unexpired term, to be held on the third tuesday in december.[ ] the authority for this act was found in the following provision of the constitution: "the general assembly shall have power to provide by law for filling unexpired terms by a special election."[ ] conley vetoed the bill, on the ground that the section of the constitution quoted empowered the legislature to make general provisions for filling unexpired terms, not to make special provision for single cases.[ ] the bill was passed over his veto. although republican power was now doomed in a few weeks, and although resistance to a legislature which could easily override his vetoes was futile, yet conley stubbornly continued to offer obstructions to the legislature at every possible point up to the very day when his successor was inaugurated.[ ] he exhibited a courage and a political efficiency worthy of his predecessor, but accomplished nothing. he was able, however, to help his friends by means of the pardoning power. several prominent republicans were indicted at this time for various acts of public malfeasance. on the ground that in the existing state of public excitement these men could not obtain a fair trial, conley ordered proceedings against several of these to be discontinued.[ ] on january , , the returns from the special election were sent to the legislature by conley, under protest,[ ] and james m. smith was declared elected. on january , smith was inaugurated. conley assisted at this ceremony, thus yielding the last inch of republican ground.[ ] reviewing the events recorded from the beginning of this chapter, we observe that the period of reconstruction in georgia was not a period when a swarm of harpies took possession of the state government and preyed at will upon a helpless people. the constitutional convention of - forebodes such a period, but when the conservatives rouse themselves, from that time on the stage presents an internecine war between two very well matched enemies. this struggle is usually represented as between a wicked assailant and a righteous assailed. that it was a struggle between republicans and democrats is much more characteristic. in such a contest mutual vilifying of course abounded, and it is not to be supposed _a priori_ that the vilifying of one party was more truthful than that of the other. it is often vaguely said that reconstruction resulted in government by carpet-baggers. john b. gordon, the conservative candidate for governor who was defeated by bullock, expressed before a congressional committee in the belief that there were not more than a dozen men holding offices in georgia who had recently been non-residents. he further said that the judges appointed by the republican governor were entirely satisfactory.[ ] the reconstruction government is charged with having imposed such heavy taxes that as a result the people were impoverished, industry was checked, and many plantations went to waste. during the decade before the war the law provided that a tax should be annually levied at such a rate as to produce $ , , provided the rate should not exceed one-twelfth of one per cent.[ ] the revenue law of provided that a tax should be levied at such a rate as to produce $ , .[ ] owing to the vast destruction of property during the war, this necessitated a higher rate than that before the war. the law of ordered a levy at such a rate as to raise $ , .[ ] this law, made by the johnson government, before reconstruction began, was continued by the legislature in the four following years.[ ] in the rate of assessment was two-fifths of one per cent.[ ] this rate was much higher than the one prevailing before the war, but this misfortune cannot be charged to reconstruction, since the reconstruction government merely followed the example of the johnson government. that the reconstruction _régime_ did not do the economic harm often attributed to it is shown by the fact that during that _régime_ the value of land and of all property in the state steadily increased, as appears from the following table: assessed valuation. land. town and total city property. property. [ ] $ , , $ , , $ , , [ ] , , , , , , [ ] , , , , , , [ ] , , , , , , nevertheless, the reconstruction government spent the public money extravagantly. this fact is shown by a comparison of the expenditures of the state under bullock's administration and under that of his predecessor. such a comparison, it is true, has been employed to prove the contrary. governor bullock was wont to rebut charges of extravagance by showing that the state spent more under jenkins' administration than under his, in proportion to the time occupied by each.[ ] this was true, as the following figures show:[ ] gross expenditures in and $ , , . average annual expenditure during these years , , . gross expenditures from august , , to jan. , , , . gross expenditures in , , . gross expenditures in , , . average annual expenditure during this period , , . a comparison of gross expenditures, however, is of no significance unless the sums contrasted represent payments for the same purposes. under the earlier administration the government undertook large expenditures for the relief of destitute persons, especially of wounded soldiers and the relicts of soldiers.[ ] this accounts for the remarkable size of the amounts credited to "special appropriations" in the report for and . under bullock's administration the government spent nothing for these purposes. for a fair comparison of the economy of the johnson government and the reconstruction government, it is necessary to compare the amounts which they spent respectively for the same objects. their payments for the more important administrative purposes are shown in the following table:[ ] +----------------------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ | | . | . | . | . | +----------------------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ |civil establishment |$ , . |$ , . |$ , . |$ , . | |contingent fund | , . | , . | , . | , . | |printing fund | , . | , . | , . | , . | |special appropriations| , . | , . | , . | , . | +----------------------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ +----------+----------+ | . | . | +----------+----------+ |$ , . |$ , . | | , . | , . | | , . | , . | | , . | , . | +----------+----------+ these figures show that almost all the annual expenditures of bullock's administration, aside from "special appropriations," were well above those of the preceding administration, and that the payments from the printing fund, especially in , and from the contingent fund in , were so large as to convict the administration of great extravagance. the reconstruction legislature was reproached because of its large _per diem_--nine dollars. this _per diem_ was established by the johnson government,[ ] and is, therefore, not a charge against reconstruction. but the other expenses of the legislature fully corroborate the charges of extravagance made against it. this is shown by the following table:[ ] +-----+---------------------+-------------+-------------------+ | | length of session. | total |average expenditure| | | |expenditure. | per month. | +-----+---------------------+-------------+-------------------+ | | dec. to dec. . | | | | | jan. to march .| | | | and | nov. to dec. . | $ , . | $ , . | | .| ------------------- | | | | | - / months.| | | +-----+---------------------+-------------+-------------------+ | .| no session. | | | +-----+---------------------+-------------+-------------------+ | | july to oct. . | | | | and | jan. to march .| $ , . | $ , . | | .| ------------------- | | | | | - / months.| | | +-----+---------------------+-------------+-------------------+ | | jan. to feb. . | | | | | apr. to may . | | | | .| july to oct. . | $ , . | $ , . | | | ------------------- | | | | | - / months. | | | +-----+---------------------+-------------+-------------------+ the state debt created by the reconstruction government was of two kinds; direct and contingent. when the reconstruction government went into operation the state debt was $ , , .[ ] the reconstruction government incurred a bonded debt of $ , , .[ ] this includes bonds to the amount of $ , , which were issued to a railroad in exchange for its bonds to a greater amount and bearing interest at the same rate. this amount, therefore, was not a burden on the state, provided the railroad remained solvent; though in form a direct, it was virtually a contingent liability. further, $ , of the money borrowed was used to pay the principal of the old debt. deducting these two sums, we find that the burden of direct debt was increased by $ , , . contingent debt was incurred by the indorsement of railroad bonds. in the state offered aid of this kind to three railroad companies,[ ] in to four,[ ] and in to thirty.[ ] the state offered to indorse the bonds of each of these companies to the amount, usually, of from $ , to $ , per mile, sometimes more and sometimes less. if all the roads had accepted the full amount of aid offered, the state would have become contingently liable for about $ , , .[ ] but only six roads accepted, and the contingent liability thus created was $ , , .[ ] the laws offering the aid involved little risk to the state; they made substantial progress in construction and substantial evidence of soundness conditions precedent to indorsement, and secured to the state a lien on all the property of each road in case it defaulted. the indorsement of railroad bonds is not a reproach to the reconstruction government. the great policy of that government, when it was sufficiently free from partisan labors to have a policy, was to repair the prosperity of the state, and the construction of railroads was an important means to this end.[ ] the worst stain on the reconstruction government is its management of the state railroad. the western and atlantic railroad, owned and operated by the state until , was placed under the superintendence of foster blodgett by the governor in january, .[ ] thenceforth hundreds of employees were discharged to make room for republican favorites; important positions were filled by strangers to the business; the receipts were stolen,[ ] or squandered in purchases made from other republicans at monstrous prices; and the road suffered great dilapidation.[ ] the preferred object of the conservative abuse in the reconstruction government was governor bullock. we have seen that he was remarkably powerful as well as remarkably active in promoting the interests of his party. he was abused for that. for the extravagance of the state government the governor was held largely responsible. he was abused for that. but he was further accused of fraud in financial matters. although this charge has never been established, the public had some excuse for believing it at the time. as a result of the quarrel between the governor and the treasurer, the governor ordered the bankers who were the financial agents of the state to hold no further communication with the treasurer after june , , but to communicate only with the governor.[ ] the effect upon the public was an impression of great confusion and irregularity in the finances. the treasurer's reports could not give a complete account of state moneys, and the governor was not careful to inform the public of the condition of that part of the finances over which he had assumed control. moreover, the governor and the treasurer kept up a constant interchange of accusation and insinuation in the newspapers. in another way the governor put himself in an unfortunate light. in his letter to the ku klux committee his statements regarding his bond transactions were so vague as to give the impression (rightly or wrongly) of a desire to conceal something.[ ] the same laxity of statement appears in conley's statement of the use to which the bonds issued by bullock had been put.[ ] his sudden resignation and departure on the eve of a threatened investigation seemed to confirm the evidence of his guilt. but though he did not keep the public informed, it has never been established that his accounts were wrong. he spent money freely, and in some cases without authority;[ ] but none of his accusers has ever proved that he spent any without regular and correct record by the comptroller. and though he issued bonds perhaps in excess, he issued none without proper registration in the comptroller's records.[ ] his apparent efforts to conceal facts do not prove fraud; a sufficient motive would be furnished by desire to conceal the extravagance of his administration. furthermore, he has been positively acquitted of the charge of fraud. in he returned to georgia, and the courts proceeded to give him "a speedy and public trial." of his many alleged crimes, indictments were secured for three. one indictment was quashed.[ ] upon the other two the verdict was "not guilty."[ ] his resignation was explained in a letter to his "political friends," published on october , .[ ] he said that he had obtained evidence of a concerted design among certain prominent members of the incoming legislature to impeach him (as they could easily do, with the immense conservative majority), and instal as governor the conservative who would be elected president of the senate. to resign and put the governorship in the hands of a republican who could not be impeached was the only way to defeat this "nefarious scheme." this explanation was of course ignored by bullock's enemies when it was made; but in view of the lack of evidence that he was guilty of any fraud, and in view of the positive evidence to the contrary, there is now no reason to doubt it. the governor made extraordinary use of the pardoning power. according to a statement sanctioned by him, he pardoned four hundred and ninety-eight criminals, forty-one of whom were convicted or accused of murder, fifty-two of burglary, five of arson, and eight of robbery.[ ] the leader of the conservative party at that time, b. h. hill, emphatically declared in a public statement that the governor had no worse motive than "kindness of heart."[ ] to sum up the case against the reconstruction government, we have seen that it was extravagant, that it mismanaged the state railroad, and that it pardoned a great many criminals. it was not guilty of the enormities often associated with reconstruction; but it was a government composed of men who obtained political position only through the interference of an outside power--it was the product of a system conceived partly in vengeance, partly in folly, and partly in political strategy, and imposed by force. it was hated partly for what it did, but more for what it was. chapter x conclusion a confederate veteran recently remarked amid great applause at an assembly in atlanta that there never was a conqueror so magnanimous as the north, for within six years from the surrender of the southern armies she had allowed the south to take part in her national councils. nevertheless, within those six years the congressional disciplinarians gave the south a discipline which she will never forget. it did not result in permanent estrangement between the north and the south, for sectional bitterness seems extinct. but whether there was any profit in it--whether, in case the south never again attempts to secede, that happy omission will be due to reconstruction--may be doubted. was there a clearer gain from the humanitarian point of view? we have seen that at the close of the war a spirit of gratitude and philanthropy prevailed among the most influential of the southern white people as regards the negroes. instead of allowing this spirit to develop and in the course of time to produce its natural results, the north, believing that suffrage was essential to the negro's welfare and progress, forced the south to enfranchise him, by reconstruction. this caused the negro untold immediate harm (since reconstruction was a contributary cause of kukluxism), and delayed his ultimate advance by giving the friendly spirit of the white people a check in its development from which it has not yet recovered. from the point of view of the republican politicians, reconstruction at first succeeded, but later proved a mistaken policy. by it they lost the support of the southern white men who had been opposed to secession. these formed a large party in georgia. the victory of the federal arms had the nature of a party victory for them. they would have added their strength to the republican party. reconstruction, with its threat of negro domination, drove them into the democratic party, where they still remain. for a time this loss was made good by negro votes, but not long. without reconstruction there would have been no fifteenth amendment. but the good will and philanthropy of the people among whom the negro lives, which reconstruction took away, would have brought him more benefit than the fifteenth amendment. without reconstruction there would have been no fourteenth amendment. but a long line of decisions of the supreme court has determined that the fourteenth amendment did not achieve the nationalization of civil rights--an end which might justify reconstruction as a means. in short, reconstruction seems to have produced bad government, political rancor, and social violence and disorder, without compensating good. bibliography. public records and documents. _of the united states government._ congressional globe. public documents. statutes at large. supreme court reports. military orders in the archives of the department of war. correspondence in the same archives. correspondence in the archives of the department of state. unpublished records in the same archives. _of the government of georgia._ journal of the constitutional convention of . journal of the constitutional convention of - . journals of the legislature. reports of the four committees appointed by the legislature in december, to investigate respectively-- the management of the state railroad. the lease of the same road. the official conduct of governor bullock. the transactions of governor bullock's administration relating to the issue of state bonds and the indorsement of railroad bonds. these reports were published in atlanta in . session laws. supreme court reports. reports of the state comptroller. executive minutes in the archives of the state in atlanta. minutes of the fulton county superior court in the office of that court in atlanta. newspapers. atlanta _new era_. atlanta _constitution_. milledgeville _federal union_ (during the war called the _confederate union_). savannah _news_. savannah _republican_. contemporary pamphlets. a letter from rufus b. bullock to the chairman of the ku klux committee, atlanta, . address of the same to the people of georgia, dated october, . letter from the same "to the republican senators and representatives who support the reconstruction acts," washington, may , . historical works and compendia. _american annual cyclopædia_. new york. avery, i. w., _history of georgia_. new york, . bancroft, f. a., _the negro in politics_. new york, . clews, henry, _twenty-eight years in wall street_. london, . cox, s. s., _three decades of federal legislation_. providence, . dunning, w. a., _the civil war and reconstruction_. new york, . fielder, h., _the life and times of joseph e. brown_. springfield, mass., . hill, b. h., jr., _the life, speeches and writings of benjamin h. hill_. atlanta, . lalor, j. j., _cyclopædia of political science_. new york, . articles on reconstruction, georgia, and ku klux. poor, h. v., _manual of the railroads of the united states_. new york, published yearly. sherman, w. t., _memoirs_. new york, . stephens, alex., _the war between the states_. philadelphia, - . taylor, richard, _destruction and reconstruction_. new york, . _tribune almanac_. new york. wilson, henry, _history of the reconstruction measures_. hartford, . footnotes: [ ] alex. stephens, _the war between the states_, vol. ii, p. ; w. t. sherman, _memoirs_, vol. ii, pp. - . [ ] m. c. u., may , . [ ] see the account of the gigantic relief operations of the federal army, a. a. c., , p. . [ ] m. c. u., may , . [ ] letter from joseph e. brown to andrew johnson, dated may , , in the department of war, washington. brown was arrested on may . on may , upon surrendering the state troops to the federal general wilson, he had been paroled. (the parole paper is in the above mentioned archives.) hence the arrest was a violation of his parole. when wilson entered into the parole engagement he had not been informed how his superiors would regard the summoning of the legislature. immediately afterward he probably received orders from the central authorities to arrest brown. he preferred obeying orders to observing his engagement. [ ] g. o. d. s., , no. . [ ] see g. o. d. s., , _passim_. also savannah _republican_, may , , , etc., . [ ] savannah _republican_, july , . see also james johnson's proclamation of july , , m. f. u. of same date. [ ] m. f. u., july , . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , . the provisional governorship, it may be remarked, was characterized by the secretary of war as "ancillary to the withdrawal of military force, the disbandment of armies, and the reduction of military expenditure by provisional [civil organizations] to take the place of armed force." the salaries of the provisional governors were paid from the army contingencies fund. see s. d., th congress, st session, no. . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , p. . [ ] m. f. u., july , ; a. a. c., , p. . [ ] m. f. u., august , ; a. a. c., _loc. cit._ [ ] letter from brown to johnson, dated may , , archives of the department of war, washington. [ ] letter from johnson to stanton dated june , , in same archives. [ ] m. f. u., july , . [ ] m. f. u., july . savannah _republican_, july and . [ ] j. c., , p. . [ ] j. c., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. , . [ ] _ibid._, p. . the ordinance to this effect was passed only after a hard fight, and after a telegraphic warning from the president that if it failed the state would fail of restoration. see s. d., th congress, st session, no. , p. . [ ] j. c., , pp. and . [ ] s. j., - , p. . [ ] s. d., th congress, st session, no. , p. . [ ] s. l., , p. . [ ] m. f. u., december and , . [ ] see jenkins' message to the legislature, m. f. u., december , . [ ] k. k. r., vol. , p. (testimony of john b. gordon). [ ] report of carl schurz on conditions in the south, made in december, . s. d., th congress, d session, no. . [ ] report of carl schurz on conditions in the south, made in december, . s. d., th congress, d session, no. . [ ] art. v, sect. , § . [ ] art. ii, sec. , § . [ ] s. l., - , p. . [ ] s. l., - , p. . [ ] before, the maximum penalty for rape, arson, and burglary in the night had been imprisonment for years, and for horse stealing imprisonment for years. [ ] s. l., - , p. ; , p. . [ ] _ibid._, , p. . [ ] _ibid._, - , p. . [ ] s. l., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, - , p. . [ ] _ibid._ [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, . [ ] s. l., , p. . [ ] j. c., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, . [ ] s. l., , p. . for the governor's message and the report of the committee to which the amendment was referred, see a. a. c., , p. . for a further expression of public opinion, see atlanta _new era_, october , . [ ] s. l., - , p. . [ ] s. l., - , p. , and s. l., , p. . [ ] s. l., , p. . [ ] report of carl schurz above cited. [ ] c. g., th congress, st session. appendix, p. . [ ] one of the senators elect from georgia had been vice-president of the defunct confederacy. [ ] c. g., th congress, st session, p. . [ ] r. c., th congress, st session, vol. ii, p. iii. [ ] c. g., th congress, st session, appendix, p. . [ ] c. g., th congress, st session, p. . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , p. . [ ] trumbull's speech, c. g., th congress, st session, p. . [ ] r. c., th congress, st session, vol. ii. [ ] senate resolution (by andrew johnson), c. g., th congress, st session, pp. , ; house resolution (by crittenden), _ibid._, pp. , . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] u. s. senate journal, th congress, d session, p. . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] _ibid._ [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , p. . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] mississippi _versus_ johnson, wallace, ; georgia _versus_ stanton, wallace, ; _ex parte_ mccardle, wallace, , and wallace, . [ ] wallace, . [ ] the _federalist_, no. . [ ] story on the constitution, chap. ( th edition). [ ] cooley on the constitution, p. ( th edition). [ ] prize cases, black, . [ ] _ex parte_ garland, wallace, . [ ] archives of the department of state, washington. [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. . for other expressions of the same doctrine, see cullom's speech, _ibid._, p. ; sumner's resolutions, c. g., th congress, st session, p. ; sumner's resolutions, c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] g. o. h., , no. and ; , no. ; g. o. t. m. d., , no. ; , no. and . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . also see pope's report, in r. s. w., th congress, d session, vol. i, p. . [ ] there is a slight inaccuracy in the official figures. [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] georgia constitution of , art. i, sec. i. [ ] _ibid._, art. i, sect. xi. [ ] _ibid._, art. ii, sect. ii. [ ] _ibid._, art. ii, sect. vii, § . [ ] _ibid._, art. i, sect. xxii. [ ] _ibid._, art. vi, sect. i. [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. and . [ ] _ibid._, no. , and . also, e. d., th congress d session, no. . [ ] pope's report in r. s. w., th congress, d session, vol. i, p. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] for the correspondence between jenkins and pope see a. a. c., , p. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] s. o. t. m. d., , _passim_. [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] s. o. t. m. d., , no. , , . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] these figures are compiled from the special orders of the third military district. [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] ordinance of dec. , , j. c., - , p. . [ ] avery, _history of georgia_, p. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . meade acted with the greatest courtesy, and the relations between him and the officers remained friendly. see meade's letter to jenkins, a. a. c., , p. . the removal of the treasurer was a formality to preserve the appearance of due discipline; jones was allowed to retain the money then in the treasury, and to use it in paying the state debt and other expenses of the state government. see his report to the legislature, sept. , ; h. j., , p. . [ ] j. c., - , p. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. and . [ ] s. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. and . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. . [ ] _ibid._, , no. and . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. , , , , , and . [ ] m. f. u., oct. , . [ ] atlanta _new era_, nov. , ; march , ; march , . [ ] testimony of john b. gordon, k. k. r., vol. , p. . [ ] atlanta _new era_, march , and , . [ ] m. f. u., oct. and nov. , . [ ] a. a. c., , p. . [ ] testimony before the reconstruction committee, h. m. d., th congress, d session, no. , p. . see also m. f. u., march and , . [ ] tribune almanac for , p. . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , public laws, p. . [ ] see sects. and . [ ] the vote in alabama on the adoption of the constitution resulted in favor of adoption; but less than half of the registered voters voted, and the vote was taken before the passage of the act of march , , above mentioned. excuse was found by the republican leaders for waiving this irregularity. c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. (trumbull's speech). [ ] u. s. l., vol. , public acts, p. . [ ] s. j., . p. . [ ] the iron clad or test oath, to the effect that the person swearing had never borne arms against the united states, or in any way served the confederacy. u. s. l., vol. , p. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] s. r., th congress, d session, no. , p. . see also c. g., st congress, st session, p. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] s. r., th congress, d session, no. , p. . [ ] _ibid._ see also h. j., , p. . [ ] s. j., , p. . [ ] h. j., , pp. , . [ ] s. r., th congress, d session, no. , p. . [ ] s. r., th congress, d session, no. , p. . [ ] _ibid._ [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] g. o. h., , no. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, pp. , , . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] a. a. c., , p. . [ ] the most prominent of these was ex-governor brown. he went as a delegate to the republican national convention in , but in a speech there declared his opposition to the granting of political power to the negro. avery, _history of georgia_, p. . [ ] s. j., , p. . [ ] constitution of , art. xi, § . [ ] irwin's code, , § . [ ] art. i, sec. . [ ] this ingenious argument of intent was made by bullock. h. j., , p. . [ ] white _versus_ clements, georgia reports, vol. , p. . [ ] h. j., , pp. , . s. j., , pp. , . [ ] irwin's code, , § . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] richard taylor, _destruction and reconstruction_. [ ] k. k. r., vol. , p. (testimony of augustus r. wright); p. (testimony of ambrose r. wright); p. (testimony of j. h. christy); p. (testimony of j. e. brown). [ ] _ibid._, vol. , pp. , (testimony of j. e. brown); p. (testimony of b. h. hill). [ ] _ibid._, vol. , pp. (testimony of c. d. forsythe), (testimony of aug. r. wright); vol , pp. (testimony of linton stephens), . [ ] _ibid._, vol. , pp. , (testimony of j. h. caldwell), (testimony of aug. r. wright); vol. , p. (testimony of j. e. brown). [ ] _ibid._, vol. , p. (testimony of j. b. gordon). [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. (trumbull's remarks). [ ] report of committee on reconstruction, h. m. d., th congress, d session, no. , pp. (testimony of akerman), (testimony of j. e. bryant). [ ] k. k. r., vol. , p. (testimony of aug. r. wright). [ ] k. k. r., vol. , p. (testimony of c. w. howard). [ ] this statement is corroborated by the testimony of b. h. hill, k. k. r., vol. , p. . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] s. r., th congress, d session, no. . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. and . [ ] h. m. d., th congress, d session, no. . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , public laws, p. . [ ] c. g., th congress, d session, pp. , . a precedent for this rule was found in the similar treatment of missouri's electoral vote in . [ ] c. c. th congress, d session, pp. , ff. [ ] g. c., - , p. . [ ] c. g., st congress, st session, pp. , . the committee of elections reported on jan. , , that the georgia representatives were not entitled to seats in the st congress, having sat in the th. r. c., st congress, d session, no. . [ ] c. g., st congress, st session, pp. , , . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , appendix, p. xii. [ ] w. a. dunning, _the civil war and reconstruction_, pp. - , . [ ] s. j., , p. ; h. j., p. . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] h. m. d., th congress, d session, no. . [ ] s. d., st congress, d session, no. . [ ] _ibid._ halleck's annual report of nov. , , speaks to the same effect. r. s. w., , abridged edition, p. . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , pub. laws, p. . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. (lawrence's speech). [ ] _ibid._, pp. (carpenter's speech) and (conkling's speech). [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. (lawrence's speech). [ ] g. o. t. m. d., , no. . [ ] g. o. ii., , no. . this and other documents relating to terry's administration are published in e. d., st congress, d session, no. . [ ] s. r., first congress, d session, no. . [ ] g. o. m. d. g., , no. , , , . [ ] s. o. m. d. g., no. , , , , , , , . [ ] _ibid._, no. and . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] s. j., , p. ; h. j., p. . [ ] h. j., p. . [ ] s. j., ., p. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. and . [ ] see also a letter from sherman to terry, published in k. k. r., vol. i, p. . [ ] judge cabaniss in atlanta _constitution_, jan. , . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] g. o. m. d. g., , no. and . [ ] _ibid._, no. and . [ ] _ibid._, no. . [ ] _ibid._, no. and . [ ] atlanta _constitution_, jan. , . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. (trumbull's speech). [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] g. o. m. d. g., , no. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. . [ ] s. j., , p. ; h. j., p. . [ ] see bullock's message, h. j., , p. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. , . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. . for sherman's reply see e. d., st congress, d session, no. . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] s. r., st congress, d session, no. . [ ] chicago _tribune_, dec. , . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, pp. , . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. . [ ] _ibid._ [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. , ff. [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] u. s. l., vol. , public laws, p. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] s. j., , vol. ii, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. ; h. j., p. . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, pp. , , , , . [ ] s. r., st congress, d session, no. . [ ] c. g., st congress, d session, pp. , . [ ] j. c., p. . [ ] j. c., pp. , . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. , . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. , . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] j. c., p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] see j. c., , p. (speech of h. v. johnson). [ ] j. c., - , p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] m. f. u., dec. , , jan. , jan. , . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] s. j., , p. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] h. j., p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, , p. . [ ] s. j., p. . [ ] g. o. m. d. g., , no. and . [ ] s. j., , p. . [ ] h. j., pp. , , , . [ ] the complexion of the legislature when composed of the men elected in april, , was as follows: senate. lower house. +-------------+-------+------------+ | republicans | | | |conservatives| | | +-------------+-------+------------+ after the colored members were expelled and their seats given to the minority candidates, it was as follows: senate. lower house. +-------------+-------+------------+ | republicans | | | |conservatives| | | +-------------+-------+------------+ after the reorganization of it was as follows: senate. lower house. +-------------+-------+------------+ | republicans | | | |conservatives| | | +-------------+-------+------------+ the figures in the second and third tables are based upon the changes produced only by the official transactions referred to. perhaps some slight corrections might be made on account of accidental circumstances, such as the non-attendance or death of a few members. [ ] see k. k. r., vol. , p. ; vol. , p. . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] h. m. d., th congress, d session, no. , p. . [ ] savannah _news_, jan. , . [ ] h. j., p. . [ ] m. f. u., feb. , [ ] m. f. u., jan. , . [ ] h. j., p. . [ ] s. l., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] tribune almanac, , p. . [ ] m. f. u., march , ; atlanta _constitution_, oct. and , . [ ] art. iii, sect. i, § . [ ] s. l., , p. . [ ] e. m., - , p. . [ ] see entry of the secretary of state, _ibid._ [ ] art. iv, sect. i,§ . [ ] e. m., - , p. . [ ] atlanta _constitution_, nov. , . [ ] s. j., , p. . [ ] atlanta _constitution_, nov. , . [ ] s. l., , p. . [ ] art. iv, sect. i, § . [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] for vetoed bills see s. l., and , pp. , , , , , . see also _ibid._, p. , and h. j., , p. . [ ] e. m., - , p. (pardon of v. a. gaskill); minutes of fulton county superior court, vol. j, p. (pardon of f. blodgett). [ ] h. j., , p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] k. k. r., vol. , p. . [ ] digest of tax laws, , p. . [ ] s. l., - , p. . [ ] _ibid._, , p. . [ ] _ibid._, , p. ; , p. . [ ] b. l., p. . [ ] c. r., (printed in s. j., , part ii, p. ). [ ] c. r., . [ ] c. r., april, . [ ] c. r., april, . [ ] b. l., p. ; b. a., p. . [ ] report of state treasurer jones, published in h. j., , p. ; r. c., ; r. c., april, ; r. c., april, . [ ] s. l., - , pp. and ; _ibid._, , pp. , , . [ ] compiled from the financial documents above cited. [ ] s. l., - , p. . [ ] compiled from the financial reports above cited. the enemies of reconstruction were fond of placing the state expenses of bullock's administration in juxtaposition with those before the war. contrasts truly horrible could thus be produced. but it was not a fair comparison, for the expenses in such circumstances as prevailed after the war and after the social revolution would naturally be larger than before. the expenses of many states besides those which enjoyed reconstruction increased largely after the war. _e.g._ the records of pennsylvania show that "expenses of government" were-- in $ , . , . , . , . , . , . , . , . pennsylvania executive documents, auditor's reports, for the years named. in massachusetts the "ordinary expenses" were-- in $ , , . , , . , . , , . , , . , , . , , . massachusetts public documents for the years named. [ ] c. r., . [ ] c. r., april, , p. ; c. r., april, , p. ; b. l., p. ; conley's message to the legislature, jan. , (quoted in b. a., p. , and in k. k. r., vol. i, p. ). of these bonds , , representing a debt of $ , , , were issued under a law of sept. , (s. l., , p. ), authorizing the governor to issue bonds for various purposes without specified limit as to amount. the rest were issued under an act of oct. , (omitted from the session laws, see conley's message just cited), authorizing the governor to issue to the brunswick and albany railroad state bonds to the amount of $ , , in exchange for bonds of the railroad to the amount of $ , , . in addition to the bonds already mentioned, bonds to the amount of $ , were issued under acts of (s. l., , pp. and .) these were not sold and were returned to the possession of the state during bullock's administration (angier's statement, k. k. r., vol. , p. ). also, before the issue of $ , , mentioned, bonds to the amount of $ , , were issued (conley's message cited). these were hypothecated with several bankers in new york. some of them, amounting to $ , , were returned and cancelled during bullock's administration (conley's message). the rest, amounting to $ , , , remained in the hands of the bankers. conley stated, in january, (message cited), that these bonds had been replaced by bonds of a later issue and canceled during bullock's administration, and had therefore ceased to be a claim against the state. this statement conflicts with three facts. . the bankers who held these bonds refused to return them after their alleged cancellation. . one of these bankers sold the bonds which he held after their alleged cancellation (henry clews, _twenty-eight years in wall street_, p. ). . the legislature of georgia repudiated these bonds in , which would have been unnecessary if they had been cancelled. it seems probable, therefore, though not certain, that this $ , , should be added to the debt incurred by the reconstruction government. [ ] s. l., , title xvii. [ ] _ibid._, , title xv. [ ] _ibid._, , title xi, division vii. [ ] angier's statement, k. k. r., vol. i, p. . [ ] conley's message above cited. [ ] it is to be remarked, however, that four of the roads whose bonds the state had guaranteed became bankrupt before . see poor's railroad manual for - , pp. and ; and for - , p. . [ ] e. m., - , p. . [ ] see the case of hoyt, minutes of fulton county superior court, vol. i, pp. , . [ ] report of the investigating committee of the legislature appointed in dec., . its report was printed in atlanta in . it is bitterly partisan, but a minority report made by a republican admits, with humorous resignation, that the charges are true. [ ] a. a. c., , p. . [ ] see k. k. r., vol. i, pp. and . the statements are on pp. and of the letter as published in atlanta in . [ ] see conley's message cited. [ ] in the latter part of and in the governor paid to a certain h. i. kimball $ , from the treasury. he paid this to be used in furnishing a building which was at that time occupied as the state capital. (bullock's statement, b. a., p. .) there was no law authorizing this payment, nor was the state under any obligation to make it. the state bought the building in by an act of the legislature which provided that the $ , should be counted as part of the price. thus bullock's advance was ratified by the state. (s. l., , p. .) this, however, does not change the character of the act. [ ] see c. r., april, , and april, . bullock was accused of indorsing the bonds of three railroads contrary to law. in the case of two of these (the cartersville and van wert, or cherokee railroad, and the bainbridge, cuthbert and columbus railroad) he refuted the charge beyond contradiction in his address to the public of . in the case of the third (the brunswick and albany railroad) he admitted that he had indorsed bonds before the road had complied with the conditions required by law, but said that he did it for the public good. (b. a., pp. - .) [ ] atlanta _constitution_, jan. , ; minutes of the fulton county superior court, vol. n, p. . [ ] _ibid._, pp. , . [ ] atlanta _new era_, oct. , . printed as an appendix to b. a. [ ] appendix to b. l. (printed in k. k. r., vol. , p. ). [ ] k. k. r., vol. , pp. and . studies in history, economics and public law edited by the faculty of political science of columbia university. volume i, - . second edition, . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . the divorce problem--a study in statistics. by walter f. willcox, ph. d. price, ¢. . the history of tariff administration in the united states, from colonial times to the mckinley administrative bill. by john dean goss, ph. d. price, $ . . . history of municipal land ownership on manhattan island. by george ashton black, ph. d. price, $ . . . financial history of massachusetts. by charles h. j. douglas, ph. d. (_not sold separately._) volume ii, - . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . the economics of the russian village. by isaac a. hourwich, ph. d. (_out of print._) . bankruptcy. a study in comparative legislation. by samuel w. dunscomb, jr., ph. d. price, $ . . . special assessments: a study in municipal finance. by victor rosewater, ph. d. second edition, . price, $ . . volume iii, . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . history of elections in the american colonies. by cortlandt f. bishop, ph. d. price, $ . . _vol. iii, no. , may also be obtained bound._ price, $ . . . the commercial policy of england toward the american colonies. by george l. beer, a. m. price, $ . volume iv, - . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . financial history of virginia. by w. z. ripley, ph. d. price, $ . . . the inheritance tax. by max west, ph. d. (_out of print._) . history of taxation in vermont. by frederick a. wood, ph. d. price, $ . . volume v, - . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . double taxation in the united states. by francis walker, ph. d. price, $ . . . the separation of governmental powers. by william bondy, ll. b., ph. d. price, $ . . . municipal government in michigan and ohio. by delos f. wilcox, ph. d. price $ . . volume vi, . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . history of proprietary government in pennsylvania. by william robert shepherd, ph. d. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . volume vii, . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . history of the transition from provincial to commonwealth government in massachusetts. by harry a. cushing, ph. d. price, $ . . . speculation on the stock and produce exchanges of the united states. by henry crosby emery, ph. d. price, $ . . volume viii, - . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . the struggle between president johnson and congress over reconstruction. by charles ernest chadsey, ph. d. price, $ . . . recent centralizing tendencies in state educational administration. by william clarence webster, ph. d. price, ¢. . the abolition of privateering and the declaration of paris. by francis r. stark, ll. b., ph. d. price, $ . . . public administration in massachusetts. the relation of central to local activity. by robert harvey whitten, ph. d. price, $ . . volume ix, - . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . english local government of to-day. a study of the relations of central and local government. by milo roy maltbie, ph. d. price, $ . . _vol. ix, no. , may also be obtained bound._ price, $ . . . german wage theories. a history of their development. by james w. crook, ph. d. price, $ . . . the centralization of administration in new york state. by john archibald fairlie, ph. d. price, $ . . volume x, - . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . sympathetic strikes and sympathetic lockouts. by fred s. hall, ph.d. price, $ . . . rhode island and the formation of the union. by frank greene bates, ph.d. price, $ . . . centralized administration of liquor laws in the american commonwealths. by clement moore lacey sites, ph.d. price, $ . . volume xi, . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . the growth of cities. by adna ferrin weber, ph.d. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . volume xii, - . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . history and functions of central labor unions. by william maxwell burke, ph. d. price, $ . . . colonial immigration laws. by edward emberson proper, a.m. price, ¢. . history of military pension legislation in the united states. by william henry glasson, ph.d. price, $ . . . history of the theory of sovereignty since rousseau. by charles e. merriam, jr., ph.d. price, $ . . volume xiii, . pp. price, $ . ; bound, $ . . . the legal property relations of married parties. by isidor loeb, ph. d. price, $ . . . political nativism in new york state. by louis dow scisco; ph. d. price, $ . . . the reconstruction of georgia. by edwin c. woolley, ph. d. price, $ . . volume xiv, . . loyalism in new york during the american revolution. by alexander clarence flick, ph. d. price, $ . . . the economic theory of risk and insurance. by allan h. willett, ph. d. price, $ . . volume xv, . civilization through crime. by arthur cleveland hall. [_ready in july._] the set of thirteen volumes (except that vol. ii can be supplied only in unbound nos. and ) is offered bound for $ . for further information apply to prof. edwin r. a. seligman, columbia university, or to the macmillan company, new york, london: p. s. king & son, orchard house, westminster. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. footnote appears on page , but there is no corresponding marker on the page. punctuation has been corrected without note. the following misprints have been corrected: "consitutional" corrected to "constitutional" (page ) "conventton" corrected to "convention" (page ) "repudiaation" corrected to "repudiation" (page ) "and and" corrected to "and" (page ) "attitnde" corrected to "attitude" (page ) "acording" corrected to "according" (page ) "admendment" corrected to "amendment" (page ) "we we" corrected to "we" (page ) "reconstructien" corrected to "reconstruction" (page ) "circumsances" corrected to "circumstances" (page ) "expeditures" corrected to "expenditures" (page ) "iuterchange" corrected to "interchange" (page ) "hfs" corrected to "his" (page ) "polictical" corrected to "political" (page ) other than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original. a letter to hon. charles sumner, with "statements" of outrages upon freedmen in georgia, and an account of my expulsion from andersonville, ga., by the ku-klux klan. by rev. h. w. pierson, d.d., formerly president of cumberland college, kentucky; author of jefferson at monticello, or the private life of thomas jefferson; corresponding member n. y. historical society, etc. compliments of the author. washington: chronicle print., ninth street. . [copy.] new york, _november, _ to the rev. h. w. pierson, d.d., _president of cumberland college, kentucky:_ dear sir: the undersigned beg leave respectfully to suggest to you the propriety of repeating your paper read before the historical society at a recent meeting, on the private life of thomas jefferson, and making public a larger portion of your ample materials, in the form of public lectures. the unanimous expression of approbation on the part of the society, which your paper elicited, is an earnest of the satisfaction with which your consent to lecture will be received by the public at large. we have the honor to be, very respectfully, yours, george bancroft, hamilton fish, wm. m. evarts, frederic de peyster, benj. h. field, george folsom, l. bradish, isaac ferris, gorham d. abbot, samuel osgood, george potts, henry w. bellows, joseph g. cogswell, horace webster, and many others. lawlessness in georgia. washington, d. c., _march , _. my dear sir: it would not become me to express an opinion upon any of the legal questions involved in the georgia bill now before the senate, but i respectfully call your attention to the following "statements" of facts. i certainly am not surprised that honorable gentlemen whom i greatly esteem, should express their belief that the outrages committed upon the freedmen and union men in georgia have been greatly exaggerated in the statements that have been presented to congress and the country. i know that to persons and communities not intimately acquainted with the state of society, and the civilization developed by the institution of slavery, they seem absolutely incredible. allow me to say, from my personal knowledge, and profoundly conscious of my responsibility to god and to history, that the statements that have been given to the public in regard to outrages in georgia come far short of the real facts in the case. permit me to add that i went to andersonville, ga., to labor as a pastor and teacher of the freedmen, _without pay_, as i had labored during the war in the service of the _christian commission_; that i had nothing at all to do with the political affairs of the state; that i did not know, and, so far as i am aware, i did not see or speak to any man who held a civil office in the state, except the magistrate at andersonville; that a few days after my arrival there i performed the first religious services, and participated in the first public honors that were ever rendered to the , "brave boys" who sleep there, by decorating the cemetery with procession, prayer, and solemn hymns to god, as described in appendix a. my time and labors were sacredly given to the freedmen. in addition to the usual sabbath services i visited them in their cabins around the stockades, and in the vicinity of the cemetery, reading the bible to them, and talking and praying with them. it was in the prosecution of these labors that i saw and heard more of sufferings and horrible outrages inflicted upon the freedmen than i saw and heard of as inflicted upon slaves in any five years of constant horseback travel in the south before the war, when i visited thousands of plantations as agent of the american tract society, the american bible society, and as president of cumberland college, princeton, kentucky. as illustrations of the sufferings of these oppressed, outraged people, and of their utter helplessness and want of protection from the state or federal courts, i give a few of the "statements" that i wrote down from their own lips. i know these men, and have entire confidence in their "statements." statement of cane cook. cane cook now lives near americus, sumter county, georgia. i heard through the colored people of the inhuman outrages committed upon him, and sent word to him to come to me if possible, that i might get a statement of the facts from his own lips. with the greatest difficulty he got into the cars at americus, and came here to-day. he says: "i worked for robert hodges, last year, who lives about two and-a-half miles from andersonville, georgia. i had my own stock, and rented land from him, agreeing to give him one-third of the corn, and one-fourth of the cotton for rent. we divided the corn by the wagon load, and had no trouble about that. i made three bags of cotton, weighing , , and pounds when it was packed. mr. hodges weighed it again, and i don't know what he has got it down, but that was the right weight; one-fourth was his, and three-fourths mine. he told me he would buy my cotton and pay me the market price, which was twenty-one cents that day, and i told him he might have it. i got some meat and corn and other things from him during the year, and he paid me $ in cash christmas. i went to him last friday a week ago, (january th, ) for a settlement. when he read over his account he had a gallon of syrup charged to me, and i told him i had not had any syrup of him. he asked me if i disputed his word. i told him that i did not want to dispute his word, but i had not had any syrup from him. he got up very angry, and took a large hickory stick and came towards me. i went backwards towards the door, and he followed me. he is a strong man and i did not want to have any trouble with him, and i gave him no impudence. i had a small piece of clap-board in my hand, that i had walked with. he told me to throw it down. i made no attempt to strike him, but held it up to keep off his blow. i went backwards to the door and to the edge of the porch, and he followed me. as i turned to go down the steps--there are four steps--he struck me a powerful blow on the back of my head, and i fell from the porch to the ground. i was not entirely senseless, but i was stiff and could not move hand or foot. i lay a long time--i do not know how long--but he did not touch me. jolly low was at work upon the house, and he came down where i was, and mr. hodges told him he might lift me up if he was a mind to. he lifted me up and set me on the steps. mr. hodges then sent about three miles for dr. westbrook, and he came and bled me in both arms; but i was so cold my left arm would not bleed at all, and my right arm bled but a very little. the doctor then told me to go to my friend's house and let him take care of me. two colored men--anthony dukes and edward corrillus--took me under each arm and carried me to burrell corrillus' house, about one hundred and fifty yards. i could not bear my weight upon my feet or stand at all. the doctor rode by and told mrs. corrillus to take good care of me and keep me there a couple of days. i staid there until sunday afternoon, when two men lifted me into a buggy and mr. corrillus carried me to my wife near americus. my hands, arms, back, and legs are almost useless. i have not been able to lift a bit of food to my mouth. i have to be fed like a baby. i have not gone before any of the courts. i have no money to pay a lawyer, and i know it would do no good. mr. hodges has not paid me for my cotton, and says he will not settle with me, but will settle with any man i will send him. while i lay before his door he told me that if i died he would pay my wife $ . i hope there will be some law sometime for us poor oppressed people. if we could only get land and have homes we could get along; but they won't sell us any land." andersonville, ga., _feb. , _. mr. cook is about fifty years old, has a large frame, has been an industrious, hard-working man, but is now almost entirely paralized and helpless. he is the most shattered, complete, and pitiable wreck from human violence i have ever seen. mr. hodges, i am told, owns about six thousand acres of land, and is one of the most prominent and respected citizens of sumter county. he is a methodist preacher, and mr. reese informs me, as i write, that he has heard him preach a great many times in the last twenty years to both white and colored people at camp-meetings and different meeting-houses in this region. he refuses to sell any of his land to the colored people, and will not allow them to build a school-house on it. statement of floyd snelson. floyd snelson, foreman of the hands employed by the government in the national cemetery, andersonville, georgia, says: "that in july, , after the work was suspended in the cemetery, and the lieutenant in charge had gone to marietta, georgia, and the schools for the freedmen were closed, and the teachers had left for the north, mr. b. b. dikes notified all the colored people who occupied buildings on the land now claimed by him, formerly occupied by the confederate government, in connection with the andersonville prison, that they must get out of their buildings within four days, or he would have them put out by the sheriff, and they would have the cost to pay. nearly all of these men had been in the employ of the government, at work in the national cemetery, many of them from the commencement of this work after the surrender. they all occupied these buildings by permission of the officer in charge of the cemetery, by whom they were employed. many of them had built these houses at their own expense, and cleared, fenced, and cultivated gardens of from one to four acres, which were covered with corn, potatoes, and other vegetables, which, with their houses, they were required to leave without any compensation. including these laborers and their families, about two hundred persons occupied these buildings. on account of the great difficulty of getting homes for so many on such short notice, most of these colored people applied to mr. dikes for the priviledge of occupying their houses and paying rent, either in money or a part of the crops that they were growing. but he refused, and said they could not stay on any terms. on the day appointed by mr. dikes, (wednesday, july th, ,) the most of the white people in from six to ten miles around, appeared in andersonville, with their arms, and mr. souber, the magistrate of the district, and mr. raiford, the sheriff of the county, accompanied by a party of some twenty-six or thirty armed white men, went to the houses of all these people, (except a very few who had vacated their premises,) and threw all their furniture, and provisions of every kind, out of doors. they then nailed up the doors of all their cabins, on the inside, and punched off a part of the roofs, and got out in this way. by about two p. m., all these people, with their furniture, bedding, provisions, and everything that they possessed, were turned out of doors. "about four o'clock, the most violent rain storm, accompanied with the most terrific thunder and lightning ever known here, commenced and continued the most of the night. every mill-dam and many of the mills in a circle of ten miles were washed away and so completely destroyed that but one of them has been repaired so as to be used. the women--some of them about to be confined--children and invalids were exposed to this storm during the night. their beds, clothing, provisions, and themselves were as completely drenched as if they had been thrown into a brook. some of these people got homes by working for their board. some able-bodied men got twenty-five cents a day. some of them, (deacon turner hall, of the congregational church, andersonville, among the number,) walked from ten to twenty miles a day, and could get neither homes nor work at any price at all. many women and children lay out of doors guarding their things, and exposed to the weather nearly a week, before they could get any shelter at all--their husbands and fathers roaming over the country to find some kind of a home. the rev. f. haley, of the american missionary association, arrived the next day, to look after the property of the mission. his life was threatened, but the colored people rallied around him to protect him, and he left the next day unharmed. large numbers of the white people, from the neighborhood, assembled at andersonville every day until saturday night, when they set fire to nine ( ) of the buildings, that had been built by the colored people, and burnt them up, and tore down their fences and destroyed their crops. the colored people, supposing that they intended to burn the buildings occupied for the "teacher's home" and the "freedmen's school," rallied and protected them. no one of the men engaged in these outrages, has ever been arrested or punished in any way, and no one of these freedmen has ever had any redress for his sufferings and losses. i will make oath to these statements." andersonville, ga., _feb. , _. statement of george smith. george smith now resides five miles from ellaville, in schley county, georgia. he says: "before the election of grant, large bodies of men were riding about the country in the night for more than a month. they and their horses were covered with large white sheets, so that you could not tell them or their horses. they gave out word that they would whip every radical in the country that intended to vote for grant, and did whip all they could get hold of. they sent word to me that i was one of the leaders of the grant club, and they would whip me. i saw them pass my house one night, and i should think there were thirty or forty of them. they looked in the night like jersey wagons. i supposed they were after me, and i took my blanket and gun and ran to the woods and lay out all night, and a good many other nights. nearly all the radicals in the neighborhood lay in the woods every night for two weeks before election. the kuklux would go to the houses of all that belonged to the grant club, call them to the door, throw a blanket over them and carry them off and whip them, and try and make them promise to vote for seymour and blair. the night i saw them they went to the house of mr. henry davis and ordered him out. he refused to come out and they tore down both of his doors. he fired at them and escaped. i heard a good many shots fired at him. he lay out about a week in the woods, and then slipped back in the night and got his family and moved off. he had bought a place and paid $ on it but he could not get a deed, and he has gone off and left it. they then went to the house of tom pitman and jonas swanson, called them to the door, threw blankets over their heads, carried them off and whipped them tremendously. they told them that they were damned radicals and leaders of the grant club, and that they would whip every one that voted for grant, and would not give any work to any but democrats. "bob wiggins, a preacher, was whipped all most to death because they said he was preaching radical doctrines to the colored people. it was supposed for a good many days that he would die, but he finally recovered. "i attended the election at ellaville. none of the radicals that had been ku-kluxed tried to vote; but a good many radicals did try to vote, but the judges made them all show their tickets, and if they were for grant they would not let them vote. i saw how they treated others and did not try to put my vote in. i went early in the morning, and the white and colored democrats voted until about noon, when i went home." andersonville, _february , _. statement of richard reese. richard reese, president of the grant club of schley county, confirms the statements of george smith in regard to the treatment of the radicals in schley county. he says: "when the ku-klux commenced riding about the country i was at macon attending the colored convention. when i got home some white men, democrats, who were friends of mine, told me that the ku-klux would certainly kill me if i staid at home at nights. i took my blanket and hid in the woods. i have never had a gun or pistol in my life. i lay in the woods every night until after election. day times i came home and worked my crop. one day, as i was in my yard, mr. jack childers, a democrat, came along from americus, and said to me, 'where is old dick, the damned old radical?' i said, 'here i am.' he said, 'well, you will be certain to be killed.' i said, 'well, if they kill me they will kill a good old radical, and i haven't got much longer to live noway.' he then started to get out of his buggy and come at me, but the man with him held him in and drove on. i had the grant tickets in my house, and went to the bumphead precinct, but there were more radicals than democrats there, and they would not open the polls at all. we staid there till twelve o'clock, then started for ellaville. the white and colored democrats were voting, but they would not let a radical vote until about two o'clock, when charley hudson got upon a stump and said no man could vote unless he had paid his taxes. he then got down, and he and nearly every white man there went around to the colored voters and told them that if they would vote the democratic ticket their tax was paid. i offered my ticket, and they said my tax was not paid, and if i put in my ticket they would put me in jail, and send me to the penitentiary. i had already agreed with a white man, who owed me $ , to pay my tax, and he said he had done it, but when i found him, and he found what was the matter, he said he had not paid it. they demanded $ . poll-tax, and i paid it and put in my vote. they were determined that i should not vote, and i was determined that i would vote for grant any way, as i was the president of the club. they told me if i would vote for seymour and blair i need not pay my taxes. after i got my vote in i took all my grant tickets and scattered them among the crowd, and told my club they need not try to vote, it would do no good. grant would be elected without schley county, and we all went home. "last spring we built a school-house, and hired a white lady to teach our school for several months. we held meetings and schools every sunday. friday night, february , , our school-house was burned up. "last night we had a meeting to see what we could do about building another house. we have a deed of one-and-a-half acres of land, but there is no timber on it, and the owners of the land around have put up a paper forbidding us to cut a stick on their's, and see how tight they have got us. we want the government or somebody to help us build. we want some law to protect us. we know that we could burn their churches and schools, but it is against the law to burn houses, and we don't want to break the law or harm anybody. we want the law to protect us, and all we want is to live under the law." andersonville, _feb. , _. statement of rev. charles ennis. charles ennis informs me that he was sixty-two years old last june; that he was the slave of mr. g. c. mcbee, who kept the ferry on the holston river, fifteen miles from knoxville tennessee; that he has often ferried the hon. messrs. brownlow and maynard over the river; that he learned to read when a small boy, and that he is now a preacher and teacher. he is the most intelligent colored man i have seen at andersonville. he says: "my wife has been a midwife for many years, and has attended upon a good many white and colored women in child-birth. last year we lived in mitchell county, and mr. henry adams, of baker county, sent for her to attend his wife, who was about to be confined. the child was born and did well. after the riot at camilla we were afraid to remain in mitchell county. i lived within three miles of camilla, and a good many of the dead were very near me, but i did not see any of them. i was afraid to go from home. dr. sanders, who attended upon those who were shot, told me that more than fifty were killed and wounded. mr. adams said his wife liked my wife so well that he wanted us to go to houston county with him, and he would pay our expenses there; and then he would certainly get me a school, and i could live on his place with my wife, and he would pay her $ a year wages. i told him we would not engage by the year, but only by the month, so long as we could agree. mr. robert adams, his uncle, was his partner, and managed the plantation. on the th of january, , he told my wife he wanted breakfast very early, as he was going to attend the burying of his nephew's wife next morning. she got up before day and got it, and i carried it to him and he ate it by candle light. after breakfast, as my wife was going to milk, he came out doors, and when he saw her he said: 'o you d----d old b----h, i have catched up to you, you g----d d----d old rogue,' and a good deal more of the same sort. i was surprised at this, as i knew she had got the breakfast all right, and i had carried it in to him. i went out and asked him in a mild manner, 'mr. adams, what is the matter? what has she done?' he made no reply at all, but rushed at me and caught me by the hair and commenced beating me. he struck me several times on the head. i made no resistance at all, but said, 'mr. adams, i will make you pay, for this.' this made him still worse, and he took out his knife and said he would give me something to make him pay for--he would kill me. "henry ottrecht, a german, and a colored boy named wash caught him and begged him not to kill me, and told me to promise him that i would not report him. he held on to me until i promised him that i would not report him, and then let me go. he told these men that he would have killed me if they had not prevented him. as he started away to attend the burying of his nephew's wife, he said to me, 'now you may go to perry,' (the county seat,) 'and report me if you want; but if you do i'll be d----d if i don't kill you.' at night my wife heard him tell charles evart, a freedman, about the scrape, and he said he would have killed me if they had not held him, and he would kill me anyway, if i reported him. i was a slave until freed the by war, but i never received such treatment during all my life as a slave. i waited on officers in the confederate army from until the surrender. the last six months i was with lt. col. jones, second georgia reserves, at andersonville. i never received a blow or a harsh word from one of them. i have traveled a great deal before and since the war. i know that the colored people are more brutally treated now than they were in slavery times. a great many more are beaten, wounded and killed now than then. i know a great many cases where they have been beaten to death with clubs, killed with knives and dirks, shot and hung. we have no protection at all from the laws of georgia. we had rather die than go back into slavery, but we are worse treated than we ever were before. we cannot protect ourselves; we want the government to protect us. a great many freedmen have told me that we should be obliged to rise and take arms and protect ourselves, but i have always told them this would not do; that the whole south would then come against us and kill us off, as the indians have been killed off. i have always told them the best way was for us to apply to the government for protection, and let them protect us." andersonville, ga., _february , _. why i was ku kluxed. mr. b. b. dikes, referred to in the foregoing statement of floyd snelson, is not the only claimant who has endeavored to secure possession of the grounds in and around the stockades at _andersonville, georgia_. i should have said that he has entered a suit in the u. s. court for the possession of these lands, but in the absence of the military he judged the ejectment of the freedmen, and getting possession in the manner i have described, as more sure and speedy than the "law's delay." a mr. crawford claims that the land which lies within and around the south stockade, in which are the hospital sheds, where so many of our soldiers died, where even now the bare ground upon which they lay shows the indenture made by the bodies of our suffering dying soldiers, belongs to certain heirs, and he, too, has been endeavoring to get possession of these grounds. my pastoral visitations led me to the cabins in and around the stockades, that have been built upon the land now claimed by mr. crawford. as was most natural, they poured into my ears the sad, the almost incredible, accounts of the wrongs they have suffered "since freedom came," or, as they more frequently expressed it, "since the surrender came through." one of these men came to me in january, in great distress, and told me that the day before he had been notified by mr. souber, the magistrate of the district, that he must leave his house by the next monday night, or he would bring the sheriff and turn him out. mr. souber told him that he had charge of the land for mr. crawford, _and that he was agoing to fence it in, and raise a cotton crop in and around these stockades_. there are thousands who know how this soil has been ensanguined and enriched. i had frequently walked over these grounds, and seen evidences of what is both too indelicate and too horrible to be described. i confess that my indignation was roused to the highest degree. i sat down immediately and wrote a statement of these facts to hon. j. m. ashley, and begged him to call on general grant, and see if there was any power in the government to prevent these outrages. the lieutenant in charge at andersonville called upon me some days later, and informed me that my letter to congressman ashley had been referred, by general grant to general meade, who had referred it to him. i furnished him the facts upon which it was based, and also wrote general meade as follows: [copy.] andersonville, ga., _january , _. general: i send you the accompanying "statements" in regard to the matters referred to in my letter to the hon. j. m. ashley, m.c. my letter was based upon _part_ of these statements. those additional to what had then been communicated to me are the result of investigations made since lieutenant corliss informed me that my letter had been referred to general meade and to himself. i have been acquainted with colored people in the south more than twenty-five years i know the difficulty of getting at the truth in such matters. but i think these "statements" can be depended upon. with great respect, yours very truly, h. w. pierson. to major general meade. statements of albert williams, martha randall, jane rogers, and benjamin weston. albert williams states to me that in january after the surrender he was employed by the government to work in the cemetery, and worked there until last spring. that mr. van dusen, supt. of the cemetery, gave him the privilege of moving into the house he now occupies, near the stockade that enclosed the hospital buildings; that afterwards captain rench gave him the privilege of clearing off the ground east of the stockade and raising a crop; that he hired hands and cleared and fenced about fifteen acres; that his wife and children helped to raise a crop; that after it was "laid by," mr. crawford, who claims the land, called on him and demanded rent, that he also called on lewis williams, howard ingraham, and butler johnson, who were raising crops around the stockades by permission of captain rench, and demanded rent, that mr. crawford called upon us four, with mr. b. b. dikes and esquire souber, and compelled us to sign a written contract, which they had prepared, that each of us four would pay forty bushels of corn each for rent; that he (williams) was unable to pay the forty bushels of corn, but did pay ten dollars in money, ten bushels of corn which he gathered and hauled to mr. dikes' crib, for which he was allowed fifteen dollars in rent. none of the four men were able to pay the forty bushels of corn; but mr. crawford brought the bailiff, john law, and took what corn he could, and a sow and pig from howard ingraham. all these men but me have left their places that they had cleared and fenced, because they could not pay such rent, and mr. crawford has put the places in charge of mr. souber, and brought him two males to cultivate the grounds. mr. williams states that twice the stockade has been set on fire in the night, and he and his boys have toted water and put it out. mr. williams states that mr. souber came to his house some two or three weeks ago, and told him he must get out of the house and leave the place, that he had charge of it now, that he was going to fence in the grounds and raise a crop in and around the stockade, and that he would not let any body live there but those that worked the place. that some time after this mr. souber sent him word by bob stevens that he had rented the place to him, and that he must get out or mr. souber would have him put out by the sheriff, mr. raiford; that mr. stevens and his wife have both been to his house several times with this message from mr. souber; that last saturday (january , ,) his wife told him that mr. souber came to his house while he was away and told her we must get out by monday night or he would bring the sheriff and have us put out. mr. williams says he will make oath to these statements. mrs. martha randall and mrs. jane rogers live very near mr. williams. they state to me that they occupy the house by permission of mr. souber, as they have agreed to work for him. they both say to me that they heard mr. souber tell mrs. williams, last saturday, that "they must get out of the house or he would have the sheriff put them out." note--you will see that there are three witnesses to these statements of mr. souber. i saw each of them "separate and apart" from the others, and no one knew what the others had said, and their statements agreed in every particular. benjamin weston states to me that major anthony gave him permission to raise a crop east of the stockade, where the small-pox hospital was located. that he cleared and fenced about six acres; that there was no clearing on the land--only some of the underbrush was cut out; that there was not a rail on the place; that he cut and split all the rails and made a good fence, and raised a crop of corn; that about the first of august mr. crawford came to him and said the land was his, and demanded thirty-five bushels of corn for rent, and required him to sign a contract and give security for that amount; that the place only yielded about twenty bushels, of which his family and stock used ten bushels, and he gave ten bushels for rent. mr. weston states that he heard that mr. souber had charge of the land, and about the first of january he applied to him to rent what he had cleared and fenced. mr. souber told him that he had charge of the land but it was not for rent; he was agoing to tend it himself. he then asked me what mr. williams was agoing to do. i told him i did not know. he said well, he had better hunt him a house, for i am agoing to tend that place myself. mr. weston says he has never had any pay for clearing and fencing the land, only about ten bushels of corn, as above stated. he says he will make oath to the above statements. _january , ._ general: i do not know the boundaries of the land claimed by crawford, but as far as i am able to learn, the mob that burnt the buildings here last summer, and threats and treatment like that detailed above, have driven off all the families that occupied these grounds by authority of officers of the united states government, except mr. williams, and mr. rhodes who occupies a building in the large stockade, which he tells me he has been warned to leave. through the means above detailed mr. c. has very nearly secured possession, which is nine-tenths in law. with great respect, yours, very truly, h. w. pierson. to major general meade. on the th of february, , captain bean called on me and introduced himself as a member of general meade's staff, and said he had come from atlanta to andersonville by order of general meade to make investigations in regard to the matters referred to in my letters. i went with him to the stockade and pointed out the new fences made and the grounds claimed by mr. souber. at his request i went with him to the office of mr. williams, the superintendent of the cemetery, and in my presence he told him _to notify mr. souber to suspend all work upon these grounds_. i confess that i was exceedingly gratified at this complete success of my efforts. i felt that these historic grounds, this gethsemane of the nation, had been rescued from what i could but esteem a sacrilegious use and possession, and that the flag that floated over the dead at andersonville had been honored by this order. when i told the freedmen the result of captain bean's visit their joy was great. in describing to me, as they often had, the suffering and losses they had endured when they were driven from their homes, and their cabins were burnt last summer, they always, in their simplicity, spoke of it as the time "when the government busted up." and this truly described the condition of the government from that time to the present, so far as they were concerned, for these facts show that no matter how horrible and brutal the outrage and personal violence committed upon them there had been no punishment to the perpetrators and no redress to the freedmen. now they felt that the government would again afford them some protection. but great as was my joy, and the joy of the suffering freedmen, it was nothing to the _rage_ of those who, after so long a struggle, had been defeated in their efforts to get possession of these grounds just as they were about to become completely successful. captain bean visited and left andersonville on the th. on the th i received a ku-klux letter, of which the following is a true copy: **************** * skull and * * cross-bones. * **************** "february , . "dr. pearson (so-called). "sir: for your especial benefit i am instructed to write you this special communication of warning and instruction. "the citizens of this place are aware of a few facts relative to yourself that i will proceed to designate: in the first place, they know you to be a wandering _vagrant carpet bagger_, without visible means of support, and living at present on the earnings of those who are endeavoring to make an honest living by teaching. you have also proved yourself a _scoundrel_ of the deepest dye by maliciously interfering in matters which do not in the least concern you, to the detriment of some of our citizens. "this, therefore, is to warn you to leave this county forthwith. twenty-four ( ) hours from the above date is the time allowed for you to leave. if after the said time your devilish countenance is seen at _this place or vicinity your worthless life will pay the forfeit_. congressional reconstruction, the military, nor anything else under heaven, will prevent summary justice being meted out to such an incarnate fiend as yourself. "by order of committee." i should do great injustice to mr. dikes, mr. souber, and mr. crawford, and their sympathising friends, the author and inspirers of the above letter, were i to say, or convey the impression, that they were worse men than their neighbors. from what i have seen and heard of them i am sure that in _mental culture_, in _kindness of heart_, in _loyalty_, and in _christian civilization_ they are decidedly _above_ rather than _below_ the over-whelming majority of their fellow citizens. they represent not the _lowest_ but the _highest_ type of patriotism, philanthropy, and christianity prevailing in that region. i challenge their late congressional representative, the hon. nelson tift, to go before his constituents and deny my statements in regard to the social standing of these men. the above letter states my offence: "you have proved yourself a _scoundrel_ of the deepest dye, by maliciously interfering in matters which do not in the least concern you, to the _detriment_ of some of our citizens." but general grant, general wade, and captain bean interfered far more potentially than i did. if i am a "_scoundrel_ of the deepest dye" what must they be? the "skull and bones," the insignia of the ku-klux klan and not the stars and stripes, represent the dominant power in that region. "congressional reconstruction, the military, &c.," are successfully defied. the power of the united states government is not felt or feared. they only know it as powerless to prevent the atrocities enacted before their eyes during and since the war. the flag that i had united with others to honor with procession, songs, and cheers, was powerless to protect me, and floats dishonored above the graves of the , martyr heroes who suffered and died in the stockades at andersonville, as prisoners of war never suffered and died before. i need hardly say that with my knowledge of the condition of things around me, as presented _only in part_ in this communication, i left andersonville as desired by the _ku-klux klan_. i knew that human life--that my life was not worth as much as the life of a chicken in any law-abiding, law-governed community, for should any evil disposed person there maliciously kill his neighbor's chicken he would be compelled to pay some slight fine or endure some brief imprisonment; but no one of all the perpetrators of the crimes i have named has suffered or has dreamed or suffering any fine, imprisonment, or punishment whatever. i knew that in their own language my life was "_worthless_." i went south to reside in , and there are few who know it as thoroughly. as agent of the american bible society, and in other capacities, i have traveled tens of thousands of miles over different states on horseback before the war. bishop kavenaugh, of the methodist episcopal church south, in introducing me to the louisville conference in , told them that though a presbyterian i had "out itinerated the itineracy itself." and yet i have never seen or heard as much of outrage and personal violence upon the colored people in any five years of slavery as i heard and saw at andersonville, georgia, from december , , to february , . i have never known crime to be committed in any community with such perfect impunity. i have yet to learn of a _single_ instance where the civil courts in that part of the state have rendered any punishment or redress for outrages like those i have detailed. the fact that such crimes have for years been committed with perfect impunity--that the men who perpetrate them have not the slightest fear or thought of ever being punished--that the freedmen who have suffered outrages such as these, and others entirely too gross for me to repeat, have not the faintest shadow of a hope that their wrongs will ever be redressed, has reduced these poor people to a state of almost utter hopelessness and despair. turner hall, a freedman, a deacon in the congregational church in andersonville, under whose black skin beats one of the most patriotic and noble christian hearts i have ever known, writes: "we seem to be forsaken of god and man." i have talked with many of these men, who in the late presidential election, with a spirit as noble as ever beat in the heart of a martyr, slept in swamps for weeks, were hunted like wild beasts, and perilled all means of livelihood for their wives and children, and their own lives, that they might vote for general grant for president. those of them that were employed in the national cemetery at andersonville, georgia, were threatened with dismission in case they voted for general grant. notwithstanding this threat some of them went to the polls, voted for general grant, and were immediately dismissed by henry williams, superintendent of the cemetery. this was done to deter the others, but they went forward and executed a "freeman's will" by voting for general grant. (mr. williams has since been removed.) and what to this hour has been their reward from their friends? i forbear to press this question. but with facts like these in mind can anyone suppose that a fair election--an election in which the thousands of freedmen in georgia shall give expression to their political wishes--can be held in that state in . the thing is simply impossible. until these ignorant, outraged people shall have some demonstration that there is power, either in the state or federal government, to afford them protection, and punish such outrages as that of rev. robert hodges upon cane cook, the freedmen cannot be expected again to risk their _livings_ and their _lives_ in voting for those whom they know to be their only friends. it will be proper for me to add that i did not come to washington at the suggestion or with the knowledge of any party in georgia. i belong to no "delegation." i came here at my own charges, in the interests of patriotism and suffering humanity, to lay these facts before congress and the highest officers of the government. all my self respect and honor as a man, all my regard for the rights of _american citizenship_, all my toils for the triumph of the starry banner, all my labors for the education and protection of the ignorant and outraged freedmen, and all the emotions stirred in my soul as again and again i have walked amid the graves of the nation's martyred dead at andersonville, compelled me to the performance of these unsought labors. _i ask that these freedmen may be protected and their wrongs redressed. i ask for the vindication of the rights of american citizenship in georgia and everywhere beneath our own flag upon our own soil._ with great respect, your obedient servant, h. w. pierson. hon. charles sumner, _united states senate_. appendix a. emancipation day in andersonville, ga. january , . by rev. h. w. pierson, d.d. this day so full of interest to the freedmen, so identified with the name and fame of the lamented lincoln, and so glorious in the history of our country, was duly celebrated in andersonville, georgia. if called upon to state what have been the instrumentalities at work among this people that have led to what i think all must esteem a most appropriate and beautiful celebration of the day, i must name as first and most efficient the _school for freedmen_, established here by the american missionary association, in the fall of , and successfully carried on up to the present time. its first teachers were miss m. l. root, of sheffield, ohio, and miss m. f. battey, of providence, r. i., who labored here for two years, with a christian heroism, wisdom and success that have left their names indelibly engraved upon the grateful hearts of all those for whom they toiled. during the second year, miss m. c. day, of sheffield, ohio, aided them, and was a worthy and efficient co-laborer. for reasons unknown to the writer, none of these ladies returned the third year, but were succeeded by miss laura parmelee, of toledo, ohio, and miss amelia johnson, of enfield, conn., who are carrying forward the work so successfully inaugurated with undiminished success. the colored people have become so impressed with the value of the school that they are contributing to its support with increasing liberality and enthusiasm. as the schools for the freedmen are all suspended during the christmas holidays, a number of teachers and their friends, in other places, had availed themselves of this opportunity to visit andersonville. at a social gathering at the "teachers' home" it was found that, including the visitors, the clerks in the service of the government, and the teachers here, there were present representatives of seven northern states, and all were ready to unite heartily with the freedmen in the celebration of emancipation day. they were miss russell, of maine; miss champney and miss stowell, of massachusetts; miss johnson and misses smith, of connecticut: mr. pond, of rhode island; mr. north, of indiana; mr. haughton, of new york; miss parmelee, of ohio, and rev. dr. h. w. pierson. the committee appointed to make arrangements for the appropriate celebration of the day, anxious to make the fullest possible exhibition of the loyalty of all who were to unite with them in its celebration, determined that it should include ( st,) services in the freedmens' chapel; ( d,) the decoration of the cemetery; and ( d,) the salutation of the "dear old flag," at the depot. all entered with alacrity and delight upon the work of preparation for these services. the colored people ranged the woods to find the choicest evergreens, and the young ladies, with willing hearts and skillful hands wrought the most elaborate and beautiful wreaths from the magnolia, bay, holly, cedar, and other boughs with which they were so bountifully furnished. songs were rehearsed, and all arrangements were duly completed. on new year's morning a deeply interested audience met in the room occupied both for school-room and chapel, and at a. m., mr. floyd snelson, (colored.) president of the day, called the meeting to order, and services were conducted as follows: ( .) singing--"from all that dwell below the skies." ( ) reading the scriptures, by miss johnson, of enfield, connecticut. ( .) prayer, by deacon stickney, (colored) ( .) reading of the emancipation proclamation, by miss parmelee, of toledo, ohio. ( ) singing--"oh, praise and thanks,"--whittier. ( ) address by rev. dr. h. w. pierson. this programme having been carried out, the entire audience was formed into a procession and marched to the cemetery, about half a mile north of us, under the direction of mr. houghton, of brooklyn, new york, marshal of the day. that procession, embracing so many happy freedmen and representatives from so many states, moving with so much order, and bearing such beautiful wreaths, was certainly one of the most impressive and beautiful i have ever seen. i am sure the sight would have melted tens of thousands of hearts could they have looked upon it. onward they marched upon their sacred mission, singing at times most appropriate and beautiful songs: winding down the hillside, crossing upon a single scantling the muddy stream that furnished water for our own prisoners, passing near the rude cabin where the blood-hounds were penned, in full view of the stockades where so many thousands yielded up their lives, moving onward and up the gentle elevation with slow and solemn tread, they at length reached the front (south) entrance of the cemetery, where the procession halted. on the right (east) of the gate is a post and tablet in the form of a cross, bearing this inscription: "national cemetery, andersonville, georgia." on the left (west) of the gate is a similar post and tablet, bearing this inscription: "on fame's eternal camping-ground their silent tents are spread, and glory guards, with solemn round, this bivouac of the dead." a young lady, designated for the purpose, left the procession and hung one of our most beautiful wreaths upon the cross above this inscription. the gates were then thrown open, and the entire procession entered the cemetery. but how shall i describe the scene spread out before us as we entered this solemn, silent city of the nation's dead? the cemetery contains forty-three acres, which are enclosed by a high board fence. it is divided into four principal sections by broad avenues, running north and south, and east and west, intersecting each other at right angles at the center of the grounds. there is a sidewalk and row of young trees on each side of these avenues. and then on either side of these avenues and walks, what fields, what fields of white head-boards, stretching away in long white parallel lines to the north and south, each with its simple record of the name, regiment, and date of death of him who lies beneath it. so they sleep their long sleep, lying shoulder to shoulder in their graves as they had stood together in serried ranks on many a field of battle. resuming our march, and moving up the broad avenue, with rank upon rank, and thousands upon thousands of these solemn sentinels upon either side of us, we find on the left (west) side of the avenue, a tablet with this inscription: "the hopes, the fears, the blood, the tears, that marked the bitter strife, are now all crowned by victory that saved the nation's life." we paused, and hung a wreath above this inscription, and then moved on to a tablet on the right (east) side of the avenue, with this inscription: "whether in the prison drear, or in the battle's van, the fittest place for man to die, is where he dies for man." we hung a wreath here, and again our procession moved forward and halted on the left (west) side of the avenue, at a tablet bearing the inspired words: "then shall the dust return to the earth as it was; and the spirit shall return unto god who gave it." here we placed another wreath, and moved onward to a tablet on the right (east) side of the avenue, where we read-- "a thousand battle-fields have drunk the blood of warriors brave, and countless homes are dark and drear, thro' the land they died to save." another wreath was placed here, and we marched to the last tablet in the north of the cemetery, standing in the midst of a section of graves numbering thousands, and inscribed-- "through all rebellion's horrors bright shines our nation's fame, our gallant soldiers, perishing, have won a deathless name." after hanging a wreath here, we marched to the center of the cemetery, and hung our last wreath upon the flag-staff from which the stars and stripes shall ever float above those who died in its defence. it was no place for speech. the surroundings were too solemn. our only other services were to unite in singing "my native country, thee," (america,) and rev. dr. pierson offered prayer. and so we decorated the national cemetery at andersonville, georgia. it was little, very little, we did, but we could not do more, and we dared not do less. here are the graves of , "brave boys," who died as prisoners of war in the stockades. eight hundred and sixty-eight other soldiers have been disinterred and brought here from macon, columbus, eufaula, americus, and other places in georgia, so that now this cemetery numbers , graves. we could not decorate them all, and we dared not decorate those of the states we represented, or of any particular class. we dared not single out any for special honors. we felt that all were worthy of equal honor from us, and from the nation they died to save. and so we decorated the cemetery as a whole, as best we could, and our tribute of affection was bestowed equally upon each one of all these , hallowed graves. and most earnestly did we implore the blessing of almighty god to rest upon our whole country, and upon all the fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, widows, and orphans, whose "dead" we thus attempted to honor. it will gratify the relatives and friends of all those buried here, to know that the nation is watching over their dead with pious care. hundreds of men have been employed in making the improvements already mentioned, and many others i have not time to notice, and a number are still at work. they are planting trees, making and improving walks, placing sod upon the graves, and otherwise beautifying the grounds. but i am detaining my readers too long from what i have already indicated as the third and final part of our programme. day after day the starry banner, the banner of peace ("let us have peace") is thrown to the breeze from the flag staff in front of the office of first lieutenant a. w. corliss, near the andersonville depot. this is the most beautiful sight; indeed, almost the only beautiful sight that greets the vision of a lover of his country here. we wished to give expression to the warm feelings of our own hearts, and also to make a demonstration of our loyalty and love for the flag in the presence of the unusual concourse of people assembled at the station for the business or pleasure of new year's day. our procession was re-formed in the cemetery, and taking the broad avenue that has been constructed by the government from the depot, a distance of about half a mile, we marched slowly back in the same order, and singing beautiful songs, as when we came. a part of the way our procession was in full view of the residents of the place, and the visitors there. fortunately, as we reached the depot, the passenger train arrived from the south, and witnessed our loyal demonstrations. arriving at the flag-staff, the entire procession formed in a circle around it, and sang with enthusiasm mr. william b. bradbury's "see the flag, the dear old flag," with the heart-stirring chorus-- "wave the starry banner high, strike our colors, never! here we stand to live or die, the stripes and stars forever." mr. snelson, the president of the day, then proposed three cheers for the "dear old flag," which were given with a will. three cheers were then proposed for lieutenant corliss and others, which were given in the same hearty manner. other patriotic songs were then sung, and after a brief prayer and the benediction, by rev. dr. pierson, the audience quietly dispersed. so we celebrated emancipation day in andersonville, georgia. to all of us who participated in it, it was a joyful day. we also hope our services may gladden and cheer many other hearts all over our broad land. note.--i may be mistaken in the name of the captain who made the brief visit to andersonville, february , .--see page . i shall regret if i have not properly honored one whose bearing was so gallant and gentlemanly. h. w. p. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. additional spacing after some of the quotes is intentional to indicate both the end of a quotation and the beginning of a new paragraph as presented in the original text. the following misprints have been corrected: "aad" corrected to "and" (page ) "confedearte" corrected to "confederate" (page ) "immedately" corrected to "immediately" (page ) "andersonvile" corrected to "andersonville" (page ) "sacreligious" corrected to "sacrilegious" (page ) "govvernment" corrected to "government" (page ) "cherrs" corrected to "cheers" (page ) all other spelling is presented as in the original. when referring to a specific county, the "c" in the word "county" has been capitalized for standard presentation. the desired woman by will n. harben author of "dixie hart," "pole baker," "the redemption of kenneth galt," etc. with frontispiece to vella and billy part i chapter i inside the bank that june morning the clerks and accountants on their high stools were bent over their ponderous ledgers, although it was several minutes before the opening hour. the gray-stone building was in atlanta's most central part on a narrow street paved with asphalt which sloped down from one of the main thoroughfares to the section occupied by the old passenger depot, the railway warehouses, and hotels of various grades. considerable noise, despite the closed windows and doors, came in from the outside. locomotive bells slowly swung and clanged; steam was escaping; cabs, drays, and trucks rumbled and creaked along; there was a whir of a street-sweeping machine turning a corner and the shrill cries of newsboys selling the morning papers. jarvis saunders, member of the firm of mostyn, saunders & co., bankers and brokers, came in; and, hanging his straw hat up, he seated himself at his desk, which the negro porter had put in order. "i say, wright"--he addressed the bald, stocky, middle-aged man who, at the paying-teller's window, was sponging his fat fingers and counting and labeling packages of currency--"what is this about mostyn feeling badly?" "so that's got out already?" wright replied in surprise, as he approached and leaned on the rolling top of the desk. "he cautioned us all not to mention it. you know what a queer, sensitive sort of man he is where his health or business is concerned." "oh, it is not public," saunders replied. "i happened to meet dr. loyd on the corner. he had just started to explain more fully when a patient stopped to speak to him, and so i didn't wait, as he said mostyn was here." "yes, he's in his office now." wright nodded toward the frosted glass door in the rear. "he was lying on the lounge when i left him just now. it is really nothing serious. the doctor says it is only due to loss of sleep and excessive mental strain, and that a few weeks' rest in some quiet place will straighten him out." "well, i'm glad it is not serious," saunders said. "i have seen him break down before. he is too intense, too strenuous; whatever he does he does with every nerve in his body drawn as taut as a fiddle-string." "it is his _outside_ operations, his _private_ deals," the teller went on, in a more confidential tone. "why, it makes me nervous even to watch him. he's been keyed high for the last week. you know, i'm an early riser, and i come down before any one else to get my work up. i found him here this morning at half past seven. he was as nervous as a man about to be hanged. he couldn't sit or stand still a minute. he was waiting for a telegram from augusta concerning warner & co. i remember how you advised him against that deal. well, i guess if it had gone against him it would have ruined him." the banker nodded. "yes, that was foolhardy, and he seemed to me to be going into it blindfolded. he realized the danger afterward. he admitted it to me last night at the club. he said that he was sorry he had not taken my advice. he was afraid, too, that delbridge would get on to it and laugh at him." "delbridge is too shrewd to tackle a risk like that," wright returned. he glanced about the room cautiously, and then added: "i don't know as i have any right to be talking about mostyn's affairs even to you, but i am pretty sure that he got good news. he didn't show me the telegram when it came, but i watched his face as he read it. i saw his eyes flash; he smiled at me, walked toward his office with a light step, as he always does when he's lucky, and then he swayed sideways and keeled over in a dead faint. the porter and i picked him up, carried him to his lounge, and sprinkled water in his face. then we sent for the doctor. he gave him a dose of something or other and told him not to do a lick of work for a month." "well, i'll step in and see him." saunders rose. "i guess he won't mind. he's too big a plunger for a town of this size. he lets things get on his nerves too much. he has no philosophy of life. i wouldn't go his pace for all the money in the u. s. treasury." "right you are," the teller returned, as he went back to his work. opening the door of his partner's office, saunders found him seated on the lounge smoking a cigar. he was about thirty-five years of age, tall, broad-shouldered, with blue eyes, yellow mustache, and was good-looking and well built. glancing up, he smiled significantly and nodded. there were dark rings round his eyes, and the hand holding his cigar quivered nervously. "i suppose you heard of that silly duck fit of mine?" he smiled, the corners of his rather sensuous mouth twitching. saunders nodded as he sat down in the revolving-chair at the desk and slowly swung it round till he faced his partner. "it's a wonder to me that you are able to talk about it," he said, sharply. "you've been through enough in the last ten days to kill a dozen ordinary men. you've taken too many stimulants, smoked like the woods afire, and on top of it all instead of getting natural sleep you've amused yourself at all hours of the night. you've bolted your food, and fussed and fumed over delbridge's affairs, which, heaven knows, have nothing at all to do with your own." "i suppose i _do_ keep track of the fellow," mostyn smiled. "people compare us constantly. we started about the same time, and it rankles to hear of his making a lucky strike just when i've had a tumble. this matter of my backing warner when i went to augusta they told me they had met with more bad luck, and if i didn't advance fresh funds they would have to go under. it was the biggest risk i ever took, but i took it. i raised the money on my street-railway bonds. for a day or so afterward i was hopeful, but they quit writing and wouldn't answer my wires. my lawyer in augusta wrote me that they were all three on the verge of suicide, and if they could not close a certain deal in boston they would go under. that's what i've been waiting on for the last week, and that's why i've been crazy. but it is all right now--all right. i'm safe, and i made money, too--money that delbridge would like to have." "there are no two ways about it." saunders reached for a cigar in a tray on the desk and cut off the tip with a paper-knife. "you've got to take a rest and get your mind off of business." "nobody knows that better than i do," mostyn said, a sickly smile playing over his wan face, "and i'm in the mood for it. i feel as a man feels who has just escaped the gallows. i'm going to the mountains, and i don't intend to open a business letter or think once of this hot hole in a wall for a month. i'm going to fish and hunt and lie in the shade and swap yarns with mossback moonshiners. i've just been thinking of it, and it's like a soothing dream of peace and quiet. you know old tom drake's place near your farm? i boarded there two weeks three years ago and loved every cat and dog about. tom told me to come any time i felt like it." "no better place anywhere," saunders said. "i shall run up home now and then, and can see you and report, but you needn't bother about us; we'll keep this thing afloat. i'm wondering how you are going to get away from your social duties. they usually claim you at this time of the year. old mitchell and his daughter will certainly miss you." mostyn stared at his friend steadily. "they are off for atlantic city monday. they hinted at my joining them, but i declined. i was worried at the time over this deal, but i need something quieter than that sort of trip. you are always coupling my name with miss irene's. i'm not the favorite in that quarter that you make me out." "i have eyes and ears and _some_ experience in human nature." saunders puffed at his cigar. he felt that his friend was expecting what he was saying. "mitchell is getting in his dotage, and he talks very freely to me at times." "surely not about--about me and irene?" mostyn said, a ripple of interest in his tone. "oh yes, he quite lets himself go now and then. he thinks the sun rises and sets in you. he is constantly talking about your rapid rise and keen business judgment." "you can't mean that he's ever gone so--so far as actually to speak of me in--in connection with his daughter?" mostyn said, tentatively. "i may as well tell you that he has." saunders felt that the subject was a delicate one. "at least, he has expressed the hope that you and she would care for each other. he knew your father and liked him, and he has been afraid that miss irene might fancy some young fellow with no sort of chance in the world. he speaks quite freely of her as his sole heiress, often showing me the actual figures of what he expects to leave her." a touch of red appeared in mostyn's cheeks. "he is getting old and garrulous," he said. "i really have been of some help to him. it happens that i've never advised him wrongly in any venture he has made, and i suppose he overrates my ability; but, really, i give you my word that i have not thought seriously of marrying _any one_. i suppose some men would call me a fool--a cold-blooded fellow like delbridge would, i am sure, but i've always had a dream of running across my ideal somewhere and of marrying solely for the sake of old-fashioned love itself." "what man hasn't?" saunders responded, thoughtfully. "after all, very few men, at least here in the south, marry for convenience or financial advancement. there is stillman; he married a typewriter in his office, a beautiful character, and they are as happy as a pair of doves. then you remember ab thornton and sam thorpe. both of them could have tied up to money, i suppose, but somehow they didn't. after all, it is the best test of a man." "yes, that certainly is true," mostyn said, "the ideal is the thing. i really believe i have two distinct sides to me--the romantic and the practical. so you needn't count on--on what you were speaking of just now. i think the young lady is somewhat like myself. at times she seems to have dreams, and i am not the prince charming that rides through them." at his own desk a few minutes later saunders sat wrapped in thought. "he doesn't really love her," he mused, "and she doesn't love him, but they will marry. his eyes kindled when i mentioned her money. he may think he can stand out against it, but he can't. in his better moments he leans toward the higher thing, but the current of greed has caught him and will sweep him along." at this juncture saunders's attention was drawn to the paying-teller's window. "i tell you you can't see him this morning." wright was speaking firmly to an elderly man who stood clinging desperately to the wire grating. "he's not well and is lying down." "so he's lying down, is he?" was the snarling response. "he's lying down while i have to walk the streets without a cent through his rascality. you tell him i'm going to see him if i have to wait here all day." "who is it?" saunders asked, being unable to recognize the speaker from his position. wright turned to him. "it's old jeff henderson," he said, "still harping on the same old string. he's blocking up the window. a thing like that ought not to be allowed. if i was the president of this bank, and a man like that dared to--" "let him in at the side door, and send him to me," saunders ordered, in a gentle tone. "i'll see him." a moment later the man entered, and shuffled in a slipshod way up to saunders's desk. he was about seventy years of age, wore a threadbare frock coat, baggy trousers, disreputable shoes, and a battered silk hat of ancient, bell-shaped pattern. he was smooth-shaven, quite pale, and had scant gray hair which in greasy, rope-like strands touched his shoulders. he was nervously chewing a cheap, unlighted cigar, and flakes of damp tobacco clung to his shirt-front. "you were inquiring for mostyn," saunders said, quietly. "he is not at work this morning, mr. henderson. is there anything i can do for you?" "i don't know whether you can or not," the old man said, as he sank into a chair and leaned forward on his walking-cane. "i don't know whether _anybody_ can or not. i don't believe there is any law or justice anywhere. you and him are partners, but i don't believe you know him clean to the bottom as well as i do. you wouldn't be in business with him if you did, for you are a straight man--a body can tell that by your eye and voice--and i've never heard of any shady, wildcat scheme that you ever dabbled in." "we are getting away from the other matter," saunders reminded him, softly. "you came to see mostyn." "i came to give him a piece of my mind, young man--that's what i'm here for. he dodges me. say, do you know how he got his start--the money he put in this bank? well, _i_ can tell you, and i'll bet he never did. he started the holly creek cotton mills. it was his idea. i thought he was honest and straight. he was going round trying to interest capital. i never had a head for business. the war left me flat on my back with all the family niggers free, but a chunk of money came to my children--fifty thousand dollars. it stood in their name, but i got their legal consent to handle it. mostyn knew i had it and was constantly ding-donging at me about his mill idea. well, i went in--i risked the whole amount. he was made president although he didn't hold ten thousand dollars' worth of stock. then i reckon you know what happened. he run the thing plumb in the ground, claimed to be losing money--said labor was too high; claimed that the wrong sort of machinery had been put in. it went from bad to worse for twelve months, then it shut down. the operatives moved away, and it was sold under the hammer. who bought it in--my god, who do you reckon bid it in for twenty-five cents on the dollar? why, the same smooth young duck that is taking a nap in his fine private quarters back there now. then what did he do? why, all at once he found that the machinery _was_ all right and labor _could_ be had. out of his own pocket with money he had made in some underhand deal or other he added on a wing, filled it with spindles and looms, built more cottages, and three years later the stock had hopped up to two for one, and little to be had at that. he next started this bank, and here i sit in it"--the old man swept the interior with a slow glance--"without a dollar to my name and my daughters hiring out for barely enough to keep rags on their bodies. say, what do you think--" "i am afraid the courts are the only place to settle a matter upon which two parties disagree," saunders said, diplomatically, though a frown of sympathy lay on his handsome dark face. "the courts be damned!" the old man growled, pounding the floor with his stick. "i _did_ take it to law. i spent the twelve thousand and odd dollars that i rescued from the ruin in suing him, only to discover that the law itself favors the shyster who has money and is sharp enough to circumvent it." "i am sorry, but there is absolutely nothing i can do to help you, mr. henderson," saunders said, lamely. "of course, i mean in regard to this particular matter. if you are in want, however, and any reasonable amount would be of service to you--why, on my own account i am willing--" "i don't mean that," the old man broke in, tremulously. "you are very kind. i know you would help me, you show it in your face; but i don't want that sort of thing. it is--is my rights i'm after. i--i can't face my children after the way i acted. i simply trusted mostyn with my all--my life's blood--don't you see? i remember when i was hesitating, and a neighbor had hinted that mostyn was too high a flyer--going with fast women and the like--to be quite safe--i remember, i say, that the commandment 'judge not that ye be not judged' came in my head, and i refused to listen to a word against him. but you see how it ended." "i wish i could help you," saunders said again, "but i don't see what i can do." "i don't either." the old man sighed heavily as he got up. "everybody tells me i am a fool to cry over spilt milk when even the law won't back me; but i'm getting close to the end, and somehow i can't put my mind on anything else." he laid his disengaged hand on saunders's shoulder almost with the touch of a parent. "i'll say one thing more, and then i'm gone. you've done me good this morning--that is, _some_. i don't feel quite so--so hurt inside. it's because you offered to--to trust me. i won't forget that soon, saunders, and i'm not going to come in here any more. if i have to see him i will meet him somewhere else. good-by." saunders watched the bent form shamble between the counters and desks and disappear. "poor old chap!" he said. "the shame of his lack of judgment is killing him." just then the door of mostyn's office opened, and mostyn himself came out. he paused over an electric adding-machine which was being manipulated by a clerk, gave it an idle glance, and then came on to his partner. "albert says old henderson was here talking to you," he said, coldly. "i suppose it's the old complaint?" "yes," saunders nodded, as he looked up. "i did what i could to pacify him; he is getting into a bad mental shape." "he seems to be growing worse and worse." mostyn went on, irritably. "i heard he had actually threatened my life. i don't want to take steps to restrain him, but i'll have to if he keeps it up. i can't afford to have him slandering me on every street-corner as he is doing. every business man knows i was not to blame in that deal. the courts settled that for good and all." saunders made no comment. he fumbled a glass paper-weight with one hand and tugged at his brown mustache with the fingers of the other. mostyn stared into his calm eyes impatiently. "what do you think i ought to do?" he finally asked. "i am in no position to say," saunders answered, awkwardly. "it is a matter for you to decide. his condition is really pitiful. his family seem to be in actual need. girls brought up as his daughters were brought up don't seem to know exactly how to make a living." "well, i can't pay money back to him," mostyn said, angrily. "i'd make an ass of myself, and admit my indebtedness to many others who happened to lose in that mill. his suit against me cost me several thousand dollars, and he has injured me in all sorts of ways with his slanderous tongue. he'll have to let up. i won't stand it any longer." therewith mostyn turned and went back to his office. closing the door behind him, he started to throw himself on the lounge, but instead sat down at his desk, took up a pen and drew some paper to him. "i'll write tom drake and ask him if he has room for me," he said. "up there in the mountains i'll throw the whole thing off and take a good rest." chapter ii j. cuyler mitchell got out of his landau in the _porte cochere_ of his stately residence on peachtree street, and, aided by his gold-headed ebony cane, ascended the steps of the wide veranda, where he stood fanning his face with his panama hat. larkin, the negro driver, glanced over his shoulder after him. "anything mo', marse john?" he inquired. "no, i'm through with the horses for to-day," the old man returned. "put them up, and rub them down well." as the landau moved along the curving drive to the stables in the rear mitchell sauntered around to the shaded part of the veranda and went in at the front door. he was tall, seventy-five years of age, slender and erect, had iron-gray hair and a mustache and pointed goatee of the same shade. he was hanging his hat on the carved mahogany rack in the hall when jincy, a young colored maid, came from the main drawing-room on the right. she had a feather duster in her hand and wore a turban-like head-cloth, a neat black dress, and a clean white apron. "where is irene?" he inquired. the maid was about to answer when a response came from above. "here i am, father," cried miss mitchell. "can't you come up here? i've been washing my hair; i've left it loose to dry. there is more breeze up here." "if you want to see me you'll trot down here," the old gentleman said, crustily. "i put myself out to make that trip down-town for you, and i'll be hanged if i climb those steps again till bed-time." "well, i'll be down in a minute," his daughter replied. "i know you have no _very_ bad news, or you would have been more excited. you see, i know you." mitchell grunted, dropped his stick into an umbrella-holder, and turned into the library, where he again encountered the maid, now vigorously dusting a bookcase. "leave it, leave it!" he grumbled. "i don't want to be breathing that stuff into my lungs on a day like this. there is enough dust in the streets without having actually to eat it at home." with a sly look and a low impulsive titter of amusement the yellow girl restored a vase to its place and turned into the study adjoining. "get out of there, too!" mitchell ordered. "i want to read my paper, and you make me nervous with your swishing and knocking about." "i can slide the doors to," jincy suggested, as she stood hesitatingly in the wide opening. "and cut off all the air!" was the tart response. "from now on i want you to pick times for this sort of work when i'm out of the house. my life is one eternal jumping about to accommodate you. i want comfort, and i'm going to have it." shrugging her shoulders, the maid left the room. mitchell had seated himself near an open window and taken up his paper when his daughter came down the steps and entered. she was above medium height, had abundant chestnut hair, blue eyes, a good figure, and regular features, the best of which was a sweet, thin-lipped, sensitive mouth. she had on a blue kimono and dainty slippers, and moved with luxurious ease and grace. "you ought to have more patience with the servants, father," she said, testily. "jincy is slow enough, heaven knows, without you giving her excuses for being behind with her work. now she will go to the kitchen and hinder the cook. if you only knew how much trouble servants are to manage you'd be more tactful. half a dozen women in this town want that girl, and she knows it. mrs. anderson wants to take her to new york to nurse her baby, and she would propose it if she wasn't afraid i'd be angry." mitchell shook out his paper impatiently and scanned the head-lines over his nose-glasses. "you don't seem very much interested in my trip downtown, i must say." "well, perhaps i would be," she smiled, "but, you see, i know from your actions that he isn't much sick. if he had been you'd have mounted those steps three at a time. do you know everybody is laughing over your interest in dick mostyn? why, you are getting childish about him. i'm not so sure that he is really so wonderful as you make him out. many persons think alan delbridge is a better business man, and as for his being a saint--oh my!" "i don't care what they think," mitchell retorted. "they don't know him as well as i do. he wouldn't be under the weather to-day if he hadn't overworked, but he is all right now. the doctor says he only needs rest, and dick is going to the mountains for a month. as for that, i can't for the life of me see why--" "why, atlantic city with us wouldn't do every bit as well," irene laughed out impulsively. "oh, you _are_ funny!" "well, i don't see why," the old man said. "if you two really _do_ care for each other i can't see why you really would want to be apart the best month in the year." irene gave her damp, fragrant hair a shake on one side and laughed as she glanced at him mischievously. "you must really not meddle with us," she said. "three people can't run an affair like that." mitchell folded his paper, eyed her suspiciously for a moment, and then asked: "is andrew buckton going to atlantic city? if he is, you may as well tell me. i simply am not going to put up with that fellow's impudence. people think you care for him--do you hear me?--some people say you like him as well as he does you, and if he wasn't as poor as job's turkey that you'd marry him." miss mitchell avoided her father's eyes. she shook out her hair again, and ran her white, ringed fingers through its brown depths. "haven't i promised you not to think of andy in--in any serious way?" she faltered. "his mother and sister are nice, and i don't want to offend them. you needn't keep bringing his name up." her fine lips were twitching. "i'd not be a natural woman if i didn't appreciate his--his honest admiration." "honest nothing!" mitchell blurted out. "he thinks you are going to have money, and he believes you'll be silly enough to be influenced by his puppy love to make a fool of yourself. besides, he's in the way. he took you to a dance not long ago when mostyn wanted to go with you. dick told me at the bank that he was going to invite you, and then that young blockhead called for you." miss mitchell had the air of one subduing interest. she forced a faint smile into the general gravity of her face. "andy had asked me a month before," she said, "or, rather, his mother asked me for him the day the cards were sent out." "i knew _she_ had a hand in it," mitchell retorted, in a tone of conviction. "that old woman is the most cold-blooded matchmaker in the state, and she's playing with you like a cat with a mouse. they want my money, i tell you--that's what they are after. i know how the old thing talks to you--she's always telling you her darling boy is dying of grief, and all that foolishness." irene avoided her father's eyes. she wound a thick wisp of her hair around her head and began to fasten it with a hairpin. he heard her sigh. then she looked straight at him. "you are bothering entirely too much," she half faltered, in a tone that was all but wistful. "now, i'll make _you_ a promise if--if you'll make _me_ one. you are afraid dick mostyn and i will never come to--to an understanding, but it is all right. i know i must be sensible, and i intend to be. i'm more practical than i look. now, here is what i am going to propose. andy buckton _may_ be at atlantic city with his mother, and i want you to treat them decently. if you will be nice to them i will assure you that when dick gets back from the mountains he will propose and i will accept him." "you talk as if you knew positively that he--" "i understand him," the young lady said. "i know him even better than you do, with all your business dealings together. now, that will have to satisfy you, and you've got to let me see andy up there. you simply must." "well, i don't care," the old man said, with a breath of relief. "this is the first time you ever have talked any sort of sense on the subject." "i know nothing else will suit you," irene said, with a look of abstraction in her eyes, "and i have made up my mind to let you have your way." there was a tremulous movement to her breast, a quaver in her voice, of which she seemed slightly ashamed, for she turned suddenly and left the room. chapter iii at the gate in front of his farmhouse in the mountains tom drake received a letter from the rural mail-carrier, who was passing in a one-horse buggy. "that's all this morning, tom," the carrier said, cheerfully. "you've got good corn and cotton in the bottom below here." "purty good, i reckon, if the drouth don't kill 'em," the farmer answered. the carrier drove on, and tom slowly opened his letter and turned toward the house. he was a typical georgia mountaineer, strong, tall, broad-shouldered, middle-aged. he wore no beard, had mild brown eyes, heavy chestnut hair upon which rested a shapeless wool hat full of holes. his arms and legs were long, his gait slouching and deliberate. he was in his shirt-sleeves; his patched jean trousers were too large at the waist, and were supported by a single home-knitted suspender. he was chewing tobacco, and as he went along he moved his stained lips in the audible pronunciation of the words he was reading. his wife, lucy, a slender woman, in a drab print dress with no sort of adornment to it or to her scant, tightly knotted hair, stood on the porch impatiently waiting for him. behind her, leaning in the doorway, was her brother, john webb, a red-haired, red-faced bachelor, fifty years of age, who also had his eyes on the approaching reader. "another dun, i reckon," mrs. drake said, tentatively, when her husband had paused at the bottom step and glanced up from the sheet in his hand. "not this time." tom slowly spat on the ground, and looked first at his wife and then at his brother-in-law with a broadening smile. "you two are as good at guessin' as the general run, but if i gave you a hundred trials--yes, three hundred--and all day to do it in, you wouldn't then come in a mile o' what's in this letter." "i don't intend to try," mrs. drake said, eagerly, "anyways not with all that ironin' to do that's piled up like a haystack on the dinin'-room table, to say nothin' of the beds and bed-clothes to be sunned. you can keep your big secret as far as i'm concerned." "it's another confederate veteran excursion to some town whar whisky is sold," said the bachelor, with a dry cackle. "that's my guess. you fellows that was licked don't git no pensions from uncle sam, but you manage to have enough fun once a year to make up for it." tom drake swept the near-by mountain slope with his slow glance of amusement, folded the sheet tantalizingly, and spat again. "i don't know, luce," he said to his wife, as he wiped his lips on his shirt-sleeve, "that it is a good time to tell you on top o' your complaint of over-work, but dick mostyn, your atlanta boarder, writes that he's a little bit run down an' wants to come an' stay a solid month. money seems to be no object to him, an' he says if he kin just git the room he had before an' a chance at your home cooking three times a day he will be in clover." "well, well, well!" lucy cried, in a tone of delight, "so he wants to come ag'in, an' all this time i've been thinkin' he'd never think of us any more. there wasn't a thing for him to do that summer but lie around in the shade, except now an' then when he was off fishin' or huntin'." "well, i hope you will let 'im come," john webb drawled out, in his slow fashion. "i can set an' study a town dude like him by the hour an' never git tired. i never kin somehow git at what sech fellers _think_ about or _do_ when they are at home. he makes money, but _how_? his hands are as soft an' white as a woman's. his socks are as thin an' flimsy as spider-webs. he had six pairs o' pants, if he had one, an' a pair o' galluses to each pair. i axed him one day when they was all spread out on his bed what on earth he had so many galluses for, an' mostyn said--i give you my word i'm not jokin'--he said"--webb laughed out impulsively--"he said it was to keep from botherin' to button 'em on ever' time he changed! he said"--the bachelor continued to laugh--"that he could just throw the galluses over his shoulders when he was in a hurry an' be done with the job. do you know, folks, if i was as lazy as that i'd be afraid the lord would cut me off in my prime. why, a feller on a farm has to do more than that ever' time he pulls a blade o' fodder or plants a seed o' corn." "well, of course, i want 'im to come." mrs. drake had not heard a word of her brother's rambling comment, and there was a decidedly expectant intonation in her voice. "nobody's usin' the company-room, an' the presidin' elder won't be here till fall. mr. mostyn never was a bit of trouble and seemed to love everything i set before him. but i reckon we needn't feel so flattered. he's coming here so he'll be near mr. saunders when he runs up to his place on sundays." john webb, for such a slow individual, had suddenly taken on a new impetus. he left his sister and her husband and passed through the passage bisecting the lower part of the plain two-story house and went out at the rear door. in the back yard he found his nephew, george drake, a boy of fifteen years, seated on the grass repairing a ragged, mud-stained fish-net. "who told you you could be out o' school, young feller?" john demanded, dryly. "i'll bet my life you are playin' hookey. you think because your sister's the teacher you can run wild like a mountain shote. my lord, look at your clothes! i'll swear it would be hard to tell whether you've got on anything or not--that is, anything except mud an' slime. have you been tryin' to pull that seine through the creek by yourself?" the boy, who had a fine head and profile and was stoutly built and generally good-looking, was too busy with his strings and knots to look up. "some fool left it in the creek, and it's laid there for the last month," he mumbled. "i had to go in after it, and it was all tangled up and clogged with mud. dolly knew i wasn't going to school to-day." "she knew it when you didn't turn up at roll-call, i bound you," webb drawled. "say, do you know a young gal like her ain't strong enough to lick scholars as sound as they ought to be licked, and thar is _some_ talk about appointin' some able-bodied man that lives close about to step in an' sort o' clean up two or three times a week. i don't know but what i'd like the job. a feller that goes as nigh naked as you do would be a blame good thing to practise on." "huh!" the boy sniffed, as he tossed back his shaggy brown hair. "you talk mighty big. i'd like to see you try to whip me--i shore would." "well, i may give you the chance if dolly calls on me to help 'er out," webb laughed. "say, i started to tell you a secret, but i won't." "i already know what it is," george said, with a mischievous grin. "you say you do?" webb was caught in the wily fellow's snare. "yes, you are going to get married." the boy now burst into a roar of laughter and threw himself back on the grass. "you and sue tidwell are going to get spliced. the whole valley's talking about it, and hoping that it will be public like an election barbecue. you with your red head and freckled face and her with her stub nose and--" "that will do--that will do!" webb's frown seemed to deepen the flush which, fold upon fold, came into his face. "jokin' is all right, but it ain't fair to bring in a lady's name." "oh no, of course not." the boy continued to laugh through the net which he had drawn over him. "the shoe is on the other foot now." "well, i'm not goin' to tell you the news," webb declared, with a touch of propitiation in his voice; and, not a little discomfited, he turned away, employing a quicker step than usually characterized his movement. "the young scamp!" he said. "he's gittin' entirely too forward--entirely, for a boy as young as he is, and me his uncle." crossing a strip of meadow land, then picking his way between the rows of a patch of corn, and skirting a cotton-field, he came out into a red-clay road. along this he walked till he reached a little meeting-house snugly ensconced among big trees at the foot of the mountain. the white frame building, oblong in shape, had four windows with green outer blinds on each of its two sides, and a door at the end nearer the road. as webb traversed the open space, where, on sundays, horses were hitched to the trees and saplings, a drone as of countless bees fell on his ears. to a native this needed no explanation. during five of the week-days the building was used as a schoolhouse. the sound was made by the students studying aloud, and john's niece, dolly drake, had sole charge of them. reaching the door and holding his hat in his hand, webb cautiously peered within, beholding row after row of boys and girls whose backs were turned to him. at a blackboard on the platform, a bit of chalk in her fingers, dolly, a girl eighteen years of age, stood explaining an example in arithmetic to several burly boys taller than herself. webb glanced up at the sun. "they haven't had recess yet," he reckoned. "i swear i'm sorry for them boys. i'd rather take a dozen lickin's than to stay in on a day like this an' try to git lessons in my head. i don't blame george a bit, so i don't. i can't recall a thing in the saviour's teachin's about havin' to study figures an' geography, nohow. looks to me like the older the world gits the further it gits from common sense." patiently webb held his ground till dolly had dismissed the class; then, turning to a table on which stood a cumbersome brass bell, she said: "i'm going to let you have recess, but you've got to go out quietly." she had not ceased speaking, and had scarcely touched the handle of the bell, when there was a deafening clatter of books and slates on the crude benches. feet shod and feet bare pounded the floor. merry yells rent the air. on the platform itself two of the arithmetic delinquents were boxing playfully, fiercely punching, thrusting, and dodging. at a window three boys were bodily ejecting a fourth, the legs and feet of whom, like a human letter v, were seen disappearing over the sill. smilingly webb stood aside and let the clamoring drove hurtle past to the playground outside, and when the way was clear he entered the church and stalked up the single aisle toward his niece. dolly had turned back to the blackboard, and was sponging off the chalk figures. she was quite pretty; her eyes were large, with fathomless hazel depths. her brow, under a mass of uncontrollable reddish-brown hair, was high and indicative of decided intellectual power. she was of medium height, very shapely, and daintily graceful. she had a good nose and a sweet, sympathetic mouth. her hands were slender and tapering, though suggestive of strength. she wore a simple white shirtwaist and a black skirt than which nothing could have been more becoming. hearing her uncle's step, she turned and greeted his smile with a dubious one of her own. "why don't you go out and play with the balance an' limber yourself up?" he asked. "play? i say _play!_" she sighed. "you men don't know any more about what a woman teacher has to contend with than a day-old kitten. my head is in a constant whirl. sometimes i forget my own name." "what's wrong now?" webb smiled eagerly. "oh, it's everything--everything!" she sighed. "not a thing has happened right to-day. george flatly refused to come to school--even defied me before some other boys down the road. then my own sister--" "what's wrong with ann? i remember now that i didn't see her in that drove just now, and she certainly ain't at home, because i'm just from thar." "no, she isn't at home," dolly frowned, and, for an obvious reason, raised her voice to a high pitch, "but i'll tell you where she is, and as her own blood uncle you can share my humiliation." therewith dolly grimly pointed at a closet door close by. "open it," she said. "the truth is, i told her she would have to stay there twenty minutes, and i've been bothered all through the last recitation for fear she wouldn't get enough air. all at once she got still, though she kept up a terrible racket at first." with a grin webb mounted the platform and opened the door of the closet. he opened it quite widely, that dolly might look into the receptacle from where she stood. and there against the wall, seated on the floor, was dolly's sister ann, a slim-legged, rather pretty girl about fourteen years of age, her eyes sullenly cast down. around her were some dismantled, ill-smelling lamps, a step-ladder, an old stove, and a bench holding a stack of hymn-books. "she ain't _quite_ dead," john said, dryly. "she's still breathin' below the neck, an' she's got some red in the face." "she ought to be red from head to foot," dolly said, for the culprit's ears. "ann, come here!" there was no movement on the part of the prisoner save a desultory picking of the fingers at a fold of her gingham skirt. "didn't you hear what dolly--what your teacher said?" webb asked, in an effort at severity which was far from his mood. "of course she heard," dolly said, sharply. "she thinks it will mend matters for her to pout awhile. come here, ann." "i want to stay here," ann muttered; "i like it. shut the door, uncle john. it is cool and nice in here." "she wants to stay." webb's eyes danced as he conveyed the message. "she says she likes it, an' i reckon she does. scripture says them whose deeds is evil likes darkness better'n light. you certainly made a mistake when you clapped 'er in here--that is, if you meant to punish 'er. ann's a reg'lar bat, if not a' owl." "pull her out!" dolly cried. "i've got to talk to her, and recess is almost over." "come out, young lady," webb laid hold of the girl's wrist and drew the reluctant creature to her feet, half pushing, half leading her to her sister. "i'm glad you happened in, uncle john," dolly said. "i want you to take a look at that face. how she got the money i don't know, but she bought a dozen sticks of licorice at the store as she passed this morning and brought them to school in her pocket. she's been gorging herself with it all day. you can see it all over her face, under her chin, behind her neck, and even in her ears. look here at her new geography." dolly, in high disgust, exhibited several brown smudges on an otherwise clean page. webb took the book with all the gravity of a most righteous, if highly amused judge. "looks like ham gravy, don't it?" he said. "an' as i understand it, the book has to be handed on to somebody else when she gits through with it. what a pity!" "i know you are ashamed of her, uncle john, for i am," dolly continued. "you see, she's my own sister." "and my own sister's child," webb deplored. "of course, she ain't _quite_ as close to me as she is to you, but she's nigh enough to make me feel plumb ashamed. i've always tuck pride in both you gals; but lawsy me, if ann is goin' to gaum 'erself from head to foot like a pig learnin' to root, why, i reckon i'll jest hang my head in shame." "i've lost all patience," the teacher said. "go home, ann, and let mother look at you. don't come back to-day. i don't want to see you again. i've lost heart completely. i want to be proud of you and george, but i'm afraid i never can be. she can't write, uncle john; she can't spell the simplest words in three syllables; and as for using correct grammar and pronunciation--" but ann was stalking off without looking back. dolly sat down at the table and drew a sheet of paper toward her. "she's got me all upset," she sighed. "mr. dewitt, the new teacher, has been sending about a test example in arithmetic to see who can work it. he says he can do it, and one or two other _men_, but that he never has seen a woman teacher yet who could get the answer. i was within an inch of the solution when i caught sight of that girl's face, and it went from me in a flash. uncle john, if fifteen men own in common three hundred and eighty-four bushels of wheat, and three men want to buy sixty-seven and three-fourths of--" "oh, lord--thar you go!" webb groaned. "let me tell you some'n', dolly. the fool feller that concocted that thing to idle time away with never hoed a row of corn or planted a potato. do you know what that's meant for? it is for no other reason under the shinin' sun than to make the average parent think teachers know more'n the rest o' humanity. in the first place, the fifteen common men must be common shore enough if they couldn't own all told more than that amount o' wheat in this day and time when even a one-horse farmer can raise--" "you don't understand," dolly broke in, with an indulgent smile. "and i don't want to, either," john declared. "it is hard enough work to sow and reap and thresh wheat in hot weather like this without sweatin' over fifteen able-bodied men that are jowerin' about a pile no bigger'n that." dolly glanced at the round rosewood clock on the plastered wall and reached for the bell-handle. "my time's up," she said. "i wish i could stop my ears with cotton. they always come in like a drove of iron-shod mules on a wooden bridge." "your pa's got a piece o' news this mornin'." webb knew his words would stay the hand now resting on the bell. "what is it?" dolly inquired. "he got a letter from mr. mostyn; he's comin' up to board at the house for a month." the pretty hand dropped from the bell-handle. dolly was staring at the speaker in surprise. she said nothing, though he was sure a flush was creeping into her cheeks. "i sorter thought that 'ud stagger you," webb said with a significant grin. "me? i don't see why." dolly was fighting for perfect composure under trying circumstances, considering her uncle's mischievous stare. "well, i do, if you don't, miss dolly," he tittered. "you wasn't a bit older 'n ann is when he was here last, but you was daffy about 'im the same as your ma an' all the rest o' the women. in fact, you was wuss than the balance." "me? i'm ashamed of you, uncle john; i'm ashamed to hear you accuse me of--of--why, i never heard of such a thing." "no matter, i wasn't plumb blind," webb went on. "you kept puttin' fresh flowers in his room an' you eyed his plate like he was a pet cat to see if he was bein' fed right. la me, i'm no fool! i know a _little_ about females, an' i never saw a mountain woman yet that wouldn't go stark crazy over a town man or a' unmarried preacher. i reckon it must be the clothes the fellers wear or the prissy stuff they chat about." dolly put her hand out toward the bell, but dropped it to the table. "when is he coming?" she asked, her eyes holding a tense, eager stare. "thursday," was the answer, accompanied by a widening grin. "i wouldn't give the children a holiday on the strength of it if i was you. part o' these mountain folks is men an' moonshiners, an' they don't think any more about a feller that owns a bank in atlanta 'an they do of a mossback clod-hopper with the right sort o' heart in 'im. say, mostyn ain't nothin' but human, an' if what _some_ say is so he ain't the highest grade o' that. over at hilton's warehouse in ridgeville t'other day i heard some cotton-buyers talkin' about men that had riz fast an' the underhanded tricks sech chaps use to hoodwink simple folks, an' they said dick mostyn capped the stack. accordin' to them, he--" "i don't believe a word of it!" dolly stood up and angrily grasped the bell-handle. "it's not true. it's a meddlesome lie. they are jealous. people are always like that--it makes them furious to see another person prosper. they are mean, low back-biters." "oh, i don't say that mostyn will actually be arrested before he gits up here," john said, dryly. "from all reports he generally has the law on his side, an'--" but dolly, still angry, was ringing the bell. she had turned her back to webb; and, unable to make himself heard, he made his way down the aisle to the door. "she's a regular spitfire when she gits 'er back up," he mused. "now i _know_ she likes 'im. it's been three years since she laid eyes on 'im, but she's as daffy now as she was then. it must 'a' been the feller's gallant way. i remember he used to say she was the purtiest an' brightest little trick he ever seed. maybe he said somethin' o' the sort to her, young as she was. i remember i used to think sis was a fool to let 'im walk about with dolly so much, pickin' flowers an' the like. well, if he thought she was purty an' smart then he'll be astonished now--he shore will." chapter iv as mostyn's train ascended the grade leading up to the hamlet of ridgeville, within a mile of which lay the little farm to which he was going, he sat at an open window and viewed the scene with delight, drawing into his lungs with a sense of restful content the crisp, rarefied air. to the west, and marking the vicinity of drake's farm, the mountain loomed up in its blended coat of gray and green, growing more and more indistinct as the range gradually extended into the bluish haze of distance. "i'm going to like it," he said, almost aloud, with the habit he had of talking to himself when alone. "i feel as if i shall never want to look inside a bank again. this is life, real, sensible life. i have, after all, always had a yearning for genuine simplicity. it must have come to me from my pioneer, puritan ancestry. that man over there plowing corn with his mule and ragged harness is happier than i ever was down there in that god-forsaken turmoil. the habit of wanting to beat other men in the expert turning over of capital is as dangerous, once it clutches you, as morphine. i must call a halt. that last narrow escape shall be a lesson. i am getting normal again, and i must stay so. what are alan delbridge's operations to me? he has no nerves nor imagination. he could have slept through that last tangle of mine which came within an inch of laying me out stiff and stark. i wonder how all the drakes are, especially dolly. she must be fully grown now. saunders says she is beautiful and as wise as socrates. i suppose there are a dozen mountain boys after her by this time. for a little girl she was astonishingly mature in manner and thought. i ought not to have talked to her as i did. i have never forgotten her face and voice as i saw and heard them that last night. i see the wonderful eyes and mouth, the like of which i have never run across since. i am ashamed to think that i acted as i did, and she only an inexperienced child; but i really couldn't help it. i seemed to be in a dream. it was really an unpardonable thing--and proves that i _do_ lack character--for me to tell her that i would often think of her. but the worst of all, really the most cowardly, considering her unsuspecting innocence and exaggerated faith in me, was my kissing her as i did there in the moonlight. how exquisite was her vow that she'd never kiss any other man as long as she lived! lord, i wonder what ails me. surely i am not silly enough to be actually--" mostyn's meditations were interrupted by a shrill shriek from the locomotive. leaning out of the window, he saw the little old-fashioned brick car-shed ahead and heard the grinding of the brakes on the smooth wheels beneath the car. grasping his bag in his hand, he made his way out and descended to the ground. he saw the long white three-story hotel close by with its green blinds, extensive veranda, and blue-railed balustrade, the row of stores and law-offices, forming three sides of a square of which the car-shed, depot, and railway made the fourth. in the open space stood some canvas-covered mountain-wagons containing produce for shipment to the larger markets, and the usual male loungers in straw hats, baggy trousers, easy shoes, and shirts without coats. a burly negro porter hastened down the steps of the hotel and approached swinging his slouch hat in his hand, his eyes on the traveler's bag. "all right, boss--purcell house, fus'-class hotel, whar all de drummers put up. good sample-rooms an' fine country cookin'." mostyn held on to his bag, which the swarthy hands were grasping. "no, i'm not going to stop," he explained. "i'm going out to drake's farm." "oh, _is_ you? well, suh, mr. john webb is in de freight depot. i done hear 'im say he fetched de buggy ter tek somebody out." at this juncture the florid and flushed face of webb was seen as he emerged from the doorway of the depot. he was bent under a weighty bag of flour, and smiled and waved his hat by way of salutation as he advanced to a buggy at a public hitching-rack and deposited his burden in the receptacle behind the single seat. this done, he came forward, brushing the sleeve of his alpaca coat and grinning jovially. "how are you?" he extended a fat, perspiring hand luckily powdered with flour. "i reckon you won't mind riding out with me. tom said he'd bet you'd rather walk to limber up your legs, but lucy made me fetch the buggy along, as some said you wasn't as well as common. but you look all right to me-that is, as well as _any_ of you city fellers ever do. the last one of you look as white as convicts out o' jail. i reckon thar is so much smoke over your town that the sun don't strike it good and straight." "oh, i'm all right," mostyn said, good-naturedly, "just a little run down from overwork, that's all." "run down?" webb seemed quite concerned with getting at the exact meaning of the statement, and as he took mostyn's bag and put it in with the flour he eyed the banker attentively. _"run down?"_ he repeated, with his characteristic emphasis. "i don't see how a man as big an' hearty as you look an' weighin' as much could git sick or even _tired_ without havin' any more work to do than you have. i've always meant to ask you or mr. saunders what you fellers do, _anyway._ i reckon banks are the same in big towns as in little ones. they haven't got a regular bank here in ridgeville, but i've been to the one in darley. i went in with tom when he wanted to draw the cash on a cotton check. talk about hard work--i'll swear i couldn't see it. me 'n' tom had been up fully three hours knockin' about the streets tryin' to kill the best part o' the day before that shebang opened up for business, an' _then_ somebody said they shet up at three o'clock an' went home to take a nap or whiz about in their automobiles. the whole thing's bothered me a sight, for i _do_ like to understand things. how _could_ a checker-playin' business like that tire anybody?" "it's head-work," mostyn obligingly explained, as he followed john into the buggy and sat beside him. _"head-work,"_ webb echoed, the cloud still on his brow. he clucked to his horse and gently shook the reins. "to save me i don't see how head-work--if there is such a thing--could tire out a man's legs and arms and body." "there is a good deal of worry attached to it," mostyn felt impelled to say. "nowadays they are saying that worry will kill a man quicker than any sort of physical ailment. you see, good sound sleep is necessary, and when a man is greatly bothered he simply can't sleep." "oh, i see, i see," webb's blue eyes flashed. "thar may be something in that, but it does seem like a man would have more gumption 'an to worry hisse'f to death about something that won't be of use to 'im after he dies. that's common sense, ain't it?" mostyn was compelled to admit the truth of the remark. they had driven out of the village square and were now in the open country. "thar is one more thing about town folks an' country folks that i've always wanted to know," john began again after a silence of several minutes, "and that is why town folks contend that country folks is green. as i look at it it is an even swap. now, you are a town man, an' i'm a country feller. i could take you to the edge o' that cotton-field whar it joins on to the woods on that slope thar, an' point out a spot whar you couldn't make cotton grow more'n six inches high though it will reach four feet everywhar else in the field. now, i'd be an impolite fool to lie down thar betwixt the rows an' split my sides laughin' at you for not knowin' what i jest got on to by years an' years o' farm life. the truth is that cotton won't take any sort o' root within twenty feet of a white-oak tree." "i didn't know that," mostyn said. "i knowed you didn't, an' that's why i fetched it up," webb went on, blandly, "an' me nor no other farmer would poke fun at you about it, but it is different in town. jest let a spindle-legged counter-jumper at a store with his hair parted in the middle git a joke on a country feller, an' the whole town will take a hand in it. oh, i know, for they've shore had _me_ on the run." "i'm surprised at that," mostyn answered, smiling. "you seem too shrewd to be taken in by any one." "humph, i say!" webb laughed reminiscently. "i supplied all the fun darley had one hot summer day when all hands was lyin' round the stores and law-offices tryin' to git cool by fannin' and sprinklin' the sidewalks. did you ever hear tell of the tom collins gag?" "i think not," the banker answered. "well, i have--you bet i have," john said, dryly, "an" it is one thing that makes me afraid sometimes that a country feller railly hain't actually overloaded with brains. take my advice; if anybody ever tells you that a feller by the name o' tom collins is lookin' for you an' anxious to see you about something important, just skin your eye at 'im, tell 'im right out that you don't give a dang about tom collins. la me, what a fool--what a fool i was! a feller workin' at the cotton-compress told me that a man by the name o' tom collins wanted to see me right off, an' that he was up at the wholesale grocery. fool that i was, i hitched my hosses an' struck out lickity-split for the grocery. i axed one of the storekeepers standin' in front if tom collins was anywhars about, and, as i remember now, he slid his hand over his mouth an' sorter turned his face to one side and yelled back in the store: "'say, boys, is tom collins back thar?' an' right then, mr. mostyn, if i had had the sense of a three-year-old baby i'd have smelt a mouse, for fully six clerks, drummers, and all the firm hurried to whar i was at an' stood lookin' at me, their eyes dancin'. 'he _was_ here, but he's just left,' a clerk said. 'he went to the hotel to git his grip. he was awfully put out. he's been all over town lookin' for you.' well, as i made a break for the hotel, wonderin' if somebody had died an' left me a hunk o' money, the gang at the grocery stood clean out on the sidewalk watchin' me. when i inquired at the hotel, the clerk an' two nigger waiters said tom was askin' about me an' had just run over to the court-house, whar i'd be shore to find him." "i see the point," mostyn laughed. "i'm glad you do so quick, for i had to have it beat into me with a sledge-hammer," webb said, dryly. "i was so mad i could have chawed nails, but i blamed myself more'n anybody else, for they was just havin' their fun an' meant no harm." "i suppose not," mostyn said. "well, i can't complain; they have their sport with one another. dolph wartrace, you know, that keeps the cross-roads store nigh us, clerked in darley before he went in on his own hook out here, an' i've heard 'im tell of a lot o' pranks that they had over thar. he said thar was an old bachelor that, kept a dry-goods store who never had had much to do with women. he was bashful-like, but thar was _one_ young woman that he had his eye on, an' now an' then he'd spruce up an' go to see 'er or take 'er out to meetin', but jeff said he was too weak-kneed to pop the question, an' the gal went off on a visit to alabama and got married. now, the old bach' had a gang o' friends that was always in for fun, an' with long, sad faces they went about askin' everybody they met if they had heard that bob hadley--that was the feller's name--if they had heard that he was dead. bob knowed what they was sayin' an' tried to put a pleasant face on it, but it must have been hard work, considerin' all that happened. "well, one thing added to another till a gang of bob's friends met the next night in a grocery store after he had gone to bed and still with sad, solemn faces declared that, considerin' his untimely end, it was their bounden duty to bury 'im in a respectable way. so they went to the furniture store close by an' borrowed a coffin an' picked out pall-bearers. a feller that slept with bob in the little room cut off at the end o' his store was in the game, an' he had a key an' unlocked the door, an' the solemn procession marched in singin' some sad hymn or other with every man-jack of 'em wipin' his eyes an' snufflin'. now, that was all well an' good as far as it went, but thar was a traitor in the camp. somebody had let the dead man in on the job, an' when the gang got to the door of the little room he jumped out o' bed with a surprised sort o' grunt an' let into firin' blank-cartridges straight at 'em. folks say that thar was some o' the tallest runnin' an' jumpin' an' hidin' under counters an' bustin' show-cases that ever tuck place out of a circus. after that night jeff said the whole town was meetin' the gang an' tellin' 'em that thar must 'a' been some mistake about the report of bob hadley's death anyway." mostyn laughed heartily. indeed, he was conscious of a growing sense of deep content and restfulness. the turmoil of business and city life seemed almost dreamlike in its remoteness from his present more rational existence. with the handle of his whip webb pointed to the roof of the farmhouse, the fuzzy gray shingles of which were barely showing above the trees by which it was shaded. "you haven't told me how the family are," mostyn said, "i suppose the children are much larger now. dolly, at least, must be a young lady, from what saunders tells me of her school-work." webb's blue eyes swept the face of the banker with a steady scrutiny. there was a faint twinkle in their mystic depths as he replied. "yes, she's full grown. she's kin folks o' mine, an' it ain't for me to say, but i'd be unnatural if i wasn't proud of 'er. she's the head of that shebang, me included. what she says goes with young or old. she ain't more'n eighteen, if she's that, an' yet she furnishes brains for us an' mighty nigh all the neighborhood. you wait till you see 'er an' hear 'er talk, an' you will know what i mean." chapter v the next morning the new boarder waked at sunrise, and stood at a window of his room on the upper floor of the farmhouse and looked out across the fields and meadows to the rugged, mist-draped mountain. the beautiful valley was flooded with the soft golden light. an indescribable luster seemed to breathe from every dew-laden stalk of cotton or corn, plant, vine, blade of grass and patch of succulent clover. cobwebs, woven in the night and bejeweled with dewdrops, festooned the boughs of the trees in the orchard and on the lawn. from the barn-yard back of the farmhouse a chorus of sounds was rising. pigs were grunting and squealing, cows were mooing, a donkey was braying, ducks were quacking, hens were clucking, roosters were crowing. "saunders is right," mostyn declared, enthusiastically. "i don't blame the fellow for spending so much time on his plantation. this is the only genuine life. the other is insanity, crazy, competitive madness, for which there is no cure this side of the grave. i must have two natures. at this moment i feel as if i'd rather die than sweat and stew over investments and speculations in a bank as i have been doing, and yet i may be sure that the thing will clutch me again. one word of delbridge's lucky manipulations or old mitchell's praise, and the fever would burn to my bones. but i mustn't think of them if i am to benefit by this. i must fill myself with this primitive simplicity and dream once more the glorious fancies of boyhood." finishing dressing, he descended the stairs to the hall below and passed through the open door to the veranda. no one was in sight, but from the kitchen in the rear he heard the clatter of utensils and dishes, and smelt the aroma of boiling coffee and frying ham. already his appetite was sharpened as if by the mountain air. he decided on taking a walk, and, stepping down to the grass, he turned round the house, coming face to face upon dolly, whom he had not yet seen, as she came from a side door. "oh!" she exclaimed, flushing prettily. "i did not think you would rise so early--at least, not on your first morning." he eyed her almost in bewilderment as he took the hand she was cordially extending. could this full-blown rose of young womanhood, this startling beauty, be the slip of a timid girl he had so lightly treated three years ago? what hair, what eyes, what palpitating, sinuous grace! she was fast recovering calmness. there was a womanly dignity about her which seemed incongruous in one so young. "i am rather surprised at myself for waking so early," he answered. "i slept like a log. it is the first real rest i have had since--since i was here before. why, dolly"--he caught himself up--"i suppose i must say miss drake now--" "no, i am not that to any one in all this valley, and don't want to be!" she cried, the corners of her mouth curving bewitchingly. "even the little children call me 'dolly,' and i like it." "i mustn't stop you if you are going somewhere," he said, still in the grasp of her wondrous beauty. "i'm going down to tobe barnett's cabin in the edge of our field." she showed a small vial half filled with medicine in the pocket of her white apron. "his baby, little robby, was taken sick a few days ago. i sat up there part of last night. they have no paragoric and i am taking some over." "so that's where you were; i wondered when i didn't see you at supper," mostyn said, turning with her toward the gate. "i'll go with you if you don't mind." "oh yes, come on," dolly answered. "we'll have plenty of time before the breakfast-bell rings. it is not far. i am awfully sorry for tobe and his wife; they are both young and inexperienced." "and you are a regular grandmother in wisdom," mostyn jested. "only eighteen, with the world on your shoulders." "well, i _do_ seem to know a few things, a few _ordinary_ things," dolly said, seriously, "but they are not matters to boast about. for instance, tobe and annie--that's his wife--were so scared and excited when i got there last night that they were actually harming the poor little baby, and i set about to calm them the very first thing. i can't begin to tell you how they went on. think of it, they had actually given up and were crying--both of them--and there lay the little mite fairly gasping for breath. i made tobe go after some wood for the fire, and put annie at work helping me. then i forced them to be still until the baby got quiet and fell asleep." "you'd make a capital nurse." mostyn was regarding her admiringly. "it would be a pleasure to be sick in your hands." dolly ignored his compliment. she was thinking of something alien to his mood and deeper. "do you know," she said, after she had passed through the gate which he had held open, "the world is all out of joint." "do you think so?" he asked, as he walked beside her, suiting his step to hers. "yes, for if it were right," she sighed, her brows meeting thoughtfully, "such well-meaning persons as the barnetts would not have to live as they do and bring helpless children into the world." "things do seem rather uneven," mostyn admitted, lamely, "but you know really that we ought to have a law that would keep such couples from marrying." "poof!" she blew his argument away with a fine sniff of denial, and her eyes shot forth fresh gleams of conviction. "how absurd to talk about a human law to keep persons from doing god's infinite will. god intends for persons to love each other. love is the one divine thing that we can be absolutely sure of. annie and tobe can't help themselves. they are out in a storm. it is beating them on all sides--pounding, driving, dragging, and grinding them. they love each other with a love that is celestial, a love that is of the spirit rather than of their poor ill-fed, ill-clothed bodies." mostyn's wonder over the girl's depth and facility of expression clutched him so firmly that he found himself unable to formulate a fitting reply. "oh yes, their love is absolutely genuine," dolly ran on, loyally. "tobe could have married the daughter of a well-to-do farmer over the mountain whom he had visited several times before he met his wife. the farmer was willing, i have heard, to give them land to live on, and it might have been a match, but tobe accidentally met annie. she was a poor girl working in the ridgeville cotton factory at two or three dollars a week, which she was giving to her people. she had only two dresses, the tattered bag of a thing she worked in and another which she kept for sundays. tobe met her and talked to her one day while he was hauling cotton to the factory, and something in her poor wretched face attracted him, or maybe it was her sweet voice, for it is as mellow as music. she wasn't well--had a cough at the time--and he had read something in a paper about the lint of a factory causing consumption, and it worried him; people say he couldn't keep from talking about it. she was on his mind constantly. he was still going to see the other girl, but he acted so oddly that she became angry with him and, to spite him, began to go with another young man. but tobe didn't seem to care. he kept going to the factory and--well, the upshot of it was that he married annie." "and then the _real_ trouble began," mostyn said, smiling lightly. "and actually through no fault of their own," dolly declared. "he rented land, bought some supplies on credit, and went to work to make a crop. you ask father or uncle john; they will tell you that tobe barnett was the hardest worker in this valley. but ill luck clung to him like a leach. the drouth killed his first crop, and the winter caught him in debt. then annie got sick--she had exposed herself to the bad weather milking a cow for a neighbor to earn a little money. then no sooner was she up when a wagon ran over tobe and hurt his foot so that he could hardly get about. then the baby came, and their load of trouble was heavier than ever." "a case of true love, without doubt," mostyn said. "and the prettiest thing on earth," dolly declared. "sometimes it seems to make their poor shack of a place fairly glow with heavenly light." "you are a marvel to me, dolly--you really are!" mostyn paused, and she turned to him, a groping look of surprise on her face. "what do you mean?" she asked. "why, you have such an original way of speaking," he said, somewhat abashed by her sudden demand. "i mean--that--that what you say sounds different from what one would naturally expect. not ordinary, not commonplace; i hardly know how to express it. really, you are quite poetic." he saw her face fall. "i am sorry about that," she faltered. "i have been told the same thing before, and i don't like to be that way. i am afraid i read too much poetry. it fairly sings in my head when i feel deeply, as i do about tobe and annie, for instance, or when i have to make a speech." "make a speech? you?" mostyn stared. "oh yes, these people expect all that sort of thing from a teacher, and it was very hard for me to do at first, but i don't mind it now. one is obliged to open school with prayer, too, and it mustn't be worded the same way each time or the mischievous children will learn it by heart and quote it. the most of my speeches are made in our debating society." "oh, i see; you have a debating society!" mostyn exclaimed. "yes, and as it happens i am the only woman member," dolly proceeded to enlighten him. "the men teachers in the valley got it up to meet at my school twice a month, and the patrons took a big interest in it and began to make insinuations that my school ought to be represented. they talked so much about it that i was afraid some man would get my job, so one day when warren wilks, the teacher in ridgeville, asked me to join i did." "how strange!" mostyn said, admiringly, "and you really do take part." dolly laughed softly. "you'd think so if you ever attended one of our public harangues. i've heard persons say i was the whole show. of course, i'm joking now, but the women all take up for me and applaud everything i say, whether it has a point to it or not. _'whole show!'_ i oughtn't to have said that. when i try to keep from using bookish expressions i drop plumb into slang; there is no middle ground for me." "what sort of subjects does your society take up?" mostyn inquired, highly amused. "anything the human mind can think up," dolly answered. "warren wilks reads all the philosophical and scientific magazines, and he fairly floors us--there i go again; when i talk i either grab the stars or stick my nose in the mire. i mean that warren's subjects are generally abstruse and profound." "for instance?" mostyn suggested, still smiling. "well, the last one was--and there was a crowd, i tell you, for the presiding elder had just closed a revival in our church and a good many stayed over for the debate. we all tried to show off because he was present, and it was a religious subject. it was this: is it possible for human beings in the present day to obey the commandment of jesus to love your neighbor as yourself?" "and which side were you on?" the banker asked. "i was affirmative, and almost by myself, too," dolly answered. "i oughtn't to say that either; it sounds like bragging, for there were two men on my side, but i saw at the start that i couldn't depend on them. they were weak-kneed--afraid of our premise. they didn't believe jesus meant it, anyway. i did the best i could. i not only think he meant it, but i am sure the day will come when the whole world will live up to the rule. christ wouldn't be for all time, as he is, if his best ideas were acceptable to such a grossly material age as ours. neither side won in that debate--the judges couldn't agree. i wish you had been here last month. we had up a subject that you could have helped me on. the question was: which is the better place to rear a man, the city or the country? or, in other words, can the mind of man develop in a busy, crowded place as well as in a quiet spot in the country? i was on the side of the rural districts that night, and we won. we had no trouble showing that the majority of great characters in all lines of endeavor had come from rural spots. i think it is the same to-day. i know i wouldn't live in a big town. city people are occupied with automobiles, golf, dances, card parties, and gossip--of course, i don't mean anything personal, you understand, but it is a fact that they are that way. and it is a fact, too, that here our crowd, at least, will get a good book and actually wear it to tatters passing it around. that is the sort of education that sticks when it once gets hold of a person." "i am sure you are right," mostyn admitted, and he felt the blood rise to his face as he thought of the emptiness of his own life in atlanta, which now, somehow, seemed like a vanishing dream. the morning sun was blazing over the verdant landscape, filling the dewdrops on the grass with red, blue, and yellow light. an indescribable aura seemed to encircle the exquisite face of his young companion. there was a restful poise about her, a sure grasp of utterance, that soothed and thrilled him. something new and vivifying sprang to life in his breast. the thought flashed into his consciousness that here with this embodiment of intellectual purity he could master the cloying vices of his life. he could put them behind him--turn over a new leaf, be a new man in body and spirit. perhaps he could kill the temptation to gain by sordid business methods; perhaps he could subdue the reluctant intention to marry for ulterior motives regardless of the magnitude of the temptation. it really was not too late. he couldn't remember having said anything to mitchell or his daughter which would bind him in any absolute sense. yes, the ideal was the thing. providence had rescued him from his recent financial danger, and meant this encounter as a chance for redemption. he could make some sort of compromise with old jefferson henderson--a reasonable sum of money to one so hard pressed for funds would not only silence the too active tongue, but win his gratitude and the approval of all business men. then there was the other thing--the thing he scarcely dared think of in the presence of this pure young girl--the disagreeable case of marie--but there was no use reflecting over what could not be helped. a man ought to be pardoned for mistakes due to uncontrollable natural passion. the woman is generally as much to blame as her companion in indiscretion, especially one of the sort to whom his mind now reverted. she had shown her lack of character, if not her prime motive, by accepting and using the money he had offered her. she had been troublesome, and more so of late than before, but she might be persuaded to let him alone. his conscience was clear, for he had made no promises to her. he remembered distinctly that he had made no effort actually to win her affections. how different was this pure mountain flower from such a soiled and degraded creature! "there," dolly was speaking again, and the soft cadences of her voice put his shameful memories to flight as she pointed to an opening between the trees of the wood on the right, "you can see your partner's house from here. he has had it repainted. it is a beautiful old place, isn't it?" he nodded as he surveyed the stately mansion in the distance, the white porch columns of which shone like snow in the slanting rays of the sun. "it is saunders's pride," he said. "atlanta is becoming more and more distasteful to him. he is never really happy anywhere but up here. he yawns his head off at every party, dance, or dinner down there. they all laugh at him and call him 'farmer.'" "well, he is that," dolly declared. "he works in the fields like a day-laborer when he is up here on a holiday." they walked on a few paces in silence; then dolly said: "mr. saunders has been very kind to our club; he gave us a lot of good books; he comes to our debates sometimes and seems very much interested. we all like him. the boys declare they could elect him to the legislature from this county if only he would let them, but he doesn't care a fig for it." "he is something of a dreamer, i think," mostyn remarked, "and still he's practical. he has a long head on him--never gets excited and seldom makes a wrong move in a deal." they were now nearing the cabin occupied by tobe barnett. it was a most dilapidated shack. it was made of pine logs, the bark of which had become worm-eaten and was falling away. the spaces between the logs were filled with dried clay. it had a mud-and-stick chimney, from the cracks of which the smoke oozed. it contained only one room, was roofed with crudely split boards of oak, and was without a window of any sort. outside against the wall on the right of the shutterless door was a shelf holding a battered tin water pail and a gourd. within, as the visitors approached nearer, was heard the grinding of feet on the rough planks of the floor and the faint, tremulous cry of a child. a lank young man appeared at the door. he wore a ragged, earth-stained shirt and patched pants. his yellowish hair was tousled, a scant tuft of beard was on his sharp chin, and whiskers of a week's standing mottled his hollow cheeks. his blue eyes peered out despondently from their shadowy sockets. "how is robby now, tobe?" dolly asked. the man stepped down to the ground, and in his tattered, gaping shoes slowly shambled forward. "i can't see no change, miss dolly," he gulped. "he seems to me as sick as ever. if anything, he don't git his breath as free as he did. annie's mighty nigh distracted. i don't know which way to turn or what to do when she gives up." "i know it--poor thing!" dolly answered. she turned to mostyn. "wait here. i'll be out before long." followed by the anxious father, she went into the cabin. mostyn sat down at the root of a big beech tree and glanced over the peaceful landscape. how wonderful the scene! he thought. the top of the mountain was lost in the lifting mist along its base and sides. the level growing fields stretched away to the north in a blaze of warming yellow. a boy was leading a harnessed horse along the road; behind him lagged a dog to which the boy was cheerfully whistling and calling. a covey of quails rose from a patch of blackberry vines and fluttered away toward the nearest hillside. yes, he was going to turn over a new leaf. mostyn was quite sure of this. he would take saunders for his model instead of that crack-brained delbridge who had the hide of an ox and no refinement of feeling. yes, yes, and forget--above all, he would forget; that was the thing. at this moment he saw dolly crossing the room with the child in her arms. it was only for an instant, and yet he noted the unspeakable tenderness which pervaded her attitude and movement. he was reminded of a picture of a madonna he had seen in a gallery in new york. the crying of the child had ceased; there was scarcely any sound in the cabin, for dolly's tread was as light as falling snow. from the doorway came tobe barnett. he approached mostyn in a most dejected mien. "this is mr. mostyn, ain't it?" he asked. "i heard tom drake say they was expectin' you up." the banker nodded. "how do you think the baby is now?" he asked, considerately. "only the lord could answer that, sir," the man sighed. "i believe it would have died in the night if miss dolly hadn't got out o' bed an' come over." "i was half awake," mostyn said. "i thought i heard some one calling out at the gate. it was about two o'clock, i think." "that was the fust time, sir. the second time was just before daybreak. i didn't go for her that time. she come of her own accord--said she jest couldn't git back to sleep. she loves children, mr. mostyn, an' she seems to think as much o' robby as if he was her own. i ketched 'er cryin' last night when she was settin' waitin' in the dark for 'im to git to sleep. la, la, folks brag powerful on miss dolly, but they don't know half o' the good she does on the quiet. she tries to keep 'em from findin' out what she does. i know i'm grateful to 'er. if the lord don't give me a chance to repay 'er for her kindness to me an' mine i'll never be satisfied." the speaker's voice had grown husky, and he now choked up. silence fell. it was broken by a sweet voice in the cabin humming an old plantation lullaby. there was a thumping of a rockerless chair on the floor. presently the mother of the child came out. she blinked from the staring blue eyes which she timidly raised to mostyn's face. her dress was a poor drab rag of a thing which hung limply over her thin form. her hair was tawny and drawn into a tight, unbecoming knot at the back of her head. no collar of any sort hid her sun-browned, bony neck. "miss dolly said please not wait for her," she faltered. "breakfast at the house will be over. she's done give the child the medicine an' wants to put it to sleep. it will sleep for her, but won't for me or tobe. we have sent for a doctor, but we don't know whether he will come or not. doctors can't afford to bother with real pore folks as much out o' the way as this is." "he won't be likely to come," barnett sighed. "they are all out for cases whar they kin git ready cash an' plenty of it." mostyn turned away. what a wonderful girl dolly was, he said to himself, as he strode along, his heart beating with strange new elation. he was sure she still liked him. she showed it in her eyes, in her tone of voice. she had not forgotten his last talk with her; she was so young, so impressionable, and, withal, so genuine! at the front gate he saw john webb waiting for him. "you'd better hurry," webb smiled, as he swung the gate open. "the bell's done rung. i seed you an' dolly walkin' off, an' i was afeared you'd git cold grub. as for her, she don't care when she eats or what is set before her." chapter vi it was the following tuesday. dolly, with a bundle of books and written exercises under her arm, was returning from school. close behind her walked george and ann. "i'm ashamed of you both," dolly said, with a frown. "we've got company, and you are both as black as the pot. if i were you i'd certainly stop at the branch and wash the dirt off before getting home." "that's a good idea," george laughed. "come on, sis!" he caught the struggling ann by the arm and began to drag her toward the stream. "i'll give you a good ducking. dol' said i could." leaving them quarreling, and even exchanging mild blows, dolly walked on. "they are beyond me--beyond _anybody_ except an army of soldiers with guns pointed," she said. "i don't know what mr. mostyn thinks of us, i'm sure. people don't live that way in atlanta--that is, _nice_ people don't; but he really doesn't seem to care much. he doesn't seem to notice the mistakes father and mother make, and he lets uncle john talk by the hour about any trivial thing. i wonder if he really, _really_ likes me--as--as much as he seems to. it has been three years since he first hinted at it, and, oh, my! i must have been as gawky and silly as ann. still, you never can tell; the heart must have a lot to do with it. i wasn't thinking of looks, or clothes, or the rich man they all said he was, and i guess he wasn't thinking of anything but--" she checked herself; the blood had mounted to her face, and she felt it wildly throbbing in the veins. "anyway, he seems to like to be with me now even more than he did then. he listens to all i say--doesn't miss a word, and looks at me as if--as if--" again she checked herself; her plump breast rose high, and a tremulous sigh escaped her lips. "well," she finished, as she opened the gate and saw her mother in the doorway, "people may say what they like, but i don't believe anybody can love but once in life, either man or woman. god means it that way just as he doesn't let the same sweet flower bloom twice on the same stem." mrs. drake had advanced to the edge of the porch. "hurry up," she said, eagerly. "miss stella munson is in my room waiting for you. she come at two o'clock and has been here ever since." "what does she want?" dolly asked, putting her books down on the upper step of the porch. "i don't want to tell you till you see it," mrs. drake said, smiling mysteriously; "it is by all odds the prettiest thing you ever laid eyes on, an' she says she is willin' to let it go for the bare cost of the material. she is in a sort o' tight for cash." "a hat?" dolly inquired, eagerly. "something you need worse than a hat," the mother smiled. "it is a dress--an organdie, a regular beauty. she made it for mary cobb, and you know mary always orders the best, but, the poor girl's mother bein' dead, the dress come back on miss stella's hands. she could force mary to stick to her agreement, but she hates to do it when the girl has to put on black and is in so much trouble. even as it is, you wouldn't have had the chance at it, but you and mary are exactly of a size, an' there'll be no alterations to make." "oh, i want to see it!" dolly sprang lightly up the steps and hurried into her mother's room on the right of the hall, where a tall, angular, middle-aged spinster sat with her stained and needle-pricked fingers linked in her lap. "how are you, miss stella?" she cried, kissing the thin cheek cordially. "i've already heard about that dress. winnie mayfield helped mary pick out the cloth and trimmings, and she said you would make it the sweetest thing in the valley. pink is my color. where is--oh!" she had descried it as it lay on the bed, and with hands clasped in delight, she sprang toward it. "oh, it is a dream--a dream, miss stella! you are an artist." she picked the flimsy garment up and held it at arm's length. then she hung it on one of the tall bed-posts and stood back to admire it, uttering little ejaculations of delight. "i know it will fit. i wore one of mary's dresses to a party one night, and it was exactly right in every way. oh, oh, what a beauty! you are a wonder. you could get rich in a city." "i think miss stella is trying to advertise her work," mrs. drake jested. "she knows mr. mostyn will see it, and he'd have to talk about it. town men are close observers of what girls put on--more so, by a long shot, than country men. i wouldn't be surprised if some rich person wrote to you to come down to atlanta, miss stella." dolly was dancing about the room like a happy child, now placing herself in one position, then another, in order to view the dress from every possible point of vantage. she even went out into the hall and sauntered back as if to surprise herself by a sudden sight of the treasure. "stop your silliness!" her mother laughingly chided her. "you are a regular circus clown or monkey in a cage when you try yourself." "i just want you to put it on, dolly," the seamstress said, with elation. "all the time i was at work on it i kept thinking how nice it would look on you. mary is plain; i reckon there is no harm in saying that, even if her mother _is_ dead." "she will look better in black," said mrs. drake, "or pure white. colors as full of life as this dress has would die dead on a dingy complexion like mary's, or any of the cobb women, for that matter. they look for the world as if they lived on coffee and couldn't git it out of their systems. dolly, shuck off your dress and try it on." dolly needed no urging. in her excitement she forgot to correct her mother's speech, which she would have done on any other occasion, and began at once to divest her slender form of her waist and skirt, dropping the latter at her feet and springing lightly out of the circular heap. the seamstress took up the dress carefully and held it in readiness. "you will be a regular butterfly in it," she said, laughingly. "you are light on your feet as a grasshopper anyway." while the two women were buttoning and hooking the garment on her dolly kept up a running fire of amusing comments, arching her beautiful bare neck as she eyed herself in the mirror on the bureau. "it will come in handy for meeting on the first sunday," mrs. drake remarked. "folks will have on their best if the weather is fine, an' i don't see no sign o' rain. it will make ann awful jealous; she is just at the age to think she is as big as anybody, an' don't seem to remember that dolly makes 'er own money. but dolly's to blame for that; she spoils ann constantly by letting her wear things she ought to keep for herself." "growing girls are all that way about things to put on," mumbled miss munson, the corner of her mouth full of pins. "i know _i_ had all sorts o' high an' mighty ideas. i fell in love with a widower old enough to be my grandfather. and i was--stand a little to the right, please. there, that is all right. quit wiggling. i was such a fool about him, and showed it so plain that it turned the old scamp's head. he actually called to see me one night. oh, it was exciting! father took down his shotgun from the rack over the fireplace and ordered him off the place. then he spanked me--father spanked me good and sound and made me go to bed. you may say what you please, but that sort o' medicine will certainly cure a certain brand o' love. it did more to convince me that i was not grown than anything else had ever done. from that day on i hated the sight of that man. all at once he looked to me as old as santa claus. i had a sort of smarting feeling every time i thought of him, and he did look ridiculous that night as he broke an' run across the yard with two of our dogs after him." "oh, _isn't_ it lovely?" dolly was now before the looking-glass, bending right and left, stepping back and then forward, fluffing out her rich hair, her cheeks flushed, her eyes gleaming with delight. "i wish you could just stand off and take a good look at yourself, dolly," mrs. drake cried, enthusiastically. "i simply don't know what to compare you to. where you got your good looks i can't imagine. but mother used to say that _her_ mother in virginia come of a long line of noted beauties. our folks away back, miss stella, as maybe you know, had fine blood in 'em." "it certainly crops out in dolly," miss munson declared. "i've heard folks say they took their little ones to school just to get a chance to set and look at her while she was teaching. i know that i, myself, have always--" "oh, you both make me sick--you make me talk slang, too," dolly said, impatiently. "i'm not good-looking--that is, nothing to brag about--but, miss stella, this dress would make a scarecrow look like an angel, and it _does_ fit. poor mary! i hope she won't see it on me. it is hard enough to lose a mother without--" "go out on the grass and walk about," mrs. drake urged her. "an' let us look at you from the window. i want to see how you look at a distance." "do you think i'm crazy?" dolly demanded, but as merrily as a child playing a game, she lifted the skirt from the floor and lightly tripped away. the watchers saw her go down the porch steps with the majestic grace of a young queen and move along the graveled walk toward the gate. at this point an unexpected thing happened. john webb and mostyn had been fishing and were returning in a buggy. the banker got out and came in at the gate just as dolly, seeing him, was turning to retreat into the house. "hold on, do, please!" mostyn cried out. dolly hesitated for a moment, and then, drawing herself erect, she stood and waited for him quite as if there was nothing unusual in what was taking place. "what have you been doing to yourself?" he cried, his glance bearing down admiringly on her. "oh, just trying on a frock," she answered, her face charmingly pink in its warmth, her long lashes betraying a tendency to droop, and her rich round voice quivering. "those two women in there made me come out here so they could see me. i ought to have had more sense." "i'm certainly glad they did, since it has given me a chance to see you this way. why, dolly, do you know that dress is simply marvelous. i have always thought you were--" mostyn half hesitated--"beautiful, but this dress makes you--well, it makes you--indescribable." avoiding his burning eyes, dolly frankly explained the situation. "you see it is a sort of windfall," she added. "i've got enough saved up to pay for it as it is, but if it were not a bargain i could never dream of it. mary's father is well off, and she is the special pet of a rich uncle." glancing down the road, she saw the bowed figure of a man approaching, and at once her face became grave. "it is tobe barnett," she said. "i want to ask him about robby." leaving mostyn, she hastened to the fence, meeting the uplifted and woeful glance of barnett as he neared her. "why, tobe, what is the matter? you look troubled. robby isn't worse, is he?" "i declare, i hardly know, miss dolly," the gaunt man faltered. "i'm no judge, nor annie ain't neither. she's plumb lost heart, an' i'm not any better. the doctor come this morning. he said it was a very serious case. he--but i don't want to bother you, miss dolly; the lord above knows you have done too much already." "tobe barnett, listen to me!" dolly cried. "what are you beating about the bush for? haven't i got a right to know about that child? i love it. if anything was to happen to that baby it would kill me. did the doctor say there was no--no hope?" "it ain't that, exactly, miss dolly." barnett avoided her eyes and gulped, his half-bare, hairy breast quivering with suppressed emotion. "well, what is it, then?" dolly demanded, impatiently. "why, if you will know my full shame it is this, miss dolly," he blurted out, despondently; he started to cover his face with his gaunt hand, but refrained. "i'm a scab on the face of the world. i've lost the respect and confidence of all men. the doctor left a prescription for several kinds of medicine and a rubber hot-water bag and syringe. i went to the drug store in darley and the one here in ridgeville but they wouldn't credit me--they said they couldn't run business on that plan. and i can't blame 'em. i owe 'em too much already." "look here, tobe!" dolly was leaning over the fence, regardless of the fact that the sleeves of the new dress were against the palings. "how much do those things cost?" barnett turned and stared hesitatingly at her. "more than i'd let _you_ pay for," he blurted out, doggedly. "six dollars. when i git so low as to put my yoke on your sweet young neck i--i will kill myself--that's what i'll do. i tell you i've had enough, an' annie has, too; but we ain't goin' to let you do no more. we had a talk about it last night. we are fairly blistered with shame. you've already give us things that you couldn't afford to give." dolly's sweet face grew rigid, the lips of her pretty mouth twitched. "look here, tobe," she said, huskily. "you've hurt my feelings. i love you and annie and robby, and it is wrong for you to talk this way when i'm so worried about the baby. you are not a cold-blooded murderer, are you? well, you will make yourself out one if you let silly false pride stand between you and that sweet young life. why, i would never get over it. it would haunt me night and day. turn right around and go to the ridgeville drug store and tell them to charge the things to me. i will pay for them to-morrow. they are anxious for my trade. they are eternally ding-donging at--bothering me, i mean, about not buying from them." "miss dolly, i can't. i just _can't._" "if you don't, then _i'll_ have to go myself, as soon as i can get out of this fool contraption," she answered, with determination. "you don't want to make me dress and go, i know, but i will if you don't, and i won't lose a minute, either." "why, miss dolly--" "hush, tobe, don't be a fool!" dolly was growing angry. she had thrust her hand over her shoulder to the topmost hook of the dress at the neck, that no time should be lost in changing her clothes. "hurry up, and i'll go straight to annie. i'll have the hot water ready. i know what the doctor wants. it is the same treatment i helped him give pete wilson's baby." "lord have mercy!" tobe barnett groaned. "well, i'll go, miss dolly. i'll go. god bless you! i'll go." she watched him for a moment as he trudged away, and then, still trying in vain to unfasten the hook at the back of her neck and jerking at it impatiently, she turned toward the house. mostyn was waiting for her at the porch steps, having put down his game-bag and fishing-rod. "i declare you are simply stunning in that thing," he said, admiration showing itself in every part of him. "it is a dream!" she frowned, arching her brows reflectively. she bit her lip. "oh, i don't know!" she said. "i was just trying it on to please mother and miss stella. look at the silly things gaping like goggle-eyed perch at the window. one would think that the revolutions of the earth on its axis and the movement of all the planets depended on this scrap of cloth and the vain thing that has it on." "take my advice and buy it," mostyn urged. "it fairly transforms you--makes you look like a creature from another world." she shrugged her shoulders. she cast a slow glance after the figure trudging along the dusty road. she looked down at her breast and daintily flicked at the pink ribbons which were fluttering in the gentle breeze. "it is a flimsy thing," he heard her say, as if in self-argument. "it wouldn't stand many wearings before it would look a sight. it wouldn't wash--man as you are, mr. mostyn, you know it wouldn't wash. i'm going to take it off and try to have some sense. i'm in no position to try to make a show. school-teachers here in the backwoods have no right to excite comment by the gaudy finery they wear. i'm paid by people's taxes. did you know that? i might find myself out of a job--out of employment, i mean. some of these crusty old fellows that believe it is wrong to have an organ in church had just as soon as not enter a complaint against me as being too frivolous to hold a position of trust like mine." "oh, i think you are very wrong to allow such an idea as that to influence you," mostyn argued, warmly. he was about to add more, but tom drake sauntered round the corner, chewing tobacco and smiling broadly. he scarcely deigned to notice dolly's altered appearance. "john says you didn't git a nibble," he laughed. "i hardly 'lowed you would. the water is too low and clear. i've ketched 'em with my hand under the rocks in such weather as this." leaving them together, dolly went into the house, where she was met by the two eager women. "i'll bet mr. mostyn thought it was nice," mrs. drake was saying. "well, i certainly hope so," miss munson answered. "they say atlanta men in his set are powerful good judges of women's wear." dolly had advanced straight to the mirror and stood looking at her reflection, a quizzical expression on her face. "hurry, unhook me!" she ordered, sharply. "quick! i've got to run over to barnett's cabin. robby isn't any better. in fact, he is dangerous and annie needs me." the two women, eying each other inquiringly, edged up close to her, one on either side. "dolly, what is the matter? i knew something was wrong the minute you come in the door." "it is all right," dolly said, in a low tone. "it is very sweet and pretty, miss stella, but i have decided not to--not to take it." "not take it!" the words came from two pairs of lips simultaneously. "not take it!" the miracle happened again, in tones of double bewilderment. "well, i can't say i really expected you to," miss munson retorted, in frigid tones. "i only stopped by. to tell you the truth, i am on the way over to peterkins'. sally is the right size and will jump at it." dolly's lips were tight. her eyes held a light, half of anger, half of an odd sort of doggedness. "please unhook me!" she said, coldly. "there is no time to lose. annie is out of her head with trouble." "well, well, well!" mrs. drake sank into a chair and folded her slender hands with a vigorous slap of the palms. "nobody under high heavens can ever tell what you will do or what you won't do," she wailed. "i never wanted anything for myself as much as for you to have that dress, and--" her voice ended in a sigh of impatience. with rapid, angry fingers the seamstress was disrobing the slender form roughly, jerking hooks, ribbons, and bits of lace. "huh, huh!" she kept sniffing, as she filled her mouth with pins. "i might as well not have stopped, but it don't matter; it don't make a bit o' difference. you couldn't have it now if you offered me double the cost." dolly seemed oblivious of what was passing. getting out of the garment, she quickly put on her skirt and waist, noting as she did so that her father was seated behind her on the window-sill, nursing his knee and chewing and spitting vigorously on the porch floor. "what a bunch o' rowin' she-cats!" she heard him chuckling. "an' about nothin' more important than a flimsy rag that looks like a hollyhock bush with arms an' legs." without noticing him dolly hurriedly finished buttoning her waist, and, throwing on her sun-bonnet, she dashed out of the room. "i don't blame you for losin' patience, miss stella," mrs. drake sighed, "but i've thought it out. it is as plain as the nose on your face. you know an' i know she was tickled to death with it till she met mr. mostyn in the yard just now. mark my words, he said something to her about the style of it. maybe it's not exactly the latest wrinkle accordin' to town notions." "yes, that's it." miss munson paused in her flurried efforts to restore the dress to its wrapper. the twine hung from her teeth as she stood glaring. "yes, _he's_ at the bottom of it. as if a man of _his_ stripe an' character would be a judge. i have heard a few items about him if you all haven't. folks talk about 'im scand'lous in atlanta. they say he leads a fast life down there. you'd better keep dolly away from 'im. he won't do. he has robbed good men an' women of their money in his shady deals, an' folks tell all sorts o' tales about 'im." "thar you go ag'in," tom drake broke in, with a hearty laugh. "first one thing an' then another. you would swear a man's life away one minute an' hug it back into 'im the next. now, i kin prove what i say, an' you both ought to be ashamed. mostyn not only told dolly that dress was the purtiest thing he ever seed, but he told me to come in here an' make 'er take it." the twine fell from the spinster's mouth. she eyed mrs. drake steadily. mrs. drake rose slowly to her feet. she went to the dressmaker and touched her tragically on the arm. she said something in too low a voice for her husband to catch it. "do you think that's it?" miss munson asked, a womanly blaze in her eyes. "yes, i saw her talkin' to tobe at the fence," mrs. drake said, tremulously. "he turned square around and went back to town. then you remember dolly wanted to hurry over there. miss stella, she is my own daughter, an' maybe i oughtn't to say it, bein' 'er mother, but she's got the biggest, tenderest heart in her little body that ever the lord planted in human form." miss munson stood with filling eyes for a silent moment, then she tossed the dress, paper, and twine on the bed. "i'm goin' to leave it here," she faltered. "she can pay me for it if she wants to, in one year, two years, or ten--it don't make no odds to me. she needn't pay for it at all if she doesn't want to. i never want to see it on anybody else. she is a good girl--a regular angel of light." therewith the two women fell into each other's arms and began to cry. a sniff of amusement came from tom drake. "fust it was tittle-tattle, then a bar-room knock-down-and-drag-out fight, an' now it is a weepin' camp-meetin'. i wonder what will happen when the wind changes next." chapter vii it was a warm, sultry evening in the middle of the week. they had just finished supper at the farmhouse. dolly, with a book, a manuscript, and a pencil, stood in a thoughtful attitude under a tree on the lawn. she was joined by her uncle, his freckled face beaming with a desire to tease her. "what time do you all begin your meetin' to-night?" he inquired, introductively. "eight o'clock," she said, absently, her gaze bent anxiously on the figures of two men leaning over the barn-yard fence in the thickening shadows. "who is that father is talking to, uncle john?" she asked, with a frown. "it's gid sebastian," webb said. "i saw 'im back on the mountain road lookin' for your pa as i come home." "that's who it is," dolly said, dejectedly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. the man had changed his position, and even in the twilight the broad-brimmed hat, sinister features, and dark sweeping mustache were observable. "uncle john, you know gid is a moonshiner, don't you?" "folks says he is," webb smiled. "an' fellers that like good corn mountain-dew ought to know who makes it. i reckon gid is about the only moonshiner that has escaped jail up to date. somehow he knows how to cover his tracks an' let his men git caught an' take the punishment." dolly held her pencil to her lips, and, still frowning, looked at the blank manuscript paper. "uncle john," she faltered, "i want you to--to tell me what he comes to see father so often about?" webb's face waxed a trifle more serious. "i don't know--never give it much thought," he said. "i don't know but what your pa once in a while sells gid some corn to help out his still in a pinch when the authorities are watchin' his movements too close for comfort. i've seed the pile in our crib sink powerful in a single night. you remember the time your ma thought some niggers had broke in an' stole a lot that was shelled? well, i noticed that your pa kicked powerful agin sendin' for the sheriff an' his dogs, an' you know in reason that he would if he had laid it to the darkies." dolly exhaled a deep breath. "uncle john, i'm awful afraid--i never was so worried in my life. i'm afraid father is actually mixed up with sebastian's gang, or is about to be." "do you think so?" webb stared seriously. "that would be bad, wouldn't it--that is, if the officers ketched 'im an' had enough proof agin 'im to put 'im in limbo." dolly's eyes flashed, her breast rose high and fell tremblingly; she grasped her pencil tightly and held it poised like a dagger. "uncle john, i've been through a lot; i've stood, a great deal, kept patience and hope; but if my own father were actually arrested and put in prison i'd give up--i'd quit, i tell you. i'd never try to raise my head again. here i am trying to put high manly ideas into george's head, but if the boy's father is a lawbreaker all i do will be thrown away. i want to see ann grow up and marry well, but what decent man would care to tie himself to a family of jail birds? hush! there comes mr. mostyn. you are always joking, but for goodness' sake don't mention this. if it is true we must keep our shame to ourselves." "i've got _some_ sense left," webb said, quite earnestly. "it ain't a thing to joke about, i'm here to state. men, as a rule, say it ain't no lastin' disgrace to be jerked up for distillin' here amongst the pore folks the union army trampled under heel and robbed of their all, but it ain't no fun to stand up before that united states judge an' git a sentence. i was a witness in atlanta once, an' i know what moonshiners go through. your pa ain't to say actually loaded down with caution, an' he's just the easy-goin' reckless sort that sebastian makes cats'-paws of." "'sh!" said dolly, for mostyn was quite near he was smoking an after-supper cigar. "got the mate to that?" webb asked easily. "i don't like to see fine tobacco-smoke floatin' about in hot weather unless i'm helpin' to make it." mostyn gave him a cigar. "what is this i hear of your club-meeting to-night?" he asked, smiling at dolly. "it is an impromptu affair," she answered, almost reluctantly. then she began to smile, and her color rose. "the truth is, the whole thing started as a joke on me. i could have backed down if i had wished, but i didn't, and now it is too late." "you'll think it's too late"--webb was drawing at his cigar, which he held against the fire of mostyn's--"when them fellers git through arguin', an' you the only one on your side!" "how is that?" mostyn asked, wonderingly. dolly averted her eyes. "why," she explained, "for a long time the club has threatened to select some subject to be discussed only between warren wilks and myself. i didn't think much about it at the time and said it would suit me, thinking, of course, that it would only be heard by a few club-members, but now what do you think they have done?" "i can't imagine," mostyn answered, heartily enjoying her gravity of tone and manner. "why, they are not only holding me to my agreement, but they have selected a topic for discussion which of all subjects under the sun is completely beyond me. they are doing it for a joke, and they expect me to acknowledge defeat. i've been at the point all day of ignoring the whole business, and yet somehow it nearly kills me to give in. i laugh when i think about it, for the joke is on me, sure enough." "but the subject," mostyn urged her, "what is it?" "have women the right to vote?'" dropped from the girl's smiling lips. "oh, great! great!" the banker laughed. "i hope you are not going to let a few silly men back you down." "i don't really see how i am going to escape going through with it," dolly said. "they have sent notices all up and down the valley, and the house will be full. look! there goes a wagon-load now. two things are bothering me. i came out here to try to write down a few points, but not one idea has come in my head. that's the first stumbling-block, and the other is even more serious. you see, up to this time my side has generally won because when it was left to the audience the women all stood up and voted for me. i've seen them so anxious to help me out that they would force their children to stand on the benches so their heads would be counted." "but aren't the women going to-night?" mostyn inquired. "more than ever got inside _that_ house," dolly said, despondently, "but, as much as they like me and think i know what i'm talking about as a general rule, they won't be on my side of _this_ argument. they think woman's suffrage originated in the bad place. they will think i'm plumb crazy, but i can't help it. i understand that a lawyer doesn't have actually to believe in his side of a question--he simply makes as big a display of the evidence as he can muster up. warren wilks and the other men are tickled to death over the fun they are going to have with me to-night." "i wouldn't miss it for any amount of money," mostyn said, winking at the contented smoker on his right. "i wouldn't, nuther," webb chuckled. "warren wilks is a funny duck on the platform, an' he don't let a chance slip to git a joke on dolly. she has downed him several times, but i reckon he'll swat 'er good an' heavy to-night." "well, i'll certainly have nothing to say if i stand here listening to you two," dolly said, with a smile. "i'm going to my room to try to think up something. i'm awfully tired, anyway. i was at barnett's till twelve o'clock last night." "how is robby?" mostyn asked. "he is out of danger," dolly answered, as she turned away. "the doctor told me to-day that the child had had a narrow escape. a week ago he gave him up, and was surprised when he saw him doing so well yesterday." chapter viii half an hour later the little cast-iron bell in the steeple of the meeting-house rang. tom drake and his wife and john webb left the farmhouse, and, joining some people from the village, sauntered down the road. tom was in his shirt-sleeves, for the evening was warm, but mrs. drake wore her best black dress with a bright piece of ribbon at the neck, a scarf over her head. webb carried his coat on his arm and was cooling himself with a palm-leaf fan. mostyn was on the lawn watching for dolly to appear, and was glad that the trio had left her to his care. they were out of sight when dolly came out of the house, a piece of writing-paper in her hand. mostyn met her at the gate and opened it for her. "well, what luck have you had with your speech?" he asked, as they passed out. "'what luck,' i say!" she shrugged her shoulders and smiled despondently. "the harder i thought, the fewer ideas seemed to come my way. i give you my word, mr. mostyn, i haven't a ghost of an argument. i don't want to vote myself, you see, and i don't see how i am going to make other women want to. just at present i have so many matters to bother about that i can't throw myself into an imaginary position. i'd break down and cry--i feel exactly like it--if i hadn't been this way before and managed to pull through by the skin of my teeth. you see, standing up before a crowd makes you feel so desperate and hemmed-in-like that you have to fight, and somehow you manage to say something with more or less point to it. if i don't think of something between here and the meeting-house--don't talk, please! i'm awfully nervous. i feel for the world as if i'm going to laugh and cry myself into hysterics. if warren wilks were to see me now he'd have the biggest argument for his side he could rake up. if i was running for office and the returns went against me i suppose i'd lie flat down in the road and kick like a spoilt child." at this moment a buggy containing two women and a man passed. one of the women, a fat motherly creature, glanced back. "is that you, dolly?" she asked. "yes; how are you, mrs. timmons?" "i'm as well as common, thanky, dolly. drive slower, joe. what's the use o' hurryin'? they can't do a thing till _she_ gits thar; besides, i want to git at the straight o' this business. say, dolly, it ain't true, is it, that you intend to stand up for women goin' to the polls?" dolly swept mostyn's expectant face with a startled look and then fixed her eyes on the speaker. "it is this way, mrs. timmons," she began, falteringly. "warren wilks suggested the subject, and--" "that ain't what i axed you," the woman retorted, sharply. "pull in that hoss, joe, or i'll git out an' walk the balance o' the way afoot. that ain't what i axed you, dolly drake. i want to know now an' here if you are goin' to teach my gals an' other folks' gals a lot o' stuff that was got up by bold-faced yankee women with no more housework to do, or children to raise, than they have up thar these days. i want to know, i say, for if you are i'll keep my young uns at home. i've always had the highest respect for you, an' i've cheered an' stomped my feet every time you made a speech at the schoolhouse, but if speechmakin' is goin' to make you put on pants an'--" "git up!" the driver was whipping his horse. "don't pay no attention to 'er, miss dolly," he called back over his shoulder. "she's been jowerin' ever since she stepped out o' bed this mornin'. if she had a chance to vote she'd stuff the ballot-box with rotten eggs if the 'lection didn't go her way." "you see that?" dolly sighed, as the buggy vanished in the gloom. "this fool thing may cost me my job. warren wilks ought to be ashamed to get up a joke like this." "why don't you throw it over and be done with it?" mostyn asked, sympathetically. "because i'm like the woman you just heard talking," dolly returned. "i'd rather drop dead in my tracks here in this sand than to have those devilish boys beat me. for the lord's sake, tell me something to say." "i'm not daft about voting _myself,_" mostyn laughed, "and to save my life i can't be enthusiastic about _women_ doing it." "i wish we could walk through the woods the rest of the way," the girl said. "we'll meet another spitfire in a minute, and then i _will_ lose patience." they were soon in sight of the four lighted windows of the schoolhouse. "packed like sardines," dolly muttered. "who knows? they may mob me. i don't care--those men pushed this thing on me against my will, and i'm going to fight. do you know when i'm bothered like this i can actually feel the roots of my hair wiggling as if it were trying to stand up, like the bristles on a pig. the women in this neighborhood have been my best friends till now, and if i can't think of some way to stir up their sympathy i shall be down and out." mostyn looked at her admiringly. she was so beautiful, so appealing in her youth and brave helplessness. being what she already was, what would not opportunity, travel, higher environment bring to her? she was a diamond in the rough. his heart beat wildly. lucky chance had thrown her in his way. he might win her love, if she did not already care for him. as his wife he could gratify her every desire, and yet--and yet--the situation had its disagreeable side. how could he think of becoming the son-in-law of a man like tom drake? what would old mitchell say? what would his fashionable sister and his entire social set think? yes, dolly was all that could be desired, but she was not alone in the world, and she was absolutely true to her family. mostyn here felt a touch of shame, and shame was a thing he had scarcely been conscious of in his questionable career. that was one of the advantages which had come of his contact with this mountain paragon of womanhood. in his unbounded respect for her he was losing respect for himself. in the presence of her courage he saw himself more and more as the coward that he was. he was beginning to long for her as he had really never longed for any other woman. he wanted to clasp her in his arms and then and there declare his fidelity to her forever. "hurry up, we are late!" dolly warned him, and she quickened her step. they were now among the horses and various kinds of vehicles in front of the meeting-house. a fire of pine-knots near the doorway cast a weird reddish glow over the scene. "come right on up to the front with me," dolly said. "there will be a vacant seat or two near the platform. say, if you laugh at me while i am speaking--that is, if i _do_ speak--i'll never forgive you--never!" there was no chance for a reply. she was already leading him into the crowded room. every bench was full, and men and boys sat even on the sills of the open windows. seeing dolly entering, somebody started applause and hands were clapped, whistling and cat-calls rang through the room, no part of which disturbed the girl in the least as she calmly walked ahead of her escort finding seats for them on the front bench. eight young men, all neatly dressed, sat in chairs on the platform, and they smiled and bowed to dolly. "that's warren wilks at my desk," she whispered to mostyn. "he is grinning clear down the back of his neck. oh, i'd give anything to get even with him." mostyn took the man in with a sweeping glance. he was nice-looking, about twenty-five years of age, tall and slender, and had a clean-shaven intellectual face which was now full of suppressed merriment. he rose with considerable ease and dignity and called the house to order by rapping sharply on dolly's desk with the brass top of an inkstand. he announced the subject which was to be debated with great gravity, adding with a smile that, of course, it was only through special favor to the only lady member of the club that such a topic had been selected. but--and he smiled down on his amused colleagues--that lady member had lately shown such strong tendencies toward the new-woman movement that, one and all, the members hoped that she might be convinced of the fallacy of her really deplorable position. "scamp!" mostyn heard dolly exclaim, and, glancing at her profile, he saw a half-smiling expression on her flushed face. "that is the way he always talks," she whispered in the banker's ear. "his great forte is making fun." wilks's speech consumed half an hour, during the whole of which mostyn noticed that dolly sat as if in restless thought, now and then hastily penciling a few words on a scrap of paper in her hand. at the conclusion of wilks's speech there was great applause, during which dolly looked about the room, seeing the hands of all the women as active as the wings of humming-birds hovering over flowers. "just look at the silly things!" she sniffed, as she caught mostyn's eye. "they are voting against me already. they are as changeable as march winds. look at mrs. timmons; she is actually shaking her fist at me. when i speak i always keep my eye on somebody in the crowd. i'll watch that woman to-night, and if i can win her over i may influence some of the rest." chapter ix therewith dolly rose and went to the platform. silence fell on the room as she made a pretty, hesitating bow. to mostyn she was a marvel of beauty, animation, and reserved force as she stood lightly brushing back her flowing hair. "i'm going to tell you all the plain truth," she began. "you don't know the facts in this case. the able-bodied men behind me, all rigged out in their best togs for this occasion, simply got tired of having the side i was on win so many times, and they put their heads together to change it. they decided, in their sneaking, menlike way, that i won because the women usually voted on my side, so they asked me one day if i'd let them pick a theme; and, being too busy doing my work to suspect trickery, i consented; and then what did they do? why, they promptly threw the defense of this--i started to say silly question on my shoulders, but i won't call it silly, because, do you know, as i sat there listening to warren wilks reel off all that harangue it occurred to me that he was employing exactly the same threadbare method of browbeating women that has been the style with _men_ ever since the world began to roll. now, listen--you women that blistered your hands clapping just now--how are you ever going to get at the straight of this thing if you hug and kiss the men every time they tell you that you are narrow between the eyes and haven't a thimbleful of brains? do you know what is at the bottom of it all? why, nothing but old-fashioned, green-eyed jealousy, as rank as stagnant water in a swamp. the men don't _want_ you to get up-to-date. up-to-date women don't hop out of bed on a cold, frosty morning and make a blazing fire for their lords and masters to dress by. up-to-date women are not willing to stand shoe-mouth deep in mud in a cow-lot milching a cow and holding off a calf while their husbands are swapping tales at the cross-roads store." a laugh started and swept over the room. there was considerable applause, both from the men and the women. "well, that's one thing i wouldn't do for narry man that ever wore shoe-leather!" came from mrs. timmons, who seemed to think that dolly's fixed glance in her direction called for an open opinion. dolly smiled and nodded. "that is the right spirit, mrs. timmons," she said. "so many robust men wouldn't have skinny-looking, consumptive wives if they would draw the line at the cow-lot." then she resumed her speech: "the masculine opinion that women haven't got much sense originated away back in the history of the world. _we_ get it from the savages. i'll tell you a tale. among the indians in the early days there was a certain big chief. they called him frog-in-the-face because his nose looked like a toad upside down trying to crawl between his thick lips. he and the other braves loafed about the wigwams in disagreeable weather, and on fine days went hunting. now, frog-in-the-face, savage as he was, was a quite up-to-date man. he would please the women in this audience mightily, and the men would elect him to office. he didn't believe squaws had enough sense to shoot straight or catch fish on the bank of a river, so he made his wife cook the grub, clean up the wigwam, and with a wiggling papoose strapped to her back hoe corn in the hot sun. this was the regular red-man custom, but one day a meddlesome squaw began to think for herself. she called some other squaws together while frog-in-the-face and his braves were off hunting, and she had the boldness to tell them that she believed they could shoot as well as the men. she said she could, because she had tried it on the sly. with that they got out some old worn-out bows and arrows and went into the woods to try their luck. well, do you know, those squaws killed so many bears and deer and ducks and turkeys that, loaded down with a baby each, they had hard work getting the meat home, but somehow they did. well, as luck would have it, frog-in-the-face and his sharp-shooters had got hold of some fire-water and smoking-tobacco, and they didn't do any hunting that day at all, but came back hungry and tired out over a big pow-wow they had had about another tribe infringing on their rights away off somewhere. then the women brought out the roast meat, owned up like nice little squaws, and expected to get some petting and praise, for they had done well and knew it. but, bless you! what happened? the more the braves gorged themselves on the turkey and duck, the madder they got, and after supper they all met out in the open and began to fret and fume. they sat down in a ring and passed a pipe from one to another, and frog-in-the-face laid down the law. squaws were having too much liberty. if they were allowed to go hunting it wouldn't be long before they would want to take part in the councils of war, and then what would become of the papooses? who would grind the corn and till the soil and do all the rest of the dirty work? so they passed a new law. the first squaw that ever touched a bow and arrow in the future would be severely punished." as dolly paused at this point there was great laughter among both men and women. even mrs. timmons was clapping her hands. "warren wilks," dolly resumed, with a pleased smile, "drew a funny picture just now of an election under the new idea. you all laughed heartily when he spoke of there being so many fine hats and waving plumes and women with low-necked dresses and open-work stockings about the polls that bashful men would be afraid to vote. but, mind you, warren wilks was making all _that_ up. listen to me, and i'll tell you what one of your elections really looks like. i've seen one, and that was enough for me. at the precinct of ridgeville, where only two hundred votes have ever been polled, there were at the last county election fully a hundred drunk from morning to night, including the candidates. they had ten fights that day; three men were cut and two shot. the price of a vote was a drink of whisky, but a voter seldom closed a trade till he had ten in him, and then the candidate who was sober enough to carry him to the box on his back got the vote." [laughter, long and loud.] "go it, miss dolly! you've got 'em on the run!" farmer timmons cried. "swat 'em good an' hard! they started it!" "that's the way men conduct their elections," dolly went on, smilingly. "but the women of the present day wouldn't stand it. they would change it right away. they wouldn't continue giving the men an excuse two or three times a year to engage in all that carnage and debauchery for no rational reason. do you know the sort of election the women will hold, warren, if they ever get a chance?" "i'm afraid i don't," wilks answered, dryly. "it would be hard to imagine." "well, i'll tell you," dolly said to the audience. "they will do away with all that foolishness i've been talking about. that day at ridgeville a dozen carriages were hired at a big expense to bring voters to the polls. hundreds of dollars were spent on whisky, doctors' bills, lawyers' fees, and fines at court. but sensible women will wipe all that out. on election day in the future a trustworthy man will ride from house to house on a horse or mule with the ballot-box in his lap. it will be brought to the farmhouse door. the busy wife will leave her churning, or sweeping, or sewing for a minute. she will scribble her name on a ticket and drop it in the slit while she asks the man how his family is. she may offer him a cup of hot coffee or a snack to eat. she will go to the back door and call her husband or sons in from the field to do their voting, and then the polls of that election will be closed as far as she is concerned." "good, good, fine, fine!" timmons shouted. "that's the racket!" "but," dolly went on, sweeping the faces of the masculine row beside her and turning to the audience, "this stalwart bunch of nature's noblemen here on the platform will tell you that women haven't got sense enough to vote. that's it, mrs. timmons, they think at the bottom of their hearts that women have skulls as thick as a pine board. they don't know this: they don't know that some of the most advanced thinkers in the world are now claiming that intuition is the greatest faculty given to the human race and that woman has the biggest share of it. oh no, women oughtn't to be allowed to take part in any important public issue! away back in france, some centuries ago, a simple, uneducated country-girl, seventeen years of age--joan of arc--noticed that the men of the period were not properly managing the military affairs of her country, and she took the matter under consideration. she stepped in among great generals and diplomats and convinced them that she knew more about what to do than all the men in the realm. the king listened to her, gave her power to act, and she rode at the head of thousands of soldiers to victory first and a fiery death later. now, warren wilks will tell you that a woman of that sort ought never be allowed to do a thing but rock a cradle, scrub a floor, or look pretty, according to her husband's disposition or pocket-book. "then, after all, did you all know--while you are talking so much about the harm of a woman voting--that if it hadn't been for a woman there wouldn't have been a single vote cast in all these united states? in fact, you wouldn't be sitting here now but for that woman. away back (as i was teaching my history class the other day) columbus tramped all over the then civilized land trying to get aid to make his trial voyage, and nobody would listen to him. he was taunted and jeered at everywhere he went. men every bit as sensible as we have to-day said he was plumb crazy. he was out of heart and ready to give up as he rode away from the court of spain on a mule, when isabella called him back and furnished the money out of her own pocket to buy and man his ships. folks, that is the kind of brain warren wilks and his crowd will tell you ought to be kept at the cook-stove and the wash-tub. oh, women will be given the vote in time, don't you bother!" dolly said, with renewed conviction. "we can't have progress without change. i never thought about it myself before, but it is as plain as the nose on your face. it has to come because it is simple justice. a law which is unfair to one single person is not a perfect law, and many a woman has found herself in a position where only her vote would save her from disaster. women are purer by nature than men, and they will purify politics. that's all i'm going to say to-night. now, i'm not managing this debate, but it is getting late and i want everybody that feels like it to vote on my side. stand up now. all in favor, rise to your feet. that's right, mrs. timmons--i knew you would wake up. now, everybody! that's the way!" dolly was waving her hands like an earnest evangelist, while wilks, with a look of astonishment, was struggling to his feet to offer some sort of protest. "don't pay attention to him!" dolly cried. "vote now and be done with it!" the house was in a turmoil of amused excitement. timmons stood by his wife's side waving his hat and slapping his thigh. "stand up, boys--every man-jack of you!" he yelled. "them fellers got this thing up agin that gal. give it to 'em good an' sound." the entire audience was on its feet laughing and applauding. dolly stood waving her hands with the delight of a happy child. she turned to the teachers behind her, and one by one she gradually enticed them to their feet. "that makes it unanimous," she said, and, flushed and panting, she tripped down the steps to the floor. mostyn edged his way through the chattering throng toward her. he was beside himself with enthusiasm. a lump of tense emotion filled his throat; he would have shouted but for the desire not to appear conspicuous. "wonderful, wonderful!" he said, when he finally reached her, and caught her hand and shook it. "do you think so?" she said, absent-mindedly; and he noticed that she was staring anxiously toward the door. "why, you beat them to a finish!" he cried. "you fairly wiped up the ground with them." "oh, i don't know!" she said, excitedly. "come on, please. i want to--to get out." wondering what could be in her mind, he followed her as well as he could through the jostling throng. women and men extended their hands eagerly; but she hurried on, scarcely hearing their congratulations and good-natured jests. at the door she reached back, caught mostyn's hand, and drew him out into the open. a few paces away stood a couple under a tree. and toward them dolly hastened, now holding to the arm of her companion. then he recognized ann and saw that she was with a tall, ungainly young man of eighteen or twenty. the two stood quite close together. "ann," dolly said, sharply, pausing a few feet from the pair, "come here, i want to see you." doffing his straw hat, the young man moved away, and ann slowly and doggedly approached her sister. "what do you want, dolly?" "i want you to walk straight home!" dolly retorted. "i'll talk to you there, not here." "i wasn't doing anything," ann began; but dolly raised her hand. "go on home, i tell you. i'm ashamed of you--actually ashamed to call you sister." without a word ann turned and walked homeward. "you certainly got the best of those fellows," mostyn chuckled, still under the heat of her triumph. "i never was so surprised in my life. it was funny to watch their faces." "i couldn't do myself justice," dolly answered. "i don't know how it sounded, i'm sure. i know i never can do my best when i have anything on my mind to bother me. i'll tell you about it. you saw that fellow with ann just now? well, it was abe westbrook, one of the worst young daredevils in the valley. he belongs to a low family, and he hasn't a speck of honor. for the last two months he has been trying to turn ann's head. i stopped him from coming to our house, but as soon as i stepped on the platform to-night i saw him and her on the back seat. he was whispering to her all the time, bending over her in the most familiar way. once i saw him actually brush her hair back from her shoulder and pinch her ear. oh, i was crazy! if i said anything to the point in my speech it is a wonder, for i could hardly think of anything but ann's disgraceful conduct." they were now entering a shaded part of the road. ann was almost out of sight and walking rapidly homeward. there was no one close behind mostyn and dolly. a full moon shone overhead, and its beams filtered through the foliage of the trees. he felt the light and yet trusting touch of her hand on his arm. a warm, triumphant sense of ownership filled him. how beautiful, how pure, how brave and brilliant she was! what man of his acquaintance could claim such a bride as she would make? a few months in his social set and she would easily lead them all. she was simply a genius, and a beautiful one at that. he had a temptation to clasp her hand, draw her to him, and kiss her as he had kissed her three years before. yet he refrained. he told himself that, soiled by conventional vice as he was soiled, he would force himself to respect in the highest this wonderful charge upon his awakened sense of honor. he found something new and assuring in checking the passion that filled him like a flood at its height. yes, she should be his wife; no other living man should have her. fate had rescued him in the nick of time from the temptation to wed for ulterior motives. another month in atlanta and he would have lost his chance at ideal happiness. yes, this was different! irene mitchell, spoiled pet of society that she was, could never love him as this strong child of nature would, and without love life would indeed be a failure. he walked slowly. she seemed in no hurry to reach home. once she raised her glorious eyes to his, and he felt her hand quiver as she shrank from his ardent gaze. another moment, and he would have declared himself, but, glancing ahead, he saw that her father and mother and john webb had paused and were looking toward them. "i can wait," mostyn said to himself, with fervor. "she is mine--she is mine." chapter x the next morning after breakfast john webb met mostyn as he stood smoking on the front porch. "if you haven't got nothin' better to do," he said, "you might walk down with me to dolph wartrace's store, at the cross-roads. thar will be a crowd thar to-day." "anything special going on?" mostyn asked. "if the feller keeps his appointment we'll have a sermon," john smiled. "for the last seven or eight years a queer tramp of a chap--john leach, he calls hisself--has been comin' along an' preachin' at the store. nobody knows whar he is from. folks say he makes his rounds all through the mountains of tennessee, georgia, an' north carolina. he won't take a cent o' pay, never passes the hat around, an' has been knowed to stop along the road an' work for poor farmers for a week on a stretch for nothin' but his bed an' board. some say he's crazy, an' some say he's got more real simon-pure religion than any regular ordained minister. i love to listen to 'im. he tells a lot o' tales an' makes a body laugh an' feel sad at the same time." "i certainly would like to hear him," the banker declared, and with webb he turned toward the gate. "are you a member of any church?" he inquired, when they were in the road. "no, i never jined one," webb drawled out. "i'm the only feller i know of in this country that don't affiliate with _some_ denomination or other." "that is rather odd," mostyn remarked, tentatively. "how did you manage to stay out of the fold among so many religious people?" "i don't exactly know." webb's freckled face held a reflective look. "i kept puttin' it off from year to year, thinkin' i would jine, especially as everybody was constantly naggin me about it. seems to me that i was the chief subject at every revival they held. it bothered me considerable, i tell you. the old folks talked so much about my case that little boys an' gals would sluff away from me in the public road. but i wasn't to blame. the truth is, mr. mostyn, i wanted to give 'em all--methodists, baptists, and presbyterians--a fair show. you see, each denomination declared that it had the only real correct plan, an' i'll swear i liked one as well as t'other. when i'd make up my mind to tie to the methodists, some baptist or presbyterian would ax me what i had agin _his_ religion, an' in all the stew an' muddle they got me so balled up that i begun to be afeard i wasn't worth savin' nohow. about that time this same tramp preacher come along, an' i heard 'im talk. i listened close, but i couldn't make out whether he stood for sprinklin', pourin', or sousin' clean under. so after he finished i went up an' axed 'im about it. i never shall forget how the feller grinned--i reckon i remember it because it made me feel better. he ketched hold o' my hand, he did, an' while he was rubbin' it good an' kind-like, he said: 'brother, don't let that bother you. i'm floatin' on top myself. in fact, my aim is to stay out o' the jangle so i kin jine all factions together in brotherly bonds.' as he put it, the light o' god was shinin' on every earthly path that had any sort o' upward slope to it." at this moment there was a vigorous blowing of the horn of an automobile in the road behind them, and in a cloud of dust a gleaming new car bore down toward them. to the banker's surprise, webb paused in the center of the road and made no effort to move. "look out!" mostyn cried, warningly. "here, quick!" "humph!" webb grunted, still refusing to move, his eyes flashing sullenly. "i'm goin' to pick up a rock some o' these days an' knock one o' them fellers off his perch." still immovable he stood while the honking car, with brakes on, slid to a stop a few feet away. "what the hell's the matter with you?" the man at the wheel, in a jaunty cap and goggles, cried out, angrily. "you heard me blowin', didn't you?" "i ain't deef," john flashed at him. "i wanted to see what _'the hell'_--to use your words--you'd do about it. you think because you are in a rig o' that sort, pete allen, you can make men an' women break the'r necks to git out o' your way. if you had touched me with that thing i'd have stomped the life out o' you. i know you. you used to split rails an' hoe an' plow, barefooted over in dogwood. 'white trash,' the niggers called your folks. you've been in town just long enough to make you think you can trample folks down like so many tumble-bugs." "well, you have no right to block the road up," the driver said, quite taken aback, his color mounting to his cheeks. "there is a law--" "i don't care a dang about your law!" webb broke in. "i'm law-abidin', but when a law is passed givin' an upstart like you the right to make a decent man jump out of your way, like a frost-bitten grasshopper, i'll break it. the minute a skunk like you buys a machine on credit an' starts out he thinks he owns the earth." still flushed, the man grumbled out something inarticulately and started on his way. "i hit 'im purty hard," john said, as mostyn rejoined him, "but if thar is anything on earth that makes me rippin' mad it is the way fellers like that look an' act." they found thirty or forty men, women, and children at the store awaiting the coming of the preacher. the building was a long, one-story frame structure made of undressed planks whitewashed. it had a porch in front which was filled with barrels, chicken-coops, and heavy agricultural implements. the people were seated in the shade of the trees, some on the grass and others in their own road-wagons. wartrace, the storekeeper, in his shirt-sleeves, stood in the front door. he was about thirty years of age and had only one arm. "come up, come up, mr. mostyn," he called out, cheerily. "the preacher is headed this way. a feller passed 'im on the mountain road ten minutes ago. if you hain't heard john leach talk you've missed a treat." mostyn accepted the chair wartrace drew from within the store, and webb took a seat near by on an inverted nail-keg. wartrace was called within, and the banker began to watch the crowd with interest. back in the store men were lounging on the long counters, chewing tobacco, smoking and talking of their crops or local politics. "i see 'im!" a woman cried, from the end of the porch, as she stood eagerly pointing up the mountain-road. mostyn saw a tall man of middle age, smooth-shaven, with long yellow hair falling on his broad shoulders, easily striding down the incline. he had blue eyes and delicate, rather effeminate features. he wore a broad-brimmed felt hat, dark trousers, and a black frock-coat without a vest. reaching the store, he took off his hat, brushed back his hair from a high pink forehead, and with bows and smiles to the people on all sides, he cried out cheerily: "how are you, everybody? god bless your bones. i hope the lord has been with you since i saw you last fall. hello, brother wartrace! you see, old chap, i _do_ remember your name," he called out, as the storekeeper appeared in the doorway. "say, i wish you would have some of those roustabouts inside roll out a dry-goods box for me to stand on." "all right, brother leach," wartrace answered. "i've got the same box you spoke on before. i intend to keep it for good luck." "all right, all right, roll it out, gentlemen. i'd help you, but i've had a pretty stiff walk down the mountain to get here on time, and want to sorter get my wind." he stood fanning his perspiring face with his hat while two obliging farmers brought the box out. "there under that tree," he ordered. "show me a cheaper pulpit than that, and i'll buy it for kindling-wood. by the way, friends, two preachers over the mountain told me last night that i was doing more harm than good, talking without pay on the public highway as i am doing. i'd like to please every living soul, including them, if i could. it makes them mad to see you all gather to hear a jumping-jack like me. they say it's making salvation too cheap, and quote scripture as to 'the laborer being worthy of the hire.' that would be all right if this was labor to me, but it isn't; it is nothing but fun, an' fun full of the glory of god, at that." the box was now in the required spot; and, mounting upon it, leach stamped on the boards vigorously to test their strength. "i'm gaining flesh," he laughed. "free grub is fattening. i'll have to gird up my loins with a rope before long." then he was silent. the look of merriment passed from his face. mostyn thought he had never seen a more impressive figure as the man stood, a ray of sunlight on his brow, looking wistfully over the heads of his little audience toward the rugged mountains. then slowly and reverently he raised his hands and began to pray aloud. it was a conventional prayer, such as the average rural preacher used in opening a meeting; and when it was over he took a worn hymn-book from his coat pocket, and after reading a hymn he began to sing in a deep, sonorous voice. some of the women, with timid, piping notes and the men in bass tones joined in. this over, leach cleared his throat, stroked his lips with a tapering, sun-browned hand, and began to talk. "somebody over the mountain yesterday wanted to know, brethren, how i happened to take up this roving life, and i told them. they seemed impressed by it, and i'm going to tell you. to begin with, the best temperance talker is the man who has led a life of drunkenness and through the grace of the lord got out of it to give living testimony as to its evil. now, i'm pretty sure, for the same reason, that a man who has been through the mire of hell on earth is competent to testify about that. i'm that sort of a man. i was once up in the world, as you might say. my folks had means. after i got out of school i went into business on my own hook in my home town. you will be interested in this, brother wartrace; so make them fellers come out of the store and be quiet." order was restored. the mountaineers who were talking within slouched out on the porch and stood respectfully listening. "i went into the grain business," leach continued. "i was young then, and i thought i owned the market. my old daddy cautioned me to go slow, but i paid no attention to him. folks called me a hustler, and i was proud of it. i got into fast ways. i played poker; i had a pair of fast horses, and i was guilty of other habits that i sometimes mention at my 'men-only' meetings. after awhile i slid into the hole that is at the foot of every ungodly slope on earth. i was facing ruin. i had only one chance to save myself, and that was to gamble big on wheat. to do it i actually stole some money out of a bank run by a friend of mine. it's awful to think about, but i did it. i was found out. i was accused and arrested. i was tried and found guilty. lord, lord, i shall never forget that day! my mother and father were in the courtroom. she fainted dead away, and an eternal blight fell on his white head. "i was sent to prison. my hair was clipped, and i was put in stripes and steel shackles. all hell was packed in me. instead of being conquered, as most convicts are, i kept swearing that i was innocent. i'd lie awake at night in my cell concocting lie after lie to bolster up my case and stir up sympathy. i wrote letters to my home papers. while i was clanking along by my fellow-prisoners who were taking their medicine like men i was hating the whole of creation and studying devilish ways to fight. "i got to writing to the governor of the state. i had heard he was kind-hearted, and i thought i might make him believe i was innocent, so i wrote letter after letter to him. i used every pretext i could think of. once i told him that i hoped god would strike me dead in my tracks and damn me eternally if i had not been falsely imprisoned. now and then he would answer, in a kind sort of way, and that made me think i might convince him if i kept up my letters. "i was that sort of a fiend for a year. then a strange thing happened. a little, mild-mannered man was put in for murder. he had the cell adjoining mine. he wasn't like any other prisoner i'd ever seen. he had a sad, patient face, and didn't look at all strong. i took to him because he used to pass his tobacco through to me--said he had quit using it. well, what do you think? one night as i lay with my ear close to the partition i heard him praying. and the strangest part of it was that he wasn't praying like a guilty man. he was begging the lord to be good to the other prisoners, and open their eyes to the spiritual light, which he declared was even then shining in his cell. "well, do you know, i listened to him night after night, and got so i could sleep better after i'd heard him pray. and in the daytime i loved to find myself by his side in any work we had to do. i never shall forget the thing i'm going to tell you. we were carrying brick to repair a wall where an attempt was made by some fellows to get out. it was out in the sunlight, and i hadn't seen the sun many times for a year past. i don't know how it come up, but somehow he happened to remark that he was innocent of the charge against him. circumstantial evidence had landed him where he was. he wasn't the one that did the killing at all. i remember as i looked at him that i was convinced he was telling the truth. he was innocent and i was guilty. i had an odd feeling after that that i had no right to be near him. "he used to talk to me in the sweetest, gentlest way i ever heard. he told me that if a convict would only turn to god the most wretched prison ever built would be full of joy. he said, and i believed him, that he didn't care much whether he was out or in jail, that god was there by his side and that he was happy. lord, lord, how he did plead with me! his eyes would fill chock full and his voice would shake as he begged and begged me to pray to god for help. i remember i _did_ try, but, having lied to the governor and everybody else, somehow i couldn't do it right. then what do you reckon? i heard him in his cell every night begging god to help number eighty-four--that was all he knew me by--eighty-four. he was number seventy-two. every night for a month i would stick my ear to the partition and listen and listen for that strange, strange mention of me. i got so that when we would meet in the daytime i'd feel like grabbing hold of him and telling him that i loved him. "now, on the first of every month i was in the habit of writing a letter to the governor, and the time had come round again. i got the paper and pen and ink from the warden, and started to go over again my old lying tale, but somehow i couldn't put the old fire in it. i kept thinking of seventy-two and his prayers. i remember i cried that night, and felt as limp as a rag. i had changed. then, i don't know how it happened, but it was as though some voice had spoken inside of me and told me not to write to the governor about _myself_, but about seventy-two, who really was innocent. so i started out, and with the tears pouring down my face and blotting the paper i told the governor about the prayers of seventy-two, and how good he was, and begged him to give him a pardon, as i knew positively that he was innocent. then a queer thing took place. i couldn't begin to explain it, but in trying to think of some way to convince the governor of the fellow's innocence i came out with this: i said, 'governor, i am the man that has been writing to you all this time swearing he is innocent. i have written you a thousand lies. i am guilty, but i'm telling you the truth this time, as god is my judge. i don't ask release for myself, but i want justice done to seventy-two. no purer or better man ever lived.' "i sent the letter off; and, friends, i'm here to tell you that i never felt so happy in all my life. the very prison walls that night seemed to melt away in space. my poor cot was as soft as floating clouds. i didn't feel the shackles on my ankle and arm, and the low singing of seventy-two in his cell was as sweet as far-off celestial music. i remember he called out to me just before bed-time, 'brother, how goes it?' and for the first time i answered, with a sob in my throat: 'i'm all right, seventy-two--i'm all right!' and i heard him say, 'thank the lord, blessed be his holy name!' "now comes the best part, friends--i'm glad to see you've been so quiet and attentive. lo and behold! one morning the warden sent for me to come to his private sitting-room, and there sat a dignified, kind-faced man. it was the governor. he wanted to talk to me, he said, about seventy-two. i don't know how it was, but i give you my word that somehow i didn't have a single thought beyond trying to get seventy-two pardoned. once the governor broke in and said, 'but how about _your own_ case?' and i told him i was guilty and had no hope as far as i was concerned. he put a lot of questions to me about seventy-two, about his habits and talk to me and other prisoners; and i heard him say to the warden, 'this is an interesting case; i must look further into it.' "then i was sent back, and seventy-two was ordered out. he was with the governor for about an hour, and then he came back to his cell, and i heard him praying and sobbing. once i heard him say, 'lord, lord, thou hast answered my call. justice is to be done.' "the next day it went around that seventy-two was pardoned. he put on his old clothes, packed up his things, and come to shake hands with us. when he come to me he pulled me to one side and clung to my hand and began to cry. 'it was all through you,' he said. 'the governor wouldn't have believed it in any other way.' then he told me not to feel bad, that--well"--leach's voice clogged up here, and he wiped his twitching lips with his slender hand--"well, seventy-two said that a look had come in my face which showed that peace was mine at last. he said he was going to keep on praying for me, and advised me to try to do good among the prisoners. "he went away, and i _did_ try to follow his advice. i read my bible every spare chance i got and told the convicts that i believed in a merciful god who was ready and willing to forgive all sins and lighten punishment. i got so i loved to talk to them, and sometimes when the chaplain was sick or away he let me take his place on sundays, and it was there that i learned to preach. i served my time out. a sharp blow met me on the day of my release. i was thinking of going back home to make a new start when a letter from my father told me that my mother had been dead a month. a young sister of mine was to be married to a fellow high up in society, and father wrote me that he wished me well, but thought that perhaps i ought not to come home branded for life as i was. "friends, that was a lick that only god's omnipotent hand could soften. i was without home or blood-kin. there was nothing i could do to make a living, for an ex-convict is never encouraged by the world at large. that's how i came to take up this work. it seems to me at times that i was made for it--that all my trouble was laid on me for a divine purpose." the speaker paused to take a drink of water from a dipper wartrace was holding up to him, and mostyn slipped back into the store. going out at a door in the rear, he went into the adjoining wood and strode along in the cooling shade toward the mountain. the sonorous voice of the speaker rang through the forest, and came back in an echo from a beetling cliff behind him. mostyn shuddered. the speaker's experiences had vividly brought to mind many of his own questionable exploits in finance. he recalled his narrow escape from bankruptcy when, by an adroit lie, he had secured the backing of mitchell and other money-lenders. old jefferson henderson's ashen face and accusing eyes were before him. he had broken no law in that case, but only he and henderson knew of the false statements which had ensnared the credulous man's whole fortune. the preacher's warning had come in time. pate had intended it as a check to a perilous pace. he would speculate no more. he would follow saunders's example and lead a rational life. he would live more simply. he would--his heart sank into an ooze of delight--he would marry the sweetest, most beautiful, and bravest girl in the world. he would win dolly's whole heart, and in the future devote himself solely to her happiness. what more admirable course could a penitent man pursue? he quickened his step. he was thrilled from head to foot. he had reached the turning-point, and what a turning-point it was! in fancy, he saw himself taking the pretty child-woman in his arms and pledging his brain and brawn to her forever. it was really a most noble thing to do, for it meant the uplifting, as far as lay in his power, of her family. it would materially alter their sordid lives. he could give employment to dolly's brother; he might be the means of educating and finding a suitable husband for ann. perhaps saunders might sell him his plantation; tom drake could manage it for him, and the colonial mansion would make a delightful summer home. ah, things were coming about as they should! dolly, dolly, beautiful, exquisite dolly was to be his wife, actually his wife! he sat down on a moss-covered stone aflame with a passion, which was of both blood and spirit. how beautiful the world seemed! how gloriously the sun shone on the pines of the mountain! how blue was the sky! how white the floating clouds! the preacher was singing a hymn. chapter xi one cloudy night a few days later mostyn was walking home from the river where he had spent the day fishing. thinking that he might shorten the way by so doing, he essayed a direct cut through the dense wood intervening between the river and drake's. it was a mistake, for he had gone only a short way when he discovered that he had lost his bearings. he wandered here and there for several hours, and it was only when the moon, which had been under a cloud since sundown, came out, that he finally found a path which led him in the right direction. he was nearing the house when in the vague light, due to the moon's being veiled again, he saw a man stealthily climb over the fence, stand as if watching the house for a moment, and then creep through the rose bushes and other shrubbery to the side of the house beneath the window of dolly's room. wondering, and suspecting he knew not what, mostyn crept to the fence, and, half-hidden behind an apple tree, he stood watching. the figure of the man was quite distinct against the white wall of the building, and yet it was impossible to make out who he was. then a surprising thing happened. mostyn saw the figure raise its hands to its lips, and a low whistle was emitted. there was a pause. then the window of dolly's room was cautiously raised, and her head appeared as she leaned over the sill. "is your father at home?" a muffled masculine voice was heard inquiring. "no, he's been gone all day." it was plainly dolly who was speaking. the stares of the two seemed to meet. there was a pause. it was as if the girl's head had furtively turned to look back into the room. "then come down. meet me at the front gate. i'll keep hid." "very well--in a minute." she was gone. mostyn saw the man glide along the side of the house, treading the grass softly and making his way round to the front gate. filled with suspicion and hot fury, mostyn kept his place, afraid that any movement on his part might too soon betray his presence to the man he now saw near the gate. "my god," he cried, "she's like all the rest! i've been a fool--_me_, of all men! here i've been thinking she was to be for me and me alone. this has been going on for god only knows how long. she has been fooling me with her drooping lashes and flushed cheeks. i was ready to marry her--fool, fool that i was. she might, for reasons of her own, have married me. there is no knowing what a woman will do. bah! what a mollycoddle i have been! she, and he too, perhaps, have been laughing at me for the blind idiot i am--_me_, the man who thought he knew all there was to know about women." mostyn heard the front door open softly. it was just as softly closed, and then the girl crossed the porch and advanced to the gate. she and the man stood whispering for a moment, and then they passed out at the gate and, side by side, went into the wood beyond the main road. filled with chagrin, to which an odd sort of despair clung like a moist garment, mostyn advanced along the fence to the gate and entered the yard. putting his rod and game-bag down, he seated himself on the step of the porch. his blood seemed cold and clogged in his veins. he could not adjust himself to the situation. he could not have met a greater disappointment. the discovery had completely wrecked his already strained faith in the purity of woman. he sat watching the moon as the clouds shifted, now thinly, now thickly, before it. he heard a step in the wood. some one was coming. he started to rise and flee the spot, but a dogged sort of resentment filled him. why should he let the matter disturb him? why should he conceal from any one the knowledge of her shame? he remained where he was. the step was louder, firmer. it was dolly, and she was now at the gate. he saw her, as with head hung low, she put her hand on the latch. she opened the gate, entered, and paused, her face toward the wood. there she stood, not aware of the silent, all but crouching spectator behind her. mostyn heard something like a sigh escape her lips. then a furious impulse to denounce her, to let her know that he now knew her as she was, flashed through him. he rose and went to her. he expected her to start and shrink from him as he approached, but she simply looked at him in mild surprise. "have you just got home?" she inquired. "mother and i were worried about you, but george and uncle john said you were all right." he stared straight at her. she would have noted the sinister glare in his eyes but for the half darkness. "i was lost for a while," he said. "i got back just in time to see a man climb over the fence and whistle to you." "oh, you saw that!" she exhaled a deep breath. "i'm sorry you did, but it can't be helped. i suppose you know everything now." "i can guess enough," he answered, with a bitterness she failed to catch. "i don't know who he was, but that is no affair of mine." "i ought to have told you all along." she was avoiding his eyes. "i felt that i could trust you fully, but i was ashamed to have you know. i was anxious for you to take away as good an opinion of us all as was possible. you have been so kind to us. i'm sure no such degradation has ever come into your family." "nothing like _this_, at any rate," he answered. "as far as i know the--women of my family have--" "have what? what are you talking about? do you think--do you imagine--is it possible that you--who do you think that man was?" "i have said i did not know," he retorted, frigidly. she stepped closer to him. she put her little hand on his arm appealingly. she raised her fathomless eyes to his. "oh, you mustn't think it was any young man--any--why--it was--i see i must tell you everything. that was tobe barnett. he has wanted to help me for a long time, and he got the chance to-night. he knows the one great sorrow of my life. mr. mostyn, my father is a moonshiner. i don't mean that he is a regular member of a gang, but he helps a certain set of them, and to-day tobe accidentally heard of a plan of the government officers to surround the still where my father happens to be to-night. he heard it through a cousin of his who is employed in the revenue detective service. tobe is law-abiding; he didn't want to have anything to do with such things, but he knew how it would break my heart to have my father arrested, so he came to me late this afternoon to see if father had returned. he was going to tell him, you see, and warn him not to be with the men to-night. but father was still away. tobe went home; he said he would come later to see if father was back. i sat up waiting for him all alone in my room in the dark. i did not want george or ann or my mother to know about it. so just now when tobe came to my window and found that father had not returned, he determined to go to the still and warn him. he may get there in time, and he may not, though it is not far. i promised to wait here at the gate till he returns. i could not possibly close my eyes in sleep with a thing like that hanging over me." her voice shook; she turned her head aside. the cold mass of foul suspicion in mostyn's breast gave way to a higher impulse. a sense of vast relief was on him. he would have taken her into his arms, confessed his error, and humbly begged her forgiveness, but for an unlooked-for interruption. there was a sound in the distance. it was the steady beat of horses' hoofs on the hard clay road in the direction of ridgeville. "it is the revenue men!" dolly gasped. "quick, we must hide!" and, catching his hand as impulsively as a startled child, she drew him behind a hedge of boxwood. "crouch down low!" she cried. "we must not let them see us. they would think--" she failed to finish. seated on the dewy grass, side by side, they strained their ears for further sounds of the approaching horsemen. mostyn marveled over her undaunted calmness. she still held his hand as if unconscious of what she was doing, and he noted that there was only a slight tremor in it. the horses were now quite near. a gruff voice in command was distinctly heard. "we'll dismount at the creek," it said, "creep up on the scamps, and bag the whole bunch. if they resist, boys, don't hesitate to fire. this gang has bothered us long enough. i'm tired of their bold devilment." "all right, cap!" a voice returned. "we'll make it all right this time. i know the spot." a dozen horsemen, armed with rifles, came into view and passed on, leaving a hovering cloud of dust in their wake. moving swiftly, and paler and graver, dolly stood up, her steady gaze on the departing men. "did you hear that?" she said, dejectedly. "he ordered his men to--to fire. who knows? perhaps before daybreak i shall have no--" she checked herself, her small hand at her throat. "i shall have no father, and with all his faults i love him dearly. he doesn't think moonshining is wrong. some of the most respectable persons--even ministers--wink at it, if they don't actually take part. my father, like many others, has an idea that the government robbed the southern people of all they had, and they look on the law against whisky-making as an infringement on their rights. i wish my father would obey the law, but he doesn't, and now this has come. he may be killed or put in prison." "you must try not to give way," mostyn said, full of sympathy. "don't forget that barnett has had time, perhaps, to warn them, and they may escape." "oh, i hope so--i do--i do!" still holding his hand, she led him back to the gate, and stood resting her arms on its top, now almost oblivious of his presence. half an hour dragged by, during which no remark of his could induce her to speak. presently a low whistle came from the wood across the road. "that's tobe now!" she cried. "oh, i wonder if he was in time!" then, as she reached for the gate-latch he heard her praying: "god have mercy--oh, lord pity me--pity me!" she opened the gate and passed out. he hung back, feeling that she might not desire his presence at the meeting with barnett, but again she grasped his hand. "come on," she said. "tobe will understand." crossing the road and walking along the edge of the wood for about a hundred yards, they were presently checked by another whistle, and the gaunt mountaineer emerged from the dense underbrush. seeing mostyn, he paused as if startled, saying nothing, his eyes shifting helplessly. "it's mr. mostyn--he knows everything, tobe," dolly threw in quickly. "he's on our side--he's a friend. now, tell me, what did you do?" "got to the still just in the nick o' time," tobe said, panting, for he had been running. "the gang started to handle me purty rough at first--thought i was a spy--but your pa stepped in an' made 'em have sense. they couldn't move any of their things on such short notice, but the last one escaped just as the officers was ready for the rush." "but my father?" dolly inquired, anxiously. "he's all right--he said he'd be home before morning. he has no idea that you know about it." "i'm glad of that. oh, tobe, you have been good to me to-night!" dolly took the humble fellow's hands and shook them affectionately. "well, if you hain't been good to me an' mine nobody ever was to a soul on _this_ earth," barnett half sobbed. "mr. mostyn, maybe you don't know what miss dolly has--" "yes, i do, barnett," mostyn declared. "i know." "now, go back to annie and robby, tobe," dolly advised. "poor girl! she will be uneasy about you." "no, she won't bother," barnett answered, firmly. "she'd be willing to have me go to jail to help you, miss dolly. she is that grateful she'd cut off her hands to oblige you, an' she will be powerful happy when she knows this went through all right. good night, miss dolly; good night, mr. mostyn." dolly and her companion turned back toward the house as barnett trudged off down the road. "well, i'm glad it came out all right," mostyn said, lamely; but dolly, still listless, made no reply. silently she walked by his side, her pretty head down. an impulse of the heart impelled him to take her hand. he was drawing her yielding form to him when she looked straight into his eyes. "i was wondering--" she began, but checked herself. "what were you wondering, dolly?" the fire of his whole being was roused; it throbbed in his lips, thickened his tongue, and blazed in his eyes. it filled his voice like a stream from a bursting dam. "why, i was wondering"--her sweet face glowed in the moonlight as from the reflection of his own--"i was wondering how you happened to think that tobe was some young man that--that i cared enough for to--" "i was insanely jealous." mostyn put his arm about her, drew her breast against his, and pressed his lips to hers. "i was mad and crazy. i couldn't think--i couldn't reason. dolly, i _love_ you. i love you with all my heart." "yes, i know." she seemed not greatly surprised at the avowal. she put her hand on the side of his face and gently stroked it. then, of her own accord, she kissed him lightly on the lips. "there," she said, "that will do for to-night. i ought not to be here like this--you know that--but i am happy, and--" "you have not said"--he held her closer to him, now by gentle force, and kissed her again--"you have not said that you love me." "what is the use?" she sighed, contentedly. "you have known it all these years. i have never cared for any one else, or thought of any one else since you were here before. i was only a child, but i was old enough to know my heart. you are the only man who ever held me this way. there is no use saying it--you know i love you. you know i couldn't help it. i'd be a queer girl if i didn't." he tried to detain her at the steps, but she would not stay. she entered the house, leaving the door open so that he might go up to his room. chapter xii the next day was sunday. mostyn did not see dolly at breakfast. drake sat at the head of the table as unconcerned as if nothing unusual had happened to him in the night. he spoke to john webb and mrs. drake about the meeting to be held that day at the church and praised the preacher's powers and sincerity. it was the philosophical webb who had something to say more in harmony with mostyn's reflections. "i understand the revenue men made another haul last night," he said, a watchful eye on his brother-in-law. "you don't say?" drake calmly extended his cup and saucer to ann, to be handed to george, and from him to mrs. drake, for a filling. "whose place was it?" "don't know whose still it was," webb answered, "but they landed the whole shootin'-match--sour mash, kegs, barrels, jugs, demijohns, copper b'ilers, worms, a wagon or two, and some horses." "who did they ketch?" drake asked. "i reckon it happened when i was t'other side the mountain." "nobody, it seems," webb answered. "the gang was too slick for 'em. they must have had sentinels posted around the whole shebang." drake apparently found no further interest in the subject, for he began to talk of other matters. he had heard that saunders was expected to spend the day at his farm, and added to mostyn: "i reckon you will see 'im an' get news of business." "i almost hope he won't mention it," the banker smiled. "i have scarcely thought once of the bank. i never allow my mind to rest on it when i am off for a change like this." "fine idea," drake said, "but i don't see how you can help it, 'specially if you are concerned in the rise and fall of market-prices. but i reckon you've got that down to a fine point." mostyn made some inconsequential response, but drake's remark had really turned his thoughts into other channels. after all, he reflected, with a sudden chill of fear, how could he know but that some of his investments were not so prosperous as when he had left atlanta? he became oblivious of the conversation going on around him. he failed to hear the cautious dispute over some trifle between george and ann. a little later, mostyn was walking to and fro on the lawn in front of the house when dolly came down-stairs. she had on the pretty pink dress he had admired so much the day she had tried it on for the first time. he threw down his cigar and went to the steps to meet her, his troubled thoughts taking wing at the sight of her animated face. "why have you not worn it before?" he said, sweeping her slender figure from head to foot in open admiration. "for the best reason in the world," she laughed. "i only got the cash to pay for it yesterday, and i would not wear it till it was mine. i collected some money a man owed me for giving private lessons to his children and sent it right away to the dressmaker." "it is simply wonderful," he said, glad that no one else was present. "i'm proud of you, little girl. you are the most beautiful creature that ever lived." "oh, i don't know!" she shook her head wistfully. "i wish i could think so, but i can't. there are so many other things that count for more in the world than good looks. do you know i didn't sleep more than an hour last night?" "i'm sorry," he said. "what was the matter?" she glanced through the open door into the house as if to see if any one was within hearing. then she came nearer to him, looking down on him from the higher step on which she stood, her pretty brow under a frown. "i was bothered after i went to bed," she said, frankly. "i don't think i ought to--to have kissed you as i did there at the gate. i would have scolded ann for the same thing, even if she were as old as i am. i trust you--i can't help it--and last night i was so happy over tobe's message that--tell me honestly. do you think that a man loses respect for a girl who will act as--as boldly as i did? tell me; tell me truly." "not if he loves her as i do you, dolly," he said, under his breath, "and knows that she feels the same way. don't let a little thing like that trouble you. it is really your wonderful purity that makes you even think of it." she seemed partially satisfied, for she gave him her glance more confidingly. "it is queer that i should have let it worry me so much," she said. "it was as it some inner voice were reproving me. all sorts of fears and queer ideas flocked about me. i--i am just a simple mountain girl, and you now know what my--my people are like. why, if my father were now in prison i could not refuse to--to stick to him as a daughter should, and for a man in your position to--to--" she broke off, her eyes now on the ground. "you mustn't think any more about it," he managed to say, and rather tardily. "you can't help what he does." mostyn's passionate gaze was fixed on her again. "how pretty, how very pretty that dress is!" he flared out. "are you going to church this morning?" "oh yes," she replied, half smiling down into his eyes. "i must set a good example to ann and george." burning under the memory of her kiss of the night before, mostyn told himself that he must by all means see her alone that day. he must hold the delicious creature in his arms again, feel the warmth of her lips, and capture the assurance of a love the like of which was a novelty even to him. "what are you thinking about?" she suddenly demanded. "i am thinking, dolly, that you have the most maddening mouth that ever woman had, and your eyes--" "don't, don't!" she said, with a shudder. "i can't explain it, but, somehow, when you look and speak that way--" "i can't help it," he blurted out, warmly. "you make my very brain whirl. i can hardly look at you. it is all i can do to keep from snatching you to my arms again, even here where any one could see us. say, darling, do me a favor. don't go to church to-day. make some excuse. stay at home with me and let the others go. i have a thousand things to tell you." the slight, shifting frown on her face steadied itself. she gave him a swift glance, then avoided his amorous eyes. "oh, i couldn't do that, _even for you_," she faltered. "they have asked me to sing in a quartette. that is why i put on this dress. the other girls are going to fix up a little." "then you won't oblige me?" "i can't. i simply can't. it would be deceitful, and i am not a bit like that. i'm just what i am, open and aboveboard in everything. and that is why i know--_feel_ that i did not act right last night." "there you go again," he cried, lightly, forcing a laugh. "when will you ever drop that? you say you love me, and i _know_ i love you, so why should you _not_ let me kiss you? i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll order a horse and buggy sent out from ridgeville this afternoon, and we will take a nice drive over the mountain." "to-day?--not to-day," dolly said, firmly. "there is to be an afternoon service at the church. i'd be a pretty thing driving about the country with a handsome city man while all the other girls were--oh, it never would do! i'm sorry, but i couldn't think of it. people talk about a school-teacher more than any one else, and this valley is full of malicious gossips." he was wondering if a little pretense of offense on his part--which, to his shame, he remembered using in former affairs of the heart--might make her relent, when he noticed that she was watching something on the road leading to the village. it was a horse and buggy. her sight was keener than his, for she said, in a sudden tone of gratification: "it is mr. saunders. he is on his way out home." "so it is," mostyn said, impatiently. "i'll go down to the gate and speak to him. will you come?" with her eyes on the vehicle, and saying nothing, dolly tripped down the steps. how gracefully she moved, he thought. they reached the gate just as saunders drew rein. "hello!" he cried, cheerily. "how are you, dolly?" and, doffing his hat, he sprang down and shook hands with them both. "i'm lucky to catch you," he added to the girl. "i have something for you." "oh, i'm so glad!" dolly cried. "you are always so kind and thoughtful." "it is only a couple of books." saunders had flushed slightly, and he turned back to the buggy, taking from beneath the seat a parcel wrapped in brown paper. "mostyn, they have a most wonderful reading-circle here in the mountains. i have quit trying to keep pace with them." he held the parcel toward dolly. "i heard you say all of you wanted to know something of balzac's philosophy. i find that he has expressed it in his novels _louis_ _lambert_ and _seraphita_. the introductions in both these volumes are very complete and well written." "oh, they are _exactly_ what we want." dolly was very happy over the gift, and she thanked the blushing saunders warmly. mostyn stood by, vaguely antagonistic. he had not read the books in question, and he had a feeling that his partner was receiving a sort of gratitude which he himself could never have won. then another thought possessed him. how well the two seemed mated! why, saunders--plain, steady, ever-loyal saunders, with his love of books and nature, and his growing aversion to gay social life--was exactly the type of man to make a girl like dolly a good husband. dolly was trying to break the twine on the parcel. "let me!" saunders, still blushing, was first to offer assistance. he took out his pocket-knife, cut the twine, unwrapped the books, and handed them back to her. "oh, they are so pretty--you always get such costly bindings!" dolly added, almost reproachfully, as she fairly caressed the rich red leather with her hands. "you--you intend to lend them to the club, of course, and we must be very careful not to soil them. i shall have some covers made to--" "oh no!" mostyn had never noticed before that his partner was such a weakling in the presence of women, and he wondered over the man's stumbling awkwardness. "oh no," saunders stammered. "i have inscribed them to--to you, as a little personal gift, if--if you don't mind." "oh, how sweet, how lovely of you!" dolly cried. "now, i sha'n't even want the others to handle them. i'm awfully selfish with what is _really_ my own. oh, you are _too_ good!" her richly mellow voice was full of genuine feeling, and a grateful moisture glistened in her shadowy eyes. saunders heard, saw, and averted his throbbing glance to the mountain. "well, well," he said, awkwardly, "i must be going. it is sunday, but i must talk to my overseer about his work. he was down in atlanta the other day, and i did not like his showing as well as i could have done. i shall throw up banking, mostyn, one of these days and settle down here. i see that now." he was returning to the buggy, dolly having gone to the house eager to exhibit her gift, when mostyn stopped him. "shall i see you again before you go back?" he inquired. saunders reflected. "i hardly think so, unless--say, why couldn't you get in and go over home with me? my cook, aunt maria, will give us a good dinner, and we can lounge about all day." "i don't think i could stay to dinner"--mostyn was thinking that it might prevent a possible chat with dolly in the parlor or a stroll to the spring--"but i'll ride over with you and walk back. i need the exercise." "all right, hop in!" there was a ring of elation in saunders's voice which was not often heard from him during business hours. "these outings seem to do you a lot of good," mostyn remarked. "you are as lively as a cricket this morning." "i love the mountains," was the answer. "i love these good, old-fashioned people. back at the station as i left the train i saw some revenue officers with the wreck of a mountain still piled up in the street. i know the moonshiners are breaking the law, but they don't realize it. many a poor mountain family will suffer from that raid. do you know, i was glad to hear that no arrests were made. imprisonment is the hardest part of ft." mostyn was discreetly non-communicative, and as they drove along the conversation drifted to other topics. suddenly saunders broke into a laugh. "you know, mostyn, you are doing your very best to force me to talk about business. you have edged up to it several times." mostyn frowned. "i have succeeded in keeping my mind off of it fairly well so far," he declared; "but still, if anything of importance has taken place down there i'd like to know it." "of course, you would," saunders answered; "and from now on you'd fairly itch to get back to your desk. oh, i know you!" "not if everything was all right." there was a touch of rising doubt in mostyn's voice. saunders hesitated for a moment, then he said: "i have something for you from--from marie winship." he rested the reins in his lap, took a letter from his pocket, and gave it to his companion. it was a small, pale blue envelope addressed in a woman's handwriting. in the lower left-hand corner was written "personal and important." mostyn started and his face hardened as he took it. he thrust it clumsily into his pocket. "how did you happen to--to get it?" he asked, almost angrily. "i see it was not mailed." saunders kept his eyes on the back of the plodding horse. "the truth is, she came to the bank twice to see you--once last week and again yesterday. i managed to see her both times alone in your office. the clerks, i think, failed to notice her. she was greatly upset, and i did what i could to calm her. i'm not good at such things, as you may know. she demanded your address, and, of course, i had to refuse it, and that seemed to make her angry. she is--inclined, mostyn, to try to make trouble again." mostyn had paled; his lower lip twitched nervously. "she had better let me alone!" he said, coldly. "i've stood it as long as i intend to." "i don't know anything about it," saunders returned. "i could not pacify her any other way, and so i promised to deliver her letter. she would have made a scene if i had not. she has heard some way that you are to marry miss mitchell, and it was on that line that her threats were made." "marry? i have never said that i intended to marry--_any one_," mostyn snarled, a dull, hunted look in his eyes. "i know," saunders said, still unperturbed, "but you know that the people at large are generally familiar with all that society talks about, and they have had a lot to say about you and that particular young lady. if you wish to read your letter, don't mind me--i--" "i don't want to read it!" mostyn answered. "i can imagine what's in it. i'll attend to it later. but you have seen her, saunders, since i have, and you would know whether the situation really is such that--" "to be frank"--saunders had never spoken more pointedly--"i don't feel, mostyn, that i ought to become your confidant in exactly such a thing. but through no intention of mine i have been drawn into it--drawn into it, mostyn, to protect the dignity and credit of the bank. she was about to make a disturbance, and i _had_ to speak to her." "i know--of course, i understand that"--mostyn's fury robed him from head to foot like a visible garment--"but that is not answering my question." "well, if you want my opinion," saunders said, firmly, "i think if the woman is not appeased in some way that you and i, the directors, and all concerned--friendly depositors and everybody-will regret it. scandal of this sort has a bad effect on business confidence. mitchell came in just as she was leaving. of course, he is not a great stickler on such matters, but--" "i didn't know he was in town," mostyn said, in surprise. "yes, they returned rather suddenly the day before yesterday. by the way, he is impatient to see you. he wouldn't mind my telling you, for that is what he wants to do. he has had a great streak of luck. you remember the big investments you advised him to make in wild timberlands in alabama and north georgia a few years ago? well, your judgment was good--capital. his agent has closed out his entire holdings for a big cash sum. i don't know the exact figure, but he banked a round one hundred thousand with us yesterday, and said more was coming." mostyn stared excitedly. "i thought it would be a good thing, but i didn't expect him to find a buyer so soon." saunders smiled. "i know you thought so," he chuckled. "he is as happy as a school-boy. he is crazy to tell you about it. he thinks a lot of you. he swears by your judgment. in fact, he said plainly that he expected you to handle this money for him. he says he has some ideas he wants you to join him in. he sticks to it that you are the greatest financier in the south." mostyn drew his lips tight. "he is getting childish," he said, irritably. "i have no better judgment than any one else--delbridge, for instance, is ahead of me." "delbridge _is_ lucky," saunders smiled. "they say he has made another good deal in cotton." "how was that?" mostyn shrugged his shoulders and stared, his brows lifted. "futures. i don't know how much he is in, but i judge that it is considerable. you can always tell by his looks when things are going his way, and i have never seen him in higher feather." mostyn suppressed a sullen groan. "that is what _they_ are doing while i am lying around here like this," he reflected. "mitchell thinks i am a financial wonder, does he? well, he doesn't know me; irene doesn't know me. dolly doesn't dream--my god, i don't know _myself!_ a few minutes ago i was sure that i would give up the world for her, and yet already i am a different man--changed--full of hell itself. i am a slave to my imagination. i don't know what i want." then he thought of the unopened letter in his pocket. light as it was, he could all but feel its weight against his side. they were now at the gate of saunders's house. no one was in sight. the tall white pillars of the colonial porch gleamed like shafts of snow in the sunlight. it was a spacious building in fine condition; even the grass of the lawn and beds of flowers were well cared for. "you'd better decide to stop," saunders said, cordially. "i will soon get over my talk with the overseer, and then i'll take you around and show you some of the richest land in the south--black as your hat in some places. i wouldn't give this piece of property for all you and delbridge and mitchell ever can pile up. both my grandfather and father died in the room up-stairs on the left of the hall. it seems sacred to me." mostyn nodded absently. "no, thanks, i'll walk home," he said, getting out of the buggy. he was turning away, but paused and looked back. "would you advise--" he began, hesitatingly, "would you advise me to return to atlanta to-morrow--on--on account of this silly thing?" saunders hesitated. "i hardly know what to say," he answered, frankly. "perhaps you can tell better when you have read her letter. the situation is decidedly awkward. in her present nervous condition the woman is likely to give trouble. somehow i feel that it is nothing but your duty to all of us to do everything possible to prevent publicity. she seems to me to have a dangerous disposition. she even spoke of--of using force. in fact, she said she was armed--spoke of killing you in cold blood. you might restrain her by law, but you wouldn't want to do that." a desperate shadow hovered over mostyn's face. "i'll go back in the morning," he said, doggedly. "mitchell, you say, wants to see me. i'm not afraid of the woman. if i had been there she wouldn't have made such a fool of herself." chapter xiii when mostyn got back to the farmhouse he found no one at home, the entire family being at church. he strolled about the lawn, smoked many cigars, and tried to read a sunday paper on the porch. his old nervous feeling had him in its grasp. try as he would to banish them, the things saunders had told him swept like hot streams through his veins. mitchell had doubled his fortune; irene was now a richer heiress than ever; delbridge was in great luck; and a shallow-pated woman, whom mostyn both feared and despised, was threatening him with exposure. mitchell, and other men of the old regime, laughed at the follies of youth, it was true, but a public scandal which would cripple business was a different matter in any man's eyes. besides, the old man must be told of his intention to marry dolly, and that surely would be the last straw, for all of mitchell's intimate friends knew that the garrulous old man was counting on quite another alliance. mostyn heard the voices of the drakes down the road, and to avoid them he went up to his room, and from a window saw them enter the gate. how wonderfully beautiful dolly seemed as she walked by her mother! the girl was happy, too, as her smile showed. the others came into the house, but dolly turned aside to a bed of flowers to gather some roses for the dinner-table. bitterly he reproached himself. he had won her heart--there was no doubt of it; she was his--soul and body she was his, and with his last breath he would stand to her. from that day forth, in justice to her, he would cleanse his life of past impurities and be a new man. delbridge, mitchell, henderson, marie winship--all of them--would be wiped out of consideration. he would get rid of marie first of all. he would force her to be reasonable. he had made her no actual promises. she had known all along what to expect from him, and her present method was unfair in every way. he had paid her for her favors, and for aught he knew other men had done the same. however, that did not lessen the woman's power. she might even make trouble before he got back to atlanta--there was no counting on what a woman of her class would do. he would send her a telegram at once, stating that he would be down in the morning. but, no, that would only add to the tangible evidence against him. he would wait and see her as soon as possible after his arrival. yes, yes, that would have to do, and in the mean time--the mean time-- mostyn paced the floor as restlessly as a caged tiger. there were mental pictures of himself as already a discredited, ruined man. mitchell had turned from him in scorn; saunders was placidly appealing to him to withdraw from a tottering firm, and old jeff henderson was going from office to office, bank to bank, whining, "i told you so!" at any rate--mostyn tried to grasp it as a solace worth holding--there was dolly, and here was open sunlight and a new and different life. but she would hear of the scandal, and that surely would alter the gentle child's view of him. irene mitchell would overlook such an offense if she gave it a second thought, but dolly--dolly was different. it would simply stun her. dinner was over. tom drake and john webb were chatting under the apple trees in the orchard, where webb had placed a cider-press of a new design which was to be tried the next day. mrs. drake had retired to her room for a nap. ann had gone to see a girl friend in the neighborhood, and dolly was in the parlor reading the books saunders had given her. mostyn hesitated about joining her, but the temptation was too great to be withstood. she looked up from her book as he entered and smiled impulsively, then the smile died away and she fixed him with a steady stare of inquiry. "why, what has happened?" she faltered. "nothing particular," he said, as he took a seat near her and clasped his cold, nervous hands over his knee. she shook her head slowly, her eyes still on him. "i know better," she half sighed. "i can see it all over you. at dinner i watched you. you look--look as you did the day you came. you have no idea how you improved, but you are getting back. oh, i think i know!" she sighed again, and her pretty mouth drooped. "you are in trouble. mr. saunders has brought you bad news of business." he saw a loophole of escape from an embarrassing situation, and in desperation he used it. "things are always going crooked in a bank like ours," he said, avoiding her despondent stare. "men in my business take risks, you know. things run smoothly at times, and then--then they may not do so well." "oh, i'm so sorry," she faltered; "you were getting on beautifully. you--you seemed perfectly happy, too, and i hoped that--" her voice trailed away in the still room, and he saw her breast under its thin covering rise and fall suddenly. "don't let it worry you," he said. "how can i help it?" she put the books on the window-sill and raised her hand to her brow. "i know how to fight my _own_ troubles, but yours are too big, too intricate, too far away. what--what are you going to do?" he felt the need of further pretense. he looked down as he answered: "i shall have to take the first train in the morning, and--and--" "oh!" the simple ejaculation was so full of pain that it checked his tardy subterfuge. he rose to take her in his arms to soothe her, to pledge himself to her forever, but he only stood leaning against the window-frame, the puppet of a thousand warring forces. no, he would not touch her, he told himself; she was to be his wife--she was the sweetest, purest human flower that ever bloomed, and until he was freer from the grime of his past he would not insult her by further intimacy. so far he had not spoken to her of marriage, and he would not do so till he had a better right. "so you really are going?" she had turned pale, and her voice shook as she stared up at him, helplessly. "yes, but i am coming back just as soon as i possibly can," he said. "besides, i shall write you, if--if you will let me?" "why should you say _if_ i will let you? don't you know--can't you see? oh, _can't_ you see?" again the yearning to clasp her in his arms rose to the surface of his inner depths, and he might have given way to it but for the panorama of accusing pictures which was blazing in his brain. "i wish you would try--try to understand _one_ thing, dolly," he said, pitying himself as much as her. "i have meant everything i have said to you. the little that is good in me loves you with all its force, but i do not want you to--to even trust me--to even count on me--till i have straightened out my affairs in atlanta. then--then if all goes well i shall come back, and--and talk to you as i want to talk to you now--but can't." her brows met in a troubled frown. her pale lips were drawn tight as if she were suffering physical pain. "i see, and i shall not ask questions, either," she said, calmly. "i realize, too, that you are speaking to me in confidence. i shall tell no one, but i am going to pray for you. i believe it helps. it seems to have helped me many, many times." "no, no, you must not do that," he said, quickly, almost in alarm. "i am not good enough for that." "but i can't help it. some philosopher has said that every desire is a prayer, and in that case i shall be praying constantly till your trouble is over." it was as if she understood, and appreciated the momentary check he had put upon his passion. they were quite alone. his face was close to hers; it was full of shadowy yearning, and yet he made no effort to repeat the blissful caresses of the night before. presently he heard her sigh again. "what is it?" he asked, uneasily. she was silent for a moment, then she asked: "do you believe in premonitions?" "i don't think i do," he said, wondering what was forthcoming. "why do you ask?" "because i do to some extent," she said, slowly, a reminiscent expression in her eyes, "and something seems to tell me that you and i are in danger of being parted. i have felt forewarnings often. once i actually knew my father was in trouble when he was several miles from me, and there was no hint of the matter from any external source." "strange," he said. "was it something serious?" "his life was in danger," dolly said, "and he was on the point of committing a crime which would have ruined us all. it was this way. a rough mountaineer had become angry with me for keeping his disobedient child in after school was out. he was drinking, and he made a disrespectful remark at the store about me which reached my father's ears. my father has an awful temper which simply cannot be controlled, and, taking his revolver, he went to find the man. none of us at home knew what he intended to do, but exactly at the hour in which he met the man, fought with him, and shot him almost fatally, i felt that something was wrong, i was in the schoolroom trying to get my mind on my work, but i could not do it. i could think of nothing but my father and some crisis which he seemed to be going through. so i was not surprised later to learn of his trouble." "i did not know your father had such a hot temper," mostyn said. "he looks like a man who is not easily upset." "it is all beneath the surface," dolly answered. "you have no idea how careful i have to be. he seldom is willing for the young men about here to visit me at all. that is his worst fault." dolly rose. she put her hand lightly on mostyn's. "i must go to my room now," she said. "i shall see you before you leave. i am going to do my best to subdue the premonition about you and me. it is so strong that it depresses me--fairly takes my breath away. it is exactly as if we are not going to meet again, or something just as sad." mostyn stood still, looking at her steadily. "am i to understand, dolly, that your father might not--not quite like for us to be together even like this, and is that why you are leaving me now?" dolly's long lashes flickered. she seemed to reflect as she kept her glance on the doorway. "i think i may as well tell you something, so that if anything comes up you may be somewhat prepared for it. last night when tobe barnett called me to the window and i went out, as you know, to meet him, ann, whose room is next to mine, was awake. she heard tobe whistle and saw me leave. she couldn't see who it was, but later, when you and i were at the gate, she saw us quite clearly." "oh, i see," mostyn said, anxiously, "and she thought that i called you out." "i could not explain it any other way," dolly answered. "i don't want her to know, you see, about father and the moonshiners. she began teasing me about you this morning, and i was afraid father would hear it, so i simply had to admit that i was with you. i even confessed--confessed"--dolly's color rose--"that i care a great deal for you, for, you see, she actually saw--saw--" "i understand." mostyn tried to smile lightly. "you mean that she saw me kiss you?" dolly's flushed silence was her answer. "ann is so young and romantic that it has made a great impression on her," dolly added, lamely, as she moved toward the door, her eyes downcast. "you see how i am placed, and i hope you won't blame me. there was no other way out of it. i think i can keep her from mentioning it. i shall try, anyway. after all," she sighed, deeply, "it is only _one_ of our troubles--yours and mine." "only _one_ of them," he repeated, with a sudden guilty start--"what do you mean?" she swept his face with a flash of her eyes, seemed to hesitate, then she said, resignedly: "i am quite sure that your atlanta set, especially your relatives, would not approve of me--that is, if i were thrown with them as an equal." "how absurd!" he began, awkwardly; but she fixed him with a firmness that checked him. "your sister, mrs. moore, would scarcely wipe her feet on me. you see, i met her once." "when? how?" he asked, wonderingly. "she was at the house-party mr. saunders gave last summer, and he introduced us on the road one day," dolly explained, with an indignant toss of the head. "oh, i could never--never like her. she treated me exactly as if i had been a hireling. she is your sister, but lord deliver me from such a woman. well, what's the use denying it--she is part of my premonition. you may settle your business troubles satisfactorily, but if--if you should tell her about me, she will move heaven and earth to convince you that i am unworthy of your notice." "nonsense!" he began; but with a sad little shake of the head she hurried away. left alone, mostyn's heart sank into the lowest ebb of despair. back and forth he strode, trying to shake off his despondency, but it lay on him like the weight of a mountain. what would the morrow bring forth? to him his sister's objections would be the very least. the real disaster lay in the matter dolly's pure mind could not have grasped. he took out the letter saunders had brought and read it again. "she is simply desperate--the little cat!" he cried. "i might have known she would turn on me. for the last three months she has been 'a woman scorned,' and she is not going to be easily put aside. fool, fool that i was, and always have been, i deserve it! it may ruin me--men have been ruined by smaller things than this. can this be the beginning of my end?" he sank into the chair dolly had vacated and rocked back and forth. suddenly he had a sort of inspiration. "i might take the midnight train," he reflected. "why, yes, i could do that, and have my trunk sent on to-morrow. in that case i'd avoid riding back with saunders and be there early in the morning. surely she will be quiet that long." chapter xiv mostyn reached the city at five o'clock in the morning. the sun was just rising over the chimneys and dun roofs of the buildings. he lived in the house of his widowed sister, mrs. john perkins moore, in a quiet but fashionable street, and thither he went in one of the numbered cabs which, in charge of slouching negro drivers, meet all trains at the big station. at his sister's house no one was stirring; even the servants were still abed. he was vaguely glad of this, for he was in no mood for conversation of any sort. having a latchkey to the front door, he admitted himself and went up to his room at the top of the stairs. should he lie down and try to snatch a little sleep? he reflected, for his journey and mental state had quite deprived him of rest. throwing off his coat and vest and removing his collar, necktie, and shoes, he sank on his bed and closed his eyes. but to no effect. his brain was throbbing; his every nerve was as taut as the strings of a violin; cold streams of despair coursed through his veins. for the thousandth time he saw before him the revengeful face of a woman--a face now full of fury--a face which he had once thought rarely pretty, rarely coy, gentle, and submissive. what could be done? oh! what could be done? he heard the iceman stop at the door, curiously noted his slow, contented tread as he trudged round to the kitchen to leave the block of ice. he saw the first reddish-yellow shafts of sunlight as they shot through the slats of the window-blinds, fell on his bureau, lighting up the silver toilet articles and the leaning gilt frame holding a large photograph of irene mitchell. he sat on the edge of the bed, thrust his feet into his slippers, and stared at the picture. was it possible that he had really thought seriously of marrying her? it seemed like a vague dream, his entire association with her. for months he had been her chief escort; he had called on her at least twice a week. he had made no denial when his and her friends spoke of the alliance as a coming certainty, and yet a simple little mountain girl had come into his life, and all the rest was over. but why think of that when the other thing hung like a sinister pall above him? there was a step in the corridor close to the door, then a rap. "come!" he cried, thinking it was a servant. the door opened partially, and the reddish face of his sister, under a mass of yellowish crinkly hair, peeped in, smiling. "i heard you on the stairs," she said. "i'm not dressed, and so i'll not kiss you. i've told the cook to get your breakfast at once, for i know you are hungry." "thanks, i am," he answered. "i have been up all night." she was ten years older than he, short, and firmly built. her blue, calculating eyes had a sleepy look. "you must have been up late last night, yourself," he said, nothing more vital occurring to his troubled mind. "oh yes, alan delbridge gave a big reception and dance in his rooms. supper was served at the club at one o'clock. champagne and all the rest. i was the blindest chaperon you ever saw. good-by--if i don't get down to breakfast it will be because i'm sound asleep. i knew you would cut your outing short." "you say you did?" he cried, his heart sinking. "what made you think so?" "the mitchells are back." she laughed significantly, and was gone. he had his breakfast alone in the pretty dining-room below, and at once started to town. his first thought was that he would go to the bank, but he decided otherwise. he shrank from the formality of greeting the employees in his present frame of mind. no, he would simply see marie at once and face the inevitable. the earliness of the hour--it was only nine o'clock--would make no difference with her. in fact, by seeking her at once he might prevent her from looking for him. it would be dangerous, he was well aware of that, but the danger would not be any the greater under the roof of her cottage than at the bank, or even in the streets. he decided not to call a cab. the distance was less than a mile, and the walk would perhaps calm him and might furnish some inspiration as to his dealings with her. marie winship lived in a quiet part of the city, near decatur street, and after a brisk walk he found himself at her door ringing the bell. he was kept waiting several minutes, and this was awkward, for he was afraid that some one in passing might recognize him and remark upon his presence there so early in the day. however, no one passed, and he was admitted by a yellow-skinned maid. "miss marie just now got up," she said, as she left him to go into the little parlor off the hall. "tell her, mary, that i want to see her, but not to hurry, for i have plenty of time," mostyn said, "i have just got back." "yes, sir; i heard her say she was 'spectin' you to-day." he had an impulse to make inquiries of the girl regarding her mistress's disposition, but a certain evasive, almost satirical expression in her eyes prevented it. he was sure the maid was trying to avoid any sort of conference with him. he sat down at one of the two windows of the room and looked at the cheap, gaudy furniture--the green-plush-covered chairs of imitation mahogany; the flaming rugs; the little upright piano; the square center-table, on which were scattered a deck of playing-cards; some thin whisky glasses; a brass tray of cigarettes. four straight-backed chairs at the table told a story, as did the burnt matches and cigar-stubs on the hearth. marie was not without associates, both male and female. he heard voices in the rear of the cottage. he recognized marie's raised angrily. then it died away, to be succeeded by the low mumbling of the maid's. suddenly mostyn noticed a thing which fixed his gaze as perhaps no other inanimate object could have done. partly hidden beneath the blue satin scarf on the piano was a good-sized revolver. rising quickly, he took it up and examined it. it was completely loaded. "she really is desperate!" he suddenly chilled through and through. "she got this for me." he heard a step in the rear, and, quickly dropping the revolver into his coat pocket, he stood expectantly waiting. she was coming. her tread alone betrayed excitement. the next instant she stood before him. she was a girl under twenty-two, a pretty brunette, with italian cast of features, and a pair of bright, dark eyes, now ablaze with fury. "so you are here at last?" she panted, pushing the door to and leaning against it. "yes, saunders gave me your letter yesterday," he answered. "i thought it would bring you." her pretty lips were parted, the lower hung quivering. "if you hadn't come right away you would have regretted it to the last day of your life--huh! and that might not have been very far off, either." "i did not like the--the tone of your letter, marie." he was trying to be firm. "you see, you--" "didn't like it? pooh!" she broke in. "do you think i care a snap what you like or don't like? you've got to settle with me, and quick, too, for something you did--" "i _did?_" he gasped, in slow surprise. "why, what have i--" "i'll tell you what you did," the woman blazed out, standing so close to him now that he felt her fierce breath on his face. "shortly before you left you were taken sick at the bank, or fainted, or something like it, and didn't even tell me about it. i read it in the paper. i was beneath your high-and-mighty notice--dirt under your feet. but the next day you went driving with irene mitchell. you passed within ten feet of me at the crossing of whitehall street and marietta. you saw me as plainly as you see me now, and yet you turned your head away. you thought"--here an actual oath escaped the girl's lips--"you were afraid of what that stuck-up fool of a woman would think. she knows about us--she's heard; she recognized me. i saw it in her eyes. she deliberately sneered at me, and you--_you contemptible puppy!_--you didn't even raise your hat to me after all your sickening, gushing protestations. i want to tell you right now, dick mostyn, that you can't walk over me. i'm ready for you, and i'm tired of this whole business." he was wisely silent. she was pale and quivering all over. he wondered how he could ever have thought her attractive or pretty. her face was as repulsive as death could have made it. aimlessly she picked up a cigarette only to crush it in her fingers as she went on. "answer me, dick mostyn, why did you treat me that way?" "my fainting at the bank was nothing," he faltered. "i didn't think it was of enough importance to mention, and as for my not speaking to you on the street, you know that you and i have positively agreed that our relations were to be unknown. people have talked about us so much, anyway, that i did not want to make it worse than it already is. besides--now, you must be reasonable. the last time i paid you a thousand dollars in a lump you agreed that you would not bother me any more. you were to do as you wished, and i was free to do the same, and yet, already--" _"bother you! bother you!_ is that the way to talk to me? am i the scum of creation all at once? didn't you make me what i am? haven't you sworn that you care more for me than any one else? i was pretty, according to you. i was lovely. i was bright--brighter and better-read than any of your dirty, stuck-up set. you said you'd rather be with me than with any one else, but since then you've begun to think of marrying that creature for her money. oh, i know that's it--you couldn't love a cold, haughty stick like she is. you are not made that way, but you _do_ love money; you want what she's got, and if you are let alone you will marry her." "i have no such idea, marie," he said, falteringly. "you are a liar, a deliberate, sneaking liar. money is your god, and always will be." he made no further denial. they faced each other in perturbed silence for a moment. presently, to his relief, he saw her face softening, and he took advantage of it. "marie," he said, "you are not treating me right. my conscience is clear in regard to you. i made you no promises. i paid your expenses, and you were satisfied. you are the one who has broken faith. above all it was understood between us that i was not to be bound to you in any way. i have been indulging you, and you are growing more and more exacting. you are not fair--not fair. you went openly to my place of business. you made threatening remarks about me to my partner. you are trying to ruin me." "ruin you?" she smiled. "there are things worse than ruin. if i could have gotten your address i'd have followed you and shot you like a dog!" "i am not surprised," he said, calmly. "by accident i found the thing you intended to do it with." her startled eyes crawled from his face to the piano. she strode to it, threw back the scarf, and stood facing him. "you have it?" she said. he touched his bulging pocket. "yes, i may use it on myself," he retorted, grimly. "you say you've had enough; well, so have i. i have sown my wild oats, marie, but they have grown to a jungle around me. during my vacation i made up my mind to turn over a new leaf, but i suppose i have gone too far for that sort of thing. i couldn't marry you--" "you'd rather die than do it, hadn't you?" the woman's voice broke. "well, i can't blame you. i really can't." her breast rose and shook. "the devil is in me, dick. it has been in me ever since--ever since--but it won't do any good to talk about that. i am down and out." "what do you mean?" he sank into one of the chairs heavily, his despondent stare fixed on her softened face. "you may as well tell me. i am ready for anything now." "oh, it is a family matter." she evaded his eyes. "there is no use going over it, but it has thoroughly undone me." "tell me about it," he urged. "why not?" eyes downcast, she hesitated a moment. then: "you've heard me speak of my brother hal, who is in business in texas. you know he and i are the only ones of my family left. he is still a boy to me, and i have always loved him. he is in trouble. he has been speculating and taking money that did not belong to him. through him his house has lost ten thousand dollars. i've had six appealing letters from his wife--she is desperate." "oh, i see," mostyn said. "that is bad. is--is he in prison?" "no--not yet." marie choked up. "the firm has an idea that his friends may help him restore the money, and they won't prosecute if he can make the loss good. he has been hoping to get help out there among his wife's people, but has failed. the time is nearly up--only two days left, and i--my god, do you think i can live after that boy is put in jail? it has made a fiend of me, for if i hadn't taken up with you i would have gone to texas with him and it might not have happened. there is a streak of bad blood in our family. my father was none too good. he was like you, able to dodge the law, that's all. but poor hal didn't cover his tracks." "stop, marie!" mostyn demanded, in rising anger. "what do you mean by mentioning _me_ in that sort of connection?" "humph! what do i mean? well, i mean that men say--oh, i've heard them talk! i don't have to tell you who said it, but i have heard them say if you hadn't broken old mr. henderson all to pieces several years ago you'd never have been where you are to-day." "you don't understand that, marie," mostyn answered, impatiently. "henderson took it to court, and the decision was--" "oh, i know!" she tossed her head. "your lawyers pulled you through for a rake-off, and the henderson girls went to work. they live in a shabby little four-room house not far from here. i often see them at the wash-tub in the back yard. the old man hates you like a snake, and so do the girls. i can't blame them. when you get down in the very dregs through dealing with a person you learn how to hate. the thing stays in the mind night and day till it festers like a boil and you want to even up some way." "marie, listen to me," mostyn began, desperately deliberate. "why can't we come to an agreement? you want to help your brother out of his trouble, i am sure. now, that is a big amount of money, as you know, and even a banker can't always get up ready funds in such quantities as that, but suppose i give it to you?" "you--you give it to me?" she stammered, incredulously, her lips falling apart, her white teeth showing. "why, you said, not a month ago, that you were too hard pushed for money even to--" "this is different," he broke in. "through your conduct you are actually driving me to the wall and i am desperate. i am ready to make this proposition to you. i will get up that money. i'll send you a draft for it to-day provided--provided, marie, that you solemnly agree not to disturb me at all in the future." "do you really mean it?" she leaned forward, eagerly. "because--because if you _don't_ you ought not to mention it. i'd cut off my hands and feet to save that dear boy." "i mean it," he answered, firmly. "but this time you must keep your promise, and, no matter what i do in the future, you must not molest me." "i am willing, dick. i agree. i love you--i really do, but from now on you may go your way and i'll go mine. i swear it. may i--may i telegraph hal that--" "yes, telegraph him that the money is on the way to him," mostyn said. marie sank into a chair opposite him and rested her tousled head on her crossed arms. a trembling sob escaped her, and she looked up. he saw tears filling her eyes. "after all, i may not be so very, very bad," she said, "for this will be a merciful act, and it comes through my knowing you." "but it must be the end, marie," he urged, firmly. "it is costing me more than you can know, but i must positively be free." "i know it," she answered. "i will let you alone, dick. you may marry--you may do as you like from now on." "then it is positively settled," he said, a new light flaring in his eyes. "for good and all, we understand each other." "yes, for good and all," she repeated, her glance on the floor. a moment later he was in the street. the sun had never shown more brightly, the sky had never seemed so fathomless and blue. he inhaled a deep breath. he felt as if he were swimming through the air. "free, free!" he chuckled, "free at last!" reaching the bank, he was about to enter when he met, coming out, a dark, straight-haired, beardless young man who promptly grasped his hand. it was alan delbridge. "hello!" delbridge said, with a laugh. "glad to see you back. you look better. the wild woods have put new life in you. i knew you'd come as soon as the mitchells got home." "it wasn't that," mostyn said, lamely. "oh, of course not," delbridge laughed. "you were not at all curious to learn the particulars of the old chap's big deal--oh no, you are not that sort! a hundred or two thousand to the credit of a fellow's fiancee doesn't amount to anything with a plunger like you." mostyn laid a hesitating hand on the shoulder of the other. "say, delbridge," he faltered, "this sort of thing has gone far enough. i am not engaged to the young lady in question, and--" "oh, come off!" delbridge's laugh was even more persistent. "tell that to some one else. you see, i _know_. the old man confides in me--not in just so many words, you know, but he lets me understand. he says you and he are going to put some whopping big deals through, presumably after you take up your quarters under his vine and fig tree." mostyn started to protest further, but with another laugh the financier was off. "ten thousand dollars!" he thought, as he moved on. "he speaks of my business head; what would he think of the investment i have just made? he would call me a weakling. that is what i am. i have always been one. the woman doesn't live who could worry him for a minute. but it is ended now. i have had my lesson, and i sha'n't forget it." at his desk in his closed office a few minutes later he took a blank check, and, dipping his pen, he carefully filled it in. mechanically he waved it back and forth in the warm air. suddenly he started; a sort of shock went through him. how odd that he had not once, in all his excitement, thought of dolly drake! was it possible that his imagination had tricked him into believing that he loved the girl and could make actual sacrifices for her? why, already she was like a figment in some evanescent dream. what had wrought the change? was it the sight of delbridge and his mention of mostyn's financial prowess? was it the fellow's confident allusion to mitchell and his daughter? had the buzz and hum of business, the fever of conquest, already captured and killed the impulses which in the mountains had seemed so real, so permanent, so redemptive? "dolly, dear, beautiful dolly!" he said, but the whispered words dropped lifeless from his lips. "i have broken promises, but i shall keep those made to you. you are my turning-point. you are to be my wife. i have fancied myself in love often before and been mistaken, but the man does not live who could be untrue to a girl like you. you have made a man of me. i will be true--i will be honest with you. i swear it! i swear it!" chapter xv a little later he and his sister were at luncheon in her dining-room. "i am losing patience with you, dick," she said, as she poured his tea. "is that anything new?" he ventured to jest, while wondering what might lay in the little woman's mind. "you are too strenuous," she smiled, as she dropped two lumps of sugar into his cup. "entirely too much so. i saw from your face this morning that you are already undoing the effects of your vacation. the old glare is back in your eyes; your hands shake. i really must warn you. you know our father died from softening of the brain, which was brought on by financial worry. you are killing yourself, and for no reason in the world. look at alan delbridge. he is the ideal man of affairs. nothing disturbs him." "it is always delbridge, delbridge!" mostyn said, testily. "even _you_ can't keep from hurling him in my teeth. he is as cold-blooded as a fish. why should i want to be like him?" "well, take jarvis saunders, then," she returned. "what more success could a man want than he gets? i like to talk to him. he has a helpful philosophy of life. when he leaves his desk he is as happy and free as a boy out of school. i saw him pitching and catching ball in a vacant lot with one of your clerks the other day. is it any wonder that so many mothers of unmarried daughters consider him a safe catch for their girls? i am not punning; he really is wonderful." "oh, i know it," mostyn answered, drinking his tea, impatiently. "i was not made like him. i am not to blame." mrs. moore eyed him silently for a moment, then a serious expression settled on her florid face. "well," she ejaculated, "when are you going to make a real clean breast of it?" a shudder passed through him. she knew what had brought him home. marie's hysterical protest had leaked out. the girl had talked to others besides saunders. "what do you mean?" he asked the question quite aimlessly. he avoided her eyes. "i want to know about your latest love affair," she laughed, softly. "just one line in your last letter meant more to me than all the rest of it put together. as soon as i heard you were staying at drake's i began to expect it. so i was not surprised. you see, i saw her a year ago. jarvis introduced us one day. he put himself out to do it. according to him, she was wonderful, a genius, and what not." "you mean dolly?" mostyn's tongue felt thick and inactive. "yes, i mean _dolly_." mrs. moore continued to laugh. "when i saw her she was young enough to play with a doll, though i believe she was reading some serious book. well, she _is_ pretty--i can't dispute it--and jarvis declares she is more than that. to do her full justice, she looked like a girl of strong character. i remember how the young thing stared through her long lashes at me that day. yes, i knew she would turn your head. dick, you are a man summer flirt. you are even more; you enjoy the distinction of actually believing, temporarily, at least, in every flirtation you indulge in. you have imagination, and it plays you terrible pranks. you wouldn't have been home so soon--you would even have been in your usual hot water over the girl--but for your obligation to irene mitchell." mostyn tried to be resolute. he was conscious of his frailty of purpose, of his lack of sincerity when he spoke. "i am not obligated to irene, and, what is more, bess, i have positively made up my mind to marry the little girl you are speaking of." the woman's eyes flickered, her lips became more rigid. it was as if a certain pallor lay beneath her transparent skin and was forcing itself out. he heard her exhale a long breath. "to think that you could actually sit here and say as ridiculous a thing as that to me in a serious tone," she said, in an attempt at lightness. "why, dick, whatever your faults are, you are _not_ a fool." "i hope not," he said, weakly defiant. "i really care very much for the girl. you see, i knew her three years ago. you needn't oppose me, bess; i have made up my mind." "you have done no such thing!" mrs. moore blurted out. "that is the pity of it--the absurdity of it. you haven't made up your mind--that is just exactly what you haven't done. you thought you had, i don't doubt, when you said good-by to her, but already you are full of doubt, and in a frightful stew. you show it in your face. you know and i know that you cannot carry that thing through. you are not that type of man. jarvis saunders could. if he ever marries, he will marry like that. it wouldn't surprise me to see him walk off any day with some stenographer, with nothing but a shirt-waist for a trousseau, but you--_you_--oh, lord! you are quite a different proposition." "you think you know me, bess, but--" "i am the only person who _does_ know you," she broke in. "i have watched you since you were in the cradle. when you were ten you fell in love with a little girl and cried when she fell and bruised her nose. you have imagined yourself in love dozens of times, and have learned nothing from it. but we are losing time. tell me one thing, and let's be done with it. have you engaged yourself to this _new_ one?" "no, but--" "thank god for the 'but,' and let it go at that," she laughed, more freely. "i understand why you didn't better than you do. you doubted your own feelings. you thought you would for once in your life think it over." "it was not that which held me back." "i know; it was irene mitchell, her fine prospects, and your natural good horse sense. dick, you couldn't carry that silly dream through to save your life. you are not made that way. suppose you really married that little country thing. what would you do with her? well, i'll tell you. you would break her heart--that's what you'd do. you couldn't fit her into your life if you were deity itself and she were an archangel. she seemed perfect up there in her maud muller surroundings, but here in this mad town she would be afraid of you, and you would--ask her to keep her finger out of her mouth. why, you would be the joke of every soul in atlanta. mr. mitchell would despise you. you would lose his influence. in fact, my dear boy, you have gone too far with irene mitchell to turn back now. you may not be actually engaged to her, but she and everybody else consider it settled. for you to marry any one else now--to turn a woman like irene down, after the way you have acted--would ruin you socially. the men would kick you out of your club. you'd never hold your head up afterward. oh, i'm glad i got at you this morning. it would be a crime against that mountain child to bring her here on account of your--dick, i have to speak plainly, more plainly than i ever did before. but it is for your good. dick, passion is the greatest evil on earth. it has wrought more harm than anything else. passion often fools the wisest of men. to be plain, you think, or thought, that you loved that pretty girl, but you do not and did not. it was simply passion in a new and more subtle dress. up there, with plenty of time on your hands, you looked back on your life and became sick of it (for you have been wild and thoughtless--not worse than many others perhaps, but bad enough). you were disgusted and decided to make a fresh start. but what sort of start appealed to you? it wasn't to build a hospital with the better part of your capital. it wasn't really to undo any of the little things more or less wrong in your past. oh no, it was something much more to your fancy. you decided to marry the youngest, most physically perfect girl you had ever found. you may have told yourself that you would lift her a bit socially, that you would aid her people, make her happy, and what not. but passion was at the bottom of it. real love does not feed on ideal forms and perfect complexions. the man who marries beneath himself for only a pair of bright eyes is the prime fool of the universe--the whole world loves to sneer at him and watch his prize fade on his hands. real love is above doubt and suspicion, but you would doubt that girl's honesty at the slightest provocation. let another man be alone with her for a moment, and you--" the remainder fell on closed ears. he was thinking of the night he stood watching dolly's window in the moonlight. how true were the words just uttered! had he not suspected dolly, even when she had been most courageous and self-sacrificing? how well his sister understood him! just then the telephone bell rang. a maid-servant went to it and spoke in a low tone. presently she came to the door and called her mistress. mostyn sat limp, cold, undecided, miserable. "she is right," he whispered, finding himself alone. "she is right. my god, she is right! i am a fool, and yet--and yet--what _am_ i to do?" mrs. moore came in at the door, a significant smile playing between her eyes and lips. he was too despondent to be curious as to its cause. "guess who had me on the 'phone?" she asked, sitting down in her chair. "how could i know?" he answered, too gloomy to fight his gloom. "nobody but the most rational, well-rounded, stylish woman in atlanta. it was my future sister-in-law, irene mitchell. she has had her little dream, too, and survived it. she thought she cared a lot for andrew buckton--or, rather, she liked to think that he was crazy about her, but he is penniless--has no more energy than a pet kitten, and, sensible girl that she is, she took her father's advice and sent him adrift. everybody knows that affair is dead. he followed her away this summer, but came back with a long face, completely beaten. dick, you are lucky." "what was she telephoning you about?" mostyn asked, listlessly. "you." "me?" "yes; she asked for you." "and you didn't call me?" he was studying the designing face apathetically. "no, i fibbed out and out. i told her you were not here yet, but that i expected you to lunch every minute. then, as sweetly as you please, i offered to deliver the message. it was as i thought, an invitation to dinner to-night. i knew you were in no shape to talk into a 'phone--the service is so bad lately--so i accepted for you, like the good sister i am." he found himself unable to reply. suddenly she rose, bent over him, and kissed him on the brow. "silly, silly boy!" she said, and left the room. chapter xvi that evening at dusk, when mostyn reached mitchell's house, he found the old gentleman smoking on the veranda. "i looked for you earlier," he said, turning his cigar between his lips and smiling cordially as he extended his hand. "you used to be more prompt than this. we won't stand formality from you, young man." "i had a lot of work to do," mostyn said. "saunders let it pile up on me while i was away." "i see." mitchell stroked his gray beard. "he is getting to be a great lover of nature, isn't he? i went in to see him about something the other day, and i could hardly get his attention. he has just bought a new microscope and wanted to show me how it worked. he had put a drop of stagnant water on a glass slide and declared he could see all sorts of sharks, whales, and sea-serpents in it. i tried, but i couldn't see anything. there are plenty of _big_ affairs for fellows like you and me to choke and throttle without hunting for things too small for the naked eye." a flash of light from behind fell upon them. a maid was lighting the gas in the drawing-room. mostyn saw the cut-glass pendants of the crystal chandelier blaze in prismatic splendor. his mind was far from the lined countenance before him. he was heavy with indecision. his sister's confident derision clung to him like a menace from some infinite source. "a man never marries his ideal." he remembered the words spoken by a college-mate who was contemplating marriage. mostyn shuddered even as he smiled. it was doubtlessly true, and yet he had gone too far with dolly to desert her now. he couldn't bear to have her know him for the weakling that he was. the next moment even dolly was snatched from his reflections, sharp irritation and anger taking her place, for mitchell was speaking of delbridge and his recent good fortune. "you two are a wonderful pair to live in the same town," mitchell chuckled. "i have been in his office several times since we got home. not having you to loaf with, i turned to him for pastime. he certainly is a cool hand in a deal. he doesn't get excited in a crisis, as you do, and when he wins big stakes he hardly seems to notice it. ten minutes after he got the wire on his good luck the other day he could talk of nothing better than a new golf-course he is planning." "he is nothing more nor less than a gambler," mostyn said, with irritation. "he is on top now, but he may drop like a load of bricks any minute. who can tell?" "oh, _you_ needn't be jealous of him," mitchell began, blandly. "he can't crow over _you_." "jealous of him!" mostyn smirked. "i am not jealous of any one, much less delbridge." "of course not, of course not," and the old man laid a caressing hand on mostyn's shoulder. "you don't play second fiddle to any man in georgia in _my_ opinion. i know your ability well enough. if i didn't i wouldn't trust you as i do. lord, i've told you everything. we are going to work together, my boy; i have some big plans. of course, saunders told you of my land deal?" "yes, that was fine," mostyn said. "a big thing." "i owe it all to you, and wanted to ask your advice before closing out"--mitchell glowed with contentment--"but as you were not here, i went it alone. the parties seemed to be in a hurry, and i was afraid they might accidentally change their minds, so i took them up." throwing his cigar into the grass, mitchell led the way into the drawing-room. his hand was now on mostyn's arm. in the hall they met jincy, the maid. "tell my daughter to order dinner," he said, curtly, "and ask her to come down." the two men stood near the big screened fireplace and plain white marble mantelpiece. there was a rustling sound on the stair in the hall, and irene came in. she was beautifully attired in a gown mostyn had not yet seen. it was most becoming. how strange! there seemed, somehow, to-night more about her to admire than on any former occasion. was it due to his return to his proper social plane? was the other life sheer delusion? what exquisite poise! what easy, erect grace! her whole being was stamped with luxurious self-confidence. how soft was the feel of her delicate fingers as they touched his! why had he clasped them so warmly? how charming the gentle and seductive glance of her eyes! he caught himself staring at her in a sort of reluctant pride of personal ownership. he thought of dolly drake, and a glaring contrast rose darkly before him. he fancied himself confessing his intentions to irene and shuddering under her incredulous stare. how could he explain? and yet, of course, she must be told--her father must be told. all his friends must know. and talk--how they would chatter and--laugh! "you certainly look improved," irene cried, as she surveyed him admiringly. "you are quite tanned. fishing or hunting every day, i suppose." "nearly," he answered. "cousin kitty langley is here to spend the night," irene went on. "but i can't persuade her to come down to dinner. she is not hungry and is buried in a novel. she was at a tea this afternoon and ate too many sandwiches." "humph!" mitchell sniffed, playfully. "you know that wasn't it. she asked jincy to bring something up to her. she told me she simply would not break in on you two this first evening." "father is getting to be a great tease, dick," irene smiled. "the money he has made lately has fairly turned his head. please don't notice him." the colored butler had come to the door, and stood waiting silently to catch her eye. seeing him, she asked: "is everything ready, jasper?" he bowed. he looked the ideal servant in his dark-blue suit, high collar, and stiff white waistcoat. a wave of revulsion passed over mostyn. he was thinking of the crude dining-room in the mountains; drake, without his coat, his hair unkempt; mrs. drake in her soiled print dress and fire-flushed face, nervously waving the peacock fly-brush over the coarse dishes; ann and george, as presentable as dolly could make them, prodding and kicking each other beneath the table when they thought themselves unobserved; john webb, with his splotched face in his plate; and dolly--the sweetest, prettiest, bravest, most patient little woman time had ever produced, and yet, what had that to do with the grim demands of social life? was his sister right? was his interest in the girl grounded only in a subtle form of restrained passion? would he tire of her; would he be ashamed of her, here amid these surroundings? in fancy he saw mitchell staring contemptuously at the little interloper. after all, had any man the right to inflict an ordeal of that sort upon an unsuspecting child? plainly, no; and there would be no alternative but for him to renounce city life and live with her in the mountains. but could he possibly do such a thing? had he the requisite moral strength for a procedure so foreign from his nature? was his desire for reformation as strong as he had once thought it? perhaps his release from marie winship's threatening toils had something to do with his present relapse from good intentions. he remembered how he had been stirred by the impassioned words of the mystic tramp preacher. how clear the way had seemed at that sunlit moment; how intricate and difficult now! mitchell led the way out to dinner, irene's calm hand on the arm of the guest. what a superb figure she made at the head of the splendid table under the pink lights of the candle-shades! how gracefully she ordered this away, and that brought, even while she laughed and chatted so delightfully. and she--_she_--that superb woman of birth, manners, and position--could be had for the asking. not only that, but the whole horrible indecision which lay on him like a nightmare could in that way be brushed aside. he felt the blood of shame rush to his face, but it ran back to its source in a moment. dolly would soon forget him. she would marry some mountaineer, perhaps the teacher, warren wilks, and in that case the man would take her into his arms, and--no, mostyn's blood boiled and beat in his brain with the sudden passionate fury of a primitive man; that would be unbearable. she had said she had kissed no other man and never would. yes, she was his; her whole wonderful, warm, throbbing being was his; and yet--and yet how could it be? "you seem preoccupied." irene smiled on him. "are you already worried over business?" "i'm afraid i always have more or less to bother me," he answered, evasively. "then, too, a hot, dusty bank is rather depressing after pure open mountain air." "i had exactly that feeling when we returned," she smiled. "we certainly had a glorious time. we had quite an atlanta group with us, you know, and we kept together. the others said we were clannish and stuck-up, but we didn't care. we played all sorts of pranks after father went to bed." "you would have thought so if you had heard them, dick," the old man said, dryly. "they stayed up till three one morning and raised such a row that the other guests of the hotel threatened to call in the police." "it was the greatest lark i ever was in," irene declared, with a hearty laugh. "that night cousin kitty put on a suit of andy buckton's clothes. in the dark we all took her for a boy. she was the most comical thing you ever saw. i laughed till i was sick." dinner over, they went out to the veranda. the lawn stretched green and luscious down to the white pavement under the swinging arc light over the street. mitchell left them seated in a hammock and sauntered down to the side fence, where he stood talking to a neighbor who was sprinkling his lawn with a hose and nozzle. at eleven o'clock irene went up to her cousin, finding the young lady still reading her novel under the green shade of a drop-light. miss langley was a good-looking girl, slender, small of limb, active in movement, and a blonde. "well," she said, closing her book and looking up, sleepily, "i wanted to see what is coming to this pair of sweethearts, but they can wait. i am anxious to know what is going on in real life. i am tired of the poky way you and dick mostyn are courting. i want to be a swell bridesmaid, i do." "oh, you do?" irene sat down in an easy-chair, and, locking her hands behind her head, she leaned back and sighed. "yes, i do. you were sure he would propose to-night. well, did he--did he? that is what i want to know." "oh yes, it is settled." irene transferred her linked hands to her knee, and leaned forward. "kitty, i may be making a big mistake, but the die is cast. there was nothing else to do. you know how silly father is. you know, too, that poor andy was out of the question." "yes, he was," miss langley agreed. "from every possible point of view. he adores you--he will no doubt suffer some, but you could not have married him." "no, it wouldn't have done," irene sighed, deeply. "i'm afraid i'll never feel right about it, but the poor boy understands. the way father bore with him and snubbed him on that trip was humiliating." "so dick declared himself?" miss langley smiled. "i wonder how he led up to it--he is a blooming mystery to me." irene tittered. "the truth is, i helped him out. do you know, he is more sensitive than most persons think, and that side of him was uppermost to-night. i really felt sorry for him. he spoke frankly of having serious faults and being heartily ashamed of his past life. i think i know what he was hinting at. you know we have both heard certain reports." "not any more of him than any other man we know," kitty said, with a shrug. "andy buckton, with his presbyterian bringing-up, may be an exception, but he is about the only one in our crowd. they are all bad, i tell you, and a woman may as well make up her mind to it and hope marriage will cure the brute." "i liked the way dick talked to-night very, very much," irene resumed, reflectively. "he declared he was unworthy of me. do you know he is sensitive over a certain thing, and i admire it in him." "what is that?" the other asked. "why, out on the steps to-night, after father had gone in, dick seemed very much depressed. he was worried about something, and i determined to discover what it was. what do you think? the silly fellow was really upset by the money father has recently made; he never has liked the idea of marrying an heiress, and, you see, i am more of one now than i was a month ago." "somehow, i don't read him that way," miss langley mused, "but i may be wrong. so it is really settled?" "yes, it is settled. it was the common-sense thing to do. i am going to put andy out of my mind. poor boy! he is lovely, isn't he? what do you think he will do about it, kitty?" "mope around like a sick cat for a month," the girl answered; "then he will marry some one else, and wonder what on earth he ever saw in you to be daft about." "i don't believe it," irene said, firmly. "kitty, that boy will never marry; he will never love any other woman. if i thought he would--" irene hesitated, a deepening stare in her eyes. "you'd not marry dick--poof! wouldn't you be a pretty idiot? if you read as many novels as i do you'd know that sentimental, puppy love is a delusion and a snare. let it alone. you and dick mostyn are doing the only rational thing. you will be an ideal couple. gosh, i wish i had some of the money you will have!" chapter xvii one morning a few days later mostyn entered the bank and went directly to his office. he had been seated at his desk only a moment when wright, the cashier, came in smiling suavely. there was a conscious flush on his face which extended into his bald pate, and his eyes were gleaming. "i want to congratulate you," he said. "we've all been reading the account in the paper this morning. of course, we've suspected it for some time, but didn't want to talk about it till it was announced." "i haven't seen the article," mostyn answered, in a tone of curbed irritation. "it was written by some woman society reporter. miss langley told me to look out for it. i think she furnished the information." "very likely," wright answered. "women like nothing better than a wedding in high life." "has saunders come down yet?" the banker inquired. "yes, he is at his desk. he just got back from his farm this morning." "please tell him"--mostyn deliberated--"tell him when he is fully at liberty that i'd like to see him." a moment later saunders opened the door and came in. a grave look was on his face, and he failed to respond to mostyn's "good morning." he paused, and stood leaning on the top of the desk, his glance averted. "wright says you wish to see me," he began. "yes, sit down; pull that chair up." saunders complied, his eyes on the floor. "i suppose you've seen the morning paper?" mostyn asked. "you mean the--announcement of your--" "yes, of course." "i saw the head-lines. i didn't read it through." silence crept between the two men. mostyn touched a paper-weight with his slender, bloodless fingers, drew it toward him aimlessly, and then pushed it back. "there is a matter," he began, awkwardly, "which i want to speak to you about. it is due you to know why i drew out that ten thousand dollars. it went to marie winship. if you are not satisfied with the collateral i can put up something else." "it is all right." saunders dropped the words frigidly. "i knew it was for her. the truth is, i supposed that little less would quiet her." "you, no doubt, consider me the champion idiot of the world." mostyn essayed a smile, but it was a lifeless thing at best, and left his face more grimly masked than before. "however, it is all over now. she is satisfied, and agrees to quit hounding me from now on." saunders snapped his fingers impulsively, tossed his head, started to speak, but remained silent. "why did you--do that?" mostyn demanded, yielding to irritation against his will. "oh, there is no use going into it," saunders said, sharply, "but if you think ten thousand dollars will stop a creature of that stamp, your long experience with such women has not taught you much. she will dog you to the end of her days." "i don't think so, jarvis." mostyn seldom used saunders's christian name, and it came out now in a tone of all but insistent conciliation. "by giving her the money just now i rendered her a peculiar service. she wanted it to save her brother from arrest and disgrace." "and you think that will silence her permanently? well, it won't. you will hear from her again, if i am any sort of judge." "you take a gloomy view of it," mostyn protested. "in fact, i don't exactly know how to make you out to-day. you seem different. surely you don't oppose my--my marriage?" "not in the slightest. i have scarcely thought of it." "well, then, what is the matter?" the sudden set silence after such a demand showed plainly that the question was well-timed. mostyn repeated it less urgently, but he repeated it. "i have just got back from my plantation"--saunders glanced at the closed door furtively--"and while i was there i heard some slight gossip about your attentions to my little friend dolly drake. you know mountain people, mostyn, usually make as much as possible of such things. the truth is, some have gone so far as to say that you and _she_ were likely to marry." mostyn's tanned skin faintly glowed. "they have no--no right to go so far as that," he stammered. "i was with her a good deal, for, as you know, she is very entertaining." "no one knows it better," saunders said, firmly. "she is the most courageous, beautiful, and brilliant creature i have ever met. more than that, she has long been the most wronged. she has her whole family, including her moonshining father, on her frail shoulders. it is because of these things that i am tempted to speak plainly about a certain--" "go on." mostyn swallowed anxiously, for his partner had paused. "i have no personal right to inquire into your conduct," saunders continued, "but a certain thing has filled me with fear--fear for that poor child's happiness. i met her yesterday near her school, and the awful look in her face haunted me through the night. she had nothing to say, no questions to ask, but the dumb look of despair in her eyes could not be misread. i have known you a long time, mostyn, and i can't remember your failing to make love to every pretty woman you have been thrown with. i hope i am mistaken this time--with all my soul, i do." mostyn turned in his revolving chair. he tried to meet the cold stare of his partner steadily. "jarvis, i am in the deepest trouble that i ever faced." "so it is true!" burst from saunders's lips. "my god, it is true!" "but don't misunderstand me." mostyn laid an eager hand on the knee close to his own. "my reputation is so bad in your eyes that i must assure you that--that she is as pure as--" "stop!" saunders shook the hand from his knee as if it were a coiled reptile. "you insult her even by mentioning such a thing. the man does not live who could tarnish her name. i have watched her since she was a little child. i know her as well as if she were my sister, and i respect her as much." mostyn was fiery red. "i will justify myself as far as possible," he blurted out, desperately. "you may not believe it, but as god is my judge, i intended, when i left her, to rid myself of marie winship and go back and ask her to be my wife." "i can well believe it, even of you"--saunders breathed hard--"and i know what happened. you were not proof against other influences." "that is it," mostyn fairly groaned. "i am as weak as water. i have wronged that noble girl, but it really was not intentional. knowing her has been the one solely uplifting influence of my life. while i was there i was sure i could be--be worthy of her, but now i know that i am not." "no, you are not!" saunders cried. "you are not. the man does not live who is worthy of her. and you--_you_, with your past and that foul stench upon you, actually thought of mating with the purest--ugh! my god!" mostyn blinked; there was no trace of resentment in his manner, only cringing humiliation. "what am i to do?" he faltered, helplessly. "do? nothing! there is nothing you can do now. she will read the papers and know what to expect. it was not you she was in love with, anyway, mostyn, but an ideal of her own in regard to you. i don't know her well enough to know how she will take it. she has had troubles all her life; this may crown them all; it may drag her down--break her fine spirit--_kill_ her. who knows? you've made a great many successful deals, mostyn, but this one recently closed for money, as a main consideration, was deliberately advised by the fiends of hell. you have sold your birthright, and if you succeed in your investment it will be because there is no god in the universe. mark my prediction, the marriage you are making cannot possibly result in happiness--it cannot, because you'll never be able to wipe this other thing from your soul." mostyn shrank into his chair. "i wouldn't take this from any one else, jarvis," he said, almost in a piteous whine. "you have got me down. i'm in no shape for any sort of resentment." "you got yourself where you are," saunders ran on, fiercely. "if i am indignant, i can't help it. i would give my right arm to help that poor child, and this powerlessness to act when her suffering is so great drives me to absolute frankness." "what is the use to talk more of it?" mostyn said, desperately. "we are getting nowhere." "there is something else, and i must speak of it," saunders said, more calmly. "i happen to know the character of dolly's father perhaps better than you do, and i must tell you, mostyn, that he is the most dangerous man i ever met. it is my duty to put you on your guard. there is bound to be more or less talk up there, for there are a great many meddlers, and tom drake is more than apt to hear of this thing. if he does, mostyn, an army couldn't stop him. when he is wrought up he is insane. he will come down here and try to kill you. i am going back up there to-day, and if i can possibly prevent trouble i shall do it." mostyn had turned deathly pale. "surely he would not compromise his daughter by such a--a step as that," he stammered. "few other men would, but tom drake is not like other men. i have seen him fairly froth at the mouth in a fight with three men as big as he was." mostyn's lips moved, but no sound issued. without another word saunders turned and walked away. "great god!" mostyn whispered in agony, "what _am_ i?" chapter xviii that afternoon, miss sally-lou wartrace, sister of the keeper of the store at the cross-roads, was at her brother's counter eagerly reading an atlanta paper while he stood looking over her shoulder. she had passed well into spinsterhood, as was shown by the inward sinking of her cheeks, the downward tendency of the lines about her mouth, the traces of gray in her brown hair, and a general thinness and stiffness of frame. "well, well, well!" she chuckled, her small, bead-like eyes flashing up into her brother's face. "so all this time their high and mighty boarder was engaged to be married. did you ever in all your life hear of bigger fools? mrs. drake has been so stuck up lately she'd hardly nod to common folks in the road. she never come right out and said so, but she actually thought he was settin' up to dolly. old tom did, too." "yes, i think tom was countin' on it purty strong," wartrace said, smiling. "i've heard him brag about mostyn's money and big interests many a time. he knowed his gal was purty an' smart, an' he didn't see no reason why mostyn shouldn't want her, especially as he was about with her so much." "that is _it,_" the old maid answered; "mostyn never lost a chance to tag on to her. dolph, mark my words, thar's goin' to be no end o' talk. why, didn't ann just as good as tell me t'other day, on her way home from school, that she was goin' to a fine finishin'-school in atlanta? you know tom couldn't send 'er. besides, when i spoke--as i acknowledge i did--about dolly an' mostyn, ann grinned powerful knowin'-like an' never denied a thing. even ann's got a proud tilt to 'er, an' struts along like a young peacock. this here article will explode like a busted gun amongst 'em an' bring the whole bunch down a peg or two. do you reckon they've got their paper yet?" "not yet," wartrace answered. "the carrier has to go clean round by spriggs's at the foot of the mountain 'fore he gits thar. he generally hits tom's place about an hour by sun." miss sally-lou folded the paper and thrust it into the big pocket of her print skirt. "i am goin' over thar, dolph," she said, with a rising smile. "i wouldn't miss it for a purty." "you'd better keep out of it," the storekeeper mildly protested. "you know you have been mixed up in several fusses." "i don't expect to have a thing to do with this un," was the eager reply. "but i would just like to see if they really are countin' on a man of that sort tyin' himself on to a lay-out of their stripe. nobody in the valley believed mr. mostyn had any such intention. he was just killin' time an' amusin' hisse'f." leaving the store, miss sally-lou strode briskly along the hot, dusty road toward drake's. every now and then a low giggle would escape her lips, and she would put her thin, gnarled fingers to her mouth as if to hide her smile from some observer. "john webb wasn't tuck in by it, i'll bet," she mused. "he ain't nobody's fool. john's got a long, cool head on 'im, he has. he kin see through a mill-rock without lookin' in at the hole." she found john near the front fence, lazily inspecting a row of beehives on a weather-beaten bench. "think they are goin' to swarm?" miss sally-lou inquired, in her most seductive tone, as she unlatched the gate and entered. "wouldn't be a bit surprised," the bachelor returned, as he automatically touched his slouch hat. "it is time. we had fresh honey last year long 'fore this." "has dolly got home from school?" was the next question. "yes'm," webb answered. "she come in a minute ago. she may be lyin' down. she ain't as well as common; she looks sorter peaked; i told 'er she'd better take a tonic o' some sort. she's stickin' too close over them books; she needs exercise, an' plenty of it." "i hate to bother her if she ain't up an' about"--miss wartrace had the air of a maiden lady who had as soon chat with a bachelor as feast upon any sort of gossip--"but i'm makin' me a new lawn waist, mr. john, an' i want to ask dolly if she'd put big or little buttons on. she has such good taste an' knows what the style is." "by all means git the _right_ sort, miss sally-lou," webb jested. "if they are as big as mule-shoes, or as little as gnats' eyes, stick 'em on." "you are a great tease," the spinster smirked. "you always have some joke agin us poor women. you make a lot of fun, but you like to see us look our best, i'll bound you." john's freckled face bore vague evidence of denial, but he said nothing. he moved toward the farthest hive and bent down as if to inspect the tiny entrance. "well, i'll run in a minute," she said. "watch out an' don't git stung." "if i do it will be by a _bee_," said the philosopher to himself, "an' not by no woman o' _that_ stripe. lord, folks advise me to set up to that critter! she'd talk a deef man to death. he'd kill hisse'f makin' signs to 'er to stop." the visitor ascended the steps, crossed the porch, and, without rapping at the door, entered the sitting-room where she found dolly, ann, and her mother together. mrs. drake was patching a sheet at the window; ann, sulky and obstinate, was trying to do an example on a slate; and dolly stood over her, a dark, wearied expression on her face. "hello, folkses!" miss sally-lou greeted them, playfully. "how do y-all come on?" when she had taken a chair she mentioned the waist she was making, and as dolly gave her opinion in regard to the buttons she eyed the girl studiously. she remarked the dark rings around the beautiful eyes, the nervous, almost quavering voice. "she hain't heard yet," the caller decided. "but she may suspicion something is wrong. maybe he hain't writ to her since he went back--the scamp! he ought to be licked good an' strong." "what are you fixing up so for, miss sally-lou?" ann wanted to know, a bubble of amusement in her young eyes and voice. "are you going to get married?" "listen to her," miss wartrace tittered, quite unobservant of ann's sarcasm. "the idea of a child of that age constantly thinking of marrying." at this juncture john webb came in and approached his sister. he had not removed his hat, but, catching dolly's reproving glance, he snatched it off and stood whipping his thigh with it. "you wanted to know about them bees," he said. "they don't intend to swarm to-day, so you needn't bother any longer about it." "i was just laughin' at ann, mr. john." miss sally-lou raised her voice tentatively, that she might rivet his attention. "young as she is, i never see 'er without havin' 'er ax some question or other about me or somebody else marryin'." "it's jest the woman croppin' out in 'er," webb drawled, with unconscious humor. "looks like marryin' is a woman's aim the same as keepin' out of it ought to be a man's." "you needn't judge others by yourself," was the unoffended retort. "plenty of men know the value of a good wife, if you don't." mrs. drake seemed not to have heard these give-and-take platitudes. she raised her sheet to the level of her eyes and creased the hem of it with her needle-pricked fingers. "what sort o' cloth are you goin' to use in your waist?" she asked. "white lawn," said sally-lou. "i got a rale good grade in a remnant in town yesterday at a bargain. it was a little dirty at the edges, but i'm goin' to trim them off." "i'd make it plain, if i was you," mrs. drake advised. "at your age an' mine it doesn't look well to fix up fancy." "humph! i don't know as you an' me are so nigh the same--" the final word was caught up by an impulsive snicker, which webb muffled under his hat. "oh, i don't mean to say that i am not _some_ older," mrs. drake floundered. "bein' as you are unmarried, it wouldn't be polite for me with as old children as i got to--" "oh, i'm not mad about it!" miss sally-lou declared, hastily. "i know i'm not as young as dolly an' her crowd o' girls." the spinster now frowned resentfully. nothing could have angered her more than such an allusion made in the presence of the amused bachelor. she nursed her fury in silence for a moment, only to become more set in the grim purpose of her present visit. "huh, wait till i git through with 'em!" she thought; then, as if merely to change a disagreeable subject for a happier one, she turned directly to dolly. "what do you hear from mr. mostyn?" she asked, in quite a tone of indifference. there was marked hesitation on the part of dolly, but ann was more prompt. her slate and pencil rattled as she dropped them in her lap. "he hasn't written a word," she said, staring eagerly, as if the visitor might help solve a problem which had absorbed her far more than the example on which she was now working. "you don't say!" miss sally-lou's eyes fired straight gleams at dolly, as if dolly herself had made the astounding revelation. "why, i thought you an' him was powerful thick. well, well, i reckon he told you all thar was to tell before he left. young men usually are proud o' things like that, an' can't hold 'em in. well, i hope he will be happy. i don't wish him no harm if he _is_ high up in the world an' rich. i know i was awfully surprised when i read it in to-day's paper." she thrust a steady hand into her pocket, pushing her right foot well forward to give the rustling sheet better egress. there was silence in the room. webb glanced at his sister and at ann. no one, save the tormentor, noticed dolly, who, pale as death, a groping in her eyes, and lips parted, stood behind her sister's chair. "is there something in the paper about him?" ann cried, eagerly. "oh yes, nearly a column on the society page," was the studied reply. "the cat's out o' the bag. he's goin' to get married." "oh, dolly!" ann clapped her hands and leaned eagerly toward her ghastly sister. "do you reckon he went and told it? i know; he just couldn't keep it--he is so much in love. oh, dolly, tell 'em about it. here you are keeping it so close, while he is sticking it into a paper for everybody to read. i never could see any reason for you to be so awful secret, anyway. it has been all i could do to--" "what's the child talkin' about?" the caller's eyes gleamed in guarded delight as she unfolded the paper and spread it out on her knee. "accordin' to _this_ account, he is marryin' the richest an' most popular woman in the state. i reckon everybody that reads society news has heard about irene mitchell." "irene mitchell!" ann gasped, rising in her chair, her slate and pencil sliding to the floor. "that isn't so. it isn't so, is it, dolly? why, what ails--" the half-scream was not finished. dolly was reeling as if about to fall, her little hands pressed helplessly to her face. john webb sprang quickly to her side. he threw his arm about her. "dry up all that!" he yelled, furiously. "dry up, i say! she's sick." feeling his support, dolly revived a little, and he led her out into the hall and saw her go slowly up the stairs to her room. as for mrs. drake and ann, they had pounced on the paper and had it spread out before their wide-open eyes. sally-lou was now on her feet. she had gone to the door, seen dolly's wilting form disappear at the head of the stairs, and was now breathlessly feasting on the bewildered chagrin of the stunned mother and daughter. ann finished reading sooner than her mother. pale and indignant, she turned to the caller. she had opened her mouth when john webb promptly covered it with his red paw. "come out o' here!" he ordered, sharply. "you go up-stairs an' 'tend to dolly. she ain't well. she's been ailin' off an' on for a week. you school-children have deviled the life out of the poor thing. what are you all talkin' about, anyway? mostyn told me an' dolly all about him an' that woman. we knowed all along that he was goin' to git married, but it was a sort o' secret betwixt us three." astounded, and warningly pinched on the arm, ann, with a lingering backward look, left the room and reluctantly climbed the stairs. "you'll have to excuse me, miss sally-lou, here's your paper," mrs. drake was slowly recovering discretion. "i'll have to see about dolly. john's right, she ain't well--she ain't--oh, my lord, i don't know what to make of it!" "i see she _is_ sort o' upset," miss sally-lou said, "an i don't wonder. i oughtn't to have sprung it so sudden-like. i'll tell you all good day. i'll have to run along. if thar's anything i kin do for dolly just let me know. i'm a good hand about a sick-bed, an' i know how to give medicine. if dolly gets worse, send word to me, an' i'll step right over. this may go hard with her. you know i think that idle scamp might 'a' had better to do than--" but mrs. drake, obeying her brother's imperative nod, was moving toward the stairs. sally-lou and webb were left together. her glance fell before the fiercest glare she had ever seen shoot from a masculine eye, and yet webb's freckled face was valiantly digging up a smile. "i see what _you_ thought," he laughed. "you went an' thought dolly was in love with that town dude. shucks, she seed through 'im from the fust throw out o' the box. she liked to chat with 'im now an' then, but la, me! if you women are so dead bent on splicin' folks why don't you keep your eyes open? listen to me, an' see if i ain't right. you watch an' see if dolly an' warren wilks--" "pshaw!" miss sally-lou sniffed. "dolly will never give warren a second thought--not _now,_ nohow. she's got 'er sights up, an' she'll never lower 'em ag'in." webb, almost outwitted, stood on the edge of the porch and watched the spinster trip down the walk. she glanced over her shoulder coquettishly. "you are losin' all your gal_lant_ ways, mr. john," she simpered. "you don't even open the gate for visitin' ladies here lately." "i greased that latch t'other day," he answered, laconically. "it works as easy as the trigger of a mouse-trap. i don't know as i ever was a woman's jumpin'rjack. i ain't one o' the fellers that fan flies off'n 'em at meetin'. if they draw flies an' gnats that's the'r lookout, not mine." chapter xix alone in her room, dolly stood at a window, her distraught eyes on the placid fields lying between the house and the mountains. she was still pale. the tips of her fingers clung to the narrow mullions as if for support. she seemed scarcely to breathe. her beautiful lips were drawn tight; her shapely chin had a piteous quiver. "oh, that was it!" she moaned. "i understand it now. he was engaged to her all the time, but wouldn't tell me. he got tired of us here and went back to her. i'll never see him again--never, never, never!" the bed, with its snowy coverlet and great downy pillows, invited her. she was about to throw herself upon it, but her pride, pierced to the quick, rebelled. "i sha'n't cry!" she said. "he is marrying for her money. i sha'n't weep over it. he lied to me--to _me!_ he said something was wrong with his business and when that was settled he would write. he was just trifling, passing time away this summer as he did three years ago, and i--i--silly little gump--actually kissed him. i trusted him as i trust--as i _trusted_ god. i even confided father's secret to him. i loved him with my whole soul, and all the time he was comparing me to her." far across the sunlit meadows on the gradual slope of a rise she saw her father and george cutting and raking hay. how odd it seemed for them to be so calmly working toward the future feeding of mere horses and cattle when to her life itself seemed killed to its germ. there was a step on the stairs. the door was thrown open, and her sister rushed in. "oh, dolly!" ann cried, her begrimed fingers clutching at dolly's arm, "what does it mean? is it so? do you think he really is going to--" "oh, go away, go away, _please_ go away!" the older pleaded. "don't talk to me now--not now!" "but i want to know--i _must_ know!" ann ran on, hysterically, her young, piping voice rising higher and higher. "i can't stand it, dolly. ever since you told me about you and him i have thought about atlanta and your beautiful home down there and the things i was going to do. oh, i thought--i thought it was actually settled, but if--if the paper tells the truth--why don't you talk? what has got into you all at once? surely--surely he wouldn't--surely you wouldn't have gone out to meet him as late at night as you did and let him--you know, sister, i saw him holding you tight and--" dolly turned like an automaton suddenly animated. she laid her hands on her sister's shoulders and bore down fiercely. she shook her so violently from side to side that ann's plaited hair swung like a rope in a storm. "don't tell that to a soul!" dolly panted. "you must not--don't _dare_ to! you promised you wouldn't. sometime i will explain, but not now--not now. i'm losing my mind. go away and leave me." "i really believe you think the paper is telling the truth," ann moaned. "you _must_ think so, or you wouldn't look this way and beg me not to tell. oh, i can't stand it!" for a breathless moment ann stood staring at her dumb-lipped sister, and then, tottering to the bed, she threw herself upon it, burying her face in a pillow. sob after sob escaped her, but dolly paid no heed. her lifeless stare on the mountain view, she stood like a creature entranced. the sun went down. like a bleeding ball it hung over the mountain's crest, throwing red rays into the valley. a slow step was heard on the stair, the sliding of a dry hand on the balustrade. mrs. drake opened the door and advanced to dolly. "you mustn't take on this way," she began. "i want you to be sensible and strong. thar is plenty of fish in the sea. i sort o' thought mr. mostyn was talking too much to you for it to be exactly right, but you always had such a level head--more level than i ever had--that i thought you could take care of yourself." "mother, please leave me alone for to-day, anyway," dolly pleaded. "i--i'm not a fool. take ann down-stairs. i--i can't stand that noise. it makes me desperate. i hardly know what to do or say." "i just asked her to tell me the truth." ann sat up, holding her pillow in her lap as for comfort, her eyes red with rubbing. "but she won't say a word, when all this time i've been counting on--" "well, i'm going down and see about supper," dolly said, desperately. "father and george have stopped work and they will be hungry." her mother tried to detain her, but she went straight down the stairs. mrs. drake crept stealthily to the door, peered after her daughter, and then, heaving a sigh, she stood before the girl on the bed. "now," she said, grimly, "out with it! tell me all you know about this thing--every single thing!" "but, mother"--ann's eyes fell--"i promised-" "it don't make no difference what you promised," mrs. drake blurted out. "this ain't no time for secrets under this roof. i want the facts. if you don't tell me i'll get your pa to whip you." half an hour later, as tom drake trudged across the old wheat-field back of the barn, his scythe on his shoulder, he met his wife at the outer fence of the cow-lot. there she stood as still and silent as a detached post. "whar's your bucket?" he asked, thinking she had come to milk the cow, which was one of her evening duties. "i'm goin' to let it go over to-night," she faltered. then she laid a stiff hand on her husband's sweat-damp sleeve. "tom drake," she gulped, "i'm afraid me an' you are facin' the greatest trouble we've ever had." "what's wrong now?" he asked, swift visions of moonshine stills, armed officers, and grim court officials flashing before him. haltingly she explained the situation. he bore it stolidly till, in a rasping whisper, she concluded with the information forced from ann. she told him of the low whistle in the moonlight at their daughter's window, of dolly's cautious exit from the house, of the tender embrace on the lawn. drake turned his tortured face away. she expected a storm of fury, but no words came from his ghastly lips. "now, tom," she half wailed, "you _must_ be sensible. this is a family secret. for once in your life you've got to keep your temper till we can see our way clear. after all, goin' out that way to meet 'im don't actually prove that our girl is bad; you know it don't. young folks these days--" "don't tell _me_ what it meant!" he bent fiercely toward her. "i know. i've heard a lot about that whelp's sly conduct. no bigger blackguard ever laid a trap for a helpless girl. oh no, i won't do nothin'. i wouldn't touch 'im. when i meet 'im i'll take off my hat an' bow low an' hope his lordship is well. i'm just a mountain dirt-eater, i am. nobody ever heard of a drake killin' snakes. a drake will let one coil itse'f round his baby an' not take it off. we are jest scabs--_we_ are!" "tom, for god's sake--" "look here, woman--you lay the weight of a hair in front o' me an' that devil--that rovin' mad dog--an' i'll kill you as i would a stingin' gnat! i won't bed with no woman with that sort o' pride. you've got to stand by me. i'll kill 'im if it takes twenty years. i'll keep my nose to his track like a bloodhound till i look in his eye, an' then, if he had a thousand lives, i'd take every one of 'em with a grin, an' foller 'im to hell for more." leaving her with her head on the top rail of the fence, stunned, wordless, he strode away in the dusk. looking up presently, she saw him standing at the well, in the full light from the kitchen doorway. he seemed to be looking in at dolly, who, with her back to him, was at work over the stove. the next instant he was gone. chapter xx it was eight o'clock. jarvis saunders alighted from the train at ridgeville, finding his horse hitched to a rack according to the instructions he had left with his overseer. mounting, he started homeward in a brisk canter through the clear moonlight. he was soon in the main road, and exhilarated by the crisp mountain air, after a sweltering ride in the dusty train. he had reached the boundary fence of drake's farm when he thought he heard some one crying out. he reined in and listened. "oh, father, please, please wait!" it was dolly's voice, and it came from the more darkly shaded part of the road in front of her father's house. urging his mount forward, saunders was met by drake on a plunging horse which he was violently whipping into action. "what is the matter?" saunders cried out; but with an oath of fury drake flew past. he was hatless, coatless, and held something clutched in his hand other than the bridle-rein. fairly astounded and not knowing what to do, saunders remained in the road for a moment, then the sound of a low sob in the direction from whence drake had come reminded him of dolly's nearness, and he guided his horse forward. suddenly in the corner of a rail fence, her face covered with her hands, he saw dolly. springing to the ground, he advanced to her. "dolly," he said, "what is it--what is wrong?" she uncovered her face, stood staring at him helplessly. she raised her hand and pointed after her father, but, though she tried to speak, she seemed unable to utter a word. "is there anything i can do?" he asked. "for god's sake, tell me if there is. i want to help you." "yes, yes," she managed to articulate, "i know--and you are very kind, but--" "you were trying to stop your father," he said. "would you like for me--" "you couldn't; he would kill you; he has his pistol; he doesn't know what he is doing." "i think i know--i think i can guess--he is going to atlanta." dolly nodded mechanically, her mouth open. "oh, he is making an awful mistake, mr. saunders! he wouldn't let me explain. ann told mother that i went out late one night to meet--meet mr. mostyn when he whistled. it was not mr. mostyn. it was tobe barnett, who came to warn me of father's danger of arrest by the officers. i can tell you--i can trust you, mr. saunders. father is connected with some moonshiners, who--" "i know it," saunders broke in. "now, listen to me, dolly; this thing shall go no further if i can help it. he wants to catch the southbound train. i am going to stop him." "no, no!" dolly sprang forward, desperately clutching his arm. "he will shoot you." "i _must_ do it!" saunders caught both her hands in his and pressed them. "you must let me--i have never been able to help you in any way, and i have always wanted to. i'd give my life to--to be of service to you to-night. i feel this thing, little friend. i must do something--i simply must!" "i don't know what to say or do." dolly clung to his hands desperately. she raised them spasmodically and unconsciously pressed them against her throbbing breast. "oh, mr. saunders, it is so--so awful to be suspected of being bad when i--when i--" "when you are the purest, sweetest child that ever breathed," he cried, fiercely. "they sha'n't start gossip about you." he dropped her hands and turned his horse round quickly. "i'll overtake him and stop him." he glanced at his watch. "i have no time to lose. i must go. be brave, dolly. it will come out right--it _must!_" he swung himself into his saddle; she clung to his foot which he was trying to put into the stirrup. "he will kill you, too," she sobbed, "and i'll have _that_ on my head also. oh, mr. saunders--" gently he drew his foot from her clutch. there was a look in his eyes which she never forgot to the end of her life. "excuse me, but i must hurry," he said. "he is on a fast horse, and the train may be on time. he must not get aboard. he mustn't, dolly--good-by." away he dashed at full speed, bent to the mane of his mount like a chased indian on the plains. once he looked back, seeing the patient little figure standing like a mile-stone at the roadside. on he sped, tasting the dust pounded into the air by drake's horse, and feeling the grit between his teeth. no one was in sight. the lights of the farmhouses on the road moved backward like ships in a fog. suddenly, some distance ahead, he saw a rider dismounting. it was drake, who now stooped down to pick up something he had dropped. as he did so he saw the pursuing horse, and, quickly springing into his saddle, was off again. "hold! hold!" saunders shouted. "hold--hell!" rippled back on the moonlight. "bother me an' i'll put a ball in you. back, i tell you!" "stop, drake!" saunders cried, without lessening his speed. the only reply the pursued man made was the furious lashing of his horse. an ominous sound now fell on saunders's ears. it was the whistle of a locomotive in the deep cut across the fields. an oath of disappointment from drake showed he had divined its full portent. it was now merely a question of speed. the race went on. the houses on the outer edge of the village flew past as if blown by a hurricane. children in the yards looked up and cheered what they took for sport on the part of rollicking mountain riders. saunders saw that he was gaining, and he urged his horse to even greater speed. he drew so close that the nose of his mount was lashed by the tail of drake's horse. "stop a minute--just a minute!" saunders pleaded. "i must see you." then, without lessening his gait, drake turned half round in his saddle and pointed his revolver. saunders heard the click of the hammer as it was cocked. drake's demoniacal face in the white light had the greenish luster of a corpse--a corpse waking to life and grim purpose. "fall back or i'll kill you!" he swore from frothing lips. "i know what you want; you want to take up for that dirty son of a--" "no, no; you are mistaken. i don't. wait--stop!" they were now entering the open space between the station and the hotel. the train, with grinding brakes and escaping steam, was slowing up. drake took aim over his shoulder. he fired. saunders knew he was not hit. frightened by the flash in his eyes, his horse reared up and almost threw him off behind. this delayed him for a moment, and drake galloped on till he was close to the last car of the train. saunders saw him throw the bridle-rein over the neck of his horse and spring down. the next instant saunders was by his side and also on the ground. again drake raised his revolver, but saunders was too quick for him. with a sudden blow he knocked the weapon from the other's grasp. it spun and flashed in the moonlight and fell in the weeds several yards away. then drake began to fumble in the pocket of his trousers for his knife. but again the younger man got the advantage. with the bound of a panther he had embraced and pinioned the arms of his antagonist to his sides. back and forth they swung and pounded, drake swearing, spitting, and trying even to bite. the locomotive whistled. it was off again. seeing this, drake swung himself free and made a break for the end car, but saunders was at his heels; and, throwing out his hand, he grasped the runner's arm and violently threw him around. again they were face to face. again saunders pinioned his arms. drake was helpless. he struggled with all his strength, but it was unequal to that of his determined captor. "you've _got_ to listen to me, drake!" saunders said, fiercely. "you've got plenty of time to settle with that man if you insist on it, but you've got to hear me!" "well, let me loose then, damn you!" drake panted. "le' me loose!" "all right, i'll let you loose." saunders released him, and they stood facing each other, both out of breath. "i'm your friend, tom drake--and you know it," saunders gasped. "i'm your daughter's friend, too. i'm sufficiently interested in her not to let you soil her good name as you are trying to do to-night. she is innocent, i tell you, and you are a coward to--" "you say--you say--" several by-standers at the ticket-office and hotel, attracted by the combat, were approaching. "go back!" saunders held up his hand warningly. "this is no affair of yours. i want to speak to him in private. leave us alone." the men halted, stared dubiously, and finally, seeing that the quarrel was over, they went back whence they had come. "let's step over here," saunders proposed; and he led the way to the railway blacksmith's shop, now closed and unlighted. in the shadow of its smoky wall they faced each other again. "you said--" drake began, "you said--" "i said she was innocent of the foul charge you are making against her," saunders said, sharply. "you are a crazy man, drake. you tried to kill me back there, although i am bent on befriending you and your daughter. she is as sweet and pure as the angels in heaven." "i--i know more than you do. ann said--" "yes, i know what the child said," saunders retorted. "and if you had been the right sort of a father you would not have acted on such slight evidence. dolly is in this plight simply because she saved you--" "saved _me?_ what the hell--" "yes, she saved you from arrest and imprisonment as a moonshiner. the whistle ann heard was not a signal from mostyn. it was tobe barnett, who had come to warn her of your danger. she did meet mostyn that night, but it was by accident, and not appointment. dolly could have explained it all to ann, but she did not want the child to know of your connection with that gang. now you've got the whole thing, drake." the mountaineer stared, his mouth open; the sinews of his face were drawn into distortion. "you say--you tell me--you say--" "that's the whole thing," saunders said. "now let's go home. dolly deserves a humble apology from you--you ought to get down on your knees to her and beg her to forgive you. i know of no other woman like her in this world--none, none, anywhere. she has my admiration, my respect, my reverence." "but--but"--drake's dead face began to kindle--"ann said she saw that dirty scamp actually holdin' her in his arms an' kissin' 'er. she said that dolly made no denial of it, an' now, accordin' to the papers, he's goin' to marry a woman in atlanta." saunders's glance sought the ground, his eyes went aimlessly to the two horses nibbling grass near by. "ah, ha, i see that floors you!" drake flared out. "you admit that the low-lived scamp did take advantage of our confidence, an'--" "you've got to face that part of it as i would do if she were my child," saunders answered. "listen to me, drake. mostyn is not a whit better or worse than many other men of his class. he has been fast and reckless, but when he met dolly he met the first pure and elevating influence of his life. i am in his confidence. he told me the whole story. he determined that he would win her love and make her his wife. when he left here it was with the firm resolution of being wholly true to her. now, i can only say that on his return home he found himself in a situation which would have taken more strength of character to get out of than he had. you cannot afford to attack him. such a thing would reflect on your brave daughter, and you have no right to do it, no matter how you feel about it. from now on you've got to consider her feelings. if she cares for--for him, and--and--is depressed by the newspaper reports, that is all the more reason for your sympathy and support. surely you can realize what she has escaped. as that man's wife her life would have been hell on earth. he is wholly unworthy of her. if she were my--sister, i'd rather see her dead than married to him." drake stood with hanging head. he stepped slowly to his horse and grasped the rein. saunders went a few feet to the right, searched on the ground a moment and picked up the revolver. returning, he extended it to its owner. drake took it silently, and clumsily thrust it into his pocket. he hesitated; he gulped, swallowed, then said, huskily: "you are my friend, saunders. i've had some that i depended on in a pinch, but you've done me a big favor to-night. i'll never git forgiveness for tryin' to shoot you--never--never in this world." "that is all right." saunders extended his hand, and the other clasped it firmly. a man with a polished club tied to his wrist was striding toward them. it was the village marshal, alf floyd. drake eyed him helplessly. "let me talk to him," saunders said, under his breath. "you ride on home. leave him to me. this must not get out." "what's the trouble here?" the officer asked, arriving just as drake rode away. saunders laughed carelessly as he reached for the bridle of his grazing horse. "it means that i got the best of tom drake. he bet me a dollar he could catch that train and get aboard. he would have done it, too, if i hadn't caught him around the waist at the last minute and swung him back. he didn't like it much, but he is all right now." "somebody said they heard a pistol-shot," the officer said. "an accident," saunders replied. "drake dropped it--horse jerked it from his hand. i suppose we may have violated an ordinance in racing in town, and if so i'm willing to pay the fine. i'm responsible." "there _is_ an ordinance," the marshal said, "but i won't make a case out o' this." "all right, alf; thanks. how goes it?" "oh, so-so. how is it in the city?" "hot and dusty." saunders mounted deliberately. "good night, alf; i must get out home and eat something." a few minutes later as saunders was slowly riding past drake's front gate he noticed a figure on the inside of the yard close to the fence. it was dolly. she opened the gate and came out. he reined in and, hat in hand, sprang to the ground. her head was covered with a thin white shawl held beneath her chin, and her pale face showed between the folds as pure and patient as a suffering nun's. he saw that she was trying to speak, but was unable to do so. "what is it, dolly?" he faltered. "i suppose your father got back?" "yes." it was a bare labial whisper. she nodded; she put her cold hand into his great, warm eager one, and he held it as tenderly as if it had been a dying sparrow. "i am glad i happened to reach him," he said, in an effort to relieve her embarrassment. "we had it nip and tuck," he added, lightly. "my lungs are lined with dust." he felt her fingers and palm faintly flutter. "oh, oh, mr. saunders!" she gulped. "i can never, never thank you enough. i met him down the road just now. he actually cried. i have never seen him give way before." saunders stared helplessly. he knew not what to say. in the moonlight he saw tears like drops of dew rise in her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. "you must not cry," he managed to say. "don't break down, dolly; you have been so brave all along." she released the shawl beneath her chin and began to fumble in her pocket for her handkerchief. seeing she was unable to find it, he took out his own, and while he still held her hand with his left he tenderly dried her tears. suddenly she clasped his hand with both of hers. "i suppose you know everything--" she faltered. "how silly i have been to think--to imagine that mr. mostyn really meant--" a great sob struggled up within her and broke on her lips. "i know _this_, dolly." his face hardened to the appearance of stone in the white light from the sky. "i know that from this moment on you must never give him another thought." "you don't understand a woman's feelings," she returned, in the saddest of intonations. "i know what you say is right and true, but--it is like this; he seems to have--died! i think of him only as dead, and a woman with a heart cannot at a moment's notice put her dead out of mind. i can't, somehow, blame him. you see, i think i understand him. he is not going to be happy, and i'm afraid i'll never be able to forget that fact. he was trying to get right. i saw his struggle. i did not fully know what it meant when we parted, but i see it all now. i thought i could help him, but it is too late--too late; and oh, that is the terrible part! i feel somewhat like a mother must feel who sees a son, hopelessly wrong, taken from her sight forever. oh, i pity him, pity him, pity him!" "nevertheless, you must try to put him wholly out of your mind and heart," saunders urged. "you deserve happiness, and this thing must not kill your chances for it. time will help." "isn't it queer?" she sighed; "but in moments of deepest sorrow we don't want time, god, or anything else to take our grief away. really, i feel to-night like an invisible thing crushed out of its body and left intact to float forever in pitiless space." he led her to the gate and opened it. "you must not indulge such weird thoughts," he said, his features set in a mask of tense inner pain. "you must go to bed and try to sleep." "sleep!" she laughed, harshly. "i'll have to wake. the happy chickens, ducks, turkeys, and twittering, chirping birds will rouse me at sun-up. i must teach to-morrow. i must answer questions about grammar, history, geography, and arithmetic. i must correct compositions, write on a blackboard with chalk, point to dots on maps, scold little ones, reprove big ones, talk to parents, and through it all _think, think, think!_ i am dolly drake. do you know, mr. saunders, the queerest thing to me in all the world is that i am dolly drake? sometimes i pronounce the name in wonder, as if i had never heard it before. i seem to have been a thousand persons in former periods." "dolly, listen." saunders bent till his face was close to hers. "i am your friend. i shall be true to you forever and ever. from now on nothing else on earth can be of so much importance to me as your welfare. to help you shall be my constant aim." "i know it, dear, sweet friend." the words bubbled from a swelling sob. "and oh, it is sweet and comforting at a time like this! don't--don't stop me." and therewith she raised his hand, pressed her lips upon it, and turned quickly away. part ii chapter i five years passed. again it was summer. mostyn with his wife and his only child, richard, jr., lived in the mitchell mansion, which, save for a new coat of paint, was unchanged. mostyn himself was considerably altered in appearance. there were deeper lines in his face; he was thinner, more given to nervousness and loss of sleep; his hair was turning gray; he had been told by his doctor that he worried too much and that he must check the tendency. things had not gone in his married life as the financier had wished. one of the most objectionable was the unexpected change in his father-in-law, who had lapsed quite abruptly into troublesome dotage. from a shrewd business man old mitchell had become a querulous child, subject to fits of suspicion and violent outbursts of anger. at the most embarrassing moments he would totter into the bank, approach his son-in-law, and insist on talking over matters which he was quite incapable of seeing in a rational light. mostyn had tried to deal with him firmly, only to bring down a torrent of half-wild threats as to what the old man would do in regard to certain investments the two held in common. indeed, it was plain to many that mitchell had formed an intuitive dislike for his son-in-law, which, somehow, was not lessened by his great love for his grandson. saunders became a genial sort of escape-valve for the old man's endless chatter and complaint, doing all in his power to pacify him, though it required no little time and energy. one warm day in the present june mitchell came to the bank, and, frowning angrily, he went into mostyn's office, where his son-in-law sat absorbed over some intricate calculations in percentage. "huh!" he sniffed. "your nigger porter told me you were too busy to see me. if he hadn't dodged i'd have hit the whelp with this cane, sir. busy! i say busy! if it hadn't been for me and my money i'd like to know where you'd be to-day. i guess you wouldn't run long." flushing with combined anger and sensitive shame, mostyn put his papers aside and rose. "sit down, and rest," he said. "albert meant no harm. i told him that i had some important work to do and that i did not want to be disturbed just now; but, of course, i had no reference to _you._" "oh, i know you didn't!" mitchell sneered, his chin and white beard quivering. "i know what your plan is. i'm no fool. you are handling my means, and you are afraid i'll want to know what you have done with them. i'll have a statement by law--that's what i'll do." "you really _must_ be reasonable," mostyn said, helplessly. "only last week i explained it all in detail in the presence of saunders and wright, and you were quite satisfied. you ought to know that we can't go over such matters every day. i assure you that everything is in good shape." "are you _sure?_ that's what i want to know." the harsh expression in mitchell's face was softening. "i--i get to worrying--i admit it. you and i used to get along all right, but you never consult me now as you used to do. i'm older than you are, but my judgment is sound. i'm not dead yet, and i won't be regarded that way." "i know you are all right." mostyn smiled pacifically. "won't you take a seat?" "no, i'm going back home. i don't like the way things are running there, either. irene is never at home, it seems to me, and my grandson has nobody to look after him but that trifling nurse. irene has gone to some fool reception to-day, and says she and kitty are going to a dance at buckton's country house to-night. you may call that right and proper, sir, but i don't. the way married couples live to-day is an outrage on common decency. if you had any backbone you'd make your wife behave herself. she is more of a belle, sir, right now than before you married her. she is crazy for excitement, and the whole poker-playing, wine-drinking set she goes with is on the road to perdition." laying his hand on the old man's arm gently, mostyn led him toward the door. "don't let it worry you," he said. "the boy is well and sound, and irene means no harm. she has always loved society, and when we were married it was with the understanding that she should not be hampered." "and that is right where you made the mistake of your life." mitchell pulled back from the door. "the way you and she live is not natural. the lord never intended it to be so. you know as well as i do that irene used to have a silly sort of liking or fancy for andy buckton." mostyn nodded, his eyes averted. "yes, yes, of course," he said, hesitatingly. "she told me all about it at the time, quite frankly." "well, you know, i presume, that his uncle left him a lot of money when he died the other day?" "i heard something about it." mostyn bit his lip in vexation, as he reached out for the doorknob and turned it cautiously. "well, it is true, and it has turned the fool's head; he is spending it like water. he is giving a big blow-out to-night, and it is all for your wife, sir--your wife." mostyn made no reply, though his face looked graver; the sharp-drawn lines about his mouth deepened. "you heard what i said, didn't you?" mitchell demanded. "yes, of course." "well, let me tell you one thing, and then you can do as you please about it. i am not going to take any hand in it. irene has no respect for me or my opinion here lately. she gets mad the minute i say a word to her. andy buckton is as big a fool about her as he ever was. i got it straight, from a person who knows, that he makes no secret of it. and that isn't all, sir--that isn't all. irene is just vain enough of her good looks to like it. le'me tell you something, sir. this town is not paris, and our country is not france, but that fast set irene runs with is trying to think so. they read about the four hundred in new york, its scandals and divorces in high life, and think it is smart to imitate it. you seem to stay out of it, but what if you do? are you going to sit like a knot on a log and have them say you made a loveless marriage for money, and--" "stop!" mostyn flared out. "i won't stand it. you are going too far!" "ah, i see you can be touched," the old man laughed, putting his hand on mostyn's arm in his most senile mood. "i just wanted to set you thinking, that's all." when mitchell was gone the banker sat down at his work again, but he could not put his mind on it. he fumbled the papers nervously. his brows met in a troubled frown. "i can't stand any more of this," he thought. "he is driving me insane--the man does not live who could put up with it day after day." going to the door, he asked one of the clerks to send saunders to him if he was quite disengaged. a moment later his partner entered. the last five years had served him well. he had never looked better. his skin was clear, his eyes bright, his movement calm and alert. "did you want to see me?" he asked. "if you are not busy," mostyn replied. "nothing to do just now," saunders said, sitting down near the desk. mostyn gave him a troubled look. "the old man has just left," he said. "i thought i recognized his voice," saunders answered. "he has a way of talking quite loud of late." there was a pause, during which mostyn continued to stare with fluttering lashes; then he said: "he is giving me a great deal of trouble, saunders--a great deal." "i see he is; in fact, all of us have noticed it." "it is getting more and more serious," mostyn sighed, heavily. "you see, it is not only here that he talks. he goes to the other banks and to the offices of the brokers and chatters like a child about our confidential affairs. i am afraid he will do us absolute financial injury. he is insanely suspicious, and there is no telling what report he may set afloat." "i think most persons understand his condition," saunders returned. "delbridge does, i know. he goes to see delbridge often. i see your predicament and sympathize with you. the old man has lost all his discretion, and you really cannot afford to confer with him." "the trouble is, he has his legal rights," mostyn said, tentatively, "and the slightest thing may turn him against me. there are shyster lawyers here who would not hesitate to advise him wrongly. they would get their fee, and that is all they would want. as i look at it the situation is serious, and growing worse." "it is awkward, to say the least," saunders admitted, "and i confess that i do not know what to advise." "well, that is all," mostyn concluded. "i wanted to speak to you about it. he upsets me every time he comes in, and he is quite as troublesome at home, i assure you. i envy you, old chap, with your care-free life, spent half in the country. how is your plantation?" "fine--never had better crops." saunders's eyes kindled with latent enthusiasm. "the weather has been just right this season. run up and spend next sunday with me. it will do you good. you stay in town too much." mostyn shrugged his shoulders. he sighed and bowed his head over his papers. "not this season," he said, as if his thoughts were far away. suddenly he cast a wavering glance at his partner, hesitated, and said: "i have always wanted to go back up there, saunders. that was one period of my life that is constantly before me. i may as well speak of it and be done with it. you always seemed to shirk the subject, and i have hesitated to mention it, but there is no one else i could question. the last time i heard of dolly drake she was still unmarried. is there any likelihood of her marrying?" mostyn's eyes were downcast, and he failed to see the half-angry flush which was creeping over saunders's face. "i really can't say," he returned, coldly. "she is still teaching school, and is in the best of health; but, mostyn, you have no right to think--to fancy that she has remained single because--" "oh, i don't!" the other sighed. "i'm not such a fool. she knows me too well by this time for that." there was an awkward pause. saunders, with eyes on the door, was rising. with an appealing look of detention in his worn face mostyn also stood up. "i'd give a great deal to see her. i'd be glad even to see a picture of her. i wonder what she looks like now. she was scarcely more than a child when she and i--when we parted. i don't think there can be any harm in my being frank in these days when the wives of men make a jest of matrimonial love, and i confess freely that i have never been able to forget--" "don't tell me about it!" saunders interrupted. "you have no right, mostyn, even to think of her after--after what took place. but you ought to have sense enough, at any rate, to know that she wouldn't continue to care for you all these years. i see her now and then and talk to her. i am helping her build a new schoolhouse up there on some land i donated, and have had to consult her several times of late about the building-plans. she is more beautiful and brilliant than ever, though she still has cares enough. her father doesn't make much of a living, and her brother george is engaged to one of the girls in the neighborhood and so cannot be counted on for help. ann is a young lady now, and dolly dresses her nicely at her own expense." "of course, i know that she has forgotten me," mostyn said, with feeling. "i made the one great mistake of my life when i--you know what i mean, saunders?" "yes, i know," saunders answered, quickly, "but that is past and gone, mostyn. the main harm you did was, perhaps, to kill her faith in men in general. i don't really think she will ever give her heart to any one. she seems farther from that sort of thing than any woman i ever met. she has had, i think, many suitors." "then from what you say i gather that she doesn't mention me?" mostyn said, heavily. "she has no curiosity at all to know how--how my marriage terminated?" "how _could_ she have?" saunders asked, frigidly. "we'd better not talk of it, mostyn. i am sure she would not wholly approve of this conversation. but in justice to her i must insist that she is _not_ broken-hearted by any means. she is as brave and cheerful as she ever was. her character seems to have deepened and sweetened under the knowledge of the world which she acquired by her unfortunate experience with you." when saunders had left, mostyn bowed his head on his desk. "if i had been the sort of man saunders is, dolly would have been my wife," he thought. "my wife! my wife! actually my wife!" chapter ii that afternoon when the bank was closed mostyn went home. he walked for the sake of the exercise and with the hope of distracting his mind from the many matters which bore more or less heavily on his tired brain. as he approached the gate the sight of his little son playing on the lawn with a miniature tennis racket and ball gave him a thrill of delight. the boy was certainly beautiful. he had great brown eyes, rich golden hair, was sturdy, well built, and active for a child of only four years. the father opened the gate softly, and when within the yard he hid himself behind the trunk of an oak and cautiously peered out, watching the little fellow toss the ball and make ineffectual efforts to hit it with the racket. then mostyn whistled softly, saw the boy drop his racket and look all round, his sweet face alert with eagerness. mostyn whistled again, and then the child espied him and, with hands outstretched, came running, laughing and shouting gleefully. "i see you, daddy!" he cried. whereupon mostyn slipped around the tree out of sight, letting the amused child follow him. round after round was made, and then, suddenly stooping down, the father caught the boy in his arms and raised him up. pressing him fondly to his breast, he kissed the warm, flushed cheeks. till dusk he played with the child on the grass, pitching the ball and teaching the little fellow to hit it. then hilda, the mulatto nurse, came for her charge, and little dick, with many expostulations, was taken away. going into the house, mostyn met his father-in-law in the hall. the old man stopped him abruptly at the foot of the stairs. "did any mail come for me on the noon train?" he demanded, querulously, a light of suspicion in his eyes. "not that i know of," mostyn answered. "it was not put on my desk, i am sure." "well, some of it goes _somewhere,_" mitchell complained. "i know i don't see it all. i've written letters that would have been answered by this time, and it wouldn't surprise me if somebody down there was tampering with it." seeing the utter hopelessness of bringing his father-in-law to reason by explanation or argument, mostyn went on up-stairs. noticing that the door of his wife's chamber, adjoining his own, was ajar, he pushed it open and went in. the room was brightly illuminated with electric light, and standing before a tall pier-glass he found his wife. she wore a costly evening gown of rare old lace and was trying on a pretty diamond necklace. "oh!" she exclaimed, indifferently, as she caught sight of him over her bare powdered shoulder. "i thought it was cousin kitty. she promised to be here early. if she is late we'll have to go without her. she is awfully slow. i saw you playing with dick on the grass. he makes too much noise, screaming out like that, and you only make him worse cutting up with him as you do. between you and that boy and father, with his constant, babyish complaints, i am driven to desperation." mostyn shrugged his shoulders wearily, and sat down in a chair at her quaint mahogany dressing-table. irene had not changed materially, though a close observer, had the light been that of day, might have remarked that she was thinner and more nervous. her eyes held a shadowy, unsatisfied expression, and her voice was keyed unnaturally high. noticing his unwonted silence, she put down her hand-mirror and eyed him with a slow look of irritation. "of course, you are not going to-night," she said. "hardly," he smiled, satirically, "being quite uninvited." "well, you needn't say it in _that_ tone," she answered. "you have only yourself to blame. you never accept such invitations, so how could you expect people to run after you with them?" "i don't expect them to," he answered, tartly. "if they asked me i'd decline. i simply don't enjoy that sort of thing at all." "of course you don't," she laughed. "the last time you went to a ball you looked like an insane man pacing up and down all by yourself. kitty said you asked her to dance and forgot all about it. dick, your day is over." "i wonder if yours ever will be," he sniffed. "i see no prospect of it. you are on the go night and day. you are killing yourself. it is as bad as the morphine habit with you. you love admiration more than any woman i ever saw." she arched her neck before the glass and turned to him wearily. "do you know what you'll do in another minute? you'll talk yourself into another one of your disgusting rages over my own private affairs. you are a business man and would not violate an ordinary business agreement, but you are constantly ignoring the positive compact between us." "i didn't expect at the time to have you going so constantly with a man that--" "oh, you didn't?" she laughed, tantalizingly. "you were to have all sorts of outside freedom, but i was not. well, you were mistaken, that's all. i know whom you are hinting at. you mean andy buckton. i'm going with him to-night. why shouldn't i? he's got up the party for me. dick, don't tell me that you are actually jealous. it would be too delicious for anything." "i can't ask you not to go with the fellow," mostyn answered, "considering the well-known habits of your limited set to lay down new laws of conduct, but you nor no other woman can form the slightest idea of what it costs a man's pride to have people say that his wife is constantly seen with a man who always has been in love with her." an almost imperceptible gleam of delight flashed into irene's eyes, and a tinge of real color struggled beneath the powder on her face. "you don't mean, dick, that he really, really loves me?" she said, lingeringly. "i think he does," mostyn answered, bluntly. "he never got over your refusal to marry him. he shows it on every occasion. everybody knows it, and that's what makes it so hard to--to put up with. i think i really have a right to ask the mother of my child to--" "don't begin that, dick!" irene commanded, sharply. "i have my rights, and you shall respect them. it is cowardly of you to always mention the boy in that way. i am not crazy about children, and i won't pretend to be. you know i did not want a child in the first place. i am not that sort. i want to have a good time. i like admiration. i like amusements. you men get the keenest sort of pleasure out of gambling in stocks and futures. all day long you are in a whirl of excitement. but you expect us women to stay at home and be as humdrum as hens in a chicken-house. you are to have your fun and come home and have us wives pet you and pamper you up for another day of delight. dick, that may go all right with farmers' wives who haven't shoes to wear out to meeting, but it won't do for women with money of _their own_ to spend." "i knew _that_ would come," he flashed at her. "it always does crop up sooner or later." "you are out of temper to-night, dick," she retorted. "and it is simply because i am going with andy buckton. you needn't deny it." "i don't like the gossip that is going around." mostyn frowned and bit his mustache as he said this. "the people of atlanta, as a whole, are moral, conservative citizens, and the doings of your small set are abhorrent to them." "_my_ set!" irene forced a harsh, mirthless laugh. "and for goodness' sake, what do they think of _your_ set? you force me to say this, dick. there is not a person in this city who has not heard of you and that unspeakable winship woman." mostyn flinched beneath the gaze she bent on him. "that is a thing of the past, irene, and you know it," he stammered, trying to keep his temper. "i can consider it a thing of the past," she returned, coldly, "if i will take your word for it, just as you may or may not take my word for my conduct with andy buckton. oh, i suppose it is nothing for a wife to see the knowing smiles that pass around when the gaudy creature shows up at the theater or ball-game accompanied by gamblers and bar-keepers. the brazen thing stares straight at me whenever i am near her." mostyn was now white with restrained fury. he stood up. "i will not go over all that again," he said. "the mistake i made was in ever owning up to the thing." "you _had_ to own up to it," irene answered, bluntly. "i knew it when we were married, and i would not mention it now if you were not constantly nagging me about my actions. dick, you will have to let me alone. i won't take advice from you." he met her frank eyes with a shrinking stare. "i shall let you alone in the future," he faltered. "i see i have to. you are merciless. for the sake of the boy we must live in harmony. god knows we must!" "all right," she laughed, coldly, "that is another agreement. harmony is the word. now, go away. kitty is not coming. she may be going with some one else." mostyn went to his room across the hall. he bathed his bloodless face and hands and automatically brushed his hair before the glass, eying his features critically. "can that actually be me?" he whispered to the grim reflection. "i look like a man of sixty. i'm as old and decrepit as--jeff henderson. why did i think of him? why am i constantly thinking of that old man, unless it is because he has predicted my ruin so confidently? he seems as sure of it as he is of the air he breathes. if evil thought bearing on a man can hurt him, as the mental scientists believe, henderson's will eventually get me down. he would give his life to permanently injure me. so would marie. she can't forgive me for ignoring her. she can't understand any more than i do _why_ i ignore her." there was a rap on the door. it was a servant to ask if he wanted his supper. "not now," he answered. "keep it for me. i'll be in later." chapter iii he went down to the lawn, lighted a cigar, and began to smoke, striding nervously back and forth. a smart pair of horses hitched to a trap whirled into the carriage-drive and stopped in the porte-cochere. in the rays from the overhead lamp mostyn saw buckton alight and ascend the steps to the veranda. a half-smoked cigar cast into the shrubbery emitted a tiny shower of sparks. mostyn saw the young man peering in at the window of the lighted drawing-room. he noted the spick-and-span appearance, the jaunty, satisfied air of expectancy, and his blood began to boil with rage. "my god!" he groaned. "she may be falling in love with him--if she has not _always_ loved him, and he now knows it. she may have told him so. and when they are alone together, as they will be in a few minutes on the road, what more natural than that he should caress her? i would have done it with any man's wife if i had felt an inclination. i am the joke of the town and must bear it. i must stand by and let my wife and another man--" buckton was at the door speaking to the maid who had answered his ring. "no; tell her, please, that i'll wait out here on the lawn." mostyn remarked the note of curbed elation in the voice, and saw buckton turn down the steps. a match flared in the handsome face as another cigar was lighted. fearing that he might have been seen from the drive, mostyn was compelled to step forward and greet the man with the conventional unconcern he had been able to summon to his aid on former occasions. "hello," he heard himself saying, automatically, as he strode across the grass to the other smoker. "fine evening for your shindig." "tiptop," buckton said, with a sort of restraint mostyn inwardly resented. "couldn't have turned out better. sorry you've cut out the giddy whirl, old man. as i passed your bank this morning i thought of asking you, but you have refused so many times that--" "oh no." mostyn heartily despised the role he was playing. "i am no longer good at that sort of thing." "had your day, i see," buckton laughed, significantly. "you certainly kept the pace, if all tales are true. the sort of thing we do these days must be tame by comparison." "oh, i don't know," mostyn returned, with enforced carelessness. "men are the same the world over. i have not yet had a chance to congratulate you on your recent good fortune." "thanks, old man." buckton puffed his smoke into the still moonlight. "it certainly was a lift to me. i was never cut out for business, and i was at the end of my row. i confess i am not complaining now. i am just at the age to know how to spend money." the talk languished. both men seemed suddenly burthened by obtrusive self-consciousness. buckton twisted his mustache nervously and flicked at the ashless tip of his cigar, glancing toward the house. "oh, i quite forgot to deliver miss kitty's message to irene--to mrs. mostyn, i should say. she was to drive out with us, but at the last minute dr. regan found that he could get off and asked her to go in his car." "arranged between them," mostyn thought, darkly. "i know the trick. regan doesn't care a rap for kitty. it is part of the game, and i am the tool." "i understand you have a new car yourself," mostyn said, aloud. "yes, and experts tell me that it is the best in town. i'll run around and take you out some day. but i really care more for horses. it may be due to my virginia blood. i wouldn't swap this pair for all the cars in town. for a trip like this to-night horses come handy. there are some rough places between here and my home." "it does away with the chauffeur," mostyn said, inwardly, as his tongue lay dead in his mouth. he glanced toward the open doorway. "irene may be ready," he remarked, moving toward the house. "yes, i see her coming down the stairs," answered buckton, dropping his cigar, a look of boyish eagerness capturing his face. "i'll run on and help her with her wraps. so long, old man." mostyn made some inarticulate response of no import in particular, and dropped back, allowing buckton to stride on to the veranda, his hat jauntily swinging at his side. irene was now in the doorway, poised like a picture in a frame. slinking farther away beneath the trees and behind shrubbery, mostyn heard the greetings between the two, and saw them shaking hands, standing face to face. irene looked so young, so different from the calculating woman who had just asserted her financial and marital rights in her chamber. no wonder that her escort was fascinated when she had so long been withheld from him! mostyn told himself that he well knew the "stolen-sweets" sensation. he peered above a clump of boxwood like a thief, upon grounds to which he was unaccustomed, and watched them as they got into the trap. irene's rippling laugh, and buckton's satisfied response as he tucked the robes about her, seemed things of satanic design. they were off. the restive pair, with high-reined, arching necks, trotted down the drive to the street, and a moment later were out of sight. mostyn went into the house, back to the desolate dining-room, and sat down in his chair at the head of the table. the maid who came to receive his order and turn on a fuller light had a look in her eyes which indicated that she was aware of his mood. he would have resented it had he dared, but it was only one of many things which had of late grated on him but could not be prevented. "has mr. mitchell had his supper?" mostyn asked, applying himself reluctantly to the simple repast before him. "yes, sir, and gone up to his room," the girl answered. "he is out of sorts to-day. i have never seen him so troublesome. he has threatened to discharge us all." "don't mind him." mostyn's voice sounded to him as if uttered by some tongue other than his own. he half fancied that the maid, for reasons peculiar to her class, had a sort of contempt for him. she, as well as the other servants, no doubt thought of him as having married for money, mitchell's fortune being so much larger than his own diminished and ever-lessening capital. supper over, he went back to the veranda. should he go to the club, as he sometimes did to pass an evening? he had a feeling against it. he did not care for cards or drinking, and they were the chief amusements indulged in by the habitual loungers about the rooms. there might be some summer play on at one of the theaters, but as a rule they were very poor at that season of the year, and he knew he had a frame of mind which could not be diverted. at this juncture he became conscious of something of an almost startling nature. it was an undefinable, even maternal feeling that he ought to stay with his child. he shrugged his shoulders and smiled at the sheer absurdity of the idea, yet it clung to him persistently. he tried to analyze it; it eluded analysis. it had haunted him before, and the time had always been when irene was away. was it some strange psychic sympathy or bond of blood between his motherless offspring and himself? was his guilty soul whispering to him that he was responsible for the deserted human bud, and that he, man though he was, should give it the care and love denied it? obeying an impulse he could not put down, he turned into the house and softly ascended the stairs. the door of the nursery was open. a low-turned light was burning in a night-lamp on the bureau. the nurse was below eating with the other servants. he was alone and unobserved. the child was asleep in its little white bed, and he crept forward and looked down upon it. the night being warm, little richard was not covered, and, with his shapely legs and fair breast exposed, he lay asleep. there was a suggestion of a smile on the beautiful face, the pink lips were parted, the dainty fingers were clutched as if holding some dream-object tight in their clasp. with a sigh that was almost audible the father turned away. at the door he glanced back, having noted the intense warmth of the room. the nurse, as many of her tropical race are apt to do, had forgotten to ventilate the chamber. the two windows were closed. angrily he crept across the carpeted floor and noiselessly raised the sashes as high as they would go, feeling the fresh air stream in. with a parting glance at the sleeper he withdrew. descending the stairs, he went out on the lawn again. even that scrap of nature's realm had a tendency to soothe his snarled sensibilities. it might have been the dew which was rising and cooling his feet, or the pale, blinking stars, the sedative rays of which seemed to penetrate to his seething brain. he remembered john leach's sermon that day in the mountains at the cross-roads store. the fellow had found something. he had found the way of the life spiritual, and it had come to him through sin, suffering, humiliation, and final self-immolation. mostyn recalled the resolutions he had made under the influence of the man's compelling eloquence; he recalled the breaking of the resolutions. he thought of dolly drake, and groaned in actual pain of body and soul. he told himself that he had then deliberately trampled under foot his last spiritual opportunity. "dolly drake, dolly drake!" the words, unuttered though they were by lips which he felt were too profane for such use, seemed to float like notes of accusing music. saunders had said she was more beautiful than ever. she might have been his but for his weakness. perhaps she still thought of him now and then. if she could know of this unconquerable despair, she would pity him. how sweet such pity as hers would be! a sob struggled up within him and threatened to burst; he felt the sharp pain of suppression in his breast. it was as if his soul was urging his too-callous body to weep. dolly was as unobtainable as the heaven of the tramp preacher's vision. for mostyn only protracted evil was now available, and that was sickening to his very thought. he wondered, seeing that it was now ten o'clock, if he could go to sleep. in deep sleep he would be able to forget. he decided to try. he went up to his room, and, aided only by the moonlight, which fell through the windows, he undressed and threw himself down on his bed. for an hour he was wakeful. he was just becoming drowsy when he heard voices in the nursery across the hall. he recognized the sharp, scolding voice of the nurse, and the timid reply of the child. rising, mostyn went to the open door of the nursery and looked in. "what is it?" he asked. "he is begging to go to your bed," the woman answered, peevishly. "you've spoiled him, mr. mostyn. he wants to do it every night. he is getting worse and worse." a thrill of delight, yearning delight, passed over the father. he stood silent for a moment, ashamed to have even the black servant suspect what he so keenly desired. "daddy, dick wants you," a voice soft, tremulous, and unspeakably appealing came from the little bed. "hush, and go to sleep!" the nurse called out. "you are a bad boy, keeping us awake like this." "no, let him come," mostyn said, in a voice which was husky, and shook against his will. "come, dick!" the little white-robed form slid eagerly from the bed and fairly ran to the arms which were hungrily outstretched. with the soft body against his breast, a confident arm about his neck, the father bore him to his room and put him down on the back side of the wide bed. "now you will sleep, won't you?" he said, his voice exultantly tender. "yes, daddy." dick stretched his pretty legs out straight. silence filled the room; the mystic rays of moonlight falling in at the window seemed to bring with them the despondent murmur of the city outside. the deep, fragrant breathing of the child soon showed that he was asleep. cautiously mostyn propped himself up on his elbow and looked into the placid face. "he has my brow," he mused, bitterly; "my hands; my ears; my long ringers, with their curving nails; my slender ankles and high-instepped feet; and, my god! he has my telltale sensual lips. here am i in the throes of a hell produced by infinite laws. what is to prevent him--the helpless replica of myself--from taking the way i took? the edge of the alluring abyss will crumble under his blind tread as it crumbled under mine, and this--this--this cloying horror which is on me to-night may be my gift to him--for whose sake i would die--yes, die!" silently mostyn left the bed and took a seat on the broad sill of one of the windows overlooking the lawn. "what will be the end?" he asked himself. "it can't go on like this. i am not man enough to stand it. if i were not afraid of death, i would--no, i wouldn't"--he glanced at the bed--"i am responsible for his being here. he is the flower of my corruption. god may desert him, but i won't. i will protect him, love him, pity him, care for him to the end." a cold drop fell on his hand and trickled through his fingers. he was weeping. chapter iv saunders spent the end of that week on his plantation in the mountains. on saturday morning he dropped in at drake's to see dolly. john webb came to the door in response to his rap. he was quite unchanged. even the clothes he was wearing had the same look as those he wore five years before. "she ain't here," he said. "i seed 'er, with some books an' papers under 'er arm, headed for the schoolhouse just after breakfast. i reckon she's got some examples to work or compositions to write. they are fixin' for a' exhibition of some sort for the last friday in this month. dolly writes a big part o' the stuff the scholars read in public, an' you bet some of it is tiptop. when she is in a good humor she can compose a' article that will make a dog laugh. she is out o' sorts to-day." "oh, is that so?" saunders was moving toward the gate. "has anything gone wrong?" "she is bothered about george," webb answered. "it is first one thing and then another with her. george's crop is a failure this year and he is up to his neck in debt. on top o' that he wants to get married. you know him an' ida benson are crazy to get tied, and it was to come off in the fall, but george won't be able to buy a new shirt, to say nothin' of a whole outfit. the boy is awful downhearted, and so is his gal. dolly busted out an' cried last night while george was a-talkin'. she says ida will be the makin' of the boy, but they can't stir a peg as it is, for they hain't got a dollar betwixt 'em." "well, i'll walk by the schoolhouse and see if dolly is there," saunders remarked. "it is on my way home." as he drew near the little building at the roadside he noticed that the front door was open, and, peering in, he saw dolly at her desk. she was not at work; indeed, she seemed quite preoccupied with her thoughts, for she was staring fixedly at an open window, a troubled frown on her sweet face. she heard saunders's step at the door, and, seeing him enter, she began to smile. "you caught me," she laughed, impulsively. "i was having one of my silly fits of blues. i am glad you came in. you always make me ashamed of my despondency." "you are freer from it than any human being i ever saw," he declared, as he shook hands with her. "i seldom have the blues; but if i did, one thought of your wonderful patience would knock them higher than a kite." she laughed merrily, her eyes twinkling, the warm color flushing her face, as was always the case when she was animated. "i suppose it is generally due to one's point of view," she said. "when it concerns myself i can manage very well, but if it is any one else--" "a dear brother, for instance," saunders put in, sympathetically, "and his laudable desire to marry a worthy girl." she looked at him steadily in mild surprise. "i see you know," she nodded. "i suppose half the county are sorry for that pair. george does try so hard, and yet everything the poor boy touches goes the wrong way. it is not his fault. he is young and inexperienced and so full of hope. he is so downhearted to-day that he wouldn't go to work. he got a letter from cross & mayhew last night. you know they advanced him his supplies for this season and took a mortgage on his crop as security. it seems that they sent a man out here the other day to see how he was getting on. the man reported the condition of george's crop, and they wrote him that they would not credit him for his supplies next season. that was the last straw. i found him actually crying down at the barn. he had gone into the stall where his horse was feeding and had his arms around the animal's neck. mr. saunders, you can't imagine my feelings. i love my brother with all my heart. i offered to help him with part of my wages, but he was too proud to accept a cent. that letter from cross & mayhew humiliated him beyond description. it bowed him down; young as he is, he is actually crushed. he is coming here this morning to talk to me. he wants to go west with the hope that he may get started there and come back for ida. i can't bear to have him go--i simply can't stand it. i want him to stay here at home. it is the place for them both." "i think so, too," saunders said, sympathetically. "there is no better spot on earth for a young farmer." "i am glad you agree with me"--dolly brightened a little--"and if you should get a chance i wish you would advise him to stay. you have wonderful influence, with both him and my father." "i didn't know that," saunders said, modestly. dolly smiled, a far-off expression in her deep eyes. "they think you are the best and wisest man in the world. and as for ann, do you know you did me a wonderful favor in regard to her?" "you surprise me." saunders flushed red. "i didn't know that i had ever--i don't remember-" "no, i'm sure you don't, and i didn't mention it, but i'm going to tell you now, for i am very, very grateful. you know, perhaps, that ann used to care a good deal for that reckless fellow abe westbrook?" "yes, i remember seeing them together frequently," saunders answered. "well, he became more and more dissipated and so bold and ill-bred that he even came to see her when he was intoxicated. i was afraid to call father's attention to it for two reasons--first, father's temper, and then the fear i had that ann might elope with the fellow. so i had to be very, very cautious. i tried talking to ann, but it went in at one ear and out at the other. nothing i said had the slightest effect on her. then she got to meeting him at different places away from home, and i was almost crazy. then you, as you always have done, came to my aid." "i? why, dolly, i am sure that i have never--" "you don't remember it"--dolly's voice shook, and a delicate glow suffused her face--"but i'll remind you. you recall the picnic over the mountain last spring?" "the day you didn't go," saunders nodded. "i remember looking for you everywhere." "well, that day, when all the girls felt so highly honored by your presence, and you were so nice to them, you paid a good deal of attention to ann, asking her to drive home with you." "of course i remember that," saunders said; "i enjoyed the drive very much." "it wasn't anything you said, exactly," dolly went on, "but you may remember that abe was drinking that day and misbehaved badly before every one, even when they were all eating lunch together. ann told me all about it. she came to my bed away in the night and waked me. she told me she had made up her mind never to see westbrook again. in contrasting him with you she saw what a failure he was. she said she had never before so plainly seen her danger. she saw the look of disgust in your face while abe was acting so badly, and your failure to refer to the incident on the way home impressed her. that happening completely turned her round, opened her eyes, and already she has stopped thinking of him." saunders was modestly trying to formulate some protest when, looking toward the door, dolly suddenly exclaimed: "oh, there is george now! don't leave," for saunders was rising. "i can see him at home." "i must be going, anyway," saunders said, rather nervously, "but if you will let me i'd like to take you for a drive this afternoon. we could pass the new schoolhouse and see how it is coming on." "i'll be glad to go," dolly answered. "i understand the men are making fine progress." seeing saunders coming out, george stepped aside just outside the door to let him pass, and they met face to face. the banker's sympathies were deeply touched by the dejected mien of the courageous young man, whom he had always liked. "hello, george," he greeted him, cordially. "your sister tells me you are thinking of pulling up stakes and moving west." "yes, i think it is about the best thing for me, now, mr. saunders," george answered, gloomily. "i've given this thing a fair test. perhaps out there among strangers i may have a change of luck. i can't make it go here. i'm a drawback to myself and everybody else. even dolly is upset by my troubles, and when she gives up things are bad, sure enough. you can't imagine how a fellow feels in my fix." "i think i can, george." glancing back, saunders noted that dolly was looking straight at them. he put his hand on the young man's shoulder and let it rest there gently while he went on: "still, george, i would not advise you to leave home. you see, here you are surrounded by old friends and relatives. among total strangers the fight for success would be even harder, and i am afraid you'd be homesick for these old mountains. i have met a good many who have come back after a trial at farming out there. they all say this country is as good as any." "but i am actually at the end of my rope." george's voice shook afresh, and the shadow about his eyes deepened. "has dolly told you about cross & mayhew?" "yes, and i'm sorry you ever got in with them. george, they are nothing more nor less than licensed thieves. have you ever calculated how much they make out of you?" "oh, i know their profit is big," george sighed, "but men of my stamp have to go to them when they need a stake to pull through on." "i have figured on their method," saunders said, "and i am quite sure that they get as their part fully half of the earnings of their customers. it may interest you to know, george, that our bank lends that firm money at only seven or eight per cent., which they turn over to you at no less than fifty." "i see," george sighed; "the poor man has the bag to hold. money makes money." "i have a plan in my head, george"--saunders was somewhat embarrassed, and looked away from the dejected face before him--"which, it seems to me, might help both you and me in a certain way." "what is that?" george stared, wonderingly, his fine lips quivering. "to begin with, george, i think that your bad crop this season is due largely to the poor land you rented. i noticed it early in the year and was afraid you'd not accomplish much." "it was all i could get," george said. "i tried all around, but every other small farm either was to be worked by the owner or was rented already. it was root hog or die with me, mr. saunders." "you have seen the warner farm, haven't you?" the banker inquired. "you bet i have!" george responded. "it is the prettiest small place in this valley." "well, i bought it the other day for two thousand dollars," saunders said. "warner owed me some money, and i had to take the farm to secure myself. things like that often come up in a bank, you know." "well, you are safe in it, mr. saunders," george said. "you never could lose in a deal like that. it has a good house on it, and every foot of the land is rich. it has a fine strip of woodland, too." "i really have no use for the place," saunders went on, more awkwardly. "if it adjoined my plantation i would like it better, but it is too far away for my manager to see it often. i want to sell it, and it struck me that if you could be persuaded to give up this western idea maybe you could take it off my hands at what it cost me." "i? huh! that _is_ a joke, mr. saunders," george laughed. "if farms were going at ten cents apiece i couldn't buy a pig-track in a free mud-hole." "i wouldn't require the money down," saunders went on, still clumsily. "in fact, i could give you all the time you wanted to pay for it. i know you are going to succeed--i know it as well as i know anything; and you ought to own your own place. i am willing to advance money for your supplies--and some to get married on, too. you and your sweetheart could be very snug in that little house." george stared like a man waking from a perplexing dream. his toil-hardened, sun-browned hands were visibly quivering, his mouth was open, his lower lip twitching. "you _can't_ mean it--you _can't_ be in earnest!" he gasped, leaning heavily against the door-jamb, actually pale with excitement. "yes, i mean it, george." saunders put his hand on the broad shoulder again. "and i hope you will take me up. you will be doing me a favor, you see. i lend money every day to men i don't trust half as much as i do you." at this juncture dolly hurried down the aisle, a look of fresh anxiety on her face. "what is the matter, george?" she asked, eying her brother in surprise. "what has happened?" falteringly and with all but sobs of elation, george explained saunders's proposition. "did you ever in your life think of such a thing?" he cried. "dolly, i'm going to take him up. if he is willing to risk me i'll take him up. i'll work my fingers to the bone rather than see him lose a cent. i'm going to take him up--i tell you, sis, i'm going to take him up!" dolly said nothing. a glow of boundless delight suffused her face, rendering her unspeakably beautiful. her eyes had a depth saunders had never beheld before. he saw her round breast quiver and expand in tense agitation. she put her arm about her brother's neck and kissed him on the cheek. then, without a word, her hand on her lips as if to suppress a rising sob, she turned back into the schoolhouse and, with head down, went to her desk, where she sat with her back to the door. "she's gone off to cry," george chuckled. "she's that way. she never gives up in trouble, but when she is plumb happy like she is now she can't hold in. look, i told you so--she's wiping her eyes, dear, dear old girl. now, i'm going to run over and tell ida. lord, lord, mr. saunders, she'll be tickled to death! just this morning i told her i was going away. good-by; god bless you!" when george was gone saunders stood at the door and wistfully looked in at dolly. an impulse that was almost overpowering drew him to her, but he put it aside. "she wants to be alone," he reflected. "if i went now, feeling like this, i'd say something i ought not to say and be sorry i imposed on her at such a time. no, i will have to wait. i have waited all these years, and i can wait longer. to win i could wait to the end of time." turning, he strode into the wood. deeper and deeper he plunged, headed toward the mountain, feeling the cooling shade of the mighty trees, whose branches met and interlaced overhead. reaching a mossy bank near a limpid stream, he threw himself down and gave himself up to reveries. chapter v mostyn took long solitary walks. his habit of morbid introspection had grown and become a fixed feature of his life. even while occupied with business his secret self stood invisible at his elbow whispering, ever whispering things alien from material holdings or profit--matters unrelated to speculative skill or judgment. he had wandered into the suburbs of the city one afternoon, and, happening to pass an isolated cottage at the side of the road, he was surprised to see marie winship coming out. she smiled cordially, nodded, signaled with her sunshade, and hurried through the little gate toward him. he paused, turned, and stood waiting for her. he had not seen her, even at a distance, for nearly a year, and her improved appearance struck him forcibly. her color was splendid, her eyes were sparkling and vivacious. she was perfectly groomed and stylishly attired. "why, what are you doing away out here?" he asked, secretly and recklessly soothed by the sight of her, for in her care-free way she, at least, was a living lesson against the folly of taking the rebuffs of life too seriously. she smiled, holding out her gloved hand in quite the old way, which had once so fascinated his grosser senses. "mary long, my dressmaker, lives here." she glanced at him half chidingly from beneath her thick lashes. "i come all the way out here to save money. you think i am extravagant, dick, but that is the sort of thing i have to do to make ends meet. mary is making me a dream of a frock now for one-fourth of what your high and mighty _frau_ would pay for it in new york." "always hard up," mostyn said. "you never get enough to satisfy you." she smiled coquettishly. "i was born that way," she answered. "my brother sends me money often. he has never forgotten how you and i got him out of that awful hole. he has gone into the wholesale whisky business and is doing well. he paid me back long ago." "and you blew it in, of course?" mostyn said, lightly. "yes, that's how i got that last new york trip," she nodded, merrily. "dick, that was one month when i really _lived_. gee! if life could only be like that i'd ask nothing more of the powers that rule; i certainly wouldn't." "but life can't possibly be like that," he returned, gloomily. "even that would pall on you in time. i am older than you, marie, and i know what i am talking about. we can go just so far and no farther." "poof! piffle!" it was her old irresponsible ejaculation. "life is what you make it. 'laugh, and the world laughs with you.' eat, drink, and be merry--that is my motto. but, say, dick"--she was eying his face with slow curiosity--"what is the matter? you look like a grandfather. you are thin and peaked and nervous-looking. but i needn't ask--i know." "you know!" he repeated, sensitively. "i am working pretty hard for one thing, and--" "poof!" she snapped her fingers. "you used to get fat on work. it isn't that, dick, and you needn't try to fool me. i know you from the soles of your feet to the end of the longest hair on your head." he avoided her fixed stare. "i'm not making money as i did once. many of my investments have turned out badly. i seem to have lost my old skill in business matters." "i was sure you would when you married," the woman said, positively; and he flinched under the words as under a lash. "a man of your independent nature can't sell himself and ever do any good afterward. you lost your pride in that deal, dick, and pride was your motive power. you may laugh at me and think i am silly, but i am speaking truth." "you ought not to say those things," he said, resentfully. "i will say exactly what i like," she retorted, cold gleams flashing from her eyes. "you never cared a straw for that vain, stuck-up woman. dick, i hate her--from the bottom of my soul, i despise her, and she knows it. whenever i pass her she takes pains to sneer at me. for one thing, i hate her for the way she is treating you and your child. dick, that boy is the sweetest, prettiest creature i ever saw, and not a bit like her. one day i passed your house when he happened to be playing outside the gate. his nurse neglects him. automobiles were passing, and i was afraid he might get run over. no one was in sight, and so i stopped and warned him. i fell in love with the little darling. oh, he is so much like you; every motion, every look, every tone of voice is yours over and over! he took my hand and thanked me like a little gentleman. i stooped down and kissed him. i couldn't help it, dick. i have always loved children. i went further--the very devil must have been in me that day. i asked him which he loved more, you or his mother. he looked at me as if surprised that any one should ask such a question, and do you know what he answered?" "i can't imagine," mostyn replied. "he is so young that--" "dick, he said: 'why, daddy, of course. daddy is good to me.'" a subtle force rising from within seized mostyn and shook him sharply. he made an effort to meet the frank eyes bent upon him, but failed. he started to speak, but ended by saying nothing. "yes, i hate her," marie went on. "i hate her for the way she is acting." "the way she is acting?" the echo was a faint, undecided one, and mostyn's eyes groped back to the wayward face at his side. "yes, and it is town talk," marie went on. "you know people in the lower and middle classes will gossip about you lucky high-flyers. they know every bit as much about what is going on in your set as you do. they can't have the fun you have, so they take pleasure in riddling your characters or talking about those already riddled. dick, your wife's affair with andy buckton is mentioned oftener than the weather. people say he always loved her and, now that he is rich and rolling high, that he is winning out. many sporting people that i know glory in his 'spunk,' as they call it. they are counting on a divorce as a sure thing." "can they actually believe that--" mostyn's voice failed him; but the woman must have read his thought, for she said, quickly: "don't ask me what they think. i know what _i_ think, and i'll bet i know her through and through. she is reckless to the point of doing anything on earth that will amuse her. she is so badly spoiled she is rotten. i know how you are fixed--oh, i know! you can't kill him; you don't love her enough for that; and besides, you know you can't prove anything serious against her. her married women friends go about with men, and for you to object would only make you ridiculous. they sneer at women like me, i know; but lord, they can't criticize me! i am myself, that's all. i can be a friend, and i can be an enemy. i want to be your friend, dick." "my friend?" he repeated, with an inaudible sigh drawn from the seething reservoir of his gloom. "yes, and not only that, but i want to give you some good, solid advice." "oh, you do?" he forced a smile of bland incredulity. "i will tell you what is the matter with you, and how to get out of it. dick, you have let this thing get on your nerves, and it is hurrying you to the grave or the mad-house. i know you well enough to know that it is on your mind day and night. now, there is one royal road, and if you'll take it the whole dirty business will slip off of you like water off a duck's back." "what is that road, marie?" he asked, affecting a lighter mood than he felt. "why, it is simply to do as they are doing. plunge in and have a good time. you made all the money you ever made when you were living the life of a red-blooded, natural man. marrying that woman has given you cold feet, and she knows it. forget it all. sail in and be glad you are alive. look at me. things have happened to me that would have finished many a woman, but i took a cocktail, won a game of poker, and was as chipper as if nothing out of the way had happened." "you don't understand, marie," he said, with a bare touch of his old reckless elation. "that may be all right for you, but--" "piffle! dick, you are the limit. i can turn you square about and make you see straight. think things are bad, and they will be so. your wife and her fellow are having a good time; why shouldn't you? people who used to admire you think you are a silly chump, but they will come back to you if you show them that you are in the game yourself. i like you, dick--i always have, better than any other man i know. come to see me to-night, and let's talk it over." she saw him wavering, and laid her hand on his arm and smiled up at him in her old bewitching way. some impulse surging up from the primitive depths of himself swayed him like a reed in a blast of wind. he touched the gloved hand with the tips of his fingers. the look beneath her sweeping lashes drew his own and held it in an invisible embrace. he pressed her hand. "you are a good girl, marie," he muttered, huskily. "i know you want to help me, but--" "i am not going to take a refusal, dick. i want to see you. i want you to take the bit in your teeth again. come to see me to-night. i'll have one of our old spreads in my little dining-room. i'll sing and dance for you and tell you the funniest story you ever heard. i am going to expect you." there was a genuine warmth of appeal in her face. in all his knowledge of her she had never appeared to such an advantage. after all, her argument was reasonable and rational. a titillating sensation suffused his being. in fancy he saw the little dining-room, which adjoined her boudoir; he saw her at the piano, her white fingers tripping, as in the old days, over the keyboard; he heard her singing one of her gay and reckless songs; he saw her dainty feet tripping through the dance he so much admired. "you are coming, dick," she said, confidently, withdrawing her hand and raising her sunshade. "i shall expect you by nine o'clock, sharp. i won't listen to a refusal or excuse. i shall have no other engagement." he hesitated, but she laughed in his face, her red lips parted in an entrancing smile. he caught a whiff of her favorite perfume, and his hot brain absorbed it like a delicious intoxicant. "i know you of old, dick mostyn. you used to say now and then that you had business that would keep you away, but you never failed to come when you knew _positively that i was waiting._ i am going to wait to-night, and if i don't make a new man of you i'll confess that i am a failure." "i really can't promise." he was looking back toward the smoke-clouded city, at the gray dome of the state capitol. "i may come, and i may not, marie. i can't tell. if i shouldn't, you must forgive me. it is kind of you to want to help me, and i appreciate it." "you are coming, dick; that settles it." she smiled confidently. "huh! as if i didn't know you! you are the same dear, old chap, ridden to death with silly fancies. now, i'm going to run back and speak to mary. i forgot something. she is all right. she won't talk even if she recognized you, which is doubtful, for she is a stranger here." turning, he walked back toward the city. already he was in a different mood; his step was more active; all of his senses were alert; his blood surged through his veins as if propelled by a new force. he saw some vacant lots across the street advertised for sale by a real estate-agent, and found himself calculating on the city's prospective growth in that direction. it might be worth his while to inquire the price, for he had made money in transactions of that sort. returning to the bank, he found that the activity of the clerks and typewriters did not jar on him as it had been doing of late. he paused at saunders's desk and made a cheerful and oddly self-confident inquiry as to the disposition of a certain customer's account, surprising his partner by his altered manner. in his office, smoking a good cigar, he found a new interest in the letters and documents left there for his consideration. after all, life _was_ a game. even the early red men had their sport. modern routine work without diversion was a treadmill, prisonlike existence. delbridge was the happy medium. the jovial speculator had never heard of such a fine-spun thing as a conscience. what if irene and buckton were having their fun; could he not also enjoy himself? if the worst came, surely a man of the world, a stoical thoroughbred, who was willing to give and take a matrimonial joke would appear less ridiculous in the public eye than an overgrown crier over spilt milk. how queer that he had waited for marie winship to open his eyes to such a patent fact! all the remainder of the day he was buoyed up by this impulse. a man came in to see him about buying a new automobile, and he made an appointment with him to test the machine the next morning. it was said to be better and higher-priced than buckton's. he might buy it. he might openly ride out with marie. that would be taking the bull by the horns in earnest. he smiled as he thought that many would think his relations with marie had never been broken, but had only been adroitly concealed out of respect for a wife who no longer deserved such delicate consideration. the town would talk; let them--let them! its tongue was already active on one side of the matter; it should be fed with a morsel or two from the other. richard mostyn was himself again. chapter vi mostyn remained in his office till eight o'clock that evening, writing letters about an investment in the west which had been threatening loss. closing his desk and lowering the lights, he decided to walk home and dress for his visit to marie. the exercise in the fresh air made him more determined in his new move. a society man he knew drove past in a glittering tally-ho filled with young ladies. one of the men recognized him in the arc light swinging over the street and blew a playful blast at him from one of the long horns. the gay party whisked around a corner and disappeared. reaching home and entering the gate, he saw his father-in-law striding back and forth on the veranda, and as he came up the walk the old man turned, pausing at the head of the steps. "do you know where irene is?" he inquired, pettishly. "i haven't the slightest idea." mostyn's retort was full of almost genuine indifference. "i have quit keeping track of her ladyship." his new note of defiance was lost on mitchell, who seemed quite disturbed. "i haven't seen her since breakfast," he said, complainingly. "i thought she had gone to some morning affair, but when lunch came and passed and no sign of her i thought surely she would be home to supper; but that's over, and she isn't here. have you happened to see andy buckton about town to-day?" "no, i haven't," mostyn answered, sharply. "i see your drift, sir, and your point is well taken. if you want to find your daughter, telephone around for buckton. as for me, i don't care enough about it to bother." "you needn't sniff and sneer," mitchell threw back, sharply. "you are as much to blame for the way things are going as she is. the devil is in you both as big as a house. old-fashioned southern ways are not good enough for you; having a little money has driven you crazy. irene was all right, no new toy to play with till buckton ran into that fortune, and now nothing will hold her down. she used to fancy she cared for him, and, now that he has plenty of funds, she is sure of it. the society of this town, sir, is rotten to the core. it is trying to be french, trying to imitate foreign nobility and the new york four hundred. i am not pitying myself; i'm not sorry for you, for you are a cold-blooded proposition that nothing can touch; but i _am_ pitying that helpless child of yours. i reckon you can turn in and sleep as sound as a log to-night, whether your wife comes home or not, but i can't." a sudden fear that little dick might hear the rising old voice came over mostyn, and he restrained the angry retort that throbbed on his lips. ascending the steps, he went into his room to prepare for his visit. how odd, but the vengeful force of his contemplated retaliation had lessened! as he stood at his bureau taking out some necessary articles from a drawer he felt his old morbidness roll back over him like a wave. was it mitchell's petulant complaints of his daughter's conduct, or was it what he had said about his grandchild? it was the latter; mostyn was sure of it, for all at once he had the overpowering yearning for the boy which had so completely dominated him of late. he dropped the articles back into the drawer and stood listening. dick must be asleep by this time. but no, that was a voice from the direction of the nursery. it was the low tones of hilda the nurse. "now, go to sleep," she was saying. "you must stop rollin' an' tumblin' an' talkin'." "i know it _is_ my daddy," the childish voice was heard saying. "he is in his room, and i want to sleep in his bed." "you _can't_ sleep in his bed," the nurse scolded. "you must be quiet and go to sleep." mostyn crept across the room to the door and stood listening, holding his breath and trying to still the audible throbbing of his heart. he heard dick sobbing. pushing the door open, mostyn looked into the room, feeling the gas-heated air beat back into his face as he did so. in the light at a small table the nurse sat sewing, and she glanced up. "what is dick crying about?" he demanded. "because he's bad," was the reply. "he's been bad all day. in all my born days i've never seen such a bothersome child. he began cryin' to go to the bank just after you left this mornin'. he made such a fuss that his mother had to whip 'im, but it didn't do 'im a bit o' good. he has been watchin' the gate for you all day, threatenin' to tell you. he doesn't care for nobody in the world but you--not even his grandfather. i reckon you've spoiled 'im, sir, pettin' 'im up so much." mostyn crossed over to dick's bed and looked down on the tear-marked face. the child's breast was spasmodically quivering with suppressed sobs. his lips were swollen; there was a red mark on the broad white brow, against which the locks lay like pliant gold. "what caused this?" mostyn demanded, pointing to the spot. "it is where his mother slapped 'im this mornin'. she had to do it. he was cryin' an' kickin' an' wouldn't pay no 'tention to 'er. he kept up such a'sturbance that she couldn't dress to go out. he said he was goin' to the bank to tell you, an' he got clean down the street 'fore i saw 'im." the child was looking straight into mostyn's eyes. to him the expression was fathomless. "what is the matter, dick?" he asked. "i want my daddy," the boy sobbed. "i don't like hilda; i don't like mama; i don't like grandpa; i want to sleep in your room." "not to-night, dick." mostyn touched the angry spot on the brow lightly and bent down lower. "i have to go out this evening. i have an engagement." the look of despair darkening the little flushed face went straight to the heart of the father, and yet he said: "you must go to sleep now. i must hurry. i have to dress. good night." mostyn went back to his bureau. the reflection of his face in the tilted mirror caught and held his attention. could that harsh semblance of a man be himself? various periods of his life flashed in separate pictures before him. glimpses of his college days; this and that gay prank of irresponsible youth. then came incidents of his first business ventures; his dealings with jefferson henderson stood out sharply. the old man's first intuitive fears of coming loss rang in his ears, followed by curses of helpless, astounded despair. one after another these things piled thick and fast upon him. he saw his first meeting with marie; then that crisis, the transcendent uplift in the mountains, when for the first time in his life he actually reached for something beyond and above himself through the mediumship of dolly drake, that wonderful embodiment of the, for him, unattainable. he had lost out there. he had slipped at the foot of the heights up which she was leading him. he heard the gate-latch click, and old mitchell's thumping tread on the veranda steps as he descended to meet some one. going to a window and parting the curtains cautiously, mostyn looked down on the walk. it was his wife. he saw her meet her father, but she did not slacken her brisk walk toward the house. "where have you been all day?" the old man demanded, following behind. "i don't have to tell you," irene answered. "you are driving me crazy with your eternal suspicions. if i keep on answering your questions you will never stop. let me alone. you needn't watch me like a hawk. i am old enough to take care of myself." an inarticulate reply came up from the old man, and the next moment mostyn heard irene ascending the stairs. the door of her room opened and shut. mostyn distinctly heard the turning of the key. he looked at his watch. it was half past eight. he would have to hurry to catch a car. he went back to the bureau. at this instant something happened. hearing a low sound and looking in the glass, he saw a little white-robed figure creeping stealthily across the floor to his bed. he pretended not to see, and watched dick as he softly crept between the sheets. turning round, he caught the boy's sheepish stare, which suddenly became a look of grim, even defiant, determination. "why did you come, dick?" he asked, and as he spoke he crept toward the bed like a man in a dream drawn to some ravishing delight. he sat down on the edge of the bed. he caught the child's little hand in his own. the nerves of his whole yearning soul seemed centered in his fingers. "daddy"--the boy hesitated; his words hung as if entangled in a fear of refusal--"let me stay in your bed till you come home. i am not afraid. i don't want to sleep in there with hilda. i don't like her." till he came home! the words seemed to sink into and surge back from the core of his accumulated remorse. till he came home, perhaps near dawn, reeking with the odor of licentiousness--the very licentiousness he was praying that his child might not be drawn into. he put his hand on the little brow. he bent and kissed it. he felt his resistance falling away from him like the severed thongs of a prisoner. a force was entering him which mere flesh could not combat. he slid his hand under the child to raise him up, and felt the little body bound in surprised delight toward him. he pressed the soft form to his breast. he felt the keen pain of restrained emotion within him. taking the boy in his arms, he sat down in a rocking-chair, holding him as a mother might an adored infant. "do you want daddy to rock you to sleep?" he asked. "oh, will you, daddy, will you?" "yes." mostyn stroked the soft cool legs caressingly and pressed the child's brow against his cheek. the boy was quiet for a moment; then his father felt him stir uneasily. "what is it now?" he inquired. "when i get to sleep what are you going to do with me?" mostyn thought rapidly. "i'll put you in my bed," he said, slowly. then he added, with firmness: "i'll go down to the library and read the papers, and then i'll come back and sleep with you. i shall not go away to-night." the child said nothing. he simply put both his arms about his father's neck, kissed him on the cheek, and cuddled up in his arms. chapter vii one morning, during the middle of that week, as saunders was on his way to the bank, he was surprised to meet dolly coming out of one of the big dry-goods shops. she wore a new hat and an attractive linen dress he had never seen her wear before. she smiled and flushed prettily as she extended her hand. "you were not expecting to see this mountain greenhorn down here, were you?" she laughed. "as for me, i hardly know which end of me is up. i don't see how you can live in all this whizz, bustle, smoke, and dust." "i am wondering what miracle brought you," he answered. "well, i'll tell you. it is simple enough when you know," dolly smiled. "the rural schools of the state are holding a convention of teachers here. we meet at the capitol at ten o'clock this morning. i'm a delegate, with all expenses paid. i represent our county. isn't that nice? i feel like a big somebody. i was just wondering if the mayor will call on me. i think he ought to, but i really couldn't see him. my time is all occupied. they have asked me to make a talk. they've got me down for a few minutes' harangue, and i don't know more than a rat what i'll say. we are going to try for a state appropriation in our section, meet the members of the legislature, and do some wire-pulling and lobby work." "and where are you going at this minute?" saunders laughed, merrily. "i was headed for the capitol," she smiled, "but i'm all turned around. i went in at the front of this store, but feel as if i had come out at the back." "i will go with you if you will let me," saunders ventured. "but i'll be taking you from your business," she protested. "you must not feel called on to show me about. to be frank, that is the reason i didn't let you know i was coming. you can't afford to be nice to all your mountain friends. they would keep you busy jerking them from under cars and automobiles." "i have absolutely nothing to do," saunders declared. "this is the way to the capitol. we pass right by our bank, and i can show you where we hold forth." he saw a cloud fall over her face. "i'd rather not--not meet--" she did not finish what she started to say and bit her lip. "i understand," he answered, quickly. "he is not in town. he is spending the day in augusta." "oh!" she exclaimed, in a breath of relief. "you will think me silly, but i can't help it. i oughtn't to be so, but i dread it above all things. if i were to meet him face to face i wouldn't know what to say. it would be like seeing some one actually rise from the dead. i wouldn't think so much of my own feelings as--as his. uncle john saw him in rome not long ago. he says he has changed in looks--but let us not talk about him. it can't do a bit of good. he is unhappy--i know he is unhappy. i knew it would be so." an awkward silence fell between them. they had to cross a crowded street, and saunders took her arm to protect her. he felt it quivering, and his heart sank in grave misgivings. he told himself that she would never care for any other man than mostyn. she was the kind of woman who could love and trust but once in life, and was not changed by time or the weakness and faults of the beloved one. saunders indicated the bank among the buildings across the street, and he saw a wistful look steal into her grave face as she regarded it steadily. "so that's the place where you men of affairs scheme, plan, and execute," she smiled. "it looks close and hot. well, i couldn't stand it. i must have open air, sunshine, mountains, streams, and people--real, plain, honest, unpretending people." "i have made up my mind to quit," he returned. "i have been staying in the country so much of late that i cannot do without it. i intend to sell my interests here, and settle down on my plantation." "you will be wise," she said, philosophically. "life is too short to live any other way than as close as possible to nature. all this"--she glanced up the busy street--"is madness--sheer madness. in the whole squirming human mass you could not show me one really contented person, while i can point to hundreds in the mountains. you are thinking about leaving it while my father is planning to come here. at his time of life, too. it is absurd, but he says it is the only thing open to him. i didn't tell you, but he came down with me. it is pitiful, for he is looking for work." "oh, really, is it possible?" saunders exclaimed, in surprise. "why, i thought he was one man who would always stay in the country." dolly sighed. "he has changed remarkably," she said, her face settling into almost pained gravity. "all at once he has become more ashamed of his condition than he ever was in his life. he is in debt to personal friends and has no way of paying them. he used to make money moonshining, but he has quit that, and doesn't seem able to make our poor farm pay at all. the storekeepers won't credit him, and he has become desperate. he is trying to get a job at carpenter work, but he will fail, for he can't do that sort of thing. indirectly, george is the cause of his sudden determination." "george? why, i thought--" "it is this way," dolly went on, quickly. "you see, through your kindness george is so happy, is doing so well, and there is so much talk about his good luck that it has made my father realize his own shortcomings more keenly. don't you bother; it is a good lesson for him; he has not been doing right, and he knows it. it is odd, isn't it, to see a man mortified by the success of his own son? in one way i am sorry for father, and in another i am not. ann is trying to get a teacher's place in a school, and if she does, between us we may be able, for mother's sake, to keep father at home. somehow, it makes me sad to think of his being in this hot town tramping about asking for work as a day-laborer, and yet i know it will be good for him. mother cried pitifully when we left this morning, and he was the most wretched-looking man i ever saw. i don't care if he does suffer--_some_--but i don't like to see my mother sad. do you know, that poor woman has had nothing but sorrow as her portion all her married life? first one thing and then another has come up to depress and dishearten her. at first it was father's drinking; then he quit that, and became a moonshiner in constant danger of arrest; and now he has left home to try his fortune among total strangers." "it is sad; indeed, it is," saunders said, sympathetically. "and the worst of it is that it troubles you, dolly. you speak of your mother's hard lot. as i see it, you, yourself, have had enough trouble to kill a dozen girls of your age." "oh, i am all right! that is the capitol, isn't it?" she added, as in turning a corner they came in sight of the vast stone building with its graceful, gray dome, standing on the grassy, low-walled grounds. he nodded, and she ran on with a rippling laugh of self-depreciation. "think of this silly country yap making a speech in that big building before the governor, state senators, principals of schools, and no telling who else! why, i'll want to sink through the floor into the basement. do you know, when i was a little tiny thing playing with rag dolls and keeping house with broken bits of china for plates and stones for tables and chairs, i used to fancy myself growing up and being a great lady with servants and carriages; but that was crawling on the earth compared to this sky-sweeping stunt to-day. but if they call on me i'll go through with it in some shape or die." "is the meeting to be public?" saunders asked. "because if it is i should like to be present." he saw her start suddenly. she looked down at the pavement for a moment; then she gave him a glance full of perturbation, laying her hand on his arm impulsively. "jarvis--oh, i didn't mean to call you that!" the color ran in a flood to her face. "it was a slip of the tongue. i _do_ call you that in my thoughts, for--for so many at home do, you know." "i should like nothing better than to have you do it always," he heard himself saying; but the sight of her clouded face checked the words which packed upon his utterance. "oh, i could never be as bold as that," she put in quickly. "you said you would like to go to the meeting. it _is_ public, but i am going to ask you a favor, and i never was so much in earnest in my life. do you know, i think i could get through that speech better if not a soul was in the audience that i ever saw before. i would rather have you there than any one else, for i know you would be sympathetic, but i want to face it absolutely alone. i can't tell why i feel so, but it is a fact." "i can understand it," saunders answered. "i had to make a speech at a convention of bankers once, and the fact that i was a total stranger to them all made the task easier. but when are you going back home?" "to-morrow at twelve," she said. "and this evening?" he inquired. "there is to be a reception given us at the governor's mansion." dolly shrugged her shoulders. "somebody is to take us all from the hotel in a bunch. i have a new dress for it. that will be another experience, but, as it comes after my speech, i am not even thinking of it." "then i'll see you at the train in the morning," saunders said. "i want to get the news of your speech. i am confident that you will acquit yourself beautifully. you can't fail. it isn't in you." they had reached the steps of the capitol. a number of women and men were entering, and dolly turned to join them. "that's some of my crowd," she smiled. "can't you tell by the way they stare and blink, like scared rabbits? the men's clothes look as if they still had the price-tags on them--regular hand-me-downs. good-by; i'll see you at the train." chapter viii that afternoon, in coming from a lawyer's office, saunders saw tom drake standing in the crowd which was always gathered at the intersection of whitehall and marietta streets. falling back unobserved into a tobacconist's shop on the corner, the young man looked out and watched the mountaineer. with hands in his pockets, drake stood eying the jostling human current, a disconsolate droop to his lank form, a far-off stare in his weary eyes. "he has tried and given up already," saunders reflected. "dolly knows him better than he knows himself. this is no place for a man like him. he is homesick, poor chap! he counts himself the most unfortunate man on earth, and yet he is the most blessed, for he is her father. how can he look at her, hear her voice, and not burn with triumphant pride? her father! if i only dared, i'd treat him as i'd treat my own father, but she would resent it. it would hurt her feelings. i have to consider her. she didn't quite like what i did for george; but, no matter, i'm going to speak to him." therewith saunders skirted the thickest part of the surging mass and suddenly came upon drake, who, in order to be out of the way of pedestrians with more purpose than himself, had stepped back against the wall of the building. their eyes met. drake's wavered sheepishly, but he took the hand cordially extended, and made an effort to appear at ease. "i saw dolly this morning," saunders began. "she told me you came down with her." "yes, i thought--i thought i might as well." drake's lips quivered. "i reckon she told you that i am sorter strikin' out on a new line?" "she said something about it." saunders felt that the topic was a delicate one. "i hope you are finding an--an opening to your liking." drake was chewing tobacco, and he spat awkwardly down at his side. there was a certain timidity in the man for one so bold as he had been in his own field of life among rough men of crude acts and habits. "i've looked about some," he said, a flush creeping into his tanned cheeks. "i've been to the machine-shops and to two or three contractin' carpenters. they all said they was full up with hands--men waitin' on their lists for times to improve. buildin' is slow right now, an' expert hands already on the spot get the pick of the jobs. machinery is stealin' the bread out of the workin'-man's mouth. a machine takes the place of twenty men in many cases." "i see, i see," saunders said. "the country, after all, is the best place for a man brought up on a farm." drake, thrown off his guard, sighed openly. "i reckon you are right," he agreed. "to tell you the truth, saunders, i don't think i'm goin' to land anything on this trip, and it makes a feller feel sorter sneakin' to go back empty-handed. i put my judgment up against all the rest. george, dolly, and her mother, an' even john webb, tried to get me to listen to their advice, but not me! oh no, i was runnin' it! i reckon i'm bull-headed. le'me tell you some'n'. i'd go back an' hire out to george as a day-laborer if i didn't have more pride than brains. he needs hands. he told me so. you are makin' a man out o' him, saunders, an' i want to thank you." "what have you got to do just now?" saunders asked. "couldn't you go to the bank with me?" drake hesitated. his color deepened. he avoided saunders's tentative gaze. "i reckon i won't, to-day, anyway," he faltered. "i never was much of a hand to hang about big places o' business." "then suppose we step into the lobby of the kimball house; it is close by," saunders suggested. "there are some seats there, and we could sit down for a few minutes. the truth is, i want to ask your advice about my plantation. you are better posted up there than i can be, staying here as much as i do." "oh, that's different!" a look of relief swept over the rugged face. "i only wish i could help you some, no matter how little. you did me the biggest favor once that ever one man did another. when you jerked me back from the train that night and forced me to behave myself you saved me from no end o' shame an' trouble. la, me! i've thought of that a thousand times." "don't mention it." saunders was touched by the deep surge of gratitude in the despondent voice. "if i had not been a great friend of yours and of your family, i would not have dared to act as i did. but that is past and gone." "not with me--a thing like that never passes with me," drake answered, as they crossed the street and entered at the side door of the hotel. they found some unoccupied chairs in a quiet part of the big office. the clerks behind the counter were busy assigning rooms to a throng of passengers from an incoming train. a dozen negro porters and bell-boys were rushing to and fro. the elevators were busy. the tiled floor resounded with the scurrying of active feet. saunders saw the mountaineer watching the scene with the lack-luster stare he had caught in his eyes a few minutes before. "you said you wanted to ask me something about your place," drake suddenly bethought himself to say. "yes, it is like this. you know my manager, hobson, of course?" "yes, pretty well," drake made reply, slowly. "that is, as well as any of us mountain men do. he never has been much of a chap to mix with other folks. to tell you the truth, most of us think he is stuck up. well, i reckon he has a right to be. he gets darn good wages. nobody knows exactly what he makes, but it is reported that you give 'im fifteen hundred a year. he has saved most of it, and has turned his pile over till there isn't any telling how much the feller is worth." "yes, i am paying him fifteen hundred," saunders said, lowering his voice into one of confidential disclosure. "i want to talk to you about him, and i know you will help me if you can. he has, as you say, laid up money, and he has recently established a warehouse business at ridgeville. for the last month he has scarcely been at my plantation half a dozen times." "i noticed that," drake said, "but he told me that he had it fixed so that he could be at both places often enough to keep things in shape. he is a good business man, and i reckon he will do what he contracts." "but i am not at all satisfied as it is," saunders answered. "i am thinking of disposing of my bank interest and settling down up there for good, and i'd like to have a manager with whom i can be in touch every day. i am interested in farming myself, and i don't want my manager to have too many irons in the fire. the trouble with hobson is that he is now giving his best thought and energy to his own business." "i see," drake said. "well, that's accordin' to human nature, i reckon. they say hobson speculates in grain an' cotton, an' when a feller gets to playin' a game as excitin' as that it is hard for 'im to get down to humdrum matters." saunders linked his hands across his knee, and looked down at the floor for a moment in silence. he seemed to be trying to formulate something more difficult to express than what he had already touched upon. "the truth is," he plunged, suddenly--"just between you and me, in confidence, i was compelled to speak to him about the matter the other day; and, to my surprise, he told me bluntly that as he was now placed he would not care to give full time to the management of my affairs. he has his sights pretty high. he is making money rapidly, and he feels independent." "good lord! you don't mean that he would throw up the job?" drake exclaimed, in astonishment. "he's a fool, a stark, starin' fool. why, i never heard o' the like! it is by all odds the best berth in our county." "he is to quit on the first of next month," saunders said, "and that is what i want to see you about. the truth is that--well, i've had _you_ in mind for some time, and i was rather disappointed when i heard you were thinking of getting work down here. you are the very man i want for the place, if you will do me the favor of accepting it." the stare of astonishment in the eyes of the mountaineer became a fixed glare of almost childlike incredulity. so profound was his surprise that he was unable to utter a word. his hand, suddenly quivering as with palsy, went to his tobacco-stained lips and stayed there for a moment. then his imprisoned voice broke loose. "you can't mean that, jarvis--you can't, surely you can't!" "yes, i do," saunders responded, drawn into the other's emotional current. "i want a man who is popular with the people, and you have hundreds of friends. if--if you accept i'd like for you to remain here in atlanta for a week at least, to help me buy some implements and supplies." "_if_ i accept--_if!_" drake laughed at the sheer absurdity of the word. "do i look like a fool? just now i was ready to go back home, ashamed to look my family in the face because i couldn't find work at a dollar a day, and my board to pay out of it, and now--now--" the voice faltered and broke. "well, it is settled, then," saunders said, in relief. "as far as i am concerned, it is." drake cleared his husky throat. "i know the sort of work you want done up there, and i can do it. i can get as much out of hands as anybody else, and you sha'n't lose by it; by god, you sha'n't!" "well, come to see me at the bank in the morning." saunders rose. "you've taken a load off my shoulders. i was worried about it." chapter ix the next morning, as saunders sat at breakfast in the cafe of his club scanning the morning paper, his attention was fixed by the big-typed head-lines of a report of the school convention at the capitol. the details and object of the meeting were given in only a few sentences, the main feature of the article being a sensational account of the brilliant speech of a young woman delegate in support of the bill before the legislature favoring a much-needed appropriation for schools among the poor mountaineers. the paper stated that the youthful beauty, vivacity, and eloquence of the speaker, the daughter of a confederate veteran, had roused an enthusiasm seldom witnessed in the old state house. she was introduced by the governor, who was chairman of the meeting, and fully three-fourths of the members of the senate and the house were present. miss drake's speech was a rare combination of originality, humor, arid pathos. her aptitude at anecdote, her gift for description and dialect had fairly astounded her audience. the applause was so constant and persistent that the brave young speaker had difficulty in pursuing her theme. and when it was over the members of the house and the senate had pressed forward to congratulate her and pledge their support to the bill in question. such a complete acceptance of any single measure had never been known before in the history of georgia politics. following this account was the report of the reception to the convention of teachers at the executive mansion, which had been largely attended owing to the desire of many to see and meet the young heroine of the day. saunders read and reread the article, in his excitement neglecting his breakfast and forgetting his morning cigar. "god bless her!" he chuckled. "she is a brick. put her anywhere on earth, against any odds, and she will win!" when the hour approached for her train to leave he went down to the big station to see her off, finding her alone in the waiting-room looking quite as if nothing unusual had happened, though he thought he noticed a slight shade of uneasiness on her face. "anything gone wrong?" he inquired, anxious to help her if she needed assistance. "i haven't seen my father," she answered. "you see, he went to a boarding-house. rooms were in such demand that he didn't go with me and the other delegates to the hotel. then, he had determined to economize as much as possible. i thought he would come around this morning, anyway. i don't want to go back home without seeing him; my mother would simply be wild with uneasiness." "you have several minutes yet," saunders answered. "he will be apt to turn up." therewith saunders began to smile. "have you read the morning papers?" "i haven't had time to read them carefully," dolly declared. "several of the men teachers sent copies up to my room before i came down for breakfast. the teachers had a lot to say about me and my talk. really, i feel like a goose, and mean, too. it looks as if i thought i was the whole show. why, there were women in the convention old enough to be the mothers of girls like me, and with a hundred times as much sense." "but you turned the trick!" saunders cried, enthusiastically. "you did more with that speech than a dozen conventions of men and women could have done. you hit the nail square on the head. you won. the bill will pass like a flash. it is a foregone conclusion." "oh, i wish i could think so," dolly cried, hopefully, her fine eyes beaming. then she began to smile reminiscently. "that was the strangest experience i ever had in all my born days. talk about the debates we used to have in our club; they were simply not in it! when they put me up there on that platform, side by side with the governor of the state and three senators, and they were all so nice and polite, i was scared to death. my tongue was all in a knot, and i was as cold as if i had my feet in ice-water. then when the governor introduced me with all those compliments about my looks, and i had to stand up and begin, i give you my word, jarvis, that big stone building, solid as it was, was rocking like a cradle. every seat, from the front to the back, had a man or a woman in it, but i didn't see a single face. they were all melted together in one solid mass-and quiet! why, it was so still that i heard my mouth click when i opened it to catch my breath. _it was simply awful._ i remember thinking i would pray for help if i had time, but i didn't have time for anything. it was lucky i thought about beginning with a funny tale, for when they all laughed and clapped i felt better. then i forgot where i was. there were some young men reporters at a table right under my feet, and they kept laughing in such a friendly, good-natured way that i found myself talking to them more than any of the rest. the audience really made it easier for me, for while they were applauding i had a chance to think of something else to say. i found out the sort of thing they liked, and piled it on thick and heavy. and when i sat down and they all packed round me to shake hands, i was more surprised than i ever was in my life." "it was the hit of the day," saunders replied. "it was as great a success in its way as the speech of henry w. grady at the new england banquet. i am proud of you, dolly. you will let me say that, won't you?" "if you really mean it." she raised her eyes frankly to his, and a flush of gratification suffused her sweet face. "i would not like to be an utter failure on my first visit to your city. i didn't want you to hear my speech, but i do wish i had asked you to that reception. it was nice. i can see now what you all find in social things. it was like a dream to me--the music, the lights, the jewels, the dresses, the flowers, the brilliant talk, the courtesy of men, and--yes, the congratulations and compliments. i did like to have so many say they liked my speech--i really did. i almost cried over it." "you shall have them all." saunders restrained the words which throbbed on his lips. "be my wife, little girl, and i'll gratify your every desire." she was looking into his eyes, and he glanced aside, fearing that she might read his thoughts. "i wish i could have gone," was all he said. "i should have enjoyed your triumph immensely." "it won't spoil me--don't think that." he heard her sigh and saw a slight cloud pass over her face. "i am young in years, but i have had my share of suffering. you are almost the only one who knows my great secret. it makes me feel very close to you, jarvis. you made it easier for me to bear when you helped me hide it on the night you prevented my father from making my humiliation public. that was good of you--good and brave and thoughtful." "my god, she still loves him!" saunders thought, with a pang which permeated his whole being. "his very weakness has made him dearer. she never has a word to say against him." saunders was trying to make some sort of outward response when he saw dolly start suddenly, her eyes on the doorway. "i see my father. oh, i'm glad, for now i can find out what he intends to do. i see him looking for me. wait; i'll run over to him." saunders watched her graceful figure as it glided through the crowd to drake's side. he saw the mountaineer turn a face full of pride and contentment upon his daughter; and saunders knew, from her rapt expression, that he was telling her of his good fortune. the watcher saw dolly put her hand in a gesture of tender impulsiveness on her father's arm, and stand eagerly listening, and yet with a frown on her face. a moment later they came toward him. dolly was regarding him with a steady, almost cold stare. was it vague displeasure? was it wounded pride? surely his act was contrary to her wishes, for she made no immediate reference to it. "well," drake said, "if you are goin' to put 'er on the train, i'll tell 'er good-by now. there's a feller waitin' for me at the front. tell your mother, daughter, that i'll be up in a week or so. so long." drake was not a man given to embraces of any sort, and he was turning away when dolly stopped him. "kiss me, father," she said, raising her face to his; and, with a sheepish laugh, the mountaineer complied. "she's like all the balance, jarvis," he said, lightly. "they believe in things bein' done to the letter. you will be at the bank after a while, won't you?" "yes, as soon as the train leaves," saunders, answered. then he heard the porter announcing dolly's train, and he took up her bag. she was silent as they walked along the pavement and down the iron stairs to the car, where he found a seat for her. only a few minutes remained, and the feeling was growing on him that she was quite displeased with the arrangement he had made with her father. how could he part with her like that? the days of doubt and worry ahead of him as a consequence of what he had done seemed unbearable. "did your father mention the plan he and i--" "yes," she broke in, tremulously; "he told me all about it, jarvis, and--and i want to ask you a question. i want you to be frank with me. i don't want the slightest evasion to--to save me from pain. i can't go up home without knowing the full truth. you are so--so kind and thoughtful, always wanting to--to do _me_ some favor and aid _me_ that--oh, jarvis, i want to know this: do you think my father is capable of filling that place as it ought to be filled?" saunders was sitting on the arm of the seat in front of her. the car was almost empty, no one being near. he bent forward and laid his hand on her arm. "he is the very man i want," he declared. "the work is not difficult; he is so popular with the average run of men that he will make a far better manager than hobson, or any one else i could get." he heard her catch her breath. he saw a light of joy dawn in her eyes. "if only i could believe that, jarvis," she said, "i would be the happiest girl in all the world. i would--i would--i would." "then you may be," he answered, huskily, his emotions all but depriving him of utterance. "he is doing _me_ a favor, dolly. of all men he is the first i would select." the bell of the locomotive was ringing. saunders stood up, now clasping the hand she held out. he felt her timid fingers cling to his. her blood and his throbbed in unison. looking into her eyes, he saw that they were full of tears. he remembered how she had kissed his hand on the night he had prevented her father from going to atlanta, and as he hurried from the slowly moving car he was like a man groping through a maze of doubt and bewildering fears. she could feel and show gratitude, he told himself, but a heart such as hers could never be won twice to actual love. it is said that suffering deepens character, and it was perhaps the fall of her ideal which had made her the heroic marvel she was. mostyn still loved her in secret; of that saunders had little doubt, for how could a man once embraced by such a creature ever forget it? and dolly suspected the man's constancy and had no room for aught but secret responsiveness. but no matter, he would still be her watchful and attentive friend. he had helped her to-day in the midst of her triumph, and he would help her again and again. to serve her unrewarded would have to suffice. chapter x one morning, a week or so later, mostyn found a note from marie winship in his mail. it was brief and to the point. it ran: dear dick,-i am going to leave atlanta for good and all, never to bother you again (believe me, this is the truth), but i want to see you to explain in full. i shall be at my dressmaker's in the morning after ten. please walk out that way. i shall see you from the window, and you won't have to come in. don't refuse this last request. this is not a "hold-up"; i don't intend to ask for money. i only want to say good-by and tell you something. my last effort to get you to come to see me proved to me how altered you are. marie. mostyn turned the matter over in his mind deliberately, and finally decided that he would comply with the request. it rang true, and there was comfort in the assurance that she was about to leave atlanta, for her presence and instability of mood had long been a menace to his peace of mind. at the hour mentioned he found himself somewhat nervously nearing the cottage in question. she was prompt; he saw her standing at a window, and a moment later she came out and joined him. "let's walk down toward the woods," she suggested, with a smile which lay strangely on her piquant features. "it will look better than standing like posts on the sidewalk." he agreed, wondering now, more than ever, what she had to say. she had barely touched his hand in salutation, and bore herself in a sedate manner that was all but awkward. they soon reached a shaded spot quite out of sight of any of the scattered residences in the vicinity, and she sat down on the grass, leaving him the option of standing or seating himself by her. "you are wondering what on earth i've got up my sleeve"--she forced a little laugh--"and well you may wonder, dick, for i am as big a mystery to myself as i could possibly be to any one else." "i was wondering if you really do intend to leave atlanta," he answered, sitting down beside her. "you seemed very positive about it in your note." "yes, i am going, dick; but that is not the _main_ thing. dick, i'm going to be married." "married!" he exclaimed. "are you joking?" "i suppose you do regard it as a joke," she said, listlessly, and with a little sigh. "such a serious step would seem funny in me, wouldn't it? but i am not what i used to be, dick. i have been quite upset for a long time--in fact, ever since you married. then again, your life, your ways, your constant brooding has had a depressing effect on me. dick, it seems to me that you have been trying to--well, to be good ever since you married." he shrugged his shoulders. "what is the use of talking about that, marie?" he asked, avoiding her probing stare. "it affected me a lot," she returned, thoughtfully. "i tried to keep up the old pace and care for the old things, but your turn about was always before me. dick, you have puzzled me all along. you do not care a snap for your wife; what is it that makes you look like a ghost of your old jolly self?" he shrank from her sensitively. "i really don't like to talk about such things," he faltered. "tell me about your marriage." "not yet; one thing at a time." she dropped her sunshade at her feet and locked her white hands over her knee. "i shall never see you again after to-day, dick, and i _do_ want to understand you a little better, so that when i look back on our friendship you won't be such a tantalizing mystery. dick, you never loved me; you never loved your wife; but you _have_ loved some one." he lowered his startled glance to the ground. she saw a quiver pass over him and a slow flush rise in his face. "what are you driving at?" he suddenly demanded. "all this is leading nowhere." she smiled in a kindly, even sympathetic way. "it can't do any harm, dick, for, really, what i have found out has made me sorry for you for the first time in my life--genuinely and sincerely sorry." "what you have found out?" he faltered, half fearfully. "yes, and it doesn't matter how i discovered it, but i did. i happened to stay for a week at a little hotel in ridgeyille last month, and a slight thing i picked up about your stay up there five years ago gradually led me on to the whole thing. dick, i saw dolly drake one day on one of my walks. one look at her and the whole thing became plain. you loved her. you came back here with the intention of marrying her and leading a different life. you would have done it, too, but for my threats and your partial engagement to your wife. you went against your true self when you married, and you have never gotten over it." he was unable to combat her assertions, and simply sat in silence, an expression of keen inner pain showing itself in his drawn lips. "see how well i have read you!" she sighed. "i always knew there was something unexplained. you would have been more congenial with your wife but for that experience. you are to blame for her dissatisfaction. not having love from you, she is leaning on the love of an old sweetheart. dick, that pretty girl in the mountains would have made you happy. i read the article about her in the paper the other day. from all accounts, she is a remarkable woman, and genuine." mostyn nodded. "she _is_ genuine," he admitted. "well, now you know the truth. but all that is past and gone. you forget something else." "no, i don't," she took him up, confidently. "you are thinking of your boy." again he nodded. "love for a woman is one thing, marie, but the love for one's own child passes beyond anything else on earth." "yes, when the child is loved as you love yours, and when you fancy that he is being neglected, and that you are partly responsible for it. oh, dick, you and i both are queer mixtures! i may as well be frank. your struggles to make amends have had their effect on me. for a long time i have not been satisfied with myself. i used to be able to quiet my conscience by plunging into pleasure, but the old things no longer amuse. that is why i am turning over a new leaf. dick, the man i am to marry knows my life from beginning to end. he is a good fellow--a stranger here, and well-to-do. my brother sent him to me with a letter of introduction. he has had trouble. he was suspected of serious defalcation, and the citizens of his native town turned against him. all his old ties are cut. he likes me, and i like him. i shall make him a true wife, and he knows it. i am going to my brother in texas and will be married out there. dick, i shall, perhaps, never see you again, but, frankly, i shall not care. i want to forget you as completely as you will forget me. i only wish i were leaving you in a happier frame of mind. you are miserable, dick, and you are so constituted that you can't throw it off." "no, i can't throw it off!" his voice was low and husky. "i won't mince words about it. marie, i am in hell. i know how men feel who kill themselves. but i shall not do that." "no, that would do no good, dick. i have faced that proposition several times, and conquered it. the only thing to do is to hope--and, dick, i sometimes think there is something--a _little_ something, you know--in praying. i believe there is a god over us--a god of _some_ sort, who loves even the wrong-doers he has created and listens to their cries for help now and then. but i don't know; half the time i doubt everything. there is one thing certain. the humdrum church-people, whom we used to laugh at for their long faces and childish faith, have the best of the game of life in the long run. they have--they really have." he tried to blend his cold smile with hers, but failed. he stood up, and, extending his hand, he aided her to rise. "this is good-by, then, forever," he said. "marie, i think _you_ are going to be happy." "i don't know, but i am going to try at least for contentment," she said, simply. "there is always hope, and you may see some way out of your troubles." quite in silence they walked back to the cottage gate, and there, with a hand-shake that was all but awkward, they parted. he tipped his hat formally as he turned away. ahead of him lay the city, a dun stretch of roofs and walls, with here and there a splotch of green beneath a blue sky strewn with snowy clouds. he had gone only a few paces when he heard the whirring sound of an automobile, which was approaching from the direction of the city. it was driven by a single occupant. it was andrew buckton. mostyn saw the expression of exultant surprise that he swept from him to marie, and knew by buckton's raised hat that he had seen them together. the car sped on and vanished amid the trees at the end of the road. looking back, mostyn saw that marie was lingering at the gate. he knew from the regretful look in her face that she was deploring the incident; but, simply raising his hat again, he strode on. all the remainder of the morning he worked at his desk. he tried to make himself feel that, now that marie was leaving, his future would be less clouded; but with all the effort made, he could not shake off a certain clinging sense of approaching disaster. was he afraid that buckton would gossip about what he had just seen, and that the public would brand him afresh with the discarded habits of the past? he could not have answered the question. he was sure of nothing. he lunched at his club, smoked a dismal cigar with delbridge and some other men, and heard them chatting about the rise and fall of stocks as if they and he were in a turbulent dream. they appeared as marvels to him in their unstumbling blindness under the overbrooding horrors of life, in their ignorance of the dark, psychic current against which he alone was battling. all the afternoon he toiled at the bank, and at dusk he walked home. no one was about the front of the house, and he went up to his room. he had bathed his face and hands, changed his suit, and was about to descend the stairs when his father-in-law came tottering along the corridor and paused at the open door of the room. "this is a pretty come-off," he scowled in at mostyn. "here you come like this as if nothing out of the way had happened, when your wife has packed up and gone off for another trip. she said she was going to write you--did you get a note?" "no; where has she gone?" mostyn inquired. "she didn't even mention it to me." "one of her sudden notions. the hardys at knoxville are having a big house-party, and wrote her to come. i tried to get her to listen to reason, but she wouldn't hear a word. she is actually crazy for excitement--women all get that way if you give them plenty of rein, and irene has been spoiled to death. i have never seen her act as strange as she did to-day. she cried when i talked to her, and almost went into hysterics. she gave the servants a lot of her clothes, and kept coming to me and throwing her arms around me and telling me to forgive her for this and that thing i forgot long ago. when she started for the train i wanted to go with her or telephone you, but she wouldn't let me do either--said i was too feeble, and she did not want to bother you. say, do you know i'm to blame? i had no right to influence you and her to marry, nohow. you have never suited each other--you don't act like man and wife. you might as well be two strangers hitched together. something is wrong, awfully wrong, but i can't tell what it is." mostyn made no reply. he heard little dick's voice in the hall below, and had a sudden impulse to take him up. leaving him, old mitchell passed on to his own room, and mostyn went down the stairs to the child, who was playing on the veranda. "poor child! poor child!" he said to himself. chapter xi the next morning at the bank a financial disappointment met him. a telegram informed him of the sudden slump in some stocks in which he was interested. the loss was considerable, and the tendency was still downward. he was wondering if he ought to confide this to saunders, when his partner, of his own accord, came into his office and sat down by his desk. "busy just now?" saunders inquired. "no; what is it?" mostyn returned. "fire away." saunders seemed to hesitate. through the partition came the clicking of a typewriter and an adding-machine, the swinging of the screened door in front. "it is a somewhat personal matter," saunders began, awkwardly. "i have been wanting to mention it for a month, but hardly knew how to bring it up. you may know, mostyn, that i have been thinking of giving up business here altogether. i have become more and more interested in my farming ventures, and my life in the country has taken such a grip on me that i want to quit atlanta altogether." "oh, i see." mostyn forced a smile. "i thought you would get to that before long. you are becoming a regular hayseed, saunders. you are like a fish out of water here in town. well, i suppose you want to put a man in your place so you will have freer rein in every way." "not that, exactly, mostyn. the fact is, i want to realize on my bank stock. there are other things i'd like to invest in, and i need the money to do it with. i am planning a cotton-mill in my section to give employment to a worthy class of poor people." mostyn drew his lips tight. he stabbed a sheet of paper on the green felt before him, and there was a rebellious flash from his eyes. "come right out and be frank about it," he said, with a touch of anger. "are you afraid your investment in this bank is not a safe one?" saunders looked steadily at him. "that certainly is not a businesslike question, mostyn, and you know it." "perhaps it isn't, but what does it matter?" mostyn retorted. "at any rate, that is a shrewd evasion of the point. well, do you want to sell _me_ your stock?" "i would naturally give you the preference, and that is why i am mentioning it to you." mostyn sat frowning morbidly. there was a visible droop to his shoulders. "there is no use having hard feelings over it," he said, dejectedly. "you have a right to do as you please with your interests. but the truth is, i am not financially able to take over as big a block of stock as you hold." saunders hesitated for a moment, then began: "i was wondering if mr. mitchell--" "leave him out of consideration, for god's sake," mostyn broke in. "he has grown horribly suspicious of me. he would have a regular spasm if you tried to sell to him. he would be sure we are on the brink of failure, and talk all over town. don't mention it to him." "and you say you are not in a position to--" "no; many things have gone against me recently, but that needn't bother you. you can find a buyer." "i have already found one, and the offer is satisfactory." saunders glued his glance to the rug at his feet. "in fact, i have been approached more than once, delbridge wants to buy me out." "delbridge!" mostyn started. his lips parted and his teeth showed in a cold grimace. "ah, i see his game!" "i don't understand," saunders said, wonderingly. "well, i do, if you don't. i suspected something was in the wind last month when he took over cartwright's stock at such a good figure. do you know if he gets your stock that he will hold a larger interest than mine?" "i hadn't thought of it." "i see his plan plainly. he wants to be the president of this bank, and he can elect himself if he buys you out. he has always wanted exactly this sort of thing to back up his various schemes. you must give me a little while to think it over, saunders. i don't like to give in to him. he has always fought me, you know, and this would be a feather in his cap. perhaps i can induce some one else to make the investment." "take all the time you want," saunders answered. "i want you to be satisfied." "well, i'll let you know to-day, or to-morrow, at furthest," mostyn said, wearily. "if i can't make some arrangement i'll have to give in, that's all. my affairs are getting pretty badly tangled, but i'll come out all right." when saunders had left him and the door had closed, mostyn leaned his head on his hand and tried to collect his wits, but to no avail. what was the intangible thing which had haunted him through the night, causing him to lie awake, reciting over and over old mitchell's account of the scene with his daughter just before her departure? what was it that kept coupling this hurried trip of hers with buckton? was thought-transference a scientific fact, as many hold, and was the insistent impression due to the bearing of culpable minds upon his? he might telephone here and there and find out if buckton was in town--but no, no, that would not do. the porter opened the door and came in with a bundle of letters and papers which he put down before him and withdrew. a grim foreboding settled on him. something seemed to whisper from the mute heap that here lay the revelation--here was the missing communication from irene of which her father had spoken. a bare glance at the bundle was enough, for he recognized the pale-blue envelope belonging to irene's favorite stationery. with bloodless fingers, breathlessly, he drew it out. it had been posted the night before. surely, he told himself, there was meaning in this slower method of delivery, for what had prevented her from leaving it at home in his room or in her father's care? or, for that matter, why had she not telephoned him? he laid the communication down, unopened. he was afraid of it. had the skies been stone, their supports straws, his dread could not have been greater. he went to the door and softly turned the key. there should be no eye upon him. he came back. taking a paper-knife, he slit the envelope and spread out the perfumed sheet. it read: dear dick,--there is no use keeping up this senseless farce any longer. i am sick to death with my very existence. i have been hungry for love all my life, and never had it. when i married i mistreated the only man i ever cared for, and i have resolved to do so no longer. andy and i are leaving together. god only knows if we shall find the happiness we are seeking, but we are going to try. father thinks i have gone to the hardys'. perhaps he may as well be kept in ignorance for a few days longer. the truth will leak out soon enough. though you may do as you like about this. as for your following us and making things unpleasant, i have no fears, for, as you well know, i am entitled to my liberty in this matter. you have certainly not been molested by me in your own private life. i now know all about the cottage in the outskirts of town, but i am not blaming you in the least. i confess that i thought you had ceased your attentions in that quarter, but that was because i attributed a certain spiritual and remorseful quality to you which you do not possess. i am not blaming you at all--_at all_. in fact, somehow the discovery has had a soothing effect on me. it has confirmed the feeling that both you and i have been and are the mere playthings of fate. as i see it, i am doing my duty. i led poor andy on before my marriage. i kissed him--i've kissed him a thousand times, both before and since my marriage. he can't live without me, and i can't live without his love and future companionship. life is too short to spend it in the sheer misery i have been in of late. he and i are going out into the great world to live, enjoy, and die together. people will talk, but we can't help that--the truth is, we don't care. you will blame me for leaving the child, for you do love him, but i can't help that. he was born out of love, and was always a reproach to me. you will take care of him; i know that, and better than if i were there. good-by. irene. mostyn folded the sheet and thrust it into his pocket. going to a window, he stood looking out on the dusty street. drays and cabs were trundling by. had his back been bared to the thonged scourge of the public whipping-post and the blows been falling under the strokes of a giant, he could not have cringed more. he saw himself the laughing-stock of the town, the fool provider for another man's passion. he saw his adored child, now worse than motherless, growing up into open-eyed consciousness of his hereditary shame. he saw his wreck of a father-in-law glaring at him in senile indignation. what was to be done--what _could_ be done? nothing--simply nothing. men of honor in the past had been able to wipe out stains like those and keep their heads erect, but to assume that he was "a man of honor," as matters stood, would be the height of absurdity. he certainly would not announce the news to mitchell. he would ward off the disclosure as long as possible, and then--well, there was no knowing what would happen. going to the door, he unlocked it and peered into the busy bank. his glance fell on saunders's desk. saunders was not there. he had decided to speak to him with finality in regard to the disposition of his stock. what mattered it now who held the office of president? in fact, the unsullied name of a man like delbridge might rescue the institution from the actual ruin which was apt to follow such a scandal and the accompanying report of old mitchell's financial estrangement from his son-in-law. mostyn approached wright, the cashier, with the intention of inquiring where saunders was when he heard wright speaking to a man through the grating as he turned a check over in his hand. "i am sorry," he was saying, "but, while it is small, we could not cash it without identification." "that's why i brought it to you," the man answered. "i know mr. saunders. i've seen him several times up in the mountains. he cashed a check for me up there once, and said if i ever happened to be down here to drop in to see him." "he is out just now, but will be in very soon," wright said. "won't you come into the waiting-room and take a seat?" stooping down a little, mostyn was enabled to see the face of the applicant. it was that of john leach, the tramp preacher. their eyes met. mostyn bowed and smiled. then he touched wright on the arm just as he was about to shove the check back to its owner. "i know him," he said. "it is all right." mostyn noticed a look of astonishment struggling on the tanned features of the preacher, but he turned away just as wright was counting out the money. he would go out and find saunders, he decided, and get the detail pertaining to the sale of stock off his mind. outside he looked up the street, seeing saunders and delbridge standing on the corner in conversation. "delbridge is crazy to make the deal," he said, bitterly. "that is what he is talking about now. well, he may have it. i am down and out. i am in no shape to attend to business. besides, i'll want to hide myself from the public eye. yes, he will protect my interest, and i shall need all the funds i can rake together. great god! how did this ever come about? only the other day i had some hope, but now not a shred is left. delbridge was my financial rival. neck and neck we ran together, the talk of the town; but now--yes, he can wipe his feet on me. look at him--he's grinning--he's laughing--he is telling one of his funny yarns to pretend to saunders that he is indifferent about the stock. huh! well he may laugh. who knows, perhaps _his_ luck will turn? the man that counts on luck is god's fool." mostyn took out a cigar as he approached the two men. "match?" he asked delbridge. the financier gave him one, and mostyn struck it on the canvas back of a small check-book and applied it to the end of his cigar. "saunders says you have made him an offer for his block of bank stock," he puffed, slowly. "yes, i made him a proposition." delbridge's face fell into sudden shrewd rigidity. "i have about that amount of money idle just now. saunders says he feels that you are entitled to a preference of the stock, and that until you decide what you want to do my offer must hang in the air." mostyn flicked at the ashless tip of his cigar. "i have thought it over," he said, "and, on the whole, delbridge, i am sure your name will help the bank's standing, and i hope you and saunders will make the deal." "oh, that's all right, then," delbridge beamed. "well, saunders, i'll consider it settled, then. i'll walk into the bank with you now. i may be too busy later in the day." mostyn moved on. he crossed the viaduct over the railway tracks and walked aimlessly for several squares, bowing to acquaintances on the way. presently he turned and began to retrace his steps, without any plan of action other than keeping his legs in motion. at the corner of the street he came face to face with leach. the man smiled cordially and brushed his long hair back over his ear with his delicate hand. "i was just wondering where i've seen you before." he extended his hand. "you certainly surprised me in the bank just now when you stood for me like you did." mostyn explained that he had heard him preach at wartrace's store five years before. "say, i remember now," leach cried. "wasn't you sitting on the porch of the store?" mostyn nodded. "yes, and i enjoyed your talk very much. i have thought of it a good many times since." "i remember you now powerful well--powerful well. i seldom forget a face, and if a man shows that he is listening close, as you did that day, it helps me along. do you know, i put you down as about the best listener i ever had. i saw it in your face and eyes. you got up and left before i was through, or i'd have spoken to you. it seemed to me that you was bothered powerful over something. being in prison as long as i was gave me what you might call second-sight. you may not believe it, but i can actually feel a stream of thought coming from folks now and then. i can detect trouble of any spiritual sort in the face or in the touch of a hand. it isn't any of my affair, but right now i have a feeling that you are bothered. i reckon you business men have a lot to trouble you in one way and another." "yes, it is constant worry," mostyn answered, evasively. "this ain't no time to preach," leach went on, with his characteristic laugh; "but i feel like scolding every town man i meet. this place is no better suited to real happiness than a foundry is for roses to bloom in. if you want to breathe god's breath, smell the sweet perfume of his presence, and walk in the wonderful light of his glory, throw this dusty grind off and go out into nature. get down on your all-fours and hug it. stop making money. when you've got a pile of it as high as that sky-scraper there you haven't got as much actual wealth as a honey-bee carries in one single flight through the sunlight. i never saw heaven's blaze in the eye of a money-maker, but i _have_ seen it in the black face of a shouting nigger at a knock-down-and-drag-out revival. i intimated that i was happy when you heard me five years ago, i reckon. well, since then i have become so much more so that that time seems like stumbling-ground, full of ruts and snags. oh, i could tell you wonders, wonders, wonders! there never was an emperor i'd swap places with. if you ever get in trouble, come talk to me. hundreds of men and women have opened their hearts to me and cried their troubles out like little children. i couldn't tell you how to get the best of a man in a speculation here in this hell-hole of iniquity, but i can show you how you can tie a thousand of god's spirit-cords to you and be drawn so high above all this that you won't know it is in existence. going to the country this summer? i am. i'm headed for the mountains now. i just dropped in here to collect the little money that comes to me every quarter. i see you are in a hurry; well, so long. god be with you, friend. i'm going to pray for you. i don't know why, but i am. i'm going to pray for this whole rotten town, but i'll mention you special. good-by." "he may be right," mostyn mused, as he strode on toward the bank. "he _is_ right--he _is_!" chapter xii irene was on the train bound for charleston. she was seated in one of the big easy-chairs in the parlor-car, idly scanning a magazine and looking out at the dingy and sordid outskirts of atlanta through which the train was moving with increasing speed. the conductor passed, punched her ticket, and went on. he had glanced at her with masculine interest, for she showed by her sedate dignity, smallest detail of attire, and every visible possession, that she was a passenger of distinction. presently buckton came in at the front door and approached her. an exultant smile swept his flushed face as he bent down over her. "thank god, we are off!" he chuckled. "i was simply crazy at the station--first with fear that you would not come, and next that we'd be noticed, but i don't believe a soul recognized us. i was seated behind a newspaper in the waiting-room watching for you like a hawk. i saw you get out of the cab and come in. god, darling, you don't know how proud i felt to know that you were actually coming to me! at last you are mine--all mine; after all these years of agony you are mine!" she raised a pair of eyes to his in which a haunting dread seemed to lie like a shadow. "oh, i feel so queer!" she sighed. "i realized that we had to hide and dodge, but i did not like the role. for the first time in my life i felt mean and sneaking. already i am worried about father and the boy--father, in particular. he is getting old and feeble. perhaps the shock to him may seriously harm him." buckton smiled, but less freely. he sat down in the chair in front of her and turned it till he faced her. "we have no time to bother about them, dear," he said, passionately. "we deserve to live in happiness, and we are going to do it. i am so happy i can hardly speak. oh, we are going to have a glorious time! you should have been mine long ago. nature intended it. we are simply getting our dues." "i am doing it solely for your sake," she faltered. "because you've suffered so on my account." "and not for your _own_ sake? don't put it that way, sweetheart." he took her hand; but, casting a furtive glance at the backs of the few other passengers in the car, she withdrew it. "don't," she protested, smiling. "we must be careful." she dropped a penetrating gaze into his amorous eyes, and applied her handkerchief to her drooping lips. "i've been thinking, andy, about a certain thing more seriously since the train started than i ever did before. do you know, many persons believe that if a woman acts--acts--well, as i am doing now, the man to whom she gives in will, down at the bottom of his heart, cease to respect and love her--in time--in time, i mean?" "bosh and tommyrot!" buckton fairly glowed. "never, never, when the case is like ours. we are simply doing our duty to ourselves. love you? why, i adore you! you have saved my life, darling. i would have killed myself. i've been on the very brink of it more than once. i've suffered agonies ever since you married. the birth of your child fairly drove me insane. i groveled in blackest despair. it made me feel that--that you were, or had been, actually his. oh, it was awful! don't regret our step. think of what is before us. we'll stop in charleston, see the quaint old town, go on to savannah, stop a day or so, and then sail for new york. the ships are good, and at this season the sea is as smooth as glass. when we get to new york we will simply paint the town red, and if you wish, then, we'll go on to europe. what could be more glorious? why, the whole world is ours." she smiled, almost sadly, and then, as if to avoid his gaze, she glanced out of the window. he saw her breast heave. he heard her sigh. "you are a man and i am a woman," she muttered. "i suppose that makes a difference. in a case like ours a man never is blamed by society, but the woman is. they class her with the lowest. oh, won't they talk at home? nothing else will be thought of for months. old-fashioned persons will say it was the life we led. do you suppose it could possibly--in any way--injure dick's business?" "how could it?" buckton said, with caustic impatience. "what has this to do with his affairs?" "oh, i don't know!" she exhaled the words, heavily. "i have heard my father say that depositors sometimes take fright at the slightest things concerning the private lives of bankers. andy, i would not like for this to--cost dick a cent. i couldn't bear that." "do you think you ought to entertain such fine-spun ideas in regard to him when--when he is living as he is?" "that has bothered me, too," she said, quickly. "somehow i can't believe that he ever really went back to that woman--that is, to live with her. i met her only a week ago on the street. she looked straight at me, and, somehow, i was sure that he and she were not as they used to be. call it intuition if you like, but intuition is sometimes reliable. it may have been by accident that they were together when you saw them out there. he takes lonely walks in all sorts of directions. he is a strange combination. his love for little dick, his constant worrying about him is remarkable. it used to make me mad, but in a way i respected him for it." "let's not talk about him," buckton implored. "all this rubbish is giving you the blues. they have called dinner. let's go back to the dining-car. the service is fairly good on this line." "i couldn't eat a bite," irene answered. "well, let us go in, anyway. it will be a change," he said, "and will take your mind off this gloomy subject. think of what is ahead of us, darling, not behind." she rose, and, with a smile of resignation to his will, she followed him through the vestibule into the dining-car. as they went in they met a portly man who stood aside for them to pass. "how are you, mr. buckton?" the man smiled, cordially. "oh, how are you?" buckton answered, with a start and a rapid scrutiny of the passenger's face. moving on, he secured seats at a table for two. as they sat down facing each other he noticed that the man, who had paid the cashier for his meal and was waiting for his change, was eying him and irene with a curious, almost bold stare. "who is that man?" irene questioned, rather coldly, as she spread out her napkin. "his name is hambright," buckton answered, with assumed lightness. "he is a whisky salesman. somebody brought him to the club the other night, and he told a lot of funny stories. he seems to have plenty of money; his house may give it to him for advertising purposes. he fairly throws it about to make acquaintances." "i don't like his looks at all," irene said, her lips curled in contempt. "just then he stared at me in the most impertinent way. his hideous eyes actually twinkled. do you suppose he could possibly know who i am?" the compliment that every visitor to atlanta would know her, at least by sight, rose to his lips, but he suppressed it as decidedly inappropriate to her mood. "it isn't at all likely," buckton answered, instead. "besides, even if he _did_, what ground would he have for thinking that our being together on a train like this--you know what i mean." "i know what you _want_ to mean," irene said, disconsolately. "i also know what such a creature as that would go out of his way to _think._" "there, you are off again!" buckton laughed in a mechanical tone, which betrayed his uneasiness. "you are going to keep me busy brushing away your fancies. i see that now. pretty soon you will expect the engineer to shut off steam and come back to take a peep at us. your imagination is getting the upper hand of you. stop short now and smile like your true, sweet self. i am happy and care-free, and i want you to be so." she said nothing, but gave him a faint, childlike smile. "you are a dear, good boy, andy," she faltered. "i am going to try to be sensible. it isn't the first time persons have acted this way and come out all right, is it? i don't want anything but tea. get a pot. i think it will do me good." half an hour later they returned to their seats in the other car. the tea seemed to have exhilarated her, for she smiled more freely. there was a touch of rising color in her cheeks, a faint, defiant sparkle in her eyes. in passing from one car to the other she had allowed him to take her hand, and he pressed it ardently. he was swinging back into his joyous and triumphant mood. they had not been seated long when the train came to a sudden stop. there was no station near, and several of the passengers looked out of the windows, and one or two left the car to see what had happened. "wait, and i'll see what is the matter," buckton said. "i hope we won't be delayed. it is my luck to be behind on every trip. i'm a regular jonah." the stop had been made evidently to take on passengers, for a wretchedly clad woman and a little barefooted girl in ragged clothing were courteously helped into the car by the conductor. both the woman and the girl were weeping violently, their sobs and wailings being distinctly heard as they sat locked in each other's arms. the sight was indeed pitiful. the conductor bent over them, said something in a crude effort at comfort, and then left them alone. buckton came back, a look of annoyance on his face. "what is wrong?" irene questioned him as he sat down by her. "it seems that the woman's husband was a track-hand," buckton explained. "he worked down the road a few miles from here, and was run over and killed about an hour ago. they nagged our train to take her and his daughter to him." "oh, how awful--how awful!" irene cried, in dismay. "you can see she is broken-hearted." "yes, they both take it hard," buckton said, frowning. "i wonder what we'll run up against next. i wouldn't care for myself, but such things upset you. don't look at them. what is the use?" "i can't help it," irene answered. "she is the most wretched-looking woman i ever saw. i am going to--to speak to her." he put out a detaining hand, but she rose, a firm look of kindly determination on her face. going to the weeping woman, irene sat down in a chair opposite her, and as she did so the woman raised her anguish-filled eyes. "i am so sorry to hear of your trouble," irene began. "is there anything i can do to help you?" the woman, who was thin, short, and of colorless complexion, wiped her eyes on a soiled apron. the scant knot of brown hair at the back of her head seemed a pathetic badge of feminine destitution. the eyes, peering from their red and swollen sockets, held an appeal that would have shaken sympathy from the heart of a brute. "thar is nothing you kin do, miss." the voice was a wail which rose, swelled out, and cracked like floating ice against the shore of a mighty stream. "thar ain't nothin' nobody kin do. my john is dead. even god can't do nothin'. it's over, i tell you. dead, dead! i can't believe it, but they say it is so. he wasn't well when he left the house this mornin', but he was afeard he'd lose his job if he didn't report for work. he was so sick he could hardly drag one foot after the other. but he just would go. we had no money. thar was only a little dab o' meal in the box, and just a rind o' hog meat. thar is two more littler children than this un, an' they was cryin' for some'n' to eat. i know how it was; john was jest too weak to git out o' the way o' the wheels. oh, don't mind me, miss! he's dead--he's dead--dead--dead! oh, god, have mercy! kill me--kill us all an' put us out o' pain." tears stood in irene's eyes. her breast shook and ached with sympathy. she was trying to think of something to say when the whistle of the locomotive sounded. "here's the place now!" the woman screamed. "oh, god! oh, god! where have they put 'im--where have they put 'im? maybe he is mashed so bad i won't know 'im. oh, god! oh, god--kill me!" the conductor, his face set and pale with pity, had come to aid her to alight. through the window irene saw a stretch of wheat-fields, a red-clay embankment, a wrecking-car, a group of earth-stained laborers leaning on their picks and shovels, and something lying beneath a sheet on bare ground. hastily opening her purse, irene took out a roll of bills amounting to a hundred dollars and pressed it into the woman's hand. "keep it," she said, huskily. "thank you, miss," the woman said, without looking at the money or seeming to realize that she had taken it. she dropped it to the floor as she rose to go, and the conductor picked it up and gave it back to her. "keep it," he said; "you will need it." irene watched the three pass out at the door of the car and then turned her face from the window. all was still outside for a moment, and then a loud scream, followed by a fainter one, rent the air. irene covered her face with her hands and remained in darkness till the train moved on. buckton came and sat beside her, a disturbed look on his face. he waited for several minutes. then she dropped her hands and sighed. "i'm sorry this has happened, darling," buckton said, softly. "you are so sympathetic that such things unstring you." she bent toward him. there was a haunted, groping expression in her eyes. "i'll never forget this as long as i live," she half sobbed. "it will cling to me till i die. the very pores of my soul seemed to open to that wretched woman's spirit. if she had been my sister i couldn't have felt--" a welling sob checked her words. he stared at her blankly. he tried to formulate some helpful response, but failed. it was growing dark outside. the porter was lighting the overhead lamps, using a step-ladder to reach them and moving it from spot to spot between the chairs. "i want to--to ask you something--something serious," irene said, presently. "do you believe in omens?" he saw her drift and forced a smile. "yes, in this way," he said, lightly. "things go by opposites all through life. something good or jolly always follows on the heels of gloom. we are going to be so happy that we won't have time to think of anything disagreeable." she sighed audibly. that was all. it was past midnight when they reached charleston. he led her, still silent and abstracted, to a cab and helped her in. he then gave the name of their hotel to the driver and got in beside her. he took her gloved hand and held it tenderly as the cab rumbled over the cobble-stones through the deserted streets. "it is too warm for gloves, dear," he said, his hot breath on her cheek; and with throbbing, eager hands he drew one off. he kissed the soft fingers and felt them, flutter like a captured bird. a moment later he put his arm about her and drew her head down to his shoulder. she resisted feebly, turning from him once or twice, and then allowed him to kiss her on the lips. as they were nearing the hotel he suddenly bethought himself of something he had intended to say by way of precaution. "you must understand that i sent separate telegrams for rooms," he said. "i took the precaution for absolute safety. i ordered yours in your name and mine in my name." "i understand," she replied. his arm was still about her, but she shook it off. "was it--was it wise for us to arrive like this--in the same cab?" "oh, that is all right," he answered, confidently. "i am a friend of your family, you know, and i have often traveled with ladies. it will not excite comment. besides, we know no one here." leaving her at the ladies' entrance to go alone up to the parlor, he went into the office. a sleepy-eyed clerk bowed, turned the register around, and, dipping a pen, handed it to him. "lady with you, sir?" he inquired. "in my care, yes." buckton wrote the two names rather unsteadily. "she and i both telegraphed for your best rooms. please show her to hers at once. she seems to be quite tired." "i should think so, on a stuffy day like this," said the clerk, affably, "and coming south, too. i see you are from atlanta. that is a higher altitude than ours." "you bet it is." the voice was at buckton's elbow; and turning, he saw hambright, his fellow-passenger, smiling on him familiarly. "well, i see you got through all right." though highly displeased by again meeting the man, buckton nodded and forced a casual smile. "it was pretty dusty and hot," he said. "won't you take a smoke before you turn in?" the drummer asked, extending a cigar. "no, thanks; not to-night," buckton declined. "take a drink? i've got the best samples on earth. my customers say i carry better samples than stock, but that's a joke. name the brand and i'll lay it before you. i'm some drink-mixer, i am." "not to-night; thank you, all the same." "show the lady to suite seventy-five," the clerk called out to a bell-boy. "the gentleman goes to seventy-four. see to the ice-water for both parties." "dandy rooms you got," hambright said, his eyes twinkling significantly. "i know this house like a book. i swear you atlanta bloods are sports. you certainly keep the old fogies of the town wondering what prank you will play next." buckton thought rapidly. to a certain extent he was a judge of human nature, and he realized that no explanation to such a man was safer than the most adroit and elaborate one, so he elected to ignore the obvious innuendo. chatting with him a few minutes longer, he turned away. half an hour later buckton was in his little sitting-room, seated under a drop-light, with a newspaper spread out before him. through the rather thin partition he heard irene moving about the adjoining chamber. he sat for a moment longer; then, rising, he went to the connecting door. he caught his breath and held it as he rapped softly, very softly. the sound of movement on the part of irene ceased. all was quiet for a moment; then he rapped again. he heard her coming. she unlocked the door, turned the bolt, and opened the door the width of her face. she had changed her dress. she now wore a pretty flowing kimono which she held over her white neck with her jeweled hand. "what is it?" she asked. he leaned against the door-jamb, and gazed into her eyes. "i must see you," he panted. "there is--is something i want to tell you." she hesitated, holding the door. "i'm tired," she faltered. "besides--oh, andy, i've been thinking that perhaps i ought to take the first morning train for the hardys'! i could get there soon enough to--" he leaned his flaming face closer to hers. he caught her hand and drew it down from her fluttering throat. "no, it is too late, sweetheart," he said. "we have burnt our bridges behind us. we can't go back now. we don't _want_ to. we couldn't if we tried. we are human. you were cruel to me once; you can't be cruel enough to close this door to-night. _you know you can't, darling_." he saw her glance waver. her hold on the door was less firm. he pushed against it. she fell back, and he took her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. chapter xiii with irene's farewell note in his pocket and ever present to his mind, mostyn spent the remainder of the morning on which it was received mechanically instructing the elated delbridge in his rival's new duties at the bank as its future president. at noon he tore himself away, plunging again into the streets, there even more fully to face himself and his coming humiliation. the hot, busy thoroughfares, steaming under the water sprayed upon them by trundling sprinkling-carts, were a veritable bedlam--canons of baked pavements and heartless walls of brick and mortar, plate glass and glaring gilt signs. cries of newsboys--and cheerful, happy cries they were--fell on his ears in sounds so incongruous to his mood that they pierced his soul like hurled javelins of steel. the affairs of the world, once so fascinating, were moving on; a juggernaut of a thousand wheels was rumbling toward him. he drew near his club. on the wide veranda, in easy-chairs, smoking and reading newspapers, sat several of his friends. he started to turn in on the walk which bisected the beautiful greensward, but quailed under the ordeal. how could he exchange platitudes, discuss politics, market-reports, or listen to new jokes? he walked on, catching the eye of a friend and saluting with a wave of his cane. he decided that he would go to his sister's for lunch, but he was not sure that he would reveal his woe even to her. he found mrs. moore in her cozy library, a handkerchief over her head, dusting the furniture. "got anything to eat?" he asked, seating himself on a divan and watching her movements with a bland stare. "will have in a few minutes." she turned on him, laying her duster on a book-case and removing her handkerchief. "i really believe there is something in thought-transference, dick, for i felt that you were coming. but i don't know that this is a fair test, either, for it may have been because i knew irene was away." "how did you happen to know that?" he asked, in dumb, creeping surprise. "she left rather--suddenly." she smiled knowingly. "if you want me to be frank, i'll say that it is because your doddering father-in-law is getting to be worse than a gossipy old maid. he was around here an hour ago. he tried to be sly and throw me off, but i saw through him. he said irene had left for mrs. hardy's house-party. there wasn't anything in that alone, you know, to make him bother to come around, for she certainly goes when and where she likes, but it was the way the silly old man went about what he was trying to discover. he asked me if i knew who had gone from here--the men in particular; and then i saw his hand. he wanted to find out if andy buckton went. he beat about the bush for a long time with a crazy, nervous stare in his eyes, and as soon as i told him i did not know he rose to leave. irene is no doubt acting imprudently, as many of her set do, but if she doesn't look out her own father will start talk that never can be stopped." mostyn suddenly rose, walked to a window, and looked out. "what time do you have luncheon?" he glanced at his watch. mrs. moore made no reply. she suddenly fixed a curious, groping stare on him and moved to his side. "dick, what has happened?" she demanded, touching his arm. "nothing," he answered. "i've been busy; i'm tired. i thought a cup of strong coffee might--" her fingers clutched his arm. "out with it, dick. something has gone wrong at the bank. you are in trouble again. you've been plunging. i feel it. i see it in your eyes. i have never seen you look like this before. you haven't a bit of blood in your face." she grasped his hand, stroking his fingers. "why, you are actually cold. what is the matter? what is the matter, brother? you can trust me." he avoided her eyes, going back to the divan and sinking upon it. "you may as well know," he blurted out, in desperation. "irene and buckton have gone off together." "no, no, no! don't tell me that!" the woman paled; her lower lip fell and hung trembling. "you have heard gossip, as i have, and as every one has, and in your excited frame of mind--" he told her of the note from irene. he started to take it from his pocket, but changed his mind, recalling the allusion to marie winship, and not having energy enough to explain it. "lord have mercy!" she gasped. she sat down by him, her hand on his knee, her horrified eyes glued to his. "it is awful! i didn't think she would go that far--nobody did, because she refused him when she married you. i wish i could advise you, but there is nothing to be done now. of course, she left the child." "yes, i'd have killed her if she had taken him. i would, by god! he's all i've got." "and worse than motherless," mrs. moore sighed. "it is awful--awful! irene is crazy for excitement and novelty. she has been getting worse and worse. she thinks she loves andy buckton, but she doesn't. she never loved any one but herself in her life. mark my words, she will leave him. she will tire of him. she will never stand the disgrace of the thing, either. she has been petted all her life by society, and its cold shoulder will kill her. what a tragedy! but she brought it on herself." "she didn't!" he said, grimly. "i had a hand in it. her father had a hand in it. she was a straw in a mad stream. i can't blame her. i can't even be angry. i pity her. i'd save her if i could, but it is too late. the insane set that helped to wreck her life will chuckle and grin now." a musical gong in the dining-room sounded softly. "that's luncheon," mrs. moore said. "let's go out. do you want to run up and wash your hands?" he shook his head dumbly, looking at his splayed fingers with the vacant stare of an invalid just recovering consciousness. "i want only the coffee; make it strong, please. i really am not hungry. the thought of food, somehow, is sickening. i've worked hard this morning." late that afternoon, still shrinking under his weighty secret, he went home. the slanting rays of the setting sun lay like kindling flames on the grass of the lawn. he saw little dick and hilda seated on the lowest step of the veranda; and, seeing him entering the gate, the child rose and slowly limped toward him. "dick got a stomach-ache," the boy said, a wry look on his rather sallow and pinched face. mostyn paused and bent down. "where does it hurt you?" he asked, automatically, for the complaint seemed a slight thing compared to the tragedy lowering over them both. "it's here, daddy." dick put his little tapering hand on his right side. "he eats too many sweet things," the nurse said, coming up. "he's been complainin' of his stomach for the last week, but he will eat what he oughtn't to. i've got some good stomach medicine. i'm goin' to dose 'im well to-night an' make 'im stay out o' the kitchen. the cook lets him have everything he wants." "give him the medicine, and tell the cook she must stop feeding him." mostyn took the boy in his arms and started on to the house. "you will stop eating trash, won't you, dick?" the child nodded, worming his fingers through his father's hair. he took off mostyn's hat, put it on his bonny head, and laughed faintly. reaching the veranda, mostyn turned him over to hilda, who said she was going to give him a bath and put him to bed. when they had gone mostyn went into the library. the great portrait-hung room in the shadows seemed a dreary, accusing place, and he was turning to leave when the rustling of a newspaper and a little nasal snort called his attention to a high-backed chair of the wing type in which his father-in-law reclined and was just waking from a nap. "oh, is that you?" mitchell yawned and stretched his arms. "i was wondering when you'd get here. i've been to the gate several times." "anything you want?" mostyn regretted the impulsive question the instant the words had been spoken. the old man put his hands on the arms of the chair and stood up, feebly. "yes, i want to know if your wife has written or telegraphed you since she got to knoxville?" "no," mostyn thought rapidly, "but--but i hardly expected her to. she doesn't usually when she is away." "it is the very old nick in you both!" mitchell sniffed. "i don't expect you to know or care what she's up to; but i'm her own flesh and blood, and supposed to be interested more or less. home is lonely enough when she is here in town, without her being off so much. besides, i know some things--humph! well, i'm no fool, if i _am_ a back number. to-day i made it my business to inquire if a certain party--you know who i mean--was in town. i knew in reason that he wouldn't be, but i just asked to satisfy my mind. do you get at my meaning, sir?" "i think i do." mostyn's own words seemed to him to come from the heavy folds of the portiere hiding the desolate drawing-room beyond. "i thought you would." the retort was all but a snarl. "and, do you know, when i asked some of his friends about the club if they knew, i caught them looking at one another in an odd sort of way with twinkles in their eyes? oh no, they didn't know where he was. but i found out, all the same. i met his mother down-town. she said he had gone on a hurried trip to norfolk. you can see through that, can't you? i can, if you can't. knoxville is on the way to norfolk. the two are at that party together; and, not only that, i'll bet this whole town knows it. that ought to be stopped. i know my daughter, if you don't, sir. she is not acting right. she has plunged into pleasure and excitement till she doesn't know what she wants. a new string of diamonds wouldn't amuse her a minute. this giddy, fast life has actually cursed her. the other night i caught her taking morphine tablets to make her sleep--said she'd lie awake and think till morning if she didn't. she hasn't contracted the habit yet, but she can easy enough if she keeps it up. she takes a bottle of them wherever she goes. when i was young, a woman who was a mother of a child like hers loved it, nursed it, petted it, got natural joy out of it; but irene seldom speaks to dick, and he doesn't care for her any more than for a stranger, but he loves you--god only knows why, but he does. it is 'daddy, daddy, daddy' with nearly every breath he draws." mostyn felt a force within him rising and expanding. a sob lodged in his tight throat and pained him. he was grateful for the deepening shadows, for the droning prattle from the old lips. he sank into a chair. the droning continued, sounding far off. a thousand incidents and faces (smiling and blending) sprang upon him out of the past--the happy, irresponsible past, the seductive, confident, ambitious past. surely fate was a mental entity, capable of crafty design against the heedless young. he remembered the vows of chastity and honor he had made during a revival in a country church under a blazing faith. he recalled how soon they were forgotten, how sure he was, later on, that nature's physical laws were the highest known. man was made to live, enjoy, and conquer all if he could. and he had succeeded. he had become rich and prosperous. next he found his memory swimming through that black period of satiated desire and disgust of self. "i wish folks would not mix _me_ up with your private matters." the words rose sharply from the senile prattle and penetrated mostyn's lethargy. "there's old jeff henderson--he had the cheek to come to me to-day to borrow money. said his family was in rags and starving. said you euchred him out of all he had and got your start on it. what in the name of common sense does he come to _me_ for? i don't own you, and i knew nothing about that transaction, either. i reckon he's going crazy, but that doesn't keep him from bothering me." seeing the futility of explaining a thing he had many times explained, mostyn rose. before him the open doorway framed an oblong patch of calm gray sky, and toward it he moved, his mental hands impotently outstretched, a soundless cry welling up from the depths of himself. chapter xiv on the first morning after his permanent removal to his plantation jarvis saunders waked with a boundless sense of freedom from care, which had not been his since his boyhood. through all his short visits to the spot hitherto he had been haunted with the unpleasant thought of having to return to the city and the rigid demands of business. but it was different now. he lay in the wide, high-posted colonial bed, stretched himself, looked at the sunlight on the small-paned windows, and sighed with complete content. from the outside came the chirping of birds, the crowing of roosters, the cackle of hens, the quacking of ducks, the scream of geese, the thwack of an ax at the wood-pile, the mellow song of the lank negro chopper, uncle zeke, one of the ex-slaves of his family. rising and standing at a window, and parting the pink and blue morning-glories which overhung it in dew-dipped freshness, saunders looked down into the yard. he saw aunt maria, zeke's portly wife, approach from the kitchen door and begin to fill her apron with the chips his ax had strewn upon the ground. "you go on en ring dat fus' breakfus'-bell, zeke," she said, peremptorily. "de fus' litter o' biscuits is raidy to slide in de stove, en de chicken en trout is fried brown. everthing is got ter be des right dis fus' mawnin' dat marse jarvis is home ter stay. fifteen minutes is long 'nough fer 'im ter dress." "ring de bell _yo'se'f_, 'ooman!" zeke laughed, loudly. "yo' gittin' so heavy en waddly yo' don' want ter turn yo' han's over. look yer, 'ooman, marse jarvis ain't gwine ter let yo' cook fer 'im regular, nohow. he gwine ter fix de house up spank new, fum top ter bottom, en git de ol' 'fo'-de-wah style back ergin. he gwine ter sen' away off som'er's fer er spry up-date cook. yo' know what, 'ooman? i'm gwine be his head house-servant, i is. my place'll be in de front hall ter mix mint-juleps fo' 'im en his frien's fum de city when dey skeet by in deir automobiles en stop over fer er smoke en er howdy-do. he gwine ter order me er long-tail, jimswingin' blue coat. he done say dat he'll look ter me ter keep you-all's j'ints oiled up so yo' won't walk in yo' sleep so much in de day-time." "go 'long, yo' fool nigger!" maria sniffed, as she shook her chips down into her apron. "when marse jarvis stick er black scarecrow lak yo' in de front part de house he shore will be out his senses. he gwine ter mek yo' haul manure wid er dump-cart, dat what he is." saunders smiled as he stepped back and began to dress. "god bless their simple, loyal souls!" he said. "they shall never suffer as long as i live. my parents loved them, and so do i." at the sound of the second bell he went downstairs. how cool, spacious, and inviting everything looked! the oblong drawing-room, into which he glanced in passing, with its white wainscoting and beautiful oriel window at the end on the left of the entrance-hall, brought back many memories of his childhood and youth. he recalled the gay assemblages of summer visitors to his father and mother from augusta and charleston--the dances, the horseback rides, the hunting-parties, the music, the singing of hymns on sundays. "i must bring it all back," he mused. "that was normal living." these memories followed him to the great dining-room in the rear of the house. as he took his usual seat at the head of the long table the delicious aroma of fine coffee, the smell of frying meats and hot biscuits came in from the adjoining kitchen. the wide fireplace had been freshly whitewashed, and was filled with the resinous boughs of young pines. the several windows were open, and through them he had glimpses of his verdant lands and the mountains beyond. the portraits of his mother, father, and grandparents seemed to smile down from their massive frames on the white walls. the same silverware and cut glass which they had used were before him on the mahogany sideboard; the same china. aunt maria had put the hot, tempting dishes before him and gone away. the pot of coffee was steaming at his side. suddenly an impulse, half sentimental, came over him which he could not resist. he recalled how his father had always said grace; and, bowing his head, he whispered the long-silent words over his unturned plate and folded napkin. how odd! he thought: it was as if the short prayer had been laid upon his lips by the spirit of his father; the fervent "amen" seemed to be echoed by his mother's voice from the opposite end of the board. saunders's soul was suddenly filled with a transcendent ecstasy. his parents seemed to be actually present, invisible, and yet flooding his being with their spiritual essence. "surely," he said, the wonder of the thing bursting upon him like ineffable light, "there is 'a peace which passeth understanding.'" after breakfast he went to the front veranda to smoke. he saw tom drake walking across a meadow to some drainage ditches which were being dug to destroy some objectionable marshes. the results of the man's work as manager had been more than satisfactory. presently saunders descried a few hundred yards down the main road a woman on a horse. it was dolly drake; and, throbbing with delight, he hastened down to the gate, thinking that she might be coming to speak to her father, and would need assistance in alighting. but she had no intention of stopping, and with a merry bow was about to ride by when he stepped out and playfully held up his hands. "your money or your life!" he cried. she reined the spirited young black horse in and sat jauntily on the side-saddle. her color was high; she wore a pretty riding-hat, a close-fitting gray habit, and her eyes were sparkling from the exhilaration of the gallop along the level road. "take my life, but for heaven's sake spare my money!" she retorted, with an ironical laugh. "i think i have some news for you," he said, approaching and testing the girth of her saddle. "sit still and let me draw it tighter." "news," she said, with the eagerness of a child, as he pulled upward on the strap, "for me?" "yes, for you. i knew you would be interested in the bill before the house and senate, and so i asked the governor to write me if it went through." "oh, oh! and did you hear?" she leaned closer to him, her lips rigid with expectation. "i'm afraid there was a hitch after all. the taxpayers are so opposed to spending money." "it went through like greased lightning," he smiled. "your name and suggestions were mentioned in every speech that was made in both houses." he saw her face fill with delight. she put the butt of her riding-whip to her lips, and her breast heaved high and sank, quivering. "oh, isn't it splendid--splendid?" she exclaimed. "thanks to you, dolly--you, and no one else." "no, no, it was growing all along. i only helped a little, perhaps. but it doesn't matter who did it; it is done. they will build the schools." "and you and i will help with suggestions, won't we?" he looked at her, quite timidly. "i mean, of course, that we have learned some lessons in the house we are now building. we have made mistakes here and there that may be avoided in the future." she said nothing, and he was sure that she purposely avoided his tentative stare. she bent over the horse's neck, ran the thick glossy mane through her fingers, and gently patted the animal's shoulder. "jarvis, you must tell me something about this horse," she said, firmly. "i'm going to know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." "you want to know his pedigree?" he was staring sheepishly. "well--" "no, i don't, and you know i don't. my father said that you wanted the horse kept in the stable at home in case--in case any one had to ride over here to communicate with him. but no one uses him but me, and he has to have exercise or he will be ruined. it is almost all that i can do to control him now. he breaks into a run the instant another horse passes him. father said yesterday that he did not understand why you wanted us to keep him at our house." the blood mantled the young planter's brow. "they say an honest confession is good for the soul," he stammered; "and, dolly, the truth is that i sent the horse there simply for you to ride. you love riding and need the exercise. you are so peculiar about--well, about some things--that i was afraid you would be offended, but i hope you won't refuse this. i do love to see you on a horse. you ride as if you were born in the saddle." she looked down on the farther side of her mount. "it is very, very sweet and kind of you," she said, falteringly. "i believe you mean it, still--" she broke off and failed to finish what she had started to say. "you must not object," he went on, urgently. "it suits your father and me to keep a horse there, and if you are good enough to exercise him for us, well and good. if not, we'll send one of the negroes over to take him out once a day." he saw her smile faintly. "nobody could get around you," she answered. "well, it really would break my heart to give him up now, and i shall ride him whenever i feel like it." there was silence for a moment, which he broke. "i am arranging a little surprise for your father." he nodded toward the grounds behind him. "won't you get down and come in a moment?" "what is it?" she was already kicking the stirrup from her eager foot. "come in and see." he held out his arms, as if she were a child willing to jump. "you know my awful curiosity," she laughed, putting her hands on his shoulders and leaning downward. her face sank close to his--so close that her breath fanned his cheek. he took her slight weight on himself as he helped her down. throwing the rein over one of the palings, he opened the gate and stood aside for her to enter. "what is it? why are you so awfully mysterious?" she asked. "because my surprise may not come up to your expectations," he said. "come with me." he led her across the lawn to a small one-roomed brick house at the side of the main building, adjoining the white glass-roofed conservatory. taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and pushed it open and invited her to go in. she found herself in a well-lighted room comfortably furnished with easy-chairs, rugs, and a fine roll-top desk, supplied with new account-books and writing-material of all kinds. "it is to be your father's private office," saunders explained. "but he doesn't know it. it struck me that he would need a place like this to meet the hands in on pay-days and to do his writing. the furniture came yesterday. he superintended the unloading himself. he thinks the office is for me." involuntarily dolly clasped her hands in sheer delight. "oh, how good you are!" she cried. "nothing you could possibly do would please him more. you have given him his old pride back, jarvis, and this will add to it. i have been wanting to speak to you about him, but i hardly knew how. he is absolutely a new man in every way, and it is all due to your confidence and encouragement." he found himself without available response. she sat down in the revolving desk-chair and picked up a pen and pretended to write. "it is simply 'scrumptious!'" she laughed, merrily. "oh, i should like--" she stopped abruptly, stood up, and looked at the door. "i must be going. why, you've even given him a clock. and the maps on the walls will be very useful. that's our county, isn't it?" as he nodded he followed her to the grass outside. "you started to say that you would like something," he ventured. "what was it, dolly?" "i should really like to be present when you show it to him and tell him that it is for him. jarvis, i almost lost respect for him once. i almost ceased to love him, but it has all come back. i am proud of him again, and you are responsible for it. why did you do so much for him?" "because he is _your_ father!" he nipped the words as they were forming on his lips. instead, he said aloud: "he is just the man i needed. we are working finely together. you must be present when i tell him about the office; he will be here this afternoon. i will detain him with some pretext or other till three o'clock. couldn't you be here then?" "oh yes, and i'd like to bring my mother, uncle john, and george." "a good idea," saunders said. "we'll have some fresh cider and cakes--the old-fashioned gingerbread sort." when they had reached her horse, he held out his hand for her foot. she placed it in it, and he lightly lifted her to the saddle. he stood at the gate and saw her vanish down the road. "why didn't i say what i want to say? why didn't i tell her how i feel and throw myself on her mercy? what is it that always checks me? is it mostyn? my god! does she still love him, and will he always stand between me and my happiness?" chapter xv for mostyn the week which ensued after his wife's secret elopement was a period of sheer mental torture. every minute he expected the startling tidings to reach his friends and associates. every morning at breakfast he studied the crafty and sullen face of old mitchell and the swarthy visages of the servants to see if suspicions of the truth were dawning. at the bank he tried to overhear the conversations of the bookkeepers, sometimes fancying that a burst of low laughter or a whispered colloquy had him for their incentive. he was sure that it was little less than a miracle that the matter had not leaked out. with delbridge getting into harness at his desk, he had considerable time on his hands, which he spent in long nervous walks, generally in the suburbs of the city. for that week he wholly neglected his child. there was something unbearable in the thought of the boy's future social status, left in the care, as he was, of an all but witless grandfather and a father upon whom the contempt of the public was so soon to fall. infinitely horrible was the reflection that little dick would inevitably grow into a comprehension of the family calamity and inquire as to its causes. it was saturday night, eight days after the elopement. mostyn had that day been irritated--that is, as much as a man in his plight could be irritated by any extraneous incident--by delbridge's open criticism of the negligent condition of some of his accounts. the work of going over the books with his successor in rectifying really glaring mistakes detained him at the bank till late at night. it was twelve o'clock when he finally reached home, ascended to his room, and began to undress. he had thrown off his coat, when he heard voices and movements in the nursery adjoining his room. at once he was all attention. he had his usual overpowering yearning to see his child. it was as if the touch of the boy's little hand or a glance from his innocent young eyes might mildly soothe his lacerated spirits. it was the cry of kindred blood to kindred blood from the darkest deeps of despair--the incongruous cry of parent to offspring. he overheard the impatient tone of the drowsy nurse, and the fainter, rather rambling accents of the child. "you go to sleep!" hilda called out. "you'll disturb yo' pa. he just come home, an' he don't want no noise fum yo' this time o' night." the gas was burning in the nursery, as was shown by the pencil of light beneath the door. mostyn turned the bolt and looked into the room. a breath of warmer air told him that the servant had again neglected to open the windows sufficiently. he went to dick's little bed, turning the overhead gas higher as he did so. the child looked up, recognized him, and with a cry of welcome held out his arms. mostyn, bending down, felt the little hands clasp his neck. they were dry and hot. dick's cheeks were flushed red. "what ails him?" mostyn cried, aghast, turning to hilda, who had risen, thrown on a wrapper, and stood at the table, where a bottle and a spoon lay. "i think he's got er little bit er fever, sir," she said. "it is his stomach gone wrong ergin. i'm givin' 'im his fever-mixture now." "it hurts right here, daddy." dick made a wry face as he bravely pressed his hand on the lower part of his right side. "dick couldn't play to-day." "how long has he had fever?" mostyn demanded, sharply. "jes' to-day, i think, sir. i never noticed it till dis evenin' about an hour by sun. he's been complainin' of his stomach fer mo'n a week, but dat is 'cause he eats--" "it may be something serious." the words shrank back from utterance. "why didn't you send for the doctor?" "huh!" the nurse sniffed, resentfully. "yo' all expect me ter ten' ter everything. i _did_ tell his grandpa, but he didn't even know what i was talkin' about, jabberin' all de time about miss irene stayin' off so long, en--en i don't know what all--_you_ an' _yo'_ doin's 'long wid de rest." the woman was approaching with the bottle and spoon. "don't give him any more of that stuff." he waved it away. "i'll send for dr. loyd at once." "oh, daddy, i don't want the doctor!" dick began to whimper and cling more tightly round his father's neck. "he won't hurt you; he is a good man," mostyn said, tenderly. "he will give you something to make you cool off, so you can sleep." mostyn left the room and groped his way down to the telephone in the lower hall. a new fear had clutched him, a fear so compelling that all else was forgotten. a chill of grim, accusing horror was on him. his brain was in a whirl as he tried to recall the desired number. did providence, fate, or whatever the ruling force was, intend this as his crowning punishment? had the impalpable hand, reaching for him, descended on his offspring? he finally got the doctor's servant on the 'phone, then dr. loyd himself, who had just arrived in his automobile. "have you taken his temperature?" was the doctor's first question. "no, we haven't a thermometer, and do not know how to use one, anyway." "well, i'll be out immediately," was the brusque answer. "i must see him to-night--don't exactly like the symptoms. i saw him in driving past your home the other day, and did not quite like his looks." mostyn dragged himself up the stairs. passing mitchell's room, he half paused at the door. should he wake him and explain the situation? he decided against it. the child's condition would only loosen the man's pent-up wrath in the presence of the physician and perhaps delay the examination. he went back to the nursery, and, lifting dick in his arms, he bore him into his own room, which was cooler. he dampened a towel in ice-water, folded it, and laid it on the flushed brow. "that feels nice, daddy," dick smiled, grimly, "but it hurts here," putting his hand gingerly on his side. a few minutes later the doctor's car was heard on the drive. mostyn descended to meet him. they shook hands formally, and mostyn led him up the stairs to the patient. the doctor was past middle age, iron-gray, full-whiskered, and stockily built. he took the child's temperature, and looked grave as he glanced at the thermometer under the drop-light, and washed it in a glass of water. "one-hundred and five!" he said, crisply. "big risks have been taken, mostyn. i only hope my fears are groundless." "your fears?" but the doctor seemed not to hear. he raised the child's thin night-shirt and passed his fingers gently over the abdomen. "tell me where that pain is, dick," he said, softly. "where does it hurt most when i press down?" "there! there!" dick cried out in sudden agony. "i see. that will do. i sha'n't hurt you again." he drew the shirt down and moved back toward the lamp. "i'm sure you will give him--something to reduce that fever." mostyn knew that the remark was a mere tentative foil against the verdict stamped upon the bearded face. the doctor slowly wiped the tiny tube and restored it to its case. "i must be frank," he said, in a low tone. "my opinion is that he must be operated on at once--without delay--early in the morning at the very latest." "why--why--surely--" mostyn began, but went no further. the objects in the room seemed to swim about him. he and the doctor were buoys floating face to face. "it is appendicitis," loyd said. "of course, i'd call another doctor in consultation before anything is done, but i am sure i am not mistaken." mostyn's soul stared from a dead face with all but glazed eyes. he nodded toward the door opening into the hall and led the doctor from the room. in the hall he put his hand on loyd's shoulder. "i am sure you know best," he gasped. "what do you propose?" "that i take him at once to my sanitarium in my car. in warm weather like this you won't have to wrap him much. you'd better get him ready now. i'll telephone the nurse to have a room prepared." "very well." mostyn was stalking back to the child when the doctor detained him. "and his mother--i don't see her about; is she at home?" "no, she is out of town. just now she is away." "well, you had better telegraph her." "i--i don't exactly know where she is." mostyn was vaguely thankful for the dimness of the hall light. "you must find her--locate her at once." "is it really so--so serious as that?" "i may as well be frank." the doctor cleared his throat. "it won't do any good to mislead you. the little fellow has a weak heart, as i explained the last time he was ill, and it seems worse now. then--then, i am sorry to say that i detect strong symptoms of peritonitis. if i could have seen him a week ago--i presume the fact of your wife being away, and you being busy at the bank--" mostyn's head rocked like a stone balanced on a pivot. "yes," he said. "i am afraid we were not attentive enough. will you be ready soon?" "yes; tell dick it is for a ride in my car. he won't mind it. he is a plucky little fellow. he has fought that pain for several days. we would have known it earlier but for that." five minutes later mostyn sat on the rear seat of the automobile with his child in his arms. the doctor sat in front beside the colored chauffeur. mostyn chatted with dick about the ride, about the "nice, cool room" he was to have at the "good doctor's house"; but, to his growing horror, dick had lost interest in all things. he lay passive and completely relaxed, a lack-luster gleam in his half-closed eyes. "am i speeding him to his execution?" mostyn's very dregs whispered the query. "is this my last word with him?" seeing the faces of the doctor and the chauffeur directed ahead, and half ashamed of his tenderness, he bent down and kissed the child's forehead. in vague response dick lifted his little hand to the overbrooding cheek, but immediately dropped it to his side. "go slowly over this rough place," the doctor ordered; and the speed lessened, to be renewed a little farther on, where the asphalt pavement began again. reaching the sanitarium, a spacious white building in pleasant, shaded grounds, they alighted. mostyn, with his boy in his arms, stepped out. at the door a nurse took dick into the house and bore him to a room on the floor above. she spoke to him in a motherly way. as she vanished up the stairs mostyn saw dick's small limp hand hanging down her side. was it, he asked himself, a farewell salute? "you may sit here in the waiting-room if you wish, or you may return home in my car," loyd suggested. "i shall send it at once for the other doctors. you are really of no service here, and, of course, i can communicate with you by 'phone as to our decision." "i'll be here, or close about on the outside," mostyn answered. "i presume it will be some time before the consultation?" "it must be within half an hour. i am not willing to wait longer." mostyn sat alone in the sitting-room. a clock on the wall ticked sharply. he heard the wheels of the automobile grind on the pavement as it sped away under the electric lights. he went out on the lawn. he felt in his pocket for a cigar, but, finding none, he forgot it. the dew of the grass penetrated to his feet. it seemed to him that he felt dick's fever coursing through his own veins. he was still outside half an hour later, his eyes raised to the windows of the lighted room occupied by his child, when the automobile returned. two doctors whom he knew got out and sauntered into the house. he heard them laughing over the mistake a so-called quack had made in the case of a credulous patient, mostyn lurked back in the shadows--he would not detain them by a useless greeting. he followed them into the house. the nurse at the foot of the stairs was beckoning them to hasten. mostyn was again alone in the sitting-room. presently the nurse came in, evidently looking for something. mostyn caught her eye, and she gave him a hurried but sympathetic look. he decided that he would sound her. "do you think an operation will be necessary?" he asked. her glance fell. "i have only dr. loyd's opinion. he thinks so, and i have never known him to be wrong in diagnosing a case." "he thinks, also, i believe"--mostyn's voice sounded as hollow as a phonograph--"that the child has hardly strength enough to resist the--the ordeal?" she raised her eyes as if doubting her right to converse on the subject. "i think he _is_ afraid of that," she admitted. "your child is very, very sick." "and you--you, _yourself?_" mostyn now fairly implored. "according to _your_ experience, do you think there is a chance of his living through it?" "i really can't say--i _mustn't_ say," she faltered. "i am only judging by dr. loyd's actions. he is very uneasy. mr. mostyn, i have no right to speak of it, but your wife ought to be here. the doctor says she is out of town. she ought to get here if possible; she will always regret it if she doesn't. i am a mother myself, and i know how she will feel." mostyn stifled a reply which rose to his lips. he heard, rather than saw, her leave the room, for a mist had fallen on his sight. in the patient's chamber above there was the grinding of feet on the floor. the chandelier overhead shook. the crystal prisms tinkled like little bells. presently the nurse came to him. "dr. loyd instructed me to say"--she was looking down on his clasped hands--"that they have agreed that the operation must be performed at once. they all think it is the only chance." an hour later the aiding doctors came down the stairs, glided softly past the sitting-room door, and passed out. he called to one of them. "is the operation over?" he asked. the doctor nodded gravely. he had taken a cigar from his pocket, and was biting the tip from the end. "it was the worst appendix i ever saw, fairly rotten. loyd will show it to you. it is a serious case, mostyn. if loyd pulls him through it will be a miracle. peritonitis has already set in, and there is very little heart-action. he is sleeping now, of course, and every possible thing has been done and will be done. he is in the best of hands. we can do nothing but wait." it was near dawn. mostyn was pacing back and forth on the grass in front of the house. the dark eastern horizon was giving way to a lengthening flux of light. a cab drove up to the door, and a man and a woman got out. it was mrs. moore and old mitchell. mrs. moore reached her brother first, and tenderly clasped his hands. as well as he could he explained the situation. "hilda telephoned me," mrs. moore went on, in a low, matter-of-fact tone. "she was almost in hysterics, and i could not understand her fully. i thought the operation was to be done there, and so i dressed and went in a cab. then i found that mr. mitchell wanted to come, and so i brought him on." the old man tottered forward. for once he had no comment to make. he passed them, slowly ascended the steps, went into the waiting-room and sat down, leaning forward on his stout cane, which he held upright between his knees. "we'd have got here sooner, but he stopped at the telegraph-office. dick, he has sent a telegram to irene in care of the hardys. i saw by that that he didn't suspect the truth. i tried to think of some way to prevent it, but couldn't. i told him i was in a hurry, but he would stop. now i suppose the truth will have to come out." "it makes no difference," mostyn answered. "it might as well come now as later." they went in and took their seats against the wall in the waiting-room. mitchell stared at them half drowsily, betraying the usual complacency of old age in regard to serious illness or death. "are they going to operate?" he asked. mrs. moore told him that it had already been done. "and irene wasn't here," the old man sniffed, in rising ire. "it is a shame! i reckon she will have the decency to take the first train home now. this will be a lesson to her, i hope." the nurse came down the stairs hurriedly. her face was swept with well-controlled dismay. she paused in the doorway. her eyes met those of the brother and sister. "dr. loyd thinks you'd better come up." "is the boy--is--he worse?" mrs. moore asked. "you had better hurry," the nurse answered. "there is only a minute--if that. he is dying." a few minutes later mostyn and his sister came down the stairs. "try to realize what the poor little darling has escaped," she said. "it may be the merciful hand of god, dick. i know it is killing you, but that ought to be _some_ comfort." chapter xvi irene and buckton were still at the hotel in charleston. on the second morning following the happenings of the foregoing chapter they were having breakfast served in irene's little sitting-room. in the light from the window he was struck, as he had been struck before, by her listless mien and the thickening shadows of disillusionment in her eyes. he had to remind her that the coffee-urn was at her elbow, and that he would not take his coffee from any hand but hers before she filled his cup. her eggs and bacon she had barely touched. he saw her hands quiver as she passed his cup. he tried to enliven her by his cheerful talk, telling her that she was getting weary of the town and that they must move on to savannah to take the steamer. "new york is the place for us," he said. "there we will have so much to do and see that you won't have time to get homesick. i really believe you _are_ homesick, darling. you see, you are a belle at home, a favorite with every one, and here you have to be satisfied with just me. i know i am a poor substitute, but i adore you, while they--" "don't speak of home!" she suddenly burst out, almost at the point of tears. "one never knows what home is till one leaves it forever. just think of it--why, it is forever--forever! when we left i did not consider that at all. i want to tell you something very strange. i almost feel--i hardly know how to put it--but i almost feel that a--a new spiritual nature is hovering about me, trying to force itself into my body. why, i feel so tenderly about my father that it seems to me that i'd rather see him at this moment and undo what i've done than to possess the world. whenever i start to--to speak affectionately to you a cold hand seems to fall on my lips. that is why--why i locked the door last night. it was not the headache, as i claimed. i had been thinking of dick--my husband. i believe he is trying to undo his past. i don't believe a man could love a child as he loves ours and be very bad at heart. something tells me that i ought to have stayed by him at all costs. we were wrong in marrying, no doubt; but once it was done, once a helpless little child was in our care--" "ah, i see, irene, it is the boy, after all. you don't mention him often, but little things you drop now and then show which way the wind blows. your eyes are on every child we pass in the street. without knowing it you are a motherly woman." "ah, if you only knew--if only i could tell you _something_--" she broke off, lowered her head to her hand, and he saw her breast rise on a billow of emotion. "something about your child?" buckton queried, jealously. she nodded faintly. he heard her sigh. she remained mute and still for a moment; then she said, falteringly: "i have a strange conviction that there is truth in the belief of some psychologists i've read about who claim that in sleep our souls leave the body and see and experience things far away." "i don't believe such rubbish," buckton said, uneasily. "do you know that people who harbor such ideas generally go insane?" "i had a strange experience night before last." irene quite ignored his protest. "it was something too vivid to be a mere dream. you know there is a difference between a dream and a real experience. i mean that one seems able to tell the two apart." "perhaps we had better say no more about it," buckton suggested. "don't you think a drive in the open air would do you good?" but irene failed to hear what he was saying, or was treating it as of little consequence. "listen," she persisted. "it was between midnight and dawn. i had been brooding morbidly, and sank deep, deep into sleep, so deep that the darkness seemed to close in and crush my spirit right out of my body. then i was floating about, free to go where i liked. i felt awfully lonely and desolate. presently i found myself on our lawn in front of the house, but unable to get in. i heard some one crying inside; it seemed to be hilda. i couldn't tell what she was crying about, but i had the feeling that it was because something was happening to the boy. i went to the door and tried to ring, but had no hands--think of that, i had no hands! suddenly i found myself in the hall, but unable to go up the stairs. something seemed to clutch me and hold me back. i tried to cry out, but had no voice. i thought i heard my husband talking to the child, tenderly--oh, so tenderly! i was crying as i had never cried before. i wanted to see the boy. it was as if a new heart had been born in me or an old one resurrected. then i heard the door of my husband's room open, and i shrank back afraid to meet him, for i thought of--of you and me being like this. then i waked and found myself here in bed, my pillow drenched with tears. oh, i wanted to die--i wanted to die then!" "it was a nightmare," buckton commented, uneasily. "it has all the earmarks of one. we are always, in such dreams, trying to get somewhere or away from something horrible." "it haunted me all day yesterday," irene sighed. "and last night i had to take one of my morphine tablets to get to sleep." "i wish you'd give that up, darling," buckton said, reproachfully. "i saw them on your bureau yesterday and started to throw them out of the window. doctors say it easily becomes a habit, and a bad one." "i don't take it often, i really don't," irene answered. "but i sometimes wonder if it would make any difference. i can sympathize with a hopeless drunkard, who, in a besotted condition, is able to forget trouble and sorrow." "finish your breakfast," buckton cried, forcing a laugh. "we are going to take that drive. the fresh air will knock all those ideas out of your pretty head." they spent the day driving about the country. they had supped at a quaint and picturesque cafe, and returned to the hotel. he was in her bedroom at ten o'clock, still active in his efforts to set her mind at ease, when a sharp rapping was heard on the door of his sitting-room adjoining. "it is something for me," buckton said. "wait, and i'll see what it is." before he had finished speaking there was another and a louder rapping. buckton hastened out, closing the connecting door cautiously. irene stood up. she had a premonition that something disagreeable was about to happen. she heard buckton unlock his door. then she recognized the voice of the proprietor of the hotel. "i want to see you privately, mr. buckton," the voice said. "all right; won't you come in?" buckton replied; and immediately the latch of the door clicked as it was closed. there was a pause, during which irene, holding her handkerchief to her lips, crept to the connecting door and stood with her ear close to the keyhole. she held her breath. the pounding of her heart seemed to fill the still room with obtrusive sound. "you must pardon me, but it is my duty"--the proprietor's voice rose with sudden sharpness--"to speak of your relations with the woman you brought here with you." "my--my relations?" buckton's voice had fallen low, and the tone was cautious. "please don't talk so loud. she is not well and might overhear. what do you mean, sir--do you mean to insinuate--" "you may call it anything you like," the proprietor retorted, in evident anger. "i've been in the hotel business for twenty-five years, and have never been charged with keeping an indecent house. when you arrived here i thought your companion was all right, but i now know who and what she is. i can rely on my information, so we won't argue about that." irene heard a scuffing of feet which drew the two men closer to the door at which she stood. the truth was that buckton had drawn back to strike the man, who caught his hand and held it. "don't try that on me!" the proprietor said, calmly. "your bluff is weak. now, let me give you a piece of advice, young man. i've watched this thing with my own eyes and ears, and i know exactly what is going on. this is a strict, law-abiding, old-fashioned town. decency has been reigning here for over two hundred years. the average citizen of charleston has no sympathy for the sort of thing you are evidently trying to foist on us. you've got sense enough to know that all i have to do is to telephone the police to take charge of this matter and air it in open court. you might get it whitewashed in _your_ town by some pull or other, but not here. i think, since you want to be insulting, that i'd better send for an officer." irene heard the proprietor moving to the outer door; his hand touched the latch, and it rattled. "wait!" it was her lover's voice, and it was contrite and imploring. "for god's sake, don't give us trouble! we are leaving for savannah in the morning. surely you will not put us out to-night?" "no, the train leaves at ten. see that you take it. i am not any more anxious to have this dirty thing get out than you are. good night." "good night." the door closed. receding steps sounded in the corridor outside. irene reeled back to her chair and sat down. a moment later buckton appeared. he was ghastly pale, trying to recover calmness and invent a plausible explanation as to why he had been called to the door. she gazed at him steadily. "you needn't make up a story," she said. "i overheard." he stood looking down on her helplessly. he swayed to and fro, resting his hand on the back of her chair. "you say--you--heard?" she nodded. "he told the truth about me. that's actually what i am," she said, grimly. "that is exactly the way the world will look at me when it knows all. it was lucky that i heard. as he was talking i kept saying, 'that's so--that's so,' and i wasn't a bit angry--not a bit. a bad woman--a bold, bad woman would have flared up, but i'm not that--god knows i am not. i have been tricked, blinded, led along by my imagination and ideals ever since i was a child. now my head is on the block, and the puritan world is swinging the ax. oh, how i cringed just now! i, who have heard nothing but the compliments of men all my life, heard the truth at last. i've been vain, silly, mad. i could crawl in the dust and kiss the feet of an unsullied shop-girl. well, well, what's to be done?" "we leave for savannah in the morning, and from there sail for new york," he answered. "i'm going to kill your despondency, dear. you must sleep now. don't pack to-night. i'll wake you early in the morning, and will help you do it then." "well, well, leave me," she sighed. "i'll go to bed. i'll take a tablet. i want to forget. that voice--oh, god! that man's voice! he was a judge on the bench--all arguments in my defense had been set aside by a jury of truthful men. he pronounced my sentence. i'm to be swept out in the morning along with the dirt from men's boots. i--i--irene mostyn--no, no, not _mostyn_--irene _nobody_, will not dare to look into the faces of black servants as i slink away in the morning with you--you, my choice, a man whom--before god i swear it--i no more actually love you than--" "don't--don't for god's sake; i can't bear it!" he was on the verge of tears. "i've been afraid of that. i thought you'd be happy with me, but so far you have been just the reverse. but i won't give up--i won't! you are my very life." "well, go, go!" she cried. "i must sleep. i rolled and tossed all night last night. i'll go mad if this keeps up. get me a tablet from the bottle, and a glass of water--no, i'll take it later. oh, oh, oh! i am sure now that my child is dead, and that his father is crazed with grief. that was what my strange dream meant. people say such things are prophetic, and i know it is so--i feel it through and through. the child of my breast died while i was here like this with _you_--with _you here in my bedroom_." "you really must try to be calm," buckton urged. "those are only morbid fancies. the world is before us, darling, just as it was when we left home. there is really no change except in your imagination." a shrewd look settled on her face. she waved her hand toward the door. "well, leave me alone then. please do." "all right, i'll go." he bent to kiss her, but with a sharp little scream that was half hysterical she raised her hands and pushed him back. "don't do that!" she cried, almost in alarm. "don't do it again!" she glanced furtively about the room--at the closet door, under the bed, and, leaning to one side, peered behind the bureau, as if her mind was wandering. "don't touch me. little dick will see you. he is here--i know it--i feel it. i can almost see him, like a misty cloud. he seems to come between you and me, as if wondering why you are here. he seems to be trying to comfort me. lord, have mercy on my soul! go, go! for god's sake, _go!_" "all right, dear." buckton moved away. his feet caught in a rug and he stumbled awkwardly. passing out at the door, he softly closed it. finding herself alone, irene rose and began to walk the floor. back and forth she strode, wringing her hands, the flare of insanity in her eyes. she unfastened her hair, shook it down her back. suddenly she fell on her knees by her bed, clasped her hands and tried to pray, but words failed to come. rising, she went to the table and filled a glass with ice-water; then, going to the bureau, she took up the small bottle half full of morphine tablets and held them between her and the light. "ah!" she cried. "i see the way--the only way, but i must be quick, or i'll lose courage! quick, quick, quick!" she took a tablet into her mouth and drank some water. she took another, and another, then two, then three, and so on, till the bottle was empty. she walked to a window and threw the bottle away. she heard it crash on the pavement. she went to her bed, lowered the light, and lay down. presently she felt drowsy; a delicious sense of restfulness stole over her. shortly afterward buckton, who was up packing his trunk, heard her gleefully laughing. wondering over the cause, and vaguely afraid, he opened the door and went to her. she was lying with her eyes open, smiling sweetly, and staring as if at some dream-object or person across the room. "what is it, dear?" he asked, touching her forehead gently. he fancied that she was slightly delirious, and that it would soon pass away. a sweet, girlish, rippling laugh escaped her lips. he had never seen her look so beautiful. a spiritual radiance had transformed her face, which was that of a young girl. her eyes had lost their somber shadows. ineffable lights danced in their depths. "little dick and i were having so much fun. we were playing hide and seek in the clouds with thousands and thousands of angels like himself. he said that he felt no pain when he died and came straight to me because i needed him--think of that, i, a grown woman, needed a little boy like him, but that is because he is wise now, wise and old in the wisdom of eternity." she closed her eyes for a moment, only to open them again. "leave me quick! i want to sleep. don't disturb me again to-night. shut the door and don't open it. he is coming back, and--and he must not see you here. oh, i love him--i love him! he is the only one i ever loved. we understand each other perfectly. he is the sweetest, dearest thing in the world. i had him in my arms just now, and he seemed to melt into me and become myself and yet remain himself. he is coming to take me away. go, i am sleepy--so sleepy and--happy--oh, so happy! it is all peace and bliss out there, and endless light and--love. go, hurry! he is coming! i see my mother, too. she is holding him by the hand. they are beckoning to me." she closed her eyes. tints of dawn were in her cheeks. he bent to kiss her, but, fearing that he might wake her, he refrained, and softly tiptoed from the room. chapter xvii saunders was reading a letter one morning as he walked along the shaded road from the store to his house. it was from james wright, the cashier of the bank, who was giving him some of the particulars in regard to the double tragedy in mostyn's life. "the whole city is shocked," the letter ran. "nothing else is spoken of. mostyn has the sympathy of all. he is bearing it like a man, but he is terribly changed. he seems more dead than alive. you'd hardly know him now. of course, when mitchell was unable to locate his daughter, to inform her of the death of her child, everybody began to suspect the truth, especially as buckton's mother was almost prostrate, and made no secret of her fears. "mitchell happened to be at the bank when the telegram came from buckton announcing the death of mrs. mostyn. buckton called it heart-failure, but everybody knew from the wording that it was suicide. mitchell did, i am sure. he read the telegram with scarcely a change of face. i happened to be close to him at the moment, and heard him mutter: "'it is better so!' "he sat alone in delbridge's office--seeming to shun mostyn--without saying a word for half an hour; then he asked me to telephone the facts to mrs. buckton. i did so, and she drove down to the bank, so weak that she had to be helped from her carriage. she and the old man held a consultation. they agreed to go together to charleston, and thought for the present, at least, that it would be better to bury the poor woman there, so as to avoid further publicity here. "mitchell returned to-day. nobody knows exactly what took place between him and the young man, but it is thought that out of consideration for mrs. buckton he kept his temper. it is rumored that she and her son have left for new york, and that they may not be back to atlanta for a long time. "mitchell's trouble seems to have strengthened his mind rather than weakened it. he is not so flighty or talkative. he is offering his home for sale, and has ordered it to be closed at once. he says he is going to live with his nieces in virginia, who will now, i presume, inherit all his property. he is not likely to leave a penny to mostyn, who, to do him justice, does not want any of it, i'm sure. "mostyn is staying at his sister's. she is doing all she can to help him bear up. his condition is truly pitiful, and it is made more unbearable by old henderson, who has made many bold efforts to see him. henderson is openly gloating over mostyn's misfortune. he goes about chuckling, telling everybody that the retribution for which he has prayed so long has come at last. i had to drive him away yesterday. he was peering through my window with a grin on his face, and started to shout in at mostyn. mostyn saw him, i think, but said nothing. the poor fellow is losing flesh; his eyes have a strange, far-off glare, and his hands and knees shake. i see now that we must persuade him to go away for a while. a man of iron could not stand up under such awful trouble." saunders folded the letter, and with a profound sigh walked on. a man on a wagon loaded with hay passed. it was tobe barnett, who looked well and prosperous. he was working on saunders's plantation, and getting good wages under the friendly direction of tom drake. tobe tipped his hat, as he always did to saunders. "awful about mr. mostyn, ain't it?" he said. "i read it in the paper yesterday." saunders nodded. "very sad, tobe. he is having hard lines." "i never had nothin' agin the feller _myself,_" tobe remarked. "he always treated _me_ right. some folks said he was sorter wild in his ways, but i never blamed him much. he was young an' full o' blood. i've knowed fellers as wild as bucks to settle down in the end." tobe drove on. saunders pursued his way along the shaded road. how peaceful the landscape looked in the mellow sunshine! how firm and eternal seemed the mountains, the highest peaks of which pierced the snowy clouds. saunder's heart fairly ached under its load of sympathy. "what can be done? what can be done?" he thought. "i'd like to help him." presently down the road near his own house saunders saw a trim form on a black horse. it was dolly. she was coming toward him. she had not seen him, and he noted that she was constantly reining her restive mount in while she kept her eyes fixed on the ground as if in deep thought. in a few minutes they met. she looked up, nodded, and bowed. "i rode over to take a message to father," she announced. "he was in the wheat-field. i didn't want to bother to go around to the gate, so what do you think i did? i made my horse jump a fence eight rails high. oh, it was fine! i rose like an arrow in the breeze and came down on the other side as light as a feather." he caught her bridle-rein and held it to steady the impatient animal. "you really mustn't take such risks," he said, firmly. "if the horse had caught his feet on the top rail he would have thrown you. don't, don't do it any more. don't, please don't!" she avoided his burning upward glance. suddenly a shadow swept over her face. "of course, you've heard about mr. mostyn?" she said, softly. "isn't it simply awful?" he nodded, telling her about the letter he had just received. when he had concluded she sat in silence for a moment, then he heard her sigh. "i thought i'd had trouble myself, but, really, jarvis, if i tried i could not imagine a more horrible situation. he is proud, and his humiliation and grief combined must be unbearable. losing his son was the hardest blow. i think you told me he loved the boy very much." "he adored the little chap," saunders said. "and well he might, for the boy was wonderfully bright and beautiful. he doted on his father." dolly was silent. saunders saw her white throat throbbing. "it is bound to produce a change in him," she said. "it will either kill him or regenerate him. he has a queer nature. he is a two-sided man. all his life he has been tossed back and forth between good and bad impulses. how awful it must be for him to have to remain in atlanta and be thrown with so many who know what has happened! his friends ought to beg him to go off somewhere." "i am going to write him a letter to-day," saunders said. "i shall assure him that my home is his, and beg him to come. nature is the best balm for keen sorrow, and here in the mountains--" "oh, how good and sweet and noble of you!" dolly broke in, tremulously. "you are always thinking of others. yes, that would do him good. a city is no place for one in his trouble. i imagine that nothing will help him much, but you can do more for him here than any one can down there." saunders tried to meet her eyes, but they were steadily avoiding his. "my god, does she still care for him?" the planter thought. "does she still actually love him, and will not this trouble and his presence here unite them again? she has too great a heart to harbor resentment at such a time, and she may suspect that he still loves her. if that is so, i am simply joining their hands together--i who, if i lose her, will be as miserable as he. oh, i can't give her up! i simply can't. she is my very life." dolly seemed to feel the force back of his agonized stare, for she kept her eyes averted. "he will come, i'm sure," she said, musingly, and, as he thought, eagerly. "when will the letter reach him?" "to-night," saunders said. "i'll urge him to come at once. i'll make the invitation as strong as i can. shall i--mention you--that is, would you like for me to express your--sympathies?" "oh no, i have already written him. i wrote as soon as i heard. i couldn't help it. i cried till the paper was damp. oh, he will know how sorry i am." "you have written!" saunders formed the words in his brain, but they were not uttered. a storm of despair swept through him. he shook from head to foot. she and the horse floated in a swirling mist before him. "he will appreciate your letter," he managed to say, finally. "he will value it above all else." "oh no, i don't think that." she gave him her eyes in what seemed to him to be a questioning stare. "in a deep, heartrending sorrow like his he will scarcely remember my words from one day to another. do you know what i think, jarvis? down inside of him he has a deeply religious nature, and i predict that he will now simply have to turn to god. after all, god is the only resort for a man in his plight." "you may be right," saunders returned. "his whole spirit is broken. but hope will revive. in fact, all this, sad as it is, in the long run may be good for him." dolly shook her rein gently. "i must go," she said, smiling sadly. "good-by." the horse galloped down the road. like a fair, winged creature she floated away in the sunlight. "am i to lose her at last?" he groaned. "after all these years of patient watching and waiting is she going back to the man who could have had her but would not? god knows that is not fair. surely i deserve better treatment--if--if i deserve anything. can i urge him to come--will it be possible for me sincerely to pen the words which may seal my doom? yes, i must--if i don't i would not be worthy of her respect, and that i must have, even if i lose her." chapter xviii the letter was written. it was full of manly sympathy and friendly assurances. it brought the afflicted banker three days later to the plantation. a delightful cool and airy room was assigned to him. the open sympathy of the mountaineers and the negroes about the place was vaguely soothing. looking back upon the city, it seemed a jarring place of torture when contrasted to the eternal peace of this remote spot. free to go when and whither he liked, mostyn spent whole days rambling alone through the narrow roads and by-paths of the mountains, often reaching all but inaccessible nooks in canons and rocky crevices where dank plants and rare flowers budded and bloomed, where velvet mosses were spread like carpets, and ferns stood like miniature palms. one morning mostyn saw saunders hoeing weeds out of the corn-rows in a field back of the house; and, taking another hoe, he joined him, working steadily by his friend's side till noon. and here he made a discovery. he found that the work furnished a sort of vent for the festering agony pent up within him. it seemed to ooze out with the sweat which dampened his clothing, to be absorbed in his heated blood, and after a cooling bath he slept more profoundly than he had slept for years. he now saw the reason for saunders's partiality to country life. it was nature's balm for all ills. in fact, he was sure now that he could not do without it. nearly every morning after this he insisted on working in the fields. sometimes it was with a plow, which he learned to use under the advice of tobe barnett, a scythe in the hay-field, or a woodman's ax in the depths of the forests. but still sorrow and shame brooded over him like a material pall that refused to be put aside. as he lay in his bed at night he would fancy that he heard little dick calling to him from the nursery, and the thought that the voice and love of the child were forever dead to him was excruciating. one evening after supper saunders informed him that dolly and some of her literary friends were to hold a club-meeting at the schoolhouse to discuss some topic of current interest, and asked him if he would care to go along with him. mostyn was seated at the end of the veranda smoking. he hesitated, it seemed to saunders, longer than was necessary before he answered: "i hope you will excuse me, but you mustn't let me keep you away. i am very tired and shall go to bed early." a little later saunders left for the meeting. mostyn saw him pass out at the gate under the starlight. the bell was ringing. mostyn recalled the night he had gone with dolly to a meeting of like nature, and the impression her speech had made on him. "all that is past--gone like a wonderful dream," he mused. "in feeling i am an old man, bowed and broken under the blind errors of life. saunders and i are near the same age. look at him; look at me; he walks like a young greek athlete. i have nothing to expect, nothing to hope for. my wife died despising me; my friends merely bear with me out of pity; my boy is dead; i have to die--all living creatures have to die. what does the whole thing mean? it really must have a meaning, for many great minds have seen nothing but beauty in it, not even excluding sorrow, pain, and death. there must be an unpardonable sin, and i have committed it. some say that all wrong-doers may get right--i wonder if there is a chance for me, _a single chance?_ no, no, i am sure there is none--none whatever. but, oh, if only i could see my boy alive again! i would be willing to suffer any torment for that, but better still--if only he might be immortal--if only he could live forever in happiness on some other plane, as good people believe, i'd ask nothing for my part--absolutely nothing! i brought him into the world. i am responsible for his marvelous being. i'd give my soul to save his--i would--i would--i would!" he went to bed. he said no prayer. he accepted his lot without any idea that it might be otherwise. the night was profoundly still. he heard singing. it was at the meeting-house. softened by distance, the music was most appealing. it seemed to float above the tree-tops, touch the clouds, and fall lightly to earth. his mind, weighted down by care, induced slumber. dream-creatures flocked about him. he was a child romping in a meadow over new-mown hay. he had a playmate, but he could not see his face; it was ever eluding him. suddenly he ran upon the child, and with open arms clasped him to his breast. the child laughed gleefully, as children do when caught in such games. it was little dick. he held him tightly, fearing that he would get away. he spoke soothingly and yet anxiously. endearing words rippled from his lips. presently his arms were empty. little dick was gone, and standing near, a scowl of hate on his face, was old henderson, who was shaking fierce fingers at the dreamer. "retribution!" he cried. "retribution! now it is your time--your time to suffer, and i am appointed to lay on the lash!" mostyn waked. the moonlight was shining in at the window. in the distance he heard voices. they were coming nearer. standing at a window, mostyn saw saunders and tobe barnett as they were parting at the gate. "as soon as dolly stood up," tobe said, with a satisfied laugh, "i knew she had it in for the whole dang bunch from the way she looked. an' when she swatted 'em like she did with them keen points o' hers i mighty nigh kicked the bench in front o' me to pieces. i throwed my hat agin the ceilin' an' yelled. she's a corker, mr. saunders." mostyn could not hear saunders's reply. as he came on to the house he began to whistle softly. mostyn saw him pause on the grass, light a cigar, and begin to smoke as he strolled to and fro. "happy man!" mostyn said, as he went back to his bed. "he's never had anything to bother him. there must be a correct law of life, and he seems to understand and obey it. he used to try to get me to listen to his ideas, but i thought he was a fanatic. lord, lord, i thought he was a fool!" chapter xix the next morning, saunders having left home on some business pertaining to the building of his new cotton-factory, mostyn started out on one of his all-day rambles in the mountains. as he was passing the store wartrace called out to him cordially. "you ought to come around about one o'clock, mr. mostyn," he said. "a big crowd will be here to listen to john leach, the tramp preacher. he's billed for my store, an' he never fails to be on time." mostyn passed on after exchanging a few labored platitudes with the storekeeper. he shrank from the thought of meeting a crowd even of simple mountain people. the high open spaces above silently beckoned to him. never before had solitude in the breast of nature had such appeal for him. he found growing interest in plants, flowers, insects, and birds. he wondered if they, too, suffered from grief and pain. at noon, when the day was warmest, he reclined on the mossy bank of a clear brook. he took off his shoes and bathed his feet in the cool, swift-running water, feeling the chill course through his veins. what was it that kept whispering within him that here and here alone was the balm for such wounds as his? contrasting the mystic quiet of his surroundings with the snarling jangle of the life he had led in town, a faint hope of eventual peace began to spring up within him. once he raised his hands to the infinite blue above him, and his thought, if not his words, was all but a prayer for mercy. he was descending the mountain road near sunset. the valley into which he was going was already in shadow. suddenly he heard a mellow masculine voice singing a hymn, and, turning a bend in the road, his body bent downward and swinging his hat in his hand, was leach, the preacher. "well, well, well!" leach exclaimed, gladly, when he was near enough to recognize him. "i heard you were in these diggings, and was sorry not to see you out at my meeting." leach took his hand, pressing his fingers in a tense and sincere clasp while he looked into his eyes tenderly. his strong face filled with emotion; his big lower lip actually shook. "you needn't tell me about it, brother," he said, huskily. "i've heard it all, and i never was so sorry for a man in my life. you have been sorely stricken--you've had as much as you can stand up under and live. as soon as i heard it i said to myself: 'here is a man that has to suffer as much as i went through.' brother"--leach still hung on to his hand--"you can't see it as i do now, and you will think i am crazy for saying it, i reckon, but if things work out right, you will see the time that you will thank god for giving you the load that's on you. everything that happens under the lord's sun is according to law, and is right--so right that average human beings can't see it. you've heard me tell about what i went through in prison, and i thank god for every minute of it. the backbone of my pride had to be broken, and it took that to do it. are you in a big hurry?" "no," mostyn faltered. "i have plenty of time." "well, if you don't mind, let's sit here on the rocks," leach suggested. "i want to see the sun set. i never miss a sunset on a mountain if i can help it. that's why i walked up here. a fellow asked me to spend the night with him on his farm in the valley, but i refused. the longer i live the more i want to get away from houses, tables, beds, and chairs. they are just babies' rag dolls and playing-blocks. i'll rake up a pile of pine-needles at the highest point i can reach on this mountain to-night and lie with my eyes on the stars-pin-hole windows to god's glory. sometimes i can't sleep--i get so full of worship. i was reading the other day that it would take a fast train forty million years to get to the nearest fixed star. isn't that awful? and think of it, when you got there, a billion times more would lie beyond--so much more that you wouldn't even then have touched the fringe of the wonderful scheme. it is too big for the mind of man to grasp, and so is the other, the realm of spirit, which is, after all, the main thing--in fact, the _only_ thing." they sat in silence for several minutes. the sun was now a great bleeding ball of crimson. leach's big hands were locked over his knee. now and then his lips moved as if in prayer. he smiled; he laughed; he chuckled. the sun sank lower and finally went out of sight. the sky along the horizon was an ocean of pink and purple, with shores of shimmering opal. "forgive me, brother." leach turned his soft glance on his companion. "you don't want to talk, i reckon, but the lord has given me the power to sort o' feel human trouble. i can see it in your face and feel it ooze out of your body like a sad, murky stream. i don't want to part with you to-night without helping you if i can. i wouldn't talk this way if i hadn't helped hundreds. i never have failed where they would open their hearts plumb wide. all i'd want to know would be what particular thing was standing in your way. something must be in the way. you may think it strange, but i can almost feel it hanging over you, like a thing that ought to be jerked off." mostyn was tempted to reply, but he said nothing. half an hour passed. it was growing cool, damp, and darker. he rose to go. the preacher stood up with him, and grasped his hand. "i may never see you again, brother," he said, "and i'm sorry, for i feel drawn powerful close to you somehow. i'd like nothing better than to have you along with me. i'm going to leave this part of the country pretty soon. i want to see more of god's beautiful world. i've always wanted to go to california, and i'm going to do it now." "that will be fine," mostyn remarked. "i am going somewhere soon myself. i don't know where, but somewhere." "you'd better come along with me," the preacher said, eagerly. "we could pull together all right. i'd do my best to make you happy. i'd hammer at you till you saw the truth that has lifted me out o' the mire. god loves you, brother--he really does, and you will find it out some day. the worst sin in the world is simply not knowing god's goodness. it is as plentiful as rain and air. what do you say? couldn't we go together?" mostyn was fairly thrilled by the idea. it was a strange suggestion, and appealed to him strongly. there was a soothing quality about the man that attracted him beyond anything else. "when do you leave?" he asked. "in a couple of weeks. i wish you would go--by jacks, i do! i know when i like a man, and i like you. i don't want to part from you like this. what do you say?" "i'll think over it," mostyn promised. "shall you be in atlanta again this summer?" "i'll leave from there," leach answered. "i have to go there to draw a little money that is coming to me." "well, look me up down there," mostyn said. "i shall want to see you again, anyway." they parted. mostyn trudged down into the deeper shadows. he heard leach singing along the rocky way as he ascended higher. how odd! but the going of the man left him more deeply depressed than ever. he felt like running back and calling on him to wait a moment. there was something he wanted to tell him. he wanted to tell him about a certain haunting circumstance and ask his advice. he wanted to reveal the whole story of henderson's loss and his gain--of the old man's fall and his rise on the ruins of that wrecked life. but what was the use? he knew what leach would say. he would say: "make restitution, and make it quick, for god's eye is on you--god's wide ear is bending down from that sky up there to hear the words you speak." mostyn stood still in the lonely road. "yes, he'd advise that," he muttered, "but i can't do it. it would take almost all i have left, and i must live. leach can talk, but i am not in his shoes. i might be better off if i were. i know i ought to do it. i ought to have done it years ago. how can i refrain now when i have no one depending on me and henderson has that helpless family of his? i robbed them--law or no law to back me, i robbed them. a higher law than man's holds me guilty. i wonder what--" he stumbled along through the thickening shadows beneath the trees, the boughs of which were locked and interlaced overhead. "i wonder what dolly would say. i needn't wonder--i know. many women would tell me not to bother, but she wouldn't. she would be like leach--so would saunders. great god! i really _am_ vile. i know what i ought to do, but can't. then there is my child. if i have a hope left it is that he is safe with--god. yes, that's it--_with_ god. there must be a god--so many say so, and he must love my little boy, and both of them would want me to do my duty. "oh, dick, dick! my son, my son!" he cried aloud, "are you close to me now? tell me, tell me what to do. take my hand, little boy. lead me. i need you. i am your father, and you are only a child, but you can take me out of this, for you are stronger than i am now." the echo of his voice came back from the rocky heights. a cricket snarled in a tree. a nightingale's song came up from the valley. he heard sheep-bells, the mooing of a cow, the bleating of a calf, a farmer calling up his hogs. groaning, and bowed closer to the earth, he continued his way. chapter xx a fortnight later mostyn returned to atlanta. he spent the first day at his sister's home trying to pass the time reading in her library, but the whole procedure was a hollow makeshift. had he been a condemned prisoner awaiting execution at dawn, he could not have suffered more mental agony. unable to sleep that night, he rose before sun-up on the following morning and walked through the quiet streets for two hours. what a mad, futile thing the waking city seemed! "what are these people living for--what, after all?" he asked. "but they may be happy in a way," he added. "the fault is in me. i am seeing them through self-stained glasses. it wasn't like this in my sight once--the town was a sort of heaven when i first entered it and began to attract attention. yes, i am at fault. i have disobeyed a spiritual law, and am getting my dues. what is the use of holding out longer? i see now that i am beaten. i have got to do this thing, and be done with it." after breakfast he went straight to the bank. wright, delbridge, and the clerks and stenographers seemed unreal creatures, with flaccid, vacuous faces, as he shook hands with them and answered their conventional queries about his vacation. "vacation!" the word was not in his vocabulary. "business!" that, too, was a corpse of a word floating on the still waters of past usage. "money, stocks, bonds, market-reports!" they seemed like forgotten enemies rising to stop him. how could delbridge smile in his smug way, as he chewed his cigar and boasted of a new club of which he was the president? how could wright put up with his moderate salary and stand all day at that prison window? what could the limp, pale-faced stenographers in their simple dresses hope for? did they expect to marry, bear children, nurse them at their thin breasts--and bury them like close-clipped flowers of heaven just opening to fragrance? seated at his desk, he asked a clerk to go to the vault and bring him his certificates of bank stock. delbridge was passing, and, seeing them in his hands, he said, with his forced and commercial shrewdness: "if you have any idea of selling out, mostyn, i'm in a shape now to take that stock off your hands." mostyn's stare resolved itself into a glare of indecision. "what would be your price?" he asked, under his breath, and yet audibly--"that is, in case i--i found another use for the money?" "the same price i gave saunders," delbridge answered. "you couldn't expect to make a better deal than that long-headed chap. if you really want to do this thing you'd better act at once. i have another plan on hand." "you make it as an offer?" mostyn asked. "yes." "then the stock is yours," mostyn answered. "figure it up and place the money to my credit. i may check it out to-day. i am thinking of leaving town." delbridge suppressed a glow of triumph in his eyes as he took the certificates into his hands. he spread the crisp sheets out on the desk. "indorse them while the pen is handy," he suggested. mostyn dipped the pen and wrote steadily on the backs of the certificates. "that's o. k.," delbridge mumbled, dropping his cigar into a cuspidor. "now i'll credit your account with the money. check on it when you like." when delbridge's back was turned mostyn drew a blank check from a pigeonhole and began to fill it in. the amount was for one hundred thousand dollars. he made it payable to jefferson henderson. he was about to sign his name when a great weakness swept over him like a flood from an unexpected source. how could he do a thing as silly as that? a gift of one-tenth of the amount would delight the old man and take him out of want--perhaps win his gratitude for all time. mostyn started to tear the check up, but paused. no, no, that wouldn't be in obedience to a higher idea of justice. if the old man had been allowed to hold on to his investment in that early enterprise his earnings would have come to fully as much as the written amount. suddenly mostyn saw the dead face of his child as it lay in the coffin surrounded with flowers, and a sob struggled up within him and burst. "for your sake, dick," he whispered. "i know you'd want me to do it. i know it--i know it." half an hour later he was out in the open air, walking with a strange new activity. his very body seemed imponderable. he crossed the railway near the kimball house and went on to decatur street. along this street he walked for a few blocks and then turned off. before long he was in the most dilapidated, sordid part of the city. he knew where henderson lived. he had seen the old man pottering about the narrow front yard of the grimy little cottage as he drove past it one morning with a friend. as he drew near the house to-day its impoverished appearance was more noticeable than ever. it was out of repair. shingles had fallen from the sagging roof. it had not been painted for years; the slats and hinges of the outside blinds were broken, and they hung awry across the cracked window-panes. there was a little fence around it from which many palings were missing, as was the gate. on the narrow front porch a ragged hemp hammock hung by knotted and tied ropes between two posts. there was a broken baby-carriage in the yard, a child's playhouse at the step, a little toy wagon, a headless doll, a piece of bread, and some chicken-bones. mostyn went to the open door and rang the jangling cast-iron bell. it brought a young woman from a room on the right of the bare little hall. she held a baby in her arms as she peered questioningly at the visitor. mostyn knew who she was. she was henderson's youngest daughter, who had married a shiftless carpenter and been deserted by him, leaving two children to be cared for by their grandfather. it was evident by her blank stare that she did not recognize the caller. "i want to see your father," mostyn said. "is he at home?" "he's in the back yard," she answered. "he hasn't been feeling at all well to-day, and he didn't go to town as usual. who may i say it is?" "tell him it is mr. mostyn," was the answer. "i won't keep him but a moment." "mostyn--dick mostyn!" the woman's tired eyes flashed as she jerked out the name. "so you have come _here_ to devil him, have you?" she shifted the infant from her left to her right hip and sneered. "i don't suppose he cares to see you. i'll tell you one thing--he's my father and i have a right to be plain--you and your treatment are driving him out of his senses. he can't think of anything else or talk of anything else. sometimes he rages, and sometimes he breaks down and cries like a child. i never have fully understood what you did to him, but i know you ruined him. come in. i'll tell him you are here. i hope to the lord you won't hit him any harder than you have already. we are in trouble enough. two days last week we went without anything to eat except what a neighbor sent in, and that nearly killed my father, for he is proud. one of my sisters is sick and lost her job at the factory. if i thought you was any sort of a man i'd ask you to have pity." with her disengaged hand the woman shoved a door open and hastily retreated. he went into a little sitting-room and sat down. there were only a few pieces of furniture in the room. a worn straw mat lay on the floor; three or four chairs, all but bottomless, stood here and there; a small square table holding a lamp and a family photograph-album bound in red plush was in the center of the room. oil-portraits of henderson and his dead wife, in massive frames, hung on the walls. henderson's wore the prosperous look of the time when his means and good will had been at mostyn's service. holding his hat between his knees, the caller leaned forward tensely, wondering over the present spectacle of himself. he heard loud words in the rear. "i know what he wants." old henderson's voice rose and cracked. "it isn't the first time he has tried to browbeat me into holding my tongue. he's heard what i've said, and wants to threaten me with prosecution. but that won't stop me. i'll tell him what i think to his teeth--the low-lived, thieving dog! he _did_ steal my money--he _did,_ he _did!_" heavy footfalls rang on the bare floor of the hall; an outer door was slammed. the voice of henderson's daughter, now full of fright, was heard admonishing her father to be calm. "you'll drop like the doctor said you would if you don't be careful!" she advised. "the man isn't worth it." with dragging steps old henderson advanced till he stood in the doorway. his long white hair was unkempt; he wore no collar or coat. his trousers were baggy, patched at the knees, and frayed at the bottom of the legs, where they scarcely reached the gaping tops of his stringless shoes. mostyn had risen and now stood staring at his former patron, unable to formulate what he had come to say. "my daughter says you want to see me," henderson blurted out. "well, you are welcome to the sight. you've dodged _me_ often enough lately. do you know what i tried to see you about the other day when i was there? it wasn't to get money, for i've given that up long, long ago. i wanted to tell you that i spend my days now thanking both god and the devil for the plight you are in at last. i believe prayers are answered--you bet i do--you bet, you bet! i've prayed to have you hit below the belt, and it has come in good measure. i see from the way you look that you feel it. ah, ha! you know now, don't you, how it feels to squirm under public scorn and lose something you hold dear? they tell me old mitchell sees through you and is leaving all he's got to virginia kin. the dying of your child knocked all that into a cocked hat--your own child, think of that! i've laughed till i was sick over it. first one report come, then another, till your three staggering, knock-out blows was made public. i don't know how true it is"--henderson wrung his talon-like hands together tightly--"but business men say there isn't much left of your private funds." "hardly anything now, mr. henderson," mostyn answered. "now that i have decided to--" "ah! _that_ is true, then!" henderson ran on, with a sly chuckle. "it is reported that delbridge, the feller you started out to race against so big, has swiped the bank presidency right from under your nose, nabbed the cream of the business, and put it on a respectable footing." "that is all true," mostyn admitted. thrusting his hand into his pocket, he drew out the check he had written. it fluttered in the air, for he held it unsteadily. "here is something for you," he said. "it is late coming, mr. henderson, but it is yours. you will find it all right." "mine?" the old man's limp hands hung down his sides. he saw the extended check, but failed to understand. he gazed at the quivering slip, his rigid lips dripping, his eyes filled with groping suspicion. "yes, it is yours," mostyn said. "i've been long getting to it, but i am now bent on making restitution as far as possible. i can never wipe out the trouble i've put you to during all these years, but this may help. if you had held your interest in that factory as i held mine it would have been worth one hundred thousand dollars to-day." "i know it--i know it--what the hell--" henderson stared first at the check and then at mostyn. "what do you mean by coming to me at this late--" "it is my check for a hundred thousand dollars, payable to you," mostyn answered. "the money is yours. you may draw it any time you like." henderson's hand shot out. the long-nailed fingers grasped the slip of paper and bore it to his eyes. he stared; he blinked; he quivered. a light flared up in his face and died. "you don't mean it; it is another one of your damned tricks," he gasped. "you can't mean that i am to have--" "i mean nothing else, mr. henderson," mostyn faltered. he moved forward and laid his hand on the old man's shoulder. a flood of new-born tenderness rose within him and surged outward. "i have wronged you through the best part of your life. this is your money, and i am glad to be able to return it." "mine? oh, god! oh, god! oh, god!" mostyn's hand fell from the sloping shoulder, for henderson was leaving the room. "wait, wait, wait!" he called back, imploringly. "i want my--my daughter to read it and see if--if it is like you say it is. i can't see without my glasses; the letters run together. i don't know what to believe or--or what to doubt. wait, wait, wait!" mostyn heard him clattering along the hall, calling to his daughter in the plaintive voice of an excited child. "hettie, hettie, here! come, daughter, come look--read this! quick! quick! what does it say?" mostyn stood at the little window. he heard the infant crying in the rear as if it had been suddenly neglected by its mother. he heard the young woman's voice reading the words written on the check. "he's paying it back!" henderson's voice rose almost to a scream. "it is twice as much as i put in, too. oh, het, we are rich! we are rich! he isn't so bad, after all! he's more than doing the right thing! not one man in a million would do it; he's white to the bone! he's had sorrow--maybe that's it. they say trouble will turn a man about. oh, lord! oh, lord!" the next moment henderson, his face wet with tears, stood in the narrow doorway. he held out his hand and grasped mostyn's. he started to speak, but burst into violent sobbing. mostyn was shaken to the lowest depths of himself. he put his arm about the old man's shoulders and drew him against his breast. a thrill of strange, hitherto inexperienced ecstasy passed through him. he thought of his dead child; he thought of his dead wife; he thought of the mystic preacher of the mountains; he thought of dolly drake. the whole world was whirling into new expression. it now had transcendent meaning. at last he understood. the heights could not be seen except from the depths. joy could not be felt till after sorrow--till after total renunciation of self. what need had he now of money? none, that he could see. the world was full of glorious things, and the old man weeping in his arms was the most glorious of all. chapter xxi the various rural sunday-schools were holding an annual singing convention at level grove within a mile of saunders's home. they were held once a year and were largely attended. saunders had driven over with mostyn, who had just returned for a short visit. a big arbor of tree-branches had been constructed, seated with crude benches made of undressed planks. at one end there was a platform, and on it a cottage organ and a speaker's stand holding a pitcher of water and a goblet. several years before saunders had offered a beautiful banner as a prize to the winning sunday-school, and year after year it was won and held for twelve months by the school offering the most successful singers. to-day it leaned against the organ, its beautiful needlework glistening in the sunlight. wagons and vehicles of all sorts brought persons for miles in every direction. the weather was delightful, being neither warm nor cool. in the edge of the crowd were lemonade and cider stands, surrounded by thirsty customers. in the edge of the crowd a confederate veteran with an empty sleeve had a phonograph on the end of a wagon, which, under his proud direction, was turning out selections of the most modern vocal and instrumental music. another thing which was attracting attention was saunders's new automobile, which had been driven up from atlanta by the agent who had sold it. it stood in the roadway near the arbor, and was admired by all who passed it. saunders himself had been busy all day helping place the seats and arrange the program. while he was thus engaged dolly and her mother and ann arrived. he saw them pause to look at his car, and then they came on to the arbor. dolly was to play the organ, and she went on to the platform, some music-books under her arm. she had on a new hat and new dress, which he thought more becoming to her than any he had seen her wear. happening to glance across the seated crowd, he saw mostyn by himself on the outer edge of the arbor, his eyes--wistfully fixed on dolly. "he still loves her; he can't help it," saunders groaned, inwardly. "i can see it in his eyes and face. oh, god, am i really to lose her after all? she will pity him now in his loneliness and grief and turn to him. she can't help it. she won't harbor resentment, and is not a woman who could love more than once. she knows he is here, and--and that accounts for the glow on her face and tense look in her eyes. she knows he was weak, but she will hear of his repentance and atonement, and take him back. well, well, i have no right to come between them, and yet--and yet--oh god, i can't give her to him--i can't--i can't! i have hoped and waited! it would kill me to lose her now." he caught dolly's glance. she smiled, and he went to her at the organ, where she stood opening her music. "what do you think?" she laughed, impulsively. "they have asked me for a speech." "well, you must make it," he said, a catch of despair in his throat, for she had never seemed so unattainable as now. "i've made up my mind," she said, firmly. "i sha'n't do it. i'm in no mood for it. they needn't insist. i shall play the organ, and that is enough for one day." "she's thinking of mostyn," saunders reflected, bitterly. "she knows he is free now. she reads his regret in his face, and, woman that she is, she pities him--she loves him." to her he finally managed to say: "i saw you looking at my new car." "yes, it is beautiful," she answered. "and are you going to take me riding in it some day?" "this afternoon, at the first chance you have to get away," he answered. "i had it brought over for that reason alone. i want you to be the first to ride in it." "oh, how sweet of you!" she smiled. "then immediately after lunch we'll go, if you say so, jarvis. i'm nervous about this dratted music. i've been practising it on the piano, and it is different to have to work the pedals of this thing and keep time with singers, half of whom want to go it alone because they have been practising in the woods with the hoot-owls." he laughed with her, but his laugh died on his lips, for he saw her glance in mostyn's direction, and thought he saw a shadow flit across her eyes. the fact that she did not mention mostyn's return was in itself significant, he decided, and his agony became so intense that he was afraid she would read it in his face. he had never known before the full depth and strength of his love. all those years he had waited in vain. fate was shaping things to fit another plan than his. morally, he had no right to come between those two lovers. mostyn had perhaps been unworthy, but god himself forgave the repentant, and mostyn showed repentance in the very droop of his body. dolly would pity and forgive. she had already done so, and that was what had kindled the spiritual glow in her face. it was said that mostyn had given away most of his fortune, and would have but a poor home now to offer a wife, but that would count for naught in dolly drake's eyes. she had loved mostyn, and she could love but once. just then the director of the singing came up; and saunders, after admonishing her not to forget the ride, left her. "i must be a man," he whispered to himself. "i have had few trials, and this must be met bravely. if she is not for me, she is not, that is all; but oh, god, it is awful--it is unbearable! there was hope till a woman and a child died, and now there seems to be none. the angelic pity for another in dolly's white soul means my undoing." passing out from under the arbor, he found himself alone outside among the tethered horses and mules. looking back, he saw mostyn, his eyes still fixed on dolly as she now sat at the organ turning over the music with her pretty white hands. "i must conquer myself; i simply must," saunders said, in his throat. "my supreme trial has come, as it must come to all men sooner or later. if she still loves him, then even to be true to her, i must wish her happiness--i must wish them _both_ happiness." at this juncture he saw john leach, the roving preacher, approaching, swinging his hat in his hand, his fine brow bared to the sunlight. "how are you, brother?" he greeted the planter warmly. "i heard over the mountain that you all were holding this blow-out to-day, and i struck a lively lick to get here before the music commenced. somebody told me that your friend mostyn was here." "yes, he is staying with me," saunders answered. "he is over there under the arbor." "well, i'll look 'im up," leach answered. "me 'n' him has struck up a sort of friendship. i tie to a fellow in trouble quicker than at any other time, and he has certainly had his share. he wants to make a change, he tells me--thinks of going off somewhere for a while. i've asked him to go to california with me, and he's thinking it over. say, you know him pretty well; do you reckon he will go?" "i hardly think so--_now_," saunders replied. "he may have thought of it at one time, but he is likely to remain here." "well, i'll talk to him anyway," leach said. "ah, i see a fellow on the platform with a cornet. i reckon the fun is about to begin. do you know, i enjoy outdoor singing more than anything else under the sun. it seems to be the way the lord has of giving folks a chance to let themselves out." he turned away, a rapt expression on his poetic face, and saunders moved back among the horses. he caught sight of dolly's profile against the boughs of the arbor beyond her. taking a step to one side, he brought mostyn's face into view. mostyn was now all attention, sitting erect and peering between two heads in front of him, staring at dolly, his tense lips parted. the first contesting choir began singing, and the stragglers about the grounds drew to the edge of the arbor and stood listening attentively. when it was over there was applause. then a young man, the superintendent of a sunday-school beyond the mountains, made a brief address. after this there was more singing, and so the morning passed. at noon it was announced from the platform that, as the singing contest was over and the award of the banner would not be made by the judges till the afternoon, lunch would now be served. thereupon the audience rose to its feet and began to surge outward. there was much scrambling for baskets and hunts for suitable spots about the grounds for spreading table-cloths. saunders, as had long been his custom, had prepared food for all who could be induced to accept his hospitality, and he now had his hands full directing his servants and inviting friends to join him. while he was thus engaged he happened to see mostyn alone in the edge of the bustling crowd, and he strode across to him. "don't forget you are to eat with me," he said. "they will have it ready in a few minutes." he thought that mostyn's eyes wavered. he was sure his lips quivered slightly when he answered. "i have promised some one else." saunders failed to see the call for such slow indirectness of response to an ordinary request. indeed, a touch of color lay in mostyn's cheeks. "john webb came to me just now and said that dolly--or perhaps it may have been her mother--in fact, i'm sure that it must have been mrs. drake---" "oh, i see, _they've_ asked you!" saunders broke in. "well, i'll have to let you off. you may be sure you'll get something nice. they can beat my cook getting up a spread. well, i'll meet you later. i see leach over there by himself. i'll run over and get him on my list." saunders tried to jest. "they say he lives on wild berries, and nuts, and anything else he can pick up. i guess he won't find fault with my lunch." saunders was the host of fifty or more men, women, and children. he was doing his best to see that all were provided for, and yet he had an eye for a certain group under a beech on a near-by hillside. his heart sank, for he saw mostyn seated on the ground at dolly's side. he saw something later that sent a cold shock hurtling through him. he saw the group after lunch rise from the cloth and gradually scatter, leaving dolly and mostyn standing at the foot of the hill. a moment later they were walking off, side by side, toward a spring in a shaded dell not far away. the drooping boughs of the willow trees shut them out of sight. saunders, with a hopeless griping of the heart, went about directing his servants and helping some belated guests to get what they wished to eat. he heard himself joking, replying to jokes, and smiling with lips which felt stiff. the remains of the food had been taken up and replaced in the big baskets when he saw dolly and mostyn strolling back from the spring. mostyn held her sunshade over her, his arm touching hers. the distance was too great for saunders to see their faces distinctly, but he would have sworn that both reflected joy and peace. "oh, god, is it actually to be?" he groaned, inwardly. "_ought_ it to be? here am i, eager to gratify her every wish, while he can give her only the dry, crushed remains of his manhood, a bare scrap of his past affluence. he scorned the sweetest flower of womanhood that ever bloomed, and now crawls through his own mire to pluck it. it isn't right--it isn't right! god knows it isn't right to her; leaving me and my hopes out altogether--it isn't right to _her!_" cold from head to foot, saunders retreated out of sight behind a clump of bushes. figuratively, he raised his hands to the impotent sky and dumbly cried within himself: "oh, god, give me strength to bear it like a man! i was wrong in hoping. she is his; she loves him. she loves him. i am an outsider. i now know why i never dared tell her of my love--my adoration! it was the still, inner voice of warning telling me to keep in my proper place." presently he saw dolly alone near the arbor, and, remembering his engagement with her, he went to her. "i have come to see if you would care to go now," he began. "i believe there is only some irregular singing and speech-making to follow." "i am free," she said. "my part of the work is over. i refuse to touch the stiff keys of that organ again to-day. my wrists are sore, and my ankles ache. but i've been thinking over that ride, jarvis. i want to go, of course, but--jarvis, i hope you are not oversensitive. in fact, i know you are not, and will understand when i say that somehow--don't you know?--somehow, i don't like to leave this particular afternoon, when there is so much to be done here. there are several boys and girls who are anxious to sing and be heard, and some of my young men friends are to speak. we might take our ride some other day." "i understand, dolly," he said, forcing a smile. he told himself that this last hint ended all. she and mostyn were reconciled, and she wanted him to understand the situation. they were quite alone. no one was near enough to hear their voices. suddenly an overpowering impulse possessed him. why should he beat about the bush? all was lost, but she should at least receive the tribute of his love and despair. there could be no harm in telling her how he felt. his forced smile died on his lips. his eyes met hers. "there was something i was going to tell you," he began, firmly. "all these years i've been holding it back, but i can't any longer. dolly, you must have known that--" "stop, jarvis!" she broke in, laying her hand on his arm. "i know what you are going to say, but don't! some day i'll explain, but not now--not now!" "well, you know what i mean." he gulped, "and that is enough. you must have seen--must have understood all along." "don't--don't be angry with me," she pleaded. "you will understand it all fully some day. i may be an odd sort of girl, but i can't help it--i am simply what i am." "i think i understand now," he said, "and i wish you all happiness in the world." the singing under the arbor had begun, and with a helpless, even startled look in her eyes she moved automatically in that direction. "i don't think you do, fully," she faltered. "i'm sure you don't. men never quite understand women in such delicate matters." she left him; and, finding himself alone, he crossed the sward and sat down in a group of farmers who were discussing crops and planting. chapter xxii that evening after supper saunders and mostyn were on the veranda smoking together. the exchange of remarks was formal, even forced and awkward. presently saunders said: "i saw leach looking for you at the arbor. did you run across him?" "yes," mostyn puffed, and saunders heard him heave a sigh. "i had quite a talk with him. i can't fully account for it, but i like the man very much. it may be his optimism or wonderful faith. i know that he has a very soothing effect on me. the truth is, i have promised to go to california with him." "oh!" saunders leaned against the balustrade, steadily scrutinizing the face of his guest. "he told me something about his proposition, but i thought that perhaps you would not be likely to go--not now, anyway." "oh yes, i shall go at once. i must go somewhere, and with him i'd have the benefit of a companion." "but, of course," saunders flung out, tentatively, "you will not remain away long?" "i can't say for sure that i shall _ever_ come back," mostyn said, sadly. "of course, i can't say positively as to that, but there is nothing--absolutely nothing to hold me here now." the eyes of the two met in a steady stare. "you can't mean _that_--i'm sure you can't!" saunders faltered. mostyn seemed about to speak, but a tremor of rising emotion checked him. he smoked for a moment in silence; then, with a steadier voice, he began: "i must be more frank with you, jarvis," he said. "you have been a true friend to me, and i don't want to keep anything from you at all. besides, this concerns you directly. to tell you this i may be betraying confidence, but even that, somehow, seems right. saunders, to-day at that meeting as i sat there--" mostyn's voice began to shake again, and he cleared his throat before going on. "as i sat there looking at--at the purest, sweetest face god ever made i began to _hope._ i confess it. i began to hope that god might intend to give me one other chance at earthly happiness. i even fancied that he might purposely have led me back here out of my awful darkness into light. i might not have dared to go so far, but she had her uncle invite me to lunch, and as i sat by her side the very benediction of heaven seemed to fall on her and me and all the rest. it made me bold. i was out of my head. i was intoxicated by it all. don't you see, i began to think, late as it is--shamed as i am before the world--i began to think that i might again take some sort of root among men and be worthy of--of the only woman i ever really loved? she and i walked off together. her consenting to go gave me fresh courage. i determined to speak. i determined to throw my soiled soul at her spotless feet. i did." "don't say any more; i know the rest," saunders said, under his breath. "i congratulate you. i congratulate you with all my heart." he held out his hand, but mostyn warded it off, his cigar cutting red zigzag lines in the darkness. "congratulate me? my god, _you_ congratulate _me_. are you blind? have you been blind all this time? she not only spurned my love, but in a blaze of righteous indignation she told me she loved you. she said she loved, adored, reverenced--_worshiped_ you. she seemed to look on my hopes as some sort of insult to her womanhood. she didn't want _you_ to know of her love, she said, but she wanted _me_ to know it. she seems to feel--she seems to think that in all your kindness to her and nobleness you deserve a wife who has never fancied another, even in girlhood. she told me that her feeling for me was only the idle whim of a child, and that she pitied me as a weak and stumbling creature. she put it that way, with blazing eyes, and she put it right. i _am_ weak--i've always been weak; and to-day, in trying to win her from you, i did the weakest act of my life. i confess it. you have the right to strike me in the face. i knew you loved her. i knew she had become your very life, and yet in my despair and damnable vanity i wanted to take her from you. i am trying to get right, but i fell before that dazzling temptation. in telling you of her love now i am tearing my soul from my body, but i want to atone--i want to atone--as far as possible." saunders turned his transformed face away. he said nothing, and the two stood in dead silence for a moment. suddenly saunders put out a throbbing hand and laid it on mostyn's shoulder. "i thank you; i thank you," he said, huskily. "you must excuse me this evening. i hope you can pass the time some way. i am going to her, mostyn. i can't wait another minute. i must see her to-night!" chapter xxiii conclusion six years passed. it was autumn in the mountains. the air was balmy and crisp. the landscape was gloriously tinted by late wild flowers and the colors of dying leaves. a far-off peak, catching the rays of the afternoon sun, rose above the dun valley like a mound of delicate coral dropped from the cloud-mottled blue overhead. a stranger, walking from the station at ridgeville, was nearing the front gate of saunders's home. he moved with a slow, thoughtful step. he was gray, even to the whiteness of snow. his skin was clear and pink, his eyes were bright and alert. as he opened the gate he became aware of the nearness of two children playing in a vine-clad summer-house on the right of the graveled walk. the older was a handsome boy of four years; his companion was a pretty little girl of two, whom the boy held by the hand quite with the air of manly guardianship. "now, see how you have soiled your dress," the boy said, brushing the child's lap with his little hand. "mama wouldn't like that." the clicking of the gate-latch attracted the glance of the children; and they stood staring curiously at the man who, with an introductory smile, was drawing near. he bent down and shook hands with them both, first with the little girl and lastly with the boy. "i have come to see your papa and mama," he said. "are they at home? i think they are expecting me." "they are down in the meadow getting flowers," the boy answered. "they are coming right back. you can see them from here. look, there by the spring!" the stranger followed the direction indicated by the little hand, and his eyes took on a wistful stare as they fixed upon a couple strolling across the meadow, holding flowers and ferns in their hands. they walked quite close together, those two, and the distance seemed to enfold them with conscious tenderness. "they are both well, i believe?" the man said to the boy, as the more timid little girl turned and toddled away. "yes, thank you," the boy answered, in words which sounded stilted in one so young. "they got your letter. i heard papa say so. you are mr. mostyn, a very old friend of theirs. they said i must love you and be good while you are here, because you have no little boy yourself." "yes, yes, that's true," mostyn answered, taking the child's hand in his. "now you know my name, you must tell me yours." "richard," the child said. "i was named for your little boy that died and went up to god. papa used to love him long, long ago in atlanta." mostyn drew the child along by the hand. the delicate throbbing of the boy's pulse thrilled him through and through. steps sounded in the hall of the house, and john webb, not any older in appearance than when last seen, crossed the veranda and came slowly down the steps. "well, well, well!" he cried. "here you are at last. it must be a powerful long trip from californy. the folks didn't seem to think you'd git here till in the morning. they 'lowed you'd stop for a while in atlanta." "i finished my visit there sooner than i expected." mostyn shook the thick damp hand warmly. "i've been living out in the open so much of late years that atlanta seemed stuffy and crowded; besides, my sister has moved away, and i have no blood-kin there. i wanted to get into the country as soon as i could, and this seems like home in a way." "that's what dolly and jarvis are goin' to try to make it for you," webb went on. "lord, they have been countin' on this for a long time! seems like they don't talk of much else. i heard 'em say they was goin' to try to break you of your rovin' habit. they've got your room fixed up to a gnat's heel. it is the best one in the house--plenty of air and light. that's what they are out pickin' flowers and evergreens for now. they want it to look cheerful." "it is very kind of them, i am sure," mostyn answered, "but i wouldn't like to be in the way very long." "you won't be in nobody's way here," webb declared. "if this ain't an open house there never was one of the old-time sort before the war. jarvis runs the place like his pa and grandpa did. you never saw the like o' visitors in summer-time. they pile in from all directions, close an' far off. every friend that comes anywhere nigh has to put up here. them two live happy, i tell you, if ever a pair did. they've got 'em a fine home in atlanta, where they spend the winter, but they both love this best. jarvis is writin' a book about mountain flowers, an' dolly helps him. they travel about a lot; they take in new york nearly every year, but love to get back home where they say they can be comfortable." "and the rest of the family?" mostyn said. "your sister and drake, how are they?" "fine, first rate. tom still bosses the plantation. jarvis tried to git 'im to quit when he married in the family--said he didn't want his daddy-in-law drawin' pay by the month--but tom had got interested in the work and hung on. he's turned out to be an a manager, i tell you. he knows what's what in plantin', an' makes his men move like clockwork from sun-up to sun-down." "and george and his wife?" mostyn inquired. "are they doing well?" "fine, fine. got four likely children--three boys and a girl baby that gave 'er first yell just a month ago. that pair has struck a lively lick hatchin' 'em out, but it is exactly what they like--they say they want just as many crawlers under foot as they can step over without stumblin'." "and you, yourself--" mostyn hesitated. "have you--" "oh, me?" webb's freckled face reddened. "not on your life. i'll stay like i am till i'm under ground. not any of it for me. other folks can do as they like, but not me--no siree! i reckon you hain't never"--webb hesitated--"married a second time?" "no," mostyn answered. "i am still quite alone in the world." webb glanced toward the meadow. "i'll walk down there and let 'em know you are here," he said. "they would dilly-dally like that till after dark, an' then come home swingin' hands an' gigglin' an' sayin' fool things to each other. they make me sick sometimes. i believe in love, you understand--i think married folks ought to love each other, in the bounds o' reason, but this mushy business--well, it ain't in my line, that's all!" he passed through the gate and started toward the meadow. mostyn leaned on the fence. he saw the couple again. they were standing face to face arranging the flowers. "i don't think i'd disturb them if i were you," he called after the bachelor. "there is no hurry." "oh, they would want to know you are here," webb answered over his shoulder, as he strode away. "they will come in a trot when they know about it." presently mostyn felt a small hand creep into his. it was the little boy. "do you see them?" the child inquired. "i can't look over the fence." "yes, let me hold you up." mostyn lifted the boy in his arms. "now, now can you see?" he asked, the words sweeping from him in suddenly released tenderness. "yes, yes; and they are coming. let's go to meet them. will you?" "yes, and you must let me carry you. you know i used to love to carry my _own_ little boy like this--just like this." the child's arm, already on mostyn's shoulder, slid closer to his neck till it quite encircled it. the soft, warm hand touched mostyn's chin. "mama and papa said i must call you 'uncle dick,' but you are not my really, _really_ uncle, are you?" "no, but i want to be. will you--would you mind giving your old uncle a hug with--with _both_ your arms?" the boy complied. "there, there!" mostyn said. "once more--tight--tight! hug me tight!" the child obeyed. "oo-ooh!" he cried, as he relaxed his tense pressure. "thank you--thank you!" mostyn kissed him; then he was silent. with one hand on mostyn's cheek the boy leaned forward and peered into his face curiously. "why--why," he faltered, his little lips puckered sympathetically, "what is the matter?" the end six little bunkers at mammy june's by laura lee hope author of "six little bunkers at grandma bell's," "six little bunkers at cowboy jack's," "the bobbsey twins series," "the bunny brown series," "the outdoor girls series," etc. _illustrated by_ walter s. rogers new york grosset & dunlap publishers made in the united states of america books by laura lee hope mo. cloth. illustrated. * * * * * =the six little bunkers series= six little bunkers at grandma bell's six little bunkers at aunt jo's six little bunkers at cousin tom's six little bunkers at grandpa ford's six little bunkers at uncle fred's six little bunkers at captain ben's six little bunkers at cowboy jack's six little bunkers at mammy june's * * * * * =the bobbsey twins series= the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school the bobbsey twins at snow lodge the bobbsey twins on a houseboat the bobbsey twins at meadow brook the bobbsey twins at home the bobbsey twins in a great city the bobbsey twins on blueberry island the bobbsey twins on the deep blue sea the bobbsey twins in washington the bobbsey twins in the great west the bobbsey twins at cedar camp the bobbsey twins at the county fair * * * * * =the bunny brown series= bunny brown and his sister sue bunny brown and his sister sue on grandpa's farm bunny brown and his sister sue playing circus bunny brown and his sister sue at aunt lu's city home bunny brown and his sister sue at camp rest-a-while bunny brown and his sister sue in the big woods bunny brown and his sister sue on an auto tour bunny brown and his sister sue and their shetland pony bunny brown and his sister sue giving a show bunny brown and his sister sue at christmas tree cove bunny brown and his sister sue in the sunny south bunny brown and his sister sue keeping store * * * * * =the outdoor girls series= (eleven titles) grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york copyright, , by grosset & dunlap six little bunkers at mammy june's contents chapter page i. an eskimo igloo ii. the snowman iii. uncle sam's nephew iv. daddy's news v. off for summer seas vi. the sea-eagle vii. a signal of distress viii. a great deal of excitement ix. russ's secret x. charleston and the fleet xi. the meiggs plantation xii. mammy june xiii. the catfish xiv. mammy june helps xv. when christmas is fourth of july xvi. a letter and a big light xvii. mammy june in peril xviii. the twins in trouble xix. in mammy june's room xx. goosey-goosey-gander xxi. rose has an idea xxii. the strange cry xxiii. a four-legged ghost xxiv. an exciting time xxv. that pigeon wing [illustration: mammy june treats the children to a "taffy pull." _six little bunkers at mammy junes._ _frontispiece_--(_page_ )] six little bunkers at mammy june's chapter i an eskimo igloo "how could william get the croup that way?" violet asked with much emphasis. of course, vi was always asking questions--so many questions, indeed, that it was often impossible for her elders to answer them all; and certainly rose and russ bunker, who were putting together a "cut-up" puzzle on the table, could not be bothered by vi's insistence. "i don't see how he could have got the croup that way," repeated the smaller girl. there were six of the little bunkers, and vi and laddie were twins. she said to laddie, who was looking on at the puzzle making: "do you know how william did it, laddie?" laddie, whose real name wasn't "laddie" at all, but fillmore bunker, shook his head decidedly. "i don't know," he told his twin sister. "not unless it is a riddle: 'how did william get the croup?'" "he hasn't got the croup," put in rose, for just a moment giving the twins her attention. "why--ee!" cried vi. "aunt jo said he had!" "she didn't," returned rose rather shortly and not at all politely. "she did so!" rejoined vi instantly, for although she and rose loved each other very much they were not always in agreement. vi's gray eyes snapped she was so vexed. "aunt jo said that a window got broke in--in the neu-ral-gi-a and william had to drive a long way yesterday and the wind blew on him and he got the croup." "was that the way of it?" said laddie, thoughtfully. "wait a minute, vi. i've most got it----" "you're not going to have the croup!" declared his twin. "you never had it! but i have had the croup, and i didn't catch it the way william did." "no-o," admitted laddie. "but--but i'm catching a new riddle if you'd only wait a minute for me to get it straight." "pooh!" said vi. "who cares anything about your old riddle? br-r-r! it's cold in this room. maybe we'll all get the croup if we can't have a better fire." "it isn't the croup you mean, vi," put in rose again, but without stopping to explain to her smaller sister where and how she was wrong about william's illness. "say, russ, why don't the steampipes hum any more?" broke in the voice of margy, the next to the very littlest bunker, who was playing with that latter very important person at one of the great windows overlooking the street. russ chuckled. he had just put the very last crooked piece of the puzzle into place. "you don't expect to see humming birds in winter, do you, margy?" he asked. "just the same, winter is the time for steampipes to hum," said rose, shivering a little. "oh! see! it's beginning to snow!" "so 'tis," cried russ, who was the oldest of the six. "supposing it should be a blizzard, rose bunker?" "s'posing it should!" repeated his sister, quite as much excited as russ was at such a prospect. "buzzards fly and eat dead things. we saw 'em in texas at cowboy jack's," announced laddie, forgetting his riddle-making for the moment. "that is right, laddie," agreed rose kindly. "but we're not talking about buzzards, but about blizzards. blizzards are big snowstorms--bigger than you ever remember, i guess." "oh!" said laddie doubtfully. "were we talking about--about blizzards?" "no, we weren't!" exclaimed vi, almost stamping her foot. "we were talking about william's croup----" "he hasn't got the croup, i tell you, vi," rose said wearily. "he has. aunt jo----" "in the first place," interrupted rose quite decidedly, "only children have croup. it isn't a grown-up disease." this announcement silenced even violet for the moment. she stared at her older sister, round-eyed. "do--do diseases have to grow up, too?" she finally gasped. "oh, dear me, vi bunker!" exclaimed rose, "i wish you didn't ask so many questions." "why not?" promptly inquired the smaller girl. "we-ell, it's so hard to answer them," rose frankly admitted. "diseases don't grow up, i guess, but folks grow up and leave diseases like croup, and measles, and chicken-pox, behind them." "and cut fingers and bumps?" asked laddie, who had almost forgotten the riddle about william's croup that he was striving to make. but vi did not forget the croup. one could trust vi never to forget anything about which she once set out to gather information. "but how did william catch the croup through a broken window in the neu-ral-gi-a?" she demanded. "when i had croup i got my feet wet first." "he hasn't got the croup!" rose cried again, while russ began to laugh heartily. "oh, vi!" russ said, "you got it twisted. william caught cold driving aunt jo's coupé with the window broken in it. he's got neuralgia from that." "and isn't there any croup about it?" laddie demanded rather sadly. "then i'll have to start making my riddle all over again." "will that be awful hard to do, laddie?" asked his twin. "why! making riddles must be worse than having neu-ral-gi-a--or croup." "well, it's harder," sighed her brother. "it's easy to catch--oh! oh! russ! rose! i got it!" "you haven't neuralgia, like poor william," announced rose with confidence. "listen!" announced the glowing laddie. "what is it that's so easy to catch but nobody runs after?" "huh! is that a riddle?" asked russ. "course it's a riddle." "a wubber ball," guessed mun bun, coming from the window against the panes of which the snow was now beating rapidly. "no," laddie said. "a coupé!" exclaimed violet. "huh! no!" said her twin in disdain. margy asked if he meant a kittie. she had been chasing one all over the house that morning while russ and rose had been to market with their aunt, and she did not think a kitten easy to catch at all. "'tisn't anything with a tail or claws," crowed the delighted laddie. "i bet it's that neuralgia william's got," laughed russ. "no-o. it isn't just that," his smaller brother said. "and you'd better not say 'bet,' russ bunker," advised rose wisely. "you know aunt jo says that's not nice." "you just said it," russ rejoined, grinning. "twice." "oh, i never did!" cried his sister. "didn't you just say i'd 'better not say bet?'" demanded russ. "well, then count 'em! 'bet' out of 'better' is one, and 'bet' makes two----" "i never said it the way you did," began rose, quite put out, when laddie began to clamor: "tell me my riddle! you can't--none of you. 'what is it that's so easy to catch but nobody runs after?'" "i don't know, laddie," said rose. "i give it up," said russ. "do you all give it up?" cried laddie, almost dancing in his glee. "what is it?" asked vi. "why, the thing that's so easy to catch but nobody runs after, is a cold!" announced her twin very proudly. "and i'm so-o cold," announced mun bun, hanging to rose's skirt while the older ones laughed with laddie. "don't aunt jo ever have it warm in her house--like it is at home?" "of course she does, mun bun," said rose, quickly hugging the little fellow. "but poor william is sick and nobody knows how to tend to the heating plant as well as he does. and so--why, russ, mun bun is cold! his hands are like ice." "and so are my hands!" cried margy, running hastily from the window. "we've been trying to catch the snowflakes through the windowpane." "no wonder your hands are cold," said rose admonishingly. russ began to cast about in his ingenious mind for some means of getting the younger children's attention off the discomfort of a room the temperature of which was down to sixty. in one corner were two stacks of sectional bookcases which aunt jo had just bought, but which had no books in them and no glass fronts. russ considered them for a moment, and then looked all about the room. "i tell you what," he said, slowly. "you know when they took us to the sportsman's show last week at mechanic's hall? don't you remember about that eskimo igloo that they had built of ice in the middle of the skating pond? let's build an igloo like that, and get into it and keep warm." "o-oo!" gasped vi, "how can you do that?" "where will you get any ice?" laddie demanded. "goodness! it's cold enough in here without bringing in ice," announced rose with confidence. "we won't build the igloo of ice blocks," said russ quite calmly. "but we'll make believe it is ice." "i'd rather do that," laddie agreed. "for make-believe ice can't be so wet and cold as real ice, can it?" "what you going to make your make-believe ice out of, russ?" demanded vi, the exceedingly practical. russ at once set them all to work, clearing the middle of the room and bringing up hassocks and small benches and some other articles that could be used in the construction of the indoor igloo. he brought the sections of the new bookcase, one piece at a time. russ really exhibited some skill in building up the walls of the hut in the middle of the floor. when it was completed it was rather a tight fit for all six of the little bunkers to squeeze inside, but they did it. and the activities of building the igloo had warmed even mun bun. "you know," said rose thoughtfully, "eskimos live in these igloos and eat blubber, and don't go out at all while it is snowing, same as it does now." "why don't they go out?" asked vi. "because it is cold," said russ. "and why do they eat blubber?" "because they are hungry," said rose. "what's blubber, anyway?" asked the inquisitive one. "is it like candy?" "it's more like candles," answered russ, laughing. just then laddie kicked excitedly. "i bet i can make another riddle!" he cried. "now, you see, russ bunker?" rose admonished. "laddie has got that word, too." "hey, stop kicking, laddie!" cried russ. but in his excitement the boy twin had put his foot right through the wall of the igloo! at least, he had kicked one of the boxes out of place and the whole structure began to wobble. "oh! oh! oh!" shrieked vi. "it's falling." "get mun bun out," gasped rose, thinking first of all of the littlest bunker. but just then the heaped up boxes came down with a crash and the six little bunkers were buried under the ruins of their "igloo." chapter ii the snowman a corner of one of the overturned bookcase sections struck russ bunker's head with considerable force--actually cutting the skin and bringing blood. big as he was, the oldest bunker yelled loudly. then, of course, everybody yelled. quite a panic followed. when aunt jo and mother bunker came running to the front room where all this had taken place the eskimo igloo looked very much like a pile of boxes with a young earthquake at work beneath it! "for the good land's sake!" gasped aunt jo, who usually was very particular about her speech, but who on this occasion was startled into an exclamation. "what is happening?" "get off my head, vi!" wailed laddie, from somewhere under the tottering pile. "it's not to sit on." "oh! oh!" cried rose. "russ is all bloody! oh, dear!" "i'm not cold any more," cried mun bun. "let me out! i'll be good!" but russ bunker was neither crying nor struggling. he was a good deal of a man, for a nine-and-a-half-year-old boy. being the oldest of the six little bunkers there were certain duties which fell to his lot, and he understood that one of them was to keep cool when anything happened to excite or frighten his brothers and sisters. the whack he had got on the head, and even the trickle of blood down his face, did not cause russ to lose his head. no, indeed. he, and the other little bunkers, had been in innumerable scrapes before, and the wreck of the eskimo igloo was nothing provided aunt jo did not make a lot out of it. it just crossed russ' mind that he ought to have asked his aunt before he used the sectional bookcases for building-blocks. naturally of an inventive turn of mind, russ was constantly building new things--make-believe houses, engines, automobiles, steamboats, and the like--usually with a merry whistle on his lips, too. he was a cheerful boy and almost always considered the safety and pleasure of his brothers and sisters first. in companionship with rose, who was a year younger, the boy cared for the other four little bunkers so successfully that mother bunker and daddy bunker were seldom troubled in their minds regarding any of the children. rose was a particularly helpful little girl, and assisted mother bunker a good deal. she was a real little housewife. vi and laddie, the twins, were both very active children--active with their tongues as well as their bodies. violet's inquisitiveness knew no bounds. she wanted to know about every little thing that happened about her. daddy bunker said he was sure she must ask questions in her sleep. laddie was an inveterate riddle-asker. he learned every riddle he heard; and he tried to make up riddles about everything that happened. sometimes he was successful, and sometimes he was not. but he always tried again, having a persevering temperament. the smallest bunkers--margy, whose real name was margaret, and mun bun, whose real name was monroe ford--were quite as anxious to get out from under the heap of boxes as the others. mother bunker and aunt jo ran to their assistance, and soon the six were on their feet to be hugged and scolded a little by both their mother and aunt. "but they do get into such mischief all the time," sighed mother bunker. "i shall be glad when daddy gets back and decides what to do for the winter. i don't know whether we shall go right back to pineville or not." for it was in pineville, pennsylvania, that we first met the six little bunkers and in the first volume of this series went with them on a nice vacation to mother bunker's mother. the book telling of this is called "six little bunkers at grandma bell's." after that lovely visit in maine the six little bunkers had gone to stay for a time with each of the following very delightful relatives and friends: to aunt jo's in boston, where they were now for a second visit over the thanksgiving holidays; to cousin tom's; to grandpa ford's; to uncle fred's; to captain ben's; and last of all to cowboy jack's. in that last book, "six little bunkers at cowboy jack's," they had enjoyed themselves so much that they were always talking about it. and now, as vi managed to crawl out from under the wreck of the eskimo igloo, she announced: "that iggilyoo isn't half as nice to live in as chief black bear's wigwam was at cowboy jack's. you 'member that wigwam, russ?" "i remember it, all right," said russ, rather ruefully touching the cut above his temple and bringing away his finger again to look at the blood upon it. "say, is it going to keep right on bleeding, mother?" "not for long," declared mother bunker. "but i think you were rightly punished, russ. suppose the corner of the section had cut mun bun's head?" "i should have been awful sorry," admitted russ. "i guess i didn't think much, mother. i was only trying to amuse 'em 'cause they were cold." "it is cold in here, amy. don't scold the boy. see! the storm is getting worse. i don't know what we shall do about the fire. parker and annie don't seem to know what to do about the heater and i'm sure i don't. oh, dear!" "b-r-rrr!" shivered mother bunker. "i am not fond of your new england winters, jo. i hope we shall go south----" "oh, mother!" cried rose excitedly. "shall we really go down south with daddy? won't that be glorious?" "i guess it's warm down there," said laddie. "or maybe the steampipes hum." "do the steampipes hum down south?" asked violet. while the four older children were exceedingly interested in this new proposal for excitement and adventure, margy and mun bun had returned to the great window that overlooked the street and the front steps. they flattened their noses against the cold pane and stared down into the driving snow. within this short time, since the storm had begun, everything was white and the few people passing in the street were like snowmen, for the white flakes stuck to their coats and other wraps. "oh, see that man!" margy cried to mun bun. "he almost fell down." "he's not a man," said her little brother with confidence. "he's a boy." "oh! he's a black boy--a colored boy. that's right, so he is." the figure in the snow stumbled along the sidewalk, clinging to the iron railings. when he reached the steps of aunt jo's house he slipped down upon the second step and seemed unable to get up again. his body sagged against the iron railing post, and soon the snow began to heap on him and about him. "oh!" gasped margy. "he is a reg'lar snowman." "he's a black snowman," said mun bun. "it must be freezing cold out there, margy." "of course it is. he'll turn into a nicicle if he stays there on the steps," declared the little girl, with some anxiety. "and he hasn't a coat and scarf like you and me," mun bun said. "maybe he hasn't any grandma bell to knit scarfs for him." "i believe we ought to help him, mun bun," said margy, decidedly. "we have plenty of coats." "and scarfs," agreed mun bun. "let's." so they immediately left the room quite unnoticed by the older people in it. this is a remarkable fact. whenever margy and mun bun had mischief in mind they never asked mother about it. now, why was that, do you suppose? the two little ones went swiftly downstairs into the front hall. both had coats and caps and scarfs hung on pegs in a little dressing-room near the big door. they knew that they should not touch the outer garments belonging to the older children; but they got their own wraps. "maybe he's too big for them," murmured margy. "but i guess he can squeeze into the coats--into one of them, anyway." "course he can," said mun bun. "mine's a nawful warm coat. and that black snowman isn't much bigger than i am, margy." "i don't know," said his sister slowly, for she was a little wiser than mun bun about most things. "open the door." mun bun could do that. this was the inside door, and they stepped into the vestibule. pressing his face close to the glass of one of the outer doors, mun bun stared down at the "black snowman" on the step. "he's going to sleep in the snow," said the little boy. "i guess we've got to wake him up, margy." he pounded on the glass with his fat fist. he knocked several times before the figure below even moved. then the colored boy, who was not more than seventeen or eighteen, turned his head and looked up over his shoulder at the faces of the two children in the vestibule. he was covered with snow. his face, though moderately black as a usual thing, was now gray with the cold. his black eyes, even, seemed faded. he was scantily clad, and his whole body was trembling with the cold. "come up here!" cried mun bun, beckoning to the strange boy. "come up here!" the boy in the snow seemed scarcely to understand. or else he was so cold and exhausted that he could not immediately get up from the step on which he was sitting. chapter iii uncle sam's nephew the fluffy, sticky snowflakes gathered very fast upon the colored boy's clothing. as mun bun had first announced, he looked like a snowman, only his face was grayish-black. he was slim, and when he finally stood up at the bottom of the house steps, he seemed to waver just like a slim reed in the fierce wind that drove the snowflakes against him. he hesitated, too. it seemed that he scarcely knew whether it was best to mount the steps to aunt jo's front door or not. "come up here!" cried mun bun again, and continued to beckon to him through the glass of the outer door. margy held up her coat and cap, and beckoned to the boy also. he looked much puzzled as he slowly climbed the steps. his lips moved and the children knew he asked: "what yo' want of me, child'en?" mun bun tugged at the outer door eagerly, and finally it flew open. he shouted in the face of the driving snow: "come in here, snowman. come in here!" "i ain't no snowman," drawled the colored boy. "but i sure is as cold as a snowman could possibly be." "it's warmer inside here than it is out there," margy said. "although we're not any too warm. our steampipes don't hum. but you come in." "yes," said mun bun, grabbing at the colored boy's cold, wet hand. "you come in here. we have some coats and things you can put on so you won't be cold." "ma goodness!" murmured the boy, staring at the garments the children held out to him. "you can wear 'em," said margy. "we have more." "you put on my coat," urged mun bun. "it's a boy's coat. you won't want margy's, for she's a girl." "ma goodness!" ejaculated the colored boy again, "what yo' child'en s'pose i do wid dem t'ings? 'less i puts 'em up de spout?" the two children hadn't the first idea as to what he meant by putting the clothing up the spout. but the colored boy meant that he might pawn them and get some money. he did not offer to take the coats and other things that margy and mun bun tried to put into his hands. just at this moment mother bunker and aunt jo, followed by russ and rose, appeared on the stairs. they had missed the two little folks and, as aunt jo had said, wrinkling her very pretty nose, that she could "just smell mischief," they had all come downstairs to see what the matter was. the colored boy spied them. he had evidently been ill used by somebody, for he was very much frightened. he thrust the coats back at the children and turned to get out of the vestibule. but the door had been sucked to by the wind and it was hard to open again. it was really quite wonderful that mun bun had been able to get it open when he and margy had called the strange colored boy in. "don't go!" cried margy. "take my coat, please," urged mun bun. "i know it will keep you warm." and all the time the colored boy was tugging at the handle of the outer door and fairly panting, he was so anxious to get out. mother bunker was the first to reach the door into the vestibule, and she opened it instantly. "wait!" she commanded the strange boy. "what do you want? what are you doing here?" but by this time the young fellow had jerked open the outer door, and now he darted out and almost dived down the snowy steps. "oh, mother!" cried mun bun, "he's forgot his coat and cap and scarf. i wanted him to wear mine because he was so cold and snowed on." "and he could have had mine, too," declared margy quite as earnestly. "what do these tots mean?" gasped aunt jo, holding up both hands. but mother bunker, who understood her little bunkers very well indeed, in a flash knew all about it. she cried: "the poor boy! bring him back! he did look cold and wet." "oh, he's just a tramp," objected aunt jo. "he's poor, josephine, and unfortunate," answered mother bunker, as though that settled all question as to what they should do about the colored boy. russ bunker had already got his cap and mackinaw. he darted out of the house, down the steps, and followed the shuffling figure of the colored boy, now all but hidden by the fast-driving snow. how it did snow, to be sure! "say! wait a minute!" russ called, and caught the strange youth by the elbow. "what yo' want, little boy?" demanded the other. "i ain't done nothin' to them child'en. no, i ain't. dey called me up to dat do' or i wouldn't have been there." "i know that," said russ, urgently detaining him. "but come back. my mother wants to speak to you, and i guess my aunt jo'll treat you nice, too. you're cold and hungry, aren't you?" "sure is," groaned the boy. "then they will give you something to eat and let you get warm. you'd better come," added russ very sensibly, "for it looks as if it would be a big storm." "sure do," agreed the colored boy again. "ah don' like dis snow. don't have nothin' like dis down whar i come f'om. no, suh." "now, come on," said russ eagerly. "my mother's waiting for us." the negro lad hesitated no longer. even russ saw how weary and weak he was as he stumbled on beside him. his shoes were broken, his trousers were very ragged, and his coat that he had buttoned up closely was threadbare. his cap was just the wreck of a cap! "yo' sure she ain't goin' to send for no policeman, little boy?" queried the stranger. "i wasn't goin' to take them clo'es. no, suh!" "she understands," said russ confidently, and holding to the boy's ragged sleeve led him up the steps of aunt jo's pretty house. russ saw mr. north, the nice old gentleman who lived over the way, staring out of his window at this surprising fact: aunt jo allowing a beggar to enter at her front door! still, mr. north, as well as the rest of the neighbors, had decided before this that almost anything astonishing could happen while the six little bunkers were visiting their aunt jo in boston's back bay district. "here he is, mother," said russ, entering the hall with the colored boy. the other children had come downstairs now and all understood just what margy and mun bun had tried to do for the stranger. mother bunker smiled kindly upon the wretched lad, even if aunt jo did look on a little doubtfully from the background. "we understand all about it, boy," mother bunker said. "the little folks only wanted to help you; and so do we. do you live in boston?" "me, ma'am? no, ma'am! i lives a long way souf of dis place. dat i do!" "and have you no friends here?" "friends? whar'd i get friends?" he demanded, complainingly. "dey ain't no friends for boys like me up norf yere." "oh! what a story!" exclaimed aunt jo. "i know people must be just as kind in boston as they are in the south." "mebbe dey is, lady," said the colored boy, looking somewhat frightened because of aunt jo's vigorous speech. "mebbe dey is; but dey hides it better yere. if yo' beg a mess of vittles in dis town dey puts yo' in jail. down souf dey axes you is you hongry? ya-as'm!" at that aunt jo began to bustle about to the great delight of the children. she called down to parker, the cook, and asked her to put out a nice meal on the end of the kitchen table and to make coffee. and then she said she would go up to the attic where, in a press in which she kept garments belonging to a church society, there were some warm clothes that might fit the colored boy. rose and vi went with aunt jo to help, or to look on; but margy and the three boys stayed with their mother to hear more that the visitor might say. "my name's sam," he replied to mother bunker's question. "dat is, it's the name i goes by, for my hones'-to-goodness name is right silly. but i had an uncle sam, and i considers i has got a right to be named after him. so i is." "does your uncle sam wear a tall hat and red-and-white striped pants with straps under the bootsoles and stars on his vest?" asked laddie, with great interest and eagerness. "i dunno, little fellow," said sam. "i ain't never seen my uncle sam, but i heard my mammy talk about him." russ and his mother were much amused at laddie's question. russ said: "that uncle sam you are talking about, laddie, is a white man. he couldn't be this sam's uncle." "why not?" demanded laddie, with quite as much curiosity as his twin sister might have shown. "very true, why not?" repeated mrs. bunker, with some gravity. "you are wrong, russ. our uncle sam is just as much this sam's uncle as he is ours. now go down to the kitchen, sam. i hear parker calling for you. eat your fill. and wait down there, for we shall want to see you again." chapter iv daddy's news aunt jo found the garments she meant to give to sam, the strange colored boy, and she and rose and vi came downstairs with them to the room in which the children had been playing at first. russ and laddie had set up the sectional bookcase once more and the room looked less like the wreck of an auction room, mother bunker said. she had returned with margie and the boys. they thought it better--at least, the adults did--to leave sam in the kitchen with parker and annie, the maid. "but i hate to see that boy go away from here in this storm," said kind-hearted aunt jo. "perhaps what he says about us boston people in comparison with those where he comes from, is true. the police do arrest people for begging." "well, we have tramps at pineville," mother bunker observed. "but the constable doesn't often arrest any. not if they behave themselves. but a city is different. and this boy did not know how to ask for help, of course. don't you think you can be of help to him, jo?" "i'll see," said aunt jo. "wait until he has had a chance to eat what parker has fixed for him." just then annie, the parlormaid, tapped on the door. "please'm," she said to aunt jo, "that colored boy is goin' down in the cellar to fix the furnace." "to fix the furnace?" cried aunt jo. "yes'm. he says he has taken care of a furnace before. he's been up north here for 'most two years. but he lost his job last month and couldn't find another." "the poor boy," murmured mother bunker. "yes'm," said annie. "and when he heard that the house was cold because me nor parker didn't know what to do about the furnace, and the fire was most out, he said he'd fix it. so he's down there now with parker and alexis." "did alexis come home?" cried russ, who was very fond, as were all the bunker children, of aunt jo's great dane. "can't we go down and see alexis?" "and see sam again," said margy. "me and mun bun found him, you know." it seemed to the little girl as though the colored boy had been quite taken away from her and from mun bun. they had what mother bunker laughingly called "prior rights" in sam. "well, if he is a handy boy like that," said aunt jo, referring to the colored boy, "and can fix the furnace, we shall just have to keep him until william is well again. has he finished his dinner, annie?" "not yet, ma'am. and indeed he was hungry. he ate like a wolf. but when he heard about us all being beat by that furnace, down he went. there! he's shaking the grate now. you can hear him. he said the ashes had to be taken out from under the grate or the fire never would burn. yes'm." "well, then," said mother bunker, "you children will have to wait to see sam--and alexis--until he has finished eating." "annie," said aunt jo quickly, before the girl could go, "how does alexis act toward this boy?" "oh, ma'am! alexis just snuffed of him, and then put his head in his lap. alexis says he's all right. and for a black person," added the parlormaid, "i do think the boy's all right, ma'am." she went out and aunt jo and mother bunker laughed. the youngsters were suddenly excited at that moment by the stopping of a taxicab at the door. vi had spied it from the window, for hard as it snowed she could see that. "here's daddy! here's daddy!" she cried, dancing up and down. mun bun and margy joined in the dance, while the other three children entered upon a whirlwind rush down the stairway to meet mr. bunker at the front entrance. he came in, covered with snow, and with his traveling bag. the children's charge upon him would surely have overturned anybody but daddy bunker. "i scarcely dare come home at all," he shouted up the stairway to his wife and aunt jo, "because of these young indians. you would think they were after my very life, if you didn't know that it was my pockets they want to search." he shook off the clinging snow and the clinging children until he had removed his overcoat. russ grabbed up the bag, and rose and laddie each captured an arm and were fairly carried upstairs by mr. bunker. he landed breathless and laughing with them in the middle of the big room which aunt jo had given up to the six little bunkers as their playroom while they visited here in her back bay home. "what is the news, charles?" asked mother bunker, almost as eagerly as the children themselves might have asked the question. "i've got to see armatage personally--that is all there is about it, and frank armatage cannot come north." "then you are going?" said his wife, and the children almost held their several breaths to catch daddy bunker's reply. their father looked around upon the eager little faces. then he glanced at his wife and smiled. "what do you think?" he asked. "had i better say before so many little pop-eyed, curious folk? i--don't--know----" "oh, daddy!" gasped rose. "we want to go with you," breathed russ. "i want to go!" cried vi. "where is it?" "if vi goes, can't i go too?" margy pleaded. "i'm not going to stay here, daddy, if the rest go," declared laddie. but mun bun just walked gravely over to his father and put up both his arms. "mun bun go with daddy," he said confidently. "the blessed baby!" cried aunt jo. "it doesn't look much as though they appreciated your hospitality, josephine," said daddy bunker to his sister, smiling over the top of mun bun's head as he held the little fellow. "oh!" cried rose instantly, "we have had an awfully nice time here. we always do have nice times here. but we want to go with daddy, and so does mother." "two words for yourself and one for me, rose," laughed her mother. "but if it is going to take some time, charles, i think we would all like to go along." "i had mr. armatage on the long distance telephone," said daddy bunker, smiling. "he was in savannah. his plantation is some distance from that city. and he has invited us all to spend the christmas holidays with him at his country home. what do you think of that?" it was pretty hard for mother bunker to say what she thought of it because of the gleeful shouts of the children. it did not much matter to russ, and rose, and violet, and laddie, and margy, and mun bun where they went with daddy bunker. it was just the idea of going to some new place and to have new adventures. "well," said the gentleman finally, "the boat sails day after to-morrow. believing that you would approve, amy, and knowing jo couldn't go, i have already secured reservations for us eight bunkers--two big staterooms. the boat is the _kammerboy_, of the blue pennant line." the six little bunkers were so delighted by this news and the prospect of a boat journey into warmer waters than those that ebb and flow about boston, that they almost forgot the colored boy whose entry into the house had been brought about by margy and mun bun. but the latter, sitting in daddy's lap, a little later began to prattle about his "black snowman," and so the story of sam came out. by that time the steampipes were humming and the whole house was warm and cozy again. "and we can thank sam for that, charles," said mother bunker. "william is ill, and you would have had to go down and fight that furnace if this boy had not come along and proved himself so handy." "maybe we'd all better go down and thank him," said rose soberly. daddy bunker laughed. "i guess you want to get better acquainted with this wonderful sam," he said. "a right nice boy, is he, mother bunker?" "he seems to be," agreed mother bunker. "and he certainly needed friends. i think jo will keep him for a while. at least, as long as william is laid up." a little later the children all trooped down to the big kitchen. the good-natured cook did not mind their presence. and alexis, the great dane, showed plainly that he was delighted to see his young playfellows. alexis was a very intelligent dog and it was no wonder that the servants and aunt jo considered that anybody of whom the dog approved must be "all right." alexis had approved of sam. sam had recovered from his weariness, and, no longer hungry and his next few meals in prospect, his spirits had rebounded from their low ebb to cheerfulness. the kindness shown him, and the praise the women had heaped upon him because of his mastery of the difficult furnace, delighted sam. "i'm sure obliged to you child'en for as'in' me into this yere house," he said, grinning at margy and mun bun. "dis is sure just as fine folks as we have down souf. dey done fed de hongry an' clothed de naked. an' mighty good clo'es, too." he had on the suit aunt jo had found for him and almost new shoes, while an overcoat and a hat which he was to wear when he went out hung behind the cellar door. there was a small room off the kitchen in which sam was to sleep. to the colored boy's mind he was "right good fixed." "let me have dat mouf organ, little boy," said sam, observing laddie's harmonica. "i show yo' sumpin'. now, cl'ar de way. i's goin' to work de mouf organ and dance fo' yo'." the women stopped in their work to watch him, as well as the children. sam slid out into the middle of the floor, began to jerk a tune out of the harmonica, and commenced a slow dance--a sort of double shuffle. but he soon pivoted and slid much faster, all in time with the sounds he drew from the harmonica. annie and parker applauded his unexpected steps, and the children began to shriek in delight. "now we has it!" exclaimed sam, removing the instrument from between his lips, and panting from his exertions. "now we skates down de floor. now, turn again and back-along. i's a-comin', child'en--i's a-comin'. see me dance jim crow! here i comes and dere i goes! now, de pigeon-wing----" he cut a most surprising figure, both hands flapping in the air and his slim body bent and twisted at a curious angle. with a resounding slap of the sole of his shoe on the floor he brought the dance to an end and fell panting into his chair. "you're some dancer, sam," cried the eager annie. "ain't he, parker?" "what do you call that figure?" demanded parker. "a pigeon-wing?" "dat's what it is," breathed sam, smiling widely. "my own particular invention, dat is. nobody can't do dat like i can. no, suh!" just then their mother called the six little bunkers upstairs, and they had to leave the kitchen. but they would all have liked to see sam cut that pigeon-wing again. chapter v off for summer seas how busy the six little bunkers were on the next day you can easily imagine. such a packing of bags and steamer trunks! though of course mother bunker did most of that, although rose helped some. and such a running about the bedrooms and upper halls of aunt jo's house asking if this thing shouldn't be put in, or that thing shouldn't be left out! the little people could think of more articles that might be needed down south than ten grown-ups could imagine! laddie was sure they would need their bathing suits that they had had at captain ben's. mun bun, who had been playing with margy in the yard making big snowballs, came in to ask his mother if they couldn't take just one of the biggest snowballs with them in one of the trunks, because sam, the colored boy, said there wouldn't be any snow down south. "but, my dear!" exclaimed mother bunker, laughing, "we are going down south just to escape the snow and the cold. why carry it with us?" "but maybe the little boys and girls down there will want to see some real snow," said mun bun, who could almost always find an answer for any question like this. "then they will have to come up north to see it," declared his mother decidedly. "we cannot take snow along on the boat, that is sure." violet found at least a hundred brand new questions to ask about the preparations for the trip. mother bunker finally called her a "chatterbox" and begged her to stop. "how do you suppose i can attend to a dozen different things at once, violet, and answer your questions, too?" "never mind the things, mother," vi replied. "just tell me----" "not another question!" exclaimed mother bunker. "stop it!" and then she put out her hand for something to put in the trunk she was packing, and actually squealed when her hand unexpectedly met alexis's cold, damp nose. "goodness me!" cried mother bunker. "that dog is a nuisance. that is the third time, at least, that i have tried to pack his nose in this trunk. every time i reach out for something he thinks i want to pet him." this delighted margy and mun bun very much. the idea of packing the great dane in a steamer trunk was really quite ridiculous. violet did not venture any more questions immediately however; but laddie suddenly broke out with a new riddle. "oh, mother! mother!" he cried. "do you know the difference between a dog and an elephant?" "i should hope so!" mother bunker said, chuckling. "but i suppose you want me to give the riddle up so that you can have the pleasure of telling me what the difference is between alexis and an elephant." "not just alexis; any dog," urged laddie. "and, of course, it would be real polite of you if you said you didn't know," added the little boy. "very well; what is the difference between an elephant and a dog, laddie?" "why," cried laddie very eagerly, "an elephant owns a trunk of his very own; and a dog only wants to get into a trunk. there now!" "but all dogs don't want to get into trunks," objected vi. "do they? do they, now, mother?" "i am afraid laddie's riddle is not as good as some he makes up," said mother bunker. "for you know, dogs have trunks as well as elephants." her eyes twinkled as she said it, for she knew she was going to puzzle her little brood. at once they all broke out with questions and exclamations. how could that be? they had seen, as vi said, "oceans of dogs" and none of them had had a nose long enough to be called a trunk, like the elephants they had seen at the circus. "mother is just puzzling us," laddie said. "how can a dog have a trunk when his nose is short and blunt? at least, most dogs' noses are short and blunt." "each dog has a trunk nevertheless," declared mother bunker, laughing. "and so have you, and so have i." "i have a suitcase," announced mun bun gravely. "i don't have a trunk." mother bunker swept mun bun into her arms then and kissed his chubby neck. "of course you have a trunk, honey-boy," she cried. "all your little body between your shoulders and your legs is your trunk. so you all have trunks, and so do the dogs." the children laughed delightedly at this, but laddie suddenly stopped laughing. "why!" he cried out in great glee, "then the elephant, mother, has two trunks. i guess i can make a _good_ riddle out of that, can't i?" russ and rose took alexis downstairs after that so that he would not be in the way. they wanted to see sam again, anyway. and they asked him to dance for them. "i'm going to learn how to cut that pigeon wing," russ declared. "you do it again, please, sam. i ought to be able to learn it if i see you do it often enough." however, russ did not succeed in this ambition. there really was not time for him to learn the trick, for the next morning, very early, the bunker family started for the boat. the snowstorm had long since ceased, and the streets had been cleaned. william had recovered from his attack of neuralgia and drove them in the big closed car to the dock where the _kammerboy_ lay. [illustration: it was a great white steamer with three smokestacks. _six little bunkers at mammy junes._ _page_ ] it was a great white steamer with three smoke stacks and a wireless mast. there was so much to see when they first went aboard that the six little bunkers could not possibly observe everything with only two eyes apiece! they wanted to be down in the saloon and in the staterooms that daddy bunker had engaged and out on the deck all at the same time. and how were they to do that? russ and rose, however, were allowed to go out on deck and watch the ship get out of the dock and steam down the harbor. but mother bunker at first kept the four smaller children close to her side. "i never knew boston was so big," said rose, as they looked back at the smoky city. "i guess aunt jo never showed us all of it, did she, russ?" "i don't suppose if we lived there a whole year we should be able to see it all," declared her brother wisely. "maybe we could see it better from an airplane. i'd like to go up in an airplane." "no, no! don't do that, russ! maybe the engine would get stalled like the motor-car engine does, and then you couldn't get down," said rose, very much worried by this thought. "well, we could see the city better." "we can see it pretty well from here," said rose. "and see the islands. there is a lighthouse, russ. would you like to live in a lighthouse?" "yes, i would, for a while," agreed her brother. "but i'd rather be right on this boat, sailing out into the ocean. just think, rose! we've never been away out at sea before." "there was lots of ocean at captain ben's," said the girl. "i suppose the ocean is all the same everywhere. just water. i hope it stays flat." "stays flat?" repeated russ, opening his eyes very wide. "yes," said rose gravely. "i don't like water when it's bumpy. it makes me feel funny in my stomach when it's that way." "oh! it won't be rough," said russ, with much assurance. "i heard daddy say we were going to sail into summer seas. and that must be warm and pleasant water. don't you think so?" rose was looking over the rail now. she pointed. "that doesn't look as though the water was warm," she cried. "see the lumps of ice, russ? it must be ice water. where do you suppose the summer seas are?" "we are going to them," declared her brother with confidence. "daddy said so. he said we would go out to a place he called the gulf stream and that the water would be warm there and the air would be warmer, too." "what do you think of that?" gasped rose. "a stream in an ocean? i guess he was joking." "oh, no, he wasn't. he said it real serious. he told aunt jo about it." "but how can a stream--that means a river--be running in the ocean? there wouldn't be any banks!" declared the doubtful rose. "let's go and ask him about it," suggested russ. "and we'll want to keep on the lookout for that gulf stream too. i wouldn't want to go past it without seeing it." they were just about to hunt for daddy bunker in the crowd on deck when laddie came running to them. he was very much excited and he could hardly speak when he reached his older brother and sister. "oh! oh! oh!" gasped the smaller boy. "what is the matter, laddie?" demanded russ. "if it is another riddle, laddie, take your time. we'll stop and listen to it." "it isn't a riddle--yes, it is, too! i guess it's a sort of riddle, anyway," said laddie. "have you seen him?" "that sounds like a riddle," said rose. "and of course we haven't seen him. what is the answer?" "who is it that you are asking your riddle about?" demanded russ. "mun bun," declared laddie, breathing very hard, for he had run all the way from the stateroom. "mun bun isn't a riddle," said his sister. "he can't be." "well, he's lost," declared laddie. "we can't find him. he was there one minute, and just the next he was gone. and mother can't find him, and vi's gone to hunt for daddy, and--and--anyhow, mun bun has lost himself and we don't any of us know what has become of him." chapter vi the sea-eagle mun bun was not a very disobedient little boy; but as daddy bunker said, he had a better "forgetery" than he had memory. mun bun quite forgot that mother bunker had told him not to leave the bigger stateroom where she was setting things to rights in her usual careful way. for, as they were to be several days on the steamship, she must have a place for things and everything in its place, or she could not comfortably take care of daddy and six children. then, mun bun was so quick! just as laddie said: one minute he was there, and the next minute he wasn't. he seemed to glide right out of sight. cowboy jack had called mun bun a blob of quicksilver; and you know you cannot put your finger on a blob of quicksilver, it runs so fast. that is what mun bun had done. mother bunker's back was turned; russ and rose were on deck; the other three children, the twins and margy, were busy prying into every corner of the stateroom to "see what it was meant for," when mun bun just stepped out. how long he had been gone when their mother discovered the little boy's absence, of course she did not know. she sent laddie and vi flying for help--the one for russ and rose and the other for their father. she dared not leave the staterooms herself for fear mun bun would reappear and be frightened if he did not find her. she called loudly for him, without getting any answer. other passengers began to take an interest in the loss of the little boy. stewards began to hurry about, looking for a lost boy in the most unlikely places. some of these cubbyholes were so tiny that a canary bird could scarcely have hidden in them, while other places where the stewards looked would have hidden a giant. when mr. bunker appeared in haste from the smoking cabin, having been found by vi, mrs. bunker fairly cast herself into his arms. "oh, charles!" she cried. "he's fallen overboard!" "you would never think of such a thing, amy," returned her husband, "if the ship wasn't entirely surrounded by water." "how can you joke, charles?" she cried. "i don't joke. do you know how high the bulwarks are? a little boy like mun bun could not have fallen overboard. he could not climb the bulwarks." "i never thought of that," agreed mother bunker more cheerfully. "he might have fallen into one of the holds; but i don't believe he has done even that. and there are so many officers and men going up and down the ladders that i believe he has not even gone off this deck. for somebody would be sure to see him." "of course he didn't go ashore again?" suggested rose, who with the other children had returned to the staterooms. "oh, no. we had started--were well down the harbor in fact--before he disappeared." "mun bun is a reg'lar riddle," said laddie. "he runs away and we can't find him; and we hunt for him and there he ain't. then he comes back by himself--sometimes." "is that a riddle?" asked his twin scornfully. "we-ell, maybe it will be when i get it fixed right." "i don't think much of it," declared violet. "and i want to find mun bun." "don't you other children get lost on this big ship," said mother bunker. "don't go off this floor." "you mean deck, don't you, mother?" asked russ politely. "floors are decks on board ship. daddy said so." "you'd better go and look for him, russ; and you, too, rose," the anxious woman said, as daddy bunker strode away. "but you other three stay right here by me. i thought that traveling on the train with you children was sometimes trying; but living on shipboard is going to be worse." "yes, mother," said rose gravely. "there are so many more places for mun bun to hide in aboard this ship. come, russ." the two older bunker children did not know where to look for their little brother. but russ had an idea. he usually did have pretty bright ideas, and rose admitted this fact. "you know we got up early this morning," russ said to his sister, "and we have been awful busy. and here it is noontime. mun bun doesn't usually have a nap until after lunch, but i guess he's gone somewhere and hidden away and gone to sleep. and when mun bun's asleep it is awful hard to wake him. you know that, rose bunker." "yes, i know it," admitted rose. "but where could he have gone?" russ thought over that question pretty hard. daddy bunker would have said that the little lost boy's older brother was trying to put himself in mun bun's place and thinking mun bun's thoughts. now, if mun bun had been very sleepy and had crept away to take a nap, as he often did after lunch when they were at home, without saying anything to mother bunker about it, where would he have gone to take that nap on this steamboat? mun bun was a bold little boy. he was seldom afraid of anything or anybody. had he not instantly made friends with sam, the strange colored boy, at aunt jo's house? so russ knew he would not be afraid to run right out on the deck among the other passengers. "but that would not be a nice place to go for a nap," said russ aloud. "what wouldn't?" asked rose, quite surprised by her brother's sudden speech. "out here on the deck. no, he didn't come out here at all," said russ, with confidence. russ was an ingenious boy, as we have seen. once having got the right idea in his head he proceeded to think it out. "come on back, rose," he said suddenly, seizing his sister's hand. "what for?" "to find mun bun." "but he isn't with mother!" "i bet--no, i don't mean that word," said russ. "i mean i _think_ he is with mother, only she doesn't know it." "why, russ bunker, that sounds awfully silly!" but she followed after him in much haste. they came running to the two staterooms which daddy bunker had engaged. mother and the other children were the center of a group of sympathetic people in the corridor. "oh! did you find him?" rose cried. "of course not," said vi. "where should we find him?" "here," announced russ, pushing through the crowd. "of course he isn't here, russ," said vi. "can't you count us? mun bun is not here." "well, let me see," said the boy, and he pushed into the bigger stateroom where his mother had been working when mun bun disappeared. then he opened the door between that room and the other room. it was all quiet in there. he glanced into the two berths. there was nobody in either of them. "you are mistaken, russ," whispered rose, looking in at the door he had left open. "he can't be here. daddy has just come and says the captain has promised to have the ship searched." but without making any reply russ bunker went down on his knees, looked under the lower berth, and then stretched an arm under and grabbed something with his hand. a sleepy squeal came from under the berth. russ, laughing, dragged at the chubby ankle his hand had grasped. mun bun's cross, sleepy voice was raised in protest: "don't you! don't you! let me be!" mother and daddy bunker came running. "that blessed baby!" cried his mother. "that pestiferous youngster!" exclaimed his father. but he smiled happily, too, when mun bun was completely drawn out from under the berth by russ and was in his mother's arms again. she sat down and rocked him to and fro while he "came awake" and looked around at the others. "you have begun well," said daddy bunker gravely. "stirring up the whole ship's company before we are out of sight of land! i must hurry and tell the captain to call off his sea-dogs. the lost is found." "what are sea-dogs?" demanded vi. "do they have dogs at sea to hunt for lost children--dogs like alexis?" nobody answered that question, but rose and russ, trotting along the deck beside their father, were more fortunate in getting their questions answered. "are we really going to sail out of sight of land, daddy?" asked rose. "we certainly are," said mr. bunker. "but there is a lot of land," said the girl, pointing. "we can't lose all that, can we?" "that is just what we are going to do. you watch. by and by the land will be only a line on the horizon, and then it will fade out of sight entirely." so russ and rose remained on deck to watch the land disappear. rose expected it to go something like a "fade-out" on the moving picture screen. the disappearance of the land proved to be a very long matter, however, and the two children went below for lunch when the first call came. the purser had arranged for the bunker family at a side table where they could be as retired as though they were at home. there were not many other children aboard, and the purser liked children anyway. so between his good offices and that of the colored stewards, the bunkers were well provided for. even the captain--a big, bold-looking man with a gray mustache and lots of glittering buttons on his blue coat--stopped at the bunker table to ask about mun bun. "so that is the fellow i was going to put about my ship for and go back to boston to see if he had been left on the dock!" he said very gruffly, but smiling with his eyes at mun bun, who smiled back. "he looks like too big a boy to make such a disturbance on a man's ship." "oh, i don't think, captain briggs, he will do it again," said mother bunker. "i dess wanted to sleep," murmured mun bun, holding up his spoon. "next time you want your watch below," said captain briggs, shaking his head, "you report to me first. do you hear?" "yes, ma'am," said mun bun, quite sure that he had said the right thing although they all laughed at him. mother bunker kept the little fellow close to her thereafter; but vi and laddie followed the two older children out on deck. there was a comfortably filled passenger list on the _kammerboy_; but the wind was rather heavy that afternoon and many of them remained in the cabins. but the four children had a great game of hide and seek all over the forward deck. finally daddy bunker appeared from aft to make sure that none of the quartette was lost. he took laddie and vi below with him after a time and the two older children were left alone. they found seats in the lee of what the ship's men called "the house" and sat down to rest and talk. but every now and then one of them jumped up to look astern to see if the land had disappeared, as daddy bunker said it would. "it's a long time going," said rose. "well, there is a lot of it to go. don't you remember," said russ, "how big the north american continent is in the geography?" "oh! is that it?" cried rose. "yes. we've got to lose the whole top part of north america," her confident brother declared. there was some sort of officer (he had brass buttons and wore a cap, so russ and rose knew he must be an officer) pacing the deck, back and forth, not far from their chairs. every time he came near he threw a pleasant word to the brother and sister. russ and rose began to ask him questions and sometimes trotted beside him as he paced his lookout watch. violet would have delighted in this man, for he seemed to know almost everything about ships and the sea and was perfectly willing to answer questions. rose asked him if, after they had lost the land, they would find the gulf stream that daddy bunker had told them about. "pretty soon thereafter, little lady," said the man. "and--and does it have banks?" pursued rose. "does what have banks?" the man asked, in surprise. "the gulf stream?" "yes, sir." "no," chuckled the sailor. "it's not like a river--not just like one." "then how do you know when you come to the gulf stream?" demanded russ. "i should think you'd sail over it without knowing." but the sailor told them that the stream, or current, was very broad, that the water was much warmer than the surrounding ocean, and that the gulf stream was even a different color from the colder ocean. "oh, we won't miss it," declared the man, shaking his head. just then rose saw something out over the ocean, sailing low and making a great flapping of black wings. she pointed eagerly: "there's a buzzard, russ--like those we saw in texas." "oh, no, little lady, that isn't a buzzard," said the sailor. "it must be a gull. there were lots of them back in the harbor, you know, rose," her brother rejoined. "and it's not a gull," said the man, squinting his eyes to look at the distant bird. "it's too big. i declare! i think that's an eagle." "oh! an eagle like those on top of the flagstaffs?" cried russ. "and on the gold pieces?" added rose, for she had a gold piece that had been given her on her last birthday. "no, not that kind of eagle," said the man. "but he's related. yes, sir; it's a sea-eagle; some call 'em, i guess rightly, ospreys. they're fishers, but they can't roost on the sea. that one's a long way off shore. something is the matter with him." "do you suppose he's hungry?" asked rose doubtfully. "i shouldn't wonder if hunger drove him out here so far from land," said the sailor, smiling. "but he's been hurt. you can see how his left wing droops. yes, something has happened to that bird." the bird beat his way heavily toward the ship. first it rose a little way in the air, and then it slid down as though almost helpless, beating its good wing prodigiously to keep from falling into the water. "he's making bad weather of it," said the sailor. "poor chap. if he comes aboard----" "oh! we'll feed him and mend his wing," cried rose. "he's just like--why, russ bunker! that poor bird is just what aunt jo called poor sam, a tramp. that is what he is." "a sea-going tramp, i guess," said the sailor, laughing. but he watched the coming sea bird quite as interestedly as did the two children. the creature seemed to have selected the steamship as its objective point, and it beat its good wing furiously so as to get into the course of the _kammerboy_. "can we have the bird if it gets aboard, mr. officer?" asked russ eagerly. "if i can catch it without killing it--for they are very fierce birds--it shall be yours," promised the man. at once, therefore, the eagerness and interest of russ and rose bunker were vastly increased. they clung to the rail and watched the approaching bird with anxious eyes. it was coming head on toward the bow of the ship. would the _kammerboy_ get past so swiftly that the sea-eagle could not reach it? the uncertainty of this, and the evident effort of the great bird to fly a little farther, greatly excited the two older of the six little bunkers. chapter vii a signal of distress the steamship was pursuing her course so swiftly, but so easily, that russ and rose bunker scarcely realized that the chances of the big bird's landing on the craft were very slim. the children raced along the deck toward the bows, believing that the big bird would alight there. their friend, the lookout officer, however, remained at his post. the big wings of the great sea-eagle beat the air heavily. they were covered with almost black feathers above while the feathers on the under side of the wings were pearl-gray, a contrast that rose said was "awfully pretty." "i don't see anything pretty about that poor, struggling bird," said russ shortly. "he's hurt bad. i hope he gets here all right, but--oh! there he goes!" it was a fact that the big bird almost fell into the sea, being weakened. the bow of the _kammerboy_ swept past the struggling creature. russ and rose lifted a joined complaint: "oh, he's drowned! he drowned!" it was true that the bird was not a water-fowl and, as the officer had told the children, could not "roost" on the sea. it was not web-footed, so could not swim. and with an injured wing it was wonderful that it had kept up as long as it had, for it was now far, far from the shore. but the bird had wonderful courage. although plunged into the water and suffering one wave to break and pour over him, the great bird sprang into the air once more. he would not give up the fight! russ and rose saw the flashing eyes, the hooked beak parted, and every other evidence of the creature's putting forth a last remaining effort to reach a secure resting place for his feet. and he made it! he beat his powerful wings for the last time and shot up over the rail of the steamship. the children shouted with delight. other passengers had been attracted to the place. the officer who had made himself the friend of russ and rose was prepared for the bird's coming inboard. he ran with a piece of strong netting in his hands, and as the bird came thumping down on the deck, the man cast this net about the creature. then what a flapping and croaking and struggling there was! a sailor ran forward with a boat-stretcher and wanted to hit the bird; but russ and rose screamed, and the officer sent the man away. "we're not going to kill the bird. these little folks want it alive," said the officer. "and so we are going to make a prisoner of it and mend that wing if we can." "aye, aye, quartermaster," said the sailor who had tried to interfere. "see if you can find a big poultry cage," said the officer. "we had live turkeys aboard for the thanksgiving run, and what would hold a turkey ought to hold a sea-eagle. lively now!" "aye, aye, sir," said the man, and hurried away. while they waited for the cage the quartermaster warned the two bunker children to remain well back from the struggling bird, for it might get away. "he is certainly a strong bird," said one of the other passengers, looking on, too, from a safe distance. "don't you think he'd better be killed, officer?" "oh, no! oh, no!" chorused russ and rose. "of course not. you're one of those folks, sir, that would kill an american eagle, too--the bird that is supposed to represent the best fighting spirit of this country. no, sir! this bird is going to have his chance. if we can heal his wounds, we will set him free again--hey, little folks?" "of course we will," said russ stoutly. "yes, sir! we'll set him free," agreed rose. "but when you do it i am going down to the stateroom. i think he is pretty savage." it was quite true. the injured bird was savage. but when daddy bunker heard about the capture and saw the sea-eagle in its cage, he pointed out the fact that there was good reason for the bird to be savage if it had a broken wing. "you would be cross if you had a broken arm, russ," daddy bunker said soberly, "so come away and let the poor bird alone for a while. maybe it will eat and drink if it is not watched so closely." it was found that a bullet had passed through the fleshy part of the great bird's wing. the quartermaster declared that, without much doubt, the bird had been shot at from a small boat and by some idle and thoughtless "sportsman." "it is wrong," daddy bunker said, "to call such people 'sportsmen.' there is no real sport in shooting at and laming an inoffensive creature, one that cannot be made use of for food. that excuse does not hold in this case." "true word, sir," said the quartermaster. "it was a wicked trick, i'll say. but i think the bird will recover very shortly. perhaps the little folks can see the bird released before we get to charleston." "not me!" cried rose again. "i am going right downstairs when you open that cage and set him free. he has got such a wicked eye." and truly, interested as she was in the poor bird, rose bunker did not often go near him during the time he was in captivity. she found other things to interest her about the swiftly sailing _kammerboy_. so did all the other bunkers. for what interested the six little bunkers was sure to interest daddy and mother bunker. it just _had_ to. as mother bunker observed, mun bun was not the only one of her flock over whom she must keep pretty close watch. they were really well behaved children; but mischief seemed to crop up so very easily in their lives. daddy said that any bunker could get into more adventures nailed into a wooden cage no bigger than the turkey crate the great sea-eagle was housed in than other children could find in a ten acre lot! living at sea on this great steamship was a good deal like living in a hotel. and the little bunkers had lived in hotels, and liked the fun of it. traveling by water was even more fun than traveling on a train. the _kammerboy_ was a fine big ship and there was so much to see and to learn that was new and surprising that that first night none of them really wanted to go to bed. although even that was a new experience. the staterooms were different from the berths in a sleeping car. laddie thought they ought all to be tied into their berths so, if the ship rolled, they would not fall out. "for i don't like falling out of bed," he said. "i always bump myself." the steamship did not roll that night, however. at least if it did the little bunkers did not know it. they slept soundly and were up bright and early in the morning and were all dressed and out on deck in the sunshine long before the first breakfast call came. they made a call on the captive sea-eagle before breakfast and he seemed to be recovering, for he snapped his beak viciously when they drew near and spread his wings as far as the cage would allow. "i don't think he's very nice," said rose. "he doesn't seem to know we were kind to him." "what are you going to do with him, rose?" asked vi. "let him go when his wing is well." "but i guess he doesn't know that," said laddie. "if he did he'd feel better about it." "he bites," said mun bun reflectively. "i'd rather have alexis. alexis doesn't bite." "alexis would bite if he thought anybody was going to hurt him," said russ. "but we can't make this eagle understand." "why not?" immediately demanded vi. "because we can't talk bird-talk," replied rose, giggling. "when i go to school i'll learn bird-talk," announced mun bun. "and i'll learn to talk dog-talk and cat-talk, too. then they'll all know what i mean." "that is a splendid idea, dear," rose said warmly. "you do just that." "s'posing they don't teach those languages where you go to school, mun bun?" suggested laddie gravely. "i guess they don't in all schools. they don't in the pineville school, do they, russ?" "i'll ask mother to send me to a school where they do," declared mun bun before russ could reply. "i don't need to learn to talk our kind of talk. i know that already. but birds and dogs and cats are different." "you talk pretty good, i guess, mun bun," said russ. mun bun was quite proud of this. he did not know that he often said "t" for "c" and "w" for "r." "but you will be a long time learning to speak so that this bird could understand." "well, i shall try," the littlest bunker declared confidently. anyhow, it was decided that the sea-eagle would have to be released before mun bun learned to talk the eagle language. the quartermaster who was russ and rose's particular friend, came along with some raw meat scraps for the big bird; but the children had to go to breakfast before the bird gobbled these up. he was very shy. later in the forenoon russ and rose were walking along the deck near a little house amidships and they heard a funny crackling sound--a crackling and snapping like a fresh wood fire. they stopped and looked all around. "i don't see any smoke," said russ. "but there's a fire somewhere." "what is that mast with the wires up there for, russ?" asked his sister, looking upward. "oh! daddy told me that was the wireless mast," russ exclaimed. "but that can't be," said rose warmly. "it has wires hitched to it; so it can't be wire_less_." "you know, rose, they talk from ship to ship, and to the shore, by wireless." "what does that mean?" returned the girl. "a telegraph?" "that's it!" cried russ. "and i guess that is what the crackling is. listen!" "isn't it a fire, then, that we hear?" for the crackling sound continued. "that's the electric spark," said her brother eagerly. "that is what it must be. let's peep into this room, rose. it is where the telegraph machine is." there was a window near by, but as they approached it the two children found a door in the wireless house, too, and that door was open. a man in his shirt-sleeves and with a green shade over his eyes and something that looked like a rubber cap strapped to his head was sitting on a bench in front of some strange looking machinery. he was writing on a pad and the crackling sound came from an electric spark that flickered back and forth in the machine before him. russ and rose gazed in, wide-eyed. at length the crackling stopped and the spark went out with a sputter. the man stopped writing and wheeled about in his seat. he saw them looking in at the doorway. "hullo!" he exclaimed. "if here aren't two of the little bunkers. do you want to send a message by wireless?" "thank you," said rose promptly. "i think it would be nice to send word to aunt jo that we are all right and that the ship is all right and that we caught an eagle." "it costs money to send messages," said the wiser russ. "oh! does it?" asked his sister. "i am afraid it does," replied the operator, laughing. "you had better ask mr. bunker about sending a message to your aunt, after all. some messages we do not charge for. but the rules demand that all private messages must be paid for in advance." "well, then, i guess we'd better write a letter to aunt jo," said rose, who was practical, after all. "that won't cost anything but a two cent stamp." "oh, my!" laughed russ. "going to mail it in the ocean?" "we'll mail it when we get to charleston," said rose cheerfully. "i guess aunt jo won't mind." just at this moment there seemed to be some excitement on the deck up forward. two officers who stood on what the children had learned was called the quarter were talking excitedly to one of the lookout men. they were pointing ahead, and one of the officers put a double-barreled glass to his eyes and stared ahead. the operator came to the doorway of his cabin and looked forward, too. he could see over the bulwarks and marked what had caused the excitement. "ah-ha!" he said. "come up here, little folks, and you can see it too." russ and rose were quite excited. they stepped up into the doorway beside the wireless operator. they both saw at once the two-masted vessel that was rolling sluggishly in the sea. her rail seemed almost level with the water and from one of the masts several flags were strung. "what is it?" cried russ. "that ship looks as though it was going down." "i guess you've hit it right. she does look so," said the operator. "she has sprung a leak, sure enough. and she's set distress signals." "those flags?" asked russ. "do those flags say she is sinking?" "those flags ask for help. that schooner doesn't carry a wireless outfit as this vessel does. few small vessels do. i guess we will have to help her out," said the wireless operator. chapter viii a great deal of excitement russ and rose bunker were very much excited by the discovery of the schooner in distress. they were actually afraid that the vessel was going to sink in the ocean right before their eyes! but the wireless operator reassured them. he said it probably would not sink at all. he seemed to have learned at first glance a lot about that schooner. "it's lumber laden, from some maine port. probably going to baltimore, or some port down that way. they have jettisoned her deck load, and now she'll just float soggily. but her sails will never carry her to port." russ eagerly asked what "jettisoned" meant, and the man explained that the crew had pushed overboard all the deckload of lumber. the hold was filled with the same kind of cargo, and of course lumber would not really sink. but the dirty, torn sails which the children saw did not promise to hold wind enough to propel the water-logged craft. "she's got to have help," said the wireless operator, and russ and rose realized that the _kammerboy_ was slowing down. "are we going to stop?" asked rose. "will they take the men off that ship into our small boats? oh, it's a regular shipwreck, russ!" "not much it isn't, little girl," said the operator. "and this steamer can't stop to do much in the way of rescue. the crew wouldn't want to leave that schooner in good weather, anyway." "what shall we do, then?" rose asked again. just then their friend, the quartermaster, hurried up with a written paper which he handed to the operator. "get that out, sparks," he said, and the operator turned swiftly to his instrument and fitted on his cap and "earlaps" again. at least, rose said they were "earlaps." "can't we help that schooner?" asked russ of the quartermaster. "they don't need us to help them. only to send a message," was the reply, as the wireless spark began to crackle again. "we are telling the government about her plight and a revenue cutter will be sent out to tow the schooner into some near port. she has drifted a good way off shore, but the weather is settled and there is nothing to fear." in a few moments the operator had sent the message and got a reply. "right out of the air," breathed rose wonderingly. "i think that is very funny, russ. if that mast isn't exactly wireless, it is almost wireless. anyway, the wires aren't long enough to take much of a message, i should think." this was a mystery that russ could not expound, so they went to hunt up daddy bunker for further information regarding the wonder of the wireless service. the other four little bunkers were already greatly interested in the deeply rolling lumber schooner. after more signals with flags had been exchanged between the steamship the children were on and the schooner, the former picked up speed again. soon the masts of the schooner were almost out of sight; but the little bunkers continued to discuss the strange incident. "i wish we could have put out boats and saved them," said rose. "like a regular wreck, i mean." "the crew of the schooner would be castaways, then," russ mused. "i like to read stories about castaways." "robinson crusoe had goats," remarked laddie. "i like goats." "you wouldn't like goats if they butted you, would you?" asked vi. "all goats don't butt," said her twin with assurance. "have those men got goats on that wabbly schooner?" margy demanded. "i didn't see any." "of course they haven't," rose replied. "then how could they be castaways?" put in vi promptly. "if castaways have goats----" "oh! you don't understand," declared russ. "they only get the goats after they get to the desert islands. that is what laddie means." "of course," agreed laddie. "do they eat 'em?" margy asked. "only if they need to," russ told her, with superior wisdom. "of course, they most always make pets of them." "oh!" "i guess," said russ, becoming reflective, "that we might play at castaway." "when we get ashore, do you mean, russ?" vi asked. "right here." "no," said vi. "we'd get our feet wet. we can't play on the ocean, can we?" "we can play on this deck. the officers won't mind. now all of you come up on to this life raft. we'll play you are floating around on the sea waiting for somebody to come along in a boat and rescue you." "who is going to be the rescuer?" vi asked. "i am." "are you sure you can rescue us, russ?" she demanded. "where's your boat?" russ pointed to a long lifeboat covered with canvas which lay some distance from the life-raft. "that will be my boat," he said eagerly. "rose, you must be in command of the raft. of course, you have been drifting about a long time and you are all hungry and thirsty." "mun bun wants bwead and milk," put in the littlest bunker, on hearing this. "well," said laddie soberly, "you've got to want it a lot before you get rescued, mun bun. castaways have to drink the ocean and eat their shoes before anybody rescues them." at this mun bun set up a wail. it seemed that his shoes were brand new and he was very proud of them. he would not consider eating them for a moment! "never mind," said rose, hugging him. "if you get so very hungry before russ rescues us, you can chew on your belt. that is what laddie means." mun bun observed his belt with round eyes. it seemed to him, and he confessed it to rose, that he would have to be awfully hungry to chew that belt. the others entered into the spirit of the play and when vi chanced to step off the raft her twin and margy seized her and screamed. "you'll be drowned, vi bunker!" said margy. "you'll more than get your feet wet if you don't stay on the raft," her twin scolded. "and, then, maybe there are sharks." "sharks?" put in margy. "yes, big sharks." "what do they do?" asked margy, who had not heard so much about this castaway play as the older children. "big fish," said laddie promptly. "i like fish," margy announced. "you know, grandma bell had goldfish. they were pretty." "and i like fish to eat," said vi. "are sharks good to eat?" "maybe they will eat you," warned laddie, who had entered into the play with all his thought and interest. "oh, laddie bunker! they wouldn't," cried vi. "well, they might. anyway, you've got to be afraid of the sharks and not step off the raft." meanwhile russ had gone over to the lifeboat. he had not asked even his friend, the quartermaster, if he could play in that boat. but he saw no reason why he could not, as nobody seemed to be using it. the canvas cover was tied down with many strings; but the knots slipped very easily and the boy pulled out three of the knots and then laid back a corner of the canvas. it was dark inside the boat, and before russ crept into it as he intended, he bent over the gunwale and peered in. suddenly he gasped, and pulled his head back. he was startled, but russ bunker was a courageous boy. he had seen something--or he thought he had seen something--squirming in the brown darkness inside the boat. he waited a little, and then put his head under the canvas and took a long look. was there something or somebody there? russ was determined to find out! chapter ix russ's secret russ bunker looked very funny--rose said he did--when he suddenly came back to the raft. vi and margy shouted to him that he would be drowned; and laddie said something more about sharks. but their older brother paid little attention to them. he had tied the cover down over the lifeboat again and he would not look toward it, not even when rose asked him what the matter was and if he was going to leave all five of the castaways on the raft to starve and be thirsty until luncheon time. "i guess this isn't a very good place to play castaway, after all," said russ gravely. "and, anyway," he added, with sudden animation, "there's the man with the gong. we'll have to run down and get cleaned up before we go to the table." "dear me!" complained laddie, "we never can have any fun. we always have to stop and eat or go to bed, or something. even on this ship we have to." laddie thought that the most important thing in the world was play. rose watched russ with a puzzled look. she felt that something had happened that her brother did not want to talk about. russ had a secret. the latter did not even look again at the lifeboat as the little party passed it on the way to the staterooms. but russ bunker's mind was fixed upon that boat and what he had seen in it, just the same. he really could not decide what to do. he was very much puzzled. even his mother and father noticed that russ was rather silent at the lunch table; but he said he was all right. he had something to think about, he told them. daddy and mother bunker looked at each other and smiled. russ had a way of thinking over things before he put his small troubles before them, and they suspected that nothing much was the matter. but rose whispered to her brother before they left the table. "i think that isn't very polite, russ bunker." russ looked startled. "what isn't polite?" he asked almost angrily. "i saw you do that," she said, in the same admonishing way. "do what?" he demanded boldly. "put those rolls and the apple in your pocket. you wouldn't do that at home." "well, we're not at home, are we?" he said. "you just keep still, rose bunker." russ ran away directly after he had been excused from the table and they did not find him again for quite a while. he appeared with his usual cheerful whistle on his lips and made up a fine game of hide and seek on the afterdeck. but it was noticeable, if anybody had thought to notice it at all, that russ kept them all from going near the lifeboat and the raft, and he would not hear to their playing castaway at all. "why not?" asked vi. "oh, that's too old," russ declared. "we can play that at any time. let's go and listen to the wireless spark. when we get to that plantation where we are going maybe i can set up a wireless mast and we will send messages." "to grandma bell? and to aunt jo?" asked vi. "oh!" cried laddie, "let's send one to cowboy jack. i know he'd be glad to hear from us." so russ turned the interest of his brothers and sisters away from the castaway play. all but rose. she wondered just what it was that was troubling russ and what the lifeboat had to do with it. but there were so many new things to be interested in aboard the steamship that even rose forgot to be puzzled after a while. their friend, the quartermaster, took them all over the ship. they saw the engines working, and peered down into the stoke hole which was very hot and where the firemen worked in their undershirts and trousers and a great clanging of shovels and furnace doors was going on. "i guess the steampipes always hum on this boat," remarked laddie. "it is not like it was at aunt jo's before that sam boy came to make the furnace go." whether the steampipes hummed or not, the children found that it was quite balmy on the boat. although a strong breeze almost always blew, it was a warm one. they had long since entered into the gulf stream and the warm current seemed to warm the air more and more as the _kammerboy_ sailed southward. it was only two hours after passing the schooner that was in distress when they "spoke," as the quartermaster called it, the revenue cutter which had been sent to help the disabled vessel, steaming swiftly toward the point of the compass where the schooner was wallowing. mr. sparks, as the wireless operator was called, had exchanged messages with the government vessel and he told the little bunkers that the lumber schooner would be towed into hampton roads, from which the cutter had come. all this time russ bunker stayed away from the covered boat on the hurricane deck. daddy bunker, as well as rose, began to wonder at the boy's odd behavior. when dinner time came, mr. bunker watched his oldest son sharply. "can i go out on deck again for a while?" asked russ politely, as he moved back his chair at the end of the meal. "i don't see why you can't. and rose too," said their mother. "it is not yet dark. but you other children must come with me." they had all played so hard that it was no cross for the little ones to prepare for bed. mun bun and margy were already nodding. when rose looked about for russ, he had disappeared again. so had daddy. they had both slipped out of the saloon cabin without a word. russ was hurrying along the runway between the house and the bulwarks, and going forward, when daddy bunker came around a corner suddenly and confronted him. russ was so startled that he almost cried out. "let's see what you have in your pockets, russ," said mr. bunker seriously, yet with twinkling eyes. "i noticed that you feared there was going to be a famine aboard this steamer, and that you believe in preparing for it. let me see the contents of your pockets." "oh, father!" gasped russ. "aren't afraid, are you, russ?" asked daddy bunker. "if you weren't afraid to take the food you needn't be afraid to show it." "it--it was all mine," said russ, stammeringly. "i only took what was passed to me." "i know it," said daddy. "that is one reason why i want to know the rights of this mystery. i can't have my son starving himself for the sake of feeding a sea-eagle." "oh! it isn't the eagle, daddy." "what is it, then?" "it--it isn't an it at all!" exclaimed russ bunker and he was so very much worried that he was almost in tears. "what do you mean?" asked his father. "i--i can't tell you," russ faltered. "it isn't about me at all. it's somebody else, and i oughtn't to tell you, daddy." chapter x charleston and the fleet a boy hates to tell on another person if he is the right kind of boy. and russ was the right kind of boy. daddy bunker knew this; so he did not scold. he just said quietly: "very well, my boy. if you are mixed up in something of which you cannot tell your father, but which you are sure is all right, then go ahead. i am always ready to advise and help you, but if you are sure you do not need my advice, go ahead." he turned quietly away. but these words and his cheerful acceptance of russ' way of thinking rather startled the boy, used as he was to daddy bunker's ways. he called after him: "daddy! i don't know whether i am right or wrong. only--only i know somebody that needs this bread and meat because he is hungry. he's _real_ hungry. can't i give it to him?" "i think that hunger should be appeased first. go ahead," said mr. bunker, but still quite seriously. "then if you feel that you can come and tell me about it, all right." at that russ hurried away, much relieved. rose came into sight and would have run after him, but daddy bunker stopped her. "don't chase him now. he has something particular to do, rose." "i think that's real mean!" exclaimed rose. "he's hiding something from me!" "my!" said daddy, "do you think your brother should tell you everything he knows or does?" "why not?" retorted rose. "i'm sure, daddy, he is welcome to know everything i know." "are you sure? moreover, perhaps he does not care to know all your secrets," said mr. bunker. "anyhow, you must learn, rose, that other people have a right to their own private mysteries; you must not be inquisitive. russ has got something on his mind, it is true; but without doubt we shall all know what it is by and by." "well!" exclaimed rose, with almost a gasp. she could not quite understand her father's reasoning. russ bunker appeared after a while, looking still very grave indeed for a boy of his age. daddy kept from saying or doing anything to suggest that he was curious; but rose found it hard not to tease her brother to explain his taking food from the table and hiding it in his pockets. "of course he can't eat it," she whispered to herself. "and he doesn't give it to the eagle. who ever heard of an eagle eating pound cake with raisins and citron in it? and i saw russ take a piece of that. "but he didn't eat much himself. i wonder if he is sick and is hiding it from mother and daddy?" she watched her brother very closely. after a time he seemed more cheerful, and they ran races on the open deck. they knew many of the passengers by this time to speak to. and there were some few other children of about their own ages, too. they talked with these other boys and girls, found out where they lived when they were at home, and learned where they were going to, when they left the _kammerboy_ at charleston or savannah. just the same rose knew that her brother was disturbed in his mind. daddy bunker's words to her had been sufficient, and rose said nothing. but she began to believe that she should sympathize with russ instead of being vexed with him. he did look so serious when he was not talking. the evening wore on. the moon rose and silvered the almost pond-like sea through which the _kammerboy_ steamed. even the children were impressed by the beauty of the seascape. far, far away against the rising moon appeared a fairylike ship sailing across its face, each spar and mast pricked out as black as jet. "just like those silhouettes aunt jo cut out for us," declared rose. "did you ever see anything so cute?" russ didn't have much to say about it. he was very grave again. bedtime came, and the brother and sister went below. the little folks, margy and mun bun, were in the first stateroom with mother. already the twins were fast asleep in the second stateroom. rose was going to sleep with vi in the lower berth and russ was to crawl in beside laddie in the upper. but russ did not seem in a hurry to undress and go to bed. mother brushed rose's hair for her and the girl got ready for bed in the larger stateroom. when she went into the other room there was russ sitting on the stool with only his jacket off. "why, russ bunker! aren't you going to bed to-night?" demanded rose. "i suppose so," admitted russ. "well, you'd better hurry. i want you to put out the light. how do you suppose we can sleep?" russ reached up and snapped out the electric bulb as rose threw aside her bath-gown and hopped into bed beside her sister. "you can't see to undress in the dark, russ," scolded rose. russ did not say a word. he got up and walked into his mother's and father's stateroom, and greatly to his sister's vexation he closed the door between the two rooms. daddy bunker had just come in. "why, russ," said he, "haven't you gone to bed yet?" "no, sir," said russ. "and i guess i can't. i've got to talk to you first. i guess i can't go to sleep till i've told you something." daddy smiled at mother bunker but nodded to russ. "all right," he said. "we will go out on deck again and take a turn up and down and you shall tell me all about it." mother made no objection, although the hour was getting late, and she smiled, too, when she saw russ slip into his jacket again and follow his father out of the stateroom. on the deck russ burst out with: "i promised i wouldn't tell anybody. but when i gave him his supper i told him i'd just have to tell my father, i was afraid; and he said he didn't have any father and he didn't know whether fathers wouldn't 'snitch,' and i said my father wouldn't." "i see," said mr. bunker gravely. "you recommended me as being a safe person to trust a secret with. i am glad you did so." "yes, sir. for you see he's got to be fed until we get to charleston." "do you mind telling me who this new friend of yours is, and where he is, and why he must be fed?" "he's a sailor boy. he belongs on a destroyer and got left at boston when his ship started for charleston two days ago." "he is in the navy?" exclaimed mr. bunker, in surprise. "yes, sir. and he spent all his money and did not know how to get down there where the fleet will be in winter quarters, he says, unless he went secretly on one of these steamers." "he is stealing his passage, then?" asked daddy bunker. "i suppose he is, daddy," said russ, ruefully enough. "he is in a boat, all covered up with canvas. up there on the deck. i can show you. i found him quite by myself, and i was sorry for him, 'specially when he said he didn't have anything to eat. and he said, would i keep still about it? and at first i said i would." "i see," said daddy bunker, smiling. "then you thought that you ought not to keep the secret from me?" "that's it, daddy." "quite right," rejoined mr. bunker encouragingly. "it is not good policy to keep secrets from your mother and father. what do you want to do about it now?" "why--why, i want you to tell me," confessed russ. "i got him some food." "i see you did," returned his father, smiling. "at your own cost, russ." "we-ell, yes, i could have eaten more if i hadn't taken what i did for the sailor boy." "we'll have to see about that----" "i don't mind--much. i'm not very hungry," said russ hurriedly. "it wasn't that made me tell you." "i know it wasn't, russ," said daddy bunker, with a pride that the little boy did not understand, and he dropped an approving hand upon russ' shoulder. "now, i will tell you what we will do. this sailor boy shall have his chance to rejoin his ship without getting into any more trouble than is necessary. he is probably very young and foolish." "he isn't very old, i guess," said russ. "he has been in the navy only a little while, and it was his first 'shore leave,' he called it, in boston. he had some cousins there. they begged him to stay longer than he should have. and so he got left." "i'll fix it if i can," promised daddy bunker. "of course, the first thing to do is to pay his fare and then he can come out of the lifeboat and have his proper meals. i will see the purser, and the captain if it is necessary, and you go to bed, russ." "that will be nice!" cried the boy, greatly relieved. "of course i ought to have told you right at first. you always do know how to straighten things out, daddy!" "that is what fathers and mothers are for," replied mr. bunker. "go down and go to sleep, son, and i will do my best for this young deserter." when mr. bunker entered the stateroom an hour later mother bunker wanted to know all about it, of course. and if russ had known just what they both said of him he would certainly have been proud. "he's a manly boy," said daddy bunker in conclusion. "i am glad he is our son." the trouble about it all was, in rose's opinion, that she never quite understood it. if russ had done anything to be punished for, he certainly didn't seem to mind the punishment! and daddy and mother seemed to have a little secret between them, as well as russ. "i don't like secrets," she complained the next day, on thinking it all over. "oh, i do!" cried laddie. "'specially now that christmas is coming." but rose knew this was not a christmas secret. she wondered where the nice, pleasant-faced sailor boy came from who seemed to know russ and daddy bunker so well. she had not seen him before. and that was another mystery that nobody seemed willing to explain to her. they all had so many good times on the _kammerboy_, however, that rose really could not be vexed for long. it proved, as had been announced in boston, that the ship sailed into summer seas. there was scarcely a cloud in sight for the entire voyage, and certainly the steamship did not roll. at length, late one afternoon, the children were taken up on the hurricane deck to see the islands of charleston harbor ahead. many warships, and of all sizes, lay in the roadstead, but they did not see much of these vessels save their lights that evening. the _kammerboy_ was docked to discharge freight and some of her passengers. daddy bunker arranged for the boy lost from the destroyer to be put aboard his ship. russ hoped that he would not be punished very sorely for being left behind. chapter xi the meiggs plantation the bunker children watched the lights of the fleet until quite late in the evening and thought the sight very pretty indeed. they would have liked to have gone aboard at least one of the government vessels preferably, of course, the one to which their sailor friend belonged, but there was no opportunity for such a visit. for early the next morning the _kammerboy_ steamed out of the harbor of charleston again on the last lap of her voyage to savannah. "you can't do it, russ--ever!" declared rose, with confidence. "well," said the oldest of the six little bunkers, puffing very much, "i can try, can't i? i do wish i could cut that pigeon wing just as sam did it." they were on the sunshiny deck of the _kammerboy_, which was plowing now toward the headlands near savannah harbor. but the little folks had been seeing the blue line of the shore ever since leaving charleston, so they were not much interested in it. as laddie said, they knew it was there, and that was enough. "we know the continent of north america didn't get lost while we were out there in the gulf stream," said the boy twin, with satisfaction. "so it doesn't matter what part of it we hit--it will be land!" "if we hit it most any old place," said vi, "we would be shipwrecked and be castaways like the game we started to play that time and russ wouldn't let us finish. i wonder why?" she had ended with a question. but laddie could not answer it. he was watching russ trying to do that funny dance. "uncle sam's nephew could do it fine," laddie said to russ. "but you don't get the same twist to it." "me do it! me do it!" cried mun bun excitedly, and he began to try to dance as russ had. he looked so cunning jumping about and twisting his chubby little body that they all shouted with laughter. but mun bun thought they were admiring his dancing. "me did it like sam," he declared, stopping to rest. "you do it fine, mun bun," russ said. it was a fact, however, that none of them could cut that pigeon wing as sam, the colored boy, had cut it in aunt jo's kitchen in boston. now that they were nearing the end of the voyage there were many things besides pigeon wings to interest the little bunkers. in the first place the big sea-eagle had to be released from the turkey coop. the quartermaster called him red eye. and truly his eye was very red and angry all the time. and he clashed his great beak whenever anybody came near him. "i guess you couldn't tame him in a hundred years," russ said thoughtfully. "he can't be tamed. that is why we have an eagle for a symbol, i guess. we can't be tamed." it was decided to let red eye out of the cage when the ship entered savannah harbor. "he's come a long way with us. he has come away down here to georgia," said rose thoughtfully. "if he lives in maine, do you s'pose he will ever find his way back?" "if he doesn't, what matter? it's a fine country," said the quartermaster. "but he will want to see his relations," said the little girl. "maybe he's got a wife and children. he will be dreadfully lonesome away down here." "maybe you had better take him back with you on the _kammerboy_," said russ thoughtfully, to the quartermaster. but the officer could not do that. there had been some objection made already to the big sea-eagle caged on deck. besides, the bird's wing was better, and if he was kept much longer confined, the quartermaster said, he might forget how to fly! so they all gathered around (but at a good distance from the cage you may be sure), and the eagle was released. he had to be poked out of the cage, for it seemed as though he could scarcely believe that the door was open and he was free. he stalked out upon the deck, his great claws rattling on the planks. he turned his head from side to side, and then opened his beak and, so vi said, he hissed at them! "at any rate," admitted russ afterward, "he did make a funny noise." "he was clearing his throat," said laddie, with scorn of his twin. "how could an eagle hiss? he isn't a goose." laddie knew all about geese, for grandma bell had geese. but he did not know all about eagles, that was sure! whether red eye hissed, or growled, or whatever he did in his throat, he certainly showed little friendliness. he raised his wings and flapped them "to see if they worked right." then he uttered a decided croak and jumped a little way off the deck. evidently this decided him that he was really free and that his great wings would bear him. he leaped into the air again, spreading his wings, and wheeled to go over the stern of the steamship. the spread of his wings when he flapped them was greater than most of the onlookers had supposed. "oh! oh! look out, laddie!" shouted rose. her warning came too late. the end of the great pinion swept laddie off his feet! he went rolling across the deck, screaming lustily. "oh! i'm going overboard! daddy!" he cried. but it was russ who grabbed him and stood him on his feet again. "you're not going overboard at all," said the older brother. "you couldn't. you'd have to climb over the rail to do it." "we-ell!" breathed laddie. "it's a wonder he didn't take me right with him!" then he, like everybody else, became interested in the passage of the great bird as it mounted skyward. it went up in a long slant at first, and then began to spiral upward, right toward the sun, and presently was out of sight. "it can look the sun straight in the face," said daddy bunker. "which is something we cannot do." "no wonder its eye is red, then," said rose. "i guess it's sunburnt," said margy. "i got sunburnt at captain ben's." that night they docked at savannah and went to a hotel in two taxicabs, for one would not hold all the bunkers and their baggage too. the hotel was a nice one, and rose thought the negro waiters and chambermaids very attentive and very pleasant people. "they are the smilingest people i ever saw," she confessed to mother bunker. "i guess they are thinking of funny things all the time." "perhaps," granted her mother. "but they are trained to politeness. and you children must be just as polite." they all tried to be polite, and russ grew quite friendly with one of the bellboys who brought them ice water. he asked that boy if he knew how to cut the pigeon wing, and the boy grinned very broadly. "i sure does!" he declared. "but if the boss heard of me doin' it around dishyer hotel, he'd bounce me." "are you made of rubber?" asked vi, who was standing by. "what's dat?" he demanded, rolling his eyes. "is i made of rubber? course i isn't. i's made of flesh and blood and bones, same as you is, little miss. only i isn't w'ite like you is." "but you said the man would bounce you. rubber balls bounce," explained vi. at that the bellboy went away laughing very heartily, but vi could not understand why. and, of course, as usual, nobody could explain it to vi's satisfaction. "i know a riddle!" cried laddie, after a moment. "what looks like a boy, but bounces like a rubber ball? why! a bellboy!" and he was highly delighted at this and went around telling everybody his new riddle. in the morning mr. frane armatage appeared at the hotel and was shown up to the bunker rooms. mr. armatage, as the little bunkers knew, was an old school friend of daddy bunker's; but one whom he had not seen for a long time. "why," said mr. armatage, who was a slender man with graying hair and a darker mustache, "charley was only a boy when i last saw him." he was a very jovial man, and red-faced. rose thought him handsome, and told mother bunker so. "no, charley was only a sapling then. and look at him now!" "and look at the sprouts that have sprung from that sapling," laughed daddy bunker, with a sweeping gesture towards the six little bunkers. "was he only as big as i am?" russ asked. "well, no, come to think of it; he was some bigger than you. we were graduating from college when we parted. but it seems a long time ago, doesn't it, charley?" daddy bunker agreed to that. then he and mr. armatage talked business for a while. the owner of the meiggs plantation wished to get more land and hire more hands for the next year, and through mr. bunker he expected to obtain capital for this. aside from business the two old friends desired very much to renew their boyhood acquaintance and have their wives and children become acquainted. "i've got half as many young ones as you have, charley," said mr. armatage. "you've beat me a hundred per cent. i wonder if we keep on growing if the ratio will remain the same?" russ knew what "ratio" meant, and he asked: "how can it keep that way if we grow to be seven little bunkers? you can't have three and a half little armatages, you know." "that's a smart boy!" exclaimed the tall man, smiling. "he can see through a millstone just as quick as any boy i know. we'll hope that there will be no half-portions of armatages. i want all my children to have the usual number of limbs and body." "if you have little girls, and one was only half a little girl," said rose, "she would be worse off than a mermaid, wouldn't she?" "she certainly would," agreed the planter. "why?" demanded vi, who did not understand. "because half of her would be a fish," said russ, laughing. "and you would have to have all your house under water, mr. armatage, or the mermaid could not get up and down stairs." "i declare, charley!" exclaimed the visitor, "these young ones of yours are certainly blessed with great imaginations. i don't believe our children ever thought of such things." the next day the party went out to the meiggs plantation. it was a two-hours' ride on a branch railroad and a shorter and swifter ride in an automobile over the "jounciest" road the children had ever ridden on, for part of the way led through a swamp and logs were laid down side by side to keep the road, as mr. armatage laughingly said, from sinking quite out of sight. but the land on which the armatage home stood was high and dry. it was a beautiful grassy knoll, acres in extent, and shaded by wide-armed trees which had scarcely lost any leaves it seemed to the little bunkers, though this was winter. on the wide, white-pillared veranda a very handsome lady and two little girls and a little boy stood to receive the party. the children did not come forward to greet the visitors, or even their father, until the latter spoke to them. mr. and mrs. bunker were quite sure by the actions of phillis and alice and frane, junior, that they were not granted the freedom of speech and action that their little ones enjoyed. mother bunker pitied those children from the start! [illustration: the six little bunkers were amazed at the number of colored children. _six little bunkers at mammy junes._ _page_ ] but what amazed the six little bunkers more than anything else was the number of colored children hanging about the veranda to see the newcomers. rose confided to russ that she thought there must be a colored school near by and all the children were out for recess. and there were so many house-servants that smiling black and brown faces appeared everywhere. "i guess," said rose to her mother, "that there must be an awful lot of work to do in this big house. it's lots bigger than aunt jo's or grandma bell's. it's like a castle, and all these servants are like retainers. i read about retainers in a story. only these retainers aren't dressed in uniforms." chapter xii mammy june from the very beginning, although they said nothing about it even to each other, the six little bunkers found the three little armatages "funny." "funny" is a word that may mean much or little, and often the very opposite of humorous. in this case the visitors from the north did not understand phillis and alice and frane, junior. they were not like any boys and girls whom the bunkers had ever known before. phillis was twelve--quite a "grown up young lady" she seemed to consider herself. yet she broke out now and then in wild, tomboyish activities, racing with russ and frane, junior, climbing fences and trees, and riding horses bareback in the home lot. it seemed as though phil, as they called her, "held in" just as long as she could, trying to put on the airs of grown-ups, and then just had to break out. "if you tell mother i did this i'll wish a ha'nt after you!" she would say to her brother, who was the age of vi and laddie, and her sister alice, who was two years younger than herself, but no bigger than rose. alice had a very low, sweet, contralto voice, like mrs. armatage, and a very demure manner. rose became friendly with alice almost at once. and the way they treated the colored children of their own age and older was just as strange as anything else about the three armatages. they petted and quarreled with them; they expected all kinds of service from them; and they were on their part, constantly doing things for the children of "the quarters" and giving them presents. wherever the white children went about the plantation there was sure to be a crowd of colored boys and girls tagging them. after the first day mother bunker was reassured that nothing could happen to her brood, because there were so many of the colored men about the grounds to look after them. as in the house, a black or brown face, broadly a-smile, was likely to appear almost anywhere. the quarters, as the cabins occupied by the colored people were called, were not far from the house, but not in sight of it. even the kitchen was in a separate house, back of the big house. after bedtime there was not a servant left in the big house unless somebody was sick. "mammy used to live here," mrs. armatage explained, in her languid voice, "while the children were small. i couldn't have got along without mammy. she was my mammy too. but she's too old to be of much use now, and frane has pensioned her. she has her own little house and plot of ground and if her boy--her youngest boy--had stayed with her, mammy would get along all right. she worries about that boy." the bunker children did not understand much about this until, on the second day after their arrival, phillis said: "i'm going down to see mammy. want to come?" "is--isn't your mammy here at home?" asked vi. "dora blunt calls her mother 'mammy'; but we don't." "i've got a mother and a mammy too," explained the oldest armatage girl. "you-all come on and see her. she'll be glad to see you folks from the north. she will ask you if you've seen her ebenezer, for he went up north. we used to all call him 'sneezer,' and it made him awfully mad." "didn't he have any better name?" asked russ. "his full name is ebenezer caliper spotiswood meiggs. of course, their name isn't really meiggs, like the plantation; but the darkies often take the names of the places where they were born. sneezer was a real nice boy." "he isn't dead, is he?" asked russ. "reckon not," said phillis. "but mammy june is awful' worried about him. she hasn't heard from him now for more than a year. so she doesn't know what to think." "but she has got other folks, hasn't she?" rose asked. "you'd think so! grandchildren by the score," replied the older armatage girl, laughing. "sneezer had lots of older brothers and sisters, and they most all have married and live about here and have big families. the grandchildren are running in and out of mammy's cabin all the time. i have to chase 'em out with a broom sometimes when i go down there. and they eat her pretty near up alive!" even the smaller bunkers knew that this was a figure of speech. the grandchildren did not actually eat mammy june, although they might clean her cupboard as bare as that of old mother hubbard. they followed a winding, grass-grown cart path for nearly half a mile before coming to mammy june's house. the way was sloping to the border of a "branch" or small stream--a very pretty brook indeed that burbled over stones in some places and then had long stretches of quiet pools where frane, junior, told russ and laddie that there were many fish--"big fellows." "i'll get a string and a bent pin and fish for them," said laddie confidently. "i fished that way in the brook at pineville." "huh!" said frane armatage, junior, in scorn. "one of these fish here would swallow your pin and line and haul you in." "oh!" gasped vi, with big eyes. "what for?" "no, the fish wouldn't!" declared laddie promptly. "yes, it would. and swallow you, too." "no, the fish wouldn't," repeated laddie, "for i'd let go just as soon as it began to tug." "smartie!" said phillis to her brother. "you can't fool these bunker boys. let laddie alone." of course the troop of white children, walking down the cart path to mammy june's, was followed by a troop of colored children. the latter sang and romped and chased about the bordering woods like puppies out for a rample. sometimes they danced. "can you cut a pigeon wing?" russ asked one of the older lads. "i want to learn to do that." "no, i can't do that. not good. we've got some dancers over at the quarters that does it right well," was the reply. "you ought to've seen sneezer do it!" cried another of the colored children. "sneezer could do it fine. couldn't he, miss phil?" "sneezer was a great dancer," admitted the oldest armatage girl. "come on, now, bunkers, and see mammy june. keep away from this cabin," she added to the colored children, "or i'll call a ha'nt out of the swamp to chase you." "i wonder what those 'ha'nts' are, russ," whispered rose to her brother. "do they have feathers? or don't they fly? they must run pretty fast, for phil is always saying she will make one chase folks." "i asked daddy. there isn't any such thing. it's like we say 'ghosts.'" "oh! at hallowe'en? when we dress up in sheets and things?" "yes. maybe these colored children believe in ghosts. but of course we don't!" "no-o," said rose thoughtfully. "just the same i wouldn't like to think of ha'nts if i was alone in the woods at night. would you, russ?" russ dodged that question. he said: "i don't mean to be alone in the woods around here at night. and neither do you, rose bunker." of course neither of them had the least idea what was going to happen to them before they started north from the meiggs plantation. mammy june's cabin was of white-washed logs, with vines climbing about the door that were leafless now but very thrifty looking. there were fig trees that made a background and a windbreak for the little house, and a huge magnolia tree stood not far from the cabin. the front door opened upon a roofed porch, and an old colored woman of ample size, in a starched and flowered gingham dress and with a white turban on her head, was rocking in a big arm chair on this porch when the children appeared. "lawsy me!" she exclaimed, smiling broadly to show firm white teeth in spite of her age. "is this yere a celebration or is it a parade? miss philly, you got a smooch on dat waist, and your skirt is hiked up behind. i declar' i believe you've lost a button." "why, so i have, mammy june," answered phillis. "and more than one. nobody has time to keep buttons sewed on up at the house, now that you're not there." "shiftless, no-count critters, dem gals up dere. sho, honey! who is all dese lil' white children?" "bunkers," explained frane, junior. "what's dem?" asked mammy june, apparently puzzled. "is dey to play with, or is dey to eat? bunkers! lawsy!" rose giggled delightedly. "they are to play with," laughed alice suddenly. "that is what they are for, mammy june." "you see you play pretty with them, then," said the old woman, shaking her head and speaking admonishingly. rose and russ bunker at least began to understand that this pleasant old colored woman had had the chief care of the three young armatages while they were little. perhaps she had trained them quite as much as their mother and father. and they seemed to love mammy june accordingly. that the old woman loved little folks and knew how to make friends with them was soon apparent. she had mun bun and margy both together in her ample lap while laddie and vi leaned against her and listened to the tale she was telling the little folks. phillis and alice meanwhile showed rose the interior of the cabin and all its comforts and wonders. meanwhile frane, junior, took russ down to the stream with some of the colored children to show him some of the big fish he had threatened laddie with. here it was that russ bunker engaged in his first adventure at the meiggs plantation. chapter xiii the catfish "if sneezer was here," said frane, junior, "he'd show you more fish than i can. sneezer used to just smell 'em out. but come on. i know where some of the big ones stay." "i don't want to dive in after them," declared russ bunker, laughing. "the way you promised laddie. and i haven't any hook and line at all." "we won't go fishing. not really. mostly the darkies fish. we don't bother to. they bring us plenty to eat when we want them at the house." "you--you don't do much of anything, do you?" asked russ doubtfully. "not for yourselves, i mean." "don't have to," returned frane, junior. "the darkies do it all for us. but phil and alice and i have to do our own studying." russ saw that he was in fun, but he was curious enough to ask the smaller boy: "do you and the girls go to school?" "school comes to us. there is a teacher comes here. lives at the house. but it's vacation time now till after new year's. i hope she never comes back!" "oh, is she mean to you?" "course she is," declared frane, junior. "she makes us study. i hate to." "well, sometimes i don't like what they make us learn in school," admitted russ slowly. "but i guess it's good for us." "how do you know, it is?" demanded the other. "i don't feel any better after i study. i only get the headache." russ could not find an immediate answer for this statement. besides, there was something right in front of him then that aroused his interest. it was a big log spanning the stream, with a shaky railing nailed to it, made of a long pole attached to several uprights. "that is the funniest bridge i ever saw," he declared. "will it hold you?" "look at that log. it would hold a hundred elephants," declared frane, junior, who was inclined to exaggerate a good deal at times. "not all at once!" cried russ. "yes, sir. if you could get 'em on it," said frane. "but i don't s'pose the railing would stand it." when the boys went out on the bridge and russ considered the railing he was very sure that this last statement of his little friend was true, whether any others were or not. the railing "wabbled" very much, and russ refrained from leaning against it. "now, you folks keep back!" whispered frane shrilly to the colored children who had followed them. "i want to show him the big fellow that sleeps down here." somewhere he had picked up a piece of bark more than a foot long, which was rolled into a cylinder. he lay down on the log near the middle of the brook and began to look down into the brown and rather cloudy water through this odd spyglass. "what can you see through that thing?" asked russ. "sh! wait. don't let 'em hear you," warned frane, junior. then he added: "get down here 'side o' me. when i spot him i'll let you squint through this too." russ understood now that his companion was trying to see one of the fish that lived in the stream--perhaps the "big fellow" frane had spoken of. russ grew quite excited and he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. he knelt down beside frane, and finally lay right down on his stomach and likewise peered over the side of the log. the log-bridge had been made quite flat on its upper surface with a broadaxe, and all the bark had long since worn off. it was all of thirty feet long, but it was just as firm as the arch of a stone bridge. "there!" whispered frane. "i saw a flicker then. yep! he's there! right below the edge of that stone!" "i don't see anything but water. i can't even see the bottom," observed russ, in a low voice, too. "don't you see him below the stone?" "i don't even see the stone," complained russ. "hush! he'll hear you. i see his tail wiggle. he's a big cat." "now, don't tell me there's a cat in this brook!" said russ bunker, shortly. "i know there isn't anything of the kind. cats hate water." he had already learned that frane, junior, was apt to exaggerate. russ thought the armatage boy was letting his fancy run wild at this present moment. "it is a cat," murmured frane. "i can see his whiskers moving. yep, a big fellow! want to see?" and he took his eye away from the bark cylinder. "can you see his teeth and his claws and his fur and his tail?" demanded russ scornfully, and without offering to take the cylinder. he did not intend to be fooled so easily. "what are you talking about?" hissed frane. "and speak quietly. you'll drive him away." "cats aren't so easily scared," said russ. "you have to peg stones at 'em to drive 'em away." "huh!" sniffed frane. "funny cats up north. i don't believe you have any up there." "you're right we don't," agreed russ, and now he laughed again. "not any cats that swim. cats hate the water----" "aw, shucks! i'm not talking about cats!" exclaimed frane. "i'm talking about catfish." "oh!" ejaculated the northern boy. "you know a catfish, don't you? it has feelers that we call whiskers. awful nice eating, for they only have a backbone." "oh!" murmured russ again. "i guess i didn't understand. let me see the fish, will you, please?" "you can look," said frane passing him the cylinder of bark. "but maybe we have scared him off, talking so much." the big catfish, however, had not been scared away. after a few moments, and with frane's aid, russ bunker got the wooden spyglass focused on the proper point. he saw the imbedded rock frane had spoken of. then he saw the fish basking in the water below the rock's edge. it was almost two feet long, with a big head and goggle eyes, and the "whiskers" frane had spoken of wriggled back and forth in the slow current. russ grew excited. "why!" he whispered to frane, "i could grab it, if i tried. it is just like what we call bullheads up in pineville. i've caught 'em in our pond. you can hardly get 'em off the hook without getting stung by 'em." "catfish don't sting you. but you have to knock 'em in the head when you land them, so as to make 'em behave. i've seen the boys do it." "i'm going to make a grab for that fellow," declared russ. "i reckon you'd miss him. you couldn't hold him, anyway," said frane doubtfully. "i could so." "no, you couldn't. he's too big. they never catch catfish that way." "i know i never caught a bullhead that way," admitted russ. "but one never lay so still for me. and right under this log! here! you take the spyglass." "you'd better take care," advised the southern boy. but russ felt very daring. it seemed that the fish lay only a few inches under the surface of the brown water. if he could grasp the fish and throw it ashore, how the other children would all shout! perhaps russ bunker wanted to "show off" a little. anyway, he determined to make the attempt to land the big catfish with his hands. "you can't do it," warned frane, junior, creeping back a way so as to give russ more room. "don't say that till you see," returned the boy from the north. "now, look! i know just where he lies. look!" russ had rolled his shirtsleeve up to his shoulder. he balanced himself on the log, his head and shoulders overhanging the brown water. suddenly he made a dive with his right hand. even his head touched the water, he dipped so deep, and his cap went floating away. and, wonderful to relate, his hand did seize upon the catfish. perhaps the fish had been asleep down there by the edge of the imbedded stone. at any rate it was not quick enough to escape russ bunker's darting hand. "i got it!" yelled russ, in delight. he tried to seize fast hold upon the body of the catfish, but the fish shot forward with a wriggle that slapped its tail against russ's hand. russ plunged forward, trying to hold it. "i--guess--he's--a--butter--fish!" he gasped. "he's so slippery----" and then, losing his balance on the log, russ bunker fell right into the deep pool with splash enough to frighten all the fishes for yards around! chapter xiv mammy june helps of course, russ bunker should not have done it. he was always ready to try new things and wasn't much afraid of anything that turned up. but trying to catch a big catfish with his hands was ridiculous. perhaps he realized this when he fell off the log into the stream; but it was too late then to know how foolish it was. the chorus of screams from the children on the bank was the first announcement that mammy june had of the mischief that was afoot. the colored children shouted and frane, junior, ran right off the log and came screaming to the cabin: "he's gone down! he's gone down!" "what is the matter with you, frane?" demanded the old woman, coming heavily down off the porch. "who's gone down? wha's he gone down to?" "russ has gone down," announced frane. "he's gone down after the catfish." "lawsy me!" exclaimed mammy june. "is that li'le boy got into the branch?" rose and vi and laddie and margy and mun bun, as well as the two armatage girls, all came running, too. for the first minute none of them understood what had happened to russ. but when they reached the bank of the stream they saw something splashing in the middle of the pool under the bridge. they couldn't see russ, but they knew that something was struggling there. "is that a fish?" demanded laddie. "it must be a whale." "oh!" shrieked rose. "it's russ! he'll be drowned!" "don't let him get wet, rose," cried margy. "mother won't want him to get his clothes wet." but if there was any part of russ bunker that was not wet when he managed to get on his feet and his head and shoulders appeared above the water, rose couldn't imagine what part it could be. he was just the wettest boy she had ever seen. russ had got a footing finally upon the stone beside which the big catfish had lain. the water was too deep all around him for him to wade out. the bottom of the pool was so deep that it was over the boy's head. he had to stand on the rock and gasp for breath for he had swallowed a good deal of water, having gone down with his mouth open. "what did i tell you?" demanded frane, junior, from the bank. "you couldn't catch that cat." "i know it!" jerked out russ. "i know it now." "lawsy me!" ejaculated mammy june. "is that the way you ketches catfish up norf?" the other little bunkers did not understand this. vi wanted to know at once if russ had a kitty in the water with him. but nobody paid any attention to her questions. "here, you 'lias and henery!" commanded mammy june to two of the older colored boys. "what you standin' there idle for? go out on that bridge and haul that poor chile ashore. what a state he is in, to be sure!" it did not take long to help russ up on to the log again. the water just poured off him; but it was not very cold and his teeth didn't chatter--much. mammy june showed anxiety, however. "you come right into de house, honey," she said to russ. "now, little miss," she added to rose, "yo' mustn't scold him now. wait till we wring his clothes out and get him dry. yo' 'lias, bring some dry bresh and some good sticks. we'll want a hot fire." mammy june had no stove in her cabin, but a broad and smoke-blackened open fireplace. there was a small fire in it, over which her teakettle hung. in five minutes the negro boys made a roaring blaze. then the old woman drove them all out of the cabin save russ, whom she helped off with his wet clothes, rubbed dry with a big towel, and to whom she gave a shirt and trousers to put on while she wrung out his clothing and hung it all about the fire to dry. "that shirt and them pants," she said, "b'longs to my sneezer--my ebenezer. if he was here this wouldn't have happened to yo', honey. he wouldn't have let no w'ite boy fall into that branch--no, sir. but these no-'count other young ones didn't know 'nough to tell yo' that that ain't the way to catch catfish." "i found out myself," admitted russ rather ruefully. rose came to the door and begged to know if russ was all right. "he's going to be just as soon as i get him made a hot drink," declared mammy june. "has he got all over being drowned?" margy demanded. and even mun bun was a good deal troubled because russ had got so wet. "if you had any candy in your pocket, russ," the little boy said, "it must be all soft now. it won't be good to eat." "i didn't have any candy, mun bun," russ told him. russ was feeling a whole lot better now. mammy june gave him a nice hot, sweet drink. he didn't mind if it was a little "stingy" too. "yo' all come in yere--yo' little w'ite folks," said mammy june, "and we'll make some 'lasses taffy. i got plenty sorgum 'lasses. we can make it w'ile this catfish boy is getting dry." she continued to call russ "the catfish boy" and chuckled over his adventure. but she warned him, when his clothing was dry, that he must be more careful when he was playing about the water. "an' yo' got to tell yo' mudder and daddy about it," she instructed russ. "don't never hide nothin' from 'em." "oh, we don't!" rose broke in. "we always tell mother and daddy everything." "that's what i tell my philly and ally and frane, junior. always must tell they parents." "and get scolded for it," said phillis rather crossly. "well, then," said mammy june cheerfully, "you mustn't do things to get scolded for. so i tell all these grandchildren of mine. scat, you children!" for she saw several of the smaller colored boys and girls trying to steal in at the cabin door. "ain't room for you in here noways. yo' shall have yo' share of the 'lasses candy when it's done." that "taffy pull" was a famous one. the six little bunkers thought they had never eaten such nice molasses candy as mammy june made. phillis armatage made believe that she did a lot to help for she buttered the pans. but it was mammy june who really did it all. "i think," confessed rose to alice, "that it is awfully nice to have both a mammy and a mother, as you girls have. of course, a mammy can't be just what mother bunker is to us; but mammy june is nice." "she's lots better to us than our mother, in some ways," said alice bluntly. "mother doesn't want us to play noisy in the house. she has headaches and stays on the couch a lot. we have to step soft and can't talk loud. but mammy june never has the fidgets." "what's 'fidgets'?" asked rose, quite shocked by the way alice spoke of her mother. "what ladies have," explained alice. "don't your mother have 'em?" "i guess not. i never heard about them," rose answered. "then if your mother is sick, i don't suppose she can help it. it is lucky you have got a mammy." that first afternoon ("evening" all these southern folks called it) at mammy june's was a very pleasant experience. russ did not mind his ducking--much. he only grinned a little when mammy june called him "the catfish boy." "serves me good and right," he confessed to rose. "i ought not to have gone into that brook without a bathing suit. and, anyway, i guess a boy can't catch fish of any kind with his hands." mun bun and margy and the smaller colored children managed to spread the molasses taffy over face and hands to a greater or less degree; but they enjoyed the taffy pull as much as the older children did. finally, after mammy june had washed his face and hands, mun bun climbed up into her comfortable lap and went fast asleep. the old woman, who loved children so dearly and was so kind to them, looked at one of her older grandsons, elias, and ordered him to "get de boxwagon to take dis bressed baby home in." a soapbox on a plank between two pairs of wheels being produced and the box made comfortable with a quilt and a pillow belonging to mammy june, mun bun was laid, still fast asleep, in this vehicle, and russ started to drag his little brother home. "yo' 'lias!" exclaimed mammy june, from the doorway of her cabin, "whar's yo' manners? don't you let that w'ite visitor boy drag that boxwagon. you get busy, 'lias." russ and the other bunker children were not used to being waited on at every step and turn. but they became better used to it as the time passed. the white folks on the meiggs plantation seemed to expect all this aid from the colored folks, and the latter seemed willing and eager to attend. russ was not scolded for his involuntary plunge into the branch. in fact his father laughed immensely at the tale. but mother bunker had to be assured that the stream was neither deep nor boisterous before she could laugh much. the children had all had a lovely afternoon at mammy june's and after that day they found most of their enjoyment in running down to her cabin and playing there. this delight was shared by the armatages too. and the latter's father and mother seemed perfectly content if the children were in mammy's care. the days passed all too swiftly. everybody, darkies and all, were on tiptoe about the coming festival of christmas and new year's. the six little bunkers learned that these holidays were celebrated in different style on this georgia plantation from what they were in the north. chapter xv when christmas is fourth of july mun bun and margy were too little always to accompany the older children on their rambles; but the two smallest bunkers could be trusted to invent plays of their own when they might be left out of the older one's parties. they had long since learned not to feel slighted if mother bunker decided that they were to stay near her. there was sufficient mystery and expectation regarding the coming holiday celebrations at the meiggs plantation to excite the little folks in any case. there was to be no christmas tree such as the bunkers had had the previous christmas in the north. both mun bun and margy could remember that tree very clearly. but there was quite as much hiding of funny shaped packages until the gift day should arrive, and the house was being decorated, inside and out, for the coming celebration. mun bun and margy watched the servants hanging christmas greens and mistletoe, although, unlike the older little bunkers, they could not go into the swamps with the men to gather these greens. "we just ought to have a christmas tree of our own," margy said to mun bun. "i know where we can get a tree, and we'll beg some wreaths and trimming from that nice colored man there." "we can't," said mun bun, somewhat despondently. "we isn't got a house to put the tree in. and we had the christmas tree last time in the house." "i've found a house," whispered margy. "but don't you tell anybody." "not even tell muvver?" asked mun bun, looking almost scared. yet the idea of a secret delighted him too. "not till we get it all done. then we will show her how fine it is," said margy. "where is your house?" asked mun bun. "you come along and i'll show you. i found it all by myself." she led mun bun by the hand out behind the big house and toward the quarters. in a sheltered place, behind a hedge, was a little house, sure enough. and it was not so very little after all, for when they went into it they could both stand upright. "there isn't any window," said mun bun. "this isn't a regular house." "of course, it's a house," margy declared. "it's got a doorway, and----" "it hasn't got any door, just the same," said mun bun, who might have liked the house better if he had found it himself. "we don't need a door. we want it open so the big folks can see our tree when we get it trimmed." "where is the tree?" demanded the still doubtful little boy. "now, mun bun!" exclaimed margy, "do you want to play at fixing this christmas tree, or don't you?" "oh, yes," said mun bun, who did not really want to be left out of any fun, even if he did not think of it first himself. "show me the tree, margy." "of course i will," said his sister. "you must help me get it and carry it in here." "come on," urged the little boy. "let's." so then margy showed him where the tree she had found stood in a green tub outside the door of a small house that was almost all glass. the lower panes of glass in this house were whitewashed, so the children could not see what was in it; but this tree with its thick, glossy leaves seemed to have been left out for anybody to take who wanted it. they had to tug pretty hard to get the tree out of the tub. as margy said, they didn't want the tub anyway, for it would take up too much room. and they were not strong enough to move it. but they got the tree uprooted, and then were able to carry it to the little house that margy had selected as their own private dwelling for the play celebration. by dragging the tree inside, roots first, they managed to get it in without breaking off any of the glossy leaves. they stood it upright and made it steady by placing some bricks that they found about the roots. its top reached the roof of the little house. they begged some broken wreaths and chains of evergreen and even a spray of mistletoe with berries on it. the workmen were very kind to the smallest bunkers. mun bun grew quite as excited and enthusiastic as margy. they worked hard to trim that tree. "but it hasn't any lights," said mun bun sadly. "and that other christmas tree had lights." you see, he remembered very clearly about that. and when mun bun played he always wanted the play to be as real as possible. "we'll get candles," declared margy. "i saw candles in the kitchen house where that nice cook lives. let's go and ask her." but just as they were going to squeeze out of the low door of the little house they heard a great shouting and calling, and then suddenly the snapping of explosive crackers--fire crackers--began! "oh!" gasped mun bun. "who's shootin'?" "it's firecrackers. you know, we've had 'em before. and they are in a barrel," said margy breathlessly. through the doorway of the little house in which they had set up the "christmas tree" the two saw their brothers and sisters, the armatage children, and a lot of the little negroes dancing about a barrel a little way down the hill. margy was right. into that barrel somebody had thrown a lighted bunch of firecrackers--about the safest way in which those noisy and delightful "snappers" can be exploded. and what a noise they made! mun bun and margy almost forgot their own play for the moment as they struggled to see which should first go out of the door of the little house. getting in each other's way, they were delayed and before they could get out a great dog came bounding toward them. "oh! oh! oh!" squealed margy, and shrank back, leaving to mun bun the opportunity of getting out if he wanted to. "i'm not afraid of that dog," said mun bun. but, just the same, he did not go out when he might have done so. "he isn't as big as aunt jo's alexis, is he, margy?" "but we aren't acquainted with him like we were with alexis," whispered the little girl. she knew his name was bobo. but always before when she had seen him the great hound, with his flappy ears and wide mouth, had been chained. "do--do you suppose he'll want to bite us?" quavered mun bun, admitting now that he was afraid of the dog. "and what does he want here in our house, margy?" margy suddenly remembered that when she had seen bobo before he had been chained right at this little house. maybe it was his house, although it was bigger than any doghouse she had ever seen before. "we don't want him in here," cried mun bun. "there isn't any room for him." then he cried to the big hound: "go 'way! you'll spoil our christmas tree." the big hound came nearer, but more quietly. his eyes were red, and he sniffed enquiringly at the doorway while the children crowded back against the tree. perhaps he was the very kindest dog in the world; but to mun bun and margy he appeared to be dreadfully savage! "go 'way!" they shouted in chorus. and mun bun added again: "we don't want him in here, do we, margy?" the dog seemed determined to thrust himself into the house. perhaps bobo felt about mun bun and margy as they did about him--that they had no right there, and he wanted them to get out. and when he put his great head and shoulders into the doorway the little bunkers began to shriek at the top of their voices. even the snapping firecrackers could not drown their voices now. russ and rose heard the cries coming from the doghouse, and they knew mun bun and margy were in trouble. they saw bobo, who had been with them to the swamp, seemingly stuck half way in the doorway of his kennel, and russ cried: "i guess that's where they are. hear 'em, rose? come on, save mun bun and margy." "i'm afraid of that hound," replied rose, but she followed her brother just the same. russ shouted to the dog. the hound backed out and looked around at russ bunker. but his red eyes did not scare the boy. "we're coming, mun bun!" russ shouted. "we're coming, margy!" the two little ones appeared at the door of the kennel. they were not crying much, but they had tight hold of each other's hands. "russ! rose!" cried margy. "take us out." "what are you doing in that dog's kennel?" demanded rose. "playing christmas," said margy, with quivering voice. "i guess it isn't christmas," said mun bun doubtfully. "i guess it's fourth of july. isn't it, russ? they don't have shooters only on the fourth of july." "they do down here," said russ, reaching the kennel and looking in while bobo stood by as though he still wondered why mun bun and margy had tried to turn him out of his house. just then one of the colored men, who was a gardener, came along and stooped to look into the kennel too. "for de lan's sake!" he cried, "what you childern doin' in dat dog kennel?" "we--we were playing christmas tree," said margy, grabbing hold of rose's hand. "for de lan's sake!" repeated the man, showing the whites of his eyes in a most astonishing way. "what dat in dere?" "that's our christmas tree," said mun bun, very bravely now. "for de lan's sake!" ejaculated the man for a third time. "what mistah armatage gwine to say now? dat's his bestest rubber plant what he tol' me to take partic'lar care of. what will you lil' w'ite childern be up to next, i'm a-wondering?" chapter xvi a letter and a big light "why, mun bun!" murmured russ. "why, margy bunker!" exclaimed rose. mun bun was staring with all his eyes (and he had two very bright ones) at the rubber plant. he did not consider the mischief he had done. he was as curious as vi could possibly have been about an entirely different thing. "if that's a rubber plant, russ," he demanded, "where's the rubbers? i don't see any overshoes on it. what part of it is rubber?" at that the black man threw back his head and laughed loudly. the children all watched his open mouth and rolling eyes and flashing teeth and finally they broke into laughter too. they could not help it. "but," said russ, after they had stopped laughing, "i am afraid mr. armatage will be angry with us." "i dunno--i dunno, chile," said the negro, shaking his head. "he sure is partic'lar 'bout dat rubber plant. but mebbe i can repot it and fix it up all right. it's only just been uprooted, and i was gwine to change de dirt in dat tub, anyway." "oh! do you think you can do it and save mun bun and margy from getting a scolding?" rose cried. "we'll see, lil' miss. shouldn't wonder," and the gardener went to work at once. meanwhile bobo sat on his haunches and mournfully looked at what was going on. his red eyes had a very sad expression and his drooping ears made him look, so rose said, more mournful still. "he looks as if he'd just come from a funeral," she said to russ. "what's that?" demanded margy promptly. but rose and russ dodged that question. in fact they did not know how to explain just what a funeral was. but in watching the gardener replace the rubber plant in the green tub, surrounded with fresh earth from the green house, the little ones forgot everything else, even bobo. bobo, just as soon as he could, went into his house and smelled all around and finally lay down, his muzzle sticking out of the door. "he looks unhappy," rose said. "i guess he thought he wasn't going to have any home at all when he saw you two in there with the rubber plant." "it was a good christmas tree," was margy's only reply to this. "but we didn't get the candles to light it up," mun bun rejoined, walking away hand in hand with russ. "so how could it be a christmas tree if there weren't any candles?" as christmas day grew closer there was less work done and more play engaged in by everybody on the plantation. christmas eve there was a beautiful display of fireworks on the front lawn of the big house, and everybody from the quarters came to see it, as well as the white folks. even mammy june came up from her cabin by the stream, walking with difficulty, for she was lame, and sat in state on the porch "with de w'ite folks" to see the fireworks. the old woman had taken a strong liking to the six little bunkers and she made as much of them as she did of the three little armatages. but the latter were not jealous at all. phillis and alice and frane, junior, were likewise delighted with the children from the north. christmas day dawned brilliantly, and although there was what mr. armatage called "a tang" in the air it was so warm that it was hard for the bunker children to realize that this was the day that they expected up north to be "white." "a 'white christmas' doesn't mean anything down here in georgia," said daddy bunker. "though once in a while they have a little snow here. but they never speak of it--not the natives. it is a sort of scandal in the family," and he laughed, looking at mother bunker, who understood him if the children did not. but white or green, that christmas day was a delightful one. even without a gaudily lighted and trimmed tree, the bunkers were pleased in every way. their presents were stacked with those belonging to the armatage children under the chimneypiece in the big front parlor, and mr. armatage himself made the presentations. there were presents from "all over" for the six little bunkers; for no matter how far they were away from their many relatives and friends, the six were fondly remembered. even cowboy jack sent gifts from texas! with the presents from aunt jo came a letter particularly addressed to the children. russ read it aloud to them all. it gave news of william's neuralgia (vi still insisted on calling it "croup") and about annie and parker. even the great dane, alexis, was mentioned. but the most important thing spoken of in the letter to the children's minds was the fact that aunt jo said she meant to keep sam, the colored boy mun bun and margy had introduced into her back bay home, all winter. "the boy is really a treasure," said aunt jo. "he can do something besides dance--although he does plenty of that in the kitchen to the delight of parker, annie and william. he has been taught to work, and is really a very good houseboy. and he looks well in his uniform." "i'd like to see him in a uniform," said laddie. "is he a soldier, or a policeman?" "he's a 'buttons,'" replied mother bunker, laughing. "aunt jo has always wanted to have a boy in buttons to answer the door and clean the knives." "i'd rather see him dance again," said russ, and he slyly tried to cut that pigeon wing once more. but he made a dismal failure of it. there was dancing in plenty at the negro quarters that christmas evening. all the white folks went down from the big house to watch the proceedings. and again mammy june was there. there had been a great feast for the hands, but although one grinning negro boy confessed to russ that he was "full o' tuck," he still could dance. this boy was applauded vigorously by his mates, and one of them called out: "'lias! show dese w'ite folks how _to_ cut dat pigeon wing. go on, boy!" "lawsy me!" exclaimed mammy june, "don't none of you know how to do dat like my sneezer. if he was here he'd show 'em. just you dance plain, honey. double shuffle's as much as you can do." so her grandson, 'lias, did not try any fancy steps. privately, however, and much to rose's amusement, russ bunker often tried to copy sam's pigeon-wing step. "if we ever go to aunt jo's again--and of course we shall--i am going to get sam to show me how to do it. i'll get it perfect some time," sighed the oldest bunker boy. vi, looking on at one of her brother's attempts, asked: "doesn't it hurt the pigeon to cut its wing?" but that was a silly question, and they all laughed at her. laddie grew suddenly excited. "oh! i know a new riddle!" he cried. "it's a good riddle!" "what is it?" asked his twin sister. "it isn't a good riddle just because you made it up, laddie," said rose. "it would be a good one no matter who made it up," answered laddie decidedly. "you let me tell it. i know it's good." "what is it, laddie?" russ bunker asked. "here is the riddle," said laddie eagerly. "what sort of wing has no feathers on it? and the answer is, of course, 'a pigeon wing.' there! isn't that a fine riddle?" "pooh!" said vi. "i don't think so." "some pigeons' wings have feathers," said rose. "hoh!" cried laddie, somewhat disturbed. "that one russ was trying to make doesn't have any feathers on it." "that's only one kind, and it isn't really a pigeon's wing, you know." laddie stared at his sister, rose, with much doubt. "you're always disappointing me, rose," he murmured. "but rose is right, laddie," said russ. "and there are other wings that have no feathers." "what wings?" grumbled laddie. "i know!" cried vi suddenly. "airplane wings! they haven't any feathers." "but they are no more like real wings," complained rose, "than russ's dancing step." "no," said the oldest bunker boy. "i mean bat's wings. don't you remember that bat we caught that time? its wings didn't have feathers at all. it was covered with fur." "oh, well," sighed laddie. "then my riddle isn't any good." "not much, i am afraid," said russ kindly but firmly. however, laddie and the other little bunkers did not have many disappointing things happen to them on this lovely christmas day. mr. and mrs. armatage tried in every way to make the stay of their guests at the meiggs plantation as pleasant as possible. after the celebration at the quarters the white folks came home, and there at the big house a fine party was soon under way. people had come in their cars from far and near and the house was brilliantly lighted on the first two floors. the children were allowed to look on at this grown folks' party for a little while, then they had to go to bed. phillis and alice and frane, junior, seemed to consider it very hard that they were not allowed to stay downstairs; but the little bunkers were used to having their own good times and did not expect to enter into the amusements of their elders. "let's sit on the top step of these stairs," said phillis to rose and alice, "and we can see through the balustrades. there's mrs. campron! she's got a lovely dress on, and diamonds." rose remained with the two armatage girls for a little while and russ saw to it that the little folks went to bed. then he came out into the hall again to see what the girls were doing. before he could ask them he chanced to look out of the back window at the end of the long hall. "oh!" cried russ bunker. "what is that?" "what's what?" demanded phillis. "what do you see?" "is it a shooting star?" went on russ. "see that light! i believe it must be a fire." the girls came running to join him then, more interested in what russ saw than they were in what was going on at the party below. chapter xvii mammy june in peril from the big house on the meiggs plantation, standing on a knoll--which means a small hill,--one could see for a long distance all about, in spite of the shade trees, and especially when looking from the third floor windows. russ bunker was looking right out over the quarters where the hands lived, and could see far down the slope of the land and to the forest beyond the cultivated fields. it was a lovely starlit night, but of course the stars did not reveal everything. the strong red light that sprang up beyond the cabins where the colored people lived, revealed a great deal, however. "it's a house afire!" declared phillis armatage. "where can there be a house in that direction?" rose bunker asked. "isn't that fire beyond the cabins, russ?" russ suddenly sprang to action. he wheeled from the window and ran along the hall to the stairway. "russ! russ! where are you going?" demanded his sister. "tell daddy and mr. armatage. i know what house is afire. it's mammy june's cabin!" shouted russ. he had previously located the direction of the old woman's cabin by the stream, and russ was sure that he was right now. he left the girls screaming after him; he had no time to tell them how he was so sure of his statement. down the two flights of stairs he plunged until he landed with a bang on the hall rug at the foot of the lower flight. he almost fell against mr. armatage himself when he landed. and daddy bunker was not far away. "well, well, young man, what's this?" demanded mr. armatage, for a moment quite as stern with russ as he was with his own children. daddy, too, looked upon russ with amazement. "why, russ," he said, "what does this mean? what are you doing down here?" "there's a fire!" gasped out russ, his breath almost gone. "there's a fire!" "upstairs?" demanded mr. armatage, whirling toward the stairway. "oh, no, sir! no, sir!" cried russ, stopping him. "it's down the hill. i saw it from the window." "the quarters?" demanded the planter. "no, sir. it looks like mammy june's. it's a great red flame shooting right up about where her cabin is." "and the old woman has gone home. she's lame. like enough she won't get out in time--if it is her shack. come on, boys!" the planter's shout rang through the lower rooms and startled both the guests and the servants. "there's a fire down by the branch. may be a cabin and somebody in it. come on in your cars and follow me. get all the buckets you can find." he dashed out of the house, hatless as he was, shouting to the colored folks who were gathered outside watching the dancing through the long windows. daddy bunker followed right behind him. and what do you suppose russ did? why, he could have touched daddy bunker's coat-tails he kept so close to him! nobody forbade him, so russ went too. mr. armatage and mr. bunker got into one of the first cars to start, and russ, with a water pail in each hand, got in too. there was a great noise of shouting and the starting of the motor-cars. men ran hither and thither, and all the time the light of the fire down by the stream increased. when they were under way, mr. armatage's car leading, they found many of the plantation hands running down the grassy road in advance. the cars passed these men, mr. armatage shouting orders as the car flew by. in two minutes they came to the clearing in which mammy june's cabin stood. one end of the little house was all ablaze. "the poor soul hasn't got out," cried mr. armatage, and with mr. bunker he charged for the door, burst it in, and dashed into the smoke which filled the interior. russ thought that daddy bunker was very brave indeed to do this. it looked to the boy as though both men would be burned by the raging fire. but he was brave himself. he fought back his tears and ran to the stream to fill with water both the pails he carried. when he came staggering back with the filled pails, the water slopping over his shoes, the first of the hands arrived. one man grabbed russ's pails and threw the water upon the burning logs. such a small amount of water only made the flames hiss and the logs steam. but soon other filled pails were brought. more of the cars with guests from the party arrived, and a chain of men to the stream was formed. almost at once mr. armatage and daddy bunker fought their way out of the burning cabin through the smoke, and they bore between them the screaming old woman. mammy june was badly frightened. "you're all right now, mammy," declared mr. armatage, when he and mr. bunker put her into the tonneau of the car. "here, boy!" he added to russ, "you stay with her." "i got to lose all! i got to lose ma home!" wailed mammy june. "if my ebenezer had been yere, dat chimbley wouldn't have cotched fire." "can't be helped now," said daddy bunker soothingly. "we'll try to save your home, mammy." but although their intentions were of the best, this could not be done. the cabin--as dry as a stack of straw--could not be saved. the pails were passed from hand to hand as rapidly as possible, but the fire had gained such headway that it was impossible to quench it until the cabin was in complete ruins. "you be mighty glad, mammy june," said mr. armatage, finally giving up the unequal battle, "that you are saved yourself. and you wouldn't have been if this little bunker hadn't seen the fire when he did." "bless him!" groaned the old woman, hugging russ to her side in the car. "if my ebenezer had been home it wouldn't never have happened, mistah armatage." she harped upon this belief incessantly as they finally drove back to the big house. the fright and exposure quite turned mammy june's brain for the time. she was somewhat delirious. "s'pose my ebenezer come home and find de cabin in ruins. he mebbe will think mammy june burned up, and go right off again. and he might come any time!" the old woman talked of this even after they put her to bed and a doctor who chanced to be at mrs. armatage's party had attended her. the fire, and her bodily illness, had prostrated the old woman. the end of that christmas party was not as pleasant as the beginning. it was long after midnight before even the children were in their beds and composed for sleep. the party broke up at an earlier hour than might have been expected. rose slept in the room with phillis and alice armatage. just as she was dropping to sleep and after her companions were already in dreamland rose saw the door of the room pushed open. the moon had risen, and rose recognized russ's tousled head poked in the open door. "what do you want?" she demanded in a whisper. "oh, russ! there isn't another fire, is there?" "no! hush! i just thought of something." "what is it?" asked rose in the same low tone that russ used. "we can do something for mammy june." "we can't cure her rheumatism, russ," said rose. "even the doctor can't do that in a hurry. he said so." "no. she's worrying about her boy. that boy with the funny name. sneezer." "yes, i know," said rose. "she is afraid he will come back and find the cabin burned and go away again without her knowing it," said russ gravely, tiptoeing to his sister's bedside. "yes. mother says it's real pitiful the way she takes on," sighed the little girl. "well, rose, you and i can help about that," said russ confidently. "how can we?" she asked, in surprise. "we can write a sign and stick it up on a pole down there by the burned cabin. we'll make a sign saying that mammy june is up here at the big house and for sneezer to come and see her." "oh, goody!" cried rose, but still under her breath. "that's a fine idea, russ." "don't say anything about it to anybody," warned her brother, eager to make a secret of the plan that had popped into his head. "we'll write that sign early in the morning and go down there and stick it up. want to?" "of course i do," said rose, with a glad little jump in her bed. "i think you're just the smartest boy, russ, to think of it. i won't say a word about it, not even to philly and alice." with this plan dancing in her head rose soon fell asleep while russ stole back to the room where he slept with the smaller boys. after that the big house on the meiggs plantation became quiet for the rest of the long night. chapter xviii the twins in trouble laddie and vi bunker felt as though they had been cheated. they had not been allowed to go to the fire, "when mammy june's cabin had been burned all up," vi declared. they had only seen the fire from an upper window of the big armatage house. "but it wasn't burned _up_, vi," her twin insisted. "it was burned _down_." "russ said it was burned up when he came back from the fire--so now," violet declared somewhat warmly. "how can a house burn up? it just fell all to pieces into the cellar." "there wasn't any cellar to mammy june's house," vi observed. "well, it fell down; so of course, it burned down." "the flames went up," repeated vi, quite as determinedly. "and the wood went with 'em--with the flames and smoke. so the cabin burned up." what might have been the result of this discussion it would be hard to say had not the twins both felt so keenly their disappointment. russ had gone to the fire and brought mammy june out of the cabin and brought her up here to the big house! to tell the truth, russ was so excited when he got back that in telling of the adventure he gave the younger children to understand that he had done it all himself. daddy bunker and mr. armatage did not appear much in his story. "russ is always doing the big things," sighed laddie. "it's just like a riddle----" "what is?" almost snapped vi, for she was just as disappointed as her twin brother. "why, russ getting the best of everything. why is it?" muttered laddie, kicking a pebble before him in the path. "if that's a riddle, i can't answer it," said vi. "it isn't any worse to ask riddles than it is to ask questions--so now." the twins were not always in accord, of course; but they were seldom so near to a quarrel as upon this morning. perhaps, for one thing, the day before, they had rather over-done and possibly had over-eaten. they were on the verge of doing something that the bunker children seldom did--quarreling. fortunately something suddenly attracted laddie's attention and he stopped kicking the pebble and pointed down the yard in front of them. "oh, vi! see that cunning thing! what is it?" something flashed across a green patch of grass away down by the road. it was red, had small, sharp-pointed ears and nose and a bushy tail. this tail waved quite importantly as the small animal ran. "come on!" cried vi, taking the lead at once. she often did so, for laddie was slower than she. "come on! let's get it, laddie." laddie, nothing loath, ran after his twin sister. they raced down the hill and came to the little gully into which the animal with the bushy tail had disappeared. the end of that gully was the open mouth of a culvert under the road. "did he go in there?" laddie demanded. "did he go into that hole, vi?" "he must have," declared violet. "it must be his home. it's a burrow." "but he wasn't a bunny. bunnies have burrows," objected laddie. "i guess other animals can have burrows, too," said his twin. "and he was lots prettier than a rabbit." "he was that," admitted the excited laddie. "it wasn't a rabbit, of course. rabbits aren't red." "let's find the other end of the hole," vi said eagerly. "we'll stop both ends up and then--and then----" "well, what then?" her twin demanded. "why, we can catch him then," said vi, rather feebly. "that is, we can if he wants to come out." "i suppose we can. if he doesn't take too long. let's," said laddie, and he ran across the road and looked to see if there was another opening to the culvert. but as it chanced, this was an old and unused drain, and the farther mouth of it was stopped up. this made the hole a very nice den for the little animal the bunker twins had seen go into it. but neither laddie nor vi had any idea as to what the creature was. "i'm going to get a stick and poke him out," announced laddie. "you can't poke him out when there is no other hole over there," rejoined vi very sensibly. "i'll poke him till he comes out then," said laddie, looking all about but not starting to find a stick. to tell the truth he was at the end of his resources. he did not know how to get at the little red animal. "anyway," he said at last, "maybe he didn't run in here after all." "he did so, laddie bunker!" cried violet. "i saw him." this seemed final. laddie looked all around again, quite puzzled as to what to do next. there was no backing out of a thing when once it was begun--not with vi bunker! she always insisted upon going on to the end, no matter what that end might be. "well," her twin said at last, "i s'pose i'll have to go in after him." "how can you?" asked vi promptly, but excitedly, too. "i can crawl into that hole----" "isn't it too small?" "well, i'm not so big," replied laddie. "i guess i can do it. i'm going to try." he knelt down before the round mouth of the culvert. it was a piece of drainpipe with a rough rim at the edge of the hole. laddie poked his head into the hole. "it's as dark as the inside of your pocket, vi bunker," he said, in a muffled voice. "shall i run get a candle?" asked his sister. "no," sighed laddie; and even his sigh sounded funny from inside the pipe. "if you do they'll want to know what you want it for. and if we are going to catch this--this whatever-it-is, we want to catch it all by ourselves. wait." vi granted that request. she waited, watching laddie's plump little body wriggling farther and farther into the culvert. his jacket caught several times on the rough rim of the opening. but he persevered. "oh!" ejaculated laddie at last, and his voice seemed a murmur from a great way off. "i guess you better come back, laddie," said vi, getting anxious. laddie, if the truth were known, thought so too. for just then he had sighted in the dark two fiery points, like flashing bits of glass or mica. he knew what they were; they were the eyes of the little red animal he had chased into this hole. and laddie thought that when eyes flashed so brilliantly, their owner must be angry. "he's going to jump at me!" breathed the little boy to himself. he began to back out hastily. the bottom of his jacket caught on the rim of the pipe. he was stuck there! "pull! pull me out, vi bunker!" he shouted. but his voice was so muffled that his sister could not understand what he said. it looked as though laddie was unable to get back the way he had come. and he certainly dared not go on ahead. for now, to increase his fears, he saw other points of light in the darkness--all in pairs, the eyes of several smaller animals, he was sure! he had self-control enough to count them and found that there were five pairs of eyes altogether. what should he do about it? struggle as he might he could not back any farther. and no manner of wriggling was likely to get him out of the hole the way he had come in. chapter xix in mammy june's room russ and rose had both got up very early the day after christmas, for their minds were filled with the idea of helping mammy june. the poor old woman's anxiety should be relieved, and the two oldest of the bunker children were determined that they would relieve it regarding her son, "sneezer," if that were possible. so russ found some cardboard boxes that had held certain of their christmas presents, and he tore these apart and they wrote carefully a message to the old woman's absent son on both faces of these cards. at least, russ wrote them, for by now he had learned at school to write a very good hand. rose was not so sure--especially about her "q's" and capital "s's." anybody who could read handwriting at all, however, could have read those signs that russ bunker wrote. "it doesn't seem like christmas time at all," rose said, as the two ran down the lane right after breakfast toward the branch and the burned cabin. "see the leaves and grass! and there's a flower!" it was only a weed, but it was a pretty one and rose gathered it--of course for mother bunker. when they came in sight of mammy june's cabin it was a sad looking place indeed. the little bunkers had had several nice visits to the old woman's cabin, and they were really very sorry that it had burned down. the disaster was complete. the log walls were tumbled in heaps and were all charred. the interior of the hut was little but ashes. "oh!" cried rose. "if that sneezer meiggs did come home and see all this, he might go away again, just as his mother says. it would be too dreadful, russ. i am so glad you invented this idea of putting up signs for him." in fact, russ was quite proud of his original thought himself. he was naturally of an inventive turn of mind and this was not the first novel thought he had expressed. he and rose stuck up the cards on poles that they found near by, and they had so many of them that they quite surrounded the ashes of the old hut. "he can't help seeing them if he comes here," said rose, as they departed from the spot. "but do you s'pose he'll ever want to come back to the place where everybody called him 'sneezer'?" "he ought to want to come back to see mammy june," declared russ warmly. "i think she is just fine." "so do i," admitted rose reflectively. "but i wouldn't want to be called by such a name as sneezer." it was when they got back to the big house and around to its front that the two oldest little bunkers became aware that something was happening down by the road. they saw vi hopping up and down in a funny fashion, and she was screaming. "now, what do you suppose is the matter with her?" demanded rose. "don't know. but it's something, sure enough!" rejoined russ, and he started on a run for the spot where violet was jumping up and down and screaming. as russ and rose started down the hill the three armatage children came out of the front door of the big house and ran after them, screaming as well. then appeared a host of small colored folk--russ and rose never could imagine where they all came from. they seemed to spring right up out of the ground when anything exciting happened. all this troop came streaming down the hill, and very quickly vi found herself surrounded. russ demanded: "what's the matter with you? has something bitten you?" "they are biting laddie!" wailed the twin sister. "how silly!" exclaimed phillis armatage. "laddie isn't here." "yes, he is, so now!" cried vi. "oh! oh!" screamed alice. "i see his legs!" at that they all saw his legs--at least, as much of them as were poked out of the mouth of the drainpipe. and they certainly were kicking vigorously. but the children outside made so much noise that the voice of the boy inside the pipe could not be heard. "oh! oh!" declared vi, jumping up and down again. "it is biting him." "what is biting him? mosquitoes?" demanded russ, as much puzzled as anybody. "the red thing! with the pointed ears! and a big tail!" cried vi in gasps. "what can she mean?" demanded rose. [illustration: philly grabbed laddie's ankle and started to pull him out. _six little bunkers at mammy junes._ _page_ ] but philly armatage suspected the reason for vi's fear at once. she grabbed hold of laddie's ankles and started to draw him out of the pipe. "you'd better come out!" she cried. "that old fox will bite your nose off." "a fox!" cried russ, in wonder and alarm. "does a fox live in that hole?" "and she's got puppies. we saw 'em playing out here one day. father is only waiting for a chance to smoke 'em out. they are terrible. they eat hens and other poultry." russ was vastly interested, as well as troubled by laddie's fix. for the smaller boy was really wedged by his rolled-up jacket tight into the mouth of the culvert. his muffled cries became more imploring, and the other children really feared that the mother fox, fearing for her young, might have attacked the boy. "i tell you he must be got out!" shouted russ. "how you going to do it?" philly demanded. then she called to laddie: "push in farther, laddie! then maybe you can back out all right." but laddie bunker was so much afraid of the foxes by now (he still saw their luminous eyes before him) that he dared not squirm any deeper into the pipe. what would have happened to him finally--whether or not the old fox might not have attacked him--will never be known, for russ bunker took desperate means to release his brother. russ ran to a pile of cobblestones beside the road, seized a big one, and staggered back with it in both hands. with the stone he pounded the rim of the pipe so hard that it broke in pieces. "ow! ow!" cried the muffled voice of laddie bunker. "you are breaking my legs. don't pound me so!" "wriggle out! hurry up! what's holding you?" demanded russ, half angrily because he was so excited. the smaller boy began to move backward now, the rough rim of the pipe no longer holding his jacket. slowly he pushed out. when he appeared, his face very red and tear-streaked, russ and phillis pulled him to his feet. "where's the fox?" demanded vi, still very much excited. "is that a fox?" demanded laddie, panting. "yes," said phillis armatage. "that fox has got five pairs of eyes, then," grumbled laddie. "she's got four pups," cried frane, junior. "i'm going to run and tell father," and he ran away up the hill. "come on!" cried russ, immediately in action again. "let's stop up the hole. then the foxes can't get out until mr. armatage comes." they did that--at least, russ and vi and the colored boys did. rose dusted laddie off and wiped his face. he soon became more cheerful. "well," he said, with a long breath, "they didn't bite me after all; but i thought they would. and their eyes shone dreadfully." "what made them shine?" demanded vi, her usual curiosity aroused. "because they were mad," said her twin promptly. "that old mother fox didn't want me in there." the adventure was happily ended; that is, for laddie and vi. not so for the foxes. for mr. armatage and the gardener came with shovel and club and they dug down to the foxes' den. but the children had not done their work of closing the entrance well, and just as mr. armatage broke through into her den, mrs. fox and her puppies scurried out and away into the pine woods. but she had to look for a new home, for her old one was completely broken up. after this the little bunkers and the armatage children trooped up to the house and went to the room where mammy june had been put to bed. the doctor had already been to see her this morning. the old colored woman was propped up with pillows and she wore the usual turban on her head. she smiled delightedly when she saw the white children and hailed them as gayly as though she were not in pain. "lawsy me, childern!" cried mammy june. "has you come to see how i is? i sure has got good friends, i sure has! an' if ebenezer caliper spotiswood meiggs was back home yere where he b'longs, there wouldn't be a happier ol' woman in all georgia--no, sir! "for mistah armatage say he's gwine have me another house built before spring. and it'll be a lot mo' fixy than my ol' house--yes, sir! wait till my sneezer comes home and sees it--tut, tut! he ain't mebbe comin' home no mo'!" "oh, yes, he will, mammy june," philly said comfortingly. "don't know. these boys ups and goes away from their mammies and ain't never seen nor heard of again." "but sneezer loved you too well to stay away always," alice armatage said. "and when these bunkers go back north," put in frane, junior, "they are going to look for sneezer everywhere." "you reckon you'll find him?" asked mammy june of rose. "i hope so," said the oldest bunker girl. "of course we will," agreed russ stoutly. "and daddy bunker will look out for him too. he said so." according to russ's mind, that daddy bunker had promised to help find the lost boy seemed conclusive that sneezer must be found. he and rose began eagerly to tell mammy june what they had already done to make it positive that ebenezer caliper spotiswood meiggs would not come back to the burned cabin some day and go away, thinking that his old mother was no longer alive. "you blessed childern!" exclaimed mammy june. "and has you fixed it dat way for me? but--but--you says you writ dem letters to sneezer?" "yes," said rose happily. "yes, we did, mammy june. and stuck them up on poles all about the burned house." "i don't know! i don't know!" sighed the old woman. "i reckon dat won't be much use." "why not?" demanded russ anxiously. "if he comes back he'll see and read 'em." "no. no, sir! he may see 'em," said mammy june, shaking her head on the pillow. "but he won't read 'em." "why won't he?" russ demanded in some heat. "i wrote them just as plain as plain!" "but," said mammy june, still sadly, "you see, my sneezer never learnt to read hand-writin'!" chapter xx goosey-goosey-gander the bunker children, especially russ and rose, felt truly anxious because of mammy june's unhappiness about her absent son. the boy they all called sneezer should have been home now when his mother was crippled with rheumatism and had lost her home and all her little possessions. she worried audibly and continually about sneezer. russ and rose took counsel together more than once. they had hoped that their signs put up at the site of the burned cabin would have satisfied mammy june that her son would come up to the big house whenever, or if ever, he returned to his old home. now the bunker children were not so sure. when russ and rose told philly armatage what they had done she said: "mebbe he'll think the writing is just to keep ha'nts away. he can't read writing. he always worked in the fields or up here at the house. those signs aren't any good--just as mammy june says." this opinion caused russ and rose additional anxiety. they did not know what to do about it. even the boy's inventive mind was at fault in the emergency. while the older bunker brother and sister were troubled in this way and laddie and vi were recovering from their adventure with the red fox, margy and mun bun were, as usual, having their own pleasures and difficulties. the littlest bunker was a born explorer. daddy bunker said so. and margy was quite as active as the little fellow. hand in hand they wandered all about the big house and out-of-doors as well. there was always supposed to be somebody to watch them, especially if they went near the barns or paddocks where the horses and mules were. but sometimes the little folks slipped away from even mother bunker's observation. the gardener often talked to the littlest bunkers, and he saw, too, that they did no more mischief around the greenhouse. when he saw them that afternoon trotting down the hill toward the poultry houses he failed to follow them. he had his work to do, of course, and it did not enter his head that mun bun and margy could get into much trouble with the poultry. margy and mun bun were delighted with the "chickens" as they called most of the fowl the armatages kept. but there were many different kinds--not alone of hens and roosters; for there were peafowl, and guineas, and ducks, and turkeys. and in addition there was a flock of gray geese. "those are gooseys," margy announced, pointing through the slats of the low fence which shut in the geese and their strip of the branch, or brook, and the grass plot which the geese had all to themselves. "goosey, goosey gander!" chanted mun bun, clinging to the top rail of the fence and looking through the slats. "which is ganders and which is gooseys, margy?" as though in answer to his query one of the big birds, with a horny crown on its head, stuck out its neck and ran at the little boy looking through the fence. the bird hissed in a most hateful manner too. "oh, look out, mun bun!" cried his sister. "i guess that's a gander." but mun bun, with a fence between him and the big bird, was as usual very brave. "i don't have to look out, margy bunker," he declared proudly. "i am already out--so he can't get me. anyway if he came after us i wouldn't let him bite you." "i guess he would like to bite us," said the little girl, keeping well away from the fence herself. "that's 'cause he must be hungry," said mun bun with confidence. "you see, he hasn't got anything but grass to eat. i guess they forgot to feed him and it makes him mad." "that is too bad. he is a real pretty bird," agreed margy. "wonder if we could feed him?" "we can ask that nice cook for bwead," said mun bun doubtfully. "they don't feed gooseys bread, i guess," objected the little girl. "what do they feed 'em?" "i guess corn--or oats." "let's go and get some," said mun bun promptly, and he backed away from the fence, still keeping his gaze fixed on the threatening gander. they both knew where the feed was kept, for they had watched the colored man feed the stock. so they went across to the stables. and nobody saw them enter the feed room. as usual it did not trouble margy and mun bun that they had not asked permission to feed the geese. what they had not been literally forbidden to do the little folks considered all right. it was true that they were great ones for exploring and experimenting. that is how they managed to get into so much mischief. in this matter, however, it did not seem as though margy and mun bun could really get into much trouble. they got a little dish and filled it with corn and trotted back to the goose pen. this time the gander did not charge mun bun. but the whole flock was down the slope by the water and the little folks had to walk that way along the edge of the fenced lot. they came to a place where a panel of the fence was crooked. it had been broken, in fact, and it was much easier to push it aside than not. why! when mun bun leaned against it the strip of fence fell right over on to the grass of the goose yard. "now see what you've done, mun bun!" exclaimed margy. "why--oh--i didn't mean to," sputtered mun bun. "what do you s'pose mr. armatage will say?" "he won't say anything," said mun bun briskly. "for he won't see it. and now, margy, we can throw the corn to those gooseys and ganders much better. see!" he grabbed a handful of shelled corn out of the dish and scattered it as far as he could toward the flock. at once the gray birds became interested. they stretched their long necks and the big gander uttered a questioning "honk!" "it's corn--it's real corn!" cried mun bun. "don't be afraid, goosey-goosey-gander," and he shouted with laughter. margy threw a handful of corn too. at once the geese drew nearer. when they reached the first kernels they began grabbing them up with that strange shoveling motion with their bills that all geese and ducks make. the children watched them with delight. but as the geese waddled nearer the old gander began to wiggle his head from side to side and to hiss softly. margy and mun bun looked at each other, and both drew back. "i don't like that one much," said margy. "do you, mun bun?" "i don't like him at all," confessed the little fellow. "i guess we'd better go back. maybe mother will be wanting us." margy turned as quickly as he did. she had not thrown out all the corn, but as she turned away a few kernels scattered from the dish. instantly the gander saw this. with a long hiss he started after the two children, and many of his flock kept right behind their leader. "oh! come quick, mun bun!" gasped margy. mun bun seized her hand. as they ran up the slope the corn scattered from the dish. this was enough to keep the flock following. but the big gander did not chase the little boy and girl because of the scattered corn. he was really angry! the chubby legs of mun bun and margy looked good to that old gander. he ran hissing after them and began to flap his wings. one stroke of one of those wings would knock down either of the children. chapter xxi rose has an idea it was just like a nightmare, and both margy and mun bun knew what nightmares were. those are dreams that, when you are "sleeping them," you get chased by something and your feet seem to stick in the mud so that you can't run. it is a very frightful sort of dream. and this adventure the little ones had got into was surely a frightful peril. the hissing gander, his neck outstretched and his bill wide open, followed the two children with every evidence of wishing to strike them. his flapping wings were as powerful, it seemed, as those of the big sea-eagle that had been caught aboard ship coming down from boston, and mun bun and margy remembered that creature very vividly. others of the flock of geese came on, too. as long as the grains of corn kept dropping from margy's dish, the ravenous geese would follow, even if they were not savage, as their leader was. the chubby legs of the two children hardly kept them ahead of the gander's bill. they shrieked at the top of their voices. but for once none of the innumerable colored folks was in sight. even their friend, the gardener, had disappeared since mun bun and margy had come down to the goose pen. "help! help us!" cried margy, looking to the world in general to assist. "muvver! muvver!" cried mun bun, who held an unshaken belief that mother bunker must be always at hand and able to rescue him from any trouble. mun bun thought he felt the cold, hard bill of the gander at his bare legs. he ran so hard that he lost his breath, somewhere. he couldn't even pant, and as for calling out for help again, that was impossible! margy dragged him on a few steps, for she was quite strong for a little girl. but she knew that she was overtaken. there was no help for it. the goosey-goosey-gander was going to eat them up! but if no human being heard the two children in their distress, there was a creature that did. bobo, the big old hound, who was only chained to his house at night or when mr. armatage did not want him following the mules about the plantation, came out of his kennel and stared down the hill. he observed the running and screaming children, and he likewise saw the gander who was his old enemy. they had had many a tilt before, for the gander believed that everything that came near his flock meant mischief. bobo's red eyes expanded and the ruff on the back of his neck began to rise. he uttered a low, reverberating bark. it was almost a growl and it sounded threatening. he dashed down the hill with great leaps. mun bun finally pitched over on his face, dragging margy with him. margy's corn went spinning about her and the geese fairly scrambled over the two crying children to get at the corn. perhaps this helped mun bun and his sister some, although they did not think so at the moment. at least, while his family scrambled for the grains of corn the gander could not get at the brother and sister to strike them. and then great bobo appeared. he bounded into the middle of the flock and knocked them every-which-way with his great paws. he thrust his muzzle under the hissing gander and sent him over on his back, where he lay and flapped his webbed feet ridiculously. and he did not hiss any more. he "honked" for help. mun bun and margy scarcely knew that they were saved until bobo thrust his cold, wet muzzle into first one face and then the other of the two little bunkers. they had become so used to aunt jo's great dane doing that that bobo's affectionate act did not alarm them. "the goosey-goosey-gander's gone, margy!" stammered mun bun. "i told you i wouldn't let him bite you." whether his sister was much impressed by this statement or not, is not known. however that might be, she fondled bobo and got upon her feet as quickly as mun bun arose. "isn't he a good old dog?" cooed margy. "he's pretty good i think. but--but let's come away from that goosey-goosey-gander." bobo gave a jump and a bark at the gander, and the latter, which had now climbed to its webbed feet, scurried away, the flock following him. it was then, while the two children were fondling bobo, who liked to have his long ears pulled by a gentle hand, that russ and rose bunker came upon the scene. russ and rose had been down to the burned cabin and had brought away all their letters to sneezer meiggs. if the colored boy had never learned to read writing, there was no use in leaving the notices there. so russ had said, and rose agreed with him. "oh, my dears!" rose cried out when she saw the little ones so mussed up and with tear-stained faces, "what has happened to you?" "don't be afraid of bobo," said russ, running too. "he won't hurt you." "he hurted the goosey-goosey-gander," declared mun bun confidently. "he dug his head under the goosey-goosey-gander and flunged him right over on his back." "but he wouldn't hurt you," declared rose. "no," explained margy. "bobo came to help us when the gander wanted to bite our legs. at any rate he wanted to bite mun bun's legs." "'twas your legs he was after, margy," declared the little fellow, flushing. "i wouldn't let the goosey-goosey-gander bite mine." "anyhow," said margy, "he chased us. and all his hens came too. and bobo saw him and he came down and drove them off. see! that gander is hissing at us now." "bobo is a brave dog," cried rose, patting the hound. "he is pretty good, i think," declared mun bun. "but next time i go down to that goose place i am going to have a big stick." "the next time," advised russ, "don't you go there at all unless daddy bunker is with you. i'd be afraid of that old gander myself." "oh, would you?" cried the little boy, greatly relieved. "we-ell, i was a teeny bit scared myself." the children--all nine of them--spent much of their time in mammy june's room. the old colored woman had ways of keeping them interested and quiet that mrs. armatage proclaimed she could not understand. mother bunker understood the charm mammy worked far better. mammy june loved children, high and low, rich and poor, good and bad, just so they were children. therefore, mammy june could manage them. russ and rose, finding themselves mistaken in their first attempt to relieve the old woman's anxiety about her son, wondered in private what they could do to let the absent sneezer know where his mother was, and how much she wanted to see him. russ and rose bunker were quite used to thinking things out for themselves. of course, there were times when russ had to go to daddy bunker for help and his sister had to confess to mother bunker that she did not know what to do. for instance, that adventure of russ's with the sailor-boy aboard the steamship. but this matter of helping mammy june's son to find his mother, if by chance he came back to the site of the burned cabin, was solely their own affair, and russ and rose realized the fact. "we ought to be able to do something about it ourselves," declared russ to his sister. "i'm going to ask mammy june again if she is sure sneezer can't read a word of writing." this he did. mammy june shook her head somewhat sadly. "dat boy always have to wo'k," she said. "when first he went away he sent me back money by mail. the man he wo'ked for sent it. then sneezer losed his job. but he never learnt to read hand-writin'. much as he could do to spell out the big print on the front of the newspapers. that's surely so!" rose suddenly thought of something--and perhaps it was not a foolish idea at that. "oh, mammy!" she cried, "can your boy read newspaper print?" "sure can. de big print. what yo' call de haidlines in big print. sure can." "oh!" murmured rose, and she dragged russ away to confer with him in secret. chapter xxii the strange cry rose bunker's idea was too good to tell in general. some ideas are too good to keep; but russ and rose decided that this one was not in that class. they determined to tell nobody--not even mammy june or daddy or mother bunker--about what they proposed to do to help the old colored woman. they had tried once, and failed. and philly and alice and frane, junior, had laughed at them. now they proposed to do what rose had thought of, and keep it secret from everybody. "of course," rose said, "nothing may come of it." "but that won't be your fault, rose," said her brother. "it is a perfectly scrumptious idea." "do you think so?" asked rose, much pleased by this frank praise. "sure i do. and we'll do it to-night. then the armatages won't know and--and laugh at us." for they had found philly and alice and frane, junior, rather trying. not having their childish imaginations so well developed as the six little bunkers had, the children of the plantation were altogether too matter-of-fact. many childish plays that the bunkers enjoyed did not appeal to their little hosts at all. for instance, when russ invented some brand new and charming, simple play for all to join in, philly and alice and frane just drifted away and would have nothing to do with it. they were too polite to criticize; but russ knew that the armatage children felt themselves "too grown up" to be interested in the building of a steamboat or the driving of an imaginary motor-car. his little brothers and sisters, however, were constantly teasing russ to make something new. they enjoyed traveling in reality so much, did the six little bunkers, that, as daddy laughingly said, traveling in a wheelbarrow would have amused them. so this day when russ made a whole freight train with empty chicken coops, with a caboose at the end and a big engine in front, only frane took an interest in it aside from the bunkers themselves. and perhaps his interest was, only held because russ agreed to make him the engineer while laddie was fireman. as for russ himself, he was the conductor at the end of the long train. he had to explain very plainly that of course a freight train had a conductor. every train had to have a "skipper" just like a boat. a railroad man had explained all that to russ bunker when the family was on its way to cowboy jack's early in the autumn. "and you-all," said russ, copying frane's speech, speaking to the little ones and rose, "must stay back here with me and be brakemen. when we need the handbrakes, i'll tell you, and you run forward over the coops--i mean the cars--and set the brakes." "but suppose we get flung off?" asked vi. "that you must not do," said her older brother sternly. "if the train is going fast you might get a broken leg. or if it is going around a curve it would be worse. you must be careful." "i think this is a dangerous play," said vi hopefully. there was nobody really more daring than vi. the two armatage girls tried to coax rose away from the "train"; but rose liked to play with her brothers and sisters, and she knew that mother bunker expected her to. so she excused herself to philly and alice. unfortunately they took some offense at this. that evening after supper rose found herself ignored by phillis and alice armatage. at another time this ungenerous act might have hurt the oldest bunker girl. but she and russ had their secret plans to carry through, and rose was glad to get away with her brother in a room where nobody would disturb them. again russ had broken up pasteboard boxes, and he had pen and ink. to make new signs all in "big print" to stick up at the site of mammy june's burned cabin was more of a task than merely writing them. this was rose's bright idea. russ did not deny her powers of invention. they printed four good signs. oh, the letters were large and black! "they ought to be," russ said. "we've used 'most half a bottle of ink." "don't let's tell philly or any of them," said rose. "they laugh at so many things we do." "all right," agreed russ, although he was less sensitive about being laughed at than his sister. but this habit the young armatages had of laughing at what the little bunkers did caused all the trouble on this night. and it was a night that all of the children and most of the grown folks, too, would be likely to remember. the armatage children knew a great deal more about the plantation and the country surrounding it than the bunkers did. that was only natural. philly or alice or frane, junior, would not have started off secretly, as russ and rose bunker did, after nine o'clock at night to go down to the place where old mammy june's cabin had been burned. to tell the truth, the armatage children had associated so much with the colored folks about the plantation that they were inclined to believe that there might be such things as "ha'nts." the little bunkers had heard of "ghosts"; but they looked on such things as being like fairies--something to half-believe in, and shiver about, all the time knowing that they were not real. so russ and rose had no actual fear of haunts when they started down the cart-path toward the wide brook where russ had had his first adventure catching the big fish. the colored folks were all at home in their quarters; and although it was a starlight night they were having no celebration. everything about the plantation seemed particularly quiet. and no sounds at first came to the ears of the brother and sister from the forest. as they approached the place for which they aimed however there came suddenly a mournful screech from the woods--a sound that seemed to linger longer in their hearing than any strange noise russ and rose had ever heard. the brother and sister stopped, frightened indeed, and clung to each other. "oh! what's that?" murmured rose. "it--it's maybe an owl," returned russ, trying to think of the most harmless creature that made a noise at night. "i never heard an owl howl like that," whispered his sister. "aw, rose! owls don't howl. it's wolves that howl--or coyotes such as we saw at cowboy jack's. don't you remember the coyote caught in the trap that you thought was a dog?" rose's mind would not be drawn from the thing in question. she said, quite as fearfully: "maybe this is a wolf, russ." "of course not," declared the boy trying to speak bravely. "there aren't any wolves in this part of the country. i asked frane, junior." but there was evidently a savage creature here that russ bunker had known nothing about, for now it cried out again! its long, quavering note echoed through the woods and made the boy and girl stand again and shiver. "i--i guess it isn't any animal after all," said rose suddenly, and speaking with some relief. "that's a woman. of course it is. but she must be lost, or something bad has happened to her. oh, russ!" she added, suddenly seizing her brother once more. "i know what it must be. and they are almost always ladies, so phillis says." "what's that?" demanded russ, puzzled. "it's a ha'nt! it's a lady ha'nt! i do believe it must be!" "aw, rose, what you talking about?" demanded her brother, yet secretly quite as much troubled by the strange, eerie sound as she was. "you know that haunts are only make-believe." "we-ell!" sighed rose, "maybe that's only a make-believe sound we hear. but--but i don't like it. there!" for a third time the screech was repeated. it seemed nearer. russ could not be confident that it was "make-believe." the strange sound seemed very real indeed. chapter xxiii a four-legged ghost "i don't like that noise a bit," whispered rose, standing close to her brother. "it--it makes me all shivery." "but, if it is only just a woman calling----" "there must be something awful the matter with her, if she has to scream like that," declared rose. as they did not hear the noise again for a little while, both of them plucked up courage, and they went on to the burned cabin. the sticks they had set up were still standing. russ fastened each of the four pasteboard "letters" to a stick at the four corners of mammy june's ruined house. there was light enough from the stars for the two children to see quite plainly what they were about. rose, however, was looking all about them while russ did the work of setting up the printed signs for sneezer meiggs to see if he came home unexpectedly. "what do you expect to see, rose?" demanded her brother loftily. "i don't know. philly says ha'nts are all in white." "i don't see anything very white around here," rejoined russ. "but there are so many colored folks, perhaps some of the ha'nts might be black," suggested rose. "then we wouldn't see them very well in the shadows." "i don't believe----" began russ. the strange shriek was again heard. russ stopped in his speech. rose uttered a sharp cry. the screech--and it did sound like a woman's voice, the voice of a woman in fearful pain or fright--seemed very near them. "it's right over there in that patch of woods," said russ. "i guess she is lost--or something." "do you believe it is only a lady and not a ha'nt, russ?" demanded his sister. "of course it isn't a ha'nt! such things can't be! and if it was a ghost, a ghost is nothing but air, and how could air have such a voice as that?" this reasoning seemed to close the argument. rose felt that her brother must be right. besides, russ went right on talking, and talking very bravely. "i think we ought to see what the matter is with her, rose. she is in trouble--maybe she is lost and scared." "so am i scared," murmured rose. "but think how much more you would be scared," her brother said seriously, "if you were in those woods alone and didn't know that there was anybody else near." "i wouldn't make so much fuss about it," muttered rose, for she suspected the thought in russ bunker's mind and she was really too scared to approve of it at once. "we've got to find her," said the boy impressively. "now, russ!" almost wailed rose, "you wouldn't go into those woods? aren't you scared?" "of course i'm scared," said russ. "who wouldn't be? but just because i am scared i know the woman must be even more scared. she's got to be taken out of the woods and shown where the big house is. or, if she is a colored lady, we'll take her to the quarters." "i--i wish daddy was here," ventured rose. "but he isn't here," said russ, with some vexation. "so we've got to find the woman by ourselves." "oh, dear!" murmured rose. but she would not let russ go alone into the patch of forest behind the site of mammy june's burned cabin; nor did she feel like remaining alone in the clearing. russ picked up a good sized stick and started toward the woods. "let's shout when we get to the edge," whispered rose. they did so; but, really, their voices sounded very faint indeed. no reply came. it was several minutes after, and russ and rose were quite a distance into the woods and following what seemed to be a half-grown-over path, before the "woman" screamed again. "goodness! how hateful that sounds!" cried rose. "i guess she is more scared than we are," ventured russ. "what do you think?" "i think i'd like to be back at the house," answered rose. but russ would not agree with her. as he went on he grew more confident. they did not see even a rabbit. and russ and rose knew that rabbits were often out at night. if they had but known it, the awful screech that so disturbed them, disturbed the rabbits and the other small fry of the woods much more. at the sound of that terrible hunger-cry all the rabbits, and hares, and birds that nested on the ground or in trees, trembled. but russ seemed to grow braver by the minute. and rose of course could not fail to be inspired by his show of courage. they walked along the path hand in hand, and although they did not speak much for the next few moments, when they did speak it was quite cheerfully. "i wish she would yell again," said russ at last. "for we must be getting near to where she was." "we-ell, if she isn't a ghost----" just then the silence of the wood was broken again by the cry. the boy and the girl halted involuntarily. no matter how brave russ might appear to be, there was a tone to that scream that made shivers go up and down his back. "oh, russ!" cried rose. "oh, rose!" stammered her brother. the scream came from so near that it seemed worse than before. and now russ was shaken in his proclaimed opinion. it did not seem that any woman, no matter how great her distress might be, could make such a terrible sound. "i guess we'd better go back," confessed russ after a minute. rose was eager to do so. they turned and, hand in hand, began to run. and in their haste they somehow missed the path they had been following. or else, it had not been a path at all. at least, after running so far that they should have reached the burned cabin they came out into quite a different clearing! they both knew that they had missed the way, for in this clearing stood a little cabin with a pitched roof that neither of the bunker children had ever seen before. nor was the wide brook in sight. "i guess we've got turned around," russ said, trying to hide his disappointment and fear from his sister. "we've got to go back, rose." "do you know which is back?" she asked. "we've got to hunt for that old path." "don't you leave me, russ bunker!" cried rose, as her brother started away. and just then both of them saw the tawny, long tailed, slinking beast in the edge of the thicket. "oh! it's a bear!" shrieked rose. "bears don't look like that," gasped russ, staring at the great, glowing eyes of the animal. "it looks more like a cat." "there never was a cat as big as that, russ bunker, and you know it!" "come on, rose," said her brother promptly. "we'll go into that house and shut the door. it can't get us then, whatever it is." in a moment the two children had dashed into the cabin and pulled to the swinging door. the door had a lock on the outside, and when russ banged the door shut he heard the lock snap. "now it can't get at us!" cried russ with some satisfaction. "we're safe." "but--but i don't like this old house, russ bunker," complained rose. "there is no window." "all the better," was the brave reply. "that cat can't get at us." then the screech sounded again and the boy and girl clung together while the sound echoed through the lonesome timber. "it's that thing that makes the noise," whispered rose. "oh, russ! if daddy bunker doesn't come after us, maybe it will tear the house down." "it can't," declared russ. "how do you know it can't?" "why, cats--even big ones--don't tear houses to pieces, rose. you know they don't! we'll be safe as long as we stay in this place." "but how long shall we have to stay here?" "until that thing goes away," said russ confidently. "and maybe it won't go away at all. we'll have to stay here till the folks come to find us, russ. i--i want--my mo-mother!" "now, rose bunker, don't be a baby!" said her brother. "that thing can't get at us in here----" just then something thumped heavily on the roof of the hut. russ could not say another word. they heard the great claws of the big cat scratching at the roof boards. rose screamed again and this time her brother's voice joined with hers in a hopeless cry for help. chapter xxiv an exciting time russ and rose bunker had slipped out of the house on the hill without saying a word to anybody as to where they were going. since coming to the meiggs plantation there had been a certain amount of laxness in regard to what the children did. they had a freedom that mother bunker never allowed when they were at home. because the armatage children went and came as they wished, the little bunkers began to do likewise. the house was so big, too, that the children might be playing a long way from the room in which their mother and father and mr. frane armatage and his wife sat. the servants who were supposed to keep some watch upon the children were now all in the quarters. servants in the south seldom sleep in "the big house." and perhaps mother bunker forgot this fact. at any rate, when she came to look for her brood late in the evening she found the four little ones fast asleep in their beds, as she had expected them to be. but rose was not with phillis and alice armatage, and russ's bed was likewise empty. "where are those children?" mother bunker demanded of daddy, when she had run downstairs again. "do you know? they should be in bed." "they were in the library earlier in the evening," mrs. armatage said. "i think they were writing again." "writing?" repeated mother bunker. "making more of those signs to set up at the burned house?" mr. armatage chuckled. "those won't do much good. sneezer never could read writing." "let us ask mammy. rose and russ may be with her," suggested mrs. armatage. upstairs went the two ladies and into mammy june's room. there was a night light burning there, but nobody was with the old woman. "lawsy me!" exclaimed the old nurse when mrs. bunker asked her. "i ain't seen them childern since i had my supper. no'm. they ain't been here." the house was searched from cellar to garret by the two gentlemen. meanwhile the anxious mother and her hostess went to the library. russ had left there some spoiled sheets of cardboard with some of the letters printed on them. it was easy to see the attempt he and rose had made to print plainly a notice to sneezer, mammy june's absent son, telling him that his mother was at the big house. "the dear things!" said mrs. armatage. "your boy and girl are very kind, mrs. bunker. they want to relieve mammy's trouble." "they have gone down there to-night to stick up those signs!" cried mrs. bunker, inspired by a new thought. "well, i reckon nothing will hurt 'em," said her friend soothingly. "i'll tell mr. armatage and he will go down there and get them." this idea impressed both the men when they came back from their unsuccessful search of the house. the two men walked briskly along the trail to the burned cabin. the stars gave them light enough to see all about the clearing when they arrived. not a sign of russ or rose did they find. "do you suppose they went home some other way?" asked daddy bunker. "i don't know. i hope they haven't wandered into the thicket." as mr. armatage spoke both men heard the terrible scream that had first startled russ and rose. mr. bunker fairly jumped. "that can't be the children!" he ejaculated. the way his companion looked at him told the children's father a good deal. mr. bunker seized mr. armatage's arm. "tell me! what is it?" he asked. "something that hasn't been heard around here for years," said the planter, his voice trembling a little. "it's the cry of a panther." mr. bunker, although he was practically a city man, had hunted a good deal and had been in the wilder parts of the country very often. he knew how terribly dangerous a panther might be on occasion; but he likewise knew that ordinarily they would not attack human beings. two little children lost in the woods in which a panther was roaming up and down was, however, a fearful thing. "get a gun and the hands!" exclaimed mr. bunker. "if russ and rose have mistaken the way home, and are in that timber, they may be in peril." mr. armatage started off on a run for the quarters. he knew that some of his hands had guns, and the quarters were nearer than the big house. daddy bunker, although he was unarmed, started directly into the woods, trying to mark his course by the repeated screams of the hungry panther. he might have been lost himself, for there was not much light to mark the way; but daddy bunker could judge the situation of the screaming panther much better than russ and rose had been able to. he hurried on, gripping a good-sized club that he had found. but, of course, he knew better than to attack a panther with a club. he might throw the stick at the animal, however, and frighten it away. russ and rose had gone a long way into the thicket. the panther did not scream often. so daddy bunker did not make much progress in the right direction. by and by he had to stop and wait for help, or for the panther to scream again. he heard finally many voices at the edge of the thicket. then he began to see the blaze of torches. a party of colored people--men and boys--with torches and guns, followed mr. armatage. in addition, all the hunting dogs on the plantation were scouring the timber. bobo, the big hound, was at the head of this pack. he struck the scent of the panther at last, and his long and mournful howl was almost as awe-inspiring as the cry of the panther. "come on, bunker!" shouted mr. armatage, when the party had overtaken the northern man. "the dogs are the best leaders. bobo has got a scent for any kind of trail. come on!" the negroes shouted and swung their torches. perhaps they made so much noise and had so many lights because they somewhat feared the "ha'nts" that many of them talked about and believed in. but the two white men were not thinking of ghosts. they feared what might have happened to the two children if they had met the panther. just at this time, too, russ and rose were not thinking of ghosts. the panther was not at all ghostly. he had four great paws, each armed with claws that seemed quite capable of tearing to pieces the roof boards of the cabin the children had taken refuge in. "he'll get to us! he will! he will!" rose cried over and over. "no, he won't," said her brother, but his voice trembled. "i--i don't see how he can." "let's run out again while he's on the roof, and run home," said rose. "we don't know the way home," objected her brother. "we can find it. i don't want to be shut up here with that cat." "it's not so bad. he hasn't got in yet." but rose ran to the door, and then she made another discovery that added to her fright. the door could not be opened! the spring lock on the outside had snapped and there was no way of springing the bolt from inside the shack. "now see what we've done!" she wailed. "russ bunker! we are shut into the place, and can't get out, and that thing will come down and claw us all to pieces." with this rose cast herself upon the ground and could not be comforted. in fact, at the moment, russ could not think of a word to say that would comfort his sister. he was just as much frightened as rose was. chapter xxv that pigeon wing greatly as the two little bunkers were alarmed, and as much as their father and mr. armatage worried about their safety, they really were not so very badly off. not only were the roof boards of the hut in which russ and rose had taken refuge sound, but soon the panther stopped clawing at the boards. it heard the crowd of men coming and the baying of the hounds. it stood up, stretched its neck as it listened, snarled a defiance at bobo and his mates, and then leaped into the nearest tree and so away, from tree to tree, into the deeper fastnesses of the wood. the dogs might follow the scent of the panther on the ground to the clearing where the hut stood; but beyond that place they could not follow, for the wary cat had left no trail upon the ground. at first, when the dogs came baying to the spot, russ and rose were even more frightened than before. the dogs' voices sounded very savage. but soon bobo smelled the children out and leaped, whining, against the door of the cabin. he was doing that when daddy bunker and mr. armatage and the negroes reached the clearing. "the creature is in that hut," said daddy bunker. "not much!" returned his friend. "bobo would not make those sounds if it was a panther. mr. panther has beat it through the trees. it is something else in the charcoal burner's hut. come on!" he strode over to the door, snapped back the lock, and threw the door open. the torchlight flooded the interior of the place and revealed russ and rose bunker, still fearful, clinging to each other as they crouched in a corner of the hut. "well!" exclaimed daddy bunker. "of all the children that ever were born, you two manage to get into the greatest adventures! what are you doing here?" "a big cat chased us in here, daddy," said russ. "and he tried to get at us through the roof," added rose. daddy bunker and mr. armatage looked at each other pretty seriously. "we didn't get here a minute too soon," said the planter. "i believe you," returned mr. bunker gravely. "this might have been a very serious affair." but in the morning, after russ and rose were refreshed by sleep and had told the particulars of their adventure at the breakfast table, the youngsters really took pride in what had happened to them. the smaller children looked upon russ and rose as being very wonderful. "what would you have done, russ, if that big cat had got into the house with you and rose?" vi asked. "but he didn't," was the boy's reply. "well, if he had what would you have done?" but that proved to be another question that vi bunker never got answered. this was so often the case! "so you thought it was a ghost at first, and then it turned out to be a big cat," laddie said to rose. "i think i could make up a riddle about that." "all right," said rose, with a sigh. "you can make up all the riddles you want to about it. making a riddle about a panther is lots better than being chased by one." laddie, however, did not make the riddle. in fact he forgot all about it in the excitement of what directly followed the rescue of russ and rose from the wild animal. mr. bunker felt so happy about the recovery of the two children that he determined to do something nice for the colored people who had so enthusiastically aided in hunting for russ and rose. "let 'em have another big dance and dinner, such as they had christmas eve," mr. bunker suggested to the planter. "i'll pay the bill." "just as you say, charley," agreed mr. armatage. "that will please 'em all about as much as anything you could think of. i'll get some kind of music for them to dance by, and we'll all go down and watch 'em. your young ones certainly do like dancing." this was true. and especially was russ bunker anxious to learn to dance as some of the colored boys did. he was constantly practising the funny pigeon wing that he had seen sam do in aunt jo's kitchen, in boston. but the white boy could not get it just right. "never mind, russ," laddie said approvingly, "you do it better and better all the time. i guess you can do it by and by--three or four years from now, maybe." but three or four years seemed a long time to russ. when they went down to the quarters the evening of the party russ determined to try to dance as well as frane, junior, and the negro boys. mammy june was much better now, and she was up and about. to please her mr. armatage had a phaeton brought around and the old nurse was driven to the scene of the celebration. mun bun and margy rode in the phaeton with mammy june and were very proud of this particular honor. the old nurse was loved by everybody on the plantation, both white and black. mother bunker said that mammy held "quite a levee" at the quarters, sitting in state in her phaeton where she could see all that went on. the dinner was what the negroes called a barbecue. the six little bunkers had never seen such a feast before, for this that their father gave them was even more elaborate than the dinner the planter had given his hands at christmas. there was a great fire in a pit, and over this fire a whole pig was roasted on a spit, and poultry, and 'possums that the boys had killed, and rabbits. there were sweet potatoes, of course. how the little northerners liked them! the white children had a table to themselves and ate as heartily as their colored friends. then a place was cleared for the dancing. mammy june's phaeton was drawn to the edge of this dance floor. the music struck up, and there was a general rush for partners. after a while the dancers got more excited, and many of them danced alone, "showing off," frane, junior, said. they did have the funniest steps! russ bunker was highly delighted with this kind of dancing. "now let me! let me dance!" he cried, starting out from his seat near mammy june. "a boy showed me in boston how to cut a pigeon wing. i guess i can do it now." "you can't cut no pigeon wing, w'ite boy," said 'lias, mammy's grandson. "i can try," said russ bravely, and he danced with much vigor for several minutes. "oh, my, he done cut sneezer's pigeon wing!" cried one of the darkies presently. "what's dat? cut sneezer's pigeon wing?" cried mammy june, sitting up to watch russ more closely. "dat's jest what he's doin'." russ continued to dance, and did his best to imitate the colored boy at aunt jo's house. he was hard at it when mammy june, with her eyes almost popping out of her head, cried: "for de lan's sake, boy, come here! i want to ask you sumpin." russ was in the midst of cutting the pigeon wing again, and this time he was fortunate enough to imitate sam in almost every particular. then he stopped and walked over to the old colored woman's side. "how come you try to do it that way, russ bunker?" asked mammy june as russ approached the phaeton. "i ain't never seen you do that before. who showed you?" "sam. the boy in boston. he said he was called after his uncle sam. he came from down south here, you know, mammy." "was he a cullud boy?" demanded the old woman earnestly. "of course he was. or he couldn't dance this way," and russ tried to cut the pigeon wing again. "wait! wait!" gasped the old woman. "tell me mo' about that boy who showed you. you ain't got it right. but dat's the way my sneezer done it. only he knows just how." "why, mammy june!" cried rose, "you don't suppose that sam can dance just like your sneezer?" the old nurse was wiping the tears from her cheeks. her voice was much choked with emotion as well. mrs. bunker came over to see what the matter was. "yo' please tell me, ma'am, all about dat boy dese children say was in boston? please, ma'am! ain't nobody know how to dance dat way but sneezer. and he didn't like his name, ebenezer caliper spotiswood meiggs. no'm, he didn't like it at all, 'cause we-all shortened it to sneezer. "he had an uncle sam, too. my brudder. lives in birmingham. sneezer always said he wisht he'd been born wid a name like uncle sam." "perhaps it is the same boy," mother bunker said kindly. "tell me just how ebenezer looks, mammy june. then i can be sure." from the way mammy described her youngest son, even the children recognized him as sam the chore boy at aunt jo's in boston. mun bun and margy, when the matter was quite settled that sam was sneezer, began to take great pride in the fact that it was their bright eyes that had first spied the colored boy walking in the snow and had been the first to invite him into aunt jo's house. "he will be there when we go to boston again, mammy june," rose said, warmly. "and daddy and mother will send him home to you. i guess he'll be glad to come. only, maybe you'd better stop calling him sneezer. he likes sam best." "sure enough, honey," cried mammy june, "i'll call him anything he likes 'long as he comes home and stays home with me. yes, indeedy! i'd call him julius cæsar mark antony meiggs, if he wants i should." "but maybe," said russ thoughtfully, "he wouldn't like that name any better than the other. i know i shouldn't." in a short time it was a settled matter that mammy june's lost boy would return. for she could tell mrs. bunker so many things about the absent one that there was not a shadow of a doubt that the sam working for aunt jo would prove to be mammy june's boy. the holidays on the meiggs plantation ended, therefore, all the more pleasantly because of this discovery. the plantation was a fine place to be on, so the six little bunkers thought. but when daddy bunker announced that his business with his old friend, the planter, was satisfactorily completed, the children were not sorry to think of returning north. "this doesn't seem like winter at all down here," said russ. "we want to slide downhill, and roll snowballs, and make snowmen." "and it is nice to go sleigh riding," rose added. "they never can do that on the meiggs plantation." "but you can make riddles here," put in laddie. vi might have added that she could ask questions anywhere! as for margy and mun bun, they were contented to go anywhere that mother bunker and daddy went. something exciting was always happening to all of the six little bunkers. but we will let you guess, with russ and rose and vi and laddie and margy and mun bun, where the next exciting adventures of the half dozen youngsters from pineville will take place. then came the time to leave the plantation. the children had many little keepsakes to take home with them and they promised to send other keepsakes to the armatage children as soon as they got back to pineville. "it's been just the nicest outing that ever could be!" said rose, when the good-byes were being spoken. "i'm sure i'll never forget this lovely place." "i's coming back some day if they want me," put in mun bun quickly. and at this everybody smiled. then all climbed into the automobile which was to take them to the railroad station. there was a honk of the horn, and amid the waving of hands and a hearty cheer, the six little bunkers and their parents started on their journey for home. six little bunkers series by laura lee hope author of "the bobbsey twins books," "the bunny brown series," "the make-believe series," etc. * * * * * durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding * * * * * delightful stories for little boys and girls which sprung into immediate popularity. to know the six little bunkers is to take them at once to your heart, they are so intensely human, so full of fun and cute sayings. each story has a little plot of its own--one that can be easily followed--and all are written in miss hope's most entertaining manner. clean, wholesome volumes which ought to be on the bookshelf of every child in the land. six little bunkers at grandma bell's six little bunkers at aunt jo's six little bunkers at cousin tom's six little bunkers at grandpa ford's six little bunkers at uncle fred's six little bunkers at captain ben's six little bunkers at cowboy jack's * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the outdoor girls series by laura lee hope author of the popular "bobbsey twin books" and "bunny brown" series. * * * * * uniform style of binding. individual colored wrappers. * * * * * these tales take in the various adventures participated in by several bright, up-to-date girls who love outdoor life. they are clean and wholesome, free from sensationalism, and absorbing from the first chapter to the last. the outdoor girls of deepdale or camping and tramping for fun and health. the outdoor girls at rainbow lake or stirring cruise of the motor boat gem. the outdoor girls in a motor car or the haunted mansion of shadow valley. the outdoor girls in a winter camp or glorious days on skates and ice boats. the outdoor girls in florida or wintering in the sunny south. the outdoor girls at ocean view or the box that was found in the sand. the outdoor girls on pine island or a cave and what it contained. the outdoor girls in army service or doing their bit for uncle sam. the outdoor girls at the hostess house or doing their best for the soldiers. the outdoor girls at bluff point or a wreck and a rescue. the outdoor girls at wild rose lodge or the hermit of moonlight falls. the outdoor girls in the saddle or the girl miner of gold run. * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the bobbsey twins books for little men and women by laura lee hope author of "the bunny brown" series, etc. * * * * * mo. durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding * * * * * copyright publications which cannot be obtained elsewhere. books that charm the hearts of the little ones and of which they never tire. the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school the bobbsey twins at snow lodge the bobbsey twins on a houseboat the bobbsey twins at meadow brook the bobbsey twins at home the bobbsey twins in a great city the bobbsey twins on blueberry island the bobbsey twins on the deep blue sea the bobbsey twins in the great west * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the bunny brown series by laura lee hope author of the popular "bobbsey twins" books wrapper and text illustrations drawn by florence england nosworthy * * * * * mo. durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding * * * * * these stories by the author of the "bobbsey twins" books are eagerly welcomed by the little folks from about five to ten years of age. their eyes fairly dance with delight at the lively doings of inquisitive little bunny brown and his cunning, trustful sister sue. bunny was a lively little boy, very inquisitive. when he did anything, sue followed his leadership. they had many adventures, some comical in the extreme. bunny brown and his sister sue bunny brown and his sister sue on grandpa's farm bunny brown and his sister sue playing circus bunny brown and his sister sue at camp rest-a-while bunny brown and his sister sue at aunt lu's city home bunny brown and his sister sue in the big woods bunny brown and his sister sue on an auto tour bunny brown and his sister sue and their shetland pony bunny brown and his sister sue giving a show bunny brown and his sister sue at christmas tree cove * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the tom swift series by victor appleton * * * * * uniform style of binding. individual colored wrappers. * * * * * these spirited tales, convey in a realistic way, the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good. tom swift and his motor cycle tom swift and his motor boat tom swift and his airship tom swift and his submarine boat tom swift and his electric runabout tom swift and his wireless message tom swift among the diamond makers tom swift in the caves of ice tom swift and his sky racer tom swift and his electric rifle tom swift in the city of gold tom swift and his air glider tom swift in captivity tom swift and his wizard camera tom swift and his great searchlight tom swift and his giant cannon tom swift and his photo telephone tom swift and his aerial warship tom swift and his big tunnel tom swift in the land of wonders tom swift and his war tank tom swift and his air scout tom swift and his undersea search tom swift among the fire fighters tom swift and his electric locomotive * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the moving picture boys series by victor appleton * * * * * uniform style of binding. individual colored wrappers. * * * * * moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the wild west, among the cowboys and indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. the volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last. the moving picture boys the moving picture boys in the west the moving picture boys on the coast the moving picture boys in the jungle the moving picture boys in earthquake land the moving picture boys and the flood the moving picture boys at panama the moving picture boys under the sea the moving picture boys on the war front the moving picture boys on french battlefields moving picture boys' first showhouse moving picture boys at seaside park moving picture boys on broadway the moving picture boys' outdoor exhibition the moving picture boys' new idea * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. page : "gooodness" changed to "goodness". (goodness! it's cold) page : "begger" changed to "beggar". (allowing a beggar) page : "swin" changed to "swim". (could not swim) page : "fire-cracker" changed to "firecracker" to conform to rest of text. (it's firecrackers.) one instance each of "white-washed" and "whitewashed" appears in the original and was retained. christmas eve is capitalised once and lowercased once. this was retained. transcriber's note italic text is denoted by _underscores_. obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. more detail can be found at the end of the book. revolutionary reader reminiscences and indian legends compiled by sophie lee foster state regent daughters of the american revolution of georgia atlanta, ga.: byrd printing company _copyrighted _ _by_ _sophie lee foster_ _dedication_ _as my work has been a labor of love, i therefore affectionately dedicate this book to the daughters of the american revolution of georgia._ september , . mrs. sheppard w. foster, atlanta, georgia. my dear mrs. foster:--to say that i am delighted with your revolutionary reader is to state the sheer truth in very mild terms. it is a marvel to me how you could gather together so many charmingly written articles, each of them illustrative of some dramatic phase of the great struggle for independence. there is much in this book of local interest to each section. there is literally nothing which does not carry with it an appeal of the most profound interest to the general reader, whether in georgia or new england. you have ignored no part of the map. i congratulate you upon your wonderful success in the preparation of your revolutionary reader. it is marvelously rich in contents and broadly american in spirit. sincerely your friend, (signed) lucian lamar knight. september , . mrs. s. w. foster, peachtree street. i like very much your plan of a revolutionary reader. i hope it will be adopted by the school boards of the various states as a supplementary reader so that it may have a wide circulation. yours sincerely, joseph t. derry. contents page america washington's name washington's inauguration important characters of the revolutionary period in american history battle of alamance battle of lexington signers of declaration life at valley forge old williamsburg song of the revolution a true story of the revolution georgia poem forts of georgia james edward oglethorpe the condition of georgia during the revolution fort rutledge of the revolution the efforts of lafayette for the cause of american independence james jackson experiences of joab horne historical sketch of margaret katherine barry art and artists of the revolution "uncle sam" explained again an episode of the war of the revolution state flowers georgia state history, naming of the counties an historic tree independence day kitty battle of kettle creek a daring exploit of grace and rachael martin a revolutionary puzzle south carolina in the revolution lyman hall a romance of revolutionary times fort motte, south carolina peter strozier independence day sarah gilliam williamson a colonial hiding place a hero of the revolution john paul jones the real georgia cracker the dying soldier when benjamin franklin scored a revolutionary baptising george walton thomas jefferson orators of the american revolution the flag of our country (poem) the old virginia gentleman when washington was wed (poem) rhode island in the american revolution georgia and her heroes in the revolution united states treasury seal willie was saved virginia revolutionary forts uncrowned queens and kings as shown through humorous incidents of the revolution a colonial story molly pitcher for hall of fame revolutionary relics tragedy of the revolution overlooked by historians john martin john stark, revolutionary soldier benjamin franklin captain mugford governor john clarke party relations in england and their effect on the american revolution early means of transportation by land and water colonel benjamin hawkins governor jared irwin education of men and women of the american revolution nancy hart battle of kings mountain (poem) william cleghorn the blue laws of old virginia elijah clarke francis marion light horse harry our legacy (poem) the ride of mary slocumb the hobson sisters washington's march through somerset county, n. j. hannah arnett button gwinnett forced by pirates to walk the plank georgia women of early days robert sallette general lafayette's visit to macon yes! tomorrow's flag day (poem) flag day end of the revolution indian legends counties of georgia bearing indian names story of early indian days chief vann house indian tale william white and daniel boone the legend of lovers' leap indian mound storiette of states derived from indian names cherokee alphabet the boy and his arrow indian spring, georgia tracing the mcintosh trail georgia school song list of illustrations. facing page fraunces tavern ruins of old fort at frederica monument to gen. oglethorpe indian treaty tree the old liberty bell carpenter's hall monument site of old cornwallis birthplace of old glory chief vann house map of mcintosh trail map of georgia, showing colonial, revolutionary and indian war period forts, battle fields and treaty spots preface. since it is customary to write a preface, should any one attempt the somewhat hazardous task of compiling a book, it is my wish, as the editor, in sending this book forth (to live or die according to its merits) to take advantage of this custom to offer a short explanation as to its mission. it is not to be expected that a volume, containing so many facts gathered from numerous sources, will be entirely free from criticism. the securing of material for compiling this book was first planned through my endeavors to stimulate greater enthusiasm in revolutionary history, biography of revolutionary period, indian legends, etc., by having storiettes read at the various meetings of the daughters of the american revolution, and in this way not only creating interest in chapter work, but accumulating much valuable heretofore unpublished data pertaining to this important period in american history; with a view of having same printed in book form, suitable for our public schools, to be known as a revolutionary reader. at first it was my intention only to accept for this reader unpublished storiettes relating to georgia history, but realizing this work could not be completed under this plan, during my term of office as state regent, i decided to use material selected from other reliable sources, and endeavored to make it as broad and general in scope as possible that it might better fulfill its purpose. to the daughters of the american revolution of georgia this book is dedicated. its production has been a labor of love, and should its pages be the medium through which american patriotism may be encouraged and perpetuated i shall feel many times repaid for the effort. to the chapters of the daughters of american revolution of georgia for storiettes furnished, to the newspapers for clippings, to the _american monthly magazine_ for articles, to miss annie m. lane, miss helen prescott, mr. lucian knight and professor derry, i wish to express my deep appreciation for material help given. sophie lee foster. [illustration: fraunces tavern, of colonial and revolutionary fame, on pearl street, corner of broad, new york. it was here that washington bade farewell to his officers, december , . purchased in by the new york society of the sons of the american revolution, and now occupied by them as headquarters.] america. . my country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee i sing; land where our fathers died, land of the pilgrims' pride, from every mountain side let freedom ring. . my native country, thee, land of the noble free, thy name i love; i love thy rocks and rills, thy woods and templed hills, my heart with rapture thrills, like that above. . let music swell the breeze, and ring from all the trees, sweet freedom's song; let mortal tongues awake, let all that breathe partake, let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong. . our father's god, to thee, author of liberty, to thee we sing; long may our land be bright, with freedom's holy light, protect us with thy might, great god, our king! washington's name. at the celebration of washington's birthday, maury public school, district of columbia, miss helen t. doocy recited the following beautiful poem written specially for her by mr. michael scanlon: let nations grown old in the annals of glory retrace their red marches of conquest and tears, and glean with deft hands, from the pages of story the names which emblazon their centuried years-- bring them forth, ev'ry deed which their prowess bequeathed unto them caught up from the echoes of fame; yet thus, round their brows all their victories wreathed, they'll pale in the light of our washington's name! oh, ye who snatched fame from the nation's disasters and fired your ambitions at glory's red springs, to bask, for an hour, in the smiles of your masters, and flash down life's current, the bubbles of kings, stand forth with your blood-purchased trappings upon you, the need of your treason, the price of your shame, and mark how the baubles which tyranny won you will pale in the light of our washington's name! parade your proud trophies and pile up your arches, and flaunt your blood banner, oh, trumpet-tongued war! but ruin and woe mark the lines of your marches, while liberty, captive, is chained to your car; but, lo! in the west there flasht out to defend her a sword which was sheened in humanity's flame, and virtue, secure, glass'd her form in its splendor-- the splendor which haloes our washington's name! the kings whose dread names have led captive the ages now sink in the sands of their passion and lust; their blood-roll of carnage in history's pages is closed, and their names will go down to the dust. but long as a banner to freedom is flying no shadow can rest on his sunshine of fame, for glory has crowned him with beauty undying, and time will but brighten our washington's name! --_american monthly magazine._ washington's inauguration. by rev. thomas b. gregory. on april , , at federal hall, george washington was duly inaugurated first president of the united states, and the great experiment of self-government on these western shores was fairly begun. the beginning was most auspicious. than washington no finer man ever stood at the forefront of a nation's life. of washington america is eminently proud, and of washington america has the right to be proud, for the "father of his country" was, in every sense of the word, a whole man. time has somewhat disturbed the halo that for a long while held the place about the great man's head. it has been proven that washington was human, and all the more thanks for that. but after the closest scrutiny, from every part of the world, for a century and a quarter, it is still to be proven that anything mean, or mercenary, or dishonorable or unpatriotic ever came near the head or heart of our first president. washington loved his country with a whole heart. he was a patriot to the core. his first, last and only ambition was to do what he could to promote the high ends to which the republic was dedicated. politics, as defined by aristotle, is the "science of government." washington was not a learned man, and probably knew very little of aristotle, but his head was clear and his heart was pure, and he, too, felt that politics was the science of government, and that the result of the government should be the "greatest good to the greatest number" of his fellow citizens. from that high and sacred conviction washington never once swerved, and when he quit his exalted office he did so with clean hands and unsmirched fame, leaving behind him a name which is probably the most illustrious in the annals of the race. rapid and phenomenal has been the progress of washington's country! it seems like a dream rather than the soundest of historical facts. the romans, after fighting "tooth and nail" for years, found themselves with a territory no larger than that comprised within the limits of greater new york. in years the americans are the owners of a territory in comparison with which the roman empire, when at the height of its glory, was but a small affair--a territory wherein are operant the greatest industrial, economic, moral and political forces that this old planet ever witnessed. important characters of the revolutionary period in american history. to make a subject interesting and beneficial to us we must have a personal interest in it. this is brought about in three ways: it touches our pride, if it be our country; it excites our curiosity as to what it really is, if it be history; and we desire to know what part our ancestors took in it, if it be war. so, we see the period of the revolutionary war possesses all three of these elements; and was in reality the beginning of true american life--"america for americans." prior to this time (during the colonial period) america was under the dominion of the lords proprietors--covering the years of to --and royal governors--from to --the appointees of the english sovereign, and whose rule was for self-aggrandizement. the very word "revolutionary" proclaims oppression, for where there is justice shown by the ruler to the subjects there is no revolt, nor will there ever be. we usually think of the battle of lexington (april , ,) as being the bugle note that culminated in the declaration of independence and reached its final grand chord at yorktown, october , ; but on the th of may, , some citizens of north carolina, finding the extortions and exactions of the royal governor, tryon, more than they could or would bear, took up arms in self-defense and fought on the alamance river what was in reality the first battle of the revolution. the citizens' loss was thirty-six men, while the governor lost almost sixty of his royal troops. this battle of the alamance was the seed sown that budded in the declaration of mecklenburg in , and came to full flower in the declaration of independence, july , . there were stages in this flower of american liberty to which we will give a cursory glance. the determination of the colonies not to purchase british goods had a marked effect on england. commercial depression followed, and public opinion soon demanded some concession to the americans. all taxes were remitted or repealed except that upon tea; when there followed the most _exciting_, if not the most enjoyable party in the world's history--the "boston tea party," which occurred on the evening of december , . this was followed in march, , by the boston port bill, the first in the series of retaliation by england for the "tea party." at the instigation of virginia a new convention of the colonies was called to meet september, , to consider "the grievances of the people." this was the second colonial and the first continental congress to meet in america, and occurred september , , at philadelphia. all the colonies were represented, except georgia, whose governor would not allow it. they then adjourned to meet may , , after having passed a declaration of rights, framed an address to the king and people of england, and recommended the suspension of all commercial relations with the mother country. the british minister, william pitt, wrote of that congress: "for solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity and wisdom of conclusion, no nation or body of men can stand in preference to the general congress of philadelphia." henceforth the colonists were known as "continentals," in contradistinction to the "royalists" or "tories," who were the adherents of the crown. no period of our history holds more for the student, young or old, than this of the revolutionary war, or possesses greater charm when once taken up. no man or woman can be as good a citizen without some knowledge of this most interesting subject, nor enjoy so fully their grand country! some one has pertinently said "history is innumerable biographies;" and what child or grown person is there who does not enjoy being told of some "great person?" every man, private, military or civil officer, who took part in the revolutionary war was great! it is not generally known that the _executive power_ of the state rested in those troublesome times in the county committees; but it was they who executed all the orders of the continental congress. the provincial council was for the whole state; the district committee for the safety of each district, and the county and town committees for each county and town. it was through the thought, loyalty and enduring bravery of the men who constituted these committees, that we of today have a constitution that gives us "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness"--in whatever manner pleases us, so long as it does not trespass on another's well being. we do not give half the honor we should to our ancestry, who have done so much for us! we zealously seek and preserve the pedigrees of our horses, cows and chickens, and really do not _know_ whether we come from a mushroom or a monkey! when we think of it, it is a much more honorable and greater thing to be a son or daughter of the american revolution, than to be a prince or princess, for one comes through noble deeds done by thinking, justice-loving men, and the other through an accident of birth. let us examine a little into a few of these "biographies" and see wherein their greatness lies, that they like righteous abel, "though dead yet speak." the number seven stands for completeness and perfection--let us see if seven imaginary questions can be answered by their lives. james edward oglethorpe was born in , and died in --two years after the revolutionary war. he planted the colony of georgia, in which the oppressed found refuge. he had served in the army of prince eugene of savoy in the war with the turks. he founded the city of savannah, georgia. he exported to england the first silk made in the colonies, of which the queen had a dress made. king george ii gave him a seal representing a family of silk worms, with their motto: "not for ourselves but for others." he forbade the importation of rum into the colony. he refused the command of the british forces sent in to reduce, or subdue the american colonies. in this life told in seven questions, or rather answered, we find much--a religious man, a soldier, an architect (of a city), one versed in commerce, a wise legislator and a man who had the respect of the king--the head of england. the next in chronological order is benjamin franklin (for whom our little city is named), born in , died in . he discovered the identity of lightning and electricity, and invented the lightning rods. he was an early printer who edited and published "poor richard's almanac." of him it was said, "he snatched the lightning from heaven and the sceptre from tyrants." he founded the first circulating library in america. his portrait is seen to-day on every one-cent postage stamp. he was america's ambassador to france during the revolutionary war. he said after signing the declaration of independence, "we must all hang together or we shall all hang separately." in him, we find an inventor and discoverer, an editor and author, a benefactor, a politician and statesman, and one whose face we daily see on account of his greatness. george washington was born , and died . he was the first president of the united states--"the father of his country," the commander-in-chief of the american forces in the revolutionary war. he was the hero of valley forge, and the one to receive the surrender of cornwallis at yorktown. he was the president of the convention that framed the united states constitution. the one of whom it was said, "he was the first in war, the first in peace, and the first in the hearts of his countrymen." it is his--and his only--birthday america celebrates as a national holiday. of him lord byron said, "the first, the last, and the best, the cincinnatus of the west." how much do seven short paragraphs tell! patrick henry was born in , died , the same year that washington "passed away;" and like his, this life can speak for itself. he was the most famous orator of the revolution. he said, "give me liberty or give me death!" he also said, "we must fight. an appeal to arms and to the god of battles is all that is left us. i repeat it, sir, we must fight." another saying of his was, "caesar had his brutus, charles i his cromwell, and george iii--may profit by their example." again, "the people, and only the people, have a right to tax the people." he won in the famous parson's case, the epithet of "the orator of nature." he was the first governor of the colony of virginia after it became a state. john hancock was born in , and died . he first signed the declaration of independence. he was a rich boston merchant as well as a revolutionary leader. he was chosen president of the continental congress in . he and samuel adams were the two especially excepted from pardon offered the "rebels" by the english. as president of congress he signed the commission of george washington as commander-in-chief of the army. when he signed the declaration of independence he said, "the british ministry can read that name without spectacles; let them double their reward." he was elected the first governor of the state of massachusetts in . anthony wayne was born in , and died in . he was often called "mad anthony" on account of his intrepidity. he was the hero of stony point. he built a fort on the spot of st. clair's defeat and named it fort recovery. he was made commander-in-chief of the army of the northwest in . he gained a great victory over the miami indians in ohio in . he, as a revolutionary general, banished whiskey from his camp calling it "ardent poison"--from whence came the expression "ardent spirits" when applied to stimulants. major andre composed a poem about him called the "cow chase," showing how he captured supplies for the americans. alexander hamilton was born in , and died in . he was aide-de-camp to washington in --the most trying year of the entire revolutionary war. he succeeded washington as commander-in-chief of the united states army. he was the first secretary of the treasury of the united states. he founded the financial system of the united states. he was the revolutionary statesman who said, "reformers make opinions, and opinions make parties"--a true aphorism to-day. he is known as the "prince of politicians, or america's greatest political genius." his brilliant career was cut short at the age of by aaron burr--whose life is summed up in two sad, bitter lines: "his country's curse, his children's shame; outcast of virtue, peace and fame." although john paul jones was not a revolutionary soldier on the land, yet he was "the washington of the seas." he was born in and died . he was the first to hoist an american naval flag on board an american frigate. he fought the first naval engagement under the united states' national ensign or flag. he commanded the _bon homme richard_ in the great sea fight with the _serapis_ in the english channel. he said, after the commander of the _serapis_ had been knighted, "if i should have the good fortune to meet him again, i will make a lord of him." he was presented with a sword by louis xvi for his services against the english. he was appointed rear-admiral of the russian fleet by catherine ii. these are but a few of the many men who did so valiantly their part during the revolutionary period. susie gentry, _state vice-regent, d. a. r._ (a talk made to the public school teachers of williamson county--at the request of the superintendent of instruction--in franklin, tennessee, january , .)--_american monthly magazine._ the battle of alamance. by rev. thomas b. gregory. at the battle of alamance, n. c., fought may , , was shed the first blood of the great struggle which was to result in the establishment of american independence. all honor to lexington, where the "embattled farmers" fired shots that were "heard around the world," but let it not be forgotten that other farmers, almost four years before the day of lexington, opened the fight of which lexington was only the continuation. the principles for which the north carolina farmers fought at alamance were identified with those for which massachusetts farmers fought at lexington. of the massachusetts patriots nineteen were killed and wounded, while of the carolina patriots over lay killed or crippled upon the field and six, later on, died upon the scaffold, yet, while all the world has heard of lexington, not one person in a thousand knows anything to speak of about alamance. william tryon, the royal governor of north carolina, was so mean that they called him the "wolf." in the name of his royal master and for the furtherance of his own greedy instincts tryon oppressed the people of his province to the point where they were obliged to do one or two things--resist him or become slaves. they resolved to resist and formed themselves into an organization known as "regulators," a body of as pure patriots as ever shouldered a gun. having protested time and again against the unlawful taxation under which they groaned, they finally quit groaning, raised the cry of freedom and rose in arms against tryon and king george. to the number of , or , the regulators, only partly armed and without organization, met the forces of the royal governor at alamance. "lay down your guns or i will fire!" shouted the british commander. "fire and be damned!" shouted back the leader of the regulators. at once the battle opened, and, of course, the regulators were defeated and dispersed. but old tryon received the lesson he had so long needed--that, while americans could be shot down on the battlefield, they could not be made tamely to submit to the high-handed oppression of king george and his creatures. the battle of lexington april , . on the afternoon of the day on which the provincial congress of massachusetts adjourned, general gage took the light infantry and grenadiers off duty and secretly prepared an expedition to destroy the colony's stores at concord. the attempt had for several weeks been expected, and signals were concerted to announce the first movement of troops for the country. samuel adams and hancock, who had not yet left lexington for philadelphia, received a timely message from warren, and in consequence the committee of safety moved a part of the public stores and secreted the cannon. on tuesday, the eighteenth of april, ten or more british sergeants in disguise dispersed themselves through cambridge and farther west to intercept all communication. in the following night the grenadiers and light infantry, not less than eight hundred in number, the flower of the army at boston, commanded by lieutenant-colonel smith, crossed in the boats of the transport ships from the foot of the common at east cambridge. gage directed that no one else should leave the town, but warren had, at ten o'clock, dispatched william dawes through roxbury and paul revere by way of charlestown to lexington. revere stopped only to engage a friend to raise the concerted signals, and two friends rowed him across the charles river five minutes before the sentinels received the order to prevent it. all was still, as suited the hour. the _somerset_, man-of-war, was winding with the young flood; the waning moon just peered above a clear horizon, while from a couple of lanterns in the tower of the north church the beacon streamed to the neighboring towns as fast as light could travel. a little beyond charlestown neck revere was intercepted by two british officers on horseback, but being well mounted he turned suddenly and escaped by the road to medford. in that town he waked the captain and minute men, and continued to rouse almost every house on the way to lexington, making the memorable ride of paul revere. the troops had not advanced far when the firing of guns and ringing of bells announced that their expedition had been heralded, and smith sent back for a reinforcement. early on the nineteenth of april the message from warren reached adams and hancock, who at once divined the object of the expedition. revere, therefore, and dawes, joined by samuel prescott, "a high son of liberty" from concord, rode forward, calling up the inhabitants as they passed along, till in lincoln they fell upon a party of british officers. revere and dawes were seized and taken back to lexington, where they were released, but prescott leaped over a low stone wall and galloped on for concord. there, at about two hours after midnight, a peal from the bell of the meeting house brought together the inhabitants of the place, young and old, with their firelocks, ready to make good the resolute words of their town debates. among the most alert was william emerson, the minister, with gun in hand, his powder horn and pouch of balls slung over his shoulder. by his sermons and his prayers his flock learned to hold the defense of their liberties a part of their covenant with god. his presence with arms strengthened their sense of duty. from daybreak to sunrise, the summons ran from house to house through acton. express messengers and the call of minute men spread widely the alarm. how children trembled as they were scared out of sleep by the cries! how women, with heaving breasts, bravely seconded their husbands! how the countrymen, forced suddenly to arm, without guides or counsellors, took instant counsel of their courage! the mighty chorus of voices rose from the scattered farmhouses, and, as it were, from the ashes of the dead. "come forth, champions of liberty; now free your country; protect your sons and daughters, your wives and homesteads; rescue the houses of the god of your fathers, the franchises handed down from your ancestors." now all is at stake; the battle is for all. lexington, in , may have had seven hundred inhabitants. their minister was the learned and fervent jonas clark, the bold inditer of patriotic state papers, that may yet be read on their town records. in december, , they had instructed their representative to demand "a radical and lasting redress of their grievances, for not through their neglect should the people be enslaved." a year later they spurned the use of tea. in , at various town meetings, they voted "to increase their stock of ammunition," "to encourage military discipline, and to put themselves in a posture of defense against their enemies." in december they distributed to "the train band and alarm list" arms and ammunition and resolved to "supply the training soldiers with bayonets." at two in the morning, under the eye of the minister, and of hancock and adams, lexington common was alive with the minute men. the roll was called and, of militia and alarm men, about one hundred and thirty answered to their names. the captain, john parker, ordered everyone to load with powder and ball, but to take care not to be the first to fire. messengers sent to look for the british regulars reported that there were no signs of their approach. a watch was therefore set, and the company dismissed with orders to come together at beat of drum. the last stars were vanishing from night when the foremost party, led by pitcairn, a major of marines, was discovered advancing quickly and in silence. alarm guns were fired and the drums beat, not a call to village husbandmen only, but the reveille of humanity. less than seventy, perhaps less than sixty, obeyed the summons, and, in sight of half as many boys and unarmed men, were paraded in two ranks a few rods north of the meeting house. the british van, hearing the drum and the alarm guns, halted to load; the remaining companies came up, and, at half an hour before sunrise, the advance party hurried forward at double quick time, almost upon a run, closely followed by the grenadiers. pitcairn rode in front and when within five or six rods of the minute men, cried out: "disperse, ye villains! ye rebels, disperse! lay down your arms! why don't you lay down your arms and disperse?" the main part of the countrymen stood motionless in the ranks, witnesses against aggression, too few to resist, too brave to fly. at this pitcairn discharged a pistol, and with a loud voice cried "fire!" the order was followed first by a few guns, which did no execution, and then by a close and deadly discharge of musketry. jonas parker, the strongest and best wrestler in lexington, had promised never to run from british troops, and he kept his vow. a wound brought him on his knees. having discharged his gun he was preparing to load it again when he was stabbed by a bayonet and lay on the post which he took at the morning's drum beat. so fell isaac muzzey, and so died the aged robert munroe, who in had been an ensign at louisburg. jonathan harrington, jr., was struck in front of his own house on the north of the common. his wife was at the window as he fell. with blood gushing from his breast, he rose in her sight, tottered, fell again, then crawled on hands and knees toward his dwelling; she ran to meet him, but only reached him as he expired on their threshold. caleb harrington, who had gone into the meeting house for powder, was shot as he came out. samuel hadley and john brown were pursued and killed after they had left the green. asabel porter, of woburn, who had been taken prisoner by the british on the march, endeavoring to escape, was shot within a few rods of the common. seven men of lexington were killed, nine wounded, a quarter part of all who stood in arms on the green. there on the green lay in death the gray-haired and the young; the grassy field was red "with the innocent blood of their brethren slain," crying unto god for vengeance from the ground. these are the village heroes who were more than of noble blood, proving by their spirit that they were of a race divine. they gave their lives in testimony to the rights of mankind, bequeathing to their country an assurance of success in the mighty struggle which they began. the expanding millions of their countrymen renew and multiply their praise from generation to generation. they fulfilled their duty not from an accidental impulse of the moment; their action was the ripened fruit of providence and of time. heedless of his own danger, samuel adams, with the voice of a prophet, exclaimed: "oh, what a glorious morning is this!" for he saw his country's independence hastening on, and, like columbus in the tempest, knew that the storm bore him more swiftly toward the undiscovered land. the british troops drew up on the village green, fired a volley, huzzaed thrice by way of triumph, and after a halt of less than thirty minutes, marched on for concord. there, in the morning hours, children and women fled for shelter to the hills and the woods and men were hiding what was left of cannon and military stores. the minute men and militia formed on the usual parade, over which the congregation of the town for near a century and a half had passed to public worship, the freemen to every town meeting, and lately the patriot members of the provincial congress twice a day to their little senate house. near that spot winthrop, the father of massachusetts, had given counsel; and eliot, the apostle of the indians, had spoken words of benignity and wisdom. the people of concord, of whom about two hundred appeared in arms on that day, derived their energy from their sense of the divine power. the alarm company of the place rallied near the liberty pole on the hill, to the right of the lexington road, in the front of the meeting house. they went to the perilous duties of the day "with seriousness and acknowledgment of god," as though they were to engage in acts of worship. the minute company of lincoln, and a few men from acton, pressed in at an early hour; but the british, as they approached, were seen to be four times as numerous as the americans. the latter, therefore, retreated, first to an eminence eighty rods farther north, then across concord river, by the north bridge, till just beyond it, by a back road, they gained high ground about a mile from the center of the town. there they waited for aid. about seven o'clock, under brilliant sunshine, the british marched with rapid step into concord, the light infantry along the hills and the grenadiers in the lower road. at daybreak the minute men of acton crowded at the drum-beat to the house of isaac davis, their captain, who "made haste to be ready." just thirty years old, the father of four little ones, stately in person, a man of few words, earnest even to solemnity, he parted from his wife, saying: "take good care of the children," and while she gazed after him with resignation he led off his company. between nine and ten the number of americans on the rising ground above concord bridge had increased to more than four hundred. of these, there were twenty-five men from bedford, with jonathan wilson for their captain; others were from westford, among them thaxter, a preacher; others from littleton, from carlisle, and from chelmsford. the acton company came last and formed on the right; the whole was a gathering not so much of officers and soldiers as of brothers and equals, of whom every one was a man well known in his village, observed in the meeting houses on sundays, familiar at town meetings and respected as a freeholder or a freeholder's son. near the base of the hill concord river flows languidly in a winding channel and was approached by a causeway over the wet ground of its left bank. the by-road from the hill on which the americans had rallied ran southerly till it met the causeway at right angles. the americans saw before them, within gunshot, british troops holding possession of their bridge, and in the distance a still larger number occupying their town, which, from the rising smoke, seemed to have been set on fire. the americans had as yet received only uncertain rumors of the morning's events at lexington. at the sight of fire in the village the impulse seized them "to march into the town for its defense." but were they not subjects of the british king? had not the troops come out in obedience to acknowledged authorities? was resistance practicable? was it justifiable? by whom could it be authorized? no union had been formed, no independence proclaimed, no war declared. the husbandmen and mechanics who then stood on the hillock by concord river were called on to act and their action would be war or peace, submission or independence. had they doubted, they must have despaired. prudent statesmanship would have asked for time to ponder. wise philosophy would have lost from hesitation the glory of opening a new era for mankind. the small bands at concord acted and god was with them. "i never heard from any person the least expression of a wish for a separation," franklin, not long before, had said to chatham. in october, , washington wrote: "no such thing as independence is desired by any thinking man in america." "before the nineteenth of april, ," relates jefferson, "i never heard a whisper of a disposition to separate from great britain." just thirty-seven days had passed since john adams published in boston, "that there are any who pant after independence is the greatest slander on the province." the american revolution grew out of the souls of the people and was an inevitable result of a living affection for freedom, which set in motion harmonious effort as certainly as the beating of the heart sends warmth and color through the system. the officers, meeting in front of their men, spoke a few words with one another and went back to their places. barrett, the colonel, on horseback in the rear, then gave the order to advance, but not to fire unless attacked. the calm features of isaac davis, of acton, became changed; the town schoolmaster of concord, who was present, could never afterwards find words strong enough to express how deeply his face reddened at the word of command. "i have not a man that is afraid to go," said davis, looking at the men of acton, and, drawing his sword, he cried: "march!" his company, being on the right, led the way toward the bridge, he himself at their head, and by his side major john buttrick, of concord, with john robinson, of westford, lieutenant-colonel in prescott's regiment, but on this day a volunteer without command. these three men walked together in front, followed by minute men and militia in double file, training arms. they went down the hillock, entered the by-road, came to its angle with the main road and there turned into the causeway that led straight to the bridge. the british began to take up the planks; to prevent it the americans quickened their step. at this the british fired one or two shots up the river; then another, by which luther blanchard and jonas brown were wounded. a volley followed, and isaac davis and abner hosmer fell dead. three hours before, davis had bid his wife farewell. that afternoon he was carried home and laid in her bedroom. his countenance was pleasant in death. the bodies of two others of his company, who were slain that day, were brought to her house, and the three were followed to the village graveyard by a concourse of neighbors from miles around. heaven gave her length of days in the land which his self-devotion assisted to redeem. she lived to see her country reach the gulf of mexico and the pacific; when it was grown great in numbers, wealth and power, the united states in congress bethought themselves to pay honors to her husband's martyrdom and comfort her under the double burden of sorrow and of more than ninety years. as the british fired, emerson, who was looking on from an upper window in his house near the bridge, was for one moment uneasy lest the fire should not be returned. it was only for a moment; buttrick, leaping in the air and at the same time partially turning around, cried aloud: "fire, fellow soldiers! for god's sake, fire!" and the cry "fire! fire! fire!" ran from lip to lip. two of the british fell, several were wounded, and in two minutes all was hushed. the british retreated in disorder toward their main body; the countrymen were left in possession of the bridge. this is the world renowned "battle of concord," more eventful than agincourt or blenheim. the americans stood astonished at what they had done. they made no pursuit and did no further harm, except that one wounded soldier, attempting to arise if to escape, was struck on the head by a young man with a hatchet. the party at barrett's might have been cut off, but was not molested. as the sudbury company, commanded by the brave nixon, passed near the south bridge, josiah haynes, then eighty years of age, deacon of the sudbury church, urged an attack on the british party stationed there; his advice was rejected by his fellow soldiers as premature, but the company in which he served proved among the most alert during the rest of the day. in the town of concord, smith, for half an hour, showed by marches and counter-marches his uncertainty of purpose. at last, about noon, he left the town, to retreat the way he came, along the hilly road that wound through forests and thickets. the minute men and militia who had taken part in the fight ran over the hills opposite the battle field into the east quarter of the town, crossed the pasture known as the "great fields," and placed themselves in ambush a little to the eastward of the village, near the junction of the bedford road. there they were reinforced by men from all around and at that point the chase of the english began. among the foremost were the minute men of reading, led by john brooks and accompanied by foster, the minister of littleton, as a volunteer. the company of billerica, whose inhabitants, in their just indignation at nesbit and his soldiers, had openly resolved to "use a different style from that of petition and complaint" came down from the north, while the east sudbury company appeared on the south. a little below the bedford road at merriam's corner the british faced about, but after a sharp encounter, in which several of them were killed, they resumed their retreat. at the high land in lincoln the old road bent toward the north, just where great trees on the west and thickets on the east offered cover to the pursuers. the men from woburn came up in great numbers and well armed. along these defiles fell eight of the british. here pitcairn for safety was forced to quit his horse, which was taken with his pistols in their holsters. a little farther on jonathan wilson, captain of the bedford minute men, too zealous to keep on his guard, was killed by a flanking party. at another defile in lincoln, the minute men at lexington, commanded by john parker, renewed the fight. every piece of wood, every rock by the wayside, served as a lurking place. scarce ten of the americans were at any time seen together, yet the hills seemed to the british to swarm with "rebels," as if they had dropped from the clouds, and "the road was lined" by an unintermitted fire from behind stone walls and trees. at first the invaders moved in order; as they drew near lexington, their flanking parties became ineffective from weariness; the wounded were scarce able to get forward. in the west of lexington, as the british were rising fiske's hill, a sharp contest ensued. it was at the eastern foot of the same hill that james hayward, of acton, encountered a regular, and both at the same moment fired; the regular dropped dead; hayward was mortally wounded. a little farther on fell the octogenarian, josiah haynes, who had kept pace with the swiftest in the pursuit. the british troops, "greatly exhausted and fatigued and having expended almost all of their ammunition," began to run rather than retreat in order. the officers vainly attempted to stop their flight. "they were driven before the americans like sheep." at last, about two in the afternoon, after they had hurried through the middle of the town, about a mile below the field of the morning's bloodshed, the officers made their way to the front and by menaces of death began to form them under a very heavy fire. at that moment lord percy came in sight with the first brigade, consisting of welsh fusiliers, the fourth, the forty-seventh and the thirty-eighth regiments, in all about twelve hundred men, with two field pieces. insolent, as usual, they marched out of boston to the tune of yankee doodle, but they grew alarmed at finding every house on the road deserted. while the cannon kept the americans at bay, percy formed his detachment into a square, enclosing the fugitives, who lay down for rest on the ground, "their tongues hanging out of their mouths like those of dogs after a chase." after the juncture of the fugitives with percy, the troops under his command amounted to fully two-thirds of the british army in boston, and yet they must fly before the americans speedily and fleetly, or be overwhelmed. two wagons, sent out to them with supplies, were waylaid and captured by payson, the minister of chelsea. from far and wide minute men were gathering. the men of dedham, even the old men, received their minister's blessing and went forth, in such numbers that scarce one male between sixteen and seventy was left at home. that morning william prescott mustered his regiment, and though pepperell was so remote that he could not be in season for the pursuit, he hastened down with five companies of guards. before noon a messenger rode at full speed into worcester, crying: "to arms!" a fresh horse was brought and the tidings went on, while the minute men of that town, after joining hurriedly on the common in a fervent prayer from their minister, kept on the march till they reached cambridge. aware of his perilous position, percy, resting but half an hour, renewed his retreat. beyond lexington the troops were attacked by men chiefly from essex and the lower towns. the fire from the rebels slackened till they approached west cambridge, where joseph warren and william heath, both of the committee of safety, the latter a provincial general officer, gave for a moment some appearance of organization to the pursuit, and the fight grew sharper and more determined. here the company from danvers, which made a breastwork of a pile of shingles, lost eight men, caught between the enemy's flank guard and main body. here, too, a musket ball grazed the hair of joseph warren, whose heart beat to arms, so that he was ever in the place of greatest danger. the british became more and more "exasperated" and indulged themselves in savage cruelty. in one house they found two aged, helpless, unarmed men and butchered them both without mercy, stabbing them, breaking their skulls and dashing out their brains. hannah adams, wife of deacon joseph adams, of cambridge, lay in child-bed with a babe of a week old, but was forced to crawl with her infant in her arms and almost naked to a corn shed, while the soldiers set her house on fire. of the americans there were never more than four hundred together at any time; but, as some grew tired or used up their ammunition, others took their places, and though there was not much concert or discipline and no attack with masses, the pursuit never flagged. below west cambridge the militia from dorchester, roxbury and brookline came up. of these, isaac gardner, of the latter place, one on whom the colony rested many hopes, fell about a mile west of harvard college. the field pieces began to lose their terror, so that the americans pressed upon the rear of the fugitives, whose retreat was as rapid as it possibly could be. a little after sunset the survivors escaped across charlestown neck. the troops of percy had marched thirty miles in ten hours; the party of smith in six hours had retreated twenty miles; the guns of the ship-of-war and the menace to burn the town of charlestown saved them from annoyance during the rest on bunker hill and while they were ferried across charles river. on that day forty-nine americans were killed, thirty-four wounded and five missing. the loss of the british in killed, wounded and missing was two hundred and seventy-three. among the wounded were many officers; smith was hurt severely. many more were disabled by fatigue. "the night preceding the outrages at lexington there were not fifty people in the whole colony that ever expected any blood would be shed in the contest"; the night after, the king's governor and the king's army found themselves closely beleaguered in boston. "the next news from england must be conciliatory, or the connection between us ends," said warren. "this month," so wrote william emerson, of concord, late chaplain to the provincial congress, chronicled in a blank leaf of his almanac, "is remarkable for the greatest events of the present age." "from the nineteenth of april, ," said clark, of lexington, on its first anniversary, "will be dated the liberty of the american world." note.--the principal part of this account of the battle of lexington is taken from banecroft's history.--_american monthly magazine._ signers of declaration. (poem that embraces the names of the famous americans.) it will not be denied that the men who, on july , , pledged "their lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor" in behalf of our national liberty deserve the most profound reverence from every american citizen. by arranging in rhyme the names of the signers according to the colonies from which they were delegated it will assist the youthful learner in remembering the names of those fathers of american independence. i. the massachusetts delegation that signed our glorious declaration where hancock, gerry, robert paine, the great john adams, and again another adams, samuel by name. ii. new hampshire, called the "granite state," sent whipple, bartlett, thornton great, alike in counsel and debate. iii. rhode island's delegates, we see, were stephen hopkins and ellery. iv. connecticut, excelled by none, with wolcott, williams and huntington. v. new york as delegates employed lewis morris and william floyd, with francis lewis and livingston, who died before the war was done. vi. new jersey to the congress sent her honored college president, john witherspoon, with stockton, clark, hart, hopkinson--all men of mark. vii. though pennsylvania need not blush for morris, morton, wilson, rush, and though most men might seem as dross to cylmer, taylor, smith and ross, to franklin each his tribute brings who neither lightning feared, nor kings. viii. the men from delaware--indeed as true as steel in utmost need-- were rodney, with mckean and read. ix. "my maryland" is proud to own her carroll, paca, chase and stone. x. on old virginia's roll we see the gifted richard henry lee, and, just as earnest to be free. his brother, francis lightfoot lee, and wythe and nelson, patriots true, with harrison and braxton, too; but of them all, there was not one as great as thomas jefferson. xi. north carolina's chosen men we know were hooper, hewes and penn. xii. and south carolina's vote was one-- by heyward, lynch and middleton. xiii. from georgia came gwinnett and hall and walton, too, the last of all who signed our precious declaration the pride and glory of the nation. life at valley forge. mrs. harriet d. eisenberg. i have chosen to look up particulars concerning the daily life of the soldier at valley forge in the awful winter of - . and as no historian can picture the life of any period so vividly as it may be described by those who were participants in that life, or eye witnesses of it, i have gathered the materials for this paper from diaries of those who were there, from accounts by men whose friends were in the camp, from letters sent to and from the camp, and from the orderly book of a general who kept a strict report of the daily orders issued by the commander-in-chief, from the fall campaign of , to the late spring of . it is unnecessary to reiterate what all of us know,--that the winter of ' - was the blackest time of the war of independence, and it was made so, not only by the machinations of the enemies of washington who were striving to displace him as commander-in-chief, but by the unparalleled severity of the winter and the dearth of the commonest necessaries of life. the sombreness of the picture is emphasized by contrast with the brightness and gaiety that characterized the life in philadelphia during that same winter when the british troops occupied the city. there a succession of brilliant festivities was going on, the gaieties culminating in the meschianza that most gorgeous spectacle ever given by an army to its retiring officer, when peggy shippen and sallie chew danced the night away with the scarlet-coated officers of the british army, while fathers and brothers were suffering on the hills above the schuylkill. why did washington elect to put his army in winter-quarters? he himself answers the question, which was asked by congress who objected to the army's going into winter quarters at all. the campaign, which had seen the battles of the brandywine and of germantown, was over; the british were in possession of philadelphia; the army was fatigued and there was little chance of recuperation from sources already heavily drained. hence a winter's rest was necessary. and washington's own words, as he issued the orders for the day on december d, tell us why valley forge was chosen. "the general wishes it was in his power to conduct the troops into the best winter quarters; but where are those to be found? should we retire into the interior portions of the country, we should find them crowded with virtuous citizens who, sacrificing their all, have left philadelphia, and fled hither for protection. to their distress, humanity forbids us to add. this is not all. we should leave a vast extent of fertile country to be despoiled and ravaged by the enemy. these and other considerations make it necessary to take such a position (as this), and influenced by these considerations he persuades himself that officers and soldiers, with one heart and one mind, will resolve to surmount every difficulty with the fortitude and patience becoming their profession and the sacred cause in which they are engaged. he himself, will share in the hardships, and partake of every inconvenience." and with this resolve on his part, kept faithfully through the long weeks, the bitter winter was begun. it was on december th that a bridge of wagons was made across the schuylkill and the army, already sick and broken down, moved over. on that day, dr. waldo, a surgeon from connecticut made this entry in his diary: "sunset. we are ordered to march over the river. i'm sick--eat nothing--no whiskey--no baggage. lord-lord-lord." a few days later he makes this entry: "the army, who have been surprisingly healthy hitherto, now begin to grow sickly. they still show alacrity and contentment not to be expected from so young troops. "i am sick, discontented, out of humor. poor food, hard lodging--cold weather--fatigue--nasty clothes--nasty cooking--smoked out of my senses, vomit half my time--the devil's in it. i can't endure it. "here comes a bowl of soup--full of burnt leaves and dirt.--away with it, boys. i'll live like the chameleon upon air. 'pooh-pooh,' says patience. you talk like a fool.--see the poor soldier--with what cheerfulness he meets his foes and encounters hardships. if bare of foot he labors through mud and cold, with a song extolling war and washington. if his food is bad he eats it with contentment and whistles it into digestion.--there comes a soldier--his bare feet are seen through his worn out shoes. his legs are nearly naked from his tattered remains of an old pair of stockings--his shirt hanging in strings,--his hair dishevelled--his face meagre--his whole appearance pictures a person forsaken and discouraged. he comes and cries with despair--i am sick. my feet are lame--my legs are sore--my body covered with tormenting itch--my clothes worn out--my constitution broken. i fail fast. i shall soon be no more. and all the reward i shall get will be--'poor will is dead.'" on the st of december this entry appears: "a general cry through the camp this evening: 'no meat--no meat.' the distant vales echo back--'no meat.' 'what have you for dinner, boys?' 'nothing but fire-cake and water, sir! at night. 'gentlemen, supper is ready.' 'what is your supper, lads?' 'fire-cake and water sir.'" again on december d: "lay excessive cold and uncomfortable last night. my eyes started out of their orbits like a rabbit's eyes, occasioned by a great cold and smoke. huts go slowly. cold and smoke make us fret.--i don't know anything that vexes a man's soul more than hot smoke continually blowing into one's eyes, and when he attempts to avoid it, he is met by a cold and freezing wind." on december th, xmas, this entry: "still in tents. the sick suffer much in tents. we give them mutton and grog and capital medicine it is once in a while." january st: "i am alive. i am well. huts go on briskly." i have quoted thus lengthily from this diary, which gives, perhaps, the most vivid picture we possess of that dark period, simply because it touches upon almost all that concerns the life of the soldiers that winter,--upon their dwellings, their food, their health, their courage. the doctor repeatedly speaks of the huts which were to shelter the men. in the order issued by washington to his generals early in december, directions were given concerning the construction of these dwellings. according to these directions, the major-generals, accompanied by the engineers, were to fix on the proper spot for hutting. the sunside of the hills was chosen, and here they constructed long rows of log huts, and made numerous stockades and bristling pikes for defence along the line of the trench. for these purposes and for their fuel they cut off an entire forest of timber. can't you hear the steady crash of the ax held by hands benumbed with the cold, as blow, by blow, they felled the trees on the hillside, eager to erect the crude huts which were to give better shelter than the tents in which they were yet shivering and choking? in cutting their fire wood, the soldiers were directed to save such parts of each tree as would do for building, reserving or feet of trunk for logs to rear their huts. "the quartermaster-general, (so says the order of december th) is to delay no time, but procure large quantities of straw, either for covering the huts or for beds." this last item would suggest the meagreness of the furnishing. throughout the entire winter the soldier could look for few of the barest necessities of life. an order from headquarters directed that each hut should be provided with a pail. dishes were a rarity. each soldier carried his knife in his pocket, while one horn spoon, a pewter dish, and a horn tumbler into which whiskey rarely entered, did duty for a whole mess. the eagerness to possess a single dish is illustrated by an anecdote which has come down in my own family, if i may presume to narrate it. my revolutionary ancestor was a manufacturer of pottery. in the leisure hours of this bitter time at valley forge, he built a kiln and burnt some pottery. just as it was time to open the ovens, a band of soldiers rushed upon them, tearing them down, and triumphantly marched off with their prize, leaving captain piercy as destitute of dishes as before. as for the food that was meant to sustain the defenders of our liberty, the diary i have quoted, together with washington's daily orders, gives us sufficient information to enable us to judge of its meagreness. often their food was salted herring so decayed that it had to be dug 'en masse' from the barrels. du poncean, a young officer, aid to baron steuben, related to a friend, a few years after the war, some facts of stirring interest. "they bore," he says, "with fortitude and patience. sometimes, you might see the soldiers pop their heads out from their huts and call in an undertone--'no bread, no soldier;' but a single word from their officer would still their complaint." baron steuben's cook left him at valley forge, saying that when there was nothing to cook, any one might turn the spit. the commander-in-chief, partaking of the hardships of his brave men, was accustomed to sit down with his invited officers to a scanty piece of meat, with some hard bread and a few potatoes. at his house, called moore hall, they drank the prosperity of the nation in humble toddy, and the luxurious dessert consisted of a dish of hazel nuts. even in those scenes, mrs. washington, as was her practice in the winter campaign, had joined her husband, and always at the head of the table maintained a mild and dignified, yet cheerful manner. she busied herself all day long, with errands of grace, and when she passed along the lines, she would hear the fervent cry,--"god bless lady washington." i need not go into details concerning the lack of clothing--the diary i have quoted is sufficiently suggestive. an officer said, some years after the war, that many were without shoes, and while acting as sentinels, had doffed their hats to stand in, to save their feet from freezing. deserters to the british army--for even among the loyal american troops there were some to be found who could not stand up against cold and hunger and disease and the inducement held out by the enemy to deserters--would enter philadelphia shoeless and almost naked--around their body an old, dirty blanket, fastened by a leather belt around the waist. one does not wonder that disease was rampant, that orders had to be issued from headquarters for the proper treatment of the itch; for inoculation against smallpox, for the care of those suffering from dysentery which was widespread in the camp. on january , an order was issued from the commander-in-chief to the effect that men rendered unfit for duty by the itch be looked after by the surgeon and properly disposed in huts where they could be annointed for the disease. hospital provisions were made for the sick. huts, by and feet high, with windows in each end, were built, two for each brigade. they were placed at or near the center, and not more than yards from the bridge. but such were the ravages of the disease that long trenches in the vale below the hill were dug, and filled in with the dead. to turn to the activities of the camp,--its duties, privileges, and amusements, and even its crimes. until somewhat late in the spring, when baron steuben arrived at valley forge, there was little system observed in the drilling of the several brigades. yet each day's military duty was religiously attended to, that there might, at least, be some preparation for defence in case of an attack from the superior force at philadelphia. the duties of both rank and file were strictly laid down by washington, and any dereliction was punished with military strictness. in the commands issued on february , the order of the day is plainly indicated. i give the words from orderly book: "reveille sounded at daybreak--troop at --retreat at sunset--tattoo at . drummers call to beat at the right of first line and answer through that line. then through the second and corp of artillery, beginning at the left. reserve shall follow the second line immediately upon this. three rolls, to begin, and run through in like manner as the call. then all the drums of the army at the heads of their respective corps shall go through the regular beats, ceasing upon the right which will be a sign for the whole to cease." don't you imagine that you hear the rise and fall of the notes as they echoed and re-echoed over the frozen hills and thrilled the hearts that beat beneath the rags in the cold winter morning? the daily drill on parade, the picket duty, the domestic duties incumbent upon the men in the absence of the women, the leisure hours, then taps, and the day's tale was told. i should like to tell you of the markets established, for two days each, at three separate points on the outskirts of the camp, where for prices fixed by a schedule to prevent extortion, the soldiers, fortunate enough to possess some money might add to their meagre supplies some comforts in food or clothing. i should like to tell of the sutlers that followed each brigade, and the strict rules that governed their dealings with the army,--of the funerals, the simple ceremonies of which were fixed by orders from headquarters; of the gaming among the soldiers, which vice washington so thoroughly abhorred that he forbade, under strictest penalties, indulgence in even harmless games of cards and dice. i should like to tell of the thanksgiving days appointed by congress for some signal victory of the northern army, or for the blessing of the french alliance, on which days the camp was exempt from ordinary duty and after divine service the day was given over to the men. or i should like to tell of friday the "flag day" when a flag of truce was carried into philadelphia and letters were sent to loved ones, and answers brought back containing disheartening news of the gaieties then going on, or encouraging accounts of the sacrifices of mothers and daughters in the cause of liberty. and finally i should like to tell you of the court martials, through the reports of which we get such a vivid picture of the intimate life of the time: of the trial by court martial of anthony wayne, who was acquitted of the charge of conduct unbecoming an officer; of the trial of a common soldier for stealing a blanket from a fellow soldier, and the punishment by lashes on his bare back; of the trial of a mary johnson who plotted to desert the camp and who, between the lined up ranks of the brigade, was drummed out of camp; of the trial of john riley for desertion, and his execution on parade ground, with the full brigade in attendance; of the dramatic punishment of an officer found guilty of robbery and absenting himself, with a private, without leave, and who was sentenced to have his sword broken over his head on grand parade at guard mount. i should like to tell, too, of the foraging parties sent out to scour the country for food and straw; and the frequent skirmishes with detachments of the enemy; of the depredations made by the soldiers on the surrounding farmers, which depredations were so deplored by washington and which tried so his great soul i wanted to speak of the greatness of the commander-in-chief in the face of all he had to contend with--the continued depredations of his men; the repeated abuse of privilege; the frequent disobedience of orders; the unavoidably filthy condition of the camp; the suffering of the soldiers; the peril from a powerful enemy,--all sufficient to make a soul of less generous mould succumb to fate, yet serving only in washington's case to make him put firmer trust in an almighty power and in the justice of his cause. at the opening of the spring a greater activity prevailed in the camp. with the coming of baron steuben, the army was uniformly drilled in the tactics of european warfare. with the new appropriation of congress, new uniforms were possible and gave a more military appearance to the army. it was no longer necessary, therefore, for washington to issue orders that the men must appear on parade with beards shaven and faces clean, though their garments were of great variety and ragged. and with the coming of the spring, and of greater comforts in consequence, washington, in recognition of the suffering, fidelity and patriotism of his troops took occasion to commend them in these words: "the commander-in-chief takes this occasion to return his thanks to the officers and soldiers of this army for that persevering fidelity and zeal which they have uniformly manifested in all their conduct. their fortitude not only under the common hardships incident to a military life, but also, under the additional suffering to which the peculiar situation of these states has exposed them, clearly proves them to be men worthy the enviable privilege of contending for the rights of human nature--the freedom and independence of the country. the recent instance of uncomplaining patience during the late scarcity of provisions in camp is a fresh proof that they possess in eminent degree the spirits of soldiers and the magnanimity of patriots. the few who disgraced themselves by murmuring, it is hoped, have repented such unmanly behaviour and have resolved to emulate the noble example of their associates--soldiers, american soldiers, will despise the meanness of repining at such trifling strokes of adversity, trifling indeed when compared with the transcendent prize which will undoubtedly crown their patience and perseverance. "glory and freedom, peace and plenty, the admiration of the world, the love of their country and the gratitude of posterity."--_american monthly magazine._ old williamsburg. by emily hendree park. the screeching of the steam whistle at the williamsburg station seemed a curious anachronism, a noisy, pushing impertinence, a strident voice of latter-day vulgar haste. but when the big engine had rolled away, puffing and blowing and screaming as if in mischievous and irreverent effort to disturb the archaic dreams of the fast-asleep town, the "exceeding peace" which always dwells in williamsburg, fell upon our hilarious spirits. we wandered about the streets with hushed voices and reverent eyes. the throbbing pulse of the gay, stirring, rebellious heart of the old capital of virginia had been still for a century. on entering bruton church, the eye is first attracted on the right of the chancel to the novel sight of the governor's seat, high canopied and richly upholstered in crimson and gilt. the high-backed chair is railed off from the "common folk," and the name alexander spotswood in gold lettering runs around the top of the canopy. at once you realize that this was indeed the court church of the vice-regal court at williamsburg, and that you are in old colonial virginia. the lines "he rode with spotswood and spotswood men," the knights of the "golden horse shoe," run through the brain, and the knightly figure of raleigh, the chivalric founder of the colony, and brave john smith and a score of others, heroes of that elder day, come from out the shadowy past, and hover about one. you look at the quaint old pulpit, on the left of the church, with its high-sounding board, and then glance down at the pew on your right, which bears the name of george washington, and opposite the plate on the pew reads thomas jefferson, and next are james madison and the seven signers of the declaration of independance, and peyton randolph and patrick henry and the doughty members of the house of burgesses who worshiped here, and whose liberty-loving spirits fired the world with their brave protests against tyranny. when you read these names, suddenly the church seems full of the men who bore them, and you are surrounded by that goodly company of heroes who made virginia and america, the cradle of liberty. the magic spell is upon you. you turn cold and burning hot with high enthusiasm and the glory of the vision. you are roused from your trance by the pleasant voice of the young minister, mr. john wing, who is saying: "now we will go down into the crypt." there are treasures in the crypt indeed. we follow in a dazed fashion, and are shown the jamestown communion service; the communion silver bearing the coat-of-arms of king george iii; the ancient communion silver of the college of william and mary; the colonial prayer book, with the prayer for the president pasted over the prayer for king george iii; a parish register of , the pre-revolutionary bible; coins found while excavating in the church, and brass head-tack letters and figures by which some of the graves in the aisles and chancel were identified. we are told that the date of parish was , first brick church, - ; present church - . precious and deeply interesting, but i imagined that i could hear the tread of that "knightly company" upstairs, who let neither silver nor gold nor the glitter of the vice-regal court at williamsburg seduce them from their love of liberty, nor dull their hatred of tyranny in its slightest exercise. ah! there were giants in those days among those virginia pioneers, in whose veins ran the hot blood of the cavalier, who loved truth and hated a lie, who loved life and despised danger, and feared not death nor "king nor kaiser," descendants of the valiant jamestown colonists to whom nathaniel bacon cried one hundred years before: "come on, my hearts of gold!" the tombstones in the aisle and chancel of the church include the tombs of two colonial governors--francis fauquier and edmund jennings--and the graves of the great-grandfather, the grandfather and grandmother of mrs. martha washington. after reading the quaint inscription on the marble mural tablet in memory of colonel daniel parke and the inscriptions on the bronze mural tablets memorial to virginia churchmen and patriots, we climb to "lord dunmore's gallery," where, tradition says, the boys of william and mary college used to be locked in for their soul's edification until service was over, and where we sat in thomas jefferson's accustomed place, from whence he looked down upon the heads of the members of the house of burgesses and the colonial vestrymen of distinguished memory. is it any wonder that in such environment the boy's dreamy aspirations crystallized into the high resolve of becoming a patriot and statesman? for in those stormy days preceding the revolution this little bruton parish church was a very pantheon of living heroes. fiske, the new england historian, says that "the five men who more than any others have shaped the future of american history were washington, jefferson, madison, marshall and hamilton." all but hamilton were virginians and worshipers at bruton church, and two of them were students of the college of william and mary. distinction unrivaled for the state, the church, the college. and now we walk into the church yard, under venerable trees, among crumbling grave stones and see the pocahontas baptismal font and the tombs of the custis children and colonial governor knott. we are shown the home of george wythe, the signer of the declaration, the teacher of jefferson, monroe and marshall. great teacher of greater pupils! inspirer of high thoughts and immortal deeds! one of the students at william and mary, jefferson, wrote the declaration, three were presidents, and another, john marshall, was chief justice of the united states. the headquarters of washington, the site of the first theater in america, , the ancient palace green on the right hand of which is the fictional home of audrey, and several ancient colonial homes are pointed out to us. if any vestige remains of the old raleigh tavern, whose "apollo" room was famous as the gathering place of the burgesses, who, after their dismissal in asked an agreement not to use or import any article upon which a tax is laid--it was not shown to us. the old powder horn or powder magazine, a curious hexagonal building, has been admirably restored and stands as a reminder of that dramatic scene in virginia history in when, after lord dunmore had removed the powder from the magazine into one of the vessels in the james, fearing an uprising of the colonists, patrick henry, with an armed force from hanover, stalked into the governor's presence and demanded the return of the powder or its equivalent in money. lord dunmore, looking into those dauntless eyes, beholds the dauntless soul of the "firebrand of the revolution" behind them, and yields at once and pays down £ sterling. patrick henry, with splendid audacity, seizes a pen and signs the receipt, "patrick henry, jr." making himself alone responsible for this act of high treason, and then, that there may be no doubt as to his signature, he has it attested by two distinguished gentlemen. what heroic daring! what impassioned love of liberty! while peyton, randolph and richard henry lee counsel caution, patrick henry acts and becomes the inspired genius of the revolution, fusing the disunited and hesitating colonies into a nation by the white heat of his burning passion for freedom. first in importance of all the historic places in williamsburg is the venerable college of william and mary. founded in , next to harvard the oldest college in the united states, it soon became the "intellectual center of the colony of chesapeake bay," the alma mater of the patriots who fought for the life of the young republic and of the statesmen who formed its constitution and guided its course in its infant years. it has furnished to our country fifteen senators and seventy representatives in congress; thirty-seven judges, and chief justice marshall; seventeen governors of states and three presidents of the united states--jefferson, monroe and tyler. james blair, a scotchman, was its first president and remained so for fifty years. the ivy-clad buildings of the old college nestle among ancient trees on a wide campus, and so venerable is the look of the place that the new hall seems a modern intruder, though of quiet and well-mannered architecture. the quiet air of scholarly seclusion reminds one of oxford. it was commencement day, and we found the buildings decorated with white and yellow, the college colors. the chapel, with its oil paintings of presidents, donors and patriots, and the library with its rare volumes and priceless old documents and portraits and engravings, are full of interest. a marble statue of one of the old governors--botetourt, i believe--stands in the silence of the centuries in front of the old college. "yas'm ris de place, de house er buggesses, dey call it, 'cause de big bugs of ole virginny sot dere er making laws. 'fo de lawd, marm, dey wuz big bugs; quality folks, quality folks." and john randolph, our colored coachman, waved his hand with a proud air of ownership, as if he were displaying lofty halls with mahogany stairs and marble pillars, instead of the mortar and brick foundation, in its bare outline, of the old capitol, or house of burgesses. "walk right in, suh. bring de ladies dis way, boss," john randolph urged, in a tone of lordly hospitality. "right hyah is the charmber (room) whar marse patrick henry made dat great speech agin de king--old marse king george--or bossin' uv de colonies. he wuz er standing on dis very spot, and he lif' up his voice like a lion and he sez, sez he--" "what did he say?" as the old man paused. striking a dramatic attitude, the gray-haired old virginia darky rolled out in sonorous voice, with impassioned gesture: "tarquin and caesar had each his brutus, charles the first his cromwell and george the third--" "treason! treason!" said the speaker of the house. "may profit by their example. if that be treason, make the most of it." in spite of john randolph's oratory, rothermel's painting came before me, and i could see the virginia cavaliers gazing at the speaker with startled, breathless look, while the colonial dames with their powdered hair and stiff brocade leaned eagerly forward in the gallery to catch each note of the immortal voice; and in the doorway stood thomas jefferson, the slim young student of william and mary college, electrified by the fiery eloquence, "such as i had never heard from any other man," he said: "he appeared to me to speak as homer wrote." "but why didn't you say 'give me liberty or give me death,' uncle john?" asked the young interrogation point of the party. "'cause marse patrick never said dem words here, chile. he spoke 'em in old st. john's church up in richmond ten year arterwards. i gin you his williamsburg speech, his fust great speech." and the darky orator and historian smiled with that superior wisdom which we had seen illumminate the dark italian features of antonio griffenreid, the famous sexton of old st. john's as he enlightened the ignorance of a party of sightseers.--_atlanta constitution._ song of the revolution. we love the men and women, too, who fought and worked and brought us through our glorious revolution; hard was the struggle, brave the fight, that won for them the sovereign right to frame a constitution. chorus. this constitution made us free in this proud land of liberty-- the best in all creation-- and we'll stand by it while we live; whatever we may have we'll give for its perpetuation. our country is the fairest one kissed by the ever rolling sun-- we glory in our nation; and we will see that it shall be the happy land of liberty, through time's continuation. _--francis h. orme._ this song has been adopted as a state song by the daughters of the american revolution of georgia, and as a national song by the continental congress . a true story of the revolution. by mrs. m. s. d'vaughn. _archibald bullock chapter, d. a. r., montezuma, ga._ this is a story of how a woman's wit and tact saved her husband's life from the hands of the tories, in the dark days of the revolution. it was in south carolina, the british general, cornwallis, had ordered any american sympathizer caught, to be hung or shot at sight. numberless outrages had been done and the feeling was intensely bitter against the tories, or royalists, as they called themselves. especially so was it in the section of the country where lived elizabeth robert. her husband was fighting with marion, the "swamp fox," in another part of the state and the only protector for herself and two young children was a faithful slave called "daddy cyrus." here on her plantation elizabeth spent her days living quietly enough. however, she was no idler, but rather a most thrifty housewife and her muscadine wine excelled any other and was known far and wide for its delicious flavor. now, john robert grew restless, as the days passed and no word came from his wife, so obtaining leave of absence from general marion, he quietly slipped through the lines, and by a devious route, appeared one dark night at the door of his home. but some foreign eye had noted the unusual happiness and excitement in the "big house" as it was called, and in a short while it was surrounded, and capt. john was a prisoner in the hands of the tories. mary, with tears, pleaded for her husband's life, but to no purpose, and dawn was to see his dead body hanging from the limb of a huge oak near by. tears availing nothing, elizabeth's quick brain began to teem with plans for john's escape. slipping down to "daddy cyrus'" cabin, she told him of her plan of rescue, then back to her house she ran, her absence not having been noted. then bringing all her womanly beauty, graciousness and charm to bear upon the tories, she inticed them into the dining room, leaving her husband tightly bound to the tree where he was to meet his death,--and then from her mahogany sideboard, she served to them her famous muscadine wine. drink after drink, she offered them, while her smiles and gay repartee allured them. more--more--and yet more, until their befuddled wits were completely gone. then faithful old "daddy cyrus" waiting, watching, guarding, with his sharp knife, cut the bonds of his "young marster," and into the darkness capt. john was gone back to his comrades with a hurried kiss from the lips of his wife who had saved him. the tories were persuaded that the wine was the cause of their hazy belief of the capture of capt. john robert, and no harm was done to elizabeth. georgia. poem composed by mrs. c. m. o'hara and read before david meriwether chapter, greenville, ga., georgia day, . georgia, the baby of the original thirteen, not, however, youngest in importance, i ween, was born to the colonies in seventeen thirty-two, to help those in prison their lives to renew. what oglethorpe planned for this child of his heart was that rum and slaves of it should not be a part, but this wayward child would have her own way, in spite of her mistakes she has made up to date, georgia is called of the south the empire state. she was the fifth of her sisters in secession to say, "the union she'd leave" when there was not fair play. this child of famous men has sent her portion from the "marshes of glynn" to the pacific ocean. near savannah, where oglethorpe first planted his foot, ebenezer, the first orphanage, has taken firm root. another distinction, too, fair georgia can claim is the first college for women, wesleyan by name. towering intellects she reared in her toombs and her hills; she can boast of her factories and her mills; she has kept pace with her sisters in every movement that tends to her children's uplift and improvement. now in heathen lands, across the deep waters, performing deeds of mercy are georgia's sons and daughters. forts of georgia. miss francis clarke. _prize essay of girls' high school, atlanta, georgia, for the loving cup offered by joseph habersham chapter, daughters of the american revolution._ the forts of georgia, though for the most part hurriedly and roughly built for protection against indian, spaniards, englishman, or federal, have nevertheless been the scenes of the bravest defenses, of the most courageous deeds. in them probably more than anywhere else, the men of georgia have shown their hardy spirits and distressing trials. never has a georgia fort been surrendered except from absolute necessity, though its protectors were weak from starvation. the first of the long list of five hundred forts that have been erected in georgia is fort charles, on the northeastern coast of georgia. it was built about by the direction of john ribault, who with a party of huguenots had come from france with the approval of admiral coligny, the protestant leader at that time. two years later the fort was abandoned, and there is now no sign to point out the spot where it once stood. fort argyle. fort argyle was the next fort on georgia soil. it was built by oglethorpe in for the protection of his savannah colony. then followed a wonderful series of forts, when you consider the few people in georgia at that time and the dangers of traveling on account of the indians. but oglethorpe, braving all perils in the next four or five years had established forts thunderbolt, near savannah; st. simon, on st. simon's island; frederick, at frederica, on the same island; fort william and fort andrews, on cumberland island, besides several other unimportant ones such as the fort on jekyl island and those along the altamaha. these forts, especially fort william and fort andrews, served as a great protection from the indians and the spaniards; but as time went on, the spaniards ceased invading the country, the indians were forced westward, and the forts fell into disuse. indeed by the opening of the revolution, scarcely a vestige remained of these once important forts. for some years preceding the revolution the white settlers on the frontier had much trouble with the indians, and they began to build forts inland to the westward. in , at sherrill's fort, about three hundred men, women and children were massacred. these dreadful massacres continued all during the revolution at the instigation of the british, and added to the many other troubles of the georgians the expense of keeping up these frontier forts. at the opening of the revolution, though the forts were in sad repair, nevertheless there was a great rush of the royalists and of the rebels to get possession of them. the royalists were at first the more successful. augusta with forts grierson and cornwallis, savannah with forts argyle and halifax, fort barrington on the altamaha, and the recently erected fort morris south of sunbury, were all soon in the hands of the british. these positions were all strong and well fortified. the rebels were not nearly so fortunate. the forts they held were mostly ruins. fort mcintosh on the satilla river was the first of their possessions to be beseiged by the british. captain richard winn held the fort with all his powers of endurance against colonel fuser, but, with his reinforcements cut off, he was soon obliged to surrender. proceed against augusta. soon, however, the opportunity of the patriots came. was the beginning of the change in affairs. having seized fort carr and fort howe as the center of operations, the americans proceeded against augusta. colonel grierson, who was in charge of the fort that bore his name, soon surrendered here, but colonel brown was obstinate and strong in his position at fort cornwallis. in the end, after an eighteen days' siege, he, too, acknowledged himself beaten. after varying vicissitudes, the british were finally forced to give up all their strongholds, and thus the revolutionary forts played their part in history. during the years that followed there would have been no necessity for any forts in georgia had it not been for the indians, especially during the war of , in which the indians were incited by the british to give trouble. until the forts in most general use against the indians were forts hawkins, mims, scott and mitchell. with the passing of the indian troubles the georgia forts were left to absolute ruin, and, when in the civil war burst upon the country, there was great need to fortify the land against the enemy. accordingly, fort pulaski, on cockspur island, not far from savannah, was strongly fortified at the cost of $ , , and colonel olmstead with men was placed in command. receiving word from the enemy to surrender the fort, he answered, "i am here to defend the fort, not to surrender it"; but in the brave commander was obliged to surrender his treasure. dupont expedition. fort mcallister, though not so strong as fort pulaski, being only an earthwork with sand parapets, was notwithstanding an equally important position. admiral dupont in was sent to seize it, but the expedition failed; in , general hazen's division of general sherman's army took this fort from major george w. anderson. in his letter north, general sherman praised georgia's sons for their brave resistance. the surrender of fort mcallister led in a few days to the surrender of savannah and the quick ending of the war. after the civil war, forts were again neglected and even the new forts began to decay. throughout georgia today are to be seen her picturesque, ivy-grown forts, and these are a source of never-failing interest to visitors. [illustration: ruins of the old fort at frederica on st. simon's island, ga.] the only regular military post now in georgia is the beautiful fort mcpherson. this fort covering about two hundred and thirty-six acres, is four miles from atlanta. it was established by the united states government in with the name of mcpherson's barracks; it has a postoffice and telegraph station. it has never yet been called into service. let us hope that it will be many days before fort mcpherson adds its historic story to those of georgia's other forts. james edward oglethorpe. james oglethorpe came of a very old family in england. his father, sir theophilus, was a soldier under james ii, and went into banishment with him. just before the abdication of james ii, james oglethorpe, the seventh child and fourth son, was born. at sixteen he entered the university at oxford, when he was twenty-two, entered the british army as ensign, and was soon made lieutenant of the queen's life guards. his soldier life was spent largely on the continent. he became heir to the estate in surrey and was shortly after elected to the british parliament, of which body he remained a member for thirty-two years. he was an active member of the house of commons, a deputy governor of the royal african society and a gentleman of high position and independent means, and withal a man of genuine piety. he conceived the plan of establishing a colony in america, which should be a refuge for poor people. the following description of oglethorpe is by rev. thomas b. gregory: "february , , oglethorpe and his colonists scaled the yamacraw bluffs on the savannah river and began laying the foundations of the state of georgia. the empire state of the south had its origin in the noblest impulses that swell the human heart. its founder, the accomplished and philanthropic oglethorpe, witnessing about him in the old world the inhumanity of man to man, seeing the prisons full of impecunious debtors, and the highways thronged with the victims of religious fanaticism and spite, resolved that he would find in the new world an asylum for the unfortunate ones where they should be no more oppressed by the rich or dragooned by the bigoted. the colony started out beautifully. the men who had been pining in english jails because they could not pay the exactions of their hard-hearted creditors, and the salzburgers and others, who, in austria and germany, had been made to feel the terrors of religious fanaticism, were glad to be free, and they were only too willing to accept the founder's will that there would be no slavery in georgia. the institution got a foothold much later on, but it was not the fault of the original colonists. beautiful, too, were the initial relationships between the colonists and the red men. old to-mo-chi-chi, the chief of the surrounding indians, presenting oglethorpe with a buffalo skin ornamented with the picture of an eagle, said to him: 'i give you this which i want you to accept. the eagle means speed and the buffalo strength. the english are swift as the bird and strong as the beast, since like the one, they flew over the seas to the uttermost parts of the earth, and, like the other, they are strong and nothing can resist them. the feathers of the eagle are soft and means love; the buffalo skin is warm and means protection. then i hope the english will love and protect our little families.' alas! the time was to come when the white man would forget to-mo-chi-chi's present and the spirit with which it was made. [illustration: the monument to general oglethorpe, founder of the colony of georgia, in chippewa square, savannah.] in oglethorpe left georgia forever, after having given it the best that there was in his head and heart for ten years. in georgia became a royal province, and remained such until the breaking out of the revolution in , through which she helped her sister colonies to fight their way to victory, when she took her place among the 'old thirteen' free and independent states." the condition of georgia during the revolution. when the american colonies of great britain determined to rebel at the stubborn demands of the mother country, georgia had least cause to join the revolutionary movement. this colony was by fifty years the youngest of the "original thirteen," and had been specially favored by england. she was the largest, but the weakest, of all the provinces. the landless of other countries and of other colonies had come in large numbers to obtain a home where they might own the soil they tilled. at the beginning of the revolution the total population of georgia was about , whites and , blacks. georgia was now exporting rice, indigo, and skins to europe, and lumber, horses, and provisions to the west indies. tobacco was cultivated with great success by the settlers, and all necessaries of life were easily raised on her soil. the province boasted of one weekly newspaper, called the "_georgia gazette_," which was published every thursday at savannah. since the colony had prospered greatly under sir james wright, who was one of the most capable and devoted of the british provincial governors. there were few local grievances, and many of the people did not wish to defy the home authority. but they realized that this restful condition could not long continue, for they occupied an exceedingly dangerous position. the sea coast was easily seized by the british, and they were also exposed to the attacks of the british in florida, as well as the many savage tribes of indians on the north and west. thus threatened on all sides, georgia thought it best to join her sister colonies, that she might have protection. the news of the battle of lexington removed all hesitation, and united the people of georgia in the determination to assert their rights. georgia rallied her mountaineer riflemen to the cause of liberty. right manfully did her raw, untrained volunteers respond to the burning, eloquent appeal of patrick henry, the virginian. his speech awoke the sleeping pride of the south, and aroused her sons to action. georgia strove to equip her little band of patriots, but she had but few resources. congress gave her all the aid possible, but soldiers and funds were required everywhere, and georgia's share was very small. her sole dependence for protection was her , raw militia. there were , indians to the north and west with , warriors! the british bought the friendship of the indians with presents which the colonists could not afford. from the first of this war georgia kept her representatives in the continental congress, which met to form plans for mutual protection and defense. in these dark days men thought little of government, nor was much required. liberty and food and clothing for their families were the principals for which the patriots were now striving. many deserters of the american cause took refuge in florida. these were called tories. many of them were lawless men, and continually harassed the colonists of south georgia. they joined the british and indians, and made plundering expeditions, sweeping down on the defenseless people, burning the houses, ruining the fields, and committing the most atrocious crimes. up to this time, georgia had often sent food supplies to her countrymen in the north, but now food became so scarce that the governor forbade the exportation of any kind of provisions. colonel brown, who vowed to wreak vengeance on every american citizen, now fulfilled his vow to the uttermost. his murderous bands made their raids in every direction; no mercy was shown to anyone who befriended a patriot. it seems that the spirit of resistance in the hearts of the people of georgia would have been crushed by these long continued atrocities. but they never left the field, although often forced to abandon their homes and sometimes even to leave the state. what better example of the hardihood of the pioneer women of georgia than in the story of nancy hart, a remarkable woman who lived in elbert county at this time? when many of the women and children who lived in her neighborhood left their homes to escape the cruelty of brown's raiders, nancy hart remained at home to protect her little property. how we all love the story of how this rough, simple mountaineer woman outwitted the band of british red coats who demanded food at her cabin. while she served the meal, she cleverly managed to keep their attention diverted while she signaled for aid, and hid their arms, which they had stacked in a corner. then, when she was discovered, she covered them with a musket, and, true to her word, shot down the first who stepped forward. thus did the women of georgia meet the dangers to which they were exposed in these perilous times. when augusta had been abandoned by the british, many of the inhabitants who had refugeed, returned, hoping for better times. colonels elijah clarke and john dooly untiringly guarded the frontiers, which were continually threatened by the tories and indians. their zeal encouraged the people, and kept the spirit of liberty awake in the hearts of the sorely-tried patriots. but their sufferings were not yet over. savannah must yet be taken from the british. in the long, weary struggle, the brave revolutionists were greatly aided by the french. the bombardment of savannah lasted five days. the unfortunate inhabitants suffered greatly. houses were riddled by shot and shell. helpless women, children, and old men were forced to seek safety in damp cellars, and even then, many were killed by shots intended for the enemy. how sad to think of the many precious lives lost in that bloody fray, and the hopes crushed in the hearts of the survivors! the british still held savannah, the french sailed away, and the american army retreated northward, leaving georgia to the enemy. the death blow had been dealt to the hopes of georgia. the tories, exulting in the humiliation of the state, now made raids in every direction, insulting, robbing, and persecuting, the discouraged patriots barbarously. they seized whatever they coveted, clothing, jewels, plate, furniture or negroes. they even beat little children to force them to tell where valuables were hidden. no mercy was shown to old men who had stayed at home to protect their families. they and their families were driven from the state. all means of conveyance being taken away, even the women and children were forced to make the journey on foot. but the majority of our people were so poor that they were obliged to remain at home, and endure trials more grievous than before. the conduct of british soldiers in savannah was such that whig families residing there found it almost unendurable. but the women bore these hardships with a fortitude becoming the wives of patriots. at last, three years after the seige of savannah, georgia was free of the hated british. gradually the people returned to their former homes and vocations. but what a sad home-coming! war had laid its desolating hand upon the face of the country. the state was full of widows and orphans, fully one half of all the available property of her people was swept away, the fields were uncultivated, and there was no money to repair losses. her boundaries were not well defined, and large tracts of land in her limits were still held by the indians. truly, the condition of georgia was deplorable! but there was no repining, for the patriots, rejoicing in their liberty, cheerfully set to work to lay the foundations of future prosperity. gladly they had given their all as the price of liberty!--_etowah chapter._ fort rutledge of the revolution. by mrs. p. h. mell. when the calhoun plantation (in south carolina), upon which clemson college is now located, was purchased in , it was called "clergy hall." it received this name because the original mansion was built by the rev. james mcilhenny who resided there with his son-in-law, the rev. james murphy. an old revolutionary fort known in history as fort rutledge was upon this estate, crowning a hill overlooking the seneca river and when mr. calhoun took possession of the place, he changed its name to "fort hill." although fifty years had elapsed since the fort was built and doubtless there were few remains of it to be seen at that time, still many were living who remembered it well, and the hill upon which it stood was known from the earliest settlement of the country by the name of "fort hill." one of the most beautiful drives on the clemson property is the road to fort rutledge which is about a mile from the college. this road winds through rich cornfields of bottom land; it then rises gently to the top of a long level ridge which slopes precipitously down to the fields on one hand and the seneca river on the other; trees and shrubs thickly clothe the sides of this ridge and beautiful and extended views can be seen in every direction. looking to the east, clemson college, seated upon an opposite hill, with its many buildings and the dwellings of the community presents an ideal picture of loveliness; on the north, the blue ridge mountains, forty miles away, are clearly seen with several lofty ranges; to the west and south, the eye follows the river winding through smiling valleys, the cultivated fields green with promise which is always fulfilled. this boldly commanding ridge, overlooking the surrounding country, was well adapted for an outlook during the conflicts between the indians and the early settlers. the seneca indians had one of their largest towns on the river at the base of the hill, extending for four miles on both sides, the hundreds of acres of inexhaustible bottom land supplying them bountifully with corn even with the crudest methods of cultivation. nothing remains of the old fort to-day but the abandoned well, which has been filled and is marked by a tangled growth of weeds and shrubs, and the cellar of the old lookout tower or five sided bastion; this is faced with brick and the shape can be seen distinctly. one of the early battles of the revolution was fought near fort hill at seneca town at its base. this town was one of note among the indians and up to this day arrow heads and other implements of war or household use may be found upon its site. for generations the indians preserved a strong attachment for this spot and up to the time that the college began its active work, "bushy head," an indian chief from the cherokee reservation in north carolina, would lead a band here every summer. the story of the battle here is taken from official reports and from mccrady's "history of south carolina." during the spring of , the tory leaders, stuart and cameron, had informed the cherokees that a british fleet was coming to attack charleston and as soon as they heard of its arrival they must fall upon the up-country pioneer settlements and destroy them. with the british to fight in the south and the combined tories and indians in the north it was believed that the province would soon be subjugated. the news came to the indians on the eve of july st and at the dawn of day they were on the warpath slaying every white person they could capture, without distinction of age or sex. at this time the hamptons were massacred with many other families. mr. francis salvador lived on corn-acre or coronaca creek in ninety-six district. he was one of the few members of the provincial congress from the up-country, a man of much ability, enthusiasm and patriotism. when the dreadful tidings of the indian uprising reached him that day, he mounted his horse and galloped to the home of major andrew williamson, twenty-eight miles away; he found that officer already aroused to the horrors of the situation and busily endeavoring to collect forces. but the settlers were terror stricken, several hundred had been murdered and the survivors had but one thought and that was to get their families safely into the nearest forts. he waited two days and only forty men had volunteered. with this small band major williamson with mr. salvador started on the rd of july for the indian villages resolved to punish them severely. but when the settlers had provided for the safety of their wives and children, many of them hurried to join him and on the th there were men with him, on the th his band increased to and on the th they numbered ; re-inforcements came from charlestown and also from georgia and on the nd of july he was at the head of , men. meanwhile he had been advancing from his home towards the cherokee country and was encamped on baker's creek, a few miles above moffattsville. here his scouts brought him the news that alexander cameron, thirteen white men and a band of indians were camped on oconore creek about thirty miles away, and williamson determined to surprise and capture them before they could hear of his proximity. he therefore selected with care three hundred and thirty horsemen, the brave mr. salvador accompanying him and started about six o'clock on the evening of july st planning to surprise the enemy before day. about two in the morning of the first day of august they drew near the town of essenecca (or seneca). a party of his men who had visited the place two days before had reported to him that the town was thoroughly evacuated; trusting to this report he carelessly neglected to send out advance scouts, rode into an ambush and was surprised and completely routed by the indians at this town. quoting major williamson's report of the event: "the enemy either having discovered my march or laid themselves in ambush with a design to cut off my spies or party i had sent out, had taken possession of the first houses in seneca, and posted themselves behind a long fence on an eminence close to the road where we were to march, and to prevent being discovered had filled up the openings between the rails, with corn blades, etc. they suffered the guides and advance guard to pass, when a gun from the house was discharged (meant i suppose as a signal for those placed behind the fence, who a few seconds afterwards poured in a heavy fire upon my men), which being unexpected, staggered my advance party. here mr. salvador received three wounds and fell by my side; my horse was shot down under me but i received no hurt. lieut. farar of capt. prince's company immediately supplied me with his. i desired him to take care of mr. salvador, but before he could find him in the dark, the enemy unfortunately got his scalp which was the only one taken. capt. smith, son of the late capt. aaron smith, saw the indian, but thought it was his servant taking care of his master or could have prevented it. he died about half-after two o'clock in the morning, forty-five minutes after he received the wounds, sensible to the last. when i came up to him after dislodging the enemy, and speaking to him, he asked whether i had beat the enemy, i told him yes, he said he was glad of it, and shook me by the hand, and bade me farewell and said he would die in a few minutes. two men died in the morning, and six more who were badly wounded i have since sent down to the settlements and given directions to dr. delatowe and russell to attend them. i remained on the ground till daybreak and burnt the houses on this side of the river and afterwards crossed the river; the same day reduced seneca entirely to ashes." an extract from another report gives further particulars: "the indian spies had observed the major's march and alarmed their camp; upon which about thirty indians and as many white men went to seneca and placed themselves in ambush. the indians had one killed and three wounded. "seneca, four miles long on each side of the river with six thousand bushels of corn, &c, burned august st. "sugar town and keowee, aug. th." the account given by mccrady in his history of south carolina is a little more unfavorable than major williamson's: "major williamson's forces, completely surprised, broke away and fled in the greatest confusion. the enemy kept up a constant fire which the retreating militia returned at random, as dangerous to their friends who were willing to advance against the enemy as it was to the enemy themselves. fortunately lieutenant colonel hammond rallied a party of about twenty men, and, making an unexpected charge, repulsed the savage foe and escaped. the indians lost but one man killed and three wounded; of major williamson's party three died from their wounds and fourteen were badly injured. when daylight arrived he burnt that part of esseneca town which was on the eastern side of the keowee river, and later col. hammond crossed the river burnt that on the western side as well and destroyed all the provisions, computed at six thousand bushels of indian corn, besides peas and other articles. the object of overtaking cameron and his associates having been thus defeated williamson retreated and joined his camp at twenty-three mile creek." the loss of mr. salvador was greatly deplored by the province. he was a man of prominence, intelligence and worth and his services to the american cause would have been most valuable. an interesting sketch of his life may be found in elzas "history of jews of south carolina," written by mr. a. s. salley. on the th of august, , williamson marched with men upon the indian towns. they destroyed ostatoy, tugaloo, tomassee, chehohee and eustash; every bit of the corn was burned and the indians were forced to live upon roots and berries, etc. the expedition was most successful and completely retrieved the defeat at seneca. mccrady states that about this time major williamson was appointed colonel of the ninety-six regiment and upon colonel williamson's return to his camp he found that numbers of his men had gone home, forced to do so from fatigue, want of clothes, and other necessaries and that many who had remained were in equal distress. he was obliged therefore to grant furloughs ordering them to rejoin him at esseneca on the th to which place he marched on the th with about six hundred men. here he erected a fort, which in honor of the president of south carolina, he called fort rutledge. upon the breaking out of this war application had been made to north carolina and virginia to co-operate with the forces of south carolina in this region. each of these states complied and raised a body of troops. the first under general rutherford, to act in conjunction with the south carolinians on this side the mountains, and the other under colonel christie, to act against the over-hill cherokees. but colonel williamson had destroyed all the lower settlements before the north carolinians under general rutherford took the field. colonel williamson now having increased his force to , men, broke up the camp at esseneca; leaving men as a guard to the inhabitants and as a garrison to fort rutledge he marched with about , men to co-operate with general rutherford. history tells us that the campaign was successful; the indians received lessons they never forgot; in less than three months the cherokees lost , and humbled and broken in spirit; they sued for peace on any terms. a treaty of pacification was signed and the indians yielded to south carolina a large tract of land embracing the counties of anderson, pickens, oconee and greenville. so this is the story of the building and holding of fort rutledge. the remains of the old fort are well worth preserving for its foundations were laid in a period of storm and stress and suffering; its rude walls frowned upon the indians early in the revolution; its watch tower kept guard so that the settler's family in his humble cabin might rest in peace; with its little garrison of three hundred men it did its work well and effectually intimidated the enemies of the province in this part of the country. after the revolutionary war it was abandoned and gradually fell into ruins and decay but the name "fort hill" has always clung to it and the site never has been forgotten.--_american monthly_, . the efforts of lafayette for the cause of american independence. by bessie carolyn mcclain. _gloversville high school, gloversville, n. y._ probably no other foreigner accomplished so much or sympathized so deeply with the cause of american independence as did the marquis de lafayette. a french nobleman by birth, an heir to an immense estate at thirteen, married to one of the most beautiful ladies of the french court, he chose a life of privation and hardship, to one of luxury and idleness. the love of liberty, inherent in his soul, made him a champion of the cause which seemed the last chance for liberty to obtain a foothold upon the earth. from the time the situation of the english american colonies was made known in france, in , until they became a free and independent nation, he gave himself, heart and soul, to their cause. he served them both by his personal qualities and by his active efforts, as a french nobleman, and as an american soldier and general. the qualities by which lafayette most aided this country in its great conflict, were his love of liberty, enthusiasm, generosity and loyalty. his love of liberty first made him interested in the struggle of the american colonies with their mother country, and this same love of liberty kept him enthused in the cause, and gave him the strength and courage to depart from his home, his friends and his country. indeed it was the root of the other qualities by which he did us service. when once his enthusiasm was aroused, nothing could diminish it. when he heard that the credit of the "insurgents" was so low that they couldn't possibly provide him a ship, he said in that case they needed him all the more, and he bought one with his own money. it was enthusiasm that led him to the front in the battle of brandywine. it was enthusiasm that made him ride seventy miles and back, for the french fleet when it was needed so sorely. of course, was not his motto "cur non?" in all his dealings with this country, he showed his generosity and disinterest. what was it if not generosity, when at his own expense, he fitted out the ship that brought him and the other officers to this country? how many times during the war did he clothe his soldiers and supply their wants when the country couldn't? he proved his disinterested devotion to the satisfaction of congress, when he offered to serve as a volunteer without pay and at his own expense. gladly did he forego the comforts and pleasures to which education and rank entitled him, and bear with the soldiers every hardship and privation. when, chiefly through his influence, france agreed to send aid to america, and offered him a commission, he refused it so as not to arouse jealousy among other frenchmen. was not this unselfish love of liberty of the plainest type? his most striking characteristic, and i think the one by which he did us the most service, was his loyalty. it strengthened washington to have one man upon whom he could rely so completely. when gates was trying to stir up trouble against him and had appointed lafayette to take charge of an invasion into canada over which he had no control, he urged him to accept, because it would be safer with him than any one else. lafayette did accept and he carried it out in such a way that gates' scheme failed completely. at the battle of monmouth, too, when washington sent charles lee to command over him, he showed his loyalty to washington by submitting quietly and doing all he could to bring a victory out of a defeat. but what counted most, perhaps, was the faithfulness with which he carried out every order no matter how small and unimportant. lafayette also aided this country by his active efforts as a french nobleman. he induced france and spain to join in preparing a fleet against the british, and it was not his fault that spain kept putting it off until too late--he made the effort. he did succeed in raising the popularity of the colonies in france, and in securing six thousand troops under rochambeau, a fleet under d'estaing and supplies for our soldiers. after the french forces arrived, he was very useful in keeping harmony between the armies, because of his influence over his own countrymen as well as americans. lafayette was one of the most faithful soldiers as well as one of the best generals, this country had during the revolutionary war. from the time he offered himself as a volunteer, until the war was over he served the country faithfully and well. at the very beginning of his career in this country, he became washington's aide-de-camp, and as such learned a great deal of the latter's methods of fighting. in this capacity he was in the thick of the battle of brandywine and did much, by his ready daring to encourage the soldiers. before a wound, which he received in this battle, had entirely healed, and while he was out to reconnoitre, he came unexpectedly upon a large body of hessians. he attacked boldly, and they, believing they were fighting all of greene's men, retreated. thus he was ever ready with his wit and daring. throughout the long dreary months when the army was wintering at valley forge, lafayette suffered with the soldiers and helped alleviate the misery as best he could. it was during this winter that gates and conway made the conspiracy to put washington out of power and to put gates in his stead. to accomplish this, they wished to secure lafayette's help, so they contrived to put him at the head of an expedition into canada, with conway second in command. upon washington's entreaty he accepted the commission, but under such conditions that they knew beforehand that their scheme was a failure. when he arrived at albany, he saw that nothing was ready for an invasion of canada, and that the affair could be nothing but a disappointment to america and europe, and a humiliation to himself, nevertheless he made the most of his time by improving the forts and pacifying the indians. when the british left philadelphia, washington wished to follow and force a battle, and, when general lee laid down his command, put lafayette in charge. hardly had the latter started, when charles lee asked for the command again. washington could not recall lafayette, yet he wished to pacify lee, so he trusted to lafayette's affection for himself, and sent lee ahead with two extra divisions, when, as senior officer, he would take charge of the whole. lafayette retired, sensibly, and did all he could to rally the battle that lee was conducting so poorly. finally he sent for washington--the only man that could save the day. the only real opportunity lafayette had, of showing his generalship, was in the southern campaign of , when he was placed in charge of a thousand light infantry and ordered to check the raids of the british. by a rapid march he forestalled philips, who was threatening valuable stores at richmond, and harrassed him all the way to the chickahominy river. then, while he was separating the stores, cornwallis, joined by philips, took a stand between him and albermarle where he had placed a large part of the stores. while cornwallis was preparing to fight, lafayette, keeping in mind the admonition of washington not to endanger his troops, escaped to albermarle by an unused road. after this cornwallis gave up hopes of trapping "that boy," as he called lafayette, and fortified himself at yorktown. when lafayette had been given the defense of virginia, his soldiers, hungry and destitute, were on the point of desertion. with ready tact he had supplied, from his own pocket, the direst necessities, and then had given them an opportunity of going north. of course, when placed on their honor, they followed him with good will. having received orders from washington, not to let cornwallis escape, he took his stand on malvern hill, a good strategic position, to await the coming of washington and rochambeau. when the siege was on and the only possible escape for cornwallis was through north carolina, this, lafayette closed and his light infantry also captured one of the redoubts the british had fixed. the siege of yorktown ended his services for the independence of this country; the war was over and he was needed no more. the results of lafayette's efforts for the cause of american independence can hardly be estimated. they say enthusiasm is contagious and it seemed so in his case, for his very enthusiasm for the cause won others to it and gave it greater popularity in europe than it would otherwise have had. in this country he improved the condition of the soldiers by his ready generosity, and raised the spirit of the army by his own example of disinterested patriotism. he gave washington what he most needed, at that time, a friend whom he could trust implicitly, and by his loyalty did his share towards keeping the army undivided. the forces he secured from france encouraged our soldiers and the supplies did a good deal towards satisfying their discontent. by inducing france to acknowledge the united states of america, he did us one of the greatest services possible. we were then one of the world's nations, and our credit went up accordingly. it isn't likely that the results of his efforts as an american soldier and general, can ever be fully ascertained. he did so many little things just when they seemed to be so needed, that it is impossible to sum up their results. all we can say is that he did his best for the cause of american independence.--_report of sons of the revolution - ._ james jackson. general james jackson was born in morton hampstead, in the beautiful english county of devonshire. his father, james jackson, died when he was a boy and left rather a large family. he heard much talk of the american colonies and had a great desire to go and live in them. his mother and grandfather would not consent, and once he attempted to sail, hidden in the hold of a vessel, but was brought back. seeing his determination to go, sooner or later, and influenced by john wereat, a leading whig, the family finally consented. sailing at his earliest opportunity, he landed in georgia; and at the age of fifteen began the study of law in the office of an eminent lawyer in savannah. in , in the beginning of revolutionary days, he was one of the first lads to shoulder a musket for the cause of freedom. he distinguished himself in several skirmishes near savannah. in , colonel baker conducted an attack upon tybee island, where some of the enemy from vessels-of-war were living, and they destroyed the buildings, and drove the enemy to their ships. in this attack, jackson distinguished himself, winning therewith honors from the governor, and the thanks and admiration of the people. he served throughout the revolutionary war, and when savannah surrendered, gen. anthony wayne, ordered that the keys of savannah be given to jackson, because of his gallant service to his state and country, and because "he was the first american soldier to tread the soil of a town, from which the arms of a tyrant had too long kept its lawful possessor." at the close of the revolutionary war, james jackson began the practice of law in savannah. like joseph, in the bible story, he remembered and longed for his youngest brother; so he sent a request to his parents that his brother henry be permitted to come to america, promising to educate him and care for him as a son, but in his stead the family sent his brother, abram. he kept his brother and gave him advantages, but again sent for henry. the latter came and james jackson educated him, and at his death left him a child's share of his property. this henry was for years professor at the georgia state university, and was interpreter to william h. crawford, when the latter was minister to france. his son was general henry r. jackson, of savannah, who was a poet and a distinguished officer in both the mexican and confederate wars. general james jackson had a brother, john, who was in the british navy and was killed during the revolutionary war. in one of her letters to james, his mother wrote how much she wished she could see him, and said: "it is a great and a deep water that divides us and when i think of it my thoughts turn to my poor john." you see john had been buried at sea, and it was not an easy matter in those days for james to visit across the ocean, when it took weeks to make the journey. general jackson held many offices and was one of georgia's greatest governors. he defeated the yazoo fraud, resigning his place in the national senate, and going from there to the legislature of his state in order to do it. he is the only man in the history of our country who ever gave up being a senator to go to the legislature. it has been said that if jackson's heart were cut out after his death, on it would have been found the beloved word, "georgia." he died in washington years after, again a senator, and is buried in the congressional burial ground. his epitaph was written by his friend john randolph, and is as follows: "in the memory of major-general james jackson of georgia, who deserved and enjoyed the confidence of a grateful country, a soldier of the revolution, he was the determined foe of foreign tyranny, the scourge and terror of corruption at home." james jackson's maternal grandfather never forgave him for fighting against england in the revolutionary war, and in his will left to his grandson, james, only money enough to buy a silver cup.--caroline patterson, _mary hammond washington chapter, d. a. r._ experiences of joab horne. _compiled by one of his descendants_, mrs. b. m. davidson, _stone castle chapter d. a. r., dawson ga._ away back in the misty past, isaac horne, of scotland, crossed the atlantic and settled in edgecomb county, north carolina, on the tar river. isaac horne's name figures in the early history of north carolina. he was one of the first commissioners appointed to establish the boundary lines between the counties of the states. he was a wealthy planter, but the greater portion of his property was destroyed by the tories. he was killed at "gates defeat." isaac horne had three sons: william, henry, joab. this story is of the youngest son, joab, a gallant revolutionary soldier under general francis marion. joab horne met and wooed an english girl, nancy ricks. they encountered parental objections to their marriage on account of their youth, sixteen and fourteen, respectively, but love won and so the union was consumated. their parents never forgave them, and refused to aid them in any way. we can hardly imagine what hardships they endured; but with his beautiful young wife to encourage him he was determined to surmount all difficulties. hearing of the rich lands of georgia, they decided to emigrate. joab had one mule, and he procured a "hogshead" through which he ran a piece of scantling to serve as an axle, to this axle shafts were attached; his mule was hitched to this wonderful contrivance, their clothes put inside the rolling hogshead, and thus the journey to georgia was begun. god had blessed their union with the gift of a little child, but the exposure resulting from this mode of travel was more than the little one could with-stand. a little grave by the road side marked the first mile stone of real sorrow in their lives. finally, they reached their destination in burke county, georgia, on the ogeechee river, and began their new life in a new country. this country was almost a wilderness at that time. the first preparation for a home was a bush arbor, with a real georgia bed-stead, and fresh straw for a mattress; but it was not long before they had as comfortable a home as could be found in those days. trading seemed to be one of joab's characteristics. he had two hats, a "sunday" and an "every day hat," the sunday hat he traded for a wash-pot. nancy, his wife, would trade her jewelry, which she had brought from her girl-hood home, for household necessities. six children blessed their union, four girls and two boys. later they moved to pulaski county, near hawkinsville, ga. the evening of their life was spent in prosperity, a sure reward for such endurance, labor and love. nancy (ricks) horne died at the age of sixty-three, on their plantation in pulaski county. joab moved, with his son eli, who married sarah anderson of hawkinsville, to west florida, on the yellow river; there he lived to the ripe old age of eighty-seven. many a night would he sit by the fire-side and entertain his children and friends by relating experiences of other days. he could truly say, with columbus: "for the years will give back what the years with-held, and the balance swing level in the end." joab horne is buried in stewart cemetery, on yellow river, west florida. the following is a copy of the epitaph on his tomb: "in memory of joab horne member of the revolution born dec. -- died july -- ." "blow, gentle gale, and bear my soul away to canaan's land." historical sketch of margaret katherine barry, known as "kate barry, heroine of the cowpens." kate barry, an important character during the revolutionary war, was noted as a scout, and once during her husband's absence was flogged by the tories to make her disclose the whereabouts of her husband, and his company of rangers. her husband, captain andrew barry, was a magistrate under king george iii, and continued to exercise that office till the revolution began. he was also a captain in colonial period, but at the beginning of the war for independence, , was recommissioned captain of south carolina rangers by governor rutledge, and was a daring and brilliant officer during the whole war. he was at musgroves' mill, cowpens, cedar springs, and many other engagements, and was severely wounded during the battle of musgroves' mill, th august, , but with the tender care of his wife kate barry, who was always close by for scout duty, he was soon restored to health. captain andrew barry was also a religious man, and was one of the first elders elected by nazareth presbyterian church in spantanburg county, s. c., in which capacity he served the church 'till his death, june th, . his name appears in the book, "heitman's historical register of the officers of the continental army." the richard barry who signed the mecklenburg declaration of independence was of this family. it is written of kate barry that she knew no fear, and where duty pointed she dared to go, and where her love and affections centered, she would risk any and all dangers to guard and protect those whom she loved. kate barry was as remarkable for piety as for patriotism, she came of a religious family, and not only are there stories of deeds of kindness and sympathy, well authenticated, handed down in family traditions, but her sister, rosa moore, wife of richard barry, was also noted as a ministering angel at the bedside of the dying; and her prayers in hours of trial and bereavement made indelible impressions. during the war of the revolution kate barry acted as a voluntary scout for the patriot whigs of south carolina, and was so efficient that the patriot bands were seldom surprised by the british. she was the idol of her husband's company of rangers, any one of whom would have risked his own life to save hers. after the war ended major crawford approached captain andrew barry, and said: "it is your duty to kill elliott, the tory who struck kate barry one cut with a whip to intimidate her and make her disclose where the patriots were encamped; but if you will not, then i will kill him, for no man shall live who struck kate barry." then eleven men, including captain barry and major crawford, went out in search of elliott, whom they found at a neighborhood gathering. so soon as they were seen approaching, elliott fled into the house, and sought concealment under a bed. the doors were closed, and after parleying with captain barry, and his friends, elliott's friends agreed that captain barry alone, but unarmed, might enter the house, and see elliott, with the promise that barry would not kill him, which he might easily have done, as barry is described by dr. howe in his "history of the presbyterian church in south carolina," as a handsome man, six feet and one inch in height and of powerful muscular strength. barry entered the house, and the doors were again closed, and elliott came out from under the bed, when captain barry at once seized a three-legged stool, with which he struck elliott to the floor, exclaiming: "i am now satisfied, i will not take his life." when general greene, after gates' defeat at camden, was placed in command of the army of the southern department, he sent general morgan into south carolina to assemble the scattered patriots, preparatory to reclaiming south carolina, which after gates' defeat, and buford's annihilation at the waxhaws, lay bleeding at the feet of the british lion. it was then that kate barry in her voluntary capacity as scout for general morgan, of whose command her husband's company of rangers was a part, hunted up patriot bands and hurried them forward to morgan. in a short time general morgan found himself with sufficient force added to his little army of four hundred regulars to give battle to tarleton at the cowpens. to hurry up the south carolina rangers she swam her horse across rivers, evaded the tories, and encountered a thousand dangers, but succeeded in recruiting morgan's little army with sufficient patriotic force to bring off the best fought battle of the revolution, and at a time when all seemed lost to the patriot cause, and so followed carolina's redemption. who knows but kate barry's prayers were answered when broad river so suddenly rose from a descending freshet, and cut off cornwallis' pursuing army after the battle of the cowpens. the same downflowing freshet happened at yadkin, morgan making good his retreat to grane near guilford court house. kate barry was a daughter of col. charles moore, who was born in scotland in , and who went into ireland from scotland with the duke of hamilton, his relative, as family tradition says col. charles moore's mother was a hamilton. charles moore was a college graduate, and a prominent teacher at the time he removed to carolina, and is described as such in a deed for land now on file of record in north carolina, but what important part he took in the war of the revolution is not positively known; further than that his son, captain thomas moore, distinguished himself at cowpens, and was afterwards a general in the war of . but col. charles moore's six sons-in-law all acted prominent parts on the side of the patriots in the war of the revolution, viz: captain andrew barry, husband of margaret katherine moore; col. jno. lawson, husband of alice moore; judge richard barry, husband of rosa moore; rev. r. m. cunningham, d. d., husband of elizabeth moore; capt. robt. hanna, husband of ---- moore. he was on the staff of general sumter at the battle of blackstock; matthew patton, husband of the two last sisters was a noted soldier, but his rank is not known, except that he was a staff officer. written by mary s. irwin wood (mrs. james s. wood) regent of savannah chapter, a descendent of captain andrew barry and kate barry--from records and authenticated family traditions, and read at june meeting of the savannah chapter d. a. r. , by her daughter miss rosalind lawson wood, by request sent to elijah clark chapter d. a. r., athens, ga., to be read by mrs. augusta wood dubose, also a descendant of kate barry and her husband, captain andrew barry. art and artists of the revolution. during the reign of george iii, in the town of boston, with only eighteen thousand inhabitants, there hung in the library of harvard university a copy of "a cardinal" by van dycke. the new england states were opposed to art as a principle, but showed signs of literary and artistic activity at this time. exhibitions were unknown, the painters were "traveling artists" who went over the country painting portraits on sign boards, stage coaches, and fire engines, for practice and also a living. john singleton copeley, in boston, was the only american artist who did meritorious work. before he came under foreign influences, he wielded his brush with great dexterity, "the death of the earl of chatham" in the national gallery in london, being one of his famous pictures. the grouping of the portrait figures is skillfully arranged. to our art, the portraits he painted in boston are of importance. the lesson thus taught led us into the interior of the royalist era, with carved furniture, showy curtains, peopled with well-to-do men and women, lavishly robed, that suggests the customs as well as the people of the revolutionary period. benjamin west, a contemporary of copely, had nothing in common with the development of american art. he left at an early age for england, where he climbed the pinnacle of social, if not artistic success. he was a personal friend of the king, was employed as his historical painter, succeeding sir joshua reynolds as president of the royal academy. one of his pictures quite noted was "christ rejected." "death on the pale horse," the size of the canvas he used was by feet. his daring innovation of dressing the characters showed the costumes of the time and country in which they lived. it was his picturesque personality more than his art that attracts us to-day. in his native town, philadelphia, it is said the cherokee indians taught him the secret of preparing color. this was the first city in the union where opportunities for art growth and a moderate patronage presented themselves. charles wilson peale, a man rather versatile, also a painter of some merit, established the first "art gallery," a museum of historical portraits, in his residence in philadelphia. john trumbull was a different type, was not so richly endowed by natural gifts. every accomplishment meant strenuous study, yet he is dear to us for his glorification of revolutionary history. "the battle of bunker hill," "the death of montgomery" and "the declaration of independence," are familiar. the growth of art was handicapped, more than benefited--america was now an independent nation. the royalists who could afford the luxury of art left this country. now three men stepped forth who bore upon their brush tips the honor and progress of american art, thomas sully, john vanderlyn and washington allston. the first mentioned became rapidly the most fashionable portrait painter of the day. his sweet faces, with robes draped gracefully, show great progress and execution. sully was represented at the philadelphia academy by one hundred and sixteen pictures. it is said he painted a full length portrait of queen victoria. vanderlyn lived in rome painting. washington allston painted on his enormous canvas "belchazzer's feast." "the angel liberating st. peter from prison" is one of decided merit. gilbert stuart was not a follower of the others, had a distinct and forceful individuality, the striking details of his work being brilliance in coloring and the natural life-like posing. he was the first american master of painting. his early sketches were lost. at the age of thirteen he received commission to paint two portraits. two years later he went to scotland. his stay there was short, he pined for home, secured passage and returned, later going to london in , suffering privation. afterwards a pupil under west for five years, his success was immediate; people of wit and fashion thronged his studio. he tasked himself to six sitters a day. then devoted himself to society, living in great splendor. during this period he painted louis the sixteenth, george iii, and prince of wales. now his position was assured, he indulged himself in refusing many sitters, money failed to tempt him, only those who appealed to his artistic taste or afforded the best opportunity for a good picture. he was willing to give up all the golden opportunities europe presented that he might have the privilege and satisfaction of painting the one man, whose heroic qualities fascinated him most. in he returned to the city of brotherly love, establishing his studio here, painted three portraits of washington, unlike peale, who made in all fourteen of washington from life, painting him in the prime of his vigour. stuart depicts the late autumn of his life, a face in which the lines of character are softened, a face chastened by responsibilities, it is the face, who has conquered himself as well as others; he represents him indeed as "the father of his country." he said, "i copy the works of god, leave clothes to the tailor, and mantua maker." in washington he found sentiments, grace and character. in the story of art, gilbert stuart holds a unique, and dignified position. "the course of nature is but the art of god." thomas cole was a landscape painter. the sketches he painted in the catskills--the banks, woods, rocks and the cascades--gained recognition. he was an ardent student of english literature, influenced by sir walter scott. in truth, was more of a poet than painter. his noted pictures were "the voyage of childhood," "the course of empire," consisting of five canvasses, first representing "a nation's rise, progress, decline and fall." these are at the historical society of new york. the last picture of the serial, entitled "desolation," has rarely been surpassed in solemn majesty, and depth of thought.--_miss emily g. morrow, american monthly magazine._ "uncle sam" explained again. troy, new york, is said to be the place where the name "uncle sam" originated. after the declaration of war with england by the colonies a new york contractor, elbert anderson, visited troy and made it his headquarters for the purchase of provisions for the continental army. the supplies were duly inspected before shipment. one of the inspectors was samuel wilson, brother of ebenezer, also an inspector and known as uncle sam to the workmen whom he superintended. the casks in which the beef and pork were packed were marked with the initials of elbert anderson, the contractor, and the united states, thus: "e. a.--u. s." says the _new york sun_. the first pair of initials were of course familiar to the men, but "u. s." mystified them. the fact was that the name united states was then so new to these countrymen that its initials were a complete puzzle. they turned to the nearest explanation, a humorous one and intended as a joke on their boss. if "e. a." stood for elbert anderson, then they opined "u. s." must stand for "uncle sam" wilson. the joke spread to the continental army, which carried it to every part of the country. an episode of the war of the revolution. in south carolina was completely overrun by the british. the english colonists were divided, the majority being in favor of the revolution, but there were a goodly number of loyal men among them who conscientiously espoused the cause of the mother country and these were called tories. those who took part in the revolution were called whigs. lancaster county was their stronghold. they were mostly descendants of the scotch-irish. among these was charles mackey, their acknowledged leader. the whigs had always made lancaster too hot for the tories, but the advent of the british with tarleton at their head, turned the tide of war, and now the tories with tarleton drove the whigs from lancaster across the catawba and the pedee rivers to join general marion. charles mackey, as the leader of his band, had made himself very obnoxious to the tories and they impatiently waited the time for vengeance. he was a man of medium size, very active and energetic, a fine horseman, a splendid shot, hot headed, impulsive, often running unnecessary risks and doing dare-devil deeds. no work was too hazardous for him. his wife, lydia mackey, was a woman of good common sense, with a clear head and fine judgment. in her coolness and self-possession she was far superior to her husband. they had a family of young children, and charles mackey had not heard from them or seen any of them in several weeks. their home was not more than two and a half miles from tarleton's camp, on the hanging rock creek. he knew it would be hazardous for him to return to his home so near tarleton's camp; but his anxiety became so great that he could no longer remain in doubt, so he cautiously made his way home where he unwisely loitered for a week, and during this time he had the temerity to enter tarleton's lines more than once in search of information which was most valuable to his country's defenders. his home had patches of corn and potatoes on either side of a lane leading to the front of the house, while at the rear was a large kitchen-garden extending back to a great swamp, which was almost impenetrable to man or beast. this swamp was surrounded by a quagmire from ten to thirty feet wide. it was entered by jumping from tussock to tussock of moss covered clumps of mold, a foot or two in diameter and rising six to eight inches above the black jelly-like mire which shook in every direction when passing over it. a plank or fence-rail served as a temporary draw-bridge, which was pulled into the swamp after passing over. when the country was infested by tories, charles mackey spent his days in this swamp if not out scouting. at night he ventured home. he had good watch dogs and they gave the alarm whenever any one approached, whether by night or day. if at night, he would immediately lift a loose plank in the floor of his bed room, drop through to the ground, and out in the rear and run thirty or forty yards across the garden with his gun in hand and disappear in the swamp, pulling his fence rail draw-bridge after him. there was no approach to the house from the rear, and his retreat was always effected with impunity. once when he was at home, on the eve of leaving with some valuable information for the american general, his faithful watch dog failed to give warning of the approach of strangers and the first notice of their presence was their shouting "hallo" in front of the house. mrs. mackey jumped out of bed, threw open the window shutters, stuck her head out, surveyed carefully the half dozen armed men, and said: "who is there?" "friends," they replied. "is charlie mackey at home?" she promptly answered "no." in the mean time charlie had raised the loose plank in the floor, and was ready to make for the swamp in the rear, when, stopping for a moment to make sure of the character of his visitors, he heard the spokesman say: "well, we are sorry indeed, for there was a big fight yesterday on lynch's creek, between general marion and the british, and we routed the redcoats completely. we have been sent to general davie at lansford with orders to unite with general marion at flat rock as soon as possible, and then to attack tarleton. we do not know the way to lansford and came to get charlie to pilot us." mrs. mackey, calm and collected, said she was sorry her husband was not at home. but her husband was just the reverse, hot headed and impetuous. this sudden news of victory after so many reverses excited him, and he madly rushed out into the midst of the mounted men, hurrahing for marion and davie, and shouting vengeance on the redcoats and tories, and he began shaking hands enthusiastically with the boys and asking particulars about the fight, when the ringleader cooly said: "well, charlie, old fellow, we have set many traps for you, but never baited them right until now. you are our prisoner." and they marched him off just as he was, without hat or coat and without allowing him a moment to say a parting word to his poor wife. they took him to col. tarleton's headquarters where he was tried by court-martial and sentenced to death as a spy. the next day, mrs. mackey, not knowing what had happened to him, gathered some fruits and eggs, and with a basket well filled made her way to col. tarleton's. the colonel was on parade, but a young officer asked her to be seated. he said: "you have something for sale, i presume?" she replied that she had fruit and eggs. he gladly took what she had and paid for them. she then said her basket of fruit was only a pretext to get to col. tarleton's headquarters. that she was anxious to see him in person on business of great importance. she then explained to him the capture of her husband and that she wished to get him released if he were still alive, though she did not know but what they had hung him to the first tree they had come to. the officer told her the colonel was on parade and would not return for two hours. mrs. mackey was a comely woman of superior intelligence and soon interested the young officer in her sad condition. he expressed for her the deepest sympathy and told her that her husband was near by under guard; that he had been tried and sentenced to death, and he feared there was no hope for him, as the evidence against him by the tories was of the most positive kind. he told her col. tarleton was as cruel and unfeeling as he was brave, and that he would promise her anything to get rid of her, but would fulfill nothing. "however" said he, "i will prepare the necessary document for your husband's release, filling in the blanks so that it will only be necessary to get col. tarleton's signature, but i again frankly say that it is almost hopeless." at twelve o'clock tarleton rode up, dismounted, and entered the adjoining tent. as he passed along the young officer said, "you must wait until he dines; another horse will be brought and when he comes up to mount you can approach him, but not till then." at the expected time the tall, handsome, clean-shaven colonel came out of his tent, and as he neared his charger, he was confronted by the heroic lydia mackey, who in a few words made known the object of her visit. he quickly replied that he was in a hurry and could not at that time stop to consider her case. she said the case was urgent; that her husband had been condemned to death and he alone had the power to save him. he replied: "very well, my good woman, when i return later in the day i will inquire into the matter." saying this he placed his foot in the stirrup and sprang up, but before he could throw his right leg over the saddle, mrs. mackey caught him by the coat and jerked him down. he turned upon her with a scowl, as she implored him to grant her request. he was greatly discomfited and angrily said he would inquire into the case on his return. he then attempted again to mount, when she dragged him down the second time, begging him in eloquent terms to spare the life of her husband. "tut, tut, my good woman," said he, boiling with rage, "do you know what you are doing? be gone, i say i will attend to this matter at my convenience and not sooner." so saying he attempted the third time to mount, and so the third time lydia mackey jerked him to the ground. holding by the sword's scabbard, and falling on her knees, she cried: "draw your sword and slay me, or give me the life of my husband, for i will never let you go until you kill me or sign this document," which she drew from her bosom and held up before his face. tarleton, trembling with rage, turned to the young officer who stood close by intently watching the scene, and said: "captain, where is this woman's husband?" he answered: "under guard in yonder tent." "order him to be brought here," and soon charlie mackey stood before the valiant tarleton. "sir" said he, "you have been convicted of bearing arms against his majesty's government; worse, you have been convicted of being a spy. you have dared to enter my lines in disguise as a spy, and you cannot deny it, but for the sake of your wife i will give you a full pardon on condition that you will take an oath never again to bear arms against the king's government." "sir," said charlie mackey, in the firmest tones, "i cannot accept pardon on these terms. it must be unconditional or i must die," and poor lydia mackey cried out, "i, too, must die." on her knees she plead with such fervor and eloquence that tarleton seemed lost for a moment and hesitated; then turning to the young captain he said with quivering lips and a voice choking with emotion: "captain, for god's sake sign my name to this paper, and let this woman go." with this, mrs. mackey sank to the ground exhausted, and col. tarleton rode off, doubtless happier for having spared the life of the heroic lydia's husband. the history of the american revolution can hardly present a more interesting tableau than that of lydia mackey begging the life of her husband at the hands of the brave and bloody tarleton, and it is probable that the "lydia mackey victory" was the first ever gained over the heart of this redoubtable commander, and it is very certain that charles mackey was the only condemned prisoner ever liberated by him without taking the oath of allegience to the mother country.--mrs. f. h. orme, _atlanta chapter, d. a. r._ state flowers. in most instances, the state floral emblems have been adopted by the vote of the pupils of the public schools of their respective states. alabama, goldenrod. arizona, suwarso. arkansas, apple blossoms. california, california poppy. colorado, columbine. connecticut, mountain laurel. delaware, peach blossoms. florida, japan camellia. georgia, cherokee rose. idaho, syringa. illinois, rose. indiana, corn. iowa, wild rose. kansas, sunflower. louisiana, magnolia. maine, pine cone. michigan, apple blossom. minnesota, moccasin flower. mississippi, magnolia. missouri, goldenrod. montana, bitter-root. nebraska, goldenrod. new jersey, sugar maple. nevada, sage brush. new york, moss rose. new mexico, crimson rambler rose. north carolina, chrysanthemum. north dakota, goldenrod. ohio, buckeye. oklahoma, mistletoe. oregon, oregon grape. rhode island, violet. south carolina, carolina palmetto. south dakota, pasque flora. texas, blue bonnet. utah, sago lily. vermont, red clover. washington, rhododendron. wisconsin, violet. the counties of georgia. by katharine b. massey. when i was a little girl, our fad was the possession of a charmstring. this was a string of buttons, obtained by coaxing from our elders or barter with each other, and constantly added to until some of them reached the length of several yards. with delightful pride we told over the list of our treasures. "this button," one would say, "came from cousin mary's wedding dress; this my uncle john gave me; this was sent to me from china by my aunt who is a missionary in canton; and this bright brass one was on my father's uniform during the war." much of family life and many loving associations were thus strung together for the little maiden. in some such way, but in a larger sense, our state has used the naming of its counties as a cord of gold on which to hang traditions of its past, memories of its heroes, and reverences for those who helped us when help was needed. a group of seven counties embalms the names of the indian tribes who owned our hills and valleys before us, who hunted the deer with flintheaded arrows where now our cities stand, and threaded their trails in silent forests where today our cotton fields are spread. they are catoosa, chattahoochee, chattooga, cherokee, coweta, muscogee, oconee--how musically the syllables fall upon the ear. it is like a chime of silver bells. four counties may be set together as commemorating large events in history. columbia, oglethorpe, liberty, and union. the first of these was named for the dauntless sailor who, possessed with the faith which cared naught for all other men's unbelief and rising above poverty, discouragement, and mutiny, held his way westward over unknown seas to find his prophetic vision a reality. oglethorpe bears the name of the brave soldier, courteous gentleman, and broadminded philanthropist, who founded a colony for oppressed debtors to give them a new chance in life. liberty county has a pretty little story of its own. a band of massachusetts puritans, seeking a milder climate, settled first in south carolina, and not being fully satisfied, came on to st. john's parish, georgia. their distinguished devotion to the cause of liberty in the perilous days of - gained for them that name when the parishes were changed into counties. union county was so named because its citizens claimed to be known as union men, when the rest of the state stood for state rights.[ ] another group of seven counties bears the name of english statesmen who spoke for us in the halls of parliament and withstood the tyranny of king and nation in dealing with their brothers of america. they were the fiery-tongued orator edmund burke, the commoners glynn and wilkes, the duke of richmond, and the earls of chatham, camden, and effingham. three other foreigners, lovers of liberty, drew sword and fought in our battles, side by side with our struggling heroes. georgia has honored herself by naming counties for baron dekalb, count pulaski, and general lafayette. next comes the long muster-call of heroes whose names are written on the roll of fame as having fought for the freedom of their country--men whose names recall bunker hill and valley forge, king's mountain and guilford court house, and all the grim experiences of a nation struggling for existence. georgia has named counties for baker, bryan, butts, clarke, (gen. elijah, who fought the tories in our own state), clinch, early, greene, (gen. nathaniel, who settled on his grant of land in georgia after the war,) jasper, (the brave sergeant who leaped over the parapet to rescue the flag at fort moultrie,) laurens, lee (light horse harry, father of the grand general of the civil war,) lincoln, macon, marion (the swamp fox of south carolina,) meriwether, montgomery, morgan, newton, putnam, screven, stewart, sumter, twiggs, taliaferro, warren (killed at the battle of bunker hill,) wayne (mad anthony,) wilkerson, paulding, white, mcintosh--grand and glorious names that break upon the ear like a trumpet call, inspiring to deeds worthy to be ranked with theirs. the last of these names, mcintosh, was given in honor of a whole family which had contributed many sons to freedom's cause. seven presidents of the united states have given names to our counties. they are washington, jefferson, madison, monroe, polk, taylor and pierce. the governors of georgia have been a notable line, strong men of iron will, believers in state's rights and upholders of the dignity of the commonwealth. more than once they have withstood the national government. the list of them includes some names famous for other services to the state in the revolution and the civil war as well as in the halls of congress. those for whom counties are named are: bulloch, early, elbert, emanuel, gilmer, gwinnett, habersham, hall, heard, houston, irwin, jackson (soldier and statesman,) jenkins (who saved the executive seal of state at the close of the civil war and kept it until military rule was over and it could be returned to a governor legally elected by the people,) johnson, lumpkin, mitchell, rabun, schley, stephens (giant soul in a frail body, whose unheeded counsels as vice-president of the southern confederacy might have prevented much of the bitterness that followed,) talbot, telfair, towns, troup, walton, forsyth, and tattnall. wisely and well they guided the ship of state and left a priceless heritage of precedent to their successors. georgia has named fourteen counties for statesmen of national fame--calhoun, clay, webster--(these three made the great triumvirate whose eloquence shook the land in times when nullification and democracy were the questions of the day,) bibb, franklin, brooks, carroll, douglas, hancock (one of the first to lift his voice against british oppression in massachusetts,) henry (the immortal orator of virginia,) lowndes, mcduffie, murray, and randolph (quaint, eloquent, sarcastic john randolph of roanoke.) of her own sons whose voices have thundered in the halls of congress, or guided her councils at home, georgia has named counties for abraham baldwin (who first planned the state university,) ben hill (of the trumpet tongue, who first dared to reply to northern slanders, to speak the truth about andersonville, to show that we had not food, clothing and medicine for our own soldiers and that we did the best we could for the unfortunate prisoners who fell into our hands; claiming the respect of the nation and the world for the maligned southern confederacy.) berrien, clayton, cobb, colquitt, crawford, (william h., our candidate for the presidency,) crisp, campbell, charlton, dawson, dougherty, floyd, haralson, jones, miller, spanding, turner, walker, and ware. six of our counties bear the names of men who spent their lives fighting the indians. they are appling, coffee, butts, wilcox, thomas, and dade. of the first of these the story is told that, in recognition of his services, the state voted him a sword with an appropriate inscription. before it was ready for presentation the brave young soldier died. as he left no heir, the sword was kept in the state house at milledgeville until that memorial autumn of , when it disappeared. some soldier of sherman's army thus became richer and the state of georgia poorer by a handsome sword. the mexican war left us the names of echols, fannin, quitman, and worth. other brave soldiers of the state who have been thus honored are glascock, milton, pickens, and pike. the civil war gave to us the names of bartow and toombs. francis c. bartow said: "i go to illustrate georgia," and fell on the field of the first battle of manassas. general robert toombs escaped from georgia on his mare, grey alice, when every road and ferry was guarded by soldiers watching for him, made his way to england, and lived there until it was safe for him to return, remaining to the end of his life an "unreconstructed rebel." four counties, dodge, tift, gordon, and upson, are named for captains of industry. the united states navy gave us the name of decatur. banks and terrell are called for two beloved physicians who made their names blessed in the homes of the people for the alleviation of pain and the saving of life. in both cases the name was chosen for the county by the citizens, in loving recognition of the physician's services. the lost cause left with us the name of its one president, and we who are glad that it is the lost cause, that slavery is no longer an institution in our midst and that georgia takes her rightful place in the sisterhood of states, nevertheless claim the right to cherish our memories, to welcome dixie with the rebel yell, to cover our graves with flowers on the twenty-sixth of april, to look back through a mist of tears to gettysburg and appomattox, and to call one of our counties jeff davis. the noble preacher, whitfield, who helped to establish the bethesda orphan's home, gave his name to one county; and henry grady, silver-tongued and golden-hearted orator who helped to heal the wounds of war and drew together the north and the south into renewed brotherhood, is remembered in the name of another. rockdale is so called from its granite rocks and wooded dales. one is named for robert fulton, the inventor, one for harris, a prominent jurist, and last of all, georgia has named one county for a woman--red-headed, cross-eyed, tory-hating, liberty-loving nancy hart. footnote: [ ] but georgia was at that time intensely union, although believing in state rights. [illustration: indian treaty tree, marietta, ga.] an historic tree. mrs. r. c. little, _fielding lewis chapter_. more than a hundred years ago, a tiny acorn, dropped by some frisky squirrel or flitting bird, fell to the ground, where it lay unheeded and unknown. pelted by winter storms, it sank deep into the soft earth where it was nourished and fed, sending out rootlets to take firm hold of the kind mother who had sheltered it. soon the summer's sun called it from its underground bed and still clinging with its thread-like roots, it pushed up a green head and looked around the beautiful scenes of woodland, mountain and sky. pleased with what it saw, it lifted its head brighter and higher until it became a mighty oak, a monarch of the forest. birds and squirrels made their homes in it and beneath its shade rested the weary. all the country around belonged to and was inhabited by the cherokee indians, of all known tribes the most civilized and enlightened. no doubt their papooses swung on the branches of this magnificent tree and played under its wide spreading arms. with the coming of the white man, a town grew up--lovely marietta, still nestling amid the shadows of kennesaw, and the indians were asked to leave their happy homes, and go to strange lands further west. bewildered and uncomprehending, they were unwilling to go, and groups of them were often seen beneath this same mighty oak--mighty even then, conferring with the whites, and discussing by signs and gestures, the momentous question. when, finally, they were persuaded to accept the proposition of the government, they met in council beneath their favorite tree and signed the treaty, by which they agreed to leave their beautiful north georgia homes forever. within the memory of the oldest inhabitants, the grand oak became historic. it is still standing, and has showed no signs of age, until a fiery bolt found its lofty height and scathed it far down its trunk. it stands in the yard of mrs. h. g. cole, and is, notwithstanding its somewhat crippled condition, the admiration of all beholders. its girth near the ground is somewhat over eight feet, and seven feet from the ground it measures considerably more than twelve feet around. mrs. cole, though not aged herself, has seen four generations of her own family disporting beneath this noble tree, and should it fall because of age and decay, she and her children would miss and mourn it as a dear lost friend. independence day. original poem by mrs. c. m. o'hara, greenville, ga., read on the fourth of july, , at the meeting of david meriwether chapter: it has been one hundred and thirty-six years since our forefathers laid aside all fears of the mother country, and boldly said: the price of liberty in blood should be paid. the continental congress in philadelphia met and resolved that we should independence get, thomas jefferson wrote a long declaration, which england said was a sad desecration. so our mother tried to exercise her right to tax her children and forbidding the fight. the battles of lexington, bunker hill and others showed england that we were no longer brothers, after the first gun of the revolution was heard the americans lost fear of king george the third; they determined with franklin together to stand and hold fast at any cost the cherished land. over a century has passed, the patriots are dust, in the homes of many daughters their good swords rust, but the celebration of independence on the fourth of july in the hearts of americans we trust will never die. kitty. ethel hillyer harris. _written for the xavier chapter of the d. a. r., rome, ga._ "ah! woman in this world of ours, what boon can be compared to thee? how slow would drag life's weary hours, though man's proud brow were bound in flowers, and his the wealth of land and sea, if destined to exist alone and, ne'er call woman's heart his own." _--morris._ prologue. all day long there had been a vague unrest in the old colonial home, all day the leaves had quivered on the banks of the mataponi river; the waves were restless, the dog in his kennel howled fitfully; the birds and the chickens sought their roosts quiveringly, whimsically, and when night had let her sable curtain down, a lurid glare shot athwart the sky, in a strange curved comet-like shape. it was the indian summer, october in her glory of golden-rods, sumachs, and the asters in the wood. but, hist! hark! what breaks upon the autumn stillness and the quiet of the colonial household on the mataponi, -- -- ? it was the cannon at the siege of yorktown, forty miles away. the french fleet were making blazing half circles on the sky seen from their fortifications even thus far below. through the long night the boom! boom! boom! continued, the simple, loyal folks knowing nothing of the result. at last, wearied and spent, with a prayer to the all father to save america, they sought their welcome couches. among them was kitty, the idolized daughter of the family. soft! step easy! as we push aside the chintz curtains of her four-poster and gaze upon the child, to exclaim: how innocent is youth! her seventeen years lie upon her pink cheeks, and shimmering curly tresses as lightly as a humming bird in the heart of roses. her lithesome form makes a deep indenture in the thick featherbed, the gay patchwork quilt half reveals, and half conceals the grace of rounded arm and neck and breast, a sigh escapes her coral lips, one hand is thrust beneath the pillow, she dreams! on the chair her quilted podusouy and long stays are carelessly thrown. her louis seize slippers with red heels are on the floor, and the old clock on the stair is ticking, ticking, ticking. kitty is dreaming. of what? the greatest moment in our national history. dream on sweet maid, closer, closer point the hands; it nears three o'clock oct. , . a wild cry, and the whole household is awake. swift running to and fro, smiles, tears, shouts, "glory," "glory," "god be praised." such the sounds that faintly reach the dreaming senses of our kitty. and then her father with a kiss and hug pulls her out of bed with "awake lass! awake! awake! cornwallis has surrendered." in her night gown from her latticed window kitty saw the courier galloping through the little hamlet; pausing at her father's gate to give the message of our conquest over the british, and then galloping on towards the north, for he was on the direct route from yorktown to philadelphia where congress was in session. by the time kitty had pompadoured her hair, and donned her paviered print gown, all the parish bells were ringing for joy. from georgia to maine bells were sounding; peals of liberty and peace filled the air with prayers and praise and service to god took up the glad hour and over and over the refrain was sung "cornwallis is taken! cornwallis is taken." ah, dear kitty, and quaint little tableau of the long ago, five generations coming and going, in whose veins beats your loyal blood still listen and tremble and glow with pride at your legend of the siege of yorktown, and better still, sweetest of all the long agone ancestors more than five nations, indeed every nation honors and makes low obeisance to the stars and the stripes. "old glory! long may she wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." chapter first. "thinkest thou existence doth depend on time? it doth; but actions are our epochs." in or , mr. carlton, who had his home on the mataponi river, moved with his family to georgia. after cornwallis had delivered his sword to washington, a little group of emigrants might have been seen at yorktown; among them the families of edmund byne and robert carlton. out in the blue harbour the nifty little brig "nancy" lay, all sails spread ready to embark to savannah, ga. these two above named gentlemen, took passage with their families, servants and household goods, and they were said to be persons of sincere, and devoted piety, full of hope and courage. they expected to reach savannah in three days. however, contrary winds set in, and the brig daring not hug the treacherous coasts of the carolinas sped far out to sea amid a terrific storm. she drifted for weeks at the mercy of the waves, until the passengers almost despaired of seeing land. if in our prologue, we saw a pretty, and partly imaginary picture of katherine carlton, known as kitty, for she it is now eighteen years of age, we see her again and in true historical facts receive her account of long ago, of the peril. thus reads her account: "one time it seemed as if the end had come. 'twas night. the passengers were lying in their berths enduring as well as they could the dangers of the hour, when suddenly the ship careened, seemingly falling on its side. it was then the voice of one of those pious men was heard amidst the howling winds 'lord help us up,' and straightway the ship was set upright and the danger was passed." the little party after landing on our beautiful south georgia coast, sweet with golden jasmines, and long moss on the beautiful braided live oak, proceeded up the country, in true emigrant fashion, in wagons. imagination, that merry, fantastic jade, will not let my pen be steady. a thousand pictures obtrude. kitty, her head so curly, eyes so dark and soft, thrust from out the wagon's canvassed top, or again her snowy fingers playing in the cool waters of a running brook, when the team stops to feed and drink. then mr. carlton, brave, resolute and the camp fire, the smell of broiled bacon, the dog on trail of a rabbit, the straw for seats, and weird firelight, and above all, the eternal stars of heaven. but we must hasten, though the chronicle, which is reliable, states that it took five weeks to reach their destination in burke county. as they approached the northern border of wilkes county, the trees grew taller, and the red oak, the white oak, burch, and maple, the crimson honeysuckle, and wild violets and muscadine vines took the place of yellow jasmine, and moss and whispering pines. it was indeed a forest primeval, a virgin soil, and a new land. so on the last day of their tiresome journey, early one morning, they came to a creek. there was no bridge, and it was plain that the stream had to be forded. the wagons were moving slowly along. katherine and her sister walking in front. a discussion arose: "what about the girls? here! come kitty!" or "stop, kitty! don't take off your slippers; you can't wade." about that time up rode a gallant revolutionary soldier named captain john freeman, who boldly said "i'll take kitty" and in a trice he had the fair young lady behind him on his own horse, and the limpid waters of our clear georgia stream were laying its flanks as he proceeded across the stream. chapter second. "the wagons have all forded the brook as it flows, and then the rear guard stays-- to pick the purple grapes that are hanging from the boughs." --_edward everett hale._ while our heroine is riding along in the dewy morn of the day, and at the same time enjoying the beauties of nature and no doubt with her lithe young body leaning against the captain, causing his heart to beat a double quick, we will go on with our narrative. captain john freeman was a native georgian, a revolutionary soldier, he was present at the siege of charlestown and savannah, a participant in the battles of cowpens, king's mountain and guilford court house, at the battle of kettle creek, and also at the capture of augusta in georgia. in most of his adventures in the revolutionary war, captain freeman had with him a colored boy named ambrose, who lived to a very great age and was well known to the younger generation as "uncle ambrose." he had his own cabin in athens, georgia. incidents in regard to him were handed by tradition. he had on his left arm the scar of a sabre cut, made by british dragoons when general tarleton's men were attacking and endeavoring to get away with the american trooper's horses that had been left at the camp, and which it was in part, the duty of the boy ambrose to keep. the british dragoons had possession of the horses for awhile and ambrose a prisoner also, but by a rapid retaliation the horses and servants were recovered. old ambrose used to tell about having been present at the siege of savannah, when count pulaski, one of the american generals, was killed. he said that he was back in the edge of the pine, or timber when the american army charged on the british fort and breastworks. he described pulaski as mounted on a spirited horse, with a great white plume in his hat, and how gallantly he led the americans in their advance. he saw pulaski when he fell from the horse, and was present at the point to which he was brought back, mortally wounded. chapter third. "blessed with that charmed certainty to please how oft her eyes read his; her gentle mind, to his thoughts, his wishes, inclined." anonymous. as might be guessed, in a few short months after crossing the creek together on horse-back, captain john freeman led kathrine carlton to the altar. in regard to her after-life, she was a wonder for those times, a great reader and a fine housekeeper, a fine raconteur; yet with all, the soul of hospitality. she had a healthy, strong mind; was imperious in her bearing, a devoted member of the church, a power in her family, and section. captain freeman was a wealthy man, and took her at times in a carriage to the mountains of north carolina on a pleasure trip. she bore him one child, rebecca, of a temperamental nature, and of deep piety like her mother. this child was the author of many lovely poems. captain freeman did not live to be very old. after his death mrs. freeman met losses which she bravely bore, rebecca married shaler hillyer and from this union sprang all the georgia hillyers. and to this day "grandma freeman" is almost a sainted word in the family, so strong was her character and so deep her love for others. she lived to be eighty-nine years old. in her bedroom was an old time tall clock that captain freeman had brought over from england when he brought his blue china dishes. as she drew her last breath, a beloved niece looked at the clock but it had stopped. that clock is still owned by one of her descendants, and it is not a legend but a fact, that when anything important happens, in the family, if it is running, it stops, if it is not running, it strikes. but to return to the bynes: to show that we are journeying on to meet those who are journeying on to meet us. mr. bynes' daughter annie, she who came in the brig "nancy" with mr. carlton, married a mr. harris, their daughter married mr. hansell, and his granddaughter, the beautiful golden haired leila, a noted belle and beauty, of atlanta, georgia, married a mr. llewelynn p. hillyer, of macon, georgia, the great grandson of kitty carlton. if the writer may be pardoned for saying so, she is the granddaughter of junius hillyer, the grandson of kitty carlton; and she also pleads guilty to the soft impeachment of having married hamilton harris, a relative of the byne family, too. two shall be born the whole wide apart and time and tide will finally bring them together. affinity, congeniality, fate! what? hurrah for the brave little sailing vessel, the nifty, white winged brig, "the nancy." battle of kettle creek. no battle of revolutionary times was more instrumental in making the surrender of cornwallis, at yorktown, possible than was the battle of kettle creek. as it was at that period of the war the only american victory in the far south, and though it seemed unimportant, it was a prominent factor in holding the militia together and stimulating, them to fight to ultimate victory. after the battle of monmouth, the largest engagement in the north closed, the scene drifted to the south. georgia was practically subdued by the british in january, . general provost, commanding the british in south carolina, and commodore parker and lieut. campbell, on the sea, had captured savannah and being so encouraged, made plans to aid the tories in crushing all patriots who dared to resist. on february th, , at war hill, wilkes county, georgia, the battle of kettle creek was fought. between four hundred and five hundred americans were in this engagement under col. pickens, against seven hundred men under col. boyd, a british officer, who was secretly employed by the british to organize a band of tories in south carolina and who was on his way to join the british army and had planned to take augusta on his route. col. boyd was mortally wounded in this battle. as soon as col. pickens heard of it he immediately visited his opponent and offered him any assistance within his power. the dying man left with him keepsakes and letters which were promptly delivered to his wife after his death. in vol. ii, wm. bacon stevens' history of georgia, new york, , bishop stevens gives the following account of this battle: "the enemy having effected a passage into georgia, pickens and dooly, now joined by col. clarke, resolved to follow; and they accordingly crossed the savannah on february , , and camped the following night within four miles of the enemy. forming the line of march in the order of battle, the americans now prepared once more, at a great disadvantage of numbers, to contest with the tories for the supremacy of upper georgia. much depended on this battle. if boyd should be successful in driving back the americans under such men as pickens and dooly and clarke, he might rest assured that no further molestation, at least for a very long time, would follow, and all would yield to the british power, while on the other hand should the americans be successful, it would not only crush the tory power, already so galling to the people, but protect them from further insult, and give a stimulus to american courage, which a long series of disasters made essential. it was a moment big with the fate of upper georgia. "boyd, with a carelesness evincing great lack of military skill and prudence, had halted on the morning of the th of february, , at a farm house near kettle creek, in wilkes county, having no suspicion of the near approach of the americans, and his army was dispersed in various directions, some killing and gathering stock, others engaged in cooking and in different operations. having reconnoitered the enemy's position, the americans, under pickens, advanced in three divisions; the right under col. dooly, the left under col. clarke and the center led by the commander himself, with orders not to fire a gun until within at least thirty paces. as the center, led by pickens, marched to the attack, boyd met them at the head of a select party, his line being protected by a fence filled with fallen timber, which gave him a great advantage over the troops in front. observing this half formed abatis, pickens filed off to a rising ground on his right, and thence gaining the flank of boyd rushed upon him with great bravery, the enemy fleeing when they saw their leader shot down before them. he was sustained in this charge by dooly and clarke, and the enemy after fighting with great bravery, retired across the creek, but were rallied by major spurgen on a hill beyond, where the battle was again renewed with fierceness. but col. clarke, with about fifty georgians, having discovered a path leading to a ford, pushed through it, though in doing so he encountered a severe fire and had his horse shot down under him, and by a circuitous route rose upon the hill in the rear of spurgen, opening a deadly fire. the enemy hemmed in on both sides, fled, and were hotly pursued by the victors, until the conquest was complete. for an hour and a half, under great disadvantage and against a force almost double, had the americans maintained the now unequal contest, and though once or twice it seemed as if they must give way, especially when the tories had gained the hill and were reinforced under spurgen; yet the masterly stroke of clarke, with his few brave georgians, turned the scale, and victory, bloody indeed, but complete, was ours." the daring exploit of grace and rachael martin. at the beginning of the war of the american revolution, abram and elizabeth martin were living in ninety six district, now edgefield county, south carolina, with their nine children. seven of their eight sons were old enough to enter the army, and were noted for their gallantry and patriotic zeal. the wives of the two eldest sons, grace waring and rachael clay, during the absence of their husbands, remained with their mother-in-law. one evening the news reached them that a courier bearing important despatches was to pass that night along the road guarded by two british officers. grace and rachael determined to waylay the party and obtain possession of the papers. disguised in their husbands' clothes, and well provided with arms, they hid in the bushes at a point on the road where the escort must pass. darkness favored their plans and when the courier and his guards approached they were completely taken by surprise by the suddenness of the attack. they had no choice but to surrender. the young women took their papers, released the soldiers on parole, and hastened home to send the important documents to general greene by a trusty messenger. the paroled officers returned by the road they had come and stopping at the home of the martins, asked accommodations for the night. the hostess asked the reason for their prompt return. they replied by showing their paroles, and saying they had been taken prisoners by two rebel lads. the ladies rallied them on their lack of courage and asked if they were unarmed. they said they were armed but were suddenly taken off their guard. they went on their way the next morning without a suspicion that they owed their capture to the women whose hospitality they had claimed.--_grace l. martin, piedmont continental chapter, d. a. r._ a revolutionary puzzle. these old rhymes were written in the early part of the revolutionary war--about . if read as written they are a tribute to the king and his army, but if read downward on either side of the comma, they indicate an unmistakable spirit of rebellion to both king and parliament. the author is unknown: hark, hark, the trumpet sounds, the din of war's alarms o'er seas and solid grounds, doth call us all to arms who for king george doth stand, their honors shall soon shine their ruin is at hand, who with the congress join. the acts of parliament, in them i might delight, i hate their cursed intent, who for the congress fight the tories of the day, they are my daily toast, they soon will sneak away, who independence boast, who nonresistant hold, they have my hand and heart may they for slaves be sold, who act the whiggish part, on mansfield, north and bute, may daily blessings pour, confusion and dispute, on congress evermore; to north and british lord, may honors still be done, i wish to block and cord, to general washington. south carolina in the revolution. (prize essay written by miss leota george of sandy springs in competition for the medal offered by cateechee chapter, d. a. r., to english class in anderson college, s. c.) south carolina had a large share in winning american independence. several decisive battles were fought on her soil. for the struggle she furnished far-sighted statesmen, brilliant leaders for the battlefield, and troops of patriotic, devoted men. her daughters brought to the conflict immeasurable aid, comfort and influence. the men of south carolina saved their own state and were able to give invaluable aid to their countrymen in other sections. south carolina had been settled by the huguenots, english, scotch-irish, welsh and germans--people from the sturdiest and most progressive countries of the world. their experiences in their new environment tended to make them independent and self-reliant. their years of hardships and strifes only served to make them more vigorous. they increased rapidly in population and built up an active trade. south carolina became one of the most prosperous of the colonies. the colonists of the lower country were people of learning and culture. the settlers of the middle and upper country were energetic, patriotic, and noble. there was no aristocracy. there were quite a number of able clergymen, skilled physicians, and well trained lawyers among the south carolinians. they had wealth without luxury. they suffered no religious restraint. every circumstance helped to develop them into a distinctive, independent people. the injustice and selfishness of british authority at once aroused the anger of these spirited settlers. the stamp act met with general opposition. south carolina at once protested against this unjust law and would not allow the stamps to be sold. after the repeal of the stamp act great britain made a second attempt to obtain money from the colonists by placing a tax upon glass, wine, oil, paper, painter's colors and tea. the vigorous objections of the colonists caused her to withdraw the tax from everything except tea. but the colonists were unwilling to accept anything but full justice from the hands of great britain. the south carolinians had many determined and active leaders in their opposition to british tyranny and in the avowal of their rights to govern themselves. christopher gadsen, william henry drayton, arthur middleton and david ramsay impressed upon the people the necessity of fighting for their liberty and urged them to prepare for a war with england. christopher gadsen, thomas lynch, john rutledge, arthur middleton and edward rutledge were chosen by the south carolinians to represent them at the first continental congress at philadelphia in . these men had had a prominent part in that meeting. the broad-minded, far-sighted christopher gadsen was the first man to see that independence must eventually come. at this meeting he was the first to suggest absolute independence. william henry drayton concluded one of his speeches in south carolina with this excellent advice: "let us offer ourselves to be used as instruments of god in this work in order that south carolina may become a great, a free, a pious and a happy people." on march , , the provincial congress adopted a new constitution and south carolina became a free and independent state. she was the first of the thirteen colonies to set up a government of her own. john rutledge was made president and henry vice-president. the first battle of the revolution was fought november , , when two british war vessels made an unsuccessful attack on a south carolina vessel. the british suffered their first complete defeat in america at charles town, june , . under sir peter parker the enemy attacked ft. moultrie. under the blue carolina flag with its crescent and the word "liberty," upon it, the patriots, with col. moultrie as leader, courageously resisted the attack. in this battle the immortal jasper braved the enemy's fire in rescuing the fallen flag and replacing it upon the fort. the splendid victory at ft. moultrie gave more confidence to the colonists and inspired them with new zeal. the colonists under william thompson defeated the british in a second attempt to take charles town in june, . for about two years following this battle the british army abandoned their attempt to conquer south carolina. however, she was far from being peaceful during this period. her settlers were not a homogeneous people. no bond of sympathy united them in fighting for a common cause. bands of tories had formed in the interior and were as difficult to overcome as the british themselves. under fletchall and cunningham they committed many bloody outrages and did an incalculable amount of harm. they stirred up strife among the indians and acquired their aid in fighting the patriots. some of the severest struggles of the revolution took place between the opposing factions in south carolina. andrew williamson, james williams and andrew pickens were active in defending the upland country against the tories and indians. in april and may of the british under gen. clinton again attacked charles town. for three months four thousand ill-fed, ill-clad, and undisciplined patriots withstood the attacks of twelve thousand of the best of the british troops. finally, the south carolinians were forced to surrender. fast following this defeat came pillage, devastations and repeated disasters. in the upper country the british under cruel tarleton followed up their victories with bloody outrages. clinton left cornwallis in command of the british forces in the south. the cruelties of this officer greatly aroused the anger of the carolinians. sumter, marion and pickens suddenly appeared upon the scene of battle. they rallied the scattered forces and began their peculiar mode of warfare. by means of the ingenuity and indomitable courage of sumter, the spirited "game cock," the enemy was harassed and numerous little victories were won from them. these successes were a great encouragement to the carolinians. sumter, aided by patriot bands under john thomas, thomas brandon and edward hampton, succeeded in driving the british out of northern carolina. about this time, gates and dekalb were sent to the relief of the south. on account of the poor generalship of gates the americans were defeated at camden, august , , by the enemy under the command of cornwallis. francis marion, the elusive "swamp fox," made repeated attacks upon the british forces and with the help of sumter, harden and mcdonald, again gained control of the upper country. on october , , sumter's men led by lacey, williams, and hill helped to win a battle from the enemy under ferguson at kings mountain. in january, , gen. daniel morgan of virginia, aided by andrew pickens with his body of riflemen, won a complete victory over the british at cowpens. gen. greene had brought some troops into south carolina. the combined forces of sumter, pickens, marion, lee and greene gradually drove the british into charles town. charles town was evacuated december , . south carolina's activities were not confined to her own borders. on several occasions she had sent troops to georgia to help defend this feeble colony. the south carolinians had captured a supply of powder in the early part of the war and sent it north to washington at the critical point where his supply had given out. it was a south carolinian who had secured aid from france for the patriots. this was exceedingly important since the french army and fleet played an important part in the capture of cornwallis at yorktown. in the great fight for independence south carolina did her share of the fighting and more than this. besides furnishing brilliant leaders and brave soldiers for the battlefield, she produced eloquent orators and wise statesmen to help manage the affairs of the colonists during this trying period. among the foremost of her statesmen was henry laurens. in he succeeded john hancock as president of the continental congress. he proved himself an efficient and wise officer. on his way to seek aid from the dutch he was captured by the british and imprisoned in the tower of london. at the close of the war he was exchanged for cornwallis. he then went to paris, where he was one of the commissioners who signed the treaty of peace between great britain and the united states. john laurens, a son of henry laurens, was also prominent in the management of the civil affairs of the colonists. it was he who secured aid from france. never has anyone been sent from america to europe on so important mission. by his tact and unusual abilities he succeeded in the task in which franklin had failed. christopher gadsen, arthur middleton, william henry drayton, and david ramsey were the great orators of south carolina during the revolution period. at the beginning of the war they accomplished much by inspiring their fellow-countrymen with patriotism and courage. john rutledge, charles cotesworth pinckney and thomas pinckney had much to do with managing the affairs of the province during the war. the distinguished generals, sumter, pickens, marion and hampton rendered valuable service as statesmen--services which are apt to be overlooked on account of these men being such efficient partisan officers. the men who signed the declaration of independence for south carolina were thomas heyward, thomas lynch, arthur middleton and edward rutledge. south carolina's women were as loyal, devoted, and heroic as her men. they supplied the soldiers with many comforts by knitting and weaving garments for them. in some instances they took an active part in the struggle. mrs. thomas and mrs. dillard made perilous rides to warn the patriots of impending attacks of the enemy. we will long remember the patriotic spirit and self-sacrifice exhibited by mrs. motte when she showed the americans how to set fire to her own house in which the british were fortified. mrs. bratton nursed some wounded british soldiers who had threatened to kill her the day before. our state has sufficient cause to be proud of her noble women of the revolution. the difficulties under which south carolina labored throughout the long struggle only add to her glory and honor. next to georgia she was the feeblest of the colonies. at the beginning of the war she had only ten thousand available men. there were heavy drains upon her limited resources. much of the ammunition used during the war was captured from the british. reaping hooks and mowing scythes were used for weapons when the supply of guns was inadequate. saws were taken from sawmills to be made into swords. lead was removed from the housetops and churches to be run into bullets. the soldiers had not half enough tents, camp kettles, and canteens. clothes, food and medicines were often lacking. added to all this were the strifes created by the insurgent royalists and indians. when we view the remarkable successes of the south carolinians in the light of all these conditions, we can but agree with the great historian bancroft in his opinion that "the sons of south carolina suffered more, dared more and achieved more than the men of any other state." lyman hall. lyman hall, one of the signers of the declaration of independence, was born in wallingford, conn., april , . he was the son of hon. john hall and mary street. in lyman hall was graduated from yale college in a class of twenty-eight members. he then studied theology. in the twenty-eighth year of his age he moved to dorchester, s. c., and for many years ministered to the needs of those sturdy people. many of these settlers removed to liberty county, georgia. along with the second stream of immigration came lyman hall. when the storm of the revolution began to lower, dr. hall promptly took sides with the patriots and to them he was a tower of strength. dr. hall was chairman of the meeting at midway, february th, , which sent delegates to the meeting at charleston. he was elected to represent the people of st. john's parish in the continental congress, march , . when the declaration of independence was signed, lyman hall, button gwinnett and george walton, in behalf of the inhabitants of georgia, affixed their names to the famous document. when the british troops overran georgia, the property of those who had espoused the patriot cause was confiscated and destroyed, and dr. hall's residence at sunbury and his plantation near midway were despoiled. with his family he removed to the north where he resided till , when he returned to georgia and settled in savannah. in dr. hall was elected governor of georgia and his administration was one of the most important in the history of the state. after the expiration of his term of office as governor, he returned to savannah and again took up the practice of medicine. he removed to burke county in and settled upon a fine plantation near shell bluff. here he died, october , , at the age of sixty-seven, and was buried in a brick vault on a bold bluff overlooking the river. in his remains were removed to augusta and placed with those of george walton beneath the monument erected by patriotic citizens in front of the court house. in person, dr. hall was six feet tall and finely proportioned. he was a man of great courage and discretion, and withal gentle and easy in manner. he was fitted to guide the ship of state in the storm of the revolution, and though he never bore arms, or won distinction as an orator, the people felt safe with his hand at the helm. the state of georgia has fittingly perpetuated his memory by naming one of its counties for him, and, so long as liberty and patriotism shall live, so long shall the name of lyman hall be remembered.--_compiled from "men of mark of georgia."_ a romance of revolutionary times. about , the only son of sir john stirling, of scotland, was sent to one of the west india islands to look after some property. if he needed money he was to write home for it, putting a private mark on his letters. a serious illness caused him to forget the private mark, so no attention was paid to his letters with request for money. so he found himself stranded among strangers without money and without health. a kindly sea captain, whom he met, offered to take him in his vessel to connecticut without money. he gladly accepted the offer and sailed for a more healthful climate. shortly after he left the west indies, letters were received there from his father inquiring for him. the answer was sent to the father that his son had been very ill, and as he had disappeared they supposed he was dead. in the meantime young stirling had gone to stratford, connecticut, where he taught school as a means of support. he soon fell in love with one of his pupils, pretty glorianna folsom, the beauty and belle of the village. her father was a prosperous farmer. they were married in . after the birth of their first child, a young minister, who was going to scotland to be ordained, offered to hunt up his family if he would give him the necessary proofs of his identity. he did so, though reluctantly and hopelessly. the minister sailed for scotland and soon found the family who were in deep mourning for the son they had supposed dead. they were overjoyed to hear he was alive, and at once wrote him to come home by the first vessel, not waiting for his wife and child to get ready; that they would send for them later. he did so, and his sudden departure caused the gossips to decide that glorianna and her little daughters (for the second one was born after he left) had been deserted. it may have seemed a long period, but after he had had time to prepare a home for her and a quantity of beautiful clothing, he sent a ship to new york for her and she was requested to embark immediately. she found everything provided for her comfort and convenience and a servant to wait on her. they lived near stirling castle and afterwards in edinborough and young stirling succeeded to the honors and estates of the baronet in due time. glorianna was a woman of remarkable character as well as beauty, and was the mother of eighteen children.--_grace martin, piedmont continental chapter, d. a. r._ "ft. motte." "as unto the bow the cord is, so unto the man is woman, tho' she bends him she obeys him, tho' she draws him, yet she follows, useless each without the other." we have in our county of orangeburg an historic spot which rightly in name is a monument to the self-sacrifice and heroism of mrs. rebecca motte, the wife of col. isaac motte. this family had moved from charleston to st. matthew's parish and owned a beautiful plantation home on the congaree river, about where the present town of fort motte stands. as nathaniel greene, aided by the partisan leaders, drove the british from post to post back into charleston, the british fortified motte's, the chief part of the post being mrs. rebecca motte's home. the family had been driven out by the british and were living in the neighborhood. lee's and marion's men built a mound of earth, which is still to be seen, from which the riflemen could command the inside of the fort, but the house protected the enemy still. it was found necessary to burn it. they informed mrs. motte that they would probably have to burn her home, which stood in the center of the fort; she begged them that they would not consider her house of any consequence in the general cause and with great patriotism and firmness presented them with a bow and quiver of arrows and showing them how to set fire to the house, requested that they should burn it quickly. by this means the whigs threw fire on the roof, compelling the garrison commanded by lieutenant mcpherson to surrender or be roasted. mrs. motte was extremely rejoiced when she saw the garrison surrender. lee's and marion's men extinguished the flames and the house was afterwards rebuilt. some authorities say that the bow and arrows were a present sent mrs. motte from india, others that they were borrowed of a negro boy. however this may be the mound of earth is all that is now visible as a reminder of mrs. motte's sacrifice. the place where the house stood is at present a cotton field and owned by mrs. a. t. darby. time, the eradicator, will eventually wipe out the mound and all that will commemorate this brave deed will be the name, "fort motte," on the written page.--mrs. bessie goggans owen, vice-regent moultrie chapter, _in american monthly_. peter strozier. about the year , peter strozier, the hero of our story, was born in germany. we know nothing of his childhood or early life, but in manhood we know him as our worthy ancestor and find him bravely fighting for american independence. he was married to margaret dozier in his native land and he, with four brothers, came to america about the time of the out-break of the revolutionary war and settled in virginia. to the call of the country that he had come to share its reverses as well as its prosperity, and in the spirit of liberty he was ready to draw the sword when the iron heel of oppression was set upon its cherished rights. during the seven years of faithful service he gave to his country, his wife and five children were left alone in a country home, where their lives were in constant danger. but god, in his all wise providence had sent into their home an orphan boy who was left to care, as best he could, for the family. this orphan boy, whose name was captain paddy carr, was reared by our worthy ancestor, and during his life his gratitude never waned for his benefactor and benefactress. in the meantime captain carr moved the family to georgia but found the condition of affairs even worse than in virginia. the tories at this time held full sway in georgia and in no other state were they so wicked and cruel. the people were divided into two parties, the tories and the patriots. the tories were those who took the oath of allegience to the king, and those who refused to take the oath and would rather suffer and fight for american independence, were called patriots. so the tories and patriots hated each other with a bitter hatred. while these patriots, brave and liberty loving men, were fighting for their independence, the tories were left unmolested in their homes. the patriots were forced to leave their property and helpless families to the mercy of the british and tories. the tories were far worse than the british. they formed themselves into companies, roving over the country, committing all kinds of outrages; robbing and burning houses, throwing old grayheaded fathers and grandfathers into prison and driving helpless wives and children from their homes, showing mercy to no one who favored the american cause. one venerable great grandmother, margaret strozier, fell a victim to a band of these tories, who robbed and burned her home and drove her away. she walked with five children to south carolina. when the young patriot, captain carr, heard of the robbery and burning, his fiery blood boiled in his veins and he swore vengeance on all tories. henceforth he lost no opportunity to avenge the wrong done to the woman who was the only mother god had given him, and to children who were his only brothers and sisters. tradition tells us that at the point of his own gun, he captured at one time five tories and held them until his company came up, and to them he showed no mercy. having gone through the revolutionary war, which closed in , peter strozier, with his family, settled in wilkes county, georgia. tradition also tells us that he was a man of noble traits, with great force and dignity of character. his last days were passed under a silver-lined cloud, and in the old county of wilkes he lies buried today. after his death, his wife, margaret dozier strozier, who had shared with him the sufferings and hardships of the cruel war, moved to meriwether county, georgia, with her son reuben strozier, and she lies buried in the old family graveyard about four miles west of greenville, georgia, near the old strozier homestead. we can say by tradition, from generation to generation, that there sleep today no truer, no purer, no nobler ones than peter and margaret strozier. how we love and cherish the memory of our fore-fathers! so will generations, after generations, and may we never tire in our efforts to preserve the records of the lives and struggles of those who fought and bled and died for our freedom.--nannie strozier thrash. independence day. oh, happy independence day, we love thy honored name, dear happy independence day is with us once again. over a hundred years ago, this day first won its fame, and tho' the long years come and go, 'tis remembered just the same. we are a band of people true, we love our native home, its environments, its skies of blue, from it we'll never roam. let us forget the soldiers never, who battle to be free, who fought king george's army, from far across the sea. they left their dear beloved home to chase the cruel foe, o'er deserted battle fields to roam midst suffering, pain and woe. those soldiers now are sleeping to chase the cruel foe, o'er deserted battle fields to roam midst suffering pain and woe. those soldiers now are sleeping on plain, and hill, and shore, their titles we are keeping, but they'll be here no more. when wars wild note was sounded when the cry for freedom came, england's hosts had landed to win her glorious fame. alas, the british finally knew they could no longer stay, they left our brave and daring few and quickly sailed away. alas, those dreadful days are gone, no one remains to tell, of struggles made, and burdens bore, for the land we love so well. we love the mother country yet, her name we still adore, her kindness we can ne'r forget, but we'll be bound no more. oh, happy independence day how dear to us the name! oh, happy independence day is with us once again. --_by mamie crosby._ sarah gilliam williamson. the most remarkable woman who lived in georgia during the revolutionary war, perhaps, was sarah gilliam williamson. considering her loyalty to the cause of the colonies, her courage in managing the plantation and large number of negro slaves during the absence of her husband in the army, her sufferings at the hands of the enemy, together with the success of her descendants, she stands ahead of any of the georgia women of her day. sarah gilliam was born in virginia about the year . her father was william gilliam, and her mother mary jarrett, the sister of rev. devereau jarrett, the distinguished episcopal minister. sarah gilliam married micajah williamson, a young man of scotch-irish parentage. in the young couple moved to wilkes county, georgia, and settled on a fine body of land. it was while living here in peace and abundance, with their growing family around them, that the difference between the mother country and the colonies began. sarah williamson and her husband both warmly espoused the cause of the colonies, and when hostilities commenced a georgia regiment took the field with elijah clarke as colonel, and micajah williamson as lieutenant-colonel. micajah williamson was present in all the conflicts of this regiment and in the battle of kettle creek col. clarke gave him full credit for his part in winning the victory. many scenes of this nature were enacted in the neighborhood of sarah williamson's home, and this fearless woman not only witnessed the conflicts, but sometimes participated in them. her husband was twice wounded and to him she gave the care of a devoted wife, nursing him back to health and to the service of his country. year after year during this long struggle sarah williamson bravely assumed the part of both the man and the woman. under her excellent management the plantation was cultivated, supplies were furnished the army, and spinning wheels were kept busy making clothes for husband, children and slaves. thus she toiled in the face of ever-present danger, threatened always with hostile indians, cruel tories and british soldiers. finally, one day the dreaded tories, incensed at her husband's activity in the cause of the colonies, made a raid on the home and after taking all they wanted, destroyed by fire every building on the plantation, and their fiendish hearts not being yet satisfied with the suffering of this loyal woman, they hung her eldest son, a handsome youth, in the presence of his mother. her courage undaunted by this great calamity, sarah williamson had the faithful slaves gather up the remaining live stock running at large in the woods, and with her entire household went as a refugee to the mountains of north carolina, where they remained until the close of the war, when they returned to the plantation. a few years later the family moved to washington, georgia. here again it became necessary for her to manage for the family when her husband was commissioned major-general of georgia troops and led an army against the hostile cherokee indians. peace was made, however, before a battle was fought. now sarah williamson began to reap the reward her love, sacrifice, energy and labor had won. her five sons grew to be successful men, her six daughters to be refined, educated and beautiful women, who became the wives of prominent men. one daughter married john clarke who became governor of georgia. to this georgia mother belongs the distinguished honor of being the first american woman to furnish from her descendants two justices of the supreme court of the united states; justice john a. campbell of alabama was her grandson, and justice l. q. c. lamar of georgia and mississippi was her great grandson.--ruby felder ray, _state historian, d. a. r._ a colonial hiding place. in sailing up the hudson river, about one hundred miles above new york, you will discover on the west side a rather broad estuary, named by the old dutch settlers, the katterskill creek. this creek flows through a cleft in the mountains, known in the quaint language of the dutch as the katterskill clove. this clove, nature's pass through the mountains, was well known, and used by the tribes of the six nations, and especially by the vindictive, and blood thirsty mohawks, as an easy trail by which they would descend upon the peace-loving and thrifty dutch settlers; kill all the men who had not fled for refuge to the strong stone houses which were specially built for defence; capture the women and children, and kill all the live stock. on the peninsula between the river and the creek, the latter being wide and deep enough to float the magnificent steamers which ply between albany and new york, stood the colonial mansion to which your attention is called. this mansion, for it was a splendid structure for those days, and the term would not be a misnomer in these, was built in by a madam dies, a dutch matron, who afterwards married an english army officer. this man was so infatuated with his dutch "vrow," and her wealth, that he deserted the colors, and would hide from search parties in the place to be hereinafter described. the house was built of the gray sand stone found in that region, and was two stories high, with a capacious cellar, and an immense garret. the walls were nearly three feet thick, set in cement, which became so hard that when the day of destruction came a few years ago, the workmen were unable to tear the walls apart, but had to blow them down with dynamite. one hundred and fifty years had that cement been setting, and it was as hard as the stone itself. in the cellar was a well to provide water in case of siege by the indians, and heat was obtained by huge fire places in each of the eight large rooms, the smoke from which was carried off by two giant chimneys, and on one of these chimneys hangs the tale which is the excuse for this article. madam dies, true to her name, was gathered to her fathers, and her craven husband went to the place prepared for those who desert their colors. leaving no direct heirs, the house with its ten acres of grounds, and known from its elegance and size as "dies folly" passed into other hands, and finally, early in the nineteenth century, was purchased by major ephriam beach, and remained in the family for nearly one hundred years, until destroyed by the exigencies of business. the huge chimneys reared their massive proportions in the center of each side of the house, and major beach, wishing to rearrange the interior of his dwelling, tore down the one on the north side. as it was being taken down, brick by brick, they came to where it passed through the garret, and there the workmen discovered a secret recess capable of holding several people. it was cunningly conceived with the entrance so arranged as to exactly resemble the brick composing the chimney, and an enemy might hunt for days and fail to discover the secret hiding place. it was evidently intended as a concealed refuge in case the house should be captured by the indians, but so far as known was never used for that purpose, the village never being attacked after the house was built. some dishes and a water jar which were found in the hidden chamber, served to prove that the husband of madam dies used it to conceal himself from the british soldiers when they were hunting him, but apart from that undignified proceeding it was never used. [illustration: the old liberty bell. "proclaim liberty throughout all the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof."] the house was well known to be haunted, and there are many well authenticated ghost stories told in connection with it; but the spooks were a decent and well behaved lot, and never disturbed the writer, who spent many years within its substantial walls. the daughter of the writer was the last of my children born therein, and she never saw even a fairy godmother, although both of her grandmothers hovered around her cradle. the writer, edward cunningham beach, is a grandson of major ephriam beach, herein mentioned and the baby daughter in aforesaid is mrs. barrett cothran, of atlanta, georgia.--_council safety chapter, d. a. r._ a hero of the revolution. the descendants of grace (pittman) mcarthur still tell to their children the story of philip pittman, her father, as it has been handed down from father to son. philip was born july , . he was one of eleven children of john and mary pittman. his father served in the revolution, as matross in capt. harman davis' company, th artillery regiment of south carolina, commanded by col. barnard beckman. though too young, probably, to enlist, the revolutionary fires burned so brightly in the young patriot's breast that he was ready to give his life to his country even though he might not carry sabre or musket. as the story goes, philip was overtaken by tories at one time while he was making his way over the country with provisions for his father john and some comrades. thinking this an easy way to find out the whereabouts of the patriot army the tories commanded the boy to tell where his father was, but they reckoned without their host. the boy stoutly refused to tell, and even though strung up and hung to a near by limb until almost too near dead to talk, he still refused. whereupon the officer, moved perhaps by the extreme youth of the boy, ripped out an oath and ordered him cut down, remarking that the ---- rascal would die before he would tell. philip did not die, but lived to grow to manhood, enlisted in the war and served as one of georgia's soldiers line in the revolutionary war. he was three times married, raised a large family of children whose allegiance to their country was only equaled by that of their father. philip died in south-west georgia, july , .--mrs. j. d. tweedy, (lula mcarthur), dawson, ga., dorothy walton chapter, d. a. r. john paul jones. what american or french girl or boy does not like to hear of that "wizard" of the sea,--john paul jones! that "pirate," as he was called by the english minister in holland, when jones took his captured prizes there, but he was no more a pirate than you or i. the word pirate means one who is at war with mankind, and john paul was holding an honest position in an honorable service and fighting only the enemies of his adopted country--america. he was born july th, , at arbigland, scotland, of poor and obscure parents, his father being a gardener, but the right material was in him to make a great man and he won for himself a world-wide fame as a leading figure in the american navy. the only conquerer to whom he ever lowered his colors was death. at twelve years of age he was apprenticed, then went to sea on the "friendship" to visit his brother william paul, in virginia. while in north carolina, in , he changed his surname to jones for the love he bore to a family of that name living there. to show what one can do when he tries and has faith in himself, i will tell you that jones was a poor sailor at twelve, officer at seventeen, naval lieutenant at twenty-eight, captain at twenty-nine, commodore at thirty-two, at forty-one a vice-admiral in the imperial navy of russia, at forty-three a prominent figure in the french revolution, and died at the age of forty-five, deeply deplored by napoleon, who expected to do great things in conjunction with him. jones loved france and france loved him, and with him and france we were able to gain our liberty from the british yoke. he loved america because he loved liberty, and he put all his grand titles aside when making his last will and testament to sign himself, "i, john paul jones, an american citizen." such men as washington, franklin, hamilton and lafayette, were his staunch friends. kings and queens delighted to do him favor. louis xvi knighted him and presented him with a sword of honor. catherine, of russia, made him an admiral and loaded him with honors. these are only a few of his distinguished friends. in personal appearance he was slender and swarthy, with black hair and eyes; always well dressed, graceful and courtly. he was as much at home at the most aristocratic courts of europe as when treading the deck of a man-of-war. he was grave by nature, but quite witty. a kinder heart never beat in the breast of any man. he hoisted the first american flag that ever flew from an american war vessel, on his ship, the "ranger," and at the same time congress decided to accept the present form of the flag, it made him captain of the "ranger," hence his remark: "the flag and i are twins; born at the same hour, from the same womb of destiny; we cannot be parted in life or death." february th, , the french naval commander, lea motte piquet, saluted for the first time from a foreign power the stars and stripes,--gave thirteen and received nine guns. just a word right here about the flag, so dear to us: when betsy ross made our flag, she objected to the six pointed stars that general washington wanted, because the english used it, but told him it would be more appropriate to use the five pointed star that the french and dutch used, as they were friendly to the colonies; and she had her way. i haven't space to tell of the many victories of jones, but one of the greatest was when he captured the "serapis" from the british, september , . his own little weak vessel, the "bonhomme richard" went down with the flag flying, but just before it sank, his antagonist thought he was about to give up the fight, and asked him "if he had struck his flag?" he answered, "i've just begun to fight." so he won the battle and captured the prize. jones died july , , in paris, of dropsy of the chest. he was buried in the old st. louis cemetery, in the northeastern part of paris, and lay there one hundred and thirteen years before he was brought back to the united states. general horace porter is the man who, after six long years of search, finally found his body in the old cemetery, which by this time was the dumping ground for horses and dogs. the body had been put in a leaden coffin, carefully packed with straw and hay, and then filled with alcohol to preserve it. rear admiral c. d. sigsbee, was sent to france to bring the remains of the hero home. knowing jones' love for our flag, the daughters of the american revolution society presented admiral sigsbee with a beautiful silk flag, june th, , to be used in connection with the return of jones' remains. afterward it was hung in continental hall, washington, d. c. on july , , the body of jones was placed in a brick vault, naval academy grounds, annapolis, with religious and military ceremonies. on april , , commemorative ceremonies were held in the armory of the naval academy, annapolis, and then the casket was put in bancroft hall. here all that is mortal of the conquerer of the "serapis" lies, and in the battles of life when the odds seem against us, may we be able to exclaim with him, "i've just begun to fight."--mrs. w. e. wimpy, piedmont continental chapter, d. a. r. the real georgia cracker. there was a man named oglethorpe, who didn't like old england's laws; so he got into his little ship, and sailed it straight across. he swung around carolina's point and landed at a bluff; and when he found the soil so rich, he said--"tis good enough." he named the place savannah, and then laid off a town, you ought to seed the taters, that grew thar in the ground. he planted cotton, rice and corn, and then a patch of backer: that was the first beginning, of the real georgia cracker. then he got some mules and plows, and sat the boys to hoeing; ever since they stirred the soil, the georgia cracker has been growing. but now--where once those taters grew, mount twenty tall church steeples; and the place he named savannah, dwell nigh a hundred thousand people. will stand a living factor; while angels guard it overhead, god bless the georgia cracker. in chippewa his monument, jesup, ga. --_l. g. lucas._ the dying soldier who gave his wife for his friend. many years ago there lived in virginia a little boy whose name was john davenport. his father was a farmer who planted and raised large crops of tobacco in the fields about his home. his parents were good and wise people, and carefully brought up and trained their children. john was a good boy. he was honest, truthful, obedient, bold and strong. if he had any thing to do, either in work or play, he did it well. he grew up like other boys of his day. he went to school and made many friends among his playmates by his manly conduct. there lived in the same county in virginia another little boy of strong and sterling character whose name was harry burnley. these two little boys were near neighbors and great friends, and they played and hunted and fished together all during their early boyhood days. when john davenport was quite a young man he met and married lucy barksdale, a girl of great merit and beauty who was just sixteen years old at the time of their marriage in . this couple spent many happy days together; children came to gladden their home; and life looked rosy and bright before them. as these peaceful and happy days were gliding by in their virginia home a tempest was gathering--a great war cloud--which was destined to bring much sorrow to this happy pair. england, the mother country, who at first dealt kindly and justly with the colonists, had begun to be unkind to them and to tax them unjustly. these oppressive and burdensome taxes the colonists refused to pay. england sent over trained soldiers to the american colonies to enforce obedience to her unjust laws. the colonists were weak, and had no trained soldiers; but they raised an army and determined to fight for their liberties. so war began. after the declaration of independence by the patriots on july th, , john davenport, ever true to his country and his convictions of right and wrong, though regretting to leave his beautiful young wife and his happy children, took up arms to fight for liberty. harry burnley went with him to fight for the same noble cause. they were both brave soldiers and fought in most of the prominent battles of the revolutionary war. they were mess-mates and bunk-mates throughout the war. on the night of march th, , while the two opposing armies were encamped near greensboro, at guilford court house, north carolina, and stood ready to join in bloody battle the next day, these two devoted friends were sitting by their camp fire, talking of the coming battle and thinking of their loved ones at home. john davenport seemed sad and much depressed. harry burnley noticed his depression and asked him why he was no downcast. he said, "harry, somehow i feel that i will be killed in battle tomorrow. i almost know it." harry burnley tried to dissipate his gloomy forebodings and cheer him up, by laughing at him and by making light of presentiments and by tusseling with him, but all without success. determined to cheer up his friend, harry finally said, "john, if you are killed tomorrow, i am going back home and marry your widow," harry being an unmarried man. on the next day the cruel battle was fought. the ground was covered with dead and dying men, soldiers on both sides, covered with blood and dust. one of these soldiers was john davenport. he had been wounded and would die; and he was suffering from both pain and thirst. when the battle was over, his devoted friend hurried to his side and found him mortally wounded. when he found him, skulkers were stripping him of the silver buckles which he wore.[ ] he was tenderly nursed by his life-long friend during the few hours that he lived. realizing that the end was near, john davenport said to his friend, "harry, i am dying; and you remember last night you said to me in jest that if i lost my life today, that you were going home and marry lucy. you have been my best friend, you are a noble and good man, and i now ask you in earnest to do as you said you would in jest--go back home after the war is over, marry my wife, and take care of her and my five little children." about one year after the death of john davenport, harry burnley and mrs. lucy davenport were married. several years later they moved to warren county, georgia, where they lived and died and were buried. mrs. lucy davenport burnley was the mother of fourteen children, five by her first marriage and nine by her second. among her descendants are to be found very many noble men and women in america--distinguished as writers, lawyers and educators, and in every walk of life. many of her sons and grandsons have sacrificed their lives for their country.--mrs. annie davidson howell. footnote: [ ] these skulkers in their hurry to get away left five silver buckles and epaulettes which were exhibited at the exposition in new orleans some years ago. when ben franklin scored. long after the victories of washington over the french and the english had made his name familiar to all europe, benjamin franklin was a guest at a dinner given in honor of the french and english ambassadors. the ambassador from england arose and drank a toast to his native land: "to england--the sun whose bright beams enlighten and fructify the remotest corners of the earth." the french ambassador, filled with his own national pride, but too polite to dispute the previous toast, offered the following: "to france--the moon whose mild, steady, and cheering rays are the delight of all nations, consoling them in darkness and making their dreariness beautiful." then arose "old ben franklin," and said in his slow but dignified way: "to george washington--the joshua who commanded the sun and the moon to stand still, and they obeyed him." a revolutionary baptizing. after the cold winter at valley forge, captain charles cameron was sent home to augusta county, virginia, to recruit his company. on his way back to the continental army, he and his men captured a tory on the right bank of the potomac river and decided to convert him, by baptism, into a loyal patriot. taking him down to the river bank they plunged him in. once--"hurrah for king george!" came from the struggling tory as he arose from the water. twice--"hurrah for king george! long live king george!" the tory was again on top. three times--"hurrah for king george! long live king george! king george forever!" the men looked helplessly at their captain. "loose him," were the orders, "and let him go. he is unconvertible." george walton. the youngest of the three signers of the declaration of independence, from georgia, was george walton, who was born in prince edward county, virginia, in . he became an orphan when quite young and his guardian did not care to be burdened with his education, so he was given to a carpenter as an apprentice and put to hard work. after his days work he would light a fire of fat pine and study until the wee small hours of the night, thus gaining an education most boys would let go by. the good carpenter, seeing him so industriously inclined and anxious for an education, allowed him to keep the money he earned and helped him all he could and at last relieved him of his apprenticeship, and he then decided to come to georgia. at twenty years of age he went (by private conveyance) to savannah, which was then a small town of only a few thousand people. he studied law in the office of henry young and was soon admitted to the bar. in june, , a call signed by george walton, noble w. jones, archibald bullock and john houston, was issued asking people to meet at liberty pole to take measures to bring about a union of georgia with her sister colonies in the cause of freedom. the meeting was a success, a council of safety chapter organized, of which george walton was a member, the union flag was raised at the liberty pole, and patriotic speeches were made. in july, , a congress of representatives from all over georgia was held in savannah. this congress has been called "georgia's first secession convention" for it declared the colony was no longer bound by the acts of england, since the mother country was acting unjustly and oppressively. george walton was present and though only twenty-six years old, he was recognized as one of the most influential representatives of the convention. in december, , george walton became president of the council of safety and practically had charge of the colony. he was sent as a delegate to the continental congress in philadelphia in . the war had begun and the country was much excited. it was decided that independence was the only proper course, so july th, , the declaration of independence was signed by all delegates. in , george walton married dorothy chamber; he was governor of georgia, then he went back to philadelphia as a member of congress, where he stayed until october, . in december, , he became colonel in the first regiment of foot militia for the defence of georgia. the british were then bent on capturing savannah. col. walton with one hundred men was posted on the south common to guard the approach to great ogeeche ferry. general robert howe was in command of the american forces, and colonel walton had informed him of a pass through the swamp by which the enemy could attack them in rear, but general howe paid no attention to this. the result was this pass being left unguarded, the british made their way to the rear of the american forces and fell upon them with great disaster. col. walton was shot in the thigh, the bone being broken; and falling from his horse, was captured by the british. the enemy entered savannah and held that city captive. col. walton was taken prisoner to sunbury, where he was well cared for until his recovery. he never, however, regained complete use of his leg, for he limped the rest of his life. he was exchanged for a captain of the british navy and proceeded to augusta. soon after his return to augusta he was made governor of georgia, but the state being so over-run by british, he had little to do. peace came to the colonists in , and the british withdrew from savannah. america was free and the states independent in . george walton was made chief justice of georgia, and for seven years was a beloved judge in all parts of georgia. in he was again made governor of georgia for a term of one year. while he was governor he received a copy of the constitution of the united states which had been framed by the delegates from all the states. in and , george walton was sent as a senator to the congress of the united states. for many years, and up to the time of his death he was judge of the middle circuit of georgia. during the latter part of his life, his home was near augusta at a beautiful country place named meadow garden. the house is still standing, and was bought by the daughters of the american revolution, and is being preserved by them as a memorial to george walton. he died february nd, , at meadow garden, in the fifty-fifth year of his life. he was buried several miles from augusta, at rosney, here his body rested until , when it was reinterred, being brought to augusta and placed under the monument on greene street, in front of court house, the body of lyman hall being placed there at the same time. the grave of button gwinnett could not be found; so only two of the signers of the declaration rest under this stately memorial. few men have received as many honors as george walton. he was six times elected representative to congress, twice governor of georgia, once a senator of the united states, four times judge of the superior court, once the chief justice of the state. he was a commissioner to treat with the indians, often in the state legislature, a member of nearly every important committee on public affairs during his life. his name occurs in the state's annals for over thirty years of eventful and formative history.--_compiled from "men of mark of georgia."_ thomas jefferson. in writing of a man like jefferson, whose name has been a household word since the birth of the nation, it is well-nigh impossible to avoid being commonplace; so that in the beginning, i ask you indulgence, if in reviewing his life, i should recount facts that are as familiar to you as the decalogue. yet, in studying that life, i find such a richness of achievement, such an abundance of attainment, such a world of interest, that i am at a loss how to prepare a paper that will not require an extra session for its reading. thomas jefferson was the eldest child of a seemingly strange union; the father, an uneducated pioneer, surveyor, and indian fighter, living in the mountains of virginia--the mother, jane randolph, coming from the best blood of that blue blooded commonwealth. i think we need dig no further around jefferson's family tree in order to understand how a gentleman of education, culture, and aristocratic instincts could affect a dress so different from men of his class, and could so deeply and sincerely love the masses as to spend his life in their behalf. and this he certainly did. he worked, thought, planned, and accomplished for them--yet, throughout his life, his associations were always with the upper classes. he began life in , in the small village of shadwell, va., where he spent his childhood and youth among the freedom of the hills. afterwards, whenever he escaped from public duty, it was to retire to this same neighborhood, for it was on one of his ancestral hills that monticello was built. thanks to his mother, he was carefully educated at william and mary college, from which he graduated at the age of eighteen. the brittanica draws the following picture of him as a young man: "he was an expert musician, a good dancer, a dashing rider, proficient in all manly exercises; a hard student; tall, straight, slim, with hazel eyes, sandy hair, delicate skin, ruddy complexion; frank, earnest, sympathetic, cordial, full of confidence in men, and sanguine in his views of life." is not that a pleasing portrait? being the eldest son, his father's death, while he was at college, left him heir to his estate of nineteen hundred acres, so that he could live very comfortably. jefferson lived in a day when a man's wealth was measured in great part by the land he owned. it is indicative of his thrift and energy that his nineteen hundred acres soon grew to five thousand--"all paid for," we are told. indeed, he was strictly honest in paying his debts. he was a born farmer, and to the end of his life retained his love for that mode of existence. however, he chose the law for his profession. that he did not have to watch his practice grow through a long season of painful probation is shown by the record of sixty-eight cases before the chief court of the province during the first year after his admission to the bar, and nearly twice that many the second year. although, as i said, he loved a farmer's life, he was allowed little leisure to follow it, serving in succession as member of the virginia house of burgesses, member of congress, governor of virginia, member of congress again, minister to france, secretary of state, vice-president, and president. perhaps many other men have served the public for as long a term, but i challenge history to find another who has accomplished so much for his country. from the founding of jamestown to the present day, no man, washington not excepted, has had the influence over the nation that jefferson wielded. to have been the author of the great declaration, it would seem, were fame enough for one american, but for him that was only the beginning. independence achieved, he set about making his own state really free and introduced into the virginia legislature bill after bill which cut off the excresences of a monarchial system, lingering in the practices of a new-born nation. these bills were not all carried when he proposed them, by any means, but hear what, in the end they gave to virginia, and remember that these things came through the efforts of one man: religious freedom, the fight for which began in ' and continued till ; the system of entails broken up; the importation of slaves prohibited, and primo-geniture discontinued. jefferson was not a fluent speaker, but a clear thinker. besides this, he had a great antipathy to appearing in print. therefore, when it was necessary to say or do anything, he had only to tell somebody what to say or do, and the thing was accomplished. leicester ford, who has compiled a very thorough life of jefferson, says that "he influenced american thought more than any other person, yet boasted that he never wrote for the press. by means of others, he promulgated that mars of doctrine, nowhere formulated, known as the jeffersonian principles." the doctrine that goes by the name of monroe was probably his also. that the principles of the democratic party have remained unchanged from his day to ours only shows the clearness and correctness of his logic. not only is this true, but he thoroughly and conscientiously believed in the things he taught, the theory of states rights being a child of his own brain. during his two terms as president, and throughout the remainder of his life, such was the faith of his party in his wisdom, foresight, and political integrity, that he had only to express a wish, and it became, unquestioned, the law of the land. after his retirement, his party proposed no measure until a visit was first made to the "sage of monticello," and his opinion obtained. president followed president, jefferson became old and infirm, but to the day of his death, he was undisputed leader of the american nation. did he not deserve the name of seer? years before the revolution, he warned the people against slavery, declaring that "nothing is more certainly written in the book of fate than that these people are to be free." he owned the slaves that came to him from his father and his wife, but is said never to have purchased any. among the things accomplished during his presidency are the extermination of the mediterranean pirates, the exploration of the west, public debt diminished, emigration of indians beyond the mississippi promoted, and the wonderful louisiana purchase. though his second term was clouded by constant war in europe, and the continued depredations on american commerce, at its close, he was urged to serve for the third term, the legislatures of five states requesting it, showing that he was not held responsible for the condition of affairs. his was a many sided nature. great statesman that he was, great political scientist, his ability did not stop there. his interest in commerce, agriculture, literature, history, music, education, and the natural sciences was unbounded, and his private collections, perhaps, were unexcelled at that time. no man has done more for the cause of education among us than he. he it was who proposed a bill for "the free training of all free children, male and female." this was ten years before the admission of girls to the common schools of boston. his reason for wanting good schools in virginia was unique--he said he objected to being a beggar for the crumbs that fell from the tables of the north. he pleaded for nonsectarian schools, and was, therefore, called by many atheistic. this was one of the obstacles that he had to overcome in his fight for the university of virginia. princeton was then sectarian--william and mary was controlled by the episcopal church. the result of all this thought and desire exists for us today in the university of virginia--the first real university in america. thomas nelson page says, "no stranger story of self sacrifice and devotion to a high ideal in the face of trials, which to lesser genius might have appeared insurmountable, and of disappointments which to less courage must have proved fatal, has ever been written than that which recounts the devotion of the last twenty years of the life of thomas jefferson to the establishment of a great university." the corner stone of central college, which was afterwards enlarged to the university of virginia, was laid in by president monroe, in the presence of jefferson and madison, ex-presidents. not only did jefferson see the need for this school, and work to carry it through, but he actually drew the plans for the buildings, modelling them after those of ancient greece and rome. page says, to quote from the same author--and, if you want to read an interesting book, read his "old dominion"--"if any pile of buildings in the world is fitted by its beauty to be the abode of philosophy it is this. * * * * the university has excelled in scholastic results any similar institution in the country. she has a larger representation in congress than any other, a larger representation on the bench and a larger representation in the medical departments of both army and navy. this has been accomplished on an income less than that of many second rate colleges." this result, and the high standard prevailing in the university today, have more than justified jefferson for all his labor. his constant refrain was, "we are working for posterity." the project was in his brain five years before he began work on it. one of his proudest titles is "father of the university of virginia." jefferson's writings consist mostly of letters and addresses, besides "a summary view of the rights of british america," written before the revolution, circulated in england, and attributed to burke, and the well known and valuable "notes on virginia." he loved his home and his family, and seems to have been peculiarly blessed in them. he married a rich young widow--martha skelton--though it does not appear that he did so because she was rich. of several children only two grew to maturity, and only one survived him. his wife lived just ten years after their marriage, and almost with her last breath begged him not to give her children a step-mother. he made and kept the promise. i know i have given a rose-colored account of him, yet some shadow belongs to the portrayal. no one could do the things that he did and not have enemies. particularly do politicians not handle each other with gloves. jefferson has been called all the ugly names in man's vocabulary, but very little, if any, real evidence can be adduced to support any of this. with all his gifts, he was unfitted to lead a people in the trying time of war; consequently, his governorship of virginia, occurring during the revolution, and his second term as president were not eminently successful. no one can deny the bitter emnity between him and hamilton any more than any one can prove that the former was more to blame than the latter. admit that he was often theoretical and visionary, yet the work he accomplished proves that he was even more practical and farsighted. that he was not free from idiosyncrasies is shown by the manner in which he went to his first inauguration, and the fact that he always dressed as a farmer--never as a president. all this was to prove his steadfastness of faith in democratic ways and institutions. he would not indulge in making a formal speech at the opening of congress, but wrote and sent his "message" by hand--a practice followed by every president since, with the exception of president wilson, . in all things he was a strict constructionist. but none of these things can detract much from the name and fame of a man who has put such foundation stones in our civilization. i have drawn my data mostly from the writings of one who holds the opposite political tenets--yet i find it recorded that "jefferson's personal animosities were few"--that he couldn't long hold anger in his heart--that "to this day the multitude cherish and revere his memory, and in so doing, pay a just debt of gratitude to a friend, who not only served them, as many have done, but who honored and respected them, as very few have done." his hospitality and the public desire to see him were so great that his home was for many years a kind of unprofitable hotel, because everything was free of charge. it was always full, and sometimes his housekeeper had to provide fifty beds. this great expense, added to some security debts, left him a poor man. in fact, he was in need, but when the public found it out, money came in in sufficient quantities to enable him to continue his mode of life. like shakespeare, he wrote his own epitaph, any one item of which would entitle him to the love of posterity: "here was buried thomas jefferson, author of the declaration of american independence, of the statute of virginia, for religious freedom, and father of the university of virginia." i fear i have been tedious, i know i have been trite--yet i beg you to read for yourselves the history and letters of this great man. that his death occurred on the th day of july, , just fifty years from the day when the wonderful declaration was made, and coincident with that of his former colleague, another ex-president, seems a fitting close to a most remarkable career. orators of the american revolution. miss susie gentry, _vice state regent, tennessee_. time, the artificer, makes men, as well as things, for their day and use. the revolution was the evolution of an idea--one inherent in all humanity--liberty! first, was the thought of a home, the most sacred and best of man's sanctuaries. these pioneer colonists, fleeing from religious persecution, debt and poverty, often came to an untrodden wilderness of limitless forest and plain, to form a local habitation and a name. after the establishment of the home, education and its application followed, through the teaching and oratory of the pulpit to the white man and indian. next in order was self-government. the revolutionary period was productive not only of the general and soldier, but the statesman and orator, who set forth the "grievances of the people" in most glowing and convincing terms. the term "orator" has two specific meanings--in common language, one who delivers an oration, a public speaker; and technically, one who prays for relief, a petitioner. the orators of the revolutionary period were both in one. the true orator is the poet of the practical. he must be an enthusiast; he must be sincere; he must be fearless, and as simple as a child; he must be warm and earnest, able to play upon the emotions, as a skillful musician his instrument that responds to his every touch, be it ever so light and delicate. so shall his words descend upon the people like cloven tongues of fire, inspiring, sanctifying, beautifying and convincing; for an orator's words are designed for immediate effect. when the "stamp act" was repealed, march , , jonathan mayhew delivered a thrilling speech, known as "a patriot's thanksgiving," in which he said: "the repeal has restored things to order. the course of justice is no longer obstructed. all lovers of liberty have reason to rejoice. blessed revolution! how great are our obligations to the supreme governor of the world!" even the conservatives, benjamin franklin and george washington, take of the promethean fire of patriotism; it is seen in franklin's writings, in washington's "farewell address"--his masterpiece of prophetic admonition, delivered in the style and diction of a gifted orator. a long and faithful career of usefulness, and the very human touch he had gained as a soldier and general, particularly during that terrible year of , developed the hitherto unknown gift. of the men who composed the second colonial and first continental congress, which met at philadelphia, september , , william pitt said in his speech to the house of lords: "history has always been my favorite study, and in the celebrated writings of antiquity i have often admired the patriotism of greece and rome, but, my lords, i must avow that in the master states of the world i know not a people or senate who can stand in preference to the delegates of america assembled in general congress at philadelphia." samuel adams was one of the foremost orators and patriots of america, and was of massachusetts' famous bouquet--james otis, joseph warren, josiah quincy, john and john quincy adams--and left his work on the history of america as a signer of the declaration of independence. james otis, next in chronological order, was a bold, commanding orator, and the first to speak against the taxing of the colonies. he was called "the silver-tongued orator" and "a flame of fire." his death was as unusual as his gift--he was killed by a stroke of lightning may, . joseph warren and josiah quincy were both men of great talents and power, warren was elected twice to deliver the oration in commemoration of the massacre of the fifth of march; he rendered efficient service by both his writing and addresses; and was distinguished as a physician, especially in the treatment of smallpox. he was killed while fighting as a volunteer at bunker hill. josiah quincy's powers as an orator were of a very high order. it is sad to think that he died the very day he reached his native land, after a voyage to europe in the interest of the colonies. one does not wonder that john adams possessed influence, when in voting for the declaration of independence he exclaimed: "sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, i give my heart and hand to this vote;" nor that the son of such a father was called "the old man eloquent" and the "champion of the rights of petition," who thought "no man's vote lost which is cast for the right." john adams is the one man who remembered liberty and the people, for when he died july , , his last words were, "it is the glorious fourth of july! god bless it--god bless you all!" from this cursory glance of the orators of massachusetts, we can well understand how, like the "alabaster box" of old, the perfume of their noble deeds for the cause of right still lingers. alexander hamilton was an orator that accomplished much for the colonies with his forceful, facile and brilliant pen, as did madison and jay, in the "federalist." patrick henry, the red feather, of the revolutionary period, as is e. w. carmack of to-day--is by the south regarded the magna stella of that marvelous galaxy of stars. it is probable that his oratory was not as much a product of nature as was thought at the time when it was so effective. it was somewhat an inheritance, as he was the great-nephew of the scotch historian robertson, and the nephew of william winston who was regarded as an eloquent speaker in his day. patrick, after six weeks study of law, we are told, commenced the practice of law (having the incumbrance of a family and poverty) and with what success, all the world knows. it was in the celebrated "parson's case" that he won his spurs, and the epithet of "the orator of nature;" also his election to the house of burgesses, of virginia. nine years after he made his famous speech in which he told george iii he might profit by the examples of caesar and charles i, he delivered his greatest effort of oratory--in which he said, "i know not what course others may take, but give me liberty, or give me death!" thomas jefferson was the father of that instrument, the declaration of independence--that gives us "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," in so far as we trespass not on the moral and civil rights of our neighbor--and was persuasive and eloquent, as well as an acute politician. he was the acknowledged head of his party; and his work was of the uttermost importance to both the colonies and states. no one politician and orator has left a more indelible impression upon succeeding generations than he. thomas paine also did his quota as an orator and writer; and great were the results accomplished by his "common sense" and the first "crisis." paine was not only a writer and orator, but a soldier. under general nathaniel greene he rendered such efficient and valuable service that he was called the "hero of fort mifflin." although he was an englishman, who came to america and espoused the cause of the continentals, the english nation are glad to own him. william cobbett (the english statesman) says "whoever wrote the declaration, paine was its author." paine was one of the most noted orators, if we remember that an "orator is one who prays for relief--a petitioner," whether it be viva voce or with the pen. we wish it were possible in the time allotted to us to give extracts from the speeches and writings of these orators of the revolution. how grateful we should be, and what a debt of gratitude we owe each of them, for their labors that have long since received the encomium from god and man--"well done, thou good and faithful servant."--_american monthly._ the flag of our country. the flag of our country, how proudly it waves in the darkness of night, in the light of the sun, in silence it watches our patriots' graves, in splendor it tells of their victories won! it waves, as it waved in the brave days of old, an emblem of glory, of hope, and of life; a pledge to the world in each star and each fold of a love that endures through all danger and strife. of love that is deep as the sea 'neath its blue; of a love that is pure as the light of each star; o, flag of our country, the brave and the true await thee, and greet thee, and bless thee afar! the flag of our country, the flag of the free, the hope of the weary, the joy of the sad, may our eyes at the last, still thy bright promise see that each slave shall know thee, arise and be glad! the flag of our country, the flag of our love, our hearts are aflame with thy red, white and blue; may thy glory increase while thy stars shine above, to thy promise and pledge may the children be true. o, the red, white and blue! o, the flag of the free! sweet liberty calls to the nations afar, thy glory illumines the land and the sea, o, flag of our country, earth's beautiful star! --_metta thompson in american monthly._ the old virginia gentleman. many of you have no doubt heard or read the famous lecture of dr. bagley, entitled "bacon and greens," and chuckled over his vivid description of "the old virginia gentleman." you may be interested in knowing that a portrait of the hon. james steptoe, of federal hill, bedford county, virginia, painted by harvey mitchell in , was the inspiration of this interesting lecture. this "old virginia gentleman" was a worthy representative of the house of steptoe, whose forefathers played an important part in the history of the "old world." the progenitor of this interesting family was anthony steptoe, the third son of sir philip steptoe, of england. anthony and his wife, lucy, came to the colony in , and located in lancaster county, virginia, and they were the great grandparents of hon. james steptoe. "the old virginia gentleman" was one of four brothers, george, james, thomas, and william; they had four half sisters, elizabeth and ann steptoe; mary and anne aylett; and two step-sisters, elizabeth and ann aylett; thus the families of steptoe and aylett are often confounded. col. james steptoe, m. d., of "homany hall," westmoreland county, virginia, was born in the year of , and died in . he was a distinguished physician, and held many positions of honor and trust in affairs of church and state. he married firstly hannah ashton, and secondly elizabeth aylett, the widow of col. william aylett and a daughter of col. george eskridge. the descendants of colonel steptoe and colonel aylett are often confounded. col. aylett married first ann ashton, a sister of colonel steptoe's first wife, and had two daughters, elizabeth and ann. elizabeth aylett married william booth, and ann married william augustin washington (a half-brother of our beloved gen. george washington). colonel aylett married secondly elizabeth eskridge, and had two daughters, mary and anne; mary married thomas ludwell lee, of "bell vieu;" and anne married richard henry lee, of "chantielly." col. james steptoe had two daughters by his first marriage, elizabeth and ann; elizabeth married first philip ludwell lee, of "stratford," and secondly philip richard fendall; and ann married first willoughby allerton, and secondly col. samuel washington, a younger brother of gen. george washington. of the four sons of col. james steptoe, george and thomas never married; william married elizabeth robinson, and they resided at the old robinson homestead, "herwich." the hon. james steptoe, the original "the old virginia gentleman," was born in the year of , at "homany hall," westmoreland county, virginia. he was educated at william and mary college, and while there was a fellow student of thomas jefferson. they formed a close friendship, which continued throughout life. it was through the influence of jefferson that james steptoe was appointed to an office under secretary nelson, after which he was transferred in , at the early age of , to the clerkship of the district court at new london, in bedford co., va. this position he held until his death in , having served fifty-four years. he married frances calloway, a daughter of col. james calloway, of bedford county. the hon. james steptoe built the mansion house known as "federal hill," and it was here that he spent his useful life surrounded by his family, and noted for his sincerity and hospitality. this mansion was situated three miles from "poplar forest," the abode of his friend, thomas jefferson, who loved to seek seclusion there during his intervals of rest from public service. upon one occasion when gen. andrew jackson, on his way to washington just after the battle of new orleans, had stopped to dine with his friend, james steptoe, he met thomas jefferson just at the gateway. the two great men dismounted from their horses and exchanged salutations with each other and with their host, who awaited them within upon the lawn. mr. jefferson, with his courtly manner, waving his hand, stood back for "old hickory" to pass before him; but that gallant soldier, bowing low, said: "surely, mr. jefferson does not think that i would go before an ex-president of the united states." to which mr. jefferson graciously replied: "it would ill become me to take precedence of the hero of new orleans." thus these two distinguished men stood bowing and scraping to each other in the roadway in true "gaston and alfonse style," while mr. steptoe waited for them with, i am sure, amused impatience; until at length general jackson threw his arms about mr. jefferson and gently lifted him quite over the threshold, and then the general's aide and the other gentry coming up, we may be sure they had a jolly good time--a "feast of reason and a flow of soul," not forgetting mrs. steptoe's bountiful dinner served on the famous steptoe silver, a veritable feast of "wines on the leas," which to read about makes us long more than ever for a return of those good old times. but once a shadow fell upon the friendship of mr. jefferson and mr. steptoe, as clouds will fall upon human friendships. james steptoe had another valued friend, major gibbon, a gallant officer of the revolutionary army, who had led the forlorn hope at the battle of stony point. this old hero had been given the appointment of collector of customs at richmond, but had been removed by jefferson because it had been represented to him that major gibbon was on familiar terms with aaron burr, who was then on trial at richmond for acts charged against him as treasonable. soon after the removal of major gibbon mr. jefferson was on one of his visits at poplar forest, but his old friend, james steptoe, who was usually the first to welcome him, the illustrious visitor, to his summer home, neither went in person nor sent a message of salutation to his life-long friend. days lengthened into weeks, and still he made no sign, and at length mr. jefferson, on a bright summer morning, rode over to mr. steptoe's and dismounted from his horse at the gate, and on entering the yard found mr. steptoe walking to and fro on his porch, apparently unconscious of his guest's arrival. mr. jefferson advanced with outstretched hand and cordial smile, but mr. steptoe gazed cold and stern upon his visitor, returning no look or word of kindness for the offered greeting of the president, who thus addressed him: "why, james steptoe, how is this? i have been for weeks within a stone's throw of you, and though you have usually been the first to welcome me home, your face is now turned from me, and you give me no welcome to your house." to this mr. steptoe coolly replied: "mr. jefferson, i have been disappointed in you, sir, you are not the man i took you to be. you know as well as i do that maj. james gibbon was a brave, a meritorious officer in the revolutionary army, that he served under aaron burr, who was also a gallant soldier, and his officers were greatly attached to him. now when colonel burr has been brought to richmond for trial, committed to prison and every indignity heaped upon him, and just because major gibbon has supplied his old commander with some necessaries and comforts, you, from hatred of burr, have wreaked your vengeance on gibbon and deprived a faithful old soldier of an office which was his only means of support." "why, steptoe, is that all?" said jefferson, "i assure you the matter had not been so presented to me before. but the same hand that removed major gibbon can replace him, and justice shall be done him at once." "then you are, indeed, my friend, and welcome as ever to my home and heart," cried james steptoe. james steptoe's land and silver are gone, his bones have turned to dust; and ere long his name may be forgotten, but let us now honor the man who would refuse the proffered hand of the president of the united states, when that hand was stained by an unworthy act. would there were more men of such mettle in our day! james steptoe was not only noted for his hospitality and justness, but also for his charity. driving along in his coach and four, he passed the house of a certain widow, mrs. chaffee. upon noticing a crowd gathered around, he sent his coachman, ben, to inquire the cause. hearing that the poor woman was being sold out for debt he descended from his carriage, stopped the auction, paid the mortgage, and added one more noble act of charity to his record. james steptoe was beloved by everyone, and especially so by his slaves, whom he had taught different trades that they might support themselves after his death when, by his will, they were all set free. a handsome monument in the old family burying ground in bedford county, bears this inscription, "james steptoe, born , died , for fifty-four years the clerk of bedford county." the office of clerk of the court of bedford county has been held by the steptoe family in its lineal and collateral branches for more than a hundred years. the character of james steptoe may be described in a few words, integrity, independence, and the strictest form of republican simplicity. though descended, as has been shown, from a long line of the better class of english gentry, he never alluded to it himself; in fact, it was not known in his family until after his death, when they learned it through his correspondence. he was a man who held very decided opinions on all subjects, and would at times express them as to men and public affairs in very strong language, being strong in his friendships and equally strong in his dislikes. as a clerk, he was everything that could be desired, polite and obliging, as all old virginia gentlemen are; careful and attentive in the business of his office and in court, and ever ready at all times to give information and advice to those who needed it. the hon. james steptoe and his wife, frances calloway, were the parents of five sons and four daughters, as follows: major james, who succeeded his father as clerk of bedford, and who married catherine mitchell; dr. william, of lynchburg, who married first nancy brown, and second mary dillon; george, of bedford county, who married maria thomas; robert, of bedford county, who married elizabeth leftwich; thomas, who inherited the old home, married louise c. yancy; elizabeth prentise, who married hon. charles johnston, of richmond, va.; frances, who married henry s. langhorne, of lynchburg, va.; sallie, who married william massie, of nelson county, virginia; lucy, who married robert penn, of bedford county, virginia. james steptoe's descendants are scattered throughout the united states, and are among our most distinguished citizens. he has also descendants in england. the old portrait by harvey mitchell is now owned by the rt. rev. james steptoe johnston, bishop of western texas; and a fine copy of the same is owned by mrs. william waldorf astor, of cliveden-on-the-thames, england,--edna jones collier, _in american monthly_. when washington was wed. who does not wish that he might have been there, when martha custis came down the stair in silk brocade and with powdered hair, on that long ago saturday clear and fine, a. d. seventeen fifty-nine? out from st. peter's belfry old, twelve strokes sounded distinct and bold, so in history the tale is told, when dr. mossen, preacher of zest, long since gone to his last long rest, there in the custis drawing room, new world house, with an old world bloom, spake out the words that made them one, martha custis and washington. trembling a little and pale withal, she faced her lover so straight and tall, oh, happiest lady beneath the sun! given as bride to george washington. brave was the groom and fair the bride, standing expectant side by side, but how little they knew or guessed what the future for them possessed; how the joys of a wedded life would be mingled with horrors of blood and strife; how in triumph together they'd stand, covered with plaudits loud and grand, yes--covered with glory together they'd won, martha custis and washington. where is the gown in which she was wed? brocade, woven with silver thread? where are the pearls that graced her head? where are her high-heeled silken shoon that stepped in time to the wedding tune? where are her ruffles of fine point lace? gone--all gone with their old world grace. but the world remembers them every one, and blesses the lady of washington. it is difficult to give the proper credit for the above poem. mrs. walter j. sears, new york city chapter, found a few beautiful lines, author unknown, added some lines herself, and then sent the whole to "will carlton," who revised and added to them. mrs. sears recited the poem at the celebration of washington's wedding day by the new york city chapter, d. a. r., in january, . rhode island in the american revolution. the american colonies, though subjects of great britain, stoutly resisted the payment of revenues of customs; not because they doubted the justice, but they did object to the intolerant manner of demanding the revenues. rhode island, the smallest of the thirteen colonies, was destined to take an important part in this resistance which brought about the american revolution. the english parliament, in , passed the famous "sugar act" which laid a heavy tax upon west india products imported into the northern colonies. rhode island protested, declaring that only in this way could she be paid for her exports to the west indies and thus be able to purchase from england. the other colonies also objected and richard partridge, the appointed agent to look after the interests of the rhode island colony, conducted this affair for all the colonies. in his letter he declared that the act deprived the colonists of their rights as englishmen, in laying taxes upon them without their consent or representation. thus, thirty-seven years before the declaration of independence, the war-cry of the revolution was first sounded and by the quaker agent of rhode island. in a new "sugar act" was passed. parliament hoped that a reduction from six pence to three pence would conciliate the colonies. neither the "sugar act" nor the proposed "stamp act" was accepted. the colonists still contended such an act and its acceptance to be inconsistent with the rights of british subjects. a special session of the rhode island assembly was convened. a committee of correspondence was appointed to confer with the other colonies and the agent was directed "to do anything in his power, either alone or joining with the agents of other governors to procure a repeal of this act and to prevent the passage of any act that should impose taxes inconsistent with the rights of british subjects." thus did rhode island expressly deny the right of parliament to pass such an act and also declare her intention to preserve her privileges inviolate. she also invited the other colonies to devise a plan of union for the maintenance of the liberties of all. the following year the "stamp act" was passed and disturbances followed. the assembly convened and through a committee prepared six resolutions more concise and emphatic than any passed by the other colonies, in which they declared the plantation absolved from all allegiance to the king unless these "obnoxious taxes" were repealed. bold measures! but they show the spirit of the colony. johnston, the stamp-collector for rhode island, resigned, declaring he would not execute his office against "the will of our sovereign lord, the people." in newport three prominent men who had spoken in defence of the action of parliament were hung in effigy in front of the court house. at evening the effigies were taken down and burned. the revenue officers, fearing for their lives, took refuge on a british man-of-war lying in the harbor and refused to return until the royal governor would guarantee their safety. the assembly appointed two men to represent rhode island in the convention about to assemble in new york. this convention, after a session of nearly three weeks, adopted a declaration of the rights and grievances of the colonies. the rhode island delegates reported the assembly and a day of public thanksgiving was appointed for a blessing upon the endeavors of this colony to preserve its valuable privileges. the day before the "stamp act" was to take effect all the royal governors took the oath to sustain it, except samuel ward, governor of rhode island, who stoutly refused. the fatal day dawned. not a stamp was to be seen. commerce was crushed. justice was delayed. not a statute could be enforced. the leading merchants of america agreed to support home manufacturers and to this end pledged themselves to eat no more lamb or mutton. the following year, january, , the papers of remonstrance had reached england; and parliament turned its attention to american affairs. the struggle was long and stormy; but the "stamp act" was repealed, with the saving clause that "parliament had full right to bind the colonies in all cases whatsoever." meanwhile, patriotic societies were being formed in all the colonies under the name of "sons of liberty." rhode island has the peculiar honor of organizing a similar society: "daughters of liberty." by invitation eighteen young ladies assembled at the house of dr. ephriam bowen, in providence, and spent the day in spinning. they agreed to purchase no goods of british manufacture until the "stamp act" should be repealed and cheerfully agreed to dispense with tea. this society rapidly increased and became popular throughout rhode island. england kept her faith but a little while and then proposed to raise a revenue by imposing duties on glass, lead, paint and paper, and a tax of three pence a pound on tea. this aroused fresh indignation throughout the colonies. in virginia the house of burgesses passed a series of resolutions that in them was vested the sole right of taxing the colony. copies were sent to every colonial assembly. the rhode island assembly cordially approved. the next month the british armed sloop _liberty_, cruising in narraganset bay in search of contraband traders, needlessly annoyed all the coasting vessels that came in her way. two connecticut vessels suspected of smuggling were taken into newport. a quarrel ensued between the captain of one of the vessels and the captain of the _liberty_. the yankee captain was badly treated and his boat fired upon. the same evening the british captain went ashore, was captured by newport citizens and compelled to summon all his crew ashore except the first officer. the people then boarded the _liberty_, sent the officer on shore, then cast the cable and grounded the _liberty_ at the point. there they cut away the masts, scuttled the vessel, carried the boats to the upper end of the town and burned them. this occurred july, , and was "the _first overt act of violence_ offered to the british authorities in america." but armed vessels continued their molestations. the rhode island colony was not asleep but awaiting a favorable opportunity which came at last and the capture of the _gaspee_ was planned and accomplished. rewards were offered for the apprehension of the perpetrators of this deed, but without effect. some of rhode island's most honored citizens were engaged in the affair and some of the younger participants are said to have boasted of the deed before the smoke from the burning vessel had ceased to darken the sky. the capture of the _gaspee_ in june, , was the first bold blow, in all the colonies for freedom. there was shed the first blood in the war for independence. the revolution had begun. then followed resolutions from virginia that all the towns should unite for mutual protection. rhode island went a step farther and proposed a continental congress, and thus has the distinguished honor of making the first explicit movement for a general congress, and a few weeks later she was the first to appoint delegates to this congress. the "boston port bill" followed, and massachusetts records tell of the money and supplies sent from rhode island to boston's suffering people. england ordered that no more arms were to be sent to america. rhode island began at once to manufacture fire arms. sixty heavy cannon were cast, and home-made muskets were furnished to the chartered military companies. when the day arrived upon which congress had decreed that the use of tea should be suspended, three hundred pounds of tea were burned in market square, providence, while the "sons of liberty" went through the town with a pot of black paint and a paint-brush and painted out the word "tea" on every sign-board. this was february , . the fight at lexington followed on the th of april. two weeks after this battle the rhode island assembly suspended gov. walton, the last colonial governor of rhode island. he repeatedly asked to be restored and was as often refused. at the end of six months he was deposed. this was a bold act, but men who could attack and capture a man-of-war were not afraid to depose from office one single man who was resolved to destroy them. the british war-ship _rose_ was a constant menace to the vessels in rhode island waters. altercations ensued. captain abraham whipple, who headed the expedition to burn the _gaspee_, discharged the first gun at any part of the british navy in the american revolution. two armed vessels were ordered for the protection of rhode island waters; and this was the beginning of the american navy. passing over much of interest we come to the last important act of rhode island colonial assembly: an act to abjure allegiance to the british crown. it was a declaration of independence and it was made on may , , just two months before the declaration of independence, signed at philadelphia. this act closed the colonial period and established rhode island as an independent state. the records of the assembly had always closed with "god save the king!" this was changed to "god save the united colonies!" the smallest of the colonies had defied the empire of great britain and declared herself an independent state! dark days followed. the british army occupied newport. by command of congress, rhode island had sent her two battalions to new york, thus rendering herself defenseless. the militia was organized to protect the sea-coast. i may not linger to tell of the capture of gen. prescott; of the unsuccessful attempt to dislodge the british, nor of the battle of rhode island, in which col. christopher greene with his famous regiment of blacks distinguished himself, and which lafayette afterwards declared was the best-planned battle of the war. for three years the english army held this fair island and left it a scene of desolation. newport never recovered. her commerce was destroyed. her ships never returned. meanwhile momentous events were occurring at the seat of war. philadelphia was threatened and the continental congress had been moved to baltimore. washington, with less than twenty-three hundred men, recrossed the delaware at night. the men he placed in two divisions, one under general greene, the other under gen. sullivan, and successfully attacked the hessians at trenton capturing nine hundred prisoners (dec. th, ). washington recrossed the delaware into pennsylvania with his prisoners and spoils that very night. on january st, , with , men he again crossed the delaware and took post at trenton. the next day cornwallis appeared before washington's position with a much larger forces. only a creek separated the two armies. the rhode island brigade distinguished itself at the successful holding of the bridge and received the thanks of washington. that night washington withdrew, leaving his camp fires burning. next morning, january rd, , cornwallis was amazed to find washington gone and still more astounded, as he heard in the direction of princeton the guns of the americans, who won that day another decisive victory. we must not dwell upon the record of gen. nathaniel greene. his campaign in south carolina was brilliant. he has been called the saviour of the south. it was he, a rhode island general, who, because of his military skill, stood second only to washington. at the closing event of the war, the siege of yorktown, a rhode island regiment under capt. stephen olney, headed the advancing column. sword in hand the leaders broke through the first obstructions. some of the eager assailants entered the ditch. among these was capt. olney who, as soon as a few of his men collected, forced his way between the palisades, leaped upon the parapet and called in a voice that rose above the din of battle "capt. olney's company form here!" a gunshot wound in the arm, a bayonet thrust in the thigh and a terrible wound in the abdomen which he was obliged to cover with one hand, while he parried the bayonets with the other, answered the defiant shout. capt. olney was borne from the field, but not until he had given the direction to "form in order." in ten minutes after the first fire the fort was taken. three days later cornwallis accepted terms of surrender, which were formally carried out on october th, . the war was over. the gallantry of olney was lauded by lafayette in general orders and more handsomely recognized in his correspondence. but the historian, thus far, has failed to record the fact, noted by arnold, that the first sword that flashed in triumph above the captured heights of yorktown was a rhode island sword!--anna b. manchester _in american monthly magazine_. georgia and her heroes in the revolution. at the outbreak of the revolution georgia was the youngest of the colonies. although there had been some unsatisfactory relations with the mother country, there had been no unfriendly relations until the passage of the famous stamp act. on account of the liberal laws granted by england and the fatherly care of general james oglethorpe, the colony of georgia had least cause to rebel. but she could not stand aside and see her sister colonies persecuted without protesting. in september, , a meeting of merchants in savannah protested against the stamp act. jonathan bryan presided over this meeting, and was asked by the royal governor, sir james wright, to resign his seat in the governor's council for having done so. about the same time noble w. jones was elected speaker of the assembly. governor wright refused to sanction the choice because noble w. jones was a liberty boy. these two acts of the governor angered the people and made them more determined to resist. noble w. jones has been called "the morning star of liberty," on account of his activity in the cause of liberty at this time. a band of patriots met in august, , and condemned the boston port bill. six hundred barrels of rice were purchased and sent to the suffering people of boston. about the same time a provincial congress was called to choose delegates to the first continental congress to meet soon in philadelphia, but through the activity of the royal governor, only five of the twelve parishes were represented. no representatives were sent because this meeting did not represent a majority of the people. st. john's parish, the hotbed of the rebellion, sent lyman hall to represent that parish alone in the continental congress. on account of the patriotic and independent spirit of its people, and this prompt and courageous movement, the legislature in after years conferred the name of liberty county on the consolidated parishes of st. john, st. andrew and st. james. after the news of lexington arrived great excitement prevailed. on the night of may , , a party of six men led by joseph habersham broke open the powder magazine and took out all the ammunition. some of this powder was sent to massachusetts and used at the battle of bunker hill. the people proceeded to take charge of the government. a council of safety and provincial assembly were elected. the patriots captured a british schooner containing fourteen thousand barrels of powder. this captured schooner was the first ship to be commissioned by the american nation. the council of safety ordered the arrest of governor wright. joseph habersham with six men easily did this, but the governor soon escaped. the incident is famous because john milledge and edward telfair, known as two of the best loved of georgia governors in after years, were members of this brave band. joseph habersham himself became famous afterwards, being postmaster-general in washington's cabinet. while these events were taking place the second continental congress was framing the declaration of independence. george walton, button gwinnett, and lyman hall signed that great document for georgia. button gwinnett did not live to see georgia's independence established, but lyman hall and george walton saw her take her place in the union. they were honored with the highest offices of the state. there were many other men who became famous on account of their activities for the cause of liberty at this time. chief among these were lachlan mcintosh, of whom washington said, "i esteem him an officer of great merit and worth:" archibald bulloch, james jackson, david emanuel, john adam treutlen, samuel elbert, john baker, john wereat, and john houston. with the exception of a few unsuccessful expeditions against florida there was no fighting in georgia until december, . the people hoped that the war would be fought elsewhere, but such was not to be. general prevost who commanded the british in florida was ordered to invade georgia from the south. colonel campbell was sent by general howe with three thousand five hundred troops to attack savannah. colonel campbell landed december , , and by a skillful flank movement drove a small army of nine hundred patriots from their intrenchments near savannah and pursued them with such terrible slaughter that barely four hundred escaped. many were run down with the bayonet in the streets of savannah, almost within sight of their families. james jackson and john milledge, both of whom were afterward governor of georgia, were among the number that escaped and while going through south carolina to join general lincoln's army they were arrested by the americans who thought they were english spies. preparations were made for hanging them when an american officer came up who recognized them, and they were set free. it was certainly a blessing to the state that these men did not suffer an ignominious death for they rendered invaluable service in after years by fighting the yazoo fraud. [illustration: carpenter's hall, philadelphia, pa. chestnut, between d and th streets. the first continental congress assembled here september , .] the force of british from florida captured fort morris and united with the british force at savannah. this combined force pressed on toward augusta. ebenezer was captured. a force of patriots under the command of colonels john twiggs, benjamin and william few, defeated the british advance guard under the notorious tories, browne, and mcgirth, but the americans' efforts were in vain and augusta fell without a struggle. the cause of liberty was crushed for a while. the royal governor was restored to power, england could say that she had conquered one of her rebellious colonies at least. but the spirit of liberty was not dead. colonels elijah clarke and john dooly of georgia, with pickens of south carolina, nearly annihilated a band of plundering tories at kettle creek. this aroused the georgians with renewed vigor. the british hearing that a french fleet was coming to attack savannah, began to withdraw to that place. the british outpost at sunbury was ordered to retreat to savannah. colonel white with six men captured the entire garrison of one hundred and forty men through strategy. when the french fleet under count d'estaing arrived, general lincoln brought the continental army to assist in the recapture of the city. the combined french and american force beseiged the city for three weeks all in vain. finally it was decided to attempt to take the place by assault which resulted disastrously to the american cause. the french and americans were driven back having lost over eleven hundred men, among them the polish patriot, pulaski, and sergeant jasper, the hero of fort moultrie. the french fleet sailed away and general lincoln retreated to charleston leaving georgia once more completely in the hands of the british. tories went through the state committing all kinds of outrages. colonel john dooly was murdered in the presence of his family by a band of tories. the next day the same murderous tories visited nancy hart, a friend of colonel john dooly. nancy overheard them talking of the deed and she began to think of vengeance. she slid several of their guns through the cracks of the log cabin before the tories saw her. when the tories noticed her she pointed one toward them. one tory advanced toward her and was shot down. the others afraid, dared not move. meanwhile nancy's daughter signaled for nancy's husband who was in command of a band of patriots that carried on guerilla warfare in the neighborhood and on their arrival the tories were taken out and hung. nancy hart is the only woman for whom a county has been named in georgia. after the fall of charleston in , augusta was again occupied by the british. colonel elijah clarke collected a force to recapture the place. his first attempt was unsuccessful september - , . he retreated leaving thirty wounded men behind. the cruel colonel browne hung thirteen and turned the others over to his indian allies to be tortured. it is worthy of note that john clarke, son of elijah clarke, was fighting with his father at this battle although he was only sixteen years old. he afterwards became governor of georgia and founder of the clarke party in georgia. "light horse harry" lee, father of robert e. lee, and general pickens brought reinforcements to clarke and the combined force again besieged augusta with renewed vigor may th, june th, . after much hard fighting colonel browne was forced to surrender june th, . on account of his cruelties he had to be protected from violence by a special escort. the british were gradually forced back into savannah. when cornwallis surrendered, only four places were in their possession in georgia. in january, , "mad" anthony wayne came to georgia to drive the british out. he routed colonel browne, who had collected a band of tories and indians at ogeechee ferry, after his exchange. the british were hemmed in savannah. finally in may, , orders came to the royal governor from the king to surrender savannah and return to england. major james jackson was selected by general wayne to receive the keys of the city. they were formally presented by governor wright and major jackson marched in at the head of his troops. the city was again in the hands of the state after having been occupied by the british for three and one-half years. the great struggle was over. georgia was weakest of the colonies and none had felt the hard hand of war any more than she. the heroic deeds of her sons during that awful struggle are sources of pride to every true georgian.--prize essay by julius milton, nathanial abney chapter. united states treasury seal. the design of the seal of the treasury of the united states in all its essential features is older than the national government. from the days of the confederation of the colonies down through the history of the republic the latin motto on the seal has been "the seal of the treasury of north america." these facts have just been developed, says the _newark news_, by an investigation by the treasury department tracing the history of the seal. the continental congress ordered its construction sept. , , appointing john witherspoon, gouvernor morris and r. h. lee a committee on design. there is no record of the report of the committee, but impressions of the seal have been found as early as . the original seal was continued in use until , when, worn out, it was replaced by a new cut, made by edward stabler of montgomery county, md. he was directed to make a facsimile of the old seal, but there were some negligible differences. the symbols, however, are the same. there are the stars, representing the colonies; the scales as the emblem of justice and keys, in secular heraldry denoting an office of state. willie was saved. we had a sane fourth--i was not allowed to fire a single shot; if i'd 'a made a cracker pop i'd a' been hauled in by th' cop. if me or any of th' boys had dared to make a bit o' noise they would 'a slapped us all in jail an' held us there till we gave bail, an' so our fourth, i will explain was absolutely safe an' sane. pa's feelin' better--'t least no worse, i heard him tell th' new trained nurse, he played golf nearly all th' day with mister jones and mister shea until 'bout half past three o'clock an' then he had an awful shock, th' sun was boilin' hot, an' he was playin' hard as hard could be, an' he got sunstruck, but he'll be up in two weeks, or mebbe three. ma's conshus now. they think her arm ain't re'lly suffered serious harm, except it's broke. an' where her face got cut will heal without a trace, ma went out ridin' with th' greens "to view th' restful country scenes." a tire blew up an' they upset-- they didn't have no landin' net! th' doctor says that sleep an' rest for her will prob'ly be th' best. my sister's better, too, although they had to work an hour or so to bring her to--she purt' near drowned an' looked like dead when she was found. she went to row with mr. groke an' he--he says 'twas for a joke-- he rocked th' boat an' they fell out, an' people run from miles about to save their lives. she was a sight when they brought her back home last night. i wasn't hurt though, i'll explain, because my fourth was safe an' sane. --_wilbur d. nesbit._ virginia revolutionary forts. by mrs. mary c. bell clayton. in a mental vision of that galaxy of stars which emblazon our national flag, that bright constellation the thirteen original states, we pause to select the one star which shines with purest ray serene, and as we gaze upon the grand pageant from new hampshire to georgia and recall the mighty things achieved by the self-sacrificing devotion of their illustrious statesmen and generals with the united efforts of every patriot, it is with admiration for all that we point with reverence to that star which stands for her who cradled the nation, that infant colony at jamestown in virginia, who made defense first against the tomahawk of the indians, growing stronger and stronger with an innate love for truth and justice, 'till we hear the cry "give me liberty or give me death," which resounded from the white mountains of new hampshire to the sunny lands of georgia, and is echoed there in her legend, "wisdom, justice and moderation." you, our sisters, the daughters of the american revolution of south carolina, whose state is strong in state craft and brave as the bravest, and whose star shines as a beacon light in the constellation of states, to those who would infringe on the rights of others, you call to us, in your study of the defences of the revolutionary period, to show our "landmarks," the signs of our ancestor's devotion to patriotism, that you with us, may reverence their loyalty and with pride cherish every evidence of their struggle for liberty, remembering always that "he who builded the house is greater than the house." we would tell you of facts in the military annals of virginia, deeds of prowess, more enduring than memorials of stone, which have become the sacred heritage of us all, but to these, at this time, our attention is not to be given. and if we fail to show but a few of her strongholds, you must remember that within the present bounds of virginia there were few important positions held against assault, and her "northwestern territory" was far away from the main contest. her troops were kept moving from place to place, their defences often were not forts, but earthworks, hastily constructed, often trees, houses, fences, etc. for instance the first revolutionary battle fought on virginia soil was at hampton, a little town between the york and james rivers. "the virginians sunk obstacles in the water for protection, but during the night the british destroyed them and turned their guns upon the town. in this fight we had no fire-arms but rifles to oppose the cannons of the english, so when the attack began the riflemen had to conceal themselves behind such meagre defences as i have mentioned, houses, fences, trees, etc., opening fire upon the british vessels. the men at the guns were killed and not a sailor touched a sail without being shot. confusion was upon the british decks, and in dismay they tried to draw off and make escape into the bay, but without success; some of the vessels were captured, many men were taken prisoners, and the whole fleet would have been captured but for the report that a large body of the british were advancing from another direction." small was the defense, but great was the result at this first battle of the revolution on virginia soil. the fort at great bridge. "after the attack on hampton, lord dunmore determined to make an assault on norfolk. he erected a fort at great bridge where it crosses a branch of the elizabeth river. this bridge was of importance as it commanded the entrance of norfolk. the virginians held a small village near by. at these points the armies were encamped for several days ready for the moment to begin the fight. in order to precipitate a contest, the virginians had recourse to a stratagem. a negro boy belonging to major marshall was sent to lord dunmore. he represented himself as a deserter and reported that the virginians had only three hundred 'shirt men,' a term used to distinguish the patriot, whose only uniform was a graceful hunting shirt, which afterwards became so celebrated in the revolution. believing the story, lord dunmore gave vent to his exultation, as he thought he saw before him the opportunity of wreaking his vengeance upon the virginians. he mustered his whole force and gave the order for marching out in the night and forcing the breastworks of his hated foe. in order to stimulate his troops to desperate deeds, he told them that the virginians were no better than savages, and were wanting in courage and determination, that in all probability they would not stand fire at all, but if by any chance they were permitted to triumph, the english need expect no quarter, and they would be scalped according to the rules of savage warfare. early in the morning of december th, , the virginians beheld the enemy advancing towards their breastworks. they were commanded by capt. fordyce, a brave officer. waving his cap over his head, he led his men in the face of a terrible fire, which ran along the american line, directly up to the breastworks. he received a shot in the knee and fell forward, but jumping up as if he had only stumbled, in a moment he fell again pierced by fourteen bullets. his death threw everything into confusion. the next officer was mortally wounded, other officers were prostrate with wounds, and many privates had fallen. in this desperate situation a retreat towards their fort at norfolk was the only resource left to the english. they were not allowed to escape without a vigorous pursuit. it was conducted by brave col. stevens, who captured many prisoners and ten pieces of cannon. the loss of the british was one hundred and two killed and wounded. the only damage to our men was a wound in the finger of one of them." the british had built a fort for their defence, the virginians had breastworks. fort nelson. "during the revolution sovereign virginia erected fort nelson to resist lord dunmore, should he ever attempt to return to the harbor of norfolk and portsmouth. it was named for the patriot governor nelson, who gave his private fortune to aid the credit of virginia, and risked his life and sacrificed his health on the battlefields of the american republic. on account of its location it was never the scene of any bloody battle, but like the 'old guard,' it was held in reserve for the emergencies of war. on the th of may, , a great british fleet, under admiral sir george collier entered hampton roads, sailed up elizabeth river, and landed three thousand royal soldiers under general matthews in norfolk county, where fort norfolk now stands, to flank this fortification and capture its garrison composed of only soldiers. maj. matthews, the american commander, frustrated the designs of the british general by evacuating the fort, and retired to the northward. on the th of may, the british took possession of the two towns, and gave free hand to pillage and destruction. sir george collier, after satisfying his wrath sailed back to new york. varying fortunes befell fort nelson during the remainder of the war until the evacuation by benedict arnold, after which no british grenadier ever paced its ramparts. after the close of the revolution, it was rebuilt and for many years was garrisoned by regular soldiers of the united states; but since, abandoned as a fortification, it has been a beautiful park and a home for sick officers and sailors of our navy. "the garrison of fort nelson, under the glorious stars and stripes, on the nd of june, , stood to their shotted guns, to meet the british invaders, who were defeated at crany island, by our capt. arthur emerson and other gallant heroes. here thousands of soldiers marched in response to the call of virginia in ." in the naval park at portsmouth, the site of fort nelson, there is a monument whose granite body embraces a real revolutionary cannon. this gun was selected from a number of guns known to be of the period of the american revolution. it is believed that one, at least, of these was mounted at crany island for the defense of portsmouth and norfolk. the honor of erecting this monument is due to the ladies of the fort nelson chapter of the daughters of the american revolution and to admiral p. f. harrington of the united states navy, and also medical director r. c. person of the navy. it is said that with proper care this gun will last centuries and "it will carry down to distant generations a memorial of the patriots of the american revolution, a mark of the formation of a nation and the token of the later patriots, the daughters of the american revolution, to whose efforts is due this important national service to which the gun has been dedicated." after these first assaults, for about three years of the war, there was almost no fighting in virginia, but during that term she was furnishing her full quota of men, money and inspiration to the cause, with devoted loyalty, assisting in the north and in the south, wherever an attack was made. directing her attention to the main army she built no defences of any importance on her own territory east of the alleghanies. "the british success in the north and followed by still more decided victories in the south. thus later the english began to look forward, with certainty, to the conquest of the entire country, and as virginia was regarded as the heart of the rebellion, it was decided to carry their victorious arms into the state, as the surest way of bringing the war to a speedy conclusion." we had no time, then, for building forts, and when we recall the traitor arnold's advance on richmond, with the two days he spent there destroying public and private property--his taking of petersburg, burning the tobacco and vessels lying at the wharves, with col. tarleton's raids, scouring the country of every thing; in fact all of cornwallis' reign of terror, which was soon to end in that imposing scene at yorktown, we realize truly that "the battle is not to the strong, nor the race to the swift," but that a country's bulwark often are not forts and strong towers, but her courageous heart, and her staunch friends, such men as lafayette, de rochambeau, de grasse and steuben, who with washington, led the allied americans and french forces at yorktown, and besieged the british fortification, the surrender of which virtually closed the revolutionary war on the th of october, . the place is sacred, their devotion reverenced. forts of the northwestern territory, kaskaskia, cahokia and vincennes. "while the communities of the sea coast were yet in a fever heat from the uprising against the stamp act, the first explorers were toiling painfully to kentucky, and the first settlers were building their palisaded hamlets on the banks of the wautauga. the year that saw the first continental congress saw also the short grim tragedy of lord dunmore's war. the battles of the revolution were fought while boone and his comrades were laying the foundation of their commonwealth. hitherto the two chains of events had been only remotely connected, but in , the year of the declaration of independence, the struggle between the king and his rebellious subjects shook the whole land and the men of the western border were drawn headlong into the full current of the revolutionary war. from that moment our politics became national, and the fate of each portion of our country was thenceforth in some sort dependent upon the welfare of every other. each section had its own work to do; the east won independence while the west began to conquer the continent, yet the deeds of each were of vital consequence to the other. the continentals gave the west its freedom, and took in return, for themselves and their children, a share of the land that had been conquered and held by the scanty bands of tall backwoodsmen." kentucky had been settled chiefly through daniel boone's instrumentality in the year that saw the first fighting of the revolution, and had been added to virginia by the strenuous endeavors of major george rogers clark of albermarle, virginia, whose far seeing and ambitious soul prompted him to use it as a base from which to conquer the vast region northwest of the ohio. "the country beyond the ohio was not like kentucky, a tenantless and debatable hunting ground. it was the seat of powerful and warlike indian confederacies, and of cluster of ancient french hamlets which had been founded generations before kentucky pioneers were born. it also contained forts that were garrisoned and held by the soldiers of the british king." it is true that virginia claimed this territory under the original grant in her charter, but it was almost an unknown and foreign land, and could only be held by force. clark's scheming brain and bold heart had long been planning its conquest. he looked about to see from whence came the cause of the indian atrocities on the whole american frontier, and like washington he saw that those indian movements were impelled by some outside force. he discovered that the british forts of detroit, kaskaskia and st. vincent were the centers from which the indians obtained their ammunition and arms to devastate the country. he resolved to take these forts. "he knew that it would be impossible to raise a force to capture these forts from the scanty garrisoned forts and villages of kentucky, though he knew of a few picked men peculiarly suited to his purpose, but fully realized that he would have to go to virginia for the body of his forces. accordingly, he decided to lay the case before patrick henry, the governor of virginia. henry's ardent soul quickly caught the flame from clark's fiery enthusiasm, but the peril of sending an expedition to such a wild and distant country was so great, and virginia's forces so exhausted that he could do little beyond lending clark the weight of his name and influence. finally though, henry authorized him to raise seven companies, each of fifty men, who were to act as militia, and to be paid as such. he also advanced him a sum of twelve hundred pounds and gave him an order on the authorities at pittsburg for boats, supplies and ammunition; while three of the most prominent gentlemen of virginia, thomas jefferson, george mason and george wythe, agreed, in writing, to do their part to induce the legislature to grant to each of the adventurers three hundred acres of the conquered land, if they were successful. clark was given the commission of colonel with the instruction to raise his men from the frontier counties west of the blue ridge, so as not to weaken the sea coast region in their struggle against the british." to this instruction he did not strictly adhere. there was a company of soldiers from bedford county, virginia, under his command, a list of whose names are on our county records. two of these are connections of the mother of mrs. r. b. clayton, the regent of the peaks of otter chapter of virginia daughters, which facts enhance our pride and interest in the capture of the western forts by colonel clark, which perhaps, prevented a vast and beautiful region of our country from being a part of a then foreign and hostile empire. the capture of fort kaskaskia. "fort kaskaskia, an old french fort of western illinois, situated on kaskaskia river, and garrisoned by the british was, at the time of its capture in splendid repair with a well drilled militia and spies constantly on the lookout. rochenblave, the commandant of the fort, had two or three times as many men as col. clark, and would have made a vigorous fight if he had not been taken by surprise. clark's force after the toil and hardships of much traveling across rivers and tangled pathless forests, was much reduced, and it was only his audacity and the noiseless speed of his movements, that gave him a chance of success with the odds so heavily against him. he ferried his men across the stream under cover of darkness and profound silence. inside the forts, lights were lit, and through the windows came the sound of violins. the officers of the fort had given a ball, the young men and girls were dancing, revelling within, while the sentinels had left their posts. one of the men whom clark had captured, on his approach to the fort, showed him a postern gate by the river side, through which he entered the fort, having placed his men about the entrance. advancing to the great hall, where the revel was held he leaned silently, with folded arms, against the door post, looking at the dancers. an indian lying on the floor of the entry suddenly sprang to his feet uttering the unearthly war whoop. the dancing ceased, the women screamed, while the men ran towards the door, but clark standing unmoved and with unchanged face, grimly bade them continue their dancing, but to remember that they now danced under virginia and not great britain. at the same time his men seized the officers, including the commandant, rochenblave, who was sent a prisoner to williamsburg, virginia." among his papers falling into the hands of colonel clark, were the instructions which he had from time to time received from the british governor of quebec and detroit, urging him to stimulate the indians to war by the proffer of large bounties for the scalps of the americans. this shows of what importance the capture of this fort was at that period, a defence against the scalping knife of the indians as well as the power of the british tyrant. the capture of cohokia and vincennes. after the capture of kaskaskia, without the shedding of a drop of blood, clark pushed on to the taking of fort cohokia, where the french, as soon as they were made to know that france had acknowledged the independence of america, shouted for freedom and the americans. clark then marched to fort vincennes which, without the firing of a gun, surrendered, and the garrison took the oath of allegiance to virginia july th, . very soon after this the british under governor hamilton, left detroit and recaptured vincennes, only to be forced by clark to surrender it a second time in february, , and to yield himself a prisoner of war. the taking of this fort the second time was a most remarkable achievement. "clark took, without artillery, a heavy stockaded fort, protected by cannon and swivels and garrisoned by trained soldiers. much credit belongs to clark's men but most belongs to their leader. the boldness of his plan and the resolute skill with which he followed it out, his perseverance through the intense hardship of the midwinter march of two hundred miles, through swamps and swollen rivers, with lack of force, the address with which he kept the french and indians neutral, and the masterful way in which he controlled his own men, together with the ability and courage he displayed in the actual attack, combined to make his feat the most memorable of all the deeds done west of the alleghenies in the revolutionary war. it was likewise the most important in its results, for had he been defeated in the capture of these forts we would not only have lost illinois but in all probability kentucky also." as it was "he planted the flag of the old dominion over the whole of the northwestern territory, and when peace came the british boundary line was forced to the big lakes instead of coming down to the ohio, and the state of virginia had a clear title to this vast domain, out of which were carved the states of ohio, illinois, indiana, wisconsin, michigan and a part of minnesota." virginia's share in the history of the nation has been gallant and leading, but the revolutionary war was emphatically fought by americans for america; no part could have won without the help of the whole, and every victory was thus a victory for all in which all alike can take pride--_american monthly magazine._ uncrowned queens and kings, as shown through humorous incidents of the revolution. one by one the years have dropped into the abyss of the past, since the close of the war for american independence. time has spread his brooding wings over the gulf and much of the horror and of the pathos of that tremendous struggle is now veiled from us; yet we are still perhaps too prone to remember only the dreadful in the events of the war, too anxious to recall only the dark days, leaving out the traces of cheerfulness which even in those troublous times, were experienced here and there; for there were many incidents connected with the american revolution which were in lighter vein; incidents which did not, it is true, abolish the gloom and the suffering, but which lightened the sombreness and shed rays of glimmering light through the shade. it has always seemed to me almost incredible, that the colonists could have found anything to laugh at during those awful years. they were threatened with absolute loss of liberty as a country; they were menaced by starvation, and they were obliged to pass through the rigors of the winters, without proper food or clothing. the sanctity of their homes was invaded by the grim monster of war, who was no respecter of persons, and to whose voracious palate all persons were equally attractive. if the british won their cause, the colonists had nothing better to which to look forward than slavery and injustice; if the colonists won theirs, they must face the future poorly equipped in every way. the waste of their country must be repaired, their desolate homes must be rebuilt; their business, which was crushed, must be restored, they must begin from the beginning. whatever the result, the outlook was dark. as the days went on, the husbands and fathers were obliged to forsake their plows, and go, perhaps with but a moment's warning, to bloody fields of battle. poorly clothed, they fought in their shirt sleeves and with their feet bare, their bloody foot prints often standing out as symbols of the struggle. the women must remain at home, to plow and sow and reap. the american soldiers must have spent many sleepless nights thinking of their unprotected ones at home, alone and defenceless. how could there be anything of humor connected with the struggle? and yet, while the american revolution can in no sense of the word be said to have had its humorous side, yet there was much of humor connected with many revolutionary occurrences, the stories of which have lived until the present time and have gained perhaps in their humorous aspect since the close of the great struggle. one of the first incidents of the war, which i have found to savor of the humorous, was the meeting of general john burgoyne and the irish patriot immediately after the surrender of the british general. all through the march of the general, to saratoga, he had boasted of the of the calamities which he would bring upon the americans. pompously up and down his quarters he would strut, composing high sounding sentences and listening to the fine roll of his voice, revelling in his verbosity and smiling with satisfaction at his thoughts which he deemed so great. the manifestos which he issued so frequently, were words, words, words, and these reiterated over and over again, the direful things which would encompass the americans, did they not surrender with all haste and with becoming deference. he made himself ridiculous by the manifestos, but he did not realize this until he made his way through the streets of albany, a conquered rather than a conquering hero, and met a funny little irishman, who had evidently studied the harangues of the general to good purpose. on the march through the albany streets, burgoyne was surrounded by men, women and children, who would fain look upon the face of this pompous british general. suddenly in the crowded part of the street, there bobbed up in front of him, a blue-eyed, red-haired celt, his bright eyes dancing with mirth and his tongue ready with the wit of his mother country. "make way there, ye spalpeens," he shouted, "sure don't ye see the great ginral burgyne a comin' along? sthand back fer the great ginral. wud yees be standin' in the way of the conquerer? if ye don't sthand back and give the great man room, shure i'll murther ivy mither's son of ye." history does not record how the boasting briton received the onslaught of the irishman, but we can readily imagine that his face lengthened a little, as he heard the laughs on every side. still it is quite possible that he did not see the joke until the following week. someway, that march of burgoyne and his army, always struck me as humorous to a certain extent. while there was the sadness caused by the loss of many lives, and while the battle of saratoga was one of the great battles of the world, still burgoyne himself, with his verbosity and his pomposity, was so ludicrous a figure oft times, that he gave a humorous tinge to the entire campaign. the saying of general starke at bennington which has come down to us with such pleasing patriotism: "here come the red coats and we must beat them to-day, or mollie starke is a widow," was not a humorous saying, nor was the battle of bennington a humorous incident. but bill nye, the immortal, has written something exceedingly funny concerning both. nye said, "this little remark of starke's made an instantaneous hit, and when they counted up their prisoners at night they found they had six hundred souls and a hessian." nye's description of burgoyne's surrender is well worth repeating. he wrote: "a council was now held in burgoyne's tent and on the question of renewing the fight, stood six to six, when an eighteen pound hot shot went through the tent, knocking a stylograph pen out of burgoyne's hand. almost at once he decided to surrender, and the entire army of men was surrendered, together with arms, portable bath tubs and leather hat boxes." nearly all of our american soldiers were brave; that goes without saying. one of the bravest of these was lieutenant manning. his deeds of prowess were many and great. he was hero in one extremely humorous incident at the battle of eutaw. after the british line had been broken, the "old buffs" started to run. this particular regiment was as boastful as general burgoyne. manning knew this and he was delighted to follow hard after them with his platoon. excited in his pursuit he did not notice that he was getting away from his men, until he found himself surrounded by british soldiers and not an american in sight. something must be done at once and manning was the man to do it. he siezed a british officer standing near, and much to that officer's amazement he not only felt himself violently handled, but he heard the stentorian voice of the american shouting--"you are my prisoner." his sword was wrested from his grasp, and he was made a human shield for this preposterously impudent american. but instead of making a break for liberty, he began to relate his various titles to manning. "i am sir," he said, "sir henry barry, deputy adjutant general of the british army, captain in the d regiment, secretary to the commandant of charleston." "enough sir," said manning, "you are just the man i have been looking for. fear nothing; you shall screen me from danger and i will take special care of you," which he did, holding the astonished man of title in front of him, until he reached the americans and handed him over as a prisoner. colonel peter horry was another brave man of the south. he was afflicted by an impediment in his speech and at one time the impediment nearly worked disaster for him. he was ordered to await in ambuscade with his regiment for a british detachment, and he soon had them completely within his power; but when he tried to command his men to fire, his speech failed him. in vain he corrugated his brows and twisted his jaws; the word would not come out. "fi, fi, fi, fi," he shouted, but could get no further. finally in his desperation he howled, "shoot, blank you, shoot. you know very well what i would say. shoot and be blanked to you." horry was a determined character. at one time in battle a brother officer called to him: "i am wounded, colonel." "think no more of it, baxter, but stand to your post," called back horry. "but i can't stand, colonel, i am wounded a second time." "then lie down, baxter, but quit not your post." "colonel," cried the suffering man, "they have shot me again, and if i remain longer here i shall be shot to pieces." "be it so baxter," returned horry, "but stir not." the part that women took in the revolution has been sung by poets and made the nucleus of writers' efforts for a hundred years and more. those revolutionary women had brawn as well as brain. they were able to defend their homes from the depredations of the royalists; they could bid the indian begone, not only by word of mouth but at the musket's end. they could plow and sow and reap; they could care for their families and they could take up arms in liberty's cause if the need arose. oh, those women of the american revolution! what a history of bravery and fortitude and endurance they bequeathed to their descendants! there is some humor, too, in the stories left to us in record of their heroism. it was the fashion among certain circles of whig women, during the dark days of the revolution, to wear deep mourning as an indication of their feelings. the black typified the darkness of the times and was worn by the town ladies who could afford it. one of these ladies, a mrs. brewton, was walking along broad street in charleston one morning, when she was joined by an insolently familiar british officer. at that very moment, the crepe flounce on her dress was accidently torn off. she quickly picked it up and passing just at that time the house of the absent governor, john rutledge, she sprang up the steps before the astonished eyes of the officer and decked the door with crepe, saying in ringing tones, "where are you, dearest governor? surely the magnanimous britons will not deem it a crime if i cause your house as well as your friends to mourn your absence." colonel moncrief, the english engineer, was occupying the house at the time, and his feelings were hurt at the action of mrs. brewton, as were those of the officer who had been with her, and she was arrested a few hours afterward and sent to philadelphia. one of the most marked women of the revolution, a woman who figured in many a ludicrous as well as serious incident, was nancy hart, of georgia. nancy had a frightful temper, a big ungainly body, and she suffered from a most marked obliquity of sight. in fact nancy was so cross-eyed, that her own children never could tell when their mother was looking at them and were perhaps better behaved on that very account. one time a party of tories entered her modest home on food intent. they had taken the precaution of providing food for themselves, shooting nancy's last remaining gobbler. mrs. hart had her head muffled up and no one had noticed her cross-eyes. the soldiers stacked their arms within reach and nancy passed between them and the table, assiduous in her attention to the diners. the party had a jug, of course, and when they were becoming right merry, nancy suddenly tore the mufflers from her head and snatching up one of the guns, swore that she would kill every last man who tried to get his gun or who delayed in getting out of the cabin. the men looked at nancy's eyes and each man thinking she was aiming at him only, made a hasty and determined exit. but the terrible woman killed three tories that day with her own hands. one day nancy was boiling soap. as she industriously stirred, one of her eyes caught a glimpse of a tory peeking through a chink in the cabin. stirring busily away, nancy kept one eye on the soap and the other on the chink. when the spy again appeared she let drive full at the chink, a good big ladle full of hot soap. a scream satisfied her that she had hit the mark, and she finished her soap-making with great satisfaction. this woman was termed by one of the patriots: "a honey of a patriot, but the devil of a wife." the revolutionary woman's resources were indeed great, and the strategy she employed was as satisfactory as it was many times humorous. a whig woman of new york state, a mrs. fisher, was one morning surprised by the hurried entrance of a whig neighbor, who begged of her to conceal him as the tories were pursuing him. just outside her door was an ash heap four or five feet high. seizing a shovel, mrs. fisher immediately excavated a place in the ashes and buried her friend in it. but first she had taken precaution to place a number of quills one in the other and extend them from the prisoner's mouth to the air, that he might breathe, and there he remained snugly ensconced until the tories had come and gone, and even though they ran over the ash heap, they never suspected what lay beneath it. equally resourceful was that woman of the revolution, who when her husband was pursued by tories, hustled him down cellar and into a meat barrel partially filled with brine and meat. the tories went into the cellar and even peered into the barrel, but they did not discover the man, who at the risk of terribly inflamed eyes, ducked his head beneath the brine, when he heard the soldiers' hands on the head of the barrel. inflamed eyes were easier to bear than imprisonment in the hands of the british. bill nye's description of the close of the war is as humorous as it is correct. nye wrote: "the country was free and independent, but oh, how ignorant it was about the science of government. the author does not wish to be personal when he states that the country at that time did not know enough about affairs to carry water for a circus elephant. it was heavily in debt, with no power to raise money. new england refused to pay tribute to king george and he in turn directed his hired men to overturn the government; but a felon broke out on his thumb and before he could put it down, the crisis was averted and the country saved." and so it goes; the sad and the humorous are blended on every side in life's struggles either in war or peace. fortunate is the man or woman who can halt a little by the wayside and for a few moments laugh dull care away.--compiled from _federation magazine_. a colonial story. a long time ago, before the hand of progress had stamped the land with a net work of steel, or commerce and trade had blackened the skies of blue, john hamilton and tabitha thweatt were married. there was no cutting of dutchess satin or charmeuse draped with shadow lace, for it took time in those days to prepare for a wedding. silk worms had to be raised, thread spun and woven into cloth before the bride's clothes could be fashioned. waiting was no bar to happiness; the bride-to-be sang merrily while spinning or weaving at her loom and as the shuttles went in and out her day dreams were inter-mingled with the weaving of her wedding garments. in the year of our lord, , the making of silk in the colonies was a new industry and when mistress tabitha decided on silk for her wedding dress she had to plant mulberry twigs and wait for them to grow. she had to pick the leaves to feed the worms until they wrapped themselves in their silken cocoons and as soon as the cocoons would web they were baked to keep them from cutting the raw silk. it took one hundred cocoons to make one strand of silk. after all these preparations this colonial girl's dream of a silken wedding gown grew into a realization. she not only raised the silk worms, but spun the silk that they had webbed and wove it into shimmering cloth, from which her wedding gown was made. she also knit her wedding stockings of silk; but only one pair of silk went into her trousseau for the rest were knit of cotton. the family records say that this couple had no worldly goods except what their own hands had wrought. they were god-fearing people of the puritan type. he felled the trees and sawed them into logs out of which their home was constructed. the logs that went toward the building of their home were mortised and pinned together with wooden pegs. the floors were puncheon flat slabs split from whole tree trunks and the doors and windows were made of oak and were swung on great wooden hinges. the chimney was of "stick and dirt" and across the broad fire place hung the crane from which were suspended the cooking utensils. john hamilton was a member of one of virginia's most distinguished families. he possessed an iron will that defied adversity; he blazed the way through his state and was brave enough to "hew down forests and live on crumbs." mistress tabitha was a help-meet to her pioneer husband. she not only cooked his meals but carried them to him when he worked in the field. he had the honor, and in those days it was indeed an honor, to be elected as a representative from his state to congress. the frugal and beautiful tabitha accompanied him to washington. her preparation for the replenishing of her ward-robe was quite as elaborate as those formerly made for her wedding. with deft hands she carded from the snowy cotton piles of rolls that were spun into thread and she wove many yards of cloth from which she made her underwear. from carefully carded bats of cotton she spun many spindles of fine smooth thread that was woven into fine cream cotton goods, some of which were dyed with copperas. some was spread day and night on the grass where the dew would fall to bleach it. from the bleached cotton this industrious woman made her dresses and the snowy whiteness of some of her gowns was the envy of her neighbors. she also carried in her little hair trunk to washington, not only many well made cotton garments, but was the proud possessor of one black silk dress and two black silk aprons. the dress was afterward described as being so heavy that it could "stand alone." mistress tabitha, although a little overworked, was not too weary after reaching washington to attend the presidential ball and dance the minuet with the gallant washington and the noted lafayette. john and tabitha hamilton had eleven children. all were born in virginia except one, who came after they moved to hancock county, near sparta, georgia, in . their home was destroyed twice by the tories and once by a tornado. mr. hamilton had just completed a nice dwelling for his family when the memorable tornado and cyclone passed over that portion of georgia in april, . all of the family except jack and everard were away from home. there was but one small house left on the place, their new house having been blown away, none of it left standing. some of the doors were found six miles off in an adjoining county. clothing, books and papers were carried promiscuously away. jack was much bruised, having been struck by many things. his booksack was blown away, and his "ovid" was found forty miles over in baldwin county and returned to him. this book is now in possession of one of his descendants. everard was carried into the air and lodged in a swamp about a quarter of a mile away, where he was caught up by the whirl wind. madame hamilton took this misfortune as coming from god and helped her husband to collect anew his scattered fortune. later we read of them as living on their plantation surrounded by their servants, who ministered to their comforts and attended their broad fields. in reading about the women who lived in the early days of georgia, their splendid lives stand as a beacon to the reckless and extravagant ones of today. they not only spun the thread and wove the cloth used in their homes, but they made all of the clothes their children wore, and reared them to be god-fearing men and women. they visited their neighbors for thirty miles away and extended a glad welcome and cordial hospitality for any and every guest. one with impunity may ask the question: "are they pleased with their descendants, these women of georgia's pioneer days?"--mrs. j. l. walker, lyman hall chapter, d. a. r. molly pitcher for hall of fame. the movement to place in the hall of fame a bust of molly pitcher, the only woman sergeant in the united states army, has the enthusiastic support of former senator chauncey m. depew. it was in the important movements of the year that at the battle of monmouth molly pitcher was carrying water to her husband, who was a gunner of a battery at one piece of artillery. he was disabled and the lieutenant proposed to remove the piece out of danger, when molly said, "i can do everything my husband could," and she performed her husband's duties at his old gun better than he could have done. the next morning she was taken before general washington, her wonderful act was reported and its influence upon the outcome of the battle, which was a victory, and washington made her at once a sergeant in the army to stand on the rolls in that rank as long as she would. it seems appropriate now for us to place among the immortals and in the hall of fame this only woman sergeant of the united states army, who won her title fighting for her country upon the field of battle.--_national magazine._ revolutionary relics. great grandmother's spinning wheel stands in the hall, that is her portrait there; great grandfather's sword hangs near on the wall, what do you girlies care, that in seventeen hundred and seventy-six, one bitter winter's night, when the air was full of sleet and snow, and the kitchen fire burned bright. he stood with a face so thoughtful and sad with his hand on her hair, "asenath, i start at the break of day," oh, that bride was so fair! but country was dearer than home and wife, proudly she lifted her head, "go, david, and stay till is ended the strife, god keep you, dear," she said. toward the loom in the kitchen she drew, she had finished that day, a beautiful blanket of brown and blue, "was it plaided this way?" it was just like this but faded and worn, and full of holes and stain, when our soldier grandsire came back one morn, to wife and child again. when his eyes were dim and her hair was white, waiting the master's call, she finished this blanket one winter's night, that hangs here on the wall. and dreaming of fifty years before, when she stood by that wheel, and that cradle creaked on the kitchen floor, by that swift and reel. there's a rare old plate with a portrait in blue, of england's george the third, a porringer small and a stain shoe, that five brave hearts has stirred, there's an ancient gun all covered with rust, a clock, a bible worn, "fox book of martyrs" and "holy wars," a brass tipped powder horn. great grandfather sat in that old arm chair, grandmother rocked by his side, till the master called through the sweet june air, they both went out with the tide. --_florence i. w. burnham in american monthly magazine._ tragedy of the revolution overlooked by historians. by t. h. dreher, m. d. before the william thompson chapter, d. a. r., invaded this neck of the moral vineyard and put its delicate, historical fingers upon the tendrils of local happenings, there was no blare of trumpets over a foul and bloody deed which occurred near the "metts cross-roads," in this county, during the revolutionary war. but the gruesome case was never without intense interest to those concerned in the episodes of a past age. the strange and mysterious always throws an additional halo over our heroes. this feeling is intensified, in this case, by virtue of the fact that the same blood which ran in the veins of the victim of the "cross-roads plot," now pulsates in the arteries of many lineal, living descendants who are part and parcel of calhoun county's sturdy citizenship. the malignant, cruel and cowardly feature of this dastardly crime, garbed in a plausible and hypocritical cloak, make it unique, even in the gory annals of criminal warfare and harks our memories back to the murder of duncan, king of scotland. here, as there, we have no doubt, but that souls grew faint over the details of the foul conspiracy and "their seated hearts knocked at their ribs" until spurred to the "sticking place" by the evil eloquence of some overpowering and unnatural genius, like unto lady macbeth. john adams treutlen (for that was the name of our hero) is in his grave. "after life's fitful fever, he sleeps well, treason has done his worst; nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, can touch him further." that is true. the cold pen of a true chronicler, however, must again allude to the utter negligence and gross indifference of an earlier age to a proper appreciation of significant events. that a noted governor of georgia should be brutally done to death by revengeful tories because of the intense whig fires which consumed his very soul; that children, and children's children, should grow up around the scene of his untimely taking-off, and still his home and his grave should be, today, unidentified spots on the map of calhoun county force us to exclaim with mark antony: "but yesterday the word of caesar might have stood against the world. now lies he there and none so poor to do him reverence." the salient facts in the life of treutlen are interesting. born in berectsgaden, , as a german salzburger, he was brought to this country in a boat load of salzburgers that landed at savannah in . if early impressions count for anything, there is no wonder that the spirit of liberty and independence sank deep into the very inmost recesses of his soul. his father, along with thousands of other german protestants, was exiled by a fanatical decree of archbishop leopold, which drove out from his domain all who would not accept the catholic faith. it was this salzburger strain and religion which was unterrified and unwashed, amid the raging tempests of an angry sea, while others aboard, including john wesley, trembled for life, and confessed to a livelier awakening to the rejuvenating and sustaining power of god upon frail humanity. some miles from savannah these brave and devout pilgrims, after singing a psalm "set up a rock and in the spirit of the pious samuel, named the place ebenezer (stone of help) 'for hitherto hath the lord helped us.'" amid these crude but inspiring surroundings the young treutlen received a splendid education, for that day, under the strict tutelage of his scholarly lutheran pastors, bolzius and gronau. thus it was that, when the red gloom of impending war was already visible on the distant horizon, and the provincials had gathered at savannah to take steps against the high-handed measures of england, john adam treutlen answered the roll-call from the ebenezer country and was one of its leading and most aggressive spirits. thus it was that, in the teeth of strong tory influence and friends he espoused the patriot cause with all the ardor of a knight templar, thus becoming the chief object of loyalist hatred and vengeance, his property being confiscated, and his home, with many of its treasures, burned to ashes. elected first governor of georgia under an independent constitution by the legislature, in , there was not as yet the fearful carnage and bloody battles which were still to come, and which were to make the south and its manhood a synonym for courage and endurance the world over. it is true that the immortal conflict on sullivan's island had been fought and won, but clinton and parker, still hopeful under drooping plumes, had shifted the scene to the north. the "blue bloods" of the palmetto state--with the exception of charleston's brave firebrand, christopher gadsden, were still praying for that peace, borne of wealth, intelligence and luxurious ease. georgia, now perched upon the top-most round of empire--pre-eminence--was then weak in its swaddling clothes and viewed only as a promising child to be brought up in the aristocratic south carolina sunday school. with a cool and calculating diplomacy which smacked somewhat suggestively of the rising talleyrand, we are told that the gentle ripples on the waters little betokened the torpedoes which were being laid beneath. bludgeons, not the velvety hand of artful diplomacy, were calculated to narcotize the grim-visaged ruler of the satrapy across the savannah, as all accounts agree that treutlen was a somewhat "stormy petrel," a sort of pocket edition of oliver cromwell, the greatest civilized dictator that the world has ever produced--who could rout a parliament of sitting members, lock the door and put the key in his pocket. and so it came to pass that, when the governor heard of the so-called "machiavellian scheme" to annex his little kingdom to the great palmetto commonwealth, by a coup d'etat, he pounded the floor viciously with his "condemnatory hoof" and shot a fiery proclamation over the official mahogany, denouncing the conspiracy in bitter vein and offering a heavy reward for the chief emissary--drayton. when the georgia patriot government fell in , treutlen, along with hundreds of others, took british protection and fled to st. matthews parish, in the present county of calhoun; and the road he travelled was a thornier path than that from jerusalem to jerico with "injuns on the upper way, and death upon the lower." it is not for me to split fine hairs over the principle involved in conditional agreements during the days of war, when every man is showing his teeth and reaching at the throat of his enemy. suffice to say, that he chafed under the tory bit and would have none of it. a born fighter and a man of rugged individuality, it was impossible for him to hug both sides of any fence. a dictator by instinct (and by georgia statute,) well educated, and fresh from the gubernatorial eiderdown he would naturally bring around his head swarms of bitter enemies, in times of war, and he was a marked man. he met his doom on a dreary night in under peculiarly atrocious conditions. it is said that a small band of vindictive tories went to his home during that fateful evening, and enticed him out, on a treacherous plea of surrender on certain plausible conditions. as he emerged from his door, he was seized, and not only brutally butchered, but, (all traditions agree,) literally hacked to pieces. the exact spot where the fragments of his dismembered body were buried will probably never be known. but there is every reason to believe that his bones rest in the vicinity of his home, from the fact that his tenure of life in this section was short; that he was without relatives beyond his family circle, and those relatives continued to live in the neighborhood. the mere fact that a governor of georgia could come here and be brutally and foully murdered by tories, in the heat of war passions, and not a line recorded about it, in any south carolina history or newspaper bearing upon that period, should open our eyes to the danger of swallowing the spurious pill offered to us by the emily geiger exterminators. but for the georgia records and a straight line of descendants, hereabouts, the treutlen individuality and tradition would be tabooed as a "myth" and fabrication from beginning to end. through the laudable efforts of the local d. a. r.--and particularly its regent, mrs. f. c. cain--a "marker" has been promised from the quartermaster general's office, washington, d. c. it will stand in the vicinity of the "metts crossroads" and will remind the passerby of as true and loyal a whig as lived during those perilous days. treutlen's general appearance, even in repose, as exhibited in an old photograph now in the possession of a descendant, is interesting. the orthodox military coat, unbottoned and spread abroad over his shoulders, brings into bold relief a "dicky" shirt front, emerging into a high and ferocious collar, which nestles snugly and smugly under his lower jaws. there is a profuse shock of hair, futilely bombarding an obstinate "cow-lick," the whole showing little or no subserviency to comb and brush. his large, piercing eyes, fringed by shaggy brows, with a drooping upper lid, produces a sad, if not sinister, aspect. the nose has a roman slant, which meets a bold, intellectual forehead in an almost unbroken line. marked cheek bones and a thin face ease down, more or less hastily, to a sharp and angular chin. a pair of thin lips, closely plastered to each other, bespeak firm determination; and his whole contour impresses one, forcibly, that he was not a safe man to take too many liberties with. as intimated at the outset, there is an interesting ramification of descendants from the treutlen family, many of whom are still living in calhoun county. some have gained prominence in alabama, washington, d. c., and other places, but i will note only those of local (and some, at least, of state-wide) interest. there were three sons and three daughters: john adam treutlen, jr., christian, depew, mary, elizabeth and hannah. mary married edward dudley. from this union was born mary dudley, who married adam amaker, february , , and from the latter was born adam perry amaker, who married augusta zimmerman, and they, in turn, were the parents of perry and t. a. amaker, now living--the former of denver, col., and the latter a leading business man of st. matthews. amanda amaker (alive) married major whitmarsh seabrook murray, of edisto island, who recently died here. they moved to this place after the war and leave many descendants. elizabeth treutlen, another daughter, married william kennedy and from them descended john w. kennedy, who resided here for years, and now at tyron, n. c. his only daughter, vernon, married dr. a. mcqueen salley, originally of orangeburg, and a son of the present sheriff of that county, now of saluda, n. c. john adam treutlen, jr., married margaret miller. their son, gabriel, married ann connor and to them was born caroline treutlen, who married jacob dantzler. their son, col. o. m. dantzler, of confederate war fame, was the father of o. m. dantzler, the popular sheriff of calhoun county, who recently died; fred and thos. w., of st. matthews; mortimer o., of orangeburg and charles g., an eminent jurist (deceased.) rachael treutlen, daughter of john adam treutlen, jr., married the rev. j. j. wannamaker, of st. matthews. from this union were born mary ann (who first married joel butler and later william reeves) and w. w. wannamaker, deceased, who for many years was a leading physician of this community, and who married adelia keitt. to the last couple was born agelina, who married the rev. artemus b. watson, a well known minister of the methodist church, who died recently. their son, whitfield w. watson, married may, daughter of the hon. samuel j. dibble, and a daughter adele watson, deceased, married a. c. hane, fort motte. other children of dr. w. w. wannamaker were: john keitt, who married chloe watson, both dead. he bequeathed $ , for a methodist church here. w. w. wannamaker, a successful farmer of this community, who married lou banks, deceased. a son bears the honored patronymic of "treutlen." mary b. wannamaker, deceased, who married dr. w. t. c. bates, of st. matthews, the well known ex-state treasurer. emma c., a daughter of rev. j. j. wannamaker, married dr. w. l. pou, an eminent physician of st. matthews, now years old, and who has been actively practicing his profession for over years. a daughter of dr. and mrs. pou, emma, deceased, married a. k. smoke, a prominent and influential citizen of this town, while blanche, another daughter, is living, and the joy and pride of her aged parents. a son of rev. j. j. wannamaker and rachael treutlen, his wife, was capt. francis m., deceased, a noted lawyer in his day, who married eleanor bellinger, of bamberg. from the last couple were born the following: jennie b., who married j. b. tyler, of georgia, both dead; mary b., deceased, who married j. h. henagan, of st. matthews; rachael treutlen, who married h. a. raysor, a successful merchant and prominent citizen of st. matthews; j. s. kottowe, a leading banker and merchant of st. matthews, who married lillian salley, of orangeburg; francis m., who married the writer; william h., professor of german in trinity college, n. c., who married isabella stringfellow, of chester, and olin m., professor of english in the alabama polytechnic college at auburn, who married katherine hume, of new haven, conn. john martin. when quite a little boy in his home in caroline county, virginia, john martin adopted as his motto: "i will do my best." it helped him even in childhood to have this motto, for whenever he had any difficult task to perform, either at home or school, he remembered his motto and did his best. in his veins flowed the blood of a noble ancestry and many sterling merited qualities helped him in the formation of a manly character. he was born in , amid turbulent scenes in virginia, for the indians were frequently incited by the french to commit deeds of violence and cruelty upon the english colonists, and in consequence of this, his early impressions were of preparations for war. at a tender age john witnessed the departure of his father, abner martin, to join colonel washington on his way to fort duquesne. he saw him buckle on his sword and sabre and mount his charger and set his face towards the ohio valley. and after that parting he experienced some of the horrors of war, for in the silent hour of night, the stealthy tread of the indian noiselessly approached the martin plantation and applied the torch to the barns and outhouses, and morning found them in ruins. he shared the general feeling of uneasiness and insecurity that had settled down upon the home circle in consequence of his father's absence, and his grandfather's illness. his mother at this time was for him his tower of strength, and his ark of safety, for she it was who devised means for their protection and safety. as he grew older and thought upon these stirring scenes, no wonder that his martial spirit was stirred within him and that he resolved "some day i'll go too, and i can if i do my best," and he did. about , the martin family removed from virginia to south carolina and settled at edgefield. the sons were sent to virginia to be educated, and it was there that john formed a close personal friendship for george washington, which ripened with the coming years. when the war for american independence was declared, john martin, and his seven brothers, all officers, had his life's desire fulfilled, and following the footsteps of his father saw service in the defence of his country. he also served with distinction in the state legislature and afterward was made general in command of the south carolina state troops. he married elizabeth, the daughter of colonel nathaniel terry, of virginia. many years later general john martin was on a visit to his son marshall martin, in meriwether county, georgia at the time when georgia was called upon to furnish her quota of troops for the war of . john martin was then years old and still the fires of patriotism were not extinguished nor the love of battle front subdued. the talk of another war with england made him forget his years, and his infirmities, and as his son marshall recounted the probabilities of renewed encounters, and spoke of his own enlistment, the old "war horse sniffing the battle from afar," exclaimed excitedly, "my son let me go in your stead." after this visit john martin returned to his edgefield home, where he died in . boys and girls who would develop fine character must have high ideals even in childhood. "sow a thought and you reap a habit, sow a habit and you reap a character, sow a character and you reap a destiny"--m. m. park, david meriwether chapter, d. a. r., greenville. john stark, revolutionary soldier. the victory of the little band of patriots at bennington early in the revolutionary war made john stark famous, and shortly afterward he was christened "old bennington," first by the soldiers and then by the american colonists generally. at the time of the victory stark was close to fifty years of age, and had had a long and distinguished career as an indian fighter. in early life john stark was a new hampshire farmer, and in that state he was born of irish parents, and there he died in , at the advanced age of . his farm was located in the wildest part of the forest country of new hampshire, and indian fighting was a hobby with him. several years prior to the revolution he and his little band of frontiersmen had succeeded in driving the indians from their neighborhood, so that they were no longer troubled with them. then for several years stark settled down to the enjoyment of farm life. at this vocation he continued until tidings reached him of the battle of lexington. promptly upon the receipt of this news he mounted his horse, and at the head of several hundred of his neighbors, set out to join the colonial army at cambridge. upon his arrival there he was appointed a colonel, and in one day he had organized a regiment of hardy backswoodsmen. then came the memorable bunker hill day. stark and his men were stationed a few miles away from the scene of this conflict, but in full sight of both bunker and breed's hills. seeing that a battle was inevitable, he waited for no orders, but set out at once for the ground, which he reached just before the conflict began. he led his men into the fight saying: "boys aim at their waistbands," an order that has become historical. in the heat of this action a soldier came to stark with the report that his son, a youth of , who was with him on the field had been killed. "this is not the moment to talk of private affairs," was the grim reply; "go back to your post." as it proved, the report was false, and young stark served as a staff officer through the war. after the patriots were compelled to evacuate boston, stark marched with his regiment to new york, but was shortly directed to take part in the ill-starred expedition against canada. the retreating army reached ticonderoga on the th of july. here on the following day the declaration of independence reached the soldiers in the field and col. stark had the satisfaction, on the scene of his former exploits, to hear the proclamation read to his cheering troops. then gen. stark proceeded south to assist washington and to gain his full share of applause in the battle of trenton. in march, , he returned to his native state to recruit the ranks of his regiment, and while there news came to him that a new list of promotions had been made in which his name was omitted, while younger officers had been advanced in rank. this injustice he bitterly resented and resigned from the army and retired to his farm. but stark was still the patriot and when the information reached him that the enemy were moving south from canada, and that gen. st. clair had retreated and that ticonderoga had been captured, new hampshire flew to arms and called for stark to command her troops. stark was at bennington when he learned that a detachment of six hundred men under col. baum had been dispatched by burgoyne on a foraging expedition in that section, sending a party of indians in advance on a scouting raid. upon learning of this stark sent out expresses to call in the militia of the neighborhood, he marched out to meet baum, who entrenched himself in a strong position about six miles from bennington. this was on the th of august. a few miles out he met lieut.-col. gregg retreating, with the enemy close at hand. stark at once halted and drew up his men in order of battle. the enemy, seeing this, at once stopped also and entrenched themselves. thus the armies remained for two days, contenting themselves with skirmishing, in which the americans had much the best of the game. baum's indians began to desert, saying that "the woods were filled with yankees." on the morning of the sixteenth stark prepared for an attack. before advancing he addressed his men with that brief but telling address which has made his name historic: "there are the red coats; we must beat them to-day or to-night molly stark sleeps a widow." they beat them and "molly" had the satisfaction of long enjoying the fame that came to john, instead of wearing the widow's weeds. the victory was decisive and by a band of raw militia, poorly armed and without discipline, but led by one of the most fearless men of the revolution. of the one thousand british soldiers engaged in this fight, not more than a hundred escaped, and it was this victory of "old bennington" which led ultimately to the surrender of burgoyne at saratoga. col. baum, who was mortally wounded, said of the provisionals, "they fought more like hell-hounds than like soldiers." washington spoke of the engagement as "the great stroke struck by gen. stark near bennington" and baroness riedessel, then in the british camp, wrote: "this unfortunate event paralyzed our operations." "old bennington" was a splendid type of the class of men who gave success to the american revolution. congress, after bennington, hastened to repair its former action by appointing stark a brigadier-general, and he continued in the army till the end of the war. he lived to see the country firmly established, and when he died in he was buried on the banks of the merrimac river at manchester. benjamin franklin. by george fitch. benjamin franklin was an ordinary man with an extraordinary supply of common sense who flourished in the eighteenth century and is still regarded as one of the finest of american products. franklin was born in boston, but was one of the few boston wise men to succeed in getting away from that city. his family was not distinguished and when he left boston, after having run a newspaper with more brilliance than success, no committee of city officials appeared to bid him goodbye. franklin arrived in philadelphia with enough money left to buy two rolls of bread and paraded the town wearing one loaf under his arm and eating the other. this successfully quarantined him from philadelphia society and he was enabled to put all his time into the printing business with such success that he was sent to london in by the governor to get a printing outfit. he worked for eighteen months in a london printing house and was probably the most eminent employee that london journalism ever had, though england has not yet waked up to this fact. franklin then returned to philadelphia and purchased _the gazette_, which he began to edit with such success that he frequently had to spend all day making change for eager subscribers. it might be well to mention here that at this time he was only years old, having been born january , , and having been a full-fledged editor at the age of . genius often consists in getting an early start and keeping started. at the age of franklin's "poor richard's almanac," the sayings of a wise old man, had the largest circulation of anything printed in the colonies, and people sought his advice on everything from love to chicken raising. at the age of he was a member of the pennsylvania assembly. at he had diagnosed lightning and had exhibited the first electricity ever in captivity in a bottle, having caught it with a kite string and a key. he had also charted the course of north american storms, and explained the gulf stream. franklin helped the colonies to declare their independence and secured the treaty of alliance with france. at he was elected governor of pennsylvania. at he helped write the constitution of the united states. he also devised the american postal system. he died at the age of , and philadelphia is prouder of his tombstone than she is of the liberty bell. through all his long and busy life franklin never had time to dress up and adopt the social usages of his day. but this did not prevent him from dazzling the exquisite court of france at its most brilliant and useless period. he was one of the few men who gave to the earth more wisdom than he absorbed from it, but he never was a bonanza for the tailors. had he spent his youth keeping four tailors and three haberdashers in affluence, franklin relics would probably not command the high price which they now do. captain mugford ran the british blockade and captured powder ship. had great britain made peace with the american colonies after the british army had been driven from boston, james mugford would be a popular hero today. but great britain continued the war for eight long years, and so many heroes were made that the name of james mugford, "the world forgetting, and by the world forgot," was lost. mugford died in . he and his companions were attacked by british marines. they fought most all night, and the british were whipped, but the gallant captain was killed by a pike thrust. the british under general gage evacuated boston, in march, . the british fleet remained behind in boston to blockade the port. general washington hurried to new york with the main colonial army to dispute the proposed british landing there. general artemas ward was left in command of a pretty sizeable american army around boston; but washington had taken all the powder and most of the guns. the americans were at the mercy of the british ships, only the british didn't know it. general ward zealously guarded the fact that his powder supply was nil, and planned to fill his magazines at the invader's expense. accordingly two small ships, the schooners hancock and franklin, were outfitted and ordered to sea for the purpose of capturing a supply ship. captain samuel tucker commanded the hancock. james mugford, a citizen of marblehead, mass., was appointed master of the franklin. his vessel carried a crew of , including himself. on may captain tucker captured two brigs laden with valuable supplies; but no powder. he took his prizes to lynn. general ward communicated with captain mugford and explained to him the desperate straits the army was fronting. "i'll get some powder," said the short-spoken marblehead. and he did. the british ship hope, carrying war munitions for the british, was due. it had powder for the fleet. captain mugford heard of its expected arrival and put to sea. almost within sight of the british fleet he met the hope and captured it. but how to land the prize? he didn't have men enough to take it to lynn or any other port very distant. the british fleet lay between him and the american army in boston. captain mugford chose to run the british blockade and fight the whole fleet of a dozen ships or more, if necessary. he put a few of his best men aboard the hope and made the british crew sail it. then, in the franklin, he arrogantly sailed toward the british fleet and dropped a few cannon balls its way. the british were astounded. what could this crazy skipper mean by attacking a fleet with one dinky little schooner? they would teach him a lesson. the whole fleet maneuvered round to blow the franklin off the bay. meanwhile the hope sneaked in the harbor, and then captain mugford outsailed the british fleet and got in himself. in the hold of the hope the americans found tons of powder and other war stores needed just then more than men or gold. mugford had made good his word. very naturally the british were angry. the admiral issued an order that james mugford was to be captured by any hook or crook and promptly killed. somebody told captain mugford about the order. "oh, piffle!" he said, or something like that. "i'll run by his derned old fleet every day in the week and twice on sunday if i want." the sunday following, may , , captain mugford, in the franklin, with men, and captain cunningham, in the privateer lady washington, a vessel carrying seven men and a few small swivel guns, started to puncture the british blockade again. they would have succeeded, but the franklin grounded. a flotilla of small boats from the fleet, carrying well-armed men, started for the attack. captain cunningham refused to leave his companion, so both he and captain mugford prepared for battle. it was a fiercely fought contest and lasted the better part of the night. on may general ward made the following report of the engagement: "captain mugford was very fiercely attacked by or boats full of men, but he and his men exerted themselves with remarkable bravery, beat off the enemy, sunk several of their boats and killed a number of their men; it is supposed they lost or . the intrepid captain mugford fell a little before the enemy left his schooner. he was run through with a lance while he was cutting off the hands of the pirates as they were attempting to board him, and it is said that with his own hands he cut off five pairs of theirs. no other man was killed or wounded on the franklin."--_kansas city star._ governor john clarke. among the historical sketches penned by miss annie m. lane for the american journal of history, that touching the life of governor john clarke, received the highest award, and through the kindness of the author we are permitted to reproduce it. "why are the dead not dead? who can undo what time has done? who can win back the wind? beckon lost music from a broken lute? renew the redness of a last year's rose? or dig the sunken sun-set from the deep?" i sometimes think there are more interesting things and people under the ground than above it, yet we who are above it do not want to go below it to get acquainted with them, but if we can find out anything from the outside we enjoy it. in a previous article, i said there was no spot in georgia so full of buried romance as wilkes county, and no manuscript so fascinating as the musty and yellow old records of a hundred years ago, which lie unmolested in our courthouse, especially those of . one cannot but feel after reading these books that he has been face to face with the grand old gentlemen of revolutionary days: the men who walked our streets with their ruffled shirts--three-cornered hats and dangling swords--yet so different are they in personality and character that the weaving together of their lives makes to me a grand and beautiful fabric, "a tapestry of reminiscent threads." some rich, some dark and sombre in shade, making a background so fitting for the crimson and purple and gold--for the conspicuous, inflaming color of impetuous natures, toned down with characters as white and cool as the snowflakes which fall upon our southern violets. you have but to close your eyes to the scene of today to recall ex-governor talbot, governor matthews, general clarke, together with jesse mercer, mr. springer and duncan c. campbell, who were familiar figures once upon the streets of washington. in the painting of character sketches we would not do the individual justice if we did not remember his environments, and above all his inherited nature, for are we not all bound by heredity? my last sketch was of jesse mercer, now it is of john clarke. how striking the contrast. the life of jesse mercer was as quiet and majestic as was his nature. john clarke just three years his senior, born and reared at no great distance had a life of adventure. he was the son of our stalwart general elijah clarke and his wife, hannah, and was the youngest soldier whose name appears upon the roster of kettle creek, being years of age. (battle of kettle creek, , john clarke, born .) i will refer you to history to convince you of how his whole nature was fired by the blood within his veins, inherited from both mother and father. he came of fighting stock in a fighting age! in "white's historical collections of georgia," there is an account of the life of hannah clarke, who survived her husband, elijah clarke, twenty years, dying at the age of (in .) the burning of her house by a party of british and tories is recorded, and the turning out of herself and children while general clarke was away. when general clarke was so desperately wounded at long cane in carolina, she started to him and was robbed of the horse on which she was riding. on one campaign she accompanied him and when she was moving from a place of danger, the horse on which she and two of her younger children were riding was shot from under her. later, she was at the siege of augusta. all this time general elijah clarke's right hand man was young john. being reared in the army, this boy became wild and impetuous; by nature he was intense, so when cupid's dart entered his heart it was inflamed as deeply with love as it had been with hatred for the british. his love story ends with meredith's words, "whom first we love, we seldom wed." about four miles from the hill on which the little battle of kettle creek was fought, there lived an orphan girl, the stepdaughter of artnial weaver, and the youngest sister of sabina chivers, who married jesse mercer. john clarke loved this girl, but there was opposition to the union. but as yet not knowing the meaning of the word defeat, he induced her to elope with him. it was his thought to take her to the home of a friend of his father's, daniel marshall, near kiokee, but the weather was severe, and a snowstorm set in. they were compelled to stop at a farm house where lived the mother of major freeman (related to dr. s. g. hillyer.) miss chivers was taken ill that night with congestion of the lungs, and died. in the absence of flowers the good woman of the house adorned the dead girl with bunches of holly, entwined them in her beautiful black hair and placed them in her clasped hands. the grave they covered with the same beautiful crimson and green holly, upon which the snow recently fell. this was the first real sorrow in the life of john clarke and many were to follow. to some the years come and go like beautiful dreams, and life seems only as a fairy tale that is told, yet there are natures for which this cannot be. some hands reach forth too eagerly to cull life's sweet, fair flowers, and often grasp hidden thorns. feet that go with quick, fearless steps are most apt to be wounded by jutting stones, and alas! john clarke found them where 'er he went through life's bright sunlight or its shaded paths, these cruel, sharp piercing thorns; those hard, cold, hurting stones. we next see john clarke just before he enters into his political life. from "the history of wilkes county," in our library, i copy the following, viz: "micajah williamson kept a licensed tavern in the town of washington--on record, we find that he sold with meals, drinks as follows: good jamaica spirits, per gill, d; good madeira wine, per bottle, s d; all white wines, per battle, s d; port, per bottle, s d; good whiskey and brandy, per gill, d & c. & c. at that time a shilling was really c., a penny - of a cent." in front of this tavern was a large picture of george washington hanging as a swinging sign. john clarke used to come to town, and like most men of his day got drunk. they all did not "cut up," however, as he did on such occasions. he went into stores and smashed things generally, as tradition says, but he always came back and paid for them like a gentleman. once he came into town intoxicated and galloped down court street and fired through the picture of general washington before the tavern door. this was brought up against him later when he was a candidate for governor, but his friends denied it. soon after this he married the oldest daughter of micajah williamson, while duncan c. campbell married the youngest. the stirring events which followed we have all learned in history, how the state was divided into two factions, the clarkeites and those for crawford and troup. the state was so evenly divided that the fight was fierce. the common people and owners of small farms were for clarke, the "gentry" and well-to-do educated folk for crawford, and sent him to the united states senate. clarke and crawford from youth had been antagonistic. clarke, while uneducated, was brilliantly intelligent, but deeply sensitive. crawford was polished and of courtly bearing, a man of education, but was very overbearing. had he lived today our public school boy would say "he was always nagging at clarke." be that as it may, it was nip and tuck between them in the gubernatorial campaign. clarke fought a duel with crawford at high shoals, and shattered his wrist. later he tried to get crawford to meet him again, but he persistently refused. one ugly thing to me was the horsewhipping of judge tate by governor clarke on the streets of milledgeville, then the capital. this did clarke no good. general clarke twice defeated mr. troup for governor. troup was at last elected, defeating matthew talbot, who was on clarke's side in . general clarke was defeated by talbot himself. there is never an article written about clarke that his bad spelling is not referred to. not long ago i read in a magazine published in georgia that clarke spelled coffee "kaughphy." this is not true, that honor belongs to matthews, another one of the familiar figures once on the streets of washington. even the best educated of our revolutionary heroes did not spell correctly as we call it, from george washington down. i rather enjoy their license for i think english spelling is a tyrannical imposition. after the defeat of clarke the tide was against him. many untrue things were said about him and they cut him deeply. he was misunderstood often, and in chagrin he left the state. rise, o muse, in the wrath of thy rapture divine, and sweep with a finger of fame every line till it tremble and burn as thine own glances burn through the vision thou kindlest wherein i discern all the unconscious cruelty hid in the heart of mankind; all the limitless grief we impart unawares to each other; the limitless wrong we inflict without need, as we hurry along in this boisterous pastime of life. beneath the rough exterior there never beat a kinder heart than that in the breast of john clarke. although he had the brusque manner of a soldier of revolutionary days, with those he loved he was as tender and gentle as a child. on one occasion soon after his first election to the governorship of georgia there was a banquet given in his honor. the decorations on the white linen of the table were wreaths of holly, thought to be very beautiful and tasty. when the governor entered with his friends he stopped stock still in the doorway turning deathly pale. he ordered every piece of holly dashed from the window. the occurrence was spread far and wide all over the state and criticism ran high, and even his friends disapproved of the uncivil act of one in his high station. he never made an explanation until years afterwards. memories with him did not die, though beneath the ashes of the silent past. if he might call them dead, and bury them, it seems they only slept, and ere he knew, at but a word, a breath, the softest sigh, they woke once more and moved here as he thought they would not evermore. clarke owned large tracts of land in wilkes county (before it was cut up into other counties.) one deed is made to wylie pope in . he reserves twenty feet where his two children are buried, elijah clarke and george walton clarke. leaving georgia he settled in washington county, florida, on the shores of the beautiful "old saint andrews." here he entertained his friends and here he spent the last ten years of his life within the sound of the restless, surging waters of the gulf. october th, , governor clarke passed from this life, and eight days later his wife joined him in the great beyond. they were buried near the seashore in a beautiful grove of live oaks, and a marble shaft erected over them bears the following inscription: here reposes the remains of john clarke late governor of georgia and nancy clarke his wife (north face of monument) john clarke born feb. th, died october th, as an officer he was vigilant and brave as a statesman energetic and faithful as a father and friend devoted and sincere. (west face) this monument was erected by their surviving children, ann campbell and wylie p. clarke. not far from the monument are two little graves with flat slabs and the following inscription: erected to the memory of john w. and ann w. campbell. ann hand born january th, died sept. rd, marcus edwin born feb. th, died feb. rd, "of such is the kingdom of heaven." seventy-five years have passed and the once beautiful spot is now desecrated. the oaks are cut, the tombstones are broken, and the grave of georgia's governor is trespassed upon in a shameful manner. however, overshadowing his tomb, and keeping guard is a holly tree in all its beauty, filled with long waving wreathes of spanish moss, and no doubt it whispers to the passing breeze that hurries on to ocean, the story of a lost love! aye, what is it all if this life be all but a draught to its dregs of a cup of gall, a bitter round of rayless years, a saddened dole of wormwood tears, a sorrowful plaint of the spirit's thrall the graves, the shroud, the funeral pall this is the sum, if this life be all. party relations in england and their effect on the american revolution. (a paper read before the ralph humphreys chapter, daughters of the american revolution, of jackson, mississippi, by dr. james elliott walmsley, professor of history in millsaps college.) george eliot says somewhere that all beginnings are make-believes. especially is this statement found true in attempting to trace the origin of the american revolution. every cause assigned is at once seen to be the effect of some more remote cause, until one might go back step by step to the liberty-loving ancestors of the early saxons in their forest home of northern germany. without undertaking any work so elaborate it is the purpose of this study to show the effects of one of these causes. all free governments have developed parties, but as the word is used at present true political parties in england did not arise till after the wars of the puritans and cavaliers in the seventeenth century. the men who migrated to america, with the exception of the aristocratic element that located largely in the south between and , were of the party who believed in restricting the power of the king, and were opposed by the party who professed implicit faith in the divine right of kings. by the time of the accession of william of orange the former party was recognized by the name of whigs, while the loyal devotees of regal infallibility were called tories. the first king of the hanover line, george i, was seated on his throne through a successful piece of whig politics, so admirably described by thackeray in henry esmond, and his government was conducted by a whig minister, robert walpole, assisted by a whig cabinet. the power remained in the hands of a few families, and this condition, which amounted to an aristocratic rule of "old whigs," lasted down to the accession of george iii, in . the new king, who was destined to be the last king in america, was not like his father and grandfather, a german-speaking prince who knew nothing of england and her people, but one who gloried in the name briton. brought up by his mother with the fixed idea he should never forget that he was king, his ambition was to restore the autocratic power of william i. or henry ii. to attain this end he set himself to overthrow the whig party and so recall to favor the tories, who had by this time given up their dreams of "bonnie prince charlie" and stuart restorations. this misguided monarch, who was a model of christian character in private life, but who in the words of a great english historian, wrought more lasting evil to his country than any other man in its history, determined first to overthrow william pitt, the elder, the greatest statesman that the english speaking race has ever produced--that man who sat in his room in london and planned campaigns in the snow covered mountains of silesia and the impassable swamps of prussia, on the banks of the hugli in india and on the plain of abraham in canada, in the spicy islands of the east indies and the stormy waters of the atlantic, who brought england from the depths of lowest dejection to a point where the gifted horace walpole could say in , "we must inquire each morning what new victory we should celebrate." this great man was overthrown by the king in , and there came into power the extreme tory wing, known as the "king's friends," whose only rule of political guidance was the royal wish. these men, led by the earl of bute, followed the king on one of the wildest, maddest courses that english partisan politics has known. at this point we must pause and examine the constitution of the british empire. england, scotland, and wales were governed by their own parliament, but so defective was the method of representation that villages which had formerly flourished but had now fallen into decay or even like old sarum, were buried under the waves of the north sea, still returned their two members to parliament, while important cities like manchester, leeds, and birmingham, which had grown up in the last hundred years, were entirely unrepresented. the whigs in england, as least the new whigs, the progressive element, were contending for the same principle of representation that inspired the americans. in addition to the home-land, england ruled, as colonies, ireland, the isle of man, the channel islands, sea fortresses, such as gibraltar and malta, asiatic possessions, including in india an empire twenty times as populous as the ruling country, canada, jamaica, the barbadoes, the thirteen colonies, etc. our own thirteen colonies, which were not united among themselves and which were not different in the eyes of an englishman from any other of the colonies, formed a small part geographically of the empire and had for their peculiar distinction only the larger proportion of english residents. furthermore, the modern idea of governing colonies for the welfare of the colonies had not yet been invented. a colony was considered as a farm or any other wealth producing piece of property. adam smith's epoch-making work, "the wealth of nations," the first serious attempt to discuss political economy, was not published till , and in his chapter on colonies he for the first time proposed the doctrine of removing restrictions and allowing to colonies free trade and free government. it is significant of the contentions of this article that adam smith's book was at once read and quoted in parliament by the leaders of the whigs, especial attention being given to it by the young william pitt, who was described by an enthusiastic whig as "not a chip of the old block but the old block itself." with this preliminary statement we can take up the course of party relations. one of the first distinctively party acts of george's reign was the stamp act passed against the active opposition of the whigs; and the downfall of the grenville ministry and the accession of the marquis of rockingham, the whig prime minister, marked by the repeal of this act in . in the next year, however, the rockingham ministry fell, and townshend, the moving spirit in the succeeding administration, carried through the series of acts that led directly to the boston tea party and its momentous results. finally when george iii, who openly proclaimed himself a tory, succeeded in becoming supreme in the government, he called into office, in , lord george north, who for twelve years was the king's tool in carrying out a policy which he disliked. it was only his "lazy good nature and tory principles," which led him to defer to the king's judgment and advocate the doctrine, in a far different sense from the present meaning of the words, that "the king can do no wrong." from this day it was natural that the whigs in opposition should oppose the government measures and should identify the cause of free government in america with that in england and that every new whig should become an enthusiastic supporter of the american contentions. in fact george and the tory party realized that if the american theory of taxation conditioned on representation prevailed it would be necessary to yield to the demand of the new whigs for reform in the representation in england. this fact explains some intricate points in the politics of the time. it shows for instance why we fought a war with england and then in securing a treaty of peace conspired with our enemy, england, to wrest more favorable terms from our ally, france. we fought a tory england, but lord north's ministry fell when the news of yorktown came, and we made a treaty of peace with a whig england, and the whigs were our friends. the whigs in parliament spoke of the american army as "our army," charles fox spoke of washington's defeat as the "terrible news from long island," and wraxall says that the famous buff and blue colors of the whig party were adopted from the continental uniform. even the "sons of liberty" took their name from a phrase struck out by colonel barre, the comrade of wolfe at quebec, in the heat of a parliamentary debate. illustrations of this important point might be multiplied, but it may be better to take up more minutely the career of one man and show how the conflict of whig and tory politics affected the actual outcome of the struggle. lord george howe was the only british officer who was ever really loved by the americans, and there is to-day in westminster abbey a statue erected to his memory by the people of massachusetts. after his death at ticonderoga in his mother issued an address to the electors of nottingham asking that they elect her youngest son william to parliament in his place. william howe, known in american history as general howe, considered himself as the successor of his brother and as the especial friend of the americans. when war was threatened in he told his constituents that on principle the americans were right and that if he were appointed to go out against them he would as a loyal whig refuse. of course this was a reckless statement, for an officer in the army can not choose whom he will fight. he was put in supreme command in america when general gage was recalled, but was directed by his government to carry the olive branch in one hand. that he obeyed this command, which was to his own liking, even too literally, is easily established. there is one almost unwritten chapter in american history which i would like to leave in oblivion, but candor demands its settlement. our people were not as a whole enthusiastic over the war, in many sections a majority were opposed to it, those who favored it were too often half-hearted in their support. had the men of america in enlisted and served in the same proportion in which the men of the southern states did in , when fighting for their "independence," washington would have had at all times over , in his army. as a matter of fact there never were as many as , in active service at any one time, the average number was about , , and at certain critical times he had not over , . general knox's official figures of , are confessedly inaccurate, and by including each separate short enlistment make up the total enlistment for the six years, sometimes counting the same man as often as five times. at the very time when washington's men were starving and freezing at valley forge the country people were hauling provisions past the camp and selling them to the british in philadelphia. much more might be said, but enough for a disagreeable subject. no careful historian to-day will deny that considering the lack of support given to washington and his army, the revolution could have been crushed in the first year, long before the french alliance was a possibility, had the english shown one-half the ability of the administration in the recent south african war. among the causes assignable for this state of incompetence the political situation deserves more attention than it has hitherto been given. no one has ever explained howe's inexcusable carelessness in letting washington escape after long island, no one can explain his foolish inactivity during the succeeding winter, except by the fact that howe was a whig, his sympathies were with the americans, the whigs had said repeatedly that the americans could hold out against a good army and it seemed now that they were helping fulfill their own prophecy. it is rarely stated in our american histories that howe was investigated by a committee of parliament after his evacuation of philadelphia, that he was severely condemned for not assisting burgoyne and for not capturing washington's starving handful of men at valley forge, that joseph galloway, the noted american loyalist, who was a member of the first continental congress, openly accused him of being in league with a large section of whigs to let the revolution go by default and to give america its independence, and that immediately after his return to england he resumed his seat in parliament and spoke and worked in opposition to the king and in behalf of the americans. the case of general howe is typical and can be duplicated in the other departments of the government. the leading tory ministers claimed that the rebellion would have failed but for the sympathy in the house of commons, and this charge was made in the very house itself. it would be a gross exaggeration to say that our revolution was merely the result of a party quarrel in england, but the unfortunate party attitude of king george iii. certainly was one of the most potent causes of trouble, and the progress of the war reacted most strongly on the party situation in england. when william pitt, the younger, at the age of twenty-five took into his hands the premiership of england in december , he did it as the representative of the english people, and the revolution which began in this country was completed in the english parliament. up to the history of america and england flowed in the same channel, shakespeare, chaucer, and pitt are ours as much as england's, and it should always be remembered that just when the countries were in the act of separating the system of george iii. was shaken off and shattered by the free people of the two great anglo-saxon powers, and the whig statesmen of england could join with their party friends in america in welcoming a new self-governing people to the council of nations.--_american monthly magazine._ early means of transportation by land and water. the facilities for conveniently carrying persons or property from one place to another affects in a measure the physical welfare of every human being, and all progressive nations desire to secure the advantages to be derived from the best systems of transportation. this country of ours has tried many experiments and been rapidly benefited in the results obtained. it hardly seems to us possible, in this day of improved and rapid travel, that the entire system of transportation is still in the transition state, and in some parts of the country the very expedients which we have tried, improved upon and cast away, are at present in use. but our topic deals with other days than these, and we must hasten back to the beginning of things here in america. according to indian tradition, it is believed that within a brief period prior to the discovery of america by columbus, the indians had travelled over a large portion of the country between the atlantic and pacific oceans, and were familiar with the topographical features of the continent. their frequent wars and their long continuance in the hunter state, made them necessarily a migratory race and their pathways were the first trails for the white settlers when they came. when we travel over crooked roads and even crooked streets in our towns, how many of us stop to think that we are travelling the same road as blazed out for us by an indian or trodden down for us by an early settler's straying cow? as the indian, as a guide through the almost impenetrable forests was of great aid to the early settlers, so also was the canoe of the indian a great service. of course the white man crossed the ocean in larger boats, but when it came to travelling from point to point, after reaching america, the lighter craft of the indians was the only possible means of water travel, for the numerous falls or rapids, and the frequent portages between distinct water systems, made the use of a heavy boat impossible. these canoes were of birch bark, buffalo skin, stretched over wooden frames, or even large trees felled, the trunk cut into sections and split, then hollowed out by burning first and the ashes scooped out with the hands or pieces of shell, until the sides and bottom were reduced to the utmost thinness consistent with buoyancy and security. the method of propelling these canoes was usually by paddle, but some had sails. the size varied from twelve feet to forty feet in length, and they were capable of carrying from two to forty men. of course the larger canoes were used principally for state occasions, military purposes, or when large stores of supplies were to be transported. one old historian tells of the way the sails were used. the indian stood in the bow of the canoe and with his hands held up two corners of his blanket, and the other two corners were either fastened to his ankles or simply placed under each foot, while in the stern of the canoe, the squaw sat and steered. the scheme was an ingenious one and must have been a grateful change to the poor squaw, who otherwise would have had to propel the canoe by means of the paddle. of the indian canoe longfellow says: the forest's life was in it, all its mystery and its magic, all the lightness of the birch tree, all the toughness of the cedar' all the larch's supple sinews; and it floated on the river like a yellow leaf in autumn, like a yellow water lily. on account of the dense forests and the difficulty experienced in penetrating them, the early settlements were upon the banks of streams and consequently the water channels and seaports, for communication between the various settlements, as well as with the mother country, were a necessity and the very first legislation with regard to transportation related to boats, canoes and landings. it was a long time before any internal development of the land took place, because these waterways formed the main reliance for all movements of persons or property. each of the thirteen original colonies had one or more seaports and the main current of trade, during the colonial period, and in fact up to much later times, was between these ports and the interior districts on the one hand, and the outer world and the ocean on the other. commerce between the colonies was limited and all movements from one colony to another were by various kinds of sea going vessels. all the boats subsequently built by the european settlers showed the influence of the indian canoe. the raft was another method of the indian for transporting property, and from this grew the various kinds of floatboats. the raft itself is still in use but more as a means of transporting the lumber of which it is composed than as a means for carrying other freight. for land travel, when the indians had burdens to carry they did it by means of the burden strap, an arrangement of leather bands which fitted around the forehead and was lashed to a litter borne upon the back. it was usually about fifteen feet in length and braided into a belt in the center, three or four inches wide. this carrying of burdens upon the back is the one method of transportation which combines the greatest amount of human effort with the least practical effect. but it was at the time the only method available and formed one of the most serious privations and discomforts of savage life. it is recorded in the case of a white man, who helped the indians in one of their wars, early in , that he was wounded and could not walk. thereupon he was placed in a basket of wicker work, doubled up, and fastened with cords until he could scarcely move, and so carried upon the backs of indians for several days. in winter we are told they had some sort of primitive sledges, and they used dogs in some sections. then, of course, they had the snow shoe, which, to them, was a rapid way of travelling, but when the poor white explorers or captives travelled with the indians on winter expeditions, they suffered sharply until they caught the hang of it. chilblains were not the worst of the suffering, for the tie over the instep and the loops over the toes caused friction, and bleeding, frozen feet were the result. when the white man came, he, in time, brought horses and these were much appreciated by the indians, who seemed to know intuitively how to manage and use them. in place of carrying burdens upon his own back, the red man fastened one end of his tent poles to the horse and fastened upon them the skins which composed his tent, and allowed the poles to trail upon the ground. this support furnished a method of transporting baggage, household effects and even women and children vastly superior to the old way. the old trails of the red man, over which for many years they had traveled with their peculiar but rapid walk, now furnished bridle paths for the white man and his horse, and many of those bridle paths are today in use. of course, the first sturdy settlers walked these trails as did the indians, and we have the history of one journey of governor winthrop, when he was carried, at least over streams, "pick-a-pack" upon the back of an indian. this is a very human, if undignified, picture of the worthy governor. an early explorer in virginia said that had she "but horses and kine and were inhabited with english, no realm in christendom were comparable to it." as these blessings were all added to virginia in course of time, we must believe her the fairest of colonies. as the indians were too poor to buy the carefully guarded horses of the early settlers, and could not steal them, they were compelled to wait until races of wild horses were developed from the horses brought to florida, mexico and california by the spaniards. the better grade of horse was used by the warrior and for travel, but the poorer horses for the drudgery and were quite naturally called "squaw ponies." in the early days before the carriage was introduced, wounded or sick persons were carried upon stretchers between two horses. the early means of transportation on land, in the colonies, was by horseback, for either persons or property, and this was the universal method of travel until nearly the beginning of the th century. it was a common custom for the post rider to also act as a squire of dames, and sometimes he would have in charge four or six women travelling on horseback from one town to another. it was to the north that the carriage came first, and in the early days only the very wealthy families had them. and with the coming of the carriage, the colonists realized that they needed something better than an indian trail or bridle path, and the agitation for good roads had its birth. one can form some idea of what the so-called roads must have been in , when we read that the mail from philadelphia to new york "is now a week behind and not yet com'd in." the mail after was carried by horseback between new york and boston, but as late as , the postmaster was advertising for applications from persons who desired to perform the _foot_ post to albany that winter. the route was largely up the hudson river on skates. in it took four days for mail to go through from new york to boston in good weather--in winter much longer. the commerce between the settlements on the coast and those in southwestern pennsylvania and western virginia was carried on by pack horse. the people in these districts sent their peltry and furs by pack horse to the coast and there exchanged them for such articles as they needed in their homes and for work upon their farms. several families would form an association, a master-driver would be chosen and the caravan move on its slow way to the settlement east of the mountains. afterwards this pack horse system was continued by common carrier organizations. the earliest legislation in reference to highways was in the massachusetts bay colony in , providing for supervisors, and the relaying of the roads so as to be more convenient for travel, with authority to "lay out the highways where they may be most convenient, notwithstanding any man's property, or any corne ground, so as it occasion not the pulling down of any man's house, or laying open any garden or orchard." the law in force in pennsylvania, prior to the grant to penn was part of the system established for the new york colony in . in a revision of existing road laws was made, giving control of county roads to county officials, but the king's highway and public roads to be controlled by governor and council. the fact appears that while the early roads in the american colonies were bad, england had few, if any, good roads, and the improvement, when begun, was so rapid that driving for pleasure was introduced here long before it was known in england. in fact, the idea was carried back to england by officers who fought in the revolution. when stage coaches were started in the colonies in , from boston to rhode island, there was no wagon road over this route, it not being built until . it was a common thing for the passengers of the early stage coaches to have to get out, and help lift or push the stage coach out of the mud, and the objection raised to this was the reason for the introduction of the corduroy road. if one has had the doubtful pleasure of riding over a short portion of such road, one knows that it was a question whether long stretches of it and being shaken around in the coach like peas in a pod, was much improvement over being dumped out into the mud, while the coach was lifted out of the mire with which the old roads were padded. with the development of stage routes, came bridges, ferries, turnpikes and national roads. as the passengers and light baggage were carried by stage, the freight traffic was carried on by the old time teamsters, with their huge wagons, with six or eight horses attached to each, and moving along the turnpikes, traveling together for company and protection. these turnpikes presented a bustling appearance, with the dashing stage coaches, parties on horseback, the long trains of teamsters' huge wagons, and the many taverns that lined these thoroughfares. the passenger on the stage coach had time to study nature and his surroundings as he passed along, and to be fortunate enough to secure the box seat with the stage driver and hear, as one rode along, the gossip of the route, made a joy one does not experience in our days of rapid travel. following the institution of national roads and staging, came the introduction of canals and artificial waterways, as a means of transportation for freight in the carrying on of commerce. a short canal, for the transporting of stone, was built in orange county, new york, as early as . the first public canal company was the james river company, incorporated in . from that time on there have been vast improvements in methods and much of our freight is moved by means of the large canals all over our country. the next development in transportation facilities was the railroad, the first of which was the "experiment" railroad built to carry stone to bunker hill monument. oliver evans, in , began to experiment upon the construction of a steam carriage to run upon the ground, but it remained for john stevens to combine the steam carriage and the railway. the first rail cars, or coaches, were run by horse power. it is interesting to read mr. evans' prediction, which is as follows: "i do verily believe that the time will come when carriages propelled by steam will be in general use, as well for the transportation of passengers as goods, travelling at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, or three hundred miles per day." in he predicted that the time would come when a traveller could leave washington in the morning, breakfast at baltimore, dine at philadelphia and sup at new york, all in the same day, travelling "almost as fast as birds fly, fifteen to twenty-miles an hour." in , robert fulton, journeying by stage to pittsburgh, said, "the day will come, gentlemen, i may not live to see it, though some of you who are younger will probably--when carriages will be drawn over these mountains by steam engines at a rate more rapid than that of a stage on the smoothest turnpike." a howl of protest went up from the old stage drivers when the railroad was projected, but as every public necessity had its will, the railroads had come to stay. there were many accidents on these primitive roads, and these were made the most of by the opposition. one old stager said, "you got upset in a stage coach, and there you were. you got upset in a rail car--and where are you?" from trail in the days of the indians to t-rail of recent years seems a slow, tedious advance, but as some one has said: "when we reflect upon the obstinate opposition that has been made by a great majority to every step towards improvement; from bad roads to turnpikes, from turnpikes to canals, from canal to railways for horse carriages, it is too much to expect the monstrous leap from bad roads to railways for steam carriages at once. one step in a generation is all we can hope for."--clara d. patterson, _easton, pennsylvania_. colonel benjamin hawkins. by mrs. j. l. walker, _waycross_. colonel hawkins, patriot, soldier, united states senator and indian agent, was born august , , in the county of butts, now warren county, north carolina. he was the son of colonel philemon and delia hawkins. he attended princeton college until his senior year when the institution was closed on account of the revolutionary war. his knowledge of the french language led washington to press him into service as a member of his staff to act as interpreter with the french allies. he was one of the founders of the society of cincinnati in . he was a gallant revolutionary soldier, having participated in several important engagements, among the number the battle of monmouth. after north carolina ratified the federal constitution he was elected united states senator from that state, taking his seat in . at the close of his term in the senate he was appointed agent of the three great indian tribes east of the mississippi and entered upon his duties in the part of georgia now known as crawford county, but at that time called "the agency reserve." this place became an important trading post and was selected by colonel hawkins as a convenient locality for the transaction of duties that devolved upon him. he infused progression, activity and thrift into the little village. mills, workshops, and comfortable homes appeared on every side. "colonel hawkins brought his own slaves from his old home in north carolina, and under the right conceded to his office, he opened and cultivated a large plantation at the agency, making immense crops of corn and other provisions." "while he lived his cattle brand was rigidly respected by the red men; although soon as his death, if reports be true, the creeks, oblivious of former obligations, stole numbers of his cows and hogs." to him does the state of georgia owe a debt of special gratitude. he not only risked his life for the state of his adoption, but preserved the history of the creek country, some of which is most valuable and interesting. the french general, moreau, who in exile, was his guest for some time, was so much impressed with his character and labors, that he pronounced him one of the most remarkable men he met in america. colonel hawkins possessed great adaptability and through his beneficence he acquired the respect of the indians. it is said he gained their love and bound them to him by "ties as loyal and touching as those of old feudal allegiance and devotion." he was closely associated with generals floyd, blackshear and john mcintosh, and governors troup, mitchell and early. the indians of chehaw were closely allied to colonel hawkins. they frequently furnished him with valuable information in regard to the treachery of the british and the unfriendly indians. it has been conceded to some of our patriots that they were great in war. benjamin hawkins was not only great in war, but, like washington, was great in peace. it was he who most strongly advocated terminating the war of . he knew well how to approach the "children of the forest." the simple and diplomatic way in which he addressed the indians is displayed in his quaint letter to the ammic-cul-le, who lived at the indian town of chehaw: "the time is come when we are to compel our enemies to be at peace, that we may be able to sit down and take care of our families and property without being disturbed by their threatening and plundering of us. "general blackshear is with you to protect and secure the friendly indians on your river, and to aid in punishing the mischief-makers. go you to him; see him; take him by the hand, and two of you must keep him. you must point out sixty of your young warriors, under two chiefs, to be with, and act under the orders of the general till you see me. he will supply them with provisions and some ammunition. "you must be very particular about spies. you know all the friendly indians, and all who are hostile. if any spies come about you of the hostiles, point them out to the general. and your warriors, acting with the general must be as quick and particular as his white soldiers to apprehend or put to death any enemy you meet with. your warriors will receive the same pay as the soldiers in the service of the united states. "tell your women and children not to be afraid,--that friends have come for their protection, and that i am at the head of the creek warriors. "i am your friend and the friend of your nation." colonel hawkins was closely identified in the negotiation of the treaty of peace and friendship with the indians. his name, together with george clymer and andrew pickens, was signed as commissioners on the part of the united states to the treaty held at coleraine, in camden county, georgia, march , . a treaty of limits between the united states and the creek nation of indians, was held near milledgeville, at fort wilkinson, on the part of the united states. the signers were benjamin hawkins and andrew pickens. this treaty was signed by forty chiefs and warriors. treaty with the creeks at the agency, near flint river, on november , , signed by hopoie micco and other indians, also bore hawkins' signature. "in colonel hawkins recommended the establishing of a fort and trading post on the old ocmulgee fields." the right to establish such a post was obtained by the fort wilkinson treaty. colonel hawkins selected a site on an eminence near the river where the city of macon now stands. a tract of one hundred acres of land was set apart for the use of the post. fort hawkins was built in and was garrisoned by troops from fort wilkinson early in the following year. the fort was named in honor of benjamin hawkins, one of the few honors bestowed upon him by the state he had so ably served. "this fort was considered one of the most formidable on the frontier. two block houses, each twenty-eight feet square with two stories and a basement were built with heavy mortised logs. this place was provided with port holes for both cannon and musketry, and stood at the southeast and northwest corner of a strong stockade. during the war of the fort was a strong point for the mobilization of troops." colonel hawkins died at the agency in crawford county, june , , and was "buried on a wooded bluff overlooking the flint river." the little graveyard that served as a last resting place for those who lived around the agency has long since been abandoned. the unmarked grave of a patriot is there, sleeping unhonored amid the tangled vines and weeds. governor jared irwin. jared irwin was born in mecklenburg, n. c., in , about two years after his parents arrived from ireland. they emigrated from mecklenburg county, n. c., and came to burke county, georgia, when jared was seven years old. years afterward jared moved to washington county. he was a faithful soldier in the indian wars, serving as a brigadier-general in the georgia militia. in the revolutionary war he served as captain and afterwards as colonel, fighting in the siege of savannah and augusta and in the battles of camden, s. c., briar creek, georgia, black swamp, and others. just after the first siege of augusta, in , colonel williamson was placed in command of colonel clarke's forces and on april th, , he led them to augusta and fortified his camp within twelve hundred yards of the british works. here captain dun, and captain irwin with the burke county men, joined him, where they guarded every approach to augusta for nearly four weeks, never for a moment relaxing their vigilance, but waiting impatiently for the promised assistance from general greene. at last, the militia, destitute of almost every necessity of life, wearied of their hard service, and giving up all hope of aid, determined to return to their homes. the encouragement of colonel jackson roused their drooping spirits, inspired them with hope and courage, and saved them from tarnishing the laurels they had already won. the militia afterwards nobly did their part in all the fights around augusta. jared with his three brothers john, william, and alexander, built a fort in washington county known as fort irwin, which was used as a defence against the british and with his private money he equipped his company of soldiers for the war. jane, the governor's youngest child, received a claim through our great members, alexander h. stephens and robt. toombs, in the united states congress, to the amount of ten thousand dollars for money expended by her father in the defence of his section of the country in time of the revolutionary war. jared irwin represented washington county in the legislature and was president of the state senate at different times from to . he was in the convention for revising our constitution in , and was president of the body which revised it in . at the close of the war of independence he was a member of the legislature that convened under our present form of government. in , the legislature assembled in louisville, then the capitol of georgia, and on the second day of the session, january th, he was elected governor. the legislature at once took up the yazoo act over which the state was greatly excited. a committee of investigation pronounced it not binding on the state on account of the fraud used to obtain it. james jackson introduced a bill known as the "rescinding act." this was at once passed by both houses and signed by gov. irwin, feby. th, . it was resolved to burn the papers of the yazoo act and thus purge the records of everything relating to it. so on feby. th, , wood was piled in front of the state house, and, in the presence of gov. irwin and both branches of the legislature, fire was kindled by the use of a lens and the records and documents were burned "with a consuming fire from heaven." after the death of general james jackson, united states senator, governor milledge was elected to fill his place by the legislature at an extra session held in june, , and in september following tendered his resignation as governor. in this way, jared irwin, president of the senate, again became governor, and when the legislature met in november he was elected to that office for a full term, thus filling the governor's chair from the rd of september, , to the th of november, . his administration as governor was distinguished for justice and impartiality. the spotless purity of his character, his affable disposition, his widespread benevolence and hospitality, made him the object of general affection. to the poor and distressed he was benefactor and friend. in every position of public life, as a soldier, a statesman and a patriot, the public good was the object and the end of his ambition, and his death was lamented as a national calamity. governor irwin married isabella erwin, his cousin, and they had four children, thomas, john, elizabeth and jane. thomas was among the nine in the first class that graduated from the university of georgia on thursday, may st, , and had a speaker's place at commencement. jane the youngest child, lived and died an old maid; she said she would not marry for fear that the irwin name might run out. she was spirited, a good talker, and affable in her manner, a patriotic, whole-souled, noble woman. governor irwin died on march st., , at the age of sixty-eight and was buried at his home at union hill, in washington county. in there was an appropriation by the georgia legislature to erect a monument to his memory; and in , a committee consisting of colonel r. l. warthen, captain s. a. h. jones and colonel j. w. rudisill, was appointed to select a site for same. it was decided to erect the monument in sandersville, ga., the county site of washington county; and here it still stands on court house square--a shaft of pure white marble--a gift from the state to the memory of her noble son who gave his life, love and ability to his beloved _georgia_, "empire state of the south."--governor jared irwin chapter, d. a. r. education of men and women of the american revolution. by mrs. deb. randolph keim. _regent berks county, reading pa., chapter and honorary vice-president general, d. a. r._ again you are assembled to do honor to the memory of george washington, commander-in-chief of the continental armies during the war for independence, this being the one hundred and seventy-ninth anniversary of his birth. the first steps to the establishment of a school of systematic education of young men was william and mary college, of williamsburgh, the capital of virginia, in , twenty-six years before the foundation of harvard in massachusetts. but the character of the former was not granted until , or fifty years after. the first common school established by legislation in america was in massachusetts, in , but the first town school was opened at hartford, conn., before , and i feel proud to say i graduated from this same school over two hundred years later, then known as the hartford latin grammar school and later hartford boys' and girls' high school. the only established schools of higher learning in america after william and mary in virginia and harvard in massachusetts for the education of young men later prominent in the revolution were: st. john's, annapolis, md., ; yale, new haven, conn., ; university of pennsylvania, philadelphia, ; princeton, n. j., ; washington and lee, lexington, va., ; columbia, new york, . only the sons of men of means could avail themselves of these advantages. therefore the great mass of those who became more or less prominent picked up whatever they knew as best they could. in virginia, patrick henry, washington and others had the limited opportunity and means of the old "field or plantation school" which was the only road to the rudest forms of knowledge. these were generally taught by men of fair education, but adventurous life, who were paid by the planters within a radius of eight or ten miles. a notorious pedagogue, by the suggestive name hobby, celebrated in virginia annals for the brisk coercive switching of the backs of his "boys" as the most effective road to knowledge, is made famous in history as the rudimentary educator of the great man whose beginning of life's journey dates from this day. washington's parents having removed from the place of his birth when a child resided within a journey of thirteen miles of the despotic jurisdiction of hobby, and thither the boy walked or rode daily except sundays in all kinds of weather, even being obliged to row across the rappahannock river to fredericksburg, where this vigorous applier of the ferrule held forth. at eleven years, the death of washington's father put an end to even this limited supply of "schooling." but the young man fortunately had a mother who was one of the few educated women of that period. we learn from a primitive record that mary ball, the name of washington's mother, was educated by a young man graduated from oxford, england, and sent over to be assistant to the rector of the episcopal parish in which she lived. at the age of fifteen she could read, write and spell. in a letter preserved she wrote to a young lady friend: "he (her tutor) teaches sister susie and me and madame carter's boy and two girls. i am now learning pretty fast." it was governor berkeley who, in a letter to his friends in england, boastingly "thanked god that there were no schools and printing in virginia." washington was always methodical, and what he undertook was done well. this trait he inherited from his mother, as she was a woman worthy of imitation. from her stern disciplinary character and pious convictions her son learned self-control and all the characteristics of address and balance, which carried him through the most intricate and discouraging experiences of his career. the tastes of washington in childhood were instinctively military; all his amusements pointed that way. at twenty-one his first mission to the french at le boeuf, fixed his career as a fearless man of action. the rescue of braddock's regulars from destruction by the savages was his baptism of fire; the rest, a manifestation of human greatness put the stamp of military prowess upon him. virginia furnished more of the leaders of the first rank in the contest with the crown than any other one colony, and yet some of the men who contributed most to the incisive work of the conflict had few opportunities of education. for instance, patrick henry, who electrified the issue in his famous epigram which struck the fulminate of the combat for independence: "caesar had his brutus, charles the first his cromwell and george the third" (treason, treason being shouted), rejoined, "if this be treason, make the most of it." this same authority, being criticised by aristocratic loyalists for his lack of education, replied: "naiteral pairts are more acount than all the book lairning on the airth." thomas jefferson, on the other hand, was a man of higher education. the private schoolhouse ten feet square on the tuckahoe plantation, thirteen miles west of richmond, in which thomas jefferson and his kinsman, thomas marr randolph, were educated, in part by a private tutor, was in a good state of preservation when i had the pleasure of visiting tuckahoe at the time of the international review at hampton roads. what we today call free school education began in a simple form under the quakers of philadelphia in the earliest years of the provincial government of penn, the first proprietary. thomas holme in bad rhyme and not much better grammar tells about these schools in . in what the germans would call the hinterland the school was at a low ebb. there being no towns there were no facilities to get enough scholars together to make the pay of a teacher worth the while. the germans, the dominant element, when educated at all, were under the tuition of teachers of parochial schools of the evangelical denominations and sects of their own, frequently pastors or missionaries in the language of the fatherland. in pennsylvania among the emigrants who came over in colonies there was a preacher and a schoolmaster. this was particularly so among the dutch, swedes and germans. the english quakers began schools in philadelphia very soon after the foundation of that town. in the interior schools were rare as the settlements were scattered. reading was not founded until , therefore education had not made headway at the time when the men prominent in berks affairs during the revolution were at the educational age. yet those who figured during that period in prominent places held their own with any of their city contemporaries. among the people generally, according to the oath of allegiance list, handwriting was evidently not widespread, judging from the number of "his (cross) mark," substituted for signatures in - . in christopher dock, a german, opened a school at skippach, below what is now pottstown, about thirty miles from this large assemblage of educated young ladies. christopher dock was a man of real learning, unexcelled by any outside of pennsylvania in his time. his "schule ordnung" written in and printed by christopher sauer, of germantown, , was the first treatise on education produced in type in the american colonies. the leaders in the german emigration prior to the american revolution were often men of the highest scholastic training. in new england began the earliest systematic preliminaries and expansion in the line of schooling. it has the honor, as i have shown, of founding the second institution of higher learning which survives today. james otis, samuel and john adams, foremost agitators on the legal technicalities of opposition to england, were the best types of the output of new england's educational opportunities of the times. it is one of the greatest tributes to our forefathers that with these limited and more frequently rude means of getting an education there should have been so many examples of brain and culture to meet the educational requirements of the conflict with the british crown, the preparation of documents which stood the most critical scrutiny, and as well the preparation and negotiating of correspondence, conventions and treaties to compare favorably with the most advanced university educated statesmen of the old world. what i have said applies to men, but what about the young women of the same period? except in the few largest towns where some enterprising woman was courageous enough of her own volition to establish a school for young ladies, the education of women was not considered of importance. the moravians were the first and most notable exceptions. the seminary at bethlehem, almost in sight of where we are now gathered, was famous in revolutionary days. in new york and philadelphia there was an occasional fashionable "school" for young ladies. abigail smith, who became wife of john adams, one of the earliest agitators and leaders of the contest, one of the committee that drafted the declaration of independence, first vice-president and second president of the united states, was a woman of education. being the daughter of a congregational preacher and having a taste for books, her father devoted much care to her instruction. as john adams, on account of his radical patriotism was the man the british authorities most feared, and were looking for, the letters of mrs. adams to her husband and his replies are valuable contributions to american history. they were perfect in writing, spelling, grammar and composition. i may add, though, of a date long after, history is indebted to her letters to her daughter for the only eye witness account we have of the trials and tribulations of the journey of the president's family from philadelphia to washington, in the fall of , then the new seat of government, getting lost in the woods and taking possession of the unfinished president's palace, as it was called, without firewood during bleak november days and nights with no looking glasses, lamps, nor anything else to make a president's wife comfortable. as a rule, young women were not educated in books, but taught to sew, knit, spin, weave, cook, wash, iron and perform all other household requirements. her value in the scale of life was in proportion as she was skilled in the duties of a housewife. this was the real type of womanhood in those days, and should always be, with a cultivated mind added. when we read of their heroic maintenance of the home, care and training of children, management of the farm, sale of its products and often facing hardships in keeping the wolf from the door, while husbands, sons and brothers were fighting for liberty and independence, we care not whether they could read, write, spell, cast up accounts or not, but think of their woman's contribution to the success of the contest. it is positive that the fathers of the revolution would not have been successful but for the women, perhaps uneducated in books but competent and self-sacrificing in maintaining the home, while the men were fighting for liberty and free exercise of all its enjoyments. if this great nation is a testimonial of what women without the aid of books contributed in laying the foundation, what must now be expected of women having every advantage of education from kindergarten and primary schools to the woman's college? i might mention sixteen colleges now exclusively devoted to the education of young women in new york, massachusetts, pennsylvania, maryland, north carolina, south carolina, georgia, ohio, and illinois with a roll of eight thousand young women students. the first seniority is mount holyoke, mass., founded in , having scholars; the largest is smith college, northampton, mass., , young women; next wellesley, mass., , , and bryn mawr, pennsylvania, , . to show the difference between now and the days of our revolutionary fathers, the school houses were built of logs, one story high, with bark roofs and puncheon or dirt floors, which on account of incessant tramping usually became covered several inches deep with dust. the teacher sat in the center of the room. in the log walls around were driven wooden pegs upon which were laid boards that formed the desks. the seats were rough stools or logs. all sat with backs to the teacher. the windows to admit light were fitted with white paper greased with lard instead of glass. the boy scholars wore leather or dried skin aprons and buckskin tunics and leggins, when they could not get woven materials. and the girls, coarsely woven flax or wool bodices, skirts, kerchiefs, and aprons and footwear of wood, coarse leather, not a few going barefoot. the writing equipment in revolutionary days consisted of ink which was of home manufacture from an ink powder, quills and a pen knife, cutting pens from goose quills being an art. the rest of the materials were paper, pumice, a rule, wax, and black sand, shaken from a pepper box arrangement, instead of blotting paper. the earliest method of teaching before school text-books were known was by what was termed the hornbook, a tablet of wood about by inches upon which was fastened a paper sheet containing the alphabet in capitals and small letters across the top and simple syllables like, ab, ad, etc.; below and underneath the whole the lord's prayer. the paper containing this course of study was covered with a sheet of transparent horn fastened around the edges. at the lower edge was a small handle with a hole through it and a string to go around the neck. by this means the advantages of a colonial education stayed by the scholars if they wished to avail of them or not. these hornbooks were made of oak, bound with metal for common folks, but for the rich of iron and metal, often silver. some were wrought in silk needle work. their popularity is shown by their advertisement for sale in the pennsylvania _gazette_, december, , and new york _gazette_, may, the same year. battledore book was another name. another style was the printed cardboard battledore, about fifteen inches long and folded over like a pocket book. the primer succeeded the hornbooks, the new england primer being one of the earliest. it is recorded that three millions of these were sold, so great was the desire for education in times preceding the revolution. these little books were five by three inches and contained pages. they gave short tables of easy spelling up to six syllables; also some alphabetical religion in verse, as k--for king charles the good, no man of blood. in the revolutionary days this was transposed to k--for kings and queens, both have beens. z appears to have been a poser in this alphabetical array of rhythmic religion, rendered zaccheus he did climb a tree his lord to see. the hours of study were eight a day. there were also text-book writers in those early times. among the titles one reads: "a delysious syrup newly claryfied for young scholars yt thurste for ye swete lycore of latin speche." another: "a young lady's accident or a short and easy introduction to english grammar designed principally for the use of young learners, more especially for those of the fair sex though proper for either." fifty-seven pages. it had a great sale. it was the style of the time to set books of instruction in doggerel verse, even spelling, grammar and arithmetic. the latter was taught by means of "sum books," simply "sums" copied by the learner from an original furnished by the teacher. alphabet lessons were similar to the alphabet blocks children play with to-day, generally beginning with verses from the bible. an interesting fact is that we find the child's prayer, "now i lay me down to sleep," in the new england primer catechism as far back as . a more beautiful tribute could not be paid to this invocation of childhood than the thought of the generations of american children who were thus taught in their everyday lessons their dependence upon the supreme being. some of the most interesting contributions we have to the literature of the revolutionary period are the letters of the educated women of the time. they are the more pleasing because they relate to the affairs of home and social life. you, of this age of education of women are expected to exert a large share in their extension and enjoyment.--_american monthly magazine._ nancy hart. many people believe that nancy hart was a myth. but not so. in the "life and times of william h. crawford," by j. e. d. shipp, of americus, the story is reproduced, as the hart family lived not far from the home of the crawfords. col. shipp says: on the north side of broad river at a point about twelve miles from the present city of elberton, ga., and fourteen from historic petersburg, in what is now elbert county, was situated the log house in which benjamin hart and his wife, nancy morgan hart, lived at the commencement of the revolution. the spot is easily located to this day as being near dye's and will's ferries, and on the opposite side of the river from which governor matthews settled in , near a small and romantic stream known as "war woman's creek." this was the name given to it by the indians in honor of nancy hart, whom they admired and feared. her home was near the entrance of the stream into the river. the state records show that benjamin hart drew acres of land on broad river, and afterwards another body of land in burke county. he was a brother to the celebrated col. thomas hart of kentucky, who was the father of the wife of henry clay. he was a well-to-do farmer, and was compelled to take his stock and negroes to the swamp to protect them and his own life from the unrestrained tories. as captain of a small company of 'partisans,' he would sally forth from his hiding place only whenever there was a chance of striking the enemy an effective blow. the tories generally spared the women, but killed the men, though unarmed. nancy hart, alone with six boys--morgan, john, thomas, benjamin, lemuel and mark--and her two girls, sally and keziah, presents a unique case of patriotic fervor, courage and independence of character. rough, six feet tall, spare, bigboned and exceedingly strong, she was highspirited, energetic and shrewd. the whigs loved her--the liberty boys called her "aunt nancy." the tories hated her. when general elijah clark moved the women and children away from broad river settlement to a place of safety in kentucky most of them were anxious to go, but nancy refused, and remained alone with her children after her whig neighbors had departed. her house was a meeting place for her husband's company. she aided as a spy and kept him informed of the movements of the enemy. she always went to the mill alone and was an expert equestrienne. one day while on her rounds she was met by a band of tories with the british colors striped on their hats. they knew her and demanded her "pass." she shook her fist at them and replied: "this is my pass; touch me if you dare." tories lived on the opposite side of the river from her, and she had many trials with them. some are noted. one night "aunt nancy" was boiling a pot of lye soap in the big fireplace of her stack chimney. suddenly she noticed a pair of eyes and a bearded face at a crack between the logs. pretending not to see the prowler, she went on stirring the soap and chatting with the children. biding her time, she deftly threw a ladleful of the boiling soap into the face of the intruder, whom, blinded and roaring, nancy bound fast and the next morning marched him across the river, wading the ford, and delivered him to colonel clark. she had many encounters, capturing tories and taking them to the commander. but of all her acts of heroism this one eclipses all others. from the detachment of british soldiers sent out from augusta, and which murdered colonel dooly, there were five who diverged to the east and crossed broad river to examine the neighborhood and paid a visit to nancy hart. they unceremoniously entered her cabin. being hungry, they ordered her to cook food for them. she replied that the tories and the villains had put it out of her power to feed them, as she had nothing. "that old gobler out there is all i have left." the leader of the party shot down the turkey, brought it in and ordered nancy to prepare it without delay. she and her children went to work at the task. finally she heard her unwelcome guests boasting of killing col. dooly. then she appeared in good humor and exchanged rude jests with them. pleased with her freedom they invited her to partake of their liquor, which she accepted with jocose thanks. while the turkey was cooking nancy sent her eldest daughter to the spring for water, with directions to blow the conch shell, which sound her father would interpret. the tories became merry over the liquor, pouring it from the jug with laughter, as they hurried up nancy, anticipating a good feast. they were at ease. they stacked their arms within easy reach, and nancy would ocasionally pass between the men and their muskets. the tories again called for water and nancy again sent the daughter to the spring for water--and to blow the signal for captain hart. nancy was thinking fast. through a crack between the logs she slipped outside two of the five guns. when the third was being put out she was discovered, and the men sprang to their feet. in an instant nancy brought the musket to her shoulder, declaring she would kill the first man that moved. appalled by her audacity and fury, the men for a moment stood still; then one of them made a quick movement to advance on her. she shot him dead. instantly seizing the other musket at her side she leveled it, keeping the others at bay. by this time the daughter returned from the spring and took the other gun out of the house, saying: "father and the company will soon be here." this alarmed the tories and they proposed a general rush. so nancy fired and brought down another man dead at her feet. the daughter handed her another gun and nancy, moving to the doorway, demanded surrender of the three living. "yes, we will surrender, and let's shake hands on the strength of it." but nancy did not shake hands. when captain hart and company arrived nancy would not let them shoot, saying: "these prisoners have surrendered to me; they have murdered colonel dooly. i heard them say so." and george dooly, brother of colonel dooly, and mccorkle followed and saw that the captured murderers were hanged. john hart, second son of nancy, became an influential citizen of athens. nancy lived with him after the death of capt. hart. in , when the two virginia preachers, thomas humphries and john majors, were holding a great campmeeting in wilkes county, nancy became a staunch adherent of the new faith and joined the church--wesley's. she finally moved to kentucky, where her relatives, the morgans, lived. hart county was named for her, and the town of hartford, which in was the county seat of pulaski. battle of king's mountain. by marion jackson hall. they heard the guns a-roaring, they sounded far and wide; they saw the rebels coming, up every mountain side. the mountaineers, no longer tame, from every hill and thicket came, they rushed up every mountain side to plunge into the swelling tide. ferguson knew, both good and well, he would have to fight, on hill or dell, but the number of rebels, he could not tell. they were advancing, and walking fast, when now they blew a long, shrill blast. a smoke now covered the battlefield with deaf'ning sound, of warlike peal. the british flag was waving high, when through the smoke there came a cry-- a cry from amidst the cloud did ring from men that fought for england's king. the english flag, they took it down, their leader was dead, and on the ground, and panic stricken, they were found. the rebels raged and charged again and captured more than a thousand men; they raised their flag up at top mast, they saw and knew they were gaining fast. the thunder roared, the lightning flashed, and through the cloud some horsemen dashed, the field was high, but there was mud, for it was wet and red with blood. it was a short, but bloody fight, it filled the tories all with fright-- they whipped the tories, that was right. the battlefield with blood was red, and covered with wounded and with dead. they smote and fell, who raised a hand, to wipe the rebels from the land. the americans won that glorious fight that put them all to thinking right, they believed they should soon make their laws and god was with their righteous cause. william cleghorn. in the spring of , a handful of sturdy scotchmen started from chelmart, scotland, for america, "the land of the free and the home of the brave." among these were the parents of the boy william cleghorn, whose true story is herein narrated. he was a frail lad and partly for the love of the sea and partly for his health, he enlisted in the navy. we find him enrolled at brunswick, n. c., september th, , as a member of capt. samuel corbin's company. he proved a daring sailor, yet he was not so interested in the navy but that he had time to fall desperately in love with sweet thankful dexter, of falmouth. now, thankful's father was a man of wealth, great wealth, for those days, and a son-in-law, with nothing to recommend him but good looks and a fine record as a daring sailor, did not appeal to him, but demure, sweet thankful had a will of her own. she saw that young william was worthy of any woman's love, so never for an instant did she even think of giving him up. as time went on our hero began to be a power in the colonies. he was interested in everything pertaining to their welfare. he soon began to prosper financially, and on february , , we find recorded that he gave security for twenty thousand ($ , . ) dollars, and took command of the ten-gun ship "virginia." rickerton, the historian, tells us in his history that our hero was "one of the earliest and most intelligent ship masters" but "all the world loves a lover," and i started to tell you chiefly about his love affair. thankful was always dreaming of william's bright, cheery face, and we may be sure she lost no opportunity to say to her worldly, bustling father, "didn't i tell you so?" every time william brought new honors upon himself. as time went on this energetic young man conceived the idea of building a sloop, which he did and named it the "betsy." we wonder why he did not call it "the thankful" but perhaps thankful had something to say about that. william loaded the "betsy" with an immense cargo of oil and sailed around cape horn. this was the very first voyage ever made around the cape, and can you not imagine how proud young william cleghorn was? and can you not almost hear thankful telling her father about the wonderful journey around cape horn? the father was now convinced that william was not only valiant in war and a persistent lover, but that he was an excellent business man as well, so he withdrew his objections and thankful dexter became the happy wife of william cleghorn. we can almost see the radiant thankful in her homespun gown and pertly poke bonnet, and the erect happy william with the air of a conquerer, coming side by side from the little church, through the narrow paths of martha's vineyard, to the home all ready for the happy couple, for william was now a well-to-do young man. we must not take them all through life's journey, for this is to be a child's story, but alas for human joys, while on a visit to boston in , william cleghorn was stricken with appoplexy and very suddenly passed away. when you go to boston, go out to the old granary cemetery, so well known by lovers of history, and inclosed in an iron railing you see a white stone standing alone. draw near and read the inscription and you will see that there lies your hero, william, for on the stone you read: captain william cleghorn of new bedford. who died in a fit of appoplexy on a visit to this town, february , , in the th year of his age. "here lies entombed beneath the tufted clod, a man beloved, the noblest of god. with friendly throbs the heart shall beat no more, closed the gay scene, the pomp of life is o'er." in the record of his will we find the following, which will show you how our ancestors made their wills: two mahogony tables, square table, leather bottom chairs, mahogony desk, looking glasses, set of china ( pieces), coffee set ( pieces), linen sheets, pair pillow cases, pew in first congregational meeting house, pew in second congregational house, etc., etc., besides a long list of notes and other properties. this is very different from the wills of today, isn't it? i presume we have many boys as brave and true as william, and many girls as dear and sweet as thankful, and perhaps one hundred years from now other boys and girls will be reading about some of you. so let us live in such a way that we may have our story written and enjoyed as is this true story of thankful dexter and william cleghorn.--evelyn cleghorn dimock henry, xavier chapter, d. a. r., rome, ga. the blue laws of old virginia. usually in discussion of blue laws, those very draconian regulations which have so aroused the ire or the respect of moderns, depending upon which way they look at it, the debaters confine themselves mostly to new england puritan forms, or those of new york, pennsylvania or new jersey. in the days the puritans formulated the blue laws, virginia was looked upon as the home of high living and frivolity. even to this day few would look for such measures among that old aristocratic colony. as a matter of fact, the virginians of the seventeenth century, had a habit of enacting indigo-tinted laws, and likewise enforcing them, which might have made the puritans sit up late at night to beat them. aside from the stern and vindictive intolerance which finds utterance in the acts of the virginia assembly between the years and , the most striking element in them is the tremendous premium placed upon spying and informing. in most every case in which such a reward is possible the law encouraged the man to spy upon his neighbor. if the virginia husbands agreed with kipling that "a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke," the following act must have been the occasion of much domestic infelicity. "if a married woman shall slander a person the woman shall be punished by ducking, and if the damages shall be adjudged more than pounds of tobacco her husband shall pay, or the woman receive a ducking for every pounds so adjudged against her husband if he refused to pay the tobacco." unless a man was well stocked with the divine weed it was worth while to attend church with promptness and regularity: "enacted that the lord's day be kept holy and no journeys or work done thereon, and all persons inhabiting in this country shall resort every sunday to church and abide there quietly and orderly during the common prayers and preaching, upon the penalty of being fined fifty pounds of tobacco." devices for public instruction and amusement were not to be neglected with impunity, even by the courts of the colony, as witness the following: "the court in every county shall set up near the courthouse, in a public and convenient place, a pillory, a pair of stocks, a whipping post and a ducking stool. otherwise the court shall be fined , pounds of tobacco." there is no record of the court ever having been mulcted of tobacco for depriving the people of the opportunity to watch the sufferings of their friends and neighbors. severe laws were directed against quakers. prior legislation had attempted to put a damper on being any kind of a "separatist," which meant any fellow who didn't agree with the established church. evidently a little further law on the subject was thought necessary, for in the virginia assembly passed the following act: "any person inhabiting this country, and entertaining a quaker in or near his house, shall, for every time of such entertainment, be fined , pounds of tobacco, half to the county, half to the informer." even virginia hospitality might well have paused in the face of such a flying start toward bankruptcy. that a stowaway might prove costly is demonstrated by the following: "every master of a vessel that shall bring any quakers to reside here after july of this year shall be fined , pounds of tobacco, to be levied by distress and sale of his goods, and he then shall be made to carry him, her or them out of the country again." evidently a little thing like a couple of years in servitude did not deter the lovers of pork chops from appropriating their neighbors' swine, for in the assembly delivered themselves of the following act: "the first offense of hog stealing shall be punished according to the former law; upon a second offense the offender shall stand for two hours in the pillory and shall lose his ears, and for the third offense shall be tried by the laws of england as in case of felony." as the english law of the period usually prescribed hanging for a twice convicted felon, it is presumed that the third dose of justice proved an efficient remedy. not only in the stringency of their laws did the gray cavaliers of the old dominion run neck and neck with the grim-visaged gentry of plymouth rock, but the doubtful honor of being the last to relinquish the gentle art of witchcraft persecution probably belongs to them as well. the witchbaiters around salem and throughout new england generally ceased to a considerable extent their punishment for alleged witchcraft before the eighteenth century, but the virginian records show the arrest and persecution of grace sherwood, of princess anne county, for witchcraft in . for six months this young woman was imprisoned, being brought time and again before the court in an effort to convict her. finding no evidence in her actions to justify the persecution, the attorney-general caused the sheriff of the county to impanel a jury of women to examine grace sherwood physically and instructed them to find something to indicate that she was a witch. this the women failed to do and they were threatened with contempt of court for their failure. everything else having failed, it was decided to put miss sherwood to the water test, which consisted in tying her hands and feet and throwing her overboard in the nearest lake or river. if she sank she was innocent, but if by her struggles she managed to keep afloat for a few moments, she was guilty of witchcraft. the full account of this trial is preserved by the virginia historical society, and the last two court orders in the case are of interest as marking the close of witchcraft persecution in the colonies. "whereas, grace sherwood, being suspected of witchcraft, have a long time waited for a fit opportunity for a further examination, & by her consent & approbacon of ye court, it is ordered that ye sheriff take all such convenient assistance of boats and men and shall be by him thought fit to meet at jno. harpers plantation, in order to take ye grace sherwood forthwith and butt her into the water above a man's debth & try her how she swims therein, always having care of her life to preserve her from drowning, & as soon as she comes out that he request as many antient and knowing women as possible he can to search her carefully for all spottes & marks about her body not usuall on others, & that as they find the same to make report on oath to ye truth thereof to ye court, and further it is ordered that some woman be requested to shift and search her before she goes into ye water, that she carry nothing about her to cause further suspicion." on the afternoon of july , , the court and county officers and populace assembled on john harper's plantation, and the arrangements being completed, grace sherwood was carried out to a nearby inlet of lynnhaven bay. the official court reporter tells quaintly the rest of the story: "whereas, on complaint of luke hill in behalf of her magisty, that now is against grace sherwood for a person suspected of witchcraft, & having had sundry evidences sworn against her, proving manny cercumstances, & which, she could not make any excuse or little or nothing to say in her own behalf, only seeming too rely on what ye court should do, and thereupon consented to be tried in ye water, & likewise to be serched againe with expermints; being tried, and she swimming when therein & bound, contray to custom and ye judgments of all ye spectators, & afterwards being searched by five antient women who have all declared on oath that she is not like them; all of which cercumstances ye court weighing in their consideracon, do therefore order that ye sheriff take ye said grace sherwood into his custody & comit her body to ye common goal of this county, there to secure her by irons, or otherwise there to remain till such time as he shall be otherwise directed." the woman was finally turned free, and thus ended the last legal prosecution for witchcraft in the colony. elijah clarke. by mrs. john h. morgan, _regent brunswick chapter, d. a. r._ it is to be regretted that our historians have given so little space to one of our georgia patriots of the revolution--elijah clarke. one of our greatest national needs is that of commemorating the memories of our men who "did greatly," who fought, suffered and endured for our national independence. this is one of the prime objects of the existence of the society of the daughters of the american revolution; "to perpetuate the memory of the spirit of the men who achieved american independence." among the many contributed to this great cause by georgia, was elijah clarke. after the fall of georgia, for the time being, many of our most distinguished men became voluntary exiles among their "brethren" in the west. among the most prominent of these was colonel clarke; one to whom our liberty and the justness of the cause was dear. he did not give up hope; for his heart was filled with the desire to return and renew the contest. he employed his entire time in the preparation of a sufficient force that would enable him to return when the opportunity should present itself. augusta was the key to the northern part of the state, and its possession was of great importance to our patriots. upon hearing that the time for the arrival of the annual indian presents was near, the desire to recover augusta became, to colonel clarke, irresistible. he immediately set about collecting troops and his arguments were so successful that in a very short time five hundred enthusiastic warriors and men from the hills were assembled and marched to augusta. upon their arrival, the division under major taylor attacked the indian camp on hawks gully, thereby drawing the british under colonel thomas brown to the support of the indian allies, leaving the south and west of the city unguarded. colonel clarke entered at the points, with the remainder of his army, captured the garrison and finally, driving out colonel brown, occupied the town. the british under colonel brown, after being driven out of augusta, took refuge in a strong house called seymour's white house, which they had fortified. colonel clarke besieged them and was on the point of capturing them, after a four days siege, when col. cruger, coming with another british force compelled clarke to retreat. lord cornwallis ordered colonel ferguson to intercept colonel clarke. just as col. ferguson started to carry out these orders, he heard that a new enemy was approaching, for the very purpose of doing just what colonel clarke had failed to do. this force consisted of rifle militia and had been drawn from kentucky, the western country of virginia and north carolina, and was under the command of the famous independent colonels, campbell, cleveland, williams, sevier and shelby. upon hearing of clarke's repulse and of ferguson's orders to intercept clarke, they gave up their enterprise on colonel brown, and turned against ferguson; which ended in a crushing defeat for the british and the destruction of colonel ferguson at king's mountain. "although clarke failed in the reduction of augusta, his attempt led to the destruction of ferguson; and with it to the present relief of north carolina." such is the testimony of "light horse" harry lee, his companion in arms, and the father of our beloved general robert e. lee. general clarke, as he became, was brave and patriotic, and his services during the revolution were valuable to the country, and deserve the recognition of his state. he died december th, --one day after the death of washington. "poor is the nation that boasts no heroes, but beggared is that country that having them, forgets." general clarke was one of georgia's heroes. let us honor him. general francis marion. the subject of this sketch is general francis marion and a pleasant duty it is to revive the memory of this almost forgotten hero who was one of the most famous warriors of the american revolution. general nathaniel greene had often been heard to say that the page of history had never furnished his equal. he was born near georgetown, south carolina, of french parents, who were refugees to this country after the revocation of the edict of nantes. from them he inherited that love of liberty which had caused them to forsake home and friends and commence a new life among strangers that they might enjoy freedom of thought and action at king's mountain. he manifested early in life a love of adventure. his first warlike experience was against the indians. he served as a lieutenant of volunteers. in his encounters with the savages he showed such courage and skill that he soon became famous, and to his credit, it must be said, he was always humane and just. when war was declared against england and troops had to be raised, marion received a captain's commission. he went forth to raise a company. money was lacking and he had to depend entirely on volunteers. he very soon, however, succeeded in getting his complement of men and was unexcelled in his dealings with these raw recruits. he could enter into their feelings and appreciate their conduct. he did not exact impossibilities of them and he was celebrated for what was called his patience with the militia. [illustration: monument, site of old fort cornwallis, augusta, ga.] no service was ever more strictly voluntary than that of those who constituted the company known as "marion's men" and he led them to perform deeds of valor which seem almost incredible. there was an air of mysterious daring in what he undertook, which gave a charm to the life his followers led, while they had the most perfect confidence in their leader. insubordination was rare among his men on account of their devotion to him. if it did occur he usually visited it by dismissal from his band. this ignominy was dreaded more than any other mode of punishment. he seldom resorted to the military methods of severe discipline. his band was composed largely of the planters, and some of them were boys who lived in the section of the country where his daring exploits harrassed so severely the british. these men were devoted to field sports and were consequently fine riders and marksmen. marion and his men are connected with the most romantic adventures of the revolution, equal to any we have read of in song or story. the writer has often listened with intense interest to the accounts given by her grandfather of the recitals of his party. william pope, who was one of "marion's men," tells of the many hazardous undertakings against the british and tories. the famous rides at night when they would leave their hidden places in the swamps, or some forest so densely wooded that they alone knew the trails by which they found their way in and out; how they would start on one of their swift rides to intercept the passing of british troops from one post to another or attack an army wagon train with provisions and ammunition, etc. the descent of marion and his men would be so sudden that the enemy would be completely demoralized. marion kept bands of scouts constantly watching the enemy and by this means he was enabled to give our army most valuable information. at one time our hero and his men learning of the encampment of some british troops near a river, started out to attack them at midnight. they had to ride many miles to reach the river and in crossing the bridge the noise of the horses aroused the sentinels of the enemy and they were prepared for resistance. the fight which ensued was a fierce one, but ever after that experience, when marion found it necessary to cross a bridge, he made the men dismount and spread their blankets over the bridge to muffle the sound of the horses feet. it was a rule with him never to use a bridge when he could ford a river, and he burned all bridges for which he had no use. these long rapid rides were exhausting to man and beasts. they returned as rapidly as they went forth and when they reached their place of safety, they would secure their horses, throw themselves on the ground with only a blanket and a saddle for a pillow and sleep so soundly they would be unconscious of the falling rain and often awaken in the morning to find themselves surrounded by water. amid all these scenes of hardship there were times when this band of devoted patriots indulged in revelry, as they were safely gathered around the camp fires among the lofty moss-draped cypress trees and gum trees of the swamps to enjoy the captured supplies from the enemy's commissary stores, which enabled them to supply themselves with clothing, arms and ammunition. thus they largely provided for their own subsistence by their daring prowess. the british established a line of military posts in south carolina extending from georgetown to charleston. they found it exceedingly difficult to hold any communication, for marion's scouts were always on the lookout to report their movements. colonel watson, of the enemy, attempted to take a regiment from one post to another. he was so harrassed by the sharpshooting of "marion's men" who lay in ambush along his route, that he sent a letter by flag of truce to marion reproaching him for fighting like a savage and invited him to come out in open field and fight like a gentleman. but marion was too shrewd to put in open field his comparatively small band, with their peculiar mode of warfare, against a far greater number of finely drilled regulars of the enemy and colonel watson had to retreat and encamp his men in the first open field he could find. marion had a number of interviews by flag of truce with british officers. one of the most noted is the one in which he entertained the officer at dinner. after business affairs had been settled general marion invited the officer to dine with him and he accepted. marion ordered dinner. the officer looked around with curiosity as he saw no preparations for dinner and his surprise was great when the cook placed before him on a piece of bark a few sweet potatoes which had been roasted in the fire near by. the officer remarked to marion that he supposed his supplies had fallen short, endeavoring to relieve marion of any embarrassment he thought he might feel in offering him such meager fare, but marion replied that he considered himself fortunate, as he had a guest that day, he had that much to offer him. the officer was amazed and profoundly impressed with what he had seen. he returned to his command with such feelings of admiration and respect for men who endured so cheerfully such privations and so many hardships for the sake of liberty, that he said it was useless to fight such men, that they were entitled to liberty and he would not continue to fight against them. he resigned his commission in the army. the enemy at this time had absolute command of this portion of south carolina excepting as they were disturbed by marion. he shifted from swamp to swamp and thicket to thicket and never relaxed his struggle for liberty. so harrassed were the enemy by him, they determined a number of times to make a special effort to capture him or drive him out of the state. all in vain. marion was too alert and often met them with more promptness than they desired. colonel tarleton, a british officer, with a reputation for great activity undertook one of these expeditions against marion and narrowly escaped being captured himself. he retreated from his attack exclaiming to his men "come on boys, we will go back, there is no catching this 'swamp fox'." by this same name he was ever afterward called by his followers. when gen. nathaniel greene took command of the southern army, he wrote to general marion and begged him to remain in his independent position and keep the army supplied with intelligence, in which important part he rendered most active service, also in the battles of georgetown, ninety six, charleston, savannah and others. so highly appreciated by the government was the brave and valuable part performed by marion and his men, that congress passed a series of resolutions expressing the gratitude of the country to them. governor rutledge appointed him brigadier-general. in addition to the usual military rank, extraordinary powers were conferred upon him, such as were only granted to extraordinary men. in the circumstances of life, there was a remarkable resemblance between him and the great washington. they were both volunteers in the service of their country. they learned the military art in indian warfare. they were both soldiers so vigilant that no enemy could ever surprise them and so equal in undaunted valor that nothing could disturb them, and even in the private incidents of their lives, the resemblance between these two great men was closer than common. they were both born in the same year, both lost fathers early in life, both married excellent, wealthy wives, both left widows and both died childless. in reviewing the life of gen. marion, we find patient courage, firmness in danger, resolution in adversity, hardy endurance amid suffering and want. he lived that liberty might not die and never relinquished his sword until the close of the war. he then retired to his plantation near eutaw, where he died. his last words were: "thank god, since i have come to man's estate, i have never intentionally done wrong to any man." marion's remains are in the church yard at belle isle in the parish of st. john's berkely. over them is a marble slab upon which is the following inscription: "sacred to the memory of brigadier-general francis marion, who departed this life on the twenty-ninth of february, , in the sixty-third year of his age, deeply regretted by all of his fellow citizens. history will recall his worth and rising generations will embalm his memory as one of the most distinguished patriots and heroes of the american revolution; who elevated his native country to honor and independence and accrued to her the blessings and liberty of peace." this tribute of veneration and gratitude is erected in commemoration of the noble and distinguished virtues of the citizen and of the gallant exploits of the soldier who lived without fear and died without reproach. this brief and imperfect sketch of one of the most noted military men of his day has led to the reflection that many of the most valiant leaders of the revolution are comparatively little known among the rising generation. the old histories written in the early part of this century which recorded their brilliant deeds and virtues, are out of print, a few to be found in old libraries, and the old readers which were used in the schools forty and fifty years ago were full of the accounts of their achievements, which thrilled the hearts of the students and stimulated in them a love of country, as only such deeds of valor could inspire. but today these heroes who taught us such lessons of patriotism have passed away forgotten, others scarcely a memory. ought it to be so? as our society is for the purpose of advancing the cause of patriotism, no effort on the part of its members would do more to bring this about than for some of them situated in different parts of our country to unite in collecting material for a new reader for the use of schools in which the deeds of these revolutionary patriots would be once more revived and made conspicuous to those who should ever hold them in grateful veneration. this thought is one that might advantageously engage the attention of some national publisher who might employ compilers from different localities of our country for this purpose. among the "readers" alluded to, was a tribute to gen. marion and his men, which was at the same time a graphic account of their lives and services. it was written by one of our favorable national poets, william cullen bryant, and was a favorite selection for declamation among american juvenile orators many years ago. it has disappeared from the modern editions of "readers," but would fitly embellish a new "american speaker," a book which would be popular throughout our land in these days of sons and daughters of the revolution. this suggestion will be enhanced by the reproduction of the ringing lines with which this article will close: song of marion's men. our band is few, but true and tried, our leader frank and bold; the british soldier trembles when marion's name is told. our fortress is the good green wood, our tent the cypress tree; we know the forest 'round us, as seamen know the sea; we know its wall of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass; its safe and silent islands within the dark morass. woe to the british soldiery, that little dread us near; on them shall light at midnight a strange and sudden fear; when waking to their tents on fire, they grasp their arms in vain, and they who stand to face us are beat to earth again, and they who fly in terror deem a mighty host behind and hear the tramp of thousands upon the hollow wind. then sweet the hour that brings release from dangers and from toil; we talk the battle over and share the battle spoil. the woodland rings with laugh and shout as if a hunt were up, and woodland flowers are gathered to crown the soldiers' cup. with merry sounds we mock the wind that in the pine top grieves, and slumber long and sweetly on beds of oaken leaves. well knows the fair and friendly moon, the band that marion leads; the glitter of their rifles, the scampering of their steeds. 'tis life to guide the fiery barb, across the moonlit plain; 'tis life to feel the night wind that lifts his tossing mane. a moment in the british camp, a moment and away; back to the pathless forest, before the peep of day. grave men there are by broad santee, grave men with hoary hairs. their hearts are all with marion, for marion are their prayers; and lovely ladies greet our band with kindliest welcoming, with smiles like those of summer, and with tears like those of spring. for them we wear these trusty arms and lay them down no more, till we have driven the briton forever from our shore. --_mrs. f. h. orme, atlanta chapter, d. a. r._ "light horse harry." the lee family was illustrious both in england and america. they clearly trace their ancestry to the norman conquest, launcelot lee being the founder of the family. the lees were prominent in english history down to the colonization of this country. robert e. lee is descended from richard lee, a younger son of the earl of litchfield, who was sent to this country in during the reign of charles i. he came as colonial secretary under sir william berkeley. he was loyal to the royal party during the struggle between the cavaliers and roundheads. richard lee, second son of the richard mentioned above, was born in virginia in and educated in england and studied law. he took an active part in colonial legislation. his son, thomas, was the first to establish himself in westmoreland county. he was very prominent in the early history of the state. the fine mansion of stratford was built for him by the east india company, and several of the prominent lees were born in that home. henry lee, the son of richard lee, filled no prominent place in colonial history. he married a miss bland and had three children, the second son being henry, who married a miss grymes in . he left six sons and five daughters, the third son being henry, the ancestor of r. e. lee. he went to princeton and was preparing to study law when hostilities with england changed his plans. when quite young he raised a company of cavalry and soon after the battle of lexington joined washington's forces. he soon became noted as an able leader and was promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel and had command of "lee's legion," consisting of infantry and cavalry. he was actively engaged in the service to the close of the war and was conspicuous in this state for some time. owing to his rapid movements he was known as "light horse harry." about he married his cousin, a daughter of colonel philip ludwell lee, of stratford. four children were born to them, all of whom died except one son. the wife died in . he was elected to congress and afterwards was governor of virginia. he next married miss anne hill carter, daughter of charles carter, of shirley. he again entered political life and was elected to the general assembly. the children of his second marriage were charles carter, sidney smith, robert e., anne and mildred. robert edward lee was born in the stratford mansion in which two signers of the declaration of independence were born. in henry lee moved to alexandria to educate his children. here he was made major-general during the war of . he was the author of "first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen," when pronouncing a eulogy on washington. his health failed in and he was induced to make a trip to the west indies, but finding that he was not benefited, he returned and landed on the coast of georgia, where he enjoyed the hospitality of a daughter of his old friend, general nathaniel greene, who was living in the family residence on cumberland island. after lingering a short time he died and was buried there, march , . general a. c. long wrote the memoirs of r. e. lee. he publishes an incident which occurred in , when lee was sent to this state to examine our lines and means of defense. general long accompanied him. when they reached savannah general lee secured a vessel and went to cumberland island. he had the boat anchored and the two went on shore. they entered the old greene mansion, which was in bad condition. going through that to the rear, general lee went alone to an old neglected cemetery. after that he returned with a flower in his hand, but never spoke a word about the visit to his father's grave. in silence he showed his reverence; with his usual modesty he refrained from speaking about it. from that old cemetery on cumberland island the body of "light horse harry" lee, ninety-five years after his death, was carried back to his old virginia home and laid in its final resting place. our legacy. our brave forefathers: give them place in hall of fame--the nation's heart; they met the foe, aye face to face: each man a hero, did his part-- invincible to fear, and wrought for us and ours, beyond his thought. o fair republic: pride and boast of children who cannot forget-- from lake to gulf, from coast to coast where waves the flag with colors set in patriot blood, which ne'er shall fade-- that _flag_ is _ours_, its price they paid. we, daughters of a loyal line, would weave their deathless deeds in song, with memory's fairest flowers entwine sweet garlands which shall linger long, who die for god and country share immortal honors other-where. --_hannah a. foster in american monthly magazine._ the ride of mary slocumb. in the prologue to "the princess," tennyson makes one of the group of collegemates assembled during the holiday season at vivian place find in an old chronicle the story of a brave woman whom a wild king besieged. but she armed "her own fair head, and sallying through the gate, had beat her foes with slaughter from the walls." when this story was read to the ladies present, one of the men asked: "where lives there such a woman now?" to which "quick answer'd lilia 'there are thousands now such women, but convention beats them down.'" on the first day of february, , general mcdonald, chief of the mcdonald clan in the cape fear region, issued a proclamation, calling upon all true and loyal highlanders to join his standard at cross creek, now fayetteville, and prepare to assist general clinton and governor martin in maintaining the king's authority in the province of north carolina. about fifteen or sixteen hundred of them obeyed the summons. from cross creek they marched down the cape fear river until they came to moore's creek, where they were met on february th by a whig force about a thousand strong under the command of richard caswell, the following from a letter from caswell to cornelius harnett shows the result of the meeting: "i have the pleasure to acquaint you that we had an engagement with the tories, at widow moore's creek bridge, on the th current. our army was about one thousand strong, consisting of the newbern battalion of minute men, the militia from craven, johnston, dobbs and wake, and a detachment of the wilmington battalion of minute men, which we found encamped at moore's creek the night before the battle, under the command of colonel lillington. the tories by common report were three thousand, but general macdonald, whom we have prisoner, says there were about fifteen or sixteen hundred; he was unwell that day and not in the battle. captain mcleod, who seemed to be principal commander, and captain john campbell, are among the slain." this was the first pitched battle of the revolution won by the whigs; the only victories of an earlier date being the capture of forts ticonderoga and crown point on may , . it would be difficult to overestimate the importance of the victory. besides the capture of about prisoners and , stands of arms of which the americans stood in great need, the crushing of the tory spirit and the corresponding rise of the whig spirit, meant untold strength to the cause of freedom. but it is not the political nor the military result of this battle with which this story is to deal. with the foregoing as an introduction, it is interesting now to turn to the story of the heroine of moore's creek, mary slocumb. mary slocumb was the young wife of ezekiel slocumb, of wayne county. he afterwards became a prominent member of the house of commons, serving in the session of to . she was but yet a girl when her husband rode away from home to join caswell in crushing mcdonald and the enemies of liberty. the men of that section, more than eighty strong, rode away one calm sunday morning, under the lead of slocumb. before the long ride was begun, his young wife went out with the colonel to inspect the men. she says that she looked at them well, and could see that every man meant mischief. no doubt it was a sturdy, stern and determined band that rode away that day to battle for their rights. these men rode away in high spirits, some to a glorious death, some to a glorious victory; none to defeat or dishonor. it is easy to imagine what a long, lonely day the young wife had at home that quiet sabbath day; it is easy to imagine where her thoughts were; it is easy to imagine how she concealed the anxiety of her heart under the assumed cheerfulness of her face. "i slept soundly and quietly that night," she says, "and worked hard all the next day; but i kept thinking where they had got to, how far, where and how many of the regulars and tories they would meet; and i could not keep from that study." going to bed in this anxious state of mind, her sleep was disturbed by a terrible dream. she seemed to see lying on the ground, surrounded by the dead and wounded, a body, motionless, bloody, ghostly, wrapped in her husband's cloak. with a cry of alarm she sprang to her feet into the middle of the room. so vivid was the impression that it remained with her even after she awakened from sleep and in rushing forward to the place where the vision appeared, she ran into the side of the house. the light was dim; all around was quiet and peaceful, but her heart kept up a great commotion. "if ever i felt fear," she says, "it was at that moment." the more she reflected on the vision the more vivid and more fearful it became, until at last she could bear the suspense no longer and starting up she said aloud: "i must go to him." in the stable was her favorite and own particular horse, "as fleet and easy a nag as ever traveled." in an instant, leaving her baby and the house in the care of the nurse, she rushed out to the barn, saddled her mare, and in less time than it takes to tell it, was flying down the road at full speed. the night air was cool; the spirit of the race was in the nag; and mile after mile was quickly left behind, as the sound of her rapidly falling hoofs fell clear and distinct in the quiet night air. all alone, urged onward by love and fear, this brave little woman swept on through the dark night, dashing over bridges, whirling through dark woods, flashing past farm houses, until when the sun began to appear in the east thirty miles lay between her and her quiet home. shortly after sunrise she passed a group of women and children anxiously awaiting news from the troops. from these she learned the exact route taken by caswell and with only a few minutes' stop she was again skimming over the ground. there was no flagging in her spirits, nor those of the mare. on the contrary, the excitement became more and more intense the nearer they got to the end of their journey. it seemed as if the woman had infused her spirits into the horse. the sun was well up when a new excitement was added to the race--she heard a sound like thunder rolling and rumbling in the distance. she pulled her mare up suddenly. what was it? though she had never heard the sound before, she knew it must be the roar of the cannon; and as she thought of what it meant, the blood coursed more rapidly than ever through her veins; she was more than ever impatient to be on the scene, and away she dashed again. but then a thought rushed into her mind that for a moment made her feel very foolish to be here so far away from home and child, on what might after all be but a fool's errand. "what a fool i am," she thought. "my husband could not be dead last night, if the battle is only fighting now." but she had come too far now to turn back and so she pressed on faster than before. as she drew nearer, she could hear the roar of the deadly muskets, the fatal rifles, and the triumphant shouts of the victors. but from which side did they come? did those shouts mean the defeat of her husband; or did they mean his triumph? this was the most trying moment of all--this terrible suspense. if it was his victory, then he would rejoice to have her share his glory; if his defeat, then he would need her to soothe his sufferings; so on she pressed to share with him weal or woe. crossing the wilmington road a few hundred yards below the bridge, she saw a clump of trees under which were lying perhaps twenty wounded men. what was this she saw? her blood froze in her veins; her heart leapt to her mouth, for there was the vision realized. the scene before her--she knew it as well as if she had seen it a thousand times; the spot, the trees, the position of the men, the groans of the wounded, and her sight fell upon a body lying in the midst of the group, her brain became dizzy, and the world seemed whirling around her at the rate of ten thousand miles a second--there lay a body, motionless, bloody, ghostly, wrapped in her husband's cloak. her whole soul became centered in that one spot. "how i passed from my saddle to this place i never knew," she said afterwards; but in some way she succeeded in reaching the body, and mechanically uncovered the head. she saw before her an unrecognizable face crusted with dust and blood from a gash across the temple. what a relief to her aching heart was the strange voice which begged her for a drink of water! her senses came back to her at once so she was able to minister to the sufferer's wants. she gave him a swallow as she held the drooping head in her lap; and with what remained of the water, bathed the dirt and gore from the face. from the ghastly crust came the pale face of one of her neighbors, frank cogdell. under the gentle care of his nurse, he revived enough to speak, and when she attempted to dress the wound on the head, he managed to gasp out: "it's not that; it's the hole in my leg that's killing me." lifting the wounded leg from the puddle of blood in which it lay she gently cut away the trousers and stockings and found a shot hole through the fleshy part of the limb. what nerve it must have taken for this young girl, unused to such work, alone, without help or advice, to go through with the painful ordeal. but she was of the stuff of which north carolina moulds her heroes, and she did not flinch from her duty. gathering a handful of heart leaves, the only thing in sight suitable for binding the wound, she tied these tight to the hole and the bleeding stopped. no sooner had she completed this pressing duty, than she turned to others of the unfortunate men who lay in pain and need and, as she says, "dressed the wounds of many a brave fellow who did good fighting long after that day." during all this time, the first anxiety for her husband relieved, she had not had time to make inquiries after him, but with true heroism devoted herself to the more pressing duties of the moment. while she was busily engaged in bringing home to these poor fellows the blessings of a woman's care, general caswell rode up. with great surprise at seeing mrs. slocumb, he raised his hat and was about to address her with a compliment, when she interrupted him with the question: "where is my husband?" "where he ought to be, madam; in pursuit of the enemy. but pray, how came you here?" "oh," she replied, carelessly, "i thought you would need nurses as well as soldiers. see! i have dressed many of these good fellows." then pointing to frank cogdell, she continued, "here is one who would have died before any of you men could have helped him." as she spoke she lifted frank's head in her arms and gave him a drink of water. when she raised her head, there before her stood her astonished husband, "as bloody as a butcher and as muddy as a ditcher." "why, mary," he exclaimed, "what are you doing there, hugging frank cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?" "i don't care," she cried. "frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier and a true friend of congress." "true, true, every word of it," exclaimed caswell, who stood by much amused at the scene. "you are right, madam," with a bow that would have shamed chesterfield himself. mrs. slocumb says she could not tell her husband what had brought her there. "i was so happy," she says, "and so were all. it was a glorious victory; i came just at the height of the enjoyment. i knew my husband was surprised, but i could see that he was not displeased with me." it was of course long into the night before the excitement subsided. the news spread like wild fire, and the whigs all over the country heard it with rejoicing and thanksgiving; and everywhere the news of the victory was heard, went also the story of the heroine, her brave ride, her heaven-sent aid, her soothing care of the wounded and suffering. many a soldier breathed a prayer of thanks for the vision which came to her and for her courageous response. but the prettiest side of the story is the simple and unaffected way in which she looked upon her act. nothing of force or beauty can be added to her own simple and touching words about her return home. after staying in camp long enough to offer intercession in behalf of the unfortunate prisoners and to receive assurance from caswell that they would be well treated, she prepared to start home. "in the middle of the night," she says simply, without thinking apparently of her course, "i again mounted my mare, and started home. caswell and my husband wanted me to stay till next morning and they would send a party with me, but no! i wanted to see my child, and told them they could send no party that could keep up with me. what a happy ride i had back! and with what joy did i embrace my child as he ran to meet me!" this is a story full of meaning and significance to him who loves his state; who admires her noble women, and brave men; who glories in her heroic deeds and great achievements. as long as the old north state can produce such women as mary slocumb, she need entertain no fears as to what her men will be.--r. d. w. connor, wilmington, n. c., _in american monthly magazine_. the hobson sisters. "come in girls, i'll find her. she just knows everything about everybody's grand parents. oh, grandmother!" called agnes, as she ushered the bevy of girls about her own age into the cherry sitting room, one october afternoon, and ran to tell her grandmother of her visitors. it did not require a second call for mrs. martin to respond, and in her quaint way she cordially greeted her youthful quests, well known to her and her grand-daughter's friends, "elizabeth," "mary" and "lucy kent." when the customary salutations and courteous inquiries had been exchanged, lucy kent, anxious to make known the object of their visit, explained: "agnes said you knew everything about everybody's ancestors, and our teacher told us today that we must bring in tomorrow our lines of descent, as far back as we could trace; also tell any family tradition or any incident in the lives of our ancestors in connection with the war of the revolution, especially, she said, anything the women did." "i don't see how the women could have done anything, when it was all fighting," added mary, as if in apology. and i said, "grandmother, you could tell us, because i had heard you go over it all, way back to adam," said agnes reassuringly. "not quite so far back, my dear, yet i can give each of you some interesting accounts of your ancestors, but the story would have to be a long one and you might weary of it," said mrs. martin hesitatingly. "oh do, grandmother," pleaded agnes. "but wednesday is my day for darning the stockings, and"-- "oh, we'll darn the stockings, so do begin," exclaimed several voices in chorus, and a rush was made for the sewing basket, and then the little girls sat demurely, waiting to hear the promised story, industriously plying the needle, and filling the holes with the thread. "this portrait that you see here on the wall," began mrs. martin, pointing to the one in front of them, "is the grandmother of my grandmother. she is one of the hobson sisters and you, agnes, are seventh in direct line of descent from her through the bacons and carrs and wares. it is a singular coincidence that you and your little friends here, all come from this same family of hobson. 'birds of a feather flocking together,'" chuckled the old lady, evidently pleased to see the friendship existing between the children in this generation, who were representatives of one of the best georgia families and of the staunchest and truest supporters of the cause of american independence. "these hobsons," continued she, "were daughters and sons of nicholas hobson, of lunenburg county, virginia, son of matthew hobson, of henrico. as you already know, georgia was largely settled by colonists from virginia. it is not surprising to find the younger members of the hobson family removing later to georgia, for young folks are always looking for the best place to locate, and this is what the husbands and wives in the hobson family did, moved to georgia and located at augusta." "but you were telling about the portrait," interposed mary. "is she agnes hobson?" "yes, agnes hobson, born july th, , and wife of william bacon, born january , , who was a revolutionary soldier, and a member of the provincial congress , as was also his brother john bacon. agnes had sisters elizabeth, sarah, obedience, mary and margaret, and brothers matthew, william, nicholas and john hobson. ten children in the hobson family, in the home in lunenburg county, virginia. my! what fine men and women, with the love of country, and the sacredness of the cause of freedom instilled in their hearts from infancy." "well, what did agnes hobson do?" questioned mary. "i was just about to tell you mary, men and women are great and are heroic when they can rise to meet the occasion which necessity presents. so at this particular crisis in the affairs during the war of the revolution, it became necessary to convey a message from colonel clark, in georgia, to general nathaniel greene, who was then in south carolina. in , the british being in possession of augusta, general greene determined to march into south carolina, and colonel clark and mccall proceeded to co-operate by annoying the british posts in georgia. general clark determined in may to attack. this information must be conveyed to general greene at once. as the enemy's line would have to be crossed, it would not be possible to send the despatch by a man with the hope that he would ever reach general greene alive. he would not only be held as a prisoner, but searched and probably hung. in those days petticoats were flags of truce. so, here was a woman's opportunity. but what woman would? in those days the country's affairs were freely and intelligently discussed by men and women, and there were no braver women than the hobsons. nothing daunted, agnes volunteered to convey the despatch. her brother-in-law, nathaniel bacon, had gone to south carolina to assist colonel pickens who was maneuvering between augusta and ninety six. nathaniel was a captain in pickens' brigade. she would reach him and through him convey this message to general greene's headquarters. with the papers safely folded in her bosom she plunged into the swollen current of the savannah river, and borne by her trusty horse, reached the carolina shore in safety. reaching her destination and fulfilling her mission, she recrossed the enemy's line, performing the act of a courier, swimming on horse back the savannah river, and riding many, many miles unattended, because a woman's service was needed at this crisis in the war for american independence." "did you say one of these hobson sisters was my ancestor, and did she do anything heroic?" asked mary inspired by this recital. "oh, yes" answered mrs. martin, "this was elizabeth, the wife of capt. sherwood bugg. there is a love story there." "a love story" inquired lucy kent, "how interesting it grows! please tell us this one." grandmother, pleased at her interested audience, continued her story of the hobson sisters. "elizabeth hobson, wife of capt. sherwood bugg, (legionary corps, jackson legion) came with her husband and her brothers john and matthew hobson to richmond county, georgia, - . john died soon after his arrival in georgia. matthew married miss burke. he also lived in augusta, was a revolutionary soldier and an ardent patriot. it was at his house that the executive council met after the capture of savannah by the british. it is said that general washington was the guest of matthew hobson during his stay in augusta, while on his triumphant tour through georgia and the south." "elizabeth hobson was no less a heroine than was her sister agnes, nor less a patriot than were her brothers matthew, william and nicholas. her house on her plantation, near augusta, beech island, she converted into a refuge and hospital for the patriots and continental soldiers, where they were cared for and nursed back to health. among these patriots were colonels clark and mccall, and major carter, who in spite of the care bestowed upon him died there from his wounds. another, colonel john jones, of burke county, received the tenderest treatment at the home of mrs. bugg. colonel jones had received eight sabre cuts on the head and was desperately wounded at earle fort, on the pacolet river, during the night attack by the british and tories. during his illness at beech island, his brother abraham jones and sister sallie jones came to visit him. the acquaintance thus brought about between the jones and bugg families, culminated later in the marriage of two couples. sarah ann jones married young sherwood bugg, and following their example abram jones married sally bugg. from these descended the phinizys and hamiltons and jones and lamars, from whom you, elizabeth and mary and lucy kent are descended." "you said, grandmother, that 'ned brace' of 'the georgia scenes,' came from the hobson sisters," reminded agnes, anxious that nothing be left untold. "so he did; 'ned brace,' who was edmund bacon, was a grandson of obedience hobson, who married john bacon. i spoke of him in the beginning as the brother of william bacon, who married agnes hobson, and there is a sweet story tradition which tells of obedience. on one occasion she was approached by a british officer, who had reason to believe that obedience knew the whereabouts of her husband, john bacon. 'do you know where he is?' sternly demanded the officer as he leveled his gun at her head. 'yes,' replied obedience, not daring to tell a lie." "'where?' thundered the officer. gaining strength at each stage of their interview, obedience lifted her head and replied defiantly: "i have hid him--in my heart and you will have to kill me to find him." "then, there was another sister, sarah, who married william fox. the old people used to speak of them as 'sister bacon' and 'sister bugg' and 'sister fox.' margaret married a telfair and mary married william bilbo. nicholas hobson married miss de graffenried and william,--well, my memory fails me now,--but i suppose i have given you tradition and incident sufficient for tomorrow's lesson, so far as you are personally interested." "oh, yes, and thank you so much" exclaimed each of the circle of friends, and with affectionate goodbyes their pleasant interview ended.--sallie marshall martin harrison, oglethorpe chapter, columbus, ga. washington's march through somerset county, new jersey. adeline w. voorhees stillwell. the battle of trenton thoroughly aroused general howe, who at once collected , men at princeton. washington had but , men. on january the battle of princeton took place and the americans were again victorious, but the men were so completely exhausted that washington was forced reluctantly to abandon his project of capturing the stores at new brunswick and to seek the hill country, where his men might obtain the rest and refreshment they so much needed. reforming his columns, the general passed along the king's highway to van-tillburgh's inn, at kingston, which was standing not many years ago. here, turning to the left on the narrow rocky hill road, he marched his way-worn men down the valley of the millstone. arrayed in the continental blue and buff as he sat on his horse with all that martial dignity peculiar to himself, washington came as a conqueror, welcomed by the enthusiastic populace. much of interest appertaining to this march to morristown is to be learned from the manuscript diary of captain thomas rodney of the dover light infantry, which is preserved by his descendants. when the van of the american army reached the bridge which spanned the millstone in front of the residence of christopher hoagland, near griggstown, the british cavalry appeared in considerable force on the opposite bank. the condition of washington's men was such that he desired neither to pursue nor be pursued, so he ordered the bridge broken up. this being done the enemy was forced to retire, which would lead one to suppose that the depth of the river was much greater then than now. commissaries were sent forward to notify the inhabitants of the approach of the troops and to direct that food be prepared for their refreshment. the home of abraham van doren, like many others, was the scene of great excitement and special activity that day. i quote from a paper read before the somerset county historical society several years ago by his great-grandson, rev. wm. h. van doren: "abraham van doren was a most prosperous and prominent member of the community. he owned the grist mill which did a large business between trenton and new brunswick. besides the mill he owned the store (ruins of which are still standing), a feed mill, a saw mill, a carding mill and power loom, a cider mill and distillery, a cooperage, a work and wagon shop, two blacksmith shops and a lath mill, besides six or seven hundred acres of land. the mills and store houses were filled with flour, grain, whiskey and lumber, awaiting a favorable opportunity of shipment to new york. the general 'killing,' as it was called, had just been finished. the beeves and hogs and other animals designed for the next year's use had just been laid down, so that, what had never before occurred in the history of the settlement, there was now a whole year's labor stored up, a providential supply for a great necessity which no human wisdom could have foreseen. before noon the whole hamlet of millville, as griggstown was then called, was ablaze with excitement and activity. soon the old dutch ovens were roaring hot and bread and pone, shortcake, mince and other pies, beef, ham and pork, sausage and poultry, were cooking and roasting to feed the general and his staff. not the officers alone, but the whole rank and file of the army was coming and right royally they feasted." there are many interesting traditions which are cherished in the van doren family relating to this visit of washington and his army. as soon as the troops had been fed and had an hour or two of rest, washington found that cornwallis, enraged that he had been so tricked as to allow his foe to escape while he slept, and fearing for his military stores at new brunswick, had put his whole army in motion. so hurriedly calling his men to "fall in," washington hastened with them to somerset court house, now millstone. it was about dusk and here they encamped for the night. washington and some of his staff quartered at the residence of john van doren, which is this house. here also still stands the old barn where the general's horse was stabled. until recently the house was occupied by a great-grandson of the man who was the proud host for one night of the father of our country. this family, too, have many interesting traditions of this memorable visit. we note that two men by the name of van doren, within twenty-four hours, were honored by being permitted to entertain the commander-in-chief of the continental army. the main body of the army encamped for the night near the present dutch church parsonage, in close proximity to the court house, which was afterward burned. early the following morning the column was again pushing northward, crossing the raritan at van veghten's bridge, now finderne. not far from this bridge stood the old first dutch church of the raritan on the ground donated by michael van veghten, whose tombstone is still standing in the little "god's acre," which surrounded the edifice. this building, like the court house, was burned with all the priceless records by general simcoe's men. rodney states that washington was again tempted to march to new brunswick, still having in mind the rich stores there which would be of such inestimable value to him. however, again out of consideration for his troops, he abandoned the project. after crossing at finderne they marched up the river to the old road turning west, just north of bernard meyers' house to tunison's tavern, now the "somerset" in somerville, field to the right, passed up grove street and continued over the hills to pluckemin. the sick and wounded were cared for in the village while the lutheran church was used as a temporary prison for the captured men. it was at this time that leslie, the young british officer who had been wounded and so tenderly cared for by dr. rush of philadelphia, having died, was laid to rest with full military honors. many of us have seen the stone in the church yard at pluckemin which marks his resting place. sunday, january , , was a great day for pluckemin. news of washington's presence, and that of his army, quickly spread throughout the surrounding country, and we can well imagine the eagerness with which the people flocked in to get the latest news of the war and perchance of their loved ones. the mathew lane house is said to be the house where the general was quartered. early on the morning of january pluckemin lost, suddenly as it had gained, the distinction of being the headquarters of the army. rested and refreshed, it was probably the most peaceful and satisfactory march experienced since leaving hackensack three months before with cornwallis at their heels. secure now from pursuit the little army in good heart travelled slowly along the narrow road called the great road from inman's ferry, new brunswick, passing bedminster church to bedminster. some authorities say they then crossed the north branch of the raritan at van der veer's mills, but mr. joshua doughty, of somerville, who seldom makes an assertion which he cannot prove by the records, tells me that they did not cross the river at that point, but filed to the right, going through "muggy hollow," the road which lord sterling used in going from his place to the sea shore at amboy; then passing through liberty corner and basking ridge, with frequent halts, they climbed the bernards hills to vealtown, bernardsville, and on to new vernon, and just as the sun was sinking in the west reached morristown. after a weary pilgrimage they were for the time being safe in winter quarters.--_american monthly magazine._ hanna arnett. by mrs. mary lockwood. the days were dark and hopeless, the hearts of our forefathers were heavy and cast down. deep, dark despondency had settled upon them. defeat after defeat had followed our army until it was demoralized, and despair had taken possession of them. lord cornwallis, after his victory at fort lee, had marched his army to elizabethtown, new jersey, and there encamped. this was in that memorable december, . the howe brothers had already issued their celebrated proclamation, that offered protection to all that would seek refuge under the british flag within sixty days and declare themselves british subjects, and take an oath binding themselves to not take up arms against the mother country or induce others to do so. in one of the many spacious homes of the town, there had assembled a goodly number of the foremost men of the time to discuss the feasibility of accepting the proffered proclamation. we are much inclined to the belief that enthusiasm, bravery, indomitable courage and patriotism were attributes that took possession of our forefathers and held on to them until they became canonized beatitudes, upon which the sires alone had a corner, but we find on close scrutiny that there were times when manly hearts wavered, and to courage was added a prefix, and this was one of them. for hours the council went on, the arguments were sincere, grave but faltering. some thought that the time had fully come to accept the clemency offered--others shook their heads, but the talk went on until every soul in the room had become of one mind, courage, bravery, patriotism, hope, honor, all were swept away by the flood-tide of disaster. there was one listener from whom the council had not heard. in an adjoining room sat hannah arnett, the wife of the host. she had listened to the debate, and when the final vote was reached she could no longer constrain herself. she sprang to her feet and, throwing open the parlor door, in her majesty confronted that group of counsels. picture a large room with a low ceiling, furnished with the heavily-carved furniture of those days, dimly lighted by wax candles, and a fire in the huge fire-place. around a table sat a group of anxious disheartened-looking men. before them stood the fair dame in the antique costume of the day. imagination will picture her stately bearing as she entered into their august presence. the indignant scorn upon her lips, the flash of her blue eyes, her commanding figure and dignified presence brought every man to his feet. consternation and amazement for the moment ruled supreme. the husband advanced toward her, shocked and chagrined that his wife had so forgotten herself; that she should come into the midst of a meeting where politics and the questions of the hour were being discussed. he would shield her now. the reproof he would give later on, and so he was quickly at her side, and whispering, said to her: "hannah! hannah! this is no place for you. we do not want you here just now." he would have led her from the room. she was a mild, amiable woman, and was never known to do aught against her husband's wishes, but if she saw him now she made no sign, but turned upon the astonished group: "have you made your decision, gentlemen?" she asked. "i stand before you to know; have you chosen the part of men or traitors?" it was a direct question, but the answer was full of sophistry, explanation, and excuse. "the case was hopeless, the army was starving, half clothed and undisciplined, repulses everywhere. we are ruined and can stand out no longer against england and her unlimited resources." mrs. arnett, in dignified silence, listened until they had finished, and then she asked: "but what if we should live after all?" "hannah! hannah!" said her husband in distress. "do you not see that these are no questions for you? we are doing what is best for you--for all. women have no share in these topics. go to your spinning-wheel and leave us to settle affairs. my good little wife, you are making yourself ridiculous. do not expose yourself in this way before our friends." every word he uttered was to her as naught. not a word had she heard; not a quiver of the lip or tremor of an eyelash. but in the same strangely sweet voice she asked: "can you tell me if, after all, god does not let the right perish, if america should win in the conflict, after you had thrown yourself on british clemency, where will you be then?" "then," said one, "we should have to leave the country. but that is too absurd to think of in the condition our country and our army are." "brother," said mrs. arnett, "you have forgotten one thing which england has not, and which we have--one thing which outweighs all england's treasures, and that is the right. god is on our side, and every volly of our muskets is an echo of his voice. we are poor, and weak, and few, but god is fighting for us; we entered into this struggle with pure hearts and prayerful lips; we had counted the cost and were willing to pay the price, were it in our own heart's blood. and now because for a time the day is going against us, you would give up all, and sneak back like cravens to kiss the feet that have trampled upon us. and you call yourselves men--the sons of those who gave up home and fortune and fatherland to make for themselves and for dear liberty a resting place in the wilderness? oh, shame upon you cowards!" "gentlemen," said arnett, with an anxious look on his face. "i beg you to excuse this most unseemly interruption to our council. my wife is beside herself, i think. you all know her, and know it is not her wont to meddle in politics, or to bawl and bluster. tomorrow she will see her folly, but now i pray your patience." her words had already begun to leaven the little manhood remaining in their bosoms, but not a word was spoken. she had turned the light of her soul upon them, and in the reflection they saw photographed their own littleness of purpose or want of manly resolve. she still talked on: "take your protection if you will; proclaim yourselves traitors and cowards, false to your god! but horrible will be the judgment you will bring upon your heads and the heads of those that love you. i tell you that england will never conquer. i know it, and feel it in every fibre of my heart. has god led us so far to desert now? will he who led our fathers across the stormy, wintry sea forsake their children, who have put their trust in him? for me, i stay with my country, and my hand shall never touch the hand nor my heart cleave to the heart of him who shames her." while these words were falling from her lips she stood before them like a tower of strength, and, turning toward her husband, she gave him a withering look that sent a shock through every fibre of his body. continuing, she said: "isaac, we have lived together for twenty years, and through all of them i have been to you a true and loving wife; but i am the child of god and my country, and if you do this shameful thing i will never own you again as my husband." "my dear wife!" answered isaac, excitedly, "you do not know what you are saying. leave me for such a thing as this!" "for such a thing as this?" "what greater cause could there be?" answered the injured wife. "i married a good man and true, a faithful friend, and it needs no divorce to sever me from a traitor and a coward. if you take your protection you lose your wife, and i--i lose my husband and my home." the scornful words, uttered in such earnestness; the pathetic tones in which these last words were spoken; the tears that dimmed her sad blue eyes, appealed to the heart of every man before her. they were not cowards all through, but the panic sweeping over the land had caught them also. the leaven of courage, manliness and resolution had begun its work. before these men left the home of hannah arnett that night every man had resolved to spurn the offered amnesty, and had taken a solemn oath to stand by their country through good days and bad, until freedom was written over the face of this fair land. there are names of men who fought for their country and won distinction afterward, who were in this secret council, but the name of hannah arnett figures on no roll of honor. where will the "sons and daughters of the revolution" place hannah arnett?--_american monthly magazine._ button gwinnett. georgia was the youngest of the thirteen original colonies. at the provincial congress which convened in savannah, january , , there were elected five delegates to the continental congress, namely: dr. lyman hall, button gwinnett, george walton, archibald bulloch, and john houston. of these button gwinnett, dr. lyman hall, and george walton were present at the session of the national assembly, which convened in philadelphia on may th, and pledged georgia with the united colonies on july , , by affixing their signatures to the declaration of independence. button gwinnett, the subject of this sketch, was said to have been born in england about . he was a merchant in bristol, england, from which place he emigrated to america in , located in charleston, s. c., and in moved to savannah, georgia, at which time he bought a large part of st. catharine's island, and engaged in farming. he died tragically on may , , as a result of a pistol shot wound in a duel with general lachlan mcintosh, near savannah on the morning of may , . the records give only limited information, and from careful investigation, at times it appears that the statements do not bear out the correct facts with regard to the biography of button gwinnett. in harper's "cyclopaedia of united states history," page , vol. , the statement is made that gwinnett was "cautious and doubtful, and took no part in political affairs until after the revolutionary war was begun." also that mcintosh challenged gwinnett for a duel. subsequent acts would not indicate that the first statement conforms to his real temperament, and it appears from the best obtainable data that gwinnett issued the challenge to mcintosh. it is true that having been a resident of america only a few years, he was in some doubt at first as to whether he would support the colonies, or throw his influence against them, but he was a man of strong convictions, ambitious, and possessed of great force of character, and his brief political career was meteoric. unfortunately his strong prejudices and desire for political preferment led to the tragedy of his premature death. he located in georgia in , was elected a delegate to the provincial congress, which convened in savannah, january , , and by this congress was made a delegate to the continental congress, which convened in philadelphia, may , . july , , he signed the declaration of independence. he became a member of the council of safety, and was an important factor in framing the first constitution of georgia. archibald bulloch, who was the first president and commander-in-chief of georgia, died suddenly in feb. . button gwinnett, on march th, was elected to fill this vacancy until a governor could be duly elected. col. lachlan mcintosh had been promoted to the rank of brigadier-general, and was placed in charge of the militia of georgia. button gwinnett was envious of this promotion of general mcintosh, and through jealousy and revenge he so interfered with the military affairs as to seriously jeopardize discipline, and create insubordination towards general mcintosh as commander-in-chief. personally ambitious, gwinnett planned an expedition against florida, and further humiliated and insulted general mcintosh by ignoring him as ranking military officer of georgia, and took command of the expedition himself. it is a matter of historical record that the expedition was a complete failure. john adams treutland was elected governor over gwinnett. mcintosh had become a warm supporter of treutland, and openly denounced button gwinnett as a scoundrel. as a result, gwinnett challenged mcintosh for a duel, which was promptly accepted, and fought with pistols at a distance of eight feet, near savannah, may , . at the first shot both were wounded, gwinnett's leg being broken and he fell. it is said he asked his seconds to raise him that he might shoot again, but his request was denied, and he was taken from the field. the weather was very warm, and septic fever soon developed, which proved fatal on the th of may following. thus ended the meteoric life of button gwinnett, who, within the short space of less than two years, sprang from obscurity into prominence, and whose life was brought to a sudden and tragic end at the hands of another, and whose grave today is in some obscure and unknown spot. "forced by pirates to walk the plank." theodosia burr, wife of governor alston of south carolina, was considered a beautiful and unusually brave woman of revolutionary days. it is of her that this legend is told. after her father's defeat as candidate for governor of new york, in , she left charleston by water route to offer her sympathy and love during his trying ordeal. the ship of which she was a passenger was captured by pirates with murderous intent. theodosia burr was forced to walk a plank backward into the watery deep, her eyes were tightly blind-folded with a handkerchief and in this gruesome manner she met her death. later on in years an old pirate confessed upon his death bed that this beautiful daughter of aaron burr, whom he had helped put to death, walked the plank with the greatest composure; never once did she give vent to her feelings. this was the news conveyed to her parents after years of fruitless search for their beloved daughter, theodosia burr.--edna arnold copeland, stephen heard chapter, elberton, ga. georgia women of early days. when the full meed of recognition to which she is entitled, is given by the historian to the part which woman played in the founding and evolution of the colony of georgia into one of the sovereign states of the american union--when her part in the bloody tale of the achievement of american independence is fully told and final justice done on history's page to the hardships which she suffered in freedom's name, to her marvellous courage, to her fortitude, to her patience, to her self-denial and heroic sacrifice, then will the poet find new themes for epic song, the artist fresh riches for his easel, the romancer a new field for historical fiction and every patriotic american a deeper veneration for the flag whose primal baptism was of blood so precious and heroic. as a curtain-raiser to the story of the heroines of the revolution, two notable women of colonial days appear and claim the tribute of more than a passing mention by reason of the picturesque place which they occupy in the early history of the province, and because of the unique and momentous service which they rendered to the colony of georgia. when general oglethorpe, dreaming of an empire of the west, attempted to secure a treaty with the aborigines and permission to plant his colony on the virgin soil of georgia, it was a woman's hand that unlocked the door and bade him enter. it was a woman's diplomatic tact and ascendant influence with the indian tribes that accomplished the cession of georgia. mary musgrove, an indian, the wife of a carolina planter, negotiated with tomichichi, the yamacraw chief, for the sale of the territory whose boundaries ran from the savannah to the altamaha and westward to the mythical "south seas,"--a body of lands so vast that the georgia of to-day is but a minor part of the territory originally ceded. thus we find that the first real estate agent that ever closed a "deal"--the biggest that ever was or ever will be in georgia--was a woman, and the first georgia manufacturer was a woman as well--mary camuse, the wife of lewis camuse. from the business tact, enterprise and industry of mary camuse resulted the first recorded exportation to england of the first manufactured article which left our shores, forty-five pounds, two ounces avoirdupois weight of silk, cultivated and woven by her hand. a glance at the minutes of the trustees of the colony reveals this quaint and interesting entry: "august th, . resolved, that it is recommended to the common council, to give mrs. camuse a gratuity for every person who shall be certified to be properly instructed by her in the art of winding silk." the art of wearing silk, with grace and elegance, could, i feel assured, be taught to any one who might seek to profit thereby, by the stately matrons whose names adorn the roster of the atlanta chapter of the daughters of the american revolution, but the art of winding silk, such as the trustees encouraged by their bounty, is, i very much fear, at this time in georgia what we might call one of the "lost arts." passing from mrs. musgrove and mrs. camuse to the georgia women of the revolution, i beg leave to state that i have sought in this paper to give only such names and incidents as are authenticated by historical reference or by well established tradition. i am by no means assured that the list is full,--indeed, i am strongly inclined to the opinion that it is largely incomplete, notwithstanding the somewhat exhaustive research which has been made in ancient archives and time-worn histories. it is generally accepted that the most conspicuous figure among the georgia women of the revolution is the famous amazon of elbert county, the redoubtable nancy hart. she was undoubtedly the foremost fighter from the ranks of the colonial dames north or south, and her brave and thrilling exploits were indubitably of a rank and character to entitle her to an exalted place in the american temple of fame. the portrait of nancy hart while in repose, is that of a formidable warrior--when in action, she must have been a female apollyon, dire and terrible, a veritable incarnation of slaughter and threatenings. six feet in height, cross-eyed, ungainly in figure, redheaded, big hands, big feet, broad mouth, massive jaw, sharp of tongue and rude in speech, she was a picture before which a redcoat, a tory, or a bachelor, well might quail. "she was a honey of a patriot but the devil of a wife," is the reading of the record--the tribute of a neighbor who lived in the bloody times which made her known to fame. it is related that in later years, a resolution was introduced in the legislature of georgia providing for an equestrian statue of general jackson--representing his horse in the act of plunging forward, the warrior pointing his sword with martial eagerness towards the foe--to be placed in the capitol of georgia. a patriotic member of the body arose in the assembly and protested that he would not vote for the resolution unless the legislature should likewise authorize a painting of nancy hart fording the broad river with a tory prisoner, bare-headed and bare armed, her dress tucked up, her jaws set, her big hands suggestively pointing the musket at her cringing captive. it does seem a matter for regret that some such recognition is not given by the state to the daring and valor of this georgia heroine. the history of no other nation can boast of a braver or more invincible woman, and it should be a matter of state pride among georgians to honor her memory and commemorate with painter's brush, or sculptor's chisel, her splendid and heroic achievements in the cause of american independence. the fame which nancy hart achieved as a fighting patriot is perhaps equaled by jane latouche cuyler as the political heroine in georgia, of the revolution. this picturesque and remarkable woman was the widow of telemon cuyler, a wealthy mariner. she lived at the corner of bull and broughton streets in savannah. mrs. cuyler was of french descent and inherited the fiery and mercurial temperament of her gallic ancestors. she is accorded the distinction of being the first patriot at savannah to don a liberty cap, which she persistently wore, to the grim displeasure, and despite the intimidating attitude, of the crown governor, sir james wright. political meetings were held by the patriots at mrs. cuyler's house and it is said, that at one of these assemblies, a resolution was passed which afterwards formed the basis of the action of the provisional congress in declaring georgia's adherence to the revolting colonies and her purpose to join with them in armed resistance to the authority of the english crown. at the fall of savannah, she was taken to charleston under an escort of continental troops and after charleston had surrendered to sir henry clinton, the commissary general of georgia is said to have caused her to be transported to philadelphia, where her expenses were paid by the commonwealth of georgia in recognition of her valuable services to the patriots' cause. so active was her participation in fanning the flame of revolution and in fomenting armed resistance to the encroachments of the crown that sir james wright is stated to have offered a reward for her capture and delivery to the british authorities. she died in new jersey after the revolution, having lived, however, to see the independence of the colonies for which she had striven with such fervor and eclat, brought to a happy and successful issue. after the fall of savannah, the continental prisoners were crowded by the british on board ships lying at anchor in the savannah river. these ships were veritable pest houses and many of the prisoners died of infection and for the want of proper sustenance. mrs. mordecai shefthall made it her mission to go out in boats provisioned and manned by her negroes to make the rounds of these floating prisons and administer such aid and bring such delicacies as she could command to the imprisoned patriots. this brave and noble woman endeared herself to the continental captives and in consequence of these missions of mercy and her brave solicitude for the unfortunate prisoners, she acquired the beautiful soubriquet of "the angel of the prison ships." yet another woman who administered to the wants and necessities of these unfortunate soldiers was mrs. minis. general shefthall himself a captain, records two important ministrations which she rendered to his succor and comfort. he says: "in this situation i remained for two days, without a morsel to eat, when a hessian officer named zaltman, finding that i could talk his language, removed me to his room and sympathized with me on my situation. he permitted me to send to mrs. minis, who sent me some victuals." but an equally important service--more of a luxury perhaps than a necessity, but a most delightful luxury to a gentleman--followed, when on application to col. innis, general shefthall, records: "i got his leave to go to mrs. minis for a shirt she had taken to wash for me, as it was the only one i had left, except the one on my back, and that was given to me by captain kappel, as the british soldiers had plundered both mine and my son's clothes." in the time allotted for this paper, i have not the opportunity to discuss at length the character and adventures of mrs. johnathan bryan who, amidst constant danger from marauding tory bands, successfully operated and managed her husband's plantation while he was fighting for the cause of liberty; nor to deal with the exciting and romantic career of sarah swinton mcintosh, nor to depict the quaint personality of winnifred mcintosh, spinster, the brave and loyal sister of the dashing "rory"; nor to draw the picture of mrs. john dooly, the tragic murder of whose husband by the tories is said to have fired the soul of nancy hart with the fierce flame of vengeance against the brutal royalists, who with fire and sword lay waste the unprotected homes of the patriots. i, therefore, close this crude and hasty sketch with a romance of the revolution, a tale which must appeal to every heart because of its human interest, its bloody setting, its gratifying sequel and by reason of the fact that one of your own members is a _lineal descendant_ of the _heroine_ of this pleasing and delightful romance of love and war. my story is a note from the life of sarah ann jones who was sent from burke county, georgia, to savannah to a boarding school for young ladies kept by gentlewomen in sympathy with the royalist faction of the colony. so far did the school management display its royalist sentiment that the school girls were coerced into knitting socks and making shirts for the enemy during the hours for play and recess, and were sternly instructed to be true and loyal servants to the king. this coercion only made the colonial girls more devoted secretly to the cause of liberty, and when savannah fell into the hands of the british, the times were past when educational advantages could be considered and our little school friend was sent for, and brought home, where it was thought she could find a safer asylum. with three brothers in the army, and all her heart with them, she was happy to be at home. but she was destined to do more for the cause of liberty than fell to the lot of every quiet maiden of those eventful days. she was sent for not a great while after her return home to go at once to beech island, near augusta, to the plantation of mrs. sherwood bugg to help nurse her brother, captain john jones, who had been severely wounded and who had been brought there, along with many other wounded soldiers, to be nursed back to life again by every kindly ministration known to the helpful women of these stirring times. and so she went and helped to nurse her brother, and there the long, anxious days were crowned by a budding romance. captain jones was able again to enter the fight for freedom, and then it was that his lovely young sister, sarah ann jones, found time for seeing much of the youngest son of her hostess, sherwood bugg, jr. love soon bound the young soldier with silken strands, their troth was plighted and with the consent of both families their marriage was arranged for. nothing marred their plans and the young couple settled after their marriage, on land in columbia county, georgia, granted their families for services rendered during the struggle of when young girls and mere boys (too young for regular soldiers) found an opportunity for working for the cause of their country as nobly as ever did the soldiers of the line. today in a little home of one of your members are to be found two very plain, _solid, old mahogany tables_ that span these years reaching back to the revolution, that belonged to this young couple--a fitting table on which to pen a love letter and the best exponent of the character of revolutionary times, serving not one, but five generations, and even now in daily use. this little romance lends additional charm to the beauty and strength of these old tables, and today, they tell us of the force and nobility of earlier days and a simpler life.--james waddy austin. read before atlanta chapter by mrs. joseph morgan. robert sallette. in studying the lives of noted individuals, we find the written history of them in many ways so very different. some are always before the eyes of the public. they seem to know just how to arrange, that their words and deeds are known and read of all men. then there are others, perhaps as worthy or perchance even more so, who are reticent and modest, and the very simplicity of their lives causes them to shrink from the lime-light, the glare of the torch and the noise of the trumpet of victory, preferring rather the inner-consciousness of having done well that which was committed unto them. apart from either of these classes, we find a few who are unconstrained, who take destiny into their own hands, rough hewing as they will, and are indifferent alike to either public censure or applause. in this last division, we would have to place our patriot, robert sallette. "neither history nor tradition gives us the place of his birth or the date of his death, yet it is known that he played a more important part in the struggle in the colony than any one man who had no troops at his command." like melchizedek, he seems to have had no beginning or ending or length of days. it is known that his grave lies in the noted old cemetery at midway, georgia along with many famous revolutionary heroes. sallette's bravery was beyond dispute, even to recklessness. his hatred of the tories and all subjects of the king was so bitter, that it caused a price to be set upon his head. most of us are familiar with the traditions which the historian, harris, tells of in his "stories of georgia," where "a tory of some means offered a reward of one hundred guineas to any one who would bring him the head of sallette." the tory had never seen sallette, but his alarm was such, that he offered a reward large enough to tempt some one to assassinate the daring partisan. when sallette heard of the reward, he disguised himself as a farmer, placed a pumpkin in a bag and took it to the home of the tory. he was invited in and deposited the bag on the floor beside him, the pumpkin striking the boards with a thump. "i have brought you the head of robert sallette," he said. "i hear that you have offered a reward of one hundred guineas for it." "where is it," asked the tory. "i have it with me," replied sallette, shaking the loose end of the bag. "count me out the money and take the head." the tory neither doubting nor suspecting counted out the money and placed it on the table. "now show me the head," said he. sallette removed his hat, tapped himself on the forehead and said, "here is the head of robert sallette." the tory was so frightened that he jumped from the room and sallette pocketed the money and departed. an old inhabitant of liberty county tells that once two tory robbers had gone to some worthy man's house in the lower part of the county and demanded his money. when he refused, they put a rope around his neck. bob sallette seems to have appeared on the scene and saw what was taking place across the field. sallette rushed up on horseback, yelling with all his might, "come on, boys, here they are." the tories, thinking they were outnumbered and would be captured, ran away. sallette took the man in trouble on horseback with him and they made their escape. sallette was not wanting in humor, as we see in the little encounter he had with the advance guard of the british. observing that a dead man, who was a remarkably large man, had on a pair of good boots, sallette determined to get them. while pulling them off, his companion called for him to get away quickly, or he would be killed. "i must have the boots, i need them, i want them for little john way." this was fun in the midst of tragedy, as mr. way was a remarkably small man. it will be remembered that at a very early period, the citizens of st. john's parish (now the county of liberty) took a very firm stand in favor of independence. the early, open, and determined resistance, of this parish did not escape the notice of the enemy, and accordingly it was made to feel the full measure of royal vengeance. added to this, sallette must have had some special cause for the bitter animosity and hatred he felt for all britishers. it was thought (as his name would indicate) that he descended from the french acadians, who had previously suffered much, and often, at the hands of the britishers, hence his motto, which was, "never forgive a tory." if one was ever liberated he made it his business to follow him and, if possible, take his life. sallette was a roving character, belonging to no particular command. he fought valiantly and zealously, but always in his own peculiar way and style. he didn't seem to especially value his own life and, never, the life of his foe. once he dressed as a britisher and dined with a party of them. while toasting and merry-making he suddenly drew his sword and killing the man on either side of him, he jumped on his horse and rode off unhurt, though he stood not on the order of his going. we can well understand that with such a daring spirit and cool calculating brain he was greatly feared by the tories. evidently his thinking was independent, for his style of warfare and sudden actions kept the enemy uncertain where he would next appear. often during a battle he would leave his command and go to the rear of the enemy and kill a number before he would be discovered. when major baker defeated a body of tories at the white house near sunbury, among the enemies slain was lieutenant grey, whose head was almost severed from his body by a stroke of robert sallette's sabre. sallette, the scout, was a personal friend of major fraser of the revolutionary war. tradition has it that these two men did valiant and effective service in running out the tories. one story is, that these two met a couple of tories in the road at the ford of taylor's creek and the tories were never afterwards seen or heard of, which was characteristic of his manner of dealing with the enemy. we know that often when general marion of south carolina wanted some special work done he sent to liberty county, georgia, for the distinguished and intrepid scout, robert sallette. this daring scout performed many deeds to free this land from english oppression and to enable us to sing: my country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty * * * * * long may our land be bright, with freedom's holy light, protect us by thy might, great god, our king. general lafayette's visit to macon. the nation's guest--arrangements for his reception. (from the georgia messenger, macon, ga, march , .) a signal gun will be fired as soon as the general and his suite arrive, on the hill at the old fort. the ladies and gentlemen will proceed to form themselves immediately in two lines on bridge street, near the ferry, under the direction of the town marshal, and a. mandell, j. s. childers, g. b. wardlaw, e. mccall, r. mccall and isaiah chain, marshals for the day; the arrangements to be as follows: first, the commissioners of the town and committee of arrangements on horseback; second, the ladies; third, the citizens generally. he will be received by the commissioners and committee near the ferry, where he will be addressed by james s. frierson, esq., in behalf of the citizens. wednesday, march th.--reception of lafayette. at o'clock yesterday a signal announced his approach, when the ladies and gentlemen proceeded to form lines on bridge street near the ferry. owing to the rapidity with which he now travels, he was entirely unattended by any military escort. the only persons with him were his son and secretary, and two of the governor's aids, cols. thaddeus g. holt and henry g. lamar. he dismounted from his carriage and crossed the river, where he was received by the committee and commissioners. on ascending the bluff he was welcomed to our town in behalf of the citizens by james s. frierson, esq., who said: "general lafayette. sir: i am deputed by the citizens of macon and its vicinity to welcome you to this place. "to tell you, sir, that you were the early, steadfast and constant friend of this republic in her revolutionary contest, would be only to say what had been acknowledged by the past and present generation. "but that glorious struggle in which your destinies were pledged in common with the illustrious characters of that day, has eventually proved that a system of government, now in the history of the world, a confederative representative democracy, is the best guarantee for the liberties of a great people, is now confirmed by the experience of thirty-six years. "the first state, sir, which you will enter after leaving this, and those you are now to visit are prominent testimonials of this sublime truth, unknown in the revolutionary struggle; a barren wilderness where the foot of civilized man had scarcely trod, in this short period had grown in numbers nearly equalling the original states, entertaining the same political views, the same veneration for your person and character that we do; you will there be greeted with the same hospitality that you have met here. "with hearts full of gratitude for your past service, with the earnest and intense interest for your future welfare and prosperity, we all unite in wishing that the evening of your days may be spent in that calm tranquility and repose of which you were deprived in your earlier life." to which the general replied in substance: "that he was thankful for the manner in which the citizens of macon were placed to receive him; that he perfectly accorded in the opinion that a representative democracy was the best calculated to secure the liberties of the people, and requested that the people of macon would receive his thanks for the manner in which they had been pleased to treat him." a procession then formed and he was conducted to his quarters at the macon hotel. during the moving of the procession a national salute was fired. soon after his arrival he was waited upon by the ladies, who were individually introduced to him; after which every citizen who wished was introduced, to whom general lafayette gave a cordial grasp of the hand. he was then waited on at his quarters by the brethren of macon lodge, no. , and was addressed as follows by worshipful ambrose baber, master of the lodge: "brother and general lafayette: in our humble capacity as brothers of the mystic union, we welcome you to our infant village. no triumphal arch, no tinsel show of earthly grandeur greeted your entry. we offer you a triumph more lasting and noble--the triumph of gratitude. "admonished by that resplendent luminary which rules and governs the day, and imparts an equal lustre on all mankind twice in every year, that we have all once been and must again be upon a level, we have ventured to hail your arrival among us, and to offer you a welcome in unalloyed gratitude, the spontaneous effusion of our hearts. "illustrious benefactor of mankind. what a train of associations does thy eventful life excite. companion and associate of our immortal washington. thine efficient arm hath prostrated oppressive tyranny--succored, and relieved distressed and agonized humanity, and established a nation in the full enjoyment of freedom. the glittering offerings of princes could not dissuade, nor the appalling frowns of royalty deter you from a life of benevolent usefulness. the assassins of sanguinary demagogues nor the loathsome cells of the dungeon mar or destroy your feelings of philanthropy. unaltered and unchanged didst thou remain amidst the calamities and vicissitudes which harrassed thine own distracted country. "behold thy compensation. the gratitude of ten millions of freemen, the applause and admiration of every nation. even the wilderness smiles with joy and the savage is gladdened at thy presence. "amidst this jubilee of feeling, permit me to offer you again the grateful rejoicings of my associates and brethren of the society of free masons, in beholding you among us. royal tyranny may condemn, ignorance may reproach and blaspheme the holy mysteries of our institution; yet with lafayette for her support the science of masonry will continue to illumine and harmonize mankind to endless ages. gratitude must have fled from the breast of man, humanity lose its refuge on earth, and memory lose its seat ere the virtuous deeds of the generous, amiable, distinguished and exemplary lafayette shall be forgotten." to which the general replied in an animated manner: "the very grateful reception i have met among my brethren demands of me an expression of my most sincere and affectionate acknowledgements. permit me to declare to you particularly, and the brethren of your lodge, an unfeigned obligation for the very flattering regard you have been pleased to express for me. "the science of free masonry, to which i have for many years been an humble votary, is wonderfully calculated to alleviate the many distresses and calamities to which mankind are exposed in their variegated and manifold duties in society, and when i recur to those scenes, to which you have been pleased so delicately to allude, i am constrained to acknowledge how much i have been cheered, sustained and animated in the various vicissitudes of my life, by the holy precepts and examples of our institution. "that you and your lodge may be blessed with prosperity and harmony, that the rising town of macon may continue in its advancement, that masonry may flourish, and the citizens enjoy all the social and intellectual blessings it so eminently inculcates, i pray you, sir, with the rest of my brethren to accept as my most sincere and ardent wish." he remained in town but about two hours and a half, during which time, he in company with a large number of our citizens, partook of an excellent dinner prepared by mr. stovall. after dinner the following toast was given by edward d. tracy, esq.: "our illustrious guest--the friend of our country, of liberty, and of man." to which the general replied, and gave: "the town of macon--may its prosperity continue to be one of the strongest arguments in favor of republican institutions." very soon after dinner he bade an affectionate adieu to the gentlemen and ladies around him and resumed his carriage, at which time another national salute was fired. he was accompanied by the committee, commissioners of the town and a number of our citizens, on horseback, several miles on his way. it is understood he intended to lodge at the agency; making the whole distance traveled during the day about sixty miles. singular coincidence of circumstances in the history of lafayette and bolivar. south carolina was the first place in the united states in which they both landed, and at no very distant spots the one near georgetown, and the other at charlestown. lafayette, a frenchman, came by the way of france. both have most materially contributed to the independence of the new world--the one in north, the other in south america; and what is most singular, at the very period in which the one is receiving the homage of national gratitude in the former--the other has succeeded in his efforts for the cause of freedom in the latter place. among the persons who received gen. lafayette at columbia, was judge waites, who is the only survivor of the party that first received him at landing on the soil of south carolina, at gen. huger's in georgetown. yes. tomorrow's flag day. (tomorrow, june , is flag day in the united states.) when freedom, from her mountain height, unfurled her standard to the air, she tore the azure robe of night and set the stars of glory there. she mingled with the gorgeous dyes the milky baldric of the skies, and striped its pure celestial white with streaklings of the morning light; then from his mansion in the sun she called her eagle to bear down, and gave into his mighty hand the symbol of her chosen land. majestic monarch of the cloud, who rear'st aloft thy regal form to hear the tempest trumpings loud and see the lightning lances driven, when strive the warriors of the storm and rolls the thunder drum of heaven; child of the sun, to thee 'tis given to guard the banner of the free, to hover in the sulphur smoke, to ward away the battle stroke, and bid its blendings shine afar, like rainbows on the cloud of war, the harbingers of victory. flag of the brave, thy folds shall fly, the sigh of hope and triumph high, when speaks the signal trumpet tone, and the long line comes gleaming on. ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, has dimmed the glistening bayonet, each soldier eye shall brightly turn to where thy sky-born glories burn, and as his springing steps advance, catch war and vengeance from the glance; and when the cannon mouthings loud heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, and gory sabres rise and fall, and cowering foes shall shrink beneath each gallant arm that strikes below that lovely messenger of death. flag of the seas, on oceans wave thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave; when death, careering in the gale, sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, and frighted waves rush wildly back before the broadside's reeling rack, each dying wanderer of the sea shall look at once to heaven and thee, and smile to see thy splendors fly in triumph o'er his closing eye. flag of the free heart's hope and home, by angel hands to valor given, the stars have lit the welkin dome, and all thy hues were born in heaven. forever float that standard sheet! where breathes a foe but falls before us, with freedom's soil beneath our feet, and freedom's banner streaming o'er us? --_drake._ [illustration: it was here that betsy ross designed and made the first american flag, the original old glory.] flag day. hats off! this is the flag's birthday. the banner of blue, crimson and white, is one hundred and thirty-six years old, . honor the colors today. the flag represents more than just stars and stripes. it represents the history of the great republic from its cradle to this very moment: "sea fights and land fights, grim and great, fought to make and save the state; weary marches and sinking ships, cheers of victory on dying lips. sign of a nation, great and strong, to ward her people from foreign wrong. pride and glory and honor all live in the colors, to stand or fall." throughout the country the d. a. r.'s are celebrating this great anniversary of our flag. honor the flag. it belongs to every american citizen, whether we live under northern or southern skies, whether the american spirit is enthroned over civilization struggles with its problems upon the shores of the pacific, or turns to problems as grave on this side. and we are conquering the world under the emblem of old glory. the world turns to us as the maker of peace, the mightiest since civilization's dawning, for genuine rule--those "common people," of whom lincoln said, "the lord must love them, he made so many." the first flag hoisted on american soil about which we have any authentic record, was that seen by the earliest voyagers to our coasts. they found that the north american indians carried a pole covered with wing feathers of the eagle as a standard. columbus, when he landed, october th, , on the island of san salvador, unfurled upon the shores of the new world the first european banners. the son of columbus records that his father, dressed in scarlet, came ashore with the royal standard of isabella emblazoned with the arms of castile and leon. he planted this standard together with its companion, a white flag with a green cross, on this small island. in the pictures of the ships of the time of columbus these flags may be seen streaming from the ship's mast. in , the eastern coast of south america was explored by the florentine, americus vespucius. about the same time the cabots planted the banners of england and of st. mark of venice on the north american shores. the red cross of st. george was first raised on american shores at jamestown, virginia, in may and when the pilgrims landed on plymouth rock in there floated from the mast of the mayflower also the red cross of st. george. our pacific coast had been visited in the preceding century by francis drake, in his voyage around the world. into the new york harbor sailed hudson with the dutch flag, a tri-color, orange, white and blue. this banner, with the letters w. i. c., floated over manhattan island, proclaiming the rights of the dutch west india company. about the same time the swedes floated their royal banner in the sunlight on the banks of the delaware. this colony from the frozen north of europe was so charmed with our country that to cape horn they gave the name of paradise point, and called their little settlement christiana, after their far-away queen. during the period of our history known as colonial and provincial, the english flag was used from maine to georgia, with various devices and mottoes. some flags were all red, with horizontal stripes, or red and blue stripes. others were red, blue, white or yellow. the flags so frequently mentioned in the newspapers of , were the ordinary english ensigns, bearing the union jack. these almost always bore a patriotic motto like "liberty," "liberty and property," and "liberty and union." so i could go on and dwell on the different flags, but i must hurry to our own, our native flag. it is not generally known, and comes as a surprise to many, that the stars and stripes is one of the oldest national flags in existence, france being next; and england's present flag was not adopted until . the anniversary of the adoption of the stars and stripes by the continental congress, june th, , should be observed by every american citizen. in the year , congress appointed a committee, of which franklin was chairman, to consider and devise a national flag. this resulted in the adoption of the "king's colors," so called, as a union or corner stone, while thirteen stripes of alternate red and white stood as at present. this flag was publicly accepted, recognized and saluted at washington's headquarters in cambridge, mass., january , , from which fact it was often called the "cambridge flag," though sometimes the "flag of the union." after the declaration of independence this flag lost its point, as nobody except the tories wanted to see "king's colors." so in the spring of , congress appointed another committee to design another suitable flag. george washington and robert morris were members of the committee. so washington and robert morris called upon mrs. elizabeth ross, arch street, philadelphia, and from a pencil drawing of general washington's, mrs. ross made the first flag. she suggested six pointed stars instead of five as washington suggested and sketched. he accepted her suggestion, and so the flag was made. most interesting is the fact that the making of the american flag is largely woman's work. that the manufacture of flags has grown to be a large industry is proven by the fact that every year enough flags, great and small, are made to give one to every man, woman and child in the united states. betsy ross made flags for the government for many years; after her death, in , her daughter, mrs. clarissa wilson, succeeded to the business. miss sarah wilson, great granddaughter of betsy ross, still makes duplicates of the original flag. the great battle ships that are steaming around the world, flying our flag under circumstances that have made the nation assume a new importance in the eyes of millions who never before knew much about us, have the proper flag. it would never do for the american government to fly an incorrect american flag. it is a huge task to replace all the banners used. these are the facts, that keep busy hands at work, guiding the electrically driven sewing machines that take stitches a minute. even though the machine that cuts the stars for the silk and wool bunting flags can create three thousand an hour, its operators have plenty to do. the stripes are cut from great rolls of colored bunting or silk, sometimes by skilled operatives, and again by machinery. the unions are cut in the same way. the stars are first pinned on the unions, and then sewed by machinery. that is, so far as the bunting flags are concerned. the silk flags are wholly hand work, even to the cutting out of the stars. the latter are embroidered on the blue field and then all the extra cloth is deftly scissored away. the major number of small flags is printed. this is accomplished by the aid of the engraver and presses something like those on which newspapers are printed. even in this mechanical work, women are found to be more serviceable than men. it always has been their field, and seems likely to so remain. there has been almost as much of an evolutionary process in the manufacture, as in the arrangement of the american flag. on the same day that congress adopted the stars and stripes, john paul jones received command of the ranger, in portsmouth. he immediately displayed the new flag at the main top, probably being the first person to hoist these colors over a united states warship. jones is said to have remarked, pointing to the flag, "that flag and i are twins; we cannot part in life or in death. so long as we will float, we will float together; if we must sink, we shall go down as one." the first recognition of our flag was by the flag of france. the first display over military forces took place on august , , at fort stanwix, afterward schuyler, new york. the fort was besieged by the british; its garrison had no colors, so they manufactured a standard of the approved pattern. they cut up their shirts as white material; for stars and stripes, an officer's coat supplied the blue; and small sections of red flannel undergarments furnished the third color. it is said that the flag thus pieced together was greeted with great enthusiasm and warmly defended. the following september the stars and stripes were first displayed in battle at brandywine. they first waved over a captured port at nassau in the succeeding january. it was first borne around the world by capt. john kendrick, of the ship columbia, sailing from boston in . it had first been displayed in china, three years before, by captain john green, of the empress. when the first ship appeared flying the stars and stripes, the new flag excited much interest and curiosity among the people of canton. a strange new ship had arrived in port, they said, bearing a flag as beautiful as a flower, and everybody wanted to see the flower-flag ship. by this name of flower-flag the chinese continued for many years to speak of our ensign, and its poetic beauty has often appealed to our own people. the sobriquet which appeals most strongly to the nation as a whole seems to be that of "old glory." captain stephen driver was the first man to christen our flag "old glory." he was born at salem, mass., march , . just before he sailed on the brig charles doggett, in the year , he was presented with a large american flag. as it was hoisted he called it "old glory" and this was the name he evermore used for it. this flag was always with the captain on the sea and when he retired, he carried it home with him to nashville, tenn. his fondness for his flag was widely known, as also his being a union man. during the late unpleasantness his neighbors desired to get hold of this particular flag but they searched his house and all in vain. the captain had made a comforter out of it, having quilted the old glory with his own hands. he made his comforter his bed fellow. when peace was restored, he took the flag to the capitol building in nashville. as he saw it on top of the building he exclaimed, "now that old glory is up there, gentlemen, i am ready to die." he died in nashville in . the original flag made by betsy ross remained unchanged until . at this time, two new states had been added to the union, vermont and kentucky, and it became evident some recognition of these states should appear upon the flag. accordingly the number of stars was changed from thirteen to fifteen, though much opposition was shown to this change. for twenty-three years the flag of thirteen stripes was the national standard. under this banner, the united states fought and won three wars to maintain her existence. they were the wars with france in , with the barbary states in , and with england in . this was the "star spangled banner" in honor of which francis scott key composed our national song. a large national flag is kept floating over the grave of francis scott key and is never taken down except to be replaced by a new one. this was the flag under which the good ship constitution sailed. in the year , the number of states had increased to twenty, and five were in no way represented in the flag. congress finally decided to have thirteen stripes, and a provision that for every state added to the union a new star should appear in the galaxy upon the blue field, and that this star should appear upon the fourth of july next following the admission of the new state. by this happy arrangement, the flag typifies at once the country as it was when first it became independent and as it is today. there is no law as to the method of arrangement for the stars, but the army and navy regulated this to suit themselves. we think of ourselves as a new country, yet oddly enough our flag is one of the oldest in the world today. that of denmark is the oldest european standard, dating back to . next is the swiss flag, which was adopted in the seventeenth century. in , to the army of the united states there were furnished storm and recruiting flags, post flags, garrison flags; the year previous, storm and post flags. these sewed together would nearly, if not entirely, reach around the united states. each battle ship of the american navy is entitled to flags every three years, though many are renewed oftener than this. the cost of the flags for each battle ship is about twenty-five hundred dollars, nothing small in this bill of uncle sam's for equipment, especially when you remember he has twenty-seven first and second class battleships in commission, to say nothing of the cruisers, torpedo boats, torpedo boat destroyers, submarine monitors, gun boats, supply ships, training and receiving ships, about seventy in all. for the naval flags the united states uses up about forty-three thousand dollars worth of material every year; pays seventeen thousand dollars for wages, and produces an average of about sixty thousand flags of four hundred and eight different patterns. the material of which the flag is made must stand severe tests, for there are storms to be weathered and a sixty mile gale can whip average cloth to tatters. a strip of bunting two inches wide must have a strength of sixty-five pounds when proved on the testing machine. two inches of filling must stand forty-five pounds. the bunting is american made and all wool and nineteen inches wide. it is washed for twenty-four hours in soap and fresh water and next day given a like treatment with salt water. then for ten days it is exposed to the weather, thirty hours of sunshine being stipulated. the largest united states flag, x , costs the government only forty dollars. there is a statute law which prohibits the use of our flag for advertising purposes or decorating. where better can you realize the beauty of the american flag, and that which it represents, than when you see it flying over school houses or play grounds? the respect paid by the school children to the flag by rising and standing and with right hand raised to a line with their forehead while they pledge allegiance to their flag is most appropriate, but the pledge that appeals to me most is that for the children of the primary schools, which is, "i give my head and my heart to god and my country, one language and one flag." when you see the hands of ten, nay, twenty, nationalities raised, while foreign tones mingle with those of our children expressing allegiance to one flag, where better can you realize the beauty of "old glory?" and though your word, your flag, your tiny nosegay may fall into the hands of just a "little dirty fellow, in a dirty part of town, where the windy panes are sooty and the roofs are tumble down; where the snow falls back in winter, and the melting, sultry heat, comes like pestilence in the summer through the narrow dirty street," you are giving into his hands the flag you would have him love, and in later years honor and defend. the sons of the revolution print these regulations: "the flag should not be hoisted before sunrise, nor allowed to remain up after sunset. "at sunset spectators should stand at attention and uncover during the playing of 'star spangled banner.' military men are required to do so by regulation. "when the national colors are passing on parade, or in review, the spectator should, if walking, halt; if sitting, arise and stand at attention, and uncover. "in placing the flag at half staff, it should first be hoisted to the top of the staff and then lowered to position, and preliminary to lowering from half staff it should be first raised to the top." there is one general rule for the care of the flag which should always be remembered. "treat the flag of your country with respect--this is the fundamental idea. whatever is disrespectful is forbidden in dealing with symbols of national existence. do not let it be torn; if it should become snagged or torn accidentally, mend it at once. do not let the flag be used in any way dishonorable." i once heard of a flag used to cover the floor of a stage when an officer of the navy present took up the flag, saying: "i will never allow anyone to stand on the flag while i am present." the national flag is raised on school buildings on all national or state holidays and on anniversaries of memorable events in our country's history. most all schools now know the star spangled banner and when it is brought forward every pupil rises and gives a military salute and distinctly repeats: "i pledge allegiance to my flag and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice to all." the eye of the home-comer catches sight of the large american flag which floats from a steel pole feet high at mt. claire, new jersey, before even he sees the statue of liberty. here's our love to you, flag of the free and flag of the tried and true; here's our love to your streaming stripes and your stars in a field of blue; native or foreign, we're children all of the land over which you fly, and native or foreign, we love the land for which it were sweet to die. on june , , in old independence hall, philadelphia, congress adopted the following resolution: resolved, that the flag of the thirteen united states be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation, the stars to be arranged in a circle. it was thirty-seven years before the song to immortality, the name of our star spangled banner, was written. end of the revolution. by rev. thomas b. gregory. the last battle of the revolutionary war was fought at blue lick, kentucky, august , . england died hard, and in ways that were far from being in strict keeping with international law tried to postpone the final surrender as long as she could. it was in consequence of such tactics that the battle of blue lick was fought. on the th of august, , a force of several hundred canadians and wyandotte indians laid siege to bryan's station, some five miles from the present city of lexington, the capital of the famous blue grass region. the next day a party of frontiersmen, commanded by daniel boone, john todd and stephen trigg, hastened to the rescue, notwithstanding the fact that they were greatly outnumbered by the enemy. upon reaching the near neighborhood of the station a council of war was held to determine upon the line of attack. boone's advice was to march silently up the river and fall upon the rear of the enemy, while, at the same time, the main attack should be delivered in front. unfortunately, this sensible advice was spoiled by the rash action of a major named mcgray, who dashed his horse into the river, shouting: "let all who are not cowards follow me." of course, mcgray's action was madness, but it was a madness that became instantly contagious, and soon most of the men were fording the stream hard after the rash major. crossing without molestation they reached the top of the ridge, when their troubles began in dead earnest. from front and flanks they received a deadly fire from the indians and their canadian allies. they had been ambushed, and the invisible foe shot them down like dogs. outnumbered three to one, and presently quite surrounded, they fought like the brave men they were until they realized that to remain longer was to be annihilated, whereupon they broke through the fiery cordon and escaped as best they could. sixty-seven kentuckians were killed outright and many of the wounded were afterward massacred. the loss of the canadians and wyandottes was never known, as they carried away their killed and wounded. but the redmen made no more trouble for kentucky. the treaty of peace deprived them of their british backing, and the united states was left to deal with them after its own way. the memory of the brave fight that was put up by the handful of frontiersmen lingered with them, and, with no hope of help from england, they gave the kentuckians a grand letting alone. such, in brief, is the story of the last battle of the war of the revolution. beginning away up in massachusetts, the great struggle ended at blue lick, kentucky, a region that was an unknown wilderness when the struggle began. indian legends counties of georgia bearing indian names. seven of the counties in georgia have been named to perpetuate the memory of the first american, the indian. of peculiar interest is the derivation and meaning of the names of these counties. _catoosa_: gatusi in cherokee language and means "mountain." _chattahoochee_: (creek: _chatu_ "rock" _hutchas_ "mark," "design": "pictured rocks"). a former lower creek town on the upper waters of chattahoochee river to which it gave its name; seemingly in the present harris county, georgia. so called from some pictured rocks at that point. _chatooga_: (also chatuga, a corruption of the cherokee tsatugi, possibly meaning "he drank by sips," or "he has crossed the stream and come out on the other side," but more likely of foreign origin). _cherokee_: the tribal name is a corruption of _tsalagi_ or _tsaragi_, the name by which they commonly called themselves, and which may be derived from the choctaw _chilukki_, "cave people," in allusion to the numerous caves in their mountain country. _coweta_: (kawita). the name of the leading tribe among the lower creeks, whose home was at one time on the ocmulgee, and later on the western side of chattahoochee below the falls. according to one old creek tradition the name means "those who follow us," and was given them by the kasihta indians, another creek tribe who traditionally marched in advance when the creeks invaded alabama and georgia. _muscogee_: (_muscogee_, properly _maskoki_) meaning unknown. its derivation has been attributed to an algonquian term signifying "swamp" or "open marshy land." muscogee is the name by which the dominant tribe of the creek confedracy knows itself and is known to other tribes. _oconee_: was the name of a tribe which anciently lived on oconee river, but subsequently moved first to the east bank of the chattahoochee and later to florida where it found a nucleus of the people later known as seminoles. oconee, their chief town, was situated, according to hawkins, about four miles below milledgeville. weekachumpa, their chief, known to the english as long king, and one of his warriors were among the indians assembled to welcome oglethorpe when he arrived in georgia in .--compiled by mrs. j. s. lowrey. story of early indian days. a pretty story of early times in america is that of the restoration of a little girl to her parents by the indians. it is quoted from currey's "story of old fort dearborn," by the new york post. the child, who was nine years old at the time of her capture in western pennsylvania, was well treated, came to regard the chief and his mother with love and reverence, learned their language and customs, and almost forgot her own. at the end of four years, this chief was invited by a colonel who was very popular with the red men to bring the girl to a council fire at ft. niagara. he accepted the invitation upon condition that there should be no effort to reclaim the child. when the boat in which the chief and his captive had crossed the niagara river touched the bank, the girl sprang into the arms of her waiting mother. the chief was deeply moved. "she shall go," he said. "the mother must have her child again. i will go back alone." in the words of her daughter-in-law, who wrote of this period many years afterward: "with one silent gesture of farewell he turned and stepped on board the boat. no arguments or entreaties could induce him to remain at the council; but having gained the other side of the niagara, he mounted his horse, and with his young men was soon lost in the depths of the sheltered forests." the girl became the wife of john kinzie, "chicago's pioneer." [illustration: chief vann house, built by david vann, a cherokee chief, prior to .] chief vann house. at the foot of one of the highest peaks of cohuttah mountains in north georgia, there stood, one late autumn day, an indian girl, the daughter of a cherokee chief, and her half-breed lover. as they talked she told him how the young men of her tribe hated him and how they taunted her about her pale faced lover, and told her he would be cruel and false to her. the old chiefs had told her of the great white chief, desoto, who had built the fort on this very mountain where they stood, when he rested in his journey from the indian village, chiaha (the place where the city of rome, ga., now stands). they told her how cruelly his followers had treated her people, tearing down their wigwams, desecrating their graves, in their search for tau-lan-neca (yellow money) and they warned her that he belonged to that same cruel race. he answered her, his heart swelling with love for his father's people, that they were not false and cruel but kind and good. he told her of his recent trip to washington where he had gone as interpreter for their great chief, ridge, who loved the white people. he said they had seen the great white father and he had talked kindly to them and had advised them to sell their lands to the white people who would pay them well for it and would give them lands just as beautiful in the far west, which would be theirs as long as "grass grew and water ran." he told her that if her people should be guided by chief ridge, and go to this far away land, he, too, would go with them and try to make her happy among her own people. if they did not go he would stay among them and build her a house like the white people lived in, a house good and strong that would last as long as their love, which would be forever. (it seems a prophecy for it is still standing). he kept his promise to her and the house he dreamed of was built. what a marvelous thing it was to those savage people to watch the building of this house, with its carved mantels that reach to the ceiling, and the wonderful spiral stairway that excites the admiration of the skilled workmen of today and the hinges of the doors of beaten brass. this palefaced lover little dreamed of what the future held in store, that he (david vann) should become a chief of his nation and go again to washington with chief ridge and bring back to their tribe the purchase money for their lands, how dissensions had arisen among them in regard to the division of the money, how he buried the money near his home and how the wife that loved him begged him not to tell her where he buried it for fear the indians would come and torture her and make her tell where it was buried. little did he dream that he and chief ridge would be basely murdered by the indians. this house has never been known by any other name but the chief vann house. it is impossible to find out the exact time it was built, as there were no white people living here at that time. white, in his georgia statistics, says that when the moravian mission was started in spring place that chief vann gave them the land for their buildings near his house and sent his children to their school. that was in , so the house had been built before that date. judge george glenn in a published article has told of chief vann's later life, his marriage to an indian princess, his visits to washington, his receiving and burying the gold, and his murder by the indians, all of which is authentic. the material for the house was said to have been carried on the backs of indian ponies from savannah, ga., but other accounts say that chief vann taught the indians to make and burn the brick there. thus ends the romance, mingled truth, and tradition, but the house in fairly good repair is still standing in spring place, ga., today. this little town was the only place of any size at that time. in the jail at this place john howard payne was imprisoned, accused of being a spy. the jail is still standing.--mrs. warren davis, historian, john milledge chapter, d. a. r., dalton, ga. indian tale. "grandfather, tell me about the indians," said little annie daniel, as she climbed upon the arm of a large rocking chair in which mr. abel daniel was sitting, dreaming of the past with its many varied experiences. the person thus addressed had even now reached his fourscore years and ten, yet his mind was keenly alert, his carriage erect and his immaculate dress revealed the "gentlemen of the old school." washington county, georgia, was proud to claim so distinguished a son, so valiant a hero and such a cultured gentleman. capt. daniel had survived three noted wars; the "war of ," the indian and the mexican, in all of which he had been a true soldier and had won honor for his home and native state. his gallant service in the wars with the british and the mexicans interested the grown people. how he helped general gaines and his men capture the little village in clay county on the banks of the chattahoochee, which is now called fort gaines and drive the indians back into florida, always delighted the young boys and his lullabies sung in the indian language pleased little annie, but tonight she begged for a real indian story. "well, dear, i shall tell you of one which relates to my own life and is really a great part of it," said grandfather. "after helping to expel the indians from our borders, i decided to go live with them for a time in order to learn their crafts and become better acquainted with a people whom i believed to be honest and loyal." "having crossed the border and tied my handkerchief to a leafy branch and waived it aloft as a flag of truce, they quickly responded and gave me a most cordial welcome. during the seven years of my stay with them, i was known as the 'white man' and treated as some superior being. the best of all they possessed was at my command and they counted nothing too dear that would add to my pleasure. i was made a sharer in all their hunting and fishing sports, having been presented with one of their very best ponies. "all went well until one day i discovered that the chief was plotting a marriage between me and his beautiful daughter. as a marriage dowry he would present us with several barrels of specie, thus showing in what esteem he held me. i could never think of marrying this indian maiden so i at once began to plan my escape. the next day i rode my pony as far as possible, taking my gun along as a pretense of hunting, but returned the following day with my game. after letting my pony rest a day i started out a second time to test her strength still further. this time i stayed two days and two nights and decided my pony was equal to any undertaking. after a second rest we started out the third time and made a safe flight across the line to my own people. "before reaching the old homestead a neighbor had informed me of my father's death and my mother's total blindness. the dear old soul was seated on the porch as i rode up; near her was a water bucket over which was hanging a long handled gourd. just as her feeble hands reached out for the gourd, i handed it to her, saying; 'here it is, mother.' she recognized my voice as that of her baby boy and fainted away. from that day i never left my aged mother, but tried to make amends for the sorrow my wanderings must have caused, by attending to her every want and making her last days as comfortable, happy and free from care as ever a loving child could. "my indian pony was treasured as a relic of the years spent with the indians and my fortunate escape from the hand of his daughter. "but my little girl is getting sleepy, so kiss grandfather good night, and he'll tell you more another time."--mrs. annie (daniel) clifton, stone castle chapter, d. a. r. william white and daniel boone. in , william white and daniel boone settled at what is now known as bull bradley springs in tennessee. the indian trail from the hiwassee town northward, passed near this home. one evening, two of the boys, aged ten and twelve, went out into the forest to cut and prepare wood for the night. when darkness came on and the boys did not return, a search was made and their axe was found leaning against a small hickory tree which the boys must have been cutting down when they stopped their work. signs of indians were discovered. these were followed next morning and were found to lead into the indian trail. there seemed to have been a large party of the indians going northward. the pursuers failed to overtake the indians and despite all their efforts were unable to rescue the boys. years afterward an officer in wisconsin had published, for the benefit of any relatives of the parties concerned, that two white men, past middle age, had been found with one of the northwest tribes. these men had forgotten all knowledge of the english language. they remembered that they had been captured by indians while engaged in cutting wood and that their captors had brought them many miles, but in what direction they were uncertain. this description, though meager, made all certain that these men were no others than the lost sons of william white. they had become so thoroughly "indianized" that they refused to leave the tribe and come back to their people. on the day of the boys' capture, william white was getting out a rock for a hearth. these rocks were cut from a single stone, and were called "hath-stones." when no trace of his boys could be found, mr. white went on with his hearth making, laying the "hath-stone" in its place, and on it he carved the date of their capture. the stone is still to be seen in a hearth in the home now located where white's house stood. the date and names are plainly visible. some of white's descendants still reside in the historical home.--roberta g. turner, xavier chapter, d. a. r., rome, ga. a legend of lover's leap, columbus, georgia. one mile above the city of columbus, georgia, the chattahoochee's turbid waters dash, fret and foam in angry surges over and among a group of giant bowlders forming what was called by the red men of the forest, "tumbling falls." from the eastern bank of the river rises a rugged, perpendicular cliff to a lofty height, which is covered almost to its verge by majestic trees, vines and shrubs of a semi-tropical growth. this is crowned by a colossal bowlder of dark granite, and from its summit is one of the most magnificent and picturesque views of river scenery that nature has produced. this is "lover's leap," famous in song and story; where the "young eagle" of the cowetas clasped to his brave heart the bright "morning star" of the cussetas and leaped into the deep, restless waters below. the alabama hills, forming a long, undulating chain, and covered with verdant beauty, arise across the river, which, below the precipice, flows gently onward until it reaches the city limits, where the waters again dash with insane fury over clustering bowlders and form the coweta falls, which are there arrested and utilized by the palefaced stranger to turn thousands of looms and spindles for his own use and profit. a short distance below the leap is the "silver wampum," a lovely stream of pellucid water, which rises beneath a clump of sweet-scented bays and magnolias, and flows and quivers in sunlight and moonlight, like a silver girdle, along its green and flowerdecked banks, until it reaches a rocky bed, where it falls by a succession of cascades, which form an exquisite fringe to the "wampum" before dropping into the chattahoochee. there the beautiful "morning star" would often sit indulging in love dreams, as she beaded the gay moccasins, bags and wampums, while the "young eagle" followed the chase. there he would bring her the first fruits and flowers of the season. from some warmer climate unknown to his rivals he would often procure boughs of the fragrant calycanthus, queenly magnolias and sweet-smelling jasmines, and secretly adorn this sylvan retreat in anticipation of her coming, long before the native buds began to expand their beauty. frequently she would be startled in her blissful reveries by the rolled petal of a magnolia falling like a great snow-flake at her feet. this she recognized as a private dispatch from "the young eagle," cohamoteker (blow gun) to apprise her of his approach and hastily arising she would eagerly await his coming. at a later date, when duty required her attentions at the wigwam, she would frequently find rare products of the chase suspended without. this was always prepared with unusual care, and relished by her father, the chief, who was too old to indulge often in his favorite pastime, and was somewhat dependent upon his braves for many luxuries of that kind. consequently, he did not question the source from which they came, but when particularly pleased with his repast he would say: "yaho hadjo (crazy wolf) is good. in his wigwam will be found the richest venison and rarest birds of the air. he is a worthy mate for the morning star!" when a child she had been betrothed to young eagle, the noble son of the coweta chief. their love had grown with their growth and strengthened with their strength, until it had reached an intensity where death appeared preferable to a life apart. a rivalry had suddenly sprung up between the two tribes, who had so long smoked the calumet of peace together. the pledged word of the veterans was broken, and a feud more deadly than that of the montagues and capulets then existed between the brave cowetas and cussetas, who were of equal prowess. the aged chief of the latter could no longer follow the warpath with the alacrity of his youth, but by the council fire all did reverence to his eloquence, and were ready to rally at his battle-cry. his lion-hearted sons, the pride of a war-like sire, had gone in the vigor of their early manhood to the spirit land and the chieftain stood alone, like a giant oak of the forest, stately and grand in age and decay, with the once vigorous branches all leafless and dead save one, which still flourished in pristine beauty. his daughter, with her starry eyes and step as fleet and graceful as a wild fawn, was the idol of his heart. in childhood he had called her "minechee" (smart, active.) as she grew in stature and beauty, twining herself more closely around his heart, he called her "the morning star," for she would arise with the birds, and often waken him from slumber with songs and merry laughter while preparing for his comfort. by the latter name she was known among the tribe. "the morning star is up and shames the laggard to the chase! he should have been over the hills and far away." the young warriors likened her to some ideal being, who basked in the smile of the great spirit, and worshiped her with truly loyal hearts. if we could raise the curtain of time, and read the thoughts that agitated the dusky bosoms of those fearless young braves, it would be evident that the affection and attention lavished on their old chief was partially due to their admiration for the bright and beautiful morning star. among her many suitors was yaho hadjo, who had cunningly ingratiated himself into her father's favor, and had long vainly sought the hand and heart of the bright-eyed maiden. in his fierce wrath, he had secretly vowed vengeance against a more successful rival. under the garb of friendship and loyalty to his chief, he had secured a firm footing in his wigwam, and thus constituted himself a spy on the actions of the unsuspecting daughter. she had waited long and patiently, hoping that time would soften the feud and remove every impediment to her union with the peerless young eagle, while he had endeavored to conciliate his tribe by every possible means that a brave warrior could to restore peace to the nation. alas! jealousy, that hydra-headed monster, had completely enslaved the heart of yaho hadjo, and at its bidding he continued to secretly add fresh fuel to each expiring flame until it had reached enormous proportions, and open hostilities seemed inevitable. the lovers no longer dared to meet by day, but beside the silver wampum, when the great spirit marshalled his starry hosts through the blue vaulted sky, they met to renew vows of eternal love. the stealthy footsteps of yaho hadjo had followed the morning star to the trysting place, and his watchful eye had witnessed the tender meeting with the young eagle. the plans of the jealous rival were immediately formed with characteristic craftiness. he then cautiously retraced his steps and sought the presence of his chief. into his ear the wily creature whispered a malignant falsehood of broken faith, treachery and a contemplated raid by the cowetas upon the cussetas. the old warrior's anger was instantly aroused. with all the venom of his nature rankling in his savage heart, he arose to give the war-whoop to his sleeping braves. but yaho hadjo urged extreme caution, saying the young eagle was the ruling spirit and instigator of the intended diabolical assault, and was perhaps now prowling around like a hungry fox with a hope of capturing the morning star. a better and surer plan would be to offer privately a handsome reward for the person or scalp of the young eagle. by that means the villainous savage thought to have his unsuspecting rival cruelly assassinated and his body secretly disposed of without arousing any suspicion of the dark deed among the cowetas. he doubted not the success of his cowardly undertaking; and then, without opposition, he would secure the beautiful maiden for his squaw. he dared not insinuate to the chief that his daughter would have been a willing captive, for he had confidence in her integrity, and knew she would never forsake him to link her fate with his enemy. she had made a promise to this effect, and the morning star never dealt falsely. at the conclusion of yaho hadjo's heartless suggestion, the old man bowed his head in troubled thought for a brief period, and then rising to his full stature, he said: "yes, yes; it is best! go say to my young warriors that he who brings the chief the person or scalp from the dead head of the daring young eagle of the base cowetas, shall wear on his brave heart the morning star of the cussetas." yaho hadjo hastened to arouse a few sleeping braves from their couches and they hurried forth rapidly but noiselessly to the silver wampum. the unsuspecting lovers were totally oblivious of surrounding danger, and loth to separate, they lingered for a last farewell and final embrace, when stealthy footsteps were heard approaching. they gave a startled glance around and beheld yaho hadjo and his followers with uplifted tomahawks rushing madly upon them. minchee threw her arms wildly around her lover. for a brief second the assailants halted, not daring to strike the daughter of their chief. the young eagle clasped her firmly to his bosom and bounded away with the speed of an antelope, he knew not wither. onward, over rocks and dells he flew with his precious burden, her arms thrown protectingly around and above him. upon the narrow defile to the fearful precipice he bore her and then suddenly halted. he thought to release her there, believing she could return safely to her father, but she grappled to him as though her slight arms were hooks of steel. the hot breath of the hated rival was felt upon his cheek, and his tomahawk flashed like a meteor above him. the young eagle gave the would-be assassin one proud, defiant glance, and folding the morning star in a closer embrace, he leaped into the foaming torrent below. yaho hadjo's uplifted weapon fell forward with a sudden impetus which forced him headlong down the lofty pinnacle, among the sharp, rugged bowlders, where his body was afterwards found a mangled, lifeless corpse. the remaining warriors were transfixed with horror and dismay as they gazed wildly into the furious river. to attempt a rescue would have been folly and madness, as no breathing creature could have survived the fall. slowly and sadly they then retraced their steps and silently entered the presence of the childless patriarch. alarmed by the expression of their grief-stricken faces he exclaimed: "where is yaho hadjo? why does the morning star linger in the forest?" the boldest of them dropped his head and answered slowly and hoarsely: "the great spirit has taken her from us to brighten his own beautiful land. she will come no more to gladden our hearts. the morning star will never beam on the hunter's pathway again!" the chief listened in silence, but evidently did not comprehend. an explanation was sternly demanded. at length the sad story was told with all of its tender and heart-rending details. he realized at last his total bereavement, and acknowledged it was the result of yaho hadjo's jealousy and falsehood. fierce and vindictive was the malediction pronounced upon the cowardly murderer. a dead calm followed; then rising and clasping his hands high above his head, he stood for a moment like a splendid bronze statue of despair, and in singularly pathetic tones exclaimed: "minechee! minechee! bright morning star! sole treasure of my aged heart! gone, gone, forever, and i am desolate!" he gave one long, low, piercing wail and tottering as a tree beneath the final stroke of the woodman's axe, he fell prostrate to the earth. his companions exerted themselves in behalf of the stricken chieftain and partially succeeded in restoring him to consciousness, but he refused to be comforted and declined all nourishment. after a prolonged interval of silence, he arose, quitted their presence and slowly descended the hill to a ravine in the bluffs and seated himself. he signified a desire to be alone. he wished to humble himself before the great spirit, that he might take pity on him. finding he could not be persuaded to leave the place, his braves stretched a mat above his bowed head and placing food and water within reach they left him alone in his sorrow. a few days after they found him occupying the same position, but cold and lifeless.--mrs. mary cook. indian mound, early county, georgia. on the outskirts of blakely, county seat of early county, and commanding a view of a beautiful stretch of landscape, rises the famous old indian mound, supposed to have been made by the creek indians, who hunted and fished and roved so happily through the tall pines and magnolias, the great oaks and low marshes. while tradition associates this particular mound with the creeks and cherokees, it has been argued by scientists that it must have been built by a race of people who preceded the indians and were partly civilized; however, that may be, the visitor to early has missed a rare bit of romance and historic thought, who fails to see the indian mound, reminiscent as it is of the sacredness of a brave race, now almost extinct. the mound is fully seventy-five feet high and is almost five hundred feet in circumference. it is covered with large trees of oak and the same dense foliage of bamboo, pine and cedar as that which grows so profusely over the surrounding country as far as the eye can reach. the picturesque and fertile valleys below have now become a favorite place for pleasure seekers each spring, for picnic grounds and camping, and the indian mound cannot fail to impress the most heedless as it rises mysteriously and majestic. parties in search of buried treasures have penetrated the mound to a depth of fifty feet, but nothing has ever been found except human bones. then later scientists have sunk a shaft in the very center of this mound to a great depth and have reached a mass of bones five feet in thickness. nothing to throw light upon the builders of this huge old relic has ever been unearthed but bones, and the people of the county, with interested visitors, have nearly all associated the site with the indians who inhabited so thickly this part of georgia before early county was created. early county was created by legislature, october , and included then the counties of baker, calhoun, decatur, miller, mitchell and dougherty. it was named in honor of george peter early, chief executive of georgia in . governor early, previous to the purchase of these lands from the indians, had rendered great service to the white settlers here in protecting them from the indians, in both their treaties with the indians and in protection to their lives. in gratitude for this service early county was named. while it has never been positively decided whether the mound builders or the indians are the original makers of indian mound, it stands a grim memorial of a dead and gone race, worthy of a visit, with its great trees yellow with age, and weeds and moss overgrown, the only epitaphs to the mystery within its depths.--mrs. walter thomas, regent, governor peter early chapter, d. a. r. storiette of states derived from indian names. so many states are derived from indian names, so i write this storiette, using all that have indian origin. illinois--tribe of red men. alabama--here we rest. arizona--small springs. arkansas--bend in the smoky water. connecticut--long river. idaho--gun of the mountain. indiana--indian's land. iowa--beautiful land. kansas--smoky water. kentucky--at the head of the river. massachusetts--place of blue hills. michigan--fish wier. mississippi--great father of water. missouri--muddy (river). nebraska--water valley. north and south dakota, allies: ohio--beautiful river. oklahoma--home of the red men. tennessee--river with a great bend. texas--friends. utah--ute. wisconsin--gathering of the waters. wyoming--great plains. once upon a time a tribe of red men (illinois) set out to find a plan of the blue hills (massachusetts.) their canoes were safely launched in the long river (connecticut). at the bend in the smoky water (arkansas) they were surprised to see a canoe coming their way and that it was guided by a maid minnehaha, the beautiful daughter of uakomis of the ute (utah) tribe of indians. "young maid" said the gallant chief hiawatha, "is this where the indians land?" (indiana). "yes," replied the maid, "this water valley (nebraska) is the home of the red men" (oklahoma). then spoke the chief, who had at once been attracted to the maid: "this is indeed a beautiful land (iowa) and i dare say you are the gem of the mountain" (idaho). the maid smiled and said: "i hope we will be friends" (texas.) "let us row to the head of the river" (kentucky). as they drifted near the bank they decided to tarry by the beautiful river (ohio). "here we rest" (alabama), said hiawatha and whispered words of love. as they returned to the other members of their tribe, who had pitched their tents on the mountain side by some small springs (arizona) each man looked up as the two approached and read the happiness that was theirs, by their smiling faces. "we will return" said hiawatha, "to nakomis and his allies, of the great plains near the river" (missouri), "the great father of waters (mississippi), and there on the banks of the sky-tinted water (minnesota) we will pitch our wigwam near the fish wier (michigan) and there watch the gathering of the waters (wisconsin) and live in peace and happiness until we journey to our happy hunting ground."--mrs. will chidsey, rome, ga., xavier chapter, d. a. r. sequoia, inventor of the cherokee alphabet. the invention of the cherokee alphabet by sequoia, or george guess, in , was the most remarkable achievement in the history of the indian tribes of america. sequoia was in appearance and habits, a full cherokee, though he was the grandson of a white man. he was born in tennessee about , and he lived at one time near chiaha, now rome, georgia, but for some years before the cherokees were moved to the west, he lived at alpine, in chattooga county, on what was later known as the samuel force plantation. this american cadmus was an illiterate cherokee indian. he could neither write or speak english, and in his invention of the alphabet he had to depend entirely on his own native resources. he was led to think on the subject of writing the cherokee language, by a conversation which took place one evening at santa. some young men were remarking on the superior talents of the white people. they saw that the whites could "put a talk" on paper and send it to any distance, and it would be understood by those who received it. this seemed strange to the indians, but sequoia declared he could do it himself; and picking up a flat stone, he scratched on it with a pin, and after a few minutes read to his friends a sentence which he had written, by making a mark for each word. this produced only a laugh among his companions. but the inventive powers of sequoia's mind were now aroused to action, and nothing short of being able to write the cherokee language would satisfy him. in examining the language he found that it is composed of the various combinations of about ninety mono-sylables and for each of these sylables he formed a character. some of the characters were taken from an english spelling book, some are english letters turned upside down, some are his own invention; each character in the cherokee alphabet stands for a monosylable. from the structure of the cherokee dialect, the syllabic alphabet is also in the nature of a grammar, so that those who know the language by ear, and master the alphabet, can at once read and write. owing to the extreme simplicity of this system, it can be acquired in a few days. after more than two year's work his system was completed. explaining to his friends his new invention, he said, "we can now have speaking papers as well as white men." but he found great difficulty in persuading his people to learn it; nor could he succeed, until he went to arkansas and taught a few persons there, one of whom wrote a letter to a friend in chiaha and sent it by sequoia, who read it to the people. this excited much curiosity. here was "talk in the cherokee language," come from arkansas sealed in a paper. this convinced many, and the newly discovered art was seized with avidity by the people of the tribe, and, from the extreme simplicity of the plan, the use of it soon became general. any one, on fixing in his memory the names and forms of the letters, immediately possessed the art of reading and writing. this could be acquired in one day. the cherokees, (who, as a people, had always been illiterate) were, in the course of a few months, able to read and write in their own language. they accomplished this without going to school. the cherokee council adopted this alphabet in , and in a short time the bible and other books were printed in the language, and a newspaper, _the cherokee phoenix_, devoted entirely to the interests of the indians, was published, in , at new echota, the capitol of the cherokee nation, situated about five miles west of calhoun, in gordon county, georgia. this paper was edited by chief elias bondinot, one of the signers of the new echota treaty. sequoia spent much of his time with his kindred who had already gone to the west, and a few years after the final removal of the cherokees from georgia, he was instrumental in establishing several newspapers in their new home. this indian remains today the only man, in the long history of the aborigines, who has done anything for the real and lasting benefit of the race. his cherokee alphabet is in general use by every indian tribe in america. scientists have honored him by naming the largest tree that grows in california the sequoia gigantia. this name was given to the big red wood tree by dr. eulicher, the famous hungarian botanist, who was born and died . the tree is native to california and is the largest known, often measuring thirty to thirty-six feet in diameter, height from two hundred to four hundred feet, bark is often fifteen inches thick. in , a specimen of the sequoia gigantia came in a letter from california. the tiny sprig was five inches high and one-eighth of an inch in diameter, and was planted on myrtle hill cemetery in rome, georgia. it is now ( ) about thirty inches high and one inch in diameter. the sequoia gigantia is an evergreen monument to the american cadmus, a one-time resident of rome, georgia. in his honor, oklahoma has named a county sequoyah.--beatrice o'rear treadaway, xavier chapter, d. a. r. the boy and his arrow. the barbadoes or windward islands have long been the territory of great britain and her colonies were planted there as early as on the main land of america. early in the eighteenth century dissatisfaction arose concerning taxes and other injustices, and some of these colonists removed to the continent, chiefly to virginia and the carolinas. among these was edmond reid, with his family, landing at norfolk, virginia. he brought with him quite a number of slaves. these slaves were remarkable in many ways. they must have been part carib; they had thin lips, straight noses and arched feet. they were erect and alert. some of these slaves in the fourth generation came to my mother and were above the ordinary african and were so dark they evidently had no caucasian blood. john reid, son of edmond reid, married elizabeth steppe, and served in the revolution. james, the son of john and elizabeth, was born during the revolution, february st, . archery was a great sport in those days, handed down no doubt from our british ancestry and kept alive by the bows and arrows of the indians, some of whom were still among the neighbors in the colonies. at twelve years of age james reid was shooting arrows, and as an experiment shot one up straight toward the sky. quickly it went up, but more quickly, with accelerated speed it returned and pierced the eye of the little archer. painfully the arrow (in this case a pin point) was taken from the eye. youth and a fine constitution combined to heal the wound without disfigurement of the eye, and so he seemed to have two perfect eyes, while one was sightless. our young republic was just beginning to try her powers when england provoked the war of . james reid, now in the prime of manhood, enlisted when the british threatened new orleans. as many others did, he left his wife and two little ones at home under the protection of slaves. a few days after his return from the war, on a summer day, a pain came to the eye pierced so long ago by the arrow. the local physician was sent for, but his lotions and applications failed to give relief. at that time no surgeon, except those perhaps in france, understood surgery of the eye. so nature took her course, seemingly a cruel, dreadful course. the suffering man could neither sleep nor eat and finally could not stay in the house. he went out under the trees in the grove and when unable to stand rolled around on the grass in great agony. his wife and children and servants followed him with cold water and pillows--a sorrowing and helpless procession. after several days and nights the abscess in his eye bursted and gave instant relief. all the fluids of the eye escaped leaving it sightless and shrunken, and so it remained ever after. i never see a shrunken eye but what i recall the old man, so spirited, so cheery, so kind, our own grandfather who passed away many years ago--mrs. r. h. hardaway, regent, sarah dickinson chapter, d. a. r. indian spring, georgia. romantic discovery. in , when the country in this vicinity was clothed in its swaddlings of nature, and the red man and wild beasts alone trod the hills and valleys west of the ocmulgee, a solitary huntsman was wending his way north, south of the towaliga, about where the public road to forsyth is now being turnpiked. the party was a model of his class--large, muscular, completely equipped, a frame strong in its every development, and a general contour which indicated that he knew nothing of fear, and dreaded not the dangers of the wilderness in which he was traveling. a deep melancholy on his face, the flashing of his dark eyes, and an occasional sight, evidenced he carried an "iron in his soul," and was actuated by a purpose that knew no turning. this was gabriel dunlap--a georgian. his object in thus absenting himself from society will be seen hereafter. dunlap was a careful and wary hunter, and in this hitherto untrodden field was specially on the alert. he knew that dangers lurked around, and was cautious at every step. while thus walking and watching, he was startled by the war whoop of the savages, which seemed to burst from every ambush around him. he knew his retreat was cut off, for a hundred savages emerged from the thickets lining the towaliga. therefore, but one course was left to be pursued--that of taking a due north direction. leaving the river and crossing the hills, he ran without any purpose beyond making his escape. and thus he ran for miles--as the yells of his pursuers would subside, hope bracing him up, again depressed by the reiteration of the voices of his enemies. at length, when almost ready to fall from exhaustion and thirst--his vitals scorched as with fire--hope whispered "a little farther." and soon, overjoyed and exhausted, he was able to spring into a canebrake dark as night, where he slept unconscious of anything that occurred around him. reinforcements. when he awoke, yet half dreaming, dunlap gazed about him some time before he could "realize the situation." with great effort he arose, staggered forward, but fell against a larger stone, and here, to his delight, he heard the trickling of water. quickly he sought to slake his burning thirst, and soon found, and enjoyed, what seemed ice water in a canebrake in august. he drank until every desire for water was satisfied, yet none of the unpleasant feelings that often follow such indulgence were experienced. on the contrary, he felt new life and vigor, and set out to place a greater distance between himself and his enemies. his only safe course he knew, was to travel in a northerly direction, and, after imbibing another copious draught from the welcome fountain, he set out, toiling through the cane that covered the bottom. when he was about reaching the northern edge of this dense retreat, a well known signal greeted his ear. to this he responded. his response was replied to by another signal, when he quickly emerged from the brake, ascended the hill; and on approaching a large oak then standing on the site of the present elder hotel, was greeted thus: "hallo, gabe! whar did you cum from? have you been squattin' in the thicket yonder?" "i'll be smashed," answered dunlap, "if here aint jube cochran. and, jube, i'm gladder to see you than if i had knocked out a panther's eye with old betsey here, and without picking her flint, on a two hundred yard line. cause why--i'm lost and aint nowhar ef you aint some place." and next the two friends met with a hearty shake of hands and a union of warm hearts, such as conventionalities and civilization have long since driven from the brightest spot in georgia. the huntsmen refreshed the inner man, recounted their several recent adventures, and then sought a place of rest, which they soon found among the rocks skirting the river. here they slept until midnight, when the report of a gun aroused them. snuffing danger in the breeze, they at once not only became watchful, but sought to discover the whereabouts of their daring neighbor; and finally, in the darkness, almost ran against two human forms, whether paleface or indian they could not make out, when cochran hailed: "who's thar?" "watson," was the reply, and soon there was another happy greeting; when all four of the party (one a small boy named ben fitzpatrick) walked to the top of the hill between two creeks, and again rested until day break, reciting the customary yarns of the border. douglas watson was about eighteen years of age, six feet in height, and boasted of possessing a well developed muscular frame. his companion, fitzpatrick, was an orphan boy, who had the temerity common to adventurous youth to follow watson in these wilds. seated by their camp fire dunlap explained to watson the invigorating effect the water in the canebrake, at the foot of the hills, had had upon him in his fainting condition the day previous, when the whole party again sought the cooling spring, and, after search, found it. this was indian spring, and this was the first party of whites who are known to have drunk of its water. at this gathering watson admitted to his comrades that about a month previous he had found the spring, but in consequence of its smelling like gunpowder he fled the vicinity. watson and cochran were scouts, sent out by the government in the spring of . fitzpatrick was the shadow of watson; and dunlap divulged to his new friends his history and mission while they lingered around the spring. dunlap's history. to be brief: twelve years previous, during an indian raid in bibb county, a little friend--a ward of his father--was stolen and carried away. then and there, ere the triumphant yells of the foe were silenced, he had registered an oath in heaven, which was baptized by the falling rain, never again to seek peace until he found it in the rescue of "bright eyes"--his lost nora. since that hour his home had been between the towaliga and ocmulgee, and his whole exertion was to find the lost one and restore her to her friends. a battle and retreat. in the morning the party left the spring, traveling down stream, but in a few moments the shoals were reached. here was another mystery, which to watson appeared more wonderful than did the gunpowder spring. they had traveled down stream; of this they were certain; yet they encountered an opposite current, and were amazed. fitzpatrick, however, soon explored the vicinity and discovered the meeting of the waters near the spring. here two creeks, running in almost opposite directions, met fraternally and formed the big sandy, which then flowed in an easterly direction until it united with the ocmulgee. crossing at the foot of the shoals, the party started down the stream, hunting and traveling leisurely. noon found them at a little spring near the present site of tanner's bridge, where they halted, kindled a fire, and prepared to cook the choice bits of game they had secured. here they were again doomed to be disappointed; for suddenly their foe burst upon them in overwhelming numbers. the odds were fearful, but rather than surrender--which would have been death--the contest was entered upon. many heroes whose names emblazon the pages of history never exhibited the coolness and calculating courage of ben fitzpatrick in his first battle. he stood fearlessly by the side of his companions, fighting bravely until cochran fell senseless, having been struck by the war club of an indian. as the indian stooped to scalp his victim, ben plunged his hunting knife to his heart, and, when the brave uttered his death yell, the boy attempted to remove his wounded comrade. at this moment young watson handed ben his gun, gathered up cochran, and crying out "now is our time, ben," ran through the creek into the dark swamp beyond. they were now safe, for deep darkness had fallen, and their enemies feared to pursue them. cochran recovered during the night, but diligent search failed to ascertain anything as to the fate of dunlap; and, warned by the signal smokes of the enemy, the trio started early next morning for the nearest block-house east of the ocmulgee. dunlap and nora. but dunlap was not lost. he was shot through the left shoulder when the attack was first made, fainted and fell, and was scalped and left for dead. he lay hours, until nightfall--half waking, half sleeping and dreaming. suddenly he felt a soft hand bathing his fevered head. he knew this kindness came not from savage hands, nor from the rough goodness of a fellow huntsman, for the sweetness of an angel's breath fanned his face. pain was forgotten, yet he was afraid to move lest the charm should be broken and the vision vanish. half unconscious, he whispered, as if by inspiration, "nora." and the guardian angel hovered about him proved to be the nora for whom he had been searching. she suppressed an involuntary scream as she recognized the object of her compassion, and, laying her hand on the face of her old friend, in a trembling voice said: "oh! my more than brother, have we met at last, after so many long and weary years of separation, each of which has seemed an eternity?" the recognition was mutual, but the meeting was too happy, too full of sacred joy, to be intruded upon. the wounds of dunlap were carefully bound up by nora, after the fashion of her companions from girlhood, and they at once removed as far as possible from the vicinity of the fight. they were not discovered the next morning and then commenced a long and weary journey homeward, which extended through many days. at last they saw the curling smoke arising from their native cabin. here the long lost were greeted with joy, and at an early day there was a wedding--dunlap and nora were united, and at once settled down to the realities of life. in , fearing other molestations from the savages, who were then hostile to the whites, the dunlap family sold their lands in bibb and removed to liberty county, georgia, where, at the present time, many of their children's children may be found occupying high social positions. fate of our heroes. the boy, ben fitzpatrick, grew up to manhood in company with his friend, watson. subsequently he removed to montgomery, ala., where he died a short time since. his career in his adopted state was an honored one, he having served in both branches of the national congress and as governor of the state. governor fitzpatrick was a cousin of mrs. cynthia varner, of indian spring. after the indians were removed from this section, douglas watson settled in monroe county, where he resided until his decease, which occurred a few years ago. of the career of cochran we have been unable to obtain any data. the foregoing history of the discovery of indian spring by the whites is not all fiction. it is an "o'er true tale." "duggie" watson, the hero of the foregoing pages--he who feared the smell of gunpowder when he first looked upon the halfhidden spring, and fled--has often repeated the history as we have given it in our hearing. early settlement. the indians entertained a superstition that it would be unwise for any of their tribe to make a permanent residence near this "healing water" because the noise and gambols of the squaws and papooses would drive the spell from the water. thus, as late as , the visits of the race to the spring, though frequently made, were only temporary, and for a special purpose in each instance. the tents of the red man were always found on the adjacent hills, filled with invalids who were brought to be cured, and again returned to the war path or their hunting grounds. about the date named, gen. wm. mcintosh, a half breed, and a cousin of gov. troup, erected a cabin for his own use, and afterwards spent the summers here with his family. this broke the spell; and subsequently a mr. ollison erected a double-cabin, which was dignified with the title of hotel and for years was the only house of accomodation afforded visitors. the same gentleman afterwards erected a small corn mill, which stood near or on the site of the new mill now being completed by col. h. j. lamar. these were the only improvements made until after the treaty of , and are remembered by a number of our old citizens. the mcintosh cabin and the mill, were destroyed by fire; what became of the hotel which stood upon the site of the north end of the varner house, we cannot state. the "spell" was broken, and both races pitched their tents around the spring annually for a number of years, mingling without open hostility. watson and fitzpatrick continued to act as scouts for the government, making the mcintosh cabin headquarters. among the visitors were messrs. dred and jonathan phillips, of jasper county, who brought a friend that had been afflicted with rheumatism, and unable to walk for years. a short stay served to restore the afflicted to his original health, when the party returned to their homes. while here the phillips brothers observed the excellent condition of the indian stock, which was attributed to the superabundance of cane then covering the extensive bottoms, and, as a speculation, brought over a large drove of cattle to pasture, which was left in the canebrake, but occasionally visited to be salted and inspected. subsequently this movement was interfered with, as we shall show. first outbreak. the rival factions of the creeks were severally headed by mcintosh and napothlehatchie--the latter termed big warrior. another leader with the big warrior clan was hopoethleyoholo, who was said to have been the most brilliant orator of the tribe. through his influence the largest number of the tribe joined big warrior, and he subsequently took an active part in opposing the treaties of and , concluded at indian spring. notwithstanding the factions were bitterly opposed to each other, we have no record of any outbreak occurring until . the phillips brothers were also left undisturbed in their pursuit. the first disturbance occurred in june, , when big warrior, with a party of his braves, entered the stables of mcintosh at night and stole all his horses. the same party also carried off the phillips cattle. when advised of their loss, the phillips brothers gathered their neighbors, and, on being joined by watson and fitzpatrick, pursued and overtook the plunderers about seventy miles lower down the ocmulgee. after a desperate conflict the stock was recovered and hopoethleyoholo made prisoner. this brave refused to smoke the pipe of peace with his captors, and actually spat in the face of the leader of the whites, who tendered the symbol of peace. this act aroused the ire of the whites, who were with difficulty persuaded by watson to spare his life. the discussion among the whites was suddenly disturbed by big warrior, who rushed in with his followers, who had been reinforced, and recaptured the favorite orator. during this second brief struggle dred phillips was shot through the fleshy part of the left arm. the cattle were then driven back to the canebrakes of the big sandy, and again apparent quiet was the rule. but the fires of hatred were only smothered in the breast of big warrior. watson and his companions were conversant with the machinations of the unfriendly chief, and anticipated an outbreak against both the whites and mcintosh party, but no opportunity occurred, and all remained quiet until the war of was inaugurated. in this war the mcintosh party--which had been gradually gaining strength--joined with the forces of the state and government, and big warrior united with the public enemy. the struggle in georgia during the war was bitter, and involved the loss of many whites as well as friendly indians, and a heavy expense to the state. upon the declaration of peace between great britain and the united states, peace again reigned in georgia. at the close of the war the whites again began to resort to the spring, and the sick were gathered from all quarters. the fame of the waters spread, and the wonderful cures effected appeared more like the result of magic than the effects of one of nature's great restorers. in , mrs. c. h. varner, who yet lives in our midst, spent some time here; and the scenes of primitive beauty and interest she then looked upon, and also the incidents that occurred, are distinctly remembered by the venerable lady, as if it were but yesterday. gen. john w. gordon first visited the spring in , and continued to spend a large portion of his time here every year until his death. during the sojourns of this gentleman at indian spring, he contributed largely to the improvements that were made; and especially was his generosity, through a long series of years, exhibited for the benefit of the needy and afflicted. at his decease he left numbers at indian springs who will ever bless his memory for the fruits of the seeds of kindness he was constantly in the habit of sowing. among the early visitors was the veritable "simon suggs," who subsequently became distinguished as a wit and humorist. douglass walton, in his capacity of government scout, continued to make his headquarters here. in , mr. jesse jolley, mr. john lemon, and mrs. freeman, with her husband and family located in butts. the three first named are still living, and are among the most honored citizens of the county. public treaties. prior to , efforts were made by the government to secure possession of the lands in georgia lying west of the ocmulgee. the mcintosh party favored such a treaty, while big warrior and his adherents opposed it. after many consultations between the two parties, favorable conclusions were arrived at, and the pipe of peace was passed. big warrior alone broke the faith thus cemented around the council-fires of his tribe; mcintosh was again faithful, and in , he concluded a treaty with the agents of the government, by which the hunting grounds between the ocmulgee and flint rivers were forever ceded away, excepting a portion of the ward plantation and six hundred and forty acres around the spring. these reservations were made by mcintosh for himself. the first embraced a large body of fertile land and the second the spring, the medical properties of which mcintosh well understood. this treaty was ratified in washington, march d, . this action of mcintosh and his adherents aroused another feud between the rival wings of the tribe, which ended in a fierce battle. a heavy loss was sustained on both sides, the mcintosh party suffering most severely. big warrior was slain, and thus his party were left without a leader. a little later the orator chief and mcintosh met and smoked the calumet. how faithless the first named could prove to this solemn covenant will be shown. in , general mcintosh and joel bailey erected the main building of the indian spring hotel, and opened it for the reception of visitors. this building is still yearly occupied for the purposes originally intended. about the same date other improvements were made, and indian spring became a favorite resort at that day. the visits of the whites increased rapidly, and they sought to secure residences, or camped out; while the indians, now peaceable, also flocked to the "healing water." by an agreement, all parties met at indian spring to consider a second treaty, early in february, . the government agents were protected by united states troops, and large forces of the opposing indian factions were present. the negotiations were conducted in the hotel, and concluded february th, . under this treaty all the indian possessions in georgia were ceded to the whites, and an early removal of the tribe arranged for. the agency of general mcintosh in bringing about this treaty resulted in his death within a few months. when it was announced that the treaty was concluded, hopoethleyoholo seized the occasion to give vent to his long pent-up wrath. the indians of both the old factions were present in large numbers. all were excited. at last the orator chief mounted the large rock yet seen at the south end of the varner house, and gave vent to his feelings and purposes in the following characteristic talk: "brothers, the great spirit has met here with his painted children of the woods and their paleface brethren. i see his golden locks in the sunbeams; he fans the warrior's brow with his wings and whispers sweet music in the winds; the beetle joins his hymn and the mocking bird his song. you are charmed! brothers, you have been deceived! a snake has been coiled in the shade and you are running into his open mouth, deceived by the double-tongue of the paleface chief (mcintosh), and drunk with the fire-water of the paleface. brothers, the hunting grounds of our fathers have been stolen by our chief and sold to the paleface. whose gold is in his pouch? brothers, our grounds are gone, and the plow of the paleface will soon turn up the bones of our fathers. brothers, are you tame? will you submit? hopoethleyoholo says no!" then turning to mcintosh, who was standing with the commissioners at a window a few feet distant, he continued: "as for you, double-tongued snake, whom i see through the window of the paleface, before many moons have waned your own blood shall wash out the memory of this hated treaty. brothers, i have spoken." by this treaty the spring became the property of the state and the ceded land was laid out in lots in , the commonwealth reserving ten acres around the spring for the benefit of her citizens then and thereafter. the act establishing butts county was passed in . the village of indian spring was incorporated by legislative enactment in , and in , a second act changed the name to mcintosh and extended the limits of the incorporation. death of mcintosh. general mcintosh and family removed to his plantation on the chattahoochee, and evidently rested secure. but the avenger was on the war path, and the distinguished chieftain, who had rendered the whites such signal service, was doomed. in compliance with the advice of hopoethleyoholo, a secret council was held, at which one hundred braves were selected to secure the vengeance desired, and these, headed by the wily orator, set out westward. when near his residence, mcintosh and his son-in-law, hawkins, were seen by their hidden foe riding together. "they could then have been easily killed," says white's statistics, "but their lives were spared for the moment to preserve a consistency so common in all plans of the indians. they had determined to kill mcintosh in his own yard, in the presence of his family, and to let his blood run upon the soil of that reservation which had been secured to him by the treaty." from the same authority we learn mcintosh rode home unconscious of danger, while the savages prepared for their work. lightwood was procured to fire the buildings. about three o'clock the premises were surrounded, and it was not until the torch had been applied to the outbuildings that the sleepers were aroused. chilly mcintosh, the chief's son--who is yet living--escaped through a window of one of the outhouses, and, running the gauntlet, swam the river. general mcintosh, upon discovering his assailants, barricaded the door and stood near it when it was forced. he fired on them, and at that moment one of his steadfast friends, toma tustinugse, fell upon the threshold riddled with balls. the chief then retreated to the second story, with four guns in his hand, which he continued to discharge from a window. he fought with great courage, and, aware that his end was near, determined to sell his life as dearly as possible. he was at this time the only occupant of the burning house; for his two wives, peggy and susannah, who had been dragged into the yard, were heard imploring the savages not to burn him up, but to get him out of the house, and shoot him, as he was a brave man and an indian like themselves. mcintosh came down to the first floor, where he fell pierced with many balls. he was then seized and dragged into the yard. while lying there, the blood gushing from his wounds, he raised himself on one arm and surveyed his murderers with looks of defiance, and it was while so doing he was stabbed to the heart by an ocfuskee indian. the chief was scalped and the buildings plundered and burned. the party then sought for hawkins, whom they also killed. his body was thrown into the river. an indian elopement. the family of general mcintosh spent the summer of , at indian spring, where his two youngest daughters, who had been highly educated, spent their time in associating alternately with the dusky maidens of their tribe and their palefaced sisters. during the visit one of the sisters created a decided sensation by eloping with an indian lover. a gentleman now residing in the vicinity who at that time was a little boy, whose parents were camped at the spring, was at the mcintosh cabin--then situated on the lot north of the varner hotel--when the occurrence took place. there were hundreds of indians camped on the adjacent hills--the friendly party on the south side of the creek and the adherents of hypoethleyoholo on the north bank. the lover was a leading chief of the latter party, and the match was bitterly opposed by the mcintosh family and their adherents who keenly remembered the sad events of the previous year; but the young lovers, who had long since determined upon their course, cared not for opposition and well arranged their plans. on a bright sunday morning our little white friend--now an aged and respected citizen--was swinging in the cabin with the two girls when an unusual commotion in the yard attracted the attention of all, and they rushed to the door. the young girl's favorite pony was hitched outside. coming up the hill from the creek was seen the determined lover, mounted, and accompanied by a score of his braves. on seeing him approach, his intended rushed into the cabin, and, amidst the tears and vehement protestations of her mother and sister, who were weeping bitterly, she rapidly cast off the habiliments of civilization and arrayed herself in a complete indian costume. this accomplished, she turned to her weeping friends, and after much talk in the language of her tribe, she embraced them without shedding a tear, and rushed out, kissing her little friend, who was gazing upon the scene with wonder. the lover and his escort were drawn up near the gate; not a word was said, and the girl sprang upon her pony and took her place in the line behind her intended. silently the party then moved down the hill, crossed the creek, and were soon out of sight. they were legally married at lawrenceville, gwinnett county, georgia, and the union was a happy and prosperous one.--_jackson, (ga.,) argus_. [illustration: to the fifteenth annual conference of the georgia daughters of the american revolution in augusta assembled mrs. s.w. foster state regent this partial map of the mcintosh trail is sent by the sarah dickinson chapter d.a.r. newnan, ga. mrs. r. h. hardaway--regent mrs. e. g. cole--vice regent mrs. j. e. robinson--secretary miss lutie n. powell--treasurer ] tracing the mcintosh trail. the mcintosh trail begins as far west as talladega, ala., and perhaps further, going eastward miles above senoia, in coweta county, georgia, where it diverges, one trail going to augusta and the other via indian springs to macon. mrs. yeandle has traced the trail from augusta to senoia. perhaps some daughter will trace it to macon from its point of divergence. i am tracing it west from the neighborhood of senoia to talladega, ala. the trail runs about miles north of senoia, and near there mcintosh built a fort, the ruins of which may still be seen. senoia was given the name of a princess of the cowetas. her name is about all that remains of her, her history being buried in oblivion. the trail runs north of turin, crosses hegg creek near the home of the rev. mr. rees, then through sharpsburg, north of raymond, following part of the old mcintosh road entering newnan on the southeast, down greenville street across mrs. atkinson's lot to lagrange street, across miss long's lot and a livery stable lot into spring street. the direct route is here uncertain, because of home-building, but it crosses the central railroad into ray park, on to an unusual road called rocky road, which leads over a creek to the chattahoochee, where it crosses the river west of the mcintosh reserve. the reserve is a square mile in a sharp bend of the river, and on both sides of the chattahoochee, being partly in carroll county and party in coweta, and at this bend the river runs for some distance west instead of south. on the carroll side the chief mcintosh had his home, and there he was murdered by his race, in . and there he is buried. the trail now runs almost due west across the southern part of carroll county, georgia, and across the northern parts of clay and randolph counties, alabama, into talladega county, to the town of talladega. this part of the trail is more certain than elsewhere, because the pioneers blazed the trail, cutting three notches into the numerous trees of the unbroken forest. over this trail andrew jackson marched his troops against the british in - - - , mcintosh and his force going with him. the forests have gone down before the fields, and here is perhaps the finest white yeomanry in georgia. it is considered that they produce the finest short staple cotton in the world. schools and churches abound and the population is fast advancing in culture. but to take up the trail again: it leaves the reserve, going through lowell, thence to tyrus by mexico campground; then one-half mile north of black jack mountain through buchanan town into alabama, one-half mile north of gratan postoffice by bethel campground. then crossing the little tallapoosa on saxon's bridge near saxon's mill, on the big tallapoosa, where it crosses at ridley's bridge through chillafinnee, then goes on north of ironton to talladega, alabama. perhaps this trail goes further west than talladega, but an effort to trace it has failed so far. our chapter still hopes to find whether it continues. no doubt the whole country was a network of trails, and this must antedate the time of mcintosh. it must go back to the days when the indians had no beasts of burden.--mrs. r. h. hardaway, newnan, ga. georgia song. i blest is thy land, fair georgia; from the mountains to the sea. the purpose of whose founders was the opprest from wrongs to free. refrain: then hail to thee, our georgia! for of the "old thirteen" no brighter star shone ever, or ever shall be seen. ii "not for themselves, but others," was the way their motto ran; and in the path of mercy did they early lead the van. iii our fathers sought the "new world," with a motive grand and high, and faith in god hath ever led our hopes unto the sky. iv and so on strong foundations, we see stately columns rise, as symbols of those virtues, that our georgia people prize. v a soldier guards the portals while a sunburst from above, illumines arch and pillars with god's all protecting love. vi god grant our solons wisdom, let strict justice hold the scale and moderation guide the hand, that must make the law prevail. --_by j. t. derry._ many of the states have a state song for the school children. georgia has never yet had one. there are efforts being made to supply this deficiency. the founders of the colony of georgia had a threefold purpose: first--to provide a home for the honest debtor class of great britain, so that in the new world they might have a new chance. second--to offer to persecuted sects of europe a refuge from oppression. third--to oppose a barrier against spanish aggression upon the colony of south carolina. the raising of silk and indigo were to be the chief industries of the new colony. the trustees were to make for themselves no profit out of their enterprises. hence on one side of the seal adopted for the colony of georgia by the trustees was a representation of silk worms busy at their work and the motto was: "non sibi, sed aliis," which means, "not for themselves, but for others." when georgia became a state a seal was adopted on the front side of which are represented three columns, marked: "wisdom, justice, moderation," which support the arch of the constitution. on arch and pillar shine the rays of the rising sun. a soldier with drawn sword guards the approaches. with these two seals, one of the colony and the other of the state as the inspiration, the above song has been suggested, the words being by professor j. t. derry and the music by mrs. albert t. spalding, both of atlanta, ga. [illustration: map of georgia showing colonial, revolutionary and indian war period forts battlefields and treaty-spots constructed from old maps and descriptions in early histories. prepared by ruby felder ray, state historian d.a.r. august, .] index a acton, , , adams, john, , , , adams, john quincy, adams, joseph, adams, samuel, , , , alamance, , , allston, washington, , america, song, american monthly magazine quoted from, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , anderson, major george w., andre, major, arnett, mrs. hanna, , art and artists of the revolution, , atlanta, augusta, , austin, james waddy, b baber, ambrose, bacon, nathaniel, baker, colonel, baker, john, baker's creek, bancroft's history, barksdale, lucy, - barrett, colonel, barry, margaret katherine, , barry, richard, bartlett, baxter, beach, edward, beach, ephraim, bedford, bennington, , , , billerica, blackshear, general, , blanchard, luther, blue laws of old virginia, - blue lick, ky., bon homme, richard, , boone, daniel, , , , , boston port bill, boston tea party, boy and his arrow, , boyd, british colonel, , brandywine, , , , bratton, mrs., braxton, brewton, mrs., , brookline, brooks, john, brown, jonas, brown, thomas, british colonel, , bruton church, bryan, jonathan, buford, colonel, , bulloch, archibald, , bunker hill, , burgoyne, john, , burnham, florence, i. w., burnley, harry, , burr, aaron, burr, theodosia, buttrick, major john, byne, annie, byne, edmund, byron, lord (quoted), c cahokia, , , calhoun plantation, cambridge, , , , camden, , cameron, alexander, , cameron, capt. charles, campbell, british colonel, campbell, john a., carlisle, carlton, kitty, carlton, will, carmack, e. w., carroll, caswell, richard, catherine ii of russia, cedar springs, chain, isaiah, charles river, charlestown, mass, charlestown neck, charlestown (now charleston) s. c., , , chase, chatham, earl of, chehaw (indian town), chelmsford, chelsea, cherokees, chew, sallie, chidsey, mrs. will, childers, j. s., chivers, sabina, christie, colonel, clark, george rogers (major; then colonel, then brig. general), - clark, clarke, elijah (colonel; then general), , , , , , , , clarke, mrs. hannah, clarke, john, , - clarke, miss frances, clarke, nancy, clayton, mrs. mary c. b., clayton, mrs. r. b., cleghorn, wm., - clemson college, clergy hall, clifton, mrs. annie daniel, - clymer, george, cockspur island, cole, mrs. h. g., cole, thomas, coleraine, treaty of, coligny, admiral, collier, st. george, admiral, collier, edna jones, colonial congress, committee of safety, concord, , - concord river, conner, r. d. w., continental congress, continentals, conway, general, cook, mrs. mary, copeland, edna arnold, copely, john s., cornwallis, lord, , , corn-acre or coronaca creek, cothran, mrs. barrett, counties of georgia with indian names, , cowpens, crany island, crawford, wm. h., cunningham, bill, noted tory, custis, martha (mrs. geo. washington), cylmer, d daddy, cyrus, , danvers, davenport, john, , davie, colonel, then general, davis, captain isaac, , davis, mrs. isaac, , davis, wm. warren, dawes, wm., , declaration of independence and names of signers, dedham, de grasse, dekalb, derry, joseph t., , d'estaing, , detroit, de vaughn, mrs. m. s., dies, madam, , dillard, mrs., doocy, miss helen t., dooly, john, , , , , , dorchester, dozier, margaret, , drake, drayton, mrs. henry, dreher, dr. t. h., dunmore, governor, driver stephen (and "old glory"), dunlap, gabriel, , e education of men and women, , eisenberg, mrs. harriet d., elbert county, ga., elbert, samuel, eliot, apostle of the indians, ellery, emanuel, david, emerson, arthur, emerson, wm., , etowah chapter, d. a. r., eugene, prince of savoy, eutaw springs, s. c., f fauquier, francis, federation magazine, federal hall, ferguson, colonel (british), few, benjamin, colonel, few, william, colonel, fisher, mrs., fisher's hill, fitch, george, flag of our country, flag day, , , , flag of columbus, , flag of the cabots, flag (red cross of st. george), flag union jack, flag of united states, , styled flower-flag, flag of france, flag of great britain, fletchall, noted tory, floyd, wm., folsom, glorianna, , fordyce, british captain, fort andrew, fort argyle, , fort barrington, fort carr, fort charles, fort cornwallis, fort dearborn--a story, , fort grierson, fort halifax, fort hawkins, , fort hill, , fort howe, fort mcallister, fort mcpherson, fort mims in alabama, fort mitchell, fort morris, , fort motte, fort moultrie, , fort nelson, va., fort pulaski, fort rutledge, , , fort scott, fort sherrills, fort thunderbolt, fort wilkinson (treaty of), foster, hannah a., foster, rev., franklin, benjamin, freeman, john, frierson, james s., fuser, british colonel, g gadsden, christopher, gage, british general, gardner, isaac, , gates, horatio, , gazette, georgia newspaper, gentry, susie--state vice regent d. a. r., , george ii, george iii, , georgetown, s. c., georgia, , , , condition of during revolution, , counties, , heroes in the revolution, , women of early days, - georgia song, , germantown, gerry, glenn, george (judge), golden horse shoe knights, great bridge, va., great fields, greene, colonel christopher, greene, general nathaniel, , , , gregory, rev. thomas b., , , , grierson, british colonel, guilford court house, , gwinnett, button, , , , , - h habersham, joseph, , hadley, samuel, hall, lyman, , , , , , hall, marion jackson, hamilton, alexander, , hampton, wade, hampton, va., hancock, john, , , , , hardaway, mrs. r, h., , harrington, caleb, harrington, john, harris, ethel hillyer, harrison, harrison, sallie marshall martin, hart, benjamin, , hart, nancy, , , , hart, colonel thomas of ky., hart, john, hart, harvard college, hawkins, colonel benjamin, , haynes, josiah, , hayward, james, , hazen, general, heath, wm., henry, patrick, , , , hewes, heyward, hill, benjamin, hillyer family, , historic tree, , hobson sisters, - holt, thaddeus g., hooper, hopkins, stephen, hopkinson, horry, peter, , horne, joab, , hosmer, abner, houston, john, howe, robert, howell, mrs. annie davidson, huger, general, huguenots, , huntington, i illinois, , independence day, , , indian mound (early county), , indian names of counties in georgia, , indian names of states, , indians, irwin, jane, irwin, jared, irwin, (gov. jared irwin) chapter, d. a. r., j jackson, argus, jackson, james, , , , jasper, wm., sergeant, , jefferson, thomas, , , , - , jennings, edmund, jones, john paul, , , , , jones, noble wimberly, , , k kansas city star, kaskaskia, , , keim, mrs. de b. randolph, kentucky, , kettle creek, ga., battle of, - , , , key, francis scott of maryland, author of the star spangled banner, king's mountain, , , kinzie, john, l lamar, henry g., lamar, l. q. c., lafayette, marquis, , , , , - larey, laurens, john, lee, charles, lee, francis lightfoot, lee, harry (light horse harry), , , , , - lee, richard henry, , lewis, francis, lexington, mass., , , , - , lexington common, liberty county, ga., lincoln, benjamin (american general), , , little, mrs. r. c., littleton, , livingston, lockwood, mrs. mary, lords proprietors, lover's leap, near columbus, ga., louis xvi. king of france, louisburg, lynch, lynch, thomas, mc mccall, e., mccall, r., mcclain, mrs. bessie carolyn, mccrady, mcgirth, noted tory, mcgray, major, mcilhenny, rev. james, mcintosh, lachlan, - mcintosh, the chief, mcintosh trail, , mckean, m mackey, charles, - mackey, mrs. charles, - madison, james, , malvern hill, manchester, anna b., manning, a virginia lieutenant, marietta, marion, francis (the swamp fox), , , , - martin, grace and rachael, , , martin, john, , mason, george of va., massey, katharine b., matthews, major, maury public school, mayhew, jonathan, meadow garden, mecklenburg declaration, medford, mell, mrs. p. h., men of mark in georgia (quoted), - mercer, jesse, - merriam's corner, miami indians, middleton, middleton, arthur, milledge, john, , minute men, , , moffattsville, moncrief, colonel, monmouth, battle of, , monroe, james, moore, charles, moore, hall, moore, rosa, , moore's creek, - morgan, daniel, , morgan, mrs. john h., morgan, mrs. joseph, morris, gouverneur, morris, morris, lewis, morrow, miss emily g., morton, motte, mrs. rebecca, , , mount claire, n. y., mugford, james captain, - munroe, robert, murphey, james, musgrove's mill, muzzey, isaac, n national magazine, national song of the d. a. r. by dr. francis h. orme, nelson, nesbit, british officer at concord, nesbit, wilbur d., nixon, capt., norfolk, va., , north bridge at concord, nye, bill (quoted), , , o oconore creek, oglethorpe, james edward, , - , o'hara, c. m. mrs., , old virginia gentleman, - olmstead, colonel charles h., olney, captain stephen, - orators of the american revolution, - orme, dr. francis h., orme, mrs. francis h., , otis, james, our legacy, p paca, page, thomas nelson (quoted), , paine, robert, park, mrs. emily hendree, park, m. m., parker, john, , parker, jonas, party relations in england and their effect on the american revolution, - patterson, caroline, patterson, clara d., payne, john howard, payson, rev., penn, pepperell, general, percy, lord, , petersburg, va., philips, british general, pickens, andrew, american general, , , , , , pinckney, charles catesworth, pinckney, thomas, piquet, lea motte (french naval officer), pitcairn, british major., , pitcher, mollie, pitt, wm. earl of chatham, pittman, philip, , poor richard's almanac, porter, asabel, portsmouth, va., prescott, samuel, , prescott, wm., princeton university, provincial congress, pulaski, count casimir, q quincy, josiah, , r raleigh, sir walter, randolph, jane, randolph, peyton, ranger, ship of paul jones, , ray, ruby felder, reading, real georgia cracker, reid, regulators, revolutionary puzzle, revolutionary relics, , revere, paul, , rhode island in the american revolution, - ribault (rebo). john, ridge, indian chief, , robert, elizabeth, , robert, john, , robinson, john (lieut. colonel), rochambeau, (french general), , rodney, ross, ross, betsy, , roxbury, royalists, , rush, rutherford, general, rutledge, john, , , s saint andrew's parish, ga., saint john's parish, ga., saint vincent, sallette, robert, - salvador, francis, salzburgers, saratoga, , , satilla river, savannah, ga., , , , , savannah river, scanlon, michael, sears, mrs. walter j., seneca river, serapis, british ship, , sequoia, cherokee indian, - shelton, martha, sherman, general wm. t., shipp, j. e. d., shippen, peggy, sigsbee, c. d. rear admiral, slavery in georgia, slocumb, ezekiel, - slocumb, mary, - smith, smith, british lieut. colonel at lexington, , somerset, british man of war, song of marion's men, song of the revolution, sons of the revolution, report of, south bridge at concord, , south carolina, , , spalding, mrs. albert t. jr., spottswood, va., governor, spring place, stabler, edward, , stark, general john, , , state flowers, , steptoe family, , steuben, baron, , , stevens, colonel, stillwell, adeline w. v., stirling, john, , stockton, stone, stony point, stovall, strozier, peter, , stuart, gilbert, sully, thomas, sumter, general thomas (the "game cock"), sunbury, ga., , t tarleton, british colonel, - taylor, telfair, edward, , thaxter, rev., thomas, mrs., thomas, mrs. walter, thompson, metta, thompson, wm., thornton, thrash, nannie strozier, thweatt, john hamilton, , thweatt, tabitha, , ticonderoga, tomochichi, indian chief, toombs, robert, tories in england and america, , , , - tracy, edward d., transportation, early means of, - treadway, beatrice o'rear, trenton, , treutlen, john adam, , - , troup, governor george m., trumbull, john, tryon, british governor, , tucker, capt. samuel, turner, roberta g., tweedy, mrs. j. d., twiggs, john, u uncle sam, , uncrowned queens and kings, - united states treasury seal, , university of virginia, v valley forge, , - , vanderlyn, john, - van dycke, vann house, - vincennes, , , virginia revolutionary forts, - w waites, judge, waldo, dr., walker, mrs. j. l., walmsley, james elliott, walton, george, , , - , ward, general artemas, - wardlaw, g. b., war hill (scene of battle of kettle creek), warren, joseph, , , washington, george, , , , , - , , , , , , - washington, mrs., , , waxhaws, s. c., wayne, anthony, , wereat, john, , west, benjamin, west cambridge, westford, , whigs in england and america during the revolution, - whipple, white, , white, captain, then colonel john, william and mary college, , , williamsburg, va., williams, williams, james, williamson, andrew, williamson, micajah, williamson, sarah gilliam, williamson, major, , , wilson, clarissa, wilson jonathan, , , wilson, sarah, wilson, signer of declaration of independence, wilson, samuel, wimpy, mrs. w. c., wing, john, winn, captain richard, winthrop, john, witherspoon, woburn, wolcott, wood, mrs. james s., wright, sir james, wythe, george, , , y yamacraw bluff, yankee doodle, yazoo fraud, , yorktown, , , , , transcriber's note italic text is denoted by _underscores_. obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. except for those changes noted below, misspelling by the authors, inconsistent or archaic usage, has been retained. toc 'john clark' changed to 'john clarke'. toc 'elijah clark' changed to 'elijah clarke'. toc 'somersett' changed to 'somerset'. toc 'chief van' changed to 'chief vann'. p 'curosity' changed to 'curiosity'. p 'wodburn' changed to 'woburn'. p 'fusileers' changed to 'fusiliers'. p 'mekean' changed to 'mckean'. p 'prosterity' changed to 'posterity'. p 'monthty' changed to 'monthly'. p 'indentified' changed to 'identified'. p 'releigh' changed to 'raleigh'. p 'fort sherrill's' changed to 'sherrill's fort'. p 'du pont' changed to 'dupont'. p 'elizah clarke' changed to 'elijah clarke'. p 'unusued' changed to 'unused'. p 'tryant' changed to 'tyrant'. p 'beside' changed to 'bedside'. p 'adso' changed to 'also'. p 'near tarleston's' changed to 'near tarleton's'. p 'auxiety' changed to 'anxiety'. p 'woudd inquire' changed to 'would inquire'. p 'dripped' changed to 'dropped'. p 'even them' changed to 'even then'. p 'humning bird' changed to 'humming bird'. p 'reconteur' changed to 'raconteur'. p 'chariman' changed to 'chairman'. p 'day are' changed to 'days are'. p 'macajah' changed to 'micajah'. p 'strugling' changed to 'struggling'. p 'conmenced' changed to 'commenced'. p 'ceasar' changed to 'caesar'. p 'deleware' changed to 'delaware'. p 'astaunded' changed to 'astounded'. p 'ignorinous' changed to 'ignominious'. p 'governo' changed to 'governor'. p 'importansce' changed to 'importance'. p 'endeavorers' changed to 'endeavors'. p 'mommouth' changed to 'monmouth'. p 'truetlen' changed to 'treutlen'. p 'diffcult' changed to 'difficult'. p 'afteh' changed to 'after'. p 'nighborhood' changed to 'neighborhood'. p 'tapestry or' changed to 'tapestry of'. p 'inpetuous' changed to 'impetuous'. p 'gubernational' changed to 'gubernatorial'. p 'unconcious' changed to 'unconscious'. p 'toombstones' changed to 'tombstones'. p 'westminister' changed to 'westminster'. p 'co-called' changed to 'so-called'. p 'intrepreter' changed to 'interpreter'. p 'egorgia' changed to 'georgia'. p 'acros sthe' changed to 'across the'. p 'sprank' changed to 'sprang'. p 'apportunity' changed to 'opportunity'. p 'carrid' changed to 'carried'. p 'narby' changed to 'nearby'. p 'independenct' changed to 'independence'. p 'guson' changed to 'action'. p 'ignorminy' changed to 'ignominy'. p 'curosity' changed to 'curiosity'. p 'nag is' changed to 'nag as'. p 'she know' changed to 'she knew'. p 'codgell' changed to 'cogdell'. p 'sudsided' changed to 'subsided'. p 'anges' changed to 'agnes'. p 'shirwood' changed to 'sherwood'. p 'ta raise' changed to 'to raise'. p 'trooops' changed to 'troops'. p 'rceeive' changed to 'receive'. p 'massonry' changed to 'masonry'. p 'continue ti' changed to 'continue to'. p 'betsey' changed to 'betsy'. p 'spectotors' changed to 'spectators'. p 'chief van' changed to 'chief vann'. p 'chief van' changed to 'chief vann'. ( occurrences) p 'chief van' changed to 'chief vann'. p 'revaled' changed to 'revealed'. p 'arkanses' changed to 'arkansas'. p 'mississippi ...' duplicate line deleted. p 'winward islands' changed to 'windward islands'. p 'affllicted' changed to 'afflicted'. p 'arond' changed to 'around'. p 'roy pork' changed to 'ray park'. p 'm'intosh' changed to 'mcintosh'. p 'refuge form' changed to 'refuge from'. index: 'allamance' changed to 'alamance'. index: 'carswell' changed to 'caswell'. index: 'cornacre' changed to 'corn-acre'. index: 'corthran' changed to 'cothran'. index: 'de kalb' changed to 'dekalb'. index: 'dier' changed to 'dies'. index: 'drehan' changed to 'dreher'. index: added 'e' at front of e entries. index: 'fanquier' changed to 'fauquier'. index: 'flower flag' changed to 'flower-flag'. index: added 'h' at front of h entries. index: 'rochaebeau' changed to 'rochambeau'. index: 'steben' changed to 'steuben'. index: 'van' changed to 'vann'. the life of francis marion by w. gilmore simms author of "yemassee", "history of south carolina", etc. "the british soldier trembles when marion's name is told." --bryant. [note on text: italicized words or phrases are capitalized. some obvious errors have been corrected.] [william gilmore simms, american (south carolinian) writer. - .] contents. chapter . introduction--the huguenots in south carolina. chapter . the marion family--birth of francis marion--his youth--shipwreck. chapter . marion a farmer--volunteers in the cherokee campaign. chapter . cherokee war continues--marion leads the forlorn hope at the battle of etchoee. chapter . marion is returned for the provincial congress from st. john's, berkeley--made captain in the second regiment--fort johnson taken--battle of fort moultrie. chapter . from the battle of fort moultrie to that of savannah--anecdote of jasper--his death. chapter . from the battle of savannah to the defeat of gates at camden. chapter . organization of "marion's brigade"--surprise of tories under gainey--defeat of barfield--capture of british guard with prisoners at nelson's ferry. chapter . marion retreats before a superior force--defeats the tories at black mingo--surprises and disperses the force of colonel tynes at tarcote--is pursued by tarleton. chapter . marion attempts georgetown--horry defeats merritt--melton defeated by barfield--gabriel marion taken by the tories and murdered--marion retires to snow's island. chapter . marion's camp at snow's island--the character of his warfare--of his men--anecdotes of conyers and horry-- he feasts a british officer on potatoes--quells a mutiny. chapter . general greene assumes command of the southern army--his correspondence with marion--condition of the country--marion and lee surprise georgetown--col. horry defeats gainey--marion pursues mcilraith--proposed pitched battle between picked men. chapter . watson and doyle pursue marion--he baffles and harasses them--pursues doyle--his despondency and final resolution. chapter . marion renews his pursuit of doyle--confronts watson--is joined by col. lee--invests and takes fort watson--fort motte taken--anecdote of horry and marion. chapter . correspondence of marion and greene--anecdote of colonel snipes--marion takes georgetown--attempt of sumter and marion on col. coates--battle of quinby bridge. chapter . marion moves secretly to pon-pon--rescues col. harden--defeats major frazier at parker's ferry--joins the main army under greene--battle of eutaw. chapter . retreat of the british from eutaw--pursuit of them by marion and lee--close of the year. chapter . marion summoned to the camp of greene--defeats the british horse at st. thomas--leaves his command to horry, and takes his seat in the assembly at jacksonborough, as senator from st. john's, berkeley--proceedings of the assembly--confiscation act--dispute between cols. mayham and horry--the brigade of marion surprised, during his absence, by a detachment from charleston--marion's encounter with the british horse--conspiracy in the camp of greene. chapter . marion summoned with his force to that of greene--insurrection of the loyalists on the pedee--marches against them--subdues them--treats with gainey--fanning-- protects the tory, butler, from his men--returns to the country between the santee and the cooper--moves to protect georgetown from the british fleet--takes post at watboo, on cooper river--defeats the british cavalry under major frasier. chapter . the british propose terms of pacification-- rejected by the civil authorities--they penetrate the combahee with their fleet--death of col. laurens--anecdote of marion--death of wilmot--the british evacuate charleston-- marion separates from his brigade at watboo--his military genius. chapter . marion retires to his farm, which he finds in ruins--is returned to the senate from st. john--his course on the confiscation act--anecdotes--is made commandant at fort johnson--his marriage--a member of the state convention in --withdraws from public life--his death. appendix a. notes on the electronic text. appendix b. song of marion's men. by william cullen bryant [ - ]. note. in preparing this biography, the following works have been consulted: . a sketch of the life of brig. gen. francis marion, and a history of his brigade, &c. by wm. dobein james, a.m. charleston, s.c. . . the life of gen. francis marion, &c. by brig. gen. p. horry, and m. l. weems. philadelphia. . . a ms. memoir of the life of brig. gen. p. horry. by himself. . sketches of the life and correspondence of nathanael greene, &c. by william johnson. charleston. . . memoirs of the american revolution, &c. by william moultrie. new york. . . anecdotes of the revolutionary war in america ( st and d series). by alex. garden. and . . memoirs of the war in the southern department of the united states. by henry lee, &c. philadelphia. . . memoirs of the american revolution, &c., as relating to the state of south carolina, &c. by john drayton, ll.d. charleston. . . the history of south carolina, &c. by david ramsay. charleston. . . the history of georgia, &c. by capt. hugh m'call. savannah. . . a history of the campaigns of and , in the southern provinces of north america. by lieut. col. tarleton, commandant of the late british legion. london. . . strictures on lieut. col. tarleton's history, &c. by roderick mackenzie, late lieutenant in the st regiment, &c. london. . . history of the revolution of south carolina from a british province to an independent state. by david ramsay, m.d. trenton. . . an historical account of the rise and progress of the colonies of south carolina and georgia. (hewatt.) london. . . a new voyage to carolina, &c. by john lawson, gent., surveyor-general of north carolina. london. . . the history of the rise, progress, and establishment of the independence of the united states of america, &c. by william gordon, d.d. new york. . . five volumes of ms. letters from distinguished officers of the revolution in the south. from the collection of gen. peter horry. preface. the facts, in the life of francis marion, are far less generally extended in our country than his fame. the present is an attempt to supply this deficiency, and to justify, by the array of authentic particulars, the high position which has been assigned him among the master-workers in our revolutionary history. the task has been a difficult, but i trust not entirely an unsuccessful one. our southern chronicles are meagre and unsatisfactory. south carolina was too long in the occupation of the british--too long subject to the ravages of civil and foreign war, to have preserved many of those minor records which concern only the renown of individuals, and are unnecessary to the comprehension of great events; and the vague tributes of unquestioning tradition are not adequate authorities for the biographer, whose laws are perhaps even more strict than those which govern the historian. numerous volumes, some private manuscripts, and much unpublished correspondence, to which reference has been more particularly made in the appendix, have been consulted in the preparation of this narrative. the various histories of carolina and georgia have also been made use of. minor facts have been gathered from the lips of living witnesses. of the two works devoted especially to our subject, that by the rev. mr. weems is most generally known--a delightful book for the young. the author seems not to have contemplated any less credulous readers, and its general character is such as naturally to inspire us with frequent doubts of its statements. mr. weems had rather loose notions of the privileges of the biographer; though, in reality, he has transgressed much less in his life of marion than is generally supposed. but the untamed, and sometimes extravagant exuberance of his style might well subject his narrative to suspicion. of the "sketch" by the hon. judge james, we are more secure, though, as a literary performance, it is quite as devoid of merit as pretension. besides, the narrative is not thorough. it dwells somewhat too minutely upon one class of facts, to the neglect or the exclusion of others. i have made both of these works tributary to my own whenever this was possible. woodland, s.c., may , . the life of francis marion chapter . introduction--the huguenots in south carolina. the name of francis marion is identified, in the history of south carolina, his parent state, with all that is pleasing and exciting in romance. he is, par excellence, the famous partisan of that region. while sumter stands conspicuous for bold daring, fearless intrepidity and always resolute behavior; while lee takes eminent rank as a gallant captain of cavalry, the eye and the wing of the southern liberating army under greene; marion is proverbially the great master of strategy--the wily fox of the swamps--never to be caught, never to be followed,--yet always at hand, with unconjectured promptness, at the moment when he is least feared and is least to be expected. his pre-eminence in this peculiar and most difficult of all kinds of warfare, is not to be disputed. in his native region he has no competitor, and it is scarcely possible to compute the vast influence which he possessed and exercised over the minds and feelings of the people of carolina, simply through his own resources, at a period most adverse to their fortunes, and when the cause of their liberties, everywhere endangered, was almost everywhere considered hopeless. his name was the great rallying cry of the yeoman in battle--the word that promised hope--that cheered the desponding patriot--that startled, and made to pause in his career of recklessness and blood, the cruel and sanguinary tory. unprovided with the means of warfare, no less than of comfort--wanting equally in food and weapons--we find him supplying the one deficiency with a cheerful courage that never failed; the other with the resources of a genius that seemed to wish for nothing from without. with a force constantly fluctuating and feeble in consequence of the most ordinary necessities--half naked men, feeding upon unsalted pottage,--forced to fight the enemy by day, and look after their little families, concealed in swamp or thicket, by night--he still contrived,--one knows not well how,--to keep alive and bright the sacred fire of his country's liberties, at moments when they seemed to have no other champion. in this toil and watch, taken cheerfully and with spirits that never appeared to lose their tone and elasticity, tradition ascribes to him a series of achievements, which, if they were small in comparison with the great performances of european war, were scarcely less important; and which, if they sometimes transcend belief, must yet always delight the imagination. his adventures have given a rich coloring to fable, and have stimulated its performances. the language of song and story has been employed to do them honor, and our children are taught, in lessons that they love, to lisp the deeds and the patriotism of his band. "marion"--"marion's brigade" and "marion's men", have passed into household words, which the young utter with an enthusiasm much more confiding than that which they yield to the wondrous performances of greece and ilium. they recall, when spoken, a long and delightful series of brilliant exploits, wild adventures, by day and night, in swamp and thicket, sudden and strange manoeuvres, and a generous, unwavering ardor, that never found any peril too hazardous, or any suffering too unendurable. the theme, thus invested, seems to have escaped the ordinary bounds of history. it is no longer within the province of the historian. it has passed into the hands of the poet, and seems to scorn the appeal to authentic chronicles. when we look for the record we find but little authority for a faith so confiding, and seemingly so exaggerated. the story of the revolution in the southern colonies has been badly kept. documentary proofs are few, bald and uninteresting. a simple paragraph in the newspapers,--those newspapers issued not unfrequently in cities where the enemy had power, and in the control of editors, unlike the present, who were seldom able to expatiate upon the achievement which they recorded;--or the brief dispatches of the captain himself, whose modesty would naturally recoil from stating more than the simple result of his performances;--these are usually the sum total of our authorities. the country, sparsely settled, and frequently overrun by the barbarous enemy, was incapable of that patient industry and persevering care, which could chronicle the passing event, give place and date to the brilliant sortie, the gallant struggle, the individual deed of audacity, which, by a stroke, and at a moment, secures an undying remembrance in the bosoms of a people. the fame of marion rests very much upon tradition. there is little in the books to justify the strong and exciting relish with which the name is spoken and remembered throughout the country. he was not a bloody warrior. his battle fields were never sanguinary. his ardor was never of a kind to make him imprudent. he was not distinguished for great strength of arm, or great skill in his weapon. we have no proofs that he was ever engaged in single combat: yet the concurrent testimony of all who have written, declare, in general terms, his great services: and the very exaggeration of the popular estimate is a partial proof of the renown for which it speaks. in this respect, his reputation is like that of all other heroes of romantic history. it is a people's history, written in their hearts, rather than in their books; which their books could not write--which would lose all its golden glow, if subjected to the cold details of the phlegmatic chronicles. the tradition, however swelling, still testifies to that large merit which must have been its basis, by reason of which the name of the hero was selected from all others for such peculiar honors; and though these exaggerations suggest a thousand difficulties in the way of sober history, they yet serve to increase the desire, as well as the necessity, for some such performance. ***** the family of marion came from france. they emigrated to south carolina somewhere about the year , within twenty years after the first british settlement of the province. they belonged, in the parent country, to that sect of religious dissenters which bore the name of huguenots; and were among those who fled from the cruel persecutions which, in the beginning of the reign of louis xiv., followed close upon the re-admission of the jesuits into france. the edict of nantz, which had been issued under the auspices of henri iv., and by which the huguenots had been guaranteed, with some slight qualifications, the securities of the citizen, almost in the same degree with the catholic inhabitants, had, under the weak and tyrannous sway of the former monarch, proved totally inadequate to their protection. long before its formal revocation, the unmeasured and inhuman persecutions to which they were subjected, drove thousands of them into voluntary banishment. the subsequent decree of louis, by which even the nominal securities of the huguenots were withdrawn, increased the number of the exiles, and completed the sentence of separation from all those ties which bind the son to the soil. the neighboring protestant countries received the fugitives, the number and condition of whom may be estimated by the simple fact, not commonly known, that england alone possessed "eleven regiments composed entirely of these unhappy refugees, besides others enrolled among the troops of the line. there were in london twenty french churches supported by government; about three thousand refugees were maintained by public subscription; many received grants from the crown; and a great number lived by their own industry.* some of the nobility were naturalized and obtained high rank; among others, ruvigny, son of the marquis, was made earl of galway, and schomberg received the dignity of duke."** * memoires et observations faites par un voyageur en angleterre, mo. la haye, , p. . quoted by browning in his history of the huguenots. ** browning, [william shergold]: history of the huguenots. london: whittaker and co. . p. . of the refugees from france, hume says, "near fifty thousand passed over into england;" and voltaire writes that "one of the suburbs of london was entirely peopled with french workers of silk." [w. s. browning was uncle to the poet, robert browning. a. l., .] america, the new world, was naturally a land of refuge, and soon received her share of these unhappy fugitives. the transition was easy from england to her colonies. every facility was afforded them for transportation, and the wise policy which encouraged their settlement in the new countries was amply rewarded by the results. altogether, the huguenots were a much better sort of people than those who usually constituted the mass of european emigrants. the very desperation of their circumstances was a proof of their virtues. they were a people of principle, for they had suffered everything for conscience sake. they were a people of pure habits, for it was because of their religion that they suffered banishment. in little patriarchal groups of sixty, seventy, or eighty families, they made their way to different parts of america; and with the conscious poverty of their own members, were generally received with open arms by those whom they found in possession of the soil. the english, as they beheld the dependent and destitute condition of the fugitives, forgot, for a season, their usual national animosities; and assigning ample tracts of land for their occupation, beheld them, without displeasure, settling down in exclusive colonies, in which they sought to maintain, as far as possible, the pious habits and customs of the mother country. one of these communities, comprising from seventy to eighty families, found their way to the banks of the santee in south carolina.* from this point they gradually spread themselves out so as to embrace, in partial settlements, the spacious tract of country stretching to the winyah, on the one hand, and the sources of cooper river on the other; extending upward into the interior, following the course of the santee nearly to the point where it loses its identity in receiving the descending streams of the wateree and congaree. these settlers were generally poor. they had been despoiled of all their goods by the persecutions which had driven them into exile. this, indeed, had been one of the favorite modes by which this result had been effected. doubtless, also, it had been, among the subordinates of the crown, one of the chief motives of the persecution. it was a frequent promise of his jesuit advisers, to the vain and bigoted louis, that the heretics should be brought into the fold of the church without a drop of bloodshed; and, until the formal revocation of the edict of nantz, by which the huguenots were put without the pale and protection of the laws, spoliation was one of the means, with others, by which to avoid this necessity. these alternatives, however, were of a kind not greatly to lessen the cruelties of the persecutor or the sufferings of the victim. it does not fall within our province to detail them. it is enough that one of the first and most obvious measures by which to keep their promise to the king, was to dispossess the proscribed subjects of their worldly goods and chattels. by this measure a two-fold object was secured. while the heretic was made to suffer, the faithful were sure of their reward. it was a principle faithfully kept in view; and the refugees brought with them into exile, little beyond the liberties and the virtues for which they had endured so much. but these were possessions, as their subsequent history has shown, beyond all price. * dalcho, in his church history, says, "upwards of one hundred families." our humble community along the santee had suffered the worst privations of their times and people. but, beyond the necessity of hard labor, they had little to deplore, at the outset, in their new condition. they had been schooled sufficiently by misfortune to have acquired humility. they observed, accordingly, in their new relations, a policy equally prudent and sagacious. more flexible in their habits than the english, they conciliated the latter by deference; and, soothing the unruly passions of the indians--the santee and sewee tribes, who were still in considerable numbers in their immediate neighborhood--they won them to alliance by kindness and forbearance. from the latter, indeed, they learned their best lessons for the cultivation of the soil. that, upon which they found themselves, lay in the unbroken forest. the high lands which they first undertook to clear, as less stubborn, were most sterile; and, by a very natural mistake, our frenchmen adopted the modes and objects of european culture; the grains, the fruits and the vegetables, as well as the implements, to which they had been accustomed. the indians came to their succor, taught them the cultivation of maize, and assisted them in the preparation of their lands; in return for lessons thought equally valuable by the savages, to whom they taught, along with gentler habits and morals, a better taste for music and the dance! to subdue the forest, of itself, to european hands, implied labors not unlike those of hercules. but the refugees, though a gentle race, were men of soul and strength, capable of great sacrifices, and protracted self-denial. accommodating themselves with a patient courage to the necessities before them, they cheerfully undertook and accomplished their tasks. we have more than one lively picture among the early chroniclers of the distress and hardship which they were compelled to encounter at the first. but, in this particular, there was nothing peculiar in their situation. it differed in no respect from that which fell to the lot of all the early colonists in america. the toil of felling trees, over whose heavy boughs and knotty arms the winters of centuries had passed; the constant danger from noxious reptiles and beasts of prey, which, coiled in the bush or crouching in the brake, lurked day and night, in waiting for the incautious victim; and, most insidious and fatal enemy of all, the malaria of the swamp, of the rank and affluent soil, for the first time laid open to the sun; these are all only the ordinary evils which encountered in america, at the very threshold, the advances of european civilisation. that the huguenots should meet these toils and dangers with the sinews and the hearts of men, was to be expected from their past experience and history. they had endured too many and too superior evils in the old world, to be discouraged by, or to shrink from, any of those which hung upon their progress in the new. like the hardy briton, whom, under the circumstances, we may readily suppose them to have emulated, they addressed themselves, with little murmuring, to the tasks before them. we have, at the hands of one of their number,--a lady born and raised in affluence at home,--a lively and touching picture of the sufferings and duties, which, in carolina, at that period, neither sex nor age was permitted to escape. "after our arrival," she writes, "we suffered every kind of evil. in about eighteen months our elder brother, unaccustomed to the hard labor we were obliged to undergo, died of a fever. since leaving france, we had experienced every kind of affliction, disease, pestilence, famine, poverty and hard labor! i have been for six months together without tasting bread, working the ground like a slave; and i have even passed three or four years without always having it when i wanted it. i should never have done were i to attempt to detail to you all our adventures."* * the narrative of mrs. judith manigault, wife of peter manigault, as quoted by ramsay.--hist. s. c. vol. i., p. . for a graphic detail of the usual difficulties and dangers attending the escape of the huguenots from france, at the period of migration, see the first portion of this letter.-- we may safely conclude that there was no exaggeration in this picture. the lot of all the refugees seems to have been very equally severe. men and women, old and young, strove together in the most menial and laborious occupations. but, as courage and virtue usually go hand in hand with industry, the three are apt to triumph together. such was the history in the case of the carolina huguenots. if the labor and the suffering were great, the fruits were prosperity. they were more. honors, distinction, a goodly name, and the love of those around them, have blessed their posterity, many of whom rank with the noblest citizens that were ever reared in america. in a few years after their first settlement, their forest homes were crowned with a degree of comfort, which is described as very far superior to that in the usual enjoyment of the british colonists. they were a more docile and tractable race; not so restless, nor--though this may seem difficult to understand to those who consider their past history--so impatient of foreign control. of their condition in carolina, we have a brief but pleasing picture from the hands of john lawson, then surveyor-general of the province of north carolina.* this gentleman, in , just fifteen years after its settlement, made a progress through that portion of the huguenot colony which lay immediately along the santee. the passages which describe his approach to the country which they occupied, the hospitable reception which they gave him, the comforts they enjoyed, the gentleness of their habits, the simplicity of their lives, and their solicitude in behalf of strangers, are necessary to furnish the moral of those fortunes, the beginning of which was so severe and perilous. "there are," says he, "about seventy families seated on this river, who live as decently and happily as any planters in these southward parts of america. the french being a temperate, industrious people, some of them bringing very little of effects, yet, by their endeavors and mutual assistance among themselves (which is highly to be commended), have outstript our english, who brought with them larger fortunes, though (as it seems) less endeavor to manage their talent to the best advantage. 'tis admirable to see what time and industry will (with god's blessing) effect," &c.... ... "we lay all that night at mons. eugee's (huger), and the next morning set out farther, to go the remainder of our voyage by land. at ten o'clock we passed over a narrow, deep swamp, having left the three indian men and one woman, that had piloted the canoe from ashley river, having hired a sewee indian, a tall, lusty fellow, who carried a pack of our clothes, of great weight. notwithstanding his burden, we had much ado to keep pace with him. at noon we came up with several french plantations. meeting with several creeks by the way, the french were very officious in assisting us with their small dories to pass over these waters: whom we met coming from their church, being all of them very clean and decent in their apparel; their houses and plantations suitable in neatness and contrivance. they are all of the same opinion with the church of geneva,** there being no difference among them concerning the punctilios of their christian faith; which union hath propagated a happy and delightful concord in all other matters throughout the whole neighborhood; living amongst themselves as one tribe or kindred, every one making it his business to be assistant to the wants of his countrymen, preserving his estate and reputation with the same exactness and concern as he does his own: all seeming to share in the misfortunes, and rejoice at the advance and rise of their brethren." lawson fitly concludes his account of the settlers upon the santee, by describing them as "a very kind, loving, and affable people"--a character which it has been the happy solicitude of their descendants to maintain to the present day.*** * lawson's "journal of a thousand miles' travel among the indians, from south to north carolina", is a work equally rare and interesting. this unfortunate man fell a victim to his official duties. he was confounded, by the savages, with the government which he represented, and sacrificed to their fury, under the charge of depriving them, by his surveys, of their land. he was made captive with the baron de graffenreid. the latter escaped, but lawson was subjected to the fire-torture. ** "the inhabitants [of st. james, otherwise french santee] petitioned the assembly, in , to have their settlement made a parish; and, at the same time, expressed their desire of being united to the church of england, whose doctrines and discipline they professed highly to esteem. the assembly passed an act, april , , to erect the french settlement of santee into a parish."--'dalcho's historical account', ch. , p. . *** see "a new voyage to carolina, containing the exact description and natural history of that country, &c.; and a journey of a thousand miles, travelled through several nations of indians. by john lawson, gent., surveyor-general of north carolina. london, ."-- a more delightful picture than this of mr. lawson, could not well be drawn by the social perfectionist. the rational beauty of the voluntary system could not find a happier illustration; and, duly impressed with its loveliness, we shall cease to wonder at the instances of excellence, equally frequent and admirable, which rose up among this little group of exiles, to the good fortune of the country which gave them shelter, and in attestation of their own virtues. but this happy result was due entirely to their training. it would be wonderful, indeed, if such an education, toil and watch, patient endurance of sickness and suffering, sustained only by sympathy with one another and a humble reliance upon divine mercy, should not produce many perfect characters--men like francis marion, the beautiful symmetry of whose moral structure leaves us nothing to regret in the analysis of his life. uncompromising in the cause of truth, stern in the prosecution of his duties, hardy and fearless as the soldier, he was yet, in peace, equally gentle and compassionate, pleased to be merciful, glad and ready to forgive, sweetly patient of mood, and distinguished throughout by such prominent virtues, that, while always sure of the affections of followers and comrades, he was not less secure in the unforced confidence of his enemies, among whom his integrity and mercy were proverbial. by their fruits, indeed, shall we know this community, the history of which furnishes as fine a commentary upon the benefit of good social training for the young--example and precept happily keeping concert with the ordinary necessities and performances of life, the one supported by the manliest courage, the other guided by the noblest principle--as any upon record.* * it is one of the qualifications of the delight which an historian feels while engaged in the details of those grateful episodes which frequently reward his progress through musty chronicles, to find himself suddenly arrested in his narrative by some of those rude interruptions by which violence and injustice disfigure so frequently, in the march of history, the beauty of its portraits. one of these occurs to us in this connection. our huguenot settlers on the santee were not long suffered to pursue a career of unbroken prosperity. the very fact that they prospered-- that, in the language of mr. lawson, "they outstript our english," when placed in like circumstances--that they were no longer desolate and dependent, and had grown vigorous, and perhaps wanton, in the smiles of fortune--was quite enough to re-awaken in the bosoms of "our english" the ancient national grudge upon which they had so often fed before. the prejudices and hostilities which had prevailed for centuries between their respective nations, constituted no small part of the moral stock which the latter had brought with them into the wilderness. this feeling was farther heightened, at least maintained, by the fact that france and england had contrived to continue their old warfare in the new world; and, while french emissaries were busy in the back parts of the colony, stimulating the creeks and cherokees to hostility, it was perhaps natural enough that the english, whose frontiers were continually ravaged in consequence, should find it easy to confound the "parley- vous", their enemies, with those, their neighbors, who spoke the same unpopular language. it is not improbable, on the other hand, that the huguenot settlers were a little too exclusive, a little too tenacious of their peculiar habits, manners, and language. they did not suffer themselves to assimilate with their neighbors; but, maintaining the policy by which they had colonized in a body, had been a little too anxious to preserve themselves as a singular and separate people. in this respect they were not unlike the english puritans, in whom and their descendants, this passion for homogeneousness has always been thought a sort of merit, appealing very much to their self-esteem and pride. in the case of the french colonists, whether the fault was theirs or not, the evil results of being, or making themselves, a separate people, were soon perceptible. they were subjected to various political and social disabilities, and so odious had they become to their british neighbors, that john archdale, one of the proprietors, a man like wm. penn (and by grahame, the historian, pronounced very far his superior), equally beloved by all parties, as a man just and fearless, was, when governor of the colony, compelled to deny them representation in the colonial assembly, under penalty of making invalid all his attempts at proper government. under this humiliating disability the huguenots lived and labored for a considerable period, until the propriety of their lives, the purity of their virtues, and their frequently-tried fidelity in the cause of the country, forced the majority to be just. an act, passed in , making all aliens, then inhabitants, free--enabling them to hold lands and to claim the same as heirs--according liberty of conscience to all christians (except papists), &c.--placed our refugees on a footing of equality with the rest of the inhabitants, and put an end to the old hostilities between them.-- when our traveller turned his back upon this "kind, loving, and affable people," to pursue his journey into north carolina, his first forward step was into a howling wilderness. the santee settlement, though but forty miles distant from charleston, was a frontier--all beyond was waste, thicket and forest, filled with unknown and fearful animals, and "sliding reptiles of the ground, startlingly beautiful,"-- which the footstep of man dreaded to disturb. of the wild beasts by which it was tenanted, a single further extract from the journal of mr. lawson will give us a sufficient and striking idea. he has left the santee settlements but a single day--probably not more than fifteen miles. his indian companion has made for his supper a bountiful provision, having killed three fat turkeys in the space of half an hour. "when we were all asleep," says our traveller, "in the beginning of the night, we were awakened with the dismallest and most hideous noise that ever pierced my ears. this sudden surprisal incapacitated us of guessing what this threatening noise might proceed from; but our indian pilot (who knew these parts very well) acquainted us that it was customary to hear such musick along that swamp-side, there being endless numbers of panthers, tygers, wolves, and other beasts of prey, which take this swamp for their abode in the day, coming in whole droves to hunt the deer in the night, making this frightful ditty till day appears, then all is still as in other places." (page .) less noisy, except in battle, but even more fearful, were the half-human possessors of the same regions, the savages, who, at that period, in almost countless tribes or families, hovered around the habitations of the european. always restless, commonly treacherous, warring or preparing for war, the red men required of the white borderer the vigilance of an instinct which was never to be allowed repose. this furnished an additional school for the moral and physical training of our young huguenots. in this school, without question, the swamp and forest partisans of a future day took some of their first and most valuable lessons in war. here they learned to be watchful and circumspect, cool in danger, steady in advance, heedful of every movement of the foe, and--which is of the very last importance in such a country and in such a warfare as it indicates--happily dextrous in emergencies to seize upon the momentary casualty, the sudden chance--to convert the most trivial circumstance, the most ordinary agent, into a means of extrication or offence. it was in this last respect particularly, in being quick to see, and prompt to avail themselves of the happy chance or instrument, that the partisans of the revolution in the southern colonies, under marion and others, asserted their vast superiority over the invader, and maintained their ground, and obtained their final triumph, in spite of every inequality of arms and numbers. chapter . the marion family--birth of francis marion--his youth-- shipwreck. we have dwelt upon the huguenot settlement in carolina, somewhat more largely than our immediate subject would seem to require. our apology must be found in the obvious importance and beauty of the fact, could this be shown, that the character of francis marion was in truth a remarkable illustration, in all its parts, of the moral nature which prevailed in this little colony of exiles: that, from the harmony existing among them, their purity of conduct, propriety of sentiment, the modesty of their deportment and the firmness of their virtues, he most naturally drew all the components of his own. his hardihood, elasticity, great courage and admirable dexterity in war, were also the natural results of their frontier position. we do not pretend that his acquisitions were at all peculiar to himself. on the contrary, we take for granted, that every distinguished person will, in some considerable degree, betray in his own mind and conduct, the most striking of those characteristics, which mark the community in which he has had his early training; that his actions will, in great measure, declare what sort of moral qualities have been set before his eyes, not so much by his immediate family, as by the society at large in which he lives; that he will represent that society rather than his immediate family, as it is the nature of superior minds to rush out of the narrow circles of domestic life; and that his whole after-performances, even where he may appear in the garb and guise of the reformer, will indicate in numerous vital respects, the tastes and temper of the very people whose alteration and improvement he seeks. the memoir upon which we are about to enter, will, we apprehend, justify the preliminary chapter which has been given to the history of the huguenots upon the santee. gabriel marion, the grandfather of our subject, was one of those who left france in . his son, named after himself, married charlotte cordes, by whom he had seven children, five of whom were sons and two daughters.* francis marion was the last. he was born at winyah, near georgetown, south carolina, in ; a remarkable year, as, in a sister colony (we are not able to say how nearly at the same time), it gave birth to george washington. this coincidence, which otherwise it might seem impertinent to notice here, derives some importance from the fact that it does not stand alone, but is rendered impressive by others, to be shown as we proceed; not to speak of the striking moral resemblances, which it will be no disparagement to the fame of the great virginian to trace between the two. * weems speaks of six children only, naming all the sons and one of the daughters. of her, he frankly says, "i have never heard what became; but for his four brothers, i am happy to state, that though not formidable as soldiers, they were very amiable as citizens." james tells us of two daughters, not naming either, but describing them as "grandmothers of the families of the mitchells, of georgetown, and of the dwights, formerly of the same place, but now of st. stephen's parish." such particularity might be presumed to settle the question.-- the infancy of marion was unpromising. at birth he was puny and diminutive in a remarkable degree. weems, in his peculiar fashion, writes, "i have it from good authority, that this great soldier, at his birth, was not larger than a new england lobster, and might easily enough have been put into a quart pot." it was certainly as little supposed that he should ever live to manhood, as that he should then become a hero. but, by the time that he had reached his twelfth year, his constitution underwent a change. his health became good. the bracing exercises and hardy employments of country life invigorated his frame, and with this improvement brought with it a rare increase of energy. he grew restless and impatient. the tendency of his mind, which was so largely developed in the partisan exercises of after years, now began to exhibit itself. under this impulse he conceived a dislike to the staid and monotonous habits of rural life, and resolved upon seafaring as a vocation. such, it may be remarked, was also the early passion of washington; a passion rather uncommon in the history of a southern farmer's boy. in the case of washington the desire was only overcome at the solicitations of his mother. the mother of marion, in like manner, strove to dissuade her son from this early inclination. she did not succeed, however, and when scarcely sixteen, he embarked in a small vessel for the west indies. the particulars of this voyage, with the exception of the mode in which it terminated, have eluded our inquiry. we have looked for the details in vain. the name of the vessel, the captain, the port she sailed from, have equally escaped our search. to the wanton destruction of private and public records by the british, together with the heedless improvidence of heads of families in the south, we owe this poverty of historical resource. the voyage must have been taken somewhere about the year - . at that period there were perils of the sea to which the mariner is not often exposed at the present day. the waters of the gulf of mexico, in particular, were covered with pirates. the rich produce of new spain, the west indies, and the southern colonies of the english, were rare temptations. the privateers of spain and france, a sort of legalized pirates, hung about the ports of carolina, frequently subjecting them to a condition of blockade, and sometimes to forced contributions. in the occasional absence of the british armed vessels appointed for the protection of these ports, the more enterprising and spirited among their citizens frequently fitted out their own cruisers, drawing them, for this purpose, from the merchant service; manning them in person, and requiting themselves for their losses of merchandise by the occasional capture of some richly laden galleon from new spain. no doubt the imagination of young marion was fired by hearing of these exploits. the sensation produced in the community, by the injuries done to its commerce, in all probability gave the direction to his already excited and restless disposition. it does not appear, however, that marion's first and only voyage was made in an armed vessel. such, we may well suppose, would have been his desire; but the period when he set forth to procure service upon the seas, may not have been auspicious. he may have reached the seaport a moment too soon or too late, and the opportunities of this kind were necessarily infrequent in a small and frontier city, whose commerce lay mostly in the hands of strangers. his small size and puny appearance must have operated very much against his hopes of obtaining employment in a service which particularly calls for manhood and muscle. in what capacity, or in what sort of vessel he obtained a berth, we are left wholly to conjecture. choosing the sea as a vocation, and laudably resolved on acquiring a proper knowledge of his business (as from what we know of his character, we may suppose was the case), he most probably went before the mast. his first and only voyage was unfortunate. the ship in which he sailed was no doubt equally frail and small. she foundered at sea, whether going or returning is not said; in consequence, we are told, of injuries received from the stroke of a whale, of the thornback species. so suddenly did she sink, that her crew, only six in number, had barely time to save themselves. they escaped to the jolly boat, saving nothing but their lives. they took with them neither water nor provisions; and for six days, hopeless of succor, they lay tossing to and fro, upon the bald and cheerless ocean. a dog, which swam to them from the sinking vessel, was sacrificed to their hunger. his raw flesh was their only food, his blood their only drink, during this distressing period. two of their number perished miserably.* the survivors, on the seventh day, were found and taken up by a passing vessel, nourished carefully and finally restored to their homes. * weems represents the captain and mate, as throwing themselves overboard in a state of phrenzy, and there is nothing improbable or unnatural in the statement. privation of food, the use of salt water, and exposure in an open boat to a burning sun, might very well produce such an effect. the only difficulty, however, consists in the simple fact that we have no other authority for the statement. james is silent on the point, and contents himself with simply stating the death of two of the crew. weems, however, adds that of two others, whose end receives, as usual, quite a dramatic finish at his hands. he suffers none to live but "little marion", and, in the exuberance of his imagination, actually goes so far as to describe the particular food, "chocolate and turtle broth", by which the youthful hero is recruited and recovered. by this he designs to show, more emphatically, the immediate interposition, in his behalf, of an especial providence. the truth is, that any attempt at details where so little is known to have been preserved, must necessarily, of itself, subject to doubt any narrative not fortified by the most conclusive evidence. unfortunately for the reverend historian, his known eccentricities as a writer, and fondness for hyperbole, must always deprive his books--though remarkably useful and interesting to the young--of any authority which might be claimed for them as histories. as fictions from history, lively and romantic, they are certainly very astonishing performances; have amused and benefited thousands, and entitle the writer to a rank, in a peculiar walk of letters, which has not yet been assigned him.-- francis marion was one of these survivors. the puny boy lived through the terrors and sufferings under which the strong men perished. so intense were their sufferings, so terrible the trial, that it will not greatly task the imagination to recognize in the preservation of the youth,--looking to his future usefulness--the agency of a special providence. the boy was preserved for other times and fortunes; and, in returning to his mother, was perhaps better prepared to heed her entreaties that he should abandon all idea of an element, from which his escape had been so hazardous and narrow. it was well for himself and country that he did so. it can scarcely be conjectured that his achievements on the sea would have been half so fortunate, or half so honorable to himself and country, as those which are now coupled with his name. returning to his home and parents, young marion sunk once more into the humble condition of the farmer. his health and strength had continued to improve. his adventures by sea had served, seemingly, to complete that change for the better, in his physical man, which had been so happily begun on land; and, subduing his roving inclinations, we hear of him only, in a period of ten years, as a tiller of the earth. in this vocation he betrayed that diligent attention to his duties, that patient hardihood, and calm, equable temper, which distinguished his deportment in every part of his career. he is represented as equally industrious and successful as a farmer. the resources of his family seem to have been very moderate. there were several children, and before francis was yet twenty-five years of age, he lost his father. in he was planting with his mother and brother gabriel, near friersons lock on the santee canal. in they separated. gabriel removed to belle isle--the place where the mortal remains of francis marion now repose--while the latter settled at a place called pond bluff in the parish of st. john.* this place he continued to hold during life. it is still pointed out to the traveller as marion's plantation, and is the more remarkable, as it lies within cannon shot of the battle ground of eutaw, which his valor and conduct contributed to render so justly famous in the history of his native state. during this long period of repose--the interval between his shipwreck, and removal to pond bluff,--we are only left to conjecture his employments. beyond his agricultural labors, we may suppose that his chief tasks were the cultivation of his mind, by close application to those studies which, in the condition of the country, sparsely settled, and without teachers, were usually very inadequately urged. it does not appear that his acquisitions in this respect were more valuable than could be afforded at the present day by the simplest grammar-school of the country. here again we may trace the resemblance between his career and that of washington. equally denied the advantages of education, they equally drew from the great mother-sources of nature. thrown upon their own thoughts, taught by observation and experience--the same results of character,--firmness, temperance, good sense, sagacious foresight, and deliberate prudence--became conspicuous in the conduct and career of both. in the fortunes of neither--in the several tasks allotted to them,--in their various situations,--did their deficiencies of education appear to qualify their successes, or diminish the respect and admiration of those around them,--a singular fact, as indicative equally of the modesty, the good sense, and the superior intrinsic worth of both of these distinguished persons. in the case of marion, his want of education neither lessened his energies, his confidence in himself, nor baffled any of his natural endowments. on the contrary, it left his talents free to their natural direction. these, it is probable, were never of a kind to derive, or to need, many advantages from a very superior or scientific education. his mind was rather practical than subtile--his genius prompted him to action, rather than to study,--and the condition and necessities of the country, calling for the former rather than the latter character, readily reconciled him to a deficiency the importance of which he did not feel. * pond bluff now lies at the bottom of lake marion. --a.l., . chapter . marion a farmer--volunteers in the cherokee campaign. from the readiness with which young marion yielded himself to the entreaties of his mother, and resumed the occupations of agriculture, and from the quiet and persevering industry with which he pursued them for a period of nearly or quite ten years, it might be supposed that the impatience and restlessness of mood, which had formerly led him to revolt at the staid drudgery of rural life, had been entirely extinguished in his bosom. but such was not the case. it was only subdued, and slumbering for a season, ready to awaken at the first opportunity, with all the vigor and freshness of a favorite passion. that opportunity was at hand. events were in progress which were to bring into the field, and prepare by the very best sort of training, for the most noble trials, the great military genius of the partisan. at the opening of the year , the colony of south carolina was on the eve of an indian war. the whole frontier of the southern provinces, from pennsylvania to georgia, was threatened by the savages, and the scalping-knife had already begun its bloody work upon the weak and unsuspecting borderers. the french had been conquered upon the ohio. forts frontenac and duquesne had fallen. british and provincial valor, aided by strong bodies of cherokee warriors, had everywhere placed the flag of britain above the fortresses of france. with its elevation, the indian allies of the french sent in their adhesion to the conquerors; and, their work at an end, the cherokee auxiliaries of britain prepared to return to their homes, covered with their savage trophies, and adequately rewarded for their services. it happened, unfortunately, that, while passing along the frontiers of virginia, the cherokees, many of whom had lost their horses during the campaign, supplied themselves rather unscrupulously from the pastures of the colonists. with inconsiderate anger, the virginians, forgetting the late valuable services of the savages, rose upon their footsteps, slew twelve or fourteen of their warriors, and made prisoners of as many more. this rash and ill-advised severity aroused the nation. the young warriors flew to arms, and pouring their active hordes upon the frontier settlements, proceeded to the work of slaughter, without pausing to discriminate between the offending and the innocent. the emergency was pressing, and governor lyttleton, of south carolina, called out the militia of the province. they were required to rendezvous at the congarees, about one hundred and forty miles from charleston. to this rendezvous francis marion repaired, in a troop of provincial cavalry commanded by one of his brothers.* but he was not yet to flesh his maiden valor upon the enemy. the prompt preparation of the carolinians had somewhat lessened the appetite of the savages for war. perhaps their own preparations were not yet sufficiently complete to make them hopeful of its issue. the young warriors were recalled from the frontiers, and a deputation of thirty-two chiefs set out for charleston, in order to propitiate the anger of the whites, and arrest the threatened invasion of their country. whether they were sincere in their professions, or simply came for the purpose of deluding and disarming the carolinians, is a question with the historians. it is certain that governor lyttleton doubted their sincerity, refused to listen to their explanations, and, carrying them along with him, rather as hostages than as commissioners in sacred trust, he proceeded to meet the main body of his army, already assembled at the congarees. the treatment to which they were thus subjected, filled the cherokee deputies with indignation, which, with the usual artifice of the indian, they yet contrived to suppress. but another indiscreet proceeding of the governor added to the passion which they felt, and soon baffled all their powers of concealment. in resuming the march for the nation, he put them into formal custody, placed a captain's guard over them, and in this manner hurried them to the frontiers. whatever may have been the merits of this movement as a mere military precaution, it was of very bad policy in a civil point of view. it not only degraded the indian chiefs in their own, but in the eyes of their people. his captives deeply and openly resented this indignity and breach of faith; and, brooding in sullen ferocity over the disgrace which they suffered, meditated in silence those schemes of vengeance which they subsequently brought to a fearful maturity. but though thus impetuous and imprudent, and though pressing forward as if with the most determined purposes, lyttleton was in no mood for war. his policy seems to have contemplated nothing further than the alarm of the indians. neither party was exactly ripe for the final issue. the cherokees needed time for preparation, and the governor, with an army ill disciplined and imperfectly armed, found it politic, when on the very confines of the enemy's country, to do that which he might very well have done in charleston--listen to terms of accommodation. having sent for attakullakullah, the wise man of the nation, who had always been the staunch friend of the whites, he made his complaints, and declared his readiness for peace;--demanding, however, as the only condition on which it could be granted, that twenty-four men of the nation should be delivered to him, to be disposed of as he should think proper, by death or otherwise, as an atonement for that number of carolinians, massacred in the late foray of the savages. a treaty was effected, but with some difficulty, on these terms. compliance with this requisition was not so easy, however, on the part of the cherokee chiefs. the moment it was understood, the great body of their people fled to the mountains, and the number of hostages could be secured only by the detention of twenty-two of those chiefs already in the governor's custody. the captives were placed, for safe keeping, at the frontier fort of prince george. * judge james' life of marion, p. .-- but the natural sense of the savage is not inferior to that by which the laws of the civilized are prescribed, in their dealings with one another. the treaty thus extorted from their leaders, while in a state of duress, was disregarded by the great body of the nation. they watched their opportunity, and, scarcely had the governor disbanded his forces, when the war-whoop resounded from the frontiers. fort prince george was one of the most remote of a chain of military posts by which the intercourse was maintained between the several white settlements of the seaboard and the interior. it stood on the banks of the isundiga river, about three hundred miles from charleston, within gunshot of the indian town of keowee. this post, to which the cherokee hostages were carried, was defended by cannon, and maintained by a small force under colonel cotymore. it was in this neighborhood, and, as it were in defiance of this force, that the war was begun. fourteen whites were massacred at a blow, within a mile of this station. this was followed up by a stratagem, by which occonostota, one of the principal warriors, aimed to obtain possession of the fort. pretending to have something of importance to communicate to the commander, he dispatched a woman who had usually obtained access to the station, to solicit an interview with him. this was to take place on the banks of the river. meanwhile the savage prepared his ambush. cotymore imprudently assented to the meeting, and, attended by lieutenants bell and foster, walked down towards the river, from the opposite side of which occonostota addressed him. while they spoke, the indian was seen to wave a bridle over his head. this was the signal agreed upon with the ambushed warriors. at this signal they rose and poured in their fire. cotymore was slain on the spot, and his companions wounded. but the savages failed to get possession of the fort. suspecting a concerted movement among the hostages, by which they would cooperate with the assailing foe without, the officer in command of the fort gave orders to secure them with irons. the attempt to obey these orders ended in a bloody tragedy. the indians resisted with arms, and, stabbing three of the soldiers, so exasperated the rest, already excited by the murder of their captain, that they fell upon the miserable wretches and butchered them to a man. this unhappy event, completing what the indiscreet severities of governor lyttleton had begun, united the whole nation of cherokees in war. there had been a strong party favorable to peace, and friendly to the whites. this unfortunate proceeding involved the loss of this party. the hostages were among their chief men, and scarcely a family in the nation but lost a relative or friend in their massacre. they were now unanimous for battle; and, numerous parties rushing simultaneously down upon the frontiers, baffled the courage and prevented the flight of the fugitives. they fell without distinction upon men, women and children. "such as fled to the woods and escaped the scalping-knife, perished of hunger.... every day brought fresh accounts to the capital of their ravages, murders and desolations. but while the back settlers looked to their governor for relief, the small-pox raged to such a degree in town that few of the militia could be prevailed upon to leave their distressed families to serve the public."* lyttleton, meanwhile, by whom all the mischief was occasioned, was made governor of jamaica, and the charge of the colony devolved on william bull, a native--"a man of great integrity and erudition." in the almost hopeless condition of the province, her sisters, north carolina and virginia, raised seven troops of rangers for the frontiers; and colonel montgomery, afterwards earl of eglintoun, was dispatched from canada, with a battalion of highlanders and four companies of royal scots. before the end of april, , the camp of rendezvous for a new invasion of the cherokee territories was established at monk's corner. meanwhile, the health of carolina had undergone some improvement, and the gentlemen of the country were not idle. they turned out in force as volunteers, and under the spirited direction of governor bull, the whole disposable force of the province was put in requisition. among these, it is not so sure, but is believed, that francis marion once more made his appearance as a volunteer. from what we know of his character, his temperament, and that unsatisfied craving which he seems to have shown from the beginning for such excitements, it is reasonable to infer his presence in the field. but, though asserted by tradition, we confess that the records are silent on the subject. unsatisfactory as at that period they generally are, on this point they are particularly so; and but that his share in this war, before its final conclusion, was not only unquestionable but conspicuous, we should pass over the campaign of montgomery, with a simple reference to its results. * hewatt's hist. s.c.-- the cherokees, meanwhile, were not unobservant of the preparations and approaches of the carolinians. they gathered themselves up for defence, and in silence matured their half civilized, half primitive modes of warfare. this people, at the period of which we write, were a people of very superior endowments and resources to any of the neighboring savage nations. if less warlike, in the simple sense of the word, than their rivals the creeks, they were really more to be feared, as it was in consequence of their superior civilisation that they had lost some of their brute ferocity. if they were less reckless, they were better skilled; if less frantic in their fury, they coupled it with a wary vindictiveness which rendered the blow more fatal when it fell. the advances which they had made in civilisation had naturally increased their numbers; while the novel tastes by which their wandering habits were diminished, had necessarily added to their love of country, in adding to the resources and improvements by which its comforts and delights were increased. thus, neither degraded by the lowest condition in which we find the human animal, nor enervated by the superior luxuries to which he may attain, the cherokee was perhaps at this time in possession of his greatest vigor; not very remote, in his moral and physical condition, from the roman when he overcame his etrurian and sabine neighbors. the cherokees occupied a country equally broad and beautiful. it lay in fertile valleys, green meadows, sunny slopes, and mighty forests, along the sides of lofty summits, that circled their extensive territory with natural fortresses of giant grandeur. spreading from the broad, or cherokee river, beyond the tennessee and the savannah, it comprised every variety of soil and surface, and while adapted in a high degree to the hands of the agriculturist, seemed almost as easily made secure against the footsteps of invasion. its apparent securities had made them insolent. their mountain recesses had never known the presence of this foe. their fruits and fields, their villages and towns, with the exception of a district that lay upon the atlantic slopes, were generally fenced in, and admirably protected, by wild and rugged masses of rocky mountains, natural defences, impenetrable, unless through certain passes which a few determined hearts might easily make good against twenty times their number. but the numerical force of this great aboriginal people, seemed of itself sufficiently strong to promise security to their country. at the time of montgomery's invasion they had no less than sixty-four towns and villages. in an emergency, they could send six thousand warriors into the field. many of these were armed with the weapons of european warfare--were accustomed to that warfare, and were thus doubly prepared to encounter the enemy in whose ranks they had received their best military lessons. such a force very far exceeded that of the carolinians. mustering but two thousand men, col. montgomery found it advisable to urge his march upon the nation with equal celerity and caution. having reached a place called twelve-mile river, within twenty miles of the indian town of estatoee, he advanced by night upon it, secretly, and with a view to its surprise. in his march, surrounding the town of little keowee, not a warrior of the cherokees escaped the sword. his success was less complete at estatoee. the indians, apprised of his approach, with few exceptions, succeeded in making their escape; but the town, consisting of more than two hundred houses, and well stored with corn, hogs, poultry and ammunition, perished in the flames. shugaw town and every other settlement in the "lower nation", shared the same fate. the lightning-like rapidity of the march had taken the savages everywhere, in this part of the country, by surprise. they fled rather than fought, and while they lost everything in the shape of property, but few of them were slain. they sought for shelter among their more numerous and better protected brethren of the mountains; a people neither so easily approached, nor so easily overcome. montgomery, having finished this part of his work so successfully, hurried on to the relief of fort prince george, which, from the time when their chiefs were so cruelly butchered within its walls, had been closely invested by a formidable force of cherokees. the fort was relieved. the indians fled at his approach; and, thinking that the severe chastisement which he had inflicted upon them, had inclined their hearts to peace, the general of the carolinians paused in his progress, to give them an opportunity to sue for it, as the former friends and allies of the english. but he had mistaken the stubborn nature of his foe. they were not sufficiently humbled, and it was resolved to march upon the "middle settlements". to this task, that which had been performed was comparatively easy. they were now to enter upon a different country, where the indians were better prepared for them--nay, where they had prepared for them,--in all probability, to the neglect of the lower towns. toilsome and full of peril was this march. dismal and dense was the wilderness which they were now to penetrate. rugged paths, narrow passes, gloomy thickets and dark ravines, encountered them in their hourly progress, calling for constant vigilance and the maintenance of all their courage. rivers, fordable in unfrequent places and overlooked by precipitous banks on either side, crowned most commonly by dense and intricate masses of forest, through which and without a guide, our little army was compelled to pass,--presented opportunities for frequent ambush and attack, in which, very inferior forces, if properly commanded, might, with little danger to themselves, overwhelm and utterly destroy an advancing enemy. it was in such a region that the cherokees made their first and formidable stand. within five miles of etchoee, the nearest town of the middle settlements, the army of montgomery approached a low valley, clothed with a thicket so dense that the soldiers could scarcely discern objects three paces ahead. through this thicket ran a muddy river, enclosed between steep banks of clay. this passage, where but few men could act in unison, was that through which it became necessary that the army should proceed. it was the very spot, which, over all others, a sagacious warrior would choose in which to place an ambush, or meet a superior assailant. montgomery knew his enemy, and prepared for the encounter. captain morrison, commanding a company of rangers, native marksmen and well acquainted with the forest--was sent forward to scour the thicket. his advance was the signal for battle. scarcely had he entered upon the dismal passage when the savages rose from their hiding-places and poured in a severe fire. morrison, with several of his men, perished at the first discharge. they were sustained by the light infantry and grenadiers, who boldly advanced upon the wood in the face of the invisible foe. a heavy fire followed on both sides, the cherokees, each with his eye upon his man, the carolinians aiming at the flash of the enemy's guns. the pass was disputed by the savages with a degree of conduct and courage, which left the issue doubtful. the necessity was apparent for extraordinary effort. the royal scots, who were in the rear, were now pushed forward to take possession of a rising ground on the right, while the highlanders were marched forward to the immediate support of the infantry and grenadiers. this movement had the effect of bringing the enemy into close action. the bayonet stirred and laid bare the thicket. the woods resounded with the shouts and yells of the cherokees, but they no longer fell with terror upon the ear of the whites. they had grown familiar. the savages yielded slowly as the bayonet advanced. suffering severely as they fled, they yet displayed the native obstinacy of their race,--turning upon the pursuer when they could, availing themselves of tree or thicket to retard, by shot or stroke, the assailants; and, even in flight, only so far keeping ahead of the bayonet as to avoid its stroke. as he beheld this, montgomery changed the head of his army, and advanced upon the town of etchoee, which it had been their purpose to defend, and from which they now strove to divert him. this movement alarmed them for their wives and children. their retreat became a flight; and, satisfied with having inflicted upon them this measure of punishment, the british general prepared to march back to fort prince george. this decision was the result of his exigencies. the situation of his army was neither a safe nor an agreeable one. the victory was with the carolinians, yet the affair was very far from decisive in its consequences. the enemy had only retired from one advantageous position to another. they waited his approach only to renew a conflict in which even victory might be without its fruits. to gain a battle, unless a final one, was, with a force so small as his, a matter of very doubtful advantage. he was already encumbered with his wounded, to furnish horses for whom, he was compelled to discard, and to destroy, a large quantity of the provisions necessary for the army. what remained was measured with a nice reference to their absolute wants on the return march to prince george. under these suggestions of prudence the retreat was begun. it was conducted with admirable regularity. the cherokees, meanwhile, hung upon the retiring footsteps of the invaders, annoying them to the utmost of their power. sixty miles of mountainous country were traversed in this manner, and under various hardships, with a skill and intrepidity which confer the highest credit upon the english captain. a large train of wounded was brought to the frontier without the loss of a man. we have admitted an uncertainty as to the presence of marion in this campaign. it would be impertinent and idle, therefore, to speculate upon his performances, or the share which he might have taken in its events. tradition simply assures us that he distinguished himself. that, if present, he did his duty, we have no question; and, enduring with becoming resolution the worst severities of the march, proved himself possessed of the first great requisite for soldiership in indian warfare. chapter . cherokee war continues--marion leads the forlorn hope at the battle of etchoee. the cherokees were very far from being subdued or satisfied. the snake had been "scotched not killed", and stung, rather than humbled by the chastisement they received, they prepared to assume the offensive with sudden vigor. concentrating a numerous force upon the distant garrison of fort loudon, on the tennessee river, they succeeded in reducing it by famine. here they took bloody revenge for the massacre of their chiefs at prince george. the garrison was butchered, after a formal surrender upon terms which guaranteed them protection. this wholesale and vindictive barbarity, while it betrayed the spirit which filled the savages, had the still farther effect of encouraging them in a warfare which had so far gratified very equally their appetites for blood and booty. in addition to this natural effect, the result of their own wild passions, there were other influences, from without, at work among them. certain french emissaries had crept into their towns and were busily engaged, with bribes and arguments, in stimulating them to continued warfare. this, in all probability, was the secret influence, which, over all, kept them from listening, as well to their own fears, as to the urgent suggestions of the british authorities, for peace. hitherto, the cherokees had given no ear to the temptations of the french, whom they considered a frivolous people, and whose professions of faith they were very likely to have regarded with distrust. but the labors of their emissaries at this juncture, harmonizing with the temper of the nation, were necessarily more than usually successful. one of these emissaries, louis latinac, an officer of considerable talent, proved an able instigator to mischief. he persuaded them, against the better reason of their older chiefs, to the rejection of every overture for peace. their successes at fort loudon were, perhaps, sufficient arguments for the continuance of war, but there were others not less potent. the king of france was now to be their ally in place of him of great britain. the one "great father" was no less able than the other to minister to their appetites and necessities. his arms and ammunition replaced those which had been withdrawn by the latter; and we may suppose that the liberality of the new allies was such as to admit of very favorable comparison and contrast with that which they had experienced at the hands of the british. their very excesses in the war were favorable to its continuance; as they might very well doubt the binding force of treaties between parties, the bad faith of whom had been written so terribly in blood. at a great meeting of the nation, at which louis latinac was present, he, with something of their own manner, seizing suddenly upon a hatchet, struck it violently into a block of wood, exclaiming, as he did so, "who is the warrior that will take this up for the king of france?" salouee, a young chief of estatoee, instantly tore the weapon from the tree. he declared himself for instant and continued war. "the spirits of our slain brothers," was his cry, "call upon us to avenge their massacre. he is a woman that dares not follow me!" such being the spirit of the savages, the carolinians had no alternative but to resume their arms. col. montgomery having gone to england, the command devolved upon colonel grant, and the highlanders were once more ordered to the relief of the province. the carolinians were now somewhat better prepared to cooperate with their allies. a native regiment of twelve hundred men was raised, and the command given to col. middleton, a brave and accomplished provincial officer. to this regiment marion was attached, under the immediate command of moultrie. many of his associates in this cherokee war became subsequently, like himself, distinguished in the war with great britain. among these may be mentioned the names of moultrie,* henry laurens, andrew pickens and isaac huger. these were all officers, even in that early day, and marion himself held a lieutenancy--some proof that, however little we may know of the circumstances by which he secured the confidence of his neighbors, he was already in full possession of it. how much of the future acts and successes of these brave men was due to the exercises and events of this cherokee war, may reasonably be conjectured by every reader who knows the value of a stern apprenticeship to a hazardous profession. its successive campaigns against no inferior enemy, and under circumstances of peril and privation of no common order, were such as must have afforded them frequent opportunity of making themselves familiar equally with the exigencies and responsibilities of command. * moultrie in his memoirs, vol. , p. , would seem to settle the question in the negative, whether marion was or was not in the preceding campaign. he says, "general marion and myself entered the field of mars together, in an expedition against the cherokee indians, under the command of colonel james grant, in , when i had the honor to command a light infantry company in a provincial regiment; he was my first lieutenant. he was an active, brave and hardy soldier, and an excellent partisan officer." this is very far however from being conclusive, inasmuch as we have seen that marion 'entered the field of mars' two years before, under the command of his brother, in the first campaign of lyttleton against the indians. this latter fact is settled beyond all question.-- to the united forces of colonels grant and middleton, were added a certain number of chickasaw and catawba indians; making a total of twenty-six hundred men. this army reached fort prince george on the th of may, . on the th of june following, it took up the line of march for the enemy's country. the advance was conducted with caution, but without molestation, until it reached the place where montgomery, in the previous campaign, had encountered the indians, near the town of etchoee. here the cherokees were again prepared to make a stand, and to dispute a pass which, above all others, seemed to be admirably designed by nature for the purposes of defence. their position was not exactly what it had been on the previous occasion, but its characteristic advantages were the same. hitherto, the indians had shown considerable judgment in the selection of their battle-grounds, and in the general employment of their strength. this judgment they probably owed in great part to their present adversaries. quick in their instinct, and surprisingly observant, they had soon learned the use of european weapons. the various lessons of european tactics, the modes of attack and defence, were, in their united struggles with the french, equally open to their study and acquisition. they had not suffered these lessons to escape them. but they probably owed something of their skill in the present war to the active counsels of the french emissaries. the fact is not recorded by the historian, but there is no reason to suppose that the officers who counselled the war, would withhold themselves when the opportunity offered, from giving directions in the field. the french had frequently distinguished themselves, by leading on forces entirely composed of indians. the practice was common. even at the defeat of braddock, the french troops bore but a small proportion to their indian allies. there is no reason to suppose that louis latinac was not present at one or both of the bloody fields of etchoee. the provincial army marched in good order upon the suspected position. the indian auxiliaries, who were in the van, first discovered signs of an enemy. the cherokees were in possession of a hill, strongly posted, and in considerable force, upon the right flank of the army. finding themselves discovered, they opened their fire upon the advanced guard, and followed it up with a gallant charge. but the van being vigorously and promptly supported, they were driven back, and resumed their position upon the hill. under this hill the line of march lay for a considerable distance. to attempt, therefore, to continue the march before dislodging the enemy in possession of it, would be to expose the troops to a protracted fire, the more murderous, as it would be delivered by a foe in a position of perfect security. the advanced guard was ordered upon this duty, and from this body a forlorn-hope of thirty men was chosen, to force the perilous entrance to the foe. the command of this devoted corps was assigned to francis marion, still a lieutenant under the command of moultrie, in the provincial regiment of middleton. the ascent of the hill was by means of a gloomy defile, through which the little band, headed gallantly by their leader, advanced with due rapidity; a considerable body of the army moving forward at the same time in support of the advance. scarcely had the detachment penetrated the defile, when the war-whoop gave the signal. the savages, still concealed, poured in a deadly fire, by which no less than twenty-one of this fated band were prostrated.* fortunately their leader was not among them. he seems, like washington, to have been the special care of providence. the residue were only saved from destruction by the proximity of the advance, whose hurried approach, while giving them safety, brought on the main action. the battle was fought with great carnage on both sides. the cherokees were not only well posted, but they were in great numbers. repeatedly dislodged by the bayonet, they as repeatedly returned to the attack; and, driven from one quarter, rallied upon another, with a tenacious and unshaken valor becoming in men who were defending the passes to the bosom of their country. from eight in the morning until noon, the fight was continued, not only without intermission, but seemingly without any decisive results on either side. but, at length, the patient resolution of the whites prevailed; and, about two o'clock in the day, the field was yielded by the reluctant cherokees to their superior foes. this victory determined the fate of etchoee, a town of considerable size, which was reduced to ashes. * weems, p. . horry's ms. memoir, p. .-- the result of this fierce engagement seems to have broken the spirit of the nation. they had chosen the position of greatest strength to make their stand, and brought to the struggle their best spirits and bravest warriors. in the issue, they had shown, by their dogged and determined valor, the great importance which it carried in their eyes. the day once decided against them, they appeared to be equally without heart and hope; they no longer appeared in arms--no longer offered defence--and the army of the carolinians marched through the heart of the nation, searching its secret settlements, and everywhere inflicting the severest penalties of war. the rest of the campaign was an easy progress, and terrible was the retribution which it brought with it. no less than fourteen of their towns, in the middle settlements, shared the fate of etchoee. their granaries were yielded to the flames, their cornfields ravaged, while the miserable fugitives, flying from the unsparing sword, took refuge, with their almost starving families, among the barren mountains, which could yield them little but security. a chastisement so extreme was supposed to be necessary, in order to subdue for ever that lively disposition for war, upon the smallest provocation, which, of late years, the cherokees had manifested but too frequently; but it may be doubted whether the means which were employed for administering this admonitory lesson, were of the most legitimate character. we must always continue to doubt that humanity required the destruction of towns and hamlets, whose miserable walls of clay and roofs of thatch could give shelter to none but babes and sucklings--women with their young--those who had never offended, and those who could not well offend--the innocent victims to an authority which they never dared oppose. the reckless destruction of their granaries--fields yet growing with grain--necessarily exposed to the worst privations of famine only those portions of the savage population who were least guilty. the warrior and hunter could readily relieve himself from the gnawing necessities of hunger. he could wander off to remote tribes, and, armed with rifle or bow, could easily secure his game, sufficient for his own wants, from the contiguous forest. but these were resources inaccessible to the weak, the old, the timid, and the imbecile. surely, it was a cruel measure of war, and if necessary to the safety of the whites, renders still more criminal the wanton excesses of the latter, by which it was originally provoked. it is pleasing to be able to show that marion felt, in this matter, as became that rare humanity which was one of the most remarkable and lovely traits in his character,--the more remarkable, indeed, as shining out among endowments which, in particular, designated him for a military life--a life which is supposed to need for its stimulus so much that is sanguinary, if not brutal, in one's nature. it is recorded of him, that the severities practised in this campaign filled him, long after, with recollections of sorrow. writing to a friend,* he gives a brief description of the calamities of the war, in terms equally touching and picturesque. "we arrived," he writes, "at the indian towns in the month of july. as the lands were rich, and the season had been favorable, the corn was bending under the double weight of lusty roasting ears and pods of clustering beans. the furrows seemed to rejoice under their precious loads--the fields stood thick with bread. we encamped the first night in the woods, near the fields, where the whole army feasted on the young corn, which, with fat venison, made a most delicious treat. * in a letter quoted by weems. [the poetic language here suggests the possibility that this letter may be one of weems' inventions.--a. l., .]-- "the next morning we proceeded, by order of colonel grant, to burn down the indian cabins. some of our men seemed to enjoy this cruel work, laughing very heartily at the curling flames as they mounted, loud-crackling, over the tops of the huts. but to me it appeared a shocking sight. "poor creatures!" thought i, "we surely need not grudge you such miserable habitations." but when we came, according to orders, to cut down the fields of corn, i could scarcely refrain from tears. for who could see the stalks that stood so stately, with broad green leaves and gaily-tasselled shocks, filled with sweet milky fluid, and flour, the staff of life--who, i say, without grief, could see these sacred plants sinking under our swords, with all their precious load, to wither and rot untasted, in their mourning fields! "i saw everywhere around the footsteps of the little indian children, where they had lately played under the shelter of the rustling corn. no doubt they had often looked up with joy to the swelling shocks, and gladdened when they thought of their abundant cakes for the coming winter. when we are gone, thought i, they will return, and peeping through the weeds with tearful eyes, will mark the ghastly ruin poured over their homes, and the happy fields where they had so often played. 'who did this?' they will ask their mothers. 'the white people, the christians did it!' will be the reply." "it would be no easy matter," says hewatt, the earliest regular historian of carolina, "to describe the hardships which this little army endured, in the wilderness, from heat, thirst, watching, danger, and fatigue. thirty days did colonel grant continue in the heart of the cherokee territories, and upon his return to fort prince george, the feet and legs of many of his army were so mangled, and their strength and spirits so much exhausted, that they were unable to march farther." but the chastisement which the indians had received, secured the object for the attainment of which it was inflicted. the cherokees sued for peace, and marion once more retired to the obscurity of rural life; we may well believe with a human sense of satisfaction, that the painful duty upon which he had been engaged was at length over. unhappily, the details of the war, beyond those which we have given, do not enable us to ascertain the extent of his services. we are simply told that he behaved well, with skill and spirit. more than this perhaps it would be unreasonable to expect from any degree of talent, in the subordinate situation which he at that time occupied. chapter . . marion is returned for the provincial congress from st. john's, berkeley--made captain in the second regiment --fort johnson taken--battle of fort moultrie. engaged in rural and domestic occupations we hear no more of marion, except as a citizen and farmer, until the beginning of the year . in the latter capacity he is reputed to have been successful; and between the labors and sports of the field, the more violent humors of youth seem to have been dissipated in exercises which are seldom followed by reproach. he was very fond of angling and hunting, and with rod or gun, his leisure was employed in a way that would not have displeased the gentle isaak walton. these constituted his chief pastimes for the fourteen years that had elapsed since his cherokee campaigns. his connection with public events had long since ceased; but, from all accounts, he still continued, in some degree, to fill the eyes of his countrymen. his firmness and purity of character, his gentle temper, known bravery, and the conduct which he had already manifested in war, had secured to him the confidence and the affections of his neighbors. he had attained that place in their esteem which naturally brought him conspicuously before their eyes in the moment of emergency. emergencies were now approaching of a kind well calculated to bring into the field all the energies, with all the patriotism of the country. the great struggle was at hand between the colonies and that mighty empire by which they had been established. of the part taken by south carolina in this conflict, history has already sufficiently informed us. her movements were made without reserve--her resolves taken promptly, and steadily maintained with her best blood and treasure. her battles were among the boldest and bloodiest, as they were among the first and last of the revolution. of the political steps by which she committed herself to that event, it does not need that we should enter into details. these belong rather to general history than to biography. it will be enough to exhibit those particulars only, of her progress, in which the subject of our memoir was more immediately interested. that he took an early and deep concern in the contest may be inferred from his character. that he should not have become an active politician may also be inferred from his known modesty, and the general reserve of his deportment in society. he was no orator, and no doubt felt quite as awkward in debate as washington. but his opinions were well known; he was not the person about whose ways of thinking, in trying times, his neighbors could entertain either doubt or discussion. he formed his opinions as promptly as he fought for them, and his character was above concealment. we find him accordingly, in , returned to the provincial congress of south carolina, as a member from st. john, berkeley.* this congress distinguished itself by committing the people of south carolina to the final destinies of the revolution. it adopted the american bill of rights, as declared by the continental congress--adopted the famous "act of association", recommended by the same federative body to all the colonies, by which the subscribers bound themselves to refuse and to prevent the importation of goods, wares and merchandise, from the mother country; established committees of safety throughout the province, and, in short, in possession of almost dictatorial powers, did not hesitate to use them for the public welfare. it was at particular pains to infuse a martial spirit among the people; and, influenced by this spirit, and under the immediate suggestion, and by direct participation, of this assembly, certain overt acts of treason were committed. the public armory in charleston was broken open by night, and eight hundred stand of arms, two hundred cutlasses, besides cartouches, flints, matches and other necessary materials of war, were withdrawn without discovery. one party possessed itself of the public powder at hobcau; another emptied cochran's magazine, while a third, as above stated, relieved the state armory of its contents. in all these proceedings, the members of the provincial congress displayed the energies of men, who, having once set their hands to the plough, have resolved not to be turned away from it. under that bolder policy which, by provoking the danger, compels the timid to a part in it from which they might otherwise shrink in terror, they were personally engaged in these acts of treason. we may reasonably conclude that, however silent as a member, francis marion was not the person to forbear taking active part in the more hazardous duties which distinguished the doings of the body to which he belonged. there was a generous impulse in his character, which hurried him into performance, whenever work was to be done, or daring became necessary. he could approach such duties with a degree of cheerfulness, which to the ordinary mind, thoughtful only of the consequences and responsibilities of action, seemed to partake of levity and recklessness. there was, indeed, an element of playfulness, we had almost said fun, in his character; a quiet and unobtrusive humor, which enlivened his utterance, and softened, with a gentle aspect, a countenance that might otherwise have been esteemed severe. we have no doubt that the native courage, and the elastic spirit of his temperament made him an active participant in all those deeds of decision, which the deliberations of the body to which he belonged, deemed it necessary should be done. we can very well imagine him conspicuous among those masked and midnight bands, commissioned to do mischief for the public good, by which the arsenals were stripped of their contents, and the tea-chests tumbled into cooper river.** * "for st. john's, berkeley county--james ravenel, daniel ravenel, job marion, john frierson, esqrs., mr. gabriel gignilliat, mr. francis marion." journals of the provincial congress of south carolina. ** it is not so generally known that south carolina did her part, as well as massachusetts, in destroying teas and stamped paper.-- the provincial congress having thus committed the country, without doubt, to the destinies of war, and having, to some extent, provided against its consequences, adjourned to re-assemble on the th june, . but this interval was shortened by the occurrence of events equally unexpected and important. the battle of lexington, in the meantime, had taken place, and any hopes which might have been entertained, of a final reconciliation between the two countries, without a trial of strength, was fairly dismissed from every reflecting, if not every loyal mind. instead of the th of june, the provincial congress was brought together on the first day of that month.* * a letter from isaac marion, one of the brothers of our subject, who dwelt at little river, the northern boundary of the province, is worthy of quotation, as serving to show that he was animated with the same public spirit that possessed his more distinguished kinsman. it was written to accompany the express, which brought the news of the battle of lexington. a letter to him, from r. howe, of n.c., forwarding the express, remarking, "i know you stand in no need of being prompted when your country requires your service"--would seem to show that he too had shared in the reputation of his brother. the following is the letter of isaac marion, addressed to the committee of safety of little river. boundary, may , , little river. gentlemen of the committee;--i have just now received an express, from the committee of the northern provinces, desiring i would forward the enclosed packet to the southern committees. as yours is the nearest, i request for the good of your country, and the welfare of our lives, liberties, and fortunes, you'll not lose a moment's time, but dispatch the same to the committee of georgetown, to be forwarded to charleston. in meantime, am, gentlemen, your obliged humble servant, &c. isaac marion. to danness, hawkins and others.-- the members of this body, assembling according to summons, proceeded, with the utmost vigor, to the consideration of the subjects before them. they approached their tasks with equal speed and solemnity. their labors were commenced with divine service, and an act of association was then passed, though not without considerable opposition. this act ran as follows:-- "the actual commencement of hostilities against this continent by the british troops, in the bloody scene of the th of april last, near boston--the increase of arbitrary imposition from a wicked and despotic ministry--and the dread of insurrections in the colonies--are causes sufficient to drive an oppressed people to the use of arms. we, therefore, the subscribers, inhabitants of south carolina, holding ourselves bound by that most sacred of all obligations, the duty of good citizens to an injured country, and thoroughly convinced, that, under our present distressed circumstances, we shall be justified before god and man, in resisting force by force--do unite ourselves, under every tie of religion and honor, and associate as a band in her defence, against every foe--hereby solemnly engaging, that, whenever our continental and provincial councils shall deem it necessary, we will go forth, and be ready to sacrifice our lives and fortunes to secure her freedom and safety. this obligation to continue in force, until a reconciliation shall take place between great britain and america, upon constitutional principles--an event which we most ardently desire. and, we will hold all those persons inimical to the liberty of the colonies, who shall refuse to subscribe to this association."* * drayton's memoirs, vol. , p. .-- this open declaration was followed up with measures equally fearless and decisive. on the fourth day of the session, the provincial congress resolved to raise fifteen hundred infantry, rank and file, in two regiments; and four hundred and fifty horse, constituting another regiment. the troops so to be raised, were to be subjected to military discipline, and to the articles of war, in like manner with the british. on the fourteenth day of their session, a million of money was voted, and a council of safety was elected, vested with the executive power of the colony. among other acts of this body, non-subscribers to the association were made amenable to the general committee, and punishable according to sound policy. absentees having estates, were, with certain exceptions, required to return; and it was further resolved that no persons ought to withdraw from the service of the colony, without giving good and sufficient reasons to the provincial congress. military duty was performed day and night, as in a state of actual warfare, by the militia companies in rotation; and thus, having placed the province in a state of preparation, with arms in the hands of the people, and given to the newly arrived governor, lord william campbell, a reception which boded small repose to his authority, the provincial congress adjourned itself on the d day of june, leaving their authority, in great part, to the council of safety and general committee. it has been seen that the only share which marion had in the proceedings of this body, was that of an assenting member. he was not endowed with those talents which could have rendered him conspicuous in a deliberative assembly. but he is not the less entitled to his share in the merit of those proceedings, which so admirably declared and illustrated the patriotism and the spirit of the province; and one of the last, decisive measures of the provincial congress, happily enabled him to appear in the character upon which he was more likely to confer distinction, than that of the orator. he was elected a captain in the second regiment, of which william moultrie, formerly his captain in the cherokee campaign, was made colonel. the duties of this appointment were immediately begun, with a promptness at once due to the necessities of the case, and his own character. as a proof of the zeal by which the newly made officers were distinguished, we find them seeking recruits so early as the th of june, and while the body to which they belonged were still engaged in the most laborious duties of the session.* * drayton's memoirs, vol. , p. . note.-- marion's commission was made out on the st june. weems, in his life of our subject, gives us some pictures, equally lively and ludicrous, of his progress in the business of recruiting, upon which, in connection with his friend, captain horry, he at once begun. this gentleman received his appointment as captain at the same time, and in the same regiment, with marion. the provincial congress had voted a million of money, by which to carry out their measures, but this was yet to be procured, and, as it appears, rather more upon the credit of individuals than that of the colony. but money, in times of danger, seems to have an instinct of its own, by which it hides itself readily from sight and touch. it was no easy matter for our captains to obtain the requisite sums. but faith and zeal did more for them, and for the cause, than gold and silver; and with very inadequate supplies, but in fresh and showy uniforms, our young officers set forth on the recruiting service. their route lay in the several neighborhoods of georgetown, black river, and the great pedee. in these parts both of them were known. here, indeed, marion was already a favorite. accordingly, they succeeded beyond their expectations, and were soon enabled to complete the full number for their two companies, of fifty men each. another circumstance, apart from their personal popularity, probably facilitated their objects. some of the settlements into which they penetrated were originally founded by the irish. the bitter heritage of hate to the english, which they brought with them to america, was transmitted with undiminished fervor to their descendants. it was easy to show that the power which had trampled upon the affections of their fathers, and tyrannized over their rights in the old world, was aiming at the same objects in the case of their children in the new. at one remove only from the exiled and suffering generation, the sons had as lively a recollection of the tyrannies of britain as if the experience had been immediately their own. to this cause our recruiting officers owed some of their success in the present expedition. some of the bravest fellows of the second regiment were picked up on this occasion. it was the spirit which they brought, and to which the genius of marion gave lively exercise, that imparted a peculiar vitality at all times to his little brigade. among these gallant young men there were two in particular, of whom tradition in carolina will long retain a grateful recollection; these were jasper and macdonald. of these two, both of whom sealed their patriotism with their blood, we shall yet have something further to deliver. while the friends of liberty were thus active, the adherents of the crown, in the colony, were not less so. these, in many parts of the country, were equally numerous and influential. they possessed, indeed, certain advantages in the discussion, which, in some degree, served to counterbalance the impelling and stimulating influences which always belong to a 'mouvement' party. they carried with them the prestige of authority, of the venerable power which time and custom seemed to hallow; they appealed to the loyalty of the subject; they dwelt upon the dangers which came with innovation; they denounced the ambition of the patriot leaders; they reminded the people of the power of great britain--a power to save or to destroy--which had so frequently and so successfully been exerted in their behalf in their numerous and bloody conflicts with the indians, and which might be brought, with such fearful emphasis, upon their own heads. they reminded the people that the indians were not exterminated, that they still hung in numerous hordes about the frontiers, and that it needed but a single word from the crown, to bring them, once more, with tomahawk and scalping-knife, upon their defenceless homes. already, indeed, had the emissaries of great britain taken measures to this end. the savage was already shaking off his apathy, scenting the carnage from afar, and making ready for the onset. the assurance, that such was the case, was doing the work of numerous arguments among the timid and the exposed. such were the suggestions, appealing equally to their fears and gratitude, which the leading loyalists addressed to the people. they were supported by other suggestions, scarcely less potent, which naturally flowed from their own thoughts. why should they dare the conflict with great britain? there was no such reason for it as in the case of the northern colonies. they had known her chiefly by benefactions; they did not conflict with her in shipping or in manufactures; and the arguments for discontent and resistance, as urged by the patriot leaders, did not reach them with sufficient force. what was the tax on tea, of which they drank little, and the duty on stamps, when they had but little need for legal papers? and why should not taxes follow protection, which great britain had not often withheld in the need of a favorite colony, as south carolina had unquestionably been? let us do justice to this people. the loyalists--or, as they were more commonly called, and as we shall hereafter be compelled to call them, the tories--were, probably, in the majority of cases, governed by principle, by a firm and settled conviction, after deliberate examination of the case. that they might have thought otherwise, nay, would gradually have adopted the opinions of the patriots, is not improbable, had more time been allowed them, and had the course of the latter been more indulgent and considerate. unfortunately, this was not the case; and the desire to coerce where they could not easily convince, had the effect of making a determined and deadly, out of a doubtful foe. this was terribly proved by the after history. to this cause we may ascribe, in some degree, the terrors of that sanguinary strife, in which, to use the language of a distinguished officer, they "pursued each other rather like wild beasts than men."* we shall see something of this history as we proceed in ours. * letter of general greene. see johnson's greene.-- there was yet another circumstance which tended, in some degree, to give courage to the tories. it was the somewhat temporizing policy of the patriots. there was still a feeling of doubt, a hesitancy, on the part of the latter, as the prospects grew stronger of a final breach with great britain. there were many who still clung to the hope that the differences of the two nations might yet be reconciled; and though the means of such reconciliation did not make themselves obvious, they yet fondly cherished the conviction that something might turn up, at the last moment, to prevent the absolute necessity of bloodshed. this portion of the patriots necessarily influenced the rest; those who, looking beyond the moment, saw the true issue, and properly regarded the declared objects of difference as pretexts which must suffice when the better reasons might not be expressed. they dared not openly broach the idea of national independence, which, there is very little question that the noblest of the american patriots everywhere, though secretly, entertained from the beginning. the people were not prepared for such a revelation--such a condition; and appearances were still to be maintained. their proceedings, accordingly, still wore, however loosely, a pacific aspect. though actively preparing for war, the professions of the patriots declared their measures to be precautionary only--a refuge, an alternative, in the event of greater oppression. they still spoke the language of loyalty, still dealt in vague assurances of devotion to the crown. but such professions deceived nobody, and least of all the loyalists. they derived courage from the reluctance of the patriots to embark in a struggle, for the fruits of which, if successful, they evidently longed. they were not less active--nay, in the interior, they were even more active--than their opponents; had already taken arms, and gained advantages, which nothing but decisive movements on the part of the people along the seaboard could possibly induce them to forego. this necessity was apparent for other reasons. in consequence of the temporizing policy already mentioned, the crown was still in possession of most of the shows of power in and about charleston. the royal governor was still in the city, and in some degree exerting his authority. fort johnson, on james' island, was suffered to remain in the hands of the king's troops for more than three months after the provincial congress had ordered a levy of troops, and had resolved on taking up arms. two british armed vessels, the tamar and cherokee, lay in rebellion roads, opposite sullivan's island. this force was quite sufficient, under existing circumstances, to have destroyed the town. but the royal leaders were not prepared for this issue; they shared the reluctance of the patriots to begin a conflict, the issues of which were so extreme. their policy, like that of the patriots--influencing it, and possibly influenced by it--was equally halting and indecisive. it was sufficiently satisfactory if, by the presence of such a force, the citizens should be overawed and kept from action. this condition of things could not continue. the very nature of the movement was adverse to indecision. it needed but a first step--a first stroke--and this was to be taken by the patriots. they brooked impatiently the humiliating position in which the city stood, controlled by an inferior enemy; and it was resolved that fort johnson should be subdued. it was on this occasion that marion first drew his sword against the british. he was one of those captains who, with their companies, were dispatched on this expedition. the command was given to col. moultrie. a strong resistance was expected, as, but a short time before, the garrison had been reinforced from the armed vessels. at midnight on the fourteenth of september, , the detachment crossed to james' island. the disembarkation was effected with delay and difficulty, occasioned by the inadequate size and number of the boats. the forlorn hope, consisting of a detachment from the grenadiers of capt. pinckney, joined by the cadets, and led by lieut. mouatt, were to scale the walls of the fort on its south bastion; col. moultrie with the rest of pinckney's grenadiers, and marion's light infantry, were to enter or force the gates over the ravelin; while capt. elliott, with his grenadiers, penetrated the lower battery over the left flank. it was broad daylight before the landing was effected; and on making the assault they were surprised by an easy victory. the fort was abandoned. the enemy had probably been apprised of the attack. a detachment from the ships had landed some hours before--had dismantled the fort, dismounted the cannon, and withdrawn the garrison; retreating in safety to the ships. a gunner and three men only, fell into the hands of the provincials. the very day that this event occurred, lord william campbell, the governor, fled to the tamar sloop of war. his flight was no doubt hastened by a proceeding so decisive. that evening he dispatched his secretary to fort johnson, which he was not permitted to enter. he was met at the water-side by capt. pinckney, of whom he demanded, in the name of the governor, by what authority he had taken and held possession of the fortress. the answer to this demand brought up the vessels of war, which, on the seventeenth of september, presented themselves within point blank shot of the fort. up to this time, but three of the dismantled cannon had been remounted and put in order for action. with these, the provincials prepared for battle, relying, however, less upon their cannon than upon their ability to oppose the landing of any body of men. but the demonstration of the squadron was without fruits. they hauled off without a shot, and resumed their former less offensive position. here, however, the popular leaders were not disposed to suffer them to remain. still they hesitated at coming to blows. they adopted a middle course, which, in such cases, is generally the worst. they ordered that the ships should not be victualled or supplied with water from the city, except from day to day. this produced a threat from captain thornborough that, unless supplied as before, he should prevent the ingress, or departure, of any vessel from the harbor. a menace of this kind, to have been properly met, should have been answered from the eighteen pounders of fort johnson. and, but for the reluctance of several highly esteemed patriots, such would have been the mode of answer. this temporizing policy continued to prevail until the th november, , when the provincial congress resolved, "by every military operation, to oppose the passage of any british armament." such were the orders issued to the officer commanding at fort johnson. this fort had now been in possession of the popular party for nearly two months. it was in some degree prepared for use. it was well manned with a portion of those brave fellows who afterwards fought the good fight of fort sullivan. they would have done as good service here. the resolution of the province once adopted, it was communicated as well to the commanders of the british vessels, as to the officers of the fort. there was still an open passage, through hog-island channel, by which the british vessels might approach the town without incurring any danger from the fort. this passage it was determined to obstruct; and an armed schooner, called the defence, fitted up for the occasion, was ordered to cover and protect a party which was employed to sink a number of hulks in that narrow strait. this drew upon them the fire of the british. it was returned by the "defence", but with little injury to either side. the garrison at fort johnson endeavored to take part in this little action, but the distance was too great for any decisive results from its fire. some of the shots took effect, but after a few rounds the fire was discontinued. meanwhile, the alarm was beat in charleston, where the troops stood to their arms, and every heart throbbed with the expectation of a close and bloody fight. but the time was not yet. indecisive in itself, this brief combat was of great importance in one point of view. it was the beginning of the game. the blow for which all parties had been waiting, was now fairly struck. the sword had been drawn from the scabbard, not again to be sheathed, till the struggle was concluded. the local congress proceeded vigorously. ships were impressed for the purpose of war, new troops were enlisted and armed, and bills of credit issued. the british vessels, meanwhile, became more than ever troublesome, and, carrying out the menace of captain thornborough, proceeded to the seizure of all vessels within their reach, whether going from or returning to the port. it became necessary to drive them from the roadstead. to effect this, col. moultrie, with a party of newly raised provincials and the charleston artillery, took post on haddrill's point, and, mounting a few pieces of heavy artillery, opened upon them with a well-directed fire, which drove them out to sea. this step was followed by one of preparation. the fortifications at fort johnson and haddrill's point were completed--the city was fortified--a new fort was raised on james', and another begun on sullivan's island. the militia were diligently trained, the provincial troops augmented and disciplined, and all means within the power of the colony were put in requisition to prepare it for defence. among other preparations, a military post was established at the town of dorchester, and strongly fortified. this post was nearly at the head of navigation, on ashley river, about twenty miles from charleston. though now utterly desolate, dorchester was, prior to the revolution, a town of considerable population and importance. its abandonment may be ascribed to the revolution, during which it was maintained as a military post by the americans or british. to this place the public stores and records were in great part transferred from charleston, as to a place of safe-keeping. the command was given to marion. while in this command we do not find the occurrence of any events of importance. a couple of his original letters, dated from this post, lie before us. they refer only to ordinary events, but contain some expressions which denote the ardency of his patriotism, and the disappointments to which it was not unfrequently subjected in consequence of the apathy of others. referring to the reluctance shown by many, of whom the utmost patriotism was expected, to rally around the flag of the country, he exclaims--in a partial perversion of scripture language, but without irreverence, "tell this not in the streets of charleston," &c. from this post marion was removed to charleston, very probably at his own solicitation. events were ripening in that quarter, of a nature calculated to give becoming employment to a mind always active, and desiring nothing more than to serve his country. from charleston, he was dispatched to fort johnson, where he was busily employed in completing the defences of that place. weems preserves an anecdote of him, while in command of this fort, in january, , which pleasantly describes the quiet and not unamiable sort of humor in which marion was frequently said to indulge. while exceedingly busy in his preparations for defence, there came to him a thoughtless young officer, who loved the cockpit much better than consisted entirely with his duties. christmas and new year's holidays were famous at that early period, for the exercise of this cruel sport in some parts of carolina. to obtain leave of absence, however, on any holiday pretence, the young officer very well knew was impossible. approaching his commander with a lie in his mouth, he obtained the desired permission, in order to receive the last blessing of a dying father; and, exulting in the unworthy artifice, he hurried to dorchester, which, on that occasion, was to be the scene of his recreation. during his absence, marion arrived at the truth of the story, but said nothing. when the youth returned, which he did after two weeks' absence, he proceeded to the marquee of his commander, to report himself, and began a tedious apology for having stayed, so long. marion gently interrupted him, and, with a smile, in the presence of all the officers, replied--"never mind it, lieutenant--there's no harm done--we never missed you." the effect of this sarcasm is said to have been admirable; and to have resulted in the complete reform of the offender, who, from being a trifling, purposeless, and unscrupulous young man, grew considerate equally of his duties and his word, and, by a career of industry, sobriety and modesty, made ample amends, in future days, for all the errors of the past. with the formation of new regiments, under the resolves of the council of safety, marion was promoted to a majority. this appointment materially enlarged the sphere of his duties. but he was one of those remarkable men, who, without pretension, prove themselves equal to any trust which may be imposed upon them. without the presence of an actual enemy, he addressed himself to the task of preparing his men for the encounter with them. he was constantly on parade, at the drill, closely engaged in the work of training, in which business, while very gentle, he was very exact; and, in such a degree had he improved the officers and men immediately under his charge, that they were very soon regarded as a model for all the rest. he was called the "architect of the second regiment". weems, speaking for col. horry, says, "indeed, i am not afraid to say that marion was the architect of the second regiment, and laid the foundation of that excellent discipline and confidence in themselves, which gained them such reputation whenever they were brought to face their enemies." the value of this training was very soon to be subjected to the most thorough of all possible tests. he was ordered with his regiment, under command of col. wm. moultrie, to take post at fort sullivan, on the island of that name, which stands at the entrance of charleston harbor, and within point blank shot of the channel. the difficulties and deficiencies of this post, furnished some admirable preparatory lessons for the great conflict which was to follow. they imposed the necessity of diligent industry and hard labor, equally on men and soldiers. this was one of the famous schools of roman discipline. fort sullivan, better known as fort moultrie--was yet to be built. when the second regiment entered it, it was little more than an outline. its shape was described upon the sand, and the palmetto rafts lay around it, waiting to be moulded into form. the structure was an inartificial one--a simple wall, behind which young beginners might train guns to do mischief to a veteran enemy in front. its form was square, with a bastion at each angle, sufficiently large, when finished, to cover a thousand men. it was built of logs, laid one upon another in parallel rows, at a distance of sixteen feet, bound together at frequent intervals with timber, dovetailed and bolted into the logs. the spaces between were filled up with sand. the merlons were walled entirely by palmetto logs, notched into one another at the angles, well bolted together and strengthened with pieces of massy timber. such was the plan of the work; but, with all the diligence of the officers, and all the industry of the men, it remained unfinished at the perilous moment when a powerful british fleet appeared before its walls. the defence was confided to col. moultrie. the force under his command was four hundred and thirty-five men, rank and file, comprising four hundred and thirteen of the second regiment of infantry, and twenty-two of the fourth regiment of artillery. the whole number of cannon mounted on the fortress was thirty-one, of these, nine were french twenty-sixes; six english eighteens; nine twelve and seven nine pounders.* * weems, in his life of marion, represents the cannon as made up principally of twenty-four and thirty-six pounders; but the official accounts are as i have given them. see drayton's memoirs, vol. , pp. - .-- general charles lee, who had been dispatched by the continental congress, to take command of the army of the south, would have abandoned the fortress even before the appearance of the enemy. he was unwilling, in such a position, to abide the conflict. he seems, naturally enough for an officer brought up in a british army, to have had an overweening veneration for a british fleet, in which it is fortunate for the country that the carolinians did not share. in the unfinished condition of the fort, which really presented little more than a front towards the sea, his apprehensions were justifiable, and, could the fort have been enfiladed, as the british designed, it certainly would have been untenable. from the moment of his arrival, to the very moment when the action was raging, his chief solicitude seems to have been to ensure the defenders of the fortress a safe retreat. it is to their immortal honor that this mortifying measure was unnecessary. on the th of june, , a day ever memorable in the annals of carolina, the british ships of war, nine in number,* * commanded by sir peter parker, drew up abreast of the fort, let go their anchors, with springs upon their cables, and commenced a terrible bombardment. the famous battle which followed makes one of the brightest pages in our history. its events, however, are too generally known to make it necessary that we should dwell upon them here. a few, however, belong properly and especially to our pages. the subject of this memoir was a conspicuous sharer in its dangers and in its honors. the fire of the enemy was promptly answered, and with such efficiency of aim as to be long remembered by the survivors. having but five thousand pounds of powder, with which to maintain a conflict that raged for eleven hours, with unabated violence, it became necessary, not only that the discharge from the fort should be timed, but that every shot should be made to do execution. in order to do this the guns were trained by the field-officers in person; hence, perhaps, the terrible fatality of their fire. the bristol, gun ship, commodore sir peter parker, lost men killed and thirty* * wounded. sir peter himself lost an arm. the experiment, another gun ship, had killed and wounded.* * to these two vessels in particular, the attention of the fort was directed. the words, passed along the line by officers and men, were--"look to the commodore--look to the fifty gun ships."* * the smaller vessels suffered comparatively little. their loss of men was small. the injury to the vessels themselves was greater, and one of them, the acteon, run aground, and was subsequently burnt. the carolinians lost but twelve men killed and twice that number wounded. one of the former was the brave fellow macdonald, of whom we have already spoken. when borne from the embrasure where he received his mortal wound, he cried out to those around him--"do not give up--you are fighting for liberty and country." the want of powder was severely felt. but for this, judging from the effects of the fire from the fort, the british commodore must have struck, or his fleet must have been destroyed. so slow, at one time, were the discharges--so great the interval of time between them,--that the british were of opinion that the place was abandoned. but a new supply of powder was obtained by marion, who, with a small party, leaving the fort, proceeded to the armed schooner defence, lying in stop gap creek, and seized upon her powder, by which the fire was kept up until a supply of five hundred weight was received from the city.* * this caused a renewal of the conflict in all its fury. the garrison fought with a coolness which would have done honor to veterans. the day was very warm, and the men partially stripped to it. moultrie says, "when the action begun (it being a warm day), some of the men took off their coats and threw them upon the top of the merlons. i saw a shot take one of them and throw it into a small tree behind the platform. it was noticed by our men, and they cried out, "look at the coat!" a little incident that speaks volumes for their coolness. moultrie himself and several of his officers smoked their pipes during the action, only removing them when it became necessary to issue orders. in the hottest fire of the battle the flag of the fort was shot away, and fell without the fort. jasper, with whom we have already brought the reader acquainted as one of marion's men, instantly sprang after it upon the beach, between the ramparts and the enemy, and binding it to a sponge staff, restored it to its place, and succeeded in regaining his own in safety. we shall hear more hereafter, of this gallant fellow.* * the coolness--nay the cavalier indifference--displayed by the carolinians throughout the combat, is not its least remarkable feature. there is something chivalric in such deportment, which speaks for larger courage than belongs to ordinary valor. mere bull-dog resolution and endurance is here lifted, by a generous ardor of soul, into something other than a passive virtue. the elasticity of spirit which it shows might be trained to any performance within the compass of human endowment. * * two ships of fifty guns; five of twenty-eight; of twenty-six and a bomb-vessel. moultrie, vol. pp. - . * * weems says . * * british account. * * moultrie, memoirs, vol. , note, p. . * * ms. life of brig.-gen. peter horry, p. . * * gen. horry (then a captain) thus relates the incident: "i commanded an eighteen pounder in the left wing of the fort. above my gun on the rampart, was a large american flag hung on a very high mast, formerly of a ship; the men of war directing their fire thereat, it was, from their shot, so wounded, as to fall, with the colors, over the fort. sergeant jasper of the grenadiers leapt over the ramparts, and deliberately walked the whole length of the fort, until he came to the colors on the extremity of the left, when he cut off the same from the mast, and called to me for a sponge staff, and with a thick cord tied on the colors and stuck the staff on the rampart in the sand. the sergeant fortunately received no hurt, though exposed for a considerable time, to the enemy's fire. governor rutledge [after the battle], as a reward, took his small sword from his side, and in presence of many officers, presented it to sergeant jasper, telling him to wear it in remembrance of the th june, and in remembrance of him. he also offered jasper a lieutenant's commission, but as he could neither read nor write, he modestly refused to accept it, saying, 'he was not fit to keep officers' company, being only bred a sergeant.'"--ms. life of brig.-gen. peter horry, pp. - .-- tradition ascribes to the hand and eye of marion, the terrible effect of the last shot which was fired on this bloody day. it was aimed at the commodore's ship, which had already received something more than her due share of the attention of the fort. this shot, penetrating the cabin of the vessel, cut down two young officers who were drinking, we may suppose, to their fortunate escape from a conflict which seemed already over--then ranging forward, swept three sailors from the maindeck into eternity, and finally buried itself in the bosom of the sea. this curious particular was derived from five sailors who deserted from the fleet that very night. chapter . - - . from the battle of fort moultrie to that of savannah-- anecdote of jasper--his death. the battle of fort sullivan was of immense importance, not merely to carolina, but to all the confederated colonies. it saved the former, for three years, from the calamities of invasion; a respite of the last value to a country so greatly divided in public feeling and opinion. the battle preceded the declaration of independence, and, though not generally known to have taken place before that decisive measure was resolved upon, it came seasonably to confirm the patriots in those principles which they had so solemnly and recently avowed. its farther effect was to dissipate that spell of invincibility, which, in the minds of the americans, seemed to hover about a british armament;--to heighten the courage of the militia, and to convince the most sceptical, that it needed only confidence and practice, to make the american people as good soldiers as any in the world. the carolina riflemen were not a little elated to discover that they could handle twenty-six pounders as efficiently as the smaller implements of death, to which their hands were better accustomed. to the defenders of the fortress, their victory brought imperishable laurels. they had shown the courage and the skill of veterans, and their countrymen gloried in the reputation in which they necessarily shared. moultrie received the thanks of congress, of the commander-in-chief, and of his fellow citizens. the fort was thenceforth called by his name, and he was made a brigadier-general. his major, marion, necessarily had his share in these public honors, and was raised by congress to the rank of lieut.-colonel in the regular service. two days after the battle, general lee reviewed the garrison at fort moultrie, and thanked them "for their gallant defence of the fort against a fleet of eight men-of-war and a bomb, during a cannonade of eleven hours, and a bombardment of seven." at the same time, mrs. barnard elliott presented an elegant pair of embroidered colors to the second regiment, with a brief address, in which she expressed her conviction that they would "stand by them as long as they can wave in the air of liberty." it was in fulfilling the pledge made by general moultrie, on this occasion, in behalf of the regiment, that the brave jasper lost his life before the walls of savannah. the three years' respite from the horrors of war, which this victory secured to carolina, was not, however, left unemployed by her citizen soldiery. the progress of events around them kept their services in constant requisition. while a part of them, in the interior, were compelled to take arms against the cherokee indians, the troops of the lower country were required against the tories in florida and georgia. governor tonyn of the former, an active loyalist, proved a formidable annoyance to the patriots of the latter province. florida, under his administration, was the secure refuge and certain retreat for all the malcontents and outlaws of the neighboring colonies. he gave them ample encouragement, put arms into their hands, and even issued letters of marque against the property of the colonists, in anticipation of the act for that purpose, in the british parliament. general lee marched upon florida with the virginia and north carolina troops. he was subsequently joined by those of south carolina; but, owing to his own ill-advised and improvident movements, the expedition was a total failure.* this result necessarily gave encouragement to the tories; and, though in too small numbers to effect any important objects without the cooperation of a british force, they were yet sufficiently active to invite the presence of one. they formed themselves into little squads, and, moving through the country with celerity, pursued their marauding habits at little risk, as they sought only unsuspecting neighborhoods, and promptly fled to the fastnesses of florida on the approach of danger. to direct and properly avail themselves of these parties, the british commanders in america addressed their attention to georgia. the infancy of that colony necessarily led them to hope for an easy conquest in attempting it. in february, , general howe, then commanding the troops in north carolina and georgia, was advised of the approach of colonel fuser, to the invasion of georgia. he hurried on immediately to prepare savannah for defence; while marion, with a force of men, in several vessels, provided with cannon and ammunition, was dispatched, by the inland passage, to his assistance. marion left charleston on the th of february, but his approach had no farther effect than to precipitate the flight of the enemy, who, meeting with a stout opposition from colonel elbert, at ogechee ferry, had already desisted from farther advance. the british attempts on georgia were deferred to a later period. but the loyalists were busy, particularly that portion of them, which took the name of scopholites, after one scophol, a militia colonel, whom moultrie describes as an "illiterate, stupid, noisy blockhead". he proved not the less troublesome because of his stupidity. * drayton's memoirs, vol. , p. .-- marion was more or less employed during this period, in various situations. he was never unemployed. we find him at length in command of the fort which he had formerly contributed to defend and render famous. he was placed in charge of the garrison at fort moultrie. the value of this fort was estimated rather according to its celebrity, than its real usefulness. subsequent events have shown that its capacity was not great in retarding the approach of an enemy's fleet to the city. it was the error of sir peter parker--obeying an old but exploded military maxim, not to leave an armed post of the enemy in his rear--to pause before a fortress, the conquest of which could in no wise contribute to his success,--and defeat before which, must necessarily endanger his final objects. it was still the impression of the carolinians that fort moultrie must be assailed as a preliminary step to the conquest of charleston, and the post, as one of the highest honor and danger, was conferred upon marion.* it was not known, indeed, at what moment the gallantry of the garrison might be put to the proof. the british were known to be making large marine and military preparations at new york, intended, as it was generally understood, for the south. charleston or savannah, were supposed indifferently to be the places of its destination. it might be very well supposed that the enemy would seek, at the former place, to recover those honors of war of which its gallant defenders had deprived him. * when the british under prevost, were in possession of the neighboring islands, moultrie writes, "we were apprehensive the enemy would attempt to surprise fort moultrie; we, therefore, always kept a strong garrison there under general marion."-- but, any doubt as to the destination of the british fleet was soon removed. in december, , thirty-seven sail appeared before savannah, and four thousand british regulars were disembarked. the american force left in defence of savannah was a feeble one, of six or seven hundred men, under general howe. general howe was but little of a soldier. instead of withdrawing this force, he suffered it to be sacrificed. badly posted, he was surprised, and his troops beaten and dispersed with little difficulty. savannah fell at once into the hands of the enemy, and the whole colony very shortly after. general prevost was in command of the british. opposed to him was major-general lincoln, of the continental army. while prevost occupied the posts of savannah, ebenezer, abercorn, and other places, he was active in pushing select parties forward to augusta, and other commanding points in the interior. the force under lincoln did not enable him to offer any active opposition to their progress. his headquarters were at purysburg, on the savannah river, but a few miles from abercorn, where colonel campbell lay with the main body of the enemy. general ashe, of the americans, occupied the post at brier creek, and, thus placed, the opposing commanders seemed disposed for a while to rest upon their arms, waiting events and reinforcements. it was while the second south carolina regiment lay at purysburg, that an adventure occurred, which has so often been repeated in connection with the name and life of marion, that we should scarcely be excused from introducing it here, as properly in place in this memoir. weems asserts that marion was present at this time with his regiment at purysburg. it is impossible to say whether he was or not. it is not improbable that he was with his regiment, and yet the weight of evidence inclines us to the opinion that he was still at fort moultrie. it is not unlikely, however, that, when the direction of the british fleet was known, and it was ascertained that savannah and not charleston was its object, he immediately joined his regiment at purysburg, leaving fort moultrie in the charge of some less distinguished officer. at all events the point is not of importance to the anecdote we have to relate. personally, marion had nothing to do with it. it was only because the actors in the adventure belonged to his regiment, and were of "marion's men", that tradition has insisted on associating his name with theirs. it is not for us to have it otherwise. the reader is already somewhat acquainted with the name of william jasper--perhaps sergeant jasper is the better known. this brave man possessed remarkable talents for a scout. he could wear all disguises with admirable ease and dexterity. garden styles him "a perfect proteus".* he was equally remarkable for his strategy as for his bravery; and his nobleness and generosity were, quite as much as these, the distinguishing traits of his character. such was the confidence in his fidelity and skill that a roving commission was granted him, with liberty to pick his associates from the brigade. of these he seldom chose more than six. "he often went out," says moultrie, "and returned with prisoners, before i knew that he was gone. i have known of his catching a party that was looking for him. he has told me that he could have killed single men several times, but he would not; he would rather let them get off. he went into the british lines at savannah, as a deserter, complaining, at the same time, of our ill-usage of him; he was gladly received (they having heard of his character) and caressed by them. he stayed eight days, and after informing himself well of their strength, situation and intentions, he returned to us again; but that game he could not play a second time. with his little party he was always hovering about the enemy's camp, and was frequently bringing in prisoners."** we have seen what reason was alleged by this brave fellow for not accepting the commission tendered to him by governor rutledge, for his gallantry in the battle of fort moultrie. the nature of his services was no less a reason why he should reject the commission. the fact that he seldom allowed himself a command of more than six men declared sufficiently the degree of authority to which he thought his talents were entitled. * "he was a perfect proteus, in ability to alter his appearance; perpetually entering the camp of the enemy, without detection, and invariably returning to his own, with soldiers he had seduced, or prisoners he had captured." ** moultrie's mem., vol. , p. .-- it was while in the exercise of his roving privileges that jasper prepared to visit the post of the enemy at ebenezer. at this post he had a brother, who held the same rank in the british service, that he held in the american. this instance was quite too common in the history of the period and country, to occasion much surprise, or cause any suspicion of the integrity of either party. we have already considered the causes for this melancholy difference of individual sentiment in the country, and need not dwell upon them here. william jasper loved his brother and wished to see him: it is very certain, at the same time, that he did not deny himself the privilege of seeing all around him. the tory was alarmed at william's appearance in the british camp, but the other quieted his fears, by representing himself as no longer an american soldier. he checked the joy which this declaration excited in his brother's mind, by assuring him that, though he found little encouragement in fighting for his country, "he had not the heart to fight against her." our scout lingered for two or three days in the british camp, and then, by a 'detour', regained that of the americans; reporting to his commander all that he had seen. he was encouraged to repeat his visit a few weeks after, but this time he took with him a comrade, one sergeant newton, a fellow quite as brave in spirit, and strong in body as himself. here he was again well received by his brother, who entertained the guests kindly for several days. meanwhile, a small party of americans were brought into ebenezer as captives, over whom hung the danger of "short shrift and sudden cord". they were on their way to savannah for trial. they had taken arms with the british, as hundreds more had done, when the country was deemed reconquered; but, on the approach of the american army, had rejoined their countrymen, and were now once more at the mercy of the power with which they had broken faith. "it will go hard with them," said the tory jasper to his whig brother; but the secret comment of the other was, "it shall go hard with me first." there was a woman, the wife of one of the prisoners, who, with her child, kept them company. william jasper and his friend were touched by the spectacle of their distress; and they conferred together, as soon as they were alone, as to the possibility of rescuing them. their plan was soon adopted. it was a simple one, such as naturally suggests itself to a hardy and magnanimous character. the prisoners had scarcely left the post for savannah, under a guard of eight men, a sergeant and corporal, when they took leave of their host, and set forth also, though in a different direction from the guard. changing their course when secure from observation, they stretched across the country and followed the footsteps of the unhappy captives. but it was only in the pursuit that they became truly conscious of the difficulty, nay, seeming impossibility, of effecting their object. the guard was armed, and ten in number; they but two and weaponless. hopeless, they nevertheless followed on. two miles from savannah there is a famous spring, the waters of which are well known to travellers. the conjecture that the guard might stop there, with the prisoners, for refreshment, suggested itself to our companions; here, opportunities might occur for the rescue, which had nowhere before presented themselves. taking an obscure path with which they were familiar, which led them to the spot before the enemy could arrive, they placed themselves in ambush in the immediate neighborhood of the spring. they had not long to wait. their conjecture proved correct. the guard was halted on the road opposite the spring. the corporal with four men conducted the captives to the water, while the sergeant, with the remainder of his force, having made them ground their arms near the road, brought up the rear. the prisoners threw themselves upon the earth--the woman and her child, near its father. little did any of them dream that deliverance was at hand. the child fell asleep in the mother's lap. two of the armed men kept guard, but we may suppose with little caution. what had they to apprehend, within sight of a walled town in the possession of their friends? two others approached the spring, in order to bring water to the prisoners. resting their muskets against a tree they proceeded to fill their canteens. at this moment jasper gave the signal to his comrade. in an instant the muskets were in their hands. in another, they had shot down the two soldiers upon duty; then clubbing their weapons, they rushed out upon the astonished enemy, and felling their first opponents each at a blow, they succeeded in obtaining possession of the loaded muskets. this decided the conflict, which was over in a few minutes. the surviving guard yielded themselves to mercy before the presented weapons. such an achievement could only be successful from its audacity and the operation of circumstances. the very proximity of savannah increased the chances of success. but for this the guard would have taken better precautions. none were taken. the prompt valor, the bold decision, the cool calculation of the instant, were the essential elements which secured success. the work of our young heroes was not done imperfectly. the prisoners were quickly released, the arms of the captured british put into their hands, and, hurrying away from the spot which they have crowned with a local celebrity not soon to be forgotten, they crossed the savannah in safety with their friends and foes. this is not the last achievement of the brave jasper which we shall have occasion to record. the next, however, though not less distinguished by success, was unhappily written in his own blood. the campaign which followed was distinguished by several vicissitudes, but the general result was the weakening and dispiriting of the american forces. brigadier general ashe was surprised in his camp and utterly defeated, and the british army not only penetrated into georgia, but made its appearance at beaufort in south carolina. here it was met by moultrie in a spirited encounter, which resulted in a drawn battle. meanwhile, general lincoln found the militia refractory. they refused to submit to the articles of war, and desired to serve only under those laws by which the militia was governed. chagrined with this resistance, lincoln transferred the militia to moultrie, and, at the head of about troops of the regular service, he marched up the country to augusta, proposing by this course to circumscribe the progress of the enemy in that quarter. taking advantage of this movement, by which the regular troops were withdrawn from the seaboard, the british general, prevost, immediately crossed the savannah with the intention of surprising moultrie, who, with militia-men, lay at black swamp. but moultrie, advised of his enemy, retired to coosawhatchie, where he placed his rear guard; his headquarters being pitched on the hill, east of tuliffinnee, two miles in advance, and on the route to charleston. here the rear-guard, under colonel laurens, engaged the enemy's advance, and was driven before it. moultrie gradually retired as prevost advanced, and the contest which followed between the two, seemed to be which should reach charleston first. the defenceless condition of that city was known to the british general, whose object was to take it by 'coup de main'. moultrie erred in not making continued fight in the swamps and strong passes, the thick forests and intricate defiles, which were numerous along the route of the pursuing army. his policy seems to have been dictated by an undue estimate of the value of the city, and the importance of its safety to the state. but for this, even an army so much inferior as his, could have effectually checked the enemy long before the city could have been reached. moultrie continued in advance of prevost, and reached charleston a few hours before him; just in season to establish something like order, and put the place in a tolerable state of defence. the fire from the lines arrested the british advance. the place was summoned, and defiance returned. night followed, and the next morning the enemy had disappeared. his object had been surprise. he was unprepared for the assault, having no heavy artillery, and his departure was hastened by intercepted advices from lincoln and governor rutledge, which announced to the garrison the approach of the regular troops and the country militia. prevost retired to the neighboring islands, and established himself in a strong fort at stono ferry. here he was attacked by general lincoln in a spirited but unsuccessful affair, in which the latter was compelled to retreat. the attack of lincoln was followed by one of moultrie, in galleys. the situation of the british became unpleasant, and they did not wait a repetition of these assaults, but retreated along the chain of islands on the coast, until they reached beaufort and savannah. both of these places they maintained; the latter with their main army, the former with a strong body of troops, apart from their sick, wounded and convalescent. here they were watched by general lincoln, in a camp of observation at sheldon, until the appearance of a french fleet on the coast led to renewed activity, and hopes, on the part of the americans, which were destined to bitter disappointment. marion was certainly with his regiment at sheldon, and when it became probable that there was some prospect of battle, we find him at fort moultrie, when prevost was in possession of the contiguous islands. but a junction of the french and american forces, necessarily compelling the concentration of the whole of the southern invading army at savannah, lessened the necessity of his remaining at a post which stood in no manner of danger. early in september, , the french admiral, count d'estaign, with a fleet of twenty sail, appeared upon the coast. as soon as this was certainly known, general lincoln put his army in motion for savannah. but the french forces had disembarked before his arrival, and the impatience and imprudence of their admiral did not suffer him to wait the coming of the american. he was a rash man, and, as it appears, on bad terms with his subordinate officers, who were, indeed, not subordinate.* he proceeded to summon the place. the answer to his demand was, a request of twenty-four hours for consideration. by a singular error of judgment the french admiral granted the time required. his only hope had been in a 'coup de main'. he had neither the time nor the material necessary for regular approaches; nor, had he acted decisively, do these seem to have been at all necessary. the place was not tenable at the period of his first summons. the prompt energies of the british commander soon made it so. instead of considering, he consumed the twenty-four hours in working. the arrival of lieutenant-colonel cruger, with a small command, from sunbury, and the force of lieutenant-colonel maitland, from beaufort, soon put the fortress in such a condition of defence as to enable its commander to return his defiance to the renewed summons of the combined armies. there seems to have been but one opinion among the americans as to the mistake of d'estaign, in granting the required indulgence. weems, speaking for general horry, says, "i never beheld marion in so great a passion. i was actually afraid he would have broken out on general lincoln. 'my god!' he exclaimed, 'who ever heard of anything like this before? first allow an enemy to entrench, and then fight him! see the destruction brought upon the british at bunker's hill--yet our troops there were only militia; raw, half-armed clodhoppers, and not a mortar, or carronade, not even a swivel--only their ducking-guns! what, then, are we to expect from regulars, completely armed, with a choice train of artillery, and covered by a breastwork.'" * major-general t. pinckney's account of the siege of savannah, quoted by garden.-- the anticipations of marion were fully realized. when the junction of the french and american armies was effected, it was determined to reduce the place by siege. batteries were to be erected, and cannon brought from the ships, a distance of several miles. meanwhile, the works of the besieged were undergoing daily improvements, under an able engineer. several hundred negroes were busy, day and night, upon the defences, stimulated, when necessary, to exertion, by the lash. on the th of october the besiegers opened with nine mortars and thirty-seven pieces of cannon from the land side, and sixteen from the water. they continued to play for several days, with little effect, and the anxiety of the french admiral to leave the coast, at a season of the year when it is particularly perilous to shipping to remain, determined the besiegers to risk everything upon an assault. the morning of the th october was fixed upon for the attack. the american army was paraded at one o'clock that morning, but it was near four before the head of the french column reached the front. "the whole army then marched towards the skirt of the wood in one long column, and as they approached the open space, was to break off into the different columns, as ordered for the attack. but, by the time the first french column had arrived at the open space, the day had fairly broke; when count d'estaign, without waiting until the other columns had arrived at their position, placed himself at the head of his first column, and rushed forward to the attack."* this was creditable to his gallantry, if not to his judgment. but it was valor thrown away. "the column was so severely galled by the grape-shot from the batteries, as they advanced, and by both grape-shot and musketry, when they reached the abbatis, that, in spite of the efforts of the officers, it got into confusion, and broke away to their left, toward the wood in that direction; the second and third french columns shared, successively, the same fate, having the additional discouragement of seeing, as they marched to the attack, the repulse and loss of their comrades who had preceded them. count pulaski, who, with the cavalry, preceded the right column of the americans, proceeded gallantly, until stopped by the abbatis; and before he could force through it received his mortal wound."** the american column was much more successful. it was headed by colonel laurens, with the light infantry, followed by the second south carolina regiment, of which marion was second in command, and the first battalion of charleston militia. this column pressed forward, in the face of a heavy fire, upon the spring hill redoubt, succeeded in getting into the ditch, and the colors of the second regiment were planted upon the berm. but the parapet was too high to be scaled under such a fire as proceeded from the walls, and, struggling bravely but vainly, the assailants were, after suffering severe slaughter, driven out of the ditch. this slaughter was increased in the effort to retain and carry off in safety the colors of the regiment. * major-general thomas pinckney, in a letter quoted by garden. ** major-general thomas pinckney. see garden.-- these colors, as we have seen, were the gift of a lady. moultrie, in the name of the regiment, had promised to defend them to the last. the promise was faithfully remembered in this moment of extremity. one of them was borne by lieutenant bush, supported by sergeant jasper; the other by lieutenant grey, supported by sergeant m'donald. bush being slightly wounded early in the action delivered his standard to jasper, for better security. jasper a second time and now fatally wounded, restored it to the former. but at the moment of taking it, bush received a mortal wound. he fell into the ditch with his ensign under him, and it remained in possession of the enemy. the other standard was more fortunate. lieutenant grey, by whom it was borne, was slain, but m'donald plucked it from the redoubt where it had been planted, the moment the retreat was ordered, and succeeded in carrying it off in safety. the repulse was decisive. the slaughter, for so brief an engagement, had been terrible, amounting to nearly eleven hundred men; french, and americans. of the former, the irish brigade, and of the latter the d south carolina regiment, particularly distinguished themselves and suffered most. the loss of the british was slight; the assailants made no impression on their works. "thus was this fine body of troops sacrificed by the imprudence of the french general, who, being of superior grade, commanded the whole.* in this battle jasper was mortally wounded. he succeeded in regaining the camp of the americans. the fatal wound was received in his endeavor to secure and save his colors." another distinguished personage who fell in this fatal affair, was col. count pulaski, a brave and skilful captain of cavalry, better known in history for his attempt upon the life of stanislaus poniatowski, king of poland. * major-general t. pinckney.-- chapter . from the battle of savannah to the defeat of gates at camden. the failure of the combined forces of france and america before the walls of savannah, left the cause of the latter, in the south, in much worse condition than before. the event served to depress the carolinians, and in the same degree, to elevate and encourage the enemy. the allies withdrew to their ships, and, shortly after, from the coast. general lincoln, with the american army, retreated to the heights of ebenezer, and thence to sheldon. proceeding from this place to charleston, he left marion in command of the army. on the thirty-first of january, , he writes to the latter as follows: "the state of affairs is such as to make it necessary that we order our force to a point as much and as soon as possible. no troops will be kept in the field except two hundred light infantry and the horse (washington's). you will therefore please to select from the three regiments with you, two hundred of your best men, and those who are best clothed, and organize them into corps, with proper officers. all the remainder, with the baggage of the whole (saving such as is absolutely necessary for light troops), will march immediately for this town. you will please take command of the light infantry until lieut. col. henderson arrives, which i expect will be in a few days. after that, i wish to see you as soon as possible in charleston." in the february following, marion was dispatched to bacon's bridge on ashley river, where moultrie had established a camp for the reception of the militia of the neighborhood, as well as those which had been summoned from the interior. it was to marion that lincoln chiefly looked for the proper drilling of the militia. in his hands they lost the rude and inefficient character, the inexpert and spiritless manner, which, under ordinary commanders, always distinguish them. feeling sure of their captain, he, in turn, rendered them confident of themselves. speaking of marion's "patience with the militia"--a phrase of great importance in this connection--horry, in his own memoirs, which now lie before us, adds, "no officer in the union was better calculated to command them, and to have done more than he did."* lincoln knew his value. the admirable training of the second south carolina regiment had already done high honor to his skill as a disciplinarian. he discovered the secret which regularly bred military men are slow to discern, that, without patience, in the training of citizen soldiers for immediate service, they are incorrigible; and patience with them, on the part of a commanding officer, is neither inconsistent with their claims nor with their proper efficiency. * ms. memoir of gen. horry, p. .-- the accumulation of troops at bacon's bridge was made with the view to the defence of charleston, now threatened by the enemy. many concurring causes led to the leaguer of that city. its conquest was desirable on many accounts, and circumstances had already shown that this was not a matter of serious difficulty. the invasion of prevost the year before, which had so nearly proved successful; the little resistance which had been offered to him while traversing more than one hundred miles of country contiguous to the capital; and the rich spoils which, on his retreat, had been borne off by his army, betrayed at once the wealth and weakness of that region. the possession of savannah, where british government had been regularly re-established, and the entire, if not totally undisturbed control of georgia, necessarily facilitated the invasion of the sister province. south carolina was now a frontier, equally exposed to the british in georgia, and the tories of florida and north carolina. the means of defence in her power were now far fewer than when prevost made his attempt on charleston. the southern army was, in fact, totally broken up. the carolina regiments had seen hard service, guarding the frontier, and contending with the british in georgia. they were thinned by battle and sickness to a mere handful. the virginia and north carolina regiments had melted away, as the term for which they had enlisted, had expired. the georgia regiment, captured by the british in detail, were perishing in their floating prisons. the weakness of the patriots necessarily increased the audacity, with the strength, of their enemies. the loyalists, encouraged by the progress of prevost, and the notorious inefficiency of the whigs, were now gathering in formidable bodies, in various quarters, operating in desultory bands, or crowding to swell the columns of the british army. all things concurred to encourage the attempt of the enemy on charleston. its possession, with that of savannah, would not only enable them to complete their ascendency in the two provinces to which these cities belonged, but would probably give them north carolina also. virginia then, becoming the frontier, it would be easy, with the cooperation of an army ascending the chesapeake, to traverse the entire south with their legions, detaching it wholly from the federal compact. such was the british hope, and such their policy. there was yet another motive for the siege of charleston, considered without reference to collateral or contingent events. esteemed erroneously as a place of great security--an error that arose in all probability from the simple fact of the successful defence of fort moultrie--it was crowded with valuable magazines. as a trading city, particularly while the commerce of the north remained interrupted, it had become a place of great business. it was a stronghold for privateers and their prizes, and always contained stores and shipping of immense value. the temptations to its conquest were sufficiently numerous. ten thousand choice troops, with a large and heavy train of artillery, were accordingly dispatched from new york for its investment, which was begun in february, , and conducted by the commander-in-chief of the british forces, sir henry clinton, in person. he conducted his approaches with a caution highly complimentary to the besieged. the fortifications were only field works, and might have been overrun in less than five days by an audacious enemy. the regular troops within the city were not above two thousand men. the citizen militia increased the number to nearly four thousand. for such an extent of lines as encircled the place, the adequate force should not have been less than that of the enemy. the fortifications, when the british first landed their 'materiel', were in a dilapidated and unfinished state, and, at that time, the defenders, apart from the citizens, scarcely exceeded eight hundred men; while the small pox, making its appearance within the walls, for the first time for twenty years--an enemy much more dreaded than the british,--effectually discouraged the country militia from coming to the assistance of the citizens. under these circumstances, the conquest would have been easy to an active and energetic foe. but sir henry does not seem to have been impatient for his laurels. he was willing that they should mature gradually, and he sat down to a regular and formal investment. it was an error of the carolinians, under such circumstances, to risk the fortunes of the state, and the greater part of its regular military strength, in a besieged town; a still greater to do so in defiance of such difficulties as attended the defence. the policy which determined the resolution was a concession to the citizens, in spite of all military opinion. the city might have been yielded to the enemy, and the state preserved, or, which was the same thing, the troops. the loss of four thousand men from the ranks of active warfare, was the great and substantial loss, the true source, in fact, of most of the miseries and crimes by which the very bowels of the country were subsequently torn and distracted. it was the great good fortune of the state that francis marion was not among those who fell into captivity in the fall of charleston. he had marched into the city from dorchester, when his active services were needed for its defence; but while the investment was in progress, and before it had been fully completed, an event occurred to him, an accident which was, no doubt, very much deplored at the time, by which his services, lost for the present, were subsequently secured for the country. dining with a party of friends at a house in tradd-street, the host, with that mistaken hospitality which has too frequently changed a virtue to a vice, turned the key upon his guests, to prevent escape, till each individual should be gorged with wine. though an amiable man, marion was a strictly temperate one. he was not disposed to submit to this too common form of social tyranny; yet not willing to resent the breach of propriety by converting the assembly into a bull-ring, he adopted a middle course, which displayed equally the gentleness and firmness of his temper. opening a window, he coolly threw himself into the street. he was unfortunate in the attempt; the apartment was on the second story, the height considerable, and the adventure cost him a broken ankle. the injury was a severe and shocking one, and, for the time, totally unfitted him for service. he left the city in a litter, while the passage to the country still remained open for retreat, in obedience to an order of general lincoln for the departure of all idle mouths, "all supernumerary officers, and all officers unfit for duty." marion retired to his residence in st. john's parish. here, suffering in mind and body, he awaited with impatience the progress of events, with which, however much he might sympathize, he could not share. his humiliation at this unavoidable but melancholy inaction, may be imagined from what we know of his habits and his patriotism. the siege of charleston, in consequence of the firm bearing of the besieged, and the cautious policy of the british government, was protracted long after the works had been pronounced untenable. it was yielded unwillingly to the conqueror, only after all resistance had proved in vain. it fell by famine, rather than by the arms of the enemy. the defence was highly honorable to the besieged. it lasted six weeks, in which they had displayed equal courage and endurance. the consequences of this misfortune leave it somewhat doubtful, whether the determination to defend the city to the last extremity, was not the result of a correct policy; considering less its own loss, and that of the army, than the effect of the former upon the rustic population. certainly, the capture of the army was a vital misfortune to the southern states; yet the loss of the city itself was of prodigious effect upon the scattered settlements of the country. the character and resolve of the capital cities, in those days, were very much the sources of the moral strength of the interior. sparsely settled, with unfrequent opportunities of communion with one another, the minds of the forest population turned naturally for their tone and direction to the capital city. the active attrition of rival and conflicting minds, gives, in all countries, to the population of a dense community, an intellectual superiority over those who live remote, and feel none of the constant moral strifes to which the citizen is subject. in south carolina, charleston had been the seat of the original 'movement', had incurred the first dangers, achieved the first victories, and, in all public proceedings where action was desirable, had always led off in the van. to preserve intact, and from overthrow, the seat of ancient authority and opinion, was surely a policy neither selfish nor unwise. perhaps, after all, the grand error was, in not making the preparations for defence adequate to the object. the resources of the state were small, and these had been diminished wofully in succoring her neighbors, and in small border strifes, which the borderers might have been taught to manage for themselves. the military force of the state, under any circumstances, could not have contended on equal terms with the ten thousand well-appointed regulars of sir henry clinton. the assistance derived from virginia and north carolina was little more than nominal, calculated rather to swell the triumph of the victor than to retard his successes. if the movements of the british were slow, and deficient in military enterprise, where sir henry clinton commanded in person, such could not be said of them, after the conquest of charleston was effected. the commander-in-chief was succeeded by earl cornwallis, and his career was certainly obnoxious to no such reproaches. we shall have more serious charges to bring against him. of the gross abuse of power, wanton tyrannies, cruel murders, and most reckless disregard of decency and right, by which the course of the british was subsequently distinguished, we shall say no more than will suffice to show, in what dangers, through what difficulties, and under what stimulating causes, francis marion rose in arms, when everything appeared to be lost. charleston in possession of the enemy, they proceeded with wonderful activity to use all means in their power, for exhausting the resources, and breaking down the spirit of the country. their maxim was that of habitual tyranny--"might is right". they seemed to recognize no other standard. the articles of capitulation, the laws of nations, private treaty, the dictates of humanity and religion, were all equally set at naught. the wealth of private families,--slaves by thousands,--were hurried into the waists of british ships, as the legitimate spoils of war. the latter found a market in the west india islands; the prisoners made by the fall of charleston were, in defiance of the articles of capitulation, crowded into prison-ships, from whence they were only released by death, or by yielding to those arguments of their keepers which persuaded them to enlist in british regiments, to serve in other countries. many yielded to these arguments, with the simple hope of escape from the horrors by which they were surrounded. when arts and arguments failed to overcome the inflexibility of these wretched prisoners, compulsion was resorted to, and hundreds were forced from their country, shipped to jamaica, and there made to serve in british regiments.* citizens of distinction, who, by their counsel or presence, opposed their influence over the prisoners, or proved themselves superior to their temptations, were torn from their homes without warning, and incarcerated in their floating dungeons. nothing was forborne, in the shape of pitiless and pitiful persecution, to break the spirits, subdue the strength, and mock and mortify the hopes, alike, of citizen and captive. * moultrie's memoirs, vol. , 'correspondence'.-- with those who kept the field the proceedings were more summary, if not more severe. the fall of charleston seems necessarily to have involved the safety of the country from the savannah to the pedee. in a few weeks after the capture of the city, the british were in peaceable possession of the space between these limits, from the seaboard to the mountains. they had few opponents--an isolated body of continentals, a small squad of militia, for the first time drilling for future service, or a little troop of horse--and these were quickly overcome. on these occasions the british were generally led by lieutenant-colonel tarleton. this officer acquired for himself an odious distinction in his progress through the south in the campaigns which followed. he was rather an active than a skilful commander. rapid in his movements, he gave little heed to the judicious disposition of his troops, and aiming more at impressing the fears of his enemy, than overcoming him by science, his chief successes were the result of the panic which his surprises and his butcheries inspired. he seems never to have been successful against an equal and resolute foe. but, as courage and activity are, perhaps, after all, and before all, the most necessary requisites for a soldier, tarleton's services were inappreciable to the invading army. in one month after its arrival, his legion was mounted and began its career of slaughter. while yet the city was sustaining the siege, he penetrated the country, in pursuit of those bands of militia horse, which, by direction of the american commander, still kept the open field. on the th of march, he surprised a company of militia at salkehatchie bridge, killed and wounded several and dispersed the rest. five days after, another party at pon-pon shared the same fortune. he was not so successful at rantowles on the d of the same month, where in a rencounter with col. washington, his dragoons were roughly handled, and retreated with loss. he avenged himself, however, on washington, in less than a month after, by surprising him at monk's corner. col. white soon after took command of the southern cavalry, and obtained some trifling successes, but suffered himself to be surprised at lenud's ferry on the santee. these events all took place prior to the surrender of the city. the activity of tarleton, with the general remissness, and want of ordinary military precautions on the part of the militia which opposed itself to him, made his progress easy, and thus enabled him to cut off every party that was embodied in the field. he was now to succeed in a much more important and much more bloody enterprise. a continental force from virginia of four hundred men, under col. beaufort,* had been dispatched to the relief of charleston. beaufort had reached camden before he was apprised of the surrender of that city. this event properly determined him to retreat. earl cornwallis, meanwhile, had taken the field with a force of twenty-five hundred men, and was then in rapid progress for the santee. hearing of the advance of beaufort, he dispatched tarleton in quest of him, with a select body of infantry and cavalry, in all, seven hundred men. beaufort was overtaken near the waxhaw settlements, and summoned to surrender. this person does not seem to have been designed by nature for military operations. he halted at the summons, hesitated awhile, sent his wagons ahead, consulted with his officers, and did little or nothing farther, either for flight or conflict. while thus halting and hesitating he was attacked by the impetuous tarleton, offered a feeble resistance, unmarked by conduct or spirit, suffered the enemy to gain his rear, and finally grounded his arms. he either did this too soon or too late. his flag was disregarded in the flush of battle, the bearer of it cut down by the hand of tarleton, and the british infantry, with fixed bayonets, rushed upon the inactive americans. some of beaufort's men, seeing that their application for quarter was disregarded, resolved to die like men, and resumed their arms. their renewed fire provoked the massacre of the unresisting. a terrible butchery followed. the british gave no quarter. from that day, "tarleton's quarters", implying the merciless cutting down of the suppliant, grew into a proverbial phrase, which, in the hour of victory, seemed to embitter the hostility with which the american strove to avenge his slaughtered comrades. * generally given as buford in other documents. simms also states "the warsaw settlements" in the original text, but waxhaw is correct. according to local tradition, the mother of andrew jackson, the future president, was one of those who aided the survivors. jackson himself later served, at the age of , in davie's cavalry, as a messenger, and was the only member of his family to survive the war. --a. l., .-- the defeat of beaufort, with the only regular force remaining in the state, following so close upon the fall of charleston, paralyzed the hopes of the patriots. the country seemed everywhere subdued. an unnatural and painful apathy dispirited opposition. the presence of a british force, sufficient to overawe the neighborhood, at conspicuous points, and the awakened activity of the tories in all quarters, no longer restrained by the presence in arms of their more patriotic countrymen, seemed to settle the question of supremacy. there was not only no head against the enemy, but the state, on a sudden, appeared to have been deprived of all her distinguished men. moultrie and others who might have led, were prisoners of war. governor rutledge, a noble spirit and famous orator--the patrick henry of carolina,--had withdrawn to the north state, to stimulate the energies of the people in that quarter and gain recruits. his example was followed by sumter, horry and others,--by all, in fact, who, escaping captivity, were in condition to fly. the progress of cornwallis and tarleton left mere distinction, unsupported by men, with few places of security. marion, meanwhile, incapable of present flight, was compelled to take refuge in the swamp and forest. he was too conspicuous a person, had made too great a figure in previous campaigns, and his military talents were too well known and too highly esteemed, not to render him an object of some anxiety as well to friends as foes. still suffering from the hurts received in charleston, with bloody and malignant enemies all around him, his safety depended on his secrecy and obscurity alone. fortunately he had "won golden opinions from all sorts of people." he had friends among all classes, who did not permit themselves to sleep while he was in danger. their activity supplied the loss of his own. they watched while he slept. they assisted his feebleness. in the moment of alarm, he was sped from house to house, from tree to thicket, from the thicket to the swamp. his "hair-breadth 'scapes" under these frequent exigencies, were, no doubt, among the most interesting adventures of his life, furnishing rare material, could they be procured, for the poet and romancer. unhappily, while the chronicles show the frequent emergency which attended his painful condition, they furnish nothing more. we are without details. the melancholy baldness and coldness with which they narrate events upon which one would like to linger is absolutely humbling to the imagination; which, kindled by the simple historical outline, looks in vain for the satisfaction of those doubts and inquiries, those hopes and fears, which the provoking narrative inspires only to defraud. how would some old inquisitive froissart have dragged by frequent inquiry from contemporaneous lips, the particular fact, the whole adventure, step by step, item by item,--the close pursuit, the narrow escape,--and all the long train of little, but efficient circumstances, by which the story would have been made unique, with all its rich and numerous details! these, the reader must supply from his own resources of imagination. he must conjecture for himself the casual warning brought to the silent thicket, by the devoted friend, the constant woman, or the humble slave; the midnight bay of the watch dog or the whistle of the scout; or the sudden shot, from friend or foe, by which the fugitive is counselled to hurry to his den. a thousand events arise to the imagination as likely to have occurred to our partisan, in his hours of feebleness and danger, from the rapid cavalry of tarleton, or the close and keen pursuit of the revengeful tories. to what slight circumstances has he been indebted for his frequent escape! what humble agents have been commissioned by providence to save a life, that was destined to be so precious to his country's liberties! how long he remained in this situation is not exactly known,--probably several months. as soon as he was able to mount his horse, he collected a few friends, and set out for north carolina. a continental force was on its way from virginia under baron de kalb. his purpose was to join it. it was while on this route, and with this object, that he encountered his old friend and long tried associate in arms, col. p. horry.* * there were two horrys, brothers, both of whom were very brave and distinguished adherents of our partisan. peter horry held a captain's commission in the same regiment with marion, at the battle of fort moultrie. hugh horry was the particular favorite of his general. a life of marion, purporting to be in part by the former, but really composed entirely by the rev. m. l. weems, from facts furnished by horry, is already well known to the public. a ms. life of peter horry is now before me, and has furnished me with several illustrations of the war, during this narrative. both of these brothers served under marion, to the close of the war, with equal courage and fidelity.-- horry describes his ankle, at this meeting, as still "very crazy"--so much so that it required his help and that of marion's servant to lift him from his horse. but his spirits were good. he was still cheerful, and possessed that rare elasticity of character which never loses its tone under privations and disappointments. weems, who, we are compelled to admit, very frequently exercised the privilege of the ancient historian, of putting fine speeches into the mouth of his hero, tells us that he jeered at the doleful expressions of his companion, horry, who, discussing the condition of the country, lamented that their "happy days were all gone." "our happy days all gone, indeed!" answered marion--"on the contrary, they are yet to come. the victory is still sure. the enemy, it is true, have all the trumps, and if they had but the spirit to play a generous game, they would certainly ruin us. but they have no idea of that game. they will treat the people cruelly, and that one thing will ruin them and save the country." weems, speaking for horry, describes in ludicrous terms, their journey through north carolina,--through a region swarming with tories, but, fortunately for our travellers, who were venomous without being active. our fugitives were without money and without credit, and "but for carrying a knife, or a horse fleam, or a gun-flint, had no more use for a pocket than a highlander has for a knee-buckle. as to hard money we had not seen a dollar for years." in this resourceless condition--a condition, which, it may be well to say in this place, continued throughout the war, they made their way with difficulty until they joined the continental army. gates had superseded de kalb in its command, and was pressing forward, with the ambition, seemingly, of writing a dispatch like caesar's, announcing, in the same breath, the sight and conquest of his enemy. marion and his little troop of twenty men, made but a sorry figure in the presence of the continental general. gates was a man of moderate abilities, a vain man, of a swelling and ostentatious habit, whose judgment was very apt to be affected by parade, and the external show of things. some of his leading opinions were calculated to show that he was unfit for a commander in the south. for example, he thought little of cavalry, which, in a plain country, sparsely settled, was among the first essentials of success, as well in securing intelligence, as in procuring supplies. it was not calculated therefore to raise the troop of our partisan in his esteem, to discover that they were all good riders and well mounted. marion, himself, was a man equally modest in approach and unimposing in person. his followers may have provoked the sneer of the general, as it certainly moved the scorn and laughter of his well-equipped continentals. we have a description of them from the pen of an excellent officer, the adjutant general of gates' army. he says, "col. marion, a gentleman of south carolina, had been with the army a few days, attended by a very few followers, distinguished by small leather caps, and the wretchedness of their attire; their number did not exceed twenty men and boys, some white, some black, and all mounted, but most of them miserably equipped; their appearance was in fact so burlesque, that it was with much difficulty the diversion of the regular soldiery was restrained by the officers; and the general himself was glad of an opportunity of detaching col. marion, at his own instance, towards the interior of south carolina, with orders to watch the motions of the enemy and furnish intelligence."* * narrative of the campaign of , by col. otho williams.-- from such small and insignificant beginnings flow greatness and great performances. we, who are in possession of all the subsequent events--who see this proud, vain commander, hurrying on with the rapidity of madness to his own ruin--can but smile in the perusal of such a narrative, not at the rags of marion's men, but at the undiscerning character of those who could see, in the mean equipment, the imperfect clothing, the mixture of man and boy, and white and black, anything but a noble patriotism, which, in such condition, was still content to carry on a war against a powerful enemy. the very rags and poverty of this little band, which was afterwards to become so famous, were so many proofs of their integrity and virtue, and should have inspired respect rather than ridicule. they were so many guarantees of good service which they were able and prepared to render. it was in defiance of the temptations and the power of the foe, that these men had taken the field against him, and had gates been a wise commander, he would have seen even through their rags and destitution, the small but steady light of patriotism; which, enkindled throughout the state by the example of marion, sumter, and a few others, was to blaze out finally into that perfect brightness before which the invader was to shrink confounded. gates was wise enough to take counsel of marion, if nothing more; and even this might not have been done, but for the suggestions of governor rutledge, who, at that time in the camp of the continentals, might very well have informed him of the value of the man whose followers inspired only ridicule. it was with marion that the plan was concerted, and not improbably at his suggestion, for moving into the very heart of the state. this, subsequently, was the policy of greene, and had gates adopted the deliberate caution of that commander, his successes would unquestionably have been the same. the object of such a movement was to give an opportunity to the native patriots to rally--to compel the british to concentrate their scattered forces, call in their detached parties, and thus circumscribe their influence, within the state, to the places where they still remained in force. to effect these objects, the fabian maxims of warfare should have been those of the american general. few of his militia had ever seen an enemy. he had but recently joined his troops, knew nothing of them, and they as little of him. their march had been a fatiguing one. time and training were necessary pre-requisites for their improvement and his success. unhappily, these were the very agents with which the vanity of the unfortunate commander made him most willing to dispense. the victory at saratoga had spoiled him for ever, and thinking too much of himself, he committed the next great error of a military man, of thinking too lightly of his foe. it would be idle and perhaps impertinent, to suggest that if marion had been suffered to remain with him, the issue of this march might have been more fortunate. gates was quite too vain-glorious to listen and marion quite too moderate to obtrude his opinions; and yet marion was a man of equal prudence and adroitness. he could insinuate advice, so that it would appear to self-conceit the very creature of its own conceptions. had marion remained, could gates have listened, we are very sure there would have been no such final, fatal disaster as suddenly stopped the misdirected progress of the continental army. there would have been some redeeming circumstances to qualify the catastrophe. all would not have been lost. at all events, with marion at their head, the militia would have fought awhile,--would have discharged their pieces, once, twice, thrice, before they fled. they would have done for the born-leader of militia, what they refused to do for a commander who neither knew how to esteem, nor how to conduct them. it was while marion was in the camp of gates, that a messenger from the whigs of williamsburg, then newly risen in arms, summoned him to be their leader. it was in consequence of this invitation, and not because of the awkwardness of his position there, that he determined to penetrate into south carolina, in advance of the american army. such an invitation was not to be neglected. marion well knew its importance, and at once accepted the commission conferred upon him by governor rutledge. he took leave of gates accordingly, having received, as is reported, certain instructions from that unhappy commander, to employ his men in the destruction of all the scows, boats, ferry-flats and barges on the route, by which the enemy might make his escape. the fancy of the american general already beheld the army of lord cornwallis in full flight. his great solicitude seems to have been how to secure his captives. he had, strangely enough for a military man, never taken counsel of the farm-yard proverb, which we need not here repeat for the benefit of the reader.* with the departure of marion, his better genius left him,--the only man, who, in command of the militia, might have saved him from destruction. leaving our partisan, with his little squad, to make his way cautiously through a country infested with tories, we follow for the present the progress of the continental army. on the night of the fifteenth of august, , the americans moved from rugely's mills. at midnight, without dreaming of an enemy, they encountered him. the first intelligence communicated to either army of the presence of the other, was from the fire of the british advance upon the americans. the two armies recoiled and lay upon their arms the rest of the night. so far the affair was indecisive. the americans had sustained themselves in the face of some disadvantages, chiefly the result of their leader's imprudence. a night march of raw militia in the face of a foe, and in column of battle, was itself an error which a sagacious commander would never have made. it is not to be denied, that the americans were not satisfied with their situation. some of their officers openly declared their discontent. but it was too late for a retrograde movement, nor is it likely, feeling as he did and sanguine as he was, that gates would have believed any such movement necessary. the ground was equally unknown to both commanders; but cornwallis had one advantage: he was in the command of veterans, who are generally cool enough in such situations to look about them, and make the most of their exigencies. the american line was soon formed and in waiting for the dawn and the enemy. the first maryland division, including the delawares under de kalb, was posted on the right; the virginia militia under stevens on the left; the north carolinians, led by caswell in the centre; and the artillery, in battery, upon the road. both wings rested on morasses, and the second maryland brigade was posted as a reserve, a few hundred yards in the rear of the first. the british formed a single line, with each wing covered and supported by a body in reserve. they were much less numerous than the americans, but they were picked men, the choice of the regiments in charleston and camden. the american militia, of which the greater part of gates' army consisted, had never felt an enemy's fire. the maryland and delaware troops were good soldiers, well trained and in confidence of their leaders. with the break of day, and the advance of the american left, the action began. this division of the army consisted of virginia militia under stevens. handled with unexpected severity by the british fire, they yielded before it and fled in panic, many of them without even discharging their pieces. the wretched example was followed by the north carolina militia, with the exception of a single corps, commanded by major dixon. the cavalry under armand, a foreign adventurer, broke at nearly the same moment; and a charge of the british cavalry, happily timed, put an end to all hope of rallying the terror-stricken fugitives. the devoted continentals alone kept their ground and bore the brunt of the action. they were led by the veteran de kalb--the commander-in-chief having hurried from the field in a vain attempt to bring the militia back. the artillery was lost, the cavalry dispersed;--the regulars, numbering but nine hundred men, were required to bear the undivided pressure of two thousand of the best troops in the british service. with the example before them, the desertion of their general, and their own perfect isolation, they would have been justified by the necessity of the case, in instant flight. but, as if the cowardice of their countrymen had stung them into a determination to show, at all hazards, that they, at least, were made of very different stuff, they not only resisted the attack of the enemy, but carried the bayonet into his ranks. the combatants rushed and reeled together with locked weapons. but this struggle could not last. the conflict was prolonged only until the british cavalry could return from pursuing the fugitives. their sabres gave the finishing stroke to the affair. de kalb had fallen under eleven wounds, and nothing remained, but flight, to save this gallant body from the mortification of surrender on the field of battle. it was no consolation to gates, while fleeing to north carolina, to be overtaken by messengers from sumter, announcing a gallant achievement of that brave partisan, by which forty wagons of booty and nearly three hundred prisoners had fallen into his hands. such tidings only mocked his own disaster. he could only, in reply, relate his own irretrievable defeat, point to his fugitives, and counsel sumter to immediate retreat from his triumphant and now returning enemy. unhappily, ignorant of gates' disaster, and of a bold, incautious temper, sumter was approaching, rather than hastening from, danger. his flight, when he did retire, was not sufficiently rapid, nor sufficiently prudent. he was one of those men who too quickly feel themselves secure. he was surprised by tarleton, but two days after, his troops utterly dispersed, he, too, a fugitive like gates, with all the fruits of his late victory taken from his grasp. in almost every instance where the americans suffered defeat, the misfortune was due to a want of proper caution--an unobservance of some of the simplest rules of military prudence. in a brilliant sortie, a manful charge, a sudden onslaught, no troops could have surpassed them--nay, we find as many examples of the sternest powers of human endurance, under the severest trials of firmness, in their military history, as in that of any other people. but to secure what they had won--to be consistently firm--always on their guard and beyond surprise,--were lessons which they were slow to acquire--which they learned at last only under the heaviest penalties of blood. marion was one of the few captains of american militia, that never suffered himself to be taken napping. * as farm-yards are becoming rare, it may benefit future readers to know that this proverb is almost certainly, "don't count your chickens before they hatch."--a. l., .-- chapter . organization of "marion's brigade"--surprise of tories under gainey--defeat of barfield--capture of british guard with prisoners at nelson's ferry. the people of williamsburg, by whom marion was summoned from the camp of gates, were sprung generally from irish parentage. they inherited, in common with all the descendants of the irish in america, a hearty detestation of the english name and authority. this feeling rendered them excellent patriots and daring soldiers, wherever the british lion was the object of hostility. those of whom we are now to speak, the people of williamsburg, were men generally of fearless courage, powerful frame, well-strung nerves, and an audacious gallantry that led them to delight in dangers, even where the immediate objects by no means justified the risk. they felt that "rapture of the strife", in which the goth exulted. in addition to these natural endowments for a brave soldiery, they were good riders and famous marksmen--hunters, that knew the woods almost as well by night as by day--could wind about and through the camp of an enemy, as free from suspicion as the velvet-footed squirrel, who, from the lateral branches of the pine, looks over their encampment. they possessed resources of knowledge and ingenuity, while in swamp and thicket, not merely to avoid the danger, but, in not unfrequent instances, to convert it to their own advantage. nothing but the training and direction of such a mind as marion's was needed to make, of these men, the most efficient of all partisan soldiery. the formation of the brigade of which he now prepared to take command, has a history of its own which is worth telling. the fame which it subsequently acquired in connection with its leader's name, and which the local traditions will not willingly let die, will justify us in the narration. some few preliminary facts are necessary. the fall of charleston, and the dispersion or butchery of those parties which had kept the field after that event, necessarily depressed the spirits and discouraged the attempt of the scattered patriots who still yearned to oppose the invaders. the captivity of many of the leaders to whom they were accustomed to look for counsel and direction, and the flight of others, served still further to dissipate any hopes or purposes which they might have had of concentration. thousands fled to the north, and embodied themselves under washington and other american generals, despairing of the cause at home. everything appeared to be lost, and a timely proclamation of sir henry clinton, a few days after the surrender of charleston, tended yet more to subdue the spirit of resistance. the proclamation proffered "pardon to the inhabitants" with some few exceptions, "for their past treasonable offences, and a reinstatement in their rights and immunities heretofore enjoyed, exempt from taxation, except by their own legislature." this specious offer, made at a moment when his power was at its height, everywhere unquestioned and unopposed, indicated a degree of magnanimity, which in the case of those thousands in every such contest, who love repose better than virtue, was everywhere calculated to disarm the inhabitants. to many indeed it seemed to promise all for which they had been contending. it offered security from further injury, protection against the tories who were using the authority of the british for their own purposes of plunder and revenge, a respite from their calamities, and a restoration of all their rights. with the immunities thus proffered, with the further conviction that further struggle against british power was hopeless, with the assurance, indeed, which was industriously conveyed to them from all quarters, that congress, not able to assist, had resolved upon yielding the provinces of south carolina and georgia to the enemy, as considerations for the independence of the other colonies--they accepted the terms thus offered them by the british commander, and, in great numbers, signed declarations of allegiance, received protection as subjects of the crown, or, as prisoners of war, were paroled to their plantations. could the british have persevered in this policy, had they kept faith with the inhabitants, they might much longer have held possession of the country. but, either they were not sincere in their first professions, or their subsequent necessities compelled them to adopt a less rational policy. twenty days had not elapsed from the publication of the first proclamation when it was followed by another, which so entirely qualified and impaired the character of the former, as to revolt the people whom it had invited, and to impress them with the conviction that they had been imposed upon--that the first measure was a mere decoy,--a trap involving their pledges, yet withholding the very securities for which they had been given. this second proclamation, premising that it was necessary for all good citizens to uphold his majesty's government, proceeded to discharge from protection and parole all persons to whom such papers had been accorded. all persons not absolutely prisoners of war, taken in arms, were to be reinstated in their former positions as citizens--but, as citizens of the british empire. in this relation the farther inferences were inevitable. they were now actually to support his majesty's government. the proclamation ended with the usual penalties--all who neglected to return to their allegiance were to be treated as rebels. the policy thus adopted by the british commander soon made them so. the object of the carolinians, in taking protections and paroles, was to avoid further warfare. the second proclamation of the british general required them to take up arms for his majesty, and against their countrymen. this was a hopeful plan by which to fill the british regiments, to save farther importations of hessians, farther cost of mercenaries, and, as in the case of the aborigines, to employ the anglo-american race against one another. the loyalists of the south were to be used against the patriots of the north, as the loyalists of the latter region had been employed to put down the liberties of the former. it was a short and ingenious process for finishing the rebellion; and, could it have entirely succeeded, as in part it did, it would have entitled sir henry clinton to very far superior laurels, as a civilian, than he ever won as a soldier. the value of the americans, as soldiers, was very well known to the british general. some of the most sanguinary battles of the revolution were those in which the combatants on both sides were chiefly natives of the soil, upon which a portion of them but too freely shed their blood in a sincere desire to bolster up that foreign tyranny that mocked the generous valor which it employed. the effect of this second proclamation of the british commander was such as he scarcely anticipated. the readiness with which numbers of the people had accepted paroles and protections, declared, at most, nothing but their indifference to the contest--declared no preference for british domination. in this lay the error of the conqueror. the natural feeling of the people, thus entrapped, was that of indignation. their determination might have been conjectured by any reasoning mind. compelled to take up arms--not permitted to enjoy that repose with their families, for which they sought the offered immunities of the british--it was more easy to espouse the cause of their countrymen, to which their affections were really given, than that of the invader. they had committed a great and humbling error in the endeavor to escape the conflict--in taking the proffered protection of a power which had seized with violence upon their native land. it was with some eagerness, therefore, that they threw aside its obligations, and, as opportunity presented itself, girded on their armor, and sallied forth to join their countrymen. among the first to do so were the men by whom marion was summoned from the camp of gates. these brave fellows, occupying a portion of the country stretching from the santee to the pedee, including the whole of the present district of williamsburg, and a part of marion, were not altogether prepared to understand these british proclamations. they were no great politicians, had no love of blind vassalage, and naturally suspected all liberality of british origin. they wished for certain explanations before they sent in their adhesion. not that they calculated upon resistance. this, no doubt, seemed to them as hopeless as it appeared in all other parts of the state. but their insulated position, which left them uninformed as to the true condition of things, was, at the same time, a source of their courage and indifference. as yet, the arms of the british had not penetrated into their settlements. they were naturally anxious to prevent their doing so. under these circumstances, they held a gathering of their best men for the purpose of consulting upon their affairs. the twin proclamations--how unlike!--of the british commander, were before them: and, in their primitive assembly, they sat down to discuss their separate merits. these confused rather than enlightened them, and it was resolved to send one of their number, in whom they had most confidence, to the nearest british authority, in order that their difficulties should be explained and their doubts satisfied. there was one sterling family among them of the name of james. of this family there were five brothers, john, william, gavin, robert and james. no men under marion were braver or truer than these. fearless, strong and active, they were always ready for the foe; the first in attack, the last in retreat. there were other branches of this family who partook largely of the qualities of the five brothers. of these, the eldest, major john james, was chosen the representative of the men of williamsburg. this gentleman had been their representative in the provincial assembly--he was in command of them as state militia. they gave him their fullest confidence, and he deserved it. under this appointment, major james repaired to georgetown, the nearest british post, which was then under the command of one captain ardesoif. attired as a plain backwoodsman, james obtained an interview with ardesoif, and, in prompt and plain terms, entered at once upon the business for which he came. but when he demanded the meaning of the british protection, and asked upon what terms the submission of the citizens was to be made, he was peremptorily informed that "the submission must be unconditional." to an inquiry, whether the inhabitants were to be allowed to remain upon their plantations, he was answered in the negative. "his majesty," said ardesoif, "offers you a free pardon, of which you are undeserving, for you all ought to be hanged; but it is only on condition that you take up arms in his cause." james, whom we may suppose to have been very far from relishing the tone and language in which he was addressed, very coolly replied, that "the people whom he came to represent, would scarcely submit on such conditions." the republican language of the worthy major provoked the representative of royalty. the word 'represent', in particular, smote hardly on his ears; something, too, in the cool, contemptuous manner of the major, may have contributed to his vexation. "represent!" he exclaimed in a fury--"you d----d rebel, if you dare speak in such language, i will have you hung up at the yard-arm!" ardesoif, it must be known, was a sea captain. the ship which he commanded lay in the neighboring river. he used only a habitual form of speech when he threatened the "yard-arm", instead of the tree. major james gave him no time to make the correction. he was entirely weaponless, and ardesoif wore a sword; but the inequality, in the moment of his anger, was unfelt by the high-spirited citizen. suddenly rising, he seized upon the chair on which he had been sitting, and floored the insolent subordinate at a blow; then hurrying forth without giving his enemy time to recover, he mounted his horse, and made his escape to the woods before pursuit could be attempted. his people were soon assembled to hear his story. the exactions of the british, and the spirit which james had displayed, in resenting the insolence of ardesoif, at once aroused their own. required to take the field, it did not need a moment to decide "under which king". the result of their deliberations was the formation of "marion's brigade". four captains were chosen for as many companies. these were, captains william m'cottry, henry mouzon, john james (of the lake, a cousin of major james), and john m'cauley. these were all under the one command of our representative to ardesoif. he instantly put them into motion, and, after some petty successes against small parties of british and tories, he advanced one of the four companies, m'cottry's, to the pass of lynch's creek, at witherspoon's ferry. here m'cottry heard of col. tarleton, and proceeded to encounter him. tarleton had been apprised of the gatherings at williamsburg, and, at the head of some seventy men, was pressing forward with the hope of surprising james. m'cottry, more brave perhaps than prudent, after sending back to james for a reinforcement, set forward to give tarleton battle. the british colonel had taken post at kingstree. m'cottry approached him at midnight. it happened, perhaps fortunately for the former, that tarleton had received some very exaggerated accounts of m'cottry's force, which the boldness of his approach seemed to confirm. taking the alarm accordingly, he disappeared in season, leaving to m'cottry the 'eclat' which necessarily attended his attempt. the excesses of tarleton, while on this progress, and the crimes committed in the same neighborhood by other british captains about the same time, completed the movement which the native spirit of patriotism in the men of williamsburg had so happily begun. the whole country was soon awakened--individuals and groups everywhere beginning to show themselves in arms, and nothing was needed but an embodied force of the americans, upon which they could concentrate themselves and rally with effect. it was on the th or th of august, some four days before the defeat of gates, that marion reached the post at lynch's creek, where m'cottry had taken his position. he was commissioned by governor rutledge to take command of the country in this quarter, and we will henceforth distinguish him as general marion, although it is not so certain at what period he actually received this promotion;--we find him in possession of it in the following december. of his personal appearance at this time we have a brief but striking account from the hands of the venerable judge james--a son of the major--who had the honor to serve under marion at the age of fifteen. "he was a stranger," says the judge, "to the officers and men, and they flocked about him to obtain a sight of their future commander. he was rather below the middle stature, lean and swarthy. his body was well set, but his knees and ankles were badly formed, and he still limped upon one leg. he had a countenance remarkably steady; his nose was aquiline, his chin projecting; his forehead large and high, and his eyes black and piercing. he was then forty-eight years of age, with a frame capable of enduring fatigue and every privation." of his dress, by which we may form some idea of that costume which had provoked the laughter of gates' veterans, we have a description also, furnished us by the same excellent authority. we know not but that this description will provoke the smile of the reader. but, of such persons, in the language of the judge, "even trifles become important." "he (marion) was dressed in a close round-bodied crimson jacket, of a coarse texture, and wore a leather cap, part of the uniform of the second regiment, with a silver crescent in front, inscribed with the words, 'liberty or death!'" such regimentals show rather the exigencies than the tastes of our partisan. this scarlet cloth, of which his vest was made, was almost the only kind of color which the carolinians could procure after the conquest of charleston. the british seemed to distribute it with the protections and pardons, perhaps as a popular mode of disseminating their principles. moultrie somewhere tells a ludicrous anecdote of some americans (prisoners on parole) who were nearly cut to pieces by a party of their countrymen, in consequence of their scarlet jackets. they had taken the precaution to dye them with some native roots, but the dye had disappeared, leaving the original color nearly as vivid as before. according to weems, marion made rather a theatrical display on taking command of his brigade. he swore them in a circle upon their swords, never to yield the contest until they had secured their own and the liberties of their country. there is no authority for this statement, either in the work of james, in the ms. of horry, or in any of the authorities. there is no doubt that such were his own sentiments, and such the sentiments which he strove to impart to all his followers; but the scene as described by the reverend historian was quite too artificial and theatrical for the tastes of marion. it does not accord with what we know of his modesty, his unaffected nature, and the general simplicity of his manners. he instilled his lessons by examples rather than by speeches. his words were usually very few. he secured the fidelity of his men by carrying them bravely into action, and bringing them honorably out of it. marion's career of activity commenced with his command. though always prudent, he yet learned that prudence in military life must always imply activity. the insecurity of the encampment, with a militia force, is always greater than that of battle. the roman captains of celebrity were particularly aware of this truth. but the activity of marion was necessarily straitened by the condition in which he found his men. they were wretchedly deficient in all the materials of service. his first effort to supply some of their wants, was in sacking the saw-mills. the saws were wrought and hammered by rude blacksmiths into some resemblance to sabres, and thus provided, marion set his men in motion, two days after taking the command. crossing the pedee at port's ferry, he advanced upon a large body of tories commanded by major gainey, who held a position upon britton's neck. gainey was considered by the british an excellent partisan officer, but he was caught napping. marion moved with equal secrecy and celerity. after riding all night, he came upon the enemy at dawn in the morning. the discovery and the attack were one. the surprise was complete. a captain and several privates were slain, and the party dispersed. marion did not lose a man, and had but two wounded. in this engagement, our representative, major james, distinguished himself, by singling out major gainey for personal combat. but gainey shrank from his more powerful assailant, and sought safety in flight. james pursued for a distance of half a mile. in the eagerness of the chase he did not perceive that he was alone and unsupported. it was enough that he was gaining upon his enemy, who was almost within reach of his sword, when the chase brought them suddenly upon a body of tories who had rallied upon the road. there was not a moment to be lost. hesitation would have been fatal. but our gallant major was not to be easily intimidated. with great coolness and presence of mind, waving his sword aloft, he cried out, "come on, boys! here they are!" and rushed headlong upon the group of enemies, as if perfectly assured of support. the ruse was successful. the tories broke once more, and sought safety from their individual enemy in the recesses of pedee swamp. marion did not suffer the courage of his men to cool. in twenty-four hours after this event, he was again in motion. hearing of the proximity of another body of tories, under captain barfield, he advanced against him with as much celerity and caution as before. but he found barfield strongly posted, in greater force than he expected; warned of his approach and waiting for him. it was no part of marion's practice to expose his men unnecessarily. he had too few, to risk the loss of any precious lives, where this was to be avoided. he determined upon a different mode of managing his enemy, and resorted to a stratagem, which, subsequently, he frequently made use of. putting a select party of his men in ambush near the blue savannah, he feigned retreat with another, and thus beguiled his enemy from his strong position. the result accorded with his wishes. barfield followed and fell into the snare. the defeat was equally complete with that of gainey. the conduct and skill, in managing his raw militia-men, which these two achievements displayed, naturally inspired his followers with confidence in themselves and their leader. they produced a corresponding effect upon the people of the country, and were productive of no small annoyance to the tories, who were thus suddenly reminded that there might be retribution for crime even when sheltered under the dragon folds of england. another benefit from these occurrences was in better providing the brigade with some of the proper weapons and munitions of war. among the recent captures of marion were two old field-pieces. returning to port's ferry, he threw up a redoubt on the east bank of the pedee, upon which he mounted them. he seldom troubled himself with such heavy baggage, and probably disposed of them in this way, quite as much to disencumber himself of them, as with any such motive, as was alleged, when placing them in battery, of overawing the tories by their presence. movements of so rapid a kind, and so frequently made as his, requiring equal dispatch and secrecy, forbade the use of artillery; and he very well knew, that, to employ men for the maintenance of isolated posts--such posts as he could establish,--would have no other effect than to expose his brigade to the chances of being cut up in detail. on the th august, the day following the defeat of gates,--of which event he was as yet wholly ignorant--he dispatched col. peter horry, with orders to take command of four companies, bonneau's, mitchell's, benson's and lenud's, near georgetown, on the santee; to destroy all the boats and canoes on the river from the lower ferry to lenud's--to break up and stop all communications with charleston, and to procure, if possible, supplies of gunpowder, flints and bullets. "twenty-five weight of gunpowder, ball or buckshot," is the language of his orders. this will show how scanty were the supplies which were to be procured of the material upon which everything depended. marion frequently went into action with less than three rounds to a man--half of his men were sometimes lookers on because of the lack of arms and ammunition--waiting to see the fall of friends or enemies, in order to obtain the necessary means of taking part in the affair. buck-shot easily satisfied soldiers, who not unfrequently advanced to the combat with nothing but swan-shot in their fowling-pieces. while horry proceeded towards georgetown, marion marched to the upper santee. on this march he was advised of the defeat of gates; but, fearing its effect upon his men, without communicating it, he proceeded immediately toward nelson's ferry. this was a well known pass on the great route, the "war-path", from charleston to camden. here his scouts advised him of the approach of a strong british guard, with a large body of prisoners taken from gates. the guards had stopped at a house on the east side of the river. informed of all necessary particulars, marion, a little before daylight, detached col. hugh horry, with sixteen men, to gain possession of the road, at the pass of horse creek, in the swamp, while the main body under himself was to attack the enemy's rear. the attempt was made at dawn, and was perfectly successful. a letter from marion himself, to col. p. horry, thus details the event:--"on the th inst. i attacked a guard of the d and prince of wales' regiment, with a number of tories, at the great savannah, near nelson's ferry; killed and took twenty-two regulars, and two tories prisoners, and retook one hundred and fifty continentals of the maryland line, one wagon and a drum; one captain and a subaltern were also captured. our loss is one killed, and captain benson is slightly wounded on the head." it will scarcely be believed that, of this hundred and fifty continentals, but three men consented to join the ranks of their liberator. it may be that they were somewhat loth to be led, even though it were to victory, by the man whose ludicrous equipments and followers, but a few weeks before, had only provoked their merriment. the reason given for their refusal, however, was not deficient in force. "they considered the cause of the country to be hopeless. they were risking life without an adequate object." the defeat of gates, and his bad generalship, which they had so recently witnessed, were, perhaps, quite sufficient reasons to justify their misgivings. this disastrous event did not produce like despondency in our partisan or his followers, though it furnished reasons for the greatest circumspection. at this moment marion's was the only body of american troops in the state, openly opposed to the triumphant progress of the british. the continentals were dispersed or captured; the virginia and north carolina militia scattered to the four winds; sumter's legion cut up by tarleton, and he himself a fugitive, fearless and active still, but as yet seeking, rather than commanding, a force. though small and seemingly insignificant, the force of marion had shown what might be done, with the spirit and the personnel of the country, under competent leaders. the cruelties of the british, who subjected the vanquished to the worst treatment of war, helped his endeavors. shortly after the victory over gates, lord cornwallis addressed an order to the british commandants at the several posts throughout the country, of which the following are extracts: "i have given orders that all of the inhabitants of this province who have subscribed, and have taken part in this revolt, should be punished with the greatest rigor; and also those who will not turn out, that they may be imprisoned and their whole property taken from them or destroyed.... i have ordered in the most positive manner that every militia man, who has borne arms with us, and afterwards joined the enemy, shall be immediately hanged!" this gentleman has been called, by some of the american writers, the "amiable cornwallis". it is rather difficult to say for which of his qualities this dulcet epithet was bestowed. the preceding may well justify us in the doubt we venture to express, whether it was not given as much in mockery as compliment. but, lest his commands should not be understood, as not sufficiently explicit, his lordship proceeded to furnish examples of his meaning, which left his desires beyond reasonable question. immediately after his return to camden, he stained the laurels of his recent victory, and celebrated his triumph over gates, by hanging some twelve or fifteen wretched prisoners, old men and boys, who were only suspected of treachery to the royal cause. similar barbarities were practised by subordinate officers, emulative of this example of their superior, or in obedience to his orders. but, fortunately for the country, even this brutality, which was intended to alarm the fears of the people, and do that which the arts of their conqueror had failed to effect, was not productive of the desired results. it drove the indignant into the field--it shamed the unwilling into decision--it spurred on the inert and inactive to exertion, and armed the doubtful and the timid with resolution. it sent hundreds, whom nothing had moved before, into the ranks of marion and sumter. the moment of defeat and greatest despondency--the dark before the dawn--was that when the people of the country were preparing to display the most animating signs of life. the very fact that the force of marion was so insignificant, was something in favor of that courage and patriotism, that confidence in his own resources and his men, which, defying all the inequalities of force, could move him to traverse the very paths of the conqueror, and pluck his prisoners from his very grasp. the audacity and skill of marion, exhibited in numerous small achievements of which history furnishes no particulars, extorted a reluctant confession from the enemy, whose unwilling language will suffice for our own. tarleton writes: "mr. marion,* by his zeal and abilities, showed himself capable of the trust committed to his charge. he collected his adherents at the shortest notice, and, after making excursions into the friendly districts, or threatening the communications, to avoid pursuit he disbanded his followers. the alarms occasioned by these insurrections, frequently retarded supplies on their way to the army; and a late report of marion's strength delayed the junction of the recruits who had arrived from new york for the corps in the country." the th regiment of infantry was ordered to nelson's ferry from charleston, and directions were given to lieut. col. tarleton to pass the wateree to awe the insurgents.** cornwallis writes to tarleton: "i most sincerely hope that you will get at mr. marion." in short, to use the further language of the british colonel, marion completely overran the lower districts. he cut off supplies from the army, broke up the tories, destroyed recruiting parties, intercepted and interrupted communications, and, darting to and fro between the british posts, which he had not the power to overcome, showed that nothing but that power was necessary to enable him to challenge with them the possession of the soil. that he should disband his men at one moment, and be able by a word to bring them together when they were again wanted, proves a singular alliance between the chieftain and his followers, which is characteristic only of the most romantic history. it shows a power, on the part of the former, such as we ascribe to the winding of the magic horn of astolfo, which few commanders of militia have ever had the skill to produce. evidently, the personal and patriotic influences were very equally strong, to occasion such prompt fidelity, in his case, on the part of his followers. * the british officers betrayed a singular reluctance to accord to the americans their military titles. the reader will recollect the letter of general gage to mr. washington, which the latter very properly refused to receive. the very attempt here made to sneer away the official, adds to the personal importance of the individual; and we yield to plain mr. marion, with his ragged followers, who, untitled, could give such annoyance to his majesty's officers, a degree of respect which his title might not otherwise have commanded. ** tarleton's campaigns, to ed. p. .-- chapter . marion retreats before a superior force--defeats the tories at black mingo--surprises and disperses the force of colonel tynes at tarcote--is pursued by tarleton. the solicitude manifested by the british commander in the south to get marion from his path, soon set the legion of tarleton, and a strong force under major wemyss, in motion for his retreats. the progress of tarleton was somewhat delayed, and his cooperation with wemyss prevented. the latter pushed his advance with equal spirit and address. marion had with him but one hundred and fifty men, when he heard of the approach of his enemies. his force, it must be remembered, was of a peculiar kind, and was constantly fluctuating. his men had cares other than those of their country's liberties. young and tender families were to be provided for and guarded in the thickets where they found shelter. these were often threatened in the absence of their protectors by marauding bands of tories, who watched the moment of the departure of the whigs, to rise upon the weak, and rob and harass the unprotected. the citizen soldiery were thus doubly employed, and had cares to endure, and duties to perform, from which regular troops are usually exempt, and for which regular officers seldom make allowance. the good judgment of marion, taking these necessities into consideration, exercised that patience with the militia which secured their fidelity. when he found this or that body of men anxious about their families, he yielded most generally without reluctance to their wishes. this indulgence had its effects. their return was certain. they seldom lingered beyond the time at which they had pledged themselves to reappear. it was in consequence of this indulgence that his force was thus reduced when the british approach was known. wemyss was in command of the d regiment. he was accompanied by a large body of tories under major harrison. they moved with caution and speed, but the american general was on the alert. he dispatched major james with a select body of volunteers to reconnoitre. his various outposts were called in, and with his whole present strength, thus united, marion followed on the footsteps of james, prepared, if the chances promised him success, for doing battle with his enemy. major james, meanwhile, who was equally bold and skilful, pressed forward fearlessly till he became aware of the proximity of the british. he was resolved to make sure of his intelligence. he placed himself in a thicket on their line of march, and by a bright moon, was readily enabled to form a very correct notion of their character and numbers. but as the rear-guard passed by, his courageous spirit prompted further performances. he was not content to carry to his general no other proofs of his vigilance but the tidings which he had obtained. his perfect knowledge of the ground, his confidence in the excellent character of his men, and the speed of their horses, moved him to greater daring; and, bursting from his hiding-place, with a terrible shout, he swooped down with his small party upon the startled stragglers in the rear of the tory march, carrying off his prisoners in the twinkling of an eye, without stopping to slay, and without suffering the loss of a man. before the enemy could rally, and turn upon his path, the tread of the partisan's horse no longer sounded in his ears. the intelligence which james bore to his commander was scarcely so encouraging. he reported the british regulars to be double their own force in number, while the tories in the rear were alone estimated at five hundred men. retreat, perhaps dispersion, was now inevitable. this was the sort of game, which, in his feebleness, and under the pressure of a very superior foe, our partisan was compelled to play. it was sometimes a humiliating one, and always attended with some discouragements. the evil effects, however, were only temporary. his men never retired beyond his reach. they came again at a call, refreshed by the respite, and assured by the conviction that their commander was quite as careful of their lives as themselves. such a game was not without its interest, and its peculiarities were such as to give animation to the valor which it exercised. in these peculiarities of his warfare, lies that secret charm which has made tradition, in the southern country, linger so long and so fondly upon the name of marion. judge james gives us, in few words, a lively idea of the consultation which followed the return and the report of major james. "about an hour before day, marion met the major half a mile from his plantation. the officers immediately dismounted and retired to consult; the men sat on their horses in a state of anxious suspense. the conference was long and animated. at the end of it, an order was given to direct the march back to lynch's creek (the route to north carolina), and no sooner was it given than a bitter groan might have been heard along the whole line. a bitter cup had now been mingled for the people of williamsburg and pedee, and they were doomed to drain it to the dregs, but in the end it proved a salutary medicine." the evil here deplored was the temporary abandonment, for the first time, of this particular section of country. hitherto, the enemy had never appeared in their neighborhood with such a force as enabled them to overrun it without fear of opposition. now, they were destined to suffer from those tender mercies of british and tories, which had written their chronicles in blood and flame, wherever their footsteps had gone before. bitter, indeed, was the medicine, to whom its taste was new. but, as writes the venerable biographer, it was salutary in the end. it strengthened their souls for the future trial. it made them more resolute in the play. with their own houses in smoking ruins, and their own wives and children homeless and wandering, they could better feel what was due to the sufferings of their common country. it was at sunset the next evening that marion commenced his flight to north carolina. he kept with him only sixty men. the rest dropped off by degrees as they approached their several hiding-places, lying snug, until they again heard the signal of their commander,--frequently nothing but a whisper,--which once more brought them forth, to turn the pursuit upon their enemies and avenge themselves by sudden onslaught for the ruin of their homesteads. on this retreat, marion took with him the two field-pieces which we found him placing in battery on the pedee a short time before. his desire to save these pieces was due rather to the supposed effect which their possession had upon the minds of the tories, than because of any real intrinsic use which they possessed in his hands. they encumbered his flight, however, and he disposed of them, finally, without compunction. wheeling them into a swamp he left them, where, possibly, they remain to this day, the object of occasional start and wonderment to the stalking deer-hunter. this, says judge james, "was the last instance of military parade evinced by the general." marching day and night he arrived at amy's mill, on drowning creek. from this place, he sent forth his parties, back to south carolina, to gain intelligence and rouse the militia. he himself continued his march. he pitched his camp finally, on the east side of the white marsh, near the head of the waccamaw. there may have been a motive, other than the desire for safety, which led marion to choose and retain this position. the borders of north carolina swarmed with tories, chiefly descendants of the scotch, who constituted, on frequent subsequent occasions, the perplexing enemies with whom our partisan had to contend. it is not improbable, though history does not declare the fact, that he chose the present occasion for overawing the scattered parties, who were always stretching with lawless footsteps from cape fear to the great pedee. it was while he lay at this place, that the venerable judge james, then a boy of sixteen, had the honor, for the first time, to dine with marion. it was in the absence of major james, the father of the boy, who was one of the volunteers sent back to south carolina. the artless description which the judge has given us of this event, so characteristic of marion, and of the necessities to which he was habitually compelled to submit, will better please than a much more elaborate narrative. "the dinner was set before the company by the general's servant, oscar, partly on a pine log and partly on the ground. it consisted of lean beef, without salt, and sweet potatoes. the author had left a small pot of boiled hominy in his camp, and requested leave of his host to send for it, and the proposal was gladly acquiesced in. the hominy had salt in it, and proved, though eaten out of the pot, a most acceptable repast. the general said but little, and that was chiefly what a son would be most likely to be gratified by, in the praise of his father. we had nothing to drink but bad water; and all the company appeared to be rather grave." that the party should be rather grave, flying from their homes and a superior foe, eating unsalted pottage, and drinking bad water, was, perhaps, natural enough. that this gravity should appear doubly impressive to a lad of sixteen, in a presence which he was taught to venerate, was still more likely to be the case. but marion, though a cheerful man, wore ordinarily a grave, sedate expression of countenance. never darkened by gloom, it was seldom usurped by mere merriment. he had no uproarious humor. his tastes were delicate, his habits gentle, his sensibilities warm and watchful. at most a quiet smile lighted up his features, and he could deal in little gushes of humor, of which there was a precious fountain at the bottom of his heart. that he was capable of a sharp sarcasm, was also generally understood among his friends. horry remarks, that few men ever excelled him at retort. but he was singularly considerate of the sensibilities of others, and had his temper under rare command. his powers of forbearance were remarkable. his demeanor, whether in triumph or despondency, was equally quiet and subdued. he yielded to few excitements, was seldom elevated by successes to imprudence--as seldom depressed by disappointments to despondency. the equable tone of his mind reminds us again of washington. it was while marion remained at white marsh, that one of his captains, gavin witherspoon, whom he had sent out with four men, achieved one of those clever performances, that so frequently distinguished the men of marion. he had taken refuge in pedee swamp from the pursuit of the enemy, and, while hiding, discovered one of the camps of the tories who had been in pursuit of him. witherspoon proposed to his four comrades to watch the enemy's camp, until the tories were asleep. but his men timidly shrunk from the performance, expressing their dread of superior numbers. witherspoon undertook the adventure himself. creeping up to the encampment, he found that they slept at the butt of a pine tree, which had been torn up by the roots. their guns were piled against one of its branches at a little distance from them. these he first determined to secure, and, still creeping, with the skill and caution of an experienced scout, he succeeded in his object. the guns once in his possession, he aroused the tories by commanding their surrender. they were seven in number, unarmed, and knew nothing of the force of the assailant. his own more timid followers drew near in sufficient time to assist in securing the prisoners. there was another witherspoon with marion, john, a brother of gavin, and like him distinguished for great coolness, strength, and courage. both of the brothers delighted in such adventures, and were always ready to engage in them,--the rashness of the attempt giving a sort of relish to the danger, which always sweetened it to the taste of our partisans. the return of the various scouting parties which marion sent out, soon set his little brigade in motion. the intelligence which they brought was well calculated to sting his soldiers, as well as himself, into immediate activity. the medicine which the british had administered to the country they abandoned, had not been suffered to lose any of its bitterness. as had been feared, the tories had laid waste the farms and plantations. the region through which major wemyss had passed, for seventy miles in length and fifteen in breadth, displayed one broad face of desolation. it had been swept by sword and fire. havoc had exercised its most ingenious powers of destruction. on most of the plantations the houses were given to the flames, the inhabitants plundered of all their possessions, and the stock, especially the sheep, wantonly shot or bayoneted. wemyss seems to have been particularly hostile to looms and sheep, simply because they supplied the inhabitants with clothing. he seldom suffered the furniture to be withdrawn from a dwelling which he had doomed to be destroyed: presbyterian churches he burnt religiously, as so many "sedition-shops". it was fortunate for the wretched country, thus ravaged, that the corn was not generally housed; it was only in part destroyed. had the tories played the same game in the cornfields of the patriots, that grant's men had done in those of the cherokees, as recorded in an early page of this volume,* the devastation would have been complete. they had not limited their proceedings to these minor crimes. they had added human butchery and hanging to those other offences for which vengeance was in store. the wife and children of one adam cusack, threw themselves across the path of wemyss to obtain the pardon of the husband and the father. the crime of cusack was in having taken arms against the enemy. their prayers were in vain. but for the interference of his own officers, the ruthless briton would have ridden over the kneeling innocents. this was not the only savage murder of the same description which this wretched people had to endure. but such atrocities were sharp medicines, benefits in disguise, good against cowardice, selfishness, double-dealing, and deficient patriotism. they worked famously upon the natives, while they proved the invader to be as little capable of good policy, as of ordinary humanity. they roused the spirit of the militia, whet their anger and their swords together, and, by the time that marion reappeared, they were ready for their general. he asked for nothing more. he re-entered south carolina by a forced march. travelling night and day, he hurried through the tory settlements on little pedee, a space of sixty miles, on the second day of his journey. at lynch's creek he was joined by captains james and mouzon, with a considerable body of men. he was prepared to give them instant employment. major wemyss had retired to georgetown, but marion was advised of a large body of tories at black mingo, fifteen miles below, under the command of capt. john coming ball. marion was in expectation, every moment, of additional troops, but he determined not to wait for them. he found his men in the proper mood for fight, and at such times small inequalities of force are not to be regarded. he resolved to give the humor vent, and at once commenced his march for the enemy's encampment. he found the tories strongly posted at shepherd's ferry, on the south side of the black mingo, on a deep navigable stream, the passage of which they commanded. there was but one other approach to them, about a mile above their position, through a boggy causeway, and over a bridge of planks. it was nearly midnight when marion's troops reached this pass. while the horses were crossing the bridge, an alarm-gun was heard from the tory camp. celerity now became as necessary to success as caution, and marion ordered his men to follow him at full gallop. when they reached the main road, about three hundred yards from the enemy, the whole force, with the exception of a small body acting as cavalry, dismounted. a body of picked men, under captain waties, was ordered down the road to attack dollard's house, where the tories had been posted. two companies, under col. hugh horry, were sent to the right, and the cavalry to the left, to support the attack, marion himself bringing up the reserve. it so happened, however, that the tories had taken the alarm, and having withdrawn from the house, had chosen a strong position in an old field near it. here they encountered horry's command, on the advance, with a fire equally severe and unexpected. the effect was that of a surprise upon the assailants. horry's troops fell back in confusion, but were promptly rallied and brought to the charge. the battle was obstinate and bloody, but the appearance of the corps under waties, suddenly, in the rear of the tories, soon brought it to a close. finding themselves between two fires, the enemy gave way in all directions, and fled for refuge to the neighboring swamp of black mingo. so warmly contested was this affair, that, though soon over, fully one third of the men brought into the field were put 'hors de combat'. the loss of marion was proportionably very considerable. captain logan was among his slain; and captain mouzon and lieut. scott so severely wounded as to be unfit for future service. the force of the tories was almost twice as great as that of the whigs. they lost their commander, and left nearly half their number, killed and wounded, on the ground. but for the alarm given by the tread of marion's horses, while crossing the neighboring bridge, the tories would most probably have been surprised. at any rate, the affair would have been settled without subjecting the brigade to the severe loss which it sustained. after this event marion adopted the precaution, whenever about to cross a bridge by night, with an enemy near, to cover the planks with the blankets of his men. but he generally preferred fords, where they could possibly be had, to bridges. * see ante, pp. - [end of chapter ].-- this victory was very complete. many of the tories came in, and joined the ranks of the conqueror. those who did not, were quite too much confounded to show much impatience in taking up arms against him. his uniform successes, whenever he struck, had already strongly impressed the imaginations of the people. his name was already the rallying word throughout the country. to join marion, to be one of marion's men, was the duty which the grandsire imposed upon the lad, and to the performance of which, throwing aside his crutch, he led the way. we have already shown why the force of marion was so liable to fluctuation. the necessity of providing for, and protecting destitute families, starving wives and naked children, was more imperative than that of a remote and fancied liberty. these cases attended to, the militia came forth, struck a few blows, and once more returned to their destitute dependents. the victory over the tories of black mingo, was, from this cause, followed by a more than usually prolonged inactivity of our partisan. his men demanded a respite to go and see their families. he consented, with some reluctance, for the business of the campaign was only beginning to open itself before him. they promised him, as usual, to return in season; but remained so long absent, that, for the first time, he now began to doubt and despair of them. this feeling was not natural with him. it was probably only due now to some derangement of his own health, some anxiety to achieve objects which presented themselves prominently to his mind. he had probably heard of the advance of general greene, who, having succeeded to gates, was pressing forward with fresh recruits, and the remnant of the fugitives who survived, in freedom, the fatal battle of camden. a laudable anxiety to be active at such a time, to show to the approaching continentals that there was a spirit in the state which they came to succor, of which the most happy auguries might be entertained, prompted his morbid impatience at the long delay of his absentees. there were other causes which led him to feel this delay more seriously now than at other times. the tories were again gathering in force around him. under these circumstances, and with these feelings, he consulted with his officers whether they should not leave the state and join the approaching army of greene. hugh horry counselled him strenuously against it. his counsel was seconded by the rest. they prevailed with him. it was fortunate that they did so; for the great efficiency of marion was in the independence of his command. while the matter was yet in debate, the militia began to reappear. he had not sufficiently allowed for their exigencies, for the scattered homes and hiding-places of famishing hundreds, living on precarious supplies, in swamp and thicket. how could he reproach them--fighting as they were for love of country only, and under such privations--that country yielding them nothing, no money, no clothes, no provisions,--for they were nothing but militia. they were not enrolled on the continental pay list. that they should seek the field at all, thus circumstanced, will be ever a wonder to that class of philosophers who found their systems upon the simple doctrine of human selfishness. true to their chief, he rejoiced once more in their fidelity; and, marching into williamsburg, he continued to increase his numbers with his advance. his present object was the chastisement of col. harrison, who was in force upon lynch's creek; but his progress in this direction was suddenly arrested by his scouts, who brought him tidings of large gatherings of tories in and about salem and the fork of black river. in this quarter, one colonel tynes had made his appearance, and had summoned the people generally, as good subjects of his majesty, to take the field against their countrymen. it was necessary to check this rising, and to scatter it before it gained too much head; to lessen the influence of tynes and his party, over those who were doubtful, and afford the friends of the patriots an opportunity to come out on the proper side. there were other inducements to the movement. col. tynes had brought with him from charleston, large supplies of the materials of war and comfort--commodities of which the poor patriots stood grievously in need. they hungered at the tidings brought by the scouts, of new english muskets and bayonets, broad-swords and pistols, saddles and bridles, powder and ball, which the provident colonel had procured from charleston for fitting out the new levies. to strike at this gathering, prevent these new levies, and procure the supplies which were designed for them, were controlling objects to which all others were made to yield. the half naked troops of the brigade found new motives to valor in the good things which the adventure promised. tynes lay at tarcote, in the forks of black river, and, as marion was advised, without exercising much military watchfulness. the head of his column was instantly turned in this direction. crossing the lower ford of the northern branch of black river, at nelson's plantation, he came upon the camp of tynes at midnight. a hurried, but satisfactory survey, revealed the position of the enemy. no preparation had been made for safety, no precautions taken against attack. some of the tories slept, others feasted, and others were at cards--none watched. marion made his arrangements for the attack without obstacle or interruption. the surprise was complete,--the panic universal. a few were slain, some with the cards in their hands. tynes, with two of his officers, and many of his men, were made prisoners, but the greater number fled. few were slain, as scarcely any resistance was offered, and tarcote swamp was fortunately nigh to receive and shelter the fugitives, many of whom shortly after made their appearance and took their places in the ranks of the conqueror. marion lost not a man. the anticipations of his people were gratified with the acquisition of no small store of those supplies, arms and ammunition, of which they had previously stood in so much need. these spirited achievements, however small, were so cleverly executed, so unexpectedly, and with such uniform success, as to occasion a lively sensation through the country. hope everywhere began to warm the patriots of the state, bringing courage along with it. the effect upon the enemy, of an opposite temper and tendency, was quite as lively. cornwallis, whom we have already seen urging tarleton to the pursuit of our partisan, frankly acknowledged his great merits, and was heard to say that "he would give a good deal to have him taken."* his language to sir henry clinton, in a letter dated from his camp at winnsborough, december d, , of a different tone, indeed, was of like tenor. it spoke for the wonderful progress and influence of our hero--a progress and influence not to be understood by the reader, from the meagre account which we are enabled to give of the battles, skirmishes and happy stratagems, in which his men were constantly engaged. cornwallis writes,--"col. marion had so wrought on the minds of the people, partly by the terror of his threats and cruelty of his punishments, and partly by the promise of plunder, that there was scarcely an inhabitant between the santee and pedee, that was not in arms against us. some parties had even crossed the santee, and carried terror to the gates of charleston." * moultrie's memoirs.-- where his lordship speaks of the successes of marion, his great influence over the people, and the audacity with which they urged their progress through all parts of that section of country, which had been yielded to his control by governor rutledge, his statement is true to the very letter. it sums up very happily the results of his activity and conduct. but, when his lordship alleges cruelty and threats, and the hopes of plunder, as the means by which these results were produced, we meet his assertion with very flat denial. all the testimonies of the time, but his own, show that, in this respect, he wandered very widely from the truth. no single specification of cruelty was ever alleged against the fair fame of francis marion. his reputation, as a humane soldier, is beyond reproach, and when questioned, always challenged and invited investigation. the charge made by cornwallis was urged by lt.-col. balfour, commandant of charleston, in a correspondence with general moultrie. the latter answered it in a frank and confident manner, which showed what he thought of it. "i am sorry," he writes to balfour, "to hear that general marion should use his prisoners ill. it is contrary to his natural disposition: i know him to be generous and humane."* * he adds elsewhere: "general marion always gave orders to his men that there should be no waste of the inhabitants' property, and no plundering."* * marion had lived in the family of moultrie,* * had repeatedly served under him, and if any man knew thoroughly his true disposition, the hero of fort sullivan was certainly that man. but the testimony of all who knew him was to the same effect. indeed, the gentleness of his nature made him a favorite wherever known. touching the lessons and hopes of plunder, which his men are said to have received, this scarcely requires any answer. we have seen, and shall see hereafter, the state of poverty and privation in which the brigade of marion subsisted. a few little facts will better serve to show what their condition was. during the whole period in which we have seen him engaged, and for some months later, marion himself, winter and summer, had slept without the luxury of a blanket. he had but one, on taking command of the "brigade", and this he lost by accident. sleeping soundly, after one of his forced marches, upon a bed of pine straw, it took fire, his blanket was destroyed, and he himself had an escape so narrow, that one half of the cap he wore was shrivelled up by the flames. his food was hominy or potatoes; his drink vinegar and water, of which he was fond. he had neither tea nor coffee, and seldom tasted wine or spirits. and this moderation was shown at a time when he held in his possession a power from governor rutledge, to impress and appropriate whatever he thought necessary to his purposes.* * the charge against him of cruelty and plunder is perfectly absurd, and rests on the vague assertions of an enemy, who specifies no offence and offers no sort of evidence. it was but natural that such charges should be made by an astonished and disappointed foe--natural that the conqueror should ascribe to any but the right cause the reluctance of a people to submit to a monstrous usurpation, and their anxiety to avail themselves, by the presence of a favorite leader, of a principle and prospects to which their affections were really surrendered. could the british commanders in america have really been brought to admit that the affections of the people were not with their sovereign, the war must have found a finish much sooner than it did. their hopes were built upon this doubt; and hence their anxiety to show the coercive measures of the chieftains by whom this control, adverse to their wishes, was maintained over the minds of the people. the great influence of marion was due to other acts. it was by the power of love, and not of terror, that he managed his followers. they loved him for himself, and loved his cause for their country. his rare command of temper, his bland, affectionate manner, his calm superiority, and that confidence in his courage and conduct, as a leader, without which militia-men are never led to victory,--these were the sources of his influence over them, and of their successes against the enemy. it was through these that he "carried terror to the very gates of charleston." we shall see indeed, that, under marion, the militia were never conducted to defeat. * * memoirs, vol. , p. . * * moultrie, vol. , p. . * * ms. memoirs of general horry. * * james' memoir, p. .-- whatever may have been the causes of his victories, first over the minds of his people, and next over their foes, the british found it necessary that his influence should be restrained, and his farther progress arrested. cornwallis, as we have seen, was willing to "give a good deal to have him taken." tarleton is affectionately invoked to this pleasant duty, by the sincere hope that he would "get at mr. marion." this, however desirable, was no easy matter. marion was a very "will o' the wisp" in military affairs, almost as difficult to find, at times, by his own followers, as by the enemy. he was the true model of a partisan in a country, like ours, of swamp and thicket; leading the pursuing foe, like puck, "through bog and through briar," till he wearied out his patience, exhausted his resources, and finally laid him open for defeat. he seldom lingered long in any one spot, changing his ground frequently, with indian policy; his scouts, well chosen, were always on the alert; and, by constant activity and enterprise, he not only baffled pursuit, but deprived retreat of its usual mortifications. the employment which he thus gave his men, not only hardened them against every turn of fortune, but kept them always in good spirits. tarleton rose from a sick bed to undertake his capture. he had been confined for some time in charleston with fever. the first moment of convalescence was seized upon for carrying into effect the wishes of cornwallis. he concerted his plans before he left the city. his legion, which was at camden, were instructed to meet him, while with a troop of horse he set forward for some point upon the wateree. from this point he was to descend the wateree in quest of our partisan. his plan of pursuit, as furnished by his own pen, will be seen hereafter. marion was not unadvised of his progress, but, either from the rapidity of tarleton's movements, or some error in the report of his scouts, he failed of success in the object which he aimed at. this was the capture of tarleton, while, with his troop of horse, he was on his way to join the legion. with this object he pressed his march for nelson's ferry on the santee, and placed his men in ambush in the river swamp. he arrived too late. tarleton had already crossed fully two days before. marion passed the river in pursuit, advancing with some earnestness on the footsteps of his foe, still under the impression that tarleton was only in command of the small troop with which he had marched from charleston. but the british commander had already effected the junction with his legion, and was at hand in greater force than our partisan dreamed of. at night, having reached a strong position in the woods, marion was taking his usual precautions for making his camp. he was suddenly struck with a great light, seemingly at the plantation of general richardson. this awakened his anxieties, and led him at once to suspect the presence of his enemy in that quarter. the progress of the british was thus usually distinguished when they reached a settlement of the patriots. the suspicions of marion were soon confirmed by the arrival of colonel richardson, from whom he learned that tarleton was really at the plantation, the fires of which he saw, in force with his whole legion, and two field-pieces. the strength of the british was double his own, and, to increase his anxieties, it was discovered that one of his men,--probably one of the late converts, who had joined the ranks after the defeat of tynes,--had deserted to the enemy. in command of a force so superior, and in possession of a guide well acquainted with the country, tarleton was too strong to be withstood. the position of marion was no longer safe. he at once fell back, and crossing in silence and darkness a dense and gloomy swamp of vast extent, called the "wood-yard", halted on jack's creek, a distance of six miles from his late encampment. this post was temporarily a secure one. tarleton, meanwhile, was conducted faithfully by the deserter into the "wood-yard",--but the bird had flown. he pressed the pursuit the next day, with that hot haste by which he was quite as much distinguished as by his cruelties. but marion knew his foe, and had already changed his ground. pushing his way through a wild extent of country, full of bogs and swamps, he reached benbow's ferry, about ten miles above kingstree, where, taking a strong position, he resolved to defend himself. the place was one with which himself and men were familiar. it was not only eligible in itself, commanding the passage of the river, but it was one in which defeat was not necessarily final. it had resources, and means of rally, which are always important considerations to a militia command. there were three difficult passes, through the swamp, in marion's rear, at each of which, if driven by the enemy, his men could make a stubborn fight. his position taken, he proceeded promptly to strengthen its natural defences by art. trees were felled across the track, and the post so improved as to reconcile the inequalities of his own with the pursuing force of tarleton. had the latter made his appearance, as marion fully hoped and expected, the fatal rifles of the "brigade" thus planted, would have very quickly emptied his best saddles. but the commander of the legion grew weary of the chase, at the very moment when it halted to await him. of the pursuit he has given us a somewhat vainglorious description. he represents himself as having been nearly successful, by means of his great adroitness and the excellence of his strategy. he says--"according to the reports of the country, general marion's numbers were hourly increasing, which induced lt.-col. tarleton to move his corps, for a short time, in a very compact body, lest the americans should gain any advantage over patrols or detachments. but as soon as he found that the account of numbers was exaggerated, and that the enemy declined an engagement, he divided his corps into several small parties, publishing intelligence that each was on patrol, and that the main body of the king's troops had countermarched to camden. notwithstanding the divisions scattered throughout the country, to impose upon the enemy, lt.-col. tarleton took care that no detachment should be out of the reach of assistance; and that the whole formed after dark every evening a solid and vigilant corps during the night. this stratagem had not been employed more than three days, before general marion was on the point of falling a sacrifice to it. he advanced on the th before day, with five hundred militia, to attack lt.-col. tarleton (who had notice of his approach), and arrived within two miles of his post, when a person of the name of richardson discovered to him his misconception of the british force." but, as we have seen, marion's advance upon tarleton was only the continuation of the pursuit which he began under the impression that the latter was still forcing his way to camden with the small force with which he had crossed the santee. of the descent of the legion from above, he knew nothing, and the three days' strategy of tarleton were wasted upon him. the caution of the british colonel in all this time might have been spared. it influenced the course of marion in no respect. we have seen that, when the latter discovered his enemy, it was before day had closed, and not just before day. we have also seen that tarleton's own bonfires had already revealed the secret of his presence, in strength, to his wary antagonist. if col. richardson had never entered the camp of marion, the blazing dwellings of the richardson family would have led to such precautions, on the side of the partisan, as must have effectually baffled the objects of the british colonel. this indulgence in the usual british passion for burning the homesteads of women and children, which tarleton could not resist, even though his immediate aim required the utmost watchfulness and secrecy, at once revealed to marion not only that his enemy was there, but that he was there, with a force, in the strength of which he had the utmost confidence. it is not to be supposed that a small detachment, a scouting party of horse, a troop sent out for intelligence,--such as the british colonel represents his several parties to have been, when his force was broken up in detail, to beguile the partisan,--would be likely to commit such excesses as to draw the eye of the country suddenly upon them, at a time, too, when a wary adversary was within two miles with a force of five hundred men. tarleton proceeds: "a pursuit was immediately commenced, and continued for seven hours, through swamps and defiles. some prisoners fell into the possession of the legion dragoons, who gained ground very fast, and must soon have brought the enemy to action, when an express from earl cornwallis, who had followed the tracks of the march, recalled lt.-col. tarleton." such is the british narrative. we have reason to think it faulty in several respects. we doubt that it was the express of earl cornwallis that arrested the pursuit of our legionary colonel. we are disposed to ascribe it to his own weariness of the game. the dispatch of cornwallis to which he refers, was dated at winnsboro' on the th of the month. it was on the night of the th, as we see by tarleton's own statement, that he commenced the close and earnest pursuit of marion. the distance from winnsboro' to the 'wood-yard', even allowing that the instincts and information of the express should bring him directly upon the trail of the legion, would have employed him fully two days to overcome. these two days would have brought him to the close of the twelfth, up to which period, had tarleton continued the chase, he might have enjoyed the satisfaction of shaking hands with his antagonist in his defences at benbow's ferry. there, at the first proper position in which he might, with any hopes of success, oppose his adversary, had marion taken his stand. there, having entrenched himself, he was busy in bringing together his forces. "had tarleton," says judge james, "proceeded with his jaded horses to benbow's, he would have exposed his force to such sharp shooting as he had not yet experienced, and that in a place where he could not have acted with either his artillery or cavalry." but tarleton had tired of the adventure. after a pursuit of twenty-five miles, he found his progress arrested by a swamp, wide and deep, through which his eye could discern no beaten road. but this should have discouraged no resolute commander, having his enemy before him. marion had already preceded him in the passage, and was then within ten miles, awaiting his approach. he could have reached him in three hours, and four might have sufficed for the march and conflict. the express of cornwallis might have yielded that time, since it was not on the necessity of the earl that he had written. tarleton insinuates that the sole desire of marion was to save himself. now, one fact will suffice to show the incorrectness of this notion. for a distance of twelve miles on his retreat, the course of the partisan skirted the south branch of black river. he could, at any time and in a few minutes, have plunged into it, and no regular body of cavalry could have followed him. besides, so close, we are told, was the pursuit, that the dragoons were taking prisoners. the enemy must have been overtaken, but for the express. under such circumstances it seems strange that tarleton should show such singular deference to the express as to forbear the blow, when his sabre was already uplifted, and one of his most troublesome enemies was actually beneath it. it is scarcely possible that, with his dragoons so close on the heels of the fugitives and informed by prisoners of the proximity of his foe, he should not have heard that he was finally posted and in waiting for him. we will suppose, however, that he did not. he turned the head of his column at the very moment when his object was attainable. popular tradition represents him as expressing himself discouraged at the sight of ox swamp, and exclaiming, "come, my boys! let us go back. we will soon find the 'game cock' (meaning sumter), but as for this d----d 'swamp fox', the devil himself could not catch him." from this speech of tarleton, we are given to understand that the two popular names were derived, by which sumter and marion were ever after known by their followers. tarleton gained nothing by the pursuit of his wily antagonist. marion remained in perfect mastery over the whole territory which he had been wont to overrun, with a strength somewhat increased by the fact that he had succeeded in baffling and eluding the attempts of one who had hitherto been successful in all his enterprises. from this moment the career of tarleton ceased to be fortunate. his failure to capture marion was the first in a long train of disappointments and disasters, some of which were also attended by the most disgraceful and humbling defeats. chapter . marion attempts georgetown--horry defeats merritt-- melton defeated by barfield--gabriel marion taken by the tories and murdered--marion retires to snow's island. failing to overtake marion in his retreat, and unwilling to press upon him in his stronghold, tarleton turned the heads of his columns in the search after the other famous partisan of carolina, general sumter. this gentleman, after the surprise and dispersion of his force, which had followed so closely the defeat of gates, had fallen back, with the wreck of his command, to the neighborhood of the mountains. but, no sooner was it understood that a second continental army was on its march for carolina, than he emerged from his retreat, and renewed his enterprises with as much activity as ever. it was to direct his arms against this enemy, and to restrain his incursions, that tarleton was recalled from the pursuit of marion by earl cornwallis. the force under sumter had increased to about five hundred men when he approached, and took post within twenty-eight miles of the encampment of cornwallis at winnsboro'. this approach, particularly as sumter, unlike marion, was apt to linger some time in a favorite position, induced the british commander to attempt his surprise. col. wemyss was accordingly sent against him with a strong body of british infantry. but wemyss was defeated, severely wounded himself, and fell into the hands of the americans. the failure of wemyss, and the audacity of sumter, provoked the anxiety and indignation of cornwallis. tarleton promptly seconded the wishes of his superior, and rapidly advanced upon his adversary. sumter, hearing of his approach, and with a force very far superior to his own, commenced his retreat, and threw the tyger river between himself and his pursuer. apprehensive only of losing his prey, and not at all doubtful of his victory, tarleton continued the pursuit with about four hundred mounted men, leaving the main body of his infantry and artillery to follow. as soon as sumter discovered that the whole of the british army was not at his heels, he discontinued his flight, and waited for his enemy at the house and farm of one blackstock, on the banks of the tyger. here an action followed, in which the british were defeated. tarleton lost ninety-two slain and one hundred wounded. the americans lost three men slain and as many wounded. but among the latter was their commander. the wound of sumter was in the breast, and a very severe one. he was wrapped up in the raw hide of a bullock, suspended between two horses, and, guarded by a hundred faithful followers,* was conveyed in safety to north carolina, where, unhappily, he lay for some time totally incapacitated from active performance. * judge james says "a guard of five men".--a. l., .-- this event was preceded and followed by others quite as encouraging to the american cause. the battle of king's mountain took place on the th october, , in which the british, under major ferguson, experienced a total defeat; ferguson being slain, and the killed, wounded and captured of his army, amounting to eleven hundred men. meanwhile, the example of marion and sumter had aroused the partisan spirit in numerous other places; and every distinct section of the country soon produced its particular leader, under whom the whigs embodied themselves, striking wherever an opportunity offered of cutting off the british and tories in detail, and retiring to places of safety, or dispersing in groups, on the approach of a superior force. this species of warfare was, of all kinds, that which was most likely to try the patience, and baffle the progress, of the british commander. he could overrun the country, but he made no conquests. his great armies passed over the land unquestioned, but had no sooner withdrawn, than his posts were assailed, his detachments cut off, his supplies arrested, and the tories once more overawed by their fierce and fearless neighbors. marion's brigade, in particular, constantly in motion,--moving by night as frequently as by day, singularly well informed by its scouts, and appearing at the least expected moment,--was always ready to prevent the gathering, into force and strength, of the loyalists. and this activity was shown, and this warfare waged, at a time, when, not only was the state without an army, without any distinct embodiment of its own, or of its confederates,--but when it was covered everywhere with strong and well appointed posts of the enemy. the position of earl cornwallis at winnsboro', completed his chain of posts from georgetown to augusta, in a circle, the centre of which would have been about beaufort, in south carolina, equidistant from charleston and savannah. these posts consisted of georgetown, camden, winnsboro', ninety-six and augusta. within this circle was an interior chain, at the distance of half the radius, consisting of fort watson on the road to camden, motte's house, and granby on the congaree. dorchester and orangeburgh, on the road both to ninety-six and granby, were fortified as posts of rest and deposit, on the line of communication; as was monk's corner, or biggin church, and some other small posts on that to camden. these posts were all judiciously chosen, both for arming the country and obtaining subsistence.* * johnson's greene, vol. .-- penetrating between these posts, and snatching their prey, or smiting the enemy's detachments, under the very jaws of their cannon, our partisans succeeded in embodying public opinion, through the very sense of shame, against their enemies. the courage of the whigs was ennobled, and their timidity rebuked, when they beheld such a daring spirit, and one so crowned by frequent successes, in such petty numbers. the 'esprit de corps', which these successes, and this spirit, awakened in the brigade of marion, necessarily imparted itself to the region of country in which he operated; and the admiration which he inspired in the friendly, and the fear which he taught to the adverse, uniting in their effects, brought equally the faithful and the doubtful to his ranks. from the moment that he eluded the arts, and baffled the pursuit of tarleton, the people of that tract of country, on a line stretching from camden, across, to the mouth of black creek on the pedee, including generally both banks of the wateree, santee and pedee, were now (excepting harrison's party on lynch's creek) either ready, or preparing to join him. under these auspices, with his brigade increasing, marion began to prepare for new enterprises. the british post at georgetown was one of considerable strength and importance. it was of special importance to marion. from this place he procured, or expected to procure, his supplies of salt, clothing, and ammunition. of these commodities he was now grievously in want. to surprise georgetown became as desirable as it was difficult. marion determined to attempt it. it was only by a surprise that he could hope to be successful, and he made his plans accordingly. they were unfortunate, and the event was particularly and personally distressing to himself. to expedite his schemes, he crossed black river, at a retired place, called potato ferry, and proceeded by the "gap-way" towards the object of his aim. three miles from the town there is an inland swamp, called "white's bay", which, discharging itself by two mouths, the one into black river, the other into sampit, completely insulates the town, which stands on the north side of the latter river near its junction with winyaw bay. over the creek which empties into the sampit, there is a bridge, two miles from georgetown. in the rear of these swamps, marion concealed himself with the main body of his force, sending out two parties to reconnoitre. one of these parties was commanded by col. p. horry, the other by capt. melton. these officers both encountered the enemy, but they were not both equally fortunate in the result. horry may be allowed to tell his own story. "i was sent," he writes, "by gen. marion to reconnoitre georgetown. i proceeded with a guide through the woods all night. at the dawn of day, i drew near the town. i laid an ambuscade, with thirty men and three officers, near the road. about sunrise a chair appeared with two ladies escorted by two british officers. i was ready in advance with an officer to cut them off, but reflecting that they might escape, and alarm the town, which would prevent my taking greater numbers, i desisted. the officers and chair halted very near me, but soon the chair went on, and the officers gallopped in retrograde into the town. our party continued in ambush, until o'clock a.m. "nothing appearing, and men and horses having eaten nothing for thirty-six hours, we were hungered, and retired to a plantation of my quarter-master's, a mr. white, not far distant. there a curious scene took place. as soon as i entered the house... four ladies appeared, two of whom were mrs. white and her daughter. i was asked what i wanted. i answered, food, refreshment. the other two ladies were those whom i had seen escorted by the british officers. they seemed greatly agitated, and begged most earnestly that i would go away, for the family was very poor, had no provisions of any sort,--that i knew that they were whigs, and surely would not add to their distress. so pressing were they for my immediately leaving the plantation, that i thought they had more in view than they pretended. i kept my eye on mrs. white, and saw she had a smiling countenance, but said nothing. soon she left the room, and i left it also and went into the piazza, laid my cap, sword and pistols on the long bench, and walked the piazza;--when i discovered mrs. white behind the house chimney beckoning me. i got to her undiscovered by the young ladies, when she said: 'colonel horry, be on your guard; these two young ladies, miss f----and m----, are just from georgetown; they are much frightened, and i believe the british are leaving it and may soon attack you. as to provisions, which they make such a rout about, i have plenty for your men and horses in yonder barn, but you must affect to take them by force. hams, bacon, rice, and fodder, are there. you must insist on the key of the barn, and threaten to split the door with an axe if not immediately opened.' i begged her to say no more, for i was well acquainted with all such matters--to leave the ladies and everything else to my management. she said 'yes; but do not ruin us: be artful and cunning, or mr. white may be hanged and all our houses burnt over our heads.' we both secretly returned, she to the room where the young ladies were, and i to the piazza i had just left."* * this little narrative will give some idea of the straits to which the good whig matrons of carolina were sometimes reduced in those days. but no time was allowed horry to extort the provisions as suggested. he had scarcely got to the piazza when his videttes gave the alarm. two shots warned him of the approach of the foe, and forgetting that his cap, sabre and pistols, lay on the long bench on the piazza, horry mounted his horse, left the enclosure, and rushed into the melee. the british were seventeen in number, well mounted, and commanded by a brave fellow named merritt. the dragoons, taken by surprise, turned in flight, and, smiting at every step, the partisans pursued them with fatal earnestness. but two men are reported to have escaped death or captivity, and they were their captain and a sergeant. it was in approaching to encounter merritt that horry discovered that he was weaponless. "my officers," says he, "in succession, came up with captain merritt, who was in the rear of his party, urging them forward. they engaged him. he was a brave fellow. baxter, with pistols, fired at his breast, and missing him, retired; postelle and greene, with swords, engaged him; both were beaten off. greene nearly lost his head. his buckskin breeches were cut through several inches.... i almost blush to say that this one british officer beat off three americans."* * the honor of the day was decidedly with merritt, though he was beaten. he was no doubt a far better swordsman than our self-taught cavalry, with broadswords wrought out of mill saws. merritt abandoned his horse, and escaped to a neighboring swamp, from whence, at midnight, he got into georgetown.* * two of horry's prisoners proved to be american soldiers; "the sergeant belonged to the d regiment of south carolina continentals, and a drummer formerly belonged to my own regiment (the th). the drummer was cruelly wounded on the head; the sergeant was of virginia, and wounded on the arm. they said they had enlisted from the prison ship to have a chance of escaping and joining their countrymen in arms,"* * and would have done so that day but that the british captain was in the rear, and they dared not. horry rejoined marion in safety with his prisoners. * * ms. life of horry by himself, pp. - . * * ms. of horry, p. . * * weems, speaking for horry, tells us that he met with captain merritt after the war in new york, who recognized him, and told him that he had never had such a fright in all his life as upon that occasion. "will you believe me, sir," said he, "when i assure you that i went out that morning with my locks of as bright an auburn as ever curled upon the forehead of youth, and by the time i had crawled out of the swamp into georgetown that night, they were as grey as a badger!" * * ms. of horry.-- captain melton was not so fortunate. he came in contact with a party of tories, much larger than his own force, who were patrolling, under captain barfield, near white's bridge. a sharp, but short action followed, in which melton was compelled to retreat. but gabriel marion, a nephew of the general, had his horse shot under him, and fell into the hands of the tories. as soon as he was recognized he was put to death, no respite allowed, no pause, no prayer.* his name was fatal to him. the loss was severely felt by his uncle, who, with no family or children of his own, had lavished the greater part of his affections upon this youth, of whom high expectations had been formed, and who had already frequently distinguished himself by his gallantry and conduct. he had held a lieutenancy in the second south carolina regiment, and was present at the battle of fort moultrie. subsequently, he had taken part in most of the adventures of his uncle. marion felt his privation keenly; but he consoled himself by saying that "he should not mourn for him. the youth was virtuous, and had fallen in the cause of his country!" but this event, with some other instances of brutality and murder on the part of the tories, happening about this time, gave a more savage character than ever to the warfare which ensued. motives of private anger and personal revenge embittered and increased the usual ferocities of civil war; and hundreds of dreadful and desperate tragedies gave that peculiar aspect to the struggle, which led greene to say that the inhabitants pursued each other rather like wild beasts than like men. in the cheraw district, on the pedee, above the line where marion commanded, the whig and tory warfare, of which we know but little beyond this fact, was one of utter extermination. the revolutionary struggle in carolina was of a sort utterly unknown in any other part of the union. * judge james writes: "gabriel marion... was taken prisoner; but as soon as his name was announced, he was inhumanely shot. the instrument of death was planted so near that it burnt his linen at the breast."--a. l., .-- the attempt upon georgetown was thus defeated. the british had taken the alarm, and were now in strength, and in a state of vigilance and activity, which precluded the possibility of surprise. marion's wishes, therefore, with regard to this place, were deferred accordingly to a more auspicious season. he retired to snow's island, where he made his camp. this place acquired large celebrity as the "camp of marion". to this day it is pointed out with this distinguishing title, and its traditionary honors insisted upon. it was peculiarly eligible for his purposes, furnishing a secure retreat, a depot for his arms, ammunition, prisoners and invalids--difficult of access, easily guarded, and contiguous to the scenes of his most active operations. "snow's island" lies at the confluence of lynch's creek and the pedee. on the east flows the latter river; on the west, clark's creek, issuing from lynch's, and a stream navigable for small vessels; on the north lies lynch's creek, wide and deep, but nearly choked by rafts of logs and refuse timber. the island, high river swamp, was spacious, and, like all the pedee river swamp of that day, abounded in live stock and provision. thick woods covered the elevated tracts, dense cane-brakes the lower, and here and there the eye rested upon a cultivated spot, in maize, which the invalids and convalescents were wont to tend. here marion made his fortress. having secured all the boats of the neighborhood, he chose such as he needed, and destroyed the rest. where the natural defences of the island seemed to require aid from art, he bestowed it; and, by cutting away bridges and obstructing the ordinary pathways with timber, he contrived to insulate, as much as possible, the country under his command. from this fortress, his scouting parties were sent forth nightly in all directions. enemies were always easy to be found. the british maintained minor posts at nelson's ferry and scott's lake, as well as georgetown; and the tories on lynch's creek and little pedee were much more numerous, if less skilfully conducted, than the men of marion. marion's encampment implied no repose, no forbearance of the active business of war. very far from it. he was never more dangerous to an enemy, than when he seemed quietly in camp. his camp, indeed, was frequently a lure, by which to tempt the tories into unseasonable exposure. the post at snow's island gave him particular facilities for this species of warfare. he had but to cross a river, and a three hours' march enabled him to forage in an enemy's country. reinforcements came to him daily, and it was only now, for the first time, that his command began to assume the appearance, and exhibit the force of a brigade.* he became somewhat bolder in consequence, in the tone which he used towards the tories. we find him at this period,** sending forth his officers with orders of a peremptory nature. he writes to adjutant postelle: "you will proceed with a party down black river, from black mingo to the mouth of pedee, and come up to this place. you will take all the boats and canoes from euhaney up, and impress negroes to bring them to camp--put some men to see them safe. you will take every horse, to whomsoever he may belong, whether friend or foe. you will take all arms and ammunition for the use of our service. you will forbid all persons from carrying any grains, stock, or any sort of provisions to georgetown, or where the enemy may get them, on pain of being held as traitors, and enemies to the americans. all persons who will not join you, you will take prisoners and bring to me, &c." * december , . ** correspondence of marion, quoted by james.-- he then laid the country under martial law, the proper measure for straitening an enemy, and compelling sluggish and doubtful friends to declare themselves. in this proceeding he was justified by the authority of governor rutledge, from whom, with a brigadier's commission, he had received military command over a region of country of vast extent, which the indefatigable partisan contrived to compass and coerce, if not altogether to command and control. similar orders with those which were given to postelle, were addressed to col. p. horry; and they were both dispatched; the one, as we have seen, between black and pedee rivers, the other to waccamaw creek. other parties were sent out in other quarters, with like objects; and, with the whole contiguous country thus placed under the keenest surveillance, marion hailed the close of the year in his swamp fortress. all these parties were more or less engaged with the enemy, at different periods, while on their scouting expeditions. several small, but spirited achievements, of which history condescends to furnish no details, occurred among them, in which, however, the partisans were not always successful. one instance may be mentioned. lieutenant roger gordon had been dispatched with a small party to patrol on lynch's creek. he suffered himself, while taking refreshments at a house, to be surrounded by a party of tories, under capt. butler. the enemy made good his approaches to the house, and set it on fire. finding himself greatly outnumbered, and perceiving that resistance would be useless, gordon surrendered upon terms; but as soon as his party had yielded up their arms, they were murdered to a man. these bloody events were accompanied and followed by others of a like character. nor were the tories always, or exclusively guilty. the sanguinary warfare began with them, but it was perpetuated by mutual excesses. shortly after the murder of gabriel marion, the person who was supposed to have been guilty of the savage crime, was taken prisoner by horry. while on the road, returning to the camp, environed by his guards, the prisoner was shot down by an officer, who escaped detection under cover of the night. prisoners, after this, were seldom made on either side, where the whigs and tories came in conflict. no quarter was given. safety lay in victory alone, and the vanquished, if they could not find refuge in the swamps, found no mercy from the conqueror. even where, under the occasional influence of a milder mood, or milder captain, the discomfited were admitted to present mercy, there was still no security for their lives. there were a few infuriated men, who defied subordination, by whom, on both sides, the unhappy captives were sure to be sacrificed. we need not say, in behalf of marion, and his superior officers, that, where he or they commanded in person, no countenance was given to these bloody principles and performances. marion was notoriously the most merciful of enemies. the death of the prisoner in the ranks of horry, though the unhappy man was charged with the murder of his favorite nephew, was a subject of the greatest soreness and annoyance to his mind; and he warmly expressed the indignation which he felt, at an action which he could not punish. chapter . marion's camp at snow's island--the character of his warfare--of his men--anecdotes of conyers and horry--he feasts a british officer on potatoes--quells a mutiny. marion's career as a partisan, in the thickets and swamps of carolina, is abundantly distinguished by the picturesque; but it was while he held his camp at snow's island, that it received its highest colors of romance. in this snug and impenetrable fortress, he reminds us very much of the ancient feudal baron of france and germany, who, perched on castled eminence, looked down with the complacency of an eagle from his eyrie, and marked all below him for his own. the resemblance is good in all respects but one. the plea and justification of marion are complete. his warfare was legitimate. he was no mountain robber,--no selfish and reckless ruler, thirsting for spoil and delighting inhumanly in blood. the love of liberty, the defence of country, the protection of the feeble, the maintenance of humanity and all its dearest interests, against its tyrant--these were the noble incentives which strengthened him in his stronghold, made it terrible in the eyes of his enemy, and sacred in those of his countrymen. here he lay, grimly watching for the proper time and opportunity when to sally forth and strike. his position, so far as it sheltered him from his enemies, and gave him facilities for their overthrow, was wonderfully like that of the knightly robber of the middle ages. true, his camp was without its castle--but it had its fosse and keep--its draw-bridge and portcullis. there were no towers frowning in stone and iron--but there were tall pillars of pine and cypress, from the waving tops of which the warders looked out, and gave warning of the foe or the victim. no cannon thundered from his walls; no knights, shining in armor, sallied forth to the tourney. he was fond of none of the mere pomps of war. he held no revels--"drank no wine through the helmet barred," and, quite unlike the baronial ruffian of the middle ages, was strangely indifferent to the feasts of gluttony and swilled insolence. he found no joy in the pleasures of the table. art had done little to increase the comforts or the securities of his fortress. it was one, complete to his hands, from those of nature--such a one as must have delighted the generous english outlaw of sherwood forest--isolated by deep ravines and rivers, a dense forest of mighty trees, and interminable undergrowth. the vine and briar guarded his passes. the laurel and the shrub, the vine and sweet scented jessamine, roofed his dwelling, and clambered up between his closed eyelids and the stars. obstructions, scarcely penetrable by any foe, crowded the pathways to his tent;--and no footstep, not practised in the secret, and 'to the manner born', might pass unchallenged to his midnight rest. the swamp was his moat; his bulwarks were the deep ravines, which, watched by sleepless rifles, were quite as impregnable as the castles on the rhine. here, in the possession of his fortress, the partisan slept secure. in the defence of such a place, in the employment of such material as he had to use, marion stands out alone in our written history, as the great master of that sort of strategy, which renders the untaught militia-man in his native thickets, a match for the best drilled veteran of europe. marion seemed to possess an intuitive knowledge of his men and material, by which, without effort, he was led to the most judicious modes for their exercise. he beheld, at a glance, the evils or advantages of a position. by a nice adaptation of his resources to his situation, he promptly supplied its deficiencies and repaired its defects. till this was done, he did not sleep;--he relaxed in none of his endeavors. by patient toil, by keenest vigilance, by a genius peculiarly his own, he reconciled those inequalities of fortune or circumstance, under which ordinary men sit down in despair. surrounded by superior foes, he showed no solicitude on this account. if his position was good, their superiority gave him little concern. he soon contrived to lessen it, by cutting off their advanced parties, their scouts or foragers, and striking at their detachments in detail. it was on their own ground, in their immediate presence, nay, in the very midst of them, that he frequently made himself a home. better live upon foes than upon friends, was his maxim; and this practice of living amongst foes was the great school by which his people were taught vigilance. the adroitness and address of marion's captainship were never more fully displayed than when he kept snow's island; sallying forth, as occasion offered, to harass the superior foe, to cut off his convoys, or to break up, before they could well embody, the gathering and undisciplined tories. his movements were marked by equal promptitude and wariness. he suffered no risks from a neglect of proper precaution. his habits of circumspection and resolve ran together in happy unison. his plans, carefully considered beforehand, were always timed with the happiest reference to the condition and feelings of his men. to prepare that condition, and to train those feelings, were the chief employment of his repose. he knew his game, and how it should be played, before a step was taken or a weapon drawn. when he himself, or any of his parties, left the island, upon an expedition, they advanced along no beaten paths. they made them as they went. he had the indian faculty in perfection, of gathering his course from the sun, from the stars, from the bark and the tops of trees, and such other natural guides, as the woodman acquires only through long and watchful experience. many of the trails, thus opened by him, upon these expeditions, are now the ordinary avenues of the country. on starting, he almost invariably struck into the woods, and seeking the heads of the larger water courses, crossed them at their first and small beginnings. he destroyed the bridges where he could. he preferred fords. the former not only facilitated the progress of less fearless enemies, but apprised them of his own approach. if speed was essential, a more direct, but not less cautious route was pursued. the stream was crossed sometimes where it was deepest. on such occasions the party swam their horses, marion himself leading the way, though he himself was unable to swim. he rode a famous horse called ball, which he had taken from a loyalist captain of that name. this animal was a sorrel, of high, generous blood, and took the water as if born to it. the horses of the brigade soon learned to follow him as naturally as their riders followed his master. there was no waiting for pontoons and boats. had there been there would have been no surprises. the secrecy with which marion conducted his expeditions was, perhaps, one of the reasons for their frequent success. he entrusted his schemes to nobody, not even his most confidential officers. he consulted with them respectfully, heard them patiently, weighed their suggestions, and silently approached his conclusions. they knew his determinations only from his actions. he left no track behind him, if it were possible to avoid it. he was often vainly hunted after by his own detachments. he was more apt at finding them than they him. his scouts were taught a peculiar and shrill whistle, which, at night, could be heard at a most astonishing distance. we are reminded of the signal of roderick dhu:-- ----"he whistled shrill, and he was answered from the hill, wild as the scream of the curlew, from crag to crag, the signal flew." his expeditions were frequently long, and his men, hurrying forth without due preparation, not unfrequently suffered much privation from want of food. to guard against this danger, it was their habit to watch his cook. if they saw him unusually busied in preparing supplies of the rude, portable food, which it was marion's custom to carry on such occasions, they knew what was before them, and provided themselves accordingly. in no other way could they arrive at their general's intentions. his favorite time for moving was with the setting sun, and then it was known that the march would continue all night. before striking any sudden blow, he has been known to march sixty or seventy miles, taking no other food in twenty-four hours, than a meal of cold potatoes and a draught of cold water. the latter might have been repeated. this was truly a spartan process for acquiring vigor. its results were a degree of patient hardihood, as well in officers as men, to which few soldiers in any periods have attained. these marches were made in all seasons. his men were badly clothed in homespun, a light wear which afforded little warmth. they slept in the open air, and frequently without a blanket. their ordinary food consisted of sweet potatoes, garnished, on fortunate occasions, with lean beef. salt was only to be had when they succeeded in the capture of an enemy's commissariat; and even when this most necessary of all human condiments was obtained, the unselfish nature of marion made him indifferent to its use. he distributed it on such occasions, in quantities not exceeding a bushel, to each whig family; and by this patriarchal care, still farther endeared himself to the affection of his followers. the effect of this mode of progress was soon felt by the people of the partisan. they quickly sought to emulate the virtues which they admired. they became expert in the arts which he practised so successfully. the constant employment which he gave them, the nature of his exactions, taught activity, vigilance, coolness and audacity. his first requisition, from his subordinates, was good information. his scouts were always his best men. they were generally good horsemen, and first rate shots. his cavalry were, in fact, so many mounted gunmen, not uniformly weaponed, but carrying the rifle, the carbine, or an ordinary fowling-piece, as they happened to possess or procure them. their swords, unless taken from the enemy, were made out of mill saws, roughly manufactured by a forest blacksmith. his scouts were out in all directions, and at all hours. they did the double duty of patrol and spies. they hovered about the posts of the enemy, crouching in the thicket, or darting along the plain, picking up prisoners, and information, and spoils together. they cut off stragglers, encountered patrols of the foe, and arrested his supplies on the way to the garrison. sometimes the single scout, buried in the thick tops of the tree, looked down upon the march of his legions, or hung perched over the hostile encampment till it slept, then slipping down, stole through the silent host, carrying off a drowsy sentinel, or a favorite charger, upon which the daring spy flourished conspicuous among his less fortunate companions. the boldness of these adventurers was sometimes wonderful almost beyond belief. it was the strict result of that confidence in their woodman skill, which the practice of their leader, and his invariable success, naturally taught them to entertain. the mutual confidence which thus grew up between our partisan and his men, made the business of war, in spite of its peculiar difficulties and privations, a pleasant one. as they had no doubts of their leader's ability to conduct them to victory, he had no apprehension, but, when brought to a meeting with the enemy, that they would secure it. his mode of battle was a simple one; generally very direct; but he was wonderfully prompt in availing himself of the exigencies of the affair. his rule was to know his enemy, how posted and in what strength,--then, if his men were set on, they had nothing to do but to fight. they knew that he had so placed them that valor was the only requisite. a swamp, right or left, or in his rear; a thicket beside him;--any spot in which time could be gained, and an inexperienced militia rallied, long enough to become reconciled to the unaccustomed sights and sounds of war,--were all that he required, in order to secure a fit position for fighting in. he found no difficulty in making good soldiers of them. it caused him no surprise, and we may add no great concern, that his raw militia men, armed with rifle and ducking gun, should retire before the pushing bayonets of a regular soldiery. he considered it mere butchery to expose them to this trial. but he taught his men to retire slowly, to take post behind the first tree or thicket, reload, and try the effect of a second fire; and so on, of a third and fourth, retiring still, but never forgetting to take advantage of every shelter that offered itself. he expected them to fly, but not too far to be useful. we shall see the effect of this training at eutaw, where the militia in the advance delivered seventeen fires, before they yielded to the press of the enemy. but, says johnson, with equal truth and terseness, "that distrust of their own immediate commanders which militia are too apt to be affected with, never produced an emotion where marion and pickens commanded."* the history of american warfare shows conclusively that, under the right leaders, the american militia are as cool in moments of danger as the best drilled soldiery in the universe. but they have been a thousand times disgraced by imbecile and vainglorious pretenders. * history of greene, p. , vol. .-- marion was admirably supported by his followers. several officers of the brigade were distinguished men. of major john james we have already seen something. all the brothers were men of courage and great muscular activity. the witherspoons were similarly endowed. his chief counsellors were the brothers horry, and postelle,--all like himself descended from huguenot stocks. to the two last (the brothers postelle) it has been remarked, that "nothing appeared difficult."* captains baxter and conyers were particularly distinguished,--the first for his gigantic frame, which was informed by a corresponding courage; the latter by his equal bravery and horsemanship. he was a sort of knight-errant in the brigade, and his behavior seemed not unfrequently dictated by a passion for chivalrous display. an anecdote, in connection with conyers, is told, which will serve to show what was the spirit of the patriotic damsels of the revolution. marion had environed colonel watson, at a plantation where mary, the second daughter of john witherspoon, was living at the time. she was betrothed to conyers. the gallant captain daily challenged the british posts, skirmishing in the sight of his mistress. his daring was apparent enough--his great skill and courage were known. he presented himself frequently before the lines of the enemy, either as a single champion or at the head of his troop. the pride of the maiden's heart may be imagined when she heard the warning in the camp, as she frequently did--"take care,--there is conyers!" the insult was unresented: but, one day, when her lover appeared as usual, a british officer, approaching her, spoke sneeringly, or disrespectfully, of our knight-errant. the high spirited girl drew the shoe from her foot, and flinging it in his face, exclaimed, "coward! go and meet him!" the chronicler from whom we derive this anecdote is particularly careful to tell us that it was a walking shoe and not a kid slipper which she made use of; by which we are to understand, that she was no ways tender of the stroke. * judge james' sketch of marion.-- the horrys were both able officers. hugh was a particular favorite of marion. for his brother he had large esteem. of peter horry we have several amusing anecdotes, some of which we gather from himself. it is upon the authority of his ms. memoir that we depend for several matters of interest in this volume. this memoir, written in the old age of the author, and while he suffered from infirmities of age and health, is a crude but not uninteresting narrative of events in his own life, and of the war. the colonel confesses himself very frankly. in his youth he had a great passion for the sex, which led him into frequent difficulties. these, though never very serious, he most seriously relates. he was brave, and ambitious of distinction. this ambition led him to desire a command of cavalry rather than of infantry. but he was no rider--was several times unhorsed in combat, and was indebted to the fidelity of his soldiers for his safety.* on one occasion his escape was more narrow from a different cause. he gives us a ludicrous account of it himself. crossing the swamp at lynch's creek, to join marion, in the dark, and the swamp swimming, he encountered the bough of a tree, to which he clung, while his horse passed from under him. he was no swimmer, and, but for timely assistance from his followers, would have been drowned. another story, which places him in a scarcely less ludicrous attitude, is told by garden.** he was ordered by marion to wait, in ambush, the approach of a british detachment. the duty was executed with skill; the enemy was completely in his power. but he labored under an impediment in his speech, which, we may readily suppose, was greatly increased by anxiety and excitement. the word "fire" stuck in his throat, as "amen" did in that of macbeth. the emergency was pressing, but this only increased the difficulty. in vain did he make the attempt. he could say "fi-fi-fi!" but he could get no further--the "r" was incorrigible. at length, irritated almost to madness, he exclaimed, "shoot, d----n you, shoot! you know what i would say! shoot, and be d----d to you!" he was present, and acted bravely, in almost every affair of consequence, in the brigade of marion. at quinby, capt. baxter, already mentioned, a man distinguished by his great strength and courage, as well as size, and by equally great simplicity of character, cried out, "i am wounded, colonel!" "think no more of it, baxter," was the answer of horry, "but stand to your post." "but i can't stand," says baxter, "i am wounded a second time." "lie down then, baxter, but quit not your post." "they have shot me again, colonel," said the wounded man, "and if i stay any longer here, i shall be shot to pieces." "be it so, baxter, but stir not," was the order, which the brave fellow obeyed, receiving a fourth wound before the engagement was over. * ms. memoir, p. . ** anecdotes, first series, p. .-- it was while marion was lying with his main force at the camp at snow's island, that two circumstances occurred which deserve mention, as equally serving to illustrate his own and the character of the warfare of that time and region. one of these occurrences has long been a popular anecdote, and, as such, has been made the subject of a very charming picture, which has done something towards giving it a more extended circulation.* the other is less generally known, but is not less deserving of the popular ear, as distinguishing, quite as much as the former, the purity, simplicity, and firmness of marion's character. it appears that, desiring the exchange of prisoners, a young officer was dispatched from the british post at georgetown to the swamp encampment of marion, in order to effect this object. he was encountered by one of the scouting parties of the brigade, carefully blindfolded, and conducted, by intricate paths, through the wild passes, and into the deep recesses of the island. here, when his eyes were uncovered, he found himself surrounded by a motley multitude, which might well have reminded him of robin hood and his outlaws. the scene was unquestionably wonderfully picturesque and attractive, and our young officer seems to have been duly impressed by it. he was in the middle of one of those grand natural amphitheatres so common in our swamp forests, in which the massive pine, the gigantic cypress, and the stately and ever-green laurel, streaming with moss, and linking their opposite arms, inflexibly locked in the embrace of centuries, group together, with elaborate limbs and leaves, the chief and most graceful features of gothic architecture. to these recesses, through the massed foliage of the forest, the sunlight came as sparingly, and with rays as mellow and subdued, as through the painted window of the old cathedral, falling upon aisle and chancel. scattered around were the forms of those hardy warriors with whom our young officer was yet destined, most probably, to meet in conflict,--strange or savage in costume or attitude--lithe and sinewy of frame--keen-eyed and wakeful at the least alarm. some slept, some joined in boyish sports; some with foot in stirrup, stood ready for the signal to mount and march. the deadly rifle leaned against the tree, the sabre depended from its boughs. steeds were browsing in the shade, with loosened bits, but saddled, ready at the first sound of the bugle to skirr through brake and thicket. distant fires, dimly burning, sent up their faint white smokes, that, mingling with the thick forest tops, which they could not pierce, were scarce distinguishable from the long grey moss which made the old trees look like so many ancient patriarchs. but the most remarkable object in all this scene was marion himself. could it be that the person who stood before our visitor--"in stature of the smallest size, thin, as well as low"**--was that of the redoubted chief, whose sleepless activity and patriotic zeal had carried terror to the gates of charleston; had baffled the pursuit and defied the arms of the best british captains; had beaten the equal enemy, and laughed at the superior? certainly, if he were, then never were the simple resources of intellect, as distinguishable from strength of limb, or powers of muscle, so wonderfully evident as in this particular instance. the physical powers of marion were those simply of endurance. his frame had an iron hardihood, derived from severe discipline and subdued desires and appetites, but lacked the necessary muscle and capacities of the mere soldier. it was as the general, the commander, the counsellor, rather than as the simple leader of his men, that marion takes rank, and is to be considered in the annals of war. he attempted no physical achievements, and seems to have placed very little reliance upon his personal prowess.*** * general marion, in his swamp encampment, inviting the british officer to dinner. painted by j. b. white; engraved by sartain; published by the apollo association. ** henry lee's memoirs. he adds: "his visage was not pleasing, and his manners not captivating. he was reserved and silent, entering into conversation only when necessary, and then with modesty and good sense. he possessed a strong mind, improved by its own reflections and observations, not by books or travel. his dress was like his address-- plain, regarding comfort and decency only. in his meals he was abstemious, eating generally of one dish, and drinking water mostly. he was sedulous and constant in his attention to the duties of his station, to which every other consideration yielded. even the charms of the fair, like the luxuries of the table and the allurements of wealth, seemed to be lost upon him. the procurement of subsistence for his men, and the continuance of annoyance for his enemy, engrossed his entire mind. he was virtuous all over; never, even in manner, much less in reality, did he trench upon right. beloved by his friends, and respected by his enemies, he exhibited a luminous example of the beneficial effects to be produced by an individual who, with only small means at his command, possesses a virtuous heart, a strong head, and a mind directed to the common good."--appendix to 'memoirs', vol. p. . *** the dislike or indifference of marion, to anything like mere military display, was a matter of occasional comment, and some jest, among his followers. among other proofs which are given of this indifference, we are told, that, on one occasion, attempting to draw his sword from the scabbard, he failed to do so in consequence of the rust, the result of his infrequent employment of the weapon. certainly, a rich event in the life of a military man. the fact is, that marion seldom used his sword except in battle, or on occasions when its employment was inseparable from his duties. long swords were then in fashion, but he continued to wear the small cut and thrust of the second regiment. such a weapon better suited his inferior physique, and necessarily lessened the motives to personal adventure.-- the british visitor was a young man who had never seen marion. the great generals whom he was accustomed to see, were great of limb, portly, and huge of proportion. such was cornwallis, and others of the british army. such, too, was the case among the americans. the average weight of these opposing generals, during that war, is stated at more than two hundred pounds. the successes of marion must naturally have led our young englishman to look for something in his physique even above this average, and verging on the gigantic. vastness seems always the most necessary agent in provoking youthful wonder, and satisfying it. his astonishment, when they did meet, was, in all probability, not of a kind to lessen the partisan in his estimation. that a frame so slight, and seemingly so feeble, coupled with so much gentleness, and so little pretension, should provoke a respect so general, and fears, on one side, so impressive, was well calculated to compel inquiry as to the true sources of this influence. such an inquiry was in no way detrimental to a reputation founded, like marion's, on the successful exercise of peculiar mental endowments. the young officer, as soon as his business was dispatched, prepared to depart, but marion gently detained him, as he said, for dinner, which was in preparation. "the mild and dignified simplicity of marion's manners had already produced their effects, and, to prolong so interesting an interview, the invitation was accepted. the entertainment was served up on pieces of bark, and consisted entirely of roasted potatoes, of which the general ate heartily, requesting his guest to profit by his example, repeating the old adage, that 'hunger is the best sauce.'" "but surely, general," said the officer, "this cannot be your ordinary fare." "indeed, sir, it is," he replied, "and we are fortunate on this occasion, entertaining company, to have more than our usual allowance."* the story goes, that the young briton was so greatly impressed with the occurrence, that, on his return to georgetown, he retired from the service, declaring his conviction that men who could with such content endure the privations of such a life, were not to be subdued. his conclusion was strictly logical, and hence, indeed, the importance of such a warfare as that carried on by marion, in which, if he obtained no great victories, he was yet never to be overcome. * garden--anecdotes--first series, p. .-- the next anecdote, if less pleasing in its particulars, is yet better calculated for the development of marion's character, the equal powers of firmness and forbearance which he possessed, his superiority to common emotions, and the mingled gentleness and dignity with which he executed the most unpleasant duties of his command. marion had placed one of his detachments at the plantation of a mr. george crofts, on sampit creek. this person had proved invariably true to the american cause; had supplied the partisans secretly with the munitions of war, with cattle and provisions. he was an invalid, however, suffering from a mortal infirmity, which compelled his removal for medical attendance to georgetown, then in possession of the enemy.* during the absence of the family, marion placed a sergeant in the dwelling-house, for its protection. from this place the guard was expelled by two officers of the brigade, and the house stripped of its contents. the facts were first disclosed to marion by col. p. horry, who received them from the wife of crofts. this lady pointed to the sword of her husband actually at the side of the principal offender. the indignation of marion was not apt to expend itself in words. redress was promised to the complainant and she was dismissed. marion proceeded with all diligence to the recovery of the property. but his course was governed by prudence as well as decision. the offenders were men of some influence, and had a small faction in the brigade, which had already proved troublesome, and might be dangerous. one of them was a major, the other a captain. their names are both before us in the ms. memoir of horry, whose copious detail on this subject leaves nothing to be supplied. we forbear giving them, as their personal publication would answer no good purpose. they were in command of a body of men, about sixty in number, known as the georgia refugees. upon the minds of these men the offenders had already sought to act, in reference to the expected collision with their general. marion made his preparations with his ordinary quietness, and then dispatched horry to the person who was in possession of the sword of croft; for which he made a formal demand. he refused to give it up, alleging that it was his, and taken in war. "if the general wants it," he added, "let him come for it himself." when this reply was communicated to marion he instructed horry to renew the demand. his purpose seems to have been, discovering the temper of the offender, to gain the necessary time. his officers, meanwhile, were gathering around him. he was making his preparations for a struggle, which might be bloody, which might, indeed, involve not only the safety of his brigade, but his own future usefulness. horry, however, with proper spirit, entreated not to be sent again to the offender, giving, as a reason for his reluctance, that, in consequence of the previous rudeness of the other, he was not in the mood to tolerate a repetition of the indignity, and might, if irritated, be provoked to violence. marion then dispatched his orderly to the guilty major, with a request, civilly worded, that he might see him at head quarters. he appeared accordingly, accompanied by the captain who had joined with him in the outrage, and under whose influence he appeared to act. marion renewed his demand, in person, for the sword of croft. the other again refused to deliver it, alleging that "croft was a tory, and even then with the enemy in georgetown." * the brigade of marion was for a long period without medical attendance or a surgeon to dress his wounded. if a wound reached an artery the patient bled to death. to illustrate the fierce hostility of whigs and tories, a single anecdote will suffice. on one occasion, horry had three men wounded near georgetown. a surgeon of the tories was then a prisoner in his ranks, yet he positively refused to dress the wounds, and suffered a fine youth named kolb, to bleed to death before his eyes, from a slight injury upon the wrist.-- "will you deliver me the sword or not, major------?" was the answer which marion made to this suggestion. "i will not!" was the reply of the offender. "at these words," says horry in the ms. before us, "i could forbear no longer, and said with great warmth, 'by g--d, sir, did i command this brigade, as you do, i would hang them both up in half an hour!' marion sternly replied,--'this is none of your business, sir: they are both before me!--sergeant of the guard, bring me a file of men with loaded arms and fixed bayonets!'--'i was silent!' adds horry: 'all our field officers in camp were present, and when the second refusal of the sword was given, they all put their hands to their swords in readiness to draw. my own sword was already drawn!'" in the regular service, and with officers accustomed to, and bred up in, the severe and stern sense of authority which is usually thought necessary to a proper discipline, the refractory offender would most probably have been hewn down in the moment of his disobedience. the effect of such a proceeding, in the present instance, might have been of the most fatal character. the 'esprit de corps' might have prompted the immediate followers of the offender to have seized upon their weapons, and, though annihilated, as horry tells us they would have been, yet several valuable lives might have been lost, which the country could ill have spared. the mutiny would have been put down, but at what a price! the patience and prudence of marion's character taught him forbearance. his mildness, by putting the offender entirely in the wrong, so justified his severity, as to disarm the followers of the criminals. these, as we have already said, were about sixty in number. horry continues: "their intentions were, to call upon these men for support--our officers well knew that they meant, if possible, to intimidate marion, so as to [make him] come into their measures of plunder and tory-killing." the affair fortunately terminated without bloodshed. the prudence of the general had its effect. the delay gave time to the offenders for reflection. perhaps, looking round upon their followers, they saw no consenting spirit of mutiny in their eyes, encouraging their own; for, "though many of these refugees were present, none offered to back or support the mutinous officers;"--and when the guard that was ordered, appeared in sight, the companion of the chief offender was seen to touch the arm of the other, who then proffered the sword to marion, saying, "general, you need not have sent for the guard."* marion, refusing to receive it, referred him to the sergeant of the guard, and thus doubly degraded, the dishonored major of continentals--for he was such--disappeared from sight, followed by his associate. his farther punishment was of a kind somewhat differing from those which are common to armies, by which the profession of arms is sometimes quite as much dishonored as the criminal. marion endeavored, by his punishments, to elevate the sense of character in the spectators. he had some of the notions of napoleon on this subject. he was averse to those brutal punishments which, in the creature, degrade the glorious image of the creator. in the case of the two offenders, thus dismissed from his presence, the penalty was, of all others, the most terrible to persons, in whose minds there remained the sparks even of a conventional honor. these men had been guilty of numerous offences against humanity. marion expelled them from his brigade. subsequently, their actions became such, that he proclaimed their outlawry through the country.** by one of these men he was challenged to single combat, but he treated the summons with deserved contempt. his composure remained unruffled by the circumstance. * horry's ms., from which the several extracts preceding have been made.--pp. - . ** he set up on trees and houses, in public places, proclamations in substance thus, that major----and capt. ---- did not belong to his brigade, that they were banditti, robbers and thieves,--were hereby deemed out of the laws, and might be killed wherever found.--horry's ms. pp. , .-- in this affair, as in numerous others, marion's great knowledge of the militia service, and of the peculiar people with whom he sometimes had to deal, enabled him to relieve himself with little difficulty from troublesome companions. of these he necessarily had many; for the exigencies of the country were such that patriotism was not permitted to be too nice in the material which it was compelled to employ. the refugees were from various quarters--were sometimes, as we have seen, adopted into his ranks from those of the defeated tories, and were frequently grossly ignorant, not only of what was due to the community in which they found themselves, but still more ignorant of the obligations of that military law to which they voluntarily put themselves in subjection. marion's modes of punishment happily reached all such cases without making the unhappy offender pay too dearly for the sin of ignorance. on one occasion, horry tells us that he carried before him a prisoner charged with desertion to the enemy. "marion released him, saying to me, 'let him go, he is too worthless to deserve the consideration of a court martial.'" such a decision in such a case, would have shocked a military martinet, and yet, in all probability, the fellow thus discharged, never repeated the offence, and fought famously afterwards in the cause of his merciful commander. we have something yet to learn on these subjects. the result of a system in which scorn is so equally blended with mercy, was singularly good. in the case of the person offending (as is frequently the case among militia) through sheer ignorance of martial law, it teaches while it punishes, and reforms, in some degree, the being which it saves. where the fault flows from native worthlessness of character the effect is not less beneficial. one of marion's modes of getting rid of worthless officers, was to put them into coventry. in this practice his good officers joined him, and their sympathy and cooperation soon secured his object. "he kept a list of them," said horry, "which he called his black list. this mode answered so well that many resigned their commissions, and the brigade was thus fortunately rid of such worthless fellows." the values of such a riddance is well shown by another sentence from the ms. of our veteran. "i found the men seldom defective, were it not for the bad example set them by their officers."* * ms. p. .-- chapter . general greene assumes command of the southern army--his correspondence with marion--condition of the country-- marion and lee surprise georgetown--col. horry defeats gainey--marion pursues mcilraith--proposed pitched battle between picked men. the year opened, with new interest, the great drama of war in south carolina. in that state, as we have seen, deprived of a large portion of her military effectives, opposition had never entirely ceased to the progress of the invader. new and more strenuous exertions, on the part of congress, were made to give her the necessary assistance. without this, the war, prolonged with whatever spirit by the partisans, was not likely, because of their deficient materiel and resources, to reach any decisive results. we may yield thus much, though we are unwilling to admit the justice of those opinions, on the part of general greene and other officers of the regular army, by which the influence of the native militia, on the events of the war, was quite too much disparaged. but for this militia, and the great spirit and conduct manifested by the partisan leaders in carolina, no regular force which congress would or could have sent into the field, would have sufficed for the recovery of the two almost isolated states of south carolina and georgia. indeed, we are inclined to think that, but for the native spirit which they had shown in the conquest, no attempt would have been made for their recovery. we should be at a loss, unless we recognized the value of this native spirit, and the importance of its achievements, however small individually, to determine by what means these states were finally recovered to the american confederacy. in no single pitched battle between the two grand armies did the americans obtain a decided victory. the fruits of victory enured to them, quite as much in consequence of the active combination of the partisan captains, as by the vigor of their own arms. by these the enemy were harassed with unparalleled audacity--their supplies and convoys cut off, their detachments captured or cut to pieces, their movements watched, and their whole influence so narrowed and restrained, as to be confined almost entirely to those places where they remained in strength. it is not meant by this, to lessen in any degree the value of the services rendered by the continental forces. these were very great, and contributed in large measure to bring the war to an early and a happy issue. it is only intended to insist upon those claims of the partisans, which, unasserted by themselves, have been a little too irreverently dismissed by others. but for these leaders, marion, sumter, pickens, davie, hampton, and some fifty more well endowed and gallant spirits, the continental forces sent to carolina would have vainly flung themselves upon the impenetrable masses of the british. it was the vitality thus exhibited by the country, by the native captains and people, that persuaded congress, though sadly deficient in materials and men, to make another attempt to afford to the south, the succor which it asked. the wreck of the army under gates had been collected by that unfortunate commander at charlotte, north carolina. he was superseded in its command by general greene, a soldier of great firmness and discretion, great prudence and forethought--qualities the very opposite of those by which his predecessor seems to have been distinguished. new hopes were awakened by this change of command, which, though slow of fruition, were not finally to be disappointed. greene's assumption of command was distinguished by a happy augury. in a few hours after reaching camp charlotte, he received intelligence of the success of lt.-col. washington, against the british post held at clermont, south carolina, by the british colonel rugely. rugely was well posted in a redoubt, which was tenable except against artillery. washington's force consisted only of cavalry. a pleasant 'ruse de guerre' of the latter, which produced some little merriment among the americans at the expense of the british colonel, enabled washington to succeed. a pine log was rudely hewn into the appearance of a cannon, and, mounted upon wagon wheels, was advanced with solemnity to the attack. the affair looked sufficiently serious, and rugely, to avoid any unnecessary effusion of blood, yielded the post. cornwallis, drily commenting on the transaction, in a letter to tarleton, remarks, "rugely will not be made a brigadier." greene proceeded in the duties of his command with characteristic vigilance and vigor. he soon put his army under marching orders for the pedee, which river he reached on the th of december. he took post near hicks' creek, on the east side of the river. before leaving camp charlotte, he had judiciously made up an independent brigade for general morgan, composed of his most efficient soldiers. it consisted of a corps of light infantry, detached from the maryland line, of men; a body of virginia militia of men, and washington's cavalry, perhaps one hundred more. morgan was to be joined, on reaching the tract of country assigned to his operations in south carolina, by the militia lately under sumter; that gallant leader being still 'hors de combat', in consequence of the severe wound received at blackstock's. the force of morgan was expected to be still farther increased by volunteer militia from north carolina; and he received a powerful support in the cooperation of col. pickens, with the well exercised militia under his command. the object of this detachment was to give confidence and encouragement to the country, to inspirit the patriots, overawe the tories, and facilitate the accumulation of the necessary provisions. the main army at hicks' creek, meanwhile, formed a camp of repose. this was necessary, as well as time and training, to its usefulness. it was sadly deficient in all the munitions and materials of war--the mere skeleton of an army, thin in numbers, and in a melancholy state of nakedness. "were you to arrive," says greene, in a letter to lafayette, dated december , "you would find a few ragged, half-starved troops in the wilderness, destitute of everything necessary for either the comfort or convenience of soldiers." the department was not only in a deplorable condition, but the country was laid waste. such a warfare as had been pursued among the inhabitants, beggars description. the whole body of the population seems to have been in arms, at one time or another, and, unhappily, from causes already discussed, in opposite ranks. a civil war, as history teaches, is like no other. like a religious war, the elements of a fanatical passion seem to work the mind up to a degree of ferocity, which is not common among the usual provocations of hate in ordinary warfare. "the inhabitants," says greene, "pursue each other with savage fury.... the whigs and the tories are butchering one another hourly. the war here is upon a very different scale from what it is to the northward. it is a plain business there. the geography of the country reduces its operations to two or three points. but here, it is everywhere; and the country is so full of deep rivers and impassable creeks and swamps, that you are always liable to misfortunes of a capital nature." the geographical character of the country, as described by greene, is at once suggestive of the partisan warfare. it is the true sort of warfare for such a country. the sparseness of its settlements, and the extent of its plains, indicate the employment of cavalry--the intricate woods and swamps as strikingly denote the uses and importance of riflemen. the brigade of marion combined the qualities of both. general greene, unlike his predecessor, knew the value of such services as those of marion. on taking command at charlotte, the very day after his arrival, he thus writes to our partisan: "i have not," says he, "the honor of your acquaintance, but am no stranger to your character and merit. your services in the lower part of south carolina, in awing the tories and preventing the enemy from extending their limits, have been very important. and it is my earnest desire that you continue where you are until farther advice from me. your letter of the d of last month to general gates, is before me. i am fully sensible your service is hard and sufferings great, but how great the prize for which we contend! i like your plan of frequently shifting your ground. it frequently prevents a surprise and perhaps a total loss of your party. until a more permanent army can be collected than is in the field at present, we must endeavor to keep up a partisan war, and preserve the tide of sentiment among the people in our favor as much as possible. spies are the eyes of an army, and without them a general is always groping in the dark, and can neither secure himself, nor annoy his enemy. at present, i am badly off for intelligence. it is of the highest importance that i get the earliest intelligence of any reinforcement which may arrive at charleston. i wish you, therefore, to fix some plan for procuring such information and conveying it to me with all possible dispatch. the spy should be taught to be particular in his inquiries and get the names of the corps, strength and commanding officer's name--place from whence they came and where they are going. it will be best to fix upon somebody in town to do this, and have a runner between you and him to give you the intelligence; as a person who lives out of town cannot make the inquiries without being suspected. the utmost secrecy will be necessary in the business." this letter found marion at one of his lurking places on black river. it was properly addressed to him. he was the man who, of all others, was not only best acquainted with the importance of good information, furnished promptly, but who had never been without his spies and runners, from the first moment when he took the field. he readily assumed the duty, and upon him greene wholly relied for his intelligence of every sort. every occurrence in charleston, georgetown, and the whole low country, was promptly furnished to the commander, to whom, however, marion complains generally of the embarrassment in procuring intelligence, arising from the want of a little hard money--but this want was quite as great in the camp of greene as in that of the partisan. it is probable that marion had communicated to general gates a desire to strengthen his militia with a small force of regular troops. with such a force, it was expected that something of a more decisive nature could be effected. his eye was upon georgetown. the capture of that post was particularly desirable on many accounts; and if his views and wishes were not communicated to gates, they were to greene, who subsequently made his dispositions for promoting them. while the latter was moving down to his camp at hicks' creek, marion was engaged in some very active movements against a party under mcarthur and coffin, and between that and the high hills of the santee. to cut off his retreat by the pedee, a strong detachment had been pushed on from charleston to georgetown, intended to intercept him by ascending the north bank of the pedee river. but marion, informed of the movement, readily divined its object, and, retiring across the country, took a strong position on lynch's creek, in the vicinity of his favorite retreat at snow's island, where he always kept a force to guard his boats and overawe the tories. the moment his pursuers had left the ground, marion resumed offensive operations upon it. in a short time, his parties were pushed down to the immediate neighborhood of georgetown, on all the rivers that flow into the bay of winyaw. his smaller parties were actively busy in collecting boats and transferring provisions to snow's island. this was with the twofold purpose of straitening the enemy, and supplying the continental army. in the meantime, with a respectable force of mounted infantry, he himself pressed closely upon the town, watching an opportunity when he might attempt something with a prospect of success. but the british confined themselves to their redoubts. marion had neither bayonets nor artillery. with one hundred continental troops--he writes with his usual modesty to greene--he should be able to render important services. while thus employed, he received intelligence that the loyalists were embodying above him, in great force, under hector mcneill. they were at amy's mill on drowning creek, and were emboldened by a knowledge of the fact that the main army was entirely destitute of cavalry. marion was not able to detach a force sufficient for their dispersion, and it would have been fatal to his safety to suffer them to descend upon him while his detachments were abroad. his first measures were to call in his scattered parties. he then communicated to greene the necessity of reinforcing him against his increasing enemies, and, in particular, of addressing himself to the movements of mcneill, as he supposed them to be directed, in part, against the country between the waccamaw and the sea-coast, which had never been ravaged, and which, at this time, held abundance of provisions. to this communication greene replies: "i have detached major anderson with one thousand regulars, and one hundred virginia militia, to attack and disperse the tories at amy's mill, on drowning creek. the party marched yesterday with orders to endeavor to surprise them; perhaps you might be able to make some detachment that would contribute to their success.... i wish your answer respecting the practicability of surprising the party near nelson's; the route, and force you will be able to detach. this inquiry is a matter that requires great secrecy." another letter of greene's, three days after (january d), refers to some "skirmishes between your people and the enemy, which," says greene, "do them honor,"--but of which we have no particulars. the same letter begs for a supply of horses. "get as many as you can, and let us have fifteen or twenty sent to camp without loss of time, they being wanted for immediate service." by another letter, dated the day after the preceding, greene communicates to marion the defeat of tarleton by morgan, at the celebrated battle of the cowpens. "on the th at daybreak, the enemy, consisting of eleven hundred and fifty british troops and fifty militia, attacked general morgan, who was at the cowpens, between pacolet and broad rivers, with infantry, eighty cavalry and about six hundred militia. the action lasted fifty minutes and was remarkably severe. our brave troops charged the enemy with bayonets and entirely routed them, killing nearly one hundred and fifty, wounding upwards of two hundred, and taking more than five hundred prisoners, exclusive of the prisoners with two pieces of artillery, thirty-five wagons, upwards of one hundred dragoon horses, and with the loss of only ten men killed and fifty-five wounded. our intrepid party pursued the enemy upwards of twenty miles. about thirty commissioned officers are among the prisoners. col. tarleton had his horse killed and was wounded, but made his escape with two hundred of his troops." before receiving this grateful intelligence marion had been joined by lieut.-col. lee, at the head of a legion which acquired high reputation for its spirit and activity during the war. lee tells us that it was no easy matter to find our partisan. "an officer, with a small party, preceded lee a few days' march to find out marion, who was known to vary his position in the swamps of the pedee; sometimes in south carolina, sometimes in north carolina, and sometimes on the black river. with the greatest difficulty did this officer learn how to communicate with the brigadier; and that by the accident of hearing among our friends on the south side of the pedee, of a small provision party of marion's being on the same side of the river. making himself known to this party he was conveyed to the general, who had changed his ground since his party left him, which occasioned many hours' search even before his own men could find him."* * lee's memoirs, vol. , p. . [note: this lieut.-col. henry lee--"light-horse harry"-- later became the father of gen. robert edward lee.--a. l., .]-- this anecdote illustrates the wary habits of our partisan, and one of the modes by which he so successfully baffled the numerous and superior parties who were dispatched in his pursuit. we have given, elsewhere, from col. lee's memoirs, a brief description of marion and his mode of warfare, taken from the appendix to that work. but another occurs, in the text before us, which, as it is brief, differing somewhat in phrase, and somewhat more comprehensive, than the former, will no doubt contribute to the value and interest of our narrative. "marion," says lee, "was about forty-eight years of age, small in stature, hard in visage, healthy, abstemious and taciturn. enthusiastically wedded to the cause of liberty, he deeply deplored the doleful condition of his beloved country. the common weal was his sole object; nothing selfish, nothing mercenary soiled his ermine character. fertile in stratagem, he struck unperceived, and retiring to those hidden retreats selected by himself, in the morasses of pedee and black rivers, he placed his corps, not only out of the reach of his foe, but often out of the discovery of his friends. a rigid disciplinarian, he reduced to practice the justice of his heart; and during the difficult course of warfare through which he passed calumny itself never charged him with molesting the rights of person, property or humanity. never avoiding danger, he never rashly sought it; and, acting for all around him as he did for himself, he risked the lives of his troops only when it was necessary. never elated with prosperity, nor depressed by adversity, he preserved an equanimity which won the admiration of his friends and exalted the respect of his enemies."* * lee's memoirs, vol. p. .-- such were lee's opinions of the partisan, to whose assistance he was dispatched by greene, with his legion, consisting of near three hundred men, horse and foot. the junction of lee's troops with those of marion led to the enterprise which the other had long since had at heart, the capture of the british garrison at georgetown. georgetown was a small village, the situation and importance of which have already been described. the garrison consisted of two hundred men commanded by colonel campbell. his defences in front were slight, and not calculated to resist artillery. "between these defences and the town, and contiguous to each, was an enclosed work with a frieze and palisade, which constituted his chief protection."* it was held by a subaltern guard. "the rest of the troops were dispersed in light parties in and near the town, and looking towards the country." it was planned by the assailants to convey a portion of their force secretly down the pedee, and land them in the water suburb of the town, which, being deemed secure, was left unguarded. this body was then to move in two divisions. the first was to force the commandant's quarters--the place of parade--to secure him, and all others who might flock thither on the alarm. the second was designed to intercept such of the garrison as might endeavor to gain the fort. the partisan militia, and the cavalry of the legion, led by marion and lee in person, were to approach the place in the night, to lie concealed, and when the entrance of the other parties into the town should be announced, they were to penetrate to their assistance, and put the finishing stroke to the affair. * lee, vol. p. .-- the plan promised well, but the attempt was only partially successful. captain carnes, with the infantry of the legion, in boats, dropped down the pedee, sheltered from discovery by the deep swamps and dense forests which lined its banks, until he reached an island at its mouth within a few miles of georgetown. here he landed, and lay concealed during the day. the night after, marion and lee proceeded to their place of destination, which they reached by twelve o'clock, when, hearing the expected signal, they rushed into the town, marion leading his militia, and lee his dragoons, prepared to bear down all opposition; but they found all the work already over which it was in the power of the present assailants to attempt. the two parties of infantry, the one led by carnes the other by rudolph, had reached their places, but perhaps not in good season. the surprise was incomplete. they delayed too long upon the way, instead of pushing up directly upon the redoubt. they were also delayed by the desire of securing the person of the commandant--an unimportant consideration, in comparison with the stronghold of the garrison, which, assailed vigorously at the first alarm, must have fallen into their hands. the commandant was secured, and carnes judiciously posted his division for seizing such parties of the garrison as might flock to the parade-ground. rudolph had also gained his appointed station in the vicinity of the fort, and so distributed his corps as to prevent all communication with it. but this was not probably achieved with sufficient rapidity, and the garrison was strengthening itself while the americans were busy in catching campbell, and cutting down the fugitives. when marion and lee appeared, there was nothing to be done--no enemy to be seen. not a british soldier appeared on parade--no one attempted either to gain the fort or repair to the commandant. the troops of the garrison simply hugged their respective quarters, and barricaded the doors. the assailants were unprovided with the necessary implements for battering or bombarding. the fort was in possession of the british, and daylight was approaching. and thus this bold and brilliant attempt was baffled--it is difficult, at this time of day, to say how. lee was dissatisfied with the result. marion, more modestly, in a letter to greene, says: "col. lee informed you yesterday, by express, of our little success on georgetown, which could not be greater without artillery." lee says: "if, instead of placing rudolph's division to intercept the fugitives, it had been ordered to carry the fort by the bayonet, our success would have been complete. the fort taken, and the commandant a prisoner, we might have availed ourselves of the cannon, and have readily demolished every obstacle and shelter." there were probably several causes combined, which baffled the perfect success of the enterprise: the guides are said to have blundered; there was too much time lost in capturing campbell, and probably in the prosecution of some private revenges. a circuitous route was taken by carnes, when a direct one might have been had, by which his entrance into the town was delayed until near daylight; and, by one account, the advance of marion and lee was not in season. the simple secret of failure was probably a want of concert between the parties, by which the british had time to recover from their alarm, and put themselves in a state of preparation. many of the british were killed, few taken; among the former was major irvine, who was slain by lieut. cryer, whom, on a former occasion, he had subjected to a cruel punishment of five hundred lashes. lieut.-col. campbell was suffered to remain on parole. though failing of its object, yet the audacity which marked the enterprise, and the partial success of the attempt, were calculated to have their effect upon the fears of the enemy. it was the first of a series of movements against their several fortified posts, by which their power was to be broken up in detail. its present effect was to discourage the removal of forces from the seaboard to the interior, to prevent any accession of strength to the army of cornwallis, who now, roused by the defeat of tarleton, was rapidly pressing, with all his array, upon the heels of morgan. the american plan of operations, of which this 'coup de main' constituted a particular of some importance, had for its object to keep cornwallis from virginia--to detain him in south carolina until an army of sufficient strength could be collected for his overthrow. this plan had been the subject of much earnest correspondence between greene, marion, and others of the american officers. that part of it which contemplated the conquest of georgetown harmonized immediately with the long cherished objects of our partisan. halting but a few hours to rest their troops, marion and lee, after the attempt on georgetown, moved the same day directly up the north bank of the santee towards nelson's ferry. their object was the surprise of col. watson, who had taken post there. but, though the march was conducted with equal caution and celerity, it became known to the threatened party. watson, consulting his fears, did not wait to receive them; but, throwing a garrison of about eighty men into fort watson, five miles above the ferry, hurried off to camden. upon the defeat of tarleton by morgan, general greene hastened to put himself at the head of the force conducted by the latter, which was then in full flight before the superior army of cornwallis. orders from greene to lee found him preparing for further cooperations with marion, which they arrested. lee was summoned to join the commander-in-chief with his whole legion, and marion was thus deprived of the further use, which he so much coveted, of the continentals. but this diminution of force did not lessen the activity of the latter. on the th january, he sent out two small detachments of thirty men each, under colonel and major postelle, to strike at the smaller british posts beyond the santee. these parties were successful in several affairs. a great quantity of valuable stores were burnt at manigault's ferry, and in the vicinity. at keithfield, near monk's corner, major postelle captured forty of the british regulars without the loss of a man. here also fourteen baggage wagons, with all their stores, were committed to the flames. the proceedings of these parties, conducted with caution and celerity, were exceedingly successful. in giving his instructions to the officers entrusted with these duties, marion writes--"you will consider provisions of all kinds british property. the destruction of all the british stores in the above-mentioned places, is of the greatest consequence to us, and only requires boldness and expedition." about this time marion organized four new companies of cavalry. this proceeding was prompted by the scarcity of ammunition. his rifles were comparatively useless, and the want of powder and ball rendered it necessary that he should rely upon some other weapons. to provide broadswords for his troops, he was compelled once more to put in requisition the mill saws of the country, and his blacksmiths were busy in manufacturing blades, which, as we are told by a contemporary, were sufficiently keen and massy to hew a man down at a blow. this body of cavalry he assigned to the command of col. p. horry. horry was an admirable infantry officer. his ability to manage a squadron of cavalry was yet to be ascertained. he labored under one disqualification, as he plainly tells us in his own manuscript. he was not much of a horseman. but he had several excellent officers under him. as the brigade was not strong enough to allow of the employment, in body, of his whole command, its operations were commonly by detachment. the colonel, at the head of one of his parties consisting of sixty men, had soon an opportunity of testing his capacity and fortune in this new command. we glean the adventure from his own manuscript. he was sent to the waccamaw to reconnoitre and drive off some cattle. after crossing socastee swamp, a famous resort for the tories, he heard of a party of british dragoons under colonel campbell. horry's men had found a fine english charger hid in a swamp. this he was prevailed upon to mount, in order to spare his own. it so happened, somewhat unfortunately for him, that he did so with an enemy at hand. with his own horse he was sufficiently familiar to escape ordinary accidents. it will be seen that he incurred some risks with the more spirited quadruped. his patrol had brought in a negro, whom he placed under guard. he had in his command a captain clarke, who, knowing the negro, set him free during the night. "reader," says our colonel, with a serenity that is delightful, "behold a militia captain releasing a prisoner confined by his colonel commandant, and see the consequence!" the negro fell into the hands of the british, and conducted them upon the steps of our partisan. it so happened that the same captain clarke, who seems to have been a sad simpleton, and something of a poltroon, had been sent in front with five horsemen as an advanced guard. near the great waccamaw road, the bugles of the british were heard sounding the charge. horry was fortunately prepared for the enemy, but such was not the case with clarke. he confounded the martial tones of the bugle with the sylvan notes of the horn. "stop," says our militia captain, to his men--"stop, and you will see the deer, dogs and huntsmen, as they cross the road." he himself happened to be the silly deer. the huntsmen were upon him in a few moments, and he discovered his mistake only when their broadswords were about his ears. he was taken, but escaped. a short encounter followed between campbell and horry, in which the former was worsted. six of his men fell at the first fire, three slain, and as many wounded. horry's pieces were common shot guns, and the only shot that he had were swan shot, or the mischief would have been greater. campbell's horse was killed under him, and he narrowly escaped. horry was dismounted in the encounter,--in what manner we are not told,--and would have been cut down by a british sergeant, but for his wearing a uniform that resembled that of a british colonel. he was helped to a horse at a most fortunate moment. he did not know, in consequence of the blunder of clarke, that the dragoons whom he had fought and beaten, were only an advanced guard of a body of infantry. horses and men were in his hands, and, dividing his force, he sent off one party of his men in charge of the prisoners and trophies. a sudden attack of the british infantry took the small party which remained with him totally by surprise. they broke and left him almost alone, with nothing but his small sword in his hand. it was at this moment that a brave fellow of the second regiment, named mcdonald, yielded his own pony to his commander, by which he escaped. mcdonald saved himself by darting into the neighboring swamp. the british, dreading an ambuscade, did not pursue, and horry rallied his men, and returned, with a reinforcement sent by marion, to the scene of battle; but the enemy had left it and retired to georgetown. horry proceeded to sand hill, where, finding himself in good quarters, among some rich and friendly whigs, living well on their supplies, he proceeded to entrench himself in a regular redoubt. but from this imposing situation marion soon and sensibly recalled him. "he wrote me," says horry, "that the open field was our play--that the enemy knew better how to defend forts and entrenched places than we did, and that if we attempted it, we should soon fall into their hands." marion's farther instructions were to join him immediately, with every man that he could bring, for that it was his purpose to attack the enemy as soon as possible. horry admits that he quitted his redoubt and good fare very reluctantly. he set out with eighty men, but when he joined his commander in lynch's creek swamp, they were reduced to eighteen. it seems that his force had been made up in part of new recruits, who had but lately joined themselves to marion. horry calls them "wild tories or half-made new whigs--volunteers, assuredly, not to fight, but plunder,--who would run at the sight of the enemy." his recent surprise and danger had rendered the colonel sore. it was on this occasion, that, as we have already related, he was nearly drowned, and only saved by clinging to the impending branches of a tree. while horry was skirmishing with campbell, major john postelle, who was stationed to guard the lower part of the pedee, succeeded in capturing captain depeyster, with twenty-nine grenadiers. depeyster had taken post in the dwelling-house of postelle's father. the latter had with him but twenty-eight militia, but he knew the grounds, and gaining possession of the kitchen, fired it, and was preparing to burn the house also, when depeyster submitted. we find, at this time, a correspondence of marion with two of the british officers, in relation to the detention, as a prisoner, of captain postelle, who, it seems, though bearing a flag, was detained for trial by the enemy. portions of these letters, in which marion asserts his own humanity in the treatment of prisoners, we quote as exhibiting his own sense, at least, of what was the true character of his conduct in such matters. the reader will not have forgotten the charges made against him, in this respect, in an earlier part of this volume by lt.-col. balfour, in a letter to general moultrie. one of the present letters of marion is addressed to balfour. "i am sorry to complain of the ill treatment my officers and men meet with from captain saunders. the officers are closely confined in a small place where they can neither stand nor lie at length, nor have they more than half rations. i have treated your officers and men who have fallen into my hands, in a different manner. should these evils not be prevented in future, it will not be in my power to prevent retaliation. lord rawdon and col. watson have hanged three men of my brigade for supposed crimes, which will make as many of your men, in my hands, suffer." again, on the same subject, in a letter to col. watson--"the hanging of prisoners and the violation of my flag, will be retaliated if a stop is not put to such proceedings, which are disgraceful to all civilized nations. all of your officers and men, who have fallen into my hands, have been treated with humanity and tenderness, and i wish sincerely that i may not be obliged to act contrary to my inclination." the british officers thus addressed, alleged against postelle that he had broken his parole. if this were so, it was a just cause of detention; but it will be remembered that the british themselves revoked these paroles on the assumption that the province was conquered, and when, as citizens, they wished to exact military service from the people. in these circumstances the virtue of the obligation was lost, and ceased on the part of the citizen, because of the violation on the part of the conqueror, of the immunities which he promised. marion took decisive measures for compelling the necessary respect to his flag, by seizing upon captain merritt, the bearer of a british flag, and putting him in close keeping as a security for postelle. we do not know that he retaliated upon the british soldiers the cruel murders, by hanging, which had been practised upon his own. his nature would probably recoil from carrying his own threat into execution. in answer to one of marion's reproaches, we are told by col. watson, that "the burning of houses and the property of the inhabitants, who are our enemies, is customary in all civilized nations." the code of civilisation is certainly susceptible of liberal constructions. its elasticity is not the least of its many merits. cornwallis pursued greene into north carolina, and after much manoeuvering between the armies, they met at guilford on the th of march, . the honors of the victory, small as it was, lay with the british. their loss, however, was such, that the advantages of the field enured to the americans. from this field, cornwallis took his way to virginia, and his career as a commander in america was finally arrested at the siege of york. during the absence of greene from south carolina, marion's was the only force in active operation against the british. an opportunity so favorable for harassing and distressing the enemy, as that afforded by the absence of their main army in north carolina, was not neglected; and, calling in his detachments, he once more carried dismay into the heart of the tory settlements, on both sides of the santee. his incursions, and those of his officers, were extended as far as the confluence of the congaree and wateree, and as low down as monk's corner,--thus breaking up the line of communication between charleston and the grand army, and intercepting detachments and supplies, sent from that place to the line of posts established through the country. this sort of warfare, which seldom reaches events such as those which mark epochs in the progress of great bodies of men, is yet one which calls for constant activity. we have details of but few of the numerous conflicts which took place between our partisan and the tory leaders. these were scattered over the country, living by plunder, and indulging in every species of ferocity. greene writes, "the whigs and tories are continually out in small parties, and all the middle country is so disaffected, that you cannot lay in the most trifling magazine or send a wagon through the country with the least article of stores without a guard." in addressing himself to this sort of warfare, marion was pursuing a course of the largest benefit to the country. in overawing these plunderers, subduing the savage spirit, and confining the british to their strong places, he was acquiring an importance, which, if we are to estimate the merits of a leader only by the magnitude of his victories, will leave us wholly at a loss to know by what means his great reputation was acquired. but the value of his services is best gathered from the effect which they had upon the enemy. the insults and vexations which he unceasingly occasioned to the british, were not to be borne; and col. watson was dispatched with a select force of five hundred men to hunt him up and destroy him. we have seen tarleton and others engaged in the pursuit, but without success. watson was destined to be less fortunate. in the meanwhile, and before watson came upon his trail, col. peter horry had been engaged in a series of petty but rather amusing skirmishes, in the neighborhood of georgetown. a party of the british were engaged in killing beeves at white's bridge near georgetown. horry's men charged them while at this employment, and killing some, pursued the rest towards that place. the firing was heard in the town, and the facts of the case conjectured. this brought out a reinforcement, before which the detachment of horry was compelled to retreat. but, on gaining the woods, they were joined also by their friends; and the fight was resumed between the sampit and black river roads, with a dogged fierceness on both sides, that made it particularly bloody. in the course of the struggle, horry at one moment found himself alone. his men were more or less individually engaged, and scattered through the woods around him. his only weapon was his small sword. in this situation he was suddenly assailed by a tory captain, named lewis, at the head of a small party. lewis was armed with a musket, and in the act of firing, when a sudden shot from the woods tumbled him from his horse, in the very moment when his own gun was discharged. the bullet of lewis took effect on horry's horse. the shot which so seasonably slew the tory, had been sent by the hands of a boy named gwin. the party of lewis, apprehending an ambush, immediately fell back and put themselves in cover. the conflict lasted through the better part of the day, one side gaining ground, and now the other. it closed in the final defeat of the enemy, who were pursued with a savage and unsparing spirit. one half of their number were left dead upon the ground. their leader was major gainey. great expectations were formed of his ability to cope with marion. on this occasion, though he made his escape, his mode of doing so was characterized by a peculiar circumstance, which rendered it particularly amusing to one side and annoying to the other. he was singled out in the chase by sergeant mcdonald, a fierce young fellow, who was admirably mounted. gainey was fortunate in being well mounted also. mcdonald, regarding but the one enemy, passed all others. he himself said that he could have slain several in the chase. but he wished for no meaner object than their leader. one man alone who threw himself in the way of the pursuit became its victim. him he shot down, and, as they went at full speed down the black river road, at the corner of richmond fence, the sergeant had gained so far upon his enemy, as to be able to plunge his bayonet into his back. the steel separated from his gun, and, with no time to extricate it, gainey rushed into georgetown, with the weapon still conspicuously showing how close and eager had been the chase, and how narrow the escape. the wound was not fatal. the next affair was with col. tynes, who had been defeated by marion some time before, made prisoner and sent to north carolina. but the north carolina jailors seem to have been pretty generally tories, for we find horry complaining that they discharged the prisoners quite as fast as they were sent there; and it was the complaint of some of marion's officers that they had to fight the same persons in some instances, not less than three or four times. tynes had collected a second force, and, penetrating the forests of black river, was approaching the camp of our partisan. marion went against him, fell upon him suddenly, completely routed him, taking himself and almost his whole party prisoners. he made his escape a second time from north carolina, and with a third and larger force than ever, reappeared in the neighborhood of marion's camp. horry was sent against him with forty chosen horsemen. he travelled all night, and stopped the next day at the house of a tory, where he obtained refreshments. his men succeeded in obtaining something more. the tory most liberally filled their canteens with apple-brandy; and when the colonel got within striking distance of tynes and his tories, scarcely one of his troops was fit for action. he prudently retreated, very much mortified with the transaction. marion captured a part of tynes' force a few days after, and this luckless loyalist seems to have disappeared from the field from that moment. watson's march against marion was conducted with great caution. the operations of the partisan, meanwhile, were continued without interruption. about the middle of february, he was apprised of the march of major mcilraith from nelson's ferry, at the head of a force fully equal to his own. this british officer seems to have been singularly unlike his brethren in some remarkable particulars. he took no pleasure in burning houses, the hospitality of which he had enjoyed; he destroyed no cattle wantonly, and hung no unhappy prisoner. the story goes that while marion was pressing upon the steps of the enemy, he paused at the house of a venerable lady who had been always a friend to the whigs, and who now declared her unhappiness at seeing him. her reason being asked, she declared that she conjectured his purpose--that he was pursuing mcilraith, and that so honorable and gentle had been the conduct of that officer, on his march, that she was really quite unwilling that he should suffer harm, though an enemy. what he heard did not impair marion's activity, but it tended somewhat to subdue those fiercer feelings which ordinarily governed the partisans in that sanguinary warfare. he encountered and assailed mcilraith on the road near half-way swamp, first cutting off two picquets in his rear in succession, then wheeling round his main body, attacked him at the same moment in flank and front. mcilraith was without cavalry, and his situation was perilous in the extreme. but he was a brave fellow, and marion had few bayonets. by forced marches and constant skirmishing, the british major gained an open field upon the road. he posted himself within the enclosure upon the west of the road. marion pitched his camp on the edge of a large cypress pond, which lay on the east, and closely skirted the highway. here mcilraith sent him a flag, reproaching him with shooting his picquets, contrary, as he alleged, to all the laws of civilized warfare, and concluded with defying him to combat in the open field. the arguments of military men, on the subject of the laws of civilized warfare, are sometimes equally absurd and impertinent. warfare itself is against all the laws of civilisation, and there is something ludicrous in the stronger reproaching the feebler power, that it should resort to such means as are in its possession, for reconciling the inequalities of force between them. marion's reply to mcilraith was sufficiently to the purpose. he said that the practice of the british in burning the property of those who would not submit and join them, was much more indefensible than that of shooting picquets, and that while they persisted in the one practice, he should certainly persevere in the other. as to the challenge of mcilraith, he said that he considered it that of a man whose condition was desperate; but concluded with saying that if he, mcilraith, wished to witness a combat between twenty picked soldiers on each side, he was not unwilling to gratify him. here was a proposal that savored something of chivalry. mcilraith agreed to the suggestion, and an arrangement was made for a meeting. the place chosen for the combat was in a part of a field, which is very well known, south of an old oak tree, which was still, up to the year , pointed out to the stranger. it may be standing to this day, for the oak outlasts many generations of brave men. marion chose for the leader of his band, major john vanderhorst, then a supernumerary officer in his brigade. the second in command was capt. samuel price, of all saints. the names of the men were written on slips of paper and handed to them severally. gavin witherspoon received the first. the names of the others are not preserved. not one of them refused. when they were separated from their comrades, they were paraded near the fence, and marion addressed them in the following language: "my brave soldiers! you are twenty men picked this day out of my whole brigade. i know you all, and have often witnessed your bravery. in the name of your country, i call upon you once more to show it. my confidence in you is great. i am sure it will not be disappointed. fight like men, as you have always done--and you are sure of the victory." the speech was short, but it was effectual. it was, perhaps, a long one for marion. his words were usually few, but they were always to the purpose. more words were unnecessary here. the combatants heard him with pride, and hailed his exhortations with applause. while their cheers were loudest, marion transferred them to their leader. vanderhorst now asked witherspoon, "at what distance he would prefer, as the most sure to strike with buckshot?" "fifty yards, for the first fire," was the answer. "then," said vanderhorst, "when we get within fifty yards, as i am not a good judge of distances, mr. witherspoon will tap me on the shoulder. i will then give the word, my lads, and you will form on my left opposite these fellows. as you form, each man will fire at the one directly opposite, and my word for it, few will need a second shot." nothing, indeed, was more certain than this; and how mcilraith proposed to fight with any hope of the result, knowing how deadly was the aim of the americans, is beyond conjecture. if he relied upon the bayonet, as perhaps he did, his hope must have rested only upon those who survived the first fire; and with these, it was only necessary for the americans to practise the game of the survivor of the horatii, in order to gain as complete a victory. they had but to scatter and re-load--change their ground, avoid the push of the bayonet, till they could secure a second shot, and that certainly would have finished the business. but mcilraith had already reconsidered the proceeding. his men were formed in a straight line in front of the oak. vanderhorst was advancing and had got within one hundred yards, when a british officer was seen to pass hurriedly to the detachment, and the next moment the men retreated, with a quick step, towards the main body. vanderhorst and his party gave three huzzas, but not a shot was fired. mcilraith committed two errors. he should not have made the arrangement, but, once made, he should have suffered it to go on at all hazards. the effect was discreditable to himself, and detrimental to the efficiency of his men. marion would have fought his enemy all day on the same terms. his followers were on their own ground, with a familiar weapon, while the soldiers of the british were deprived of all their usual advantages--the assurance of support after the fire of the enemy was drawn. the militia seldom stood the encounter of the bayonet, but they as seldom failed to do famous execution with the first two or three discharges. that night mcilraith abandoned his heavy baggage, left fires burning, and retreating silently from the ground, hurried, with all dispatch, along the river road towards singleton's mills, distant ten miles. marion discovered the retreat before daylight, and sent col. hugh horry forward with one hundred men, to get in advance of him before he should reach the mill. but horry soon found this to be impossible, and he detached major james, at the head of a select party, well mounted on the swiftest horses, with instructions to cross the mill-pond above, and take possession of singleton's houses. these standing on a high hill, commanded a narrow defile on the road between the hill and the wateree swamp. james reached the house as the british advanced to the foot of the hill. but here he found a new enemy, which his foresters dreaded much more than the british or tories--the small-pox. singleton's family were down with it, and james shrank from availing himself of any advantage offered by the situation. but before he retired, one of his men, resting his rifle against a tree, shot the commander of the british advance. he was mortally wounded, and died the next day. marion was displeased with this achievement. the forbearance of mcilraith, while passing through the country, had touched his heart. he withdrew his forces, not displeased that his enemy had secured a stronghold in singleton's mill. the conscientiousness of the british officer is said to have incurred the displeasure of his commander, and that of his brother officers. when he reached charleston he was put into coventry. our authorities ascribe this to his gratuitous humanity, his reluctance to burn and plunder, with such excellent examples before him, as cornwallis and tarleton. we rather suspect, however, that it was in consequence of the unfortunate issue of the pitched battle, as agreed upon between himself and marion; a more probable cause of odium among his comrades, than any reluctance, which he might express, to violate the common laws of humanity. chapter . watson and doyle pursue marion--he baffles and harasses them--pursues doyle--his despondency and final resolution. the preparations of col. watson for pursuing and destroying our partisan in his stronghold, were at length complete. he sallied forth from fort watson about the first of march, and, with a british regiment and a large body of loyalists--a force quite sufficient, as was thought, for the desired object--marched down the santee, shaping his course for snow's island. at the same time, col. doyle, at the head of another british regiment, intended for cooperation with watson, was directed to proceed by way of m'callum's ferry, on lynch's, and down jeffers' creek, to the pedee. here they were to form a junction. marion had no force to meet these enemies in open combat. his number did not much exceed three hundred, but he had other resources of his own which better served to equalize them. doyle's approach was slow, and it seems partially unsuspected. in fact, in order to meet his enemies, and make the most of his strength, marion had generally called in his scouting parties. of watson's movements he had ample information. his scouts, well provided with relays of horses, traversed the country between his camp and camden. advised correctly of watson's progress, he made one of those rapid marches for which he was famous, and met him at wiboo swamp, about midway between nelson's and murray's ferries. at this place commenced a conflict as remarkable as it was protracted. the advance of watson consisted of the tory horse, under col. richboo. col. peter horry led marion's advance, consisting of about thirty men. the remainder of the brigade lay in reserve. the encounter of the two advanced parties produced a mutual panic, both recoiling upon their main bodies; but that of horry was the first to recover; and the command to charge, given by marion himself, produced the desired effect. horry was at length driven back by watson's regulars, and the field-pieces, which finally dislodged him. they were pursued by the tory horse of harrison, which, pressing upon the main body, gained some advantages; and, in the uncertainty of the event, while there was some confusion, afforded an opportunity for several instances of great individual valor. as the column of harrison pressed over the causeway, which was narrow, gavin james, a private of great spirit and gigantic size, mounted on a strong grey horse, and armed with musket and bayonet, threw himself in advance of his comrades, and directly in the path of the enemy. taking deliberate aim, he fired his piece, dropped his man, and drew a volley from those in front of him, not a shot of which took effect. his determined position and presence, in the centre of the narrow causeway, produced a pause in the advance. a dragoon rushed upon him, and was stricken down by the bayonet. a second, coming to the assistance of his comrade, shared the same fate, but, in falling, laid hold of the muzzle of james' musket, and was dragged by him in the retreat some forty or fifty paces. this heroism was not without its effect. if the men of marion faltered for a moment, such examples, and the voice of their general, re-invigorated their courage. capts. macauley and conyers, at the head of the cavalry, arrested the advance of the tories; and harrison himself fell, mortally wounded, by the hands of conyers. the tories were dispersed, and sought shelter from the infantry of watson, before the advance of which marion deemed it prudent for the time to retire. marion lost nothing by this meeting. its effect upon the tories was highly beneficial. they had suffered severely in killed and wounded, and were thus intimidated at the outset. watson encamped that night on the field of battle, and marion a few miles below. the next morning the pursuit was resumed. watson marched down the river, marion keeping just sufficiently ahead of him to be able to post an ambuscade for him at the first point that seemed suitable for such a purpose. at mount hope, watson had to build up the bridges, and sustain a second conflict with a chosen party of marion's, led by col. hugh horry. by bringing forward his field-pieces, and drilling the swamp thickets with grape, he succeeded in expelling horry, and clearing the way for his column. but the same game was to be renewed with every renewal of the opportunity. when watson drew near to murray's ferry, he passed the kingstree road; and, coming to that of black river, which crosses at the lower bridge, he made a feint of still continuing along the santee; but soon after wheeled about, and took the former route. this manoeuvre might have deceived a less wary antagonist than marion. he was soon aware of the enemy's intention. detaching major james, at the head of seventy men, thirty of whom were m'cottry's rifles, he ordered him to destroy the bridge, and so post himself as to command it. he himself kept his eye fixed upon watson. this bridge was on the main pass to williamsburg, and the men chosen for its defence were judiciously taken from that part of the country. it was naturally supposed that, in sight of their cottage smokes, they would struggle manfully against the enemy's forces. james proceeded with great rapidity, and, avoiding the road, crossed the river by a shorter route. he reached the bridge in time to throw down two of the middle arches, and to fire the string pieces at the eastern extremity. as soon as the chasm was made, he placed m'cottry's riflemen at the end of the bridge and on each side of the ford. the rest of his detachment were so stationed as to cooperate, when required, with their comrades. marion arriving soon after, strengthened the force of james with the pedee company under captain potts, and took post himself, with the main body, in the rear. these arrangements had scarcely been effected when watson made his appearance. at this place the west bank of the river is considerably higher than the east. the latter is low and somewhat swampy. on the west, the road passes to the bridge through a ravine. the river was forty or fifty yards wide, and though deep, was fordable below the bridge. the ravine was commanded by m'cottry's rifles. as soon as watson approached the river, which he did from the west, his field-pieces opened upon the passage which conducted to the ford. but the position assigned to marion's men, on the eastern side of the river, effectually protected them. to bring the field-pieces to bear upon the low grounds which they occupied, was to expose the artillerists, upon the elevated banks which they occupied, to the deliberate and fatal fire of the riflemen. watson was soon made aware of the difficulties of the passage. not a man approached within gun-shot that did not pay the penalty of his rashness; and those who drew nigh to succor or carry off the wounded, shared the same fate. it was determined to attempt the ford, and the advance was put forward, as a forlorn hope, with this desperate purpose. the officer leading it, came on very gallantly, waving his sword aloft and loudly encouraging his men. his progress was fatally arrested by m'cottry's rifle. the signal drew the fire of the riflemen and musketeers, with whom the banks were lined, and the heavy and deliberate discharge drove back and dispersed the british advance, nor did the reserve move forward to its assistance. four brave fellows attempted to carry off the officer who had fallen, but they remained with him. watson was terrified. he was heard to say that "he had never seen such shooting in his life." there was no effecting the passage in the face of such enemies, and stealing down to the banks of the river, on the side which they occupied, and wherever the woods afforded shelter, the british skirmished with marion's flankers across the stream until night put an end to the conflict. the next morning watson sent that dispatch to marion which, from its lugubrious tenor, has acquired a degree of notoriety much greater than the name of the officer from whom it emanated. he complained to marion of his modes of fighting, objected to the ambuscades of the partisan, and particularly complained that his picquets and sentinels should be shot down when they had no suspicion of danger. he concluded by urging upon marion to come out and fight him like a gentleman and christian, according to the laws of civilized warfare. while the tone of the letter was thus lugubrious, its language was offensive. he applied to the partisans the epithets "banditti and murderers". marion returned no answer to this precious document, but renewed his order to his nightly patrols, to shoot the sentinels and cut off the picquets as before. he thought the measure quite as legitimate in such a war, as the burning the house and hanging the son of the widow. but though marion returned no answer by the flag, to the letter of watson, there was a dispatch by one of the brigade, of a somewhat curious character. there was a sergeant in the brigade by the name of mcdonald, of whom something has been heard before. he was the same bold fellow who had so closely pursued major gainey into georgetown, leaving his bayonet in the possession and person of the latter. he was distinguished by his great coolness and courage, an extraordinary degree of strength, and a corresponding share of agility. he was as notorious among the enemy for his audacity, as he was among his comrades for his great modesty and goodness of heart. it appears that, among some of watson's captures, while pressing hard upon our partisans, had been the entire wardrobe of mcdonald. the sergeant felt it as something more than a loss of property that his clothes should be taken by the enemy. it was a point of honor that he should recover them. his message to watson was of this purport. he concluded with solemnly assuring the bearer of the flag, that if the clothes were not returned he would kill eight of his men. watson was furious at a message which increased the irritation of his late discomfiture. knowing nothing himself of mcdonald, he was disposed to treat the message with contempt; but some of his officers, who knew better the person with whom they had to deal, begged that the clothes of the sergeant might be returned to him, for that he would most certainly keep his word if they were not. watson complied with the suggestion. when the clothes appeared, mcdonald said to the bearer, "tell col. watson, i will now kill but four of his men." two days after he shot lieut. torriano through the knee with a rifle, at a distance of three hundred yards. marion, the next day, took post on a ridge below the ford of the river, which is still popularly called "the general's island". his rifles still effectually commanded the passage and baffled every attempt of watson to cross. pushing m'cottry and conyers over the river, they exercised themselves in cutting off his patrols and picquets. to save himself from these annoyances, watson retreated a little higher up the river and pitched his camp at blakeley's plantation, in the most open field that he could find. here he remained for ten days almost environed by his adroit and active enemy. night and day was he kept in a condition of alarm and apprehension. the cavalry beat up his quarters when he slept, while the riflemen picked off his men the moment they exposed themselves. it was while he was in this situation that the brave capt. conyers presented himself daily before the lines of the enemy, either as a single cavalier, or at the head of his troop, demanding an opponent. the anecdote has been already narrated in another chapter. the temper of watson was very much subdued by this sort of warfare. his next letter to marion was of very different tone from that sent but a few days before. he now solicits a pass from his enemy for lieut. torriano and others wounded, whom he desired to send to charleston. this was promptly granted. meanwhile he employed a negro from chevin's plantation to carry a letter to the commandant at georgetown. in endeavoring to make his way, the negro was killed and the letter fell into the hands of marion. it contained a woful complaint of the unfair mode of fighting pursued by the partisans, and implored a reinforcement.* in fact watson was literally besieged. his supplies were cut off, his progress arrested, and so many of his men perished in the continual skirmishing, that he is reported by tradition to have sunk them in black river in order to conceal their numbers. he was finally compelled to decamp. if his path was beset with dangers, it was death to remain in his present situation. making a forced march down the georgetown road, he paused when he reached ox swamp, six miles below the lower bridge. his flight had been harassed by light parties of the americans; but here he found them prepared for, and awaiting him. the road through which he was to pass, was skirted by a thick boggy swamp, and before him the causeway was covered with trees which had been felled to obstruct his passage. the bridges were destroyed, and marion lay directly in his path, prepared for a final encounter. watson shrunk from the prospect, and determined upon another route. wheeling to the right he dashed through the open pine woods, for the santee road, about fifteen miles. when overtaken by marion upon this road, his infantry were hurrying forward, like horses, at a full trot. but few natural obstacles attended his progress on this path, and the extraordinary rapidity of his flight had put him considerably ahead of his pursuers. but he was not yet to escape. the cavalry of horry, and the riflemen of m'cottry, galled him at every step in flank and rear. when he reached sampit bridge a last skirmish took place, which might have terminated in the complete defeat of the enemy, but for the cowardice of a lieut. scott, of horry's detachment. watson was attacked fiercely in the flank and rear by the whole force of marion. his horse was killed, and his own life endangered. the affair was equally short and sharp, and had it not been that the ambush placed by horry failed to discharge its duty, watson would, in all probability, never have reached georgetown, or only reached it on parole. he gained it finally in safety, thoroughly harassed and discomfited by the subtle enemy whom he had gone forth, with a superior force, and a confident hope, to destroy or capture. * horry's ms.-- but the success of our partisan against watson did not necessarily dispose of his enemies. while he had been engaged in the events, as just given, col. doyle had succeeded in penetrating to his haunts on snow's island. that famous retreat had been entrusted to a small body of men under the command of col. ervin. ervin was defeated, and doyle obtained possession of all marion's stores. arms and ammunition were emptied into lynch's creek, and this at a period, when every ounce of powder, and pound of shot, were worth, to our partisans, their weight in gold. it was while moving from sampit towards snow's island, that marion was apprised of this mortifying intelligence. it was a matter to be deplored certainly, but it was one of those events that could not have been prevented. the force of marion was too small to suffer him to play the admirable game, already described, with watson, yet leave a sufficient body of men in camp for its protection. he had only to console himself by taking his revenge, and he turned the head of his columns in pursuit of doyle. this officer made his way to witherspoon's ferry, on lynch's creek, where he lay in a good position on the north side of the ferry. marion approached him cautiously, with m'cottry's mounted riflemen in advance. arriving at the creek a detachment of the british was found on the opposite side, engaged in scuttling the ferry boat. the riflemen drew nigh unperceived, and poured in a well directed and deadly fire, which produced the utmost consternation. the fire was returned in volleys, but the limbs and branches of the trees suffered infinitely more than the riflemen who lay behind them. marion now made his arrangements for crossing the stream. but this was not to be done in the face of the enemy, with the creek before him wide and swollen. marion moved rapidly up the creek, which he swam at the first favorable point some five miles above witherspoon's. this brought him nearer to doyle's position, but the latter had not waited for him. whether it was that he had little taste for the sort of annoyances to which watson had been subjected, or that he had received instructions from lord rawdon to join him at camden, in all haste, it is certain that he made the greatest speed in hurrying in that direction. it was at this period that marion held a consultation with horry, in which he is represented by that officer as in an unusual state of despondency. his enemies were accumulating around him with unwonted rapidity, and in greater force than ever. watson, furious at his late disasters, and mortified with the result of his confident anticipations, had sallied forth from georgetown with a reinforcement. he had gone towards the pedee, where he strengthened himself with the large body of tories which gainey had commanded. horry tells us of a third body of men at the same time in the field, with doyle and watson, and all addressing themselves to the same object, his utter expulsion from the country. at that moment the expulsion of our partisan would leave the conquest of the state complete. in these emergencies, with these foes accumulating around him, the mind of marion naturally addressed itself with more gravity than usual to the task of his extrication from his enemies. his countenance, as horry describes it, was troubled. but, with his usual taciturnity, he said nothing on the subject of his anxieties. seeing him walking alone, and in deep revery, horry approached him, and said-- "general, our men are few, and, if what i hear be true, you never wanted them more." marion started, and replied-- "go immediately to the field officers, and know from them, if, in the event of my being compelled to retire to the mountains, they will follow my fortunes, and with me carry on the war, until the enemy is forced out of the country. go, and bring me their answer without delay." it was a peculiarity in marion's character, that he should have entrusted such a commission to a subordinate. but it accords with all that we have seen of the reserve and shyness of his moods. the simple remark to horry indicates his admirable firmness, his calculations, even of possible necessities long in advance, and his instinctive mode of encountering them as he best might. his determination, on his own account, to carry on the war against the enemy in the mountains, till they or himself were expelled from the country, denotes the unsubmitting patriot. the reader must not forget that, at this moment, there was no force in the state but his own, arrayed against the british. sumter was still 'hors de combat' from his wound. the army of greene, having with it pickens, and other native militia, was in north carolina, watching the movements of cornwallis. lord rawdon, with a strong british garrison, held camden. charleston and georgetown, ninety-six and granby, forts watson and motte, were all held, with numerous other conspicuous points, by the british; and with watson, whose force now numbered a thousand men, doyle half that number, and several active and large bodies of tories prepared to cooperate with these against our partisan, the danger of marion's situation, and his patriotic resolve of character, are conspicuous at a glance. horry sought the officers, and promptly returned to his commander. to a man they had pledged themselves to follow his fortunes, however disastrous, while one of them survived, and until their country was freed from the enemy. marion's countenance instantly brightened--we cannot forbear the use of horry's own language, though it may provoke a smile--"he was tip-toed"--(i.e.)--he rose upon his toes--and said "i am satisfied--one of these parties shall soon feel us."* * horry's ms., pp. , .-- chapter . marion renews his pursuit of doyle--confronts watson--is joined by col. lee--invests and takes fort watson--fort motte taken--anecdote of horry and marion. marion instantly put his men in motion in pursuit of doyle. in crossing the swamp of lynch's creek, during the night, several of the soldiers lost their arms, in consequence of the freshet. the swamp was inundated, and it required all their dexterity and promptitude to save themselves. snatching a hasty breakfast, the pursuit was continued all day, and resumed the next morning until ten o'clock, when they found such signs of the superior speed and haste of the enemy, as to preclude all possibility of overtaking him. they had been necessarily delayed by the passage of the swamp, and had not made sufficient allowance for the speed with which an enemy might run when there was occasion for it. here they found that doyle had destroyed all his heavy baggage, and had sped in such confusion towards camden, that his encampment, and the road which he traversed, were strewn with canteens and knapsacks, and everything, not necessary to defence, which might retard his progress. marion, somewhat surprised at a flight for which he could not then account, for his own force was far inferior to that of doyle, yet saw that the fugitive was beyond present pursuit. he wheeled about, accordingly, and set his men in motion for another meeting with watson. that commander, now strengthened, and just doubling the numbers of our partisan, with fresh supplies of provisions and military stores, had once more pushed for the pedee. he took the nearest route across black river, at wragg's ferry, and, crossing the pedee at euhaney, and the little pedee at potato ferry, he halted at catfish creek, one mile from the present site of marion courthouse. marion crossed the pedee, and encamped at the warhees, within five miles of the enemy. here he planted himself, in vigilant watch of the force which he could not openly encounter. in addition to the want of men, he labored under a still greater want of ammunition. when asked by capt. gavin witherspoon, whether he meant to fight watson--a measure which witherspoon thought particularly advisable--before he was joined by any more bodies of tories, he answered, "that would be best, but we have not ammunition." "why, general," said witherspoon, "my powder-horn is full." "ah, my friend!" was the reply of marion, "you are an extraordinary soldier; but for the others, there are not two rounds to a man." thus stood the two parties; and thus it but too frequently stood with our partisan--wanting the most simple resources by which to make his own genius and the valor of his men apparent. that the former was alive and equal to emergencies, even in such a condition of necessity, may be inferred from the fact, that he should dare take such a position, so immediately contiguous to an enemy double his own force, and abounding in all the requisite materials of war. the inactivity of watson is only to be accounted for by his total ignorance of the resourceless state of marion's rifles. while marion and watson were thus relatively placed, the former was apprised of the return of greene to south carolina. this intelligence accounted for the hasty retreat of doyle. he was summoned by lord rawdon to camden, to strengthen that position against the american force, which was advancing in that direction. the reappearance of greene was a source of heartfelt joy to those who, but a little while before, had anticipated the necessity of flying before the foe, and taking shelter in the mountains. it was because of the absence of the american army that rawdon was enabled, as we have seen, to concentrate his chief force upon marion. the presence of greene, which had caused the recall of doyle, must, as marion well knew, effect that of watson also. he was preparing himself accordingly, when further advices brought him news of the approach of colonel lee, with the continental legion, to his own assistance. he dispatched a guide to lee, and by means of boats, which he always kept secreted, the legion was transported over the pedee, and a junction with marion's force was effected on the fourteenth of april. the tidings which had brought such gratification to the camp of marion, had as inspiring, though not as grateful an effect in that of watson. he lost no time in breaking up his encampment. the safety of rawdon and camden was paramount, and, wheeling his two field-pieces into catfish creek, and burning his baggage, as doyle had done, he sped, with similar precipitation, in the same direction. the route taken in his flight declared his apprehensions of marion. he trembled at the recollection of the recent race between them--the harassings and skirmishings night and day--the sleepless struggles, and unintermitting alarms. recrossing the little pedee, and avoiding euhaney, he passed the waccamaw at greene's ferry, and, retreating through the neck, between that river and the sea, crossed winyaw bay, three miles in width, and, in this manner, arrived in georgetown. a slight glance at any map of the country, keeping in mind that watson's object was really camden, will show the reader the extent of his fears of that wily and indefatigable enemy from whom he had previously escaped with so much difficulty. marion was exceedingly anxious to pursue watson, but lee, though subordinate, succeeded in preventing this desire. instructions which he brought from greene, and which he earnestly dwelt upon, required their cooperation against the british posts below camden. lee urged, also, that such a pursuit would take them too far from greene, with the movements of whose army it was important that marion's force should act as intimately as possible. marion yielded the point with great reluctance, and was heard repeatedly after to regret that his orders did not permit him to follow the dictates of his own judgment. had he done so, with his force strengthened by the continental bayonets, and new supplies of powder for his rifles, watson's flight to georgetown, which he could scarcely have reached, would have been far more uncomfortable than he found it on the previous occasion. lee led the way with his legion towards the santee, while marion, placing witherspoon with a small party on the trail of watson, pursued his line of march through williamsburg. having once resolved, marion's movements were always rapid and energetic. on the fifteenth of april, only a day after the junction with lee, he was before fort watson. this was a stockade fort, raised on one of those remarkable elevations of an unknown antiquity which are usually recognized as indian mounds. it stands near scott's lake on the santee river, a few miles below the junction of the congaree and wateree. the mound is forty feet in height, and remote from any other elevation by which it might be commanded. the garrison at this post consisted of eighty regular troops, and forty loyalists. it was commanded by lieut. mckay, a brave officer, of the regular service. to the summons of marion he returned a manly defiance, and the place was regularly invested. besieged and besiegers were alike without artillery; with a single piece, the former might well have defied any force which marion could bring against him. the place would have been impregnable to the americans. as it was, its steep sides and strong palisades forbade any attempt to storm. to cut off the garrison from scott's lake, where it procured water, was the first step taken by the besiegers. but the besieged, by sinking a well within the stockade, below the level of the contiguous water, counteracted the attempt. for a moment, the assailants were at fault, and, without artillery, the prospect was sufficiently discouraging. but while doubting and hesitating, col. mayham, of the brigade, suggested a mode of overawing the garrison which was immediately adopted. at a short distance from the fort there grew a small wood, a number of the trees of which were hewn down, and transported upon the shoulders of the men within a proper distance of the mound. here, during the night, all hands were actively employed in piling the wood thus brought, in massive and alternate layers, crosswise, until the work had reached a sufficient elevation. at dawn, the garrison were confounded to find themselves, at wakening, under a shower of rifle bullets. thus overlooked, the fort was no longer tenable; and a party of volunteers from the militia, headed by ensign baker, and another of continentals, from the legion, led by mr. lee, a volunteer, ascended the mound with great intrepidity, and gained the abbatis, which they proceeded to destroy. this movement brought the garrison to terms, and a capitulation immediately followed. but the leaguer had consumed eight days, the progress of which had been watched with equal anxiety by both parties. the americans apprehended, and the garrison anticipated, the approach of watson with an overwhelming force for the relief of the besieged. but watson did not appear. he no longer had an overwhelming force. his flight to georgetown was marked by loss and desertion. it appears that his panic, or his sense of duty, led him rather to avoid marion and to reach camden without interruption. he very prudently, therefore, after crossing the santee, on the route from georgetown, moved down by monk's corner, added to his force the garrison of that place, and then cautiously advanced to the santee. he resolved rather to leave fort watson to its fate, than risk a force which might be necessary to the exigencies of rawdon. watson was considered by the british one of their best partisans, yet never had poor warrior been so worried and harassed, as, with a superior force, he had been by marion. yet, in his second expedition in pursuit of the latter, had he been able to cooperate with doyle, with the tories of harrison and gainey, all preparing for the same object, the escape of our partisan would have been miraculous. at no time, during their pursuit of him, was his force equal to the smallest one of theirs. he must have been expelled the country, as he himself seemed to apprehend, or he must have fallen in the conflict. we have so little at the hands of marion, in the shape of correspondence, that we are tempted to give his official letter to general greene, apprising him of the fall of fort watson. it is dated-- fort watson (scott's lake), april , . sir-- lieut.-col. lee made a junction with me at santee, the th inst., after a rapid march from ramsay's mill, on deep river, which he performed in eight days. the th we marched to this place and invested it. our hope was to cut off their water. some riflemen and continentals immediately took post between the fort and the lake. the fort is situated on a small hill, forty feet high, stockaded, and with three rows of abbatis round it. no trees near enough to cover our men from their fire. the third day after we had invested it, we found the enemy had sunk a well near the stockade which we could not prevent them from [doing]; as we had no entrenching tools to make our approach, we immediately determined to erect a work equal in height to the fort. this arduous work was completed this morning by major maham, who undertook it. we then made a lodgment on the side of the mound, near the stockade. this was performed with great spirit and address by ensign johnson, and mr. lee, a volunteer in col. lee's legion, who with difficulty ascended the hill and pulled away the abbatis, which induced the commandant to hoist a flag. col. lee and myself agreed to the enclosed capitulation, which i hope may be approved by you. our loss on this occasion is two killed, and three continentals and three militia wounded. i am particularly indebted to col. lee for his advice and indefatigable diligence in every part of these tedious operations, against as strong a little post as could well be made, and on the most advantageous spot that could be wished for. the officers and men of the legion and militia performed everything that could be expected; and major maham of my brigade, had, in a particular manner, a great share of this success by his unwearied diligence in erecting the tower which principally occasioned the reduction of the fort. in short, sir, i have had the greatest assistance from every one under my command. enclosed is a list of the prisoners and stores taken, and i shall, without loss of time, proceed to demolish the fort; after which i shall march to the high hills of santee, encamp at capt. richardson's, and await your orders. (signed) francis marion. in taking post at the santee hills, the object of marion was to take such a position as would enable him to watch all the several roads by which watson could make his way to camden. it was important, if possible, to prevent his junction with lord rawdon, thus increasing the ability of that commander to cope with greene's army, which now lay before that place. but marion was not able to encounter watson without assistance. lee, with his legion, had been withdrawn by greene soon after the capture of fort watson, and our partisan's force in camp, from concurring circumstances, was now reduced to about eighty men. eighty of his brigade were detached under col. irvine to rafting creek, in order to cut off supplies from camden. another party was engaged in watching a rising of the tories on the pedee, who, in the absence of marion himself, had manifested a disposition to resume the offensive; col. harden, with another detachment, was on the salkehatchie, having first succeeded in the capture of fort balfour at pocotaligo, in which he made nearly a hundred prisoners. other small detachments had thinned the little army of our partisan to such a degree that it was of small efficiency where it was; and, just at this juncture, numerous desertions took place from two concurring circumstances. the approach of marion to the hills had brought on the battle of camden. unwilling that greene's force should be increased by the militia of the former, rawdon had resolved not to wait for watson, but to march out and give battle before the coming of either. he did so. the affair was not decisive, but greene was compelled to yield the field to his enemy. he lost nothing, whether of honor or position, by this result. but, as the news spread, the defeat was exaggerated. it was supposed to be another affair such as that of gates, and marion's small body of men was still farther lessened by desertion. there was still another reason for its present feebleness. the time of the year was the very height of the planting season, and the farmer-soldiers, in numbers, left the camp in order to hurry to their homes and set their crops. this, though not allowed by the regular disciplinarian, was, in the mind of the militia-man, a duty quite as imperative as any that he owed to his family. indeed, it was inseparable from his necessities that, where the government did not give him bread, he must make it for himself. his family could not starve, and if he could fight without pay, it was not possible that he should do so without food. in the sort of warfare which marion had hitherto carried on, he had been willing to recognize these necessities on the part of his followers. cooperating with an army differently constituted, it was scarcely possible to do so, with any hope of their permanent usefulness. just at this juncture, in particular, he felt the peculiarly mortifying character of his situation. to enable marion to contend with watson, greene dispatched major eaton, with a body of continentals, to his assistance, with instructions to throw himself across the path of watson. but eaton, by an unhappy misunderstanding of his duty, failed to reach him in season for this object. when he did join him, which was on the evening of the d of may, it was too late. marion, writing to greene, says, "major eaton's not coming up sooner has made me lose a great deal of precious time. i shall cross the santee at wright's bluff to-morrow." he did so, but watson had already passed, and succeeded in eluding greene also, and in reaching camden in safety. we have spoken of col. harden's proceedings against fort balfour, and the capture of that post. this officer was a very brave and active gentleman, rapid in his movements, and resolute in his objects. as soon as marion had received intelligence of greene's approach to south carolina, he had dispatched harden with seventy select men, well mounted, to penetrate through the country, and crossing the enemy's lines of communication, to stir up the people in all that region which lies southwest of charleston. so rapid and unexpected were his movements, that he took the enemy everywhere by surprise, and rendered himself, for the time, the very terror of the loyalists upon the route. his force increased with its progress. the inhabitants yearned for an escape from british authority, and joined his troop. his seventy men soon became two hundred, and while he baffled the pursuit of the superior, he visited with sudden and severe chastisement the disaffected, along and on both sides of the savannah river. ascending this, he soon communicated with pickens, then operating against augusta and ninety-six. nothing now was wanting but the fall of the enemy's chain of posts, to complete the recovery of the whole country within thirty miles of the sea. in contributing to this desirable object marion, now strengthened by the continentals of lee and eaton, invested fort motte on the river congaree. this post was the principal depot of the convoys from charleston to camden, and sometimes of those destined for forts granby and ninety-six. a large new mansion-house belonging to mrs. motte, situated on a high and commanding hill, had been chosen for this establishment. it was surrounded with a deep trench, along the inner margin of which a strong and lofty parapet was raised. to this post had been assigned a sufficient garrison of one hundred and fifty men. this force was increased by a small detachment of dragoons from charleston, which had been thrown into it a few hours before the appearance of the americans. the garrison was commanded by capt. mcpherson, a firm and gallant officer. opposite to fort motte, to the north, stood another hill, where mrs. motte, who had been expelled from her dwelling, resided in an old farm-house. on this, lee took position with his corps: marion's men occupied the eastern declivity of the same ridge on which stood the fort. the place was very soon invested. the six pounder with which greene had furnished marion, was mounted on a battery raised in the quarter which he occupied, for the purpose of raking the northern face of the enemy's parapet. mcpherson was in the possession of a wall-piece, but he had not been able to adapt it for use before the investment took place. it does not seem to have been even used during the siege. his chief hopes lay in being relieved by a detachment from camden, not doubting its arrival before his assailant could push his preparations to maturity. the works of the latter advanced rapidly, and the place was summoned on the th of may. the reply declared the determination of the besieged to try the strength and patience of the besiegers. these had now every motive for perseverance. they were advised of the approach of rawdon, with all his force, to the relief of the fort. that stern commander, finding camden was no longer tenable against the increasing forces of the americans, and unable to maintain his several posts with his diminished strength, was aiming to contract his scattered bodies into narrower limits. having made a second, but unsatisfactory, demonstration upon greene, he destroyed his unnecessary baggage, and, leaving camden in flames, he once more abandoned it to the americans. greene advised marion of his retreat, and urged him to expedition. on the next night he reached the country opposite fort motte, and his numerous fires on the highest grounds on his route, encouraged the garrison with hopes of success, which were not to be realized. what was to be done, was to be done quickly, on the part of the besiegers. the process of battering by cannon would be too slow. some shorter mode was to be adopted, to anticipate the approach of rawdon. the ready thought of our partisan suggested this process. it was known that the large mansion of mrs. motte occupied the greater part of the area of the fort; but a few yards of ground within the works remained uncovered by it. to burn the house by fire would compel the surrender of the garrison. the necessity was very reluctantly communicated to the widow by whom the property was owned. but she was one of those glorious dames of the revolution, to whom the nation is so largely indebted for the glory of that event. she had received the american officers with a hospitality which made them almost shrink from suggesting their purposes; but as soon as they were made known, she put them perfectly at ease upon the subject. with something more than cheerfulness--with pride--that any sacrifice on her part should contribute to the success of her countrymen, in so dear an object, she herself produced a bow, with all the necessary apparatus, which had been brought from india,* and which she had preserved. by the arrows from this bow the fire was to be communicated to her dwelling. * the origin of this bow, though unimportant, is nonetheless the subject of great differences. james says an "indian bow and arrows", though one would expect he meant "american indian" from the context. weems implies that it was from africa.--a. l., .-- everything being in readiness, the lines were manned and an additional force stationed at the batteries, lest the enemy, in the moment of desperation, might prefer risking an assault, rather than endure the mortification of a surrender. a flag was sent to mcpherson, but the sight of rawdon's fires on the other side of the river encouraged him with the belief that he might still resist successfully. the bow was put into the hands of nathan savage, a private in marion's brigade. it was noon when the attempt was made. the scorching rays of the noonday sun had prepared the roof for the conflagration. balls of blazing rosin and brimstone were attached to the arrows, and three several shafts were sent by the vigorous arm of the militia-man against the roof. they took effect, in three different quarters, and the shingles were soon in a blaze. mcpherson immediately ordered a party to the roof, but this had been prepared for, and the fire of the six-pounder soon drove the soldiers down. the flames began to rage, the besiegers were on the alert, guarding every passage, and no longer hopeful of rawdon, mcpherson hung out the white flag imploring mercy. the gentle nature of marion readily yielded to his prayer, though, as lee tells us, "policy commanded death." in this siege marion lost two brave fellows, one of whom has been more than once conspicuous in this narrative--the daring sergeant mcdonald, and lieutenant cruger. mcdonald had reached a lieutenancy before he fell. the prisoners were paroled, but their officers before leaving partook of a sumptuous dinner given by mrs. motte to the victors. this noble lady, whose grace of demeanor is represented as quite equal to her patriotism, presided at her table, in such a manner as to render all parties at home. col. p. horry tells us of some of the incidents which took place at the dinner. a captain of the british army, taken among the prisoners, on finding himself near horry, said to him: "you are col. horry, i presume, sir." horry answered in the affirmative. "well," said the other, "i was with col. watson when he on sampit fought your general marion. i think i saw you there with a party of horse. i think you were also at nelson's ferry, when marion surprised our party at the house? but," added the officer, "i was hid in high grass and escaped. were you not there also?" horry answered, "no! it was my brother hugh." "well," said the captain, "you were fortunate in your escape [at sampit] for watson and small had men." "if so," said horry, "i certainly was fortunate, for i did not suppose they had more than half that number." the captain then added--"i consider myself equally fortunate in escaping at nelson's old field." "truly, you were," answered horry drily; "for marion had but militia on that occasion." "at this," says our worthy colonel, "the captain's countenance fell, and he retired, and avoided me the rest of the day. general greene, the next day (greene had reached marion's camp that night) said to me, 'col. horry, how came you to affront capt. ferguson?' i answered, he affronted himself by telling his own story. it militated so greatly against himself as to compel the officers who were near to laugh. the captain and i, sir, agreed that we were both equally fortunate in war. greene replied, 'capt. ferguson's memory was only too good.'"* * horry's ms. narrative, pp. - .-- while at the hospitable table of mrs. motte, it was whispered in marion's ears, that col. lee's men were even then engaged in hanging certain of the tory prisoners. marion instantly hurried from the table, seized his sword, and running with all haste, reached the place of execution in time to rescue one poor wretch from the gallows. two were already beyond rescue or recovery. with drawn sword and a degree of indignation in his countenance that spoke more than words, marion threatened to kill the first man that made any further attempt in such diabolical proceedings.* * horry's ms. narrative, p. .-- chapter . correspondence of marion and greene--anecdote of colonel snipes--marion takes georgetown--attempt of sumter and marion on col. coates--battle of quinby bridge. it was while marion was most actively engaged in the investment of fort motte, that a correspondence took place between himself and general greene, which had nearly resulted in the loss of his invaluable services to the country. a pure and noble spirit, marion was particularly sensitive to reproach, and felt deeply its injustice. from the moment that greene took command of the southern army, he had yielded the most profound deference to his wishes, had seconded his slightest suggestions, timed his own movements with a studied regard to those contemplated by the commander, and, whenever the service would allow, had devoted his little band to such duties as would lead to the promotion of all those larger plans which were contemplated for the execution of the grand army. his scouts had served for pioneers, his cavalry procured provisions for the camp, and it was to marion alone that greene looked for all his intelligence. but there was one favorite object which greene had in view, to which our partisan could contribute little. the want of a cavalry force had been particularly felt by the former, and he had been sedulous in the endeavor to supply this want, from the very first of his southern campaigns. he had been pressingly calling upon sumter, marion, and every officer, who might be thought able to procure him a supply of horses; and active agents of his own had been scouring every quarter of the country in search of this indispensable agent of all great military operations. his quest had been comparatively vain. the british had been before him throughout the country. the dragoons of tarleton had swept the stables; and, where this was not the case, the horses were held by militia men, to whom they were quite as indispensable as to the grand army. marion's troopers could only be of service while in possession of their horses--they had large and extensive tracts of country to traverse--could procure no intelligence without--and, any attempt to dismount a soldier from his favorite steed, would be to produce a degree of discontent in his mind which would most certainly deprive the country of his services. to expect that the partisan militia under marion and sumter, who had been constantly on horseback, in the face of the enemy, should deliver their horses up to others who possessed no higher claim upon the country than themselves, was to expect more largely than was altogether reasonable, from the liberality or the patriotism of any set of men. a few, such as could be spared, had been supplied by marion. he never, for an instant, contemplated the dismounting of his troopers--those hardy fellows who had been constant in all vicissitudes--who had murmured at no tasks--shrunk from no adventures--and spared neither themselves nor their property, when the necessities of the country required, at periods when there was no grand army to divide with themselves the honors and the dangers of the war. nay, to dismount them was, in fact, to disarm himself. it appears, however, that this was expected of him. an unfortunate letter of col. lee, dated the d may, and addressed to greene, contained this paragraph: "general marion," says the letter, "can supply you, if he will, with one hundred and fifty good dragoon horses, most of them impressed horses. he might, in my opinion, spare sixty, which would be a happy supply." the effect of this communication upon greene was immediate and painful. believing that he had been ill-used, and vexed that marion, knowing his necessities, and with the power to relieve them, should yet have forborne to do so, though urgently exhorted, he frankly declared his feelings in the very next letter to our partisan. marion did not dissemble his indignation in his reply. he repels the charge that he had ever withheld supplies which he might have furnished, and concludes his letter by requesting permission to resign--firmly, but respectfully, intimating his resolution to retire from service as soon as fort motte should be reduced. greene, in an instant, from this reply, perceived the mischief that he had done. he wrote instantly to marion, and succeeded, though with difficulty, in overcoming his resolution. he says: "my reason for writing so pressingly for the dragoon horses, was from the distress we were in. it is not my wish to take the horses from the militia, if it will injure the public service. the effects and consequences you can better judge of than i can. you have rendered important services to the public with the militia under your command, and have done great honor to yourself, and i would not wish to render your situation less agreeable with them, unless it is to answer some very great purpose; and this, i persuade myself, you would agree to, from a desire to promote the common good."... from the same letter, we make another extract: "i shall always be happy to see you at headquarters, but cannot think you seriously mean to solicit leave to go to philadelphia. it is true, your task has been disagreeable, but not more so than others. it is now going on seven years since the commencement of this war. i have never had leave of absence one hour, nor paid the least attention to my own private affairs. your state is invaded--your all is at stake. what has been done will signify nothing, unless we persevere to the end. i left a family in distress, and everything dear and valuable, to come and afford you all the assistance in my power, to promote the service. it must throw a damp upon the spirits of the army, to find that the first men in the state are retiring from the busy scene, to indulge themselves in more agreeable amusements. however, your reasons for wishing to decline the command of the militia, and go to philadelphia, may be more pressing than i imagine; i will, therefore, add nothing more on this subject till i see you." the adroit mixture of reproach with commendation, was not done without reflection. greene seems to have understood the character of marion. but there was some oblique injustice in his letter. a man's patriotism is not to be reproached, because he wishes to escape injustice and indignity. the best of patriots will be apt to become disgusted with a service in which their claims are neglected, their performances slurred over, and their motives impeached; and this, too, at a period, and after long periods, of service, in which they have watched, toiled, and fought, without hope or prospect of reward. when general greene compared the disagreeableness of marion's toils with those of others, he certainly overlooked, not only the peculiar character of those toils, but the peculiar privations which distinguished the career of marion's men, and the particularly painful duties which so frequently belonged to it. his own previously expressed opinions with regard to the warfare, as carried on between whig and tory in the south, will be found to furnish a sufficient commentary upon the comparison which he thus makes. greene himself, by the way, is not without blame in some respects, in relation to the southern commanders of militia. the slighting manner in which he spoke of them, and of their services, in letters not intended to be public, was such, that some of them, sumter for example, never forgave him. his prejudices were those of the regular service, the policy of which is always to disparage the militia. to marion himself, his language was of a different character. take the following extract of a letter, written to the latter only one month before the correspondence above referred to. this letter is dated, from the camp before camden, april , , and will give a faint idea of the true claims of marion upon the regard of his country. "when i consider," writes greene, "how much you have done and suffered, and under what disadvantage you have maintained your ground, i am at a loss which to admire most, your courage and fortitude, or your address and management. certain it is, no man has a better claim to the public thanks than you. history affords no instance wherein an officer has kept possession of a country under so many disadvantages as you have. surrounded on every side with a superior force, hunted from every quarter with veteran troops, you have found means to elude their attempts, and to keep alive the expiring hopes of an oppressed militia, when all succor seemed to be cut off. to fight the enemy bravely with the prospect of victory, is nothing; but to fight with intrepidity under the constant impression of defeat, and inspire irregular troops to do it, is a talent peculiar to yourself. nothing will give me greater pleasure than to do justice to your merit, and i shall miss no opportunity of declaring to congress, to the commander-in-chief of the american army, and to the world, the great sense i have of your merit and your services." the correspondence of greene with marion, on the subject of the horses, closed with a letter on the part of the latter, in which he turned off the affair on grounds that proved his feelings tranquillized. a present of a fine horse, for greene's own use, accompanied this letter. it has been shown that, on the day of the capture of fort motte, greene rode into the camp of marion, at that place. we can conceive of no other motive for his presence here, than a desire to make his reconciliation perfect. he brought no force with him to promote the object of the besiegers, and his stay was limited to a brief interview. but the evil effect of this affair did not end here. the militia, alarmed at the idea of having their horses taken from them, soon began to scatter, and, pleading the planting season upon which they had entered--some, indeed, without any plea,--they left the camp in numbers, and before the leaguer was well over, the force of marion was reduced to something less than two hundred men. with this remnant of his brigade, as soon as fort motte was yielded, marion detached himself from the regular troops and struck down towards monk's corner, hanging upon the skirts of lord rawdon's army, then in full retreat from camden. perhaps the most interesting portions of our traditionary history in the south, will be found to have occurred to the scattered bodies of the partisan cavalry, while on their return movements to and from the army, after such a dispersion as that from which the brigade of marion was now suffering. it was no easy matter for the small group, or the single trooper, to regain the family homestead, or the friendly neighborhood in which their wives and little ones were harbored. every settlement through which they passed had its disaffected population. it might be small or large, but its numbers did not affect its activity, and, with the main body of the whigs in camp, or on the road, the tories, in remote sections of the country, were generally equally strong and daring. these waylaid the customary pathways, and aware of all the material movements of the regular troops, made their arrangements to cut off stragglers or small detached bodies. when we consider the active malignity by which the civil war in carolina was marked; the wild forests in which it took place; the peculiar ferocity which it stimulated, and the various characteristics of the local modes of warfare, the chase and the surprise, we shall have no occasion for wonder at the strange and sometimes terrible events by which it was distinguished. one of these, which occurred to captain, afterwards colonel snipes, of marion's brigade, is a remarkable instance; and, as it has been told elsewhere, in connection with the life of marion, it may well claim a place in this narrative. snipes was a carolinian, of remarkable strength and courage. he was equally distinguished for his vindictive hatred of the tories. he had suffered some domestic injuries at their hands, and he was one who never permitted himself to forgive. his temper was sanguinary in the extreme, and led him, in his treatment of the loyalists, to such ferocities as subjected him, on more than one occasion, to the harshest rebuke of his commander. it is not certain at what period in the war the following occurrence took place, but it was on one of those occasions when the partisan militia claimed a sort of periodical privilege of abandoning their general to look after their families and domestic interests. availing himself of this privilege, snipes pursued his way to his plantation. his route was a circuitous one, but it is probable that he pursued it with little caution. he was more distinguished for audacity than prudence. the tories fell upon his trail, which they followed with the keen avidity of the sleuth-hound. snipes reached his plantation in safety, unconscious of pursuit. having examined the homestead and received an account of all things done in his absence, from a faithful driver, and lulled into security by the seeming quiet and silence of the neighborhood, he retired to rest, and, after the fatigues of the day, soon fell into a profound sleep. from this he was awakened by the abrupt entrance and cries of his driver. the faithful negro apprised him, in terror, of the approach of the tories. they were already on the plantation. his vigilance alone prevented them from taking his master in bed. snipes, starting up, proposed to take shelter in the barn, but the driver pointed to the flames already bursting from that building. he had barely time to leave the house, covered only by his night shirt, and, by the counsel of the negro, to fly to the cover of a thick copse of briars and brambles, within fifty yards of the dwelling, when the tories surrounded it. the very task of penetrating this copse, so as to screen himself from sight, effectually removed the thin garment which concealed his nakedness. the shirt was torn from his back by the briars, and the skin shared in its injuries. but, once there, he lay effectually concealed from sight. ordinary conjecture would scarcely have supposed that any animal larger than a rabbit would have sought or found shelter in such a region. the tories immediately seized upon the negro and demanded his master, at the peril of his life. knowing and fearing the courage and the arm of snipes, they did not enter the dwelling, but adopted the less valorous mode of setting it on fire, and, with pointed muskets, surrounded it, in waiting for the moment when their victim should emerge. he, within a few steps of them, heard their threats and expectations, and beheld all their proceedings. the house was consumed, and the intense heat of the fire subjected our partisan, in his place of retreat, to such torture, as none but the most dogged hardihood could have endured without complaint. the skin was peeled from his body in many places, and the blisters were shown long after, to persons who are still living.* but snipes too well knew his enemies, and what he had to expect at their hands, to make any confession. he bore patiently the torture, which was terribly increased, when, finding themselves at fault, the tories brought forward the faithful negro who had thus far saved his master, and determined to extort from him, in the halter, the secret of his hiding-place. but the courage and fidelity of the negro proved superior to the terrors of death. thrice was he run up the tree, and choked nearly to strangulation, but in vain. his capability to endure proved superior to the will of the tories to inflict, and he was at length let down, half dead,--as, in truth, ignorant of the secret which they desired to extort. what were the terrors of snipes in all this trial? what his feelings of equal gratitude and apprehension? how noble was the fidelity of the slave--based upon what gentle and affectionate relationship between himself and master--probably from boyhood! yet this is but one of a thousand such attachments, all equally pure and elevated, and maintained through not dissimilar perils. * see a biographical sketch of tarlton brown, of barnwell, s.c., a soldier in the revolutionary army. charleston, , p. .-- while marion was operating against forts watson and motte, sumter, with like success, had besieged the british posts at orangeburg and granby. it was the loss of these posts, and the dread of the subsequent concentration of the whole american force against camden, that had prompted the destruction and abandonment of that place by lord rawdon. this was the plan and object of greene. the precipitate movements of rawdon, who anticipated the purpose of the former, necessarily defeated it. pickens was operating against augusta; while sumter, leaving the investment of granby, the conquest of which was considered sure, to col. taylor, proceeded down the country, with the two-fold object of harassing the descent of the british army, and to prevent them from carrying off the cattle of the inhabitants. in the former object, neither marion nor himself had much success. they did not succeed in effecting a junction, and the sanguine desire of sumter, with united forces, to operate boldly upon the retreating army of rawdon, was not encouraged by greene, who preferred a safe and sure, though slow progress, to any attainment of his end by a hazardous attempt, however glorious. the task of holding rawdon in check, was confided to marion and sumter, while greene proceeded with his whole army, to the investment of the post of ninety-six, at the village of cambridge. in the execution of their duties, the two partisans closed in upon the british commander, until he established a line of fortified posts, extending from georgetown, by monk's corner, dorchester, &c., to coosawhatchee. within this line our partisans continually made incursions, keeping the enemy in constant check and apprehension. they were not in force to do more. georgetown, however, separated by water courses and swamps of great magnitude, from the other posts, was left with a garrison so feeble, as to tempt marion to proceed against it. the parishes that lie along the santee, on both sides, towards its mouth, had turned out with so much zeal on his return into their neighborhood, that he soon found himself in sufficient force to cover the country with a strong detachment under col. mayham, while, with his main body, he went against georgetown. he appeared before this place on the th of june, and instantly began his approaches. but his simple demonstration was sufficient. the enemy made but a show of resistance. as the attempt was pressed, the garrison fled to their galleys, and took a position in the bay beyond the reach of the americans. they finally abandoned the harbor altogether. it was not in the power of marion to man the post efficiently, and his policy forbade that he should do it inadequately. accordingly, he deliberately removed the military stores and public property, up the pedee, then, demolishing the works, returned to join his detachment in st. stephens. while at georgetown, however, it is recorded that he replenished his wardrobe, and fitted himself out with a becoming suit of regimentals. this was an event, in the career of our partisan, to be remembered by his followers. he indulged, it seems, for the first time, in some other of the luxuries of the campaigner. a couple of mules were employed for the transportation of his baggage, and his usual beverage of vinegar and water was occasionally diversified by a bowl of coffee at breakfast. a little before this,--perhaps soon after general greene had penetrated the state,--he had appointed himself a couple of secretaries for the purpose of greater dispatch in letter writing--his correspondence necessarily increasing, in consequence of his connection with the more expanded operations of the army. state, he did not affect, and the simplicity and modesty of his character may be easily inferred from this petty enumeration of the aids and comforts which he thought proper to draw from his successes. while marion, in person, proceeded against georgetown, col. peter horry was dispatched with a strong body of men against the loyalists on the pedee, a wild and bloodthirsty band of borderers, under the conduct of major gainey, of whom we have had occasion to speak already. horry succeeded in awing gainey into submission, and in extorting from him a treaty by which he consented, with his officers and men, to maintain a condition of neutrality. this submission, though complete, was but temporary. it required subsequently the decisive proceedings of marion, and his personal presence, to enforce its provisions. but of this hereafter. while greene, with the main american army, was proceeding against ninety-six, preparations were made by the british in charleston, for ravaging the country on the south side of the santee. the people of st. john's and st. stephen's parishes, had shown too active a zeal in the cause of liberty, to escape punishment, and it was resolved that their country should be laid waste. the loyalists of charleston, and that vicinity, had been embodied in a regiment, and, under col. ball, prepared to carry this design into execution. but marion, apprised by his scouts and spies of every movement in the city, and unable with his present force to meet with that of ball, determined, however painful the necessity, to anticipate his proceedings; and, with his usual celerity, he laid waste the country himself; removing across the santee to places of safety, not only all the stock and cattle, but all the provisions, that could be collected. they were thus saved, as well for the subsistence of his men, as for the proprietor. anxious to oppose himself more actively to the enemy, he sent pressing dispatches to greene for assistance in covering the country. col. washington, with his admirable corps of cavalry, was accordingly dispatched to his assistance. we have seen that the commander-in-chief had proceeded in person against the british post at ninety-six. to sumter and marion had been entrusted the care of rawdon. they were required to check and prevent his progress in the event of any attempt which he might make to relieve the post. they were unsuccessful in doing so. the arrival of a british fleet with reinforcements, comprising three fresh regiments from ireland, enabled rawdon to despise any attempts, which, with their inferior force, our partisans might make. some idea of the diligence of marion and the excellence of his plans for procuring intelligence, may be gathered from the fact that the charleston paper of the d of june, announcing the arrival of these regiments, was in his possession the very day on which it was printed, and transmitted instantly, through sumter's command, to greene.* greene was unsuccessful in his attempts on ninety-six. the place was relieved, after an obstinate defence, by rawdon, who, with his new troops, by forced marches, arrived in time for its deliverance. greene was compelled to retreat after much sanguinary fighting. he was pursued by rawdon for a small distance; but the latter, contenting himself with having rescued, withdrew the garrison, and abandoned the place to the americans. he was in no condition to pursue his enemy or to maintain his position. his irish regiments were not to be trusted, and the maintenance of the city and the seaboard were paramount considerations. with such active and enterprising foes as marion and sumter, between his army and his garrison, he felt the insecurity of his hold upon the country. his posts in the interior had now everywhere fallen into the hands of the americans. augusta, with the three posts, cornwallis, grierson and galphin, had just been yielded to the arms of pickens and lee. there were no longer any intermediate posts of defence, from orangeburg to ninety-six, and the latter was now so thoroughly isolated, that prudence led to its abandonment. this necessity brought with it another, which was much more painful and humiliating to the unfortunate loyalists of that country, who had so long sided with the british arms against their countrymen. they were compelled to abandon their homes and share the fortunes of the retreating army. they were without refuge, and the spirit of the warfare had been such as to leave them hopeless of mercy in any encounter with the whigs. a mournful cavalcade followed in the train of the british army, and retarded its progress. greene, as he discovered rawdon's movements to be retrograde, turned upon his retreating footsteps. his cavalry harassed the enemy and hastened his flight. at ancrum's ferry on the congaree, greene, in advance of his army, joined marion and washington, the latter with his cavalry, the former with four hundred mounted militia; and, at the head of these two corps, pressing down the orangeburg road, on the th of july, he succeeded in passing lord rawdon. retaining command of washington's cavalry, he dispatched marion with his mounted militia to intercept a valuable convoy, freighted not only for relief of rawdon's army, but with all the various supplies and material necessary for the establishment of the british post at granby. marion was unsuccessful. the convoy under lieut.-col. stewart escaped without being conscious of its danger. he had taken one of two roads, while marion watched for him upon the other. on the morning of the th, stewart and rawdon effected a junction in orangeburg. the condition of the british army on that day is thus described in a letter of marion to greene: * johnson's greene, vol. , p. .-- "their troops are so fatigued they cannot possibly move. three regiments were going to lay down their arms, and it is believed they will to-day, if they are ordered to march. they have no idea of any force being near them." at orangeburg, rawdon was too strongly posted for any attempts of greene. here, with his own force and that of stewart, numbering fifteen hundred men, he was joined by col. cruger from ninety-six, with thirteen hundred more. orangeburg is situated on the east bank of the north edisto, which half encircles it. north and south are swamps and ravines, which so nearly approach each other as to leave but a narrow and broken passage on the east side. the gaol, a strong brick building of two stories, not inferior to a strong redoubt, with some other buildings, commanded the approach. "the crown of the hill on which it stood, was sufficiently spacious for manoeuvering the whole british army, and the houses and fences afforded shelter against all attempts of the american cavalry or mounted militia," while, in case of defeat, the bridge in their rear afforded as secure means of retreat. an attempt upon such a position, with a force consisting chiefly of mounted infantry, would have been folly, and greene, after a brief demonstration, determined to withdraw one half of his army towards the congaree, while the other was sent forward upon that memorable incursion into the lower country, by which the enemy, from all quarters, were driven into charleston; and, with the exception of the force at orangeburg, for a brief period, every vestige of british power was swept away, down to the very gates of the former place. the command of this detachment was given to sumter. acting under him, were marion, lee, the hamptons, taylor, horry, mayham, and others of those active partisans who had kept alive the war from the beginning. the command consisted of all the state troops, lee's legion, and a detachment of artillery, with one field piece; in all about a thousand men. the object of this movement was not only to strike at the british line of posts, but to divert the attention of rawdon from the congaree, where it was his policy to re-establish himself in force. the force under sumter, as it approached the scene of operations, was broken into separate detachments. dorchester was yielded without resistance to the corps under lee, while col. wade hampton, pressing to the very lines of charleston, captured the guard and patrol at the quarter house, and spread terror through the city. sumter and marion then proceeded against the post at biggin, held by col. coates of the british army, a spirited officer, with a garrison of five hundred infantry, one hundred and fifty horse, and one piece of artillery. the post at biggin consisted of a redoubt at monk's corner, and the church, about a mile distant, near biggin bridge. this church was a strong brick building, which covered the bridge, and secured the retreat at that point, by way of monk's corner. biggin creek is one of many streams which empty into cooper river. of these, it is the most northwardly. on the east of this creek, the road to charleston crosses watboo and quinby creeks. the destruction of watboo bridge rendered impracticable the retreat by the eastern route, and this bridge, accordingly, became an important object to both the british and americans. a detachment of marion's men, under col. mayham, was sent forward to destroy the watboo bridge, and thus cut off the retreat of the enemy. but the position and force of col. coates prevented the approach of mayham, and he waited the advance of the main body. on the th july, he was reinforced by a detachment under col. peter horry, who, assuming the command, proceeded to the attempt upon the bridge. the enemy's cavalry opposed themselves to the attempt; a short action ensued; they were defeated, and driven back with loss. the mounted riflemen broke through them, and a number of prisoners were taken. horry then dispatched a party to destroy the bridge, and remained to cover the men engaged in the work. but the enemy soon reappeared in force, and horry, with his working party, was compelled to retire, in turn, upon the main body. sumter, believing that coates had marched out to give him battle, took post in a defile, and awaited him; but the purpose of the enemy was only to gain time--to wear out the day, amusing him, while they made secret preparations for flight. their stores were accumulated in the church, which had been their fortress, and, at midnight, the flames bursting through the roof of the devoted building announced to the americans the retreat of the foe. the pursuit was immediately commenced, and, in order that it might not be impeded, the only piece of artillery which sumter had, was unfortunately left behind, under lieut. singleton. lee and hampton led the pursuit until, having passed the watboo, they discovered that the cavalry of the enemy had separated from the infantry, taking the right hand route. hampton then struck off in pursuit of the former, in hope to overtake them before they could reach the river; but he urged his panting horses in vain. they had completed their escape, and secured the boats on the opposite side, before he could come up with them. marion's cavalry, meanwhile, under col. mayham, had joined the legion cavalry in pursuit of the infantry. about a mile to the north of quinby creek, the rearguard of the retreating army was overtaken. with this body, which consisted of one hundred men, under capt. campbell, was nearly all the baggage of the british army. terrified by the furious charge of the americans, they threw down their arms without firing a gun. favored by this circumstance, the cavalry of mayham, and the legion, pressed forward. coates had passed quinby bridge, and made dispositions for its demolition, as soon as the rear-guard and baggage should have passed. the planks which covered the bridge had been loosened from the sleepers, and a howitzer, at the opposite extremity, was placed to check the pursuit. but, as the rear-guard had been captured without firing a shot, their commander was unapprised of their fate, and unprepared for immediate defence. fortunately for his command, he was present at the bridge when the american cavalry came in view. his main body, at this moment, was partly on the causeway, on the south side of the bridge, and partly pressed into a lane beyond it--in both situations so crowded as to be almost wholly incapable of immediate action. coates, however, coolly took measures for his safety. orders were dispatched to them to halt, form, and march up, whilst the artillerists were summoned to the howitzer, and the fatigue party to the destruction of the bridge. the legion cavalry were in advance of mayham's command. captain armstrong led the first section. their approach to the bridge was marked by all the circumstances of danger. they were pressing upon each other into a narrow causeway, the planks of the bridge were fast sliding into the water, and the blazing port-fire hung over the howitzer. the disappearance of the fatigue party from the bridge would be the signal for it to vomit death upon the ranks of the approaching americans. there was no time for deliberation. armstrong, followed close by his section, dashed over the bridge and drove the artillerists from the gun. lieutenant carrington followed, but the third section faltered. mayham, of marion's cavalry, feeling the halt, charged by them; but the death of his horse arrested his career. captain macauley, who led his front section, pressed on and passed the bridge. the causeway was now crowded; the conflict was hand to hand. some of the working party, snatching up their guns, delivered a single fire and fled. two of the legion dragoons were slain at the mouth of the howitzer, several wounded. but the officers remained unhurt. coates, with several of the british, covered by a wagon, opposed them with their swords, while their troops were hurrying forward to where they could display. meanwhile, lee, with the rest of the legion, had reached the bridge, which they proceeded to repair. a momentary pause for reflection, a glance before and around them, revealed to armstrong and macauley, the fact that they were almost alone, unsupported by their party, and with the british recovering themselves in front. they reflected that, only while the british officers were in their rear, should they be secure from the fire of the enemy in front; and, urging their way through the flying soldiers on the causeway, they wheeled into the woods on their left, and escaped by heading the stream. had they been followed by the whole party, boldly charging across the bridge, the entire force of the enemy must have laid down their arms. the british were so crowded in the lane and causeway, in such inextricable confusion, without room to display or to defend themselves, that they must have yielded by spontaneous movement to avoid being cut to pieces. the reproach lies heavily against the halting cavalry, that could leave to their fate the brave fellows who had crossed the bridge. colonel coates dared not longer trust himself in the open country in the face of a cavalry so active and powerful. retiring to shubrick's plantation, after destroying the bridge, he resolved to defend himself under cover of the buildings. these were situated on a rising ground, and consisted of a dwelling-house of two stories, with outhouses and fences. they afforded security against cavalry, and a good covering from the american marksmen. it was not till o'clock, p.m., that sumter, with the main body of the americans, reached the ground. he found the british drawn up in a square in front of the house, and ready to receive him. as he had very few bayonets, to march directly up to the attack would have been out of the question. he divided his force into three bodies. his own brigade, led by cols. middleton and polk, taylor and lacy, advanced in front, under shelter of a line of negro houses, which they were ordered to occupy. marion's brigade, thrown into two divisions, was ordered to advance on the right of the british, where there was no shelter but that of fences, and those within forty or fifty yards of the houses held by the enemy. the cavalry constituted a reserve, to cover the infantry from pursuit. sumter's brigade soon gained the negro houses, from whence they delivered their rifles with great effect. col. taylor with about forty-five men of his regiment, pressing forward to the fences on the enemy's left, drew upon him the bayonets of the british, before which they yielded. marion's men, in the meantime, seeing the danger of taylor's party, with a degree of firmness and gallantry which would have done honor to any soldiers, rushed through a galling fire and extricated them; and, notwithstanding the imperfect covering afforded them by the rail fence along which they ranged themselves, they continued to fight and fire as long as a single charge of ammunition remained with the corps. the brunt of the battle fell upon them, and they maintained in this, the reputation acquired in many a border struggle. more than fifty men, all of marion's, were killed or wounded in this affair, but the loss did not dispirit the survivors. they were drawn off in perfect order, only when their ammunition was expended. the fight lasted three hours, from four o'clock until dark. seventy of the british fell. but the want of the field-piece left behind with singleton, and the failure of their ammunition, not a charge of which remained with the americans at the close of the fight, saved the enemy, whose infantry alone, according to sumter, was superior to his whole force. the americans attacked them with half their number. but coates held his position, and tidings of the approach of rawdon, who had left orangeburg, prompted sumter to retreat across the santee. his expedition had not been successful. it does not concern us to inquire by whose errors or defects it failed. enough, that, in all things, where marion and his men were concerned, they acquitted themselves in a manner calculated to sustain their former reputation. the attack upon coates at the house, we are told, was made against marion's opinion, who blamed sumter for wasting the lives of his men. without a field-piece, it was scarcely possible that an inferior should have succeeded against a superior force, in a strong position. sumter was courageous to rashness. his spirit could not be restrained in sight of the enemy. with a brave force at his command, he was not satisfied to be idle, and his courage was frequently exercised at the expense of his judgment. the men of marion complained that they had been exposed unnecessarily in the conflict. it is certain that they were the only sufferers. had sumter but waited for his artillery, and simply held the enemy in check, the victory must have been complete, and this victory was of the last importance to the americans. it would have involved the loss of one entire british regiment, at a moment when, two others having been required at new york from south carolina, the force remaining with rawdon would have been barely adequate to the retention of charleston. this necessity would have withdrawn the latter general at once from orangeburg, and the subsequent bloody battle of eutaw would have been averted accordingly. greene, speaking of this combat, writes:--"the affair was clever, but by no means equal to what it ought to have been. the whole regiment of six hundred men would have been captured, if general sumter had not detailed too much, and had not mistaken a covering party for an attack." it may be added, that the party actually engaged in the attack on coates, were almost exclusively south carolina militia. under favorite leaders they had betrayed no such apprehensions as are natural enough to men who lack confidence in themselves and captains. they had shown the courage of veterans, though they may have failed of that entire success which is usually supposed to follow from a veteran experience. chapter . marion moves secretly to pon-pon--rescues col. harden-- defeats major frazier at parker's ferry--joins the main army under greene--battle of eutaw. after the battle of quinby the joint forces of sumter and marion were separated. the former retired up the congaree; the latter took charge of the country on the santee; while greene placed himself in a camp of rest at the high hills in the district which has since taken the name of sumter. his troops were in a wretched state of incapacity, in consequence of sickness. the region to which he retired was famous for its salubrity, and the intense heat of the season effectually forbade much military activity. the opposing generals were content to watch each other. it was while he held this position that col. hayne, of the militia, was executed as a traitor by the british. the case of this gentleman was that of many in the state. he had taken parole at a time when the country was overrun by the enemy. this parole was subsequently withdrawn by the conquerors, when they supposed the people to have been subdued, and desired their services as militia. but the british were in turn driven from the field. the americans acquired the ascendant. the section of the country in which hayne resided was overrun by a detachment of marion, under col. harden, and hayne availed himself of the occasion to take up arms for his country. he was a popular gentleman, and soon gathered a strong party of militia. his career was distinguished by some small successes, and, with a party of col. harden's horse, by a sudden dash in the vicinity of charleston, he succeeded in taking prisoner general williamson, formerly of the americans, whose life was forfeited to the country. the capture of williamson put all the available cavalry of the british into activity, and by an unfortunate indiscretion, hayne suffered himself to be overtaken. his execution soon followed his capture. this was a proceeding equally barbarous and unjustifiable--neither sanctioned by policy nor propriety. it took place after a brief examination, and without any trial. the proceeding was equally unauthorized by civil and martial law. it was not long before this, as the reader will remember, that marion, in consequence of the execution of some of his men by the british, had threatened them with retaliation. greene, who knew the decisive character of marion, and was apprehensive that this wanton crime would render him as prompt as he was fearless, in avenging it, thus writes to prevent him: "do not take any measures in the matter towards retaliation, for i do not intend to retaliate upon the tory officers, but the british. it is my intention to demand the reasons of the colonel's being put to death; and if they are unsatisfactory, as i am sure they will be, and if they refuse to make satisfaction, as i expect they will, to publish my intention of giving no quarter to british officers, of any rank, that fall into our hands. should we attempt to retaliate upon their militia officers, i am sure they would persevere in the measure, in order to increase the animosity between the whigs and tories, that they might stand idle spectators, and see them butcher each other. as i do not wish my intentions known to the enemy but through an official channel, and as this will be delayed for some few days to give our friends in st. augustine time to get off, i wish you not to mention the matter to any mortal out of your family." weems represents marion as being greatly averse to this measure of retaliation, and as having censured those officers of the regular army who demanded of greene the adoption of this remedy. but the biographer wrote rather from his own benevolent nature than from the record. marion had no scruples about the necessity of such a measure in particular cases; and, however much he might wish to avoid its execution, he was yet fully prepared to adopt it whenever the policy of the proceeding was unquestionable. fortunately, the decisive resolutions which were expressed by the americans, their increasing successes, the fact that they had several british officers of reputation in their hands,--all conspired to produce, in the minds of the enemy, a greater regard to the rights of justice and humanity. as retaliation in such cases is justifiable only as a preventive and remedial measure, it now ceased to be necessary; and, with proper views of the affair, the resolves of greene and marion were suffered to remain unexpunged, in proof of their indignation, rather than their purpose. but a few days had elapsed after the execution of hayne when a party of marion's men, under captain ervine, fell in with and captured a favorite british officer, captain campbell, with two subalterns, in charge of a convoying detachment. they were at once committed to the provost guard, and soon communicated their apprehensions to charleston. a meeting of british officers was held, and their dissatisfaction at this new feature, introduced into the warfare of the country, was expressed in such terms, as contributed, along with the prompt proceedings of the americans, to bring balfour, the commandant of charleston, under whose authority the execution of hayne had taken place, to a better sense of mercy and prudence. we shall have no farther occasion to refer to these proceedings. it is enough that the threat of retaliation, followed up by such decided movements as left no doubt of the resolution of the americans, produced all the beneficial effects which could have accrued from its execution. the incursion of sumter and marion into the low country, drew lord rawdon from orangeburg, with five hundred men, to charleston, from which place, after lingering just long enough to witness the death of hayne, he sailed for new york. he left lieut.-col. stewart in command at orangeburg. from this post, stewart moved to mccord's ferry, on the congaree, on the south side of which he took post, amidst the hills near the confluence of the wateree and congaree. greene's camp lay directly opposite, and the fires of the mutual armies were distinctly seen by each other. the heat of the weather suspended all regular military operations. two large rivers intervening secured each from sudden attack, and their toils were confined to operating in small detachments, for foraging or convoy. in this service, on the american side, col. washington was detached--as soon as the course of stewart was ascertained--down the country across the santee; lee was sent upward, along the north bank of the congaree; the latter to operate with col. henderson, then in command of sumter's brigade, at fridig's ferry, and the former to strike at the communication between the enemy and charleston, and to cooperate with marion and mayham, in covering the lower santee. col. harden, at the same time, with a body of mounted militia, had it in charge to straiten the enemy upon the edisto. the activity of these several parties and their frequent successes, were such that stewart was compelled to look for his supplies to the country below him. this necessity caused him to re-establish and strengthen the post at dorchester, in order to cover the communication by orangeburg; and to place a force at fairlawn, near the head of the navigation of cooper river, from which supplies from charleston were transported to headquarters over land. as this route was watched by marion, washington and mayham, the british commander was compelled, in order to secure the means of communication with the opposite bank of the congaree and to draw supplies from thence, to transport boats adapted to the purpose, on wagon-wheels, from fairlawn to the congaree. such were the relative positions of the two armies until the d of august, when greene, calling in all his detachments except those under marion, mayham and harden, broke up his camp at the high hills and proceeded to howell's ferry, on the congaree, with the intention immediately to cross it and advance upon stewart. that officer, on hearing of the movement of the americans, fell back upon his reinforcements and convoys, and took up a strong position at the eutaw springs. meanwhile, marion disappeared from the santee on one of those secret expeditions in which his wonderful celerity and adroit management conducted his men so frequently to success. his present aim was the pon-pon. col. harden was at this time in that quarter, and closely pressed by a superior british force of five hundred men. detaching a party of mounted militia to the neighborhood of dorchester and monk's corner, as much to divert the enemy from his own movements as with any other object, he proceeded with two hundred picked men on his secret expedition. by a forced march, he crossed the country from st. stephen's to the edisto--passing through both lines of the enemy's communication with charleston, and reached harden--a distance of one hundred miles--in season for his relief. his approach and arrival were totally unsuspected by the enemy, for whom he prepared an ambush in a swamp near parker's ferry. a small body of his swiftest horse were sent out to decoy the british into the snare. a white feather, rather too conspicuously worn by one of his men in ambush, had nearly defeated his design. some tories passing, discovered this unnecessary plumage, and one of them fired upon the wearer. this led to an exchange of shots; but major frazier, by whom the british were commanded, assuming the party thus concealed to be that of harden, whom it was his aim to find, pursued the horsemen whom marion had sent out to entice him to the ambuscade. his cavalry was led at full charge within forty yards of the concealed riflemen. a deadly fire was poured in, under which the british recoiled; attempting to wheel and charge the swamp, they received a second; and, closely wedged as their men were upon the narrow causeway over which they came, every shot bore its warrant. there was no retreating, no penetrating the ambush, and the british cavalry had but to go forward, along the road to the ferry, thus passing the entire line of the ambuscade. the corps was most effectually thinned by the time it got beyond rifle reach; and still more fatal would have been the affray to the advancing infantry of frazier--a large body, with a field-piece--but for one of those lamentable deficiencies of materiel, which so frequently plucked complete success from the grasp of the americans. the ammunition of our partisan failed him, and he was compelled to yield the ground to the enemy, who was otherwise wholly in his power. the british loss was unknown. twenty-seven dead horses were counted on the field the day after; the men had all been buried. as marion's men fired with either a ball or heavy buck-shot, and as none would aim at horses, the loss of the british must have been very great. nine days after, at the battle of eutaw, they had few cavalry in the field. but, though the victory was incomplete, marion had attained his object. he had rescued harden, without loss to himself. he had traversed more than two hundred miles of country, through a region held by the enemy; returned by the same route,--delivered his prisoners to the care of mayham,--returned twenty miles below the eutaw, in order to watch the communication between that place and fairlawn--then, at the call of greene, made a circuit and passed the british army, so as to reach a position on the south side of the santee, in the track of greene's advance; and all this in the brief compass of six days. yet, of these movements, which merited and received the particular thanks of congress, we are without any data in our records. the complimentary resolution of congress fixes the battle at parker's ferry on the st august. seventeen miles from eutaw springs, at lauren's plantation, marion effected a junction with the commander-in-chief. greene was pressing forward to a meeting with stewart. of this object the latter seemed to have been profoundly ignorant up to this moment. but the day before, he knew that marion was twenty miles below him, and did not conjecture that, by marching the whole night, he had thrown himself above him to join with greene. without this junction he had no apprehension that the latter, with an inferior force, would venture an attack upon him, in the strong position which he held. on the afternoon of the th september, the army reached burdell's tavern on the congaree road, seven miles from the eutaws. the force under greene amounted to two thousand men, all told. that under general stewart was probably about the same. it is estimated to have been two thousand three hundred. these were all disciplined troops, and a large proportion of the old regiments consisted of native marksmen from the ranks of the loyalists. in cavalry, greene had the advantage, but a great portion of his men were militia. in artillery the two armies were equal. the british had five and the americans four pieces. the memorable battle of the eutaw springs was fought on the th september. at four o'clock in the morning the americans moved from their bivouac down to the attack. the day was fair, but intensely hot; but the combatants at the commencement of the battle were relieved by the shade of the woods. the south carolina state troops and lee's legion formed the advance under colonel henderson. the militia, both of south and north carolina, moved next, under marion. then followed the regulars under gen. sumner; and the rear was closed by washington's cavalry, and kirkwood's delawares, under col. washington. the artillery moved between the columns. the troops were thus arranged in reference to their order of battle. of the approach of the americans stewart was wholly ignorant on the evening of the th. the only patrol which had been sent up the congaree road had been captured during the night, and stewart himself says, in excuse, that "the americans had waylaid the swamps and passes in such a manner as to cut off every avenue of intelligence." so entirely secure had he felt himself in his position, which was a strong one, that he had sent out an unarmed party of one hundred men, in the very direction of greene's advance, to gather sweet potatoes. this party, called a rooting party, after advancing about three miles, had pursued a road to the right, which led to the river plantations. advised, by two deserters from the north carolina militia, of greene's approach, stewart dispatched captain coffin, with his cavalry, to recall the rooting party, and to reconnoitre the americans. before coffin could effect either object, he encountered the american advance, and, in total ignorance of its strength, charged it with a degree of confidence, which led greene to imagine that stewart with his whole army was at hand. coffin was easily repulsed; the rooting party, alarmed by the firing, hurried from the woods, and were all made prisoners. meanwhile, stewart, now thoroughly aware of the proximity of his enemy, pushed forward a detachment of infantry, a mile distant from the eutaw, with orders to engage and detain the american troops while he formed his men and prepared for battle. but greene, whom the audacity of coffin had deceived, halted his columns where they stood, and proceeded to display them. the column of militia formed the first line; the south carolina militia in equal divisions on the right and left, and the north carolinians in the centre. general marion commanded the right, general pickens the left, and col. malmedy the centre. col. henderson, with the state troops, including sumter's brigade, covered the left of this line, and col. lee, with his legion, the right. the column of regulars also displayed in one line. the north carolinians, under gen. sumner, occupied the right; the marylanders, under col. williams, the left; the virginians, under col. campbell, the centre. two pieces of artillery were assigned to each line. col. washington moved in column in the rear, keeping himself in reserve. in this order, the troops pressed forward slowly, as the country on both sides of the road was in wood, and prevented much expedition. moving thus, the first line encountered the advance parties of stewart, and drove them before it, until the entire line of the british army, displayed in order of battle, received, and gave shelter to, the fugitives. the troops of stewart were drawn up in one line at about two hundred yards west of the eutaw springs; the buffs on the right, cruger's corps in the centre, and the d and th on the left. major marjoribanks, with three hundred of his best troops, was strongly posted, so as to flank the buffs, under shelter of a thick wood on the eutaw creek, which covered the right of the whole line; the left was, in military 'parlance', 'in air'--resting in the wood, and supported by coffin's cavalry--reduced to a very small number--and a respectable detachment of infantry. his ground was altogether in wood, but, at a small distance, in the rear of his line, was an open field, on the edge of which stood a strong brick dwelling, with offices, out-houses, and a palisadoed garden, in all of which a stout resistance might be made. on this brick house, stewart had already cast his eyes, as the means of saving his army in any 'dernier' necessity. the house was of two stories, and abundantly strong to resist small arms. its windows commanded all the open space around. major sheridan was ordered to throw himself into it, with his command, in case of an unfavorable issue to the fight; and in this position to overawe the americans, and cover the army. feeble in cavalry, in which the americans were strong, there was no other means for retreat and support in the event of a capital misfortune. the american approach was from the west. the first line, consisting wholly of militia, went into action, and continued in it with a coolness and stubbornness which, says greene, "would have graced the veterans of the great king of prussia." such conduct was almost invariable on their part, wherever marion or pickens commanded. steadily and without faltering, they advanced into the hottest of the enemy's fire, with shouts and exhortations, which were not lessened by the continual fall of their comrades around them. their line was all the while receiving the fire of double their number--they were opposed to the entire line of the british. the carnage was severe, and very equal on both sides. the two pieces of artillery were at length disabled, and after exchanging seventeen rounds with the enemy, the militia began to falter. gen. sumner was ordered up to their support, with the north carolina continentals. with the advance of sumner, stewart brought into line on his left, the infantry of his reserve, and the battle, between fresh troops on both sides, raged with renewed fury. from the commencement of the action, the infantry of the american covering parties, right and left, had been steadily engaged. the state troops, under henderson, had suffered greatly. the american left, which they flanked, falling far short of the british right in length, they were exposed to the oblique fire of a large proportion of the british left, and particularly of the battalion commanded by marjoribanks. henderson himself was disabled, and his men, denied to charge the enemy under whose fire they were suffering--for they were necessary to the safety of the artillery and militia--were subjected to a trial of their constancy, which very few soldiers, whatever may have been their training, would have borne so well. meanwhile, the brigade of sumner recoiled from the fire of the greater numbers opposed to them in front. at this sight, the exultation of the british left hurried them forward, assured of certain victory. their line became deranged, and the american general, promptly availing himself of the opportunity, issued his command to col. williams, who had in charge the remaining portion of his second line, to "advance, and sweep the field with his bayonets." the two battalions obeyed the order with a shout. the virginians, when within forty yards of the enemy, poured in a destructive fire, and the whole second line with trailed arms pressed on to the charge. the advanced left of the british recoiled, and, just at this juncture, the legion infantry delivered an enfilading fire, which threw them into irretrievable disorder. the british centre, pressed upon by the fugitives, began to give way from left to right, and the fire of the marylanders, poured in at the proper moment, completed their disaster. their whole front yielded, and the shouts of the americans declared their exultation, as at a victory already won. unquestionably, the day was theirs. the enemy had fled from the battle. but a new one was to begin, in which victory, at present so secure, was taken from their grasp. in the effort to prevent the enemy from rallying, and to cut him off from the brick dwelling, into which sheridan, obeying the commands of stewart, had thrown himself as soon as the necessity became apparent, the greatest loss of the americans was sustained. marjoribanks still held his ground, with his entire battalion, in the thick woods which skirted eutaw creek, and so well covered was he that, in an attempt to penetrate with his cavalry, col. washington became entangled in the thicket, and fell into the hands of the enemy, while his men suffered severely from their fire, and his troop was routed. a second time were they brought to the charge, but with no better success than before. marjoribanks still maintained his position, watching the moment when to emerge from the thicket with the best prospect of safety to himself, and hurt to the americans. he was soon to have an opportunity. the british line had yielded and broken before the american bayonet. the latter pressed closely upon their heels, made many prisoners, and might have cut them off, and, by isolating marjoribanks, forced him to surrender, but for one of those occurrences which so frequently in battle change the fortunes of the day. the course of the fugitives led them directly through the british encampment. there everything was given up for lost. the tents were all standing, the commissaries had abandoned their stores, and the numerous retainers of the army were already in full flight for charleston. when the pursuing americans penetrated the encampment, they lost sight of the fugitives in the contemplation of various objects of temptation which, to a half-naked and half-starved soldiery, were irresistible. the pursuit was forborne; the americans fastened upon the liquors and refreshments scattered among the tents; and the whole army, with the exception of one or two corps, then fell into confusion. yet, so closely had the british been pursued to the shelter of the house, and so narrow was their escape, that some of the americans had nearly obtained entrance with them. it was only by shutting the door against some of their own officers, that they made it secure against the enemy; and in retiring from the house, now a citadel, the americans only found safety by interposing the bodies of the officers, thus made captive at the entrance, between themselves and the fire from the windows. one ludicrous incident is told of major barry, who was taken in this manner, and made use of as a shield by lieut. manning, as he retreated from before the house, which otherwise he could not have left in safety. without struggling or making the slightest effort for his extrication, barry only enumerated his own titles with a profound solemnity. "sir, i am henry barry, deputy adjutant general of the british army, secretary to the commandant of charleston, captain in the d regiment," &c. "enough, enough, sir," answered manning. "you are just the man i was looking for. fear nothing: you shall screen me from danger, and i shall take special care of you." manning escaped in safety with his prisoner. but there were many brave officers far less fortunate. many were destined to perish in the miserable after struggle, who had gone gloriously through the greater dangers of the fight. the british tents had done what the british arms had failed to do. victory was lost to the americans. scattered throughout the encampment, the soldiers became utterly unmanageable. the enemy, meanwhile, had partially recovered from their panic. the party of sheridan were in possession of the house. another party held possession of the palisaded garden. coffin was active with his remnant of cavalry, and marjoribanks still held a formidable position in the thicket on eutaw creek. from the upper windows of the house, the musketry of sheridan traversed the encampment, which the americans now trembled to leave, lest they should suffer from their fire. every head that emerged from a tent was a mark for their bullets. aware, by this time, of the extent of his misfortune, greene ordered a retreat, which hampton's cavalry was commanded to cover. in the execution of this duty hampton encountered the british cavalry. a sharp action ensued; the latter fled, and in the ardor of pursuit, the american horse approached so near to the position of marjoribanks as to receive a murderous fire, which prostrated one-third of their number and scattered the rest. before they could again be brought together, marjoribanks, seizing upon the chance afforded by a temporary clearing of the field, emerged from the wood, at a moment which enabled him to put a successful finish to the labors of the day. two six-pounders, which had been abandoned by the british, had been turned upon the house by the americans; but in their eagerness they had brought the pieces within the range of fire from the windows of the house. the artillerists had been shot down; and, in the absence of the american cavalry, marjoribanks was enabled to recover them. wheeling them under the walls of the house, he took a contiguous position, his own being almost the only portion of the british army still in a condition to renew the action. the americans yielded the ground about the house, but were promptly rallied in the skirts of the wood. the british were too much crippled to pursue; and the respite was gladly seized upon by the americans to plunge headlong into the neighboring ponds, to cool the heat and satisfy the intense thirst occasioned by such efforts under the burning sun of a carolina september. both sides claimed the victory, and with equal reason. in the first part of the day it was clearly with the americans. they had driven the enemy from the field, in panic and with great loss. they were in possession of five hundred prisoners, nearly all of whom they retained. they had taken two out of the five pieces of artillery which the british had brought into the action; and, something more to boast, considering the proverbial renown of the british with this weapon, it was at the point of the bayonet that they had swept the enemy from the ground. the british took shelter in a fortress from which the americans were repulsed. it is of no consequence to assert that the latter might have taken it. they might--it was in their power to have done so,--but they did not; and the promptitude with which the british availed themselves of this security, entitles them to the merit which they claim. we are constrained to think that the business of the field was strangely blundered by the americans at the sequel. this may have arisen from the carnage made at this period among their officers, particularly in their persevering, but futile endeavors, to extricate the soldiers from their tents. under cover of a contiguous barn, the artillery presented the means of forcing the building and reducing the garrison to submission. the attempts made at this object, by this arm of the americans, were rash, badly counselled, and exposed to danger without adequate protection. the british were saved by this error, by the luxuries contained within their tents, by the spirited behavior of coffin, and the cool and steady valor of marjoribanks. chapter . retreat of the british from eutaw--pursuit of them by marion and lee--close of the year. that the results of victory lay with the americans, was shown by the events of the ensuing day. leaving his dead unburied, seventy of his wounded to the enemy, breaking up a thousand stand of arms, and destroying his stores, general stewart commenced a precipitate retreat towards fairlawn. the british power in carolina was completely prostrated by this battle. five hundred prisoners fell into the hands of the americans, and it was greene's purpose to have renewed the fight on the next day; but the flight of stewart anticipated and baffled his intentions. he commenced pursuit, and detached marion and lee, by a circuitous route, to gain the enemy's front, and interpose themselves between him and the post at fairlawn, from which major m'arthur had been summoned, with five hundred men, to cover the retreat. but this plan was unsuccessful. so precipitate was the march of stewart, and so happily concerted the movements of the two british officers, that they effected a junction before marion and lee could reach ferguson's swamp, their place of destination. the cavalry of the enemy's rear-guard fell into the hands of the americans, but stewart was beyond pursuit. in this flight, amongst others, the british lost the brave major marjoribanks, who died of a fever, and was buried on the road. while they admitted a loss, in killed, wounded, and missing, of half the number brought into the field, that of the americans was nearly equally severe, and fell with particular severity upon the officers. sixty-one of these were killed or wounded; twenty-one died upon the field. the returns exhibit a loss of one hundred and fourteen rank and file killed, three hundred wounded, and forty missing--an aggregate exceeding a fourth of all who marched into battle. many of marion's men were killed, though not so many as he lost in the affair of quinby. among his officers, capt. john simons, of pedee, was slain, and col. hugh horry wounded. greene retired to the high hills of santee, while marion proceeded to encamp at payne's plantation, on santee river swamp. this was one of his favorite places of retreat. here, in the depths of a cane-brake, within a quarter of a mile from the santee, he made himself a clearing, "much," says judge james, "to his liking," and, with the canes, thatched the rude huts of his men. the high land was skirted by lakes, which rendered the approach difficult; and here, as in perfect security, he found forage for his horses, and provisions in abundance for his men. such a place of encampment, at such a season, would hardly commend itself now to the citizen of carolina. the modes and objects of culture, and probably the climate, have undergone a change. the time was autumn, the most sickly period of our year; and, to sleep in such a region now, even for a single night, would be considered certain death to the white man. it does not seem, at that period, that much apprehension of malaria was felt.* * judge james refers to this place as peyre's, not payne's, plantation, and notes "it appears now there was very little sickness at that day." in a footnote, he goes on to say: "very soon after the revolutionary war, this scene was entirely changed. planters, in clearing their land, had rolled logs and other rubbish from their fields, into the lakes and creeks leading from the river, and many threw trees into it to get them quickly out of the way.... the waters below being obstructed, they flooded the low grounds. ..." this would explain the early absence, and later presence, of malaria, as the mosquitoes necessary for transmitting it would thrive in the still waters created by the planters.--a. l., .-- but marion did not linger long in any one situation. hearing that the british were about to send their wounded from fairlawn to charleston, his restless enterprise prompted him to aim at the capture of the detachment. moving rapidly by night, he threw himself below the former place, on the opposite bank of the river, and would certainly have intercepted them, but for a slave of one of the plantations, who, hastening to the british camp, reported his proximity. the arrival of a superior force compelled him to steal away with a caution like that which marked his approach. the command of the british army, in consequence of a wound received by general stewart at eutaw, had devolved on major doyle. this army, recruited by the force of m'arthur, was still, after all its losses, fully two thousand men. that of greene, reduced by wounds and sickness, could not muster one thousand fit for duty. his cavalry had been greatly thinned by the late battle, and it was not until the cavalry of sumter's brigade could be brought together, with marion's mounted infantry, and the horse of horry and mayham, that the superiority of the american general could be restored. doyle had taken post at fludd's plantation, three miles above nelson's ferry, on the santee, with the main body of the british; m'arthur held the post at fairlawn, with a detachment of three hundred. doyle, with some instinctive notion that his time was short, busied himself in a career of plunder which threatened to strip the plantations south of the santee and congaree, and westward to the edisto, not only of every negro which they contained, but of all other kinds of property. over this region, the feebleness of the american forces, and their present deficiency in cavalry, gave him almost entire control. the opposite banks were guarded by marion and hampton, who afforded protection to everything that could be moved across, and presented themselves at every point to the enemy, whenever he attempted the passage of the river. marion was at this time an invalid, but, however much he might need, he asked for no repose or exemption from service when the enemy was in the field. his force was also reduced by sickness. col. mayham alone had no less than one hundred men unfit for duty. other circumstances kept the militia from coming to the summons of marion. those on the borders of north carolina were detained to meet and suppress a rising of the loyalists of that state under hector m'neil, and even those in his camp were unprovided with ammunition. early in october, we find him writing pressingly to general greene and governor rutledge for a supply. rutledge answers, on the th of that month, "i wish to god it was in my power to send you ammunition instantly, but it is not." col. otho williams, in the temporary absence of greene, writes, in answer: "our stock of ammunition is quite exhausted--we have not an ounce of powder, or a cartridge, in store." and yet, it was under similar deficiencies that the men of marion had labored from the beginning; and half the time had they gone into battle with less than three rounds of powder to a man. williams further writes: "his excellency, governor rutledge, has intimated that you meditate an expedition over the santee. in making your determination, if it is not settled, permit me to recommend to your consideration, that the general depends upon you entirely for intelligence of the enemy's motions." the activity of our partisan, his elasticity of character, his independence of resources, and usefulness to others, are all to be gathered from these two extracts. late in september of this year, governor rutledge issued a proclamation, requiring that the disaffected should come in within thirty days, and perform a six months tour of duty. the condition of pardon for all previous offences was attached to this requisition. the idea of this proclamation was borrowed from similar ones of the british generals, when they first overran the country. the object was to secure those persons, of whom there were numbers, who, in the declining fortunes of the british, were not unwilling to turn upon and rend their old friends, no longer capable of protecting or providing for them. the measure was of doubtful policy, since it appealed to the basest feelings of humanity. its effects were considerable, however; numbers presented themselves in the ranks of marion, showing finely in contrast with his ancient and half-naked veterans. "their new white feathers," says james, "fine coats, new saddles and bridles, and famished horses, showed that they had lately been in the british garrison." their appearance, not to speak of their previous career, naturally inspired distrust in the minds of those whose scars and nakedness were the proofs of their virtue; and another measure, which was adopted about this time, had the further effect of impairing the value of that efficient brigade upon which marion had been accustomed to rely. in order to promote the growth of the new regiments, it was permitted to all such persons as could hire a substitute, to claim exemption from military duty. this was a temptation too great to be resisted by those old soldiers who had served from the first, who had left their families in wretched lodgings, in poverty and distress, and from whose immediate neighborhood the presence of the war was withdrawn. the six months men were easily bought up to fill their places. the result was very injurious to the 'morale' of the brigade, and the evil effects of the measure were soon felt in the imperfect subordination, the deficient firmness, and the unprincipled character of the new recruits. it was productive also of differences between two of marion's best officers, horry and mayham, which wrought evil consequences to the country. being commissioned on the same day as colonels of the new regiments, they quarrelled about precedency. the fruits of this difference will be seen hereafter. as the winter set in, the army began to recruit, and the militia to embody under their several commanders. greene was joined by cols. shelby and sevier, with five hundred mountaineers, and these, with horry and mayham, were ordered to place themselves under marion, to operate in the country between the santee and charleston. sumter, at the same time, with a brigade of state troops and some companies of militia, was ordered to take post at orangeburg, to cover the country from the inroads of the loyalists from charleston. pickens, in the meantime, with his regiments, traversed the border country, keeping in awe the indians, and suppressing the predatory movements of the tories. about the st november, the separate commands of marion and sumter crossed the rivers, and advanced in the direction of the enemy. the latter soon fell in with cunningham's loyalists in force, and found it prudent to fall back. but he kept cunningham in check with a body of men fully equal to his own. marion, also, was compelled to come to a halt, by encountering general stewart, posted at wantoot, with nearly two thousand men. stewart was at this time following up the peculiar labors which had been undertaken by major doyle when in temporary charge of the army. he was collecting slaves and laying in provisions, preparing for siege in, and subsequent flight from, charleston. the fall of cornwallis, at yorktown, was known in the american camp on the th of november. it had been anticipated in the british some time before. with the fate of that commander, virtually terminated the british hope of re-conquering the country, and the proceedings of their officers in the south, as elsewhere, looked forward to the approaching necessity of flight. it was only becoming that they should spoil the egyptians previous to their departure. the capture of cornwallis produced a jubilee in the american camp. in that of marion the ladies of santee were permitted to partake. he gave them a fete--we are not told what were the refreshments--at the house of mr. john cantey. "the general," says james, "was not very susceptible of the gentler emotions; he had his friends, and was kind to his inferiors, but his mind was principally absorbed by the love of country;" and the judge rather insinuates that the pleasure he felt on this occasion arose more from the fall of cornwallis than from the presence of the ladies. on the same day, the th october,* he received the thanks of congress for "his wise, decided, and gallant conduct, in defending the liberties of his country, and particularly for his prudent and intrepid attack on a body of british troops on the st august last; and for the distinguished part he took in the battle of the th september." * this date is given in both simms's and james's accounts-- both say that marion received the thanks of congress on the th october, while celebrating the defeat of cornwallis. but cornwallis was defeated on the th of that month. this date should probably be the th november, and is most likely a repetition of james's error.--a. l., .-- on the th november, the camp of the hills was broken up, and general greene advanced with his army to the four holes, on the edisto, in full confidence that the force under marion would be adequate to keep general stewart in check. but, by the th of the same month, our partisan was abandoned by all the mountaineers under shelby and sevier, a force of five hundred men. this was after a three weeks' service. this miserable defection was ascribed to the withdrawal of shelby from the army on leave of absence. but, in all probability, it was due to their impatience of the wary sort of warfare which it was found necessary to pursue. the service was not sufficiently active for their habits. marion had been warned that he must keep them actively employed, but all his efforts to do so had been unsuccessful. he had approached stewart at wantoot, but, though the force of the latter was nominally far superior to that of the partisan, he could not be drawn out of his encampment. this was a subject of equal surprise and chagrin to marion. subsequently, the reason of this timidity on the part of the british general was discovered. a return, found on an orderly-sergeant who fell into marion's hands, showed that, out of two thousand two hundred and seventy-two men, stewart had nine hundred and twenty-eight on the sick list. the only services in which the mountaineers were employed, while with marion, were in attacks on the post at fairlawn, and the redoubts at wappetaw; and these required detachments only. the movement against the latter was instantly successful--the enemy abandoned it on the approach of the americans. but the post at fairlawn was of more value, in better condition of defence, a convenient depot, and, being in the rear of the british army, then stationed at wantoot, promised a stout resistance. the american detachment against this place was led by mayham. in passing the post at wantoot, he was ordered to show himself, and, if possible, to decoy the british cavalry into the field. the manoeuvre did not succeed, but it brought out a strong detachment, which followed close upon his heels, and required that what he should undertake should be done quickly. on approaching fairlawn, he found everything prepared for defence. he lost no time in making his advances. a part of his riflemen were dismounted, and, acting as infantry, approached the abbatis, while his cavalry advanced boldly and demanded a surrender. the place, with all its sick, three hundred stand of arms, and eighty convalescents, was yielded at discretion. with these small affairs ended the service of the mountaineers in marion's army. they retired to their native hills, leaving marion and greene enmeshed in difficulties. it was on the strength of this force, chiefly, that the latter had descended from the hills, and he was now unable to recede. marion, too, relying upon their support, had crossed the santee and placed himself in close proximity on the right of the enemy. but the feebleness and timidity of stewart, and his ignorance of the state of affairs in marion's camp, saved these generals from the necessity of a retreat which would have been equally full of danger and humiliation. the movement of greene across the congaree induced him to draw towards charleston, and marion was left in safety. the timidity shown by the enemy encouraged greene, and, dispatching a select party of horse under wade hampton, he followed hard upon their steps with as many chosen infantry. his purpose was the surprise of dorchester. stewart was descending to the city by another route. hampton's advance fell in with a reconnoitring party of fifty men, and suffered few to escape; and though greene did not succeed in surprising the post at dorchester, his approach had the effect of producing its abandonment. during the night, the garrison destroyed everything, threw their cannon into the river, and retreated to charleston. greene did not venture to pursue, as the enemy's infantry exceeded five hundred men. meanwhile, stewart had hurried on by goose creek bridge, and, joining the fugitives from dorchester, halted at the quarter house, and prepared to encounter the whole army of greene, which, in their panic, was supposed to be upon their heels. such was the alarm in charleston that general leslie, who now succeeded stewart, proceeded to embody the slaves, in arms, for the defence of that place,--a measure which was soon repented of, and almost as soon abandoned. greene fell back upon his main army, which had now advanced to saunders' plantation on the round o., while marion, pressing nearer to charleston, kept the right of the enemy in check. the movements of our partisan were left to his own discretion. greene, in all cases, not only suffers the judgment of the former to determine for himself his course, giving him a thoroughly independent command, but he betrays the most respectful desire on frequent occasions to have his opinion. thus, on the th of november, he writes to him:--"gen. sumter has orders to take post at orangeburgh, to prevent the tories in that quarter from conveying supplies to town, and his advanced parties will penetrate as low as dorchester; therefore, you may act in conjunction with him, or employ your troops on the enemy's left, as you may find from information they can be best employed. please to give me your opinion on which side they can be most useful." on the th of the same month, he writes again: "you are at liberty to act as you think advisedly. i have no particular instructions to give you, and only wish you to avoid surprise." the latter caution to a soldier of marion's character and prudence was scarcely necessary, but he was so near the enemy, and the latter in such superior force, that the suggestion, on the part of greene, was only natural. where greene himself lay, two rivers ran between his army and that of the british. without ammunition himself, and informed of reinforcements which the enemy had received, to preserve a respectful distance between them, was, on the part of the american commander, only a becoming caution. it was now december, and the troops, both of greene and marion, were without the necessary clothing. they had neither cloaks nor blankets. on the th of that month, greene received a supply of ammunition, all of which he sent to marion--no small proof of the confidence which he felt that, in such hands, it would not be thrown away. thus closed the campaign of . by manoeuvre, and a successful combination of events, the british troops had been driven down the country and restrained within the narrow neck of land contiguous to charleston. the encampment of the main army continued at the round o. marion was at watboo on cooper river, watching the enemy's right; sumter held orangeburg and the bridge at four holes; hampton with fifty state cavalry kept open the communication between marion and the commander-in-chief; cols. harden and wilkinson watched the enemy's movements on the south between charleston and savannah: and col. lee, posted in advance, with a light detachment, kept him from prying into the real weakness of the american army. in the ignorance of the british general, lay the security of the american; for, at this particular time, there were not eight hundred men at greene's headquarters. a glance at any map of south carolina will show the judgment with which these several posts were taken, at once for easy cooperation of the americans, as for the control of all the country above the positions actually held by the british. the territory of the state, with the exception of that neck of land which lies twelve or fifteen miles up from charleston, between the approaching rivers ashley and cooper, had all been recovered from the enemy. but the necessities of the americans, the want of military 'materiel', the thinness of the regiments, and the increasing strength of the british, derived from foreign troops and accessions from other posts in america, left it doubtful, under existing circumstances, whether it could be long retained. but this misgiving was not allowed to prejudice or impair the popular hope, resulting from the apparent successes of their arms; and one of the modes adopted for contributing to this conviction was the formal restoration of the native civil authority. the members of the state assembly, of whom marion was one, were accordingly required by the proclamation of governor rutledge--who had held almost dictatorial powers from the beginning of the war--to convene at jacksonborough at an early day of the ensuing year. chapter . marion summoned to the camp of greene--defeats the british horse at st. thomas--leaves his command to horry, and takes his seat in the assembly at jacksonborough, as senator from st. john's, berkeley--proceedings of the assembly-- confiscation act--dispute between cols. mayham and horry-- the brigade of marion surprised, during his absence, by a detachment from charleston--marion's encounter with the british horse--conspiracy in the camp of greene. while the army of greene lay at round o., considerable alarm was excited in the american camp by tidings of large reinforcements made to the british strength in charleston. general leslie was now in command of the latter. the contraction of the american military 'cordon' had very greatly straitened the resources and comforts of the british general. the numerous refugees who had taken shelter in the city with their families, the great accumulation of horses within the lines, and the vigilant watch which was maintained over the islands and the neck by the american light detachments, soon contributed to lessen the stock of provisions in the capital, and to cut off its supplies. one consequence of this condition was to compel leslie to put two hundred of his horses to death; while, by all other possible means, he collected his provisions from the surrounding country. considerable parties were kept upon the alert for this object, and, to facilitate the movements of these parties, strong posts were established at haddrel's point and hobcaw. the situation of these posts, on the extremities of tongues of land, to which assistance might easily be conveyed by water, and from which retreat, to an attacking enemy, was difficult, rendered them comparatively safe, for the present, against the americans. but the situation of leslie was one of uncomfortable constraint, and it was natural that he should avail himself of any prospect which might promise him relief. it was readily believed, therefore, in the american camp, that, with the acquisition of new strength, by the arrival of reinforcements from abroad, leslie would seek to break through the cordon put around him. the rumor of his approach, in strength, caused greene to issue his orders to marion to repair to headquarters with all the force he could draw after him. our partisan promptly obeyed the summons; but, on his way to join with greene, he left a detachment of mounted infantry in the neighborhood of monk's corner, to watch the motions of the enemy. but leslie's purpose was mistaken. his strength had been exaggerated. he had no designs upon the camp of greene, being no doubt quite as ignorant of his weakness as the latter was of the british strength. but the detachment left by marion near monk's corner caught the attention of the enemy, and, in the absence of the partisan, it was thought accessible to a proper attempt from charleston. in all the movements of the british, it is very evident that they attached no small importance to the presence of this chief. a detachment of three hundred men, cavalry and infantry, was transported by water to the north bank of the wando river. this body moved with equal secrecy and celerity. but they were disappointed in their aim. marion had returned from the continental camp to his own. the storm which threatened the former was overblown, and he was in season to avert that by which the latter was threatened. his force was scarcely equal to that of the enemy. he nevertheless resolved upon attacking them. in order to keep them in play, while he advanced with his main body, cols. richardson and scriven, with a part of mayham's horse, were dispatched with orders to throw themselves in front of the british, and engage them until he could come up. this order was gallantly executed. they encountered the enemy's advance near the muster-house of st. thomas, charged them vigorously, and succeeded in putting them to flight, with some slaughter. capt. campbell, of the british, and several others, were killed. but the pursuit was urged too far. the cavalry of mayham, by which this success had been obtained, was of new organization. their training had been partial only. it was seen that, though they drove the british horse before them, their own charge was marked by disorder. hurried forward by success, they rushed into the jaws of danger, and were only brought to their senses by an encounter with the whole of the british infantry. a volley from this body drove them back in confusion, while the cavalry, which had been flying before them, encouraged by the presence of the infantry, rallied upon the steps of the pursuers, and drove them in turn. they suffered severely, wedged upon a narrow causeway, which gave them as little room for escape as evolution. twenty-two fell upon the spot, by the fire of the infantry. the rest were rallied when sufficiently far from the more formidable enemy, and, turning upon the british cavalry, once more put them to flight. but the event left marion too weak to press the encounter. he contented himself with watching the motions of the british, and they were sufficiently respectful not to press him to any less pacific performance. they were satisfied to pursue their march, and, gathering a few head of cattle, to retire to haddrell's, foregoing the more important object of their incursion. the field clear, marion left his brigade in charge of horry, and repaired to jacksonborough, to attend the assembly, to which he had been elected a member from st. john, berkeley, the same parish which he represented in the provincial congress at the beginning of the war. this was early in the year . the legislature met at jacksonborough, a little village on the edisto or pon-pon river, on the th january of this year. this position, almost within striking distance of the british army at charleston, was chosen with particular reference to the moral influence which the boldness of such a choice would be likely to have upon the people, and the confidence which it seemed to declare in the ability of the american army to render the place secure. to make it so, greene moved his troops across the edisto, and took post at skirving's plantation, six miles in advance of jacksonborough, and on the road which leads to charleston. there was yet another step necessary to this object. the british, in addition to charleston and the "neck", held possession of two islands, james and john, which belong to that inner chain of isles which stretches along the coast from charleston to savannah, separated from the main by creeks and marshes, and from one another by the estuaries of rivers, sounds, or inlets. on john's island, which is fertile, extensive, and secure, the enemy held a very respectable force under col. craig. jacksonborough was within striking distance of this force. it could be approached by boats or galleys, in a single tide. it was equally assailable from this point by land. as a matter of precaution, it was considered necessary to disperse this force, and it was soon ascertained, not only that the island was accessible, but that the enemy, relying upon the protection of his armed galleys, was unapprehensive of attack. the attempt was entrusted to cols. lee and laurens, who, with separate parties, were to reach the point of destination by different routes. one of the parties lost the road, and failed to cooperate with the other. the movement was only partially successful. a second was designed, and succeeded. the galleys were driven from their station by the artillery, and laurens penetrated to craig's encampment. but the latter had already abandoned it. a few stragglers fell into the hands of the americans, but nothing more. the preceding attempt had just sufficed to convince craig of the insecurity of the place, and he had taken timely precautions against suffering from a repetition of the attempt. the legislature assembled according to appointment. the proclamation of the governor, to whom, from the beginning of the war, had been accorded almost dictatorial powers, precluded from election and suffrage all persons who had taken british protections; and, as those who were true to the state had been very generally active in the ranks of her military, it followed, as a matter of course, that a great proportion of the members were military men. among these were sumter and marion. the former, about this time, yielded his commission to the authorities, on account of some slight or injustice to which he had been subjected, and left the army when he took his seat in the assembly. general henderson succeeded to his command. the jacksonborough assembly was highly distinguished, as well for its talent as for its worth and patriotism. its character was, perhaps, rather military than civil. constituting as they did, in a slave community, a sort of feudal aristocracy, and accustomed, as, for so long a time they had been, to the use of the weapons of war, its members wore the deportment of so many armed barons, gathered together quite as much for action as resolve. it was not only unavoidable, but highly important at this juncture, that such should be the character of this body. who could so well determine what were the necessities of the country--what the exigencies of the people--what the local resources and remedies--as those who had fought its battles, traversed every acre of its soil, and represented its interests and maintained its rights when there was no civil authority? what legislators so likely to wield the popular will, as men who, like marion and sumter, had become its rallying leaders--whom the people had been accustomed to obey and follow, and by whom they had been protected. it was equally important that the legislation should come from such sources, when we consider the effect upon the enemy, still having a foothold in the state. they might reasonably apprehend that the laws springing from such a body would be marked by a stern directness and decision of purpose which would leave nothing to be hoped by disaffection or hostility; and their proceedings did not disappoint the expectations of friend or foe. the measures of this assembly were marked by equal prudence and resolve. they passed a new act respecting the militia, and one for raising the state quota of continental troops. one of their measures has been questioned as unwise and impolitic--that, namely, for amercing and confiscating the estates of certain of the loyalists, and for banishing the most obnoxious among them. something, certainly, is to be said in favor of this act. if vindictive, it seems to have been necessary. it must be remembered that, in consequence of a previous proclamation of the governor, none but the most implacable and virulent of the tories were liable to its operation--none but those who had rejected very liberal offers of indulgence and conciliation. this proclamation had opened the door to reconciliation with the state, on very easy terms to the offenders. it gave them timely warning to come in, enrol themselves in the american ranks, and thus assure themselves of that protection and safety which they had well forfeited. their neglect or refusal to accept this proffer of mercy, properly incurred the penalties of contumacy. these penalties could be no other than confiscation of property and banishment of person. reasons of policy, if not of absolute necessity, seemed to enforce these penalties. how was the war to be carried on? marion's men, for example, received no pay, no food, no clothing. they had borne the dangers and the toils of war, not only without pay, but without the hope of it. they had done more--they had yielded up their private fortunes to the cause. they had seen their plantations stripped by the enemy, of negroes, horses, cattle, provisions, plate--everything, in short, which could tempt the appetite of cupidity; and this, too, with the knowledge, not only that numerous loyalists had been secured in their own possessions, but had been rewarded out of theirs. the proposed measure seemed but a natural and necessary compliance with popular requisition. besides, the war was yet to be carried on. how was this to be done? how long was it yet to last? what was to be its limit? who could predict? congress was without money--the state without means. for a space of three years, south carolina had not only supported the war within, but beyond her own borders. georgia was utterly destitute, and was indebted to south carolina for eighteen months for her subsistence; and north carolina, in the portions contiguous to south carolina, was equally poor and disaffected. the whigs were utterly impoverished by their own wants and the ravages of the enemy. they had nothing more to give. patriotism could now bestow little but its blood. it was with an obvious propriety resolved, by the jacksonborough assembly, that those who had proved false to the country should be made to suffer in like degree with those who had been true, and who were still suffering in her defence. as a measure of prolonged policy--contemplated beyond the emergency--there may be objections to the confiscation act; but the necessities of the time seemed to demand it, and it will be difficult for any judgment, having before it all the particulars of the cruel civil war through which the country had gone--not to speak of the army, and the present and pressing necessity for maintaining it--to arrive at any other conclusion, or to censure the brave men who urged and advocated the measure. the proceeding seems perfectly defensible on general principles, though in particular instances--as in the application of all general principles--it may have been productive of injury. the estates of the loyalists, by this measure, were seized upon as a means for building up the credit of the state, supplying it with the necessary funds for maintaining order as well as war, and for requiting and supporting that army which was still required to bleed in its defence. what part was taken in this act by marion, is not known. though kind and indulgent in his nature, he was stern and resolute in war. we have no reason to suppose that he entertained any scruples about a proceeding, the necessity of which, at the time, seems to have been beyond all dispute. the absence of our partisan from his brigade, was almost fatal to it. he left it with reluctance, and only with the conviction that his presence in the senate was important to the interests equally of the army and the country. indeed, without him there would not have been a quorum. there were only thirteen senators present. he was interested, besides, in the passage of the new militia act, and in one designed to raise the state quota of continental troops. these were sufficient to compel his presence. but he remained with reluctance. his letters from jacksonborough betray the most constant anxiety about his brigade. he had yielded it to horry with the most earnest exhortations to caution. by his orders, the latter, the more completely to ensure its safety, removed to a position on the north side of wambaw, a creek emptying into the santee. here, in an angle formed by the two roads which pass from lenud's ferry road to horry's plantation, about a quarter of a mile from the bridge, horry occupied a post which caution might have rendered safe. in his rear was a wood. his newly raised regiment, not half complete, lay at durant's plantation, about a mile above, under the command of major benson. horry does not seem to have been remiss in his duties, but about this time he fell sick, and, for some time before, he had been, and still was, somewhat wilful. there was an unhappy dispute between himself and col. mayham, touching rank and precedence. the latter refused to be commanded by the former, claiming to be equal in commission, and, when marion went to jacksonborough, separated his corps from the brigade, posted them higher up the river, and, being a member of the legislature, proceeded to jacksonborough also. greene was not unwilling, in the present juncture of affairs, that the native officers should be present at the deliberations of this body. the civil objects were just then even more important than the military. the contumacy of mayham was a subject of the most earnest discussion. both marion and greene decided against him; yet both were reluctant to offend him, as they knew his value as a cavalry officer. mayham seems to have acted under some erroneous impressions of the independence of a legionary brigade, as he claimed his to be. he also complained of the free use which marion made of his cavalry, and the severe duties he was required to perform. to this, greene replies: "you are to consider how extensive the country he has to guard, and how much he depends upon your corps. this will account for the hard service you have been put to. the general is a good man, and when you consider his difficulties, and make just allowances, perhaps you will have little to complain of but the hard necessity of the service." but this reply did not produce its effect, and mayham certainly erred, as a soldier, in complaining of the severity of his tasks. in the old chivalrous periods, the peculiar severity of the duties assigned to knighthood was recognized gratefully, as a matter of compliment and trust. he still held off; and marion promptly demanded, that, if mayham had any independent right of command, while nominally under him, he might be at once withdrawn from the brigade. mayham's manner and tone were quite respectful, but tenacious; and while the discussion was in progress, and he holding off from horry, events were brewing which were destined to terminate the unfortunate dispute by a capital misfortune. again taking advantage of the absence of marion, an expedition was set on foot in charleston, against horry. a detachment of two hundred horse, five hundred infantry, and two pieces of artillery, under col. thomson (better known in after-times as count rumford), prepared to ascend cooper river. its preparations were not conducted with such caution, however, but that they became known to the vigilant friends of the americans in and about the city. the army was warned of their preparations. greene hinted to marion the necessity of returning to his command. the latter replies, by declaring his great anxiety to do so, but urges the impossibility of leaving the senate, lest the assembly should be broken up--an event which might be of fatal importance to the cause, unless the great business of the session were first disposed of. he promises to move as soon as this should be the case. the actual movement of the british detachment made it impossible that marion should longer delay to rejoin his brigade, and, accompanied by col. mayham, he reached the ground on which the regiment of the latter was encamped, by a circuitous route and rapid riding, on the th february. here they were unhappily told that the enemy was retiring. marion, accordingly, remained to rest and refresh himself, while mayham paid a visit to his own plantation. in a few hours after mayham's departure, an express arrived with the mortifying intelligence that the brigade had been surprised and dispersed. marion, instantly putting himself at the head of mayham's regiment, hurried on toward wambaw, the scene of the event, to check pursuit and collect and save the fugitives. we have seen the position of horry. he had sent out his scouts on all the roads by which the approach of an enemy might be apprehended. feeling himself secure, and being sick, he went over the river on the th, the day of the catastrophe, to his plantation, leaving the brigade under the command of col. m'donald. major benson, as will be remembered, held a position, with the incomplete regiment of horry, at durant's plantation, about a mile above that of the brigade. by some unaccountable remissness of patrols or videttes, the british cavalry, under coffin, surprised the latter post. benson, it is said, had been told by capt. bennett, who commanded the scouts in st. thomas's, that the enemy was approaching; but the information was brought to him while at dinner, and a keen appetite made him slow to believe tidings which might have lessened the enjoyment of the meal. bennett proceeded to horry's headquarters, where col. m'donald happened to be at dinner also. he proved equally incredulous, but desired major james, who had just arrived in camp, to take command of his regiment. the surprise of benson was complete, and he paid for his remissness or indifference with his life. the firing at durant's convinced m'donald of his error; but, in all probability, the surprise was quite as complete in the one command as in the other. there were two regiments of "six-months' men"--that is to say, "reformed tories"--persons who had come in under the proclamation issued by governor rutledge. these broke at the first encounter with the enemy. in their flight, and to prevent pursuit, they threw off the planks from wambaw bridge. fortunately, a strong body, under major james, checked the pursuit for a space, and gave an opportunity for the fugitives to save themselves. many of them crossed the river by swimming, but some were drowned in the attempt. the thickets saved the infantry. no prisoners were taken. the british gave no quarter. successful against benson and m'donald, the enemy pressed forward in the direction of marion's approach, but without having any knowledge of his proximity. he had halted with the cavalry of mayham, at the house of mrs. tydiman, about four miles from the scene of the disaster, to refresh his men and horses. the latter were unbitted and feeding, when the whole of the enemy's cavalry made their appearance. it would seem, from the indecision of their commander, that he was no less surprised at falling in with this body of marion's men, than was our partisan at his sudden appearance. his hesitation under this surprise gave the americans an opportunity to recover themselves. it was the opinion of mayham, that, had the charge been sounded the moment that he came in view, the whole regiment must have been lost. there was no retreat, save by the river, and by the lane through which they had entered the plantation, and of this the enemy had full command. the halt and hesitation of the british--their seeming alarm--at once afforded marion the means of extrication from his predicament. to bit and mount their horses, was, for his cavalry, the work of a moment. though not counting half the numbers of the enemy, marion's instant resolution was to issue forth by the lane, and attack them. they had displayed themselves in front of it. just before the lane was an old field, and a little to the right a pond of water. marion, placing a small body of infantry to great advantage along the fence, ordered his column of cavalry to advance through the lane to the attack. his men were well mounted; in this respect, if inferior in numbers, they had a manifest advantage over the british. the latter had been too long cooped up in the walls of charleston, on short commons, to be very serviceable; and the cavalry of mayham, though somewhat too much crowded with the "new-made whigs", were yet confident, from long experience, in their ability to contend with the enemy. marion himself was confident, but was destined, in this instance, to lose, what he himself, in his dispatches, has styled, "a glorious opportunity of cutting up the british cavalry." his men moved to the extremity of the lane, before which the enemy had halted, with a firm and promising countenance. the front section was led by capt. smith, an officer of approved courage, who, in a very recent affair at st. thomas' muster-house, had signally distinguished himself. yet, seized with a sudden panic, the moment that he reached the end of the lane, he dashed into the woods on the right, and drew after him the whole regiment. marion himself, who was near the head of the column, was borne away by the torrent, which he in vain struggled to withstand. the rush was irresistible--the confusion irretrievable. all efforts to restrain or recover the fugitives were idle, until they had reached the woods. there marion succeeded in rallying a party, and at this point the pursuit of the enemy was checked, and the fugitives partly rallied. they had sustained but little loss in lives; but the shame, the disgrace of such a panic, were immeasurably humiliating. the british showed no eagerness in the pursuit. they seemed to doubt the bloodless victory which they had won, and, content with their own escape, were not unreasonably urgent with fortune to make their victory complete. they subsequently, after they had fully recovered from their panic, contrived greatly to exaggerate the importance of the event. one of the newspapers of the day has the following:--"things bear a better prospect than they did. colonel thomson has defeated general marion in south carolina, killed one hundred men, and marion was drowned, attempting to escape." the only officer drowned in the flight, was lieut. smyzer of horry's cavalry. the loss of the brigade in horses and accoutrements was greater than in men. their greater loss, however, was of that confidence in themselves and one another, which it was one of the greatest objects of marion's training to inspire. the true secret of the superiority of regulars over militia-men lies in the habit of mutual reliance. they feel each other's elbows, in military parlance--they are assured by the custom of mutually depending one upon the other. this habit impresses them with a conviction, which the terrors of conflict do not often impair, that they will not be deserted; and, thus assured, they hurry into the battle, and remain in it so long as the body with which they move can act together. once broken, however, the cry is 'sauve qui peut'. not so with militia-men. they never forget their individuality. the very feeling of personal independence is apt to impair their confidence in one another. their habit is to obey the individual impulse. they do not wait to take their temper from their neighbor right and left. hence their irregularity--the difficulty of restraining them--of making them act in routine, and with entire reference to the action of other bodies. so far from deriving strength from feeling another's elbow, they much prefer elbow room. could they be assured of one another, they were the greatest troops in the world. they are the greatest troops in the world--capable of the most daring and heroic achievements--wherever the skill of the commander can inspire this feeling of mutual reliance. frequent cooperation of the same persons under the same leader produces it, and makes them veterans. the old soldiers of the brigade had it in perfection. it was one of the excellences of marion that it followed so certainly and rapidly from his peculiar training. that it should be lost or impaired, was a most serious evil. that it would not have been endangered, we are sure, had it not been that the brigade no longer consisted of the brave fellows who had clung to him through the campaigns of the last two years. the new recruits were, in all probability, to blame for the mischance; and something, perhaps, is due to the unhappy quarrel between mayham and horry. the former was terribly mortified by the affair--mortified that marion should have hurried to the scene of action without apprising him, and vexed that his own regiment should have behaved so badly. he complains that others should "expend the strength of the regiment without giving him the satisfaction of being present." captain john caraway smith, the officer who led the column thus disastrously aside, resigned the day after the affair. his conduct had been habitually brave. but a short time before, as already shown, he had behaved with the most determined and audacious gallantry at the head of the same troop. that their training was defective is beyond question, but no imputation rested upon their courage or his own. nevertheless, we have napoleon's authority for the opinion that every man has his 'moment de peur'. no man is equally firm on all occasions. there are moods of weakness and irresolution in every mind, which is not exactly a machine, which impair its energies, and make its course erratic and uncertain. the truth was known in earlier ages. the old poets ascribed it to supernatural influence. envious deities interposed between valor and its victim, paralysing the soul of the one and strengthening that of the other. thus we find even hector, upon occasion, the slave of panic, and paris, on the other hand, almost emulating the spirit of his brother. the conduct of captain smith, in this affair, has been excused by mayham. he ascribes it to an error of marion himself. he says that, "marion (who was an infantry officer) gave the order to 'file off from the house to the right,' instead of ordering 'to charge!' this induced his officers to believe that they were to retreat and not to fight." this may be true; but it is scarcely probable. retreat from the house, except into the river, seems to have been cut off. the only other avenue was the lane. at the end of this was the enemy, drawn out in order of battle. upon these the advance was ordered. we have seen that marion himself exulted in the conviction that the enemy was in his power. his exultation could not have been entirely concealed from his officers. it must have declared itself in some way. the halt and hesitation of the british were perceptible to all. they were in superior numbers, and when they reached the head of the lane, the horses of the american cavalry were unbitted and feeding. a sudden and resolute charge, according to mayham, on the part of the british, would have resulted in the entire defeat of the regiment. that they did not order this charge betrayed their apprehensions, and should have encouraged, in similar degree, the americans--did encourage them, and hence the resolve of marion to advance upon them. that it should be supposed he would hurry forward, in the very teeth of the enemy, only to dash aside in confusion from the struggle, is scarcely reasonable. but mayham was offended with marion. the latter had decided against him in the controversy with horry; and the subsequent movement against the british, without stopping to require his presence, was another mortifying circumstance which he was not likely to forget. biased by his feelings, he was not willing to believe that the seeming slight was in reality due to the emergency of the case, which would not allow a moment's hesitation in marion's movement at such a juncture. as soon as the presence of marion was known, the fugitives gathered around him. but for his absence they had never been dispersed. horry's regiment was very much crippled; mayham's in equally bad condition. of m'donald's, and the brigade, a few hundred were soon brought together; and with his deranged and dispirited band, our partisan retired beyond the santee to repair and recruit his strength, and revive the confidence of his men in their leaders and themselves. in the meanwhile, the country which he had so recently covered and protected was harried by the british. they improved the interval of his absence by successful incursions. the cattle had been already put beyond their power, on the other side the santee; but they stripped the plantations within their reach, as well of slaves as of provisions. greene could do nothing to prevent them. his own army was in a state of convulsion and commotion; suffering from distress and discontent, and threatened with dissolution. recent occurrences had awakened his fears for his own security. one result of marion's recent disaster was to put an end to the dispute between horry and mayham. their respective regiments were so reduced, after the affair at wambaw, that it was deemed advisable to amalgamate them. having resolved upon this measure, gov. mathews, who had succeeded rutledge, applied to marion to know who of the two was the best cavalry officer--an opinion which marion yielded with great reluctance. his personal preferences went with horry, but he could not hesitate in declaring for mayham. horry, with the ambition of a spirited soldier, eagerly desired a command of cavalry,--was a good infantry officer, and had all the requirements of skill and bravery. but he was no horseman, and it is said that, in several of his charges, he was indebted to some one or other of his men for his own safety, being commonly unhorsed. his gallantry and patriotism were equally unquestionable. they had been displayed from the beginning of the war. the preference shown mayham caused horry's resignation from the service; but to console him for the mortification, marion made him commandant of georgetown, a post which united the responsibilities and duties of a military and civil service. with the adjournment of the assembly at jacksonborough, the army of greene moved down from skirving's plantation to bacon's bridge, at the head of ashley river. here, within twenty miles of the enemy, a dangerous conspiracy ripened almost to maturity among the pennsylvania troops, composed in part of the very mutineers who had triumphed over government in the insurrection in jersey, and who, as lafayette observed,* "had been well paid and well clothed in consequence of it." this, we believe, was the only body of troops furnished to the southern army, during the revolution, from any of the states north of maryland and delaware. we make this remark with the view to the correction of a very general error, arising from the vague manner in which it is customary for our historians to speak of the sources of the personnel of the southern army. the armies led by gates and greene, to the defence of carolina, were truly from states north of her, but they were not northern states. two fine bodies of troops came from maryland and delaware, but the rest were from virginia and north carolina,--with the exception of the pennsylvania line, of which we have now to speak. these, as we have seen, had been refractory in jersey, and instead of being punished, were paid for their sedition. it was natural that they should endeavor to renew an experiment which had already proved so profitable. the mutineers were directed by one sergeant gornell. their number is unknown. they were solely of the pennsylvania line, and might have been successful but for an attempt which they made upon the fidelity of the marylanders. their purpose was to deliver greene to the enemy, and otherwise facilitate the objects of the latter, who were to make a concerted movement, in force, upon the american army, at a prescribed moment. the integrity of the marylanders, whom gornell approached, was not to be shaken; and to their fidelity and the quick ears of one of the camp-women, the army was indebted for its safety. the circumstances were all in favor of the success of the conspirators. there was a general discontent in the army. the troops were badly fed and clothed--were unpaid, doubtful of pay, and suffering present distresses. they were inactive. many of them were new recruits. greene was no longer surrounded by the tried and true men and officers, who had borne the brunt of the contest. the term of service of the former had in great part expired, some of his best officers were on furlough, and he had offended others. sumter had left the army in disgust; pickens was operating against the indians; marion was recruiting his brigade on the santee; williams had gone home; howard was in maryland, scarcely recovered from his wounds; wayne was in georgia, doing good service in that quarter; st. clair was absent on leave; lee had gone to virginia to get married, and his legion was almost shorn of officers; eggleston had gone with him to virginia, and the brave fellows, armstrong and carrington, had fallen into the hands of the enemy. the time was well chosen for mutiny, and as the hour drew near for the consummation of the purpose of the conspirators, the british army was set in motion from below,--not so secretly, however, but that their movements were made known to the americans. symptoms of mutiny became apparent in the camp, and it was necessary to proceed with vigor. doubtful of a large number of those around him, greene summoned marion with all his force from the santee, while his own army was kept in order of battle. the arrest of gornell, with that of four others, all sergeants of the pennsylvania line, took place the night before the conspiracy was to take effect. gornell was tried and executed; the others were sent under guard into the interior. this proceeding was the signal for the flight of at least a dozen more, who, having been committed, broke away on the night of gornell's seizure, and found protection with the enemy, who advanced in force to receive them. this prompt proceeding suppressed the mutiny. the development of the conspiracy, the state of preparedness in the camp of greene, and the movement of marion, had the effect of discouraging the farther advance of the british army; and marion, while yet in motion for the camp of greene, from which he was but eight miles distant, was summoned in haste to the protection of georgetown, against which the enemy was reported to have sailed from charleston. a forced march of four days brought him to white's bridge, when it was discovered that the alarm was unfounded. the enemy had not shown himself, and was not nigh. in this march of one hundred and sixty miles, marion's men had but a single ration of rice. their sole food, with this exception, was lean beef. the march took place in april, when there is no forage for cattle, and when such as survive the winter, are compelled to wander far in the swamps and thickets in search of the scanty herbage which sustains them. the march of our partisan in these two expeditions was conducted solely on foot. the country south of the santee had been so completely foraged by the british, during his vacation of it, that he was compelled to dismount his infantry in his movements until the spring herbage should enable him to feed his horses. his force was reduced to two hundred militia and one hundred and twenty horse. it was the wish of general greene that he should take post as near the enemy as possible, in order both to shorten his limits beyond cooper river, and to enable col. laurens, who now commanded the legion of lee, to pass the ashley, and close upon the british between the latter river and goose creek. but with his infantry dismounted, he dared not venture so completely within the reach of an enemy so superior; and with the double purpose of securing a retreat, if necessary, and of forming a junction with any party when desirable, either at huger's bridge, over the west branch of cooper river, or at strawberry ferry, he took post at sinkler's plantation on the santee. this left him within twenty-five miles of each of these designated routes. his cavalry meanwhile patrolled the country as low as haddrell and hobcaw, and in sight of the british posts at those places. they thus procured the earliest news of the enemy's movements, and checked his incursions in that quarter. the effect of marion's presence with his brigade was soon felt, as well by his people as by the british. by the latter it was deemed important to relieve themselves from a neighbor at once so vigilant and inconvenient. a messenger, feigning to be a deserter, was dispatched by general leslie, whose plan was to make his way through the scouts of marion, to the scotch and loyal settlements on the borders of north carolina. these were to be stirred up to insurrection, and marion was to be diverted from a quarter in which his presence was particularly annoying. the messenger succeeded in his object, but was less fortunate in his return. he had done the mischief required at his hands, fomented the insurrection, and set the loyalists in motion. the proofs were conclusive against him, and he perished by military execution. the timely notice which marion obtained of his labors enabled him to prepare against the event. * johnson's life of greene, vol. , p. .-- chapter . marion summoned with his force to that of greene-- insurrection of the loyalists on the pedee--marches against them--subdues them--treats with gainey--fanning --protects the tory, butler, from his men--returns to the country between the santee and the cooper--moves to protect georgetown from the british fleet--takes post at watboo, on cooper river--defeats the british cavalry under major frasier. meanwhile, the main body of the army under greene continued to suffer diminution. on the first of may a large proportion of the north carolina troops were entitled to and claimed their discharge. no recruits were expected from the north, and it became necessary to draw together all the force that south carolina could afford. the government of this state, from its first re-organization, had faithfully endeavored to re-establish the south carolina line, but without money or means, with very little corresponding success. a few recruits were obtained from among those who had recently received their discharge, but the service had been of a kind to baffle all the temptations and arguments of the recruiting officers. in the emergency of the case, it became indispensable to look to the militia under marion, pickens and henderson; and these leaders were accordingly required to repair to headquarters. the withdrawal of the former, with his troops, from the region of country which they had so lately covered, was the signal for that rising of the loyalists upon the pedee, to instigate which the unfortunate emissary of general leslie had been dispatched from charleston. the absence of marion was considered auspicious to the new movement. he had scarcely reached dorchester when his ancient enemy, major gainey, appeared in arms at the head of a considerable body of troops, both cavalry and infantry. a small command under col. baxter, which had been left by marion to observe their movements, was too feeble to make head against them, and it became necessary for marion himself to retrace his steps, and arrest the progress of the insurrection. placing himself at the head of mayham's cavalry, he promptly advanced in the direction of the enemy. so rapid were his movements, so vigilant his watch, so well devised his plans, that he reached the pedee country long before his approach was suspected. his presence, on the present occasion, was a surprise. it had long been a terror; so much so that but for his remoteness at the camp of greene, they had, in all probability, never ventured to resume their arms. three separate bodies of men, by a judicious arrangement of our partisan, were prepared to enter their country at the same moment. these were so placed, that, though operating separately, they might yet be made to cooperate if desired. the effect was such as to paralyse the incipient resolution of the loyalists. they showed no disposition for fight; and feeling their temper, conscious of his difficulties, and now no longer hopeful of help from the british, gainey dispatched a flag to marion with proposals to treat for a pacification. he was not unwilling to renew the treaty which, just one year before, he had entered into with horry, who then acted as the lieutenant of our partisan. this treaty, influenced by british emissaries, the tories had very imperfectly kept. in small squads they had been perpetually rising, and committing trespasses upon their neighbors whenever the withdrawal of marion's men afforded them opportunity. they had now everything to fear from his anger; but they also knew his willingness to forgive. relying upon this, and making a merit of necessity, the communication of gainey expressed the warmest solicitude for peace. to this marion was prepared to listen. commissioners were appointed on both sides. they met, but, unhappily, they recognized in each other well known personal opponents. they had often met in strife, and could not forbear alluding to their encounters. the conversation grew warm, the parties excited, and instead of coming to terms, the commissioners almost came to blows. they separated with increased resentment. a fierce skirmish followed, and the attempt to adjust their differences was renewed between the respective commanders. marion was anxious to effect a pacification. his services were required below on the santee and cooper, to check the incursions of the british, and he consented to meet and confer with gainey in person. this determination was censured by some of his officers. they denounced gainey as a leader of banditti; and, certainly, his conduct, on many occasions, deserved the reproach. they reproached marion for committing his dignity in treating with such a person. but this suggestion did not affect him. he was governed by views and principles very far superior to those which influence the ordinary soldier. his pride did not suffer from such censures. his reply was equally prompt and conclusive. he told them that he "aimed at no higher dignity than that of essentially serving his country." the result was satisfactory to our partisan. making a merit of necessity, gainey yielded without requiring any farther resort to blows. at the bowling green, between the great and little pedee, more than five hundred men laid down their arms, submitting to conditions which were rather strict than severe. marion and gainey met at birch's mill on the th june, when a treaty was drawn up having for its basis the articles of the preceding arrangement with horry. by this treaty, gainey and his men were to lay down their arms and not to resume them unless ordered to do so by the authorities of the state; they bound themselves to deliver up all negroes, horses, cattle and other property of which they had dispossessed the people of this or any other state--to demean themselves as peaceable citizens, and submit to the laws of the state--to deliver up all contumacious and rebellious persons within their district--to deliver up all deserters from the regular service--to sign a declaration of allegiance to the united states, and to south carolina in particular, and to abjure the british crown, and to surrender all british property. compliance with these conditions, was to ensure them full pardon for their treasons to the state, and the enjoyment of their property as citizens within it; while individuals not choosing to comply, were to be permitted, with their wives and children, a safe progress to the british lines. from the benefits of this treaty, some few atrocious offenders were excepted. major gainey removed with those who preferred to adhere to the fortunes of the british. he did not side with their determination, but he deemed it a duty to see that those who had followed his arms, should be put in safety beyond the reach of their enemies: an honorable resolve certainly. before his departure he waited upon marion and said: "honor, sir, requires that i should yield my commission to col. balfour, from whom i received it; but this done, i shall immediately return to the country and seek your protection." this was frankly promised him, and with every confidence in the assurance of marion, as soon as he had concluded his affairs in charleston, he promptly returned and enrolled himself in the american ranks. one of the loyalists, specially exempted from the privileges of the treaty with gainey, was a notorious marauder by the name of fanning. he was a sanguinary ruffian, with considerable talents, but brutal, reckless, and most inveterate in his hostility to the american cause. shortly after the treaty with gainey, this person appeared in the truce ground at the head of a small party. it was feared that he would stir up the revolt anew. he came for that purpose. marion was at once upon the alert. his force, divided into three bodies, occupied various parts of the lately disaffected districts, and overawed the spirit of revolt, if it yet existed. finding the cause hopeless in that quarter, fanning sent a flag to marion with a request that he would grant a safe-conduct to his wife, and some property, to the british garrison in charleston. against any such concession the officers of marion expostulated. they were unwilling that so cruel a ruffian should receive any indulgence. but marion looked more deeply into the matter, and yielded a prompt compliance with the request. "let but his wife and property reach the british lines, and fanning will follow. force them to remain, and we only keep a serpent in our bosom." such was his reasoning, and the truth of it was very soon apparent. finding the hope of insurrection fruitless, fanning fled the country, and was as soon in charleston as his wife. the disaffected district was now covered by his troops, busied in securing all persons who, declining to retire to the british, still withheld their submission from the american authorities. in the execution of this duty, some licentiousness followed--such irregularities as are apt to occur where soldiers traverse a subdued territory. intimations of these irregularities reached the ears of the partisan. no individual was charged with offence, and no particulars were given; but marion took occasion to declare his indignation in the presence of officers and men. "i have heard insinuations," said he, "which, if true, would disgrace my command; no accusation has been made; but i wish you clearly to know that let officer or soldier be proved guilty of crime, and he shall hang on the next tree." his firmness and sincerity were known; and he heard of no more license. while engaged in the irksome duty of arresting the recusant, he was equally busy in granting written protections to those who subscribed frankly to the conditions of the treaty. the judicious disposition and immediate presence of his force--the terror inspired by his successes--the knowledge which they had of his mercy, and their evident abandonment by the british--had the effect of bringing crowds to his camp, trebling the number of his own troops, seeking the proffered securities. such was the consumption of paper on this occasion, or rather such the poverty at headquarters, that old letters were torn up, the backs of which were put in requisition for this object. while at birch's mills, on the pedee, among others who sought the protection of marion was one capt. butler, who had made himself particularly odious by his crimes and ferocity. he had been conspicuous as the oppressor of the whig inhabitants of the pedee. he was not ignorant of the detestation in which he was held, and it was with some misgivings that he sought the required protection. his appearance in the american camp was the signal for a commotion. there were among the men of marion some who were connected with persons who had suffered by the atrocities of butler. they determined to avenge their friends. they resolved that no protection should save him, and an intemperate message to that effect was sent to marion. marion instantly took butler to his own tent, and firmly answered those by whom the message was brought: "relying on the pardon offered, the man whom you would destroy has submitted. both law and honor sanction my resolution to protect him with my life." a still more intemperate message reached him, declaring that "butler should be dragged to death from his tent--that to defend such a wretch was an insult to humanity." to this marion made no reply, but calling around him the members of his family, and some of his most trusty followers, he gave them to understand that he should expect their cooperation at all hazards in protecting the culprit from violence. "prepare to give me your assistance, for though i consider the villainy of butler unparalleled, yet, acting under orders as i am, i am bound to defend him. i will do so or perish." the mutiny threatened to be formidable, and that night, marion succeeded with a strong guard in conveying the prisoner to a place of safety. the treaty with gainey put an end to the domestic feuds upon the pedee, and anxious to regain the local confidence which they had forfeited, numbers of the loyalists of this quarter, following the example of their leader, entered the ranks of the americans, and though too late to be of effectual service in the war, yet furnished sufficient proofs of their fidelity. no farther necessity appearing for the longer stay of marion on the pedee, he prepared to return to his former range along the rivers cooper and santee. his absence from this region afforded an opportunity for the enemy to renew their depredations from charleston. marion had left colonel ashby in command of his infantry, when, at the head of mayham's horse, he hurried to encounter gainey, and quell his insurrection. ashby, pressed by a superior british force, had been compelled to yield before it, and this intelligence left our partisan no moment of respite after quelling the commotions on the pedee, before he was required to return and cover the country which had so long been indebted to his vigilance for protection. in leaving the pedee, with still some doubts of the newly converted loyalists of that quarter, he left col. baxter with one hundred and fifty trusty men, to maintain the ascendency which he had just acquired. this object was of the last importance, not only with reference to the doubtful 'personnel' of the country, but the valuable 'materiel', cattle and provisions, which might have been carried off to the enemy. suspicious of the fidelity of the loyalists, there was every reason to fear that it might be too strongly tested. the british were known to be preparing a fleet of small vessels for some enterprises directed northwardly, and no object of importance seemed more obvious than that of renewing the disturbances on the pedee and possessing themselves of the immense plunder which that region of country might still afford. all precautions taken, our partisan hurried his return. but had he not been joined by a newly raised corps under major conyers, he must have marched alone. so rapid had been his movements, so unremitting his duties, that the cavalry of mayham which he led, were completely broken down. he was compelled to leave them behind him to recruit. at murray's ferry, on the santee, he halted to collect his militia, and await the arrival of mayham's corps. here he consolidated the commands of mayham and conyers into one regiment; and about the middle of july was enabled once more to cross the santee with a force of three hundred dismounted infantry, and a respectable body of horse. with these he took post on the wassamasaw, in a position which, while it was secure, enabled him to cooperate with the detachments of the main army in covering the country. here his vigilance was again conspicuous. his parties were constantly busy. his own movements to and fro, wherever an enemy could approach, or was suspected, were continual, from the cooper to the santee. his objects were threefold--to check the irruptions of the enemy, to cut off their supplies, and to provide for his own people. his scouting parties penetrated in every hostile direction--sometimes as low as daniel's island and clement's ferry--points almost within the ken of the british garrison. but the enemy was no longer enterprising. they were not often met. their cavalry was few and inferior, and their exigencies may be inferred from their uniforming and converting some of their captured negroes into troopers. one corps of these black dragoons, consisting of twenty-six men, was cut to pieces by one of marion's scouting parties of twelve, commanded by capt. capers. the british, tired of the war, were preparing to evacuate the country. preparatory to this, it was necessary that they should lay in sufficient store of provisions. general leslie had been preparing for this necessity and, late in july, a numerous fleet of small vessels, conveying eight hundred men, and convoyed by galleys and armed brigs, left charleston to proceed, as it was conjectured, against georgetown. this compelled marion to hasten in that direction. here he made every arrangement for moving the public stores to a place of safety. black mingo was preferred as the depot, for the honorable reason, as given in marion's own words, that it was "a settlement of good citizens and of my earliest and most faithful followers." but the enterprise of the enemy was less hazardous. the collection of rice was their object. this was to be found in the greatest quantity on the santee, from the banks of which river they carried off about six hundred barrels. marion's force was thrown over the sampit so as to intercept their march to georgetown, but he could not impede their progress up the south santee, protected as they were under the guns of their galleys. with the departure of the enemy from the river, the completion of his arrangements for the removal of the stores at georgetown, and the defence of that place, marion again recrossed the santee and hurried to watboo, on the cooper. this river, leading to charleston, to which the fleet of the enemy had returned, was naturally thought to be the next which they would attempt to penetrate. he had left a small body of infantry at this place, but this was deemed inadequate to the required duties. but they were sufficient at least to attract the attention of the british. ignorant of marion's return, believing him to be still at georgetown, whither, it was known, he had taken all his cavalry,--a detachment of dragoons, more than one hundred strong, was sent from charleston, under major frasier, against the post at watboo. the rapidity of marion's movements brought him back in season for its safety. it happened unfortunately, that, when he heard of the approach of this detachment, his cavalry were absent, patrolling down the river, maintaining their watch for the british fleet, which was the chief subject of apprehension. this fleet, meanwhile, had gone southwardly, pursuing the object of its former quest up the waters of the combahee. with the approach of frasier, marion dispatched his messengers in search of his cavalry, and to call in his pickets. some of the latter had joined him before the enemy appeared. frasier exhibited considerable conduct in making his approaches. he had taken an unfrequented route, and had succeeded in capturing some of the out-sentinels of our partisan. he advanced upon him in the fullest confidence of effecting a surprise--not of marion, but of the smaller force under col. ashby, which he still believed to be the only force opposed to him. he was soon undeceived and found his enemy rather stronger than he expected, and drawn up in readiness for his reception. it was about the th of august. marion lay at the plantation of sir john colleton, on the south side of watboo creek, and a little above the bridge. the situation pleased him, and it was one of his frequent places of encampment when he happened to be operating in the vicinity. the owner was a loyalist and had left the country. the mansion and his extensive range of negro houses afforded ample shelter for such a force as that which marion commanded. with the gradual advance of frasier, marion seems to have been acquainted, but in the absence of his cavalry his only mode of obtaining intelligence was through his officers. these alone, of all the party in camp, were provided with horses. of these, he ordered out a party under capt. gavin witherspoon to reconnoitre. while they were absent, marion put his infantry in order of battle. the main body occupied an avenue of venerable cedars, which, neglected during the war, in their untrimmed state, stood overgrown with branches, their long boughs trailing almost to the ground. his left, by which the enemy was compelled to advance, were placed under cover of some of the out-buildings. thus prepared, he waited the approach of the british, though not without sundry misgivings. it must be confessed that, at this juncture, he had not the most perfect confidence in the force under his command. they consisted, in great proportion, of those who, in that day, were known as new-made whigs--men who had deserted the enemy and been cleansed of their previous treasons by the proclamation of governor rutledge, which, not long before, had promised immunity to all who came in promptly with their adhesion and joined the american ranks. there were also present some of those who, under gainey, had recently received the protection of marion, on the truce ground of pedee. major gainey himself was among them, and with forty of his people, was placed conspicuously in the column in preparation for the british approach. well might marion feel some uneasiness at his situation, particularly in the absence of the cavalry on which he could rely. but our partisan had the art of securing the fidelity of those around him, in quite as great a degree as he possessed that other great military art, of extracting good service out of the most doubtful materials. he concealed his apprehensions, while he endeavored to dissipate those of his men. meanwhile, witherspoon, with the reconnoitring party, advanced but a little distance in the woods, when they were met by the enemy's cavalry and instantly charged. a long chase followed, which soon brought the pursuers into view of the partisan. his men were half concealed behind the thick boughs of the cedars beneath which they were drawn up. the interest of the chase, as they drew more near, was increased by a little incident which was greatly calculated to encourage the militia. when in full view, the horse of witherspoon failed him, or his rider purposely fell behind to bring up the rear of his little escort. at this sight a british dragoon darted forward to cut him down. witherspoon coolly suffered him to advance until he was almost within striking distance. with sword uplifted, the assailant had already risen in his stirrups to smite, when, quick as lightning, witherspoon, who had watched him narrowly, poured the contents of his carbine into his breast. this was followed by a shout from the americans, and, with furious yells, the british dashed forward upon marion's left. the reconnoitring party melted before them, and the infantry delivered their fire with fatal effect. a dozen saddles were instantly emptied, capt. gillies of the british, who led the charge, being one of the first victims. the enemy soon rallied, and attempted first his right and then his left flank; but the evolutions of marion were quite as ready, and, by changing his front promptly, and availing himself of the cover afforded by the houses and the fences, he showed the hazard of attempting a second charge to be too great for such a force as that of frasier. for an hour after, the british manoeuvred around them, but without discovering any opportunity of retrieving or revenging their disaster. a single fire terminated this affair, and seldom has a single fire, where so small a front has been engaged, done such considerable execution. one officer and eight men were instantly killed; three officers and eight men wounded; five horses fell dead upon the field, a few were taken and many wounded. the discharge took place at thirty paces, and marion's men usually fired with heavy buck-shot. his new-made whigs stood the test bravely, showing a steadiness and courage, whilst opposed to their old allies, which soon set the heart of our partisan at ease. they had very good reasons for steadiness and valor. they fought with halters about their necks. not a man of them, if taken, would have escaped the cord and tree. marion did not lose a man, but he suffered a very serious loss of another sort. in the midst of the confusion of the fight, the driver of his ammunition wagon took fright, and made off with his charge in a direction which betrayed its flight to the enemy, who immediately sent a small detachment, by which it was taken. marion had no cavalry to recover it; but five of his men, armed with the broad-swords of the british whom they had just slain, and mounted on their captured horses, volunteered to recover it. they actually succeeded in rescuing it from the detachment by which it was taken, but could retain it only till the fugitives could reach their main body and return with a force to which our volunteers could oppose no resistance. they were compelled to abandon the prize, which, had fortune seconded their endeavors, was certainly due to their merits. this little affair is a sample of that generous service which it was the happy faculty of our partisan to extract from his followers. it is to tradition that we owe the vague memory of numerous like advantages, of which history preserves no records. under his guidance, his men seldom suffered panic. they fancied themselves invincible when he led. in the present instance he declared that not a man faltered--that he even had to restrain their eagerness, and prevent them rushing out into the open field, to meet the charge of the cavalry. his own coolness never deserted him. he never lost sight of the whole field, in the vehement action of a part. his keenness of vision, his vigilance of watch, his promptness in opposing his best resources to the press of danger, of covering his weak points, and converting into means and modes of defence and extrication, all that was available in his situation--were remarkable endowments, which soon fixed the regards of his followers, and upon which they unhesitatingly relied. in the absence of his cavalry, a defeat would have been a rout; his infantry would have been cut to pieces, and his cavalry subsequently exposed to similar disaster. had the latter been present, the safety of the british must have depended solely on the fleetness of their steeds. with this affair ended the actual conflicts of our partisan. his men were not yet disbanded. he himself did not yet retire from the field which he had so often traversed in triumph. but the occasion for bloodshed was over. the great struggle for ascendancy between the british crown and her colonies was understood to be at an end. she was prepared to acknowledge the independence for which they had fought, when she discovered that it was no longer in her power to deprive them of it. she will not require any eulogium of her magnanimity for her reluctant concession. chapter . the british propose terms of pacification--rejected by the civil authorities--they penetrate the combahee with their fleet--death of col. laurens--anecdote of marion--death of wilmot--the british evacuate charleston--marion separates from his brigade at watboo--his military genius. though the war in carolina was understood to be nearly at an end, and the toils and dangers of the conflict well nigh over, yet motives for vigilance still continued. there was ample room for vicissitudes. the british still held possession of charleston and its harbor, but they were confined to these narrow limits. here, watched on all sides by the impatient americans, they made their preparations for a reluctant departure. the sole remaining contest between the opposing armies lay, in the desire of the one to bear with them as much of the spoils of war as possible, and of the other to prevent them. the greater motives for the war on both sides were at an end. the mother country had declared her willingness to forego the exercise of her ancient authority, and the colonies were admitted to the freedom which they sought. in this state of things neither army attempted enterprises, the result of which could not affect the objects of either nation. thus was spared the unnecessary shedding of blood. the forces under greene continued gradually to contract their limits; while those of general leslie remained comparatively quiescent. the british officer was governed by a proper wisdom. as the evacuation of charleston was determined on, there was little use in keeping up the appearances of a struggle which had virtually ceased to exist. he suggested accordingly to greene, that an intercourse should be established between town and country, by which the troops in the former might procure their necessary supplies in barter with the people. to provision his fleet and army was his object. for this he proposed a cessation of hostilities. it is to be regretted that this pacific proposition was not entertained. some valuable lives might have been saved to the country--we may instance that of col. laurens. general greene was not adverse to the proposition, but the civil authorities objected. their reasons for opposing this humane suggestion are scarcely satisfactory. they believed that leslie only aimed to accumulate provisions for the support of the british forces in the west indies, and thus enable them to prosecute the war more vigorously against our french allies. this was an objection rather urged than felt. there was probably some feeling, some impatience of temper at the bottom, which prompted them to dispute, at the point of the sword, rather than yield to any suggestions of an enemy at whose hands they had suffered such protracted injuries. a little more coolness and reflection might have shown them, that, by refusing the application of leslie, they only rendered it necessary that the british should pay in blood for those supplies for which they were not unwilling to pay in money. and blood usually calls for blood. the combat is never wholly on one side. it was virtually saying we can spare a few more citizens. the concession might have been made to the wishes of the british commander not only without any detriment to the service, but with absolute benefit to the people and the army. the provisions which the enemy required would have found a good market in charleston, and the clothing, in lack of which the army was suffering severely, might have been procured for them at the same place on the most reasonable terms. besides, the rejection of the overture was not necessarily a prevention of the purpose of the british. the american army was quite too feeble either to expel them from the country, or to arrest their foraging parties. the only effect of the rejection of the humane and pacific proposition of the british commander, was to compel the preparation of that fleet of small craft, which, under the guns of his galleys, was now penetrating the rivers, and rifling the grain from the wealthy plantations. we have seen marion opposing himself to this fleet at georgetown, and have witnessed their success upon the south santee. the prompt return of our partisan to the head waters of cooper river, in all probability, preserved that neighborhood from the foragers. with the tidings of their progress up the combahee, the american light brigade, under general gist, was ordered to oppose them. it was here that one of those events took place which furnished a conclusive commentary upon the ill-judged resolution by which the cessation of hostilities was rejected, and the british denied the privilege of procuring supplies in a pacific manner. hearing of the movement of gist, col. laurens, who was attached to his brigade, and was always eager for occasions of distinction, rose from a sick bed to resume the command of his division. he overtook the brigade on the north bank of the combahee river, near the ferry. twelve miles below, the extreme end of chehaw neck protrudes into the bed of the river, which, between these points, is bounded by extensive swamps and rice fields. at this point a redoubt had been thrown up by general gist. the enemy was already above, on the opposite side of the stream. laurens solicited the command of this post for the purpose of annoying them in their retreat. meanwhile, the american cavalry under major call, had been ordered round by salkehatchie bridge, to join with the militia collected in that quarter for the purpose of striking at the enemy. with a howitzer, some matrosses and fifty infantry, laurens moved down the river, and on the evening of the th reached the place of mrs. stock, sufficiently near to chehaw point to take post there by daylight the next morning. but the british were there before him. baffled by the light brigade of gist, in procuring provisions on the south side of the river, they had crossed it, and, apprised of the movements of laurens, placed an ambush for him on his road to the point. that night was spent by laurens among the ladies of the place where he lingered. it is recorded that the company did not separate until a couple of hours before the time when the detachment was set in motion. the prospect of his encounter was the topic of conversation, and with the cheery, elastic spirit of youth, he gaily offered the ladies a conspicuous place from which they might enjoy a sight of the action without incurring its dangers. before sunrise his voice was hushed for ever. unsuspicious of an enemy, he rode at the head of his command. the british were posted in a place thickly covered with fennel and high grass. with the advance guard when they were discovered, he promptly ordered a charge, gallantly leading which, he fell at the first fire. laurens was one of those brave and ardent spirits, generous, high-souled, and immaculate, which, in times of sordid calculation and drilled soldiership, recall to our minds the better days of chivalry. he was the bayard of the southern youth in the war of the revolution, uniting all the qualities of the famous chevalier, 'sans peur et sans reproche'. that he should have fallen, unnecessarily, at the close of the war, when nothing was to be gained, and nothing to be saved, by valor,--and in an obscure encounter on a field of mere predatory warfare, doubles the mortification of such a close to a noble and admirable career. a lesson from the pure and correct code of marion's military morals would have saved this precious blood, and preserved this gallant youth for nobler fortunes. the following anecdote will illustrate the admirable character of his mode of thinking on such subjects. while he held his position at watboo, after he had beaten frasier, he was advised that a british party, which had been dispatched to procure water at lempriere's point, could be cut off with little difficulty. the british were then preparing for embarkation. a parting blow was recommended, as calculated to hurry their movements, as well as to add something to the measure of patriot revenge for the wrongs and resentments of the past. but marion resolutely refused to sanction the enterprise. his answer proves equally the excellence of his judgment and the benevolence of his heart. "my brigade," said he, "is composed of citizens, enough of whose blood has been shed already. if ordered to attack the enemy, i shall obey; but with my consent, not another life shall be lost, though the event should procure me the highest honors of the soldier. knowing, as we do, that the enemy are on the eve of departure, so far from offering to molest, i would rather send a party to protect them." this noble feeling would have saved the lives of laurens, wilmot, moore, and other gallant young men, who were sacrificed at the last hour when all provocations to strife had ceased--when the battle was already won--when the great object of the war had been attained by the one party, and yielded, however reluctantly, by the other. capt. wilmot, with a small command, was stationed to cover john's island, and to watch the passage by stono. fond of enterprise he was tempted occasionally to cross the river and harass the enemy on james' island. in one of these adventures, undertaken in conjunction with the celebrated kosciusko, against an armed party of the enemy's wood-cutters, he fell into an ambuscade, was himself slain, while his second in command, lieut. moore, severely wounded, fell into the hands of the british. this was the last blood shed in the american revolution. it need not to have been shed. the denouement of the protracted drama had already taken place. the conquest of the indians by pickens was complete; the tories no longer appeared in bodies, though, for some time after, individuals of the scattered bands occasionally continued the habits of outlawry which the war had taught them, and dealt in deeds of midnight robbery and crime;--and the british armies were simply preparing to depart. on the th of december, while the american columns entered the city from the neck, those of the british retired to their ships; the movements of which, as their white sails distended to the breeze, presented, in the language of moultrie, "a grand and pleasing sight." it was a sight, however, which the militia, always undervalued, always misunderstood and misrepresented, were not permitted to behold. they had fought the battle, it was true, "but the civil authority" conceived their uses to be over, and "they were excluded as dangerous spectators;" an unworthy and most ungrateful decision, in which, we are pleased to learn from a self-exculpatory letter of general greene, he had no participation, and which he did not approve. the forces of the british withdrawn from the shores of carolina, the country, exhausted of resources, and filled with malcontents and mourners, was left to recover slowly from the hurts and losses of foreign and intestine strife. wounds were to be healed which required the assuasive hand of time, which were destined to rankle even in the bosoms of another generation, and the painful memory of which is keenly treasured even now. but the civil authority takes the place of the military, and with the disappearance of the invader, the warrior lays aside his sword,--satisfied if he may still retain the laurels which his valor has won. our partisan, yielding himself at the call of his country, was not the man to linger unnecessarily long upon the stage. the duties which had called him into the field were faithfully performed; how faithfully it has been the effort of this humble narrative to show. the time was come when he was to part with his brigade forever--when he was to take leave of those brave fellows, whom he had so frequently led to victory, never to dishonor. the separation was touching, but without parade. on this occasion his deportment was as modest as it had been through the whole period of their connection. gathered around him among the cedars at his watboo encampment, his followers were assembled to receive his last farewell. the simplicity which had marked his whole career, distinguished its conclusion. his address was brief but not without its eloquence--such eloquence as belongs to the language of unaffected and unadulterated truth. he acknowledged, with thanks, the services of the officers and men; dwelt passingly upon particular events of which they had reason to be proud, and bade them a friendly and affectionate farewell. the brief review which he made of their campaigns was well calculated to awaken the most touching recollections. he had been their father and protector. no commander had ever been more solicitous of the safety and comfort of his men. it was this which had rendered him so sure of their fidelity, which had enabled him to extract from them such admirable service. his simple entreaty stayed their quarrels; and the confidence which they yielded to his love of justice, made them always willing to abide the decisions of his judgment. officers and men equally yielded to the authority of his opinion, as they did to that which he exercised in the capacity of their commander. no duel took place among his officers during the whole of his command. the province which was assigned to his control by governor rutledge, was the constant theatre of war. he was required to cover an immense extent of country. with a force constantly unequal and constantly fluctuating, he contrived to supply its deficiencies by the resources of his own vigilance and skill. his personal bravery was frequently shown, and the fact that he himself conducted an enterprise, was enough to convince his men that they were certain to be led to victory. in due degree with their conviction of his care and consideration for themselves, was their readiness to follow where he commanded. he had no lives to waste, and the game he played was that which enabled him to secure the greatest results, with the smallest amount of hazard. yet, when the occasion seemed to require it, he could advance and strike with an audacity, which, in the ordinary relations of the leader with the soldier, might well be thought inexcusable rashness. we have, already, in the opening of this biography, adverted to the melancholy baldness of the memorials upon which the historian is compelled to rely for the materials of his narrative. the reader will perceive a singular discrepancy between the actual events detailed in the life of every popular hero, and the peculiar fame which he holds in the minds of his countrymen. thus, while marion is everywhere regarded as the peculiar representative in the southern states, of the genius of partisan warfare, we are surprised, when we would trace, in the pages of the annalist, the sources of this fame, to find the details so meagre and so unsatisfactory. tradition mumbles over his broken memories, which we vainly strive to pluck from his lips and bind together in coherent and satisfactory records. the spirited surprise, the happy ambush, the daring onslaught, the fortunate escape,--these, as they involve no monstrous slaughter--no murderous strife of masses,--no rending of walled towns and sack of cities, the ordinary historian disdains. the military reputation of marion consists in the frequent performance of deeds, unexpectedly, with inferior means, by which the enemy was annoyed and dispirited, and the hearts and courage of his countrymen warmed into corresponding exertions with his own. to him we owe that the fires of patriotism were never extinguished, even in the most disastrous hours, in the low country of south carolina. he made our swamps and forests sacred, as well because of the refuge which they gave to the fugitive patriot, as for the frequent sacrifices which they enabled him to make, on the altars of liberty and a becoming vengeance. we are in possession of but few of the numerous enterprises in which he was engaged; imperfect memories of the aged give us glimpses of deeds for the particulars of which we turn in vain to the dusty pages of the chronicler. but we need not generalize farther upon the traits of his military character. we have endeavored to make these speak for themselves, page by page, in the narration of the events, so far as we know them, by which his reputation was acquired. it is enough that his fame has entered largely into that of his country, forming a valuable portion of its sectional stock of character. his memory is in the very hearts of our people. of the estimation in which he was held by contemporaries more might be said, but these pages bear ample testimony of the consideration which he commanded from friend and foe. the testimonials of moultrie, greene, lee and others, are conclusive of that rare worth and excellence--that combination of military and civil virtues--which biography cannot easily be found to excel. chapter . marion retires to his farm, which he finds in ruins--is returned to the senate from st. john--his course on the confiscation act--anecdotes--is made commandant at fort johnson--his marriage--a member of the state convention in --withdraws from public life--his death. it was with no reluctance but with the cheerful preference which marion had always given, since manhood, to the life of the farmer, that he returned to its simple but attractive avocations. but the world with him was, as it were, to be begun anew; no easy matter to one whose habits had been necessarily rendered irregular by the capricious and desultory influences of a military career; still more difficult in the case of one who has entered upon the last period of life. the close of the revolution found him destitute of means, almost in poverty, and more than fifty years old. his health was good, however; his frame elastic; his capacity for endurance, seemingly, as great as ever. but his little fortune had suffered irretrievably. his interests had shared the fate of most other southern patriots, in the long and cruel struggle through which the country had gone. his plantation in st. john's, berkeley, lay within a mile of one of the ordinary routes of the british army, and his career was not calculated to move them to forbearance in the case of one, whose perpetual activity and skill so constantly baffled their designs. his estate was ravaged, and subjected to constant waste and depredation. one-half of his negroes were taken away, and the rest only saved to him by their fidelity. the refuge in swamp and forest was as natural to the faithful negro, on the approach of the british uniforms, as to the fugitive patriot. ten workers returned to him, when he was prepared to resume his farm, but he was destitute of everything beside. the implements of culture, plantation utensils, household furniture, stock, cattle and horses, clothes and provisions for his people, were all wanting, and all to be purchased, and he penniless. he received no compensation for his losses, no reward for his sacrifices and services. the hope of half pay was held out to him by his more sanguine friends, but this promise was never realized. but, with that cheerful spirit which hopes all things from time, and a meek compliance with what it brings, marion proceeded to work out his deliverance by manly industry, and a devotion to his interests as true as that which he had yielded to the interests of his country. he had become fond of rural life, and the temporary estrangement of war seemed only to increase his desire for that repose in action, which the agricultural life in the south so certainly secures. but he was not permitted to retire from public service. the value of his services was too well known, and there was too much yet to be done, towards the repose and security of the country, to suffer them to be dispensed with. he was again returned to the senate of the state by the people of st. john's. in this situation, he still maintained those noble and disinterested characteristics which had made him equally beloved and venerated. two anecdotes are preserved of him in his official character, which deserve mention. both of these grew out of the events of the war. the importance of the confiscation act, passed at the session of january, , at jacksonborough, arose chiefly from the necessity of providing for the emergencies of the state and military, during the continuance of the war. under existing circumstances, the measure was sustained by our partisan. but the case was altered when the british ministry abandoned their pretensions to the country, and when it was left by their armies. it was then that numerous offenders--those who had been least conspicuous for their tory predilections--applied for the indulgence and forbearance of the state. petitions were poured into the legislature, sustained by such pleas and friends as the circumstances of the suppliants could procure--excusing their conduct, asserting their repentance, and imploring the restoration of their possessions. marion's course in regard to these suppliants may be inferred from his previous character. there was nothing vindictive in his nature. he was superior to the baser cravings of a dogged vengeance, and his vote and voice declared his magnanimity. it so happened that the first of these petitions upon which he was called to act, came from one of that class of timid, time-serving persons, who, with no predilections for virtue, no sympathy for principles or country, simply shape their course with regard to safety. he was a man of wealth, and the effect of wealth in perilous times is but too frequently to render selfishness equally cowardly and dishonest. the amount of his offence consisted in trimming, while the strife was doubtful, between whig and tory, and siding with the latter when the british gained the ascendency. he did not take up arms, took no active part in public affairs, and was content to shelter his person and possessions under a cautious insignificance. about eighteen months before, marion had met the petitioner at a gathering of the people. the latter approached and offered our partisan his hand. but the juncture was one in which it behooveth patriotism to speak out at all hazards. the struggle was for life and death, on the part equally of whig and tory. marion knew the character of the person, and disdained it. to the surprise of all, who knew how scrupulous of insult he was,--how indulgent and forbearing,--he turned away from the trimmer and the sycophant without recognition. this treatment was greatly censured at the time, and when marion rose in the senate, to speak on the subject of the petition of the man whom he had so openly scorned, it was taken for granted that he would again give utterance to feelings of the sort which moved him then. the miserable offender, who was himself present, grew pale, trembled, and gave up his cause as lost. what was his surprise and delight to hear the venerable patriot advocate his application! he was successful in obtaining for the suppliant the mercy which he implored. the opponents of the petitioner, some of whom were of that class of patriots who hunger for the division of the spoils, were aghast, and having counted on marion's support, now loudly proclaimed his inconsistency. but to these his answer was equally prompt and satisfactory. his reasons were true to his principles. he had been governed in his previous views by the necessity of the case. with the disappearance of that necessity he recognized other laws and influences. "then," said he, "it was war. it is peace now. god has given us the victory; let us show our gratitude to heaven, which we shall not do by cruelty to man." the expediency of humanity was always the uppermost sentiment with marion. a nobler expression of it never fell from the lips of mortal. the next anecdote of the legislative career of marion is one which directly related to himself. at an early period in the action of the assembly, after the war, it was deemed advisable to introduce a bill by which to exempt from legal investigation the conduct of the militia while the war had lasted. it was thought, justly enough, that, from the nature of the services in which they were engaged, and the necessities which coerced them, they might need, in numerous instances, to be sheltered from legal persecution. they had been compelled to war with a heavy hand, to seize frequently upon private property, and subject the possessions of the citizen to the exigencies of the community. the necessities of the service being recognized, the legislature were ready to justify them; and the act which was prepared for the purpose, included amongst others, thus specially exempted, the name of marion. but, scarcely had it been announced from the paper, when the venerable man arose, and with flushed cheeks and emphatic brevity, demanded that his name should be expunged from the catalogue. he declared himself friendly to the bill--he believed it to be equally just and necessary; but for his own part, as he was not conscious of any wrong of which he had been guilty, he was not anxious for any immunity. "if," said he, "i have given any occasion for complaint, i am ready to answer in property and person. if i have wronged any man i am willing to make him restitution. if, in a single instance, in the course of my command, i have done that which i cannot fully justify, justice requires that i should suffer for it." so proud was his integrity, so pure and transparent was his happy consciousness of a mind fixed only on good, and regulated by the sternest rules of virtue, and the nicest instincts of gentleness and love! the bill passed into a law, but the name of marion, omitted at his requisition, is nowhere present, as showing that he needed other security than that which is afforded to the meanest citizen under the keenest scrutiny of justice. marion did not confine his objections to the continued operation of the confiscation act, to the single instance which we have given. we have reason to believe that his labors to remedy its hardships, and restrain its severities, were uniform and unremitting. there is no doubt that he favored the original bill. he considered it a war measure, and necessary to the prosecution of the war. the propriety of the distinction which he made just after the war was over, obvious enough to us now, was not so evident at a season when the victors were looking after the division of the spoils. the subject became one of considerable excitement, and we may say in this place, that, after time had mollified the popular feeling in some degree, the state admitted the greater number of the offenders to mercy and restored their estates. but there is reason to believe that the humane sentiments which marion taught, were not universal, and met with most violent opposition. his feelings on the subject were not only declared with frankness, but with warmth and energy. dining at the table of governor matthews, while the strife was highest, he was called upon by his excellency for a toast. lifting his glass, with a smile, he promptly gave the following,--"gentlemen, here's damnation to the confiscation act." though, in the language of moultrie, "born a soldier", and yielding so many of his youthful and maturer years to the habits of the camp and field, there was nothing of a harsh or imperious nature in his temper or his manner. the deportment of the mere soldier seems to have been his aversion. he preferred the modest and forbearing carriage which is supposed to belong more distinctly to civil than to military life. no novelty of situation, no provocation of circumstance, nothing in the shape of annoyance or disaster, was suffered so to ruffle his mood as to make him heedless or indifferent to the claims or sensibilities of others. he never conceived that any of his virtues gave him a right to trespass upon the proprieties of social or public life. an anecdote is related of him which illustrates the veneration which he entertained for the regulations of society and law. it appears that, when the war was over, one of his closest intimates and nearest friends--one whom he had trusted long, and who had shared with him in all his campaigns, stood within the perils of the law for some offence of which the facts have not been preserved. presuming upon his well-known services, and the favor in which he was held by the public, he refused to submit to the ordinary legal process, and bade defiance to the sheriff. while maintaining this position, marion sought him out. he used no argument to convince the offender of his error, for that, he felt assured, the other sufficiently knew. but he addressed him in a style, and with words, which conveyed much more than any ordinary argument. "deliver yourself," said he, "into the hands of justice--submit to the process of the sheriff, and my heart and hand are yours as before; --resist,--refuse,--and we are separated for ever." it need not be said that under such an exhortation the refractory spirit was subdued. how much to be regretted it is that so few anecdotes have been preserved of his character, illustrating a life which, according to all testimony, was consistent throughout in a just appreciation of all that was pure, virtuous and becoming, in the character of the individual man. early in the year , the following resolutions passed in the senate of south carolina, marion, who was a member, not being present at the time: senate, south carolina, february , . "resolved, nem. con., that the thanks of this house be given to brigadier general marion, in his place, as a member of this house, for his eminent and conspicuous services to his country. "resolved, nem. con., that a gold medal be given to brigadier general marion, as a mark of public approbation for his great, glorious, and meritorious conduct." two days after, marion being in his place in the senate, the president took occasion to convey to him the sense of these resolutions, in a neat and highly laudatory speech. he said, among other things-- "when i consider the occasion which calls me to address you, i am filled with inexpressible pleasure; but when i reflect on the difficulty of doing justice to your distinguished merit, i feel my own inefficiency. what sentiments or words shall i make use of equal to the task! i scarce dare trust my own, especially after what has been said by several honorable persons on this floor, respecting your great, your glorious, and meritorious conduct; and i most earnestly wish, for my own sake, for yours, sir, and for the honor of this house, that i could avail myself of their eloquence.... your conduct merits the applause of your countrymen--your courage, your vigilance, and your abilities have exceeded their most sanguine expectations; and have answered all their hopes. whilst the virtue of gratitude shall form a part of our national character, your important services to this country can never be forgotten," &c. to this marion replied with simple brevity: "mr. president: the approbation which this house have given of my conduct, in the execution of my duty, gives me very pleasing and heartfelt satisfaction. the honor which they have conferred on me this day, by their thanks, will be remembered with gratitude. i shall always be ready to exert my abilities for the good of the state and the liberties of her inhabitants. i thank you, sir, for the polite manner in which you have conveyed to me the thanks of the senate." whether the medal was really given, or only voted, is a fact that we have no means of ascertaining. it is to be feared that the action of the senate went no farther than the resolution and the speech. it probably remains a reproach against the republic, in this, as in numerous other instances, that, knowing what gratitude required, we would yet forego the satisfaction of the debt. cheaply, at best, was our debt to marion satisfied, with a gold medal, or the vote of one, while greene received ten thousand guineas and a plantation. we quarrel not with the appropriation to greene, but did marion deserve less from carolina? every page of her history answers "no!" by the legislative session of , fort johnson, in the harbor of charleston, was fitted up and garrisoned by the state. in the unstable condition of things, so immediately after the war, some such fortress might well be deemed essential to the security of the port. marion was appointed commandant of the fort, with an annual salary of pounds. the office was in all probability made for him. his necessities were known, and its salary was intended to compensate him for his losses during the war. but the duties of the office were nominal. even its possible uses soon ceased to be apparent; and, with a daily increasing sense of security, the people murmured at an appropriation which they considered unnecessarily burdensome. the common mind could not well perceive that the salary was not so much yielded for what was expected of the office, as for what had already been performed. it was not given for present, but for past services. it was the payment of a debt incurred, not a simple appropriation for the liquidation of one growing out of current performances. legislative reformers waged constant war against it, and it was finally cut down to five hundred dollars. a smile of fortune,--one of the fairest perhaps, that had ever shone on our hero,--just then relieved him from the mortifying necessity of holding a sinecure which his fellow citizens pronounced an encumbrance. it had been observed by his friends that there was a lady of good family and considerable wealth, who appeared to take a more than ordinary interest in hearing of his exploits. modest and reserved himself, marion was not conscious of the favorable impression which he had made upon this lady. it was left for others to discover the state of her affections. they remarked the delight with which, like "the gentle lady wedded to the moor," she listened to the tale of his achievements, his "hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach, of being taken by the insolent foe."-- and they augured favorably of the success of any desire which he might express to make her the sharer in his future fortunes. on this hint he spake. miss mary videau, like himself, came of the good old huguenot stock, the virtues of which formed our theme in the opening chapter of this narrative. he proposed to her and was accepted. neither of them was young. it was not in the heyday of passion that they loved. the tie that bound them sprang from an affection growing out of a just appreciation of their mutual merits. she is reported to have somewhat resembled him as well in countenance as character. she certainly shared warmly in his interests and feelings. she readily conformed to his habits no less than his wishes--partook of his amusements, shared his journeys--which were frequent--and still, in his absence, could listen with as keen a zest to his praises, as before their marriage. during the summer months, it was his almost yearly custom to retire to the mountains of the interior. she was always his companion. on such occasions, he was guilty of a piece of military ostentation of which nobody could have accused him while a military man. he had preserved carefully, as memorials of an eventful history, his marquee, camp bed, and cooking utensils, just as he had done while in the brigade, during the last twelve months of his military life. these were carefully taken with him; and, with his faithful servant oscar, and his two sumpter mules, were still the companions of his wanderings. they were coupled no doubt with many associations as interesting to his heart as they were trying to his experience. they were, perhaps, doubly precious, as they constituted the sum total of all that he had gathered--besides an honorable fame--from his various campaignings. the marriage of marion, like that of washington, was without fruits. this may have baffled some hopes, and in some degree qualified his happiness, but did not impair his virtues. he adopted the son of a relative, to whom he gave his own name, in the hope of perpetuating it in the family, but even this desire has been defeated, since the heir thus chosen, though blessed with numerous children, was never so fortunate as to own a son. in the decline of life, in the modest condition of the farmer, marion seems to have lived among his neighbors, very much as the ancient patriarch, surrounded by his flock. he was honored and beloved by all. his dwelling was the abode of content and cheerful hospitality. its doors were always open; and the chronicler records that it had many chambers. here the stranger found a ready welcome, and his neighbors a friendly counsellor, to the last. his active habits were scarcely lessened in the latter years of life. his agricultural interests were managed judiciously, and his property underwent annual increase. nor did his domestic interests and declining years prevent him from serving the public still. he still held a commission in the militia, and continued to represent the parish of st. john's, in the senate of the state. in may, , we find him sitting as a member of the convention for forming the state constitution; but from this period he withdrew from public life, and, in , after the reorganization of the state militia, he resigned his commission in that service to which he had done so much honor. on this occasion he was addressed by an assembly of the citizens of georgetown, through a special committee of four, in the following language.* * the committee consisted of messrs. william d. james, robert brownfield, thomas mitchell, and joseph blythe.-- "citizen general--at the present juncture, when the necessity of public affairs requires the military of this state to be organized anew, to repel the attacks of an enemy from whatever quarter they may be forced upon us; we, the citizens of the district of georgetown, finding you no longer at our head, have agreed to convey to you our grateful sentiments for your former numerous services. in the decline of life, when the merits of the veteran are too often forgotten, we wish to remind you that yours are still fresh in the remembrance of your fellow citizens. could it be possible for men who have served and fought under you, to be now forgetful of that general, by whose prudent conduct their lives have been saved and their families preserved from being plundered by a rapacious enemy? we mean not to flatter you. at this time it is impossible to suspect it. our present language is the language of freemen, expressing only sentiments of gratitude. your achievements may not have sufficiently swelled the historic page. they were performed by those who could better wield the sword than the pen--by men whose constant dangers precluded them from the leisure, and whose necessities deprived them of the common implements of writing. but this is of little moment. they remain recorded in such indelible characters upon our minds, that neither change of circumstances, nor length of time, can efface them. taught by us, our children shall hereafter point out the places, and say, 'here, general marion, posted to advantage, made a glorious stand in defence of the liberties of his country--there, on disadvantageous ground, retreated to save the lives of his fellow citizens.' what could be more glorious for the general, commanding freemen, than thus to fight, and thus to save the lives of his fellow soldiers? continue, general, in peace, to till those acres which you once wrested from the hands of an enemy. continue to enjoy dignity accompanied with ease, and to lengthen out your days blessed with the consciousness of conduct unaccused of rapine or oppression, and of actions ever directed by the purest patriotism." the artless language of this address was grateful to the venerable patriot. in its truth and simplicity lay its force and eloquence. it had truly embodied in a single sentence the noble points of his career and character. he lived in the delightful consciousness of a pure mind, free from accusation--and no higher eulogy could be conferred upon the captain of citizen soldiers, than to say, he never wantonly exposed their lives, but was always solicitous of their safety. to this address his answer was verbal. he no longer used the pen. the feebleness of nature was making itself understood. that he felt himself failing may be inferred from his withdrawal from all public affairs. but his mind was cheerful and active to the last. he still saw his friends and neighbors, and welcomed their coming--could still mount his horse and cast his 'eye over his acres.' the progress of decline, in his case, was not of that humiliating kind, by which the faculties of the intellect are clouded, and the muscles of the body made feeble and incompetent. he spoke thoughtfully of the great concerns of life, of death, and of the future; declared himself a christian, a humble believer in all the vital truths of religion. as of the future he entertained no doubt, so of the awful transition through the valley and shadow of death, he had no fear. "death may be to others," said he, "a leap in the dark, but i rather consider it a resting-place where old age may throw off its burdens." he died, peaceful and assured, with no apparent pain, and without regret, at his residence in st. john's parish, on the th day of february, , having reached the mature and mellow term of sixty-three years. his last words declared his superiority to all fears of death; "for, thank god," said he, "i can lay my hand on my heart and say that, since i came to man's estate, i have never intentionally done wrong to any." thus died francis marion, one of the noblest models of the citizen soldier that the world has ever produced. brave without rashness, prudent without timidity, firm without arrogance, resolved without rudeness, good without cant, and virtuous without presumption. his mortal remains are preserved at belle-isle, in st. john's parish. the marble slab which covers them bears the following inscription:--"sacred to the memory of brigadier-general francis marion, who departed this life on the th of feb., , in the sixty-third year of his age, deeply regretted by all his fellow citizens. history will record his worth, and rising generations embalm his memory, as one of the most distinguished patriots and heroes of the american revolution; which elevated his native country to honor and independence, and secured to her the blessings of liberty and peace. this tribute of veneration and gratitude is erected in commemoration of the noble and disinterested virtues of the citizen, and the gallant exploits of the soldier, who lived without fear, and died without reproach." this inscription was the tribute of an individual, not of the country. the state of south carolina has conferred his name upon one of its district divisions. but a proper gratitude, not to speak of policy, would seem to require more "if it be we love his fame and virtues, it were well, methinks, to link them with his name i' the public eye, that men, who in the paths of gainful trade, do still forget the venerable and good, may have such noble monitor still nigh, and, musing at his monument, recall, those precious memories of the deeds of one whose life were the best model for their sons." [end of original text.] appendix a. notes on the electronic text. the great majority of changes in this electronic edition, from the original, are in spelling (some words are spelled both ways in the original). to wit: partizan :: partisan. merchandize :: merchandise. duresse :: duress. ancle :: ankle. swamp-fox :: swamp fox. (the modern spelling.) co-operate :: cooperate. bivouack :: bivouac. head-quarters :: headquarters. secresy :: secrecy. patrole :: patrol. a number of spellings which might be considered errors, and might not, have been retained, where they are less likely to interfere with reading. when the true facts were known, either from context or outside reading, a few other errors were corrected. a couple are footnoted in the text. otherwise, the larger changes are: chapter (p. of the original): "weems, in his life of our author" has been changed to "weems, in his life of our subject". chapter (p. ): "while the second north carolina regiment" has been changed to "while the second south carolina regiment". chapter , last paragraph (p. ): "mrs. moultrie" has been changed to "mrs. motte". these errors are not merely represented here for their scholastic interest, but also to give the reader an appreciation of the types of errors which simms was frequently subject to make. many have most certainly not been caught--if i had not lived in the waxhaw area, i certainly would not have known of the error (footnoted in the text) which replaced 'waxhaw' with 'warsaw'--two very different regions. names are particularly prone to error, not only by simms, but from the whole revolutionary era in the south--many of the people were only semi-literate, if literate at all, and many of the names have been spelled several, even a dozen ways--sometimes even by the individual named. for all this, the errors of simms are generally minor, and will not prevent the reader from a true appreciation of both marion and simms. alan r. light, birmingham, alabama. december, . appendix b. song of marion's men. by william cullen bryant [ - ]. as this poem is quoted in part by simms at the very beginning of the book, i have considered it appropriate to include the whole here: our band is few, but true and tried, our leader frank and bold; the british soldier trembles when marion's name is told. our fortress is the good greenwood, our tent the cypress-tree; we know the forest round us, as seamen know the sea. we know its walls of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass, its safe and silent islands within the dark morass. woe to the english soldiery, that little dread us near! on them shall light at midnight a strange and sudden fear: when, waking to their tents on fire, they grasp their arms in vain, and they who stand to face us are beat to earth again. and they who fly in terror deem a mighty host behind, and hear the tramp of thousands upon the hollow wind. then sweet the hour that brings release from danger and from toil: we talk the battle over, and share the battle's spoil. the woodland rings with laugh and shout, as if a hunt were up, and woodland flowers are gathered to crown the soldier's cup. with merry songs we mock the wind that in the pine-top grieves, and slumber long and sweetly on beds of oaken leaves. well knows the fair and friendly moon the band that marion leads-- the glitter of their rifles, the scampering of their steeds. 'tis life to guide the fiery barb across the moonlight plain; 'tis life to feel the night-wind that lifts his tossing mane. a moment in the british camp-- a moment--and away back to the pathless forest, before the peep of day. grave men there are by broad santee, grave men with hoary hairs, their hearts are all with marion, for marion are their prayers. and lovely ladies greet our band with kindliest welcoming, with smiles like those of summer, and tears like those of spring. for them we wear these trusty arms, and lay them down no more till we have driven the briton, forever, from our shore. generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) war paper no. . michigan commandery, loyal legion. the battle of allatoona. october th, . a paper read before the michigan commandery of the military order of the loyal legion of the u. s. by william ludlow, _major corps of engineers; brevet lieutenant-colonel u. s. a._ at detroit, april, d, . detroit, mich.: winn & hammond, printers and binders. . allatoona. _companions and gentlemen:_ it appears strange to me that an action which all who mention it--and they are many--agree in characterizing as one of the most brilliant exploits of a war as thickset with deeds of gallantry as a rose bush with its blossoms, should not long since have had its adequate historian and monographer. the contest was so famous, the issue so glorious, the recollection of the day still must be so vivid in the minds of the survivors, that i could not anticipate any lack of material wherefrom to procure data to formulate a reasonably satisfactory narrative of such a gallant feat of arms, and in such detail as to give it life and color. but of all the war papers that have been written on affairs great and small, none that i know has had allatoona for its special subject, and from the sources of information at my command, i have found it quite impracticable to construct an account that is not in some respect at variance with others made by authority. the official reports, while giving the general features, of necessity exclude most of the minor but equally interesting details, and the omissions, inaccuracies and discrepancies, not important in some particulars and material in others, for the purposes, at least, of a fully detailed and authenticated narrative, cannot at this time be corrected. and even the numbers engaged on each side, and of those who fell as victims, are not known with certainty. this paper, therefore, can pretend to be no more than an outline sketch, which an abler hand must put itself to filling out and completing. when the war records shall have been made fully public, as they will be presently, and at least all the official material be available, the historian of allatoona, by extended research and correspondence with survivors, should address himself to the task of preparing an authoritative narration in order to preserve to posterity the record of a memorable and typically american event. for an event it was; a vital one, as it would appear, to the full success of sherman's campaign, and with the "march to the sea" hung in the balance and awaiting the issue. * * * * * the importance of a given moment in the world's history is not of necessity to be estimated by the numbers occupying the stage at the time, nor even with the degree of activity or turmoil with which their parts are playing. much labor is wasted in the lives of men, and mountains of effort result often in mere noise or discomfiture, making no real history. the center of gravity of two worlds may be an immaterial point, and the earth itself revolves upon a slender axis. so a turning point of history may be concentrated upon a comparatively narrow field, while the reverberation of its potency shall resound forever, as the silent nod of jove lets loose the thunders of olympus to shake the earth and change the fate of nations. some preliminary remarks are in order, explanatory of the general situation and its relation to the battle of allatoona. the general situation. it was the fall of ' . the fiery comet of secession that, blazing out in ' , for three long years had scorched the firmament, spreading death and pestilence over all the land, was waning in its course; doomed presently to disappear forever in chaos, but emitting malignant emanations to its latest spark. the structure of the confederate government, practically a military despotism, founded on the enforced servitude and sale of human beings, reared and upheld by the lives, the fortunes, and the constrained or misguided energies of a deluded and chivalrous people, to feed the vain ambition of an oligarchy, was toppling to the ruin that six months later overwhelmed it. great was to be the fall thereof, and not even to-day is the atmosphere fully cleared of the dust of its destruction. two famous, and as the outcome proved, morally conclusive campaigns had been fought and closed. in the east, grant, moving against richmond through the wilderness and swamps of virginia, all the long summer had been dealing trip-hammer blows, as deadly and sickening to his foe as the stroke of the axe in the shambles, and at length resting from the slaughter, lay before petersburg and astride the james; feeling out with his left to cut lee's lines of communication to the south and west, and pressing him close that he should not detach any of his force to act against sherman. in the west, sherman, starting from chattanooga, with an antagonist the wariest, wisest and most skillful captain of the rebel host to oppose him, had overreached his foe at every point, and stretching out his sinewy arm, had seized in a relentless grasp the "gate city" of the south; and electrified the country with the exultant shout, "atlanta is ours and fairly won;" opening wide the door into the hollow trunk of the confederacy and exposing its emptiness. of this campaign halleck wrote: "i do not hesitate to say that it has been the most brilliant of the war," and grant himself, with that mutual magnanimity that characterized the two great friends and competitors for fame, declared to sherman, "you have accomplished the most gigantic undertaking given to any general in this war, and with a skill and ability that will be acknowledged in history as unsurpassed, if not unequalled." but much remained. the dragon of rebellion, though sorely smitten, still lay writhing and would not die until his time was fully come. lee, sullen and desperate, lay within the still invincible intrenchments of richmond, nursing his wounds, but with power able yet to strike a heavy blow, and gathering his remaining strength for the final effort. sherman's antagonists, though demoralized and bewildered, were still unconquered; and forced out from atlanta, filled the open country with an angry buzzing, as of an overturned hive. to add to their discomfiture, the astute johnston, the most intellectual soldier of the confederacy, whose stubborn dispute of every inch of territory, perfect skill in defending his successive positions, and marvelous success in withdrawing without loss at the latest moment, displayed a capacity second only to that of his opponent, and whose patient policy of drawing sherman after him, to a constantly increasing distance from his base, without himself risking the disaster of a defeat, was, as history has proved, the last crutch of the rebellion,--had been plucked from his command by the narrow-minded confederate president and replaced by hood, whose fighting qualities had been proved on many a field of battle, but who otherwise lacked every requisite for leadership in such a contest. but a thousand long miles still separated atlanta from richmond; and these must be traversed before that proximate conjunction of forces could take place that was needed to give rebellion its _coup de grace_, and to tear forever from the free sky of america the fluttering and ragged emblem of a maleficent and arrogant domination. sherman, in atlanta, was resting, granting well-earned furloughs to his veterans, recruiting his ranks, guarding from the cavalry, who swarmed in his rear and sought to break it, the extended line--over miles--of railroad from nashville to chattanooga, and thence to atlanta, upon which he depended for his supplies, and incessantly planning his next move, which he had already determined would be to the sea, with savannah as an intermediate base for the farther march to the rear of lee's army, and a conjunction with grant;--upon whom, in his correspondence, he repeatedly urged assent to his proposal, and suggested the capture of savannah by the eastern forces in advance of his own arrival there. the washington authorities, always timorous and vacillating, were not yet brought to assent to this superb strategic project, based upon the military theorem, "an army operating offensively must maintain the offensive," and constructed with sherman's solid judgment that he must go onward, since to withdraw would be to lose all the _morale_ of his success up to that point. even grant, with all his confidence in and reliance upon sherman, expressed unwillingness that he should embark upon it while hood's army was still undestroyed. meanwhile, sherman, in full conviction that the necessity would presently be demonstrated, was watching hood, who lay some thirty miles to the southeast of atlanta, and whose intentions he could not even guess at,--and with tremendous energy was endeavoring to accumulate supplies in excess of daily needs, in order that when the time was ripe he should be ready to start. grand tactics. on his zigzag way south, early in june, with atlanta as his then objective point, sherman, with that wonderful mental vision of the whole horizon that characterized him, seeking for a depot where supplies could safely be accumulated, near enough at hand to be of ready access, but sufficiently removed from the scene of actual conflict to be secure from casual attack, had selected the famous allatoona pass, and directed that it be "prepared for defense as a secondary base." the place was well chosen. the diminishing extension of the great smoky mountains stretches across the northern end of georgia, from northeast to southwest. the range is traversed at allatoona pass by the etowah river, flowing west and north to unite at rome, thirty miles distant, with the oostenaula and form the coosa. the railway, coming down from kingston,--whence a branch ran westward to rome,--and crossing the etowah, winds southeasterly among the hills, and at allatoona station, about four miles from the river, penetrates a minor ridge and emerges from a cut some sixty-five feet in depth. it was at this point--referred to by sherman as a "natural fortress"--that the "secondary base" was established, and the surplus supplies were accumulated. the advantages for defence were admirable. the entire region is hilly and heavily timbered, rolling off to the southward to a less rugged country, and from the heights of allatoona looking southeasterly, down the line of railway towards atlanta, are visible ten to fifteen miles away, the noble, isolated masses of kenesaw, lost mountain and pine mountain, which, raising their wooded crests high above the neighboring forest, command a wide prospect towards every quarter. the narrow ridge cut by the railway is abruptly terminated to the northeast by the valley of allatoona creek, crooking among the hills to join the etowah, and its slopes facing northwest and southeast are steep and difficult. towards the west and southwest the descent is more gradual, and a country road follows the rolling crest of the ridge along which from the westward the main attack was ultimately to be made. the storehouses for the supplies stood near the railway station and were fully commanded from the dominant elevations rising immediately behind them. upon these elevations the defensive works were located by colonel poe, the chief engineer of sherman's army. their plan was in conformity with the requirements of the ground and of the service to be expected of them, and while the actual construction by the troops left somewhat to be desired, and could have been bettered had poe been able to supervise the completion of his work, when it came to the test, well did they serve their purpose. the main features were two redoubts, about feet apart at easy supporting distance, one on each side of the railway cut, with ditches and outlying intrenchments near at hand covering the approaches, and overlooking the storehouses for the defence of which they were built. * * * * * near the close of september, sherman, in atlanta, was roused by indications of activity on the part of hood, who had sent his cavalry north across the chattahooche and into tennessee, and had moved his infantry to a more westerly camp; thus leaving the savannah road open to sherman, had he seen fit to take it. habitually sensitive as to his railway base, sherman surmised that hood's intention was to move round him to threaten his rear. september th he telegraphed howard, "i have no doubt hood has resolved to throw himself on our flanks to prevent our accumulating stores, etc.," and september th to halleck, "hood seems to be moving as it were to the alabama line, leaving open to me the road to macon as also to augusta, but his cavalry is busy on our roads." he therefore reinforced the detachments guarding the numerous railway stations and bridges, sent a division of the th corps and one of the th northward to strengthen chattanooga, and put thomas in command there, and thence back to nashville to guard against forrest, the noted rebel cavalry leader, who was ravaging tennessee and capturing gunboats with horsemen. corse's division of the th corps was sent to occupy rome on the extreme western flank, with instructions to complete the defensive works and hold it against all comers; meanwhile observing closely any movement of the enemy in his vicinity. a glance at the map is desirable for the better understanding of the immediately ensuing events. from atlanta to allatoona, near the railway crossing of the etowah, is, as the crow flies, miles northwest by west. from allatoona to rome is miles w. n. w. thirteen miles from allatoona towards atlanta is kenesaw, the railway sweeping round its north and east flanks. fifteen miles west by south from kenesaw, and the same distance southwest from allatoona, is dallas, in the vicinity of new hope church, where had been three days of heavy fighting late in may. rome again is equi-distant from dallas and from allatoona miles. the central position of allatoona is evident; and it will also be seen that a force at dallas occupied, in a sense, a strategic point, whence a rapid movement could be made either upon allatoona or rome, with the west and southwest to fall back upon in case of need. [illustration: allatoona and vicinity.] by october st, the ambiguity as to hood's plans was in part relieved. it was at least certain that he had crossed from the south to the north bank of the chattahooche, although it was impossible to surmise whether he intended to make a direct attack on the railroad or to undertake an invasion of tennessee from the westward. in any case it behooved sherman to bestir himself, and promptly, too. it was absolutely necessary to keep hood's army off the railroad, so long as the question of cutting loose for savannah remained undecided, and at allatoona was stored an accumulation of nearly three millions of rations of bread, the loss of which, with the railway endangered, would be a serious blow, and one possibly fatal to sherman's cherished project. leaving, therefore, the th corps in atlanta, to hold it and to guard the bridges across the chattahooche above and below the railway bridge, sherman put the rest of his forces in rapid motion northward towards kenesaw, miles distant, and october st telegraphed corse at rome that hood was across the river and might attack the road at allatoona or near cassville, on the north side of the etowah, about midway between rome and allatoona. if hood went to cassville, corse was to remain at rome and hold it fast; if to allatoona, corse was to move down at once and occupy allatoona, joining forces with troops in the vicinity for its defence, while sherman co-operated from the south. repeated dispatches were sent to allatoona, directing the commanding officer, lieutenant-colonel tourtellotte, to hold the place at all hazards, and that relief would be speedy. these have been paraphrased into "hold the fort, for i am coming," which, set to an inspiring air, caught the ear of the country, and is still in active service. sherman crossed the chattahooche october rd and th, and finding his wires cut north of marietta, signaled to the station on kenesaw and thence to allatoona, over the heads of the enemy, a dispatch to be telegraphed to corse at rome to move at once with all speed and with his entire command to the relief of allatoona. sherman himself reached kenesaw early on the morning of the th, and from the summit, to use his own language, "had a superb view of the vast panorama to the north and west. to the southwest, about dallas and lost mountain, could be seen the smoke of camp fires indicating the presence of a large force of the enemy, and the whole line of railroad from big shanty up to allatoona (full fifteen miles), was plainly marked by the fires of the burning railroad. we could plainly see the smoke of battle about allatoona and hear the faint reverberation of the cannon." the fact was disclosed that hood lay in force near dallas, miles to the west and south of kenesaw, and had detached a heavy column eastward to destroy the railroad and capture the scattered garrisons including the all-important post of allatoona. about : a. m. allatoona signalled kenesaw, "corse is here with one brigade; where is sherman?" as received at kenesaw this message read, "corse is here with ----." my recollection is that while the signal officer was working his flag it was cut from his hands by a fragment of shell, interrupting the message, the latter part of which was not received, or at least not recognized. i find, however, no official confirmation of this. the mutilated report gave sherman immense relief, but left him to suppose that corse had arrived with his entire division. had he known that the reinforcement was only a portion of one brigade, his satisfaction would have been less. as he says himself, "i watched with painful suspense the indications of the battle raging there, * * * but about p. m. i noticed with satisfaction that the smoke of battle about allatoona grew less and less, and ceased altogether about p. m. * * * later in the afternoon the signal flag announced the welcome tidings that the attack had been fairly repulsed." the signal officer at kenesaw reports that sherman at the time, pronounced these signal messages "worth a million dollars." corse. leaving now this bird's eye view of what was happening, let us go back a little and follow corse's movements. he had arrived at rome from atlanta september th, with two of his brigades, the third being already there,--and thereafter had been busy, in accordance with his general instructions and frequent communications from sherman, in organizing and equipping his command for the special work entrusted to him, which was in effect to reconstruct and perfect the earthworks and defences, so as to make rome impregnable to assault, and at the same time to act as a corps of observation, constantly feeling out for and spying after the enemy, and ready, should occasion offer, to strike a heavy blow in any direction where he should be discovered. it was isolated, difficult and responsible service, and a dangerous one, since the first contact might be with hood's whole strength, but of the very first importance to sherman, whose ignorance of hood's schemes and inability to anticipate his movements, perplexed and harassed him, and upon corse he mainly relied to discover, by any or all means, the movements and presence of the enemy. corse was well equipped for such service. he had acted as inspector on sherman's staff, and stood high with his chief, both in personal regard and professional estimation. of medium height, erect, active and alert, ambitious, combative, decided, of sound judgment and indomitable courage, the task of holding allatoona could have fallen into no better hands. as grant, giving over a page of his memoirs to mention of the battle, says of him, "corse was a man who would never surrender." on the third of october sherman sent him a warning to be wary, that hood was meditating some plan on a large scale, and at noon of the th corse received the message already mentioned, by signal from vining's to kenesaw, thence to allatoona, and thence by wire to rome, summoning him instantly to the rescue of the threatened garrison. corse had fortunately already telegraphed to kingston that cars be sent him. the train in moving to rome was partly derailed, but the single engine and about twenty cars were ready by dark. on these was loaded a portion of one of his brigades under command of colonel rowett, viz; eight companies, th iowa, men, lieut.-colonel redfield, commanding; companies, th illinois, men, lieut.-colonel perrin, commanding; companies, th illinois, men. lieut.-colonel hanna commanding; companies, th illinois, men, captain van stienberg, commanding; detachment of the th illinois, men, captain koehler, commanding, making a total of , men, which, with the ammunition for the division, was all that the available transportation could accommodate. the train left rome at : p. m., and reached allatoona a little after midnight. the troops were debarked, the ammunition unloaded with all speed, and the train immediately started back to rome for another cargo of troops. as it happened, in returning, possibly with undue haste, considering the rough and insecure condition of the track and roadbed, the train was again derailed, and in consequence no further reinforcements reached allatoona until about p. m. of the th,--four hours after the battle was over. [illustration: sketch of the battlefield.] corse immediately took command, and after a rapid survey of the field with tourtellotte, in the quiet of the starlit night, proceeded to make his dispositions for defence. the defences of allatoona. allatoona was garrisoned as follows: ten companies, th minnesota, men (of whom were recent recruits), major edson, commanding; companies, rd illinois, men, major fisher, commanding; companies, th wisconsin, men, lieut.-colonel jackson, commanding, a total of men, organized as a brigade, with six guns of the th wisconsin battery, under lieutenant amsden (number of men not given), and all under the command of lieut.-colonel tourtellotte of the th minnesota, as earnest, brave and steadfast a man in the discharge of duty as ever drew a sword. prior to corse's arrival, the little garrison, with a full consciousness of its responsibility for the defence of the post and of the safety of the huge accumulation of rations stored in the neighboring warehouses, warned of danger, and later stimulated to the utmost endeavor by messages from sherman, and inspired by the calm and fearless determination of its commander, had been busily preparing for the attack. the two small redoubts, one on each side of the railway cut, have been mentioned. the eastern one, perhaps feet in diameter, stood at the extreme eastern end of the ridge, looking into the valley of allatoona creek, and distant about yards from the railroad and yards from the western redoubt, towards which it had an open view. guarding the crooked crest between the railroad and redoubt were three detached lines of entrenchments, one looking southward towards the storehouse yards distant, and two guarding the northern aspect, with flanks refused on each side of a ravine that lay between them and down which went a road to the northward. on the west side of the railway cut, and almost on its verge, stood the other redoubt, about feet in diameter, occupying an elevation from which the ground fell in all directions. westwardly, after a moderate dip, the ground rose again to a second elevation or spur, on which stood a house, distant from the redoubt about yards. beyond this the ground again fell, and the road ran west and southwest, undulating with the roll of the ground. the exterior defences of the west side, in addition to the ditches surrounding the redoubt, were a short line of entrenchments near the crest southwest of the redoubt, and a longer line of rifle-pits lying completely across the ridge, beyond the house and about yards distant from the redoubt. these rifle-pits, held by the th iowa and the th illinois, were later the scene of one of the most savage encounters in the history of war. about three-quarters of a mile out on the road, occupying an open elevation, were still other small works and rifle-pits, not, however, any portion of the regular defences. they had low parapets and were supposed to have been constructed by johnston's army when it occupied the locality in june previous. it was from these outer works, which there was, of course, no serious attempt to hold, that our outposts were driven in by the arrival of french's troops on the morning of the th. tourtellotte was made aware on the rd that the enemy was operating on the railroad south of him, and on the th was signalled by sherman through kenesaw that the enemy was moving upon him, and that he must hold out, but not till the evening of the th was any direct demonstration made on allatoona. feeling the paucity of his isolated force, he had worked night and day to construct and strengthen his defences and mature his plans. the two redoubts were well located for mutual support, each being able to take in flank an enemy assaulting the other from the north or south. the relative disadvantage of the west redoubt, irrespective of its exposure to the probable brunt of an attack, was the fact that higher elevations to the west and southwest partly commanded it. tourtellotte therefore built the rifle-pits across the crest of the ridge to the westward with the object of holding off the enemy as long as possible, and if the crest were taken, of retiring to the redoubt, to reach which the enemy must cover a distance of some yards without shelter. in addition, he partly enclosed the west redoubt with a stockade, at the junction of the outer slope and the surrounding ditch, to prevent escalade if the enemy should reach it, slashed such timber as remained for abattis, and collected some cotton bales with which to close the entrance. his gunners in the east redoubt, and the infantry as well on the east side of the cut, were charged to watch the flanks of the west redoubt, and direct their fire so as to cover the slopes to the north and south of it. his garrison was depleted by his orders to maintain a force to guard the block house at the bridge across allatoona creek, about two miles south of the post, where three companies of the th wisconsin were stationed. they were summoned by french on his way to allatoona to surrender, but refused, and held the block house, but as french was sullenly withdrawing after the battle, the post was heavily shelled and set on fire, and when the roof was blazing and the men suffocating with the heat and smoke, they surrendered; officers and men being taken prisoners. these men, though included in the return of casualties of the th wisconsin, were not concerned in the battle of allatoona. tourtellotte, on the evening of the th, apprehending a night attack, which would impair the advantages of his position, strengthened his grand guard, barricaded as well as he might the roads to the south and west, and made arrangements to fire a house or two so as to illuminate the site of the little village and the storehouses; but about midnight was immensely relieved by the arrival of corse, which more than doubled the strength of the garrison and made it possible to man the defences with some measure of effectiveness. the morning of the battle. there was but little delay in getting down to work. by in the morning a rapid fire was opened on the skirmish lines south of the post, as though the enemy were pushing up the railroad straight at the stores. tourtellotte immediately dispatched the th wisconsin to reinforce the outposts in that direction, and an hour later corse threw out a battalion of the th illinois in further support. five companies of the rd illinois were also sent out to the westward near the outlying works already referred to. at daybreak, under cover of a strong skirmish line, corse withdrew the troops from the open ground in the vicinity of the village to the summit of the ridge, placing the th minnesota and the th and th illinois in the redoubt, and intrenchments on the east side of the railway cut, under the immediate command of tourtellotte, and himself occupying with the rest of his force, under the immediate command of rowett, the western side, upon which it was evident the weight of the attack must fall. the th illinois and the th iowa, on the left and right respectively, facing west, were ordered to occupy the line of rifle-pits crossing the ridge about yards in advance of the redoubt. as no defences intervened between this line and the ditch encompassing the redoubt itself, it was of vital importance to hold it and keep the enemy in check to the last moment, and the two regiments were instructed to maintain their position at all hazards. the event proved with what fidelity and devotion the trust was discharged. three companies of the rd illinois were stationed in the rifle-pits adjacent to the west redoubt, and the remainder of the troops were distributed forward on skirmish and outpost duty. the six guns of the battery were equally divided, two being stationed in each redoubt, with the third outside behind a low parapet. the day broke calm and clear, with the crisp air and bright warm sun of that superb mountain region. sherman, on kenesaw, takes occasion to record it as a "beautiful day" with some vague consciousness in his mind, perhaps, of the contrast between the shining peace that reigned above and the devil's work that in smoke and fury waged below. at half-past six a rebel battery of pieces opened from an elevation three-quarters of a mile south and east of allatoona, and for two hours maintained a furious cannonade, that, concentrated upon the two redoubts, filled the air with smoke and fragments of shell, and deafened the ear with almost incessant detonations. meanwhile french's skirmish lines were vigorously pushed round to the west and north until, with the exception of the steep and timbered valley of allatoona creek on the extreme east, the garrison was completely invested. at : , amid a temporary lull of the uproar that had prevailed, a flag of truce was sent in bearing the following message: it was dated around allatoona, oct. , , a. m. commanding officer, u. s. forces, allatoona. sir: i have placed the forces under my command in such position that you are surrounded, and to avoid a needless effusion of blood, i call on you to surrender your forces at once and unconditionally. five minutes will be allowed you to decide. should you accede to this, you will be treated in the most honorable manner as prisoners of war. i have the honor to be very respectfully yours, s. g. french, maj.-gen'l c. s. a. in making his report subsequently, french endorses on a copy of this summons, the following: maj. sanders, the bearer of this communication, was attacked while bearing the flag of truce. he delivered the communication to an officer and told him he would wait outside the works fifteen minutes for an answer. none came; none was sent, and so the attack was made. s. g. f., maj.-gen'l, commanding. whatever may have been the external conditions that led to this view of the matter on the part of general french, there is no question that corse did reply, and promptly and to the point. he wrote his answer on the top of a neighboring stump, and a splinter or two may have gotten in it: maj.-general french, c. s. a., etc.: your communication demanding surrender of my command, i acknowledge receipt of, and respectfully reply that we are prepared for the 'needless effusion of blood' whenever it is agreeable to you. i am very respectfully your obedient servant, john m. corse, brigadier-general, commanding u. s. forces. when this reply had been dispatched, corse remarked, "they will now be upon us," and nothing remained but to notify the several commands of the purport of the correspondence, and to prepare for the bloody work that lay before them. * * * * * french commanded a division in the corps of lieutenant-general stewart, which had been dispatched by hood eastward from dallas to destroy the railroad, as witnessed by sherman from the summit of kenesaw, and his report, dated nov. , from which the following particulars of his movements are derived, is of great interest. stewart had struck the railroad at big shanty, four miles north of kenesaw on the evening of october rd, and his three divisions labored all night at their task, completing it as far as acworth. this work accomplished, french's division was sent northward under direct orders from hood, which are given in french's report, and have some peculiar features. both orders are dated october th, and were handed to french at big shanty by stewart at noon. the earlier one said that french "shall move up the railroad and fill up the deep cut at allatoona with logs, brush, dirt etc." also that when at allatoona, french was, if possible, to move to the etowah bridge, the destruction of which would "be of great advantage to the army and the country." the second order again urged the importance of destroying the etowah bridge, if such were possible, and that as the enemy (sherman), could not disturb him before the next day, he was to "get his artillery in position and then call for volunteers with 'lightwood' to go to the bridge and burn it." the curious points about these instructions are, in the first place, the absurdity of a wearied body of troops undertaking such a task as that of filling up a railway cut feet deep and some or yards long, in the way described, with "logs and dirt" and the futility of doing it, if it were possible. it would have taken french several days to fill up that cut, even assuming him to be uninterfered with, and one day's labor would open it again. the second point is the absence of any reference to a garrison at allatoona, or to the accumulation of stores there. french was a good soldier, and after stating in his report that as both he and stewart knew the facts in the case and were aware of the large amount of stores, they considered it important that the place be captured, contents himself with saying, dryly, "it would appear, however, from these orders, that the general-in-chief was not aware that the pass i was sent to have filled up was fortified and garrisoned." the fact is that it requires something more than mere courage to command an army, and it seems likely that a few such specimens of leadership cost hood the confidence of his subordinates, and thoroughly justified sherman in a disparaging remark he made respecting him a day or two later. stewart gave french pieces of artillery under major myrick and at : p. m. of the th he marched away to acworth, but was detained there until at night by lack of rations. the night was dark, the roads bad, and he didn't know the country. from acworth he reports seeing night signalling between kenesaw and allatoona, and fearing that reinforcements might be sent from the northward, he dispatched a small cavalry force to reach the railroad as close to the etowah as possible and take up the rails. it was a wise precaution, but undertaken too late, as corse was at allatoona by midnight. french arrived there about in the morning, and, as he writes, "nothing could be seen but one or two twinkling lights on the opposite heights and nothing was heard except the occasional interchange of shots between our advance guards and the pickets of the garrison in the valley below." he placed his artillery in position at moore's, yards south and east of the post, an admirable location for the purpose intended, having an open view of the defences across the intervening hollow, left with it the th north carolina and the nd texas, of young's brigade, as supports, and sought to gain the ridge west of the fortifications, intending to attack at daybreak, but after floundering in the egyptian darkness of the forest, with no roads and over a rugged country, and unavailingly seeking, notwithstanding the aid of a guide, to get upon the ridge westward of the works, was compelled to wait for daylight. finally at : the head of the column arrived about yards distant from the west redoubt, and here french got his first view of the works, which impressed him at once as much more formidable than he had anticipated. instead of one small redoubt on each side of the railroad cut, as he had been led to believe, he declares he saw no less than three on the west side and a "star fort" on the east, with outworks and approaches, defended to a great distance by abattis, and nearer the forts by stockades and other obstructions. it may have been the weariness of a long night march, or perhaps the too early morning air, that conjured these formidable defences to french's eyes, or possibly, it is the exterior aspect of these works that to a covetous and hostile apprehension enlarges their numbers and proportions. it must be admitted that from the interior standpoint they shrunk mightily from french's description, and the defenders at least would have been hugely gratified could they have had the privilege of occupying what french thought he saw. he rapidly made his dispositions for assault, sending sear's mississippi brigade round by the left to gain the north flank of the works, while cockerell's missouri brigade formed line across the ridge, with young's texas brigade behind it to support and follow up the attack. myrick had been ordered to open up with his guns and continue his fire until the attacking troops were so close up to the works as to prevent it. sears, having the longer distance to traverse, was to begin the assault when cockerell would immediately move forward. sears was delayed by the ruggedness of his route to the north side of the works, and in fact for a time lost his bearings among the wooded hills, and was not in position until a. m. by french's time. french says that when he sent his summons to surrender, the federal officer entrusted with the missive was allowed minutes within which to bring the answer, and this time expiring, maj. sanders returned without any. nothing is said in the report as to the firing upon him, noted in the endorsement on the copy of the summons already mentioned. the assault. cockerell was at length ordered forward and the attack began. according to french's account, everything went as successfully as possible. he represents the triple lines of intrenchments and redoubts on the west side as being captured one, after another, his troops resting but briefly at each to gather strength and survey the work before them, and again rushing forward in murderous hand-to-hand conflict that left the ditches filled with dead, until they were masters of the "second redoubt," and the "third or main redoubt" was filled with those driven from the captured works and further crowded by the refugees from the eastern fort and its defences, who had been driven out by the attack of sears. he represents the federal forces, their fire almost silenced, as being herded into the one redoubt on the west, of which french's troops occupied the ditch and were preparing for the final attack. at this critical moment, with the garrison and the precious stores, as it were, in the hollow of his hand, french received word that general sherman, who had been "repeatedly signalled during the battle," was close behind him with his whole army, and within two miles of the road he would have to take to rejoin his corps. on this point of sherman's proximity to french as his reason for leaving, we have not only full knowledge of the exact position and movement of our troops to show that such was really not the case, but a brief piece of testimony from the other side in the shape of a dispatch from major mason, hood's adjudant-general, from which it is evident that french, becoming hopeless of success, had sought in advance to justify at headquarters the failure of his enterprise. the date and hour of this dispatch, which reads as follows, are of interest: "carley's house, oct. , . : p. m. _lt. gen'l stewart, com'd'g corps._ general french's dispatch, forwarded by yourself, is just received. gen. hood directs me to say that he does not know where a division could march at this time to give any assistance to gen. french, but that you will endeavor to send some scouts to him, and direct him to leave the railroad and march to the west, to new hope church. gen. hood does not understand how gen. french could be _cut off_ at the point he designates in his dispatch, as he should have moved directly away from the railroad to the west, if he deemed his position precarious. a. p. m." it is of course obvious from the map that if french found sherman approaching from the south, he had only to follow westward the road up which he had been charging at allatoona all day and free himself from danger in an hour. it would be of interest to see this dispatch of french's and observe the hour when sent, but it is not forthcoming. the hour of the reply is significant. it need not have taken a mounted man three hours to get word to stewart, then near a junction with hood and to hood himself, less than miles away. the reply, made at once, is written at : p. m., and french's message must certainly have been sent later than p. m. french had probably been gone from allatoona an hour or more when he bethought him to send the request for a division to extricate him. the facts are, that it was not until the night of oct. th that the nearest troops of sherman's went into camp at brushy mountain, miles distant in an air line, and none reached allatoona until the th. but to return to french. it was really an immense pity that he should feel obliged to leave just when he had but to put forth his hand to snatch the prize; but then it would not do to have his division cut off from the army, and on the whole it might be well to start, and if so, why not at once? so about : he says an order was sent to sears and cockerell to withdraw. the ground was too rough to carry badly wounded men over it, so that those who could not get away on their own feet had to be left. the artillery, unable to operate effectively with the assaulting column close up on the works, had already been in part ordered to take the road, and after the assaulting troops had left, french went to the two regiments who had supported it, and sent a battery to the block house at the railway crossing of allatoona creek, fired fifty shots at it, knocked it about the ears of the garrison, and setting fire to it, smoked them out and marched them off as prisoners. french's report of this affair, written a month later, from which the above is condensed, is very interesting and dramatic, and regarded as a literary composition, of no mean merit. he has certainly made the best of a bad business, and if his facts do not quite tally with those of his opponents, at least the discrepancies were not officially noticed at headquarters, nor probably would a gloomier account of the affair have been considered more inspiriting. those rations would have been extremely convenient, could they, or even a part of them, have been hauled away for distribution among the hungry confederates, and if that were impracticable, it would have been at least a noble stroke to have destroyed them. on this head french's report is silent; nor does he endeavor to explain how it happened that so vital a part of his own program was omitted. in effect, the play had been badly broken up by the attentions of the gallery, and hamlet had slipped out of it. french is without excuse for his fear of sherman's approach, baseless as we know it to have been. armstrong is responsible for despatches to him suggesting it. all the same, the evidence is conclusive that french was beaten, that he knew it, and that he had to withdraw quite independently of sherman's movements. a confederate historian, k. s. bevier, writes as follows on this point: "the men of french's division had now become so much scattered that it was impossible to gather a sufficient number to give any hope of successful assault on the fort." what can wholly be pardoned to french is the unstinted commendation he bestows on the gallantry of his men. these poor fellows, ragged and hungry, with but a handful or two of parched corn in their haversacks, had marched all day on the rd; had worked all that night destroying the railroad; had worked and marched all day on the th; had marched to allatoona during that night, and had fought nearly all day on the th. nor is it forbidden to those who felt the vigor of their dashing onset and the undaunted determination with which they rallied again and again to the assault of the intrenchments, or who witnessed the hand-to-hand encounters with sword and bayonet, with butts of guns, and even with loose pieces of rock, to appreciate the intrepidity and resolution with which they hung to their bloody and fruitless task. brave men may honor bravery the world over. we can in all sympathy and common brotherhood say: "they were of our blood and race. peace to their ashes. give us the like to stand side by side with us, and we could fear no quarrel, were it with the whole round world." the defence. having glanced at the situation from french's standpoint, let us step over to the other side, as we may safely do at this lapse of time, and see how it actually fared with the beleaguered garrison which we left in momentary expectation of attack; and since general french has been heard, it is no more than fair to quote from the graphic reports of the federal commander. after narrating his preliminary movements, and the stations of the troops, he proceeds: "i directed col. rowett to hold the spur on which the th iowa and th illinois were formed, * * * and taking two companies of the rd illinois down a spur parallel with the railroad and along the bank of the cut, so disposed them as to hold the north side as long as possible. three companies of the rd, which had been driven from the west end of the ridge, were distributed in the ditch south of the redoubt, with instructions to keep the town well covered by their fire, and to watch the depot where the rations were stored. the remaining battalion of the rd, under major fisher, lay between the redoubt and rowett's line, ready to reinforce wherever most needed. "i had barely issued the orders when the storm broke in all its fury on the th iowa and th illinois. young's brigade of texans had gained the west end of the ridge and moved with great impetuosity along its crest till they struck rowett's command, when they received a severe check, but undaunted came again and again. rowett, reinforced by the gallant redfield, encouraged me to hope we were safe here, when i observed general sears' brigade moving from the north, its left extending across the railroad (opposite tourtellotte). i rushed to the two companies of the rd illinois, which were on the brink of the cut running north from the redoubt, they having been reinforced by the retreating pickets, and urged them to hold on to the spur; but it was of no avail; the enemy's line of battle swept us back like so much chaff, and struck the th iowa in flank, threatening to engulf our little band without further ado. fortunately for us, col. tourtellotte's fire caught sears in flank, and broke him so badly as to enable me to get a staff officer over the cut with orders to bring the th illinois over to reinforce rowett, who had lost very heavily. however, before the regiment sent for could arrive, sears and young both rallied, and made their assaults in front and on the flank with so much vigor and in such force as to break rowett's line, and had not the th iowa fought with the desperation it did, i never would have been able to get a man back inside the redoubt; as it was, their hand-to-hand conflict and stubborn stand broke the enemy to that extent that he must stop and reform before undertaking the assault on the fort. under cover of the blows they gave the enemy, the th and rd illinois, and what remained of the th iowa, fell back into the fort. "the fighting up to this time--about a. m.--was of the most extraordinary character. attacked from the north, from the west and from the south, these three regiments-- th iowa and th and rd illinois--held young's and a portion of sears' and cockerell's brigades at bay for nearly two hours and a half. the gallant col. redfield, of the th iowa, fell, shot in four places, and the extraordinary valor of the men and officers of this regiment, and of the th illinois, saved to us allatoona. "so completely disorganized were the enemy, that no regular assault could be made on the fort till i had the trenches all filled and the parapets lined with men. the th and th illinois arriving from the east hill, enabled us to occupy every foot of trench, and keep up a line of fire that, as long as our ammunition lasted, would render our little fort impregnable. the broken pieces of the enemy enabled them to fill every hollow and take every advantage of the rough ground surrounding the fort, filling every hole and trench, seeking shelter behind every stump and log that lay within musket range of the fort. we received their fire from the north, south and west of the redoubt, completely enfilading our ditches, and rendering it almost impracticable for a man to expose his person above the parapet. an effort was made to carry our works by assault, but the battery ( th wisconsin) was so ably manned and so gallantly fought as to render it impossible for a column to live within one hundred yards of the work. officers labored constantly to stimulate the men to exertions, and almost all that were killed or wounded in the fort met their fate while trying to get the men to expose themselves above the parapet and nobly setting them the example. "the enemy kept up a constant and intense fire, gradually closing around us and rapidly filling our little fort with the dead or dying. about p. m. i was wounded by a rifle ball that rendered me insensible for some thirty or forty minutes, but managed to rally on hearing some persons cry, 'cease firing,' which conveyed to me the impression that they were trying to surrender the fort. "again i urged my staff, the few officers left unhurt, and the men around me, to renewed exertions, assuring them that sherman would soon be there with reinforcements. the gallant fellows struggled to keep their heads above the ditch and parapet in face of the murderous fire of the enemy, now concentrated upon us. the artillery was silent, and a brave fellow, whose name i regret having forgotten, volunteered to cross the railway cut which was under fire of the enemy and go to the fort on the east hill to procure ammunition. having executed his mission successfully, he returned in a short time with an arm load of canister and case shot. about : p. m. the enemy were observed massing a force behind a small house and the ridge on which the house was located distant northwest from the fort about yards. the dead and wounded were moved aside so as to enable us to move a piece of artillery to an embrasure commanding the house and ridge. a few shots from the gun threw the enemy's column into great confusion, which being observed by our men, caused them to rush to the parapet and open such a heavy and continuous musketry fire that it was impossible for the enemy to rally. from this time until near p. m. we had the advantage of the enemy, and maintained it with such success that they were driven from every position and finally fled in confusion, leaving their dead and wounded, and our little garrison in possession of the field. "the hill east of the cut was gallantly and successfully defended by col. tourtellotte, with the th minnesota and a portion of the th wisconsin (which was drawn from outpost duty towards the south about : ). * * * col. tourtellotte, though wounded in the early part of the action, remained with his men until the close, and rendered valuable aid in protecting my north front from the repeated attacks by sears' brigade." a notable struggle truly and stirringly told, even though the limitations of an official report forbid that amplification of incident that would make as thrilling a tale as tongue could utter. from start to finish, seven solid hours of as desperate fighting as ever was done under the sky of heaven, and with multiplied acts of individual heroism that would tax the pen of homer to narrate. with the exception of about rounds, the supply of ammunition brought from rome for the entire division, had been expended by a portion of a single brigade. every one of the subordinate commanders' reports on both sides bears testimony to the unparalleled fierceness and concentration of the struggle, and the closeness and duration of the action, and the terrific slaughter; and these reports, it may be noted, are made by the ruggedest of sherman's and french's veterans--men inured to war in every aspect, and as familiar with bloody battle-fields as we of to-day with the street we daily tread. in reading these scant records, one scarce knows whether to admire the more the daring vigor and persistence of the attack, or the spirit, valor and heroic determination of the defence. with both it was "to do or die," and each can feel that none, save his rival, can challenge supremacy in war-like exploit. corse's signal dispatch to sherman after the fight can therefore well be excused, "i am short a cheek-bone and an ear, but able to whip all h--l yet." incidents of the battle. it is a thousand pities that the many notable incidents of this fight are not on record; but, so far as i am aware, no one has sought to gather them in any complete and authentic form. corse caught his wound about o'clock while scanning the movements and position of the enemy from the redoubt. it was a close call for his life, the ball ploughing his cheek and splitting his ear, and, as might be imagined, dazing him. a surgeon took him in charge and ministered as well as the circumstances permitted. at intervals corse was unconscious, but rallied from time to time, as though the spirit within him crowded itself up through the physical deadening of his senses. at one of these occasions he caught the words "cease firing," and as mentioned in his report, feared some attempt to surrender. on this point, in a private letter, he speaks as follows: "do you remember our losing a large number of springfield rifled muskets that exploded near the muzzle after becoming foul from over-shooting? i saw some that had exploded, say about the shank of the bayonet. it was so phenomenal as to make a decided impression on my mind at the time. i think a large number of these must have been lost, and when the order was given to cease firing, it was under the impression that if the men were not given a chance to clean their guns, we would lose them all and be overwhelmed. my impression, you remember, at the time was that the order to cease firing meant surrender, but rowett removed that impression in subsequent interviews, during and after the war." rowett's order to "cease firing" had, of course, nothing to do with the cry of "surrender." it is true that there were men in that redoubt ready to surrender or to do anything else in order to get out of it alive. happily these were few, and most of them lay prone, close under the parapet, "playing dead," with the combatants and wounded standing and sitting upon them. if i mistake not, corse himself, at least for a time, was holding down of these "living corpses" who preferred to endure all the pain and discomfort of his position rather than get up and face the deadly music that filled the air with leaden notes. it came about this way: the redoubt was crowded, and as bloody as a slaughter pen. in its actual construction the parapet encircled a higher elevation in the center, which had not been sufficiently excavated, so that a man standing, or in fact, lying, in the middle of the work was exposed to bullets coming in close over the parapet. it was absolutely necessary to keep room for the fighting force along the parapet, so the wounded were drawn back, and in some cases were shot over and over again. the dead were disposed of in the same way, except that as the ground became covered with them they were let lie as they fell, and were stood or sat upon by the fighters. several of the "skulkers" lay among these, but a few were in the ranks. the slaughter had been frightful. one of our guns was disabled from the jamming of a shot, and we were out of ammunition for the other two, thereby losing both the deterrent effect upon the enemy, and the moral encouragement that the friendly roar of cannon always gives to infantry in action. i recall distinctly the fact that a regimental flagstaff on the parapet, which had been several times shot away, fell again at a critical moment towards the end of the action. there was a mad yell from our friends outside and a few cries of "surrender" among our own people, but a brave fellow leaped to the summit of the parapet, where it did not seem possible to live for a single second, grasped the flagstaff, waved it, drove the stump into the parapet, and dropped back again unhurt. of course nobody knows the name of that man, but his action restored confidence, and a great yankee cheer drowned the tumult, and no cry of "surrender" was afterwards heard. what saved us that day--among forty other things--was the fact that we had a number of henry rifles ( -shooters), since improved and known as "winchesters." these were new guns in those days, and rowett, as i remember, had held in reserve a company of an illinois regiment that was armed with them until a final assault should be made. when the artillery reopened, after the incident related by corse of the man crossing the cut and coming back with an armful of case shot, this company of -shooters sprang to the parapet and poured out such a multiplied, rapid, and deadly fire that no men could stay in front of it, and no serious effort was thereafter made to take the fort by assault. * * * * * it is not possible, within any reasonable limits, for a paper already too long for your patience, to undertake the recital of the numerous thrilling incidents. one may be mentioned: an artillery sergeant, whose gun was at first stationed outside the fort behind an exterior parapet, was driven in by the rush of the enemy, and his men being all killed, he had to abandon it. wounded himself in several places, he came into the redoubt, frothing with rage at the loss of his piece, and demanded a crew of volunteers to go out with him and get it. notwithstanding the deadly fire, he got them, and in three minutes was back with his recovered prize with more wounds to his account. a bloodier man was never seen, but he kept at his work, loading and firing, until a musket ball passed through his neck, and he dropped dead. the same ball traversed the body of an iowa officer, with whom i was standing further back, and then struck me with force enough to take my breath. that ball had killed two men, and i preserved it with the name and date of the battle scratched on its but slightly distorted surface. on tourtellotte's side a grim war comedy was enacted. the remains of two mississippi regiments--the th and th of sears' brigade, that had charged with desperation, found themselves as the surge of battle that broke upon the hill went back, lodged in a sheltered depression of the north front, whence they could move neither up nor down without concentrating upon themselves the fire of tourtellotte's whole front. unable to determine what course to take, they remained where they were to think it over, and tourtellotte, observing their embarrassment, thoughtfully sent a portion of the th minnesota to their rescue and invited them to come in. one field and several line officers and men with the colors of the two regiments were the reward of the yankee courtesy. after the fight was over we thankfully emerged from the shambles and went out to survey the field. the dead, the dying and the wounded lay everywhere. the ditches immediately outside the redoubt were crammed with corpses. there were dead rebels within feet of the work, and they were piled in stacks near the house where they had massed for the final assault which was never made, against the reopened artillery, and the rattle of the henry rifles. but the appalling center of the tragedy was the pit in which lay the heroes of the th iowa and the th illinois. such a sight probably was never before presented to the eye of heaven. there is no language to describe it. with all the glad reaction of feeling after the prolonged strain of that mortal day, and the exultant surge of victory that swelled our hearts, it was difficult to stand on the verge of that open grave without a rush of tears to the eye and a spasm of pity clutching at the throat. the trench was crowded with the dead, blue and homespun, yank and johnny, inextricably mingled in their last ditch. our heroes, ordered to hold the place to the last, with supreme fidelity, had died at their posts. as the rebel line run over them, they struck up with their bayonets as the foe struck down, and rolling together in the embrace of death, we found them in some cases mutually transfixed. the theme cannot be dwelt upon. for relief, take another one, so unique in the circumstances that i doubt at times my own recollection of it. it was in the morning when french first gained the west end of the ridge. the rd illinois was in the vicinity of the outworks, a quarter of a mile or so from the redoubt. i had been reconnoitering the ground, and the rebel column charged us sharply and without warning. we ran, of course, but in passing through or rather over an old work of low relief, one of our men stooped, grabbed a brick and turned. curiosity overcame discretion, and i had to look. he threw the brick straight as a bullet at a rebel running toward us, and if i may be believed, the brick caught the man full in the face, and he went down like a log. one more incident, and i am done. after the battle the wounded of both sides were collected, housed and cared for. one of the surgeons invited me to come to the hospital with him, and on the way said he had a wounded woman there. i expressed surprise, and he said: "see if you can pick her out." we went through the hospital, and i saw no woman, but passing through again on the way back, the doctor stopped at a bed where a tanned and freckled young rebel, hands and face grimy with dirt and powder, lay resting on an elbow, smoking a corn-cob pipe. the doctor inquired, "how do you feel?" and the answer was, "pretty well, but my leg hurts like the devil." as we turned, the doctor said, "that is the woman," and told me that she belonged to the missouri brigade, had had a husband and one or two brothers in one of the regiments, and followed them to the war. when they were all killed, having no home but the regiment, she took a musket and served in the ranks. like an actor of the old greek dramas, war has its two masks of tragedy and comedy, although it is difficult at times to determine to which the antiphonal scene belongs--so of this case. it is perhaps not proper in such a paper as this to expose or call attention to the shifts to which the confederates were forced to fill their ranks, but the incident may be told nevertheless. the stores saved. the stores which had cost such heroic endeavor and expenditure of life, were saved; the stores, which, as corse says in a private letter, "would have been such a prize as hood in all his long and bloody career as a soldier had never secured." this fact is due, independently of the main action, largely to the coolness and vigilance of tourtellotte, who in addition to fighting sears on his north front and flanking the attacks on the west redoubt, kept his mind charged with the protection of the warehouses, even while his wound forced him to physical inaction. as has been stated, he pushed out the th wisconsin to the southward to hold back the two regiments which were in front of the rebel batteries, and only withdrew them at : when the assaulting column had reached a point in front of the west redoubt, whence it had a fire upon the rear of the outlying command. thereafter tourtellotte kept a wary eye out towards the stores, with men in his southern rifle pit and its vicinity constantly on guard, and cautioned to unceasing vigilance, and although several attempts were made by individuals and small parties to reach the warehouses and fire them, they died on the way and none of them ever attained their destination. we found several bodies scattered about in the vicinity, and one of them within feet of the buildings, with the implements in his hand for firing them. as to the amount of these stores, general sherman, in his memoirs, says there were "over a million rations of bread," probably with corse's report at hand, in which the number is incorrectly stated at that amount. cox, in his "atlanta," gives it more accurately at "nearly three millions." the actual figures ( , , ) are given in a letter from sherman to corse in acknowledging, on october th, corse's preliminary report of the same day. the losses. corse's losses in this battle, from the full official records, were killed, wounded, and omitting those captured at the block house two miles away, prisoners; a total loss of --nearly one-third his entire command. french in his report estimates that he had killed and wounded , and captured --which, with the block house prisoners, would make a total loss inflicted on corse of over , which is over per cent. too much. french's losses are not known. with his report he gives a tabulated list of casualties by brigades, which shows footings of killed, wounded and missing--a total of . sears, however, whose report of casualties is the only one accessible to me, reports in his brigade alone a total loss of --as against attributed to him in french's schedule, which is an increase of per cent. young and cockerell must have lost at least as heavily as sears, and having charged our line repeatedly and had several encounters at close quarters, probably more so. allowing for these facts, it is perhaps nearer correct to increase french's statement of loss by per cent., which would make it almost exactly men. as corse actually buried rebel dead, captured prisoners, well and wounded, and picked up stand of arms, and as french left behind him, according to his own account, only those of his wounded who needed litters to move them, we must add to the rebels accounted for by corse at least or wounded who got away when french left, or previously. french's total loss could not have been much less than or . the number of troops with him cannot be determined. he gives it as "but little over men," in which case he lost more than half his entire number, but he omits three regiments as forming no part of the assaulting column. he refers to those supporting the artillery, but these men were in the engagement, kept the th wisconsin in their front, and french thanks their leader, col. andrews, "who commanded on the south side," and major myrick, who commanded the artillery. french's field report for sept. th showed "present for duty" officers and men; an "effective present" of , and an "aggregate present" of . he probably had not less than with him at allatoona engaged in action, in which case his total loss was proportionally the same as ours, viz., about one-third. reporting to sherman. on the morning of the th corse sent me down to kenesaw to take his report to sherman, and supplement the gaps in the information which his wound forbade elaborating. as i reached the summit of the mountain, conscious of bearing welcome and important tidings of great joy, and considering what special form sherman's delight might take, i found him surrounded by a group of generals and staff scanning with binoculars the long clouds of dust that, rising above the forest to the westward, betokened a great movement of troops. it was hood en route northward. as sherman turned and saw me, his greeting was, "hello! how's corse?" i answered that he was doing very well, and sherman glanced over the report which i handed him, and inquired, "pretty hot, wasn't it?" and without waiting for an answer, said, "i knew it was all right when corse got there; i'll write him presently." as i stood, anxiously waiting an invitation to unbosom myself of the accumulated information that it wearied me to carry, he turned back to take another look at hood, and some one asked, "general, what do you think hood is going to do?" sherman replied, with an outburst of irritation, "how the devil can i tell? if it were joe johnston now--johnston was a sensible man and did sensible things. hood is a d--d fool and is liable to do anything." this view of his antagonist is, it will be observed, paraphrased in his letter to corse, written immediately after, into "hood is eccentric," but his off-hand response was substantially as i have given it. my interview was over. nor since that time, until this evening, have i had a chance to "unload." conclusion. this practically closes the sketch of allatoona. i can only hope that it will avail to furnish some material for a proper history of that memorable affair. sherman published his congratulatory special field orders, no. , dated oct. th, proclaiming the vital military principle that fortified points must always be defended to the last, regardless of numbers, declaring the "effusion of blood" at allatoona not "useless," as the position "was and is very important to present and future operations," and thanking corse and tourtellotte and their men for their determined and gallant defence. just how important to his future operations was the successful defence of allatoona may be judged from what followed. october th sherman telegraphed to grant with renewed urgency that the march to savannah must be made, and stated, to show his preparation, "we have on hand over head of cattle and three million rations of bread." in other words, the allatoona stores, , , rations, were practically all he had. sherman impatiently chased hood northward, seeking to corner and devour him. but hood, living off the country and traveling light, could go two miles to sherman's one, and there was no catching him. weary of the harassing and fruitless hunt, sherman insisted that his march to savannah be not delayed, and on oct. th to be in readiness for it, telegraphed his chief commissary at atlanta, "have on hand days' food." say, , , rations, two-thirds of the allatoona stores, which were supplies for , men for days. november nd grant for the first time authorized the march. sherman abandoned hood to his own devices, and the unhappy rebel leader, pressing northward, was heavily thrown in his encounter with schofield at franklin, and finally dashed himself to pieces against the "rock of chicamauga," the noble george h. thomas, lying vigilant within the defences of nashville, and like an old lion, silently licking his chops as he watched his prey draw nigh. november th sherman, having stripped his railroad, cut the telegraph wires that no message of delay might reach him, loaded his teams, marched his , men for savannah, and, although he "lived off the country," got there with empty wagons. with hood and forrest in his rear and on his railroad, how was he to accumulate a fresh store of provision, and what would have become of the "march to the sea" if allatoona had been lost? william ludlow. [illustration] transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. the following misprints have been corrected: "chatahooche" corrected to "chattahooche" (page ) "vincinity" corrected to "vicinity" (illustration "allatoona and vicinity") "ocntrast" corrected to "contrast" (page ) "the the" corrected to "the" (page ) "succeesfully" corrected to "successfully" (page ) "tourtellottee" corrected to "tourtellotte" (page ) proofreading team an historical account of the rise and progress of the colonies of south carolina and georgia. in two volumes. vol. i. by alexander hewatt preface. the author of the following performance presents it to the public, not from any great value he puts upon it, but from an anxious desire of contributing towards a more complete and general acquaintance with the real state of our colonies in america. provincial affairs have only of late years been made the objects of public notice and attention. there are yet many, both in great britain and america, who are unacquainted with the state of some of these settlements, and with their usefulness and importance to a commercial nation. the southern provinces in particular have been hitherto neglected, insomuch that no writer has savoured the world with any tolerable account of them. therefore it is hoped, that a performance which brings those important, though obscure, colonies into public view, and tends to throw some light upon their situation, will meet with a favourable reception. as many of the inhabitants of the eastern world will find themselves little interested in the trifling transactions and events here related, such readers will easily discover in what latitude the author wrote, and for whose use his work was principally intended. they will also soon perceive, that this history, like that of dr. douglas respecting a northern settlement in america, is only a rough draught, and far from being a finished piece; and the author will frankly and candidly acknowledge it. the case with respect to him is this, to which he must beg the reader's attention. having been several years a resident at charlestown in south carolina, he was at some pains to pick up such original papers and detached manuscripts as he could find, containing accounts of the past transactions of that colony. this he did at first for the sake of private amusement; but after having collected a considerable number of those papers, he resolved to devote such hours as could be spared from more serious and important business, to arrange them, and form a kind of historical account of the rise and progress of that settlement. for the illustration of particular periods, he confesses that he was sometimes obliged to have recourse to very confused materials, and to make use of such glimmering lights as occurred; indeed his means of information, in the peculiar circumstances in which he stood, were often not so good as he could have desired, and even from these he was excluded before he had finished the collection necessary to complete his plan. besides, while he was employed in arranging these materials, being in a town agitated with popular tumults, military parade, and frequent alarms, his situation was very unfavourable for calm study and recollection. while the reader attends to these things, and at the same time considers that the author has entered on a new field, where, like the wilderness he describes, there were few beaten tracks, and no certain guides, he will form several excuses for the errors and imperfections of this history. many long speeches, petitions, addresses, _&c._ he might no doubt have abridged; but as there were his principal vouchers, for his own sake, he chose to give them entire. being obliged to travel over the same ground, in order to mark its progress in improvement at different periods, it was no easy matter to avoid repetitions. with respect to language, style and manner of arrangement, the author not being accustomed to write or correct for the press, must crave the indulgence of critics for the many imperfections of this kind which may have escaped his notice. having endeavoured to render his performance as complete as his circumstances would admit, he hopes the public will treat him with lenity, although it may be far from answering their expectations. in short, if this part of the work shall be deemed useful, and meet with any share of public approbation, the author will be satisfied; and may be induced afterwards to review it, and take some pains to render it not only more accurate and correct, but also more complete, by adding some late events more interesting and important than any here related: but if it shall turn out otherwise, all must acknowledge that he has already bestowed sufficient pains upon a production deemed useless and unprofitable. sensible therefore of its imperfections, and trusting to the public favour and indulgence, he sends it into the world with that modesty and diffidence becoming every young author on his first public appearance. contents of the first volume chap. i. _most men pleased with the history of their ancestors._ _a notion early entertained of territories in the west._ _a project of columbus for attempting a discovery._ _the discovery of columbus._ _the discovery of john cabot._ _the discovery of sebastian cabot._ _the discovery of americus vespuccius._ _the discovery of cabral._ _america inhabited._ _various conjectures about the first population of america._ _the natural proprietors of the country._ _religious divisions the primary cause of emigrations to the west._ _coligni's settlement in florida._ _extirpated by spaniards._ _a traffic in negroes._ _reflections on it._ _virginia settled._ _its progress._ _disturbances in england promote foreign settlements._ _new-england peopled by puritans._ _who turn persecutors._ _divide into different governments._ _a colony planted in maryland._ _general remarks on colonization._ chap ii. _the first proprietors, and their charter._ _of the fundamental constitutions._ _william sayle visits carolina._ _and is appointed the first governor of it._ _settles his colony on ashley river._ _hardship of the first settlers from the climate._ _and from the indians._ _sir john yeamans arrives at carolina._ _and is appointed governor._ _various causes contribute to the settlement of the country._ _america peopled in an improved age._ _the first treaty with spain respecting it._ _a council of commerce is instituted._ _a legislature is formed in the colony._ _its troubles from the spaniards._ _its domestic troubles and hardships._ _a war among the indians seasonable for the settlement._ _of indians in general._ _the occasion of europeans being peaceably admitted among them._ _general remarks on the manners, government, religion, &c. of the indians._ _a dutch colony brought to carolina._ _joseph west made governor._ _variances break out in the colony._ _a trade in indians encouraged._ _a general description of the climate._ _of the country._ _of its soil and lands._ _of its storms and natural phenomena._ _of its animals._ _of its fishes._ _of its birds._ _of its snakes and vipers._ _of its insects._ _joseph morton made governor._ _pennsylvania settled._ _the proprietors forbid the trade in indians._ _the toleration of pirates in carolina._ _cause of migration from england._ _cause of migration from france._ _the european animals increase._ _the manner of obtaining turpentine in carolina._ _and of making tar and pitch._ _a difference with the civil officers._ _james colleton made governor._ _his difference with the house of assembly._ _seth sothell chosen governor._ _his oppression, and expulsion._ chap. iii. _a revolution in england._ _the french refugees meet with encouragement._ _philip ludwell appointed governor._ _harsh treatment of the colonists to the refugees._ _the manner of obtaining lands._ _juries chosen by ballot._ _pirates favoured by the colonists._ _thomas smith appointed governor._ _the planting of rice introduced._ _occasions a necessity for employing negroes._ _perpetual slavery repugnant to the principles of humanity and christianity._ _foreign colonies encouraged from views of commercial advantage._ _indians complain of injustice._ _the troubles among the settlers continue._ _john archdale appointed governor._ _archdale's arrival and new regulations._ _treats indians with humanity._ _the proprietors shamefully neglect agriculture._ _archdale returns to england, and leaves joseph blake governor._ _a colony of french in florida._ _the french refugees incorporated by law._ _depredations of pirates._ _a hurricane, and other public calamities visit the province._ _james moore chosen governor._ _lord granville palatine._ _king william's charter to the society for propagating the gospel._ _an established church projected by the palatine._ _but disliked by the majority of the people._ _governor moore resolves to get riches._ _encourages irregularities at elections._ _proposes an expedition against augustine._ _which proven abortive._ _the first paper currency made._ _the expedition against the apalachian indians._ _the culture of silk._ _and of cotton._ _rice fixed on by the planters as a staple commodity._ chap. iv. _war declared against france._ _sir nathaniel johnson appointed governor._ _his instructions._ _he endeavours to establish the church of england._ _pursues violent measures for that purpose._ _the church of england established by law._ _the inhabitants of colleton county remonstrate against it._ _lay commissioners appointed._ _the acts ratified by the proprietor._ _the petition of dissenters to the house of lords._ _resolutions of the house of lords._ _their address to the queen._ _the queen's answer._ _a project formed for invading carolina._ _a spanish and french invasion._ _the invader repulsed and defeated by the militia._ _the union of england and scotland._ _missionaries sent out by the society in england._ _lord craven palatine._ _edward tynte governor._ _the revenues of the colony._ _the invasion of canada._ _a french colony planted in louisiana._ _a colony of palatines settled._ _robert gibbes governor._ _charles craven governor._ _an indian war in north carolina._ _the tuskorora indians conquered._ _bank-bills established._ _remarks on paper currency._ _trade infested by pirates._ _several english statutes adopted._ chap. v. _a design formed for purchasing all charters and proprietary governments._ _the yamassees conspire the destruction of the colony._ _the yamassee war._ _the yamassees defeated and expelled._ _they take refuge in florida._ _retain a vindictive spirit against the carolinians._ _the colonists turn their eyes for protection to the crown._ _the project revived for purchasing the proprietary colonies._ _distresses occasioned by the war._ _aggravated by the proprietors._ _robert daniel is made deputy-governor._ _lord cartaret palatine._ _the disaffection of the people increases._ _robert johnson appointed governor._ _of the depredations of pirates._ _and their utter extirpation._ _troubles from paper currency._ _several laws repealed._ _which occasions great disaffections._ _further troubles from indians._ _complaints against chief justice trott._ _laid before the proprietors._ _their answer._ _and letter to the governor._ _who obeys their commands._ _an invasion threatened from spain._ _an association formed against the proprietors._ chap. vi. _the people's encouragement to revolt._ _their letter to the governor signifying their design._ _which the governor endeavours to defeat._ _proceedings of the convention._ _the perplexity of the governor and council._ _the governor's speech for recalling the people._ _their message in answer to it._ _the governor's answer._ _the assembly dissolved, and the proceedings of the people._ _james moore proclaimed governor._ _the declaration of the convention._ _the governor transmits an account of the whole proceedings to the proprietors._ _the revolutioners appoint new officers, and establish their authority._ _in vain the governor attempts to disconcert them._ _rhett refuses obedience to his orders._ _and preserves the confidence of the proprietors._ _further attempts of the governor to recal the people._ _the invasion from spain defeated._ _the governor's last attempt to recover his authority._ _injurious suspicions with regard to the conduct of the governor._ _francis nicolson appointed governor by the regency._ _general reflections on the whole transactions._ _nicolson's arrival occasions uncommon joy._ _the people recognize king george as their lawful sovereign._ _the governor regulates indian affairs._ _and promotes religious institutions._ _the enthusiasm of the family of dutartre._ _their trial and condemnation._ _progress of the colony._ _the adventure of captain beale._ _arthur middleton president._ _a dispute about the boundaries between carolina and florida._ _colonel palmer makes reprisals on the spaniards._ _encroachment of the french in louisiana._ _a terrible hurricane._ _and yellow fever._ _the province purchased for the crown._ _the fundamental constitutions of south carolina._ the history of the rise and progress of the colony of south carolina. chap. i. among the various events recorded in the history of past ages, there are few more interesting and important than the discovery of the western world. by it a large field for adventures, and a new source of power, opulence and grandeur, opened to european nations. to obtain a share of the vast territories in the west became an object of ambition to many of them; but for this purpose, the maritime and commercial states possessed the greatest advantages. having first discovered the country, with facility they transported people to it, settled colonies there, and in process of time shared among them the extensive wilderness. [sidenote] most men pleased with the history of their ancestors. all accounts relating to these settlements afford pleasure to curious and ingenious minds, in what quarter of the globe soever they live; but to the posterity of the first adventurers they must be peculiarly acceptable. in the lives of our ancestors we become parties concerned; and when we behold them braving the horrors of the desert, and surmounting every difficulty from a burning climate, a thick forest, and savage neighbours, we admire their courage, and are astonished at their perseverance. we are pleased with every danger they escaped, and wish to see even the most minute events, relating to the rise and progress of their little communities, placed before us in the most full and conspicuous light. the world has not yet been favoured with a particular history of all these colonies: many events respecting some of them lie buried in darkness and oblivion. as we have had an opportunity of acquiring some knowledge of one of the most valuable and flourishing of the british settlements in that quarter, we propose to present the world with a particular, but imperfect, detail of its most memorable and important transactions. [sidenote] a notion early entertained of territories in the west. to pave the way for the execution of this design, it may not be improper to cast our eyes backward on the earliest ages of european discoveries, and take a slight view of the first and most distinguished adventurers to the western world. this will serve to introduce future occurrences, and contribute towards the easier illustration of them. beyond doubt, a notion was early entertained of territories lying to the westward of europe and africa. some of the greek historians make mention of an atlantic island, large in extent, fertile in its soil, and full of rivers. these historians assert, that the tyrians and carthaginians discovered it, and sent a colony thither, but afterwards, from maxims of policy, compelled their people to abandon the settlement. whether this was the largest of the canary islands, as we may probably suppose, or not, is a matter of little importance with respect to our present purpose: it is enough that such a notion prevailed, and gained so much credit as to be made the grounds of future inquiry and adventure. with the use of the compass, about the close of the fifteenth century, the great era of naval adventures commenced. indeed the tyrian fleet in the service of solomon had made what was then esteemed long voyages, and a famous carthaginian captain had sailed round africa: the portuguese also were great adventurers by sea, and their discoveries in africa served to animate men of courage and enterprise to bolder undertakings: but the invention of the compass proved the mariner's best guide, and facilitated the improvements in navigation. furnished with this new and excellent instructor, the seaman forsook the dangerous shore and launched out into the immense ocean in search of new regions, which, without it, must long have remained unknown. even such expeditions as proved abortive, furnished observations and journals to succeeding navigators, and every discovery made, gave life and encouragement to brave adventurers. [sidenote] a project of columbus for attempting a discovery. about this period christopher columbus, a native of genoa, appeared, who was a man of great ingenuity, courage, and abilities, and had acquired better notions of the globe, and greater skill in navigation, than any of his cotemporaries. imagining there might be territories in the west to balance those in the east he directed all his views to that quarter, and was eagerly bent on a voyage of discovery. he drew a plan for the execution of his project, which, together with a map of the world, he laid before his countrymen, shewing them what grandeur and advantage would accrue to their state, should he prove successful. but the leading men of the republic considered his project as wild and chimerical, and shamefully treated him with neglect. though mortified at this ill usage, he nevertheless remained inflexible as to his purpose, and therefore determined to visit the different courts of europe, and offer his service to that sovereign who should give him the greatest encouragement and assistance. while he resolved to go in person to france, spain and portugal, he sent his brother bartholomew to england; which nation had now seen an end of her bloody civil wars, and begun to encourage trade and navigation. but bartholomew, in his passage, was unfortunately taken by pirates, and robbed of all he had; and, to augment his distress, was seized with a fever after his arrival, and reduced to great hardships. after his recovery, he spent some time in drawing charts and maps, and selling them, before he was in a condition to appear at court. at length, being introduced to the king, he laid before him his brother's proposals for sailing to the west on a voyage of discovery. king henry, who was rather a prudent manager of the public treasure, than an encourager of great undertakings, as some historians say, rejected his proposals: but others of equal credit affirm, that the king entered into an agreement with bartholomew, and sent him to invite his brother to england; and that the nation in general were fond of the project, either from motives of mere curiosity or prospects of commercial advantage. [sidenote] a. d. . [sidenote] the discovery of columbus. in the mean time columbus, after surmounting several discouragements and difficulties, found employment in the service of spain. queen isabella agreed with him on his own terms, and went so far as to sell her jewels in order to furnish him with every thing requisite for his intended expedition. accordingly he embarked in august , and sailed from palos on one of the greatest enterprises ever undertaken by man. steering towards the west, through what was then deemed a boundless ocean, he found abundance of scope for all the arts of navigation of which he was possessed; and, after surmounting numberless difficulties, from a mutinous crew and the length of the voyage, he discovered one of the bahama islands. here he landed, and, after falling on his knees and thanking god for his success, he erected the royal standard of spain in the western world, and returned to europe. [sidenote] . [sidenote] the discovery of john cabot. upon his arrival in spain, the fame of this bold adventurer and the success of his voyage, quickly spread through europe, and excited general inquiry and admiration. john cabot, a native of venice, (at that time one of the most flourishing commercial states of the world), resided at bristol in england, and, having heard of the territories in the west, fitted out a ship at his own expence and steered to that quarter on a voyage of discovery. directing his course more to the northward, he was equally successful, and, in the year , discovered the island of newfoundland. he went ashore on another island, which he called st. john's, because discovered on the festival of st. john the baptist. here he found inhabitants clothed with skins, who made use of darts, bows and arrows, and had the address to persuade some of them to sail with him to england. on his return to bristol he was knighted by the king, and reported that the land appeared rocky and barren, but that the sea abounded with fish of various kinds. king henry was no sooner made acquainted with the success of john cabot, than he gave an invitation to mariners of character and ability to enter his service, for the purpose of attempting further discoveries. cabot declared, he doubted not to make discoveries for him equally honourable and advantageous as those columbus had made for ferdinand and isabella. accordingly, terms were proposed and agreed on between them. "henry, in the eleventh year of his reign, gave a commission to john cabot and his three sons, sebastian, lewis, and sancius, and their heirs, allowing them full power to sail to all countries and seas of the east, west, and north, under english colours, with five ships of such burden and force as they should think proper, and with as many mariners as they should chuse to take on their own cost and charges, to seek out and discover all the isles, countries, regions and provinces of heathens and infidels they could find, which to all christians before that time had remained unknown." in these letters-patent though it appears that henry granted them a right to occupy and possess such lands and countries as they should find and conquer, yet he laid them under an obligation to erect the english standard in every place, and reserved to himself and his heirs the dominion, title and jurisdiction of all the towns, castles, isles and lands they should discover; so that whatever acquisitions they should make, they would only occupy them as vassals of the crown of england. and lest they should be inclined to go to some foreign port, he expressly bound them to return to bristol, and to pay him and his heirs one fifth part of all the capital gains, after the expences of the voyage were deducted: and, for their encouragement, he invested them with full powers to exclude all english subjects, without their particular licence, from visiting and frequenting the places they should discover. [sidenote] a. d. . [sidenote] the discovery of sebastian cabot. soon after receiving this commission from the king, john cabot died; and his son sebastian, who was also a skilful navigator, set sail in , with the express view of discovering a north-west passage to the eastern spice islands. directing his course by his father's journals to the same point, he proceeded beyond the th degree of north latitude; and it is affirmed, that he would have advanced farther, had not his crew turned mutinous and ungovernable, and obliged him to return to the degree of latitude . from thence, in a south-west course, he sailed along the coast of the continent, as far as that part which was afterwards called florida, where he took his departure, and returned to england. thus england claims the honour of discovering the continent of north america, and by those voyages of john and sebastian cabot, all that right and title to this extensive region, founded on prior discovery, must be vested in the crown of england. [sidenote] . the discovery of americus vespuccius. in the year following, americus vespuccius, a native of florence, having procured a commission, together with the charts of the celebrated columbus, sailed to the southern division of the western continent. in this voyage he discovered a large country, and drew a kind of map of those parts of it he visited. he also kept a journal, making several useful remarks on the coast and inhabitants; which, on his return to europe, were published for general instruction. by this means he had the good fortune to perpetuate his name, by giving it to the whole western world. posterior writers naturally following the same tract, and using the same names found in the first performance, america by accident became the denomination by which the western continent was distinguished, and probably will be so through all succeeding ages. [sidenote] a.d. . the discovery of cabral. not long after this, don pedro alvarez cabral, admiral of the portuguese fleet, bound for the east indies, was driven by a storm on the coast of that country now called brazil. there he found fine land, inhabited by savages, of which he took possession in name of his king. this discovery he deemed of great consequence, and therefore having put a native or two of the new-found land on board, he sent gasper lamidas back to portugal with the news. he reported, at the same time, the gentle treatment he received from the natives of the country, the excellent soil and beautiful prospects it exhibited; and, upon his report, a settlement was soon after made, which advanced by rapid degrees in riches and population, and soon became the most valuable of the portuguese possessions. [sidenote] america inhabited. this vast territory of america being now discovered by different nations, in every place they found it inhabited by human creatures; but from what country they derived their origin, or by what means they were conveyed to this distant region, has been the subject of much speculation and inquiry, not only in that, but also in every future period. history claims not the province of peremptorily determining inquires, which can have no better foundation than the probable opinions and uncertain conjectures of ingenious men, and therefore must leave every man to adopt such accounts as appear to him least absurd or liable to exception. yet, as the subject is curious, it may be amusing to some readers to present them with the different conjectures respecting it, especially such as are supported by late observations and discoveries. [sidenote] various conjectures about the first population of america. one person fancies that this country was peopled from britain, and has recourse to a romantic story of a welsh historian in support of his wild conjecture. this author gives an account of a discovery made in the year , by maddock, a younger son of owen guineth, prince of wales. that prince, observing his brethren engaged in civil war about the succession to his father's throne, formed a resolution to abandon his country. having procured a ship, with plenty of necessaries for a long voyage, he embarked, and sailed far to the westward of ireland, where he discovered a rich and fertile country, in which he resolved to establish a settlement. with this view he returned to wales, prepared ten sail of ships, and transported a number of both sexes to this western territory. some men, who have been rather too zealous for proofs in confirmation of this conjecture, have industriously traced, and flattered themselves with having found a striking resemblance between several words in the native language of some indian nations and the old welsh tongue. other authors are of opinion, that the american tribes are the descendants of the ancient phenicians and carthaginians, who early formed settlements on the coast of barbary and the canary islands. the tyrians and carthaginians, beyond doubt, were a commercial people, and the first who distinguished themselves by their knowledge in navigation. they built ships which carried vast numbers of people. to plant a colony on the west of africa, hanno, a carthaginian captain, embarked in a fleet of sixty ships, containing no fewer than thirty thousand persons, with implements necessary for building and cultivation. while he sailed along the stormy coast of africa, it is not improbable that some of his ships might be driven out of sight of the land. in this case, the mariners finding the trade winds blowing constantly against them, might necessarily be obliged to bear away before them, and so be wafted over to america. the complexion of the inhabitants of the african islands resembled those columbus found in the west indies: the bows, arrows, spears, and lances of both were also nearly similar, only those of the latter were pointed with flints and the bones of fishes: there were also some resemblance in their religious rites and superstitions to those of the ancient carthaginians, which afford some presumptive evidences that they might have derived their origin from nations where such arms were used, and such superstition prevailed. that america might receive some of its first inhabitants from the best and boldest navigators of the east, is a thing neither impossible nor incredible; and, if this be acknowledged, they had many hundred years to multiply and increase, before the period in which columbus visited them. other authors of considerable merit and ingenuity have contended, that america was first peopled by norwegians, and the northern countries of europe, formerly so populous and enterprising. they considered the route by iceland and greenland, where the sea is covered with ice and snow, as the most easy and practicable. they affirm, that colonies were planted in greenland, by adventurers from the north of europe; that the north-west coast of greenland is removed at no great distance from america, and that it is not improbable these two territories may, in places yet undiscovered, be contiguous. in support of which conjecture, an affinity between the language of the esquimaux indians and that of the greenlanders has been discovered by modern danish travellers. it is asserted, that they understand each other in their commercial intercourses. besides, so great is their likeness in features and manners, in their boats and darts, that late geographers have not scrupled to believe that the lands are united, as the inhabitants of both sides so manifestly appear to be descended from the same nation. other writers, with greater probability and reason, suppose, that the western continent must have received its first inhabitants from the north-east parts of asia and europe. some ancient greek historians say, that the scythians, from whom the tartars derived their origin, were all painted from their infancy, and that they flayed the heads of their enemies, and wore their scalps, by way of triumph, at the bridles of their horses. sophocles speaks of having the head shorn, and of wearing a skull-cap, like the scythians. these indeed bear a faint resemblance to some customs of the indian tribes in america; but late discoveries furnish us with the best proofs in favour of this conjecture. some russian adventurers, on the sea of kamschatka, have discovered the coast of america, and reported, that the distance between the two continents is so small and inconsiderable, that a passage between them, at certain seasons, is easy and practicable, and that, though it be yet uncertain, it is by no means improbable that these two great territories are united. it is remarkable, that the aspect, language, and manners of the people, on each side of the narrow channel, are nearly similar; that the arms they use for procuring subsistence are the same; that their boats and method of fishing are exactly alike; that both make use of a wooden instrument for procuring fire by friction; that neither attack their enemies in the open field, but take all advantages of ensnaring them by wiles and stratagem; and that the vanquished, when taken prisoners, are tortured without mercy. these observations indicate a striking resemblance between the tartars and the savages of america. one thing is certain, that emigrations to the western world by this narrow channel are easier accounted for than by any other route, and it is to be hoped a few years more will remove every difficulty attending this curious and important inquiry. notwithstanding all these conjectures, various may have been the ways and means of peopling this large continent. it is not improbable that several nations may have contributed towards supplying it at different times with inhabitants. the scripture affirms, that all mankind originally sprung from the same root, however now diversified in characters and complexions. in the early ages of the world, as mankind multiplied they dispersed, and occupied a greater extent of country. when thus divided, for the sake of self-preservation and mutual defence, they would naturally unite and form separate states. the eager desire of power and dominion would prove the occasion of differences and quarrels, and the weaker party or state would always be obliged to flee before the stronger. such differences would necessarily promote distant settlements, and when navigation was introduced and improved, unforeseen accidents, sea-storms, and unfortunate shipwrecks, would contribute to the general dispersion. these, we may naturally suppose, would be the effects of division and war in the earlier ages. nor would time and higher degrees of civilization prevent such consequences, or prove a sufficient remedy against domestic discord and trouble. ambition, tyranny, factions and commotions of various kinds, in larger societies, would occasion emigrations, and all the arts of navigation would be employed for the relief and assistance of the distressed. so that if america was found peopled in some measure nigh , years after the creation, it cannot be deemed a thing more wonderful and unaccountable, than the population of many eastern islands, especially those lying at a considerable distance from the continents. the great author of nature, who first framed the world, still superintends and governs it; and as all things visible and invisible are instruments in his hand, he can make them all conspire towards promoting the designs of his providence, and has innumerable methods, incomprehensible by us, of diffusing the knowledge of his name, and the glory of his kingdom, throughout the spacious universe. [sidenote] the natural proprietors of the country. those scattered tribes of savages dispersed by providence through the american continent, occupied its extensive forests; and it must be confessed, that no inhabitants of europe, africa or asia could produce a better title to their possessions. their right was founded in nature and providence: it was the free and liberal gift of heaven to them, which no foreigner could claim any pretension to invade. their lands they held by the first of all tenures, that of defending them with their lives. however, charters were granted to european intruders, from kings who claimed them on the foot of prior discovery; but neither the sovereigns who granted away those lands, nor the patentees who accepted their grants, and by fraud or force acquired possession, could plead any title to them founded on natural right. prior discovery might give foreigners a kind of right to lands unoccupied, or possessions relinquished, but neither of these was the case of the american territories. nations who lived by hunting like the savages in america, required a large extent of territory; and though some had more, others less extensive districts to which they laid claim, yet each tribe knew its particular division, and the whole coast was occupied by them. indeed, in a general view, the whole earth may be called an inheritance common to mankind; but, according to the laws and customs of particular nations, strangers who encroach on their neighbours property, or attempt to take forcible possession, have no reason to wonder if they obtain such property at the risque of life. in justice and equity, indian titles were the best ones; and such european emigrants as obtained lands by the permission and consent of the natives, or by fair and honourable purchase, could only be said to have a just right to them. in the centre of the continent the people, comparatively speaking, were numerous and civilized; the tribes farther removed from it on each side lived more dispersed, and consequently were more rude. some historians have represented them as naturally ferocious, cruel, treacherous and revengeful; but no man ought to draw conclusions, with respect to their original characters, from their conduct in later times, especially after they have been hostilely invaded, injuriously driven from their natural possessions, cruelly treated, and barbarously butchered by european aggressors, who had no other method of colouring and vindicating their own conduct, but that of blackening the characters of those poor natives. to friends they are benevolent, peaceable, generous and hospitable: to enemies they are the reverse. but we forbear entering minutely into this subject at present, as we shall have occasion afterwards to make several remarks on the character, manners and customs of these tribes. just views of them may indeed excite compassion; yet, for our instruction, they will exhibit to us a genuine picture of human nature in its rudest and most uncultivated state. [sidenote] religious divisions the primary cause of emigrations to the west. with the revival of learning in europe, towards the close of the fifteenth century, a more free and liberal way of thinking, with respect to religion, was introduced and encouraged, than had taken place during many preceding ages. at this period several men of genius and courage appeared, who discovered to the world the gross absurdity of many of the tenets and practices of the romish church; but were unwilling totally to overturn her established jurisdiction and authority. at length luther boldly exposed her errors to public view, and the spirit of the age, groaning under the papal yoke, applauded the undertaking. multitudes, who had long been oppressed, were ripe for a change, and well disposed for favouring the progress of that reformation which he attempted and introduced. by this means great commotions were excited throughout christendom, and thousands united and entered warmly into designs of asserting their religious liberty. hence a spirit of emigration arose and men seemed bent on visiting the remotest regions of the earth, rather than submit to spiritual oppression at home. instead of improving the discoveries made in america during the reign of his father, henry the eighth was busily engaged in gratifying the cravings of licentious appetites, or in opposing by writings the progress of the reformation. in his reign sebastian cabot, that eminent mariner, finding himself shamefully neglected by the capricious and voluptuous monarch, went over to spain. there he got employment for several years, and made some new and useful discoveries in america for the spanish nation. after the young prince edward ascended the english throne, the enterprising merchants of bristol invited cabot to return to britain; and he, having a natural fondness for that city in which he was born, the more readily accepted their invitation. king edward, having heard of the fame of this bold navigator, expressed a desire of seeing him; and accordingly cabot was sent for and introduced to the king by the duke of somerset, at that time lord protector of england. the king being highly pleased with his conversation, kept him about court, and from him received much instruction, both with respect to foreign parts, and the ports and havens within his own dominions. in all affairs relating to trade and navigation cabot was consulted, and his judgment and skill procured him general respect. a trade with russia was projected, and a company of merchants being incorporated for carrying it on, sebastian cabot was made the first governor of the company. in , being advanced in years, the king, as a reward for his services, made him grand pilot of england, to which office he annexed a pension of _l_. : : _per annum_, which cabot held during his life, together with the favour of his prince, and the friendship of the trading part of the nation. when mary, that cruel and inflexible bigot, succeeded to the throne, domestic troubles and ecclesiastical persecution were so prevalent in england, that commerce sunk into decay, and navigation was despised and neglected. the spirit of murmur and discontent pervaded the country, and multitudes wished for some foreign settlement, as an asylum against domestic trouble and persecution; and, had they been sufficiently acquainted with the western territories, would certainly have emigrated to that quarter. after elizabeth ascended the throne, the bloody scene of violence closed, and national affairs took a more successful turn. during her reign the reformation advanced to a peaceable establishment in england, and commerce was encouraged and protected. [sidenote] coligni's settlement in florida. in france the reformation met with greater obstacles, and was productive of more serious and fatal consequences. it occasioned a civil war between the protestant and catholic parties of that kingdom, which raged for several years with great violence. during these domestic troubles, jasper de coligni, one of the chief leaders of the protestant army, formed a project for carrying a colony to america. forseeing the dangers to which he and his followers would be exposed, should the cause in which they were engaged prove unsuccessful, it is probable he intended this foreign settlement as a retreat. accordingly, having fitted out two ships, he gave the command of them to jean ribaud, and sent him with a colony of protestants to america. ribaud landed at the mouth of the river now called albemarle, which was then considered as part of florida, where he built a fort, for the security of himself and followers, and called the country carolina. by this time the spaniards had incurred the irreconcilable hatred and resentment of the indian nations by their cruelty and treachery in the heart of the continent. ribaud found means of acquainting the indians that he was an enemy to the spaniards, and of consequence he was the more kindly received by them. he had the address to engage their affections, insomuch that in a little time they became fond of his alliance. but while the flames of war continued in france, coligni could find no leisure to send supplies to his infant colony, and ribaud was obliged to abandon the settlement. great were the extremities to which he was reduced in returning to europe: one of his crew was killed for subsistence to the rest, who had scarcely done eating him, when an english vessel providentially appeared, took the emaciated crew on board, and carried them to england. [sidenote] extirpated by spaniard. mean while, a peace being patched up between the papists and protestants in france, admiral coligni, who was seemingly received into favour by that political court, fitted out three ships, loaded them with provisions and arms, and sent them to carolina. rene laudoner to whom he had given the command, embarked with a number of adventurers. on his arrival he found the spot ribaud had relinquished; but despaired of being able to keep possession of it without regular supplies. when he found his provisions beginning to fail, he had formed resolutions of returning to europe. while he was making preparations to embark, ribaud fortunately arrived with seven ships, a large supply of necessaries, and a considerable body of settlers. this animated them to enter with greater vigour on clearing and cultivating lands, and making provision for their future subsistence. the indians rejoiced at ribaud's return, and waited on him with their assurances of friendship. but while this french colony were beginning to flatter themselves with some faint hopes of success, peter melandez, who pretended a right to the whole territory, came against them with an armed force, killed ribaud and seven hundred of his men, and compelled the remainder to return to france. m. de gorgues, a gascoon, afterwards, to avenge the disaster of his countrymen, dislodged melandez, but made no attempt toward planting a colony in that quarter. this extensive country remained a wilderness until the reign of charles the second of england. to keep possession, the spaniards supported a small garrison at augustine, on the most barren spot of the whole territory, upon which, together with the discovery of ponce de leon, they ever after founded their claim to all the southern parts of north america. [sidenote] a traffic in negroes. about the same time a traffic in the human species, called negroes, was introduced into england; which is one of the most odious and unnatural branches of trade the sordid and avaricious mind of mortals ever invented. it had indeed been carried on before this period by genoese traders, who bought a patent from charles the fifth, containing an exclusive right of carrying negroes from the portuguese settlements in africa, to america and the west indies; but the english nation had not yet engaged in the iniquitous traffic. as it has since been deeply concerned in it, and as the province, the transactions of which i narrate, owes its improvements almost entirely to this hardy race of labourers, it may not be improper here to give some account of the origin and first inventor of this trade. william hawkins, an expert english seaman, having made several voyages to the coast of guinea, and from thence to brazil and the west indies, had acquired considerable knowledge of the countries. at his death he left his journals with his son john hawkins, in which he described the lands of america and the west indies to be exceedingly rich and fertile, but utterly neglected for want of hands to improve them. he represented the natives of europe as unequal to the task in such a scorching climate; but those of africa as well adapted to undergo the labours requisite. upon which john hawkins immediately formed a design of transporting africans into the western world; and having drawn a plan for the execution of it, he laid it before some of his opulent neighbours for encouragement and approbation. to them it appeared promising and advantageous. a subscription was opened, and speedily filled up, by sir lionel ducket, sir thomas lodge, sir william winter and others, who plainly perceived the vast profits that would result from such a trade. accordingly three ships were fitted out, and manned by an hundred select sailors, whom hawkins encouraged to go with him by promises of good treatment and great pay. in the year he set sail for africa, and in a few weeks arrived at the country now called sierra leona, where be began his commerce with the negroes. while he trafficked with them, he found some means of giving them a charming description of the country to which he was bound; the unsuspicious africans listened to him with apparent joy and satisfaction, and seemed remarkably fond of his european trinkets, food and clothes. he pointed out to them the barrenness of the country, and their naked and wretched condition, and promised, if any of them were weary of their miserable circumstances, and would go along with him, he would carry them to a plentiful land, where they should live happy, and receive an abundant recompense for their labours. he told them, that the country was inhabited by such men as himself and his jovial companions, and assured them of kind usage and great friendship. in short, the negroes were overcome by his flattering promises, and three hundred stout fellows accepted his offer, and consented to embark along with him. every thing being settled on the most amicable terms between them, hawkins made preparations for his voyage. but in the night before his departure, his negroes were attacked by a large body from a different quarter; hawkins, being alarmed with the shrieks and cries of dying persons, ordered his men to the assistance of his slaves, and having surrounded the assailants, carried a number of them on board as prisoners of war. the next day he set sail for hispaniola with his cargo of human creatures; but, during the passage, treated the prisoners of war in a different manner from his volunteers. upon his arrival he disposed of his cargo to great advantage; and endeavoured to inculcate on the spaniards who bought the negroes the same distinction he observed: but they, having purchased all at the same rate, considered them as slaves of the same condition, and consequently treated all alike. when hawkins returned to england with pearls, hides, sugar and ginger, which he had received in exchange for his slaves, multitudes flocked after him, to inquire into the nature, and learn the success of the new and extraordinary branch of trade. at first the nation was shocked at the unnatural trade of dealing in human flesh, and bartering the commodities and trinkets of europe for the rational race of africa. the queen, though a patroness of commerce, was doubtful of the justice and humanity of this new branch, it appearing to her equally barbarous as uncommon, and therefore sent for hawkins to inquire into his method of conducting it. hawkins told her, that he considered it as an act of humanity to carry men from a worse condition to a better, from a state of wild barbarism to another where they might share the blessings of civil society and christianity; from poverty, nakedness and want to plenty and felicity. he assured her, that in no expedition where he had the command should any africans be carried away without their own free will and consent except such captives as were taken in war and doomed to death; that he had no scruple about the justice of bringing human creatures from that barren wilderness, to a condition where they might be both happy themselves and beneficial to the world. indeed it would appear that hawkins had no idea of perpetual slavery, but expected they would be treated as free servants, after they had by their labours brought their masters an equivalent for the expence of their purchase. queen elizabeth seemed satisfied with his account, and dismissed him, by declaring, that while he and his owners acted with humanity and justice, they should have her countenance and protection. soon after hawkins made preparations for a second voyage, in which the queen offered him a ship of war for his assistance and protection. but he declined accepting her offer, by telling her majesty, that the profits of the trade would answer for all the risque and expences attending it. in his passage, however, he fell in with the minion man of war, which accompanied him to the coast of africa. after his arrival he began as formerly to traffic with the negroes, endeavouring by persuasion and the prospects of reward to induce them to go along with him. but now they were more reserved and jealous of his designs, and as none of their neighbours had returned, they were apprehensive he had killed and eat them. the crew of the man of war observing the africans backward and suspicious, began to laugh at his gentle and dilatory methods of proceeding, and proposed having immediate recourse to force and compulsion. the sailors belonging to his own fleet joined those of the man of war, and applauded the proposal. but hawkins considered it as cruel and unjust, and tried by persuasion, promises and threats to prevail on them to desist from a purpose so unwarrantable and barbarous. in vain did he urge his authority and instructions from the queen: the bold and headstrong sailors would hear of no restraints. drunkenness and avarice are deaf to the voice of humanity. they pursue their violent design, and, after several unsuccessful attacks, in which many of them lost their lives, the cargo was at length compleated by barbarity and force. [sidenote] reflections on it. hence arose that horrid and inhuman practice of dragging africans into slavery; which has since been so pursued, in defiance of every principle of justice and religion: though hawkins was the first englishman who engaged in this traffic, so repugnant to the spirit of the english constitution; though he made use of such fraudulent arts even in his first method of conducting it, as few men can have the assurance to vindicate; yet, as he was a man of prudence and humanity, he is no ways chargeable with those diabolical abuses which have since crept into this trade. had men continued to conduct it according to his plan and proposal, and hands been transported by their voluntary consent to labour in burning climates, where europeans are disqualified by nature for the task; had the spaniards allowed them the common privileges of servants, after they had cleared the charges they cost them; had negroes been bought from the flames, to which in some countries they were devoted on their falling prisoners of war, and in others sacrificed at the funeral obsequies of the great and powerful among themselves; in short, had they been by this traffic delivered from torture or death, european merchants might have some excuse to plead in its vindication. but, according to the common mode in which it has been conducted, we must confess it a difficult matter to conceive a single argument in its defence. it is contrary to all laws of nature and nations to entice, inveigle and compel such multitudes of human creatures, who never injured us, from their native land, and dispose of them like flocks of sheep and cattle to the highest bidder; and, what compleats the cruelty and injustice of the traffic, to consign them over to ignorance, barbarism, and perpetual slavery. after this, where will insatiable avarice stop? as a free and independent people, they had unquestionably an equal right to make slaves of the inhabitants of europe. nature has given the people of the one continent no superiority over those of the other; the advantages of europeans were the effects only of art and improvement. and though policy has given countenance and sanction to the trade, yet every candid and impartial man must confess, that it is atrocious and unjustifiable in every light in which it can be viewed, and turns merchants into a band of robbers, and trade into atrocious acts of fraud and violence. [sidenote] a.d. . virginia settled. we shall now return to those naval adventurers, whose object was the establishment of colonies in america. about the year , sir walter raleigh, an able statesman and gallant officer, formed a project for planting an english colony in america. his penetrating genius easily discerned the great advantages which would accrue from a successful foreign settlement. he applied to the queen, and having obtained from her letters-patent, immediately began to carry into execution what his ingenuity had projected. he fitted out two vessels, and gave the command of them to philip amidas and arthur barlow, and sent them to america. they landed at the island roanock, and took possession of the country in the name of the queen of england, and sir walter called it virginia, in honour of his virgin queen. the favourable report made by these two mariners, encouraged sir walter to pursue his design with resolution. great minds are fond of new schemes and grand enterprizes, but it commonly falls to posterity to reap the advantages resulting from them. sir richard grenville, one of sir walter's intimate companions, afterwards visited this country, and left one hundred and eight men in it to keep possession of the territory. but they running short of provisions, and having no source of supply, were reduced to great straits. happily for them, admiral drake, who had been sent with a fleet to spanish america in search of treasure, had instructions to touch at virginia in his return to england. on his arrival he found the infant colony in great distress, and at their request carried them back to england. some years afterwards another attempt was made, and fifty men were left to begin a settlement. whether these suffered death by hunger, or the hands of savages, is uncertain; but, on the arrival of another embarkation, none of the fifty could be found. they observed the word croatan marked on some trees, from which the conjectured that the colony had moved to a place called by that name, and left this as a mark to conduct their friends to it. but a storm afterwords arising, these adventurers were driven out to sea, and, without finding their unfortunate countrymen, returned to england. from this period till the year virginia was left without an inhabitant, except its original savages. in the mean time, sir walter raleigh, having incurred the displeasure of the king and the jealousy of the court, fell a sacrifice to the malice and power of his enemies. however, some merchants of london and bristol kept trading to the western world, and bartered beads, knives, hatchets and coarse cloths for the skins and furs which the indians brought them. the immense profits arising from this commerce encouraged them to enlarge it. for this purpose two companies were incorporated for trading to america and establishing settlements in it, the one was called the virginia company, the other the plymouth adventurers. king james granted them all the territory which lies between the th and th degrees of north latitude. the former of these corporations laid the foundation of james-town in virginia, which was the first british settlement in america which proved permanent and successful. so after sir walter raleigh had projected and spent forty thousand pounds, in vain attempts to establish a colony in this quarter, this company reaped the first advantages of his enterprising spirit and great design. [sidenote] its progress. however, for many years, finall and inconsiderable was the progress of this distant settlement. their object was rather indian trade than cultivation, till lord delawar was appointed governor of the colony. after his arrival in virginia, he turned the attention of the settlers to industry and application. from the rivers which abounded with fish, and the woods with game, he taught them the arts of procuring a plentiful supply of provision. he showed them the profitability of chastising those indian tribes who presumed to harass the colony, pointed out the methods of defence in the woods, and by his example inspired them with revolution and perseverance. at length, having by his zeal and indefatigable labours brought the colony to a growing and hopeful condition, at the risque of his own health, he appointed his son deputy-governor, and returned to england. by this time several men of opulence and distinction in england had begun to form the most sanguine hopes with respect to this settlement, and united in a plan for carrying inhabitants to it. sir thomas yates and sir george somers embarked with men for virginia: the latter being driven by a storm within sight of the island called bermuda, formed a design of settling it. this embarkation proved a great acquisition to the colony in virginia. on their arrival the colonists began to think themselves strong, and therefore, not content with the lands about james-town, they forced their way up the large rivers, and made bold excursions into the country, in search of the most convenient and fertile spots of ground. the wisdom of their governor was no less conspicuous in the division of property, than in the distribution of justice. his tenderness and indulgences set the springs of industry in motion, which spread through the settlement, and excited a spirit of emulation with respect to the culture of lands. by degrees little spots were cleared and planted, which rewarded the diligent, and the country began to make some feeble advances towards improvement. in proportion as the colony multiplied, the inhabitants spread themselves through the country, yet abundance of land still remained for additional numbers, with which it might in time be augmented. [sidenote] disturbances in england promote foreign settlements. during the reign of the family of stuart, a series of weak and oppressive measures, pursued in england, occasioned domestic troubles and discontent to the nation, and contributed greatly to promote american settlements. james the first, surrounded by a crowd of flatterers, began to entertain high ideas of his power and prerogative, to inculcate the extravagant doctrines of divine indefeasible right, passive obedience, and non-resistance, on a people whom he was ill qualified to govern, and who had conceived an irreconcilable aversion from such political principles. the consequence was, he lost by his weakness and pedantry the affections of the nation, yet his reign is memorable for giving rise to many foreign settlements. from him the east-india company received a new patent, which encouraged the corporation to enlarge their stock, and to fit out a greater number of ships for that trade. in his reign barbadoes was settled by an association of noblemen, of whom the earl of pembroke was the chief. and though it afterwards changed its master, and fell into the hands of the earl of carlisle, yet it prospered from its first population, and soon became a rich and flourishing island. st. christophers may also date its origin from the close of this king's reign. the plymouth adventurers, who had carried a colony to new-england, at different times added numbers to it, and, notwithstanding every difficulty, it grew and prospered. sir william alexander received a grant of that territory now called nova scotia from the same king, but never made and serious attempts towards settling it. during the succeeding reign several thousands emigrated to the western continent. both the king and queen were attached to the popish religion, which vast multitudes of the nation abhorred. this served to alienate the people's affections not a little from the royal family; but the tyrannical and oppressive regulations established by the rulers of the church, doubled the distress of the people, and served to complete their disaffection to their native country. the puritans, so called for their taking, or affecting to take, the pure and simple word of god for the rule of their faith and practice, regardless of ecclesiastical authority and institutions, were a numerous party in the nation. these people had begun their struggles for religious liberty, and as they afterwords occasioned such commotions in england, a general sketch of their character, and the rise and progress of their party, may not perhaps be unacceptable. [sidenote] new england peopled by puritans. from the great aera of the reformation the english nation had been distracted with religious disputes, and divided into contending parties. one part of the people adhered to the old superstitious system of the romish church, and strictly observed all the absurd tenets and practices of that establishment. another party, of which the church of england was composed, seceded several steps from popery, but maintained the hierarchy in its full power and authority. the third sect were puritans, who had imbibed such high notions of civil and religious liberty, as struck at the foundation of both hierarchy and monarchy. on all occasions they discovered a strong tendency towards a republican form of government and an irreconcileable aversion towards the whole fabric of the episcopalian church. this party, during the two preceding reigns being chiefly composed of the dregs of the people, were regarded as of little consequence, and treated with supercilious contempt by the administration. but in the reign of king charles the first they had amazingly increased, and many men of opulence and distinction had joined them, from motives of discontent or ambition, or from a passion for singularity and popular applause. when the religious disputes became warm in the nation, the zeal of this party broke out, and burned with such amazing ardour that it levelled all distinctions. to increase the confusion, archbishop laud insisted on conformity, and persecuted all who refused obedience to his mandates with the utmost rigour. but persecution, for the most part, proves destructive to the cause it is intended to promote. the miseries the puritans endured, and their firmness and perseverance in the midst of sufferings, contributed to give them that merit and importance in the eyes of the nation, which otherwise perhaps they had never attained. their sober and rigid manner of life, the plainness of dress which they affected, and the strong tendency they shewed towards religion in all their words and actions, had great weight with the vulgar and credulous part, and induced them to entertain high notions of their sanctity, and to venerate them as the peculiar people of god. their number increased and became formidable. many men of rank, disgusted at the measures of court, and apprehensive that the liberties of the nation were in danger, turned zealous republicans, and seemed to aim at a total subversion of the constitution, both in church and state. the king, though a well-wisher to religion, hated the principles of the puritans, and considered them as dangerous and deceitful. those enthusiasts, on the other hand, were determined to endure the severest persecutions, rather than admit the common prayer, organs, and surplices into their worship, and conform to the popish ceremony of kneeling at the sacrament. in short, the dispute about trifling ceremonies became serious on both sides, and augured no good to the nation. dr. laud, observing not only the laity but the clergy also infected with puritanical principles, deprived many of their livings, merely for not conforming to all the ceremonies of the church. during these troubles many fled to new england; and others caused houses to be built and lands cleared for them, with a view of retiring there, should their contention for religious freedom in england prove unsuccessful. in vain did dr. laud obtain an order of court to put a stop to emigration. there was not a corner of the globe to which these people would not flee, rather than conform to ceremonies which they thought savoured of popery and idolatry, and endangered their salvation. to these disturbances new-england owed its population. enthusiasm has often stimulated men to bold and arduous undertakings, and animated them to perseverance amidst great difficulties. of this truth the first emigrants to new-england afford us a striking example. they seemed to bid defiance to the hardships to which they were exposed, having what they valued most of any thing in the world, i mean, liberty of conscience. amidst cold, hunger, toil, disease, and distress of every kind, they comforted themselves with the thoughts of being removed far out of the reach of tyrants, and triumphed in their deliverance from an idolatrous and wicked nation. neither the hideous gloom of the thick forest, nor the ravages and depredations of savage neighbours, appeared to them so grievous and intolerable as conformity to the that of england, and an implicit obedience to civil authority. [sidenote] who turn persecutors. it might reasonably have been expected, that those emigrants who made new-england their asylum from what they deemed civil tyranny and ecclesiastical persecution, would have guarded against every degree of oppression and persecution in that form of government they were about to establish among themselves. this, however, was far from being the case. some of their first laws favour of a degree of persecution and intolerance unknown in the most despotic governments of europe; and those who fled from persecution became the most bitter persecutors. those who were found dancing or drunk were ordered to be publicly whipped, in order to deter others from such practices. the custom of wearing long hair was deemed immodest, impious and abominable. all who were guilty of swearing rashly, might purchase an exemption from punishment for a schilling; but those who should transgress the fourth commandment were to be condemned to banishment, and such as should worship images, to death. children were to be punished with death, for cursing or striking their father or mother. marriages were to be solemnized by magistrates; and all who denied the coercive authority of the magistrate in religious matters, or the validity of infant baptism, were to be banished. blasphemy, perjury, adultery, and witchcraft, were all made capital offences. in short, we may challenge the annals of any nation to produce a code of laws more intolerant than that of the first settlers in new-england. unlimited obedience was enjoined to the authority of the magistrate, by the same men who had refused such submission in england, and fled from their native country because it was demanded. thus, however incredible it may appear, blind fanatics became public legislators, and those who were unable to endure tyranny in england, became the most insupportable tyrants in america. this oppressive rigour of their first laws was soon heavily felt by many, but especially by that peaceable society of people called quakers. some of this sect, who had been banished on account of their religion, out of mere zeal for making proselytes, returned to the country. they were instantly seized by those oppressors, condemned and hanged, to prevent the clandestine incursions of others. those who had the misfortune to be taken with convulsions, or any disorder to which vulgar ignorance was a stranger, were accused of witchcraft, and condemned to death. no age nor sex were secure from such suspicions, when ignorance, malice and phrenzy joined in framing accusations, and selecting victims at pleasure. dreams, apparitions and tortures were all employed as evidences against persons accused, and served to increase the number of horrid executions. the clergy were often accused, and sometimes the judges themselves. the jails were filled with infants, old men and women, the people were distracted with gloomy apprehensions, and the country was stained with innocent blood. at last the popular phrenzy began to subside, and gave way to painful remorse. the eyes of the blinded fanatics were opened, so as to discern their guilt; and a general fast was appointed to implore the pardon and mercy of god for their enormous crimes and horrible delusions. [sidenote] divide into different governments. this colony, which was planted by oppression, in process of time owed its extension to the same cause, dissenters, who all claim an equal right to liberty in religion, with respect to private judgment and opinion, were not likely to remain long in harmony and peace among themselves. though they reprobated the doctrine of uniformity in england, yet they became the most bigoted sticklers for it in their new settlement. the tenets of others, who differed from their mode of worship, were condemned without scruple or hesitation, insomuch that the oppression from which they fled in britain was like gentle toleration, when compared with that to which they subjected their fellow-refugees. hence various sectaries arose in their settlement, who claimed the same right to dissent from them, which they formerly did from the church of england. but their claim was rejected, and of consequence a persecution for conscience sake commenced among that people, who had become separatists in defence of universal toleration. however, these sprigs, torn by violence from the old root, had the same resource left; they separated, and planted themselves in a new soil, and spread their branches over the country. hence different governments took their origin, and different colonies were settled, by persons who were denied religious freedom, and the right of private judgment, in massachuset's bay. [sidenote] a colony planted in maryland. from the same source, i mean, a division in england, another colony of catholics took its rise. the king not only lost the affections of his protestant subjects, but was also obliged to give the roman catholics up to the rigour of those laws enacted against them in the preceding reigns. lord baltimore therefore resolved to leave england, and settle a colony on lands which had been granted to his father a few years before his death. this territory he called maryland, in honour of the queen, who gave him all the assistance in her power towards forwarding the settlement. [sidenote] general remarks on colonization. from the establishment and progress of these foreign settlements, and the spirit of emigration which prevailed in england, discerning men early foreboded ill consequences to the mother country. they were no strangers to the troubles which the colonies of greece and rome occasioned those ancient republics. such vast territories as america contained, opened a boundless field for the encouragement of emigration, and every addition which these colonies received from britain was prejudicial to her interest, as it served to weaken her, in proportion as it strengthened them. the riches of every country unquestionably depend on the number of its industrious inhabitants. america could furnish employment for innumerable hands, and emigrations from the mother country would in process of time dry up the sources of her wealth and power. england, though populous, could spare none, without prejudice to herself, but such as had either no employment at home, or no inclination to labour: for all industrious men serve to enrich their country, and whatever they earn by their labour, be it more or less, so much doth the nation profit by them. it is true, a number of idle and indolent people, like voracious drones in the hive, are a burden to every community. such indeed might be spared for the purpose of colonization, without any detriment to the parent state; but every diligent and honest labourer that emigrates from his native country, helps to depopulate, and of course to impoverish it. had england at that time been too populous for its extent, or incapable of employing and maintaining its inhabitants, in that case, her planting foreign colonies might have served the purpose of public utility, and given relief from domestic hardship, just as bees send off their young swarms without injuring the industrious hive. britain, no doubt, might reap some advantages from her foreign plantations, especially such of them as are situated in a different climate, and produce such commodities as luxury obliged her to purchase from strangers; and while she maintained her supreme jurisdiction over them, she could bind them by laws to continue her customers for taking off her manufactures, and so extend her commerce and navigation. by such policy she might make the wealth of her laborious colonies center in herself, and add greatly to her opulence and power. in every other case, numerous and extensive foreign settlements must prove hurtful, if not troublesome and dangerous: for while they are draining her of her useful inhabitants, they are growing on her ruins; and if they turn not headstrong and ungovernable, they will at least oblige her to keep a much larger army and fleet than otherways she would have any occasion for, and double her expence for their protection. from charles the first sir robert heath obtained a grant for an immense territory lying to the southward of virginia, which is now divided into several distinct provinces, but made no settlement on it. excepting a small garison the spaniards supported at augustine, this country remained a rude wilderness, the habitation of savages and wild beasts, till the restoration. soon after that important event several leading men of the nation, actuated by a pious and laudable zeal for the propagation of the gospel, associated, and formed a design of settling it at their own expence. to give an account of the rise and progress of this settlement, especially of that division now called south carolina, shall be our business in the following pages of this history. chap. ii. during the period of the usurpation in england, popular anarchy prevailed, and levelled all ranks and distinctions throughout the nation. the lineal heir of the crown being expelled, oliver cromwell, that ambitious and crafty leader of the people, seized the reins of government, and ruled england with a rod of iron for several years. the nobles bowed to a fanatic, and the republican part of the constitution preponderated to such a degree, that the other two became as nothing in the balance. when the restoration took place, to the great joy and happiness of the nation, the nobles and royalists again stood forth, and assumed their former dignity and weight in the government of their country. domestic peace being re-established on the solid foundation of regal and constitutional authority, england, amidst other national objects, turned her views toward the improvement of commerce, navigation, and her colonies. hitherto the extensive territory of north america had been divided into two districts, which were called south and north virginia. all lands lying towards the river st. lawrence, from the northern boundaries of the province now called virginia, belonged to the northern, and all those to the southward, as far as the gulf of florida, to the southern district. and though the first european settlement in america was attempted in florida by the french, yet they were compelled to relinquish that place; and the english, preferring what they esteemed a more favourable climate, had hitherto neglected it. [sidenote] the first proprietors and their charter. after the restoration, england began to recognize her claim to a large territory in the southern district. in the year , edward earl of clarendon, george duke of albemarle, william lord craven, john lord berkeley, antony lord ashley, sir george carteret, sir william berkeley, and sir john colleton, being apprized of the excellent soil of this country, united and formed a project for planting a colony in it. upon application to the crown for a charter, charles granted them all the lands lying between the thirty-first and thirty-sixth degrees of north latitude. two years afterwards he confirmed this grant, and by a second charter enlarged the boundaries of it, from the th degree of north latitude to degrees minutes, and from these points on the sea-coast westward in parallel lines to the pacific ocean. of this immense region the king constituted them absolute lords and proprietors, saving to himself, his heirs and successors the sovereign dominion of the country. at the same time he invested them with all the rights, jurisdiction, royalties, privileges and liberties within the bounds of their province, to hold, use and enjoy the same, in as ample a manner as the bishop of durham did in that county palatine in england. this province they were to hold and possess of the king, his heirs and successors, as of his manor of east greenwich in kent, not _in capite_, or by knight's service, but in free and common soccage. these absolute lords and proprietors were by their charter empowered to enact, and, under their seal, to publish any laws or constitutions they judged proper and necessary to the public state of the province, with the assent, advice and approbation of the freemen of the colony; to constitute counties, baronies and colonies within the province; to erect courts of judicature, and appoint civil judges, magistrates and officers; to erect forts, castles, cities and towns; to make war; to levy, muster and train men to the use of arms, and, in cases of necessity, to exercise the martial law; to confer titles of honour, only they must be different from those conferred on the people of england; to build harbours, make ports, and enjoy customs and subsidies, which they, with the consent of the freemen, should impose on goods loaded and unloaded; reserving the fourth part of the gold and silver ore found within the province to the crown. by the said charter the king granted them the patronage and avowson of all churches and chapels, to hold and exercise the same rights, powers and privileges as the bishop of durham did in england: but as it might happen that several of the inhabitants could not in their private opinions conform to the exercise of religion, according to the liturgy and ceremonies of the church of england; the proprietors had power and authority granted them, to allow the inhabitants of the province both indulgences and dispensations, as they in their discretion should think proper and reasonable; and no person, to whom such liberty should be granted, was to be molested, punished, or called in question for any differences in speculative opinions with respect to religion; so that all persons, of what denomination soever, had liberty to enjoy their own judgments and consciences in religious concerns, provided they disturbed not the civil order and peace of the province. and as the assembly of freeholders could not be immediately called, the proprietors had power granted them to make such orders and ordinances as might be necessary to the government of the people and the preservation of peace, and as were not repugnant to the laws and statutes of england. liberty was given to the king's liege subjects to transport themselves and families to settle the province, only they were to remain immediately subject to the crown of england, and to depend thereon for ever; and were not compellable to answer to any cause or suit in any other part of his majesty's dominions but in england and wales. [sidenote] of the foundamental constitutions. agreeable to the powers with which the proprietors were invested by their charter, they began to frame a system of laws for the government of their colony; in which arduous task they called in the great philosopher john locke to their assistance. a model of government, consisting of no less than one hundred and twenty different articles, was framed by this learned man, which they agreed to establish, and to the careful observance of which, to bind themselves and their heirs for ever. but there is danger of error, where speculative men of one country attempt to sketch out a plan of government for another, in a different climate and situation. this legislator must be acknowledged to have possessed great abilities and merit; yet his fine-spun system proved in effect useless and impracticable. several attempts were afterwards made to amend these fundamental constitutions, but all to little purpose; the inhabitants, sensible of their impropriety, and how little they were applicable to their circumstances, neither by themselves, nor by their representatives in assembly, ever gave their assent to them as a body of laws, and therefore they obtained not the force of fundamental and unalterable laws in the colony. what regulations the people found applicable and useful, they adopted at the request of their governors; but observed them on account of their own propriety and necessity, rather than as a system of laws imposed on them by british legislators. as the proprietors were so fond of these constitutions, and expressed so much zeal for their establishment, it may not be improper to give a short and imperfect view of them, especially such as were allowed to take place in the government of the colony. the eldest of the eight proprietors was always to be palatine, and at his decease was to be succeeded by the eldest of the seven survivors. this palatine was to sit as president of the palatine's court, of which he and three more of the proprietors made a quorum, and had the management and execution of all the powers of their charter. this palatine's court was to stand in room of the king, and give their assent or dissent to all laws made by the legislature of the colony. the palatine was to have power to nominate and appoint the governor, who, after obtaining the royal approbation, became his representative in carolina. each of the seven proprietors was to have the privilege of appointing a deputy to sit as his representative in parliament, and to act agreeable to his instructions. besides a governor, two other branches, somewhat similar to the old saxon constitution, were to be established, an upper and lower house of assembly; which three branches were to be called a parliament, and to constitute the legislature of the country. the parliament was to be chosen every two years. no act of the legislature was to have any force unless ratified in open parliament during the same session, and even then to continue no longer in force than the next biennial parliament, unless in the mean time it be ratified by the hands and seals of the palatine and three proprietors. the upper house was to consist of the seven deputies, seven of the oldest landgraves and cassiques, and seven chosen by the assembly. as in the other provinces the lower house was to be composed of the representatives from the different counties and towns. several officers were also to be appointed, such as an admiral, a secretary, a chief justice, a surveyor, a treasurer, a marshal, and register; and besides these, each county was to have a sheriff and four justices of the peace. three classes of nobility were to be established, called barons, cassiques, and landgraves; the first to possess twelve, the second twenty-four, and the third forty-eight thousand acres of land, and their possessions were to be unalienable. military officers were also to be nominated, and all inhabitants from sixteen to sixty years of age, as in the times of feudal government, when summoned by the governor and grand council, were to appear under arms, and, in time of war, to take the field. with respect to religion, three terms of communion were fixed: first, to believe that there is a god; secondly, that he is to be worshipped; and, thirdly, that it is lawful and the duty of every man when called upon by those in authority, to bear witness to the truth. without acknowledging which, no man was to be permitted to be a freeman, or to have any estate or habitation in carolina. but persecution for observing different modes and ways of worship, was expressly forbid, and every man was to be left full liberty of conscience, and might worship god in that manner which he in his private judgment thought most conformable to the divine will and revealed word. this was the opinion of mr. locke with respect to religious matters. he chose the word of god for his rule of life, and was used to say, "that, at the day of judgment, it would not be asked whether he was a follower of luther or calvin; but whether he embraced the truth in the love of it." [sidenote] william sayle visits carolina. notwithstanding these preparations, several years elapsed before the proprietors of carolina made any serious efforts towards its settlement. in , they fitted out a ship, gave the command of it to captain william sayle, and sent him out to bring them some account of the coast. in his passage captain sayle was driven by a storm among the bahama islands, which accident he improved to the purpose of acquiring some knowledge of them; particularly the island of providence, which he judged might be of service to the intended settlement of carolina; for, in case of an invasion from the spaniards, this island, fortified, might be made to serve either as a check to the progress of their arms, or a useful retreat to unfortunate colonists. leaving providence, he sailed along the coast of carolina, where he observed several large navigable rivers emptying themselves into the ocean, and a flat country covered with woods. he attempted to go ashore in his boat, but observing some savages on the banks of the rivers, he was obliged to drop his design; and, after having explored the coast and the mouth of the rivers, he took his departure and resumed to england. [sidenote] and is appointed the first governor of it. his report to his employers, as might naturally be expected, was favourable. he praised their possessions, and encouraged them to engage with vigour in the execution of their project. his observations respecting the bahama islands induced them to apply to the king for a grant of them. charles bestowed on them by patent all those islands lying between the d and th degrees of north latitude. nothing then remained but to make preparations for sending a colony to carolina. two ships were procured, on board of which a number of adventurers embarked, with provisions, arms, and utensils requisite for building and cultivation. william sayle, who had visited the country, was appointed the first governor of it, and received a commission, bearing date july , . the expences of this first embarkation amounted to twelve thousand pounds, which vigorous effort was a proof that the proprietor entertained no small hopes with respect to their palatinate. the number of men, however, must have been inconsiderable, and no ways adequate to the undertaking, especially when we consider the multitude of savages that ranged through that extensive wilderness. [sidenote] settles his colony on ashley river. in what place governor sayle first landed is uncertain; but he was dissatisfied with his first situation, and, moving to the southward, took possession of a neck of land between ashley and cooper rivers. the earliest instructions we have seen upon record were directed to the governor and council of ashley river, in which spot the first settlement was made that proved permanent and successful. this place, however, was more eligible for the convenience of navigation than for the richness of its soil. but to struggle amidst a complication of difficulties and dangers was the lot of such adventurers; to surmount which, at this early period, no small degree of fortitude, patience and perseverance must have been requisite. [sidenote] hardship of the first settlers, from the climate. new settlers in all countries and climates are subject to many hardships, especially such as are in low and indigent circumstances; but those of the first settlers of carolina must have equalled, if not surpassed, every thing of the kind to which men in any age have been exposed. to fell the trees of the thick forest, and build habitations for themselves, would probably be their first employment, before they began to clear their spots of ground for raising the necessaries of life. in such a low country, and warm climate, even this task must have been a considerable burden. but carolina, like other level countries overflowed with water, is productive of many disorders, such as putrid fevers, agues, dysenteries, and the like; and to fix habitations on such places where the exhalations from stagnated waters and marshy swamps poisoned the air, must have rendered them extremely unwholesome. during the summer months the climate is so sultry, that no european, without hazard, can endure the fatigues of labouring in the open air: for the most part, the weather during this season is very clear and serene, excepting when a thunder-storm happens, which cools the air, suddenly stops perspiration, and becomes exceedingly dangerous to labourers of little precaution. besides, the violent heat continues through the night, and denies the weary workman the natural refreshment of sleep. the autumn introduces cool evenings and mornings, while the noon-day is intolerably warm; which change, together with the thick fogs that commonly fall at this season, rendered it the most unhealthy division of the year. in winter, though the degree of cold is not so great as in the more northern climates of america, yet it is severely felt by the human body, exhausted and relaxed with the summer heat; and when the wind shifts suddenly from any quarter to the north-west or north, it blows extremely sharp and piercing, brings along with it sometimes frost and snow, and renders the warmest clothing requisite. the spring is the most temperate and delightful season of the year: it begins early, and diffuses its enlivening influence over the fields and forests. experience had not yet taught the young colonists the methods either of improving the advantages, or guarding against the disadvantages of the climate, and therefore it is no wonder that they found themselves involved at this period in a complication of hardships. [sidenote] and from the indians. to enhance their distress, they were surrounded with tribes of warlike savages, who viewed them with a jealous eye, and were by no means pleased at the encroachments made on their natural possessions. the tribes called stonoes and westoes were particularly troublesome. the colonists, indeed, were furnished with arms and ammunition from the storehouse of the proprietors, yet as they lived in the midst of perpetual alarms, their condition must have been deplorable. nor did the musket give those strangers to the woods such an advantage over the bow and arrow in the hands of the indians, as some people may be apt to imagine. the savage, quick-sighted, and accustomed to perpetual watchfulness, springs from his den behind a bush, and surprizes his enemy with the pointed arrow before he is aware of danger. he ranges through the trackless forest like the beasts of prey, and safely sleeps under the same canopy with the wolf and bear. his vengeance is concealed, and sends the tidings in the fatal blow. the first settlers were obliged to stand in a continual posture of defence; and as they could not be supposed to understand the political methods of managing their barbarous neighbors, they must have been subjected to all the hardships arising from their ignorance and dangerous condition. while one party was employed in raising their little habitations, another was always kept under arms, to watch the motions of these indians. the governor shared those hardships along with his fellow adventurers, and by his example animated and encouraged them to perseverance. the only fresh provisions they could procure were fish from the river, and what game they could kill with their gun. while the settlers were struggling under the difficulties inseparable from the first state of colonization, the ship blessing, belonging to the proprietors, commanded by captain matthias halstead, happily arrived, and brought them a seasonable supply of necessaries. at the same time deputies from the other proprietors came over, to assist the governor in the discharge of the duties of his office. they brought with them twenty-three articles of instruction, called temporary agrarian laws, intended for the equitable division of lands among the people; but whatever difficulties or inconveniencies might occur in the execution of them, the governor had directions to represent them to the proprietors, who had reserved to themselves the sole power of making alterations in them. at the same time, the governor received a plan of a magnificent town, to be laid out on the neck of land between the two rivers, to be called charlestown, in honour of the king. captain halstead was employed, during his stay, in sounding the rivers, for the benefit of navigation, which were found sufficiently deep, and excellently calculated for the purposes of trade. [sidenote] sir john yeamans arrives at carolina. about this time the duke of albemarle, who was the first palatine, died, and was succeeded by the earl of craven, as eldest proprietor. john locke, sir john yeamans, and james carteret, were created landgraves, to make part of the nobility required by the fundamental constitutions. sir john was the eldest son and heir of robert yeamans alderman of bristol, who was imprisoned and executed in , by order of nathaniel fienes, son to lord say, who had been appointed governor of bristol by the parliament. his son, sir john, was afterwards advanced to the dignity of baronet by king charles the second in , as a reward for the steady loyalty and heavy sufferings of his father. but as the violence of the preceding times, which had deprived sir john of his father, had also injured him in his private fortune, he embarked for the island of barbadoes, at that time in a flourishing condition, to hide his poverty from his acquaintance in england, and endeavour to acquire a fortune suitable to his dignity. when carolina was settled, having received a grant of a large tract of land from the proprietors, he, with several respectable followers, retired to that infant colony, to forward by his presence and example, the interest of his generous and beloved friends, from whom he had received great encouragement and assistance. [sidenote] a.d. . [sidenote] and is appointed governor. soon after his arrival in carolina, governor sayle fell a sacrifice to the hardships of the climate. upon his death the council met, and sir john claimed the office of vice-palatine in consequence of his rank, being the only landgrave resident in the colony. but the council, who were empowered to elect a governor in such a case, chose to prefer joseph west, until a special appointment arrived from england. west was a popular man, much esteemed among the colonists for his activity, courage, and prudence. however, he did not long remain in office, for the first vessel that arrived from england brought a commission to sir john yeamans, constituting him governor of the colony. [sidenote] various causes contribute to the settlement of the country. here it may be remarked, that various causes contributed towards the population of this settlement, as well as those in the more northern climates. after the restoration, a total change in the manners of the english nation took place, and many of the people from the strictest rigour and severity in point of morals, became profane, dissolute and abandoned. the cavaliers, who had suffered during the usurpation, began to retaliate on the puritans, and having obtained the ascendency over them in public affairs, on all occasions treated them with severe ridicule and supercilious contempt. on the other hand, the morose republican party, highly offended at the licentious manners and growing wickedness of the times, ardently wished for some distant retreat to shelter themselves from the storm of divine judgments which they believed hung over the corrupted and profligate nation. to prevent disturbances from these different parties, lord clarendon, and many more of the king's council, from maxims of policy, encouraged emigration, which they considered as a sovereign remedy for political disorders. a new field was opened in carolina for discontented and turbulent spirits, to whom the proprietors promised grants of land, upon condition they would transport themselves and families to that quarter. they knew that industry was a good cure for enthusiasm, and that enthusiasm was an excellent spur to new and hazardous undertakings. the privilege of liberty of conscience allowed to every one by the charter equally suited all parties, and proved a great encouragement to emigration. new-england indeed had drawn over many of the warmest and most turbulent republicans, and proved a happy shelter to some against the terrors of future reckonings. still, however, multitudes remained in the nation, who, being discontented with their present circumstances, were willing to seek for liberty of conscience in the deserts of america. accordingly, many dissenters embraced the offers of the proprietors, and the infant colony received its earliest acquisitions from this restless and troublesome party. other reasons of state contributed to render those new settlements seasonably useful and important to the king. several of his zealous friends had been ruined by their steady adherence to his family during the civil war, which had subverted the english monarchy; many brave officers and soldiers of the royal army had been reduced to indigent circumstances, for whom the king could make little provision in england; these useful subjects and faithful friends merited the compassion of their country, and being inured to face dangers, for landed estates were willing to accept of grants in the neighbourhood of indian savages. by this time several of the settlers in virginia and barbadoes had been successful, and having surmounted the difficulties attending the first state of colonization, were living in easy and plentiful circumstances. the lands of carolina were esteemed equal, if not superior in value, to those of the northern colonies. here the servants of the king could provide for his friends without any expence to the nation, and by this means not only secured their attachment, but also extended his power. grants of land were allowed them in carolina by the proprietors, where it was thought they might in time enrich themselves, and become beneficial to the commerce and navigation of the mother country. from this period every year brought new adventurers to carolina. the friends of the proprietors were invited to it, by the flattering prospects of obtaining landed estates at an easy rate. others took refuge there from the frowns of fortune and the rigour of unmerciful creditors. youth reduced to misery by giddy passion and excess embarked for the new settlement, where they found leisure to reform, and where necessity taught them the unknown virtues of prudence and temperance. restless spirits, fond of roving abroad, found also the means of gratifying their humours, and abundance of scope for enterprise and adventure. it cannot be deemed wonderful if many of them were disappointed, especially such as emigrated with sanguine expectations. the gaiety, luxury and vices of the city were bad qualifications for rural industry, and rendered some utterly unfit for the frugal simplicity and laborious task of the first state of cultivation. an hardy race, inured to labour, hunger, and fatigue, were best adapted for making impressions on the thick forest, and not such emigrants as left the city, tinctured with its vices and fond of luxury and ease. nor could the puritans, who settled before them, promise themselves much greater success than their neighbours; though more rigid and austere in their manners, and more religiously disposed, their scrupulosity about trifles and ceremonies, and their violent and litigious dispositions, created trouble to all around them, and disturbed that general harmony so necessary to the welfare and prosperity of the young settlement. from the various principles which actuated the populace of england, and the different sects who composed the first settlers of carolina, nothing less could be expected, but that the seeds of division should be imported into that country with its earliest inhabitants. we are apt to attend chiefly to the desolating wars, or the great and surprising revolutions which happen to kingdoms in their populous and advanced state, and to pass over the events of their rise and progress as trifling and inconsiderable; but as the greatest nations upon earth have gradually sprung from such beginnings, it is no less curious and instructive to view the smaller transactions of their infant state, than the grander events of their mature age. kingdoms in the political world, like plants in the vegetable, have their stages of rise, progress, perfection, and decline; and, in the fields of nature, it is equally pleasant to mark the buds of the spring, as the bloom of summer, or the decay of autumn. [sidenote] america peopled in an improved age. one advantage certainly attended the various settlements in america, of which no european state can boast. being peopled from civilized nations in an enlightened age, when records are carefully kept and faithfully preserved, the events of their rise and progress, though not so important, were equally clear as those of their more perfect state: whereas the history of the origin of eastern nations could only be transmitted to future generations by the songs of bards or oral tradition. ignorance of geography, and the art of printing not being then invented, must have rendered the transactions of rude and barbarous ages so precarious and obscure, that if the dead of past ages were to revive, they could scarcely be able to recognize the complexion of their own time. even in the ages preceding the invention of printing, and the happy reformation, many events lie buried in darkness and oblivion. the small knowledge which then existed being confined to the clergy, their accounts do not merit entire credit; for the various orders of ecclesiastics at that time were too much under the influence of monkish pride and superstition, to transmit faithful memorials to posterity. [sidenote] the first treaty with spain respecting it. before the year , there is no mention made of america in any treaty between england and spain, the latter being contented to keep up her ancient claims to that country, and the former careful to keep and improve the footing she had already gained in it. however, a few years after carolina was settled, sir william godolphin concluded a treaty with spain, in which, among other articles, it was agreed, "that the king of great-britain should always possess, in full right of sovereignty and property, all the countries, islands, and colonies, lying and situated in the west indies, or any part of america, which he and his subjects then held and possessed, insomuch that they neither can nor ought thereafter to be contested on any account whatsoever." the bucaniers, who had for many years infested spanish america, were now cut off from all future protection from the english government in their hostile invasions of these dominions, and all commissions formerly granted to such pirates, were recalled and annulled. by this treaty, the freedom of navigation in these american seas was opened to both nations; and all ships in distress, whether from storms, or the pursuit of enemies and pirates, taking refuge in places belonging either to britain or spain, were to be treated with humanity, to meet with protection and assistance, and to be permitted to depart without molestation. these things merit particular notice, as by this treaty spain evidently gave up all future pretensions to the country of carolina granted to the proprietors by the king; and this freedom of navigation, provided for in such express terms, was violated, as we shall afterwards see, by the spaniards, and proved the occasion of a bloody war between the two nations. not long after this, a treaty of neutrality between britain and france was also concluded; by which negotiations the possessions of great britain, france, and spain, in the western world, were better ascertained; and the freedom of commerce and navigation was more firmly established by those three great potentates, than had taken place in any former period. [sidenote] a council of commerce is instituted. it is not improbable that king charles the second, during his exile, had acquired in holland some knowledge in trade, and seen the vast advantage resulting from it to that republic; for after his return to his native dominions, he made the naval strength of england, and her commercial affairs, the principal objects of attention. he instituted a select council of commerce, consisting of a president, vice-president, and nine counsellors, for the encouragement of trade, navigation and the colonies. instead of the former method, of referring all commercial concerns to a fluctuating committee of the privy-council, this institution was intended to chalk out a particular line of duty, which was to engage the whole attention of that board. but the king was so immersed in private luxuries and pleasures, that it was difficult to keep him steady and firm to any laudable public regulation. the annual expence attending this excellent institution he soon found was too heavy, and therefore it was dropt, and the affairs of commerce returned to their former tedious and fluctuating channel. [sidenote] a legislature is formed in the colony. in carolina sir john yeamans had entered on the government with an uncommon zeal for the success of the settlement, and a grateful anxiety to discharge the duties of his trust with fidelity and honour. the proprietors, fond of their new form of government, had instructed him to use his endeavours to introduce it, as the most excellent of its kind, and wisely adapted to promote the prosperity and happiness of the people. accordingly, sir john summoned the people together, ordered the fundamental constitutions to be read, and representatives to be elected. the province was divided into four counties, called berkeley, colleton, craven, and carteret counties. the people, who had hitherto lived under a kind of military government, now began to form a legislature for establishing civil regulations. ten members were elected as representatives for colleton, and ten for berkeley counties. a committee, consisting of stephen bull, ralph marshal, and william owen, were nominated for framing some public regulations. three acts were proposed by them as beneficial; the first, to prevent persons leaving the colony; the second, to prohibit all men from disposing of arms and ammunition to indians; and the third, for the regular building of charlestown. [sidenote] its troubles from the spaniards. notwithstanding the public treaty already mentioned, a religious society of the spanish nation laid claim to the large territory of florida, not only on the foot of prior discovery, but also by virtue of a grant from the pope; and the garrison kept at augustine regarding the british settlement as an encroachment on their possessions, were disposed to throw every difficulty in the way of the carolineans, in order to compel them to relinquish the country. they encouraged indented servants to leave their masters, and fly to them for liberty and protection. they instilled into the savage tribes the most unfavourable notions of british heretics, and urged them on to the destruction of the colony. good policy required that the governor should keep a watchful eye on the motions of such neighbours, and guard his weak and defenceless colony against the pernicious designs of their spanish rivals. some men he discovered who were attempting to entice servants to revolt; these were ordered to receive so many stripes. others, in defiance of the feeble power of the magistrate, took to such courses as were subversive of public peace and justice. except a few negroes whom sir john yeamans and his followers brought along with them from barbadoes, there were no labourers but europeans for the purposes of culture. until the fields were cleared the brute creation could afford the planters no assistance; the weak arm of man alone had to encounter all the hardships of clearing and cultivation, and the thick forest seemed to bid defiance to his strength. hard indeed was the task of these labourers while employed in felling the large and lofty trees, and all the while exposed to the heat of an inclement sky, and the terrors of barbarous enemies; with great truth it may be said of them, that they purchased their scanty morsel with the sweat of their brows. after all, the provisions they raised were exposed to the plundering parties of savage neighbours, and one day often robbed them of the dear-bought fruits of their whole year's toil. [sidenote] its domestic troubles and hardships. it is no easy matter to describe the dreadful extremities to which these poor settlers were sometimes reduced. during the government of sir john yeamans a civil disturbance broke out among the colonists, which threatened the ruin of the settlement. at such a distance it was very difficult for the proprietors to furnish their colony with regular supplies; and the spots of sandy and barren land they had cleared poorly rewarded their toil. small was the skill of the planter, and european grain, which they had been accustomed to sow, proved suitable to neither soil nor climate. the emigrants being now, from sad experience, sensible of difficulties inseparable from their circumstances, began to murmur against the proprietors, and to curse the day they left their native land, to starve in a wilderness. while they gathered oysters for subsistence with one hand, they were obliged to carry their muskets for self-defence in the other. a great gun had been given to florence o'sullivan, which he placed on an island situate at the mouth of the harbour, to alarm the town in cases of invasion from the spaniards. o'sullivan deserted his island, being ready to perish with hunger, and joined the discontented party in the town. the people became seditious and ungovernable, and threatened to compel the governor to relinquish the settlement: even mr. culpepper the surveyor-general, joined them in their complaints and murmurs. the greatest prudence and courage were requisite to prevent tumults, and animate the colonists to perseverance. florence o'sullivan was taken up by the marshal on a charge of sedition, and compelled to find security for his future good behaviour. one sloop, commanded by joseph harris, was despatched to virginia, another to barbadoes, to bring provisions. happily before their return a seasonable supply arrived from england, together with a number of new settlers, which revived the drooping spirits of the people, and encouraged them to engage in more vigorous efforts. the governor, sensible of the hardships the people had suffered, the more readily forgave them for their past misconduct; but as mr. culpepper held an office from the proprietors, he sent him to england to be tried by them for joining the people in treasonable conspiracies against the settlement. the garrison at augustine having intelligence from servants who fled to them of the discontented and miserable situation of the colony in carolina, advanced with a party under arms as far as the island of st. helena, to dislodge or destroy the settlers. brian fitzpatrick, a noted villain, treacherously deserted his distressed friends on purpose to join their enemies. however, sir john yeamans having received a reinforcement, set his enemies at defiance. fifty volunteers, under the command of colonel godfrey, marched against the spaniards, who, on his approach, evacuated the island of st. helena, and retreated to augustine. [sidenote] a war among the indians seasonable for the settlement. at this period, to form alliances with indian tribes was an object of great importance with the governor and council. one circumstance proved favourable to the colony at the time of its settlement. the westoes, a powerful and numerous tribe, who harboured an irreconcileable aversion to the white faces of strangers, would have proved a dangerous enemy to them, had not their attention been occupied by the serannas, another indian nation. a bloody war between these two tribes providentially raged, and was carried on with such fury, that in the end it proved fatal to both. this served to pave the way for the introduction and establishment of this british settlement, which otherwise might have shared the same unhappy fate with the first adventurers to virginia. many tribes besides that might no doubt have extirpated the colony, but it is probable the governor studied by every means to avoid giving them any provocation, and to conciliate their affection and esteem. [sidenote] of indians in general. while we now and then turn our eyes to those wild hunters who ranged through the american woods, we must guard against such false and horrid descriptions of them, as some who have suffered from their warlike temper have exhibited to the world. many authors have discovered unreasonable prejudices against them, and shewn that they either wanted judgment to distinguish, or candour to make due allowances for, the failings peculiar to all nations in the same rude and uncultivated state. when julius cesar carried the roman arms into britain, and germanicus over-run the forests of germany, did they not find the silvestres of those countries little, if at all, more civilized than the brown natives of america? if the indians were offended at the encroachments made by strangers on lands which they had possessed unmolested for time immemorial, that is nothing wonderful or uncommon. lands may be called the first property of all nations on the face of the earth. while unacquainted with the advantages of pasturage and agriculture, a greater extent of hunting lands are requisite for their subsistence. through this territory, now possessed by europeans, they had been accustomed to range, independent, fearless and free. if they were ready to defend their property at the risque of life, this practice is nothing more than what all nations in the same barbarous state have followed. until laws were made to prevent and redress wrongs, and men delivered up their arms to the civil magistrate, have they not, in every age, had recourse to forcible means for the defence of their property? the natives of carolina were doubtless displeased at the encroachments of strangers on their inheritance, and if they had not advanced a single step towards civilization, no man can reasonably expect from them a conduct incompatible with their natural circumstances. the woods abounded with deer and buffaloes, which, when young, might have been domesticated; but on such employment no indian had entered; it probably appeared to him equally despicable as that of agriculture. [sidenote] the occasion of europeans being peaceably admitted among them. the first bond of union and affection between europeans and americans was conveniency. at this early period, to the indian a knife, a hatchet, or a hoe, was a useful and invaluable acquisition. he observed with what facility the strangers supplied their wants, which were many in comparison with his, by means of the various implements they used. the woods fell before the axe, the earth opened before the hoe or the spade; and the knife was useful on numberless occasions. he admired the skill of white men in making those implements of ease and profit, and voluntarily offered them his deer skins, the only riches he had which could procure them. the love of ease was as natural to the one as the other, and he would rather give them the profits of a year's hunting than want such instruments. having obtained these in process of time, he found the tomahawk and musket equally useful; these he also coveted, and could not rest till he obtained them. what was at first only convenient, as his wants increased, became absolutely necessary, by which means the original bond was strengthened and confirmed. as the channel of commerce opened, the indian found that he was not only treated with friendship and civility, but that the white people were equally fond of his skins, furs and lands, as he was of their gaudy trinkets, and various implements of convenience and advantage. it was this connection that induced the native inhabitants of the forest, peaceably to admit stranger differing so much in complexion, language and manners, among them and allow them to clear and cultivate their lands. from the ignorance of englishmen with respect to the policy and customs of these wild tribes, they must have been exposed to numberless dangers in the earlier periods of their commercial intercourse. at first, the rude manners of the western savages must have been equally strange to the european, as the civilized manners of eastern nations to the indian. the commerce itself served to enhance the danger; for although indians lived much dispersed, yet they united under one chief, and formed different towns, all the lands around which they claimed as their property. the boundaries of their hunting grounds being carefully fixed, each tribe was tenacious of its possessions, and fired with resentment at the least encroachment on them. every individual looked on himself as a proprietor of all the lands claimed by the whole tribe, and bound in honour to defend them. this may serve to account for many umbrages (which we shall afterwards have occasion to mention) taken by indians in general at purchases made and titles obtained by private persons, and even by particular provinces: for no indian, however great his influence and authority, could give away more than his own right to any tract of land, which, in proportion, is no more than as one man to the whole tribe. to all such gifts the concurrence and consent of the whole nation must be obtained. here a large source of difference and quarrels opened, and a foolish bargain of an individual often exposed the european settlers to the fury and vengeance of the whole clan. [sidenote] general remarks on the manners, government and religion, _&c._ of the indians. those inhabitants, like beasts of prey, traverse the forest, and while they neither encroach on their neighbours territories, nor are at war with another tribe, enjoy freedom in the most extensive sense of the word. in stature they are of a middle size, neither so tall nor yet so low as some europeans. to appearance they are strong and well made; yet they are totally unqualified for that heavy burden or tedious labour which the vigorous and firm nerves of europeans enable them to undergo. none of them are deformed, deformities of nature being confined to the ages of art and refinement. their colour is brown, and their skin shines, being varnished with bears fat and paint. to appearance the men have no beards, nor hair on their head, except a round tuft on its crown; but this defect is not natural, as many people are given to believe, but the effect of art, it being customary among them to tear out such hair by the root. they go naked, except those parts which natural decency teaches the most barbarous nations to cover. the huts in which they live are foul, mean and offensive; and their manner of life is poor, nasty and disgustful. in the hunting season they are eager and indefatigable in pursuit of their prey; when that is over, they indulge themselves in a kind of brutal slumber, indolence and ease. in their distant excursions they can endure hunger long, and carry little with them for their subsistence; but in days of plenty they are voracious as vultures. while dining in company with their chieftains, we were astonished at the vast quantity of meat they devoured. agriculture they leave to women, and consider it as an employment unworthy of a man: indeed they seem amazingly dead to the tender passions, and treat their women like slaves, or beings of an inferior rank. scolding, insults, quarrels, and complaints, are seldom heard among them: on solemn occasions they are thoughtful, serious, and grave; yet i have seen them free, open and merry at feasts and entertainments. in their common deportment towards each other they are respectful, peaceable, and inoffensive. sudden anger is looked upon as ignominious and unbecoming, and, except in liquor, they seldom differ with their neighbour, or ever do him any harm or injury. as for riches they have none; nor covet any; and while they have plenty of provisions, they allow none to suffer through want: if they are successful at hunting, all their unfortunate or distressed friends share with them the common blessings of life. although in some particular customs the separate tribes of indians differ from each other, yet in their general principles and mode of government they are very similar. all have general rules, with respect to other independent tribes around them, which they carefully observe. the great concerns relating to war or peace, are canvassed in assemblies of deputies from all the different towns. when injuries are committed, and indians of one tribe happen to be killed by those of another, then such a meeting is commonly called. if no person appears on the side of the aggressors, the injured nation deputes one of their warriors to go to them, and, in name of the whole tribe, to demand satisfaction: if this is refused, and they think themselves able to undertake a war against the aggressors, then a number of warriors, commonly the relations of the deceased, take the field for revenge, and look upon it as a point of honour never to leave it till they have killed the same number of the enemy that had been slain of their kinsmen. having accomplished this, they return home with their scalps, and by some token let their enemy know that they are satisfied. but when the nation to whom the aggressors belong, happen to be disposed to peace, they search for the murderers, and they are, by the general judgment of the nation, capitally punished, to prevent involving others in their quarrel; which act of justice is performed often by the aggressor's nearest relations. the criminal never knows of his condemnation until the moment the sentence is to be put in execution, which often happens while he is dancing the war dance in the midst of his neighbours, and bragging of the same exploit for which he is condemned to die. in different ages mankind in similar circumstances, with respect to their progress in improvements, bear a striking resemblance one to another. the accounts of rude and barbarous indians may be so far curious and instructive, as they serve to throw light on several earlier periods of history, both sacred and profane. the american savages almost universally claim the right of private revenge. it is considered by them as a point of honour to avenge the injuries done to friends, particularly the death of a relation. scalp for scalp, blood for blood, and death for death, can only satisfy the surviving friends of the injured party. the same law of retaliation was established among the ancient jews and romans. but should the wise and aged men of weight and influence among indians interpose, on account of some favourable circumstances on the side of the aggressor, perhaps satisfaction may be made by way of compensation. in this case, some present made to the party aggrieved serves to gratify their passion of revenge, by the loss the aggressor sustains, and the acquisition of property the injured receives. should the injured friends refuse this kind of satisfaction, which they are entirely at liberty to do, then the murderer, however high his rank may be, must be delivered up to torture and death, to prevent the quarrel spreading wider through the nation. this custom of making compensation also prevailed among european nations in their earlier and more uncultivated ages. in the time of tacitus, the relations of the maimed or murdered person, among the germans, were obliged to accept of a compensation, and restrain the spirit of revenge. during the anglosaxon period in england, laws were made to determine the various fines for murder, man-slaughter, wounds and other injuries, and prices were fixed on the heads of men according to their rank. in case of adultery among indians, the injured husband considers himself as under an obligation to revenge the crime, and he attempts to cut off the ears of the adulterer, provided he be able to effect it; if not, he may embrace the first opportunity that offers of killing him, without any danger from his tribe. then the debt is paid, and the courage of the husband proved. this is more severe than the law of ethelbert, which admitted of a fine from the adulterer, and obliged him to purchase another wife for the injured husband. with respect to internal government, these savages have also several customs and regulations to which the individuals of the same tribe conform. personal wisdom and courage are the chief sources of distinction among them, and individuals obtain rank and influence in proportion as they excel in these qualifications. natural reason suggests, that the man of the greatest abilities ought to be the leader of all possessed of inferior endowments; in him they place the greatest confidence, and follow him to war without envy or murmur. as this warrior arrives at honour and distinction by the general consent; so, when chosen, he must be very circumspect in his conduct, and gentle in the exercise of his power. by the first unlucky or unpopular step he forfeits the goodwill and confidence of his countrymen, upon which all his power is founded. besides the head warrior, they have judges and conjurers, whom they call beloved men, who have great weight among them; none of whom have indeed any coercive authority, yet all are tolerably well obeyed. in this commonwealth every man's voice is heard, and at their public deliberations the best speakers generally prevail. when they consult together about important affairs, such as war or peace, they are serious and grave, and examine all the advantages and disadvantages of their situation with great coolness and deliberation, and nothing is determined but by the general consent. when war is the result of their councils, and the great leader takes the field, any one may refuse to follow him, or may desert him, without incurring any punishment, but by such ignominious conduct he loses his reputation, and forfeits the hopes of distinction and preferment. to honour and glory from warlike exploits the views of every man are directed, and therefore they are extremely cautious and watchful against doing any action for which they may incur public censure and disgrace. the indians, like all ignorant and rude nations, are very superstitious. they believe that superior beings interfere in, and direct, human affairs, and invoke all spirits, both good and evil, in hazardous undertakings. each tribe have their conjurers and magicians, on whose prophetic declarations they place much confidence, in all matters relating to health, hunting, and war. they are fond of prying into future events, and therefore pay particular regard to signs, omens, and dreams. they look upon fire as sacred, and pay the author of it a kind of worship. at the time of harvest and at full moon they observe several feasts and ceremonies, which it would seem were derived from some religious origin. as their success, both in warlike enterprises and in procuring subsistence depends greatly on fortune, they have a number of ceremonious observances before they enter on them. they offer in sacrifice a part of the first deer or bear they kill, and from this they flatter themselves with the hopes of future success. when taken sick they are particularly prone to superstition, and their physicians administer their simple and secret cures with a variety of strange ceremonies and magic arts, which fill the patients with courage and confidence, and are sometimes attended with happy effects. [sidenote] a dutch colony brought to carolina. during the time sir john yeamans was governor of carolina, the colony received a great addition to its strength from the dutch settlement of nova belgia, which, without any resistance, surrendered to the armament commanded by sir robert carr, and became subject to england. charles the second gave it to his brother the duke of york, who called the province new-york, and governed it on the same arbitrary principles which afterwards rendered him so obnoxious to the english nation. after the conquest many of the dutch colonists, who were discontented with their situation, had formed resolutions of moving to other provinces. the proprietors of carolina offered them lands and encouragement in their palatinate, and sent their ships blessing and phoenix and brought a number of dutch families to charlestown. stephen bull, surveyor-general of the colony, had instructions to mark out lands on the southwest side of ashley river for their accommodation. there each of the dutch emigrants drew lots for their property, and formed a town, which was called james-town. this was the first colony of dutch who settled in carolina, whose industry surmounted incredible hardships, and whose success induced many from ancient belgia afterwards to follow them to the western world. the inhabitants of james-town, afterwards finding their situation too narrow and circumscribed, in process of time spread themselves through the country, and the town was totally deserted. [sidenote] a.d. . joseph west made governor. about the year , sir john yeamans being reduced to a feeble and sickly condition by the warm climate, and his indefatigable labours for the success of the settlement, returned to barbadoes, where he died. after his departure the grand council again chose joseph west governor; and the palatine confirmed the election. a meeting of all the freemen was called at charlestown, where they elected representatives, for the purpose of making laws for the government of the colony. thomas gray, henry hughs, maurice mathews, and christopher portman, were chosen deputies from the people, and took their seat at the upper house of assembly. these new members were obliged to take an oath, that they should shew equity and justice to both rich and poor, without favour or affection; that they should observe the laws of england, and those that should hereafter be established in the colony; that they should obey the rules and directions of the proprietors; that they should not divulge the secrets of the grand council, without sufficient authority from that board. a question being put, whether the deputies of the proprietors should take the same oath? it was judged unnecessary, as they held their appointments during pleasure, and were immediately answerable to the proprietors for their conduct. now the colony had its governor, its upper and lower house of assembly, which three branches took the name of parliament, agreeable to the constitutions. this was the first parliament that passed acts which are ratified by the proprietors, and found on record in the colony. [sidenote] variances break out in the colony. it might have been expected, that these adventurers, who were all embarked on the same design, would be animated by one spirit, and zealous above all things to maintain harmony and peace among themselves; they had all the same hardships to encounter, the same enemies to fear, and the same cause, the prosperity of the settlement, to promote. in such circumstances, the governor had good reason to hope, that one common desire of safety, and principle of love and friendship, would pervade the whole colony; yet nothing is more certain than that the contrary effect took place. the most numerous party in the country were dissenters, of various denominations, from the established church of england; which body of men, whatever high pretensions they may affect to superior sanctity of manners, have not always been found the most peaceable members of society. a number of cavaliers having received grants from the proprietors, had now brought over their families and effects, and joined the puritans in carolina. the latter were looked upon by the proprietors with a partial eye, as men of honour, loyalty and fidelity, and met with great indulgence and encouragement; by which means they thrust themselves into offices of trust and authority. the puritans, on the other hand, viewed them with the eye of envy and jealousy, and having suffered from them in england, could not bear to see the smallest share of power committed to them in carolina. hence the seeds of strife and division, which had been imported into the colony, began to spring forth, and, as if brought to a warmer and more fertile soil, to grow so rank as to promise little peace and happiness to the young settlement. no common dangers or difficulties could blot out of their memories the prejudices and animosities contracted in england: the odious terms of distinction were revived and propagated among the people, and while one party were attached to the church of england, the other, who had fled from the rigour of ecclesiastical power, were jealous above all things of religious liberties, and could bear no encroachment on them. the governor found that matters of religion were tender points, and therefore wisely avoided all deliberations about them, chusing rather to leave every man to his free choice, than propose an establishment of any kind, which he saw would occasion trouble and division among the people. another source of difficulty arose to government from the different manners of these colonists. these emigrants were not a people accustomed to rural labours and frugal simplicity, but many of them pampered citizens, whose wants luxury had increased, and rendered them impatient of fatigue and the restraints of legal authority. the sober and morose life, the stiff and rigid morals of the puritans, were made the objects of ridicule by their neighbours, and all the powers of wit and humour were employed in exposing them to public derision and contempt. their levelling spirit, republican principles, and contentious disposition, they declared merited the hatred and abhorrence of every man of honour and honesty, as they had served to produce in england that race of sly, deceitful and hypocritical wretches, who had been the curse and scourge of the nation. the puritans, on the other hand, possessed of no small share of rancour and malevolence, and exasperated by their licentious manner and grievous abuse, violently opposed their influence among the people. hence arose a number of difficulties in framing laws, in distributing justice, and in maintaining public order and tranquillity. governor west, observing those dissentions breaking out in the settlement, was at no small pains to keep them within the bounds of moderation, but having a council composed of ambitious cavaliers, was unable entirely to check the disorder. in spite of his authority, the puritans were treated with insolence and neglect, and the colony, distracted with domestic differences, were ill prepared for defence against external enemies: not only so, but such divisions occasioned a neglect of industry and application, which prevented the country from making that progress in improvement which might have been expected from its natural advantages. [sidenote] a trade in indians encouraged. at this unfavourable juncture the indians, from stono, came down in straggling parties, and plundered the plantations of the scanty and dearly earned fruits of labour and industry. being accustomed to the practice of killing whatever came in their way, they ranked the planter's hogs, turkeys and geese among their game, and freely preyed upon them. the planters as freely made use of their arms in defence of their property, and several indians were killed during their depredations. this occasioned a war, and the indians poured their vengeance indiscriminately, as usual, on the innocent and guilty, for the loss of their friends. governor west found it necessary to encourage and reward such of the colonists as would take the field against them for the public defence. accordingly, a price was fixed on every indian the settlers should take prisoner, and bring to charlestown. these captive savages were disposed of to the traders, who sent them to the west-indies, and there sold them for slaves. this traffic was deemed by some an inhuman method of getting rid of troublesome neighbours; yet, at this period, the planters had some reasons to plead in its vindication. lands indeed were given as the reward of valour; but lands, without hands to cultivate them, were rather a burden, than any way beneficial, to men who were allowed more by the proprietors than they could turn to any profit. but the planters had an immediate reward for indian prisoners, and while it encouraged bold adventurers, it was made a profitable branch of trade. whether the rum which was imported into the colony, in return for these indians, proved of beneficial consequence or not, we shall not pretend to determine, as this depended on the use or abuse that was made of it. where the water is bad, a little rum mixed with it is accounted wholesome and nourishing; but excess in drinking, every where, destroys the constitution, and proves a fruitful spring of pains, diseases, and death. [sidenote] a general description of the climate. though carolina lies in the same latitude with some of the most fertile countries on the globe, yet he is in danger of error who forms his judgment of its climate from the latitude in which it lies. many local circumstances concur to occasion a difference between it and palestine, the north of egypt, or the dominions in the same latitude in china. besides the bleak mountains, frozen lakes, and the large uncultivated territory over which the north and northwest winds blow in winter, by which they are rendered dangerous; when the extreme heat of summer is united with a low marshy soil, where the water stagnates, and the effluvia arising from it thicken and poison the air, it must prove the occasion of a numberless list of fatal distempers. this last circumstance serves to decide the healthiness of climates in every latitude. sudden changes from heat to cold are every where dangerous; but, in countries where little caution is used in dress, they must often prove fatal. the winds in carolina are changeable and erratic, and, about the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, commonly boisterous. in summer, they are sultry and suffocating; in winter, cold and dry. beyond doubt, the flat maritime part is a most unhealthy situation, and the first settlers could scarcely have been cast ashore in any quarter of the globe where they could be exposed to greater hazards from the climate. [sidenote] of the the country. yet the country, low and unhealthy as it is, affords many advantages for commerce and navigation. as you approach towards the shore, the sea gradually ebbs, which furnishes good soundings for the help of navigators. for eighty, and in some places an hundred, miles from the atlantic, the country is an even plain, no rocks, no stones, scarce a hill of any height is to be seen. backwards from this the lands begin to rise gradually into little hills and beautiful inequalities, which continue increasing in height and variation until you advance to the apalachian mountains, three hundred miles and more from the sea. here a vast ridge of mountains begins, and runs through north america, in the bowels of which no man can say what riches lie in store. these mountains give rise to four large rivers, called by their indian names, alatahama, savanna, santee and pedee. among the hills these rivers are composed of different branches, and run in a rapid course; but lose their velocity when they reach the plains, through which they glide smoothly along, in a serpentine course, to the ocean. up these large rivers the tide flows a considerable way, and renders them navigable for ships, brigs, sloops and schooners, and smaller craft force their way still higher than the tide flows. besides these large rivers, the hills in the heart of the country give rise to others of a secondary size, such as ogetchee, cusaw, cambahee, edisto, ashley, cooper, and black rivers; all which are also navigable many miles from the ocean. the coast is also chequered with a variety of fine islands, around which the sea flows, and opens excellent channels, for the easy conveyance of produce to the market. [sidenote] of its soil and lands. by the different trees which cover the lands the soil is distinguished, which in some places is very rich, and in others very poor. where the pine-trees grow the ground is sandy and barren, and produces little except in rainy seasons. the oaks and hickories delight to grow in a lower and richer soil, running in narrow streaks through the different eminences, which grounds, when cleared and cultivated, amply reward the industrious planter. the cypresses and canes chuse a still deeper and more miry soil, which is exceedingly fruitful, having had the fruits and foliage of trees from the higher grounds flowing into it from the creation. the river swamp lands, by proper culture and judicious management, are of inexhaustible fertility. the savannas and open plains are of a deep fat and greasy mould, which when drained and freshened, become also fruitful and excellent parts of a plantation. the marshy grounds, some of which are fresh and others salt, are much neglected, yet they yield a kind of grass grateful to some animals, and are used as yet only for pasturage. many years elapsed before the planters found out the different grains suited to those different soils, and we shall take occasion to mention them as time and experience taught them the useful discoveries. the soil of the hilly country differs from all these; for there, in the vallies between the hills, a black and deep loam is found, probably formed of rotten trees and vegetables, which the showers and floods have carried into them from the adjacent heights. marble, clay, chalk and gravel grounds are also observed among these hills in the middle of the country, and a variety of soil nearly similar to that found in europe. [sidenote] of its storms and natural phenomena. at this period carolina, in her natural and rural robes, to an ingenious stranger must have exhibited a noble and striking appearance, as all objects of nature do in their primeval state. still we may fancy what new scenes would command his attention, and excite his admiration. a thunder-storm here is a grand phenomenon, especially in the night; it is said to be the voice of the supreme author of nature, whose command all the various elements obey, and it speaks his majesty and glory in the loudest and most exalted strain. the frequent balls of fire bursting from cloud to cloud; the forked flashes darting from the clouds to the earth, and from the earth to the clouds alternately, illuminating the whole surrounding atmosphere, and men, like so many worms, crawling in the dust in the midst of flaming fire, form a magnificent and striking scene. the continual muttering noise of thunder at a distance the dreadful explosion on the right hand, the repercussive roar on the left, while the solid foundations of the earth shake, and the goodly frame of nature seems ready to dissolve, to the eyes of an intelligent stranger must have appeared awful and great. the beasts of the field retire from the thicket, and shew evident symptoms of silent awe and astonishment during the storm, and man's ultimate source of confidence is in the divine protection. in every quarter you meet with the blasted trees of the forest, which wither and decay at the lightning's stroke. no earthquakes, such as are commonly known in the west-india islands, have ever been felt here; but whirlwinds sometimes have made avenues through the thick forest, by levelling the loftiest trees, or sweeping them away before them like chaff. these terrible blasts are generally confined to a narrow tract, and run in an oblique and crooked direction. hurricanes have also often visited the country and through such low and flat lands have spread their defolation far and wide. in travelling along the coast of carolina, partly by water and partly by land, the stranger has an excellent view of the natural beauties, and rural inhabitants of the forest. at a distance the marshes and savannas appear like level meadows, with branches or creeks of the sea running through them. on one hand the evergreen pines appear, and engross almost the whole higher lands of the country; on the other the branching oaks and stately hickories stand covered with mossy robes: now he passes a grove covered with cypress; then the laurels, the bays, the palmetoes, the beech or mulberry-trees surround him, all growing as the hand of nature hath wildly scattered them. in the spring the dogwood, cherry-trees, and many others blossom, and, together with the jessamines, perfume the air; while the luxuriant vines climb over the loftiest trees, and bushes or shrubs of humbler growth fill up the thicket. at this early period the rude hunters, though masters of the woods, while they attracted the attention of the stranger, must also have convinced him how little human nature uncultivated is exalted above the brute creation. numbers of deer, timorous and wild, ranged through the trees, and herds of buffaloes were found grazing in the savanna. above his head the feathered tribes, more remarkable for the splendour of their plumage than the harmony of their notes, would fly; whilst under his feet would crawl innumerable reptiles and insects. here it may not be improper to enumerate some of the different kinds of living creatures found in the country, and leave the particular description of them to the natural historian. [sidenote] of its animals. beyond doubt carolina teems with animals both of the useful and hurtful kind. the alligator, probably a species of the crocodile, is found here nigh the rivers and ponds, and is very destructive to young creatures about a plantation. he is perhaps the largest animal, except the crocodile in africa, of the ovarious kind. the bear is a fierce animal, but in many respects a rich prize to the indian hunter. the beaver is also a native of carolina, and his fur is a precious article of american commerce. the racoon and oppossum are also natives of the country, and scarcely found in any other continent. the latter demands the particular notice of naturalists; its young are said to breed at the female's teats, which is furnished with a double belly, into one of which, on the appearance of danger, the young ones retreat, and are saved by being carried up a tree. the leopard, the panther, the wolf, the fox, the rabbit, wild and pole cats, are all found in the country, on which the american hunter pours his vengeance. squirrels of various kinds and different hues are numerous here; one of which is called the flying squirrel, not from its having wings like a bird, but from its being furnished with a fine loose skin between its fore and hind legs, which it contracts or expands at pleasure, and which buoys it up, and enables it to spring from branch to branch at considerable distances, with amazing nimbleness. [sidenote] of its fishes. in the mouth of the rivers, and on the coast, the shark, the porpoise, the sword, the guarr, and devil fishes, are all found, but in no respects rendered useful. however, the sea coast and rivers furnish a variety of fine fish for human use, both of the salt and fresh-water kinds. the angel fish, so called for their uncommon splendour; the sheephead, so named from its having teeth like those of sheep; the cavalli, the mullet, the whiting, the plaice, and young bass, are all esteemed delicate food. besides these, porgy, shads, trout, stingre, drum, cat, and black fish, are all used, and taken in great abundance. the fresh-water rivers and ponds furnish stores of fish, all of which are excellent in their season. the sturgeon and rock fish, the fresh-water trout, the pike, the bream, the carp and roach, are all fine fish, and found in plenty. nigh the sea-shore vast quantities of oysters, crabs, shrimps, _&c._ may be taken, and sometimes a kind of turtle. [sidenote] of its birds. there were also vast numbers of winged fowls found in the country, many of which for human use and subsistence. besides eagles, falcons, cormorants, gulls, buzzards, hawks, herons, cranes, marsh-hens, jays, woodpeckers; there are wild turkeys, pigeons, black-birds, woodcocks, little partridges, plovers, curlieus and turtle-doves, in great numbers; and also incredible flocks of wild geese, ducks, teal, snipes, and rice-birds. there has been found here, nigh rivers, a bird of an amazing size, some think it a species of the pelican. under its beak, which is very long, it is furnished with a large bag, which it contracts or lets loose at pleasure, to answer the necessities or conveniences of life. the summer duck is a well known and beautiful creature, and has got this name to distinguish it from others of the same species, which continue not in the country during the summer months, but search for a cooler retreat. the mockbird of carolina is a fine bold creature, which mimics the various voices of the forest, both in captivity and in the enjoyment of natural freedom. the red bird is exceedingly beautiful, and has a soft melodious note, but with few variations. the humming bird is remarkable for its small size, flies from flower to flower like a bee, and is sometimes caught by children while lying buried in a large flower it is sucking out the juice. its nest is very curious, and discovers amazing art and contrivance. these are some of the feathered inhabitants of this forest, among which there is little melody, and, were it otherways, the music would all be lost, by the continual croaking of frogs, which swarm in millions over the flat country. [sidenote] of its snakes and vipers. while ranging over the natural field, there is no reptile merits more particular notice than the rattle-snake, which is one of the most formidable living creatures in the whole universe. providence hath kindly furnished him with a tail which makes a rattling noise, and no doubt was intended to warn every other creature of the danger of approaching nigh him. he indeed possesses that noble fortitude, which is harmless unless when provoked and molested. he is never the aggressor, and seems averse from making use of his weapons of destruction. he flies from man; but when pursued, and he finds he cannot escape, he instantly gathers himself into a coil, and prepares for self-defence. he has a sharp and sparkling eye, and quickly spies any person approaching towards him, and winds his course out of the way into some thicket or concealed place. the greatest danger is, when we inadvertently trample upon him as he lies coiled among the long grass or thick bushes. on each side of his upper jaw he has two long fangs, which are hollow, and through which he injects the poison into the wound they make. when he penetrates a vein or nerve sudden death ensues, unless some effectual remedy be instantly applied. the usual symptoms of being bit by him are, acute pains from the wound, inflammatory swellings round it, sickness at the stomach, and convulsive vomitings. in all countries, however, where venomous creatures exist, the hand of nature hath kindly planted some antidote against their poison, which it is the business of rational creatures to investigate and apply. even the rude and ignorant indians were not strangers to the method of curing the wounds of this dreadful reptile; as quickly as possible, after being bit, they swallowed a strong doze of the decoction of snake-root, which they found every where growing in the woods, which caused them to vomit plentifully; at the same time, having sucked the poison out of the wound, they chewed a little snake-root, and applied it externally to it. this remedy, when timely applied, sometimes proved efficacious, which induced the early settlers of carolina to follow their example. besides the rattle-snake, the black and brown vipers have fangs, and are also venomous. the horn-snake is also found here, which takes his name from a horn in his tail, with which he defends himself, and strikes it with great force into every aggressor. this reptile is also deemed very venomous, and the indians, when wounded by him, usually cut out the part wounded as quickly as possible, to prevent the infection spreading through the body. there are, besides these, a variety of other snakes found here, such as the green, the chicken, the copperbelly, the wampum, the coach-whip and corn snakes; all of which are esteemed harmless creatures. [sidenote] of its insects. innumerable are the insects in carolina, as might naturally be expected from the heat of the climate. the bees are found in several places, and they chuse the hollow trees for their habitation, but whether imported or not is uncertain. the fire-fly, so called from its emitting sparks of fire in the night, resembling flashes from the strokes of steel upon flint, is a curious creature. about the beginning of summer, when these insects are very numerous, they illuminate the woods, and strike a stranger with astonishment. millions of pestiferous gnats, called musketoes, are hatched during the summer, and swarm over the country in such numbers, that, during the day, it requires no small trouble for the inhabitants to defend themselves in every quarter against them; and, during the night, gause pavilions are necessarily used, to exclude them from their beds, without which it is impossible to enjoy undisturbed repose. the sand-flies are also vexatious insects, and so minute, that one would imagine it needless to provide any defence against them; yet, wherever they bite, their poison occasions itching and painful inflammations. besides these, there are ticks, flies, wasps, and many more insects which are very troublesome. to these plagues, with which this country is cursed, we may also add the water wood-worms, which infest the rivers as far as the salt-water flows, eat the bottoms of vessels into the form of honey-combs, and prove extremely destructive to shipping. [sidenote] a.d. . joseph morton made governor. about the year , governor west having incurred the displeasure of the proprietors, joseph morton, who had lately been created a landgrave, received a commission from lord craven, investing him with the government of the colony. about the same time, joseph blake sold his estate in england, and with his family and several substantial followers retired to carolina. lord cardross also, a nobleman of scotland, having formed a project for carrying over some of his countrymen to carolina, embarked with a few families, and made an attempt to establish a colony on port-royal island: but observing the government in a confused and fluctuating state, he soon after returned to britain. the island on which he left his few followers having excellent conveniencies for navigation, was a place of all others in the country the most advantageous for a settlement; but, to effect it, a greater number of emigrants was absolutely requisite. the spaniards sent an armed force, and dislodged the scotch settlers, after which no attempts were made for many years towards establishing a colony in that quarter. [sidenote] pennsylvania settled. about the same time, william penn, an eminent quaker, obtained a grant from the king of a large territory in the middle of north america, which he called pennsylvania, and which he resolved to settle on the enlarged bottom of universal benevolence, friendship and humanity. not satisfied with the title he held from the crown to this extensive territory, he thought himself bound in conscience to purchase one also from its natural possessors, and therefore gave the indians some consideration for their property; by which means he obtained not only an equitable right, but peaceable possession. at first, it is probable, he intended his province as an asylum for the hamlets and peaceable people of his own persuasion, who were oppressed in britain, and persecuted in a degree equal to the spanish inquisition in new england; yet, so liberal were his principles, that he opened a door to mankind in general who were unhappy in their external circumstances, and persecuted for their conscientious opinions. his plan of settlement was so large, and the regulations he established for preventing idleness, luxury and vice, were so wise and judicious, as soon to attract the eyes and admiration of vast numbers of men in the different quarters of europe. multitudes flocked to pennsylvania, and sat down happy under penn's gentle laws and government. his own example of benevolence, frugality and temperance, endeared him to every inhabitant; and a general simplicity of manners for several years prevailed in the settlement. it remained for the future ages of pride, luxury and ambition, to defeat the wise maxims of this legislator. a plan of a city was framed, which, for order, beauty and magnificence, was excelled by none upon earth. indeed, every thing relating to the first settlement of that province was conducted with such wisdom and equity, that it could not fail of speedy population and improvement. the industrious planters and merchants of pennsylvania, soon advanced to an easy and independent state; an advantage far from being common to the other british settlements in america, and therefore to be ascribed chiefly to their general harmony, temperance and application. the colony of carolina, though planted at an earlier period, from various causes and impediments, advanced by slower steps in population and improvement. pennsylvania, being farther removed from the equator, was considered as a better climate. the lands were found better adapted to british grain, and more favourably situated for cultivation. like a younger beauty, she attracted the eyes of many admirers, and promised to be a powerful rival to carolina. she flattered her labourers with the prospects of longer life, and with the hopes of greater increase in those kinds of grain they had been accustomed to cultivate in europe. her institutions, with respect to government, were more applicable and prudent; her planters, blessed with health and good-humour, laboured with greater pleasure and success: the tribes of savages around her, being more gently used, were more peaceable. hence it happened, that the pennsylvanians, having fewer obstacles to surmount than their southern neighbours, prospered in a more rapid manner. [sidenote] the proprietors forbid the trade in indians. the proprietors of carolina had indeed instructed governor morton to take all indians within four hundred miles of charlestown under his protection, and to treat them with humanity and tenderness; but such instructions were very disagreeable to many of the people, especially to those members of the council who were concerned in the indian trade, and therefore great opposition was raised to the execution of them. maurice mathews, james moore, and arthur middleton, members of the council, warmly opposed the governor, while he proposed regulations for the peaceable management of indians, and considered the proprietors as strangers to the interest of their colony by such impolitic restrictions. the people, who had lost some friends and relations by the savages were also greatly irritated against them, and breathed nothing but vengeance and implacable resentment. these members of the council were removed from it for their disobedience; nevertheless they had such influence among the people, as to occasion great trouble to the governor, and totally to subvert his authority; in consequence of which, joseph west appeared again at the head of the colony, and gave his assent to several laws made in it. during which time the people followed their former practice, of inveigling and kidnapping indians where-ever they found them, and shipped them off to the west indies, without any restraint from government. [sidenote] the toleration of pirates in carolina. soon after governor west was superseded by sir richard kirle, an irish gentleman, who died six months after his arrival in the country. after his decease, colonel robert quarry was chosen his successor. during the time of his government, a number of pirates put into charlestown, and purchased provisions with their spanish gold and silver. those public robbers, instead of being taken and tried by the laws of england, were treated with great civility and friendship, in violation of the laws of nations. whether the governor was ignorant of the treaty made with spain, by which england had withdrawn her former toleration from these plunderers of the spanish dominions; or whether he was afraid to bring them to trial from the notorious courage of their companions in the west indies, we have not sufficient authority to affirm; but one thing is certain, that king charles ii. for several years after the restoration, winked at their depredations, and many or them performed such valiant actions as, in a good cause, had justly merited honours and rewards. even as the case was, charles, out of mere whim, knighted henry morgan, a welshman, who had plundered porto bello and panama, and carried off large treasures from them. for several years so formidable was this body of plunderers in the west indies, that they struck a terror into every quarter of the spanish dominions. their gold and silver, which they lavishly spent in the colony, ensured to them a kind reception among the carolineans, who opened their ports to them freely, and furnished them with necessaries. they could purchase the favour of the governor, and the friendship of the people, for what they deemed a trifling consideration. leaving their gold and silver behind them, for clothes, arms, ammunition and provisions, they embarked in quest of more. however, the proprietors, having intelligence of the encouragement given to pirates by governor quarry, dismissed him from the office he held; and, in , landgrave joseph morton was reinstated in the government of the colony. [sidenote] cause of migration from england. during the reign of king james ii. the hardships under which the people of britain laboured, and the troubles they apprehended, brought much strength to the colonies. the unsuccessful or unfortunate part of mankind are easily induced to emigrate; but the oppressed and persecuted are driven from their country, however closely their affections may cleave to it. such imprudent attempts were made by this prince against what the nation highly revered, that many protestants deserted it, preferring the hardships of the first state of colonization abroad, to oppression at home. so far was he from concealing his attachment to the popish religion, that he gloried in the open profession of it, and took every opportunity of transferring both the legal authority and military command into the hands of such men as were best affected to that religion, and would most readily contribute their assistance towards the accomplishment of his favourite design. the protestants in general were alarmed, and filled with the most gloomy apprehensions from the bloody and persecuting spirit of the popish faction. they foresaw the subversion of their religion and liberties, and fled over the atlantic from the approaching rigours of persecution, being determined to submit to any hardships abroad, rather than to the establishment of popery in england. [sidenote] cause of migration from france. the next acquisition america gained, was from the revocation of the edict of nantz; in consequence of which the flames of persecution broke out in france, and drove many of its best subjects out of that kingdom. these protestant refugees were beneficial in many respects to england and holland, and served greatly to promote the trade and manufactures of these nations. among the other colonies in america which reaped advantage from this impolitic measure of france, carolina had a large share. many of the protestant refugees, having purchased lands from the proprietors, embarked with their families for that colony, and proved some of its best and most industrious inhabitants. [sidenote] the european animals increase. small was the progress in cultivation which the colonists of carolina had yet made, and fatal had the heat of the climate and the labours of the field proved to many of them. yet their cattle increased in an amazing manner, and thrived exceedingly well in their forest. having little winter, the woods furnished them with both shelter and provisions all the year; neither houses nor attendants were provided for them, but each planter's cattle, distinguished only by his mark, every where grazed with freedom. hogs still fared better, and increased faster. the woods abounded with acorns, and roots of different kinds, on which they fed and fattened, and were reckoned most excellent food. stocks of cattle, at this period, were a great object with the planters, for several reasons. little labour was requisite to raise and render them profitable. the planters were at no trouble in building houses for them, nor at any expence in feeding them. if either cattle or hogs were fed, it must only have been intended to accustom them to keep nigh their owner's abode, or to return under his eye every evening. besides, a planter fond of hunting might supply his family with game through the year, with which the woods abounded, and save his stock. horses were also bred in the same manner, and though they degenerated greatly, they multiplied fast. no part of the world could prove more favourable to poultry of all kinds. by the trade of the colony to the west indies, they had rum and sugar in return for their lumber and provisions; and england supplied them with clothes, arms, ammunition, and utensils for building and cultivation, in exchange for their deer-skins, furs, and naval stores. [sidenote] the manner of obtaining turpentine in carolina. turpentine is the gum in a liquid state of that species of the pine tree called pitch-pine, extracted by incision and the heat of the sun, while the tree is growing. the common manner of obtaining it is as follows: about the first of january the persons employed in making turpentine begin to cut boxes in the trees, a little above the ground, and make them large or small in proportion to the size of the tree; the box of a large tree will hold two english quarts, of a middling tree one, and of a small one a pint. about the middle of march, when the weather becomes warm, they begin to bleed, which is done by cutting about an inch into the sap of the tree with a joiner's hatchet; these channels made in the green standing tree, are framed so as to meet in a point where the boxes are made to receive the gum; then the bark is peeled off that side of the tree which is exposed to the sun, that the heat may extract the turpentine. after bleeding, if rain should happen to fall, it not only condenses the sap, but also contracts the orifices of the vessels that discharge the gum, and therefore the trees must be bled afresh. about fourteen days after bleeding the boxes will be full of turpentine, and must be emptied into a barrel. when the boxes are full, an able hand will fill two barrels in a day. a thousand trees will yield at every gathering about two barrels and a half of turpentine, and it may be gathered once every fourteen days, till the frost comes, which chills the sap, and obliges the labourer to apply to some other employment, until the next season for boxing shall approach. the oil of turpentine is obtained by distillation; and rosin is the remainder of the turpentine, after the oil is distilled from it. [sidenote] and of making tar and pitch. from the same pine trees tar and pitch are also made, but by a different mode of operation. "for extracting tar they prepare a circular floor of clay, declining a little towards the centre, from which there is laid a pipe of wood, extending almost horizontally two feet without the circumference, and so let into the ground, that its upper side may be level with the floor: at the outer end of this pipe they dig a hole large enough to hold the barrels of tar, which, when forced out of the wood, naturally runs to the centre of the floor as the lowest part, and from thence along the pipe into the barrels. matters being thus prepared, they raise upon the clay floor a large pile of dry pine-wood split in pieces, and inclose the whole pile with a wall of earth, leaving only a little hole in the top, where the fire is to be kindled; when that is done, and the inclosed wood begins to burn, the whole is stopped up with earth, that there may be no flame, but only heat sufficient to force the tar out of the wood, and make it run down to the floor. they temper the heat as they think proper, by thrusting a stick through the wall of earth, and letting the air in at as many places as they judge necessary. as to pitch, it is nothing more than the solid part of the tar separated from the liquid by boiling." as carolina abounds with this kind of pine trees, vast quantities of pitch, tar, and turpentine might have been made in it. at this early period the settlers, having little strength to fell the thick forest and clear the lands for cultivating grain, naturally applied themselves to such articles as were in demand in england, and for procuring which moderate labour was requisite. lumber was a bulky article, and required a number of ships to export it. naval stores were more valuable and less bulky, at the same time that the labour necessary to obtain them was easier, and more adapted to european constitutions. the province as yet could supply britain with a very inconsiderable quantity of naval stores; but by encouraging the planters in preparing them, the expence of its vast importations from the baltic might have been in some measure saved to the nation. [sidenote] a difference with the civil officers. though governor morton was possessed of a considerable share of wisdom, and was connected with several respectable families in the colony, yet so inconsistent were his instructions from england, with the prevailing views and interests of the people, that he was unable, without great trouble, to execute the duties of his trust. he was a man of a sober and religious temper of mind, and had married mr. blake's sister, lately arrived from england, by which alliance it was hoped the hands of government would be strengthened, and a check given to the more licentious and irregular party of the people. his council was composed of john boone, maurice mathews, john godfrey, andrew percival, arthur middleton, and james moore, _&c._; some of whom differed widely from him in opinion with respect to public measures, and claimed greater indulgences for the people than he had authority to grant. hence two parties arose in the colony: one in support of the prerogative and authority of the proprietors, the other in defence of the liberties of the people. the former contended, that the laws and regulations received from england respecting government ought to be strictly and implicitly observed: the latter kept in view their local circumstances, and maintained, that the freemen of the colony were under obligations to observe them only so far as they were consistent with the interest of individuals and the prosperity of the settlement. in this situation of affairs, no governor could long support his power among a number of bold adventurers, who improved every hour for advancing their interest, and could bear no restraints which had the least tendency to defeat their favourite views and designs: for whenever he attempted to interpose his feeble authority, they insulted his person and complained of his administration, till he was removed from his office. [sidenote] james colleton made governor. the proprietors also finding it prudent to change their governor so soon as he became obnoxious to the people, james colleton at this time was appointed to supersede joseph morton. he was a brother to sir peter colleton, one of the proprietors, but was possessed neither of his address nor abilities for the management of public affairs. he left barbadoes and retired to carolina, where he built an excellent house on cooper river, in hopes of settling in that country, and long enjoying, by the influence of his brother, the emoluments of his office in tranquillity and happiness. to give him the greater weight, he was created a landgrave of the colony, to which dignity forty-eight thousand acres of land were unalienably annexed: but to his mortification he soon found, that the proprietary government had acquired but little firmness and stability, and, by his imprudence and rigour, fell into still greater disrespect and contempt. [sidenote] a.d. . about the year , having called an assembly of the representatives, he proposed to make some new regulations respecting the government of the colony. having examined the fundamental constitutions, and finding the people disposed to make many objections to them, he thought proper to nominate a committee, to consider wherein they were improper or defective, and to make such alterations and amendments in them as they judged might be conducive to the welfare of the country. this committee consisted of the governor, paul grimball, the secretary, william dunlop, bernard schinking, thomas smith, john far, and joseph blake. accordingly, by these men a new code of laws was framed, consisting of many articles different from the former, which they called _standing laws_, and transmitted to england for the approbation of the proprietors. these standing laws, however, the proprietors rejected, and insisted on the observance of the fundamental constitutions; and all the while the people treated both with equal indifference and neglect. [sidenote] his difference with the house of assembly. at this early period a dissatisfaction with the proprietary government appeared, and began to gain ground among the people. a dispute having arisen between the governor and the house of assembly about the tenures of lands and the payment of quitrents, landgrave colleton determined to exert his authority, in compelling the people to pay up their arrears of quitrents, which, though very trifling and inconsiderable, were burdensome, as not one acre out of a thousand of these lands for which quitrents were demanded yielded them any profit. for this purpose, he wrote to the proprietors, requesting them to appoint such deputies as he knew to be most favourably disposed towards their government, and would most readily assist him in the execution of his office. hence the interest of the proprietors and that of the people were placed in opposite scales, and the more rigorously the governor exerted his authority, the more turbulent and seditious the people became. at last they proceeded to avowed usurpation: they issued writs in their own name, and held assemblies in opposition to the governor and the authority of the proprietors. letters from england, containing deputations to persons obnoxious to the people, they seized and suppressed, and appointed other men better affected to the popular cause. paul grimball, the secretary of the province, they imprisoned, and forcibly took possession of the public records. the militia act they refused to settle, because recommended by the governor, even though their own security depended on it. in short, the little community was turned into a scene of confusion, and every man acted as he thought proper, without any regard to legal authority, and in contempt of the governor and other officers of the proprietors. landgrave colleton, mortified at the loss of power, and alarmed at the bold and seditious spirit of the people, was not a little perplexed what step to take in order to recal them to the obedience of legal authority. gentle means he perceived would be vain and ineffectual. one expedient was suggested, which he and his council flattered themselves might be productive of the desired effect, and induce the people through fear to return to his standard, and stand by the person who alone had authority to punish mutiny and sedition, which was to proclaim the martial law, and try to maintain by force of arms the proprietary jurisdiction. accordingly, without letting the people into his secret design, he caused the militia to be drawn up, as if some danger had threatened the country, and publicly proclaimed the martial law at their head. his design, however, did not long remain a secret, and, when discovered, served only to exasperate the more. the members of the assembly met, and taking this measure under their deliberation, resolved, that it was an encroachment upon their liberties, and an unwarrantable exertion of power, at a time when the colony was in no danger from any foreign enemy. the governor, however, insisted on the articles of war, and tried to carry the martial law into execution; but the disaffection was too general to admit of such a remedy. in the year , at a meeting of the representatives, a bill was brought in and passed, for disabling landgrave james colleton from holding any office, or exercising any authority, civil or military, within the province: nay, so outrageous were they against him, that nothing less than banishment could appease them, and therefore gave notice to him, that, in a limited time, he must depart from the country. [sidenote] seth sothell chosen governor. [sidenote] his oppression and expulsion. during these public commotions seth sothell, pretending to be a proprietor by virtue of some regulations lately made in england, usurped the government of the colony. at first the people seemed disposed to acknowledge his authority, while the current of their enmity ran against landgrave colleton; and as he had stood forth as an active and leading man in opposition to that governor, and ratified the law for his exclusion and banishment: but afterwards, finding him to be void of every principle of honour and honesty, they persecuted him also with deserved and implacable enmity. such was the insatiable avarice of this usurper that his popularity was of short duration. every restraint of common justice and equity was trampled upon by him; and oppression, such as usually attends the exaltation of vulgar and ambitious scramblers for power, extended her rod of iron over the distracted colony. the fair traders from barbadoes and bermuda were seized as pirates by order of this popular governor, and confined until such fees as he was pleased to exact were paid him: bribes from felons and traitors were accepted to savour their escape from the hands of justice: plantations were forcibly taken possession of, upon pretences the most frivolous and unjust, and planters were compelled to give bonds for large sums of money, to procure from him liberty to remain in posession of their property. these, and many more acts of the like atrocious nature, did this rapacious governor commit, during the short time of his administration, to increase his fees as governor and proprietor. at length the people, weary of his grievous impositions and extortions, agreed to take him by force, and ship him off for england. then, to his other ill qualities he added meanness of spirit, and humbly begged of them liberty to remain in the country, promising to submit his conduct to the trial of the assembly at their first meeting. when the assembly met, thirteen different charges were brought against him, and all supported by the strongest evidence: upon which, being found guilty, they compelled him to abjure the government and country for ever. an account of his infamous and wicked conduct was drawn up and sent to the proprietors, which filled them with astonishment and indignation. he was ordered to england, to answer the accusations brought against him before the palatine's court, and, in case of refusal, was given to understand it would be taken as a further evidence and confirmation of his guilt. the law for disabling landgrave james colleton from holding any authority civil or military in carolina, was repealed, and strict orders were sent out to the grand council, to support the power and prerogative of the proprietors. to compose the minds of the people, they declared their detestation of such unwarrantable and wanton oppression, and protested that no governor should ever be permitted to grow rich on their ruins; enjoining them, at the same time, to return to the obedience of their magistrates, and subjection to legal authority. hitherto this little community has been a scene of continual contention and misery. the fundamental constitutions, which the proprietors thought the most excellent form of government upon earth, have been little regarded. the governors have been either ill qualified for their office, or the instructions given them have been unacceptable to the people. the inhabitants, far from living in friendship and harmony among themselves, have also been seditious and ungovernable. indeed, while the proprietary government shall continue to be thus weak and unstable, its authority will be little respected; while the encouragement given to civil officers and magistrates is trifling and inconsiderable; men of judgment and ability will not throw away their time and pains for supporting the honour and authority of others, which might be otherwise employed to purposes more advantageous to themselves. the titles of landgraves and cassiques will not compensate for the loss of such time and labour, especially when they come only joined with large tracts of land which, for want of hands, must lie uncultivated. the money arising from quitrents and the sale of lands was inconsiderable, hard to be collected, and by no means adequate to the support of government. the proprietors were unwilling to involve their english estates for the improvement of american property; hence their government was feeble and ill supported in carolina, and there is reason to fear it will become more so, in proportion as the colonists shall become richer and more independent, and the country shall advance to a more populous and better cultivated state. chap. iii. [sidenote] a revolution in england. during the reign of the infatuated king james ii. the english nation, oppressed by a popish faction, and apprehensive about their civil and religious liberties, were ripe for a revolt; and, upon his abdication, william prince of orange accepted of the english crown, on such terms as the parliament thought proper to offer it. though history can furnish few examples of a daughter conspiring with subjects to exclude her father from the throne, and then accepting of a crown from his head; yet, by this revolution the long-contested boundaries between the prerogative of the king and the rights and liberties of the people, were more clearly marked and determined than they had been in any former period, to the great relief and happiness of the nation. this event is distinguished in the annals of england as the era of freedom; and it must be confessed, that the change has been productive of many important and happy consequences. as nothing tends more to the increase of industry and commerce than religious toleration, and great freedom to scrupulous consciences, soon after the revolution an act passed in parliament, for exempting his majesty's protestant subjects from the penalties of certain laws, under which they had formerly suffered great severities. king william and his council, at that juncture, wisely judged, that such a law might be of excellent use in removing the complaints of many of his good subjects, and uniting their minds in interest and affection. though the variances of whigs and tories may have sometimes obstructed the salutary effects of this law, yet it must be acknowledged to have answered many wise and valuable purposes to the nation. [sidenote] the french refugees meet with encouragement. in the history of england, nothing is found to redound more to the honour of the people than their signal and uncommon acts of generosity and humanity. even in the reign of king james large collections had been made for the distressed french refugees. after king william's accession to the throne, the parliament voted fifteen thousand pounds sterling to be distributed among persons of quality, and all such as through age or infirmities were unable to support themselves or families. to artificers and manufacturers encouragement was offered in england and ireland, who have contributed not a little to the improvement of the silk and linen manufactures of these kingdoms. to husbandmen and merchants agreeable prospects were opened in the british colonies. in , king william sent a large body of these people to virginia. lands were allotted them on the banks of st. james's river, which by their diligence and industry they soon improved into excellent estates. others purchased lands from the proprietors of carolina, transported themselves and families to that quarter, and settled a colony on santee river. others, who were merchants and mechanics, took up their residence in charlestown, and followed their different occupations. at this period these new settlers were a great acquisition to carolina. they had taken the oath of allegiance to the king, and promised fidelity to the proprietors. they were disposed to look on the colonists, whom they had joined, in the favourable light of brethren and fellow-adventurers, and though they understood not the english language, yet they were desirous of living in peace and harmony with their neighbours, and willing to stand forth on all occasions of danger with them for the common safety and defence. [sidenote] philip ludwell appointed governor. about the same time philip ludwell, a gentleman from virginia, being appointed governor of carolina, arrived in the province. sir nathaniel johnson, who had been general of the leeward islands in the reign of king james, being created a cassique of carolina, after the revolution retired to that country, and took his seat as a member of the council. the proprietors having found the fundamental constitutions disagreeable to the people, and ineffectual for the purposes of government, repealed all their former laws and regulations, excepting those called agrarian laws, and sent out a new plan of government to mr. ludwell, consisting of forty-three articles of instruction, for the better management of their colony. the inhabitants, who had been long in a confused and turbulent stare, were enjoined to obedience and submission. liberty was granted to the representatives of the people to frame such laws as they judged necessary to the public welfare and tranquillity, which were to continue in force for two years, but no longer, unless they were in the mean time ratified and confirmed by the palatine and three more proprietors. lands for the cassiques and landgraves were ordered to be marked out in square plats, and freedom was granted them to chuse their situation. hitherto the planters remained utter strangers to the value and fertility of the low lands, the swamps were therefore carefully avoided, and large tracts of the higher lands, which were esteemed more precious, were surveyed, and marked out for estates by the provincial nobility. [sidenote] harsh treatment of the colonists to the refugees. governor ludwell, who was a man of great humanity, and considerable knowledge and experience in provincial affairs, by those large estates which were allowed the leading men, and the many indulgences he was authorized to grant to others, had the good fortune to allay the ferment among the people, and reconcile them to the proprietors. but this domestic tranquility was of short duration. new sources of discontent broke out from a different quarter. he had instructions to allow the french colony settled in craven county, the same privileges and liberties with the english colonists. several of the refugees being possessed of considerable property in france, had sold it, and brought the money with them to england. having purchased large tracts of land with this money, they sat down in more advantageous circumstances than the poorer part of english emigrants. some of them, who had gone to the northern provinces, hearing of the kind treatment and great encouragement their brethren had received in carolina, came to southward and joined their countrymen. having clergymen of their own persuasion, for whom they entertained the highest respect and veneration, they were disposed to encourage them as much as their narrow circumstances would admit. governor ludwell received the wandering foreigners with great civility, and was not a little solicitous to provide them with settlements equal to their expectations. while these refugees were entering on the hard task of clearing and cultivating spots of land, encouraging and relieving each other as much as was in their power, the english settlers began to revive the odious distinctions and rooted antipathies of the two nations, and to consider them as aliens and foreigners, entitled by law to none of the privileges and advantages of natural-born subjects. the governor had instructions to allow them six representatives in assembly; this the englishmen considered as contrary to the laws of the land, and beyond the power of the proprietors, who were subject to the laws, to grant. instead of considering these persecuted strangers in the enlarged light of brethren descended from the same common parent, and entitled to the free blessings of providence; instead of taking compassion on men who had sought an asylum from oppression in their country, whom they were bound to welcome to it by every tie of humanity and interest; they began to execute the laws of england respecting aliens in their utmost rigour against them. their haughty spirit could not brook the thoughts of sitting in assembly with the rivals of the english nation for power and dominion, and of receiving laws from frenchmen, the favourers of a system of slavery and absolute government. in this unfavourable light they were held forth to the people, to the great prejudice of the refugees; which sentiments, however narrow and improper, served to excite no small jealousies and apprehensions in their minds, with respect to these unhappy foreigners. hard as this treatment was, this violent party did not stop here. they insisted, that the laws of england allowed no foreigners to purchase lands in any part of the empire under her supreme jurisdiction, and that no authority but the house of commons in britain could incorporate aliens into their community, and make them partakers of the rights and privileges of natural-born englishmen; that they ought to have been naturalized by parliament before they obtained grants of lands from the proprietors; that the marriages performed by their clergymen, not being ordained by a bishop, were unlawful; and that the children begotten in those marriage could be considered in law in no other light as bastards. in short, they averred, that aliens were not only denied a seat in parliament, but also a voice in all elections of members to serve in it; and that they could neither be returned on any jury, nor sworn for the trial of issues between subject and subject. the refugees, alarmed at these proceedings, and discouraged at the prospects of being deprived of all the rights and liberties of british subjects, began to suspect that the opposition of england would fall heavier upon them than that of france from which they had fled. dejected at the thoughts of labouring they knew not for whom, if their children could not reap the fruits of their labours, or if their estates should escheat to the proprietors at their decease, they could consider themselves only as deceived and imposed upon by false promises and prospects. after holding several consultations among themselves about their deplorable circumstances, they agreed to state their case before the proprietors, and beg their advice. in answer to which the proprietors instructed governor ludwell to inform them, that they would enquire what does in law qualify an alien born for the enjoyment of the rights and privileges of english subjects, and in due time let them know; that, for their part, they would take no advantages of the present grievous circumstances of the refugees; that their lands should descend to such persons as they thought proper to bequeath them; that the children of such as had been married in the same way were not deemed bastards in england, nor could they be considered as such in carolina, where such unlimited toleration was allowed to all men by their charter. though this served in some measure to compose the minds of the refugees, yet while the people harboured prejudices against them the relief was only partial; and, at the next election of members to serve in assembly, craven county, in which they lived, was not allowed a single representative. [sidenote] the manner of obtaining lands. from the first settlement of the colony, the common method of obtaining lands in it was by purchase, either from the proprietors themselves, or from officers commissioned by them, who disposed of them agreeable to their directions. twenty pounds sterling for a thousand acres of land, and more or less, in proportion to the quantity, was commonly demanded, although the proprietors might accept of any acknowledgment they thought proper. the emigrants having obtained warrants, had liberty to go in search of vacant ground, and to pitch upon such spots as they judged most valuable and convenient. this was surveyed, and marked out to them, according to the extent of their purchase, and plats and grants were signed, registered and delivered to them, reserving one shilling quitrent for every hundred acres, to be paid annually to the proprietors. such persons as could not advance the sum demanded by way of purchase, obtained lands on condition of paying one penny annual-rent for every acre to the landlords. the former, however, was the common method of obtaining landed estates in carolina, and the tenure was a freehold. the refugees having purchased their estates, and meeting with such harsh treatment from the colonists, were greatly discouraged, and apprehensive, notwithstanding the fair promises of the proprietors, they had escaped one abyss of misery only to plunge themselves deeper into another. [sidenote] juries chosen by ballot. the manner of impannelling juries in carolina being remarkably fair and equitable, justly claims our particular notice. juries here are not returned by sheriffs, whose ingenuity and integrity are well known, particularly in england; but according to an article in the fundamental constitutions. the names of all the freemen in the colony being taken down on small pieces of parchment of equal size, they are put into a ballot-box, which is shaken on purpose to mix them, and out of which twenty-four names are drawn, at every precinct court before it rises, by the first boy under ten year of age that appears; which names are put into another box, and twelve out of the twenty-four are drawn by another boy under the same age, and summoned to appear at the next meeting of court; which persons are the jury, provided no exceptions are taken against any of them. if any of them are challenged by the prisoner, the boy continues drawing other names till the jury be full. in this mild and fair manner prisoners are tried, which allows them every chance for life humanity can suggest or require: for after the most careful examination of witnesses, and the fullest debate on both sides from the bar, the jury have instructions about the evidences given, and the point of law which is to guide them in their decision, from the bench; and are shut up in a room, where they must remain until they agree, and return their unanimous verdict, guilty or not guilty. [sidenote] pirates favored by the colonists. notwithstanding the excellence of this form of trial, it must be confessed that justice has not always had its free course, nor been administered with impartiality by the officers and judges appointed by the proprietors for this purpose. pirates, for instance, are a body of men whom all civilized nations are bound in honour and justice to crush; yet, instead of this, by bribery and corruption they often found favour with the provincial juries, and by this means escaped the hands of justice. about this time forty men arrived in a privateer called the royal jamaica, who had been engaged in a course of piracy, and brought into the country treasures of spanish gold and silver. these men were allowed to enter into recognizance for their peaceable and good behaviour for one year, with securities, till the governor should hear whether the proprietors would grant them a general indemnity. at another time a vessel was shipwrecked on the coast, the crew of which openly and boldly confessed, they had been in the red sea plundering the dominions of the great mogul. the gentleness of government towards those public robbers, and the civility and friendship with which they were treated by the people, were evidences of the licentious spirit which prevailed in the colony. for although all men ought to be tender of the lives of their fellow-creatures, and permit ten guilty persons to escape rather than one innocent man should suffer; yet, to bring pirates to justice is a duty which both national honour and the common welfare of society necessarily require. for if we allow such public robbers to escape with impunity, it may be attended with serious and fatal consequences; it may prove the occasion of war and bloodshed to nations in general, to the prejudice of navigation, and the destruction of many innocent lives, which might have been prevented by proper and legal punishments. the proprietors were disposed to consider piracy in this dangerous light, and therefore instructed governor ludwell to change the form of electing juries, and required that all pirates should be tried and punished by the laws of england made for the suppression of piracy. before such instructions reached carolina, the pirates, by their money and freedom of intercourse with the people, had so ingratiated themselves into the public favour, that it was become no easy matter to bring them to trial, and dangerous to punish them as they deserved. the courts of law became scenes of altercation, discord, and confusion. bold and seditious speeches were made from the bar, in contempt of the proprietors and their government. since no pardons could be obtained but such as they had authorised the governor to grant, the assembly took the matter under deliberation, and fell into hot debates among themselves about a bill of indemnity. when they found the governor disposed to refute his assent to such a bill, they made a law impowering magistrates and judges to put in force the _habeas corpus_ act made in england. hence it happened, that several of those pirates escaped, purchased lands from the colonists, and took up their residence in the country. while money flowed into the colony in this channel, the authority of government was a barrier too feeble to stem the fide, and prevent such illegal practices. at length the proprietors, to gratify the people, granted an indemnity to all the pirates, excepting those who had been plundering the great mogul, most of whom also found means of making their escape out of the country. in this community there subsisted a constant struggle between the people and the officers of the proprietors: the former claimed great exemptions and indulgences, on account of their indigent and dangerous circumstances; the latter were anxious to discharge the duties of their trust, and to comply with the instructions of their superiors. when quitrents were demanded some refused payment, others had nothing to offer. when actions were brought against all those who were in arrears, the poor planters murmured and complained among themselves, and were discontented at the terms of holding their lands, though, comparatively speaking, easy and advantageous. it was impossible for any governor to please both parties. the fees also of their courts and sheriffs were such, that, in all actions of small value, they exceeded the debt to be recovered by them. to remedy this inconvenience, the assembly made a law for empowering justices of the peace to hear, and finally to determine, all causes of forty shillings sterling value and under. this was equally agreeable to the people, as it was otherwise to the officers of justice. at length, to humour the planters, the governor proposed to the assembly, to consider of a new form of a deed for holding lands, by which he encroached on the prerogative of the proprietors, who had referred to themselves the sole power of judging in such a case, incurred their displeasure, and was soon after removed from the government. [sidenote] thomas smith appointed governor. to find another man equally well qualified for the trust, was a matter at this time of no small difficulty to the proprietors. thomas smith was a man possessed of considerable property, much esteemed by the people for his wisdom and sobriety; such a person they deemed would be the most proper to succeed ludwell, as he would naturally be both zealous and active in promoting the prosperity and peace of the settlement. accordingly a patent was sent out to him creating him a landgrave, and, together with it, a commission investing him with the government of the colony. mr. ludwell returned to virginia, happily relieved from a troublesome office, and landgrave smith, under all possible advantages, entered on it. he was previously acquainted with the state of the colony, and with the tempers and complexions of the leading men in it. he knew that the interest of the proprietors, and the prosperity of the settlement were inseparably connected. he was disposed to allow the people, struggling under many hardships, every indulgence consistent with the duties of his trust. no stranger could have been appointed to the government that could boast of being in circumstances equally favourable and advantageous. [sidenote] the planting of rice introduced. about this time a fortunate accident happened, which occasioned the introduction of rice into carolina, a commodity which was afterwards found very suitable to the climate and soil of the country. a brigantine from the island of madagascar touching at that place in her way to britain, came to anchor off sullivan's island. there landgrave smith, upon an invitation from the captain, paid him a visit, and received from him a present of a bag of seed rice, which he said he had seen growing in eastern countries, where it was deemed excellent food, and produced an incredible increase. the governor divided his bag of rice between stephen bull, joseph woodward, and some other friends, who agreed to make the experiment, and planted their small parcels in different soils. upon trial they found it answered their highest expectations. some years afterwards, mr. du bois, treasurer to the east-india company, sent a bag of seed rice to carolina, which, it is supposed, gave rise to the distinction of red and white rice, which are both cultivated in that country. several years, however, elapsed, before the planters found out the art of beating and cleaning it to perfection, and that the lowest and richest lands were best adapted to the nature of the grain; yet, from this period, the colonists persevered in planting it, and every year brought them greater encouragement. from this small beginning did the staple commodity of carolina take its rife, which soon became the chief support of the colony, and its great source of opulence. besides provisions for man and beast, as rice employs a number of hands in trade, it became also a source of naval strength to the nation, and of course more beneficial to it, than foreign mines of silver and gold. from the success attending this inconsiderable beginning, projectors of new schemes for improvement may draw some useful lessons, especially where lands are good, and the climate favourable to vegetation. [sidenote] occasions a necessity for employing negroes. with the introduction of rice planting into this country, and the fixing upon it as its staple commodity, the necessity of employing africans for the purpose of cultivation was doubled. so laborious is the task of raising, beating, and cleaning this article, that though it had been possible to obtain european servants in numbers sufficient for attacking the thick forest and clearing grounds for the purpose, thousands and ten thousands must have perished in the arduous attempt. the utter inaptitude of europeans for the labour requisite in such a climate and soil, is obvious to every one possessed of the smallest degree of knowledge respecting the country; white servants would have exhausted their strength in clearing a spot of land for digging their own graves, and every rice plantation would have served no other purpose than a burying ground to its european cultivators. the low lands of carolina, which are unquestionably the richest grounds in the country, must long have remained a wilderness, had not africans, whose natural constitutions were suited to the clime and work, been employed in cultivating this useful article of food and commerce. [sidenote] perpetual slavery repugnant to the principles of humanity and christianity. so much may be said for the necessity of employing africans in the cultivation of rice; but great is the difference between employing negroes in clearing and improving those rich plains, and that miserable state of hardship and slavery to which they are there devoted, and which has been tolerated and established by the law of the land. if we view this race, first ranging over the hills of africa, equally free and independent as other rude nations on earth, and from thence inveigled by frauds or compelled by force, and then consigned over to a state of endless slavery, we must confess the change is great and deplorable, especially to an impartial and disinterested eye. without them, it is acknowledged, slow must have been the progress of cultivation in carolina; but, from such a confederation, what man will presume to vindicate the policy of keeping those rational creatures in perpetual exile and slavery. nature had given them an equal right to liberty as to life, and the general law of self-preservation was equally concerned for the preservation of both. we would be glad then to know, upon what principle of equity and justice the english traders found their right to deprive the freeborn inhabitants of africa of their natural liberty and native country; or on what grounds the planter afterwards founds his right to their service during life, and that of all their posterity, to the latest generation. can the particular laws of any country supersede the general laws of nature? can the local circumstances of any province upon earth be pled in excuse for such a violent trade, and for such endless slavery in consequence of it? besides, has not this trade a tendency to encourage war and plunder among the natives of africa? to set one tribe against another, to catch and trepan their neighbours, on purpose to barter them for european trinkets to the factories? nor is the traffic confined to the captives of war alone, who have been subjected to slavery by many nations; for so ardently do they covet the pernicious liquors and trifling commodities carried to them from europe, that, without scruple, they will part with their nearest relations, their wives and children not excepted, to procure them. thus civilized nations, by such a traffic, have made barbarians more barbarous, and tempted them to commit the most cruel and unnatural actions. nothing can be more evident, than that such a trade is tolerated and carried on in violation of the grand rule of equity prescribed to christians. for example, let us suppose the people of africa had discovered an island, such as newfoundland, in a climate too cool for the natives of that continent to cultivate, and that the inhabitants of the north of europe were alone adapted to the work. in consequence of this discovery, were they to sail to britain with a cargo of their gold dust, and stir up one county to wage war with another for the sake of captives were they to tempt the father to dispose of his son, the mother of her daughter, the husband of his wife, and the nearest friends, first to steal and kidnap, and then barter each other, for africa's golden idol: we may with justice put the question, ye inhabitants of england, what would ye think of such a traffic? we will readily own, there are few nations upon earth more fond of gold dust than you, or have gone farther lengths in the commercial way to procure it; yet, fond as ye are of this favourite metal, we must do so much justice to your humanity as to believe, that your nation would resound with complaints against a traffic so unjust and cruel. yet certainly the african's natural right to pursue it is equally well grounded as that of the european. what principle of christianity can you then plead in its vindication? your superior power, avarice, and craft, the african acknowledges to his sad experience; but he complains of being made absolute property, such as cattle, goods and chattels, and subject to be seized, levied upon, and tossed from hand to hand for the payment of commercial debts, by the laws of your realm, to which he never owed any subjection or obedience. he complains of the means used to bring him into such grievous and deplorable circumstances, as unfair and iniquitous. he complains, that his utmost labour and industry for any limited time will not be accepted by the master he serves, as a compensation for the expence of his purchase, and that he and all his generation must remain slaves for ever, without hope of redemption or deliverance. and, without doubt, hard is his case, and well grounded are his complaints. indeed the planter's concern only commences with the arrival of these slaves, and his contract made with the merchant, who, under the colour and authority of the laws, brought them into the country where he lives. for the purchase he makes he has also the sanction and countenance of law, which is in some measure a justification of his conduct. on provincial regulations, with respect to the subsequent management and treatment of negroes, we shall afterwards take occasion to make some remarks. at present we shall only add, that in no instance can it be said to be a more plain and lamentable truth, that the love of money is the root of all evil, than when it urges men to trade in the bodies and souls of their fellow-creatures. [sidenote] foreign colonies encouraged from views of commercial advantage. during the period of the usurpation in england, when the great councils of the nation were under the direction of men of mean birth and little education, the considerations of mercantile profit became connected with those of dominion and the higher springs of government. after the conquest of jamaica, it was resolved, that the nation should make a commercial profit of every colony that had been, or should be, planted in the western world. at the restoration the same turn in politics was also adopted, and the parliament which brought about that great event made a law, by which it was enacted, that no sugar, cotton, wool, indigo, ginger, fustic, or other dying wood, of the growth of any english plantation in asia, africa, or america, should be transported to any other place than to some english plantation, or to england, ireland, wales, and berwick upon tweed, upon pain of forfeiture of ship and goods; that, for every vessel sailing from england, ireland, wales, and berwick upon tweed, bond shall be given, with security of one or two thousand pounds sterling, money of great britain, that if she load any of the said commodities at such plantations, she shall bring them to some port of these english dominions. and for every vessel coming to the said plantations the governor shall, before she be permitted to load, take such bond as aforesaid, that she shall carry such commodities to england, ireland, wales, or berwick upon tweed. this laid the foundation of what was afterwards called _enumerated commodities_; and to these already mentioned, rice, hemp, copper ore, beaver skins, and naval stores, were afterwards added, and, with some exceptions, subjected to the same restraint. this navigation law, though it cramped the trade of the colonies, yet it has been attended with many beneficial consequences to britain: and while she maintained the supreme power of legislation throughout the empire, and wisely regulated the trade and commerce of her foreign settlements, she might reap many and substantial advantages from them. she might render them a market for her manufactures, and at the same time supply herself with such commodities as her northern climate refused, and obliged her to purchase from other nations. by such means she might enlarge her commerce and trade, at the same time she increased her naval strength. it was her interest in a particular manner to encourage settlements in a different climate, the productions of which luxury had made necessary to the support of her domestic dominions. their articles of product interfered not with those of britain, and were in no danger of rivalling her at any market. but should the planters in these colonies begin to think themselves entitled to the privileges of raising what productions they please, and of sending them to any market they judged most advantageous to themselves, they would then become colonies equally useful to all the world; and the mother country, who discovered, peopled and protected them, would share no more advantage from them than rival states around her. on this principle great britain grounds her right to expect a market for her manufactures in the colonies she planted and nursed, and to regulate their produce and trade in such a channel as to render them only subservient to her own interest. without this right they would not only be useless to her, but very prejudicial. colonies planted in the same latitude with the parent state, raising the same productions, and enjoying the same privileges, must in time be both detrimental and dangerous; for while they drain her of inhabitants, they are growing strong upon her ruins. they meet her at the same market with the same commodities, a competition arises between them, and occasions jealousies, quarrels, and animosities. then she will become sensible of the bad policy of having promoted such colonies, when they prove dangerous rivals in trade and commerce, and when perhaps it is become too late to remedy the evil: for a rival daughter often becomes the more abusive and troublesome, in proportion as she is better acquainted than strangers with the natural fondness and indulgent temper of a tender mother. from carolina indeed britain had less to fear than from the more northern colonies, as the latitude was more remote, and the climate and soil better suited to different productions. here the people naturally engaged in pursuits different from those of the mother country, and a mutual exchange of commodities and good offices would of consequence the more necessarily take place. they might barter their skins, furs, and naval stores, for clothes, arms, ammunition, and utensils necessary for cultivation, imported from england. they might send their provisions, lumber, and indian captives to the west indies, and receive the luxuries of these islands, and the refuse of their cargoes of slaves, in return, without any prejudice to britain: for as the two climates differed greatly, they were of consequence adapted to different articles of produce. to such staples the first views of the planters ought to have been chiefly directed, and, for their encouragement in raising them, premiums from the proprietors might have been attended with the most beneficial effects. [sidenote] a.d. . indians complain of injustice. before this time the carolineans had found out the policy of setting one tribe of indians against another, on purpose to save themselves. by trifling presents they purchased the friendship of some tribes, whom they employed to carry on war with others, which not only diverted their attention from them, but encouraged them to bring captives to charlestown, for the purpose of transportation to the west indies, and the advantage of trade. in the year , twenty cherokee chiefs waited on governor smith, with presents and proposals of friendship, craving the protection of government against the esaw and congaree indians, who had destroyed several of their towns, and taken a number of their people prisoners. they complained also of the outrages of the savanna indians for selling their countrymen, contrary to former regulations established among the different tribes; and begged the governor to restore their relations, and protect them against such insidious enemies. governor smith declared to them, that there was nothing he wished for more than friendship and peace with the cherokee warriors, and would do every thing in his power for their defence: that the prisoners were already gone, and could not be recalled; but that he would for the future take care that a stop should be put to the custom of sending them off the country. at the same time the chihaw king complained of the cruel treatment he had received from john palmer who had barbarously beat and cut him with his broad-sword. in answer to which charge palmer was insolent and contumacious, and protested, in defiance and contempt of both governor and council, he would again treat him in like manner upon the same provocation; for which he was ordered into custody, until he asked pardon of the house, and found security for his future peaceable behaviour to indians. such instances of harsh treatment serve to account for many outrages of indian nations, who were neither insensible to the common feelings of human nature, nor ignorant of the grievous frauds and impositions they suffered in the course of traffic. by some planters indeed they were used with greater humanity, and employed as servants to cultivate their lands, or hunt for fresh provisions to their families; and as the woods abounded with deer, rabbits, turkeys, geese, ducks, snipes, etc. which were all accounted game, an expert hunter was of great service in a plantation, and could furnish a family with more provisions than they could consume. [sidenote] the troubles among the settlers continue. with respect to government carolina still remained in a confused and turbulent state. complaint from every quarter was made to the governor, who was neither able to quiet the minds of the people, nor afford them the relief they wanted. the french refugees were uneasy that there was no provincial law to secure their estates to the heirs of their body, or the next in kin, and afraid that their lands at their death would escheat to the proprietors, and their children become beggars, notwithstanding their utmost industry and application; and, in such a case, the sooner they removed from the colony the better it would be for themselves and their posterity. the english colonists, not only kept up variances among themselves, bur also perplexed the governor with their complaints of hardships and grievances. at last landgrave smith wrote the proprietors, and frankly told them, that he despaired of ever uniting the people in interest and affection; that he and many more, weary of the fluctuating state of public affairs, had resolved to leave the province; and that he was convinced nothing would bring the settlers to a state of tranquillity and harmony, unless they sent out one of the proprietors, with full powers to redress grievances, and settle differences prevailing and likely to prevail more in their colony. [sidenote] john archdale appointed governor. the proprietors, astonished at the discontented and turbulent spirit of the people, yet anxious to prevent the settlement from being deserted and ruined, resolved to try the remedy landgrave smith had suggested; and accordingly pitched on lord ashley, an ingenious and bright young nobleman, to go to carolina, and invested him with full powers, after viewing the posture of affairs on the spot, to establish such regulations as he judged most conducive to the peace and welfare of the colony. lord ashley, however, having either little inclination to the voyage, or being detained in england by business of greater consequence, john archdale agreed to embark in his place. archdale was a man of considerable knowledge and discretion, a quaker, and a proprietor; great trust was reposed in him, and much was expected from his negociations. in the mean time landgrave smith having resigned his charge, daniel blake was chosen governor, until the pleasure of the proprietors was known. so great was the antipathy of the english settlers to the french refugees now grown, that they insisted on their total exclusion from a voice in the legislature. for this purpose an address was prepared and signed by a great number of them, and presented to governor blake, praying, that the refugees might not only be denied the privilege of sitting as members of the legislative body, but also of a vote at their election, and that the assembly might be composed only of english members, chosen by englishmen. their request, however, being contrary to the instructions of the proprietors, blake, it is probable, judged beyond his power to grant, and therefore matters relating to them continued in the same unsettled state, until the arrival of governor archdale, which happened about the middle of the year . [sidenote] archdales's arrival, and new regulations. the arrival of this pious man occasioned no small joy among all the settlers, who crowded about him, each expecting some favour or indulgence. amidst the general joy, private animosities and civil discord seemed for a while to be buried in oblivion. the governor soon found, that three interesting matters demanded his particular attention. the first was, to restore harmony and peace among the colonists themselves; the second, to reconcile them to the jurisdiction and authority of the proprietors; and the third, to regulate their policy and traffic with the indian tribes. for these purposes he summoned his council for advice, and the commissions to the different deputies were read. the members appointed were joseph blake, stephen bull, james moore, paul grimball, thomas carey, john beresford, and william hawett. all former judges of the courts, officers of the militia, and justices of the peace, were continued in their respective offices. but such was the national antipathy of the english settlers to the poor french refugees, that archdale found their total exclusion from all concern in legislature was absolutely necessary to the peaceable convocation of the delegates, and therefore issued writs directing them only to berkley and colleton counties. ten members for the one, and ten for the other, all englishmen, were accordingly chosen by the freemen of the same nation. at their meeting the governor made a seasonable speech to both houses, acquainting them with the design of his appointment, his regard for the colony, and great desire of contributing towards its peace and prosperity. they, in return, presented affectionate addresses to him, and entered on public business with great temper and unanimity. matters of general moment and concern governor archdale, by his extensive powers and great discretion settled to the satisfaction of all, excepting the french refugees. the price of lands and the form of conveyances were fixed by law. three years rent was remitted to those who held land by grant, and four years to such as held them by survey, without grant. such lands as had escheated to the proprietors, were ordered to be let out or sold for their lordships benefit. it was agreed to take the arrears of quitrents either in money or commodities, as should be most easy and convenient for the planters. magistrates were appointed, for hearing all causes between the settlers and indians, and finally determining all differences between them. public roads were ordered to be made, and water passages cut, for the more easy conveyance of produce to the market. some former laws were altered, and such new statutes made as were judged requisite for the good government and peace of the colony. in short, public affairs began to put on an agreeable aspect, and to promise fair towards the future progress and welfare of the settlement. but as for the french refugees, all the governor could do for them was, to recommend it to the english freeholders to consider them in the most friendly and compassionate point of light, and to treat them with lenity and moderation. [sidenote] treats indians with humanity. no man could entertain more benevolent sentiments, with respect to the ignorant heathen savages, than governor archdale; his compassion for them was probably one of the weighty motives which induced him to undertake the voyage to this country. to protect them against insults, and establish a fair trade and friendly intercourse with them, were regulations which both humanity required and sound policy dictated. but such was the rapacious spirit of individuals, that it could be curbed by no authority. many advantages were taken of the ignorance of indians in the way of traffic. the liberty of seizing their persons, and selling them for slaves to the west-india planters, the colonists could not be prevailed on entirely to resign, without much reluctance. at this time a war raged between two indian nations, the one living in the british, the other in the spanish territories. the yamassees, a powerful tribe in carolina, having made an incursion into florida, took a number of indians prisoners, whom they brought to charlestown for sale to the provincial traders to jamaica and barbadoes. governor archdale no sooner heard of their arrival, than he ordered the spanish indians to be brought to him, and finding that they had been instructed in the rites and principles of the catholic religion, he could not help considering it as an atrocious crime to sell christians of any denomination. to maintain a good understanding between the two provinces, he sent the prisoners to augustine, and along with them the yamassee warriors, to treat of peace with the indians of florida. the spanish governor wrote a letter to mr. archdale, thanking him for his humanity, and expressing a desire to live on terms of friendship and peace with the carolineans. in consequence of which, governor archdale issued orders to all indians in the british interest, to forbear molesting those under the jurisdiction of spain. the two kings being at that time confederates, the like orders were issued at st. augustine, and in a short time they were attended with beneficial effects. such wise steps served not only to prevent slaughter and misery among these savages themselves, but an english vessel being accidentally shipwrecked on the coast of florida, the indians did the crew no harm, but, on the contrary, conducted them safe to augustine, where the commandant furnished them with provisions, and sent them to the english settlements. nor did governor archdale confine his views to the establishment of a good correspondence with the indian nations on the south of this settlement, but extended them also to those on the north side of it. stephen bull, a member of the council and an indian trader, at his request entered into a treaty of friendship with the indians living on the coast of north carolina. this proved also favourable for some adventurers from new england, who were soon after the conclusion of the treaty shipwrecked on that coast. these emigrants got all safe to land, but finding themselves surrounded by barbarians, expected nothing but instant death. however, to defend themselves in the best manner they could, they encamped in a body on the shore, and threw up an entrenchment around them. there they remained until their small stock of provisions was almost exhausted. the indians, by making signs of friendship, frequently invited them to quit their camp; but they were afraid to trust them, until hunger urged them to run the hazard at all events. after they came out, the indians received them with great civility, and not only furnished them with provisions, but also permitted some of them peaceably to travel over land to charlestown, to acquaint the governor with their misfortune. upon which a vessel was sent to north carolina, which brought them to cooper river, on the north side of which lands were allotted them for their accommodation and they formed that settlement afterwards known by the name of christ's-church parish. about the same time, two indians of different tribes being intoxicated with liquor, a vice which they learned from the english settlers, quarrelled at charlestown, and the one murdered the other. among these barbarians, not to avenge the death of a friend is considered as pusillanimous, and whenever death ensues, drunkenness, accident, or even self-defence, are in their eyes no extenuation of the crime. the relations of the deceased, hearing of his death, immediately came to charlestown, and demanded satisfaction. governor archdale, who had confined the murderer, being desirous to save his life, offered them a compensation; but they refused it, and insisted on blood for blood and death for death, according to the law of retaliation. to prevent the quarrel spreading wider among them, he was obliged to deliver the prisoner up to punishment and death. while they were conducting him to the place of execution, his king, coming up to him, enjoined him, since he must die, to stand and die like a man; adding, at the same time, that he had often warned him of the danger of rum, and now he must lose his life for neglecting his counsel. when he had advanced to the stake to which he was to be fastened, he desired that they would not bind him, promising not to stir a foot from the spot; and accordingly he did not, but with astounding resolution braved the terrors of death, and fell a sacrifice to justice, the frequent wages of blind drunkenness and mad excess. [sidenote] the proprietors shamefully neglected agriculture. it may now be thought a matter of surprise by some men, especially by such as know the advantages of agriculture, that the proprietors of carolina, who were men of knowledge, and zealous for the interest and improvement of the colony, paid so little regard to the only thing upon which the subsistence of the inhabitants and the success of the settlement depended. instead of framing codes of laws, and modelling the government of the country on principles of speculation, in which men are always in danger of error, especially when living in a different climate, far remote from the country they mean to govern; had they established a plantation in it for the particular purpose of making experiments, to find out what productions were most suitable to the soil and climate; this would have been of more real use than all the visionary laws they ever framed. the first planters were men of little knowledge or substance, many of them utter strangers to the arts of agriculture; and those who had been accustomed to husbandry in europe, followed the same rules, and planted the same grain in carolina, as they had formerly done in england; which were by no means adapted to the climate. they moved on in the old line, exhausted their strength in fruitless efforts, without presuming to imagine, that different articles of produce, and a deviation from the eastern modes of cultivation, could be beneficial. hence the planters, though they had lands on the easiest terms, remained poor; and the fault was occasioned more by their ignorance and inexperience than by the climate or soil. it was the business of the proprietors to have directed their views to such productions as were best suited to the nature of their lands, and most likely to reward their toil; and not to have left a matter of such importance to chance, or the ingenuity of poor labourers. agriculture was certainly an object of the highest consequence to the settlers, and of course also to the proprietors of the country. [sidenote] archdale returns to england, and leaves joseph blake governor. governor archdale having finished his negociations in carolina, made preparations for returning to britain. during his time though the government had acquired considerable respect and stability, yet the differences among the people still remained. former flames were rather smothered for a while than extinguished, and were ready on the first occasion to break out again and burn with greater violence. before he embarked, the council presented to him an address, to be transmitted to the proprietors, expressing the deep sense they had of their lordships paternal care for their colony, in the appointment of a man of such abilities and integrity to the government who had been so happily instrumental in establishing its peace and security. they told them, they had now no contending factions in government, or clashing interests among the people, excepting what respected the french refugees, who were unhappy at their not being allowed all the privileges and liberties of english subjects, particularly those of sitting in assembly, and voting at the election of its members, which could not be granted them without losing the affections of the english settlers, and involving the colony in civil broils; that governor archdale, by the advice of his council, had chose rather to refuse them those privileges than disoblige the bulk of the british settlers; that, by his wise conduct, they hoped all misunderstandings between their lordships and the colonists were now happily removed; that they would for the future cheerfully concur with them in every measure for the speedy population and improvement of the country; that they were now levying money for building fortifications, to defend the province against foreign attacks, and that they would strive to maintain harmony and peace among themselves. governor archdale received this address with peculiar satisfaction, and promised to present it to the proprietors on his arrival in england. being impowered to nominate a lieutenant-governor, he made choice of joseph blake for his successor, and embarked for britain about the close of the year . after mr. archdale's arrival in england, he laid this address, together with a state of the country, and the regulations he had established in it, before the proprietors, and showed them the necessity of abolishing many articles in the constitutions, and framing a new plan of government. accordingly, they began to compile new constitutions; from his information and intelligence forty-one different articles were drawn up and sent out by robert daniel, for the better government of the colony. but when the governor laid these new laws before the assembly for their assent and approbation, recommending the careful perusal and consideration of them, they treated them as they had done the former constitutions, and, instead of taking them under deliberation, modestly laid them aside. [sidenote] a colony of french in florida. mean while france, having thought proper to recognize king william in the quality of king of great britain and ireland, a treaty of peace was concluded between the two nations. after which, a project was formed by lewis xiv. for establishing a colony of his people at the mouth of the great river mississipi. to that immense territory lying to the eastward of that river, and extending along the back of the appalachian mountains, from the mexican seas to his dominions in canada, he laid claim, which, in honour of him, was afterwards called louisiana. some discerning men in england early warned the nation of danger to the british settlements from a french colony established on this quarter; yet many years elapsed before they began to feel the inconveniences and troubles arising from it. it was foreseen, that, besides the spaniards, another competitor for power and dominion would spring up, in a situation where they had a fair opportunity of engrossing the trade and affections of indian tribes, and harassing the weakest frontiers of the british colonies: and doubtless, from the influence and address of the frenchmen among indians, the english settlers had more to fear, than from the religious zeal and bigotry of indolent spanish friars. john earl of bath having succeeded lord craven as palatine, several persons of character and influence in carolina were by him created landgraves; among whom were edmund ballenger, john bayley, and robert daniel; edmund bohun was appointed chief justice of the colony. about the same time nicholas trott, a learned and ambitious man, left the bahama islands, and took up his residence in carolina. numbers from different quarters continued to resort to this country, and, notwithstanding its warm and unhealthy climate, the flattering prospects of landed estates induced men to run every risque; and the proprietors neglected no means which they judged conducive towards its speedy population. [sidenote] the french refugees incorporated by law. with respect to the french refugees, the national antipathies among the colonists now began to abate, who, from their quiet and inoffensive behaviour, entertained daily more favourable sentiments of them. along with their neighbours they had defied the dangers of the desert, and given ample proofs of their fidelity to the proprietors, their love to the people, and their zeal for the success of the colony. they had cleared little spots of land for raising the necessaries of life, and in some measure surmounted the difficulties of the first state of colonization. yet none of them could boast of great success, excepting one man who had taught the indians dancing and music, for which arts they discovered an amazing fondness, and liberally rewarded him for his instructions. at this favourable juncture the refugees, by the advice of the governor and other friends, petitioned the legislature to be incorporated with the freemen of the colony, and allowed the same privileges and liberties with those born of english parents. accordingly an act passed for making all aliens free, for enabling them to hold lands, and to claim the same as heirs to their ancestors, who should take the oath of allegiance to king william. with this condition the refugees joyfully complied, and the proprietors, without scruple, ratified the law; in consequence of which, the french and english settlers, united in interest and affection, have ever since lived together in harmony and peace. though every person enjoyed liberty of conscience with respect to religion, yet as the proprietors were episcopalians, the tendency of their government leaned towards that mode of religious worship. governor blake, though a dissenter himself, possessed the most liberal sentiments towards men of a different persuasion. during his time a bill was brought into the assembly, for allowing the episcopal minister of charlestown, and his successors for ever, a salary of one hundred and fifty pounds sterling, together with a house, glebe, and two servants. samuel marshal, a pious and learned man, being the episcopal minister at that time, whose prudence and ability had gained him great esteem from christians of all denominations, the bill passed with the less opposition. dissenters in general, a large body of the people, conscious of the amiable character and great merit of the man, acquiesced in the measure; and as no motion had been made respecting any established church, they seemed apprehensive of no ill consequences from it. however, soon after this, when the design of the proprietors became more plain, this party, jealous above all things of their religious liberties, took the alarm, and opposed the establishment of the church of england in the colony with such violence, as occasioned no small ferment for many years in the settlement. [sidenote] depredations of pirates. about this time the coast of carolina was infested with pirates, who hovered about the mouth of ashley river, and obstructed the freedom of trade. in the last year of the seventeenth century, the planters had raised more rice than they could find vessels to export. forty-five persons from different nations, englishmen, frenchmen, portuguese, and indians, had manned a ship at the havanna, and entered on a cruise of piracy. while they were on the coast of carolina, the people felt severely the pernicious effects of that lawless trade, which in former times they were too apt to encourage. several ships belonging to charlestown were taken by those public robbers, who sent the crews ashore, but kept the vessels as their prizes. at last having quarrelled among themselves about the division of the spoil, as frequently happens among such free-booters, the englishmen proving the weaker party, were turned adrift in a long-boat. they landed at sewee bay, and from thence travelled over land to charlestown, giving out that they had been shipwrecked, and fortunately escaped to shore in their boat. but, to their sad disappointment and surprise, no less than three masters of ships happened to be at charlestown at the time, who had been taken by them, and knew them; upon whose testimony the pirates were instantly taken up, tried and condemned, and seven out of nine suffered death. [sidenote] a hurricane, during the autumn of the same year, a dreadful hurricane happened at charlestown, which did great damage, and threatened the total destruction of the town. the lands on which it is built being low and level, and not many feet above high-water mark, the swelling sea rushed in with amazing impetuosity, and obliged the inhabitants to fly for shelter to the second stories of their houses. happily few lives were lost in town; but a large vessel, called the rising sun, belonging to glasgow, and commanded by james gibson, which had come from darien with part of the unfortunate scotch settlers, at the time of the storm rode at anchor off the bar. this ship the hurricane drove from her anchor, and dashed to pieces against the sand-banks, and every person on board perished. archibald stobo, a presbyterian clergyman, lieutenant graham, and several more belonging to the ship, being accidentally on shore during the tempest, escaped the disaster. these men going next day in search of their unfortunate countrymen, found the corpses of the greatest part of them driven ashore on james's island, where they spent a whole day in burying them, the last act of humanity they could then perform to their beloved companions. [sidenote] and other public calamities, visit the province. nor was this the only disaster which distinguished this year in the annals of carolina. a fire broke also out in charlestown, and laid the most of it in ashes. the small-pox raged through the town, and proved fatal to multitudes of the rising generation. to complete their distress, an infectious distemper broke out, and carried off an incredible number of people, among whom were chief justice bohun, samuel marshal the episcopal clergyman, john ely the receiver-general, edward rawlins the provost-martial, and almost one half of the members of assembly. never had the colony been visited with such general distress and mortality. few families escaped a share of the public calamities. almost all were lamenting the loss, either of their habitations by the devouring flames, or of friends or relations by the infectious and loathsome maladies. discouragement and despair sat on every countenance. many of the survivors could think of nothing but abandoning a country on which the judgments of heaven seemed to fall so heavy, and in which there was so little prospect of success, health, or happiness. they had heard of pennsylvania, and how pleasant and flourishing a province it was described to be, and therefore were determined to embrace the first opportunity that offered of retiring to it with the remainder of their families and effects. governor blake, deeply sensible of the public distress, tried every art for alleviating the misery of the people, and encouraging them to perseverance; but the members of assembly who survived, became so negligent about public affairs, that he found himself under a necessity of dissolving the house, and calling another, hoping that they might be more zealous and active in concerting measures for the public relief. of this new assembly nicholas trott, whose talents had raised him above the level of his fellow-representatives, was made speaker, and who warmly espoused the cause of the people, in opposition to the interest of the proprietors. the governor and council claimed the privilege of nominating public officers, particularly a receiver-general, until the pleasure of the proprietors was known. the assembly, on the other hand, insisted that it belonged to them. this occasioned several messages between the two houses, and much altercation. however, the upper house appointed their man. the lower house resolved, that the person appointed by them was no public receiver, and that whoever should presume to pay money to him as such, should be deemed an infringer of the privileges of assembly, and an enemy to the country. trott flatly denied they could be called an upper house, though they thus styled themselves, as they differed in the most essential circumstances from the house of lords in england; and therefore led the assembly to call them the proprietors deputies, and to treat them with indignity and contempt, by limiting them to a day to pass their bills, and to an hour to answer their messages. at this time trott was eager in the pursuit of popularity, and by his uncommon abilities and address succeeded in a wonderful manner. never had any man there, in so short a time, so thoroughly engrossed the public favour and esteem, or carried matters with so high a hand, in opposition to the proprietary counsellors. [sidenote] james moore chosen governor. about the close of the year , governor blake died, and a dispute arose in the upper house about the succession to the government. joseph morton, as eldest landgrave, claimed the preference, until the pleasure of the palatine was known. but james moore, a needy, forward and ambitious man, stood forth in competition, and, by activity and art, gained a number over in support of his pretensions. he objected to landgrave morton, because he had accepted a commission from king william to be judge of the court of vice-admiralty, while, at the same time, he held one of the proprietors to the same office: this moore and his friends declared to be a breach of the trust reposed in him; and that he might with equal propriety have accepted of a commission from king william to be governor; while he held that office of the proprietors. landgrave morton replied, that there was a necessity for holding a commission from the king to be judge of the court of vice-admiralty, because it did not appear from the charter that the proprietors could impower their judge to try persons for acts committed without the bounds of their colony, and that with such jurisdiction the judge of the admiralty ought for many reasons always to be vested. however, the upper house deemed the objection of force sufficient to set morton aside, and james moore was chosen successor to governor blake. from which period the colony may date the beginning of further jealousies and troubles, which continued for several years, and obstructed its progress in improvement. various intrigues crept into the seat of government, and several encroachments were made on the liberties and privileges of the people, both civil and religious. [sidenote] lord granville palatine. king william, though he maintained the power of the established church, yet he often discovered a secret attachment to presbyterians, and on all occasions treated them with lenity and moderation. hence many of the more zealous friends to the church of england, alarmed at the prospects of its dangerous situation, became eagerly bent not only in support of its constitution, but even of its minutest forms, usages, and vestments. lord granville among the rest, after he was called up to the house of peers, had there distinguished himself as an inflexible bigot for the high-church, having been early taught to entertain the most supercillous contempt for dissenters of all denominations. being now also palatine of carolina, he soon discovered that the establishment of episcopacy, and the suppression of all other modes of religious worship, in that country, was the chief object of his zeal and attention. james moore being considered as a man more fit than landgrave morton for assisting him in the accomplishment of his favourite design, the more easily obtained a confirmation of his election to the government. [sidenote] king william's charter to the society for propagating the gospel. here it may not be improper to observe, that several eminent men had appeared in england, who, pitying the miserable state of the western world with respect to religion, had proposed some public-spirited design for the propagation of the gospel among the heathens on that vast continent. robert boyle, no less distinguished for his eminent piety than universal learning, had been appointed by charles ii. governor of a corporation established for the propagation of the christian religion among indians, the natives of new england and parts adjacent, in america. queen mary afterwards discovered a great desire for enlarging their plan, and for this purpose gave a bounty of two hundred pounds sterling annually to support missionaries in that quarter. dr. compton, bishop of london, was at pains to procure a state of religion among the english colonies, from a persuasion of the necessity and propriety of beginning this charitable work among them; and dr. thomas bray, his commissary in maryland, furnished him with one suited to excite sympathy and compassion in every pious and generous breast. at length dr. tennison, archbishop of canterbury, undertook the laudable design, applied to the crown, and obtained a charter incorporating a society for the propagation of the gospel in foreign parts. the nation in general entered into the design with their usual ardour for all benevolent and charitable institutions. from different parts large benefactions were received by this society, and it was soon enabled to support a number of missionaries in the plantations. religious books were purchased and sent out to different provinces, and carolina among the rest received a number of them. a law passed for instituting a public library in the province, to remain under the care and custody of the episcopal minister of charlestown. edward marston at this time took the charge of it, and was disposed to contribute every thing in his power towards rendering it generally useful. but the dissenters, from the choice of the books, most of which were wrote by episcopal divines, and in defence of the doctrine, discipline and worship of the church of england, soon perceived the intention of the society, and a library framed on such a narrow foundation was treated with neglect, and proved utterly ineffectual for promoting the desired end, i mean, the religious instruction of the people. about this time the number of inhabitants in the colony amounted to between five and six thousand, besides indians and negroes. in charlestown they had one minister of the church of england, and another of the church of scotland; but in the country there was no such thing as public worship, nor schools for the education of children; and people living thus scattered through a forest, were likely in time to sink by degrees into the same state of ignorance and barbarism with the natural inhabitants of the wilderness. to supply these destitute colonists with proper means of instruction, called for the first attention of the society; for as indians and negroes would naturally take their first religious impressions from their neighbours, to begin at this place was like paving the way for extending wider the benefits of instruction. in what manner the colony was supplied with ministers from this society, and how far the interest of religion in that country was promoted by it, we shall afterwards have occasion more particularly to narrate. [sidenote] an established church projected by the palatine. to prepare the province for the charitable assistance of this society, it was judged necessary to have the church of england established in it by a provincial law, and the country divided into different parishes, the palatine imagined that these internal troubles and differences, by which the colony had hitherto been agitated, and the government rendered feeble and fluctuating, were occasioned by the clashing sentiments of the people with respect to religion. to remedy this evil, he perceived that some bond of union was necessary, to carry on public measures with ease and success; and religion had been deemed the firmest cement of every state. he knew that the episcopal form of church government was more favourable to monarchy and the civil constitution than the presbyterian, as in it a chain of dependence subsists, from the highest to the lowest in the church. while therefore he instructed governor moore to study all possible means of persuading the assembly to acquiesce in that form contained in the fundamental constitutions, he was equally zealous for an established church, that the wheels of their government might be no more clogged by religious dissentions. [sidenote] but disliked by the majority of the people. but as a great majority of the colonists were dissenters, who fled from england on account of rigorous acts of uniformity, their minds were ill disposed to admit of any establishment. their former prejudices they had not yet thrown aside; their hardships in england they had not yet forgot. their private opinions respecting religion were various as their different complexions, and unlimited toleration was granted to all by the charter. they could hear of no proposals about an established church, and the palatine at such an unreasonable time, shewed more zeal than prudence or good policy in attempting to introduce it among them. the governor found them inflexible and obstinate in opposing such a measure; and the people even began to repent of having passed a law for fixing a salary for ever on the rector of the episcopal church, and considered it as a step preparatory to further encroachments. [sidenote] governor moore resolves to get riches. the great object with governor moore was to improve his time, not knowing how long his precarious power might last, for bettering his low and indigent circumstances. it appeared to him, that the traffic in indians was the shortest way to riches. he therefore granted commissions to several persons, to assault, trepan and captivate as many indians as they could, and resolved to turn the profits of such trade to his own private emolument. not contented with this cruel method of acquiring wealth, he formed a design for engrossing the whole advantages arising to the colony from their commerce with indian nations. for this purpose a bill was brought into the assembly for regulating the indian trade, and drawn up in such a manner as would cause all the profits of it to center in his hands. but nicholas trott, robert stephen, and others, proved to the assembly the pernicious tendency of such a bill, and therefore it was thrown out. at which governor moore being highly offended, dissolved the house, in hopes of procuring another more favourable to his private views and interests. [sidenote] encourages irregularities at elections. at the election of the next assembly the governor and his friends exerted all their power and influence to bring in men of their own complexion, i mean such as would be most compliant with moor's instructions from england, and most ready to assist him in advancing his interest. nicholas trott, who had hitherto shone like a star of the first magnitude on the opposite side, being now appointed attorney-general, threw all his influence and weight into the scale of government, turned his back on his former friends, and strongly supported that tottering fabric which he had formerly endeavoured to pull down. charlestown, where all freeholders met to give their suffrages, at the time of this election was a scene of riot, intemperance, and confusion. the sheriff, having instructions so to do, admitted every person to vote; the members of colleton county say, even common sailors, servants, foreigners, and mallattoes. such freeholders as stood forth in opposition to the governor's party, were abused and insulted. at length, when the poll was closed, one half of the persons elected were found to be men of neither sense nor credit; but being the chosen creatures of the governor, it was his business to prevent all inquiry into the conduct of the sheriff, and the qualifications of such members. ar this time carteret county was inhabited only by indians; but in colleton county there were no less than two hundred freeholders, who had a right to vote for delegates to assembly. the principal plantations in it were those of the late sir john yeamans, landgraves morton, ballenger and axtell, and those of blake, boone, gibbes, schinking, and others. the people of this county being highly offended at the manner of election, particularly the arts and intrigues practised, and the riot and intemperance permitted at it, drew up a representation of the whole transaction, and transmitted it to the proprietors in england: but the palatine was too deeply concerned in promoting those measures of which they complained, to grant them any favourable answer. in berkley county the principal settlements were those of sir nathanial johnson, governor moore, landgraves west, smith, bayley, and daniel; together with those belonging to godfrey, mathews, izard, colleton, grimball, _&c._; several of whom were also dissatisfied with the public proceedings. but craven county being composed of french refugees, who having little knowledge of the english language, were easily managed; many of whom supported the governor purely out of affection to the proprietors. in short, the house consisted of thirty members, one half of whom were elected from the dregs of the people, utter strangers to public affairs, and in every respect unqualified for fitting as provincial legislators. [sidenote] proposes an expedition against augustine. in the mean time, a rupture rook place in europe between england and spain, which turned the attention of the colony to a different object, and afforded governor moore an opportunity of exercising his military talents, and a new prospect of enriching himself by spanish plunder or indian captives. accordingly, instead of private disputes among themselves, he proposed to the assembly an expedition against the spanish settlement at augustine. many of the people, from mercenary motives, applauded the proposal; however, men of cool reflection, having yet had no intelligence of the declaration of war were averse from rushing into any hazardous enterprize, until they had certain advice of it from england. as the expedition was projected, contrary to the opinion and inclination of many carolineans, without any recent provocation from the spanish garrison; it is probable that the governor engaged in it chiefly from views of private emolument. florida, he assured the people would be an easy conquest; and treasures of gold and silver were held out to them as the rewards of valour. in vain did some members of the assembly oppose it, by representing the province as weak, and ill provided for warlike enterprises, and by hinting at the many hazards and difficulties always attending them; in vain did they urge the strength of the spanish fort, and the expenses incurred by a fruitless and perhaps bloody expedition: such men were called enemies and traitors to their country, and represented as timid and pusillanimous wretches, who were utter strangers to great and glorious undertakings. accordingly, a great majority of the assembly declared for the expedition, and a sum of two thousand pounds sterling was voted for the service of the war. six hundred indians were engaged, who, being fond of warlike exploits, gladly accepted of arms and ammunition offered them for their aid and assistance. six hundred provincial militia were raised, and schooners and merchant ships were impressed, for transports to carry the forces. port-royal was fixed upon as the place of general rendezvous, and there, in september , the governor at the head of his warriors, embarked in an expedition equally rash and fool-hardy on one side, as it was well known and unprovoked on the other. [sidenote] which proves abortive. while these preparations were going on in carolina, the spaniards, apprised of the governor's design, were making ready for their defence. in the plan of operations it had been agreed, that colonel daniel, who was an officer of spirit, should go by the inland passage with a party of militia and indians, and make a descent on the town from the land, while the governor with the main body should proceed by sea, and block up the harbour. colonel daniel lost no time, but advanced against the town, entered and plundered it before the governor got forward to his assistance. but the spaniards having laid up provisions for four months in the castle, on his approach retired to it with all their money and most valuable effects. upon the arrival of governor moore, the place was invested with a force against which the spaniards could not appear, and therefore kept themselves shut up in their strong hold. the governor finding it impossible to dislodge them without such artillery as are necessary to a siege, dispatched a sloop to jamaica, on purpose to bring cannon, bombs, and mortars, for attacking the castle; and colonel daniel embarked and sailed with the greatest expedition to bring them. during his absence two spanish ships, the one of guns and the other of , appearing off the mouth of the harbour, struck such a panic into the governor, that he instantly raised the siege, abandoned his ships, and made a precipitate retreat to carolina by land. in consequence of which the spaniards in the garrison were not only relieved, but the ships, provisions, and ammunition, belonging to the carolineans, fell also into their hands. colonel daniel, on his return, standing in for the harbour of augustine, found to his surprise the siege raised, and made a narrow escape from the enemy. military expeditions rashly undertaken, conducted by a headstrong and unexperienced officer, and executed by raw and ill-disciplined troops, seldom succeed. we are not able to account for the governor's conduct. in raising this siege, after he had been a month in possession of the town, unless he was in immediate want of provisions or ammunition, or his men, having little confidence in his abilities, threatened to desert him: for if the spanish ships drew more than ten feet water, which it is probable they must have done, they could not come over the bar to injure him: if they landed their men, yet still his force was superior to that of the enemy, and he might at least have risked a battle on such grounds, before he made an inglorious retreat. the indians were averse from leaving the field, without scalps, plunder, or glory. it is true, the spanish ships of war might have prevented colonel daniel from getting into the harbour with the supply of military stores, yet the coast was large, and afforded many more places for landing them. the governor had indians to hunt for provisions to his men, and it was by no means impossible to have starved the garrison, and compelled them to surrender. what then shall we think of a commander, who, on the first appearance of a little danger, abandons his station, however advantageous, and tamely yields up, not only the town, but also his own ships and provisions to the enemy? [sidenote] the first paper currency made. upon his return to carolina many severe reflections were thrown out against him, as might naturally have been expected; but especially by that party who opposed the enterprise. it is true, it proved not a bloody expedition, the governor having lost no more than two men in it; yet it entailed a debt of six thousand pounds sterling on a poor colony, which, at that period, was a grievous burden. the provincial assembly, who, during the absence of the governor had been under prorogation, now met, to concert ways and means for discharging this public debt. great dissensions and confusion prevailed among them; but the governor, having a number of men under arms to whom the country stood indebted, despised all opposition, and silenced the malecontents by threats and compulsion. a bill was brought into the assembly for stamping bills of credit, to answer the public expence, which were to be sunk in three years by a duty laid upon liquors, skins, and furs. in this measure all parties acquiesced, as it fell easy on private persons, at the same time that it satisfied the public creditors. this was the first paper money issued in carolina, and, for five or six years after the emission, it passed in the country at the same value and rate with the sterling money of england. how, in process of time, it increased in quantity and sunk in value; how it was deemed useful by debtors and prejudicial by creditors, we shall afterwards have occasion more particularly to demonstrate. at present it may suffice to observe, that it was absolutely necessary to support the public credit, and the most practicable method the colony had of defraying the expences incurred by the unsuccessful expedition. [sidenote] the expedition against the appalachian indians. notwithstanding his past misfortunes, governor moore, fond of warlike exploits, had still in view the striking some blow that might distinguish his administration. the appalachian indians, by their connection with the spaniards, had become insolent and troublesome. mr. moore determined to chastise them, and for this purpose marched at the head of a body of white men and indian allies, into the heart of their settlements. where-ever he went he carried fire and sword along with him, and struck a terror into his enemies. the towns of those tribes who lived between the rivers alatamaha and savanna he laid in ashes, captivated many savages, and obliged others to submit to the english government. this exertion of power in that quarter was attended with good effects, as it filled the savages with terror of the british arms, and helped to pave the way for the english colony afterwards planted between these rivers. the governor received the thanks of the proprietors for his patriotism and courage, who acknowledged that the success of his arms had gained their province a reputation; but, what was of greater consequence to him, he wiped off the ignominy of the augustine expedition, and procured a number of indian slaves, whom he employed to cultivate his fields, or sold for his own profit and advantage. [sidenote] the culture of silk. about this time sir nathaniel johnson introduced the raising of silk into the country, which is an article of commerce exceedingly profitable, and, by proper encouragement, might have been made very beneficial both to the colony and the mother country. mulberry trees grew spontaneously in the woods, and thrived as well as other natural productions. the great demand for silk in britain made it an object of the highest consequence. about the beginning of march the worms are hatched from the eggs; nature having wisely so ordered it, that the silk-worms should come into life at the time mulberry leaves, on which they feed, begin to open. the feeding and cleaning them required rather skill than strength. young persons might have been employed in furnishing leaves; one man of judgment and skill might have attended a large house full of worms; and in six weeks their whole operations are over. an article so profitable, and so easily raised, ought to have engaged the attention of the proprietors, and induced them to give premiums to such men as should bring to market the greatest quantities of it. men of knowledge and skill from europe ought to have been hired and sent out by them, for instructing the colonists in the management of the worms and winding of the silk. where the climate was so well adapted to the purpose, could any article of improvement be conceived more likely to reward them for their expence? however, sir nathaniel johnson, after all his pains, rather shewed what might have been done towards the culture of silk in that province, than made such progress in it as to render the commodity of national advantage. [sidenote] and of cotton. to the culture of cotton the climate and soil were equally favourable. it might have been planted on lands newly cleared, or on light and sandy grounds, such as the maritime parts of carolina, which are by no means unsuitable to the production. the seeds are commonly sown about two feet and a half asunder, and grow up like other plants. indeed the fields require to be kept clean, and the fresh earth carefully thrown around the plant, to defend it against the winds; but this is no difficult task, and might be performed by hands incapable of more severe labour. when the pods burst, cotton is gathered, and separated from the seeds; which is the most tedious and troublesome part of the business requisite. this article also, though not of importance enough to have engrossed the whole attention of the colonists, might nevertheless, in conjunction with other staples, have been rendered profitable and useful. [sidenote] rice fixed on by the planters as a staple commodity. instead of these and several other articles, to which the views of the planters in the weaker and earlier state of the colony ought to have been turned in some degree, we find from this period the culture of rice engrossing their whole strength and attention, this commodity being an article of provision, was indeed likely always to find a good market; yet it was scarcely possible to have fixed on a staple which required more severe labour during the whole process of its preparation. the warm climate and low lands were doubtless well adapted to the nature of the grain, after experience had taught the husbandman to clear and cultivate the swampy grounds for that purpose: yet it is certain that the planters long went on with this article, and exhausted their strength in raising it on higher lands, which poorly rewarded them for their toil. after clearing the lands they commonly plant it in furrows made with a hoe, about eighteen inches asunder. when the seed is sown the fields must be carefully kept clear of noxious weeds, which retard its growth, and the earth must also be laid up to the root of the rice, to facilitate its progress. no work can be imagined more pernicious to health, than for men to stand in water mid leg high, and often above it, planting and weeding rice; while the scorching heat of the sun renders the air they breathe ten or twenty degrees hotter than the human blood, and the putrid and unwholesome effluvia from an oozy bottom and stagnated water poison the atmosphere. they sow it in april, or early in may, and reap in the latter end of august, or in the month of september. after which it is dried and carried to the barn-yard, and built in stacks, in like manner as the corn in europe. after this it is threshed, winnowed, and ground in mills made of wood, to free the rice from the husk. then it is winnowed again, and put into a wooden mortar, and beat with large wooden pestles, which labour is so oppressive and hard, that the firmest nerves and most vigorous constitutions sink under it. to free it from the dust and flour occasioned by pounding, it is sifted first through one sieve, and then, to separate the small and broken rice from the large, through another. last of all, it is put into large barrels of enormous weight, and carried to the market. during the whole tedious process of its preparation, much care and great strength are requisite, and many thousands of lives from africa have been sacrificed, in order to furnish the world with this commodity. chap. iv. after the death of king william, which happened on the th of march , agreeable to the act made for settling the succession, the crown devolved on anne stewart, the youngest daughter of king james ii. by his first marriage. at her accession to the throne, though in reality she was no friend to the whig party, she declared that she would make the late king's conduct the model of her own, and maintain the succession to the crown in the protestant line. the first object of her reign was to humble the pride of france, the power of which nation had at that time grown to such an exorbitant height, as to endanger the liberties of europe. lewis xiv. had such influence with the spanish nation, as to persuade them to join him in proclaiming the pretended prince of wales king of great britain and ireland. he had also made many encroachments on the freedom of english commerce and navigation. the indignity offered to her crown queen anne determined to resent, and therefore, on the th of may, declared war against france and spain, which, for many years, she carried on with amazing vigour and success. about this juncture sir nathaniel johnson received a commission from john lord granville, investing him with the government of carolina, to which office a salary of two hundred pounds was annexed, to be paid annually by the receiver-general of the colony. this gentleman had not only been bred a soldier from his youth, but had been also a member of the house of commons, and was well qualified for the trust. but it being suspected that he was no friend to the revolution, the proprietors could not obtain her majesty's approbation of him, but on the following terms: that he qualify himself for the office in such a manner as the laws of england required; that he give security for his observing the laws of trade and navigation, and obey such instructions as should be sent out from time to time by her majesty; and the lords commissioners of trade and plantations were ordered to take care that good and sufficient security be given by him. [sidenote] his instructions. with respect to his own conduct in the government of the colony, he had instructions from the proprietors to follow such rules as had been given to former governors, in the fundamental constitutions and temporary laws entered upon record, and to be guided by the same as far as in his judgment he might think fit and expedient. he was required, with the advice and assistance of his council, carefully to review the constitutions, and such of them as he should think necessary to the better establishment of government, and calculated for the good of the people, he was ordered to lay before the assembly for their concurrence and assent. he was to use his endeavors to dispose of their lands; but to take nothing less than twenty pounds for a thousand acres; and, in all future grants to make them escheat to the proprietors, unless a settlement be made on them within the space of four years. he was to take special care that the indians be not abused or insulted, and to study the properest methods of civilizing them, and creating a firm friendship with them, in order to protect the colony against the spaniards in the neighbourhood. he was to transmit to england exact copies of all laws passed, accounts of the lands sold, and of all annual-rents paid, _&c._ these, and such other regulations as he might judge essential to the welfare of the country, and the interest of the proprietors, he had particular injunctions to study and adopt. [sidenote] he endeavors to establish the church of england. i have already observed, that the colony was in a deplorable state with respect to religion. the first emigrants from england, where public worship was countenanced, and had the sanction of the civil authority, retained indeed for a little time some sense of religion, and showed some respect for the ordinances of the gospel: but their children, born in a wilderness, where there was not so much as even the semblance of public worship, were likely to grow up in ignorance, and to live entirely void of all sense of religion. proprietors were either unable to furnish them with the proper means of instruction, or they were unwilling to bear the expence of it, having as yet received little recompence for the past charges of the settlement. not only the emigrants from england, but also those from france and holland, were much divided in their private opinions with respect to modes of religious worship; and for this reason all governors, excepting the last, had prudently deferred meddling in a matter which would occasion uneasiness and confusion among the settlers. still, however, the establishment of the church of england in carolina was the chief object in view with the proprietors. the palatine was a bigoted zealot for this mode of ecclesiastical worship and government: the governor was strongly attached to it. james moore, who was made receiver-general, and nicholas trott the attorney-general, were also men of the same complexion. these men, assisted by a majority of the council, now began to concert measures with art and skill, and to pursue them with firmness and resolution, for accomplishing this end, and gratifying the earnest desire of the palatine. [sidenote] pursues violent measures for that purpose. it was not, however, without some difficulty and considerable struggles, that the keen opposition raised by dissenters, who now plainly perceived their design, and who had an irreconcilable aversion from episcopacy, could be overcome. this the governor and his party foresaw, and therefore it became necessary first to exert themselves to secure a majority in the assembly in favour of the measure they had in view. hitherto the riotous proceedings at the former election had been overlooked, and the rioters, by the countenance and protection of the preceding governor had escaped prosecution. the grand jury presented this neglect as a grievance to the court; but the judge told them, "that was a matter which lay before the governor and council, his superiors." when the complaint was made to the governor in council, he replied, "that these irregularities happened before his appointment to the government, but that he would take care to prevent them for the time to come." notwithstanding this declaration, if we may believe the dissenters, at the following election still greater irregularities prevailed. by the same undue influence and violence the governor and his adherents gained their point, and secured a majority in the house; for that a species of corruption had now infected the great fountain of liberty, the election of representatives. it would appear that some of the colonists at this period had distinguished themselves by loose principles and licentious language, and had treated some of the fundamental doctrines of the christian religion with the ridicule and contempt of professed infidelity. to bring an odium upon this class of dissenters, and to discourage such licentious practices, a bill was brought into the new assembly for the suppression of blasphemy and profaneness; by which bill, whoever should be convicted of having spoken or written any thing against the trinity, or the divine authority of the old or new testament, by the oath of two or more credible witnesses, were to be made incapable, and disabled in law to all intents and purposes, of being members of assembly, or of holding any office of profit, civil or military, within the province: and whoever should be convicted of such crimes a second time, were also to be disabled from suing or bringing any action of information in any court of law or equity, from being guardian to any child, executor or administrator to any person; and without fail suffer imprisonment for three years. which law, notwithstanding its fine gloss, savoured not a little of an inquisition, and introduced a species of persecution ill calculated to answer the end for which it was intended. to punish men guilty of blasphemy and profaneness in this way, instead of bringing their atrocious crimes into public disrepute and abhorrence, served rather to render their persons objects of compassion, and induce men to pity them on account of their sufferings. bad as the world is, these wicked practices seldom miss their deserved rewards, public ignominy and detestation, which perhaps would fall heavier on such wretches without penal laws than with them. [sidenote] the church of england established by law. however, had sir nathaniel johnson stopt here, many reasons might have been urged in his vindication; but he had other measures in view, much more unpopular and oppressive. he looked upon dissenters of every denomination as enemies to the constitutions of both church and state, and therefore, to subvert their power and influence, or compel them to uniformity of sentiment, another bill was brought into the assembly, framed in such a manner as to exclude them entirely from the house of representatives. this bill required every man who should hereafter be chosen a member of assembly, to take the oaths and subscribe the declaration appointed by it, to conform to the religion and worship of the church of england, and to receive the sacrament of our lord's supper, according to the rites and usage of that church; a qualification which dissenters considered as having a manifest tendency to rob them of all their civil rights or religious liberties. to carry this bill through the house, all the art and influence of the governor and his party were requisite. in the lower house it passed by a majority of one vote, and in the upper house landgrave joseph morton was refused liberty to enter his protest against it. at this juncture no bill could have been framed more inconsistent with the rights and privileges of the freemen, and more pernicious to the interest and prosperity of the country. dissenters, who were a numerous and powerful body of the people, were highly offended, and raised a great outcry against it. seeing themselves reduced to the necessity of receiving laws from men whose principles of civil and ecclesiastical government they abhorred, and subjected to greater hardships than they suffered in england, many had formed resolutions of abandoning the colony. loud clamours were not only heard without doors, but jealousies and discontent filled the hearts of many within them, not of dissenters only, but also of those who adhered to the church. [sidenote] the inhabitants of colleton county remonstrate against it. in this distracted state of the colony, the inhabitants of colleton county, composed chiefly of dissenters, met and drew up a state of their grievous circumstances, which they resolved to transmit to the proprietors, praying their lordships to repeal this oppressive act. john ash, one of the most zealous men in the opposition, agreed to embark for england as agent for the aggrieved party, computed to be at least two thirds of the whole inhabitants of the colony. the governor and his friends, apprized of this design, used all possible means to prevent him from obtaining a passage in any ship belonging to carolina. upon which ash went to virginia, to which province his instructions were conveyed to him, and from thence he set sail for england. after his arrival he waited on lord granville, the palatine, acquainting him with the design of his message; but met with a very cold reception. that nobleman was too deeply concerned in bringing about that establishment against which ash came to complain, favourably to listen to his representations. accordingly, after staying some time in london, and giving the proprietors all the information in his power relating to public affairs, the only satisfaction he could obtain from the palatine was this, that he should cause his secretary write to the governor an account of the grievances and hardships of which mr. ash complained, and require an answer from him with respect to them. mr. ash, observing how the palatine stood affected, and despairing of success, immediately began to draw up a representation of their case, which he intended for the press: but before he had finished it he was taken sick, and died; and his papers fell into his enemies hands. he was a man of a warm and passionate temper, and possessed of all those violent sentiments which ill usage, disappointment, and oppression, naturally kindle in the human breast. his representation, intended as an appeal to the nation in general, for the sufferings of the people under the tyrannical proprietary government, was full of heavy charges against the governor and his party in carolina, and bitter reflections on their conduct, which he considered as in the highest degree injurious to the colony. without doubt the lords proprietors planned this establishment with a view to the peaceful influence it would have upon the civil government of the country, as the preamble to the act expressly indicates. their feeble and fluctating state required the assistance and authority of an established church, and the sanction of religion, to give it more weight and influence with the people. how far the measures adopted served to promote the desired end, and were consistent with prudence and good policy, will afterwards more clearly appear. [sidenote] lay commissioners appointed. [sidenote] the acts ratified by the proprietors. sir nathaniel johnson having advanced so far, was determined to proceed in spite of every obstacle thrown in his way. he instituted what the inhabitants of carolina took to be a high-commission court, like that of king james the second. it was enacted, that twenty lay-persons be constituted a corporation for the exercise of ecclesiastical jurisdiction, with full power to deprive ministers of their livings at pleasure, not for immorality only, but also for imprudence, or on account of unreasonable prejudices taken against them. in vain did many persons complain of this institution, as tearing the ecclesiastical jurisdiction out of the hands of the bishop of london, in whose diocese the whole british colonies in america were included. the governor, bent on carrying into execution the favourite plan of the palatine, paid little regard to the uneasy apprehensions of the people. according to the act for erecting churches, the colony is divided into ten parishes; seven in berkeley, two in colleton, and one in craven counties. money is provided for building churches; lands are granted for glebes and church-yards; and salaries for the different rectors are fixed and appointed, payable from the provincial treasury. when these bills were transmitted to england, to be ratified and confirmed by the proprietors, john archdale opposed them, and insisted, that the dissenters of carolina had not yet forgot the hardships they suffered in england from acts of uniformity; that the right of private judgment in religious matters was the birth-right of every man; that undisturbed liberty of conscience was allowed to every inhabitant of carolina by the charter; that acts of conformity, with penalties annexed to them, have in general proved destructive to the cause they were intended to promote, and were utterly inconsistent with protestant principles; and therefore that these bills, so unpopular and oppressive in carolina, ought to be repealed, as contrary to sound policy and religious freedom. the majority of the proprietors, however, did not view them in this light, and the debate ran high between them. at length the palatine, equally tyrannical as bigotted put an end to the dispute, by telling mr. archdale: "sir, you are of one opinion, i am of another; our lives may not be long enough to end the controversy. i am for the bills, and that is the party that i will head and support." in consequence of which the acts were ratified by four proprietors, and the following letter was sent to sir nathaniel johnson. "sir, the great and pious work which you have gone through with such unwearied and steady zeal, for the honour and worship of almighty god, we have also finally perfected on our part; and our ratification of that act for erecting churches, _&c._ together with duplicates of all other dispatches, we have forwarded to you by captain flavel." [sidenote] the petition of dissenters to the house of lords. the episcopal party having now got their favourite form of divine worship established by law in carolina, began to erect churches in such situations as were most centrical and convenient for the settlers; and, to supply them with clergymen, application was made to the society in england for the propagation of the gospel. the dissenters, despairing of all hopes of redress from the proprietors, became greatly discouraged, and could not brook the thoughts of being again subjected to the same troubles and miseries which had compelled them to leave their native country. some were for transporting their families and effects immediately to pennsylvania, in order to sit down under penn's free and indulgent government; others proposed an application to the house of lords in england, praying that august body to commiserate their distress, and intercede with her majesty for their relief. for this purpose a petition was drawn up, and carried over by joseph boone to england. several merchants in london, after boone's arrival, being convinced of the illegal means by which those grievous acts were brought to pass, and of their pernicious consequence to trade, joined the petitioners. accordingly, about the beginning of the year , the following petition was presented to the house of lords: setting forth, "that when the province of carolina was granted to the proprietors, for the better peopling of it, express provision was made in the charter for a toleration and indulgence of all christians in the free exercise of their religion; that, in the fundamental constitutions, agreed to be the form of government by the proprietors, there was also express provision made, that no person should be disturbed for any speculative opinion in religion, and that no person should, on account of religion, be excluded from being a member of the general assembly, or from any other office in the civil administration: that the said charter, being given soon after the happy restoration of king charles ii. and re-establishment of the church of england by the act of uniformity, many of the subjects of the kingdom who were so unhappy as to have some scruples about conforming to the rites of the said church, did transplant themselves and families into carolina; by means whereof the greatest part of the inhabitants there were protestant dissenters from the church of england, and through the equality and freedom of the said fundamental constitutions, all the inhabitants of the colony lived in peace, and even the ministers of the church of england had support from protestant dissenters, and the number of inhabitants and the trade of the colony daily increased, to the great improvement of her majesty's customs, and the manifest advantage of the merchants and manufacturers of the kingdom. "but that, in the year , when a new assembly was to be chosen, which, by the constitution, is chosen once in two years, the election was managed with very great partiality and injustice, and all sorts of people, even aliens, jews, servants, common sailors and negroes, were admitted to vote at elections: that, in the said assembly, an act was passed to incapacitate every person from being a member of any general assembly that should be chosen for the time to come, unless he had taken the sacrament of the lord's supper according to the rites of the church of england; whereby all protestant dissenters are made incapable of being in the said assembly; and yet, by the same act, all persons who shall take an oath that they have not received the sacrament in any dissenting congregation for one year past, though they have not received it in the church of england, are made capable of fitting in the said assembly: that this act was passed in an illegal manner, by the governor calling the assembly to meet the th of april, when it then stood prorogued to the th of may following: that it hath been ratified by the lords proprietors in england, who refused to hear what could be offered against it, and contrary to the petition of one hundred and seventy of the chief inhabitants of the colony, and of several eminent merchants trading hither, though the commons of the same assembly quickly after passed another bill to repeal it, which the upper house rejected, and the governor dissolved the house. "that the ecclesiastical government of the colony is under the bishop of london; but the governor and his adherents have at last done what the latter often threatened to do, totally abolished it; for the same assembly have passed an act, whereby twenty lay-persons, therein named, are made a corporation for the exercise of several exorbitant powers, to the great injury and oppression of the people in general, and for the exercise of all ecclesiastical jurisdiction, with absolute power to deprive any minister of the church of england of his benefice, not only for immorality but even for imprudence, or incurable prejudices between such minister and his parish; and the only minister of the church established in the colony, mr. edward marston, hath already been cited before their board, which the inhabitants of the province take to be an high ecclesiastical commission-court, destructive to the very being and essence of the church of england, and to be held in the utmost detestation and abhorrence by every man that is not an enemy to our constitution in church and state. "that the said grievances daily increasing, your petitioner joseph boone is now sent by many principal inhabitants and traders of the colony, to represent the languishing and dangerous situation of it to the lords proprietors; but his application to them has hitherto had no effect: that the ruin of the colony would be to the great disadvantage of the trade of this kingdom, to the apparent prejudice of her majesty's customs, and the great benefit of the french, who watch all opportunities to improve their own settlements in those parts of america." [sidenote] resolutions of the house of lords. after reading this petition in the house of lords, the palatine desired to be heard by his council, which was granted, and the further consideration of the matter was postponed for one week. then having heard what lord granville had to offer in his behalf, the lords agreed to address her majesty in favour of the distressed petitioners of carolina. they declared, that, after having fully and maturely weighed the nature of the two acts passed in carolina, they found themselves obliged in duty to her majesty, and in justice to her subjects, (who, by the express words of the charter, were declared to be the liege people of the crown of england, and to have a right to all the liberties, franchises, and privileges of englishmen), to come to the following resolutions: "first, that it is the opinion of this house, that the act of assembly in carolina, lately passed there, signed and sealed by john lord granville, for himself, lord carteret and lord craven, and by sir john colleton, four of the proprietors of that province, in order to the ratifying of it, entitled, an act for the establishment of religious worship in the province according to the church of england, _&c._ so far forth as the same relates to the establishing a commission for the displacing of rectors and ministers of the churches there, is not warranted by the charter granted to the proprietors, as being not consonant to reason, repugnant to the laws of the realm, and destructive to the constitution of the church of england. secondly, that it is the opinion of this house, that the act of assembly in carolina, entitled, an act for the more effectual preservation of the government of the province, by requiring all persons that shall hereafter be chosen members of the commons house of assembly, and sit in the same, to take the oaths and subscribe the declaration appointed by this act, and to conform to the religious worship in this province according to the church of england, and to receive the sacrament of the lord's supper according to the rites and usage of the said church, _&c._ is founded on falsity in matter of fact, is repugnant to the laws of england, contrary to the charter of the proprietors, is an encouragement to atheism and irreligion, destructive to trade, and tends to the depopulation and ruin of the province". [sidenote] their address to the queen. after which resolutions the house addressed her majesty in the following words: "we your majesty's dutiful subjects, having thus humbly presented our opinion of these acts, we beseech your majesty to use the most effectual methods to deliver the said province from the arbitrary oppressions under which it now lies, and to order the authors thereof to be prosecuted according to law; at the same time we represent to your majesty, how much the powers given by the crown have been abused by some of your subjects, justice requires us to acquaint your majesty, that some of the proprietors absolutely refused to join in the ratification of these acts. we humbly beg permission to inform your majesty, that other great injustices and oppressions are complained of in the petition; but the nature of the fact requiring a long examination, it was not possible for the house to find time for, so near the conclusion of the session; and therefore we presume with all duty to lay the petition itself before your majesty, at the same time we present our address. we cannot doubt but your majesty, who from the beginning of your reign has shewn to great a concern and tenderness for all your subjects, will extend your compassion for those distressed people, who have the misfortune to be at so great a distance from your royal person, and not so immediately under your gentle administration. your majesty is fully sensible of what great consequence the plantations are to the crown of england, and to the trade of your subjects, and therefore we rest assured, that as your majesty will have them all under your royal care, so, in particular, you will be graciously pleased to find out and prosecute the most effectual means for the relief of the province of carolina." [sidenote] the queen's answer. to which address queen anne returned the following answer: "i thank the house for laying these matters so plainly before me: i am sensible of what great consequence the plantations are to england, and will do all in my power to relieve my subjects in carolina, and protect them in their just rights." but as it likewise appeared that some of the proprietors themselves had refused to approve of the acts, the matter was farther referred to the lords of trade and plantations; who, after examination, found that all the charges brought against the provincial government and the proprietors were well grounded; and represented farther to her majesty, that the making of such laws was an abuse of the powers granted to the proprietors by the charter, and will be a forfeiture of it, and humbly begged that she would be pleased to give directions for reassuming the same into her majesty's hands, by a _scire facias_ in the court of queen's bench. the queen approved of their representation, and after declaring the laws null and void, for the effectual proceeding against the charter by way of _quo warranto_, ordered her attorney and solicitor-general to inform themselves fully concerning what may be most effectual for accomplishing the same, that she might take the government of the colony, so much abused by others, into her own hands, for the better protection of her distressed subjects. here, however, the matter was dropt for the present, and no farther steps were taken against the charter of the proprietors, or for the relief of the people. in the mean time the distant colonists, though they had heard nothing of what had passed in england relating to those grievous acts, became daily more sensible of their oppressive nature and pernicious consequence. several settlers had left the country on account of them, and moved to pennsylvania. archibald stobo, a presbyterian minister in charlestown, who had warmly opposed this establishment from the beginning, had also convinced many who remained of the severities and hardships the dissenters in england had suffered from the rigors of the episcopal government. several circumstances proved favourable to stobo's opposition; he possessed those talents which render a minister conspicuous and respected, and the people that party-zeal which becomes violent from ill usage and persecution. to his treasures of knowledge and excellent capacity for instruction, he added uncommon activity and diligence in the discharge of the various duties of his sacred function. he had a natural aversion from the episcopal jurisdiction, and no minister of the colony had engrossed so universally the public favour and esteem. the governor and his adherents found it necessary to sow the seeds of division among his followers, and, from maxims of policy, to magnify his failings, in order to ruin his great power and influence. but the presbyterian party were not the only malcontents during these strange and unwarrantable proceedings of the legislature. many wise and religious men of all denominations condemned them, as grievous and impolitical. they considered differences in religious opinion as improper objects of temporal punishment, and that magistrates had no business with them, unless they occasion danger and disturbance to the state. they looked upon religion as a personal affair, which lies between god and a man's conscience, and that it was the prerogative of the supreme being to judge of men's hearts, as he alone was capable of forming a right judgment. in such a case, doubtless every man had a right to judge and chuse for himself, as he alone, and not the church, must at last be accountable to god for the choice. in every country this is reasonable; but in protestant countries it is the fundamental principle on which they ground their right of protesting against the rules and errors of any particular church. for which reason judicious men in carolina opposed the acts of assembly, as unreasonable in themselves, repugnant to the principles of protestants, and robbing many of the colonists of their most valuable privileges, for their difference in religious opinion. even the society for propagating the gospel disapproved of them, and, at a meeting in st. paul's church, resolved not to send any missionaries to carolina, until the clause relating to lay-commissioners was annulled. so that all impartial men, in some measure, condemned the acts, and seemed to detest both the factious men who framed them, and the method by which they had been promoted in the province. [sidenote] a project formed for invading carolina. at length from these domestic troubles the attention of the people was drawn off, and turned towards a more important object, their common defence against foreign enemies. the war between great britain and france and spain still raged in europe. the governor received advice of a project framed for invading carolina, and had instructions to put the country in the best posture of defence. the spaniards pretended a right to it on the foot of prior discovery, considering it as a part of florida, and had now determined by force of arms to assert their right. sir nathaniel johnson, as a military commander, was well qualified for his duty, and formed to shine in a more conspicuous manner in that line than in any other. no sooner had he received intelligence of the designs of his enemy, than he set all hands to work upon the fortifications, appointed a number of gunners to each bastion, and held frequent musters to train the men to the use of arms. a storehouse was prepared, and a quantity of ammunition laid up in it, to be ready on the first emergency. a small fort, called fort johnson, was erected on james's island, and several great guns mounted on it. trenches were cast up on white point, and other places where they were thought necessary. a guard was stationed on sullivan's island, with orders to kindle a number of fires opposite to the town, equal to the number of ships they might spy on the coast. in short, such prudent regulations were made, as to prevent any surprise from an enemy, and at what time soever they might come, to give them as warm a reception as possible. few months had elapsed before they found the usefulness and necessity of these wise precautions. carolina was at this juncture the southern frontier of the british empire in america. the colony, though it had acquired some degree of strength, was yet in a feeble state to resist an enemy of force and enterprize. from its situation there was reason to apprehend that the french and spaniards would attack it, as it would fall an easier conquest than the more populous northern settlements. before this time a plan had been concerted at the havanna for invading it. mons. le feboure, captain of a french frigate, together with four more armed sloops, encouraged and assisted by the spanish governor of that island, had already set sail for charlestown. to facilitate the conquest of the province, he had directions to touch at augustine, and carry from thence such a force as he judged adequate to the enterprize. upon his arrival at augustine, he had intelligence of an epidemical distemper which raged at charlestown, and had swept off a vast number of inhabitants. this animated him to proceed with greater expedition. imagining the town to be in a weak and defenceless state, and that the militia in the country would be averse from coming nigh it through fear of the fatal infection, he took on board a considerable number of forces at augustine, and made all the sail he could for carolina. [sidenote] a spanish and french invasion. before this time a dutch privateer, formerly belonging to new-york, by order of the governor of carolina, had been refitted at charlestown for cruising on the coast. the command had been given to captain stool, who was sent out on purpose to intercept the supplies regularly sent to augustine from the havanna. after being out a few days he returned, and brought advice of having engaged a french sloop off the bar of augustine; but upon seeing four ships more advancing to her assistance, he thought proper to make all the sail he could for charlestown, and that he narrowly escaped falling into the enemy's hands. scarcely had he delivered the news, when five separate smokes appeared on sullivan's island, as a signal to the town that the same number of ships were observed on the coast. sir nathaniel johnson being at than time at his plantation, several miles from town, lieutenant colonel william rhett commanding officer of the militia, immediately ordered the drums to beat, and the whole inhabitants to be put under arms. a messenger was dispatched with the news to the governor, and letters to all the captains of the militia in the country, to fire their alarm guns, raise their companies, and with all possible expedition march to the assistance of the town. in the evening the enemy's fleet came the length of charlestown bar; but as the passage was intricate and dangerous to strangers, they did not think it prudent to venture over it while the darkness of the night approached, and therefore hovered on the coast all night within sight of land. early next morning the watchmen stationed on sullivan's island observed them a little to the southward of the bar, manning their gallies and boats, as if they intended to land on james's island; but there having come to an anchor, they employed their boats all that day in sounding the south bar; which delay was of great service to the carolineans, as it afforded time for the militia in the country to march to town. the same day sir nathaniel johnson the governor came to charlestown, and found the inhabitants in great consternation; but he being a man of courage, and skilled in the arts of war, his presence inspired them with fresh confidence and resolution. he proclaimed the martial law at the head of the militia, and gave the necessary orders: he sent to the indian tribes in alliance with the colony, and brought a number of them to his assistance. as the contagious distemper still raged in charlestown, the governor judged it imprudent to expose his men to the dangerous infection, unless necessity required it, and therefore held his head quarters about half a mile distant from town. in the evening a troop of horse, commanded by captain george logan, and two companies of foot, under the command of major george broughton, reached the capital, and kept diligent watch during the night. the next morning a company from james's island, under the command of captain drake, another from wando, under captain fenwick, and five more commanded by captains cantey, lynch, hearn, longbois, and seabrook, joined the militia of the town; so that the whole force of the province, with the governor at their head, was now collected together in one place. the day following the enemy's four ships and a galley came over the bar, with all their boats out for landing their men, and stood directly for the town, having the advantages of a fair wind and strong tide. when they had advanced so far up the river as to discover the fortifications, they cast anchor a little above sullivan's island. the governor, observing the enemy approaching towards the town, marched his men into it to receive them; but finding they had stopt by the way, he had time to call a council of war, in which it was agreed to put some great guns on board of such ships as were in the harbour, and employ the gallant sailors in their own way, for the better defence of the town. william rhett, a man possessed of considerable conduct and spirit, received a commission to be vice-admiral of this little fleet, and hoisted his flag on board of the crown galley. the enemy observing them employed in making all possible preparations for resistance, sent up a flag of truce to the governor, to summon him to surrender. george evans, who commanded granville bastion, received their messenger at his landing from the boat, and conducted him blindfolded into the fort, until the governor was in readiness to receive him. in the mean time the governor, having drawn up his men in such a manner as to make them appear to the greatest advantage, received the french officer at their head; and having first shown him one fort full of men, he then conducted him by a different route to another, giving the same men time to go by a shorter way, and be drawn up beforehand: and there, having given him a view of his strength, he demanded the purport of his message. the officer told him, that he was sent by mons. le feboure, admiral of the french fleet, to demand a surrender of the town and country, and their persons prisoners of war; and that his orders allowed him no more than one hour for an answer. governor johnson replied, that there was no occasion for one minute to answer that message: he told him, he held the town and country for the queen of england; that he could depend on his men, who would sooner die than surrender themselves prisoners of war; that he was resolved to defend the country to the last drop of his blood against the boldest invader, and he might go when he pleased and acquaint mons. le feboure with his resolution. the day following a party of the enemy went ashore on james's island, and burnt the houses on a plantation by the riverside. another party, consisting of an hundred and sixty men, landed on the opposite side of the river, and burnt two vessels in dearsby's creek, and set fire to his storehouse. sir nathaniel johnson, from such beginnings perceiving that they were determined to carry fire and sword wherever they went, doubled his diligence for the defence of the town. he ordered captain drake and his company, with a small party of indians, to james's island, to defend their properties on that side. drake marched against them, bur before he could bring up his men, the indians, whom he could keep under no control, and who ran through the woods with their usual impetuosity, had driven the invaders to their boats: then advice was brought to town, that the party who landed on wando neck had killed a number of hogs and cattle, and were feasting on the plunder. to prevent their farther progress into the country, and give them a check if possible, captain cantey, with an hundred chosen men, was ordered to pass the river privately in the night, and watch their motions. before break of day the captain came up with them, and finding them in a state of security, with fires lighted around them, surrounded and surprised them with a sharp fire from every quarter; in consequence of which, they were put in confusion and fled, and a considerable part being killed, wounded, and drowned, the remainder surrendered prisoners of war. having by this blow considerably weakened the force of the enemy, and being encouraged and animated by their success at land, the carolineans determined also to try their fortune by sea. accordingly william rhett set sail with his fleet of six small ships, and proceeded down the river to the place where the enemy rode at anchor; but the french perceiving this fleet standing towards them, in great haste weighed anchor and sailed over the bar. for some days nothing more was heard of them; but, to make sure, the governor ordered captain watson of the sea-flower out to sea to examine whether or not the coast was clear. the captain returned without seeing the enemy, but observing some men on shore whom they had left behind, he took them on board and brought them to town. these men assured the governor that the french were gone. in consequence of which, orders were given for the martial law to cease, and the inhabitants began to rejoice at their happy deliverance. [sidenote] the invaders repulsed and defeated by the militia. however, before night, certain advice was brought that a ship of force was seen in sewee bay, and that a number of armed men had landed from her at that place. upon examination of the prisoners the governor found that the french expected a ship of war, with mons. arbuset their general and about two hundred men more to their assistance. the governor ordered captain fenwick to pass the river, and march against them by land; while rhett, with the dutch privateer and a bermuda sloop armed, sailed round by sea, with orders to meet him at sewee bay. captain fenwick came up with the enemy, and briskly charged them, who, though advantageously posted, after a few volleys gave way, and retreated to their ship; and soon after rhett coming to his assistance, the french ship struck without firing a shot. rhett, being obliged by contrary winds to remain all that day in sewee bay, dispatched john barnwell, a volunteer, to the governor, with an account of their success; and next morning, the wind changing, he returned to charlestown with his prize, and about ninety prisoners. thus ended mons. le feboure's invasion of carolina, little to his own honour as a commander, or to the credit and courage of his men. it is probable he expected to find the province in a weak and defenceless situation, and that the governor would instantly surrender on his appearance before the town. but he was deceived, as many commanders have been who entertain a despicable opinion of their enemy. the governor was a man of approved courage and conduct; the militia undertook the various little enterprizes with the spirit of men who had not only the honour of the province, but also their whole properties at stake, and amazing success crowned their endeavours. out of eight hundred men who came against this little colony, near three hundred were killed and taken prisoners; among the latter were mons. arbuset, their commander in chief by land, with several sea officers, who together offered ten thousand pieces of eight for their ransom. on the other hand, the loss sustained by the provincial militia was incredibly small. the governor publicly thanked them for the unanimity and courage they had shown in repelling the invaders: and received from the proprietors soon after the following letter. "we heartily congratulate you on your great and happy success against the french and spaniards; and for your eminent courage and conduct in the defence and preservation of our province, we return you our thanks, and assure you, that we shall always retain a just sense of your merit, and will take all opportunities to reward your signal services." [sidenote] the union of england and scotland. about this time the long-projected union between england and scotland took place in britain, which was attended, as might have been expected, with the most interesting and happy consequences to both kingdoms. god and nature had joined the two together, and of course all differences and divisions subsisting between them, while they acknowledged the same sovereign, were impolitical and absurd. unity of affection and interest unquestionably constituted the strength of the island, and could alone enable it to oppose foreign enemies with vigour and success. among the number of articles which composed this important and beneficial treaty, it was agreed, "that all the subjects of the united kingdom of great britain, should, from and after this union, have full freedom and intercourse of trade and navigation to and from any port or place in the said united kingdom, and the dominions and plantations thereunto belonging; and that there should be a communication of all rights, privileges and advantages which do or may belong to the subjects of either kingdom, except where it is otherwise expressly agreed in these articles." unfortunately, however, two modes of religious worship were established in the nation, which served to perpetuate differences among the more stiff and rigid partizans of both the episcopalian and presbyterian churches. a division in the ecclesiastical establishment was as improper and unreasonable as a disunion in the nation. with respect to the essential principles and doctrines of religion, they are the same in both churches, and the difference between them lies in the modes of worship and government, in usages, vestments, forms and ceremonies, matters of little consequence with regard to religion. both modes of worship and government have their advantages and disadvantages, and had delegates from both churches met at this juncture, and yielded a little on both sides, for the sake of mutual harmony, and uniformity, such compliance might have been attended with happy effects. but the infelicity of the times, and narrow sentiments of the people, not admitting of this expedient, it was agreed that the episcopalian government was only to extend to the colonies, and be considered as the establishment in them. as the greatest part of emigrants to america carried along with them prejudices against this establishment, and discovered a tendency towards a republican form of church-government, it is remarkable that this disaffection has continued, and in process of time been acquiring strength, insomuch that the hands of government, engaged in support of the established church, have often been weakened by it, and rendered unable to answer the ends of their appointment. [sidenote] missionaries sent out by the society in england. about this time the society incorporated by king william, having received large benefactions for the purpose of propagating the gospel, began to exert themselves for sending over, and maintaining missionaries in the plantations. as some colonies were totally destitute of the means of instruction, and others ill provided with ministers, and unable to support them, the society considered the british subjects as the primary objects of their charity. to prevent the influence of roman catholic missionaries among the heathens was a secondary end in view with this charitable corporation, who were also to improve every favourable opportunity for the instruction and conversion of negroes and indians. while a number of missionaries were ordained for the northern colonies, samuel thomas was sent out to carolina for the instruction of the yamassee indians; and to supply the different parishes, several more missionaries were on the passage to the province. the society had wrote to sir nathaniel johnson, expressing their zeal for the interest of religion, and earnest desire for spreading the knowledge of the gospel among the inhabitants of the british colonies, and their hopes of his concurrence towards the accomplishment of their excellent design. upon the receipt of which the governor summoned a meeting of his council, and sent an answer to the corporation in the following words: "we could not omit this opportunity of testifying the grateful sense we have of your most noble christian charity to our poor infant church in this province, expressed by the generous encouragement you have been pleased to give to those who are coming missionaries, the account of which we have just now received by our worthy friend and minister mr. thomas, who, to our great satisfaction, is now arrived. the extraordinary hurry we are in, occasioned by the late invasion attempted by the french and spaniards, from whom god hath miraculously delivered us, hath prevented our receiving a particular account from mr. thomas of your bounty, and also hath not given us leisure to view your missionaries instructions, either in regard to what relates to them or to ourselves: but we shall take speedy care to give them all due encouragement, and the venerable society the utmost satisfaction. there is nothing so dear to us as our holy religion, and the interest of the established church, in which we have been happily educated; we therefore devoutly adore god's providence in bringing, and heartily thank your society in encouraging, so many missionaries to come among us. we promise your honourable society, it shall be our daily study to encourage their pious labours, to protect their persons, to revere their authority, to improve by their ministerial instructions, and, as soon as possible, to enlarge their annual salaries. when we have placed your missionaries in their several parishes according to your directions, and received from them an account of your noble benefaction of books for each parish, we shall then write more particular and full. in the mean time, we beg your honourable society to accept of our hearty gratitude, and be assured of our sincere endeavour to concur with you in the noble design of propagating christ's holy religion." soon after the missionaries arrived, and were settled in their respective parishes, edward marston minister at charlestown died, and mr. thomas, whom the governor intended for his successor, did not long survive him: in consequence of whose death, the governor and council applied by letters to the society, requesting farther supplies, particularly a learned and prudent man to take the charge of the capital. the archbishop of dublin recommended gideon johnston to them as a person for whose sobriety, diligence, and ability, he dared to be answerable, and doubted not but he would execute the duty required in such a manner as to merit the approbation of every one with whom he should be concerned. accordingly, mr. johnston, being made commissary to the bishop of london for the province of carolina, and having fifty pounds a-year settled on him from the society, embarked for charlestown. on his arrival he had almost lost his life in going ashore: the ship in which he sailed being obliged to come to an anchor off the bar to wait the return of the tide, and mr. johnston, with several more passengers, being impatient to get to land, went on board of the small boat to go up to the town; but a sudden gust of wind arising, drove the boat upon a sand bank, where they lay two days, almost perishing with hunger and thirst, when some persons accidentally discovered and relieved them. mr. johnston was not the only person that shared of the charitable fund; for five more ministers were settled in the country, to each of whom an allowance of fifty pounds a-year, besides their provincial salary, was given by this incorporated society. two thousand volumes of books were also sent to be distributed among the people, by these missionaries, for their private use and instruction. justice requires a relation of these facts for the honour of that society, who supplied the province with instructors at this early period, when it was poor in itself, and stood so much in need of their generous assistance. as the church of england, however, continued to be considered as the established religion of the province; and as all the ministers sent out by this society were of that persuasion, dissenters, who in general are not the most charitable in their judgments with regard to the conduct of their neighbours, and who perhaps contributed, like many others, towards raising this fund, concluded that the society had the propagation of episcopacy more in their eye than that of christianity. but certainly it cannot be denied, that the members of this corporation, who not only contributed largely, but were also at such pains in collecting a fund for this laudable end, were the proper judges in what manner it should be applied. charity obliges us to believe, that this society, whose design was so benevolent, employed their money in such a way as they judged would be most agreeable to the intentions of those who gave it, and most useful for the instruction and happiness of their fellow creatures: yet mankind, in such cases, are apt to be forward in advancing their opinions with regard to the conduct of such public managers, and, as they stand affected themselves, to praise or condemn them. [sidenote] lord craven palatine. about the close of the year , lord granville the palatine died; and was succeeded in that high dignity by william lord craven. the death of that nobleman, by whose instruction and encouragement the several violent steps for the establishment and support of the church of england in carolina had been taken, was now likely to produce some change in the future state of public affairs. though the governor and his friends still maintained a majority in the house of assembly, yet, from the number and temper of dissenters, they were not without some suspicions of seeing the fabric, which they had with such uncommon industry been erecting, totally overturned. while many episcopalians in england were terrified with the prospects of danger to their church, the carolineans took the alarm, and passed an act for its security in that province. the preamble of this act runs thus: "whereas the church of england has of late been so happily established among us, fearing that by the succession of a new governor this church may be either undermined or wholly subverted, to prevent which calamity falling upon us, be it enacted, that this present assembly shall continue to sit for two years, and for the time and term of eighteen months after the change of government, whether by the death of the present governor, or the succession of another in his time." whether the church must not have been in great danger when men were obliged to take such an extraordinary measure for its security, we leave it to the world to judge. [sidenote] edward tynte governor. about the end of the year , colonel edward tynte received a commission from lord craven, investing him with the government of the colony. about the same time charles craven, brother to the palatine, was made secretary to the province. during the time sir nathaniel johnson had governed the country, it had not only been threatened with a formidable invasion, but also torn to pieces with factions and divisions, which had much retarded its progress and improvement. great confusion among the people had been occasioned by the violent stretch of power in favour of an ecclesiastical establishment. the new palatine, sensible of those things, instructed governor tynte to adopt such healing measures as would be most conducive to the welfare of the settlement. soon after his arrival he received a letter from the proprietors to the following effect: "we hope by this time you have entered upon your government of our province of carolina, and therefore we earnestly require your endeavours to reconcile the minds of the inhabitants to each other, that the name of parties, if any yet remains among them, may be utterly extinguished: for we can by no means doubt, but their unanimous concurrence with our endeavours for their prosperity, will most effectually render carolina as flourishing a colony as any in america." the late palatine, from a mixture of spiritual and political pride, despised all dissenters, as the enemies of both the hierarchy and monarchy, and believed the state could only be secure, while the civil authority was lodged in the hands of high-church men. lord craven possessed not the same proud and intolerant spirit, and thought those carolineans, who maintained liberty of conscience, merited greater indulgences from them; and, though a friend to the church of england, he always was doubtful whether the minds of the people were ripe for the introduction of that establishment. he therefore urged lenity and toleration, which in general have been productive of peace and union, while rigour and persecution have seldom failed to excite discord and promote superstition in every community. [sidenote] the revenues of the colony. the expences incurred by the french invasion, though it terminated much to the honour of the carolineans, fell heavy on the colony, still in a poor and languishing condition. no taxes as yet had been laid on real or personal estates: the revenues of the colony were all raised by duties laid on spirituous liquors, sugar, molasses, and a few other articles imported; and on deer-skins and furs exported. the amount of these several duties was applied towards defraying the charges of government, such as raising and repairing fortifications, paying the governor's salary, maintaining garrisons, providing military stores, and salaries to ten ministers of the church of england, and sinking bills of credit stamped for answering the extraordinary expences of the province. eight thousand pounds had been issued for defraying the public expences occasioned by the french invasion; and the act laying an imposition on furs, skins, and liquors, was continued, for the purpose of cancelling these bills of credit. from this time forward there was a gradual rise in exchange and produce, owing, as many thought, to the emission and establishment of paper currency in the province. before this period, french and spanish gold and silver, brought into the country by pirates, privateers, and the over-balance of trade with the west indies, answered all the purposes of internal commerce, and very little english coin was circulating in the country. however, soon after this emission, fifty _per cent_. advance was given by the merchants for what english money there was; that is to say, for one hundred pounds english coin, they gave one hundred and fifty pounds paper currency of carolina. [sidenote] the invasion of canada. a bloody war still continued between england and france in europe, and the success which had attended an expedition against acadia, had encouraged the british administration to enter on bolder undertakings in america. the french in canada were numerous and strong, and lord godolphin, convinced of the necessity of maintaining a superiority over them, formed a design of attacking quebec, and striking such a blow in that quarter as might render his administration distinguished. he sent for sir hovenden walker, rear-admiral of the white, and after holding a private consultation with him respecting the enterprize, immediately began to make preparations for it. six thousand men were drawn from the army in flanders, and the command of them was given to general hill. eleven ships of the line, one frigate, and two bomb-ships, were fitted out: transports were provided, on board of which the army embarked and sailed for boston in new england. they arrived there on the th of june , but by no means met with that zeal and ardour for the expedition among the people of new england that might have been expected, considering its interesting consequence with respect to them. colonel francis nicolson, who had been successful in acadia the year before, hastened to boston, and first used his utmost endeavours to forward the expedition, and then marched by land, with a body of white men and indians, against montreal. before sir hovenden walker had procured every thing requisite to his expedition, the season of the year was too far advanced. the navigation up the river st. laurence was hazardous, and none but unskilful pilots could be found. a sudden blow must necessarily be struck, or otherwise, as the frosty season begins there so early, the fleet might find it difficult to return down the river. when they set sail, they had every thing to dread from their own ignorance and a dangerous navigation. in proceeding up the river they found uncertain and rapid currents, and met with dark and foggy weather: in consequence of which eight transports ran upon a rock, and almost nine hundred men perished. this unhappy accident cast a damp upon the spirits of the army, and their plan was frustrated. in a council of war it was judged imprudent and impracticable to carry large ships up such a river without the most skilful pilots, and therefore they returned to new england. general francis nicolson having heard of the miscarriage of the expedition upon the river, retreated also from lake george, and no more attempts were made for many years against the french settlements in canada. [sidenote] a french colony planted in louisiana. in the year following the french planted a colony at the mouth of the great river mississippi. lewis the xivth thought proper to grant a territory of vast extent in that quarter to secretary crozat, by which he evidently encroached on lands belonging to the proprietors of south carolina. though the carolineans had not a little to fear from a settlement in such a situation, yet crozat was allowed to take peaceable possession, without any complaints from the proprietors, or opposition from the british government. from this period a new competitor for the affection and interest of indian nations arose, more active and enterprising than the spaniards, whose motions the carolineans had good reason to watch with a jealous and vigilant eye. [sidenote] a colony of palatines settled. about the same time application was made to the proprietors for lands in carolina, by a number of palatines harassed in germany by the calamities of a tedious war, and reduced to circumstances of great indigence and misery. the proprietors wisely judging, that by such acquisitions the value of their lands would increase, and the strength of their settlement would be promoted, determined to give every possible encouragement to such emigrants. ships were provided for their transportation. instructions were sent to governor tynte to allow an hundred acres of land for every man, woman, and child, free of quit-rents for the first ten years; but, at the expiration of that term, to pay one penny _per_ acre annual-rent for ever, according to the usages and customs of the province. upon their arrival governor tynte granted them lands in north carolina, where they settled, and flattered themselves with having found in the hideous wilderness an happy retreat from the storms and desolations of war raging in europe. [sidenote] robert gibbes governor. however, like many others, governor tynte had scarcely time to learn the real state of the country, in order to establish proper regulations in it, before he died. after his death, a competition arose in the council about the succession. one party declared for robert gibbes, and another for thomas broughton. gibbes, however, carried his election, and for a little while stood at the head of the colony. during his time, we know nothing remarkable that happened. an act of assembly passed for appointing commissioners, impowering them to take subscriptions and collect public contributions for building a church at charlestown. water passages were carried southward to port-royal, for the ease and convenience of passengers by sea, and money was provided for building public bridges; and establishing ferries, for the accommodation of travellers by land. [sidenote] charles craven governor. but as it appeared to the proprietors, that bribery and corruption had been used by robert gibbes to gain his election to the government, he was not permitted to continue long in that office; they forbade their receiver-general to pay him any salary, and ordered the money due to be transmitted to richard shelton their secretary in england. a commission was sent our to charles craven, a man of great knowledge, courage and integrity, by his brother, investing him with the government of the colony. his council was composed of thomas broughton, ralph izard, charles hart, samuel eveleigh, and arthur middleton, _&c._; all men of considerable property, and experience in provincial affairs. the assembly in his time was not elected, as formerly, in a riotous and tumultuary manner, but with the utmost harmony and regularity, and proceeded to their deliberations with great temper and mutual friendship. the governor had instructions to defend the province against the french and spaniards, and for that purpose to form and cultivate the firmest friendship and alliance with the indians; to promote fisheries and manufactures, which was certainly an absurd and ridiculous instruction; for while they had so much land, agriculture was evidently more profitable and beneficial to both the possessors and proprietors of the province. he was required to overlook the courts, and take special care that justice be equitably administered, and that no interruptions or delays attend the execution of the laws: he was ordered to employ eight men to sound port-royal river for the benefit of navigation, and to fix on the most convenient spot for building a town, with a harbour nigh it; and to transmit all acts of assembly made from time to time to england, for the proprietors approbation or disapprobation; and such other public matters as appeared to him of general concern and utility, he was required carefully to study and promote. [sidenote] an indian war in north carolina. in the year , after governor craven had assumed the management of the colony, a dangerous conspiracy was formed by the indians of north carolina against the poor settlers in that quarter. the cause of the quarrel we have not been able clearly to find out; probably they were offended at the encroachments made on their hunting lands. the powerful tribes of indians called corees, tuscororas, and several more, united, and determined to murder or expel the european invaders. as usual, they carried on their bloody design with amazing cunning and profound secrecy. their chief town they had in the first place surrounded with a wooden breast-work, for the security of their own families. here the different tribes met together to the number of twelve hundred bowmen, and formed their horrid plot. from this place of rendezvous they sent out small parties, who entered the settlements, under the mask of friendship, by different roads. at the change of the full moon all of them had agreed to begin their murderous operations, on the same night. when that night came, they entered the planters houses, demanded provisions, out of pretence were displeased with them, and then murdered men, women, and children, without mercy or distinction. to prevent the alarm spreading through the settlement, they ran like fierce and bloody tygers from house to house, spreading slaughter among the scattered families wherever they went. none of the colonists, during the fatal night, knew what had befallen their neighbours, until the barbarians had reached their own doors. about roanock one hundred and thirty-seven settlers fell a sacrifice to their savage fury the first night; among whom were a swiss baron, and almost all the poor palatines who had lately come into the country. some, however, who had hid themselves in the woods, having escaped, next morning gave the alarm to their neighbours, and prevented the total distruction of that colony. every family had orders speedily to assemble at one place, and the militia, under arms, kept watch day and night around them, until the news of the sad disaster reached the province of south carolina. [sidenote] the tuscorora indians conquered. happy was it for the distressed north carolineans governor craven lost no time in collecting and dispatching a force to their assistance and relief. the assembly voted four thousand pounds for the service of the war. a body of militia, consisting of six hundred men, under the command of colonel barnwell, marched against the savages. two hundred and eighteen cherokees, under the command of captains hartford and turstons; seventy-nine creeks, under captain hastings; forty-one catabaws, under captain cantey, and twenty-eight yamasses, under captain pierce, being furnished with arms, joined the carolineans in this expedition. hideous and dreadful, at this time, was that wilderness through which colonel barnwell had to march; and to get to north carolina in time, for the relief of the people, the utmost expedition was requisite. in such a case it was not possible for his men to carry a sufficient quantity of provisions, together with arms and ammunition, along with them, or to have these things provided at different stages by the way. there was no road through the woods upon which either horses or carriages could conveniently pass; and his army had all manner of hardships and dangers from the climate, the wilderness, and the enemy, to encounter. in spite of every difficulty, barnwell advanced against them, employing his indian allies to hunt for provisions to his men by the way. at length, having come up with the savages, he attacked them, and being much better supplied with arms and ammunition than his enemy, he did great execution among them. in the first battle he killed three hundred indians, and took about one hundred prisoners. after which the tuscororas retreated to their town, within a wooden breastwork; there barnwell surrounded them, and having killed a considerable number, forced the remainder to sue for peace: some of his men being wounded, and others having suffered much by constant watching, and much hunger and fatigue, the savages more easily obtained their request. in this expedition it was computed that barnwell killed, wounded, and captivated near a thousand tuscororas. the remainder, who escaped on the terms of peace, soon after this heavy chastisement, abandoned their country, and joined a northern tribe of indians on the ohio river. king blunt, who afterwards came to south carolina, confirmed the account of the number the enemy had lost. of barnwell's party five carolineans were killed, and several wounded: of his indians, thirty-six were killed, and between sixty and seventy wounded. in justice to this officer it must be owned, never had any expedition against the savages in carolina been attended with such hazards and difficulties, nor had the conquest of any tribe of them ever been more general and complete. [sidenote] bank bills established. although the expedition to north carolina was well conducted, and proved as successful as the most sanguine of the carolineans could have expected, yet the expense the public had incurred by it fell heavy on the province, the revenues of which were inconsiderable, and not at all adapted for such important and extensive enterprizes. but as great harmony at this time subsisted between the governor and assembly, they were well disposed for concurring with him in every measure for the public safety and relief. the stamping of bills of credit had been used as the easiest method of defraying these expenses incurred for the public defence: however, at this time the legislature thought proper to establish a public bank, and issued forty-eight thousand pounds in bills of credit, called bank-bills, for answering the exigencies of government, and for the convenience of domestic commerce. this money was to be lent out at interest, on landed or personal security; and, according to the tenour of the act for issuing the same, it was to be sunk gradually, by four thousand pounds a-year; which sum was ordered to be paid annually by the borrowers, into the hands of commissioners appointed for that purpose. after the emission of these bank-bills, the rate of exchange and the price of produce quickly arose, and in the first year advanced to one hundred and fifty, in the second to two hundred _per cent_. [sidenote] remarks on paper currency. with respect to the utility of this paper money, the planters and merchants, according to their different views and interests, were divided in opinion. the former, who, for the most part, stood indebted to the latter, found that this provincial currency was not only necessary to answer the exigencies of government, but also very useful and convenient in the payment of private debts. this money being local, in proportion as it increased in quantity, it raised the nominal price of provincial commodities: and became of course prejudicial to creditors, in proportion as it was profitable to debtors; for though it depreciated fifty _per cent_. in a year, during which time the planters stood indebted to the merchants, the next year such creditors were obliged to take it in payment, or produce, which had advanced in price, according to the quantity of money in circulation. by the acts of assembly which established these bills of credit, the currency was secured, and made a tender in law in all payments; so that if the creditor refused this money before witnesses offered to him, the debt was discharged from the minute of his refusal. besides, the planters knew, that in a trading country gold and silver, by various channels, would make their way out of it when they answer the purposes of remittance better than produce, to their great prejudice: paper-money served to remedy this inconvenience, and to keep up the price of provincial commodities, as it could not leave the colony, and answered the purpose for paying private debts as well, or rather better, than gold and silver. as the trade of the country increased, no doubt a certain quantity of money was necessary to carry it on with ease and freedom; but when paper bills are permitted to increase beyond what are necessary for commercial ease and utility, they sink in value; and in such a case creditors lose in proportion to their depreciation. in carolina, as well as in the other british colonies in america, the greatest part of gold and silver current was foreign coin, and the different assemblies settled their value from time to time, by laws peculiar to each province. to remedy the inconveniences arising from the different rates at which the same species of foreign coin did pass in the several colonies and plantations, queen anne, in the sixth year of her reign, had thought fit, by her royal proclamation, to settle and ascertain the current rate of foreign coin in all her colonies. the standard at which currency was fixed by this proclamation, was at an hundred and thirty-three pounds, six shillings and eight-pence _per cent_.; but this regulation, however convenient and advantageous to trade, was afterwards little regarded in these provinces, and the confusion of current money continued and prevailed. after the emission of this great quantity of bank-bills in carolina, and speedy rise of the price of produce in consequence of it, the merchants of london, to whom the colony stood indebted, judging it prejudicial to trade, complained of it to the proprietors. they perceived that the trade of the country, by this means, would be carried on entirely without silver or gold; and although their factors in carolina might raise the price of british commodities and manufactures, equal to the advanced price of the produce, yet it might be for their interest sometimes to take gold and silver rather than produce in return for their british goods. they considered the issuing of such bank-notes as a violation of the laws of england, and prevailed on the proprietors to write governor craven a letter to the following effect: "we have heard complaints from several hands of an act you have passed, called the bank act. we do recommend to you to consider of some expedient for preventing the mischievous consequences of that act, lest, upon further complaints, we be forced to repeal it. the act is exclaimed against by our london merchants as injurious to trade, as an infringement and violation of the laws of great britain, and made almost in opposition to the act of the sixth of queen anne. therefore we expect, for preventing such complaints for the future, that you will endeavour, as much as in you lies, to reduce that paper credit, pretended to be established in your bank act, and that you will strictly put in execution the aforesaid act of queen anne." [sidenote] trade infested by pirates. as the trade of the colony had of late years considerably increased, and was almost entirely carried on in british ships, its protection was an object which demanded the attention either of the proprietors or the british administration. the war in europe had engrossed the care of the latter, and the former were either unable or unwilling to bear the expence of its protection. they had leased their property in the bahama islands to a company of merchants, which turning out to little account; the island of providence became a receptacle for vagabonds and villains of all nations. from this place of rendezvous a crew of desperate pirates had been accustomed to push out to sea, and, in defiance of the laws of nations, to obstruct navigation. the trade of carolina and that of the west indies suffered greatly from their depredations. for five years after this period those lawless robbers reigned as the masters of the gulph of florida, plundering and taking ships of every nation. north carolina, by the conquest of its maritime tribes of indians, had also become a refuge for those rogues, who carried their prizes into cape fear river, or providence, as best suited their convenience or interest. their success induced bold and rapacious spirits to join them, and in time they became so formidable, that no inconsiderable force was requisite to suppress them. [sidenote] several english statutes adopted. after a long and expensive war, a treaty of peace and commerce was concluded between britain, france and spain in europe; and orders were sent to all the colonies to desist from acts of hostility. governor craven, deeply interested in the prosperity of carolina, now turned his attention to improve the precious blessings of peace, and to diffuse a spirit of industry and agriculture throughout the settlement. the lands in granville county were found upon trial rich and fertile, and the planters were encouraged to improve them. accordingly a number of plantations were settled in the neighbourhood of indian nations, with whom the governor studied to cultivate a friendly correspondence. for the purposes of trade some men took up their residence in their towns, and furnished them with clothes, arms, and ammunition, in exchange for their furs and deer-skins. an agent was appointed to superintend the affairs of indian tribes, and to conciliate by all possible means their friendship and esteem. several interior regulations, conducive to the peace and prosperity of the colony, were also established. the colonists, as an eminent writer observes, in general carry with them so much of the english law as is applicable to their local circumstances and situation; such as, the general rules of inheritance, and of protection from personal injuries. what may be proper to be admitted, and what are necessary to be rejected, is judged and determined, in the first instance, by the provincial judicature, then subject to the approbation or disapprobation of the proprietors; and so far of the british parliament, that nothing may be attempted by them derogatory to the sovereignty and supreme jurisdiction of the mother country. at this time governor craven obtained the assent of the general assembly, to make several english statutes of the same force in carolina as if they had been enacted in it. the people regarded him as a wise and indulgent parent, and wished to copy the spirit of their laws from the english original, although they received their obligation and authoritative force from their being the laws of the colony. about this time nicholas trott, the chief justice of the colony, returned from england, where he had been for some time engaged in the settlement of private affairs. during his stay in britain he had engrossed the favour of the proprietors, who finding him to be a man of great abilities, professed a high respect for him, and afterwards desired his assistance and advice in every case respecting the future management of their colony. they advanced his salary to one hundred pounds a-year, and he agreed to carry on a regular correspondence with their secretary, and to give them the best intelligence with respect to their provincial affairs. trott having thus secured the confidence of the proprietors in england, soon after he came to carolina, began to plume himself on his advantageous circumstances, and to treat his former friends in the colony with that pride and insolence too common to most men in office and power. on the other hand, those men, offended at his arrogance, watched his conduct with an envious and malignant eye, and seemed to desire nothing more than to humble his pride and destroy his influence. to this fatal difference may be ascribed several future jealousies and disturbances with which the colonists were harassed, and which terminated in the total subversion of the proprietary government. chap. v. after the death of queen anne, george, elector of hanover, ascended the british throne, and was crowned on the th of october, . this event was far from giving general satisfaction to the british nation. a considerable party of the principal landholders favoured the pretensions of the house of stewart, but were so divided in their councils and schemes, that they lost all influence and weight. having no head, they were unable to turn the balance against the party in the other scale, who, by degrees, engrossed the royal favour, and all offices of power and trust in the kingdom. by this difference, however, a spirit of civil discord and sedition was excited in the nation, and the chevalier, encouraged by it, and flattered with the hopes of assistance from france, formed a project of snatching the scepter by force of arms from the family of hanover. for this purpose, a party in scotland had recourse to arms, but meeting with little assistance from the pretended friends of the cause in england, the insurrection was soon quelled, and their rash design totally defeated. [sidenote] a design formed for purchasing all charters and proprietary governments. during the former reign the lord commissioners of trade and plantations, from the contentions that prevailed in some of the colonies, had taken occasion to look more narrowly than formerly they used to do, into the state of proprietary governments in america, in order to form a plan for purchasing and uniting them more closely to the crown. they easily perceived the advantage of beginning this negotiation as soon as possible, for the sooner the purchase was made, the earlier it would be obtained. accordingly, they wrote to the proprietors of each colony, acquainting them, it was her majesty's pleasure and command, that all governors of her foreign plantations do transmit to them frequent and full information of the state of their respective colonies, as well in respect to the administration of government and justice, as to their progress in trade and improvements. the queen, though no friend to non-conformists, had also stretched out a hand of relief to the distressed dissenters of carolina, and publicly disapproved of some oppressive acts to which they had been subjected. this served to encourage a spirit of murmur and discontent among the carolineans at the proprietary government, and to give their eyes a direction to the crown at every future period, when they thought themselves aggrieved under it. [sidenote] the yamassees conspire the destruction of the colony. during the same year in which the attention of britain was occupied by a civil broil, the colony of carolina was visited with a terrible indian war, which threatened its total extirpation. the numerous and powerful tribe of indians called yamassees, probably at the instigation of the spaniards at augustine, were the most active in promoting this conspiracy against the settlement, though every tribe around was more or less concerned in it. the yamassees possessed a large territory lying backwards from port-royal island, on the north-east side of savanna river, which to this day is called indian land. by the carolineans this tribe had long been esteemed as friends and allies, who had admitted a number of traders into their towns, and several times assisted the settlers in their war-like enterprizes. of all other indians they were believed to habour in their minds the most inveterate and irreconcilable enmity to spaniards. for many years they had been accustomed to make incursions into the spanish territories, and to wage war with the indians within their bounds. in their return from those southern expeditions, it had been a common practice with them to lurk in the woods round augustine, until they surprized some spaniard, and brought him prisoner home to their towns. on the bodies of these unfortunate prisoners they were accustomed to exercise the most wanton barbarities; sometimes cutting them to pieces slowly, joint by joint, with knives and tomahawks; at other times burying them up to the neck under ground, then standing at a distance and marking at their heads with their pointed arrows; and, at other times, binding them to a tree, and piercing the tenderest parts of their naked bodies with sharp-pointed sticks of burning wood, which last, because the most painful and excruciating method of torture, was the most common among them. to prevent such horrid cruelties from being committed on the bodies of human creatures, the legislature of carolina passed a law, offering a reward of five pounds for every spanish prisoner these indians should bring alive to charlestown; which law, though it evidently proceeded from motives of humanity, yet, in the event, it proved very inconsistent with good policy: for, in consequence of this act, the yamassees brought several spaniards, at different times, to charlestown, where they claimed the reward for their prisoners, and delivered them up to the governor. charles craven, who was no less distinguished for humanity than valour, used to send back such prisoners to augustine, charging the spanish government with the expences of their passage and the reward to the yamassees. but this humane practice, while it displayed english greatness of mind, served also to begin an intercourse, which will exhibit to us a sad specimen of spanish honour and gratitude. for twelve months before the war broke out, the traders among the yamassees observed that their chief warriors went frequently to augustine, and returned loaded with presents; but were not apprehensive of any ill consequence from such generosity. john fraser, an honest scotch highlander, who lived among the yamassees, and traded with them, had often heard these warriors tell with what kindness they had been treated at augustine. one had received a hat, another a jacket, and a third a coat, all trimmed with silver lace. some got hatchets, others great knives, and almost all of them guns and ammunition, to prepare them for striking some great and important blow. these warriors told mr. fraser, that they had dined with the governor at augustine, and washed his face, (a ceremony used by indians as a token of friendship), and that now the spanish governor was their king, and not the governor of carolina. still, however, the carolineans remained secure, and, having such confidence in the indians, dreaded no ill consequences from this new intercourse and uncommon kindness. they knew the yamassees antipathy to the spaniards, their fondness for presents, but could suspect no mischievous plot meditated against the settlement by friends and allies. they were not ignorant that the subjects of both england and spain always endeavoured for the sake of peace, to court the friendship of indian nations, who were such powerful and dangerous enemies. each competitor knew their passion for war, and how heavy their vengeance, wherever it pointed, generally fell, and therefore good policy dictated the necessity of turning the edge of their fierce and bloody temper against their neighbours, in order to save themselves. it was a common thing for the traders who resided among these savages to single out a particular warrior of influence and authority among them, and to court his favour with trifling presents and constant civility. among the yamassees one named sanute was fraser's friend, who, with his fellow-warriors, had also been at florida, and shared of the spaniards insidious liberality. during his absence mr. fraser had married a fine woman; and sanute, who had a great regard for him, after his return home came to his house, and brought along with him some sweet herbs, to show the lady a mark of respect, agreeable to customs of indian nations. so soon as he entered the habitation of his friend, he called for a bason of water, in which he bruised the herbs, and first washed mrs. fraser's face and hands, and then, clapping his own hands upon his breast, told her, that, for the future, he would communicate to her all he knew in his heart. she, in return, thanked him, and made him some present. accordingly, about nine days before hostilities commenced, sanute came to mrs. fraser's house, and told her, that the english were all wicked heretics, and would go to hell, and that the yamassees would also follow them, if they suffered them to live in their country; that now the governor augustine was their king; that there would be a terrible war with the english, and they only waited for the bloody stick to be returned from the creeks before they began it. he told them, that the yamassees, the creeks, the cherokees, and many other nations, together with the spaniards, were all to engage in it; and advised them to fly to charlestown with all they had in the greatest haste, and if their own pettiauger was not large enough to carry them, he would lend them his canoe. fraser, not a little astonished at the news, asked him, how the spaniards could go to war with the carolineans, while at peace with great britain? to which sanute replied, the spanish governor told him that there would soon be a war again with the english, and that while they attacked the carolineans by land, he would send to spain for a fleet of ships to block up the harbour, so that not a man or woman of them should escape. fraser asked him, how long it might be since they had formed this horrid design? sanute answered, do not you remember about twelve months ago that ishiagaska, one of our chief warriors, with four more indians, went to the creeks. fraser said, he remembered it well. then it was, said sanute, he carried with him a spanish talk for destroying all the english inhabitants of the province; and, laying his hand upon his heart, declared he had told them all he knew, and repeated his advice to them to fly with all expedition: but, if they were determined to stay and run all hazards, he concluded by assuring them, that, to prevent torture, he would claim the privilege of performing the last friendly office to them, which was to kill them with his own hands. fraser still entertained some doubts, but his wife being terrified, he resolved at all events to get out of the way, and accordingly, without delay, put his wife, his child, and most valuable effects, into his boat, and made his escape to charlestown. [sidenote] the yamassee war. as the time drew nigh in which this dark plot was to be put in execution, captain nairn, agent for indian affairs, and many traders, resided at pocotaligo, the largest town belonging to the yamassees. mr. fraser, probably either discrediting what he had heard, or from the hurry and confusion which the alarm occasioned, unfortunately had not taken time to communicate the intelligence he had received to his friends, who remained in a state of false security in the midst of their enemies. the case of the scattered settlers on the frontiers was equally lamentable, who were living under no suspicions of danger. however, on the day before the yamassees began their bloody operations, captain nairn and some of the traders observing an uncommon gloom on their savage countenances, and apparently great agitations of spirit, which to them prognosticated approaching mischief, went to their chief men, begging to know the cause of their uneasiness, and promising, if any injury had been done them, to give them satisfaction. the chiefs replied, they had no complaints to make against any one, but intended to go a-hunting early the next morning. captain nairn accordingly went to sleep, and the traders retired to their huts, and passed the night in seeming friendship and tranquillity. but next morning, about the break of day, being the th day of april, , all were alarmed with the cries of war. the leaders were all out under arms, calling upon their followers, and proclaiming aloud designs of vengeance. the young men, burning with fury and passion, flew to their arms, and, in a few hours, massacred above ninety persons in pocotaligo town and the neighbouring plantations; and many more must have fallen a sacrifice on port-royal island, had they not providentially been warned of their danger. mr. burrows, a captain of the militia, after receiving two wounds, by swimming one mile and running ten, escaped to port-royal and alarmed the town. a vessel happening fortunately to be in the harbour, the inhabitants in great hurry repaired on board, and sailed for charlestown; only a few families of planters on that island, not having timely notice, fell into their barbarous hands, some of whom they murdered, and others they made prisoners of war. while the yamassees, with whom the creeks and apallachians had joined, were advancing against the southern frontiers, and spreading desolation and slaughter through the province; the colonists on the northern borders also found the indians down among the settlements in formidable parties. the carolineans had foolishly entertained hopes of the friendship of the congarees, the catawbas and cherokees; but they soon found that they had also joined in the conspiracy, and declared for war. it was computed that the southern division of the enemy consisted of above six thousand bowmen, and the northern of between six hundred and a thousand. indeed every indian tribe, from florida to cape fear river, had joined in this confederacy for the destruction of the settlement. the planters scattered here and there had no time to gather together in a body, sufficiently strong to withstand such numbers; but each consulting his own safety, and that of his helpless family, in great hurry and consternation fled to the capital. every one who came in brought the governor different accounts of the number and strength of the savages, insomuch that even the inhabitants of charlestown were doubtful of their safety and entertained the most discouraging apprehensions of their inability to repel a force so great and formidable. in the muster-roll there were no more than one thousand two hundred men fit to bear arms, but as the town had several forts into which the inhabitants might retreat, the governor, with this small force, resolved to march into the woods against the enemy. he proclaimed the martial law, and laid an embargo on all ships, to prevent either men or provisions from leaving the country. he obtained an act of assembly, impowering him to impress men, and seize arms, ammunition, and stores, wherever they were to be found, to arm such trusty negroes as might be serviceable at a juncture so critical, and to prosecute the war with the utmost vigour. agents were sent to virginia and england, to solicit assistance; bills were stamped for the payment of the army, and other necessary expences; robert daniel was appointed deputy-governor in town, and charles craven, at the head of the militia, marched to the country against the largest body of savages. in the mean time, the indians on the northern quarter had made an inroad as far as a plantation belonging to john hearne, about fifty miles from town, and entered his house in a seemingly peaceable and friendly manner; but afterwards pretending to be displeased with the provisions given them, murdered him and every person in it. thomas barker, a captain of militia, having intelligence of the approach of these indians, collected a party, consisting of ninety horsemen, and advanced against them: but by the treachery of an indian, whom he unluckily trusted, he was led into a dangerous ambuscade in a thicket, where a large party of indians lay concealed on the ground. barker having advanced into the middle of them before he was aware of his danger, the indians sprung from their concealments, and fired upon his men on every side. the captain and several more fell at the first onset, and the remainder in confusion were obliged to retreat. after this advantage, a party of four hundred indians came down as far as goose creek. every family there had fled to town, except in one place, where seventy white men and forty negroes had surrounded themselves with a breast-work, and resolved to remain and defend themselves in the best manner they could. when the indians attacked them they were discouraged, and rashly agreed to terms of peace; and, having admitted the enemy within their works, this poor garrison were barbarously butchered: after which the indians advanced still nigher to town; but at length meeting with captain chicken and the whole goose creek militia, they were repulsed, and obliged to retreat into the wilderness. by this time the yamassees, with their confederates, had spread destruction though the parish of st. bartholomew, and advancing downwards as far as stono, they burned the church at that place, together with every house on the plantations by the way. john cochran, his wife, and four children; mr. bray, his wife, and two children; and six more men and women, having found some friends among them, were spared for some days; but while attempting to make their escape from them, they were retaken and put to death. such as had no friends among them were tortured in the most shocking manner, the indians seeming to neglect their progress towards conquest on purpose to assist in tormenting their enemies. we forbear to mention the various tortures inflicted on such as fell into their merciless fangs: none can be pleased with the relation of such horrid cruelties, but the man who, with a smile of satisfaction, can be the spectator of a spanish _auto de fe_, or such savage hearts as are steeled against every emotion of humanity and compassion. [sidenote] the yamassees defeated and expelled. by this time governor craven, being no stranger to the ferocious tempers of his enemies, and their horrid cruelty to prisoners, was advancing against them by slow and cautious steps, always keeping the strictest guard round his army. he knew well under what advantages they sought among their native thickets, and the various wiles and stratagems they made use of in conducting their wars; and therefore was watchful above all things against sudden surprises, which might throw his followers into disorder, and defeat the end of his enterprize. the fate of the whole province depended on the success of his arms, and his men had no other alternative left but to conquer or die a painful death. as he advanced the straggling parties fled before him, until he reached saltcatchers, where they had pitched their great camp. here a sharp and bloody battle ensued from behind trees and bushes, the indians hooping, hollowing and giving way one while, and then again and again returning with double fury to the charge. but the governor, notwithstanding their superior number and all their terrible shrieks, kept the provincials close at their heels, and drove them before him like a flock of ravenous wolves. he expelled them from their settlement at indian land, pursued them over savanna river, and rid the province entirely of this formidable tribe of savages. what number of his army he lost, or of the enemy he killed, we have not been able particularly to learn; but in this indian war near four hundred innocent inhabitants of carolina were murdered by these wild barbarians. [sidenote] they take refuge in florida. the yamassees, after their defeat and expulsion, went directly to the spanish territories in florida, where they were received with bells ringing and guns firing, as if they had come victoriously from the field; from which circumstance, together with the encouragement afterwards given them to settle in florida, there is too good reason to believe, that this horrid conspiracy was contrived by spaniards, and carried on by their encouragement and assistance. two prisoners, whom they had saved and carried to augustine along with them, mrs. sisson and mrs. macartey, afterwards reported to the carolineans the news of this kind reception the indians met with from the spaniards. on the other hand, though the province of carolina suffered much at this rime, yet the governor had the good fortune to prevent its total destruction. from the lowest state of despondency, charlestown, on the governor's return to it, was raised to the highest pitch of joy. he entered it with some degree of triumph, receiving from all such applauses as his wise conduct and unexpected success justly merited. indeed his prosperous expedition had not only disconcerted the most formidable conspiracy ever formed against the colony, but also placed the inhabitants in general, however much exposed individuals might be to small scalping parties, in a state of greater security and tranquillity than they had hitherto enjoyed. [sidenote] retain a vindictive spirit against the carolineans. however, from that period in which the yamassee indians were compelled to take up their residence in florida, they harboured in their breasts the most inveterate ill-will and rancour to all carolineans, and watched every opportunity of pouring their vengeance on them. being furnished with arms and ammunition from the spaniards, they often broke out on small scalping parties, and infested the frontiers of the british settlement. one party of them catched william hooper, and killed him by degrees, by cutting off one joint of his body after another, until he expired. another parry surprised henry quinton, thomas simmons, and thomas parmenter, and, to gratify their revenge, tortured them to death. dr. rose afterwards fell also into their hands, whom they cut across his nose with their tomahawk, and having scalped him left him on the spot for dead; but he happily recovered of his wounds. in short, the emissaries of st. augustine, disappointed in their sanguinary design of destroying root and branch in carolina, had now no other resource left but to employ the vindictive spirit of the yamassees against the defenceless frontiers of the province. in these excursions, it must be confessed, they were too successful, for many poor settlers at different times fell a sacrifice to their insatiable revenge. [sidenote] the colonists turn their eyes for protection to the crown. during the time of this hard struggle with indians, the legislature of carolina had made application to the proprietors, representing to them the weak state of the province, the deplorable dangers which hung over it, and begging their paternal help and protection; but being doubtful whether the proprietor would be inclined to involve their english estates in debt for supporting their property in carolina, in so precarious a situation, they instructed their agent, in case he failed of success from them, to apply to the king for relief. the merchants entered cordially into the measure for making application to the crown, and considered it as the most effectual expedient for retrieving their credit in england, lost by the dangers which threatened the country, and the pirates that infested the coast. they perceived at once the many advantages which would accrue to them from being taken under the immediate care and protection of the crown. ships of war would soon clear the coast of pestilent sea-robbers, and give free scope to trade and navigation. forces by land world overawe the war-like indians, prevent such dreadful attempts for the future, and they would reap the happy fruits of public peace and security. the inhabitants in general were much dissatisfied with living under a government unable to protect them, and what rendered their case still more lamentable, prevented the interposition of the crown for their defence, and therefore were very unanimous in the proposed application to the crown. about the middle of the year the agent for carolina waited on the proprietors, with a representation of the heavy calamities under which their colony laboured from the ravages of barbarous enemies, and the depredations of lawless pirates. he acquainted them, that the yamassees, by the influence of spanish emissaries, had claimed the whole lands of the country as their ancient possessions, and conspired with many other tribes to assert their right by force of arms, and therefore urged the necessity of sending immediate relief to the colony. but not being satisfied with the answer he received, he petitioned the house of commons in behalf of the distressed carolineans. the commons addressed the king, praying for his kind interposition and immediate assistance to the colony. the king referred the matter to the lords commissioners of trade and plantations. the lords of trade made an objection, that the province of carolina was one of the proprietary governments, and were of opinion, that, if the nation should be at the expence of its protection, the government ought to be vested in the crown. upon which lord carteret wrote them a letter to the following effect: "we the proprietors of carolina having met on this melancholy occasion, to our great grief find, that we are utterly unable of ourselves to afford our colony suitable assistance in this conjuncture, and unless his majesty will graciously please to interpose, we can foresee nothing but the utter destruction of his majesty's faithful subjects in those parts." the lords of trade asked lord carteret what sum might be necessary for that service, and whether the government of the colony should not devolve on the crown, if great britain should agree to bear the expence of its defence. to which lord carteret replied, "the proprietors humbly submitted to his majesty's great wisdom, what sum of money he should be pleased to grant for their assistance; and in case the money advanced for this purpose should not be in a reasonable time repaid, they humbly conceived that then his majesty would have an equitable right to take the government under his immediate care and protection." [sidenote] the project revived for purchasing the proprietary colonies. the same year a bill was brought into the house of commons in england for the better regulation of the charter and proprietary governments in america, and of his majesty's plantations there; the chief design of which was, to reduce all charter and proprietary governments into regal ones. men conversant in the history of past ages, particularly in that of the rise and progress of different states, had long foreseen the rapid increase of american colonies, and wisely judged, that it would be for the interest of the kingdom to purchase them for the crown as soon as possible. at different times administration, in the reigns of king william and queen anne, held treaties with the proprietors for this purpose: but some obstacles always came in the way, or some accidents occurred, which prevented a final agreement. at this time while penn was about selling the government of pennsylvania, for twelve thousand pounds, to the crown, he was seized with an apoplexy, and died before the deeds were executed. lord baltimore, the duke of beaufort, and lord craven, all minors, petitioned to be heard by counsel against passing the bill. the province of massachuset's bay petitioned against it, alledging that the charter they had received from king william placed them on the same footing with the different corporations in england, and that it would be equally hard and unjust to deprive them of their charter privileges, as to disfranchise the english corporations. the colony of connecticut, whose charter was intended to be taken away by this bill, in like manner petitioned to be excepted out of it. these petitions, together with the reasons assigned in support of them, the committee of the house found some difficulty in answering, and therefore, instead of proceeding farther in an affair of such national concern, the design was entirely dropt. it is remarkable, that the proprietors of carolina, at the time they obtained their charter, as is expressly mentioned in it were excited to form that settlement by their zeal for the propagation of the christian faith among the indians of america: yet, to their shame it must be confessed, that they have either never used any endeavours for this laudable purpose, or they have been utterly fruitless and ineffectual. at this time, indeed, the society incorporated for propagating the gospel maintained several missionaries in carolina, as well as in the northern provinces. the parishes of st. helen's, st. paul's, christ-church, st. andrew's, st. james's, and st. john's were all supplied with ministers from this charitable corporation, who were instructed to use their best endeavours for spreading the gospel among the heathens in their neighbourhood and received an annual allowance from the society for that purpose; yet we have not been able to learn that these heathens ever reaped the smallest advantage from them. the spaniards, though they have often made use of the more severe and rough means of conversion, and erected the standard of the cross in a field of blood, yet they have also been exceedingly diligent and assiduous in teaching heathens the principles of the catholic religion. in point of policy, this zeal was more praise-worthy than english negligence: for such barbarians would certainly have been much easier tamed and civilized by mild instruction than by force of arms. the tumican and apalachian indians, before governor moore's inroads among them, had made some advances towards civilization, and paid, by means of instruction from roman catholic missionaries, strict obedience to the spanish government at augustine. had the proprietors of carolina erected schools, for the instruction of young indians in the language, manners and religion of the english nation, such an institution might have been attended with the most beneficial effects. for while the children of such savages were living among the colonists, they would have been like so many hostages to secure the goodwill and peaceable behaviour of their parents, and when they returned to the nation to which they belonged, their knowledge of the english language and customs would, for the future, have rendered all commercial treaties and transactions between them easy and practicable. besides, they would have all the prejudices of education in favour of the english manners and government, which would have helped both to fortify them against the fatal influence of spanish rivals, and to render them more firm and steady to the british interest. [sidenote] differences occasioned by the war. although the yamassee war had terminated much to the honour of the carolinians, yet the fatal effects of it were long and heavily felt by the colony. many of the planters had no negroes to assist them in raising provisions for their families, and these persons who had negroes, could not be spared to overlook them, so that the plantations were left uncultivated, and the produce of the year was trifling and inconsiderable. the men being more solicitous about the safety of their families than the increase of their fortunes, purchased bills of exchange at any price, to send with them to the northern provinces, in order to procure for them there the necessaries of life. the provincial merchants being much indebted to those in london, the latter were alarmed at the dangers which hung over the colony, and pressed them much for remittances. the indians, who stood indebted to the merchants of carolina for ten thousand pounds, instead of paying their debts, had cancelled them, by murdering the traders, and abandoning the province. no remittances could be made, but in such commodities as the country produced, and all hands being engaged in war, rendered them both very scarce and extremely dear. to answer the public exigences of the province, large emissions of paper currency were also requisite. hence the rate of exchange arose to an extravagant height. the province was indebted no less than eighty thousand pounds, and at the same time obliged to maintain garrisons on the frontiers for the public defence, which served to increase the debt. while struggling amidst those hardships, the merchants of london complained to the proprietors of the increase of paper money, as injurious to trade; in consequence of which they strictly ordered their governor to reduce it. all those things served to aggravate the distress of the poor colonists, and caused them to murmur against their landlords for want of compassion, and to turn not a little disaffected to their government. [sidenote] aggravated by the proprietors. the next step taken by the legislature of carolina, served to widen the difference. the yamassees being expelled from indian land, the assembly passed two acts to appropriate those lands gained by conquest for the use and encouragement of such of his majesty's subjects as should come over and settle upon them. extracts of these acts being sent to england and ireland, and published among the people, five hundred men from ireland transported themselves to carolina, to take the benefit of them; which influx was a great acquisition at this juncture, and served to strengthen these frontiers against future incursions from barbarians. but the beneficial consequences of these acts were all frustrated by the proprietors, who repealed them, claiming such lands as their property, and insisting on the right of disposing of them as they thought fit. not long afterwards, to the utter ruin of the irish emigrants, and in breach of the provincial faith to them, the proprietors ordered the indian lands to be surveyed for their own use, and run out in large baronies; by which harsh usage the old settlers, having lost the protection of the new comers, deserted their plantations, and again left the frontiers open to the enemy; as for the unfortunate irish emigrants, having spent the little money they had, many of them, reduced to misery, perished, and the remainder moved to the northern colonies. [sidenote] robert daniel is made deputy-governor. about this time governor craven, having received advice from england of sir antony craven's death, intimated to the proprietors, that the affairs of his family required his presence, and obtained their leave to return to britain. no governor had ever gained more general love and deserved respect from the carolineans, nor had any man ever left the province whose departure was more universally regretted. having appointed robert daniel deputy-governor, he embarked for england about the end of april, . while the man of war rode at anchor near the bar, mr. gideon johnston, with about thirty more gentlemen, went into a sloop to take leave of their beloved governor, and sailed with him over the bar. on their return a storm arose, the sloop was overset, and mr. johnston, being lame of the gout and in the hold, was drowned. the other gentlemen, who were upon deck, saved themselves by swimming to the land. afterwards the sloop drove, and what has been thought somewhat remarkable, mr. johnston's body was taken out of it while beating against the same bank of land upon which he had almost perished at his first arrival in carolina. [sidenote] lord carteret palatine before governor craven arrived in england, john lord carteret, a nobleman no less distinguished by his illustrious descent than personal merit, had succeeded to the dignity of palatine. nicholas trott, who was chief-justice of carolina, received a warrant from this nobleman, impowering him to sit also as judge of the provincial court of vice-admiralty. william rhett, who was trott's brother-in-law, and receiver-general, was likewise made comptroller of his majesty's customs in carolina and bahama islands. the many offices of trust and emolument which these two men held, together with their natural abilities, gave them great weight and influence in the province, especially at the election of members to serve in assembly. when the provincial assembly met, a bill was brought into the house for the better regulation of the indian trade, nominating commissioners, and impowering them to apply the profits arising from it to the public benefit and defence, and passed with little opposition. as the colonists had been accustomed to chuse all their members of assembly at charlestown, at which election great riots and tumults had often happened; to remedy this disorder, another bill was brought into assembly for regulating elections; in which, among other things, it was enacted, "that every parish should send a certain number of representatives, in all not exceeding thirty-six; that they should be ballotted for at the different parish churches, or some other convenient place, on a day to be mentioned in the writs, which were to be directed to the church-wardens, who were required to make returns of the members elected." this was a popular act, as the inhabitants found it not only allowed them greater freedom, but was more conformable to the practice in england, and more convenient for the settlers than their former custom of electing all members in town. [sidenote] the disaffection of the people increases. by this time the struggle between the proprietors and possessors of the soil, which had long subsisted, and in which the officers intrusted with supporting their lordships power and prerogative always found themselves deeply interested, was become more serious. those popular acts, but particularly the latter, gave great offence to some members of the council, who plainly perceived its tendency to ruin their influence at elections, and of course the power of the proprietors. among others, trott and rhett strenuously opposed the bills. though they were not able to prevent their passing in carolina, yet they took care to send to england such representations of them as could not fail to render them the objects of the proprietors disapprobation. indeed the act respecting elections had broke in upon a former law, which had been ratified in england, and never repealed by the same authority. the consequence was, both those bills in a little time were sent back repealed, by an instrument under the proprietors hands and seals. the colonists, far from being pleased with the former conduct of their landlords, now became outrageous, and spoke boldly of their tyranny, bad policy, and want of compassion for distressed freemen. being still exposed to incursions from the sanguinary and vindictive yamassees, furnished with arms and ammunition from the spaniards, they were obliged to maintain a company of rangers, to protect the frontiers against them. three small forts were erected at congarees, savanna, and apalachicola, for the public defence, and money must be raised for the payment of garrisons. presents of considerable value were also necessary, to preserve the friendship of other indian tribes. these public expences eat up all the fruits of the poor planter's industry. the law appropriating the profits of the indian trade for the public protection had been repealed; the public credit was at so low an ebb, that no man would trust his money in the provincial treasury. none would risk their lives in defence of the colony without pay, and the province, oppressed with a load of debt, was utterly unable to furnish the necessary supplies. the people complained of the insufficiency of that government which could not protect them, and at the same time prevented the interposition of the crown for this purpose. governor daniel himself joined them in their complaints, and everyone seemed ardently to wish for those advantages which other colonies enjoyed, under the immediate care and protection of a powerful sovereign. [sidenote] robert johnson appointed governor. in this discontented and unhappy state robert johnson found the carolineans, when he arrived with a commission from lord carteret, bearing date april , , investing him with the government of the province: to which office a salary of four hundred pounds sterling was now annexed. he was son to sir nathaniel johnson, who formerly held the same office, and had left him an estate in carolina. this new governor was a man of wisdom, integrity, and moderation; but came out with such instructions as were ill adapted to the circumstances and situation of the colony. soon after his arrival he perceived the disaffection of the people to the proprietary government, and the many difficulties with which he would have to struggle in the faithful discharge of his duty. his council consisted of thomas broughton, alexander skene, nicholas trott, charles hart, james kinloch, francis yonge, _&c._ some of whom were highly dissatisfied with the harsh treatment of the proprietors. after calling an assembly, the governor, as usual, signified to them his esteem for the people, his love to the province, and his resolutions of pursuing such measures as might be judged most conducive to its peace and prosperity. the assembly, in answer, expressed great satisfaction with appointing a man of so good a character to that high office; but, at the same time, were not insensible of the oppression of their landlords, nor of the many hardships they had to expect under their weak and contemptible government. [sidenote] of the depredations of pirates. about this time some merchants and masters of ships, trading to america and the west indies, having suffered much from the barbarity and depredations of pirates, complained to the king in council of the heavy losses the trade of the nation had sustained from those public robbers, who had grown so numerous and insolent, that unless a speedy check should be given to them, the navigation in those seas would be totally ruined. in consequence of which the king issued a proclamation, promising a pardon to all pirates who should surrender themselves in the space of twelve months, and at the same time ordered to sea a force for suppressing them. as they had made the island of providence their common place of residence, captain woodes rogers sailed against this island, with a few ships of war, and took possession of it for the crown. except one vane, who with about ninety more made their escape in a sloop, all the pirates took the benefit of the king's proclamation, and surrendered. captain rogers having made himself master of the island, formed a council in it, and appointed officers civil and military for the better government of its inhabitants. he built some forts for its security and defence, and so ordered matters, that, for the future, the trade of the west indies was well protected against this lawless crew. [sidenote] and their utter extirpation. though the pirates on the island of providence were crushed, those of north carolina still remained, and were equally insolent and troublesome. vane, who escaped from captain rogers, had taken two ships bound from charlestown to london. a pirate sloop of ten guns, commanded by steed bonnet, and another commanded by richard worley, had taken possession of the mouth of cape fear river, which place was now the principal refuge left for those rogues. their station there was so convenient for blocking up the harbour of charlestown, that the trade of the colony was greatly obstructed by them. no sooner had one crew left the coast than another appeared, so that scarcely one ship coming in or going out escaped them. governor johnson, resolving to check their insolence, fitted out a ship of force, gave the command of it to william rhett and sent him out to sea for the protection of trade. rhett had scarcely got over the bar when steed bonnet spied him, but finding he was more than match for him, made all the sail he could for his refuge in cape fear river. thither rhett followed him, took the sloop, and brought the commander and about thirty men with him to charlestown. soon after this governor johnson himself embarked, and sailed in pursuit of the other sloop of six guns, commanded by richard worley, which, after a desperate engagement off the bar of charlestown, was also taken. the pirates fought like furies, until they were all killed or wounded, excepting worley and another man, who even then refused to surrender, until they were likewise dangerously wounded. these two men, together with their sloop, the governor brought into charlestown, where they were instantly tried, condemned, and executed, to prevent their dying of their wounds. steed bonnet and his crew were also tried, and all, except one man, hanged, and buried on white point, below high-water mark. governor johnson, formerly a popular man, was now become much more so, by his courage in exposing his person, and the success attending his expedition against the pirates. the coast being happily cleared, and free scope given to trade, afterwards no pirates durst venture to sea in that quarter. this check, together with that they received among the islands, served to extirpate these pestilent robbers, who had declared war against all mankind; and, by reducing themselves to the savage state of nature, had led such lives as rendered them the common enemy of every civilised nation. but these two expeditions from carolina, though crowned with success, cost the poor province upwards of ten thousand pounds, an additional burden which, at this juncture, it was ill qualified to support. [sidenote] troubles from paper currency. at the same time, governor johnson had instructions to reduce the paper currency circulating in the province, of which the mercantile interest loudly complained, as injurious to trade. he recommended to the assembly to consider of ways and means for sinking it, and told them they were bound in honour and justice to make it good. the indian war had occasioned a scarcity of provisions; by the large emissions of paper money it sunk in value, and the price of produce arose to an exorbitant height. as the value of every commodity is what it will bring at market, so the value of paper money is according to the quantity of commodities it will purchase. even gold and silver, though the universal medium of commerce, grow less precious in proportion as their quantity is increased in any country. both rice and naval stores, however high, by doubling the quantity of paper money, though the commodities remain the same as formerly, become still much higher. the merchants and money-lenders were losers by those large emissions; and the planters indebted to them, on the other hand, were gainers by them. hence great debates arose in the assembly about paper-money, between the planting and mercantile interests. at this time the governor, however, had so much influence as to prevail with the assembly to pass a law for sinking and paying off their paper credit in three years, by a tax on lands and negroes. this act, on its arrival in england, gave great satisfaction both to the proprietors and people concerned in trade, and the governor received their thanks for his attention to the commercial interests of the country. [sidenote] several laws repealed. this compliance of the assembly with the governor's instructions from england, and the good humour in which they at present appeared to be with government, gave him some faint hopes of reconciling them by degrees to the supreme jurisdiction of the proprietors. but their good temper was of short duration, and the next advices from england blasted all his hopes of future agreement. the planters finding that the tax-act fell heavy on them, began to grumble and complain of its injustice, and to contrive ways and means for eluding it, by stamping more bills of credit. the proprietors having information of this, and also of a design formed by the assembly to set a price on country commodities, and make them at such a price a good tender in law for the payment of all debts, they strictly enjoined their governor not to give his assent to any bill framed by the assembly, nor to render it of any force in the colony, before a copy of the same should be laid before them. about the same time the king, by his order in council, signified to the proprietors, that they should repeal an act passed in carolina, of pernicious consequence to the trade of the mother country, by which a duty of ten _per cent_. was laid on all goods of british manufacture imported into that province. accordingly this act, together with that for regulating elections, and another for declaring the right of assembly for the time being to nominate a public receiver, were all repealed, and sent to governor johnson in a letter, which enjoined him instantly to dissolve the present assembly and call another, to be chosen in charlestown, according to the ancient usage and customs of the province. the proprietors considered themselves as the head of the legislative body, who had not only power to put a negative on all laws made in the colony of which they disapproved, but also to repeal such as they deemed of pernicious consequence. [sidenote] which occasions great disaffection. governor johnson, sensible of the ill-humour which prevailed among the people at the proprietary government, and the ill consequences that would attend the immediate execution of his orders, summoned his council together, to take their advice about what was most proper to be done. when he communicated his orders and instructions from england, the majority of the council were astonished at them. trott, indeed, who was one of them, probably knew from what spring they derived their origin, and to whose advice and influence the repeal of those laws ought to be ascribed. but as the assembly were at that time deliberating about the means of paying the provincial debt contracted by the expedition against the pirates, and other contingent charges of government, it was agreed to postpone the dissolution of the house until the business then before them should be finished. however, the repeal of the duty-law being occasioned by an order from the king in council, they resolved to acquaint the assembly immediately with the royal displeasure at that clause of the law laying a duty on all goods manufactured in great britain, and recommend it to them to make a new act, leaving out that clause which had given offence. mean while, though great pains were taken to conceal the governor's instructions from the people, yet by some means they were divulged, and kindled violent flames among them. the assembly entered into a warm debate about the proprietors right of repealing laws passed with the assent of their deputies. many alledged, that the deputation given to them was like a power of attorney sent to persons at a distance, authorizing them to act in their stead; and insisted, that, according to the charter, they were bound by their assent to acts, as much as if the proprietors themselves had been present, and ratified and confirmed them. [sidenote] further troubles from indians. while the colony was thus harassed with fears and troubles from rigorous landlords, to enhance their misery, their savage neighbours were also now and then making incursions into their settlements, and spreading havock among the scattered families. at this time a scalping party penetrated as far as the euhah lands, where having surprised john levit and two of his neighbours, they knocked out their brains with their tomahawks. they then seized mrs. borrows and one of her children, and carried them off with them. the child by the way, finding himself in barbarous hands, began to cry, upon which they put him to death. the distressed mother, being unable to refrain from tears while her child was murdered before her eyes, was given to understand, that she must not weep, if she desired not to share the same fate. upon her arrival at augustine she would have been immediately sent to prison, but one of the yamassee kings declared he knew her from her infancy to be a good woman, interceded for her liberty, and begged she might be sent home to her husband. this favour, however, the spanish governor refused to grant, and the garrison seemed to triumph with the indians in the number of their scalps. when mr. borrows went to augustine to procure the release of his wife, he also was shut up in prison along with her, where he soon after died: but she survived all the hardships of hunger, sickness, and confinement, to give a relation of her barbarous treatment. after her return to carolina, she reported to governor johnson, that the huspah king, who had taken her prisoner and carried her off, informed her, he had orders from the spanish governor to spare no white man, but to bring every negroe alive to augustine; and that rewards were given to indians for their prisoners, to encourage them to engage in such rapacious and murderous enterprizes. [sidenote] complaints against chief justice trott. by this time chief justice trott being suspected of holding a private correspondence with the proprietors, to the prejudice of the carolineans, had incurred their hatred and resentment. richard allein, whitaker, and other practitioners of the law, over whom he tyrannized, charged him with many base and iniquitous practices. no less than thirty-one articles of complaint against him were presented to the assembly, setting forth, among other things, "that he had been guilty of many partial judgments; that he had contrived many ways to multiply and increase his fees, to the great grievance of the subject, and contrary to acts of assembly; that he had contrived a fee for continuing causes from one term to another, and put off the hearing of them for years; that he took upon him to give advice in causes depending in his courts, and did not only act as counsellor in that particular, but also had drawn deeds between party and party, some of which had been contested before him as chief justice, and in determining of which he had shewn great partialities; with many more particulars; and, lastly, complaining, that the whole judicial power of the province was lodged in his hands alone, of which it was evident he had made a very ill use, he being at the same time sole judge of the courts of common pleas, king's bench, and vice-admiralty; so that no prohibition could be lodged against the proceedings of the court, he being obliged, in such a case, to grant a prohibition against himself; he was also, at the same time, a member of the council, and of consequence a judge of the court of chancery." those articles of complaint, though they took their rise from the bar, and might have proceeded in some measure from envy, ill-will, or resentment, were nevertheless too well grounded, and the facts contained in the charge were supported by strong evidence before the assembly. but as the judge held his commission from the proprietors, he denied that he was accountable to the assembly for any part of his conduct in his judicial capacity; and declared that he would be answerable no where but in england. the assembly, however, sensible that he held his commission only during good behavior, sent a message to the governor and council, requesting they would join them in representing his partial and unjust conduct in his office to the proprietors, praying them either to remove him from his seat in the courts of justice, or at the least to grant him only one jurisdiction, and the people liberty of appeal from his judgements. the governor and major part of the council, convinced of the male-administration of the judge, agreed to join the commons in their representation. but being sensible of the great interest the chief justice had with their lordships, they judged it most prudent to send one of their counsellors to england with their memorial, that it might find greater credit and weight, and the more certainly procure redress; and francis yonge, a man of considerable abilities, who had been present at all their debates, was pitched upon as one well qualified for giving their lordships a faithful account of the whole matter. accordingly yonge, being furnished with all the instructions, powers, and credentials, necessary to a commissioner for the aggrieved party of the colonists, set sail for england, and arrived in london early in the year . [sidenote] laid before the proprietors. soon after his arrival, he waited on lord carteret, the palatine; but as his lordship was preparing to set out on an embassy to the court of sweden, he referred him to the other proprietors for an answer to his representation. when the proprietors met, yonge presented to them a memorial, setting forth, "that he had been appointed by the governor and council of south carolina, to lay before them, not only several acts of assembly passed there during their last sessions for their approbation, but also to inform them of the reasons that induced the governor and council to defer the dissolution of the assembly, in consequence of their lordships commands; that he was instructed to shew their lordships the arguments between the upper and lower houses of assembly, touching their lordships right off repealing laws ratified and confirmed by their deputies; and presented to them a speech made by chief justice trott at a general conference of both houses, together with the answer of the commons to it, and the several messages that passed between them, which he hoped would shew their lordships, that no arguments or endeavours were wanting on their part, to assert the right the proprietors had of repealing laws not ratified by them." "at the same time, he was desired to request their lordships to augment their secretary's salary, to allow the members of the council so much money for the time and expence of attending the council on their service; to establish custom-house officers at beaufort; to grant six thousand acres of land to the three garrisons at congarees, savanna town, and apalachicola; and liberty of appealing from erroneous judgements in law, which at that time the people had not, the whole judicial power in all the provincial courts being lodged in the hands of one man." then he delivered to them a letter from governor johnson, the articles of complaint against chief justice trott, and the joint address of the governor, council, and assembly, praying to have him removed entirely from the bench, or confined to a single jurisdiction. [sidenote] their answer. this memorial, however, was far from satisfying the proprietors, some of whom inferred from it, that the people seemed to be industrious in searching for causes of dissatisfaction, and grounds of quarrel with them, with a view to shake off the proprietary authority, and renounce their allegiance. their letters from trott served to confirm the truth, which intimated that yonge, though an officer of the proprietors, by mean subtilty and chicane had assisted the people in forming plausible pretences for that purpose. for three months yonge attended the palatine's court, to give the board all possible information about the state of affairs in their colony, and to accomplish the ends of his appointment. after all, he was given to understand, that the business on which he was sent was extremely disagreeable to them; that both the trouble he had taken, and the office he had accepted as agent for the people, were inconsistent with his duty as one of their deputies, bound to act agreeable to their instructions. they declared their displeasure with the members of the council who had joined the lower house in their complaints against trott and removed them from the board, appointing others in their place, and increasing the number of members; and told yonge, that he also would have been deprived of his seat but for the high respect they had for lord cartaret the absent palatine, whose deputy he was. with respect to chief justice trott, they had too much confidence in his fidelity and capacity to remove him from his office. on the contrary, they sent him a letter, thanking him for his excellent speech in defence of their right of repealing all laws made in the colony; together with a copy of the articles of complaint brought against him, on purpose to give him an opportunity of vindicating himself; at the same time acquainting him, that it was their opinion and order, that he withdraw from the council-board whenever appeals from his judgments in the inferior courts shall be brought before the governor and council as a court of chancery. [sidenote] and letter to the governor. how far governor johnson, in their opinion, had deviated from his duty, in joining the other branches of the legislature in their representation, may be learned from the proprietors letter, brought over to him by yonge, which runs in the following words: "sir, we have received and perused your letters and all your papers, delivered us by your agent mr. yonge; and though we are favourably inclined in all our thoughts relating to our governor, yet we must tell you, we think you have not obeyed the orders and directions given you to dissolve that assembly and call another forthwith, according to the ancient usage and custom of the province, and to publish our repeals of the acts of assembly immediately upon the receipt of our orders aforesaid; but we shall say no more on that subject now, not doubting but our governor will pay more punctual obedience to our orders for the future. "the lords proprietors right of confirming and repealing laws was so particular a privilege granted them by the charter, that we can never recede from it; and we do allure you, we are not a little surprised that you have suffered that prerogative of ours to be disputed. "we have sent you herewith an instruction under our hands and seals, nominating such persons as we think fit to be of the council with you, six of whom and yourself, and no less number, to be a quorum. upon your receipt of this we hereby require you to summon the said council, that they may qualify themselves according to law, and immediately sit upon the despatch of business. we also send you the repeal of the acts of assembly, which we order you to publish immediately upon the receipt of this. we do assure mr. johnson, that we will stand by him in all things that relate to the just execution of his office, and we are confident that he will perform his duty to us, and support our power and prerogatives to the best of his abilities. if the assembly chosen according to your pretended late act is not dissolved, as we formerly ordered, and a new assembly elected, pursuant to the act formerly confirmed by the proprietors, you are forthwith commanded to dissolve that assembly, and to call another, according to the above-mentioned act; and so we bid you heartily farewel." [sidenote] who obeys their commands. such was the result of yonge's negociation in england. governor johnson, who was well acquainted with the prevailing temper and discontented spirit of the people, plainly perceived, upon receiving these new orders and instructions, what difficulties would attend the execution of them. the flame was already kindled, and nothing could be imagined more likely to add fewel to it than such rigour and oppression. it is true, the governor had received authority, but he wanted power to act agreeable to their instructions. determined, however, to comply with their commands, he summoned his council of twelve men whom the proprietors had nominated, who were, william bull, ralph izard, nicholas trott, charles hart, samuel wragg, benjamin de la consiliere, peter st. julien, william gibbons, hugh butler, francis yonge, jacob satur and jonathan skrine, some of whom refused, and others qualified themselves, to serve. alexander skene, thomas broughton, and james kinloch, members of the former council, being now left out of the new appointment, were disgusted, and joined the people. the present assembly was dissolved, and writs were issued for electing another in charlestown, according to the custom and usage of the province. the duty-act, from which the clergy were paid, the garrisons maintained, and the public debts in general were defrayed, was repealed; the law respecting the freedom of election was also repealed, by which the colonists were obliged to have recourse to the old, inconvenient and tumultuous manner of elections in charlestown: the act declaring the right of the commons to nominate a public receiver was also annulled, and declared to be contrary to the usage and custom of great britain. all laws respecting the trade and shipping of great britain, which any future assembly might pass, the governor had instructions to refuse his assent to, till approved by the proprietors. the provincial debts incurred by the indian war, and the expedition against pirates, not only remained unpaid, but no more bills of credit were allowed to be stamped, for answering those public demands. this council of twelve, instead of seven men, which was appointed, the colonists considered as an innovation in the proprietary government exceeding the power granted their lordships by their charter, and therefore subjecting them to a jurisdiction foreign to the constitution of the province. the complaints of the whole legislature against chief justice trott were not only disregarded, but that man, whom they considered as an enemy to the country, was privately caressed and publicly applauded. all these things the colonists considered as aggravated grievances, and what rendered them the more intolerable was the circumstance of being deprived of all hopes of redress. it may be thought somewhat unaccountable and astonishing, that the proprietors should have persisted in measures so disagreeable and oppressive of themselves, and so manifestly subversive of their authority and power. many were the hardships from the climate, and the danger from savages, with which the poor colonists had to struggle; yet their landlords, instead of rendering their circumstances as easy and comfortable as possible, seemed rather bent on crossing their humours and doubling their distress. the people could now no longer regard them as indulgent fathers, concerned for the welfare of their colony, but as tyrannical legislators, that imposed more on them than they were able to bear. was it not the duty of the proprietors to listen to their just complaints, and redress their heavy grievances? was it not their interest to consult the internal security, and by every means promote the speedy improvement and population of their colony? what could more effectually answer these ends, than to cultivate the esteem and preserve the affections of the people? nothing else could render their government stable and respectable. but, after all, perhaps the troubles and miseries the colonists suffered ought to be ascribed to their lordships shameful inattention to provincial affairs, rather than to their tyrannical disposition. lord carteret, the palatine, held high offices of trust under the crown, which occupied his chief study and attention. some of the proprietors were minors, others possessed estates in england, the improvement of which engrossed their whole care and delight. having reaped little or nothing from their american possessions, and finding them every year becoming more troublesome and expensive, it is probable they trusted the affairs of their colony to a clerk, or secretary, who was no ways interested in their prosperity and success. with this secretary chief justice trott had established a correspondence, of whose wisdom and abilities the proprietors entertained the highest opinion, and in whose integrity and fidelity they placed unlimited confidence. he held of them many offices of trust and emolument, which, together with his haughty and overbearing conduct, rendered him the object of popular envy and clamour. the colonists needed indulgence from their circumstances and situation; trott, being made totally dependent on the proprietors will for the tenure of his office and the amount and payment of his salary, strongly supported their power and prerogative. hence those various struggles between the proprietors and people, which were daily growing more serious and violent, and threatened totally to subvert the proprietary government. [sidenote] an invasion threatened from spain. about this time a rupture having taken place between the courts of great britain and spain, a project for attacking south carolina and the island of providence was formed at the havanna, and preparations were making there for the expedition. governor johnson, having received advice from england of this design, resolved immediately to put the province in a posture of defence. for this purpose he summoned a meeting of council, and such members of assembly as were in town, to inform them of the intelligence he had received, and to desire their advice and assistance in case of any sudden emergency. he told them of the shattered condition of the fortifications, and urged the necessity of speedy reparations; and for this end proposed a voluntary subscription, beginning with a generous offer himself, as an example to others. he declared that one day's delay might prove fatal to the province, as they were uncertain how soon the enemy might be at their door; and recommended unanimity and despatch. the assembly replied, that a subscription was needless, as the income of the duties would be sufficient to answer the purpose intended. the governor objected, that the duty-law had been repealed, and none other yet framed in its place. to which the assembly answered, they had resolved to pay no regard to those repeals, and that the public receiver had orders from them to sue every man that should refuse to pay as that law directed. chief justice trott told them, if any action or suit should be brought into his courts on that law, he would give judgment for the defendant. in short, the contest between the two houses at this meeting became warm, insomuch that the conference broke up before any thing was concluded with regard to the public safety. the assembly were obstinate, and seemed determined to hazard the lots of the province to the spaniards, rather than yield to the council, and acknowledge the proprietors right of repealing their laws. [sidenote] an association formed against the proprietors. governor johnson, however, at such a juncture, judging it prudent to be always in the best posture of defence; for uniting the strength of the province called a meeting of the field-officers of the militia, ordered them to review their regiments, and fixed a place of general rendezvous. indeed such was the uneasy and distracted state of the colony, that the spaniards could scarcely have attacked it at a time more seasonable for obtaining an easy conquest. at this meeting the field-officers of the militia received their orders with their usual submission, and called together the different regiments, on pretence of training the men to expert use of arms. but before this time the members chosen to serve in assembly, though they had not met in their usual and regular way at charlestown, had nevertheless held several private meetings in the country, to concert measures for revolting from their allegiance. they had drawn up a form of an association for uniting the whole province in opposition to the proprietary government, which was proposed to the people at this public meeting of the militia, as an opportunity the most favourable for procuring a general subscription. the people, oppressed and discontented, with eagerness embraced the proposal, and, almost to a man, subscribed the association, promising to stand by each other in defence of their rights and privileges, against the tyranny of the proprietors and their officers. this confederacy was formed with such secresy and dispatch, that, before it reached the governor's ears, almost the whole inhabitants were concerned in it. the assembly, after having thus brought the people in general to back them, had then nothing to do but to go on, in taking such bold and vigorous steps as seemed best calculated for accomplishing their end. chap. vi. the members of assembly, as i already observed, having formed their resolution to revolt, and gone so far as to bring the people to stand by and support them, in spite of every obstacle determined to proceed, until they should bring themselves under the protection of the king. as they had the whole civil power to encounter, and many difficulties to surmount it may not be improper the more particularly to mark the various steps they took to accomplish this end. united in their view by the greatness of the danger, we shall see they regularly made their attacks.. they formed their outworks first at a distance, and then brought them gradually nearer; and, in short, raised none but such as afterwards served to support others in the difficult progress of their future operations. [sidenote] the people's encouragement to revolt. at the election of assembly in charlestown, trott and rhett, who formerly had such influence and sway, were now become so obnoxious that they could not bring one man into the house. alexander skene, formerly excluded from the council, was elected a member of this new assembly, which was chosen on purpose to oppose the civil officers, considering themselves as ill used by the proprietors, turned a zealous and active person for pulling down the tottering fabric of their government. this man, together with several other members of assembly, held frequent meetings, to consider of all their grievances, and the encouragements they had received from time to time from britain, respecting the great end they now had in view. they recalled to mind what had passed in the house of peers during the reign of queen anne, how her majesty had then ordered her attorney and solicitor-general to consider of the most effectual methods of proceeding against the charter. they knew also, that a bill had been brought into the house of commons, for reducing all charter and proprietary governments into regal ones. they had been informed that lord carteret, conscious of the inability of the proprietors to defend their province in the yamassee war, had publicly applied for assistance from the british government, and that the lords of trade were of opinion, that the government of the province should belong to that power which bore the expence of its protection. they had considered all these things, and flattered themselves with the hopes, that the king would take the colony under his care as soon as they renounced allegiance to the proprietors. and as the time drew nigh in which they expected an attack from a powerful nation, they concluded that the province needed assistance of the crown at the present, more than at any time past. they had convinced the people of the manifold advantages of the british constitution, and the great happiness of those colonies which were under the immediate care and protection of the crown, insomuch that they now desired nothing more upon earth, than to enjoy the same invaluable privileges. [sidenote] their letter to the governor signifying their design. to these secret meetings and transactions governor johnson, who lived at his plantation several miles from charlestown, was an entire stranger, until he received the following letter, bearing date november , , and signed by alexander skene, george logan, and william blakeway. "sir, we doubt not but you have heard of the whole province entering into an association to stand by their rights and privileges, and to get rid of the oppression and arbitrary dealings of the lords proprietors. as we always bore you the greatest deference and respect imaginable, we take this opportunity to let you know, that the committee of the people's representatives were last night appointed to wait on you this morning, to acquaint you, that they have come to a resolution to have no regard to the proprietors officers, nor their administration: and withal to beg, that your honour will hold the reigns of government for the king, till his majesty's pleasure be known. the great value the whole country express for your honour's person, makes them desirous to have nobody but yourself to govern them; and as you must be convinced, that no person can be more passionately fond of your government than ourselves, we hope you will not take amiss any advice given by faithful and affectionate friends; and therefore we take the liberty to tell you freely, we are of opinion that your honour may take the government upon you, upon the office of the people, for the king, and represent to the proprietors, that rather than the whole country should be in confusion, and want a governing power, you held it for their lordships, though you were obliged to comply with the colonists, who were unanimously of opinion they would have no proprietors government. we could wish for a longer and better opportunity to explain this matter to you; but it is impossible, for the gentlemen will be with you in two hours at farthest. we heartily wish your honour the utmost success, let it go which way it will; but beg leave to observe, that your compliance will not only be the greatest satisfaction to the province in general, but also to your humble servants." [sidenote] which the governor endeavours to defeat. this letter, though fraught with the highest professions of respect to the governor, he nevertheless considered as an insult; but especially the advice, which he deemed both highly derogatory to his integrity as a man, and his fidelity as a governor. the bait thrown out to appearance was specious and flattering, yet the governor had too much penetration, not to see under its false colours the naked hook. the letter, however, served to give him notice of the association, and the resolution of the people, which it was his duty by all means possible to defeat. for this purpose he hastened to town, and summoned his council, to take their advice in a case so unexpected and alarming. meeting accidentally with alexander skene, he informed him that the committee who were appointed to wait on him had changed their minds, and were gone to their respective places of abode. governor johnson, nevertheless, informed his council of the association, and required their advice and assistance about the most effectual methods of breaking it up, and supporting the proprietary government. he perceived that, although he was called governor, yet trott ruled the province, and therefore resolved to do nothing without his advice, that he might be equally responsible with the rest for the ill consequences which he was apprehensive would attend their future proceedings. the council were not a little perplexed what step to take; but as the committee had altered their intention of waiting on the governor, they were of opinion that no notice should be taken of their proceedings, until the assembly should meet in a legal manner, revive the matter, and bring it regularly before them; hoping that the people, upon more cool reflection, might drop their dangerous resolution. [sidenote] proceedings of the convention. in the mean time the members of assembly were using their utmost diligence among the people of the province to keep them firm to their purpose, having got almost every person, except the officers of the proprietors and a few of their friends, to sign the association. all agreed to support whatever their representatives should do for disengaging the colony from the yoke of the proprietors, and putting it under the government of the king. having thus fortified themselves by the union of the inhabitants, the assembly met on purpose to take bolder and more decisive steps: and being apprehensive that the governor would dissolve them, so soon as their proceedings reached his ears, they instantly came to the following resolutions: "first, that the several laws pretended to be repealed are still in force within the province, and could nor be repealed and made void and null but by the general assembly of this province, and that all public officers and others do pay due regard to the same accordingly. secondly, that the writs, whereby the representatives here met were elected, are illegal, because they are signed by such a council as we conceive the proprietors have not a power to appoint; for that this council does consist of a greater number of members than that of the proprietors themselves, which we believe is contrary to the design and original intent of their charter, and approaching too near the method taken by his majesty and his predecessors in his plantations, whom they ought not to pretend to imitate or follow, his majesty not being confined to any number of counsellors, but as he thinks fit; but the proprietors, as subjects, we believe, are bound by their charter. thirdly, that we the representatives cannot act as an assembly, but as a convention delegated by the people, to prevent the utter ruin of this government, if not the loss of the province, till his majesty's pleasure be known: and, lastly, that the lords proprietors have by such proceedings unhinged the frame of their government, and forfeited their right to the same; and that an address be prepared, to desire the honourable robert johnson, our present governor, to take the government upon him in the king's name, and to continue the administration thereof until his majesty's pleasure be known." agreeable to the last resolution, an address was drawn up, signed by arthur middleton as president and twenty-two members of the convention. the governor having sent them a message, acquainting them that he was ready with his council to receive and order them to chuse a speaker; they came to the upper house in a body, and arthur middleton addressed the governor in the following words: "i am ordered by the representatives of the people here present to tell you, that, according to your honour's order, we are come to wait on you: i am further ordered to acquaint you, that we own your honour as our governor, you being approved by the king; and as there was once in this province a legal council, representing the proprietors as their deputies, which being now altered, we do not look on the gentlemen present to be a legal council; so i am ordered to tell you, that the representatives of the people do disown them as such, and will not act with them on any account." [sidenote] the perplexity of the governor and council. the governor and council, struck with silence and astonishment at the audacious spirit of the convention, and suspecting that they were backed and supported by the voice of the people, were greatly puzzled what measures they should take to recal them to the obedience of legal authority. some were for opposing violence to violence, and thought the best way of bringing them back to their allegiance would be to terrify them with threats and confiscations. others were of opinion, that the defection was too general to admit of such a remedy, and that mild expostulations were more proper both for softening their minds, and convincing them of their error; and should such gentle means fail, the governor might then dissolve them, and for the present time put an end to the dispute. but, on the other hand, dangers hung over the country, and the only fund for repairing the fortifications being lost by the repeal of the general duty-law, money must be provided for the public protection. if the governor should dissolve the house, how could the province be put in a posture of defence against a spanish invasion, with which it was threatened. if he should suffer them to sit while they had resolved that the proprietors had forfeited their right to the government, and refused on any account to act with his council, he might be chargeable with a breach of his trust. the result of their deliberations was, a message from the governor and council, desiring a conference with the house of assembly. to which they returned for answer, that they would not receive any message or paper from the governor in conjunction with these gentlemen he was pleased to call his council. finding them thus inflexible and resolute, the governor was obliged to give way to the current, and therefore, in two days afterwards, sent for them in his own name, and spoke to them to the following effect: [sidenote] the governor's speech for recalling the people. "when i sent for you the other day, i intended to have desired you to have chosen your speaker, to be presented to me as usual, and then i did propose to have spoke to you in the following manner: "your being met together at a time when there was never more occasion for a ready dispatch of public business, and a good harmony betwixt the upper and lower house; i must recommend that to you; and nothing will be wanting on my part to promote a good understanding betwixt the lords proprietors and the people, at present (to my great affliction) i fear too much interrupted: i must, therefore, in the first place, recommend to you, that you will without delay, or other matter intervening, fall upon proper methods for raising money for finishing the repairs of the fortifications, and providing stores of war, which are much wanted. the intelligence which i have of the designs of our enemies, which makes this work so necessary, shall be laid before you. "i am sorry the lords proprietors have been induced (by a necessity, to defend and support their just prerogatives) at this juncture to disannul some of your laws; if they had not thought the letting those acts subsist might have rendered their right of repeal precarious, they would have suffered them still to continue. i hope from you, therefore, a respectable behaviour towards them, that we may not feel any more their displeasure in so sensible a manner, as the loss (in this time of need) of our duty-law, and which has also occasioned an injunction to me and the council, from acting with an assembly who shall dispute their lordships undoubted right of repealing laws, and appointing officers civil and military. "i find some are jealous and uneasy on account of rumours spread, that you design to alter the tax-act, for sinking your paper currency. public credit ought to be sacred, and it is a standing maxim, that no state can subsist longer than their credit is maintained: i hope therefore you have no such intentions, which would put me under a necessity of doing what i have never yet done; i mean, disagreeing with you. i expect therefore you will make good what the public is answerable for, and proceed to such farther methods for paying our debts, as shall be both honourable and proper, and best adapted to our circumstances. "the alarm from the southward, about five months since, obliged me to be in a posture of defence, and occasioned some charges, the accounts of which shall be laid before you; and i desire you will provide for the discharge of them: i think also the militia-acts want some amendments; and that you should contrive to keep a good watch in charlestown. "this is what i intended to have recommended to you: but mr. middleton's telling me, in the name of the rest, that you would not act _with_, and your surprising message since, that you will not receive any thing _from_ me, in conjunction with my council, has made it necessary for me to take this occasion of talking with that plainness and freedom so extraordinary a proceeding of yours requires. and, first, i must take notice of your message, wherein you say, you own me as governor, because i am approved of by the king; but that you disown the council to be a legal one, nor will act with them on any account whatsoever; and this is subscribed by all your members: but, upon examining, i find it to be pretty dark and evasive, and seems as if you would avoid expressing in plain terms, what i have too much cause to fear is your design, i mean, to renounce all obedience to the lords proprietors: and this i cannot but think you propose from all your words and actions. you say, you acknowledge me, because i am approved of by the king; but you take no notice of my commission from the proprietors, which is what makes me governor. the confirmation of the king, only signifies his majesty's approbation of the person the lords proprietors have constituted; but it is my commission and instruction from them, that not only grants, but limits my power, and contains the rules by which i must act, and are to warrant and vouch my actions; therefore, to avoid declaring in express terms your renouncing the lords power, and at the same time doing it in effect, is to create perpetual doubts and disputes, and is not acting with that sincerity and plainness which ought to be used in all public debates, and especially in matters of so great concern as this is, and upon which so great consequences depend. "i do require and demand of you, therefore, and expect you will answer me in plain and positive terms, whether you own the authority of the lords proprietors as lords of this province, and having authority to administer or authorise others to administer the government thereof; saving the allegiance of them and the people to his most sacred majesty king george? or, whether you absolutely renounce all obedience to them, and those commissioned and authorised by them? or, whether you admit their general power, and only dispute that particular branch of their authority, in constituting a council after the manner they have now done? if you deny their general power and authority in this province, and say, that their lordships have forfeited their charter, as mr. berrisford asserted, and you all acquiesced in; then i demand of you, that you signify wherein the lords have forfeited their charter, and what particular branch thereof they have broken: and i demand of you, that supposing (not granting) they have made a forfeiture of their charter, by what power do you presume to renounce their authority, and to model a government out of your own heads, before such time as that, by a court having lawful jurisdiction of the same, it shall be adjudged that the lords have made a forfeiture of their charter, and that the powers granted them are null and void? if the king is of opinion, that any corporation or society have made a forfeiture of the rights and powers granted by their charter, although his majesty may have the advice of his attorney and solicitor-general, and his judges and council learned in the law, that such a forfeiture has been made, (and this he may more reasonably depend on than any advice or assurance you can have); yet, notwithstanding this, and his supreme authority as king, he never dispossessed the persons of the powers granted them, before a _quo warranto_ or some other process had been brought, and judgment obtained against the same. and if the king doth not assume such a power, by what authority do you assume it? "i desire you further to consider the consequence that attends that assertion, of the charter being forfeited, before judgment is given upon the same. for if it be so, then the forfeiture must be from the time that the fact was committed that caused the forfeiture; and then you must remember, that, by the charter, the lords have granted to them, not only the power of ordering the government, but also the lands are granted to them by the said charter; so that if there is a forfeiture of the rights and prerogatives of the government, there is also a forfeiture of their rights to the lands; and so all grants made by their authority of any lands, since the fact committed that caused the forfeiture, according to your own doctrine and assertion, must be null and void; and therefore, how many persons titles to their lands will become void, i leave you to consider. and though, it may be, you will assign some new late fact, that you say will cause such a forfeiture, by which you may think to avoid the ill consequence that attends the titles to the lands; yet know, that the facts that you assign may not be the only ones that may be thought to have made the forfeiture of their charter. and if your present assertion is true, that they may be dispossessed before a judgment; it may be, other persons may assign other causes of the forfeiture, besides those which you assign, which may have been committed many years ago: for you cannot but know there have been persons in the province, that, for several years past, have publicly asserted, that the lords have done facts, for which their charter was become forfeited. which if so, i leave you to consider what a gate you will leave open to call in question, nay, utterly destroy, several hundreds of peoples titles to their lands. and though you have most unjustly and untruly suggested to the people, to create a prejudice in them to the lords proprietors, that their lordships designed to dispute their titles to their lands; yet, by this assertion and practice, you are the persons that will not only call in question, but effectually destroy their titles. "and if you persist in disowning the council as now authorised, then i desire you further to consider, in what capacity i can act with you, and to what purpose you pretend to sit and transact the public business of the province. you know very well i am not able to join with you in passing any law without the consent of my council; and surely you cannot pretend to pass laws without me: and what an absolute occasion there is now to pass some laws, that the province may be put in a posture of defence, and the contingent charges thereof defrayed, i leave you seriously to consider, and hope you will not lose the whole province to the enemy, for your own humours. "but i am further to tell you, that, in case you continue to deny the authority of the council, you cannot properly style yourselves the representatives of the people; for you know very well you were chosen members of assembly, pursuant to and by virtue of the writs signed by myself and council; for it is not the peoples voting for you that makes you become their representatives; the liege people of this, or any other province, have no power to convene and chuse their representatives, without being authorised so to do by some writ or order coming from authority lawfully empowered. and if you pretend that the writs signed by me, as governor, were sufficient: to that i answer, that i do not pretend to any such authority, but jointly, and with the consent of my council, it being the express words of my commission; nor did i sign the writs in any other capacity than in conjunction with my council, who also signed the same. but if my signing the writs were sufficient authority for the people to chuse you, then you must allow, that as the power lies solely in me to call you, it lies also solely in me to dissolve you; and therefore, if by your actions you will force me to make use of that power, i do hereby publicly protest and declare, you only must be answerable for the ill consequences that may attend such a dissolution, and for the loss of the lives and estates of the king's subjects in this province, by any attack that may be made upon them by our public enemies the spaniards, or from the indians, by reason of the province's not being put into such a posture of defence as it ought, and would, if you proceeded to transact the public business under a lawful authority; and this i would have you seriously to consider of. "notwithstanding stories that have been industriously spread to prepossess the people, that you are the only persons who stand up for their rights and privileges; by which, it may be, you have so far engaged them in your favour, that you may have their assistance to enable you to commit any act of force or violence upon the government, and the authority of the lords proprietors; yet know, and be assured, that the matters in dispute are of that consequence, that they must and will be decided by an authority in england, having lawful jurisdiction of the same; and that there it must be law and right that must justify your claims, and not the consent and approbation of the people of carolina, who will have no weight there, but the right and merit of the cause. "i must farther mention to you, that it is notoriously known, you have promoted two forms of associations, and have persuaded the people to sign them. how far you can be justified at home, behoves you to consider: but as i am satisfied no matter of such public concern ought to be carried on without my knowledge, so i do hereby require and demand of you, an attested copy of both associations; and though it may not concern me to have the names of every individual person that has signed them, yet i do insist upon it that you do acquaint me which of your own members have signed both, or either of them, as also the names of such persons who have commissions, or hold any places civil or military under their lordships, or of such persons who practise the law in their lordships courts, and have signed them. "to what is here demanded of you i do require your plain and positive answer in express terms, and that you do in writing give me the same in a body, and under your hands." [sidenote] their message in answer to it. this long and elaborate speech, which was also given them in writing, they were not long considering of, but soon returned with the following message; and shewed him that they were neither to be shaken by persuasion, nor intimidated by threats, from their firm purpose. "we have already acquainted you, that we would not receive any message or paper from your honour, in conjunction with the gentlemen you are pleased to call your council; therefore we must now again repeat the same, and beg leave to tell you, that the paper your honour read and delivered to us, we take no notice of, nor shall we give any farther answer to it but in great britain." immediately after this they came with the following address to the governor, publicly avowing their resolution to cast off all obedience to the proprietary government, and urging and intreating him to comply with their desire, and take upon him the government of the province in the name of the king. "it is with no small concern that we find ourselves obliged to address your honour, in a matter which nothing but the absolute necessity of self-preservation could at this juncture have prevailed on us to do. the reasons are already by us made known to your honour and the world, therefore we forbear to rehearse them; bur proceed to take leave to assure you, that it is the greatest satisfaction imaginable to us, to find throughout the whole country, that universal affection, deference and respect the inhabitants bear to your honour's person, and with what passionate desire they wish for a continuance of your gentle and good administration; and since we, who are instructed with, and are the assertors of their rights and liberties, are unanimously of opinion, that no person is fitter to govern so loyal and obedient a people to his sacred majesty king george, so we most earnestly desire and intreat your honour, to take upon you the government of this province, in his majesty's name, till his pleasure shall be known; by which means, we are convinced, that this (at present) unfortunate colony may flourish, as well as those who feel the happy influence of his majesty's immediate care. "as the well-being and preservation of this province depends greatly on your honour's complying with our requests, so we flatter ourselves, that you, who have expressed so tender a regard for it on all occasions, and particularly in hazarding your own person in an expedition against the pirates, for its defence, an example seldom found in governors; so we hope, sir, that you will exert yourself at this juncture for its support; and we promise your honour, on our parts, the most faithful assistance of persons duly sensible of your honour's great goodness, and big with the hopes and expectation of his majesty's countenance and protection. and we farther beg leave to assure your honour, that we will, in the most dutiful manner, address his most sacred majesty king george, for the continuance of your government over us, under whom we doubt not to be a happy people." [sidenote] the governor's answer. to this flattering address the governor returned the following answer; such as became his honour and trust. "i am obliged to you for your good opinion of me; but i hold my commission from the _true and absolute lords and proprietors of this province_[ ], who recommended me to his majesty, and i have his approbation; it is by that commission and power i act, and i know of no power or authority can dispossess me of the same, but those only who gave me those authorities. in subordination to them i shall always act, and to my utmost maintain their lordships just power and prerogatives, without encroaching on the people's rights and privileges. i do not expect or desire any favour from you, only that of seriously taking into your consideration the approaching danger of a foreign enemy, and the steps you are taking to involve yourselves and this province in anarchy and confusion." [ ] this is the term the charter gives them. [sidenote] the assembly dissolved, and the proceedings of the people. the representatives having now fully declared their intentions, and finding it impossible by all their art and address to win over the governor to a compliance with their measures, and to accept of the government only from his having the king's approbation, began to treat him with indifference and neglect. he, on the other hand, perceiving that neither harsh nor gentle means could recal them to their duty and allegiance, and that they became the more outrageous and ungovernable by his endeavours to this purpose, issued a proclamation for dissolving the house, and retired to the country. the representatives ordered his proclamation to be torn from the marshal's hands, and proceeded next to avowed usurpation. they met upon their own authority, and in direct opposition to that of the proprietors, and chose colonel james moore their governor; who was a man of a bold and turbulent disposition, and excellently qualified for being a popular leader in perilous adventures. to governor johnson he was no friend, having been by him removed from his command of the militia, for warmly espousing the cause of the people: to the proprietors he was an inveterate enemy. in every new enterprize he had been a volunteer, and in whatever he engaged he continued to his purpose steady and inflexible. a day was fixed by the convention for proclaiming him, in name of the king, governor of the province, and orders were issued for directing all officers civil and military to continue in their different places and employments, till they shall hear farther from them. governor johnson, some time before this, had appointed a day for a general review of the provincial militia; and the convention, that they might have the opportunity of the people being under arms, and ready to forward their scheme, fixed on the same day for publicly proclaiming moore. the governor, however, having intelligence of their design, sent orders to colonel parris, the commander of the militia, to postpone the review to a future day. parris, though a zealous friend to the revolution, in answer assured him his orders should be obeyed. notwithstanding this assurance, on the day fixed, when governor johnson came to town, he found to his surprise the militia drawn up in the market square, colours flying at the forts, and on board all the ships in the harbour, and great preparations making for the proclamation. exasperated at the insults offered to his person and authority, he could scarcely command his temper and restrain his resentment. some he threatened to chastise for flying in the face of government, to which they had sworn allegiance and fidelity. with others he coolly reasoned, and endeavoured to recal them by representing the fatal consequences that would certainly attend such rash proceedings. but advancing to parris, who had betrayed him, he asked him, how he durst appear in arms contrary to his orders? and commanded him, in the king's name, instantly to disperse his men. colonel parris insolently replied, he was obeying the orders of the convention. the governor in great rage walked up towards him; upon which parris immediately commanded his men to present, and bid him at the peril of life advance no nearer. the governor expected, during this struggle, that some friends would have stood by him, especially such as held offices of profit and trust under the proprietors, or that the militia would have laid down their arms at his command: but he was disappointed; for all either stood silent, or kept firm to the standard of the convention. however, to amuse him, and prevent his taking any rash step in the heat of passion, john lloyd, one of their party, was sent, out of pretence of friendship, to walk and converse with the governor. vain indeed were the efforts of a single arm, in so general a defection. even trott and rhett, in this extremity, forsook him, and kept at a distance, the silent and inactive spectators of their masters ruined authority. [sidenote] james moore proclaimed governor. [sidenote] the declaration of the convention. after this the members of convention attended, and, escorted by the militia, publicly marched to the fort, and there declared james moore governor of the province in name of the king, which was followed by the loudest acclamations of the populace. upon their return, they next proceeded to the election of twelve counsellors, of whom sir hovenden walker was made president. in this, however, it is remarkable, that they assumed a right and power to themselves which they had refused to the proprietors, and made one of the principal articles of complaint against them. so that the revolutioners had now their governor, council and convention, and all of their own free election. in consequence of which the delegates met, and, in the first place, resolved to publish their declaration, to the following effect: "whereas the proprietors of this province have of late assumed to themselves an arbitrary and illegal power, of repealing such laws as the general assembly of this settlement have thought fit to make for the preservation and defence thereof, and acted in many other things contrary to the laws of england, and the charter to them and us, freemen, granted; whereby we are deprived of those measures we had taken for the defence of the settlement, being the south-west frontier of his majesty's territories in america, and thereby left naked to the attacks of our inveterate enemies and next-door neighbors the spaniards, from whom, through the divine providence, we have had a miraculous deliverance, and daily expect to be invaded by them, according to the repeated advices we have from time to time received from several places: and whereas, pursuant to the instructions and authorities to us given, and trust in us reposed by the inhabitants of this settlement, and in execution of the resolutions by us made, we did in due form apply ourselves in a whole body, by an address, to the honourable robert johnson, appointed governor of this province by the lords proprietors, and desired him, in name of the inhabitants of this province, to take upon him the government of the same, and in behalf of his majesty the king of great britain, france, and ireland, until his majesty's pleasure had been known, which the said governor refusing to do, exclusive of the pretended power of the lords proprietors over the settlement, has put us under the necessity of applying to some other person, to take upon him, as governor, the administration of all the affairs civil and military within the settlement, in the name and for the service of his most sacred majesty, as well as making treaties, alliances and leagues with any nation of indians, until his majesty's pleasure herein be further known: and whereas james moore, a person well affected to his present majesty, and also zealous for the interest of the settlement, now in a sinking condition, has been prevailed with, pursuant to such our application, to take upon him, in the king's name, and for the king's service and safety of the settlement, the above-mentioned charge and trust: we therefore, whose names are hereunto published, the representatives and delegates of his majesty's liege people and free-born subjects of the said settlement, now met in convention at charlestown, in their names, and in behalf of his sacred majesty george, by the grace of god king of great britain, france, and ireland, in consideration of his former and many great services, having great confidence in his firm loyalty to our most gracious king george, as well as in his conduct, courage, and other great abilities; do hereby declare the said james moore his majesty's governor of this settlement, invested with all the powers and authorities belonging and appertaining to any of his majesty's governors in america, till his majesty's pleasure herein shall be further known. and we do hereby for ourselves, in the name and on the behalf of the inhabitants of the said settlement, as their representatives and delegates, promise and oblige ourselves most solemnly to obey, maintain, assist and support the said james moore, in the administration of all affairs civil and military within this settlement, as well as in the execution of all his functions aforesaid, as governor for his sacred majesty king george. and further, we do expect and command, that all officers both civil and military within the settlement, do pay him all duty and obedience as his majesty's governor, as they shall answer to the contrary at their utmost peril. given under our hand, at the convention, this st day of december, ." governor johnson, after this public and solemn declaration, perceiving his power totally overthrown, and the current too violent and strong for him to withstand, had little hopes of recalling them to the obedience of proprietary authority. still, however, he flattered himself, that such men as had usurped the government in opposition to lawful authority would not long remain in a state of union, harmony and peace among themselves. the first unpopular step of their governor might create disturbance and disaffection; the first difference among the leading men might divide them into parties: he determined to wait for such occurrences, and to improve them towards recovering his power and command. in the mean time he called together the civil officers of the proprietors, and ordered them to secure the public records, and shut up all offices against the revolutioners and their adherents. [sidenote] the governor transmits an account of the whole proceedings to the proprietors. that the proprietors in england might have notice of what had happened though a proper channel, governor johnson drew up a slate of the whole proceedings, and transmitted it them. he told them that the colonists had long laboured under difficulties and hardships, by debts contracted in the indian war, and in protecting their trade against pirates; that an unhappy difference had broke out between their lordships and the people, about the privileges of their charter; that some of the richest of the inhabitants had persuaded the rest, that neither they themselves nor their posterity could ever be safe in their persons, or secure in their properties, without the protection of the crown: that they had therefore with one accord disclaimed and renounced all obedience to their lordships, and put themselves under the care and government of the king; that he, though earnestly solicited by them, had refused to govern them in any other way, than as commissioned and appointed by the lords proprietors; that the people for that reason had shaken off his authority and chosen another governor for themselves in name and behalf of the kind: in short, that the revolution was in no way occasioned by his imprudence or mal-administration, and therefore he hoped, whatever might be the issue, that their lordships would use their interest to continue him in the government of the province. to the same purpose he wrote to the lords commissioners of trade and plantations, who were no friends to the proprietary governments in america, and waited for such a favourable season as now offered in carolina to purchase every one of them for the crown. [sidenote] the revolutioners appoint new officers, and establish their authority. in the mean time the members of the popular legislature were going on, and with all their diligence and skill regulating public affairs. the representatives of the people took a dislike to the name of a convention, as different from that of the other regal governments in america, and therefore voted themselves an assembly, and assumed the power of appointing all public officers. in place of nicholas trott, they made richard allein chief justice. another person was appointed provincial secretary, in the room of charles hart. but william rhett and francis yonge, by becoming obsequious to the humours of the revolutioners, secured to themselves the same offices they held from the proprietors. colonel barnwell was chosen agent for the province, and embarked for england, with instructions and orders to apply only to the king, to lay a slate of their public proceedings before him, praying him to take the province under his immediate care and protection. a new duty-law and others for raising money to defray the various expences of government were passed. the fortifications at charlestown they ordered to be immediately repaired, and william rhett, whom every one esteemed a friend to the revolution, was nominated inspector-general of the repairs. to their new governor they voted two thousand five hundred pounds, and to their chief justice eight hundred current money, as yearly salaries. to their agent in england one thousand pounds sterling was transmitted: and to defray those and the other expences of government, a law was passed for laying a tax on lands and negroes, to raise thirty thousand pounds carolina-money, for the service of the current year. in short, this popular assembly imposed such burdens on their constituents, as under the proprietary government would have been deemed intolerable grievances. in consequence of the tax-act, when they began to levy those heavy tales, governor johnson and some of his party refused to pay, giving for reason that the act was not made by lawful authority. on account of his particular circumstances, mr. johnson was exempted; but they resolved to compel every other person to submit to their jurisdiction, and yield implicit obedience to their laws. they forcibly seized the effects or negroes of such as refused, sold them at public auction, and applyed the money for the payment of their taxes. thus, in spite of all opposition, they established themselves in the full possession of government, both in their legislative and executive capacities. [sidenote] in vain the governor attempts to disconcert them. [sidenote] rhett refuses obedience to his orders. governor johnson, though obliged to stand at a distance, carefully observed their progress, and was not a little mortified by their great success. he however still persisted in throwing every obstacle possible in their way: he wrote to william rhett, who was not only the proprietors receiver-general, but also comptroller of the customs, a letter to the following effect; informing him, that "as the people had found means to hinder all masters of ships from coming to him as the governor clearances, and from clearing in the lawful secretary's offices, notwithstanding the laws of trade made such neglects the forfeiture of ship and cargo, and the naval officer, by his orders, did all he could to induce them to act according to law: and as he was sensible that the defection was so general, and his authority so depressed, that he had no power left to punish them for disobedience; he therefore could think of no other way to oblige them to their duty but by stopping their obtaining clearances from the custom-house officers, until they paid their duty to him as the lawful governor of the province. he therefore desired mr. rhett would consult his powers and instructions as surveyor and comptroller of the customs, and act in this affair as he should think agreeable to them, to the laws of trade, and to the service of his majesty, and of the lords proprietors." indeed it must be acknowledged, had rhett so far consulted the interest of the proprietors, as to have commanded the officers of the customs to do their duty, according to the governor's project, it would have given the revolutioners no small trouble. they would have had the mortification to see the masters of ships disowning their authority, and going only to that office where they could obtain authentic and legal clearances. the fees due to the governor and secretary would also have gone in their usual channel, which otherwise were transferred to such persons as had no just right, nor even the smallest pretensions to them. but rhett's enmity to the governor, and his prospects of profit from the prevailing party, induced him to neglect the duties of his station. he had already joined, or at least seemed to join, the revolutioners, being determined to retain at all events his places of profit and emolument. the countenance and encouragement he had given the people, they considered as a justification of their measures; and though they had passed a vote, that no person who held an office under the proprietors should be permitted to continue in it, yet, as they found rhett so obsequious to their views, they thought proper to dispense with it for an acquisition of such importance. they not only allowed him to continue in his former offices, but also made him lieutenant-general of the militia, and overseer to the works in repairing the fortifications. so that, instead of giving assistance to governor johnson for supporting the interest and power of the proprietary government, he shamefully deserted him, betrayed his trust, and joined the revolutioners. [sidenote] and preserves the confidence of the proprietors. rhett, nevertheless, to the astonishment of every one, still maintained his credit with the proprietors, and had the art to persuade them he had done done all out of zeal for the service of his majesty, and for the good of the province. he wrote them two letters, giving them an account of all that had happened, and assuring them he had accepted of a commission from mr. moore, in order the more effectually to promote their interest, by giving him an opportunity of conversing freely with the people, and persuading them to return to their duty and allegiance. he represented the inflexibility of governor johnson as one source of the discontent and defection of the people, and utterly inconsistent with good policy. he told them, that there are times when the minds of men will not bend to authority, when the rigid exertion of power defeats its end, and when lenity becomes a more efficacious remedy against disaffection to government than severity. the proprietors believed him, and such was their confidence in his honour and fidelity, that they sent him a letter expressing their approbation of his conduct, in the following words: "we have received your letters, wherein you give us a melancholy account of the present confused government of our province, and of the great consternation of the inhabitants, from the dreadful apprehension they have of a foreign invasion. but since they have been so unfortunate as to bring themselves into so much confusion, we are not a little pleased that your zeal for the service of his majesty, and the safety of the province, has engaged you to take upon you the command of the forces; for as, by your command of the said forces, you formerly defended and saved the country from the insults of an invading enemy, so we doubt not but you will again use your utmost skill to free your same fellow-subjects from the imminent danger they at present labour under. and since you have taken upon you the same command, we earnestly intreat you, that, with the greatest application, you will continue your endeavours in that command for the safety and preservation of the province, until you shall hear farther from us: we wish you all imaginable success, and bid you heartily farewell." [sidenote] further attempts of the governor to recal the people. in the mean time governor johnson received certain advice, that the spaniards had sailed from the havanna with a fleet of fourteen ships, and a force consisting of twelve hundred men, against south carolina and providence island, and it was uncertain which of the two they would first attack. at this time of imminent danger the governor again attempted to recal the people to subjection and obedience, and sent the following letter to the convention. "i flatter myself that the invasion which at present threatens the province, has awakened a thought in you of the necessity there is of the forces acting under lawful authority and commission. the inconveniences and confusion of not admitting it are so obvious, i need not mention them. i have hitherto borne the indignities put upon me, and the loss i sustain by being out of my government, with as much temper as the nature of the thing will admit of, till such time as his majesty's pleasure shall be known. but to have another man to assume my authority when danger threatens the province and action is expected, and to be deprived of the opportunity of serving the public in my station, as i am indispensibly bound to do upon such occasions, i being answerable to the king for any neglect regarding the welfare of the province, is what i cannot patiently endure. i am willing with my council to consult and advise with you for the good and safety of the country in this time of imminent danger, as a convention of the people, as you first called yourselves; nor do i see, in this present juncture of affairs, any occasion for formality in our proceedings, or that i explain by whose authority i act in grants of commissions or other public orders. mr. moore's commission you have given him does not pretend to say that it is derived from the king. you have already confessed i am invested with some authority of which you approve, and that is enough. what i insist upon is, to be allowed to act as governor, because i have been approved of by the king. i do not apprehend there is any necessity of doing any thing at present but what relates to military affairs; and i do believe people will be better satisfied, more ready to advance necessaries, to trust the public, and obey my commands, by virtue of the king's authority which i have, if left to their liberty, than the orders of any other person in the province; and in a short time we may expect his majesty's pleasure will be known. if my reasons have not the weight with you i expect they should, you ought at least to put it to the vote, that, if a majority should be against it, i may have that to justify myself to the king and the world, who ought to be satisfied that i have done all i can for serving the country, and discharging the duty of my station." by this letter governor johnson thought to alarm and terrify the people, by representing the dangerous consequences of military operations under unlawful authority; but they remained firm to their purpose, and the convention, without taking any notice of it, continued to do business with mr. moore as they had begun. sir hovenden walker, the president of their council, being disgusted at their proceedings, left them and retired to his plantation; but they chose richard allein in his stead, and proceeded to concert measures for the public defence. they pronounced the martial law, and ordered all the inhabitants of the province to charlestown for its defence. all the officers of the militia accepted their commissions from mr. moore, and engaged to stand by him against all foreign enemies. for two weeks the provincial militia were kept under arms at charlestown every day expecting the appearance of the spanish fleet; which they were informed had sailed from the havanna. happily for them, to acquire possession of both sides of the gulf of florida, and secure the navigation through this stream, the spaniards had resolved first to attack providence, and then to proceed against carolina: but by the conduct and courage of captain rogers, at that time governor of the island, they met with a sharp repulse at providence, and soon after they lost the greatest part of their fleet in a storm. [sidenote] the governor's last attempt to recover his authority. the spanish expedition having thus proved abortive, the flamborough man of war, commanded by captain hildesley, returned to her station at charlestown from providence island. about the same time his majesty's ship phoenix, commanded by captain pierce, arrived from a cruize. the commanders of these two men of war were carressed by both parties, but they publicly declared for governor johnson as the magistrate invested with legal authority. charles hart, secretary of the province, by orders from the governor and council, had secreted and secured the public records, so that the revolutioners could not obtain possession of them. the clergy refused to marry without a licence from governor johnson, as the only legal ordinary of the province. these inconveniencies having begun to operate, rendered several of the people more cool in their affection for the popular government. at this juncture governor johnson, with the assistance of the captain and crews of the ships of war, made his last and boldest effort for subjecting the colonists to his authority. he brought up the ships of war in front of charlestown, and threatened their capital with immediate destruction, if they any longer refused obedience to legal authority. but the people having both arms in their hands for defence, and forts in their possession to which they could retreat, bid defiance to his power, and shewed him plainly that they were neither to be won by flattery, nor terrified by threats, to submit their necks any more to the proprietary yoke; and therefore for the future governor johnson dropt all thoughts of making any more attempts for that purpose. [sidenote] injurious suspicions with regard to the conduct of the governor. nicholas trott now observing the frame of the proprietary government totally unhinged, and a rival judge planted in his room, resolved to return to england. but before he embarked he wrote to governor johnson, acquainting him with his resolution, and promising, if he would contribute towards defraying his expences, he would give the proprietors each a favourable account of his conduct and services, as would ensure to him the continuance of his office. but the governor being no stranger to the character of the judge, and being convinced that both the revolt of the people, and subversion of government, were in a great measure to be ascribed his pernicious policy and secret correspondence with his friend the secretary to the proprietors, disdainfully rejected his interest and friendship. to which disrespect for the judge, however, mr. johnson attributed many of the injurious suspicions the proprietors entertained of his honour and fidelity, and that shameful neglect with which he was afterwards treated by them. they had wrote him no answer to his letters respecting the violent steps the people had taken, or ever informed him whether his conduct during those popular commotions had met with their approbation or disapprobation. some of them even alledged that he was privy to the designs of the malecontents; and gave them too much countenance and indulgence. but every principle of honour, duty and interest forbade such a connivance, and the upright and respectable character he maintained, rendered such suspicions groundless and unmerited. that he should join with a disaffected multitude in schemes of opposition, to divest himself of his government, was a thing scarcely to be supposed. that he should first wink at the subversion of the proprietary government, and afterwards refuse to govern them for the king, when solicited so to do by the representatives and whole body of the people, was a thing very improbable. when he arrived in the province, he found the inhabitants discontented and unhappy; but little suspected then they had any views of renouncing their allegiance to the proprietors; and the various arts the people used to conceal from him their designs, were proofs they had every thing to fear, and nothing to hope for from their governor. the many attempts made to defeat their measures were also evidences of his fidelity to their lordships, and firmness in support of their government. he indeed differed with trott and rhett, the two favourites of the proprietors, and perhaps to this, among other causes, the neglect with which he was treated by their lordships may be ascribed. for as they discovered on all occasions such a partial regard to these men, and placed such unlimited confidence in them, the person who differed from them, however fair and unblemished his character, however firmly attached to their interest, was not likely, in such circumstances of trouble and difficulty, to escape all injurious suspicions. we have blamed the proprietors in many respects with regard to the management of their colony, and we cannot think them worthy of praise in withdrawing their countenance and friendship from a governor, who manifested such zeal and resolution in support of their authority. being equally subject to the laws of their country with the carolineans over whom they ruled, their power was likely to be feeble, even when exercised in the most prudent and gentle manner; but more especially when executed with rigour. british subjects in general abhor oppression, even from a supreme, and it could scarcely be expected they would tamely submit to it, from a subordinate jurisdiction. [sidenote] francis nicolson appointed governor by the regency. in the mean time the agent for carolina had procured a hearing from the lords of the regency and council in england, the king being at that time in hanover; who gave it as their opinion, that the proprietors had forfeited their charter, and ordered the attorney-general to take out a _scire facias_ against it. in consequence of which, in september , they appointed general francis nicolson provisional governor of the province, with a commission from the king. nicolson was a man possessed of all the honourable principles of a good soldier. he was generous, bold, and steady. he had been governor of several different colonies, and it was thought his knowledge and experience in provincial affairs would render him well qualified for the important trust. he knew his duty as commander and chief, and was afraid of neither dangers nor difficulties in the execution of it; a warm friend to the king, and deeply concerned for the prosperity of his country: scarcely could they have pitched upon a man more fit to govern the province in such a confused and miserable state. [sidenote] general reflections on the whole transactions. upon a review of those past transactions, and the various causes which concurred for bringing about this event, which i have narrated the more fully and circumstantially on account of the interesting nature and important consequences of the change, we may observe, that although the conduct of the carolineans during this violent struggle cannot, strictly speaking, be deemed legal, equitable and just, yet necessity, which has no law, and self-preservation, the most powerful principle of action, both strongly plead in their vindication. when the proprietors first applied to the king for a grant of this large territory, at that time occupied by heathens, it is said they were excited thereto by their zeal for the propagation of the christian faith; yet it is now plain that they have either used no endeavours for that purpose, or they have been utterly ineffectual. the society for the propagation of the gospel have indeed employed and supported missionaries for the conversion of those heathens; yet it is a lamentable truth, that their best endeavours have been vastly inadequate to the extent of the work, and therefore their success has proved small and inconsiderable. the proprietors by their charter were empowered to build churches and chapels within the bounds of their province for divine worship; yet they have left the burden of this work entirely to the inhabitants, who have received no encouragement nor assistance, except from the incorporated society, towards its accomplishment. they were impowered by their charter to erect castles and forts for the protection and defence of the colony; but all those the people have also been obliged to raise at their own expence. by the charter his majesty saved to himself, his heirs and successors, the sovereign dominion of the province, and the faith and allegiance of his subjects, the inhabitants of it, declaring them to be the liege people of the crown of england, yet the proprietors have assumed to themselves a despotic authority in repealing and abrogating, by themselves alone, laws made by the assembly, and ratified by their deputies in carolina. they not only tyrannized over the poor colony, but also employed and protected officers ten times more tyrannical than themselves. when the whole legislature complained of chief justice trott, they paid no regard to their complaints, and absolutely refused to circumscribe his jurisdiction, or remove him from the bench. in times of imminent danger, when the colony applied to them for assistance, they were either unable or unwilling to bear the expence of its protection. when the assembly allotted the indian lands obtained by conquest for the encouragement of settlers, to strengthen the provincial frontiers, the proprietors claimed the sole right of disposing of those lands, and frustrated their plans of public security. when the trade of the province was infested and ruined by pirates, they could neither obtain a force sufficient to extirpate them, nor a confirmation of their laws made for defraying the expense of such expeditions as the colony fitted out against them. the current money of the province, stamped for answering its public exigences, was, at the request of the merchants of london, cried down and cancelled. in short the people saw no end of troubles and dangers. sad exigence dictated the necessity of some remedy against their political evils. no remedy under heaven appeared to them so proper and effectual as that of throwing themselves under the immediate care and protection of the crown of great britain. for under the excellent constitution of england, where the supreme power was both able and willing to protect them against every enemy, they evidently perceived they could only live happy and secure; therefore, sick of the feeble proprietary government, the people, after many violent struggles and convulsions, by one bold and irregular effort entirely shook off the yoke, and a revolution, fruitful of happy consequences, took place, to their great relief and unspeakable satisfaction. the proprietors, after long trial and frequent amendments, now finding that fine-spun system, by which they flattered themselves with having avoided the inconveniencies and supplied the defects of the english form of government, useless and impracticable, were at length convinced, that it was a much easier thing to find fault with the constitution of old england than to mend it. they now perceived that all forms of government must be made for men as they really are, and not for them as they ought to be, and that it was impossible for the wisest legislators upon earth to mould men into any form they pleased by laws and regulations. from the first settlement of this colony, one perpetual struggle has subsisted between the proprietors and possessors of the province. a division somewhat similar to that of the court and country parties in england, early sprung up in the settlement, and kept it in continual ferment and agitation. the exertions of proprietary power and prerogative, the people considered as inconsistent with their rights and privileges; hence they became turbulent and seditious, and were seldom satisfied with their governors in their public capacity, however esteemed and beloved as private men. the hands of government were always weak, and the instructions and regulations received from england were, for the most part, ill adapted to the local circumstances of the people, and the first state of colonization. the palatines in england and germany, whose jurisdiction and authority have been established by time, and whose governments have acquired firmness and stability, would probably have deemed this usurpation illegal and rebellious, and punished the authors and abettors of it. no doubt a firm yet moderate opposition to the measures of government in defence of the rights and liberties of the people, differs as much from usurpation, as a wholesome remedy to a disordered constitution differs from deadly poison. but the great distance, dangerous circumstances, and complicated hardships of the carolineans; the negligence, bad policy and tyranny of the proprietors; all concurred to render their usurpation not only excuseable, but absolutely necessary. the revolution in england had exemplified and confirmed the doctrine of resistance, when the executive magistrate presumes to violate the fundamental laws, and subvert the constitution of the nation. the proprietors had done acts, which the lords in regency had declared amounted to a forfeiture of their charter, and had ordered a writ of _scire facias_ to be taken out, for repealing their patent and rendering the grant void and null. by which means all political connection between the proprietors and people of carolina was now entirely dissolved, and a new relation formed, the king having taken the province under his immediate care and protection, and made it a part of the british empire. [sidenote] nicolson's arrival occasions uncommon joy. about the beginning of the year , francis nicolson arrived in carolina, and having the sanction of the british government for his appointment, mr. johnson acquiesced in his authority, and made no more efforts in behalf of the lords proprietors. the people in general congratulated one another on the happy change, and received general nicolson with the most uncommon and extravagant demonstrations of joy. the voice of murmur and discontent, together with the fears of danger and oppression, were now banished from the province. happy under the royal care, they resolved to forget all former animosities and divisions, and bury all past offences in eternal oblivion. the only contention now remaining was, who should be the most faithful subjects of his majesty, and the most zealous in promoting the union, peace and prosperity of the settlement. from a confused and distracted state they now looked upon themselves as happily delivered, and anticipated in imagination all the blessings of freedom and security, followed by industry and plenty, approaching, and as it were ready to diffuse their happy influence over the country. [sidenote] the people recognize king george as their lawful sovereign. soon after his arrival, governor nicholson issued writs for the election of a new assembly, who now entered with great temper and cheerfulness on the regulation of provincial affairs. they chose james moore, their late popular governor, speaker of the house, of whom the governor declared his entire approbation. the first business they engaged in, was to make an act, declaring they recognized and acknowledged his sacred majesty king george to be the rightful sovereign of great britain, france, and ireland, and of all the dominions and provinces belonging to the empire, and in particular his undoubted right to the province of carolina. all actions and suits at law commenced on account of the late administration of james moore by particular persons, creating misunderstandings and animosities among the people, were declared void and null, till his majesty's pleasure touching such administration shall be known; but all judicial proceedings under the same administration were confirmed; which acts were at this time judged proper and necessary for establishing harmony and tranquillity among the inhabitants. the two parties formerly subsisting, the one composed of a few adherents to governor johnson, and the other of the followers of james moore, nicolson had the good fortune to unite, and, by the wisdom and equity of his administration, to render both equally happy and contented under the royal government and protection. [sidenote] the governor regulates indian affairs. before governor nicolson left england, a suspension of arms between great britain and spain had been published, and by the treaty of peace which afterwards took place, it was stipulated and agreed, that all subjects and indians living under their different jurisdictions should cease from acts of hostility. orders were sent out to don antonio navidez, governor of florida, to forbear molesting the carolineans; and the british governor had also instructions to cultivate the friendship and good-will of the spanish subjects and indians of florida. in consequence of which, governor nicolson, who was no stranger to the manners of savages, resolved to apply himself with great zeal and spirit to the regulation of indian affairs, and to enter into treaties of friendship and alliance with the different tribes around the settlement. as most of their troubles from indians had been occasioned by europeans taking possession of lands claimed by them, without their permission or consent; to prevent quarrels and mischief, the first object that demanded his attention was to fix the limits and extent of their territories, and then to forbid encroachments on their hunting grounds. with these views he sent a message to the cherokees, (a powerful nation, computed at this time to consist of no less than six thousand bowmen), acquainting them, that he had presents to make them, and would meet them at the borders of their territories, to hold a general congress with them, in order to treat of mutual friendship and commerce. they rejoiced at a proposal which plainly implied they were a free and respectable people, and immediately the chiefs of thirty-seven different towns set out to meet him. at this congress the governor having made them several presents, and smoked the pipe of peace with them, marked the boundaries of the lands between them and the english settlers. he regulated all weights and measures, that justice might be done them in the way of traffic. he appointed an agent to superintend their affairs, and, to unite them under a common head, proposed to nominate one warrior as commander and chief of the whole nation, before whom all complaints were to be laid, and who was to acquaint the governor with every injury done them. with the consent of all present wrosetasatow was declared chief warrior of the cherokee nation, with full power to punish all guilty of depredations and murders, and to obtain satisfaction for every injury done to indians from the british settlers. after which the indians returned to their towns, highly pleased with their generous brother and new ally. the governor then proceeded to conclude another treaty of commerce and peace with the creeks, who were also at that time a numerous and formidable nation. he likewise appointed an agent to reside among them, whose business was to regulate indian affairs in a friendly and equitable manner, and fixed on savanna river as the boundary of their hunting lands, beyond which no settlements were to extend. such negotiations were in many respects useful and important; for when europeans take possession of lands contrary to the inclination, and without the permission and consent of these free and independent nations who claimed them as their property, it would puzzle a wise man to vindicate their tenure on any principles of equity and justice. [sidenote] and promotes religious institutions. having now secured the province as well as possible against external foes, governor nicolson turned his attention next to internal regulations, particularly to such as respected the religious instruction of the people. for though he mas bred a soldier, and was profane, passionate and headstrong himself, yet he was not insensible of the great advantage of religion to society, and contributed not a little to its interest in carolina, both by his public influence and private generosity. the number of inhabitants in each parish being considerably increased, it was found necessary to enlarge several churches for their accommodation. the inhabitants of sr. paul's parish, many of whom having had their houses burnt, and otherwise suffered heavy losses in the yamassee war, were obliged to apply to the public for assistance in this laudable design. the parish of st. george was separated and taken out of that of st. andrews by an act of assembly, and a new church was built at a small village called dorchester, by public allowance and private contributions. the inhabitants in and about georgetown, who had long lived without the benefit of public worship, insomuch that the appearance of religion among them had almost entirely vanished, claimed particular attention. to erect a church in this quarter the governor proposed a private subscription, and set the example by largely contributing towards the public institution. he made application to the society in england for propagating the gospel, and they supplied the province with clergymen, giving each of them an yearly allowance over and above the provincial salary. as no public schools had yet been instituted for the instruction of youth in the principles of virtue and religion, the governor urged also the usefulness and necessity of such provincial establishments. it was alledged, that the want of early instruction was one of the chief sources of impiety and immorality, and if they continued any longer to neglect the rising generation, piety and christianity would insensibly decay, and they would soon have a race of white people in the country equally ignorant as the brown indians. animated by the example, and assisted by the generosity of their governor, the colonials therefore in good earnest engaged in providing seminaries for the religious education of youth. besides general contributions, several particular legacies were also left for this purpose. mr. whitmarsh left five hundred pounds to st. paul's parish, for founding a free school in it. mr. ludlam, the society's missionary at goose-creek, bequeathed all his estate, which was computed to amount to two thousand pounds carolina currency, for the same purpose. richard beresfords, by his will, bequeathed the annual profits of his estate to be paid to the vestry of st. thomas parish in trust, until his son, then eight years of age, should arrive at the age of twenty-one years; directing them to apply one third of the yearly profits of this estate for the support of one or more schoolmasters, who should teach reading, accounts, mathematics, and other liberal learning; and the other two thirds for the support maintenance, and education of the poor of that parish. the vestry accordingly received from this estate six thousand five hundred pounds carolina money, for promoting those pious and charitable purposes. the society in england sent out teachers, money and books, and assisted greatly, by their zeal and bounty, towards the religious instruction of the people. so much must be said for the honour of governor nicolson, whose liberality was conspicuously displayed in behalf of those religious institutions, and whose example excited that spirit of emulation among the people for promoting them. in charlestown, and in several other parishes in the country, public schools were built and endowed during his government, and every friend to knowledge and virtue, every well-wisher to posterity, seemed to promise themselves the greatest advantages from such wise and public-spirited designs. though religion, rightly understood and generally practiced, is productive of the most salutary and beneficial consequences to society, yet nothing has a more pernicious influence than mistaken notions of it. of all kinds of delusion, religious enthusiasm is the most deplorable, and has often been attended with the most melancholy and dismal effects. by abusing the best things, they may be made the innocent occasion of the worst. many calamities have happened in the world, even on account of religion, yet the fatal consequences ought not to be charged to that divine institution which naturally breathes benevolence, gentleness and peace, but to the ignorance and corruption of human nature, which pervert and abuse it. enthusiasts generally agree in two articles: they disclaim the power and authority of the civil magistrate, and mistake their own wild fancies, the fruits of a distempered brain, for the impulses of the divine spirit, both of which are big with the most fatal consequences to society. the desperate fanatic venner, in the reign of charles the second, was not more transported with religious phrenzy and madness, than an unfortunate family in carolina at this time happened to be. for the credit of the province, it were to be wished that such an incident lay buried in eternal oblivion; but history claims the privilege of exhibiting examples of different kinds for public instruction. if good examples serve as a spur to stimulate men to virtue and religion, bad ones, on the contrary, may also serve, like beacons upon a rock, to warn men of danger and delusion. [sidenote] the enthusiasm of the family of dutartre. "the family of dutartres consisting of four sons and four daughters, were descendents of french refugees, who came into carolina after the revocation of the edict of nantz. they lived in orange-quarter and though in low circumstances, always maintained an honest character, and were esteemed by their neighbours persons of blameless and irreproachable lives. but at this time a strolling moravian preacher happening to come to that quarter where they lived, insinuated himself into their family, and partly by conversation, and partly by the writings of jacob behman, which he put into their hands, filled their heads with wild and fantastic ideas. unhappily for the poor family those strange notions gained ground on them, insomuch that in one year they began to withdraw themselves from the ordinances of public worship, and all conversation with the world around them, and strongly to imagine they were the only family upon earth who had the knowledge of the true god, and whom he vouchsafed to instruct, either by the immediate impulses of his spirit, or by signs and tokens from heaven. at length it came to open visions and revelations. god raised up a prophet among them, like unto moses, to whom he taught them to hearken. this prophet was peter rombert, who had married the eldest daughter of the family when a widow. to this man the author and governor of the world deigned to reveal, in the plainest manner, that the wickedness of man was again so great in the world, that as in the days of noah he was determined to destroy all men from off the face of it, except one family whom he would save for raising up a godly seed upon earth. this revelation peter rombert was sure of, and felt it as plain as the wind blowing on his body, and the rest of the family, with equal confidence and presumption, firmly believed it. "a few days after this, god was pleased to reveal himself a second time to the prophet, saying, put away the woman whom thou hast for thy wife, and when i have destroyed this wicked generation, i will raise up her first husband from the dead, and they shall be man and wife as before, and go thou and take to wife her youngest sister, who is a virgin, so shall the chosen family be restored entire, and the holy seed preserved pure and undefiled in it. at first the father, when he heard of this revelation, was staggered at so extraordinary a command from heaven; but the prophet assured him that god would give him a sign, which accordingly happened; upon which the old man took his youngest daughter by the hand, and gave her to the wise prophet immediately for his wife, who without further ceremony took the damsel and deflowered her. thus for some time they continued in acts of incest and adultery, until that period which made the fatal discovery, and introduced the bloody scene of blind fanaticism and madness. "those deluded wretches were so far possessed with the false conceit of their own righteousness and holiness, and of the horrid wickedness of all others, that they refused obedience to the civil magistrate, and all laws and ordinances of men. upon pretence that god commanded them to bear no arms, they not only refused to comply with the militia law, but also the law for repairing the high-ways. after long forbearance, mr. simmons, a worthy magistrate, and the officer of the militia in that quarter, found it necessary to issue his warrants for levying the penalty of the laws upon them. but by this time judith dutartre, the wife the prophet obtained by revelation, proving with child, another warrant was issued for bringing her before the justice to be examined, and bound over to the general sessions, in consequence of a law of the province, framed for preventing bastardy. the constable having received his warrants, and being jealous of meeting with no good usage in the execution of his office, prevailed on two or three of his neighbours to go along with him. the family observing the constable coming, and being apprized of his errand, consulted their prophet, who soon told them that god commanded them to arm and defend themselves against persecution, and their substance against the robberies of ungodly men; assuring them at the same time that no weapon formed against them should prosper. accordingly they did so, and laying hold of their arms, fired on the constable and his followers, and drove them out of their plantation. such behaviour was not to be tolerated, and therefore captain simmons gathered a party of militia, and went to protect the constable in the execution of his office. when the deluded family saw the justice and his party approaching, they shut themselves up in their house, and firing from it like furies, shot captain simmons dead on the spot, and wounded several of his party. the militia returned the fire, killed one woman within the house, and afterwards forcibly entering it, took the rest prisoners, six in number, and brought them to charlestown. [sidenote] their trial and condemnation. "at the court of general sessions, held in september , three of them were brought to trial, found guilty and condemned. alas! miserable creatures, what amazing infatuation possessed them! they pretended they had the spirit of god leading them to all truth, they knew it and felt it: but this spirit, instead of influencing them to obedience, purity and peace, commanded them to commit rebellion, incest, and murder. what is still more astonishing, the principal persons among them, i mean the prophet, the father of the family, and michel boneau, never were convinced of their delusion, but persisted in it until their last breath. during their trial they appeared altogether unconcerned and secure, affirming that god was on their side, and therefore they feared not what man could do unto them. they freely told the incestuous story in open court in all its circumstances and aggravations, with a good countenance, and very readily confessed the facts respecting their rebellion and murder, with which they stood charged, but pled their authority from god in vindication of themselves, and insisted they had done nothing in either case but by his express command. "as it is commonly the duty of clergymen to visit persons under sentence of death, both to convince them of their error and danger, and prepare them for death by bringing them to a penitent disposition; alexander garden, the episcopal minister of charlestown, to whom we are indebted for this account, attended those condemned persons with great diligence and concern. what they had affirmed in the court of justice, they repeated and confessed to him in like manner in the prison. when he began to reason with them and to explain the heinous nature of their crimes, they treated him with disdain. their motto was, answer him not a word; who is he that should presume to teach them, who had the spirit of god speaking inwardly to their souls. in all they had done, they said they had obeyed the voice of god, and were now about to suffer martyrdom for his religion. but god had assured them, that he would either work a deliverance for them, or raise them up from the dead on the third day. these things the three men continued confidently to believe, and notwithstanding all the means used to convince them of their mistake, persisted in the same belief until the moment they expired. at their execution they told the spectators with seeming triumph, they should soon see them again, for they were certain they should rise from the dead on the third day. with respect to the other three, the daughter judith being with child, was not tried, and the two sons, david and john dutartre, about eighteen and twenty years of age, having been also tried and condemned, continued sullen and reserved, in hopes of seeing those that were executed rise from the dead, but being disappointed, they became, or at least seemed to become, sensible of their error, and were both pardoned. yet not long afterwards one of them relapsed into the same snare, and murdered an innocent person, without either provocation or previous quarrel, and for no other reason, as he confessed, but that god had commanded him so to do. being a second time brought to trial, he was found guilty of murder and condemned. mr. garden attended him again under the second sentence, and acknowledged, with great appearance of success. no man could appear more deeply sensible of his error and delusion, or could die a more sincere and hearty penitent on account of his horrid crimes. with great attention he listened to mr. garden, while he explained to him the terms of pardon and salvation proposed in the gospel, and seemed to die in the humble hopes of mercy, through the all-sufficient merits of a redeemer." thus ended that tragical scene of fanaticism, in which seven persons lost their lives, one was killed, two were murdered, and four executed for the murders. a signal and melancholy instance of the weakness and frailty of human nature, and to what giddy heights of extravagance and madness, an inflamed imagination will carry unfortunate mortals. it is hard for the wisdom of men to conceive a remedy for a distemper such as religious infatuation. severity and persecution commonly add strength to the contagion, and render it more furious. indulgence and lenity might perhaps prove more efficacious, as the swellings of phrenzy would in time subside, in proportion as they exceed the bounds of nature. had they given this unhappy family time for cool thought and reflection, it is not improbable that those clouds of delusion which overspread their minds might have dispersed, and they might have returned to a sense of their frailty and error. but it belongs to the civil power to prohibit wild enthusiasts and mad visionaries from spreading doctrines among vulgar people, destructive of civil order and public peace. the majority of mankind every where are ignorant and credulous, and therefore are objects of compassion, and ought to be protected against the baleful influence of such men as seduce them from their duty and subjection to legal authority, by poisoning their minds with notions hurtful to themselves and others. [sidenote] progress of the colony. about this time the number of white inhabitants, including men, women, and children, was computed to amount to fourteen thousand, an increase, in the space of fifty-four years after the arrival of first colony, very small and inconsiderable, and occasioned, no doubt, both by the unhealthiness of the climate and by the discouragements and troubles which prevailed during the proprietary government. the province now furnished the inhabitants with provisions in abundance, and exported what it could spare to the west indies. the white inhabitants lived frugally, as luxury had not yet crept in among them, and, except a little rum and sugar, tea and coffee, were contented with what their plantations afforded. maize and indian pease seemed congenial with the soil and climate: and as they had been cultivated by the savages for provision, they were found also to be excellent food for european labourers, and more wholesome and nourishing than rice. maize delights not to grow on a watry soil, but on dry and loose land, such as the higher spots on the maritime parts of the province. as the use of the plow could not be introduced until the lands were cleared of the roots of trees, to prepare a field for planting it great labour was requisite. they commonly made ridges with the hoe about five feet asunder, upon the top of which they planted the seed three inches deep. one gallon of maize will sow an acre, which, with skilful management on good lands, will yield in favourable seasons from thirty to fifty bushels. while it grows it requires to be frequently weeded, and the earth carefully thrown up about the root of the plant, to facilitate its progress. as it rises high, at the root of it the indian pease are usually planted, which climb up its stalk like a vine, so that the lands yield a double crop. from the stem of maize large blades spring, which the planters carefully gather, and which, when properly cured, the horses or cattle will prefer before the finest hay. these two articles, maize, indian pease, together with the spanish potatoes, are the chief subsistence of their slaves, consisting chiefly of negroes and a few indians, and who, at this time, men, women, and children, amounted to between sixteen and twenty thousand. in the year , four hundred and thirty-nine slaves, as also british goods and manufactures of different kinds, to the amount of between fifty and sixty thousand pounds sterling, were imported into the province. in exchange for these slaves and commodities, eighteen thousand barrels of rice, and about fifty-two thousand barrels of pitch, tar and turpentine, together with deer-skins, furs, and raw silk, were exported to england. this trade was carried on almost entirely in british ships, and employed a number of hands. the carolineans also traded to the west indies, and several small ships and sloops were employed in carrying provisions, lumber, slaves and naval stores to these islands, which they bartered for sugar, rum, molasses, coffee, cotton, and spanish gold and silver. to new england, new york, and pennsylvania, they sent some rice, hides, deer-skins, tar and pitch, which they exchanged for flour, salt fish, fruit, beer, and cyder. all gold and silver that came into the province from the west indies they commonly sent into britain, to answer the demands against them; and bills of credit continued increasing and circulating, for the convenience of domestic commerce. forty thousand pounds were issued during nicolson's government, over and above former emissions, by which increase the exchange with britain, and the price of produce arose in one year from five to six hundred _per cent_. this has never failed to be the consequence of issuing large quantities of paper money in carolina: for whenever this currency was permitted to increase beyond what was necessary for the purposes of commerce, it sunk in value, and proportionably increased the nominal price of provisions and labour; and of course should it by any accident be diminished, the price would again fall. besides this, when the imports happened to exceed the exports, the great demand for bills of exchange raised the price of them, and helped to increase the depreciation of the current money of the province. [sidenote] the adventure of captain beale. among other traders, at this time othneal beale commanded a ship in the carolina trade; and while sailing from charlestown to london, not being provided with a mediterranean pass, he was taken by an algerine rover, who determined to carry him to barbary, and for this purpose took the english sailors on board, and manned captain beale's ship with algerines, giving them orders to follow him to the mediterranean sea. soon after, a storm arising in the night separated the two ships, and captain beale being the only person on board that understood navigation, resolved to avail himself of the advantage, and accordingly, instead of sailing for africa, steered directly for england. upon his arrival the algerine sailors were surprized, but not at all displeased; they even confessed to their ambassador the kind usage they had received; upon which captain beale had all he lost returned by agreement, together with thanks for his humanity. this bold adventure likewise procured the captain the honour of an introduction to the king, who expressed a desire of seeing him, and ordered lord carteret, then secretary of state, to make him a handsome present on the occasion. this memorable anecdote being published, served to mark him for a man of address and courage in carolina, where he afterwards took up his residence, and in time arrived at the chief command of the militia, was made a member of his majesty's council, and died at the age of eighty-five, a rare instance of longevity in that country. [sidenote] arthur middleton president. in the year , governor nicolson having obtained leave from his majesty, returned to great britain, and the government devolved on arthur middleton, president of the council. mr. middleton, though of a reserved and mercenary disposition, was a sensible man, and by no means ill qualified for governing the province. but having succeeded a man who liberally spent all his salary and perquisites of office in promoting the public good, he was neither so much distinguished nor respected among the colonists. being possessed of a moderate fortune, his chief study was to improve it, and he seemed to aspire after the character of a rich man in private life, rather than that of a popular governor and generous benefactor. as he had taken an active part against the proprietary government, he was not insensible of the advantages now gained from the countenance given them by the crown, and was equally careful to promote loyalty to the king as the freedom and safety of his fellow-subjects. [sidenote] a dispute about the boundaries between carolina and florida. at this time the boundaries between the provinces of carolina and florida were neither clearly marked nor well understood, as they had never been settled by any public agreement or treaty between england and spain. to prevent negroes escaping to the spanish territories, and overawe the indians under the spanish juridiction, the carolineans had built a fort on the forks of the river alatamaha, and supported a small garrison in it. this gave umbrage to the governor of augustine, who complained of it to the court of madrid, representing it as an encroachment on the dominions of spain, and intended to seduce the indians from their allegiance to his catholic majesty. the spanish ambassador at london lodged the complaint before the court of britain, and demanded that orders be sent out to carolina immediately to demolish the fort. to prevent any interruption of the good correspondence then subsisting between the two courts, it was agreed to send orders to both governors in america to meet in an amicable manner, and settle the respective boundaries between the british and spanish dominions in that quarter. accordingly soon after don francisco menandez, and don joseph de rabiero, came to charlestown, to hold a conference with the president and council of carolina about this matter. at their meeting, mr. middleton shewed those deputies, that this fort was built within the bounds of the charter granted to the proprietors, and that the pretensions of spain to such lands were vain and groundless. at the same time he told them, that the fort on the river alatamaha was erected for defending themselves and their property against the depredations of indians living under the jurisdiction of spain. then he begged to know from them their reasons for protecting felons and debtors that fled from carolina to them, and for encouraging negroes to leave their masters and take refuge at augustine, while peace subsisted between the two crowns? the deputies replied, that the governor of florida would deliver up all felons and debtors; but had express orders for twenty years past, to detain all slaves who should fly to augustine for liberty and protection. middleton declared he looked on such injurious orders as a breach of national honour and faith, especially as negroes were real property, such as houses and lands, in carolina. the deputies answered, that the design of the king of spain was not to injure private men, having ordered compensation to be made to the masters of such slaves in money; but that his humanity and religion enjoined him to issue such orders for the sake of converting slaves to the christian faith. in short, the conference ended to the satisfaction of neither party, and matters remained as they were; but soon after, the english fort, built of wood, was burned to the ground, and the southern frontiers of carolina were again left naked and defenceless. [sidenote] colonel palmer makes reprisals on the spaniards. as no final agreement, with respect to the limits of the two provinces had been concluded, the indians in alliance with spain continued to harass the british settlements: particularly the yamassees, as usual, penetrating into carolina in scalping parties, persisted in killing white men, and carrying off every negroe they could catch. though the owners of slaves had been allowed from the spanish government a compensation in money for their losses, yet few of them ever received it. at length colonel palmer resolved to make reprisals on those plunderers, since no adequate recompense could otherwise be obtained. for this purpose he gathered together a party of militia and friendly indians, consisting in all of about three hundred men, and entered florida, with a resolution of spreading desolation throughout the province. he carried his arms as far as the gates of augustine, and compelled the inhabitants to take refuge in their castle. scarce a house or hut in the colony escaped the flames. he destroyed their provisions in the fields, and drove off their cattle, hogs and horses. some indians he killed, and others he made prisoners. in short, he left the people of florida little property, except what was protected by the guns of their fort, and by this expedition convinced the spaniards of their weakness, and the bad policy of encouraging indians to molest the subjects of britain. he shewed them that the carolineans could prevent the cultivation and settlement of their province whenever they pleased, and render the improvement of it impracticable, on any other than peaceable terms with their neighbours. [sidenote] encroachment of the french in louisiana. but by this time the spaniards were not the only neighbours that created trouble to the carolineans. the french settled in louisiana were also advancing nearer them, and using all their art and address for gaining the interest and affections of these savage nations. they erected a strong hold, called fort alabama, high up on mobile river, which was excellently situated for opening and carrying on a correspondence with the most powerful nations around the british settlement. the carolineans had good reason to be on their guard against the influence of these intimating and enterprising neighbours. the tribes of upper creeks, whose hunting lands extended to their fort, were soon won over by promises and largesses to an alliance with them. the cherokees indeed lived at a greater distance from them, and yet by means of creeks and other emissaries, whom they sent among them, they endeavoured also to bring than over to their interest. the river mississippi being navigable a great way from its mouth, opened a communication with the choctaws, chikesaws, and other nations residing near it. so that the french had many excellent opportunities of seducing indians from their alliance with britain. the president of carolina employed captain tobias fitch among the creeks, and colonel george chicken among the cherokees, to keep these tribes steady and firm to the british interest. these agents, however, during the whole time mr. middleton presided over the colony, found no small difficulty in counteracting the influence of french policy, and preventing their union and alliance with these enemies. from this period the british and french settlers in america became competitors for power and influence over indian nations, the one or the other of whom were always exposed to danger and trouble from them, in proportion to the success of their rivals. now the carolineans were farther from peace and safety than ever. the french supplied these savages with tomahawks, muskets, and ammunition, by which means they laid aside the bow and arrow, and became more dangerous and formidable enemies than they had been in any former period. [sidenote] a terrible hurricane. during the summer of , the weather in carolina was observed to be uncommonly hot, by which the face of the earth was entirely parched, the pools of standing water dried up, and the beasts of the field were reduced to the greatest distress. after such a long and general drought the inhabitants having usually observed hurricanes and tornadoes to follow in autumn, they began accordingly to look out with superstitious dread for them, as that season of the year approached. accordingly a dreadful hurricane happened in the end of august, and occasioned an inundation, which overflowed the town and the low lands, and did incredible damage to the fortifications, houses, wharfs, shipping, and cornfields. the streets of charlestown were covered with boats, boards, staves, and the inhabitants were obliged to take refuge in the higher stories of their dwelling-houses. twenty-three ships were driven a-shore, most of which were either greatly damaged, or dashed to pieces. the fox and garland men of war, stationed there for the protection of trade, were the only ships that rode out the storm. this hurricane, though it levelled many thousand trees in the maritime parts, yet so thick was the forest, that it was scarcely perceived an hundred miles from the shore. but as such violent storms are probably occasioned by the rarefaction of the air, with excessive heat, they are seldom of long duration, for having restored the equipoise in the atmosphere, the wind commonly shifts, and the tempest ceases. [sidenote] and yellow fever. the same year an infectious and pestilential distemper, commonly called the yellow fever, broke out in town, and swept off multitudes of the inhabitants, both white and black. as the town depended entirely on the country for fresh provisions, the planters would suffer no person to carry supplies to it, for fear of catching the infection, and bringing it to the country. the physicians knew not how to treat the uncommon disorder which was so suddenly caught, and proved so quickly fatal. the calamity was so general, that few could grant assistance to their distressed neighbours, however much needed and earnestly desired. so many funerals happening every day, while so many lay sick, white persons sufficient for burying the dead were scarcely to be found; and though they were often interred on the same day they died, so quick was the putrefaction, so offensive and infectious were the corpses, that even the nearest relations seemed averse from the necessary duty. [sidenote] the province purchased for the crown. after all, one memorable event distinguished this year, which was attended with many beneficial consequences to the province. an act of parliament passed in britain for establishing an agreement with seven of the proprietors for a surrender of their right and interest, not only in the government, but also in the soil and lands of the province, to the king. the purchase was made for seventeen thousand five hundred pounds sterling, to be paid before the end of september , free of all deductions; after which payment, the province was to be vested in the crown of great britain. at the same time seven-eight parts of the arrears of quit-rents, due from the colonists to the proprietors, amounting to somewhat more than nine thousand pounds sterling, were also purchased for the crown for five thousand; so that seven-eight parts of this vast territory cost no more than twenty-two thousand five hundred pounds. but, in this act of parliament there is a clause, reserving to john lord carteret the remaining eight share of the property and arrears of quit-rents, which continues to this day legally vested in that family, only all his share in the government he surrendered to the crown. the proprietors who sold their shares at this time, were henry duke of beaufort, william lord craven, james bertie, dodington greville, henry bertie, mary danson, elisabeth more, sir john colleton, john cotton, and joseph blake, who before the surrender were possessed, either in their own right or in trust, of seven eight parts of the government and property of the province. this surrender was made to edward bertie, samuel horsey, henry smith, and alexis clayton, in trust for the crown. in consequence of the powers granted to his majesty by this act of parliament, he claims the prerogative of appointing governors to both south and north carolina, and a council similar to the other regal governments in america. the end of volume first. the first set of the fundamental constitutions of south carolina. as compiled by mr. john locke. our sovereign lord the king having, out of his royal grace and bounty, granted unto us the province of carolina, with all the royalties, properties, jurisdictions and privileges of a county palatine, as large and ample as the county palatine of durham, with other great privileges; for the better settlement of the government of the said place, and establishing the interest of the lords proprietors with equality, and without confusion; and that the government of this province may be made most agreeable to the monarchy under which we live, and of which this province is a part; and that we may avoid erecting a numerous democracy: we the lords and proprietors of the province aforesaid, have agreed to this following form of government to be perpetually established amongst us, unto which we do oblige ourselves, our heirs and successors, in the most binding ways that can be devised. i. the eldest of the lords proprietors shall be palatine; and, upon the decease of the palatine, the eldest of the seven surviving proprietors shall always succeed him. ii. there shall be seven other chief offices erected, viz. the admirals, chamberlains, chancellors, constables, chief justices, high stewards, and treasurers; which places shall be enjoyed by none but the lords proprietors, to be assigned at first by lot; and upon the vacancy of any one of the seven great offices by death, or otherwise, the eldest proprietor shall have his choice of the said place. iii. the whole province shall be divided into counties; each county shall consist of eight signiories, eight baronies, and four precincts; each precinct shall consist of six colonies. iv. each signiory, barony, and colony, shall consist of twelve thousand acres; the eight signiories being the share of the eight proprietors, and the eight baronies of the nobility; both which shares, being each of them one fifth part of the whole, are to be perpetually annexed, the one to the proprietors, the other to the hereditary nobility, leaving the colonies, being three fifths, amongst the people; that so in setting out, and planting the lands, the balance of the government may be preserved. v. at any time before the year one thousand seven hundred and one, any of the lords proprietors shall have power to relinquish, alienate, and dispose, to any other person, his proprietorship, and all the signiories, powers, and interest, thereunto belonging, wholly and entirely together, and not otherwise. but, after the year one thousand seven hundred, those who are then lords proprietors shall not have power to alienate or make over their proprietorship, with the signiories and privileges thereunto belonging, or any part thereof, to any person whatsoever otherwise than as in paragraph xviii; but it shall all descend unto their heirs male, and, for want of heirs male, it shall all descend on that landgrave or cassique of carolina, who is descended of the next heirs female of the proprietor; and, for want of such heirs, it shall descend on the next heir general; and, for want of such heirs, the remaining seven proprietors shall, upon the vacancy, chuse a landgrave to succeed the deceased proprietor, who being chosen by the majority of the seven surviving proprietors, he and his heirs successively shall be proprietors, as fully to all intents and purposes as any of the rest. vi. that the number of eight proprietors may be constantly kept; if, upon the vacancy of any proprietorship, the seven surviving proprietors shall not chuse a landgrave to be a proprietor, before the second biennial parliament after the vacancy; then the next biennial parliament but one after such vacancy, shall have power to chuse any landgrave to be a proprietor. vii. whosoever after the year one thousand seven hundred, either by inheritance or choice, shall succeed any proprietor in his proprietorship, and signiories thereunto belonging shall be obliged to take the name and arms of that proprietor whom he succeeds; which from thenceforth shall be the name and arms of his family and their posterity. viii. whatsoever landgrave or cassique shall any way come to be a proprietor, shall take the signiories annexed to the said proprietorship; but his former dignity, with the baronies annexed, shall devolve into the hands of the lords proprietors. ix. there shall be just as many landgraves as there are counties, and twice as many cassiques, and no more. these shall be the hereditary nobility of the province, and by right of their dignity be members of parliament. each landgrave shall have four baronies, and each cassique two baronies, hereditarily and unalterably annexed to, and settled upon, the said dignity. x. the first landgraves and cassiques of the twelve first counties to be planted, shall be nominated thus; that is to say, of the twelve landgraves the lords proprietors shall each of them separately for himself nominate and chuse one; and the remaining four landgraves of the first twelve, shall be nominated and chosen by the palatine's court. in like manner of the twenty-four first cassiques, each proprietor for himself shall nominate and chuse two, and the remaining eight shall be nominated and chosen by the palatine's court; and when the twelve first counties shall be planted, the lords proprietors shall again in the same manner nominate and chuse twelve more landgraves, and twenty-four cassiques, for the twelve next counties to be planted; that is to say, two thirds of each number by the single nomination of each proprietor for himself, and the remaining one-third by the joint election of the palatine's court, and so proceed in the same manner till the whole province of carolina be set out and planted, according to the proportions in these fundamental constitutions. xi. any landgrave or cassique at any time before the year one thousand seven hundred and one shall have power to alienate, sell, or make over, to any other person, his dignity, with the baronies thereunto belonging, all entirely together. but, after the year one thousand seven hundred, no landgrave or cassique shall have power to alienate, sell, make over, or let, the hereditary baronies of his dignity, or any part thereof, therwise than as in paragraph xviii; but they shall all entirely, with the dignity thereunto belonging, descend unto his heirs male; and, for want of heirs male, all entirely and undivided, to the next heir general; and, for want of such heirs, shall devolve into the hands of the lords proprietors. xii. that the due number of landgraves and cassiques may be always kept up; if, upon the devolution of any land graveship or cassiqueship, the palatine's court shall not settle the devolved dignity, with the baronies thereunto annexed, before the second biennial parliament after such devolution; the next biennial parliament but one after such devolution shall have power to make any one landgrave or cassique in the room of him, who, dying without heirs, his dignity and baronies devolved. xiii. no one person shall have more than one dignity, with the signiories or baronies thereunto belonging. but whensoever it shall happen that any one, who is already proprietor, landgrave, of cassique, shall have any of these dignities descend to him by inheritance; it shall be at his choice to keep which of the dignities, with the land annexed, he shall like best; but shall leave the other, with the lands annexed, to be enjoyed by him, who, not being his heir apparent and certain successor to his present dignity, is next of blood. xiv. whosoever, by the right of inheritance, shall come to be landgrave or cassique, shall take the name and arms of his predecessor in that dignity, to be from thenceforth the name and arms of his family and their posterity. xv. since the dignity of proprietor, landgrave, or cassique, cannot be divided, and the signiories or baronies thereunto annexed must for ever all entirely descend with, and accompany that dignity; whensoever, for want of heirs male, it shall descend on the issue female, the eldest daughter and her heirs shall be preferred, and in the inheritance of those dignities, and the signiories or baronies annexed, there shall be no co-heirs. xvi. in every signiory, barony and manor, the respective lord shall have power, in his own name, to hold court-leet there, for trying of all causes both civil and criminal; but where it shall concern any person being no inhabitant, vassal, or leet-man of the said signiory, barony, or manor, he, upon paying down of forty shillings to the lords proprietor's use, shall have an appeal from the signiory or barony-court to the county-court, and from the manor-court to the precinct-court. xvii. every manor shall consist of not less than three thousand acres, and not above twelve thousand aces, in one entire piece and colony; but any three thousand acres or more in one piece, and the possession of one man, shall not be a manor unless it be constituted a manor by the grant of the palatine's court. xviii. the lords of signiories and baronies shall have power only of granting estates not exceeding three lives, or thirty-one years, in two thirds of the said signiories or baronies, and the remaining third shall be always demesne. xix. any lord of a manor may alienate, sell, or dispose, to any other person and his heirs for ever, his manor, all entirely together, with all the privileges and leet-men thereunto belonging, so far forth as any colony lands; but no grant of any part thereof, either in fee, or for any longer term than three lives, or one and twenty years, shall be good against the next heir. xx. no manor, for want of issue male, shall he divided amongst co-heirs; but the manor, if there be but one, shall all entirely descend to the eldest daughter and her heirs. if there be more manors than one, the eldest daughter first shall have her choice, the second next, and so on, beginning again at the eldest, till all the manors be taken up; that so the privileges which belong to manors being indivisible, the lands of the manors, to which they are annexed, may be kept entire, and the manor not lose those privileges, which, upon parceling out to several owners, must necessarily cease. xxi. every lord of a manor, within his manor, shall have all the powers, jurisdictions, and privileges, which a landgrave or cassique have in his baronies. xxii. in every signiory, barony, and manor, all the leet-men shall be under the jurisdiction of the respective lords of the said signiory, barony, or manor without appeal from him. nor shall any leet-man, or leet-woman, have liberty to go off from the land of their particular lord, and live any where else, without licence obtained from their said lord, under hand and seal. xxiii. all the children of leet-men shall be leet-men, and so to all generations. xxiv. no man shall be capable of having a court-leet, or leet-men, but a proprietor, landgrave, cassique, or lord of a manor. xxv. whoever shall voluntarily enter himself a leet-man, in the registry of the county-court, shall be a leet-man. xxvi. whoever is lord of leet-men, shall, upon the marriage of a leet-man or leet-woman of his, give them ten acres of land for their lives; they paying to him therefore not more than one eighth part of all the yearly produce and growth of the said ten acres. xxvii. no landgrave or cassique shall be tried for any criminal cause in any but the chief justice's court, and that by a jury of his peers. xxviii. there shall be eight supreme courts. the first called the palatine's court, consisting of the palatine and the other seven proprietors. the other seven courts of the other seven great officers, shall consist each of them of a proprietor, and six counsellors added to him. under each of these latter seven courts, shall be a college of twelve assistants. the twelve assistants of the several colleges shall be chosen, two out of the landgraves, cassiques, or eldest sons of proprietors, by the palatine's court; two out of the landgraves, by the landgraves chamber; two out of the cassiques, by the cassique's chamber; four more of the twelve shall be chosen by the commons chamber, out of such as have been, or are, members of parliament, sheriffs, or justices of the county court, or the younger sons of proprietors, or eldest sons of landgraves or cassiques; the two other shall be chosen by the palatine's court, out of the same sort of persons, out of which the commons chamber is to chuse. xxix. out of these colleges shall be chosen at first, by the palatine's court, six counsellors, to be joined with each proprietor in his court; of which six, one shall be of those who were chosen in any of the colleges by the palatine's court, out of the landgraves, cassiques, or eldest sons of proprietors; one out of those who were chosen by the landgraves chamber; and one out of those who were chosen by the cassiques chamber; two out of those who were chosen by the commons chamber; and one out of those who were chosen by the palatine's court, out of the proprietors younger sons, or eldest sons of landgraves, cassiques, or commons, qualified as aforesaid. xxx. when it shall happen that any counsellor dies, and thereby there is a vacancy, the grand council shall have power to remove any counsellor that is willing to be removed out of any of the proprietors courts to fill up the vacancy; provided they take a man of the same degree and choice the other was of, whose vacant place is to be filled up. but if no counsellor consent to be removed, or upon such remove, the last remaining vacant place, in any of the proprietor's courts, shall be filled up by the choice of the grand council, who shall have power to remove out of any of the colleges, any assistant, who is of the same degree and choice that counsellor was of, into whose vacant place he is to succeed. the grand council also shall have power to remove any assistant, that is willing, out of one college into another, provided he be of the same degree and choice. but the last remaining vacant place in any college, shall be filled up by the same choice, and out of the same degree of persons the assistant was of, who is dead or removed. no place shall be vacant in any proprietor's court above six months. no place shall be vacant in any college longer than the next session of parliament. xxxi. no man, being a member of the grand council, or of any of the seven colleges, shall be turned out but for misdemeanour, of which the grand council shall be judge; and the vacancy of the person so put out shall be filled, not by the election of the grand council, but by those who first chose him, and out of the same degree he was of who is expelled. but it is not hereby to be understood, that the grand council hath any power to turn out any one of the lords proprietors or their deputies, the lords proprietors having in themselves an inherent original right. xxxii. all elections in the parliament, in the several chambers of the parliament, and in the grand council, shall be passed by balloting. xxxiii. the palatine's court shall consist of the palatine and seven proprietors, wherein nothing shall be acted without the presence and consent of the palatine or his deputy, and three others of the proprietors or their deputies. this court shall have power to call parliaments, to pardon all offences, to make elections of all officers in the proprietor's dispose, and to nominate and appoint port towns; and also shall have power by their order to the treasurer to dispose of all public treasure, excepting money granted by the parliament, and by them directed to some particular public use; and also shall have a negative upon all acts, orders, votes and judgments, of the grand council and the parliament, except only as in paragraphs vi. and xii.; and shall have all the powers granted to the lords proprietors, by their patent from our sovereign lord the king, except in such things as are limited by these fundamental constitutions. xxxiv. the palatine himself, when he in person shall be either in the army or in any of the proprietors courts, shall then have the power of general, or of that proprietor, in whose court he is then present; and the proprietor, in whose court the palatine then presides, shall during his presence there be but as one of the council. xxxv. the chancellor's court, consisting of one of the proprietors, and his six counsellors, who shall be called vice-chancellors, shall have the custody of the seal of the palatine, under which all charters of lands, or otherwise, commissions and grants of the palatine's court, shall pass. and it shall not be lawful to put the seal of the palatinate to any writing, which is not signed by the palatine or his deputy, and three other proprietors or their deputies. to this court also belong all state matters, dispatches, and treaties with the neighbour indians. to this court also belong all invasions of the law, of liberty of conscience, and all disturbances of the public peace, upon pretence of religion, as also the licence of printing. the twelve assistants belonging to this court shall be called recorders. xxxvi. whatever passes under the seal of the palatinate, shall be registered in that proprietor's court, to which the matter therein contained belongs. xxxvii. the chancellor or his deputy shall be always speaker in parliament, and president of the grand council, and, in his and his deputy's absence, one of his vice-chancellors. xxxviii. the chief justice's court, consisting of one of the proprietors and his six counsellors, who shall be called justices of the bench, shall judge all appeals in cases both civil and criminal, except all such cases as shall be under the jurisdiction and cognizance of any other of the proprietor's courts, which shall be tried in those courts respectively. the government and regulation of the registries of writings and contracts, shall belong to the jurisdiction of this court. the twelve assistants of this court shall be called masters. xxxix. the constable's court, consisting of one of the proprietors and his six counsellors, who shall be called marshals, shall order and determine of all military affairs by land, and all land-forces, arms, ammunition, artillery, garrisons, forts, &c. and whatever belongs unto war. his twelve assistants shall be called lieutenant-generals. xl. in time of actual war, the constable, while he is in the army, shall be general of the army, and the six counsellors, or such of them as the palatine's court shall for that time or service appoint, shall be the immediate great officers under him, and the lieutenant-generals next to them. xli. the admiral's court, consisting of one of the proprietors, and his six counsellors, called consuls, shall have the care and inspection over all ports, moles, and navigable rivers, so far as the tide flows, and also all the public shipping of carolina, and stores thereunto belonging, and all maritime affairs. this court also shall have the power of the court of admiralty; and shall have power to constitute judges in port-towns, to try cases belonging to law-merchant, as shall be most convenient for trade. the twelve assistants, belonging to this court, shall be called proconsuls. xlii. in time of actual war, the admiral, whilst he is at sea, shall command in chief, and his six counsellors, or such of them as the palatine's court shall for that time and service appoint, shall be the immediate great officers under him, and the proconsuls next to them. xliii. the treasurer's court, consisting of a proprietor and his his counsellors, called under-treasurers, shall take care of all matters that concern the public revenue and treasury. the twelve assistants shall be called auditors. xliv. the high-steward's court, consisting of a proprietor and his six counsellors, called comptrollers, shall have the care of all foreign and domestic trade, manufactures, public buildings, work-houses, high-ways, passages by water above the flood of the tide, drains, sewers, and banks against inundations, bridges, post, carriers, fairs, markets, corruption or infection of the common air or water, and all things in order to the public commerce and health; also setting out and surveying of lands; and also setting out and appointing places for towns to be built on in the precincts, and the prescribing and determining the figure and bigness of the said towns, according to such models as the said court shall order; contrary or differing from which models it shall not be lawful for any one to build in any town. this court shall have power also to make any public building, or any new highway, or enlarge any old high-way, upon any man's land whatsoever; as also to make cuts, channels, banks, locks, and bridges, for making rivers navigable, or for draining fens, or any other public use. the damage the owner of such lands (on or through which any such public things shall be made) shall receive thereby, shall be valued, and satisfaction made by such ways as the grand council shall appoint. the twelve assistants, belonging to this court, shall be called surveyors. xlv. the chamberlain's court, consisting of a proprietor and his six counsellors, called vice-chamberlains, shall have the care of all ceremonies, precedency, heraldry, reception of public messengers, pedigrees, the registry of all births, burials, and marriages, legitimation, and all cases concerning matrimony, or arising from it; and shall also have power to regulate all fashions, habits, badges, games and sports. to this court also it shall belong to convocate the grand council. the twelve assistants, belonging to this court, shall be called provosts. xlvi. all causes belonging to, or under the jurisdiction of, any of the proprietors courts, shall in them respectively be tried, and ultimately determined, without any farther appeal. xlvii. the proprietors courts shall have a power to mitigate all fines, and suspend all executions in criminal causes, either before or after sentence, in any of the other inferior courts respectively. xlviii. in all debates, hearings, or trials, in any of the proprietor's courts, the twelve assistants belonging to the said courts respectively, shall have liberty to be present, but shall not interpose, unless their opinions be required, nor have any vote at all; but their business shall be, by the direction of the respective courts, to prepare such business as shall be committed to them; as also to bear such offices, and dispatch such affairs, either where the court is kept or elsewhere as the court shall think fit. xlix. in all the proprietors courts, the proprietor, and any three of his counsellors, shall make a quorum; provided always, that, for the better dispatch of business, it shall be in the power of the palatine's court, to direct what sort of causes shall be heard and determined by a quorum of any three. l. the grand council shall consist of the palatine and seven proprietors, and the forty-two counsellors of the several proprietors courts, who shall have power to determine any controversies that may arise between any of the proprietors courts, about their respective jurisdictions, or between the members of the same court, about their manner and methods of proceeding; to make peace and war, leagues, treaties, &c. with any of the neighbour indians; to issue out their general orders to the constable's and admiral's courts, for the raising, disposing, or disbanding the forces, by land or by sea. li. the grand council shall prepare all matters to be proposed in parliament. nor shall any matter whatsoever be proposed in parliament, but what hath first passed the grand council; which, after having been read three several days in the parliament, shall by majority of votes be passed or rejected. lii. the grand council shall always be judges of all causes and appeals that concern the palatine, or any of the lords proprietors, or any counsellor of any proprietor's court, in any cause, which otherwise should have been tried in the court in which the said counsellor is judge himself. liii. the grand council, by their warrants to the treasurer's court, shall dispose of all the money given by the parliament and by them directed to any particular public use. liv. the quorum of the grand council shall be thirteen, whereof a proprietor or his deputy shall be always one. lv. the grand council shall meet the first tuesday in every month, and as much oftener as either they shall think fit, or they shall be convocated by the chamberlain's court. lvi. the palatine, or any of the lords proprietors, shall have power under hand and seal, to be registered in the grand council, to make a deputy, who shall have the same power to all intents and purposes as he himself who deputes him; except in confirming acts of parliament, as in paragraph lxxvi, and except also in nominating and chusing landgraves and cassiques, as in paragraph x. all such deputations shall cease and determine at the end of four years, and at any time shall be revocable at the pleasure of the deputator. lvii. no deputy of any proprietor shall have any power whilst the deputator is in any part of carolina, except the proprietor, whose deputy he is, be a minor. lviii. during the minority of any proprietor his guardian shall have power to constitute and appoint his deputy. lix. the eldest of the lords proprietors, who shall be personally in carolina, shall of course be the palatine's deputy, and if no proprietor be in carolina, he shall chuse his deputy out of the heirs apparent of any of the proprietors, if any such be there; and if there be no heir apparent of any of the lords proprietors above one and twenty years old in carolina, then he shall chuse for deputy any one of the landgraves of the grand council; and till he have by deputation under hand and seal chosen any one of the forementioned heirs apparent or landgraves to be his deputy, the eldest man of the landgraves, and, for want of a landgrave, the eldest man of the cassiques, who shall be personally in carolina, shall of course be his deputy. lx. each proprietor's deputy shall be always one of his own six counsellors respectively; and in case any of the proprietors hath not, in his absence out of carolina, a deputy, commissioned under his hand and seal, the eldest nobleman of his court shall of course be his deputy. lxi. in every county there shall be a court, consisting of a sheriff, and four justices of the county, for every precinct one. the sheriff shall be an inhabitant of the county, and have at least five hundred acres of freehold within the said county; and the justices shall be inhabitants, and have each of them five hundred acres a-piece freehold within the precinct for which they serve respectively. these five shall be chosen and commissioned from time to time by the palatine's court. lxii. for any personal causes exceeding the value of two hundred pounds sterling, or in title of land, or in any criminal cause; either party, upon paying twenty pounds sterling to the lords proprietors use, shall have liberty of appeal from the county-court unto the respective proprietor's court. lxiii. in every precinct there shall be a court consisting of a steward and four justices of the precinct, being inhabitants, and having three hundred acres of freehold within the said precinct, who shall judge all criminal causes; except for treason, murder, and any other offences punishable with death, and except all criminal causes of the nobility; and shall judge also all civil causes whatsoever; and in all personal actions not exceeding fifty pounds sterling, without appeal; but where the cause shall exceed that value, or concern a title of land, and in all criminal causes; there either party, upon paying five pounds sterling to the lords proprietors use, shall have liberty of appeal to the county-court. lxiv. no cause shall be twice tried in any one court, upon any reason or pretence whatsoever. lxv. for treason, murder, and all other offences punishable with death, there shall be a commission, twice a year at least, granted onto one or more members of the grand council or colleges, who shall come as itinerant judges to the several counties, and with the sheriff and four justices shall hold assizes to judge all such causes; but, upon paying of fifty pounds sterling to the lords proprietors use, there shall be liberty of appeal to the respective proprietor's court. lxvi. the grand jury at the several assizes, shall, upon their oaths, and under their hands and seals, deliver in to the itinerant judges a presentment of such grievances, misdemeanors, exigences, or defects, which they think necessary for the public good of the county; which presentments shall, by the itinerant judges, at the end of their circuit, be delivered in to the grand council at their next sitting. and whatsoever therein concerns the execution of laws already made; the several proprietors courts, in the matters belonging to each of them respectively, shall take cognizance of it and give such order about it, as shall be effectual for the due execution of the laws. but whatever concerns the making of any new law, shall be referred to the several respective courts to which that matter belongs, and be by them prepared and brought to the grand council. lxvii. for terms, there shall be quarterly such a certain number of days, not exceeding one and twenty at any one time, as the several respective courts shall appoint. the time for the beginning of the term, in the precinct-court, shall be the first monday in january, april, july, and october; in the county-court, the first monday in february, may, august, and november, and in the proprietors courts, the first monday in march, june, september, and december. lxviii. in the precinct-court no man shall be a jury-man under fifty acres of freehold. in the county-court, or at the assizes, no man shall be a grand jury-man under three hundred acres of freehold; and no man shall be a petty jury-man under two hundred acres of freehold. in the proprietors courts no man shall be a jury-man under five hundred acres of freehold. lxix. every jury shall consist of twelve men; and it shall not be necessary they should all agree, but the verdict shall be according to the consent of the majority. lxx. it shall be a base and vile thing to plead for money or reward; nor shall any one (except he be a near kinsman, not farther off than cousin-german to the party concerned) be permitted to plead another man's cause, till, before the judge in open court, he hath taken an oath, that he doth not plead for money or reward, nor hath nor will receive, nor directly nor indirectly bargained with the party, whose cause he is going to plead; for money or any other reward for pleading his cause. lxxi. there shall be a parliament, consisting of the proprietors or their deputies, the landgraves and cassiques, and one freeholder out of every precinct, to be chosen by the freeholders of the said precinct respectively. they shall sit all together in one room, and have every member one vote. lxxii. no man shall be chosen a member of parliament, who hath less than five hundred acres of freehold within the precinct for which he is chosen; nor shall any have a vote in chusing the said member that hath less than fifty acres of free-hold within the said precinct. lxxiii. a new parliament shall be assembled the first monday of the month of november every second year, and shall meet and sit in the town they last sat in, without any summons, unless by the palatine's court they be summoned to meet at any other place. and if there shall be any occasion of a parliament in these intervals, it shall be in the power of the palatine's court to assemble them in forty days notice, and at such time and place as the said court shall think fit; and the palatine's court shall have power to dissolve the said parliament when they shall think fit. lxxiv. at the opening of every parliament, the first thing that shall be done, shall be the reading of these fundamental constitutions, which the palatine and proprietors, and the rest of the members then present shall subscribe. nor shall any person whatsoever sit or vote in the parliament, till he hath that session subscribed these fundamental constitutions, in a book kept for that purpose by the clerk of the parliament. lxxv. in order to the due election of members for the biennial parliament, it shall be lawful for the freeholders of the respective precincts to meet the first tuesday in september every two years, in the same town or place that they last met in, to chuse parliament-men; and there chuse those members that are to sit the next november following, unless the steward of the precinct shall, by sufficient notice thirty days before, appoint some other place for their meeting, in order to the election. lxxvi. no act or order of parliament shall be of any force, unless it he ratified in open parliament during the same session, by the palatine or his deputy, and three more of the lords proprietors or their deputies; and then not to continue longer in force but until the next biennial parliament, unless in the mean time it be ratified under the hands and seals of the palatine himself, and three more of the lords proprietors themselves, and by their order published at the next biennial parliament. lxxvii. any proprietor or his deputy may enter his protestation against any act of the parliament, before the palatine or his deputy's consent be given as aforesaid; if he shall conceive the said act to be contrary to this establishment, or any of these fundamental constitutions of the government. and in such case, after full and free debate, the several estates shall retire into four several chambers; the palatine and proprietors into one; the landgraves into another; the cassiques into another; and those chosen by the precincts into a fourth: and if the major part of any of the four estates shall vote that the law is not agreeable to this establishment and these fundamental constitutions of the government, then it shall pass no farther, but be as if it had never been proposed. lxxviii. the quorum of the parliament shall be one half of those who are members, and capable of fitting in the house that present session of parliament. the quorum of each of the chambers of parliament shall be one half of the members of that chamber. lxxix. to avoid multiplicity of laws, which by degrees always change the right foundations of the original government, all acts of parliament whatsoever, in whatsoever form passed or enacted, shall, at the end of an hundred years after their enacting, respectively cease and determine of themselves, and without any repeal become null and void, as if no such acts of laws had ever been made. lxxx. since multiplicity of comments, as well as of laws, have great inconveniences, and serve only to obscure and perplex; all manner of comments and expositions on any part of these fundamental constitutions, or any part of the common or statute law of carolina, are absolutely prohibited. lxxxi. there shall be a registry in every precinct, wherein shall be enrolled all deeds, leases, judgments, mortgages, and other conveyances, which may concern any of the land within the said precinct; and all such conveyances not so entered or registered, shall not be of force against any person nor party to the said contract or conveyance. lxxxii. no man shall be register of any precinct, who hath not at least three hundred acres of freehold within the said precinct. lxxxiii. the freeholders of every precinct shall nominate three men; out of which three, the chief justice's court shall chuse and commission one to be register of the said precinct, whilst he shall well behave himself. lxxxiv. there shall be a registry in every signiory, barony, and colony, wherein shall be recorded all the births, marriages and deaths, that shall happen within the respective signiories, baronies, and colonies. lxxxv. no man shall be register of a colony, that hath not above fifty acres of freehold within the said colony. lxxxvi. the time of every one's age, that is born in carolina, shall be reckoned from the day that his birth is entered in the registry, and not before. lxxxvii. no marriage shall be lawful, whatever contract and ceremony they have used, till both the parties mutually own it before the register of the place where they were married, and he register it, with the names of the father and mother of each party. lxxxviii. no man shall administer to the goods, or have right to them, or enter upon the estate of any person deceased, till his death be registered in the respective registry. lxxxix. he that doth not enter in the respective registry the birth or death of any person that is born or dies in his house or ground, shall pay to the said register one shilling per week for each such neglect, reckoning from the time of each birth or death respectively, to the time of registering it. xc. in like manner the births, marriages, and deaths of the lords proprietors, landgraves, and cassiques, shall be registered in the chamberlain's court. xci. there shall be in every colony one constable to be chosen annually by the freeholders of the colony; his estate shall be above a hundred acres of freehold within the said colony, and such subordinate officers appointed for his assistance as the county-court shall find requisite, and shall be established by the said county-court. the election of the subordinate annual officers shall be also in the freeholders of the colony. xcii. all towns incorporate shall be governed by a mayor, twelve aldermen, and twenty-four of the common-council. the said common-council shall be chosen by the present housholders of the said town; the aldermen shall be chosen out of the common-council; and the mayor out of the aldermen, by the palatine's court. xciii. it being of great consequence to the plantation, that port-towns should be built and preserved; therefore, whosoever shall lade or unlade any commodity at any other place but a port-town, shall forfeit to the lord's proprietors for each run so laden or unladen, the sum of ten pounds sterling; except only such goods as the palatine's court shall license to be laden or unladen elsewhere. xciv. the first port-town upon every river shall be in a colony, and be a port-town for ever. xcv. no man shall be permitted to be a freeman of carolina, or to have any estate or habitation within it, that doth not acknowledge a god; and that god is publicly and solemnly to be worshipped. xcvi. [as the country comes to be sufficiently planted and distributed into fit divisions, it shall belong to the parliament to take care for the building of churches, and the public maintenance of divines, to be employed in the exercise of religion, according to the church of england; which being the only true and orthodox, and the national religion of all the king's dominions, is so also of carolina; and therefore it alone shall be allowed to receive public maintenance, by grant of parliament].[ ] [ ] this article was not drawn up by mr. locke; but inserted by some of the chief of the proprietors, against his judgment; as mr. locke himself informed one of his friends, to whom he presented a copy of these constitutions. xcvii. but since the natives of that place, who will be concerned in our plantation, are utterly strangers to christianity, whose idolatry, ignorance, or mistake, gives us no right to expel, or use them ill; and those who remove from other parts to plant there, will unavoidably be of different opinions concerning matters of religion, the liberty whereof they will expect to have allowed them, and it will not be reasonable for us on this account to keep them out; that civil peace may be maintained amidst the diversity of opinions, and our agreement and compact with all men may be duly and faithfully observed; the violation whereof, upon what pretence soever, cannot be without great offence to almighty god, and great scandal to the true religion, which we profess; and also that jews, heathens, and other dissenters from the purity of christian religion, may not be scared and kept at a distance from it, but, by having an opportunity of acquainting themselves with the truth and reasonableness of its doctrines, and the peaceableness and inoffensiveness of its professors, may by good usage and persuasion, and all those convincing methods of gentleness and meekness suitable to the rules and design of the gospel, be won over to embrace and unfeignedly receive the truth; therefore any seven or more persons agreeing in any religion, shall constitute a church or profession, to which they shall give some name, to distinguish it from others. xcviii. the terms of admittance and communion with any church or profession, shall be written in a book, and therein be subscribed by all the members of the said church or profession; which book shall be kept by the public register of the precinct where they reside. xcix. the time of every one's subscription and admittance shall be dated in the said book of religious record. c. in the terms of communion of every church or profession, these following shall be three; without which no agreement or assembly of men, upon pretence of religion, shall be accounted a church or profession within these rules: . "that there is a god. . "that god is publicly to be worshipped. . "that it is lawful and the duty of every man, being thereunto called by those that govern, to bear witness to truth; and that every church or profession shall, in their terms of communion, set down the external way whereby they witness a truth as in the presence of god, whether it be by laying hands on, or kissing the bible, as in the church of england, or by holding up the hand, or any other sensible way." ci. no person above seventeen years of age shall have any benefit or protection of the law, or be capable of any place of profit or honour, who is not a member of some church or profession, having his name recorded in some one, and but one religious record at once. cii. no person of any other church or profession shall disturb or molest any religious assembly. ciii. no person whatsoever shall speak any thing in their religious assembly irreverently or seditiously of the government, or governors, or state matters. civ. any person subscribing the terms of communion in the record of the said church or profession, before the precinct register, and any five members of the said church or profession, shall be thereby made a member of the said church or profession. cv. any person striking out his own name out of any religious record, or his name being struck out by any officer thereunto authorised by each church or profession respectively, shall cease to be a member of that church or profession. cvi. no man shall use any reproachful, reviling, or abusive language, against the religion of any church or profession; that being the certain way of disturbing the peace, and of hindering the conversion of any to the truth, by engaging them in quarrels and animosities, to the hatred of the professors and that profession, which otherwise they might be brought to assent to. cvii. since charity obliges us to wish well to the souls of all men, and religion ought to alter nothing in any man's civil estate or right, it shall be lawful for slaves, as well as others, to enter themselves, and be of what church or profession any of them shall think best, and therefore be as fully members as any freeman. but yet no slave shall hereby be exempted from that civil dominion his master hath over him, but be in all other things in the same state and condition he was in before. cviii. assemblies, upon what pretence soever of religion, not observing and performing the abovesaid rules, shall not be esteemed as churches, but unlawful meetings, and be punished as other riots. cix. no person whatsoever shall disturb, molest, or persecute another for his speculative opinions in religion, or his way of worship. cx. every freeman of carolina shall have absolute power and authority over his negro slaves, of what opinion or religion soever. cxi. no cause, whether civil or criminal, of any freeman, shall be tried in any court of judicature, without a jury of his peers. cxii. no person whatsoever shall hold or claim any land in carolina by purchase or gift, or otherwise, from the natives, or any other whatsoever; but merely from and under the lords proprietors; upon pain of forfeiture of all his estate, moveable or immoveable, and perpetual banishment. cxiii. whosoever shall possess any freehold in carolina, upon what title or grant soever, shall, at the farthest, from and after the year one thousand six hundred and eighty-nine, pay yearly unto the lords proprietors for each acre of land, english measure, as much fine silver as is at this present in one english penny, or the value thereof, to be as a chief rent and acknowledgment to the lords proprietors; their heirs and successors, for ever. and it shall be lawful for the palatine's court, by their officers at any time, to take a new survey of any man's land, not to out him of any part of his possession, but that by such a survey the just number of acres he possesseth may be known, and the rent thereupon due may be paid by him. cxiv. all wrecks, mines, minerals, quarries of gems, and precious stones, with pearl-fishing, whale-fishing, and one half of all ambergrease, by whomsoever found, shall wholly belong to the lords proprietors. cxv. all revenues and profits belonging to the lords proprietors in common shall be divided into ten parts, whereof the palatine shall have three and each proprietor one; but if the palatine shall govern by a deputy, his deputy shall have one of those three tenths, and the palatine the other two tenths. cxvi. all inhabitants and freemen of carolina above seventeen years of age, and under sixty, shall be bound to bear arms, and serve as soldiers whenever the grand council shall find it necessary. cxvii. a true copy of three fundamental constitutions shall be kept in a great book by the register of every precinct, to be subscribed before the said register. nor shall any person, of what condition or degree soever, above seventeen years old, have any estate or possession in carolina, or protection or benefit of the law there, who hath not before a precinct register subscribed three fundamental constitutions in this form: "i a. b. do promise to bear faith and true allegiance to our sovereign lord king charles the second, his heirs and successors; and will be true and faithful to the palatine and lords proprietors of carolina, their heirs and successors; and with my utmost power will defend them, and maintain the government according to this establishment in these fundamental constitutions." cxviii. whatsoever alien shall, in this form, before any precinct register, subscribe these fundamental constitutions, shall be thereby naturalized. cxix. in the same manner shall every person, at his admittance into any office, subscribe these fundamental constitutions. cxx. these fundamental constitutions, in number a hundred and twenty, and every part thereof, shall be and remain the sacred and unalterable form and rule of government of carolina for ever. witness our hands and seals, the first day of march, . rules of precedency. i. the lords proprietors; the eldest in age first, and so in order. ii. the eldest sons of the lords proprietors; the eldest in age first, and so in order. iii. the landgraves of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order. iv. the cassiques of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order. v. the seven commoners of the grand council that have been longest of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order. vi. the younger sons of proprietors; the eldest first, and so in order. vii. the landgraves; the eldest in age first, and so in order. viii. the seven commoners, who, next to those before-mentioned, have been longest of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order. ix. the cassiques; the eldest in age first, and so in order. x. the seven remaining commoners of the grand council; he that hath been longest of the grand council first, and so in order. xi. the male line of the proprietors. the rest shall be determined by the chamberlain's court. none produced from scans of public domain material produced by microsoft for their live search books site.) [illustration: cover] [illustration: "den i tell him 'bout de man down dar in de gully" --_free joe_] free joe and other georgian sketches by joel chandler harris author of "uncle remus," etc., etc. _illustrated_ p. f. collier & son new york copyright by charles scribner's sons _free joe_ contents page free joe little compton aunt fountain's prisoner trouble on lost mountain azalia free joe and the rest of the world the name of free joe strikes humorously upon the ear of memory. it is impossible to say why, for he was the humblest, the simplest, and the most serious of all god's living creatures, sadly lacking in all those elements that suggest the humorous. it is certain, moreover, that in the sober-minded citizens of the little georgian village of hillsborough were not inclined to take a humorous view of free joe, and neither his name nor his presence provoked a smile. he was a black atom, drifting hither and thither without an owner, blown about by all the winds of circumstance, and given over to shiftlessness. the problems of one generation are the paradoxes of a succeeding one, particularly if war, or some such incident, intervenes to clarify the atmosphere and strengthen the understanding. thus, in , free joe represented not only a problem of large concern, but, in the watchful eyes of hillsborough, he was the embodiment of that vague and mysterious danger that seemed to be forever lurking on the outskirts of slavery, ready to sound a shrill and ghostly signal in the impenetrable swamps, and steal forth under the midnight stars to murder, rapine, and pillage--a danger always threatening, and yet never assuming shape; intangible, and yet real; impossible, and yet not improbable. across the serene and smiling front of safety, the pale outlines of the awful shadow of insurrection sometimes fell. with this invisible panorama as a background, it was natural that the figure of free joe, simple and humble as it was, should assume undue proportions. go where he would, do what he might, he could not escape the finger of observation and the kindling eye of suspicion. his lightest words were noted, his slightest actions marked. under all the circumstances it was natural that his peculiar condition should reflect itself in his habits and manners. the slaves laughed loudly day by day, but free joe rarely laughed. the slaves sang at their work and danced at their frolics, but no one ever heard free joe sing or saw him dance. there was something painfully plaintive and appealing in his attitude, something touching in his anxiety to please. he was of the friendliest nature, and seemed to be delighted when he could amuse the little children who had made a playground of the public square. at times he would please them by making his little dog dan perform all sorts of curious tricks, or he would tell them quaint stories of the beasts of the field and birds of the air; and frequently he was coaxed into relating the story of his own freedom. that story was brief, but tragical. in the year of our lord , when a negro speculator of a sportive turn of mind reached the little village of hillsborough on his way to the mississippi region, with a caravan of likely negroes of both sexes, he found much to interest him. in that day and at that time there were a number of young men in the village who had not bound themselves over to repentance for the various misdeeds of the flesh. to these young men the negro speculator (major frampton was his name) proceeded to address himself. he was a virginian, he declared; and, to prove the statement, he referred all the festively inclined young men of hillsborough to a barrel of peach-brandy in one of his covered wagons. in the minds of these young men there was less doubt in regard to the age and quality of the brandy than there was in regard to the negro trader's birthplace. major frampton might or might not have been born in the old dominion--that was a matter for consideration and inquiry--but there could be no question as to the mellow pungency of the peach-brandy. in his own estimation, major frampton was one of the most accomplished of men. he had summered at the virginia springs; he had been to philadelphia, to washington, to richmond, to lynchburg, and to charleston, and had accumulated a great deal of experience which he found useful. hillsborough was hid in the woods of middle georgia, and its general aspect of innocence impressed him. he looked on the young men who had shown their readiness to test his peach-brandy as overgrown country boys who needed to be introduced to some of the arts and sciences he had at his command. thereupon the major pitched his tents, figuratively speaking, and became, for the time being, a part and parcel of the innocence that characterized hillsborough. a wiser man would doubtless have made the same mistake. the little village possessed advantages that seemed to be providentially arranged to fit the various enterprises that major frampton had in view. there was the auction block in front of the stuccoed court-house, if he desired to dispose of a few of his negroes; there was a quarter-track, laid out to his hand and in excellent order, if he chose to enjoy the pleasures of horse-racing; there were secluded pine thickets within easy reach, if he desired to indulge in the exciting pastime of cock-fighting; and variously lonely and unoccupied rooms in the second story of the tavern, if he cared to challenge the chances of dice or cards. major frampton tried them all with varying luck, until he began his famous game of poker with judge alfred wellington, a stately gentleman with a flowing white beard and mild blue eyes that gave him the appearance of a benevolent patriarch. the history of the game in which major frampton and judge alfred wellington took part is something more than a tradition in hillsborough, for there are still living three or four men who sat around the table and watched its progress. it is said that at various stages of the game major frampton would destroy the cards with which they were playing, and send for a new pack, but the result was always the same. the mild blue eyes of judge wellington, with few exceptions, continued to overlook "hands" that were invincible--a habit they had acquired during a long and arduous course of training from saratoga to new orleans. major frampton lost his money, his horses, his wagons, and all his negroes but one, his body-servant. when his misfortune had reached this limit, the major adjourned the game. the sun was shining brightly, and all nature was cheerful. it is said that the major also seemed to be cheerful. however this may be, he visited the court-house, and executed the papers that gave his body-servant his freedom. this being done, major frampton sauntered into a convenient pine thicket, and blew out his brains. the negro thus freed came to be known as free joe. compelled, under the law, to choose a guardian, he chose judge wellington, chiefly because his wife lucinda was among the negroes won from major frampton. for several years free joe had what may be called a jovial time. his wife lucinda was well provided for, and he found it a comparatively easy matter to provide for himself; so that, taking all the circumstances into consideration, it is not matter for astonishment that he became somewhat shiftless. when judge wellington died, free joe's troubles began. the judge's negroes, including lucinda, went to his half-brother, a man named calderwood, who was a hard master and a rough customer generally--a man of many eccentricities of mind and character. his neighbors had a habit of alluding to him as "old spite"; and the name seemed to fit him so completely that he was known far and near as "spite" calderwood. he probably enjoyed the distinction the name gave him, at any rate he never resented it, and it was not often that he missed an opportunity to show that he deserved it. calderwood's place was two or three miles from the village of hillsborough, and free joe visited his wife twice a week, wednesday and saturday nights. one sunday he was sitting in front of lucinda's cabin, when calderwood happened to pass that way. "howdy, marster?" said free joe, taking off his hat. "who are you?" exclaimed calderwood abruptly, halting and staring at the negro. "i'm name' joe, marster. i'm lucindy's ole man." "who do you belong to?" "marse john evans is my gyardeen, marster." "big name--gyardeen. show your pass." free joe produced that document, and calderwood read it aloud slowly, as if he found it difficult to get at the meaning: "_to whom it may concern: this is to certify that the boy joe frampton has my permission to visit his wife lucinda._" this was dated at hillsborough, and signed "_john w. evans_." calderwood read it twice, and then looked at free joe, elevating his eyebrows, and showing his discolored teeth. "some mighty big words in that there. evans owns this place, i reckon. when's he comin' down to take hold?" free joe fumbled with his hat. he was badly frightened. "lucindy say she speck you wouldn't min' my comin', long ez i behave, marster." calderwood tore the pass in pieces and flung it away. "don't want no free niggers 'round here," he exclaimed. "there's the big road. it'll carry you to town. don't let me catch you here no more. now, mind what i tell you." free joe presented a shabby spectacle as he moved off with his little dog dan slinking at his heels. it should be said in behalf of dan, however, that his bristles were up, and that he looked back and growled. it may be that the dog had the advantage of insignificance, but it is difficult to conceive how a dog bold enough to raise his bristles under calderwood's very eyes could be as insignificant as free joe. but both the negro and his little dog seemed to give a new and more dismal aspect to forlornness as they turned into the road and went toward hillsborough. after this incident free joe appeared to have clearer ideas concerning his peculiar condition. he realized the fact that though he was free he was more helpless than any slave. having no owner, every man was his master. he knew that he was the object of suspicion, and therefore all his slender resources (ah! how pitifully slender they were!) were devoted to winning, not kindness and appreciation, but toleration; all his efforts were in the direction of mitigating the circumstances that tended to make his condition so much worse than that of the negroes around him--negroes who had friends because they had masters. so far as his own race was concerned, free joe was an exile. if the slaves secretly envied him his freedom (which is to be doubted, considering his miserable condition), they openly despised him, and lost no opportunity to treat him with contumely. perhaps this was in some measure the result of the attitude which free joe chose to maintain toward them. no doubt his instinct taught him that to hold himself aloof from the slaves would be to invite from the whites the toleration which he coveted, and without which even his miserable condition would be rendered more miserable still. his greatest trouble was the fact that he was not allowed to visit his wife; but he soon found a way out of his difficulty. after he had been ordered away from the calderwood place, he was in the habit of wandering as far in that direction as prudence would permit. near the calderwood place, but not on calderwood's land, lived an old man named micajah staley and his sister becky staley. these people were old and very poor. old micajah had a palsied arm and hand; but, in spite of this, he managed to earn a precarious living with his turning-lathe. when he was a slave free joe would have scorned these representatives of a class known as poor white trash, but now he found them sympathetic and helpful in various ways. from the back door of their cabin he could hear the calderwood negroes singing at night, and he sometimes fancied he could distinguish lucinda's shrill treble rising above the other voices. a large poplar grew in the woods some distance from the staley cabin, and at the foot of this tree free joe would sit for hours with his face turned toward calderwood's. his little dog dan would curl up in the leaves near by, and the two seemed to be as comfortable as possible. one saturday afternoon free joe, sitting at the foot of this friendly poplar, fell asleep. how long he slept, he could not tell; but when he awoke little dan was licking his face, the moon was shining brightly, and lucinda his wife stood before him laughing. the dog, seeing that free joe was asleep, had grown somewhat impatient, and he concluded to make an excursion to the calderwood place on his own account. lucinda was inclined to give the incident a twist in the direction of superstition. "i 'uz settn' down front er de fireplace," she said, "cookin' me some meat, w'en all of a sudden i year sumpin at de do'--scratch, scratch. i tuck'n tu'n de meat over, en make out i ain't year it. bimeby it come dar 'gin--scratch, scratch. i up en open de do', i did, en, bless de lord! dar wuz little dan, en it look like ter me dat his ribs done grow terge'er. i gin 'im some bread, en den, w'en he start out, i tuck'n foller 'im, kaze, i say ter myse'f, maybe my nigger man mought be some'rs 'roun'. dat ar little dog got sense, mon." free joe laughed and dropped his hand lightly on dan's head. for a long time after that he had no difficulty in seeing his wife. he had only to sit by the poplar tree until little dan could run and fetch her. but after a while the other negroes discovered that lucinda was meeting free joe in the woods, and information of the fact soon reached calderwood's ears. calderwood was what is called a man of action. he said nothing; but one day he put lucinda in his buggy, and carried her to macon, sixty miles away. he carried her to macon, and came back without her; and nobody in or around hillsborough, or in that section, ever saw her again. for many a night after that free joe sat in the woods and waited. little dan would run merrily off and be gone a long time, but he always came back without lucinda. this happened over and over again. the "willis-whistlers" would call and call, like fantom huntsmen wandering on a far-off shore; the screech-owl would shake and shiver in the depths of the woods; the night-hawks, sweeping by on noiseless wings, would snap their beaks as though they enjoyed the huge joke of which free joe and little dan were the victims; and the whip-poor-wills would cry to each other through the gloom. each night seemed to be lonelier than the preceding, but free joe's patience was proof against loneliness. there came a time, however, when little dan refused to go after lucinda. when free joe motioned him in the direction of the calderwood place, he would simply move about uneasily and whine; then he would curl up in the leaves and make himself comfortable. one night, instead of going to the poplar tree to wait for lucinda, free joe went to the staley cabin, and, in order to make his welcome good, as he expressed it, he carried with him an armful of fat-pine splinters. miss becky staley had a great reputation in those parts as a fortune-teller, and the schoolgirls, as well as older people, often tested her powers in this direction, some in jest and some in earnest. free joe placed his humble offering of light-wood in the chimney corner, and then seated himself on the steps, dropping his hat on the ground outside. "miss becky," he said presently, "whar in de name er gracious you reckon lucindy is?" "well, the lord he'p the nigger!" exclaimed miss becky, in a tone that seemed to reproduce, by some curious agreement of sight with sound, her general aspect of peakedness. "well, the lord he'p the nigger! hain't you been a-seein' her all this blessed time? she's over at old spite calderwood's, if she's anywheres, i reckon." "no'm, dat i ain't, miss becky. i ain't seen lucindy in now gwine on mighty nigh a mont'." "well, it hain't a-gwine to hurt you," said miss becky, somewhat sharply. "in my day an' time it wuz allers took to be a bad sign when niggers got to honeyin' 'roun' an' gwine on." "yessum," said free joe, cheerfully assenting to the proposition--"yessum, dat's so, but me an' my ole 'oman, we 'uz raise terge'er, en dey ain't bin many days w'en we 'uz' 'way fum one 'n'er like we is now." "maybe she's up an' took up wi' some un else," said micajah staley from the corner. "you know what the sayin' is: 'new master, new nigger.'" "dat's so, dat's de sayin', but tain't wid my ole 'oman like 'tis wid yuther niggers. me en her wuz des natally raise up terge'er. dey's lots likelier niggers dan w'at i is," said free joe, viewing his shabbiness with a critical eye, "but i knows lucindy mos' good ez i does little dan dar--dat i does." there was no reply to this, and free joe continued: "miss becky, i wish you please, ma'am, take en run yo' kyards en see sump'n n'er 'bout lucindy; kaze ef she sick, i'm gwine dar. dey ken take en take me up en gimme a stroppin', but i'm gwine dar." miss becky got her cards, but first she picked up a cup, in the bottom of which were some coffee-grounds. these she whirled slowly round and round, ending finally by turning the cup upside down on the hearth and allowing it to remain in that position. "i'll turn the cup first," said miss becky, "and then i'll run the cards and see what they say." as she shuffled the cards the fire on the hearth burned low, and in its fitful light the gray-haired, thin-featured woman seemed to deserve the weird reputation which rumor and gossip had given her. she shuffled the cards for some moments, gazing intently in the dying fire; then, throwing a piece of pine on the coals, she made three divisions of the pack, disposing them about in her lap. then she took the first pile, ran the cards slowly through her fingers, and studied them carefully. to the first she added the second pile. the study of these was evidently not satisfactory. she said nothing, but frowned heavily; and the frown deepened as she added the rest of the cards until the entire fifty-two had passed in review before her. though she frowned, she seemed to be deeply interested. without changing the relative position of the cards, she ran them all over again. then she threw a larger piece of pine on the fire, shuffled the cards afresh, divided them into three piles, and subjected them to the same careful and critical examination. "i can't tell the day when i've seed the cards run this a-way," she said after a while. "what is an' what ain't, i'll never tell you; but i know what the cards sez." "w'at does dey say, miss becky?" the negro inquired, in a tone the solemnity of which was heightened by its eagerness. "they er runnin' quare. these here that i'm a-lookin' at," said miss becky, "they stan' for the past. them there, they er the present; and the t'others, they er the future. here's a bundle"--tapping the ace of clubs with her thumb--"an' here's a journey as plain as the nose on a man's face. here's lucinda--" "whar she, miss becky?" "here she is--the queen of spades." free joe grinned. the idea seemed to please him immensely. "well, well, well!" he exclaimed. "ef dat don't beat my time! de queen er spades! w'en lucindy year dat hit'll tickle 'er, sho'!" miss becky continued to run the cards back and forth through her fingers. "here's a bundle an' a journey, and here's lucinda. an' here's ole spite calderwood." she held the cards toward the negro and touched the king of clubs. "de lord he'p my soul!" exclaimed free joe with a chuckle. "de faver's dar. yesser, dat's him! w'at de matter 'long wid all un um, miss becky?" the old woman added the second pile of cards to the first, and then the third, still running them through her fingers slowly and critically. by this time the piece of pine in the fireplace had wrapped itself in a mantle of flame, illuminating the cabin and throwing into strange relief the figure of miss becky as she sat studying the cards. she frowned ominously at the cards and mumbled a few words to herself. then she dropped her hands in her lap and gazed once more into the fire. her shadow danced and capered on the wall and floor behind her, as if, looking over her shoulder into the future, it could behold a rare spectacle. after a while she picked up the cup that had been turned on the hearth. the coffee-grounds, shaken around, presented what seemed to be a most intricate map. "here's the journey," said miss becky, presently; "here's the big road, here's rivers to cross, here's the bundle to tote." she paused and sighed. "they hain't no names writ here, an' what it all means i'll never tell you. cajy, i wish you'd be so good as to han' me my pipe." "i hain't no hand wi' the kyards," said cajy, as he handed the pipe, "but i reckon i can patch out your misinformation, becky, bekaze the other day, whiles i was a-finishin' up mizzers perdue's rollin'-pin, i hearn a rattlin' in the road. i looked out, an' spite calderwood was a-drivin' by in his buggy, an' thar sot lucinda by him. it'd in-about drapt out er my min'." free joe sat on the door-sill and fumbled at his hat, flinging it from one hand to the other. "you ain't see um gwine back, is you, mars cajy?" he asked after a while. "ef they went back by this road," said mr. staley, with the air of one who is accustomed to weigh well his words, "it must 'a' bin endurin' of the time whiles i was asleep, bekaze i hain't bin no furder from my shop than to yon bed." "well, sir!" exclaimed free joe in an awed tone, which mr. staley seemed to regard as a tribute to his extraordinary powers of statement. "ef it's my beliefs you want," continued the old man, "i'll pitch 'em at you fair and free. my beliefs is that spite calderwood is gone an' took lucindy outen the county. bless your heart and soul! when spite calderwood meets the old boy in the road they'll be a turrible scuffle. you mark what i tell you." free joe, still fumbling with his hat, rose and leaned against the door-facing. he seemed to be embarrassed. presently he said: "i speck i better be gittin' 'long. nex' time i see lucindy, i'm gwine tell 'er w'at miss becky say 'bout de queen er spades--dat i is. ef dat don't tickle 'er, dey ain't no nigger 'oman never bin tickle'." he paused a moment, as though waiting for some remark or comment, some confirmation of misfortune, or, at the very least, some endorsement of his suggestion that lucinda would be greatly pleased to know that she had figured as the queen of spades; but neither miss becky nor her brother said anything. "one minnit ridin' in the buggy 'longside er mars spite, en de nex' highfalutin' 'roun' playin' de queen er spades. mon, deze yer nigger gals gittin' up in de pictur's; dey sholy is." with a brief "good night, miss becky, mars cajy," free joe went out into the darkness, followed by little dan. he made his way to the poplar, where lucinda had been in the habit of meeting him, and sat down. he sat there a long time; he sat there until little dan, growing restless, trotted off in the direction of the calderwood place. dozing against the poplar, in the gray dawn of the morning, free joe heard spite calderwood's fox-hounds in full cry a mile away. "shoo!" he exclaimed, scratching his head, and laughing to himself, "dem ar dogs is des a-warmin' dat old fox up." but it was dan the hounds were after, and the little dog came back no more. free joe waited and waited, until he grew tired of waiting. he went back the next night and waited, and for many nights thereafter. his waiting was in vain, and yet he never regarded it as in vain. careless and shabby as he was, free joe was thoughtful enough to have his theory. he was convinced that little dan had found lucinda, and that some night when the moon was shining brightly through the trees, the dog would rouse him from his dreams as he sat sleeping at the foot of the poplar tree, and he would open his eyes and behold lucinda standing over him, laughing merrily as of old; and then he thought what fun they would have about the queen of spades. how many long nights free joe waited at the foot of the poplar tree for lucinda and little dan no one can ever know. he kept no account of them, and they were not recorded by micajah staley nor by miss becky. the season ran into summer and then into fall. one night he went to the staley cabin, cut the two old people an armful of wood, and seated himself on the doorsteps, where he rested. he was always thankful--and proud, as it seemed--when miss becky gave him a cup of coffee, which she was sometimes thoughtful enough to do. he was especially thankful on this particular night. "you er still layin' off for to strike up wi' lucindy out thar in the woods, i reckon," said micajah staley, smiling grimly. the situation was not without its humorous aspects. "oh, dey er comin', mars cajy, dey er comin', sho," free joe replied. "i boun' you dey'll come; en w'en dey does come, i'll des take en fetch um yer, whar you kin see um wid you own eyes, you en miss becky." "no," said mr. staley, with a quick and emphatic gesture of disapproval. "don't! don't fetch 'em anywheres. stay right wi' 'em as long as may be." free joe chuckled, and slipped away into the night, while the two old people sat gazing in the fire. finally micajah spoke. "look at that nigger; look at 'im. he's pine-blank as happy now as a killdee by a mill-race. you can't faze 'em. i'd in-about give up my t'other hand ef i could stan' flat-footed, an' grin at trouble like that there nigger." "niggers is niggers," said miss becky, smiling grimly, "an' you can't rub it out; yit i lay i've seed a heap of white people lots meaner'n free joe. he grins--an' that's nigger--but i've ketched his under jaw a-tremblin' when lucindy's name uz brung up. an' i tell you," she went on, bridling up a little, and speaking with almost fierce emphasis, "the old boy's done sharpened his claws for spite calderwood. you'll see it." "me, rebecca?" said mr. staley, hugging his palsied arm; "me? i hope not." "well, you'll know it then," said miss becky, laughing heartily at her brother's look of alarm. the next morning micajah staley had occasion to go into the woods after a piece of timber. he saw free joe sitting at the foot of the poplar, and the sight vexed him somewhat. "git up from there," he cried, "an' go an' arn your livin'. a mighty purty pass it's come to, when great big buck niggers can lie a-snorin' in the woods all day, when t'other folks is got to be up an' a-gwine. git up from there!" receiving no response, mr. staley went to free joe, and shook him by the shoulder; but the negro made no response. he was dead. his hat was off, his head was bent, and a smile was on his face. it was as if he had bowed and smiled when death stood before him, humble to the last. his clothes were ragged; his hands were rough and callous; his shoes were literally tied together with strings; he was shabby in the extreme. a passer-by, glancing at him, could have no idea that such a humble creature had been summoned as a witness before the lord god of hosts. little compton very few southern country towns have been more profitably influenced by the new order of things than hillsborough in middle georgia. at various intervals since the war it has had what the local weekly calls "a business boom." the old tavern has been torn down, and in its place stands a new three-story brick hotel, managed by a very brisk young man, who is shrewd enough to advertise in the newspapers of the neighboring towns that he has "special accommodations and special rates for commercial travelers." although hillsborough is comparatively a small town, it is the centre of a very productive region, and its trade is somewhat important. consequently, the commercial travelers, with characteristic energy, lose no opportunity of taking advantage of the hospitable invitation of the landlord of the hillsborough hotel. not many years ago a representative of this class visited the old town. he was from the north, and, being much interested in what he saw, was duly inquisitive. among other things that attracted his attention was a little one-armed man who seemed to be the life of the place. he was here, there, and everywhere; and wherever he went the atmosphere seemed to lighten and brighten. sometimes he was flying around town in a buggy; at such times he was driven by a sweet-faced lady, whose smiling air of proprietorship proclaimed her to be his wife: but more often he was on foot. his cheerfulness and good humor were infectious. the old men sitting at perdue's corner, where they had been gathering for forty years and more, looked up and laughed as he passed; the ladies shopping in the streets paused to chat with him; and even the dry-goods clerks and lawyers, playing chess or draughts under the china trees that shaded the sidewalks, were willing to be interrupted long enough to exchange jokes with him. "rather a lively chap that," said the observant commercial traveler. "well, i reckon you won't find no livelier in these diggin's," replied the landlord, to whom the remark was addressed. there was a suggestion of suppressed local pride in his tones. "he's a little chunk of a man, but he's monst'us peart." "a colonel, i guess," said the stranger, smiling. "oh, no," the other rejoined. "he ain't no colonel, but he'd 'a' made a prime one. it's mighty curious to me," he went on, "that them yankees up there didn't make him one." "the yankees?" inquired the commercial traveler. "why, yes," said the landlord. "he's a yankee; and that lady you seen drivin' him around, she's a yankee. he courted her here and he married her here. major jimmy bass wanted him to marry her in his house, but captain jack walthall put his foot down and said the weddin' had to be in _his_ house; and there's where it was, in that big white house over yander with the hip roof. yes, sir." "oh," said the commercial traveler, with a cynical smile, "he stayed down here to keep out of the army. he was a lucky fellow." "well, i reckon he was lucky not to get killed," said the landlord, laughing. "he fought with the yankees, and they do say that little compton was a rattler." the commercial traveler gave a long, low whistle, expressive of his profound astonishment. and yet, under all the circumstances, there was nothing to create astonishment. the lively little man had a history. among the genial and popular citizens of hillsborough, in the days before the war, none were more genial or more popular than little compton. he was popular with all classes, with old and with young, with whites and with blacks. he was sober, discreet, sympathetic, and generous. he was neither handsome nor magnetic. he was awkward and somewhat bashful, but his manners and his conversation had the rare merit of spontaneity. his sallow face was unrelieved by either mustache or whiskers, and his eyes were black and very small, but they glistened with good-humor and sociability. he was somewhat small in stature, and for that reason the young men about hillsborough had given him the name of little compton. little compton's introduction to hillsborough was not wholly without suggestive incidents. he made his appearance there in , and opened a small grocery store. thereupon the young men of the town, with nothing better to do than to seek such amusement as they could find in so small a community, promptly proceeded to make him the victim of their pranks and practical jokes. little compton's forbearance was wonderful. he laughed heartily when he found his modest signboard hanging over an adjacent barroom, and smiled good-humoredly when he found the sidewalk in front of his door barricaded with barrels and dry-goods boxes. an impatient man would have looked on these things as in the nature of indignities, but little compton was not an impatient man. this went on at odd intervals, until at last the fun-loving young men began to appreciate little compton's admirable temper; and then for a season they played their jokes on other citizens, leaving little compton entirely unmolested. these young men were boisterous, but good-natured, and they had their own ideas of what constituted fair play. they were ready to fight or to have fun, but in neither case would they willingly take what they considered a mean advantage of a man. by degrees they warmed to little compton. his gentleness won upon them; his patient good-humor attracted them. without taking account of the matter, the most of them became his friends. this was demonstrated one day when one of the pulliam boys from jasper county made some slurring remark about "the little yankee." as pulliam was somewhat in his cups, no attention was paid to his remark; whereupon he followed it up with others of a more seriously abusive character. little compton was waiting on a customer; but pulliam was standing in front of his door, and he could not fail to hear the abuse. young jack walthall was sitting in a chair near the door, whittling a piece of white pine. he put his knife in his pocket, and, whistling softly, looked at little compton curiously. then he walked to where pulliam was standing. "if i were you, pulliam," he said, "and wanted to abuse anybody, i'd pick out a bigger man than that." "i don't see anybody," said pulliam. "well, d---- you!" exclaimed walthall, "if you are that blind, i'll open your eyes for you!" whereupon he knocked pulliam down. at this little compton ran out excitedly, and it was the impression of the spectators that he intended to attack the man who had been abusing him; but, instead of that, he knelt over the prostrate bully, wiped the blood from his eyes, and finally succeeded in getting him to his feet. then little compton assisted him into the store, placed him in a chair, and proceeded to bandage his wounded eye. walthall, looking on with an air of supreme indifference, uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and sauntered carelessly away. sauntering back an hour or so afterward, he found that pulliam was still in little compton's store. he would have passed on, but little compton called to him. he went in prepared to be attacked, for he knew pulliam to be one of the most dangerous men in that region, and the most revengeful; but, instead of making an attack, pulliam offered his hand. "let's call it square, jack. your mother and my father are blood cousins, and i don't want any bad feelings to grow out of this racket. i've apologized to mr. compton here, and now i'm ready to apologize to you." walthall looked at pulliam and at his proffered hand, and then looked at little compton. the latter was smiling pleasantly. this appeared to be satisfactory, and walthall seized his kinsman's hand, and exclaimed: "well, by george, miles pulliam! if you've apologized to little compton, then it's my turn to apologize to you. maybe i was too quick with my hands, but that chap there is such a d---- clever little rascal that it works me up to see anybody pester him." "why, jack," said compton, his little eyes glistening, "i'm not such a scrap as you make out. it's just your temper, jack. your temper runs clean away with your judgment." "my temper! why, good lord, man! don't i just sit right down, and let folks run over me whenever they want to? would i have done anything if miles pulliam had abused _me_?" "why, the gilded queen of sheba!" exclaimed miles pulliam, laughing loudly, in spite of his bruises; "only last sale day you mighty nigh jolted the life out of bill-tom saunders, with the big end of a hickory stick." "that's so," said walthall reflectively; "but did i follow him up to do it? wasn't he dogging after me all day, and strutting around bragging about what he was going to do? didn't i play the little stray lamb till he rubbed his fist in my face?" the others laughed. they knew that jack walthall wasn't at all lamblike in his disposition. he was tall and strong and handsome, with pale classic features, jet-black curling hair, and beautiful white hands that never knew what labor was. he was something of a dandy in hillsborough, but in a large, manly, generous way. with his perfect manners, stately and stiff, or genial and engaging, as occasion might demand, mr. walthall was just such a romantic figure as one reads about in books, or as one expects to see step from behind the wings of the stage with a guitar or a long dagger. indeed, he was the veritable original of cyrille brandon, the hero of miss amelia baxter's elegant novel entitled "the haunted manor; or, souvenirs of the sunny southland." if those who are fortunate enough to possess a copy of this graphic book, which was printed in charleston for the author, will turn to the description of cyrille brandon, they will get a much better idea of mr. walthall than they can hope to get in this brief and imperfect chronicle. it is true, the picture there drawn is somewhat exaggerated to suit the purposes of fictive art, but it shows perfectly the serious impression mr. walthall made on the ladies who were his contemporaries. it is only fair to say, however, that the real mr. walthall was altogether different from the ideal cyrille brandon of miss baxter's powerfully written book. he was by no means ignorant of the impression he made on the fair sex, and he was somewhat proud of it; but he had no romantic ideas of his own. he was, in fact, a very practical young man. when the walthall estate, composed of thousands of acres of land and several hundred healthy, well-fed negroes, was divided up, he chose to take his portion in money; and this he loaned out at a fair interest to those who were in need of ready cash. this gave him large leisure; and, as was the custom among the young men of leisure, he gambled a little when the humor was on him, having the judgment and the nerve to make the game of poker exceedingly interesting to those who sat with him at table. no one could ever explain why the handsome and gallant jack walthall should go so far as to stand between his own cousin and little compton; indeed, no one tried to explain it. the fact was accepted for what it was worth, and it was a great deal to little compton in a social and business way. after the row which has just been described, mr. walthall was usually to be found at compton's store--in the summer sitting in front of the door under the grateful shade of the china trees, and in the winter sitting by the comfortable fire that compton kept burning in his back room. as mr. walthall was the recognized leader of the young men, little compton's store soon became the headquarters for all of them. they met there, and they made themselves at home there, introducing their affable host to many queer antics and capers peculiar to the youth of that day and time, and to the social organism of which that youth was the outcome. that little compton enjoyed their company is certain; but it is doubtful if he entered heartily into the plans of their escapades, which they freely discussed around his hearth. perhaps it was because he had outlived the folly of youth. though his face was smooth and round, and his eye bright, little compton bore the marks of maturity and experience. he used to laugh, and say that he was born in new jersey, and died there when he was young. what significance this statement possessed no one ever knew; probably no one in hillsborough cared to know. the people of that town had their own notions and their own opinions. they were not unduly inquisitive, save when their inquisitiveness seemed to take a political shape; and then it was somewhat aggressive. there were a great many things in hillsborough likely to puzzle a stranger. little compton observed that the young men, no matter how young they might be, were absorbed in politics. they had the political history of the country at their tongues' ends, and the discussions they carried on were interminable. this interest extended to all classes: the planters discussed politics with their overseers; and lawyers, merchants, tradesmen, and gentlemen of elegant leisure discussed politics with each other. schoolboys knew all about the missouri compromise, the fugitive slave law, and states rights. sometimes the arguments used were more substantial than mere words, but this was only when some old feud was back of the discussion. there was one question, as little compton discovered, in regard to which there was no discussion. that question was slavery. it loomed up everywhere and in everything, and was the basis of all the arguments, and yet it was not discussed: there was no room for discussion. there was but one idea, and that was that slavery must be defended at all hazards, and against all enemies. that was the temper of the time, and little compton was not long in discovering that of all dangerous issues slavery was the most dangerous. the young men, in their free-and-easy way, told him the story of a wayfarer who once came through that region preaching abolitionism to the negroes. the negroes themselves betrayed him, and he was promptly taken in charge. his body was found afterward hanging in the woods, and he was buried at the expense of the county. even his name had been forgotten, and his grave was all but obliterated. all these things made an impression on little compton's mind. the tragedy itself was recalled by one of the pranks of the young men, that was conceived and carried out under his eyes. it happened after he had become well used to the ways of hillsborough. there came a stranger to the town, whose queer acts excited the suspicions of a naturally suspicious community. professedly he was a colporteur; but, instead of trying to dispose of books and tracts, of which he had a visible supply, he devoted himself to arguing with the village politicians under the shade of the trees. it was observed, also, that he would frequently note down observations in a memorandum book. just about that time the controversy between the slaveholders and the abolitionists was at its height. john brown had made his raid on harper's ferry, and there was a good deal of excitement throughout the state. it was rumored that brown had emissaries traveling from state to state, preparing the negroes for insurrection; and every community, even hillsborough, was on the alert, watching, waiting, suspecting. the time assuredly was not auspicious for the stranger with the ready memorandum book. sitting in front of compton's store, he fell into conversation one day with uncle abner lazenberry, a patriarch who lived in the country, and who had a habit of coming to hillsborough at least once a week "to talk with the boys." uncle abner belonged to the poorer class of planters; that is to say, he had a small farm and not more than half a dozen negroes. but he was decidedly popular, and his conversation--somewhat caustic at times--was thoroughly enjoyed by the younger generation. on this occasion he had been talking to jack walthall, when the stranger drew a chair within hearing distance. "you take all your men," uncle abner was saying--"take all un 'em, but gimme hennery clay. them abolishioners, they may come an' git all six er my niggers, if they'll jess but lemme keep the ginnywine ole whig docterin'. that's me up an' down--that's wher' your uncle abner lazenberry stan's, boys." by this time the stranger had taken out his inevitable note-book, and uncle abner went on: "yes, siree! you may jess mark me down that away. 'come,' sez i, 'an' take all my niggers an' the ole gray mar',' sez i, 'but lemme keep my whig docterin',' sez i. lord, i've seed sights wi' them niggers. they hain't no manner account. they won't work, an' i'm ablidge to feed 'em, else they'd whirl in an' steal from the neighbors. hit's in-about broke me for to maintain 'em in the'r laziness. bless your soul, little children! i'm in a turrible fix--a turrible fix. i'm that bankruptured that when i come to town, ef i fine a thrip in my britches-pocket for to buy me a dram i'm the happiest mortal in the county. yes, siree! hit's got down to that." here uncle abner lazenberry paused and eyed the stranger shrewdly, to whom, presently, he addressed himself in a very insinuating tone: "what mought be your name, mister?" "oh," said the stranger, taken somewhat aback by the suddenness of the question, "my name might be jones, but it happens to be davies." uncle abner lazenberry stared at davies a moment as if amazed, and then exclaimed: "jesso! well, dog my cats ef times hain't a-changin' an' a-changin' tell bimeby the natchul world an' all the hummysp'eres 'll make the'r disappearance een'-uppermost. yit, whiles they er changin' an' a-disappearin', i hope they'll leave me my ole whig docterin', an' my name, which the fust an' last un it is abner lazenberry. an' more'n that," the old man went on, with severe emphasis--"an' more'n that, they hain't never been a day sence the creation of the world an' the hummysp'eres when my name mought er'been anything else under the shinin' sun but abner lazenberry; an' ef the time's done come when any mortal name mought er been anything but what hit reely is, then we jess better turn the nation an' the federation over to demockeracy an' giner'l damnation. now that's me, right pine-plank." by way of emphasizing his remarks, uncle abner brought the end of his hickory cane down upon the ground with a tremendous thump. the stranger reddened a little at the unexpected criticism, and was evidently ill at ease, but he remarked politely: "this is just a saying i've picked up somewhere in my travels. my name is davies, and i am traveling through the country selling a few choice books, and picking up information as i go." "i know a mighty heap of davises," said uncle abner, "but i disremember of anybody named davies." "well, sir," said mr. davies, "the name is not uncommon in my part of the country. i am from vermont." "well, well!" said uncle abner, tapping the ground thoughtfully with his cane. "a mighty fur ways vermont is, tooby shore. in my day an' time i've seed as many as three men folks from vermont, an' one un 'em, he wuz a wheelwright, an' one wuz a tin-pedler, an' the yuther one wuz a clock-maker. but that wuz a long time ago. how is the abolishioners gittin' on up that away, an' when in the name er patience is they a-comin' arter my niggers? lord! if them niggers wuz free, i wouldn't have to slave for 'em." "well, sir," said mr. davies, "i take little or no interest in those things. i have to make a humble living, and i leave political questions to the politicians." the conversation was carried an at some length, the younger men joining in occasionally to ask questions; and nothing could have been friendlier than their attitude toward mr. davies. they treated him with the greatest consideration. his manner and speech were those of an educated man, and he seemed to make himself thoroughly agreeable. but that night, as mr. jack walthall was about to go to bed, his body-servant, a negro named jake, began to question him about the abolitionists. "what do you know about abolitionists?" mr. walthall asked with some degree of severity. "nothin' 'tall, marse jack, 'cep'in' w'at dish yer new w'ite man down dar at de tavern say." "and what did he say?" mr. walthall inquired. "i ax 'im, i say, 'marse boss, is dese yer bobolitionists got horns en huffs?' en he 'low, he did, dat dey ain't no bobolitionists, kaze dey er babolitionists, an' dey ain't got needer horns ner huffs." "what else did he say?" jake laughed. it was a hearty and humorous laugh. "well, sir," he replied, "dat man des preached. he sholy did. he ax me ef de niggers' roun' yer wouldn' all like ter be free, en i tole 'im i don't speck dey would, kaze all de free niggers w'at i ever seed is de mos' no-'countes' niggers in de lan'." mr. walthall dismissed the negro somewhat curtly. he had prepared to retire for the night, but apparently thought better of it, for he resumed his coat and vest, and went out into the cool moonlight. he walked around the public square, and finally perched himself on the stile that led over the court-house enclosure. he sat there a long time. little compton passed by, escorting miss lizzie fairleigh, the schoolmistress, home from some social gathering; and finally the lights in the village went out one by one--all save the one that shone in the window of the room occupied by mr. davies. watching this window somewhat closely, mr. jack walthall observed that there was movement in the room. shadows played on the white window-curtains--human shadows passing to and fro. the curtains, quivering in the night wind, distorted these shadows, and made confusion of them; but the wind died away for a moment, and, outlined on the curtains, the patient watcher saw a silhouette of jake, his body-servant. mr. walthall beheld the spectacle with amazement. it never occurred to him that the picture he saw was part--the beginning indeed--of a tremendous panorama which would shortly engage the attention of the civilized world, but he gazed at it with a feeling of vague uneasiness. the next morning little compton was somewhat surprised at the absence of the young men who were in the habit of gathering in front of his store. even mr. jack walthall, who could be depended on to tilt his chair against the china tree and sit there for an hour or more after breakfast, failed to put in an appearance. after putting his store to rights, and posting up some accounts left over from the day before, little compton came out on the sidewalk, and walked up and down in front of the door. he was in excellent humor, and as he walked he hummed a tune. he did not lack for companionship, for his cat, tommy tinktums, an extraordinarily large one, followed him back and forth, rubbing against him and running between his legs; but somehow he felt lonely. the town was very quiet. it was quiet at all times, but on this particular morning it seemed to little compton that there was less stir than usual. there was no sign of life anywhere around the public square save at perdue's corner. shading his eyes with his hand, little compton observed a group of citizens apparently engaged in a very interesting discussion. among them he recognized the tall form of mr. jack walthall and the somewhat ponderous presence of major jimmy bass. little compton watched the group because he had nothing better to do. he saw major jimmy bass bring the end of his cane down upon the ground with a tremendous thump, and gesticulate like a man laboring under strong excitement; but this was nothing out of the ordinary, for major jimmy had been known to get excited over the most trivial discussion; on one occasion, indeed, he had even mounted a dry-goods box, and, as the boys expressed it, "cussed out the town." still watching the group, little compton saw mr. jack walthall take buck ransome by the arm, and walk across the public square in the direction of the court-house. they were followed by mr. alvin cozart, major jimmy bass, and young rowan wornum. they went to the court-house stile, and formed a little group, while mr. walthall appeared to be explaining something, pointing frequently in the direction of the tavern. in a little while they returned to those they had left at perdue's corner, where they were presently joined by a number of other citizens. once little compton thought he would lock his door and join them, but by the time he had made up his mind the group had dispersed. a little later on, compton's curiosity was more than satisfied. one of the young men, buck ransome, came into compton's store, bringing a queer-looking bundle. unwrapping it, mr. ransome brought to view two large pillows. whistling a gay tune, he ran his keen knife into one of these, and felt of the feathers. his manner was that of an expert. the examination seemed to satisfy him; for he rolled the pillows into a bundle again, and deposited them in the back part of the store. "you'd be a nice housekeeper, buck, if you did all your pillows that way," said compton. "why, bless your great big soul, compy," said mr. ransome, striking an attitude, "i'm the finest in the land." just then mr. alvin cozart came in, bearing a small bucket, which he handled very carefully. little compton thought he detected the odor of tar. "stick her in the back room there," said mr. ransome; "she'll keep." compton was somewhat mystified by these proceedings; but everything was made clear when, an hour later, the young men of the town, reenforced by major jimmy bass, marched into his store, bringing with them mr. davies, the vermont colporteur, who had been flourishing his note-book in the faces of the inhabitants. jake, mr. walthall's body-servant, was prominent in the crowd by reason of his color and his frightened appearance. the colporteur was very pale, but he seemed to be cool. as the last one filed in, mr. walthall stepped to the front door and shut and locked it. compton was too amazed to say anything. the faces before him, always so full of humor and fun, were serious enough now. as the key turned in the lock, the colporteur found his voice. "gentlemen!" he exclaimed with some show of indignation, "what is the meaning of this? what would you do?" "you know mighty well, sir, what we ought to do," cried major bass. "we ought to hang you, you imperdent scounderl! a-comin' down here a-pesterin' an' a-meddlin' with t'other people's business." "why, gentlemen," said davies, "i'm a peaceable citizen; i trouble nobody. i am simply traveling through the country selling books to those who are able to buy, and giving them away to those who are not." "mr. davies," said mr. jack walthall, leaning gracefully against the counter, "what kind of books are you selling?" "religious books, sir." "jake!" exclaimed mr. walthall somewhat sharply, so sharply, indeed, that the negro jumped as though he had been shot. "jake! stand out there. hold up your head, sir!--mr. davies, how many religious books did you sell to that nigger there last night?" "i sold him none, sir; i--" "how many did you _try_ to sell him?" "i made no attempt to sell him any books; i knew he couldn't read. i merely asked him to give me some information." major jimmy bass scowled dreadfully; but mr. jack walthall smiled pleasantly, and turned to the negro. "jake! do you know this man?" "i seed 'im, marse jack; i des seed 'im; dat's all i know 'bout 'im." "what were you doing sasshaying around in his room last night?" jake scratched his head, dropped his eyes, and shuffled about on the floor with his feet. all eyes were turned on him. he made so long a pause that alvin cozart remarked in his drawling tone: "jack, hadn't we better take this nigger over to the calaboose?" "not yet," said mr. walthall pleasantly. "if i have to take him over there i'll not bring him back in a hurry." "i wuz des up in his room kaze he tole me fer ter come back en see 'im. name er god, marse jack, w'at ail' you all w'ite folks now?" "what did he say to you?" asked mr. walthall. "he ax me w'at make de niggers stay in slave'y," said the frightened negro; "he ax me w'at de reason dey don't git free deyse'f." "he was warm after information," mr. walthall suggested. "call it what you please," said the vermont colporteur. "i asked him those questions and more." he was pale, but he no longer acted like a man troubled with fear. "oh, we know that, mister," said buck ransome. "we know what you come for, and we know what you're goin' away for. we'll excuse you if you'll excuse us, and then there'll be no hard feelin's--that is, not many; none to growl about.--jake, hand me that bundle there on the barrel, and fetch that tar-bucket.--you've got the makin' of a mighty fine bird in you, mister," ransome went on, addressing the colporteur; "all you lack's the feathers, and we've got oodles of 'em right here. now, will you shuck them duds?" for the first time the fact dawned on little compton's mind that the young men were about to administer a coat of tar and feathers to the stranger from vermont; and he immediately began to protest. "why, jack," said he, "what has the man done?" "well," replied mr. walthall, "you heard what the nigger said. we can't afford to have these abolitionists preaching insurrection right in our back yards. we just can't afford it, that's the long and short of it. maybe you don't understand it; maybe you don't feel as we do; but that's the way the matter stands. we are in a sort of a corner, and we are compelled to protect ourselves." "i don't believe in no tar and feathers for this chap," remarked major jimmy bass, assuming a judicial air. "he'll just go out here to the town branch and wash 'em off, and then he'll go on through the plantations raising h---- among the niggers. that'll be the upshot of it--now, you mark my words. he ought to be hung." "now, boys," said little compton, still protesting, "what is the use? this man hasn't done any real harm. he might preach insurrection around here for a thousand years, and the niggers wouldn't listen to him. now, you know that yourselves. turn the poor devil loose, and let him get out of town. why, haven't you got any confidence in the niggers you've raised yourselves?" "my dear sir," said rowan wornum, in his most insinuating tone, "we've got all the confidence in the world in the niggers, but we can't afford to take any risks. why, my dear sir," he went on, "if we let this chap go, it won't be six months before the whole country'll be full of this kind. look at that harper's ferry business." "well," said compton somewhat hotly, "look at it. what harm has been done? has there been any nigger insurrection?" jack walthall laughed good-naturedly. "little compton is a quick talker, boys. let's give the man the benefit of all the arguments." "great god! you don't mean to let this d---- rascal go, do you, jack?" exclaimed major jimmy bass. "no, no, sweet uncle; but i've got a nicer dose than tar and feathers." the result was that the stranger's face and hands were given a coat of lampblack, his arms were tied to his body, and a large placard was fastened to his back. the placard bore this inscription: abolitionist! pass him on, boys mr. davies was a pitiful-looking object after the young men had plastered his face and hands with lampblack and oil, and yet his appearance bore a certain queer relation to the humorous exhibitions one sees on the negro minstrel stage. particularly was this the case when he smiled at compton. "by george, boys!" exclaimed mr. buck ransome, "this chap could play old bob ridley at the circus." when everything was arranged to suit them, the young men formed a procession, and marched the blackened stranger from little compton's door into the public street. little compton seemed to be very much interested in the proceeding. it was remarked afterward that he seemed to be very much agitated, and that he took a position very near the placarded abolitionist. the procession, as it moved up the street, attracted considerable attention. rumors that an abolitionist was to be dealt with had apparently been circulated, and a majority of the male inhabitants of the town were out to view the spectacle. the procession passed entirely around the public square, of which the court-house was the centre, and then across the square to the park-like enclosure that surrounded the temple of justice. as the young men and their prisoner crossed this open space, major jimmy bass, fat as he was, grew so hilarious that he straddled his cane as children do broomsticks, and pretended that he had as much as he could do to hold his fiery wooden steed. he waddled and pranced out in front of the abolitionist, and turned and faced him, whereat his steed showed the most violent symptoms of running away. the young men roared with laughter, and the spectators roared with them, and even the abolitionist laughed. all laughed but little compton. the procession was marched to the court-house enclosure, and there the prisoner was made to stand on the sale-block so that all might have a fair view of him. he was kept there until the stage was ready to go; and then he was given a seat on that swaying vehicle, and forwarded to rockville, where, presumably, the "boys" placed him on the train and "passed him on" to the "boys" in other towns. for months thereafter there was peace in hillsborough, so far as the abolitionists were concerned; and then came the secession movement. a majority of the citizens of the little town were strong union men; but the secession movement seemed to take even the oldest off their feet, and by the time the republican president was inaugurated, the union sentiment that had marked hillsborough had practically disappeared. in south carolina companies of minutemen had been formed, and the entire white male population was wearing blue cockades. with some modifications, these symptoms were reproduced in hillsborough. the modifications were that a few of the old men still stood up for the union, and that some of the young men, though they wore the blue cockade, did not aline themselves with the minutemen. little compton took no part in these proceedings. he was discreetly quiet. he tended his store, and smoked his pipe, and watched events. one morning he was aroused from his slumbers by a tremendous crash--a crash that rattled the windows of his store and shook its very walls. he lay quiet a while, thinking that a small earthquake had been turned loose on the town. then the crash was repeated; and he knew that hillsborough was firing a salute from its little six-pounder, a relic of the revolution, that had often served the purpose of celebrating the nation's birthday in a noisily becoming manner. little compton arose, and dressed himself, and prepared to put his store in order. issuing forth into the street, he saw that the town was in considerable commotion. a citizen who had been in attendance on the convention at milledgeville had arrived during the night, bringing the information that the ordinance of secession had been adopted, and that georgia was now a sovereign and independent government. the original secessionists were in high feather, and their hilarious enthusiasm had its effect on all save a few of the union men. early as it was, little compton saw two flags floating from an improvised flagstaff on top of the court-house. one was the flag of the state, with its pillars, its sentinel, and its legend of "wisdom, justice, and moderation." the design of the other was entirely new to little compton. it was a pine tree on a field of white, with a rattlesnake coiled at its roots, and the inscription, "don't tread on me!" a few hours later uncle abner lazenberry made his appearance in front of compton's store. he had just hitched his horse to the rack near the court-house. "merciful heavens" he exclaimed, wiping his red face with a red handkerchief, "is the ole boy done gone an' turned hisself loose? i hearn the racket, an' i sez to the ole woman, sez i: 'i'll fling the saddle on the gray mar' an' canter to town an' see what in the dingnation the matter is. an' ef the worl's about to fetch a lurch, i'll git me another dram an' die happy,' sez i. whar's jack walthall? he can tell his uncle abner all about it." "well, sir," said little compton, "the state has seceded, and the boys are celebrating." "i know'd it," cried the old man angrily. "my min' tole me so." then he turned and looked at the flags flying from the top of the court-house. "is them rags the things they er gwine to fly out'n the union with?" he exclaimed scornfully. "why, bless your soul an body, hit'll take bigger wings than them! well, sir, i'm sick; i am that away. i wuz born in the union, an' i'd like mighty well to die thar. ain't it mine? ain't it our'n? jess as shore as you're born, thar's trouble ahead--big trouble. you're from the north, ain't you?" uncle abner asked, looking curiously at little compton. "yes, sir, i am," compton replied; "that is, i am from new jersey, but they say new jersey is out of the union." uncle abner did not respond to compton's smile. he continued to gaze at him significantly. "well," the old man remarked somewhat bluntly, "you better go back where you come from. you ain't got nothin' in the roun' worl' to do with all this hellabaloo. when the pinch comes, as come it must, i'm jes gwine to swap a nigger for a sack er flour an' settle down; but you had better go back where you come from." little compton knew the old man was friendly; but his words, so solemnly and significantly uttered, made a deep impression. the words recalled to compton's mind the spectacle of the man from vermont who had been paraded through the streets of hillsborough, with his face blackened and a placard on his back. the little jerseyman also recalled other incidents, some of them trifling enough, but all of them together going to show the hot temper of the people around him; and for a day or two he brooded rather seriously over the situation. he knew that the times were critical. for several weeks the excitement in hillsborough, as elsewhere in the south, continued to run high. the blood of the people was at fever heat. the air was full of the portents and premonitions of war. drums were beating, flags were flying, and military companies were parading. jack walthall had raised a company, and it had gone into camp in an old field near the town. the tents shone snowy white in the sun, uniforms of the men were bright and gay, and the boys thought this was war. but, instead of that, they were merely enjoying a holiday. the ladies of the town sent them wagon-loads of provisions every day, and the occasion was a veritable picnic--a picnic that some of the young men remembered a year or two later when they were trudging ragged, barefooted, and hungry, through the snow and slush of a virginia winter. but, with all their drilling and parading in the peaceful camp at hillsborough, the young men had many idle hours, and they devoted these to various forms of amusements. on one occasion, after they had exhausted their ingenuity in search of entertainment, one of them, lieutenant buck ransome, suggested that it might be interesting to get up a joke on little compton. "but how?" asked lieutenant cozart. "why, the easiest in the world," said lieutenant ransome. "write him a note, and tell him that the time has come for an english-speaking people to take sides, and fling in a kind of side-wiper about new jersey." captain jack walthall, leaning comfortably against a huge box that was supposed to bear some relation to a camp-chest, blew a cloud of smoke through his sensitive nostrils and laughed. "why, stuff, boys!" he exclaimed somewhat impatiently, "you can't scare little compton. he's got grit, and it's the right kind of grit. why, i'll tell you what's a fact--the sand in that man's gizzard would make enough mortar to build a fort." "well, i'll tell you what we'll do," said lieutenant ransome. "we'll sling him a line or two, and if it don't stir him up, all right; but if it does, we'll have some tall fun." whereupon, lieutenant ransome fished around in the chest, and drew forth pen and ink and paper. with some aid from his brother officers he managed to compose the following: "little mr. compton. _dear sir_--the time has arrived when every man should show his colors. those who are not for us are against us. your best friends, when asked where you stand, do not know what to say. if you are for the north in this struggle, your place is at the north. if you are for the south, your place is with those who are preparing to defend the rights and liberties of the south. a word to the wise is sufficient. you will hear from me again in due time. nemesis." this was duly sealed and dropped in the hillsborough post-office, and little compton received it the same afternoon. he smiled as he broke the seal, but ceased to smile when he read the note. it happened to fit a certain vague feeling of uneasiness that possessed him. he laid it down on his desk, walked up and down behind his counter, and then returned and read it again. the sprawling words seemed to possess a fascination for him. he read them again and again, and turned them over and over in his mind. it was characteristic of his simple nature that he never once attributed the origin of the note to the humor of the young men with whom he was so familiar. he regarded it seriously. looking up from the note, he could see in the corner of his store the brush and pot that had been used as arguments on the vermont abolitionist. he vividly recalled the time when that unfortunate person was brought up before the self-constituted tribunal that assembled in his store. little compton thought he had gaged accurately the temper of the people about him; and he had, but his modesty prevented him from accurately gaging or even thinking about, the impression he had made on them. the note troubled him a good deal more than he would at first confess to himself. he seated himself on a low box behind his counter to think it over, resting his face in his hands. a little boy who wanted to buy a thrip's worth of candy went slowly out again after trying in vain to attract the attention of the hitherto prompt and friendly storekeeper. tommy tinktums, the cat, seeing that his master was sitting down, came forward with the expectation of being told to perform his famous "bouncing" trick, a feat that was at once the wonder and delight of the youngsters around hillsborough. but tommy tinktums was not commanded to bounce; and so he contented himself with washing his face, pausing every now and then to watch his master with half-closed eyes. while sitting thus reflecting, it suddenly occurred to little compton that he had had very few customers during the past several days; and it seemed to him, as he continued to think the matter over, that the people, especially the young men, had been less cordial lately than they had ever been before. it never occurred to him that the threatened war, and the excitement of the period, occupied their entire attention. he simply remembered that the young men who had made his modest little store their headquarters met there no more. little compton sat behind his counter a long time, thinking. the sun went down, and the dusk fell, and the night came on and found him there. after a while he lit a candle, spread the communication out on his desk, and read it again. to his mind, there was no mistaking its meaning. it meant that he must either fight against the union, or array against himself all the bitter and aggressive suspicion of the period. he sighed heavily, closed his store, and went out into the darkness. he made his way to the residence of major jimmy bass, where miss lizzie fairleigh boarded. the major himself was sitting on the veranda; and he welcomed little compton with effusive hospitality--a hospitality that possessed an old-fashioned flavor. "i'm mighty glad you come--yes, sir, i am. it looks like the whole world's out at the camps, and it makes me feel sorter lonesome. yes, sir; it does that. if i wasn't so plump i'd be out there too. it's a mighty good place to be about this time of the year. i tell you what, sir, them boys is got the devil in 'em. yes, sir; there ain't no two ways about that. when they turn themselves loose, somebody or something will git hurt. now, you mark what i tell you. it's a tough lot--a mighty tough lot. lord! wouldn't i hate to be a yankee, and fall in their hands! i'd be glad if i had time for to say my prayers. yes, sir; i would that." thus spoke the cheerful major bass; and every word he said seemed to rime with little compton's own thoughts, and to confirm the fears that had been aroused by the note. after he had listened to the major a while, little compton asked for miss fairleigh. "oho!" said the major. then he called to a negro who happened to be passing through the hall: "jesse, tell miss lizzie that mr. compton is in the parlor." then he turned to compton. "i tell you what, sir, that gal looks mighty puny. she's from the north, and i reckon she's homesick. and then there's all this talk about war. she knows our boys'll eat the yankees plum up, and i don't blame her for being sorter down-hearted. i wish you'd try to cheer her up. she's a good gal if there ever was one on the face of the earth." little compton went into the parlor, where he was presently joined by miss fairleigh. they talked a long time together, but what they said no one ever knew. they conversed in low tones; and once or twice the hospitable major, sitting on the veranda, detected himself trying to hear what they said. he could see them from where he sat, and he observed that both appeared to be profoundly dejected. not once did they laugh, or, so far as the major could see, even smile. occasionally little compton arose and walked the length of the parlor, but miss fairleigh sat with bowed head. it may have been a trick of the lamp, but it seemed to the major that they were both very pale. finally little compton rose to go. the major observed with a chuckle that he held miss fairleigh's hand a little longer than was strictly necessary under the circumstances. he held it so long, indeed, that miss fairleigh half averted her face, but the major noted that she was still pale. "we shall have a wedding in this house before the war opens," he thought to himself; and his mind was dwelling on such a contingency when little compton came out on the veranda. "don't tear yourself away in the heat of the day," said major bass jocularly. "i must go," replied compton. "good-by!" he seized the major's hand and wrung it. "good night," said the major, "and god bless you!" the next day was sunday. but on monday it was observed that compton's store was closed. nothing was said and little thought of it. people's minds were busy with other matters. the drums were beating, the flags flying, and the citizen soldiery parading. it was a noisy and an exciting time, and a larger store than little compton's might have remained closed for several days without attracting attention. but one day, when the young men from the camp were in the village, it occurred to them to inquire what effect the anonymous note had had on little compton; whereupon they went in a body to his store; but the door was closed, and they found it had been closed a week or more. they also discovered that compton had disappeared. this had a very peculiar effect upon captain jack walthall. he took off his uniform, put on his citizen's clothes, and proceeded to investigate compton's disappearance. he sought in vain for a clue. he interested others to such an extent that a great many people in hillsborough forgot all about the military situation. but there was no trace of little compton. his store was entered from a rear window, and everything found to be intact. nothing had been removed. the jars of striped candy that had proved so attractive to the youngsters of hillsborough stood in long rows on the shelves, flanked by the thousand and one notions that make up the stock of a country grocery store. little compton's disappearance was a mysterious one, and under ordinary circumstances would have created intense excitement in the community; but at that particular time the most sensational event would have seemed tame and commonplace alongside the preparations for war. owing probably to a lack of the faculty of organization at richmond--a lack which, if we are to believe the various historians who have tried to describe and account for some of the results of that period, was the cause of many bitter controversies, and of many disastrous failures in the field--a month or more passed away before the hillsborough company received orders to go to the front. fort sumter had been fired on, troops from all parts of the south had gathered in virginia, and the war was beginning in earnest. captain jack walthall of the hillsborough guards chafed at the delay that kept his men resting on their arms, so to speak; but he had ample opportunity, meanwhile, to wonder what had become of little compton. in his leisure moments he often found himself sitting on the dry-goods boxes in the neighborhood of little compton's store. sitting thus one day, he was approached by his body-servant. jake had his hat in his hand, and showed by his manner that he had something to say. he shuffled around, looked first one way and then another, and scratched his head. "marse jack," he began. "well, what is it?" said the other, somewhat sharply. "marse jack, i hope ter de lord you ain't gwine ter git mad wid me; yit i mos' knows you is, kaze i oughter done tole you a long time ago." "you ought to have told me what?" "'bout my drivin' yo' hoss en buggy over ter rockville dat time--dat time what i ain't never tole you 'bout. but i 'uz mos' 'blige' ter do it. i 'low ter myse'f, i did, dat i oughter come tell you right den, but i 'uz skeer'd you mought git mad, en den you wuz out dar at de camps, 'long wid dem milliumterry folks." "what have you got to tell?" "well, marse jack, des 'bout takin' yo' hoss en buggy. marse compton 'lowed you wouldn't keer, en w'en he say dat, i des went en hich up de hoss en kyar'd 'im over ter rockville." "what under heaven did you want to go to rockville for?" "who? me, marse jack? 'twa'n't me wanter go. hit 'uz marse compton." "little compton?" exclaimed walthall. "yes, sir, dat ve'y same man." "what did you carry little compton to rockville for?" "fo' de lord, marse jack, i dunno w'at marse compton wanter go fer. i des know'd i 'uz doin' wrong, but he tuck'n 'low dat hit'd be all right wid you, kaze you bin knowin' him so monst'us well. en den he up'n ax me not to tell you twell he done plum out'n yearin'." "didn't he say anything? didn't he tell you where he was going? didn't he send any word back?" this seemed to remind jake of something. he clapped his hand to his head, and exclaimed: "well, de lord he'p my soul! ef i ain't de beatenest nigger on de top side er de yeth! marse compton gun me a letter, en i tuck'n shove it un' de buggy seat, en it's right dar yit ef somebody ain't tored it up." by certain well-known signs jake knew that his marse jack was very mad, and he was hurrying out. but walthall called him. "come here, sir!" the tone made jake tremble. "do you stand up there, sir, and tell me all this, and think i am going to put up with it?" "i'm gwine after dat note, marse jack, des ez hard ez ever i kin." jake managed to find the note after some little search, and carried it to jack walthall. it was crumpled and soiled. it had evidently seen rough service under the buggy seat. walthall took it from the negro, turned it over and looked at it. it was sealed, and addressed to miss lizzie fairleigh. jack walthall arrayed himself in his best, and made his way to major jimmy bass's, where he inquired for miss fairleigh. that young lady promptly made her appearance. she was pale and seemed to be troubled. walthall explained his errand, and handed her the note. he thought her hand trembled, but he may have been mistaken, as he afterward confessed. she read it, and handed it to captain walthall with a vague little smile that would have told him volumes if he had been able to read the feminine mind. major jimmy bass was a wiser man than walthall, and he remarked long afterward that he knew by the way the poor girl looked that she was in trouble, and it is not to be denied, at least, it is not to be denied in hillsborough, where he was known and respected, that major bass's impressions were as important as the average man's convictions. this is what captain jack walthall read: "dear miss fairleigh--when you see this i shall be on my way home. my eyes have recently been opened to the fact that there is to be a war for and against the union. i have strong friendships here, but i feel that i owe a duty to the old flag. when i bade you good-by last night, it was good-by forever. i had hoped--i had desired--to say more than i did; but perhaps it is better so. perhaps it is better that i should carry with me a fond dream of what might have been than to have been told by you that such a dream could never come true. i had intended to give you the highest evidence of my respect and esteem that man can give to woman, but i have been overruled by fate or circumstance. i shall love you as long as i live. one thing more: should you ever find yourself in need of the services of a friend--a friend in whom you may place the most implicit confidence--send for mr. jack walthall. say to him that little compton commended you to his care and attention, and give him my love." walthall drew a long breath and threw his head back as he finished reading this. whatever emotion he may have felt, he managed to conceal, but there was a little color in his usually pale face, and his dark eyes shone with a new light. "this is a very unfortunate mistake," he exclaimed. "what is to be done?" miss fairleigh smiled. "there is no mistake, mr. walthall," she replied. "mr. compton is a northern man, and he has gone to join the northern army. i think he is right." "well," said walthall, "he will do what he thinks is right, but i wish he was here to-night." "oh, so do i!" exclaimed miss fairleigh, and then she blushed; seeing which, mr. jack walthall drew his own conclusions. "if i could get through the lines," she went on, "i would go home." whereupon walthall offered her all the assistance in his power, and offered to escort her to the potomac. but before arrangements for the journey could be made, there came the news of the first battle of manassas, and the conflict was begun in earnest; so earnest, indeed, that it changed the course of a great many lives, and gave even a new direction to american history. miss fairleigh's friends in hillsborough would not permit her to risk the journey through the lines; and captain walthall's company was ordered to the front, where the young men composing it entered headlong into the hurly-burly that goes by the name of war. there was one little episode growing out of jack walthall's visit to miss fairleigh that ought to be told. when that young gentleman bade her good evening, and passed out of the parlor, miss fairleigh placed her hands to her face and fell to weeping, as women will. major bass, sitting on the veranda, had been an interested spectator of the conference in the parlor, but it was in the nature of a pantomime. he could hear nothing that was said, but he could see that miss fairleigh and walthall were both laboring under some strong excitement. when, therefore, he saw walthall pass hurriedly out, leaving miss fairleigh in tears in the parlor, it occurred to him that, as the head of the household and the natural protector of the women under his roof, he was bound to take some action. he called jesse, the negro house-servant, who was on duty in the dining-room. "jess! jess! oh, jess!" there was an insinuating sweetness in his voice as it echoed through the hall. jesse, doubtless recognizing the velvety quality of the tone, made his appearance promptly. "jess," said the major softly, "i wish you'd please fetch me my shotgun. make 'aste, jess, and don't make no furse." jesse went after the shotgun, and the major waddled into the parlor. he cleared his throat at the door, and miss fairleigh looked up. "miss lizzie, did jack walthall insult you here in my house?" "insult me, sir! why, he's the noblest gentleman alive." the major drew a deep breath of relief, and smiled. "well, i'm mighty glad to hear you say so!" he exclaimed. "i couldn't tell, to save my life, what put it into my mind. why, i might 'a' know'd that jack walthall ain't that kind of a chap. lord! i reckon i must be getting old and weak-minded. don't cry no more, honey. go right along and go to bed." as he turned to go out of the parlor, he was confronted by jesse with the shotgun. "oh, go put her up, jess," he said apologetically; "go put her up, boy. i wanted to blaze away at a dog out there trying to scratch under the palings; but the dog's done gone. go put her up, jess." when jess carried the gun back, he remarked casually to his mistress: "miss sa'h, you better keep yo' eye on marse maje. he talkin' mighty funny, en he doin' mighty quare." thereafter, for many a long day, the genial major sat in his cool veranda, and thought of jack walthall and the boys in virginia. sometimes between dozes he would make his way to perdue's corner, and discuss the various campaigns. how many desperate campaigns were fought on that corner! all the older citizens, who found it convenient or necessary to stay at home, had in them the instinct and emotions of great commanders. they knew how victory could be wrung from defeat, and how success could be made more overwhelming. at perdue's corner, washington city was taken not less than a dozen times a week, and occasionally both new york and boston were captured and sacked. of all the generals who fought their battles at the corner, major jimmy bass was the most energetic, the most daring, and the most skilful. as a strategist he had no superior. he had a way of illustrating the feasibility of his plans by drawing them in the sand with his cane. fat as he was, the major had a way of "surroundering" the enemy so that no avenue was left for his escape. at perdue's corner he captured scott, and mcclellan, and joe hooker, and john pope, and held their entire forces as prisoners of war. in spite of all this, however, the war went on. sometimes word would come that one of the hillsborough boys had been shot to death. now and then one would come home with an arm or a leg missing; so that, before many months had passed, even the generals conducting their campaigns at perdue's corner managed to discover that war was a very serious business. it happened that one day in july, captain jack walthall and his men, together with quite an imposing array of comrades, were called upon to breast the sultry thunder of gettysburg. they bore themselves like men; they went forward with a shout and a rush, facing the deadly slaughter of the guns; they ran up the hill and to the rock wall. with others, captain walthall leaped over the wall. they were met by a murderous fire that mowed down the men like grass. the line in the rear wavered, fell back, and went forward again. captain walthall heard his name called in his front, and then some one cried, "don't shoot!" and little compton, his face blackened with powder, and his eyes glistening with excitement, rushed into walthall's arms. the order not to shoot--if it was an order--came too late. there was another volley. as the confederates rushed forward, the federal line retreated a little way, and walthall found himself surrounded by the small remnant of his men. the confederates made one more effort to advance, but it was useless. the line was borne back, and finally retreated; but when it went down the slope, walthall and lieutenant ransome had little compton between them. he was a prisoner. just how it all happened, no one of the three could describe, but little compton was carried into the confederate lines. he was wounded in the shoulder and in the arm, and the ball that shattered his arm shattered walthall's arm. they were carried to the field hospital, where walthall insisted that little compton's wounds should be looked after first. the result was that walthall lost his left arm and compton his right; and then, when by some special interposition of providence they escaped gangrene and other results of imperfect surgery and bad nursing, they went to richmond, where walthall's money and influence secured them comfortable quarters. hillsborough had heard of all this in a vague way--indeed, a rumor of it had been printed in the rockville "vade mecum"--but the generals and commanders in consultation at perdue's corner were astonished one day when the stage-coach set down at the door of the tavern a tall, one-armed gentleman in gray, and a short, one-armed gentleman in blue. "by the livin' lord!" exclaimed major jimmy bass, "if that ain't jack walthall! and you may put out my two eyes if that ain't little compton! why, shucks, boys!" he exclaimed, as he waddled across the street, "i'd 'a' know'd you anywheres. i'm a little short-sighted, and i'm mighty nigh took off wi' the dropsy, but i'd 'a' know'd you anywheres." there were handshakings and congratulations from everybody in the town. the clerks and the merchants deserted their stores to greet the newcomers, and there seemed to be a general jubilee. for weeks captain jack walthall was compelled to tell his gettysburg story over and over again, frequently to the same hearers; and, curiously enough, there was never a murmur of dissent when he told how little compton had insisted on wearing his federal uniform. "great jiminy craminy!" major jimmy bass would exclaim; "don't we all know little compton like a book? and ain't he got a right to wear his own duds?" rockville, like every other railroad town in the south at that period, had become the site of a confederate hospital; and sometimes the hangers-on and convalescents paid brief visits of inspection to the neighboring villages. on one occasion a little squad of them made their appearance on the streets of hillsborough, and made a good-natured attempt to fraternize with the honest citizens who gathered daily at perdue's corner. while they were thus engaged, little compton, arrayed in his blue uniform, passed down the street. the visitors made some inquiries, and major bass gave them a very sympathetic history of little compton. evidently they failed to appreciate the situation; for one of them, a tall mississippian, stretched himself and remarked to his companions: "boys, when we go, we'll just about lift that feller and take him along. he belongs in andersonville, that's where he belongs." major bass looked at the tall mississippian and smiled. "i reckon you must 'a' been mighty sick over yander," said the major, indicating rockville. "well, yes," said the mississippian; "i've had a pretty tough time." "and you ain't strong yet," the major went on. "well, i'm able to get about right lively," said the other. "strong enough to go to war?" "oh, well, no--not just yet." "well, then," said the major in his bluntest tone, "you better be mighty keerful of yourself in this town. if you ain't strong enough to go to war, you better let little compton alone." the tall mississippian and his friends took the hint, and little compton continued to wear his blue uniform unmolested. about this time atlanta fell; and there were vague rumors in the air, chiefly among the negroes, that sherman's army would march down and capture hillsborough, which, by the assembly of generals at perdue's corner, was regarded as a strategic point. these vague rumors proved to be correct; and by the time the first frosts fell, perdue's corner had reason to believe that general sherman was marching down on hillsborough. dire rumors of fire, rapine, and pillage preceded the approach of the federal army, and it may well be supposed that these rumors spread consternation in the air. major bass professed to believe that general sherman would be "surroundered" and captured before his troops reached middle georgia; but the three columns, miles apart, continued their march unopposed. it was observed that during this period of doubt, anxiety, and terror, little compton was on the alert. he appeared to be nervous and restless. his conduct was so peculiar that some of the more suspicious citizens of the region predicted that he had been playing the part of a spy, and that he was merely waiting for the advent of sherman's army in order to point out where his acquaintances had concealed their treasures. one fine morning a company of federal troopers rode into hillsborough. they were met by little compton, who had borrowed one of jack walthall's horses for just such an occasion. the cavalcade paused in the public square, and, after a somewhat prolonged consultation with little compton, rode on in the direction of rockville. during the day small parties of foragers made their appearance. little compton had some trouble with these; but, by hurrying hither and thither, he managed to prevent any depredations. he even succeeded in convincing the majority of them that they owed some sort of respect to that small town. there was one obstinate fellow, however, who seemed determined to prosecute his search for valuables. he was a german who evidently did not understand english. in the confusion little compton lost sight of the german, though he had determined to keep an eye on him. it was not long before he heard of him again; for one of the walthall negroes came running across the public square, showing by voice and gesture that he was very much alarmed. "marse compton! marse compton!" he cried, "you better run up ter marse jack's, kaze one er dem mens is gwine in dar whar ole miss is, en ef he do dat he gwine ter git hurted!" little compton hurried to the walthall place, and he was just in time to see jack rushing the german down the wide flight of steps that led to the veranda. what might have happened, no one can say; what did happen may be briefly told. the german, his face inflamed with passion, had seized his gun, which had been left outside, and was aiming at jack walthall, who stood on the steps, cool and erect. an exclamation of mingled horror and indignation from little compton attracted the german's attention, and caused him to turn his head. this delay probably saved jack walthall's life; for the german, thinking that a comrade was coming to his aid, leveled his gun again and fired. but little compton had seized the weapon near the muzzle and wrested it around. the bullet, instead of reaching its target, tore its way through compton's empty sleeve. in another instant the german was covered by compton's revolver. the hand that held it was steady, and the eyes that glanced along its shining barrel fairly blazed. the german dropped his gun. all trace of passion disappeared from his face; and presently seeing that the crisis had passed, so far as he was concerned, he wheeled in his tracks, gravely saluted little compton, and made off at a double-quick. "you mustn't think hard of the boys, jack, on account of that chap. they understand the whole business, and they are going to take care of this town." and they did. the army came marching along presently, and the stragglers found hillsborough patrolled by a detachment of cavalry. walthall and little compton stood on the wide steps, and reviewed this imposing array as it passed before them. the tall confederate, in his uniform of gray, rested his one hand affectionately on the shoulder of the stout little man in blue, and on the bosom of each was pinned an empty sleeve. unconsciously, they made an impressive picture. the commander, grim, gray, and resolute, observed it with sparkling eyes. the spectacle was so unusual--so utterly opposed to the logic of events--that he stopped with his staff long enough to hear little compton tell his story. he was a grizzled, aggressive man, this commander, but his face lighted up wonderfully at the recital. "well, you know this sort of thing doesn't end the war, boys," he said, as he shook hands with walthall and little compton; "but i shall sleep better to-night." perhaps he did. perhaps he dreamed that what he had seen and heard was prophetic of the days to come, when peace and fraternity should seize upon the land, and bring unity, happiness, and prosperity to the people. aunt fountain's prisoner it is curious how the smallest incident, the most unimportant circumstance, will recall old friends and old associations. an old gentleman, who is noted far and near for his prodigious memory of dates and events, once told me that his memory, so astonishing to his friends and acquaintances, consisted not so much in remembering names and dates and facts, as in associating each of these with some special group of facts and events; so that he always had at command a series of associations to which he could refer instantly and confidently. this is an explanation of the system of employing facts, but not of the method by which they are accumulated and stored away. i was reminded of this some years ago by a paragraph in one of the county newspapers that sometimes come under my observation. it was a very commonplace paragraph; indeed, it was in the nature of an advertisement--an announcement of the fact that orders for "gilt-edged butter" from the jersey farm on the tomlinson place should be left at the drugstore in rockville, where the first that came would be the first served. this businesslike notice was signed by ferris trunion. the name was not only peculiar, but new to me; but this was of no importance at all. the fact that struck me was the bald and bold announcement that the tomlinson place was the site and centre of trading and other commercial transactions in butter. i can only imagine what effect this announcement would have had on my grandmother, who died years ago, and on some other old people i used to know. certainly they would have been horrified; and no wonder, for when they were in their prime the tomlinson place was the seat of all that was high, and mighty, and grand, in the social world in the neighborhood of rockville. i remember that everybody stood in awe of the tomlinsons. just why this was so, i never could make out. they were very rich; the place embraced several thousand acres; but if the impressions made on me when a child are worth anything, they were extremely simple in their ways. though, no doubt, they could be formal and conventional enough when occasion required. i have no distinct recollection of judge addison tomlinson, except that he was a very tall old gentleman, much older than his wife, who went about the streets of rockville carrying a tremendous gold-headed cane carved in a curious manner. in those days i knew more of mrs. tomlinson than i did of the judge, mainly because i heard a great deal more about her. some of the women called her mrs. judge tomlinson; but my grandmother never called her anything else but harriet bledsoe, which was her maiden name. it was a name, too, that seemed to suit her, so that when you once heard her called harriet bledsoe, you never forgot it afterward. i do not know now, any more than i did when a child, why this particular name should fit her so exactly; but, as i have been told, a lack of knowledge does not alter facts. i think my grandmother used to go to church to see what kind of clothes harriet bledsoe wore; for i have often heard her say, after the sermon was over, that harriet's bonnet, or harriet's dress, was perfectly charming. certainly mrs. tomlinson was always dressed in the height of fashion, though it was a very simple fashion when compared with the flounces and furbelows of her neighbors. i remember this distinctly, that she seemed to be perfectly cool the hottest sunday in summer, and comfortably warm the coldest sunday in winter; and i am convinced that this impression, made on the mind of a child, must bear some definite relation to mrs. tomlinson's good taste. certainly my grandmother was never tired of telling me that harriet bledsoe was blessed with exceptionally good taste and fine manners; and i remember that she told me often how she wished i was a girl, so that i might one day be in a position to take advantage of the opportunities i had had of profiting by harriet bledsoe's example. i think there was some sort of attachment between my grandmother and mrs. tomlinson, formed when they were at school together, though my grandmother was much the older of the two. but there was no intimacy. the gulf that money sometimes makes between those who have it and those who lack it lay between them. though i think my grandmother was more sensitive about crossing this gulf than mrs. tomlinson. i was never in the tomlinson house but once when a child. whether it was because it was two or three miles away from rockville, or whether it was because i stood in awe of my grandmother's harriet bledsoe, i do not know. but i have a very vivid recollection of the only time i went there as a boy. one of my play-mates, a rough-and-tumble little fellow, was sent by his mother, a poor sick woman, to ask mrs. tomlinson for some preserves. i think this woman and her little boy were in some way related to the tomlinsons. the richest and most powerful people, i have heard it said, are not so rich and powerful but they are pestered by poor kin, and the tomlinsons were no exception to the rule. i went with this little boy i spoke of, and i was afraid afterward that i was in some way responsible for his boldness. he walked right into the presence of mrs. tomlinson, and, without waiting to return the lady's salutation, he said in a loud voice: "aunt harriet, ma says send her some of your nicest preserves." "_aunt harriet_, indeed!" she exclaimed, and then she gave him a look that was cold enough to freeze him, and hard enough to send him through the floor. i think she relented a little, for she went to one of the windows, bigger than any door you see nowadays, and looked out over the blooming orchard; and then after a while she came back to us, and was very gracious. she patted me on the head; and i must have shrunk from her touch, for she laughed and said she never bit nice little boys. then she asked me my name; and when i told her, she said my grandmother was the dearest woman in the world. moreover, she told my companion that it would spoil preserves to carry them about in a tin bucket; and then she fetched a big basket, and had it filled with preserves, and jelly, and cake. there were some ginger-preserves among the rest, and i remember that i appreciated them very highly; the more so, since my companion had a theory of his own that ginger-preserves and fruit-cake were not good for sick people. i remember, too, that mrs. tomlinson had a little daughter about my own age. she had long yellow hair and very black eyes. she rode around in the tomlinson carriage a great deal, and everybody said she was remarkably pretty, with a style and a spirit all her own. the negroes used to say that she was as affectionate as she was wilful, which was saying a good deal. it was characteristic of harriet bledsoe, my grandmother said, that her little girl should be named lady. i heard a great many of the facts i have stated from old aunt fountain, one of the tomlinson negroes, who, for some reason or other, was permitted to sell ginger-cakes and persimmon-beer under the wide-spreading china trees in rockville on public days and during court week. there was a theory among certain envious people in rockville--there are envious people everywhere--that the tomlinsons, notwithstanding the extent of their landed estate and the number of their negroes, were sometimes short of ready cash; and it was hinted that they pocketed the proceeds of aunt fountain's persimmon-beer and ginger-cakes. undoubtedly such stories as these were the outcome of pure envy. when my grandmother heard such gossip as this, she sighed, and said that people who would talk about harriet bledsoe in that way would talk about anybody under the sun. my own opinion is, that aunt fountain got the money and kept it; otherwise she would not have been so fond of her master and mistress, nor so proud of the family and its position. i spent many an hour near aunt fountain's cake and beer stand, for i liked to hear her talk. besides, she had a very funny name, and i thought there was always a probability that she would explain how she got it. but she never did. i had forgotten all about the tomlinsons until the advertisement i have mentioned was accidentally brought to my notice, whereupon memory suddenly became wonderfully active. i am keenly alive to the happier results of the war, and i hope i appreciate at their full value the emancipation of both whites and blacks from the deadly effects of negro slavery, and the wonderful development of our material resources that the war has rendered possible; but i must confess it was with a feeling of regret that i learned that the tomlinson place had been turned into a dairy farm. moreover, the name of ferris trunion had a foreign and an unfamiliar sound. his bluntly worded advertisement appeared to come from the mind of a man who would not hesitate to sweep away both romance and tradition if they happened to stand in the way of a profitable bargain. i was therefore much gratified, some time after reading trunion's advertisement, to receive a note from a friend who deals in real estate, telling me that some land near the tomlinson place had been placed in his hands for sale, and asking me to go to rockville to see if the land and the situation were all they were described to be. i lost no time in undertaking this part of the business, for i was anxious to see how the old place looked in the hands of strangers, and unsympathetic strangers at that. it is not far from atlanta to rockville--a day and a night--and the journey is not fatiguing; so that a few hours after receiving my friend's request i was sitting in the veranda of the rockville hotel, observing, with some degree of wonder, the vast changes that had taken place--the most of them for the better. there were new faces and new enterprises all around me, and there was a bustle about the town that must have caused queer sensations in the minds of the few old citizens who still gathered at the post-office for the purpose of carrying on ancient political controversies with each other. among the few familiar figures that attracted my attention was that of aunt fountain. the old china tree in the shade of which she used to sit had been blasted by lightning or fire; but she still had her stand there, and she was keeping the flies and dust away with the same old turkey-tail fan. i could see no change. if her hair was grayer, it was covered and concealed from view by the snow-white handkerchief tied around her head. from my place i could hear her humming a tune--the tune i had heard her sing in precisely the same way years ago. i heard her scolding a little boy. the gesture, the voice, the words, were the same she had employed in trying to convince me that my room was much better than my company, especially in the neighborhood of her cake-stand. to see and hear her thus gave me a peculiar feeling of homesickness. i approached and saluted her. she bowed with old-fashioned politeness, but without looking up. "de biggest uns, dee er ten cent," she said, pointing to her cakes; "en de littlest, dee er fi' cent. i make um all myse'f, suh. en de beer in dat jug--dat beer got body, suh." "i have eaten many a one of your cakes, aunt fountain," said i, "and drank many a glass of your beer; but you have forgotten me." "my eye weak, suh, but dee ain' weak nuff fer dat." she shaded her eyes with her fan, and looked at me. then she rose briskly from her chair. "de lord he'p my soul!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "w'y, i know you w'en you little boy. w'at make i ain' know you w'en you big man? my eye weak, suh, but dee ain' weak nuff fer dat. well, suh, you mus' eat some my ginger-cake. de lord know you has make way wid um w'en you wuz little boy." the invitation was accepted, but somehow the ginger-cakes had lost their old-time relish; in me the taste and spirit of youth were lacking. we talked of old times and old friends, and i told aunt fountain that i had come to rockville for the purpose of visiting in the neighborhood of the tomlinson place. "den i gwine wid you, suh," she cried, shaking her head vigorously. "i gwine wid you." and go she did. "i been layin' off ter go see my young mistiss dis long time," said aunt fountain, the next day, after we had started. "i glad i gwine deer in style. de niggers won' know me skacely, ridin' in de buggy dis away." "your young mistress?" i inquired. "yes, suh. you know miss lady w'en she little gal. she grown 'oman now." "well, who is this trunion i have heard of?" "he monst'ous nice w'ite man, suh. he married my young mistiss. he monst'ous nice w'ite man." "but who is he? where did he come from?" aunt fountain chuckled convulsively as i asked these questions. "we-all des pick 'im up, suh. yes, suh; we-all des pick 'im up. ain' you year talk 'bout dat, suh? i dunner whar you bin at ef you ain' never is year talk 'bout dat. he de fus' w'ite man w'at i ever pick up, suh. yes, suh; de ve'y fus' one." "i don't understand you," said i; "tell me about it." at this aunt fountain laughed long and loudly. she evidently enjoyed my ignorance keenly. "de lord know i oughtn' be laughin' like dis. i ain' laugh so hearty sence i wuz little gal mos', en dat wuz de time w'en marse rowan tomlinson come 'long en ax me my name. i tell 'im, i did: 'i'm name flew ellen, suh.' marse rowan he deaf ez any dead hoss. he 'low: 'hey?' i say: 'i'm name flew ellen, suh.' marse rowan say: 'fountain! huh! he quare name.' i holler en laugh, en w'en de folks ax me w'at i hollerin' 'bout, i tell um dat marse rowan say i'm name fountain. well, suh, fum dat day down ter dis, stedder flew ellen, i'm bin name fountain. i laugh hearty den en my name got change, en i feared ef i laugh now de hoss'll run away en turn de buggy upperside down right spang on top er me." "but about this mr. trunion?" said i. "name er de lord!" exclaimed aunt fountain, "ain' you never is bin year 'bout dat? you bin mighty fur ways, suh, kaze we all bin knowin' 'bout it fum de jump." "no doubt. now tell me about it." aunt fountain shook her head, and her face assumed a serious expression. "i dunno 'bout dat, suh. i year tell dat niggers ain' got no business fer go talkin' 'bout fambly doin's. yit dar wuz yo' gran-mammy. my mistiss sot lots by her, en you been bornded right yer 'long wid um. i don't speck it'll be gwine so mighty fur out'n de fambly ef i tell you 'bout it." i made no attempt to coax aunt fountain to tell me about trunion, for i knew it would be difficult to bribe her not to talk about him. she waited a while, evidently to tease my curiosity; but as i betrayed none, and even made an effort to talk about something else, she began: "well, suh, you ax me 'bout marse fess trunion. i know you bleeze ter like dat man. he ain' b'long ter we-all folks, no furder dan he my young mistiss ole man, but dee ain' no finer w'ite man dan him. no, suh; dee ain'. i tell you dat p'intedly. de niggers, dee say he mighty close en pinchin', but deze is mighty pinchin' times--you know dat yo'se'f, suh. ef a man don' fa'rly fling 'way he money, dem tomlinson niggers, dee'll say he mighty pinchin'. i hatter be pinchin' myse'f, suh, kaze i know time i sell my ginger-cakes dat ef i don't grip onter de money, dee won' be none lef' fer buy flour en 'lasses fer make mo'. it de lord's trufe, suh, kaze i done had trouble dat way many's de time. i say dis 'bout marse fess trunion, ef he ain' got de blood, he got de breedin'. ef he ain' good ez de tomlinsons, he lots better dan some folks w'at i know." i gathered from all this that trunion was a foreigner of some kind, but i found out my mistake later. "i pick dat man up myse'f, en i knows 'im 'most good ez ef he wuz one er we-all." "what do you mean when you say you 'picked him up'?" i asked, unable to restrain my impatience. "well, suh, de fus' time i see marse fess trunion wuz terreckerly atter de sherman army come 'long. dem wuz hot times, suh, col' ez de wedder wuz. dee wuz in-about er million un um look like ter me, en dee des ravage de face er de yeth. dee tuck all de hosses, en all de cows, en all de chickens. yes, suh; dee cert'n'y did. man come 'long, en 'low: 'aunty, you free now,' en den he tuck all my ginger-cakes w'at i bin bakin' 'g'inst chris'mus; en den i say: 'ef i wuz free ez you is, suh, i'd fling you down en take dem ginger-cakes 'way fum you.' yes, suh. i tole 'im dat. it make me mad fer see de way dat man walk off wid my ginger-cakes. "i got so mad, suh, dat i foller 'long atter him little ways; but dat ain' do no good, kaze he come ter whar dee wuz some yuther men, en dee 'vide up dem cakes till de wa'n't no cake lef'. den i struck 'cross de plan'ation, en walked 'bout in de drizzlin' rain tell i cool off my madness, suh, kaze de flour dat went in dem cakes cos' me mos 'a hunderd dollars in good confederick money. yes, suh; it did dat. en i work for dat money mighty hard. "well, suh, i ain' walk fur 'fo' it seem like i year some un talkin'. i stop, i did, en lissen, en still i year um. i ain' see nobody, suh, but still i year um. i walk fus' dis away en den dat away, en den i walk 'roun' en 'roun', en den it pop in my min' 'bout de big gully. it ain' dar now, suh, but in dem days we call it de big gully, kaze it wuz wide en deep. well, suh, 'fo' i git dar i see hoss-tracks, en dee led right up ter de brink. i look in, i did, en down dar dee wuz a man en a hoss. yes, suh; dee wuz bofe down dar. de man wuz layin' out flat on he back, en de hoss he wuz layin' sorter up en down de gully en right on top er one er de man legs, en eve'y time de hoss'd scrample en try fer git up de man 'ud talk at 'im. i know dat hoss mus' des nat'ally a groun' dat man legs in de yeth, suh. yes, suh. it make my flesh crawl w'en i look at um. yit de man ain' talk like he mad. no, suh, he ain'; en it make me feel like somebody done gone en hit me on de funny-bone w'en i year 'im talkin' dat away. eve'y time de hoss scuffle, de man he 'low: 'hol' up, ole fel, you er mashin' all de shape out'n me.' dat w'at he say, suh. en den he 'low: 'ef you know how you hurtin', ole fel, i des know you'd be still.' yes, suh. dem he ve'y words. "all dis time de rain wuz a-siftin' down. it fall mighty saft, but 'twuz monst'ous wet, suh. bimeby i crope up nigher de aidge, en w'en de man see me he holler out: 'hol' on, aunty; don't you fall down yer!' "i ax 'im, i say: 'marster, is you hurted much?' kaze time i look at 'im i know he ain' de villyun w'at make off wid my ginger-cakes. den he 'low: 'i speck i hurt purty bad, aunty, en de wuss un it is dat my hoss keep hurtin' me mo'.' "den nex' time de hoss move it errortate me so, suh, dat i holler at 'im loud ez i ken: 'wo dar, you scan'lous villyun! wo!' well, suh, i speck dat hoss mus a-bin use'n ter niggers, kaze time i holler at 'im he lay right still, suh. i slid down dat bank, en i kotch holter dat bridle--i don't look like i'm mighty strong, does i, suh?" said aunt fountain, pausing suddenly in her narrative to ask the question. "well, no," said i, humoring her as much as possible. "you don't seem to be as strong as some people i've seen." "dat's it, suh!" she exclaimed. "dat w'at worry me. i slid down dat bank, en i kotch dat hoss by de bridle. de man say: 'watch out dar, aunty! don't let he foot hit you. dee one cripple too much now.' i ain' pay no 'tention, suh. i des grab de bridle, en i slew dat hoss head roun', en i fa'rly lif 'im on he foots. yes, suh, i des lif 'im on he foots. den i led 'im down de gully en turnt 'im a-loose, en you ain' never see no hoss supjued like dat hoss wuz, suh. den i went back whar de man layin', en ax 'im ef he feel better, en he 'low dat he feel like he got a big load lif' offen he min', en den, mos' time he say dat, suh, he faint dead away. yes, suh. he des faint dead away. i ain' never is see no man like dat, w'at kin be jokin' one minnit en den de nex' be dead, ez you may say. but dat's marse fess trunion, suh. dat's him up en down. "well, suh, i stan' dar, i did, en i ain' know w'at in de name er de lord i gwine do. i wuz des ez wringin' wet ez if i'd a-bin baptize in de water; en de man he wuz mo' wetter dan w'at i wuz, en goodness knows how long he bin layin' dar. i run back ter de big 'ouse, suh, mighty nigh a mile, en i done my level bes' fer fin' some er de niggers en git um fer go wid me back dar en git de man. but i ain' fin' none un um, suh. dem w'at ain' gone wid de sherman army, dee done hide out. den i went in de big 'ouse, suh, en tell mistiss 'bout de man down dar in de gully, en how he done hurted so bad he ain' kin walk. den mistiss--i speck you done fergit mistiss, suh--mistiss, she draw herse'f up en ax w'at business dat man er any yuther man got on her plan'ation. i say: 'yassum, dat so; but he done dar, en ef he stay dar he gwine die dar.' yes, suh; dat w'at i say. i des put it at mistiss right pine-blank. "den my young mistiss--dat's miss lady, suh--she say dat dough she spize um all dez bad az she kin, dat man mus' be brung away from dar. kaze, she say, she don't keer how yuther folks go on, de tomlinsons is bleeze to do like christian people. yes, suh; she say dem ve'y words. den mistiss, she 'low dat de man kin be brung up, en put in de corn-crib, but miss lady she say no, he mus' be brung en put right dar in de big 'ouse in one er de upsta'rs rooms, kaze maybe some er dem state er georgy boys mought be hurted up dar in de norf, en want some place fer stay at. yes, suh; dat des de way she talk. den mistiss, she ain' say nothin', yit she hol' her head mighty high. "well, suh, i went back out in de yard, en den i went 'cross ter de nigger-quarter, en i ain' gone fur tell i year my ole man prayin' in dar some'r's. i know 'im by he v'ice, suh, en he wuz prayin' des like it wuz camp-meetin' time. i hunt 'roun' fer 'im, suh, en bimeby i fin' 'im squattin' down behime de do'. i grab 'im, i did, en i shuck 'im, en i 'low: 'git up fum yer, you nasty, stinkin' ole villyun, you!' yes, suh; i wuz mad. i say: 'w'at you doin' squattin' down on de flo'? git up fum dar en come go 'long wid me!' i hatter laugh, suh, kaze w'en i shuck my ole man be de shoulder, en holler at 'im, he put up he two han', suh, en squall out: 'oh, pray, marster! don't kill me dis time, en i ain' never gwine do it no mo'!' "atter he 'come pacify, suh, den i tell him 'bout de man down dar in de gully, en yit we ain' know w'at ter do. my ole man done hide out some er de mules en hosses down in de swamp, en he feard ter go atter um, suh, kaze he skeerd de sherman army would come marchin' back en fine um, en he 'low dat he mos' know dee er comin' back atter dat man down dar. yes, suh; he de skeerdest nigger w'at i ever see, if i do say it myse'f. yit, bimeby he put out atter one er de hosses, en he brung 'im back; en we hitch 'im up in de spring-waggin, en atter dat man we went. yes, suh; we did dat. en w'en we git dar, dat ar man wuz plum ravin' deestracted. he wuz laughin' en talkin' wid hese'f, en gwine on, tell it make yo' blood run col' fer lissen at 'im. yes, suh. "me en my ole man, we pick 'im up des like he wuz baby. i come mighty nigh droppin' 'im, suh, kaze one time, wiles we kyarn 'im up de bank, i year de bones in he leg rasp up 'g'inst one er n'er. yes, suh. it make me blin' sick, suh. we kyard 'im home en put 'im upst'ars, en dar he stayed fer many's de long day." "where was judge tomlinson?" i asked. at this aunt fountain grew more serious than ever--a seriousness that was expressed by an increased particularity and emphasis in both speech and manner. "you axin' 'bout marster? well, suh, he wuz dar. he wuz cert'n'y dar wid mistiss en miss lady, suh, but look like he ain' take no intruss in w'at gwine on. _some_ folks 'low, suh, dat he ain' right in he head, but dee ain' know 'im--dee ain't know 'im, suh, like we-all. endurin' er de war, suh, he wuz strucken wid de polzy, en den w'en he git well, he ain' take no intruss in w'at gwine on. dey'd be long days, suh, w'en he ain' take no notice er nobody ner nuttin' but miss lady. he des had dem spells; en den, ag'in, he'd set out on de peazzer en sing by hese'f, en it make me feel so lonesome dat i bleeze ter cry. yes, suh; it's de lord's trufe. "well, suh, dat man w'at i fin' out dar in de gully wuz marse fess trunion. yes, suh, de ve'y same man. dee ain' no tellin' w'at dat po' creetur gone thoo wid. he had fever, he had pneumony, en he had dat broke leg. en all 'long wid dat dee want skacely no time w'en he want laughin' en jokin'. our w'ite folks, dee des spized 'im kaze he bin wid sherman army. dee say he wuz yankee; but i tell um, suh, dat ef yankee look dat away dee wuz cert'n'y mighty like we-all. mistiss, she ain' never go 'bout 'im wiles he sick; en miss lady, she keep mighty shy, en she tu'n up her nose eve'y time she year 'im laugh. oh, yes, suh; dee cert'n'y spize de yankees endurin' er dem times. dee hated um rank, suh. i tell um, i say: 'you-all des wait. dee ain' no nicer man dan w'at he is, en you-all des wait tell you know 'im.' _shoo!_ i des might ez well talk ter de win', suh--dee hate de yankees dat rank. "by de time dat man git so he kin creep 'bout on crutches, he look mos' good ez he do now. he wuz dat full er life, suh, dat he bleeze ter go downsta'rs, en down he went. well, suh, he wuz mighty lucky dat day. kaze ef he'd a run up wid mistiss en miss lady by hese'f, dee'd er done sumpn' ner fer ter make 'im feel bad. dee cert'n'y would, suh. but dee wuz walkin' 'roun' in de yard, en he come out on de peazzer whar marster wuz sunnin' hese'f and singin'. i wouldn' b'lieve it, suh, ef i ain' see it wid my two eyes; but marster got up out'n he cheer, en straighten hese'f, en shuck han's wid mars fess, en look like he know all 'bout it. dee sot dar, suh, en talk en laugh, en laugh en talk, tell bimeby i 'gun ter git skeerd on de accounts er bofe un um. dee talk 'bout de war, en dee talk 'bout de yankees, en dee talk politics right straight 'long des like marster done 'fo' he bin strucken wid de polzy. en he talk sense, suh. he cert'n'y did. bimeby mistiss en miss lady come back fum dee walk, en dee look like dee gwine drap w'en dee see w'at gwine on. dem two mens wuz so busy takin', suh, dat dee ain' see de wimmen folks, en dee des keep right on wid dee argafyin'. mistiss en miss lady, dee ain' know w'at ter make er all dis, en dee stan' dar lookin' fus' at marster en den at one er n'er. bimeby dee went up de steps en start to go by, but marster he riz up en stop um. yes, suh. he riz right up en stop um, en right den en dar, suh, he make um interjuced ter one an'er. he stan' up, en he say: 'mr. trunion, dis my wife; mr. trunion, dis my daughter.' "well, suh, i wuz stannin' back in de big hall, en we'n i see marster gwine on dat away my knees come mighty nigh failin' me, suh. dis de fus' time w'at he reckermember anybody name, an de fus' time he do like he useter, sence he bin sick wid de polzy. mistiss en miss lady, dee come 'long in atter w'ile, en dee look like dee skeerd. well, suh, i des far'ly preach at um. yes, suh; i did dat. i say: 'you see dat? you see how marster doin'? ef de han' er de lord ain' in dat, den de han' ain' bin in nuttin' on de top side er dis yeth.' i say: 'you see how you bin cuttin' up 'roun' dat sick w'ite man wid yo' biggity capers, en yit de lord retch down en make marster soun' en well time de yuther w'ite man tetch 'im. well, suh, dey wuz dat worked up dat dey sot down en cried. yes, suh; dey did dat. dey cried. en i ain' tellin' you no lie, suh, i stood dar en cried wid um. let 'lone dat, i des far'ly boohooed. yes, suh; dat's me. wen i git ter cryin' sho' nuff, i bleeze ter boohoo. "fum dat on, marster do like hese'f, en talk like hese'f. it look like he bin sleep long time, suh, en de sleep done 'im good. all he sense come back; en you know, suh, de tomlinsons, w'en dey at deese'f, got much sense ez dee want en some fer give way. mistiss and miss lady, dee wuz mighty proud 'bout marster, suh, but dee ain' fergit dat de yuther man wuz yankee, en dee hol' deese'f monst'ous stiff. he notice dat hese'f, en he want ter go 'way, but marster, he 'fuse ter lissen at 'im right pine-plank, suh. he say de dead tomlinsons would in-about turn over in dee graves ef dee know he sont a cripple man 'way from he 'ouse. den he want ter pay he board, but marster ain' lissen ter dat, en needer is mistiss; en dis mighty funny, too, kaze right dat minnit dee wa'n't a half er dollar er good money in de whole fambly, ceppin' some silver w'at i work fer, en w'at i hide in er chink er my chimbly. no, suh. dee want er half er dollar in de whole fambly, suh. en yit dee won't take de greenbacks w'at dat man offer um. "by dat time, suh, de war wuz done done, en dee wuz tough times. dee cert'n'y wuz, suh. de railroads wuz all broke up, en eve'ything look like it gwine helter-skelter right straight ter de ole boy. ded wa'n't no law, suh, en dey wa'n't no nuttin'; en ef it hadn't er bin fer me en my ole man, i speck de tomlinsons, proud ez dee wuz, would er bin mightily pincht fer fin' bread en meat. but dee ain' never want fer it yit, suh, kaze w'en me en my ole man git whar we can't move no furder, marse fess trunion, he tuck holt er de place en he fetcht it right side up terreckerly. he say ter me dat he gwine pay he board dat away, suh, but he ain' say it whar de tomlinsons kin year 'im, kaze den dee'd a-bin a fuss, suh. but he kotch holt, en me, en him, en my ole man, we des he't eve'ything hot. mo' speshually marse fess trunion, suh. you ain' know 'im, suh, but dat ar w'ite man, he got mo' ways ter work, en mo' short cuts ter de ways, suh, dan any w'ite man w'at i ever see, en i done see lots un um. it got so, suh, dat me en my ole man ain' have ter draw no mo' rashuns fum de f'eedman bureau; but dee wuz one spell, suh, w'en wuss rashuns dan dem wuz on de tomlinson table. "well, suh, dat w'ite man, he work en he scuffle; he hire niggers, and he turn um off; he plan, en he projick; en 'tain' so mighty long, suh, 'fo' he got eve'ything gwine straight. how he done it, i'll never tell you, suh; but do it he did. he put he own money in dar, suh, kaze dee wuz two times dat i knows un w'en he git money out'n de pos'-office, en i see 'im pay it out ter de niggers, suh. en all dat time he look like he de happies' w'ite man on top er de groun', suh. yes, suh. en w'en he at de 'ouse marster stuck right by 'im, en ef he bin he own son he couldn't pay him mo' 'tention. dee wuz times, suh, w'en it seem like ter me dat marse fess trunion wuz a-cuttin' he eye at miss lady, en den i 'low ter myse'f: 'shoo, man, you mighty nice en all dat, but you yankee, en you nee'nter be a-drappin' yo' wing 'roun' miss lady, kaze she too high-strung fer dat.' "it look like he see it de same way i do, suh, kaze atter he git eve'ything straight he say he gwine home. marster look like he feel mighty bad, but mistiss en miss lady, dee ain't say nuttin' 'tall. den, atter w'ile, suh, marse fess trunion fix up, en off he put. yes, suh. he went off whar he come fum, en i speck he folks wuz mighty glad ter see 'im atter so long, kaze ef dee ever wuz a plum nice man it wuz dat man. he want no great big man, suh, en he ain' make much fuss, yit he lef a mighty big hole at de tomlinson place, w'en he pulled out fum dar. yes, suh; he did dat. it look like it lonesome all over de plan'ation. marster, he 'gun ter git droopy, but eve'y time de dinner bell ring he go ter de foot er de sta'rs en call out: 'come on. trunion!' yes, suh. he holler dat out eve'y day, en den, w'iles he be talkin', he'd stop en look roun' en say: 'whar trunion?' it ain' make no difference who he talkin' wid, suh, he'd des stop right still en ax: 'whar trunion?' den de niggers, dee got slack, en eve'ything 'gun ter go een'-ways. one day i run up on miss lady settin' down cryin', en i ax her w'at de name er goodness de matter, en she say nuff de matter. den i say she better go ask her pappy whar trunion, en den she git red in de face, en 'low i better go 'ten' ter my business; en den i tell her dat ef somebody ain' tell us whar trunion is, en dat mighty quick, dee won't be no business on dat place fer 'ten' ter. yes, suh. i tol' her dat right p'intedly, suh. "well, suh, one day marse fess trunion come a-drivin' up in a shiny double buggy, en he look like he des step right out'n a ban'-box; en ef ever i wuz glad ter see anybody, i wuz glad ter see dat man. marster wuz glad; en dis time, suh, miss lady wuz glad, en she show it right plain; but mistiss, she still sniff de a'r en hol' her head high. t'wa'n't long, suh, 'fo' we all knowd dat marse fess wuz gwine marry miss lady. i ain' know how dee fix it, kaze mistiss never is come right out en say she agreeable 'bout it, but miss lady wuz a bledsoe too, en a tomlinson ter boot, en i ain' never see nobody w'at impatient nuff fer ter stan' out 'g'inst dat gal. it ain' all happen, suh, quick ez i tell it, but it happen; en but fer dat, i dunno w'at in de name er goodness would er 'come er dis place." a few hours later, as i sat with trunion on the veranda of his house, he verified aunt fountain's story, but not until after he was convinced that i was familiar with the history of the family. there was much in that history he could afford to be proud of, modern though he was. a man who believes in the results of blood in cattle is not likely to ignore the possibility of similar results in human beings; and i think he regarded the matter in some such practical light. he was a man, it seemed, who was disposed to look lightly on trouble, once it was over with; and i found he was not so much impressed with his struggle against the positive scorn and contempt of mrs. tomlinson--a struggle that was infinitely more important and protracted than aunt fountain had described it to be--as he was with his conflict with bermuda grass. he told me laughingly of some of his troubles with his hot-headed neighbors in the early days after the war, but nothing of this sort seemed to be as important as his difficulties with bermuda grass. here the practical and progressive man showed himself; for i have a very vivid recollection of the desperate attempts of the farmers of that region to uproot and destroy this particular variety. as for trunion, he conquered it by cultivating it for the benefit of himself and his neighbors; and i suspect that this is the way he conquered his other opponents. it was a great victory over the grass, at any rate. i walked with him over the place, and the picture of it all is still framed in my mind--the wonderful hedges of cherokee roses, and the fragrant and fertile stretches of green bermuda through which beautiful fawn-colored cattle were leisurely making their way. he had a theory that this was the only grass in the world fit for the dainty jersey cow to eat. there were comforts and conveniences on the tomlinson place not dreamed of in the old days, and i think there was substantial happiness there too. trunion himself was a wholesome man, a man full of honest affection, hearty laughter, and hard work--a breezy, companionable, energetic man. there was something boyish, unaffected, and winsome in his manners; and i can easily understand why judge addison tomlinson, in his old age, insisted on astonishing his family and his guests by exclaiming: "where's trunion?" certainly he was a man to think about and inquire after. i have rarely seen a lovelier woman than his wife, and i think her happiness helped to make her so. she had inherited a certain degree of cold stateliness from her ancestors; but her experience after the war, and trunion's unaffected ways, had acted as powerful correctives, and there was nothing in the shape of indifference or haughtiness to mar her singular beauty. as for mrs. tomlinson--the habit is still strong in me to call her harriet bledsoe--i think that in her secret soul she had an ineradicable contempt for trunion's extraordinary business energy. i think his "push and vim," as the phrase goes, shocked her sense of propriety to a far greater extent than she would have been willing to admit. but she had little time to think of these matters; for she had taken possession of her grandson, master addison tomlinson trunion, and was absorbed in his wild and boisterous ways, as grandmothers will be. this boy, a brave and manly little fellow, had trunion's temper, but he had inherited the tomlinson air. it became him well, too, and i think trunion was proud of it. "i am glad," said i, in parting, "that i have seen aunt fountain's prisoner." "ah!" said he, looking at his wife, who smiled and blushed, "that was during the war. since then i have been a prisoner of peace." i do not know what industrial theories trunion has impressed on his neighborhood by this time; but he gave me a practical illustration of the fact that one may be a yankee and a southerner too, simply by being a large-hearted, whole-souled american. trouble on lost mountain there is no doubt that when miss babe hightower stepped out on the porch, just after sunrise one fine morning in the spring of , she had the opportunity of enjoying a scene as beautiful as any that nature offers to the human eye. she was poised, so to speak, on the shoulder of lost mountain, a spot made cheerful and hospitable by her father's industry, and by her own inspiring presence. the scene, indeed, was almost portentous in its beauty. away above her the summit of the mountain was bathed in sunlight, while in the valley below the shadows of dawn were still hovering--a slow-moving sea of transparent gray, touched here and there with silvery reflections of light. across the face of the mountain that lifted itself to the skies, a belated cloud trailed its wet skirts, revealing, as it fled westward, a panorama of exquisite loveliness. the fresh, tender foliage of the young pines, massed here and there against the mountain side, moved and swayed in the morning breeze until it seemed to be a part of the atmosphere, a pale-green mist that would presently mount into the upper air and melt away. on a dead pine a quarter of a mile away, a turkey-buzzard sat with wings outspread to catch the warmth of the sun; while far above him, poised in the illimitable blue, serene, almost motionless, as though swung in the centre of space, his mate overlooked the world. the wild honeysuckles clambered from bush to bush, and from tree to tree, mingling their faint, sweet perfume with the delicious odors that seemed to rise from the valley, and float down from the mountain to meet in a little whirlpool of fragrance in the porch where miss babe hightower stood. the flowers and the trees could speak for themselves; the slightest breeze gave them motion: but the majesty of the mountain was voiceless; its beauty was forever motionless. its silence seemed more suggestive than the lapse of time, more profound than a prophet's vision of eternity, more mysterious than any problem of the human mind. it is fair to say, however, that miss babe hightower did not survey the panorama that lay spread out below her, around her, and above her, with any peculiar emotions. she was not without sentiment, for she was a young girl just budding into womanhood, but all the scenery that the mountain or the valley could show was as familiar to her as the fox-hounds that lay curled up in the fence-corners, or the fowls that crowed and clucked and cackled in the yard. she had discovered, indeed, that the individuality of the mountain was impressive, for she was always lonely and melancholy when away from it; but she viewed it, not as a picturesque affair to wonder at, but as a companion with whom she might hold communion. the mountain was something more than a mountain to her. hundreds of times, when a little child, she had told it her small troubles, and it had seemed to her that the spirit of comfort dwelt somewhere near the precipitous summit. as she grew older the mountain played a less important part in her imagination, but she continued to regard it with a feeling of fellowship which she never troubled herself to explain or define. nevertheless, she did not step out on the porch to worship at the shrine of the mountain, or to enjoy the marvelous picture that nature presented to the eye. she went out in obedience to the shrilly uttered command of her mother: "run, babe, run! that plegged old cat's a-tryin' to drink out'n the water-bucket. fling a cheer at 'er! sick the dogs on 'er." the cat, understanding the situation, promptly disappeared when it saw babe, and the latter had nothing to do but make such demonstrations as are natural to youth, if not to beauty. she seized one of the many curious crystal formations which she had picked up on the mountain, and employed for various purposes of ornamentation, and sent it flying after the cat. she threw with great strength and accuracy, but the cat was gone. the crystal went zooning into the fence-corner where one of the hounds lay; and this sensitive creature, taking it for granted that he had been made the special object of attack, set up a series of loud yells by way of protest. this aroused the rest of the dogs, and in a moment that particular part of the mountain was in an uproar. just at that instant a stalwart man came around the corner of the house. he was bareheaded, and wore neither coat nor vest. he was tall and well made, though rather too massive to be supple. his beard, which was full and flowing, was plentifully streaked with gray. his appearance would have been strikingly ferocious but for his eyes, which showed a nature at once simple and humorous--and certainly the strongly molded, square-set jaws, and the firm lips needed some such pleasant corrective. "great jerusalem, babe!" cried this mild-eyed giant. "what could 'a' possessed you to be a-chunkin' ole blue that away? ag'in bullaces is ripe you'll git your heart sot on 'possum, an' whar' is the 'possum comin' from ef ole blue's laid up? blame my hide ef you ain't a-cuttin' up some mighty quare capers fer a young gal." "why, pap!" exclaimed babe, as soon as she could control her laughter, "that rock didn't tetch ole blue. he's sech a make-believe, i'm a great mind to hit him a clip jest to show you how he can go on." "now, don't do that, honey," said her father. "ef you want to chunk anybody, chunk me. i kin holler lots purtier'n ole blue. an' ef you don't want to chunk me, chunk your mammy fer ole acquaintance' sake. she's big an' fat." "oh, lordy!" exclaimed mrs. hightower from the inside of the house. "don't set her atter me, abe--don't, fer mercy's sake. get her in the notion, an' she'll be a-yerkin' me aroun' thereckly like i wuz a rag-baby. i'm a-gittin' too ole fer ter be romped aroun' by a great big double-j'inted gal like babe. projick wi' 'er yourself, but make 'er let me alone." abe turned and went around the house again, leaving his daughter standing on the porch, her cheeks glowing, and her black eyes sparkling with laughter. babe loitered on the porch a moment, looking into the valley. the gray mists had lifted themselves into the upper air, and the atmosphere was so clear that the road leading to the mountain could be followed by the eye, save where it ran under the masses of foliage; and it seemed to be a most devious and versatile road, turning back on itself at one moment only to plunge boldly forward the next. nor was it lacking in color. on the levels it was of dazzling whiteness, shining like a pool of water; but at points where it made a visible descent it was alternately red and gray. something or other on this variegated road attracted miss babe's attention, for she shaded her eyes with her hand, and leaned forward. presently she cried out: "pap!--oh, pap! there's a man a-ridin' up peevy's ridge." this information was repeated by babe's mother; and in a few moments the porch, which was none too commodious, though it was very substantial, was occupied by the entire hightower family, which included grandsir hightower, a white-haired old man, whose serenity seemed to be borrowed from another world. mrs. hightower herself was a stout, motherly-looking woman, whose whole appearance betokened contentment, if not happiness. abe shaded his eyes with his broad hand, and looked toward peevy's ridge. "i reckon maybe it's tuck peevy hisse'f," mrs. hightower remarked. "that's who i 'lowed hit wiz," said grandsir hightower, in the tone of one who had previously made up his mind. "well, i reckon i ought to know tuck peevy," exclaimed babe. "that's so," said grandsir hightower. "babe oughter know tuck. she oughter know him certain an' shore; bekaze he's bin a-floppin' in an' out er this house ever' sunday fer mighty nigh two year'. some sez he likes babe, an' some sez he likes susan's fried chicken. now, in my day and time--" "he's in the dreen now," said babe, interrupting her loquacious grandparent, who threatened to make some embarrassing remark. "he's a-ridin' a gray." "he's a mighty early bird," said abe, "less'n he's a-headin' fer the furder side. maybe he's a revenue man," he continued. "they say they're a-gwine to heat the hills mighty hot from this on." "you hain't got nothing gwine on down on the branch, is you, abe?" inquired grandsir hightower, with pardonable solicitude. "well," said abe evasively, "i hain't kindled no fires yit, but you better b'lieve i'm a-gwine to keep my beer from sp'ilin'. the way i do my countin', one tub of beer is natchally wuth two revenue chaps." by this time the horseman who had attracted babe's attention came into view again. abe studied him a moment, and remarked: "that hoss steps right along, an' the chap a-straddle of him is got on store-clo'es. fetch me my rifle, babe. i'll meet that feller half-way an' make some inquirements about his famerly, an' maybe i'll fetch a squir'l back." with this abe called to his dogs, and started off. "better keep your eye open, pap," cried sis. "maybe it's the sheriff." abe paused a moment, and then pretended to be hunting a stone with which to demolish his daughter, whereupon babe ran laughing into the house. the allusion to the sheriff was a stock joke in the hightower household, though none of them made such free use of it as babe, who was something more than a privileged character, so far as her father was concerned. on one occasion shortly after the war, abe had gone to the little county town on business, and had been vexed into laying rough hands on one of the prominent citizens who was a trifle under the influence of liquor. a warrant was issued, and dave mclendon, the sheriff of the county, a stumpy little man, whose boldness and prudence made him the terror of criminals, was sent to serve it. abe, who was on the lookout for some such visitation, saw him coming, and prepared himself. he stood in the doorway, with his rifle flung carelessly across his left arm. "hold on thar, dave!" he cried, as the latter came up. the sheriff, knowing his man, halted. "i hate to fling away my manners, dave," he went on, "but folks is gittin' to be mighty funny these days. a man's obleeged to s'arch his best frien's 'fore he kin find out the'r which aways. dave, what sort of a dockyment is you got ag'in' me?" "i got a warrant, abe," said the sheriff, pleasantly. "well, dave, hit won't fetch me," said abe. "oh, yes!" said the sheriff. "yes, it will, abe. i bin a-usin' these kind er warrants a mighty long time, an' they fetches a feller every whack." "now, i'll tell you what, dave," said abe, patting his rifle, "i got a dockyment here that'll fetch you a blame sight quicker'n your dockyment'll fetch me; an' i tell you right now, plain an' flat, i hain't a-gwine to be drug aroun' an' slapped in jail." the sheriff leaned carelessly against the rail fence in the attitude of a man who is willing to argue an interesting question. "well, i tell you how i feel about it, abe," said the sheriff, speaking very slowly. "you kin shoot me, but you can't shoot the law. bang away at me, an' thar's another warrant atter you. this yer one what i'm already got don't amount to shucks, so you better fling on your coat saddle your horse, an' go right along wi' me thes es neighborly ez you please." "dave," said abe, "if you come in at that gate you er a goner." "well, abe," the sheriff replied, "i 'lowed you'd kick; i know what human natur' on these hills is, an' so i thes axed some er the boys to come along. they er right down thar in the holler. they ain't got no mo' idea what i come fer'n the man in the moon; yit they'd make a mighty peart posse. tooby shore, a great big man like you ain't afeard fer ter face a little bit er law." abe hightower hesitated a moment, and then went into the house. in a few minutes he issued forth and went out to the gate where the sheriff was. the faces of the two men were a study. neither betrayed any emotion nor alluded to the warrant. the sheriff asked after the "crap"; and abe told him it was "middlin' peart," and asked him to go into the house and make himself at home until the horse could be saddled. after a while the two rode away. once during the ride abe said: "i'm mighty glad it wa'n't that feller what run ag'in' you last fall, dave." "why?" asked the sheriff. "bekaze i'd 'a' plugged him, certain an' shore," said abe. "well," said the sheriff, laughing, "i wuz a-wishin' mighty hard thes about that time that the t'other feller had got 'lected." the warrant amounted to nothing, and abe was soon at home with his family; but it suited his high-spirited daughter to twit him occasionally because of his tame surrender to the sheriff, and it suited dave to treat the matter good-humoredly. abe hightower took his way down the mountain; and about two miles from his house, as the road ran, he met the stranger who had attracted babe's attention. he was a handsome young fellow, and he was riding a handsome horse--a gray, that was evidently used to sleeping in a stable where there was plenty of feed in the trough. the rider also had a well-fed appearance. he sat his horse somewhat jauntily, and there was a jocund expression in his features very pleasing to behold. he drew rein as he saw abe, and gave a military salute in a careless, offhand way that was in strict keeping with his appearance. "good morning, sir," he said. "howdy?" said abe. "fine day this." "well, what little i've saw of it is purty tollerbul." the young fellow laughed, and his laughter was worth hearing. it had the ring of youth in it. "do you chance to know a mr. hightower?" he asked, throwing a leg over the pommel of the saddle. "do he live anywheres aroun' in these parts?" abe inquired. "so i'm told." "well, the reason i ast," said abe, leaning his rifle against a tree, "is bekaze they mought be more'n one hightower runnin' loose." "you don't know him, then?" "i know one on 'em. any business wi' him?" "well, yes--a little. i was told he lived on this road. how far is his house?" "well, i'll tell you"--abe took off his hat and scratched his head--"some folks mought take a notion hit wuz a long ways off, an' then, ag'in, yuther folks mought take a notion that hit wuz lots nigher. hit's accordin' to the way you look at it." "is mr. hightower at home?" inquired the stranger, regarding abe with some curiosity. "well," said abe cautiously, "i don't reckon he's right slam bang at home, but i lay he ain't fur off." "if you happen to see him, pray tell him there's a gentleman at his house who would like very much to see him." "well, i tell you what, mister," said abe, speaking very slowly. "you're a mighty nice young feller--anybody kin shet the'r eyes and see that--but folks 'roun' here is mighty kuse; they is that away. ef i was you, i'd thes turn right 'roun' in my tracks 'n' let that ar mister hightower alone. i wouldn't pester wi' 'im. he hain't no fitten company fer you." "oh, but i must see him," said the stranger. "i have business with him. why, they told me down in the valley that hightower, in many respects, is the best man in the county." abe smiled for the first time. it was the ghost of a smile. "shoo!" he exclaimed. "they don't know him down thar nigh as good as he's know'd up here. an' that hain't all. thish yer mister hightower you er talkin' about is got a mighty bad case of measles at his house. you'd be ableedze to ketch 'em ef you went thar." "i've had the measles," said the stranger. "but these here measles," persisted abe, half shutting his eyes and gazing at the young man steadily, "kin be cotched twicet. thayer wuss 'n the smallpox--lots wuss." "my dear sir, what do you mean?" the young man inquired, observing the significant emphasis of the mountaineer's language. "hit's thes like i tell you," said abe. "looks like folks has mighty bad luck when they go a-rippitin' hether an' yan on the mounting. it hain't been sech a monst'us long time sense one er them revenue fellers come a-paradin' up thish yer same road, a-makin' inquirements fer hightower. _he_ cotch the measles; bless you, he took an' cotch 'em by the time he got in hailin' distance of hightower's, an' he had to be toted down. i disremember his name, but he wuz a mighty nice-lookin' young feller, peart an' soople, an' thes about your size an' weight." "it was no doubt a great pity about the revenue chap," said the young man sarcastically. "lor', yes!" exclaimed abe seriously; "lots er nice folks must 'a' cried about that man!" "well," said the other, smiling, "i must see hightower. i guess he's a nicer man than his neighbors think he is." "shoo!" said abe, "he hain't a bit nicer'n what i am, an' i lay he hain't no purtier. what mought be your name, mister?" "my name is chichester, and i'm buying land for some boston people. i want to buy some land right on this mountain if i can get it cheap enough." "jesso," said abe, "but wharbouts in thar do hightower come in?" "oh, he knows all about the mountain, and i want to ask his advice and get his opinions," said chichester. something about mr. chichester seemed to attract abe hightower. perhaps it was the young fellow's fresh, handsome appearance; perhaps it was his free-and-easy attitude, suggestive of the commercial tourist, that met the approbation of the mountaineer. at any rate, abe smiled upon the young man in a fatherly way and said: "'twixt you an' me an' yon pine, you hain't got no furder to go fer to strike up wi' hightower. i'm the man you er atter." chichester regarded him with some degree of amazement. "my dear sir," he exclaimed, "why should you desire to play the sphinx?" "spinks?" said abe, with something like a grimace; "the spinks famerly lived furder up the mounting, but they er done bin weeded out by the revenue men too long ago to talk about. the ole man's in jail in atlanty er some'rs else, the boys is done run'd off, an' the gal's a trollop. no spinks in mine, cap', _ef_ you please!" chichester laughed at the other's earnestness. he mistook it for drollery. "i let you know, cap'," abe went on, "you can't be boss er your own doin's an' give ever' passin' man your name." "well, i'm very glad to meet you," said chichester heartily; "i'll have a good deal of business in this neighborhood first and last, and i'm told there isn't anything worth knowing about the mountain that you don't know." "that kind er talk," abe replied, "kin be run in the groun', yit i hain't a-denyin' but what i've got a kind er speakin' acquaintance wi' the neighborhood whar i'm a-livin' at. ef you er huntin' my house, thes drive right on. i'll be thar ag'in you git thar." chichester found a very cordial welcome awaiting him when he arrived at hightower's house. even the dogs were friendly, and the big cat came out from its hiding-place to rub against his legs as he sat on the little porch. "by the time you rest your face an' han's," said abe, "i reckon breakfast'll be ready." chichester, who was anxious to give no trouble, explained that he had had a cup of coffee at peevy's before starting up the mountain. he said, moreover, that the mountain was so bracing that he felt as if he could fast a week and still fatten. "well, sir," abe remarked, "hit's mighty little we er got to offer, an' that little's mighty common, but, sech as 'tis, you er more'n welcome. hit's diffunt wi' me when the mornin' air blows at me. hit makes me wanter nibble at somepin'. i dunner whar you come from, an' i ain't makin' no inquirements, but down in these parts you can't spat a man harder betwixt the eyes than to set back an' not break bread wi' 'im." mr. chichester had been warned not to wound the hospitality of the simple people among whom he was going, and he was quick to perceive that his refusal to "break bread" with the hightowers would be taken too seriously. whereupon, he made a most substantial apology--an apology that took the shape of a ravenous appetite, and did more than justice to mrs. hightower's fried chicken, crisp biscuits, and genuine coffee. mr. chichester also made himself as agreeable as he knew how, and he was so pleased with the impression he made that he, on his side, admitted to himself that the hightowers were charmingly quaint, especially the shy girl of whom he caught a brief glimpse now and then as she handed her mother fresh supplies of chicken and biscuits. there was nothing mysterious connected with the visit of mr. chichester to lost mountain. he was the agent of a company of boston capitalists who were anxious to invest money in georgia marble quarries, and chichester was on lost mountain for the purpose of discovering the marble beds that had been said by some to exist there. he had the versatility of a modern young man, being something of a civil engineer and something of a geologist; in fine, he was one of the many "general utility" men that improved methods enable the high schools and colleges to turn out. he was in the habit of making himself agreeable wherever he went, but behind his levity and general good-humor there was a good deal of seriousness and firmness of purpose. he talked with great freedom to the hightowers, giving a sort of commercial coloring, so to speak, to the plans of his company with respect to land investments on lost mountain; but he said nothing about his quest for marble. "the lord send they won't be atter fetchin' the railroad kyars among us," said grandsir hightower fervently. "well, sir," said chichester, "there isn't much danger." "now, i dunno 'bout that," said the old man querulously, "i dunno 'bout that. they're gittin' so these days they'll whirl in an' do e'enamost anything what you don't want 'em to do. i kin stan' out thar in the hoss-lot any cle'r day an' see the smoke er their ingines, an' sometimes hit looks like i kin hear 'em snort an' cough. they er plenty nigh enough. the lord send they won't fetch 'em no nigher. fum giner'l jackson's time plump tell now, they ere bin a-fetchin' destruction to the country. you'll see it. i mayn't see it myself, but you'll see it. fust hit was giner'l jackson an' the bank, an' now hit's the railroad kyars. you'll see it!" "and yet," said chichester, turning toward the old man, as hope might beam benignantly on the past, "everybody and everything seems to be getting along very well. i think the only thing necessary now is to invent something or other to keep the cinders out of a man's eyes when he rides on the railroads." "don't let 'em fool you," said the old man earnestly. "ever'thing's in a tangle, an' ther hain't no whig party for to ontangle it. giner'l jackson an' the cussid bank is what done it." just then miss babe came out on the little porch, and seated herself on the bench that ran across one end. "cap'," said abe, with some show of embarrassment, as if not knowing how to get through a necessary ceremony, "this is my gal, babe. she's the oldest and the youngest. i'm name' abe an' she's name' babe, sort er rimin' like." the unaffected shyness of the young girl was pleasant to behold, and if it did not heighten her beauty, it certainly did not detract from it. it was a shyness in which there was not an awkward element, for babe had the grace of youth and beauty, and conscious independence animated all her movements. "'ceppin' me an' the ole 'oman," said abe, "babe is the best-lookin' one er the famerly." the girl reddened a little, and laughed lightly with the air of one who is accustomed to give and take jokes, but said nothing. "i heard of miss babe last night," said chichester, "and i've got a message for her." "wait!" exclaimed abe triumphantly; "i'll bet a hoss i kin call the name 'thout movin' out'n my cheer. hold on!" he continued. "i'll bet another hoss i kin relate the message word for word." babe blushed violently, but laughed good-humoredly. chichester adjusted himself at once to this unexpected informality, and allowed himself to become involved in it. "come, now!" he cried, "i'll take the bet." "i declare!" said mrs. hightower, laughing, "you all oughtn' to pester babe that away." "wait!" said abe. "the name er the man what sont the word is tuck peevy, an' when he know'd you was a-comin' here, he sort er sidled up an' ast you for to please be so good as to tell miss babe he'd drap in nex' sunday, an' see what her mammy is a-gwine ter have for dinner." "well, i have won the bet," said chichester. "mr. peevy simply asked me to tell miss babe that there would be a singing at philadelphia camp-ground sunday. i hardly know what to do with two horses." "maybe you'll feel better," said abe, "when somebody tells you that my hoss is a mule. well, well, well!" he went on. "tuck didn't say he was comin', but i be boun' he comes, an' more'n that, i be boun' a whole passel er gals an' boys'll foller babe home." "in giner'lly," said grandsir hightower, "i hate for to make remarks 'bout folks when they hain't settin' whar they kin hear me, but that ar tuck peevy is got a mighty bad eye. i hearn 'im a-quollin' wi' one er them simmons boys las' sunday gone wuz a week, an' i tell you he's got the ole boy in 'im. an' his appetite's wuss'n his eye." "well," said mrs. hightower, "nobody 'roun' here don't begrudge him his vittles, i reckon." "oh, by no means--by no manner er means," said the old man, suddenly remembering the presence of chichester. "yit they oughter be reason in all things; that's what i say--reason in all things, espeshually when hit comes to gormandizin'." the evident seriousness of the old man was very comical. he seemed to be possessed by the unreasonable economy that not infrequently seizes on old age. "they hain't no begrudgin' 'roun' here," he went on. "lord! ef i'd 'a' bin a-begrudgin' i'd 'a' thes natchally bin e't up wi' begrudges. what wer' the word the poor creetur sent to babe?" chichester repeated the brief and apparently uninteresting message, and grandsir hightower groaned dismally. "i dunner what sot him so ag'in' tuck peevy," said abe, laughing. "tuck's e'en about the peartest chap in the settlement, an' a mighty handy man, put him whar you will." "why, aberham!" exclaimed the old man, "you go on like a man what's done gone an' took leave of his sev'm senses. you dunner what sot me ag'in' the poor creetur? why, time an' time ag'in i've tol' you it's his ongodly hankerin' atter the flesh-pots. the bible's ag'in' it, an' i'm ag'in' it. wharbouts is it put down that a man is ever foun' grace in the cubberd?" "well, i lay a man that works is boun' ter eat," said abe. "oh, _i_ hain't no 'count--_i_ can't work," said the old man, his wrath, which had been wrought to a high pitch, suddenly taking the shape of plaintive humility. "yit 'tain't for long. _i'll_ soon be out'n the way, aberham." "shoo!" said abe, placing his hand affectionately on the old man's shoulder. "you er mighty nigh as spry as a kitten. babe, honey, fill your grandsir's pipe. he's a-missin' his mornin' smoke." soothed by his pipe, the old man seemed to forget the existence of tuck peevy, and his name came up for discussion no more. but chichester, being a man of quick perceptions, gathered from the animosity of the old man, and the rather uneasy attitude of miss babe, that the discussion of peevy's appetite had its origin in the lover-like attentions which he had been paying to the girl. certainly peevy was excusable, and if his attentions had been favorably received, he was to be congratulated, chichester thought; for in all that region it would have been difficult to find a lovelier specimen of budding womanhood than the young girl who had striven so unsuccessfully to hide her embarrassment as her grandfather proceeded, with the merciless recklessness of age, to criticize peevy's strength and weakness as a trencherman. as chichester had occasion to discover afterward, peevy had his peculiarities; but he did not seem to be greatly different from other young men to be found in that region. one of his peculiarities was that he never argued about anything. he had opinions on a great many subjects, but his reasons for holding his opinions he kept to himself. the arguments of those who held contrary views he would listen to with great patience, even with interest; but his only reply would be a slow, irritating smile and a shake of the head. peevy was homely, but there was nothing repulsive about his homeliness. he was tall and somewhat angular; he was sallow; he had high cheek-bones, and small eyes that seemed to be as alert and as watchful as those of a ferret; and he was slow and deliberate in all his movements, taking time to digest and consider his thoughts before replying to the simplest question, and even then his reply was apt to be evasive. but he was good-humored and obliging, and, consequently, was well thought of by his neighbors and acquaintances. there was one subject in regard to which he made no concealment, and that was his admiration for miss babe hightower. so far as peevy was concerned, she was the one woman in the world. his love for her was a passion at once patient, hopeful, and innocent. he displayed his devotion less in words than in his attitude; and so successful had he been that it was generally understood that by camp-meeting time miss babe hightower would be mrs. tuck peevy. that is to say, it was understood by all except grandsir hightower, who was apt to chuckle sarcastically when the subject was broached. "they hain't arry livin' man," he would say, "what's ever seed anybody wi' them kind er eyes settled down an' married. no, sirs! hit's the vittles tuck peevy's atter. why, bless your soul an' body! he thes natchally dribbles at the mouth when he gits a whiff from the dinner-pot." certainly no one would have supposed that tuck peevy ever had a sentimental emotion or a romantic notion, but grandsir hightower did him great injustice. behind his careless serenity he was exceedingly sensitive. it is true he was a man difficult to arouse; but he was what his friends called "a mighty tetchy man" on some subjects, and one of these subjects was babe. another was the revenue men. it was generally supposed by peevy's acquaintances on lost mountain that he had a moonshine apparatus over on sweetwater; but this supposition was the result, doubtless, of his well-known prejudice against the deputies sent out to enforce the revenue laws. it had been the intention of chichester to remain only a few days in that neighborhood; but the hightowers were so hospitably inclined, and the outcroppings of minerals so interesting, that his stay was somewhat prolonged. naturally, he saw a good deal of peevy, who knew all about the mountain, and who was frequently able to go with him on his little excursions when abe hightower was otherwise engaged. naturally enough, too, chichester saw a great deal of babe. he was interested in her because she was young and beautiful, and because of her quaint individuality. she was not only unconventional, but charmingly so. her crudeness and her ignorance seemed to be merely phases of originality. chichester's interest in babe was that of a studiously courteous and deferent observer, but it was jealously noted and resented by tuck peevy. the result of this was not at first apparent. for a time peevy kept his jealous suggestions to himself, but he found it impossible to conceal their effect. gradually, he held himself aloof, and finally made it a point to avoid chichester altogether. for a time babe made the most of her lover's jealousy. after the manner of her sex, she was secretly delighted to discover that he was furious at the thought that she might inadvertently have cast a little bit of a smile at mr. chichester; and on several occasions she heartily enjoyed peevy's angry suspicions. but after a while she grew tired of such inconsistent and foolish manifestations. they made her unhappy, and she was too vigorous and too practical to submit to unhappiness with that degree of humility which her more cultivated sisters sometimes exhibit. one sunday afternoon, knowing chichester to be away, tuck peevy sauntered carelessly into hightower's yard, and seated himself on the steps of the little porch. it was his first visit for several days, and babe received him with an air of subdued coolness and indifference that did credit to her sex. "wharbouts is your fine gent this mornin'?" inquired peevy, after a while. "wharbouts is who?" "your fine gent wi' the sto'-clo'es on." "i reckon you mean cap'n chichester, don't you?" inquired babe innocently. "oh, yes!" exclaimed peevy; "he's the chap i'm a-making my inquirements atter." "he's over on sweetwater, i reckon. leastways thar's whar he started to go." "on sweetwater. oh, yes!" peevy paused and ran his long slim fingers through his thin straight hair. "i'm mighty much afeard," he went on after a pause, "that that fine gent o' yourn is a-gwine ter turn out for to be a snake. that's what i'm afeard un." "well," said babe, with irritating coolness, "he don't do any of his sneakin' aroun' here. ef he sneaks, he goes some'ers else to sneak. he don't hang aroun' an' watch his chance to drap in an' pay his calls. i reckon he'd walk right in at the gate thar ef he know'd the gov'ner er the state wuz a-settin' here. i'm mighty glad i hain't saw none er his sneakin'." peevy writhed under this comment on his own actions, but said nothing in reply. "you don't come to see folks like you useter," said babe, softening a little. "i reckon you er mighty busy down thar wi' your craps." peevy smiled until he showed his yellow teeth. it was not intended to be a pleasant smile. "i reckon i come lots more'n i'm wanted," he replied. "i hain't got much sense," he went on, "but i got a leetle bit, an' i know when my room's wuth more'n my comp'ny." "your hints has got more wings'n stings," said babe. "but ef i had in my min' what you er got in yourn--" "don't say the word, babe!" exclaimed peevy, for the first time fixing his restless eyes on her face. "don't!" "yes, i'll say it," said babe solemnly. "i oughter 'a' said it a long time ago when you wuz a-cuttin' up your capers bekaze phli varnadoe wuz a-comin' here to see pap. i oughter 'a' said it then, but i'll say it now, right pine-blank. ef i had in my min' what you er got in yourn, i wouldn't never darken this door no more." peevy rose, and walked up and down the porch. he was deeply moved, but his face showed his emotion only by a slight increase of sallowness. finally he paused, looking at babe. "i lay you'd be mighty glad ef i didn't come no more," he said, with a half smile. "i reckon it kinder rankles you for to see old tuck peevy a-hangin' roun' when the t'other feller's in sight." babe's only reply was a scornful toss of the head. "oh, yes!" peevy went on, "hit rankles you might'ly; yit i lay it won't rankle you so much atter your daddy is took an' jerked off to atlanty. i tell you, babe, that ar man is one er the revenues--they hain't no two ways about that." babe regarded her angry lover seriously. "hit ain't no wonder you make up your min' ag'in' him when you er done made it up ag'in' me. i know in reason they must be somep'n 'nother wrong when a great big grown man kin work hisself up to holdin' spite. goodness knows, i wish you wuz like you useter be when i fust know'd you." peevy's sallow face flushed a little at the remembrance of those pleasant, peaceful days; but, somehow, the memory of them had the effect of intensifying his jealous mood. "'tain't me that's changed aroun'," he exclaimed passionately, "an' 'tain't the days nuther. hit's you--you! an' that fine gent that's a hanging roun' here is the 'casion of it. ever'whar i go, hit's the talk. babe, you know you er lovin' that man!" peevy was wide of the mark, but the accusation was so suddenly and so bluntly made that it brought the blood to babe's face--a tremulous flush that made her fairly radiant for a moment. undoubtedly mr. chichester had played a very pleasing part in her youthful imagination, but never for an instant had he superseded the homely figure of tuck peevy. the knowledge that she was blushing gave babe an excuse for indignation that women are quick to take advantage of. she was so angry, indeed, that she made another mistake. "why, tuck peevy!" she cried, "you shorely must be crazy. he wouldn't wipe his feet on sech as me!" "no," said peevy, "i 'lowed he wouldn't, an' i 'lowed as how you wouldn't wipe your feet on me." he paused a moment, still smiling his peculiar smile. "hit's a long ways down to peevy, ain't it?" "you er doin' all the belittlin'," said babe. "oh, no, babe! ever'thing's changed. why, even them dogs barks atter me. ever'thing's turned wrong-sud-outerds. an' you er changed wuss'n all." "well, you don't reckon i'm a-gwine ter run out'n the gate thar an' fling myself at you, do you?" exclaimed babe. "no, i don't. i've thes come to-day for to git a cle'r understan'in'." he hesitated a moment and then went on: "babe, will you marry me to-morrow?" he asked the question with more eagerness than he had yet displayed. "no, i won't!" exclaimed babe, "ner the nex' day nuther. the man i marry'll have a lots better opinion of me than what you er got." babe was very indignant, but she paused to see what effect her words would have. peevy rubbed his hands nervously together, but he made no response. his serenity was more puzzling than that of the mountain. he still smiled vaguely, but it was not a pleasing smile. he looked hard at babe for a moment, and then down at his clumsy feet. his agitation was manifest, but it did not take the shape of words. in the trees overhead two jays were quarreling with a catbird, and in the upper air a bee-martin was fiercely pursuing a sparrow-hawk. "well," he said, after a while, "i reckon i better be gwine." "wait till your hurry's over," said babe, in a gentler tone. peevy made no reply, but passed out into the road and disappeared down the mountain. babe followed him to the gate, and stood looking after him; but he turned his head neither to the right nor to the left, and in a little while she went into the house with her head bent upon her bosom. she was weeping. grandsir hightower, who had shuffled out on the porch to sun himself, stared at the girl with amazement. "why, honey!" he exclaimed, "what upon the top side er the yeth ails you?" "tuck has gone home mad, an' he won't never come back no more," she cried. "what's the matter wi' 'im?" "oh, he's thes mad along er me." "well, well, well!" exclaimed the old man, fumbling feebly in his pockets for his red bandanna handkerchief, "what kind of a come-off is this? did you ast him to stay to dinner, honey?" "no--no; he didn't gimme a chance." "i 'lowed you didn't," exclaimed grandsir hightower triumphantly. "i thes natchally 'lowed you didn't. that's what riled 'im. an' now he'll go off an' vilify you. well, well, well! he's missed his dinner! the fust time in many's the long day. watch 'im, babe! watch 'im, honey! the ole boy's in 'im. i know 'im; i've kep' my two eyes on 'im. for a mess er turnip-greens an' dumperlin's that man 'u'd do murder." the old man paused and looked all around, as if by that means to dissipate a suspicion that he was dreaming. "an' so tuck missed his dinner! tooby shore--tooby shore!" "oh, hit ain't that," cried babe; "he's jealous of cap'n chichester." "why, the good lord, honey! what makes you run on that way?" "he tol' me so," said babe. "jealous!" exclaimed grandsir hightower, "jealous er that young feller! merciful powers, honey! he's a-begrudgin' 'im the vittles what he eats. i know'd it the minnit i seed 'im come a-sa'nterin' in the yard. lord, lord! i wish in my soul the poor creetur could git a chance at one er them ar big whig barbecues what they useter have." but there was small consolation in all this for babe; and she went into the house, where her forlorn appearance attracted the attention of her mother. "why, babe! what in the worl'!" exclaimed this practical woman, dropping her work in amazement. "what in the name er sense ails you?" babe had no hesitation in telling her mother the facts. "well, my goodness!" was mrs. hightower's comment, "i wouldn't go aroun' whinin' about it, ef i wuz you--that i wouldn't. nobody never ketched me whinin' 'roun' atter your pappy 'fore we wuz married, an' he wuz lots purtier than what tuck peevy is. when your pappy got tetchy, i thes says to myself, s'i: 'ef i'm wuth havin', i'm wuth scramblin' atter;' an' ef your pappy hadn't 'a' scrambled an' scuffled 'roun' he wouldn't 'a' got me nuther, ef i do up an' say it myself. i'd a heap druther see you fillin' them slays an' a-fixin' up for to weave your pappy some shirts, than to see you a-whinin' 'roun' atter any chap on the top side er the yeth, let 'lone tuck peevy." there was little consolation even in this, but babe went about her simple duties with some show of spirit; and when her father and chichester returned from their trip on sweetwater, it would have required a sharp eye to discover that babe regarded herself as "wearing the green willow." for a few days she avoided chichester, as if to prove her loyalty to peevy; but as peevy was not present to approve her conduct or to take advantage of it, she soon grew tired of playing an unnecessary part. peevy persisted in staying away; and the result was that babe's anger--a healthy quality in a young girl--got the better of her grief. then wonder took the place of anger; but behind it all was the hope that before many days peevy would saunter into the house, armed with his inscrutable smile, and inquire, as he had done a hundred times before, how long before dinner would be ready. this theory was held by grandsir hightower, but, as it was a very plausible one, babe adopted it as her own. meanwhile, it is not to be supposed that two lovers, one sulking and the other sighing, had any influence on the season. the spring had made some delay in the valley before taking complete possession of the mountain, but this delay was not significant. even on the mountain, the days began to suggest the ardor of summer. the air was alternately warm and hazy, and crisp and clear. one day kenesaw would cast aside its atmospheric trappings, and appear to lie within speaking distance of hightower's door; the next, it would withdraw behind its blue veil, and seem far enough away to belong to another world. on hightower's farm the corn was high enough to whet its green sabres against the wind. one evening chichester, hightower, and babe sat on the little porch with their faces turned toward kenesaw. they had been watching a line of blue smoke on the mountain in the distance; and, as the twilight deepened into dusk, they saw that the summit of kenesaw was crowned by a thin fringe of fire. as the darkness gathered, the bright belt of flame projected against the vast expanse of night seemed to belong to the vision of st. john. "it looks like a picture out of the bible," suggested chichester somewhat vaguely. "it's wuss'n that, i reckon," said abe. "some un's a-losin' a mighty sight of fencin'; an' timber's timber these days, lemme tell you." "maybe someun's a-burnin' bresh," said babe. "bless you! they don't pile bresh in a streak a mile long," said abe. the thin line of fire crept along slowly, and the people on the little porch sat and watched it. occasionally it would crawl to the top of a dead pine, and leave a fiery signal flaming in the air. "what is the matter with peevy?" asked chichester. "i met him on the mountain the other day, and he seemed not to know me." "he don't know anybody aroun' here," said babe with a sigh. "hit's thes some er his an' babe's capers," hightower remarked with a laugh. "they er bin a-cuttin' up this away now gwine on two year'. i reckon ag'in' camp-meetin' time tuck'll drap in an' make hisself know'd. gals and boys is mighty funny wi' the'r gwines-on." after a little, abe went into the house, and left the young people to watch the fiery procession on kenesaw. "the next time i see peevy," said chichester gallantly, "i'll take him by the sleeve, and show him the road to beauty's bower." "well, you nee'nter pester wi' 'im on account of me," said babe. chichester laughed. the fact that so handsome a girl as babe should deliberately fall in love with so lank and ungainly a person as tuck peevy seemed to him to be one of the problems that philosophers ought to concern themselves with; but, from his point of view, the fact that babe had not gradually faded away, according to the approved rules of romance, was entirely creditable to human nature on the mountain. a candle, burning in the room that chichester occupied, shone through the window faintly, and fell on babe, while chichester sat in the shadow. as they were talking, a mocking-bird in the apple trees awoke, and poured into the ear of night a flood of delicious melody. hearing this, babe seized chichester's hat, and placed it on her head. "there must be some omen in that," said chichester. "they say," said babe, laughing merrily, "that ef a gal puts on a man's hat when she hears a mocker sing at night, she'll get married that year an' do well." "well, i'm sorry i haven't got a bonnet to put on," exclaimed chichester. "oh, it don't work that away!" cried babe. the mocking-bird continued to sing, and finally brought its concert to a close by giving a most marvelous imitation of the liquid, silvery chimes of the wood-thrush. there was a silence for one brief moment. then there was a red flash under the apple trees followed by the sharp crack of a rifle. there was another brief moment of silence, and then the young girl sighed softly, leaned forward, and fell from her chair. "what's this?" cried abe, coming to the door. "the lord only knows!" exclaimed chichester. "look at your daughter!" abe stepped forward, and touched the girl on the shoulder. then he shook her gently, as he had a thousand times when rousing her from sleep. "babe! git up! git up, honey, an' go in the house. you ought to 'a' been abed long ago. git up honey." chichester stood like one paralyzed. for the moment, he was incapable of either speech or action. "i know what sh'e atter," said abe tenderly. "you wouldn't believe it skacely, but this yer great big chunk of a gal wants her ole pappy to pick her up an' tote her thes like he useter when she was er little bit of a scrap." "i think she has been shot," said chichester. to his own ears his voice seemed to be the voice of some other man. "shot!" exclaimed abe. "why, who's a-gwine to shoot babe? lord, cap'n! you dunner nothin' 'tall 'bout babe ef you talk that away.--come on, honey." with that abe lifted his child in his arms, and carried her into the house. chichester followed. all his faculties were benumbed, and he seemed to be walking in a dream. it seemed that no such horrible confusion as that by which he was surrounded could have the remotest relation to reality. nevertheless, it did not add to his surprise and consternation to find, when abe had placed the girl on her bed, that she was dead. a little red spot on her forehead, half-hidden by the glossy curling hair, showed that whoever held the rifle aimed it well. "why, honey," said abe, wiping away the slight blood-stain that showed itself, "you struck your head a'in' a nail. git up! you oughtn't to be a-gwine on this away before comp'ny." "i tell you she is dead!" cried chichester. "she has been murdered!" the girl's mother had already realized this fact, and her tearless grief was something pitiful to behold. the gray-haired grandfather had also realized it. "i'd druther see her a-lyin' thar dead," he exclaimed, raising his weak and trembling hands heavenward, "than to see her tuck peevy's wife." "why, gentermen!" exclaimed abe, "how _kin_ she be dead? i oughter know my own gal, i reckon. many's an' many's the time she's worried me, a-playin' 'possum, an' many's an' many's the time has i sot by her waitin' tell she let on to wake up. don't you all pester wi' her. she'll wake up therreckly." at this juncture tuck peevy walked into the room. there was a strange glitter in his eyes, a new energy in his movements. chichester sprang at him, seized him by the throat, and dragged him to the bedside. "you cowardly, skulking murderer!" he exclaimed, "see what you have done!" peevy's sallow face grew ashen. he seemed to shrink and collapse under chichester's hand. his breath came thick and short. his long, bony fingers clutched nervously at his clothes. "i aimed at the hat!" he exclaimed huskily. he would have leaned over the girl, but chichester flung him away from the bedside, and he sank down in a corner, moaning and shaking. abe took no notice of peevy's entrance, and paid no attention to the crouching figure mumbling in the corner, except, perhaps, so far as he seemed to recognize in chichester's attack on peevy a somewhat vigorous protest against his own theory; for, when there was comparative quiet in the room, hightower raised himself, and exclaimed, in a tone that showed both impatience and excitement: "why, great god a'mighty, gentermen, don't go on that way! they hain't no harm done. thes let us alone. me an' babe's all right. she's bin a-playin' this away ev'ry sence she wuz a little bit of a gal. don't less make her mad, gentermen, bekaze ef we do she'll take plum tell day atter to-morrer for to come 'roun' right." looking closely at hightower, chichester could see that his face was colorless. his eyes were sunken, but shone with a peculiar brilliancy, and great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead. his whole appearance was that of a man distraught. here was another tragedy! seeking a momentary escape from the confusion and perplexity into which he had been plunged by the horrible events of the night, chichester passed out into the yard, and stood bareheaded in the cool wind that was faintly stirring among the trees. the stars shone remote and tranquil, and the serenity of the mountain, the awful silence that seemed to be, not the absence of sound, but the presence of some spiritual entity, gave assurance of peace. out there, in the cold air, or in the wide skies, or in the vast gulf of night, there was nothing to suggest either pity or compassion--only the mysterious tranquillity of nature. this was the end, so far as chichester knew. he never entered the hightower house again. something prompted him to saddle his horse and ride down the mountain. the tragedy and its attendant troubles were never reported in the newspapers. the peace of the mountain remained undisturbed, its silence unbroken. but should chichester, who at last accounts was surveying a line of railway in mexico, ever return to lost mountain, he would find tuck peevy a gaunt and shrunken creature, working on the hightower farm, and managing such of its small affairs as call for management. sometimes, when the day's work is over, and peevy sits at the fireside saying nothing, abe hightower will raise a paralytic hand, and cry out as loud as he can that it's almost time for babe to quit playing 'possum. at such times we may be sure that, so far as peevy is concerned, there is still trouble on lost mountain. azalia i miss helen osborne eustis of boston was very much astonished one day in the early fall of to receive a professional visit from dr. ephraim buxton, who for many years had been her father's family physician. the astonishment was mutual; for dr. buxton had expected to find miss eustis in bed, or at least in the attitude of a patient, whereas she was seated in an easy chair, before a glowing grate--which the peculiarities of the boston climate sometimes render necessary, even in the early fall--and appeared to be about as comfortable as a human being could well be. perhaps the appearance of comfort was heightened by the general air of subdued luxury that pervaded the apartment into which dr. buxton had been ushered. the draperies, the arrangement of the little affairs that answer to the name of bric-à-brac, the adjustment of the furniture--everything--conveyed the impression of peace and repose; and the chief element of this perfect harmony was miss eustis herself, who rose to greet the doctor as he entered. she regarded the physician with eyes that somehow seemed to be wise and kind, and with a smile that was at once sincere and humorous. "why, how is this, helen?" dr. buxton exclaimed, taking off his spectacles, and staring at the young lady. "i fully expected to find you in bed. i hope you are not imprudent." "why should i be ill, dr. buxton? you know what mr. tom appleton says: 'in boston, those who are sick do injustice to the air they breathe and to their cooks.' i think that is a patriotic sentiment, and i try to live up to it. my health is no worse than usual, and usually it is very good," said miss eustis. "you certainly seem to be well," said dr. buxton, regarding the young lady with a professional frown; "but appearances are sometimes deceitful. i met harriet yesterday--" "ah, my aunt!" exclaimed helen, in a tone calculated to imply that this explained everything. "i met harriet yesterday, and she insisted on my coming to see you at once, certainly not later than to-day." miss eustis shrugged her shoulders, and laughed, but her face showed that she appreciated this manifestation of solicitude. "let me see," she said reflectively; "what was my complaint yesterday? we must do justice to aunt harriet's discrimination. she would never forgive you if you went away without leaving a prescription. my health is so good that i think you may leave me a mild one." unconsciously the young lady made a charming picture as she sat with her head drooping a little to one side in a half-serious, half-smiling effort to recall to mind some of the symptoms that had excited her aunt's alarm. dr. buxton, prescription book in hand, gazed at her quizzically over his old-fashioned spectacles; seeing which, helen laughed heartily. at that moment her aunt entered the room--a pleasant-faced but rather prim old lady, of whom it had been said by some one competent to judge, that her inquisitiveness was so overwhelming and so important that it took the shape of pity in one direction, patriotism in another, and benevolence in another, giving to her life not the semblance but the very essence of usefulness and activity. "do you hear that, dr. buxton?" cried the pleasant-faced old lady somewhat sharply. "do you hear her wheeze when she laughs? do you remember that she was threatened with pneumonia last winter? and now she is wheezing before the winter begins!" "this is the trouble i was trying to think of," exclaimed helen, sinking back in her chair with a gesture of mock despair. "don't make yourself ridiculous, dear," said the aunt, giving the little clusters of gray curls that hung about her ears an emphatic shake. "serious matters should be taken seriously." whereat helen pressed her cheek gently against the thin white hand that had been laid caressingly on her shoulder. "aunt harriet has probably heard me say that there is still some hope for the country, even though it is governed entirely by men," said helen, with an air of apology. "the men can not deprive us of the winter climate of boston, and i enjoy that above all things." aunt harriet smiled reproachfully at her niece, and pulled her ear gently. "but indeed, dr. buxton," helen went on more seriously, "the winter climate of boston, fine as it is, is beginning to pinch us harder than it used to do. the air is thinner, and the cold is keener. when i was younger--very much younger--than i am now, i remember that i used to run in and out, and fall and roll in the snow with perfect impunity. but now i try to profit by aunt harriet's example. when i go out, i go bundled up to the point of suffocation; and if the wind is from the east, as it usually is, i wear wraps and shawls indoors." helen smiled brightly at her aunt and at dr. buxton; but her aunt seemed to be distressed, and the physician shook his head dubiously. "you will have to take great care of yourself," said dr. buxton. "you must be prudent. the slightest change in the temperature may send you to bed for the rest of the winter." "dr. buxton is complimenting you, aunt harriet," said helen. "you should drop him a courtesy." whereupon the amiable physician, seeing that there was no remedy for the humorous view which miss eustis took of her condition, went further, and informed her that there was every reason why she should be serious. he told her, with some degree of bluntness, that her symptoms, while not alarming, were not at all reassuring. "it is always the way, dr. buxton," said helen, smiling tenderly at her aunt; "i believe you would confess to serious symptoms yourself if aunt harriet insisted on it. what an extraordinary politician she would make! my sympathy with the woman-suffrage movement is in the nature of an investment. when we women succeed to the control of affairs, i count on achieving distinction as aunt harriet's niece." laughing, she seized her aunt's hand. dr. buxton, watching her, laughed too, and then proceeded to write out a prescription. he seemed to hesitate a little over this; seeing which, helen remonstrated: "pray, dr. buxton, don't humor aunt harriet too much in this. save your physic for those who are strong in body and mind. a dozen of your pellets ought to be a year's supply." the physician wrote out his prescription, and took his leave, laughing heartily at the amiable confusion in which helen's drollery had left her aunt. it is not to be supposed, however, that miss eustis was simply droll. she was unconventional at all times, and sometimes wilful--inheriting that native strength of mind and mother wit which are generally admitted to be a part of the equipment of the typical american woman. if she was not the ideal young woman, at least she possessed some of the attractive qualities that one tries--sometimes unsuccessfully--to discover in one's dearest friends. from her infancy, until near the close of the war, she had had the advantage of her father's companionship, so that her ideas were womanly rather than merely feminine. she had never been permitted to regard the world from the dormer-windows of a young ladies' seminary, in consequence of which her views of life in general, and of mankind in particular, were orderly and rational. such indulgence as her father had given her had served to strengthen her individuality rather than to confirm her temper; and, though she had a strong and stubborn will of her own, her tact was such that her wilfulness appeared to be the most natural as well as the most charming thing in the world. moreover, she possessed in a remarkable degree that buoyancy of mind that is more engaging than mere geniality. her father was no less a person than charles osborne eustis, the noted philanthropist and abolitionist, whose death in was the occasion of quite a controversy in new england--a controversy based on the fact that he had opposed some of the most virulent schemes of his coworkers at a time when abolitionism had not yet gathered its full strength. mr. eustis, in his day, was in the habit of boasting that his daughter had a great deal of genuine american spirit--the spirit that one set of circumstances drives to provinciality, another to patriotism, and another to originality. helen had spent two long winters in europe without parting with the fine flavor of her originality. she was exceedingly modest in her designs, too, for she went neither as a missionary nor as a repentant. she found no foreign social shrines that she thought worthy of worshiping at. she admired what was genuine, and tolerated such shams as obtruded themselves on her attention. her father's connections had enabled her to see something of the real home-life of england; and she was delighted, but not greatly surprised, to find that at its best it was not greatly different from the home life to which she had been accustomed. the discovery delighted her because it confirmed her own broad views; but she no more thought it necessary to set about aping the social peculiarities to be found in london drawing-rooms than she thought of denying her name or her nativity. she made many interesting studies and comparisons, but she was not disposed to be critical. she admired many things in europe which she would not have considered admirable in america, and whatever she found displeasing she tolerated as the natural outcome of social or climatic conditions. certainly the idea never occurred to her that her own country was a barren waste because time had not set the seal of antiquity on its institutions. on the other hand, this admirable young woman was quick to perceive that much information as well as satisfaction was to be obtained by regarding various european peculiarities from a strictly european point of view. but miss eustis's reminiscences of the old world were sad as well as pleasant. her journey thither had been undertaken in the hope of restoring her father's failing health, and her stay there had been prolonged for the same purpose. for a time he grew stronger and better, but the improvement was only temporary. he came home to die, and to helen this result seemed to be the end of all things. she had devoted herself to looking after his comfort with a zeal and an intelligence that left nothing undone. this had been her mission in life. her mother had died when helen was a little child, leaving herself and her brother, who was some years older, to the care of the father. helen remembered her mother only as a pale, beautiful lady in a trailing robe, who fell asleep one day, and was mysteriously carried away--the lady of a dream. the boy--the brother--rode forth to the war in , and never rode back any more. to the father and sister waiting at home, it seemed as if he had been seized and swept from the earth on the bosom of the storm that broke over the country in that period of dire confusion. even rumor, with her thousand tongues, had little to say of the fate of this poor youth. it was known that he led a squad of troopers detailed for special service, and that his command, with small knowledge of the country, fell into an ambush from which not more than two or three extricated themselves. beyond this all was mystery, for those who survived that desperate skirmish could say nothing of the fate of their companions. the loss of his son gave mr. eustis additional interest in his daughter, if that were possible; and the common sorrow of the two so strengthened and sweetened their lives that their affection for each other was in the nature of a perpetual memorial of the pale lady who had passed away, and of the boy who had perished in virginia. when helen's father died, in , her mother's sister, miss harriet tewksbury, a spinster of fifty or thereabouts, who, for the lack of something substantial to interest her, had been halting between woman's rights and spiritualism, suddenly discovered that helen's cause was the real woman's cause; whereupon she went to the lonely and grief-stricken girl, and with that fine efficiency which the new england woman acquires from the air, and inherits from history, proceeded to minister to her comfort. miss tewksbury was not at all vexed to find her niece capable of taking care of herself. she did not allow that fact to prevent her from assuming a motherly control that was most gracious in its manifestations, and peculiarly gratifying to helen, who found great consolation in the all but masculine energy of her aunt. a day or two after dr. buxton's visit, the result of which has already been chronicled, miss tewksbury's keen eye detected an increase of the symptoms that had given her anxiety, and their development was of such a character that helen made no objection when her aunt proposed to call in the physician again. dr. buxton came, and agreed with miss tewksbury as to the gravity of the symptoms; but his prescription was oral. "you must keep helen indoors until she is a little stronger," he said to miss tewksbury, "and then take her to a milder climate." "oh, not to florida!" exclaimed helen promptly. "not necessarily," said the doctor. "please don't twist your language, dr. buxton. you should say necessarily not." "and why not to florida, young lady?" the doctor inquired. "ah, i have seen people that came from there," said helen: "they were too tired to talk much about the country, but something in their attitude and appearance seemed to suggest that they had seen the sea-serpent. dear doctor, i have no desire to see the sea-serpent." "well, then, my dear child," said dr. buxton soothingly, "not to florida, but to nature's own sanitarium, the pine woods of georgia. yes," the doctor went on, smiling as he rubbed the glasses of his spectacles with his silk handkerchief, "nature's own sanitarium. i tested the piny woods of georgia thoroughly years ago. i drifted there in my young days. i lived there, and taught school there. i grew strong there, and i have always wanted to go back there." "and now," said helen, with a charmingly demure glance at the enthusiastic physician, "you want to send aunt harriet and poor me forward as a skirmish-line. there is no antidote in your books for the ku-klux." "you will see new scenes and new people," said dr. buxton, laughing. "you will get new ideas; above all, you will breathe the fresh air of heaven spiced with the odor of pines. it will be the making of you, my dear child." helen made various protests, some of them serious and some droll, but the matter was practically settled when it became evident that dr. buxton was not only earnestly but enthusiastically in favor of the journey; and helen's aunt at once began to make preparations. to some of their friends it seemed a serious undertaking indeed. the newspapers of that day were full of accounts of ku-klux outrages, and of equally terrible reports of the social disorganization of the south. it seemed at that time as though the politicians and the editors, both great and small, and of every shade of belief, had determined to fight the war over again--instituting a conflict which, though bloodless enough so far as the disputants were concerned, was not without its unhappy results. moreover, helen's father had been noted among those who had early engaged in the crusade against slavery; and it was freely predicted by her friends that the lawlessness which was supposed to exist in every part of the collapsed confederacy would be prompt to select the representatives of charles osborne eustis as its victims. miss tewksbury affected to smile at the apprehensions of her friends, but her preparations were not undertaken without a secret dread of the responsibilities she was assuming. helen, however, was disposed to treat the matter humorously. "dr. buxton is a lifelong democrat," she said; "consequently he must know all about it. father used to tell him he liked his medicine better than his politics, bitter as some of it was; but in a case of this kind, dr. buxton's politics have a distinct value. he will give us the grips, the signs, and the pass-words, dear aunt, and i dare say we shall get along comfortably." ii they did get along comfortably. peace seemed to spread her meshes before them. they journeyed by easy stages, stopping a while in philadelphia, in baltimore, and in washington. they stayed a week in richmond. from richmond they were to go to atlanta, and from atlanta to azalia, the little piny woods village which dr. buxton had recommended as a sanitarium. at a point south of richmond, where they stopped for breakfast, miss eustis and her aunt witnessed a little scene that seemed to them to be very interesting. a gentleman wrapped in a long linen traveling-coat was pacing restlessly up and down the platform of the little station. he was tall, and his bearing was distinctly military. the neighborhood people who were lounging around the station watched him with interest. after a while a negro boy came running up with a valise which he had evidently brought some distance. he placed it in front of the tall gentleman, crying out in a loud voice: "here she is, marse peyton," then stepped to one side, and began to fan himself vigorously with the fragment of a wool hat. he grinned broadly in response to something the tall gentleman said; but, before he could make a suitable reply, a negro woman, fat and motherly-looking, made her appearance, puffing and blowing and talking. "i declar' ter gracious, marse peyton! seem like i wa'n't never gwine ter git yer. i helt up my head, i did, fer ter keep my eye on de kyars, en it look like i run inter all de gullies en on top er all de stumps 'twix' dis en marse tip's. i des tuk'n drapt eve'ything, i did, en tole um dey'd batter keep one eye on de dinner-pot, kaze i 'blige ter run en see marse peyton off." the gentleman laughed as the motherly-looking old negro wiped her face with her apron. her sleeves were rolled up, and her fat arms glistened in the sun. "i boun' you some er deze yer folks'll go off en say i'm 'stracted," she cried, "but i can't he'p dat; i bleeze ter run down yer ter tell marse peyton good-by. tell um all howdy fer me, marse peyton," she cried, "all un um. no diffunce ef i ain't know um all--'tain't gwine ter do no harm fer ter tell um dat ole jincy say howdy. hit make me feel right foolish in de head w'en it comes 'cross me dat i use ter tote miss hallie 'roun' w'en she wuz a little bit er baby, en now she way down dar out'n de worl' mos'. i wish ter de lord i uz gwine 'long wid you, marse peyton! yit i 'speck, time i got dar, i'd whirl in en wish myse'f back home." the negro boy carried the gentleman's valise into the sleeping-coach, and placed it opposite the seats occupied by helen and her aunt. across the end was stenciled in white the name "peyton garwood." when the train was ready to start, the gentleman shook hands with the negro woman and with the boy. the woman seemed to be very much affected. "god a'mighty bless you, marse peyton, honey!" she exclaimed as the train moved off; and as long as helen could see her, she was waving her hands in farewell. both helen and her aunt had watched this scene with considerable interest, and now, when the gentleman had been escorted to his seat by the obsequious porter, they regarded him with some curiosity. he appeared to be about thirty-five years old. his face would have been called exceedingly handsome but for a scar on his right cheek; and yet, on closer inspection, the scar seemed somehow to fit the firm outlines of his features. his brown beard emphasized the strength of his chin. his nose was slightly aquiline, his eyebrows were a trifle rugged, and his hair was brushed straight back from a high forehead. his face was that of a man who had seen rough service and enjoyed it keenly--a face full of fire and resolution with some subtle suggestion of tenderness. "she called him 'master,' helen," said miss tewksbury after a while, referring to the scene at the station; "did you hear her?" miss tewksbury's tone implied wrathfulness that was too sure of its own justification to assert itself noisily. "i heard her," helen replied. "she called him master, and he called her mammy. it was a very pleasing exchange of compliments." such further comment as the ladies may have felt called on to make--for it was a matter in which both were very much interested--was postponed for the time being. a passenger occupying a seat in the farther end of the coach had recognized the gentleman whose valise was labeled "peyton garwood," and now pressed forward to greet him. this passenger was a very aggressive-looking person. he was short and stout, but there was no suggestion of jollity or even of good-humor in his rotundity. no one would have made the mistake of alluding to him as a fat man. he would have been characterized as the pudgy man; and even his pudginess was aggressive. he had evidently determined to be dignified at any cost, but his seriousness seemed to be perfectly gratuitous. "gener'l garwood?" he said in an impressive tone, as he leaned over the tall gentleman's seat. "ah! goolsby!" exclaimed the other, extending his hand. "why, how do you do? sit down." goolsby's pudginess became more apparent and apparently more aggressive than ever when he seated himself near general garwood. "well, sir, i can't say my health's any too good. you look mighty well yourse'f, gener'l. how are things?" said goolsby, pushing his traveling-cap over his eyes, and frowning as if in pain. "oh, affairs seem to be improving," general garwood replied. "well, now, i ain't so up and down certain about that, gener'l," said goolsby, settling himself back, and frowning until his little eyes disappeared. "looks like to me that things git wuss and wuss. i ain't no big man, and i'm ruther disj'inted when it comes right down to politics; but blame me if it don't look to me mighty like the whole of creation is driftin' 'round loose." "ah, well," said the general soothingly, "a great many things are uncomfortable; there is a good deal of unnecessary irritation growing out of new and unexpected conditions. but we are getting along better than we are willing to admit. we are all fond of grumbling." "that's so," said goolsby, with the air of a man who is willing to make any sacrifice for the sake of a discussion; "that's so. but i tell you we're havin' mighty tough times, gener'l--mighty tough times. yonder's the yankees on one side, and here's the blamed niggers on t'other, and betwixt and betweenst 'em a white man's got mighty little chance. and then, right on top of the whole caboodle, here comes the panic in the banks, and the epizooty 'mongst the cattle. i tell you, gener'l, it's tough times, and it's in-about as much as an honest man can do to pay hotel bills and have a ticket ready to show up when the conductor comes along." general garwood smiled sympathetically, and goolsby went on: "here i've been runnin' up and down the country tryin' to sell a book, and i ain't sold a hunderd copies sence i started--no, sir, not a hunderd copies. maybe you'd like to look at it, gener'l," continued goolsby, stiffening up a little. "if i do say it myself, it's in-about the best book that a man'll git a chance to thumb in many a long day." "what book is it, goolsby?" the general inquired. goolsby sprang up, waddled rapidly to where he had left his satchel, and returned, bringing a large and substantial-looking volume. "it's a book that speaks for itself any day in the week," he said, running the pages rapidly between his fingers; "it's a history of our own great conflict--'the rise and fall of the rebellion,' by schuyler paddleford. i don't know what the blamed publishers wanted to put in 'rebellion' for. i told 'em, says i: 'gentlemen, it'll be up-hill work with this in the sunny south. call it "the conflict,"' says i. but they wouldn't listen, and now i have to work like a blind nigger splittin' rails. but she's a daisy, gener'l, as shore as you're born. she jess reads right straight along from cover to cover without a bobble. why, sir, i never know'd what war was till i meandered through the sample pages of this book. and they've got your picture in here, gener'l, jest as natural as life--all for five dollars in cloth, eight in liberry style, and ten in morocker." general garwood glanced over the specimen pages with some degree of interest, while goolsby continued to talk. "now, betwixt you and me, gener'l," he went on confidentially, "i don't nigh like the style of that book, particular where it rattles up our side. i wa'n't in the war myself, but blame me if it don't rile me when i hear outsiders a-cussin' them that was. i come mighty nigh not takin' holt of it on that account; but 'twouldn't have done no good, not a bit. if sech a book is got to be circulated around here, it better be circulated by some good southron--a man that's a kind of antidote to the pizen, as it were. if i don't sell it, some blamed yankee'll jump in and gallop around with it. and i tell you what, gener'l, betwixt you and me and the gate-post, it's done come to that pass where a man can't afford to be too plegged particular; if he stops for to scratch his head and consider whether he's a gentleman, some other feller'll jump in and snatch the rations right out of his mouth. that's why i'm a-paradin' around tryin' to sell this book." "well," said general garwood in an encouraging tone, "i have no doubt it is a very interesting book. i have heard of it before. fetch me a copy when you come to azalia again." goolsby smiled an unctuous and knowing smile. "maybe you think i ain't a-comin'," he exclaimed, with the air of a man who has invented a joke that he relishes. "well, sir, you're getting the wrong measure. i was down in 'zalia monday was a week, and i'm a-goin' down week after next. fact is," continued goolsby, rather sheepishly, "'zalia is a mighty nice place. gener'l, do you happen to know miss louisa hornsby? of course you do! well, sir, you might go a week's journey in the wildwood, as the poet says, and not find a handsomer gal then that. she's got style from away back." "why, yes!" exclaimed the general in a tone of hearty congratulation, "of course i know miss lou. she is a most excellent young lady. and so the wind sits in that quarter? your blushes, goolsby, are a happy confirmation of many sweet and piquant rumors." goolsby appeared to be very much embarrassed. he moved about uneasily in his seat, searched in all his pockets for something or other that wasn't there, and made a vain effort to protest. he grew violently red in the face, and the color gleamed through his closely cropped hair. "oh, come now, gener'l!" he exclaimed. "oh, pshaw! why--oh, go 'way!" his embarrassment was so great, and seemed to border so closely on epilepsy, that the general was induced to offer him a cigar and invite him into the smoking apartment. as general garwood and goolsby passed out, helen eustis drew a long breath. "it is worth the trouble of a long journey to behold such a spectacle," she declared. her aunt regarded her curiously. "who would have thought it?" she went on--"a southern secessionist charged with affability, and a book-agent radiant with embarrassment!" "he is a coarse, ridiculous creature," said miss tewksbury sharply. "the affable general, aunt harriet?" "no, child; the other." "dear aunt, we are in the enemy's country, and we must ground our prejudices. the book-agent is pert and crude, but he is not coarse. a coarse man may be in love, but he would never blush over it. and as for the affable general--you saw the negro woman cry over him." "poor thing!" said miss tewksbury, with a sigh. "she sadly needs instruction." "ah, yes! that is a theory we should stand to, but how shall we instruct her to run and cry after us?" "my dear child, we want no such disgusting exhibitions. it is enough if we do our duty by these unfortunates." "but i do want just such an exhibition, aunt harriet," said helen seriously. "i should be glad to have some fortunate or unfortunate creature run and cry after me." "well," said miss tewksbury placidly, "we are about to ignore the most impressive fact, after all." "what is that, aunt harriet?" "why, child, these people are from azalia, and for us azalia is the centre of the universe." "ah, don't pretend that you are not charmed, dear aunt. we shall have the pleasure of meeting the handsome miss hornsby, and probably mr. goolsby himself--and certainly the distinguished general." "i only hope ephraim buxton has a clear conscience to-day," remarked miss tewksbury with unction. "did you observe the attitude of the general toward mr. goolsby, and that of mr. goolsby toward the general?" asked helen, ignoring the allusion to dr. buxton. "the line that the general drew was visible to the naked eye. but mr. goolsby drew no line. he is friendly and familiar on principle. i was reminded of the 'brookline reporter,' which alluded the other day to the london 'times' as its esteemed contemporary. the affable general is mr. goolsby's esteemed contemporary." "my dear child," said miss tewksbury, somewhat anxiously, "i hope your queer conceits are not the result of your illness." "no, they are the result of my surroundings. i have been trying to pretend to myself, ever since we left washington, that we are traveling through a strange country; but it is a mere pretense. i have been trying to verify some previous impressions of barbarism and shiftlessness." "well, upon my word, my dear," exclaimed miss tewksbury, "i should think you had had ample opportunity." "i have been trying to take the newspaper view," helen went on with some degree of earnestness, "but it is impossible. we must correct the newspapers, aunt harriet, and make ourselves famous. everything i have seen that is not to be traced to the result of the war belongs to a state of arrested development." miss tewksbury was uncertain whether her niece was giving a new turn to her drollery, so she merely stared at her; but the young lady seemed to be serious enough. "don't interrupt me, aunt harriet. give me the opportunity you would give to dr. barlow blade, the trance medium. everything i see in this country belongs to a state of arrested development, and it has been arrested at a most interesting point. it is picturesque. it is colonial. i am amazed that this fact has not been dwelt on by people who write about the south." "the conservatism that prevents progress, or stands in the way of it, is a crime," said miss tewksbury, pressing her thin lips together firmly. she had once been on the platform in some of the little country towns of new england, and had made quite a reputation for pith and fluency. "ah, dear aunt, that sounds like an extract from a lecture. we can have progress in some things, but not in others. we have progressed in the matter of conveniences, comforts, and luxuries, but in what other directions? are we any better than the people who lived in the days of washington, jefferson, and madison? is the standard of morality any higher now than it was in the days of the apostles?" "don't talk nonsense, helen," said miss tewksbury. "we have a higher civilization than the apostles witnessed. morality is progressive." "well," said helen, with a sigh, "it is a pity these people have discarded shoe-buckles and knee-breeches." "your queer notions make me thirsty, child," said miss tewksbury, producing a silver cup from her satchel. "i must get a drink of water." "permit me, madam," said a sonorous voice behind them; and a tall gentleman seized the cup, and bore it away. "it is the distinguished general!" exclaimed helen in a tragic whisper, "and he must have heard our speeches." "i hope he took them down," said miss tewksbury snappishly. "he will esteem you as a sympathizer." "did i say anything ridiculous, aunt harriet?" "dear me! you must ask your distinguished general," replied miss tewksbury triumphantly. general garwood returned with the water, and insisted on fetching more. helen observed that he held his hat in his hand, and that his attitude was one of unstudied deference. "the conductor tells me, madam," he said, addressing himself to miss tewksbury, "that you have tickets for azalia. i am going in that direction myself, and i should be glad to be of any service to you. azalia is a poor little place, but i like it well enough to live there. i suppose that is the reason the conductor told me of your tickets. he knew the information would be interesting." "thank you," said miss tewksbury with dignity. "you are very kind," said miss eustis with a smile. general garwood made himself exceedingly agreeable. he pointed out the interesting places along the road, gave the ladies little bits of local history that were at least entertaining. in atlanta, where there was a delay of a few hours, he drove them over the battle-fields, and by his graphic descriptions gave them a new idea of the heat and fury of war. in short, he made himself so agreeable in every way that miss tewksbury felt at liberty to challenge his opinions on various subjects. they had numberless little controversies about the rights and wrongs of the war, and the perplexing problems that grew out of its results. so far as miss tewksbury was concerned, she found general garwood's large tolerance somewhat irritating, for it left her no excuse for the employment of her most effective arguments. "did you surrender your prejudices at appomattox?" miss tewksbury asked him on one occasion. "oh, by no means; you remember we were allowed to retain our side-arms and our saddle-horses," he replied, laughing. "i still have my prejudices, but i trust they are more important than those i entertained in my youth. certainly they are less uncomfortable." "well," said miss tewksbury, "you are still unrepentant, and that is more serious than any number of prejudices." "there is nothing to repent of," said the general, smiling, a little sadly as helen thought. "it has all passed away utterly. the best we can do is that which seems right and just and necessary. my duty was as plain to me in , when i was a boy of twenty, as it is to-day. it seemed to be my duty then to serve my state and section; my duty now seems to be to help good people everywhere to restore the union, and to heal the wounds of the war." "i'm _very_ glad to hear you say so," exclaimed miss tewksbury in a tone that made helen shiver. "i was afraid it was quite otherwise. it seems to me, that, if i lived here, i should either hate the people who conquered me, or else the sin of slavery would weigh heavily on my conscience." "i can appreciate that feeling, i think," said general garwood, "but the american conscience is a very healthy one--not likely to succumb to influences that are mainly malarial in their nature; and even from your point of view some good can be found in american slavery." "i have never found it," said miss tewksbury. "you must admit that but for slavery the negroes who are here would be savages in africa. as it is, they have had the benefit of more than two hundred years' contact with the white race. if they are at all fitted for citizenship, the result is due to the civilizing influence of slavery. it seems to me that they are vastly better off as american citizens, even though they have endured the discipline of slavery, than they would be as savages in africa." miss tewksbury's eyes snapped. "did this make slavery right?" she asked. "not at all," said the general, smiling at the lady's earnestness. "but, at least, it is something of an excuse for american slavery. it seems to be an evidence that providence had a hand in the whole unfortunate business." but in spite of these discussions and controversies, the general made himself so thoroughly agreeable in every way, and was so thoughtful in his attentions, that by the time helen and her aunt arrived at azalia they were disposed to believe that he had placed them under many obligations, and they said so; but the general insisted that it was he who had been placed under obligations, and he declared it to be his intention to discharge a few of them as soon as the ladies found themselves comfortably settled in the little town to which dr. buxton had banished them. iii azalia was a small town, but it was a comparatively comfortable one. for years and years before the war it had been noted as the meeting-place of the wagon-trains by means of which the planters transported their produce to market. it was on the highway that led from the cotton-plantations of middle georgia to the city of augusta. it was also a stopping-place for the stage-coaches that carried the mails. azalia was not a large town, even before the war, when, according to the testimony of the entire community, it was at its best; and it certainly had not improved any since the war. there was room for improvement, but no room for progress, because there was no necessity for progress. the people were contented. they were satisfied with things as they existed, though they had an honest, provincial faith in the good old times that were gone. they had but one regret--that the railroad station, four miles away, had been named azalia. it is true, the station consisted of a water-tank and a little pigeon-house where tickets were sold; but the people of azalia proper felt that it was in the nature of an outrage to give so fine a name to so poor a place. they derived some satisfaction, however, from the fact that the world at large found it necessary to make a distinction between the two places. azalia was called "big azalia," and the railroad station was known as "little azalia." away back in the forties, or perhaps even earlier, when there was some excitement in all parts of the country in regard to railroad building, one of georgia's most famous orators had alluded in the legislature to azalia as "the natural gateway of the commerce of the empire state of the south." this fine phrase stuck in the memories of the people of azalia and their posterity; and the passing traveler, since that day and time, has heard a good deal of it. there is no doubt that the figure was fairly applicable before the railways were built; for, as has been explained, azalia was the meeting-place of the wagon-trains from all parts of the state in going to market. when the cotton-laden wagons met at azalia, they parted company no more until they had reached august. the natural result of this was that azalia, in one way and another, saw a good deal of life--much that was entertaining, and a good deal that was exciting. another result was that the people had considerable practise in the art of hospitality; for it frequently happened that the comfortable tavern, which azalia's commercial importance had made necessary at a very early period of the town's history, was full to overflowing with planters accompanying their wagons, and lawyers traveling from court to court. at such times the worthy townspeople would come to the rescue, and offer the shelter of their homes to the belated wayfarer. there was another feature of azalia worthy of attention. it was in a measure the site and centre of a mission--the headquarters, so to speak, of a very earnest and patient effort to infuse energy and ambition into that indescribable class of people known in that region as the piny-woods "tackies." within a stone's throw of azalia there was a scattering settlement of these tackies. they had settled there before the revolution, and had remained there ever since, unchanged and unchangeable, steeped in poverty of the most desolate description, and living the narrowest lives possible in this great republic. they had attracted the attention of the rev. arthur hill, an episcopalian minister, who conceived an idea that the squalid settlement near azalia afforded a fine field for missionary labor. mr. hill established himself in azalia, built and furnished a little church in the settlement, and entered on a career of the most earnest and persevering charity. to all appearances his labor was thrown away; but he was possessed by both faith and hope, and never allowed himself to be disheartened. all his time, as well as the modest fortune left him by his wife who was dead, was devoted to the work of improving and elevating the tackies; and he never permitted himself to doubt for an instant that reasonable success was crowning his efforts. he was gentle, patient, and somewhat finical. this was the neighborhood toward which miss eustis and her aunt had journeyed. fortunately for these ladies, major haley, the genial tavern-keeper, had a habit of sending a hack to meet every train that stopped at little azalia. it was not a profitable habit in the long run; but major haley thought little of the profits, so long as he was conscious that the casual traveler had abundant reason to be grateful to him. major haley himself was a native of kentucky; but his wife was a georgian, inheriting her thrift and her economy from a generation that knew more about the hand-loom, the spinning-wheel, and the cotton-cards, than it did about the piano. she admired her husband, who was a large, fine-looking man, with jocular tendencies; but she disposed of his opinions without ceremony when they came in conflict with her own. under these circumstances it was natural that she should have charge of the tavern and all that appertained thereto. general garwood, riding by from little azalia, whither his saddle-horse had been sent to meet him, had informed the major that two ladies from the north were coming in the hack, and begged him to make them as comfortable as possible. this information major haley dutifully carried to his wife. "good lord!" exclaimed mrs. haley, "what do you reckon they want here?" "i've been a-studyin'," said her husband thoughtfully. "the gener'l says they're comin' fer their health." "well, it's a mighty fur cry for health," said mrs. haley emphatically. "i've seen some monst'ous sick people around here; and if anybody'll look at them tackies out on the ridge yonder, and then tell me there's any health in this neighborhood, then i'll give up. i don't know how in the wide world we'll fix up for 'em. that everlastin' nigger went and made too much fire in the stove, and tee-totally ruint my light-bread; i could 'a' cried, i was so mad; and then on top er that the whole dinin'-room is tore up from top to bottom." "well," said the major, "we'll try and make 'em comfortable, and if they ain't comfortable it won't be our fault. jest you whirl in, and put on some of your greene county style, maria. that'll fetch 'em." "it may fetch 'em, but it won't feed 'em," said the practical maria. the result was, that when helen eustis and her aunt became the guests of this poor little country tavern, they were not only agreeably disappointed as to their surroundings, but they were better pleased than they would have been at one of the most pretentious caravansaries. hotel luxury is comfortable enough to those who make it a point to appreciate what they pay for; but the appointments of luxury can neither impart, nor compensate for the lack of, the atmosphere that mysteriously conveys some impression or reminiscence of home. in the case of helen and her aunt, this impression was conveyed and confirmed by a quilt of curious pattern on one of the beds in their rooms. "my dear," said miss tewksbury, after making a critical examination, "your grandmother had just such a quilt as this. yes, she had two. i remember the first one was quite a bone of contention between your mother and me, and so your grandmother made two. i declare," miss tewksbury continued, with a sigh, "it quite carries me back to old times." "it is well made," said helen, giving the stitches a critical examination, "and the colors are perfectly matched. really, this is something to think about, for it fits none of our theories. perhaps, aunt harriet, we have accidentally discovered some of our long-lost relatives. it would be nice and original to substitute a beautiful quilt for the ordinary strawberry-mark." "well, the sight of it is comforting, anyhow," said miss tewksbury, responding to the half-serious humor of her niece by pressing her thin lips together, and tossing her gray ringlets. as she spoke, a negro boy, apparently about ten years old, stalked unceremoniously into the room, balancing a large stone pitcher on his head. his hands were tucked beneath his white apron, and the pitcher seemed to be in imminent danger of falling; but he smiled and showed his white teeth. "i come fer ter fetch dish yer pitcher er water, ma'm. miss 'ria say she speck you lak fer have 'im right fresh from de well." "aren't you afraid you'll drop it?" said miss eustis. "lor', no'm!" exclaimed the boy, emphasizing his words by increasing his grin. "i been ca'um dis away sence i ain't no bigger dan my li'l' buddy. miss 'ria, she say dat w'at make i so bow-legged." "what is your name?" inquired miss tewksbury, with some degree of solemnity, as the boy deposited the pitcher on the wash-stand. "mammy she say i un name willum, but mars maje en de turrer folks dey des calls me bill. i run'd off en sot in de school-'ouse all day one day, but dat mus' 'a' been a mighty bad day, kaze i ain't never year um say wherrer i wuz name willum, er wherrer i wuz des name bill. miss 'ria, she say dat 'taint make no diffunce w'at folks' name is, long ez dey come w'en dey year turred folks holl'in' at um." "don't you go to school, child?" miss tewksbury inquired, with dignified sympathy. "i start in once," said william, laughing, "but mos' time i git dar de nigger man w'at do de teachin' tuck'n snatch de book out'n my han' en say i got 'im upper-side down. i tole 'im dat de onliest way w'at i kin git my lesson, en den dat nigger man tuck'n lam me side de head. den atter school bin turn out, i is hide myse'f side de road, en w'en dat nigger man come 'long, i up wid a rock en i fetched 'im a clip dat mighty nigh double 'im up. you ain't never is year no nigger man holler lak dat nigger man. he run't en tole mars peyt dat de kukluckers wuz atter 'im. mars peyt he try ter quiet 'em, but dat nigger man done gone!" "don't you think you did wrong to hit him?" miss tewksbury asked. "dat w'at miss 'ria say. she say i oughter be shame er myse'f by good rights; but w'at dat nigger man wanter come hurtin' my feelin' fer w'en i settin' dar studyin' my lesson des hard ez i kin, right spank out'n de book? en spozen she wuz upper-side down, wa'n't de lesson in dar all de time, kaze how she gwine spill out?" william was very serious--indeed, he was indignant--when he closed his argument. he turned to go out, but paused at the door, and said: "miss 'ria say supper be ready 'mos' 'fo' you kin turn 'roun', but she say ef you too tired out she'll have it sont up." william paused, rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, smacked his mouth, and added: "i gwine fetch in de batter-cakes myse'f." miss tewksbury felt in her soul that she ought to be horrified at this recital; but she was grateful that she was not amused. "aunt harriet," cried helen, when william had disappeared, "this is better than the seashore. i am stronger already. my only regret is that henry p. bassett, the novelist, is not here. the last time i saw him, he was moping and complaining that his occupation was almost gone, because he had exhausted all the types--that's what he calls them. he declared he would be compelled to take his old characters, and give them a new outfit of emotions. oh, if he were only here!" "i hope you feel that you are, in some sense, responsible for all this, helen," said miss tewksbury solemnly. "do you mean the journey, aunt harriet, or the little negro?" "my dear child, don't pretend to misunderstand me. i can not help feeling that if we had done and were doing our whole duty, this--this poor negro-- ah, well! it is useless to speak of it. we are on missionary ground, but our hands are tied. oh, i wish elizabeth mappis were here! she would teach us our duty." "she wouldn't teach me mine, aunt harriet," said helen seriously. "i wouldn't give one grain of your common sense for all that elizabeth mappis has written and spoken. what have her wild theories to do with these people? she acts like a man in disguise. when i see her striding about, delivering her harangues, i always imagine she is wearing a pair of cowhide boots as a sort of stimulus to her masculinity. ugh! i'm glad she isn't here." ordinarily, miss tewksbury would have defended mrs. elizabeth mappis; but she remembered that a defense of that remarkable woman--as remarkable for her intellect as for her courage--was unnecessary at all times, and, in this instance, absolutely uncalled for. moreover, the clangor of the supper-bell, which rang out at that moment, would have effectually drowned out whatever miss tewksbury might have chosen to say in behalf of mrs. mappis. the bellringer was william, the genial little negro whose acquaintance the ladies had made, and he performed his duty with an unction that left nothing to be desired. the bell was so large that william was compelled to use both hands in swinging it. he bore it from the dining-room to the hall, and thence from one veranda to the other, making fuss enough to convince everybody that those who ate at the tavern were on the point of enjoying another of the famous meals prepared under the supervision of mrs. haley. there was nothing in the dining-room to invite the criticism of helen and her aunt, even though they had been disposed to be critical; there was no evidence of slatternly management. everything was plain, but neat. the ceiling was high and wide; and the walls were of dainty whiteness, relieved here and there by bracket-shelves containing shiny crockery and glassware. the oil-lamps gave a mellow light through the simple but unique paper shades with which they had been fitted. above the table, which extended the length of the room, was suspended a series of large fans. these fans were connected by a cord, so that when it became necessary to cool the room, or to drive away the flies, one small negro, by pulling a string, could set them all in motion. over this dining-room mrs. haley presided. she sat at the head of the table, serene, cheerful, and watchful, anticipating the wants of each and every one who ate at the board. she invited helen and her aunt to seats near her own, and somehow managed to convince them, veteran travelers though they were, that hospitality such as hers was richly worth paying for. "i do hope you'll make out to be comfortable in this poor little neighborhood," she said as the ladies lingered over their tea, after the other boarders--the clerks and the shopkeepers--had bolted their food and fare. "i have my hopes, and i have my doubts. gener'l garwood says you're come to mend your health," she continued, regarding the ladies with the critical eye of one who has had something to do with herbs and simples; "and i've been tryin' my best to pick out which is the sick one, but it's a mighty hard matter. yet i won't go by looks, because if folks looked bad every time they felt bad, they'd be some mighty peaked people in this world off and on--william, run and fetch in some hot batter-cakes." "i am the alleged invalid," said helen. "i am the victim of a conspiracy between my aunt here and our family physician.--aunt harriet, what do you suppose dr. buxton would say if he knew how comfortable we are at this moment? i dare say he would write a letter, and order us off to some other point." "my niece," said miss tewksbury, by way of explanation, "has weak lungs, but she has never permitted herself to acknowledge the fact." "well, my goodness!" exclaimed mrs. haley, "if that's all, we'll have her sound and well in a little or no time. why, when i was her age i had a hackin' cough and a rackin' pain in my breast night and day, and i fell off till my own blood kin didn't know me. everybody give me up; but old miss polly flanders in hancock, right j'inin' county from greene, she sent me word to make me some mullein tea, and drink sweet milk right fresh from the cow; and from that day to this i've never know'd what weak lungs was. i reckon you'll be mighty lonesome here," said mrs. haley after william had returned with a fresh supply of batter-cakes, "but you'll find folks mighty neighborly, once you come to know 'em. and, bless goodness, here's one of 'em now!--howdy, emma jane?" a tall, ungainly-looking woman stood in the door of the dining-room leading to the kitchen. her appearance showed the most abject poverty. her dirty sunbonnet had fallen back from her head, and hung on her shoulders. her hair was of a reddish-gray color, and its frazzled and tangled condition suggested that the woman had recently passed through a period of extreme excitement; but this suggestion was promptly corrected by the wonderful serenity of her face--a pale, unhealthy-looking face, with sunken eyes, high cheek-bones, and thin lips that seemed never to have troubled themselves to smile: a burnt-out face that had apparently surrendered to the past, and had no hope for the future. the puritan simplicity of the woman's dress made her seem taller than she really was, but this was the only illusion about her. though her appearance was uncouth and ungainly, her manner was unembarrassed. she looked at helen with some degree of interest; and to the latter it seemed that misery, hopeless but unabashed, gazed at her with a significance at once pathetic and appalling. in response to mrs. haley's salutation, the woman seated herself in the doorway, and sighed. "you must be tired, emma jane, not to say howdy," said mrs. haley, with a smile. the woman raised her right hand above her head, and allowed it to drop helplessly into her lap. "ti-ud! lordy, lordy! how kin a pore creetur' like me be ti-ud? hain't i thes natally made out'n i'on?" "well, i won't go so fur as to say that, emma jane," said mrs. haley, "but you're mighty tough. now, you know that yourself." "yes'n--yes'n. i'm made out'n i'on. lordy, lordy! i thes natally hone fer some un ter come along an' tell me what makes me h'ist up an' walk away over yan'ter the railroad track, an' set thar tell the ingine shoves by. i wisht some un ud up an' tell me what makes me so restless an' oneasy, ef it hain't 'cause i'm hongry. i thes wisht they would. passin' on by, i sez ter myself, s' i: 'emma jane stucky,' s' i, 'ef you know what's good fer your wholesome,' s' i, 'you'll sneak in on miss haley, 'cause you'll feel better,' s' i, 'ef you don't no more'n tell 'er howdy,' s' i. lordy, lordy! i dunner what ud 'come er me ef i hadn't a bin made out'n i'on." "emma jane," said mrs. haley, in the tone of one who is humoring a child, "these ladies are from the north." "yes'n," said the woman, glancing at helen and her aunt with the faintest expression of pity; "yes'n, i hearn tell you had comp'ny. hit's a mighty long ways fum this, the north, hain't it, miss haley--a long ways fuder'n tennissy? well, the lord knows i pity um fum the bottom of my heart, that i do--a-bein' such a long ways fum home." "the north is ever so much farther than tennessee," said helen pleasantly, almost unconsciously assuming the tone employed by mrs. haley; "but the weather is so very cold there that we have to run away sometimes." "you're right, honey," said mrs. stucky, hugging herself with her long arms. "i wisht i could run away fum it myself. ef i wa'n't made out'n i'on, i dunner how i'd stan' it. lordy! when the win' sets in from the east, hit in-about runs me plum destracted. hit kills lots an' lots er folks, but they hain't made out'n i'on like me." while mrs. stucky was describing the vigorous constitution that had enabled her to survive in the face of various difficulties, and in spite of many mishaps, mrs. haley was engaged in making up a little parcel of victuals. this she handed to the woman. "thanky-do! thanky-do, ma'am! me an' my son'll set down an' wallop this up, an' say thanky-do all the time, an' atter we're done we'll wipe our mouves, an' say thanky-do." "i reckon you ladies'll think we're mighty queer folks down here," said mrs. haley, with an air of apology, after mrs. stucky had retired; "but i declare i can't find it in my heart to treat that poor creetur' out of the way. i set and look at her sometimes, and i wish i may never budge if i don't come mighty nigh cryin'. she ain't hardly fittin' to live, and if she's fittin' to die, she's lots better off than the common run of folks. but she's mighty worrysome. she pesters me lots mor'n i ever let on." "the poor creature!" exclaimed miss tewksbury. "i am truly sorry for her--truly sorry." "ah! so am i," said helen. "i propose to see more of her. i am interested in just such people." "well, ma'am," said mrs. haley dryly, "if you like sech folks it's a thousand pities you've come here, for you'll git a doste of 'em. yes'm, that you will; a doste of 'em that'll last you as long as you live, if you live to be one of the patrioks. and you nee'nter be sorry for emma jane stucky neither. jest as you see her now, jesso she's been a-goin' on fer twenty year, an' jest as you see her now, jesso she's been a-lookin' ev'ry sence anybody around here has been a-knowin' her." "her history must be a pathetic one," said miss tewksbury with a sigh. "her what, ma'am?" asked mrs. haley. "her history, the story of her life," responded miss tewksbury. "i dare say it is very touching." "well, ma'am," said mrs. haley, "emma jane stucky is like one of them there dead pines out there in the clearin'. if you had a stack of almanacs as high as a hoss-rack, you couldn't pick out the year she was young and sappy. she must 'a' started out as a light'd knot, an' she's been a-gittin' tougher year in an' year out, till now she's tougher'n the toughest. no'm," continued mrs. haley, replying to an imaginary argument, "i ain't predijiced ag'in' the poor creetur'--the lord knows i ain't. if i was, no vittels would she git from me--not a scrimption." "i never saw such an expression on a human countenance," said helen. "her eyes will haunt me as long as i live." "bless your soul and body, child!" exclaimed mrs. haley; "if you're going to let that poor creetur's looks pester you, you'll be worried to death, as certain as the world. there's a hunderd in this settlement jest like her, and ther' must be more'n that, old an' young, 'cause the children look to be as old as the'r grannies. i reckon maybe you ain't used to seein' piny-woods tackies. well, ma'am, you wait till you come to know 'em, and if you are in the habits of bein' ha'nted by looks, you'll be the wuss ha'nted mortal in this land, 'less'n it's them that's got the sperrit-rappin's after 'em." iv mrs. stucky, making her way homeward through the gathering dusk, moved as noiselessly and as swiftly as a ghost. the soft white sand beneath her feet gave forth no sound, and she seemed to be gliding forward, rather than walking; though there was a certain awkward emphasis and decision in her movements altogether human in their suggestions. the way was lonely. there was no companionship for her in the whispering sighs of the tall pines that stood by the roadside, no friendliness in the constellations that burned and sparkled overhead, no hospitable suggestion in the lights that gleamed faintly here and there from the windows of the houses in the little settlement. to mrs. stucky all was commonplace. there was nothing in her surroundings as she went toward her home, to lend wings even to her superstition, which was eager to assert itself on all occasions. it was not much of a home to which she was making her way--a little log-cabin in a pine thicket, surrounded by a little clearing that served to show how aimlessly and how hopelessly the lack of thrift and energy could assert itself. the surroundings were mean enough and squalid enough at their best, but the oppressive shadows of night made them meaner and more squalid than they really were. the sun, which shines so lavishly in that region, appeared to glorify the squalor, showing wild passion-flowers clambering along the broken-down fence of pine poles, and a wistaria vine running helter-skelter across the roof of the little cabin. but the night hid all this completely. a dim, vague blaze, springing from a few charred pine-knots, made the darkness visible in the one room of the cabin; and before it, with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, sat what appeared to be a man. he wore neither coat nor shoes, and his hair was long and shaggy. "is that you, bud?" said mrs. stucky. "why, who'd you reckon it wuz, maw?" replied bud, looking up with a broad grin that was not at all concealed by his thin, sandy beard. "a body'd sorter think, ef they 'uz ter ketch you gwine on that away, that you 'spected ter find some great somebody er nuther a-roostin' in here." mrs. stucky, by way of responding, stirred the pine-knots until they gave forth a more satisfactory light, hung her bonnet on the bedpost, and seated herself wearily in a rickety chair, the loose planks of the floor rattling and shaking as she moved about. "now, who in the nation did you reckon it wuz, maw?" persisted bud, still grinning placidly. "some great somebody," replied mrs. stucky, brushing her gray hair out of her eyes and looking at her son. at this bud could contain himself no longer. he laughed almost uproariously. "well, the great jemimy!" he exclaimed, and then laughed louder than ever. "wher've you been?" mrs. stucky asked, when bud's mirth had subsided. "away over yander at the depot," said bud, indicating little azalia. "an' i fotch you some may-pops too. i did that! i seed 'em while i wuz a-gwine 'long, an' i sez ter myself, sezee, 'you jess wait thar tell i come 'long back, an' i'll take an' take you ter maw,' sezee." although this fruit of the passion-flowers was growing in profusion right at the door, mrs. stucky gave this grown man, her son, to understand that may-pops such as he brought were very desirable indeed. "i wonder you didn't fergit 'em," she said. "who? me!" exclaimed bud. "i jess like fer ter see anybody ketch me fergittin' 'em. now i jess would. i never eat a one, nuther--not a one." mrs. stucky made no response to this, and none seemed to be necessary. bud sat and pulled his thin beard, and gazed in the fire. presently he laughed and said: "i jess bet a hoss you couldn't guess who i seed; now i jess bet that." mrs. stucky rubbed the side of her face thoughtfully, and seemed to be making a tremendous effort to imagine whom bud had seen. "'twer'n't no man, en 'twer'n't no azalia folks. 'twuz a gal." "a gal!" exclaimed mrs. stucky. "yes'n, a gal, an' _ef_ she wa'n't a zooner you may jess take an' knock my chunk out." mrs. stucky looked at her son curiously. her cold gray eyes glittered in the firelight as she held them steadily on his face. bud, conscious of this inspection, moved about in his chair uneasily, shifting his feet from one side to the other. "'twer'n't no sal badger," he said, after a while, laughing sheepishly; "'twer'n't no maria matthews, 'twer'n't no lou hornsby, an' 'twer'n't no martha jane williams, nuther. she wuz a bran'-new gal, an' she went ter the tavern, _she_ did." "i've done saw 'er," said mrs. stucky placidly. "you done saw 'er, maw!" exclaimed bud. "well, the great jemimy! what's her name, maw?" "they didn't call no names," said mrs. stucky. "they jess sot thar, an' gormandized on waffles an' batter-cakes, an' didn't call no names. hit made me dribble at the mouf, the way they went on." "wuz she purty, maw?" "i sot an' looked at um," mrs. stucky went on, "an' i 'lowed maybe the war moughter come betwixt the old un an' her good looks. the t'other one looks mighty slick, but, lordy! she hain't nigh ez slick ez that ar lou hornsby; yit she's got lots purtier motions." "well, i seed 'er, maw," said bud, gazing into the depths of the fireplace. "atter the ingine come a-snortin' by, i jumped up behind the hack whar they puts the trunks, an' i got a right good glimp' un 'er; an' ef she hain't purty, then i dunner what purty is. what'd you say her name wuz, maw?" "lordy, jess hark ter the creetur! hain't i jess this minute hollered, an' tole you that they hain't called no names?" "i 'lowed maybe you moughter hearn the name named, an' then drapt it," said bud, still gazing into the fire. "i tell you what, she made that ole hack look big, _she_ did!" "you talk like you er start crazy, bud!" exclaimed mrs. stucky, leaning over, and fixing her glittering eyes on his face. "lordy! what's she by the side er me? is she made out'n i'on?" bud's enthusiasm immediately vanished, and a weak, flickering smile took possession of his face. "no'm--no'm; that she hain't made out'n i'on! she's lots littler'n you is--lots littler. she looks like she's sorry." "sorry! what fer?" "sorry fer we-all." mrs. stucky looked at her son with amazement, not unmixed with indignation. then she seemed to remember something she had forgotten. "sorry fer we-all, honey, when we er got this great big pile er tavern vittles?" she asked with a smile; and then the two fell to, and made the most of mrs. haley's charity. at the tavern helen and her aunt sat long at their tea, listening to the quaint gossip of mrs. haley, which not only took a wide and entertaining range, but entered into details that her guests found extremely interesting. miss tewksbury's name reminded mrs. haley of a miss kingsbury, a northern lady, who had taught school in middle georgia, and who had "writ a sure-enough book," as the genial landlady expressed it. she went to the trouble of hunting up this "sure-enough" book--a small school dictionary--and gave many reminiscences of her acquaintance with the author. in the small parlor, too, the ladies found general garwood awaiting them; and they held quite a little reception, forming the acquaintance, among others, of miss lou hornsby, a fresh-looking young woman, who had an exclamation of surprise or a grimace of wonder for every statement she heard and for every remark that was made. miss hornsby also went to the piano, and played and sang "nelly gray" and "lily dale" with a dramatic fervor that could only have been acquired in a boarding school. the rev. arthur hill was also there, a little gentleman, whose side-whiskers and modest deportment betokened both refinement and sensibility. he was very cordial to the two ladies from the north, and strove to demonstrate the liberality of his cloth by a certain gaiety of manner that was by no means displeasing. he seemed to consider himself one of the links of sociability, as well as master of ceremonies; and he had a way of speaking for others that suggested considerable social tact and versatility. thus, when there was a lull in the conversation, he started it again, and imparted to it a vivacity that was certainly remarkable, as helen thought. at precisely the proper moment, he seized miss hornsby, and bore her off home, tittering sweetly as only a young girl can; and the others, following the example thus happily set, left helen and her aunt to themselves, and to the repose that tired travelers are supposed to be in need of. they were not long in seeking it. "i wonder," said helen, after she and her aunt had gone to bed, "if these people really regard us as enemies?" this question caused miss tewksbury to sniff the air angrily. "pray, what difference does it make?" she replied. "oh, none at all!" said helen. "i was just thinking. the little preacher was tremendously gay. his mind seemed to be on skates. he touched on every subject but the war, and that he glided around gracefully. no doubt they have had enough of war down here." "i should hope so," said miss tewksbury. "go to sleep, child: you need rest." helen did not follow this timely advice at once. from her window she could see the constellations dragging their glittering procession westward; and she knew that the spirit of the night was whispering gently in the tall pines, but her thoughts were in a whirl. the scenes through which she had passed, and the people she had met, were new to her; and she lay awake and thought of them until at last the slow-moving stars left her wrapped in sleep--a sleep from which she was not aroused until william shook the foundations of the tavern with his melodious bell, informing everybody that the hour for breakfast had arrived. shortly afterward, william made his appearance in person, bringing an abundance of fresh, clear water. he appeared to be in excellent humor. "what did you say your name is?" helen asked. william chuckled, as if he thought the question was in the nature of a joke. "i'm name' willum, ma'am, en my mammy she name' sa'er jane, en de baby she name' phillypeener. miss 'ria she say dat baby is de likelies' nigger baby w'at she y'ever been see sence de war en i speck she is, kaze miss 'ria ain't been talk dat away 'bout eve'y nigger baby w'at come 'long." "how old are you?" miss tewksbury inquired. "i dunno'm," said william placidly. "miss 'ria she says i'm lots older dan w'at i looks ter be, en i speck dat's so, kaze mammy sey dey got ter be a runt 'mongst all folks's famblies." helen laughed, and william went on: "mammy say ole miss gwine come see you all. mars peyt gwine bring er." "who is old miss?" helen asked. william gazed at her with unfeigned amusement. "dunner who ole miss is? lordy! you de fus' folks w'at ain't know ole miss. she mars peyt's own mammy, dat's who she is, en ef she come lak dey say she comin', hit'll be de fus' time she y'ever sot foot in dish yer tavern less'n 'twuz indurance er de war. miss 'ria say she wish ter goodness ole miss 'ud sen' word ef she gwine stay ter dinner so she kin fix up somepin n'er nice. i dunno whe'er miss hallie comin' er no, but ole miss comin', sho, kaze i done been year um sesso." "and who is miss hallie?" helen inquired, as william still lingered. "miss hallie--she--dunno'm, ceppin' she des stays dar 'long wid um. miss 'ria say she mighty quare, but i wish turrer folks wuz quare lak miss hallie." william stayed until he was called away, and at breakfast mrs. haley imparted the information which, in william's lingo, had sounded somewhat scrappy. it was to the effect that general garwood's mother would call on the ladies during their stay. mrs. haley laid great stress on the statement. "such an event seems to be very interesting," helen said rather dryly. "yes'm," said mrs. haley, with her peculiar emphasis, "it ruther took me back when i heard the niggers takin' about it this mornin'. if that old lady has ever darkened my door, i've done forgot it. she's mighty nice and neighborly," mrs. haley went on, in response to a smile which helen gave her aunt, "but she don't go out much. oh, she's nice and proud; lord, if pride 'ud kill a body, that old 'oman would 'a' been dead too long ago to talk about. they're all proud--the whole kit and b'ilin'. she mayn't be too proud to come to this here tavern, but i know she ain't never been here. the preacher used to say that pride drives out grace, but i don't believe it, because that 'ud strip the garwoods of all they've got in this world; and i know they're just as good as they can be." "i heard the little negro boy talking of miss hallie," said helen. "pray, who is she?" mrs. haley closed her eyes, threw her head back, and laughed softly. "the poor child!" she exclaimed. "i declare, i feel like cryin' every time i think about her. she's the forlornest poor creetur the lord ever let live, and one of the best. sometimes, when i git tore up in my mind, and begin to think that everything's wrong-end foremost, i jess think of hallie garwood, and then i don't have no more trouble." both helen and her aunt appeared to be interested, and mrs. haley went on: "the poor child was a herndon; i reckon you've heard tell of the virginia herndons. at the beginning of the war, she was married to ethel garwood; and, bless your life, she hadn't been married more'n a week before ethel was killed. 'twa'n't in no battle, but jess in a kind of skirmish. they fotch him home, and hallie come along with him, and right here she's been ev'ry sence. she does mighty quare. she don't wear nothin' but black, and she don't go nowhere less'n it's somewheres where there's sickness. it makes my blood run cold to think about that poor creetur. trouble hits some folks and glances off, and it hits some and thar it sticks. i tell you what, them that it gives the go-by ought to be monst'ous proud." this was the beginning of many interesting experiences for helen and her aunt. they managed to find considerable comfort in mrs. haley's genial gossip. it amused and instructed them, and, at the same time, gave them a standard, half-serious, half-comical, by which to measure their own experiences in what seemed to them a very quaint neighborhood. they managed, in the course of a very few days, to make themselves thoroughly at home in their new surroundings; and, while they missed much that tradition and literature had told them they would find, they found much to excite their curiosity and attract their interest. one morning, an old-fashioned carriage, drawn by a pair of heavy-limbed horses, lumbered up to the tavern door. helen watched it with some degree of expectancy. the curtains and upholstering were faded and worn, and the panels were dingy with age. the negro driver was old and obsequious. he jumped from his high seat, opened the door, let down a flight of steps, and then stood with his hat off, the november sun glistening on his bald head. two ladies alighted. one was old, and one was young, but both were arrayed in deep mourning. the old lady had an abundance of gray hair that was combed straight back from her forehead, and her features, gave evidence of great decision of character. the young lady had large, lustrous eyes, and the pallor of her face was in strange contrast with her sombre drapery. these were the ladies from waverly, as the garwood place was called; and helen and her aunt met them a few moments later. "i am so pleased to meet you," said the old lady, with a smile that made her face beautiful. "and this is miss tewksbury. really, i have heard my son speak of you so often that i seem to know you. this is my daughter hallie. she doesn't go out often, but she insisted on coming with me to-day." "i'm very glad you came," said helen, sitting by the pale young woman after the greetings were over. "i think you are lovely," said hallie, with the tone of one who is settling a question that had previously been debated. her clear eyes from which innocence, unconquered and undimmed by trouble, shone forth, fastened themselves on helen's face. the admiration they expressed was unqualified and unadulterated. it was the admiration of a child. but the eyes were not those of a child: they were such as helen had seen in old paintings, and the pathos that seemed part of their beauty belonged definitely to the past. "i lovely?" exclaimed helen in astonishment, blushing a little. "i have never been accused of such a thing before." "you have such a beautiful complexion," hallie went on placidly, her eyes still fixed on helen's face. "i had heard--some one had told me--that you were an invalid. i was so sorry." the beautiful eyes drooped, and hallie sighed gently. "my invalidism is a myth," helen replied, somewhat puzzled to account for the impression the pale young woman made on her. "it is the invention of my aunt and our family physician. they have a theory that my lungs are affected, and that the air of the pine-woods will do me good." "oh, i hope and trust it will," exclaimed hallie, with an earnestness that helen could trace to no reasonable basis but affectation. "oh, i do hope it will! you are so young--so full of life." "my dear child," said helen, with mock gravity, "i am older than you are--ever so much older." the lustrous eyes closed, and for a moment the long silken lashes rested against the pale cheek. then the eyes opened, and gazed at helen appealingly. "oh, impossible! how could that be? i was sixteen in ." "then," said helen, "you are twenty-seven, and i am twenty-five." "i knew it--i felt it!" exclaimed hallie, with pensive animation. helen was amused and somewhat interested. she admired the peculiar beauty of hallie; but the efforts of the latter to repress her feelings, to reach, as it were, the results of self-effacement, were not at all pleasing to the boston girl. mrs. garwood and miss tewksbury found themselves on good terms at once. a course of novel reading, seasoned with reflection, had led miss tewksbury to believe that southern ladies of the first families possessed in a large degree the oriental faculty of laziness. she had pictured them in her mind as languid creatures, with a retinue of servants to carry their smelling-salts, and to stir the tropical air with palm-leaf fans. miss tewksbury was pleased rather than disappointed to find that mrs. garwood did not realize her idea of a southern woman. the large, lumbering carriage was something, and the antiquated driver threatened to lead the mind in a somewhat romantic direction; but both were shabby enough to be regarded as relics and reminders rather than as active possibilities. mrs. garwood was bright and cordial, and the air of refinement about her was pronounced and unmistakable. miss tewksbury told her that dr. buxton had recommended azalia as a sanitarium. "ephraim buxton!" exclaimed mrs. garwood. "why, you don't tell me that ephraim buxton is practising medicine in boston? and do you really know him? why, ephraim buxton was my first sweetheart!" mrs. garwood's laugh was pleasant to hear, and her blushes were worth looking at as she referred to dr. buxton. miss tewksbury laughed sympathetically but primly. "it was quite romantic," mrs. garwood went on, an a half-humorous, half-confidential tone. "ephraim was the school teacher here, and i was his eldest scholar. he was young, green, and awkward, but the best-hearted, most generous mortal i ever saw. i made quite a hero of him." "well," said miss tewksbury, in her matter-of-fact way, "i have never seen anything very heroic about dr. buxton. he comes and goes, and prescribes his pills, like all other doctors." "ah, that was forty years ago," said mrs. garwood, laughing. "a hero can become very commonplace in forty years. dr. buxton must be a dear, good man. is he married?" "no," said miss tewksbury. "he has been wise in his day and generation." "what a pity!" exclaimed the other. "he would have made some woman happy." mrs. garwood asked many questions concerning the physician who had once taught school at azalia; and the conversation of the two ladies finally took a range that covered all new england, and, finally, the south. each was surprised at the remarkable ignorance of the other; but their ignorance covered different fields, so that they had merely to exchange facts and information and experiences in order to entertain each other. they touched on the war delicately, though miss tewksbury had never cultivated the art of reserve to any great extent. at the same time there was no lack of frankness on either side. "my son has been telling me of the little controversies he had with you," said mrs. garwood. "he says you fairly bristle with arguments." "the general never heard half my arguments," replied miss tewksbury. "he never gave me an opportunity to use them." "my son is very conservative," said mrs. garwood, with a smile in which could be detected a mother's fond pride. "after the war he felt the responsibility of his position. a great many people looked up to him. for a long time after the surrender we had no law and no courts, and there was a great deal of confusion. oh, you can't imagine! every man was his own judge and jury." "so i've been told," said miss tewksbury. "of course you know something about it, but you can have no conception of the real condition of things. it was a tremendous upheaval coming after a terrible struggle, and my son felt that some one should set an example of prudence. his theory was, and is, that everything was for the best, and that our people should make the best of it. i think he was right," mrs. garwood added with a sigh, "but i don't know." "why, unquestionably!" exclaimed miss tewksbury. she was going on to say more; she felt that here was an opening for some of her arguments: but her eyes fell on hallie, whose pale face and sombre garb formed a curious contrast to the fresh-looking young woman who sat beside her. miss tewksbury paused. "did you lose any one in the war?" hallie was asking softly. "i lost a darling brother," helen replied. hallie laid her hand on helen's arm, a beautiful white hand. the movement was at once a gesture and a caress. "dear heart!" she said, "you must come and see me. we will talk together. i love those who are sorrowful." miss tewksbury postponed her arguments, and after some conversation they took their leave. "aunt harriet," said helen, when they were alone, "what do you make of these people? did you see that poor girl, and hear her talk? she chilled me and entranced me." "don't talk so, child," said miss tewksbury; "they are very good people, much better people than i thought we should find in this wilderness. it is a comfort to talk to them." "but that poor girl," said helen. "she is a mystery to me. she reminds me of a figure i have seen on the stage, or read of in some old book." when azalia heard that the northern ladies had been called on by the mistress of waverly, that portion of its inhabitants which was in the habit of keeping up the forms of sociability made haste to follow her example, so that helen and her aunt were made to feel at home in spite of themselves. general garwood was a frequent caller, ostensibly to engage in sectional controversies with miss tewksbury, which he seemed to enjoy keenly; but mrs. haley observed that when helen was not visible the general rarely prolonged his discussions with her aunt. the rev. arthur hill also called with some degree of regularity; and it was finally understood that helen would, at least temporarily, take the place of miss lou hornsby as organist of the little episcopal church in the tacky settlement, as soon as mr. goolsby, the fat and enterprising book-agent, had led the fair louisa to the altar. this wedding occurred in due time, and was quite an event in azalia's social history. goolsby was stout, but gallant; and miss hornsby made a tolerably handsome bride, notwithstanding a tendency to giggle when her deportment should have been dignified. helen furnished the music, general garwood gave the bride away, and the little preacher read the ceremony quite impressively; so that with the flowers and other favors, and the subsequent dinner--which mrs. haley called an "infair"--the occasion was a very happy and successful one. among those who were present, not as invited guests, but by virtue of their unimportance, were mrs. stucky and her son bud. they were followed and flanked by quite a number of their neighbors, who gazed on the festal scene with an impressive curiosity that can not be described. pale-faced, wide-eyed, statuesque, their presence, interpreted by a vivid imagination, might have been regarded as an omen of impending misfortune. they stood on the outskirts of the wedding company, gazing on the scene apparently without an emotion of sympathy or interest. they were there, it seemed, to see what new caper the townspeople had concluded to cut, to regard it solemnly, and to regret it with grave faces when the lights were out and the fantastic procession had drifted away to the village. the organ in the little church was a fine instrument, though a small one. it had belonged to the little preacher's wife, and he had given it to the church. to his mind, the fact that she had used it sanctified it, and he had placed it in the church as a part of the sacrifice he felt called on to make in behalf of his religion. helen played it with uncommon skill--a skill born of a passionate appreciation of music in its highest forms. the rev. mr. hill listened like one entranced, but helen played unconscious of his admiration. on the outskirts of the congregation she observed mrs. stucky, and by her side a young man with long, sandy hair, evidently uncombed, and a thin stubble of beard. helen saw this young man pull mrs. stucky by the sleeve, and direct her attention to the organ. instead of looking in helen's direction, mrs. stucky fixed her eyes on the face of the young man and held them there; but he continued to stare at the organist. it was a gaze at once mournful and appealing--not different in that respect from the gaze of any of the queer people around him, but it affected miss eustis strangely. to her quick imagination, it suggested loneliness, despair, that was the more tragic because of its isolation. it seemed to embody the mute, pent-up distress of whole generations. somehow helen felt herself to be playing for the benefit of this poor creature. the echoes of the wedding-march sounded grandly in the little church, then came a softly played interlude, and finally a solemn benediction, in which solicitude seemed to be giving happiness a sweet warning. as the congregation filed out of the church, the organ sent its sonorous echoes after the departing crowd--echoes that were taken up by the whispering and sighing pines, and borne far into the night. mrs. stucky did not go until after the lights were out; and then she took her son by the hand, and the two went to their lonely cabin not far away. they went in, and soon had a fire kindled on the hearth. no word had passed between them; but after a while, when mrs. stucky had taken a seat in the corner, and lit her pipe, she exclaimed: "lordy! what a great big gob of a man! i dunner what on the face er the yeth lou hornsby could 'a' been a-dreamin' about. from the way she's been a-gigglin' aroun' i'd 'a' thought she'd 'a' sot her cap fer the giner'l." "i say it!" said bud, laughing loudly. "whatter you reckon the giner'l 'ud 'a' been a-doin' all that time? i see 'er now, a-gigglin' an' a-settin' 'er cap fer the giner'l. lordy, yes!" "what's the matter betwixt you an' lou?" asked mrs. stucky grimly. "'taint been no time senst you wuz a-totin' water fer her ma, an' a-hangin' aroun' whilst she played the music in the church thar." bud continued to laugh. "but, lordy!" his mother went on, "i reckon you'll be a-totin' water an' a-runnin' er'n's fer thish yer yankee gal what played on the orgin up thar jess now." "well, they hain't no tellin'," said bud, rubbing his thin beard reflectively. "she's mighty spry 'long er that orgin, an' she's got mighty purty han's an' nimble fingers, an' ef she 'uz ter let down her ha'r, she'd be plum ready ter fly." "she walked home wi' the giner'l," said mrs. stucky. "i seed 'er," said bud. "he sent some yuther gals home in the carriage, an' him an' the yankee gal went a-walkin' down the road. he humped up his arm this away, an' the gal tuck it, an' off they put." bud seemed to enjoy the recollection of the scene; for he repeated, after waiting a while to see what his mother would have to say: "yes, siree! she tuck it, an' off they put." mrs. stucky looked at this grown man, her son, for a long time without saying anything, and finally remarked with something very like a sigh: "well, honey, you neenter begrudge 'em the'r walk. hit's a long ways through the san'." "lordy, yes'n!" exclaimed bud with something like a smile; "it's a mighty long ways, but the giner'l had the gal wi' 'im. he jess humped up his arm, an' she tuck it, an' off they put." it was even so. general garwood and helen walked home from the little church. the road was a long but a shining one. in the moonlight the sand shone white, save where little drifts and eddies of pine-needles had gathered. but these were no obstruction to the perspective, for the road was an avenue, broad and level, that lost itself in the distance only because the companionable pines, interlacing their boughs, contrived to present a background both vague and sombre--a background that receded on approach, and finally developed into the village of azalia and its suburbs. along this level and shining highway helen and general garwood went. the carriages that preceded them, and the people who walked with them or followed, gave a sort of processional pomp and movement to the gallant goolsby's wedding--so much so that if he could have witnessed it, his manly bosom would have swelled with genuine pride. "the music you gave us was indeed a treat," said the general. "it was perhaps more than you bargained for," helen replied. "i suppose everybody thought i was trying to make a display, but i quite forgot myself. i was watching its effect on one of the poor creatures near the door--do you call them tackies?" "yes, tackies. well, we are all obliged to the poor creature--man or woman. no doubt the fortunate person was bud stucky. i saw him standing near his mother. bud is famous for his love of music. when the organ is to be played, bud is always at the church; and sometimes he goes to waverly, and makes hallie play the piano for him while he sits on the floor of the veranda near the window. bud is quite a character." "i am so sorry for him," said helen gently. "i doubt if he is to be greatly pitied," said the general. "indeed, as the music was for him, and not for us, i think he is to be greatly envied." "i see now," said helen laughing, "that i should have restrained myself." "the suggestion is almost selfish," said the general gallantly. "well, your nights here are finer than music," helen remarked, fleeing to an impersonal theme. "to walk in the moonlight, without wraps and with no sense of discomfort, in the middle of december, is a wonderful experience to me. last night i heard a mocking-bird singing; and my aunt has been asking mrs. haley if watermelons are ripe." "the mocking-birds at waverly," said the general, "have become something of a nuisance under hallie's management. there is a great flock of them on the place, and in the summer they sing all night. it is not a very pleasant experience to have one whistling at your window the whole night through." "mrs. haley," remarked helen, "says that there are more mocking-birds now than there were before the war, and that they sing louder and more frequently." "i shouldn't wonder," the general assented. "mrs. haley is quite an authority on such matters. everybody quotes her opinions." "i took the liberty the other day," helen went on, "of asking her about the ku klux." "and, pray, what did she say?" the general asked with some degree of curiosity. "why, she said they were like the shower of stars--she had 'heard tell' of them, but she had never seen them. 'but,' said i, 'you have no doubt that the shower really occurred!'" "her illustration was somewhat unfortunate," the general remarked. "oh, by no means," helen replied. "she looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes, and said she had heard that it wasn't the stars that fell, after all." talking thus, with long intervals of silence, the two walked along the gleaming road until they reached the tavern, where miss eustis found her aunt and mrs. haley waiting on the broad veranda. "i don't think he is very polite," said helen, after her escort had bade them good night, and was out of hearing. "he offered me his arm, and then, after we had walked a little way, suggested that we could get along more comfortably by marching indian file." mrs. haley laughed loudly. "why, bless your innocent heart, honey! that ain't nothin'. the sand's too deep in the road, and the path's too narrer for folks to be a-gwine along yarm-in-arm. lord! don't talk about perliteness. that man's manners is somethin' better'n perliteness." "well," said helen's aunt, "i can't imagine why he should want to make you trudge through the sand in that style." "it is probably an output of the climate," said helen. "well, now, honey," remarked mrs. haley, "if he ast you to walk wi' 'im, he had his reasons. i've got my own idee," she added with a chuckle. "i know one thing--i know he's monstrous fond of some of the northron folks. ain't you never hearn, how, endurin' of the war, they fotch home a yankee soldier along wi' hallie's husband, an' buried 'em side by side? they tell me that hallie's husband an' the yankee was mighty nigh the same age, an' had a sorter favor. if that's so," said mrs. haley, with emphasis, "then two mighty likely chaps was knocked over on account of the everlastin' nigger." all this was very interesting to helen and her aunt, and they were anxious to learn all the particulars in regard to the young federal soldier who had found burial at waverly. "what his name was," said mrs. haley, "i'll never tell you. old prince, the carriage-driver, can tell you lots more'n i can. he foun' 'em on the groun', an' he fotch 'em home. prince use to be a mighty good nigger before freedom come out, but now he ain't much better'n the balance of 'em. you all 'ill see him when you go over thar, bekaze he's in an' out of the house constant. he'll tell you all about it if you're mighty perlite. folks is got so they has to be mighty perlite to niggers sence the war. yit i'll not deny that it's easy to be perlite to old uncle prince, bekaze he's mighty perlite hisself. he's what i call a high-bred nigger." mrs. haley said this with an air of pride, as if she were in some measure responsible for uncle prince's good breeding. v it came to pass that helen eustis and her aunt lost the sense of loneliness which they had found so oppressive during the first weeks of their visit. in the people about them they found a never-failing fund of entertainment. they found in the climate, too, a source of health and strength. the resinous odor of the pines was always in their nostrils; the far, faint undertones of music the winds made in the trees were always in their ears. the provinciality of the people, which some of the political correspondents describe as distressing, was so genuinely american in all its forms and manifestations that these boston women were enabled to draw from it, now and then, a whiff of new england air. they recognized characteristics that made them feel thoroughly at home. perhaps, so far as helen was concerned, there were other reasons that reconciled her to her surroundings. at any rate, she was reconciled. more than this, she was happy. her eyes sparkled, and the roses of health bloomed on her cheeks. all her movements were tributes to the buoyancy and energy of her nature. the little rector found out what this energy amounted to, when, on one occasion, he proposed to accompany her on one of her walks. it was a five-mile excursion; and he returned, as mrs. haley expressed it, "a used-up man." one morning, just before christmas, the waverly carriage, driven in great state by uncle prince, drew up in front of the tavern; and in a few moments helen and her aunt were given to understand that they had been sent for, in furtherance of an invitation they had accepted, to spend the holidays at waverly. "ole miss would 'a' come," said uncle prince, with a hospitable chuckle, "but she sorter ailin'; en miss hallie, she dat busy dat she ain't skacely got time fer ter tu'n 'roun'; so dey tuck'n sort atter you, ma'am, des like you wuz home folks." the preparations of the ladies had already been made, and it was not long before they were swinging along under the green pines in the old-fashioned vehicle. nor was it long before they passed from the pine forests, and entered the grove of live-oaks that shaded the walks and drives of waverly. the house itself was a somewhat imposing structure, with a double veranda in front, supported by immense pillars, and surrounded on all sides by magnificent trees. here, as helen and her aunt had heard on all sides, a princely establishment had existed in the old time before the war--an establishment noted for its lavish hospitality. here visitors used to come in their carriages from all parts of georgia, from south carolina, and even from virginia--some of them remaining for weeks at a time, and giving to the otherwise dull neighborhood long seasons of riotous festivity, which were at once characteristic and picturesque. the old days had gone to come no more, but there was something in the atmosphere that seemed to recall them. the stately yet simple architecture of the house, the trees with their rugged and enormous trunks, the vast extent of the grounds--everything, indeed, that came under the eye--seemed to suggest the past. a blackened and broken statue lay prone upon the ground hard by the weather-beaten basin of a fountain long since dry. two tall granite columns, that once guarded an immense gateway, supported the fragmentary skeletons of two colossal lamps. there was a suggestion not only of the old days before the war, but of antiquity--a suggestion that was intensified by the great hall, the high ceilings, the wide fireplaces, and the high mantels of the house itself. these things somehow gave a weird aspect to waverly in the eyes of the visitors; but this feeling was largely atoned for by the air of tranquillity that brooded over the place, and it was utterly dispersed by the heartiness with which they were welcomed. "here we is at home, ma'am," exclaimed uncle prince, opening the carriage-door, and bowing low; "en yon' come ole miss en miss hallie." the impression which helen and her aunt received, and one which they never succeeded in shaking off during their visit, was that they were regarded as members of the family who had been away for a period, but who had now come home to stay. just how these gentle hosts managed to impart this impression, helen and miss tewksbury would have found it hard to explain; but they discovered that the art of entertaining was not a lost art even in the piny woods. every incident, and even accidents, contributed to the enjoyment of the guests. even the weather appeared to exert itself to please. christmas morning was ushered in with a sharp little flurry of snow. the scene was a very pretty one, as the soft white flakes, some of them as large as a canary's wing, fell athwart the green foliage of the live-oaks and the magnolias. "this is my hour!" exclaimed helen enthusiastically. "we enjoy it with you," said hallie simply. during the afternoon the clouds melted away, the sun came out, and the purple haze of indian summer took possession of air and sky. in an hour the weather passed from the crisp and sparkling freshness of winter, to the wistful melancholy beauty of autumn. "this," said hallie gently, "is _my_ hour." she was standing on the broad veranda with helen. for reply, the latter placed her arm around the southern girl; and they stood thus for a long time, their thoughts riming to the plaintive air of a negro melody that found its way across the fields and through the woods. christmas at waverly, notwithstanding the fact that the negroes were free, was not greatly different from christmas on the southern plantations before the war. few of the negroes who had been slaves had left the place, and those that remained knew how a christmas ought to be celebrated. they sang the old-time songs, danced the old-time dances, and played the old-time plays. all this was deeply interesting to the gentlewomen from boston; but there was one incident that left a lasting impression on both, and probably had its effect in changing the future of one of them. it occurred one evening when they were all grouped around the fire in the drawing-room. the weather had grown somewhat colder than usual, and big hickory logs were piled in the wide fireplace. at the suggestion of hallie the lights had been put out, and they sat in the ruddy glow of the firelight. the effect was picturesque indeed. the furniture and the polished wainscoting glinted and shone, and the shadows of the big brass andirons were thrown upon the ceiling, where they performed a witch's dance, the intricacy of which was amazing to behold. it was an interesting group, representing the types of much that is best in the civilization of the two regions. their talk covered a great variety of subjects, but finally drifted into reminiscences of the war--reminiscences of its incidents rather than its passions. "i have been told," said miss eustis, "that a dead union soldier was brought here during the war, and buried. was his name ever known?" there was a long pause. general garwood gazed steadily into the fire. his mother sighed gently. hallie, who had been resting her head against helen's shoulder, rose from her chair, and glided from the room as swiftly as a ghost. "perhaps i have made a mistake," said helen in dismay. "the incident was so strange--" "no, miss eustis, you have made no mistake," said general garwood, smiling a little sadly. "one moment--" he paused as if listening for something. presently the faint sound of music was heard. it stole softly from the dark parlor into the warm firelight as if it came from far away. "one moment," said general garwood. "it is hallie at the piano." the music, without increasing in volume, suddenly gathered coherency, and there fell on the ears of the listening group the notes of an air so plaintive that it seemed like the breaking of a heart. it was as soft as an echo, and as tender as the memories of love and youth. "we have to be very particular with hallie," said the general, by way of explanation. "the union soldier in our burying-ground is intimately connected with her bereavement and ours. hers is the one poor heart that keeps the fires of grief always burning. i think she is willing the story should be told." "yes," said his mother, "else she would never go to the piano." "i feel like a criminal," said helen. "how can i apologize?" "it is we who ought to apologize and explain," replied general garwood. "you shall hear the story, and then neither explanation nor apology will be necessary." vi a summons was sent for uncle prince, and the old man soon made his appearance. he stood in a seriously expectant attitude. "prince," said general garwood, "these ladies are from the north. they have asked me about the dead union soldier you brought home during the war. i want you to tell the whole story." "tell 'bout de what, marse peyton?" both astonishment and distress were depicted on the old negro's face as he asked the question. he seemed to be sure that he had not heard aright. "about the union soldier you brought home with your young master from virginia." "whar miss hallie, marse peyton? dat her in dar wid de peanner?" "yes, she's in there." "i 'lowed she uz some'r's, kaze i know 'tain't gwine never do fer ter git dat chile riled up 'bout dem ole times; en it'll be a mighty wonder ef she don't ketch col' in dar whar she is." "no," said general garwood; "the room is warm. there has been a fire in there all day." "yasser, i know i builted one in dar dis mornin', but i take notice dat de drafts dese times look like dey come bofe ways." the old man stood near the tall mantel, facing the group. there was nothing servile in his attitude: on the contrary, his manner, when addressing the gentleman who had once been his master, suggested easy, not to say affectionate, familiarity. the firelight, shining on his face, revealed a countenance at once rugged and friendly. it was a face in which humor had many a tough struggle with dignity. in looks and tone, in word and gesture, there was unmistakable evidence of that peculiar form of urbanity that can not be dissociated from gentility. these things were more apparent, perhaps, to helen and her aunt than to those who, from long association, had become accustomed to uncle prince's peculiarities. "dem times ain't never got clean out'n my min'," said the old negro, "but it bin so long sence i runn'd over um, dat i dunner wharbouts ter begin skacely." "you can tell it all in your own way," said general garwood. "yasser, dat's so, but i fear'd it's a mighty po' way. bless yo' soul, honey," uncle prince went on, "dey was rough times, en it look like ter me dat ef dey wuz ter come 'roun' ag'in hit 'u'd take a mighty rank runner fer ter ketch one nigger man w'at i'm got some 'quaintance wid. dey wuz rough times, but dey wa'n't rough 'long at fust. shoo! no! dey wuz dat slick dat dey ease we-all right down 'mongs' de wuss kind er tribbylation, en we ain't none un us know it twel we er done dar. "i know dis," the old man continued, addressing himself exclusively to miss eustis and her aunt; "i knows dat we-all wuz a-gittin' 'long mighty well, w'en one day marse peyton dar, he tuck 'n' jinded wid de army; en den 'twa'n't long 'fo' word come dat my young marster w'at gwine ter college in ferginny, done gone en jinded wid um. i ax myse'f, i say, w'at de name er goodness does dey want wid boy like dat? hit's de lord's trufe, ma'am, dat ar chile wa'n't mo' dan gwine on sixteen, ef he wuz dat, en i up'n' ax myse'f, i did, w'at does de war want wid baby like dat? min' you, ma'am, i ain't fin' out den w'at war wuz--i ain't know w'at a great big maw she got." "my son ethel," said mrs. garwood, the soft tone of her voice chiming with the notes of the piano, "was attending the university of virginia at charlottesville. he was just sixteen." "yassum," said uncle prince, rubbing his hands together gently, and gazing into the glowing embers, as if searching there for some clue that would aid him in recalling the past. "yassum, my young marster wuz des gone by sixteen year, kaze 'twa'n't so mighty long 'fo' dat, dat we-all sont 'im a great big box er fixin's en doin's fer ter git dar on he's birfday; en i sot up mighty nigh twel day tryin' ter make some 'lasses candy fer ter put in dar wid de yuther doin's." here uncle prince smiled broadly at the fire. "ef dey wuz sumpin' w'at dat chile like, hit wuz 'lasses candy; en i say ter my ole 'oman, i did: ''mandy jane, i'll make de candy, en den w'en she good en done, i'll up en holler fer you, en den you kin pull it.' yassum, i said dem ve'y words. so de ole 'oman, she lay down 'cross de baid, en i sot up dar en b'iled de 'lasses. de 'lasses 'u'd blubber en i'd nod, en i'd nod en de 'lasses 'u'd blubber, en fus news i know de 'lasses 'u'd done be scorched. well, ma'am, i tuck 'n' burnt up mighty nigh fo' gallons er 'lasses on de account er my noddin', en bimeby w'en de ole 'oman wake up, she 'low dey wa'n't no excusion fer it; en sho nuff dey wa'n't, kaze w'at make i nod dat away? "but dat candy wuz candy, mon, w'en she did come, en den de ole 'oman she tuck 'n' pull it twel it git 'mos' right white; en my young marster, he tuck 'n' writ back, he did, dat ef dey wuz anythin' in dat box w'at make 'im git puny wid de homesickness, hit uz dat ar 'lasses candy. yassum, he cert'n'y did, kaze dey tuck 'n' read it right out'n de letter whar he writ it. "'twa'n't long atter dat 'fo' we-all got de word dat my young marster done jinded inter de war wid some yuther boys w'at been at de same school'ouse wid 'im. den, on top er dat, yer come news dat he gwine git married. bless yo' soul, honey, dat sorter rilded me up, en i march inter de big 'ouse, i did, en i up 'n' tell mistis dat she better lemme go up dar en fetch dat chile home; en den mistis say she gwine sen' me on dar fer ter be wid 'im in de war, en take keer un 'im. dis holp me up might'ly, kaze i wuz a mighty biggity nigger in dem days. de white folks done raise me up right 'long wid um, en way down in my min' i des laid off fer ter go up dar in ferginny, en take my young marster by he's collar en fetch 'im home, des like i done w'en he use ter git in de hin'ouse en bodder 'long wid de chickens. "dat wuz way down in my min', des like i tell you, but bless yo' soul, chile, hit done drap out 'mos' 'fo' i git ter 'gusty, in de nunited state er georgy. time i struck de railroad i kin see de troops a-troopin', en year de drums a-drummin'. de trains wuz des loaded down wid um. let 'lone de passenger kyars, dey wuz in de freight-boxes yit, en dey wuz de sassiest white mens dat yever walk 'pon topside de groun'. mon, dey wuz a caution. dey had niggers wid um, en de niggers wuz sassy, en ef i hadn't a-frailed one un um out, i dunner w'at would er 'come un me. "hit cert'n'y wuz a mighty long ways fum dese parts. i come down yer fum ferginny in a waggin w'en i wuz des 'bout big nuff fer ter hol' a plow straight in de' furrer, but 'tain't look like ter me dat 'twuz sech a fur ways. all day en all night long fer mighty nigh a week i year dem kyar-wheels go clickity-clock, clickity-clock, en dem ingines go choo-choo-choo, choo-choo-choo, en it look like we ain't never gwine git dar. yit, git dar we did, en 'tain't take me long fer ter fin' de place whar my young marster is. i laid off ter fetch 'im home; well, ma'am, w'en i look at 'im he skeer'd me. yassum, you may b'lieve me er not b'lieve me, but he skeer'd me. stiddier de boy w'at i wuz a-huntin' fer, dar he wuz, a great big grow'd-up man, en bless yo' soul, he wuz a-trompin' roun' dar wid great big boots on, en, mon, dey had spurrers on um. "ef i hadn't er year 'im laugh, i nev'd a-know'd 'im in de roun' worl'. i say ter myse'f, s' i, i'll des wait en see ef he know who i is. but shoo! my young marster know me time he lays eyes on me, en no sooner is he see me dan he fetched a whoop en rushed at me. he 'low: 'hello, daddy! whar de name er goodness you rise fum?' he allers call me daddy sence he been a baby. de minute he say dat, it come over me 'bout how lonesome de folks wuz at home, en i des grabbed 'im, en 'low: 'honey, you better come go back wid daddy.' "he sorter hug me back, he did, en den he laugh, but i tell you dey wa'n't no laugh in me, kaze i done see w'iles i gwine long w'at kinder 'sturbance de white folks wuz a-gettin' up, en i know'd dey wuz a-gwine ter be trouble pile 'pon trouble. yit dar he wuz a-laughin' en a-projickin', en 'mongs' all dem yuther mens dey wa'n't none un um good-lookin' like my young marster. i don't keer w'at kinder cloze he put on, dey fit 'im, en i don't keer w'at crowd he git in, dey ain't none un um look like 'im. en 'tain't on'y me say dat; i done year lots er yuther folks say dem ve'y words. "i ups en sez, s'i: 'honey, you go 'long en git yo' things, en come go home 'long wid daddy. dey er waitin' fer you down dar'--des so! den he look at me cute like he us'ter w'en he wuz a baby, en he 'low, he did: "'i'm mighty glad you come, daddy, en i hope you brung yo' good cloze, kaze you des come in time fer ter go in 'ten'ance on my weddin'.' den i 'low: 'you oughtn' be a-talkin' dat away, honey. w'at in de name er goodness is chilluns like you got ter do wid marryin'?' wid dat, he up 'n' laugh, but 'twa'n't no laughin' matter wid me. yit 'twuz des like he tell me, en 'twa'n't many hours 'fo' we wuz gallopin' cross de country to'ds marse randolph herndon' place; en dar whar he married. en you may b'lieve me er not, ma'am, des ez you please, but dat couple wuz two er de purtiest chilluns you ever laid eyes on, en dar miss hallie in dar now fer ter show you i'm a-tellin' de true word. 'mos' 'fo' de weddin' wuz over, news com dat my young marster en de folks wid 'im mus' go back ter camps, en back we went. "well, ma'am, dar we wuz--a mighty far ways fum home, miss hallie a-cryin', en de war gwine on des same ez ef 'twuz right out dar in de yard. my young marster 'low dat i des come in time, kaze he mighty nigh pe'sh'd fer sumpin' 'n'er good ter eat. i whirled in, i did, en i cook 'im some er de right kinder vittles; but all de time i cookin', i say ter myse'f, i did, dat i mought er come too soon, er i mought er come too late, but i be bless' ef i come des in time. "hit went on dis away scan'lous. we marched en we stopped, en we stopped en we marched, en 'twuz de lord's blessin' dat we rid hosses, kaze ef my young marster had 'a' bin 'blige' ter tromp thoo de mud like some er dem white mens, i speck i'd 'a' had ter tote 'im, dough he uz mighty spry en tough. sometimes dem ar bung-shells 'u'd drap right in 'mongs' whar we-all wuz, en dem wuz de times w'en i feel like i better go off some'r's en hide, not dat i wuz anyways skeery, kaze i wa'n't; but ef one er dem ur bung-shells had er strucken me, i dunner who my young marster would 'a' got ter do he's cookin' en he's washin'. "hit went on dis away, twel bimeby one night, way in de night, my young marster come whar i wuz layin', en shuck me by de shoulder. i wuz des wide 'wake ez w'at he wuz, yit i ain't make no motion. he shuck me ag'in, en 'low: 'daddy! oh, daddy! i'm gwine on de skirmish line. i speck we gwine ter have some fun out dar.' "i 'low, i did: 'honey, you make 'aste back ter break'us, kaze i got some sossige meat en some gennywine coffee.' "he ain't say nothin', but w'en he git little ways off, he tu'n 'roun' en come back, he did, en 'low: 'good night, daddy.' i lay dar, en i year un w'en dey start off. i year der hosses a-snort-in', en der spurrers a-jinglin'. ef dey yever wuz a restless creetur hit uz me dat night. i des lay dar wid my eyes right wide open, en dey stayed open, kaze, atter w'ile, yer come daylight, en den i rousted out, i did, en built me a fire, en 'twa'n't long 'fo' i had break'us a-fryin' en de coffee a'b'ilin', kaze i spected my young marster eve'y minute; en he uz one er dese yer kinder folks w'at want he's coffee hot, en all de yuther vittles on de jump. "i wait en i wait, en still he ain't come. hit cert'n'y look like a mighty long time w'at he stay 'way; en bimeby i tuck myse'f off ter make some inquirements, kaze mighty nigh all he's comp'ny done gone wid 'im. i notice dat de white mens look at me mighty kuse w'en i ax um 'bout my young marster; en bimeby one un um up en 'low: 'ole man, whar yo' hat?' des dat away. i feel on my haid, en, bless goodness! my hat done gone; but i 'spon' back, i did: ''tain't no time fer no nigger man fer ter be bodder'n' 'bout he's hat,' des so. well, ma'am, bimeby i struck up wid some er my young marster' comp'ny, en dey up 'n' tell me dat dey had a racket out dar en de skirmish line, en dey hatter run in, en dey speck my young marster be 'long terreckerly. den i year some un say dat day speck de yankees tuck some pris'ners out dar, en den i know dat ain't gwine do fer me. i des runn'd back ter whar we been campin', en i mount de hoss w'at my young marster gun me, en i rid right straight out ter whar dey been fightin'. my min' tol' me dey wuz sumpin' 'n'er wrong out dar, en i let you know, ma'am, i rid mighty fas'; i sholy made dat ole hoss git up fum dar. de white mens dey holler at me w'en i pass, but eve'y time dey holler i make dat creetur men' he's gait. some un um call me a country-ban', en say i runnin' 'way, en ef de pickets hadn't all been runnin' in, i speck dey'd 'a' fetched de ole nigger up wid de guns. but dat never cross my min' dat day. "well, ma'am, i haid my hoss de way de pickets comin' fum; en ef dey hadn't er been so much underbresh en so many sassyfac saplin's, i speck i'd 'a' run dat creetur ter def: but i got ter whar i hatter go slow, en i des pick my way right straight forrerd de bes' i kin. i ain't hatter go so mighty fur, nudder, 'fo' i come 'cross de place whar dey had de skirmish; en fum dat day ter dis i ain't never see no lonesome place like dat. dey wuz a cap yer, a hat yander, en de groun' look like it wuz des strowed wid um. i stop en listen. den i rid on a little ways, en den i stop en listen. bimeby i year hoss whicker, en den de creetur w'at i'm a-ridin', he whicker back, en do des like he wanter go whar de t'er hoss is. i des gin 'im de rein; en de fus news i know, he trot right up ter de big black hoss w'at my young marster rid. "i look little furder, i did, en i see folks lyin' on de groun'. some wuz double' up, en some wuz layin' out straight. de win' blow de grass back'ards en forrerds, but dem sojer-men dey never move; en den i know dey wuz dead. i look closer; en dar 'pon de groun', 'mos' right at me, wuz my young marster layin' right by de side er one er dem yankee mens. i jumped down, i did, en run ter whar he wuz; but he wuz done gone. my heart jump, my knees shuck, en my han' trimble; but i know i got ter git away fum dar. hit look like at fus' dat him en dat yankee man been fightin'; but bimeby i see whar my young marster bin crawl thoo de weeds en grass ter whar de yankee man wuz layin'; en he had one arm un' de man' haid, en de ter han' wuz gripped on he's canteen. i fix it in my min', ma'am, dat my young marster year dat yankee man holler fer water; en he des make out fer ter crawl whar he is, en dar i foun' um bofe. "dey wuz layin' close by a little farm road, en not so mighty fur off i year a chicken crowin'. i say ter myse'f dat sholy folks must be livin' whar dey chickens crowin'; en i tuck'n' mount my young marster's hoss, en right 'roun' de side er de hill i come 'cross a house. de folks wuz all gone; but dey wuz a two-hoss waggin in de lot en some gear in de barn, en i des loped back atter de yuther hoss, en 'mos' 'fo' you know it, i had dem creeturs hitch up: en i went en got my young marster en de yankee man w'at wuz wid 'im, en i kyard um back ter de camps. i got um des in time, too, kase i ain't mo'n fairly start 'fo' i year big gun, _be-bang!_ en den i know'd de yankees mus' be a-comin' back. den de bung-shells 'gun ter bus'; en i ax myse'f w'at dey shootin' at me fer, en i ain't never fin' out w'at make dey do it. "well, ma'am, w'en i git back ter camps, dar wuz cunnel tip herndon, w'ich he wuz own br'er ter miss hallie. maybe you been year tell er marse tip, ma'am; he cert'ny wuz a mighty fine man. marse tip, he 'uz dar, en 'twa'n't long 'fo' miss hallie wuz dar, kaze she ain't live so mighty fur; en miss hallie say dat my young marster en de yankee man mus' be brung home terge'er. so dey brung um." uncle prince paused. his story was at an end. he stooped to stir the fire; and when he rose, his eyes were full of tears. humble as he was, he could pay this tribute to the memory of the boy soldier whom he had nursed in sickness and in health. it was a stirring recital. perhaps it is not so stirring when transferred to paper. the earnestness, the simplicity, the awkward fervor, the dramatic gestures, the unique individuality of uncle prince, can not be reproduced; but these things had a profound effect on miss eustis and her aunt. vii throughout the narrative the piano had been going, keeping, as it seemed, a weird accompaniment to a tragic story. this also had its effect; for, so perfectly did the rhythm and sweep of the music accord with the heart-rending conclusion, that helen, if her mind had been less preoccupied with sympathy, would probably have traced the effect of it all to a long series of rehearsals: in fact, such a suggestion did occur to her, but the thought perished instantly in the presence of the unaffected simplicity and the childlike earnestness which animated the words of the old negro. the long silence which ensued--for the piano ceased, and hallie nestled at helen's side once more--was broken by general garwood. "we were never able to identify the union soldier. he had in his possession a part of a letter, and a photograph of himself. these were in an inner pocket. i judge that he knew he was to be sent on a dangerous mission, and had left his papers and whatever valuables he may have possessed behind him. the little skirmish in which he fell was a surprise to both sides. a scouting party of perhaps a dozen federal cavalrymen rode suddenly upon as many confederate cavalrymen who had been detailed for special picket duty. there was a short, sharp fight, and then both sides scampered away. the next day the federal army occupied the ground." "it is a pity," said helen, "that his identity should be so utterly lost." "hallie, my dear," said mrs. garwood, "would it trouble you too much to get the photograph of the union soldier? if it is any trouble, my child--" hallie went swiftly out of the room, and returned almost immediately with the photograph, and handed it to helen, who examined it as well as she could by the dim firelight. "the face is an interesting one, as well as i can make out," said helen, "and it has a strangely familiar look. he was very young." she handed the picture to her aunt. her face was very pale. "i can't see by this light," said miss tewksbury. but uncle prince had already brought a lamp which he had been lighting. "why, my dear," said miss tewksbury, in a tone of voice that suggested both awe and consternation--"why, my dear, this is your brother wendell!" "oh, aunt harriet! i thought so--i was afraid so--but are you sure?" "as sure as that i am sitting here." helen burst into tears. "oh, why didn't i recognize him? how could i fail to know my darling brother?" she cried. hallie rose from her low stool, and stood gazing at helen. her face was pale as death, but in her eyes gleamed the fire of long-suppressed grief and passion. she seemed like one transformed. she flung her white arms above her head, and exclaimed: "i knew it! i knew it! i knew that some poor heart would find its long-lost treasure here. i have felt it--i have dreamed it! oh, i am so glad you have found your brother!" "oh, but i should have known his picture," said helen. "but, my dear child," said miss tewksbury, in a matter-of-fact way, "there is every reason why you should not have known it. this picture was taken in washington, and he never sent a copy of it home. if he did, your father put it away among his papers. you were not more than twelve years old when wendell went away." "perhaps if hallie will get the fragment of letter," said general garwood to miss tewksbury, "it will confirm your impression." "oh, it is no impression," replied miss tewksbury. "i could not possibly be mistaken." the fragment of letter, when produced, proved to be in the handwriting of charles osborne eustis; and there was one sentence in it that was peculiarly characteristic. "remember, dear wendell," it said, "that the war is not urged against men; it is against an institution which the whole country, both north and south, will be glad to rid itself of." it would be difficult, under all the circumstances, to describe helen's thoughts. she was gratified--she was more than gratified--at the unexpected discovery, and she was grateful to those who had cared for her brother's grave with such scrupulous care. she felt more at home than ever. the last barrier of sectional reserve (if it may be so termed) was broken down, so far as she was concerned; and during the remainder of her stay, her true character--her womanliness, her tenderness, her humor--revealed itself to these watchful and sensitive southerners. even miss tewksbury, who had the excuse of age and long habit for her prejudices, showed the qualities that made her friends love her. in the language of the little rector, who made a sermon out of the matter, "all things became homogeneous through the medium of sympathy and the knowledge of mutual suffering." in fact, everything was so agreeable during the visit of helen and her aunt to waverly--a visit that was prolonged many days beyond the limit they had set--that uncle prince remarked on it one night to his wife. "i'm a nigger man, 'mandy jane," said he, "but i got two eyes, en dey er good ones. w'at i sees i knows, en i tell you right now, marse peyton is done got strucken." "done got strucken 'bout what?" inquired 'mandy jane. "'bout dat young lady w'at stayin' yer. oh, you neenter holler," said uncle prince in response to a contemptuous laugh from 'mandy jane. "i ain't nothin' but a nigger man, but i knows w'at i sees." "yes, you is a nigger man," said 'mandy jane triumphantly. "ef you wuz a nigger 'oman you'd have lots mo' sense dan w'at you got. w'y, dat lady up dar ain't our folks. she mighty nice, i speck, but she ain't our folks. she ain't talk like our folks yit." "no matter 'bout dat," said uncle prince. "i ain't seed no nicer 'oman dan w'at she is, en i boun' you she kin talk mighty sweet w'en she take a notion. w'en my two eyes tell me de news i knows it, en marse peyton done got strucken long wid dat white 'oman." "en now you gwine tell me," said 'mandy jane with a fine assumption of scorn, "dat marse peyton gwine marry wid dat w'ite 'oman en trapse off dar ter der norf? _shoo!_ nigger man, you go ter bed 'fo' you run yo'se'f 'stracted." "i dunno whar marse peyton gwine, 'mandy jane, but i done see 'im talkin' 'long wid dat white lady, en lookin' at her wid he's eyes. huh! don' tell me! en dat ain't all, 'mandy jane," uncle prince went on: "dat bud stucky, he's f'rever'n etarnally sneakin' 'roun' de house up dar. one day he want sumpin' ter eat, en nex' day he want miss hallie fer ter play en de peanner, but all de time i see 'im a-watchin' dat ar white lady fum de norf." "hush!" exclaimed 'mandy jane. "des like i tell you!" said uncle prince. "well, de nasty, stinkin', oudacious villyun!" commented 'mandy jane. "i lay ef i go up dar en set de dogs on 'im, he'll stop sneakin' 'roun' dis place." "let 'im 'lone, 'mandy jane, let 'im 'lone," said uncle prince solemnly. "dat ar bud stucky, he got a mammy, en my min' tell me dat he's mammy kin run de kyards en trick you. now you watch out, 'mandy jane. you go on en do de washin', like you bin doin', en den ole miss stucky won't git atter you wid de kyards en cunjur you. dat ole 'oman got er mighty bad eye, mon." viii uncle prince, it appears, was a keen observer, especially where general garwood was concerned. he had discovered a fact in regard to "marse peyton," as he called him, that had only barely suggested itself to that gentleman's own mind--the fact that his interest in miss eustis had assumed a phase altogether new and unexpected. its manifestations were pronounced enough to pester miss tewksbury, but, strange to say, neither general garwood nor miss eustis appeared to be troubled by them. as a matter of fact, these two were merely new characters in a very old story, the details of which need not be described or dwelt on in this hasty chronicle. it was not by any means a case of love at first sight. it was better than that: it was a case of love based on a firmer foundation than whim, or passion, or sentimentality. at any rate, helen and her stalwart lover were as happy, apparently, as if they had just begun to enjoy life and the delights thereof. there was no love-making, so far as miss tewksbury could see; but there was no attempt on the part of either to conceal the fact that they heartily enjoyed each other's companionship. bud stucky continued his daily visits for several weeks; but one day he failed to make his appearance, and after a while news came that he was ill of a fever. the ladies at waverly sent his mother a plentiful supply of provisions, together with such delicacies as seemed to them necessary; but bud stucky continued to waste away. one day helen, in spite of the protests of her aunt, set out to visit the sick man, carrying a small basket in which hallie had placed some broiled chicken and a small bottle of homemade wine. approaching the stucky cabin, she was alarmed at the silence that reigned within. she knocked, but there was no response; whereupon she pushed the door open and entered. the sight that met her eyes, and the scene that followed, are still fresh in her memory. poor bud stucky, the shadow of his former self, was lying on the bed. his thin hands were crossed on his breast, and the pallor of death was on his emaciated face. his mother sat by the bed with her eyes fixed on his. she made no sign when helen entered, but continued to gaze on her son. the young woman, bent on a mission of mercy, paused on the threshold, and regarded the two unfortunates with a sympathy akin to awe. bud stucky moved his head uneasily, and essayed to speak, but the sound died away in his throat. he made another effort. his lips moved feebly; his voice had an unearthly, a far-away sound. "miss," he said, regarding her with a piteous expression in his sunken eyes, "i wish you'd please, ma'am, make maw let me go." he seemed to gather strength as he went on. "i'm all ready, an' a-waitin'; i wish you'd please, ma'am, make 'er let me go." "oh, what can i do?" cried helen, seized with a new sense of the pathos that is a part of the humblest human life. "please, ma'am, make 'er let me go. i been a-layin' here ready two whole days an' three long nights, but maw keeps on a-watchin' of me; she won't let me go. she's got 'er eyes nailed on me constant." helen looked at the mother. her form was wasted by long vigils, but she sat bolt upright in her chair, and in her eyes burned the fires of an indomitable will. she kept them fixed on her son. "won't you please, ma'am, tell maw to let me go? i'm so tired er waitin'." the plaintive voice seemed to be an echo from the valley of the shadow of death. helen, watching narrowly and with agonized curiosity, thought she saw the mother's lips move; but no sound issued therefrom. the dying man made another appeal: "oh, i'm so tired! i'm all ready, an' she won't let me go. a long time ago when i us' ter ax 'er, she'd let me do 'most anything, an' now she won't let me go. oh, lordy! i'm so tired er waitin'! please, ma'am, ax 'er to let me go." mrs. stucky rose from her chair, raised her clasped hands above her head, and turned her face away. as she did so, something like a sigh of relief escaped from her son. he closed his eyes, and over his wan face spread the repose and perfect peace of death. turning again toward the bed, mrs. stucky saw helen weeping gently. she gazed at her a moment. "whatter you cryin' fer now?" she asked with unmistakable bitterness. "you wouldn't a-wiped your feet on 'im. ef you wuz gwine ter cry, whyn't you let 'im see you do it 'fore he died? what good do it do 'im now? he wa'n't made out'n i'on like me." helen made no reply. she placed her basket on the floor, went out into the sunlight, and made her way swiftly back to waverly. her day's experience made a profound impression on her, so much so that when the time came for her to go home, she insisted on going alone to bid mrs. stucky good-by. she found the lonely old woman sitting on her door-sill. she appeared to be gazing on the ground, but her sun-bonnet hid her face. helen approached, and spoke to her. she gave a quick upward glance, and fell to trembling. she was no longer made of iron. sorrow had dimmed the fire of her eyes. helen explained her visit, shook hands with her, and was going away, when the old woman, in a broken voice, called her to stop. near the pine-pole gate was a little contrivance of boards that looked like a bird-trap. mrs. stucky went to this, and lifted it. "come yer, honey," she cried, "yer's somepin' i wanter show you." looking closely, helen saw molded in the soil the semblance of a footprint. "look at it, honey, look at it," said mrs. stucky; "that's his darlin' precious track." helen turned, and went away weeping. the sight of that strange memorial, which the poor mother had made her shrine, leavened the girl's whole after-life. when helen and her aunt came to take their leave of azalia, their going away was not by any means in the nature of a merry-making. they went away sorrowfully, and left many sorrowful friends behind them. even william, the bell-ringer and purveyor of hot batter-cakes at mrs. haley's hotel, walked to the railroad station to see them safely off. general garwood accompanied them to atlanta; and though the passenger depot in that pushing city is perhaps the most unromantic spot to be found in the wide world--it is known as the "car-shed" in atlantese--it was there that he found courage to inform miss eustis that he purposed to visit boston during the summer in search not only of health, but of happiness; and miss eustis admitted, with a reserve both natural and proper, that she would be very happy to see him. it is not the purpose of this chronicle to follow general garwood to boston. the files of the boston papers will show that he went there, and that, in a quiet way, he was the object of considerable social attention. but it is in the files of the "brookline reporter" that the longest and most graphic account of the marriage of miss eustis to general garwood is to be found. it is an open secret in the literary circles of boston that the notice in the "reporter" was from the pen of henry p. bassett, the novelist. it was headed "practical reconstruction"; and it was conceded on all sides that, even if the article had gone no farther than the head-line, it would have been a very happy description of the happiest of events. the end * * * * * transcriber's notes: page , table of contents, " " changed to " " page , "read" changed to "red" (red face with) page , opening quotation mark added (exclaimed aunt fountain, "ain') page , apostrophe changed to a comma. (man, you) page , apostrophe removed from before "agreeable" (say she agreeable) page , opening quotation mark added (continued. "i'll bet) page , opening quotation mark added (heavenward, "than to see) page , "it" changed to "in" (wanted to put in) page , closing quotation mark added (my conscience.") page , "libery" changed to "liberty" (felt at liberty to) page , "thay" changed to "they" (appreciate what they pay) page , "hayley" changed to "haley" (so," said mrs. haley, with) page , "remembe" changed to "remember" (characteristic. "remember,)